Chapter Text
The meeting room was filled with the steady hum of voices—team leaders deep in discussion about the upcoming Laneck event, the unique off-season showcase where players would build mixed-roster teams based on their role. It was a rare moment when the rigid walls of professional League of Legends teams blurred, allowing rivals to become temporary allies.
For Sanghyeok, it wasn’t just an exhibition. It never was.
Even if it didn’t affect the official competitive season, this was still a battlefield. Every decision, every pick, every composition was a test of his ability—not just as a player, but as a leader. And he was a leader.
As the captain of the mid laners' team—just as he had been the previous year—it was his responsibility to assess his options carefully, to draft the best possible line-up, and to ensure that his team was built for success.
That part didn’t bother him. He was used to pressure. He thrived in it.
What did bother him was Jihoon.
Jihoon, who wasn’t a team leader. Jihoon, who wasn’t required to be here. Jihoon, who had tagged along anyway, supposedly because his team’s actual leader, Giin, had brought him along.
And yet, Jihoon wasn’t paying attention.
Sanghyeok’s fingers curled subtly against his sleeve as he glanced toward him, finding him sitting at the far end of the table, lazily spinning a bottle cap between his fingers. He looked effortlessly handsome, his hair slightly tousled, his posture relaxed in that naturally confident way that made it frustratingly easy for people to be drawn to him.
And people were drawn to him.
Specifically, the female staff member who had been glued to Jihoon’s side since the moment they arrived.
Sanghyeok watched, barely concealing his irritation, as she leaned in just a little too close—her body angled toward Jihoon, her voice laced with amusement, her fingers casually brushing against his wrist when she handed him something.
Jihoon, clueless as ever, just smiled, nodding politely as if he wasn’t the target of blatant flirting.
Sanghyeok exhaled slowly through his nose. It shouldn’t bother him.
He knew Jihoon got this kind of attention all the time—from fans, from interviewers, from players, from people who saw him as the young, talented, charming star that he was. Jihoon was used to it. He didn’t read too much into it.
But Sanghyeok did.
He saw the way the woman kept tucking her hair behind her ear whenever Jihoon glanced at her, the way she laughed a little too quickly at whatever he said. And he saw how Jihoon—oblivious, frustrating, unbothered Jihoon—didn’t even notice.
Sanghyeok did notice.
He noticed everything.
And with every unnecessary touch, with every playful tap of fingers against Jihoon’s arm, his patience thinned.
He should have been focusing on the meeting.
He should have been thinking about the Laneck draft strategy, about who would be the strongest picks, about whether he’d have to deal with a teammate he wouldn’t normally work with.
Instead, he found himself staring at Jihoon’s wrist, watching the way she dragged her fingers over his skin like she had any right to touch him like that.
Sanghyeok gritted his teeth.
The meeting dragged on, the voices around him becoming background noise as his thoughts spiralled deeper into frustration.
He needed this to end.
-
The meeting dragged on longer than necessary, the discussion going in circles as the captains debated how to structure the draft fairly. Some wanted a randomized pick order, while others argued for a more strategic approach.
Sanghyeok wasn’t listening anymore.
Not when, across the table, Jihoon was still laughing at something that female staff member had said, his expression open and relaxed—completely unaware of how much attention he was getting.
Sanghyeok clicked his tongue quietly, looking away.
He had needed this meeting to end ten minutes ago.
And finally, it did.
The second they were dismissed, Sanghyeok stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back with a loud scrape. Without a word, he turned toward the exit, his shoulders tense.
Jihoon, who had been mid-stretch, noticed immediately.
“Hyung?” he called, blinking as he watched Sanghyeok walk out without looking back.
Jihoon wasn’t the only one who noticed.
Giin, his team’s top laner and one of the reasons he was here, smirked slightly as he leaned back in his chair, watching Jihoon’s gaze linger on Sanghyeok’s retreating figure.
Jihoon felt the gaze and turned, confused. “What?”
Giin’s smirk deepened. “Nothing. Just wondering why you even bothered coming all the way from the dorm for this when you weren’t even in the meeting.”
Jihoon blinked, then frowned. “I told you—I came with you.”
“You could’ve just stayed at the Gen.G facility and waited.” Giin’s tone was teasing, amused, way too knowing. “But you didn’t.”
Jihoon narrowed his eyes. “Your point?”
Giin tilted his head toward the hallway where Sanghyeok had disappeared.
Jihoon froze for half a second.
Then, he scoffed, shoving Giin’s arm lightly. “Hyung, don’t start.”
Giin just laughed.
Jihoon ignored him, grabbed his phone, and hurried after Sanghyeok.
“Hyung, wait—” Jihoon easily caught up, his longer legs making the distance effortless, falling into step beside Sanghyeok. His voice was light, unbothered, as if he wasn’t noticing the way Sanghyeok’s entire posture was stiff, the way his hands were stuffed deep into the sleeves of his hoodie, the way he was walking just a little too fast.
Sanghyeok usually wasn’t like this.
He was known for his calm demeanour, his polite but firm presence, the friendly, approachable attitude he had with acquaintances. He was never the loudest person in the room, never the one to make a scene—he preferred quiet efficiency, smooth interactions, and keeping things professional.
But right now?
Right now, he was grumpy.
And not in an intimidating way—but in a cute, sulky, unmistakably irritated way.
His steps were a little too brisk, the hem of his T1 jacket shifting slightly with each movement, his fingers curling into the cuffs of his sleeves. His jaw was just barely clenched, like he was holding back the urge to say something sharp, his normally composed demeanour unravelling at the edges.
Jihoon tilted his head, confused. “Are you okay?”
No response.
Sanghyeok just kept walking, eyes fixed straight ahead, his shoulders tight.
Jihoon frowned slightly, easily keeping up beside him. He could tell something was off, but as usual, he didn’t quite understand what.
“Did something happen?” Jihoon asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.
Sanghyeok inhaled slowly, deliberately, like he was trying to keep his patience in check. His fingers curled into the cuffs of his T1 jacket, his brows furrowing just slightly, the fabric shifting as his grip tightened.
He didn’t want to answer.
Not because he didn’t have anything to say—but because he knew if he opened his mouth, he might actually let something slip.
Jihoon, still oblivious, nudged him lightly.
“Hey, if something’s bothering you,” Jihoon said, his tone casual, familiar, like he wasn’t standing beside someone who was actively fighting the urge to throw something out of sheer frustration. “Is there something I can do to make you feel better?”
Sanghyeok stopped walking.
Jihoon, not expecting the sudden halt, nearly bumped into him. He blinked, caught off guard by the abruptness of it, his eyes widening slightly as he looked at Sanghyeok.
“Hyung?”
Sanghyeok turned, his movements sharp, his dark eyes locked onto Jihoon with something intense—something Jihoon couldn’t quite place.
For a second, Jihoon actually felt like Sanghyeok might scold him.
His grumpy pout was almost endearing, his lips pressed into a thin line, his brows drawn together just enough to make him look like a sulking cat, but there was something serious underneath it all.
“…Come have dinner with me.”
Jihoon blinked, completely thrown off by the sudden invitation. “Huh?”
“My place.” Sanghyeok’s voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. He didn’t look away, his hands still tucked into the sleeves of his red jacket, his posture rigid, shoulders squared as if daring Jihoon to refuse.
Jihoon, assuming this was about something serious, frowned slightly but nodded.
