The Only Place I Can Breathe Out

by trexbex

Summary:

Hyunjin takes an advanced music production course to prove he’s more than just a pretty face in dance. Unfortunately (or fortunately), the course is taught by Professor Bang Chan—renowned for his strict standards, harsh critiques, and his reputation for being emotionally detached.

Except… with Hyunjin, he isn’t detached at all. He’s fixated.

Notes:

Been a while since I’ve posted anything up. Quite the switch up from fandoms.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Professor Bang

Hyunjin

Hyunjin was already five minutes late.

Not the “oh, traffic was bad and the professor probably hasn’t even started yet” kind of late. No, this was the “every single head will turn when I open the door and I’ll want the ground to swallow me whole” kind of late.

He jogged up the stairs two at a time, backpack thudding against his hip, messy strands of blond hair clinging to his forehead. His phone buzzed in his pocket—probably Seungmin reminding him not to screw this up—but Hyunjin ignored it, skidding around the corner and slamming into the heavy lecture hall door.

He froze for half a second, fingers tight on the handle. Maybe I could just skip today. What’s one day? It’s only the first week…

But then he remembered: this wasn’t just any class. This was Professor Bang’s advanced seminar in production and composition. The course people whispered about in hushed tones—grueling, nearly impossible, with assignments that broke even top students. They’d had to submit a composition by the night before, which he’d found entirely unfair, but he had submitted it minutes before the cutoff. Hyunjin had clawed his way onto the roster because he wanted to prove something: that he wasn’t just a pretty dancer with a portfolio of half-finished projects.

And here he was, late. On day one.

Hyunjin pushed the door open.

Every head turned exactly the way he dreaded. A hundred pairs of eyes swiveled toward him, but none of them burned as much as the pair at the front.

Professor Bang didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

“You’re late,” he said, flat and cold, like he was stating the weather.

Hyunjin swallowed. He’d seen the man once before—briefly, during orientation—and had thought he looked… intense. Attractive, if Hyunjin was honest, but in the kind of way you don’t admit out loud because it makes you sound like you’ve got a thing for stone statues. Up close, though, he was even worse. Broad shoulders under a black button-down, hair pulled off his forehead, sharp eyes that pinned Hyunjin to the spot like he’d been caught shoplifting.

“I—uh, sorry, subway—” Hyunjin started, heat crawling up the back of his neck.

Professor Bang didn’t blink. “Excuses don’t change the time.” He pointed toward the only open desk near the front. “Sit.”

A ripple of muffled laughter ran through the lecture hall. Hyunjin clenched his jaw, ducked his head, and made his way down the stairs. He could feel the weight of those eyes following him the whole way.

He hated him already.

⸻

The next ninety minutes were torture.

Hyunjin tried to focus on the slides—chord layering, melodic structures, all stuff he should care about—but it was impossible with Professor Bang’s voice cutting through the air. Low, precise, never wasting a syllable. And worse, every time Hyunjin’s pen slipped, or his gaze wandered, those eyes flicked up like they could see right through him.

When the lecture ended, Hyunjin bolted upright, desperate to escape. But before he could make it three steps, that voice cut through the chatter.

“Mr. Hwang. Stay behind.”

Hyunjin froze. Of course.

⸻

Chan

Bang Chan prided himself on discipline. On control. On never letting the cracks show.

But the moment that tall, blond-haired student had burst into his lecture hall, late and flushed, something had shifted under his skin.

He’d noticed him on the roster—Hwang Hyunjin. Transfer student. Strong dance background, weak theory portfolio. Chan had almost denied him entry to the seminar outright. But then he’d looked closer at Hyunjin’s application. Messy, inconsistent, but full of raw instinct. There was something there worth shaping.

Worth… taming.

So when Hyunjin walked in late, Chan had seized the chance. Sharp words, a command to sit. He told himself it was about setting precedent—reminding the class that punctuality mattered. But the truth was simpler. He couldn’t stand the thought of letting this one slip through his fingers.

Now, as the lecture hall emptied, Chan stacked his notes neatly, pretending not to notice Hyunjin hovering near the desk, sulking like a scolded child.

“Do you make a habit of arriving late?” Chan asked finally, not looking up.

Hyunjin bristled. “No. It was just—”

“I don’t care why,” Chan interrupted, his tone flat. Then he lifted his gaze, locking onto Hyunjin’s. The boy’s lips pressed together, eyes flashing with irritation. Beautiful, even in defiance. Especially in defiance.

Chan exhaled slowly. Dangerous thoughts. He needed to stay in control.

“Your first submission.” He slid a printed sheet across the desk. “You call this a composition?”

Hyunjin’s ears turned red. “I worked on it—”

“It’s lazy.” Chan’s voice sharpened. “Half-baked. You have ideas, but no discipline. No respect for structure.” He tapped the page. “Do you know what this says to me? That you want praise without effort. That you think charm is enough to carry you.”

Hyunjin’s hands curled into fists. “That’s not true.”

“Then prove it.” Chan leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Redo it. From scratch. By tomorrow.”

Hyunjin’s mouth dropped open. “Tomorrow? That’s impossible!”

“Nothing is impossible,” Chan said evenly. “Only unacceptable. If you want to survive this class, you’ll meet my standards. Or you’ll drop out now and save us both the trouble.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Hyunjin’s chest rose and fell quickly, anger sparking in his eyes. But beneath the frustration, Chan saw something else flicker—a hint of determination, a challenge.

Good.

Chan gathered his papers. “Dismissed.”

⸻

Hyunjin

Hyunjin stormed out of the lecture hall, the assignment paper crumpled in his fist. His whole body buzzed with fury.

Who the hell did that man think he was? Talking to him like that—like he was some lazy, talentless kid. Hyunjin had worked hard on that piece. Okay, maybe he’d rushed it a little, maybe the transitions were rough, but “lazy”? “Charm without effort”?

He wanted to scream.

And yet, under the anger, something twisted in his stomach. Because as much as he hated to admit it, the bastard was right. Hyunjin had cut corners. He’d assumed he could wing it and slide by. And the thought of Chan being unimpressed—of those sharp eyes dismissing him as not worth the effort—made his chest ache in a way he didn’t want to think about.

“Redo it. By tomorrow.”

Impossible. And yet Hyunjin knew, deep down, he’d do it. Not for the grade. Not even for the class.

For him.

Chapter 2: Standards

Hyunjin

Hyunjin promised himself he wouldn’t be late this time.

He left his dorm twenty minutes earlier than necessary, hair brushed, USB tucked safely in his pocket. And for the first time all week, he actually walked into Professor Bang’s seminar on time.

On time—and still felt like he’d done something wrong.

The man was already there, of course. Always there. He stood at the front of the room with his laptop hooked up to the projector, sleeves rolled up, speaking in that steady monotone that made even chord progressions sound like laws written in stone. Hyunjin slid into a seat near the middle, trying to make himself small.

It didn’t work.

The second Chan’s gaze swept the lecture hall, it caught on him. Hyunjin shifted under it, heat crawling up his neck. He’d gotten maybe five hours of sleep, and his new assignment was still rough around the edges. He prayed Chan wouldn’t—

“Mr. Hwang.”

Hyunjin’s stomach dropped. “Yes?”

“Play your composition for the class.”

Hyunjin’s pulse stumbled. What?

He hesitated, but Chan was already gesturing to the console at the front of the room. Murmurs spread through the lecture hall. Hyunjin caught someone smirking in the row behind him.

His legs felt like lead as he walked down. He plugged in his USB, fingers clammy, and hit play.

The track filled the room. It wasn’t terrible—he’d poured every spare hour into it—but hearing it echo through the hall made every flaw scream louder. The rushed transitions, the uneven levels, the places he’d cut corners.

When it ended, silence stretched.

Then Chan spoke. “What do we think?”

Hyunjin whipped around. “Wait—you’re asking them?”

“Feedback is part of growth,” Chan said evenly.

A girl in the back raised her hand. “It’s… creative. But messy.”

“Unbalanced,” someone else muttered.

Hyunjin wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. He turned back to Chan, fury rising. “You set me up.”

Chan’s eyes didn’t waver. “You set yourself up. If you can’t withstand critique, you don’t belong here.”

The words hit harder than they should have. Hyunjin clenched his fists. “You’re an asshole.”

A sharp inhale rippled through the hall. Someone whispered ‘did he just—?’

Chan’s expression didn’t change, but his voice dropped, low and cutting. “Language, Mr. Hwang. Sit down.”

Hyunjin wanted to throw the console at him. Instead, he marched back to his seat, face burning, throat tight.

He hated him. God, he hated him.

And yet—his heart wouldn’t stop racing.

⸻

Chan

Chan kept his tone even as he dismissed the class, but inside, his pulse was anything but steady.

Hyunjin’s glare still burned behind his eyes. That flash of defiance—calling him an asshole in front of a hundred students—should have infuriated him. It did, in part. Discipline mattered. Authority mattered.

But the other part of him… liked it.

Liked the way Hyunjin refused to cower. Liked the way his pride lit him up, even when it made him reckless.

He told himself the public critique had been necessary. Hyunjin needed pressure, needed to be pushed harder than the others. He had talent, raw and untamed, but talent without structure was wasted. Chan was doing him a favor, even if Hyunjin couldn’t see it yet.

Still. He’d crossed a line, perhaps. Public humiliation was harsh. He could have chosen a different student. But none of them mattered the way Hyunjin did. None of them made him feel like this—restless, sharp-edged, always one second away from losing the control he valued so much.

Chan stacked his papers with deliberate precision, willing the thoughts away. Professional boundaries. Discipline. Control.

And yet, when he closed his laptop, the words replayed in his head in Hyunjin’s voice. ‘You’re an asshole.’

Chan almost smiled.

⸻

Hyunjin

“Can you believe him?” Hyunjin slammed the door behind him, startling Seungmin, who was lounging on the bed with a book. “In front of everyone. Just—‘Mr. Hwang, play your composition.’ Like I’m his personal punching bag.”

Seungmin didn’t look up. “Sounds about right. You did sign up for his class.”

Hyunjin threw his backpack down. “I thought he was just… strict. Not sadistic.”

Finally, Seungmin glanced at him, deadpan. “You’re kind of obsessed.”

Hyunjin sputtered. “I’m not—! I hate him!”

“Uh-huh.”

“I do!”

Seungmin turned back to his book. “Sure. Keep yelling about him every time you come home. Totally convincing.”

Hyunjin groaned and buried his face in his pillow. He did hate him. The arrogance, the cold voice, the impossible standards.

But.

When he closed his eyes, all he could hear was that voice saying, If you can’t withstand critique, you don’t belong here.

And he hated how much he wanted to prove him wrong.

⸻

Chan

Later that night, Chan sat in his office again, lights dim, Hyunjin’s track playing on loop. He shouldn’t have kept it. Should have deleted it after class. But he couldn’t stop dissecting it—the flashes of brilliance buried in the chaos, the emotional undercurrent Hyunjin probably hadn’t even noticed he’d woven in.

He thought about the way Hyunjin’s jaw clenched when he was criticized, the sharp heat in his eyes when he fought back. Fragile and feral, all at once.

Chan rubbed a hand over his face. Dangerous thoughts. Unacceptable thoughts.

And yet, he already knew what he’d do.

Tomorrow, he’d push harder. See how far Hyunjin could bend before he broke.

And if he broke… Chan would be the one to put him back together.

⸻

Hyunjin

By the end of the week, Hyunjin thought he’d gotten used to it—the constant spotlight, the way Chan seemed to watch him more than anyone else. But then Friday came, and with it, another bomb.

“Mr. Hwang,” Chan said at the end of lecture, voice calm, unyielding. “You’re falling behind.”

Hyunjin’s stomach twisted. “I’m not—”

“You are,” Chan cut in. “Meet me here Monday after hours. We’ll address it privately.”

Hyunjin’s breath caught. Private. With him.

Half the class was still packing up, and Hyunjin swore he heard someone whisper, ouch. His ears burned.

He wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him to shove it.

But all that came out was, “Fine.”

And when he left, heart pounding, he couldn’t decide if he was dreading Monday—or counting the hours until it came.

Chapter 3: Private Study

Hyunjin

Monday came too fast.

All weekend he’d told himself he wouldn’t go. That Professor Bang could go to hell, that no one had the right to humiliate him in class and then demand his time afterward.

But come Monday evening, Hyunjin found himself standing outside the lecture hall anyway, laptop bag slung over his shoulder, stomach tight.

The room was empty. Quiet. Only the faint hum of the projector and the scratch of a pen.

Chan was there, of course. Sitting at the desk at the front, papers stacked neatly, posture perfect. He didn’t look up when Hyunjin walked in.

“You’re late,” he said flatly.

Hyunjin bristled. “It’s 6:02.”

“I said six.”

Hyunjin ground his teeth but shut the door behind him. The click echoed too loud in the empty room.

“Sit,” Chan said.

Hyunjin sat, arms crossed, glaring at the desk like it had personally offended him.

Chan finally looked up. His gaze was steady, unreadable, and it made Hyunjin feel like he was fifteen again, about to be scolded.

“Play me what you’ve been working on,” Chan said.

Hyunjin hesitated. “Why?”

“Because that’s why you’re here.”

Hyunjin wanted to argue, but instead he plugged in his laptop and queued the track. His pulse thudded in his ears as the music filled the hall—his latest attempt, patched together with stubbornness and caffeine.

When it ended, silence stretched.

Chan didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Finally, he said, “You’re rushing your phrasing.”

Hyunjin stiffened. “I’m not rushing.”

“You are.”

“I just—”

“You’re rushing,” Chan repeated, calm as stone. “And your levels are uneven. You let the melody drown. And this transition—” He tapped the desk with his pen. “Lazy.”

Hyunjin’s jaw dropped. “Lazy?”

“Yes.”

Hyunjin shot up from his chair. “Do you ever—God, do you ever say anything nice?”

“No.”

The single word landed like a slap. Hyunjin’s throat went dry.

Chan leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “If you want empty praise, find another professor. If you want to improve, sit down.”

Hyunjin’s fists clenched at his sides. Every nerve in him screamed to storm out, to slam the door and never come back.

But instead—he sat.

⸻

Chan

Chan didn’t let himself smile, though he wanted to.

Hyunjin’s temper was a live wire—messy, volatile—but when pushed, he didn’t walk. He stayed. That, more than anything, told Chan he was right.

He picked up his pen again. “Fix your phrasing. Hold the line. Don’t chase it. Control it.”

Hyunjin muttered something under his breath, but he adjusted the track, fingers flying. Chan watched, noting the set of his shoulders, the sharp curve of concentration on his mouth.

Better. Raw, but better.

“Again,” Chan said.

They went like that for an hour. Hyunjin snapping, Chan correcting. Hyunjin rolling his eyes, Chan cutting him down with quiet precision.

By the end, Hyunjin was flushed, hair falling into his eyes, voice hoarse from arguing. His track still wasn’t perfect, but it was sharper, cleaner.

Chan closed his notebook. “You’ll redo it before Friday.”

Hyunjin groaned. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“I hate you.”

Chan’s lips almost curved. Almost. “Good. Then prove me wrong.”

⸻

Hyunjin

By the time he stumbled out into the night air, Hyunjin felt wrung dry. His head buzzed, his chest tight. He wanted to scream, to kick something.

And yet—

He replayed Chan’s words in his head, every sharp correction, every low command. Fix your phrasing. Control it. Prove me wrong.

And the worst part?

He wanted to.

Chapter 4: Second Round

Hyunjin

Hyunjin told himself he wasn’t going back.

Absolutely not. Never again.

Friday evening rolled around, and instead of being halfway across the city with Seungmin at some neon-lit café, Hyunjin was once again standing in the hallway outside the lecture hall, glaring at the closed door like it was a personal enemy.

This was ridiculous. Why was he here? Why had he carried his laptop all the way across campus when he had no intention of showing up?

The answer was simple, infuriating, and he refused to say it out loud: because Professor Bang told him to.

Hyunjin shoved the door open harder than necessary, the hinges squealing in protest.

Chan was there, exactly as he’d been last time—papers lined neatly, pen in hand, posture unnervingly straight. His eyes flicked up briefly, registering Hyunjin’s entrance with a cool nod, before dropping back to the page.

“You’re on time,” Chan said.

“You sound disappointed.”

Chan didn’t answer. He just gestured to the seat across from him.

Hyunjin sat down with a sigh so dramatic it echoed in the empty room. “This is cruel and unusual punishment, you know.”

“You’re not being punished.”

“Then what would you call it?”

Chan looked up at him, expression unreadable. “Necessary.”

Hyunjin wanted to snap something back, but his chest tightened instead. Necessary. He hated the way that word sank into him.

⸻

The next two hours blurred into the same exhausting rhythm: play, critique, argue, adjust, repeat.

“You’re dragging,” Chan said.

“I’m not dragging.”

“You’re dragging.”

“I’m experimenting with tempo—”

“You’re dragging.”

Hyunjin threw his hands up. “Do you even know how to say anything else?”

Chan leaned back in his chair, pen tapping against the desk. “Fix it.”

Hyunjin glared, cheeks burning, before slamming his headphones back on and doing exactly that.

The worst part? He could hear the difference. He hated that he could hear the difference.

⸻

By the time the clock ticked past eight, Hyunjin’s shoulders ached and his throat was sore from snapping back. His track was better—tighter, cleaner, sharper. He’d never admit it to Chan, but it was.

Chan closed his notebook with a soft thud. “Better.”

Hyunjin blinked. “What?”

“I said better.”

For a second, Hyunjin didn’t know how to react. It wasn’t praise—not really—but it wasn’t a knife to the gut either.

Then Chan added, “But still careless.”

Hyunjin groaned. “Of course. God forbid you say one nice thing without ruining it.”

Chan’s mouth twitched—just the faintest, fleeting curve. Gone in a blink. “Friday. Same time.”

Hyunjin stood abruptly, shoving his laptop into his bag. “I’m not coming back.”

“You will.”

The certainty in Chan’s voice made Hyunjin want to scream. Instead, he stormed out, door slamming behind him.

⸻

Chan

Chan waited until the echo of the slam faded before allowing himself the smallest exhale.

Hyunjin’s footsteps were still fading down the hall, quick and uneven, full of heat. But Chan knew—he’d be back.

Because Hyunjin was a mess of defiance and pride, but beneath it all was the same thing that drove Chan himself: the refusal to settle for less.

That was why Chan had pushed him. Why he’d cut so sharp.

And why, even now, he couldn’t stop replaying the sight of Hyunjin’s flushed cheeks, the stubborn set of his mouth, the way his fingers hovered over the keyboard like he was caught between rebellion and surrender.

Chan closed his notebook, stacked it neatly on the desk, and allowed himself a single thought he’d never say out loud.

It wasn’t just help on his composition that was necessary. It was time to shape him.

⸻

Hyunjin

By the time he collapsed onto his bed later that night, Hyunjin’s head was still buzzing.

He told himself it was from exhaustion, from frustration, from hours of being dissected by that cold, infuriating man.

But as he lay there, eyes closed, he kept hearing Chan’s voice. Low. Even. Unshakable.

“You’re dragging.”
“Fix it.”
“Better.”

Hyunjin pressed his pillow over his face with a groan.

He hated him.

So why couldn’t he stop replaying every word?

Chapter 5: Cracks

Hyunjin

Hyunjin had sworn—again—that he wasn’t going back.

And yet, a week later, he was outside the lecture hall door, clutching his bag like it might hold him back if he tried to leave.

Ridiculous. He hated him. He hated the way Chan’s voice could cut through his chest like a scalpel. He hated the way he felt like he was both drowning and breathing sharper air at the same time whenever he sat across from him.

But most of all, he hated how much better his work was.

Hyunjin pushed the door open with less force this time, still making sure it echoed.

Chan was there, as always, calm and composed, as if he’d been waiting.

“Thought you weren’t coming back,” Chan said without looking up.

Hyunjin bristled. “I wasn’t.”

“Yet here you are.”

Hyunjin dropped his bag onto the desk. “Don’t get used to it.”

⸻

This time, Chan didn’t bother with small talk. He slid a page across the table—a set of notes on Hyunjin’s last track, neat and merciless.

Hyunjin skimmed them, lips curling. “You wrote all this just to insult me?”

“To help you.”

“Debatable.”

Chan’s gaze flicked up, steady. “You’ll thank me when it matters.”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes and shoved his headphones on, muttering, “Doubt it.”

⸻

Hours passed in the same rhythm of clash and correction, Hyunjin snapping and Chan answering in that maddeningly even tone. But tonight, fatigue hit harder than usual.

Hyunjin’s shoulders slumped, his fingers slipping on the keyboard. His protests grew slower, weaker.

Finally, around ten, he leaned back with a sigh and pressed his palms to his eyes. “I can’t. Not tonight. I’m done.”

Chan didn’t respond right away. When Hyunjin finally peeked through his fingers, Chan was watching him with that same sharp gaze—but softer somehow.

“You didn’t eat dinner.”

Hyunjin blinked. “What?”

“You’re fading. You didn’t eat.”

“I’m fine—”

Chan stood, crossed the room, and came back with a granola bar from his bag. He set it on the desk between them.

Hyunjin stared at it like it was a trap. “What is this?”

“Food.”

“I know what it is. Why are you—”

“Eat it, Hyunjin.”

The way he said his name—low, deliberate—sent a shiver down Hyunjin’s spine he refused to acknowledge.

Hyunjin scoffed, tearing the wrapper open anyway. “You’re bossy, you know that?”

Chan’s mouth quirked, almost a smile. “So I’ve been told.”

⸻

They worked a little longer after that, but the sharpness had shifted. Chan was still precise, still cutting, but there was a new undercurrent—watchful, almost protective.

Hyunjin hated how much worse it was.

Because for the first time, he wasn’t just replaying Chan’s criticisms in his head when he left.

He was replaying the sound of his name in Chan’s mouth.

⸻

Chan

He shouldn’t have given him the granola bar.

It was a line he’d drawn for himself—keep it professional, keep it sharp, keep it clean. And then he’d seen Hyunjin slumping in his chair, pale under the fluorescent lights, and the words had slipped out before he could stop them.

“You didn’t eat.”

So simple. So dangerous.

Because when Hyunjin looked up at him, eyes wide and startled, Chan had felt something shift. A thread pulled taut between them.

He told himself it was responsibility. That if he was going to push Hyunjin, he had to make sure he didn’t break him.

But as he packed up his notes that night, the image kept replaying: Hyunjin tearing the wrapper open with reluctant fingers, eyes down, cheeks flushed.

And the sound of his voice when he’d muttered, “You’re bossy.”

Chan sat back in his chair after Hyunjin left, the silence pressing in heavy.

He’d built walls for a reason.

But with Hyunjin, cracks were already forming.

Chapter 6: Control

Chan

Chan told himself it was about discipline.

That was the word he repeated, steady as a mantra, as he sat at his desk long after Hyunjin had stormed out. Papers stacked neatly at his elbow, pen still in hand, the faint scent of Hyunjin’s cologne lingering in the air.

Discipline.

Hyunjin had potential—wild, erratic, sharp around the edges. Untamed. Chan had seen it the first day, hidden under all that bravado. That was why he kept pushing. Why he didn’t soften. Why he demanded more, even when Hyunjin bristled and snapped like a cornered animal.

Because Hyunjin could be brilliant. But brilliance without discipline was wasted.

That was what Chan told himself.

What he didn’t admit—not even in the silence of his own office—was that discipline wasn’t the only reason he couldn’t stop.

⸻

The first time Hyunjin had rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath, Chan should’ve shut it down. Should’ve reminded him of respect, of hierarchy.

Instead, he’d leaned back in his chair, watching the flash of rebellion in Hyunjin’s eyes with something dangerously close to fascination.

He shouldn’t find it compelling. Shouldn’t feel that flicker of heat every time Hyunjin tried to push him, knowing he could break him down with a single word.

“Fix it.”
“You’re dragging.”
“Again.”

Hyunjin obeyed every time. Furious. Red-cheeked. But obedient.

Chan’s jaw tightened. He couldn’t ignore the way it stirred something deep in him—something possessive, sharp-edged, coiled like a wire.

⸻

Tonight, Chan had gone too far. He knew it the second he’d offered the granola bar.

It was nothing. A small thing. Barely worth acknowledging. But it had broken the balance.

Because when Hyunjin had looked up at him, startled and defiant, Chan had wanted—

No. He wouldn’t finish that thought.

He forced his eyes back to the papers in front of him, writing meticulous notes in the margins. His pen carved into the page with more force than necessary.

Hyunjin was a student. A project. A responsibility.

That was all.

But when he finally pushed the notes aside, leaning back in his chair, Chan realized his pulse was still unsteady.

And the truth—sharp and undeniable—slipped through the cracks.

He didn’t just want to shape Hyunjin’s music.

He wanted to shape him.

⸻

Hyunjin

Hyunjin lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling.

He told himself it was because he was annoyed. Because Chan’s voice had lodged itself in his head like a splinter. Because he couldn’t stand the way the man’s words kept echoing—sharp and calm and right.

But when he closed his eyes, all he could see was the granola bar sliding across the table.

And the way Chan had said his name.

Hyunjin groaned and rolled onto his side, burying his face in the pillow.

He hated him. He hated him so much.

So why did it feel like he was already waiting for Friday?

Chapter 7: Crossed Lines

Hyunjin

Hyunjin wasn’t drunk.

Okay—he was drunk.

But not too drunk. Not the way Seungmin kept hissing in his ear, tugging at his sleeve like he was about to collapse. Not the way Felix kept pressing water into his hand, brows knit tight like Hyunjin was about to ruin his life on a Thursday night.

He was fine.

Fine enough to laugh too loud, head tipped back under the neon glow. Fine enough to slam his glass down and shout for another round. Fine enough to forget, for a blessed hour, the sharp sound of ‘fix it’ ringing in his skull like a blade.

The thing was, forgetting was easy when the music was this loud. When strangers’ hands brushed too close. When his chest ached in the best kind of way from laughing until he felt sick.

What wasn’t easy—what ruined it—was the glimpse of someone at the far end of the bar.

Head bent over a glass of water, jacket slung careless over the back of his chair.

Black shirt, sleeves shoved up. Hair messy, not combed into the usual neat lines of authority.

Hyunjin froze, the blood draining straight out of him before the alcohol shoved it back twice as hot.

Of course he’d be here. Of course he’d be everywhere. Stalking him like a shadow, like a curse he couldn’t shake.

Chan.

⸻

“Another,” Hyunjin snapped, voice pitching louder than he meant.

And then—
A hand, firm, sure, slid the drink away before it even touched the bar.

“You’re done.”

Hyunjin blinked, too startled to process the voice at first. Then the warmth of breath ghosted by his ear, and his whole body went rigid.

“No,” he muttered, sharp, twisting toward the hand. And found himself staring up into dark eyes.

Chan.

Not behind a desk. Not wielding a pen like a weapon. Just—there. Solid. Unshakable. And far too close.

Hyunjin’s heart stuttered in his chest.

“I said you’re done,” Chan repeated, low, even. His hand stayed on the glass. His body leaned just enough into Hyunjin’s space that the thrum of the bar blurred.

“Go to hell,” Hyunjin bit out. His voice cracked halfway through.

⸻

Chan

He hadn’t planned on this.

Thursday nights were quiet nights. A book, a glass of water, background noise that wasn’t too sharp. He’d walked into the bar because it was near, because it was loud enough to distract him, because solitude sometimes roared too violently.

And then—Hyunjin.

Head tossed back, laughter too bright, shoulders swaying with liquor and bass.

Chan had felt it like a punch.

He shouldn’t have watched. Should’ve left. Should’ve remembered the rules he set for himself—discipline, distance, detachment.

Instead, he sat there, pulse running hard, watching Hyunjin lean too far into the bar, watching the way strangers’ eyes lingered too long, watching the way he crumbled without realizing.

And when the next drink came—no. He couldn’t let it.

His body moved before his mind could catch up.

Hand on the glass. Voice steady in his throat.

“You’re done.”

⸻

The look Hyunjin shot him was fire. Anger, embarrassment, something raw underneath.

Chan held it. Held him. The heat of the bar pressed against his back but all he saw was Hyunjin, pupils blown wide, lips parted like a word had died there.

“Go to hell,” Hyunjin whispered.

“Not tonight,” Chan answered.

And with a firm press of his palm, he slid the drink away.

⸻

Hyunjin

It was humiliating.

More humiliating than any correction in class, more humiliating than every scribbled red mark. Here, outside, in front of people—Chan was still cutting him down.

Except—except it wasn’t the same.

Because Chan’s hand was warm at the small of his back when he steadied him against the bar. Because Chan’s breath was steady when Hyunjin swayed too close. Because Chan’s voice was soft, low enough that only Hyunjin could hear.

“You’ll regret it tomorrow.”

Hyunjin’s throat worked, words jamming up. He wanted to spit something sharp, wanted to push away, wanted to run. But his body betrayed him, leaning into the steadiness like it had been waiting.

And god, he hated it.

⸻

Chan

He should leave. He knew that. Every second longer was a line crossed.

But when Hyunjin swayed against him, unsteady on his feet, Chan’s hand tightened on his waist before he could stop himself.

“I’ll get you water.”

“No,” Hyunjin hissed, voice breaking on the word. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

Chan’s lips quirked despite himself. “Then think of it as a suggestion.”

And when Hyunjin’s eyes burned into his, furious and desperate and wide—Chan thought, wildly, that he’d never seen anything more beautiful.

⸻

They ended up outside.

Chan didn’t remember deciding. One second they were in the bar, the next the cool night air was cutting through, the door swinging shut behind them.

Hyunjin dragged in a breath, messy hair falling in his eyes, cheeks flushed with liquor and rage.

Chan lit a cigarette, more for his hands than for the smoke. Offered it wordlessly.

Hyunjin took it. Their fingers brushed.

The air went still.

⸻

Hyunjin inhaled, slow. He’d only ever smoked three cigarettes in his life but he’d never felt more like he needed one. His exhale came in the form of a shaky laugh.

“You think you own me, don’t you?”

Chan’s eyes didn’t move from his face.

“No,” he said. Then softer: “But I could take care of you if you’d let me.”

Hyunjin froze, the smoke catching in his throat.

And Chan, realizing what he’d just let slip, crushed the cigarette under his heel.

“Go home, Hyunjin.”

Chapter 8: Almost

Hyunjin

“Stop telling me what to do,” H snapped, voice hoarse but steadier than he felt. “We’re not in class.”

Chan didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. Just stood there, too close, too solid, like the night bent around him.

Hyunjin hated it.

Hated how his pulse stuttered. Hated how the weight of Chan’s gaze made his knees feel unsteady in a way that had nothing to do with alcohol.

“You think it’s different just because there’s no desk between us?” Chan’s voice was quiet, rough-edged in a way Hyunjin hadn’t heard before. “I don’t stop caring once we’re outside that room.”

Hyunjin’s throat closed. He should laugh, spit it back, accuse him of being pathetic. Instead, his chest burned like the cigarette wasn’t to blame at all.

⸻

Chan

Hyunjin was swaying, but it wasn’t just the liquor. It was defiance, too raw and too fragile all at once.

“Stop telling me what to do,” he’d said.

Chan should’ve backed off. Should’ve let him walk back inside, let him fall, let the night teach its own lessons.

But Hyunjin’s mouth was trembling around the words, and Chan couldn’t.

He stepped in, just a fraction, enough that Hyunjin’s back brushed the wall of the bar. Not pinning, not trapping. Just—closer.

“I’m not telling you what to do,” Chan murmured. “I’m trying to keep you from falling apart.”

The sharp sound Hyunjin made wasn’t quite a laugh.

“I don’t need saving.”

“I know.” Chan’s gaze softened, even as his voice stayed firm. “But you deserve it anyway.”

⸻

Hyunjin

His breath caught.

No one had ever said it like that before. Not with that terrifying calm, like Chan wasn’t trying to win or prove anything, just… stating it as truth.

And god, he wanted to shove him. Or kiss him. Or collapse right there in the alley and let Chan’s hand stay where it had landed—steady, hot, just above his hip.

Instead, he ground the cigarette under his heel, smoke curling from his lips.

“You’re still a bastard,” he muttered.

Chan’s mouth curved, the smallest, softest thing.

“Maybe.”

The silence that followed stretched thin, humming. Hyunjin couldn’t look away. Couldn’t breathe right. Couldn’t stop waiting for something else—something that didn’t come.

Chan finally stepped back. The air shifted, cooler without him pressed close.

“Go home, Hyunjin,” he said again.

And Hyunjin hated how much the words felt like a command.

“Hyunjin-ah!”

The shout snapped through the alley, too loud, too bright. His friends.

He twisted, seeing Seungmin and the others clustered near the bar’s door, their laughter cutting through the smoke. One of them was holding another round of drinks aloft, waving him back.

Chan’s hand hadn’t moved. It was still right there, steady against his hip. The heat of it burned through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Come on,” Seungmin called, grinning. “You disappearing to flirt with your professor?”

Hyunjin’s stomach dropped.

He shoved at Chan’s chest, not hard enough to make him stumble but enough to break the spell. “Fuck off,” he hissed under his breath. Then louder, toward the group: “I’ll be there in a second.”

But Chan didn’t let him move. Not fully. His fingers slid lower, curling around Hyunjin’s wrist instead, grounding him.

“You’re not going back in,” Chan said, low but final.

Hyunjin jerked his arm, glaring. “You don’t get to decide that. They’ll think—”

“They’ll think you’re drunk and your teacher’s dragging you home before you choke on your own bravado.” Chan’s tone was sharp, clipped, but his thumb smoothed once against Hyunjin’s pulse before he let go. “Let them think it.”

Humiliation scalded up Hyunjin’s neck, hotter than the liquor. He hated him. Hated him for being so calm, hated him for touching him like that in front of everyone, hated him for making it feel like protection.

Seungmin raised an eyebrow, catching on. “Looks like someone’s in trouble,” he teased.

Hyunjin wanted the ground to swallow him.

“Go home,” Chan repeated, firmer now.

And to Hyunjin’s horror, his body moved before his mouth could argue.

⸻

Chan

It was reckless, what he did next. He knew that. Knew he should’ve let Hyunjin stalk back inside, keep his pride intact, laugh it off with his friends.

But when Hyunjin swayed half a step on the sidewalk, Chan’s body acted faster than his reason.

His hand closed around Hyunjin’s elbow. “I’ll walk you.”

“I don’t need—”

“You do,” Chan cut in. “Don’t argue.”

Hyunjin’s friends were still watching, smirking, whispering. Chan ignored them.

The night air was cooler a few blocks away, the noise of the bar thinning. Hyunjin walked stiffly beside him, hands shoved deep into his pockets, mouth tight.

Every so often, his shoulder brushed Chan’s arm. Every so often, he glanced up like he wanted to spit fire, only to look away again.

“Embarrassed?” Chan asked finally, quiet.

Hyunjin scoffed. “You think I care what they say?”

“You care what I say.”

The silence after that was sharp. Hyunjin’s jaw clenched, the tips of his ears red.

Chan let it hang. He didn’t need an answer.

At the corner near Hyunjin’s building, the boy stumbled, just slightly, his sneaker catching on a crack in the pavement. Without thinking, Chan’s hand shot out, steadying him by the waist.

Hyunjin froze. So did Chan.

For one heartbeat, their bodies were closer than they’d ever been. Hyunjin’s breath hitched, warm against Chan’s collar. Chan’s palm tightened, thumb brushing fabric.

Then Hyunjin jerked away like he’d been burned.

“Don’t,” he said, voice shaking with something that wasn’t anger.

Chan’s throat was dry. He stepped back, forcing space between them. “Go inside.”

Hyunjin didn’t move. Just stared at him, eyes dark and unreadable.

Then, without another word, he turned and disappeared into the building.

Chan stayed on the sidewalk long after, the ghost of Hyunjin’s weight still pressed against his hand.

Chapter 9: Confrontation

Hyunjin

He had rehearsed it all morning.

Every word, every tone, every sharp jab he could throw at Chan without breaking apart in front of him.

He stormed into the lecture hall before class, laptop under his arm, cheeks still flushed—not from the alcohol, but from the humiliation of the night before.

Chan was already there, neat as ever, eyes scanning papers, pen poised. Nothing in his posture betrayed he knew exactly what had happened last night. That was infuriating.

“Professor Bang,” Hyunjin began, voice clipped, trying for authority but tasting like vinegar. “We need to talk.”

Chan looked up, calm as stone. “We do?”

“Yes. About last night.”

Chan’s brow quirked, the smallest sign of attention. “Go on.”

Hyunjin swallowed, heart hammering. He couldn’t let this come out as desperate. He had to make it sharp. He had to make it matter.

“You can’t… just act like it didn’t happen,” Hyunjin said, words rushing. “Dragging me out, stopping me in front of my friends, walking me home. You—” He stopped, took a shaky breath, “You can’t just do that.”

Chan’s eyes didn’t move from him, but they pinned him in place.

“I can,” Chan said flatly. “And I will.”

Hyunjin’s stomach twisted. He hated the certainty, the control. But he also hated himself for how it made his pulse jump.

“You’re… bossy. You’re… controlling. You think you can dictate everything—”

“And yet you came back here when I told you to,” Chan interrupted, voice smooth, almost teasing. “You didn’t have to leave the bar, did you?”

Hyunjin flinched, cheeks burning. “I… I didn’t have a choice—”

“You always have a choice,” Chan said quietly. And then, sharper: “You just let me make it for you last night.”

Hyunjin’s hands curled into fists. He hated him. He hated him for being right, hated him for the memory of that hand on his waist, hated him for the warmth that lingered in his chest despite everything.

⸻

Chan

He didn’t move from the desk. Didn’t step closer, didn’t flinch. But every word Hyunjin spat, every jab, landed with precision.

He had seen it all: the flush in Hyunjin’s cheeks, the way his fingers tightened around the laptop, the flare of his temper under the blush.

Chan should’ve ignored it. Should’ve reminded himself of discipline, distance, control. But instead… he let it wash over him. Let Hyunjin’s fury hit, because it was honest, because it was fire, because it was all his.

“You’re furious,” he said, almost softly.

“I—of course I am!” Hyunjin snapped, voice trembling.

“And yet here you are,” Chan said. “Still standing. Still listening. Still…” He paused, deliberately, “…engaged.”

Hyunjin’s breath caught.

Chan could see him unravel, just slightly. That mix of defiance and desire that had him so thoroughly under Chan’s control, even outside the classroom.

“You want me to apologize?” Chan asked. “Because I won’t. Not for keeping you safe. Not for stopping you from making a fool of yourself in front of your friends.”

Hyunjin’s jaw went tight. “I don’t—don’t you dare—”

“I’m not daring,” Chan said. Voice low, clipped, careful. “I’m stating facts. And you’re going to hear them. Whether you like it or not.”

⸻

Hyunjin

Every fiber in Hyunjin’s body screamed to storm out. To punch something. To scream.

And yet he stayed.

Because even in that sharp, suffocating control, even in that maddening calm, he couldn’t look away. Couldn’t stop noticing the small details—the way Chan’s sleeve was rolled, revealing the curve of his forearm, the way his jaw flexed with each word, the slight arch of his brow when he paused for effect.

Hyunjin swallowed, bitterly. “You’re impossible.”

Chan’s lips twitched. Not a smile. Not even close. A quirk. Enough.

“You’re still thinking about me,” Chan said softly. “Even now.”

Hyunjin’s stomach lurched. “I—” He stopped. He didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

Chan moved just slightly closer, careful, measured. Not too close to violate—but close enough that the heat of his presence was undeniable.

“You’re hungover, embarrassed, furious… and you’re still here.”

Hyunjin shook his head, looking away. “You’re insane.”

“And yet you listen.”

The words hit harder than any red mark, any public scolding, any physical touch. Hyunjin’s pulse hammered in his ears.

He wanted to run. He wanted to fight. He wanted to laugh and cry all at once.

“God, you’re—” He broke off, cheeks burning.

Chan’s hand twitched, almost involuntarily, toward the edge of the desk. “You’ll survive,” he said. “You always do.”

Hyunjin’s breath hitched. Not because of reassurance. Not really. But because of him.

Because of Chan.

Hyunjin’s laptop beeped softly; he grabbed it, slamming it shut more forcefully than needed.

“I’m leaving,” he said, voice low, trembling.

Chan didn’t move. “Don’t test me,” he said quietly.

Hyunjin froze. Could feel it in his chest. Could feel the gravity of that command, even here.

And then—he left.

Corridor noise swallowed him. But the memory of Chan’s gaze, the heat of his presence, the sharp authority undercut by the faintest trace of… something else… clung to him.

He hated him. And he couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Chapter 10: Testing Boundaries

Hyunjin

He didn’t even want to be out tonight.

His friends had whined until he caved, promising “just one round” and “you don’t even have to drink.” And Hyunjin, desperate not to seem like the sulky recluse he’d become since that night at the bar, said fine.

So here he was—sober, stuck in a booth sticky with spilled beer, watching everyone else get sloppy drunk.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, glaring at the brightness of the screen. Junk email, nothing worth opening.

He chewed on his lip, annoyed with himself. He wasn’t waiting for anyone. He wasn’t thinking about him.

Except he was.

The humiliation still burned—the way Chan had cut him off, the way his friends had laughed nervously, the way Hyunjin had felt small and furious and yet strangely… safe.

And now? Now he was stuck sober in a mess of chaos, and the urge to poke at that wound was too strong.

He opened his email, fingers tapping before his brain caught up.

not drinking this time, still going to come drag me home in front of my friends?

He hit send. Smirked at his own sarcasm. Leaned back, trying to let the petty satisfaction settle.

Chan wouldn’t answer. Of course he wouldn’t. Professors didn’t respond to sulky 1 a.m. emails.

It wasn’t like Hyunjin wanted him to, anyway.

…Right?

⸻

Chan

The email lit up on his phone while he was grading.

He stared at the words, long enough that his tea went cold.

Hyunjin, sulky as ever. Testing, poking, daring.

Chan could’ve ignored it. Should have, technically. But the words carried the same spark Hyunjin always had—reckless, sharp, begging for a boundary to slam against.

And Chan wasn’t the kind of man who let provocations go unanswered.

He slipped on his jacket.

⸻

Hyunjin

It was nearly an hour later when Hyunjin looked up and nearly dropped his glass.

Because there he was.

Chan.

At the bar entrance. Dark jacket, hair a little messy from the night air, scanning the room until his gaze landed right—directly—on him.

Hyunjin’s stomach dropped.

“No way,” he muttered.

But Chan was already moving, weaving through the crowd with steady precision, completely unaffected by the chaos of bodies and noise.

“Hyunjin,” he said when he reached the booth, voice low but cutting through the music.

Hyunjin scrambled for composure. “What—what are you—”

“You emailed me,” Chan said simply.

“That wasn’t—” Hyunjin sputtered. “It was a joke.”

Chan’s hand landed on the table, firm, fingers brushing too close to Hyunjin’s. “You think I take your safety as a joke?”

Hyunjin’s cheeks burned. His friends looked over, confused, but Chan didn’t care. His gaze never left Hyunjin.

“You’re sober,” Chan observed, eyes flicking to the untouched beer in front of him. “Good. You’re coming with me.”

Hyunjin’s friends laughed awkwardly, one of them slapping his back. “Damn, Hyun, you’ve got your own bodyguard or something?”

Hyunjin wanted to sink into the floor. “He’s not—”

Chan straightened, calm, absolute. “He’s coming with me,” he repeated.

And somehow, impossibly, his friends didn’t argue.

⸻

Cold air hit as Chan steered him out, one hand warm and unyielding at the small of his back.

Hyunjin squirmed. “Stop touching me like that.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do!”

Chan’s grip shifted, sliding to Hyunjin’s wrist, thumb pressing against the rapid beat of his pulse. “If you really wanted me to stop, you wouldn’t have emailed me.”

Hyunjin froze, words choking in his throat.

Chan leaned in just slightly, enough that his breath brushed Hyunjin’s ear. “You wanted me here.”

Hyunjin shivered. “You’re so—so arrogant.”

“Am I?” Chan murmured. His thumb stroked against his wrist, subtle, steady. “Or am I just right?”

Hyunjin couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. The street was buzzing with drunk laughter, but all he could hear was Chan. All he could feel was the hand that anchored him in place.

“Stop…” he whispered, weakly.

Chan’s lips quirked. “Say it like you mean it.”

Hyunjin hated him. Hated how much he wanted him to keep holding on.

