Archive of Our Own ^beta

The lecture hall in Hanyeong University’s health sciences centre smells like fresh whiteboard markers and a very specific brand of exhausted academic despair — the kind that can only come from trying to absorb dense theory at five in the evening after a long day. 

It’s the kind of smell that probably violates several principles of effective learning environments, but somehow, it’s become comforting in its familiarity. The lights overhead are almost blindingly bright, and Dae-ho almost finds solace in the idea that, well, even if I’m tired those things are never going to let me sleep . He stares mindlessly at his tablet, where note-taking on biomechanical principles in sports performance has given way to sketching tiny volleyball players mid-game; and listens as the professor drones on, his voice the auditory equivalent of sawdust, explaining how muscle fibre recruitment patterns relate to neuromuscular efficiency. 

“And so, as we can see,” the professor continues, his tone suggesting a revelation about as exciting as a grocery list, “the integration of neuromuscular coordination with kinetic chain efficiency is fundamental to optimal performance outcomes.”

Internally, Dae-ho wonders if there’s a special academic purgatory for people who study the theoretical aspects of things they’re only mildly passionate about in practice. Meanwhile, his doodles have evolved into a full-blown tournament; stick-figure teams, a cheering crowd, even a concession stand. Someone’s selling kimbap.

It occurs to him, not for the first time, that perhaps his life choices have been fundamentally flawed. This, however, was probably not the kind of existential crisis one should be having during a lecture on exercise physiology.

(He usually enjoys the subject; he promises he does. But this guy just has a knack for making it all sound so boring.)

When the clock finally hits six, Dae-ho exhales with relief. He shuts off his tablet and tucks it into his bag, then stands with stiff legs as he follows his classmates out. He gives a polite bow and a friendly “thank you for your time, sir!” as he leaves, but otherwise, finds himself too occupied by fantasies of collapsing into bed to stick around and chat. Outside, the air is cooler than expected, dusk-softened and blue, diffusing the brutal edges of campus architecture. It’s still fairly light outside, thankfully owing to Spring. Students spill out in clusters, some still mid-discussion, others already checked out. He’s fumbling for his earbuds, heading toward the path by the outdoor stairs, when someone calls his name.

“Dae-ho oppa!”

He looks up. Jun-hee is approaching him, her messenger bag thumping against her hip. Her ponytail’s half-undone, wisps of hair escaping everywhere, but she doesn’t seem to notice or care. A grin pulls at his lips before he can stop it.

Just a little over a year ago, Kang Dae-ho had successfully enrolled at Hanyeong University. It had been something he had been tossing over in the absence of opportunity, made scarce by those shameful letters logged under his medical records. It was a costly investment that to this day he’s not entirely sure how he’s going to pay off, and he had hardly been much of an academic in the first place; but settling back into a classroom for the short term sounded much better than hopping from casual jobs for the rest of his life. Last year at twenty-three, he was a few years older than most of the first-years, surrounded mostly by nineteen-year-olds fresh out of high school. Even so, he hadn’t struggled to make friends. There was something about him, something he couldn’t explain, that drew people in. He liked that. He liked people. Liked talking to them, hearing about their lives – their dreams, their ambitions, their strange obsessions; and truthfully, he needed the company. Seoul was a different beast from Itaewon or Busan, after all. 

Meeting Kim Jun-hee had been an accident, a brief, clumsy first encounter during his second week, in the elevator of their shared apartment complex. She had looked exhausted: pale skin, raccoon eyes, hair barely held together, and when he found out she was a third-year nursing student, it all made sense. He’s pretty sure his relentless cheeriness during that first conversation annoyed her (nervousness made his mouth run, and the thought of her walking away had made him panic slightly). But when they met again later in the lobby – and she looked awake this time – she’d offered him her number. And just like that, he’d found not only a best friend, but a whole tangle of companions from every corner of campus life.

It was all luck, really. He owes a lot to her when he thinks about it. The thought of losing her friendship makes his stomach clench with a familiar dread. Maybe he'll treat her to a nice dinner out the next time he lands a new job.

He waves at her as she falls into step beside him. “Jun-hee- ah ! Just finished?” She would have just finished a class of her own if Dae-ho was remembering her schedule right. Their class schedules don’t always align perfectly, but she often seems to appear when he needs someone to drag him out of his head.

“Mm. Just had my maternity lecture.” She nods, tucking her hair behind her ear. “What’d you have? Physiology?”

“You got it. It, uh, ended up being more like two hours of me sketching and staring out the window, though.” He says with a sheepish grin. “I got really into the volleyball game I was drawing.”

At that, Jun-hee rolls her eyes. She’s well aware of his bad educational habits. In his defence, he’s usually a very attentive student, but he’s complained enough to her about his physiology lecturer’s droning voice that she could probably recite his complaints word-for-word. “Don’t come to me looking for help with study cards at the end of the semester. I’m not bailing you out again.” She says, teasing. 

“You’re saying you won’t be bribed with a basket of sweets again?”

“Make good on that, and we can negotiate.”

They walk together across the plaza toward the main quad. Their apartment complex was, conveniently, on campus, so neither of them had to travel too far to get to their classes. In fact, Dae-ho walked around enough that his car was kinda left collecting dust in the student car park. Speaking of the car, when was his loan due again? Next week? The week after? Damn it. Looks like it’ll be noodles for dinner for the foreseeable future. 

“So how was your afternoon?” he asks, shoving his financial struggles under the rug of his mind. “Let me guess, plunging into the miracle of birth again?”

