For The Trouble I'd Cause You (frat boys)

by hishighness

Summary:

Ten seniors ruled the halls of Epsilon Nu Omega Fraternity of the prestigious Hwagyeong University—each one notorious in his own right.

From Yoshi and Jaehyuk’s sharp-edged charm, to Jeongwoo and Haruto’s ex-lovers tension, to Doyoung and Junghwan’s lovestruck softness—and Junkyu and Asahi, once lovers, now simply friends, their hearts quietly pulled in new directions.

But at the center of it all was President Jihoon Park—cold, controlled, untouchable. And always trailing dangerously close behind him was Hyunsuk Choi, the beautiful chaos Jihoon couldn’t shake. A flirt. A menace. A legacy. And the only one bold enough to test Jihoon’s limits every chance he got.

Chapter 1: Epsilon Nu Omega

Summary:

An Intro to the Epsilon Nu Omega Fraternity.

Notes:

my hot frat boys.

Universities had reputations. But Hwagyeong University had a legacy.

 

It wasn’t just the sprawling stone buildings, the hand-planted ivy on every column, or the dorms with libraries bigger than public schools. It wasn’t even the elite academic circles, the impossible entrance exams, or the quarterly student features in national magazines.

 

It was who walked its halls—politicians’ heirs, trust fund geniuses, silver-spoon creatives, and scandal-spun celebrities sent to “refocus” in elite education.

 

At the center of it all were the power players: the fraternities and sororities. They dictated the social seasons, the school paper headlines, the protests and the parties.

 

And reigning above them all, sat the most infamous of them:
Epsilon Nu Omega (ΕΝΩ)—the fraternity no one got into by chance.

 

It was old money and new gossip. Broken boys and chosen ones. It was where the princes of Hwagyeong lived.

 

And its crown? Jihoon Park.

 

No one questioned how Jihoon became the youngest frat president. He was cold, calculating, and impossible to ignore. His glare could silence a room. His approval meant social survival. His word was law.

 

But what made Epsilon Nu Omega truly untouchable wasn’t its history or its power. It was the way Jihoon rebuilt it after the dark years. The legacy that his seniors left them. Only he was the one who made a way to raise the only legacies that mattered. Gone were the days of public humiliation and bloodied pledges on the lawn.

 

Now, hazing was psychological—strategic pressure, public exposure, breaking pride quietly and cleanly.

 

Mostly.

 

Because tradition was still tradition.

 

And in a locked room beneath the East Wing of the Epsilon Nu Omega frat house, a mansion, fifteen pledges knelt in two uneven lines—blindfolded, silent, some already shaking from the pressure of what they’d seen and heard.

 

Above them, Jaehyuk Yoon leaned on the railing like it was a balcony seat at a play. Beside him, Yoshi Kanemoto cracked his neck and swung a thick kendo stick lazily against his palm.

 

“Get up. Say your full name and why you think you're better than the other pieces of shit beside you,” Jaehyuk said, flipping a coin as if the entire thing bored him.

 

“I can’t hear you,” Yoshi barked when one boy spoke too quietly. “Say it like your future depends on it—because it fucking does.”

 

Crack.

 

The sound was sharp—clean—before it even hit skin.

 

Another strike. This one louder. Deeper.

 

By the third, there was bruising already blooming beneath thin shirts. Purple, not red. That was the rule.

 

But Yoshi didn’t stop.

 

“You—name?”

 

Crack.

 

“You’re supposed to want this. Beg.”

 

One boy flinched when Yoshi grabbed his collar. The smack echoed—not hard, but enough. Enough to silence every breath.

 

The pledges scrambled to respond, voices cracking, knees shaking. Some didn’t dare breathe wrong.

 

Jaehyuk popped a piece of popcorn in his mouth. “Yoshi, maybe don’t knock the pretty out of them yet. We haven’t picked favorites.”

 

Crack.

 

This one landed near a rib. The boy crumpled. And that was the last straw. The shift was immediate.

 

Hyunsuk Choi moved like smoke—like he had all the time in the world. He’d been leaning against the wall, rolling his eyes, content to observe until now. Technically, he was the Master Initiator—the one in charge of the process. But letting the dogs off leash was part of the show.

 

That leash just snapped.

 

Hyunsuk—layered chains, lip ring gleaming, earrings catching the haze light, dressed like a runway anarchist—walked across the room like he owned it.

 

He stopped just behind Yoshi. Voice calm. Cold. Lethal.

 

“Yoshi… Yoshi… Yoshi,” he murmured like a lover's reprimand. “You’re bruising the babies too much.”

 

Yoshi raised the stick again.

 

Hyunsuk tsked. “You know the fucking limits.”

 

He caught the stick midair and yanked it down.

 

“Pres doesn’t like hearing you’re still playing with the kids that way,” he added with a soft, biting smile. “Gets all cold and judgy. Makes me feel things.”

 

Jaehyuk whistled low. “Here he goes.”

 

Hyunsuk crouched beside the last boy who’d taken a hit, lifting his blindfold gently.

 

The tension snapped like wire.

 

Yoshi scoffed, stepping back with a swipe of his hand through his hair.

 

Hyunsuk brushed sweat from a boy’s temple with the sleeve of his designer sweater. “Poor thing,” he murmured. “Don’t break yet.”

 

He moved to another pledge—one whose fists were clenched—and lifted his blindfold too.

 

“Oh, look at you,” he crooned. “Still pretty under the sweat. You can cry, by the way—we don’t dock points for tears. Not hot enough to get you bonus points either, though.”

 

The boy trembled.

 

Hyunsuk leaned in.

 

“You wanna cry for me or for him?” he whispered.

 

“H-Him?” the boy stammered.

 

“The Pres, of course.” Hyunsuk smiled like sin. “You know he’s gonna come down here, right? You know what happens when he sees bruises this fucking dark?” He turned toward Yoshi and Jaehyuk now, his voice dropping.

 

“Jaehyuk, cool your dog down. He’s foaming again.”

 

Yoshi glared. Jaehyuk laughed, moved and draping an arm around Hyunsuk’s shoulders lazily.

 

“Always the savior, aren’t you? You look hot when you’re bossy.”

 

“I always look hot,” Hyunsuk said.

 

“You’re getting soft, Sukkie. Maternal instincts kicking in?”

 

“Or maybe…” Hyunsuk glanced at the trembling pledges, then back up, “…I just hate watching you two pretend you matter when he’s not even here yet.”

 

And as if conjured by name—the door slammed open.

 

Jihoon walked in.

 

Black jacket. Dark jeans. Eyes like judgment day.

 

Jaehyuk dropped his arm. Yoshi straightened. Even the blindfolded pledges flinched, like they could feel the air change.

 

Jihoon didn’t need to raise his voice.

 

“Are we done pretending this is funny?”

 

Silence.

 

“You think this frat is still what it was? You want to play bad boys again, then take your letters off. Go join the leagues of canceled alumni who can’t even land internships.”

 

He stepped between the kneeling pledges, gaze like a blade.

 

“This isn’t tradition. This is pathetic.”

 

Hyunsuk stood perfectly still now, watching. Jihoon stopped near the last kid who’d been hit and turned.

 

“I said bruises. Not war wounds. Do you not know the difference anymore?”

 

Jaehyuk looked at Hyunsuk and mouthed: Purple, not red. It was the rule. It meant bruising and should not shed blood.

 

Jihoon’s glare landed on them like a final verdict.

 

That was the thing about Jihoon. He didn’t yell. He didn’t throw punches. He undressed you with his silence.

 

Hyunsuk bit the inside of his cheek, heart pounding harder than it should. This version of Jihoon—the angry, commanding one—was dangerous.

 

So, so dangerous.

 

And hot.

 

As Jihoon turned to issue another order, Hyunsuk tilted his head, chains catching the light.

 

“You know,” he called out casually, a lazy smile on his lips, “if I didn’t know any better… I’d say you came all this way just to impress me, Pres.”

 

Jihoon paused.

 

Didn’t look back.

 

But Hyunsuk saw the slight clench of his jaw. He smiled wider.

 

-
-
-

 

Hwagyeong University buzzed before the sun even hit its peak.

 

There was something different in the air—like the whole campus had woken up knowing today meant something. Students poured in early, coffee in hand, laughter echoing across the quad. Even the professors seemed lighter, lingering near office doors just to catch the excitement.

 

Banners flapped high across the main lawn:
WELCOME TO EPSILON NU OMEGA'S OPEN HOUSE — FALL IN.

 

It wasn’t just any party. It was the party.

 

The first open frat event of the year, and Epsilon Nu Omega was hosting it for the entire university. Not in secret. Not in code. Public. Loud. And impossible to ignore.

 

It was unheard of before Jihoon's leadership.

 

Epsilon Nu Omega, the university’s most elite fraternity—cloaked in scandal, legacy, and unshakeable power—had never opened its gates to the entire campus. Not this early. Not this easily. ENO didn’t recruit; they handpicked. You didn’t find your way into their world unless they let you.

 

Upperclassmen whispered about how it used to be—tight-lipped invites, gold foil cards, gates that only opened for legacy bloodlines and perfectly curated pledges.

 

But during the current leadership, the house was preparing to welcome everyone—new recruits, old allies, sororities, org presidents, even the journalism majors who usually rolled their eyes at Greek life.

 

Because something had shifted. And it all came down to one name:

 

Jihoon Park.

 

Under his leadership, ENO was still elite—but sharper now, cleaner. Powerful in how it moved, not just how it looked. The past year was a declaration.

 

The gates would open by sundown. But this morning?

 

People were already gathering.

 

Phones out. Eyes waiting. And then—they appeared.

 

Not all at once.

 

Yoshi and Jaehyuk came first, sauntering down the east steps like the quad was their runway. Yoshi, in a half-zipped bomber and low-slung jeans, radiated that hotheaded thrill people couldn’t stop watching. Jaehyuk, cooler, in navy slacks and an open dress shirt—grinning like he knew everyone was looking.

 

Then came the others:

 

Junghwan and Doyoung followed, hand-in-hand like the whole campus didn’t already know they were hopelessly in love.

 

Jeongwoo and Haruto, exes now. Everyone knew about the break-up yet they still walk together to keep ENO’s rank intact. Jeongwoo trailed nearby, spinning a lollipop between his teeth, eyes scanning for drama. Haruto walked slower, hands in his pockets, head slightly down—like he didn’t want to look up in case he saw something he wasn’t ready for.

 

Asahi and Junkyu were close, quiet. They didn’t hold hands anymore, but they hadn’t started walking apart either. Not yet.

 

And just as the whispers started to rise—

 

“Are they all here?”
“Wait, where’s—”

 

The crowd stilled.

 

Because down the central path, cutting through the sunlight, came the last two:

 

Park Jihoon, black button-up sharp against pale skin, sleeves rolled just enough to show veins and intent. His presence was quiet, lethal—shoulders squared, head high, every step a masterclass in control. He didn’t walk with them. He didn’t need to. He walked through the attention. He was the attention.

 

And behind him, like a well-dressed shadow—

 

Hyunsuk.

 

Hair tousled like he didn’t try, silver chains gleaming against a half-sheer designer top, wide-legged pants barely clinging to his hips. He had a single earring, a lip ring that caught the sun, and an expression that said: I know you’re watching. Good.

 

Hyunsuk walked like smoke—easy, slow, untouchable.

 

Where Jihoon demanded silence, Hyunsuk invited chaos.

 

Together, they were the final blow. The exclamation point. The reason why people didn’t blink.

 

And just when the entrance couldn’t feel more choreographed, the crowd shifted again—

 

The Kappa Rho Sigma Sorority appeared from the west. All pretty dresses, perfect lipstick, and high heels on polished concrete. The girls stopped in unison, eyeing the ENO boys with a mix of curiosity and calculation.

 

At the center of the sorority line-up was their head girl: tall, elegant, expression like a bored queen. She didn’t slow when she saw the frat boys. She simply cocked her head as if acknowledging equals—then looked away.

 

Until—a few steps ahead of her, one of the girls broke rank.

 

She gasped softly, smile lighting up as she made her way through the boys without hesitation.

 

Jihoon had already stopped walking.

 

And when she reached him, he leaned in like it was instinct. They kissed. Quick. Familiar. A little possessive.

 

Eunbyeol Kim.

 

Not just a KRS member. Not just the campus sweetheart. She was Jihoon’s girlfriend. Had been for months now. It was old news but never boring to watch.

 

The head sorority girl rolled her eyes. Hyunsuk noticed. Of course he noticed.

 

Minha Lee hated when power lines blurred. Jihoon was hers to flirt with. The visual match. The student council tie-in. But Eunbyeol was the one who wore his name like a crown.

 

Hyunsuk scoffed internally. He didn’t blame her. But his own annoyance simmered hotter.

 

As Eunbyeol tucked herself beside Jihoon’s side, laughing quietly at something he muttered, Hyunsuk caught Jaehyuk looking his way—probably waiting for a comment. Teasing.

 

He delivered for Jaehyuk’s entertainment.

 

“Do we clap now, or wait for the sex tape?”

 

Jaehyuk snorted, elbowing him lightly. “Jealousy looks good on you. So sexy, Sukkie.”

 

“Jealous?” Hyunsuk tilted his head. “Please. If I wanted Pres to ruin me, I’d just ask. You think she’s the only one allowed to beg?”

 

Jaehyuk choked on a laugh. Jihoon looked back, just once—like he felt the stare burning into his neck.

 

And Hyunsuk? He smiled. Feral. Quiet. Something possessive pulsing just under the surface.

 

-
-
-

 

Third period. East Lecture Hall.

 

The large classroom buzzed low with conversation as students filtered into their seats. Like clockwork, the room was divided—girls to the left, chatting in glossy lips and hushed tones, and boys to the right, legs spread wide, sleeves rolled up, claiming territory like it was instinct.

 

Jihoon sat dead center in the third row. Not at the front like a try-hard. Not at the back like a slacker. Right where authority could still stretch its limbs.

 

He was already reviewing the lecture slides when a body dropped next to him with a dramatic sigh.

 

“Miss me?” came the smooth, familiar voice.

 

Hyunsuk. Of course. The one class they had without the other ENO seniors. The only space where Hyunsuk had full, uninterrupted time to be a menace during class with him.

 

Late, again. But somehow, still wearing an outfit that looked like a Vogue editorial exploded on his frame—silver-rimmed glasses he didn’t need, an undone silk shirt, and pants that should not be legal in classroom lighting.

 

He changed outfits again. He usually does that when bored or simply just playing around with the young students, bossing them around. Playing dress-up. Students get lockers. Hyunsuk gets a whole room for himself. Legacy privileges. His family was ranked the richest in Northeast Asia.

 

Jihoon didn’t glance up. “Sit somewhere else.”

 

Hyunsuk scoffed. “Why would I? I’m your muse.”

 

“You’re a pest.”

 

“And yet, you let me in.”

 

Jihoon wanted to say something cutting, something to shut him up—but Professor Min walked in, and the room immediately fell into a respectful hush.

 

Almost.

 

Because Hyunsuk leaned in during roll call, close enough that Jihoon could feel the cool brush of his lip ring when he whispered:

 

“Don’t act like I don’t make class more exciting for you.”

 

Jihoon gritted his teeth.

 

He’d wanted to kick Hyunsuk out of the frat more than once. Not because he was lazy—he wasn’t. He got shit done, planned events, recruited top-tier pledges, handled sponsors like a PR god when he wanted to. He was that guy with godly connections.

 

No, Jihoon wanted to kick him out because he made everything difficult. He stirred trouble just to see what would boil. He flirted with members—with him most of the time, drank too much, wore outfits to frat meetings that violated every dress code—but no one could touch him.

 

Because Hyunsuk’s last name held weight. Too much weight. Choi. Yes, that Choi family.

 

Jihoon might be the face of Epsilon Nu Omega, but Hyunsuk was the legacy that bought and furnished the entire South Wing of the ENO Mansion.

 

“Stop bothering me,” Jihoon muttered.

 

Hyunsuk tsked. “If I’m such a problem, why haven’t you kicked me out?”

 

Jihoon finally turned, looking him in the eye. Cold. Even.

 

“Because this university runs on money and politics, and unfortunately for me, you’re both.”

 

Hyunsuk smiled at that slowly like a wolf. He looked dangerous.

 

“I knew it,” he whispered. “You secretly like me.”

 

Jihoon didn’t dignify it with an answer. But his jaw clenched. And Hyunsuk saw it. He grinned wider, turning to face the board like he hadn’t just declared war with a whisper.

 

The lecture was barely halfway through when Hyunsuk leaned in again, elbow on the shared desk, lips parted in a grin that was both sinful and sweet.

 

“Pres, come on. You’re no fun.” His voice was low, teasing. “You like watching me though. Maybe I’ll kiss a freshman later at the party—real slow. Want front-row seats?”

 

Jihoon didn’t flinch. He just stared straight ahead.

 

“Does it rise up your kink?” Hyunsuk added, voice like silk dragged across a bruise.

 

Jihoon clenched his jaw, fingers tightening around his pen. God, he wanted to throw him out. Through the frat. Through the school. Out of his life completely.

 

But the thing about Hyunsuk fucking Choi was—

 

He was too beautiful to ignore. Too dangerous to touch. Too present to forget.

 

Hyunsuk was real trouble because he had fooled around with half the frat members. He always craved for Jihoon’s attention. It was almost as if he wanted Jihoon jealous. To catch his eye.

 

Even more so lately. Hyunsuk was getting bolder. Closer. More annoying. The kind of annoying that stuck to his ribs. That didn’t fade after a cold shower or a night with his girlfriend.

 

Because Hyunsuk wasn’t just being a flirt. He was pushing a narrative. One where Jihoon and Hyunsuk were inevitable.

 

Even with Eunbyeol in the picture.

 

Hyunsuk never even acknowledged her as competition. In fact, it was like she didn’t exist in his world—just a ghost Jihoon was humoring. Why would he? The girl was nothing compared to him in terms of status.

 

“I’m serious,” Hyunsuk whispered again, chin propped up, watching Jihoon out of the corner of his eye like a kid watching a bomb he lit. “You should really start considering the idea of us. You know I’d make a very fun boyfriend.”

 

His fingers traced invisible patterns on Jihoon’s thigh under the desk—just ghosting. Not enough to call attention. Just enough to burn.

 

“You can do anything you want with me, Pres.”

 

Jihoon turned, finally, his gaze sharp.

 

“Sit still.”

 

But Hyunsuk only smiled. “I knew it. You’re thinking about it.”

 

Jihoon looked away, jaw tight. But Hyunsuk caught the way his ears flushed red. He grinned wider. Smug. Wild. Addicted to the game.

 

“You’ll break before I do, Pres. Just saying.”

 

Jihoon exhaled through his nose, eyes forward. “Shut the fuck up before I beat the shit out of you.”

 

Hyunsuk purred, “Oh, Pres… I could moan at that.”

 

Jihoon slumped back in his chair, praying class would end soon.

 

Or he’d lose his mind.

 

-
-
-

At Hwagyeong University, lunchtime wasn’t just a meal—it was theatre.

 

Every major fraternity and sorority had staked their claim over different corners of the outdoor dining hall—given that the weather is nice—their presence marked by branded tents, reserved couches, and enough ego to suffocate the uninitiated.

 

But the ENO boys? They didn’t need signs. Everyone just knew where they sat.

 

The long marble table under the west pergola was theirs—shaded, elevated, pristine. It overlooked the rest like a throne room above a kingdom. Around it, heads turned constantly. Whispers followed.

 

Jihoon sat at the head, one arm lazily around his girlfriend, Eunbyeol, who was perched comfortably on his lap, painting her nails like this wasn’t the most watched seat in the university.

 

It had been this way since last year—ritualized now.

 

Jaehyuk and Yoshi flanked him, both draped in casual luxury, shirts open just enough to draw looks, laughing with girls they’d pulled from different departments earlier that morning. Jaehyuk was feeding his a strawberry. Yoshi was telling off his trick of sneaking vodka into a bottle of store-bought iced tea. It was soft chaos.

 

At the end of the table, Jeongwoo and Haruto sat across from each other, both with girls of their own, pretending they didn’t keep stealing glances—brief, loaded, like they weren’t each other’s worst habit.

 

Doyoung and Junghwan were off to one side, in their own pastel-colored love bubble. Feeding each other side dishes. Doyoung adjusting Junghwan’s collar like anyone cared. They weren’t even subtle about it anymore.

 

On the opposite end, Asahi and Junkyu sat sharing headphones, half-watching a movie on Junkyu’s iPad, sharing a giant bowl of ramyeon. They weren’t fighting today—which was rare—but there was a kind of quiet between them that even Jaehyuk noticed. He watched them longer than necessary. So did Yoshi. Neither said anything. They never did.

 

What was missing from the senior table, however, was Hyunsuk.

 

Not unusual. He rarely joined these lunches. Because unlike the rest of them, Hyunsuk preferred power when it was performative.

 

“Where’s Hyunsuk?” Jeongwoo asked, eyes still bouncing between Haruto and the untouched side dish he kept stabbing.

 

Jaehyuk didn’t even look up. He just jerked his chin toward the far end of the outdoor dining. The couches.

 

There he was.

 

Sprawled like a fucking royal, rings glittering, shirt sheer, hair in deliberate disarray, surrounded by pledges two batches below them—boys who looked like they were trying not to choke on their rice.

 

Hyunsuk was speaking softly. Too softly for anyone else to hear. But the tension was visible. One kid kept nodding too fast. Another was gripping his chopsticks like they were prayer sticks.

 

“He likes playing princess royal,” Jaehyuk muttered. “He’s so hot.”

 

The ENO boys laughed.

 

Except for Jihoon. He didn’t join in. Didn’t say anything. Just glanced sideways at the scene—Hyunsuk lounging like a queen bee mid-feast, legs crossed, full control—and then turned back to Eunbyeol, fingers gently tracing her spine like muscle memory.

 

“Eunbyeol. Sleep with me tonight?”

 

She looked up from her nails and smiled. “If you say so, Jihoon.”

 

But Jihoon wasn’t looking at her. Not really. Not even close.

 

-
-
-

Flashback
Two years ago.

 

The mahogany table smelled of old cigars and wet paper. No one spoke for a long time. They were at the Epsilon Nu Omega War Room also known as the study.

 

They were all too busy saving face.

 

It was raining. Hard. The kind of storm that made everything feel like the end of something.

 

Twelve men sat around the long table. Seniors. Alumni. Past presidents. Some barely in their twenties. Some pushing thirty. All of them wore the same expression:

 

Damage control.

 

No one mentioned the event. No one had to.

 

It was still too fresh. Too loud. Too dangerous to say out loud—especially here.

 

What mattered now was this: Epsilon Nu Omega had to survive.

 

And that meant someone else had to step forward.

 

ENO’s seniors—the same ones who used to walk across campus like gods—now sat in stiff-backed chairs, their titles temporarily revoked. Most of them hadn’t shown up to class in weeks.

 

Jihoon stood in a corner, arms crossed.

 

He was just a sophomore then. Charismatic. Sharp. Known for his ruthless efficiency, but still—young. Not quite one of them. Not yet.

 

Until now.

 

“Someone has to take the heat off us,” an alumnus muttered finally, rubbing his temples. “Seniors step back, lay low. Focus on cleaning your names.”

 

“And the frat?” a senior asked bitterly. “Let it rot?”

 

A beat of silence.

 

“That’s why we pick someone clean,” the first continued. “Someone we can control from the backseat. Let the board see a new face. Someone who wasn’t tied to the... incident.”

 

All heads turned slowly toward Jihoon.

 

He didn’t flinch. He knew it would come to this. The minute the scandal broke and they started pointing fingers everywhere but in the mirror, Jihoon knew.

 

“You’ll be president in name,” the alumnus said. “We’ll advise from behind.”

 

Jihoon’s eyes flicked down to the table. Then back up. “No.”

 

“What?”

 

“I’ll take the position. But I won’t be a puppet.”

 

Laughter bubbled, dry and condescending.

 

“You think you’ll survive the heat alone?” someone scoffed.

 

Jihoon stepped forward, gaze sharp. “ENO’s not dying on my watch. You want this frat to survive? Let me clean it. Let me rebuild it my way.”

 

“And how will you do that, boy?” one of the founders leaned forward. “You’re still young,” he said carefully. “This house was built on structure.”

 

“Structure almost got us burned to the ground,” Jihoon snapped. “ENO survives with power. And power now looks like control. Clean image. Public goodwill. Influence.”

 

The room fell silent.

 

A younger alumnus in the corner, nursing a whiskey glass, laughed. “You always were a scary little bastard.”

 

And just like that, Jihoon became the youngest President in ENO history.

 

The next night, Jihoon stood in front of the mirror in his new room at the ENO Mansion—President’s Suite.

 

He looked down at the embroidered Epsilon Nu Omega jacket folded on his bed. His new title stitched in gold on the sleeve.

 

He didn’t feel proud. He felt responsible. Angry. Determined.

 

From that moment on, he cleaned the house. ENO would survive. And Jihoon would be the reason why.

 

He slipped the jacket on. Behind him, Hyunsuk’s voice drifted in the doorway.

 

“Well, look who just sold his soul,” he drawled, eyes trailing down the new president. “Look at you, Pres. So clean. So scary. Almost makes me behave.”

 

Jihoon just kept silent.

 

“You know,” Hyunsuk continued, walking in without permission, “when I heard they were naming a new Pres, I thought, no way they'd pick the clean one. But here we are.”

 

Jihoon turned slightly, just enough to face him.

 

“They’re not picking me for my record,” he said.

 

“No,” Hyunsuk smirked. “They picked you because you scare them more than the scandal.”

 

Jihoon raised a brow.

 

“That’s a compliment,” Hyunsuk added.

 

Jihoon didn’t turn. But in the mirror, he caught Hyunsuk’s reflection leaning against the doorframe—shirt unbuttoned, eyes glinting with amusement and something else.

 

Hyunsuk then watched with something unreadable in his expression. “Well then,” he said quietly, “I guess I’ll stick around.”

 

Jihoon tilted his head. “Why?”

 

“To see what kind of king you turn out to be. You sure you want this crown?” Hyunsuk murmured.

 

Jihoon stared at himself, then at Hyunsuk’s lazy, wicked grin behind him.

 

“I don’t want it,” he said quietly. “But someone has to carry it.”

 

Hyunsuk smiled wider. “Then I’ll make sure it sits pretty. No matter what.”

 

And walked away.

 

-
-
-

 

The private lounge behind the administration building was dim, furnished in dark leather and low lighting—meant for the elite, the student council, the scholarship board. But Jihoon didn’t care about any of that right now.

 

“Ahhh… hnngg… hmmh!”

 

Eunbyeol moaned softly under him, fingers digging into the table edge as Jihoon gripped her waist and fucked into her hard, breath ragged and clipped. The sound of skin, muffled breath, and low curses bounced off the polished walls.

 

His mind wasn’t fully there.

 

It should’ve been. Eunbyeol was warm, beautiful, saying his name like she meant it. And yet—Jihoon's gaze drifted, like instinct.

 

And there he was.

 

Leaning lazily against the bookshelf across the glass panel. Half his face shadowed, the other lit in cold white light.

 

Hyunsuk.

 

Smiling.

 

Watching.

 

The kind of smile that wasn't surprised. Just satisfied. As if this moment belonged to him somehow, even though Jihoon was buried inside someone else.

 

Jihoon’s jaw tensed.

 

He gripped Eunbyeol harder. Thrusted deeper. Not for her—but because of him.

 

Because Hyunsuk didn’t flinch. Didn't look away. He stayed.

 

When Jihoon finished, he kissed Eunbyeol gently. Like he owed it to her.

 

She smiled dreamily, not seeing anything outside her bubble. “I’ll see you later, babe,” she whispered, adjusting her skirt and walking out like she hadn’t just been wrecked by the university’s most powerful boy.

 

The door clicked shut.

 

Silence.

 

And Hyunsuk stepped in.

 

Still smug. Still glowing with that maddening kind of chaos that Jihoon couldn’t tame.

 

“When do you actually fuck me, Pres?” Hyunsuk asked, cocking his head. “Do I only get to watch you fuck someone else?”

 

“You’re so fucking sick,” Jihoon muttered, eyes flashing. “You follow me everywhere.”

 

Hyunsuk stepped closer. “I’m as toxic as I can be. You like it. You like me near. You like it when I watch. You never complain. You just pretend.”

 

“Get out of my sight.”

 

“You know I’m better than your little girlfriend,” Hyunsuk whispered, lips parted. “Your toy. Whatever she is.”

 

Jihoon’s voice dropped. It was low and sounding like a warning. “Hyunsuk Choi.”

 

Hyunsuk smiled again. “Yes, Your Highness?”

 

Jihoon’s fists clenched.

 

“Can you stop for one second?”

 

Hyunsuk leaned in—so close Jihoon could smell his citrus cologne and cigarette edges. “A second? Sure.”

 

He pulled back.

 

“But I’ll continue wanting you, Jihoon. I always do. Someday—”

 

His smirk was the last thing Jihoon saw before he slipped out the door like smoke.

 

“—I’ll get you.”

 

Jihoon was pissed. But when did Hyunsuk ever stray? He was constant. Unshakable. Hyunsuk never left. Not really. He was always there—every time, every mess, always for Jihoon, and Jihoon only.

Chapter 2: Open House

Summary:

The ENO mansion throws open its doors, welcoming the university and the new pledges. Members invited chaos, flirt, couples fracture, and unspoken feelings simmer beneath the surface. In the mansion's grand halls and quiet corners, lines are crossed and masks begin to slip.

The ENO Mansion wasn’t a frat house. It was sort of like a kingdom. Tucked at the far southern edge of Hwagyeong University’s private estate, the mansion stood like a fortress carved out of black stone and reputation. Its architecture was both classical and modern—white colonnades met glass-paneled balconies; old-money grandeur met ruthless efficiency.

 

Four distinct wings branched out like a compass:

 

The North Wing held the administrative offices, war rooms, planning spaces, and alumni archives. Framed photos of former frat presidents hung here in gold-trimmed solemnity—each one a legend. Or a cautionary tale.

 

The East Wing was where the new pledges and probationary members lived, their rooms smaller, more communal. It was the wing nearest to the hazing halls and training rooms. Loud. Cramped. Intentionally harsh. But grand all the same.

 

The West Wing was reserved for official functions and guests—lounges, formal meeting rooms, and the massive event hall that hosted everything from alumni fundraisers to high-profile parties.

 

And the South Wing… was funded entirely by the Choi family. Hyunsuk’s family.

 

It was sleek, private, and unlike the rest of the mansion, had soundproofed rooms, walk-in closets, custom interiors, and personal balconies overlooking the courtyard. It was where the officers and senior members lived, including Jihoon Park himself. No pledges were allowed beyond the carved double doors. Unless necessary.

 

It was quiet luxury, not ostentatious. Understated wealth dressed in marble floors and brushed gold fixtures. A shared kitchen sat at the center with an espresso machine that cost more than a semester’s tuition. Each room had a coded lock. No one entered unless invited.

 

Only some of the elite and the eight senior members currently lived there—Jihoon, Hyunsuk, Yoshi, Jaehyuk, Asahi, Junkyu, Haruto, and Jeongwoo. Doyoung and Junghwan were frequently there too, but technically lived off-campus. They both stay in one of the guest rooms if they decide to stay the night.

 

It was where decisions were made. Where alliances were formed. And where scandals often began. Despite the size of the fraternity—96 active members—only those ten held real power. The others respected them, feared them, admired them. Some worshipped. It was them who shaped the new image of the brotherhood after the dark years.

 

But there was one thing in the South Wing: What happens in these halls never leaves them.

 

Tonight, the mansion pulsed—floor candelabras flickering across the courtyard, rooftop drinks flowing, and bass-heavy music thumping like a heartbeat through the four wings. Tonight, the doors of Epsilon Nu Omega were open.

 

This wasn’t just any party.

 

It was ENO’s official welcoming celebration—part rite of passage, part performance. A spectacle, designed to remind the university who sat on top of the food chain.

 

But the ten seniors involved in the past scandal two years ago knew the deeper reason. They knew why the doors had to be opened, why the parties had to be louder, the smiles broader. This was about reshaping a legacy—one that had almost been burned to the ground.

 

Above it all, a mix of the most elite members stood on the rooftop, watching warm bodies move like tides below them.

 

Hyunsuk, dressed in layered designer, stood near the ledge. His gaze wasn’t on the crowd—it was on Jihoon.

 

Jihoon, ever untouchable, stood with a crystal glass in hand, Eunbyeol curled into his side. She tiptoed, dragged her lips across his ear—tongue flicking playfully—only to pause when Jihoon’s attention drifted.

 

Hyunsuk. Always Hyunsuk.

 

Their eyes locked. A shared smirk. Amused. Challenging. Dangerous.

 

Hyunsuk liked Jihoon like this—at the peak of his power, cloaked in silence and command. If he had one goal, it was to keep Jihoon there. That’s why he never left. Why he was always around. Watching. Waiting.

 

“Sukkie!” Jaehyuk called out from behind. “Stop brooding and be the life of the party already. You’re late.”

 

Hyunsuk turned, smirking. “I indulge when I’m entertained.”

 

Jaehyuk grinned, lounging with a drink. “Then give me a lap dance or something. Shake things up.”

 

“Aren’t you the horny one?” Hyunsuk laughed, brushing past him.

 

He gave Jihoon one last glance—stoic as ever—and melted into the crowd, slipping back into his role: ENO’s most infamous flame.

 

“How do we entertain ourselves tonight?” Yoshi appeared behind him, slinging an arm lazily around his waist. Hyunsuk leaned back into the touch, relaxed, used to it. Everyone knew he was tactile—but only the chosen few ever got that close.

 

“For a sadist like you…” Hyunsuk drawled at Yoshi, who still had his hands lazily resting on Hyunsuk’s waist. He smirked, eyes flicking with mischief—an idea blooming, something that would definitely get under Jihoon’s skin. “How about… a slapping contest between the new members?”

 

The crowd let out a collective gasp, a few gleeful “oooohs” rippling through the rooftop.

 

“That’s a little barbaric, don’t you think?” a sophomore laughed nervously. “Didn’t they just survive initiation?”

 

Hyunsuk chuckled, the sound smooth and dangerous. “Fine. Upper batches, then. Give the babies time to heal.”

 

A few members laughed—but one voice challenged, “Why should we even agree?”

 

Hyunsuk turned, eyes glinting. “As a tribute to our 96 active members. A proper welcome. And the prize…” He let it hang before flashing a grin. “Ninety-six million won to the winner.”

 

Silence.

 

Even among the most elite, it was a number that turned heads.

 

Jaehyuk let out a low whistle. Junghwan cursed as a “fuck” under his breath. Doyoung’s brows lifted. The rest were grinning now—wolves scenting blood.

 

But not Jihoon. All eyes turned to the President.

 

“Causing trouble again?” Jihoon said coolly, not even looking up from his drink. Eunbyeol still curled beside him.

 

Hyunsuk turned, biting his bottom lip as he smiled.

 

“Purple not red, right? The golden rule?” he said softly. “We’ll keep it clean. Come on, Pres. Be fun for once. You know I get the tingles when I don’t spend on something as unnecessary as this.”

 

Jihoon exhaled slowly… and waved a hand.

 

Permission granted.

 

The rooftop erupted.

 

“Let's fucking goooo!” Yoshi cheered, raising his glass high.

 

“Yeahhh!!” Jaehyuk shouted.”

 

The courtyard began to fill with bodies rushing to watch. The chaos, the spectacle—ENO was doing what ENO did best.

 

Jihoon stayed behind for a moment, jaw clenched. Always Hyunsuk. Always pushing. Always making a scene.

 

His gaze flicked down toward Hyunsuk’s collarbone—a fresh kiss mark blooming there. His chest tightened.

 

Always beautiful, too.

 

-
-
-

 

Down in the courtyard, the chaos had bloomed exactly as Hyunsuk planned. Yoshi and Jaehyuk stood at the center of it all like war generals, hyping the crowd with every slap, every cheer, every challenger stepping forward with alcohol-hazed courage and adrenaline.

 

Someone brought a mic. Someone else brought a speaker. It was full madness now—ENO-brand madness.

 

And on the edge of it all, perched on a balustrade with a champagne flute he hadn’t touched, Hyunsuk Choi watched with the smug indifference of someone who knew exactly what domino he’d tipped over. He laughed at the right moments, played along when the cameras turned to him, but mostly—he was just watching Jihoon.

 

Of course.

 

Jihoon didn’t look at him. Not yet. But Hyunsuk didn’t mind. He liked being the shadow to Jihoon’s storm.

 

Not far from the frenzy, in one of the darker corners of the rooftop lounge, Asahi and Junkyu sat alone on one of the private benches hidden by curtains of ivy.

 

Junkyu’s hand was on Asahi’s thigh. His lips brushed the shell of his ear. “You said we’d go home early,” Junkyu murmured, soft, almost childish. “Everyone’s too distracted anyway.”

 

Asahi didn’t answer. He sipped his drink, eyes trained on the party below. Junkyu leaned in, lips grazing his neck this time, bolder. “You promised.”

 

“I’m not in the mood,” Asahi said flatly, voice quiet but final.

 

That stopped Junkyu. “Are you okay?”

 

Asahi gave him a look. “Can you stop touching me for five seconds?”

 

The air changed.

 

Junkyu slowly leaned back, blinking like he’d just been hit. “Okay…”

 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Asahi rubbed his temple, annoyed at himself now. “It’s just… not tonight.”

 

“You haven’t meant it for the past few nights.”

 

Asahi didn’t respond. Junkyu let out a quiet breath, trying to smile past it. “I’ll get us another drink.”

 

He didn’t wait for a reply before standing and disappearing into the crowd. Asahi stayed seated.

 

From where he was, the music felt distant. The courtyard noise blurred into static. He looked down past the ivy, where the slapping contest had devolved into drinking dares and shirtless challenges. Students were chanting. A circle had formed.

 

And right in the center of it—was Jaehyuk.

 

Laughing, wild-eyed, shirt hanging off one shoulder, flushed from alcohol and adrenaline. His arm slung around Yoshi as they riled the crowd, dangerous and magnetic like gods of chaos dressed in designer.

 

Asahi’s eyes lingered. Too long.

 

He watched the sharp line of Jaehyuk’s jaw as he shouted into the mic. The way his hair stuck to his forehead, the cocky grin that never wavered.

 

Asahi hated crowds. Hated noise. But somehow... he didn’t hate watching Jaehyuk. He took a slow sip from his glass. Said nothing. Did nothing.

 

Until someone called his name from across the rooftop, snapping him out of it. He blinked, once—then looked away. But not before guilt settled low in his gut like the start of a storm.

 

-

Asahi Hamada was the son of an entertainment empire—not just through birth, but through strategy. His parents’ marriage had been a merger of power: his mother, heiress to a national broadcasting conglomerate; his father, the CEO of South Korea’s most influential entertainment company. Their union wasn’t built on romance but convenience—a move straight out of a press release. Asahi, however, carved his own identity in the shadow of that empire. Despite his love for music—despite being gifted enough to headline symphony stages or sell out arenas—he chose instead to follow logic. Legacy. Law.

 

Pre-law at Hwagyeong University was the natural choice. It was where all the polished sons of Seoul’s elite went to prove their worth beyond their names. Asahi did it with quiet detachment, always two steps ahead, always at the top, never needing to try.

 

That was where Junkyu came in.

 

Kim Junkyu, with his doe eyes and sharp mind, had a background untouched by business wars and mergers. Just like Hyunsuk, although not as wealthy, he was born in old money in South Korea. Never had to lift a finger. Always bored too because he was too good at everything. His mother had once been a beloved singer, a household name who occasionally visited the entertainment company halls—where Asahi had first seen him. Just a curious boy trailing after fame like it didn’t interest him at all.

 

Junkyu was soft-spoken, effortlessly intelligent, and devastatingly unbothered. A musical prodigy. He could’ve been famous too, but he never wanted to be. He followed Asahi into Hwagyeong, taking the same program, sharing the same path, like they were written into each other’s futures by design.

 

For a while, they were inseparable. Comfortable. Perfect. Even their families thought so. But perfection, as they learned, could lose its shine. Somewhere along the way, it all became routine. Familiar. Safe to a fault. They were each other’s constants—but constants didn’t spark.

 

And lately, Asahi had started noticing the sparks elsewhere. Especially in the chaos that was Jaehyuk.

 

Junkyu found his way back to him again from the chaotic bodies and he couldn’t help but feel the guilt envelope all over him.

 

-
-
-

 

Away from the outdoor chaos and inside the mansion, Jeongwoo never meant to take her to the library. Not really.

 

But when she blushed at his suggestion—eyes wide, lips parted like a secret waiting to spill—he knew she’d follow. People always did when he made mischief sound like poetry.

 

The Grand Library of the ENO Mansion was silent. A cathedral of knowledge, wrapped in dark wood and warm, golden sconces, far from the thumping bass of the courtyard party. It was a hidden gem tucked behind the West Wing—a place meant for quiet reflection or private chaos.

 

Tonight, it was the latter.

 

Jeongwoo leaned against one of the tall, ornate shelves, running a finger lazily along the spine of a some book as the sophomore girl hovered near him. She was flushed, nervous, and far too easy to read—glasses slipping down her nose, lip bitten raw from the things she couldn’t say.

 

“I thought you liked books,” he murmured, voice smooth, low.

 

“I do,” she said, almost embarrassed. “I mean... I didn’t think you would.”

 

He chuckled. “‘Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.’”

 

Her eyes widened. “Shakespeare?”

 

“You know it?” His smile was slow, almost sweet—almost. “I like poetry. Especially when the metaphors get dirty.”

 

She laughed, then caught herself. “My ex… we used to read sonnets.”

 

“Is he the one who keeps calling?” Jeongwoo asked casually.

 

She looked down. “I haven’t answered.”

 

“Good. You shouldn’t,” he said, stepping closer. “You don’t look like you belong to anyone anymore.”

 

She shivered. Not from fear—something else. Her back hit the bookshelf behind her as his hand brushed her arm, the contact feather-light.

 

“I shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.

 

“You are,” he replied. “And I don’t mind being your rebound. It's kind of my thing.”

 

That made her laugh again, but it faded quickly into something shakier. Her body tensed when he leaned in. But she didn’t pull away.

 

He hovered. Close enough to taste the tension. Jeongwoo’s hands trailed from her legs up to the edge of her skirt then inside… to the edge of her panties.

 

“I can smell you. But I can’t touch. I like it when girls beg, unfortunately.”

 

Then pulled back. She whimpered at the absence of Jeongwoo’s touch. She closed her eyes. As he was already turning away the girl spoke.

 

“Wait.”

 

He turned, one brow raised.

 

“T-touch me.”

 

“Come again?” He asked although he actually heard what she said.

 

“Touch me.” The girl said, determined now.

 

He didn’t move. “Touch what?”

 

She faltered. Blushed. Couldn’t say it.

 

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, already turning again.

 

“Wait—please.”

 

He smirked. “Say it.”

 

“I…” Her voice cracked. “...can’t.”

 

His eyes darkened. “Say it.”

 

“My pussy. Touch it.”

 

“Say ‘cunt’. It’s better.”

 

“Jeongwoo…” The girl felt like crying now.

 

“Fucking say it or I’ll leave.”

 

“Touch my… cunt.”

 

“There you go. Not so difficult right?” Jeongwoo caressed her cheek and the girl leaned onto his warmth.

 

Jeongwoo knew the girl was sobbing in her underwear already that he didn't even play safe. He just fingered her with three fingers immediately. "Damn... so fucking wet. I knew it."

 

The girl moaned and Jeongwoo kissed her as the books were now getting disarray, the girl holding on to the shelf.

 

And then—footsteps.

 

“You’re a fucking psycho.”

 

The interruption snapped the moment like a whip. Jeongwoo turned slowly. Haruto stood in the entryway, arms crossed, expression unreadable—but something simmered under the surface.

 

Jeongwoo didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop touching the sophomore girl. Just offered a lazy smirk. “Didn’t know you were watching.”

 

Haruto’s voice was flat. “Didn’t want to.”

 

And yet he lingered.

 

The girl was frozen. Shame washing over her like cold water. But Jeongwoo only leaned against the shelf, unbothered.

 

“You jealous?” he asked, tone sharp, mocking.

 

“Whatever.” Haruto turned on his heel and walked away.

 

And Jeongwoo... smiled wider. He looked back at the girl, eyes softer now—like she wasn’t really the one he’d wanted to reach.

 

“You okay?” he asked quietly. She nodded, cheeks burning. He kissed her temple—not possessive. Almost... apologetic. Almost.

 

He continued penetrating her. The girl could be heard in the hidden aisle, Jeongwoo smiled at the sounds she made.

 

And then when she came at last, he left her there among the stories, breathless and shaken, as his own story—the unfinished one with Haruto—echoed in his wake. Jeongwoo loved the idea that Haruto saw him that way.

 

-
-
-

Jeongwoo Park came from a long line of legal royalty. His grandfather was a former Supreme Court judge. His mother taught constitutional law at one of the top universities in the country. His father chaired a corporate law firm with clients in every corner of politics and media.

 

It was never a question of if Jeongwoo would follow in their footsteps—but how far he’d go. He scored the highest in every entrance exam since middle school, got into Hwagyeong University on full academic scholarship despite his family’s wealth, and was often cited by professors for having the sharpest legal mind in the cohort. He was the type of student who never opened his notebook, yet always knew the case law by heart.

 

Amongst the ENO seniors, he was the most intelligent, and arguably, the most dangerous. Not because he played dirty—but because he knew exactly where the line was and how to dance over it without ever getting caught. He didn’t speak unless necessary, but when he did, people listened. Professors. Deans. Sponsors.

 

But Jeongwoo’s genius didn’t make him predictable. There was always a dark undertone to him. Something unspoken. Calculated. He didn't care about recognition. He cared about control.

 

A quiet observer, he watched the chaos of ENO from the sidelines, intervening only when necessary. Some said he joined the fraternity as a strategic move. Others swore it was because of Haruto, the one person who ever seemed to rattle him.

 

In parties, Jeongwoo could be found in corners—cold drink in hand, gaze cutting. He didn’t chase girls; they stumbled over themselves for his attention. He never raised his voice; he didn’t need to. One look, one well-placed sentence, and most people folded.

 

He had no trouble getting what he wanted. But it was never clear what Jeongwoo really wanted. That’s what made him so hard to touch.

 

And maybe that’s what made Haruto keep coming back.

 

-
-
-

 

Yoshi had just come back from the chaos—his palm still stung from the slapping contest Hyunsuk orchestrated. Laughter and half-drunken shouts echoed from the courtyard below, but up here in the hallway leading to the South Wing lounge, things were quieter.

 

He caught sight of Junkyu standing alone near the vending machine, back turned, fiddling with something in his jacket pocket.

 

Then—thwack—a silver square hit the trash bin. A condom. Unused. Tossed with frustration.

 

Yoshi raised a brow. “You guys use condoms?”

 

Junkyu didn’t even flinch. Just shot him a glare over his shoulder. “No time for you, Yoshi.”

 

“Got into a fight again?” Yoshi asked, carefully casual.

 

Junkyu stuffed his hands into his coat. “You care? Because?”

 

That shut Yoshi up.

 

Of all the members in ENO, Junkyu was the only one who could disarm him. Strip him of his smirks and sinister drawl. He was frustrating like that. Untouchable, even when unraveling.

 

Yoshi hesitated. “Just worried.”

 

Junkyu snorted. “Don’t you have a riot to attend to?”

 

“I can listen, you know.” Yoshi leaned against the wall, following Junkyu’s gaze. Asahi stood across the lounge, caught up in a quiet conversation with Jihoon—body relaxed, smile faint.

 

“If I say it, you’ll fucking laugh. I know you,” Junkyu muttered, jaw tense.

 

“Kyu, come on. It’s me.” Yoshi’s voice softened, unusually sincere. “When did I ever laugh at you?”

 

That got Junkyu to pause. Yoshi didn’t push. Just pulled out his phone and offered it to him.

 

“Whatever it is, text me if you can’t say it.”

 

Silence. Then—

 

“I just want to get laid,” Junkyu said flatly, voice low, bitter. “And apparently my boyfriend won’t let me fuck him. Happy?”

 

Yoshi blinked, the honesty hitting him harder than expected. He wasn’t sure if he should laugh, nod, or punch something.

 

Instead, he looked down, then back up.

 

“…That’s rough.”

 

Junkyu rolled his eyes. “Profound. Thanks.”

 

Yoshi shifted his weight, eyes still following Asahi in the distance. “…I get it,” he said quietly.

 

Junkyu raised a brow. “Do you?”

 

Yoshi nodded, gaze lowering. “It’s not about sex. Not really. It’s about wanting to feel… wanted. Like they still want you the way you want them.”

 

That made Junkyu pause—just long enough for Yoshi to catch it.

 

“And maybe,” Yoshi added, more gently now, “you just need someone to tell you you’re not insane for needing that.”

 

Junkyu didn’t say anything at first. His jaw was set. His eyes still sharp. But his grip on his coat relaxed.

 

Yoshi stepped a little closer—not too much, just enough to close the space with presence, not pressure.

 

“I won’t laugh,” Yoshi said, voice low. “Not about this.”

 

A beat passed. Then another.

 

“…I know,” Junkyu muttered, looking away. Voice tight but honest.

 

“Wanna go somewhere?” Yoshi asked, voice low and casual—too casual.

 

Junkyu didn’t look at him. “I’m not having sex with you. I have a boyfriend.”

 

“Please,” Yoshi scoffed. “I’m not even turned on, Junkyu Kim. Can’t I just lend a hand?”

 

“Why?”

 

Yoshi tilted his head, pretending to think. “Because I’m drunk. And I’m well-behaved when I’m drunk?”

 

Junkyu let out a humorless laugh. “That sounds more dangerous than you sober.”

 

“Oh, trust me,” Yoshi leaned in a little, voice dropping. “I’m evil when I’m sober.”

 

Junkyu turned to him, eyes sharp. “Exactly. You’re dangerous because you’re soft when drunk. I can’t handle you soft. I’m used to your constant evil.”

 

It was true. Out of all the seniors, Yoshi was one of the most feared. Along with Jaehyuk. They were the ones who never flinched during hazing. Who liked pain—liked control. Liked watching boys break and rebuild.

 

But here he was, asking.

 

“I’ll try to be my sober self,” Yoshi said, grin creeping back. “Please. Just come with me. I wanna show you something.”

 

Junkyu sighed, rubbing his temple. “Fine. Only because I wanna get out of here and forget that I’m horny.”

 

Yoshi chuckled, that devilish spark lighting his eyes again.

 

And for some reason, the idea of Junkyu being horny and choosing to come with him?

 

Yoshi liked it more than he should have.

 

Yoshi didn’t say much after that. Just led the way down the stairs, through the main hall packed with bodies, laughter, and spilled drinks. Junkyu followed, annoyed at himself for being curious—more annoyed that he wasn’t trying to fight it.

 

They slipped out the side door of the ENO mansion, past the South Wing’s locked private suites, and into the quiet dark beyond the courtyard.

 

Junkyu frowned. “Where are we going?”

 

Yoshi didn’t answer. Not until they reached a set of stone stairs hidden behind the West Wing—half-covered in ivy and dust. He pushed open a heavy wooden door.

 

Inside: silence.

 

It was one of the oldest parts of the mansion. An old practice room—unused, echoey, with cracked acoustic panels and a grand piano tucked beneath a high window. Candlelight spilled in from the hall behind them. The space was cold, forgotten.

 

“You brought me to the ghost wing?” Junkyu said, arms crossed.

 

Yoshi smirked. “You said you wanted to get away.”

 

Junkyu stepped in slowly. The air felt different here—like time didn’t move. He ran his hand over the piano lid, dust lifting under his fingertips. “You’re not going to murder me here, are you?”

 

“If I did, it would’ve been in your sleep.”

 

“That’s comforting.”

 

Yoshi sat down on the old piano bench, legs spread, one arm lazily draped over the back. “You used to sing, right? I figured you’d like the vibe.”

 

Junkyu blinked. “I haven’t sung in forever.”

 

Yoshi didn’t reply. Just stared at him. Quiet. Not sinister for once. Just… there.

 

Junkyu looked away first.

 

“What is this, Yoshi?” he asked. “Why are you being nice?”

 

“I’m always nice,” Yoshi replied, tone too soft to be a lie.

 

“You’re usually a menace.”

 

“Well, now I’m just a menace with good lighting.”

 

Junkyu huffed a laugh despite himself. He leaned against the piano, arms still crossed. “This isn’t gonna fix things between me and Asahi, you know.”

 

“I know,” Yoshi said. “Wasn’t trying to. I just figured you needed air. Somewhere to breathe.”

 

And for a second, Junkyu didn’t know what to say. Because he did need air. And this—this space, this quiet—was more than he expected from Yoshi.

 

He sank down onto the floor next to the piano, stretching his legs out. Yoshi didn’t move. They sat like that, in the middle of old music and silence, not quite touching but not apart either.

 

It wasn’t sexy. It wasn’t drama. It was worse.

 

It was vulnerable.

 

-
-
-

 

Yoshinori Kanemoto was a name whispered more than spoken.

 

Officially, he came from a long line of respected politicians—diplomats, governors, public servants known across both Japan and Korea for their clean image and generational influence. But anyone with access to real power knew the truth: politics was the family’s façade.

 

Behind the polished press conferences and charity galas, the Kanemoto line was old-world mafia. A dynasty of quiet bloodshed and international control, with hands dipped in corporate takeovers, election manipulation, and unsolved disappearances. But the illusion of legitimacy was what mattered most—and legacy sons like Yoshi were trained to keep it airtight.

 

At Hwagyeong University, he played the game well. Enrolled under the School of Political Science and Law. Carried himself with elegance. Took leadership courses. Networked with deans and donors. But beneath it all, Yoshi was steel. Cold, calculating, and impossibly untouchable.

 

Everyone in Epsilon Nu Omega knew the truth, though. It wasn’t something spoken of—but felt. In the way people quieted when he walked in. In the way pledges never looked him in the eye. In the way even Jihoon—stoic, iron-willed—sometimes let Yoshi take the lead on things that required more fear than finesse.

 

Because Yoshi didn’t lead with volume. He didn’t need to. He had power built into his name.

 

He wasn’t recruited for popularity. He was recruited for blood.

 

Hyunsuk had seen it the first time when they locked eyes across the initiation floor—amid bruises, broken egos, and a chaos that could only be orchestrated by tradition. Yoshi didn’t flinch. Not when he was hit. Not when he was told to crawl. He took it all—like a goddamn prince smiling through a purge.

 

They were friends from way back but it was as if Hyunsuk saw him for the first time. He was already cruel but there was something about him that initiation night. Too composed. Too calculating. Hyunsuk recognized it immediately. A monster like himself, hiding in silk. And so, a Choi heir like himself, really brought in good notes for the higher-ups to consider Yoshi as a member.

 

Hyunsuk had recruited him personally—not for charm, not for social leverage, but because he wanted the next generation to remember what real fear looked like. What real loyalty tasted like. Yoshi bled once, so he could make others bleed forever.

 

They’d been among the second to the last batch to take the brutal hits before the system shifted. Before Jihoon took power. Before everything about ENO changed.

 

The scandal cracked through everything two years ago—and Yoshi had been a key figure in it. Not the face, never the face. But one of the hands. Precise. Ruthless. A little too eager to push the line. The kind of member who knew how to make something disappear before the press could breathe on it.

 

When the house needed to recover, Yoshi gave way. He laid low. Stepped back. Let Jihoon rule with ice while he melted into shadow. But his presence never softened. His reputation only grew.

 

Because even without blood… Yoshi was still terrifying. Still entertaining to most like Hyunsuk. Still the reminder that underneath the new ENO sheen, there were boys who never really reformed.

 

They just got quieter.

 

-
-
-

 

The courtyard roared louder when Jihoon stepped out.

 

Plastic cups raised. Someone shouted his name. Others simply parted like the Red Sea, making way for the man who turned ENO’s reputation to such a public spectacle in a really good way.

 

He was the reason the mansion pulsed again with life. The lights, the open gates, the sheer volume of bodies—it was all him. Jihoon, the youngest president in ENO history, made the party culture a rite. A distraction. A rebranding. But more than anything, a necessary mask.

 

And now, like any good king, he had to play his part.

 

He lifted the beer handed to him and tipped it back in one clean, practiced motion. The crowd howled. Eunbyeol was on his arm, smiling, basking in his spotlight. But he released her gently, a tap to the small of her back. She slipped away, linking arms with her sorority sisters, already deep in gossip about boys and broken condoms.

 

Jihoon didn’t hear her leave. He basked in the crowd’s cheers and attention. Smiling here and there. The event was a success and stamped another mark on their reputation. Tomorrow and the next days after that will be the real work: to gain more influence and getting the right place to all the members for their future.

 

And yet beneath that, Jihoon felt incomplete. His eyes drifted.

 

He saw the courtyard had spiraled into beautiful, decadent chaos. Music thundered. Neon spilled over drunk bodies. Empty bottles clinked beneath dancing feet.

 

And there—dead center of it all—Hyunsuk Choi reigned. A usual scene in every Hawgyeong party scene.

 

Half-lidded and flushed, he was spread like royalty across Jaehyuk’s lap, arms looped around his neck like he belonged there. His shirt hung open, skin glowing under the luxurious string lights, and Jaehyuk—ever the enabler—looked like he wouldn’t have minded Hyunsuk staying there forever.

 

“Hyunsuk!” someone shouted from the crowd. “You lost the dare!”

 

“Ten seconds!” another voice laughed. “Still on Jaehyuk’s lap!”

 

“Tongue or it doesn’t count!”

 

Jaehyuk grinned, chin resting lazily on Hyunsuk’s shoulder. “They want a show, princess.”

 

Hyunsuk gave an exaggerated sigh but didn’t move. He scanned the crowd lazily, like a predator bored with its prey—until someone stepped forward, all too willing, all too eager. Attractive guy. The person should do.

 

“Give these little shits what they want, Sukkie. Just for tonight. You can stomp on them tomorrow.” Jaehyuk urged teasingly.

 

Hyunsuk didn’t even blink. “Fine.”

 

He stayed exactly where he was—slouched over Jaehyuk’s lap—before leaning forward, catching the volunteer’s face with a single hand, and kissing them like he had nothing left to prove.

 

The kiss was slow. Filthy. Lazy in the kind of way that made it worse—like he wasn’t even trying and it was still too much. His fingers tangled briefly in their hair, tugged just enough for dominance, and when he pulled away, the person was visibly dazed.

 

Jaehyuk’s mouth just hanged at the exchange of mouths just right in front of his face. “Daaang.” He chuckled. Extremely entertained.

 

But Hyunsuk didn’t look at the person again.

 

No—he turned to Jaehyuk, whose laughter was already echoing low in his chest. They leaned into each other, breathless and flushed, foreheads pressed together in the aftermath.

 

"You’re fucking crazy and so hot, damn it, Choi,” Jaehyuk wheezed through his laughter, holding Hyunsuk’s waist tighter for balance.

 

Hyunsuk just smirked, biting his bottom lip. “You love it.” He said, too drunk now.

 

They both knew the rules. Boundaries. Just chaotic, wild, dark flirtation between two friends who thrived on mayhem. Too bad Yoshi wasn’t around but no one cared where he was as of the moment. The crowd was too high from the excitement. This was really going to be talked about for the longest time.

 

“Enough entertainment.” Hyunsuk muttered lazily now.

 

“Right. That was a lot!” Jaehyuk tossed his head back, laughing again. “You never cease to amaze.”

 

“You think… Jihoon watched?” Hyunsuk whispered.

 

“Oh, the Pres always does, Sukkie.”

 

“Good.”

 

They both laughed again, too loud, too free, too aware of the storm brewing elsewhere.

 

Because from the far end of the courtyard, Jihoon had seen it all. And Hyunsuk had made damn sure he did.

 

-
-
-

 

Hyunsuk stumbled toward the open bar, flushed from drink and adrenaline, the noise of the courtyard fading into a low pulse behind him. His hand reached blindly for a one of the crystal glasses—missed—and it tipped dangerously.

 

A hand shot out.

 

Jihoon. Steady as ever. Fingers wrapping around the rim of the glass just before it crashed. His eyes, unreadable. His jaw, tense.

 

“You’re always the trouble, aren’t you?”

 

Hyunsuk looked up through damp strands of hair, lip curling into a lopsided smirk. His breath hitched—he was drunk, sure, but something about Jihoon’s voice always made him pause. Made his stomach twist.

 

“And?” he said with a lazy tilt of his head. “No Hyunsuk, no party.”

 

Jihoon handed him a new glass, brushing their fingers together in the exchange. A small touch. Too much.

 

“Drink.”

 

Hyunsuk accepted it, but didn’t drink immediately. He leaned in instead, the space between them tightening, breath fanning over Jihoon’s cheek. His voice was silk and smoke.

 

“Oh, Pres,” he said lowly. “I like it when you make me sub.”

 

Jihoon didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. But Hyunsuk saw the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed.

 

“Whatever that means,” Jihoon said coolly.

 

Hyunsuk took a slow sip. Let the water run down the corner of his mouth before swiping it away with the pad of his thumb.

 

“Don’t play dumb. You’re not dumb.” He stepped just a little closer. “You could be my dom. You know that, right?”

 

Jihoon’s brows twitched.

 

“I’d crawl for you,” Hyunsuk murmured, fingers ghosting along the edge of Jihoon’s sleeve. “Kneel. Kiss your feet like a cat. Purr—”

 

“Can you—” Jihoon’s voice was sharp now, defensive. He turned to face him fully. His hands were clenched at his sides, like he didn’t know what to do with them.

 

Hyunsuk’s smile faltered. “What does it take?” he asked, quieter this time. “What does it take to fucking have you?”

 

“You’re drunk.”

 

Jihoon pressed another full glass into Hyunsuk’s hand. His fingers lingered longer this time. His gaze held.

 

“Drink up before I really punish you.”

 

Hyunsuk downed the water like a command. Gasped, wiped his lips with the back of his hand. His eyes were glassy now, but not just from alcohol.

 

“You’re so fucking bossy,” he whispered. “And not even my boyfriend. Can’t. I don’t get it.”

 

“Get it together, Hyunsuk.”

 

“I can’t.” His voice broke a little. “I have everything. Everything. But not you.”

 

The silence between them stretched. Jihoon didn’t speak.

 

“You’re such a kid,” he said finally.

 

“And you’re acting like you’re hard to get.” Hyunsuk tried to laugh. It came out hollow. His shoulders sank, like some part of him had deflated.

 

Jihoon exhaled, tight-lipped. “Go to your room. Seriously, you’re drunk.”

 

Hyunsuk stared at him for a moment. Searching. Wanting something Jihoon wouldn’t give.

 

“You don’t have that right,” he said softly. “I’ll find someone else’s room to sleep in. Since I can’t sleep with you.”

 

He stepped back, slower this time. Not stumbling. Controlled. Mask up. And he turned.

 

Jihoon watched him go, arms folded, mouth pressed into a thin, unreadable line. But his gaze followed every sway of Hyunsuk’s steps. Down to the curl of his fingers at his side—like he wanted to reach out.

 

But he didn’t.

 

-
-
-

 

The courtyard was nearly empty now—plastic cups scattered like fallen crowns, the bass from the rooftop speakers long silenced, replaced by the faint shuffle of cleaning crews moving efficiently through the debris. The cleanup was swift—no surprise, considering Junghwan’s family owned one of the country’s top manpower agencies.

 

Jihoon sat on one of the stone benches, elbows on knees, sobering up in silence. Eunbyeol was upstairs in his quarters. Drunk. Asleep. He hadn’t bothered to go after her.

 

Junghwan cracked open one last bottle of beer, the hiss loud in the quiet. He drank it slowly, then set the bottle down on the edge of a planter.

 

“I really like this kinda vibe, Pres,” he said, breaking the stillness. “Wish we had this sooner. My first year in ENO was too clipped. Cold.”

 

“I loved those years,” Jaehyuk said, exhaling smoke, the cherry of his cigarette flaring briefly in the dark.

 

“‘Course you did,” Jihoon muttered.

 

Those were the dark years—when everything was pristine and brutal. No open invites, no soft smiles for freshmen. Just closed doors, whispered oaths, and parties so wild they had to be erased from memory. There was blood. And a lot of silences bought with power. Jihoon had lived through that, risen from it. Became its face. Even now, remnants of it clung to the mansion’s stone.

 

“You saw that guy from the rival university earlier?” Junghwan asked, eyes narrowing. “Heard of their frat? Gotta be wary with these open-house things. Outsiders are creeping in.”

 

“As long as the South Wing stays untouchable,” Jaehyuk muttered, flicking ash to the side.

 

Jihoon nodded slowly. “Junghwan’s right. I’ve been seeing unfamiliar faces around—even outside campus. Keep an eye out. We’ll meet the day after tomorrow. Rest until then.”

 

The two just nodded in acknowledgement.

 

Jaehyuk stretched, rolled his neck, and glanced toward the house. “You guys seen Hyunsuk?”

 

That made Jihoon look up.

 

“Thought you were with him,” he said flatly.

 

Jaehyuk snorted. “Pres, you know he only crashes in my room when he wants to. I wouldn’t be asking if I knew. Besides, I’ve got a girl waiting in my bed right now.”

 

Junghwan laughed. “Hyunsuk’s such a trophy. You just like being near him. Does a lot to your rep and popularity.” He pointed out.

 

“He’s too shiny to ignore.” Jaehyuk’s grin was crooked. “And hot. I don’t mind being touched by things that glitter. But we all know Hyunsuk’s not serious. He just… plays.”

 

“Right,” Junghwan agreed, fist-bumping Jaehyuk.

 

Jihoon didn’t join in. He just shook his head, the memory of Hyunsuk’s slurred words from earlier crawling back under his skin. What does it take to fucking have you?
“He probably doesn’t even remember that by now,” Jihoon muttered under his breath.

 

“What was that?” Junghwan asked.

 

Jihoon shrugged. “Who cares where Hyunsuk is. As long as he’s useful to the frat.”

 

Jaehyuk raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you actually want him, Pres? He’s always orbiting around you.”

 

“He’s just playing,” Jihoon said quickly. Too quickly. “We all know that.”

 

“Doesn’t feel like a game when it’s you he’s clinging to.” Jaehyuk grinned. “If it ever comes down to it—he likes being spooned. Falls asleep instantly. Pretty cute.”

 

Jihoon stood abruptly. “You know what? I’m going to bed.”

 

“Eunbyeol’s not it, Pres. Just saying,” Jaehyuk called after him, raising both hands in mock innocence.

 

Jihoon didn’t turn around. He kept walking, boots crunching over gravel, back straight, jaw tight.

 

Behind him, Junghwan and Jaehyuk were already back to their usual bickering, laughing too loudly about something ridiculous—but Jihoon wasn’t listening anymore.

 

Hyunsuk was nowhere, and that bothered him more than he could admit.

 

-
-
-

 

The room was still warm with the ghost of what just happened. The sheets were a little tangled. Junkyu lay on his back, one arm draped over his eyes, chest rising slowly. Asahi was beside him, turned away, the shape of his bare back catching the soft glow of the lamp.

 

No one spoke.

 

No kiss came after. No smile. No quiet, sleepy “I love you.” Only the distant hum of music still faintly audible from the courtyard below, muffled by distance and doors.

 

Because when they came, had their orgasms, they weren’t thinking about each other. That’s why it was electric. That’s why it felt like the beginning, even though they were near the end.

 

Asahi broke the silence first, voice quiet. Careful.

 

“Let’s break up.”

 

Junkyu’s arm slipped from his face. He turned to him, unreadable. “Is there someone else?”

 

Asahi exhaled. “I don’t know, Kyu. I love you but...”

 

“But.” Junkyu gave a small, bitter smile. “That’s already enough of a reason.”

 

Asahi sat up slightly, fingers running through his hair. “Don’t you think we’re just... stuck in a loop? We’re not even talking about the future anymore. We’re just... surviving. And our families—” he laughed, but it sounded tired, “—they’re still arranging dinners like nothing’s wrong. Fixing our marriage like it’s a merger.”

 

“I’m still holding on, just so you know.” Junkyu turned on his side, looking at him. “But I’ve been looking around too. I didn’t want to admit it. But I have.”

 

“Me too,” Asahi said softly.

 

They both lay in silence again. The weight of four years pressing down between them. A love that had been sweet, safe, comfortable—and now quietly slipping through their fingers.

 

Asahi turned to face him. Junkyu mirrored him.

 

“We were good, right?” Asahi asked. His eyes were glassy, but he didn’t cry. “A good four years?”

 

Junkyu gave the faintest nod. “Yeah,” he whispered. “We were.”

 

“It’s just...”

 

“Not working anymore?” Junkyu finished. “I get it.”

 

No anger. No final fight. Just the slow ache of goodbye. Junkyu leaned forward and pressed a single kiss to Asahi’s forehead. Soft. Steady. Final.

 

Asahi closed his eyes at the touch, then smiled faintly.

 

“Thank you, Junkyu.”

 

They didn’t say goodnight. Didn’t ask what happens next. Because somehow, in all the sadness, there was also relief. Closure. A chapter ending with grace.

 

-
-
-

 

The room was dim, touched only by the pale spill of the courtyard lights slipping in through the open window. Jihoon stepped out of the bathroom with a towel slung around his shoulders, hair damp, skin still cooling from the shower. His steps were quiet on the polished floor as he approached the bed, the world outside muffled by thick walls and heavy drapery.

 

Eunbyeol was already asleep.

 

She lay curled under the duvet, one bare shoulder peeking out, her breathing soft and even. Jihoon stood there for a moment, just watching her. Then, with quiet fingers, he brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek. Her lips twitched, but she didn’t wake.

 

Convenient. That’s what Eunbyeol had become.

 

She was beautiful, sure. Effortlessly presentable. The kind of girlfriend that made sense on paper. Polished. Punctual. A good distraction. She never demanded too much. Never asked for more than he was willing to give.

 

And most importantly—she didn’t live in his mind when he wasn’t looking. That was why it worked. That was why she lasted months when no one else did.

 

Jihoon dropped his towel and slid under the duvet beside her and turned to lie on his back, staring at the ceiling as the fan above hummed low. He exhaled, long and slow.

 

And like muscle memory, like a curse, Hyunsuk returned to him.

 

The image was immediate: laughing into a drink, sprawled in Jaehyuk’s lap like sin incarnate, that daring kiss earlier at the party—the one Hyunsuk gave someone else while staring past them all, like he was waiting to see if Jihoon flinched.

 

What would it take for me to fucking have you?

 

Hyunsuk had been more aggressive lately. Less like a brat, more like a ghost he couldn’t shake off. He was always there. In the classroom. On the lawn. In the corner of his eye. He used to be invasive, but now he was deliberate. Calculated.

 

And Jihoon hated that it was working.

 

He turned to his side, away from Eunbyeol, tucking the duvet tighter around him. You’re just letting him get under your skin. That’s all it is.

 

But the thought didn’t settle. Because Hyunsuk always got under his skin.

 

And it wasn’t just about presence or persistence anymore. There was blood in the history. The Parks and the Chois—rival families once, powerful enough to warrant treaties like medieval dynasties. A legacy deal. Signed and sealed with cold handshakes, not peace.

 

No Park was supposed to befriend a Choi. Much less entertain the idea of—Jihoon shut his eyes, hard.

 

The Parks stayed rooted in their country. Old power. Conservative. Contained. The Chois had evolved—spread influence across borders, amassed wealth that even Park elders resented. Jihoon had grown up hearing the bitterness under their breath, even when alliances were formed.

 

And Hyunsuk? Hyunsuk reveled in that tension. He knew exactly what he was. What they were.

 

Trouble. Bait. A forbidden dare.

 

He doesn’t want you, Jihoon told himself. He wants the thrill. The rebellion. The fact that he’s not supposed to want you—that’s the only reason he does.

 

But then came the memory again—Hyunsuk’s voice, hoarse, a little drunk, too close to real.

 

“What would it take to fucking have you?”

 

Jihoon opened his eyes, blinked at the darkness. Covered himself tighter, like it would keep the thoughts out.

 

Never, he answered Hyunsuk’s question in his head.

 

Never. Or so he believed.

 

-
-
-

 

The kitchen reeked of fried eggs, Gatorade, and regret.

 

Yoshi nursed a migraine with an ice pack pressed to his temple. Jaehyuk sat in a hoodie two sizes too big, scrolling on his phone. Jeongwoo was busy scrolling on his phone and Haruto was just quietly picking on his toast, clearly wasted from last night.

 

Junghwan fed Doyoung pieces of toast like they were still at the rooftop, not in the aftermath of war.

 

Jihoon entered in grey sweats, clean, sharp, already half-irritated.

 

“Junghwan,” he snapped, gesturing between him and Doyoung. “Can you just... keep it subtle at least? It’s morning.”

 

Junghwan looked up, mouth full. “We’re literally just—”

 

But the door swung open. In came Hyunsuk.

 

New clothes. Not his. A wrinkled hoodie that wasn’t from his closet. Fitted joggers. Hair still damp from a rushed shower. His silver chain was the only thing familiar.

 

He looked too well-rested.

 

He strolled in like he owned the mansion (which, to be fair, he partially did) and dropped into the seat next to Jaehyuk, swiping a strawberry off someone’s plate without asking.

 

“Morning,” he sang. “Love the gloom in here. Hangovers look good on you all.”

 

Yoshi groaned into the table. “Can someone shut him up?”

 

“Good luck with that,” Jaehyuk muttered, grinning as Hyunsuk nudged his arm. They launched into that flirty, too-close-for-comfort banter again—laughter, inside jokes, nudges. Familiar chaos.

 

Jihoon didn’t speak, but he stared. Not at Hyunsuk’s face, but the neckline of that hoodie. That wasn’t his perfume either. Someone else’s. Some guy’s. Jihoon looked away and sipped his black coffee, seething in silence.

 

Jihoon glared again at Junghwan and Doyoung whose faces are inches away from each other again. Then Hyunsuk’s voice cut in, far too casual.

 

“If you’re so jealous, Pres, maybe go get your girl,” he said with a sly smile. “Not like you aren’t tonguing her in front of us all the time.”

 

Everyone froze. Then—

 

“Oof,” Yoshi snorted.

 

“Bold,” Jaehyuk laughed.

 

Jihoon’s jaw ticked. He glared in Hyunsuk’s direction but didn’t say a word. Hyunsuk just smiled, leaning forward lazily on the table.

 

“Or better yet,” he added, voice silken and cruel, “kiss me.”

 

That did it. Jihoon stood. Chairs scraped. Eyes followed. He didn’t say anything, just walked out.

 

Hyunsuk called after him sweetly, voice dripping in amusement:

 

“Aww, Pres. Don’t get too affected. It’s almost like I matter to you.” He grinned, tapping a finger to his lips. “Mmm. Gives me tingles.”

 

The table burst out laughing. Only Jaehyuk caught the way Hyunsuk’s smile dropped a second too late. Just for a second.

 

And Jihoon? He didn’t stop walking. But the cup in his hand nearly shattered from how tightly he gripped it.

 

-
-
-

The room was silent except for the quiet flick of pages and the steady scratching of pen on parchment. Jihoon sat at his desk, sleeves rolled, eyes narrowed at the list of names—new pledges, incoming legacies, transfer applications. All needing vetting. All needing judgment.

 

The door creaked open.

 

He didn’t look up.

 

“You’re not scheduled,” Jihoon said, flatly. “No time for your games.”

 

Hyunsuk stepped in anyway. Unannounced, as always. A shadow of mischief usually trailed behind him—but not tonight.

 

“That fraternity—” he said, voice cool, low. “The one trying to leech off our events especially that open party last night. I’ve had them watched.”

 

That got Jihoon to look up. The tone was serious. No teasing. No purring syllables. Just quiet efficiency.

 

“We were going to have a meeting about that tomorrow,” Jihoon said, brow raising.

 

“I’m always steps ahead,” Hyunsuk replied with a shrug. “You know me. I know you worry.”

 

A beat.

 

“…Thanks.”

Hyunsuk. Efficient as ever. Jihoon’s gaze lingered—not on Hyunsuk’s face, but his top. Baggy. Plain black cotton, a little wrinkled. It wasn’t his. Not the luxury fabric Hyunsuk usually drowned himself in. No designer tag, no tailored cut. Not Hyunsuk.

 

Hyunsuk noticed.

 

“Don’t worry. It’s mine,” he said, casually. “I didn’t sleep with anyone. Just something I grabbed in a rush last night. I shopped the other day for some normal shit.”

 

His voice had softened. Why was he explaining?

 

Jihoon didn’t reply. Just hummed. But something in his shoulders loosened, something in his chest uncoiled like relief he didn’t want to admit.

 

They stared at each other for a moment too long.

 

Hyunsuk broke it. “That new recruit—the one getting loud last night? He’s building a little gang around himself. Ties to a shipping family.”

 

Jihoon leaned back. “Trafficking?”

 

“Could be. Might taint our rep.”

 

“Good heads up.”

 

Hyunsuk nodded, stepping a bit closer, fingers grazing over the bookshelf beside the desk, almost fidgeting.

 

“You sleep okay?” he asked.

 

Jihoon blinked. “Yeah.”

 

“You?”

 

“No. Couldn’t sleep.” Jihoon didn’t want to believe it. He looked okay as usual. Pretty. Even without make-up.

 

“You’ve got class later.”

 

“I know. I’ll attend like a zombie.”

 

“Cut it. Sleep.”

 

“Can’t do it alone, Pres. You know that.”

 

Jihoon smirked slightly. “Get Jaehyuk.”

 

“Probably will.”

 

Hyunsuk opened his mouth again. Then stopped.

 

Jihoon looked up from the file. “What is it, Hyunsuk?”

 

Hyunsuk hesitated, eyes dropping for a beat, then back up. Something real flickered there—raw, unguarded.

 

“…Nothing,” he said quietly. Then added, “Just… I’ll always protect what you protect.”

 

He didn’t wait for a response. Just turned, quiet steps retreating out the door, leaving the scent of his cologne and the weight of his words behind.

 

Jihoon sat in silence for a long moment, eyes on the space Hyunsuk had just occupied. Then he returned to the list in front of him.

 

But his thoughts stayed elsewhere.

Notes:

jeongwoo? *blinks*

 

bye.

 

and hyunsuk to jihoon? *melts*

Chapter 3: Blood Lust

Summary:

At ENO's infamous underground Blood Party, fists land and egos burn. Power shifts subtly among the seniors while old flames and new tensions flicker in the shadows. As the fight settles, whispers of a higher council loom—testing loyalties, watching every move. And through it all, Jihoon stays in control… or so he thinks.

Notes:

I hope you're enjoying this so far. Fic's getting darker now. lol
Happy reading.

xo.

Hyunsuk sat on the elevated stone steps of the East Lawn courtyard—not just lounging, but holding court. A throne bathed in sunlight, crowned with sharp smirks and cold authority. Around him, the second cycle of freshmen pledges clutched their lunch trays like shields, backs stiff, eyes forward, too afraid to even chew too loudly. It was that time again—ENO’s recruitment cycle. Three rounds. Ten members max per round. A ruthless tradition executed within the first three months of the school year.

 

And every time a round ended, ENO celebrated with a party that set the campus on fire, just like last time.

 

It was Jihoon’s doing—the structure, the spectacle. A perfectly curated party culture designed to lure, impress, and dominate. After the welcoming parties, ENO already had the next events lined up.

 

Hyunsuk’s tray sat untouched beside him, the water bottle sweating in the noon heat. His sunglasses glinted like armor, his lip ring catching flecks of gold as he crossed one leg over the other and began the interrogation.

 

It wasn’t hazing. Not yet. Just a pre-game of some sort. But it wasn’t mercy either. Hyunsuk liked playing with pledges, it gets them aware of hierarchy. And in his opinion, it made them stronger, mentally. If Yoshi was best at physical torture, Hyunsuk had to be the most brutal as he attacks them mentally.

 

“You,” he said, voice flat. “Name five Supreme Court justices.”

 

“U-uh—”

 

“Wrong. Don’t speak unless you can recite your family tree and explain their economic influence on Asia.”

 

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. The shame hit harder when delivered smoothly. Soft chaos—his signature.

 

They wilted like petals in the sun.

 

Then came Jaehyuk—sunglasses off, swagger in every step, a perfectly timed interruption to Hyunsuk’s court. He strode in like he owned the place—like he could touch Hyunsuk and get away with it.

 

“Heard you haven’t slept yet. Wanna sleep on my bed?” Jaehyuk asked, casually tossing his backpack down.

 

Hyunsuk didn’t turn his head. Just smirked faintly. “Shhh. The kids are listening.”

 

“Let them learn,” Jaehyuk teased.

 

Hyunsuk finally rolled his eyes. “Jihoon told you?”

 

“Pres cares. Don’t act surprised.”

 

“He cares,” Hyunsuk echoed, voice dropping an octave, a flicker of something darker crossing his features. “Just not enough to sleep with me.”

 

Jaehyuk clicked his tongue. “Hey. That’s offensive. You sound like you disliked crashing in my room. It is objectively the best on campus.”

 

It was true—the man had hired actual designers over the summer. The bed probably cost more than a car. Hyunsuk gave a humorless laugh.

 

“You know what I mean. And besides—your room has nothing on Asahi’s.”

 

The mention of Asahi made Jaehyuk stiffen for half a second. Not enough to show—but enough for Hyunsuk to notice.

 

Hyunsuk narrowed his eyes. “Holy shit. Don’t fucking tell me.”

 

He groaned like it physically pained him and turned to the pledges. He waved a hand at them.

 

“Go. Leave. Bring your food. I need to cry or commit murder.”

 

They scrambled like obedient minions, disappearing in seconds.

 

When it was just the two of them, Hyunsuk turned back, lips parted in amusement.

 

“You like him.”

 

“Maybe,” Jaehyuk said, leaning back with that maddening smirk.

 

“You know you can’t.”

 

“That’s exactly why I do.” He stretched his arms above his head. “Kinda like… you. Sleeping beside you but can’t have wild-ass sex. You just give me a boner, Sukkie. I like the blue balls torture.”

 

“Gross,” Hyunsuk deadpanned. “Stop playing. Heard he broke up with Junkyu.”

 

“Oh?” That caught Jaehyuk off guard—just for a second. A twitch of his mouth. A flicker in his gaze.

 

Hyunsuk’s smirk turned smug. “God, you’re pathetic.”

 

Jaehyuk groaned dramatically.

 

“I feel so single. But you’re lucky. I give you permission to have sex with him.” Hyunsuk says.

 

“And who are you to command my sex life?”

 

“I’m Hyunsuk Choi.”

 

“I wanna kiss you. I’m so stoked about this.”

 

“Ew.” But he smiled, amused.

 

“Did they really break up?”

 

“Yes, dickhead. Now leave me alone. And I’m not sleeping with you.”

 

“Good,” Jaehyuk grinned. “I might flirt with Asahi now.”

 

“Motherfucker.”

 

Jaehyuk raised an eyebrow. “So who are you sleeping with then? Annoys me that you don’t even get dark under eyes. But still gotta sleep, Sukkie.” He said with concern.

 

Hyunsuk’s voice lowered, smoky and slow. “Guess you’ll just have to find out.”

 

A pause.

 

Then Jaehyuk asked quietly, “Testing Pres again?”

 

Hyunsuk didn’t blink. He just leaned forward, lips parted, voice molten. “Always.”

 

He dragged his tongue across his lower lip—slow, deliberate. “I’ll get him, Jaehyuk.”

 

His voice cracked slightly—not from uncertainty, but the sheer weight of wanting. It wasn’t just a game anymore. He wanted Jihoon Park like a sickness. Wanted to dig past that cold, polished surface and see what the boy would become when stripped of his composure. When left raw. Real. Ruined. Or… Hyunsuk just wants him for no reason at all. It’s terrifying because that kind of attraction can defy odds.

 

He wanted Jihoon to choose him.

 

Jaehyuk chuckled. “Well, can’t wait for you to break the almighty. I’ll be front row.”

 

Hyunsuk exhaled a shaky breath, eyes distant. “And I can’t wait for him to break the living shit out of me. He’s so fucking hot.”

 

The two menaces burst out laughing, a sound like sparks in the summer heat—chaos and thrill bottled in two beautiful, dangerous bodies. They were just two boys with too much power and not enough peace.

 

-
-
-

 

Jaehyuk Yoon, an heir to a construction empire. His family name built cities—not just homes, not just towers, but skylines. His grandfather had laid the first foundations of the conglomerate with his bare hands, and by the time Jaehyuk was born, Yoon Engineering & Development had turned into a beast of concrete and steel. His childhood was littered with blueprints, boardroom silences, and golden cutlery at government-funded galas. Legacy was never a question. It was expected.

 

But behind that empire was a boy who never cared for it.

 

Jaehyuk met Hyunsuk Choi when they were still children—both dragged to some stuffy society party for heirs and diplomats. Jaehyuk was bored. So was Hyunsuk. They snuck out to a koi pond and threw pebbles at the fish until someone’s mother screamed. That was the start.

 

They were from different kinds of powerful: Jaehyuk, the solemn golden son expected to build literal empires; Hyunsuk, the flamboyant and unpredictable heir of a dynasty that funded everything from fashion houses to political campaigns to something else. Like everywhere you go, you could hear his family name in every household.

 

But they understood each other. Or at least, Hyunsuk understood how to loosen Jaehyuk’s collar. And Jaehyuk understood how to hold Hyunsuk when the world got too loud.

 

Their friendship lasted through private school, overseas summers, and now—ENO. That’s why they acted the way they did: like lovers who never needed to be.

 

They flirted like it was second nature. Touched like it meant nothing. Smiled at each other with something ancient beneath the teeth. Because it was ancient. Theirs was a closeness built not by romance, but by years. By quiet things. By a thousand untold moments.

 

Jaehyuk always said he liked Hyunsuk because he glittered, but the truth was more complicated. He liked the way Hyunsuk didn't make him explain things. He liked that Hyunsuk never wanted him to carry the whole building, just to sit beside him while it collapsed.

 

Jaehyuk Yoon had seen it all.

 

The luxury, the parties, the politics—growing up as the heir of a construction empire meant he was born into noise: the clamor of deals being made over dinner, the echo of his father’s voice down mahogany halls, the constant hum of power circling him like perfume. He grew used to people who wanted things. Who grabbed. Who climbed. He grew used to noise.

 

But then there was Asahi Hamada.

 

He wasn’t noisy.

 

Asahi was the type of quiet that wasn’t absence—it was control. Where Jaehyuk swaggered, Asahi drifted. Where Jaehyuk snapped and grinned and flirted without filter, Asahi simply watched. Unbothered. Effortlessly removed from the chaos, even when he was in the middle of it.

 

And that—god—that drove Jaehyuk insane.

 

Because Jaehyuk liked breaking things. He liked unraveling people. But with Asahi, there was nothing to pull. Or so he thought.

 

Until those moments. Those rare, brief flashes.

 

A smirk playing at Asahi’s lips when someone tripped up during rush week. A sharp comment muttered under his breath that cut deeper than any public insult. The way he looked at people—not through them, not at them, but into them. It unsettled even the cruelest members of ENO.

 

And it turned Jaehyuk the fuck on.

 

Because for all Asahi’s surface-level serenity, there was darkness beneath. That same darkness the rest of them carried—violent, obsessive, magnetic. Jaehyuk could feel it. Taste it in the air whenever they were near each other. Asahi had his own brand of venom, he just hadn’t used it yet.

 

That’s what Jaehyuk loved. The unknown. The threat. Still—he hadn’t done anything about it.

 

And that was rare for him.

 

He was Jaehyuk Yoon. The guy who didn’t care about boundaries or shame. He was more like Hyunsuk who shamelessly flirts with Jihoon even with the presence of the countless girlfriends who came around. He toyed with pledges, stirred chaos at every chance. He wasn’t the type to wait in line.

 

But with Asahi? He’d waited. Watched. Because Asahi had been Junkyu’s.

 

And even if Jaehyuk didn’t usually care for rules or labels or so-called respect, something about that relationship made him hesitate. Asahi seemed… devoted. Grounded. And Jaehyuk didn’t want to ruin that. He didn’t want to be another storm in Asahi’s life.

 

He wanted to be wanted. By him. Genuinely.

 

So he waited. But now…

 

Now Asahi was single.

 

And Jaehyuk?

 

He couldn’t wait to flip the script. Finally.

 

-
-
-

 

Haruto woke up with sunlight cutting through the blinds like razors. The sheets were tangled, his skin damp, and beside him lay the third-year girl he’d been seeing on and off—no labels, just convenience. She was still asleep, limbs draped over him like he belonged to her.

 

He didn’t move at first. Just stared at the ceiling, expression unreadable. Her breath was steady, warm against his shoulder, and she looked… content. Lovestruck, even. She probably thought last night meant something—that the quiet sex and the way he held her after was proof that she had him.

 

But she didn’t. No one did. Not really.

 

He shifted, and the moment he did, his mind betrayed him—Jeongwoo. The image hit hard. Him, pressed against some girl at the grand library stacks. Hands under her skirt. Mouth on her neck. Shameless. Careless. Public.

 

Haruto clenched his jaw, exhaling slowly. He didn’t want to admit it, but some sick part of him had mirrored it—almost as if fucking someone else in retaliation would erase what he saw. But it didn’t. It never did.

 

He was spiraling again. Jeongwoo always pulled him in like gravity. Even when they were broken up. Especially then.

 

They called it toxic. They called it love. He groaned and pushed himself up, rubbing a hand through his messy hair.

 

“Hey,” the girl beside him murmured, stirring.

 

Haruto didn’t even look at her. “Can you go?” he said quietly, voice flat. “Just… leave me alone right now.”

 

There was a pause. Confusion. Hurt. But she obeyed. The door clicked shut behind her a moment later. Haruto sat at the edge of the bed, bare and hollow, like a machine that only turned on for pain. His fingers tapped against his knee, restless. His room smelled like sweat and perfume—but all he could think of was lemon shampoo and a can of beer.

 

Jeongwoo. Again.

 

And he hated that the only thing that made him feel alive… was wanting to fight him.

 

Even now, he knew he’d lose. But he’d still swing first.

 

-
-
-

 

The ENO mansion buzzed with hangover energy once again. They had a quiet night of just wine tasting gone overboard. Members dragged themselves into the dining hall, water bottles in hand, sunglasses shielding regret. Jeongwoo sat back in his chair, hoodie on, hood up, chewing lazily on an energy bar, his mind elsewhere—or more accurately, on someone. That someone appeared exactly when he thought of him.

 

Haruto Watanabe.

 

You wouldn’t know he built predictive surveillance models by looking at him. His cream Balenciaga jacket hung perfectly off his frame, cinched at the waist just so. Loose trousers, matte-black boots, his layered silver jewelry gleaming under soft daylight—he looked like he’d walked off a Seoul Fashion Week editorial. But everyone in ENO knew: Haruto didn’t dress for attention. He dressed because it was art. Expression. Control.

 

Jeongwoo’s eyes narrowed. Of course he looks good. The bastard always looks good.

 

Haruto didn’t glance his way. He was already halfway through a protein smoothie and answering a quiet question from Doyoung about encrypted student records.

 

Underneath the flawless exterior was a brain that could end careers. Haruto was ENO’s ghost weapon—polite, private, surgical in his intelligence gathering. Son of the Watanabe family, known publicly for their security tech empire, but whispered to be international fixers. Haruto never confirmed or denied it. He didn’t need to.

 

Haruto comes from a powerful family that owns an international private security and intelligence firm. Think black ops contracts, cybersecurity, elite risk analysis—his father runs the business like a shadow government. Haruto, the youngest son, was raised in rooms filled with encrypted monitors and high-stakes diplomacy, not affection. His fluency in programming, cryptography, and systems theory made him a child prodigy.

 

Jeongwoo once said he wanted to fuck him because of his mind. Haruto, amused, said: “That makes you a sapiosexual. Don’t get attached.”

 

They fucked anyway.

 

And then they fought. Always did. Ego met ego, and their breakups were explosive—arguments in code, jealousy masked as logic, whispered insults laced with old affection. Both too smart for their own good. But they always returned. Like magnets with sharp edges. Only they could understand each other.

 

“Staring’s getting obvious,” Haruto said, eyes still on his tablet.

 

Jeongwoo blinked. “Didn’t know you noticed.”

 

“I notice everything.”

 

Jeongwoo leaned forward. “Wanna fight again?”

 

Haruto smirked, just a flicker. “Not here.”

 

“Why not?”

 

Haruto finally looked up. Those dark, unreadable eyes—as gorgeous as they were dangerous. “Because you’ll win. And then I’ll hate you. Until I want you again.”

 

Jeongwoo laughed under his breath. “That’s kind of our thing, huh?”

 

“Unfortunately.”

 

The moment passed. Someone called for Haruto from the hallway. He stood, grabbed his tablet, and left without another word—a flash of white silk, silver, and quiet storms.

 

Jeongwoo leaned back in his seat again.

 

He didn’t even need the name of that girl in the library. He only remembered how Haruto showed up minutes after. And how he saw everything.

 

-
-
-

 

Doyoung let out a quiet breath as Junghwan’s hands roamed gently across his skin, their bodies tangled in the golden afternoon light filtering through the curtains of Junghwan’s penthouse. Both of them opt to live outside the ENO Mansion—they kind of have to be considering they’re already engaged to marry. They weren’t in a rush—they never were. It was always like this between them. Intense. Maddening. Consuming.

 

Obsessive.

 

Doyoung moaned as Junghwan’s mouth was locked on his nipple. They really couldn’t get enough of each other.

 

“I want you so much, love.” Junghwan whispered.

 

“Me too.”

 

They have always been well-known around campus to be this way that if you saw one, the other wasn’t far behind. Some called it excessive. Others, envy in their eyes, called it fate.

 

It had all started with an arrangement—a typical marriage of convenience orchestrated by two powerful families. Doyoung’s family owned one of the largest hospital chains in the world. Junghwan’s family owned a prestigious global manpower conglomerate—catering to all industries, though best known for their specialization in international healthcare deployment. The match was strategic. Business-minded. Cold.

 

Until it wasn’t.

 

Because in the middle of their parents' formal discussions in the next room, Junghwan had already asked for Doyoung’s number. And minutes later, they were alone. Not talking about mergers or marriage or legacy—just touching. Just tasting what was forbidden and frighteningly electric.

 

Junghwan already claimed Doyoung’s lips and fucked him like they’re just going for a one night stand.

 

“Marry me,” Junghwan had whispered afterward, breathless but grinning like the world was finally right-side up.

 

Doyoung, equally dazed, smirked. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

 

“You actually do,” Junghwan said. “But I’m still asking.”

 

“Our parents are outside, Mr. So. Maybe signing the papers already for us.”

 

“I know.”

 

Doyoung studied him in that moment—a stranger and yet something familiar, already wrapped in his skin. “Didn’t believe in love at first sight.” he whispered while moaning.

 

Junghwan raised a brow, lips brushing his. “Then maybe this is love at first fuck.”

 

“Maybe?” Doyoung answered playfully. “Ahh!”

 

“Well, baby. I saw you before I fucked you. And still fucking—ah! This is definitely love at first sight.”

 

They laughed, still holding on. Clinging like they might dissolve without the other.

 

“Fine,” Doyoung said, nuzzling into him. “I’ll marry you… Junghwan, right?”

 

“That’s right. Get used to my name. It’s yours someday.” Junghwan whispered.

 

“Ahhh! Ah! Cum inside me, please.”

 

“Love to, baby.”

 

And just like that, what began as a contract... started to feel a little like destiny.

 

-
-
-

 

ENO’s legacy wasn’t just built on prestige. There were layers beneath the polish—violence lacquered in tradition, ego masked as loyalty, blood baptized in ritual. Tonight, in a warehouse buried deep within Yoshi’s sprawling estate just outside university grounds, the legacy continued.

 

It wasn’t sanctioned. It never was. And that’s why it thrived.

 

Concrete walls echoed with the sound of flesh on flesh—fists pounding against bone, grunts swallowed by the hum of testosterone. Bare knuckles, busted lips, laughter at broken ribs. Yoshi, topless and just in his dark jeans, leaned back against a velvet arm chair, barking bets louder than the crowd. Jaehyuk sat beside him, one foot kicked up, cigarette between fingers, amusement playing in the arch of his brow.

 

A ring of ENO members—second to third years mostly—formed a jagged halo around the “arena.” No rules, no gloves. Just an understanding: bleed, or be bled.

 

It wasn’t mandatory. But for the ambitious? The curious? The desperate to belong? It might as well be. They kept it quiet. They thought they did.

 

But Jihoon knew. He always knew.

 

“Purple, not red,” had been Jihoon’s command. His line in the sand. But that was for official events—galas, banquets, the welcome parties as well as initiation rites. Where public and alumni eyes lingered. But this? This was different. This was ego. This was danger.

 

And yet—he didn’t shut it down. Not completely.

 

Because Jihoon understood what power demanded. Control wasn’t in suppression—it was in surveillance. So he let them punch each other bloody in the dark. These are powerful men. Born from powerful families. He can’t just contain them in their own rights. He just made sure someone was always watching.

 

And there was only one person in all of ENO who could make even Yoshi and Jaehyuk, two of the most deranged members if not all, stop cold if things ever spiraled.

 

Hyunsuk.

 

Unpredictable. Untouchable. Unafraid. Too powerful.

 

And infuriating.

 

Jihoon’s bare feet tapped the marble as he walked down the south wing—past oil paintings, gold-framed mirrors, empty decanters on credenzas. The lights dimmed the further he went. Until it was just outrageously grand wall sconces casting shadows across velvet wallpaper and luxurious Persian rugs.

 

He stopped in front of the largest room in the mansion, bigger than the ENO President’s Suite. Hyunsuk’s quarters. More lair than bedroom.

 

The door was half open. Of course. Always open when it came to Jihoon.

 

Inside, it was dark. Maximalist. A curated chaos of music posters, silver chains, mismatched candles burned to their last wick. Clothes draped like art. A mix of expensive figures and paintings. A sea of purple, black, neon and metallics. But everything looked expensive and dangerous to touch. Scent of perfume and faint smoke. Character. That’s what the bedroom had.

 

Hyunsuk lay sprawled on his daybed—a dramatic piece of dark velvet—one headphone in, sparkly shirt unbuttoned, legs dangling. Rings on his fingers twinkling.

 

He looked like trouble in human form. But for Jihoon? He looked somewhat like home… not in a romantic way. Not yet. It’s just that ENO is not ENO without Hyunsuk since he got in. A dramatic chaos. He couldn’t imagine ENO without him. Even the other members would agree. His power makes them calm. Safe. He was the kind of legacy that all of Hwagyeong waited to arrive. A person from the Choi family.