“…Alright.”
Sanghyeok nodded once, quickly, then turned back toward the exit.
Jihoon followed, still confused, but not questioning it.
Because for all the years he had known Sanghyeok—this was the first time he had seen him act like this.
-
Jihoon had heard about Sanghyeok’s place before—the infamous Faker Castle, a sleek and luxurious apartment that looked more like a showroom than a home. Now that he was finally here, he couldn’t help but notice how quiet and meticulously kept it was—not unwelcoming, but private, like a space meant only for those Sanghyeok truly let in.
Tonight, though, something about it felt different.
Maybe it was the way Sanghyeok had been silent the entire ride, barely acknowledging Jihoon’s presence. Or maybe it was how, the moment they stepped inside, Sanghyeok walked straight to the kitchen, ordering food without asking what Jihoon wanted, then sat stiffly on the couch, shoulders tense like he was barely holding himself together.
Jihoon settled beside him, studying his profile, the tightness in his jaw, the way his fingers twitched slightly against his knee.
“So…” Jihoon started, still unsure why he was here. “What did you want to talk about?”
Sanghyeok didn’t respond.
Jihoon frowned, shifting closer. “Hyung?”
Still nothing.
Then, in an instant, Sanghyeok moved.
Before Jihoon could react, his wrist was grabbed, his balance thrown off, his back hitting the couch as Sanghyeok swung a leg over him, straddling his lap.
Jihoon’s breath caught in his throat, hands instinctively gripping the couch cushions. “H-Hyung—?”
“Shut up,” Sanghyeok muttered, his voice low, his face just inches from Jihoon’s. His dark eyes, usually calm, were anything but—sharp with frustration, unreadable emotions simmering beneath the surface.
Jihoon blinked up at him, stunned. Sanghyeok had always been reserved, unreadable, composed—but right now, he looked anything but.
Jihoon’s mind was blank, body frozen beneath Sanghyeok’s weight, the older man too close, too warm, too intense, his hands gripping the front of Jihoon’s hoodie like he was holding onto something that might slip away.
“Sanghyeok hyung—” Jihoon started, voice uncertain, but the moment his name left his lips, Sanghyeok moved, not hesitating for even a second as he kissed him.
Jihoon’s eyes widened, breath hitching as soft, desperate lips pressed against his own—fierce, demanding, like Sanghyeok had been holding back something heavy for too long and finally let it spill over. It wasn’t careful or hesitant, not the kind of kiss that tested the waters, but a claim, raw and unspoken, frustration and jealousy simmering to the surface, burning away the space that had always existed between them.
Jihoon couldn’t process it.
Sanghyeok was kissing him. A guy.
And not just any guy—Sanghyeok.
The man he had admired for years, the one he looked up to, the one who had always felt untouchable, distant, impossibly composed, and yet here he was—pressing him down, kissing him like it was something he had wanted for a long, long time.
Jihoon’s chest tightened.
It felt good. Too good.
But he couldn’t—this wasn’t—he had never thought about this before.
His hands, shaking slightly, came up between them, pressing lightly against Sanghyeok’s chest, just enough to create space, and the second he did, Sanghyeok pulled back, breath uneven, dark eyes searching his face as if trying to make sense of Jihoon’s reaction.
Jihoon could still feel the warmth lingering on his lips, his heart pounding too fast in his chest, mind spinning in circles, unable to ground himself. He had never even considered this possibility, had never let himself entertain the thought, because he had always told himself it was admiration, respect, just the natural pull of someone who had changed his life.
But now, faced with the raw heat in Sanghyeok’s gaze, the way his lips were slightly parted, the way his fingers still clenched at Jihoon’s hoodie like he wasn’t ready to let go, Jihoon didn’t know what to think anymore.
Then, he saw it.
The way Sanghyeok’s face tensed, the way his brows furrowed slightly, jaw tightening like he was bracing for something painful, like he was trying to hold himself together when he was already preparing for the worst.
“…Are you disgusted?” His voice was rough, quieter than before, but the words hit Jihoon harder than anything else tonight.
Jihoon’s fingers twitched against the fabric of Sanghyeok’s T1 jersey, where he had lightly pushed him back, his mind racing. Disgusted? The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. He wasn’t—he shouldn’t be. But he was shocked, caught off guard in a way he had never been before.
He had spent years admiring Sanghyeok, years wanting to be near him, thinking about him more than he probably should have, but he had never once considered—never allowed himself to think—
That this was what Sanghyeok had been feeling all this time.
Sanghyeok let out a short breath, his gaze dropping slightly as if he regretted asking, as if he was already bracing himself for an answer he wouldn’t want to hear. Jihoon’s chest tightened painfully at the sight. This was Sanghyeok—his Sanghyeok—who never let anyone see his weakness, who never let his emotions show, and yet here he was, straddling Jihoon with his hands clenched in his hoodie, looking at him like he was seconds away from breaking.
Jihoon hated that look.
He hated that he had put it there.
Swallowing hard, he exhaled, his voice unsteady but firm. “…No, I’m not disgusted.” The second the words left his lips, he saw it—the way Sanghyeok’s shoulders tensed like he was trying not to react, the way his grip on Jihoon’s hoodie slackened slightly, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to believe him.
Jihoon hesitated, feeling like he was on the edge of something dangerous, something irreversible, something he couldn’t quite understand yet, but he didn’t want Sanghyeok to think—not even for a second—that Jihoon wanted to push him away.
Jihoon just didn’t know what to do with himself.
With the way his body still felt too warm, his lips still tingling from the kiss, the way his heart was stuttering like he had just walked into a fight he wasn’t prepared for. He wasn’t disgusted, but he was terrified—terrified because this wasn’t admiration, wasn’t just respect, wasn’t just a teammate he wanted to impress.
Jihoon had never let himself think about Sanghyeok like this.
But maybe Sanghyeok had been thinking about Jihoon like this for a long time.
His mouth opened slightly, words forming but never leaving his lips. He didn’t know what to say—what could he even say? That he was confused? That he didn’t understand what was happening between them? That he didn’t know how to react but he couldn’t bring himself to push Sanghyeok away again?
Jihoon sat frozen beneath him, breath shallow, waiting—not resisting, but not answering either.
Sanghyeok exhaled slowly, his grip loosening on Jihoon’s hoodie, and then, without breaking eye contact, he reached for his own jacket.
Jihoon’s breath hitched as Sanghyeok shrugged off his T1 jacket, the fabric sliding down his shoulders before he let it fall to the floor. Then, without hesitation, he reached for the hem of his jersey, tugging it over his head in one smooth motion.
Jihoon’s mouth ran dry.
Pale, smooth skin was revealed, toned and lean beneath the soft glow of the apartment lights. Sanghyeok wasn’t bulky, wasn’t imposing, but he was built like something elegant and precise, every line of his body speaking of discipline, quiet strength, something fragile yet unwavering.
Jihoon’s fingers twitched at his sides.
He wanted to touch. Desperately.
The contrast of cool porcelain skin against the warmth of his own hands, the way he could already imagine Sanghyeok’s heartbeat under his palm—it was an unfamiliar, sudden craving that startled him.
His hands almost moved before he caught himself, fingers curling into the couch cushions instead, holding himself back, waiting, watching.
“…What are you doing?” His voice was quieter than he expected, a little breathless, like the room suddenly had less air.