⸻

Chan

He could feel the war raging under Hyunjin’s skin. The pulse that jumped, the tension in his muscles, the fire in his eyes.

Every bratty word was a challenge. Every glare was an invitation.

Chan tightened his grip just slightly, enough to make Hyunjin’s breath hitch. “Careful,” he said softly. “You’re not ready to play a game you can’t win.”

Hyunjin glared up at him, eyes glassy in the glow of streetlights. “Then let me go.”

Chan leaned closer, voice almost a whisper. “No.”

Hyunjin’s lips parted. Shock, fury, something else flickering beneath.

Chan released his wrist slowly, deliberately, letting the warmth linger. “Go home,” he said. “Before I decide to walk you there myself again.”

Hyunjin stood frozen, cheeks flushed, chest heaving.

And for the first time, Chan saw it clearly. Not just the defiance. Not just the sulk. But the hunger buried beneath it.

The hunger that would undo them both.

⸻

Hyunjin stumbled home alone, but he couldn’t shake it.

The weight of Chan’s hand. The way he said no.

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, wrist still tingling where Chan’s thumb had pressed.

He hated him. God, he hated him.

And he couldn’t wait to see him again.

Chapter 11: What Boundaries

Hyunjin

He told himself he wasn’t going to think about it.

The way Chan’s hand had wrapped around his wrist. The way his voice had cut through the noise, firm and low, leaving Hyunjin trembling like some stupid kid.

He hated how the memory kept flashing back at the worst times—like in lecture, when Chan would stroll into the classroom, calm and untouchable, while Hyunjin was stuck trying to remember how to breathe.

And now, a week later, it was happening again.

Hyunjin lingered after dismissal, packing slowly, hoping Chan would just leave.

But of course, he didn’t.

“You’ve been sulking,” Chan said casually as the last student left, leaning against the desk at the front.

“I don’t sulk,” Hyunjin shot back, shoving his notebook into his bag with unnecessary force.

Chan hummed, unconvinced. “You emailed me.”

Heat rose in Hyunjin’s cheeks. “That was—”

“Not a joke.”

Hyunjin froze, glare faltering.

Chan’s gaze was steady, heavy, pulling at every nerve in his body. “You wanted me there,” he said softly. “Didn’t you?”

Hyunjin’s throat closed. He shook his head, frantic. “You’re imagining things.”

Chan pushed off the desk and walked toward him, each step deliberate. “Then why haven’t you looked away once?”

Hyunjin stumbled back until his spine hit the wall. The room was too quiet, too close.

“Stop—” he whispered, the word shaky, useless.

Chan’s hand braced against the wall beside his head. His other hand caught Hyunjin’s chin, tilting it up until their eyes locked.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” Chan said. Low. Unyielding.

Hyunjin’s breath came in shallow bursts. His lips parted—ready to spit defiance, ready to shove him away—except nothing came out.

Because he couldn’t lie. Not about this.

Chan’s thumb brushed against his jaw, slow, devastating. “That’s what I thought.”

And then he kissed him.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle.

It was claiming.

Hyunjin gasped, and Chan swallowed the sound, pressing closer, lips firm, deliberate, leaving no space to escape.

Hyunjin shoved weakly at his chest, but his hands fisted in Chan’s shirt instead of pushing away. His body betrayed him, tilting up, desperate, hungry.

The kiss deepened—Chan’s tongue teasing, demanding—and Hyunjin whimpered, hating how easily he gave in.

When Chan finally pulled back, Hyunjin was panting, lips swollen, head spinning.

“See?” Chan murmured, voice rough. “You don’t hate me half as much as you pretend.”

Hyunjin’s chest heaved. “You’re—you’re such a bastard.”

Chan smirked, thumb still stroking his jaw. “Maybe. But you like me anyway.”

Hyunjin’s knees nearly gave out.

⸻

Chan

He hadn’t planned to kiss him.

Not tonight, not yet.

But the moment Hyunjin’s back hit the wall, the moment his eyes widened and his lips parted—Chan was lost.

He’d been holding back for weeks. Testing, waiting, keeping the distance just far enough to pretend it was professional.

But Hyunjin’s defiance begged to be broken. His sulk begged to be soothed. His hunger begged to be fed.

And Chan was done pretending.

The taste of him lingered, sweet and sharp, and Chan had to grip the wall harder to keep himself from diving back in.

“You’ll fight me on this,” he said quietly, watching Hyunjin’s trembling form. “But you’ll always come back.”

Hyunjin’s eyes darted, glassy with confusion and anger and something else Chan recognized too well. Need.

“Go home,” Chan said softly. “Before I forget where the line is.”

Hyunjin glared, shaky but burning. “There’s a line?”

Chan’s smirk was sharp, dangerous. “For now.”

⸻

Hyunjin

He stumbled out into the night air, bag slung over his shoulder, lips tingling, heart racing.

Every step echoed with the memory of Chan’s mouth, his voice, his certainty.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to run back and do it again.

Instead, he walked faster, as if he could outrun the fire crawling under his skin.

But no matter how far he went, one truth burned clearer than all the rest.

He’d lost the game.

And Chan knew it.

Chapter 12: No Return

Hyunjin

He’d decided, by the time Monday rolled around, that the kiss hadn’t happened.

Or if it had, it was nothing. A slip. A mistake.

Definitely not something that still had his lips tingling every time he brushed his teeth. Definitely not something that kept him awake half the night, shifting restlessly under his sheets, pressing his face into his pillow to muffle the sounds he couldn’t stop making when he thought about it too much.

No. None of that.

So when he walked into class, he had a plan.

Don’t look at him. Don’t sit near the front. Don’t react.

He dropped into a back-row seat and pulled his notebook out with an exaggerated calm that fooled exactly no one. The girl beside him gave him a weird look when his pen rolled right out of his fingers. He shoved it back into his bag instead of trying again.

Chan walked in a few minutes later, coffee in one hand, laptop in the other.

Hyunjin stared very intently at the corner of his desk.

“Morning,” Chan said to the room, voice smooth, unaffected, as if he hadn’t kissed a student against the wall days ago.

Hyunjin’s hand cramped from gripping his notebook too tightly.

He barely heard the lecture. Every word Chan said skimmed past him like static, leaving nothing behind but heat crawling down his spine. He kept his head down, chewing on his pen cap, heart jumping every time Chan’s voice dropped lower.

When class finally ended, he stuffed everything into his bag like it was on fire and bolted for the door.

Almost.

“Hyunjin,” Chan said, just as he reached the hall.

He froze. His pulse roared in his ears.

“Stay a moment.”

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t demanding. Just calm, even—utterly inescapable.

Hyunjin turned slowly, every nerve screaming.

The room was emptying, students filing out with lazy chatter. Hyunjin lingered near the door, shifting on his feet, refusing to meet Chan’s eyes.

When the last student slipped out, the silence was suffocating.

“You’re avoiding me,” Chan said.

“I’m not,” Hyunjin shot back, too fast, too sharp.

Chan hummed. “So it’s coincidence you’ve stopped sitting in the front? Coincidence you couldn’t even look at me once today?”

Hyunjin clenched his jaw. “It doesn’t matter. Whatever happened—it was nothing.”

That got a reaction. Not a big one, but enough. Chan’s head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing the faintest bit.

“Nothing?” he repeated, voice low.

Hyunjin swallowed hard. “Exactly. Nothing.”

Chan closed his laptop with unhurried precision, then stood. His movements weren’t fast, but each one made Hyunjin’s pulse spike.

“Come here.”

Hyunjin shook his head, backing toward the wall. “No. I said—it doesn’t matter.”

Chan’s expression stayed maddeningly calm. “You’re lying. And you know what happens when you lie to me, don’t you?”

Hyunjin’s chest heaved. “You’re insane.”

Chan stepped closer. And closer. Until Hyunjin’s back hit the wall again, like it always seemed to.

He tried to slide sideways, but Chan’s hand shot out, catching his wrist, pinning it lightly to the plaster. Not hard enough to hurt. Just hard enough that Hyunjin’s heart nearly stopped.

“You keep pretending you don’t want this,” Chan murmured, leaning in until his breath brushed Hyunjin’s ear. “But your body doesn’t lie. I could feel it when I kissed you.”

Hyunjin gasped, jerking against his grip. “Stop—”

“Tell me to let go,” Chan said quietly. “And mean it.”

Hyunjin’s throat closed. His lips trembled, the word stop caught there, useless.

Instead, he shivered. And Chan felt it—Hyunjin knew he felt it, because his smirk curved against his skin.

“That’s what I thought,” Chan whispered.

Hyunjin squeezed his eyes shut, fury and want tangling in his chest until he couldn’t tell them apart. “You can’t keep doing this,” he hissed.

Chan finally pulled back enough to look at him. His gaze was sharp, steady, devastating.

“I already am.”

Hyunjin’s knees went weak.

Chan’s hand released his wrist, but only to slide lower, trailing deliberately across his palm before stepping back.

“Go home,” Chan said, voice once again calm, even. “You’ll dream about me anyway.”

Hyunjin’s face burned. His whole body felt like fire and ice.

He fled, slamming the door behind him, but the echo of Chan’s words clung like smoke.

And god help him, Chan was right.

⸻

Chan

He leaned against the desk after Hyunjin stormed out, exhaling slowly.

He hadn’t kissed him again—though he’d wanted to, desperately. But restraint was half the game.

Hyunjin would run, sulk, deny. That was his pattern. But every time, Chan reeled him back in. Every time, the cracks spread a little further.

It was only a matter of time.

He smiled faintly to himself, gathering his things.

Time, after all, was on his side.

Chapter 13: Against the Current

Hyunjin

He lasted exactly three days.

Three days of forcing himself into silence, of not looking at Chan in class, of telling his own body that it wasn’t betraying him every time his pulse spiked at the sound of that low voice. Three days of chewing his pen caps raw, of ducking out of rooms too quickly, of pretending the only reason his jeans felt too tight by the end of every lecture was coincidence.

It was unbearable.

By Thursday, he couldn’t stand another night alone in his apartment with the memory of warm breath against his ear and words that refused to stop replaying.

So when his friends suggested the bar down near the river — sticky floors, terrible lighting, cheap shots — Hyunjin said yes too fast. Yes, because noise and bodies and distraction sounded safer than silence. Safer than dreaming.

The music pounded through his ribs. Someone had spilled beer down the back of his shirt before he even got to the table, and he welcomed it, the stench, the press of people. His friends were already throwing back shots. Hyunjin joined in, tipping tequila past his lips, relishing the burn.

By the time he was three drinks in, he was laughing too loud at nothing, leaning too close to the sticky tabletop. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it. He didn’t need anyone right now, least of all—

A hand closed over the top of his glass before he could bring it to his mouth again.

Hyunjin’s head snapped up.

And there he was.

Chan. Standing over him like it was the most natural thing in the world, black shirt stretched across his chest, hair pushed back carelessly, eyes locked on Hyunjin’s in a way that made the whole room narrow into a single point of focus.

Hyunjin’s throat went dry.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, too loud. A couple of his friends turned their heads, curious.

Chan didn’t even glance at them. “Cutting you off.”

Hyunjin tried to yank the glass back. Chan didn’t budge. His grip wasn’t tight, just unmovable.

“Stop telling me what to do,” Hyunjin hissed. “We’re not in class.”

“Doesn’t matter where we are,” Chan said smoothly, leaning down until Hyunjin could feel the warmth of him even across the noisy, crowded space. “You’ve had enough.”

Hyunjin’s heart thundered. His friends were watching — not closely, but enough. Enough that he couldn’t shove Chan away without questions he wasn’t ready to answer.

So he stood, muttering something about the bathroom, and shouldered past Chan toward the back hall. The music dimmed a little as the heavy door swung shut behind him, muffling the bass.

The corridor was narrow, sticky-tiled, fluorescent-lit. Half the bulbs were dead.

“Hyunjin.”

Of course he’d followed.

Hyunjin spun on him, heat rising up his neck. “You can’t just show up wherever I am and act like you—”

Chan didn’t let him finish. Not with words, anyway. He stepped in, close, close enough that Hyunjin had to retreat until his back smacked against the wall. Again.

“Say it,” Chan murmured, bracing one arm by his head, the other settling casually at his waist. “Say you don’t want me here.”

Hyunjin’s breath caught. He did say it — or tried. “I don’t—”

But the rest broke off with a gasp when Chan’s thigh pressed between his legs, slotting there like it belonged.

The jolt of contact went through him like fire. He shoved at Chan’s chest, weak, unconvincing. “Get off—”

“Liar,” Chan breathed, shifting just enough that his thigh dragged against Hyunjin’s crotch. The friction made Hyunjin’s knees nearly buckle.

“Fuck—” The curse slipped out before he could catch it, strangled and desperate.

Chan’s hand caught his chin, tilting his face up, forcing eye contact. “Look at you. Pretending again.”

Hyunjin shook his head, but his hips betrayed him, grinding down against the solid muscle braced between his thighs. Shame and pleasure tangled in his chest until he couldn’t separate them.

“Stop—” His voice cracked on it.

“Stop?” Chan echoed, gaze steady. His thigh flexed upward, slow and deliberate. “Feels like you’re the one moving, not me.”

Hyunjin bit down on a groan, the sound lodging somewhere in his throat. His hands clutched helplessly at Chan’s shoulders, not pushing, not pulling, just holding on.

The hallway was empty, but not safe — anyone could push through those bathroom doors at any second. The risk of it made Hyunjin’s skin blaze hotter.

“You hate this, don’t you?” Chan murmured, low enough that only he could hear. “Hate me.”

“Yes,” Hyunjin spat. His hips rolled down again, betraying him utterly.

“Say it louder.”

“I—” His voice broke into a gasp when Chan angled his thigh just right, grinding him helplessly against the wall. “I hate you.”

Chan’s lips curved, cruel and knowing. “Say it again. While you’re grinding on me.”

Hyunjin squeezed his eyes shut, teeth sinking into his lip to muffle the whimper that wanted out. His whole body trembled, wound tight with need he couldn’t hide.

Chan leaned closer, so close Hyunjin could feel the ghost of his breath on his cheek. “Look at me when you lie.”

Hyunjin’s eyes flew open, meeting his gaze, dark and unyielding.

It was unbearable.

And then Chan pulled back. Just enough. The friction vanished, leaving Hyunjin desperate, aching, undone.

He almost whimpered at the loss. Almost begged.

Chan’s hand smoothed his shirt, straightening it with maddening precision. His thumb brushed Hyunjin’s jaw, a fleeting caress that was gone too soon.

“You’ll beg properly when you’re ready,” Chan said softly. Not mocking — just certain.

Then he stepped back, calm as ever, like nothing had happened.

Hyunjin sagged against the wall, chest heaving, hard and unsatisfied and burning with humiliation. His hands shook. His friends were only a few steps away on the other side of that door.

And Chan — Chan just walked away.

Like he had all the time in the world.

⸻

Chan

He didn’t look back.

If he had, he might have seen Hyunjin wrecked against the wall, lips bitten red, eyes wide with fury and want.

But looking wasn’t necessary. He already knew.

Restraint, he reminded himself as he crossed back into the chaos of the bar. That was the game. Hyunjin was caught now, tangled in his own denial, needing and hating in equal measure. The more he fought, the deeper he fell.

And Chan could wait.

Chapter 14: Heat in his Bones

Hyunjin

He stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, palms braced on the sink, chest heaving.

His hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, his lips were swollen, his eyes wild. He looked like someone who’d just been…
He couldn’t even finish the thought.

God, what the fuck was wrong with him?

He splashed cold water on his face. It didn’t help. Nothing could drown out the phantom press of Chan’s thigh, the way it had slotted so perfectly between his legs. He still felt it, a ghost imprint, heat lingering even after Chan had walked away.

Walked away like he hadn’t just wrecked Hyunjin in a dingy hallway with nothing but his body and his voice.

Hyunjin groaned, muffling the sound into his sleeve. He should go home. He should call it a night, blame the drinks, sleep it off.

But when he pushed the bathroom door open and stepped back into the roar of the bar, his friends were waving him over, already tipsy, already shouting for him to catch up.

He couldn’t admit what had happened. He couldn’t explain why his skin burned and his legs trembled and why he suddenly couldn’t even think about another drink without remembering the way Chan had leaned in and stolen the air right out of his lungs.

So he forced himself back into his seat, forced a smile.

“You good?” one of them asked.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin lied, grabbing a lime wedge off the table and biting down on it just to give his mouth something to do. “Bathroom line was insane.”

He laughed too loud after. The others didn’t notice.

But he felt Chan’s absence like a bruise. He scanned the room without meaning to, eyes searching for that broad frame, that dark shirt, the way he carried himself like he owned every space he stepped into.

Nothing. Gone.

Hyunjin told himself he was relieved. If Chan had stayed—if he’d joined the table, sat down with that infuriating calm—Hyunjin might have betrayed himself in front of everyone.

Still, the relief twisted sharp and bitter in his chest.

He wasn’t going to win this. He knew it already.

⸻

The night dragged on. His friends ordered round after round, shots slamming onto the table, glasses spilling, voices climbing. Hyunjin nursed a single beer, sipping slow, ignoring the teasing about how he was usually the first to down shots.

He couldn’t get drunk. Not now. Not when his body was already wound tight, blood singing hot from something stronger than alcohol.

He laughed when they laughed, cheered when someone lost at darts, leaned in for photos, made sure his smile looked real.

But inside, all he could think about was the way Chan had looked at him. The way he’d said ‘look at me when you lie’.

And the worst part—the most humiliating, infuriating part—was that Hyunjin couldn’t stop replaying it. Couldn’t stop wishing Chan hadn’t pulled away. Couldn’t stop wondering what would have happened if someone had come down that hallway, if they’d seen. If Chan would have stopped then, or pushed him harder against the wall, forced him to own it in the open.

The thought made him shiver, burying his face in his drink to hide it.

He wanted to hate him. He wanted to. But every nerve in his body was still screaming for more.

⸻

By the time they spilled out of the bar and into the humid night, Hyunjin was a wreck. His head throbbed, his throat was raw from shouting over music, and his jeans felt uncomfortably tight with every step.

His friends hailed cabs, peeling off in pairs, calling goodbyes into the night. Hyunjin waved, forcing another grin, before turning toward the river.

The water glinted under streetlamps, black and restless. He leaned on the railing, drawing deep breaths, willing his heart to slow.

“Fuck,” Hyunjin muttered, slamming the heel of his palm against the railing. The metal rang under the impact. “Fuck you, Chan.”

His voice shook.

And in the echo of it, he swore he could almost hear Chan’s low reply: ‘Say it again’.

Hyunjin squeezed his eyes shut, shame curling hot in his gut.

If this was what three days of silence had done to him, he didn’t stand a chance.

⸻

He didn’t remember the walk home, only the way his hands shook unlocking the door, the way he dropped face-first onto his bed without bothering to change, the way his hips pressed helplessly down into the mattress, searching for friction.

He hated himself for it. Hated how much he needed it.

And still—still—when he finally fell asleep, sweat cooling on his skin, it was Chan’s voice in his head.

You’ll beg properly when you’re ready.

⸻

Chan

He hadn’t planned to go to the bar.

But he’d seen the tagged story. Hyunjin, shoulder to shoulder with friends, eyes glassy, cheeks flushed. And something in him had snapped.

He couldn’t let it go. Not when he knew what Hyunjin looked like drunk, messy, unguarded. Not when he knew how easily he could be led astray, how quickly he’d let himself drown in noise and distraction.

So Chan had shown up. And just as expected, Hyunjin had cracked open the second Chan touched him.

Now, walking home in the heavy night air, Chan rolled his shoulders, steady and calm. He wasn’t frustrated. Not like Hyunjin.

No—Chan had patience.

Hyunjin’s desperation was already eating him alive.

It was only a matter of time before he came crawling.

And when he did—Chan would make sure he never forgot it.

Chapter 15: Night Call

Hyunjin

The city wouldn’t shut up.

Even with his windows closed, sirens stitched the dark, laughter floated up from the street, a scooter shrieked by like a knife. He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling fan. It didn’t move. Neither did he. His body felt like a wire, drawn tight and humming.

Every time he blinked, he saw the same frame: cheap hallway fluorescents, tiles sticky under his shoes, and Chan’s thigh slotting between his legs like it belonged there.

He’d gone to the bathroom mirror after, splashed water on his face until his skin burned, waited for the heat to ebb. It hadn’t. He’d sat with his friends, smiled at their jokes, pretended he wasn’t shaking. Then the walk home had stretched long and thin, each step a memory. He knew what would happen if he closed his eyes: he’d be right back there, rocking down, breath breaking apart against someone else’s collar.

The laptop glow painted the room a sickly blue. His essay prompt glared at him from a blank page like a dare. He clicked away, clicked back, clicked away. Every link was a trap, every tab a way to avoid the shape of what he really wanted.

He lasted like that for almost an hour—pacing, dropping onto the bed, standing again. He drank water. He splashed his face. He opened the fridge and stared at nothing cold and fluorescent. He closed it. He opened it again because he didn’t trust himself not to open something worse.

Somewhere in the pacing, his cursor found the syllabus PDF.

It wasn’t like he’d memorized where the number sat. Except he had. The neat block at the bottom: Office, Email, Office Hours. And then the line he’d scoffed at on the first day: Cell (emergencies only).

This didn’t qualify. That should have stopped him.

It didn’t.

He copied the digits into his phone and hovered, thumb trembling. He erased them. He typed them again. He set the phone facedown on the desk and walked away. He came back. He picked it up and called before he could think hard enough to stop himself.

One ring. Two. Three.

“Hyunjin.”

His name, said like an answer rather than a guess. He swallowed and almost hung up. “How—”

“You waited until after one,” Chan said, unhurried. “I figured you’d try before two.”

Hyunjin’s mouth went dry. He gripped the phone harder, as if it might leap out of his hand. “You shouldn’t answer this late.”

“You shouldn’t call this late,” Chan countered, then let a breath of amusement color the silence. “But here we are.”

He could picture him without meaning to: a lamp on somewhere, paperwork pushed aside in a neat stack, the calm he wore like a second skin. Hyunjin wanted to claw at it. He wanted to shake him. He wanted—

He swallowed hard. “You walked away.”

“Yes.”

“You—” The word snagged and frayed. He hated how small his voice sounded, the edge under it too close to pleading. “You left.”

“That was the point.”

Hyunjin sat down hard on the edge of his bed. His knee bounced; he pressed his palm to it and it still didn’t stop. “You can’t just—” He bit off the rest, because he didn’t trust the shape of what would follow. “I couldn’t… think.”

“Mhm.” Chan’s agreement was a low hum that slid straight under Hyunjin’s skin. “And you believed that if you called, I’d tell you what to do with that.”

“I don’t—” He flinched at his own reflex. Lying to Chan felt like stepping into a trap he knew was there. “I don’t know what I thought.”

“You thought of the hallway,” Chan said, as if they were discussing a reading assignment. “Of the way you moved. Of the way you held on.”

Heat licked up Hyunjin’s neck. “Don’t—”

“Describe it?” Chan let the word hang, gentle and merciless at once.

Hyunjin’s chest went tight. “Why did you answer?”

“Because you called.” Paper rustled faintly on the other end, a rhythm of motion he could feel more than hear. “Because you’re stubborn enough to chew yourself to pieces rather than say you want something. Because you needed someone to steady your breathing.”

Hyunjin made a sound he didn’t recognize. “You’re infuriating.”

“So you’ve said.” A pause. “Are you home?”

“Yes.”

“Alone?”

The question was simple. It still knocked something loose in him. “Yes.”

“Good.”

Silence stretched again, but it wasn’t empty. It hummed, the way the hallway had hummed beneath the music, the way everything hummed when Chan stepped too close.

Hyunjin hated the urge to fill it. He filled it anyway. “You can’t keep doing that.”

“What did I do?”

“You know what you did.”

“Hm.” Another rustle—he imagined Chan leaning back, fingers steepled, that infuriating patience. “You wanted me to leave you there. I didn’t. You wanted me to stay in that hallway. I didn’t. You wanted me to drag you out in front of your friends again?.”

“I didn’t—”

“Hyunjin.”

His name, low and firm, turned the denial into ash.

He pulled his knees up, pressed his forehead to them, phone tucked at his ear like a secret. He could have hung up. He didn’t. “What is this?”

“This,” Chan said, “is you learning how to ask.”

Hyunjin’s mouth opened. Closed. He stared at the dark, at the faint slice of city orange between his curtains. “I don’t—what would I even—”

“You tell me what you need,” Chan said. “Not what you don’t. Not who you think I am. Not the rules you want to lean on. What you need.”

The word lodged in his throat like a stone. He could feel it there, heavy and humiliating and true.

He forced air into his lungs. Out again. “I need—” He stalled, grabbed at an easier truth. “I need to sleep.”

“Good,” Chan said, not letting him off the hook. “What else?”

Hyunjin tipped backward until he was flat on the mattress, the ceiling a pale blur. He stared until his eyes watered. “I need—” His voice cracked. He pressed his knuckles to his mouth. “I need you to stop leaving me like that.”

On the line, a quiet breath. “Better.”

“I can’t keep—” He broke off. “My head won’t shut up. My—” His heart thudded, too loud in the quiet. “I feel crazy.”

“You’re not,” Chan said. The steadiness in his tone shouldn’t have helped. It did. “You’re just honest when your body is louder than your pride. You are allowed to want and hate wanting at the same time.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“It isn’t meant to be easy.”

Hyunjin squeezed his eyes shut. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“Which one?”

“What I’m supposed to do right now.”

A sliver of amusement again. “There it is. The part where you try to make me tell you.”

“Please,” Hyunjin pleaded, the word too sharp to be soft, too bare to be anything but what it was.

Silence. Then: “Drink a glass of water. Take a shower. Cold, if you can bear it. Change your sheets tomorrow morning.”

Humiliation and relief hit at once—practical, careful instructions that steadied his runaway thoughts and also made him want to sink into the floor. “Is that—”

“And,” Chan continued, gentler, “be at the practice room at seven. Before anyone else. Bring your score. We’ll work.”

Hyunjin’s pulse stuttered. “Seven?”

“You’ll complain,” Chan said. “You’ll come anyway.”

He hated how true that sounded. “And if I don’t?”

“You will.” No bite. Just certainty.

Hyunjin stared at the ceiling until the fan blurred into the dark. He dragged a hand over his mouth and found his lips still tender. “You knew I’d call.”

“I hoped you would,” Chan said, and something in the admission knocked the breath out of him. “But I would have slept fine either way.”

“God, I hate you.”

“You like me more.”

The worst part was that the words didn’t even land like arrogance anymore. They landed like weather: unwelcome but accurate.

He lay there and listened to the sound of Chan breathing. In, out, measured. It turned the rush in his own chest into something he could pace to.

“You’re still on the line,” Chan said after a while, a smile tucked under it.

“So are you.”

“Goodnight, Hyunjin.”

“Wait.” The word slipped before he could stop it. He wanted to catch it and shove it back into his mouth. Too late. “If I show up tomorrow… are you going to do that again?”

“That?”

“You know what.” Heat surged all over again, humiliation and want knotted together. “Like in the hallway.”

“No,” Chan said, quiet and absolute. Disappointment bloomed so fast in Hyunjin that it startled him. “I’m going to make you play bars eight through twenty until you stop rushing the phrase.”

Hyunjin made a wounded sound. “You are insufferable.”

“Sleep.”

The line clicked.

Hyunjin kept the phone to his ear for three breaths like an idiot, as if that would conjure the voice back. It didn’t. He set it on his chest. The room felt different. Not cooler—just truer, like the static had shifted.

He did what he was told because it was easier than falling apart in circles: water, shower, the shock of cold he swore at under his breath. Back in bed, the sheets still smelled like his day, like the bar, like the humiliating heat of earlier. He punched the pillow once, then again, and finally fell into a sleep that felt like dropping through a trapdoor.

He dreamed of a metronome: steady, unyielding, impossible to ignore. When he woke, he could still hear it.

Seven.

He groaned into the mattress and knew with miserable certainty that he’d go.

⸻

Chan

He watched the call log dim and set the phone down face up on the desk. He’d considered not answering. It would have been easy—and instructive. Let Hyunjin learn the shape of his own want in silence, stew until he blamed Chan for the burn he’d started himself. But there was a line between hunger and panic, and Chan kept them on the right side of it. That was part of the work, too.

On the stack beside the phone, the printed score waited: Hyunjin’s last marked draft, his pencil lines restless, irritable, brilliant. Bars eight through twenty did rush. Chan had circled them not because he wanted to make a point in the morning, but because they were the point: Hyunjin tried to outrun any feeling that frightened him. He did it in music, he did it in conversation, he did it in that hallway—pushing forward so hard he mistook momentum for control.

Chan turned the page and laid his palm flat over the margin until the paper warmed.

He could still feel the heat of Hyunjin’s thigh against his own. He could still see the moment the fight in his face cracked into something hungry, honest, helpless. He’d walked away because timing mattered. Because small denials built stronger foundations than indulgence. Because Hyunjin needed to call.

He would come at seven. He’d be late—three minutes, maybe five—hair damp, eyes narrow, jaw set like he was showing up under duress. He’d bring the score and pretend he didn’t remember the sound he’d made in that hallway.

Chan allowed himself the smallest smile. He could be patient. He always had been.

Across the room, the kettle clicked off. He poured the water over the tea bag and watched the steam braid upward. He didn’t need caffeine at this hour; it was habitual more than anything—a ritual to sit his own shoulders back where he preferred them.

On the phone, the last call still read 00:12:43.

Enough to steady him. Not enough to satisfy. Deliberate.

He took a sip and set the mug beside the metronome on his shelf. He flicked it with a finger. The arm swung, finding rhythm, the click reassuring as a heartbeat.

Seven, then. Bars eight through twenty. And all the measures after.

Time, he reminded himself as the metronome counted, was not the enemy. It was the instrument.

Hyunjin

He woke up before his alarm and cursed like it had betrayed him by being unnecessary. The room was grey with early light, the kind that makes everything look like a memory.

His body felt better than it had any right to. Not fixed, not cooled, exactly—just steadied. He’d slept. He hadn’t expected to.

The clock on his phone ticked a dare: 06:41.

He stared at the ceiling long enough to lose courage, then launched himself out of bed before the part of his brain that loved to sabotage him found its shoes. Jeans. Hoodie. Score shoved into his bag. He looked at his hair in the mirror and decided it was a lost cause; he shoved a cap over it and left.

The campus in early morning always felt like a secret, like a version of the place that belonged to people who knew where to be before everyone else woke up. The corridors echoed differently. Doors looked surprised to see you.

He reached the practice room at 07:04 and scowled at the lateness because it wasn’t late enough to qualify as a real rebellion.

The door was propped. He pushed it open and stopped with his hand still on the handle.

Chan stood at the small upright, sleeves already rolled, pencil tucked behind his ear. He didn’t turn. He didn’t need to.

“Bars eight through twenty,” Chan said, eyes on the score on the stand. “From memory.”

Hyunjin’s mouth went dry. He set his bag down more loudly than necessary, as if the noise could remind them of who he was supposed to be in this room. “If you give me five minutes, I could—”

“From memory,” Chan repeated, finally looking up. His gaze swept him—cap, hoodie, the unfinished sleep tension in his shoulders—and softened in a way that made Hyunjin want to bolt. “You’re on time.”

“I’m late.”

“Mm.” Chan’s mouth tucked at one corner. “We’ll call it even.”

Hyunjin swallowed and took his place.

He wasn’t ready to admit it, but the steadiness—metronome click already set, pencil poised, the smell of tea—felt like oxygen. He drew a breath to match it.

When he started, his hands remembered more than his head did. The shape of the line lived in his fingers. In bar eleven, the old habit surged—rush forward, outpace the ache—and Chan’s voice came quiet and surgical: “Let it sit.”

Hyunjin did. Just enough.

The room changed.

He felt it in his bones, in the way the phrase opened not because he forced it, but because he let it. The air in the practice room thinned, or his chest widened—he couldn’t tell which. At the end of twenty, Chan nodded once and said nothing.

Which felt better than praise.

They didn’t speak about the club. They didn’t speak about the call. They didn’t speak about the way Hyunjin’s pulse tripped every time Chan circled behind him to point at a mark on the page. They didn’t need to.

When they finally set the score down, Hyunjin’s shoulders ached and his mouth tasted like effort and graphite. Chan handed him a bottle of water he must have pulled from his bag earlier. Hyunjin took it before he remembered to bristle.

“Tomorrow,” Chan said.

“Tomorrow?” It came out ruder than he intended.

“Mm.” Chan lifted the score again, tapped bar fifteen with a finger. “You’re close.”

Hyunjin wanted to say something cutting, something to restore a balance that had never really existed. He couldn’t find anything that didn’t sound like yes.

He capped the water and shoved it into his bag. “Fine.”

As he turned for the door, Chan added, “Hyunjin.”

He paused.

“Good call,” Chan said.

Hyunjin’s grip slipped on the strap. He didn’t turn around. “It wasn’t.”

“It was,” Chan said, mild as steam. “Go eat.”

Hyunjin fled before his mouth could do something embarrassing like agree.

In the hallway, he realized his shoulders had dropped, the wire-hum quieted to something manageable. The hunger was still there—he wasn’t naive enough to pretend otherwise—but it had teeth he could name now.

He looked down at his phone. The last call sat near the top. He didn’t open it.

He wasn’t going to make a habit of this, he told himself.

He also knew he’d be back tomorrow.

Both things could be true at once.

Chapter 16: Breaking Point

Hyunjin

The second early-morning session was supposed to be productive. That’s what Hyunjin told himself as he dragged his body into the dimly lit composition lab, still tasting sleep in the back of his throat. The room smelled faintly of old coffee and chalk, the kind of sterile academic scent that usually grounded him. Today, it did nothing.

Chan was already there, of course. He always was. Sitting at the upright piano, one hand idly pressing chords, his other flipping through Hyunjin’s paper. He didn’t look up when Hyunjin walked in, which somehow made the moment heavier.

“You’re late.” His voice was calm, quiet, but sharp enough to cut.

Hyunjin dropped his bag on the chair. “It’s—what, three minutes?”

“Two and a half,” Chan said, finally glancing up. “Still late.”

The reprimand wasn’t what caught in Hyunjin’s chest—it was the way Chan’s eyes lingered, steady, deliberate, reminding him of everything he’d been replaying in his head since the club. The hallway. The press of his thigh. The way his control had slipped like it wasn’t even his to hold in the first place.

Hyunjin gritted his teeth, pulled out his sheet music, and slid onto the bench opposite. He tried to focus. He really did. But every note looked flimsy, unfinished. His brain wouldn’t stick to melody; it kept circling back to the heat of Chan’s body, to the quiet command in his voice when he’d said look at me.

“Play it,” Chan ordered, arms folding as he leaned back.

Hyunjin pressed stiff fingers to the keys, coaxing out a hesitant sketch he’d been working on—bright, meant to cascade smoothly. It faltered, clumsy under his hands.

Chan’s eyes narrowed. He reached out, two fingers closing lightly around Hyunjin’s wrist. Barely a touch, but enough. “You’re scattered. This progression? Wandering. No direction.”

Hyunjin’s stomach tightened. “I’m trying.”

“Trying isn’t enough,” Chan said, leaning closer, close enough that Hyunjin could feel the heat radiating off him. “Not with me.”

⸻ Chan

It was almost laughably easy to see through him. The way Hyunjin’s shoulders hunched, the restless edge in his playing, his gaze darting anywhere but where Chan wanted it. Desire written across him like bad notation—obvious, sloppy, loud.

Chan let his hand stay where it was, thumb brushing just once over the vein in Hyunjin’s wrist. That little shudder confirmed everything he already knew.

And then Hyunjin cracked. “The hallway,” he whispered, voice raw, desperate. “I need that, Chan.”

Chan’s pulse kicked. He didn’t move right away, letting silence do the work. Watching Hyunjin squirm, skin flushed, eyes darting. Then he tilted his head. “Look at me.”

Hyunjin’s gaze snapped up, wide and wild.

“Say it again.”

“I need the hallway,” Hyunjin breathed. “I need you like that again.”

Perfect. Chan let the faintest smirk touch his mouth. “Which part?” His fingers slid higher on Hyunjin’s arm, brushing his skin deliberately. “The press of my leg? The way you couldn’t stop moving against me? Or the fact I made you beg without a word?”

Hyunjin’s nails dug into the bench. “All of it. I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t even—fuck, I can’t even write.”

Good. Raw, unpolished honesty, finally spilling out. Chan’s grip tightened just enough to remind him where this would always land. “Then prove it. Right now. Play it again. And this time, put it into the music. Don’t waste my time.”

⸻ Hyunjin

His hands shook, but he set them back on the keys. Tried again. Poured the restless ache into the notes, hammering harder than the piece wanted, pushing past hesitation. Urgent, uneven, messy. Him.

Then Chan’s palm spread between his shoulders, warm and heavy, pressing him forward slightly over the keys. Hyunjin gasped, nearly missing a chord, pulse spiking out of control.

“Better,” Chan whispered near his temple, his breath feathering across skin. “But not enough. Tomorrow, you’ll come earlier. And if you walk in wound up like this again…” His hand pressed firmer, commanding. “…I’ll decide if you’ve earned it.”

Hyunjin nearly collapsed right there, a broken sound catching in his throat. His vision blurred; his hoodie clung damp to his back.

And then Chan pulled away. Just like that, the absence punched the air from his lungs. “Don’t make me chase you.”

Hyunjin stumbled out into the hallway minutes later, legs weak, sheet music clutched to his chest like a shield. His heart thrashed against his ribs, caught on one unbearable thought:

Tomorrow was impossibly far away.

Chapter 17: Another Call

Hyunjin

He’d been staring at the ceiling for hours.

First, he’d tried music—playlists he knew by heart, old demos he usually dissected note by note—but every track warped into something else: Chan’s voice, Chan’s hand, the weight of command that had pinned him in place that morning. Then came reading. Page after page blurred into nothing. Eventually, he gave up and let the apartment drown in darkness, hoping exhaustion would do the work for him.

It didn’t.

Every time he closed his eyes, the memory sharpened: Chan leaning over him, palm hot on his back, voice low but merciless. The way he’d whispered need like it was sacred—and Chan hadn’t shoved him away. He’d just sharpened the blade, made Hyunjin bleed for it.

His phone glared from the nightstand. He didn’t even have Chan’s number saved. He shouldn’t have it at all. It was buried in the syllabus, meant for academic emergencies, not… this. Not the ache eating him alive.

’Don’t be pathetic,’ he told himself, running his fingers through his hair until it hurt. ‘Don’t do it again.’

The clock flipped to 2:11.

By 2:14, the syllabus was open, the number glowing back at him. His finger hovered. His chest rattled with every breath. One last swallow—then he tapped call.

Once. Twice. Three times—

“Hyunjin.”

⸻

Chan

The name left his mouth before he was fully awake. He knew the number; he’d memorized it despite himself. His voice was gravelled with sleep, but his awareness was sharp. He didn’t need to ask who it was.

On the other end, silence. He pictured Hyunjin frozen in the dark, wide-eyed, clutching the phone like it was life support.

Finally, a breathless, “H-Hi.”

Chan let the silence stretch. He wanted him to squirm. Sheets rustled as he shifted upright, the cool air of his bedroom hitting his skin.

“Why are you calling me in the middle of the night again?”

⸻

Hyunjin

His throat closed. Words scraped raw. “I can’t—” A crack broke his voice, heat flooding his neck. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Silence again. He nearly hung up. Then Chan’s voice cut through the static, sharper now, no longer drowsy. “About what?”

Hyunjin’s chest squeezed tight. His teeth caught his lip hard enough to sting. “The hallway,” he whispered. “The way you held me this morning. The way I—fuck—the way I couldn’t even play because all I wanted was you.”

⸻

Chan

The confession hit like a strike of fire. He exhaled slowly, deliberately, forcing control back into his voice.

“And you think calling me at two a.m. will fix that?”

The sound of Hyunjin’s breath faltering nearly undid him. “I don’t know what else to do. I tried everything. Music, reading—it’s just your hand, your voice, the way you—”

“Careful.” One word, soft, but weighted. A warning.

⸻

Hyunjin

He squeezed his eyes shut, gripping the phone so tightly his knuckles whitened. “Please. Just… talk to me. Tell me something. Anything.”

Every second of silence was a knife, twisting. Then Chan’s voice came low, intimate, closer than it should have been.

“You’re shaking, aren’t you? Gripping your phone like you can’t breathe without me answering.”

Hyunjin’s breath caught. “Y-Yes.”

⸻

Chan

There it was—that rawness he wanted.

“You said you needed the hallway.” His words were precise, careful, meant to corner him. “You think you’re ready for that again? At my mercy, desperate in public, where anyone could’ve seen?”

A soft whimper bled through the receiver. It went straight to his spine.

“I don’t care,” Hyunjin choked out. “I just need you.”

Chan closed his eyes, jaw tightening, imagining the sight of him: undone, shaking, needing. Sheets slid away as he stood, grounding himself with movement.

“You’ll come to me tomorrow,” he said finally, tone clipped. “Earlier than yesterday. No excuses, no delays.”

⸻

Hyunjin

His chest lurched forward, as if pulled on a string. “Yes—yes, I will.”

“And if you call me like this again without being ready to follow through…” The words cut sharper now, each syllable a lash. “…you won’t like how I handle it.”

“I understand,” Hyunjin whispered, trembling so hard the phone nearly slipped.

⸻

Chan

“Good.” He softened the word, let it land like a hand smoothing down frayed edges. “Now go to sleep. You’ll need it.”

He ended the call before Hyunjin could breathe out another syllable.

⸻

Hyunjin

The line went dead. His heart kept racing, loud in the silence of his dark room. He lay there wide awake, sheets tangled around his legs, the ghost of Chan’s voice still curling inside him.

Sleep didn’t come any easier. But at least now—he knew exactly what he was waiting for.

Chapter 18: Release

Hyunjin

The practice room door was locked when Hyunjin arrived.

Of course it was—it wasn’t even seven yet, the sun barely awake, the hallway empty except for the humming of the vents and the occasional echo of footsteps from some other unfortunate soul. He leaned his forehead against the cool metal of the door, clutching his bag strap in one hand, and cursed himself for the tenth time since dragging himself out of bed.

Two hours. That was all the sleep he’d managed, his mind running circles around Chan’s voice until exhaustion finally pulled him under. He should’ve overslept, should’ve given himself an excuse not to come. Instead, he was here early, jittery with anticipation, shame prickling under his skin.

The phone call replayed in his head on a loop. The warning in Chan’s voice. The promise. Earlier than class. No excuses, no delays.

So here he was, obedient like a fool.

The lock clicked. Hyunjin jerked upright just as the door opened.

⸻

Chan

Chan had half-expected him not to show. He always tested people, left the words sharp to see if they’d hold up under the edge of his tone. Hyunjin had seemed ready to break through the phone last night—he’d thought maybe, by morning, the boy would crumble back into hesitation.

But there he was, pale with lack of sleep and eyes bright with want, standing outside the door like he’d been waiting forever. Earlier than he’d asked for. Earlier than necessary.

“You’re early,” Chan said, voice deliberately neutral.

Hyunjin’s mouth went dry. “You said—”

“I know what I said.” Chan stepped aside, gesturing him in. “I didn’t think you’d actually listen.”

⸻

Hyunjin

The familiar smell of wood polish and old sheet music closed around Hyunjin the second he stepped inside. His pulse thundered, each beat louder than the last as the door clicked shut behind them. The sound felt final, private. Too private.

“You sleep at all?” Chan’s voice floated from behind him, low and steady, as he set a folder on the piano.

Hyunjin shifted, the strap of his bag biting into his palm. “A little. Not much.”

Chan hummed, the sound like a string plucked too low. “Figures. You look wrecked.”

Hyunjin bristled, even as heat curled through him. “Whose fault do you think that is?”

⸻

Chan

He liked that answer. The pushback, the way Hyunjin tried to sharpen his edges when his voice was already trembling. Chan turned, finally facing him fully, and let his gaze drag—slow, deliberate—up and down his body. The boy twitched under it, like every second of silence pulled him tighter.

“Mine?” Chan let a hint of amusement bleed into his tone. “You’re the one who called me in the middle of the night, begging.”

Hyunjin flushed, stammering. “I wasn’t—”

“Don’t lie.” Chan crossed the distance in two strides, closing in until he could feel Hyunjin’s breath catch. “You were trembling through the phone. Couldn’t even get the words out.”