Jun-hee groans. “Worse. Placental abnormalities.”

“Huh. Sounds stressful.”

“Mmhm. You’re lucky you don’t have to memorise how many things can go wrong with a placenta.”

“Maybe not, but I have memorised exactly how many new ways I’m going to fail this semester,” he chirps brightly. “We all have our problems.”

As they talk, they pass a cluster of business majors debating something loudly and vaguely self-important, and for a moment, the flow of students shifts, forcing them to step aside toward the base of a flight of stairs. 

That’s when Dae-ho sees it: a flyer taped haphazardly to a bulletin board, flapping in the breeze. He can barely read what it says from where he stands, but the colours and the design remind him of the time he saw the recruitment poster for the Marine Corps, taped to a hallway wall in high school. Same kind of bold optimism, same pull.

He never got the chance to enlist. He had planned to, of course – the weight of his father’s expectations had always been on his shoulders, and he wasn’t going to land himself a stint in jail by refusing. He had trained in anticipation, learned all the orders and procedures in some wayward attempt to soothe his nerves about it all. But, of course, once he was there doing the evaluation, he crumbled. Shaking hands. Full-body flinches. Hands pressed to ears, unable to breathe, unable to bear the pressure of cold eyes upon him, the constant yelling of stern, angry-sounding men. 

He knew, the moment the panic set in, that his father wasn’t going to get his wish. He knew, even before he had set foot into the building, that he had failed at being a man. His fears were confirmed the very same day, sitting in a sterile office, as the officers referred to his lacklustre performance and a concerning string of letters from a psychiatrist a few years prior as reasons for his ineligibility. “ You’ll be with the Social Services Personnel instead”, they had said. “Most likely in Itaewon.” 

It was the most profound failure of his life. Granted, his time in social service was fine; great, even, working as a teacher’s assistant at an elementary school. But it was impermanent, wholly lacking in all the masculine glory his father had been so steadfast about his whole life.

“He sounds like a real piece of work.” Jung-bae had grumbled the first time Dae-ho recounted the experience. “Masculine glory, my ass. Your heart has more glory than probably half of the Marines I served with.”

Hyungnim. The thought of the older counsellor brought a small smile to Dae-ho's lips, remembering their first meeting during orientation week last year. Dae-ho had been a bundle of barely contained nerves, jumping at shadows and fidgeting every time someone mentioned military service in casual conversation (which happened roughly every five minutes in a room full of Korean university men). Jung-bae had only taken one look at him before quietly saying, "Office hours are Tuesdays and Thursdays, but my door's always open if you need it, kid.” Which, first of all, was a little embarrassing (surely he wasn’t that bad at hiding his anxiety?), but second of all was a little touching. Jung-bae was a larger man, visibly worn down by the years yet still kind-looking. He grinned when students cracked jokes with him, but easily switched to something stern and serious the moment cracks started to show. Dae-ho had felt safe with him from the start, but, of course, there had been some barricades initially preventing him from making good on his offer.

It had taken him three months to knock. Another two weeks to roll up his sleeve and show the tattoo: the Marine emblem, clean and professional, inked by an artist in Itaewon who asked no questions. Jung-bae had stared at it for a long time. His face moved through disappointment, understanding, then something fiercer.

"My boy," he'd said, "this is the stupidest thing I've ever seen. And I once watched a recruit try to iron his uniform while wearing it." But then his expression had softened, and he'd leaned back in his chair with the kind of sigh that carried decades of understanding human folly. "But I get why you did it. Doesn't make it right, but I get it."

“Y- You do?” He had gasped in reply, throat tight and fear iron in his chest. “You understand?”

Jung-bae nodded, eyes kind. “When you don’t fill the part of what society wants out of you, all you wanna do sometimes is fit in to avoid the backlash. It’s just human. I’m never gonna fault someone for being human.”

Dae-ho would never admit it to anyone else, but he then proceeded to cry for the next ten minutes. He got the tattoo removed a month later. The consultation alone had cost more than Dae-ho spent on food in a week, and he had felt a sense of grief in finally laying his teenage dreams to rest, but Jung-bae had looked so proud when he'd mentioned booking it that Dae-ho figured it was worth eating convenience store kimbap for the foreseeable future.

(His shoulder is bare now. It feels lighter than it ever did inked.)

“Oppa? Earth to oppa.” Jun-hee says, nudging him lightly with her elbow. “You spaced out again.”

He blinks at her, unceremoniously dragged out of his thoughts. “Was just thinking,” he replies. Then, he smiles cheekily. “About the stork theory. I still think you should include it in your study.”

She groans. “I thought we were over this…”

“It’s a perfectly valid evolutionary model!”

“You’re insane.”

“Insane, or genius? Maybe you’re just jealous you didn’t think of it first.”

He grins, and she bumps his arm. He bumps her back. 

By the time they make it back to their apartment complex, the sky’s darkened into a soft navy, with the sodium glow of the streetlamps flickering on like tired sentries. The building looms ahead, all concrete and fluorescent-lit hallways, a little grimy around the edges but nothing they haven’t already made home. Jun-hee taps her keycard at the front door and holds it open with her foot. “You’ve got your practical tomorrow morning, right?” she asks, glancing sideways as he steps in after her.

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” he says, dragging out the syllables with exaggerated misery. “Eight A.M. on a Friday should be a crime. And I’m getting the results back on that stupid essay. I’ve never dreaded something more in my life.”