Sanghyeok tilted his head slightly, the faint reflection of light catching on his glasses, his dark eyes steady behind the lenses. “What do you think I’m doing?”
Jihoon swallowed, his gaze flickering down for a split second before he forced himself to look back up. “I—I don’t know,” he admitted, voice uneven, “but I—” He hesitated, words tangling on his tongue, the urge to reach out still burning in his fingertips.
Sanghyeok didn’t break eye contact, didn’t look away as he leaned in just slightly, his bare skin brushing against the fabric of Jihoon’s hoodie. “Then don’t think,” he murmured.
Jihoon sucked in a sharp breath.
His mind was still trying to piece things together, still trying to understand what Sanghyeok wanted from him, what he wanted from Sanghyeok, but his body—his body already knew the answer.
Because he still wasn’t pushing him away.
The air between them was thick, heavy, something neither of them could pull away from. Jihoon still sat frozen beneath Sanghyeok, mind spinning, body tense, heart hammering against his ribs, but Sanghyeok wasn’t hesitating anymore.
With slow, deliberate movements, Sanghyeok rolled his hips forward.
Jihoon sucked in a sharp breath, feeling the unmistakable press of Sanghyeok’s hardness against him. It was only Sanghyeok who was hard right now, but the friction, the heat, the way Sanghyeok moved against him like he was chasing something, needing something, sent a rush of something dangerously electric through Jihoon’s spine.
“…hyung—” Jihoon tried, voice shaky, uncertain, but Sanghyeok didn’t stop, didn’t pause, just ground their cocks together with a slow, precise roll of his hips.
A sharp breath left Sanghyeok’s lips, his head tilting slightly as his eyelids fluttered, breath coming out in soft, broken exhales.
Jihoon felt himself stiffen under the weight of it all—the sight, the heat, the pure need radiating from Sanghyeok.
Sanghyeok, however, was entirely lost in his own pleasure. His fingers loosened from Jihoon’s hoodie, his hands drifting up to his own chest, brushing over pale, porcelain skin now flushed with heat. Jihoon swallowed hard as Sanghyeok’s fingers ghosted over his own nipples, teasing them, rolling them between his fingers before he let out a quiet, shuddering breath.
“…Jihoon-ah.”
Jihoon felt like the ground had been pulled out from under him.
The way Sanghyeok moaned his name—soft, breathless, desperate—sent an unbearable pulse of heat straight through him.
“You just—” Jihoon exhaled harshly, trying to gather his thoughts, trying not to focus on the way Sanghyeok was rubbing his aching hardness against Jihoon’s thigh so shamelessly.
Sanghyeok wasn’t listening. His movements got slower, deeper, grinding down like he needed more, like he was frustrated that Jihoon wasn’t already reacting, wasn’t already taking what he was clearly offering. His lips parted, eyes half-lidded as he let out a soft, shaky moan, and Jihoon’s self-control cracked at the edges.
Fuck.
Jihoon was getting harder.
Sanghyeok let out a frustrated sound when he felt it, rolling his hips one last time before he suddenly pulled away, standing up from Jihoon’s lap in one smooth motion. Jihoon blinked, dazed, his lap now painfully empty as he watched Sanghyeok stride toward the drawer near the couch, opening it without hesitation.
Jihoon’s stomach flipped when he saw what Sanghyeok pulled out.
A bottle of lube.
A box of condoms.
Jihoon swallowed thickly, heat rushing through him like wildfire when Sanghyeok turned around and tossed the box at his side, the movement so casual yet so fucking intentional.
“You’ll need those,” Sanghyeok murmured, voice still slightly breathless.
Jihoon’s fingers twitched, mind blank, barely registering what was happening before Sanghyeok hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his T1 pants and pushed them down, taking his underwear with them.
Jihoon stared.
Almost unblinking.
Sanghyeok’s hardened length was fully exposed now, flushed at the tip, resting against the pale skin of his lower abdomen, standing out against the soft curve of his waist. Jihoon’s eyes dragged over his form before he could stop himself—the sharp dip of his hip bones, the lean muscle of his stomach, the way his toned thighs tensed slightly as he stepped out of his pants and sat down next to Jihoon again.
Jihoon’s mouth felt dry.
Sanghyeok shifted against the couch, his legs spreading slightly as he leaned back, lifting the bottle of lube and clicking the cap open with a soft pop.
Jihoon’s brain barely had time to catch up before Sanghyeok drizzled the cool liquid onto his own fingers, bringing them between his legs without a single hint of shame.
Jihoon’s throat bobbed as Sanghyeok’s fingers slid against himself, his breath hitching as the first one pressed in. His lips parted slightly, brows drawing together, and the soft moan that spilled from his lips made Jihoon’s cock throb painfully against his pants.
Jihoon felt lightheaded, body pulsing with heat as he watched Sanghyeok’s fingers move, his breath shuddering as he worked himself open, his other hand gripping at the couch cushions beside Jihoon’s thigh.
Jihoon felt like he was burning alive.
Sanghyeok’s breath hitched as he eased in a second finger, his head tilting back slightly against the couch, exposing the pale column of his throat, his chest rising and falling in uneven, shuddering breaths. His cheeks were flushed, his lips rosy and damp, slightly parted from where he had bitten them in concentration.
And then—he moaned Jihoon’s name.
Soft. Wrecked. Wanting.
Jihoon’s stomach tightened painfully, the heat pooling low in his abdomen, his hands curling into fists against his thighs as his entire body tensed. He could feel himself aching, throbbing, every muscle locked in place as he tried to steady himself, but it was impossible.
Sanghyeok was breathtaking like this.
And he knew it.
Jihoon swallowed thickly, unable to look away, unable to do anything but watch as Sanghyeok cracked his eyes open just enough to catch his reaction. His gaze was dark, heavy-lidded, something dangerous and teasing swirling behind it, even as his breath trembled.
Sanghyeok’s lips curved faintly, the ghost of a smirk despite the heat lingering in his voice.
“I’ve only taken two of my fingers,” he murmured, voice husky, teasing but breathless, each syllable dripping with deliberate slowness. “So if you want to fit, you’ll have to be patient.”
Jihoon’s self-restraint snapped.
Before he could think, before he could second-guess himself, his hand moved on its own.
He grabbed Sanghyeok’s wrist, stopping his movements, his grip tight but unsure, caught between confusion, desire, and something deeper that he still didn’t understand.
Sanghyeok’s breath hitched, his dark eyes flickering with something unreadable, lips curving just slightly as he felt Jihoon’s warmth against his skin.
Jihoon swallowed, his voice rough and uneven. “Sanghyeok hyung… what the hell are you doing?”
Sanghyeok tilted his head slightly, not pulling away from Jihoon’s grip, not hesitating, just staring at him like he was waiting for Jihoon to catch up.
“I think it’s obvious, Jihoon-ah,” he murmured, voice low, filled with heat.
Jihoon’s throat bobbed, his mind still fighting to make sense of everything, but his body—his body already knew the answer.
Because he still wasn’t letting go.
Sanghyeok’s breathing was uneven, his skin flushed, his body still tense from the way Jihoon had grabbed his wrist, stopping him mid-movement. But he didn’t pull away. He didn’t try to hide himself, didn’t try to look unaffected. Instead, he just stared, his dark eyes locking onto Jihoon’s with something unreadable—something that burned beneath the surface.