⸻

Hyunjin

Hyunjin’s back hit the piano, the cool wood pressing into him as Chan advanced. His chest felt tight, his throat even tighter. “I just—I needed—”

“You told me exactly what you needed,” Chan cut in, voice dropping into that dangerous low. “The hallway. My hand on you. Desperate enough to risk being caught.”

The sound slipped out of him—half whimper, half plea—before he could bite it back.

Chan leaned in, bracing one hand on the piano beside Hyunjin’s hip, the other catching his chin. Hyunjin’s face tilted up helplessly, eyes locked on his.

“And now you’re here. Earlier than you had to be. Practically vibrating with it.”

⸻

Chan

He was. Chan could see it—the slight tremor in his hands, the shallow rise and fall of his chest, the pulse fluttering in his throat. He stroked his thumb over Hyunjin’s jaw, deceptively gentle, before letting the words sink in.

“If I pin you here, everyone walking past will know. This room isn’t soundproof.” He smiled, sharp, almost cruel. “You’ll moan, won’t you? Just like you did on the phone.”

“Please…”

That one word, frayed and broken, unraveled the last of Chan’s restraint. His hand dropped to Hyunjin’s waist, dragging him in until their bodies locked together.

“Two hours of sleep,” he murmured against Hyunjin’s ear, savoring the way he shuddered. “And you still came running to me. Pathetic.”

⸻

Hyunjin

Hyunjin gasped, the word carving through him, turning heat into fire. His knees felt weak, his body already caving to the command even before it came.

Chan pressed him harder against the piano, his thigh sliding between Hyunjin’s legs. “Show me how much you missed me, then. Grind on me until you can’t think anymore.”

Hyunjin didn’t hesitate.

His hips rocked forward, desperate friction sparking through every nerve. The fabric burned, not enough, never enough, but it tore a moan from him anyway, muffled against Chan’s shoulder. His fingers knotted in Chan’s shirt, clinging like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

⸻

Chan

“That’s it.” Chan’s grip on his waist tightened, guiding his rhythm, forcing him to ride it out. “Just like that. Every ounce of self-control you pretended to have—gone.”

Hyunjin’s gasps filled the room, ragged, broken. Yesterday he’d lasted an hour. Now, barely minutes.

“You’re mine, Hyunjin.” Chan’s voice was iron, steady and undeniable. “Say it.”

Hyunjin’s whole body arched against him, the words tumbling free on instinct. “I—I’m yours.”

The surrender hung between them, heavy, inevitable—exactly what Chan had been waiting to hear.

⸻

Hyunjin

Hyunjin clung to Chan like he was the only thing keeping him upright, forehead pressed into the crook of his shoulder as his body worked shamelessly against Chan’s thigh. His breath came ragged, his whole frame trembling with every drag of friction.

He should’ve been embarrassed. Should’ve been horrified at what he was doing in a campus practice room at seven-thirty in the morning, but the shame only made it sharper, hotter.

Chan had told him to show it, so he did.

“That’s it,” Chan murmured, his voice a dangerous kind of gentle. His hand was heavy on Hyunjin’s waist, controlling the rhythm of his hips, dragging him down into every thrust like he was setting the tempo to a song. “You can’t stop yourself now, can you?”

Hyunjin whimpered, the sound muffled against Chan’s shirt. “No—”

“No, what?”

“No, I can’t—”

The grip on his waist tightened, a groan rumbling low in Chan’s chest. “Good boy. That’s what I wanted to hear.”

Hyunjin’s knees nearly buckled. His fingers curled tighter in the soft cotton of Chan’s shirt, desperate for something to anchor himself to as the pressure built. Every rock of his hips sent sparks shooting through his nerves, his body strung too tight from lack of sleep, from days of holding back.

⸻

Chan

Look at him.

Chan tipped Hyunjin’s chin up, forcing their eyes to meet. His face was flushed, lips parted, eyes hazy with need. Completely undone, and all for him.

“You came early just to rut against me like this,” Chan said, letting his voice dip, a mix of mockery and admiration. He wanted Hyunjin to feel every edge of it.

Hyunjin moaned, helpless, pleading: “Please—”

“Please what?”

“Please don’t stop.”

Chan’s mouth curved, satisfaction pooling deep in his chest. He shifted his leg higher, pressing hard against Hyunjin’s aching need. “Not planning to. You’re going to make a mess of yourself right here, aren’t you? Let anyone walking past hear how desperate you are.”

⸻

Hyunjin

The words seared through him. Hyunjin bit his lip hard, but it was useless—another broken sound tore free of his throat. The friction, the humiliation, the sheer overwhelming thrill of it—it all blurred together until he was nothing but movement and sound.

“Louder,” Chan ordered, hand slipping up under Hyunjin’s shirt to palm the bare skin of his back. The touch burned, grounding and overwhelming at once. “Don’t hold it in. I want to hear you when you fall apart.”

That did it. His hips stuttered, his whole body seizing as the pressure finally snapped. His vision went white around the edges, a choked cry ripping out of him as he came undone against Chan’s thigh, shuddering and clinging like he’d drown without him.

The aftershocks left him shaking, breath shuddering out in uneven gasps. He sagged against Chan’s chest, completely wrecked, every muscle loose and spent.

⸻

Chan

Chan felt the trembling in his arms, the way Hyunjin’s weight gave out fully against him. He let it happen, steadying him, keeping him close. For a long moment, there was only the sound of their breathing, the hum of fluorescent lights above them.

He slid his hand up to cradle the back of Hyunjin’s head, fingers threading into the messy strands of his hair. His voice dropped, softer now, deliberately soothing. “That’s it. That’s my boy.”

Hyunjin made a weak sound in reply—half whine, half sigh. He didn’t even try to argue, too spent to do more than breathe against him.

Chan chuckled low in his throat, leaning to murmur against Hyunjin’s ear. “And this was you on two hours of sleep. Imagine what I’ll do to you when you’re fully rested.”

Chapter 19

Hyunjin

Hyunjin’s legs felt like wet paper when Chan finally stepped back. His body sagged against the piano, sweat cooling too fast on his skin. His shirt stuck damply to his back where Chan’s palm had branded him, and his knees trembled like he’d just sprinted half the campus.

Two hours of sleep. A morning practice that had nothing to do with scales or counterpoint. He should’ve been furious at himself. Embarrassed. But all he could think about was the heat still radiating from Chan’s thigh and the way his voice still echoed in his skull—low, commanding, devastating.

That’s my boy.

The words lodged behind his ribs, dangerous, making him want things he had no business wanting.

“Bag,” Chan said, breaking the silence. His tone wasn’t sharp, but it was expectant, already tugging Hyunjin back into orbit.

Hyunjin blinked, dazed. “What?”

“Give me your bag.”

When he fumbled with the strap, Chan took it from his shaking hands with casual ease, setting it on the chair by the door. His movements were unhurried, deliberate—like Hyunjin falling apart against him wasn’t even the peak of his morning yet, just a warm-up.

The humiliation of that made Hyunjin’s stomach twist. He shoved trembling fingers through his hair, trying to catch his breath.

“You need water,” Chan said. Not a question. He crossed to the piano bench, snagged the bottle he’d left there, and pressed it into Hyunjin’s palm. His eyes softened, just barely. “Drink.”

Hyunjin obeyed before he even thought about it, the cool water slipping down his raw throat. His hands still shook, droplets spilling down his chin.

Chan reached out, thumb swiping one away, and Hyunjin nearly dropped the bottle.

“You’re a mess,” Chan said, not unkindly. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but his gaze stayed sharp, assessing. “And we’ve got class in twenty minutes.”

Hyunjin froze. Class. People. Reality.

His whole body went cold. “I— I can’t—”

“You can,” Chan cut him off, already moving toward the piano, stacking sheets of staff paper into a neat pile. “You’ll sit. You’ll take notes. You’ll pretend like you didn’t just grind against my thigh in a practice room at sunrise.”

Hyunjin’s face burned, his stomach lurching. “Chan—”

“That’s what you’ll do,” Chan said, final, glancing up at him. “Or do you want everyone to know?”

Hyunjin’s breath stuttered, shame flooding him all over again. He shook his head, silent.

“Good.” Chan’s expression softened again, almost imperceptibly. “Then pick yourself up, Hyunjin. We’re not done.”

⸻

Chan

It took everything in him not to grin when Hyunjin ducked his head, cheeks flaming, and shuffled toward the chair like he’d been scolded. Obedient. Fragile. Perfect.

Chan had expected resistance, some kind of rebellion. Instead, Hyunjin folded in on himself, strung tight with shame and want until he was practically vibrating.

Dangerous, Chan thought. Because the more Hyunjin gave him, the more he wanted to take.

He’d meant last night’s phone call to scare him straight, maybe embarrass him enough to keep distance. Instead, Hyunjin had turned up earlier than asked, bleary-eyed, half-delirious from lack of sleep—and desperate enough to rut himself stupid on Chan’s leg.

It was reckless. Idiotic. Addictive.

Chan tapped his knuckles against the piano lid, steadying himself. “Focus. You’ve got an assignment due.”

Hyunjin looked up, startled. “Now?”

“Yes, now. You think composition waits for you to collect yourself?” Chan arched a brow, watching the way Hyunjin fidgeted under his gaze. “Sit at the piano. Show me what you’ve been working on.”

The boy hesitated, then obeyed, sliding onto the bench like he expected it to burn him. His hands hovered over the keys, trembling slightly.

Chan moved closer, deliberately crowding his space. He didn’t touch him, not yet—just stood close enough that Hyunjin’s shoulder brushed his thigh when he shifted.

“Play.”

Hyunjin swallowed, then struck a chord. The sound wavered, uneven. He tried again, and again, until a simple progression formed under his hands—halting, hesitant, but undeniably his.

Chan closed his eyes, listening. Even shaky, Hyunjin’s instincts were good—melodic lines curling where most students stayed rigid, rhythms tugging against the expected. Messy brilliance, if only he’d stop doubting himself.

“Not bad,” Chan murmured, leaning down, close enough that his breath stirred Hyunjin’s hair. “But your transitions are weak. You’re too scared to let it resolve.”

Hyunjin stiffened. “I’m not—”

“You are.” Chan’s hand came down over his, guiding his fingers through the chord change. “See? You hesitate. Afraid of what it’ll sound like. But music doesn’t wait for fear.”

Hyunjin’s pulse thudded under Chan’s palm, his breath shaky.

Chan leaned closer, lips nearly grazing his ear. “Neither do I.”

⸻

Hyunjin

It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.

The way Chan’s hand dwarfed his own, pressing his fingers into the keys. The way his voice slunk down his spine, dark and certain. The way everything inside him screamed to listen, to obey, to give.

He was supposed to be here for music. For grades, for graduation, for the future he kept insisting he cared about. Not this— not the way his body reacted before his brain even caught up, heat pooling low, thighs tense where he sat pinned between the piano and Chan’s looming presence.

“Don’t—” His voice cracked. He hated it. “Don’t do this now. People—”

Chan’s chuckle was a low rumble. “People aren’t here yet.”

“They will be.”

“Then you’d better keep quiet, hm?”

Hyunjin’s chest squeezed. His hands trembled over the keys, heart pounding like he’d been caught stealing.

And maybe he had. Maybe every second he spent like this was theft—of his time, his future, his sanity.

But when Chan pressed down harder on his fingers, forcing the resolution of the chord, the sound rang out—clear, certain, final.

And Hyunjin’s whole body shivered.

⸻

Chan

God, he was gone for him.

Every little flinch, every trembling note, every bitten-off protest—Hyunjin fed it to him like oxygen.

Chan shouldn’t push. He knew that. Already, he’d crossed a line twice over. But watching Hyunjin’s body betray him, the way his thighs clenched and his shoulders shook—it was like daring himself to see how much further he could go before something snapped.

He leaned down until his lips ghosted the shell of Hyunjin’s ear. “Tell me to stop.”

Hyunjin froze. His fingers hovered on the keys, silent.

Chan waited, heart drumming steady in his chest. Tell me to stop. Just once. Give me the excuse.

But Hyunjin only breathed harder, his lips parting on a sound that wasn’t no— wasn’t anything close.

Chan smiled, sharp and slow. His hand slipped from Hyunjin’s to the small of his back, warm against thin fabric. “Didn’t think so.”

Hyunjin

The hand on his back burned. Just the weight of it was enough to unravel him, every nerve screaming that this was wrong, dangerous, unprofessional, humiliating—

And yet, he arched into it.

He couldn’t help it. The pressure steadied him, held him upright when his body wanted to fold. It was grounding in a way that scared him, like Chan had his spine between his fingers and could bend him however he wanted.

“I—” Hyunjin’s voice cracked. He hated how small it sounded, how it didn’t carry an ounce of the fire he swore he had in him. “We can’t—”

Chan pressed his palm firmer, guiding him closer against the piano. The polished wood bit into Hyunjin’s ribs, but he didn’t move away. Couldn’t.

“You want me to stop?” Chan’s voice was low, dangerous.

Hyunjin’s throat closed. The word yes tangled there, heavy and useless. He could say it, he knew he could. He just had to—

But when he opened his mouth, nothing came out but a shaky breath.

Chan’s smirk brushed the side of his face like a shadow. “That’s what I thought.”

The humiliation scorched through him, bitter and sweet. He hated how easily Chan could read him, how fast he crumbled. Two practices, late phone calls, a single night at the club—and suddenly he wasn’t Hyunjin anymore, not the version of himself he paraded in front of the world.

He was just— wanting.

Desperate, pathetic, ruined.

And Chan knew it.

⸻

Chan

The silence was answer enough.

Hyunjin’s whole body trembled, muscles quivering beneath Chan’s palm, breath uneven. He was fighting it—God, was he fighting it—but he was losing, and Chan could feel every second of the collapse.

It was intoxicating.

Chan let his hand slide higher, up along Hyunjin’s spine, feeling the ridge of each bone through the thin fabric. The boy shuddered, shoulders curling in like he didn’t know whether to run or beg.

“You’re wound too tight,” Chan murmured, almost conversational, though his mouth was right at Hyunjin’s ear. “No wonder your compositions are a mess.”

Hyunjin made a choked sound, somewhere between a protest and a whimper. His hands still hovered over the piano keys, useless, trembling like he’d forgotten what they were for.

Chan leaned over him, bracketing his body against the instrument. “You can’t create if you’re this blocked. Music’s about release.”

Hyunjin jolted when Chan said it, but he didn’t pull away. He stayed right there, pressed against the piano, caught.

And Chan—God help him—pressed closer. Just enough for Hyunjin to feel the line of his body, the heat bleeding through clothes, the certainty that Chan was in complete control of this moment.

He shouldn’t. Every rational part of him screamed that he shouldn’t. But watching Hyunjin fall apart like this was addictive in a way nothing else had ever been.

“Play,” Chan whispered, his breath warm against Hyunjin’s cheek. “Show me what you sound like when you stop holding back.”

⸻

Hyunjin

His vision blurred. He didn’t know if it was from the lack of sleep, the humiliation, or the fact that Chan was pressed so firmly against him that his thoughts scattered like sheet music in the wind.

Play.

His fingers trembled over the keys. He didn’t even remember what progression he’d started. The only sound in his head was Chan’s voice, dark and steady, telling him to let go.

He slammed down a chord—loud, messy, too hard. It reverberated through the empty room like a shout, too raw, too revealing.

Chan’s breath hitched, and the sound of it made Hyunjin do it again. A different chord this time, sharper, jagged, tearing out of him like confession. His hands moved on instinct, pulling dissonance into melody, crashing through notes he hadn’t meant to touch but couldn’t stop himself from hitting.

It was chaos. It was ugly. It was him.

And Chan’s hand stayed firm on his back, steadying, anchoring, approving.

“You hear that?” Chan’s voice was low, almost reverent. “That’s the first honest thing you’ve played for me.”

Hyunjin’s chest heaved. His eyes stung. And for the first time since walking into this room, he wasn’t thinking about shame or failure or futures he couldn’t picture.

He was thinking about the weight of Chan’s hand, the sound of his own ragged chords, and the terrifying truth that maybe he didn’t want it to stop.

⸻

Chan

It hit him in the gut.

The noise, the rawness, the ugly honesty spilling out of Hyunjin’s hands—Chan felt it down to his bones. It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t safe. But it was real.

And God, Hyunjin’s face—eyes squeezed shut, mouth parted, chest rising and falling too fast—he looked undone, wrecked, and more alive than Chan had ever seen him.

He wanted to keep him there. Pin him in that moment forever. Make him play until his fingers bled, until he had nothing left to give but the truth Chan demanded.

But the clock above the door ticked, loud, jarring. Class. Students. The world waiting just outside.

Chan forced himself to step back, dragging his hand from Hyunjin’s spine before he lost the last of his restraint.

Hyunjin flinched at the loss of contact, head snapping up, eyes wide and disoriented like he’d been yanked from a dream.

Chan’s voice was rough when he finally spoke. “Fix your shirt. You’ve got ten minutes before the others arrive.”

And then, softer, almost too quiet: “Don’t make me regret this.”

Hyunjin

The silence after Chan’s words was deafening.

Hyunjin fumbled for his shirt hem, tugging it down with shaky fingers, trying to smooth out the wrinkles. His hands wouldn’t cooperate—his nails caught on the cotton, his knuckles white where they clenched the fabric.

He could still feel the echo of Chan’s palm between his shoulders, hot like it had branded him. His body swayed toward the absence before he could stop it, a pathetic instinct, like a plant reaching for sun.

The clock ticked again.

And then the door opened.

If he didn’t move, if he didn’t breathe too loud, maybe no one would notice how wrecked he was.

Maybe no one would hear how the echoes of Chan’s words still clung to him, louder than the chatter filling the room.

⸻

Chan

He watched.

From the side of the room, arms folded, face set in its usual unreadable calm—he watched.

Chan saw the cracks.

And he knew—knew—that every chord Hyunjin played now would be haunted by what he’d just dragged out of him.

It should’ve made him feel guilty. It should’ve reminded him of boundaries, of his role as leader, mentor, teacher.

Instead, it made his chest tighten with something dark and possessive.

Hyunjin was his secret now. His rawness. His honesty. His sound.

And Chan wasn’t about to let anyone else hear that version of him.

⸻

Hyunjin

“Hyunjin?” one of the students asked lightly, brows lifted. “Everything okay?”

His stomach dropped.

“I—” His voice cracked. He cleared it fast. “Fine. Just tired.”

A murmur of agreement followed. A couple of nods. No one pushed.

But when he risked a glance up, Chan’s eyes were on him.

Sharp. Knowing.

Hyunjin’s throat tightened. He dropped his gaze fast, pretending to focus on the sheet music in front of him. His pulse was a drumbeat in his ears.

He hated that one look from Chan was enough to unravel him more than any question from his classmates.

He hated it—

And he wanted more.

⸻

Chan

He kept his expression carefully neutral, giving no hint of what he’d seen, what he knew.

Hyunjin was strung too tight, caught between exhaustion, shame, and the aftershock of release. It was a dangerous mix—volatile, unpredictable. But it was also the most honest he’d ever seen him play.

Chan’s chest ached with the memory of those jagged chords, the sound of Hyunjin tearing himself open at the piano minutes ago.

That was what he wanted. Not this polished, perfect mask the boy shoved back on for the others. He wanted the cracks. The chaos. The truth.

And the more Hyunjin tried to hide it, the more Chan wanted to tear it out of him again.

His gaze lingered, heavy, until Hyunjin finally shifted in his seat like he could feel it burning through him.

Good.

Let him squirm. Let him know he couldn’t escape it.

Because as far as Chan was concerned, this was only the beginning.

Chapter 20

Hyunjin

The classroom was too quiet.

That was the problem—quiet enough that Hyunjin could hear his own ragged breathing, the blood pounding in his ears, the humiliating way his thighs still pressed together instinctively, searching for relief that wasn’t there.

He should’ve gone home the second class ended. Should’ve bolted before Chan had a chance to open his mouth. Instead, he’d lingered, scribbling nonsense in his notebook until the last set of footsteps vanished and the door clicked shut.

And now, here he was.

“You made me sit through class covered in my own—” The words caught, jagged and hot in his throat. His face burned, shame surging up so strong it nearly drowned the rest of the sentence.

Chan leaned against the piano, arms crossed, watching him unravel. That little smirk playing at his lips made Hyunjin’s stomach twist.

“I couldn’t focus. At all,” Hyunjin pushed on, fists balling at his sides. His voice cracked, thin with exhaustion and need. “Do you know how hard it was to sit there like nothing happened? Like—like I wasn’t…” He broke off, dragging a hand through his hair. “God, I was shaking the whole time.”

⸻

Chan

Chan let the silence stretch. He wanted Hyunjin to squirm, to feel every ounce of the heat crawling under his skin.

Finally, he moved. A slow push off the piano, the measured click of his shoes across the floor, until he was standing just close enough to see the flutter of Hyunjin’s lashes.

“You stayed,” Chan said, low, deliberate. “You didn’t run out. Didn’t excuse yourself. You sat there the entire class. Why do you think that is?”

Hyunjin’s eyes darted away, throat working around a swallow. His hands clenched tighter into fists, but the tremble in his shoulders gave him away.

Chan’s hand lifted, thumb and forefinger catching Hyunjin’s chin, tilting his head back up.

“Because you liked it.”

⸻

Hyunjin

The words hit like a physical blow.

“I didn’t—” He tried, but the denial collapsed in his mouth, weak and useless. Chan’s fingers were warm and steady against his jaw, forcing his gaze up, pinning him in place.

Hyunjin’s chest rose and fell too fast, his heart hammering against his ribs. He wanted to say no, wanted to shove him away, but the truth tangled around his tongue, sticky and undeniable.

Instead, what slipped out was barely more than a whisper: “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

The second it left him, heat flooded his chest. He staggered back a half-step, gripping the edge of the desk behind him like it might anchor him. “I—I barely slept last night. And now—” His breath hitched, shame crawling up his neck. “Now it’s worse.”

⸻

Chan

There it was—the crack in the dam.

Chan’s mouth curved into something sharper, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. He stepped in, closing the distance Hyunjin had tried to make, until his chest brushed against Hyunjin’s arm.

“Worse?” he murmured, voice pitched soft, almost sympathetic. His thumb dragged across Hyunjin’s lower lip, pressing until it parted. “Tell me what you mean.”

Hyunjin’s lashes fluttered, his breath catching on the touch. His grip tightened on the desk, knuckles white.

“I…” He bit down on the word, as if forcing it back, but his body betrayed him—hips shifting, thighs pressing together.

Chan chuckled low in his throat. “Look at you. You’re already halfway gone, and we haven’t even started.”

⸻

Hyunjin

The sound made him shiver. God, it was unfair how good it sounded, that dark rumble that went straight to the ache between his legs.

“Stop—” he whispered, but his voice cracked, pitiful and pleading. “Not here. Someone could—”

Chan tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Could what? Walk in and see how desperate you are for me?”

Hyunjin’s whole body flared with heat. The thought made his stomach knot, humiliation burning through him—but beneath it was a sharp jolt of want that only made him tremble harder.

He dragged in a shaky breath, forcing the words out before he could lose his nerve. “Maybe… maybe we should go somewhere else.” His eyes darted away, to the far wall, anywhere but Chan’s knowing gaze. “Somewhere less public.”

⸻

Chan

Ah. Finally.

Chan’s smirk deepened, his thumb slipping from Hyunjin’s lip to trace along his jaw. “Where were you thinking?” he asked, tone deceptively casual.

Hyunjin hesitated. His lips parted, closed, then parted again, like the words were too heavy to form. When they finally spilled out, they were barely audible.

“…Your place.”

The admission hung between them, trembling, raw and dangerous.

Chan’s chest tightened with a dark kind of satisfaction. He’d pushed Hyunjin to the edge, and now the boy was offering himself up, asking to be taken somewhere safe—somewhere private—so he could fall apart completely.

Leaning in, Chan let his breath brush warm against Hyunjin’s ear. “Say it again.”

Hyunjin shuddered, every muscle tensing, but the whisper came all the same.

“Your place.”

⸻

Hyunjin

The second time felt worse. Like signing his name on a contract he couldn’t take back.

His knees felt weak, his chest tight with nerves and want all tangled together. But beneath it all—beneath the shame and the exhaustion and the way his body ached—there was relief.

Relief that Chan wasn’t laughing. Relief that he didn’t have to keep pretending. Relief that he could finally ask.

When Chan’s hand slid into his hair, steady and grounding, Hyunjin exhaled a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

He was already his.

⸻

The walk across campus should’ve taken five minutes, ten at most. But with Chan setting the pace—leisurely, maddening, as though they had all the time in the world—it stretched into torture. Every step made Hyunjin more aware of his own body: the damp cling of fabric under his jeans, the way his pulse throbbed in his throat and somewhere lower, insistent and humiliating.

Chan hadn’t touched him since they left the classroom, and that was the worst part. No steadying hand at the small of his back, no teasing graze of fingers against his hip—just that infuriating calm stride, his expression unreadable except for the flicker of amusement whenever he glanced sideways and caught Hyunjin fidgeting.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Hyunjin muttered, trying—and failing—to keep his voice steady.

Chan’s mouth twitched. “Like what?”

“Like you know exactly what you’re doing.”

“I do.”

Hyunjin’s stomach flipped. He ducked his head, shoving his hands deep into his hoodie pocket, hoping it would hide the way they trembled.

⸻

Chan

God, he was beautiful like this.

The swagger Hyunjin usually wore for show—the easy grace, the smirk, the cocky quips—had been stripped away piece by piece, until what was left was this: a boy on the verge of falling apart, tripping over his own need and trying so desperately to keep his pride intact.

Chan wanted to see how much further he could push.

He slowed his pace just enough to make Hyunjin notice. Watched the flicker of irritation cross his face, the restless shift of his weight as though his body couldn’t decide whether to speed ahead or stop altogether.

“Relax,” Chan murmured, his tone smooth, measured. “We’re almost there.”

Hyunjin shot him a glare, but it lacked any real bite. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth, red and swollen from worry-chewing, and his shoulders were drawn tight beneath his hoodie.

Chan reached out casually, brushing his knuckles along the back of Hyunjin’s hand as they walked. Not a grip, not yet—just a suggestion.

Hyunjin jolted like he’d been shocked, eyes darting around as if terrified someone had seen. Then, when no one was looking, his hand twitched toward Chan’s, fingers brushing once before retreating.

Chan chuckled under his breath. “You’re terrible at pretending you don’t want me.”

⸻

Hyunjin

His face burned.

“I’m not—” he started, but the words faltered, crumbling uselessly in his mouth. Because what else could he say? Chan was right. Every second of this was written all over him, from the uneven hitch of his breath to the way his thighs pressed closer together with each step.

By the time they reached the edge of campus, Hyunjin felt like he was vibrating apart. The city stretched out ahead, and somewhere in the mess of streets and apartments was Chan’s place, his supposed salvation. But the thought of how far they still had to go made him want to scream.

He tugged on Chan’s sleeve, half without thinking. “Can we—can you just—” His voice broke, too raw, too revealing.

Chan turned, one brow raised, eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. “Can I just… what?”

Hyunjin bit down hard on his lip, heart hammering. He couldn’t say it out loud, not here, not on the street with strangers passing by. But his body betrayed him again, leaning in too close, his hip brushing against Chan’s.

“Please,” he whispered, and hated how desperate it sounded.

⸻

Chan

Chan didn’t stop walking, but he angled slightly, steering them down a quieter side street. The crowd thinned, the hum of traffic softening, until it was just the two of them and the sound of Hyunjin’s uneven breaths.

When they hit a shadowed alcove between buildings, Chan finally gave in. He caught Hyunjin’s wrist, tugged him sharply into the wall, and pressed the full weight of his body flush against him.

Hyunjin gasped, head knocking back against the brick. His hands flew up like he might push Chan away—but then they curled instead, clutching at his hoodie, dragging him closer.

“You couldn’t even last ten minutes,” Chan murmured against his ear, the heat of his breath making Hyunjin shiver. “I was going to wait until we got inside.”

Hyunjin made a choked sound—half protest, half whimper—and ground his hips forward helplessly.

Chan caught it, swallowed it whole with a low groan, and pressed his thigh up between Hyunjin’s legs.

The noise Hyunjin made in response was sinful.

⸻

Hyunjin

He hated him. He hated him, and he wanted him so badly he could barely think.

The rough press of brick against his back, the solid heat of Chan pinning him in place, the thigh slotted between his own—it was too much and not nearly enough. His hips moved on instinct, rutting down, chasing friction like he was starving.

“Fuck—” The curse tore out of him, muffled against Chan’s shoulder. “You can’t—someone could—”

Chan’s hand closed around his jaw again, tilting his face up, forcing him to meet that steady, devastating gaze.

“No one’s looking,” Chan said, calm and merciless. “And even if they were, do you care?”

Hyunjin’s stomach twisted, shame sparking bright and hot—but the sharp roll of his hips gave his answer for him.

His breath hitched, caught between a sob and a moan. “Just—get me out of here,” he pleaded. “Please, Chan. Take me to your place.”

Chapter 21

Hyunjin

By the time they reached Chan’s building, Hyunjin was half-delirious.

Every corner they turned after that, Chan found some new way to ruin him—an idle brush of his hand at the small of Hyunjin’s back, a thigh pressing just a little too close at a crosswalk, his voice low and warm in Hyunjin’s ear reminding him to be patient.

Patience had never been harder.

His skin was hot, his clothes sticking uncomfortably to him, and his legs felt unsteady under his own weight. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had made him feel this unmoored—like he was unraveling cell by cell, with no way to stitch himself back together except Chan’s touch.

“Almost there,” Chan had said more than once. Each time, Hyunjin wanted to scream.

And then finally, finally, they were at the door.

Hyunjin stood just behind Chan as he unlocked it, trying not to fidget like a child waiting for candy, but failing miserably. His nails dug crescents into his palms. He swayed forward without meaning to, the heat of Chan’s shoulder so close it nearly burned.

The second the lock clicked, Hyunjin’s body lurched of its own accord, pushing them both inside.

⸻

Chan’s POV

Chan barely managed to slam the door shut before Hyunjin was on him.

The younger’s hands fisted into his hoodie, dragging him back into the wall, lips parting on a broken gasp that was half a sob, half a growl. The sharp crack of his back hitting plaster barely registered. What did register was Hyunjin’s mouth, hot and desperate, pressing clumsy kisses along Chan’s jaw, his throat, his shoulder.

“Fuck,” Chan breathed, arms wrapping tight around that narrow waist. He bent his knees, shifting their weight until Hyunjin was off balance, pinned entirely against him. “Someone’s impatient.”

Hyunjin’s answer was a choked, furious sound. “You made me sit through class like that. Covered in my own—” He cut himself off, face burning, but his hips spoke the rest, grinding shamelessly against Chan’s thigh. “You don’t get to call me impatient.”

Chan laughed low, deep in his chest, and ducked his head to bite at Hyunjin’s neck. The taste of salt, the quick hammer of a pulse against his teeth—God, it was addicting.

“You think I didn’t notice?” he murmured against skin. “The way you squirmed every time I leaned over your desk? You were begging me to do something.”

⸻

Hyunjin

“Because you wouldn’t stop teasing,” Hyunjin bit out, but the protest was weak, wavering, muffled by the way his mouth kept finding Chan’s. He kissed him like he was drowning, like each press of lips might be the one to save him.

And Chan—God, Chan let him. Let him take, let him devour, let him grind down hard enough that Hyunjin’s knees nearly gave out.

It was humiliating how close he already was. How little it took. Just Chan’s hands holding him in place, the flex of muscle under his palms, the hot weight of his thigh slotted perfectly between his own.

“I can’t—” Hyunjin gasped, breaking away to bury his face in Chan’s hoodie. The words came out muffled, pathetic. “Please, I can’t wait—need you, now.”

⸻

Chan

That was the breaking point.

He’d wanted to drag it out longer, keep Hyunjin trembling and pliant until he was begging properly. But the way he said please—that cracked voice, that helpless shudder—shredded Chan’s resolve.

“Alright,” he muttered roughly, and the change was immediate.

He spun them, Hyunjin’s back slamming against the entryway wall, and kissed him like he was claiming territory. His tongue pushed past Hyunjin’s lips, swallowing the desperate moans, grinding their hips together until Hyunjin writhed, until his long fingers clawed at Chan’s shoulders.

Chan’s hand slipped under his hoodie, skimming along hot skin, palming the curve of his waist before dragging upward. Hyunjin arched into it, chest heaving, teeth sinking into Chan’s bottom lip.

Chan hissed, then chuckled against his mouth. “Greedy.”

⸻

Hyunjin

“Shut up,” Hyunjin gasped, but his body betrayed him again—arching, straining, desperate for more.

He didn’t care that they were still half in the entryway. He didn’t care about the discarded sneakers or the bag on the floor or the fact that they hadn’t even made it past the threshold of Chan’s apartment. All that mattered was the heat, the friction, the way Chan’s hand mapped every inch of his body like he owned it.

His head fell back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut. “Chan, please—”

⸻

Chan

Chan pressed their foreheads together, his breath hot and uneven.

“You’ll get what you want,” he promised, voice low and rough. His thumb dragged slowly along the dip of Hyunjin’s hipbone, a cruel tease. “But you’re not running this show. I am.”

Hyunjin whimpered, legs trembling, but nodded anyway—small, jerky, helpless.

And that was all Chan needed.

With one fluid motion, he bent, grabbed Hyunjin under the thighs, and hauled him up. Hyunjin yelped, arms flying around his shoulders, but the second Chan pinned him higher against the wall and rolled his hips up, the sound turned into a wrecked moan.

Chan grinned into his throat. “Good boy.”

⸻

Hyunjin

By the time Chan finally pulled him off the wall, Hyunjin was barely holding it together. His body buzzed with too much heat, too much pent-up frustration, every nerve ending screaming for release. He thought—hoped—Chan would give in right there, that the rough grind of hip to hip, the way Chan’s teeth grazed his jaw, meant he’d finally be undone in the entryway.

But Chan had other ideas.

“You think I’m gonna fuck you by the door?” Chan’s voice was a low growl against his ear, the vibration shooting down Hyunjin’s spine. “I’m not letting you fall apart where anyone can hear you again. You’re mine now, and I’m going to take my time proving it.”

The words made Hyunjin whimper, made his chest tighten and his grip around Chan’s shoulders near painful. The thought of being carried through someone else’s space, being laid out on someone else’s bed—it should’ve embarrassed him. It should’ve made him stop and think.

Instead, it made his whole body ache harder.

He buried his face in Chan’s hoodie as they moved, too overwhelmed to speak. His ears rang with every heartbeat, every jolt of Chan’s steps across the apartment. The shift in light, the faint creak of a door, the cool draft as they entered a different room—all of it blurred together until Hyunjin was set down on something soft.

Chan’s bed.

The sheets smelled like detergent and something warmer, something that was just him.

Hyunjin’s chest heaved. His whole body trembled with the weight of anticipation.

⸻

Chan

Laying Hyunjin out on his bed was like setting down a piece of burning coal—something that scorched even as it begged to be held tighter.

The younger sprawled back against the pillows, flushed and glassy-eyed, his long hair splayed messily across the duvet. His chest rose and fell too fast, and his thighs shifted restlessly as though they were waiting for someone’s hands to pin them down.

Chan stood at the edge of the mattress, dragging in a long breath. He’d imagined this—too many times already, in stolen moments after class, when Hyunjin’s mouth had tilted into something challenging, when his body language spoke louder than his words. But the reality of it? Hyunjin laid out for him, trembling, looking at him like that?

It was nearly unbearable.

“You don’t even know what you’re asking for,” Chan said finally, voice roughened by restraint. He let his gaze roam slowly, deliberately, from Hyunjin’s flushed cheeks down to the twist of his long legs on the sheets. “All you can think about is how much you need it.”

Hyunjin nodded desperately, and the sound he made was nothing short of pleading. “Yes. Please—” His throat bobbed. “I don’t care how, I just… I can’t stop shaking.”

Chan smirked faintly, though his chest felt tight with the force of his own want. He crawled onto the bed, deliberately slow, placing a hand beside Hyunjin’s head, leaning down until his weight hovered just barely above him. The bed dipped under the shift, caging Hyunjin in, close enough for his scent and heat to wrap around them both.

“You’ll get what you need,” Chan murmured, brushing the corner of Hyunjin’s lips with his own in a fleeting tease. “But you’re going to take it the way I want to give it.”

⸻

Hyunjin

The tease was unbearable.

Hyunjin’s body arched toward him instinctively, desperate for more of that fleeting touch, but Chan denied him, pulling back just enough to make him chase after the ghost of a kiss. It drove him mad. His hands flew up, clutching at Chan’s hoodie, tugging like he could force him down.

“Please,” Hyunjin whispered again, raw and broken. His thighs tightened around Chan’s waist, trying to keep him close. He didn’t care about pride anymore—didn’t care that he’d been the one sulking and scolding not an hour ago. The desperation drowned everything else.

Chan chuckled low, deep in his chest, and pressed a kiss to Hyunjin’s temple. Then another at the curve of his jaw. Then one just under his ear. Each featherlight touch sent shivers down Hyunjin’s body, winding him tighter and tighter until he thought he might burst apart without ever being touched properly.

“You’re too pretty like this,” Chan murmured. His hand slid beneath Hyunjin’s hoodie, warm fingers tracing up over his ribs until they brushed against the bare line of his chest. “All wound up.”

Hyunjin bit down on his bottom lip so hard it hurt. He wanted to tell him he didn’t care, that he’d give Chan everything, anything, if it meant relief. But the words stuck in his throat, too dangerous to say aloud.

Instead, he arched into the touch like a puppet on strings.

⸻

Chan

The way Hyunjin responded—arching, trembling, his lips parted in silence—made Chan’s chest ache with something deeper than lust. Something possessive, raw, a need to see how far he could take this boy apart and still have him reaching for more.

His thumb brushed over a nipple, and Hyunjin gasped, head flying back against the pillows. Chan grinned against his throat, teasing the spot again, feeling the way the younger’s entire body jolted helplessly.

“You like that?” he whispered, nipping gently at the soft skin under Hyunjin’s jaw. “Good. I want you to remember exactly how it feels when I touch you. No one else gets this anymore.”

Hyunjin whimpered, his nails digging crescents into Chan’s shoulders, pulling him down closer until their chests pressed flush.

“Yours,” Hyunjin gasped, the word spilling out without thought. “I’m—yours.”

Something in Chan snapped.

He crushed their mouths together, swallowing Hyunjin’s moans, grinding down against him until both of them were trembling with need. His hand slid lower, skimming over the band of Hyunjin’s sweats, and paused there deliberately, a cruel edge of restraint.

Hyunjin writhed beneath him, panting, every nerve ending alive with expectation.

“Say it again,” Chan demanded, voice low and jagged. “Say it for me, and I’ll give you everything.”

⸻

Chapter 22

⸻

Hyunjin

By the time Chan’s weight pressed him into the mattress, Hyunjin’s nerves were shot. He’d barely survived class, barely survived sitting through the entire lecture sticky and flushed and too aware of what they’d done just before it started. Every second had been torture—trying to take notes with his thighs trembling, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from shifting in his chair.

And now, here, with Chan over him, it all came rushing back, hotter, heavier, impossible to contain.

“You made me sit through class like that,” Hyunjin gasped, his words spilling out before he could stop them. His chest heaved, his body straining upward toward Chan’s. “Covered in my own mess, trying to pretend I wasn’t—god, I couldn’t even breathe—”

Chan’s mouth curved in the faintest smirk. He kissed the corner of Hyunjin’s lips, a cruel little tease, then pulled back to watch the way Hyunjin trembled beneath him.

“And you still managed it,” Chan murmured. His voice was steady, rich with approval that made Hyunjin burn even hotter. “You kept yourself together for me.”

Hyunjin’s nails dug into Chan’s hoodie, tugging desperately. He hated how his eyes watered, how close he was to crying just from the pressure of it all. “I don’t want to keep it together anymore. Please—please don’t make me wait again.”

⸻

Chan

The plea nearly undid him.

Hyunjin’s face was flushed, his eyes blown wide with need, his voice breaking in ways that scraped over every nerve in Chan’s body. He looked wrecked just from asking, like the restraint had been a form of exquisite torture, and Chan couldn’t deny the thrill of knowing he’d put him there.

But Hyunjin’s hands shook as they clung, his chest rising too fast, his whole body vibrating with urgency. Chan couldn’t draw it out anymore, not when the younger was unraveling in front of him.

“You’ve been so good for me,” Chan whispered, brushing a thumb across Hyunjin’s damp cheekbone. He kissed him properly then, deep and hungry, their mouths colliding with a force that had them both gasping. “I’m going to give you what you need.”

He slid his hand under the waistband of Hyunjin’s sweats, fingers finding him easily, hot and slick. The sound Hyunjin made—high, broken, desperate—shot straight through Chan’s chest.

“Fuck—Chan—”

Chan stroked him slow, savoring the way Hyunjin’s hips arched off the mattress, the way his thighs shook. Every twitch, every gasp, every frantic pull of his hands in Chan’s hoodie was proof of how far gone he was.

“You’ve been carrying this since the hallway,” Chan breathed against his ear, his rhythm quickening as Hyunjin writhed beneath him. “I can feel it. All that frustration. All that mess. Let it go, Hyunjin. Give it to me.”

⸻

Hyunjin

It was too much—far, far too much.

The second Chan’s hand wrapped around him, Hyunjin knew he wouldn’t last. His body was already primed, already aching from hours of denial, and now every stroke was like fire down his spine. His hips bucked helplessly, his voice spilling out in whimpers and broken gasps.

“Please—please, I can’t—” He could barely form words, his head pressing back into the pillow, hair sticking damp to his forehead. He clutched Chan like a lifeline, terrified of floating away in the intensity of it.

Chan’s lips brushed his temple, his voice steady even as his own breathing grew heavier. “Yes, you can. You can give me this. Let go, Hyunjin.”

That final command snapped the last of his control.

Hyunjin cried out, his body arching off the bed as release tore through him, blinding and overwhelming. His vision went white at the edges, his ears ringing, every muscle tightening before collapsing into trembling aftershocks.

⸻

Chan

He held Hyunjin through it, stroking him carefully as the younger shattered beneath his hand. The cry that broke from Hyunjin’s throat was raw, almost painful in its intensity, but Chan soaked it in, committing it to memory.

The sight of him—flushed, trembling, eyes squeezed shut as his body gave out—was enough to have Chan grinding down against the mattress for relief, his own restraint hanging by a thread. But he didn’t let go. Not yet.

Instead, he slowed his touch, easing Hyunjin down, whispering low reassurances into his hair.

“That’s it. That’s perfect. So good for me.”

Hyunjin clung tighter, his body limp with exhaustion but unwilling to let go. His breath came in ragged gasps, damp lashes fluttering as if he might fall asleep right there in Chan’s arms.

Chan pressed a kiss to his damp temple, soft and lingering.

“You don’t ever have to hold yourself back for me again,” he murmured. “Not when I can take care of you like this.”

And Hyunjin, still trembling, managed the faintest nod, burying his face against Chan’s chest as if hiding from the weight of what he’d just given away.

⸻

Hyunjin

The air in Chan’s bedroom felt heavy, charged. Hyunjin could still taste him on his lips, could still feel the weight of Chan’s body pressing him down, but it wasn’t enough. His skin burned, his insides clawed with hunger that only grew sharper the more he begged.

“More than that, hyung,” he whispered plead, voice cracking, eyes glazed with need. “I want more than that.”

Chan didn’t move right away. His dark gaze pinned Hyunjin in place, unreadable but suffocating. His hand tightened around Hyunjin’s thigh, fingers digging into muscle, and Hyunjin gasped, hips twitching upward against nothing.

“You want it all, don’t you?” Chan’s voice was low, rough, vibrating through Hyunjin’s chest.

Hyunjin nodded so fast his hair flopped into his eyes. “Yes—please, hyung, I need you.”

⸻

Chan

God, he looked ruined already—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, trembling thighs spread wide on the sheets.

Chan’s gut twisted with hunger, every instinct urging him to take, to sink into that warmth and claim him until he couldn’t speak. But Hyunjin’s plea deserved more than just blind need.

He brushed his thumb along Hyunjin’s inner thigh, slow enough to make him squirm. “You think you’re ready,” he murmured. “But I’m not going to just shove into you like this. You’ll take what I give you, the way I give it. Understand?”