 

“Oh, Pres. Knew you’d come. Didn’t lock the door for you.” In that flirty tone, Hyunsuk said without looking at him. He just knew that it was Jihoon who entered his quarters. No one else dared. Except maybe Jaehyuk or Yoshi.

 

Jihoon cleared his throat. “You’re not at the Blood Party.”

 

Hyunsuk turned his head lazily, smirking. “Not my night to play god.”

 

Jihoon stepped inside. “You know they’re doing this on Yoshi’s grounds again.”

 

“Yoshi likes blood.” Hyunsuk shrugged. “So does Jaehyuk. So does the rest of them. Boys need their violence. You know that.”

 

“I don’t like it anymore.”

 

“That’s why they keep it from you.”

 

Jihoon hated that he wasn’t here to lecture. He was here to ask.

 

“I need it monitored.”

 

Hyunsuk sat up slowly, the light from the hallway catching on his lip ring. “Of course you want me to babysit your boys. As usual.”

 

“You’re the only one who can make them stop.”

 

Hyunsuk tilted his head. “Even you don’t try to make them stop. You can do it you know. Let them know that you’re not stupid. They’re so smug about their secret. It’s not like you don’t have fucking eyes.”

 

“I don’t want to ask you.”

 

“But you are.”

 

Silence. Tension pulsing low and hot in the walls.

 

Then, Hyunsuk stood—barefoot too—and walked slowly toward Jihoon until they were barely an inch apart.

 

“You only come here when you need something,” he murmured, voice low, eyes glinting with something darker. “But I’ll do it. Because you asked nicely.”

 

“Good.”

 

“And… you look incredibly edible right now.”

 

Hyunsuk’s gaze lingered. It dragged shamelessly from Jihoon’s veiny forearms down to where the gray sweatpants hung low on his hips—thinner fabric than usual, clinging just enough to betray shape.

 

Jihoon met his gaze, unflinching. “Just keep them from dying.”

 

Hyunsuk tilted his head, tongue brushing against the edge of his lip ring. “Do I get something out of this, Pres?”

 

Jihoon didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. His eyes betrayed a flicker—of tension, of temptation, of a question he didn’t want to ask aloud.

 

Hyunsuk smiled like a threat.

 

“Fine. I’ll take payment later,” he purred, stepping back just enough to make Jihoon miss the heat. “Maybe in kisses if you'll allow it. Maybe in blood. Depends on my mood.”

 

Hyunsuk stood in the middle of his dark, maximalist living quarters—shadows flickering against gold-framed mirrors and deep velvet curtains. The only sound was the clink of his rings as he pulled them off one by one, letting them fall onto the marble floor like little declarations.

 

Jihoon still not leaving, was just standing there, arms crossed. “What are you doing?”

 

Hyunsuk looked over his shoulder, slow and deliberate. “Getting ready,” he said, undoing the first button of his shirt. “Wanna watch?”

 

Jihoon frowned. “Why are you always doing this?”

 

It was the first time he asked—not with irritation, not as a command, but as something fragile. Something close to curiosity.

 

Hyunsuk froze for a split second. That crack in Jihoon’s voice—that was new. That was progress. Still, he kept composure, smiling like he wasn’t losing breath.

 

“I told you I want you,” Hyunsuk said quietly, turning to face him, fingers lingering on his now half-open shirt. “It’s simple, Pres.”

 

“Why?”

 

Hyunsuk’s voice dropped. “Because I believe you’re the only one who can ruin me.”

 

A beat. A breath.

 

“And also… you’re the only person I’d let.”

 

Jihoon’s jaw twitched. “You’re making it sound like I own you.”

 

“You do.” Hyunsuk stepped closer, until Jihoon could see the flush creeping down his chest. “Wanna start now?”

 

“You’re playing a game.”

 

“Maybe.” Hyunsuk tilted his head. “Tell you what. You own me now. No one else gets to touch me—not even me. I’ll be a walking mess, a horny whore, just for you.”

 

“You’re absolutely crazy,” Jihoon muttered. “You can’t do that.”

 

“Watch me,” Hyunsuk whispered. “Watch me cum just thinking about you not letting me. Without touching. That’s how bad it is.”

 

A control play. That was Hyunsuk’s game. A restriction over someone’s actions. Jihoon exhaled harshly, a sound between disbelief and surrender. “Absolutely insane.” It could be torture for someone as sexual as Hyunsuk.

 

“Make me sub for you.”

 

“Whatever, Hyunsuk.” Jihoon straightened his posture, hardening again. “Just do your job. Keep them from dying.”

 

“Oh, Pres,” Hyunsuk breathed, eyes gleaming. “I’ll take it so seriously, you’ll feel sorry for me. You’ll touch me out of pity.”

 

“Never.”

 

“You’re saying that now. But I’ll beg you every day,” Hyunsuk called as Jihoon turned. “Until you break. Until you give me mercy.”

 

Jihoon didn’t look back. He couldn’t.

 

Because one more second in that room, and he might do something reckless.

 

Hyunsuk watched him leave—lips parted, chest rising with a kind of desperate satisfaction.

 

This was how you ruin a man: not all at once, but piece by piece.

 

He was just a person with an obsession. With that, he turned his heel on the way to his walk-in closet. He’s set on a mission and he never failed Jihoon. Not even once.

 

-
-
-

 

Hyunsuk drove alone.

 

The gates to Yoshi’s off-campus estate opened like the gates of hell—black iron, gilded edges, and cameras disguised as ivy. He didn’t bother hiding his arrival. The engine roared loud, the red Ducati slicing into the night before coming to a stop just outside the makeshift arena.

 

Inside, the underground fight had already begun.

 

A ring stood sunken in the center of a brutalist warehouse. Velvet-draped platforms surrounded it like thrones for gods of chaos. The lighting was minimal—a few swaying overhead bulbs and blood-red neon strips lining the walls. ENO members circled the pit, their voices a mix of cheers, gasps, and jeers. Some shirts were off, drinks in hand, blood staining the floor like sacrifice.

 

All of it... deliciously primal.

 

Yoshi stood shirtless at the edge of the ring, body slick with sweat, veins like wire, barking orders to the two fighters below—a freshman and a third year. The freshman was winning. Yoshi was gleeful. He shouted between sips of whiskey, giving violent instructions like a conductor to his orchestra of pain.

 

Beside him, Jaehyuk lounged in a velvet armchair, drink in one hand, the other lazily tossing betting chips into a silver bowl. His laughter cut through the noise.

 

Then Hyunsuk entered.

 

Red leather jacket—sharp and screaming amidst a sea of black. His boots clicked against the metal stairs as he ascended the platform like a prince of mayhem arriving fashionably late to his throne. No one turned. Not even when he walked straight to Jaehyuk and—without asking—dropped himself on his lap like muscle memory.

 

Jaehyuk smirked, relaxed further, his hand naturally finding Hyunsuk’s waist. And the other, holding a glass of whiskey.

 

“This is a surprise,” Jaehyuk said over the crowd. “I thought you said this was boring unless someone bleeds out.” He caressed Hyunsuk’s waist then moved to his lower back then back to his waist again.

 

Hyunsuk smiled lazily, draping one arm across Jaehyuk’s shoulders, the other tugging gently at the strands of his hair.

 

“I changed my mind,” Hyunsuk replied, voice a whisper against the noise. “Besides… wouldn’t miss the party.”

 

Across the platform, Asahi’s eyes flicked toward them. He sat still, the only one who hadn't touched his drink. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing—didn’t move either—except to watch Hyunsuk’s fingers comb through Jaehyuk’s hair like they belonged there. His silence was thunderous.

 

Junkyu—sitting far off with a drink, clothes still pristine—was watching too. Not Hyunsuk this time, but Yoshi. Yoshi, who laughed like a demon and flexed with every blow landed below. Junkyu hadn’t even realized his glass was empty.

 

Junghwan and Jeongwoo were glued to the match, voices low but amused. Doyoung lay on the divan, half-scrolling through his phone with Junghwan’s hand buried in his hair, mindlessly stroking. Their chaos was quieter—but constant.

 

Haruto leaned back on one of the support beams, eyes half-lidded. He looked bored, detached. But he wasn’t. He was counting each punch—calculating angles, watching form. Tech-brained to the bone, even here in sweat and ruin, he was still processing everything like it was code. He was too entertained whenever blood would appear.

 

And in the center, the fight grew wilder. Blood now dripping from the third year’s mouth. The freshman didn’t let up.

 

The crowd howled. It was dark. It was violent. It was ENO.

 

And Hyunsuk, nestled on Jaehyuk’s lap with a smirk like he owned the building, whispered under the pulse of bass and chaos:

 

"Asahi’s staring." he teased against Jaehyuk's cheek.

“Yeah?”

 

“I give you permission to touch me just to spite.”

 

“Touch you where?” Jeahyuk jokes.

 

“Always a horny son of a bitch.”

 

And Jaehyuk—dark eyes gleaming—just laughed.

 

-
-
-

 

The freshman was bloodied—bruises swelling, ribs possibly cracked—but still standing. Just barely. The crowd roared. Yoshi was practically vibrating with pride as he barked at him to go another round.

 

“Give the third year a taste, boy!” Yoshi shouted, arms raised like a war general. “ENO doesn’t raise weaklings!”

 

The other third year, a seasoned fighter with a vicious left hook, stepped forward—untouched, practically fresh.

 

Hyunsuk knew the look in the freshman’s eyes. It was the look of a boy who won the wrong war.

 

He stood from Jaehyuk’s lap. No announcement. Just motion. And yet the room shifted. Heads turned. The atmosphere dipped a few degrees colder.

 

“Time out,” Hyunsuk said, voice cutting through the cheering like a dagger through silk.

 

Yoshi turned, frowning. “What the hell is it this time?”

 

Hyunsuk’s red leather caught the light—a flame in the shadows. “Isn’t it more thrilling to let them simmer in their wounds? The goal was to inflict pain—and we’ve done that. If we continue, we lose the high. It’s not about survival anymore. It’s just... unnecessary.”

 

His tone was clinical. Almost bored. But there was something dark behind it—something practiced.

 

Jaehyuk leaned back, smirking. “You’re getting mellow, Sukkie.”

 

Hyunsuk didn’t look at him. “No. I just want them to feel it longer. Prolong the sting. Make them remember it.”

 

“I see the point,” Haruto murmured from the side, not looking up from his drink. “If it goes on, he goes numb. No more pain.”

 

“No,” Jaehyuk said flatly, standing. “We continue.”

 

Before Hyunsuk could even flick his gaze over, Asahi’s voice cut in.

 

“If you’re so eager to see blood,” Asahi said calmly, eyes never leaving the ring, “why don’t you fight the third year yourself?”

 

Silence.

 

Even the hum of breath paused.

 

Jeongwoo blinked. “He speaks?”

 

Junghwan snorted, delighted. “He really speaks.”

 

Doyoung, unfazed, muttered, “You’re all ridiculous,” without looking up from his phone.

 

On the far side, Junkyu just smiled into his drink. Of course Asahi would wait until it mattered. He was always quiet until he wasn’t—and when he spoke, it was often with the precision of a scalpel. Junkyu knew that well. The world thought Asahi was tame. They had no idea.

 

Good luck with whoever ends up with that pretty psycho, Junkyu thought. He might actually miss him a little.

 

Jaehyuk turned, slow and intrigued. “And why would I do that?” His voice was a drawl, amusement curling around every syllable.

 

Asahi took a slow sip of his drink. “For me,” he said softly. “My entertainment.”

 

Their eyes locked like magnets snapping into place. The crowd didn’t catch it. But Hyunsuk did. And so did Junkyu.

 

Yoshi, oblivious to the electricity sparking between them, howled in approval. “Now that’s a fucking idea! Didn’t think you had it in you, Hamada!”

 

“You call it an idea,” Hyunsuk added coolly, sliding his hands into his pockets, “I call it foreplay.”

 

The crowd burst into laughter.

 

Doyoung, who seemed to like the idea too, he put down his phone finally. Like a sweet executioner, stood at the edge of the platform and called to the ring with a lilt in his voice. “New fight’s up! Jaehyuk Yoon versus Ryu Minho. Place your bets. It’s about to get poetic, kids.”

 

Junghwan turned to him like a man bewitched. Proud.

 

Jaehyuk downed the rest of his whiskey, then—without breaking eye contact with Asahi—tipped his glass in mock salute. He took off his shirt slowly, the crowd already screaming. He didn’t even look at his opponent.

 

Just Asahi.

 

And he smiled.

 

Hyunsuk leaned against the railing, eyes sharp, heart a strange tangle of pride, chaos, and something almost... melancholy.

 

They were all monsters here. But some monsters? They flirted with blood in their teeth.

 

-
-
-

 

Jaehyuk was already in the ring.

 

Sweat slicked down his spine, skin flushed as fists flew fast—but not real fast. Not his fastest. Blood beaded on his lip, the crowd roaring with every hit he took.

 

Hyunsuk was on his feet now, sunglasses pulled down the bridge of his nose, eyes gleaming under the warehouse lights like a beast starved.

 

“Jaehyuk!” he shouted, voice cutting like thunder. “I didn’t raise you to be fucking weak!”

 

The crowd howled. The opponent—wide-eyed and reckless—lunged again. Jaehyuk took it with a grunt, stumbling back. Playing it off. He was biding time. Letting the kid burn out.

 

Hyunsuk leaned forward, laughter curling around his words. “Come on, you beautiful bastard. Hit him back!”

 

From the corner, Asahi sipped his drink—unmoved, face unreadable. But his gaze never left the ring.

 

Jaehyuk was putting on a show. And Asahi… liked the performance. Liked how Jaehyuk toyed with violence. How his body moved, calculated and deliberate, pain and control playing footsie under his skin.

 

Yoshi, still shirtless, sat like a king beside the ring—grinning wildly, the atmosphere like electricity crawling over his skin. But as he brought his empty glass to his lips and frowned at the absence of whiskey—

 

“Here,” a calm voice said.

 

Junkyu.

 

He handed over a fresh pour, already seated in Jaehyuk’s vacated chair, like he belonged there.

 

Yoshi blinked. “Enjoying this too much, huh?” Junkyu asked, casual, eyes fixed on the ring.

 

“I didn’t get to do this a lot after—” Yoshi trailed off. The word scandal hung unsaid between them like smoke.

 

Junkyu nodded. “Yeah. Kinda missed this too.”

 

Yoshi tilted his head, surprised. “Really? That’s… unexpected. Out of everyone here?”

 

“Why’s that?” Junkyu replied, sipping, watching Jaehyuk throw a pitiful jab that made him smirk.

 

Yoshi watched him, something uneasy crawling in his chest.

 

“Not when you smile like that.”

 

“Like?” Junkyu turned, lips curled. Doe-eyed. Dangerous.

 

“Like the literal sun,” Yoshi muttered. He downed half his drink casually. “It doesn’t suit you.”

 

“You say that like you haven’t met Asahi. You think I don’t enjoy the dark, Yoshi?”

 

Yoshi stiffened. He—the darkest of them all—was disarmed. The dark?

 

“You’re not scared of shadows now?” he asked, half-joking.

 

“I’ve always enjoyed them,” Junkyu replied. “Maybe I’m just too bright for you to notice.”

 

That stuck. Yoshi’s mind reeled. Maybe the most dangerous people weren’t the loudest in the room. Maybe it wasn’t the ones who bled or screamed or laughed with their shirts off. Maybe it was the ones who smiled.

 

Maybe it was Junkyu—quiet, sweet, untouched by scandal, but born from the same darkness that made monsters of all of them.

 

And suddenly, Yoshi wasn’t sure who was watching whom anymore.

 

“…Are you flirting with me, Kyu?”

 

Junkyu didn’t even flinch. “You’re not dumb. Thank god.”

 

Yoshi scoffed. “Unfortunately, I don’t enjoy being someone’s rebound.”

 

“That’s disappointing,” Junkyu said, no malice. Just honesty. Like he already knew the answer.

 

Yoshi narrowed his eyes, voice dropping. “You can still get laid, though.”

 

Junkyu smiled, finishing his drink. “I’ll think about it.”

 

Then he stood. Smooth. Effortless. The tension remained behind like smoke, thick in the space between them. And as Junkyu walked away—head high, shoulders relaxed—Yoshi’s gaze lingered on the line of his back.

 

Of all the devils in ENO, Yoshi had never melted before.

 

And that smile? It undid him.

 

-
-
-

 

Junghwan leaned forward, elbow resting on his knee, eyes trained on the bloodbath below like it was the championship match of his life.

 

“If Jaehyuk gets punched,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of Doyoung’s ear, “I get a tongue kiss.”

 

Doyoung, unfazed, eyes on the ring, replied with a slow, wicked grin.

 

“And if he gets knocked unconscious—”Junghwan continued but got interrupted.

 

“You get to use toys on me,” Doyoung added sweetly, turning his head just slightly to meet Junghwan’s stare. His voice dropped, syrupy and dark. “The new ones you bought. Thought I didn’t know?”

 

Junghwan cursed under his breath. “Damn, baby.”

 

The moment Jaehyuk staggered back from a hit, Junghwan whooped like he was courtside at the NBA.

 

“Come on, you third-year bastard! End him!” Doyoung giggled against his shoulder.

 

Not far from them, Jeongwoo sat nursing a can of beer—not into whiskey like the others, but chilled beer always helped with nights like this. He was just watching with amusement until a second can appeared beside his own.

 

“Here,” Haruto said simply, cracking his open. “Figured you’d want another.”

 

Jeongwoo smirked. “Didn’t peg you for beer.”

 

“I’m adaptable.” Haruto took a sip, eyes still fixed on the ring.

 

“You still seeing that girl from the library?” Haruto asked a beat later.

 

Jeongwoo blinked. “God, Haruto. I don’t even know her name.”

 

“Hm.” Haruto just nodded. No judgment. Just information collected. Always that way.

 

And then, bam—Jaehyuk was pushed hard enough to fall off the platform. A dramatic stumble that got the whole crowd riled up.

 

Junghwan shrieked. “YES! MY TOYS, BABY!”

 

Doyoung only laughed, shaking his head, clearly amused by how much his boyfriend was into this blood-sport.

 

But on Jeongwoo’s side, it was a different kind of chaos. Jeongwoo burst out laughing, amused with Jaehyuk's pain, shoulders shaking—only to suddenly realize his hand was holding Haruto’s.

 

He didn’t remember grabbing it. Didn’t care to let go. He just brushed his thumb over Haruto’s knuckles. Once. Twice.

 

Haruto turned to him, finally. The look was unreadable—calm, intelligent, but something quietly trembling underneath.

 

“Leave your car,” Jeongwoo said, casual, like they weren’t watching someone bleed in front of them. “Ride with me.”

 

“I rode with Asahi,” Haruto murmured. “Didn’t bring one.”

 

“Even better,” Jeongwoo replied. “Let’s go somewhere.”

 

Haruto’s throat worked as he swallowed. He turned back to the ring, watching Jaehyuk now rising with murder in his eyes—the match shifting tone completely. The crowd felt it. Everyone did.

 

But Haruto didn’t let go. “I can’t keep doing this with you,” he said softly.

 

“But you want to.”

 

Silence stretched.

 

The crowd cheered louder as Jaehyuk struck back, now fighting like a demon unleashed.

 

But Jeongwoo’s grip never wavered. And neither did Haruto’s.

 

-
-
-

 

Jihoon received Hyunsuk’s text just as he was preparing to call it a night.

 

{Private Messaging}

Hyunsuk: It’s handled. Jaehyuk’s taking a few hits though.

Jihoon: Good.

Hyunsuk: That’s it? No thank you?

Jihoon: What do you want?

Hyunsuk: Make me sleep.

Jihoon: No.

Hyunsuk: I’ve been awake for two days. Your girlfriend’s not even around.

Jihoon: Your room.

Hyunsuk: What, scared I’ll leave something behind? If she doesn’t trust you, she doesn’t love you.

Jihoon: If you don’t sleep in 10 minutes, I’ll leave.

Hyunsuk: Deal.

Jihoon: No funny business.

Hyunsuk: No promises. I just pledged abstinence, remember? But you… you could always ruin my vows.

 

Jihoon: Deal’s off then.

 

Hyunsuk: You’re no fun, Pres. Fine. I’ll behave.

 

Jihoon: I’ll wait.

 

Hyunsuk: Starting the engine now.

 

And then after a short while:

 

Hyunsuk: In my quarters already. Door’s unlocked.

 

Jihoon sighed. Hyunsuk had always been infuriating. He didn’t even know why he was going—except he did. And that irritated him more.

 

His steps echoed quietly through the ENO mansion’s southern corridor, and once again, he’s in Hyunsuk’s space.

 

But when he passed through the arched doorway to the inner bedroom, Jihoon froze.

 

He expected something shameless—Hyunsuk sprawled half-naked, a flirtatious comment ready, maybe even a stunt to provoke him back out the door.

 

But instead… there he was. Curled up under the covers, in soft pale blue pajamas. A Spiderman sleep mask pushed up to his forehead. No jewelry, no designer overload. Just Hyunsuk. Bare. Childish, even.

 

Jihoon felt something uncomfortable twist in his chest.

 

“What?” Hyunsuk asked sleepily, noticing the stare.

 

“Nothing.”

 

Wordlessly, Hyunsuk shifted toward his usual side of the bed, patting the space behind him.

 

Jihoon hesitated only a beat before slipping under the covers. Just gray sweatpants, a white t-shirt. Casual. Familiar. But this was the first time he had done this—gotten into Hyunsuk’s bed. It smelled like normal clean linen, a contrast to Hyunsuk’s unique scent.

 

“Don’t make this weird,” Jihoon muttered. “I’m only doing this out of gratitude.”

 

“‘Course,” Hyunsuk whispered, lips curling faintly before he bit down to stop himself from smiling too wide. His heart was thrumming wildly. Jihoon was here.

 

“Sleep.”

 

“Hug me.”

 

“Hyunsuk—”

 

“Fine.” Hyunsuk grumbled like a brat.

 

The silence stretched. Jihoon stared up at the ceiling, mind too full to relax. Hyunsuk’s breathing was uneven. He was trying to sleep, but Jihoon could feel it. He wasn’t making it.

 

And then—Jihoon gave in. Surprising even himself. Like he was a man possessed.

 

His hand ghosted forward, hovering just above Hyunsuk’s waist, then rested. He pulled him in gently. Spoon-style. Warmth. Skin. Breath. A small gasp escaped Hyunsuk as his body molded against Jihoon’s chest. He didn’t dare move.

 

This was dangerous. Too close. Too soft. Too much.

 

“Clock’s ticking,” Jihoon said softly. “I’ll leave if you don’t sleep.”

 

“…Maybe kiss me good night and I’ll totally succeed.”

 

“You’re asking for too much.”

 

“Scared of cheating on your girl?”

 

Jihoon’s reply was quiet but struck hard. “This is already cheating as it is.”

 

He buried his face into the back of Hyunsuk’s neck. Inhaled. He smelled like fresh linen and mint as of the moment. And Hyunsuk—stripped of show and shine—suddenly felt impossible to ignore.

 

“…You can leave now,” Hyunsuk whispered. “If this is hard for you. Doing something you don’t like.”

 

“You don’t get to decide what I like and don’t like,” Jihoon murmured. “Now sleep, you little devil.”

 

Hyunsuk smiled—small, real—and finally… his body relaxed. His lashes fell. And for the first time in days, sleep came easy.

 

-
-
-

 

Jihoon stirred awake in unfamiliar softness.

 

The air smelled like Hyunsuk—that familiar expensive perfume now, an opposite compared to that of last night laced with something distinctly warm, almost like sugar and sin. His lashes fluttered open, one eye catching sunlight filtering through the full-length curtains. He was still in Hyunsuk’s California king.

 

The realization hit slow. He blinked again, adjusting to the brightness—and then his gaze landed across the room.

 

Hyunsuk sat quietly by the window, draped in a pale pink robe that hung lazily off one shoulder. His collarbones were bare, sharp and glowing under the noon light. He was biting his nail—a rare nervous tic—and staring. Directly at him.

 

Their eyes locked.

 

“Good morning,” Hyunsuk said, voice low and softer than Jihoon had ever heard it.

 

Jihoon groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “How long was I out?”

 

“It’s already noon,” Hyunsuk replied.

 

“What the fu—”

 

“That’s what I said too when I woke up.” Hyunsuk’s tone was flat, unreadable. Still staring. Still in that robe that didn’t seem deliberate, just… lived in.

 

Jihoon sat up, the sheets falling from his torso. He didn’t even realize that he took off his shirt last night. It might’ve been irritating. He was used to sleeping naked. And he took it off mindlessly. His eyes flicked briefly toward Hyunsuk’s frame—too exposed, too soft, too… human. It threw him off.

 

Hyunsuk noticed the glance. He didn’t move.

 

“I don’t usually sleep this long,” Hyunsuk murmured, more to himself. “Not even with Jaehyuk.”

 

Jihoon didn’t answer. Instead, he threw the covers off and stood.

 

“I missed a class.”

 

“I know,” Hyunsuk said quietly.

 

Jihoon grabbed his shirt from the floor. “I’ll go,” he muttered. “See you tonight.”

 

No teasing came. No flirtatious remarks or dramatic goodbyes from Hyunsuk. Just silence.

 

Hyunsuk only watched him leave, lips slightly parted like he wanted to say something—but didn’t.

 

The door closed with a soft click. And then, when he was alone again, Hyunsuk sank back into the chair, fingers twitching at his lips.

 

“…I’m fucked,” he whispered. Not because Jihoon left. But because Jihoon really stayed.

 

-
-
-

 

It was night time. Hyunsuk entered the North Wing’s war room fashionably late—as always.

 

The room was dim, its only light source a long table lamp casting elongated shadows across the polished wood. The air felt charged—senior ENO members seated at the table, third-year officers lined by the wall, the occasional rustle of documents or tapping pens echoing under the heavy silence of planning.

 

Hyunsuk didn’t sit. He never did. He leaned against the doorframe like a beautiful threat—watching, listening. Lingering like smoke, his presence heavy but untouchable.

 

A third-year was standing in front, presenting updates on the upcoming meeting with the Aureus Order.

 

The Aureus Order—secretive, old-money, dangerously powerful. A shadow society funding elite fraternities across South Korea and beyond. They didn’t fund failure. They funded legacy. Prestige. Power.

 

ENO had always been a jewel in their crown. Some of Aureus’ officers were ENO alumni themselves. For those with real ambitions, like Jihoon… getting a seat in the Order was non-negotiable.

 

He already had his eye on it. So did Yoshi. And Asahi. But not Hyunsuk. Never Hyunsuk.

 

He didn’t need a throne. He was already the fire kings bowed to.

 

The officers were now discussing funding—how Aureus allocates individual shares to members, how activity budgets were divided, and how the next two rounds of initiations would be structured.

 

“Next,” someone said, flipping a page, “representatives from each prominent university will attend the Order’s Charity Gala and shall have a meeting underground after the event. For ENO, our President shall attend and three other senior members. And… one vital information, there’s a new fraternity under review.”

 

“I know the year’s just started, but isn’t it late to review another one? Which one?” Junghwan asked, flipping through his own copy of the report. “I’ve never heard of… Gukjin University before.”

 

“Yes, you have,” Jaehyuk interjected, lips tight. “That frat—Delta Sigma Kai (ΔΣΚ)? You said they were sniffing around our first welcoming party.”

 

Junghwan blinked. “That was them?”

 

“I don’t feel good about this,” Yoshi muttered from the far end of the table. He was lounging like a king but alert like a lion. “Something’s off.”

 

Jihoon turned toward him. If there was one thing he trusted more than his own instinct, it was Yoshi’s gut. “You think?”

 

Yoshi’s gaze flicked to him. “Yes, Pres. You want me to run surveillance?”

 

“I already did,” came Hyunsuk’s voice—smooth, cold, and disarming—from the back of the room.

 

Heads turned.

 

Hyunsuk stepped into the center like he owned the place. He looked dangerous tonight—hair dye sprayed neon green and slicked back, black designer ensemble with enough diamonds to blind a man. Gone was the quiet, bare-faced boy Jihoon had tucked under the covers last night.

 

This was the real him. And Jihoon hated how it made his heart stutter too.

 

“They’re not legacies,” Hyunsuk said, voice even. “My guy tracked them since the last party. They’re scouting all fraternities currently funded by Aureus. All of them. Ours included.”

 

The room shifted. A slow inhale, a contained unease.

 

“They want the money, you think?” Doyoung asked, brows furrowed. Visibly annoyed with vultures. “Why would Aureus even consider them?”

 

“Because they’re sharp,” Hyunsuk replied, pacing now. “They’re made up of standout individuals. Tech prodigies. National debaters. Award-winning future engineers. Future prosecutors. A couple of Olympic hopefuls. They’re not from old families, but they’re brilliant. On paper, they’re perfect. No scandals. No red flags. Just… clean.”

 

“But no history,” Haruto said.

 

“No seat at the table,” Asahi added.

 

Hyunsuk nodded. “No alumni network. No legacy pull. Which means… they’re dangerous. They have everything except what makes us untouchable.”

 

The table quieted. Jihoon’s jaw clenched, but his expression remained unreadable. He could feel Hyunsuk’s eyes flicker to him just once.

 

“So,” Haruto said slowly. “They’re coming for us?”

 

“We don’t know that yet,” Jihoon said finally. Calm. Measured. The voice of a president who never panicked. But his fingers tapped once on the table. Just once.

 

It was enough. Yoshi met his eyes. So did Asahi.

 

The war room felt colder.

 

Hyunsuk? He just smiled. He wasn’t scared of challengers. He was born to destroy them.

 

And if any force—any fraternity, any empire, any golden boy with a perfect résumé—dared stand in Jihoon’s path to more power, more control, more greatness…

 

Then Hyunsuk would burn it to the ground himself.

 

With a smile. And Jihoon would never even have to ask.

 

Junkyu spoke—soft, but sharp enough to cut through the thick tension in the war room.

 

“This is ridiculous. Epsilon Nu Omega… backed by legacy, by bloodlines, by the Aureus Order.”

 

He chuckled darkly. He looked up now, gaze steady.

 

“But don’t mistake us for a bunch of spoiled brats.”

 

A beat. Everyone was listening.

 

“Each one of us was handpicked. Each one is at the top of their game. We just don’t need to prove it all the time. We are the standard.”

 

There was a quiet ripple—like an echo no one dared clap for.

 

Jeongwoo leaned back in his chair, one arm slung lazily over the backrest as he exhaled. “Delta Sigma Kai can scream all they want. But this house? This name? It was built before they even figured out what Greek letters to borrow. We’re not handing over the crown just because they finally learned how to show up.”

 

A low, appreciative laugh came from one of the third-years. Someone muttered, “Damn right.”

 

Jaehyuk cracked his knuckles, the bruises from the blood party still fresh—a badge he wore with pride. His eyes flicked to Hyunsuk across the table.

 

“I can’t wait to play,” he said with a feral grin.

 

And then—Hyunsuk turned.

 

To Jihoon.

 

Because even now, even in the presence of monsters who would burn kingdoms for fun—they all waited for the one they bowed to.

 

Jihoon sat with his fingers laced, sharp eyes scanning the room like a king watching his pack grow hungry again. No one had dared challenge them in years.

 

But now? Now the wolves were salivating.

 

And Jihoon would never say it aloud—but he felt it too. That dark itch under his skin. The thrill. The hunger. The excitement.

 

After all…

 

He reigned over these devils. And he was always, always on top.

Notes:

DOHWAN STFU~ SEJHDFJSDFKJDSKJDSSKDJKSDJKJSDHFJSDFSJDFGSJHGIALHKDSFH

Also. Yoshi. Come on, boo. YOU ARE SOOOOOOOOOO—i don't even have words for you.

And Jihoon? Sub him. Make Hyunsuk crawl?! He's begging. Have mercy, my man.

Chapter 4: Rebound

Summary:

Tensions simmer behind the luxurious walls of ENO Mansion as academic pressures rise and private desires tangle into something far more complicated.

Notes:

I'm so sorry it took a while after saying I'm posting already but I inserted some scenes that are really necessary for this chapter and for what's to come. I got so OC about it. Ugggh.

Anyway!! Thank you to everyone's kind words relating to this fic! <3

It was another morning at the ENO Mansion. The air was thick with musk and lavender, the scent lingering like a secret from the night before. Jaehyuk’s bedroom, with its luxury linens and cool, perfectly calibrated air, felt more like a resort or hotel suite than a frat room.

 

Hyunsuk stirred first, warm under the covers, Jaehyuk’s arm still draped over him like a claim. He carefully slipped away from the weight and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes.

 

Behind him, Jaehyuk groaned into the pillow. “You know, I really can’t help but feel so fucking used right now. No morning kisses? No cuddles? What time is it even?”

 

“Six,” Hyunsuk muttered, stretching his arms. “Sun’s barely up.”

 

Jaehyuk cracked one eye open. “The betrayal. After all we’ve been through.”

 

Hyunsuk just smirked, tugging on his robe. “I’ll kiss you once you sprinkle me with sleep magic like the Pres did.”

 

“What?” That got Jaehyuk’s full attention. He sat up fast, wide awake now.

 

Hyunsuk froze by the bed like a criminal caught mid-theft.

 

“You’re telling me—wait. Wait. When were you planning to tell me you’re sleeping with the Pres? What am I, chopped liver? We’re soulmates, you asshole. You’re keeping secrets now?”

 

Hyunsuk smiled sheepishly, almost proud. “I was going to gatekeep the info. But I’m telling you now. That counts for something, right?”

 

Jaehyuk narrowed his eyes. “How far did you go?”

 

“No sex.”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“We just slept. Like… literally. Like you and I do all the time.”

 

“Oh?” Jaehyuk relaxed a little, though the suspicion lingered.

 

“It’s a long story,” Hyunsuk continued, walking over to the bench at the foot of the bed. “He asked me for a favor. Surveillance. You know, about that nosy frat hovering around.”

 

(Not a total lie—but no need to mention to Jaehyuk it was for the Blood Party.)

 

“And somehow… somehow,” Hyunsuk added, “he ended up thanking me by… helping me sleep. We knocked out until noon.”

 

Jaehyuk blinked. “Wow. I didn’t think I’d see the day. You? In bed with Jihoon Park? Just… sleeping?”

 

“I behaved—out of character by the way,” Hyunsuk said, almost reverently. “He held me. It was weird. But good.”

 

Jaehyuk stared at him for a beat. “You look like a fucking lovesick idiot.”

 

“I am,” Hyunsuk grinned. “Delusional too. But happy.”

 

“Well,” Jaehyuk sighed dramatically, “I hate to break it to you—he’s still got a girlfriend.”

 

“Please. We both know that girl’s just a cover. He wants me.”

 

“And there’s the delusion.”

 

“Yes, and I’m owning it.”

 

They both laughed.

 

“Wait,” Jaehyuk said, eyes narrowing. “You wore those boring pajamas? Like what you’re wearing now?”

 

Hyunsuk gave a proud nod. “Not this cream one. Pale blue, Spiderman eye mask. Full innocence. Cute.”

 

“You absolute dumbass,” Jaehyuk groaned. “If you’d worn that lacy thing from last time, he might’ve jumped you. I was so turned on I had to beg you to let me jerk off beside you.”

 

“You’re the most disgusting human being, Jaehyuk Yoon.” Hyunsuk deadpanned. “I’m reporting that memory to the authorities.”

 

Jaehyuk just barked out a laugh.

 

“But seriously,” Hyunsuk said, voice softening, “I wanted him to see me for real. No show. I think… it worked. Ish? I don’t know.”

 

“You’re unreal.” Jaehyuk shook his head, then smiled. “But I’m happy for you. Progress is progress.”

 

“I’ll take it.”

 

“C’mon, let me treat you to breakfast.”

 

“You mean the buffet down at West Wing?” Hyunsuk raised a brow.

 

At ENO, part of the privileges was a chef-prepped breakfast buffet at the West Wing. There’s a huge dining hall there where members eat together before they go with their individual activities. They can even ask chefs to pack lunches for them.

 

“No. Like, out. We’re celebrating.”

 

Hyunsuk grabbed his robe. “Fine. But only if we talk about your night with Asahi at the Blood Party.”

 

Jaehyuk grinned like the devil himself. “Now that’s tea.”

 

-
-
-

A couple of sorority girls giggled as they passed by the outdoor cafe just off campus, the kind that doubled as both a local landmark and an Instagram backdrop. It was the type of vintage place tourists lined up for—classic tiles, lace curtains, and a menu that hadn’t changed in decades.

 

But there was no waiting line for Jaehyuk Yoon. One of the companies under his family’s conglomerate handled the restoration project for the café, returning it to its original glory. All he had to do was flash his ID, and the maître d’ guided them straight to the exclusive VIP outdoor area. A few Hwagyeong students dotted the other tables, making the atmosphere relaxed but still unmistakably elite.

 

Hyunsuk, lounging with ease, ordered his usual American breakfast. Eggs sunny-side up, crisp bacon, hash browns. Jaehyuk got the same, because sometimes it was just easier to copy someone you trust.

 

“So,” Hyunsuk began, sipping his black coffee, “tell me about Asahi. Was the tension as thick as it looked from where I was sitting?”

 

“We kissed,” Jaehyuk replied flatly.

 

Hyunsuk nearly dropped his fork. “What?! That fast?”

 

“He kissed me after the fight,” Jaehyuk added, unfazed. “Even sucked the blood off my lip.”

 

“Oh my god.”

 

“He said it turned him on. Said I looked good all beaten up. That he could come just from that.”

 

Hyunsuk blinked. “Okay, now I’m disturbed. And jealous. Also disturbed.”

 

Jaehyuk grinned. “He’s fucking attractive. Cold, unreadable, but—hot.”

 

Hyunsuk shook his head, still reeling. “You know, I always knew he had a brutal streak, but I didn’t think he was that deranged. That’s… kinda my thing.”

 

“We didn’t talk about it after. Things went back to normal. Still flirting, though.”

 

“Are you dating or…?”

 

“No. I can’t handle anything serious right now. Still got exams, and if I almost fail another unit once more, ENO might kick my ass.”

 

Hyunsuk laughed. “You know, we’re the only ones in ENO who could literally pay or blackmail professors for grades—but we choose to study instead.”

 

“No,” Jaehyuk replied smugly, “we just get off on the high of doing it ourselves. The adrenaline of raw success.”

 

It was one of the ancient rules in ENO: if you can’t be great, don’t even bother joining. The golden rule—you can cheat, steal, or seduce your way to the top, but no one can ever find out. Appearances were everything. They can literally just bribe anyone. But where’s the fun and risk in that?

 

But the ten seniors didn’t chase the top like everyone else—they were the top. They didn’t need to prove anything. Born into old money and power, they could’ve coasted. But they didn’t. They played for the high. For the hunger. Like claiming the championship at the Blood Party—except this time, the weapon was intellect, and the arena was the classroom.

 

“Fail, and you’re out—no exceptions,” Jihoon reminds, coldly.

 

“Cheers to that,” Hyunsuk said, lifting his cup. “You and Asahi though, if it ever comes to it…”

 

“I won’t say no to blessings. I accept what I’m given, Sukkie.” Jaehyuk smirks, liking the idea of having Asahi as his boyfriend.

 

“Study with him, then. Asahi’s smart.”

 

Jaehyuk wrinkled his nose. “I don’t want to look dumb.”

 

Hyunsuk barked a laugh. “Holy shit, Yoon. I didn’t know you were this down bad. I thought you just wanted to sleep with him.”

 

“Maybe I do. Maybe I want both. He’s dark. Dangerous. My type.”

 

“I noticed.”

 

Their food arrived, and they dug in. Between bites of bacon and hash, Jaehyuk asked, “What about you? What’s your next move with the Pres?”

 

“Same old,” Hyunsuk replied with a mischievous smirk. “But I started a new game.”

 

“A game?”

 

“Control play.”

 

Jaehyuk paused mid-chew. “He agreed to that?”

 

Hyunsuk leaned back, smug. “I told him I wouldn’t touch myself. No sex. No relief. Not even with anyone else. I’m reserving myself. For him.”

 

“You’re insane,” Jaehyuk muttered, genuinely impressed. “You get laid more than anyone I know. He’ll just think you’re lying.”

 

“You’re overreacting. I don’t get laid a lot! It just looks like it because I’m too hot.” Hyunsuk glared. But Jaehyuk just continued chomping down his food. “Then he can check. Or stop me.” Hyunsuk’s eyes sparkled. “Either way, I win.”

 

Jaehyuk rolled his eyes. “If Yoshi’s a bloody beast, then you’re a psychological monster.”

 

Hyunsuk grinned wider. “I’m Hyunsuk Choi.”

 

They both laughed, their voices mingling with the hum of clinking plates and the low conversations around them. Somewhere in the background, a new day had started—but for these two, it was always just the next round in a game of desire and dominance.

 

“Isn’t that Eunbyeol?” Jaehyuk asked, eyes narrowing as he stared across the street. Jihoon’s girlfriend stood feet away, talking animatedly to a tall, older man.

 

Hyunsuk followed his gaze. “Yeah… she looks like she’s arguing with that professor.”

 

“That’s a professor?” Jaehyuk blinked. “He looks like a damn model.”

 

“I’m in one of his classes,” Hyunsuk said, a slow smirk forming. “He’s actually hot.” He says and then adds dramatically, “if my Jihoon doesn’t exist, if this world wasn’t graced with his presence…” He tilted his head. “I’d definitely let that man do me.”

 

Jaehyuk snorted. “You’re sick.”

 

“You love it. Besides, he does look edible. Look at him.” Hyunsuk says, munching on his hash.

 

“Isn’t it weird though?” Jaehyuk quips, eyes still trained on Eunbyeol. “They’re outside the university.”

 

“We’re surrounded by Hwagyeong students, dumbass,” Hyunsuk replies without looking up. “Who’s to say he didn’t just pass by her?”

 

“If you say so. Well, I’m not about to keep tabs on the President’s girlfriend. That’s your job.”

 

“I don’t keep tabs on anyone,” Hyunsuk smirks, raising his coffee. “I always just get what I want.”

 

Jaehyuk chuckles, clinking his cup against Hyunsuk’s. “Touché.”

 

-
-
-

 

It was customary for ENO seniors to enter the university grounds together—a show of dominance, tradition, and hierarchy. When Hyunsuk finally arrived at the gates from the ENO Mansion side, eight pairs of annoyed eyes were already waiting. Jaehyuk and Hyunsuk only smirked.

 

Without missing a beat, they slipped into formation.

 

Jaehyuk took his usual place beside Yoshi at the front. Hyunsuk slid in behind Jihoon, like a shadow.

 

“You know I hate waiting,” Jihoon muttered under his breath.

 

“Stop it, Pres,” Hyunsuk replied smoothly. “Here I was thinking you just missed me.”

 

Jihoon didn’t answer. He only gave a curt nod to the guards, who opened the gates on cue.

 

It was the usual chaos. Gasps. Whispers. Phones raised. All eyes on ENO. Jihoon welcomed it. Thrived in it. To him, appearances weren’t superficial—they were strategic. A sharp suit could silence a scandal. A pretty face could outlast a controversy. Image was power.

 

ENO was built on it. And Jihoon, more than anyone, understood the value of preserving that power. As the great-grandson of one of the Aureus Order’s former presidents, his blood alone carried weight. But Jihoon wanted more than legacy. He wanted restoration. The Park name once ruled. It would rule again.

 

So when some nameless, irrelevant professor casually brushed past their formation—cutting clean through their line without so much as a glance—the entire group halted.

 

“He did not just do that,” Yoshi said coldly.

 

Junghwan looked to Doyoung, whose face had darkened in irritation. Jaehyuk was amused, already biting back a grin. Jeongwoo looked stunned. Haruto furrowed his brows, watching the man’s retreating back. Even Asahi and Junkyu—exes who rarely shared looks these days—glanced at each other in silent confusion.

 

Then from the back: “He’s so hot,” Hyunsuk declared, gaze fixed ahead.

 

Eight heads turned to him in disbelief.

 

“What?” Hyunsuk shrugged, unbothered. “He’s my afternoon class.”

 

Jihoon shot him a glare that could cut marble. Hyunsuk only pressed his lips together to hide a smirk.

 

In the distance, the professor was already surrounded by giggling students, flipping through notes like he hadn't just walked through a pack of wolves.

 

Jihoon looked away first, wordlessly nodding for the group to continue. When they reached the university steps, the seniors finally broke formation—each peeling off toward their respective paths.

 

But the tension lingered in the air, thick with offense.

 

-
-
-

 

The lecture hall buzzed quietly as students shuffled through notes and opened laptops. At the front, the professor—a sharp woman known for grilling students into submission—posed a question that sliced through the low hum.

 

"Anyone care to argue the ethical implication of privatizing essential healthcare systems in developing nations?"

 

A pause. Then, two hands shot up—simultaneously.

 

Doyoung. Junghwan.

 

The professor raised an amused brow. “Well, this should be interesting. Mr. Kim, you first.”

 

Doyoung stood with practiced poise, buttoning his blazer with a calm confidence. “Privatization, if regulated, can improve healthcare efficiency. Local governments often lack the infrastructure. Private sectors can fill the gaps, provided oversight exists. Outcomes matter.”

 

A few students nodded, taking notes.

 

Before the professor could comment, Junghwan leaned forward in his seat. “And who decides the outcomes?” he called from across the room. “Because last I checked, ‘efficiency’ is just code for profit margins. If it’s about saving lives, why are we pricing survival?”

 

Doyoung smirked.

 

The professor looked between them, intrigued. “Mr. So.” She cleared her throat. “Care to respond, Mr. Kim?”

 

Doyoung didn’t sit. He turned to face Junghwan directly. “You’re romanticizing the system. Governments fail people too. What matters is who delivers the result—not who we hope will.”

 

Junghwan stood now too, crossing his arms. “But you don’t fix a broken public system by selling it off. You repair it. Privatizing doesn’t guarantee care—it guarantees a bill.”

 

The class was clearly invested now—heads swiveling between them like a tennis match.

 

“I’m not denying flaws exist,” Doyoung said, his tone sharp but teasing. “But idealism isn’t a plan, Junghwan. It’s a fantasy.”

 

Junghwan raised a brow. “And your solution is what? Corporate benevolence? Come on, baby—”

 

A few students blinked.

 

Doyoung coughed. “Stick to titles.”

 

“Sorry, Mr. Kim.”

 

The professor stifled a smile. “Well, it seems the top two students in class can’t seem to agree. But I’ll allow it—you’re both making excellent points.”

 

As the class slowly returned to normal, some still scribbling notes, Doyoung finally sat beside Junghwan with an exhale.

 

“You’re insufferable,” he whispered.

 

“And yet,” Junghwan murmured, slipping a pen into Doyoung’s hand, “you’re so turned on right now.”

 

Doyoung’s eyes narrowed, lips twitching.

 

The professor glanced up and narrowed her eyes in their direction. “Gentlemen?”

 

“Nothing, ma’am,” Doyoung said smoothly.

 

Junghwan just grinned. Doyoung and him really kept things interesting.

 

-
-
-

 

Another agonizing day in Constitutional Law, and Jihoon Park already regretted walking through the door. The air was stiff with pressure—just the way he liked it—but the moment he spotted Hyunsuk Choi lounging at the middle in that ridiculous Louis Vuitton varsity jacket, all ease vanished from Jihoon’s demeanor.

 

Their professor was already scribbling project pairings on the board. A case-building assignment. Long, tedious, and heavily graded. Naturally, Jihoon would never accept working with anyone beneath him. He had a reputation to uphold—not just as ENO’s president, but as a future Aureus Order candidate, and the Park heir.

 

But then fate dealt him the cruelest hand.

 

“Jihoon Park and Hyunsuk Choi,” the professor announced without even looking up.

 

Jihoon’s head snapped up. “Professor—”

 

“No changes,” the man cut in. “You're both top of the class. I'd expect brilliance.”

 

Hyunsuk, of course, looked like Christmas came early. He stretched lazily, shot Jihoon a smile that was pure menace, and kicked his feet onto the empty chair beside him.

 

“Well, isn’t this romantic,” Hyunsuk murmured loud enough for Jihoon to hear. “Guess we’re fated now, Pres.”

 

Jihoon didn’t respond. Just clenched his jaw and sat beside him like he was preparing for war. The thought of working with someone so loud, so shameless, so... Hyunsuk, was unbearable.

 

And yet, he knew the truth.

 

Hyunsuk may have been the biggest thorn in his side, but he was also a genius. The kind that didn’t even take notes, didn’t study, but always scored higher than everyone else. The kind that made Jihoon feel threatened without even trying.

 

Jihoon took a breath, face blank. “One rule.”

 

Hyunsuk leaned in, eyes sparkling. “Only one?”

 

Jihoon narrowed his gaze. “We keep this professional.”

 

Hyunsuk smiled like the devil himself. “Sure, Pres. But let me know if professionalism includes spooning again.”

 

Jihoon nearly flipped the desk. He just wouldn’t admit it—not yet—that Hyunsuk was infuriatingly, devastatingly attractive as of the moment.

 

-
-
-

 

They were the only ones left in the room. Jihoon stood from his seat, gathering his things, but Hyunsuk’s hand reached out, catching his wrist—not tightly, just enough. His fingers let go immediately, like he’d been electrocuted.

 

“We pass this in two weeks,” Hyunsuk said softly. “Are we starting today, or…?”

 

Jihoon didn’t even look at him. “We can. Let’s get it over with. Knowing the both of us, what takes them a week, we can finish in two days.”

 

“I’d rather drag it out for seven. Don’t you want to?”

 

“You’re starting again.”

 

Hyunsuk stepped closer, his tone playful but his gaze sharp. “Come on, Pres. I can’t even touch myself. At least let me stare at you. It’s for my sanity.”

 

Jihoon faltered for a split second—his breath catching just slightly. Hyunsuk caught it. Memorized it.

 

“You’re not serious,” Jihoon muttered. “I know you.”

 

“No,” Hyunsuk replied, inching closer. “You don’t. Not really. I told you already… you own me.”

 

They were chest to chest now. Tension clawing at the space between them.

 

And then—

 

“Babe?”

 

Eunbyeol’s voice sliced through the tension like glass cracking. She stood by the doorway, arms folded, eyebrows raised.

 

Hyunsuk didn’t even flinch. Jihoon didn’t even glance her way. He was still staring straight at Hyunsuk.

 

“We finish in two days,” Jihoon said firmly.

 

Hyunsuk tilted his head. “You’re going for sleepless nights again, huh? I'm good at that. Unless… you plan on making me sleep again.”

 

Jihoon didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The words caught somewhere in his throat. So he turned, finally acknowledging Eunbyeol.

 

But then—“Pres.”

 

Jihoon turned immediately. Too fast. Hyunsuk smiled inwardly.

 

“I want to ask permission,” Hyunsuk murmured. His voice had dropped lower, the tone almost reverent. “At lunch time.”

 

Jihoon exhaled. “To what?”

 

Hyunsuk leaned in slightly, his eyes glittering. “I need to be filled,” he said, tone light but charged. “Can I do it with someone else?”

 

Jihoon blinked. The question hit him harder than it should have. He stayed still.

 

Hyunsuk watched the war unfold in Jihoon’s silence. The subtle flick of his jaw. The way he held his breath.

 

Jihoon was weighing it—whether to ignore the game, dismiss the insinuation, pretend it didn’t matter. Pretend Hyunsuk didn’t matter.

 

But the image played in his mind anyway. Hyunsuk with someone else. Someone else's hands on his waist. Someone else watching that same mouth say ‘please’.

 

The thought gutted him. Jihoon’s brows furrowed, lips parting—he didn’t even mean to speak.

 

“No.”

 

It came out before he could stop it. A quiet, sharp command. Hyunsuk stilled. So did Jihoon.

 

“No, I can’t be filled…” Hyunsuk began slowly, eyes narrowed with something like awe. “Or no, I can’t do it with someone else?”

 

Jihoon finally looked at him, gaze dark.

 

“Just… by yourself.”

 

Hyunsuk’s smile came slow. Soft. Triumphant.

 

“Okay,” he whispered. “I’m yours.”

 

Jihoon didn’t reply.

 

He turned away—back to Eunbyeol, who still stood waiting with her arms crossed. He threw an arm around her shoulders, but it wasn’t real. Not anymore.

 

Behind him, Hyunsuk stood still, heartbeat wild, lips curled faintly. He stood completely still, heart racing in his chest like he’d won a war. He hadn’t touched Jihoon. But he was unraveling him.

 

And Jihoon didn’t even realize he was coming undone too.

 

-
-
-

 

Lunch at the East Courtyard was its usual chaos.

 

ENO occupied their usual territory—the long stone table— surrounded by whispers, gazes, and the subtle fear that came with power. Eunbyeol, not on Jihoon’s lap this time, sat snug beside him anyway, her hands constantly on him. Stroking his arm, tugging at his shirt, laughing too loud at things he didn’t say—a display of possession, as if to remind everyone that she was the one dating the campus king.

 

Around them, the boys were half-listening, half-bickering while enjoying their lunch. The second round of hazing was coming up fast, and Yoshi and Jaehyuk were deep in debate over which methods skirted legality the best.

 

But one seat was notably empty.

 

“Hyunsuk’s missing again,” Jeongwoo said, eyes lazily scanning the courtyard. “He’s Master Initiator. He should be here discussing with us.”

 

Jaehyuk glanced at the far side of the lawn—Hyunsuk’s usual throne for psychologically tormenting first years—but it was abandoned. “Weird. We’re nearing initiation week. He should be out there playing sadistic fairy godmother with pledges right now.”

 

Jihoon didn’t say anything. But for once, he didn’t need to ask where Hyunsuk was—he already knew. His earlier conversation with him in class came to mind. He gripped Eunbyeol’s waist tighter, fingers digging in slightly.

 

“What are you doing after this?” Jihoon asked her suddenly. He knows Eunbyeol’s class schedule. He knows she’s free.

 

“I… I have class.”

 

“I hate it when people lie, Eunbyeol,” Jihoon said quietly—but with venom that turned her spine to glass. He reached up, fingers tangling into her hair, pulling a bit harshly just enough for her eyes to meet his.

 

“It’s for… extra credit,” she stammered. “I might fail a class.”

 

“If I find out you’re fucking lying—”

 

“You mean Han Taegun’s class?” Jaehyuk cut in, bored and loud. “That model-looking professor?”

 

Jihoon’s jaw tensed. Eunbyeol froze.

 

Jaehyuk continued, casually stabbing his fork into his salad. “Sukkie and I saw you from the café with him. Arguing.”

 

Eunbyeol blinked. Trapped. “Y-yeah. That’s him. I was just… asking about a project.”

 

“Well, good luck,” Jaehyuk said, smug, already turning back to his food.

 

Jihoon’s grip loosened. “You better be working on your grades. I don’t date failures.”

 

“That’s why I’m doing something about it, babe,” she said quickly. She leaned in, kissed him—desperate for reassurance. He didn’t kiss back.

 

“Go now.” Jihoon says and Eunbyeol leaves.

 

A few minutes later, Jihoon stood as well, done with lunch. The rest looked up, catching the flash of storm in his eyes.

 

“Too early to leave, Pres?” Yoshi asked, one brow raised. Jihoon knew what Yoshi meant. It was too early to leave the show. Again, appearances are important so showing ENO as a pack even at lunch time was a must.

 

“Gonna check on some stuff for initiation week.”

 

“Right.” Yoshi smirked. “Of course.”

 

As Jihoon walked off, the energy shifted.

 

“He’s pissed,” Junghwan muttered. “He thought he was getting laid, and now he’s got a soft-on and a girlfriend doing extra credit. Tragic.”

 

Jeongwoo choked on his drink. “I’d bet on that.”

 

“Who even needs extra credit?” Haruto said blankly. “Imagine failing?”

 

“You guys are so fucking mean,” Junkyu sighed.

 

Everyone went quiet—then burst out laughing, even Junkyu. Because for all their shit-talking, every single one of them was near top-tier in class, and not one of them needed to beg a professor for mercy.

 

“I thought she was an A-student,” Doyoung said.

 

“Who gives?” Jaehyuk shrugged. “Honestly, Pres should just date Hyunsuk already.”

 

“You willing to give up your favorite bunk buddy for that?” Asahi asked coolly, voice clipped. He knew of Jaehyuk and Hyunsuk’s sleeping arrangement.

 

Jaehyuk blinked. “We’re just… close.”

 

“Good for you.” Asahi stood and left, plate barely touched.

 

“What just happened?” Jaehyuk turned to the table.

 

“He’s jealous,” Junkyu answered, deadpan. “Welcome to hell. You’re the storm cloud’s new owner now.”

 

The table roared with laughter again—except Jaehyuk, who stared at his food like it betrayed him.

 

-
-
-

 

Jihoon returned to the ENO mansion under the guise of catching up on fraternity work—a free cut in his schedule, nothing more. At least, that was what he told himself. He headed toward the East Wing, toward his study. But his mind wasn’t on anything academic.

 

It was on Hyunsuk.

 

The image wouldn’t leave him—Hyunsuk somewhere in the mansion, alone, stripped down in one of his ridiculous robes, maybe touching himself like Jihoon allowed him to. The idea sent heat rushing down his spine, and Jihoon cursed under his breath as he adjusted his pants.

 

He hadn’t even been able to get it up for Eunbyeol earlier. But this—this fucking thought of Hyunsuk pleasuring himself just because Jihoon told him he couldn’t have anyone else—it ignited something filthy and possessive in him. And dangerous.

 

He didn’t plan it. One second he was on the stairs to his study, and the next he was turning left down the hall, feet carrying him toward Hyunsuk’s quarters before logic could intervene.

 

It wasn’t about checking. Or jealousy. Or control. It was curiosity, he told himself. Pure curiosity. Because what was he playing at?

 

He paused in front of Hyunsuk’s door. Was he really in there? Obeying? Surrendering like he said?

 

The last time they were together—no sex, no teasing, just sleep—Jihoon had fallen apart more than he cared to admit. It wasn’t the proximity, or the touch. It was the stillness. The trust. Something he never gave or asked for.

 

And Hyunsuk had taken it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

 

Jihoon let out a groan under his breath, hand raking through his hair. This was ridiculous. Hyunsuk was getting under his skin, curling inside the cracks and spreading like something inevitable.

 

He stared at the door. He could walk away. Or he could open it.

 

And see who really owned who.

 

-
-
-

 

Jihoon entered Hyunsuk’s quarters without knocking—something he’d done countless times before. It was expected. Hyunsuk was officially second in rank, appointed by elders after the scandal too—by sheer power unlike with Jihoon whom they found real reason.

 

Hyunsuk never boasted about it. He let Yoshi and Jaehyuk play generals. The rest of the fraternity bowed to the system. But it was Hyunsuk—quiet, calculating, effective—who moved like smoke, fixing problems before they ever became scandals after the dark years. And he always stayed behind Jihoon like a shadow. Like a ghost in love with a king.

 

Ever since Jihoon took power, the air between them had always been tense. The Park and Choi families had bad blood, but that only ever added gasoline to their spark. It was one of the main reasons why Hyunsuk had started to infuriate him. He liked the risk if ever they get to be together.

 

Jihoon could remember when they were still new at ENO, Yoshi held his infamous Blood Party. Even the seniors that time were fascinated. Even he himself, liked it at the time. Jihoon was the only person at ENO who was undefeated at the Blood Party. He always comes out the champion and he comes through with just as much as bruises only—never the hardcore wounds.

 

Up to this day, he was really the most sought after opponent because everyone wanted to beat him. Tear down the great wall that is Jihoon Park. Until he changed the game. Until he chose ENO’s greatness more than anything.

 

That’s when Hyunsuk decided to stand by him—a man who could rise up from brutality to even become more dangerous. Why? All nine of them couldn’t play nice. Only Jihoon could both play nice and brutal at the same time. That's what made him the scariest. The most notorious one.

 

Hyunsuk had always been pushy with the agenda that they should be together. Jihoon never even considered it in his head. But his body? His heart? It had always been strange around him since the start. But Jihoon had always been logical. What has changed now?

 

Jihoon hadn’t even realized how much Hyunsuk had fascinated him until recently—until he started choosing him over logic, over tradition, over everything.

 

What changed? A night in bed? A night without sex, without flirting, without masks—just two young men and silence? Jihoon had slept like the dead. Just because he slept better beside a Choi in his 20 or so years of existence? That's it? And now he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

 

Through the arched doorway, he passed the threshold into Hyunsuk’s bedroom.

 

“Hyunsuk.” He says. No answer.

 

Why am I even here? You have a fucking girlfriend. You’re fucked up.

 

The lights were low, and the bathroom door was ajar. He heard a noise—moaning.

 

Jihoon’s feet moved before his mind could stop him.

 

The air was warm and thick with steam. The scent of Hyunsuk’s vanilla body wash clung to the walls. Jihoon stepped into the bathroom past the dry area, past the chaotic walk-in closet—and was met with a vision he wasn’t prepared for.

 

Soap bubbles.

 

Hyunsuk. Naked. Submerged in a bath of frothing bubbles. Head tilted back. Lips parted.

 

“Ah… Jihoon…”

 

Jihoon stood frozen.

 

“This is all yours. I am…”

 

“Fuck,” Jihoon muttered under his breath.

 

Hyunsuk gasped and almost drowned himself trying to sit up. “Pres?!”

 

“You like torturing people, Choi?”

 

“Uhm…”

 

“What the fuck is this?”

 

“I told you. I asked. Didn’t I? I… I—”

 

“You were serious about that game?”

 

Hyunsuk shrank. Not from shame, but from the weight of Jihoon’s presence. Jihoon’s eyes were scorching.

 

“Why would I lie? I never lie to you,” Hyunsuk said quietly. “Not once. Never you.”

 

It was true. Jihoon could count on one hand the people he trusted. But Hyunsuk, for all his provocations, had never lied. He teased, he tempted, he toyed—but he never crossed that line. He had always been transparent.

 

One thing about Jihoon? He despised liars. But only when it mattered.

 

A flash of Eunbyeol’s eyes, earlier at lunch, flickered in Jihoon’s memory. He remembered how she hesitated.

 

But all those thoughts evaporated as he looked back at Hyunsuk—who now moved in the water, and the bubbles parted just enough to reveal his chest. Jihoon’s throat went dry.

 

“You’re the devil himself.” He whispers.

 

“Why can’t you just let yourself have me?” Hyunsuk whispered.

 

Jihoon’s voice cracked. “How?”

 

Hyunsuk stood. Bubbles slid down his skin like silk. He was bare, vulnerable, and still so painfully beautiful it made Jihoon’s knees weaken. Jihoon wanted to touch him. Claim him. Lose himself in him.

 

Hyunsuk stepped forward, close—but not touching. His eyes fluttered shut.

 

“I’ll wait. I always do.”

 

“God… you’re such a force of nature.” Jihoon lifted a hand—hesitating. But Hyunsuk caught it gently before it even got to his waist.

 

“No,” he said. “You still have someone else. I won’t let you betray yourself for me. Not like this.” Hyunsuk breathed. Aching. Because he wanted—needed Jihoon’s voluntary touch.

 

“I won’t let you ruin your integrity. I’m unbearable… infuriating… but I would never let you—not when you still own somebody.”

 

“You make me insane,” Jihoon breathed. “You… always have.” He confessed.

 

“I know.” Hyunsuk’s smile was sad. “I won’t apologize for it, though. Because I want you.”

 

“Leave, Jihoon.” Hyunsuk says. Jihoon just stared at him. Vulnerable. He had never been so overwhelmingly powerful in Hyunsuk’s eyes—so brave to show himself in this state. Helpless.

 

“You always protect me from ruin.”

 

“Always.” Hyunsuk acknowledges.

 

Jihoon looked at Hyunsuk’s whole ethereal frame covered in soap bubbles before he turned, broken by the restraint he had to uphold. But before he walked away, he paused.

 

“Don’t touch yourself,” he said. His voice was low. Dangerous.

 

Hyunsuk blinked.

 

“You said you’re mine,” Jihoon continued. “Prove it. No touching. No dreaming. No pleasure unless I say so.”

 

Hyunsuk gasped. His breath caught. He was trembling.

 

“You can’t moan my name like that too. Unless I tell you. Unless it’s me touching you.”

 

Jihoon successfully took Hyunsuk’s breath away now.

 

“When?” Hyunsuk whispered.

 

“You wait.”

 

Hyunsuk whimpered softly. His legs buckled, but he caught himself against the edge of the bath.

 

“Fuck… Jihoon. Oh, fuck.”

 

“We start with our project next week. You’re right. I might really have to stretch us… working together on it.”

 

“Yeah?” It was all Hyunsuk could manage to say.

 

“See you around, my little devil.”

 

And Jihoon left.

 

Hyunsuk was ruined. Undone. But through the ache, through the madness, through the need—he smiled.

 

He was Jihoon’s now and it hasn’t even started yet.

 

-
-
-

 

It was just another day on campus and Jeongwoo walked down the corridor like it belonged to him.

 

The air curled around him—sharp with chill, sharper with presence. Every step was a click of designer shoes, echoing with the kind of threat that didn’t need volume. Students parted without being told, their chatter fading into nervous silence. He wasn’t just pretty—he was devastating. All smirks and cold fire, the kind of boy you didn’t look in the eyes unless you wanted to burn.

 

And then—

 

SPLASH.

 

A large iced coffee. Straight down the front of his white, Maison Margiela shirt.

 

Time didn’t just stop—it recoiled.

 

The girl who did it—young, first-year maybe—gasped. She looked like she wanted to disappear. Hands trembling. Shoulders hunched. She backed into the lockers like they could swallow her whole.

 

Jeongwoo stood still. A single drop slid off his collarbone.

 

Then, slowly—one step forward.

 

Another.

 

His gaze never left her. The hallway forgot how to breathe.

 

“Did you just… wet me, baby?” His voice was low, velvet-wrapped venom. The kind of tone that made people flinch before the slap.

 

“I-I didn’t mean—” she stammered.

 

“You didn’t mean to throw yourself at me soaking wet?” he cut in, mock surprise lacing his words. Now he was right in front of her, one hand resting casually on the locker above her head, caging her in. “What’s next? On your knees in my room?” A beat. A dangerous smile. “At least buy me dinner first, sweetheart.”

 

The girl shook under the weight of his presence. She was frozen—not by choice, but by fear. And Jeongwoo? He didn’t smirk because he enjoyed it.

 

He smirked because power tasted good when you were in pain.

 

Phones were up now. The crowd thickening. Eager, hungry. Every student with a camera hoping to capture the chaos, the prince unhinged.

 

And then—a shift.

 

Like static in the air before lightning strikes.

 

Haruto.

 

He stepped through the crowd. Not fast. Not loud. But with that same cold quiet that always preceded war. The tension snapped the moment he arrived—students scattering like smoke in wind. Whatever storm Jeongwoo was brewing, Haruto’s silence cut through it.

 

“Let her go,” Haruto said.

 

Jeongwoo didn’t move. His smirk remained, but his shoulders tensed.

 

“Saving bitches now?” he muttered, not even sparing Haruto a glance. The bitterness in his tone didn’t match the words—it was personal. It always was with him.

 

“It was an accident. Let the kitten go…” Haruto’s voice was sharper now. Commanding. “And follow me.”

 

Jeongwoo looked down at the girl—so small, so pale—and scoffed like she wasn’t worth the breath she stole.

 

“Don’t ever show your face to me again,” he said flatly.

 

She ran.

 

And Jeongwoo followed Haruto.

 

-
-
-

 

They headed to one of the lounges reserved for elite fraternities—quiet, understated, but immaculate. Haruto’s locker was there, along with a leather couch and padded benches that lined the room like a private war room dressed in luxury.

 

Jeongwoo walks in first—already peeling off his soaked designer shirt, like the fabric itself had dared to offend him. The ruined piece of cloth is tossed carelessly onto the leather couch, where it lands with a wet slap. It smells like cold coffee and anger.

 

Haruto follows.

 

He doesn’t say anything—doesn’t need to. His presence speaks volumes. He moves to his oversized locker, military-precise and unnervingly pristine. Everything in its place. Order in a life where nothing else is.

 

He grabs a fresh white tee. A black towel.

 

When he turns—

 

Jeongwoo is already bare from the waist up.

 

Bruised.

 

Not just from the last sparring match, but from years of love that tasted like violence and kisses that always came with teeth.

 

His torso glows under the fluorescent light—cut, lean, battered. Still perfect. Still dangerous.

 

He turns to face Haruto slowly. Like he knows what he’s doing. And he does.

 

Haruto stills. Their eyes lock.

 

“So you take care of me still?” Jeongwoo murmurs, voice dipped in shadows and memory.

 

Haruto tosses the towel and shirt toward him. “Because I can.” He shrugs, but his throat’s tight. “You complaining?”

 

Jeongwoo steps forward. No answer.

 

Just deliberate silence.

 

He takes the towel first. Begins wiping himself—slow strokes, over his chest, across his collarbones, down to his hips. The air thickens with every second. He doesn’t look at Haruto.

 

He doesn’t have to.

 

Then, in one effortless movement, he slips the shirt on. White fabric sliding across bruises. Over skin Haruto used to call his.

 

He leans back against the wall, arms crossed now. Watching Haruto watch him.

 

Like a storm daring the sky to crack.

 

“You really like what you’re seeing, huh?” Jeongwoo asks, casually wiping the last bead of liquid from his jaw. His voice soft, but the hit lands like a blade.

 

Haruto’s smirk is slow—forced through clenched teeth.

 

“What’s not to like?”

 

Their silence now hums. There’s a whole war between them in that quiet—memories clashing against the need to forget.

 

But Jeongwoo doesn’t close the space. Doesn’t kiss him. Doesn’t touch.

 

He just walks past—shoulder brushing against Haruto’s. Just enough to feel. Just enough to linger. And as he does, he whispers:

 

“Still your favorite view?”

 

Haruto exhales sharply. Teeth grinding. Heart breaking. Because yes. Yes, he is. And Jeongwoo always fucking knew it.

 

“Mom’s inviting you to dinner.” Haruto said suddenly.

 

Haruto didn’t know why he still did it—why he still told his mother Jeongwoo was coming over for dinner. Maybe because deep down, he never really accepted the break-up. Maybe because some small, selfish part of him wanted to keep Jeongwoo close, even in silence.

 

And Jeongwoo… Jeongwoo had always played the role so well.

 

Jeongwoo didn’t move. Just blinked once, slow. “Still haven’t told her we’re over?”

 

“I don’t have the heart to.” The words came quieter than he expected.

 

Jeongwoo let out a dry laugh. There was no warmth in it. He looked at him properly now.

 

“So you want me to sit through another family night, pretending we’re still together. Got it.” A pause. His tone turned biting. “What do I get out of it?”

 

“Nothing,” Haruto said.

 

There was a dangerous glint in Jeongwoo’s eyes now. The kind he always wore before a cruel comeback.

 

“You know… it’d be easier if you just said you wanted to be fucked.”

 

Haruto bristled. “You’ve always been delusional.”

 

Jeongwoo took a step closer. Haruto didn’t flinch. He never did.

 

“And yet, you still quiver when I touch you.”

 

The air between them shifted again. Heavy.

 

Then, in a voice so low only the two of them could hear—

 

“Why is it,” Haruto breathed, “that when I finally fell for you… you let go?”

 

Jeongwoo didn’t respond right away. His jaw ticked. His gaze flickered—pain, pride, everything in between.

 

“Because you never really saw me,” he said eventually. “I was your errand boy. And when you weren’t pretending I didn’t exist, you were kissing other people—”

 

“It was one guy,” Haruto snapped. “I was drunk—”

 

“Doesn’t matter.” Jeongwoo’s voice was sharper now. “And for the record, I’d always know if it was you or not, Haruto Watanabe.”

 

A pause.

 

Haruto stepped forward. His voice cracked at the edges, vulnerable for once.

 

“Please… what more can I do? We were okay the night after the Blood Party right?” he asked. “I’m done with the games. I want to be with you. I want—”

 

But Jeongwoo shook his head.

 

“You played me,” he said, voice flat. “Now I get to play, too.”

 

And just like that, he turned on his heel and walked away. Haruto didn’t move.

 

Not until the rage bubbled up and his fist slammed into the locker behind him. The metallic clang echoed down the hall. He stayed there, breath heaving, jaw clenched.

 

“Fuck,” he muttered to no one.

 

Except maybe to Jeongwoo. And maybe to himself.

 

-
-
-

 

It was already late into the night.

 

Despite the hour, ENO Mansion was still humming with life. Some hallways were bathed in shadows now, but most rooms still flickered with light. From quiet typing to the occasional frustrated sigh, the energy was focused—tense. It was that time in the early part of the semester again: where professors suddenly dumped hell in the form of surprise quizzes, mini papers, and group projects with impossible deadlines.

 

The men of ENO didn’t get to slack. Status, after all, meant expectations.

 

From the highest ranking seniors to the newest pledges, everyone was working to keep their GPAs within the razor-sharp standard that made ENO untouchable. Reputation wasn’t just built on looks and bloodlines—it needed numbers, and those came in transcripts too.

 

One particular window on the south wing still glowed warm yellow, nestled in arguably one of the most stunning rooms in the mansion. The space was clean, masculine, curated. Expensive. Just like its owner.

 

Inside, Jaehyuk sat hunched over his desk, shirtless, wearing only black silk drawstring pants. His hair was slightly damp from an earlier shower, clinging faintly to his forehead as he flipped through yet another case analysis. A mess of color-coded notes, tabs, and open textbooks surrounded him like a fortress. His brows were furrowed, jaw clenched in that hyper-focused way only Jaehyuk could maintain for hours without pause.

 

He may have walked like he had the world figured out, with all that swagger and smug grins, but the truth was—Jaehyuk had been built, not born. Son of a relentlessly methodical engineer, raised under strict schedules and expectations, he learned discipline young. If he wanted to keep up with the legacy of his brothers and the weight of his own name, he had to fight for it. Study harder. Work longer. Pretend it was easy.

 

For him, excellence wasn’t an option. It was survival.

 

Which is why, when a knock suddenly echoed against the door, sharp and deliberate, Jaehyuk’s pen halted mid-sentence.

 

He sighed loudly, already preparing to be irritated. Probably Hyunsuk again with some chaotic midnight idea or just his sleeping problems.

 

“I told you I’m studying all night,” Jaehyuk grumbled as he got up, rubbing his temples, muscles flexing with the stretch.

 

He pulled the door open with zero ceremony. Only to pause. His entire expression softened in less than a second.

 

It wasn’t Hyunsuk.

 

It was Asahi.

 

In casual clothes, loose white shirt tucked slightly into jeans. His collarbones just visible beneath the scoop of the neckline. His cheeks were a little flushed, and his hair slightly tousled, like he’d showered not long ago. Damp strands curled at his nape, but were already drying. He smelled clean. Familiar. Soft.

 

Asahi didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at Jaehyuk.

 

Jaehyuk’s hand stayed on the doorframe. The irritation vanished from his body like smoke.

 

“Hey,” Asahi said quietly.

 

Jaehyuk blinked. “You… alright?”

 

Asahi shrugged, eyes flicking past Jaehyuk into the room before settling back on him. “Didn’t feel like sleeping yet.”

 

“You need something?” Jaehyuk asked, voice gentle now, a stark contrast from just moments ago.

 

Asahi didn’t answer directly. Instead, he stepped forward, like he was testing the air between them, gaze never breaking.

 

“I just… wanted to see you,” he said.

 

And that? That did something to Jaehyuk.

 

Asahi stood in the doorway, hands in the pockets of his grey hoodie. His voice was soft, almost casual. “I saw Hyunsuk walking to his own room. So I figured… you’re not sharing a bed tonight.”

 

Jaehyuk blinked, then leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, half-smiling.

 

There was a beat of silence, and then Asahi’s tone lowered, a little hesitant. “Is it okay that I’m here? Were you busy?”

 

Jaehyuk’s eyes flicked toward the corner of his room, where his desk was an absolute mess—papers, books, sticky notes in at least three different colors. “Oh… just…”

 

Asahi stepped back instinctively. “Shit. Sorry. I’ll come back another night then.”

 

But before he could fully turn away, Jaehyuk pushed the door open wider, eyes narrowing slightly with a grin. “Another night?”

 

Asahi froze, caught. “If… that’s even…”

 

Jaehyuk’s smile grew. “It’s okay, Asahi. I was just reading through my notes and lectures.”

 

Asahi looked at him then—really looked. The low light in Jaehyuk’s room painted soft shadows across his bare chest, down the sharp lines of his collarbones, glinting against the faint sheen of sweat on his skin. His eyes dropped before he caught himself.

 

“Need help?” Asahi offered, the edge of his voice trying too hard to be casual.

 

“You’re a really good distraction,” Jaehyuk said, walking away from the door, leaving it open behind him. “But if you want to, sure. I can’t pass on an offer. You’re usually cold and scary.”

 

Asahi stepped inside now, quiet as always, his fingers skimming one of Jaehyuk’s untouched books. “And now?”

 

Jaehyuk turned back, eyes soft but direct. “Just… pretty.”

 

Asahi looked at him, lips parting slightly like he was about to say something—but the words didn’t come. And maybe it was the way the silence settled. Or the way the air suddenly grew still between them.

 

But Jaehyuk didn’t wait. He crossed the small distance in two strides, and before Asahi could react, Jaehyuk’s hand slid behind his neck and pulled him in.

 

A kiss. Unannounced. Unrushed. Warm and deep. A quiet claiming. A question and answer all in one breath.

 

Asahi didn’t pull away.

 

He kissed back. Slow. Certain. Careful not to shatter whatever it was they were building.

 

When they parted, Jaehyuk whispered, lips still grazing his, “Another night? I think it’s okay that you’re here.”

 

Asahi looked at him, cheeks slightly pink.

 

“Yeah,” he said. “I think I’ll stay awhile.”

 

-
-
-

 

Somewhere in ENO Mansion, a few rooms lay silent. One of them—its largest and most coveted—was empty. The President’s Suite.

 

Because its owner was standing under the shadow of trees, just outside the Kappa Rho Sigma Sorority House. Across from him, Eunbyeol Kim stood frozen—her world cracking.

 

“Babe, you can’t possibly be doing this to me.”

 

Jihoon exhaled slowly. “Eunbyeol. I said it’s not working. We both knew this was casual. We were just seeing where it goes. Let’s be honest, we’re just using each other.”

 

“It’s been months, Jihoon! I thought we were getting stronger.”

 

“If by stronger you mean sleeping together most nights, parading around campus like we’re a power couple without actually having anything real underneath—then no. That’s not strength.”

 

Eunbyeol’s voice sharpened. “You’re ENO’s president. When did you start caring about emotional depth? What, are you writing poetry now?”

 

She was panicking—lashing out. He knew the sound of survival in someone’s voice. And Eunbyeol Kim was fighting for her image.

 

“I’m sorry,” Jihoon said, gentler this time. “I just can’t keep doing this. I can’t be in something that feels like performance every time. And I don’t think you deserve this treatment either. Find someone who cares about you for real.” Despite him going crazy with Hyunsuk as of late, he was telling the truth. Eunbyeol and him didn’t have substance like all the others before her. All this time, Jihoon was looking for something real.

 

“And what? You’re suddenly searching for romance?” Her voice cracked at the word. “You’ve gone soft. You need me. For appearances. For everything ENO stands for.”

 

Jihoon’s gaze hardened. “Stop before I go batshit.” He didn’t like the way Eunbyeol mentioned ENO.

 

That landed. Eunbyeol stepped back, silence brimming with tears. He knows how Jihoon really is. And right now, he was being nice.

 

“This is hurting me,” she whispered.

 

“Then let’s stop before it hurts more.”

 

And Jihoon meant it. He did feel sorry. He just couldn’t pretend anymore—not when his mind kept drifting somewhere else. Somewhere far from perfect lipstick, high heels, and performative kisses.

 

Somewhere… in the south wing. Probably in pastel pajamas and a Spiderman sleep mask, no doubt causing chaos in someone’s dream or bed.

 

“I have to go.” Jihoon’s tone was final now. “I’m sorry, Eunbyeol. But this isn’t working. I hope you understand that someday.”

 

“You’re not even giving me closure sex?!” she snapped, voice rising. “You better not tell anyone yet, Jihoon Park! I swear I will freak out in front of the entire university if you embarrass me—”

 

He was already opening the car door. “I’ll give you a week, Queen Bee.”

 

Eunbyeol stood there trembling, crushed more by what came next than anything he’d said:

 

Jihoon didn’t even look back.

 

And for the first time in a long time, Jihoon Park felt free. Free to want what he shouldn’t. To want who he shouldn’t. But this time, he wasn’t going to lie to himself anymore.

 

Because someone was probably curled up in bed right now, skin warm, mouth too smart, hands too eager, and heart hidden beneath layers of bravado.

 

And that someone had ruined him completely.

 

-

 

Jihoon knew it was a jerk move. Jumping into the next warm body after a breakup? Classic playboy. Peak asshole behavior.

 

But this wasn’t just a warm body.

 

This was Hyunsuk—all flirt, lip gloss, and infuriating wit. A minx. A menace. The most dangerous drug Jihoon had ever sampled and hadn’t even swallowed yet.

 

He didn’t want to be this guy. Not tonight. Not after he’d just let someone down.

 

But when had he ever lived up to a higher standard when it comes to relationships? He was Jihoon Park. People expected him to move on before the sheets even went cold.

 

So, he gave in.

 

The moment he entered his room, he tossed his jacket to the floor, collapsed on the mattress, and unlocked his phone.

 

You’re fucked up, Jihoon.

 

He muttered it under his breath as he typed.

 

-

 

Meanwhile, in the south wing—inside ENO’s most indulgent suite—Hyunsuk Choi lay sprawled in frustration.

 

He’d tried everything. His favorite vanilla and cashmere candle was flickering quietly. Soothing music drifted through hidden speakers. His absurdly expensive lace and satin ensemble clung to his skin, warm and tight beneath the sheets. His Spiderman eye mask was on. Silk pillowcases. Sleep crystals. Breathing techniques.

 

Still, his body refused to rest. He wanted to scream. Or cry. Or crawl into someone else’s bed.

 

His phone pinged.

 

Jihoon: hoping that you're not touching yourself right now. keeping your word.

 

Hyunsuk’s body locked up. His eyes shot open even more.

 

No. No no no. He blinked once, then twice, heart a drum in his chest.

 

He read it again.

 

hoping that you're not touching yourself right now. keeping your word.

 

His hands trembled as he typed back.

 

Hyunsuk: and if i am? are you going to punish me?

 

The reply came almost instantly.

 

Jihoon: yes.

 

Hyunsuk exhaled. The air in the room shifted. The temperature rose.

 

He sat up slowly, letting the covers slip from his chest. He hadn’t touched himself. He hadn’t dared. But now his whole body was heat.

 

He answered.

 

Hyunsuk: flirting with me, pres?

Jihoon: yes.

 

He gasped softly. The phone nearly slipped from his grip.

 

Hyunsuk: who are you and what have you done to jihoon park? give back his phone.

Jihoon: who am i?

 

Hyunsuk didn’t type. Waiting.

 

Then:

 

Jihoon: just someone who can't sleep without jerking off everytime i think of warm bath and vanilla shampoo.

 

Silence. The candles flickered.

 

Hyunsuk stared. Stared and stared.

 

No emojis. No laughter. Just raw honesty typed in lowercase at midnight by someone who never let himself be vulnerable.

 

Hyunsuk’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, but he couldn’t type a single word.

 

He dropped the phone gently onto the bed.

 

Covered his mouth.

 

And screamed.

 

Quietly.

 

Into the silk.

 

Hyunsuk: make me sleep tonight?

Jihoon: maybe next time. i was really just checking on you.

Hyunsuk: then why does it feel like you’re touching me through this conversation?

Jihoon: i am thinking about it, my little devil.

 

Hyunsuk bit his bottom lip, eyes wide. His heart pounded like Jihoon was whispering directly into his ear.

 

Hyunsuk: yeah? how?

Jihoon: just you on my lap. while i’m working. your weight, your warmth. distracting me in all the wrong ways.

 

Hyunsuk dropped his phone on the bed and threw a pillow at the wall.

 

He was going to combust.

 

Hyunsuk: you’ve changed.

Jihoon: i thought you’re mine now? can’t i speak to my possession this way?

 

Hyunsuk was red—full blush, heat climbing up his neck and ears. He was used to driving Jihoon insane. He wasn’t prepared for this... this reversal.

 

Hyunsuk: where are you?

Jihoon: dangerous question.

Hyunsuk: wanna see you, your highness.

Jihoon: my bedroom. but working at my desk.

Hyunsuk: working? or flirting with me?

Jihoon: both.

Hyunsuk: not sleeping?

Jihoon: not tonight. maybe in the morning. i need to finish reports, homework, some pledge evaluations.

Hyunsuk: you sound like a boyfriend updating. careful, pres.

Jihoon: what are you up to? you wanna warm my bed? i’ll work while i babysit you to sleep.

Hyunsuk: you want that?

Jihoon: i won’t touch. i’ll be feet away from you.

Hyunsuk: disappointing.

Jihoon: you don’t want to?

Hyunsuk: your bed might still smell like some girl and not you. i’ll just end up jealous.

 

There was a pause.

 

Jihoon: then warm it enough to change the scent.

 

Hyunsuk’s fingers trembled. He was ruined. He wanted to cry.

 

Hyunsuk: you’re good at this.

Jihoon: i said come to my room.

 

Another few screams into the pillow.

 

Then—

 

Hyunsuk: yes, your highness… right away.

 

-
-
-

 

Hyunsuk walked down the quiet south wing hallway, feet barely making a sound on the polished floors. He was wrapped in a thick robe, but underneath… all lace. What he’d already been wearing before Jihoon’s message arrived and turned his night upside down.

 

The double doors to the President’s Suite were unlocked, as if waiting for him. He smiled to himself and pushed them open.

 

The suite was pristine—sharp corners, dark wood, expensive finishes. But it smelled like Jihoon. It looked like Jihoon. Lived-in, but exacting. All open space like the rest of ENO’s layout, but with personal marks: the heavy desk, the curated rows of books and vinyls, a single decanter by the minibar. Jihoon didn’t need much to claim space—he just had to exist in it.

 

And there he was. Seated behind his desk, sleeves rolled, neck bent slightly as he scrawled notes into a thick binder. He didn’t even look up at first.

 

“I thought you said you’ll make me sleep but next time,” Hyunsuk murmured, stepping Jihoon’s view, the door shutting behind him with a soft thud.

 

Jihoon finally glanced up—calm, unreadable, then the faintest smirk pulled at his lips. “I told you. I wanna watch you fall asleep on my bed.”

 

Hyunsuk tilted his head. “Your girl not around?”

 

Jihoon didn’t answer right away. He could have said it. He could have told him she was gone, out of his life, a memory already fading.

 

But he liked this version of Hyunsuk—the one who asked, the one who wondered. Maybe a little jealous.

 

“I don’t see her in this room, do I?” Jihoon replied coolly.

 

“Mmm,” Hyunsuk hummed, letting it go.

 

He padded across the room, silk rustling beneath the robe. When he reached the bed, instead of climbing in, he turned and moved toward Jihoon again.

 

Jihoon’s pen stopped mid-sentence. The thick robe slipped from Hyunsuk’s shoulders and pooled on the floor.

 

He was ethereal—an entire contradiction wrapped in satin and lace: delicate yet devastating. Hyunsuk knelt slowly by Jihoon’s chair, eyes never leaving his face.

 

“You can touch my hair,” he whispered. “It might help you focus.”

 

Jihoon exhaled through his nose. “You’re unbelievable.”

 

“I can be your pet for now,” Hyunsuk offered, voice saccharine and dangerous.

 

Jihoon leaned back in his chair, letting his eyes rake down the figure in front of him. His hand twitched against the armrest.

 

“Go to bed,” he said firmly, voice rough. “Before I lose my mind.”

 

Hyunsuk giggled—bright and warm—and stood, leaving behind that dangerous invitation like it cost him nothing. He padded over to Jihoon’s bed, pulled back the covers, and slipped in.

 

“You’re so easy nowadays, Pres,” he teased from under the sheets, his tone full of mischief.

 

Jihoon couldn’t help it—he chuckled. Soft and low. A sound so rare, Hyunsuk turned his head in wonder.

 

He grinned, lips hidden by the comforter as he snuggled down. “Good night. I’ll try to sleep now.”

 

Jihoon’s gaze lingered on the tousled head of hair resting on his pillow.

 

“Good night, little devil,” he said, voice quieter this time.

 

The tension was thick in the air, and the shared knowledge that something dangerous and irreversible had already begun.

 

-
-
-

 

Hyunsuk woke to warmth.

 

Not just the warmth of sunlight slipping through the tall glass windows of the President’s Suite, but the warmth of Jihoon Park’s arm coiled tightly around his waist, their bodies tangled beneath the sheets.

 

It was disorienting at first—too soft, too safe. But then reality washed over him: lace still clung to his skin, Jihoon’s breath fanned against his nape, and the possessiveness in that hold made his heart ache.

 

Hyunsuk had never expected this—at least not this soon. Maybe in a few years. Maybe law school. Not senior year. Not now. He thought he'd be lucky to just annoy Jihoon for another decade before anything happened.

 

He turned slowly, barely breathing as he looked at Jihoon’s face—raw in sleep, his usually sharp features softened. His lips, slightly parted, looked kissable in a way that made Hyunsuk feel desperate. His nose, perfect and regal, twitched with every breath.

 

“Lucky Eunbyeol,” Hyunsuk thought bitterly. Even now, knowing what Jihoon had texted last night, he still couldn’t shake the echo of the girl, who stood as a barrier between them. What he doesn’t know was Jihoon already ended it.

 

Jihoon stirred, groaning as he shifted—burying his face into the crook of Hyunsuk’s neck like it was instinct. It felt practiced, like he did it all the time. And that alone made Hyunsuk's chest tighten with something like heartbreak.

 

A sharp ring cut through the stillness—the landline on Jihoon’s nightstand.

 

Jihoon groaned again, blinking into the quiet morning. His eyes landed on Hyunsuk’s face, so close. He didn’t look surprised. He just smirked.

 

He reached for the phone without breaking eye contact.

 

“Morning,” Jihoon said into the receiver. “Yeah. Breakfast in bed sounds nice but I’ve got an early class, Chef... Besides, I’m still kind of full from last night.”

 

His gaze dropped. The covers had fallen slightly, revealing Hyunsuk in black lace and silk. Stockings. Perfectly tousled and smug, propped on one elbow, tracing lazy circles into the mattress with his finger.

 

Hyunsuk raised an eyebrow.

 

Jihoon’s voice didn’t waver. “Have them ring the morning alarm now. They’ve got quizzes today.”

 

He hung up.

 

Hyunsuk was still drawing circles, more deliberate now, but Jihoon caught his hand and pinned it down on the bed with a firm grip.

 

“Stop that,” Jihoon murmured. “You’re going to drive me insane.”

 

Hyunsuk smiled and took his hand back, tucking it under his cheek like a pillow. “You slept beside me.”

 

Jihoon sighed. “Two hours. Maybe.”

 

“You should go back to sleep. It’s just Friday. Seniors don’t need to walk in together today.”

 

“You make it sound like it’s a burden,” Jihoon muttered.

 

Hyunsuk laughed. “I mean, the walk was flashy—but let’s be honest, ENO’s done it for years. You just turned it into a rule.”

 

Jihoon watched him. Quiet. “You don’t have class?”

 

“Afternoon only. I’m having brunch with my parents.”

 

“You’ll talk about the Gala?”

 

“Yeah.” Hyunsuk bit his lip, hesitating.

 

“What is it?”

 

“This is the most normal conversation we’ve had that doesn’t involve me flirting with you.”

 

Jihoon smiled faintly. “Wish we’d done this sooner.”

 

Hyunsuk's breath caught in his throat.

 

“No,” he said. “I like that it took time. I like that I had to chase you.”

 

In Jihoon opinion, he’s the one chasing Hyunsuk now. But he doesn’t have to know that yet. He smirked.

 

Jihoon tilted his head. “Still not touching yourself?”

 

Hyunsuk let out a breathy laugh. “No. You said I couldn’t.”

 

“I can’t wait for the day I get to touch you.”

 

“I could cry. I’m so deprived.”

 

“Good.”

 

Hyunsuk blinked. “You like controlling me, Pres?”

 

“I do. I love your little game,” Jihoon said, voice low now. “Knowing that each time you squirm it’s because you haven’t been touched in a long time. Because I said so.”

 

“So it’s true then. What they say. You’re possessive.”

 

“I want to kiss you so bad, Hyunsuk,” Jihoon whispered. “But I won’t.”

 

Hyunsuk pressed his lips together, pupils blown. “Hmm?” Hyunsuk wanted to smile like an idiot. It showed. Jihoon wanted to laugh.

 

“Horny for me now?” Jihoon asks instead.

 

“Very.”

 

And then, with precise slowness, Jihoon reached over and brushed his fingers over Hyunsuk’s lace-covered nipple.

 

Hyunsuk gasped. “Ah… Jihoon…”

 

Jihoon’s voice was firm. “I’m the only one who can touch you. Got that?”

 

Hyunsuk, breathless, nodded. “I’m yours… hmm…”

 

“Moan my name again.”

 

“Jihoon… oh… fuck.”

 

Jihoon pulled his hand away. Hyunsuk whimpered, lips parted in disbelief.

 

“Time for class. Get up now.”

 

He didn’t move.

 

“I said, now. Little devil.”

 

Hyunsuk bit his lip and rolled off the bed, scrambling to grab his robe, heat still coursing through his veins. He didn’t speak, just obeyed.

 

Eager. Wanting. Owned.

 

And Jihoon? Jihoon just sat back, smug and dangerous, watching his little devil stumble around the room—completely undone and completely his.

 

-
-
-

 

Blood. Grunts. Silence.

 

Another day at the ENO Mansion, where the halls reeked of sweat and legacy, Yoshi moved like a man possessed. Bruised and bleeding, he was locked in a violent rhythm with his sparring partner—an ex-military trainer who’d been beating him into shape since ENO first scouted him. This wasn’t just training—it was release. Pain reminded him he was still in control.

 

The double doors creaked open. Jihoon entered, flanked by Jaehyuk and Junkyu. The President’s footsteps echoed like judgment in marble.

 

Jaehyuk, hands in pockets, was grinning—half in awe, half in amusement. Junkyu was silent, his gaze locked onto Yoshi, who was dripping sweat and blood, unmoved.

 

“You weren’t picking up,” Jihoon said. “Figured you were here.”

 

At Jihoon's voice, Yoshi dropped his stance, waving off the guards without breaking stride.

 

Face battered, one eye already swelling shut, Yoshi still had the nerve to grin. “What is it, Pres? I was in therapy.”

 

“The charity gala’s been moved. Earlier than expected.” Jihoon eyed the bruises like they were an inconvenience. “How the hell am I supposed to bring you like that?”

 

“I heal fast. Trust.”

 

Jaehyuk clicked his tongue. “Can’t tell if it’s arrogance or delusion.”

 

Yoshi’s smirk faltered for just a second—eyes flicking toward Junkyu. “Thought we were going with Asahi?”

 

Jaehyuk shrugged. “Asahi’s still going—just with his father’s delegation. He’s their plus one. We’ve got space for one more.”

 

Junkyu stepped forward lazily. “Figured I’d check out the fuss. I’m bored. Even Hyunsuk’s coming with the Chois.”

 

Something flickered in Yoshi’s expression. Jihoon didn’t wait for more talk. “Clean up,” he ordered. “We’ll wait upstairs.”

 

Jihoon turned. Jaehyuk followed with a smirk. But when they reached the stairs, Jihoon glanced over his shoulder.

 

“You coming, Junkyu?”

 

Junkyu didn’t move. “I’ll make sure he cleans up well.”

 

A knowing smirk tugged at Jaehyuk’s mouth, but he said nothing as he followed the president up the steps.

 

Silence fell.

 

Junkyu stepped forward, slow and easy. “I don’t get why you do this to yourself,” he muttered, voice soft as he scanned the bruises. “But I’m not complaining.”

 

Yoshi raised an eyebrow. “That so?”

 

Junkyu tilted his head. “This whole thing you’ve got going—the blood, the sweat, the quiet masochism—it’s hot.”

 

Yoshi chuckled, dark and low. “Junkyu Kim, down bad for me, huh?”

 

“Maybe,” Junkyu replied smoothly. “Or maybe I’m just in desperate need of some good rough sex.”

 

Yoshi licked the blood off his lip. “You calling me good in bed?”

 

“I don’t like to assume,” Junkyu smirked, already turning. “But I’d love some proof.”

 

Yoshi’s voice followed him. “You won’t get me while I’m bleeding.”

 

“Who said anything about now?” Junkyu called over his shoulder. “Go rinse off. You owe me a clean slate.”

 

Yoshi didn’t answer. A moment later, the hiss of the shower echoed from the changing rooms.

 

When he returned—shirtless, towel low on his hips, water still dripping down his chest—Junkyu was seated on the bench, first-aid kit open, sleeves rolled up.

 

“Sit,” Junkyu said softly.

 

Yoshi obeyed.

 

Junkyu worked in silence, cleaning a cut above his brow, then dabbing at his swollen lip.

 

“You flinch and I swear—”

 

“You’ll mock me forever,” Yoshi finished. “Noted.”

 

Junkyu smiled faintly, focused. “You’re a mess, but not a terrible one.”

 

Yoshi watched him work. Close. Careful.

 

“You always like broken things?” he asked.

 

“Only the ones that fight to fix themselves,” Junkyu answered without missing a beat.

 

Yoshi stared. Hard. Junkyu looked up—and suddenly, Yoshi grabbed his jaw and pulled him in. Junkyu gasped as Yoshi kissed him. No warning. No hesitation. Just bruised lips on his, hot and demanding.

 

Junkyu froze for half a second—then let it happen. Let himself be kissed like that. By someone wild, unrelenting, dangerous.

 

Yoshi pulled away just as fast, thumb still at Junkyu’s jaw. “Don’t ask me again what I’m gonna do about it.”

 

Junkyu swallowed. His voice barely held steady. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

 

Yoshi smirked, blood still drying on his skin. “Good. You’re not supposed to.”

 

They stared at each other—breathing a little heavier now. The air felt charged. Tense. But nothing more needed to be said. For now.

 

“I thought you don’t want to be a rebound?” Junkyu whispers.

 

Yoshi falters for a split second. The grin doesn’t fade, but something flickers behind his eyes.

 

“That’s what I said,” he replies smoothly. “Not what I really want.”

 

-
-
-

 

Jihoon’s study was dimly lit, warm like a den, its walls lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves of law tomes, old world political histories, and ENO archives in hardbound gold. At the side was a conference area, it sat a round table like that one from the war room, only this was for a small crowd.

 

Asahi, Jaehyuk, and Jihoon were already seated, the atmosphere thick with quiet authority.

 

The doors opened at last. Junkyu and Yoshi entered.

 

“You guys took long,” Jaehyuk said smugly, eyes flicking toward them with a grin.