“You don’t get it, do you?” Sanghyeok murmured, his voice low, rough, almost bitter. Jihoon could feel the slight tremor in his wrist where he held him, but Sanghyeok wasn’t trembling out of fear.
It was frustration.
Jihoon swallowed thickly, his grip instinctively tightening. “…Get what, hyung?”
Sanghyeok let out a quiet, humourless breath, his lips twitching in something that wasn’t quite a smirk, wasn’t quite a frown. “You’re always surrounded by people,” he muttered, his voice sharp but strained. “Always smiling at them, letting them touch you like it doesn’t mean anything. Always acting like it’s normal, like it’s not something I have to watch every single time.”
Jihoon blinked, thrown off by the weight of his words. He had never once thought about it like that. He had never once noticed the way Sanghyeok saw everything, held everything inside like it didn’t bother him, like it wasn’t eating him alive.
Sanghyeok’s fingers twitched beneath Jihoon’s hold, his body still hot, still bare, his cock still hard between his thighs, his skin glistening faintly from where the lube had smeared over his fingers. But even with his body burning with arousal, his expression wasn’t just about desire.
It was frustration. It was months—years—of silent jealousy finally breaking through.
Jihoon’s chest tightened, his mind still struggling to keep up. “…hyung—”
“You don’t feel the same way,” Sanghyeok cut in before Jihoon could even form a proper thought, his voice quieter now, almost resigned. “I know that.” His jaw clenched slightly, his free hand curling into the couch as if he was keeping himself steady. “You never even noticed. You never even thought about it.”
Jihoon felt like he had been punched in the gut.
Because he hadn’t noticed.
Not because he didn’t care—but because he had never even let himself think that this could be real.
The way he always wanted to be around Sanghyeok. The way his chest felt lighter whenever Sanghyeok gave him even a fraction of his attention. The way he admired him, looked up to him, felt something tugging him closer but never questioned why.
Jihoon’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
Sanghyeok’s gaze flickered, his fingers twitching slightly beneath Jihoon’s grip. “And earlier, you asked me if there was something you could do to make me feel better,” he murmured, his voice quieter, but there was something raw beneath it—something that made Jihoon’s stomach tighten painfully.
Jihoon swallowed, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah… I did.”
Sanghyeok exhaled, finally shifting his hand from Jihoon’s grip, but instead of pulling away, he brought it to Jihoon’s thigh, his palm pressing firm against the fabric of Jihoon’s pants.
“This,” he murmured, voice slow, deliberate, his fingertips tracing up the side of Jihoon’s leg. “This is the only thing I could think of.”
Jihoon’s breath hitched.
Because he still wasn’t stopping him.
Jihoon didn’t reply. He couldn’t. His mind was tangled, his chest tight, his breath shallow as he stared into Sanghyeok’s pleading eyes. He should say something, should stop this, should ask if this was really okay—but his mouth wouldn’t move, and his hands wouldn’t pull away.
Sanghyeok’s grip on Jihoon’s wrist tightened briefly, as if giving him one last chance to refuse, to push him away. But when Jihoon still didn’t say a word, still didn’t look away, Sanghyeok let out a quiet breath and moved again.
His fingers slid back between his thighs, this time pressing in deeper, slower, his body twitching slightly as he adjusted, stretching himself further. Jihoon could hear the way his fingers moved inside himself, could see the way Sanghyeok bit his lip, brows furrowing slightly in both concentration and pleasure.
Jihoon swallowed hard, his own arousal straining against his pants, watching, unable to do anything else.
Sanghyeok exhaled shakily, adding a third finger, his body tensing slightly, his breathing coming out uneven. His hand gripped at Jihoon’s hoodie, using it for support as he worked himself open, his face flushed, his lashes fluttering as he gasped softly.
“…You’re just watching,” Sanghyeok murmured after a moment, his voice husky, teasing but still breathless.
Jihoon exhaled sharply, his fingers twitching against his knee. “You’re doing it yourself.”
Sanghyeok huffed a small laugh, lips curling at the edges despite the way his voice still shook slightly. “Would you rather do it for me, Jihoon?”
Jihoon’s stomach clenched at the way Sanghyeok said his name—low, deliberate, taunting, but still edged with real need. His hands itched to move, to touch, to feel, but he didn’t. He didn’t trust himself to.
Sanghyeok studied his face for a long moment before his fingers slipped out of himself, his chest rising and falling heavily as he leaned back. Jihoon barely had time to process before Sanghyeok reached for his waistband, tugging down Jihoon’s pants along with his boxers in one smooth motion.
Jihoon let out a sharp breath, his cock springing free, aching, flushed, painfully hard. He heard Sanghyeok’s breath hitch, saw the way his eyes flickered downward, gaze darkening slightly as he took him in.
“…I figured you’d be big,” Sanghyeok murmured, his voice quieter, more thoughtful, but still teasing.
Jihoon felt his face heat up for the first time that night. “You—hyung, you can’t just—”
Sanghyeok ignored him.
Instead, Sanghyeok moved back onto Jihoon’s lap, straddling him again, this time completely bare, skin-to-skin, the heat of his body pressing against Jihoon’s cock in a way that made Jihoon inhale sharply.
Jihoon’s fingers dug into the couch. “Are you really—”
Sanghyeok didn’t answer right away. Instead, he shifted, reaching for the small box he had left on the couch earlier, fingers moving with practiced ease as he tore it open.
Jihoon swallowed hard, his body tensing as Sanghyeok rolled the condom over him, each slow, deliberate movement making his breath hitch.
Sanghyeok’s touch was steady, focused, unshaken—even as his own chest rose and fell a little too fast. When he was done, he brushed his fingertips lightly over the latex, gaze flickering up to meet Jihoon’s.
"Now you don’t have any excuses," Sanghyeok murmured.
Jihoon’s breath caught in his throat, but he didn’t have time to respond.
Sanghyeok gripped his shoulders, steadying himself, lining himself up without hesitation.
“I told you, Jihoon.” His voice was quiet, but firm. “This is the only thing I could think of.”
Jihoon opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Sanghyeok began to sink down.
The reaction was immediate—Sanghyeok tensed, his breath catching, his fingers tightening on Jihoon’s shoulders as he took the stretch. A small, sharp inhale left his lips, followed by a quiet hiss, his body trembling slightly from the unfamiliar intrusion.
Jihoon’s hands moved instinctively.
Without thinking, without questioning, he gripped Sanghyeok’s hips, holding him steady, giving him something to balance against.
Sanghyeok let out a soft, shaky exhale, his body still tense, but he didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate.
“…hyung,” Jihoon said quietly, his fingers flexing against Sanghyeok’s skin.
Sanghyeok’s brows furrowed slightly, his nails digging into Jihoon’s shoulders, but his voice remained steady.
“I can take it.”
Jihoon swallowed, watching the way Sanghyeok’s lashes fluttered as he forced himself lower, how his chest rose and fell with each breath, how his nails tightened slightly when he had to pause to adjust.
And Jihoon, helplessly, hopelessly, could only help him.
Jihoon felt everything.
The heat, the unbearable tightness around him, the way Sanghyeok trembled in his lap, muscles flexing and clenching as he finally sank down completely, taking Jihoon to the hilt.
His breath hitched, every nerve in his body set alight by the overwhelming sensation of being wrapped in warmth, of being completely sheathed inside Sanghyeok. It was too much, too tight, too perfect, and yet Jihoon barely moved, barely even breathed, too caught up in the way Sanghyeok looked in this moment.