Hyunjin’s breath caught, but he nodded, fingers curling tight into the sheets. “I’ll take it. However you want, hyung—just don’t make me wait too long.”

A sharp laugh escaped Chan. “So greedy.”

But he reached for the lube in his nightstand all the same.

⸻

Hyunjin

The sound of the lube cap snapping open made his stomach tighten in anticipation. He was already trembling, but when Chan’s slick fingers slid against him, teasing, hovering, his breath stuttered into sharp gasps.

Then the first finger pressed inside. Hyunjin bit down on his lip, the stretch sharp but bearable, his body clenching instinctively around the intrusion. A moan slipped out before he could swallow it back.

“Relax,” Chan murmured, firm but gentle, one hand holding his hip steady. “Let me take care of you.”

Hyunjin’s head fell back against the pillow. The burn softened into something sweeter, his body adjusting as the finger curled and brushed deeper. Sparks lit behind his eyelids.

“Hyung,” he gasped, hips twitching down. “More—please, another—”

⸻

Chan

Greedy little thing. Chan smirked, twisting his finger just so until Hyunjin’s breath broke into a cry. Then, slowly, he pushed in a second finger.

The stretch made Hyunjin’s thighs jerk, his hands fisting the sheets, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he pushed down against Chan’s hand, desperate for more friction.

“Good,” Chan praised, keeping his pace steady. “That’s it. Open up for me.”

Hyunjin whined, eyes squeezed shut, but the sound was pure need. He was trembling, sweat slicking the arch of his back.

Chan leaned closer, catching his chin to tilt his face up. “Don’t hide from me,” he commanded, voice a rasp. “Look at me while I make you ready.”

Hyunjin forced his eyes open, pupils blown wide, lips wet and parted around shaky breaths. The vulnerability there almost undid Chan completely. He scissored his fingers, brushing against the spot that made Hyunjin’s entire body jolt.

The sound that tore out of him was obscene, strangled and needy. “Hyung—fuck, I can’t—please, I need more—”

⸻

Hyunjin

Every thrust of Chan’s fingers left him shaking, stretched wide, body aching with a need that nothing seemed to fill. It was good, it was too much, but it wasn’t enough.

“Hyung,” he begged, tears prickling the corners of his eyes. “Please, I can’t sit through more of this—I need you.”

The moment Chan pulled his fingers free, slick and glistening in the dim light, Hyunjin nearly sobbed at the emptiness. But then Chan was shifting forward, settling between his thighs, and the sight of him—hard, flushed, lined up and ready—made his whole body quake.

Hyunjin’s breath caught. His voice cracked. “Now, please—just, please—”

⸻

Chan

He braced one hand against the bed, the other cupping Hyunjin’s face as he positioned himself. The younger was trembling, pupils blown, tears shining in the corners of his eyes from sheer desperation.

Chan pressed his forehead to his. “Last chance. Say the word and I’ll stop.”

“No—” Hyunjin’s answer was instant, desperate. His legs wrapped around Chan’s waist, dragging him closer. “I want you, hyung. I want all of you. Please.”

That was enough.

With a slow, deliberate push, Chan sank into him. The resistance made his jaw clench, the tight heat threatening to rip the control from his hands. Inch by inch he slid deeper, until his hips were flush against Hyunjin’s, until there was nothing left between them.

Hyunjin’s cry was half-moan, half-sob, his nails digging into Chan’s shoulders.

“Fuck,” Chan groaned, burying his face in the curve of Hyunjin’s neck. “You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

⸻

Hyunjin

The stretch was overwhelming, fire licking through every nerve, but underneath it all was the grounding weight of Chan—inside him, finally inside him. His body clenched helplessly around the fullness, trying to adjust, tears spilling over from the sheer intensity.

Chan’s thumb brushed them away, his voice low and steady. “Breathe, Jinnie. You’ve got me now.”

Hyunjin forced in shaky breaths, his chest rising against Chan’s. The sting dulled, melting into something heavier, hotter, curling through his gut.

He gave a shaky nod, lips trembling. “Move, hyung—please—”

⸻

Chan

He drew back slowly, almost cruelly, before pressing forward again. The first thrust wrung a broken sound from Hyunjin’s throat, his body arching off the bed.

Chan’s control slipped further with every movement, the way Hyunjin clutched at him, clung to him, begging for more.

“Look at you,” Chan groaned, driving in deeper, harder. “Falling apart already.”

Hyunjin sobbed his name, nails dragging down Chan’s back, his voice cracking with every cry.

And Chan knew he wasn’t letting him go until he’d given him exactly what he begged for—more, and more, until Hyunjin couldn’t think of anything else.

⸻

Hyunjin

The first thrust knocked the air out of him, a harsh gasp catching in his throat. His back arched involuntarily, every muscle tensing and releasing in a desperate attempt to handle the stretch, the weight, the sheer fullness of having Chan inside him.

He couldn’t form words, just broken, gasping sounds that echoed off the quiet of the room. His fingers clawed for something to hold onto—Chan’s shoulders, the sheets, the heat of his skin—anything that would keep him grounded.

Chan’s pace was steady, controlled, almost unbearable in its patience. Hyunjin sobbed with every deliberate thrust, his head rolling back against the pillow. “Hyung—” his voice cracked, “please, I can’t—need more—”

⸻

Chan

The sight of Hyunjin writhing beneath him was intoxicating. His body strained with every movement, thighs trembling, lips parted around needy cries. He was so tight, clinging to him like he never wanted to let go.

Chan fought to keep his pace measured, but his control was fraying fast. Each time Hyunjin begged for more, each desperate sob of his name, it chipped away at his restraint.

“You can take it,” he rasped, bending low to kiss the corner of Hyunjin’s mouth. “Open up for me, baby. Let me in.”

Hyunjin’s arms wrapped tight around his neck, dragging him closer, nails biting into skin. “I am—I am—please, hyung, faster—”

⸻

Hyunjin

The moment Chan obeyed, thrusts harder, deeper, he lost all sense of himself. His body moved on instinct, hips rising to meet every stroke, moans tumbling unchecked from his throat.

The burn had transformed into white-hot pleasure, sparks shooting through him with every brush against that spot inside that made him cry out, trembling.

“Fuck—oh god—” his voice broke into sobs. “You’re gonna—hyung, you’re gonna kill me—”

Chan’s hand cupped the side of his face, forcing his teary eyes open. “Look at me, Jinnie. Watch me ruin you.”

His whole body convulsed at the words, the power in Chan’s voice paired with the relentless pace. He was already too close, body wound tight, every nerve alight.

⸻

Chan

Hyunjin was falling apart beautifully—his long body trembling, thighs spread wide, tears streaking his flushed cheeks as he begged for more. Every time Chan drove into him, he tightened, clung, cried out in that broken voice that had Chan teetering on the edge of losing himself.

“Good boy,” Chan praised, voice rough against his ear. “Taking me so well. You’re mine, aren’t you?”

“Yes—yes, hyung—yours—” The words spilled out instantly, desperate and raw. His nails raked down Chan’s back, hips rolling in frantic rhythm.

Chan groaned, thrusts slamming harder into him. “Say it again.”

“Yours,” Hyunjin sobbed. “I’m yours—please, don’t stop—”

⸻

Hyunjin

Every push of Chan’s hips sent him spiraling higher, his body trembling uncontrollably. He was clinging so tightly he thought he might break him, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted more, needed more, needed to be filled until he couldn’t remember his own name.

The pressure coiled hot and tight in his belly, overwhelming, unbearable. “Hyung—I—I’m gonna—”

Chan’s thumb pressed against his slick skin, stroking him in time with the brutal thrusts. The added stimulation tore a scream from Hyunjin’s throat, his body bowing off the mattress.

He shattered.

White heat flooded his vision, every nerve alight as he convulsed around Chan, crying out helplessly as pleasure wracked him. His body clenched tight, dragging Chan deeper, holding him there as he fell apart.

⸻

Chan

The moment Hyunjin came undone beneath him—trembling, sobbing, clutching tight—Chan lost the last of his control. The vice-like squeeze around him, the raw desperation in his voice as he screamed his name, ripped through him.

With a guttural groan, Chan drove into him once, twice, before burying himself to the hilt and spilling inside. His whole body trembled with the force of it, forehead pressed to Hyunjin’s as he rode out the waves, breathing ragged and uneven.

⸻

Hyunjin

He was still shaking, body limp under the weight of release, but Chan’s warmth filled him, grounding him, anchoring him to the bed. His chest heaved, every muscle weak and spent, but his arms still clung stubbornly around Chan’s shoulders.

Tears blurred his vision, but he didn’t care. His voice was hoarse, cracked. “Hyung…”

Chan kissed his damp hair, his jaw, his lips—soft, reverent, a stark contrast to the intensity that had just torn them apart. “I’ve got you, Jinnie. You did so well.”

Hyunjin let out a broken little laugh, his heart aching with how much he wanted to stay here, in this heat, this safety.

He whispered it before he could stop himself, trembling lips brushing Chan’s ear.

“More than that, hyung… I still want more.”

His body was still trembling, but it wasn’t enough. It never felt like enough. The burn of overstimulation clung to every inch of him, his thighs sticky and sore, his chest heaving against Chan’s. But instead of sating the hunger, the release only deepened it.

He clung tighter, nails dragging faint red lines across broad shoulders, legs wrapping instinctively around Chan’s waist to keep him close. His voice came out raw, a hoarse whisper that betrayed every piece of his need.

He felt Chan still against him, chest rising and falling heavily, hot breath against his neck. For a terrifying moment, he thought the words might push him away. That Chan would tell him he was being greedy, ungrateful, foolish.

Instead, a low groan rumbled from deep in Chan’s chest, vibrating through Hyunjin’s ribs.

⸻

Chan

Those words—so desperate, so wrecked—slammed into him like a tidal wave. He was still buried deep inside Hyunjin, body barely recovering from his own climax, but hearing that choked-out plea stripped him of any thought of rest.

He pulled back just far enough to see Hyunjin’s face. Eyes glassy with tears, lips swollen, cheeks flushed a furious red. There was no pretending here, no coyness or shyness. Just raw, unfiltered need.

“Jinnie…” he murmured, brushing damp strands of hair from his temple. “You’re already shaking.”

Hyunjin’s thighs tightened around his hips, keeping him from pulling away. “So? I don’t care—please, hyung. I can take it. I need it.” His voice broke, thin and needy. “Don’t stop.”

Chan’s control wavered, a dangerous edge creeping back into his chest. He wanted to tell him no, wanted to insist on rest and aftercare—but the way Hyunjin clenched around him, hot and trembling, made that resolve shatter.

⸻

Hyunjun

When Chan shifted, hips grinding forward instead of pulling away, Hyunjin’s breath hitched. Relief flooded him so powerfully it made his vision blur. He wasn’t being brushed off. He wasn’t being told he was too much.

The drag of him inside was slower now, deliberate, testing his sensitivity. Hyunjin whimpered, every nerve raw and frayed, but it wasn’t pain. It was too sharp, too good, sparking like lightning through his bones.

His nails dug into Chan’s arms, anchoring himself. “Yes—god, yes, just like that—”

Chan’s mouth descended to his throat, kissing and biting along the slick skin, grounding him in heat and weight. The pressure built again so quickly it frightened him, but he didn’t want to stop. He didn’t want reprieve. He wanted to be used until his body forgot what it felt like to be empty.

⸻

Chan

Hyunjin’s voice was wrecked, already pushed past exhaustion, but he kept begging—pleading for more, for harder, for faster. Each word tore at Chan’s frayed control, and soon he found himself moving again with a relentless rhythm, filling him over and over until the sound of their bodies echoed through the room.

“Look at you,” he rasped, voice rough and low. “Still hungry even when you can barely breathe.”

Hyunjin nodded frantically, lips falling open around broken moans. His back arched beautifully with every thrust, hair damp and sticking to his temples.

Chan’s hand slipped between them, wrapping firmly around him again. The whimper that spilled from Hyunjin’s throat was so wrecked, so overwhelmed, it nearly undid him.

“You asked for this,” Chan growled softly, his own voice breaking at the edges. “Said you wanted more.”

⸻

Hyunjin

The pressure was unbearable, climbing faster than his body could comprehend. He sobbed openly, tears streaking down his cheeks as every thrust sent him crashing against the edge.

“Hyung—I can’t—oh god—” His voice dissolved into a scream as Chan’s hand worked him mercilessly, thrusts driving him into the mattress. His entire body convulsed, back bowing, thighs trembling around Chan’s hips.

He came undone again, harder than before, white-hot sparks shooting through his veins as he spilled across Chan’s chest and stomach. He could barely breathe, choked sobs spilling into the air as his body squeezed and clenched desperately around the fullness inside him.

⸻

Chan

The way Hyunjin shattered—crying, trembling, clinging—was almost too much. Chan groaned, burying himself deep as the tightness pulled him under again. His hips snapped once, twice, before release tore through him a second time, his body giving in with a guttural sound against Hyunjin’s ear.

He collapsed against him, chest heaving, skin slick with sweat. For long moments, there was nothing but the sound of their ragged breaths and the faint hum of the city outside the window.

Chan forced himself to shift, to take his weight off the trembling boy beneath him. Hyunjin clung still, even as his body trembled with exhaustion.

⸻

Hyunjin

His throat was raw, his limbs useless, but he refused to let go. He pressed his face against Chan’s shoulder, inhaling the scent of sweat and skin, grounding himself in it.

He should’ve been embarrassed—crying, begging, sobbing for more like he’d lost his mind—but instead, he only felt sated, safe in the warmth of Chan’s body.

“Don’t… don’t leave me empty,” he whispered, words barely coherent.

Chan’s chest rumbled with a low sound, not quite laughter, not quite a groan. “You’ll be the death of me, Jinnie.”

Hyunjin smiled weakly, eyes slipping shut, content to drown in the warmth of his hyung’s arms.

⸻

His entire body felt like it was vibrating, a live wire sparking with each aftershock. But the craving didn’t vanish with his release. If anything, the emptiness whenever Chan shifted inside him made his body tense and whimper in protest.

“Hyung—” he whispered, throat raw. “Don’t stop… don’t let go yet.”

It was shameless. He knew it. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. He wanted to keep Chan inside, to be filled until the world outside the four walls of that apartment disappeared completely.

Chan’s weight shifted above him, muscles flexing, sweat dripping down his chest. And then he was moving again—slow this time, measured thrusts that dragged along hypersensitive nerves until Hyunjin sobbed from the intensity.

⸻

Chan

He knew Hyunjin was past his limit. He knew the boy’s body was screaming for rest, trembling so hard it was a wonder he could still hold him at all. But then those wrecked words—“don’t stop, hyung”—slipped into the air, and Chan found himself powerless to deny him.

Every thrust was deliberate, slower than before, but no less consuming. He wanted Hyunjin to feel every second of it, to make him realize just how much space he’d carved into Chan’s chest.

“Greedy little thing,” Chan whispered against his temple, pressing kisses into damp hair between thrusts. “Look at you, wrecked and still asking for more.”

Hyunjin keened, nails scraping faint welts across Chan’s back, his mouth falling open as broken sounds spilled from his throat.

⸻

Hyunjin

It was too much. Too much and not enough all at once. His body was past coherent pleasure, shaking apart with every roll of Chan’s hips, but his mind clung to the fullness, to the safety in being held down, used, filled until nothing else mattered.

He couldn’t stop himself—he came again, weak and stuttering, his body clenching desperately around Chan as if begging him to stay. Tears blurred his vision, hot streaks down flushed cheeks, but the relief was so sharp it nearly knocked him unconscious.

And when Chan followed, spilling into him with a deep groan, Hyunjin sobbed at the heat, the overwhelming fullness. His body refused to let go, tightening as though it could anchor Chan inside forever.

⸻

Chan

The aftershocks wracked him so hard his arms nearly gave out. But when he shifted, ready to ease out of him, Hyunjin’s arms and legs locked tighter, a desperate whimper breaking from his lips.

“Stay… please, just stay.”

Chan’s heart clenched. He pressed his forehead to Hyunjin’s, forcing his body to still inside him, even as sensitivity burned like fire. “Okay, baby. I’ll stay. I’ve got you.”

The words came without thought—soft, steady, absolute. And the way Hyunjin’s breath hitched at “baby” told him the boy heard every ounce of truth in it.

⸻

Hyunjin

Time blurred. He didn’t know how long they lay tangled, skin sticking together, hearts pounding against each other’s ribs. But when Chan finally shifted them, strong arms wrapping under his trembling frame, Hyunjin didn’t fight it. He let himself be lifted, carried across the room like he weighed nothing.

The sound of running water filled the silence, and then he was being lowered gently into a warm bath. Hyunjin shivered, half from exhaustion, half from the way Chan’s hands moved with such care—washing sweat from his skin, cupping water over his chest, untangling sticky strands of hair with slow fingers.

He didn’t have words. His throat was raw, his brain a haze. But his chest ached with something heavy and bright, so much bigger than the aftershocks still rippling through his muscles.

⸻

Chan

Hyunjin’s head lolled against his shoulder, lashes damp, lips parted with tiny sighs every time warm water touched his skin. It made something in Chan’s chest ache. This wasn’t just lust. This wasn’t just a release of pent-up tension between them.

It was care. Need. Something frighteningly close to love.

He pressed a kiss to the crown of Hyunjin’s head, his voice low and husky. “You’re safe with me, Jinnie. Always.”

The boy’s eyes fluttered open just enough to meet his gaze, glassy but steady. “I know,” he whispered, voice trembling but sure. Then, almost too soft to catch: “I don’t want anyone else, hyung… only you.”

The words hit Chan harder than any confession could have. He tightened his hold around Hyunjin in the bath, heart hammering against his ribs, a silent promise forming in the weight of his embrace.

Chan

The warmth of the bath clung to his skin, a soft lull that should have pulled him under, but his body refused to rest. He was too aware—of the weight of Chan’s arm around him, of the way steam blurred the edges of his vision, of the sound of their mingled breathing in the hush of the apartment.

When Chan finally lifted him out, toweling him with the same care he’d given in the water, Hyunjin felt a lump rise in his throat. Each touch, each sweep of warm fabric across his skin wasn’t just physical—it was grounding. Like Chan wasn’t cleaning him so much as holding him together, piece by fragile piece.

By the time he was lowered into the soft sheets, he felt wrung out, stripped of every last wall. He curled on his side, watching Chan move around the room, tugging on sweats, dimming the lamp, setting water on the nightstand. It was domestic. Intimate. Terrifying.

When Chan finally slid into bed beside him, arm slipping around his waist and pulling him flush against a broad chest, Hyunjin’s heart thudded painfully. He stayed silent for a beat, staring into the dark. But the words burned in his throat until he couldn’t swallow them anymore.

“Hyung…” His voice was hoarse, small. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

Chan hummed low in his chest, thumb drawing lazy circles against Hyunjin’s hip. “What is it, baby?”

Hyunjin’s lips trembled. He squeezed his eyes shut, buried his face against Chan’s collarbone, and forced the words out.

“That was my first time.”

For a second, he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. His hand stilled against Hyunjin’s skin, and silence stretched between them. Then the meaning hit, heavy and fierce, and Chan’s chest constricted so hard it hurt.

His first time.

He’d thought—God, he’d assumed—Hyunjin’s confidence, the way he begged, the way he’d moved, meant experience. But here he was, trembling in his arms, confessing he’d just given something no one else had touched.

“Jinnie…” Chan’s voice came rough, almost breaking. He shifted, cupping Hyunjin’s face to tilt it up, to make him look at him. His eyes were wide, shimmering even in the dim light. Fragile. Brave.

“You’re telling me you—” Chan swallowed hard, his thumb brushing damp lashes. “That I was your first?”

Hyunjin nodded, lip caught between his teeth, as if bracing for rejection. “I… I never wanted anyone else. I thought maybe—maybe someday, but it never felt right. Until you.” His chest rose and fell fast, words spilling out in a rush now. “And tonight—I wanted it to be you. Only you.”

⸻

Hyunjin

He hated how shaky his voice was, how childish he must’ve sounded. But the truth pressed too heavy to keep in. He’d thought about it so many times—whether he should say it, whether it mattered—but now that it was out, relief mingled with raw terror.

What if Chan thought he was naïve? What if he regretted it, thought Hyunjin didn’t know what he wanted?

But then Chan kissed him. Soft, lingering, reverent in a way that made Hyunjin’s chest ache. His hand cradled the back of Hyunjin’s head, holding him like something precious.

“You should’ve told me,” Chan murmured against his mouth, voice thick. “Not because I wouldn’t have touched you—but because I would’ve slowed down. I would’ve made sure—” His breath hitched, forehead pressing to Hyunjin’s. “God, baby, I would’ve worshipped you even more than I did.”

Tears pricked at Hyunjin’s eyes. He shook his head weakly. “No… you don’t get it. That’s why I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want slow. I didn’t want careful. I wanted you—the way you are, the way you wanted me.”

⸻

Chan

The words undid him. Completely. He gathered Hyunjin tighter into his arms, one hand spanning his back, the other curled into his hair. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt something this overwhelming—equal parts pride, protectiveness, and something deeper he didn’t dare name aloud yet.

“Mine,” he whispered fiercely into Hyunjin’s hair. “All mine.”

He felt the boy shiver against him, not from fear but from relief, as if the claim was the very thing he’d been waiting for. Hyunjin’s fingers fisted in his shirt, clinging like he’d never let go.

They lay there for a long time, breaths evening out, silence thick but not heavy. And as Hyunjin finally began to drift, slackening against his chest, Chan kept whispering the only promise that mattered.

“I’ll take care of you. Always. You hear me? You gave me something no one else has, Jinnie. I’ll never let you regret it.”

And even in sleep, Hyunjin’s lips curved faintly against his skin, like he believed him.

Chapter 23

Hyunjin

The first thing he felt was the ache. A deep, sore throb that reminded him of every movement, every thrust, every time he’d cried out for Chan the night before. His face burned before his eyes even opened.

Sheets smelled like him—warm skin, clean laundry, something distinctly him. Hyunjin curled tighter, burying his face in the pillow, hoping maybe he could pretend he wasn’t awake yet.

But then a hand smoothed over his bare back, slow and deliberate.

“Morning, baby,” came the low rumble above him.

Hyunjin froze. His throat worked, but nothing came out. Morning. As if everything was normal. As if Chan hadn’t—

“You’re quiet,” Chan murmured, fingers tracing the curve of his spine. “What’s going through that head of yours?”

Hyunjin’s ears flamed. “I’m…” His voice cracked. He cleared it, still muffled in the pillow. “…sore.”

He felt, more than saw, the smirk curl across Chan’s mouth.

⸻

Chan

There it was. That sweet little confession.

He leaned down, lips brushing Hyunjin’s shoulder. “Of course you are. First time always leaves a mark.” His palm slid lower, over the curve of his hip, the bruises he’d left there last night. “Especially with the way you took me.”

Hyunjin whined softly, face pressing deeper into the pillow, like he could disappear.

Chan chuckled, satisfied. “Don’t hide. Let me see you.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Hyunjin turned his face. His cheeks were crimson, hair mussed, lips kiss-swollen. The very picture of thoroughly ruined.

Chan’s chest tightened at the sight—but that didn’t mean he’d let him off easy.

“You look exactly how I like you,” he said, letting his thumb drag along Hyunjin’s bottom lip. “Wrecked. Mine.”

⸻

Hyunjin

The word made him shiver. He should’ve been embarrassed—no, he was embarrassed. But the worse part was the way his body betrayed him, heat pooling low in his stomach again despite the soreness.

“Hyung…” he whispered, eyes fluttering shut under Chan’s touch.

“What?” Chan’s tone was indulgent, amused. “What do you need?”

Hyunjin swallowed hard. He hated how shaky his voice sounded. “…Don’t tease me.”

But Chan only hummed, fingers brushing his jaw. “Why not? You sat through class yesterday covered in your own mess for me. You can handle a little teasing.”

Hyunjin groaned, throwing the pillow over his face, mortified.

And Chan—of course—plucked it right back off, grinning down at him.

⸻

Hyunjin

Hyunjin waited until the door shut behind the last student, pulse hammering in his throat. He couldn’t even look at Chan yet—his hands were clenched in his lap, legs bouncing restlessly under the desk.

All class, he’d been losing his mind. Every offhand glance from Chan, every subtle smirk that no one else would catch—it was torture. The way his professor’s hand lingered against the piano lid, the way he adjusted his sleeves, the way he leaned back in his chair as if he knew exactly what it did to Hyunjin.

It wasn’t fair.

Hyunjin had been trying to keep up, to focus on modulations and structure, but all he could think about was how he’d sounded last night, the sting in his throat from moaning too much, the warmth of Chan’s palm between his shoulder blades, the words that still echoed — good boy, mine.

And now this—sitting through class while Chan toyed with him like no one else could see.

He dragged in a shaky breath and finally burst out, “You teased me the whole time.”

His voice cracked halfway through the sentence.

“You think I didn’t notice? The looks, the—the little smirks, the way you dragged things out just to make me squirm—” His cheeks were burning now, words tumbling out unrestrained. “You knew what you were doing.”

⸻

Chan

Chan didn’t move right away. He let the words spill, watched Hyunjin’s face flush, his eyes darting everywhere but at him. The boy was unraveling all on his own, and it was beautiful.

He finally straightened, setting his hands flat on the edge of his desk. Calm. Collected.

“I knew,” Chan agreed softly, unflinching.

Hyunjin froze.

“Of course I knew. You were restless from the second you walked in. And you think I wouldn’t notice every time your thighs pressed together under the desk? Every time you bit your lip when you thought no one was watching?”

Hyunjin’s mouth dropped open, horrified. “I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were.” Chan’s voice dropped lower, steel wrapped in silk. “And I let you sit there and suffer because that’s exactly where you belong until I decide otherwise.”

Hyunjin made a small, helpless sound in his throat. His hands curled into fists against his knees, like he didn’t know whether to hide his face or reach for him.

⸻

Hyunjin

The floor could have swallowed him whole and it still wouldn’t have been enough.

“Hyung—” He hated how desperate it sounded, hated the way his voice pitched up, pleading. “I can’t—I couldn’t think about anything else. Not the music, not the lecture, nothing. Just you. You were… you were torturing me.”

Chan finally moved, stepping closer until his shadow cut across Hyunjin’s desk. He braced a hand against the wood, leaning in just enough that Hyunjin had to look up, had to meet his eyes.

“You call it torture,” Chan murmured, “I call it training.”

Hyunjin’s breath caught.

“I want you to learn what it feels like when I control you without touching you. When a single look is enough to keep you on edge for hours. And you did well—squirming, whining, holding it in.” His thumb brushed Hyunjin’s jaw, deceptively tender. “But now you’ll ask me for what you need.”

Hyunjin’s lips parted, his heart pounding so loud it drowned out the world. He couldn’t fight it anymore.

“Please,” he whispered. “Not here. Not in this classroom.” His cheeks burned deeper, shame and need tangled together. “Take me somewhere else. Yours. Anywhere. Just… please.”

⸻

Chan

Chan’s mouth curved in satisfaction. Hyunjin’s plea wasn’t just about release—it was surrender. A confession that the boy knew he belonged nowhere else but where Chan decided.

“Mine,” Chan said simply.

Hyunjin nodded quickly, feverishly.

“Good boy.”

Chan let the praise hang in the air before pulling back, straightening to full height. He grabbed his bag casually, like this was any ordinary afternoon. Then he looked back at Hyunjin, eyes glinting with promise.

“Get up. We’re leaving.”

The way Hyunjin stumbled to his feet, scrambling to follow, told Chan everything he needed: the boy was already broken open for him, and he was only going to break him further.

⸻

Hyunjin

The hallway felt like a minefield.

He couldn’t tell if it was the silence or the sound of his own pulse thrumming in his ears that made each step unbearable. He followed Chan out of the building, his bag slung haphazardly over his shoulder, hands shoved deep into his pockets so no one could see them trembling.

They didn’t speak. Not at first. Chan walked with that same calm, deliberate stride, the one Hyunjin had memorized from a distance weeks ago, back when he was just Professor Bang. It was infuriating—how someone could carry that much control in the way they moved, how even the roll of his shoulders seemed to mock Hyunjin’s clumsy attempts at composure.

Hyunjin wanted to scream. He wanted to demand why Chan was letting him stew like this, why he wasn’t saying anything, why he wasn’t doing anything. But he also knew, deep down, that this was the point. Chan didn’t have to say a word to undo him—he never did.

By the time they stepped out into the evening air, Hyunjin’s skin was prickling.

“Hyung,” he tried, his voice rougher than he expected.

Chan didn’t slow, didn’t glance his way. “Hm?”

“I…” Hyunjin’s throat worked uselessly. The words tangled. What could he even say? That he wanted to grab his sleeve like a child? That his body was thrumming with leftover arousal from sitting through class being teased in silence? That if Chan kept this up, he was going to collapse right here on the sidewalk?

Instead, he let out a pitiful, “You’re being cruel.”

⸻

Chan

Chan bit down a smile. Hyunjin’s frustration was palpable—he could practically hear it in the way the boy’s sneakers scuffed against the pavement, in the way his breath came just a touch faster.

“Cruel?” Chan finally glanced at him, just long enough to catch the flush across his cheeks, the restless fidget of his hands. “No, Jinnie. Cruel would’ve been ignoring you completely.”

Hyunjin made a strangled sound, and Chan’s chest warmed.

The walk was only ten minutes from campus to his apartment, but he intended to use every second. This wasn’t about getting there fast. It was about Hyunjin learning patience, about stoking that raw, eager energy until it was spilling over.

He slowed his steps deliberately, letting Hyunjin fall half a pace ahead, then leaned close enough that his words brushed the shell of Hyunjin’s ear.

“I want you to think about how you look right now. Walking beside me, flushed and restless, people passing by with no idea what I’ve already done to you… what I’m about to do to you again.”

Hyunjin stumbled, nearly tripping over the crack in the pavement.

Chan caught his elbow smoothly, steadying him, and kept them moving.

“Careful,” he murmured. “Wouldn’t want anyone noticing you can’t even walk straight.”

⸻

Hyunjin

Hyunjin wanted to disappear.

Every word Chan whispered felt like it was seared into his skin, leaving marks no one else could see. His legs were trembling—not enough to stop him, but enough that he knew Chan was right, that he probably did look ridiculous.

The worst part was the thrill of it. The shame burned bright in his chest, yes, but beneath it was a molten, desperate want. The idea that someone might look at him and wonder why he was flustered, why his professor’s hand lingered a beat too long on his arm—

“Stop thinking,” Chan said suddenly, sharp enough to snap him out of the spiral.

Hyunjin blinked up at him. “I—”

“You’re mine. That’s all you need to know right now. Keep walking.”

And Hyunjin obeyed.

⸻

Chan

By the time the apartment building came into view, Chan could feel the tension radiating off Hyunjin in waves. The boy was wound tight, practically vibrating beside him, and yet still following every instruction, every pace he set.

Good.

He held the door open, watching Hyunjin slip inside with his head ducked, his throat working nervously.

The elevator doors shut, and Chan finally let his hand rest against the small of Hyunjin’s back. A simple touch. Barely anything.

Hyunjin shuddered like he’d been shocked.

Chan’s lips brushed his ear, voice low, commanding.

“Now we’re going up to my place. And when that door closes behind us, you’re going to tell me exactly how badly you wanted me during class. Every detail. Every thought. Every filthy little fantasy that made you squirm in your seat while I lectured.”

Hyunjin made the smallest, broken noise in response.

And Chan knew he was ready to unravel him all over again.

⸻

Hyunjin

The click of the apartment door shutting behind them was too loud in his ears. It felt like the sound pinned him there in the entryway, the walls closing in around him. He didn’t move. Couldn’t. His bag was still slung off his shoulder, one strap slipping down his arm, but his whole body was taut with nerves and need.

Chan didn’t rush him. That was worse. The quiet footsteps as he set his own things aside, the soft rattle of keys against the counter, the deliberate ease in every motion—it was maddening.

“Hyung…” Hyunjin’s voice cracked.

Chan turned his head just enough to glance over his shoulder. One brow arched, calm and steady, like he hadn’t just spent the entire class tormenting him with the brush of his hand when he passed by, the graze of fingers against his spine as he leaned over his sheet music, the quiet hum that made Hyunjin’s skin crawl with electricity.

“You made me sit through class,” Hyunjin burst out, the words tumbling over themselves, “with you teasing me like that—like I was supposed to just… sit there, pretend I was fine—”

⸻

Chan

Chan let the words hang. He turned fully now, leaning against the counter, arms folding over his chest. Hyunjin’s face was flushed, his mouth pressed into a frustrated pout, his body wound up like a bowstring ready to snap.

Good.

“You weren’t fine, though.” His tone was mild, almost gentle. “You squirmed in your chair every time my hand brushed your side. You bit your lip like you were hiding something. You think I didn’t notice?”

Hyunjin bristled, a soft whine tearing out of his throat. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”

“Of course I did.” Chan’s voice dropped lower, threading with heat. “And you liked it.”

⸻

Hyunjin

The words hit harder than they should have. He wanted to argue, to deny it, but his whole body betrayed him—his clenched fists, the restless shuffle of his feet, the way his lips parted like he couldn’t quite get enough air.

“I…” Hyunjin’s face burned hotter. “I hated it.”

Chan chuckled. Actually laughed, low and warm and dangerous.

“No, you didn’t.”

Hyunjin’s knees buckled. He grabbed at the strap of his bag to ground himself, to keep from collapsing right there in the entryway. The memory of Chan’s fingers brushing down his spine in class made him shiver now, worse because he knew Chan was watching every reaction, cataloguing them.

“You wanted me to notice,” Chan continued, calm and certain, like he was reading straight from Hyunjin’s body. “You wanted me to keep going, to push you, to see how far you could take it without anyone else noticing.”

Hyunjin whimpered. Actually whimpered.

⸻

Chan

That was the sound he’d been waiting for.

Chan pushed away from the counter, closing the distance in three slow steps. He plucked the bag from Hyunjin’s shoulder and let it drop soundlessly onto the floor. Then he tilted Hyunjin’s chin up with a single finger, forcing him to meet his eyes.

“Tell me I’m wrong.” His voice was soft, commanding. “Tell me you didn’t sit through that entire lecture wishing the desk would swallow you whole because all you could think about was me.”

Hyunjin’s mouth opened, then closed again, trembling. His eyes were glassy, his chest heaving.

Chan leaned closer, brushing his lips just shy of Hyunjin’s ear.

“Or…” he whispered, “be a good boy and admit it.”

⸻

Hyunjin

The world tilted. His throat worked around the words, and for a moment he thought he might choke on them. Shame and need battled violently in his chest, but Chan’s voice, his presence, the warm weight of his hand cupping his jaw—there was no room left to hide.

“I—” Hyunjin gasped, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “I liked it.”

The confession broke out of him like a dam bursting. His whole body trembled with the release. “I couldn’t focus, I couldn’t breathe—hyung, I wanted you so bad it hurt.”

His knees buckled again, this time for real, and he grabbed fistfuls of Chan’s shirt like it was the only thing holding him upright.

⸻

Chan

And there it was. Raw. Honest. Exactly what he’d been waiting for.

Chan’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile as he bent to murmur against Hyunjin’s mouth, his thumb stroking once over the boy’s trembling jaw.

“Good boy.”

The sound Hyunjin made in response was wrecked, needy, desperate—everything Chan craved. And now that the truth was out, he had no intention of letting him catch his breath before proving just how much further he could fall.

⸻

Hyunjin

The wall was cold at his back, but Hyunjin barely registered it. He was too caught up in the way Chan’s mouth brushed his ear, the way every word seemed to sink under his skin and coil low in his stomach. His grip on Chan’s shirt tightened, knuckles white, as if letting go meant he’d lose his balance completely.

“Good boy,” Chan had murmured. The praise alone left him shaking, warmth rushing through him so fast it felt dizzying. His breath came in shallow gasps, his chest rising and falling too quickly.

“Hyung…” His voice sounded pitiful even to himself, strained and needy, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He wanted more—needed more. The faint brush of Chan’s lips, the weight of his presence, it wasn’t enough.

Chan didn’t move away. He didn’t swoop in for a kiss either. He just stood there, close enough that Hyunjin could feel the warmth radiating off him, close enough that his scent filled Hyunjin’s head until nothing else existed.

It was unbearable.

⸻

Chan

Chan could see the desperation building in him, the way Hyunjin’s body bowed against the wall like a string pulled too tight. He could practically hear the plea buzzing under his skin, waiting to crack open.

Perfect.

“Say it again,” Chan instructed quietly, his thumb tracing Hyunjin’s lower lip. “Tell me you liked it. Tell me how bad you wanted it.”

Hyunjin whimpered, leaning into the touch. His lips parted helplessly under Chan’s thumb.

“I—liked it,” he whispered, voice breaking on the confession. “Hyung, I wanted you to touch me the whole time, I couldn’t stop thinking about it—”

“Louder.”

Hyunjin’s eyes flew wide, panic flickering in them. He glanced instinctively toward the door, as if someone might still hear. That flash of hesitation made Chan smile—sharp, knowing. He leaned closer, pressing his palm flat against Hyunjin’s chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart.

“You think I’m going to let you whisper this away? No, baby. You wanted me, even with people around. You’ll admit it properly.”

⸻

Hyunjin’s POV

Shame flooded him. His ears burned, his throat constricted, but the weight of Chan’s hand over his heart made it impossible to disobey. He swallowed hard, body trembling.

“I liked it,” he said again, louder this time, the sound bouncing off the walls. His knees nearly gave out from the humiliation, but Chan’s hand on his chest kept him steady. “I wanted you so bad, hyung—I couldn’t think about anything else.”

The moment the words left him, his whole body sagged. He hated how weak it made him feel, hated how much he loved giving it up. His nails bit into Chan’s shoulders, desperate for something solid to hold on to.

Chan’s low hum of approval slid straight through him, and Hyunjin shuddered.

⸻

Chan

“Better,” Chan praised, leaning down to catch Hyunjin’s mouth in a slow, claiming kiss. He swallowed the whimper that spilled out, coaxing Hyunjin open with an unhurried insistence. The boy melted instantly, mouth pliant and eager, every line of his body softening under Chan’s control.

When Chan pulled back, Hyunjin chased the kiss, lips parted, eyes hazy. The sight sent a rush of heat through him.

“Messy already,” Chan muttered, smirking as he wiped his thumb over the shine on Hyunjin’s mouth. “And we’ve barely started.”

Hyunjin whined, his hands clutching tighter at Chan’s shirt. “Hyung, please… I can’t—”

“You can,” Chan interrupted firmly, pressing his thigh between Hyunjin’s legs. “You’ll take what I give you. Just like you did in class. Only difference is…” His voice dropped, dark and deliberate. “Now I don’t have to be subtle.”

⸻

Hyunjin

The pressure of Chan’s thigh made him gasp, his head falling back against the wall with a dull thud. His hips rocked before he could stop them, shame crawling up his spine. Chan had him pinned without even trying, and Hyunjin was helpless to do anything but move against him, chasing friction.

The thought of class hit him again—how Chan had brushed fingers against him like it was nothing, like he wasn’t ruining Hyunjin from the inside out with those small touches. He burned at the memory, but the humiliation only made his pulse race faster.

He was already shaking. His fingers clutched at Chan’s shirt, knuckles whitening, his body betraying him as his hips shifted against the firm pressure of Chan’s thigh. It was humiliating—how little control he had—but the shame only made his pulse race harder.

“You teased me the whole class,” Hyunjin blurted, voice cracking, the words spilling out faster than his brain could filter them. “Hyung, you—your hand—every time you touched me, I couldn’t focus, I—”

The memory burned through him, leaving his face hot. He hated the way his words dissolved into a needy whimper, but Chan only smirked, looking completely unbothered, like he’d planned this from the start.

⸻

Chan

Chan watched him unravel with a slow, deliberate satisfaction. Hyunjin was caught between defiance and collapse, shame and desperate need, and Chan reveled in every second of it.

“I told you to pay attention in class,” Chan murmured, thumb brushing over Hyunjin’s wet lower lip. His voice was steady, calm, carrying that edge of authority that always left Hyunjin pliant. “And you did, didn’t you? Paid attention to me instead of the lesson.”

Hyunjin’s chest heaved, his lips parting, his head tipping back against the wall. He nodded, quick and jerky, eyes wide and wet.

“Say it,” Chan pressed, his hand sliding down to rest at the base of Hyunjin’s throat. His touch wasn’t tight, but the weight of it was undeniable. “Tell me who you were paying attention to.”

⸻

Hyunjin

His throat felt tight under Chan’s palm, every nerve burning with awareness. He wanted to resist, to hold the words back, but the demand in Chan’s voice stripped away any fight left in him.

“You,” Hyunjin whispered, then louder when Chan arched a brow, “You, hyung. I only thought about you.”

The humiliation slammed into him so hard his knees nearly buckled. He clung tighter to Chan, praying his legs wouldn’t give out.

Chan’s low hum of approval rumbled against his chest, and Hyunjin shivered.

“Good boy,” Chan praised softly, and the words alone had Hyunjin’s body arching against him, desperate for more.

His back was pressed so hard into the wall he thought he might bruise, but it didn’t matter—not with Chan’s hand around his throat, not with the way his body buzzed like it was on the edge of tearing apart. The pressure at his neck wasn’t cutting his air off completely, just enough to make his pulse thunder, to make every sound louder and every touch sharper.

“Hyung—” The word came out broken, more of a gasp than a plea. His nails scraped against Chan’s shoulders, useless, trembling.

Chan’s eyes were dark, fixed on him, steady in a way that made Hyunjin feel both completely undone and perfectly held together. His thigh shifted higher between Hyunjin’s legs, grinding exactly where Hyunjin was aching, and he choked on a cry.

“You like this?” Chan’s voice was a low rasp, the words vibrating through the airless space between them. “You like me holding you like this, choking you, making you rub yourself all over me?”

Hyunjin’s cheeks burned with shame, but his hips betrayed him, rocking forward, his mouth falling open around a strangled moan.

“Yes,” he gasped, the word desperate, humiliating. “Yes, hyung, please—don’t stop—”

⸻

Chan

Chan tightened his grip just slightly, watching the shiver ripple down Hyunjin’s body. He was trembling, pupils blown wide, chest heaving. Every inch of him screamed surrender, need, obedience.

“That’s it,” Chan murmured, leaning in close enough for his lips to brush Hyunjin’s. “Open your mouth for me.”

Hyunjin obeyed instantly, lips parting, eyes fluttering half-shut. The sight alone was enough to make Chan groan low in his throat. So pliant, so eager, and so utterly ruined by the smallest command.

Chan let saliva gather on his tongue before spitting directly into Hyunjin’s waiting mouth. The choked sound Hyunjin made was filthy, raw, his whole body arching at the degradation. He swallowed without hesitation, cheeks red, eyes glassy as they flicked back up to meet Chan’s.

“Good boy,” Chan praised, thumb dragging over his wet lower lip before tightening around his throat again, forcing his head back against the wall. “So needy you’ll take whatever I give you. Isn’t that right?”

Hyunjin whimpered, his body shuddering, hips grinding helplessly against Chan’s thigh. He tried to nod but Chan’s grip made it impossible, a strangled moan escaping instead.

⸻

Hyunjin

His lungs burned, but the weight of Chan’s hand at his throat made him feel alive in a way nothing else ever had. Every nerve was on fire, every touch sharper, every word hitting deep in his chest. He couldn’t think past it—didn’t want to.

He swallowed hard, spit and shame burning down his throat, his body trembling with the force of it. He wanted more. Needed more.

“Hyung—please,” he whined, voice breaking. “Harder. I can take it. I want it.”

The look Chan gave him at those words—dark, hungry, utterly possessive—sent a bolt of heat straight through him.

“Of course you do,” Chan murmured, and the pressure on his throat increased. Hyunjin’s eyes fluttered shut, a whimper catching in his chest as the world narrowed down to that singular, overwhelming hold.

He was floating, drowning, burning all at once, his body jerking against Chan’s thigh, caught between pain and pleasure until he couldn’t tell them apart.

⸻

Chan

Chan watched every second of it—the way Hyunjin’s lashes fluttered, the way his mouth fell open around soundless gasps, the way his hips stuttered helplessly like he couldn’t stop himself.

“You’re pathetic,” Chan whispered, voice like velvet over steel. “Letting me spit in your mouth, letting me choke you, rutting against my leg like a desperate little slut. That’s all you are for me, isn’t it?”