 

Yoshi rolled his eyes and just made face at him but didn’t bother replying.

 

Asahi, on the other hand, shot Jaehyuk a single, clipped glance—and Jaehyuk visibly dialed himself down. Their dynamic had gravity already even though nothing has really happened significantly. Yet.

 

Jihoon didn’t even bother to look up. He just straightened the cuffs of his shirt and began, “Now that we’re all here (technically not, since they were still waiting for Hyunsuk but he had always been late for meetings)—aside from Asahi and I, it’ll be your first time attending the Charity Gala organized by the Order. I’m briefing you because the event isn’t what it seems.”

 

Asahi leaned forward. “I usually attend as part of my father’s delegation. But this time, we’ve arranged to bring more of our members. The President of the Order agreed—it’s an advantage.”

 

Jihoon nodded. “Exactly. It’s a formal gathering on the surface, a celebration of fraternity alliance. But underneath—it’s all politics. And more importantly, power.”

 

“The more of us, the stronger our presence,” Yoshi said casually, wiping blood from his lip with a tissue. “Classic Jihoon move.”

 

Jihoon smiled faintly. “Appearances are strategy.”

 

Asahi folded his arms. “The Order might push new rules this year. And for the first time, they’re entertaining Delta Sigma Kai.”

 

Jaehyuk scoffed. “Bottom feeders.”

 

“They have numbers. And perseverance,” Jihoon added. “That’s more dangerous than legacy. If it’s true that they want funding from the Order, particularly on par with ours, that could be dangerous for us. You know how it might affect our family’s places in society.”

 

The door opened again.

 

Heads turned.

 

Hyunsuk walked in—late, as always, but never unnoticed. He wore his usual chaos of chains and color-blocked designer pieces. Hair brushed back. No lip ring today. Somehow, the absence made his mouth look softer. Jihoon’s gaze lingered there longer than he should have.

 

Jaehyuk raised a brow. “The princess graces us.”

 

Hyunsuk flipped him off playfully, but said nothing. Asahi didn’t even try to hide the tension in his jaw. He knew how close Hyunsuk and Jaehyuk had always been—but it still stung.

 

There was only one empty chair left.

 

Beside Jihoon.

 

Hyunsuk hesitated for half a second before sitting down. The chair legs scraped softly. And then—

 

Their knees touched beneath the table. Hyunsuk tensed at the contact. But Jihoon didn’t move. He didn’t pull back. He didn’t flinch.

 

He let it stay.

 

“You okay, Sukkie?” Jaehyuk asked, amused. “You’re not your usual self.”

 

Hyunsuk smiled thinly. “Must be the company.”

 

He wasn’t wrong.

 

Under the table, he reached—slowly—and placed his hand on Jihoon’s thigh. Not bold. Not teasing. Just… there. Like it belonged.

 

Jihoon, mid-sentence, didn’t even pause. But he linked their pinkies together beneath the table. The touch was subtle. Intimate. Like a quiet secret between forbidden lovers.

 

Hyunsuk bit his lip. This felt insane. This felt real.

 

“Hyunsuk,” Asahi said, breaking the moment. “You going with the Chois again for the charity?”

 

“Same as always,” Hyunsuk replied, slipping back into nonchalance. “Not sure if I can stay for the meeting with the Order after, though.”

 

Jihoon’s voice dropped a little. “Do you want to?”

 

The pinky link grew tighter.

 

Hyunsuk’s heart skipped. “Might be boring. But if you’re there… maybe I’ll stay. Watch you play king.”

 

It was flirty. His usual attack on the president. Wicked. But Jihoon didn’t react with annoyance like usual. He simply turned a page of the documents in front of him and continued the briefing—still touching him.

 

Jaehyuk, ever observant, opened his phone beneath the table and typed quickly.

 

A buzz on Hyunsuk’s wrist. Apple Watch.

 

Jaehyuk: You guys just at the eye-fucking stage or fucking for real stage? You side whore. 🤪

 

Hyunsuk swallowed hard. It was a joke. But it hit too close.

 

Was that what he was now? A side piece? A secret itch Jihoon couldn’t scratch in public?

 

Eunbyeol still existed. That’s was the truth.

And yet here he was—Hyunsuk, under the table, holding his hand like a secret lover. Wanting more. Getting crumbs.

 

He glanced sideways at Jihoon, who was still pretending like nothing was happening. But the pressure of their pinkies told a different story. A story only they knew.

 

Hyunsuk’s chest ached.

 

He had worked so hard—fought so hard to be close to Jihoon, to have his feelings seen, acknowledged. Now he had them… in stolen touches and locked glances.

 

Was it enough?

 

Was it worth it?

 

Still—he didn’t let go.

 

-
-
-

 

It was late in the afternoon again. Days go by quick. Jihoon was deep into paperwork when his phone rang again. The academic reports had just come in, and like always, he was the first to request a detailed ENO-only breakdown.

 

His brows furrowed at the numbers on the screen. The line connected.

 

“Jihoon Park speaking.”

 

“Mr. Park, thank you for responding so quickly. I’m calling back regarding the academic performance you flagged—particularly the juniors and sophomores in your house.”

 

Jihoon leaned back in his chair, twirling a pen between his fingers. “I assume you saw what I saw.”

 

“Yes, sir. It’s… unusual.”

 

“How bad?”

 

“There’s been a substantial drop in performance in one particular class. Some ENO members are in danger of dipping below the GPA requirement. Five are teetering on the line of failure. All from the same course.”

 

Jihoon’s eyes sharpened. “Which professor?”

 

A pause. Then: “Professor Han Taegun.”

 

Jihoon froze. His grip on the pen stilled.

 

“…Han Taegun?”

 

“Yes. Department of Political Theory. It’s a new elective that was just added this term under his request. High-level. He’s… quite popular. A bit of a rising star in the department. PhD from Yale. Young. Well-liked.”

 

Jihoon was barely listening now. Han Taegun. He could picture him vividly. That cocky, curated charisma. The smooth voice. No awareness when he interrupted the ENO walk some day ago. Jihoon remembered the way Hyunsuk commented on him being hot last time. And wasn’t Eunbyeol working on “extra credit” in his class?

 

Jihoon’s voice was low. “Is this dip isolated?”

 

Another pause.

 

“That’s the odd part. Only ENO students have underperformed. Everyone else—from KRS… Theta Pi… etcetera—are reporting normal or even above-average grades. But for some reason, every ENO student in Han Taegun’s class is suffering.”

 

Jihoon sat in silence, rage slow and simmering behind his eyes. A deliberate type of anger.

 

“Understood,” he said flatly.

 

“Would you like to request academic intervention?”

 

“No.” Jihoon stood. “I want information. Who he meets with. Who attends his office hours. What connections he has to our members. I want everything on record.”

 

“Of course. We’ll gather that—”

 

“I’ll have someone do it myself.”

 

Jihoon ended the call and immediately opened his messages.

 

Jihoon: Jeongwoo, I need you in Professor Han Taegun’s 3PM lecture tomorrow. Sit front row. Take notes. Report back. I don’t care how charming he is—watch everything. Also check on Eunbyeol’s last three consult logs with him. Maybe ask help from Haruto? Quietly.

Jeongwoo Park. That faculty pet should be a good watcher.

 

He gets a call from Jeongwoo.

 

Buzz

 

“Saw your text, Pres. What is it about? At least give me context.” Jeongwoo’s voice was sleepy, too casual for Jihoon’s current mood.

 

“We’ve got a problem.”

 

“What kind of—?”

 

“You know Professor Han Taegun?”

 

“Uh… yeah. Kind of a star on RateMyProfessor. Half the school’s thirsting—”

 

“Save it.” Jihoon sat on the edge of his desk, jaw tight. “I want surveillance. Starting today. Sit in his class. Join his consultations. I want to know who he talks to, what he grades on, and why the fuck ENO’s the only one suffering in his goddamn curriculum.”

 

Jeongwoo went quiet. Then:

 

“You think he’s targeting us?”

 

“I don’t think. I know something’s off. The people we handpicked as members are not stupid enough to go below GPA. And I don’t like feeling stupid. Not in this school. Not in my house.”

 

“You want me to flirt with him?” Jeongwoo teased, clearly joking. “Kidding. You’re too pressed. I’ll get to the bottom of it.”

 

“Do whatever it takes. Just find out what he wants.”

 

Jihoon hung up before Jeongwoo could respond. He leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing.

 

He tossed his phone on the table and stared at his reflection in the black screen of his laptop.

 

Han Taegun.

 

What the hell are you playing at? Because if you’re trying to make a name for yourself by targeting ENO… You just made yourself the enemy of the wrong man.

 

-
-
-

 

“You’re jealous,” Hyunsuk said, casually spooning cake into his mouth as his gaze slid toward Asahi, seated across the table.

 

Asahi didn’t respond right away—his eyes were following Jaehyuk, who had just stood to fetch drinks from the sideboard.

 

They were in the middle of one of ENO Mansion’s customary private dinners—this time hosted by Haruto. The tradition started casually but had solidified into something close to ritual. Every other week, the seniors would use part of the individual budget granted to them by the Aureus Order—not on themselves, but on the entire house. Lavish food, a private dining setup, and zero outsiders. It was the kind of event that made the rest of campus whisper in envy.

 

Jihoon approved of it, of course. It was intimate, yes—but still fed the party culture he championed, in a way only the elite could manage.

 

“Jealous of what?” Asahi finally replied, eyes still trailing Jaehyuk.

 

“Me and Jaehyuk.”

 

Asahi’s gaze snapped back. “Only that your friendship is… questionable.”

 

Hyunsuk grinned. “We don’t have sex.”

 

“Sure, but you had once. Maybe?”

 

Hyunsuk laughed out loud. “Never.”

 

Asahi gave him a flat look. “That’s hard to believe, with the way he touches you.”

 

“Maybe that’s why he touches me that way?” Hyunsuk teased. Then softened. “Kidding. We’ve always been like that. Long history. He’s comfort.”

 

He paused, licking frosting off his spoon.

 

“But if it bothers you, I’ll stop sleeping in his room. Out of respect,” Hyunsuk said simply. “I like seeing Jae happy. I like seeing this version of him with you.”

 

Asahi blinked, clearly taken off guard by the sudden sincerity. “You don’t have to change your habits for me. However weird they may be. I get it. You’re soulmates as he said.”

 

Then quieter, a little less sure: “Just… if you ever—”

 

“You know I like Jihoon, right?” Hyunsuk cut in, gentle but firm.

 

Asahi hesitated. “The President? He’s got a girlfriend.”

 

Hyunsuk arched a brow. “And I’m single. And Jaehyuk? Well…” he smiled slightly, “he hasn’t kissed anyone else in weeks. Don’t play dumb.”

 

“You think he likes me?”

 

“I know he does, Hamada. You’re even on kissing stage now. And trust me, I’m usually as cold as you are. Don’t make me say anything sentimental.”

 

A rare smile curved Asahi’s lips. “You really didn’t have sex?”

 

“Maybe a kiss,” Hyunsuk admitted. “Drunken. Regretful.”

 

“Wow. That definitely helps.”

 

Hyunsuk snorted. “Hey, we tried. Realized fast it was weird. Gross, even. We’re better as sleeping buddies. But not anymore. He’s clearly got eyes only for you.”

 

“And what about you?” Asahi asked. “How will you deal with your sleep problems now?”

 

Hyunsuk looked away with a small smile, lifting another spoonful of cake as his eyes found Jihoon across the room—deep in conversation with Yoshi and a few underclassmen. No Eunbyeol in sight.

 

They locked eyes. Jihoon looked away, quickly. Hyunsuk’s smile widened.

 

“I may have found a long-term solution,” he murmured.
Asahi followed his gaze and let out a quiet laugh. “Well… good luck,” he said, the corner of his mouth curling into a knowing smirk.

 

-
-
-

 

As the dinner plates cleared and soft music played in the background, Haruto stood up from his seat at the long dining table. The chandelier above them cast a warm golden hue over the scene—ENO’s finest, gathered in effortless elegance.

 

Haruto raised his glass, earning the attention of the room. Conversations faded, laughter softened.

 

“As tonight’s host, before we all get too drunk on dessert and red wine, I just want to thank everyone for showing up—even with the weight of the semester already hanging over our heads,” Haruto said, his voice calm but steady, threaded with his usual quiet charisma.

 

He paused, scanning the room. Then his gaze landed on Jeongwoo, who looked up mid-sip of his wine. Their eyes held for a moment longer than expected.

 

“It’s not always easy keeping up with everything we’re expected to do… But I’m proud of how we show up for each other. Even when no one else sees it,” Haruto said, a little softer now. “We’re not just the best because of our name—we’re the best because we work, we sacrifice, and we look out for our own.”

 

Jeongwoo blinked a few times, lowering his glass, and gave Haruto the smallest, grateful nod.

 

Haruto straightened again, smile returning. “So—here’s to us. And to doing it all, even when it’s hard.”

 

He raised his glass higher. “To ENO.”

 

“To ENO,” everyone echoed, glasses clinking all around the table.

 

Then Haruto sat down and nodded toward the head of the table.

 

“Pres,” he said with a grin. “You’ve got the floor.”

 

Jihoon stood, ever composed, glass still in hand. His gaze swept over the room with all the weight of someone who’d built ENO’s current legacy brick by brick.

 

Hyunsuk—seated a few places down beside Jaehyuk—was already watching him. Their eyes met. Something unspoken passed between them. Jihoon held the stare for a second too long before looking away.

 

“Thank you, Haruto,” he began. “I’ll make this quick.”

 

Some chuckles rippled—no one ever really believed that when Jihoon said it.

 

“We’ve got the second phase of initiates’ hazing coming up next week. As always, my rule stands—purple, not red. If you know, you know. No brutal wounds. Hopefully no hospital visits. Nothing that can’t be explained by a bad gym session. Either way, we have our own medical team on standby. But I’m really hoping for them not to get overworked.”

 

“Damn,” Junghwan whispered to Doyoung beside him, lips twitching.

 

Some of the seniors chuckled, and a few of the new members from the first batch sitting quietly at the edge of the gathering paled slightly because they already had the experience.

 

Jihoon continued, tone shifting into something more focused. “The Charity Gala hosted by the Aureus Order is around the corner. You’ve all heard bits and pieces—but let me be clear. This isn’t just another event. This is the event. It’s not just another excuse to wear expensive suits and drink top-shelf wine. It’s politics. The eyes of the council, the university, and every legacy frat across the country will be on us—not just as a powerhouse, but as the best fraternity house.”

 

He let that sit for a second. “ENO’s reputation didn’t happen overnight. We earned it—and we protect it. That means appearance, behavior, and performance, starting now.”

 

There was a subtle shift in the air. Everyone was listening closely.

 

“Speaking of performance…I’ve been tracking academic reports. Administration sent me early warnings.”

 

Now came the tension. Several sophomores and juniors were no longer breathing easy.

 

“A quarter of our house—there’s been a noticeable dip.” His eyes scanned the area where the young ones are located. “Not enough to fail yet, but enough to alarm administration. And enough to alarm me. This is unprecedented in ENO’s history.”

 

Uneasy glances passed between members. Some sat up straighter. Others exchanged quiet, worried looks.

 

“We’ll talk more after dinner,” Jihoon said, sharp but calm. “You’ve been called to a separate meeting.”

 

A long pause.

 

Then Jihoon added, gentler this time, “I’m not here to humiliate anyone. I’m here to make sure no one slips. We rise together. We don’t fall behind. Not on my watch.”

 

He took a sip of his wine—cool, casual. Like it’s no sweat at all. And then, he looked back up.

 

Right at Hyunsuk. The gaze lingered, almost intimate. Hyunsuk held it, pinky tapping idly on the stem of his wine glass. His eyes, unreadable. But he nodded. Just once.

 

Like he understood. Jihoon’s fingers clenched at the edge of his glass. But he finished his address without flinching.

 

“Good luck on your performances. And remember—you’re not alone. ENO doesn’t lose. We don’t let each other fall.”

 

He sat back down.

 

And just like that, the tension broke—but only barely. Conversations resumed, but quieter. Focused. Doyoung clinked glasses with Junghwan. Asahi leaned closer to Jaehyuk. Yoshi whispered something to Junkyu. Haruto caught Jeongwoo’s eye again, lips curved with a secret message unspoken.

 

Jaehyuk whispered something teasing to Hyunsuk—but the latter wasn’t listening. He was still looking at Jihoon.

 

The brotherhood was still intact. But the pressure had returned in full.

 

-
-
-

 

Jaehyuk pushed open the double doors of Hyunsuk’s bedroom without knocking, as usual.

 

“You free tonight?”

 

Hyunsuk, lounging in a loose satin shirt and shorts on his oversized bed, didn’t bother looking up from his tablet. “What is it now? Trouble?”

 

“You heard about that grade thing? It’s serious.” Jaehyuk flopped down beside him, stretching his long legs out. “That professor of yours is involved?”

 

“He’s not my professor. I just said he’s hot. Which he is. His class is fun but too easy for me.”

 

Jaehyuk’s hand drifted lazily, fingers brushing against Hyunsuk’s bare thigh.

 

Hyunsuk rolled his eyes. “Still can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

 

“You know me. I see leg, I touch leg.”

 

“Just mine though,” Hyunsuk said. “You don’t sleep around anymore. Or kiss people.” He pointed out.

 

“Asahi,” Jaehyuk said simply.

 

“I’m not sleeping in your bed anymore. We talked. He’s uncomfortable.”

 

“Oh?” Jaehyuk’s voice dipped with something unreadable.

 

“Did you guys sleep together already? Like, sex?”

 

Jaehyuk grinned, biting his lip. “Just a hardcore makeout. He’s so good with his mouth, it’s honestly a little terrifying.”

 

Hyunsuk groaned and buried his face in a pillow. “What exactly are you still doing in my bed, Jae?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“God, you’re such a coward. You’re catching feelings. Go touch him instead and stop bothering me.”

 

“I don’t know how to deal with it. Honestly.”

 

“Ew. Seriously, Jae?”

 

“Come on, Sukkie. This is Asahi. He’s like… the son of Lucifer or something. He could crush my heart just by blinking. It’s terrifying.”

 

“Go deal with it yourself. I have enough on my plate.”

 

“The only thing you’re ever busy with is plotting your slow seduction of the Pres. You’re too smart to actually study. So what’s really occupying you is the question here—wait. Don’t tell me.”

 

“I’m not telling.”

 

“Hyunsuk.”

 

“…Maybe.”

 

Jaehyuk’s jaw dropped. “You’re seeing him? The pres?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Don’t tell me you’re settling for mistress status. You are not that low, princess.”

 

“I’m not… well…”

 

“Well?”

 

“He confuses me. But I can’t stop. He’s addictive.”

 

“Shit.”

 

“I’m such a sub for him. Ugh. What do I do?”

 

“Oh my god.” Jaehyuk stood abruptly. “Back to the juniors. I need bleach for my brain. I don’t want any thoughts of you being someone’s side conquest. Come with us. Please? Doyoung’s got new mechanics for the game. It’s scary and going to be fun.”

 

“Blood Party?”

 

“Exactly. The juniors are blowing off steam after the meeting with Pres. Failing grades and all that. Well not failing yet but you know what I mean. I know Jihoon’s going to do something about that professor.”

 

“Hmm. Interesting.”

 

“Come.”

 

“No. Deal with Asahi alone. I’m not flirting with you through the Blood Party crowd. I’ll see Pres tonight.”

 

“To prove what? That you’re just the second hole?”

 

“No. To bait him. I’m gonna bring up that hot professor again. Make him jealous. Win.”

 

Jaehyuk stared at him, half-disgusted, half-impressed. “You psychological monster.”

 

Hyunsuk just smiled. “Have fun watching sophomores bleed.”

 

“You’re so bad.” Jaehyuk huffed, already heading for the door.

 

“I try.” Hyunsuk called after him, laughter following Jaehyuk down the hall.

 

-
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-

 

{Private Messaging}

 

Hyunsuk: No, I’m not babysitting your boys at the Blood Party. Yoshi and Jaehyuk are at it again. So are the other boys.

Jihoon: I wasn’t even going to text you.

Hyunsuk: You’re not? You always want me to watch.

Jihoon: I’ve realized Blood Parties aren’t so bad.

Hyunsuk: How so?

Jihoon: Because the mansion is empty. Except for you and me.

 

Hyunsuk froze, phone still in hand. His heart was suddenly too loud in the silence of his room. He was supposed to be the one with the upperhand. Isn’t he supposed to tease Jihoon with the professor issue?

 

Hyunsuk: Your point, your highness?

Jihoon: Come roam the house with me.

 

Hyunsuk swallowed, breath shaky. The ENO estate was massive—grand halls, forgotten areas in some wings, and tunnels beneath it all. The idea of wandering it with Jihoon felt dangerous. Forbidden. Intimate.

 

Hyunsuk: And do what exactly?

Jihoon: Maybe steal a kiss from those lips of yours in the dark.

 

A pause.

 

Jihoon: Don’t wear your lip ring tonight.

 

Hyunsuk nearly dropped the phone. He gripped it tighter instead, staring at the words like they’d set him on fire.

 

He screamed.

 

“Fine. I’m the side conquest. Fuck you, Jaehyuk.” Hyunsuk muttered to himself and groaned, already making his way into the walk-in closet—grumbling, but scanning for an outfit that looked effortless enough for a secret rendezvous in the dark. Little did he know, Jihoon was already single. There was no mistress position to fill—Hyunsuk was the only one.

 

-
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Notes:

i did mention on X that this fic is hoonsuk-centric. so to people reading from here, now you know?

plsss lovely people, just let me write them in ways i want. i take criticism but this is how i want it to be. pls pls.

thank you for reading!! xo.

Chapter 5: Selfish

Summary:

Charge rise within the ENO circle as personal desires clash with legacy expectations. Meanwhile, the suspicions on Han Taegun shed some light.

Notes:

ALL CHARACTERS in this story are portrayed with realistic flaws, inspired by the real-life complexities and issues faced by the elite.

Dinner with the Watanabe family meant all smiles and laughter. The whole clan had gathered to celebrate Haruto’s sister’s birthday. Though the event was grand, the afterparty was more intimate—just close family, catching up over stories and wine.

 

So when Jeongwoo was asked what he’d been up to lately, he answered with charm and enthusiasm, like he always did. He had the room in the palm of his hand. What the Watanabes didn’t know, however, was that Jeongwoo and Haruto had already broken up.

 

Haruto couldn’t help but stare. This—this right here—was what he missed. Jeongwoo fitting so seamlessly into his family, laughing with his cousins, earning approving nods from the uncles. It made Haruto ache. What could he possibly do to make it right?

 

Jeongwoo caught his gaze across the room and smirked, eyes burning. Haruto felt the heat crawl up his spine. Their earlier activities had been just as intense—Jeongwoo had practically ruined him in bed before the dinner. The soreness still lingered. The memory made Jeongwoo’s smirk deepen arrogantly.

 

Then, subtly, Jeongwoo opened his phone and typed:

 

Jeongwoo: I’ll leave in a bit. Pres gave me a task.

 

He smiled at an uncle mid-conversation, nodding politely.

 

Haruto: Oh? Need help?

Jeongwoo: I’ll ask if I do. Might need some CCTV footage later. But for now, I’m good on my own.

Haruto: I miss the way you need me.

Jeongwoo: Wasn’t the whole day enough? We fucked for hours before this dinner, Ruto.

Haruto: What if I want more?

Jeongwoo: Aren’t you sore?

Haruto: Not in that way.

Jeongwoo: Let’s go to the garden.

 

They stood up almost at the same time. Haruto casually told his parents they’d go for a quick evening stroll. His mother beamed at the sight. Everyone loved Jeongwoo.

 

Once they reached the edge of the garden, away from the lights and music, just by the steps of the Watanabe mansion, Jeongwoo grabbed Haruto and pushed him against one of the marble Ionic columns. He kissed him—aggressively, desperately.

 

“Why is it that I can’t get enough of you? It’s getting frustrating,” Jeongwoo muttered against Haruto’s lips.

 

“Then stop torturing yourself. Stop torturing us. Just come back to me—”

 

They clutched each other’s waists, grounding themselves in the chaos.

 

“I’m sorry if I was too rough earlier. Are you okay?”

 

“I loved every second of it,” Haruto whispered. “You know I love how you fuck me.”

 

Jeongwoo kissed him again, softer this time. ”Hmmh–”

 

“A-Are we still playing?” Haruto asked, voice unsure.

 

“I don’t know,” Jeongwoo breathed. “I need to heal from everything you did to me. But then…”

 

He pulled Haruto close and buried his face in his neck.

 

“…I always end up here. With you. And I hate myself for it.”

 

Haruto’s heart cracked open again.

 

“I’m sorry. I won’t stop being sorry.”

 

“But we can’t keep doing this. I can’t go hot and cold with you forever. As much as it hurts, you don’t deserve that, Haruto. I’m still angry. You’re still healing. We need space. You know that, don’t you?”

 

“I know…” Haruto said quietly. “But I still need you. Want you.”

 

Jeongwoo kissed him again. This time, slower. More painful.

 

“Goddamn it,” he muttered, biting his lip as he rested his forehead against Haruto’s. Eyes shut. Breathing uneven.

 

And for one long moment, they just stood there—torn between wanting and knowing better.

 

Jeongwoo’s phone buzzed. A message from his informant.

 

Han Taegun just left the campus library. Headed back to the faculty building. No detours.

 

He stared at the screen for a moment, then looked up at Haruto—eyes heavy with conflict. He leaned in and kissed him again, slow and aching, like goodbye.

 

“I wanna say let’s take it slow,” Jeongwoo murmured, lips brushing Haruto’s. “But I can’t be slow with you. I just… can’t. We need a real break. I can’t keep hurting you like this.”

 

Haruto pressed his lips together, fighting to keep his face from falling apart. His heart was still pounding from Jeongwoo’s kisses, from everything they were and weren’t.

 

Jeongwoo cupped his cheek one last time. “Tell them I had an emergency, okay? Just say bye for me.”

 

Haruto nodded. “Yeah. Don’t worry about mom.”

 

“See you around.”

 

Jeongwoo turned and walked away, disappearing down the long garden path—already shifting from lover to informant, back into the ruthless ENO senior who had a job to finish.

 

And Haruto? He stood there, alone among the roses, breathless from the taste Jeongwoo left behind.

 

-
-
-

 

The muffled roar of the ENO crowd echoed through the heavy walls of the war room beside the arena—electric, frenzied, and feeding the rhythm of their bodies. Doyoung was riding Junghwan hard, his breath hitching with each bounce, a string of moans falling freely from his parted lips.

 

“Ah—ah!” Doyoung’s voice trembled, his hands braced on Junghwan’s bare chest, which glistened with heat and effort.

 

Junghwan groaned, head tilted back, eyes glazed in bliss. “God, baby… I’m close just from hearing you.”

 

Doyoung let out a breathless laugh, his spine arching with a sharp cry as he moved faster. “Good,” he gasped, “you fill me up so well—mmmhh… fuck!”

 

Every breath, every movement felt desperate and sacred. They weren’t just tangled in lust—they were carved into each other. Junghwan, flushed and wrecked beneath him, was his. All his.

 

And then—

 

BANG. BANG. BANG.

 

“You motherfuckers better stop fucking and start the damn game!” Jaehyuk’s voice exploded from the other side of the door.

 

They both stilled for a second before bursting into laughter.

 

“I guess that’s my cue to finish you off,” Doyoung murmured against Junghwan’s lips, biting down gently before pulling him into a deep, unhurried kiss that made the world melt away.

 

Junghwan grinned, voice a low command. “Bend.”

 

Doyoung didn’t hesitate. He slid off and bent over the nearby table, hands braced, spine dipped in perfect invitation.

 

Junghwan moved behind him, no preamble—just fire, and instinct. The breathy scream that tore from Doyoung’s throat was loud enough for the entire south wing to hear. Neither of them cared.

 

“That’s it,” Junghwan grunted. “Let me hear you.”

 

Doyoung answered with a string of curses and cries, pushing back to meet every thrust, helpless to the heat coiling in his core. “Ah—ahh! Junghwan… shit, I’m—”

 

“Yeah?” Junghwan leaned in, pressed flush against his back, and with a final snap of his hips, spilled everything into him. His chest rose and fell as he collapsed forward, breath caught in Doyoung’s ear. “Fuck…”

 

He pressed a lingering kiss to Doyoung’s nape.

 

“Time for your show,” he whispered.

 

Doyoung hummed in satisfaction, still trembling, still full. “Let’s give them something to talk about.”

 

-

 

Junghwan ran a hand through his unruly hair as he stepped out into the arena, fresh from sin and proud of it. His shirt was unbuttoned and hung loose around him, black fabric framing the carved lines of his chest and a pair of ragged jeans slung dangerously low on his hips. Behind him, Doyoung emerged with the same kind of glow—lips slick with cherry balm, flushed but controlled, radiating that post-storm satisfaction he never bothered to hide.

 

He adjusted his coat with a single flick and climbed the stairs to his usual spot at the upper railing, where he could look down on the whole arena like a cruel little god.

 

The Blood Party was already in full swing—bodies crowding the stands, chants echoing against the stone. Cheers of anticipation, adrenaline humming through every floorboard.

 

Yoshi sat like a king on his velvet seat in the center of the VIP platform, Jaehyuk lounging beside him with a drink in hand and a da ngerous glint in his eye. Across the room, Junkyu leaned against the wall, expression unreadable, while Asahi spun his butterfly knife open and closed, eyes never leaving Jaehyuk.

 

Doyoung raised a hand. The crowd roared. He waited. Then silence fell like a spell.

 

“Alright, darlings,” he began, voice silken and theatrical. “Tonight’s game won’t just bruise your skin—it might bruise your pride too. Because we’re introducing a new mechanic…”

 

He let the tension linger, a devilish smile curving on his lips.

 

“The Chain Rule: Junior’s Burden.”

 

The crowd murmured, electrified.

 

“Here’s how it works: Every sophomore must choose a junior before they step into the ring. That’s your chain partner. If you lose, your junior fights in your place—right after. No time to breathe.”

 

More gasps. Nervous laughter. A couple of juniors already looked ready to flee. Doyoung continued, tone dark and indulgent.

 

“If both of you lose in a row? You’re out. But worse—your winners get to assign you a public dare. One of their choosing.”

 

The groans turned into uneasy laughter.

 

“But,” he added with a flourish, “if your junior wins after your loss, they’ll earn a favor token from you. Anything within reason. Academic help, food runs, laundry. You name it.”

 

He paused.

 

“No switching partners mid-party. Pick wisely. This isn’t just a fight. It’s a chain reaction.”

 

A beat of silence followed. Then the arena exploded with shouts, challenges, and battle cries. Sophomores were already grabbing juniors by the collar and claiming them, some pleading, others threatening.

 

Yoshi clapped once, grinning. Jaehyuk whistled low. And from the shadows, Doyoung’s eyes sparkled.

 

“Let the games begin.”

 

-
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-

 

While Yoshi’s underground arena at his estate roared with violence and spectacle, the ENO Mansion held its breath. It was quiet—eerily so. Most of the members had flocked to the Blood Party, chasing glory, adrenaline, or attending for just the mere fear of being forgotten or getting behind. A few staff stayed behind to tidy up however the staff house was just within the estate outside the mansion, but even they knew the unspoken rule: by 5 p.m., the South Wing belonged only to the ten seniors.

 

And tonight, only two remained.

 

Jeongwoo was out running errands, Haruto attending a family gathering, and the other six were basking in the chaos they helped orchestrate.

 

That left Jihoon and Hyunsuk—two legacies under one roof.

 

Representatives of the most powerful bloodlines in the country. A rivalry generations deep. The feud between the Park and Choi families was always political, always quiet—but it lived in glances, in boardroom tension, in the unspoken rule: a Choi never engages with a Park unless necessary. Necessary could be meant like working together because they’re both part of ENO.

 

And yet Hyunsuk had always made it a point to be near Jihoon. To watch him closely. To orbit him with something that looked a lot like obsession. He told himself it was amusement. Curiosity. But deep down, it was the romanticism of rivalry. Of what ifs and could bes—something poetic about falling for the one person you weren’t supposed to.

 

The irony? Their families weren’t even enemies by blood. Their alliance ran deep through history, sealed by influence, tradition, and wealth. But it was always the Parks who kept the tension burning. Who turned quiet power into ice.

 

Hyunsuk thought that part was absurd. And maybe it was. But it didn’t stop him from chasing Jihoon’s attention like it was oxygen. He wasn’t afraid of looking pathetic. He was a Choi. His dignity wasn’t easily questioned. And if it was—so what?

 

Because Jihoon wasn’t just anyone.

 

Underneath the pristine control and righteous authority of ENO’s president, Hyunsuk saw something darker. A fire no one else had the eyes to notice. Jihoon was composed, respected, and dangerous.

 

But not because he was broken. No—because he hadn’t yet been given a reason to break.

 

Hyunsuk padded softly down the corridor from his quarters, the soles of his designer slides silent against the marble. He was more toned down tonight—at least by his standards. A black football jersey hung off his frame. A simple pearl necklace hugged his throat, statement earrings catching the light with each step. His hair was pushed back cleanly, forehead revealed, rings on nearly every finger. Casual, but still very much him.

 

Jihoon stood across the common room, by the sunken lounge steps—black tank clinging to his frame, dark jeans hanging low. Effortless. Barely trying. Devastating.

 

He looked up and his gaze caught on Hyunsuk’s lips—bare. No lip ring. A slow smirk played at the corners of Jihoon’s mouth.

 

“Heard you wanted to kiss me?” Hyunsuk asked, voice honeyed with mischief.

 

Jihoon chuckled, tongue briefly pressing against his bottom lip. “Just an impulsive text,” he said. “Still thinking about it.”

 

Hyunsuk tilted his head, cocky but soft. “Hmm… playing hard to get again, Pres? Afraid you want me a little too much?”

 

Jihoon didn’t answer right away. His eyes darkened, like a switch flipped. Like something older had stirred beneath his surface.

 

“I’m not ready to sell my soul to the devil just yet,” he murmured.

 

Hyunsuk hummed and took a step closer, but something shifted in the air. It tightened. Thinned. Like the entire mansion was holding still, watching.

 

“You sure you wanted a stroll with me?” Jihoon asked, tone lower now. Measured.

 

Hyunsuk shrugged. “What harm could you possibly do to me?” he said, smiling faintly. “You already damage me by your presence. Every fucking day.”

 

Jihoon’s expression didn’t change, but his silence grew louder. His stare was full now—hungry. Haunted. And something in Hyunsuk’s stomach twisted.

 

“You know we’re the only ones here, right?” Jihoon asked slowly.

 

“And?” Hyunsuk dared, but his breath hitched.

 

“Even if you scream,” Jihoon said, stepping closer, “no one will hear you.”

 

Hyunsuk blinked—and there it was.

 

The ghost of Jihoon before the presidency. Before the rules. Before the burden. The Jihoon with a lineage soaked in silence and steel, from a bloodline of men who built and ruled ENO like a kingdom of quiet wars. It made Hyunsuk’s skin prickle.

 

He wasn’t scared. Not really. But it felt like something sacred had been unlocked.

 

Jihoon looked at him the way a lion might study its prey—not because it was hungry, but because it could.

 

“Are you going to murder me, Jihoon Park?” Hyunsuk whispered, barely holding onto his smirk.

 

Jihoon stepped in—too close now. He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of Hyunsuk’s ear as he whispered, deadly calm:

 

“No. But I can show you where the murders used to happen.”

 

He pulled back just enough to meet Hyunsuk’s eyes, then extended a hand between them.

 

“Take my hand.”

 

Hyunsuk did. Their palms met, warm and grounding, but somehow dangerous too. A flicker sparked between their chests.

 

“‘Where the murders used to happen’, huh? Sounds… romantic.” That earned a soft laugh from Jihoon. “I could still take that kiss instead of this tour, you know,” Hyunsuk murmured.

 

“Tempting,” Jihoon said, “but not yet. I want to show you something. Something only ENO Presidents know.”

 

“Why are you showing me whatever it is then?”

 

“Because I want you to see the weight I’m carrying. And what it includes if you really want to be with me like you always say since the first time we met.”

 

Hyunsuk blinked. “You never showed this to anyone else? Not even your—”

 

“Hyunsuk, I can show you this because you are part of ENO.”

 

Hyunsuk tilted his head, lips twisting. “So I’m not that special after all. I thought you were showing me this to impress me. Or was just plotting to put me in dark corners to get touchy.”

 

Jihoon’s smirk sharpened. “So that’s what you want? Not just to be with me—but to be special?”

 

“No,” Hyunsuk corrected. “Chosen.”

 

In a breath, Jihoon’s hands were on his waist, dragging him forward until they were chest to chest. The air changed. Thicker. Darker.

 

Jihoon’s thumb traced hard across Hyunsuk’s lower lip, like he was testing softness. Memorizing it. Anticipating it. He dragged his thumb across his lips harshly as if savoring first on how they’re going to feel once they’re finally going to kiss.

 

Hyunsuk’s eyes fluttered shut as Jihoon pushed his thumb between his lips—and Hyunsuk sucked it in slowly, holding eye contact.

 

Jihoon watched him. Breath caught. Mouth parted.

 

“Enough,” Jihoon said, voice low like sin.

 

Hyunsuk stopped—but before pulling back, he let his tongue flick slowly along the tip of Jihoon’s thumb, a teasing farewell.

 

“I’m so weak for you, Jihoon…”

 

“I noticed.”

 

“You’ll fuck me soon, won’t you?”

 

“I don’t know,” Jihoon murmured. “Suffer a bit longer.”

 

“God… fuck…”

 

Jihoon’s expression didn’t shift. “Turn around.”

 

Hyunsuk obeyed instantly.

 

“Lift your shirt and bend for me. Now.”

 

He did. Jihoon tilted his head, taking in the shape of him. Measured. Calculated. Quiet heat simmering behind his eyes.

 

Then he said, “Face me.”

 

Hyunsuk straightened, breathing heavier than before. “What did you see?”

 

Jihoon smirked darkly. “Something worth ruining.”

 

He turned and began to walk.

 

“Come on, little devil. It’s story time. After that, you’ll decide if you still want me.”

 

Hyunsuk just panted—breathless while watching Jihoon’s back.

 

-
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-

 

The rest of the ENO mansion slumbered in golden silence. Sophisticated lighting bathed the long corridors in amber glow, but as Hyunsuk followed Jihoon across the South Wing and toward the North, the oldest wing, something in the air shifted. The warmth thinned. The quiet got heavier.

 

They passed through the old reading hall—the one no one really used anymore—and Jihoon stopped before a grand set of double doors. The Archives.

 

Hyunsuk tilted his head, curious. “You said, we’re not allowed here after hours.”

 

Jihoon didn’t answer. He simply opened the doors, the creak echoing through marble and dust.

 

Hyunsuk followed. “Are we breaking your own rules now, Pres?”

 

Jihoon turned to him then, eyes unreadable. “Can I trust you?”

 

Hyunsuk blinked. “What kind of question is that?”

 

Jihoon smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. There was something else there. Admiration. Tension. Something ancient and tightly wound. “You should be scared right now,” Jihoon murmured. “Most are, when they reach this part of the house. Because of the… rumors.”

 

“I’m not most,” Hyunsuk said, cocking a brow. “Also, ENO members are not really scared of something trivial. They most likely would just go for it. They’re just teasing.”

 

“I know.” Jihoon’s voice was lower now. “You know ENO’s history of course?”

 

“By heart,” Hyunsuk answered. “It’s my father’s bedtime story.”

 

“You and me both,” Jihoon said. “But… he must’ve skipped some details. He was never president, was he?”

 

“No.”

 

“Chois… no offense were always shadows to the Parks in the past.” Hyunsuk’s left eyebrow raised and just nodded because it was the truth.

 

“That’s where the feud began. And it was passed on. Business wise… legacy… etcetera. Despite the family treaty, the competition is still present between our families. I’m sure you are aware.”

 

Hyunsuk smirked. “Well, I don’t want to fuck with a Park. I want to be fucked by one. Goes by the name of Jihoon. You know him? But if he gets pissed off, I’d gladly take punishment like a cat.”

 

Jihoon laughed—deep and dark.

 

And then, without warning, he turned to the far wall behind a tall bookcase, running his fingers across the etched molding until he pressed something hidden. A mechanism clicked. The wall shifted.

 

Hyunsuk gasped softly.

 

Stone scraped. Air changed. Cold spilled out.

 

A narrow staircase appeared, carved from deep, ancient stone.

 

Jihoon stared into it, and for the first time, even he looked unsettled. “I haven’t been here since I was appointed,” he said quietly.

 

“Jihoon…” Hyunsuk whispered.

 

Jihoon turned, suddenly behind him. His hands wrapped around Hyunsuk’s waist, grounding him. His breath ghosted his ear.

 

“Scared, my little devil?”

 

Hyunsuk swallowed. “Uhm…”

 

“I’m here.”

 

He didn’t push him to answer.

 

“You ever wondered why I don’t like some of the older traditions?”

 

Hyunsuk tilted his head. “Like what?”

 

“I used to… like them. The blood. The intensity. I admired Yoshi at some point. You… along with Jaehyuk. All nine of you for what you’re capable of. I used to linger in the dark too.”

 

They walked down the steps and reached the bottom. A corridor stretched ahead. Dim torches lined the walls—electric now, but styled to look like flame. And cells. Real, iron-barred cells, locked and cold. ENO’s ghosts lived here.

 

“Holy shit,” Hyunsuk murmured. “They weren’t kidding about the dungeon rumors.”

 

Jihoon stepped through the corridor like he’d done it many times before. “Before ENO turned into what it is now… this was where punishment happened. Initiates who failed challenges, who disobeyed. Sometimes… rivals. Sometimes even members.”

 

“You mean—?”

 

“Yes. This was a fraternity born from war and power. Back when the university was controlled by rich bloodlines, not systems. ENO was more like a secret society than a brotherhood. My great-great-grandfather tried to turn it around—he stopped the killings, cut ties with organized networks. But the violence... that didn’t disappear. It just changed its form.”

 

“I’ve heard of these rumors,” Hyunsuk said. “ENO’s brutal past. The violence. The secrets. That’s why people are wary of us. I didn’t realize—”

 

“Not rumors,” Jihoon said darkly. “History. Carefully edited.”

 

He guided Hyunsuk forward into another stairwell. The door sealed behind them. Only a dim lantern lining the wall every few steps lit their descent. Hyunsuk’s breath fogged. Cold clung to their skin.

 

“This is where they kept the ones who broke the old code,” Jihoon explained. “Back when ENO meant blood. And death. There were no second chances. No public trials. You got dragged here. You were either left to rot or—if you were lucky—buried.”

 

Hyunsuk’s steps faltered. “You mean there are bodies? Here?”

 

They stopped before a rusted plaque. Names were carved into it—former presidents, fallen brothers, enemies. A blank space followed.

 

Jihoon didn’t stop walking. “Beneath us. Beyond this passage. It leads to the old dungeon… and the Grave of Honor. Buried with gold.”

 

“They buried traitors too with gold?”

 

“Yes. Some were martyrs too. Presidents. Generals of the underground. Their names were engraved in gold… so they’d never be forgotten. Except they were. No one’s been here in years. Not until me.”

 

“And now me,” Hyunsuk whispered.

 

Jihoon paused at the final stone door. The walls around them were carved with sigils, Latin inscriptions, the old ENO crest. He touched the center, and the door groaned open.

 

It was cavernous inside—an underground crypt lit by torches once again. Marble tombs lined the walls. Each bore a plaque, engraved in gold leaf, worn but still legible. The air smelled of cold stone and memory.

 

Hyunsuk’s chest rose and fell slowly. “It’s beautiful… and horrifying.”

 

Jihoon nodded. “This is what I inherited. The darkness they buried and passed down. To keep the silence. But I didn’t want ENO to just be a house of ghosts.”

 

“And yet here we are,” Hyunsuk said, quietly.

 

Jihoon looked at him.

 

“I needed someone to see this,” Jihoon murmured, voice low like a secret being unearthed. “Someone who’d understand the weight.”

 

“I do,” Hyunsuk whispered.

 

And he meant it.

 

“Even after the scandal… even without knowing this,” he gestured to the grave silence around them, “I already understood what it meant—for you, to carry the title of ENO’s President. That was when I really saw you.”

 

“Saw me—as in, decided to torment me with all your teasing and weaponized charm?” Jihoon smirked, but there was an edge of heat behind it.

 

“It never worked,” Hyunsuk replied, playful but quiet.

 

Jihoon stared at him, gaze darkening.

 

It was true. He’d resisted. Relentlessly. Gave Hyunsuk nothing but hard stares and clipped words. He’d built walls from discipline, duty, and the burden of legacy. Family honor ran through his veins like cold fire. And logic ruled him like a second skin.

 

But now… here was Hyunsuk, standing beside him—not as a seducer, not as a conquest, but as someone willing to walk the path, to see the rot beneath the gold.

 

Someone who looked ready to worship him—all of him.

 

And who was Jihoon to deny that?

 

An underground crypt wasn’t exactly the most romantic place for anything, much less this. But Hyunsuk felt the rush all the same—the pulse in his throat, the heat in his chest. The forbidden thrill of it all. Every step further into this place, every dark glance they exchanged, it built something inside him that felt bigger than desire.

 

And yet… logic still whispered to him that Jihoon had a girlfriend. That whatever state their relationship was in, it wasn’t over publicly. It wasn’t settled. Which meant this—being alone together like this, the looks that could burn through bone, the flirting, the tension—it was all wrong. Every second tilted the moral scale.

 

And then there was the complication of their families.

 

“Enough show and tell,” Jihoon said darkly, voice echoing against stone and silence.

 

“What?” Hyunsuk smirked. “Afraid to kiss me in the most unromantic place on Earth?”

 

“But this crypt was built on relationship,” Jihoon countered, stepping closer. “On loyalty, trust… and death.”

 

“You’re the only person who could make a graveyard sound like a love story,” Hyunsuk scoffed. “Are you always this bad at romance, Pres?”

 

“Not bad,” Jihoon said with a shrug. “Maybe… I just really wanted to get inside your pants.”

 

Hyunsuk blinked. “Uh-huh. And what happened to your pride?”

 

“It evaporated the moment you moaned my name.”

 

“Is that so?” Hyunsuk’s voice was barely a breath.

 

A gust of cold wind howled through the narrow hallways, sweeping in from vents above. It brought with it the scent of earth and dust, and a chill that raised goosebumps on their skin.

 

How fitting, Hyunsuk thought. This place—forgotten, shadowed—somehow mirrored exactly what was happening between them. No grand romance. Just a slow, dangerous descent into something neither of them could fully name. Sinking into each other, surrounded by the weight of legacies and the ghosts of the past.

 

Jihoon stepped closer. Hyunsuk instinctively backed away, only to bump against the old ENO crest carved into the wall behind him. Cold stone pressed into his spine as if the place itself was offering him up to some ancient ritual.

 

“Jihoon.” Hyunsuk warned, voice low, uncertain.

 

He didn’t know Jihoon had already severed his ties. That there was no girlfriend anymore. That the only complication left… was them.

 

“You said you wanted to be chosen,” Jihoon murmured, their lips so close now that the words ghosted across Hyunsuk’s mouth.

 

“Are you sure about this, your highness?” Hyunsuk asked, breath catching.

 

“Shh,” he said, dark and quiet. “Let me kiss a little devil.”

 

Jihoon reached up, brushing Hyunsuk’s cheek with his knuckles, and then—slowly, like a ritual passed down through bloodlines—he leaned in and kissed him.

 

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t innocent.

 

It was desperate. Dark. Claiming.

 

Jihoon kissed Hyunsuk like he wanted to consume him. Like kissing him meant owning every flaw, every defiance, every inch of that perfect, infuriating mouth. Hyunsuk moaned softly against him, fingers curling against the stone wall behind him. He kissed back with equal fervor, melting into Jihoon’s mouth like it was something sacred—meant only for them.

 

Their chests pressed together. Jihoon’s hands settled possessively on Hyunsuk’s waist, fingers flexing like he had waited far too long for this moment. Hyunsuk gasped as Jihoon bit his bottom lip lightly—just enough to taste.

 

Around them, silence bore witness. The crypt remained still, but heavy with presence.

 

And though Hyunsuk didn’t believe in ghosts, he felt them now—felt the weight of the brotherhood watching. Former ENO kings, traitors, lost initiates… all buried under this estate. Gold lettering on stone. Names no longer spoken aloud. But here they were now, silent witnesses to the newest history being written.

 

As if this kiss—their kiss—was both a defiance and a coronation.

 

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” Hyunsuk murmured as Jihoon broke away slightly, lips hovering.

 

“You already are.”

 

“This is crazy.”

 

“It’s tradition,” Jihoon whispered. “One way or another, all ENO leaders bleed for what they want.”

 

“And what do you want?” Hyunsuk asked, breathless.

 

Jihoon ran a thumb along his lips again, lips he just bruised.

 

“You.”

 

The crest glowed faintly beneath them, gold catching the shadows. And somewhere, in the depths of the crypt, the ghosts of ENO watched. Not judging. But bearing witness.

 

To the beginning of something dangerous.

 

-
-
-

 

The walk back to the North Wing felt like crawling out of a secret buried in time.

 

Hyunsuk’s heart was still racing. Not from fear—but from the rush. The crypt had been sacred and sordid all at once, like they’d carved their kiss into stone and left it there to haunt them. A forbidden thing sealed into the past even as it echoed in their present.

 

When they emerged through the hidden passageway and stepped back into the Archives, the lighting changed. It was warm. Illuminating.

 

They paused.

 

For the first time since that shared heated kiss, they saw each other fully. The way their lips were flushed, pupils still blown. Jihoon’s hair was slightly tousled. Hyunsuk looked kissed within an inch of his life—smeared cherry lip balm, a bloom of color on his cheeks.

 

Jihoon glanced at the ornate vintage clock above the mantle. It ticked in lazy rhythm, echoing in the quiet room. Surprisingly early.

 

“They’re still at the Blood Party for sure,” Hyunsuk murmured, breaking the silence.

 

Jihoon nodded once. “You wanna go?”

 

Hyunsuk blinked. “With… you?”

 

It almost sounded ridiculous. Jihoon never joined Blood Parties—not anymore.

 

But Jihoon just shrugged, like it didn’t matter. Like nothing ever really did. Effortlessly casual. Dangerously unreadable.

 

“You’re so out of character tonight,” Hyunsuk said, narrowing his eyes.

 

“You think?” Jihoon smirked.

 

Hyunsuk licked his bottom lip slowly before answering, a teasing glint in his eyes. He was still thinking about the kiss—the one in the crypt, where ghosts of their legacy watched them fall apart for each other.

 

“For the record,” Hyunsuk said, “you kiss better than I imagined.”

 

Jihoon tilted his head. “And how did you imagine it?”

 

“I imagined it would be good. Like… rip-my-clothes-off good. Like I-beg-you-to-fuck-me-until-I-break good.”

 

Jihoon raised a brow, amused.

 

“But what happened down there?” Hyunsuk added, stepping closer, voice quieter. “It was worse.”

 

“Oh?” Jihoon murmured.

 

“My world stopped,” Hyunsuk whispered. “No thoughts. No plans. Na-da.”

 

Jihoon stared at him now, hard. Like Hyunsuk had said something he wasn’t supposed to. Like the words cut through armor Jihoon never wanted anyone to see through.

 

“You always speak your mind,” Jihoon said finally, voice edged. “You always know what to fucking say.”

 

Then, softer—just a flicker behind the cold: “It ruins my train of thought.”

 

The words slipped out before he could catch them. And just like that, the atmosphere shifted. There was a beat—heavy and lingering. Hyunsuk barely breathed. He couldn’t believe it. That he could disarm Jihoon Park. That he could shake him like that. Everything had happened too fast.

 

One minute, Hyunsuk had been fantasizing. The next… seducing. And now?

 

“So…” Hyunsuk asked, voice thinner now, but still laced with heat. “What happens next?”

 

Jihoon stepped forward, gaze locked in. His voice smooth—dark and rich like velvet laced in danger. “I own you.”

 

Hyunsuk smirked, chin high. “Well, Your Highness… even if you’re the highest bidder already, you have to work harder. I’m a Choi. Not some warm body you can make into a side conquest.”

 

Jihoon should’ve admitted it then—that he was single. That he’d already taken care of Eunbyeol. That there was no one else. Not really.

 

But he didn’t.

 

Because Jihoon Park liked cruelty when it came with longing. He liked the idea of pushing Hyunsuk to the edge. He decided that he liked watching him break beautifully. And the thrill of pretending this was a sin when it had already become a need was too much to resist.

 

“Work hard?” Jihoon’s eyes darkened. “How about I agree to that little arrangement you wanted?”

 

Hyunsuk narrowed his gaze. “Arrangement?”

 

“You on your knees. My pretty little sub.”

 

Hyunsuk raised a brow, but didn’t pull back. “How about Eunbyeol?”

 

For some reason… it was one of those Icarus moments. Flying too near to the sun. To get burnt. A sick burning idea of filling in the mistress idea seemed to turn Hyunsuk on so much. A masochistic ache curled in Hyunsuk’s stomach—the idea of being the one Jihoon chose to sin with. Knowing Jihoon wanted him while still playing the part of the perfect boyfriend. Why did that turn him on? Why was he letting it?

 

Jihoon didn’t answer with words.

 

He grabbed Hyunsuk’s face and kissed him—deep, bruising, breathless. A clash of teeth and desperation. Hyunsuk responded like he’d been starving for it, yanking Jihoon closer, grinding into him like their bodies had always belonged to one another.

 

“Ah… Jihoon. Hmmm—yeah—”

 

“Open your mouth. Fuck—Hyunsuk.”

 

“You like me like this? Huh?” Hyunsuk panted between kisses, voice soaked in heat.

 

“Yes…”

 

“What about her?” he asked again, breathless, his hands tangled in Jihoon’s shirt, body arching against him like he needed more—more—more.

 

They broke apart, gasping, lips swollen, hearts pounding.

 

Jihoon leaned close again, his voice like gravel against Hyunsuk’s mouth. “What about her?” he repeated, eyes glinting. “When you’re already kissing me back like this? So weak for me, little devil, huh?”

 

“You’re such an asshole,” Hyunsuk breathed, flushed and panting.

 

Jihoon grinned. “Never said I wasn’t.”

 

Hyunsuk moaned softly, lips parted, eyes heavy-lidded.

 

And Jihoon thought—

 

God help him, he was already losing. Yes. Beg, my little devil.

 

-
-
-

 

Jihoon’s black Mercedes halted smoothly just inside the towering gates of Yoshi’s sprawling estate. The arena loomed ahead, its underground entrance buzzing faintly with the echoes of chaos and cheers. The air was thick with the scent of adrenaline and anticipation.

 

Hyunsuk, lounging in the passenger seat, smirked to himself—half in disbelief at how the night had unraveled, half in amusement at the man beside him. First, a underground crypt for a first kiss spot and now, the Blood Party?

 

Jihoon tapped his phone screen and pressed a contact.

 

“Jeongwoo? You in the arena?”

 

“What the fuck do you mean? Of course I know—can you stop making out with Haruto for a sec and talk to me—I can honestly hear him—you got the info?”

 

Jihoon nodded and just rolled his eyes. Hyunsuk only watched him in fascination.

 

A pause.

 

“Okay. Let’s talk in a bit,” Jihoon said flatly—and ended the call before Jeongwoo could question him.

 

Hyunsuk raised a brow. “You’re not even going to tell him why you’re showing up? He’s going to think someone died.”

 

Jihoon didn’t answer, just adjusted the cuffs of his black coat and reached for the door handle. His tone was cool, but his eyes glinted with something much darker. “He’ll figure it out.”

 

Hyunsuk gave a low chuckle, licking his bottom lip. “You don’t attend Blood Parties anymore… and yet here you are.” He tilted his head, gaze gleaming. “ENO’s prince, descending into the pit. What an honor.”

 

Jihoon shot him a lazy side glance, the corner of his mouth twitching.

 

“You ready to see the commotion? Doyoung’s apparently running new rules,” Hyunsuk said, voice playful. “Don’t ruin the fun, I beg.”

 

Jihoon tilted his head in mock thought. “Mmm… I’m actually in a good mood. I don’t plan on ruining anything.” He glanced back at Hyunsuk. “Do I really come off that sour to you guys?”

 

“Uh, yes? You choke us with rules, Pres.” Hyunsuk turned to him, eyes narrowed flirtatiously. “But maybe you’re in a good mood because you finally got a taste of what you really need…”
He leaned in closer. “The good shit. As in… me.”

 

Without a word, Jihoon reached out and brushed his thumb across Hyunsuk’s lips—soft, but deliberate.

 

“Maybe,” he murmured, “it’s the other way around.”

 

Hyunsuk exhaled, sharp and shaky. His gaze turned molten. “You’re so full of yourself.”

 

Jihoon leaned in a fraction closer, his voice dipping lower. “Maybe we could get another taste… in secret.”

 

Hyunsuk smirked, but his voice was quieter now. “You like keeping me your dirty little secret?”

 

Jihoon’s eyes flicked to his lips. “You have to admit… this is hot.”

 

Hyunsuk rolled his eyes, but his breath stuttered when Jihoon’s thumb swept across his bottom lip again—slower this time.

 

“Jerk,” he muttered.

 

Jihoon’s grin was slow, dangerous. “You like it though.”

 

Hyunsuk’s smirk returned—more wicked than before. “And if I let Jaehyuk or Yoshi touch me tonight?”

 

Jihoon didn’t blink. “I’ll watch. Knowing you’re mine.”

 

The words hit harder than they should’ve. Hyunsuk froze—just briefly—but enough. A silence settled between them, thick with something untamed. Desire. Power. Possession.

 

Then, Jihoon opened his door. Walked around the car and opened the passenger side with all the calm of a man in complete control.

 

“Come on. Let’s get inside.”

 

Hyunsuk slid out and took Jihoon’s hand, heart hammering. If he was the little devil… he’d just chosen to dance with something far worse. A man who was capable of doing just about anything between good and evil. Whatever this was… it was only just beginning.

 

-
-
-

 

The arena was thunderous.

 

Fists collided with flesh. The sound of blood splattering against concrete no longer turned heads—it was expected, almost welcomed. Cheers poured like thunder from the private balconies above, where crystal glasses clinked and alcohol flowed freely. ENO’s infamous Blood Party was in full motion—an intoxicating spectacle of violence, power, and tradition. Brutality draped in elegance.

 

On the VIP platform, the air buzzed with heat, laughter, and the heady lull of legacy.

 

Haruto had arrived just moments earlier, fresh from his family gathering. Jeongwoo had followed—not out of obligation, but something far worse: longing. He’d completed the President’s errand, and with it, his excuses for distance had run out. Now, here they were again. Exes orbiting each other like a bad habit. And despite everything Jeongwoo said about needing a break, who were they kidding?

 

A few shots in, circled by Jaehyuk’s taunts and flirtations, the line blurred again. The lounge simmered.

 

Asahi toyed with his butterfly knife, its blade catching glints of the arena light. He was deep in quiet conversation with Yoshi. They were debating on the pros and cons of joining the Aureus Order in the future. They were too sure that most of the seniors sitting at ENO right now would most likely get an invite. It was said that they’re the most powerful batch given the fact that all of them are deep-rooted in legacy, all old money. Even repeating history itself having a Park-Choi management at the top. With another Park as a President. It’s almost like history repeating itself from one of ENO’s darkest reign in history, but now, they’re reforming it all.

 

Junkyu was laughing with Doyoung as they heckled the ongoing match. Jaehyuk and Junghwan leaned back, trading bets with slurred confidence on who’d lose next.

 

The alcohol had softened everyone. The tension was low. The mood was indulgent.

 

Even Haruto and Jeongwoo—technically broken up—sat far too close, their hands brushing without consequence. Of all the pairs present, theirs was the most ironic. They were the only ones not supposed to be together… and yet the only ones physically clinging to each other. The rest were buried in genuine friendship, games, or carefully-constructed detachment.

 

The night was flowing.

 

Until the heavy steel door opened.

 

And time stilled.

 

A hush rippled across the upper deck like a wave of static. It wasn’t loud, but felt seismic. Heads turned. Even the fighters in the ring paused for half a second.

 

Jihoon Park had entered the arena.

 

Dressed in an ink-black coat and lean-cut shirt, his presence alone sucked the oxygen from the room. Hyunsuk stepped in just behind him, lips curled slightly in that slow, devastating smirk that made people nervous and aroused all at once.

 

Yoshi stood from his throne, posture tense, jaw ticking. For a moment, his disbelief was clear. His aura sharpened. Predatory.

 

Then his mouth curled—not in amusement, but something colder. A grim smile, born of recognition and challenge.

 

“Pres?”

 

Jihoon scanned the scene like a god returning to a forsaken temple.

 

“What?” he said evenly. “You think I didn’t know? I’ve always known you were still doing this. I’m not dumb.”

 

Yoshi let out a short, breathless laugh—still stunned. “I kind of knew... but I never thought you’d actually show up again.”

 

Jihoon stepped forward, voice dry and laced with quiet danger. “Well… maybe I needed to see which player was still undefeated—besides me.”

 

A sharp, collective “OHHHHHHH!” exploded across the VIP row. Even the juniors on the sidelines leaned in, savoring the tension.

 

“Pres! Give us some!” someone yelled, half-drunk, fully thrilled.

 

Yoshi turned to the crowd, raising both arms like a ringmaster. “We’re in the presence of our president!”

 

The arena erupted.

 

“YEEEAAAHHHHHHHH!”

 

Jaehyuk, always the slickest among them, stepped forward with a lazy grin and handed Jihoon a crystal tumbler of neat whiskey. “Enjoy the show, Pres,” he said smoothly.

 

Jihoon accepted it with a nod, saying nothing. He strode to the edge of the VIP railing, gaze trained on the pit below where the fight had resumed like nothing had happened—though everyone’s attention was clearly elsewhere now.

 

Then, as always, Hyunsuk appeared beside him.

 

He didn’t speak at first. Just leaned in, lips dangerously close to Jihoon’s ear, voice low enough to be private.

 

“You just shook the atmosphere,” he murmured.

 

“I’m just observing,” Jihoon replied coolly, sipping his drink.

 

“Is that what we’re calling this now?” Hyunsuk teased, soft and slow. “Observation?”

 

Jihoon didn’t look at him, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Maybe sometimes, I want to go back to the things I used to do.”

 

Hyunsuk tilted his head. “You mean the arena?”

 

“Not like that,” Jihoon said, then paused. “I meant, doing something outside of my duties for once. There’s something about you, little devil. You’re making me do things. Although… the arena, huh? The idea of you tending to my wounds does sound... tempting.”

 

Hyunsuk raised a brow. “Is this you flirting?”

 

“No,” Jihoon said, finally turning to him. “Claiming. You said you wanted to be chosen. They’re watching us now.”

 

And they were.

 

While Jihoon only had eyes for him, glances flitted between the ring and the balcony where Jihoon and Hyunsuk now stood—too close, too quiet, too magnetic. The energy shifted. Something changed.

 

Hyunsuk glanced over his shoulder. The rest of the seniors were watching them—the power dynamic shift was too evident now. Jihoon allowing Hyunsuk that near. Jihoon at the Blood Party. A move that’s saying something.

 

Jaehyuk’s gaze was sharp, confused, borderline alarmed. Yoshi exhaled through his nose, grip tightening around his chalice. Neither moved. They just stared.

 

For the longest time, they’d questioned whether Jihoon and Hyunsuk would ever form a proper alliance. Everyone knew what it could mean if they did. They never expected it would actually happen—never expected Jihoon to allow Hyunsuk this close.

 

But it was happening. Now.

 

And the scales were tipping fast.

 

Jaehyuk caught Yoshi’s eye across the deck. In that one look, a storm of unspoken thoughts passed between them.

 

Just days ago, both of them had received quiet, terrifying calls from their parents. A proposition.

 

To consider aligning with Hyunsuk Choi—through marriage. Legacy ties. Merging power. Their families had been contacted by the Chois. They were now managing Hyunsuk’s future. They were part of the chosen ones.

 

It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was pressure disguised as an opportunity.

 

It explained everything: Jaehyuk’s careful hesitance with Asahi, no matter how much he wanted him. Yoshi’s refusal to define whatever it was with Junkyu. They’d both danced around the edges of something more, convincing themselves it was all just casual—just rebound fun. Because both Asahi and Junkyu did just broke up.

 

Jaehyuk and Yoshi talked it out over drinks, surprised to realize they were living the same story: their families whispering the same expectations, laying down legacy proposals like execution orders.

 

They thought they had time. To figure it out. To play it cool. To stall the inevitable.

 

But now, Jihoon and Hyunsuk were standing together like gods among men. And they both were running out of time. They have to decide fast. They were two power-hungry individuals, loyal to their names, fully aware of their duties… of course they’d considered Hyunsuk. They weren’t stupid.

 

Yoshi’s thoughts flickered back to Junkyu—his laugh, his eyes, his presence.

 

Jaehyuk tipped his glass and downed the last of his whiskey. Frustrated. A little terrified—of what he might do to Asahi. Of what he might have to become. Because deep down? He liked Hyunsuk too. He just buried it. Locked it somewhere deep where it wouldn’t interfere. Where it wouldn’t matter.

 

But now, with everything shifting, with his parents’ warnings echoing in his head… it felt like reality had slapped him awake. Cold and cruel. Maybe that’s why he’d considered it. The alliance. The proposal. The power move. Because sleeping beside Hyunsuk each night—memorizing his scent, touching him, laughing into his skin—it had stirred something in him. Something dangerous.

 

If the Park heir chose Hyunsuk—and if Hyunsuk chose back—there’d be no space left for anyone else. No maneuvering. No second chances.

 

It’s a ticking time bomb. They both knew what Jihoon and Hyunsuk were capable of. And both Jaehyuk and Yoshi felt the chill of it. A legacy war was stirring, and the first domino had already fallen.

 

And there’s that part. They both knew one more thing:

 

Hyunsuk was already too far gone.

 

Crazy for Jihoon.

 

Willing to burn for him. And maybe—just maybe—Jihoon would burn everything back.

 

Junkyu appeared beside Yoshi—snapping him out of his spiral, silently replacing the empty glass in his hand. Again.

 

“Crazy, right?” Junkyu said, eyes still on the arena. “The Pres just shows up out of nowhere? Not gonna lie, though… I don’t think he’ll stick around. He’s not into this kind of shit anymore.”

 

“I think so too,” Yoshi muttered, taking a sip from the fresh drink Junkyu handed him.

 

Junkyu turned to him, brow furrowed. “What’s going on with you? You’re not threatened, are you? You practically own this place. You built the damn Blood Party. Jihoon just happens to be the only guy who’s never lost a fight.”

 

Guilt gnawed at Yoshi. Pain, too—quiet but undeniable. Because here Junkyu was—steady, kind, trying to reassure him. Filling in every space he never had to ask to be filled. Boosting his ego.

 

And what was Yoshi about to do? Choose power.

 

But maybe… maybe he could borrow some time. Selfish as it was. He’s always been fucked up.

 

“Let’s get out of here,” Yoshi said abruptly.

 

Junkyu blinked. “What? Where?”

 

Yoshi didn’t answer. He just grabbed Junkyu’s hand, grip tight, and pulled him toward the exit. No one stopped them. But people noticed—their sudden disappearance. The shift in air.

 

And Junkyu, dazed but not resisting, barely caught the words Yoshi mumbled under his breath:

 

“I want to be your rebound now.”

 

Meanwhile, Jihoon was moving through the crowd, exchanging nods and quick words with members until his gaze locked with Jeongwoo’s.

 

“Let’s talk about Han Taegun,” Jihoon said casually.

 

Jeongwoo nodded. Jihoon’s eyes briefly flicked toward Hyunsuk, a silent question. Can I?

 

Hyunsuk blushed, then nodded back with a shy smile. Jihoon gave him a faint smirk before turning away.

 

Why is he even asking permission? I thought I’m sub? Hyunsuk thought and blushed even deeper.

 

As Jihoon and Jeongwoo slipped toward a quiet corner of the lounge, a familiar warmth landed on Hyunsuk’s back. Jaehyuk. His hand slid around Hyunsuk’s waist like it never left.

 

Hyunsuk turned, beaming. “Oh my god. You won’t believe what the fuck just happened!”

 

Jaehyuk forced a wide smile, one he didn’t quite feel. “Let me guess. You kissed?”

 

“Jae… more than. No sex yet, but it was… everything. I can’t explain it.”

 

Jaehyuk’s voice stayed light. “So he broke up with his girlfriend?”

 

Hyunsuk winced. “Can we not talk about that?”

 

Jaehyuk’s jaw clenched. “Sukkie… princess... why settle for that? You know who you are. You’re not built for crumbs.”

 

“I think he’ll break up with her,” Hyunsuk said softly. “I feel it.”

 

Jaehyuk’s grip on his waist tightened—just for a second. “You’re disappointing me.”

 

Hyunsuk pulled back slightly. “What’s gotten into you? You’re usually the one hyping me up. This… this is hurting.”

 

“I do hype you up. When you’re just playing. You usually are.” Jaehyuk said, eyes suddenly too serious. “But now you look… different.”

 

His hands slid to Hyunsuk’s hips again, grounding and possessive. Hyunsuk’s eyes darted around—he caught Asahi watching. Expression unreadable, but the sharpness in his stare wasn’t subtle.

 

“Jaehyuk, Asahi’s looking.”

 

“He’s not my boyfriend, Hyunsuk.” Jaehyuk muttered, his eyes bore into Hyunsuk’s. Then, more gently, “Tell me you’re okay, and I’ll drop this.”

 

“I am, Jae. But you’re being… weird. This isn’t you. You’re scaring me.”

 

“Promise?” His voice was quieter now. Almost broken. “You really want this?”

 

“More than anything. Jihoon is everything to me. You know this.”

 

Jaehyuk stepped back, raising both hands in surrender. “Okay.”

 

He shoved them in his pockets and glanced up—past Hyunsuk. Hyunsuk followed the line of sight. Jihoon. Watching. Silent, unreadable.

 

“Jaehyuk…”

 

“I’m done for the night. Don’t feel like partying anymore.”

 

“You sure you can drive? You’re drunk.”

 

“Mansion’s just around the corner. I’ll manage.” He forced a lopsided smile. “Focus on your President, yeah?”

 

But the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Hyunsuk watched him go, confusion heavy in his chest.

 

When he turned to look for Asahi—he was gone too.

 

The VIP platform was quieter now, scattered with only a few handpicked juniors. Doyoung. Junghwan. Haruto, laughing at something between sips.

 

And in the corner: Jihoon and Jeongwoo. Still talking. Still in control.

 

Amid the thunder of fists and roaring cheers from the pit below, Jihoon and Jeongwoo sat near the end of the railing, a bit further from the group. Noise pulsed around them like a heartbeat, but here, in this sliver of distance, the world narrowed into two men and a folder.

 

Jeongwoo held it under one arm, face unreadable.

 

“You’re not going to like this,” he said.

 

Jihoon didn’t look at him. “Then don’t make me wait.”

 

Jeongwoo placed the folder flat on a nearby table and flipped it open—careful, deliberate. He took the folder in from his car after Jihoon said he’s going to the pit. It was a timeline, several printed screenshots, and red-ink footnotes bled across the page.

 

“Han Taegun,” Jeongwoo began, voice low. “Seoul. Studied at Hwagyeong High—same as us. But there’s no fraternity record.”

 

Jihoon’s brows furrowed. “Hwagyeong had open recruitment every year. No record? Not even casual affiliation?”

 

“Nothing,” Jeongwoo confirmed. “Not even the basic ones like Theta Pi or Alpha Chi Beta. No invites. No presence. He wasn’t… one of us.”

 

“Too poor?”

 

Jeongwoo gave a dry chuckle. “That’s the strange part. He wasn’t even a scholar. He could pay. His family’s wealthy now—but back then? All start-up money. Loud, flashy, no lineage. No pedigree. New money… and invisible.”

 

Jihoon took a long drink from his glass, eyes narrowing slightly.

 

“He finished his undergrad quietly,” Jeongwoo continued. “Then Yale. Master’s. PhD. On merit. No strings. No legacy pulls. Just raw genius.”

 

Jihoon didn’t speak.

 

Jeongwoo flipped to the final page. A grainy screenshot of a forum post. Dead thread. Highlighted usernames. Red underlines.

 

“One of my informants flagged this. An old academic forum—deep archives. Han ran a few threads anonymously. Mostly academic... until it turned personal. The tone changed. A lot of hate.”

 

“Hate?” Jihoon asked, his voice sharp.

 

“Fraternities. Brotherhoods. Legacy power structures. The elitism. It’s all there—resentment buried in every paragraph. Some of it’s disturbing.”

 

Jihoon’s jaw clenched, eyes flickering across the text.

 

Jeongwoo lowered his voice further. “The bullying was bad, Jihoon. Some old ENO alumni. From your father’s term. One post links a dummy account to an email used by a member of your dad’s batch.”

 

Silence hung between them.

 

“Cyberbullying. Doxxing. There was a rumor,” Jeongwoo added, “about a mysterious dropout who nearly exposed the house. For harassment. It was buried fast.”

 

Jihoon exhaled, voice flat. “My father stepped down. He was ENO’s President for a while.”

 

“Publicly? Stress,” Jeongwoo replied. “But maybe it was scandal control.”

 

Jihoon’s glass hit the tabletop harder than intended.

 

“So Han Taegun…” he muttered, “was the kid they humiliated.”

 

“Or worse,” Jeongwoo said. “He’s not just trying to take us down. He might be out for vengeance. Not just ENO—everything. The system. The bloodlines. Legacy itself. That’s my hunch. Anyway, I already had Haruto take surveillance too. We’re monitoring him as we speak. Cameras were set.”

 

Jihoon had to follow not his father’s footsteps but the patriarchs before him. He had too much pressure on his shoulders. This was why his grandfather was too proud when he became president early. His father? He was bitter for the longest time.

 

“I was made president to clean that blood,” Jihoon said quietly. “To prove the Park name was still worthy. And now…”

 

“You’re the longest-reigning president in ENO history,” Jeongwoo said, voice tight. “But maybe he’s watching. Waiting. For your fall. For your name? I don’t know. Maybe to finish what your father started.”

 

Jihoon stared a while longer. Then finally, he turned back—eyes sharp, spine unshaken.

 

“Let him come,” he said coldly. “I’m not my father.”

 

Jeongwoo studied him for a second longer. Then leaned back, giving a wry smile.

 

“Well, that’s that. But seriously—what are you doing here, Pres?”

 

Jihoon’s smirk was faint but real. “Nothing. Just needed a breather.”

 

Jeongwoo gave him a knowing look. “The Blood Party’s hardly a breather.”

 

Jihoon shrugged, sipping again. “Maybe I’m just… feeling lighter tonight.”

 

His eyes slid across the platform—straight to where Hyunsuk stood, laughing about something with Doyoung and Junghwan.

 

Jeongwoo followed the gaze. “Ah. That kind of breather.”

 

Jihoon didn’t answer.

 

“You’re back to your old self,” Jeongwoo said, raising an eyebrow. “Well… ish.”

 

“Was I that stiff?”

 

Jeongwoo just grinned. And Jihoon laughed.

 

“Let’s talk more about this professor and solve the issue of him failing half of ENO at this point. Maybe tomorrow. Let’s have a game plan with the boys.”

 

“Sure.”

 

-
-
-

 

The room smelled like clean leather, pine, and old money. Unused, untouched—like it had been sealed off from time.

 

Junkyu stepped inside, taking it all in. The dark marble floors. The high ceilings. The custom bookshelves filled with pristine volumes Yoshi had never read. A fortress.

 

“This place is yours, right? Like your own. Not your family’s.” Junkyu asked, eyes wide.

 

Yoshi leaned against the doorframe. “One of many,” he said quietly. “They gave me the land on my sixteenth birthday. Told me to build something for myself.”

 

“And you built this?”

 

Yoshi didn’t answer right away. He was staring at Junkyu again, too long, too hard. Something ugly and hungry in his chest twisting tight.

 

“I built the arena first,” he finally said. “This mansion came later.”

 

“You’ve never used this room?”

 

“Never had a reason to.”

 

Junkyu turned to him, lips parting. “Why now?”

 

Yoshi didn’t answer with words. He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, until they were face to face—the air charged, heavy. Because he couldn’t help himself. Because he was being selfish.

 

Yoshi pressed Junkyu hard against the wall, mouth crashing into his like he’d been starving for years. His hands were already working at the hem of his shirt, yanking it up, teeth scraping along Junkyu’s jaw.

 

He wasn’t supposed to do this. He had considered Hyunsuk. He had listened when his parents said, “A Choi alliance will keep your future clean.”

 

He had thought about it. About marrying for legacy. About hiding behind the power of an old, untouchable name once he took over the Kanemoto estate. His family didn’t just carry influence—they carried blood on their hands. A Choi name could polish that history. Could protect it. Could silence a lot.

 

It made sense.

 

Junkyu whimpered, breathless. “Yoshi—”

 

Yet here he was. Junkyu was chaos. Warmth. Softness in all the wrong places. And he ached for him. Ached like he hadn’t been raised to shut those feelings out.

 

He should walk away.

 

“Shut up,” Yoshi growled, kissing him again, rougher this time, all teeth and tongue. “You wanted to forget, didn’t you?”

 

He didn’t wait for an answer.

 

He dragged Junkyu to the bed, shoving him onto the mattress, crawling on top with the weight of a man about to break. He was already undoing his belt, unzipping his slacks, his movements too fast, too practiced—like if he hesitated, he’d come to his senses.

 

He didn’t want to come to his senses.

 

“Lift your hips.” Yoshi’s voice was a command now. Junkyu obeyed instantly, gasping when Yoshi yanked off his pants and briefs in one motion.

 

“Fuck, look at you,” Yoshi muttered. “All this for a rebound?”

 

Junkyu’s eyes burned. “And you’re the one giving it to me. What does that make you?”

 

Yoshi froze for a heartbeat. That hit too close. He didn’t answer—just grabbed the lube from the drawer, slicked his fingers fast, and pushed two into Junkyu without warning.

 

Junkyu cried out, arching.

 

“Too much?” Yoshi asked, voice dark, already moving.

 

“No,” Junkyu gasped. “I can take it.”

 

Yoshi leaned over him, fingers pumping deep, stretching him ruthlessly. “You better. Because I’m not going to be gentle.”

 

And he wasn’t.

 

By the time he slicked himself and shoved in, it was a stretch that bordered on cruel. Junkyu’s body jolted, breath catching, but he didn’t stop him. He moaned instead—loud, needy, wrecked.

 

“Ahhhh—Yoshi! Fuck!”

 

Yoshi took him in, fast, rough, until Junkyu’s hands clutched the sheets and his moans filled the hollow silence of the unused room. Yoshi's mouth was desperate, messy. Possessive. As if this was his first and last chance to have him.

 

Because maybe it was. This wasn’t a promise. This wasn’t forever. This was him being selfish.

 

He knew what his future looked like. Who he’d likely end up with. He knew that the feelings growing in Junkyu’s eyes were starting to bloom into something neither of them had planned.

 

And he didn’t stop.

 

He’d fantasized about this—taking Junkyu like this. Bruising him with his hands. Hearing him moan his name, cry out from being so full, so used. He’d wanted to mark him, memorize him, make sure no one—not even Asahi—could erase what they were doing right now.

 

He angled his thrusts, hitting deeper, faster. Junkyu was gasping, gripping the sheets, moaning like he was ready to come undone.

 

“You think you fucked like this?” Yoshi snarled. “Did you and him ever fuck stupid, Junkyu?”

 

“Yoshi—shit—don’t stop—”

 

Yoshi didn’t. His hand curled around Junkyu’s throat lightly, pressing down just enough to make him whimper. His other hand was stroking Junkyu’s cock, fast and slick.

 

“You like this? Being ruined like this by your rebound?”

 

“I don’t care,” Junkyu panted, eyes wild. “I want you. Even if it’s fucked.”

 

That did something to Yoshi. Broke something open. He groaned, hips snapping forward with punishing force now, the slap of skin echoing in the room.

 

Their skin was slick with sweat now. Junkyu’s cock pressed against his stomach, leaking, untouched. Yoshi slid one hand between them, wrapping his fist around him, pumping in rhythm to his thrusts.

 

Junkyu’s body tensed all at once, spine bowing off the mattress.

 

“Yoshi—shit—I’m—”

 

“Come for me,” Yoshi ordered, voice guttural.

 

And Junkyu did — crying out, spilling hot between them, body trembling through the high.

 

Yoshi lasted only a moment longer, hips stuttering, teeth gritted before he buried himself one last time and came hard, spilling deep, gasping into the crook of Junkyu’s neck.

 

They collapsed into the sheets, breath tangled, bodies twitching from overstimulation. Yoshi didn’t speak.

 

Because he was already drowning in the guilt. Junkyu had wanted to forget Asahi—and used Yoshi to do it. That was his selfishness.

 

But Yoshi? He’d fucked Junkyu like he was his, when he knew he’d likely marry into power. Hyunsuk was the ticket to control. To cleaning the Kanemoto name. The heir his family could parade in public. The alliance that would lock his future in gold and iron.

 

This? Junkyu? Was chaos. Warm, loud, heartbreakingly good chaos. Yoshi turned his head toward the ceiling, voice tight as he finally spoke.

 

“I was supposed to be the rebound,” he whispered.

 

Junkyu blinked up at him, chest rising and falling, pupils still blown. “You still think that’s all you are?”

 

Yoshi stilled for a moment.

 

He should lie. He should say yes. Should say you’re convenient. You’re nothing. This means nothing.

 

But he couldn’t say anything at all.

 

So instead, he pressed inside him slowly—hips rolling, body shaking—and he didn’t stop until Junkyu was clinging to him, whispering his name like it hurt.

 

Because it did hurt.
Because he wanted this.
Because he wanted him.
Even if he couldn’t keep him.
Even if one day, he’d have to let him go.

 

-
-
-

 

Jihoon and Hyunsuk rode in silence back to the ENO Mansion. The Blood Party was as intense and to the members’ surprise, Jihoon didn’t say anything about the bloodbath. But Jihoon really saw it as an unofficial event. It was secret behind ENO’s walls anyway. But worst comes to worst he was there to monitor if something went wrong.

 

He entered the driveway of the South Wing. Guards opened the doors for them and Jihoon left them his car key. He guided Hyunsuk’s back on the way in. Hyunsuk wasn’t used to Jihoon treating him that way.

 

“Sleep with me?”

 

“Just… sleep?” Hyunsuk asks as he bit his bottom lip.

 

They’re now at the end of the grand staircase. And on the corridors. Left on the way to the President’s Suite. The right was Hyunsuk’s quarters. The rest of the rooms were in the middle. They were on both ends.

 

“Yes.” Jihoon says.

 

“I don’t know. To be honest… I don’t know what we are yet. You still have things to fix, Jihoon. You know we can’t keep doing this.”

 

Jihoon smirked. The asshole that he was would prolong this charade of Hyunsuk thinking he was a side conquest. He has plans. He wanted to ask him in a grand way. But for now, he gets to play.

 

“Okay. Then sleep in your room.” Jihoon says and just turns.

 

“W-wait! You’re not going to stop me?” Hyunsuk asked in disbelief.

 

“What do you want me to say? It’s true. I have issues to fix. You’re right.”

 

“You’re annoying me.”

 

“What does my little devil want now? A good night kiss?” Jihoon teased darkly.

 

“You’re crazy, your highness.”

 

“No, my dear sub,” Jihoon said with infuriating confidence, voice low and smug. “You’re crazy for me.”

 

Hyunsuk’s breath caught—just a flicker—but Jihoon caught it. And smiled.

 

“Go back to your quarters,” Jihoon continued. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow. Let’s do our project, partner. I’ll see you at the Hwagyeong library.”

 

Hyunsuk narrowed his eyes. “Isn’t that… too public?”

 

“We’re going to do schoolwork, Hyunsuk. Not have sex.”

 

“Why not the ENO Grand Library?”

 

Jihoon arched a brow. “What, so we can end up making out in the archives?”

 

“Fuck. I know what you’re doing. You want me to beg.”

 

Jihoon laughed softly. “Knew you were smart. And no—I want the Hwagyeong library because I want the entire university to see us.”

 

“See us like what?”

 

Jihoon looked him dead in the eye. “Like I’m choosing you.”

 

How? You’re still with her. I don’t understand. Hyunsuk froze. He barely remembered how to breathe as Jihoon turned, heading down the hall toward his suite like it meant nothing—like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb in the corridor.

 

But Hyunsuk wasn’t done.

 

“I’m not wearing anything tonight, Pres,” he called after him, voice sultry and loud enough to echo. “You can get in my sheets later if you feel like it. Touch me… or don’t. Whatever.”

 

Jihoon didn’t turn around.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

“No goodnight kiss?” Hyunsuk asked again, resigned and mock-offended. His voice wavered at the end, like he hated watching him walk away.

 

Jihoon’s voice came floating back, low and deliberate.

 

“Maybe, as you said… later.”

 

“I won’t sleep.”

 

“I know you won’t,” Jihoon said, vanishing around the corner. “Have fun trying to… while waiting for me to touch you, little devil.”

 

“Fine, you treacherous creature.” Hyunsuk muttered under his breath.

 

-

 

Hyunsuk lay sprawled across his sheets, bare under the soft glow of his dimmed bedside lamp. The scent of amberwood and citrus clung to the air—his favorite candle still flickering near the nightstand. He’d showered, prepped, even misted his pillows with the fragrance he knew Jihoon liked, secretly hoping the president would carry it on his skin by morning.

 

Everything felt new. Surreal. Jihoon hadn’t just kissed him tonight—he’d claimed him, in front of ENO. And for once, Hyunsuk allowed himself to bask in the thrill of that shift. He was floating.

 

A flicker of Jaehyuk’s face surfacing in his mind for a brief second. The conversation earlier. The look in his eyes. But Hyunsuk brushed it off with a soft sigh. I’ll talk to him tomorrow. What was he playing at?

 

Right now… this was his moment.

 

After a long while, Hyunsuk gave up waiting. He tried sleeping now but then the door creaked.

 

Jihoon entered quietly—barefoot, shirtless, in nothing but grey sweats slung low on his hips. His skin glowed faintly in the warm light, and Hyunsuk’s breath caught. He didn’t speak. Just looked.

 

Like he was seeing something holy.

 

Jihoon’s hands stayed in his pockets as his eyes roamed over the figure on the bed—naked, inviting, waiting.

 

“Touch yourself,” Jihoon said, voice low, dark.

 

Hyunsuk swallowed hard. There was no hesitation. He reached down, eyes never leaving Jihoon’s, and obeyed. Slow. Purposeful. A moan slipped past his lips.

 

Jihoon’s eyes darkened. He didn’t move, but his chest rose with quiet restraint.

 

“You let others see you like this?” His tone was laced with jealousy. “Let them touch you like this?”

 

Hyunsuk’s lip quivered. “It’s because you wouldn’t take me, Pres… But even when they do—” he gasped softly, “—I think about you. Always. It’s never enough.”

 

Jihoon’s jaw flexed. “Not tonight.”

 

“I know.” Hyunsuk’s voice was breathy. “I’m just showing you what you own.”

 

“Moan my name.”

 

“Jihoon…”

 

“Say it.”

 

“Jihoon Park owns me.”

 

“Fuck,” Jihoon cursed under his breath, the sound guttural. “Kneel.”

 

Hyunsuk obeyed instantly, crawling to the edge of the bed, baring himself with a kind of reverence. Jihoon stepped closer, finally closing the distance—and kissed him.

 

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft. It was consuming.

 

And yet still, he didn’t touch him anywhere else.

 

Jihoon spat inside Hyunsuk's mouth like he was owning him.Hyunsuk whimpered into the kiss, aching at the absence of Jihoon’s hands on his body. The hunger between them was unbearable.

 

"Fuck I can't sleep here." Jihoon groans. "I might just fuck you."

 

"Then, fuck me."

 

"No. Not yet."

 

"Shit."

 

Then, Jihoon pulled away slightly, his gaze burning. “Turn around.”

 

Hyunsuk got on all fours, presenting himself shamelessly.

 

Jihoon’s hand finally, finally, touched him—slowly grazing the curve of his lower back, down to the soft dip of his waist, then resting just before danger. He exhaled like he’d touched fire.

 

“I’ll ruin you,” Jihoon whispered. “Soon, little devil.”

 

Hyunsuk whimpered, eyes fluttering shut. “I want that.”

 

“Not yet,” Jihoon growled, withdrawing his hand like it hurt to do so.

 

“Please—” Hyunsuk turned to look over his shoulder, desperate. His eyes flicked down—and saw it. The unmistakable outline of Jihoon’s want beneath his sweats. Huge. Strained. And still, Jihoon didn’t act on it.

 

Just stared. As if Hyunsuk was something sacred. A sin he wanted to savor.

 

“Good night,” Jihoon said. “See you tomorrow.”

 

And with that, he turned and left.

 

Leaving Hyunsuk ruined, breathless, and very, very undone.

 

-
-
-

The boys stood in their usual formation outside the ENO wing of Hwagyeong University, just beyond the iron gate gilded with the house crest. Dressed in varying shades of indifference, they looked like royalty waiting to be summoned—Doyoung and Junghwan quiet as always, Yoshi leaning against a column, Junkyu half-yawning, and Haruto messing with his phone. Jaehyuk stood in front, arms crossed, his gaze straight ahead like a sentinel. Asahi was just expressionless. And Jeongwoo was busy having a chat with one of the guards.

 

Then came the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps.

 

Hyunsuk arrived last, of course—fashionably late and unapologetically dramatic. His outfit was over the top, as usual: a long trench coat flaring behind him, chains gleaming against layered designer fabrics, rings flashing as he ran a hand through his platinum hair. He didn’t walk to impress. He walked to dominate.

 

Except—no one reacted.

 

Not even Jaehyuk, who usually threw in some teasing jab or a smirk. This time, he didn’t even glance back. It unsettled Hyunsuk for a second. But then—Jihoon looked at him.

 

Not a glance. Not a flicker. A look. Direct. Still. Like he saw only him.

 

Hyunsuk swallowed. His breath hitched. He was about to go to his usual place behind Jihoon.

 

And then—Jihoon said, “Beside me, please.”

 

“…W-what?”

 

Jihoon tilted his head slightly to the right, signaling the space beside him. “Here.”

 

Heart in his throat, Hyunsuk stepped forward, coming to stand beside Jihoon. Their shoulders brushed faintly.

 

Jihoon gave a small nod toward the gate. The guards opened it immediately.

 

The usual Hwagyeong commotion exploded around them—gasps, whispers, phones subtly raised. The ENO boys walked through like a storm front.

 

But everyone noticed the shift. Hyunsuk wasn’t behind Jihoon anymore. He was beside him.

 

And then, right as the whispers reached their peak, Jihoon tilted his head again—just enough for Hyunsuk to feel the weight of his gaze—and let his lips curve, slow and quiet.

 

It wasn’t a full grin. It was smaller than that. Precise. Almost lazy. The kind of smile you gave when you knew you were making a statement without saying a word. And he held Hyunsuk’s gaze the whole time.

 

Just long enough for Hyunsuk’s ears to flush and his spine to straighten. Just long enough for the rest of the boys—and the students around them—to notice.

 

Jihoon never smiled. Not like that.

 

As they continue to move as a unit through the main quad of Hwagyeong, the whispers grew louder. Cameras clicked. No one dared approach—until they did.

 

Kappa Rho Sigma came from the opposite path, crisp and unshakable in their stride. At the center of them was Eunbyeol—composed, radiant, and deliberate.

 

She broke formation without missing a beat. “Jihoon, can we talk?”

 

Her voice was soft but clear, just loud enough for others to hear. Intentional. Because in the eyes of the university, she was still the girlfriend. And Hyunsuk—no matter how much he brushed it off—was still a shadow. A secret. Something on the side.

 

Jihoon gave the subtlest nod to the boys. They all paused, unsure.

 

But Hyunsuk? He stepped back.

 

Of course he did. That was his place—on standby. Just a few hours ago, he was in his bed. Whispering. Moaning. Bare beneath his sheets. With Jihoon watching. And now?

 

Now, he was watching Jihoon stand still for another.

 

Jihoon’s eyes flicked to his, just for a second. And Hyunsuk saw it again—that hesitation. That guilt. But it wasn’t enough.

 

It was never enough.

 

Hyunsuk smiled faintly, like it didn’t bother him. Like he was used to being background noise. Then he turned and walked off with the rest of the boys, each step a quiet scream.

 

He didn’t look back.

 

Because if he did, it might just break him.

 

-
-
-

 

Hyunsuk made his way across campus, one hand adjusting the strap of his bag, the other thumbing through messages as he left the lounge. His locker was restocked, his appearance—as always—impeccable. But his chest still throbbed from what he’d witnessed that morning—Jihoon with Eunbyeol. Laughing. Talking. Walking away from him like he wasn’t anything at all.

 

He hadn’t even reached his classroom yet when his phone buzzed.

 

Jihoon: Library, after lunch. Before Constitutional Law. No class, right? Will wait for you at the commons. See you, partner.

 

Hyunsuk stopped in his tracks, lips pressing into a thin line. His thumb hovered before typing back.

 

Hyunsuk: How’s your girlfriend?

 

A voice spoke behind him before the message could even send.

 

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

 

Hyunsuk spun around. Jihoon stood there like it was nothing, hands buried in his pockets, gaze steady—too steady.

 

“S-since when?” Hyunsuk breathed out.

 

Jihoon shrugged slightly. “Since the night you slept in my bed.”

 

The first warning bell rang through the corridor. Jihoon stepped past him, cool and nonchalant, like he hadn’t just shattered Hyunsuk’s entire world with one sentence.

 

“You better get to class,” he added over his shoulder. “See you around, partner.”

 

That was it. That was all he said.

 

And Hyunsuk stood frozen in the hallway, rage and disbelief flooding his chest until he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

 

“You’re such a fucking jerk!” he shouted after him.

 

Jihoon didn’t even turn around. He just laughed—low and amused—and kept walking.

 

Hyunsuk stood there, shaking, half-hating him and half aching for him more than ever.

 

His phone buzzed again as he walked down the hallway. He checked it out of habit—just in time to see his feed flood with updates. Blurry photos, overheard quotes, and reposted stories filled the screen.

 

Eunbyeol had broken up with Jihoon. Publicly. At the quad.

 

At least, that’s what everyone was saying. But Hyunsuk knew better.

 

Jihoon had already told him. Since the night you slept in my bed. Eunbyeol must’ve just wanted to save face.

 

It didn’t matter. Hyunsuk smiled—wide and real. He couldn’t wait for after lunch.

 

-
-
-

 

The South Wing at ENO Mansion was still quiet by mid-morning, the kind of silence that made even the grand halls feel hollow. The sound of footsteps echoed faintly as Asahi padded through the corridor, moving instinctively—drawn by something deeper than curiosity.

 

He found Jaehyuk in his room. Not on the bed. Not at his desk. But lying flat on the polished floor, fully dressed in his earlier attire, eyes fixed on the coffered ceiling above him. Asahi stood at the doorway for a moment, taking him in. His blazer was slightly wrinkled, tie loosened, jaw clenched tight like he was holding something back.

 

“You went home early,” Asahi finally said, stepping inside.

 

Jaehyuk didn’t move. “I guess so.”

 

Asahi shut the door behind him. “You like him,” he said softly. “I was right.”

 

A beat. Jaehyuk didn’t answer. Didn’t look at him either—too scared to face the weight behind Asahi’s eyes.

 

“How can you tell?” he asked instead.

 

“You started acting this way when the president acknowledged him at the Blood Party,” Asahi said, crossing the room. “I saw your internal rage. I know what it looks like.”

 

Jaehyuk gave a bitter smile, one that didn’t touch his eyes. “You always know, Asahi.”

 

Then Asahi said it—steady, deliberate.

 

“Use me.”

 

Jaehyuk’s head turned sharply. “What?”

 

“Use me,” Asahi repeated. He stood just a few feet away, expression unreadable. “Get over him. I’ll help you forget.”

 

“You’re not serious.”

 

“I am.”

 

“Asahi,” Jaehyuk whispered. “What are you taking? I need some.”

 

“I’m not kidding.”

 

“Asahi…” His voice cracked. “Why would you do this to yourself?”

 

“Because I’d rather be hurt by your hands than forgotten entirely.”

 

Jaehyuk closed his eyes. It felt like the world had split in two—his heart, the weight of expectations, and this person in front of him offering himself like a lifeline in a storm he caused.

 

“My parents are negotiating an engagement. With the Chois.”

 

“I see,” Asahi murmured.

 

“I can’t—he’s slipping through my fingers, and I realize too late that I wanted him. That I was watching someone I might’ve loved fall for someone else and I just watched it all happen.”

 

Asahi’s heart shattered a little more at each word. Still, he didn’t waver. His voice was quieter now, almost pleading.

 

“Please. You deserve better than this mess of a person. Me. Who’s apparently in love with my childhood best friend. My partner in crime. My soulmate. Fuck, I… miss him on my bed. I miss his laugh. His warmth.”

 

“I can change that,” Asahi said.

 

“Asahi…”

 

“Use me.”

 

Something broke in Jaehyuk. Maybe it was the look in Asahi’s eyes—raw, glassy, too proud to cry but too human not to. Maybe it was the guilt twisting in his stomach, knowing he didn’t deserve any of this. But still, he stood. Reached for him. Pulled him close.

 

They clung to each other like broken boys trying to rebuild a version of love out of wreckage.

 

Jaehyuk liked Asahi—but over time, he began to question whether he truly wanted him, or if he had simply latched onto the idea of being with someone. Maybe it was because he’d been too focused on Hyunsuk’s happiness for so long that he forgot to look inward. When Asahi showed interest—despite still being with Junkyu—Jaehyuk clung to it. Not out of love, but out of convenience. Out of hope that maybe, just maybe, it would be enough to distract him from the truth he wasn’t ready to face. That his feelings lay elsewhere.

 

And then Asahi leaned in—hesitant, trembling—and pressed his lips to Jaehyuk’s. A kiss full of desperation, of grief masked as desire. And Jaehyuk… he didn’t pull away.

 

He let it happen.

 

He kissed him back. Not out of passion, not fully out of love—but out of sheer need. Out of guilt. Out of the fear that this might be the last time someone saw the vulnerable parts of him and still chose to stay.

 

Asahi was devastated. Jaehyuk was lost.

 

But in that moment, they had each other. And for now, that had to be enough.

 

-
-
-

 

Somewhere inside Hwagyeong’s oldest academic building, during activity period…

 

The classroom was dim. Eunbyeol's hands gripped the edge of the professor’s desk, her breath shaky, her blouse wrinkled from hasty touches. Her lips were parted, flushed from what they’d just done.