Sanghyeok exhaled slowly, his chest rising and falling in deep, shuddering breaths. For a moment, he was still, adjusting, letting himself feel everything, and then, something changed.
He smiled.
It was soft, delicate—the kind of smile that felt rare, fleeting, something Jihoon had never seen before.
Jihoon’s heart ached.
Sanghyeok looked… beautiful.
Vulnerable in a way that Jihoon had never imagined he could be. The Unkillable Demon King, always untouchable, always above everyone else, was sitting in Jihoon’s lap, taking him in, trembling slightly, and smiling.
Jihoon didn’t know what to do with himself. His hands still rested on Sanghyeok’s waist, his mind a complete mess, his body locked in place as he struggled to process everything—the way Sanghyeok felt around him, the way he looked at him, the way this moment felt impossibly intimate, like something fragile that could shatter if Jihoon so much as breathed wrong.
Then, Sanghyeok moved.
A slow shift of his hips, a quiet breath, an experimental roll that sent a violent shock of pleasure through Jihoon’s spine. Jihoon’s grip on his waist tightened instantly, his lips parting, a breathless exhale escaping before he could stop himself.
“Jihoon-ah…” Sanghyeok whispered, voice trembling slightly, not from fear but from something deeper, something Jihoon still didn’t understand.
Jihoon’s fingers twitched against Sanghyeok’s skin, his entire body screaming at him to move, to take, to lose himself in the heat and friction, but he held still, barely able to think past the way Sanghyeok was looking at him.
Then, Sanghyeok leaned forward.
His arms wrapped around Jihoon’s shoulders, his bare skin pressed against Jihoon’s chest, his face burying into the crook of Jihoon’s neck. Jihoon barely had time to react before he felt it.
A quiet, shaking sob.
Then another. And another.
“…Sorry,” Sanghyeok whispered, his voice breaking, his breath warm against Jihoon’s skin.
Jihoon’s chest clenched painfully.
Another quiet “sorry” followed, muffled against Jihoon’s shoulder, his body trembling slightly as his fingers clutched at Jihoon’s back like he was trying to hold himself together.
Jihoon felt helpless.
His hands tightened around Sanghyeok’s waist, unsure, hesitant, his mind still overwhelmed by the feeling of having him so close, so open, so unbearably fragile in his arms.
He swallowed hard, voice low, rough with emotion. “Why are you saying sorry, hyung?”
Sanghyeok exhaled sharply, his breath uneven, his fingers gripping at Jihoon’s shoulders. “Because I know you don’t—” His voice caught, breaking before he forced himself to continue. “You don’t feel the same way.”
Jihoon’s breath hitched.
Sanghyeok’s body trembled slightly in his lap, his arms tightening around Jihoon’s shoulders, as if bracing for something, as if already expecting rejection, already expecting this to be a mistake.
Jihoon didn’t know what to say.
He didn’t know how to tell Sanghyeok that he had never thought about it like this, that he had never allowed himself to, that he had spent years by his side admiring him, looking up to him, wanting to be close but never daring to question why.
He didn’t know how to tell him that his chest ached at the thought of Sanghyeok feeling like this alone for so long, that he couldn’t stand the way Sanghyeok’s voice cracked with the weight of his emotions, that he wanted—no, needed—to wipe away the sadness in his voice, the fear in his trembling hands.
So instead, Jihoon just held him.
His arms wrapped around Sanghyeok’s back, his hands pressing firmly against his spine, steady, grounding, not letting him go.
“…You’re an idiot,” Jihoon muttered, voice low, barely above a whisper.
Sanghyeok let out a short, breathless laugh, one that sounded dangerously close to a sob. “I know.”
Jihoon squeezed his eyes shut for a brief second, exhaling slowly, trying to steady the pounding in his chest, the burning in his stomach, the desperate need to fix whatever had broken inside Sanghyeok before tonight.
He didn’t have the words yet.
Didn’t know how to explain what he was feeling.
But he wasn’t letting go.
And he wasn’t letting Sanghyeok apologize for this.
Sanghyeok’s breath was uneven, shaky, still caught between the weight of his emotions and the overwhelming sensation of being stretched full around Jihoon. His arms were still locked around Jihoon’s shoulders, his body trembling slightly in Jihoon’s lap, his head buried against Jihoon’s neck as his soft, choked apologies slipped past his lips.
But Jihoon had heard enough.
His hands slid firmly up Sanghyeok’s back, fingers pressing against the ridges of his spine, grounding him, steadying him. He tightened his hold, his voice low, warm, deliberate as he spoke.
“Stop saying sorry,” Jihoon murmured, his lips brushing against Sanghyeok’s ear, making the older man shudder. “I don’t feel bad about this.”
Sanghyeok’s breath hitched, his body going still, like he wasn’t sure if he had heard right. Slowly, hesitantly, he lifted his head, just enough to look Jihoon in the eyes. There was something vulnerable in his expression—something raw, something searching.
“…Is that true?” Sanghyeok’s voice was quiet, almost afraid to believe it.
Jihoon didn’t answer with words.
Instead, his hips moved.
A deep, sudden thrust upwards, burying himself even deeper inside Sanghyeok’s tight, clenching heat, stretching him just a little more, just enough to make Sanghyeok’s entire body jolt.
Sanghyeok gasped, eyes widening, his nails digging into Jihoon’s shoulders as a sharp cry ripped from his throat. His cock jerked between them, leaking pre-cum, twitching from the sheer intensity of the sensation.
Jihoon watched, his gaze dark, focused, completely captivated by the way Sanghyeok reacted to him.
“…You really don’t know how sexy you look right now, do you?” Jihoon murmured, his voice thick with something deeper, something dangerous.
Sanghyeok barely had time to respond, barely had time to catch his breath before Jihoon grabbed his waist and pulled him forward, capturing his lips in a fierce, consuming kiss.
There was no hesitation, no restraint. Jihoon kissed him like he had been holding back for years, like he had finally allowed himself to accept the pull between them, to stop questioning and just take. His tongue slid past Sanghyeok’s parted lips, licking into his mouth, tasting the soft, desperate sounds that Sanghyeok was making, swallowing down every gasp, every moan.
Sanghyeok’s head spun, his vision blurring, his body shuddering under Jihoon’s grip.
Jihoon’s hands were firm on his slim waist, fingers pressing into the soft dips of his skin, guiding him, lifting him slightly before pushing him back down onto his cock.
Sanghyeok let out a sharp, broken moan, his nails dragging down Jihoon’s back, his body shaking from the deep, unbearable pleasure.
Jihoon didn’t stop.
His grip tightened, moving Sanghyeok up and down, guiding him, helping him ride, while at the same time, Jihoon’s hips snapped up to meet every motion, thrusting into him, stretching him further, filling him in ways that made Sanghyeok’s entire body pulse with heat.
Sanghyeok’s lips trembled against Jihoon’s mouth, his gasps turning into breathless whimpers as Jihoon swallowed every sound.
His vision blurred completely with pleasure, his mind going blank.
All he could feel was Jihoon—his warmth, his strength, his touch—completely consuming him, completely breaking him apart.
Sanghyeok’s entire body shuddered, overwhelmed by the way Jihoon was filling him completely, stretching him, moving him, thrusting into him with deep, deliberate strokes that left his vision blurred and his mind empty. His nails scraped against Jihoon’s back, his lips trembling as his moans were swallowed up in Jihoon’s fierce, consuming kiss.