Hyunjin’s whimper was wrecked, broken, his nails digging into Chan’s shoulders as if to anchor himself. His whole body was begging, wordless, pleading with every tremor.

“Say it,” Chan demanded, hand firm at his throat. “Say what you are for me.”

Hyunjin’s eyes opened, dazed and teary, his lips trembling.

“I’m—” His voice cracked, another desperate grind of his hips against Chan’s thigh. “I’m your slut, hyung. Only yours. Please—”

Chan’s grin was sharp, predatory, and his hand flexed at Hyunjin’s throat, cutting off another cry as he pressed in closer, owning every inch of him.

“Good boy.”

⸻

Hyunjin

His whole body was trembling, every nerve on fire, every breath broken and uneven under the weight of Chan’s hand at his throat. He couldn’t stop rocking against Chan’s thigh, shame and pleasure twisting into something unbearable. The pressure against his windpipe made every sound louder in his head, every throb sharper.

“Hyung—” he gasped, eyes squeezing shut, fingers clawing at Chan’s shoulders. His hips moved helplessly, grinding down harder, chasing the friction he needed.

The heat between his legs was unbearable, wet and sticky, coating his underwear, staining through—proof of just how desperate he’d been all through class, how ruined Chan had made him just by sitting close, by brushing his hand over Hyunjin’s knee, by whispering filth in his ear when no one else could hear.

“Please—let me—” His voice cracked, throat straining against Chan’s grip. “Hyung, I need it—I need to cum—please—”

⸻

Chan

Chan didn’t loosen his hold. If anything, he tightened it just enough to make Hyunjin’s lips part on a strangled gasp. His boy was beautiful like this—face flushed, eyes wet, body trembling with the kind of desperation that only Chan could wring out of him.

“You’re gonna make a mess on me?” Chan asked, voice low, taunting. “Gonna ruin my jeans like a filthy little thing?”

The noise Hyunjin made was broken, wrecked. His hips stuttered harder, pressing down against Chan’s thigh, rutting helplessly.

“Answer me,” Chan growled, his free hand gripping Hyunjin’s waist, dragging him harder over the muscle of his thigh.

“Yes—fuck, yes—” Hyunjin sobbed out, his body arching. “I’ll make a mess, I’ll do whatever you want—please, hyung, I can’t—”

Chan spat on his tongue again, leaned close, and let it drip into Hyunjin’s waiting mouth. Watching him swallow without hesitation, watching his throat bob under Chan’s hand—it was perfect.

“That’s my good boy,” Chan murmured, dragging him harder, faster. “Cum for me. Right here. Show me how desperate you are.”

⸻

Hyunjin

The command ripped through him. His body seized, back arching against the wall, a choked cry catching in his throat as his orgasm slammed into him.

It was overwhelming, blinding—pleasure tearing through his body as he ground down helplessly, soaking through his clothes, spilling hot and messy all over Chan’s thigh. His hands shook, grabbing desperately at Chan’s shoulders, nails digging into skin as if to keep himself from flying apart completely.

“Hyung—” he sobbed, voice wrecked, broken. “Oh my god—”

His vision blurred, the edges of the world fading as wave after wave tore through him, until he was nothing but trembling limbs and raw sounds, his chest heaving against Chan’s palm.

⸻

Chan

Chan held him steady, hand firm at his throat, keeping him upright as he fell apart. He felt the wet heat, felt the desperate grind of Hyunjin’s hips even as his strength gave out, watched the tears spilling down his flushed cheeks.

“That’s it,” Chan murmured, voice calm, steady, in complete control. “Good boy. You did so well for me.”

Hyunjin sagged against him, trembling, boneless, lips still parted as if waiting for another command. His body was spent but pliant, perfectly wrecked.

Chan leaned close, brushing his lips against Hyunjin’s ear.

“Look at the mess you made,” he whispered, low and cruel but laced with pride. “Pathetic little thing… and you loved every second of it.”

Hyunjin whined weakly, burying his face in Chan’s shoulder, too humiliated and too sated to argue.

Chan’s grin was sharp. He wasn’t done—not by a long shot.

⸻

Hyunjin

He was still shaking when Chan pulled his hand away from his throat. His lungs burned with the sudden rush of air, his chest heaving as he sagged fully into Chan’s hold. His thighs quivered, underwear and jeans sticky and humiliatingly wet, and all he could do was whine softly, burying his face in Chan’s shoulder to hide.

He thought maybe—maybe—he’d get a moment to breathe. Chan’s shirt was warm under his cheek, steady and grounding, and Hyunjin wanted to stay there, wanted to cling and be held until the shame melted away.

But Chan didn’t let him.

Strong hands gripped his jaw and tilted his face up, forcing him to meet those dark, unreadable eyes. Hyunjin’s lips parted in a tiny gasp, already knowing what that look meant.

“You think you’re done?” Chan’s voice was low, dangerous, threaded with something that made Hyunjin’s whole body react.

“I—I thought—” Hyunjin stammered, blinking through the haze, trying to find his words. His voice was wrecked, broken around the edges. “Hyung, I just—”

Chan’s smirk cut him off.

“You’re shaking and dripping like a wreck already,” he said, thumb brushing over Hyunjin’s swollen lower lip. “But my good boy doesn’t get to finish on my thigh and call it a night. Not when I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

Hyunjin’s breath caught. His stomach dropped and heat flared again, sharp and immediate, betraying him completely.

---

Chan

Chan loved the panic in his boy’s eyes—panic laced with want. Hyunjin was trying so hard to steady himself, but every little tremble, every twitch of his thighs, every wet gasp gave him away.

Chan bent, lips brushing Hyunjin’s ear as he spoke.

“You’re gonna walk into my bedroom on those shaky legs,” he murmured, voice a threat disguised as a promise. “And you’re gonna strip down to nothing. I want you naked on my bed, waiting, spread open and ready for me to use.”

Hyunjin shivered violently against him, clutching at his shirt. “Hyung—” he whispered, the plea soft, almost a whimper.

Chan chuckled darkly, hand sliding down to cup the back of Hyunjin’s neck, squeezing just enough to remind him who was in control.

“No excuses. No stalling. You’ve been begging for this all day—you think I didn’t notice you grinding against your chair during class? Looking at me like you wanted me to drag you out in front of everyone?”

Hyunjin’s cheeks burned red, lips trembling, caught and exposed. He shook his head weakly, denial useless, his body betraying him with the way his breath hitched.

Chan’s grin was sharp. He leaned in close enough to press their foreheads together, his thumb sliding down to smear the spit still damp at the corner of Hyunjin’s mouth.

“Bedroom,” he ordered. “Now.”

---

Hyunjin

His legs barely carried him. Each step was clumsy, weak, the damp cling of his jeans only adding to his humiliation. His body was a mess—wrecked and trembling—but his mind was even worse.

He wanted to hide. He wanted to obey. He wanted everything Chan was about to give him and more, even if it scared him.

The bedroom door shut behind them with a soft click, and Hyunjin’s heart pounded so hard he thought it might burst.

Hands shaking, he turned back toward Chan, who was leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching him like a predator who had all the time in the world.

“Strip,” Chan said simply, no room for argument.

Hyunjin’s mouth went dry. His fingers fumbled at the hem of his shirt, clumsy, nervous, but he obeyed—because he always did. Because the shame of being watched was nothing compared to the need in his chest.

His whole body felt hot, like he was caught in a fever. Every time he looked up at Chan, he found those eyes waiting for him—dark, steady, weighing him down until his skin tingled with shame.

He dropped his jeans awkwardly, letting them puddle on the floor, his underwear clinging damp against him. His hands twitched uselessly at his sides. He didn’t know where to look—he didn’t know how to stand without feeling like he was already on display.

Chan hadn’t moved an inch.

Arms still crossed, shoulder against the doorframe, he just watched. Hyunjin could feel the weight of that gaze everywhere, like fingers dragging over his skin, and the silence stretched until he thought he’d break.

“Off,” Chan said finally, tilting his chin toward the last piece of clothing.

Hyunjin froze. His breath stuttered out of him, face blazing. “Hyung…”

“Don’t make me say it twice.”

His fingers fumbled at the waistband, tugging them down, and when the fabric finally dropped, he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. He was exposed, trembling, marked already from Chan’s earlier grip. And Chan hadn’t even touched him properly yet.

---

Chan

Perfect.

Hyunjin stood in the center of his room like a painting brought to life, all raw nerves and flushed skin. The tremor in his thighs, the way he tried to curl in on himself, the embarrassment burning across his cheeks—it was all exactly what Chan wanted.

“Hands behind your back,” he ordered smoothly.

Hyunjin obeyed instantly, though his lips parted on a shaky breath. Chan smirked.

“Good boy,” he praised, and the way Hyunjin’s cock twitched at the words made his grin widen. He had him. Completely.

Chan stepped closer at last, circling him slowly, letting his fingers ghost along Hyunjin’s bare shoulder, down his spine, just light enough to make him shiver. “You like this, don’t you? Standing there with your cock out, no clothes, no cover. Letting me see how messy you get for me.”

Hyunjin squeezed his eyes shut, shame burning through him—but his body betrayed him again, cock twitching against his thigh.

Chan caught his chin, tilting his face up. “Answer me.”

“…Yes, hyung,” Hyunjin whispered, barely audible.

“Say it louder.”

Hyunjin’s breath shook. “Yes, hyung.”

Chan rewarded him with a sharp kiss, biting his lower lip before pulling back. “That’s better. You’re going to stay naked for me. No covering up. No hiding. I want you to feel every second of it—because I like watching you squirm.”

Hyunjin whined, his head falling forward, but Chan gave a sharp tug to his hair, forcing his gaze back up.

“Look at me while I use you.”

Hyunjin’s lips parted in a helpless moan.

---

Chan

This was exactly what he craved—Hyunjin undone and pliant, trembling but still obeying, still desperate for more.

“You’re gonna take whatever I give you tonight,” Chan said, voice low and commanding. “If I want to keep you on edge, leaking all over yourself for hours, you’ll stay there for me. If I want to fuck your throat raw before I even touch your ass, you’ll open wide and thank me. If I want to spit in your mouth and choke you until you’re gasping, you’ll swallow it all and ask for more.”

Hyunjin’s breath hitched, body trembling violently in his grip, but his cock jerked in Chan’s hand like every word was fuel.

Chan smirked, leaning in to drag his tongue across Hyunjin’s cheek before spitting into his open mouth, his hand tightening in his hair until Hyunjin moaned around it.

“That’s my boy,” Chan praised, dark and satisfied. “Filthy and perfect. You’ll do anything for me, won’t you?”

Hyunjin nodded frantically, mouth full, desperate to prove him right.

---

Hyunjin 

His knees hit the carpet before he even realized he’d dropped. His body moved on instinct, like some deep part of him had been waiting for the order that hadn’t even come yet.

Chan stood over him, broad shoulders filling his vision, the outline of his cock straining against his sweats. Hyunjin’s mouth watered at the sight. He shifted restlessly, hands twitching in his lap, shame and need twisting in his gut.

“Please, hyung…” His voice cracked. He hated how desperate it sounded.

Chan tilted his head down, smirk curling his lips. “You begging already? I haven’t even touched you.”

Hyunjin flushed, leaning forward slightly, lips parting. “Want you.”

---

Chan

Perfect. The boy was on his knees, pupils blown wide, lips pink and glistening. Exactly where Chan wanted him.

He slid his sweats down just enough to free himself, and Hyunjin’s eyes snapped to his cock like it was the only thing in the world. His pretty mouth parted wider, tongue flicking out nervously against his lower lip.

“Hands behind your back,” Chan ordered.

Hyunjin obeyed instantly, wrists pressing together at the base of his spine, chest rising and falling quickly. He looked wrecked already.

Chan gripped his hair, guiding his head back. “Open.”

The moment Hyunjin’s lips parted, Chan spat into his mouth, watching him flinch and moan all at once. The sound went straight to his cock.

“Swallow.”

Hyunjin obeyed without hesitation, throat working. When he looked up again, his eyes were shining—humiliated, yes, but desperate too.

“Good boy,” Chan praised, and pushed his cock against those waiting lips.

---

Hyunjin

The weight of him on his tongue made his chest tighten, his whole body tensing as Chan pressed deeper. He gagged immediately, throat convulsing around the intrusion, but the hand tangled in his hair held him firm.

“Relax,” Chan murmured, his tone soft but commanding. “You’re gonna take it. All of it.”

Hyunjin choked again, tears burning at the corners of his eyes as his nose brushed Chan’s stomach. The stretch was overwhelming, suffocating—and yet his cock throbbed painfully against his thigh, leaking all over his skin.

When Chan finally pulled back enough for him to drag in a ragged breath, Hyunjin whimpered, his spit trailing messily down his chin. “Hyung—”

But Chan shoved back in, cutting him off with a wet choke.

---

Chan

There it was—that perfect sound of Hyunjin gagging around him, throat straining, body shaking. Chan tightened his grip in his hair, using his mouth like it was nothing more than a toy, driving his cock deep until tears spilled freely down Hyunjin’s flushed cheeks.

“You love this,” Chan growled, hips snapping forward. “Getting used like a hole. Look at you—eyes all red, spit dripping everywhere, cock hard as fuck. You’d let me fuck your throat forever, wouldn’t you?”

Hyunjin sobbed around him, muffled and broken, but nodded frantically. His body betrayed him completely—hips jerking, thighs quivering, cock twitching against his stomach with every rough thrust.

Chan let out a dark chuckle, pulling all the way out just long enough for Hyunjin to collapse forward, coughing and gasping for air, spit connecting his lips to Chan’s cock in filthy strands.

“Pathetic,” Chan said, gripping his jaw and forcing his head back up. “And so fucking pretty like this. Beg me for more.”

Hyunjin’s voice shook as he whispered, “Please, hyung. Please choke me again.”

—

Hyunjin

He thought he’d been humiliated before—kneeling, begging, swallowing spit on command—but this? This was something else. Chan hadn’t even touched his cock, not once, and still Hyunjin was trembling, every nerve raw, body aching for release.

“Hyung—please—” he whined, voice breaking on the last syllable. His throat was sore, his jaw ached, but his cock pulsed helplessly against his stomach, dripping and twitching.

Chan stood over him, cock heavy in his hand, smirk carved deep into his face. “What is it, Jinnie?” His voice was calm, cruelly calm. “Want to cum again? You think you’ve earned that?”

Hyunjin shook his head desperately, hair sticking to his wet cheeks. “I— I don’t know— I just—”

He couldn’t get the words out before Chan’s hand shot out, fingers wrapping around his throat, squeezing just enough to make Hyunjin’s lungs tighten.

The whimper that ripped out of him was high-pitched, humiliating, and his cock jerked violently, precum splattering on his skin.

“Fuck,” Chan muttered darkly, watching him struggle. “You like that way too much. My pathetic little thing.”

---

Chan

The way Hyunjin’s body reacted—hips twitching, thighs trembling—every time Chan’s hand tightened around his throat sent a thrill through him.

He leaned down, spit dripping directly into Hyunjin’s open mouth again, then pressed his thumb against his tongue. “Swallow it, you filthy thing. Show me how much you like being used.”

Hyunjin obeyed instantly, throat working around the spit, whimpering as if the act itself got him off.

Chan’s cock throbbed at the sight. He wanted to ruin him. He wanted to see just how far that submissive streak could stretch before Hyunjin shattered completely.

He shoved him back down on his cock, fucking his throat with ruthless precision, watching tears stream down his cheeks. Hyunjin gagged, sputtered, but never pulled away, hands bound tight behind him, body surrendering completely.

And the whole time, his cock leaked against his own stomach, untouched, desperate, betraying him.

---

Hyunjin

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. His entire world narrowed to the brutal rhythm of Chan’s cock in his throat and the burning ache of being denied any relief.

The humiliation made him dizzy—tears streaming, spit soaking his chin, his body thrashing as Chan’s hand clamped tighter on his throat. He looked up through watery eyes, and Chan was watching him like he was the most beautiful thing in the world.

That look made him moan, even as he gagged again.

“Hyung—” he tried to speak when Chan pulled back for a breath, but it came out broken, a sob. “Need—need you—please—”

Chan’s grip tightened again, cutting off his words with another sharp choke, and Hyunjin’s cock throbbed painfully. He was so close it hurt, his whole body screaming for release, and he hadn’t even been touched.

---

Chan

Chan pulled out just long enough to grip Hyunjin’s jaw, forcing him to look up. His face was ruined—red eyes, spit everywhere, lips swollen. Perfect.

“You’re gonna cum untouched, Jinnie,” he growled, voice low and dangerous. “You’re gonna choke on my cock until you’re spilling all over yourself like the desperate little toy you are. No hands. No touching. Just me using you.”

Hyunjin whimpered, thighs trembling, but nodded frantically.

Chan shoved back in, merciless this time, hips snapping hard, holding him down until his nose was buried in his skin. Hyunjin gagged and convulsed, tears streaming freely.

And then it happened—Hyunjin’s whole body arched, a broken sob ripping from his throat around Chan’s cock as hot ropes of cum spilled messily over his stomach, untouched just like Chan promised.

Chan yanked him off at the last second, letting him gasp desperately for air, chest heaving, cum dripping down his skin.

“Pathetic little thing,” Chan murmured, thumb swiping across Hyunjin’s spit-slick lips. “You came just from me choking you out. You really are mine.”

---

Chan

For a second, he just stood there, breathing hard, staring down at the mess of Hyunjin spread across the couch. The younger was still gasping, body jerking with aftershocks, cum dripping across his stomach. His throat was flushed raw, lips swollen, eyes glassy with tears.

And as much as the sight made Chan’s cock ache, there was something else that tugged sharper at his chest.

He bent down, loosening the grip on Hyunjin’s throat, smoothing over the angry red marks his hand had left. His palm gentled immediately, thumb tracing the damp skin of his cheek.

“Breathe for me, Jinnie,” he murmured, voice softer now. “Slow. That’s it. You did so well for me.”

Hyunjin blinked up at him, still dazed, but tried to follow the pace Chan breathed for him. His chest hitched, his lips parted, but his body gradually settled from trembling into pliant.

“Good boy,” Chan praised, leaning in to press a kiss to his hairline. “Such a good boy for your hyung. Took it all like you were made for it.”

---

Hyunjin

The words settled deep, warm against the rawness. He felt wrecked, humiliated, throat aching, but with Chan’s hand smoothing over his jaw, voice steady in his ear, he felt safe too. Wanted.

His lips parted, but what came out wasn’t a complaint—it was a tiny whimper, soft and almost shy. “Did… did I do good, hyung?”

The question felt ridiculous when he was lying there in tears and cum, but he needed to hear it. Needed it like air.

Chan’s expression softened immediately. He kissed the corner of his mouth, lingering, and whispered, “You were perfect. More than perfect. You always are.”

Hyunjin’s chest loosened at that, relief and pride tangled together. He leaned into Chan’s touch, letting the older man stroke his hair back, ground him, bring him back from the dizzy edge humiliation had pushed him to.

---

Chan

Chan waited until Hyunjin’s breathing was even again, until the frantic shine in his eyes steadied into something softer, pliant and waiting. He cupped his face, thumb brushing across his damp cheekbone.

“You can tell me if it’s too much, you know that, right?” His tone left no room for teasing. “If I push too far—”

“It’s not,” Hyunjin cut him off in a rush, voice hoarse but certain. His eyes burned with something raw. “It’s never too much when it’s you.”

Chan’s throat tightened. He kissed him properly this time, slow and grounding, swallowing the desperate whimper Hyunjin let out.

When he pulled back, Hyunjin was already leaning forward, needy, as if the reassurance just made his hunger worse.

Chan smirked, letting the softness bleed back into something sharper. “Then get ready, baby. If you think that was too much…” his grip shifted back to Hyunjin’s throat, not squeezing, just reminding, promising. “You’ve got no idea what’s coming next.

Chapter 24

Hyunjin

Hyunjin let out a small, cracked sound that wasn’t quite a laugh, wasn’t quite a whine. His eyes fluttered open, glassy, locking onto Chan’s. “Hyung…” His voice was hoarse, frayed. “That was… a lot.”

Chan’s brows softened, thumb still tracing his cheek. “I know,” he whispered. He leaned closer, lips brushing Hyunjin’s temple. “You did so well for me. I need you to breathe, baby. Match me.”

His knees dug into the carpet, but Hyunjin stayed perfectly still, hands clasped tight behind his back the way Chan had ordered as he matched his breathing. The ache in his thighs only sharpened the heat twisting low in his stomach. He couldn’t look away from Chan’s towering frame, from the way the older man’s gaze pinned him in place. When fingers tightened in his hair and tilted his chin up, his lips parted instantly, desperate to please. The weight of spit hitting his tongue sent a shiver down his spine, humiliation and want tangling together.

He could barely breathe, chest heaving, throat raw. His lips felt swollen, wet, and his vision blurred with fresh tears. But when Chan’s hand gentled in his hair, brushing it back from his damp forehead, Hyunjin leaned into the touch like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. His voice cracked when he whispered, “I’m okay,” though his body still trembled in the aftermath. Shame tugged at his chest, but so did pride—he’d taken everything Chan had given, and he’d do it again.

⸻

Chan

Chan bent down, cupping Hyunjin’s jaw and wiping his cheek with his thumb. His voice was lower now, softer, threaded with care. “Good boy. You did so fucking good, Jinnie.” He kissed the top of his head before easing him upright, steadying him against his chest. His dominance hadn’t faded, but his touch was grounding now—firm, protective, reminding Hyunjin that he was safe, that he was his.

⸻

Hyunjin

His throat still ached, lips swollen and wet from what he’d just given, but Hyunjin couldn’t stop the needy tremble running through his body as Chan pulled him up from the floor. His legs felt weak, like every ounce of strength had been wrung out of him, but when Chan’s hand gripped the back of his neck and guided him toward the bedroom, his knees obeyed. The bed loomed closer, his heart hammering against his ribs, every step heavy with anticipation. He wanted more—needed more. The blowjob had left him dizzy, but it hadn’t eased the hunger clawing at his gut.

When Chan pushed him forward onto the mattress, Hyunjin landed with a soft gasp, the sheets cool against his overheated skin. He barely had time to turn his head before the weight of Chan pressed him down, strong hands forcing his spine down to arch into the bed. A shiver coursed through him—half fear, half desire. His cock twitched, already hard again, already leaking against Chan’s sheets from the degradation and the raw want curling inside his stomach.

⸻

Chan

He didn’t give Hyunjin room to think. The way the younger man had choked on his cock, the tears that had streaked down his face, the wrecked moans muffled around his throat—it had Chan wound so tightly he could barely hold himself back. He wanted him ruined, wanted him sobbing into the sheets, begging for mercy he had no intention of granting.

Yanking Hyunjin’s hips up, Chan shoved his sweatpants down and grabbed a fistful of his ass, spreading him open with no patience for gentleness. The sight made his cock throb, made heat flash low in his belly. He spat between those cheeks, fingers working the mess inside, stretching him quick and rough. Hyunjin writhed, whimpering into the sheets, his body arching desperately back into the touch.

“Greedy,” Chan growled, slapping one side of his ass hard enough to leave a sting. “Already trying to take me before you’re even ready.”

⸻

Hyunjin

The words made his body jolt, a shameful cry ripping from his throat. He wanted to protest, to promise he wasn’t being disobedient, but his body betrayed him—pushing back, clenching down around Chan’s fingers, desperate for the stretch to be replaced by something thicker. The slap still burned against his skin, and instead of humiliation sending him away, it curled tight in his stomach and made him leak harder onto the sheets.

He buried his face in the mattress, muffling the sob that slipped free when Chan’s cock pressed bluntly against him. His whole body shook, the pain sharp, almost unbearable—and then the burn melted into something deeper, fuller, his walls stretching to take him in. “Channie—” he gasped, voice breaking, but he couldn’t tell if he was begging him to stop or begging him not to.

⸻

Chan

The sound of Hyunjin’s voice cracked something inside him, but it didn’t slow him down. He bottomed out in one rough thrust, forcing every inch inside and holding him there, savoring the way Hyunjin’s body clenched around him, the way his thighs quivered uncontrollably.

“Look at you,” Chan hissed, leaning over his back, one hand pressing his face harder into the sheets while the other squeezed around his throat. “You just took me down your throat, and you’re still begging for me. You were made for this.”

He pulled back and slammed in again, the sound of their bodies colliding echoing in the room. Each thrust was punishing, relentless, dragging more broken cries out of the younger man.

⸻

Hyunjin

Tears streamed fresh down his cheeks, his body caught between pain and overwhelming pleasure. Every time Chan’s hips drove into him, sparks shot up his spine, his mind dissolving into white noise. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe—only feel the choking hand at his throat, the raw stretch inside him, and the humiliating fact that he was already teetering on the edge again.

“Please,” he sobbed, muffled against the sheets, though he didn’t know what he was asking for—release, mercy, or more.

And when Chan leaned down, growling into his ear, “Beg properly, or you’ll get nothing,” Hyunjin’s voice broke entirely, his body arching helplessly as he gave him everything.

⸻

Hyunjin

His voice cracked on the plea, face buried in the sheets as his fingers clawed at the fabric for any anchor. His body shook beneath Chan’s weight, every thrust pushing him closer to an edge he wasn’t sure he was allowed to reach. The choking grip on his throat, the sting of his ass still smarting from the slap, the way his cock dragged against the sheets—each sensation tangled into something unbearable.

“Please, Channie—please, let me—” His words dissolved into a sob, his hips trying to move back, desperate to milk more of the overwhelming friction inside him. “I’ll beg—just, please—”

⸻

Chan

Chan tightened his grip on Hyunjin’s throat, forcing his head up from the mattress so the boy’s wrecked cries weren’t muffled. His other hand spread across the small of his back, pinning him into a perfect arch.

“You think that’s begging?” he hissed into his ear, his thrusts never faltering, every drag of his cock deliberate, punishing. “You want to come, you’re going to say it. Loud enough that anyone walking down the hall outside could hear you—tell me what you are.”

⸻

Hyunjin

Shame lit his chest, tears spilling faster as his body trembled under the command. His lips shook, his voice breaking, but he forced it out because he needed it—needed Chan more than the air in his lungs.

“I’m—I’m yours, hyung,” he choked, his body clenching tight around the cock driving into him. “I’m your filthy, desperate slut—made for you. Please, Channie-hyung, let me come—I’ll be good—I’ll take anything—” His words collapsed into whimpers, desperation dripping from every syllable, his cock twitching violently against the ruined sheets.

⸻

Chan

The sound pulled a guttural groan from Chan’s chest, his thrusts slamming harder, faster, shaking the bed beneath them. He bent low, spit pooling in his mouth before he let it fall between Hyunjin’s open lips, watching it slick down his tongue and throat with a sharp growl.

“That’s it. Swallow it. That’s all you get until I say.” He gripped his jaw until he obeyed, then released him just enough to snap his hips forward, dragging another broken cry from his throat. “Come for me, baby. Paint my sheets while I ruin you.”

⸻

Hyunjin

The permission tore through him like lightning, his body seizing violently as he sobbed out a cry that bordered on a scream. His cock spilled against the sheets, sticky and hot, his whole body convulsing as Chan’s relentless thrusts kept him pinned, wringing every last drop from him.

The humiliation of the mess, the chokehold on his throat, the deep stretch inside him—it was too much. His body sagged forward in exhaustion, still quivering, still clenching greedily around the cock buried deep in him as if begging for more even through his ruin.

His body felt boneless, still trembling from the way his orgasm had ripped through him, and yet Chan hadn’t slowed down. Every push forward made his rim burn and spasm, his own noises caught somewhere between whines and desperate cries. He tried to twist away, but Chan’s hand on his hip held him flush against the mattress, forcing him to take every inch.

“Ch–Channie—wait,” he gasped, muffled into the sheets, his thighs quivering from the strain. He was oversensitive, each thrust bordering on too much, the line between bliss and overwhelm blurring fast. “I don’t… I can’t—”

⸻

Chan

That was when Chan’s thrusts slowed, his chest rising and falling against Hyunjin’s back as he paused. He pressed his mouth close to Hyunjin’s ear, his voice gentler now, grounding him.

“You can’t?” he repeated, careful, letting his hand smooth over Hyunjin’s stomach. His hips stilled, cock buried deep but unmoving, as he nuzzled against the sweat-damp hair at the back of Hyunjin’s neck. “Talk to me. Is it too much?”

⸻

Hyunjin

The pause let him drag in a shaky breath, his tears still wet on his cheeks. His chest heaved as he tried to sort through the sensations, his body screaming at him with too much pleasure, too much stretch. But even in the overwhelm, he could feel how safe he was, Chan’s solid warmth holding him steady, the grounding weight of his palm on his throat now just a light touch.

“I… it’s a lot,” Hyunjin whispered, voice raw. His hips shifted, pressing back slightly, betraying him with how much he still wanted despite the ache. “But I don’t want you to stop, hyung. Just… stay with me.”

⸻

Chan

A low groan left Chan’s throat, his hand trailing up Hyunjin’s side, splaying over his chest to pull him upright and against his body. He held him there, cradled against his chest, as if to remind him that he was more than just a hole to fuck. His lips pressed to Hyunjin’s temple, soft, a contrast to the sweat and bite marks already littering his skin.

“Good boy,” Chan murmured, rocking them slowly now, shallow thrusts that stretched him without overwhelming. “You tell me when it’s too much. You don’t have to hold it in.” He let his teeth graze Hyunjin’s ear, voice low but steady. “I’ve got you. Always.”

⸻

Hyunjin

Hearing it—being reminded that he could say no, that he wasn’t trapped—made Hyunjin’s chest ache. His trembling eased, his body relaxing back against Chan’s. The sting at his rim softened into heat again, and he leaned his head against Chan’s shoulder with a broken sigh.

“Hyung…” His voice cracked, softer now, needy. “I want it. I just—need you to be close. Don’t let me go.”

⸻

Chan

Chan’s hand slid from his chest down to intertwine their fingers, holding Hyunjin’s hand tight against the mattress. His other hand cupped Hyunjin’s jaw, tilting his head back enough to kiss him slow and deep, swallowing the little whimpers between their mouths.

“That’s it. That’s what I want,” he praised, his hips beginning to move again, steady and firm but not cruel. He made sure Hyunjin could feel every inch of him, dragging it out, savoring the way his body trembled but welcomed him.

His thumb stroked Hyunjin’s jaw, gentling the way he pressed forward, grounding him in every touch. “You’re perfect like this, Jinnie. Falling apart but still letting me in. My good boy.”

⸻

Hyunjin

His throat bobbed, overwhelmed not just by the relentless stretch but by the tenderness threaded through Chan’s dominance. The humiliation, the control—it was still there, but softened by the way Chan held him close, by the way he checked and slowed when Hyunjin needed it. His whole body felt caught between fire and safety, wrung out but deeply, achingly wanted.

And as Chan’s pace built again, Hyunjin’s eyes fluttered shut, surrendering not just because he was being forced—but because he wanted to.

⸻

Chan

The grip he had on Hyunjin’s hand tightened as his pace grew heavier again, every thrust landing deep, deliberate. He pressed his chest flush to Hyunjin’s back, letting his weight sink him further into the mattress, breath hot against the shell of his ear.

“Almost there,” Chan groaned, hips snapping forward, his voice breaking with the effort of holding himself back. His teeth grazed the slope of Hyunjin’s shoulder before he bit down gently, marking him one more time. “You feel so fucking good—tight—fuck, you’re mine.”

⸻

Hyunjin

Each thrust dragged a needy cry from his throat, half-muffled against the sheets. His body shook with overstimulation, rim raw but gripping greedily around him. He clenched down instinctively, like his body knew exactly what Chan wanted.

“Hyung—please—” his voice cracked, hands clawing at the bedding. He didn’t even know what he was asking for anymore, just that he wanted more, wanted to be filled and claimed completely. “Don’t—don’t stop.”

⸻

Chan

That was all it took. His hips stuttered, a sharp curse tumbling from his lips as he slammed in one last time, burying himself to the hilt. His body trembled as release tore through him, hot and deep, spilling into Hyunjin in long pulses that had him groaning against the younger’s skin.

“Fuck—take it, Jinnie. Take all of it,” he breathed, voice rough, hand gripping Hyunjin’s jaw to tilt his head back so he could swallow the broken moans spilling from his mouth.

⸻

Hyunjin

The sudden warmth spreading inside him made his whole body arch, tears spilling fresh as he whimpered at the intensity. The sensation was too much, too intimate, every part of him aching with fullness. But he didn’t pull away—he pushed back against Chan, desperate to feel every drop sink deeper.

When Chan finally stilled, still buried inside him, Hyunjin sagged against the mattress, chest heaving. His lips trembled as he whispered, almost dazed, “Yours, hyung… all yours.”

⸻

Chan

Chan stayed pressed against him, breath ragged, but his hands softened. He stroked Hyunjin’s chest, grounding him, letting his thumb trace soothing circles on his sternum as if to ease the trembling. His lips brushed the crown of Hyunjin’s head, voice hoarse but warm.

“That’s right,” he murmured, hips giving one final, shallow roll to make sure Hyunjin felt it. “That’s my boy.”

 

 

Chapter 25

Notes:

This one's for @AnassaKata whose comments motivate me to keep posting on a regular basis!

Also, sorry for the weird updates. For some reason, it kept backdating without me realising - this should be fixed now so everyone gets notified properly!

Hyunjin
His whole body was trembling, nerves still buzzing from how hard he’d been taken. He could feel every pulse of heat inside him, sticky and heavy, and it only made him cling tighter to the sheets. His face was flushed, damp hair sticking to his temples, his throat raw from crying out Chan’s name.

But then he felt it—Chan’s weight pressing down in a way that didn’t smother, it steadied. Strong arms slipped around him, pulling him back into a chest that was still warm with exertion. Hyunjin let out a shuddery breath, eyes fluttering shut as he sagged into the hold.

“Hyung…” the word cracked, softer now, nothing like the frantic begging from moments ago. It was small, raw. “Don’t… don’t let go yet.”

⸻

Chan
“I’ve got you.” Chan’s voice was still husky, but the rough edge had melted, replaced with something deep and grounding. His lips pressed to the side of Hyunjin’s damp temple, lingering, before trailing slow kisses down to the corner of his jaw.

One hand stayed splayed over Hyunjin’s chest, feeling each frantic heartbeat start to slow beneath his palm. The other slid lower, holding Hyunjin’s hip steady so he could keep him full, their bodies locked together.

“Shh,” Chan soothed, thumb stroking absently over the trembling muscle of Hyunjin’s stomach. “You did so well for me. Took everything, let me fill you up… look at you. My perfect boy.”

⸻

Hyunjin
The praise hit him harder than the roughness had. His throat tightened, tears spilling fresh, though they weren’t from pain. His lips trembled as he whispered, “I just wanted to be good for you… wanted you to really want me.”

His own words embarrassed him, but Chan’s steady hold made it impossible to keep them in. He leaned his head back against Chan’s shoulder, exposing his flushed, tear-streaked face, hoping—needing—to be seen like this.

⸻

Chan
Chan turned his head enough to kiss away one of the tears before it could slide too far. His hand left Hyunjin’s hip only to lace their fingers together, squeezing tight.

“Listen to me,” Chan murmured, low but certain, voice rumbling right against Hyunjin’s ear. “I don’t just want you. I need you. Every fucking part of you. The begging, the whining, the tears, the way you open up for me—Hyunjin, I want it all. I want you.”

His hips shifted just enough to make Hyunjin gasp, keeping him reminded of the fullness inside him, of exactly what Chan meant. “And I’m not letting go,” Chan added, pressing a kiss into his hair. “Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not ever.”

⸻

Hyunjin
That broke him in the sweetest way. His hand tightened around Chan’s, and a small, shaky laugh slipped from him, half-sob, half-relief. He turned his face just enough to brush his lips against Chan’s jaw.

“I don’t want you to let go,” he whispered, voice hoarse but certain. “Even if it’s messy. Even if I cry. Just… stay. Stay with me like this.”

Chan
Chan held him tighter, rocking their bodies together in the barest movements, more to soothe than to tease. His lips ghosted along Hyunjin’s cheek, warm and steady.

“That’s exactly what I’ll do,” he promised. “I’ll hold you through all of it. Through every mess we make, every tear, every high and low. You’re mine now, Jinnie.”

⸻

Hyunjin
His body felt boneless when Chan finally shifted off him, the heavy weight and warmth leaving him weak but strangely comforted. He winced faintly at the mess between his thighs, thighs sticky and trembling, but before the insecurity could creep in, Chan’s palm was at his cheek, thumb brushing away the damp streaks there.

“Hyung…” Hyunjin’s voice was rasped and soft, unsure, like he didn’t know if he was allowed to be needy after all that. He searched Chan’s face, braced for more teasing, more pressure.

⸻

Chan
Instead of gloating, Chan leaned in and kissed him slow. Not the rough claiming kind, but something deep and warm, a kiss that steadied him. “You’re done proving yourself right now,” he murmured when he pulled back, firm but gentle. “Brats that don't listen get put in their place, but you were so good for me, Jinnie. Now you get me taking care of you.”

Hyunjin blinked, almost disbelieving, before Chan was already moving—slipping from the bed, grabbing a towel from the drawer he kept for this exact reason. He returned quickly, hands surprisingly delicate as he cleaned the mess from Hyunjin’s skin, murmuring soft praise with each stroke.

“There we go,” Chan whispered, lifting Hyunjin’s thigh to wipe him gently. “Still shaking. That’s alright, baby. You just let go for me now, you don’t have to do a thing.”

⸻

Hyunjin
The care threaded into each movement broke something open in him more than any rough edge ever could. His throat ached with fresh tears, but this time they were quiet, grateful. He let Chan manhandle him onto his back, let him pull the sheets straight, and when Chan slid into bed again, Hyunjin burrowed instantly into his chest like it was second nature.

“Didn’t know…” he whispered, voice muffled against Chan’s skin, “didn’t know brats got… this.” His tone was almost shy, the brat stripped away until only the boy wanting to be held remained.

⸻

Chan
Chan chuckled low, tucking Hyunjin’s hair behind his ear and kissing his damp temple. “Of course they do. They just need to be tamed first sometimes.”

His hand rubbed slow circles into Hyunjin’s back, grounding. “You’re not just some toy for me to break, though. You’re mine. And that means I get to fuck you the way I need… then I hold and look after you the way you deserve.”

⸻

Hyunjin
The words melted through every wall he’d been holding up. He clutched at Chan’s shoulder, clinging closer, and whispered, “Then don’t ever stop. Not the fucking, not this. I need both, Channie.”

⸻

Chan
Chan tilted his chin up, kissed him with finality, and whispered against his lips, “Good. Because that’s exactly what you’ll always get with me. As long as you want it.”

And with that, he settled them under the sheets, Hyunjin tucked firmly into his arms, domesticity wrapping around them as tightly as the aftershocks of what they’d just shared.

⸻

Hyunjin
He felt wrung out in the best way—muscles loose, body heavy, skin humming—but also strung thin. His lashes fluttered as he lay curled against Chan, barely able to hold his eyes open. The clock on the nightstand glared 4:17 PM, and it hit him suddenly that he’d only had two hours of broken sleep the night before. His chest tightened; he’d always feared showing weakness after being used like this, worried it would make him look like he couldn’t handle what he’d begged for.

“Hyung…” his voice cracked, a soft whine more than a word. He nosed at Chan’s chest, hiding against the warmth there. “I’m so tired.” It slipped out almost like a confession, shame bleeding through.

⸻

Chan
Chan’s arm tightened instantly around him, pulling him flush against his chest. He pressed a kiss into Hyunjin’s damp hair, humming low and reassuring. “Of course you are. You’ve been running on nothing, pushing yourself too hard.” His tone was firmer now, the leader in him taking over, but there was no scolding in it—just care. “You gave me a lot, baby. Now I want you to rest. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

Hyunjin shifted like he wanted to argue, pout still lingering at the corners of his swollen lips, but Chan caught his chin gently and tilted his face up. “No bratting now. Just listen.” His thumb swept along Hyunjin’s jaw, the gesture grounding and soft. “I’ll cook us something warm while you nap. You can wake up to food and I'll be right here. You’ve got me, always. Go to sleep, baby boy.” He shifted them carefully, tucking the blankets around Hyunjin and stroking down his back in slow, rhythmic motions. The dominance was still there in his tone—commanding, leaving no room for argument—but it was laced with warmth that made resistance impossible.

Hyunjin let out a soft, breathy sound, almost a sigh of surrender, and burrowed closer, body relaxing by degrees. His lids drooped shut, every stroke of Chan’s hand pulling him closer to the edge of sleep. “Hyung…” he mumbled, barely conscious now. “Don’t… let me go.”

“I won’t,” Chan promised, the words quiet but certain, almost like an oath. He waited until Hyunjin’s breathing evened out before slipping carefully from the bed, tucking the blanket tighter around him. He stood there a moment longer, just watching the way Hyunjin clung to the pillow where he’d been lying, lips parted in the first real rest he’d had in days.

With a last glance, Chan padded toward the kitchen, already rolling up his sleeves. He’d make something warm, filling, easy for Hyunjin to eat when he woke. Something that said you’re mine, and I’ll take care of you—whether you’re on your knees or asleep in my bed.

⸻

Chan
The kitchen was quiet, the only sound the soft sizzle of garlic and onions in the pan. Chan moved with deliberate calm, sleeves pushed up, hair still damp from sweat and Hyunjin’s hands tugging at it earlier. He kept glancing toward the bedroom, ears pricked for any change in the steady rhythm of sleep he’d left behind. Cooking felt grounding—chopping, stirring, tasting—but it was also for him, a way to keep his promise: when Hyunjin woke, there’d be warmth waiting.

He plated rice to steam, set broth to simmer. It wasn’t fancy, but it was comfort food, the kind that would sit softly in an empty stomach without weighing it down. Between stirring and seasoning, his mind wandered back to the image of Hyunjin curled against his chest, breath hitching as he finally let himself rest. His boy had looked so young, so undone, nothing like the sharp-tongued brat who’d teased and provoked him only hours ago. Chan found himself smiling faintly.

⸻

Hyunjin
A soft shuffle of feet drew closer, uneven steps across the hall. Hyunjin emerged, hair mussed in every direction, blanket still wrapped around his shoulders like a cape. His eyes were heavy-lidded, swollen from sleep, but there was a pink tinge to his cheeks that wasn’t from exhaustion alone. He rubbed at one eye with his sleeve, blinking against the kitchen light.

The smell hit him first—savory, rich, warm—and his stomach growled loud enough to make him freeze. Embarrassment flickered across his face, but when Chan turned toward him, spatula still in hand, Hyunjin’s pout softened instantly.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Chan murmured, voice pitched low so it wouldn’t jar him. He wiped his hands on a towel and stepped over, reaching to tug the blanket tighter around Hyunjin’s shoulders. “Didn’t I say I’d be here when you woke?” His thumb brushed gently over Hyunjin’s temple, tucking a lock of messy hair back.

Hyunjin tilted his head into the touch, too tired to hide how much he wanted it. His lips parted on a whisper: “You smell like food.” The words came out half-accusation, half-adoration, and his fingers found Chan’s shirt, curling in the fabric as though anchoring himself.

Chan chuckled, soft and fond. “That’s because I’m cooking for you. Sit down, baby, it’s almost ready.” He kissed the corner of Hyunjin’s mouth—quick but grounding—before guiding him toward the chair at the small table.

Instead of sitting, Hyunjin clung stubbornly to his sleeve, tugging until Chan followed. “Want you,” he muttered, a groggy whine in his voice. His body was still warm from the bed, his eyes glossy with sleep, and the vulnerability in him was laid bare. No bratty retort, no sly grin—just need.

⸻

Chan
The spatula was abandoned on the counter without hesitation. Chan bent, cupping Hyunjin’s jaw, kissing him slower this time—like a reminder, like an anchor. “You’ve got me,” he said against his lips. Then he pulled back just enough to search his face, making sure the exhaustion wasn’t too sharp, that the clinginess wasn’t a cover for something heavier.

Hyunjin blinked up at him, lashes damp at the corners, and whispered, “Don’t make me sit alone.”

Chan’s chest clenched. He brushed another kiss over his forehead. “I won’t. I’ll bring it over, we’ll eat together.” His tone brooked no argument, but it wasn’t harsh—it was firm, steady, a promise wrapped in command. He eased Hyunjin down into a chair, tucking the blanket tighter, then went back to the stove, glancing over his shoulder every other second.