 

Han Taegun leaned over her from behind, his voice rough against her ear.

 

“Fuck… Professor,” she whispered.

 

He chuckled darkly, pushing her hair aside. “Yes. Curse for me. Loud. Like the needy little bitch you are.”

 

The desk creaked. The air reeked of sweat and perfume and desperation.

 

“You need that A so bad, huh?” he sneered, hand pressing low on her back.

 

“Ahhh…” Her voice broke, eyes fluttering closed.

 

He stilled behind her suddenly.

 

“You’re mine now, Eunbyeol.”

 

She turned her head slightly, lips trembling. “Yes… I broke up with him,” she confessed in a whisper. “I want you.”

 

“What?” he snapped.

 

In an instant, the air changed. Han pulled away sharply. “You broke up with the Park heir?”

 

Eunbyeol’s brows pinched in confusion, panic swelling in her chest. “I—I thought… you wanted to be with me. That this meant something.”

 

“Girl,” he spat, gripping her jaw in one hand. “You’re a fool.”

 

She gasped, stunned. “What—what did I do wrong? You’ve been with me for two months—”

 

“That was when you were still useful,” he hissed. “When you were still with him. Now?” He scoffed, dragging his coat off the back of the chair. “Now you’re just a stupid girl who gave up her leverage.”

 

Her knees buckled slightly. “You used me.”

 

He didn’t respond. Just buttoned his shirt with methodical coldness.

 

-

Notes:

We've got a long way to go. The ENO drama just started. 😩

I also think that I have a lot of typos and my html codes fucked up. Because I'm pretty sure I have lots of italicized words... sjsjsk

No beta we die like men 😩✊

~
update: i found the fucked up html piece, it's good now but i'm not sure about the typos bec i'm sure as hell will not read this again unless necessary. i love yall 😭

Chapter 6: Complications

Summary:

Tensions rise even further as hidden feelings, legacy pressure, and fractured loyalties begin to surface.

Notes:

It took some time to edit. Geez. But I always try to make it tasteful and not just bombard you with my plot outburst. Tho I have so much to share!! I think this is going to be a bit long. 😭🫠

The newly renovated wing of the historic Hwagyeong University Library had a different kind of silence—modern, intentional. Glass conference pods floated like crystal boxes across the vast, high-ceilinged room. Inside them, students looked like soft silhouettes through the frosted panels, the glow of digital screens and pages of thick law books adding to the filtered air of quiet prestige.

 

Inside one of those pods, Jihoon and Hyunsuk sat across from each other at a long rectangular table—opposite ends, as if the space needed that distance to breathe. Books lay scattered across the woodgrain, two iPads glowing softly between them. Though the sound didn’t carry out into the rest of the library, it was clear from the shifting glances outside that their presence had stirred a ripple of buzz.

 

ENO’s President Jihoon and Hyunsuk—working together. Silently. Intimately.

 

Just right after the morning chaos of Eunbyeol breaking up with Jihoon.

 

Hyunsuk typed away with delicate precision, trying his hardest not to smile too wide. But he could feel it. Jihoon’s eyes on him. Burning.

 

He paused, biting his bottom lip before looking up. A challenge in his eyes, but a blush threatening behind it.

 

He leaned back into his chair, gaze steady. Jihoon mirrored the motion—broad chest stretching beneath a black fitted shirt, hands tucked into his pockets like he didn’t need them. His stare? Unapologetic.

 

Hyunsuk mouthed across the table, “What?”

 

Jihoon smirked lazily. “Nothing. You look…”

 

Hyunsuk raised a brow. “I look what?”

 

Jihoon didn’t finish. He wanted to say fuckable—too beautiful. But he didn’t.

 

Instead: “It’s my first time partnering with you on something school related.”

 

Hyunsuk hummed. “I know. Weird, right? I’ve been feeling the urge to impress you, which is annoying. I never need to prove myself.” He narrowed his eyes.

 

“Is that so?” Jihoon tilted his head. “Impressing me, why?”

 

“Just because.”

 

“You already impress me just by sitting there.” Jihoon’s grin deepened. “But working on Constitutional Law? Hot.”

 

Hyunsuk’s laugh broke through the silence like something decadent. “Wanna fuck me?”

 

“Yeah,” Jihoon said, without missing a beat.

 

Hyunsuk giggled, cheeks flushed now, and shook his head. “We’re not going to finish this if you keep staring.”

 

“I’m already done.” Jihoon leaned back further, cocky. Relaxed.

 

Hyunsuk stood, walking around the table to look over Jihoon’s screen. He leaned forward, scrolling through the write-up—and Jihoon’s eyes dropped to his ass, unapologetic.

 

“You know they can see through the glass, right?” Hyunsuk muttered without turning around. “Pervert.”

 

“And?” Jihoon said, shrugging. “I’m ENO’s President. I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

 

“Including staring at my ass?”

 

“Yes. I consider it a right checking out a Choi heir’s fuckable ass. Thank you very much.” Jihoon bit his bottom lip.

 

Hyunsuk stood straight, turning to meet his gaze seductively. “You’re so powerful then. Your Highness.”

 

Their eyes locked. The familiar heat simmered, thick and undeniable.

 

"Sleep with me later," Jihoon said—low and dark. "Make out in bed."

 

“Just that?” Hyunsuk teased.

 

“Yes.”

 

But the way Jihoon said it wasn’t just desire. It was low and steady, like a decision had finally been made. A release of something he’d been holding far too long.

 

Because the truth was, Jihoon had let go of Eunbyeol not out of cruelty—but clarity. They’d been faking it for too long. Their relationship had become something polite and performative. Safe. Predictable. And Jihoon—who had never been one to chase anything unless it felt like it burned—finally admitted to himself that what he wanted was not comfort, but truth.

 

And Hyunsuk…

 

Hyunsuk had always felt like the most dangerous kind of truth.

 

Always there. Always open. Impossible not to notice. Jihoon wasn’t sure when the ache had started—maybe it was always there, buried under duty, pride, fear. But now he wanted to know. He needed to know. What if this was it? What if this was real?

 

A magnet pulled at his soul, and Hyunsuk was at the center.

 

Hyunsuk tilted his head. “Hmm… The write-up’s good. Let’s start building the presentation deck.”

 

Jihoon didn’t let up. “So? My room later?”

 

Hyunsuk stilled, gaze softening. Then, suddenly:

 

“Why’d you break up with her?”

 

The tone shift was sharp but not unexpected.

 

Jihoon’s answer was even sharper. “It wasn’t working for a long time.”

 

“Just say it,” Hyunsuk replied. “You broke up with your little girlfriend so you could finally be buried inside me.”

 

Jihoon gave a lazy, wolfish grin. “Yeah. That. Exactly that, little devil.”

 

Hyunsuk laughed, shaking his head. “You’re so done later, Your Highness.”

 

And then he returned to his seat, typing again like nothing had happened.

 

But they both knew everything had.

 

-
-
-

 

Hyunsuk’s third period class was Business Management with Yoshi. He slipped into his seat just before the bell, an almost indecent glow on his face. Not from his usual full-face makeup or designer perfume—but something quieter. Internal. He looked freshly high on something unnameable. Not the coffee he sipped languidly. Not the crisp, barely-buttoned blazer he wore like a second skin. No—this glow came from somewhere deeper.

 

Beside him, along the row, Yoshi raised an eyebrow behind his laptop. His light orange hair was messily swept back, sunglasses pushed into the collar of his shirt. He clocked the shift in Hyunsuk immediately. It wasn’t the way he dressed—Hyunsuk always dressed like the finale of a fashion show. It wasn’t even the slight smirk tugging at his lips.

 

It was the softness. The peace. The aftertaste of something—or someone.

 

“You’re in a good mood,” Yoshi muttered dryly. “Someone finally kissed your ego?”

 

Hyunsuk didn’t even glance at him. Just typed casually on his tablet. “You’re still mad you weren’t the one to do it?”

 

Yoshi scoffed. “Please. I’d need therapy after kissing you.” He smirked at their usual banter.

 

“You already need therapy.”

 

“Maybe. But not for you.”

 

Hyunsuk finally turned his head and looked at him. “So you’ve been watching me?”

 

“Just saying… glow like that doesn’t come from lecture notes.” Yoshi’s tone was clipped, but his eyes lingered a beat too long.

 

Hyunsuk smiled faintly, amused. “If you must know, I had a productive meeting with a class partner.”

 

“Oh?” Yoshi’s mouth twitched. “Let me guess. ENO’s very own crowned king?”

 

Hyunsuk let out a small laugh, more breath than sound. “The Pres has a name, you know.”

 

“I know a lot of things,” Yoshi said, voice low. “Like the fact that he might be still hung up on his ex. He just broke up right?”

 

Hyunsuk’s smile faded slightly. “Trust me, he’s so not hung up.”

 

Yoshi leaned back in his chair. “Interesting, not the side dick anymore? So now you’re playing in bigger leagues.”

 

“I’m not playing.”

 

“Sure,” Yoshi muttered, but there was something bitter under it. “And the President just wants you for your intelligence.”

 

Hyunsuk’s tone dropped, quiet but clear. “He might.” He rolled his eyes. He knew what Yoshi was implying that Jihoon may just want to get inside his pants. It was Jihoon’s typical behavior. But he’d like to believe that he’s different. Right? He’s Hyunsuk Choi… and Jihoon… he wouldn’t play with his feelings would he?

 

Yoshi didn’t answer for a while. Just stared ahead at the lecturer setting up the screen. His jaw tensed. Then—

 

“You sleeping okay lately?”

 

Hyunsuk blinked. The shift caught him off guard. “Somehow.”

 

“You’ve stopped coming by.”

 

“Jaehyuk’s been around.”

 

Yoshi’s knuckles tightened slightly around his pen. “And now the President.”

 

There it was. The edge again.

 

Hyunsuk tilted his head. “I miss your sheets, though. Softer than Jaehyuk’s. You jealous?”

 

Yoshi rolled his eyes. “You’re annoying.”

 

“And yet you let me in your room every time.”

 

“That’s because you knock like a stray cat about to die of heartbreak.”

 

“I am heartbreak,” Hyunsuk said with a grin.

 

“You hanging out with the Pres now for real?” Yoshi asked, feigning boredom.

 

Hyunsuk tilted his head, expression unreadable. “You stalking me?”

 

“You’re not exactly subtle. People talk. I instantly knew about the library thing. Right after his breakup in the morning, mind you.

 

Hyunsuk rolled his eyes. “I don’t really give a fuck.”

 

Yoshi gave him a look. “As usual, you’re insane.”

 

“Bold of you to say when you’re the one constantly covered in fight bruises.”

 

“That’s hazing prep,” Yoshi muttered.

 

Hyunsuk leaned in slightly, voice playful. “Or maybe it’s guilt.”

 

Yoshi rolled his eyes. “Over what?”

 

“I don’t know. You tell me,” Hyunsuk said softly, then sat back, eyes flicking toward the board.

 

They were quiet for a while. Not uncomfortable—never that. Just heavy with unspoken things.

 

Then Hyunsuk asked it, quiet but pointed:

 

“You and Junkyu. What’s that?”

 

Yoshi didn’t flinch, but the silence that followed was enough of an answer.

 

“We’re fucking.” he said, too flatly. “What is it to you?”

 

Hyunsuk shrugged, not looking at him. “Just wondering.”

 

Yoshi studied him for a beat. “You jealous?”

 

Hyunsuk finally turned, met his eyes, and smirked. “You wish.”

 

Their eyes locked, a tension neither wanted to name.

 

Then Yoshi looked away first. “You’re a pain in the ass.”

 

“Still let me sleep in your bed, though,” Hyunsuk said under his breath, already focused back on his notes.

 

Yoshi didn’t answer. But his foot tapped once against Hyunsuk’s chair. And Hyunsuk smiled, just a little, without ever looking up. He just basked in their usual banter, a comfort he had with Yoshi for years.

 

Their class dismissed with a chime, and students filed out in neat disinterest. Yoshi stepped out casually, bag slung over one shoulder, scrolling through his phone as he passed the glass doors—only to pause.

 

Junkyu was waiting by the railing, leaning back, half in the sun. His arms were crossed lazily, but his eyes flicked up the moment Yoshi appeared.

 

Yoshi blinked, almost stopped walking—but didn’t. Not when footsteps trailed just behind him. Hyunsuk emerged, stretching his arms as if the entire class had merely been a chore to get through. And when he spotted Junkyu?

 

That familiar smug smile bloomed across his face like it had been waiting all day. Their eyes met. Just for a beat.

 

Junkyu’s lips twitched into something unreadable. Maybe a smile. Maybe not.

 

Hyunsuk smirked. Of course he did.

 

“Oh,” he said, letting his gaze bounce deliberately between the two of them. “Is this a thing now?”

 

Junkyu raised an eyebrow. “You say that like you don’t already know.”

 

Hyunsuk chuckled—sharp, amused. “Touché.”

 

Yoshi didn’t answer. He just adjusted his grip on his backpack—and then, without a word, let his hand slide gently to the small of Hyunsuk’s back. A light touch. Casual. Practiced.

 

But not missed.

 

Junkyu’s gaze dipped. He was already used to it—the way the two of them touched like they didn’t mean it. Like it was muscle memory from years of proximity. Unlike Jaehyuk, who smothered Hyunsuk with affection, Yoshi’s touch was quieter. Private. But now, after what they did, after what they were becoming, it stung.

 

Hyunsuk’s smile sharpened.

 

“See you around,” he said to Yoshi, eyes darting to Junkyu with a flicker of amusement. His voice was syrupy. Teasing. “Big night for me.”

 

But before he could walk past, Yoshi held him back.

 

“Can I call you later?” Yoshi asked, still calm, still unbothered on the surface. “I’ll discuss initiation stuff.”

 

“I’m busy later,” Hyunsuk said, gaze drifting away already. “That’s still in three days. We can talk tomorrow.”

 

Yoshi didn’t let go.

 

“Not sleeping with me tonight?” he asked casually. “Jaehyuk’s not feeling well. Saw him leave after first period.”

 

That made Hyunsuk pause. The smile faltered—just a bit—as he glanced up, concern was evident on his face.

 

“I’ll check on him later,” Hyunsuk murmured. Then his eyes met Junkyu’s—and quickly looked away again. “Thanks for letting me know.”

 

Yoshi leaned in a little closer. “You sure? You sleep better in my room.”

 

Hyunsuk exhaled. Then:

 

“I won’t be sleeping with you anytime soon. You annoy the heck out of me.”

 

Yoshi grinned. “You say that like it’s new.” Still, acting like Junkyu wasn’t there, Yoshi continued.

 

“You know my door code, Hyuns. Just go for it whenever. Even if I’m not there, you still drift to sleep.”

 

“Uhh…” Hyunsuk squinted at him. “You’re clingy. Ew.”

 

He took a step back, turning to both of them now with an exaggerated wave.

 

“Anyway—see you around, guys,” he said. And then, just as he walked off, “Good luck with…” he raised two fingers to his mouth and mimed an obscene gesture—tongue out, fingers in a V, wicked grin twisting his lips.

 

Junkyu’s face tensed.

 

Yoshi just snorted.

 

Hyunsuk was gone a second later, disappearing down the steps of the university hall—off to prep for a night he clearly had no intention of sharing with either of them.

 

And Junkyu? He said nothing. But he was definitely thinking something.

 

Yoshi turned to him, eyes a little tired, lips still quirked in that ever-unbothered smirk. But Junkyu caught it—the flicker of guilt there. Barely visible.

 

“Hey,” Yoshi said, voice cool and unreadable. Always was.

 

Junkyu raised a brow. “Done with your classes now, right? You wanna eat out?”

 

“Let’s just order in,” Yoshi replied. “Hang at the house.”

 

“You mean, not at ENO, but above the Blood Arena?” Junkyu’s tone carried a half-smile, teasing.

 

Yoshi nodded once. “Yeah.”

 

Junkyu narrowed his eyes playfully. “What, you only take your hookups to your off-site location?”

 

Yoshi smirked. “You complaining? You seemed pretty happy last time. For the record, you’re the only person I brought there.”

 

“Mm. I was. Until I realized the only time you touch me is when you’re stressed.”

 

“Not true,” Yoshi said smoothly. “I also touch you when I’m bored.”

 

Junkyu laughed, then bit into his lower lip. “Right. So I’m your stress relief and your entertainment. Multifunctional.”

 

“Exactly. Efficient.”

 

“Is that what I am to you, Kanemoto? A walking distraction?”

 

Yoshi glanced at him with something unreadable. “A talented one.”

 

Junkyu let the compliment hang there for a moment, then added—voice lower, more honest:

 

“You do realize I’ve never even been inside your room, right? At ENO?”

 

Yoshi’s smirk flickered. “Is that a requirement now?”

 

Junkyu didn’t flinch this time. “Is Hyunsuk the only person you let inside that room?”

 

That made Yoshi pause. It was small—just a hitch in his breath, a shift in his stance. But Junkyu saw it. Felt it like a punch to the ribs. It was true though. Whenever he hooks up with someone, he brought them to guest rooms at ENO. Never his room.

 

Yoshi didn’t answer right away. He looked away, eyes trailing somewhere else. And then, just like always, he changed the subject.

 

Junkyu didn’t push. He never did. But something twisted in his chest. He was supposed to be using Yoshi. Just a rebound, a body to forget the quiet devastation of Asahi. But somehow, Yoshi’s silence stung.

 

And it wasn’t just the room. It wasn’t just Hyunsuk.

 

It was the way Yoshi’s hand had lingered on Hyunsuk’s back earlier. Possessive. Too familiar. Like that kind of closeness wasn’t rare.

 

Hyunsuk was just his friend. Right? A complicated one, sure—but just a friend.

 

So why did it feel like Yoshi was marking territory? Why did it feel like Junkyu was the secret?

 

Why did it hurt?

 

-
-
-

 

Hyunsuk Choi and Yoshinori Kanemoto’s history were never meant to like each other. But fate had a way with things.

 

Kanemoto Yoshinori came from bloodlines soaked in politics and old-world crime. His family history read like a manifesto—generations of men who held the leash to cities, whispered into the ears of prime ministers, and dealt with enemies through bullet or ballot, whichever came first. Heir to one of the oldest mafia-rooted political families, Yoshi had been trained since childhood to eliminate risk before it escalated.

 

So when the Choi family called for reinforcement after a regional security breach, Yoshi was pulled into a new school and into Hyunsuk Choi’s orbit for a short while—the heir of a dynasty that dressed like royalty, talked like sin, and moved like the world owed him something.

 

He was the one deployed. Because one, he’s on the same level as Hyunsuk and two, no one would ever realize he’s on a mission.

 

They were both teens. Yoshi hated it. Why would he? An heir. Why protect some brat? He had better things to do. Even at such a young age, Yoshi could easily run an empire if he wanted to. Do things that make more sense. Important. But instead, he was stuck to watching out over a person who doesn’t even give a fuck about legacy… yet.

 

Hyunsuk was loud. Flamboyant. Recklessly confident. And worst of all—he was always right. The annoying thing was? He’s always top of the class without studying. Charming without effort. Feared and admired in equal parts. Yoshi, with his brooding aura and steel-cut discipline, was assigned as Hyunsuk’s unofficial bodyguard during their month of forced proximity. It was his first job on field, annoying as it was, he needed to prove something to his parents. That he could deal with anything.

 

Hyunsuk hated it more.

 

“Do you have to stand there like a ghost?” he snapped one day.

 

Yoshi didn’t flinch. “Do you have to breathe that loud?”

 

They bickered constantly—quietly, under their breath, like two kings forced to share a throne. But somewhere beneath the sarcasm was a slow, reluctant awareness of each other.

 

Then came the incident.

 

A group of elite boys—old money, legacy kids, arrogant and bitter—started targeting Hyunsuk. They couldn’t stand that he was better than them without even trying. That the Chois were rising fast and outshining old Korean families. They saw Hyunsuk as a threat wrapped in silk, and they hated him for it.

 

Hyunsuk, ever proud, never flinched. But Yoshi saw the danger. He didn’t tell Hyunsuk. He didn’t ask permission. He simply hunted them down the best way he knew how—one by one—outside of school hours, fists first.

 

He started showing up to class with bruised knuckles and split lips. People whispered. The elite group suddenly got quieter.

 

And when Yoshi finally got reported for “violent tendencies,” Hyunsuk pieced it together. But he never said thank you.

 

He just started bringing Yoshi an extra drink every morning. Said nothing about the blood on his collar. That was Hyunsuk’s way. Ego too large for gratitude, but loyalty loud in other ways.

 

The turning point came a week later. Hyunsuk found Yoshi behind the school building, standing before a large steel drum. Thick, dark smoke curled into the air. It smelled like burning leather, plastic, memories.

 

“Yoshi,” Hyunsuk said slowly, “what’s that?”

 

Yoshi didn’t turn. His voice was low, calm. “They were going to do something bad to you.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“I’m burning them alive.”

 

Inside the drum were the stolen possessions of the boys who had tried to ruin Hyunsuk—wallets, watches, heirloom pens, hard drives, journals. All turning to ash.

 

Hyunsuk didn’t smile often as he was an angsty teen. But that day, he did. A dark, satisfied smile. Their eyes met over the smoke.

 

There was no handshake. No vow. No declaration of friendship.

 

But after that, they were bonded. In fire. In silence. In shared ruthlessness.

 

Over time, Yoshi and Hyunsuk’s friendship morphed into something specific—less tender than Jaehyuk and Hyunsuk’s emotional closeness, but far more dangerous. Where Jaehyuk wrapped Hyunsuk in warmth, Yoshi sharpened him. He understood him.

 

They still insulted each other like clockwork.

 

“Too much eyeliner today, Choi.”
“Still brooding like you’re auditioning for a mafia drama?”

 

But they shared power. Mutual protection. Unspoken trust.

 

And sometimes… they shared a bed.

 

Not often. But in the mansion halls of ENO, there were nights Hyunsuk would slip into Yoshi’s room. No flirting. No teasing. Just tension that pressed against skin and breath, unsaid and unnamed. Yoshi never asked why. Hyunsuk never explained.

 

They both understood: it wasn’t about romance. It was about control. Territory. A taste of something forbidden—but allowed, between them.

 

Now?

 

Now, Yoshi was staring at Junkyu like he’d found something rare, something soft and thrilling. But legacy doesn’t make room for soft.

 

His parents had started the conversation. That marrying Hyunsuk—the Choi heir—would consolidate their influence. Mask everything that needed to be masked.

 

And Yoshi was listening.

 

Not because he wanted to. But because he had to. He still remembered that night behind the school. The burning. The smile. The bond sealed in black smoke.

 

If he couldn’t choose love… he would choose power.

 

And Hyunsuk? Hyunsuk would understand.

 

Right?

 

-
-
-

 

Jihoon pushed through the towering main doors of the ENO Mansion, the golden handles cold against his palm. As the weight of the door swung open, he was greeted by the usual controlled chaos of the main hall—pledges scrambling to clean, underclassmen bowing as he passed, voices dropping to whispers.

 

“Pres.”
“Hi, Pres!”

 

Their greetings echoed as he made his way past them, head held high, blazer slung lazily over one shoulder. His presence alone carved a path.

 

He just nodded at them.

 

As he reached the South Wing lobby—a grand space of marble and deep walnut—the air shifted. A figure stood near the base of the grand staircase, aged but unmistakable. His tailored black suit was pressed to perfection, silver hair neatly parted, posture straight as a blade despite the years weighing down his back.

 

Jihoon paused mid-step, disbelief flickering in his eyes.

 

“…George?”

 

The old man bowed deeply. “Young Master Jihoon.”

 

Jihoon dropped his bag without hesitation. Two guards in matching black suits immediately picked it up, but Jihoon didn’t even look their way. He crossed the polished floor and embraced the older man tightly, the rare softness in his face betraying just how deeply rooted this connection was.

 

“It’s been so long,” George murmured, his British accent refined, distinct, and out of place in the opulent Korean setting. “I wondered when you’d come home. You don’t visit the estate much these days.”

 

“I’ve been busy,” Jihoon replied in English, pulling back slightly to look at him. “You look… older.”

 

“And you look thinner,” George replied, smiling gently. “Not eating properly, I imagine.”

 

Jihoon scoffed, but there was no edge to it.

 

“What made you come here?” he asked, stepping back now, eyes narrowing.

 

George only gave him a wry smile. Speaking in Korean now. “To see you, of course.”

 

Jihoon’s expression hardened. He knew better.

 

“It’s usually bad news when you show up in person.”

 

George didn’t deny it. He merely folded his hands behind his back, spine still soldier-straight.

 

“Follow me,” Jihoon said quietly, already turning.

 

Without another word, the five men in black—George’s entourage—fell into step behind him. The rest of the mansion fell into silence as Jihoon led them deeper into the South Wing, past heavy portraits and hidden corridors, to his private study.

 

The guards remained stationed outside as the door clicked shut behind them.

 

Inside, surrounded by old tomes and dark-paneled walls, Jihoon poured himself a drink before facing George fully.

 

“Let’s not pretend,” he said flatly. “Tell me why you’re really here.”

 

George looked at him, then at ENO’s crest carved into the mantel above the fireplace. He sighed.

 

“As you wish, Young Master.”

 

George stood silently as Jihoon poured himself a drink, the clink of ice against crystal the only sound breaking the heavy silence of the study. Jihoon didn’t offer him a seat—George didn’t expect one.

 

When Jihoon finally turned, drink in hand, his expression was unreadable.

 

“Well?” he prompted.

 

George cleared his throat lightly. “Legacy is important, Young Master. Your father has begun engaging in conversations regarding your marriage.”

 

Jihoon stiffened. He didn’t look surprised—just… annoyed.

 

“My father,” he echoed flatly. “Or do you mean my grandfather? Because Father doesn’t give a shit unless he’s forced to.”

 

George remained calm. “It was your grandfather’s suggestion, yes. But it is your father’s duty to act on it. And he is.”

 

Jihoon set the glass down harder than necessary. “He hates me.”

 

“That may be, Young Master. But even hatred has protocol in a family like yours. And this—marriage, legacy—it isn’t about sentiment. It’s about the future.”

 

Jihoon exhaled slowly, jaw tight.

 

“Under command,” Jihoon muttered. “Like always.”

 

George paused only a moment. “How is your relationship with Miss Kim?”

 

Jihoon leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “Over.”

 

A slight smile tugged at the butler’s lips. “That’s… fortunate. No offense intended.”

 

“None taken. We were lying to each other. Pretending it still worked.”

 

“You understand, of course, what this all means now.”

 

Jihoon nodded slowly. “Yeah. It’s that time.”

 

George folded his hands behind his back. “ENO’s current senior class… it’s unprecedented. Every one of you—first borns. Not just rich, but essential. You are all from families of outstanding power and legacy. This year’s class isn’t just elite in name, but in actual succession. All of you are heirs. Not just in line but next in line. That kind of convergence hasn’t happened in decades. Families are moving fast. Quietly. Strategically.”

 

Jihoon looked away. “So who’s already locked in?”

 

“Mr. Doyoung Kim and Mr. Junghwan So are already engaged. Their families have been aligned for years,” George recited smoothly. “The Hamada and Kim families still consider Master Asahi and Mr. Junkyu a match. Mr. Haruto and Mr. Jeongwoo’s families have no qualms either—they’re solid in business.”

 

“And the rest?”

 

“The Kanemotos are in soft negotiations with the Chois. So are the Yoons. It isn’t surprising that most of ENO seniors will mostly just keep it within the circle. You all are able.

 

Jihoon blinked slowly. “So both Yoshi and Jaehyuk… for Hyunsuk?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And… anyone… ask about us?”

 

George hesitated, and Jihoon felt the answer before it came.

 

“A few,” George nodded. “Informal interest. Discreet suggestions.”

 

“But no one from ENO?”

 

George shook his head gently. “No.”

 

Jihoon said nothing for a long time.

 

“There are few able candidates from Kappa Rho Sigma and Theta Pi. Some from other good universities too.”

 

“Other universities? There’s nothing better than Hwagyeong, you know that, George.”

 

“Do you have someone in mind, Young Master?” George remained still.

 

Jihoon let out a slow breath. “I do.”

 

George looked at him with knowing eyes. “Someone from ENO?”

 

Jihoon just took his drink.

 

George remained silent for a moment too long, then added—carefully, as if picking his words with tongs:

 

“Forgive me for overstepping, but… if I may, Young Master—”

 

Jihoon arched an eyebrow. “You always may.”

 

George inclined his head slightly. “If the person you’re considering… is Hyunsuk Choi… then I trust you understand the implications.”

 

Jihoon’s jaw ticked. His silence was answer enough.

 

“You know how the Park name sits with the Chois,” George continued gently. “And how theirs sits with us. No one says it aloud anymore, but the old wounds haven’t healed. Only buried.”

 

“I’m not Father,” Jihoon muttered. “Or Grandfather.”

 

“No,” George agreed. “But you carry their name. And legacy. Which means you carry the weight of their history—whether or not you want to.”

 

Jihoon looked away, fists clenched on either side of his chair. “They were our rivals. A lifetime ago. Why is it still like this?”

 

“Because power never forgets, Young Master. And ego never forgives.”

 

Jihoon let out a breath that felt like it scratched its way up his throat. “So that’s why they didn’t ask us. Not because I’m lacking.”

 

“Certainly not,” George said with rare sharpness. “You are one of the most eligible men in the country. But for the Chois… it’s pride. And for your family, it’s the same. As for the others… their families have already settled way back. The only families who are not making up their mind yet are the Parks and Chois.”

 

“And if I ask them instead?” Jihoon’s voice was low.

 

George hesitated, then answered honestly. “The Chois? Then you must be prepared for what that will cost. Internally. Politically. Emotionally.”

 

Jihoon leaned back in his chair, staring at nothing for a long time. His heart was already halfway to Hyunsuk—maybe more—but the past was heavier than he wanted to admit.

 

“You always did aim for the impossible,” George said, softly this time. “But perhaps… that’s what makes you a Park.”

 

Jihoon didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

 

Because in his silence, he was already choosing Hyunsuk anyway.

 

He opens his phone and looked for Hyunsuk’s name labeled as “🤏🏻😈” for “little devil”. He chuckled to himself. He forgot that George was still in the room with him.

 

{Private Messaging}

 

Jihoon: I’m just in a meeting and then later again, will meet with juniors for initiation prep. I’ll be expecting you in my room at 9PM.

 

Hyunsuk: and you’ll always transact with your “possession” this way?

 

Jihoon: Maybe.

 

Hyunsuk: hm. should i be grateful to be scheduled in?

 

Jihoon wanted to laugh.

 

Jihoon: you should be grateful you’re mine tonight.

 

Hyunsuk: and tomorrow night?

 

Jihoon: Thinking about it.

 

Hyunsuk: why not? you’re cute when you pretend you’re not obsessed. 🥺❤️

 

Jihoon: 9PM, little devil.

 

Hyunsuk: yes, your highness

 

Jihoon looked up and once again, he felt comforted by George’s friendly presence.

 

-
-
-

 

Hyunsuk didn’t bother texting. He knocked on Jaehyuk’s door the moment he returned from campus, his bag still slung over one shoulder. His earlier conversation with Yoshi bugged him still and Jaehyuk not feeling well, really concerned him.

 

Inside, Jaehyuk stilled.

 

He wasn’t expecting Hyunsuk. Not after the photo. Not yet. The one going around in socials. The one of Hyunsuk and Jihoon—heads bowed together at the library, smiles soft, too soft. He was expecting him the next day.

 

When he opened the door, his expression was unreadable. He leaned casually against the frame, hands slipping into his pockets like he hadn’t been staring at his phone ten minutes ago.

 

Hyunsuk raised an eyebrow. “You gonna let me in or not?”

 

Without a word, Jaehyuk stepped aside to make way from Hyunsuk. He was wearing a white tank and dark blue sweats. Hyunsuk couldn’t help but check him out from head to toe. Jaehyuk was undeniably gorgeous there’s no doubt about that. Anyone would have no choice but to look.

 

The door clicked shut behind them.

 

Hyunsuk glanced around. Books spilled across the desk. An open laptop blinked on the bed. “Studying again?” he asked, dropping his bag by the nearest arm chair.

 

Jaehyuk didn’t look at him. “Unlike you, I actually have to. This is old news.”

 

Hyunsuk turned to face him, his voice softening. “You okay? You don’t look great.”

 

“Kind of under the weather.”

 

“I can tell. You’re not your usual flirty self.” He paused, then added gently, “What do you need, Jaehyuk? Should I get you something? Meds?”

 

“You,” Jaehyuk said simply. “Sleep with me tonight.”

 

Hyunsuk blinked, then offered a grin. “Tempting. But I’ll be with Pres tonight.”

 

He said it like a boast—but when Jaehyuk’s face didn’t shift, the grin faded quickly. He bit his bottom lip.

 

“What’s wrong, Jae?”

 

“Nothing,” Jaehyuk replied, then hesitated. “He… broke up with Eunbyeol?

 

“Uhh… yeah,” Hyunsuk said, voice quiet now.

 

“So... you’re not sleeping here anymore?”

 

“I can still pass by.” Hyunsuk smiled again, trying to lighten the mood. “What? You’ll miss me?”

 

“I miss you now.”

 

That made Hyunsuk pause.

 

He stepped forward and gently wrapped his arms around Jaehyuk’s neck. Instinctively, Jaehyuk’s hands found Hyunsuk’s waist, drawing him in like muscle memory. He leaned down, pressing a familiar kiss to the side of Hyunsuk’s neck—slow, unhurried. Familiar.

 

Hyunsuk blinked. It’s been a long time since Jaehyuk did that kind of thing. There was a period when they were incredibly touchy that it was borderline to making out already.

 

“You’re the one who told me to go for it,” Hyunsuk murmured. “Be with Pres. Because I liked him.” True enough, it was definitely Jaehyuk who made Hyunsuk realize that he likes Jihoon. It ultimately became a game for them—Hyunsuk pining on Jihoon.

 

“I did.” Jaehyuk exhaled. “I just didn’t think it would feel like this when it finally happened—him liking you back.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“He’s taking my soulmate away from me,” Jaehyuk said. “And it’s only just sinking in.”

 

Hyunsuk froze.

 

“Jaehyuk…”

 

“I’m confused, princess,” he said, voice low. Raw. “You were always mine—even when you weren’t.”

 

Hyunsuk looked up at him, heart suddenly in his throat. Because the sorrow in Jaehyuk’s eyes wasn’t just about losing a friend.

 

It was about losing the one constant he never thought he’d have to live without.

 

“Jaehyuk Yoon,” Hyunsuk started, forcing a crooked smile. “Don’t tell me you’re declaring your love for me for the nth time. I swear, I’ll kick your balls.”

 

But Jaehyuk didn’t laugh. He just looked at him.

 

Stared straight into Hyunsuk’s eyes—sharp, unblinking—like he was looking for something buried inside.

 

“Then should I do it for the first time instead?”

 

Hyunsuk’s breath caught. The joke died in his throat.

 

“Jaehyuk.”

 

He pulled away—like he’d been scorched—and stepped out of his arms. The warmth still lingered on his skin.

 

“You’re not… what about Asahi?” Hyunsuk asked, voice suddenly unsure. “Come on. Anyone with eyes knows how much you like him.”

 

“And anyone with eyes knows how I am with you,” Jaehyuk said calmly.

 

“Jaehyuk, you can’t be serious. Isn’t this just another one of your moments where you freak out because you’re outside your comfort zone and everything feels—off?”

 

Jaehyuk stepped forward. “And if you are my comfort zone?”

 

“Don’t be dramatic.”

 

“I’m not,” Jaehyuk said. “You’re everything that feels right in the world.”

 

Hyunsuk looked at him, suddenly unsteady. “You won’t even lose me,” he said. “I’ll still be here for you. Even if—by some miracle—Jihoon will have me. And you… for Asahi. We’ll still be us. No one can change that.”

 

“Is that what you think I’m afraid of?” Jaehyuk asked. “Just losing the version of us that jokes around and cuddles at night?”

 

“Isn’t it?” Hyunsuk pushed.

 

“I’m afraid of losing you, Sukkie. Full stop.”

 

Hyunsuk’s mouth parted. But no words came.

 

Jaehyuk’s voice was quieter now. “It’s getting real. Everything’s changing. I can’t lose you.”

 

“Whatever do you mean?”

 

“At the Blood Party, it was my first time to see Jihoon with you that way. And the moment he looked at you, I crashed.”

 

“And? Would that mean I’ll just let my best friend in the world lose me? What about me? Didn’t you ever think that I never want to lose you too? For godsakes Jae, we’re just going to date the people we like. How difficult could it be?”

 

“You haven’t talked to your parents yet, have you?”

 

And suddenly, it clicked. Hyunsuk’s throat tightened. Legacy. The word echoed in his mind like a curse.

 

Jaehyuk saw the shift in his expression. “I’ll lose you soon. To the Pres or someone else. And I know it. We won’t be this anymore. Whatever this was.”

 

“I won’t let it happen,” Hyunsuk said quickly. “We don’t have to let them control everything—”

 

“Even if we fight it,” Jaehyuk said gently, “you know it won’t be the same.”

 

Hyunsuk looked down, hands fisting at his sides. “Jaehyuk…”

 

Hyunsuk was feeling guilty now. He knew all this time that they were playing dangerous games, that at some point, it’s possible to come down to this.

 

And Jaehyuk he was conflicted and confused as ever as to what he truly feels. He just let out all of the emotions that he felt. He sighed, feeling the exhaustion.

 

“I get it. You like him,” Jaehyuk said, not bitter, just resigned. He reached out, cupping Hyunsuk’s cheek tenderly. His palm was warm. Familiar. Final. “Close the door on your way out, princess.”

 

He stepped back toward the bed but paused.

 

“But you should know,” he added, turning slightly to look at him, “my door will always be open for you.”

 

Hyunsuk swallowed.

 

“And if he hurts you—if something happens—promise me one thing.”

 

“What is it?” Hyunsuk whispered.

 

“Don’t hesitate to run to me.”

 

There was a beat.

 

“Princess, promise me.”

 

“P–promise,” Hyunsuk said, voice breaking.

 

And for the first time in years… he didn’t know if it was enough.

 

-
-
-

 

For most of Jaehyuk Yoon’s life, Hyunsuk Choi had been gravity.

 

He was there at every milestone—school transitions, galas, broken bones, first drinks, first deaths. Not family by blood, but something just as permanent. A fixture. A tether.

 

They were carved from different legacies, but shared the same stage. Together, they were chaos and class, elegance and threat. Boys raised on power, baptized by society, inseparable not by choice but by inevitability.

 

Jaehyuk dated. A lot. Girls who liked how mysterious he was, boys who liked his violence. But none of it lasted. Hyunsuk never liked them, and Jaehyuk never cared to keep them long enough to disagree.

 

Hyunsuk dated too, if you could call it that. He played. Laughed his way through candlelit dinners, flirted shamelessly, collected kisses like tokens—and still, like clockwork, always ended up in Jaehyuk’s bed after. Sometimes post-sex, makeup smudged and shirt wrinkled. Sometimes mid-breakdown, mascara running from someone else’s heartbreak.

 

Jaehyuk never asked. Just opened the door and let him in.

 

Sometimes, Hyunsuk would crawl in without a word and fall asleep curled at Jaehyuk’s side. Sometimes, they stayed up talking until the birds stirred. Jaehyuk remembered how Hyunsuk once kissed his shoulder, thinking he was asleep. “You’re the only person I can breathe next to,” he whispered.

 

And Jaehyuk believed him. He liked that rhythm. He needed that comfort.

 

Jaehyuk used to think it would never change.

 

But senior year had arrived with an unexpected cruelty. Because for the first time, Jaehyuk felt himself drifting.

 

It started as a flicker. A glance across a room. A tension during enrollment.

 

Asahi Hamada. All edges and silence and goddamn restraint. A storm in stillness.

 

He wasn’t like the others—didn’t pander, didn’t bark, didn’t need attention. He didn’t even seem to want anything. But he had a darkness in him, one Jaehyuk could see clear as day because it mirrored his own. A controlled kind of chaos.

 

That was new. That was dangerous.

 

Quiet, unreadable Asahi with the kind of gaze that peeled him open. It started slow—eye contact, sarcasm, a punch to the gut in the form of raw honesty. Then it started building. Jaehyuk began thinking about him during lectures. Replaying words. Noticing wrists. Wanting, in a way that felt terrifying. Most especially the fact that Asahi was still together with Junkyu at that time.

 

But what he felt. He knew it was real. Too real. The kind of real that didn’t let him breathe the same way anymore. It scared him.

 

Because until now, he never had to choose.

 

Hyunsuk was always there. Even when Jaehyuk dated, Hyunsuk stayed close—teasing, clinging, still showing up in the middle of the night in oversized sweaters and smeared eyeliner, crawling into his bed after sex with someone else. Jaehyuk let him. He needed him. Because they weren’t really dating other people—they were just distracting themselves.

 

But now… the dynamic was changing. Hyunsuk had chosen. Or at least, he was starting to.

 

There was this glow in his eyes now. This obsession, finally growing roots in reality. Jihoon. The one Hyunsuk had long wanted but never thought he could truly have. Except now, Jihoon was looking back at him like he saw something worth choosing.

 

Hyunsuk was falling.

 

And Jaehyuk? He was watching it all slip through his fingers.

 

No more shared beds. No more midnight knocks. No more tangled legs and lazy mornings. Hyunsuk wasn’t coming back to him after dates anymore—he wasn’t even going on random ones. His attention was elsewhere. Earnest. Focused. Taken.

 

And Jaehyuk—the creature of control, chaos, comfort—had no blueprint for this kind of loss.

 

Because he realized something: They’d never had boundaries. But now they would. He realized this when Hyunsuk told him that Asahi didn’t like the way they touched. That it was only respectful to keep distance.

 

They’d still be friends, of course. Polished, proper, distant. They’d still laugh, still joke, still walk the same halls. But it wouldn’t be the same.

 

Not when Hyunsuk was choosing someone else to come home to. Not when Jaehyuk was still taking baby steps out of Hyunsuk’s arms, confused by what real love with Asahi might feel like.

 

Jaehyuk wasn’t used to being left behind. But for the first time, he wasn’t sure who to be without Hyunsuk orbiting him.

 

Asahi. At first, it was a distraction. Then a curiosity. Then—something more.

 

But even when he stared into Asahi’s stormy, unreadable eyes, Jaehyuk kept hearing Hyunsuk’s voice in his head. Felt the absence of him in his bed. In his chest.

 

It wasn’t fair to Asahi. At all.

 

He knew it wasn’t love yet. Not the kind Asahi deserved. But it felt like it could be—if he could just let go of Hyunsuk first.

 

And then this morning happened. That quiet voice. That offer he never should’ve made:

 

“Use me.”

 

Jaehyuk had broken something in Asahi, maybe something in himself too. Because when he pulled him close, kissed him hard like he could drown out the past, it wasn’t clarity he found. It was grief. They were two people clinging to a version of love they weren’t sure how to handle.

 

And Jaehyuk didn’t know who he was without Hyunsuk right there. Without being needed. Without being first.

 

He had wanted Asahi. Still did.

 

But now he wasn’t sure what part of that desire came from love—and what part came from losing his oldest comfort.

 

Jaehyuk wanted to hurt something because he couldn’t make up his mind. He had built storms inside it. And his heart was crashing out.

 

-
-
-

 

Hyunsuk stood in front of the mirror, gently patting toner into his skin. The soft glow of his bathroom lights cast a dewy sheen across his face, the kind that made him look angelic—if only angels wore pajama sets covered in tiny Spiderman heads.

 

The white cotton shirt with cute spider buttons was a bit loose on his frame and the shorts—well, they barely reached mid-thigh. He looked ridiculous and hot, which was kind of his specialty.

 

His fingers moved with practiced ease, layering essence, serum, moisturizer. It was ritual. Routine. A small piece of control in a life so dictated by legacy and expectation.

 

He reached for the familiar bottle on the shelf and gave himself two careful spritzes of his night perfume—something expensive and warm, all cedar and tonka and a faint whisper of citrus. A final swipe of mint lip balm and he pressed his lips together with a quiet pop.

 

And yet…

 

That conversation with Jaehyuk lingered.

 

He hadn’t let it show, but something inside him had twisted. The kind of twist that doesn’t ache yet—but will. Jaehyuk’s voice still echoed in his chest: “I miss you now… I’ll lose you soon.”

 

Hyunsuk leaned on the sink, exhaled slowly. Then—

 

Bzzt.

 

A text lit up his phone screen. One glance and that coiled heaviness in his chest loosened, just slightly.

 

{Private Messaging}

 

Jihoon: I’m done early with the meeting with third years.

 

Hyunsuk smiled to himself, thumbs flying.

 

Hyunsuk: Missing me, your highness?

 

Jihoon: Crawl on my bed, please.

 

His grin widened.

 

Hyunsuk: You’re so fucking hot, srsly.

 

Jihoon: Let me kiss that mouth.

 

Hyunsuk: I always knew you were horny for me.

 

Jihoon: Stop being cocky.

 

Hyunsuk: I don’t think your cock agrees. You’re hard.

 

A pause. Then—

 

Jihoon: How’d you know?

 

Hyunsuk: I’m Hyunsuk Choi 😘

 

Another beat. The three dots appeared. Jihoon was typing.

 

Hyunsuk giggled softly to himself, already reaching for his robe. The night hadn’t even started yet—and already, it was feeling better.

 

-

 

Hyunsuk opened the door quietly, slipping inside like a secret. The room was dimly lit, soft golden light spilling from the sconce by Jihoon’s bed.

 

His eyes immediately landed on Jihoon—half-naked, lounged in the center of the king-sized bed like some Greek statue cast in shadows and want. Dark gray sweats slung low on his hips, no shirt, no care. His legs were parted just enough to be inviting, forearms resting casually over his thighs, chest rising and falling slowly like he had time. Like he’d waited.

 

Hyunsuk barely had time to blink before Jihoon set his phone down on the nightstand without looking away.

 

“You’re late,” Jihoon murmured, voice low and thick.

 

Hyunsuk glanced at the digital clock on the wall.

 

“It’s literally 9:00 PM. Like you said.”

 

Jihoon cocked an eyebrow.

 

“You are late. I missed you.”

 

Hyunsuk’s throat tightened at that, heat sparking at the base of his spine.

 

“And if… his highness misses me, I’m obligated to arrive earlier than instructed?”

 

“Yes,” Jihoon said simply.

 

Hyunsuk wanted to scream. Or kneel. Or climb onto the bed and never leave.

 

He looked down at himself—white Spiderman-print pajama shirt buttoned up neatly, his shorts almost laughably cute. No lace, no silk this time. He felt… small. Innocent. And Jihoon was drinking it in like it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

 

The ceiling stretched high above him, the space swallowing his breath, yet he couldn’t move. Jihoon looked too powerful. Too gorgeous. Too untouchable.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind, Your Highness,” Hyunsuk whispered. “I don’t want to have you waiting again… or missing me too much.”

 

“Really?” Jihoon’s tone dropped, all slow challenge.

 

Hyunsuk smiled. Soft. Shy. Sweet. Jihoon inhaled sharply. That smile—that smile—undid him more than all the teasing combined.

 

He tapped his thighs twice. “Come here.”

 

Hyunsuk obeyed. Without a word, he padded closer, then climbed onto the bed slowly, knees sinking into the plush mattress. Jihoon watched every movement, every shift of cotton and skin as Hyunsuk crawled toward him.

 

The pajama shirt rode up a little. Jihoon caught a glimpse of smooth skin, the soft dip of a sternum, the faint rise of nipples under fabric. His breath caught.

 

“Sit on me, little devil.”

 

Hyunsuk hesitated.

 

It was the first time Jihoon asked him to straddle him like this. Hyunsuk pressed his lips together, eyes flickering down as Jihoon’s thighs closed together, giving him a place. A home.

 

And he moved.

 

He straddled Jihoon carefully, settling down slow, legs tucked around his waist, cotton shorts riding higher with the shift. His hands hovered above Jihoon’s shoulders, unsure of where to touch, of what to do next.

 

Jihoon reached up, hands finding Hyunsuk’s waist—thumbs brushing skin just under the hem of the pajama shirt.

 

“Good boy,” Jihoon whispered.

 

Hyunsuk’s eyes fluttered closed. And just like that, the shift happened again. It blew Jihoon away. Because all of a sudden Hyunsuk morphed. From brat to soft. From cocky to pliant. From flame to flicker.

 

And he was his.

 

Jihoon had never felt insecure. Ever. Not about his looks, not about his place, not about the people around him. But something stirred in him now—sharp and hollow. Like regret. Regret that he had let himself be swallowed by expectations, by history, by pride. Regret that he’d kept Hyunsuk at a distance for so long.

 

Because now that Hyunsuk was right in front of him, beautiful and so clearly his—his to lose—it felt unbearable.

 

He looked into his eyes, and it struck him like a blow: maybe he’d missed out on something extraordinary. Maybe it shouldn’t have been anyone else’s door he knocked on late at night. Maybe it should’ve been his room Hyunsuk curled into. His bed. His warmth. His name.

 

Their faces were close now—too close to pretend it meant nothing. Jihoon didn’t think. He moved in, crashing their mouths together in a kiss that tasted like hunger and a thousand unsaid things. Hyunsuk tasted like mint, his favorite flavor.

 

Hyunsuk whimpered, soft and shocked, but his hands reached up instantly—threading into Jihoon’s hair, clutching.

 

Jihoon kissed like he needed to prove something. Like he was finally choosing. His hands were already everywhere—clutching at Hyunsuk’s waist, sliding over the dip of his spine, memorizing him. Then lower, more urgent.

 

He moved to Hyunsuk’s neck, mouthing at it, licking, biting softly, the sound of Hyunsuk’s breath hitching against his shoulder making something inside him snap.

 

“God… Jihoon,” Hyunsuk breathed, head tilting back, eyes fluttering.

 

Jihoon’s mouth paused against his skin, then came back with even more intensity, kissing along his jaw, his collarbone. His voice was low, rough with something unspoken.

 

“You drive me fucking insane.”

 

Hyunsuk only smiled against his mouth, dizzy and already ruined.

 

“I always hoped I did.”

 

Jihoon flipped them without a word, pressing Hyunsuk into the bed as he hovered above him, breath shallow, eyes heavy with want. His hands slipped down to the waistband of Hyunsuk’s shorts, pausing just slightly—his gaze searching his.

 

“Do whatever you want with me,” Hyunsuk whispered, voice light but burning at the edges.

 

That was all Jihoon needed. He slowly tugged the shorts down, underwear and all, revealing Hyunsuk inch by inch, never breaking eye contact. The sight of him—skin flushed, shirt still on, legs parting slightly—made Jihoon’s chest clench.

 

“You know what you’re doing, Your Highness?” Hyunsuk teased, voice breathy. “We both know you haven’t been with many men.”

 

Jihoon narrowed his eyes. “Are you mocking me?”

 

Hyunsuk pressed his lips together but couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped. His hands slid up Jihoon’s arms. “I know you can do a lot of things,” he said, voice quieter now, more tender. “And I know you’ll take care of me.”

 

That landed like a punch to Jihoon’s chest—more intimate than anything else they’d said tonight.

 

And then Hyunsuk, still wearing a shirt, looked up at him with wide, glinting eyes—and spread his legs open, unabashed and inviting. Jihoon’s breath caught. Hyunsuk’s cock was already hard, resting against his thigh, the tip flushed and slick.

 

He looked fucking beautiful.

 

Jihoon reached for the nightstand, grabbing the lubricant, and shifted to sit beside him. He leaned in, kissing Hyunsuk deeply as his fingers moved between his legs, slicking him up slowly—deliberately. Their tongues met, slow and hungry, tasting each other in sync with every stroke.

 

Hyunsuk moaned into the kiss, then reached for the bottle himself, pouring some into his palm to stroke his own cock, slow and teasing. Jihoon pressed a finger inside him, careful, gentle.

 

“Didn’t know you do gentle, Pres,” Hyunsuk murmured, mouth brushing Jihoon’s. “Ahh…”

 

“I want it slow,” Jihoon whispered back, adding a second finger. “I want you to fall apart slow.”

 

“You really like torturing me, huh? Hhmmff—”

 

“I like you weak for me.”

 

“Oh, Jihoon,” Hyunsuk breathed, eyes fluttering. “But I am.”

 

Jihoon cursed under his breath, leaning down to kiss him again, their mouths slick, desperate. His fingers worked him open steadily while Hyunsuk sucked on his tongue, his thighs twitching.

 

Then suddenly—Hyunsuk moved. Swift, confident.

 

He pushed Jihoon back into the mattress and climbed on top of him, straddling his thighs with a wicked glint in his eye. No warning, no hesitation—he yanked down Jihoon’s pants in one smooth motion, revealing him fully.

 

No underwear.

 

Jihoon’s eyes went wide, his breath caught. And Hyunsuk smiled, slow and sinful.

 

It felt too intimate, too casual—like they’d done this before. But they hadn’t. Hyunsuk just looked so comfortable in his soft, cotton Spider-Man top, like this was nothing. Like Jihoon wasn’t unraveling.

 

He gripped Jihoon’s cock with one hand, stroking slow, then faster. Then spat on it—aggressive, unceremonious.

 

Jihoon flinched. “What the fuck—”

 

But Hyunsuk went in.

 

He licked from Jihoon’s balls up to his tip, then slid his mouth over the head, wet and warm. His eyes flicked up as his tongue swirled—mocking, innocent, daring. Jihoon’s jaw dropped, both hands flying to Hyunsuk’s head, groaning low in his throat.

 

“Fuck. How far can you go?” he asked, voice wrecked. “Show me.”

 

Hyunsuk dipped deeper, and Jihoon guided him slowly, carefully—until his tip hit the back of Hyunsuk’s throat. Jihoon cursed again, hips twitching upward involuntarily. Hyunsuk’s lashes fluttered, tears collecting at the corners of his eyes, but he didn’t pull away.

 

Jihoon stilled. “Breathe.”

 

Hyunsuk pulled off with a gasp, kissed the inside of Jihoon’s thigh, then sucked both of his balls into his mouth.

 

“Shit!” Jihoon gasped, hips jerking. Hyunsuk kept stroking his shaft while he worked his mouth over him.

 

“I’m gonna cum if you keep—”

 

Hyunsuk didn’t stop.

 

He wrapped his lips around Jihoon again, faster now, no hesitation. Jihoon’s hands returned to his hair, fingers tightening. Hyunsuk spat again, messy and intentional, spreading it with one hand while he took Jihoon back into his mouth—deep, slick, obscene.

 

Jihoon groaned, watching it all—Hyunsuk’s wet mouth stretching around him, his flushed cheeks, the spit on his chin. The view alone had him spiraling.

 

“Fuck… fuck, Hyunsuk—that damn mouth…”

 

Hyunsuk didn’t slow down. He took him to the base now, nose brushing Jihoon’s pelvis, eyes locked upward. Jihoon’s thighs trembled.

 

He snapped. “Shit—I’m—”

 

He came hard, both hands bracing Hyunsuk’s head as if afraid the orgasm might break him. He held him there, gasping, watching Hyunsuk swallow.

 

Hyunsuk pulled back slowly, panting, eyes glassy. A streak of cum remained at the corner of his lips, glistening.

 

Jihoon leaned back, heart pounding, wrecked.

 

Hyunsuk wiped the mess with the back of his hand, then licked it clean with a smirk.

 

Jihoon leaned in and kissed him—deep, possessive, messy. His hands roamed Hyunsuk’s body, gripping him tight like he was still trying to come down from the high. He tasted himself on Hyunsuk’s lips and didn’t even flinch.

 

His mouth trailed down Hyunsuk’s jaw, but when Jihoon began shifting lower with clear intent, Hyunsuk gently placed a hand on his chest to stop him.

 

“I know I said you can do whatever you want with me…” Hyunsuk said, breathless, a coy smile playing on his lips. “But we can call it a night.”

 

Jihoon narrowed his eyes. “You want me to starve for you? I wanted to watch you cum.”

 

“Some other time?”

 

Jihoon raised a brow. “I thought you’re the sub here?”

 

Hyunsuk tilted his head and smiled lazily. “Hmm… you don’t really want me to just follow you all the time, do you?” He slipped out of Jihoon’s grip with practiced ease, moving off the bed and turning his back on him.

 

All he wore now was that too-soft cotton tee, ass out. Jihoon stayed frozen, jaw clenched, eyes trailing down to Hyunsuk’s bare legs.

 

Hyunsuk glanced back over his shoulder. “I’ll finish myself off in your bathroom.”

 

Jihoon scoffed, half-amused, half-exasperated. “Way to drive me insane.”

 

“You can’t have everything in one night, Jihoon Park.”

 

That name. The full name. It landed hard.

 

Jihoon sat there, still panting, stunned. “And here I thought I do all the controlling. Everything is a lie.”

 

“You do,” Hyunsuk said, voice soft but sure. “You own me. But I’m Hyunsuk Choi. I can still decide when to hand myself over.”

 

Jihoon swallowed hard. “You’re dangerous. Really.”

 

Hyunsuk winked. “I’ll go freshen up now.”

 

“Tease. Make it fast before I pull you back down and fuck you like I mean it.”

 

“Tempting,” Hyunsuk sang, giggling as he disappeared into the bathroom.

 

Jihoon leaned back on the bed, breath caught somewhere between satisfaction and hunger. He had Hyunsuk now—but not fully. Not yet. And somehow… that made him want him more.

 

After a short while, Hyunsuk stepped out of the bathroom, still in nothing but his Spiderman top from earlier. His legs bare, smile lazy. Jihoon watched silently as Hyunsuk padded over to the bed, picked up his crumpled underwear and shorts, and slipped them on without a word.

 

Hyunsuk caught Jihoon’s stare and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

 

Jihoon rested his head back against the headboard. “This feels… normal. Like we’ve been doing this a lot.”

 

“It does,” Hyunsuk replied simply. Then, a teasing glint in his eyes. “What? You usually just lay around naked with your exes?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Hyunsuk smirked. “I could do that too... but I’m not your boyfriend.”

 

Jihoon huffed a soft laugh as Hyunsuk climbed back into bed and flopped down beside him.

 

“Here I thought I already own you.”

 

“You do,” Hyunsuk replied, fixing his shirt before turning his face toward Jihoon. “But like most things you own, you can’t do everything with them.”

 

Jihoon squinted at him. “Example?”

 

“Power,” Hyunsuk answered. “We have all of it… but we still can’t do everything. It feels like freedom until it starts to feel like a cage.”

 

Jihoon was briefly reminded of his conversation with George earlier.

 

And Hyunsuk—of more things than he could name.

 

“I agree,” Jihoon murmured. Then, without warning, he tugged Hyunsuk closer by the waist and kissed him hard. “But I can absolutely do this.”

 

Hyunsuk yelped mid-laugh, lips curling. “You’re such a menace.”

 

“Sleep?” Jihoon offered, brushing Hyunsuk’s hair back from his forehead.

 

“Please. Make me.”

 

Hyunsuk leaned in for one last kiss, then turned around and settled against Jihoon’s chest. Jihoon reached over to flick the switch on his nightstand, plunging the room into a soft, quiet dark.

 

They didn’t close their eyes yet. Just listened to each other breathe.

 

Then Jihoon asked, voice quieter than before, “Can I ask you something?”

 

“What is it, Your Highness?”

 

Jihoon smiled into the back of Hyunsuk’s neck. “Why can’t you sleep easily? Why do you need someone beside you?”

 

Hyunsuk exhaled. “Are we transitioning into deep talks now?”

 

“Humor me, little devil.”

 

Jihoon’s hand slowly moved from Hyunsuk’s waist, slipping under the hem of his shirt. His fingers found Hyunsuk’s chest, then played lazily with his nipple.

 

Hyunsuk closed his eyes and bit his bottom lip. The touch grounded him—gentle, unhurried. He let the silence stretch for a few moments. He loved how Jihoon casually touches him so sensually now. Like they do it on a regular basis.

 

Then, quietly, he began to tell his story.

 

“I think it started when I was a kid,” Hyunsuk murmured, voice low. “My mom traveled a lot. My dad too. I’d be left with relatives or my grandparents most of the time—different homes, different beds. I could always stay home but they didn’t like the idea of me just surrounded by nannies and staff. They wanted me around family—that’s something at least, right? Them caring? But it always felt like I was just... visiting my own life.”

 

Jihoon stayed quiet, only the subtle movement of his thumb tracing lazy circles on Hyunsuk’s skin.

 

“I used to pretend someone was beside me. I’d fold the blanket beside me like there was a body there. Or hug a huge bolster pillow. Pat it like it was real. I even gave them a name once. I kept lots of plushies too.” He chuckled softly, embarrassed. “It was stupid.”

 

“It’s not,” Jihoon whispered.

 

“Anyway,” Hyunsuk continued, “I just got used to the idea that someone next to me meant I was safe. Real. Present. It meant I didn’t have to be anywhere else or worry about being forgotten in some room that wasn’t mine.”

 

A pause. Jihoon’s hand stopped moving.

 

“I still do that now. If I’m alone too long, it starts to feel like I’m drifting. Like I’ll disappear unless someone’s close enough to remember I’m here.”

 

Jihoon tightened his arm around him just a little.

 

“And then of course, when I was of age to actually be with someone in bed, I got addicted. And then I found friends to help me… deal with it.” Hyunsuk hummed. “I think that’s why I got attached easily. And why I stuck close to Jaehyuk and Yoshi—you sure you wanna hear this?”

 

“You can tell me whatever you want.” Jihoon says and Hyunsuk continued.

 

“They never left. You know?” He paused. “Not once. Not even when I was unbearable. Or too much. Or depressed out of nowhere. They just stayed. They’d sit with me when I couldn’t sleep, talk about nothing until I laughed again. They just accept me whenever I knock like a lost kid. They were my constants.”

 

Jihoon said nothing.

 

“And I guess I never said it out loud before, but... it matters to me that when I turn around and feel someone there, I know I exist to someone.”

 

Another silence.

 

“Next time,” Jihoon murmured, his lips brushing lightly against Hyunsuk’s shoulder, “we sleep in your room.”

 

Hyunsuk tilted his head a little, amused. “Why?”

 

“You don’t have to bounce from one room to another just to sleep,” Jihoon said. “You can be in your own space and still rest. You don’t have to go to a relative… or friends. Or… a partner. You can just stay home.”

 

There was a beat of silence before Hyunsuk whispered, “Maybe that’s why I slept better on our first night together. It was my own bed.”

 

Jihoon smiled against his skin. “Funny, I think I slept more than you.”

 

“I remember you missed a class.”

 

“Maybe because your bed smells like you.”

 

“Your bed’s nice actually,” Hyunsuk said. “Smells like you too.”

 

“I like you in my space.”

 

Hyunsuk turned his face into the pillow, hiding a grin.

 

“Okay, time to sleep now, little devil.” Jihoon kissed the back of his neck and inhaled deeply, like memorizing something he didn’t want to forget.

 

Hyunsuk’s voice came soft, barely above a breath. “Good night, my royal highness.”

 

-
-
-

 

It’s 5:45 in the morning. Jihoon’s work alarm blared. He groaned and punched the alarm clock off with eyes closed. Hyunsuk was already aware of this and he found it baffling that Jihoon wanted to start his day too early. But he doesn’t question it anymore because Jihoon does a lot for ENO.

 

"Bring me back to my room?" Hyunsuk mumbled, voice still thick with sleep. The sky outside was still dark.

 

Jihoon shifted beside him. "Sure. Let me just get a shirt."

 

"Okay."

 

Hyunsuk watched as Jihoon rolled out of bed and tugged on a loose shirt that was slung on a plush arm chair and his sweatpants on the floor from last night—no underwear underneath. The sight made Hyunsuk’s ears burn. Realizing Jihoon had been completely naked beside him all night suddenly hit different in the quiet morning light.

 

Hyunsuk grabbed the robe he wore last night from the accent chair where he left it, slipping into it slowly.

 

Jihoon caught the look. "What?"

 

"Nothing." Hyunsuk looked away, smiling. "Feels like I sneaked into your room and now I’m sneaking back out."

 

Jihoon smirked, stepping forward to cup his face. “I liked last night.” His hands moved down, settling possessively on Hyunsuk’s waist.

 

“Really?”

 

“I think you actually did some damage.”

 

“Selling your soul to the devil now, Pres?” Hyunsuk teased.

 

“Sort of.”

 

Hyunsuk chuckled, standing on his toes to kiss him—just a soft press of lips before they pulled apart.

 

“Let’s go?”

 

They walked down the left corridor, hushed and dim, until they turned into the right wing leading toward Hyunsuk’s quarters.

 

Just as they passed midway down the hall, two doors opened in eerie sync—one on either side.

 

Jaehyuk stepped out of his room on the left, hoodie half-zipped and hair a mess. On the right, Yoshi emerged in a tank, stretching from sleep. They both froze when they saw Jihoon and Hyunsuk walking side by side—Hyunsuk in his robe, Jihoon in casual sweats, unmistakably close.

 

There was a beat of absolute stillness from the four.

 

Jaehyuk was the first to recover. His eyes lingered, flicking to Jihoon’s hand hovering too close to Hyunsuk’s back. “Pres,” he greeted evenly, then turned to Hyunsuk with a small, knowing smirk. “I’ll wait for you at breakfast in the West Wing, princess.”

 

Hyunsuk gave a practiced smile. “Sure.”

 

Before the air could settle, Yoshi chimed in from the other side, gaze sharp but unreadable. “Looking forward to initiation, Pres.” Then, more pointedly to Hyunsuk: “Talk later? You left some of your clothes in my room last week. Come get it.”

 

Hyunsuk nodded. “Thanks.”

 

Once both boys were out of earshot, Jihoon looked at Hyunsuk, brows raised. “I’m guessing I’m not the only one who sold their soul to the devil?”

 

Hyunsuk gave him a tired smile. “The said devil can’t sleep well, you know. Also, they’re just my friends.”

 

Jihoon didn’t say anything back because he didn’t believe it one bit, and the way he held Hyunsuk's waist just a bit tighter said enough.

 

He knew something that maybe Hyunsuk doesn’t know yet. The Kanemotos and Yoons will pursue him soon enough.

 

And Jihoon? He might have to move his chess piece soon too—to stop his little devil from making deals with everyone.

 

-
-
-

 

A normal school day comes and of course, for those people who just smoothly gets through quizzes with a breeze, they could go home early. Like Jeongwoo. Or Haruto. Everything was so effortless that it bored them. There are better things to do. Like sex, perhaps.

 

The room was dim, lit only by the afternoon sun streaming through half-drawn blinds. Haruto had come over without warning—Jeongwoo had texted earlier, something vague about being free. But the moment Haruto stepped inside and saw Jeongwoo sprawled on the bed, grinning like nothing had changed between them, he knew something was off.

 

Then he saw the phone.

 

Unlocked. Carelessly left on the nightstand. Notifications flooding in like clockwork.

 

He picked it up. The air shifted.

 

Photos. DMs. Half-naked women in filters and satin, their messages littered with hearts and suggestive emojis. Some of them bold. Some of them graphic.

 

And Jeongwoo? He had replied to almost all of them. Haruto’s jaw tensed. Jeongwoo barely had time to process what was happening before Haruto shoved the phone into his chest.

 

“So this is what you do in your free time, huh?”

 

Jeongwoo blinked, caught. “It’s not—”

 

“Not what?” Haruto cut him off, his voice low, deadly calm. “Not what it looks like? You flirting with everyone who throws you a compliment?”

 

“Ruto—”

 

But Haruto wasn’t listening. He shoved him onto the bed, not violently, but hard enough to steal Jeongwoo’s breath. He stood over him, hands clenched at his sides, breathing shallow.

 

“I came here,” Haruto said, leaning down, face inches away, “thinking you missed me.”

 

“I did—”

 

“Really?” His fingers closed around Jeongwoo’s jaw, not rough, but firm. “Did you miss me while sexting with half the internet?”

 

Jeongwoo didn’t answer. He just smirked—unapologetic, cocky. That damn smirk that always made Haruto lose control.

 

“Say something.”

 

“I don’t know what to say except… I’m an asshole. And you look so hot when you’re jealous.”

 

Haruto’s laugh was humorless. “So your solution to this—whatever’s happening between us was to really fuck around while we figured our shit out? Should I do it too then? For real?”

 

“Ruto—”

 

“Look, I know you’ve been breeding mouths, Jeongwoo. I just never thought you’d do it continuously. While—you know what? Fuck you.”

 

He kissed him. No warning. No buildup. It was bruising. Claiming. Hot.

 

Jeongwoo gasped into it, fingers instinctively grabbing at Haruto’s hoodie. He tugged him closer. It was messy, all tongue and teeth and heat, but it was real. There was nothing soft about it—no teasing, no pretense. Just raw want.

 

Haruto pulled back, lips flushed. “You think they kiss you like this? Or me? Should I let myself be kissed like this?”

 

He didn’t wait for a reply. He pulled Jeongwoo’s shirt off in one motion, hands roaming over skin like he’d been starved of it. And maybe he had. Maybe the anger wasn’t just about the texts. Maybe it was everything—weeks of roller coasters, of pent-up need, of feelings neither of them knew what to do with anymore.

 

“You don’t get to want me and them,” Haruto muttered against Jeongwoo’s collarbone, biting down hard enough to leave a mark.

 

Jeongwoo arched, breath stuttering. “I don’t want them. Only you.”

 

“Show me,” Haruto whispered, voice strained.

 

And then his hands were undoing Jeongwoo’s belt, not giving him room to speak anymore. Because words had already failed them. But this—this was something they both understood.

 

Jeongwoo smirked—pulled him close. Haruto stumbled but didn’t resist. He liked the way Jeongwoo handled him—like he was something to be devoured. Like he was wanted and ruined in the same breath.

 

Jeongwoo flipped them and pushed Haruto down onto the mattress and climbed on top, straddling him. “Take your shirt off. Slowly.”

 

Haruto obeyed—half from defiance, half from arousal. He peeled it off, baring his chest inch by inch, watching Jeongwoo watch him.

 

“Now beg.”

 

Haruto’s brows lifted. “For what?”

 

Jeongwoo leaned down, kissing the corner of his mouth but never letting him have it all. “For me.”

 

Haruto swallowed. “Please.”

 

“Not good enough.”

 

Jeongwoo’s hand slid down his chest, nails raking lightly, just enough to make Haruto shiver. “Say it like you mean it.”

 

Haruto’s hips shifted. “Please, Jeongwoo. I want you. I’ve been losing my fucking mind.”

 

That earned him a real kiss—deep and dizzying, tongue pushing into his mouth like Jeongwoo owned him. Haruto moaned against it, fingers curling into the sheets as Jeongwoo took his time.

 

“You always talk big,” Jeongwoo muttered, dragging his lips along Haruto’s throat, “but you melt so fast when I do this.”

 

Then he reached down, palmed Haruto through his jeans, and grinned when Haruto’s body arched up for more.

 

“Clothes off. All of them. Now.”

 

Haruto complied, baring himself in the warm light of the room, skin flushed and chest rising quick. Jeongwoo didn’t rush—he took in every inch of him like it was a privilege. Like Haruto was his to destroy gently.

 

When he finally leaned down and took Haruto in his mouth, it was slow, wet, and intentional. Haruto cried out, back lifting from the bed, thighs trembling.

 

“Fuck—Jeongwoo—”

 

But Jeongwoo didn’t stop until Haruto was panting, leaking, nearly begging for mercy. Only then did he pull off, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark and demanding.

 

“On your knees.”

 

Haruto rolled over, shaky, body humming, and Jeongwoo moved behind him—hands sure, touch reverent.

 

“Tell me you want it.”

 

“I do,” Haruto whispered. “I want you. Please.”

 

And then, something cold hit Haruto’s slit. The first push was slow—deliberate. Jeongwoo eased into him with a groan, gripping Haruto’s hips like he was anchoring himself. Haruto moaned, face buried in the sheets, breath catching with every inch.

 

“You feel so good,” Jeongwoo murmured, rolling his hips, setting a rhythm that had Haruto gasping. “Take it. Just like that.”

 

He fucked him with a steadiness that burned—slow at first, then deeper, faster. Haruto clutched at the sheets, whimpering, every thrust hitting that place that left him unraveling.

 

“You look so pretty like this,” Jeongwoo whispered, bending low to kiss his spine. “Falling apart for me.”

 

And Haruto was. Wrecked and dizzy and full of him. He couldn’t think. Could barely breathe. Just feel—Jeongwoo’s grip, Jeongwoo’s weight, the way he kept murmuring filth in his ear between each thrust.

 

It didn’t take long before Haruto was right there, legs shaking, muscles tightening. Jeongwoo reached around, stroking him in time with his thrusts.

 

“Come for me,” Jeongwoo whispered. “Let me hear you.”

 

And Haruto did—loud and broken, hips bucking, body trembling with release. Jeongwoo followed soon after, groaning his name into the curve of Haruto’s shoulder as he spilled inside him, every part of them slick with sweat and satisfaction.

 

They collapsed together, breathing hard, bodies tangled.

 

Jeongwoo kissed the back of Haruto’s neck, a little softer this time. “I’m sorry, baby. I feel terrible. Truly.”

 

Haruto turned his head, eyes fluttering closed. “Woo…”

 

And that silence—heavy and quiet—was the closest they’d gotten to saying I still care. Let’s stop this. or more like… I still love you.

 

Jeongwoo lay back against the pillows, one arm draped lazily behind his head, the other threading through Haruto’s hair as the boy lay sprawled across his chest. The air was warm, heavy with the remnants of everything they had just done—skin flushed, breaths still uneven.

 

Jeongwoo broke the silence first.

 

“Have you gotten around to checking on Han Taegun?” His voice was low, casual, but edged with curiosity.

 

Haruto hummed, eyes half-lidded.

 

“Yeah… well, not exactly. That was part of why I came over, actually.” He shifted slightly, cheek pressing into Jeongwoo’s chest. “I wanted us to watch the footage together. I finally hacked into the school’s camera system.”

 

Jeongwoo’s fingers paused in Haruto’s hair.

 

“You hacked into it, and then got distracted by your own jealousy?” His smirk was audible.

 

Haruto groaned, lightly slapping Jeongwoo’s side.

 

“Don’t twist it. I got distracted by your cheating.”

 

“Cheating, huh?” Jeongwoo cocked an eyebrow, amused.

 

“Unofficial. Emotionally disloyal.” Haruto muttered, face still buried in Jeongwoo’s skin.

 

Jeongwoo tugged gently on Haruto’s hair, forcing him to look up.

 

“You’re still claiming me, Watanabe.”

 

Haruto met his gaze, the faintest smirk playing at his lips.

 

“Hmm.” He didn’t say yes. He didn’t have to.

 

Jeongwoo leaned down and kissed the corner of his mouth, soft but possessive.

 

“I don’t know what to do with you anymore.”

 

And for a long second, they just stayed like that—entangled, claimed, quietly knowing this was far from over. But for now, they had time. And secrets to expose.

 

-

 

The sheets were tangled somewhere near their feet, forgotten. Jeongwoo reached over to the bedside table and grabbed his laptop, the glow from the screen washing his bare chest in cold light. Haruto sat up beside him, knees pulled close, still breath-warm and lazily flushed, but his focus sharpened as Jeongwoo opened the folder labeled only with the date.

 

“You’re sure this is the right day?” Jeongwoo asked, already typing through security layers Haruto had partially cracked.

 

“Yeah.” Haruto’s voice was quieter now. Less teasing.

 

Jeongwoo clicked into the hallway feed first, fast-forwarding. Haruto leaned in, his bare shoulder brushing Jeongwoo’s. Neither of them moved to cover up.

 

There.

 

Han Taegun. And Eunbyeol. Laughing. She shoved his chest. He pulled her closer. They kissed like they’d done it before. Like they weren’t afraid of being caught.

 

Haruto sucked in a breath.

 

“Back it up. Check the angle from the clubroom hallway.”

 

Jeongwoo did. Another camera. A clearer view. Han Taegun’s hand on her waist, pushing her against the wall. Then—without hesitation—they slipped into the unlocked faculty room beside it.

 

Jeongwoo’s fingers hovered over the trackpad as he found the internal camera. It took two seconds. Long enough for the guilt to settle in Haruto’s chest.

 

They watched. Silence stretching. It wasn’t just once.

 

Han Taegun had taken his time. And Eunbyeol hadn’t stopped him.

 

More than once. On multiple days.

 

Haruto’s voice was thin when it came.

 

“…He didn’t even try to hide it.”

 

Jeongwoo didn’t reply. His jaw was clenched. His hand reached for Haruto’s again, grounding him.

 

“He didn’t know there were cameras,” Jeongwoo said finally.

 

“That means this wasn’t about performance. It was personal.”

 

Haruto’s throat was dry. “And spiteful.”

 

The feed showed Eunbyeol leaving first, adjusting her clothes. Han Taegun lingered, sitting in the chair with a smug, distant look. Like he’d won something.

 

Jeongwoo shut the laptop quietly.

 

“We’re telling Pres.”

 

Jeongwoo shut the laptop with a soft snap, the screen’s glow vanishing and leaving the room in shadows again. His fingers were still idly brushing Haruto’s thigh, but his mind was clearly racing elsewhere.

 

“Oh, this is bad,” he muttered under his breath. “Pres would fucking crack, I know it.”

 

Haruto leaned his head back against the headboard, exhaling.

 

“But they’ve broken up.”

 

Jeongwoo turned his head slowly, giving him a look. “That’s not the point.”

 

His voice was lower now, grave.

 

“They did it when they were still together. And if there’s one thing Jihoon can’t stomach—”

 

He paused.

 

“—it’s being made to look like a fool.”

 

Haruto clicked his tongue, letting that sink in. The room felt colder now, even though they were still tangled together.

 

“I get it.” A beat passed. Then he sighed, almost wry. “Well shit. I guess we’ll see each other underground then.”

 

Jeongwoo huffed something like a laugh. Not amused. Not really.

 

He reached over and pulled Haruto closer again, pressing a kiss to the side of his jaw.

 

Haruto leaned back on the pillows, arms behind his head, eyes still on the closed laptop like it was a ticking bomb.

 

“Hmm. It’s kind of interesting to see Jihoon Park snap,” he murmured, a lazy smirk curling on his lips. “I haven’t seen it yet in HD. Just a couple of mild ones.”

 

Jeongwoo scoffed, side-eyeing him.

 

“Oh, you wouldn’t want to see it.”

 

Haruto turned his head, grin deepening.

 

“How bad can it be? I’ve seen worse, for sure. Through Yoshi.”

 

That made Jeongwoo laugh—but there was no humor in it. Just a sharp exhale through his nose and a shake of his head.

 

“Yoshi’s just half of it.”

 

Haruto blinked.

 

“What the fuck?”

 

He straightened a little.

 

“You mean there’s a level above ‘Yoshi with a baseball bat and emotional damage’?”

 

Jeongwoo’s eyes narrowed, distant, like he was recalling something he didn’t want to.

 

“Jihoon doesn’t explode often, but when he does, it’s not chaos. It’s precision.”

 

He tapped his temple.

 

“Yoshi’s brutal but he doesn’t think about it. He just hurts. But Jihoon? He calculates where to hit, and he hits until it’s irreversible. He means real damage.”

 

Silence lingered after that, thick. Haruto eventually muttered,

 

“Guess Han Taegun’s fucked, huh.”

 

Jeongwoo nodded.

 

“Yeah. And not in the way he thought he’d enjoy.”

 

“If anything…” he said lowly, “if Jihoon loses it… we might be wrapping bodies first before we call it a night.”

 

Haruto snorted, but it wasn’t amused. He turned his face to Jeongwoo’s, searching.

 

“Purple not red.”

 

Jeongwoo’s mouth twitched.

 

“Jihoon’s rule. But more like…” he hesitated, voice dropping even lower, “his rule for himself.”

 

A pause.

 

“He can’t be trusted with violence.”

 

Haruto stared at the ceiling for a beat, then muttered,

 

“Well… shit.”

 

Silence fell again, but it was no longer comfortable. It was heavy. Like the storm was already rolling in.

 

Jeongwoo’s fingers slid into Haruto’s hair again, a mindless gesture now as they lay in silence, the weight of what they’d seen pressing down on them both. Then—

 

“So what do we do?” Haruto asked, quiet.

 

Jeongwoo exhaled.

 

“We bring it to him. But we stay clear. Once this thing blows up… it’s on him.”

 

Haruto turned to face him, brow furrowed, but Jeongwoo only smirked.

 

“No, scratch that. We stay.” His voice carried a little edge now, a devilish twist of amusement under the solemn tone.

 

“He’s Pres. He’s our brother.”

 

A beat.

 

Then Jeongwoo chuckled darkly, dragging a palm down his own face like he couldn’t believe it either.

 

“Ohh… Yoshi and Jaehyuk are gonna have a fucking field day with this one.”

 

And Haruto laughed, low and grim.

 

-
-
-

 

Hyunsuk punched in the code on a tall black door—the only painted door at ENO. A soft click followed, unlocking it. Inside, Yoshi was already by the door, curious. Only two people had access to that room: his butler, who occasionally came by to organize his things and Hyunsuk. Still, seeing Hyunsuk standing there caught him off guard.

 

“Can’t sleep again? Jaehyuk not around?” he asked dryly.

 

It was already late, and Hyunsuk wasn’t dressed like someone headed for bed. He never really looked restful, but tonight he looked especially devastating—sharp lines, effortless luxury, like he belonged on a runway instead of in Yoshi’s hallway. Usually, when he knocked at this hour, he was in silk or soft cotton. Not this.

 

“Uh—no,” Hyunsuk said. “I know I already came for my stuff the other day but I think I left the jacket I took off. I dropped a ring I really want in the pocket.”

 

Yoshi didn’t comment. He simply opened the door wider and stepped aside to let him in.

 

It had been a while since Hyunsuk came to him. Yes, Hyunsuk came by but it was too brief. It was only just to get his stuff. Lately, it was always Jaehyuk—Hyunsuk curled on that boy’s bed like they were the same skin. Yoshi only saw him when Jaehyuk wasn’t around, too buried in books or tangled in someone else. Typical.

 

Yoshi walked ahead, barefoot in a gray tee and dark pants. His orange-tinted hair glinted under the warm lighting of his room. Hyunsuk followed, glancing around. The space was pristine, as always. And there—on the plush chaise lounge—was the jacket. Still right where he left it.

 

“You really don’t bring people here?” Hyunsuk asked, casual.

 

“You’re the only one who comes here,” Yoshi replied without looking back.

 

“Not even Junkyu?” Yoshi raised his brows at the inquiry.

 

“We stay at the mansion. Above the Blood Party arena.”

 

“Hmm.” Hyunsuk nodded. “How are you?”

 

“You’re asking?”

 

“I’m not updated with you anymore.”

 

“That’s because you’re always with Jaehyuk. And now… busy with the President.”

 

“Jealous?”

 

Yoshi rolled his eyes. “You’re still the same kind of annoying, Hyunsuk.”

 

Hyunsuk chuckled at that.

 

“Well, I gotta go.” He pulled on the jacket and reached into the pocket, fishing out the lost ring. He smiled, satisfied. “You ready for initiation rites tomorrow?”

 

“As usual.”

 

Hyunsuk turned toward the door, but Yoshi reached out and stopped him—his hand catching Hyunsuk’s wrist. Their eyes met.

 

“Why don’t you stay?” Yoshi asked, voice quiet. “Sleep here tonight.”

 

“Thanks for the offer,” Hyunsuk said. “But I’m going out, actually.”

 

“With?”

 

“Pres.”

 

A beat.

 

“Ah.” Yoshi let go of his hand.

 

“You okay?” Hyunsuk asked.

 

“It’s just that… your father called. He invited me for dinner next week.”

 

The words landed like a blow. Hyunsuk just stared at him, breath caught. He knew of this. His mother called this morning to let him know that they’re already making rounds for his marriage. He just never thought—well he kind of did. Yoshi should be on their list to consider. It was a no brainer. They’ve bonded since they were young. Their families are too close. Too connected. Especially in business.

 

The Kanemotos do the nitty gritty for the Chois. To keep the name clean. The long mafia history was deemed useful for their empire.

 

“You’re not… c-considering?” he asked, carefully.

 

“And… if I am?”

 

“Yoshi. Be fucking serious.”

 

“What?”

 

“What about Junkyu?”

 

“We’re sleeping together. I told you.”

 

“That’s it?”

 

“He’s moving on from his ex. What am I supposed to do? Stitch him back together? I have an empire to run.”

 

“And me?” Hyunsuk asked, almost bitter. “That’s my role now? Run the empire with you?”

 

“You wanted this before. We’ve considered this when we were young, right?”

 

“Before is different from now.”

 

“We argue a lot,” Yoshi said. “But I’ve always taken care of you.”

 

Hyunsuk’s face twisted. “Don’t lie to yourself. Are you really doing this to Junkyu? You’ve been pining after him for so long. You think I didn’t notice? I’m not stupid. And now that he’s finally free, this is what you do?”

 

“Family, Hyunsuk. Legacy. You of all people should understand.”

 

“Me?”

 

“If you’re not stupid,” Yoshi said, stepping closer, “then I was hoping you’d think about all those nights in my bed. The way you sleep soundly beside me. The kisses—innocent, you said. You gave them like they meant nothing.”

 

Hyunsuk swallowed hard. “I thought you understood.”

 

“I did.” Yoshi’s voice was low. “Maybe except I liked it. I don’t know.”

 

Silence.

 

“I’m going now,” Hyunsuk said quietly. “You’re being fucking ridiculous. I’m not fucking dumb. I know real kisses compared to those that are not. And you… we were playing, Yoshi. You’re just trying so hard to make this work because you need me.”

 

“Fine. You may be right.” Yoshi stepped back. “But just so you know—I’ve already spoken to my parents. And your father. I’m considering it.”

 

Hyunsuk stared at him, gutted.

 

“You’re unbelievable.”

 

“You must admit. I’ve cared about you for so long. You know how I’ve protected you. If my kisses weren’t real, well they can be real in the future.”

 

“For our friendship’s sake, I will pretend this conversation never happened. You’re fucked up again. Sleep on it, psycho.”

 

And with that, he walked out—jacket on, ring in hand, heart somewhere in the left side corridor of the South Wing of ENO.

 

-
-
-

 

Asahi was throwing shuriken at the board in ENO’s playroom, each hit landing with a satisfying, vicious thunk. His stance was sharp, deliberate. Focused—but only barely masking the storm beneath.

 

“You’re feeling murderous as per your usual,” Junkyu remarked as he strolled in, biting lazily into an apple.

 

“And you’re still you. Bored,” Asahi muttered, not looking up.

 

Junkyu leaned against the arcade cabinet, chewing slowly. “Are you serious about Jaehyuk?”

 

Asahi’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “Why is that your business, ex-boyfriend?”

 

Junkyu shrugged. “Process of moving on, I guess. Need to know.”

 

A slow, acidic smile curled on Asahi’s lips. “What? You can’t make a bottom out of the monster you’re into?” He smirked, venomous but half-teasing. ‘Monster’ meant Yoshi. Disastrous Yoshi.

 

Junkyu didn’t flinch. He remembered the other night too clearly—Yoshi’s mouth, his grip, the heat between them that bordered on desperate. There was no softness. Just a need to forget. A need to feel something. Yoshi had pounded into him like he was starving. And maybe Junkyu let him—because he wanted to be used like that. Wanted to know he could be wanted, even if it wasn’t love.

 

“Tell me—was I just too boring for you, Asahi? Or did you need someone more difficult?” Junkyu asked, quiet but sharp.

 

“I’m all for comfort, Junkyu. But I’m also passionate,” Asahi replied.

 

Junkyu’s eyes flicked to him. “And Jaehyuk proves you’re passionate because… he doesn’t like you back?”

 

“He fucking does. He wouldn’t entertain me if he wasn’t interested.”

 

“But not interested enough.”

 

“He’s just… distracted.”

 

“Defensive,” Junkyu muttered. He took another slow bite, then added, “At least the person you call a ‘monster’ I’m dealing with right now likes me back.”

 

That one landed.

 

Asahi’s fingers twitched. He didn’t show it—but it hit. Deep. Because he knew. He’d seen the way Jaehyuk watched Hyunsuk. Not just a stare. Not just interest. It was hunger. Ache. Longing. And when Jihoon smiled at Hyunsuk, Asahi didn’t miss the way Jaehyuk flinched—not out of jealousy for Jihoon, but out of regret.

 

Jaehyuk wasn’t slipping through Asahi’s fingers. He was never his to begin with.

 

“What are you implying, Junkyu?”

 

“I’m just saying… if all you needed was a challenge, our past relationship could’ve been something to work on,” Junkyu said, soft but steady. “You say you’re passionate, but the spark always dies when things start to feel real.”

 

“I thought we were over this.”

 

“I thought so too,” Junkyu said, lowering his voice. “But starting something new makes you realize how much the past still hurts. Making someone a rebound made me think—maybe I was more broken than I thought.”

 

“Junkyu—”

 

“I’m not asking for anything, Asahi. I’m just done lying to myself. That’s progress.”

 

“And talking to your ex counts as progress?”

 

“Acknowledgment does.” He flicked the apple core into the bin and stepped away from the wall. “Anyway—good luck with your lover boy challenge.”

 

Asahi didn’t respond. He just stood there, shuriken in hand, heart cracking in places he wouldn’t let show.

 

-

 

The dull thunk of metal against wood echoed through the ENO playroom as Asahi continued to hurl shuriken at the board, each strike harder than the last. His precision had always been eerie—cold, detached. But tonight, it was brutal. Furious.

 

The door creaked open behind him.

 

It was Doyoung this time who strolled in and headed straight for the shooting rack, grabbing one of the airsoft pistols. He cocked it casually, but his eyes were on Asahi.

 

“What’s with you?” he asked, sensing the tension radiating off the other boy like heat.

 

Asahi paused mid-throw. He glanced over his shoulder, unsmiling. “Where’s your boyfriend chain? Isn’t he usually attached to your hip?”

 

Doyoung sighed, unfazed. “I just asked how you are, and you always come back with something offensive.”

 

He loaded a pellet and aimed lazily at the distant target. “What the fuck is up, Asahi?”

 

Asahi’s next throw landed dead center—splitting the wood slightly.

 

“Just… everything,” he muttered. “I need to hurt something. Hazing’s tomorrow, right?”

 

“You know Pres doesn’t like seeing you there,” Doyoung said as he pulled the trigger. Pop. Pop. “You’re all types of fucking brutal, my guy.”

 

“He lets Yoshi.”

 

“Well, Yoshi’s Hyunsuk’s guard dog. He stops barking when that brat tells him to sit.”

 

The name struck like a wire to the gut. Asahi stiffened, eyes narrowing. His fingers curled around another shuriken.

 

“I thought Jaehyuk was the guard dog.”

 

Doyoung smirked. “Jaehyuk? He can’t be tamed. He’s a psycho too. Not unless Hyunsuk flirts him out of it.”

 

Asahi stayed silent.

 

Doyoung glanced at him sidelong. “You know I’m not wrong.”

 

“I tamed him during the Blood Party,” Asahi said flatly. “He was ready to rip that first year apart. I told him to fight the fresh third year opponent himself.”

 

Doyoung raised a brow. “Hyunsuk was the one who said to stop first. You butted in, remember?”

 

“So I did.”

 

“Still,” Doyoung said, “the entire time Jaehyuk was taking hits in the arena? Hyunsuk was the one hyping him up. Didn’t flinch once. He only left when he knew Jaehyuk had the fight in the bag.”

 

Asahi didn’t respond at first. Just stood there, shuriken loose in his grip.

 

“So what—you’re saying Jaehyuk only agreed to fight because Hyunsuk wanted it? Not because of me who suggested it?”

 

“Well… for both reasons.” Doyoung didn’t miss a beat.

 

Asahi glanced over slowly.

 

“I know you like Jaehyuk,” Doyoung said simply. “And he likes you.”

 

A beat.

 

“And?”

 

“But with Hyunsuk in the picture? Now with Pres?” Doyoung’s tone shifted—still light, but with steel behind it. “Jaehyuk’s realizing he’s losing his best friend. And when people feel loss, they panic. They start confusing possession with affection. Trust me. I’ve been going to the same school with the guy since 7th grade.”

 

Asahi looked away, jaw tight.

 

Doyoung loaded another clip. “He’s confused. He’s just starting to notice you. But someone important’s slipping through his fingers.”

 

Asahi didn’t speak.

 

“And you,” Doyoung added, “you’re standing there watching it all burn down, pretending it doesn’t wreck you.”

 

Asahi let out a small, bitter laugh. “And now you’re the Jaehyuk expert?”

 

“I’m the love expert,” Doyoung said, raising the pistol with a grin. “Junghwan is my proof.”

 

Pop. A perfect shot.

 

Asahi gave a quiet exhale, somewhere between a scoff and surrender. Maybe Doyoung had a point. Maybe he had too many.

 

Either way, the storm inside Asahi wasn’t letting up anytime soon.

 

-
-
-

 

Junghwan stood in the middle of the South Wing lobby, arms crossed as he watched the rest of the frat members trickle in with various levels of disinterest.

 

Everyone was there—except Jihoon.

 

Yoshi slouched on one of the couches, bored out of his mind. “What is my time wasting away for?”

 

“What is it, Hwan?” Jaehyuk asked, already half-turning like he might just leave.

 

Doyoung, seated beside him, was paying zero attention—too busy gazing lovingly at Junghwan, his hand lazily tracing the hem of his boyfriend’s sleeve.

 

Jeongwoo and Haruto loomed just behind Junghwan, amused. They both already know what’s happening.

 

Then, with a soft click of the door, Hyunsuk walked in.

 

“Someone please tell me why the fuck initiation night’s cancelled? Now, I have to think of another outfit.” He leaned against one of the black marble posts like he hadn’t rushed to be here, like he wasn’t already burning inside. His eyes were unreadable. Because Jihoon hasn’t texted for the whole day—nothing. And now this.

 

Junghwan smirked. “The underground interrogation room just opened. Guess who’s down there?”

 

Yoshi blinked, interested now. “Pres? He’s the only one not here.”

 

“Yup,” Junghwan confirmed. “And guess who else? Han Taegun. That professor who’s been failing ENO members on purpose? Pres gave me permission to organize a sparring match. Just the two of them.”

 

Jaehyuk’s eyes flickered at Hyunsuk first then straightened. “Why the hell would Pres fight that shitstain? I mean—did he really fail the students?”

 

“Yes,” Junghwan said. “Pres plans to reverse the grades once he’s done with that dumbass professor. Said it’s about principle.”

 

“Doesn’t make sense. Isn’t underground interrogation too grand for this? We can just show the school board some proof.” Asahi says as he brought out his butterfly knife, focusing on it.

 

“Seems overkill. Junghwan, I’m bored. Just drop the bomb.” Junkyu adds.

 

Jeongwoo smirked at that.

 

“I agree. That doesn’t track.”

 

Hyunsuk’s voice was quiet but firm. Everyone turned.

 

“That’s not enough reason for Jihoon to get physical. He’d never hit someone just for that. He’d work around the system. Talk to the board. Escalate it legally. He’s too… controlled now a days.”

 

“Of course, you’re the Jihoon expert.” Doyoung comments. Hyunsuk ignored him but Doyoung threw a teasing glance at Asahi and watched Jaehyuk’s stance flicker a bit.

 

There was a long pause. Then Haruto, almost lazily, tossed the grenade:

 

“Well, the thing is… Han Taegun’s been fucking Eunbyeol. For two months now. Girl was cheating on Jihoon when they were still together. Woo and I have been busy tracking movements through surveillance.”

 

The silence cracked.

 

“We found out by accident while reviewing footage. We were only trying to figure out why he was targeting ENO. Now, it looks personal.”

 

“Personal… how?” Yoshi inquired.

 

“Guy’s bitter despite being brilliant, he wasn’t invited to fraternities. He was at Hwagyeong too. And there came the bullying. Do-hyun Park’s time.”

 

“Pres’ father?” Junkyu asks. “Didn’t he step down as ENO president?”

 

“To save face. This was the incident. Orchestrated by our older brothers—his circle. This was why he stepped down. He was behind it too.”

 

“So, Han Taegun’s all about vengeance? Interesting.” Asahi mutters, still focused on his knife.

 

“I’m seriously scared for that man’s life,” Jeongwoo said with a low whistle, chuckling darkly. “We know how Jihoon is.”

 

Asahi and Junkyu noted that Jaehyuk and Yoshi kept on glancing at Hyunsuk.

 

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

 

Junghwan tilted his head. “Yeah. That’s that. But I think Pres wasn’t fighting for her. He’s doing this because Han Taegun disrespected ENO. Slept with his girl under his nose and let ENO members fail for no reason. If there’s one thing, no one humiliates Jihoon Park.”

 

“Well… Asahi’s right. This should be interesting.” Yoshi grins an evil one and cracked his knuckles. “Haven’t seen this in a long time. I miss the dark years.” Yoshi turned to Jaehyuk with a smug.

 

Jaehyuk gave an amused nod. As complicated as things were, he had to admit—it was fascinating to watch Jihoon’s carefully built facade as ENO’s president begin to crack, especially when they all knew he was the worst of them all.

 

Hyunsuk’s throat closed. He didn’t say anything. Not as Jaehyuk moved closer, brows knit in concern, brushing his fingers along Hyunsuk’s lower back.

 

“You okay, princess?” he asked quietly.

 

Across the room, Asahi stared at the quiet exchange between Jaehyuk and Hyunsuk, fingers curling at his side. His chest ached. Jealousy roared up, sour and sharp—but he forced himself to breathe through it.

 

Jaehyuk was pushing him in ways no one had before, and Asahi, twisted as it was, relished the sting. It grounded him. He liked it more than he wanted to admit.

 

“Come on,” Junghwan said, already walking. “Let’s not miss the show.”

 

No one objected.

 

They moved as a pack, exiting the South Wing and heading for the old staircase leading to the North Wing’s sub-basement—beneath the war rooms, deep underground. The air shifted the moment they passed through the final steel door. Cold. Still. And humming with tension.

 

The fight was about to begin. And Hyunsuk wasn’t ready because his mind drifted to the fact that Jihoon’s trigger was not the professor’s aim at ENO but more on… he got angry because he was cheated on. Eunbyeol pushed him over the edge? He might be jealous? Angry? Possessive over what was his? That’s how Eunbyeol’s effect was on him?

 

Hyunsuk wouldn’t know. He doesn’t want to see it. It would hurt. But he went anyway.

 

-
-
-

 

They arrived at the vast room hidden beneath the North Wing—the underground interrogation chamber. The walls were bare concrete, the lighting sterile and clinical, but in the center was a large circular mat, flanked by benches and some surveillance equipment at the far corner.