She snorts. “You’ll be fine. Hyun-ju unnie proofread it for you. If it was bad, she would have told you. “They shuffle into the elevator, and the fluorescent light inside hums like it's thinking of giving out. Jun-hee presses the button for her floor, then his. They reach her floor first, and she gives a little wave as she steps out. 

“Sleep well, oppa .”

Dae-ho flashes her his most charming smile. “Dream of healthy placentas, nurse Kim.”

She flips him off as the doors shut, and he laughs. 

Now alone in the elevator, the silence settles in. He can hear the hum of old wiring and the faint, distant echo of someone’s TV through the floor as he goes past. As he rises to his level, the weight he’s been holding off all day starts to creep in again – a familiar compression, just behind the ribs. He rolls his shoulders, like he can physically shake it off, and digs his keycard from his bag with one hand.

His apartment is small, not much bigger than a glorified shoebox, but clean enough. Lived-in and lined with last year’s textbooks, worn sneakers by the door, and a stack of instant ramen boxes tucked under the table like a shameful secret. He tosses his bag onto the couch and takes off his shoes, the ache of the day finally beginning to settle in his legs.

He heads into the kitchenette and pours himself a glass of water. The tap squeaks; the glass clinks softly against the sink. The silence is less warm here, less filled in. There’s always this moment in the evening, once he’s alone, when it hits, the drop-off from being around people, the sudden shift in atmosphere. Like his body realises it doesn’t need to hold itself together quite so tightly anymore, and everything just… slumps, physically and emotionally. The exhaustion that settles around him is familiar, but no less pleasant than any of the nights prior.

His phone abruptly buzzes on the counter.

[Sae-ron!!]

>Hey tiger. You eating well?
>Better not be living off subway toasties again
>Send me a pic of something green in your fridge or I’m reporting you to the health ministry

He huffs a soft laugh, thumbs out a reply with one hand while rummaging in the fridge with the other.

[Dae-ho]

> behold: one (1) tragic cucumber
> might be sentient. can’t confirm.

He attaches a blurry photo of the withered vegetable in question. A few seconds later:

[Sae-ron!!]

> That’s a biological weapon
> Mom’s rolling in her grave rn 

[Dae-ho]

> LOW BLOW

He leans against the counter, staring at the now-closed fridge, the laughter fading just a little at the edges. It’s always nice hearing from his sisters, Sae-ron, especially. She’s the oldest, more than seven years his senior – stubborn, efficient, but incredibly kind. He loves her to death. But sometimes even her check-ins remind him how much he’s still not saying, despite his promising years ago in the quiet of her living room to speak earnestly when he needed to. 

He stares down at the keyboard and thinks about texting something else. By the way, my anxiety is starting to fuck me over again. Getting flashbacks more often. I’m seeing Jung-bae hyungnim again soon, but I thought you should know. Something like that.

It doesn’t come into being. Instead, he texts her a half-assed question about her day, locks the screen, then sets it face-down on the counter to check again later. 

The rest of his night routine is mechanical: brush teeth, change into pyjamas, double-check that the stove is off even though he hasn’t cooked all day. The lights go out one by one, until only the warm yellow of his bedside lamp remains. He crawls under the covers, tugging the blanket up to his chest, the old fabric soft from too many washes. Lying in the dark, he listens to the faint hum of traffic beyond his window, the occasional bark of a dog, the creak of someone above moving across their floor. Nothing is threatening, but still, his body doesn’t relax easily. It never does. Sleep has to be earned – or at least outwaited.

He stares at the ceiling and thinks about tomorrow’s lab. About the smell of antiseptic. About whether Jun-hee, Hyun-ju or Young-mi would be free for drinks if he passed that essay assignment. Whether he remembered to put his tablet on charge. If his car loan was really due next week, and whether or not to get up and check. When his professors will notice that his notes have been replaced by increasingly elaborate volleyball comics, or if they have already noticed and are just opting to let him sabotage himself. He could’ve said something wrong to Jun-hee today not yet realised. There has to come a point where she tires of him, right?

He wonders, briefly, if he’ll ever stop feeling like he’s faking it. Then he sighs, turns onto his side, and closes his eyes.

(Faking it or not, the morning always comes.)

The next day, Dae-ho spots him as he’s passing by the business faculty, on his way to a rooftop lunch with Jun-hee and Hyun-ju.

Lee Myung-gi has always stood with a signature brand of posture – just a little too squared, a little too proud, almost as if attempting to make up for his smaller stature. His shirt’s freshly pressed, his slacks immaculate, and there’s a stupidly expensive watch catching the sun on his wrist. He’s gesturing animatedly at another student, voice animated, hands slicing the air like a stockbroker on a bender. It’s hard to tell whether the guy he’s talking to is actually engaged or just nodding out of fear that Myung-gi might launch into a full-on yap session. 

(Dae-ho almost feels sorry for him. But honestly? If he were in that position, he’d probably just smile and nod, too.)

They’ve never been close, but once upon a time, Dae-ho knew him well enough. When he became friends with Jun-hee the year prior, Myung-gi had come as somewhat of a package deal with her. They were dating back then – had been since high school. Jun-hee used to speak highly of him, and Dae-ho had tried to come around to him; he really had. But there was something in the way Myung-gi moved through the world, so sure, so self-contained, that put him on edge. He was arrogant. Not in the boisterous, theatrical way that some guys (himself included) were. No, Myung-gi’s arrogance was quieter, demandingly assured. The kind of arrogance that didn't need to prove itself because it assumed everyone else had already fallen behind. He talked like he was teaching a lesson, like everyone else should be taking notes. The only person he ever seemed to treat like an equal was Jun-hee, and even then, he still spoke to her with a level of hesitance and distance that was strange.