⸻

Hyunjin
Hyunjin sat there, chin propped in his hand, eyes following Chan like he was the only thing in the room worth seeing. His stomach growled again, but this time he didn’t bother hiding it. He just smiled faintly, soft and tired. “Hyung,” he said, voice almost a whisper, “this feels like home.”

⸻

Chan
"Good. It is your home now, as much as mine,"He said with certainty as he set the bowls down on the table, steam curling up in soft spirals, the smell rich and comforting. Chan pulled his own chair closer, close enough that his knee brushed Hyunjin’s under the blanket. He sat heavy, steady, like an anchor dropped in the middle of the quiet room.

“Eat a little, baby,” he coaxed, sliding one of the bowls toward him. The chopsticks were pressed gently into Hyunjin’s hand, but when he saw the boy’s fingers trembling with sleep and weariness, Chan didn’t let go. Instead, he covered Hyunjin’s hand with his own, guiding him to lift a bite.

⸻

Hyunjin
The food touched his tongue, and Hyunjin let out a tiny sound he hadn’t meant to—half relief, half embarrassment. He chewed slowly, eyelids fluttering like he could fall asleep between bites. The warmth filled him quick, spreading down to his chest, loosening the knot of emptiness he hadn’t realized he was carrying. His lashes lowered, and when he leaned, his temple brushed Chan’s shoulder.

⸻

Chan
Chan caught the drift of his head immediately, shifting his body so Hyunjin could settle against him without spilling. He plucked the chopsticks from his slack fingers, murmuring, “I’ve got it, don’t worry,” before bringing the next bite up to Hyunjin’s lips himself.

Each time Hyunjin opened his mouth obediently, Chan felt something warm twist deep in his chest. It wasn’t just care—it was the quiet satisfaction of being trusted this much. He pressed a kiss to the top of Hyunjin’s hair between bites, protective instinct flaring every time Hyunjin swayed like he might collapse right there.

Hyunjin
His voice was soft, slurred from sleep but honest. “Didn’t know I needed this,” he whispered, lips brushing Chan’s shirt as he spoke. “You… making me eat. Staying here. Feels safe.” His hand curled around Chan’s arm, weak but deliberate, holding him in place.

Chan
“Good,” Chan answered firmly, threading his fingers through Hyunjin’s hair, thumb stroking slow. “That’s how it’s supposed to feel. You don’t need to think about anything else tonight. Just let me take care of you.”

He fed him a few more small bites, never rushing, never letting Hyunjin’s hands leave the warmth of the blanket. When Hyunjin’s eyes slipped shut between mouthfuls, Chan set the chopsticks down quietly, brushing stray strands from his face.

“Enough for now,” he murmured. “Rest a bit. I’ll finish up.” His tone wasn’t up for debate, but the gentleness in it left no room for resistance. He slipped an arm under Hyunjin’s knees and the other around his back, lifting him easily from the chair.

He laid Hyunjin gently on the bed once he reached it, tucking the blanket snug around him, then bent to press a kiss to his forehead. His voice stayed low, steady, protective to the bone. “Sleep, Jinnie. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

And when Hyunjin’s breathing evened out, Chan lingered at the bedside for a long moment before going back to finish dinner—still listening, still watching, every protective instinct on alert.

 

Chapter 26

Hyunjin

The first thing he noticed when he stirred awake was the warmth—thick, savory, wrapping around him like the scent itself was a blanket. His lashes fluttered open to the faint glow of the bedside lamp and the low sound of movement in the kitchen. For a moment he thought he’d dreamt it—Chan carrying him, tucking him in.

His stomach growled, dragging him upright. He shuffled down the hall, still wrapped in the blanket, bare feet silent on the floor. At the doorway, he paused.

Chan was at the stove, sleeves rolled up, stirring something slow and careful. It was so… domestic, so normal, that it almost hurt. Hyunjin’s throat tightened.

“Hyung…” His voice cracked, half from sleep, half from nerves.

Chan turned immediately, eyes softening when they landed on him. “You’re awake. Perfect timing.” He reached over to turn down the heat before crossing the room. “Still tired?”

Hyunjin nodded, but his brows pinched, lips pressing together like he wanted to swallow the words trying to come out. His chest was tight with questions he’d been pushing away.

“Channie…” His voice shook this time. “What… what are we?”

Chan

Chan stopped just in front of him, one hand reaching to brush messy strands from Hyunjin’s face. The tremor in the younger boy’s voice pierced through him. He didn’t hesitate—just let his palm settle at the side of Hyunjin’s neck, thumb sweeping slow.

“We’re us,” he said firmly. “You’re mine. That’s not temporary, Jinnie. Not something I’m going to take back tomorrow.” His tone was steady, protective to the bone, as if he could shield Hyunjin from his own doubts.

“But…” Hyunjin’s throat worked, eyes glassy. “We moved so fast. You—” His voice dropped. “I gave you everything. What if it’s just… What if you change your mind?” The last part came out almost like a plea, shaky and breathless.

Chan’s jaw tightened at that, protective instinct flaring hot in his chest. He tipped Hyunjin’s chin up until their eyes locked, his thumb firm under his jawline.

“Look at me,” he ordered, though his tone stayed warm. When Hyunjin finally did, Chan leaned closer, voice low but sure. “I don’t change my mind about the people I claim. You gave yourself to me, yeah? I’m not letting go.”

Hyunjin

Hyunjin blinked hard, lips parting like he wanted to argue but couldn’t find the words. Relief mixed with something sharper—fear, longing, hope—all tangled together in his chest. Chan guided him gently toward the table, never breaking contact, his hand firm at the small of Hyunjin’s back.

The bowl in front of him steamed gently, the savory broth curling into the air, but Hyunjin’s hands just stayed curled around it. He stirred the noodles once, twice, watching them sink and resurface. The warmth of the blanket still draped over his shoulders didn’t help the twist in his chest.

He darted a glance up at Chan across the table—hair messy, sleeves still rolled to his elbows, watching him like he could read every thought written on his face. That was the problem. Chan could.

“Hyung…” The word was quiet, shaky. Hyunjin lowered his gaze again, fingers tightening around the chopsticks. “It’s not just… us. You’re my professor too.” His throat burned as the words tumbled out. “That’s… that’s not something we can just ignore. What if someone finds out?"

He hated the way his voice cracked at the end.

Chan

Chan leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, his tone firm but steady. “Hey. Look at me.” When Hyunjin hesitated, he let his voice drop lower, protective steel lacing every word. “I’ve thought about the risks. I still chose you.”

His gaze softened but didn’t waver. “It scares me too, Jinnie. The way you walked into my life and made me want things I told myself I shouldn’t. But I don’t regret it. Not for a second.”

Hyunjin

Hyunjin’s throat bobbed, a hot rush crawling up his neck. He wanted to believe it—wanted it so badly it made him ache. His voice slipped smaller, nearly breaking.

“And what if… what if all I want is this?” His chopsticks clattered back into the bowl. “To... stay here. With you. Let you tell me what to do, when to eat, when to sleep…” His face flushed, shame mixing with relief as the confession spilled out. “That scares me, hyung. It scares me how much I like it - how much I need it...”

Chan

For a long moment, Chan just watched him—shoulders tense, eyes searching. Then he moved, slow but deliberate, reaching across the table to cover Hyunjin’s hand with his own. His palm was warm, steady, grounding.

“Good,” Chan said softly, but with the kind of conviction that pinned Hyunjin in place. “You should want that. You’re safe here, Jinnie. You don’t have to carry everything alone anymore. If it feels easier letting me take the lead, then that’s what we’ll do. That doesn’t make you weak—it means you trust me.”

Hyunjin

Hyunjin blinked hard, vision blurring with the tears he hadn’t meant to let fall. His chest loosened just a little, a shaky laugh slipping out with a sob. “You make it sound so simple.”

Chan’s thumb brushed over his knuckles, gentle where his voice had been firm. “Because it is. For me, it is.”

Chan

He sat back in his chair, arms folded, watching Hyunjin’s chopsticks stall mid-air for the third time. His jaw tightened. He’d been patient—gentle even—since pulling Hyunjin out of his storm earlier. But patience only went so far when the boy sitting across from him was trembling with doubt instead of eating like he was told.

“Hyunjin.” His voice cut through the air, low and sharp enough to make Hyunjin’s head snap up. “You don’t get to starve yourself because your thoughts won’t shut up. Not here. Not when I’m the one taking care of you.”

Hyunjin

Heat flushed across Hyunjin’s cheeks. He gripped his chopsticks tighter, throat bobbing. “I’m trying, hyung, I just—”

“No,” Chan interrupted, leaning forward, eyes locked on him like he was already pinned. “You don’t try. You do. When you’re with me, you eat, you sleep, you let me decide what’s best for you. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? To stay here, let me boss you around?” His mouth twisted into something dark, but not unkind. “You don’t get to pick and choose only when it feels easy.”

His pulse fluttered hard. The words went straight to the part of him he’d been terrified to voice—the part that wanted that. His shoulders sagged as he finally lifted the noodles, chewing even though his stomach knotted with nerves. Every bite was heavy, but Chan’s gaze kept him steady, kept him going.

Chan

“That’s better.” Chan’s voice softened just a fraction. He reached across the table, plucked a piece of meat from the bowl, and held it out with his chopsticks. “Open.”

Hyunjin hesitated only a beat before parting his lips. Chan slid it past them slow, satisfaction burning in his chest when Hyunjin swallowed obediently.

“Good boy.” The words came out like a growl, pride and possession in equal measure. “That’s how it works now. You give me your obedience, and in return, you don’t have to think so hard. I’ll carry the weight. I’ll make sure you’re fed, rested, safe.” His tone dropped, dangerous in its certainty. “No one else gets that from you. Only me.”

The second the dishes were cleared, Chan didn’t give Hyunjin room to slip back into overthinking. He caught his wrist, tugged him gently but firmly toward the couch. The boy came stumbling, almost protesting, but Chan just sat down and hauled Hyunjin straight onto his lap. One hand braced firm at the small of his back, the other settling on his thigh like a weight that said stay.

“You’re too light,” Chan muttered against his temple, voice rough. “That bowl wasn’t enough. I’ll make more food later.”

Hyunjin

A shaky laugh slipped out, half-choked by relief. He curled closer, letting his weight sink against Chan’s chest finally. “You can't just keep feeding me every time I wake up, hyung-ah," he practically whispered.

"I can try," Was Chan's gruff response.

"... I still don’t know what we’re supposed to call this," comes the next soft admission.

“You don’t need a word for it,” Chan murmured, pressing a kiss into his hair. “You’ll figure it out later. Right now, it’s just you and me. My boy, my rules, my couch. That’s all you need to know.”

He shifted against Chan’s chest, restless despite how heavy his limbs felt. His cheek was pressed to the warm fabric of Chan’s t-shirt, and for the first time in days his body was actually willing to let go. But his mind—his mind was buzzing.

“Do you always cook this much?” he asked suddenly, voice muffled but sharp with curiosity. “And why do you have so many plants? Do you talk to them? You look like the type. And why the couch? It’s… old. You could’ve bought a new one, right?” He tilted his head up, eyes glinting.

Chan

Chan’s laugh was low, vibrating through Hyunjin’s body where he lay sprawled against him. “You never stop, do you?” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind Hyunjin’s ear, fingers lingering on the flushed curve of his cheek. “To answer: yes, I cook too much. I don’t like the thought of people I care about going hungry.” His thumb stroked absent circles on Hyunjin’s jaw. “The plants are from my mom. She thinks I’ll kill them if I don’t talk to them. And the couch? It’s been with me since uni. Comfortable, broken in. Not everything has to be shiny and new.”

“Mm.” Hyunjin hummed, squinting at him, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “So you’re sentimental. Figures.” His gaze flicked toward the shelves, the books stacked in uneven towers. “Do you read all of those, or do you just keep them around to look smart? And do you ever sleep, or is the coffee machine your personality? And—” His voice dipped quieter, hesitant. “Why me? Out of everyone who’s probably sat in your lectures—why me?”

The last question cut through the playfulness like a knife. Chan tilted Hyunjin’s chin up again, forcing their eyes to meet. His voice was softer, but it carried an edge that left no space for doubt.

“Because you made me notice you. You weren’t afraid to look me in the eye when everyone else avoided it. You weren’t afraid to push back, to show me the sharp edges of who you are. And when you’re not hiding behind all that attitude, you’re… softer than you realize. It’s addictive, Jinnie. You are.”

Hyunjin

His throat worked, too tight for words for a long moment. He tried to play it off with another quickfire round of questions, and though he already had been reassured, his voice still shook. “Do you… want this to last? Like, more than just a—more than just a fling? Because I don’t know if I can…” He trailed off, biting his lip hard. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to be here.”

The quickfire questions dried on his tongue. For once, he didn’t have anything more bratty to say. His chest ached in a way that felt frightening and comforting all at once, and though he wanted to stay awake, wanted to ask a dozen more things—what music Chan fell asleep to, what he was like at Hyunjin’s age, what he feared most—the warmth of his body and the weight of his words were dragging him under.

"... Asleep, I think," Chan said with a soft chuckle.

“‘M not—” he tried to protest, eyes fluttering shut, “—not falling asleep—”

Chan

“You are,” Chan whispered, tucking the blanket more securely around him. He adjusted just enough so Hyunjin could sink deeper into his lap, head cradled against his shoulder. “And that’s fine. I’ve got you.”

Hyunjin’s breathing evened out within minutes. Chan stayed exactly as he was, un-moving except for the slow stroke of his hand over Hyunjin’s back. The apartment was quiet, filled only with the sound of the boy’s breathing, and Chan smiled faintly at the ceiling.

“You’re mine,” he murmured again, quiet enough not to wake him. “Even when you fight me on it, even when you doubt it. You’re mine.”

Chapter 27

Hyunjin

Felix had barely let him sit down at the café before narrowing his eyes, hands wrapped around a frosty drink like he was about to interrogate a suspect. Seungmin wasn’t much better—already flipping his straw back and forth, gaze sharp and calculating.

“You’ve been… weird,” Felix said finally, voice lilting but suspicious. “Like—vanishing after class weird. Not answering messages weird. You’ve practically moved off the face of the earth. Did you die and come back as a ghost?”

Hyunjin ducked his head, cheeks warming. He stirred his own drink far more intently than necessary. “I’ve just… been busy.”

“Busy?” Seungmin’s eyebrows arched. “You’re always busy. This is different. You’ve got a look.”

Hyunjin frowned, squinting. “What look?”

“The one where you’re glowing like you’re in some cheesy romance drama,” Seungmin said, deadpan.

Felix let out a delighted gasp and leaned forward across the table, his freckles lighting up with mischief. “Oh my god, you’re seeing someone!”

Hyunjin nearly choked on his straw. “I’m not—” he started, but the words tripped over themselves, tangled in his throat. His friends knew him too well. His silence betrayed him before he could recover.

Felix’s grin grew so wide it was almost wicked. “You are! Who is it? Tell me, tell me, tell me.”

Seungmin didn’t grin, but his smirk was sharper than any knife. “It explains why you look like you’re walking around in a daydream. Who is he?”

Hyunjin pressed his lips together, heart thundering. He hadn’t even figured out what he and Chan were, not really. He still woke up in Chan’s bed sometimes and felt like he was living in a borrowed dream. And telling Felix and Seungmin…? That was dangerous. They were his closest friends, but they were also smart. Too smart.

“Just… someone older,” he muttered, eyes darting to the condensation sliding down his cup.

“Older,” Felix repeated, bouncing in his chair. “Like how much older? Don’t tell me he’s—”

“Felix.” Hyunjin shot him a look sharp enough to silence the rest of the sentence. Felix’s lips snapped shut, but his eyes danced with unspoken theories.

Seungmin leaned back in his chair, studying him with unsettling calm. “You’re serious about him, aren’t you?”

Hyunjin blinked, caught off guard. “…What makes you say that?”

“Because,” Seungmin said, shrugging, “you’re not the type to rearrange your entire schedule and disappear unless it’s important. And you look… I don’t know. Softer. Like you’re letting someone take care of you for once.”

Hyunjin’s throat tightened. He fiddled with the sleeve of his shirt, trying not to picture the way Chan had tugged a blanket around him last night, or the way his voice had softened when he told him to sleep in, that he’d handle breakfast.

“I…” Hyunjin hesitated, then exhaled. “Yeah. It’s… important.”

Felix reached across the table and squeezed his hand, all teasing replaced with earnest warmth. “Then I’m happy for you. Whoever he is, he better be good to you. Or he’s got us to deal with.”

Seungmin nodded once, serious despite the faint curve of his lips. “Don’t lose yourself in him, though. Promise?”

Hyunjin swallowed hard, torn between the warmth swelling in his chest and the weight of everything he couldn’t tell them. He nodded. “Promise.” But inside, he wasn’t sure if it was a promise he could keep.

Felix was practically vibrating, one hand still on Hyunjin’s while his other tapped against the table like he couldn’t contain the energy. “Okay, okay, let me guess. He’s older, right? Older could mean, like… thirty? No, twenty-eight? Oh my god, does he drive? Does he have, like, a real job?” His eyes widened as though the very thought was scandalous. “Hyune, please tell me he wears suits.”

Hyunjin groaned and sank lower in his chair, hiding his face behind his cup. “I am not telling you anything.”

“You don’t have to,” Felix shot back with glee. “Your face is telling me everything.”

Across from them, Seungmin wasn’t laughing. He tilted his head, gaze steady, brows drawn in the way they always were when he was analyzing something he didn’t quite like. “You said he’s older,” he said quietly, “but how much older are we talking?”

Hyunjin’s grip on his straw tightened. “Not… that much.”

“That’s not an answer,” Seungmin pressed, voice still calm but edged with concern. “I just don’t want you getting into something messy.”

Felix rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “Seungminnie, let him live! Look at him, he’s glowing. When was the last time we saw Hyunjin this happy?”

“That’s not the point,” Seungmin said, but softer this time, like he was choosing his words carefully. His eyes stayed on Hyunjin. “If you’re serious about this, I need to know he’s not taking advantage of you. You trust him?”

Hyunjin’s throat went tight. Trust him. The question settled heavy in his chest, because the truth was he did. He trusted Chan with more than he’d expected to—his time, his body, his messy moods, even the spaces in his head that he usually kept guarded.

“…Yeah,” Hyunjin admitted finally. “I do.”

Felix squealed, clapping his hands together before Seungmin could say another word. “That’s it, I’m officially obsessed with Mystery Man. Is he hot? He has to be hot. Oh my god, is he, like, a CEO? A sugar daddy? Hyunjin, blink twice if he’s secretly famous.”

“Stop.” Hyunjin kicked at him under the table, heat creeping up his neck.

“Just saying!” Felix teased, delighted. “Older, mysterious, you’re sneaking around—this is so drama-coded.”

Seungmin sighed but didn’t push further. He just watched Hyunjin with that sharp, unreadable look, like he was filing it away for later. “As long as you know what you’re doing,” he said simply.

Hyunjin forced a smile, but inside, the words tangled like a knot. Because he didn’t know what he was doing—not really. He only knew that when Chan pulled him close, the confusion quieted.

And maybe that was enough.

---

By the time he let himself back into Chan’s apartment that night, the laughter from the café still clung to him—but so did the knot in his stomach. Felix’s squeals and Seungmin’s narrowed eyes had left their mark in very different ways. He slipped his shoes off quietly, almost guiltily, like he was coming home late when he shouldn’t.

The place was warm, lit low. The smell of something spiced hung in the air. Chan was on the couch with his laptop open, but the second Hyunjin walked in, his head lifted.

“You’re late,” Chan murmured, voice even, but his eyes were sharper, tracking Hyunjin like he always did. “Fun night?”

Hyunjin hovered by the door, shifting his bag on his shoulder. “It was… fine.”

Chan closed the laptop, setting it aside. He leaned back, one arm draped along the back of the couch, relaxed in posture but not in presence. “You don’t look fine.”

Hyunjin bit his lip. “It’s nothing. Just—they ask questions. A lot.”

“Felix and Seungmin?” Chan guessed, like it wasn’t hard to. “What’d they say?”

Hyunjin dropped onto the armchair across from him, curling into himself. “Felix is just… excited. He wants to know everything. Seungmin’s…” He trailed off, fingers worrying at the seam of his jeans. “He’s worried. He thinks I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Chan hummed low in his throat, steady. “And do you?”

The bluntness of it made Hyunjin look up. “I don’t—” He swallowed. “I don’t know.”

Chan didn’t flinch. He just leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, gaze locked on him. “Good. Because you don’t need to know yet.”

Hyunjin blinked. “What?”

“You don’t have to have answers for them, or even for yourself right now. You only need to decide if you feel safe with me. If you do, then the rest can come later.”

Something in Hyunjin’s chest loosened, but confusion still warred inside him. “Seungmin asked if I trust you,” he admitted. “And I said yes. But I keep wondering if that’s stupid. If I’m just—letting myself get pulled in.”

Chan rose, closing the space between them in slow, deliberate steps. He crouched in front of the chair so they were eye-level, his hand settling firm and grounding on Hyunjin’s knee. “You’re not stupid. You’re not getting pulled anywhere you don’t want to go. I’m not dragging you, Jinnie. I’m right here. With you. Every step.”

The words, the touch—steady, claiming, protective—made Hyunjin’s eyes sting before he could stop them. “And if they find out who you are? If they find out you’re—”

“Your professor?” Chan supplied, voice even, almost daring. His thumb brushed slow against Hyunjin’s knee. “Then they’ll have opinions. Let them. They don’t live here. They don’t get to decide for you.”

Hyunjin’s throat worked as he nodded, shaky. The knot inside him hadn’t disappeared, but Chan’s certainty wrapped around it, making it easier to breathe.

“Come here,” Chan said softly, tugging until Hyunjin slid off the chair and into his lap. His arms closed around him, solid and unyielding, like a wall against the world. “You let me worry about the rest, yeah?”

Hyunjin buried his face in Chan’s shoulder, the exhaustion of the day catching up all at once. “Yeah.”

Chan kissed his temple, lingering. “Good boy.”

Chapter 28

Hyunjin

He shifted against Chan’s chest, restless in a way that had nothing to do with comfort. His fingers toyed with the hem of Chan’s shirt, tugging, releasing, tugging again. The silence stretched until he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Hyung... You keep saying I’m yours,” he murmured, his voice hushed but insistent. “But what does that mean, really? Just for now? Until it gets messy? Or do you actually see… more?”

His throat bobbed as he tried to catch Chan’s gaze, the question heavy in his eyes. “I don’t get it. I don’t get where this goes.”

Chan

The honesty in Hyunjin’s voice hit him hard, but Chan didn’t look away. Instead, he curled his arm tighter around Hyunjin, grounding him.

“It goes where we take it,” he said slowly, deliberate with each word. “I don’t bring someone into my space, into my life, if I don’t want them here long term.” His thumb stroked Hyunjin’s side, coaxing him to breathe. “You’re not just here for the night. Or for the rush. You’re here because I want to wake up and still see you stretched across my bed. I want to know what you look like when you’re pissed off at me in the morning. I want all of it.”

Hyunjin

The words knocked the air out of him. He blinked up, lips parting, trying to decide if he could believe that. “Long term,” he echoed, shaky. “You mean—like actually letting this… last?”

A knot tightened in his chest. The thought of permanence terrified him, but it also pulled at something deep in his ribs. “I don’t even know how to… do that,” he admitted, voice raw. “I’ve never had someone mean it when they said they wanted me to stay. Not... not like this...”

Chan

“I do,” Chan said without hesitation, the conviction in his tone leaving no space for doubt. “I want you to stay. I don’t care if it’s messy, if you’re unsure, if you ask me the same questions a hundred times. I’ll answer them a hundred times.”

His hand cupped Hyunjin’s jaw, tilting his face up so he couldn’t retreat. “You don’t have to know how to make it last. That’s not your job alone. It’s ours. Together.”

Hyunjin

The tension behind his eyes threatened to spill over. His heart hammered, caught between fear and the pull of something he craved too much. “You make it sound so simple,” he whispered. “Like it doesn’t scare you.”

Chan

“It does,” Chan admitted. His mouth curved wryly. “You scare the hell out of me, Hyunjin. But that’s how I know it’s worth it.”

He pressed their foreheads together, their breaths mingling. “So if you’re asking if this is just temporary—no. Not unless you want it to be. Because I already see more than just right now.”

Hyunjin

The words sank deep, heavy and warm. For once, instead of pushing the feeling away, he let it settle. He closed his eyes, leaning into Chan’s touch, almost too tired to fight himself anymore.

“Okay,” he breathed, soft but certain. “Then… show me what that looks like.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, muffled against Chan’s chest. “Don’t let me go yet.” His fingers curled in tight at the fabric of Chan’s shirt, like loosening his grip would risk everything unraveling. He hated how desperate he sounded, but the thought of Chan moving even an inch away made his stomach knot.

He tipped his chin up, eyes glassy, mouth pressed into a stubborn line. “I know you said you’ll still be here, but I… I need you now. Like, right here. Just… stay with me.”

Chan

That plea hit him harder than any kiss had. Chan shifted only to press Hyunjin closer, fitting him against his chest like he’d been made to fill that space. He smoothed a hand down Hyunjin’s spine, steady and protective.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured. “You can cling all you want. You’ve earned it.” His thumb brushed slow circles against Hyunjin’s ribs, coaxing the tightness in his body to loosen.

When Hyunjin still didn’t let up, Chan tilted his head, voice dipping lower. “Tell me what you need. Just warmth? Or do you want me to pull you with me, make food, keep you tucked right by my side while I do it?”

Hyunjin

His breath hitched, the options making his throat burn. He swallowed, words tumbling out in a rush. “I want… I want to be close. If you cook, I’ll just… sit there, or hold onto you. I don’t care. I just—don’t make me watch you walk away.”

He bit his lip, embarrassed by the rawness in his voice. “It’s stupid, I know. I sound like—like a kid.”

Chan

“Not stupid,” Chan interrupted, firm enough to cut off the spiral before it could start. He gave Hyunjin’s hip a squeeze. “You’re tired. You’re running on scraps of sleep and still letting me drag you through heavy talks. Needing closeness isn’t childish—it’s human.”

He leaned down to brush a kiss into Hyunjin’s hair, lingering there. “You want me in arm’s reach? Then that’s where I’ll stay. No walking away. No leaving you guessing. Just us.”

Hyunjin

The reassurance loosened something in his chest. His lashes fluttered, exhaustion tugging at him but tangled up with the warmth flooding his ribs. “Okay…” he whispered, fingers fisting tight in Chan’s shirt again. “Then… don’t let go. Not even for a little bit.”

Chan

“Not even for a second,” Chan promised, standing slowly and drawing Hyunjin up with him. The younger clung like he’d fall apart if he let go, so Chan didn’t make him. He guided them both to the kitchen, settling Hyunjin on the counter so he could stay close while Chan moved.

“Stay right there,” he said softly, pressing another kiss against Hyunjin’s temple. “You can keep an eye on me. That way you’ll know I’m not going anywhere.”

Hyunjin

Perched on the counter, Hyunjin’s legs swung once before instinct took over. He hooked his ankles around Chan’s waist, dragging him closer with a soft, needy noise. His fingers slipped into Chan’s hair, tugging him down until their mouths collided.

It wasn’t careful, not at first. His lips parted with urgency, tongue sliding against Chan’s in a way that spoke louder than any words he could form. The taste of him—coffee, faint spice—made Hyunjin whine into the kiss.

“Channie…” he breathed when they broke for air, the word a plea. His hips shifted forward, brushing against Chan’s stomach. “Don’t make me stop.”

Chan

Chan’s hands planted firmly on either side of Hyunjin’s thighs, caging him in against the counter. He tilted his head and deepened the kiss, swallowing every shaky sound Hyunjin gave him. His chest rumbled with a low groan when Hyunjin pulled harder at his hair.

“Fuck, you’re sweet,” he muttered against swollen lips, sliding one hand up under Hyunjin’s shirt. His palm pressed to the flat of his stomach, thumb stroking lazy circles. “You cling to me like you’re starved.”

He leaned in again, teeth catching on Hyunjin’s bottom lip before sucking gently, making him shiver. “Tell me, baby—what are you asking for? Just this, or more?”

Hyunjin

Hyunjin’s legs tightened around him, refusing to let Chan put even an inch of space between them. “This,” he whispered, then kissed him again, desperate and messy. Another whimper slipped free when Chan’s hand wandered higher under his shirt. “... and more. Always more with you.”

His head tipped back slightly, offering his mouth again like surrender. “Just don’t… don’t leave me hanging.”

Chan

“I won't, baby.” Chan sealed the promise with another kiss, slower this time but deeper, letting Hyunjin feel the weight of it. His free hand squeezed Hyunjin’s thigh, grounding him, anchoring him to the moment.

“You’re mine,” he said against his lips, voice steady but threaded with heat. “On my counter, in my space. You don’t get left behind—you get claimed.”

He dragged his mouth down to Hyunjin’s jaw, to the tender skin beneath his ear, nipping lightly before soothing the spot with his tongue. “And if you’re this needy now…” His fingers slid higher under the shirt, brushing just under Hyunjin’s chest. “…I’m not sure I’ll make it to dinner.”

Hyunjin

Hyunjin’s legs tightened around Chan’s waist, his heels digging in like he could keep him pressed there forever. The counter was cool under his thighs, but the heat between them burned hotter with every kiss. His breath came in shallow gasps between Chan’s lips, chest rising and falling quick.

“Channie—” he half-whined, tugging harder at his hair, pulling him in. The way Chan let him tug but never lost control only made him melt more. “Please, don’t stop… feels too good.”

His hips rolled forward almost unconsciously, rubbing against the firm plane of Chan’s stomach. He bit back a desperate sound, only to let it out anyway when Chan’s teeth grazed his lip again.

Chan

Chan’s grip shifted, one hand sliding lower to cup the back of Hyunjin’s thigh, hauling him closer until their bodies lined up flush. The needy arch of Hyunjin’s hips made him groan low into his mouth.

“Fuck, baby,” Chan muttered, voice rough, lips brushing Hyunjin’s with each word. “Look at you. You’re shaking just from kissing me.” His thumb rubbed slow, firm circles into Hyunjin’s thigh, teasing, grounding, making sure he had him right where he wanted.

He kissed him again, deeper, dominating the pace. His tongue swept in to claim, to remind Hyunjin exactly who he belonged to.

When he finally pulled back, just enough for breath, Chan smirked at the sight of Hyunjin’s kiss-swollen mouth. “So needy. What do you think’s gonna happen if I don’t stop right here, hm? You ready for me to ruin you on the counter before dinner?”

Hyunjin

Hyunjin’s head dropped back against the cupboards, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before he forced them open again, locking on Chan’s. He was flushed, lips parted, chest trembling with each inhale.

“Yes,” he whispered without hesitation, the word breaking into a moan as Chan’s hand pressed firmer into his thigh. “I don’t care if we eat—want you more.”

His hands dragged down Chan’s back, gripping tight at his shirt, grounding himself on the solid warmth there. “Just… just don’t make me wait, Channie. Please.”

Chan

That “please” made his control snap taut. Chan growled low, shifting so his body pushed closer, pressing Hyunjin against the cupboards with his weight. His free hand caught Hyunjin’s jaw, tilting it just right before he kissed him again—deep, filthy, claiming.

“You’re mine,” Chan said against his lips, voice low, final. His hand slid higher, brushing the hem of Hyunjin’s shorts, fingers tracing suggestively. “And if you’re begging me this pretty… then dinner’s forgotten.”

He squeezed his thigh, possessive, almost punishing. “I’ll take you right here and show you exactly what happens when you get needy on my counter.”

Hyunjin

The edge of the counter bit into the back of his thighs, but Hyunjin barely noticed with Chan pressed so close. His legs wrapped tighter around Chan’s waist, desperate to anchor him there, breath catching when Chan’s hand finally pushed higher, skimming beneath the hem of his shorts.

“Channie—” the plea tore out of him, high and unsteady, fingers curling hard into Chan’s shirt. His body was trembling with the need to just be touched, to be taken. “Please don’t tease… I can’t—”

The counter felt too small beneath him, but it didn’t matter; Chan’s mouth was everywhere, biting down his jaw, across his throat, making him arch up into every scrape of teeth and press of lips.

Chan

Chan growled against his skin, hands already yanking Hyunjin’s shorts down to bunch at his knees. “You can’t?” he murmured, voice low and dark, his smirk curving hot against Hyunjin’s neck. “You’ve been begging me since I walked in here, baby. Of course I’m gonna give you what you want.”

He shoved the fabric away completely, dragging him to the very edge of the counter, positioning him like he owned the space—and him. His hand skimmed down Hyunjin’s side, possessive, as his other lined himself up.

“Look at you,” Chan rasped, eyes flicking up to catch the flushed, dazed look on Hyunjin’s face. “All spread out on my counter. Mine to fuck, mine to ruin.”

And then he pressed in, slow at first, only to slam the rest of the way, swallowing Hyunjin’s cry with a bruising kiss.

Hyunjin

His back arched violently, one hand clutching at Chan’s shoulder while the other clawed the counter for purchase. “F–fuck, Channie!” he gasped, voice breaking as his whole body shuddered around the intrusion. The fullness, the pressure, it ripped the breath right out of him.

But it wasn’t pain—no, it was exactly what he craved. His thighs shook where they clung to Chan’s hips, the counter digging into him only adding to the dizzying sensation of being completely trapped, completely claimed.

“Don’t—don’t stop,” he begged breathlessly, lips red and swollen, eyes glassy with want. “Need you to… to keep going, please.”

Chan

That was all the encouragement he needed. Chan’s pace turned brutal, hips snapping forward with sharp, claiming thrusts that had Hyunjin bouncing against the counter. Each time, he drove in to the hilt, groaning at the way Hyunjin clung to him, so tight, so hot.

“You feel that?” Chan panted against his ear, teeth scraping along the shell before he bit down just hard enough to make him gasp. “No one else gets to fuck you like this. No one. Just me.”

He pressed a hand flat against Hyunjin’s chest, holding him down against the cupboards as he thrust harder, harder, until the counter shook beneath them. “I’ll fuck you so deep you won’t be able to sit here again without remembering who put you here.”

Hyunjin

He was unraveling fast, every thrust tearing sounds from his throat he couldn’t hold back, his hands scrambling just to cling tighter. His body was trembling, slick with sweat, mouth falling open as sobbed-out moans filled the kitchen.

“Yes—yes, Channie, yours,” Hyunjin cried, eyes squeezed shut, overwhelmed by how much, how deep. “Always—fuck, always yours!”

Every word came out half-broken, his body arching desperately toward Chan, meeting each punishing snap of hips like he couldn’t get close enough. His whole world narrowed down to the counter under him, the weight above him, and the voice growling in his ear.

Chan

Chan’s hands gripped Hyunjin’s hips tighter, leaning down to press his mouth to the side of his neck, teeth grazing, marking, claiming. “You’ve been so good for me,” he growled, voice ragged and low. “So needy, so fucking perfect. I’m not stopping now.”

Every snap of his hips drove Hyunjin closer, thighs trembling as the counter dug into him. Chan’s other hand slid up under his back, pinning him flush against the cupboards. “You feel that? You feel me filling you?”

Hyunjin

Hyunjin’s head fell back, mouth open in a cry that was half pleasure, half desperation. “Yes—yes! Channie—please— fuck—” His body jerked uncontrollably with every thrust, his nails digging into Chan’s shoulders, trying to hold on as the pleasure stacked impossibly high.

“D-don’t stop… right there!” Hyunjin’s voice cracked, the words tumbling out unbidden as his hips tried to meet every thrust, helplessly, helplessly craving the overwhelming heat of Chan.

Chan

Chan’s breath was heavy, his own hips snapping faster, harder, holding him close as he drove home, relentless. “That’s it, baby… mine… all mine…” he murmured against Hyunjin’s ear. His thumb rubbed tight circles against the small of his back as he felt Hyunjin clench around him, trembling with need.

With one final, deep thrust, Chan’s body tensed and he let go, groaning loudly as he finished inside him, hips shuddering, claiming every inch.

Hyunjin

Hyunjin cried out, arching into him as he came hard, shivering, mouth pressed to Chan’s shoulder. His whole body quaked, clinging desperately as if letting go would mean losing everything.

“Channie…” he whispered, voice small, breath uneven. “I—fuck—I’m yours…”

Chan

Chan eased back slightly, still holding him flush against the counter, letting his body sag against Hyunjin’s. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice softer now, protective and possessive. “Mine. Always.”

He brushed damp strands of hair from Hyunjin’s face, thumb stroking along his cheek. “Now… let’s get you cleaned up, yeah? And then I’m putting you down for a nap—you’ve had quite the day.”

Chapter 29

Notes:

Thanks @AnassaKata for the jealousy inspiration! Had to lean into it!

Hyunjin

The lecture hall emptied in fits and starts, chairs scraping, pages shuffling. Hyunjin shoved his notebook into his bag, relieved to finally get out. He’d promised Seungmin they’d meet in the library, and he was already running late.

“Hey, Hyunjin?”

He froze halfway to the door. One of his classmates—Jiwon, from the back row—stepped into his path. Tall, bright-eyed, smiling in that practiced, easy way that always set Hyunjin’s nerves on edge.

“Uh, hi.” Hyunjin tugged his bag strap higher on his shoulder.

“You’re really sharp in here,” Jiwon said, holding his gaze a little too long. “I was thinking maybe we could work together sometime. Y’know—compare notes, bounce ideas. I think I’d learn a lot from you.”

Hyunjin’s stomach knotted. The emphasis wasn’t subtle. He opened his mouth to say no, to excuse himself, but Jiwon leaned closer, cutting off his retreat.

“Actually, I’m free right now. We could grab a practice room? Or coffee, maybe?”

Chan

From the piano bench, Chan’s jaw tightened. He’d been gathering his folders, his pen still tucked behind his ear, but the scene unfolding by the door made his pulse spike. Jiwon, leaning in too close, tone too eager, eyes fixed on Hyunjin like he was prey.

Chan’s first instinct was to walk over there, drag Hyunjin out by the wrist, and make it very clear that he wasn’t available. But he caught himself—professor, not just lover. He couldn’t be obvious. Not yet.

Still, he couldn’t just watch.

“Hyunjin.” His voice cut sharp across the room, a single word laced with authority.

Both boys turned. Jiwon straightened quickly, startled. Hyunjin blinked, wide-eyed, caught between relief and panic.

Chan rose from the bench slowly, deliberately, stacking his folders with meticulous care before crossing the room. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t change his expression—but when he stopped beside them, his presence filled the doorway like a wall.

“You forgot something.” He extended a sheet of paper toward Hyunjin—a handout Hyunjin hadn’t actually forgotten. His eyes, though, said something else entirely.

Mine.

Hyunjin

Hyunjin’s throat went dry. The handout trembled faintly as he took it, fingers brushing Chan’s. Heat curled down his spine, the message clear.

“Thanks, hy—Professor.” He stumbled over the word, cheeks burning.

Jiwon frowned faintly, looking between them. “So… you wanna study or—?”

Hyunjin opened his mouth, fumbling for a polite excuse, but Chan spoke first.

“He has other plans,” Chan said smoothly. “Isn’t that right, Hyunjin?”

The weight in his tone left no room for argument. Hyunjin nodded quickly, clutching the paper like a lifeline. “Yeah, I—I’m meeting someone.”

Jiwon’s smile flickered, annoyance flashing before he masked it. “Right. Sure. Maybe another time, then.”

He brushed past, muttering something under his breath, and was gone.

Chan

The door shut, leaving them alone. Chan stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Do you always let people corner you like that?”

Hyunjin bristled, defensive even through the relief flooding him. “I was about to say no.”

“Not fast enough.” Chan’s hand rose, brushing the strap of Hyunjin’s bag where it cut into his shoulder. “He had you boxed in before you could blink.” His tone darkened, possessive leaking through despite himself. “Don’t make me watch that again.”

Hyunjin’s breath caught. His pulse skittered, shame and want tangling hot in his chest. “What if I’d said yes?” he whispered before he could stop himself.

Chan’s eyes narrowed, dangerous. He leaned in, his mouth a whisper from Hyunjin’s ear. “Then I’d have dragged you out anyway.” His hand pressed lightly against Hyunjin’s back, guiding him toward the hall. “You’re not available, Hyunjin. Not to anyone but me.”

Hyunjin

Hyunjin should’ve just slipped away, gone to the library like he’d promised Seungmin. But his feet wouldn’t move. Not when Chan was looking at him like that. Not when his pulse was hammering with the dangerous thrill of being wanted this fiercely.

He ducked his head, biting back a smile, then let the words slip, soft but pointed. “You looked like you were about to kill him.”

Chan’s gaze snapped back to him, dark and cutting.

Hyunjin’s breath hitched. God, that fire—it scared him, but it was so unbearably hot. His fingers curled tighter around the fake handout, knuckles white. He couldn’t help himself; the brat in him clawed its way out, reckless and teasing.

“Maybe I should’ve said yes,” he whispered, just loud enough for Chan to hear. His lips curved, daring. “Could’ve gone for coffee... compared notes...” He tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Bet he would’ve bought me something sweet.”

Chan

The words landed like a spark to gasoline.

Chan stepped forward before he could think better of it, crowding Hyunjin back against the wall beside the door. His folders hit the nearest desk with a dull thud, forgotten. One hand braced the wall near Hyunjin’s head; the other settled firm and possessive on his hip.

“You think that’s funny?” His voice was low, rough, barely leashed. Hyunjin’s eyes went wide, but the smirk lingered. That bratty, provoking edge that Chan both hated and couldn’t resist.

“You wouldn’t dare.” Chan’s grip on his hip tightened. “You wouldn’t even last five minutes with him before you were calling me instead.”

Hyunjin’s smirk wavered, but only just. “Maybe I like having options.”

Chan’s breath hissed between his teeth. Dangerous. Infuriating. Addicting. “You don’t.” He leaned closer until their noses brushed, until Hyunjin was breathing shallow and fast. “You’re mine. And you love it when I remind you.”

Hyunjin

Hyunjin’s whole body jolted at the words, at the unshakable certainty in Chan’s tone.

He didn’t want Jiwon—he’d never even considered it. But provoking Chan like this? Watching the restraint slip from him inch by inch? It made Hyunjin’s chest tighten and his stomach flip, every nerve on fire.

“I don’t…” he whispered, even though his smirk was gone, replaced with something softer, needier. His hands fisted in Chan’s shirt without meaning to, pulling him closer. “I don’t want him.” His voice broke. “Just you.”

For a beat, the admission hung heavy between them.

Then, desperate to shake the vulnerability, Hyunjin forced a crooked grin back onto his lips. “Still… you’re kinda hot when you’re jealous, Professor.”

Chan

That did it.

With a low growl, Chan caught Hyunjin’s jaw, tilting his face up until their mouths collided in a bruising kiss. Hyunjin gasped, the sound swallowed whole, his body yielding even as his fingers clawed greedily at Chan’s chest.

He kissed him until Hyunjin’s smirk was gone, until his bratty edge melted into ragged little sounds of need. Until all that teasing dissolved under the weight of how badly he wanted this.

When Chan finally pulled back, both of them breathing hard, his forehead pressed to Hyunjin’s, he whispered against his lips, “Say it again.”

Hyunjin blinked, dazed. “Say what?”

“That you’re mine.” His thumb stroked across Hyunjin’s cheek, deceptively gentle while his other hand guided him over to a desk against the wall, setting him down onto it. “That no one else gets to touch you. No classmates. No notes over coffee. Just me.”

Hyunjin

Hyunjin’s chest heaved, words caught in his throat. His whole body screamed at him to say it, to give in, to let the fire in Chan’s eyes consume him whole.

He licked his lips, voice breaking on the confession. “I’m yours. No one else. Just you.”

The relief on Chan’s face was fleeting, swallowed almost instantly by hunger.

The kiss left him dizzy, his lips tingling, his chest tight. His legs had parted instinctively when Chan crowded in, his body already begging for more. But the faint voice of reason managed to slip in through the haze, tugging at him like a thread.

He turned his head just enough to catch his breath, whispering against Chan’s cheek. “I’m supposed to meet Seungmin. We were gonna study…”

The words sounded weak, unconvincing, even to his own ears. His hands didn’t loosen from Chan’s shirt, his thighs stayed bracketing Chan’s hips like he had no intention of letting him step away.