 

Jihoon sat in the middle, legs spread, one hand dangling loosely off the chair’s armrest. Across from him, Han Taegun sat bound at the wrists, his posture rigid. There’s nothing between them but loathing. Behind Jihoon with a bit of distance, his two massive bodyguards loomed, silent and still.

 

The moment the seniors entered, Jihoon looked up. And smiled.

 

No—grinned. Something twisted. Cruel. The corners of his mouth curled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His gaze latched onto Hyunsuk first, and the sudden flash of fury in them only deepened the tension in the room.

 

“Now that you’re all here,” Jihoon began, voice calm but venom laced every word. “I’d like you to meet our latest pledge. Apparently, he’s too special for the standard initiation. So I had to cancel and organize one just for him first.”

 

A chill traced each of their spines. It was too sarcastic. The way Jihoon spoke—it was a hiss. Controlled, dangerous, unhinged beneath the surface. Something primal had cracked loose inside him, and now it was hunting.

 

“He was too damn special the whole ‘purple not red’ rule didn’t apply to him. He wanted in during the dark years—so, his wish was our command. Right, boys?”

 

A few of the older members chuckled, finally starting to relax. The tension cracked open just enough for amusement to sneak in.

 

Junghwan had Doyoung in front of him, arms draped around his waist as he rested his chin on his shoulder. The two looked like they were watching a live show—entertained, enthralled. Loving every second of it.

 

Jihoon turned back to Han Taegun with cold amusement.

 

“This motherfucker decided he needed vengeance. Not against my beast of a father. No. Nooo. That would’ve taken guts. So instead, he turned on students. Innocents.”

 

Han Taegun scoffed. “Innocents? You’re all barely that,” he sneered. “I know what kind of filth you cover up under those polished names and parties. I’ve know about the scandal. I know the dirt. You think I don’t see through the masks?”

 

He leaned back in his chair, eyes darting toward Jihoon. “Your little girlfriend though? That was a surprise. She’s good at faking her moans, I’ll give her that. Tight little puss—”

 

Jihoon laughed.

 

Not out of humor.

 

A dry, guttural sound tore from his throat, dripping with mockery.

 

“Can someone take the well-respected Professor’s restraints off?”

 

Yoshi blinked, stunned, but the grin curling his lips showed he was thoroughly entertained. He casually stepped forward, untying Han Taegun’s wrists.

 

Han smirked, rolling his shoulders. “What now, Park? Gonna rough me up in front of your friends? Bully the poor professor?”

 

Jihoon didn’t respond to that.

 

“Take your shirt off.”

 

Han Taegun’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second.

 

“What?”

 

“I said—” Jihoon’s eyes narrowed, “—take your fucking shirt off.”

 

A beat of silence.

 

Han’s eyes flicked around the room. The others weren’t moving. Hyunsuk stood completely still, arms crossed, unreadable. He was watching Jihoon—not Han—with the kind of quiet that could mean anything.

 

Then—

 

“Asahi,” Jihoon called softly.

 

The silver glint of a butterfly knife flicked open in Asahi’s hand as he stepped forward with a calm smirk. But before he could reach Han, Jaehyuk moved.

 

In one smooth motion, he took the knife from Asahi and placed a hand on his chest, halting him. Their eyes met.

 

“Go back,” Jaehyuk said gently, and Asahi, surprised at the sudden protectiveness, obeyed without argument.

 

Jaehyuk turned to Han Taegun. The knife cut through fabric with a sharp rip.

 

“You fucking move,” Jaehyuk murmured low, “and I’ll use this on you instead. I’m good with cuts, you know.”

 

Han stilled. The shirt slipped off his shoulders in shreds.

 

Jihoon smiled again. This one slow. Deadly.

 

“You want to join this brotherhood?” he asked, voice soft as silk. “Then get humiliated.”

 

Jaehyuk stepped back, flicking the blade clean with practiced ease before slipping it into the inner pocket of Asahi’s coat. His fingers brushed against Asahi’s chest—brief, deliberate.

 

Asahi’s breath hitched, almost imperceptibly. He liked that. The way Jaehyuk moved without hesitation, the quiet protectiveness disguised as control. The room’s air had turned dense, electric, but Asahi stood a little straighter.

 

There was something comforting about letting Jaehyuk take the lead.

 

Back at the scene, Jihoon took one deliberate step forward, eyes never leaving the man in front of him.

 

“You fucked her, huh? You liked it?” he asked, voice low and venom-laced.

 

Han Taegun smirked.

 

That was enough.

 

Jihoon’s fist flew across his jaw. A loud crack echoed in the room.

 

“Fuck—” Another blow to the other side.

 

“You brat! You—” One more. Han Taegun stumbled, blood beginning to drip from his nose.

 

Yoshi chuckled, hands buried in his pockets, eyes glinting with unfiltered amusement. “You’re so dead, bro.”

 

Beside him, Junkyu let out a low laugh, sharp and entertained. They exchanged a look—thrilled.

 

“Well,” Junkyu smirked, “guess I’m not bored anymore.”

 

“You will pay for—”

 

Jihoon’s knuckles cracked against his face again, and this time Han Taegun collapsed on the floor with a grunt.

 

Jeongwoo raised an impressed brow, arms crossed. “He ain’t called the ‘rib cracker’ in his first year for nothing.”

 

Haruto let out a low whistle, shaking his head with a crooked smile.

 

Junghwan muttered, “There goes his front row of teeth,” before pressing a lazy kiss to the side of Doyoung’s neck. Doyoung just leaned back against his chest, giggling softly.

 

Asahi leaned against the wall, grinning. “This is better than I expected.”

 

Even Jaehyuk couldn’t keep his amusement even though he could feel the tension radiating from Hyunsuk beside him.

 

They were all watching—entertained, stirred, and a little too delighted by Jihoon’s unraveling.

 

All except Hyunsuk.

 

His breath hitched.

 

Not from the brutality, but the realization settling cold in his gut.

 

Eunbyeol was the reason.

 

He had heard it. Confirmed it. In front of everyone. Jihoon was breaking, and Eunbyeol was the match.

 

Hyunsuk took a quiet step back, fists clenched. The room seemed to tilt around him, chest tight with a betrayal he had no right to feel—but felt anyway.

 

He turned and left. Not a word. Just the slow creak of the door swinging shut behind him.

 

Jaehyuk blinked once, then followed. Silent. No questions.

 

No one stopped them. But Asahi’s eyes lingered. Yoshi’s too. And Junkyu watched Yoshi.

 

Jihoon didn’t look up. The monster had already taken over.

Notes:

Thank you so much for being patient. I'll try to update every few days because I'm working on a new project (work) again. 🥹

I hope you enjoyed this chap!!

Chapter 7: Purgatory

Summary:

Lines begin to blur between what’s real and what’s convenient. Some start to question what kind of future they’re willing to fight for, while others cling to old arrangements that no longer fit.

New connections begin to bloom, quiet feelings shift into sharper focus, and unspoken desires edge closer to the surface.

Notes:

Things are going to get messy at this point.

Hyunsuk didn’t look back. Not once. The hallway stretched in front of him, silent and dim, but his feet moved with purpose—automatic, like instinct taking over reason. The chaos he'd left behind still echoed in his chest, but his mind was quiet now. Too quiet.

 

He didn’t notice he was headed to the south wing. Didn’t realize he’d made a turn. Not until he stood in front of a familiar door with a unique knob, hand hovering over the keypad.

 

Before he could even punch in the code, a hand reached out and gently wrapped around his wrist.

 

He gasped, chest tightening, and looked.

 

Jaehyuk.

 

Calm. Unbothered. His fingers, still around Hyunsuk’s wrist like he’d done it a thousand times before.

 

The door clicked open without a code, he just thumbprints it.

 

Hyunsuk blinked, stunned. “This is… your room.”

 

“I guess you always end up here with me, huh?” Jaehyuk murmured with a soft smirk.

 

“You followed me,” Hyunsuk said, quiet—more shaken than surprised.

 

Jaehyuk just smiled, letting go of his wrist as he pushed the door open fully.

 

“Come in,” he said. “You look like hell.”

 

Hyunsuk didn’t say anything. As soon as he stepped in, he made a beeline for Jaehyuk’s walk-in closet like it was second nature—like it was his.

 

He pushed the door open and entered, the familiar scent of cedarwood and expensive perfume wrapping around him. Jaehyuk didn’t follow. Not really. He just leaned against the arched doorway, arms crossed, watching quietly.

 

Hyunsuk opened one side of the closet. And there it was.

 

An entire section—perfectly organized, curated, waiting. Silk and cotton pajama sets hanging in neat rows. Some still pressed in dry-cleaner bags. Pastels, dark hues, monochrome. Some lace. Some completely sheer. All his.

 

It looked like Hyunsuk actually lived there. But really, it was Jaehyuk who had made room for him—thoughtfully, intentionally. Just to make things easier. Hyunsuk had a habit of showing up unannounced, fresh from a party or wherever else he’d wandered from. And Jaehyuk hated it when he climbed into bed in his outside clothes.

 

Without hesitation, he reached for an emerald green silk set, soft with the glint of luxury logos monogrammed into the fabric. He slipped out of his clothes, dropping each item to the closet floor like he didn’t care.

 

“Are you just going to stand there,” he said, voice flat, not even looking over his shoulder, “or are you going to give me some privacy?”

 

Jaehyuk chuckled under his breath and pushed off the doorway. “Right. My bad.”

 

He left him alone. Maybe they were back to normal. Maybe… they could really make the friendship thing work.

 

Hyunsuk walked without a word, his movements slow and quiet, like the night itself had settled into his bones. He headed straight for the bed and slipped beneath the covers, fitting himself into the stillness like he belonged there—like he always had.

 

Jaehyuk was seated on the nearby armchair, eyes following him the whole time.

 

“Can I sleep with you?” he asked, even though Hyunsuk was the outsider who’d taken his bed.

 

Hyunsuk shrugs and lifted the edge of the blanket in silent invitation. Jaehyuk smiled—soft and sad—and stood. He peeled off his clothes until only his boxers remained, and then climbed into bed beside him.

 

Hyunsuk immediately curled into Jaehyuk’s side, cheek pressed to his chest, one leg slipping over his like muscle memory.

 

“Talk, Sukkie,” Jaehyuk said gently, brushing fingers along his arm. “It helps.”

 

Hyunsuk closed his eyes. “He confuses me, Jae.”

 

“You think he fought because of that useless girl?”

 

“Didn’t he? It was so clear.”

 

Jaehyuk laughed under his breath. “And here I thought you were smart, princess.”

 

Hyunsuk looked up, brows pinched. Jaehyuk reached down and threaded his fingers through his hair.

 

“Did you see how he looked at you? How he burned after hitting that guy? That wasn’t about her.”

 

“What are you saying?”

 

“My honest thoughts? I’m saying he was thinking about you. What if you were the one Han Taegun messed with? That’s what he saw. That’s why he lost it.”

 

Hyunsuk exhaled slowly, the weight of that suggestion settling somewhere deep in his chest. He tried to entertain the thought, turning it over in his mind like a puzzle piece that almost—but not quite—fit.

 

Would Jihoon really go to those lengths just for Eunbyeol?

 

No. He didn’t think so.

 

From the beginning, Hyunsuk had known what that relationship was. Eunbyeol was pretty, polished, convenient. But she was never essential. She was just another accessory to Jihoon’s image—something that looked good in public, smiled at parties, and never asked for too much. Never pried with Jihoon’s bigger responsibilities. She was just a cherry on top. Could be eaten, could be not.

 

That’s how Jihoon functioned. He didn’t let people in. Not really. But with him… it had always felt different.

 

And maybe he was delusional. Maybe he was just desperate. But he wasn’t dumb.

 

He’d seen the way Jihoon looked at him—watched him. With eyes that lingered too long, with tension that buzzed beneath every brush of contact, every banter, every silence.

 

The only difference now was… Jihoon wasn’t hiding it anymore. He was acting on it. And that changed everything.

 

Hyunsuk’s voice came out smaller than he meant. “I thought you liked me… why are you defending him?”

 

“I do like you,” Jaehyuk replied. “Enough not to lie just to keep you. And I think—painful as it is—that Jihoon really likes you too. Maybe more than either of you are ready for.”

 

“You think?” Hyunsuk asked, almost childlike.

 

“I think,” Jaehyuk said. “But I wouldn’t know really.”

 

There was a pause, heavy and tender. Hyunsuk was sensing Jaehyuk’s difficulty to comfort him as a best friend now that the truth about his feelings is up there, hovering over them.

 

But still, Hyunsuk was selfish. He needed Jaehyuk now. Only Jaehyuk could make him think some sense.

 

“Well, it hurt. Seeing him angry like that. He punched him with the thought that someone fucked his girl. Whom he already broke up with.”

 

“I know, princess.” Jaehyuk briefly rubbed Hyunsuk’s chest—where his heart was as if it could do something to ease the pain.

 

“I still really think it was about her, Jae. Brief as it was, they’ve been together for months.”

 

“I don’t. Jihoon doesn’t waste energy on people he doesn’t care about. Come on. You know it’s really just one-sided with Eunbyeol. Cruel. But that’s just a fact.” Jaehyuk exhaled and lightly massaged Hyunsuk’s scalp with the tips of his fingers. Hyunsuk closed his eyes in comfort. The thing about Jaehyuk? He makes you feel safe not just with words but touch.

 

“It’s more on.. he got humiliated. And he thought of you because you’re connected to him. And if it was personal, which I saw it was, you could’ve been a target, princess.”

 

Hyunsuk didn’t reply right away. He just let the words sink into his skin.

 

“You always know how to make me feel better,” he whispered.

 

“I try, Sukkie. I always do with you. Playful or not.”

 

Hyunsuk gave a soft laugh. “Because of that, I give you permission to touch me a lot tonight.”

 

Jaehyuk laughed quietly. “I already am touching you. God, I’ll miss you.”

 

“I can still visit like this, can’t I?” Hyunsuk murmured, tightening his leg around Jaehyuk’s waist. Jaehyuk’s hand inched higher up his bare thigh in response.

 

“Not when Jihoon Park owns you,” Jaehyuk said simply, as if it were already fate. Then he leaned down and breathed Hyunsuk in, memorizing the scent of familiarity and warmth.

 

“You talked to your parents?” Hyunsuk asked after a moment.

 

“I did.”

 

“Visiting them soon?”

 

“Your dad invited me for dinner.” Jaehyuk informed.

 

“Yoshi too,” Hyunsuk added. “It’s kind of... expected. Both of you. I just didn’t think things would move this fast. Feels like yesterday we were just... kids.”

 

“Oh? Yoshi’s considering it?”

 

“He said he is.”

 

“Not surprised. He always had bigger motives than love. But then again… who wouldn’t want to marry you, Hyunsuk?”

 

“You really wanted to?”

 

“No doubt,” Jaehyuk said with quiet certainty. “But…”

 

“There’s a ‘but’. That never sounds good. You bruise me.” Hyunsuk chuckled, the sound light and nostalgic.

 

“I’ve been thinking,” Jaehyuk admitted. “Maybe I didn’t want to lose you… more than I ever wanted to keep you.”

 

“You won’t lose me,” Hyunsuk murmured, lifting his head just enough.

 

Jaehyuk leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his neck, then to his cheek, then lingered—barely—at the corner of his mouth. Hyunsuk turned into it and kissed him on his lips, slow and soft. Familiar. The kind of kiss that closes a chapter, not begins one.

 

“Hyunsuk…” Jaehyuk whispered.

 

“I’ll miss you.”

 

Jaehyuk pulled back, lips and tongue brushing one last time before he smiled, biting his lower lip to keep something else in.

 

Hyunsuk smiled back.

 

It was tender. Final. A parting sealed with affection instead of regret.

 

“I saw the way you shielded Asahi earlier,” Hyunsuk said, voice teasing.

 

Jaehyuk grinned. “Now, you’re jealous?”

 

“As if.” Hyunsuk rolled his eyes.

 

And maybe—just maybe—they could keep this after all.

 

Not what it once was. But something. Something better. Something more honest. Something that didn't need ownership to prove it mattered.

 

But of course, there was that small lingering fact still. Jaehyuk was only looking out for Hyunsuk’s best interests. But that didn’t mean he had stopped wanting him deep inside.

 

-
-
-

 

“Where were you?”

 

Hyunsuk flinched at the voice. He hadn’t expected Jihoon to be actually on his bed like he owned the space. Not at six in the morning and he just came from Jaehyuk’s room where he spent the night. Not when Jihoon was underground last night playing cruel god.

 

Jihoon sat there in the middle of his California King, like he hadn’t moved all night. Hyunsuk usually zeroed on Jihoon’s body as he was half naked at the moment but he was distracted by the shadows under his eyes—clear even with the dim lighting, the mess of his hair, and the bruised knuckles resting on his lap said everything. He didn’t sleep. Maybe couldn’t.

 

Hyunsuk tightened his silk robe around him, cleared his throat, and tried to act unbothered. He didn’t think it was necessary to tell Jihoon that he unconsciously ended up in front of Jaehyuk’s room. So he said,

 

“I wanted to sleep—so naturally I looked for someone who could make me.” Hyunsuk said, coolly. It was going to be the truth one way or another. Even if he did end up in his own bedroom, he would just go mad and look for someone who could make his mind rest. But not Jihoon’s space. Not after last night.

 

Jihoon’s voice dropped. “Why not come to me?”

 

“You were too busy being jealous last night,” Hyunsuk said, eyes cold. “What should I have done? Sat there and watched? And then we’ll go and call it a day?”

 

For a moment, Jihoon blinked. Then the realization sank in.

 

“You thought… I was jealous of Eunbyeol and that roach?” He asked Hyunsuk incredulously.

 

“I don’t know, Jihoon.” Hyunsuk exhaled, as if resigned. “I’m still tired. I don’t want to go to school today. Can I have my bed back now?”

 

It wasn’t the words—it was the indifference. Jihoon wasn’t used to it. Not from him. Not from Hyunsuk, who was usually magnetic and fiery and impossible to ignore. Not when Hyunsuk’s usually all over him.

 

Suddenly, that possessiveness he’d been pushing down came roaring to the surface. Jihoon stood, walked towards him and Hyunsuk’s breath caught at the sight—just briefs clinging low to his hips, his body carved with tension and fury. Beautiful, even in anger. Every line—his chest, his abdomen, the sharp cut of his V-line—was carved like a warning. The kind of beauty that wasn’t soft or gentle, but dangerous. Dominant.

 

Hyunsuk’s eyes dipped lower, catching the faint trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband. His throat went dry. His knees nearly gave out.

 

Jihoon looked like something divine and damned all at once—like he’d clawed his way out from the crack between heaven and hell, and brought both ruin and rapture with him.

 

And Hyunsuk—helpless and trembling—could only watch him come closer.

 

Without a word, Jihoon grabbed Hyunsuk by the waist and kissed him—hard, unforgiving. His hands yanked open the robe with reckless ease revealing Hyunsuk’s emerald pajamas. Jihoon traced a deliberate line using two of his fingers from Hyunsuk’s collarbone then to his neckline down to the hem of his shirt, popping each button in his wake with ease.

 

A moan escaped Hyunsuk’s lips.

 

Jihoon’s mouth was everywhere, and before he could speak, he was lifted—effortless, like he weighed nothing—and dropped back onto the mattress. Jihoon hovered above him, eyes dark.

 

“Let’s fuck. Show me how much you wanted to be fucked.”

 

“Jihoon, I won’t—”

 

He cut Hyunsuk off with another kiss, deeper, messier.

 

“Take these off,” Jihoon whispered against his lips, tugging at the waistband of his emerald green shorts. “Show me everything.”

 

Hyunsuk’s voice broke. “What… are you doing?”

 

Jihoon’s hand cupped his jaw, forcing him to look at him. “I need you, Hyunsuk Choi. Right now. I want to hear you say my name and nothing else.”

 

Hyunsuk whimpered.

 

“Fuck…”

 

“You thought I was jealous?” Jihoon’s voice dropped, dangerous and low. “I’m not just jealous. I’m fucking mad. What if—what if it was you?”

 

Jihoon was livid the moment Jeongwoo and Haruto showed him the footage. He watched every second of it—and his fury ignited. Jeongwoo didn’t wait for orders. Just by looking at Jihoon, the president wanted blood in an instant. He simply turned and gave the guards the signal for a swift abduction of Han Taegun. Haruto was already gone, working on the security end to ensure a clean operation. And Jeongwoo stayed just long enough to witness Jihoon slam his fist into the computer, shattering the screen on impact.

 

“He could never—”

 

“It was personal. He fucked. He fucked her. But all I could see was you—you… bent over his desk.” His eyes burned. “I wanted to kill him. You’re… mine. If that was you—”

 

Hyunsuk exhaled shakily. “Jaehyuk was right after all.”

 

Jihoon froze at the name. His brow tightened, his body tense. Another man’s name, here—now? Seriously? He had enough to deal with Han Taegun alone.

 

“So that’s where you’ve been,” he said, standing up straight. His knees hit the edge of the bed as he looked down at Hyunsuk, voice cold and unrelenting. “I own you now.”

 

“Yeah? Maybe I changed my mind. Maybe I don’t want to anymore,” Hyunsuk panted, voice tight. He tried to stand with whatever dignity he had left, ready to walk away.

 

But Jihoon stopped him—pulling him back until Hyunsuk’s bare back pressed flush against his chest. His hands slid slowly to Hyunsuk’s waist, grounding him. And then, his right hand traced Hyunsuk’s spine as well.

 

“I’m not the type to fucking… beg,” Jihoon exhaled, gripping him close to him. “Fuck!” He exclaimed in a whisper.

 

“You sound like you already are,” Hyunsuk shot back, breathless.

 

“I’ve never—fuck.” Jihoon’s voice cracked, low and hoarse. “What are you doing to me, Hyunsuk Choi? You keep breaking through everything.”

 

Hyunsuk finally turned to face him, lips parted, eyes unreadable.

 

“What’s Jaehyuk right about again this time? Huh?” Jihoon growled, low and dangerous.

 

He didn’t like how easily Hyunsuk ran to Jaehyuk. Like Jaehyuk was always steps ahead of him because of their long time friendship. What could they have done in those years? Jihoon thought of their unnatural skinship. The thought burned. Possessive and raw.

 

Hyunsuk didn’t flinch. His voice came quiet, but firm, eyes locked on Jihoon’s.

 

“That you thought of me. That it was never really about that girl,” Hyunsuk said quietly.

 

Jihoon was surprised by this.

 

“And you only thought differently just because Jaehyuk said it?” Jihoon asked, voice sharp with disbelief, with something darker underneath.

 

“Jihoon—” He didn’t get to finish. Jihoon leaned in, and kissed the side of his neck—slow, rough, possessive. He breathed Hyunsuk in like he was searching for something, and didn’t like what he found.

 

“Did you kiss him?” Jihoon’s voice dropped, barely above a growl. “You don’t smell like you.”

 

Then he crushed his mouth to Hyunsuk’s—hard, claiming, searching for something to erase.

 

“Did you?” Jihoon asked again as he sucked on Hyunsuk’s tongue. Then, his bottom lip.

 

Hyunsuk only smirked against the kiss, his lips brushing Jihoon’s as he murmured, “What’s it to you? And if I did?”

 

Jihoon’s hand wrapped around his throat—not choking, just holding. Marking.

 

“I. Don’t. Beg. Ever.”

 

Hyunsuk’s breath hitched, but the grin stayed, curling lazily against Jihoon’s mouth. “Again…” he whispered, voice like silk soaked in heat. “You sound like you’re about to.”

 

His fingers curled into Jihoon’s shirt, tugging him closer.

 

“We kissed. I was the one who kissed him.” Hyunsuk said honestly. And Jihoon looked betrayed but his eyes were still burning with want for the man in front of him.

 

Jihoon claimed his lips again, meaning to erase where Jaehyuk had been.

 

“You’re so fucked, Jihoon. Is that what this is?” he murmured. “You don’t just want to own me anymore…”

 

He leaned in, their mouths barely apart. A whisper meant to destroy him.

 

“You actually want me now. No games,” Hyunsuk whispered, voice taunting, eyes dark with challenge. “Admit it.”

 

Jihoon’s throat tightened. His gaze dropped to Hyunsuk’s parted lips—the silver ring glinting like a hook sunk too deep to pull free. He looked wrecked and smug all at once. And Jihoon hated that someone else’s scent clung faintly to his skin, hated that it didn’t matter. Oh, how fucked up it was.

 

He still wanted him. All of him.

 

There was no point pretending anymore. Not when Hyunsuk looked at him like that. Not when Jihoon’s control had already started to slip. He opened his mouth, voice low and wrecked, heavy with everything he’d been holding back. But then, he clung to what was left of it, even now. Even here, with the truth clawing its way up his throat—the need to own, to control the moment laced every word:

 

“I love the way you want me, Hyunsuk. It’s sick, isn’t it? The way you cling to me like I’m the only thing that makes you feel real. Like you’d burn just to stay close. And I let you. I fucking feed off it. I watch you orbit me, give yourself up so easily—like it’s devotion, like I’m some god you can’t breathe without. And maybe I am. Maybe you made me into one, and now I can’t stand the thought of you wanting anyone else. I need it—your need for me. It fucks with my head.”

 

A breath. Ragged. Honest. “You… shit—Hyunsuk, you fuck with my head.”

 

But Jihoon wasn’t done. Hyunsuk wanted to moan right then—just from the sound of his voice, the weight of that confession—but he bit it back. Barely. Jihoon got closer with whatever gap was left between them, crowding him, his tone rough and reverent all at once.

 

“You’re so fucking shameless about it, and it drives me insane. I could tell you to get on your knees and you’d ask how low. I could ruin you, and you’d thank me for it. God, I love it. I crave it. So keep wanting me like that. Be mine like that. Lose yourself in me like I’m your goddamn oxygen.”

 

Hyunsuk let out a shaky breath, still finding the willpower to breathe. “Well… I hate it. I hate the way I want you. It's pathetic. I look so fucking starved for you all the time. It’s a… disease, Jihoon.”

 

Lies. And Jihoon didn’t believe it one bit.

 

Jihoon could only surge forward and kiss him—aggressive, hungry. But underneath the dominance was something messier, rawer. He was starving too, not just for Hyunsuk’s body, but for proof. Proof that this pull between them was real, that he could still command it, control it, define it. He’s taking advantage of Hyunsuk’s obsession for him.

 

He needed validation in the most physical, primal way. He wanted to see how far Hyunsuk would bend—how much of himself he’d willingly surrender. Because he wants it all.

 

Greed. That’s what it was. Jihoon was greedy.

 

But for what? Power? Control? Or was it something far more desperate—love? Love from Hyunsuk, in its rawest, most obedient form?

 

And yet, what he asked for next felt cruel—ruining. That kind of want. A need dressed in dominance.

 

His lips broke from the kiss, breath ragged, and against Hyunsuk’s trembling mouth, he whispered:

 

“Kneel.”

 

Hyunsuk’s breath caught in his throat. His eyes fluttered shut. It was instant—like Jihoon’s voice was gravity. Like it was the ultimate law. It pulled at something deep in him—something raw and helpless. He felt it deep in his core—something primal, aching. A pull that bypassed logic and hit the part of him that needed to obey. Needed to be told. His breath stuttered, and before he could think twice, his knees gave out. He sank to the floor like it was the only place he could go.

 

“So fucking beautiful for me… baby.”

 

The new endearment hit different. No teasing. No games. It felt real—and Hyunsuk felt it sink deep.

 

“God,” Hyunsuk whimpered—helpless. “I’m so fucking weak for you. One word… and I crumble.”

 

Jihoon reached out, brushing a hand through his hair before slowly kneeling in front of him—eye to eye, breath to breath.

 

“Maybe it’s a good thing—you say you hate how much you want me,” Jihoon said softly. “Because wanting me comes with consequences. Last night proved that.”

 

He let his hand linger along Hyunsuk’s jaw.

 

“But what are you going to do about it, your highness?” Hyunsuk’s voice was teasing, but there was no lightness in his eyes. “Looks like I’m yours no matter what I do. No matter how hard you and I try to stay away.”

 

Jihoon didn’t flinch. “Maybe you can command me this time, Hyunsuk.”

 

Hyunsuk faltered. “H-How?”

 

“Ask me to fight for you,” Jihoon said, voice low and steady. “Tell me you want it that way.”

 

It was almost like begging—but not quite. More like surrender wrapped in defiance.

 

Jihoon stood from where Hyunsuk was and walked to the edge of the bed, sat, gaze never leaving Hyunsuk. He peeled off his briefs with practiced ease, casual in his control.

 

Hyunsuk didn’t answer but just crawled toward him without hesitation, settling between his thighs like it was the only place he belonged. Jihoon leaned back, legs spread, claiming space with quiet dominance.

 

Hyunsuk wrapped a hand around his cock, slow, deliberate. It was enough to say that he wanted Jihoon to claim him. Even if it’s hard. No matter the obstacle.

 

“Fuck baby,” Jihoon breathed, loving the way Hyunsuk looked kneeling between his thighs. “Say no more. Looks like I’m really just going to fight my way to you.”

 

As Hyunsuk moved his hand and wrapped his mouth on Jihoon’s tip, the latter watched—enthralled.

 

Owned and owning. Claimed and claiming.

 

There were bigger problems waiting outside this room. Two powerful families—the Parks and the Chois—who would tear him apart for daring to want this.

 

But Jihoon would face them all. Just for the chance to keep Hyunsuk like this. In his hands. In his life. On his knees.

 

He kept his fingers tangled in Hyunsuk’s hair, holding him there—not to control, but to feel something real. His gaze never left him, watching every movement like it was something sacred, something breaking him open in silence.

 

-
-
-

 

Jihoon and Hyunsuk lay in bed, bodies bare and tangled beneath the sheets. The morning light filtered through the window, but neither of them cared. They’d both decided—mutually, wordlessly—to ditch class. Reality could wait. This was their cocoon now.

 

Hyunsuk’s skin was warm against Jihoon’s, breath steady, cheek tucked lazily into the crook of his neck. Jihoon’s fingers traced lazy lines across Hyunsuk’s back, but underneath the quiet, a storm brewed in his chest. Because though Hyunsuk had gotten him off—leaving him panting, ruined, clinging—Jihoon was still starving.

 

He realized then, with a strange twist in his gut, that Hyunsuk had no intention of finishing by Jihoon’s hands. Not yet. He was keeping it. Saving it.

 

And it made Jihoon insane.

 

Jihoon found it wild that he, a Park heir, ENO President, wanted to beg—not for himself, but for Hyunsuk. To see him undone. Shaking. Beautiful. To earn it. For ego. For pride. For hunger. Maybe even curiosity. He wanted to crack him open and see what it looked like when Hyunsuk shattered. He wanted to beg for Hyunsuk’s orgasm.

 

But no. Once again, Hyunsuk slipped into the bathroom and finished himself, quietly and alone. When he came back, still flushed, Jihoon’s frustration spilled over.

 

“Did Jaehyuk or Yoshi ever see you cum?” Jihoon asked, tone casual, but his eyes sharp, mouth tight.

 

Hyunsuk glanced over, then smirked as he dropped onto the bed beside him. “Why?”

 

“Just answer the question.”

 

“To rest your soul,” Hyunsuk said, lazily stretching, “I’ve never had sex with the two of them. We could’ve… done stuff.” To this, Hyunsuk turned red. “I don’t even remember now. We’re usually drunk. Or like… out of it? We’re single—I’m blabbing and guilty.” Hyunsuk sighed at Jihoon’s annoyed face. “Maybe? I really don’t remember. But I’ve seen them cum, sure.”

 

Jihoon locked his jaw. “So what are you? The Grinch of orgasms? Why won’t you let me finish you? Don’t you want me to do it?”

 

Hyunsuk chuckled, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Because it should take a lot to see me like that. What are you even complaining about? I let you cum. You finished. Why worry about me?”

 

“It feels wrong not to reciprocate. It’s getting to the point where I’d actually like to beg for you to finish. You’re the only person that I’ve been with who never—” Jihoon sighed.

 

That made Hyunsuk laugh again, breathy and wicked. “No, your highness. You can’t have sex with me yet. I’m still enjoying this way too much.”

 

“Let me pleasure you, baby.” Jihoon’s voice dropped, low and insistent, his hand slipping over Hyunsuk’s waist like a plea dressed up as seduction.

 

Hyunsuk narrowed his eyes at him, unimpressed by the new endearment. But really, he wanted to just scream at the guy for making his heart burst. “You are so… ugh. I’m trying my best to control something here.” The ‘baby’ thing seemed like a personal attack in Hyunsuk’s opinion. “If I give you everything, would that guarantee you staying?”

 

That made Jihoon freeze.

 

“So that’s what you’re doing?” he said quietly. “You think I’ll leave once I get everything? Whatever happened to ‘Jihoon, when will you ever fuck me?’ ‘Fuck me now, Pres’ ‘Please’. What happened to those?”

 

Hyunsuk laughed again, voice lighter now, amused by the irony. “Well, the chances have expired now. I was caught in the moment. And some of it… that was just me teasing. Seducing you. I sounded hot when I said those, don't you think?”

 

“Seducing?” Jihoon repeated, incredulous. “And once I finally come to your lane, you just want me starving?”

 

“Are you that horny for me, Pres?” Hyunsuk taunted, smile sharp. “I thought I’m the one that’s craving for you?”

 

Jihoon narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know anymore, little devil. You tell me. I honestly sound ridiculous begging for someone else’s orgasm.”

 

Then he gripped Hyunsuk’s waist and kissed him—hard. Possessive. Frustrated. Hungry. His lips crushed against Hyunsuk’s with bruising intent, as if trying to leave proof that he was here, that this wasn’t one-sided.

 

When they pulled apart, Jihoon’s voice was low and dangerous.

 

“Maybe I’ll fuck you without consent,” he whispered, eyes dark with threat and promise. “I’ll get you one day.”

 

Hyunsuk gasped, stunned—and a little breathless. “That’s so hot. I’m so your slave, Jihoon Park.”

 

“Yeah?” Jihoon chuckled.

 

“You’re always taking advantage that I’ll cave.” Hyunsuk sighed dramatically. “Technically, the “no consent” thing is moot.”

 

“Yes,” Jihoon said, lips brushing his ear. “So stay obsessed with me, baby. Promise me that I’m all you’ll ever want. Say it, Hyunsuk.”

 

“So possessive, Pres. I’ll take it. I’m yours.” Hyunsuk whispered back—and kissed him just as hard.

 

But then Jihoon suddenly got a reality slap—tugging at him like cold water. He pulled back just slightly, breath uneven.

 

“You know… I appreciate us saying this now, little devil,” Jihoon murmured, voice quiet but firm. His fingers brushed against Hyunsuk’s jaw, thumb stroking his cheek. “However… we both know the situation we’re in. You understand, right?”

 

Hyunsuk blinked, eyes still dazed from their kiss. But Jihoon’s tone was sobering.

 

Because even wrapped in sheets, even after getting tangled up in whispered confessions and bodies pressed too close—reality still loomed.

 

Their families weren’t just rivals. They were enemies. The kind with decades of legacy grudges and polished smiles at gala events masking knives beneath the table. Park and Choi had been at odds long before Jihoon or Hyunsuk were even born—and the tension still lingered, sharp in the air like a storm that never passed. The kind of feud that built empires and demanded sacrifices. And here they were, in bed, tangled in defiance.

 

“We’ve got too much to lose,” Jihoon said. “Let me… let me work it out first.”

 

Hyunsuk looked at him painfully, the ache settling into his chest like a weight. It was so unfair—to taste Jihoon and still feel like he was starving. To be owned by him in every way that mattered… and yet not at all.

 

Because no matter how much they whispered that he was Jihoon’s, no matter how deep Jihoon’s bite marks went or how breathless Hyunsuk got beneath him—only they knew it.

 

They were heirs to kingdoms that could never coexist. Their names held too much weight, their bloodlines too many grudges. They had power in the palms of their hands—power that could move mountains—but it would never be used for each other.

 

That was the unbearable part.

 

And maybe… maybe it was good they hadn’t had sex yet. Because had they crossed that final line, they might’ve already done something stupid. Reckless. Something they couldn’t come back from.

 

The silence thickened before Jihoon spoke again.

 

“I know about Yoshi and Jaehyuk’s families pursuing you.”

 

Hyunsuk blinked at him, taken aback. “And you? Anyone from ENO?”

 

A creeping jealousy coiled low in his belly. He couldn’t imagine anyone else touching Jihoon. Couldn’t stomach the thought of someone else staking a claim on what felt like his—even if they weren’t technically his. He mostly didn’t like the idea of someone owning Jihoon from his own circle. That would be too bad.

 

Jihoon shook his head. “No one yet.”

 

“Yet?” Hyunsuk echoed, wary.

 

“You know how shit goes,” Jihoon muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “We’ve got some fucked up families, no matter how pristine they try to look on the outside. Things could go differently in the future. I do have proposals from other fraternities and sororities. Just like you do.”

 

Hyunsuk let out a bitter breath. “So what should we do about it? You know I’m the best one for you. And my king only deserves the best.”

 

Jihoon looked at him then—truly looked. His eyes, dark and unyielding, softened at the corners. And yet the intensity never left.

 

“I’ll own you for real one way or another, little devil,” he said. “I’ll work hard.”

 

Hyunsuk blinked, momentarily stunned by the sincerity—by the promise beneath Jihoon’s usual edge.

 

“I never knew you as a romantic, Pres.”

 

Jihoon let out a low laugh, grin curling on his lips. “All this just because I wanted to see you cum and get inside your pants.”

 

Hyunsuk groaned. “And there goes my fantasy. Ugh.”

 

But before he could roll away, Jihoon caught him—arm sliding around his waist, mouth catching his in a kiss. This one was slower. Deeper. No games. No push and pull. Just lips moving against lips with a quiet kind of urgency, the kind that whispered: I want you. I’ll find a way. Just hold on.

 

As their mouths moved together, Jihoon’s hand drifted lower, fingers skimming down Hyunsuk’s back. He let his palm settle on the curve of his ass—a gentle caress, possessive and tender all at once. His fingers skimming on Hyunsuk’s opening.

 

“Hmm…”

 

Hyunsuk hummed into the kiss, not pulling away this time. Letting himself be held. Letting himself be wanted by the only man he believed could ruin him, even if the world wasn’t ready to see it yet.

 

-
-
-

 

Jihoon went to school after all. He left Hyunsuk sleeping soundly on his cloud of a bed. He contemplated whether he should fix the Han Taegun issue immediately or prolong it, but then Midterms are fast approaching. So, he then dialed two numbers that matter at the moment and sighed.

 

-

 

Yoshi and Asahi flanked him like shadows with sharp edges, the three of them in suits cutting a path straight through Hwagyeong University’s main administration building. Students stared. Staff stepped aside. By the time they reached the Provost’s office, the energy in the hallway had shifted. Quiet. Tense. Like everyone knew something was about to happen.

 

The Provost looked up from his desk and paled.

 

Beside him stood the Dean—the very man who had hired Professor Han Taegun, the person who almost derailed the futures of half ENO’s roster. Jihoon didn’t need to raise his voice to be heard. His presence alone spoke louder than outrage.

 

Jihoon spoke as ENO’s President, calm but cutting. He said his piece with professionalism. "The students you’re referring to were already skimming the edge before midterms. What they deserve now is unlimited credit fulfillment. That’s the bare minimum. You took something from them—now you give them the space to earn it back.” Jihoon knew the grades had already been recorded in the system. It was unfair for the affected members to work harder for the grades that were taken from them but as part of ENO, it should be easy. And it’s the fastest way to resolve the issue.

 

In Asahi’s opinion, the approach was too noble that he got irritated. He wanted a different route but of course, Jihoon wanted it done professionally. Asahi wasn’t going without leaving a mark, though. Yoshi too. He knew he was there just to intimidate but he wanted his part of the fun.

 

The Provost started to speak, but Asahi was already stepping forward. His tone wasn’t loud, but it carried weight—disappointment wrapped in disgust.

 

“No offense… Sir,” he said, eyes locked on the man. The way he said ‘Sir’ sounded almost mocking. “But I assumed this kind of failure would warrant the presence of the University President himself.”

 

He let that hang in the air for a beat.

 

“You do realize this is Epsilon Nu Omega. Unless, of course, you’re telling us the institution doesn’t take responsibility seriously. That would explain a lot… as we’re in front of middlemen.”

 

Yoshi’s voice followed without hesitation. “My father will hear about this. I’m honestly shocked Hwagyeong doesn’t do proper character screenings before hiring them.”

 

That was the final crack in the silence. Both administrators stiffened. The Provost’s fingers twitched around his pen, suddenly unsure of what to do with his hands.

 

Jihoon didn’t say a word. He only turned slightly, eyes flicking toward Yoshi and Asahi—a silent signal to hold. To cool it. One look was all it took. They fell back, quiet, but still seething.

 

He hadn’t brought them to talk. He brought them to remind. And it worked. Jihoon had always been able to command a room, but today, flanked by two boys who carried surnames with weight and fire in their veins, he didn’t just command—he controlled. He was satisfied by the full force of intimidation the three of them brought.

 

The Provost’s gaze dropped to Jihoon’s hand.

 

Bruised knuckles. Faint, but visible. Enough to raise a question. Enough to force a gulp. That was when the tone shifted.

 

The Provost straightened his tie, cleared his throat, and suddenly began negotiating—the nice way.

 

-
-
-

 

Initiation for the second batch of pledges was hours away, but instead of prepping, Yoshi walked straight from Hwagyeong University in his pressed, charcoal suit and designer coat—all sharp edges and silent judgment—into one of the training rooms at the ENO Mansion.

 

Just like Junkyu said he would be.

 

Yoshi paused by the door, arms crossed, eyes narrowing. It was almost ironic—like a mirror of the way Junkyu watched him train last time. Only this time, Yoshi was the one standing still, observing. The session was far less brutal than Yoshi’s own ever were. No blood, no bruises. And all Yoshi could think about was how he could make out with Junkyu in this circumstance because he remembered how hot they got after Junkyu treated his wounds.

 

Junkyu was in the middle of a spar—effortless, precise, and almost balletic because of how graceful he was. He moved like the fight was choreographed for him, each twist of his body designed to win. His opponent landed hard on the mat with a grunt, breath knocked out of him, and tapped out seconds later.

 

Junkyu stood, chest rising and falling, skin flushed with exertion but not a hair out of place. He noticed Yoshi leaning against the wall, smirking like he’d been watching something mildly entertaining on TV.

 

“Leave us,” Junkyu said without even looking at the others.

 

His bodyguard, the maid folding towels, and his opponent exited immediately, wordless.

 

Junkyu adjusted his belt, knotted it tighter, then reached for his towel. Yoshi watched him drink from his water jug—broad shoulders glistening, jaw tense, eyes calm.

 

“Han Taegun issue solved?” Junkyu asked between gulps.

 

Yoshi shrugged. “Yeah. There wasn’t much I did.”

 

Junkyu gave a small laugh, wiping his face. “Oh, trust me. Pres knew what he was doing when he brought you and Asahi. He wanted the Provost to shit his pants.”

 

“Mostly Asahi,” Yoshi replied. “He’s always been good at gaslighting.”

 

“And you?”

 

Yoshi tilted his head. “More interested in me than hearing about your ex now, Kim?”

 

Junkyu scoffed, rolling his eyes at the arrogance.

 

Yoshi’s lips curled. “Maybe we scared them a little.”

 

Junkyu met his gaze, eyes dragging deliberately down his frame. “You look… good.”

 

Yoshi raised a brow. “Complimenting your fuck buddy now? How sweet. You really are fond of me lately, huh?”

 

“That enough to make you fuck me after initiation?”

 

“You’re insatiable.”

 

“I’m bored. I need sex.”

 

“You’re always bored,” Yoshi muttered, stepping closer. “What the hell am I supposed to do with you?”

 

Junkyu’s grin was all teeth, towel loose over one shoulder. “Fuck me all the time?”

 

Yoshi laughed quietly under his breath—low, amused, dangerous.

 

And then, after a beat, he asked—casual, but not really:

 

“Got any marriage proposals? It’s that time of the year.”

 

Junkyu paused, turning to toss his towel in the basket.

 

“What is it to you?”

 

Yoshi didn’t answer right away. He just watched him—really watched him. The sweat on his skin, the steadiness in his gaze, the way all the rough edges of his life somehow softened in Junkyu’s presence. And it made things harder. More complicated.

 

Because Hyunsuk was powerful—charming, unpredictable, and perfectly aligned with the political future Yoshi was building.

 

But Junkyu… Junkyu was starting to feel like home.

 

And Yoshi was torn.

 

Completely.

 

Utterly.

 

Silently.

 

Torn.

 

Junkyu caught the look in Yoshi’s eyes—too long, too heavy to be casual.

 

He stepped closer, chest still bare beneath his loosened gi. “You’re asking weird questions,” he said, voice low, lazy, like always. “You jealous, Yoshi?”

 

Yoshi scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

 

“Right,” Junkyu drawled, smirking. “You don’t get jealous. Just territorial?”

 

Yoshi’s eyes narrowed.

 

“You thinking about someone putting a ring on me?” Junkyu teased, leaning in, tone quieter now. “Or are you just wondering if I’ll finally go back to Asahi?”

 

Yoshi’s jaw clenched.

 

There it was.

 

Junkyu’s grin faded into something unreadable—guarded, maybe. “You know our families still talk like we’re endgame. Like it’s a pause, not a breakup. The ‘someday’ kind of deal.”

 

“I know,” Yoshi said flatly.

 

“And I’m still his weakness,” Junkyu added, too easily.

 

Yoshi stepped in without warning, grabbed the front of Junkyu’s gi, and yanked him forward in one hard motion. Their mouths crashed together like punishment—desperate, all teeth and fury and heat. Yoshi’s fingers twisted in the fabric at Junkyu’s waist, pulling him closer until there was no room to breathe.

 

Junkyu groaned, one hand braced on Yoshi’s chest, the other finding his hair and clutching. They always did this—kiss like they were trying to forget everything else.

 

Yoshi shoved him against the padded wall of the training room, lips moving rough down Junkyu’s jaw, his neck, like he wanted to erase Asahi’s name off his skin.

 

“You’re such a damn problem,” Yoshi muttered, voice low and hot. “Still chasing ghosts.”

 

Junkyu’s breath caught. “Better than being someone’s distraction.”

 

That stung—and they both knew it.

 

But Yoshi didn’t back down. He kissed him again, slower this time, less angry. Like he wanted to mean it.

 

Junkyu kissed back—hungry, conflicted, quiet.

 

Because maybe, sometimes, pretending Yoshi was enough helped silence the part of him that still looked for Asahi in a crowd.

 

And maybe Yoshi knew that. Maybe he let it happen anyway.

 

And maybe… the part of him that was silenced, opened rooms for chaos in his heart.

 

Because he can’t seem to get enough of Yoshi these days.

 

-
-
-

 

Jaehyuk looked strangely out of place, hovering in the left corridor of the South Wing. He stood in front of Asahi’s door, debating whether or not to knock.

 

He didn’t realize Asahi was already behind him, quietly watching.

 

Asahi was light on his feet—petite, lean, but unreadably still. Jaehyuk hadn’t heard a thing. But that was Asahi. Like Hyunsuk, he moved like a ghost—by the time you sensed him, he was already beside you.

 

He was still dressed from the earlier Hwagyeong meeting, suit crisp and perfectly tailored. He looked dashing—almost aristocratic—but there was something sinister underneath. Hands in his pockets, he leaned lazily against the wall across his own bedroom door while Jaehyuk hesitated, still frozen with indecision.

 

Ten minutes passed before Jaehyuk finally exhaled in defeat and turned to leave.

 

A quiet scoff made him pause.

 

Jaehyuk looked up—and saw him. Heat flushed his ears as realization sank in: Asahi had been watching him the entire time.

 

“What is it, Jae?” Asahi asked, his voice calm but cutting. He crossed the hallway with eerie calm and didn’t ask permission before taking Jaehyuk’s hand.

 

He pressed a sequence on the keypad beside his door and, without ceremony, registered Jaehyuk’s fingerprint.

 

“There,” he murmured. “No need to knock. Just come in. Try it.”

 

“Uh…”

 

Asahi raised an eyebrow—challenging.

 

Jaehyuk, for all his bravado, couldn’t meet his eyes.

 

It was ironic. Jaehyuk—loud, flirty, reckless—was usually the one intimidating others. Along with Yoshi and Hyunsuk, he had a reputation in ENO for being impossible to tame. But next to Asahi? He folded. Always had.

 

Asahi didn’t need to shout. He didn’t even need to glare. His stillness alone was unnerving. The sharpness in his silence. The quiet threat in his eyes. And the ever-present butterfly knife he often twirled like a game—though today, it stayed hidden in his pocket.

 

Jaehyuk looked at him then. Really looked.

 

Despite the coldness in his demeanor… Asahi was beautiful. Ethereal. Devastating.

 

“Put your finger in. Open the door,” Asahi said, voice flat with impatience.

 

And Jaehyuk didn’t argue. He just did what he was told.

 

-
-
-

 

It wasn’t Jaehyuk’s first time in Asahi’s room. With his background in construction and design, he could appreciate the intention behind every detail. It was dark, sexy, and unapologetically Asahi. Jaehyuk had said so once, casually, in passing. He remembered how Asahi had glanced at him then—really looked. It might’ve been the first time their eyes met and held like that.

 

Asahi had still been with Junkyu at the time.

 

The room was a study in quiet decadence. Vintage tones of copper, brown, and black soaked into everything—from the leather armchair by the window to the shadowed corners holding musical instruments: a cello, a guitar, a strange old piano. Books were stacked in beautiful disarray. Shelves lined the walls like they’d grown there naturally. It was clean, curated, cinematic—like something out of a film noir. But not pretentious. The interior plants gave it some character too. Despite Asahi’s sharpness, it provided a sense of comfort.

 

It also smelled… incredible inside. Like expensive perfume layered with old paper and worn wood.

 

Now, standing behind the closed door, Jaehyuk swallowed.

 

Asahi looked at him, still unreadable. Still leaning. “Wanna talk to me?” he asked softly.

 

It wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t even sarcastic.

 

Just a quiet, knowing prompt. The kind that made Jaehyuk feel stupid for standing in the hallway so long—debating something Asahi clearly already saw through.

 

Jaehyuk shifted his weight and glanced back at the door Asahi had just registered him into. He didn’t answer right away.

 

Asahi waited. That’s what he does. As if patience was his middle name. Like the delayed gratification was something to be relished.

 

“I was wondering…” Jaehyuk said, voice rough around the edges. “If you wanna be my date to the open house party after initiation.”

 

Asahi blinked once, registering the question. It settled between them like the sudden shift of air before a storm.

 

“You’re serious?” he asked quietly.

 

Jaehyuk nodded.

 

Asahi tilted his head. “Hmm… that’s not nothing.”

 

“Well?”

 

“It depends. Are you going to stick by my side the whole night?”

 

“‘Use me’ like you said. Right?”

 

Then Asahi let out a soft scoff, almost a laugh.

 

Jaehyuk didn’t flinch. “So?”

 

Asahi stepped closer, just enough to be dangerous. His voice dropped.

 

“I’m not asking you to change, Jaehyuk. In fact, I want you exactly as you are.” His gaze sharpened. “I know you like Hyunsuk. I’m not gonna be a hindrance. If you want to touch him, I won’t stop you.”

 

Jaehyuk swallowed hard.

 

Hyunsuk. Asahi knew what Hyunsuk meant to him. He was chaotic, unattainable, and too self-aware of it. Jaehyuk wanted to ruin him in the kind of way that meant belonging.

 

And yet—he looked at Asahi.

 

Asahi, who was standing there now, willing to burn quietly beside him if it meant staying close.

 

“There will be consequences, though,” Asahi warned, voice calm, but eyes already lit with something darker.

 

“What kind?” Jaehyuk asked, heart heavier than he expected.

 

“If you touch him…” Asahi lifted his chin, eyes gleaming. “I get to have wishes granted.”

 

It was a trade Jaehyuk didn’t fully understand yet. But somehow, it already felt like a trap of his own making.

 

He didn’t care. Not when Asahi looked like a prey and a predator in one vessel.

 

Jaehyuk smirked, eyes trailing lazily from Asahi’s face to his chest and then further down, admiring the lean frame of his body. “An example?”

 

Asahi didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled his butterfly knife from his pocket with a flick of his wrist. The blade glinted as he spun it once before nicking his fingertip. Blood bloomed instantly. He slipped the finger into his mouth and licked it clean, eyes never leaving Jaehyuk.

 

“You get to be mine in the end,” he said, voice like silk over glass.

 

“You want that, huh?”

 

“I don’t just want it.” He stepped even closer, breath brushing Jaehyuk’s lips. “Tell me you’ll really use me, Jae.”

 

Jaehyuk’s jaw flexed. “I will.”

 

“Swear to it,” Asahi whispered, the knife still warm in his hand. “By blood.”

 

That was it.

 

Jaehyuk lunged—grabbed Asahi by the jaw, forced their mouths together. Their teeth clashed, lips slick and parted, tongues dragging, tasting the iron tang of blood and something else entirely—hunger, pain, possession.

 

“F-fuck…” Jaehyuk groaned, pulling back just long enough to look at him—hair tousled, mouth swollen, eyes blown wide with lust. “On all fours, Asahi.”

 

Asahi gave him a slow, wicked grin.

 

He turned without another word and peeled off every piece of clothing on his way to the bed. Jaehyuk stood there, breath heavy, watching the way Asahi moved—graceful, deliberate, like sin incarnate.

 

And then Asahi dropped to the bed on all fours.

 

Looking back over his shoulder, smiling like he wanted to be broken—like he dared Jaehyuk to try.

 

Because pain, to Asahi, was never punishment. It was ritual. A reminder that he could still feel, still be pushed to the edge and not fall.

 

He liked the sting, the bruises, the sharp drag of hunger between pleasure and destruction.

 

He liked the way it made people honest. And maybe that was the truth he was always chasing—not softness, not safety.

 

But the raw, twisted intimacy of being hurt by someone who wanted him.

 

In pain, he found clarity. In surrender, power.

 

And in Jaehyuk’s hands, Asahi was willing to bleed if it meant being seen.

 

All of him. Even the part that flinched and smiled right after.

 

“Ready?” Jaehyuk whispered as he glided his hand along Asahi’s backside, fingers cool against flushed skin.

 

“Paint it red, I beg,” Asahi whispered—voice breathless, reverent, like prayer wrapped in poison.

 

And Jaehyuk’s hunger was triggered. He didn’t hesitate.

 

His hand came down hard—sharp, echoing through the room like punctuation. Asahi arched, gasped, but didn’t move away. He took it. Welcomed it. Like the sting was proof of something deeper—trust, craving, maybe even love in its most chaotic form.

 

Another slap. Another gasp.

 

“Ahh!!”

 

Jaehyuk watched the red bloom on pale skin, his chest tight, his breath ragged.

 

“You like this,” he growled, leaning in close.

 

Asahi only turned his head slightly, eyes half-lidded and gleaming. “I need it.”

 

And that was the dangerous truth. Because for Asahi, pain wasn’t just pleasure—it was communion.

 

It was the only time he could silence the noise in his head and feel owned, worshipped, ruined in the exact way he craved.

 

And Jaehyuk—God, Jaehyuk was learning to read him like scripture.

 

Every flinch, every moan, every mark he left behind.

 

He brought his hand down again, and this time, Asahi laughed—soft and delirious. A sound that cracked something in Jaehyuk wide open.

 

Because in that moment—watching Asahi writhe, trembling and laughing through the sting—Jaehyuk realized he loved the power Asahi had just handed him.

 

Not because it made him feel dominant.

 

But because Asahi, broken and beautiful, chose him to hold it.

 

-
-
-

 

The East Wing’s underground hall was colder than usual, the scent of metal and dust thick in the air—the kind of place that kept its secrets well. The old hazing hall. No windows. Just the hum of fluorescent lights and the steady drip of water from a pipe that no one ever fixed.

 

Jaehyuk was already there, leaning back on a plastic chair like he owned the room, nursing a beer like it was holy. His eyes flicked lazily across the ten new pledges bound to their seats, wrists zip-tied to armrests, ankles to chair legs. All of them wide-eyed. Some already sweating.

 

Behind him, Yoshi stood like a general—calm, composed, and lethal—with a kendo stick balanced against his shoulder. A small pack of juniors flanked him, silent and watchful, like dogs waiting for command.

 

The tension was different this time. Less chaos. More control.

 

Then the door creaked open.

 

Hyunsuk stepped in, and the entire room felt it.

 

All black from head to toe—a designer coat cinched at the waist, silver chains dancing with every step, eyes painted in deep smudged charcoal, and a soft gloss to his lips. He was the devil dressed for a gala. The kind of beautiful you didn’t recover from.

 

He offered the room a sweet smile. The pledges flinched.

 

“Well, well,” Hyunsuk mused, voice honey-dipped and lethal, “you both seem to be in a good mood tonight. I wonder why…”

 

They carried it with them—the remnants of something recent, intimate. All things Han Taegun was pushed out for tonight. Because as usual, this initiation week should’ve been all about the three of them playing gods.

 

Jaehyuk still carried the softness of Asahi’s fingertips like a bruise under the skin. Yoshi hadn’t quite shaken the imprint of Junkyu’s mouth. And Hyunsuk moved like someone who’d just been wanted too deeply to forget. He could still smell Jihoon’s perfume as he passed by his study before going underground.

 

“Play nice, little devil,” Jihoon had murmured, lips brushing Hyunsuk’s as he perched on the desk.

 

“You know you assigned me to this task. But I can’t promise that all the time.” Hyunsuk moaned as he tightened his grip on Jihoon’s neck.

 

Jihoon’s gaze had been sharp—possessive, amused. The look of a man trying to leash his favorite monster.

 

“Fine. Just… ‘purple not red’. ‘kay? I know you didn’t get to torment pledges before hazing like you always do. I’m not gonna lie—I’m worried.”

 

“Whatever, Pres. Hmmmfff—”

 

Now, back in the basement, Jaehyuk let out a slow, satisfied breath, recalling the taste of Hyunsuk on his tongue and the sting still echoing from Asahi’s thighs.

 

“Good mood?” Jaehyuk mused, grin curling. “Well, you’re here now, princess.”

 

Yoshi let out a sharp breath and rolled his eyes.

 

“Looks like Yoshi needs more kisses even with bruised lips,” Hyunsuk teased, casting him a side glance. “He’s sour today. Should I do the honors?”

 

“Careful, Choi,” Yoshi replied smoothly. “I might just ask your father for your hand in marriage. You wouldn’t want that… right?”

 

That actually made Hyunsuk stop.

 

For a flicker of a moment, the teasing glint in his eye faltered—replaced by something unreadable. But then Jaehyuk laughed, deep and reckless.

 

It was ridiculous now—the two of them playing tug-of-war over Hyunsuk like marriage was a prize. But they wanted him. Jaehyuk, for comfort and chaos. Yoshi, for control and dynasty.

 

“Ugh. Whatever,” Hyunsuk snapped. “Let’s get this started.”

 

The three of them walked forward, their silhouettes cutting sharp lines under the harsh lights. The pledges tried to sit straighter, some visibly shaking now. Ten boys who didn’t know that this wasn’t just a game—it was worship. A reckoning.

 

“Now,” Hyunsuk said, folding his arms, smile sweet enough to be criminal, “what should our game be tonight?”

 

“Up to you, princess,” Jaehyuk replied, already buzzing—itching for bruises, for screams, for the thrill that always came with Hyunsuk’s games when he’s in a mood.

 

Hyunsuk turned to Yoshi. “Any requests?”

 

Yoshi tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “You really want to give me free rein?”

 

“Entertain me,” Hyunsuk said, lips curling into a wicked smile.

 

“Gladly,” Yoshi drawled, voice low and smug.

 

In one quick motion, Hyunsuk snatched the kendo stick from Yoshi’s hand and smacked it against his own palm. The sharp crack rang through the concrete room like a warning shot. He grinned.

 

The pledges flinched. One whimpered.

 

Jaehyuk took a slow sip of his beer, already smirking. “Welcome, initiates.”

 

“Let the show begin,” Hyunsuk purred.

 

Yoshi stepped forward, rolled his shoulders, and cracked his knuckles—grinning like he’d been waiting all week for this.

 

-
-
-

 

The weekend came fast.

 

With sophomores and juniors buried neck-deep in schoolwork trying to salvage grades, the days leading up to it blurred together—stress, caffeine, and quiet grumbles filling the frat house more than music ever could. Midterms loomed like a storm cloud, and for once, even the rowdiest brothers had their heads bent over textbooks.

 

Still, there was one lifeline everyone clung to: the upcoming Open House Party for the second batch of initiates.

 

The last breath before hell week. The one night where all of Hwagyeong University would lose their minds. A tradition that couldn’t be canceled no matter how deep academic failure ran. All the frats and sororities were coming.

 

And this time—it was going to be bigger. Louder. Meaner. Jihoon made sure of it to cover up the Han Taegun whispers. But not everyone was excited.

 

Word had spread: Eunbyeol Kim had dropped out. After the Han Taegun scandal, she vanished without ceremony—no goodbye post, no campus sighting. Only rumors that circled like vultures. Most of them landed at the doorstep of Epsilon Nu Omega and Kappa Rho Sigma, of course.

 

And then, quietly: Jihoon had a hand in it.

 

Some whispered it was just a conversation. Others said it ended in shouting. But no one knew what really happened behind closed doors.

 

Except Hyunsuk.

 

And even he didn’t know the whole truth. But the thought of Jihoon alone in a room with her—talking, arguing, caring—made something ugly coil in his chest.

 

Because Jihoon wasn’t his. Not technically.

 

There were no labels. Just glances people caught but decided not to ponder, fingers brushing under the table, and nights where Jihoon would silently crawl into Hyunsuk’s bed like he belonged there.

 

Which he did. Most nights.

 

But some nights—when Jihoon stayed with the others or vanished to deal with frat responsibilities—Hyunsuk learned to fall asleep alone. It was difficult as usual. He’d grip a shirt Jihoon left behind or steal a sweater from his room breathing in the scent like it was medicine.

 

And it worked. Somehow, it worked. He never knocked on Jaehyuk or Yoshi’s door again.

 

And it slowly became routine. However, Hyunsuk was many things—but boring wasn’t one of them.

 

And if Jihoon thought he could own him without claiming him? Tonight might be the night Hyunsuk reminds everyone who he is.

 

-
-
-

 

Junghwan parked his Mustang just outside the ENO Mansion. Cars were already lining up along the curb for the party. The whole of Hwagyeong University had been buzzing for it all week. He hadn’t come with Doyoung tonight who had driven separately, flexing a brand-new Rolls Royce gifted by his mother as a peace offering for not fixing a gathering for midterms week. His mother usually plans a social gathering to wish him good luck on exams. Maybe a brunch or cocktail. Apparently, New York business took priority this time.

 

Junghwan smiled at the ridiculousness of it and shut his door. He made his way toward the gates, hands in his pockets.

 

Then—thud.

 

Someone slammed into him without looking. His reflexes kicked in, and he caught the person easily.

 

Wide, honey-gold eyes blinked up at him. Their face was all soft lines and sharp presence—delicate without being breakable. Androgynous. Striking in a way Junghwan couldn’t quite pin down.

 

“I’m s-sorry,” they said quickly, breathless.

 

They didn’t seem to recognize Junghwan at all. That… annoyed him. He was a senior in ENO. Everyone should know who he was.

 

Definitely not someone from Hwagyeong, then. Which meant: a problem.

 

Junghwan released his grip—rougher than necessary.

 

“Ow,” they muttered, rubbing their arm. “I said I was sorry. Maybe if you weren’t wearing that all-black funeral outfit, I could’ve seen you. Ever heard of color?”

 

Junghwan’s jaw ticked. “Do you realize who you’re talking to?”

 

The stranger gave a dry laugh. “Do I look like I give a fuck?”

 

“What school are you from?”

 

“What kind of a question is that? Hwagyeong, obviously.”

 

“Don’t lie to me.”

 

“Why would I lie about something that boring?” They crossed their arms. “Who even are you?”

 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’re not from Hwagyeong.”

 

“Oh my god.” The person took off their backwards cap and let long, dark hair fall to their shoulders. They raked their hand through it, exasperated.

 

Junghwan stared.

 

A girl?

 

Beautiful. That was the only word that came to mind. Not dainty. Not sweet. Just… arrestingly beautiful. Like a cigarette between red lips. Like ink spilled on silk. Junghwan finally looked at the rest of her. She wore a classic dark navy Kappa Rho Sigma sorority jacket zipped all the way up and fitted dark jeans. With the cap on, he’d honestly thought she was a guy.

 

Now? He wasn’t so sure what she was. But he couldn’t look away.

 

“You done staring?” she asked, one brow lifted.

 

“You’re from KRS.”

 

“Well, duh?” She gestured to her jacket, expression deadpan.

 

Junghwan huffed a quiet laugh. “Next time you come to an ENO party, try knowing who you’re bumping into. Not everyone’s as tolerant of clumsy apologies.”

 

He turned to leave, annoyed with himself for how long he stared. Doyoung was inside waiting, and yet…

 

He couldn’t resist a parting shot. “See you around, Ms. KRS.”

 

Just then, as he neared the entrance, a few girls near the gate let out squeals and rushed forward, phones out. A couple of boys shouted his name, giving him high-fives as he passed.

 

“Junghwan-hyung!”
“Oppa!”
“Damn, he really pulled up alone tonight?”

 

People started to crowd him—some snapping photos, others just hoping for a moment.

 

The girl stood there, still and silent. She hadn’t moved. Her eyes followed him. Brows slightly furrowed. Head tilted.

 

Not out of frustration anymore—but curiosity.

 

She watched the way people gravitated toward him. The attention, deference and the chaos he carried like a second skin.

 

“Huh,” she murmured under her breath. “So he’s… someone.”

 

And for the first time since the collision, she smiled—just a little.

 

Not because he impressed her. But because he’d just become interesting.

 

-
-
-

 

The ENO courtyard was packed. People shoulder-to-shoulder moving to the music, laughter echoing through the mansion’s stone columns. Colored lights danced over the crowd while music boomed from every speaker. Drinks were overflowing—kegs lined the edges, liquor bottles stacked on makeshift bars, jungle juice sloshing in questionable buckets. It was chaos, beautiful and sprawling, like every pre-midterm blowout ENO threw.

 

Haruto stood near one of the bar stations, nursing a beer, watching as Junghwan—dripping from keg stand foam—lifted Doyoung up like nothing weighed him down. Doyoung squealed, legs wrapping around Junghwan’s waist, laughing into a beer-flavored kiss.

 

Haruto rolled his eyes.

 

Behind the bar, Jeongwoo was grabbing a can for himself when he followed Haruto’s gaze. He chuckled knowingly as he cracked his beer open.

 

“You know,” Jeongwoo said, voice teasing but quiet enough just for them, “you can always tell me if you want something like that.”

 

It was half a joke. But they both knew better.

 

After weeks of blurred lines and barely-there arguments, they’d finally put a label on it: open relationship. Whatever that meant.

 

To Haruto, it felt like a prettier word for cheating. Still, he took it. Because it meant Jeongwoo was his—at least partially. He could say ‘boyfriend’ now, not just someone he keep ending up with. Not just a half-memory or a relapse. And pathetic or not, Haruto would take him however he could.

 

Oddly enough, though, since their agreement, there had been no gossip. No rumors. No stories of Jeongwoo bouncing around. And that silence had comfort in it.

 

“Nah,” Haruto said, bringing the can to his lips. “I’m good.”

 

“You sure?” Jeongwoo smirked, stepping around the bar and dropping down next to him. “You looked like you wanted me to carry you too.”

 

“Too full of yourself.”

 

“Yeah?” Jeongwoo leaned in, took both their beers, and set them aside on the counter. Then, with deliberate ease, he caged Haruto in—arms braced on either side, gaze burning.

 

“Give me a kiss,” he said.

 

Haruto froze.

 

Jeongwoo’s eyes were steady, lips parted. He wasn’t teasing—not this time.

 

And for the first time since their breakup, Jeongwoo was the one asking for it in public. Haruto stared at him. At his mouth. At the hint of beer still on his breath.

 

His pulse ticked upward.

 

And the music, the crowd, the mess of the party—all of it fell quiet.

 

Jeongwoo’s eyes didn’t flicker. Didn’t shift. He leaned in, slow enough to give Haruto a chance to turn away.

 

Haruto didn’t. Their mouths met hard.

 

Jeongwoo kissed like he wanted something from him—like he needed to remind them both what this was, and what it never really stopped being. Haruto grabbed the collar of Jeongwoo’s shirt, pulling him closer, the kiss messy, unfiltered, loud. The kind of kiss that made a few people glance their way, some smirking, others whispering. But neither of them cared. It was good. Too good. Familiar. Dangerous.

 

Then the music changed.

 

A beat dropped—low, gritty, a remix of a hip-hop track Haruto had loved since freshman year. Jeongwoo pulled back, lips bruised and glistening, slightly breathless. “You… love this song.”

 

Haruto blinked, still dazed. “Yeah. I—what?”

 

The beat shifted, rising into a more hyped version, EDM and bass swallowing the courtyard.

 

Jeongwoo smiled, already moving backward, hand extended. “Dance with me.”

 

Haruto stared like Jeongwoo had grown two heads. “What?”

 

“You don’t want to, baby?”

 

Haruto flinched at the nickname—more from shock than protest. They weren’t a baby-calling couple. Only in their first year of being together maybe? They grew out of it. And they never danced. Not like that. They danced with groups, friends, during chaos. But never just them. Not the couple-y kind. Not the ‘you and me against the music’ kind.

 

“I’m not saying no,” Haruto muttered, pushing off the counter. “Just… you never asked me to dance before.”

 

“I won’t carry you and kiss you like Junghwan does with Doy,” Jeongwoo said with a crooked grin, “but I can dance with you.”

 

He winked. And Haruto was a goner.

 

What a playboy.

 

And of course he let him. Of course he did.

 

Jeongwoo pulled him into the crowd, their bodies finding rhythm like they belonged there. Like they always should’ve. Haruto gripped his shirt again, just to keep himself grounded—because whatever this was, it was slipping past logic.

 

And it felt too good to stop.

 

-
-
-

The ENO courtyard had officially reached its fever pitch.

 

Lights flared, bass thundered, and the air was thick with smoke, laughter, and alcohol. Bodies glistened under the LED strobes, soaked in a cocktail of water and beer—someone thought it’d be funny to mix the two. It was sticky but kept the momentum going, the kind of chaotic genius only frat boys could pull off.

 

In the eye of the storm were Hyunsuk, Yoshi, and Jaehyuk—the holy trifecta of ENO energy, now drenched and wild-eyed, commanding the center of the crowd like gods of the rave.

 

They were surrounded by the newest pledges, who had formed a loose circle around them, all shoulder-to-shoulder, stomping and chanting. The beat was tribal, the energy primal. Freshmen poured beer over each other’s heads, roaring like warriors, and someone had already torn off their shirt to start crowd-surfing.

 

Hyunsuk laughed, spinning once, then threw his head back and screamed into the night.

 

He was drunk—blissfully so. Parties were his drug. This house was his stage. But the trigger for this particular high?

 

It was Jihoon.

 

Jihoon, who had walked in like he owned the scene. Jihoon, who was finally single. Jihoon, who looked like sin in black denim and a smirk that should’ve been illegal.

 

Everyone wanted him. He’s desirable as ever knowing that he broke up with Eunbyeol.

 

But only Hyunsuk knew how he tasted when the lights were off and the door was locked.

 

And he would never say it to the crowd, but it ignited something in his chest—possessive and painful and perfect. Only ENO knows what’s up between him and the President.

 

To make things worse—or better, depending on the drama—Hyunsuk had seen Jihoon talking to the Kappa Rho Sigma president outside, Minha Lee. Heatedly. Way too close. The girl had a red manicure and a stare sharp enough to draw blood.

 

Hyunsuk had turned away before it finished, too dizzy to watch.

 

And then, Jaehyuk and Yoshi just happened to be deep in some playful keg-side argument, half-yelling over who poured the better draft. Hyunsuk walked up to them, hair dripping, cheeks flushed from beer and adrenaline, and grabbed both their hands.

 

“Make me drunk,” he commanded, eyes shining. “Both of you.”

 

Yoshi gave a breathy laugh.

 

“Princess, you’ll be drunk soon enough if you keep pulling stunts like this.” Jaehyuk just looked at him like he was trouble incarnate and licked his lips.

 

“Now, Jaehyuk Yoon,” Hyunsuk said, daring and defiant.

 

“You’re such a brat.”

 

“I guess it can’t be helped,” Yoshi sighed dramatically, then leaned in with a wicked grin. “Let’s ruin you.”

 

And just like that, they dragged Hyunsuk into the fray—back into the circle, back into the madness—where beer rained, the music never stopped, and he could dance like no one knew his heart was pounding for someone he couldn’t touch in public.

 

Not yet.

 

Hyunsuk and Yoshi had collapsed into one of the fraternity’s infamous “love couches”. They sat shoulder to shoulder, both dizzy and drenched in alcohol, heads tipped back lazily as the world spun around them.

 

Out on the makeshift dance floor, Jaehyuk was doing some ridiculous body roll that had Asahi giggling and dodging his flailing limbs. Hyunsuk smiled at the way the two held each other.

 

He blinked slowly, then turned to Yoshi, his lashes heavy with exhaustion. “Where’s Junkyu?”

 

Yoshi exhaled through his nose, tipping the beer can in his hand toward the ceiling. “His grandfather’s birthday. We were invited, remember? He didn’t want the open house moved, so he said he’d follow once he’s done with the family stuff.”

 

Hyunsuk smiled faintly. “He’s probably bored now, too.”

 

Yoshi snorted. “He’s always bored.”

 

“You should fuck him.”

 

Yoshi turned his head to Hyunsuk, grinning. “How’d you know that’s the solution?”

 

Hyunsuk smirked without looking at him. “We dated a couple of times in high school, right? Don’t you remember? He’s obsessed with kisses, that one. Now, sex. I assume?”

 

“Oh yeah… right,” Yoshi said, brow furrowing as the memory surfaced.

 

“And no, we didn’t fuck. It didn’t go that far. First year high school’s hardly prime time for that. But we made out.”

 

The so-called dating had been so brief, even Junkyu once forgot it happened. It wasn’t something anyone archived into their core memories—just one of those quiet facts, like a footnote in a messy chapter. Still true. Still there.

 

“Right,” Yoshi muttered, a beat late.

 

Hyunsuk glanced sideways. “You know what I do remember clearly? You fighting off my bullies. You were so dramatic.”

 

Yoshi let out a short laugh. “Good times.”

 

“You never asked me out.” It wasn’t a question. Just a statement, dropped like a pebble in a shallow pond.

 

Yoshi tilted his head. “No. But I remember you saying if you ever got married, you wanted it to be me.”

 

“Well, that was a long time ago,” Hyunsuk said softly, eyes still half-lidded.

 

“A few years isn’t a long time ago. We’re still in college, Hyunsuk.”

 

Hyunsuk rolled his head toward him and offered a dry smile. “Stop pushing this narrative. You don’t feel anything for me. And you’re just drunk.”

 

Yoshi didn’t answer. He just looked at Hyunsuk’s lips. Quiet. Still.

 

And for a moment, the party fell away.

 

-
-
-

 

The party had devolved into a blur—bodies swaying, voices slurred, laughter melting into static. People were wasting away, too soaked in alcohol to care who they were beside, or who they used to be.

 

Hyunsuk barely registered Jihoon’s silhouette at first. But when he looked up again, Jihoon was right there, standing in front of him and Yoshi like a fever dream. For a second, Hyunsuk thought he imagined him.

 

“We’re going,” Jihoon said, voice low and clipped.

 

“Your highness… you look worried.” Hyunsuk smirked, but the way Jihoon’s gaze flicked to Yoshi was sharp.

 

The party—his responsibility—had officially been handed off to the juniors, the sophomores, the hired staff. Jihoon had done his part. Now he had time. However, he’d been watching Hyunsuk the whole night.

 

Now, with Yoshi like this with Hyunsuk, he couldn’t just watch anymore.

 

He gripped Hyunsuk’s wrist—not too hard, not too soft. Just enough to command.

 

“Careful,” Hyunsuk drawled. “People might see you.” It was sarcastic. Jihoon knew what he meant.

 

Yoshi snorted, lounging deeper into the couch, lazily amused. But then eyebrows furrowed as he watched Junkyu walking towards him from the crowd.

 

“You’re coming with me. You’re drunk. I’ll get you water.” Jihoon said firmly.

 

Hyunsuk let himself be tugged away, stumbling just a little, obedient in the most rebellious way. The last thing he saw was Yoshi pulling Junkyu to sit on his lap.

 

Jihoon dragged him to the nearest bar, the noise behind them melting into muffled chaos.

 

Jihoon didn’t say anything as he grabbed a plastic cup and filled it from the filtered tap behind the bar. He stood there in just a black tank top, muscles bare under the low golden lights, looking like every fantasy Hyunsuk refused to admit he had.

 

Jihoon slid the glass in front of him. “Drink.”

 

Hyunsuk smiled faintly, almost wistfully, before lifting the cup. He drank slowly, then licked his lips like he was savoring something more than water.

 

“You always do this,” he said, eyes soft. “Even before this… whatever this is. You’ve always been the one giving me water.”

 

“Why aren’t you drunk?” Hyunsuk added, voice slower now. Sleepier. More dangerous.

 

“You’re drunk enough for the both of us,” Jihoon muttered, eyes scanning the party again, then flicking back to Hyunsuk’s mouth.

 

“I want to kiss you,” Hyunsuk said plainly.

 

Jihoon sucked in a breath.

 

And then he remembered the sight of Hyunsuk earlier—tangled with Jaehyuk and Yoshi, being touched, touching back, laughing like nothing mattered. They were too carefree. Jihoon was filled with envy.

 

“Me too, little devil,” Jihoon sighed.

 

Hyunsuk tilted his head. “But people are watching. Aren’t they?”

 

Of course he knew. Hyunsuk always knew. Theta Pi’s frat president. Kappa Rho Sigma’s queen. All of them circling Jihoon like sharks. Suitors. Offers. Future marriage prospects that were being quietly negotiated behind closed doors. Jihoon was the prize.

 

And Hyunsuk? He was the sin. The indulgence no one from the Park clan was allowed to see.

 

And they both knew it.

 

Hyunsuk had already surrendered. Somewhere along the way—between the teasing, the games, the long nights of almosts and not-yets—he’d handed Jihoon all his control. Every reckless word now came wrapped in intention. And tonight, he decided to remind Jihoon exactly who had been waiting.

 

His king needed more of him. So Hyunsuk leaned in, breath curling against Jihoon’s jaw like a secret, like a sin.

 

“Make me cum, your highness,” he whispered.

 

Jihoon’s throat worked, jaw tightening. “Fuck… yeah? I can?”

 

Hyunsuk smiled, eyes heavy-lidded, slow and smug. “Hmm–hm.”

 

“Shit…”

 

“You’re hard?” Hyunsuk asked, feigning innocence, already knowing the answer.

 

“What do you think?”

 

“I’m wearing a plug.”

 

Jihoon’s eyes widened just slightly. “Now?”

 

Hyunsuk nodded, lips barely moving. “Three hours now. Imagine how easy you could just slip in.”

 

“Hyunsuk…” Jihoon groaned, grounding his fists on the bar to keep from losing it. His voice came out low, wrecked. Frustrated. Desperate.

 

“I told you I’m the best for you.”

 

“You so fucking are, little devil. I’m working on it. Goodness fuck.”

 

Hyunsuk leaned closer, lips nearly brushing his. “Fuck me? I’ll wait in my room. I’ll go sober up now… like you said.”

 

Jihoon’s eyes were nearly black with want. “I will fuck you so hard. Don’t worry.”

 

Hyunsuk gave him a sly, gleaming look. “Can’t wait. I need your cum inside me.”

 

“Damn it. Fuuuck.” Jihoon said in a frustrated whisper.

 

“Pull my plug.”

 

Then he pulled back with a wink, turning on his heel and walking away—hips deliberate, head held high, leaving Jihoon stranded in the middle of the party, wrecked.

 

He looked around—sure enough, eyes were on them. Whispers in corners. Gossips half-caught.

 

But Hyunsuk? He didn’t care. And Jihoon—Jihoon was half past pretending.

 

-
-
-

 

Doyoung laughed at something Haruto and Jeongwoo said, his drink tipping slightly as he leaned back into the velvet couch of the VIP lounge. The air was cooler here, thick with top-shelf liquor and entitlement.

 

He glanced around—and there, by the railing, stood Junghwan. Champagne glass in hand, eyes cast down over the crowd below, where bodies still moved with the bass.

 

Doyoung let his eyes linger. God, his boyfriend looked good. The way his shirt hugged his frame, still wet from earlier, the way his jaw tensed ever so slightly. But something was off.

 

Junghwan never looked out like that. He was usually stuck to Doyoung’s side like gravity.

 

Doyoung stood, brought his glass with him, and wandered over. “What’s on your mind?” he asked, taking a sip beside him.

 

Junghwan turned. And for a moment, he just stared. Doyoung looked unfairly good tonight. A ruffled white button-down, open just enough. Collarbone sharp. Eyes soft but lethal.

 

“Nothing,” Junghwan said too quickly.

 

“I know you. Something’s bothering you.”

 

Junghwan hesitated. “Can I be honest?”

 

Doyoung raised a brow. “Like the Pres says—’I hate liars’. Spit it.”

 

Junghwan sighed. “Saw this girl before entering the mansion. Thought she was a guy.”

 

Doyoung didn’t flinch. He just drank.

 

“And?” he said coolly. “You got attracted.”

 

“I’m not gonna act on it. I just—I’m angry at myself for even…”

 

“You’re looking for her in the crowd.” Doyoung looked straight ahead, voice calm. “Now I’m curious.”

 

Junghwan’s eyes met his. “You know I don’t want anyone else.”

 

“You know I don’t like sharing,” Doyoung said softly. “Not if you want me to be Mr. So too, soon.”

 

“Baby—”

 

“I don’t blame you,” Doyoung cut in. “I’m thankful you told me. You know her?”

 

Junghwan hesitated. “You’re not… hunting again, are you?”

 

Doyoung smirked, dark. “Maybe. Depends. You know her?”

 

“All I know is she’s from KRS.”

 

“A sorority girl. Hm. That’s different.”

 

“I thought she was a guy at first.”

 

“You touched her?”

 

“She was about to fall on her face. I had no choice.”

 

But Doyoung was already somewhere else—in his head, picturing Junghwan pressing this mysterious girl against a wall. It should’ve pissed him off.

 

Instead, it thrilled him. Turned him on.

 

“Could be fun to watch,” Doyoung murmured, finishing his drink in one clean swallow.

 

“Not that game, baby. Surely?” Junghwan asked carefully.

 

“You started it.” Doyoung turned, face inches away. “Finish my fantasy if you want to marry me.”

 

Junghwan shivered. “Should I hunt her down now?”

 

“No. Stretch it. Let her feel you for days. Let her know exactly what you want.”

 

Doyoung leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “And remember, Junghwan—you’re mine. One wrong move—”

 

But Junghwan grabbed his face and kissed him, all tongue and possession and desperation.

 

When they pulled apart, Doyoung was breathless. Dazed.

 

“Good,” he whispered. “Remember that.”

 

-
-
-

Yoshi and Junkyu slipped away from the chaos of the party, the pulsing bass fading behind them as they made their way toward the car. The air was sharp with night chill, the road lit only by slivered moonlight and the occasional streetlamp.

 

They were headed to the blood arena—and then the mansion above it, the one tucked in the hills of Yoshi’s estate. A place no one would bother them. A place that felt like theirs.

 

Halfway to the car, Yoshi stopped walking.

 

Then, bold and quiet, he grabbed Junkyu by the collar and kissed him—hard—against the bark of a pine tree. Hidden just enough by darkness that the thrill of being seen still lingered.

 

Junkyu pulled back slightly, breath brushing Yoshi’s lips. “You seem like you really missed me.”

 

“I did,” Yoshi said. “You took too long.”

 

“Duty calls.”

 

“What about your duty to me?”

 

Junkyu laughed. “You don’t own me, Yoshi.”

 

Yoshi smirked. “Except we’re fuck buddies. You have duties.”

 

“Oh, that kind.” Junkyu leaned in again, kissing him slower this time. “Huh.”

 

But just as things started heating up, they heard voices. Two figures up ahead, deep in hushed conversation. The boys paused, concealed by the trees.

 

“Epsilon Nu Omega will go down soon enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“I heard from Gukjin U’s frat—they’re replacing ENO at the Aureus Order.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Whispers. Delta Sigma Kai.”

“Damn… that’d shake things up. ENO’s just a bunch of meanies and spoiled assholes. Rich and rotten. You think they earned those grades?”

“Hell no. They pay off the board to keep that GPA fantasy going. Hwagyeong’s complicit.”

 

Junkyu sighed through his nose and rolled his eyes. But when he turned to Yoshi—he froze. The shift in Yoshi’s posture was too telling. His jaw clenched. His hand curled into a fist.

 

“Yoshi,” Junkyu warned, eyes wide. “You are not going out there.”

 

Yoshi looked at him coolly. “Like you said—we don’t own each other.”

 

And before Junkyu could stop him, Yoshi stepped out from the shadows and right into the path of the two gossiping boys.

 

“You done being insecure, you bunch of fucking losers?” he asked, voice sharp enough to slice.

 

The two boys startled. “Y-Yoshinori sunbae…”

 

Junkyu stood back, arms crossed, watching with both dread and amusement. There was no reeling Yoshi back once he started.

 

Yoshi stepped forward, venom in his voice. “Not our fault what takes you hours to understand, we get in seconds. We’ve got the brains. Money’s just a bonus. And it’s not our fault you live in scraps.”

 

His knuckles cracked. Junkyu called out, not really expecting it to work. “Yoshi, come on. Let it go.”

 

But Yoshi didn’t flinch. He thought of Jaehyuk who studied each time he got. He thought of Hyunsuk who couldn’t sleep and just decided to hunch over his iPad and textbooks. He thought of the whole of ENO—boys who cracked open laptops and highlighters before they even touched breakfast at West Wing. The juniors doing extra credit. The sophomores recovering from Han Taegun’s mess. Even the freshmen had to recover immediately. Yoshi saw them memorizing along the hallways with bruises on their faces. Every one of them working harder than they should’ve had to.

 

Yoshi rolled his shoulders, eyes narrowing at the two in front of him. “No one talks shit about my brothers. Especially not with lies like that.”

 

“Call us what you want,” he added. “But I really take offense when you call us dumb.”

 

“Ugh, same,” Junkyu sighed dramatically, leaning against the pine tree and inspecting his nails. “Will this take long? I’m horny as fuck.”

 

Yoshi didn’t even turn. “Give me fifteen minutes.”

 

“Ten,” Junkyu bargained, bored.

 

Yoshi smirked. “You heard him, boys.”

 

The two paled as Yoshi stepped forward, fists loose but heavy—like thunder waiting to strike.

Notes:

Just the pure chaos of it all? I can't wait to spill more! But we end this chapter here for now.

Chapter 8: In-Game

Summary:

Jihoon and Hyunsuk finally spend a night in full surrender. They plan a high-stakes bidding war at the Aureus Order Charity Gala—arriving together as both allies and rivals.

Notes:

I did a lot of revisions. I didn't do a last read. It is what it is. 😭

Contrary to what people see today, Hyunsuk Choi as a child was something else. He grew up to be prim and proper. Although a typical powerful young master had his naughty moments, he knew his place. He knew when to keep the boundaries intact. He was what his sisters looked up to.

 

Growing up in a household with five sisters, he was used to being followed, used to giving orders. And as time went on, he began to wonder: what would it feel like if the roles were reversed? What would it be like to be the one beneath, when he’d always been so high above no one could touch him?

 

Hyunsuk had his first kiss at thirteen—innocent, clumsy, in eighth grade. The guy he kissed was a tenth grader. That was when he knew he liked men more than women. Because every girl he kissed after? None of them came close to what he felt in that single, fleeting press of a boy’s lips. And despite his image, his reputation, the pedestal people put him on—he somehow… didn’t want to lead. He wanted to follow. He wanted to look up to someone. To be handled. Because no one ever had. Not really. Even his parents revered him for his brilliance. He brought home straight As like they were nothing. They bragged about him like he was invincible. He was effortless.

 

But what does it feel to be truly handled? he wondered. But of course, as the heir, he was all set to be a leader. He was more like a lion—growing, waiting while asleep until the time would come that he could step on the throne his whole clan set and prepared for him.

 

And that urge to find that feeling of being someone’s property, being owned… his quest ended up with fruitful and beneficial friendships.

 

Hyunsuk wasn’t a fool. He knew he had to date around, experiment, figure out what he really wanted. Friends or not, what he had with Yoshi and Jaehyuk had long crossed that line. He wasn’t naïve. Friends didn’t kiss. Friends didn’t touch each other in places they shouldn’t. And friends definitely didn’t spend nights wrapped in each other’s arms. But with Yoshi and Jaehyuk, it was different. They gave him space—warmth without pressure, affection without strings. They handled him gently, never trying to own him. And for a while, they were his constants. His anchors.

 

He loved them but never enough to break his boundaries. Despite all the skinship he shared with them, the closeness never made a crack to what he always desired.

 

However, Hyunsuk could admit—if either of them had made a real move to claim him before Jihoon came into the picture, he might’ve allowed it. He was close—too close to choosing already. They were both eligible. The kind of boys his parents wouldn’t mind crowding him. A curated set of choices. The best of the litter.

 

But Hyunsuk doesn't just pick. He yearned. He was waiting for something—a feeling. A eureka moment. Something that would tell him, this one. This is who I want.

 

And then came the social cocktail meet—a formal gathering on the eve before his first day at Hwagyeong University. No parents. Just a sea of strangers, guards at the sidelines, and the most elite of the prestigious university’s future—dominantly, ENO’s future. His first real introduction to adult society. He’d waited all his life for it—prepared to be President. After all, he was the Choi heir. And for some reason, he felt pressured to lead because no male from their family became ENO President. Ever.

 

Since he was a child, he always believed that it was his destiny. His throne.

 

Jaehyuk and Yoshi flanked him, of course. All eyes turned to him as he stepped into the party. He looked like he was untouchable, a royal. Hyunsuk even heard that Hwagyeong waited for his arrival. Finally, another Choi heir graced the university's roster after decades. But it wasn’t just him they were waiting for.

 

There was another arrival—one with just as much weight, just as much legacy. Another name steeped in old money and old power. And that’s when he saw him—the Park heir.

 

He’d known of the Parks since he was little—of course he had. Who didn’t? His family’s elders, and the elders before them, spoke of the Parks like parasites—leeches, even—despite the fact that the two families stood on equal footing. If anything, the Chois had surpassed them now. With their influence expanded overseas and marriages forged with old foreign dynasties, the Choi family had become the most powerful force in Northeast Asia.

 

Still, his own parents insisted he marry someone local. They were traditionalists, anxious not to dilute the bloodline any further. Compared to the rest of the family, they were conservative. And Hyunsuk—being the heir to everything—was expected to fall in line. To marry someone who was like him, someone ethnically “appropriate.” Hyunsuk would roll his eyes at this because what if he met someone whilst travelling? He was yearning for “the one” and he could be anyone really.

 

He never paid the Parks much attention, ironic considering they attended nearly every high-society event together since childhood. They’d always been in the same rooms, breathing the same rarefied air. But he never once looked—really looked. They were rivals. His family made sure of that.

 

But that night, without anyone watching, he saw Jihoon Park for the first time. Really saw him.

 

Aloof. Stoic. Arrogant. But dominant—almost violently so. If Jihoon was set on fire, he would blaze. Hyunsuk felt his heart stutter at the sight.

 

And Jihoon… he seemed like he never looked at Hyunsuk’s way before as well. Just like him, he soaked the idea that the Chois are irrelevant and are not worth mingling with. So he never bothered to glance, never knew what Hyunsuk looked like.

 

So Jihoon, for the first time, didn’t look through him the way others did. He looked at him. Curiously. Appraisingly. And then someone said his name—introduced him as Hyunsuk Choi.

 

That’s when Jihoon’s expression changed. He looked at Hyunsuk like he was smaller. Like he wasn’t just attracted seconds ago.

 

Like he was beneath him. Like he could be crushed. Like he could be ruined.

 

No one had ever looked at Hyunsuk that way before. His heart was still having its moment. And that was the beginning of the end. He would soon after learn more things about Jihoon Park that would make yearn for him more.

 

He got obsessed. With him. The Park heir. The only person who had ever made Hyunsuk feel powerless.

 

And god he wanted him—so fucking badly.

 

“Nice to finally meet you.” Hyunsuk muttered in his best melodic voice—his usual choice of weapon when charming someone.

 

Jihoon looked caught off guard. He hadn’t expected warmth. Indifference, maybe. Rivalry, most definitely. But not that. Not so… prettily.

 

“Likewise.” He answered in a deep voice, aware that everyone was looking at the exchange from arguably the two of the most powerful people in the room. Like rival monarchs sharing pleasantries. A Choi and a Park sharing a handshake.

 

Hyunsuk gave his most radiant smile, eyelashes fluttering with unconscious grace. And Jihoon… flinched again. Slight, but visible.

 

Yoshi cleared his throat beside him, stepping in to introduce himself. Jaehyuk followed, shaking Jihoon’s hand. Jihoon was flanked by Jeongwoo, Asahi, and Junkyu, who each offered polite nods and handshakes plus their names in turn.

 

But Hyunsuk barely noticed. He couldn’t stop staring. Jihoon was—undeniably—the finest man he’d ever seen.

 

The want was immediate. Sharp… maybe even hungry.

 

“You okay, princess?” Jaehyuk asked and Hyunsuk caught how Jihoon’s eyes briefly narrowed at the nickname.

 

Good, he thought. Let him wonder.

 

“I’m perfect,” Hyunsuk replied smoothly, eyes never leaving Jihoon. “Especially now...” In the presence of such vigorous beauty. He wanted to add.

 

Then he let his gaze trail—deliberately—from Jihoon’s head to toe.

 

Jihoon’s jaw ticked. He heard it, loud and clear. It wasn’t a compliment—it was a challenge. Or maybe worse: an invitation. He couldn’t decide whether he was mocking him or flirting. Maybe both.

 

His gaze flicked up to meet Hyunsuk’s, unmoving. There was a beat of silence, heavy with heat and tension, until Jihoon finally replied, voice low and dry.

 

“You always talk like that?”

 

Hyunsuk tilted his head, a coy smile playing on his lips. “Only when I see something I want.”

 

That made Jihoon pause.

 

He stared for a moment longer, face unreadable—but his eyes gave him away. Curious. He looked like a man used to being in control, and Hyunsuk had just twisted the dial a little.

 

Hyunsuk leaned in the slightest bit closer, voice soft but confident. “Are you single?”

 

Jihoon’s eyes narrowed, just slightly—less in irritation, more in suspicion. No one had ever asked him that so directly. Not like this. Not with that look. Especially not from a first meet. And definitely not from a Choi.

 

“What makes you think that’s your business?”

 

Hyunsuk grinned, unbothered. “It’s not. Not yet, anyway.”

 

Jaehyuk let out a short laugh nearby. Yoshi rolled his eyes. Jihoon just turned away, jaw tight—but not before Hyunsuk saw the flicker of something beneath the indifference.

 

Jihoon didn’t answer the question. And that silence? That was enough to make Hyunsuk smile to himself like he’d already won something.

 

Jaehyuk arched a brow, laughing under his breath. He assumed Hyunsuk was playing his usual games again. But Yoshi—Yoshi actually looked at Jihoon. Really looked. And for a split second, he seemed annoyed by what he saw.

 

Then Jaehyuk and Yoshi both glanced behind Jihoon, finally registering the others. They didn’t dare look before, even when they already shook their hands in introduction earlier.

 

They were blown by the ethereal faces the two sported. Asahi and Junkyu. They noticed too that they were too near that should be considered invasion of personal space. Must be a couple then.

 

Jeongwoo seemed occupied with his head looking around, not caring much.

 

And then all fuss was interrupted when the hosts of the party, Epsilon Nu Omega and Theta Pi’s current presidents took hold of their attention.

 

Later on, they were introduced to other people. Heirs too apparently. Some guy named Haruto. A Doyoung and one who came late named Junghwan, a friend of that Jeongwoo guy apparently.

 

Hyunsuk took mental notes of everyone but he only remembered the heirs as his personal tutor taught him the people whom he should become aware of as rivals for ENO’s Presidency. He memorized their profiles beforehand, leaving Jihoon Park’s document unopened. He considered him irrelevant then.

Hyunsuk smirked. Now that he saw him, he would definitely take whatever information they had on him. Now that he’d seen him in the flesh, he would devour that file. Every line. Every footnote.

 

He saw nine possible threats to his throne that night. But they all faded into the background. Except one.

 

Hyunsuk knew one truth. He’s the heir of the most powerful family in the country and beyond.

 

The throne? Of course, it was his. No one stood a chance. But he didn’t want it anymore.

 

He wanted Jihoon to have it. Wanted to kneel beside him. To be patted like a beloved pet, a trophy of devotion, his own beacon of support.

 

He wanted it not just out of submission—but because he finally found someone who could handle him.

 

And maybe even ruin him completely.

 

He giggled at the thought of his parents discovering he’d gladly lick the ground Jihoon Park walked on. His father would lose his mind. The idea made him smile. Being a Choi had never felt more thrilling.

 

-
-
-

 

At present, Jihoon, still damp from the shower, was toweling himself off when his phone buzzed. It was George, letting him know that his father had summoned him for a quick meeting before the Aureus Order’s Charity Gala that weekend.

 

Of course he did.

 

The Aureus Order’s Charity Gala was this coming weekend—the annual spectacle where old money met old ambition, masked by philanthropy and softened by string quartets. It wasn’t just about attending; it was about being seen. About what you wore, who you brought, and most importantly, what you brought to bid.

 

As ENO’s President, for the third time, Jihoon wouldn’t be attending as his father’s delegate—he had his own seat at the table. Still, they needed to make a show of strength. That meant securing good items for the auction. The Chois would be attending too, so everything had to be impeccable. Everything needed to look seamless. No missteps. No second place. Only the best. Always.

 

Speaking of the Chois, he let out a slow, sigh, dropping the towel over his neck as he looked at himself in the mirror. Normally, he wouldn’t care about his hair, wouldn’t think twice about his reflection. But tonight... he hesitated. Adjusted a few strands. Checked his skin.

 

For Hyunsuk.

 

For some reason… he felt the need to look perfect because Hyunsuk was perfect.

 

They were finally going to have sex. Hyunsuk had asked for it—and not just with his body. With something gentler. Something that made Jihoon’s heart thrum the longer he stared at his own flushed face in the mirror. He had been anticipating this for days now. He shook his head ridiculously at how much he wanted it. He must be insane.