In Dae-ho’s mind, the younger man has always been attractive. He has eyes, after all; soft, clean features. Dark, intelligent eyes, full, plush lips, Prince-like. A kind of charismatic confidence that came from growing up being told you were handsome and believing it. Objectively, a ten, but subjectively, a walking red flag.

A red flag, because Dae-ho is well aware of what he did. Everyone is. 

The Dalmation debacle from the year prior had been spectacular in its stupidity; a masterclass in how quickly university social media could turn some chronically online loser’s get-rich-quick scheme into campus-wide infamy. Dae-ho had watched from the sidelines, horrified and fascinated, as a flood of enthusiastic classmates posted desperate messages about “decentralised autonomy” and “financial liberation". And wouldn’t you know, Myung-gi – finance major and notorious crypto fan – was suddenly everywhere, hosting info sessions, handing out cheap merch, holding investor mixers in poorly lit lecture halls with bad snacks. A whole generation of first-years got swept up in it. 

Then, the coin tanked overnight. And suddenly, half the undergrads at Hanyeong were broke, pissed, or both.

(The fact that Myung-gi had lost just as much money as everyone else – more, probably, given his tendency toward dramatic gestures – had been small comfort to the students who'd trusted him enough to invest their semester's worth of convenience store wages in digital monopoly money.)

Dae-ho still remembers seeing Jun-hee standing beside him during one of those mixers, arms crossed tight, mouth drawn. Neither of them had said anything out loud, but both of them knew. Knew it was off. Knew it was going to end badly. What they didn’t expect was just how much damage it would do. 

When she found out Myung-gi had known the coin was unstable – had known and promoted it anyway – that was it. They were already drifting. He’d become distant, all talk of profit margins and passive income, barely present even when he was in the room. She broke up with him the very same day Dalmation imploded. Dae-ho had been there that night, along with Hyun-ju, Jun-hee crying into Hyun-ju’s shoulder, and he rubbing small circles on her back, trying to help her piece herself together again. It was painful, seeing his kind, introverted friend like that. It did, however, make the decision easy: Lee Myung-gi wasn’t worth the time of day.

And yet lately, Dae-ho has been noticing things. 

Small things, like how he'd started showing up to study groups for classes he wasn't even taking, offering help with finance-related assignments without being asked. How he bites his tongue now when someone says something dumb, when he used to snap or snark without hesitation. Dae-ho sees him more regularly around campus, talking to different people outside his classes, and people aren’t always the nicest to him, but lately, Dae-ho’s noticed them start to come around to him. It’s someone took the old version of him and filed down all the sharp edges – not quite a different person, but a softer, more patient one. 

It’s not a development Dae-ho is mad about. He doesn’t like not liking people. Even if it’s his best friend’s blaring red flag of an ex-boyfriend, hatred is such a draining sentiment that he often finds his feelings more along the lines of lukewarm irritation. Rather, he’s happy to see that Myung-gi is seemingly getting better. 

The real annoyance here was that he was still unfairly attractive despite it all. Dae-ho had spent entirely too much time lately trying not to notice the way Myung-gi's shirt cuffs rolled up just so when he was explaining financial concepts to struggling classmates, or the small smile he got when someone finally understood a concept he'd been helping them with. 

He’s ashamed that he notices it. Ashamed that his brain even gives it the time of day.

He's Jun-hee’s ex, he reminds himself. Crypto bro ex. Scam coin ex. That alone should cancel it out.

(And yet, it doesn’t. The number of times Myung-gi has shown up in Dae-ho’s most intimate, late-night fantasies is a shameful statistic shared only between him and God.)

(What kind of a friend does that make him? )

He doesn’t realise he’s staring until the guy Myung-gi is talking with manages to slip away, and the younger man is pulling out his phone to check something. He ducks into the stairwell before Myung-gi can spot him, slipping into the shade and heading up to the rooftop.

Jun-hee’s already there, cross-legged on a bench, sleeves rolled up, picking at her lunch as she vents animatedly about something. Across from her, Hyun-ju listens patiently, nodding along, lunch in a tidy glass container, hands folded neatly. When Jun-hee hears footsteps, she glances up.

“You’re late,” Jun-hee mumbles, mouth half full. “We were gonna start without you.”

“You did start without me.”

Hyun-ju waves him into his seat with a polite smile. Hyun-ju is about a year older than him, and they share a practical class. She’s tall, broad and fit, yet decisively delicate, with long black hair and kind features. He remembers Ms Jang, the teaching and education coordinator, calling her a meerkat once. It's an accurate descriptor. “It’s okay, Dae-ho-ah. Jun-hee-ah’s just complaining about her placement.”

“I wasn’t complaining. I was critiquing. There’s a difference.”

“Sure. And I’m Seong Seonsaengnim .”

He sits beside Jun-hee, and the three of them settle into an easy rhythm. Hyun-ju mostly listens, chiming in with thoughtful questions or small smiles. She speaks gently, never pushing, but when she does say something, it’s usually worth hearing. He notices the way Jun-hee seems to drift closer to her throughout lunch, just slightly, just enough to pick at a piece of seaweed from Hyun-ju’s container without asking. Hyun-ju doesn't blink, just nudges the food closer without looking up. It’s not dramatic, but there’s a softness there, tentative and barely budding. 