Still, his tone turned just a touch bratty again, testing. “What are you gonna do, Professor? Keep me here? Or let me go be a good student for once?”

His eyes shone with challenge and something needier—like he already knew which answer he wanted more.

Chan

The mention of Seungmin snapped through the fog of possessive hunger, pulling Chan’s focus for just a second. Study. Responsibility. The other boy waiting for him, wondering why Hyunjin hadn’t shown up yet.

But then Hyunjin looked at him like that—eyes daring, lips kiss-swollen, hands clutching tight like he’d fall apart if Chan let go. The picture of temptation.

“Don’t play games with me,” Chan murmured, his thumb brushing over Hyunjin’s jaw, firm enough to remind him who was in charge here. “You know exactly what I’ll choose.”

He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of Hyunjin’s ear. “I don’t like sharing my time with anyone. Not when you’re standing here looking like this. You think Seungmin’s notes are more important than this right now?”

Hyunjin squirmed, a faint whine caught in his throat, but didn’t answer.

Chan smirked, his voice dropping to that dangerous, quiet place. “Thought so.”

Hyunjin

A shiver ran through him, sharp and immediate. He should’ve pushed harder, should’ve pulled away and insisted. But Chan’s words wrapped around him like chains, heavy and certain, tugging the air from his lungs.

His voice came out smaller than he meant, a whisper breaking under its own weight. “He’s gonna be mad if I’m late.”

The laugh Chan gave was low, dangerous. “Then let him be mad. You belong here first.”

Hyunjin’s heart thudded, equal parts panic and thrill, his body betraying him by pulling Chan closer instead of pushing him away.

Hyunjin

The warning in Chan’s eyes should have been enough to make him behave, but Hyunjin wasn’t built for behaving. He tilted his chin, lips curling into the faintest smirk, as if daring him.

“You’re wasting time, hyung… If you’re not gonna let me go study, then—”

The rest of his sentence vanished into a gasp when Chan’s mouth crushed down on his again. Strong hands slid under his thighs, dragging him up onto the edge of the desk like he weighed nothing, spreading his legs wide enough to slot Chan between them better.

“Then I’ll decide how you spend it,” Chan growled against his lips.

Chan

There was no patience left, no classroom propriety, no professor-student boundaries. Only the sharp, burning need to remind Hyunjin exactly whose attention he craved most.

The taste of him, the way he yielded and squirmed under every demanding kiss—Chan swallowed it down like proof, one hand wrapping tight around the back of Hyunjin’s neck, the other holding his thigh open.

“You sit here,” he ordered, voice rough with hunger, “and let me sort you out before you even think about cracking open a book.”

Hyunjin whined, but it wasn’t protest. His nails dug into Chan’s shoulders, head falling back as Chan’s mouth trailed down his throat, sucking dark marks over skin that would be impossible to hide later.

Hyunjin

It was dizzying—the risk of being caught, the strength in Chan’s grip, the sharp edge of humiliation that came from being handled like this in the very classroom he was supposed to respect—again.

His breath hitched as Chan’s hand shoved his shirt up, teeth grazing over his chest before biting down just hard enough to make him yelp.

“Channie—someone could—”

“Let them,” Chan cut in, muffled against his skin. “They’ll know you’re mine.”

Hyunjin whined again, hips grinding helplessly, body betraying him until he couldn’t think about anything but the fire Chan lit in him.

Chan

It didn’t take long—not with Hyunjin already worked up, not with the way his bratty edge always crumbled into desperate need the second Chan stopped playing nice, slipped a hand past his waistband.

Chan’s hand worked him over quick, rough, his other hand finding Hyunjin’s throat—steady, grounding, not cutting off air but holding him in place. His dark eyes locked onto Hyunjin’s as he leaned in to spit into his mouth, watching the boy swallow it down with a shudder that nearly undid him on the spot.

“Good boy,” Chan muttered, the words rough but warm, pulling a wrecked whimper from Hyunjin as he came hard over his stomach, trembling and clinging like he couldn’t hold himself up.

Hyunjin

He sagged against Chan, dazed and breathless, heart still racing. The room smelled like sweat and sex, the silence between them broken only by his shaky breathing.

But Chan didn’t give him long. He was tucking him back in, wiping at the mess, pressing one last bruising kiss to his lips before he leaned back, smug and composed like nothing had just happened.

“You’ve got studying to do,” he said simply, patting Hyunjin’s thigh. “Library’s waiting.”

Hyunjin gaped at him, still half in shock. “You—you’re just sending me off like this?”

Chan smirked, brushing his thumb over the corner of Hyunjin’s swollen mouth. “Exactly like this.”

Chapter 30

Hyunjin

His legs were jelly. Totally unfair, sending him off like that—like Chan hadn’t just taken the breath out of him and ruined his focus for the entire rest of the day.

Hyunjin tugged his hoodie higher, hoping it would cover the flush on his face, and made his way into the library where Seungmin was already sitting with two stacks of books. Of course.

“You’re late,” Seungmin muttered without looking up, flipping a page. “You’re never late to study.”

Hyunjin dropped into the seat opposite, trying to keep his breathing even. The smell of old paper and dust should’ve been grounding, but all he could think about was Chan’s hand tight on his throat, the spit hot on his tongue, the smug look when he told him to run along like a good boy.

“I got… held up,” Hyunjin said, his voice rougher than he’d intended.

Seungmin’s sharp eyes flicked up instantly, narrowing.

Seungmin

He didn’t miss things. Not with Hyunjin. The older boy’s hoodie was zipped too high, his mouth looked swollen, and there was a nervous jitter in his leg that screamed not okay.

“What do you mean, held up?” Seungmin asked carefully, studying him.

Hyunjin avoided his gaze, rifling through his bag like it could save him. “Just… stuff. Nothing bad. Don’t worry.”

Seungmin frowned. He wasn’t buying it. Not completely. But pushing Hyunjin too hard always backfired.

“You sure? You look…” He tilted his head, pausing. “Distracted.”

Hyunjin

Distracted was one word for it. More like wrecked, possessed, completely claimed.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” His fingers tightened on his notebook, scribbling something random just to look busy. “Just tired.”

Seungmin hummed, still watching him. But he let it go for now, turning back to his textbook.

Hyunjin tried to focus. He really did. But every brush of the pen across the page pulled him back to the way Chan’s thumb brushed across his mouth, soft after so much roughness. Every turn of a page reminded him how Chan had flipped his whole day upside down with a single command.

And the worst part? He didn’t want to be anywhere else. Not in the library, not at this table—he wanted to be back in that classroom, pinned to the desk, or better yet in Chan’s apartment, where no one could interrupt.

His stomach twisted, a shaky little thrill running through him at the thought.

“God, I’m so screwed,” he muttered under his breath.

Seungmin’s pen paused mid-note. “Yeah,” he said without looking up, “you kind of are.”

Seungmin

It took all of ten minutes for Seungmin to decide Hyunjin wasn’t going to say a damn thing. His hyung was sitting there pretending to read, turning the same page three times, eyes glazed over like his mind was miles away. Not tired — wrecked. And not admitting it.

So Seungmin pulled out his phone under the table.

Get here. He’s being weird. Won’t talk.

Felix replied in under thirty seconds:

omw 🏃‍♂️💨

Hyunjin

The quiet of the library was soothing, and he almost started to believe Seungmin would drop it, that maybe he’d get through this session without another interrogation. But then he heard it.

“Jinnieee!”

Hyunjin nearly jumped out of his chair, whipping around to see Felix bouncing into the library like it wasn’t supposed to be silent, all sunshine and chaos.

“Shh,” Seungmin hissed, but he didn’t look annoyed — he looked smug.

Hyunjin’s heart sank. Traitor.

Felix

He plopped into the seat right beside Hyunjin, ignoring the mountain of books, leaning in with a grin.

“Okay, spill,” Felix whispered, though his whisper was way too loud. “What’s going on with you lately? You’ve been all floaty and weird and smiley and then suddenly secretive. So who is he?”

Hyunjin choked on nothing, immediately glaring at Seungmin. “I’m studying,” he hissed, trying to flip his notebook shut.

Hyunjin

Good boys study when they’re told.

He couldn’t exactly tell Felix that his professor was the one keeping him up at night, bending him over desks and making him feel more alive than he ever had.

But the fire in his cheeks only gave him away further.

“Oh my god,” Felix whispered again, delighted, eyes wide as he looked between Hyunjin and Seungmin. “It’s serious. He’s serious.”

Hyunjin shook his head violently. “It’s not—shut up, Lix—”

But Felix was grinning ear to ear, and Seungmin just sighed like he’d known this was coming.

Hyunjin

The library was too quiet. Every scrape of Felix’s chair, every sigh Seungmin gave, felt like a spotlight burning into Hyunjin’s skin. He hunched over his notebook, willing his hand not to shake as he underlined the same chord progression for the third time.

Felix leaned in until his chin was practically on Hyunjin’s shoulder. “Sooo. We know it’s an older guy.”

Hyunjin’s pen skidded across the page. “Shut up.”

Seungmin didn’t even look up from his laptop. “You’re acting guilty as hell. Just tell us who, so we can stop guessing.”

Felix

Felix grinned, relentless. “Okay, okay. Let’s narrow it down. He’s not a dancer, right? Because you’d never shut up about spotting him at practice.”

Hyunjin pressed his lips together, tight.

Felix gasped. “Wait. Oh my god. It’s someone from composition, isn’t it?” His eyes went huge, glittering with mischief. “Tell me it’s not one of the crusty grad students—please say it’s not—”

Hyunjin groaned into his hands. “Felix.”

“That’s not a no!”

Hyunjin

He was suffocating. His pulse hammered, his cheeks burned. Felix was guessing too close, and Seungmin’s calm stare felt worse than any teasing.

“It’s… not another student,” Hyunjin said finally, voice muffled against his palms.

There was a beat of silence. Then Felix practically shrieked, slapping a hand over his own mouth when the librarian hissed at them.

Felix

“NOT a student?” His whisper was feral. “Hyunjin. Hyun. Jin. That only leaves…” He leaned back, clutching his chest like he’d uncovered the plot twist of the century. “A professor.”

Hyunjin’s head thunked onto the table.

“Oh my god,” Felix hissed again, shaking his shoulder. “You’re sleeping with a professor! Who?! Is it the scary one? Please don’t tell me it’s—”

Seungmin

Seungmin’s voice cut through, calm but firm. “Felix, shut up.”

Felix pouted but quieted. Seungmin turned to Hyunjin, expression unreadable. “You don’t have to tell us everything. But… is it serious? Or are you just messing around?”

Hyunjin peeked up, throat dry. His mouth opened, then closed. His heart gave him away before his words did—the way his chest tightened, the way his fingers curled into fists.

“…It’s not just messing around,” he whispered.

Felix’s eyes went saucer-wide. Seungmin’s narrowed slightly, concern flickering there.

Felix

Felix gnawed at his lower lip, eyes darting like he was solving a mystery. “Okay, okay. Serious. Not a student. Older. Not dance faculty—though god, that would’ve been juicy. Which leaves…”

“Hyunjinnie,” Felix whispered, practically vibrating. “If it’s someone older—like really older—and you’re acting like this, then…” His eyes darted toward Hyunjin’s notebook. Not just doodles today—actual harmony analysis, half-finished assignments. His mouth fell open.

“It’s in comp, isn’t it?” His whisper was so sharp it might’ve cut. “Oh my god—it’s him. It’s—”

Hyunjin

“Don’t say it,” Hyunjin cut in, too fast, too sharp. His face burned so hot it almost hurt.

That only made Felix’s grin widen, practically manic. He leaned closer, whispering like it was sacred gossip. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

Hyunjin stared at the ink smudged on his own fingertips, heart trying to pound its way free. His silence was dangerous—he knew it, but he couldn’t make his tongue form a denial.

Seungmin

Seungmin finally closed his laptop, folding his hands atop it with deliberate calm. His gaze pinned Hyunjin with quiet intensity, cutting through Felix’s hysteria like a knife.

“You don’t have to confirm anything,” he said. “But you should know—you’re terrible at hiding how you feel. It’s obvious this isn’t casual. And if it’s who I think it is…” His brows knit faintly. “That’s… complicated.”

Felix whipped his head around, eyes huge. “You think it’s him too?!”

Hyunjin

Hyunjin groaned, burying his face in his arms on the table. “I hate both of you.”

Felix shook his shoulder, buzzing with energy. “You so don’t. You’re glowing, Hyunjin. Like—literally glowing. I knew something was up but this is insane. I need every detail. Please tell me you’ve at least kissed him on campus—”

“Felix,” Seungmin warned, voice low.

Hyunjin muffled a broken laugh into his sleeve, somewhere between despair and relief. They were circling him like vultures, but part of him… didn’t hate that they were this close to the truth.

Because maybe if Felix guessed right and Seungmin already knew, it didn’t have to feel like such a heavy secret.

Seungmin

Seungmin sighed, finally pushing his laptop shut with deliberate care. “You really shouldn’t be talking about this here.” His voice was even, calm, but his eyes didn’t waver from Hyunjin’s. “But I agree with Felix on one thing. You’re not exactly hiding it well.”

Hyunjin flinched.

“It’s not just about age, is it?” Seungmin pressed. “It’s about… authority.”

Felix gasped so loud half the library turned.

Hyunjin

“Shut up!” Hyunjin hissed, smacking Felix’s arm. He could feel the blood flooding his cheeks, his skin prickling under the scrutiny. His heart was trying to punch its way out of his chest.

But his silence was worse than anything—Felix’s triumphant squeak, Seungmin’s quiet, knowing look. He’d already given too much away.

He let out a groan, dropping his forehead to the desk. “You’re going to kill me.”

Felix practically bounced in his seat. “No, no—this is the best thing you’ve ever done for me. For us. Hyunjin, please, you have to tell me what it’s like—”

“Felix,” Seungmin snapped, sharper this time.

Hyunjin peeked up through his hair, torn between despair and the strange, electric relief of not being completely alone in this anymore.

Seungmin

“Felix, lower your voice,” Seungmin hissed, tugging at the sleeve Felix had nearly bounced out of. His patience was thin but controlled, sharp enough to cut through Felix’s excitement. “Do you want him to get caught?”

That landed. Felix clapped a hand over his own mouth, though his eyes still danced with glee.

Seungmin leaned forward, voice pitched low and steady. “I’m serious. This isn’t something you can just… giggle about in a library. If anyone overhears—”

Hyunjin

“I know,” Hyunjin cut in, too quickly, too defensive. The panic in his chest wouldn’t settle, not with Seungmin’s sharp gaze pinning him down. “I’m not an idiot.”

Felix opened his mouth, but Hyunjin was already shoving his books into his bag. The tension in his jaw was too much, his pulse too loud. He couldn’t do this in the open—he’d suffocate.

“Come on.” He stood abruptly, slinging the strap over his shoulder and jerking his chin toward the door. “If you’re gonna drill me, we’re not doing it here.”

Felix scrambled after him, wide-eyed and thrilled, while Seungmin followed with slower, steadier steps.

---

They ended up tucked into a quieter corner near the empty practice rooms, the low hum of a vending machine filling the silence. Hyunjin leaned back against the wall, running a hand through his hair, still feeling that awful mix of dread and exhilaration.

“Okay.” He exhaled hard, glancing between them. Felix’s grin hadn’t dimmed one bit; Seungmin’s brow was furrowed, careful, cautious. “You’re right. And it’s… not a game. Not for me.”

Felix nearly bounced again. “So you are with him—”

Hyunjin raised a finger in warning. “You’re not saying his name. Either of you.” His tone came out harsher than he meant, but he needed it said.

Seungmin

“Fine,” Seungmin allowed, crossing his arms. His voice was quieter now, grounding. “But you have to understand how dangerous this is. If you’re serious about him, you can’t afford slip-ups. Not one.”

Hyunjin bit his lip, nodding. Something softened in Seungmin’s expression as he watched him—enough to ease the sting of his words.

Hyunjin

“It’s not casual,” he admitted finally, and the way Felix’s jaw dropped would’ve been funny if his own chest didn’t ache with the weight of it. “I’m… at his place most nights. He’s… he’s not letting me go, and—” His throat tightened, the rest slipping out almost in a whisper. “I don’t want him to.”

Felix clutched his chest like he was watching a drama. Seungmin, though, stayed steady, studying him like he was solving an equation.

“You’re living there?” Seungmin asked, quiet but deliberate.

Hyunjin’s ears burned. “Not—officially. But… yeah. Pretty much.”

Felix

Felix gasped so loudly Hyunjin almost smacked him on the arm. “Most nights?! Hyung, that’s basically moving in. Oh my god—wait, does he cook for you? Does he make you coffee in the morning? Do you leave stuff there? Tell me everything.”

He was practically vibrating with excitement, eyes wide and gleaming, like Hyunjin had just confessed to starring in some forbidden romance drama.

Hyunjin

Hyunjin groaned, dragging both hands down his face. “Felix, shut up. You sound insane.” His voice cracked anyway, because the image was too close to reality. The toothbrush tucked beside Chan’s in the bathroom. The hoodie folded over the back of the couch. The smell of food drifting from the kitchen while Chan told him to rest, I’ll handle it.

His chest ached. He hated how much he wanted it—how much he wanted him.

Seungmin

“Hyung.” Seungmin’s voice cut neatly through Felix’s dramatics, steady and razor-sharp. “That’s a big deal. You’ve known him how long? Two months? Three?”

Hyunjin winced. Seungmin didn’t raise his voice, but it pressed down harder than Felix’s squeals ever could.

“You’re already there most nights. You’re already this far in. Do you even know what he wants from you?”

Hyunjin

His throat went tight, words threatening to stick. “I know he wants me,” he muttered. “That’s… obvious.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” Seungmin pressed, arms folding tighter. “Wanting you now isn’t the same as wanting you for good.”

Hyunjin’s stomach twisted. He hated how right Seungmin was, hated that it echoed the exact fear curling in his own chest every night when Chan pulled him close. What if it wasn’t long term? What if this was just a phase—for both of them?

Felix

Felix’s gaze darted between them, softer now, his grin fading into something more thoughtful. “But… it doesn’t sound like just a fling, either.” His voice was gentler, testing the waters. “Hyung, you said he makes sure you eat, right? That he… looks after you?”

Hyunjin’s lips parted. He hadn’t even realized he’d admitted that much.

Hyunjin

He nodded, small, almost sheepish. “Yeah. He—he’s protective. Possessive, even. But not… not in a way that feels wrong.” He swallowed. “It makes me feel… safe.”

The silence that followed pressed heavy. Felix’s smile softened into something almost proud, while Seungmin’s sharp eyes flickered with worry he didn’t bother to hide.

Seungmin

“Then you have to be careful with that,” Seungmin said finally, voice low. “Because if you’re already relying on him that much, you need to know he’s steady enough to carry it. Otherwise—”

“I’ll fall apart,” Hyunjin finished for him, a whisper.

Hyunjin

The words sat heavy in his chest, but he couldn’t stop himself. He pressed his palms against the wall behind him, grounding himself before meeting their eyes.

“I don’t want out,” he admitted, voice trembling. “I don’t even think I can walk away anymore. That’s the part that scares me.”

Felix blinked at him, wide-eyed. Seungmin let out a breath, steady and slow, but his gaze softened, no longer sharp, just concerned.

His fingers fidgeted at the strap of his bag, knuckles pale, but once he started talking, it was like something inside him cracked.

“He said it’s long term,” Hyunjin admitted, almost too quietly, like the words weren’t supposed to leave the safety of Chan’s apartment. “Unless… unless I don’t want that. He told me it’s up to me.”

Felix gasped so loud he earned another glare from Seungmin. “Hyung! That’s definitely not just casual, that’s—” He flailed his hands, like words had failed him entirely.

Hyunjin pressed on, his cheeks warming. “He’s serious. I can feel it in… everything. He’s the one who remembers when I last ate, or if I’ve had water. He tells me to nap when my eyes are barely open, and—and he doesn’t just say it, he makes sure I do. He’ll cover me up, or put his hand on my chest until I calm down. He—” His throat caught, but he forced it out. “He takes care of me like no one has before.”

Seungmin

Seungmin’s brow furrowed, the weight of his gaze sharp but not cruel. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.

“And you like that?”

Hyunjin’s blush deepened, but he didn’t look away. “More than I should.”

Seungmin exhaled through his nose, controlled as always. “Then it’s not just him, hyung. You’re already in this deep too.”

Felix

Felix’s grin returned full force, hands clasped under his chin like he was watching the peak of a romance drama. “That’s so romantic! He’s not just, like, bossy, he’s taking care of you. And long term? Hyung, he’s already planning for the future!”

Hyunjin smacked his arm lightly, but the heat in his chest was too much. Felix wasn’t wrong—not really.

Hyunjin

He leaned back against the wall, letting the words tumble out before he could choke on them. “It’s scary. Because I can’t remember the last time someone wanted me like this… not just for now, but for tomorrow. For later.”

Seungmin’s eyes softened, worry laced with something gentler. Felix was practically glowing, like he’d combust if Hyunjin didn’t keep talking.

And despite himself, Hyunjin felt the knot in his chest loosen just a little. Saying it out loud—admitting Chan’s care, his promise, the way he meant it—made it feel more real.

Felix

Felix had been bouncing on his heels, soaking up every word like it was a love story unfolding just for him, when his expression suddenly froze. His eyes went comically wide, and his hand shot up to cover his mouth.

“Oh my god.” He practically squeaked the words, voice pitching higher as the thought clicked into place. “Hyung—you—you’ve—you’re not—”

Hyunjin

Heat shot up Hyunjin’s neck so fast he thought he’d combust. “Felix—”

But it was too late. Felix was already spinning in a circle like his brain couldn’t process the revelation without movement.

“You’re not a virgin anymore!” he whisper-yelled, loud enough that Hyunjin lunged forward and clapped a hand over his mouth, dragging him back against the wall.

“Shut up!” Hyunjin hissed, face blazing. “Do you want the whole building to know?”

Seungmin

Seungmin pinched the bridge of his nose, his sigh sharp enough to cut. “Honestly, I should’ve seen this coming. Felix, keep your voice down before someone actually hears.”

Felix’s muffled squeal behind Hyunjin’s palm didn’t inspire much confidence.

Seungmin’s gaze landed on Hyunjin, steady and assessing. “So it’s not just serious emotionally. It’s… physical too.”

Hyunjin

The words made his stomach flip, shame and pride tangling tight. He pulled his hand back from Felix’s mouth, glaring daggers as the younger boy tried not to bounce out of his shoes again.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin muttered, too hot in the face to look either of them directly. “Obviously.”

Felix practically melted down the wall, fanning himself like he’d overheated. “Hyung, that’s—it’s—you—wow.” He giggled, dreamy and dramatic. “No wonder you’ve been glowing."

Seungmin

Seungmin, by contrast, didn’t look impressed. His arms crossed, voice quiet but deliberate. “That makes it even riskier. You know that, right? If anyone finds out—”

“I know,” Hyunjin cut in, sharper than intended, but his throat was tight. “You don’t need to keep saying it.”

But Seungmin’s eyes softened a little at the edges, even if his tone stayed measured. “I do, hyung. Because I’m the one who has to keep you grounded when Felix is busy daydreaming about weddings.”

Hyunjin

Felix made a protesting noise, but Hyunjin barely heard him. His chest was too tight, his mind flashing back to Chan’s hands, Chan’s voice, the way he’d promised not to let him go.

“Yeah...” Hyunjin admitted softly.

Seungmin

It clicked all at once, the pieces snapping together so fast Seungmin almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Instead, his voice came out flat, laced with disapproval.

“That’s why you were late today.”

Hyunjin blinked at him, startled. “What—”

“The library,” Seungmin pressed, gaze narrowing. “You showed up flushed, hair a mess, couldn’t sit still for the first half-hour. I thought you were just... but no—” He shook his head slowly, tone biting. “You were with him.”

Hyunjin

Heat flooded Hyunjin’s ears, betrayal prickling sharp under his skin. “I wasn’t—” He broke off, the denial dying on his tongue when Seungmin’s stare didn’t waver.

Felix gasped so loudly the vending machine hum was drowned out. “Hyung! Oh my god, you were late because—”

“Felix,” Hyunjin snapped, mortification clawing at his throat. He pressed both palms over his face, muffling his groan. “You’re insufferable.”

Felix

Felix bounced on his toes anyway, too thrilled to stop. “I knew it! He totally got his hands on you before studying—oh my god, that’s so hot.”

Seungmin

“Or irresponsible,” Seungmin cut in coolly, shooting Felix a glare sharp enough to silence him for half a second. His eyes returned to Hyunjin, steady and probing. “If he’s pulling you away from your own work, that’s not caring for you, that’s selfish.”

Hyunjin

Hyunjin dropped his hands, chest tight with a mess of shame, defensiveness, and something else—something warmer that made him restless. “It’s not like that,” he muttered, voice low but firm. “He does care. He makes sure I do the work. He pushes me harder than anyone else. He—”

His throat closed around the rest, the memory of Chan’s careful hands, the way he always checked in after, softening the sharp edges of Seungmin’s scolding.

“He doesn’t make me choose,” Hyunjin whispered finally. “Not really. He just… doesn’t let me hide.”

Felix

Felix looked like he might burst if he didn’t say something. His hands flailed wildly as he leaned in.

“Wait—did he make you beg? Hyung, please tell me he made you beg—”

His eyes glittered like he was getting a free front-row ticket to the juiciest drama of the year.

Hyunjin

Hyunjin groaned, shoving lightly at Felix’s shoulder, though his face was hot enough to set the walls on fire.

“Can you not?” His voice cracked embarrassingly on the word. “It’s not—”

But the memory of Chan’s mouth, his hand, his voice whispering good boy right before sending him stumbling late to the library—

He pressed his lips together, failing miserably to keep it off his face.

Felix gasped. “Oh my god, he did.”

Seungmin

“Felix,” Seungmin said sharply, tone like a blade. “Shut up for two seconds.”

Felix pouted but clamped his mouth shut under the weight of Seungmin’s glare.

Seungmin turned his attention back to Hyunjin, eyes narrowing. “But he did keep you from being on time.” The words weren’t really a question. “And you let him.”

Hyunjin

Hyunjin’s hackles rose instantly. “I’m not a kid who needs to be babysat, Seungmin.”

“That’s not what I said,” Seungmin countered smoothly. “I asked if he’s distracting you from your own goals. From the reason you’re even here at university.”

Hyunjin’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding. The answer came out too fast, too desperate. “No. He’s not.”

Felix

“But he’s making you beg,” Felix cut in, grinning like he couldn’t help himself. “And you like it.”

“Felix—” Seungmin’s patience was paper-thin.

“What?” Felix shrugged, unrepentant. 

Seungmin

“That’s not the point,” Seungmin chided. His eyes softened only slightly as they returned to Hyunjin, quieter now but cutting.

“You can’t just follow him around like some lost puppy. He’s older, he’s in a position of power, and if you’re not careful—”

Hyunjin

“I know what he is,” Hyunjin snapped, sharper than he meant, voice echoing in the quiet hall. His chest heaved, throat tight. “You think I don’t lie awake every night thinking about that?”

Silence hung for a beat, even Felix looking a little stunned.

But Seungmin stayed steady, eyes still sharp though the edge of his voice had dulled. “Then you’d better make sure he keeps proving that. Because the moment he stops? You walk.”

Chapter 31

Chan

The door clicked open and Hyunjin slipped inside, soft footfalls echoing across the apartment. Chan looked up from the notebook spread across his desk, the sight of Hyunjin’s hunched shoulders enough to drag his focus away completely.

“Hey,” Chan murmured, swiveling in his chair. “You’re later than I thought.”

Hyunjin froze mid-step, then glanced at him, guilt flickering behind his eyes. “Yeah. Seungmin and Felix wanted… to talk.”

Something in the way he said it made Chan push back from the desk. He stood, slow and deliberate, watching the way Hyunjin shifted under the weight of his gaze. His bag slipped off his shoulder, thudding onto the couch.

Chan crossed the room in three strides and cupped Hyunjin’s jaw, tilting his face up. His thumb brushed over the tight line of Hyunjin’s mouth. “Talk about what?”

Hyunjin’s throat bobbed. “Nothing.”

Chan’s brow arched. “Nothing?” His tone sharpened, low and dangerous. “You walk in here looking like a kicked puppy and expect me to believe that?”

Hyunjin bit his lip, eyes darting away.

Chan didn’t allow it. He stood and crossed the room, tugged him closer, crowding him in. “Look at me.”

When Hyunjin finally lifted his gaze, Chan saw it—shadows of doubt, tangled threads of fear. His possessiveness coiled tight in his chest.

“They don’t understand,” Chan said evenly, almost a growl. “They don’t know what we are. What I give you. What you give me. So tell me, what did they say that put this look on your face?”

Hyunjin’s lips parted, but no sound came out. He pressed his palms flat to Chan’s chest, as if grounding himself. “Seungmin thinks… it’s dangerous. That you’re too—too much older, too powerful, that I’m just following you around like—like—” His breath shuddered. “Like a lost dog.”

Chan’s jaw locked. He leaned in until his forehead touched Hyunjin’s, breath hot against his lips. “You are not lost,” he said, each word carved in steel. “You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

Hyunjin’s lashes fluttered, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him. “But what if—what if they’re right? What if this is just—just a phase to you? What if one day you wake up and—”

Chan cut him off with a rough kiss, stealing the rest of the thought from his mouth. He swallowed the panic, the doubt, the sting of his friends’ words, until all that was left was the sound of Hyunjin gasping against him.

When he finally pulled back, his hand cradled the nape of Hyunjin’s neck, firm and grounding. “Listen to me. This isn’t a phase. I don’t share my bed, my home, or my time with people I don’t intend to keep. You’re mine, Hyunjin. For as long as you want me.”

Hyunjin’s eyes shone, glassy with the weight of it. He gripped at Chan’s shirt like he might fall apart otherwise. “And if I always want you?”

Chan’s answer was instant, a low vow against his skin as he pressed his lips to Hyunjin’s temple. “Then I’ll always be here.”

Hyunjin sagged into him, tension unspooling like thread. He buried his face in Chan’s chest, muffling a broken sound that could’ve been relief or something softer.

Chan stroked the back of his head, possessive even in comfort. “Let them talk. Let them guess. You don’t answer to anyone but me. And I’ll make damn sure you never doubt where you belong again.”

Hyunjin’s muffled voice trembled against him. “With you.”

Chan smiled, dark and sure, pressing another kiss into his hair. “Always.”

Hyunjin

He finally pulled back just enough to look up at Chan, hair sticking to his forehead from the heat of their closeness. “You wouldn’t believe how much Felix… ships us,” he murmured, cheeks burning. “He’s basically been trying to interrogate me for the last ten minute, asking about every little thing.”

Chan’s dark eyes flicked down to him, lips twitching in the tiniest, dangerous smirk. “Interrogate you, huh?”

Hyunjin nodded, a little smug despite the lingering nerves. “Yeah. And Seungmin’s like the responsible one, trying to keep him from going too far. But Felix—he’s… relentless. I mean, he’s practically convinced I’m dating you exclusively.”

Chan

Chan let a slow, deliberate laugh escape, low and throaty, letting it rumble against Hyunjin’s temple. He leaned closer, fingers threading through Hyunjin’s hair, tugging gently as if drawing him in closer just to emphasize the point. “So, my little public scandal has been noted by your friends?” His voice was amused, edged with possessiveness. “Do you like that, knowing they can’t stop shipping us, even without all the details?”

Hyunjin shivered at the heat in Chan’s voice. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted. “Part of me is flustered. Part of me… kinda likes knowing you’re mine and everyone else can’t do anything about it.”

Chan

Chan’s smile widened, more possessive now, eyes narrowing in that unmistakable way he got when his claim on Hyunjin became more than just private. “Exactly,” he murmured, pressing a quick, deliberate kiss to the top of Hyunjin’s head. “And just so we’re clear… no one else gets to have you. Not Felix, not Seungmin, not anyone. You’re mine.”

Hyunjin

Hyunjin’s breath hitched, warmth spreading through his chest as he melted slightly against Chan. “I know…” he whispered, voice soft but full of weight. “And… I like that too. I like being yours.”

Chan

Chan chuckled, dragging him a little closer on the couch, letting his hand rest possessively on Hyunjin’s side. “Good. That’s exactly how it should feel. And the next time Felix or anyone else opens their mouths about us, you just tell them what?”

Hyunjin

Hyunjin’s lips curled into a teasing little smirk, heart racing. “That I’m not telling. And if they keep pressing… they’ll just have to ask you.”

Chan’s laugh turned dark, possessive, satisfied. “That’s my boy.”

Chapter 32

Notes:

Edit: I didn't give credit to @Eli998 when posting this up originally, but all credit goes to them for their concern about the power imbalance - a conversation needed to be had! Seungmin will protect Hyunjin with his life, trust. But the secret is finally revealed about who holds the real power here ~

Hyunjin

Hyunjin toyed with the hem of Chan’s shirt, nerves and excitement tangling in his chest until the words just tumbled out. “What if I… invited them over?” His voice was cautious, but there was a flicker of brightness in his eyes. “Felix and Seungmin. For dinner, maybe. So they can… see us. See you.”

He bit his lip hard, heart thudding in his throat. “It’s not like I can explain everything to them without… proof. And Felix will keep asking forever if I don’t. Seungmin too, in his own quiet way.” He shifted closer, voice dropping. “And honestly? I kind of want them to see. That you’re… real. That this isn’t just some reckless crush.”

Chan

Chan stilled, eyes narrowing just slightly, not in rejection but in calculation. He angled Hyunjin’s chin up with two fingers, making sure he had his full attention. “You want to bring them here? Into our space?” His tone wasn’t sharp, but deliberate, weighing every word.

Hyunjin nodded, maybe too fast. “Only if you’re okay with it. I know it’s… it’s private, it’s yours. But I think… it could help.”

Chan studied him, thumb brushing slow arcs over Hyunjin’s jaw. “Do you want to prove something to them, or to yourself?”

That cut through Hyunjin’s chest, his mouth falling open before he could form a proper answer. “Both,” he admitted finally, voice small.

Chan

Chan hummed low in his throat, then leaned forward to press a firm kiss against Hyunjin’s mouth—claiming, but not rough. When he pulled back, his gaze had softened, though that protective fire still burned underneath. “If this is what you want… then we’ll do it. But I’m the one who sets the terms. Understand?”

Hyunjin nodded again, this time slower, more deliberate, his chest easing with relief.

Chan’s hand slid down to rest on his hip, anchoring him. “Then invite them. I’ll cook. And when they step through that door, they’ll see exactly what you’ve been trying to explain. That you’re mine, and I take care of what’s mine.”

Hyunjin

Hyunjin’s breath caught, the words settling in deep, chasing away the anxious knot that had been building in his stomach all day. “Dinner,” he repeated softly, a smile tugging at his lips. “They’ll love your cooking. And maybe then Felix will finally stop… interrogating me.”

Chan’s chuckle rumbled against his chest. “Don’t count on it. But he won’t have any doubts left.”

Hyunjin leaned in closer, letting himself be wrapped up in the warmth of it, already imagining Felix’s wide-eyed grin and Seungmin’s sharp, careful questions. But mostly, he thought about what it would mean to let them into this space. Their space.

And that thought—terrifying as it was—felt good.

Hyunjin

The text had barely left his phone—Dinner at Chan’s tonight, 7. Don’t be late—before regret hit like a wave. His heart wouldn’t slow down. Every few minutes he was pacing the length of the apartment, opening cupboards he had no reason to open, fussing with his hair in the hallway mirror only to ruffle it all over again.

“What if they hate this?” he blurted, not even realizing he’d said it aloud until he caught Chan’s reflection leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching him with a faint, amused smile.

“What if they think it’s weird? Or too serious? Or—”

Chan

“Jinnie.” Chan’s voice cut through the spiral with the kind of quiet authority that always made Hyunjin freeze in place. Not harsh, not loud—just steady enough to hold him there.

Chan pushed off the counter, walking toward him in measured steps until his hands were on Hyunjin’s shoulders, warm and firm. “They’re your friends. They already care about you. They’re not coming here to judge us—they’re coming because you asked them to.”

Hyunjin opened his mouth, but Chan shook his head slightly, pressing one thumb against the knot of tension in his shoulder. “And even if they do think it’s weird, who do you come home to tonight? Who’s making sure you eat? Who’s going to pull you into bed after this is all over?”

The answer was obvious, but the way Chan said it made Hyunjin’s chest ache.

Hyunjin

He swallowed hard, leaning into the grip like he couldn’t help himself. Chan’s calm was infuriating sometimes—how did he always know how to cut straight through Hyunjin’s buzzing nerves?

“They’re going to ask questions,” he mumbled into the space between them. “Felix especially. He’ll… he’ll notice everything.”

Chan smirked, brushing a hand down Hyunjin’s arm until their fingers linked. “Then let him. You wanted them to see, didn’t you? I don’t have anything to hide. Do you?”

Hyunjin shook his head quickly, cheeks hot.

Chan

“Good.” Chan tugged him gently toward the kitchen, where a cutting board was already laid out with vegetables and a pot simmered low on the stove. “Then you can help me prep. Chop those peppers while I handle the chicken. If you’ve got energy to pace, you’ve got energy to work.”

The faintest whine slipped from Hyunjin’s throat, but he obeyed, grabbing the knife with slightly shaky hands. It was ridiculous, really—he’d performed on stage in front of crowds, stood up in critiques with professors tearing his work apart. And yet nothing made his pulse trip over itself like the thought of Felix and Seungmin sitting at Chan’s table.

Hyunjin

As the knife bit into the crisp red skin of the pepper, he risked a glance sideways. Chan moved easily in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, wrist flexing as he stirred the pan. Confident. Sure. Like this was just another night, not some monumental test of everything Hyunjin had thrown himself into.

“You’re too calm,” Hyunjin accused, though his voice was softer now, almost grudging.

Chan chuckled. “One of us has to be.” He flicked his gaze up, locking eyes with Hyunjin for just a second too long. “Besides. I already know how this ends.”

Hyunjin tilted his head. “How?”

Chan’s smirk curved into something slower, deeper. “With you curled up on me after they leave. Always does.”

The knife slipped a little in Hyunjin’s grip, and he swore under his breath, cheeks blazing.

---

Hyunjin

The knock came at exactly seven, sharp enough to make his stomach lurch. He nearly dropped the dishtowel he’d been wringing to death, catching it against his thigh before rushing to the door.

Felix stood there first—wide-eyed, grinning, practically buzzing with anticipation. Seungmin, a step behind, wore his usual careful expression, somewhere between polite interest and a frown waiting to happen.

“You’re late,” Hyunjin said automatically, even though they weren’t. His voice cracked halfway through, betraying him.

Felix’s grin widened. “We’re literally on time, hyung.”

Chan

Chan appeared at his shoulder, calm as ever, one broad hand braced casually against the doorframe like it belonged to him—and by extension, so did Hyunjin. “Come in,” he said smoothly, stepping back just enough for them to enter. His tone was polite, but the weight of it left little room for hesitation.

Felix barreled in without pause, immediately gawking at the apartment like he’d just stepped into a secret world. Seungmin followed slower, eyes scanning every detail. Shoes neatly lined at the entrance. Music books stacked in the corner. A throw blanket crumpled on the couch, just Hyunjin’s style.

Seungmin’s gaze flicked back to Hyunjin. So you really do live here.

Hyunjin

Heat shot up the back of his neck, and he tugged at his sleeve nervously. He wanted to say something—It’s not official, I swear, I just…—but Felix’s voice cut in before he could.

“Oh my god, hyung, it smells amazing in here.” Felix was already bouncing toward the kitchen, craning his neck to peek at the pans on the stove. “You didn’t tell us he can cook!”

Hyunjin groaned under his breath, shoving the door closed a little harder than necessary. “Felix, don’t—”

Chan

But Chan only chuckled, reaching past Hyunjin to gently guide Felix away from the burners. “Dinner’s almost ready. Sit, both of you. Make yourselves at home.”

The tone was warm, but there was an undercurrent to it—a steady authority that even Felix picked up on, retreating toward the couch with a muttered yes, sir that earned him a quick elbow from Seungmin.

Chan lingered near Hyunjin as their guests settled, fingers brushing briefly against the small of his back, grounding him in a way that made his pulse trip. No one else would notice it, but Hyunjin felt branded all the same.

Hyunjin

His nerves hadn’t settled. If anything, the quiet way Chan held space beside him made it worse—because it was real. This wasn’t some fling to laugh about later. It was an entire life bleeding into his own, obvious now in every corner of this apartment.

Felix, oblivious, perched on the couch like he was front-row at a concert. “Soooo,” he sing-songed, eyes flicking between Hyunjin and Chan. “You gonna introduce us properly, or should I just guess who I’m supposed to thank for not letting you starve to death?”

Hyunjin wanted to sink into the floor. Seungmin, though, didn’t laugh. His gaze was still sharp, still watchful, like he was measuring how much of Hyunjin’s heart was already sitting in this space.

Hyunjin

He hovered awkwardly, caught between wanting to pull Felix back by the collar and shove Seungmin out the door before anything could go wrong. Instead, he let Chan steer him gently toward the couch, a steady hand at his back that made his knees feel unsteady.

Felix looked like he was vibrating. “I still can’t believe you didn’t tell us sooner, hyung. You’ve been living here—”

“I’m not living here,” Hyunjin snapped, heat rushing to his cheeks. His hands curled into fists at his sides. “I just… stay sometimes.”

“Most nights,” Seungmin said dryly. His eyes flicked toward the folded blanket draped over the arm of the couch, then to Hyunjin’s sneakers tucked neatly by the door beside Chan’s. “Clearly.”

Chan

Chan lowered himself into the armchair opposite them, casual but deliberate, his gaze sharp. “Does it matter where he sleeps?” he asked evenly, tone cool enough to make Felix freeze mid-bounce. “He’s not a child. He makes his own choices.”

Felix’s mouth opened, then snapped shut. Even Seungmin went still for a beat, his brow furrowing as if recalibrating.

Hyunjin

Relief and panic crashed together in his chest. Chan’s words had been protective, grounding—but the authority in them only underlined how much this was not normal. He ducked his head, pressing his lips together to stop the rush of words threatening to spill out.

Felix leaned forward again, braver now. “Okay, but—like—” His voice dropped conspiratorially. “You two are actually, you know… together? This isn’t just, like—”

“Felix,” Seungmin warned, his tone razor-sharp.

“What?” Felix blinked innocently. “I’m just asking! It’s important!”

Chan

Chan’s expression didn’t shift much, but his gaze fixed squarely on Hyunjin. Not on the boys across from him, not even on the questions—only on Hyunjin. The weight of it said everything without a word.

“Together,” he said simply. Final. His hand twitched against the armrest, like he was resisting the urge to reach across the space and remind Hyunjin physically, too. “Unless he decides otherwise.”

Felix’s jaw dropped, thrilled. Seungmin’s frown deepened, thoughtful.

Hyunjin

The words hit him like a punch to the chest. Together. Not casual. Not undefined. Not temporary. Together.

His throat tightened, and for a second, he wanted to crawl across the room and into Chan’s lap just to hide there. But with Felix’s wide-eyed grin and Seungmin’s sharp stare cutting into him, he stayed rooted to the spot, hands clenching in his lap.

“Hyung,” Felix breathed dramatically, clutching his chest like he was watching the climax of a drama. “You’re actually in love.”

“Shut up,” Hyunjin hissed, face blazing.

Seungmin

But Seungmin didn’t laugh. He leaned back, crossing his arms, gaze still locked on Hyunjin. “So this is why you’ve been distracted. Why you’re late to things. Why you keep dodging questions.” His voice wasn’t cruel, just cuttingly precise. “You’ve already given him all of you.”

Hyunjin flinched, the truth of it sinking under his skin.

And from the corner of his eye, he saw Chan smile. Not amused, not mocking—something darker, deeper. Possessive.

Hyunjin

He wanted the ground to swallow him whole. Felix was practically glowing, Seungmin’s words felt like scalpels, and Chan’s steady presence at his side only made the whole thing worse—because he wanted it. He wanted the claim.

“Can we not do this before dinner?” he muttered, cheeks flaming. His knees bounced where he sat, restless, traitorous.

“Not my fault,” Felix sang, undeterred. “You’re the one who dropped the bomb. You live here, he said you’re together, and you’re all—” He waved both hands in vague fluster. “—moony and wrecked all the time.”