He felt so full, so hot, so unbearably good, every nerve in his body alight with pleasure, his cock twitching between them, leaking against Jihoon’s stomach with every thrust. His body moved on instinct, his thighs tightening around Jihoon’s waist as he clung to him, desperate, needy, helpless.
And then, suddenly—he was empty.
A sharp, gasping whimper left Sanghyeok’s lips before he could stop it, his fingers grabbing at Jihoon’s shoulders as he was abruptly lifted off Jihoon’s cock. His walls clenched around nothing, aching from the sudden emptiness, his body shaking from the loss of heat.
“Jihoon-ah—” His voice was wrecked, confused, desperate, but Jihoon wasn’t stopping.
Jihoon’s hands were firm on his waist, flipping him effortlessly, pushing him back onto the large couch. Sanghyeok barely had time to process before his back hit the cushions, his legs instinctively parting, his knees bent, his body already arching slightly, still trembling from the aftershocks of Jihoon’s touch.
But Jihoon wasn’t done.
With his dark eyes burning with something heavy, something possessive, Jihoon leaned back slightly, finally reaching for the hem of his hoodie, pulling it off in one smooth motion, the heavy fabric dropping to the floor.
Sanghyeok’s breath caught.
His gaze dragged over Jihoon’s body, taking in the way the dim light accentuated firm abs, toned muscles flexing subtly beneath smooth skin, broad shoulders now fully exposed, carrying an effortless strength that made Sanghyeok’s fingers twitch with the urge to touch.
Jihoon was more muscular than him, broader in the shoulders, stronger in a way that Sanghyeok suddenly couldn’t ignore. At 185 cm, Jihoon’s frame was powerful, his body built with precision and discipline, and now, without his hoodie, that strength was impossible to look away from.
Sanghyeok felt small in comparison.
His own body was lean, toned but nowhere near as defined, his pale skin contrasting against Jihoon’s slightly darker tone. He was 177 cm, shorter, lighter, and now, as Jihoon hovered over him, looking down at him like he was something to be consumed, something to be claimed—
Sanghyeok felt completely at his mercy.
Jihoon ran a hand through his slightly dishevelled hair, his hoodie already discarded on the floor, his chest rising and falling with deep, steady breaths, the lingering heat of the moment evident in every movement.
Sanghyeok had always known Jihoon was handsome.
But now—with the way his muscles tensed beneath his skin, the way his dark, sharp eyes looked at him, the way his broad shoulders loomed over him, his hands gripping Sanghyeok’s thighs with such deliberate strength—
Jihoon looked devastating.
Jihoon hovered over him, his lips curling into something dangerously close to a smirk as he spread Sanghyeok’s legs apart again, slotting himself between them with ease.
“You’re staring, hyung,” Jihoon murmured, his voice low, teasing, sending a shiver down Sanghyeok’s spine.
Sanghyeok’s face burned, his fingers curling into the couch, his body already anticipating what was coming next. “I—shut up.”
Jihoon chuckled softly, his tone filled with warmth but his hands firm as he lined himself up again. “Then stop looking at me like that.”
Sanghyeok opened his mouth to retort, but all that came out was a sharp, choked gasp as Jihoon pushed back inside.
His body arched off the couch, his lips parting as a broken moan escaped, his walls clenching around Jihoon’s cock, adjusting again to the overwhelming stretch.
Jihoon let out a low groan, his hands sliding up from Sanghyeok’s thighs to grip his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, like he never wanted to let go.
Sanghyeok panted heavily, his hands gripping Jihoon’s biceps now, fingers trembling slightly from the sheer intensity of it all.
Jihoon leaned down, his breath warm against Sanghyeok’s lips, his voice thick with desire. “Better?”
Sanghyeok couldn’t speak. His head was spinning, his vision blurred, his entire body trembling from the way Jihoon filled him so perfectly, so completely. He barely managed to nod, his chest heaving, and Jihoon’s lips curled slightly before he tilted his head, pressing a deep, lingering kiss against Sanghyeok’s throat.
His hips snapped forward, setting a slow, deep rhythm, each thrust dragging against Sanghyeok’s sensitive walls, making him tremble beneath Jihoon’s firm, steady grip.
Sanghyeok’s head fell back, his body lost in the pleasure, completely at Jihoon’s mercy.
Sanghyeok’s breath came in shaky, uneven gasps, his fingers digging into Jihoon’s biceps as each thrust sent waves of unbearable pleasure through his body. His vision blurred, his lips trembling, gasps spilling freely from his throat as Jihoon’s cock dragged against every sensitive spot inside him, filling him so completely, so perfectly, that it was making his mind go blank.
His thighs clenched around Jihoon’s waist, his body desperate, his chest heaving. Jihoon’s hands were still firm on his waist, gripping him, holding him steady as he pounded into him, deep and relentless, sweat dripping down his temple.
Sanghyeok knew it was coming.
The pressure inside him was coiling too tight, too fast, every muscle in his body tensing, heat building so intensely that it almost felt unbearable. His cock twitched against his stomach, leaking pre-cum, aching, needing relief.
He gasped, his voice raw, desperate. “Jihoon—” His breath hitched as a sharp cry left his lips, his head tilting back against the couch. “I—I’m close.”
Jihoon groaned softly, his grip tightening, his hips snapping forward at a brutal pace, his thrusts becoming faster, deeper, chasing after that final push to send Sanghyeok over the edge.
Sanghyeok cried out, his nails dragging down Jihoon’s skin, his body trembling violently beneath him. Jihoon’s breaths were ragged, his focus sharp, his eyes dark with hunger as he looked down at Sanghyeok completely wrecked beneath him, chest flushed, lips parted, his body arching off the couch, back curving as he teetered on the edge of his climax.
And then Jihoon’s hand moved between them.
Without hesitation, he wrapped his fingers around Sanghyeok’s leaking cock, his grip firm, slick with pre-cum as he stroked him in time with his thrusts.
Sanghyeok screamed, his body jerking violently, his thighs trembling as the pleasure overwhelmed him. His breath hitched, his muscles clenching as Jihoon’s pace quickened, his strokes firm and merciless, dragging Sanghyeok higher and higher until he was dangling over the edge, seconds away from breaking.
His entire body tightened around Jihoon, walls clenching down as his orgasm rushed toward him like a tidal wave.
“Jihoon—” His voice cracked, his fingers gripping desperately at Jihoon’s shoulders as his vision went white, his entire body shuddering violently.
And then he fell.
Jihoon’s breath came out in heavy, ragged gasps, his body still trembling from the intensity of what had just happened. Sanghyeok was still shaking beneath him, his skin flushed, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, his fingers twitching slightly against Jihoon’s arms. He looked completely spent, his body slack against the couch, his eyes half-lidded, lost in the aftershocks of his release, his lips slightly parted as he struggled to catch his breath.
Jihoon groaned softly, his muscles tight, his cock still hard, still buried inside Sanghyeok’s trembling body. He could feel the warmth around him, the way Sanghyeok’s walls clenched slightly in the aftermath of his orgasm, and Jihoon bit his lip, trying to steady himself, trying not to focus on how impossibly good it still felt.
With a slow, careful motion, he started to pull out.