(Something warm flickers in his chest at the sight – not jealousy, exactly, but something adjacent, a faint pang. A distant ache for something gentle.)

He shakes the thought out of his head.

They talk about professors, freezing lecture halls, and whether the new student union president is lying about his age ("He just looks way too old to be twenty-one. Don't you think?"). At one point, Jun-hee mentions spotting Myung-gi earlier.

“He was by the vending machines,” she says, deadpan. “Trying to get a sandwich unstuck. Total idiot.”

“Do you still talk to him?” Hyun-ju asks, tilting her head.

“No. Just hear about him.”

“Everywhere you go, someone’s got an update,” Dae-ho hums. “I heard he’s taking business ethics now.”

Jun-hee barks a laugh. “Bit late for that, don’t you think?”

Hyun-ju frowns, more puzzled than annoyed. “I don’t understand why he still tries so hard to be visible. I would’ve thought he’d just… try and fade into the background.”

Jun-hee shrugs. “If he disappears, then all anyone remembers of him will be the coin.”

There’s a pause.

Dae-ho taps his chopsticks against his bowl, considering. “...Did anyone ever get their money back?”

“Nope,” Jun-hee says.

“Noona?”

“I didn’t invest,” she says, “but I helped someone file a police report. The guy said Myung-gi-ssi looked like he believed it was real. That he really thought it would work.”

“That’s what makes it worse,” Jun-hee mutters. “He wasn’t lying. He was just wrong. And stupid.”

Hyun-ju looks at her, quiet for a beat. “And now?”

“I dunno,” Jun-hee sighs. “I think he’s trying to fix things. Genuinely, too. But I don’t trust people who only get better after they’ve destroyed something.”

Dae-ho whistles. “What a quote. Gotta write that one down.”

“You don’t write quotes. You have that janky-ass tablet, and all you use it for are your stupid volleyball comics.”

“Excuse you, I’m mentally writing a book,” he says, clutching his chest. “Moving Quotes From Emotionally Complex Women – ow!!”

He winces away as Jun-hee swats at his shoulder, feigning offence on her features. Hyun-ju ducks her head at the display, smiling at her rice. They fall into a comfortable silence for a few moments, finishing up the rest of their food, before Dae-ho suddenly perks up.

“Oh! By the way – I got the grade back for that essay I thought I failed.”

Hyun-ju looks up at him. “The one I proofread?

“Yeah, the one where I lost all the references just before submitting it. Barely got it in on time…”

“And?” 

“Seventy-six.” He beams. “Which I’ll now interpret as confirmation that I am, in fact, a fucking genius.”

“To accidental brilliance,” mumbles Junhee, raising a fist. He returns the shoulder smack. Her eyes roll, but she’s smiling.

“Anyway, I’m going out for a drink later to celebrate,” He grins. “You guys wanna come?”

“Can’t,” Jun-hee groans. “Late lab block.”

“I’m tutoring a first-year on wound care,” Hyun-ju adds apologetically. “He faints if you say ‘blood,’ so it’s... time-consuming.”

Dae-ho shrugs. His friends were a very busy bunch, and he doesn’t imagine Young-mi would want to go out either. There’s still a pang of hurt that roots itself in his heart, however; something small yet vile and all too hysterical for his liking. They’re lying to you, it says. They hate you and are lying because they don’t want you around. Why do they hate you? You must have done something to them. 

Whatever. Nothing he can do but tune those thoughts out and play up the melodrama. “No worries. I guess I’ll just sit… all on my lonesome…” He fake-sniffles. “Wishing for some real friends to come on by and keep me company…” 

“Oh, please,” Jun-hee sighs. “You know how people flock to you. You’ll be fine.”

Hyun-ju flashes him a teasing smile. “Just try not to get roped in with Nam-gyu-ssi again.”

“That was one time...”

“He convinced you to get in the trunk of Su-bong-ssi’s car. And you let them drive you around. Despite the fact they were eight bottles in and coked to hell and back.”

“Come on…!! I was drunk.” He whines, embarrassed. “It’s not happening again!”

Jun-hee cackles. He watches the way she leans toward Hyun-ju, just slightly, her head tilting too close to her shoulder. Hyun-ju doesn’t move away. Her smile grows, soft and warm and so unaware of itself. It’s nice, watching people find something quiet and kind in each other.

Even if he’s still figuring out what the hell his own traitorous heart is doing.

In the end, he makes good on his idea of going out that night. He doesn’t plan on the reckless, self-destructive kind of celebration that had once landed him in the hospital (long story). No, tonight’s outing is quiet. He wants to celebrate, even if no one else is around to do it with him. 

He puts on a nice jacket over the top of a singlet and heads to a little bar just off campus. It smells like frying oil and floor cleaner and is always a little too loud, but the owner lets people linger with half-empty glasses and doesn’t hassle anyone for loitering. It’s the sort of place where Jun-hee’s upper-year friends used to go after exams, and where Dae-ho once accidentally found himself wedged between Se-mi and Su-bong during a long and chaotic night that ended in someone arm-wrestling the bartender and Nam-gyu vomiting violently in the bathroom. Worst hangover of his life, by the way. He was barely at half-capacity for the following week. 