 

Jihoon wasn’t sure what this weekend would bring, especially now that—for the second time—Hyunsuk would be attending as his father’s official delegate. He remembered the first time all too well. Hyunsuk had been smug the entire night, calmly sipping his drink while the Chois and Parks fought tooth and nail over meaningless auction items.

 

But the Chois hadn’t seemed interested in winning. While the Parks took home several historically significant pieces, proudly flaunting their acquisitions, the Chois sat back and let it happen. They didn’t outbid. They didn’t react. And yet, when the night ended, they emerged as the real victors.

 

Because instead of playing the game, they simply donated. An obscene amount. A silent drop of money with no intention of taking anything in return. It stunned the room. The next morning, every major outlet reported something like: the Chois, crowned as the wealthiest clan in Northeast Asia. A power move without lifting a finger. They knew news would come out like that the next day and so they didn’t have to put that much effort in the auction anymore.

 

And the Park elders had never been more livid.

 

His phone pinged again. Jihoon smirked. Maybe he’d be the real winner tonight.

 

Because the Hyunsuk Choi—the heir to the Choi empire, top contender of their graduating batch at Hwagyeong, Master Initiator of ENO—second in command to the President, the life of every party, Hwagyeong’s crowned prince—could be underneath him in a matter of minutes. Writhing. Begging to cum. Wanting to be his property.

 

That thought alone was enough to make Jihoon groan, the thrill of power lacing through his veins like wildfire.

 

Hyunsuk: *sent a photo—long legs on fresh white sheets, just socks, and the vast expanse of his bedroom in the background*

your highness, my bed misses you. hurry, please? i need your kisses.

 

Jihoon let out a small, breathy laugh, trying not to grin too hard.

 

Jihoon: seducing me this much?

Hyunsuk: got a problem?

Jihoon: yes. a big one.

Hyunsuk: can’t wait for that big one. 🥺 i want you sooo bad.

 

Jihoon smiled like an idiot. Not that Hyunsuk needed to know he was already completely, hopelessly whipped.

 

Jihoon: you put your plug back after shower?

Hyunsuk: yes.

Jihoon: good. i’m on my way, little devil.

Hyunsuk: 💜

 

-

 

Jihoon entered Hyunsuk’s room without knocking. The door clicked shut behind him with finality.

 

Hyunsuk sat cross-legged in the center of his massive bed, completely bare except for a pair of white socks. Under the soft, amber lighting, his skin looked unreal. He looked supple, almost glowing. He tilted his head, drinking Jihoon in.

 

Black tank top. Gray sweats. The kind of casual that looked criminal on him—especially with the way the fabric clung to his thighs and dipped at the waist. And then… his hair. Tousled, damp, a little different. Styled but not overly. Effortless.

 

Hyunsuk flushed. He instinctively tightened his legs, only to part them again, deliberately, leaning back on his palms. The subtle glint of the plug between his slit was unmistakable—a silent offering. An invitation.

 

Jihoon’s gaze dipped immediately to Hyunsuk’s flushed cock, tip soft pink and glistening. He licked his lips.

 

Without a word, Jihoon stepped forward, knees bumping the edge of the bed. Hyunsuk didn’t hesitate. He shifted, knees falling wider apart in welcome. Jihoon moved into the space between them, looming.

 

Hyunsuk’s voice was light, teasing and breathless while staring up at Jihoon seductively.

 

“A forbidden dare, your highness?

 

Jihoon cocked a brow. “Tell me.”

 

“Fuck a Choi heir… and don’t hold back.”

 

A small smirk curved Jihoon’s lips as he cupped Hyunsuk’s jaw, leaning in to brush a soft, wet kiss across his mouth—deceptive in its tenderness. His other hand curled around the back of Hyunsuk’s neck.

 

“I’m not just going to fuck him,” Jihoon murmured against his lips. “I’m going to own him.”

 

Hyunsuk shivered. “Oh… please.”

 

Jihoon peeled his tank off and let it drop to the floor. Hyunsuk instinctively crawled backward, retreating deeper into the bed, until Jihoon followed and hovered over him, heated. Their mouths met again, harder this time, devouring and messy.

 

“Hnnngh—Jihoon… oh my god…” Hyunsuk gasped, tugging desperately at Jihoon’s waistband. “Let me taste you.”

 

Jihoon broke the kiss with a low grunt, rising just enough to push down his sweats in one smooth motion, revealing himself fully. He threw the fabric off the bed and let Hyunsuk see him closer.

 

Hyunsuk was supporting himself with just his elbows.

 

Jihoon stroked his length lazily, watching Hyunsuk the entire time. “Open your mouth.”

 

Hyunsuk obeyed immediately, tongue out, eyes wide with anticipation.

 

Jihoon swiped the slick head across his tongue.

 

“Suck,” he said roughly.

 

Hyunsuk’s lips wrapped around him, warm and willing, taking him deep—breath huffing out through his nose as Jihoon gripped the back of his head and began to move, slow but insistent.

 

“Shit… don’t make your mouth so tight,” Jihoon groaned. “I might cum easily. I wanted this.”

 

But Hyunsuk just made it tighter.

 

“Now, now, little devil. Don’t be naughty.” He scolded darkly.

 

Hyunsuk pulled back and opened wide again, tongue out, a strand of spit connecting them.

 

Jihoon bit his lip and dragged the underside of his cock across Hyunsuk’s tongue—teasing, slow.

 

“Ah, shit. As expected. You’re filthy,” he muttered. “And fucking perfect.”

 

Hyunsuk smiled with his mouth open, loving Jihoon’s praises. He deliberately placed his hands behind his back, presenting himself like a perfect submissive, offering himself and being needy at the same time. His tongue flattened as he gave Jihoon’s cock a long, slow lick from base to tip, eyes fluttering up to meet his.

 

The lewd image of Hyunsuk was making Jihoon spiral. He wanted to do everything to him all at once. His mouth parted, panting now as he tapped his cock on Hyunsuk’s tongue a couple of times. And then the latter sucked the tip for the other round of pre-cum oozing from it—sucking like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted.

 

Jihoon nodded as if he was saying “yes, just like that”, acknowledging how good Hyunsuk was. The latter loved the way Jihoon looked down at him like he was desirable.

 

“Hmmh… I need you.” Hyunsuk moaned while rubbing himself.

 

“Poor baby wants to be fucked.”

 

“Yes…” Hyunsuk purred. “I want to be yours. Make me yours.”

 

“You are already… little devil.” Jihoon cooed while brushing his fingers on Hyunsuk’s hair. Hyunsuk kept on licking and sucking on Jihoon’s fat tip.

 

Hyunsuk whimpered, tongue still working over the tip, licking and sucking with such eager precision that Jihoon had to grit his teeth.

 

“Look at you,” Jihoon murmured, thumb brushing along Hyunsuk’s swollen lower lip. “So fucking horny. Your eyes are begging.” Oh, Jihoon loved playing master—loving the power Hyunsuk gave him to take over his body.

 

Another bead of pre-cum leaked from Jihoon’s tip, and he smeared it across Hyunsuk’s flushed face. The mix of Hyunsuk’s slick saliva and his own arousal made Jihoon groan low in his throat. He dragged the fat head of his cock slowly from Hyunsuk’s forehead down to his eyes, nose, and cheeks. Hyunsuk closed his eyes, shivering at the sensation, savoring every pass of Jihoon’s skin against his face.

 

When Jihoon finally reached his parted lips, he pulled away suddenly to Hyunsuk’s dismay. The latter opened his eyes in confusion. But he waited.

 

Jihoon held his jaw and squeezed Hyunsuk’s cheeks together. He devoured his mouth once again. He transferred some of his saliva. Spitting directly on Hyunsuk’s tongue. Then as their lips parted and made distance, Jihoon deliberately slapped his cock again on Hyunsuk’s lips a couple of times.

 

“Jihoon… fuck!” Hyunsuk cried. He should feel humiliated being treated like a whore but all he felt was pleasure with every pound of Jihoon’s cock on his face.

 

“I love to see you helpless. I love how you look like a broken doll. So pretty and all mine.” Jihoon breathed.

 

Hyunsuk moaned, body shivering with need. Whatever Jihoon was doing—whatever spell he was casting—he didn’t want it to stop. He was so lost in his words. His hole clenched around the cool metal of the plug still snug inside him, aching for more.

 

Jihoon tugged on Hyunsuk’s bottom lip, and the latter parted his mouth without hesitation—wide, eager, obedient. Jihoon groaned as he slid his cock past Hyunsuk’s lips, one hand fisting in his hair for control. He began to thrust, slow at first, then deeper—until the head nudged the back of Hyunsuk’s throat.

 

Hyunsuk moaned around him, one hand slipping between Jihoon’s legs to cup and massage his balls, never once breaking eye contact. He needed to see him—needed the tether. The unfiltered desire in Jihoon’s gaze felt like a path to his soul.

 

Jihoon cursed under his breath, filthy words pouring from his lips as he watched Hyunsuk take him—so eager, so fucking good. The rhythm of his hips quickened, hungry for more.

 

Jihoon bit his bottom lip, gaze dark with hunger. He slid his fingers into Hyunsuk’s mouth, playing lazily with his tongue, tracing over his teeth—then pulled out with a wet sound. Without warning, he gave Hyunsuk a playful slap on the cheek with his palm… then followed it with a backhand on the other side.

 

“Ahh!”

 

“Yes, moan for me. You like that? Stick your tongue out.”

 

Hyunsuk obeyed, tongue out, eyes glassy. Jihoon continued slapping his face—gentle but firm, enough to sting. The teasing was turning cruel, and it only made Hyunsuk harder.

 

“God… Hyunsuk Choi. You’re a fucking slut. Say it. Come on.”

 

“I’m… ah!” Another slap.

 

“Say it. Don’t make me hurt you.”

 

“Fuck,” Hyunsuk gasped. “I’m a slut.”

 

“Shit. Shit. If you had a cunt, I swear it’d be dripping for me right now. Weeping.”

 

“Ah! Jihoon—please…”

 

“But with you,” Jihoon growled, brushing Hyunsuk’s damp hair back, “the possibilities are endless. Because you can be whatever I want you to be.”

 

“Hmmmh! Please!” Hyunsuk whimpered.

 

Another slap. Then another. His cheeks were flushed now—warm and pink from the constant contact, eyes dazed, mouth still open like he was starving for more.

 

“Turn around.” Jihoon ordered.

 

Hyunsuk immediately followed as Jihoon moved from above him to give him space. He got himself in all fours making Jihoon get a view of the silver plug in his hole. Jihoon pressed into it and Hyunsuk bucked forward.

 

“Ahh! Please!”

 

“All in good time.”

 

Jihoon studied Hyunsuk’s body. It’s the first time in a long time that he’s been with a man intimately. Jihoon preferred women only because they’re less work and if anything, he didn’t want to put that much effort just to fuck.

 

But this is Hyunsuk Choi. He was definitely an exception to his rule. And every bit of Jihoon wanted to worship his body because apparently, Hyunsuk said that it’s his property. To deal with. To do as he sees fit. Jihoon closed his eyes. He couldn’t believe it. And he was so drunk on the power of it—the way it surged in his veins.

 

He glided his hands all over him as if molding a perfect sculpture, not realizing that Hyunsuk was already falling into subspace—melting, surrendering, offering his entire body like a gift.

 

Jihoon reached for the lube on the nightstand. He slicked his fingers, then pulled the plug free in one smooth motion. Hyunsuk gasped—but didn’t even have time to mourn the stretch before Jihoon replaced it with three fingers.

 

“Fuck! Fuck!”

 

“What a cunt you have.” Jihoon whispered. “You can definitely swallow me whole. Good boy.”

 

“Shitt… oh my… ah! God, Jihoon!”

 

“That’s it. Wanna hear my name, baby.”

 

Jihoon worked his fingers deep, his other hand wrapping around Hyunsuk’s cock, stroking him in time. Hyunsuk looked back at him, eyes glazed, lips parted in a silent moan.

 

“Lie back. Legs open.”

 

Hyunsuk obeyed again, settling on his back and spreading himself wide. Jihoon kissed him—hard—while his fingers teased and stretched his rim again.

 

“You ready for me?” Jihoon asked.

 

Hyunsuk looked up at him, utterly undone. “Since the first time I saw you.”

 

That was all Jihoon needed.

 

He aligned himself at Hyunsuk’s entrance without hesitation. He didn’t waste time. No preamble. It was just the raw, electric urgency between them finally snapping into motion.

 

With one fluid thrust, he pushed himself in.

 

“Fuck! What the fuck—” Hyunsuk gasped, eyes wide, spine arching off the bed.

 

“Take me,” Jihoon growled, breath ragged. His grip on Hyunsuk’s hips tightened as he drove in, deeper, harder. Hyunsuk’s body welcomed him like it had always been meant to, wet, open, and aching for more. There was no resistance. One could only hear the slick slide of cock and the obscene sound of want.

 

“Fuck! What the fuck?”

 

“Take me.” He just said and pounded into Hyunsuk’s hole that was prepped and too open for Jihoon to penetrate and abuse. It was everything Hyunsuk had been starving for. And he was fed just that. Jihoon wasn’t short on performance. He was perfect. Hyunsuk felt full and penetrated in a way that he absolutely dreamed of Jihoon doing.

 

“Shit! Jihoon!”

 

“Yeah? Fuuuck.”

 

Jihoon grunted, lowering Hyunsuk’s legs onto his shoulders as he thrust with brutal rhythm. He watched every flicker of Hyunsuk’s face—the way he moaned like prayer, how his lashes fluttered with every stroke.

 

“Put out your tongue,” Jihoon ordered, voice thick with lust. “And moan like that again. Let me see it.”

 

“Ehhhnnggghh…”

 

“Yessss, like that. Just fucking like that.” Hyunsuk obeyed, panting, tongue trembling out of his mouth. Jihoon caught it between his fingers, teasing, then guiding it as Hyunsuk whimpered around the touch.

 

He was entering his subspace completely. Jihoon was in full control of him now.

 

“Fuck,” Jihoon hissed, undone by the sight of him. “Pinch your nipples.”

 

Hyunsuk licked his palms first, then dragged them over his chest—slowly, deliberately—never breaking eye contact. His fingers found his nipples, twisting, pulling, punishing himself with the sharp sting Jihoon hadn’t even asked for. His eyes were too determined to please a master.

 

“Damn it, little devil.” Jihoon breathed, awe-struck.

 

“I need it to hurt, your highness.”

 

“How much?”

 

“As much as I can take.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“I waited for this… for so long. I watched you fuck your useless women… and you always looked at me while doing it.”

 

“You liked watching me fuck? Ahhh—”

 

“Yes… ah! Ah!”

 

“Fantasized me fucking you?”

 

“All the time.”

 

Jihoon’s groan was guttural. “Hyunsuk Choi, you’re going to be the death of me. Turn around again.”

 

He pulled out only to flip Hyunsuk over—face down, ass up—before plunging back in with force. Another moan ripped from Hyunsuk’s throat as a sharp smack landed on the curve of his ass.

 

“Fuck! Jihoon! Jihoon!”

 

“God... what the f—?” Jihoon gritted his teeth, fingers bruising Hyunsuk’s waist as he pounded in again and again. He hooked both arms behind Hyunsuk’s back, locking his wrists together and yanking him upright so he was half-bent, half-bound, fully his.

 

Hyunsuk screamed, not in pain, but in rapture. He was being fucked senseless—and he loved every second of it. He was quietly spacing in his subspace, letting Jihoon conquer his body into a spiraling abyss.

 

Hyunsuk felt it all at once. Even when being fucked senselessly, everything made sense with Jihoon. He gave it to him. He wasn’t even thinking of vanilla—wasn’t hoping for it—but it was what he expected before Jihoon even came into his room. It was their first time to have sex, he was thinking maybe Jihoon would give it to him gently first but with this… he ticked all the boxes in his checklist. He wanted him to enter his life as chaotic as it could be, being fucked like he couldn’t walk the next day.

 

He waited a long time for this. He watched Jihoon fuck his women, watched Jihoon being the boyfriend that he was to his women. But he wanted something ruthless. It was a craving that Hyunsuk really desired because growing up a Choi heir, everyone was careful about not ruining him. However, finding equality in Jihoon, he knew he would leave him undone. His wits were in disarray now, loving the ram of Jihoon’s thick cock inside him.

 

Jihoon kept going—hard, punishing thrusts paired with lube-slicked strokes, giving Hyunsuk no time to recover, just feel. Feel everything.

 

In.

 

Out.

 

In.

 

Out.

 

Slap.

 

“Ahhh! Fuck!!” Hyunsuk cried not in pain but ironically, in relief. Finally, he was getting it good. Real good in sex. Because he wasn’t out here with intentions of making love. He knew it could build later on. He wanted to be destroyed.

 

Jihoon pulled out. Flipping Hyunsuk like a doll once more to face him. He brought himself down and kissed him. “You okay?”

 

“More…” Hyunsuk croaked, his eyes glassy.

 

“Such a good little devil.” Jihoon whispered on top of his lips. And devoured him again. Hyunsuk returned them with such fervor, sharing saliva and exploring Jihoon’s mouth. He tongued his cheeks and teeth. Jihoon groaned at his talented mouth.

 

“Get on top of me. Let me watch you cum.” Jihoon said while stroking his lover’s face. Hyunsuk’s eyes fluttered open, dark with hunger. He was eager for a performance and Jihoon must be better prepared for what's to come next, he thought.

 

Hyunsuk’s eyes opened, pupils blown, dark with hunger. He didn’t say a word—just moved, smooth and graceful like sin, as he straddled Jihoon and took hold of his cock. Jihoon’s breath hitched the moment Hyunsuk lined himself up and sank down, slow and steady, keeping eye contact the whole time.

 

“Fuck,” Jihoon groaned. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

 

Hyunsuk didn’t answer. He just started to move—hips rolling, grinding, bouncing like he was performing just for Jihoon’s eyes. And Jihoon couldn’t look away. He was completely bewitched, watching the sweat shine on Hyunsuk’s collarbones, the way his lips parted with every breathy moan.

 

“Kiss me,” Jihoon whispered.

 

Hyunsuk leaned in and caught his lips, wet and open-mouthed.

 

“Love your cock,” he murmured against his mouth.

 

“Just my cock?”

 

“Hmmmhhh… your lips.”

 

“Just lips?”

 

“Pres,” Hyunsuk grinned wickedly, “if you want me to love everything about you—you’re gonna have to work harder than this.

 

Jihoon let out a breathy laugh. “I’ve been fucking you senseless and still held back because I knew you needed more.”

 

“I do…hmmhh…” Hyunsuk gasped as Jihoon bit down on his lip. “Now I’ve had you, I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting more.”

 

“What the fuck do I do with you?” Jihoon groaned. “It’s our first night, and I’m already losing my mind.” Jihoon grabbed the back of his head and kissed him rough, wet and messy, then his hand slid to Hyunsuk’s throat, fingers wrapping around it gently at first, then tightening just enough to make Hyunsuk gasp.

 

“Touch yourself,” Jihoon ordered. “Let me see.”

 

Hyunsuk obeyed, hand wrapping around his cock, stroking fast and frantic. Jihoon watched for a few seconds, then pushed his own hand over Hyunsuk’s, taking over. His thumb circled the slick head, teasing, coaxing.

 

“Don’t you dare cum yet.”

 

“Shit! Shit—!” Hyunsuk cried, back arching as Jihoon pressed his thumb to the tip and teased him ruthlessly. “Please… please!”

 

“That’s it. Beg.”

 

“Fuck!” Jihoon fisted him with eagerness, whispering filthy encouragement that made Hyunsuk’s eyes roll back. “I’m gonna—I’m gonna—please! I beg you. Let me… Jihoon ahhh!”

 

Jihoon shoved up, flipping them over in one smooth move, and fucked into him deep. Brutal and possessive. His hips snapped hard, fast, unforgiving.

 

Hyunsuk lost it—legs wrapped tight around Jihoon’s waist, moaning uncontrollably, his cock rubbing against Jihoon’s abs with every thrust.

 

“I can’t—fuck—I beg—”

 

“Hold it,” Jihoon growled, pushing in deeper. “You sound so fucking filthy. That’s it… ahh—that’s it. Moan for me, baby—sound like you’re begging… shit. You like my cock inside your cunt this much?”

 

Hyunsuk sobbed. “Yes! Yes! Please!”

 

Jihoon bit down on his shoulder, grunting through gritted teeth. “Cum for me, my filthy little devil. Cum all over me like the perfect mess you are.”

 

It only took those words. Hyunsuk’s back arched off the bed as he came with a strangled moan, “Oh god—ahhh—Jihoon—mmmf!”

 

Hyunsuk shattered—loud. He cried out Jihoon’s name as his orgasm tore through him. He thrashed beneath him, moaning and gasping as cum spilled between their bodies.

 

Jihoon shoved three fingers into his mouth, silencing his cries as he fucked him even deeper, chasing his own high. Hyunsuk sucked greedily, choking slightly, his throat clenching around Jihoon’s fingers as his body trembled from aftershocks.

 

“Fuck—fuck! Hyunsuk—God—mine—you're mine.”

 

Jihoon hissed as his climax hit, hips jerking as he spilled inside Hyunsuk, burying his face in his neck as they both rode it out, bodies locked, breathless and shaking.

 

The room was nothing but sweat, heat, and the sound of their fucked-out moans. And Jihoon didn’t stop holding him. Didn’t pull out. Didn’t move.

 

He just kept his face pressed to Hyunsuk’s skin, whispering, “Mine. You hear me? Mine.”

 

Jihoon exhaled sharply. “Mine.”

 

And that was all it took. They fell into another kiss, slower this time—unhurried, deep, and full of everything left unsaid. No promises yet. Just lips pressed together, hands holding on, hearts thudding in sync. The world outside—their families, expectations, obligations… it all faded.

 

For now, they were just two boys tangled in sweat-slick sheets, in a room too warm, with skin that still buzzed from the afterglow and a fragile bubble built around them. And neither of them was ready to let it pop.

 

Later, when the high of it all began to retreat, Hyunsuk melted into Jihoon’s chest—eyes half-lidded, voice barely above a whisper. “You really fucked the soul out of me.”

 

Jihoon huffed a laugh, but his hands were already tender, smoothing down Hyunsuk’s hair, brushing the damp strands from his forehead. “Did I hurt you, baby?”

 

“No.” Hyunsuk shook his head slowly. “You were… good. So good.”

 

“Good.” Jihoon kissed his temple. “I’ll get water.”

 

Hyunsuk didn’t move. “Not if it means leaving this spot.”

 

Jihoon just laughed and Hyunsuk groaned at their distance because he proceeded to get some water in a nearby mini fridge, where Hyunsuk kept near his bed that he was accustomed with already during their nights together. He gave an uncapped bottle to Hyunsuk. They shared the water.

 

For some reason, Hyunsuk blushed about sharing things with Jihoon. Just the idea of it.

 

Hyunsuk pouted and Jihoon obliged with a kiss once more.

 

Hyunsuk let out a shaky breath as he sank into the mattress once they broke the kiss, flushed and well spent. Jihoon was still catching his own breath, looking down at the dazed look in Hyunsuk’s eyes. “You good?”

 

Hyunsuk blinked slowly, then smirked. “I can’t feel my legs.”

 

Jihoon rolled his eyes and carefully gathered Hyunsuk into his arms, lifting him with ease.

 

Hyunsuk gasped. “Whoa—okay. Romance is alive.”

 

“You can barely walk.”

 

“I like being carried,” he said, arms looping lazily around Jihoon’s neck. “You should do this more often.”

 

Jihoon only shook his head and carried him into the en suite bathroom. He sat Hyunsuk down gently on the closed toilet lid before grabbing a clean towel and turning on the tap. The water ran warm as he soaked the cloth and began wiping Hyunsuk down—carefully, silently, like he was scared of bruising something too beautiful.

 

When he was done, Hyunsuk reached for a folded shirt on a nearby counter that he prepared earlier. “Here,” he offered, handing it to Jihoon.

 

Jihoon raised a brow.

 

“What?” Hyunsuk asked, confused.

 

Jihoon narrowed his eyes. The shirt was too oversized, clearly not Hyunsuk’s. “Whose? I’m not wearing one of your sexcapades’ shirt or Jaehyuk’s or Yoshi’s.” He said as a matter of fact. Irritation boiled inside him with just the thought of someone’s shirt left in Hyunsuk’s bedroom.

 

Hyunsuk scoffed, scandalized. But he wasn’t offended. They were open about him sleeping with other people before everything between them happened. It wasn’t even secret. Everyone knew Hyunsuk slept around.

 

“If you’re jealous, just say so, your highness.” Hyunsuk smirked teasingly. “It’s new. I bought it some time ago, just in case…” Hyunsuk stopped. Of course, he already fantasized about Jihoon having sex with him. It’s not a crime to prepare for such days. Right?

 

Jihoon didn’t move.

 

Jihoon pressed his lips into a line, taking the shirt silently.

 

He wouldn’t say it—but something warm bloomed under his skin. Like heat and softness and the dangerous realization that Hyunsuk had been thinking about this. Thinking about him. Anticipating the idea of Jihoon staying the night in his bed after sex, enough to prepare for it.

 

He slipped the shirt on eventhough he doesn’t really wear anything when sleeping and looked down at Hyunsuk again.

 

“You’re ridiculous,” Jihoon murmured.

 

“I’m thoughtful,” Hyunsuk corrected, eyes glittering.

 

Jihoon leaned in and kissed him, slow and warm, a thank you wrapped in lips and breath.

 

-

 

Hyunsuk crawled back into bed and waited for Jihoon to slide in behind him. As soon as he did, Hyunsuk curled into him instinctively, nose tucked against his throat, one leg thrown possessively over Jihoon’s hip.

 

“You’re okay?” Jihoon asked softly, voice thick with sleep.

 

“Mmm.” Hyunsuk nodded. “You didn’t just fuck me, you handled me. I didn’t expect that.”

 

Jihoon chuckled into his hair. “You talk too much.”

 

Hyunsuk grinned against his chest. “You love it.”

 

“I really… might.”

 

A beat. A breath.

 

Then Hyunsuk, quieter: “I like this… being handled and held. By you.”

 

“You’ll get more of it,” Jihoon murmured, lips brushing his temple.

 

They stayed like that—comfortable in cotton, breaths syncing, no more teasing.

 

And when Hyunsuk finally slipped under, fast asleep and worn out, Jihoon stayed awake a little longer, running a hand through his hair.

 

Because this felt dangerous.

 

And for once, Jihoon’s fear of actually wanting him was nowhere to be found. Not a single ray of it.

 

-
-
-

 

A few days had passed, and everything at Hwagyeong University had begun to return to its usual rhythm. The once tense air had eased with Han Taegun gone—his exit leaving behind a calm that Jihoon hadn’t realized he craved until now.

 

Campus was buzzing again. Sunlight filtered through the trees over Hwagyeong’s outdoor dining hall, laughter and conversation spilling from every table. Jihoon sat where he always did—at the head of the table, flanked by Yoshi and Jaehyuk, who were deep in conversation about the upcoming Aureus Order Charity Gala.

 

Two chairs away, Asahi silently flipped through a dense textbook, eyes occasionally drifting toward Jaehyuk when he thought no one was watching. Junkyu was bickering animatedly with Doyoung about chaos in their other class, while Haruto and Jeongwoo were in the middle of a heated debate about whether the third initiation party needed a theme. Junghwan was nowhere to be seen.

 

It looked like everything had gone back to normal. Almost.

 

The university still wasn’t used to seeing Jihoon without someone glued to his side. Whispers filled the halls—curiosity over who he might set his sights on next. But what they didn’t know was that Jihoon wasn’t looking. Not anymore. Not since someone had completely altered the lens through which he saw desire.

 

That someone, at this moment, was at another table, a few distances away playing princess royal. Hyunsuk was surrounded by third-batch prospects—smiling sweetly, mercilessly toying with their nerves. He had one ankle crossed over the other, his expression distant, faintly amused. Jihoon caught himself staring.

Hyunsuk looked good. Good in the way that meant trouble as usual.

 

But ENO was built on trouble. It was a cruel world they were preparing these pledges for, after all. Better they learn now than crumble later, especially if they’re legacies. ENO wasn’t for the weak.

 

“You seem to be in a good mood, Pres,” Jaehyuk commented as he followed Jihoon’s gaze.

 

Jihoon didn’t answer right away, just popped open a can of Coke and took a slow sip before replying, “A bit.”

 

Jaehyuk cleared his throat, eyes flickering with a thousand unsaid things. Ever since that night—the night when he and Hyunsuk talked—he didn’t quite know how to navigate Jihoon anymore. Especially when Hyunsuk, apparently, had ended up crashing at his room again last night. No touching though. No flirting. Just proximity. But still, Jaehyuk wasn’t sure if Jihoon knew, or worse, if he cared.

 

Jaehyuk wasn’t sure if Jihoon was even aware of this arrangement now that it's obvious to everyone that there’s something going on between the Pres and Hyunsuk.

 

Yoshi watched the tension brewing between Jihoon and Jaehyuk. It was subtle, but not subtle enough to escape him. He knew what it was really about—Hyunsuk. They were all orbiting him in different ways. Yoshi had his own quiet rivalry too, though he chose a different path. Just last night, he met with Hyunsuk’s father. It was casual on the surface, nothing overt. But the implications were there—an early signal, a step toward securing something bigger.

 

While Jihoon and Jaehyuk were still caught up trying to play their cards right through Hyunsuk himself, Yoshi had already made a smarter move: earning the goodwill of the Choi family directly. He wasn’t just playing the game. He was positioning himself where it mattered most.

 

Breaking the awkward silence, Yoshi spoke. “We should really talk about that loser frat from Gukjin.” He started. Jihoon just fixed the mess Yoshi caused with those two boys from Hwagyeong who badmouthed ENO.

 

Jihoon arched a brow. “While I appreciate how you defended your brothers, you should really know how to keep it clean sometimes.” Jihoon said as a matter of fact.

 

Yoshi shrugged. “Well… you didn’t hear them, Pres. It fucking pisses me off when they act like we don’t deserve to be top of our classes. For example, Junkyu was reciting the influence of German and American principles to the South Korean law system while I was fucking his brains out. Does that sound dumb? We’re fucking geniuses around here.”

 

“I fucking heard that, asshole.” Junkyu muttered without looking up.

 

“Anyway,” Yoshi continued undeterred, “what I’m saying is, there’s talk. About ENO losing its spark to the Aureus Order. We’re too clean, Pres.”

 

“Or we’re too messy.” Jihoon countered. “If anything, we should be more careful because from what Haruto told me about Delta Sigma Kai, they have the cleanest record Aureus had ever seen while still getting the right influence. Without legacy backing and that’s—”

 

Jaehyuk scoffed. “Don’t tell me you’re threatened, Pres. That’s so unlike you. Your uncle is part of the Order. Your grandfather was the President the past year. Why would they take off ENO’s powers while you’re President? And it doesn’t make sense. ENO? Out of Aureus?”

 

Jaehyuk said. The others huddled in now, leaving the juniors to themselves as the seniors listened in on the conversation—the playful lunch atmosphere thinning into something weightier.

 

Jihoon met Jaehyuk’s gaze with unsettling calm. “Do I look threatened to you?”

 

It landed like a blow. Jaehyuk froze. Maybe that had been the wrong thing to say—especially considering the unspoken tension about Hyunsuk’s whereabouts last night. All ten of them are equals but Jihoon could be a bit… intimidating. Maybe even for Yoshi.

 

“I got what you’re saying, Jae. But Pres is right. Maybe we have to be wary. Careful. Now that all eyes are on us.” Yoshi said.

 

Jihoon’s jaw ticked. “Exactly. You all know why we’re under the microscope. You know what happened. You know how I got this seat.” His voice dropped. “Or do you need reminding?”

 

And then—“ENO will stay on top. It’s never going down. Not on my fucking watch.”

 

They all looked back where the voice came from. Hyunsuk hopped off the balustrade with ease, his polished leather boots thudding softly against the pavement. He had a half-eaten To’ak chocolate bar in one hand and a fire in his eyes that didn’t match his teasing grin. They didn’t know how long he was there. They weren’t used to his presence during lunch lately.

 

He strolled toward the group with that familiar strut, arrogance bleeding off him like his unique expensive perfume. “We’re going to make senior year the best for us. I’ll make sure of it.”

 

There was something about being around a Choi heir that made everything feel a little more… bulletproof.

 

Jihoon roamed his eyes from Hyunsuk’s foot up to his face in full make-up. He looks his best as usual. The longing was real.

 

“Of course you will, princess. No one gets in your way, right?” Jaehyuk smirked.

 

“You know me,” Hyunsuk purred. “Now. Why don’t we prep for the Charity Gala like civilized degenerates? Doyoung, you’re still meeting my stylists, right?”

 

“Yup. I’m free later.” Doyoung forced a smile as he knew he wouldn’t be with Junghwan later. No one seemed to talk about it either.

 

The mood shifted instantly. Laughter returned. The weight of the moment dissolved.

 

Still, Jihoon and Yoshi were murmuring in low tones about Yoshi’s mess during the party, both too proud to let it drop.

 

Then Hyunsuk—never missing a beat—tilted his head toward Jihoon and said with a sly smile, “Pres, stop scowling. Don’t worry. I’ll make myself pretty for you at the Gala.” Jihoon sighed.

 

A few chuckles echoed around the table. The flirty banter between the Pres and his golden boy was back in full force. But it was Hyunsuk who was trying hardest to play it cool. He needed the air to feel light again. Needed this to feel like before.

 

Asahi, Haruto, and the others exchanged looks but said nothing. They were smart enough to know better than to speak on it out loud. Because they all knew the same truth:

 

Hyunsuk might be able to charm his way through anything—but not even he could control what would happen once his family found out that he had been engaging with the Park heir.

 

-
-
-

Twilight had settled by the time Asahi and Junkyu found themselves seated stiffly at the Hamada family gathering—shoulders nearly touching, but not quite. Everyone already knew they’d broken up. They had announced it clearly, with firm nods and matching expressions.

 

No one seemed to care.

 

To their parents, it was a phase. A dramatic pause. Nothing more. Marriage wasn’t even on the table yet, not seriously—not at their age. The adults laughed easily, wine glasses clinking in casual toasts, unfazed by their sons’ stiff silence.

 

Asahi and Junkyu quietly sipped their own drinks, annoyance shared but unspoken.

 

Asahi’s mother had leaned over earlier and whispered that she was giving them “some alone time,” which made Junkyu nearly snort into his glass.

 

Junkyu was different with Asahi. With Yoshi, he felt the he was totally being handled, controlled. There was that aura with Asahi too but he felt the need to be more dominant. He was bored again and that was dangerous. Boredom meant he wanted to have sex and Asahi isn’t really the type to be available anymore considering they’re already exes.

 

“You want me to play something?” Junkyu broke the silence, eyes fixed forward.

 

Asahi stopped twirling his butterfly knife and glanced over. “Music?”

 

“I’m bored,” Junkyu said bluntly.

 

“That sounds like more trouble than piano,” Asahi replied, already gesturing lazily toward the grand piano in the room. “Go on, then.”

 

Junkyu walked towards the grand, set his drink on the hood and sat down, fingers finding the keys with casual familiarity. Asahi followed and leaned his elbows on the polished surface, watching.

 

Then Junkyu began to sing beautifully.

 

Asahi blinked. It had been a while since he heard that voice. A very long while.

 

He moved before he even realized it, sliding onto the bench beside Junkyu. Their shoulders bumped. Their hands didn’t. Not yet. Asahi picked up the harmony, playing on the other end of the keys, then joining him in song.

 

Junkyu smiled faintly. So did Asahi. The music wrapped around them, easy and aching.

 

They didn’t notice the crowd gathering—their parents watching from behind, visibly pleased.

 

When the last note faded, applause broke the silence. It startled them both.

 

“I knew you just needed some time together,” Asahi’s father said, brimming with smug satisfaction.

 

Their parents looked far too happy. Suspiciously happy.

 

Junkyu and Asahi’s eyes met.

 

“This is weird,” Asahi murmured.

 

“I agree. Wanna get out of here?”

 

“Don’t tell me you’re bored again,” Asahi said, raising an eyebrow.

 

“I’m not.” Junkyu’s gaze lingered.

 

-

 

They walked side by side through the courtyard, taking in the lush flora and the expansive koi pond. Asahi was idly flipping his butterfly knife again, the blade catching the fading light.

 

“How’s your thing with Yoshi?” Asahi asked casually, eyes fixed ahead.

 

“What do you mean? The sex?” Junkyu replied, tone casual. “Mind-blowing.”

 

“Good for you then,” Asahi muttered.

 

“What about Jaehyuk?”

 

“What do you mean? The sex?” Asahi echoed flatly. “Mind-blowing.”

 

He slashed through a tall rose stem without looking, watching as the bloom dropped to the ground. A cruel little smile pulled at his lips.

 

Junkyu rolled his eyes. “You getting serious?”

 

“Not when he’s in love with his best friend,” Asahi said without a hint of shame. “I’ll take what I can get for now.”

 

Jaehyuk was obviously still tangled up with Hyunsuk—but in true Asahi fashion, the emotional damage just made it more interesting. Where Junkyu used sex to dull his boredom, Asahi wanted torture. He loved the agony of it.

 

“You’re settling for that?” Junkyu asked genuinely. “I guess I was too stagnant and perfect for you back then, huh? Needed that chaos much?”

 

“You sound like you’re still in love with me,” Asahi said dryly, slashing another rose clean off its stem.

 

When Junkyu didn’t respond, Asahi turned to look at him with narrowed eyes. “You’re not fucking serious right now, are you?”

 

“Okay before you say anything, I think I love what we were,” Junkyu said. “Not sure that’s the same thing.” Junkyu exhaled. “Honestly? I don’t know what I actuall feel, really. Maybe… maybe I miss the familiarity.”

 

Asahi narrowed his eyes. “Junkyu. I’m not good with sharing feelings, but—”

 

“You don’t have to say anything,” Junkyu cut in. “I like Yoshi. He makes me feel…”

 

“Like a fuck buddy?” Asahi interrupted. “‘Cause that’s what he’s been saying to us. You as well.”

 

“There are cracks in his exterior sometimes. I can’t… figure him out. But during sex, he seems really intense. I don’t know. I shouldn’t expect anything but sometimes he—”

 

“Maybe that’s because he wants to marry Hyunsuk,” Asahi said, matter-of-fact. “I heard.”

 

“You know what? This topic sucks.” Junkyu sighed as he inhaled one of the roses.

 

“I agree.”

 

“But we have to keep talking or else I get bored.”

 

“I have nothing left to say, Kyu. What do you want me to say? You’re clearly in purgatory.”

 

“Now I’m bored.”

 

And they both knew what that meant.

 

“We couldn’t have that, could we?” Asahi said, his tone soft but cutting. “Okay. Fuck me now before I change my mind.”

 

“Asahi… come on.”

 

“Fuck it. You’ll figure it out after doing me. You need to figure out why we let each other go and why you can’t just admit that you like Yoshi more than you let on.”

 

-

 

Asahi didn’t look back as he pushed his bedroom door open, flicked on a warm light, and dropped the knife onto the dresser with a lazy clink.

 

Junkyu followed, shutting the door behind him like they’d done this before. Because they had. Asahi’s room was every bit like his bedroom at the ENO Mansion, only this one was larger, of course. This was where he grew up. This was where he and Junkyu spent a lot of memories together. Junkyu could even still remember how they used to watch annoying movies quietly together on the couch.

They’re on the bedside now. “You still sleep on the left?” Junkyu asked dryly.

 

Asahi peeled off his jacket and let it fall to the floor. “You’re not sleeping.”

 

Junkyu chuckled. “Didn’t plan to.”

 

No more words. Junkyu’s hands were already on Asahi’s waist, fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt, lifting it off in one smooth motion. Asahi reached for his belt, eyes daring him to say something sentimental. Junkyu didn’t.

 

Clothes came off in practiced rhythm—like they’d never stopped doing this. Like they hadn’t fucked other people with less knowledge and more pretense.

 

Asahi sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread lazily. Junkyu dropped to his knees between them.

 

“You know,” Asahi muttered as fingers threaded into Junkyu’s hair, “you’re really better when you don’t talk.”

 

Junkyu grinned against the inside of his thigh. “Still mouthy when you’re needy.”

 

Then his mouth was on him—filthy, deep, ruthless. Asahi exhaled sharply, head tipping back, fingers tightening. It wasn’t slow. Not the least bit careful. They fucked like they knew exactly what the other could take. Like their bodies had never forgotten.

 

Asahi ended up on all fours, back arched, head down, mouth open.

 

Junkyu quickly rolled a condom then his palm pressed into the curve of Asahi’s spine as he pushed in—rough, perfectly aligned. No need for prep talk. Just the rhythm they’d worn into each other years ago.

 

“You sound like you missed this,” Junkyu groaned.

 

“No,” Asahi panted, breath hitching. “Just the way you fuck.”

 

“Same thing.”

 

He drove harder. The headboard knocked the wall. The air was thick with sweat and stifled moans and the slap of skin against skin. There was no softness about it, just need for a desperate release, like they were searching for something.

 

Asahi came first, hand fisting the sheets, biting his own arm. Junkyu chased after, spilling deep with a growl, forehead pressed between Asahi’s shoulders.

 

They collapsed beside each other, chests heaving. No one moved for a cuddling or even aftercare which they usually do.

 

There was just silence of shared breath and sticky skin.

 

Asahi turned away first, reaching for a tissue to clean himself without comment.

 

Junkyu watched him, propped on one elbow. “We still fuck well, at least.”

 

Asahi tossed the tissue in the bin and pulled the sheet over his lap. “That’s all we ever did well toward the end of our relationship.”

 

“Good enough for tonight?”

 

Asahi’s smirk was razor-thin. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was just bored too.”

 

Junkyu smirked back. “Fair.” He stretched out on the bed like he owned it. To be fair, Junkyu always felt at home there because of the scent of Asahi’s sheets because it’s where he spent most of his adult life. Asahi didn’t kick him out. It was like giving an old friend as much permission as either of them needed.

 

“I know why we broke up now.” Junkyu mumbled into the pillow.

 

“Should I be offended that you like to be fucked more rather than doing this with me? Am I that bad of a hole to you?” Asahi said, amused.

 

“I did this with you for years. If anything, I’m overdue for a switch.” Junkyu sighed. “I just like being fucked now.”

 

“Okay, that’s settled. Let’s not have sex again.” Asahi said dryly and they both laughed. “But this truce,” Asahi continued, “it has… potential.”

 

Junkyu turned his head, eyes narrowing. “If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking—”

 

“God, it’s still fucking annoying how you know me so well. Can you change that mind reading thing?”

 

“So, that’s what you’re really thinking? That both—”

 

“That both of them want to marry a goddamn Choi heir and we somehow got them on chokehold on another note?” Asahi’s grin turned predatory. “Exactly, Junkyu Kim. Why not test who really holds the leash?”

 

“Everything’s a game to you,” Junkyu muttered.

 

“And yet you’re playing,” Asahi replied.

 

“I’m just keeping you from stabbing me in my sleep with that goddamn knife.”

 

“Just don’t fall in love with me again.”

 

Junkyu snorted. “Didn’t I just say I like being fucked now?”

 

They laughed again.

-
-
-

 

The restricted section of the ENO Grand Library echoed with soft, breathy moans as Jeongwoo ground his erection against Haruto’s. Haruto sat at the edge of a long oak table, legs spread just wide enough for Jeongwoo to slot himself between them. Their mouths were locked in an endless series of wet, hungry kisses—neither noticing the creak of the heavy door opening behind them.

 

Doyoung entered, arms stacked with thick textbooks, only to pause mid-step.

 

“Ugh,” he muttered, unimpressed.

 

The couple didn’t flinch. Jeongwoo deepened the kiss, one hand gripping Haruto’s jaw while the other toyed at the hem of his shirt. Haruto moaned.

 

“Since you two are clearly back to your sickeningly in-love phase,” Doyoung said dryly, stepping closer, “mind if I ask you something?”

 

Jeongwoo simply raised a finger in Doyoung’s direction, not breaking the kiss. He was busy sucking on Haruto’s tongue like it owed him money.

 

Doyoung rolled his eyes and dropped the books onto the nearest desk with a thud.

 

Eventually, Jeongwoo and Haruto broke apart, lips swollen and eyes glassy with contentment. They turned to Doyoung in unison, looking entirely unbothered.

 

“What?” Jeongwoo asked, breathless but smug.

 

“I’ve seen you two messing around with other people during your break-up and now—”

 

“We’re still not together,” Haruto cut in, matter-of-fact.

 

“Sure, Haruto.” Doyoung rolled his eyes. Jeongwoo just laughed.

 

“Anyway,” Doyoung continued, “what I wanna know is… how did you get through it? Like—how do you still want each other after that?”

 

“Where is this coming from?” Jeongwoo asked, now curious. “Junghwan not treating you right, finally?”

 

Haruto tilted his head, waiting for Doyoung’s answer.

 

“Well, not really. He apologized for turning his head. He kinda was… is… uhm. Well there’s this girl from KRS—”

 

“Is she cute?” Jeongwoo asked immediately, earning a smack on the shoulder from Haruto. “Ow!”

 

“Let him speak, freako.”

 

“So,” Doyoung sighed, “he didn’t even plan on seeing her. I was the one who kind of… pushed it. It sounded hot at the time. But now he’s, like, actually entertaining her and…”

 

“Okay, first of all, I’m fucking mindblown. I never thought my boy Junghwan would ever do that because he’s crazy about you.” Jeongwoo said.

 

“Well, he didn’t. That’s the point. I just pushed him to do it?”

 

“Oh, babe,” Haruto cut in gently, “are you just scared that he might get tired of you one day because of how intense you guys always are?”

 

“Maybe,” Doyoung muttered. “I thought it’d be hot. Like, watching your boyfriend flirt and still end up with you? You guys do it all the time.”

 

“It’s not the same,” Jeongwoo said, now serious.

 

“How’s it different?”

 

“Because Junghwan’s not like us.” Jeongwoo leaned forward. “We flirt, we mess around. But it’s always with each other in mind. It’s still us. You’re saying Junghwan might actually be into this girl?”

 

“He said he’s curious.”

 

“Doyoung.” Jeongwoo sighed. “Do you even know your boyfriend at all?”

 

“What? Why?”

 

“He’s not a player. He’s not built for this. Haruto and I play because we know it doesn’t change anything between us. Junghwan, though? He doesn’t do meaningless. He’s the type to fall if he lets himself.”

 

“So, I messed up giving him a pass? You guys are making me nervous.”

 

“What did he say this morning?” Haruto asked.

 

“Nothing yet. He just got back from his family house and today’s the day he’ll hunt the girl.”

 

“Hunt? The one you played with your ex? You applied that same rule to Junghwan? Are you fucking crazy?” Haruto said, clutching his chest like it hurt.

 

“I must be.”

 

“Then you should enjoy the show you did. I’m just not sure you’ll still end up with your fiancé
at the end of it.” Jeongwoo said. “Fuck I’m gonna call him—”

 

“No. Don’t. Please.”

 

“Why is everyone so fucked up in here?” Haruto says. “If you wanted to watch someone have sex, Doyoung, you could’ve just asked us instead of sending your boyfriend out to seduce a stranger. That’s… actually impressive in how messed up it is.”

 

“That’s an option?” Doyoung blinked. “That’s hot of you guys. I’m so touched.” They all just laughed at how messy the situation was. It was too absurd.

 

“Well,” Doyoung added with a nervous shrug, “I guess this’ll tell me if he’s the one. If he falls for her, then…”

 

“Then what?” Haruto asked. “You’re getting married after graduation, aren’t you?”

 

“I hope he remembers that.”

 

Jeongwoo and Haruto looked at each other—no longer amused.

 

-
-
-

 

Junghwan leaned against his sleek black car, shades on, wind tousling his hair just right as he waited outside the Kappa Rho Sigma Sorority House.

 

The girl he met at the last ENO party had just returned from Hwagyeong. She stopped mid-step when she saw him.

 

“You?”

 

“I’ve been waiting,” Junghwan said casually. He took his glasses off. He looked devastatingly gorgeous. Some girls squealed when they saw him. “I don’t wait for strangers. But I waited. You should appreciate that.”

 

She raised a brow. “What, you have a praise kink or something? ENO boy?”

 

She wasn’t amused. In fact, she looked downright irritated—and for some reason, that made her even more attractive in Junghwan’s eyes.

 

What the hell was he doing here anyway? An itch? A test to himself? He felt stupid. People were starting to look. But Junghwan didn’t care. Once this girl was wrapped around his finger, he’d drop her. Just like Doyoung said.

 

Speaking of Doyoung—he stopped. He shouldn’t think about him or he’ll fail this thing that he had to do. He was here now anyway, might as well go with the flow.

 

“You’re coming with me.”

 

“To where? I don’t even know you.”

 

“Look around you.”

 

She did. Heads were turning. The other sorority girls were whispering, glaring daggers at her. She was boyish in the way she dressed. Loose jeans, oversized hoodie. But her face was too pretty to ignore. The kind of pretty that almost passed for androgynous. The kind that pissed Junghwan off just a little. Too beautiful.

 

“They know me,” Junghwan said. “But if you’re still pretending you don’t… it’s Junghwan So. Will you come with me now?”

 

She rolled her eyes. “No. Not doing the whole ENO boy picks up KRS girl cliché. I’m going to sleep. My professors drained the life out of me today. Bye.”

 

“Take one more step and I’ll grab you.” His tone darkened, almost teasing—but not quite.

 

“I’ll press charges, asshole.”

 

Junghwan scoffed. “You sure about that?” The rasp in his voice hit unexpectedly, and it made her pause. She gave him a once-over. It was quick but telling. Junghwan caught it, smirking.

 

“Did you like what you saw?”

 

“I saw nothing.”

 

“At least tell me your name.”

 

“Will that make you leave me the fuck alone?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Aera.”

 

“That’s it?”

 

“You asked for my name. Why would I give you the whole thing?”

 

Junghwan licked his lips like he’d just tasted a dare. “Fine. Let’s get you in my car next time... Aera.”

 

He slid his sunglasses back on just as more people gathered, watching. And without another word, Junghwan got in his car, started the engine, and drove off—like he hadn’t just made a scene in front of half of the people in front of KRS House.

 

-
-
-

 

The Aureus Order, as a front, had always been a philanthropic society. But it wasn’t just that. It is the umbrella organization that quietly funds, monitors, and curates the legacy of elite fraternities and sororities across South Korea and select overseas universities. Formed in the late 1800s during the rise of academic aristocracy, the Order has grown into a dynastic shadow institution, older than many of the fraternities it controls, and far more powerful.

 

It is the true Mother Fraternity behind organizations like ENO ensuring that these groups maintain influence, elegance, and discretion in their public presence.

 

The Annual Aureus Order Charity Gala is a publicly labeled as a charity event for scholarships and historical preservation, the Gala is widely understood by insiders to be, a status evaluation of ENO and other Aureus-backed fraternities, a subtle ritual to present new “worthy” members marked for future political or economic ascension and a testing ground for potential alliances, betrayals, or scandals to be managed by the Order.

 

In simpler terms, the Gala is a public display of influence by the country’s most prestigious families. Society has always functioned this way and the guest list has always been exclusive to those who matter.

 

Jihoon had received good news recently—though he wasn’t sure how it happened. Against longstanding precedent, all ENO seniors, along with a select group of junior heirs, had been invited to attend this year’s Charity Gala. Traditionally, only certain members were allowed to attend under strict quotas, even if their families were already invited. But this year, some invisible hand had pulled strings, and ENO suddenly held the largest active delegation at the Gala.

 

It was something Jihoon had long hoped to secure during his term as ENO President—and now, it was finally happening.

 

It was decided that Jihoon, along with Yoshi, Jaehyuk, and Junkyu, would forgo joining their respective family delegations to instead represent ENO directly. The remaining seniors and juniors would attend through their families' tables.

 

As for Hyunsuk and Asahi, they were still expected to sit as ENO representatives. However, their parents had insisted they also participate in the Charity Auction—a prestigious and strategic spectacle reserved for the most high-profile heirs.

 

“I want to kiss you,” Junghwan murmured, eyes fixed on Doyoung who was smoothing out the folds of his tie at the foot of ENO Mansion’s grand staircase, South Wing. “But I’d ruin how beautiful you look right now.”

 

Doyoung smirked. They had stayed in one of the guest rooms the night before instead of returning to their penthouse, prepping early for the Gala with the rest of ENO.

 

“What, couldn’t get that girl you wanted? So now you’re crawling back to me?”

 

“Baby—”

 

“Shhh. Let me be my jealous self today.”

 

Junghwan chuckled softly. “You don’t even have to be jealous of the game you started. I can stop now, if you want.”

 

“No,” Doyoung replied, voice firmer. “I want to watch you.”

 

Junghwan looked into his eyes, saw the honesty and slight ache there, and simply nodded. His gaze flicked down to Doyoung’s soft pink lips, and before he could stop himself, he leaned in—just enough to graze them with his tongue. Nothing more. He wouldn’t ruin the makeup.

 

Doyoung whimpered, a sound only Junghwan could hear.

 

“I’ll fuck you later, future Mr. So,” Junghwan whispered, low and dangerous. “Hard.”

 

Doyoung’s cheeks warmed. “Looking forward to it.”

 

Just then, Haruto and Jeongwoo descended the staircase—both dressed in bespoke black tie looks with subtle personal flair. They stopped short at the sight of Junghwan and Doyoung looking cozy, especially after everything Doyoung had admitted at the library just days ago.

 

“Glad to see you two still clinging to sanity,” Jeongwoo quipped.

 

“You’re weird as usual,” Junghwan replied, slipping a possessive hand around Doyoung’s waist, almost to prove a point.

 

“Something you wanna share, brother?” Jeongwoo asked, arching a brow.

 

“Don’t start,” Doyoung sighed.

 

Haruto caught Doyoung’s eye and offered a look of concern. Doyoung rolled his eyes and shook his head subtly.

 

“You’re all acting strange,” Junghwan repeated, just as Jihoon, Yoshi, and Jaehyuk descended next, their presence immediately shifting the energy in the room. Their expressions were unreadable, their suits sharp and deadly. They all look like the part as ENO’s representatives of the Aureus Order.

 

“Where are the others?” Yoshi asked as the group—now seven strong—gathered at the base of the stairs. For the first time in history, Jihoon wanted a show. As all ten seniors were powerful heirs, he requested that all of them enter the Gala together like they always do when they enter the quad at Hwagyeong—an unmistakable display of dominance. If they’re meeting other universities there, showing up with a lot of active members, with some juniors too at the back of their entourage, it would show people how untouchable they always were no matter what gets in their way.

 

The three who had just arrived leaned casually near the baluster, Jihoon’s stoic exterior masking his growing annoyance. Hyunsuk still hadn’t arrived. They hadn’t seen much of each other since that night—their night—and though both had been consumed with Gala preparations, Jihoon couldn’t shake the gut feeling that Hyunsuk was drifting again. Sleeping with Jaehyuk, maybe. Falling back into old habits. He glanced at Jaehyuk, who quickly looked away.

 

“I think Hyunsuk’s still with his stylists. We prepped together in his quarters a while ago.” Doyoung answered. “He’s usually late anyway. I don’t know about Asahi and Junkyu, though.”

 

Almost on cue, Asahi and Junkyu appeared at the top of the stairs.

 

And it was… a moment.

 

They looked radiant—otherworldly even. Laughing as if they hadn’t broken each other’s hearts. As if they hadn’t broken at all. The glow of something intimate clung to them, whether it was sex or peace, no one could tell—but they were shining.

 

“Whoa,” Doyoung whispered, awed, amazed too at how they appeared. And… together. Not joining hands but together.

 

They got down as if on slow-mo. Jaehyuk and Yoshi gaped of course—their hearts frantic. These were the two boys they’d allow to get hurt? Just to what? For power? Ambition? They were too stunned to speak.

 

Asahi made eye contact with Jaehyuk, unreadable but soft. Junkyu to Yoshi as well, and the latter didn’t realize he was holding his breath.

 

But then as if the spell that was cast by Asahi and Junkyu broke, Hyunsuk began to appear behind the two. Everything else faded.

 

He was breathtaking.

 

His hair had been styled differently now—sharper at the edges, sleeker, more mature—but the softness of his features still shone through. Instead of his usual maximalist chaos, his look was refined. Tailored. Subtle glitter in all the right places. He looked like he belonged to the night. Like a star in human form.

 

No one breathed.

 

Even Jeongwoo and Haruto fell silent.

 

Hyunsuk didn’t look at anyone else. Not the crowd.

 

His eyes were locked on Jihoon.

 

And Jihoon’s breath caught. Because that was his. Whether the world saw it or not.

 

Asahi and Junkyu shared a glance just as Yoshi and Jaehyuk turned, both visibly struck by Hyunsuk too. But that split-second eye contact between Asahi and Junkyu sent the wrong signal—at least to the wrong people.

 

Yoshi stiffened with irritation. When did Junkyu start talking to Asahi like that again?

 

And Jaehyuk blinked in confusion.… why did that bother him so much?

 

Yoshi tried to refocus. He should be thinking about Hyunsuk—he just met with the Chois the other night, for Chrissake. And later at the Gala.

Jaehyuk, meanwhile, was still being cornered by his parents to at least make a good impression on the Chois too even if they already told them that he wasn’t sure about pursuing Hyunsuk anymore.

 

And yet—here they both were. Yoshi and Jaehyuk. Heads clouded, their eyes were straying. They spiraled. Were Asahi and Junkyu back together?

 

They were glowing.

 

-
-
-

 

The Aureus Order’s Charity Gala was at its peak—a spectacle of opulence held at the Grand Hall of the Hwagyeong Imperial Museum, a landmark reserved only for the nation’s most elite. Gilded ceilings loomed above a floor of polished marble that shimmered like water beneath the warm glow of crystal chandeliers. The air was thick with old money, new power, and generational legacies all converging into one evening of social theater. Every guest had been handpicked. Every presence, calculated.

 

Reporters lined the velvet barriers, snapping endless shots of celebrities, politicians, and CEOs—each arrival marked by whispers, gasps, and flashes. Representatives from South Korea’s most prominent fraternities had taken their places too. Even the delegation from Delta Sigma Kai of Gukjin University—not yet inducted into the Aureus Order but invited nonetheless—had arrived with heads high, as if proving they already belonged.

 

The atmosphere shifted, subtly but unmistakably, when the officers of the Aureus Order entered—elderly, sharp-eyed men in tailored suits, with polished canes and barely-there smirks. And behind them, the chaebols. The titans of industry. The Parks and the Chois among them—not even acknowledging each other’s presence. Their silent tension added another layer of unspoken politics to the air.

 

But no one moved quite like ENO.

 

Their entrance wasn’t immediate—no. It was timed. Deliberate. Jihoon always knew how to orchestrate spectacle without excess. He knew exactly when to shift the mood of a room. And so, as the last of the high-ranking dignitaries settled, the entrance doors opened again—and the real show began.

 

The ENO juniors came first.

 

They entered the Grand Hall of the Hwagyeong Imperial Museum with the sharp discipline of soldiers and the polish of aristocrats—hand-picked ENO initiates in immaculate black-tie, tailored to perfection. They were still earning their place, but tonight, they were given the first taste of true power. Their entrance was silent but not invisible. The crowd turned. These were boys bred to become kings soon, and everyone knew it.

 

Then the shift happened again.

 

The gilded doors opened again—wider this time, the air stiff with anticipation. Like their power entrance at the Hwagyeong quad…

 

Yoshi and Jaehyuk first appeared.

 

Like twin blades drawn from the same sheath, they moved with terrifying symmetry. Yoshi in full noir velvet and Jaehyuk in pale winter gray. Their contrast was calculated, the kind of duality that demanded attention. Cameras flashed. Whispers rippled like heat through the room. They didn't even need to look around to know they were being watched. They always were. This was performance. This was declaration. Their names weren’t just known—they were felt. Both devastating to look at.

 

Then came Doyoung and Junghwan.

 

Hand in hand. Their engagement had been announced only days prior, and yet the strength of it already felt ancient. Their families' alliance was the talk of business forums and luxury tabloids alike, and tonight, they wore that bond like armor. Junghwan, ever graceful, nodded to a few dignitaries but Doyoung didn’t bother. His eyes were forward, jaw tight, claiming space as if he were born for it—which he was.

 

Jeongwoo and Haruto followed, casual as sin.

 

Both in black, no tie, no apology. Their disheveled elegance was deliberate, the kind that belonged to heirs who didn’t need approval. Jeongwoo’s languid walk beside Haruto’s predator stride was magnetic—drawing stares not just for their beauty, but for the quiet threat they carried. A warning: we don’t care about your rules.

 

And then—silk and silver—Asahi and Junkyu.

 

The effect was instant. Gasps, camera shutters, murmurs growing louder by the second. Ethereal wasn’t enough to describe them. They were unreal—crafted from dream and menace, moonlight and blade. They looked like they belonged on the cover of a royal coup. Their eyes gave nothing away. But the quiet tension between them told stories the crowd wasn’t meant to hear. Whispers had returned: Their families were seen negotiating. They’re glowing. But beneath that glow, Asahi’s fingers itched for the knife hidden inside his custom Dior, and Junkyu’s smile was stretched too tight.

 

Then the silence.

 

The kind that made people straighten their posture and hold their breath.

 

Jihoon entered.

 

No intoduction. No warning. Just presence. Like royalty whose bloodline ran deeper than anyone dared to question. His suit was ink-black, cut so sharply it could wound. Every step echoed across the marble, heels precise, movments fluid, spine a perfect line of power. He was ENO’s President. Hwagyeong’s King. No one dared approach. They only watched.

 

But then—a ripple of shock.

 

Because flanking him… was Hyunsuk Choi.

 

For his second time at the Gala, Hyunsuk didn’t arrive with his family, the formidable Choi dynasty seated on the upper platform. He arrived with ENO. With Jihoon. And for the frst time, it felt like the weight of both names had merged into something bigger than legacy. Something impossible to ignore.

 

The crowd held their breath.

 

Jihoon walked slightly ahead, Hyunsuk a half step behind—not out of deference, but by design. It had always been like that even at Hwagyeong. A shared choreography of power. Jihoon was unreadable. Hyunsuk? He smiled. A quiet, devastating smile that cut through the room like perfume in the air. He was a mix of seductive, dangerous, utterly in control. Finally, he was being seen as the most powerful heir in the room.

 

The Park–Choi double presence was nuclear.

 

And then, breaking Gala protocol, no one sat at the space provided for Epsilon Nu Omega Fraternity. But instead, they scattered.

 

Under Jihoon’s orders, each ENO member peeled off deliberately. They all moved toward their own family’s designated tables—never losing composure, never losing purpose. The last of it, Jihoon moved to the Parks. Hyunsuk to the Chois.

 

And yet the effect remained unified. Even apart, they carried the same electric thread.

 

They didn’t need to stay together to show dominance. Because now the room understood something.

 

Together, they were unstoppable. But even alone, they were unmatched. They can definitely stand on their own.

 

-
-
-

 

“Hyunsuk, you know what to bid on, right?” his father asked, voice low but firm beneath the swell of the orchestra.

 

“Of course, Father,” Hyunsuk answered, the corners of his lips barely twitching.

 

The auction hadn’t begun. A symphony still played by the orchestra, sweeping through the marble hall like a tide. The chandelier above cast light like diamonds scattered across velvet. But Hyunsuk’s mind was elsewhere.

 

“Excuse me,” he said softly, rising. “I need to go to the restroom.”

 

He slipped away, walking with measured steps, not rushed but driven. The private restrooms were tucked around the corner from the ballroom, down a gilded corridor where footsteps echoed too loudly. But the moment he pushed the door open—

 

Jihoon was already there.

 

Hyunsuk barely had a second to blink before he was slammed into the wall.

 

Lips crashed into his. A gasp broke from his throat before it was swallowed by Jihoon’s mouth, hard and urgent, almost punishing. Jihoon didn’t wait—he pressed against him, chest to chest, thigh wedged between Hyunsuk’s legs.

 

“Jihoon…” Hyunsuk breathed, caught somewhere between amusement and hunger.

 

“Little devil,” Jihoon muttered into his mouth. He bit down on Hyunsuk’s lower lip and dragged it with his teeth. “You’ve been driving me insane.”

 

“Missed me?” Hyunsuk teased, breathless already.

 

“What do you think?” Jihoon’s hands slid down his waist, gripping his hips, pulling him flush. Their bodies locked. Jihoon thrust his hips forward—slow, grinding. Dry, but intimate. “You look—fuck.”

 

“Good?” Hyunsuk moaned, the friction making his knees weak.

 

“But I can’t fuck you,” Jihoon groaned, forehead pressing to his. “Not now.”

 

“Nope.” Hyunsuk licked his lips. “Not here.”

 

“Where have you been sleeping?”

 

“Why? You jealous?” Hyunsuk tilted his head, eyes dangerous. “You’re needy now, Pres?”

 

“You’re killing me, Hyunsuk. You’re mine.”

 

“Really?” Hyunsuk let himself be kissed again, mouth open, accepting. He rolled his hips up once—taunting, hot. Jihoon’s grip on him tightened.

 

“Who’s bidding later?” Jihoon asked against his jaw. “Your father or you?”

 

“Me,” Hyunsuk said, voice low, fingers sliding under Jihoon’s jacket, grabbing at his belt.

 

“Can you bid for the Parks, too?”

 

“I was planning to,” Hyunsuk smiled.

 

“So it’s war, huh?”

 

“Looks like it, little devil,” Jihoon smirked, and Hyunsuk couldn’t help the soft groan that followed.

 

“For every major auction piece I win…” Hyunsuk whispered, his hips moving slow against Jihoon’s, “that’s how many times you’ll make me cum.”

 

Jihoon bit back a sound. “And for mine?”

 

“Your choice,” Hyunsuk smirked.

 

Jihoon’s breath hitched. He dragged his lips along Hyunsuk’s cheek, stopping near his ear. “Then listen closely. For every piece I win… those will be the number of consecutive nights you’ll spend with me.”

 

Hyunsuk stilled.

 

“No escape,” Jihoon murmured. “No going back to your room. No sneaking out to flirt with anyone else. You’ll be locked in with me. For days.”

 

“You’ll hold me prisoner,” Hyunsuk whispered, body betraying him with how hard he pressed forward.

 

“Exactly.” Jihoon kissed his neck once, a soft graze of teeth. “Better win more than me, Choi. No donation games. Play fair.”

 

“You’re really a rival, Park.” Hyunsuk breathed, voice shifting—sharp now, dangerous. It was the first time he called him Park like that.

 

Jihoon’s eyes lit up with that chill.

 

They kissed again—rough, desperate, too much teeth. Hyunsuk clawed at Jihoon’s back, grinding until his thighs trembled. Jihoon grabbed at his ass like they weren’t both due back any time now.

 

Eventually, they broke apart. Breathing ragged. Cocks aching.

 

The orchestra had stopped.

 

“Pres, the auction’s starting,” Hyunsuk said, still panting, lips red, hair mussed.

 

“Then let’s go,” Jihoon smirked. “War’s on, little devil.”

Chapter 9: Forbidden Puzzles

Summary:

At the Gala, there were unexpected meetings that sparked the beginning of tension and intrigue.

The ENO boys found themselves once more in a kind of purgatory with their love interests, only this time, with the dawning awareness of how much they stood to lose rather than gain.

Notes:

I know that some of you are in a constant battle of whether patience is really a virtue. 🫠 I am honored that you're actually waiting for this tho. Thank you for reading fratboys.

This was weeks worth of emotional damage fr. Enjoy, teume.

Jihoon, growing up, was every bit the mischief incarnate.

 

He was the epitome of a spoiled brat—pampered, entitled, and used to getting whatever he wanted. Which made it all the more surprising how he turned out to be a responsible young adult, now serving as ENO’s President. For nearly three years, Jihoon had led the fraternity with maturity that seemed almost unnatural to those who knew the boy he used to be.

 

Jihoon was the heir. His parents gave him everything, not out of affection but obligation. He wasn’t born brilliant so he had to push academically like everyone else. But unlike most, as a child, he was trained by elite tutors, handpicked scholars hired to mold him into the successor his family needed. If his parents hadn’t been so fixated on him, Jihoon might have gone bad. Really bad.

 

Because there’s something sinister in Jihoon. Something dangerous, like a dormant fault line.

 

Children raised in his world often turned arrogant, believing the world owed them its knees. Jihoon, however, had been conditioned early into a different mindset—that of a leader. As he grew, he buried the darker parts of himself. He didn’t destroy them. Just hid them. Kept them still. But they were never gone.

 

There were incidents, of course—back in middle school.

 

Hearsays of violence, quietly handled.

 

Jihoon despised weakness. He couldn’t stand people who surrendered to defeat. In his mind, there was no such thing as hopelessness—only a refusal to fight.

 

That mindset once drew him to a group of eight boys at his elite school. They were infamous, arrogant, untouchable, strutting through the halls like kings. Jihoon didn’t admire their cruelty, but he admired the power they wielded. The presence. Then they cracked.

 

Failed their subjects. Some talked about dropping out. Others crumbled under their parents’ fury. Jihoon thought it was pathetic.

 

They hadn’t killed anyone. They were just flunking. Why fall apart now?

 

He wanted to shake them back into shape. So he provoked them. He didn’t want to waste time but he was frustrated. He couldn’t believe that he once admired them. Now, they’re trash.

 

After class, at a secluded corner behind the school where the boys were holding what felt like a final meeting, Jihoon showed up. Challenged them. Dared them to fight.

 

One of them, their unspoken leader—scoffed, “What, you’re gonna punch all of us? You won’t get your hands dirty. You’re a Park.”

 

Jihoon smiled coldly.

 

“Not punch. I’m going to kill you all.”

 

Then he lunged.

 

Eight against one.

 

It was brutal. Bloody. Not just fists, but fury. Jihoon didn’t walk away unscathed, but he stood taller than any of them. He didn’t mean to kill them literally—only the weakness in them. It was their fear and surrender that he wanted. But he didn’t stop until two were in comas. He brought them to the edge of death and knew exactly when to pull back.

 

His instructor had taught him that. An ENO alumnus who had been training Jihoon to lead since he was three. He knew how to throw and control his force. Jihoon was built strong.

 

That incident was just one of many. His violent past made the other seniors look tame. They all knew this about Jihoon because it was a must to read profiles on the most prominent figures that they would encounter.

 

This was why no one dared to get in his way.

 

When Jihoon finally entered ENO, there was no question. He instantly became the face of the Blood Party. During his first night, he fought a lot of upperclassmen and came on top. His name was on everyone’s lips: The Rib Cracker.

 

-
-
-

 

Epsilon Nu Omega Initiation Night (First Batch)
Four years ago

 

Hyunsuk spat saliva and a bit of blood, the metallic taste flooding his mouth, he might lose a tooth, but still he raised his head, willing to take more of what the Initiators could give and unwilling to give the satisfaction of seeing him break.

 

His right leg, though, was another story. The skin was already mottled black; one more hit and it might give out entirely. For the first time that night, a flicker of fear ran through him. He could feel his senior would hit him next after the two initiates who were still taking blows before him.

 

His left eye was swelling shut, the ache deep and hot, promising a bruise that would darken by morning. Still, pride anchored him in place. This was ENO. You didn’t walk away. You either made it through or you didn’t exist at all. If he wanted to rule society, this was the cleanest, surest path. His parents had raised him for this day. The final day. The one that decided where he stood. He was a Choi. He wouldn’t be the one in his family who failed. Privileged nasty pieces of work like him took the blows because they could and because the payoff would be astronomical.

 

Fuck. Hyunsuk cursed in his head. His training meant nothing here. The air reeked of blood and sweat, sharp and heavy enough to taste. Around him, every initiate was running on fumes, but no one surrendered. They were holding the line. Hyunsuk reminded himself exactly who he was, the name he carried, and let a slow, arrogant scoff curl his lips.

 

Being invited in the first roster of initiates had only confirmed it—ENO was his destiny. He was top of the list. He was certain.

 

He looked ahead at the boy in front of him, just as battered but somehow steadier. Jihoon Park.

 

Footsteps. The Initiator stopped in front of him.

 

“‘Sup legacy? You’re a legacy right? Based on that smirk? It’s you again.” He raised the cane, meaning to hit Hyunsuk once again. Hyunsuk braced, breath slow, ready for the pain, he did not dare close his eyes, a rule he didn’t want to break until Jihoon spoke.

 

“You sure you want to cut a Choi’s leg in exchange for your neck?” He said this out loud that all activities in the underground initiation room, stopped. Hyunsuk had to commend the guy’s bravery and fearlessness.

 

The Initiator’s eyes flicked to Jihoon. “Look closely, sunbae,” Jihoon added, his tone dripping sarcasm. He wiped the dripping blood from his cheek with the back of his hand. For a split second, Hyunsuk’s gut tightened. Was Jihoon about to take the blow for him? He didn’t just disrespect an ENO senior, did he? Despite their status, Jihoon knew better than to do that. They were nothing but pledges as of the moment.

 

The Initiator studied Hyunsuk again, and this time his swollen features were almost unrecognizable. His expression flickered—just a fraction—before hardening again.

 

“Who are you, bastard?!” the senior demanded, turning on Jihoon. Bastard? Now, that triggered Hyunsuk.

 

He let out a scoff. “He’s far from a bastard.”

 

“Come again?”

 

“He’s Jihoon Park, sunbae.” Hyunsuk said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

 

The Initiator swallowed but didn’t step back. No way in hell was he going to be seen bowing to two pledges in the middle of initiation just because they’re heirs to the most powerful families in the country. But he must admit, he was already hanging by a thread. Heirs don’t get good treatment even at initiation but looking at the state of Jihoon and Hyunsuk, it might affect his connections in the near future. But the senior kept his demeanor—there’s no way he’ll falter.

 

“What? You want special treatment? You want to stop and the little shits beside you will continue?! Is that it, legacies?”

 

Hyunsuk and Jihoon locked eyes. It wasn’t planned, but it was enough—an unspoken pact. They both knew this had to end before lasting damage was done. Midterms were next month. A hospital bed wasn’t an option. They had standards. Not that Hyunsuk really needed to study. But he doesn’t know Jihoon’s mental capacity yet. Maybe he needed help in academics.

 

It’s wild that he cared about Jihoon’s welfare at this time. For Hyunsuk, it wasn’t even his own leg he cared about. He needed Jihoon out of here before the idiot got himself crippled. Hyunsuk thought it was ridiculous that he was attracted to Jihoon Park of all people.

 

But it wouldn’t hurt him either for the ridiculous torturous initiation to stop now—more time to destroy everyone in the academic rankings. Especially now that some genius named Jeongwoo and that tech prodigy slash heir Haruto guy were in the running to take his place.

 

There’s no way in hell Hyunsuk won’t run for top of the class. No shit. He thought.

 

He was already too willing to give Jihoon ENO’s Presidency. He won’t stoop below Summa Cumlaude at the finish line or there would be war.

 

“Sunbaenim,” Jihoon said evenly, “I’m not asking you to stop. I’m just asking if you’re sure you want to cut a Choi’s leg in exchange for your neck.” Jihoon repeated once again with that ridiculous threat.

 

Hyunsuk admired the audacity. But he wasn’t bowing out. Like he said, he was a Choi. Besides, he’s already numb. His father would see him patched up regardless. The real play here was time. Every exchange of words bought them a few precious seconds to breathe, to stall the next blow. Smart. Jihoon had weaponized their rivalry into a shield. Hyunsuk was impressed.

 

“Don’t mind him, sunbae,” Hyunsuk said, his voice steady, almost bored. “I can take it.”

 

“I’ll take the blow for him—if you’ll allow it, sunbae,” Jihoon countered.

 

“Well, well,” the Initiator sneered. “I thought your families were rivals. What’s this?”

 

“The last thing I want is a Park saving my ass. Cane me, sunbae,” Hyunsuk shot back.

 

“You dare command me, first year?!” The senior’s tone was sharp, but his stance wavered—torn between proving dominance and the reality of striking two of the most powerful heirs.

 

Jihoon’s gaze stayed steady. He was keeping this under control, reading Hyunsuk carefully. Then Hyunsuk smirked—bloody, swollen, but still cocky. The nerve.

 

And then, just as quickly, he went serious.

 

This was an alliance now. Hyunsuk gave the smallest nod. The seniors murmured among themselves, deciding what to do next.

 

Finally, the Master Initiator’s cane struck the floor twice—sharp and final. “Enough,” he said. “They’ve proved themselves.” The other initiates let out breaths.

 

Jihoon straightened and Hyunsuk wanted to laugh at the power they just held. His smile was faint but dangerous—like he’d known they’d win from the start.

 

Their eyes met again for a second. They hadn’t only endured the night. They’d claimed it.

 

And for the first time in ENO’s history, the seniors weren’t just accepting new members. They were conceding to two of them in a way.

 

-
-
-

 

A week and half later, it was finally ENO’s Welcoming Party. Only members, their connections, dates, and a few handpicked guests were allowed in. Not a small gathering, but not so big that it lost its exclusivity—big enough to be the talk of the town. Anyone would envy the invited.

 

Jihoon, Hyunsuk, Junkyu, Jaehyuk, Jeongwoo, Junghwan along with the first pledges, were being celebrated.

 

The burn of alcohol was welcome on Hyunsuk’s tongue. The swelling of his eyes were gone but he still wore make-up to cover up the mess on his face. Bruises peeked through the sheer white shirt under his over-the-top luxury vest. Diamonds and white gold caught the light at his wrists, neck, and ears.

 

He was dressed in every possible way to make sure no one saw weakness. Tonight, he was finally an ENO member—one step closer to becoming brilliant.

 

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Hyunsuk asked Junkyu, a pledge and sort-of ex-boyfriend. They’d dated briefly back in high school and spent the cocktail meet pretending not to know each other.

 

Junkyu was pouring two beers at the makeshift bar.

 

“He’s at the bonfire. I’m getting us drinks.”

 

“I see. Do we keep pretending we don’t know each other, Kyu?” Hyunsuk asked, smirking, clearly tipsy now.

 

“Not really, Hyuns. Our time together was short anyway. I’m pretty sure Asahi won’t mind knowing you. You’ll be brothers soon too. He’s just been invited earlier by Fuji sunbaenim to be a pledge for the second batch.”

 

“Interesting. Maybe I should talk to sunbae too. I’ll suggest someone who really fits ENO.”

 

“Hmm. Your other friend? Yoshi, am I right? That scary one from the cocktail party.”

 

“Yes—”

 

“Choi.” A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped in—the Master Initiator. The one who had idly watched and then voted to stop the bloodbath. He closed the space between them without hesitation. Junkyu just chuckled in amusement, slipping away.

 

“Nice talk, Hyuns. I’ll check on Asahi.”

 

“Sure,” Hyunsuk replied, eyes still locked on the newcomer.

 

“Naoki sunbae.”

 

“You remembered my name.” Naoki smirked. “Drop the formalities. I don’t mind.”

 

“How could I not know? You saved me from hell.” Hyunsuk bit his bottom lip. “Besides, I don’t forget eye candy… Naoki.” His gaze swept slowly from Naoki’s shoulders, down the length of him, lingering just long enough before returning to meet his eyes again.

 

Naoki Ishihara huffed and smirked at this. He immediately leaned in with deliberate flirtation, and intoxicated, in the mood for fun, Hyunsuk met him halfway. Naoki was attracted to him, most definitely.

 

His arms slid around Naoki’s neck, the crowd blurring behind them not until movement on the far couches caught his eye. Jihoon. There he was, a girl draped across his lap, head bent in easy conversation. But his gaze… it was fixed on Hyunsuk.

 

The senior’s mouth found Hyunsuk’s, hot and insistent. He kissed back, but didn’t break eye contact with Jihoon, who now stared at how Naoki was devouring his mouth. Hyunsuk let Naoki’s hands explore freely, let himself be lifted and set atop a beer barrel, their lips colliding again. Jihoon looked away.

 

It’s not like Hyunsuk was crazy for Jihoon already. He wasn’t obsessed with Jihoon—not yet. Sort of. Maybe that night at the party. The first time he saw him. Hyunsuk was obsessed. He thought he’d get over it by now. He gave it time.

 

But his presence was hard to ignore. Since the cocktail meet, their paths had crossed daily: same halls, some same classes. Hyunsuk still couldn’t name the fixation. Part of him wanted to see Jihoon on top of him, in every sense—to watch him sit in a seat of power. But he wasn’t entirely sure Jihoon was the one who could truly handle him.

 

Because somehow… this Naoki guy seemed pleasant enough to handle him. Actually… most of ENO showed interest and promise, especially the upperclassmen.

 

And yet… Jihoon Park annoyingly gets to him. Father would be over the moon. He thought sarcastically. Maybe it really was the rivalry thing.

 

“Wanna fuck, Choi?” Naoki’s voice was a low groan against his lips. He drifted back from thoughts of Jihoon to the person he was actually kissing. Naoki tasted sweet from the cocktail he drank and the lip balm he used. He was Hyunsuk’s typical type. Toned shoulders, bigger than him, soft hair, ridiculously good-looking, knows how to kiss but…

 

“Not tonight, sunbae.” Hyunsuk traced a slow line down Naoki’s chest with one finger. “Still sore. You guys might’ve caned me a little too hard last time—at initiation. And…” his lips curved, “I’m still deciding if you’re worthy of having me.”

 

“Fuck, you’re so hot.” Naoki chuckled, kissing him harder, hands sliding from his ribs down to the curve of his ass. Hyunsuk’s gaze drifted sideways. Jihoon was watching again. He smirked.

 

Naoki’s tongue found his neck; Hyunsuk exhaled a soft moan. “God,” Naoki breathed, “what does it take to fuck you?”

 

“Tempting,” Hyunsuk murmured. “I’ll think about it.”

 

“I can handle you if you’ll let me.” Naoki said confidently.

 

Hyunsuk laughed lightly. “Oh, I don’t know if you can. But I’ll give you a chance to prove yourself.”

 

“You dare say that to your senior?”

 

“Because I can. I’m Hyunsuk Choi.”

 

“Yeah? And what does ‘I’m Hyunsuk Choi’ entail? I’m still an ENO senior and Master Initiator.”

 

“Not that it’s obvious…” Hyunsuk spoke on top of Naoki’s lips and whispered. “I’m the richest man in this room. In this place. In this country, actually. Next to my father, of course. I can make you kneel for me if I wanted to… hyung.”

 

“Damn it, I’m so hard for you.”

 

“I can see that.” Hyunsuk looked at Naoki’s bulge in front of his pants. He pushed him a little and got down the barrel. He kissed him again. “But maybe next time.”

 

“Princess. There you are.” Jaehyuk called out from afar and as he went near, his arm hooked firmly around Hyunsuk’s waist from behind, his breath warm against Hyunsuk’s neck.

 

Hyunsuk’s laugh was light, almost delighted. “Hey.” He leaned in to Jaehyuk’s inappropriate touch.

 

Naoki’s jaw tightened. “You two together?”

 

“Are we together, Jae?” Hyunsuk asked over his shoulder. Jaehyuk barely lifted his head to say “no,” before pressing his face back to Hyunsuk’s neck.

 

“You heard him,” Hyunsuk grinned. “He wishes, though. Only because he’s horny for me all the time and nothing else.”

 

“I kind of do wish,” Jaehyuk said easily, before meeting Naoki’s stare. “Unfortunately, sunbae, he’s not free for fucking at the moment. Maybe he’ll oblige in weeks. Or… months.”

 

“And… you decide for Hyunsuk?”

 

“No,” Jaehyuk said, unbothered. “I just know him well. Did he ask to fuck you yet, Princess?” Jaehyuk asked Hyunsuk endearingly.

 

“He did,” Hyunsuk said brightly. “Isn’t he hot?” They both looked at Naoki.

 

“By your standards, sure.” Jaehyuk’s smirk was sharp.

 

Hyunsuk watched Naoki falter, caught between irritation and fascination. Jaehyuk’s arrival had shifted the ground beneath him, and the tension in the air was bait Hyunsuk knew men couldn’t resist.

 

Men like people they can’t have. More like… him. To Jihoon.

 

Naoki finally exhaled, masking frustration. “Tell me when you change your mind, Hyunsuk.”

 

Gotcha. Hyunsuk smiled. It was too easy.

 

“A goodbye kiss, then? Naoki?” Hyunsuk asked. Naoki’s eyes flicked to Jaehyuk’s hands, still locked on Hyunsuk’s waist.

 

“How?” He asked.

 

“Oh, don’t mind me, sunbaenim,” Jaehyuk said smoothly, stroking Hyunsuk’s sides. “Kiss him.”

 

Naoki stepped forward. And Hyunsuk wrapped his arms around his neck. “You’re so fucking hot, Hyunsuk Choi. If I can’t have you fully, I’ll fuck you once. Hard. I’ll fucking fill you up.”

 

Hyunsuk’s eyes slid toward Jihoon. Still watching. He breathed out slowly, then tilted his head as Jaehyuk kissed along his neck.

 

Naoki’s mouth claimed his in a heated tangle of tongues. Hyunsuk groaned, swaying between them to the bass drop from the DJ’s booth—Naoki’s body pressed firm against his front, Jaehyuk’s against his back. He felt their erections digging as they moved to the music.

 

And he made sure Jihoon who was sitting across the area would never forget what he saw.

 

-

 

A few more drinks in, Naoki had already found someone else to drape himself over. Hyunsuk had made it clear he wasn’t in the mood for sex tonight—not with cracked ribs and a bruised side still throbbing. He wasn’t stupid. Still… the temptation was there. Naoki’s lips were a work of art, and for a split second, Hyunsuk almost gave in.

 

At least Jaehyuk was around to keep him in check.

 

“You keep looking at Park,” Jaehyuk remarked, tossing back a shot of tequila. He flicked the empty glass toward a nearby bin like it was a basketball hoop. It went in. He didn’t even look pleased with himself.

 

Hyunsuk rolled his eyes. “He keeps staring at me. I’m just returning the favor.”

 

“You like him?”

 

“I don’t know. He’s—”

 

“Your type.”

 

Hyunsuk smirked. “You know me too well.”

 

“But he’s a Park.”

 

“I’m aware, thank you very much. It’s not like I want him to be my boyfriend. Maybe I just… want to have sex with him.”

 

Jaehyuk laughed. “Then why don’t you?”

 

“I’m not sure if he’s down. He’s a bit prideful and egoistic. Textbook alpha. And he probably hates me. Our families don’t exactly do dinner together.”

 

“He saved you from more damage at initiation though. No offense, Sukkie but I would never save you that night. I was already bleeding to fucking death. It was fun though.”

 

Hyunsuk laughed. “Oh, he didn’t save me. He just wanted to humiliate me and that he wanted the ‘Park saved a Choi’ narrative to pass on. If anything it was annoying. But still…”

 

“You want to be fucked.”

 

“Exactly. He’s soooo hot. What should I do? Ugh.”

 

“I’m not sure Yoshi would appreciate you lusting after Park. He hates the guy.”

 

“Only because Father drilled it into his skull. They’re tight lately. Yoshi’s been handling more of his family’s mafia business now that he’s at Hwagyeong. He was training. My Dad’s impressed.”

 

“I still don’t get why he hasn’t been invited to ENO yet,” Jaehyuk said. “I thought he’d get in before me.”

 

“Maybe President Jong-dae’s wary of him. Can’t risk ENO’s image. Even though Yoshi’s family is deeply rooted in politics, we all know that it was just a front and the main shit was still the mafia, right?”

 

“Maybe. Aren’t you with him last night? What’d he say?”

 

“Yup. I stayed at his place. He asked me to sleep with him because apparently, I’ll be moving into the ENO mansion this morning.” He shook his head in amusement. “I’ll make a way. He’s sulking last night to not being invited on the first roster. I actually invited him to this party but he said he’ll just sleep it off.” Hyunsuk chuckled.

 

“Besides, now that I got Naoki hyung wrapped around my finger, maybe I can persuade him to let me be an Initiator in my first year and be a recruiter. I’ll tell him to talk to Fuji sunbae.” Hyunsuk added.

 

“You’re just going to mindfuck pledges are you? Boss them around. You miss your minions from high school?”

 

“A little.” Hyunsuk grinned, his eyes inevitably sliding toward Jihoon again—sitting with two women now, quiet but magnetic.

 

“You’re looking at him again. I’m getting jealous.”

 

“Oh, shut up. I’ll sleep in your bed tonight.”

 

“Good. Then let’s make it interesting.” Jaehyuk’s smirk was dangerous. “Let’s sit right next to him. See how much you really like Park.”

 

Hyunsuk’s smile sharpened. “What an idea. I like this game.”

 

They clinked shot glasses and laughed.

 

-
-
-

 

It was one of those oversized U-shaped couches scattered around the venue meant for a “movie night” theme, though the reality was closer to a chaotic rave. The supposed cinema setting had been drowned in pulsing bass, bodies on the dance floor, makeshift bars in every corner, and popcorn stands serving as décor more than snack service.

 

Hyunsuk and Jaehyuk dropped down onto the same couch where Jihoon sat with two girls draped over him. Both sides now held canned beers.

 

“Park,” Hyunsuk’s greeting was casual, but his gaze was anything but.

 

Jaehyuk lifted his beer in a lazy salute. Jihoon mirrored the gesture, the unspoken clink in the air followed by the smooth tilt of his drink to his mouth.

 

“You don’t dance?” Hyunsuk asked, almost like he already knew the answer.

 

Jihoon’s shoulder rose in an easy shrug as his hands skimmed idly over the backs of the girls on either side. “I prefer to relax at my first ENO party.”

 

“And the second?” Hyunsuk leaned in just slightly, eyes glinting. “Will I finally see you on the dance floor?”

 

“Not really.”

 

“Figured. You’re not the dance-y type.”

 

Jihoon’s brow arched. “You’re reading me?”

 

“Just looking,” Hyunsuk said, eyes lingering. “By the way, I never got to really talk to you after initiation. Good team we made, don’t you think?”

 

Jihoon’s gaze flicked to him. “Yeah. But don’t get ahead of yourself, Choi. I didn’t do it for you. Everyone was exhausted by then.”

 

“Don’t worry,” Hyunsuk smirked. “I never flattered myself over it. If anything, it bruised my ego to be saved by a Park.”

 

“Good.” Jihoon’s answer was smooth enough to draw a flicker of amusement from Hyunsuk—something sharp under the surface, like he didn’t mind the idea of being humbled by Jihoon.

 

Jihoon wasn’t blind. He’d heard the talk from the older members, seen the way upperclassmen angled to get Hyunsuk’s attention. And standing this close, he could admit begrudgingly that he got it. It wasn’t his status overall, even though it was definitely one of the things that drew people in. But really, the guy was just magnetic. At first glance, he wasn’t perfect, not untouchable, but the kind of attractive that drew you in without asking for permission.

 

And then he starts speaking, that’s how you feel his power. That’s when he becomes untouchable. Jihoon seemed to hate that he observed too much already in just a couple of weeks.

 

Hyunsuk got up, tugged Jaehyuk along by the hand, and claimed the space closer to Jihoon. At Jihoon’s quiet instruction, one of the girls slid to the far side, leaving the arrangement neat: girl, Jihoon with the other girl perched on his lap, Hyunsuk beside him, and Jaehyuk scrolling his phone while idly playing with Hyunsuk’s hand.

 

Hyunsuk and Jihoon sat close enough that a ruler could measure the space between their shoulders. They leaned back against the couch, glancing at each other from the corners of their eyes.

 

“Kiss her,” Hyunsuk said suddenly, the words low but clear over the music.

 

Jihoon tilted his head. “Why?”

 

“I want to see how you kiss.”

 

“Is this your idea of flirting, Choi?” Jihoon asked, voice steady but laced with challenge, like he was daring Hyunsuk to confirm it.

 

“Not yet.” The words left Hyunsuk’s mouth slow and deliberate, each syllable unhurried. His gaze didn’t flicker. If anything, it sharpened, like he wanted to see how long Jihoon could keep holding it. “But I’m curious about you, Jihoon Park.”

 

The girl in Jihoon’s lap shifted under the weight of his hand tracing lazy lines along her sides. She bit her bottom lip, hoping for his attention, but Jihoon’s head stayed tipped back against the couch, his eyes still angled toward Hyunsuk. It was the kind of side glance that wasn’t just casual—it was a warning that he saw everything.

 

“And why,” Jihoon drawled, “should I fall for your games, Choi?”

 

Hyunsuk leaned forward, enough for the shadows to carve sharp edges along his cheekbones. “It seemed only fair. You’ve been watching me kiss for quite a while. Return the favor.”

 

“It wasn’t my intention. I was merely—”

 

“Curious as well?” Hyunsuk cut in, the corner of his mouth twitching.

 

Jihoon’s smirk took its time appearing. “Yeah. You could use that word. I’ve never given you any attention despite us being in one circle ever since we were little. I know most of the people here. But not you.”

 

“Likewise,” Hyunsuk said, his tone quieter now, but no less direct. “I guess we were really wired to hate each other, huh?”

 

“Not really,” Jihoon replied. “I pretend you don’t exist. It’s easier than hating.”

 

“So, you don’t hate me?”

 

“Hate to burst your bubble, but I’m reasonable. Despite my family’s beliefs.”

 

For a moment, neither moved. The music kept thumping, the party went on around them, but the air between the two men condensed—heavier, more deliberate than any noise could cover.

 

Again, Jihoon was really reluctant to admit it, even to himself, but he understood why the upperclassmen chased Hyunsuk. He was irritatingly beautiful—everything from the way he sat, loose and self-assured, to the way his voice rolled just low enough to make you lean in. People didn’t just look at Hyunsuk. They noticed him.

 

The tension broke when Jaehyuk laughed at something on his phone.

 

“Are you staying here?” Jaehyuk asked Hyunsuk, not even glancing up.

 

“Yeah. You found someone?”

 

“Yup. A junior. I’ll wait for you in my room, princess.” He kissed the back of Hyunsuk’s hand like it was second nature before standing.

 

“Don’t have sex on your bed. I won’t sleep on it if you do.”

 

“Don’t worry, we’ll do it on hers.”

 

“Good. Your bed is mine.” Hyunsuk’s smirk deepened, earning a crooked grin from Jaehyuk before he waved lazily at Jihoon.

 

“See you around, Park.”

 

Jihoon inclined his head.

 

“Are you together?” Jihoon asked once Jaehyuk disappeared into the crowd.

 

“No. I just sleep on his bed.”

 

“What’s the difference?”

 

“I sleep with him literally. And nothing else.”

 

Jihoon’s mouth twitched in amusement. “The way he kissed your neck and grinded on your ass earlier doesn’t match your narrative.”

 

“Jaehyuk’s just like that. He’s fun.” Hyunsuk dismissed it with a flicker of a grin before his eyes cut back to the girl on Jihoon’s lap. “Enough about him. Return the favor.”

 

Jihoon blinked, momentarily reminded that there were still two women in this arrangement. The one in his lap, wide-eyed and flushed, was practically waiting for permission to move. It was almost like time stopped when he talked with Hyunsuk.

 

“You,” Hyunsuk said, tilting his chin toward her. “Your name?”

 

“So-hee,” she murmured.

 

“Hm.” His tone softened but stayed deliberate, each word dipped in heat. “So-hee, I want you to be a good girl and grind on him. And then… moan his name while kissing. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

 

A shiver ran through her. “Y-yes…”

 

“Good.”

 

“What about me?” the other girl asked from Jihoon’s far side, her voice tinged with playful jealousy.

 

Hyunsuk shifted his attention, sitting up enough to see her clearly. “Sit on me.” Then, to Jihoon: “You don’t mind sharing?”

 

“Whatever,” Jihoon said, his tone careless but his eyes never leaving Hyunsuk.

 

“You’re Hyunsuk Choi,” the girl breathed the obvious in awe as she settled onto his lap.

 

“Yeah. I am.” His hand came up to cradle her neck, thumb pressing lightly under her jaw as he pulled her into a kiss—eyes locked on Jihoon the whole time.

 

Jihoon’s mouth found So-hee’s in the same moment, his own kiss slow and deliberate. Both girls began to move in sync with the music’s bass, hips rolling in a way that made every shift of weight noticeable.

 

When Hyunsuk’s tongue darted out to taste the girl in his lap, Jihoon felt his own mouth mirror the action without thinking. It was absurd—they weren’t touching each other, but the pull between them was sharp enough to cut through the noise of the room. It was almost like… they’re the ones that were actually kissing.

 

“So-hee,” Hyunsuk murmured against the lips of the one he’s kissing, “say Jihoon’s name.”

 

“Jihoon…” she breathed, voice trembling.

 

“Jihoon… that’s right.” Hyunsuk’s tone deepened, almost like he was tasting the name himself.

 

The tension between them had grown taut, strung up between side glances and mirrored movements.

 

“Darling, what’s your name?” Hyunsuk asked the girl in his arms.

 

“Inju.”

 

“Pretty Inju, switch places with So-hee.” Inju blushed at the way Hyunsuk softly said her name.

 

The girls hesitated only briefly before obeying. Jihoon released So-hee with a nod, letting Inju slide into his lap.

 

Without a word, both men leaned in, kissing their new partners with a sudden heat that felt almost rehearsed.

 

It was an indirect kiss… through kissing other people. Jihoon and Hyunsuk still looked at each other. Hyunsuk’s teeth caught So-hee’s bottom lip as Jihoon pulled Inju’s upper lip between his own, their tongues pressing deep until the girls whimpered against them. Hyunsuk held So-hee’s face while Jihoon’s hands are on Inju’s behind, squeezing them. They’re both high off tasting each other from someone else’s mouth. It was… liberating in a way.

 

Jihoon and Hyunsuk’s shoulders brushed now, close enough that Jihoon could feel the warmth radiating off Hyunsuk.

 

Hyunsuk’s hand slid beneath So-hee’s skirt, pushing her panties aside and slipping two fingers in with practiced ease. She gasped into his mouth, her breath stuttering, but he pulled away before she could reach for more.

 

“They’re good to fuck now,” Hyunsuk said, his voice low but even. “Both wet just for you.” He kissed So-hee one last time, then leaned across to take Inju’s mouth too before standing.

 

“I’ll leave you to it, Park.”

 

Jihoon’s eyes dropped briefly to the outline in Hyunsuk’s pants. “What about you?”

 

“Body’s still sore,” Hyunsuk replied with a wink. “I’m just going to sleep on it, but I’ll party some more.”

 

“Sleep? At Jaehyuk’s room?”

 

“Yup.” He popped the ‘p’ with lazy finality, tossing a wave over his shoulder. “It’s not like you’re going to fuck me, right?”

 

Jihoon froze at the bluntness, but Hyunsuk didn’t wait for a response.