Sanghyeok’s fingers twitched, his breath hitching as Jihoon’s cock slid partway out of him. But before Jihoon could fully withdraw, Sanghyeok suddenly moved, his arms wrapping around Jihoon’s shoulders, pulling him close.
Jihoon froze, eyes widening slightly as Sanghyeok’s warm breath ghosted against his ear, his voice still dazed, wrecked from pleasure.
“…Why are you stopping?” Sanghyeok murmured, his lips brushing against Jihoon’s neck. His voice was hoarse, vulnerable, needy. “You haven’t finished yet.”
Jihoon sucked in a sharp breath, his arms tightening around Sanghyeok’s waist instinctively. “Hyung…” His voice was strained, low with the weight of restraint. “I’m still really hard, and it might take a while. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Sanghyeok’s eyes widened slightly.
For a moment, he just stared at Jihoon, processing his words.
Jihoon had every right to take what he needed, to use him, to be rougher, to be selfish, but instead, he was still thinking about Sanghyeok’s comfort, still trying to take care of him, even after everything.
This was why he had fallen for him.
Not just because Jihoon was tall, strong, handsome. Not just because his body was perfectly built, not just because he had broad shoulders and powerful hands and a gorgeous face.
But because Jihoon was kindness itself—unfiltered, effortless, and unwavering.
Because Jihoon was gentle even when he had no reason to be.
Because Jihoon wasn’t just good-looking. He had a good heart.
Sanghyeok swallowed hard, his chest tightening with something deep, something raw. Slowly, he exhaled, his hands moving to Jihoon’s chest, pressing against his firm muscles, pushing him back slightly. Jihoon blinked, confused, but he didn’t resist as Sanghyeok nudged him down, shifting their positions.
Then, before Jihoon could react, Sanghyeok straddled him again, sinking down onto his cock in one slow, deliberate motion.
Jihoon’s breath hitched violently, his fingers digging into Sanghyeok’s thighs as warmth enveloped him all over again.
Sanghyeok hissed softly, his body still sensitive, still trembling from his first release, but he didn’t stop. He lowered himself all the way, taking Jihoon to the base, stretching himself again, shuddering from the intense stimulation.
Jihoon’s hands immediately moved to Sanghyeok’s waist, gripping firmly. “Hyung—” His voice was tight, strained with the overwhelming pleasure. “You don’t have to—”
“I want this,” Sanghyeok interrupted, his voice steady despite the way his body trembled. His fingers slid into Jihoon’s hair, gripping lightly, his lips dangerously close to Jihoon’s ear. “So please… let me ride you.”
Jihoon let out a deep, shaky groan, his self-control unravelling.
Sanghyeok looked devastatingly sexy like this.
His pale skin flushed, sweat glistening along his collarbones, his thighs trembling as he moved, his lips parted, his chest still rising and falling heavily. His dark eyes were half-lidded, filled with something intoxicating, something that made Jihoon’s entire body burn.
Jihoon was already close—too close, the sight of Sanghyeok like this pushing him dangerously toward the edge.
Sanghyeok rocked his hips, gasping softly as pleasure rippled through him again. Jihoon gritted his teeth, his hands tightening, his body shaking with the effort to hold back.
But Sanghyeok wasn’t letting him hold back.
He moved faster, rolling his hips, clenching around Jihoon, chasing after every bit of friction that made Jihoon groan deep in his throat.
Jihoon had never seen anything as erotic as Sanghyeok riding him, panting, trembling, taking him so perfectly.
And with each movement, with each sound, Jihoon could feel himself reaching his limit.
Jihoon’s breathing grew ragged, uneven, his grip on Sanghyeok’s waist tightening as the unbearable heat coiled tighter and tighter in his gut. Sanghyeok was moving faster now, his body rocking against Jihoon’s, his moans breathless, his slim frame trembling in his lap.
Jihoon’s fingers dug into Sanghyeok’s hips, his muscles taut, his entire body wound up like a spring ready to snap.
“Hyung—” Jihoon’s voice came out hoarse, strained with the overwhelming pleasure ripping through him.
Sanghyeok didn’t stop.
He rolled his hips in deep, slow circles, clenching around Jihoon’s cock so perfectly, so tightly, sending shockwaves through Jihoon’s body. Jihoon’s nails pressed against his skin, his chest heaving, his breath shallow and desperate.
And then, he broke.
A deep, guttural groan tore from Jihoon’s throat as pleasure overtook him completely. His hips jerked up on instinct, burying himself fully inside Sanghyeok one last time as he came, his entire body shuddering violently beneath him.
Sanghyeok felt everything. The way Jihoon’s cock pulsed inside him, the warmth flooding him, the way Jihoon’s nails tightened on his skin as he rode out his release, his body trembling from the sheer intensity.
Sanghyeok shuddered, his breath hitching, his own body still sensitive, still tingling from the overstimulation. Slowly, he lifted himself off Jihoon’s cock, gasping softly at the sensation, his legs weak, his balance unsteady.
The moment he stood, his knees buckled.
Jihoon instantly reached out, but before he could grab him, Sanghyeok collapsed onto the couch beside him, his chest rising and falling heavily, his body spent.
For a moment, neither of them moved, the weight of exhaustion settling between them. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, Sanghyeok pushed himself up just enough to reach for Jihoon’s waist.
Jihoon watched, still catching his breath, as Sanghyeok carefully slid the condom off, tying it with steady fingers before tossing it into the nearby bin.
Only then did he let himself fall back against the couch, his body fully relaxing, his breath still slow and heavy.
Jihoon’s eyes flickered to him immediately.
His lashes rested dark against his flushed cheeks, his lips slightly parted as he lay there, completely exhausted. Sweat glistened along his collarbones, his pale skin still warm, his chest rising and falling with each deep, steady breath.
Jihoon swallowed, unable to look away. Sanghyeok looked utterly undone.
Jihoon swallowed hard, his pulse still erratic.
For a moment, he just stared.
Sanghyeok looked so beautiful like this.
Not just sexy, not just gorgeous—but raw, vulnerable, completely undone.
Something in Jihoon’s chest ached, something deeper than just desire, something he wasn’t sure he could name yet.
He didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.
Jihoon turned toward him, lifting a hand to the side of Sanghyeok’s face, cupping his jaw gently.
Then, slowly, he leaned in.
His lips brushed against Sanghyeok’s in a soft, lingering kiss.
Not rushed, not desperate—but tender, deep, something quiet and unspoken passing between them.
Sanghyeok’s breath hitched slightly, his lips parting under Jihoon’s without resistance.
Jihoon pulled back just enough to hover over him, his forehead resting against Sanghyeok’s, his fingers still cradling his face.
His voice was quiet, still heavy with exhaustion, but filled with something else now—something softer.
“…hyung.”
Sanghyeok’s lashes fluttered slightly, his breath warm against Jihoon’s lips.
Jihoon didn’t say anything else.
He just kissed him again.
Jihoon didn’t pull away immediately.
He lingered, studying Sanghyeok’s face, the way his flushed cheeks were still warm beneath his fingertips, the way his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, the way his lips were slightly parted, swollen from their kisses.
Sanghyeok was really beautiful like this.
Not in the effortless, polished way that Jihoon’s admirers looked at him—not in the way fans saw him as a legend, as Faker, the legendary mid laner.
But in a way that only Jihoon got to see.
Messy. Breathless. Vulnerable.
And something about that made Jihoon’s stomach tighten, made the air between them feel even heavier than before.