He takes a seat at the bar and orders a bottle of soju and a plate of fried chicken. The bartender, a short, broad-shouldered woman with weathered hands and a surprisingly gentle voice, compliments his manners when he says “please” and thanks her sincerely. The chicken arrives hot and golden, the soju ice-cold. He sips it slowly, letting the heat bloom through his chest and loosen the anxious coil that’s been wound tight in his stomach since the start of the semester.

The ache in his shoulders is a good kind of tired. For the first time in weeks, he doesn’t feel like he’s failing at something, and it’s nice. 

He soon finishes most of the chicken and is just polishing off the last of his drink, debating whether to leave, when someone slides into the seat beside him.

"Hyung?"

He turns and nearly chokes on his drink. 

Lee Myung-gi sits beside him, looking far too put-together for someone who is, very clearly, already slightly tipsy. There’s a light flush across his cheeks, his hair perfectly tousled in that irritatingly effortless way that surely takes a lot of effort. He’s wearing a beige collared shirt, the top two buttons undone, sleeves rolled just enough to show forearms that look annoyingly smooth. He looks like he belongs in a department store window, not in this greasy student bar.

“Myung-gi-ssi!” he manages. Dae-ho gives him a quick seated bow, smiling despite himself. “Hey, dude. Wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Wasn’t expecting it either,” Myung-gi replies dryly. He gestures loosely over his shoulder toward the back of the bar. “My classmates dragged me out. Again.”

Dae-ho follows his glance. Sure enough, a familiar group of second-years are clustered in a corner booth; Se-mi’s short hair and piercings are unmistakable, as is the bright purple mop belonging to Su-bong, who’s currently shouting something unintelligible while trying to stack empty shot glasses into a wobbly tower. Nam-gyu, hair greasier than ever, and Gyeong-su are doubled over laughing, a phone in Gyeong-su’s hand, while Min-su watches the tower’s construction with a nervous sort of awe. 

Wait a second.

“Wait, them?” Dae-ho asks, eyebrows raised. “You’re out with them?”

“Yeah.” Myung-gi sighs and rubs at the back of his neck. “They’ve apparently come around to me after, well. You know.”

“...Losing them all that money?”

“Mm, that.” He drags a finger around the rim of his glass, apparently not put off by the directness of Dae-ho’s accusation. “Eating lunch alone every day was somehow pathetic enough to earn me pity points.”

Su-bong and Nam-gyu were just two of many who had been drawn in by Dalmation, and when it blew up, it was all they would talk about. They’d rant and they’d rave about all the money Myung-gi had cost them, and they made sure that everyone knew who got them into it. Dae-ho isn’t exactly sure how much money they had in it, and he almost doesn’t want to know. Still, them coming around to Myung-gi after all that… He snorts. “That’s actually kinda sweet.”

Myung-gi gives him a look. “Last week, they made me do three shots of something that tasted like drain cleaner and then forced me to sing Gee at karaoke.”

Dae-ho claps a hand over his mouth to stifle the laugh, but it’s a lost cause. The mental image is almost too much: a slightly flushed and very embarrassed Myung-gi swaying at the mic, trying to hit the high notes while Thanos and Nam-gyu goad him on in the background. Dae-ho is still laughing when Myung-gi bumps his shoulder gently, expression half-annoyed, half-amused. “Please tell me someone filmed it.”

“Probably. They’re relentless,” he mutters. Then, he softens a little. “But… I don’t know. Generally, it’s not the worst thing. They’ve stopped trying to jump me in the bathroom, at least.”

A comfortable silence briefly falls over them, the space filled by the low chatter of other patrons and the distant sound of Su-bong's table erupting into raucous laughter over some new catastrophe.

"...Do you?" Dae-ho asks curiously, leaning forward slightly. The movement brings him closer to Myung-gi, close enough to catch the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the lingering smell of whatever expensive hair product he uses. It’s nice. Really nice. His throat suddenly feels ten times tighter than before. "Need friends, I mean?"

Myung-gi considers this, tilting his head in a way that makes his hair catch the warm light from the bar's amber fixtures. The golden glow further softens the round curves of his cheeks. “I don’t know. I think I'm used to being alone."

There's something unexpectedly vulnerable in his tone, and Dae-ho feels that familiar flutter of interest mixed with guilt. Jun-hee has never spoken badly of Myung-gi, not really – she's been hurt, disappointed, angry, but never outright cruel, even at her most heartbroken. Still, there's an unspoken loyalty, isn't there? A line that he shouldn't cross? 

(There definitely is. He needs to get a fucking grip.)

And yet, Myung-gi's eyes are warm, and his fingers are long and elegant where they wrap around his bottle of soju; and when he smiles, tentative and small, it makes something twist pleasantly in Dae-ho's stomach. It’s a sight that Dae-ho just can’t tear his gaze away from, and he can’t help but feel inexplicably guilty about it. 

“What about you?” Myung-gi changes the topic, turning to him more fully. His knee bumps against Dae-ho’s. Neither of them moves away. “Celebrating something?”

“Heh! Yeah. I passed my P.E. theory essay. Thought I bombed it, but turns out I actually understood more than I thought.”

"Theory? For P.E?" Myung-gi's eyebrows rise. "I didn't know that was a thing."

"Yeah, man! Sports psychology, biomechanics, pedagogical approaches to physical fitness..." Dae-ho finds himself warming to the topic, the way he always does when someone shows genuine interest. Back before he tried to enlist, he had made it his mission to get as fit as possible for it. His efforts were, of course, in vain, but the interest in how the body works and its response to physical activity remained. It goes beyond just getting jacked at the gym – it becomes a need to know, a need to understand the ins and outs, all the little amazing things their bodies are capable of. "It's not just about being good at sports, you know. There's actual science behind it."