 

“I like women for foreplay,” he went on, tone maddeningly casual, “but I’m not into fucking them.” A faint smirk tugged at his mouth. “Maybe I’ll have to let someone fuck me soon, though—because this?” He gestured vaguely between them. “Blew my mind. Hot, by the way. Really nice hang out. Let’s do it again sometime.”

 

And just like that, he melted back into the crowd, leaving Jihoon staring after him. Something coiled tight in Jihoon’s chest, sharp and unwelcome. The thought of Hyunsuk with someone else made his jaw clench hard enough to ache.

 

-

 

And it never happened again.

 

A month later, the Chois sealed a merger in Siberia, fortifying their grip in Russia.

 

When Jihoon’s grandfather learned that his grandson was at ENO with a Choi, the warmth he’d always shown him cooled just enough to press an unspoken challenge into place. The man adored Jihoon, but lineage came with expectations and this time, those expectations were sharpened into an order. He must beat Hyunsuk in every possible way. Outshine him academically. Rise through the ranks. Become ENO’s next President.

 

It was a near-impossible task. Jihoon was excellent, but Hyunsuk wasn’t just a good student; there were others just as competitive as him, which made dethroning the Choi heir a relentless grind.

 

So Jihoon did the only thing he could. It was to lead his generation through sheer discipline. Step by step, he became the model ENO member. He also gained some following already who looked up to him among the freshmen.

 

Hyunsuk noticed the shift. The warmth from their first ENO party, the easy teasing and tentative camaraderie… was gone. Jihoon had pulled the drawbridge up. To Hyunsuk, it was confirmation that the rivalry wasn’t just family politics. Jihoon actually meant it. And maybe that stung more than it should have, because Hyunsuk had thought they could have been friends. If they couldn’t be something more.

 

So he did what he did best. He provoked. Teased. Flirted. If Jihoon wouldn’t come closer, Hyunsuk would close the distance himself, even if only to irritate him. The flirting became routine, a running joke within ENO. Nobody took it seriously. The Parks would never stoop to entangle themselves with the Chois… right?

 

Jihoon, for his part, swallowed the injustice of it—how unfair it was to be told who he could and couldn’t be around. He dated. He built his image in the running for future ENO President. On paper, he was untouchable.

 

He assumed Hyunsuk was doing the same. He watched him dating, sleeping around, collecting admirers. And it wasn’t hard to imagine why. Even Jihoon, if he was being honest with himself, could see what the upperclassmen saw in him: the deliberate style, the easy charm, the kind of beauty that didn’t fade no matter how messy the night got.

 

Hyunsuk drew attention without asking for it, and maybe that was part of the problem because Jihoon could see the hype, even if he refused to be part of it.

 

His first year at ENO was hardwork. But then came Yoshi’s Blood Party, an old ENO tradition Yoshi resurrected. Legend said a Kanemoto had founded it once, though no one had ever proved it. Yoshi decided to make it fact.

 

That night, Jihoon’s perfect exterior cracked. The chaos of the fights, the rush of adrenaline, the heady mix of freedom and danger—it thrilled him. Soon, he became a regular in the ring.

 

For Jihoon, it became an outlet. The underground fights cracked the perfect mask he’d worn for years, and he let them. It felt good—too good—to choose something purely for himself. The thrill of each blow, each victory, earned him a name: The Rib Cracker. It was the first title he had ever claimed on his own terms.

 

For Hyunsuk, watching Jihoon fight was a revelation. It was raw and was nothing like the careful, polished heir he’d known. In that moment, Hyunsuk knew exactly what he wanted and it was to be chosen by Jihoon. Jihoon was the one he’d been searching for—the one who could both handle him and ruin him.

 

When Jihoon, battered and wrapped, was congratulated at the ENO mansion that night because of his strength and show of skill, the celebration was thunderous. He had earned the right to choose—anything, anyone. He should have been content.

 

But then he looked across the room.

 

And there he was. Hyunsuk. A bottle tipped in lazy salute, a smirk ghosting along the corner of his mouth. Gorgeous. Devastating. The kind of beautiful that burned to look at. Always a stand-out. The one person Jihoon was not allowed to touch, let alone want. The one thing he could never choose.

 

Tonight, Hyunsuk stood alone—no Jaehyuk, no ring master Yoshi, no upperclassmen hovering for the chance to grope or kiss him. Just alone. Watching Jihoon.

 

Suddenly, arms slid around his waist from behind, then soft lips pressing into his. His girlfriend’s perfume wrapped around him, sweet and heady, but his mind went elsewhere—back to that first ENO party, that indirect kiss with Hyunsuk. He groaned into her mouth.

 

When he lifted his head, for a heartbeat, the most beautiful face he’d ever seen stared back at him. Hyunsuk’s. But it vanished in a blink, leaving only the girl in his arms.

 

Jihoon looked back across the room. Hyunsuk was still there, smile still fixed, but Jihoon could have sworn he caught a flicker of hurt in his eyes.

 

Although at this moment, Jihoon didn’t know what he felt. He was just extremely confused. A complete opposite of Hyunsuk’s sure feelings for him. In time, the annoyance and irritation for the Choi heir just kind of grew and Jihoon never felt the need to open Pandora’s box to even find out about the chaos within him.

 

All he knew was that he doesn’t have to associate himself with Hyunsuk. He had to keep the peace. It was easier. Better. He just needed to accept the fact that he’s a brother at ENO and nothing else.

 

Two things. Jihoon wanted the freedom to choose. And Hyunsuk? He only wanted to be chosen back.

 

-
-
-

 

Aureus Order Annual Charity Gala
At Present

 

The Aureus ballroom gleamed under molten light, chandeliers scattering gold over polished marble and champagne flutes. The air was thick with perfume, money, and the kind of polite ruthlessness only high society could perfect.

 

The auctioneer from Sotheby’s was already in his rhythm, moving from rare vintages to bespoke jewelry, each lot wheeled out by attendants in white gloves. It started innocently enough.

 

A vintage Montblanc fountain pen—one of only twelve in existence.

 

Jihoon lifted his paddle, almost lazily. “Thirty-five.”

 

A few more bids came in.

 

Hyunsuk raised his. “Forty.”

 

Jihoon’s eyes cut across the room. “Fifty mill.”

 

Sold. To Jihoon.

 

The next lot, a pair of antique silver cufflinks once owned by a European monarch.

 

Hyunsuk bid first this time, quick and confident. “Seventy.”

 

Jihoon countered. “Eighty.”

 

Hyunsuk didn’t flinch. “One-fifty.”

 

The gavel came down for Hyunsuk.

 

Back and forth they went, as if the rest of the crowd no longer mattered.

 

A signed first edition of a banned novel. Jihoon won.

 

A bottle of century-old Armagnac. Hyunsuk took it.

 

A rare jade chess set. Jihoon again.

 

A bespoke pair of Italian leather gloves. Hyunsuk, smirking as he slid them into his seat.

 

It wasn’t about the items anymore. It was about winning from each other. But of course, it was about strategy. Despite their arrangement and secret alliance, it wasn’t about their bet. It wasn’t even about the promised sex. It was about a show of power both individually and for ENO. Especially for ENO.

 

They both knew what Aureus needed. A performance and crowd astonishment. There was no denying their place in society now with both of them in the same fraternity. It was all too powerful.

 

They had moved past the so-called minor pieces—though in Aureus, “minor” still meant paintings worth more than most homes. Now the main attractions began, the air in the room tightening with anticipation.

 

“Lot twenty-three,” the auctioneer announced, his voice smooth as the clink of crystal, “a bespoke, one-of-a-kind mechanical watch from the Maison d’Or atelier in Geneva. Platinum case, hand-engraved dial, and a movement so rare there are only three in existence worldwide. We’ll open the bidding at fifty million.”

 

A few paddles rose.

 

“Fifty-five.”

 

“Sixty.”

 

From a corner table, Jihoon lifted his paddle without looking up from his champagne. “Seventy.”

 

The auctioneer nodded. “Seventy from the gentleman with the silver brooch.”

 

Across the room, Hyunsuk leaned back in his seat, smirking as though Jihoon had just challenged him to something far more intimate than a charity bid.

 

Jihoon was entranced by how good he looked under the chandelier—hair catching gold, sharp jawline softened by the shadow of a smile. He was in awe at the ease, the way Hyunsuk lounged like the room itself bent toward him. And most of all, he realized that noticing any of this made his pulse kick harder than the bidding itself.

 

Hyunsuk tapped his paddle against the table once before raising it. “Eighty.”

 

Jihoon’s eyes flicked up, meeting his across the ballroom—a slow, deliberate glance. “Ninety.”

 

The crowd murmured.

 

Hyunsuk tilted his head, playful, predatory. “One hundred.”

 

Jihoon set down his champagne, jaw flexing. “One-twenty.”

 

The auctioneer’s tone brightened. “One hundred and twenty million, thank you sir!”

 

Hyunsuk’s lips curved into something not quite friendly, not quite hostile. “One-fifty.”

 

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

 

Jihoon’s paddle rose again, unhurried. “Two hundred.”

 

The room was no longer watching the watch—they were watching them. Two heirs, two predators, circling.

 

Hyunsuk smiled wider, raising his paddle. “Two-fifty.”

 

Jihoon didn’t think. “Three hundred.”

 

The auctioneer grinned as if this was theatre. “Three hundred million going once… twice—”

 

Hyunsuk’s paddle lifted one last time, his gaze never wavering. “Half a billion.”

 

Silence.

 

Jihoon’s fingers tightened around his paddle. He let it drop to the table, leaning back, smirk curling as if to say I’ll get you later. And the tightening in his chest wasn’t entirely frustration—there was something else, something hotter. The gavel came down.

 

“Sold—to the generous gentleman with glittered coat.”

 

Hyunsuk didn’t glance at the watch. His eyes stayed locked on Jihoon, like the real prize was still up for grabs.

 

{Private Messaging}

 

Hyunsuk: You let me win easy. I was really waiting to drop a billion.

Jihoon: Show-off. I knew you would drop that kind of money. I didn’t let you win. So technically, I win.

Hyunsuk: You’re calling that a win? What are you gonna do about it, Pres?

Jihoon: Get ready to get locked up.

Hyunsuk: I wish I could suck your cock right now.

Jihoon: Fuck.

Hyunsuk: Hard?

Jihoon: Yes.

Hyunsuk: Fuck me while I’m wearing that watch.

Jihoon: Just the watch and nothing else. Deal.

Hyunsuk: You want me naked?

Jihoon: And mess you up with my cum.

 

Jihoon glanced across the room. Hyunsuk was clearly flushed, thighs pressed together under the table, a small, hungry smile tugging at his lips.

 

Hyunsuk: Tempting. But we can’t. Let’s spend the night somewhere? Please? Or I’ll die here.

 

Jihoon: I can feel the desperation. Good. You’re mine.

 

Hyunsuk: Fuck. Yours. Only yours.

 

Jihoon: I’ll update you after the banquet.

 

Hyunsuk: I really missed you. We’ve both been busy.

 

Jihoon: I know, little devil. Let me make it up to you.

 

Hyunsuk: Can’t wait to be in your arms.

 

-
-
-

 

What happened at the auction had already rippled through the banquet hall in hushed conversations and quick messages. Among the polished guests, the “Park–Choi bidding war” was the headline of the night. The Chois seemed quietly pleased with Hyunsuk’s performance. The Parks, on the other hand, weren’t sure if they should be proud or annoyed that Jihoon had secured more valuable items than Hyunsuk, but the whole spectacle had been public.

 

Neither family brought it up again, as long as neither side looked like the loser. It almost felt like a draw. Still, Jihoon’s father later muttered that he should have pushed through on the mechanical watch bid, no matter how astronomical the price. Jihoon thought that was absurd, but he knew better than to argue. His father’s temper wasn’t something you poked at, especially under the scrutiny of so many eyes.

 

While the next auction—this one for sculptures—played out, the banquet on the far side of the venue was in full bloom. String instruments swelled in the background; people danced, laughed, and networked over glasses of wine and champagne.

 

The Kanemotos and the Chois clustered together, trading easy banter. Yoshi and Hyunsuk’s father slipped into a lively discussion about politics, the looming elections giving them plenty to spar over. Hyunsuk slid into the conversation effortlessly, earning approving glances from those who noticed how well he and Yoshi looked side by side.

 

“I know what you’re doing,” Hyunsuk murmured to Yoshi over the rim of his champagne flute.

 

“What can I say? Your father likes me.”

 

“Do you really want to marry me, Yoshi? Or are you completely out of your mind?”

 

Yoshi’s gaze flicked over him deliberately, head to toe. “I don’t mind. You’re husband material.”

 

Hyunsuk rolled his eyes. “Duh?”

 

“No. Really. You look—”

 

“Yosh. Save it. You’re seriously annoying me.”

 

“Relax,” Yoshi sighed. “It’s not like I’m proposing tonight. We’re still in fucking college. I just like your family—they’re easy, they’re warm. I enjoy being around them.”

 

“That’s sweet,” Hyunsuk said, though his tone was skeptical. “But you really should make up your mind.”

 

“Are you… serious with Pres, then? Or just fooling around? His dating history is dangerous—just saying. And almost all of them are women.”

 

The jab hit a nerve. Hyunsuk bristled. Surely Jihoon was serious about him. He wouldn’t—

 

“You’re making that face. Stop overthinking. I’m sorry,” Yoshi cut in.

 

“Since you know me so fucking well, you have to stop playing these games. You’re making things more complicated, Yoshi.”

 

“Let’s talk about this some other time, yeah? It’s just—this is our reality. The sooner you acknowledge it, the easier it is to live with. And it’s not like it’s only me. You have Jaehyuk to worry about too. Competing with him is… interesting.”

 

“Jaehyuk and I already talked. It’s not happening.”

 

“You sure about that?”

 

As if summoned, the Yoons approached, joining the group with polished smiles.

 

“Brother,” Jaehyuk greeted Yoshi, clinking glasses. Then, to Hyunsuk, “Princess.”

 

“The two of you are a pain in my ass,” Hyunsuk muttered.

 

“The princess is sulky,” Jaehyuk teased. “Yoshi, what did you do?”

 

“I just told the truth that we’re in competition for his hand. Ish.”

 

Jaehyuk’s expression shifted.

 

“You’re both delusional,” Hyunsuk said flatly. “And it’s your fault Asahi and Junkyu keep throwing daggers at me. Especially now. Why don’t you go and fix your boyfriends first? Don’t kid yourselves.”

 

Both Yoshi and Jaehyuk’s eyes drifted to where Asahi and Junkyu stood together at the bar, nursing drinks and stealing glances toward them.

 

“You two are pathetic,” Hyunsuk sighed, folding his arms.

 

“Oh, come on, Sukkie,” Yoshi teased, lightening up the mood because he’s not up for any emotional damage at the moment. Any topic with “Junkyu” in it would break his proper behavior in high society events and he’s pretty sure the crowd won’t appreciate his real persona.

 

He leaned in so close, Hyunsuk could feel his breath. “If you pout any harder, the photographers will think we’re breaking up. We got good chemistry, I heard.”

 

“Eww. We’re not even together.” Hyunsuk deadpanned.

 

Jaehyuk grinned. “Then you’re free to run away with me. I look great in wedding photos, you know.”

 

Hyunsuk snorted, trying to keep his expression flat. “I’ll seriously stab you with Asahi’s knife.”

 

“That’s not what you said when you—” Yoshi cut in with a perfectly timed, whispered jab that made Hyunsuk’s ears go pink.

 

Jaehyuk laughed, shaking his head. “You’re impossible. But damn, you’re fun when you’re annoyed.”

 

Hyunsuk groaned in annoyance. “Oh my god. You’re both insufferable.”

 

“Only because we’ve had years of practice,” Yoshi teased, leaning in again to murmur something that made Jaehyuk snort.

 

“Wait. Wait, and remember—” Jaehyuk cut in, delivering a dead-on impression of Hyunsuk’s unimpressed face, which had Yoshi almost choking on his drink.

 

It was ridiculous. The ganging-up, the shameless flattery—but against his will, Hyunsuk felt his lips twitch. The tension eased from his shoulders, and the curve of his smile turned warm, almost boyish, reaching his eyes in a way that rarely slipped through.

 

The exchange wore him down until he gave in with a reluctant laugh—a genuine one, warm and unguarded, the kind that only came when he forgot to keep his walls up. These are his friends for life. The years of being together really showed. It’s still early days. He can deal with their bullshit later on. Right?

 

Across the room, Jihoon glanced over just in time to see it. It hit harder than it should have—Hyunsuk never smiled like that with him. And for some reason, that felt like losing.

 

-
-
-

 

The night rolled on in waves of laughter and music, but then, a subtle shift. One by one, the ENO boys glanced at their watches. Right on cue, Jihoon was already in a quiet corner, half-shadowed by a marble column.

 

They had played their solo acts well—mingling, commanding attention, showing power individually. Now came the statement piece. It was a silent reminder that their strength didn’t just lie in charm or wealth, but in the fact that they moved as one which was all the more powerful.

 

With a single nod from Jihoon, they converged. Champagne glasses in hand, their steps were unhurried, expressions deceptively casual. The room noticed anyway. The air changed, like someone had lit a bonfire in the middle of the banquet hall, a heat that wouldn’t go out.

 

“I’m surprised,” Doyoung said as they drew in closer to Jihoon. “It’s lighter than I thought.”

 

“The what?” Jeongwoo asked over the rim of his glass.

 

“The party. Anyway…” Doyoung’s grin was lazy, but his eyes were sharp. “Pres, glad you called us. My dad’s laugh was about to kill me. I don’t really like sitting with them.” Junghwan chuckled and just gave him a kiss on the cheek.

 

“What’s the game plan, Pres?” Haruto asked, curiosity threaded with anticipation.

 

Jihoon’s gaze flicked to Hyunsuk, who smirked back at him like it was their own private joke. Then he addressed the group. “We stick together for a while. Can you do that without looking chaotic?”

 

“Should be easy. We got champagne.” Asahi swirled his glass and tipped his chin toward Junkyu. “Get me another? Sir?”

 

“Of course,” Junkyu replied with a knowing smile at him, already stepping away.

 

“I think I need one too.” Yoshi’s tone was sharper than usual as he saw the exchange, irritation humming just under the surface. Without another word, he followed Junkyu to the open bar.

 

Junghwan glanced between them, confused. Jaehyuk, meanwhile, had his eyes locked on Asahi, some silent challenge passing between them.

 

-

 

At the bar, Yoshi had beaten him there, leaning one elbow against the counter like he owned it, idly spinning the stem of a glass he’d plucked from a neat line of prepped champagne flutes.

 

“You’re ignoring me.” His tone was deceptively light, but his gaze didn’t lift and was fixed instead on the swirl of pale gold in his glass, as if reading the future there.

 

Junkyu exhaled, slow through his nose. “Am I supposed to be all over you all the time, Yoshinori?” His voice carried the kind of bite he didn’t entirely feel, and he hated that.

 

“Stay at my place later.”

 

Junkyu’s brow lifted. “At your secret hideout? Or your actual room at ENO?”

 

Yoshi didn’t answer. He wore the silence like a tailored suit.

 

“You’re still hoping for Hyunsuk to knock?” Junkyu asked, more accusation than question.

 

A faint flicker passed through Yoshi’s eyes. “Why are you acting this way?”

 

“I can act however I like. It’s not my job to appease you.”

 

“What?”

 

“What do you mean ‘what’?” Junkyu turned to choose two champagne flutes.

 

“It’s taking a lot not to bend you over and fuck you right now,” Yoshi murmured, low enough for only him to hear and low enough that it still managed to sink straight into his bloodstream.

 

Junkyu’s fingers curled around the edge of the bar. “And why is that? Tell me.”

 

“You’re making things difficult, Junkyu Kim. My path was clean… smooth—until you crashed into it.”

 

His throat worked around a dry swallow, but his spine stayed straight. “I’m leaving.”

 

“To where? Asahi?” Yoshi’s smirk was cruel in its accuracy. “No can do. You’re coming with me.”

 

Junkyu let out a short, sharp laugh. “And what? Be your sex toy for the night? I’m not in the mood, sorry fuck buddy.”

 

“What’s eating you? You’re the one that proposed to make me your rebound.”

 

“You’re so fucking dumb for such a smart guy. Ugh. Let me go back to my date. He’s waiting for this drink.”

 

“Fine. But you’ll leave this place with me after the Aureus meeting.”

 

“So that’s what you want? We play perfect husbands in daylight, then fuck in the dark?”

 

Silence again. Yoshi just looked at him—not blinking, not giving.

 

“Oh my god,” Junkyu scoffed under his breath. “You’re ridiculous, Yoshinori Kanemoto. You want to make me your mistress. Me? Junkyu Kim. Oh, fuck off.”

 

“I may be,” Yoshi finally looked up, his eyes cutting right through him, “but at least I know what I want.”

 

“And what’s that?”

 

“What you just said. I want both of you. But I’ll come home to you.”

 

“Selfish prick and pure-ass greedy, aren’t we? You amaze me.” Junkyu spat sarcastically.

 

“Yes. And guess what? You’ll end up in my bed no matter what. Because you want me, Junkyu.”

 

The air seemed to thin. Junkyu’s throat went dry. “No. You’re wrong. I don’t want this. I don’t want you.”

 

“I can’t wait to fuck that liar of a mouth.”

 

It was humiliating, the way his body betrayed him—an involuntary shiver, the smallest hitch in his breath. Yoshi saw it. Yoshi always saw it. He smirked, burning with the idea that Junkyu wanted it.

 

“We’re stopping this,” Junkyu said finally, the words costing more than he liked.

 

Yoshi blinked, like someone had switched the language on him. “What?”

 

“Let’s stop. You’re dangerous to me. Too dangerous.”

 

“This truce is a two-way thing,” Yoshi said, voice turning to steel. “We’re not stopping until I agree to stop. You’re mine.”

 

“I thought we agreed we don’t own each other,” Junkyu said, each word bitten off with precision. “You kept saying that line. Admit it. You’re the one that’s crazy for me. You. Want. Me. Not the other way around.” Junkyu lied a bit in the end there. But he was too hurt no to hit Yoshi with words he should’ve heard days ago.

 

He gathered the champagne flutes without another glance, but before he could step away, Yoshi’s hand shot out, catching him by the forearm. The contact was electric and burning.

 

Junkyu wrenched his arm back, the sudden movement tilting the champagne dangerously close to spilling over the rims.

 

“Kanemoto,” Junkyu warned, low but razor-sharp, “you’re cracking. There are eyes on us. It’s almost like you don’t give a fuck. What’s wrong? Let me go.”

 

“Don’t do this,” Yoshi said, voice quieter than before but heavy, like something dangerous coiled beneath.

 

“Then beg.” The air between them snapped tight. Yoshi’s expression faltered just for a second, as if the demand was a foreign language.

 

“Say that you need me, Yoshi,” Junkyu pressed, leaning in just enough for no one else to hear. “Say you need me so much, you can’t last without fucking me—without being with me.”

 

Yoshi didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

 

“You can’t?” Junkyu straightened, a hollow sort of triumph curling in his chest. “Then leave me be. I’m going back to my date. Excuse me.”

 

Junkyu melted back into the crowd with a heavy heart—back toward the ENO boys, back to the noise and light. Anywhere but within the pull of Yoshinori Kanemoto.

 

-

 

Hyunsuk approached Jihoon without the usual swagger, his steps measured. They both knew their families were scattered around the banquet hall, which meant the air between them had to look clean, harmless. But Jihoon could tell from the set of Hyunsuk’s jaw that this wasn’t just another round of teasing.

 

“You don’t have to worry about Delta Sigma Kai,” Hyunsuk said quietly, gaze steady. “I’ve already reached out to a couple of members of the Order.”

 

Jihoon tilted his head, wary. “You think that’ll stop them? I heard they’re still getting sponsored. Honestly, I don’t give a fuck about that. I could care less about the money they’re getting. What pisses me off is that they think they can overstep us.”

 

“Pres.” Hyunsuk’s voice cut in sharp, pulling Jihoon’s focus entirely. “What did I tell you the first time you wore that ENO jacket as president?”

 

Jihoon didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

 

“As long as I’m here,” Hyunsuk continued, tone unshakable, “that crown of yours will sit pretty. No matter what. No. Matter. What.”

 

Jihoon’s lips twitched, but his eyes stayed locked on Hyunsuk’s.

 

“We’re invincible, you and I. Together.” Hyunsuk added, almost softer.

 

Then, as if Jihoon just decided something, “My driver will wait for you after this party,” he said, voice low but deliberate. “He’ll take you to one of my places, out of Hwagyeong.”

 

Hyunsuk’s brow lifted. “Oh?”

 

“I’ll finish that damn Aureus meeting with the others,” Jihoon leaned in just enough to make the words private, “and then I’ll come to you.”

 

“And then?”

 

“You better be on my bed. Waiting.”

 

Hyunsuk’s lips curved, slow and knowing. “Anything for you, your highness.”

 

They stood there a moment too long, the air between them heavier than champagne bubbles could disguise.

 

“You guys are cozy.” Jeongwoo’s voice broke the tension, eyebrows waggling. “Careful. There are eyes.”

 

Hyunsuk cleared his throat. With one last look at Jihoon, he stepped back toward where Doyoung and Junghwan were. They watched Junkyu and Yoshi come back to their circle.

 

Jihoon, unfazed, sipped his drink.

 

“Pres, I’m all for your flirting,” Jeongwoo began, lowering his voice. “We’ve been friends for a long time now aside from us being literal cousins, but… do you even know what you’re doing? It’s the first time in ages I’ve seen you pull something this rash. Hyunsuk Choi? You sure?”

 

“Do I really need a lecture from you?” Jihoon’s tone was flat, but his grip on the glass was just a little too tight.

 

“Jihoon.” There was no teasing now. “At first it looked like a game. But this… this doesn’t feel like play anymore. Is it serious?”

 

Jihoon didn’t answer. Not out loud. He knew exactly what Jeongwoo was getting at. Hyunsuk’s teasing had been harmless for years, a running joke neither of them took seriously. And yet, somewhere between then and now, something in Jihoon had tilted.

 

He could never tell Jeongwoo that it happened the night Hyunsuk fell asleep in his arms—ridiculous in cotton pajamas and a Spiderman eye mask. And Jihoon lay awake, listening to his breathing. That was the night he realized how much time he’d wasted. How many years in college had been spent keeping Hyunsuk at arm’s length when he could have had that warmth, that peace, from the very start.

 

“Jeongwoo, do me a favor and just—go fuck Haruto somewhere right now, or whatever the hell keeps you sane. And stop acting like you get a vote in what I do.”

 

“You’re being defensive.”

 

“Maybe.” His answer was clipped, but there was an edge there—something brittle that Jeongwoo caught instantly.

 

“Fuck, Jihoon. We’re graduating. Can you just breathe as ENO’s President without looking for ways to blow it up? You’ve been doing good by keeping your head down.”

 

“And when,” Jihoon said slowly, his voice dropping an octave, “do I ever really get to choose what I want?”

 

Jeongwoo’s frown deepened. “Please. I’m worried about you, man.”

 

“I’m fine,” Jihoon replied, but there was no warmth in it. “I know what I’m doing.”

 

“Guys—Pres. Eight o’clock.” Haruto’s voice cut in, his tall frame stepping between them. He jerked his chin toward the shifting crowd.

 

The men of Delta Sigma Kai were moving in their direction, a slow, deliberate approach. And just like that, the air between the ENO boys changed—laughter gone, drinks forgotten. Trouble had arrived.

 

“Good show,” the president of Delta Sigma Kai said, his tone thick with something that wasn’t quite praise. “Dongwoo Baek.” He offered a hand but Jihoon didn’t acknowledge it. If only they weren’t roaming around Hwagyeong University these days, he would’ve treated him as equal.

 

Jihoon didn’t bother offering his name. “Show?”

 

“The way you all carry yourselves.” Dongwoo smirked. “We could never be that pretentious.”

 

“Thanks. And good to know you’re self-aware.” Jihoon’s smile was cool, deliberate. “That very same ‘show’ was perfected by almost every member of the Order… most of whom came from ENO. I’ll pass along the compliment. I’m sure they’ll appreciate your admiration. Since… they’re sponsoring DSK soon?”

 

“You really think you’re so high and mighty, Park?”

 

“I don’t think it.” Jihoon’s eyes hardened. “I know it. It’s old news. Now stop gate-crashing ENO’s events.”

 

Dongwoo stepped closer, lowering his voice until it was just for Jihoon. “We know things at DSK. Things that could ruin you. I wonder how long you’ll hold. You’re nothing next to a Choi.” His lips curved, but his gaze was sharp. “We’re not so different—you and I. Brilliant… but destined never to sit at the very top. But maybe… we can finally change that. Now that we’re under Aureus.”

 

Jihoon’s jaw flexed, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes. Does he know about the scandal? Jihoon almost couldn’t breathe but he kept his aura. “What makes you think that we’re the same? I don’t even know you ‘till you told us your name. You on the other hand… know all of us. Maybe your entire clan too.”

 

“Careful, Park.” Dongwoo tilted his head, feigning civility. But clearly heated now. “You might not like what’s already coming.”

 

Jihoon didn’t flinch. “Watch your mouth. You dare threaten us in our territory?”

 

The ENO boys didn’t just stand behind Jihoon—they loomed. Not in volume, but in presence. The kind that pressed down on the air until it was heavy enough to choke.

 

Hyunsuk spoke first, voice deceptively calm, each word carrying the weight of someone who didn’t need to raise it to be heard.

 

“Good to know you think of me that highly. “Nothing next to a Choi, hmm?” Hyunsuk quoted Dongwoo earlier. “I’m here with our President, though. Just like the rest of us.”

 

Dongwoo’s gaze snapped to him, irritation flickering into something sharper—unease. A Choi standing guard for a Park wasn’t something he’d prepared for. He masked it with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

 

“One day, you’ll really get what’s coming for you. ENO’s reputation with Aureus isn’t as strong as you think.”

 

That was when Yoshi stepped in. Smooth, deliberate, like a blade sliding free of its sheath.

 

“Say that again once you’ve done something valuable for the Order,” he said. “Not just donations—our names speak for themselves.”

 

Asahi’s voice came from somewhere behind, lazy and dangerous.

 

“Ugh. We’re wasting time on irrelevants. I’m bored.” His fingers twitched at the butterfly knife in his pocket, the faint click of metal enough to make the DSK men stiffen.

 

At that moment, a chime rang through the hall. A signal for another part of the event. The Treasure Hunt.

 

Jihoon didn’t bother sparing Dongwoo a longer glance.

 

Then they moved back to their families individually—ENO boys cutting through the crowd like a single, deliberate force. Heads turned, conversations faltered. It wasn’t just that they looked untouchable. It was that everyone could feel it. Like kings passing through the enemies unbothered, because they knew no one could lay a hand on them.

 

-
-
-

 

“Stop wasting time talking to useless people. You could’ve spent it finding alliances that actually matter.”

 

Jae-sang Park’s voice cut through the hum of the gala the moment he spotted ENO exchanging words with the DSK boys. Jihoon’s father was well known for his anger management issues. Now, outside in the gardens, the three men stood at the base of the marble steps, tucked away in a corner guarded by men in plain suits.

 

“Brother, let Jihoon breathe,” Seo-joon said, his tone steady. “He’s doing fine holding ENO together. Better now that he’s surrounded by heirs of his own caliber. I’ve heard the current seniors are a strong set.”

 

“I meant marriage, Seo-jun.” Jae-sang’s reply was immediate, laced with impatience. “My son should already be thinking about it.”

 

Jihoon exhaled, the sound sharp. They were talking about him like he wasn’t even there.

 

“My nephew’s young,” Seo-jun countered. “Besides… he’s got an enemy close who could benefit him greatly.”

 

“What do you mean? You don’t mean a Choi? Stop with the jokes.”

 

Jihoon stayed silent, and the quiet was enough to needle his father. Jae-sang bristled — he hated when Jihoon acted like he was the more mature man, a consequence of holding the ENO presidency for longer than his own father ever had.

 

“Why not? Hyunsuk’s… tolerable,” Jihoon said evenly, giving nothing away in his face.

 

“You planning to give your grandfather a heart attack, boy? You’re the only one left in his good books, don’t throw that away, Jihoon. He could change his heir if he wants to in a blink. He could consider Jeongwoo, eventhough he’s just your third cousin. Those relatives of ours are getting stronger day by day. It’s irking me to think that he could be president of ENO too. Imagine? A Park as president and not from the main family line is the worst. It makes me sick.”

 

Jihoon knew it was true—the Park line had more than enough male heirs to fill roles. His entire life, he’d been surrounded, dominated by men. But what made him grit his teeth wasn’t the politics. It was hearing his father speak about Jeongwoo with such bitter condescension.

 

He remembered admiring this man as a boy. Now, he only saw jealousy and insecurity—a man who had squandered his own opportunities and blamed others for it. Jeongwoo, like every senior, had earned his place. In truth, Jihoon respected the branches of the family that forged their own path, rising to match the main line’s legacy without the name to carry them. Although of course, they’re still family. Jae-sang Park was just feeling too high of himself to even think about that fact.

 

“Good thing that scandal happened,” Jae-sang said with a thin smile. “Otherwise, I doubt you’d be President. Maybe a Choi would’ve beaten you.”

 

There was that topic again. Jae-sung’s bitterness was still all over the place because he only sat on the role of ENO President for merely three months after he blew it off with his own scandal with Han Taegun.

 

Jihoon hated when he brought it up, especially since it dredged up another scandal that had nearly sunk ENO’s reputation entirely. But for the sake of the Gala, he let it slide.

 

“Why didn’t you bring Minha Lee as your date? Or that Theta Pi president, what’s his name?” Jae-sang pressed, knowing exactly how to prod him.

 

“I’m with ENO tonight,” Jihoon said, clipped. “And Minha’s sorority still hasn’t earned their place here. They’re funded by Aureus, yes, but being Kappa Rho Sigma’s president doesn’t grant her a seat yet. As for Theta Pi’s Dong-ho Cha, he’s here with his fraternity.”

 

“But her family is here. They’re conglomerates as well.”

 

“And again—she’s a sorority president. She can’t just attend without clearance from a board member.”

 

“You could’ve made that happen, Seo-jun,” Jae-sang said, turning his disdain on his brother now. “Use your position in the Order for something.”

 

“Stop it, Jae-sang,” Seo-jun replied, the first edge of warning in his voice. “You’re making it obvious you’re bitter. Father will hear about this.”

 

Jihoon had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. It had always been like that. Ever since his appointment as ENO President, it seemed like his father refused to grow and stayed childish and bitter. Because of the Han Taegun scandal, he was dropped as ENO President, to Jihoon’s grandfather’s dismay. He was almost replaced by a Choi and so the bitterness was clipped in the air whenever it was mentioned.

 

Jihoon didn’t even dare mention that Han Taegun graced the halls of Hwagyeong again anymore because his father might burst. But he knew that he could use that information someday to spite his father if ever he gets full of it.

 

Across them at the banquet, Jihoon could hear Hyunsuk’s voice, mindlessly flirting with heirs and sons of conglomerates who came his way, introducing themselves to the Chois. Clearly, Hyunsuk wasn’t settled on anyone yet. But Jihoon had an advantage no one else in that room had. He could walk into Hyunsuk Choi’s bedroom whenever he wanted, and Hyunsuk would yield.

 

Maybe it was a game for Hyunsuk right now, but Jihoon enjoyed the control and power over their arrangement. Their eyes met for a brief second. Jihoon saw Hyunsuk’s ears make a tinge of pink. He loved the effect on him.

 

A final bell rang, and the host’s voice cut through the chatter. The Treasure Hunt. Aureus’ centuries-old gala tradition.

 

-

 

A massive maze sprawled beyond the gardens, large enough to swallow hundreds. This year, only 300 guests were permitted, each masked, each set loose to search for small chests hidden within. Inside were trinkets, each exchangeable for prizes, but the real glory lay in finding one at all. In the gala’s history, only six had ever succeeded—all members of Epsilon Nu Omega.

 

The pressure was clear. The ENO boys didn’t just want to win. They had to keep the record unbroken. If they can’t win at all, they had to make sure no one ever does.

 

-
-
-

 

All three hundred guests—most of them active fraternity and sorority members, filtered into the maze in scattered streams. The air was thick with murmurs and masked laughter.

 

Everyone knew the truth: behind the anonymity, it was still the same faces. You recognized people not by who they were, but by the way they moved, the swing of their shoulders, the tilt of their head, the fabric of their suit. Everything else blurred into a shifting ocean of blacks, deep blues, and charcoals, swallowed by the towering hedges.

 

The organizers had split the crowd across multiple entrances, making it impossible to track who was where. That unpredictability was half the thrill.

 

The maze sprawled across the manicured lawn like something stolen from a European estate, reimagined with Aureus grandeur. From a distance it looked disciplined. Hedges trimmed into perfect vertical lines, each leaf glinting faintly under the moon. But the closer you got, the more alive it seemed. Shadows pooled between the leaves, moonlight and lamplight breaking into fractured patterns across the gravel paths. A warm breeze carried the scent of cut grass, but beneath it lingered the damp, earthy weight of soil and roots.

 

The entrance was a narrow arch, its hedges curved into a frame so high it almost swallowed the sky. You could hear faint noises within—laughter, quick footsteps, the rustle of leaves as someone brushed past a wall. The pathways were uneven in width, sometimes wide enough for two people to walk side-by-side, sometimes shrinking to the point where your shoulders nearly touched the hedge on either side.

 

Inside, turns came too quickly, sometimes so sharp that you could still feel the ghost of the last path before you had to choose another. There were deliberate dead ends and some ending in decorative benches, others in pockets of light where the air seemed warmer. A few corners had archways draped with strings of tiny lights, showing a more enchanting view. Somewhere deeper in, the muffled hum of the gala outside faded into something intimate, almost secret.

 

And in that shifting quiet, the maze felt like it was made for stolen moments, like it was somewhere to get lost on purpose.

 

Jaehyuk still didn’t know why he’d agreed to this. The infamous Aureus Treasure Hunt felt ridiculous to him. An overgrown hedge playground with an ego. It could just as easily be a bug-ridden nightmare with no way out. Entrapment wasn’t his thing. And yet, he’d entered alone.

 

Because Jihoon had insisted. In ENO tradition, you went in solo and came back victorious. On paper, that sounded noble. In practice, Jaehyuk felt like he’d stepped into some twisted Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire task where any second, someone might scream.

 

He was thinking about how stupid it all was when a familiar silhouette caught his eye. Petite frame. Tailored suit. Hair falling just so at the nape of the neck. Asahi. Even with a mask, he was unmistakable.

 

Jaehyuk slowed, watching as Asahi traced a blade—of course he had his butterfly knife with him—along the hedge as if he could carve treasure straight out of the greenery and be done with the game.

 

“Just what do you think you’re doing, slasher?” Jaehyuk called, the nickname rolling off his tongue like muscle memory.

 

Asahi got startled and turned. As expected, it was him. His eyes, the most natural brown in which Jaehyuk would gladly get lost in.

 

“Stalking me?”

 

“I just happened to find you.”

 

“You always do,” Asahi murmured. “When you’re done looking everywhere else.” The words pricked something in Jaehyuk. Asahi always knew where to slide the knife without drawing blood. But he was already used to Asahi talking like he owed the world something. It always hits.

 

“I see you’re dating Junkyu again.” Jaehyuk said flatly.

 

“Sort of. But not really? I just thought that maybe some good sex with an ex doesn’t hurt.”

 

“You—”

 

“The other night,” Asahi cut in, casual in tone, lethal in effect.

 

Jaehyuk doesn’t know what to feel with this piece of information except he just knew it did things to his insides. Bad things. He took a good look at Asahi. The moon reflected some light on his hair. His mask in a concept of a red bird kind of suited him. Under the moonlight, it turned red orange. Like the sunset with specks of glitter dust. Jaehyuk knew what lay behind the mask was even more devastating.

 

“Hypothetically,” Jaehyuk began, “if someone like you and someone like me got together properly, would it be difficult?”

 

“Could be. Families like ours like their matches arranged. Responsibilities. Names.”

 

“Would you fight it?”

 

“I don’t know yet,” Asahi said. “Haven’t been in a relationship with someone like you. Hypothetically.”

 

“So you’d… try first?”

 

“Why not? How else would you know it’s worth it if you’ve never had a taste?”

 

Jaehyuk closed the space between them. Masks came off without ceremony.

 

“What if I’ve had your body before anything else?” he asked.

 

“That’s one way to start already. Is this still hypothetical?”

 

“You scare me, Asahi. I’m absolutely frightened.” Jaehyuk admitted.

 

“How so? Because I carry a weapon with me all the time?”

 

“Because you are the essence of a weapon. You’re deadly. You drag me to places out of my comfort zone and the world out there isn’t really my realm.”

 

“And Hyunsuk is the comfort you talk about?” Asahi asked with full knowledge of getting hurt in the process. He braced himself for the impact of Jaehyuk’s answer. He’d been through this before.

 

“As of now, yes.” Jaehyuk’s truth cut through him deep. Didn’t he say he loved the pain? What’s wrong with now? The anesthesia might’ve worn out because Asahi swallowed it down, forcing air into lungs that suddenly felt too tight.

 

“I get that. He’s the only person you’ve learned how to actually love. And that it’s easy. And it would be like marrying your best friend. And you would be content. It’s all so simple.” Asahi managed to answer.

 

“You get me. It’s strange how you understand this much about me.” Jaehyuk murmured, thumb brushing Asahi’s cheek, then his lips. “It’s… hypnotizing.”

 

“The point of testing waters is to swim in it, get used to the temperature, to the level of it. Until you’re comfortable. Until it hits like home.” Asahi closed his eyes and relished Jaehyuk’s touch. He kisses his thumb then his palm whenever it would pass by his lips.

 

Jaehyuk just stared at Asahi. The gentleness of his voice clashed with the gleam of the knife in his hand, making Jaehyuk’s pulse tick faster.

 

“Do you trust me, Jae?”

 

“I do.” Jaehyuk said in a flash.

 

“Then test the waters with me. Because like you, there’s only one person I loved. Past tense. And now… I’m all for new energy, not to rinse me off completely but to explore more about myself through a person that I really really like.

 

“Asahi Hamada,” Jaehyuk murmured, voice dipping into something reverent and teasing all at once. “You’re so intense.”

 

He leaned in without waiting for permission, his mouth brushing Asahi’s in a kiss that deepened far too quickly. His teeth caught on Asahi’s bottom lip, tugging just enough to draw a soft, startled sound from him.

 

“And so…” Jaehyuk’s breath ghosted over his lips, “soft to kiss.”

 

His tongue slipped past, coaxing a low whimper from Asahi—one that made Jaehyuk smile against his mouth.

 

“You sound heavenly too,” he whispered, the words curling in Asahi’s ears like smoke.

 

Then Jaehyuk pressed a thigh between his legs. The friction pulled a moan from Asahi before he could bite it back, his hips betraying him as he moved against Jaehyuk’s leg. Jaehyuk’s hands tightened at his waist, holding him in place.

 

“And very sexy,” Jaehyuk added, his voice dropping lower. “Dangerous.”

 

“You say you’re in love with your best friend and you do this to me,” Asahi whispered. His butterfly knife slipped from his hand, hitting the grass with a soft thud before he looped his arms around Jaehyuk’s neck.

 

“It’s disarming,” Jaehyuk murmured, “how you give yourself to me so easily when you’re cold to everyone else.”

 

“Does it boost your ego?” Asahi smirked against their lips.

 

“A ton.” Jaehyuk said but with no hint amusement anymore. Just desire. His mouth crashed against Asahi’s again—no hesitation, no thought of anyone else for the first time. It was uncanny, almost unsettling, how present he felt with him.

 

It was only Asahi now. Only the smooth press of his lips, the deft curl of his tongue, the taste of something Jaehyuk couldn’t name but wanted more of. Soft and delicate, despite a face that could stop hearts or commit crimes. The contrast made Jaehyuk dizzy, the way he could take this wildfire of a man and reduce him to a whimpering, needy cat in his arms.

 

“Sexy cat…”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Let’s finish the maze before I actually fuck you here.”

 

Asahi chuckled against his lips. “What did you just call me?”

 

“My own personal sexy cat.”

 

“That’s an animal.”

 

“You really know how to ruin a moment.” Jaehyuk laughed. It was the same careless, bright laugh Asahi had only ever heard when he was with Hyunsuk.

 

“Why a cat?”

 

“Because you sound like one when I kiss you… or when you grind on my thigh like you just did.” The smirk that followed left Asahi breathless.

 

“Doesn’t fit me. It makes me sound cute,” Asahi muttered, rolling his eyes, though he didn’t truly mind the change from “slasher.”

 

“Hate to break it to you, but you are. Small enough to fit in my arms, cute enough to keep.” Jaehyuk tucked a strand of hair behind Asahi’s ear. “Come on. This maze is bullshit.”

 

“You scared?”

 

“Not anymore. I was—kept imagining bugs leaping out at me from these green walls. But now?” Jaehyuk’s voice dipped, slow and deliberate. “Now I’m with you. I’m not scared of anything.”

 

It was a simple line, but it landed heavy. Asahi’s brain told him not to fall for it. His heart didn’t listen.

 

“I’m here to find the treasure chest. You in?”

 

“You’re always so competitive. Fine. Slash our way through if you have to.” Jaehyuk watched as Asahi bent to pick up the knife, spinning it easily in his fingers. Then Jaehyuk extended a hand.

 

“You want to hold my hand? That scared?” Asahi teased.

 

“Yes. Totally.” The charm in Jaehyuk’s voice was obvious. It wasn’t fear but an excuse. Still, Asahi took his hand.

 

“You deserve better, sexy cat,” Jaehyuk said softly, kissing the back of it. “But I’m too selfish to let you go.”

 

It wasn’t a promise, but for the first time in their confusing entanglement, Asahi felt like Jaehyuk meant change. Like the maze, they were at the starting line and were finally ready to find their way through.

 

-
-
-

 

Unlike the others, Jeongwoo and Haruto went in together. Screw the president’s rule about going solo. They weren’t here for tradition, they were here for blood. Or treasure. Same thing tonight.

 

The two of them stalked into the maze like generals heading into battle, eyes sharp with that particular glint reserved for geniuses who think a hedge labyrinth is just a giant escape room waiting to be conquered. They were already muttering strategies under their breath, mapping routes in their heads like they had satellite imagery no one else had. They were even ready for possible dead ends. They were that invested to win.

 

They weren’t afraid of getting lost. In fact, they looked like they’d happily die in there before tapping out. And “tapping out” was the ultimate humiliation as ENO boys would say. It was being airlifted by the miniature chopper on standby, swooping in to pluck failed guests from the hedges depending on how deep they’d wandered. Sure, the staff could just walk in and fetch you, but the chopper? That was a scarlet letter with propellers.

 

“You look amazing, by the way,” Jeongwoo said, eyes never leaving the hedge in front of him, fingertips brushing the leaves as if testing for hidden seams.

 

Haruto’s head tilted toward him, slow and deliberate. His ears flushed red, the tips disappearing beneath his dark hair.

 

“You too,” he murmured, voice low enough that it felt meant for no one else in the world.

 

Ridiculous, really. As if they hadn’t been falling asleep in each other’s beds almost every night, waking tangled in sheets that smelled like both of them. As if Haruto didn’t already know the weight of Jeongwoo’s hand on the small of his back, the warmth of his breath against his neck. But still. This small compliment left him flushed like it was the first time.

 

The ex-with-benefits arrangement was spiraling into something neither of them wanted to name. Jeongwoo’s touches had grown unhurried, his glances lingering half a second too long, his smiles softer—dangerously so. Haruto was waiting, hoping Jeongwoo would speak first, especially now that the whispers of arranged matches were slithering through their families. ENO Mansion felt less like a home and more like a gilded cage tightening around all of them.

 

They were all heirs now. Their past seniors had been spared this intensity because they had fewer heirs, fewer eyes watching. But lately, even the younger ENO members were observing them like hawks, as though waiting for one of them to falter.

 

Beyond their circle, society watched with a more predatory gleam, calculating their worth like a currency exchange.

 

It had begun. They were wild creatures, moving in slow, deliberate circles, waiting for the moment to sink their claws in.

 

“You… getting prospects?” Jeongwoo asked, the words smooth but his knuckles brushing Haruto’s as he reached for a low branch. “Since you already told your parents about our break-up?”

 

“Mm. Yeah.” Haruto kept his eyes forward, but his shoulder leaned just close enough that their sleeves whispered against each other.

 

“From ENO?”

 

“Some juniors. Mom tried a few from our circle, but I told her it’s weird. Most of them already have… something going on.”

 

“I see.”

 

“You?”

 

“Yes. Dad’s been busy. Mingling earlier, actually.”

 

“Away from Jihoon’s dad?” Haruto took off his mask and Jeongwoo as well.

 

“Of course.” Jeongwoo’s lips curved faintly, but his gaze flicked toward Haruto, quick and unreadable. “He doesn’t count us as part of the Park clan. But that doesn’t faze Dad. He has his own empire to run. We rule the legal world right now. That’s a mic drop in itself.”

 

“That’s true.” Haruto’s smile held, but his fingers curled briefly, as if resisting the urge to reach for Jeongwoo. “So… we keep going then?”

 

“The maze? Yes,” Jeongwoo said instantly.

 

But Haruto didn’t move. His eyes lingered on Jeongwoo’s profile—sharp lines softened by the dappled light filtering through the hedges. They weren’t talking about the walls of green anymore. They were talking about the other maze. The one they’d been wandering for months. Two exes tracing invisible paths between them, each turn a choice they hadn’t yet made, unsure which route would lead them out… or back into each other.

 

Jeongwoo drifted closer, eyes catching on the faint bite mark peeking out from Haruto’s collar. It was a ghost of last night that made his mouth curve, slow and knowing.

 

“Was I too hard on you, last night?” he asked, voice low enough to catch in the quiet between them.

 

"A bit. I liked it, don't worry."

 

Jeongwoo’s eyes stayed on the purple crescent on Haruto’s skin. "I should really try and stop myself from putting marks on you."

 

"I don't mind."

 

“That’s the problem,” Jeongwoo murmured, his tone flattening into something more serious. “You never mind what I do to you, Haruto. Doesn’t that concern you?”

 

It did. Deep down, Haruto knew it should. But whatever this was—whatever Jeongwoo gave—he’d take it. It was a sickness, maybe, but it was his.

 

Instead, he smiled lightly. “It’s good sex. Who’s going to complain about that?”

 

Jeongwoo’s mouth curved, though his eyes stayed sharp. “It was, wasn’t it? Let me clean you up later.”

 

“I can clean myself. It’s embarrassing, you know that.”

 

“It’s the least I can do. I… keep losing control and exploding like a mad kid inside of you."

 

Haruto’s laugh was soft. “Can’t help it, huh?”

 

"Have you heard yourself when you're getting fucked?” Jeongwoo’s gaze burned into him. “The way you scream should be criminal."

 

"Just that you're huge. And you fill me up so well."

 

"You like it so much?" Jeongwoo’s voice was getting low now. It sent chills in Haruto’s spine.

 

“Your hands too.” Haruto’s eyes dropped briefly to Jeongwoo’s fingers. “Those fingers are dangerous.”

 

Jeongwoo lifted two of them, making a scissoring motion. “These?”

 

"Yeah. And more like..." Haruto wrapped a hand around Jeongwoo's forearm and stroked up and down in a slow, deliberate rhythm that was nowhere near innocent—like he was giving the arm a gentle handjob. He gave the tips of Jeongwoo’s fingertips a kiss while still stroking the arm.

 

"Haruto..." Jeongwoo’s voice carried warning, though his body leaned in.

 

"What?" Haruto challenged in a whisper and licked his lips. He was so undeniably pretty under the moonlight and Jeongwoo was intoxicated. He continued the motion on Jeongwoo's forearm while making eye contact.

 

"I want to just tie those naughty hands up."

 

"And?"

 

"Spank you until you can't take it."

 

"And?"

 

"Dump that hole with my cum, damn it." Jeongwoo was so good with dirty talk, it shouldn’t be new. But Haruto still buckled each time. He thought that he must be sick in the head for wanting it so much.

 

“Too bad,” Haruto said, stopping suddenly and stepping back just enough for the night air to slip between them. “We have a maze to solve.” The distance almost ripped Jeongwoo for some reason.

 

"You're such a menace sometimes." Jeongwoo complained. "Making me hard like that and not moving in for a kiss is brutal."

 

"And you're such a spoiled brat.” Haruto chuckled. “Kiss me when you win me a treasure chest."

 

The glint in Jeongwoo’s eyes got back with the challenge.

 

"Oh, game on. Let's put this IQ to use. Now where should Aureus hide that damn treasure?"

 

With masks on again, they continued slipping into the maze without the frantic sprint everyone else seemed to favor.

 

“Why aren’t we running?” Jeongwoo asked, glancing around, some guests passed by them already disappearing between walls of green.

 

Haruto’s hands stayed in his pockets. “Because half of this maze is already in my head,” he said flatly, taking a turn without even looking. “We skip three loops, two false exits, and a choke point where everyone’s going to get stuck flirting.”

 

Jeongwoo slowed, watching the way Haruto moved with such casual certainty. No hesitation, no wasted motion.

 

“…That’s hot,” Jeongwoo muttered before he could stop himself.

 

Haruto glanced back with a smirk. “Then try to keep up. I’m used to skimming your abs,” Haruto said suddenly, eyes flicking over the path ahead. “I’m efficient with lines and grids.”

 

Jeongwoo snorted. “You memorized the maze by memory. It was just shown to us a while ago. The genius that you are.”

 

“Ugh, you’re humble,” Haruto replied dryly. “It’s not like your brain isn’t moving like a 3D blueprint at the moment as we walk.”

 

Jeongwoo laughed, shaking his head. He might not have memorized the map, but he was remembering every turn they took. He was just wired that way. “Just saying… you’re so hot when you’re prepared like that.”

 

“I work with materials and facts, Woo. I don’t go with the flow like you.” It should hit a nerve but Jeongwoo brushed it off. He really was the “go with the flow” guy.

 

“Again… so fucking hot.”

 

Haruto shot him a sideways glance. “Are you trying to seduce me into sleeping with you later? I thought you had prospects in marriage.”

 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t fuck you senseless.”

 

Haruto rolled his eyes. “Don’t turn left. That’s a dead end.”

 

“You. Are. So. Hot. Seriously!” Jeongwoo said dramatically, trailing after him.

 

Haruto laughed. “I’ll tell my future fiancé that. I’ll reference my ex because he might not like how big of a dork I am at puzzles.”

 

Jeongwoo’s smile wavered at the thought of Haruto with someone else. It was a mess. He didn’t like committing and yet… the idea sat wrong.

 

“And I’ll tell my future fiancé,” Jeongwoo said eventually, “that he or she should be dork enough for me to find them hot.”

 

“Good answer.” Haruto smirked, leading the way deeper into the maze.

 

And just like that, the matter of fixed marriage and their unfinished business with each other was pushed back once more.

 

-
-
-

 

Doyoung stood still for a moment, watching people pass by. Just like Jaehyuk, he found the whole Treasure Hunt ridiculous—something he would’ve gladly tapped out of if he had the choice. Apparently, ENO made a pact that no one quits unless it’s peak desperation, death-level helplessness. Anything less, you endure. This Aureus tradition was that deep. Doyoung was purely annoyed by it.

 

He regretted splitting from Junghwan. He should’ve agreed to go in together like Jeongwoo and Haruto. But when the Pres gave an order, he followed—just like muscle memory. Jihoon had that leader’s pull. Doyoung sighed.

 

His foot caught on a loose gravel stone, and he pitched forward, only to be caught by a pair of strong arms.

 

“You okay?” asked a low, gentle voice. A simple mask hid the man’s face. “Be careful.”

 

“Y-yeah,” Doyoung muttered, steadying himself with a hand on the stranger’s shoulder. “Thank you—”

 

“He’s fine, thanks.”

 

That voice—Junghwan. Doyoung’s head snapped up to see him striding toward them, his presence sudden and solid. He was pleased that Junghwan found him in the maze. Junghwan took Doyoung’s arm, pulling him subtly closer. Even with masks on, the tension between the two men was sharp.

 

“You know him?” the stranger asked.

 

“Yes. He’s—”

 

“I’m the boyfriend. Fiancé, actually.” Junghwan’s tone left no space for argument.

 

“Oh. Well… I guess I’ll see you around, blue flower.”

 

Doyoung blinked, confused, then glanced down at the small bloom tucked in his suit pocket.

 

“Thanks again,” Doyoung said and then the man just gave a smile and walked off without giving his name.

 

Junghwan turned to him immediately. “You okay, baby? You hurt?”

 

“No, I’m fine. Good thing he was there.”

 

“Right.”

 

Doyoung studied him. “Junghwan, are you… jealous? You’re never jealous.” It was true. Junghwan trusted him completely. Even if Doyoung acted like Hyunsuk and flirted his way through a room, Junghwan never batted an eye. He knew where Doyoung belonged.

 

But something had shifted.

 

Maybe it started the moment Junghwan entertained that girl from KRS. Now it was Doyoung’s turn to feel the sharp edge of jealousy… yet, deep down, he couldn’t deny how much he liked the way Junghwan had claimed him just now.

 

“Maybe,” Junghwan admitted. “I didn’t like the way he held you.”

 

“That was literally just like you when that girl tripped and you helped her.” Doyoung countered, tone edged but calm.

 

“Oh, so now she has a name,” Doyoung cut in, voice sharp enough to slice through the humid air of the maze. Junghwan’s jaw flexed, a flicker of guilt or defiance passing through his eyes.

 

“You said you wanted me to—”

 

“I know what I said, Hwan.” Doyoung’s voice softened, but there was steel under it. “But you can’t blame me for being jealous. You’re mine.”

 

“I understand, baby. We can stop this hunt right now.” His hands slid to Doyoung’s waist, fingers curling in as his thumbs traced slow, possessive circles into his hips.

 

“No,” Doyoung said, almost too quickly. “I want you to explore.”

 

Junghwan’s brows furrowed. “For what reason? Doyoung, really… it was a mindless attraction. Let’s not make it a big deal. I’m yours, baby.”

 

Doyoung held his gaze, unblinking. Then, with a subtle shift, they pulled off their masks. His lips found Junghwan’s—slow, deliberate, a kiss that felt like a dare. His hand slid down the hard plane of Junghwan’s torso, then lower, cupping him, feeling the twitch and instant swell beneath his palm. Doyoung felt the control and power.

 

“Imagine you’re kissing her,” Doyoung whispered against his mouth.

 

Junghwan groaned, hips jerking forward involuntarily. The heat in his eyes darkened, heavy with want.

 

Doyoung broke the kiss with a small, wicked smirk. “See? You want to taste her. Then do it.”

 

It was dangerous, filthy and it shouldn’t have turned Doyoung on, but watching Junghwan teeter on the edge of control because of him was intoxicating.

 

“Baby, I—”

 

“If it’s a mindless attraction, then fuck her mindlessly. But you know your boundaries.” His voice was molten now, dripping heat into every word. “Besides… there’s an advantage in you wanting someone else.” His lips brushed Junghwan’s ear, breath warm. “You fuck me harder. Almost like… you’re fucking two people you like at once.”

 

Junghwan’s breath hitched. “God… you’re so full of filth.”

 

“You love it.”

 

“I love you, Doyoung Kim. You’re all mine.”

 

“You like that? Not sharing me—but you get to fuck other people? Selfish. So selfish, Junghwan So.”

 

Junghwan’s hand gripped the curve of his ass, dragging him closer until their chests collided. He devoured Doyoung’s mouth, tongues clashing in something messy and hot. Doyoung whimpered into it, feeding his hunger.

 

“I want you to taste her cunt,” Doyoung breathed between kisses. “Bury your cock inside her.”

 

“Shit. Shit…” Junghwan cursed because he could totally imagine the slide of his cock inside someone’s cunt while having Doyoung’s mouth on top of his.

 

“And come home to me after you’ve filled her. Tell me how much you thought of me while you railed her.”

 

“God… Doyoung. Fuck. You’re so hot, baby.” Junghwan’s voice was raw, hips grinding against Doyoung’s palm like a man starving.

 

Just as he captured Doyoung’s tongue between his lips again, the sound of approaching footsteps cut through the air. They tore apart, masks snapping back into place like nothing had happened—except for the flush high on their cheeks and the frantic pace of their breathing.

 

Their eyes met through the masks. There was pure, unspoken lust simmering.

 

“Are you really okay with this?” Junghwan asked, one last, searching time.

 

“Yes,” Doyoung said without a flicker of hesitation. It was madness, but he needed to see Junghwan undone like this. Needed to push until there was no doubt, no hesitation, only proof.

 

Once wasn’t enough. You should be chosen every time.

 

And Doyoung intended to make him prove it again, and again until there was nothing left for Junghwan to give that wasn’t already his.

 

-
-
-

 

It was almost poetic how Yoshi found Junkyu in the maze, the same way Jaehyuk stumbled upon Asahi… or how Junghwan happened to see Doyoung in someone else’s arms. Some things weren’t accidents. They were gravity.

 

He spotted a familiar broad back in the distance, the glint of a small treasure chest clutched in one hand.

 

“You won?” Yoshi called out, strolling casually toward him.

 

Junkyu turned, mask pushed up to his head, disappointment etched into his features. He was surprised to see Yoshi, though. It was a huge maze and they entered through different pathways. “As if. It’s empty. Someone already took what was inside.” He said back.

 

“That’s weird,” Yoshi said, stopping a few feet away. “The bell hasn’t rung yet. No winner announced. Well, it’s typical to leave the chest alone, to confuse other participants.”

 

“Maybe they were greedy for more,” Junkyu muttered. “Or the organizers messed up.”

 

“I doubt the mistake part. But you might be right—the first finder could be after the other treasures. There are three total, right?”

 

“Yeah. My excitement was for nothing. It better be an ENO member, or I’ll be even more pissed.”

 

“You really wanted one?”

 

“Well, I was bored, so I just had to try.”

 

“And you can’t be bored,” Yoshi said dryly, “because that means you want sex.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

The banter was too easy now, almost dangerous in how it erased the weight of the heavy conversation they’d had at the bar earlier.

 

“You didn’t go with Asahi?”

 

“Pres clearly said—”

 

“Glad you’re alone,” Yoshi cut in, his voice low, resonant, almost like a touch against Junkyu’s skin.

 

Junkyu exhaled hard, already feeling that familiar, dangerous heat rise in his chest. “You can’t do this to me, Yoshi.”

 

A faint smirk tugged at Yoshi’s lips. “Do what?”

 

“Make me weak for you,” Junkyu said, the words spilling out with more bite than he intended. His eyes darted to Yoshi’s mouth, lingering there like he was trying to stop himself from leaning in. “All I want right now is to kiss you, but I’m so—” he stepped forward, chest almost brushing Yoshi’s, “so… so… so angry. Because you’re so fucking dumb when it comes to decisions.”

 

Yoshi’s gaze didn’t waver. If anything, it softened, dangerously so. “I’m just a realist, Kyu. This is the world we live in. Why make shit complicated?”

 

“You don’t think this is complicated?” Junkyu shot back, his voice catching between frustration and desire. “Or do you just not care how I feel?” His pulse was loud in his ears, and Yoshi felt like a gravity he couldn’t break.

 

“I want my throne, Junkyu. My path is simple—become this country’s president and run an empire across Asia. I’m the son of one of the most powerful mafia leaders in the world. I was born to do this. To choose what’s right for the people who depend on me.”

 

Yoshi thought of his people, the Yakuza and the Jopok. Two worlds combined under the Kanemoto Group. The ones that expected him to rise up even more as the next leader. He wanted to have the absolute power. It was his destiny. The weight of it, the responsibility… it was pure happiness to him but now, looking at Junkyu, it almost felt like it’s slowly melting. He found growing swell in his heart when he’s with him.

 

“If you’re so powerful already, can’t you do things as you like?” Junkyu’s voice was low, almost challenging, though the heat in his eyes betrayed him.

 

Yoshi’s mouth twitched. “Your household must be nice,” he said, almost wistful. “I grew up in harsher ways. You and I are different.”

 

Junkyu’s jaw tightened. “Then why keep ruining me? Leave me alone before you put eternal damage.”

 

“That’s the thing…” Yoshi’s voice roughened, threading through the humid night. “I can’t seem to do it. Fuck.”

 

In two strides he was there, shoving Junkyu back until his shoulders brushed the cool, scratchy hedge. His hands were firm like ownership disguised as desperation. Then his mouth crashed into Junkyu’s, the kiss hot and punishing, teeth catching lips as if Yoshi could devour every protest before it formed.

 

“Mm… Yoshi… oh my…” Junkyu’s moan broke free, shameful in its honesty, as Yoshi pressed the hard length of his erection against him.

 

“Let me fuck you. Stay with me,” Yoshi growled, his breath scalding against Junkyu’s ear. “Junkyu… come on.”

 

“I hate you. I hate you so much,” Junkyu whispered, though his body betrayed him—hips angling into the heat, as if starved.

 

Yoshi turned him with a rough grip, chest to his back, grinding his thick shaft against the curve of him. His mouth found the nape of Junkyu’s neck, teeth scraping over sensitive skin before biting down and leaving a mark that would whisper his name in silence later.

 

“You want me,” Yoshi murmured into his skin, the words dark and dangerous. “You want me so much.” He corrected Junkyu.

 

Junkyu’s hands sought Yoshi’s, dragging them up to his chest, forcing him to pinch at his nipples through the thin fabric. His hips moved instinctively, grinding back into that impossible length.

 

“You’re lighting me on fire,” Junkyu breathed, voice shaking. “Why burn me like this?” He turned in Yoshi’s arms, their foreheads pressing together, the air between them taut as a pulled wire. “I hate you. You’re so evil.” But even as he said it, his lips found Yoshi’s again. It was hungry like surrendering to the ruin.

 

“Stay with me. At… ENO.” Yoshi’s words were low, coaxing, laced with something almost… pleading. It was his first time to propose that and he knew immediately that Junkyu wouldn’t refuse him now.

 

Junkyu searched his eyes. It was dark, unwavering, merciless. Yoshi knew what he was doing. And Junkyu was helpless. He knew he shouldn’t. God, he shouldn’t. But Yoshi’s pull was gravity, and resisting felt like trying to defy the tide.

 

“Yes,” he breathed at last, barely more than a sigh. Yoshi’s palm cupped his cheek, thumb stroking once in a gesture so tender it burned worse than any bite.

 

What a cruel, cruel world, to make surrender feel this sweet.

 

-
-
-

 

Like most people in the maze, Hyunsuk wanted a treasure chest even if he knew the odds were slim. He’d entered through the main gate and, somehow, managed to get himself lost. Well… sort of.

 

His clever idea of leaving small gravel piles at every turn had worked at first, a breadcrumb trail back to where he’d been. But now, when he hit a dead end and turned to retrace his steps, the piles were gone. All of them. The realization prickled hot frustration up his neck. He refused to tap out, but the hedges felt closer now, pressing in, the air thick and stale.

 

He just needed someone. Anyone. Now he was annoyed, verging on claustrophobic. And if someone didn’t show up soon, he was dangerously close to losing it and a Choi crying in an Aureus event was not an option. Damn Jihoon for his rules. Damn Jihoon for making him go in alone.

 

Needing a break, he sank down against a hedge, closed his eyes, and focused on breathing—slow and deep. His fingers twitched toward his phone, but he stopped himself. The Order had that tech radar Haruto mentioned, tracking any signal inside the maze. Haruto had warned every ENO member not to risk it. As usual, the tech genius was maddeningly reliable.

 

Footsteps.

 

Hyunsuk’s head snapped up. Relief surged through him so fast he was already moving, springing to his feet. When he spotted a familiar broad build, a black mask, and a silver brooch glinting at the chest, his heart skipped. He broke into a run.

 

“Oh my god! It’s you—you found me! Thank heavens!” He looped an arm around the man’s neck, pulling him close in an impulsive hug.

 

The man hugged back but it was different, though. His scent wasn’t right.

 

It’s not Jihoon.

 

Hyunsuk jolted back like he’d been shocked. “I’m sorry, I thought you were—”

 

The masked man tilted his head, watching him. Not Jihoon. Hyunsuk was glad he hadn’t blurted his name and no one needed to know how close they really were. But there was something about the visible half of this stranger’s face… familiar.

 

“You got lost?” the man asked.

 

“No,” Hyunsuk lied smoothly. “Just resting.” No one should know a Choi was terribly helpless a while ago.

 

“Looks like you were expecting someone. Your boyfriend, maybe?”

 

“No. I don’t have one.”

 

“Good to know, Hyunsuk Choi.”

 

Hyunsuk blinked, pulling off his mask in invitation for the other to take off his too. “You know me?”

 

“Hard not to,” the man said with a smile, eyes flicking over Hyunsuk’s distinct suit and hair.

 

He pulled his own mask free. And Hyunsuk froze. Gorgeous. Undeniably so. But not quite anyone he could place.

 

“You look like someone I know. What’s your name?”

 

“Kenji Ishihara.”

 

“You’re related to—”

 

“Naoki? Yes. He’s my brother.”

 

“Oh. You’re in college? I didn’t know he had a brother. I thought he just had two sisters.”

 

“Yes. I’m in college.”

 

“Why aren’t you at Hwagyeong?”

 

“I’m illegitimate.” Kenji’s smile didn’t falter. “Apparently, not good enough for Hwagyeong.”

 

The honesty surprised and impressed Hyunsuk because not many in high society admitted things like that so freely.

 

“I see. But you’re here in Aureus. Which school? Seoul, maybe?”

 

“Gukjin.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Why the tone?” Kenji teased lightly.

 

“So you’re a member of Delta Sigma Kai?” The disappointment in Hyunsuk’s voice was too obvious.

 

“Yes. Master Initiator.”

 

Hyunsuk’s amusement faded. He was looking at a potential enemy—worse, one in the exact same rank as him. Second to the president. Right? Or was their structure different?

 

“And you know me?” Hyunsuk pressed.

 

“Only that you dated my brother a while back.”

 

“I guess I did.” Hyunsuk’s eyes narrowed faintly. “So it’s not entirely true Gukjin doesn’t have legacies. They have you.”

 

“I’m not exactly a legacy.” Kenji laughed, the sound warm and easy. The combination of his friendly tone and striking face was almost disarming—so much like Naoki it tugged at something buried in Hyunsuk.

 

Naoki. His ex-boyfriend, who had been hopelessly in love with him once upon a time. Too bad Hyunsuk had been too wrapped up in Jihoon to return it. Better to end it before he broke the guy completely. He’d done it right after Naoki graduated and left Hwagyeong, giving the tidy excuse that he didn’t do long distance.

 

It hadn’t been serious, not to him. Naoki had known it was more of a game, but he’d still confessed. And Hyunsuk had still felt guilty for not feeling the same. Now, here was the younger brother—same age as him, sharper jawline, eyes that sparkled like he already knew too much, and probably just as smart.

 

What were the odds? A spitting image of an ex appearing when he was lost and helpless. Maybe he could flirt his way into making Kenji help him out of the maze. Winning didn’t even matter anymore, not tapping out did.

 

Gukjin or not, Kenji was a potential asset. An acquaintance from DSK could benefit ENO. Jihoon might hate it later, but right now, Hyunsuk needed him.

 

“I’ll get out of here now. Since it’s a dead end, I’m done resting. Coming with me?” Hyunsuk asked casually, masking his need with a light smile.

 

“Sure.” Kenji’s grin was all sunshine as they let their masks hang loose around their necks.

 

“How’s Naoki hyung?” Hyunsuk asked as they turned a corner.

 

“He’s well.”

 

“You’re in a good place with him, right?”

 

“Yeah. We’re cool.” Kenji laughed and rubbed the back of his neck.

 

“Good. Glad he’s not petty enough to hate you for being illegitimate.”

 

“No. Nothing like that. We get along fine. He just hates that I look so much like him.”

 

“You do. Though you’re more attractive,” Hyunsuk teased. “Please don’t tell him that.”

 

Kenji chuckled, and Hyunsuk found himself relaxing. There was something about his easy energy—it almost made him forget they were from opposing fraternities.

 

“And you’re more beautiful than he described,” Kenji said without hesitation.

 

That made Hyunsuk glance at him sharply. “Don’t flirt back. This is just my natural state.”

 

“I’m not flirting. I’m telling the truth.”

 

“Right. Okay, Kenji. Whatever you say.”

 

They both laughed, the sound mingling effortlessly in the maze’s narrow paths.

 

“So… you’re DSK. Didn’t see you earlier with your president. They came over to us.”

 

“Oh, I was against it. Didn’t like the idea of going to you guys. I only joined because it was one way to get into society—my brother pushed me, said I’d make lifelong friends. They’re amazing people. I just don’t agree with some of the ways they operate.”

 

“Are they planning something against us?” Hyunsuk asked, his voice dipping lower.

 

Kenji shot him a warning look. “I’m still in the brotherhood.”

“I get it. You’re loyal. As I am to ENO. I’m Master Initiator, too.”

 

In Epsilon Nu Omega, the Master Initiator was second to the president. Unlike other fraternities, ENO had no fixed officers—no permanent secretaries, treasurers, or the like. Seniors shared responsibilities, with roles assigned by the president as needed. It kept power and blame distributed.

 

Other fraternities had since adopted the system. There had even been a scandal in Theta Pi, where a treasurer was blamed for a massive loss in funds, though it wasn’t entirely his fault. ENO’s approach had proven the smarter move.

 

“I know you are,” Kenji said. “But I’m not second in command like you. We have a vice president and a secretary or the Master of the Whip.”

 

“Hmm. Interesting your brother let you go to another school.”

 

“It was my father who opposed it.”

 

“I see. So now your loyalties are different.”

 

“That’s right.”

 

Hyunsuk’s smile was faint. “Relish this, Kenji. After tonight, when we get out, we might not be friends anymore.”

 

Kenji’s expression softened. “I’m glad for this time, Hyunsuk. Honestly, I’m honored.”

 

“You say that like you’ve been waiting to meet me.”

 

“I have. We’re the same age, and my brother’s still crazy about you. I was curious.”

 

“Still?” Hyunsuk smirked.

 

“His fiancé gets jealous sometimes. He still mentions you.”

 

“Must be the way I let him fuck me—err, sorry.”

 

Kenji laughed, low and genuine. “Hyung was right. Not just beautiful. You’re honestly dangerously hot.”

 

“Is this flirting now or still facts?”

 

“What if it’s both?”

 

“You’re good. But I’m not emotionally available. Someone owns me now.”

 

“I thought you were single.”

 

“I am. I just… let him own me. Gladly.”

 

“Lucky bastard.”

 

Hyunsuk smiled softly. “Actually, I’m the lucky one.”

 

Then he spotted it. A small pile of gravel. His pile. “Oh my god! We can find our way out now!” The excitement burst out of him as he hugged Kenji without thinking. Kenji’s arms closed around him easily, warm and solid.

 

But the laughter that followed didn’t last.

 

“Hyunsuk.”

 

The sound of his name froze him. He immediately stepped back from Kenji, clearing his throat when he saw Jihoon standing there without a mask. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were sharp and heavy.

 

“Pres!” Hyunsuk’s heart kicked against his ribs as their gazes locked. Jihoon’s attention flicked to the man beside him, brows drawing tight.

 

“Naoki hyung?” Jihoon asked flatly.

 

“Uh, no. He’s Naoki hyung’s brother.”

 

“I didn’t know he had a brother. But you’re not from Hwagyeong. How are you here?”

 

“He’s—” Hyunsuk started but was immediately cut off.

 

“Let him speak, Hyunsuk. He’s got a mouth.” Jihoon’s tone was clipped, the faintest bite under the words. He didn’t like the sight of Hyunsuk with his ex, not even his brother.

 

Kenji stepped forward with an easy smile. “Kenji Ishihara, Delta Sigma Kai. Nice to meet you, Jihoon Park.”

 

Jihoon’s eyes narrowed at the information but politely took the hand unlike the rude DSK President from a while ago.

 

“Gukjin?”

 

“Long story,” Kenji replied. “But I am indeed Naoki’s brother.” His glance at Hyunsuk carried an unspoken reminder of the personal secret Hyunsuk had learned earlier—that he was an illegitimate child. Jihoon didn’t miss the silent exchange and didn’t like it.

 

“Well… nice to meet you,” Jihoon said, the courtesy thin. “You can find your own way out, right? A chopper’s getting Hyunsuk and I.”

 

“I guess?” Kenji answered.
Pw

“You tapped out?!” Hyunsuk blurted, surprised.

 

Jihoon turned his gaze on him, expression cool. “Of course not.”

 

“Oh… you won?” Hyunsuk felt sheepish now as if he asked a ridiculous question. This was Jihoon Park. Why would he think that such a person would tap out?

 

“Of course I did. Jeongwoo and Haruto too. We found all three.” Jihoon handed Hyunsuk a small blue diamond trinket as if it were nothing, a quiet testament to his skill.

 

“Nice!” Hyunsuk’s admiration slipped through before he could hide it.

 

A few minutes later, a sleek airlift descended in silence, its hull catching faint glints of light in the maze’s dim glow. Only two seats.

 

“I guess I’ll see you around, Hyunsuk…” Kenji said with a faint, unreadable smile.

 

“Yeah.” Hyunsuk kept it short. Jihoon’s presence pressed on him like a weight. “Bye.”

 

“Park.”

 

“Ishihara.” Jihoon’s nod was curt as he took Hyunsuk’s arm, guiding him into the airlift.

 

Inside, the hum of the engines filled the silence. Jihoon didn’t spare him a glance.

 

“Are you mad, your highness?” Hyunsuk asked carefully.

 

“You let him touch you like that,” Jihoon said, voice even but edged. “What am I supposed to do? If I haven’t found you in the maze—” Jihoon didn’t continue and just clenched his jaw.

 

Hyunsuk was grateful the pilot and guard had headphones on. He leaned forward just enough for Jihoon to hear him.

 

“Am I getting punished?”

 

“Look at me, Pres. Please.” His voice dipped low, pleading, almost trembling. “I’m sorry… I was just lost, and then I found this pile of gravel I used as a wayfinder and I got excited—”

 

“You have to earn it.” Jihoon’s tone was clipped, final.

 

Hyunsuk blinked. “What?”

 

“If you want me to look at you, you have to earn it.”

 

“So… it starts?” His voice faltered.

 

“Yes.”

 

A shiver ran all the way down Hyunsuk’s spine, curling deep in his chest. The edges of his subspace loomed close, that addictive thrill humming through his bones.

 

“You’re coming with me to the Aureus meeting. No going to my place alone. You stay by my side. Understood?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Aside from Jaehyuk, Yoshi, Junkyu… Asahi have access to the meeting. So do you. I had it cleared with my uncle.”

 

Hyunsuk knew exactly what that meant. Seo-joon Park wasn’t just Jihoon’s uncle. He was high in the Order.

 

“By the way,” Hyunsuk said, voice softer, more careful, “I was the one who got all the seniors invited to the Gala. And the juniors.. My Uncle Michael pushed it through too. He’s an officer of the Order too.”

 

Jihoon finally glanced at him. Hyunsuk didn’t dare look up until—

 

“Eyes, Hyunsuk.”

 

He obeyed instantly, meeting Jihoon’s gaze like it was the only oxygen in the air.

 

“Thank you for that. I was surprised, truly. You did a lot for ENO,” Jihoon said, the edge in his voice giving way to something quieter. His hand twitched like he wanted to touch Hyunsuk but he was aware of his surroundings.

 

“I’ll do anything for you.”

 

“Good. I’m still mad—”

 

“And jealous?” Hyunsuk risked cutting in.

 

“Yes, little devil.” Jihoon sighed. But Hyunsuk was thankful for his soft eyes.

 

“Sorry. It won’t happen again. Really.” Hyunsuk couldn’t say that it came naturally like an impulse. He should really behave himself now. He wanted to giggle because it’s been a long time since someone actually owned him. Although his past boyfriends couldn’t stop him before. He’ll do it for Jihoon.

 

“It better not.” Jihoon’s gaze flicked to his lips for half a heartbeat before retreating. “Back to your punishment.”

 

And this man. Not his boyfriend, not his anything, owned him. He surrendered like it was inevitable. His body and mind were always in sync when it came to Jihoon Park. Hyunsuk was just helpless. But this was the kind of helplessness that he would gladly accept.

 

Hyunsuk’s mouth curled in a slow smile. It wasn’t a full win but Jihoon had looked at him and praised him.

 

And tonight, he’d make sure it happened again and more.

 

-
-
-

 

Hyunsuk entered the venue with a quiet stiffness, barely processing whatever Jaehyuk was murmuring beside him. His lips pressed into his bottom lip, cheeks faintly pink, as the subtle movement of the red plug inside him made every step a reminder of Jihoon’s earlier claim.

 

Before the meeting, Jihoon had pulled him into one of the museum’s private viewing rooms—heavily guarded outside. A man named George, whom Jihoon casually introduced as his butler, stood by the door. Jihoon hadn’t wasted words. He simply bent Hyunsuk over the backrest of a sofa.

 

“Wear this for me. It’ll calm me down,” Jihoon whispered, unbuckling Hyunsuk’s belt with practiced ease. His pants slid down, baring his flawless behind.

 

Hyunsuk glanced over his shoulder. Jihoon was rubbing lube over a small oblong device, almost like a miniature, blunt-tipped dildo, massaging the slick tip against his entrance.

 

“Hmmh!” Hyunsuk whimpered.

 

“Shhh…” Jihoon cooed as he pushed in, prepping Hyunsuk’s hole. “You like it?” He twisted the device over and over gently.

 

“I want you—need you…” Hyunsuk moaned.

 

“Not yet, little devil.”

 

Prepped enough, Jihoon held up the red plug, pressing it to Hyunsuk’s lips. “Open up.” Hyunsuk obeyed, sucking on the smooth silicone, eyes widening at the intimacy of the act.

 

And then he saw Jihoon place it inside his mouth too. Hyunsuk’s mouth ran dry. It was so seductive. Jihoon’s dark eyes were making him weak.

 

“Ass up.” Jihoon commanded.

 

And Hyunsuk felt the push of the plug inside his hole. He sighed. The stretch of it was larger than he expected.

 

“So lovely,” Jihoon murmured, kissing the curve of his left butt cheek before pulling Hyunsuk’s pants back into place. His hands moved with a strange tenderness as he zipped and fastened the belt. “Stand up.”

 

Hyunsuk looked down, biting a smile as he watched Jihoon’s hands animatedly while zipping and fixing his belt for him.

 

Jihoon tipped Hyunsuk’s chin up. “Feel okay? Tell me if it’s too much.”

 

“I’m okay.”

 

“Sure?”

 

“Yes. I want to please you.”

 

Jihoon gave him a rare smile. “You really are lovely.” Neglecting his earlier rule of not looking at Hyunsuk. He can’t help but lean for a kiss.

 

It deepened fast. Jihoon’s hand gripped Hyunsuk’s ass. The plug shifted and Hyunsuk’s moan spilled into his mouth.

 

“Jihoon…” Hyunsuk whispered against his lips. Jihoon stared at his face mesmerized by how lost Hyunsuk was in his touch.

 

“Why are you like this to me? What are you doing?” Jihoon asked like he couldn’t believe what he’s seeing. Like Hyunsuk was unreal.

 

“I… don’t know. It just happens…”

 

Jihoon gave him one last kiss. “We don’t want to be late. I can’t wait to have more of you later.” Jihoon placed his forehead against Hyunsuk’s and exhaled. Like he was in the middle of contentment and desire for more. A certain hunger.

 

“Yes, please.” Hyunsuk clung to him for one last moment, head resting against Jihoon’s chest.

 

The memory faded as Hyunsuk settled into his seat in their respective places.

 

Seven—now eight, with the newly seated Delta Sigma Kai, representatives of the most elite fraternities and sororities sat in the underground hall of the Hwagyeong Imperial Museum. They occupied the upper tiers of an oval theater, positioned so the Order could see them all at a glance.

 

Below, in the center of the hall, at least fifty men in golden cloaks sat in formation. Their faces were hidden behind masks, save for one figure unmasked in a striking red cloak.

 

The red cloak was the most coveted seat in the Aureus Order. The Grand Archon, or Basileus, Greek for President. It was the position every ENO member with ambition dreamed of like Jihoon, Yoshi, and Asahi..

 

They looked like an orchestra beneath the golden lights, the Order shimmering as though each man was a king. The air was deceptively light, almost enchanting. Royalities twinkling. Yet… cult-like. Powerful.

 

“Welcome.” The Basileus’s gentle voice rang out, echoing through the oval chamber.

 

Only ENO had five representatives in attendance, every other group had three. Six fraternities, two sororities—the main eight Aureus sponsored. Dozens of minor groups existed under its umbrella, but only these eight received the full weight of the Order’s power.

 

Jihoon had deliberately chosen seats at the very back. He believed true power didn’t come from being at the front. It came from being the last. That was where impact began. That was why, even in the quad, he always walked at the rear, letting anticipation build. Watching.

 

“So many new faces on the seats,” the Basileus observed, his smile friendly but his presence sharp. Even without a mask, he was a man to be feared.

 

“Tonight, we evaluate how you have cared for your Greek letters. You sit there because you earned it but one should never stop wanting to earn more. We at Aureus are always hungry for achievement, for skill, for the proof that you are outstanding in every endeavor. We support your lifestyle, and in return, we take what your soul can give.”

 

In the ENO section, Jihoon’s focus broke at the flicker of steel. He leaned to the side because he got distracted with Asahi who was idly flipping a butterfly knife. Without glancing back, Asahi smirked, then finally stilled his hands.

 

Jihoon sat in the front row of their cluster; behind him were Asahi and Yoshi; in the back row, Jaehyuk, Hyunsuk, and Junkyu.

 

“Cleanliness is a must,” Yoshi murmured with a quiet smirk. He knew it was code not just for appearance but for ‘don’t scatter your mess’. Hide everything perfectly.

 

As the heir to one of the largest mafia syndicates in the world, Yoshi desired Aureus’s presidency more than anything. He had failed to secure ENO’s, but collegiate prestige was only one rung on his ladder. He wanted a seat in the Order or government to strengthen his men.

 

“Let’s begin,” the Basileus continued. “I will introduce you to the new fraternity the Order has taken under its wing.”

 

Jihoon’s jaw tensed.

 

“Delta Sigma Kai.”

 

Three figures rose. Jihoon recognized the president, Dongwoo Baek, another member, and… surprisingly, Kenji Ishihara.

 

They moved to the center to be inducted.

 

All three fixed their attention on Epsilon Nu Omega, as if taunting them, as if daring someone to stop them now.

 

Jihoon turned to look because he had to, as president. But the rest of ENO barely reacted. They glanced sideways, down, or spoke quietly to each other. No one looked impressed. They looked bored.

 

It made Dongwoo Baek’s jaw tighten.

 

Kenji, though… Kenji wasn’t looking at Jihoon at all. His gaze was aimed elsewhere.

 

Jihoon didn’t even bother following it because he knew his eyes were lingering on Hyunsuk Choi.

 

Madness. Jihoon slipped a hand into his pocket and pressed the small remote, the corner of his mouth curving into a smirk. Only then did he turn, slow and deliberate, searching for the only eyes that mattered—the ones he owned.

 

Hyunsuk’s.

 

Mouth parted. Breathless. Stunned. Shocked. Flushed. Barely holding himself together.

 

Jihoon’s gaze darkened, pinning him in place before he calmly turned back to the induction rites as if nothing happened.

 

As if he hadn’t just reminded Hyunsuk of the plug inside him and vibrating at Jihoon’s command.

 

He wanted control? Then Jihoon would give it to him. Completely.

Notes:

Next up. Character profiles just for fun. 🥰 It should be out before I post the intensity of Chapter 10.

Chapter 10: Epsilon Nu Omega Character Profiles

Summary:

Take a look at the profiles of Epsilon Nu Omega Fraternity's notorious heirs.

Notes:

Disclaimer:

 

ALL OF THESE ARE NOT REAL: THE PLACES, THE PEOPLE, EVERTYHING. IT'S FICTION. I JUST MADE IT ALL UP.

The profiles are definitely Rated 18. So, if you're here and uncomfortable with their faces plastered along with MATURE/EXPLICIT write-ups, then PLEASE IGNORE THIS CHAPTER INSERT.

Please refrain from screenshots or sharing images online. If you so badly want to share it, send or post the AO3 link instead.

This is my first attempt on worldbuilding for a treasure fic.

The city of Hwagyeong was small by measure but immense in weight. It wasn’t built for the masses, never meant to swell with common life. Instead, it thrived as a sanctuary for the elite. It’s a hidden jewel pressed against the uneasy boundary of North and South Korea. Its very placement was deliberate, almost provocative.

 

To live in Hwagyeong was to announce fearlessness, to prove you were untouchable, above borders, beyond politics.

 

Long ago, Seoul had been the stage for Korea’s wealthiest, the cradle of dynasties and the backdrop of power. But as the city grew crowded and loud, those with influence sought something more refined. They drifted northward, into the quiet lands where Hwagyeong would rise. There, the soil was rich, the air was clearer, and the privacy was absolute.

 

Like Monaco, it became less a city and more an enclave of prestige where royalties, heirs, and those born into unimaginable wealth built their estates and legacies. To belong to Hwagyeong was to belong to a world apart. Almost its own country.

 

 

Epsilon Nu Omega Fraternity Senior Member Profiles

 

Notes:

I hope this chapter insert gave you some light on our main characters and why they behave that way. I think I may have gone too far with this story than what I originally planned. I think I've never been this excited in writing compared to my other completed fics. lol hopefully, you guys stay to cheer this story on. I think my last worldbuilding fic was ages ago. And that was an original, not a fanfic.

Anyways, see you where we left off. I can't wait to share with you what happened right after the Aureus Order Charity Gala! <3

Chapter 11: Night Views

Summary:

After the Aureus Order Charity Gala, with the holidays approaching, the boys slip free from business and let the games linger, stretching every excuse to lose themselves in arms that aren’t theirs to claim, yet feel impossible to let go.

Notes:

Calling this the smut chapter and definitely not safe for work. Happy reading!

Four years ago

The Hwagyeong Triple Towers just within Hwagyeong Hills was the most luxurious mixed-use skyscraper with amenities one can only dream of. It was the crown jewel of modern ambition with three mirrored spires housing luxury residences, high-end offices and a lot more. It was ambitious and grand in scale given its surroundings and the land condition at Hwagyeong Hills.

 

The Yoon Group built it with pride, an architectural flex, given the fact they’re the best when it came to construction of prestigious structures.

 

Junghwan So was instantly inspired the moment he stepped in on that place. He was going on his first date with his fiancé that he just barely met, Doyoung Kim.

 

Date my ass, he thought dryly. Their “first meeting” weeks ago had ended in something closer to a scandal—fucking each other senseless in a semi-private room while their parents finalized the marriage deal outside. Tonight, Junghwan decided, was his attempt at civility.

 

Doyoung seemed like a really nice person and Junghwan wouldn’t mind spending a lifetime with that kind of face and body. He was just perfect. However, it was early days and he thought it not wrong to get-to-know the person he was going to marry in due time. Doyoung picked a restaurant within the building as it was newly constructed. It was the hippest place in town.

 

He glanced toward the glass doors at the sound of a commotion. Outside, a sleek limousine pulled up. And then, Doyoung emerged. Sharp suit, expression cool, surrounded by a small army of bodyguards. Junghwan smirked. He preferred his security invisible. Doyoung clearly didn’t share that philosophy.

 

But then their eyes met. Doyoung smiled, and the world slowed. The lobby’s chatter, the fountain’s roar, even Junghwan’s cynical thoughts. For a ridiculous heartbeat, there was only him.

 

“Am I late?” Doyoung asked, stepping closer.

 

“No,” Junghwan said, taking in the flush on his fiancé’s perfect face. “You’re just in time. Though… that’s a lot of bodyguards.”

 

Doyoung gave a sheepish smile. “My cousin died recently. Kidnapped. Starved. It’s… complicated. This is just precaution. I apologize.”

 

Junghwan’s smirk softened. “I’m sorry. Truly. I understand.” A beat. “Then all the more reason for me to be with you.”

 

Doyoung arched a brow. “For what?”

 

“To protect you.”

 

“Protect me?” His lips quirked. “You look like danger yourself. What makes you think I’d be safe with you?”

 

Junghwan stepped closer, voice dropping. “That… is kind of true. You’re not safe. Not when you look like that.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like you want to be fucked hard.” The words slipped. Junghwan couldn’t stop himself from being blunt. He had himself hoping to the heavens that Doyoung wasn’t sensitive to these types of comments.

 

Silence stretched, heavy. Then, Doyoung’s lips parted into a slow, devastating smile.

 

“Can we skip dinner?” he murmured. “Because you’re right. I do want to be fucked.”

 

“By who?” Junghwan smirked. He just needed to hear it come from Doyoung’s mouth.

 

“By you. Future husband.”

 

Junghwan laughed, low and sharp. “Insane.”

 

-

 

The thing was, the hotel portion of the Triple Towers wasn’t even open yet. Only the commercial spaces like the mall and its restaurants. Those were operational, the rest still pristine and waiting.

 

Junghwan barely cared. His head was already thick with images of Doyoung flushed and writhing beneath him. As a young adult, his hormones—especially around a face like Doyoung, do things to him.

 

“Are you perhaps available tonight, Mr. So?” the receptionist asked politely. “Our real estate agents are offering viewings of the penthouse units. The night views are best. If you like, we can also arrange the private dinner you reserved from the restaurant up there.”

 

Junghwan flicked his gaze to Doyoung, who looked back at him with a faint, knowing smile. They were both restless, both burning. The towers was also a bit of a drive within Hwagyeong Hills. And they couldn’t exactly fuck in the back of a car.

 

“That’s one way to market,” Junghwan drawled. Real estate, luxury cars, fine wine—those things always caught his eye. He took that trait from his father.

 

The receptionist gave a nervous laugh. “But truthfully, Sir, tonight’s really about selling the food and ambience.”

 

They all chuckled, though the joke barely touched the air between Junghwan and Doyoung. The Towers were notorious already, their prices unreachable even for most elites. The invitation was bold, audacious. Exactly the kind of place Junghwan liked to test.

 

He slid his hand, bold, against Doyoung’s waist. “Is it really good for a dinner date? My fiancé and I are starving.”

 

Doyoung’s throat worked, his blush betraying that he understood exactly what kind of hunger Junghwan meant.

 

The receptionist faltered, clearly not expecting him to take the bait. Protocol dictated she offer. Reality told her these two were too young to matter. But this was Hwagyeong Hills, and every establishment here knew better than to underestimate names like theirs.

 

“It is, Mr. So,” she managed. “The penthouses are just half-furnished. But I believe it adequate.”

 

“Good,” Junghwan said smoothly. “And dinner will arrive…?”

 

“At least twenty minutes, Sir. In the meantime, one of our agents can escort you to enjoy the views and to tour you around.”

 

Junghwan’s lips curved. “Perfect.”

 

Doyoung still wasn’t sure what Junghwan’s plan was, but he decided not to question it. He wanted to see how this man moved, how he took control of a room. And more than that, he wanted to know how Junghwan would ruin him when they finally found themselves alone.

 

-

 

“What exactly are you doing?” Doyoung asked, half amused, half nervous. The elevator was gliding up smoothly, the city lights spilling in from the glass walls. Only two guards accompanied them and the rest had split into another lift.

 

“I can’t book a hotel room for us,” Junghwan said casually. “So maybe I’ll just buy a penthouse. I don’t know.” He winked.

 

Doyoung blinked. “Buy one? Really? Isn’t that a bit much for our first date?”

 

“Well… we’re getting married anyway. Property feels like a good investment.” Junghwan sounded like he knew what he was talking about. Doyoung was quite impressed like he’d already done this before. He was quite sure that Junghwan can’t exactly buy a property at his age without help but the So Group were one of those families that were well-connected given their line of business. So it was actually possible.

 

“You’re too fast, Mr. So.” Doyoung just said. All of what he’d done with the man so far were overwhelming and seemed rushed. But even so, he liked it so much. Junghwan had that aura in him that Doyoung wanted. He would’ve wanted someone older than him. Matured. But at such a young age, Junghwan showed him more than was he hoped for in a guy.

 

“Doesn’t it excite you, future Mr. So?” Junghwan murmured, his grin wicked.

 

Doyoung blushed despite himself. “…Apparently, it does.”

 

The elevator doors slid open. The agent led the way, but Junghwan’s hand guided at the small of Doyoung’s back. That single touch sent a rush down his spine. Junghwan was hitting all the boxes he didn’t even realize he had for an ideal man.

 

“Just to be clear,” Doyoung whispered as they walked. “You want to buy a property only because you want to fuck me tonight?”

 

“Exactly that, baby.”

 

Doyoung laughed softly, betraying his arousal.

 

The penthouse was enormous with high ceilings, glass walls, the sprawl of Hwagyeong glittering like a jewel box outside. Half-furnished but echoing luxury.

 

The agent began his pitch, but Junghwan cut him off. “How long until our order from the restaurant?”

 

The agent looked at the Cartier on his wrist. “Fifteen minutes now, Sir.”

 

“I see. Then leave us for a while. I need to speak with my fiancé privately.” Junghwan said in a deep voice. Almost intimidating.

 

“Of course, Sir—”

 

“And do not enter until my guards give you the signal.”

 

The agent stammered, “Y-yes.”

 

The door clicked shut. Silence.

 

“What the fuck?” Doyoung looked at him incredulously.

 

Junghwan loosened his tie and tossed it aside, eyes locked on Doyoung. “You heard the guy. We have fifteen minutes, and I’m starving.”

 

Doyoung’s breath quickened. “Are you always this intense?”

 

“To be honest? No. But now I have a fiancé—someone I can do with as I please.”

 

“As you please? Presumptuous.”

 

Junghwan smirked. “You wouldn’t kneel for me, Doyoung?”

 

“Maybe it’s the other way around,” Doyoung shot back, though his voice was already trembling. “I control things here.”

 

“I don’t mind being controlled.” Junghwan tilted his head, daring. “So, what now?”

 

Doyoung swallowed. “It’s still before dinner. So… fuck me senseless.”

 

“Right away.”

 

Junghwan swept him off his feet like it was nothing, carrying him straight into the bedroom where a king-sized bed waited. He dropped a yelping Doyoung onto the mattress and they stripped with frantic hands, shedding the layers of their clothes.

 

Junghwan hovered above him, voice low and ragged. “Do you need prepping?”

 

“No. I wanted it before coming here. Just fuck me.” It was true that before riding to the restaurant he meant to seduce Junghwan into sleeping with him as their first meeting really was unforgettable to him.

 

Junghwan’s eyes darkened. “Goodness, fuck. You sure you’re not more experienced than you let on?”

 

“There’s such a thing as porn, Junghwan. It’s not rocket science. Now shut up and fuck me.”

 

“Yes, boss.”