Hyunjin groaned, dragging a pillow into his lap to bury his face.

Chan

Chan’s lips twitched, just shy of a smirk. He leaned forward in the chair, elbows resting on his knees, gaze steady on Hyunjin even with the pillow hiding half his face.

“Moony and wrecked, huh?” His tone was mild, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes that made Hyunjin squirm harder behind the cushion. “That what you’ve been showing them?”

“Hyung!” Hyunjin hissed into the pillow, mortified.

Felix gasped like he’d won the lottery. Seungmin groaned audibly.

Seungmin

“This is exactly what I meant,” he said flatly, pushing his glasses higher up his nose. “You can’t parade around glowing like a lovesick idiot. People notice. It’s not safe.”

Hyunjin peeked out from behind the pillow, stung. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are,” Seungmin cut in, blunt as ever. “And now I know why.” His eyes flicked toward Chan, sharp and assessing. “Because he’s not just anyone.”

The room went heavy for a beat.

Hyunjin

Hyunjin’s stomach twisted. The way Seungmin said it, it was almost an accusation—but not quite. More like a warning, or maybe a plea for him to think. His pulse thudded in his ears.

But then Chan’s hand brushed against his knee under the pillow, steady and grounding, and the twist inside him eased.

“I know,” Hyunjin said softly, more to Seungmin than Felix. “I know it’s risky. I’m not pretending it isn’t. But it’s… different.” His voice cracked, and he hated how raw it sounded. “He’s different.”

Chan

Chan’s jaw tightened, but his hand stayed on Hyunjin’s knee, warm and certain. He let the words hang in the air a moment before speaking.

“I don’t play games,” he said simply, eyes never leaving Seungmin. “He’s with me, and I take care of what’s mine.”

Felix let out a squeal so high-pitched it could’ve shattered glass. Seungmin, though, didn’t look away—he studied Chan like he was trying to decide if the words were enough.

Hyunjin

Hyunjin wanted to scream. Or run. Or maybe just pull Chan down onto the couch and prove to both of them that he wasn’t exaggerating. Instead, he hid his burning face in the pillow again and mumbled, “I hate all of you.”

Felix clapped gleefully. “You’re in love.”

Seungmin sighed, long-suffering. “He’s in trouble.”

And Chan—Chan only squeezed Hyunjin’s knee once before standing, heading toward the kitchen. “Dinner,” he said, voice even, but Hyunjin caught the edge of satisfaction in it.

Chan

By the time he came back, plates in hand, the atmosphere had shifted just enough. Felix was still vibrating with barely-contained excitement, Seungmin still watchful, and Hyunjin… Hyunjin was curled small into the couch like he could disappear into the fabric.

Chan set the plates down on the low table with deliberate care, one at a time, letting the clink of ceramic fill the silence. “Food’s ready. Eat before it gets cold.”

It wasn’t a request.

Hyunjin

Hyunjin sat up, pillow still clutched in his lap, and tried not to meet Felix’s eyes. Tried not to meet Seungmin’s either. His throat was tight, but the smell of food—spiced chicken, roasted vegetables, rice—grounded him a little.

Felix reached first, practically bouncing as he scooped rice onto his plate. “Oh my god, hyung, this smells amazing. You live on this? No wonder you always look like you’re glowing—”

“Felix,” Seungmin warned, though even he couldn’t help but glance at the spread with reluctant appreciation.

Chan

Chan slid a plate toward Hyunjin before anyone else. “Eat.” His voice was quiet but firm, the same way he always was with Hyunjin when he wanted to remind him he was cared for, watched over. Then, only once Hyunjin had taken it, he set down the others.

“You cooked this?” Felix asked, already halfway through his first bite.

Chan nodded. “I always cook for us.”

That earned him a startled look from Seungmin, like he hadn’t expected the answer to be so casual, so matter-of-fact.

Hyunjin

Hyunjin’s chest swelled, pride slipping in unbidden. He ducked his head to hide it, picking at his food with his chopsticks. “He won’t let me starve,” he said softly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Chan’s hand brushed the back of his chair, not quite touching, but there. Steady.

Felix

Felix squealed, pressing both hands to his cheeks. “This is like—like a drama but real! He cooks for you, takes care of you, looks at you like that—”

“Felix,” Seungmin cut in again, sharper this time, but Felix only giggled into his food.

Seungmin’s gaze lingered on Chan, measuring. “So you mean it,” he said finally. Not a question, more like a conclusion. “This isn’t temporary for you.”

Chan

Chan didn’t flinch. He set his chopsticks down, folded his hands, and met Seungmin’s eyes directly. “It’s not temporary unless he wants it to be.” His tone carried no hesitation, no room for argument.

Hyunjin froze, heat rushing through him so fast he almost choked on his food. Felix let out another dramatic gasp.

Hyunjin

He wanted to crawl under the table and never come out—but underneath the mortification was something else, deeper, sharper: the thrill of being claimed like that, so openly, in front of the people who mattered most.

He glanced at Seungmin, waiting for the inevitable lecture, but Seungmin only sighed, shaking his head as he finally started to eat.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, hyung,” Seungmin muttered.

Hyunjin’s lips curved despite himself. “Yeah,” he said quietly, almost to himself, almost to Chan. “I think I do.”

Hyunjin

When the plates were mostly empty and Felix was humming happily about how full he was, Hyunjin gathered up his own dish, muttering, “I’ll do the clean-up.”

Before he could even stand, Felix sprang up beside him. “I’ll help! I owe you after that meal, hyung.”

Hyunjin almost groaned—he’d been hoping for a breather—but Felix’s wide, pleading eyes didn’t give him much choice. “Fine,” he muttered, carrying the stack into the kitchen.

Felix trailed close behind, chattering all the way about seasonings and how he needed recipes and wasn’t it the most romantic thing ever that Chan cooked all the time? Hyunjin shoved him a sponge just to get him to hush.

Seungmin

The moment the kitchen door swung closed, the hum of running water masking their voices, Seungmin turned to Chan.

He leaned back on the couch, arms crossed, gaze sharp as a blade. “So.” His voice carried none of Felix’s playful awe, only cool calculation. “What exactly are your intentions with him?”

Chan met his eyes, unflinching.

Chan

“He already told you,” Chan said simply, resting his elbows on his knees. “This isn’t short-term. I’m not here to play with him until I’m bored. That’s not who I am.”

Seungmin didn’t look satisfied. “Words are easy. He’s not exactly… subtle about how much space he takes up. He’s vulnerable, even when he pretends he isn’t. And you’re his professor. You hold all the power.”

Chan inhaled slowly, steadying himself. He wasn’t used to being spoken to like this—challenged, cornered—but for Hyunjin’s sake, he respected it. “You’re right. There’s a power imbalance. That’s why I’ve made sure every step is his choice. He stays with me because he wants to. He eats because I put the plate in front of him, but he picks up his chopsticks. If he tells me to stop, I stop.”

His jaw tightened. “You think I don’t know how dangerous this could be? I’m risking everything too. My job. My reputation. But he’s worth it.”

Seungmin

Something flickered in Seungmin’s expression at that—not approval, not yet, but recognition. Like he was weighing Chan’s words against the raw affection he’d seen threaded through Hyunjin’s every glance tonight.

“You sound sure of yourself,” Seungmin murmured. “But if you hurt him—if you make him regret trusting you—I won’t stay quiet. Neither will Felix.”

Chan

Chan’s mouth curved faintly, though there was no humor in it. “Good,” he said, low and certain. “He needs people who’ll protect him. Even from me, if it came to that. But it won’t.”

The conviction in his voice settled heavy in the air, undeniable.

Hyunjin

From the kitchen, Hyunjin’s laugh rang out—bright, startled, Felix having said something ridiculous about how domestic they looked.

Chan’s gaze softened at the sound, shoulders easing. “He’s not going to regret me,” he added, more to himself than to Seungmin. “Not if I can help it.”

---

Hyunjin

Warm water steamed against his hands as he scrubbed at a plate, trying not to think about how cramped the kitchen suddenly felt with Felix bouncing beside him. The hum of the tap was steady, but Felix’s voice—bright, rapid, delighted—filled every corner.

“You have to admit this is like… domestic bliss, hyung. He cooked, you’re cleaning—it’s like one of those couple vlogs. If you start feeding him bites of fruit over the sink, I’m actually going to scream.”

Hyunjin elbowed him lightly, cheeks hot. “You’re so annoying.”

Felix only grinned wider, drying a glass with exaggerated flourish. “Annoyingly right.”

Felix

He snuck a sideways look at Hyunjin, who was biting back a smile he clearly didn’t want to give away. Felix leaned closer, dropping his voice conspiratorially. “So… what’s it really like? Living here?”

Hyunjin stiffened, hands pausing in the water. Felix didn’t push immediately, just waited, drying the same glass twice.

Hyunjin

He sighed, shaking his head, lips quirking in spite of himself. “You’re worse than Seungmin. At least he pretends to be subtle.”

Felix bounced on his toes, triumphant. “So there is something to tell.”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes but gave in, voice dropping to a murmur. “It’s… different. Comfortable. He notices things. Like, if I forget to eat, there’s food already waiting. If I fall asleep on the couch, he doesn’t wake me—he just covers me up. It’s…” He trailed off, searching for the right word. “…safe.”

Felix

Felix’s grin softened, something warmer behind it now. “He really looks after you, huh?”

Hyunjin ducked his head, scrubbing harder at the plate, trying to hide the blush creeping up his neck. “…Yeah.”

Felix nudged him gently with his shoulder. “You know I’m not just teasing, right? I’m happy for you. Like, really happy. I’ve never seen you this…” He searched Hyunjin’s face, eyes sparkling. “…soft.”

Hyunjin huffed a laugh, but his chest ached a little with how true it felt.

Hyunjin

He should’ve known Felix wouldn’t stop there. Fifteen years of friendship meant there was no corner safe from his best friend’s curiosity. Sure enough, Felix leaned his elbows on the counter, eyes glittering with mischief.

“Alright, hyung. Enough of the fluffy ‘he tucks me in’ stuff. Spill. What’s he like when it’s not soft? When it’s just you and him and no audience?”

Hyunjin almost dropped the plate. Heat rushed up his neck, and he fumbled to set it in the rack before Felix noticed how badly his hands were shaking.

“You—why do you always—” He broke off, groaning into the towel he grabbed, muffling half his words. “You’re the worst.”

Felix only laughed, unbothered. “I’m the best. And you love me. So talk.”

Hyunjin
Hyunjin’s shoulders sagged in a way that was both relief and embarrassment as Felix kept at him—he’d known he wouldn’t get out of this without giving something up. The sponge squeaked against a plate; steam fogged the window. He scrubbed one side clean, then stalled, looking at Felix over his shoulder.

“You’re insane,” he muttered, but there was a grin there. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

Felix’s grin was lethal. “Everything. Start from the beginning. How did he touch you first? Does he kiss you like he eats you alive? Is he gentle? Is he mean? Be specific.”

Hyunjin’s fingers fumbled with a towel until he swiped it roughly across the rim of a glass, trying to buy time. “You’re terrible,” he breathed. Then, softer: “He…claims me before anyone else does.” He set the glass on the drainer and turned, the kitchen light catching the flush on his face. “At first it was little things—his hand on the small of my back when we passed in the hall, tucking my hair behind my ear like he’d memorized the way it fell. He notices the stupid stuff. If I’m running on no sleep he’ll bring me soup. He’ll pull me away from my desk and literally make me nap.”

Felix

Felix peered closer, eyes sparkling like he was being fed spoilers. “Okay, but the bedroom stuff. Hyung, we’ve known each other since middle school—I have the right. Was it awkward? Romantic? Did he say anything sweet? Did he whisper rude things? Come on, don’t be coy.”

Hyunjin’s cheeks heated even more. He pressed the towel into his palms, fingers twisting the fabric. He let out a breath that sounded half-laugh, half-sigh. “He’s…everything and then some. He can be soft, Felix—really tender. Like, after, he holds me like I’m breakable, presses his lips to my temple and actually fusses over the way I breathe. He’ll clean me up. He’ll make me tea and insist I eat while I’m still dazed.”

Felix clicked his tongue in mock approval. “Cute. But that’s not the whole menu. Don’t leave out the spicy bits. Is he good? Like—good good? Or just all talk?”

Hyunjin

Hyunjin swallowed. He felt ridiculous and thrilled all at once—Felix had earned the permission to pry, after fifteen years of friendship. “When he wants me—when he’s possessive—he’s not gentle. He can be rough in a way that makes it impossible to think about anything else. He doesn’t shout; he doesn’t have to. He just looks at me, and I melt. Sometimes... sometimes he’ll pin me down. Choke me. Spit in my mouth.—never hurt me, but he makes sure I know he owns the space. And then? Then he’s the only voice in my head until he lets me go.”

Felix’s face had gone delightfully scandalized. “Pin you? Like, on purpose? In public? Oh my god, hyung.” He snorted, drying a bowl a little too loudly. “This is cinematic. How about the kissing—do you kiss him like you mean it, or do you whimper and then hide?”

Hyunjin couldn’t help the small, shameless smile that cracked through. “Both. Sometimes I start out brattier, trying to push back, and he just…turns it. There was this one time in the practice room where I tried to tease him and he just caught my wrist and kissed me like he wanted to swallow me whole. I almost—” He broke off, cheeks flaming again.

Felix

Felix leaned in, conspiratorial. “Almost what? Hyung, you are torturing me.”

Hyunjin huffed a laugh. “Almost lost my mind. He’ll make me beg in the quietest voice, like he’s asking a favor. And sometimes he’ll switch—soft whispers, then a sharp order. It’s weirdly comforting that he can be both.”

A beat of silence, the comfortable kind that came from a friendship that had outlived every awkward phase. Felix looked pleased, scandalized, and genuinely happy in a way that softened Hyunjin’s embarrassment.

Felix

“Okay, okay. The part I really need: is he sweet after? Like, does he stay and cuddle? Does he sing to you? Does he buy you stupid gifts?” Felix’s voice was breathless, like he was listing the best parts of a guilty-pleasure show.

Hyunjin

“He does all of it,” Hyunjin said, and the admission was immediate and unguarded now. “He waits. He tucks me in. He teases me until I laugh and then apologizes by kissing my nose. He fusses over how much water I’ve had, brings the stupid face masks when I’ve got puffy eyes. He buys me dumb, practical stuff—socks I don’t want to admit I love. He’s protective in a million small ways. It’s not a grand gesture every time; it’s tiny, constant. And when he’s done being fierce, he’s the softest thing I know.”

Felix made a sound like a delighted choked laugh. “Hyung. That’s actually perfect. That’s so… real. I love that for you.”

Felix

Felix’s curiosity wouldn’t stop. “Alright, one last thing. Tell me the first time. The first time he—” he lowered his voice like they were conspiring to steal something. “—really wanted you. How did he make you feel?”

Hyunjin chewed the inside of his cheek, then exhaled, eyes glossy in the kitchen light. “Wanted,” he echoed. “It felt like being seen in a way I’d never admitted I wanted. He made space for me to be messy—told me to stop apologizing for wanting him. And when he took me… it was messy and careful both. He held me after, whispered that I didn’t have to do anything but be with him. I felt…claimed, and safe. It’s stupid, but it’s true.”

Felix studied him for a beat, something like awe folding his features soft. Then he shoved a wet dish at Hyunjin. “That’s enough. You’re making me cry. And also, you have to show me how to flirt like that. Teach me.”

Hyunjin

Hyunjin rolled his eyes but couldn’t keep the grin off his face as Felix mimed theatrical swooning at the sink. The heat had faded into a warm glow, the embarrassment now as much a badge as a blush. He dabbed at a plate with the towel, feeling a quiet, stubborn kind of happiness settle in his chest. Sharing it with Felix—letting the details out in a place that felt safe—felt like closing a circle he hadn’t known he’d been walking around.

“Deal,” he said, and Felix whooped, victory all over his face.

They moved on to the next plate in companionable silence, Felix still occasionally elbowing him and whispering scandalous comments. Hyunjin answered with little asides—soft, true, and enough to make his chest ache in the best way.

Seungmin

Seungmin set his empty glass on the coffee table, eyes flicking toward the kitchen where the clink of dishes and Felix’s too-loud laugh carried easily. His arms folded over his chest, posture casual but his gaze sharp. “They’re… close,” he muttered, as though he didn't already know that fact.

Across from him, Chan hummed in agreement, leaning back in his chair. “They’ve known each other a long time, right? Felix seems good at pulling things out of him.”

Seungmin frowned slightly. “Things Hyunjin wouldn’t tell anyone else.”

Chan’s lips curved at that—just a little, the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Including you?”

Seungmin bristled, then forced his shoulders to relax. “…He used to tell me everything.” His tone was steady, but the edge of loss was there if you knew how to hear it.

Chan studied him for a moment, then asked quietly, “And now?”

Seungmin looked toward the kitchen again, Felix’s voice a cheerful buzz as Hyunjin’s low laugh slipped through between the sounds of running water. He swallowed. “…Now I think he tells Felix more. And you.”

Chan

The admission wasn’t thrown, wasn’t bitter—it was just true. Chan’s chest tightened at the honesty of it. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “That doesn’t mean he’s shutting you out. People… need different things from different people. You give him stability. Felix gives him history. I—” He stopped, searching Seungmin’s face, careful. “…I give him something else. It doesn’t cancel the others out.”

Seungmin’s mouth pressed into a line. “…Something he was late to the library for today.”

Chan exhaled slowly, a dry chuckle slipping out. “You’re sharper than you let on.”

Seungmin

He gave Chan a look, sharp and unimpressed. “I’m not stupid. I know what it means, coming in flushed and distracted. I know what Felix is probably dragging out of him right now.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “But you said this isn’t casual. That this is long-term. Do you mean it?”

Chan didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

The certainty in his voice made Seungmin falter. His jaw tightened, but his voice came quieter this time. “…Then you’d better keep proving it. Because he’s not as strong as he pretends.”

Chan’s expression softened. “I know. That’s why I’m here.”

---

Felix & Hyunjin

The kitchen door swung open then, Felix bounding out with a grin wide enough to light up the whole room. “We’re done! And you two look way too serious—what did I miss?”

Hyunjin followed, drying his hands on a towel, a faint flush still painted across his cheeks. His eyes darted toward Chan instinctively, softening just for him before flicking back to Seungmin. “We didn’t break anything, promise.”

Felix snickered. “Except maybe my brain. You should hear the way he talks about you, Chan-hyung. I’m actually in pain.”

Hyunjin groaned, tossing the towel at him. “You’re insufferable.”

But Seungmin was watching more carefully now. The warmth in Hyunjin’s gaze, the quiet way he shifted nearer to Chan as if pulled by gravity—it was different. Fragile, maybe, but real.

And for the first time, Seungmin wondered if his role wasn’t to protect Hyunjin from this—but to make sure it lasted.

---

Felix

The night air was cool, the buzz of the city soft around them as Felix practically skipped down the sidewalk. His grin hadn’t dimmed once since they’d stepped out of Chan’s building.

“Seungminnie,” he sang, bumping their shoulders together. “Tell me you saw that. The way he kept looking at Hyunjinnie like he was the most important person in the whole room—ugh, my heart. I can’t take it.”

Seungmin rolled his eyes, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You’re too much.”

Felix ignored him entirely, spinning on his heel to walk backwards, facing him. “No, seriously. Did you see the way Hyunjin leaned into him without even realizing? Or how Chan-hyung made sure his plate had more of the side dish Hyunjinnie likes before he even sat down? That’s not just a fling, Min. That’s…” He pressed a hand over his chest dramatically. “…real.”

Seungmin

He let out a breath, slower than he meant to. “Yeah. I saw.”

Felix’s grin widened. “And?”

“And what?”

Felix groaned, throwing his hands up. “And you think it’s okay, right? You’re not still in doom-and-gloom mode, acting like it’s going to end in flames?”

Seungmin’s jaw worked as he stared ahead. “I think…” He paused, choosing carefully. “I think Hyunjin’s the happiest I’ve seen him in months. Maybe years.”

Felix’s gasp was loud enough to make a passerby glance over. “That’s basically a love confession coming from you.”

Seungmin shoved his shoulder this time, scowling. “Shut up.” But his voice lacked bite.

Felix

“You like him, don’t you? Chan-hyung, I mean.” Felix’s grin softened, less teasing now, more curious.

Seungmin arched a brow. “I don’t ‘like’ him. I don’t know him well enough for that.” He exhaled. “…But I respect that he takes Hyunjin seriously. That he doesn’t treat him like some… reckless distraction.”

Felix nodded eagerly, walking forward again. “Exactly! You get it. He cares. And Hyunjinnie—he’s not scared, you know? Not second-guessing every move, not hiding. He’s just… soft.” He beamed. “Our Hyunjinnie deserves soft.”

Seungmin’s silence lingered, but Felix caught the small, reluctant curve at the corner of his mouth.

Seungmin

“…You’re insufferable when you’re right,” he muttered.

Felix laughed, loud and unbothered. “Then get used to it, because I’m so right about this one.”

And for once, Seungmin didn’t argue.

Chapter 33

Hyunjin

The door clicked shut, leaving behind a silence that felt both too big and too small at once. Hyunjin leaned against it for a moment, exhaling slow, trying to shake off the jittery hum that always came from being with Felix and Seungmin at the same time. They were relentless in their own ways—Felix with his joy, Seungmin with his scrutiny.

And yet… both of them had walked out smiling. Lighter.

Hyunjin’s chest squeezed at the thought.

“Everything okay?”

The voice pulled him forward before his brain caught up. Chan was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, wiping down the counters like he hadn’t already done it twice.

Hyunjin drifted over, pressing into his side without a word. Chan stilled for only a second before sliding an arm around his waist, tugging him close, warm and steady.

Chan

He tilted his head, pressing his lips to Hyunjin’s temple. The tension buzzing through him was obvious, running through every lean muscle under his shirt.

“Too much?” he murmured. “I can tell them not to come again if it’s—”

“No,” Hyunjin cut him off quickly, words muffled against his chest. “Don’t. It was… good. They’re just—” He broke off, sighing. “They care. Too much sometimes.”

Hyunjin tipped his head back enough to pout at him, but the smile tugging at his lips ruined the effect.

Hyunjin

“They saw it, you know,” he said suddenly, blurting it out before he could second-guess.

Chan frowned slightly. “Saw what?”

“That you… this.” He gestured between them, vague, clumsy, then ducked his head against Chan’s shoulder to hide the heat crawling up his neck. “That you take care of me. That it’s not just—just messing around.”

For a beat, the only sound was the steady tick of the kitchen clock.

Chan

Chan set the cloth down, both hands coming up to cup Hyunjin’s face, gentle but firm, forcing his gaze up. “Of course they saw it. I don’t hide it, Jinnie. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to.”

The raw honesty in his voice made Hyunjin’s chest ache. Chan’s thumbs brushed across his cheekbones, grounding him. “It’s not temporary. Not for me. I need you to hear that every time you start doubting. This is long-term unless you decide otherwise.”

Hyunjin’s breath hitched, throat tight. The words landed heavier than he’d expected, like anchors and wings all at once.

Hyunjin

His hands fisted in Chan’s shirt, tugging him closer, almost desperate. “I don’t want otherwise,” he whispered. The truth left him trembling, but lighter too, like admitting it out loud finally loosened the knot in his chest.

Chan’s smile was soft, proud, before he leaned in and kissed him slow, lingering, like sealing a promise.

By the time they pulled apart, Hyunjin was already half-melting, his eyelids heavy, his body tugged toward the comfort he only seemed to find here.

Chan chuckled low. “Come on. You’re falling asleep on your feet.”

Hyunjin just hummed and let Chan steer him away, too tired to answer, too safe to care.

The sheets were still warm from the dryer, soft against his bare legs as he flopped into bed, tugging Chan down beside him with little ceremony. He was buzzing on the edges of exhaustion—too tired to think clearly, too wound up to sleep right away.

Chan settled against the headboard, arm stretched out, and Hyunjin immediately burrowed into his chest, half-draped over him like he belonged there. His voice came out muffled, almost whiny.

“Don’t laugh at me.”

Chan’s chest rumbled under his cheek only after he'd made the accusation. “Haven’t said a word yet.”

Hyunjin tipped his head back just enough to squint up at him, hair falling into his eyes. “But you’re thinking it. That I’m too clingy.”

Chan

He reached down, brushing his hair back, fingertips dragging lightly across Hyunjin’s temple. “I was thinking you’re warm. That’s all.” His tone softened, dropping to something closer to a vow. “And I like you right here. Don’t ever think I don’t.”

Hyunjin went quiet at that, biting at his lip like he didn’t know where to put the feeling swelling in his chest.

Hyunjin

The silence stretched, filled only by the soft hum of the heater and Chan’s steady heartbeat under his ear. His brain itched with questions, too many, tumbling over each other. He blurted the first one before he could stop it.

“What were you like… before me?”

Chan blinked down at him. “Before you?”

“Yeah.” Hyunjin shifted, propping his chin on Chan’s chest, eyes big, nosy, insistent. “Like, when you went home after class—what did you even do? Did you ever bring anyone here? Did you cook for yourself, or did you just eat ramen every night?”

Chan

He laughed, quiet, shaking his head. “One at a time, Jinnie.” His thumb traced idle circles against Hyunjin’s shoulder as he thought. “Before you, it was… work. Lectures. Writing when I had the energy. Gym. Most nights I stayed here, ate whatever was fastest, crashed.”

Hyunjin’s nose wrinkled. “That’s so boring.”

Chan grinned. “Guess I needed you to make it less boring.”

That earned him the smallest, bashful smile, hidden quickly as Hyunjin ducked back down.

Hyunjin

His mind wouldn’t stop spinning, curiosity buzzing. “And… no one else? Not even—”

“No one,” Chan cut in firmly, voice carrying a weight Hyunjin couldn’t ignore. He tipped Hyunjin’s chin up so their eyes met. “I wasn’t waiting for someone. But now that you’re here? I’m not looking at anyone else.”

The blunt certainty of it knocked the air out of Hyunjin. He swallowed hard, pressing closer, whispering into Chan’s shirt. “…Good. Don’t.”

---

Hyunjin

The apartment was quiet, wrapped in that heavy kind of silence that only came deep into the night. Hyunjin lay on his side, staring at the steady rise and fall of Chan’s chest beside him. The older man’s arm was draped loosely around his waist, protective even in sleep.

But Hyunjin’s heart wouldn’t settle. It raced with a kind of nervous joy, the words Felix had so casually thrown at him earlier still circling his head like moths around a flame.

You love him.

At the time, he’d denied it. Too fast, too harsh. But now, in the stillness, he couldn’t deny it at all. His chest ached with it, his stomach flipped with it, his throat felt thick with it. He wanted to say it. Needed to.

He wriggled just slightly, enough to make Chan stir. The arm around him tightened instantly, pulling him in, pressing him closer. The warmth of it made his breath hitch.

“Hyung,” he whispered, almost testing.

A soft hum answered him, groggy but present. “Mm? You okay?”

Hyunjin swallowed hard, eyes burning as he tucked his face against Chan’s chest. His voice shook when it came. “I… I don’t know how to say this without sounding stupid.”

Chan’s hand moved lazily up his back, gentle, coaxing. “Then don’t worry about sounding stupid. Just talk to me.”

Hyunjin’s throat closed up. He hated how small he sounded, how fragile. But he pushed through, gripping at Chan’s shirt like it would ground him.

“I love you.”

The silence that followed nearly broke him in half. His breath came shallow, his eyes squeezed shut. He was terrified—terrified Chan would think it was too soon, too much, terrified he’d ruined everything.

Then Chan shifted, rolling him fully onto his back, hovering above him with eyes wide open now, sharp even in the dark. His hands framed Hyunjin’s face, thumbs brushing over hot, damp skin.

“Say it again,” Chan demanded, low, almost disbelieving.

Hyunjin blinked up at him, tears threatening, lips trembling. “I love you, hyung.”

This time, Chan kissed him so hard it knocked the air from his lungs. Desperate, consuming, like he’d been waiting to hear those words all along. He swallowed every sound Hyunjin made, only pulling back when they were both gasping.

“You have no idea,” Chan rasped, forehead pressed to Hyunjin’s, his breath hot and uneven. “How long I’ve wanted to hear that. You think it’s just you? Jinnie, I’m gone for you. Completely. You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

Hyunjin’s chest cracked wide open. His arms wrapped around Chan’s shoulders, pulling him down, holding him like he’d never let go.

“I don’t want anyone else,” he whispered fiercely. “I don’t even want to think about anyone else. As long as it’s you, I’ll stay. Forever.”

Chan groaned softly, pressing his mouth to Hyunjin’s again, slower now, reverent. His hands stroked through his hair, down his sides, mapping him like something precious.

“Good,” Chan murmured against his lips. “Because I’m never letting you go.”

Hyunjin melted beneath him, overwhelmed but steady in his certainty. The fear that had kept him up, the confusion that had tangled in his chest—it all gave way to this, to Chan’s warmth, his possessiveness, his unshakable care.

And for the first time, the idea of forever didn’t scare him.

It thrilled him.

Chapter 34

Hyunjin

The end of class was always chaotic—papers shuffling, chairs scraping, the buzz of students eager to escape the lecture hall. Hyunjin slung his bag over his shoulder, already thumbing at his phone to shoot Seungmin a message that he’d meet him soon—they had mid-terms coming up.

But then, just like the last time, a shadow slid into his path.

“Hey, Hyunjin,” someone spoke, leaning just a little too close and blocking his way. “Heading to the library? We should study together—composition’s brutal this week. Could use your notes.”

Hyunjin forced a polite smile. “Sorry, already got plans.” He sidestepped, but Jiwon shifted with him. Persistent. More so than last time.

“You’re always busy,” Jiwon pressed, a teasing lilt to his tone. “What, some big secret? Someone waiting on you?” His eyes narrowed, flicking not-so-subtly toward the front of the classroom where Chan was still packing up.

Hyunjin’s heart stuttered. The heat of being seen by him made his skin crawl.

He scoffed, trying to brush it off. “It’s called a social life. Not everything’s your business.”

But Jiwon wasn’t letting go. He leaned in just enough for Hyunjin to catch the edge of his cologne. “Funny, though. You’re always sneaking out quick. Always looking at him.”

Hyunjin froze. His stomach flipped—equal parts panic and… exhilaration. He darted a glance toward Chan, who was watching now, eyes sharp, jaw tight. Possessiveness radiated off him even from across the room.

And god, it was hot.

Hyunjin tilted his head, letting the faintest smirk curl his lips. “So what if I am?” he shot back, low, just enough to make the classmate falter. “You jealous?”

The other boy blinked, caught off guard, but Hyunjin didn’t wait for an answer. He brushed past, pulse thundering.

Chan

He’d been trying—trying—to keep his composure. To stay neutral, professional. But the way that boy lingered near Hyunjin, the insinuations in his tone, the gall of suggesting what he already suspected…

Chan’s fists curled tight around the strap of his bag. Every muscle in his body screamed to cut in, to stake his claim right then and there, but he forced himself still. Not here. Not with so many eyes.

But when Hyunjin glanced back at him—eyes bright, cheeks flushed, a smirk tugging at his mouth—it nearly undid him. That bratty streak, that deliberate taunt… Hyunjin knew exactly what he was doing.

And Chan’s chest burned with equal parts fury and desire.

He let Hyunjin slip out first, but his gaze never left Jiwon, who was still standing there, frowning, unsettled. Chan made sure his stare was deliberate, cold, heavy with warning.

Mine.

Hyunjin

Outside the building, he leaned against the cool brick wall, waiting. His phone buzzed with a message from Seungmin—running late, start without me—but he barely registered it. His blood was still rushing, his body thrumming with adrenaline.

Because he’d seen it. The fire in Chan’s eyes. The way he’d looked at Jiwon like he could burn him down.

And it made Hyunjin’s stomach twist in the best way.

When the door finally opened and Chan stepped out, that same heat still radiating off him, Hyunjin pushed off the wall, lips quirking. “You’re gonna scare him off if you keep looking at him like that, hyung.”

Chan stopped in front of him, close enough that the air between them sparked. His voice was low, dangerous. “Good. That’s exactly what I want.”

Hyunjin’s pulse skipped, a shiver crawling up his spine. He licked his lips, suddenly feeling reckless. “What if I like it when you get jealous?”

Chan’s jaw flexed. His hand twitched at his side, like he was barely resisting the urge to grab him right there.

“Then,” Chan said, voice rough with restraint, “you’d better be ready for the consequences.”

---

Hyunjin

It had been a week, and Hyunjin thought maybe—just maybe—his classmate would finally back off. But as soon as class ended, Jiwon was at his side again, smile a little too slick, voice pitched to sound casual.

“Hyunjin. You’ve been dodging me,” he said, blocking the aisle before Hyunjin could slip away. “Come on, just one coffee. I’m not asking you to marry me.”

Hyunjin’s grip on his bag tightened. “I already told you, I’m busy.”

The boy leaned in, lowering his voice. “Busy with him?” His chin flicked—too quick, but obvious enough—toward the front of the room where Chan was still sorting through papers.

Hyunjin’s stomach flipped. He hated how transparent he must have been. But worse than that was the way the boy’s words dripped with smug suspicion.

Hyunjin forced a scoff, trying to push past. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But his pulse betrayed him. And the boy’s smirk told him he’d noticed.

---

Chan

The email came hours later. He’d been at his desk, half-listening to music through one earbud, when the subject line froze his blood.

Concern regarding professor–student boundaries.

His stomach dropped. He clicked it open with shaking hands.

Professor Bang, it read. It has been brought to our attention—informally at this stage—that there are rumors circulating about a possible inappropriate relationship between yourself and a student. While no formal complaint has been made, we urge you to exercise utmost caution and professionalism to avoid any appearance of impropriety. Please confirm that this is unfounded at your earliest convenience.

Chan swore under his breath, shoving a hand through his hair. His chest felt tight, his throat raw.

Rumors. Already.

He slammed his laptop shut, breath harsh. He knew exactly where this came from. The advances toward Hyunjin from Jiwon, the way Hyunjin had brushed him off—it didn’t take a genius to connect the dots.

And now it was bleeding into his career. His job. His entire future.

But worse than that was the sick churn in his gut at the thought of Hyunjin being dragged into it. The whispers, the stares, the risk of his name being tied to Chan’s before they were even steady on their feet.

---

Hyunjin

That evening, when he let himself into Chan’s apartment, he knew instantly something was wrong. The air felt heavier, the tension sharp enough to sting his skin.

Chan was on the couch, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, laptop closed beside him, jaw set tight.

“Hyung?” Hyunjin’s voice came out softer than he meant, nerves pricking at him. “What happened?”

Chan lifted his gaze, and it was all fire and fury and fear mixed together.

“We’ve been seen,” he said simply.

Hyunjin’s heart slammed against his ribs.

Hyunjin

The words sank into him like ice, but before he could even form a question, Chan was on his feet. His pacing was sharp, restless, like he was trying to out-walk the storm inside his chest.

“We’ve been seen,” Chan repeated, voice low, roughened by the strain. “Rumors are already moving. My boss emailed me today, Hyunjin. Today.” He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling hard. “They told me to confirm it’s unfounded—like I could just… erase you. Pretend none of this exists.”

Hyunjin stood frozen by the door, bag still slung over his shoulder. His throat felt tight. “…What did you say?”

“I didn’t answer.” Chan stopped then, finally turning to look at him. His eyes were wild, dark with panic, but underneath it was something fierce, something unshakable. “Because I’m not lying about you. I won’t.”

Hyunjin’s breath caught. He’d almost—almost—expected Chan to say it was over—to protect his job, his reputation. But the stubborn set of his jaw said the opposite.

“Hyung—”

“No.” Chan cut him off, crossing the room in two long strides. He cupped Hyunjin’s face in both hands, thumbs pressing warm into his skin. “Listen to me. I don’t care what they say. I don’t care if every whisper in that building turns into shouting—I’m not giving you up. Not now, not ever.” His voice broke, low and raw. “Do you hear me? You’re mine.”

Hyunjin’s bag slipped from his shoulder and thudded to the floor. His heart was hammering so hard it almost hurt.

“But your job—”

“I’ll fight for it.” Chan’s grip firmed, his forehead pressing against Hyunjin’s. His breath was ragged, but his words were steady. “I’ll fight for us. If I have to stand in front of my boss and tell him I’ve never cared for anyone like I care for you, I will. If they try to make me choose—” His jaw clenched, but his eyes softened, desperate. “It’ll still be you.”

Hyunjin’s vision blurred, his chest aching with how fiercely the words landed. “Hyung…”

Chan’s thumb swept across his cheekbone, brushing away the tear that spilled over. “Don’t cry, baby. I promised you—small steps, remember? But this—” His voice lowered, steady and resolute. “This is the mountain I’ll climb. Because I want forever with you, Hyunjin. No rumor, no rule, no one else gets to take that away.”

Hyunjin collapsed against him then, arms wound tight around his waist, burying his face into Chan’s chest. He felt the steady beat of Chan’s heart, the iron grip around his back, and knew—truly knew—that Chan meant every word.

Hyunjin

He clung tighter, fingers curling into the back of Chan’s shirt like he was afraid he’d vanish if he let go. His breath shuddered against Chan’s chest before he finally tilted his head back, eyes wet but steady.

“Then we face it,” Hyunjin whispered, voice rough with the weight of it. “Not just you—us. If they ask, if they push… I’m not hiding like I’m ashamed. I’m not ashamed of you. Of this.”

Chan’s throat worked, something sharp and tender flickering across his face. His grip softened, but he didn’t let go, like his hands were the only thing tethering them both.

“You’d risk that?” he murmured, disbelief tugging at the edges of his tone. “The whispers, the looks—the fallout. For me?”

Hyunjin nodded without hesitation, though his lip trembled. “For us. You keep saying you’ll fight, but… you don’t have to fight alone. If it gets ugly, I want to be standing next to you, not waiting on the sidelines wondering if you’ll come home wrecked.” He swallowed hard, the words spilling faster now, carried by the heat in his chest. “I’d rather face people’s judgment than spend one day pretending what we have isn’t real.”

For a long moment, Chan just stared at him, silent and undone. Then he pulled Hyunjin into him again, arms crushingly tight, his voice low and fierce against his hair.

“God, you’re everything I ever wanted,” he breathed, almost broken by it. “I don’t deserve you.”

Hyunjin’s answer was immediate, muffled against his chest but clear. “Yes, you do. We both do. We’re not letting them decide that.”

Chan shut his eyes, exhaling a shaky laugh that sounded half like a sob. His hand slid into Hyunjin’s hair, holding him close, grounding himself in the warmth pressed against him.

“Okay,” he whispered finally. “Together.”

Hyunjin smiled through the sting of tears, pressing closer. “Always.”

Hyunjin

He pulled back just enough to see Chan’s face, his own palms coming up to cradle the older man’s cheeks. His thumbs brushed across the faint shadows under his eyes, the ones that had been growing darker all week.

“Hey,” Hyunjin whispered, softer now, almost coaxing. “You don’t have to carry it all by yourself, you know. You don’t always have to be the strong one.”

Chan’s mouth opened, some protest sitting on his tongue, but Hyunjin leaned in and pressed his forehead to his, silencing him before it could form. “You’ve been looking after me since the start,” he murmured, breath warm against Chan’s lips. “Making sure I’m fed, that I’m safe, that I’m… happy. Let me do the same for you now. Just let me take care of you for once.”

Chan’s lashes fluttered, the fight bleeding out of him as Hyunjin’s fingers traced slow, grounding lines along his jaw. His chest hitched when Hyunjin kissed him—gentle, reassuring, the kind of kiss that didn’t take but gave.

When they parted, Hyunjin’s voice was steady, certain. “You’re not alone in this. Even if it gets messy, even if it gets scary—I’m right here. You don’t have to doubt that.”

Chan blinked rapidly, his throat tightening as his hands slid to Hyunjin’s waist, clutching him like he might never let go. “You’re too good to me,” he rasped, voice thick with everything he couldn’t quite say.

Hyunjin smiled then, soft and lopsided, brushing his nose against Chan’s. “Not too good. Just good enough—for you. Exactly the way you are for me.”

Chan let out a shaky breath, eyes closing as he finally allowed himself to lean, to rest in Hyunjin’s hands. For the first time that night, the weight in his chest eased.

Hyunjin

The email was still open on Chan’s laptop when Hyunjin slid onto the couch beside him. He’d read it twice already, once over Chan’s shoulder, again when Chan wordlessly turned the screen toward him. Each time, the words hit harder: possible inappropriate relationship with a student. The accusation wasn’t even fully formed, but it was enough to send ice down his spine.

His hands fidgeted in his lap until he forced them still. “So… this is it, then?” His voice wavered, betraying him. “They’re already watching you.”

Chan’s jaw worked, silent for too long, and Hyunjin couldn’t stand it. He reached out, grabbing his wrist, holding it tight like an anchor. “I’ll drop the class. If that’s what it takes—I’ll do it. You don’t even have to ask. I’ll—”

“No.” The word was firm, immediate, but when Hyunjin looked up, Chan’s eyes weren’t hard. They were tired, pained, but so full of something steady. “I’m not letting you sacrifice like that for me.”

Hyunjin’s throat tightened. “But if it helps—”

“It won’t,” Chan interrupted gently, covering Hyunjin’s hand with his own. “Dropping the class makes it look worse. Like we’re hiding something. And it’s not just about optics—I don’t want you to give up something you love because of me.”

The lump in Hyunjin’s throat burned. “But I don’t care about the class as much as I care about you. I’ll do anything if it means keeping you safe.”

Chan’s breath hitched, and he squeezed Hyunjin’s hand. “And I’ll do anything to protect you too. But not like that, Jinnie. Not by cutting pieces of yourself away.”

Hyunjin blinked fast, eyes stinging, torn between fear and devotion. He shifted closer, gripping Chan’s shirt with his free hand. “Then tell me what I can do. Don’t just carry it alone. Let me… fight with you. Stand with you. If they want to drag me into it, fine. I’ll say it myself—I’m with you. And I want to be.”

Chan swallowed hard, his composure fracturing at the edges. He pulled Hyunjin into his chest, burying his face in his hair. His voice cracked when it came. “You shouldn’t have to… but God, hearing you say that—”

“I mean it,” Hyunjin whispered fiercely against his collar. “Whatever comes, I’m not running. I’ll stay.”

Chan’s arms tightened around him, fierce and protective, but this time, he let Hyunjin hold him too.

Hyunjin

He could feel Chan spiraling the longer the email sat there, cursor blinking at the bottom like a taunt. Chan’s thumb rubbed over his knuckles again and again, but his stare was locked on the screen. Hyunjin pressed his cheek into his shoulder, voice low, steadying.

“You’re thinking like they’ve already decided,” he murmured. “But they don’t even know who it is. They don’t know me.”

Chan’s head tipped just enough to look down at him, weary, questioning.

Hyunjin shifted back so he could meet his eyes properly. His chest rose and fell too quickly, but his words came sharp, deliberate. “I’m not in music. I’m a dance major. I only signed up for your class because I wanted to prove I could do it—not because it’s my degree. You’re not my academic advisor, you’re not grading my whole future. You’re… one elective.”

It hurt, in a strange way, to call their connection something so small. But the truth of it mattered here, and he could see Chan processing it.

Hyunjin pressed on, squeezing his hand. “If you tell them that upfront, they can’t twist it into something worse. I’m not dependent on you for my degree, I’m not under your supervision outside of this one class. It’s different. Safer.”

Chan

He hadn’t thought of it like that—hadn’t let himself. To him, Hyunjin had become everything, so the distinction between 'student' and Hyunjin blurred to nothing. But he was right. Technically, it was one class. One elective. Nothing binding.

Chan dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. “You’d really let me bring that up?”

Hyunjin blinked at him, incredulous. “Of course. It’s the truth. And if it protects you—us—then yeah, I want you to.” His lip caught between his teeth before he added, quieter, “I’m not ashamed of this. I’m not ashamed of being yours.”

The words punched through Chan’s panic, grounding him. He turned, catching Hyunjin’s face in both hands, his forehead resting against his. “You’re going to undo me, Jinnie.”

Hyunjin gave a shaky laugh. “That’s the plan.”

Chan

By the next morning, his resolve had hardened. He drafted an email requesting a meeting with his department head, short and professional, nothing to give away the weight pressing on him. Still, his fingers hovered over the keyboard until Hyunjin nudged his knee under the table.

“Send it,” Hyunjin whispered.

And Chan did.