"Like what?" Myung-gi asks, genuinely curious. He's angled toward Dae-ho now, elbow resting on the bar, chin propped on his hand. The position makes his collared shirt pull slightly across his chest, and Dae-ho has to force himself to maintain eye contact consciously. "What was your assignment about?"

"Motor learning patterns in adolescents. Like, how teenagers develop coordination and strength differently than adults, and how that affects teaching methodology. Most people think you can just, you know, throw a ball at a kid and tell them to catch it, but there's so much more to it than that."

"I never doubted it," Myung-gi hums, and suddenly, something in his tone makes Dae-ho look at him more closely. There's an attentiveness there, a focus that makes Dae-ho suddenly very aware of how Myung-gi is looking at him; not just listening, but watching. Studying the way his hands move when he talks, the way his eyes sharpen when he gets enthusiastic about something. Myung-gi is watching him like a hawk, and despite the ever-present guilt, Dae-ho finds himself not at all put off by it. 

(Is he imagining it? The way Myung-gi's gaze seems to linger on his mouth when he speaks?)

And just like that, they’re talking more. The conversation flows steadily between them, uninterrupted by the increasing busyness of the bar around them. More people are filtering in, taking up the seats next to them – but their little corner, just far enough away from the congregating crowds, feels almost perfectly insulated from the other conversations in the room. Myung-gi tells him about his economics classes, about his professor who has a vendetta against students who use calculators, about Su-bong and Nam-gyu's increasingly creative and annoying attempts to push him out of his comfort zone. Dae-ho finds himself sharing stories about his practical classes, about the time he'd accidentally knocked out his sparring partner during taekwondo practice, about Jun-hee's exasperated attempts to teach him proper study habits. He’s almost nervous to mention her name in front of him, but to his relief, he seems far more caught up in also trying to suggest to him different study methods than to be dejected. 

Myung-gi is surprisingly funny when he's not being defensive, Dae-ho thinks. There's a sharp intelligence behind his usual arrogance that he finds himself drawn to, a sanded-down gentleness that makes his chest feel unbearably warm. They’re leaning closer to hear each other over the increasing noise – their knees keep bumping together, and yet neither of them moves away.

He should be leaning away. He should be putting distance between them. But the more Dae-ho talks and the closer he shuffles towards Myung-gi, the better he sees the twinkle in his eye, the relaxed contentment that seems to hum through him. 

He can’t bear to move. Not when Myung-gi is so captivating like this.

"You know what's funny?" Myung-gi says eventually, his voice slightly rougher now from talking over the crowd. He's closer than before, close enough that Dae-ho can see the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks in the dim lighting.

"Yeah?"

"At the beginning of last year. I used to think you hated me." His smile wilts into something self-deprecating, tinged with something that Dae-ho finds himself struggling to identify. "The way you'd always look at me whenever I was around Jun-hee-ah… It was almost like you were just waiting for me to slip up."

Dae-ho feels his stomach drop. He’s not quite sure what’s brought this on from Myung-gi’s end, but he feels bad regardless. Had he really been so obvious? "I didn't…! I mean, I was just –”

"Protective of her. I get it." Myung-gi leans back, studying Dae-ho's face with those dark, perceptive eyes. "I was too stupid to appreciate that when we were together. She's lucky to have a friend like you." Myung-gi glances away just for a moment, eyes half-lidded with a distant sense of melancholy. There's something different about Myung-gi tonight – softer, more open than Dae-ho has ever seen him. He’s used to seeing that indifferent, sometimes annoyed expression on his face when he passes him in the halls, used to his quiet nature and the exasperated roll of his eyes when he thought nobody was looking. Maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe it's the strange intimacy of this dimly lit corner, but the usual walls seem to have come down. No – they have been down, ever since Myung-gi sat down next to him. 

It’s in that moment of realisation, when Myung-gi shifts his gaze back, still looking with that melancholy yet inexplicably fond expression permeating his eyes, that Dae-ho’s mind decides to catastrophically malfunction.

"I didn’t hate you," he hears himself blurt out, the words tumbling out before he can stop them, "I mean, I kinda thought you were a dick, and the breakup was nasty. But also, I kinda thought, damn , what a loss! I mean, look at you. You're –" He gestures vaguely at Myung-gi's face, his shoulders, his exposed collarbone, his everything. "God, you're actually beautiful.”

...

The words hang in the air between them. Dae-ho feels the blood drain from his face as he realises what he's just said.

Oh. Oh, fuck. That was meant to be an inside thought.

His wide eyes fix on Myung-gi, and he finds the other man staring at him, lips slightly parted in surprise, something unreadable flickering across his expression. The ambient noise of the bar seems to fade into background static, and Dae-ho wants nothing more than to sink through the floor and disappear. Panic claws at his chest, sharp and immediate. His heart is hammering so hard he's sure Myung-gi can hear it over the bar's noise. The familiar sensation of his throat closing up, of his hands starting to shake – no, not here, not now. Not in front of him.

"I –" Dae-ho scrambles off his stool, nearly knocking over his empty glass in his haste. The sound of the stool screeching against the floor seems unnaturally loud, and he can feel his breathing getting shallow, that horrible, tight, familiar feeling spreading through his chest like ice water in his veins. "I need to use the bathroom. Excuse me."