 

Junghwan devoured Doyoung’s mouth, biting at his lips, swallowing every sound that threatened to escape. Their teeth clashed, tongues tangled like they’d been waiting years instead of minutes.

 

He pressed Doyoung into the mattress, broad shoulders forcing his fiancé to sink into the silk sheets. Junghwan’s hands were everywhere, palming his chest, dragging down his abs, skimming his waist.

 

“Fuck,” Doyoung hissed. “You’re—impatient.”

 

“Starving,” Junghwan corrected, dragging his mouth down Doyoung’s jaw to his throat. He sucked hard enough to bruise, teeth scraping until Doyoung gasped. “Need you like this. Spread out under me. My fiancé. Mine.”

 

It wasn’t even love yet but just the mere fact that someone looking like Doyoung could be his was enough to drive him crazy. It almost seemed surreal that he could make him like his possession. He found the marriage deal sexy like Doyoung was chained to him effortlessly.

 

Doyoung groaned when Junghwan’s hand wrapped around his cock, stroking deliberately slow. “Ah—shit—” His hips bucked. “More.”

 

“You want more already?” Junghwan teased, twisting his wrist just right. “You’re going to soak the sheets, baby.”

 

Doyoung’s hand clutched Junghwan’s hair, dragging his mouth back for another punishing kiss. “Stop talking—fuck me.”

 

Junghwan laughed low in his throat. “That mouth.” He reached for the small bottle of lube on the mattress that came from his pocket a while ago and slicked his fingers. “You’ll eat those words.”

 

Without warning, he pushed two fingers in, deep. Doyoung’s back arched off the bed, a broken sound leaving his throat.

 

“Fucking hell,” Doyoung gasped. “You—ah—you don’t play around.”

 

“Why should I?” Junghwan’s voice was thick, his free hand gripping Doyoung’s thigh, spreading him wide. “You said no prep. I’ll make sure you feel me tomorrow.”

 

“Cocky bastard,” Doyoung hissed, though the way his body clung to those fingers betrayed him.

 

Junghwan curled them, finding that spot immediately. Doyoung cried out, his hand flying to cover his mouth. Junghwan yanked it away, pinning his wrist above his head.

 

“Let them hear you,” he growled. “Let the whole tower know you’re mine.”

 

Doyoung’s eyes fluttered shut, lips parting as another moan slipped out. “Fuck—fuck, Junghwan—”

 

That was all the permission he needed. Junghwan slicked himself and lined up, pressing the thick head of his cock against Doyoung’s hole.

 

“Ready?” he asked, though his smirk said he wasn’t waiting.

 

“Just… do it—”

 

Junghwan slammed in. All at once, to the hilt.

 

Doyoung screamed, nails clawing down his back. “Holy fuck—”

 

Junghwan groaned, forehead dropping to Doyoung’s shoulder. “Tight. Fuck... you’re gonna kill me.”

 

He pulled back and drove in again, harder, the bed groaning under their weight. Doyoung’s legs wrapped around his waist, locking him in place as Junghwan set a brutal pace.

 

Every thrust pushed filthy sounds from both of them, the wet slap of skin, Doyoung’s gasping cries, Junghwan’s ragged curses.

 

“You wanted senseless,” Junghwan growled in his ear. “So I’m gonna fuck you until you forget your own name.”

 

“Already… ahh… forgetting,” Doyoung moaned, head thrown back, sweat dripping down his temples.

 

Junghwan shifted, angling deeper until he hit that spot again. Doyoung nearly sobbed, body convulsing as his cock leaked untouched between them.

 

“Yeah,” Junghwan hissed, pounding harder. “Right there. Gonna make you come just from my cock. No hands. Nothing but me fucking you open.”

 

“Fuck! Junghwan!” Doyoung cried, his entire body tightening as his orgasm ripped through him. Hot ropes of cum streaked his chest as he spasmed around Junghwan’s cock.

 

The squeeze nearly undid Junghwan. He bit down on Doyoung’s shoulder, groaning as he thrust through it. “Shit—gonna—” One more slam and he spilled inside him, hard, grinding deep as his body shuddered.

 

They collapsed together, panting, the city lights flickering around them like an audience to their ruin.

 

Junghwan kissed him again, slower now. “Future Mr. So,” he whispered against swollen lips. “We’re definitely buying this place.”

 

Junghwan’s cock was still buried inside him when he suddenly shifted, strong arms sliding under Doyoung’s back and thighs.

 

“Wha—Junghwan!” Doyoung yelped as he was lifted effortlessly off the bed, his body pressed tight against Junghwan’s chest. He wasn’t expecting that.

 

“You’re light,” Junghwan murmured with a grin, adjusting his grip. His biceps flexed as he carried Doyoung across the penthouse like it was nothing. “Perfect for me to play with.”

 

Doyoung’s face flushed, clinging to Junghwan’s shoulders. “You’re insane. And not done yet?”

 

“Maybe, I am insane.” Junghwan said, pressing him against the floor-to-ceiling glass window. The city glittered below them, thousands of lights stretching into the horizon. “But look at this view, baby. Hwagyeong laid out at our feet… while you’re spread open for me.”

 

The thought alone made Doyoung tremble. His thighs hooked tighter around Junghwan’s waist as Junghwan pulled out almost to the tip, dripping, then slammed back in.

 

“Ahhh—fuck!” Doyoung’s head fell back, hitting the glass lightly. His spine arched, body so flexible Junghwan could angle him however he wanted.

 

“Look at you,” Junghwan groaned, thrusting deep. He gripped one of Doyoung’s thighs, lifting it higher, folding him open until his knee nearly brushed his chest. “You bend so easily for me. So perfect.”

 

The position let him hit deeper, sharper. Doyoung’s breath came out in broken gasps, hands scrabbling for purchase until Junghwan pinned his wrists against the glass with one massive hand.

 

“Junghwan!” Doyoung cried as his reflection stared back at him, ruined and needy. “Oh my—ahhh—”

 

“See yourself?” Junghwan whispered in his ear, pounding harder. “Look at the way you take me. Look at how beautiful you are while I fuck you into the skyline.”

 

The city lights blurred as Doyoung’s eyes welled from the sheer intensity. His body shook violently, stretched and filled to the brim, every nerve lit up.

 

Junghwan groaned low, sweat dripping down his temple as he thrust with brutal precision. “Lightweight, flexible, and mine. You’re too perfect, baby. I don’t think I’ll ever let you go.”

 

Doyoung’s voice broke on a scream as his orgasm tore through him again, cum streaking across both their stomachs. His body clenched tight around Junghwan, milking him until Junghwan’s own release hit. He pressed Doyoung harder into the glass, biting his shoulder as he emptied inside him.

 

They slid down together, Doyoung still in his lap, the lights of Hwagyeong sparkling like stars around them.

 

Junghwan kissed his temple roughly, possessive. “You’re never walking away from me. Not after this.”

 

Doyoung, breathless and wrecked, could only whisper back, “Who says I want to?”

 

-
-
-

 

Hwagyeong Hills
At Present

 

The limousine cut swiftly through the rain-slicked streets. Jihoon rested his chin on his hand, elbow propped against the armrest, his gaze fixed firmly out the window. Hyunsuk mirrored him on the other side, silent, lost in his own thoughts.

 

His rather quick dismissal of his guards hadn’t sat well with his head of security. In the end, Hyunsuk had told them the truth—where he was going, and with whom. Loyal as they were to the Choi family, they had accepted, though uneasily. They would risk their lives for him as he was the heir, but not by marching willingly into an enemy’s territory. Sort of. Thankfully, under the cover of night, their movements wouldn’t draw too much attention.

 

Hwagyeong may be quiet but there were always eyes.

 

The ride was private, tinted windows shielding them from view, the hum of the engine smoothing over any silence. Jihoon leaned back easily, composed as ever, while Hyunsuk’s gaze shifted between the passing scenery and the man beside him.

 

They weren’t heading toward one of Jihoon’s sprawling family estates, but something more intimate. A villa tucked deep into the folds of Hwagyeong Hills. Not grand in scale compared to his family’s holdings at Songrim, but unmistakably top-tier that was designed for discretion, for private affairs Jihoon didn’t intend the world to see.

 

And tonight, that included Hyunsuk.

 

“We’re so quiet,” Hyunsuk murmured, watching raindrops streak against the glass before turning to him. “You’re really not going to look at me?”

 

Jihoon didn’t move. “No.”

 

Hyunsuk sighed. “So our relationship’s really going to be like this, huh? When I said I wanted to sub for you, I didn’t think you’d take the dom thing this seriously. I only meant I wanted some hot sex.” He rolled his eyes like a brat.

 

“Are you complaining?” Jihoon’s lips curved faintly, though his eyes stayed on the window. “I thought you wanted to be with me. I thought you wanted me.”

 

Hyunsuk scoffed.

 

“Careful,” Jihoon added smoothly. “Your spoiled brat tendencies are showing. Let’s see what we can do about that, little devil.”

 

“You’re so frustrating sometimes,” Hyunsuk muttered under his breath.

 

“What can I say? I’m not like every other man you dated or entangled with. Are you annoyed I’m not all over you every second?”

 

“Glad you’re not dumb.” Hyunsuk crossed his arms. “Yes, I want you touching me, kissing me, not letting me go. That’s what I want. But hey, I’m used to playing the waiting game with you.”

 

Jihoon almost turned to look, but instead he just arched a brow. “Are you being sarcastic? What brought this on? Why are you in such a mood? We just kissed a lot from the Gala. I don’t think your attitude will save you from what’s coming later.” Jihoon said smoothly and checked the time on his phone. It’s a bit late in the night now.

 

“Look at me.” Hyunsuk said in quiet command.

 

“No.” Jihoon answered stubbornly.

 

“Fine.” Hyunsuk tilted his head, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “So you were really jealous. Fine.”

 

Jihoon’s composure cracked, his voice sharpened. “We agreed you’re mine. So why the hell did you even let him touch you? Laying hands on my property like that—fucking ridiculous—”

 

Hyunsuk’s smile only deepened, teeth grazing his bottom lip as if to keep from laughing. Jihoon’s jealousy was something else. If anyone had told him back when he first chased after Jihoon that he, Hyunsuk Choi, could drive the Park heir to lose control over jealousy, he would’ve never believed it.

 

Jihoon fell silent after venting, his words hanging heavy in the air.

 

Then Hyunsuk, with his trademark nonchalance, shifted the pace completely. “Didn’t know it vibrates. You could’ve warned me. I was a mess.”

 

It took Jihoon a beat to realize Hyunsuk was talking about the butt plug.

 

“You were,” Jihoon admitted without shame, a flicker of pride in his tone. “I enjoyed that.”

 

Hyunsuk arched a brow. “You do that to your women?”

 

“Maybe once.”

 

“With Eunbyeol?”

 

“Yes,” Jihoon grumbled, the sound of the name tasting bitter. He hated his ex-girlfriend’s name being mentioned out loud because of how it went with the Han Taegun thing, but with Hyunsuk, it was unavoidable. They were still peeling back layers, still learning each other in ways that stung. It’s the get-to-know period that can’t be skipped.

 

“I see.” Hyunsuk replied lightly, as if unaffected. He really was just curious. He was astonished that at their age, Jihoon already wielded sex like a weapon. They were only college seniors, yet Jihoon carried experience like it was second nature. Hyunsuk thought it maddening. Attractive, too. Very attractive. He always liked men who knew what they were doing.

 

Maybe… maybe they were meant to be like this—at this time. If it weren’t for Jihoon’s experience, would he be even doing this with him? Of course, Hyunsuk would’ve wanted to share firsts with Jihoon if they had the chance since first year but he was grateful for what Jihoon is now. It’s just crazy how he was so taken by a guy who treats him like property. He should be offended somehow but almost everything felt so right. Almost.

 

He hindered himself from thinking of the things that didn’t. I must be sick. Hyunuk sighed at his thoughts. He was too weak and far gone for Jihoon.

 

“But never a vibrator,” Jihoon added after a beat. “It’s my first time using that on someone.”

 

“Oh,” Hyunsuk said simply. Maybe Jihoon was just… endlessly curious and good at exploring. Hyunsuk appreciated that. It meant Jihoon would always find ways to surprise him and Hyunsuk liked surprises, especially the kind that left him shaking. Especially if it’s… sexual.

 

“Do I have to explain myself, Hyunsuk?”

 

“No. I was just… making conversation. I am merely curious on how you think of these things.” Hyunsuk sighed dramatically. “You’re such a bore, Pres.”

 

“You wound me.”

 

“And you’re still not looking at me.”

 

“I’m not. Because you let another man touch you while you’re mine.”

 

Hyunsuk’s lips curved before he could stop them. He cleared his throat quickly, grateful Jihoon wasn’t looking his way. Because if he did… he’d see it—the delirious smile Hyunsuk couldn’t fight anymore. The proof that Jihoon had already driven him to a high dose of insanity, and Hyunsuk wasn’t sure he ever wanted to come down.

 

“Where are you taking me anyway? Is it the same place you bring your women? When you’re not busy playing ENO’s perfect president?” Hyunsuk taunted.

 

He saw the streets. They’re still in Hwagyeong Hills. Even at night, it was easy to distinguish the vicinity. They’re not far then. The hills are known of course for the institutions that resided within like Hwagyeong University and other major institutions but it too was famous for luxury private hotels, villas and the like. It should be in one of those places. It sounded public but Hyunsuk knew Jihoon was smarter than bringing him in some place without good privacy.

 

Jihoon didn’t answer right away because he took it to heart. He hadn't thought about that. The silence stretched, heavy, until finally he asked in a low tone, “Would it bother you?”

 

Jihoon was a bit worried. He might have to take Hyunsuk back to ENO Mansion instead if it did bother him. He can’t take him to other places. The villa’s security was the only thing he’d prepared, and ENO was always under the iron guard of Hwagyeong University. He’s an heir but due to his age, there are still limits to his power. His grandfather promised his access to anything as soon as he entered law school.

 

Would it bother me? Hyunsuk echoed in his head on the other hand. Of course not. He wasn’t the type to dig through old ghosts. He preferred the now. And right now, he was here, beside Jihoon—the one Jihoon had chosen to bring along. Still… the heat coiling in his chest was jealousy. It was undeniable.

 

Hyunsuk pressed his lips together, fighting the smile tugging at him. Because the sudden realization of Jihoon to even ask and leave that door cracked open was progress. Dangerous, thrilling progress.

 

“No, Pres. It doesn’t bother me,” he said softly, almost too softly, as if convincing himself as much as Jihoon.

 

The limousine suddenly swerved hard, rattling them both. Hyunsuk whimpered at the sharp reminder of the plug that Jihoon had put inside him earlier.

 

“Too much? Do you want me to take it off you?” Jihoon asked, still staring out the window. His discipline in avoiding Hyunsuk’s gaze was maddening.

 

Hyunsuk rolled his eyes. “I’m fine. If this pleases you, I’ll keep it in me.”

 

Then, unexpectedly, Jihoon’s hand found his. Hyunsuk froze, staring down at their entwined fingers, ears burning. Jihoon reached out? That was new in a way.

 

“Are you sure, baby?” Jihoon’s thumb traced slow circles against his skin. “It’s okay if you want it off.”

 

Hyunsuk’s mouth almost hung. The endearment dropped so naturally from Jihoon’s mouth it made him dizzy.

 

And Jihoon… he sounded guilty suddenly. It was a wonder. Hyunsuk would admit. The plug was a bit big but then again, it was easier to be prepped that way than to experience pain later on. He’s expecting the both of them to have quite some time locked up together, considering the holidays ahead. The timing couldn’t be more perfect.

 

The Jeongse Holiday. It meant “the Still World” or “an era of calm”. It meant a week long of no school, no work and no worries because that was the tradition. Everyone is expected to take a pause and meditate. But it’s not like everyone’s actually meditating.

 

There was a time—a long time ago, a memory of a global pandemic that had forced the world to stop. Hwagyeong had embraced that stillness as tradition. Although it was devastating, losing many lives at that time, people found solace in the fact that the world pausing shouldn’t hurt. It was one of the many things that the city of Hwagyeong could afford to do. Because they lived in prestige, they could halt everything simply because they could.

 

At the end of it, the whole city gathered for a single feast at Yeongwon Court. To celebrate the clear skies, breathable air, and zen environment. It was as if the world went into a deep slumber and woken anew.

 

Hyunsuk had plans with his family, but now… he didn’t care. If Jihoon chose to keep him locked in the villa, then so be it. He had waited too long for this—waited to belong to him.

 

Hyunsuk was pretty sure that Jihoon had no idea that he was saying the ‘baby’ endearment sometimes because there was no freaking way it would come out naturally out of his mouth. He was either aware of it, pretending like it’s nothing or not at all. Hyunsuk wanted to melt in a puddle just by that word and it was pathetic.

 

“Okay, Pres. Take it… off.” Hyunsuk’s voice slipped out softer than intended, almost shy. Jihoon finally turned at that, eyes dark and unreadable. The limo slowed as they neared the villa now.

 

“Quickly, come here.”

 

Hyunsuk shifted closer, pulse racing. Jihoon’s voice was low and commanding. It was impossible to disobey.

 

“Unbuckle your belt. On your stomach.”

 

Hyunsuk’s fingers fumbled at the clasp on the edge of his pants, nerves buzzing. When it was undone, Jihoon guided him down, pressing Hyunsuk’s body against his thighs. A shiver coursed through him as Jihoon tugged his pants down slowly, deliberately, like unwrapping something precious. Hyunsuk waited anticipatingly as he faced down on the car floor.

 

“Ass up, little devil.”

 

Hyunsuk arched, breath hitching at the feel of Jihoon’s palm grazing his bare skin. The touch was deceptively soft until Jihoon slipped the plug free, steady and slow. Hyunsuk exhaled, watching him wrap the red toy in a black handkerchief as though sealing away a secret.

 

“Better?”

 

“Yes,” Hyunsuk admitted, though the emptiness only made him ache more. What he wanted now was Jihoon, filling that space.

 

“Horny?” Jihoon’s voice dipped, dark and smooth, as his hand lifted Hyunsuk’s chin. Hyunsuk was still draped across his lap, lips parted, needy.

 

“Very.”

 

“Can I spank you?” Jihoon asked, although if it was someone else, he would’ve just gone through it.

 

“Okay.” Hyunsuk answered with a whimper.

 

“Your safe word?”

 

Hyunsuk hesitated, then murmured, “Hmm… ’baby’?”

 

Jihoon raised a brow. “That’s your safe word? Why? That’s pretty generic, don’t you think?”

 

It was true. Endearments shouldn’t be safe words because you might blurt it during pleasure and the dom would stop. It wasn’t exactly ideal.

 

“Nothing. First thing to mind.” Hyunsuk answered. Why would he admit that Jihoon had been absentmindedly calling him that and he liked it a lot that he wanted to return the favor? That in his most helpless state, he would call Jihoon that. Beg him to stop with the pain and replace it with something softer?

 

“Hmm. You’re flushed,” Jihoon muttered, thumb brushing Hyunsuk’s cheek before lowering to his waist again. “I’ll get the real answer out of you later. But for now… remember your safe word.”

 

His hand rubbed slow circles across Hyunsuk’s backside, lulling him, then cracked down.

 

Slap.

 

Hyunsuk jolted, a sharp cry tearing out of him.

 

Slap.

 

“Ahh! Please!” He didn’t even know what he was begging for, only that he needed more.

 

Slap.

 

“Ahh! Fuck.” His voice broke, raw and unguarded.

 

Slap.

 

“Baby! Please… oh my god. Baby…” His moans filled the car, desperate, reverberating in Jihoon’s chest.

 

Jihoon groaned at the sound, desire surging. He caught Hyunsuk, cooing softly, “Shhh… that was good, little devil. You were… fuck… you’re so beautiful.”

 

The way Hyunsuk had gasped “baby” lingered, not as a plea but as something deeper. Jihoon’s pulse hammered. He wanted to go further but it was the safe word. And yet… it hadn’t sounded like Hyunsuk wanted him to stop.

 

“Say your safe word again,” Jihoon demanded.

 

“Baby…”

 

“Again.”

 

“Baby… Jihoon. Baby… hmmmfff—” His voice wavered, surrendering—and then Jihoon crushed his mouth against his.

 

Hyunsuk slid off his lap and onto his knees, kissing him hungrily, drinking in the taste of Jihoon’s tongue like he was starving. The kiss was messy, intoxicating, impossible to stop.

 

The limo slowed, pulling to a halt. Jihoon broke the kiss, pressing his forehead against Hyunsuk’s, breath ragged. “What have you done to me?” His voice was hoarse, as if he couldn’t believe he’d lost control.

 

“All I’ve done is want you. And I still do. That’s all I—”

 

Jihoon silenced him with another kiss, deep and bruising.

 

The guard outside hesitated, about to knock on the tinted glass, but thought better of it.

 

By the time they composed themselves, Jihoon was the one to push open the door, Hyunsuk’s hand still in his.

 

-
-
-

 

The walk from the grounds to the South Wing of ENO Mansion was quiet. Junkyu drifted a little ahead, not quite side by side with Yoshi. They climbed the staircase, passed through the left-side corridor, and stopped in front of Junkyu’s room.

 

Junkyu turned and Yoshi just stared at him with tousled hair from the outside breeze and two hands shoved in his pockets, still in his suit from the Gala.

 

“I’ll… wash up. Thanks for walking me to my room,” Junkyu said, voice softer than he meant it to be. He was the one who insisted from quite some time that they stay the night at the mansion. So why was he suddenly shy? He’d grown used to Yoshi’s other place but ENO felt different. Strange. Like they were starting over.

 

And maybe, they were. This was the first time Yoshi had given him access to a space that wasn’t just convenient—a space that meant something. For Junkyu, it was monumental. Yoshi had never let anyone stay in his ENO bedroom before. Anyone, except Hyunsuk.

 

“Text or call me when you’re done. I’ll come fetch you,” Yoshi offered.

 

“That’s not… necessary. You’re just in the other corridor. Just give me the code to your room.”

 

“It’s no bother. I’ll probably be done before you anyway. I can wait for you in your living room or something.”

 

“What makes you think you’ll be faster?” Junkyu pressed, trying to sound playful.

 

“I overheard you and Doyoung talk about skin care. Your routine sounded—”

 

Junkyu let out a sharp laugh. “That’s so… considerate of you. But I’m not a child. I can walk to your room unscathed.” He grinned, too wide. “It’s not like your code’s Hyunsuk’s birthday, right?” He said jokingly.

 

But the silence that fell was brutal.

 

Junkyu’s grin slipped. “You’re… not serious, are you?”

 

Yoshi’s sheepish look was answer enough. He looked embarrassed, but not enough. Not enough to erase the ache building in Junkyu’s chest.

 

Clearing his throat, Yoshi muttered, “I use my thumbprint anyway. He set it that way so he wouldn’t forget if his thumbprint doesn’t work.”

 

Junkyu rolled his eyes hard, but it didn’t cover the pang. “Great. Now I really feel like a mistress.” He punched in his own door code—not thumprint with deliberate annoyance and stepped inside, words sharper than he meant. “I can just knock on your door, Yoshi. You don’t have to fetch me.”

 

“I’ll just… I’ll leave it unlocked, then. Don’t take long.”

 

“Yeah.” Junkyu said it like a goodbye, but it landed like surrender.

 

He slipped into his room and shut the door quietly. Yoshi lingered in the hall a moment longer, shoulders heavy, before walking away, hands buried deep in his pockets, like that could hide the mess between them.

 

-

 

Sure enough, Junkyu found himself standing before ENO’s only painted door. The black wood had always been intimidating. It wasn’t locked like Yoshi said. There was a gap at the edge that felt like an invitation. He pushed it open.

 

The door clicked shut automatically behind him. For a moment, Junkyu just stood there, letting the space soak into him. The room was pristine—nothing like the now messy, lived-in chaos of the mansion above the Blood Arena, thanks to their constant visits. It was elegant, composed, even on par with Jaehyuk’s or Asahi’s carefully curated spaces. Wide open curtains revealed massive windows, where the half-moon gleamed bright over Hwagyeong’s beautiful scenery.

 

“Hey. You’re here.” The voice came from behind. Junkyu turned and saw Yoshi barefoot on the carpet, dressed in dark blue sweats and a gray tank. He held a glass of whiskey, ice crackling faintly in the silence. Yoshi caught him looking.

 

“You want some?”

 

“I’ve had enough wine from the Gala,” Junkyu murmured, though his lips curved. He moved slowly, deliberately, toward Yoshi. “But… maybe a sip.”

 

Yoshi passed him the glass. Junkyu tilted it carefully, sipping exactly where the faint mark of Yoshi’s lip balm still lingered. Yoshi’s breath hitched.

 

“You’re always such a seducer,” Yoshi said, narrowing his eyes.

 

Junkyu smirked, handing the glass back. “Well, I’m glad it’s working.”

 

Yoshi smiled despite himself.

 

“So this is your bedroom,” Junkyu added, glancing around.

 

“Nothing special.” Yoshi shrugged. “I still prefer my place at the Blood Arena. But… feel free to explore.”

 

“I definitely will.” Junkyu’s gaze lingered, sharp, teasing until he felt it mirrored back. Yoshi’s eyes swept over him head to toe, unhurried. Junkyu swallowed, suddenly exposed. “Like what you see?”

 

“Not bad. But I prefer you naked. Just an opinion.”

 

Junkyu’s ears burned. He spun half-away, biting back a grin he couldn’t show. But when he tried to walk off, Yoshi caught his hand, tugging him close until their faces hovered only inches apart.

 

“Please know,” Yoshi said, voice low and careful, “that my not bringing you here before didn’t come from a bad place. I needed to warn you first.”

 

“What is it then?” Junkyu whispered.

 

“I didn’t bring you because there are… traces of another person here.” Yoshi exhaled, heavy. Junkyu knew that Hyunsuk used the place like his own whenever he decided to stay with Yoshi. They were close. Too close. And Junkyu could hardly blame Yoshi. He too was Hyunsuk’s ex and must admit that he could be persuasive—and the man was really too damn beautiful.

 

“I already tidied up, but you’ll probably still notice things. I liked taking you to the Arena because… you’re the only one I’ve ever brought there. Fuck buddies or not… I care.” Yoshi’s eyes dipped briefly to Junkyu’s lips.

 

Junkyu’s chest ached. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

 

“I didn’t think it mattered. We were just playing before.”

 

“And now?”

 

“I don’t know, Kyu. You tell me.”

 

“Your future plans haven’t changed.” It wasn’t a question. Junkyu just stated the fact.

 

“Not by one bit.” The honesty was blunt, but there was sadness flickering in Yoshi’s gaze. Junkyu caught it, felt it sting.

 

“Ouch.”

 

“Junkyu—”

 

“I get it. That’s you. I’m the one who can’t say no. You’re impossible when you want something.”

 

“You make me do things I never thought I’d do,” Yoshi admitted, brushing Junkyu’s hair back behind his ear. His hands lingered, their bodies still entwined under the moonlight. Shadows painted their faces, the attraction undeniable, suffocating.

 

Junkyu’s heart clenched. He was falling—falling harder than he’d ever planned. But he couldn’t say it. Not when Yoshi’s path was so rigidly carved. Politics, mafia, power. Marry Hyunsuk. Build a larger legacy. No space for detours. No space for Junkyu.

 

As young as they were, college, going to pre-law. They shouldn’t even be thinking hard about this. They had a long way to go still. But the responsibilities on their shoulders were making it hard to ignore the huge elephants that marched around them. They were heirs.

 

I want you all to myself, Junkyu thought bitterly.

 

But Yoshi only looked at him, entranced. Junkyu in nothing but a plain tee and sweats was too much, too dangerous. And then Yoshi kissed him. It was hard and… desperate.

 

“Be mine tonight?” he whispered against Junkyu’s lips.

 

Junkyu’s answer came fast, trembling with both surrender and defiance. “Yours. And no one else’s.”

 

Yoshi froze for a beat, the weight of the words pressing into him. He kissed Junkyu again, harder this time. But deep down, he knew that he couldn’t promise the same.

 

-
-
-

 

“Damn, that waist.”

 

Jeongwoo muttered, hands sliding along Haruto’s sides, thumbs pressing into warm skin.

 

They were in Haruto’s bedroom at ENO, the Gala long behind them. After winning the maze, they had left before the Aureus Order meeting even started—swearing, stupidly, that they wouldn’t sleep together. Who were they kidding? Their families had all but shoved them back into each other’s orbit, pretending not to care about the breakup. It was Haruto’s sister, of all people, who insisted he ride back with Jeongwoo to the mansion.

 

Everyone had been watching. What was Haruto supposed to do—say no?

 

And now, here he was again, naked, stretched across Jeongwoo’s equally bare body on that massive bed with its blue cotton sheets. Jeongwoo’s sun-touched skin looked unfairly good against them, glowing like bronze. Those sharp, wolf-like eyes were enough to unravel him completely.

 

Jeongwoo pushed himself upright, gripping Haruto’s ass firmly before pulling him into a kiss. “Hmm… Ruto…” he sighed against his lips.

 

It was the way Jeongwoo said his name, breathless and hungry, that undid him every time. Haruto kissed him back with the same ferocity, tongue tangling with tongue, gaze locked to gaze.

 

Jeongwoo gripped both of their erections, stroking them together in a slow, deliberate rhythm. His eyes flicked up to Haruto, who couldn’t tear his gaze away from their shafts pressed and sliding against each other.

 

“You like this?” Jeongwoo murmured.

 

“Yes…” Haruto breathed.

 

Jeongwoo teased their tips with his thumb, coaxing a strangled moan out of Haruto. He grinned. “God, I love it when you sound like that. You don’t even know how fucking sexy you look on top of me like this. Naked, flushed—”

 

“Stop saying things like that,” Haruto muttered, his voice unsteady.

 

“Why? I can’t flirt with you now?” Jeongwoo teased, leaning in closer. His hand trailed back, fingers brushing Haruto’s backside, circling dangerously close to his rim. “Or are you already set on finding someone else?”

 

“Yes. And so are you,” Haruto gasped against Jeongwoo’s lips.

 

“Where’s the lube?”

 

“No sex.”

 

“Bullshit, Ruto.” Jeongwoo’s tone turned sharp, possessive. “I’ll fuck you whenever I want.” With a sudden push, he eased Haruto off his lap and onto the bed. He rummaged through the nightstand until his hand closed around a half-used bottle of lube. He smirked. “Already half gone? Been playing without me? Or is someone else keeping you busy?”

 

“Jeongwoo…” Haruto’s breath hitched. “What makes you think you have the right to ask me that? We only just talked after the maze, I—”

 

“Just answer the question.”

 

Haruto froze. He had no idea how to respond because the truth was pathetic. Almost every night, he ended up in Jeongwoo’s room. And on the nights he didn’t, he touched himself anyway, chasing release with nothing but Jeongwoo’s face, Jeongwoo’s voice in his head. How the hell could he admit that? It was humiliating that up to this day, even with understanding that he could never come back, he hoped.

 

Jeongwoo snapped the cap open, slicking his hand before sliding it over Haruto’s slit, making him jolt.

 

“Ahh—Woo, please.”

 

“Answer me before you beg to be fucked.”

 

“I’ve been…” Haruto trailed off, lost in the haze.

 

“Who is it? Think he’s better than me?” Jeongwoo growled.

 

“Woo—”

 

Jeongwoo only chuckled darkly before dipping his head down, taking Haruto’s cock into his mouth without warning. He swallowed him deep, pulling a raw cry from Haruto’s throat.

 

“Fuck… Jeongwoo,” Haruto groaned, buckling as Jeongwoo took him deeper, throat tightening around him, savoring every inch. When Jeongwoo finally pulled back, a slick strand clung to his lips as he gave Haruto a filthy, knowing smile.

 

“Let me fuck that mouth, you cumdump.”

 

“Fuck…” Haruto moaned.

 

“You never change. You still love it when I call you names.” Jeongwoo’s voice dropped into a growl. “Now, be a good boy and suck me off.”

 

Haruto obeyed, crawling between his legs as Jeongwoo leaned back against the headboard. Impatience got the better of him. Jeongwoo’s hand shot out, gripping Haruto’s neck, forcing him down onto his cock in one swift push.

 

“Mmmff—” Haruto choked, his throat tightening around him.

 

“God, you look so fucking beautiful like that, Ruto.” Jeongwoo groaned, thrusting up into his mouth, hitting the back of his throat again and again. Haruto clutched at his thighs for support, gagging, the pain sharp but intoxicating. It was degrading, brutal—everything he secretly craved.

 

When Jeongwoo finally let him breathe, Haruto gasped for air, chest heaving. “Fuck…”

 

Jeongwoo’s mouth was on him instantly, swallowing his panting protests in a bruising kiss. Their tongues clashed, hot and desperate, until Jeongwoo pushed him flat against the sheets, slicking his hand with lube. His fingers smeared it over Haruto’s entrance without hesitation, without need for more prep. He already knew how easily Haruto would take him.

 

Haruto’s eyes were wide, glassy, locked on Jeongwoo as he positioned himself. Legs wrapping tight around Jeongwoo’s waist, Haruto arched up to meet him as Jeongwoo pressed forward, breaking into him in one deep, claiming thrust.

 

“Ah!”

 

“Shiiiit—” Jeongwoo gritted out, jaw tight. “So fucking tight. Damn it.”

 

“Mmff—”

 

Jeongwoo crashed down on Haruto’s lips, swallowing his cries as he pounded harder into him.

 

“To think… some other guy would try to claim you like this?” Jeongwoo growled against his mouth.

 

“Ah—ah! Jeongwoo… fuck!” Haruto sobbed.

 

“That’s it. Say my name even if you’re with someone else. Think of me. Never forget this, Haruto.”

 

“So… cruel to… me—” Haruto whimpered, tears clinging to his lashes.

 

“I am,” Jeongwoo cooed darkly, fingers teasing Haruto’s nipples until he pinched hard. “But look at you. Fuck, so pretty like this. All because of me?”

 

“N-No! Ah—no…” Haruto’s denial broke into a scream as he came, body shuddering violently just from Jeongwoo’s merciless touch while being fucked raw.

 

“So responsive for me,” Jeongwoo groaned, thrusts brutal, relentless. “You never cease to amaze, Ruto. Cumming just from that.” He shoved fingers past Haruto’s lips, fucking them into his mouth while slamming into him, filling every space. “Good boy… take all of me. You like this?”

 

Haruto nodded helplessly, tears spilling from his eyes as Jeongwoo’s fingers reached his throat. He looked up at him—Jeongwoo’s expression twisted with hunger, lips parted, tongue peeking out, like a demon born from the underworld. Yet to Haruto, he was nothing but fire, light, unbearable want.

 

He needed this man. He didn’t know how to stop needing him. No matter how fucked up it was.

 

Jeongwoo flipped him over like he weighed nothing and sank back in effortlessly. Twisting Haruto’s arms behind his back, he bound them in his grip and yanked, one hand wrapping tight around Haruto’s throat as he forced him into a desperate kiss from behind.

 

“No one else will ever get you whole,” Jeongwoo hissed against his lips. “I’ll give you broken—in pieces. Only I can patch you back up, Ruto. Only me.”

 

Why can’t you just own me then? Haruto’s heart ached even as his body burned. He wanted to cry, wanted to beg, but his soul only screamed for more of Jeongwoo, even if it left him shattered. It wast too cruel.

 

“I’m cumming,” Jeongwoo rasped. He shoved Haruto sideways onto the mattress, fucking him rougher, faster, unrestrained.

 

“Woo! Fuck—fuck! Ahhh!!”

 

“Shit—yeah, scream for me. Fuck!” Jeongwoo growled, pounding into him until he hit his peak, exploding with a guttural cry. “Fuuuck!”

 

Hot release spilled deep, dripping as Jeongwoo pulled out slowly, watching the mess with a hunger that burned in his eyes. He massaged Haruto’s hole, smearing the slick.

 

“Pretty. So fucking pretty,” he murmured. He rubbed cum against Haruto’s lips, smearing it before crashing into him with a searing kiss.

 

Finally, Jeongwoo collapsed beside him, breath ragged, their bodies tangled in sweat and sin.

 

Haruto lay there, chest heaving, head spinning. He knew Jeongwoo always said things during sex—dirty, cruel, possessive things meant to dig under his skin and make him unravel. But tonight… it had been different. The words carried weight even though they had already agreed to let go, to drift apart before they destroyed each other completely.

 

So why was Jeongwoo still speaking like he owned him? Why did he make it impossible for Haruto to believe they were truly over? It felt like he was the only one still clutching the edge of something already gone, while Jeongwoo who was so heartless, so infuriatingly unreadable, didn’t care how badly his words carved Haruto open.

 

But he knew, didn’t he? He knew how much Haruto felt.

 

“Woo… are you staying?” Haruto asked, voice rough.

 

“Yeah.” Jeongwoo’s reply came too easy. “I’ll run you a bath.”

 

“I told you. It’s not necessary.” Haruto wasn’t really ecstatic by the idea of his ex douching his asshole clean but he knew better than to say no to Jeongwoo.

 

“I’ll clean you up. I meant it at the maze, remember?” Jeongwoo said, and without warning pressed a lingering kiss to Haruto’s forehead. It was so gentle it made his chest ache worse than any bruising touch. Then he got up and headed for the bathroom, leaving Haruto staring after him.

 

The signals were blinding, blood red, a warning he should heed. But Haruto couldn’t push away, not when the scent of Jeongwoo still clung to him, not when his body still felt claimed. He sighed, helpless.

 

“Babe?” Jeongwoo called from the other room. “Bath’s ready! Come here.”

 

“Y-yeah. Just a sec!” Haruto called back, but before he moved, he closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. Because stepping into that bathroom, into Jeongwoo’s arms again, meant stepping into something he knew would break him.

 

And still, he went.

 

-
-
-

 

{Private Messaging}

 

Junghwan: I’m leaving. I need one more kiss.

Doyoung: Dad’s meeting with Aureus members. I have to go. I hope my kiss wasn’t enough earlier. Please crave for more just like that. 🥺

Junghwan: 😔 I am. Update me. You better be home at our penthouse tomorrow.

Doyoung: Yes. I love you.

Junghwan: I love you.

 

Junghwan let out a long sigh as he slipped his phone back into his pocket. So he wasn’t going to have any action with Doyoung tonight. His parents were still tirelessly working the Gala, shaking hands, weaving connections. Meanwhile, Junghwan’s family had already made their exit before the Treasure Hunt even began. Tomorrow was his aunt’s birthday, an obligation he couldn’t escape.

 

The thought soured his mood instantly. He hated that woman. She carried her bitterness around, all because she could never produce an heir. And every time her eyes landed on Junghwan, it was as if his very existence mocked her failure. It was also the reason why Junghwan stayed off women because the person he’ll date might turn like his aunt if they couldn’t produce an heir. Technology is everywhere. He decided it was easier to date men.

 

He was already heading toward his car, bodyguards trailing behind in quiet formation. Jeongwoo had left with Haruto earlier, and though Junghwan had other fraternity friends scattered around, lingering at the Gala wasn’t his thing. The maze had drained him enough, and with Doyoung stuck under his parents’ wing, there was little reason to stay.

 

That’s when he spotted them.

 

The Choi family guards were hard to miss. Their deep purple uniforms always made them look like relics from another era. But it wasn’t the guards who caught his eye. It was the girl walking among them.

 

Junghwan’s stride faltered, adding to the fact that he was already a bit drunk from the wine.

 

Aera.

 

What the hell was she doing with Choi guards? For a fleeting second, his mind spun—was Hyunsuk actually dating her? It was possible. Hyunsuk sleeps around. But he thought Hyunsuk’s attention was fixed on the Pres these days. Unless…

 

His breath caught as Hyunsuk’s father himself appeared in the parking area. The man smiled warmly at Aera, and before Junghwan could blink, she leaned up, kissed his cheek, and wrapped her arms around him.

 

Junghwan nearly choked on air. What the fuck was that?

 

His head was spinning. Aera, with him? The head of the Choi family—the wealthiest, most powerful man in the country. Mistress? Lover? Something darker? It was scandalous no matter how he turned it in his mind. It disgusted him a bit.

 

He told himself to look away, to leave it alone. But he couldn’t. Not when Aera had become his business the moment he and Doyoung struck their agreement. And now? Now she looked like she’s hopelessly smitten or cared for the old man, eyes shining in that emerald-green glitter tube dress clinging to her like temptation itself.

 

Junghwan’s stomach twisted. Escort? No. Aera didn’t fit the mold. She was too polished, too luminous. And yet, what else could explain her presence here, wrapped up in Aureus and the Choi patriarch?

 

Only one way to know.

 

Jaw tight, Junghwan moved toward her. His own guards followed in lockstep, reminding him he was hardly subtle but his focus was already locked on Aera, who stood alone now having been left alone by the Choi patriarch, directing the Choi guards with quiet authority.

 

“Aera.” Junghwan’s voice cut through the night, low and deliberate. The girl spun at the sound, her eyes widening for a fraction before smoothing over, as if surprised he’d caught her here of all places.

 

“Junghwan So.” She said sounding amused.

 

“A surprise to see you here.” Junghwan said.

 

“Must be. Is it your first time?” Aera tilted her head, voice silken, like she’d been raised in these kinds of halls, drunk on champagne and secrets.

 

“Yes. You?”

 

“Third.” This surprised Junghwan.

 

“Huh. You important or something?”

 

Her lips curled faintly. “Now is the part where I should be annoyed that you don’t know me. Especially when you made it a point that I should know you.”

 

“Who are you then? Someone’s mistress?”

 

The words were sharp, taunting, but Aera only tilted her head, unbothered. “The real question is—why are you so interested?”

 

Their eyes swept over one another in tandem—his gaze lingering on the sinful emerald dress hugging her curves, hers tracing the clean lines of his devastating suit, the arrogant set of his jaw. The air between them thickened, charged.

 

“Honestly?” Junghwan’s voice dropped lower, his candor cutting through the tension. “I don’t know. I just am.”

 

It wasn’t what she expected. No smug quip, no careless arrogance—just raw honesty. It unsettled her more than anything else could.

 

“You have a fiancé,” she pressed.

 

“I do. How’d you know?”

 

“You told me to get my facts straight. So I asked around. Hardly difficult, considering you act like you own the ground you walk on.”

 

“I have a fiancé. So?”

 

“So what’s his opinion of you sniffing around someone like me?”

 

“You’d be surprised.” Junghwan leaned in, his words brushing against her skin like heat. His perfume, sharp and expensive, tangled with the sweet tang of wine clinging to her breath.

 

The Choi guards closed in then, tense. “Ms. Choi, are you okay?” They called but Aera just raised a hand. She didn’t even glance at them. She smirked at Junghwan instead, as though daring him to make more of the moment.

 

“Choi?” he echoed, the name clicking into place. “You related to Hyunsuk?”

 

Her eyes glittered, sharp as glass. “Half-brother. Illegitimate or not, I’m still a Choi. And honestly? Researching you was a waste of time. I don’t know why I bothered.” She turned with a dismissive roll of her eyes. “Good night, Mr. So.”

 

Junghwan’s hand shot out, circling her wrist. Even he was surprised that his grip was possessive.

 

“You going back to the party?”

 

“No. Home. My father has an Aureus meeting.”

 

“Let me take you.”

 

She narrowed her eyes. “One good reason I should? You’re engaged.” She pointed out that last bit once again but she must admit how the hit of wine was making her curious with Junghwan.

 

“If I wasn’t,” he murmured, stepping closer, his breath fanning over her ear, “would you come without questions?”

 

Her throat tightened. He was too close, his gaze heavy on her, people starting to notice. He didn’t care—he never cared.

 

“But you’re engaged.” Again.

 

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ then.”

 

“And you always get what you want? You’re too cocky.”

 

“I don’t always get it—to be honest,” Junghwan said, his gaze dragging over her face with infuriating patience. “I just try.” His eyes lingered deliberately on her mouth, heat in the pause. “Anyway… you’re a Choi. I’m sure you’ve got your own ride. It’s wrong of me to offer.” His lips curled faintly, like a dare. “I’ll just see you around, Aera.”

 

Her breath caught. She didn’t know what undid her more—the bite of mint still fresh on his breath, the ghost of his expensive scent clinging in the air, or simply that devastating face, sharp enough to cut. Maybe it was his voice, the way it dipped low like a promise he wouldn’t keep. Or maybe it was the way he looked at her—not as Hyunsuk’s half-sister, not as some illegitimate Choi—but as if she were a woman worth ruining himself over.

 

Red flag? He was cheating.

 

But with her.

 

She wasn’t naïve. She’d had men and women tangled in her sheets before, enough to recognize a line when it was thrown at her. Still, there was something different here. Junghwan wasn’t just flirting. He was dangerous, infuriating, and impossibly tempting. She’d learned the hard way with his older brother, Hyunsuk, how tangled power and desire could get. She’d sworn to keep her peace. To never let the Choi name dictate who wanted her.

 

This was one of the reasons why she begged Hyunsuk not to acknowledge her at the university. She wanted to be treated fairly and on her own.

 

And yet, Junghwan was gorgeous. And the wine dulled her caution. Maybe a ride home wouldn’t hurt. Right? Just a ride. Maybe this would be their last interaction anyway.

 

“Wait.”

 

The single word slipped out before she could stop it.

 

Junghwan smirked—subtle, knowing—and he didn’t let her see just how triumphant it made him. He turned back slowly, like a predator humoring prey that had already chosen not to run.

 

“Don’t waste my time, Choi. You coming or not?”

 

Her lips parted, her voice breathless. “Coming.”

 

The word clung to the air, thick with double meaning. Junghwan felt it like a spark in his groin, a coil of triumph and want. She was too beautiful and tempting.

 

For half a second, Doyoung’s face flickered in his mind, a reminder of what he risked. But the itch, the hunger—too much.

 

He offered his hand, and when Aera slipped hers into it, he knew there was no turning back.

 

-

 

On the drive toward the Choi Estate in Cheonghwa Bluffs, the vastness of Hwagyeong stretched out like it was swallowing them whole. Junghwan hadn’t come this way to the estate in a long time, and something about the night made everything sharper—the crisp bite of the wind, the faint haze of wine still warming his blood. He lowered the top of his car.

 

Beside him, Aera’s hair came undone in the breeze, strands whipping wildly, catching the light from passing streetlamps. He glanced at her once, then again, unable not to.

 

“You’re not going to touch me or something?” she asked suddenly, her tone low, testing. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was him but she let the thought slip into the open.

 

Junghwan’s hands tightened around the wheel. “You’re bold when you’re drunk.”

 

“And you’re really just bringing me home, huh? Not dragging me to your place?” Her smirk was subtle, teasing. It had that same sharp glint he’d seen in Hyunsuk, but softer, more dangerous in its own way.

 

If only he could tell her that he lived in a penthouse with Doyoung at Hwagyeong Hills and that it was weird to have the intent of fucking her there.

 

“I said I’d take you home.” His mouth curved. “What—disappointed? You want to sleep with me that badly?”

 

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Her laugh was careless, but her eyes stayed fixed on him. “I’m just drunk. It’s not like it’s hard to find someone like you to fuck me. I’m Aera Choi.”

 

Junghwan scoffed, though heat prickled beneath his skin. She had Hyunsuk’s arrogance, but there was something else. A duality, the sharpness and softness flickering back and forth. Maddening and quite… irresistible.

 

“So,” he said smoothly, turning his head just enough to catch her expression, “you wanted someone like me?”

 

“That’s not—”

 

“That’s exactly what you said.”

 

The car rolled to a slow stop before the towering gates etched with the Choi crest. The grandeur screamed old money, immovable power.

 

“You actually brought me home.” She tilted her head, lips curving. “Didn’t expect that.”

 

The intercom crackled. “Identification?”

 

“It’s Aera. A friend brought me.” She glanced at Junghwan with an amused smile.

 

“Welcome back, Ms. Choi. Have a pleasant evening.” The gates yawned open without question.

 

Junghwan had seen plenty of wealth, but watching her sit so casually against the backdrop of that obscene power did something to him. Illegitimate or not, she was a Choi, evidently so. She carried it like armor and fuck if it didn’t make him want her more.

 

They wound through the estate’s sprawling grounds, passing hidden structures, guarded corners, until the mansion loomed into view. Even in the shadows, it glowed.

 

“To the right,” Aera murmured. He followed her direction, pulling into the sweeping driveway.

 

“Leave your car,” she said, already stepping out, heels clicking against the stone.

 

Junghwan didn’t move. His eyes slid down her body, then back up, lingering.

 

Aera contemplated. And then decided to let loose. Who was she kidding? It’s not everyday someone from that goddamn fraternity of that brother of hers would blatantly be with her. They were usually intimidated. And she liked how Junghwan and her met. It was almost serendipitous. And almost the relevant and good-looking guys were honestly from ENO. She just didn’t want to acknowledge it because of the stereotype. She didn’t want to be like Eunbyeol or one of those other girls whose only standard was an ENO frat boy. It sounded pathetic.

 

But here she was. Eating her own words.

 

“You don’t want to come in?” she asked, a challenge hidden in the casualness of her tone.

 

Every thought of Doyoung flickered through Junghwan’s head, an anchor dragging him down. Permission. Fidelity. Boundaries. None of it sat right when she looked at him like that.

 

“Junghwan So.” She cocked her head, impatience sharp as glass. “You’re wasting my time.” She said Junghwan’s earlier line.

 

He finally stepped out, tossing the keys to his Porsché to a waiting guard. “I’ll just make a phone call.”

 

He speed-dialed Doyoung. It rang once, twice, before Doyoung picked up—as he always did.

 

“Junghwan?”

 

“Baby.” His voice cracked a little as he said it. “I’m with her.”

 

Aera froze. Her eyes widened, pulse stuttering as she realized he wasn’t hiding it. He wasn’t even lowering his voice. His gaze, however, never left her—tracking every line of her dress, the swell of her chest, the curve of her thighs.

 

“Oh.” Doyoung’s reply came, soft but steady. “Well… I’ll just see you at the ENO mansion instead of our penthouse tomorrow.”

 

Junghwan’s throat worked. “Are you really okay with this?”

 

There was silence for a beat, and then—“Just scratch that itch, Junghwan. And come back to me.”

 

Junghwan shut his eyes briefly. His chest ached, torn between guilt and relief. “I love you.”

 

But the line went dead. Doyoung didn’t say it back.

 

For a moment, Junghwan just stood there, phone heavy in his hand. His heart hammered against his ribs—not from shame, but from the sudden realization that maybe Doyoung understood him better than he understood himself. He wanted this—needed this. He wanted to unlock a part of himself before being locked into a life he already knew he wanted with Doyoung.

 

He had never been with a woman before. Not because he found them unattractive, but because the opportunity never pressed against him the way this did. It had simply never crossed his mind until Aera. And now, standing here, with her eyes dragging over him, the hunger in his blood was undeniable.

 

When he finally pocketed his phone, Aera was watching him with a mix of amusement and confusion.

 

“Is this a free pass or something?” she asked, lips curling. “You literally got permission to be with me?”

 

“You can say that.”

 

“Huh. Interesting. I’ve never been someone’s free pass.”

 

“You’re in luck then,” Junghwan murmured, stepping closer, “considering you begged.”

 

Her brows shot up. “When did I ever beg?”

 

“The moment you said ‘wait.’”

 

Aera’s laugh was sharp, disbelieving. “Then you’re crazy to think that.”

 

“Yeah?” His voice dropped lower, rougher. He loomed closer, and in the glow of the mansion lights, she could see just how devastatingly handsome he was. Eyes dark, jaw set, power coiled in his posture.

 

“I don’t know anymore,” she admitted, softer now, her bravado slipping. Her eyes trailed across his face, his mouth, his shoulders. He looked like sin dressed in perfection. Like he could ruin her with a touch. “Do you want me to beg for real?”

 

“Can I hear it, Aera Choi?” His voice was deep enough to vibrate through her chest, thick with challenge, with promise.

 

Her lips parted. Breath hitched. She felt her pulse in her throat, in her thighs. “Fuck me. Please.”

 

Junghwan’s breath stuttered, his mouth parting like he’d been struck. For a second, even he looked undone by the sound of her saying it.

 

“Again.” His voice was hoarse.

 

Her lashes fluttered. She leaned in closer, her whisper melting between them. “Junghwan So… I need you to fuck me. I beg you.”

 

Something in him snapped.

 

“Is this the alcohol talking?” he asked, almost as a last tether, but his body was already leaning toward hers.

 

“Who cares?” she breathed. “I’m already so wet for you.”

 

And then their mouths collided. It was hungry, fierce, teeth clashing and tongues tangling like they wanted to devour each other.

 

-
-
-

 

“Ahhh—ahhh—ahh!”

 

“Fuck!”

 

“Oh my—”

 

“I love it. The sound of your tight cunt taking my cock,” Jaehyuk growled, every thrust obscene, wet, and relentless.

 

“F-fuck you—ahhh—mmph—” Asahi’s protest was swallowed whole when Jaehyuk twisted him back and crashed their mouths together, tongue dominating, silencing him into a messy, desperate kiss.

 

Pinned on the lavish velvet sofa, Asahi’s body arched and strained, bare and shamelessly exposed. His reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows mocked him back. With flushed cheeks, swollen lips, every inch of him stretched and fucked open. Behind him, Jaehyuk moved with brutal rhythm, watching them both in the glass as the city of Hwagyeong glittered beyond, vast and unbothered.

 

Jaehyuk grabbed Asahi’s arm and looped it around his neck, dragging him closer so he could latch onto his nipple. His tongue flicked, teeth biting, and when he sucked hard, Asahi’s scream broke the air—his body jerking as Jaehyuk’s thrusts grew rougher, sharper, pounding upward into him with merciless rhythm.

 

“Ahhh—ahhh! F-fuck! Oh my—ahhh, Jae—!”

 

“You like me sucking your tits?” Jaehyuk’s voice was ragged, dark. “Look at yourself.”

 

Asahi’s glassy eyes turned to the floor-to-ceiling window. The reflection was obscene. Jaehyuk buried deep inside him, chest flushed, body trembling as his own moans fogged the glass. It was too much. Too erotic.

 

“You want me this bad, Asahi? Then take it.” Jaehyuk growled, his cock drilling into him with lewd wet slaps. “Touch yourself. Show me how desperate you are while I ruin you.”

 

“F-fuck! Ahhh—” Asahi’s voice cracked as his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking in messy rhythm while watching his own body get split open in the reflection.

 

“I’ll fuck you until you beg. I want you crawling tomorrow. Limping. Every step a reminder of me using you.”

 

Asahi sobbed out another moan, half-broken.

 

“So fucking filthy that you love that. Goddamn it.” Jaehyuk snarled, his hand clamping around Asahi’s throat as he kissed him again, sloppy, devouring. Then he wrenched him forward and flipped him onto the sofa, forcing his chest down into the cushions.

 

Asahi barely had time to grip the backrest before Jaehyuk slammed into him again, no warning, just brutal force. The pain and pleasure blurred, his body burning, shaking under Jaehyuk’s relentless pace.

 

“Ahhhh—ahhh! Fuuuck! Jaehyuk!”

 

“That’s it. Scream my name. The one who’s wrecking you.”

 

The thrusts grew savage, almost punishing, and Asahi’s orgasm tore through him so violently his vision went white. His cum spilled across the velvet, his body clenching helplessly around Jaehyuk. But Jaehyuk didn’t stop.

 

He shoved Asahi down harder, facing him now, poured more lube over his cock, and kept pounding, chasing his own release, ignoring Asahi’s overstimulation. The sounds they made were feral, skin, breath, curses—none of it human anymore.

 

Finally, Jaehyuk bent low, pressing Asahi flat into the sofa, and kissed him in a claiming way. Asahi kissed back, desperate, needy just as Jaehyuk buried himself deep and came, spilling inside with a guttural groan.

 

“Asahi.” Jaehyuk breathed.

 

-

 

Steam still clung faintly to Asahi’s flushed skin as he tightened the belt of his robe. The bath had been indulgent. Jaehyuk washed his hair, soaping every line of his body with uncharacteristic tenderness but what caught Asahi off guard was what came after.

 

When he padded back into the bedroom, Jaehyuk was perched on the edge of the bed, a small amber bottle in hand. He twisted the cap open, and the scent of warm cedarwood filled the air.

 

“Take off your robe,” Jaehyuk said lightly, eyes gleaming.

 

Asahi froze. “Jaehyuk. I’m still… sore. You wanna go again?” His tone was incredulous, almost accusatory.

 

Jaehyuk laughed, the sound low and boyish. “I could be into overstimulation, but you’re not used to me yet. I’m not that cruel.” He patted the mattress. “I’m just going to give you a massage. This is the first time we’ve had sex that long, right?”

 

“Oh.” Asahi blinked. Aftercare he understood so well. Junkyu had been good at that but no one had ever offered this. A massage seemed too much. And Jaehyuk looked so damn earnest about it, smiling like a kid about to unwrap a gift, that resistance felt stupid.

 

With a small sigh, Asahi let his robe slip to the floor and crawled onto the bed. Jaehyuk, in nothing but his briefs, looked unfairly good himself.

 

Jaehyuk warmed the oil between his palms and pressed them against Asahi’s back. The first glide of his hands was firm, practiced, kneading down along tense shoulder blades. Asahi shivered, caught off guard by how steady, how careful, Jaehyuk was being.

 

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” Jaehyuk murmured, voice deep. His thumbs dug into the knots near Asahi’s spine, drawing a breathless moan from him. He trailed kisses between each press, slow and deliberate.

 

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” Jaehyuk breathed against Asahi’s skin, kissing between his shoulder blades before pushing his thumbs deeper into the small of his back. “I could stay here for hours. Just touching you. Making you feel good.”

 

Asahi moaned low, drowsy, half-lidded, his face pressed into the sheets. “You’re… insane,” he muttered, though it came out weak.

 

Jaehyuk smirked, rolling his knuckles along Asahi’s thigh, kneading up and down the muscle until Asahi shivered. “Maybe. But this? This is the best part. I get off on this more than the fucking itself. Seeing you undone… then putting you back together.”

 

“Jaehyuk…” Asahi’s voice was quiet, strained.

 

“Relax. Let me,” Jaehyuk whispered back, working lower, circling the oil into his waist, his thighs, his calves. Every touch was both healing and possessive, as though Jaehyuk was remaking him stroke by stroke.

 

He grew hungrier with every sigh Asahi gave him, every tremor in those long, pale legs. By the time Jaehyuk was massaging up toward his hips again, his cock was rock hard, straining against his briefs. He tried to ignore it, to focus on the rhythm of his hands, but the sight of Asahi melting under him drove him wild.

 

Jaehyuk’s hands slowed, slick with oil, resting heavy against Asahi’s hips. His cock was so painfully hard it ached, twitching against the waistband of his briefs. He cursed under his breath, pulled them down, and immediately wrapped a fist around himself.

 

“Jae?” Asahi turned his head, startled, lips parted.

 

Jaehyuk smirked, already stroking fast, deliberately messy. “Fuck, look at you… spread out for me, skin shining from my hands. You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.” His voice was low, guttural, more animal than human.

 

Asahi’s brows furrowed. “You’re jerking off—just from touching me?”

 

“Just from owning you.” Jaehyuk’s breath hitched as he pumped harder, precum slicking his fist. “Massaging every inch of you, hearing those little sounds—fuck, baby, I’d cum all over you.”

 

He leaned down, dragging his cock across Asahi’s oiled stomach, rutting against the firm muscles there like he couldn’t get close enough. “I want to ruin your pretty skin. Paint you till you smell like me. Till you’re dripping in it.”

 

“Jae—”

 

“Shut up and watch me.” His hand moved faster, obscene slaps of skin on skin filling the room. “You like being my canvas, don’t you? Laying there sore and fucked open while I get off on you again?”

 

Asahi bit his lip, his face flushing scarlet. Asahi’s high dark walls came crumbling. Jaehyuk was going to be the end of him.

 

“Fuck, yes, just like that—look at me.” Jaehyuk’s voice broke into a groan, his whole body shuddering as hot ropes of cum spilled over Asahi’s stomach, streaking up his chest, dripping down his ribs. He milked himself through it with a hiss, deliberately smearing the mess across Asahi’s abs with his cockhead, marking him.

 

Panting, he collapsed forward and pressed a filthy kiss to Asahi’s temple. “You’re mine even when I’m not inside you. Remember that.”

 

He laughed breathlessly, glancing at the mess. “Sorry, baby. Guess you’ll have to wash up again.”

 

-
-
-

 

Hyunsuk lounged back on a deep, velvet chaise, still damp from his shower, a black silk robe hanging loose around his shoulders. The room smelled faintly of cedar and expensive whiskey, the kind of understated coziness that came with generational wealth.

 

Across the space, Jihoon, also robed, hair damp and pushed back, moved with deliberate ease behind the polished marble bar, selecting bottles like he was curating an exhibit rather than just fixing drinks. The haze from the Gala’s champagne had long burned off, leaving their senses sharper and hungrier.

 

Hyunsuk’s lips curved into a smirk as his mind replayed the moment just outside.

 

The instant Jihoon’s limo door opened, the Choi guards surged forward in a wall of black suits, mirrored sunglasses, and clipped radios. The Parks didn’t hesitate either, forming a barrier just as quickly. It was like a silent clash of two dynasties, bristling and circling like predators.

 

And yet, in the middle of all that posturing, it had been just the two of them. Hyunsuk and Jihoon. Standing there like sentinels, masks of calm stretched over the undeniable truth. They were too desperate for each other to care about family politics.

 

And in Hyunsuk’s own thoughts, he was horny for the Pres. He just needed to be alone with him as soon as possible.

 

So, he had broken the silence with his usual bite.

 

“Pres, can you just tell your men you’re fucking me? I don’t have time for this shit.” He said loud enough so everyone could hear. Jihoon wanted to laugh but he bit his tongue.

 

With that, Hyunsuk sauntered toward the open foyer of Jihoon’s villa, unbuttoning the top buttons of his wrinkled shirt, deliberately unbothered.

 

Jihoon’s dark gaze cut back at the guards—both his own and Hyunsuk’s. He answered dryly, “Say the same to your men.”

 

And then he followed without hesitation, disappearing inside after Hyunsuk, the faint trail of arrogance lingering in the air.

 

The guards had remained outside, frozen, stunned, not by the threat of violence, but by the undeniable fact that their masters weren’t about to war tonight. They were about to fuck. The truth behind their speculations were bared and laid out in the open just like that.

 

And with that realization came another. A Choi–Park entanglement was dangerous. Trouble was brewing.

 

Hyunsuk was still grinning at the memory, the chaos outside, the thrill of it—when Jihoon’s shadow fell over him. He hadn’t even noticed him approach until a glass appeared in front of his face.

 

“What’s got you smiling like that, little devil?” Jihoon asked, handing him a gin and tonic, an olive speared neatly on top. Jihoon lowered himself onto the armchair across from him, robe loose, chest half-bared. Hyunsuk’s eyes lingered shamelessly.

 

“Just thinking,” Hyunsuk said, smirking around the rim of his glass. “Earlier… you didn’t deny we’re fucking. Not to your guards.”

 

Jihoon sipped slowly, unbothered. “If we’re going to keep seeing each other like this, they better get used to it.”

 

“Oh?” Hyunsuk teased. “So you plan on locking me up here more often?”

 

“I’ve got other places if this villa doesn’t appeal to you.”

 

“No… this villa’s great. Not too big. Like we have no choice but to bump into each other.”

 

“No matter how huge the place, when we’re together, I’ll never let you out of my sight.”

 

“Never thought of you to be this possessive.” Hyunsuk grinned, sipping again. “Then why’d you let me shower alone?”

 

“Because if I joined you,” Jihoon said bluntly, “we wouldn’t have made it out alive.”

 

Hyunsuk’s smirk faltered just slightly. He still couldn’t piece together what had shifted between them. Jihoon had hated him. Or at least acted like it. Their families are rivals and he believed Jihoon despised him. Jihoon was annoyed and irritated with him.

 

“Can I ask you something, Pres?”

 

Jihoon’s gaze sharpened. “Ask away.”

 

“What changed? This feels too fast. I don’t get it—”

 

“You’re infuriating, Hyunsuk.” Jihoon’s tone was edged, heated. “You keep pressing buttons that shouldn’t be pressed. And I’m just a man. How do you expect me to survive when you tell me, straight-faced, that you want to kneel and be used? Tell me.”

 

Hyunsuk gasped. “So you just want me for my body?”

 

“No.” Jihoon’s reply was low, dangerous. “I desire your body.” His hand patted his lap, an unmistakable invitation.

 

Hyunsuk rose, glass in hand, and slid onto Jihoon’s lap with calculated slowness. He looked down at him, sipping lazily, gaze steady, daring him.

 

Jihoon stared back in awe. “I like this too. You wanting me badly enough to beg. I like it.”

 

Hyunsuk’s lips curved. “I’ve been begging for a long time. Why now?”

 

“With you… I can never tell,” Jihoon admitted. “You change men like suits. You flirt with everyone. Sleep with whoever. For all I know, you’re teasing me because our families are mortal enemies.”

 

“And?” Hyunsuk pressed.

 

Jihoon exhaled, his voice softening. “Baby, that first night you wore those ridiculous pajamas and that eye mask… I wanted to keep you then.”

 

Hyunsuk giggled, almost shy. “So my innocent seduction worked, huh?”

 

“You were never innocent. You don’t even realize how seductive you are.”

 

“So what you’re saying is… I turn you on?”

 

“All the time.”

 

Hyunsuk tilted his head. “Then why the girlfriends? When you know you could have me?”

 

“Could I?” Jihoon countered. “Don’t make me laugh. You’re Hyunsuk Choi.”

 

“And you’re Jihoon Park,” Hyunsuk shot back.

 

Jihoon smirked. “Guess we’re the same, then.” He plucked the glass from Hyunsuk’s hand, setting it aside. His hands slid under Hyunsuk’s robe, palms hot against skin.

 

Hyunsuk shivered. “Jihoon… you realize you just call me ‘baby’ sometimes?”

 

“Yes. I do. You don’t like it?”

 

“I just thought…”

 

“I say it consciously.” Jihoon’s tone was steady, but Hyunsuk could feel his heartbeat racing against his chest.

 

Hyunsuk’s breath hitched. “You like it that much? Calling me that?”

 

Jihoon’s only answer was to open Hyunsuk’s robe and drag his tongue across his nipple.

 

“Baby…” Hyunsuk moaned, voice trembling.

 

Jihoon’s lips curved against his skin. “Is that a safe word or a plea?”

 

“Both,” Hyunsuk whispered. “You make my heart flutter, Jihoon. Stop saying things like that if you don’t want me sinking deeper.”

 

Jihoon could only answer with a life-shattering kiss.

 

“Please… take me. I can’t wait any longer.” Hyunsuk whispered, grinding down on Jihoon’s lap like a restless cat, body pliant yet demanding.

 

“Here, baby. Here…” Jihoon cooed, smoothing a broad palm down his trembling back. “It’s okay. I’ll fill you soon.”

 

Hyunsuk whimpered again, small, broken sounds that clawed at Jihoon’s control. His lips brushed Jihoon’s jaw, needy, insistent, his voice nothing but desperate breath.

 

“God, Hyunsuk… the sounds you make,” Jihoon growled, lifting him with ease. Their mouths crashed together as Jihoon carried him toward the bedroom, kissing like it was oxygen.

 

“I want to be yours so bad,” Hyunsuk gasped against his mouth.

 

The next thing he knew, his body was spread across the mattress, the sheets cool against his heated skin. He didn’t even notice Jihoon opening a door.

 

“Take me.”

 

Jihoon’s voice was a low rasp. “Are you wet for me?”

 

“Yes,” Hyunsuk moaned, writhing. “I want… I want—ahh—” His words broke into a cry as Jihoon’s hand slid down to feel the truth of it. Hyunsuk had already prepared himself, the plug from earlier stretching him just enough. He had dripped lube down his thighs before slipping on that robe, deliberately readying for this moment. Now, Jihoon could take him without resistance.

 

The robes peeled away and landed forgotten on the floor. Their mouths devoured each other hungrily, teeth clashing, tongues tangling, their movements fueled by both lust and something deeper neither dared name. The villa was silent, the world outside locked away. Just them right here. Secluded, maybe forbidden and burning for each other.

 

It was strange. They were always rough, colliding like enemies desperate to destroy and devour each other. But tonight, there was softness beneath the hunger. Every kiss lingered, every touch carried weight. Maybe it was the champagne. Maybe the high of defying their families. Or maybe, just maybe, it was each other.

 

“Hyunsuk…” Jihoon’s voice cracked as he pulled back to stare at him. “Why me?”

 

Hyunsuk’s lips parted, eyes shining dark and glassy. “I can’t seem to give you a reason. Because if I tried to name one, I’d also have a reason not to want you. Not to need you. But I do. I need you.”

 

And it was the truth. If he claimed he wanted Jihoon because he was strong enough to ruin him, then what would happen if Jihoon faltered? Would that make his desire disappear? No—it ran deeper than logic, past the point of explanation. The cracks were inevitable now. The walls would collapse, shatter, and be buried in the rubble. Hyunsuk’s need for Jihoon was beyond repair, so consuming that even reason itself had become meaningless.

 

“Hyunsuk…” Jihoon’s chest tightened painfully. “I don’t think I can let any other have you like this.”

 

Hyunsuk smiled faintly, pulling Jihoon closer, his voice a whisper against his lips. “Whatever you want, your highness. You own me now.”

 

“Fuck…” Jihoon cursed, and then he pushed inside, slow and deliberate, until Hyunsuk’s back arched and his moans echoed through the villa’s high ceilings.

 

Jihoon sank into him inch by inch, Hyunsuk’s body clenching tight, greedy, molten heat wrapping around him. Hyunsuk’s nails clawed at the sheets, a strangled cry spilling from his lips.

 

“God, you’re so tight even after all that,” Jihoon groaned, voice rough with disbelief. “You feel like you were made for me.”

 

“Jihoon—ahh—too much,” Hyunsuk gasped, his thighs trembling as Jihoon bottomed out and held him there, buried to the hilt. “You’re so… deep…”

 

Jihoon bent down, kissing the words off his lips, thrusting shallow, testing strokes at first. But the sound Hyunsuk made, a half-whimper and half-moan, it ignited something reckless. Jihoon’s rhythm sharpened, harder, faster, hips snapping like he couldn’t hold back.

 

“Pres… ahhh—fuck, slow down—” Hyunsuk cried out, his back arching off the mattress, sweat beading along his flushed chest.

 

“I can’t,” Jihoon growled against his throat, biting down hard enough to leave a mark. “I told myself I’d take it slow, but—fuck—you feel too good. You’re going to ruin me.”

 

Hyunsuk sobbed against his mouth, legs instinctively wrapping tighter around Jihoon’s waist, locking him in. His body quivered from the relentless pace, each thrust hitting deep enough to make him see white. “Jihoon!!! I’m… ahhh—too much—can’t—”

 

“You can. You will.” Jihoon’s voice broke, desperate and hungry, his composure shattering with each thrust. His hands pinned Hyunsuk down, fingers digging into his wrists, his control slipping completely.

 

Hyunsuk was overwhelmed, overstimulated, his cock untouched yet already dripping, twitching against his stomach as Jihoon drilled into him. He could barely breathe, the intensity wringing sound after sound out of him, high and broken.

 

“Look at you,” Jihoon rasped, thrusts going rougher, more erratic. “You’re crying for me. Begging, shaking… and I can’t stop. Fuck, I can’t stop.”

 

“Jihoon… please—ahhh… ahhh!!!” Hyunsuk sobbed, head thrashing against the pillows, but his body betrayed him, tightening, pulling Jihoon deeper, clamping down with every slam of his hips.

 

Jihoon kissed him hard, swallowing his cries, his thrusts growing frantic. “Take it, baby. Take all of it. I’ll give you everything.”

 

Hyunsuk’s whole body seized when his climax tore through him untouched, cum striping his stomach, a mess. His vision blurred as Jihoon drove through his orgasm mercilessly, overstimulation ripping more cries from his throat.

 

The sight broke Jihoon. He lost it completely, fucking Hyunsuk like he’d never fucked anyone before. It was raw. He was desperate and unstoppable until he spilled deep inside him with a guttural curse, body trembling, mind obliterated.

 

For a long moment, only the sound of their ragged breathing filled the room. Jihoon stayed buried, chest pressed to Hyunsuk’s, both of them shaking from the intensity.

 

Jihoon whispered hoarsely against his ear, almost shocked at himself. “I… lost control.”

 

Hyunsuk, tears still clinging to his lashes, smiled weakly, voice ruined but soft. “Good. I wanted you to.”

 

I just knew the moment I saw you that you were going to be my cause of ruin. Hyunsuk closed his eyes, surrendering as Jihoon’s peppered kisses scattered across his skin.

 

-
-
-

 

Surprisingly, all they’d done so far was make out. No sex. Junkyu hadn’t even known that was possible—that it could be enough. It wasn’t that he wasn’t horny. It was that being with Yoshi never felt boring. Somehow, every moment between them was stitched with playful tension, easy laughter, and the kind of flirting that left his chest warm.

 

Now, here they were sprawled across Yoshi’s massive king-sized bed. Hyunsuk hadn’t been exaggerating. Yoshi really did have the best bed. The sheets were crisp, the mattress perfectly soft, and somehow it felt like the safest place Junkyu had ever been. He almost laughed at himself for remembering Hyunsuk’s comment, but none of that mattered. What mattered was that Yoshi had let him in.

 

It should’ve felt pathetic, clinging to that fact, but it didn’t. Not when he was lying with his back against Yoshi’s chest, nestled between his legs. Their arms and legs tangled naturally, like they’d been made to fit together. Yoshi’s chin rested lightly on his shoulder, his breath brushing warm against his skin.

 

It felt intimate, achingly so. The only question pressing against Junkyu’s ribs was whether Yoshi felt it too.

 

Junkyu shifted against Yoshi’s chest, fiddling absently with the hem of the blanket tangled over their legs. “You know,” he said, tone casual but teasing, “for someone who claims to be bad at staying still, you’re really enjoying just lying here with me.”

 

Yoshi hummed, his chin pressing lightly into Junkyu’s shoulder. “That’s because you’re surprisingly comfortable. Like a giant pillow that talks back.”

 

Junkyu scoffed. “Wow. So romantic.”

 

Yoshi’s arm tightened across his stomach, pulling him in closer. “I’m serious. You fit here. It’s… nice.” His hand slipped lower, fingertips brushing over Junkyu’s hipbone through the fabric of his shirt, lingering there.

 

Junkyu twisted a little to glance back at him, eyebrow raised. “You’re being touchy.”

 

“Am I?” Yoshi let his hand flatten against Junkyu’s waist, deliberately unapologetic. “Guess I didn’t notice. Maybe it’s because you keep letting me.”

 

Junkyu snorted, heat prickling his ears. “You’re unbelievable.”

 

But Yoshi only grinned, dipping his head so his lips ghosted just under Junkyu’s jawline, not quite a kiss, just close enough to make his skin buzz. “Unbelievable,” he murmured, “but still right here with you.”

 

That finally broke Junkyu’s composure. He turned his head just as Yoshi tilted his, and their lips met soft, unhurried, like the natural next step of their banter.

 

When they parted, Junkyu gave a breathless laugh, eyes half-lidded. “That was smooth of you.”

 

Yoshi smirked, thumb tracing lazy circles over his ribs. “You like smooth, don’t you?”

 

Junkyu settled back against Yoshi again, lips tingling from that soft kiss. He exhaled, trying to play it cool. “So… what do you even think about when you’re this quiet?”

 

Yoshi chuckled lowly, brushing his nose against Junkyu’s shoulder before answering. “Space.”

 

“Space?” Junkyu tilted his head.

 

“Yeah,” Yoshi said, voice thoughtful now. His hand traced absently over Junkyu’s arm as he spoke. “Like… how big it is. Billions of stars, planets, maybe other lives. And we’re just here, on this one bed, worrying about—” he gave Junkyu’s waist a squeeze— “stuff that feels big, but really isn’t.”

 

Junkyu blinked, a little taken aback. “That’s… unexpectedly deep for someone who just compared me to a talking pillow.” He realized that Yoshi and him may have similarities with blurting out random worldly topics.

 

“Multitalented,” Yoshi teased, lips brushing lightly against Junkyu’s temple. “I can be dumb and smart in the same breath.”

 

Junkyu laughed softly, shaking his head. “You’re from ENO. You are far from dumb. And outer space, huh? You think there’s another version of us out there? Like… somewhere in the galaxy, we’re just two guys not tangled up like this?”

 

Yoshi grinned, his hand sliding lower, fingers grazing over Junkyu’s thigh. “If that Yoshi exists, I feel bad for him. He doesn't get to touch you like I do.”

 

Junkyu froze for a second, then muttered, “You’re ridiculous,” but he couldn’t stop the smile tugging at his lips. He turned his head just enough to meet Yoshi’s eyes, and for a moment, the joking faded.

 

He realized he liked this—liked the mix of dumb jokes and real talk, how Yoshi could swing from teasing to thoughtful in a breath. It wasn’t just kissing or touching. He actually liked being here.

 

Yoshi, for his part, was making the same note in his head. Junkyu didn’t just laugh at his nonsense, he kept up, added to it, made it better. And he looked good doing it.

 

“Honestly,” Junkyu said, softer now, “I could get used to this.”

 

Yoshi smirked, leaning in close again. “The cuddling or the kissing or the no sex?”

 

“All of it.”

 

Yoshi chuckled against Junkyu’s shoulder, voice dropping low. “But really, I was hoping you’d get bored with all that nerd talk.”

 

Junkyu arched a brow. “Bored because I’d want sex?”

 

“Yeah?” Yoshi teased, smirk lazy but eyes sharp.

 

“Well…” Junkyu twisted around, shifting off Yoshi’s chest until he was kneeling between his legs, looking him dead in the eye. His palm pressed deliberately over the bulge in Yoshi’s sweats. “…you’re in luck. Because I don’t have to be bored for you to turn me on.”

 

“Oh?” Yoshi leaned back, spreading his legs wide in invitation. His hands rested casually on the bed, but the flicker of excitement in his eyes gave him away. He let Junkyu take the lead.

 

Junkyu tugged at the waistband slowly, deliberately, until Yoshi’s sweats slid down and revealed his semi-hard cock straining against the thin fabric of his briefs. The sight alone made Junkyu’s mouth go dry.

 

By the time Junkyu stripped his own shirt off and dragged his sweats down, Yoshi’s length twitched and hardened fully, just from watching him undress.

 

“Fuck,” Yoshi muttered, eyes roaming greedily over Junkyu’s lean body, every sharp line and pale stretch of skin. “Your body’s insane, Junkyu.”

 

Junkyu smirked, brushing his hair back with one hand while the other wrapped firmly around Yoshi’s cock. “Then have it.”

 

He gave a slow pump, watching Yoshi’s head tip back, jaw slack with the first hit of pleasure.

 

Junkyu’s strokes slowed until he leaned in, lips brushing the flushed tip of Yoshi’s cock. He let his tongue drag lazily along the slit, collecting the first bead of precum before swallowing it down with a satisfied hum.

 

“Holy shit,” Yoshi groaned, fingers tightening on the sheets.

 

Junkyu smirked, eyes glinting up at him before sinking lower, taking more of Yoshi’s length inch by inch until his lips kissed the base. He hollowed his cheeks, bobbing his head with a practiced rhythm, the obscene wet sounds filling the quiet of the room.

 

“Fuck—Junkyu,” Yoshi gasped, his hand flying to the back of Junkyu’s head but stopping short of forcing him deeper. He didn’t need to. Junkyu was relentless, twisting his hand in time with every pull of his mouth, sending shocks of pleasure spiraling through him.

 

And then, Junkyu pulled back with a messy pop, lips red, chin glistening, before pushing Yoshi’s thighs apart further.

 

“What—” Yoshi choked on his words when Junkyu licked lower, tongue tracing along his perineum before boldly pressing against his tight opening.

 

Yoshi’s head slammed back into the pillows. “Fuck! You sure have a talented mouth.”

 

Junkyu only smirked against him, licking obscenely before answering, “I topped my ex this whole time. I should be good at giving head and prepping.” His tone was wicked, smug, but his eyes burned with something far more vulnerable.

 

Yoshi’s breath stuttered. “And? You don’t mind being topped this time?”

 

Junkyu pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, lips swollen, eyes daring. “If it’s you.”

 

That broke something in Yoshi. In a blur, he grabbed Junkyu’s wrists, flipping him onto his back with surprising force. Yoshi hovered above him, chest heaving, eyes dark and blown wide.

 

“Careful,” Yoshi rasped, his voice low, primal. “You can’t just say shit like that unless you’re ready for me to ruin you.”

 

Junkyu only grinned up at him, breathless and flushed. “Maybe that’s exactly what I want.”

 

Yoshi didn’t rush. He just hovered over Junkyu, his lips brushing his jaw, his nose tracing the line of his cheek. The air between them was hot, heavy, yet neither made a move to close it immediately.

 

Then Yoshi leaned down, catching Junkyu’s lips in a kiss so deep, so achingly slow, it felt like time stretched. Their tongues met lazily, tasting, teasing, drawing sighs from each other that melted into the kiss.

 

Junkyu’s fingers curled into Yoshi’s hoodie, tugging him closer, desperate for more friction, more of him. Yoshi obliged, pressing their bodies flush. Their erections brushed, trapped between them, and both gasped into each other’s mouths.

 

Yoshi broke away just enough to trail his lips down Junkyu’s throat, sucking at the skin until it flushed red, then lower, stopping to flick his tongue against a nipple. Junkyu’s back arched instantly, a shudder ripping through him.

 

“Y-Yoshi…” Junkyu whined, his voice breaking.

 

Yoshi chuckled softly, warm breath ghosting over his chest. “Sensitive here, huh?” He swirled his tongue around the hardened bud, then tugged it lightly with his teeth, soothing it with another kiss. His hand kneaded Junkyu’s other pec, thumb rolling the nipple until Junkyu was trembling.

 

Every touch was unhurried. Every kiss lingered too long. It wasn’t just sex, it was Yoshi memorizing, branding.

 

When he moved lower again, Yoshi paused, resting his forehead against Junkyu’s stomach, just breathing him in before dragging his tongue down, wet and hot, toward his leaking cock. But instead of taking him in right away, he kissed the inside of Junkyu’s thighs, licking at the sensitive skin, leaving marks that would bloom later.

 

Junkyu was already undone, writhing against the sheets. “You’re… you’re killing me.”

 

Yoshi glanced up, lips curved, eyes dark and tender all at once. “Good.”

 

And then, instead of mercy, Yoshi bent again, kissing Junkyu’s tip with a languid swirl of tongue, so achingly slow it had Junkyu gasping. Their hands found each other’s in the sheets, fingers interlocked as if they needed that anchor while Yoshi dragged him to ruin one soft kiss at a time.

 

Yoshi finally slid up again, lips wet and glistening from the trail he left across Junkyu’s chest. Their mouths met once more, tongues tangling lazily, like they had all the time in the world. But the grind of their cocks between them betrayed their hunger.

 

Junkyu broke the kiss first, panting against Yoshi’s mouth. “Fuck me, Yoshi.”

 

The way he said it, quiet, certain and pleading, made Yoshi’s chest ache. He kissed him again, softer this time, then reached between them to stroke Junkyu’s cock, slicking his hand before pushing two fingers inside. Junkyu gasped, nails scraping Yoshi’s back, but Yoshi was gentle, curling his fingers just right, stretching him at a deliberate pace.

 

“You’re so fucking tight,” Yoshi murmured, his voice rough with restraint. “You sure you want me to—”

 

“If it’s you,” Junkyu cut him off, eyes wide, glassy, vulnerable. “Only you.”

 

Yoshi couldn’t hold back after that. He lined himself up, pressed forward inch by inch, never breaking eye contact. Junkyu’s mouth parted in a silent moan, body arching to take him deeper. The stretch burned sweet, addictive.

 

“God…” Yoshi whispered, forehead dropping to Junkyu’s. “You feel unreal.”

 

He started to move, slow, deep strokes that made Junkyu’s whole body tremble. Every thrust was paired with a kiss, their mouths never straying far, breaths shared, tongues tangled. Yoshi’s hand found Junkyu’s chest again, toying with his nipple until Junkyu cried out, the sound muffled against his lips.

 

It was ruin drawn out in honeyed seconds. The grind of hips, the press of skin, the way their cocks rubbed with every slow slide. Junkyu’s legs wrapped around Yoshi’s waist, pulling him deeper, and Yoshi groaned, shifting to angle himself perfectly.

 

As if… as if… they’re making love.

 

“Right there—ah, fuck—don’t stop,” Junkyu gasped, clutching him tighter.

 

Yoshi didn’t. He kept the rhythm steady, agonizingly soft but relentless, like he wanted to fuck the air out of Junkyu’s lungs without ever breaking the tenderness. His free hand found Junkyu’s, fingers lacing tight, grounding them both.

 

“Junkyu…” Yoshi’s voice cracked against his ear. “You’re gonna make me lose it.”

 

“Then lose it with me,” Junkyu begged, his body rocking in time, every nerve alight.

 

Their kisses turned messy, frantic at last, tongues sliding, teeth clashing, both moaning into each other’s mouths as Yoshi sped up only slightly, still deep, still overwhelming.

 

The orgasm crept up on them like a storm, slow then all-consuming. Junkyu’s cry was swallowed in Yoshi’s kiss as he came hard between their stomachs, clenching tight around Yoshi, dragging him over the edge. Yoshi’s groan tore out raw, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside him, every pulse sinking him deeper.

 

And still, even as they shook with aftershocks, Yoshi kissed him, ruined.

 

-
-
-

 

Hyunsuk finally drained the last of the gin and tonic Jihoon had made, the glass cooling his palm before he set it down with a soft clink. They were both stretched out across the velvet expanse of the villa’s living room, skin bare and still faintly damp from their shower, robes discarded somewhere on the floor. They didn’t bother dressing again. Why would they? Every touch, every stolen kiss was an excuse not to.

 

Hyunsuk tipped his head back against the chaise, voice lazy but intent. “Are you spending Jeongse with me? I won’t go home if you want me here.”

 

Jihoon, who had been swirling his own drink idly, glanced at him with quiet surprise. “You wanna stay?”

 

Hyunsuk smirked, eyes hooded. “I thought that’s why you brought me. To lock me up for the holidays. I’ll go home on the last day. What do you say?”

 

Jihoon studied him for a beat, lips parting like he wanted to weigh the risk out loud. Instead, his voice softened. “I don’t mind, Hyunsuk. But is it okay with you? Hiding here?”

 

Hyunsuk tilted his head, mocking, but there was a spark in his gaze. “What—afraid your women might get jealous that you’re keeping me all to yourself?”

 

“Which women?” Jihoon shot back, sharp and dry.

 

“The ones who want to marry you.” Hyunsuk’s grin widened, curling at the edges. “I heard things at the Gala. Minha Lee’s supposed to be on top of your list.”

 

Jihoon chuckled low, leaning forward. “Funny. I heard Yoshinori and Jaehyuk share that spot on yours. Aren’t we just playing the same field?”

 

Hyunsuk leaned in too, accepting the kiss Jihoon pressed to his lips. The kiss lingered, slow and dangerous, before he pulled back with a smirk. “We definitely are. But where do we go from here, Pres? We’re supposed to be mortal enemies.” His fingertip traced a languid line down Jihoon’s abs, mapping every ridge like he was memorizing him.

 

“Well,” Jihoon murmured, his tone rougher now, “there’s still law school. No need to rush.”

 

Hyunsuk arched a brow, eyes gleaming. “Is that so? And what if I wanted something rushed right now—something quick, something life-shattering?”

 

Jihoon’s hand came up to cup his jaw, thumb brushing his bottom lip. “Aren’t you sore?”

 

Hyunsuk’s lips parted, letting his breath ghost over Jihoon’s skin. “There’s always my throat, Jihoon Park.”

 

Jihoon’s control cracked for a moment, a curse slipping through his teeth. “Fuck… You’re too hot.”

 

Hyunsuk grinned wickedly. “So are you. Treat my mouth like a cunt. Choke me till I can’t talk.”

 

“Mouth’s too filthy,” Jihoon growled, standing and looming over him, already positioning himself in front of Hyunsuk’s face. “I’ll shut you up myself.”

 

But before Jihoon could touch him, Hyunsuk’s smirk widened and he bolted.

 

“Hyunsuk? Hey!” Jihoon barked, caught off guard as laughter echoed through the villa’s high ceilings.

 

“Come get me, Pres!” Hyunsuk called back, his voice sing-song, teasing. His feet padded quick against the polished floors, hair flying as he darted toward the foyer.

 

Jihoon’s blood surged hot, half in irritation, half in arousal. “Oh, you’re done for,” he growled, chasing fast. “You don’t get me hard like that and run.”

 

“Can’t wait for the punishment!” Hyunsuk’s laugh carried, wild and taunting.

 

He almost made it down the hall, but Jihoon caught him in a few long strides, arms circling his waist. Momentum pulled them both off balance and Jihoon pressed Hyunsuk flush against the nearest wall, caging him in.

 

“Gotcha,” Jihoon breathed against his ear.

 

Hyunsuk writhed in his hold, laughing breathlessly until the sound choked off when he turned his head and found Jihoon’s face inches from his own. Their grins faltered, replaced by something heavier, raw heat, the ache of wanting.

 

Both naked, flushed. Both trembling on the edge.

 

The laughter dissolved into silence, and all that remained was the pounding of their hearts. Jihoon’s breath came rough, uneven, his self-control unraveling with Hyunsuk’s bare body pinned beneath his.

 

“Punish me,” Hyunsuk whispered, voice a trembling thread of defiance and plea. His chest heaved, the bravado in his smirk faltering at the edges. Physical. That was safer than naming what this really was.

 

Jihoon’s fingers tightened on his hips, nails threatening to leave marks. His voice rasped, thick with hunger. “Tell me how much you need it.”

 

Hyunsuk met his eyes, pupils blown wide, the weight of his words trembling in the air. “Like the starving sea that forever hungers for the shore’s kiss.”

 

Jihoon’s heart lurched. Pain, desire, something deeper—all flooding at once. And in that moment, both of them knew. This was already beyond punishment.

 

Jihoon’s grip dug into Hyunsuk’s waist, his breath harsh against his ear. The air between them was so thick with heat and tension it felt like it could ignite with one wrong move. Hyunsuk’s whisper still rang in his head. ’Punish me’ but it was the poetry of his last plea that made Jihoon’s restraint disintegrate.

 

His voice came out low, dark and absolute.

 

“Kneel.”

 

The single word vibrated through Hyunsuk’s spine, making his knees buckle before he even thought about it. He sank slowly, deliberately, his smirk faltering into something needier, more reverent. His palms pressed against Jihoon’s thighs as he settled onto the floor, bare skin against polished marble, eyes looking up through heavy lashes.

 

Jihoon stared down at him, chest heaving. “God, look at you. Hyunsuk Choi on his knees for me.” His thumb brushed along Hyunsuk’s jaw, forcing his mouth open just enough to let his thumb press past his lips.

 

Hyunsuk moaned around it, wet heat curling over Jihoon’s skin as he sucked obediently, eyes locked with his.

 

“Fuck,” Jihoon groaned, his cock already aching, standing heavy between them. He pulled his thumb free, dragging Hyunsuk’s spit across his lower lip. “You really make me want to ruin you just like how you want it.”

 

Hyunsuk tilted his head, licking his lips where Jihoon smeared him. His voice was hoarse, begging without shame. “Then ruin me, Pres. Use me till you forget your own name.”

 

Let’s forget about our names. Our titles. Everything. Hyunsuk begged in his head.

 

Jihoon’s breath stuttered at the audacity, but he didn’t hesitate. His hand tangled in Hyunsuk’s damp hair, guiding him forward, pressing his flushed tip against Hyunsuk’s waiting mouth.

 

Hyunsuk’s lips parted instantly, taking him in with a soft hum that vibrated down Jihoon’s length. Jihoon’s head snapped back, a ragged curse torn from his throat.

 

“Shit—Hyunsuk.” His hips twitched despite himself, and his other hand shot out to brace against the wall.

 

Hyunsuk hollowed his cheeks, eyes watering already, but he looked up with that same wicked gleam. He pulled back just enough to whisper, voice dripping filth and devotion. “Didn’t I tell you? My mouth’s a cunt just for you.”

 

Jihoon’s control shattered. With a snarl, he shoved deeper, hips rolling forward, forcing himself past Hyunsuk’s throat. Hyunsuk gagged but took it, nails raking lightly down Jihoon’s thighs as he let himself be used, let himself drown.

 

The sight alone undid Jihoon. The rival heir, on his knees, choking on him willingly. It was obscene. It was dangerous. It was everything.

 

-
-
-

 

“What are your plans for Jeongse?” Haruto asked, his voice casual as he tugged fresh sheets over the mattress.

 

The cotton whispered as he smoothed it down, but his eyes flicked sideways more than once—drawn, as always, to Jeongwoo. The latter sat lazily on the chair, towel draped around his neck, running it through damp hair. Both of them were shirtless, only in pants with the waistbands riding low. The air between them was warm, faintly charged from what they’d just done.

 

“I might join my family in Jeju,” Jeongwoo said at last, the tone almost careless. “You?”

 

“Just at home.”

 

Haruto’s answer was short, but inside, it was heavier. Jeongse holidays without Jeongwoo. It made his chest ache in a way he didn’t want to name.

 

“You’ll miss me?” Jeongwoo’s lips quirked up, teasing.

 

Haruto’s ears burned. “Stop flirting, Woo. You just fucked me. Let a man rest.”

 

Their laughter filled the room, easy and familiar, until a sharp knock at the door broke it apart.

 

Jeongwoo’s brows furrowed. “You expecting someone?” Jealousy suddenly burned through his veins. Who could possibly knock on Haruto’s door at this hour?

 

“No,” Haruto said quickly—too quickly, like he’d been caught.

 

Jeongwoo’s look sharpened. “Open the door then.”

 

“Don’t act jealous. You’re not my boyfriend, remember?” Haruto rolled his eyes, but his chest tightened. Jeongwoo could be insufferable, but God, sometimes Haruto wondered if he wanted him jealous.

 

Still, he obeyed, padding barefoot across the floor. Jeongwoo followed right behind, tense.

 

When Haruto pulled open the door, confusion struck him cold.

 

“Doyoung?”

 

The boy at the threshold looked pale, eyes rimmed red, like he hadn’t slept.

 

“Ruto…” Doyoung’s gaze shifted past him. “You’re with Jeongwoo?”

 

Jeongwoo appeared at Haruto’s shoulder, eyes narrowing. “Hey. What’s wrong? You look like shit.”

 

Haruto’s fist found Jeongwoo’s stomach in a quick jab. “Ow!”

 

“Sorry, guys…” Doyoung’s voice cracked. “I know you’re together but… can I stay here?”

 

“Where’s Hwan? You’re not at your penthouse?” Jeongwoo asked, suspicion lacing his voice.

 

“He’s…” Doyoung faltered. The words refused to come. His throat bobbed, but no sound followed. “I wanted this to happen. So why do I feel like this?”

 

“Oh,” Haruto murmured. That explained everything.

 

“Can I stay?” Doyoung asked again, quieter. His shoulders sagged, like he was ready to beg if he had to.

 

Jeongwoo turned to Haruto, their eyes locking. It was silent, but Haruto understood. The question, the request, the responsibility being passed between them. His chest clenched, but he nodded.

 

The door swung wider. Doyoung stepped inside, and Jeongwoo immediately slipped an arm around him, steadying him. “Goodness, Dobby. You’re shivering.”

 

The sofa was a mess, evidence of what Haruto and Jeongwoo had done earlier. Jeongwoo led Doyoung straight to the bed instead. Haruto arched a brow.

 

Jeongwoo mouthed, what?

 

Haruto rolled his eyes. But he didn’t stop him.

 

Doyoung moved like a ghost, eyes hazy, steps uncertain. And somehow, impossibly, he ended up nestled between them. Two shirtless bodies pressed close, warmth hemming him in.

 

“You were at the guest room?” Haruto asked.

 

“Yeah but it felt empty.” Doyoung said. “The sheets smell new. Didn’t you guys just have sex?” he asked, voice flat, almost robotic.

 

“I changed them,” Haruto muttered. “Doyoung, sleep. You need it.”

 

“What I need is sex.”

 

“Stop saying stupid shit.” Jeongwoo gave him a sharp look, though his hand rubbed slow circles on Doyoung’s back, grounding him.

 

“It’s not every day I get to lie between two hot guys who pretend they don’t belong to each other.”

 

“And it’s not every day we sandwich someone dumb enough to give his fiancé a free pass.” Jeongwoo’s voice hardened. “Seriously, what were you thinking?”

 

“He’ll come back hotter. Starving for me. That’s what I thought. I don’t know anymore.” Doyoung’s laugh was weak, watery.

 

“You’re fucked up, Doyoung,” Haruto said flatly, though the edge in his voice was thinner than usual.

 

“Can you guys have sex in front of me? Might calm me down.”

 

“There he goes,” Jeongwoo muttered, rolling his eyes. “The game master is losing it. We’re not in the Blood Arena. You can chill.”

 

“You’re not serious,” Haruto said.

 

“I just wanted to see if you’d oblige. If not, fine. I just… I don’t want to picture Junghwan fucking some rando right now.”

 

Jeongwoo’s lips curled. “Sounds kinda hot though.”

 

“Jeongwoo!” Haruto snapped, voice sharp.

 

“What?!”

 

“You’re fucking impossible.”

 

“If I know you,” Jeongwoo countered smoothly, “you’re already hard thinking about getting fucked with someone watching.”

 

Haruto groaned, burying his face in the pillow, trying to hide the obvious. His body always betrayed him when it came to Jeongwoo.

 

“Whatever this is, it’s working. I’m distracted,” Doyoung giggled faintly, glancing left and right at them. His laugh was fragile, but at least it was there. “Tension’s insane. Want me off the bed?”

 

“No. Stay. Get on my side,” Jeongwoo said, voice calm, like it was the most natural thing.

 

Doyoung’s eyes widened. “What the fuck, what the fuck—” Still, he shifted closer. His pulse stuttered.

 

And suddenly, Jeongwoo was beside Haruto, guiding him closer with steady hands.

 

“Any requests before we proceed, Doyoung?” Jeongwoo asked, his voice smooth, challenging. Haruto glared but didn’t resist.

 

Doyoung’s pulse skipped. “Look at me straight in the eyes once in a while. While fucking. That’d be so hot.”

 

“Got it.” Jeongwoo’s lips curled.

 

Then he leaned in and kissed Haruto who groaned at the deliberate slow intensity of it.

 

Doyoung stayed still, tucked on the side, watching them unravel. Watching them finally give in. His chest ached, but his mind quieted. For now, this was enough.

Notes:

I'm so drained after writing this. Now give me thoughts after reading this. Because... what just happened?! Lol