Why?
Jihoon stared at Sanghyeok, his mind still reeling, his body still burning with the aftershocks of what just happened.
He wasn’t sure if his heartbeat was finally slowing down or speeding up for an entirely different reason.
His hands were still on Sanghyeok’s waist, fingers twitching slightly, as if afraid to let go.
It should have been obvious—should have been so easy to understand.
Sanghyeok had already said it before, hadn’t he? Back when he was grumpy, sulking, acting like something was eating away at him.
Back when he had brought up Jihoon’s admirers, back when he had said Jihoon never noticed anything.
Jihoon’s breath hitched slightly, realization hitting him deeper than before.
“…So all this time,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, more certain than questioning.
Sanghyeok stiffened beneath him, eyes barely opening, exhaustion still weighing heavy in his limbs.
“You were jealous,” Jihoon continued, watching him carefully, his grip tightening slightly against Sanghyeok’s waist.
Sanghyeok didn’t respond immediately.
Then, after a long pause, he scoffed softly—small, weak, but still filled with that familiar grumpy irritation.
“You really are slow.”
Jihoon’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
Because now that he heard it—now that Sanghyeok wasn’t denying it, wasn’t deflecting, wasn’t turning away—
Jihoon wasn’t sure what to do with it.
The realization settled deep, heavier than Jihoon expected, curling in his chest like something unfamiliar but undeniable. This wasn’t just about tonight. It wasn’t just about Sanghyeok kissing him, about the way he had straddled Jihoon with quiet desperation, about the way his hands had trembled slightly as he clung to him.
It was about everything—about the way Sanghyeok always treated him differently, the way he got easily irritated whenever Jihoon’s admirers swarmed him, the way his expressions soured whenever someone touched Jihoon too much or smiled at him too sweetly. It was about the way Sanghyeok had acted distant at times, but never enough to actually stay away, always finding excuses to linger, always there.
And Jihoon, in all his cluelessness, had never stopped to wonder why.
But now, it all made sense.
Jihoon didn’t move. His hands, still resting against Sanghyeok’s waist, felt unsure, hesitant in a way they hadn’t before. His body, still pressed lightly against Sanghyeok’s, felt too warm, too aware of everything that had just happened. His heartbeat, which had been steady, focused during all of it, now felt out of rhythm, unsure.
Sanghyeok lay beneath him, breath uneven, his face turned away as if hiding would erase what had just been said. But Jihoon could see it anyway—the way his jaw was tight, the way his fingers curled into the sheets, the way his body was tense but still warm beneath Jihoon’s touch.
Sanghyeok liked him.
Really, truly, liked him.
Jihoon swallowed hard. He had never thought about this before—never even considered the idea that Sanghyeok could see him that way.
And now that he knew, now that he could see it so clearly, he didn’t know what to do with it.
His grip on Sanghyeok’s waist loosened slightly, uncertainty creeping into his movements, his fingertips brushing against the soft skin there before pulling away just a little, just enough to give them space.
Sanghyeok must have felt it, because after a long, quiet beat, he spoke, voice quieter than before.
“…Jihoon-ah.”
Just his name.
Jihoon exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself, trying to think, trying to make sense of why something inside him twisted at the way Sanghyeok said it.
But he couldn’t.
Not when Sanghyeok was still beneath him.
Not when his body was still trembling faintly, almost imperceptibly.
Not when the memory of Sanghyeok’s kisses, of his fingers gripping at Jihoon’s shoulders, of his gasps against Jihoon’s lips, was still burning fresh.
He wasn’t ready to say anything yet. He wasn’t ready to respond in the way Sanghyeok might be hoping for, but he didn’t want to push him away either.
Jihoon finally exhaled, his voice coming out lower, quieter than before, unreadable even to himself.
“…We should get some sleep.”
Sanghyeok stiffened almost imperceptibly beneath him, just for a second, like his body was bracing for something, like he had already prepared himself for disappointment. Jihoon saw it in the way his fingers twitched against the sheets, in the way his lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something, then thought better of it.
Jihoon felt it.
Felt the weight of Sanghyeok’s expectation, the hesitance, the way his body was closing in on itself, preparing for a quiet rejection.
And he hated it.
Jihoon swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. This changed everything. He had thought tonight was just an impulsive moment, that Sanghyeok had been acting on frustration, on something fleeting. But the way he had held onto Jihoon, the way his voice had trembled slightly when he spoke—it wasn’t just about frustration. It wasn’t just about jealousy.
Jihoon could feel it in the way Sanghyeok had been bracing for rejection, in the way he had gone silent, waiting, expecting something to break between them. Jihoon hated that. He hated the thought that Sanghyeok had been holding all of this in for so long, watching, sulking, never saying anything. And he hated even more that he had been too blind to see it.
Jihoon hesitated for half a second, then exhaled softly.
Slowly, he reached for the blanket that had been half-kicked aside earlier and pulled it up over Sanghyeok’s bare shoulder, tucking it lightly into place.
Sanghyeok didn’t react at first.
But then his breath wavered, barely audible, his fingers twitching against the sheets like he wasn’t sure what to do with the unexpected warmth.
Jihoon didn’t know why he did it. He just didn’t want Sanghyeok to feel cold.
Then, before Sanghyeok could move, before he could fully retreat into himself, Jihoon did the only thing that felt right in that moment—he wrapped an arm around Sanghyeok’s waist and pulled him close again.
Sanghyeok sucked in a sharp breath, startled, his body stiffening at first, not expecting it.
But Jihoon didn’t let go.
He pressed his forehead lightly against Sanghyeok’s shoulder, his grip firm but gentle, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing slow, soothing circles against the small of Sanghyeok’s back.
It wasn’t an answer.
It wasn’t a confession.
But it wasn’t a rejection either.
And Sanghyeok, even in his quiet frustration, even in his uncertainty, felt that.
Felt the way Jihoon was careful with him, the way he wasn’t pushing him away, the way he was letting him stay close.
Sanghyeok was silent for a long moment, unmoving, but Jihoon could feel the tension in his body. His fingers, which had been curled into the sheets, twitched faintly, like he wanted to reach out but stopped himself. His breathing was shallow, almost measured, like he was trying too hard to stay composed.
Jihoon didn’t say anything. He just tightened his hold slightly, pressing his forehead more firmly against Sanghyeok’s shoulder. Slowly, he felt Sanghyeok’s body begin to ease, the rigid tension in his spine softening just a little.
Sanghyeok let out a soft, almost inaudible exhale, and when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, softer, more resigned.
“…Okay.”
Jihoon let out a slow breath, his fingers still absently rubbing small, lazy circles against Sanghyeok’s back. He wasn’t sure why he kept doing it—it wasn’t something he had to think about. It just felt… right.
Sanghyeok felt warm against him, solid, real. Jihoon had spent years admiring him, chasing after him, wanting to be close to him—but this was different. This wasn’t admiration. This was something heavier, something that settled deep in his chest and refused to be ignored.
He should be thinking more about this. He should be asking himself what it means. But for now, he let the silence stretch between them, warm and unspoken, until Sanghyeok’s breathing evened out against his own.
No bitterness. No dramatic scoff. Just that.
Jihoon closed his eyes, his fingers still moving absently against Sanghyeok’s skin, grounding both of them.
He still didn’t know what to say.
But at least for now, Sanghyeok wasn’t pulling away.