He can barely think as he flees toward the back of the bar on quick feet, his face burning with embarrassment and guilt. The narrow passageway that leads to the bathrooms stretches ahead of him like a lifeline, dimly lit and mercifully empty. His breathing is painful and ragged as he stumbles down it, panicked gaze set on the bathroom door quickly growing closer. God – what is wrong with him? Why did that, of all things, have to slip out? Why is he feeling like this in the first place? Jun-hee is his best friend, and here he is, basically confessing his attraction to her ex-boyfriend like some kind of—

"Hyung."

He's only halfway down the passageway when he feels fingers wrap around his wrist, warm and firm against his racing pulse.

Against better judgment, Dae-ho spins around, his heart still racing, and finds Myung-gi standing closer than expected. The dim lighting casts shadows across Myung-gi's face, making his expression harder to read. The space feels suddenly much too intimate, too quiet after the noise of the bar. Dae-ho can still barely breathe, caught between the urge to flee and the way Myung-gi's hand is still wrapped around his wrist, thumb pressing against his pulse point.

(Can he feel how fast his heart is beating? God. This is mortifying .)

"Hyung. What did you mean by that?" Myung-gi asks, and his voice is different now than what it was back at the bar – it's quieter, more careful. He takes a step closer, effectively trapping Dae-ho between his body and the wall. The brick is cold against Dae-ho's back, and the proximity sends a traitorous shiver rocketing down his spine. Myung-gi is smaller than him, both in height and in frame, and yet, Dae-ho truly feels caged with him so close. His heart beats faster at the thought, an embarrassed heat creeping to the back of his neck. 

"I didn't mean anything," Dae-ho splutters, unable to look at Myung-gi's face. His free hand presses flat against the wall behind him, seeking something solid to ground himself. "Y- You know. Look at me. I'm drunk, I was just, I wasn’t thinking –"

"You're not drunk," Myung-gi interrupts, and he's close enough now that Dae-ho can smell his cologne again; warm and expensive and dear god, way too good. It's making his head spin worse than the alcohol ever could. His gaze finally unwittingly casts itself down at Myung-gi's face, and meets the sight of the younger man's dilated pupils, dark and intense in the shadowy light. "You've only had one drink.”

Dae-ho swallows hard, his throat clicking audibly in the quiet space. The sound seems unnaturally loud, echoing off the narrow walls. "Myung-gi-ssi, I –"

"The thing is," Myung-gi continues, his grip on Dae-ho's wrist shifting slightly, fingers sliding down to rest against his palm. The touch sends electricity shooting up Dae-ho's arm, making his skin tingle. Oh, god. What is happening. "Jun-hee-ah didn't walk away from how I look. She walked away because I was selfish and completely failed to appreciate what I had."

His voice drops even lower, softer, and Dae-ho feels his breath catch.

"But you..." Myung-gi's thumb traces across Dae-ho's knuckles, the touch feather-light but somehow burning. "You think I'm beautiful?"

Dae-ho's mouth goes dry. The panic is still there, coiled tight in his chest like a living thing, but it's mixing with something else now – something warm and dangerous that makes his skin feel too tight, makes every nerve ending hyper-aware of Myung-gi's proximity. He's so close that Dae-ho can see the individual lashes framing his dark eyes, the red flush gracing his cheekbones and nose, spreading down his neck to disappear beneath his collar. He can see it, so clearly laid out in front of him, just how equally affected Myung-gi is. It’s tantalising. 

"I..." Dae-ho's voice comes out as barely more than a whisper, rough with something he doesn't want to name. "I shouldn't have said that."

"But you did," Myung-gi murmurs, leaning fractionally closer. His breath is warm against Dae-ho's skin, smelling faintly of soju and mint. "And you meant it. Tell me that you did.”

Dae-ho knows this is a bad decision. There is no reasonable excuse for him to be acting like this over his best friend’s ex. It’s stupid. It’s selfish. It’s beyond trying to defend. 

And yet, behind those half-lidded eyes, Myung-gi is looking at him with a burning smoulder, one so intense that he can feel on his skin as his gaze traces his face. There’s an alluring curiosity – a challenge, Dae-ho realises – in the way Myung-gi leans forward, magnetised, in active temptation, the fingers of his other hand experimentally coming to ghost against the open skin of Dae-ho’s forearm. The touch is nothing more than a whisper, but to Dae-ho, it feels enticing. Electrifying. He wants those fingertips proper against him, all over him. His vision drifts to Myung-gi’s half-parted lips, plush and tempting, and something beyond rational lurches within his soul. 

His hand wordlessly finds Myung-gi’s cheek. He feels against his palm the sheer warmth radiating off the other’s face, and watches the way his skin indents at the lightest press of his thumb against his cheekbone. Myung-gi’s eyes don’t move from his face, captivated. He doesn’t even seem to be bothered by Dae-ho’s lack of verbal answer. He’s simply watching. Waiting. Waiting, for him to crack and be the one to cross the line. 

Myung-gi – stubborn, deterministic, impatient Myung-gi – is waiting for him. 

Fuck it. 

He presses forward before he can have time to regret it, meeting Myung-gi in the middle as their lips finally, finally meet. Myung-gi’s lips are just as soft and warm as they look; sweet soju still lingering, an alcoholic bliss intertwined with chapstick and the faintest remnants of mint. It feels like perfection against his own, slightly chapped and undoubtedly marred with equal amounts of crisp fruitiness, and Myung-gi seems to think so too, pressing their mouths harder against each other with a muffled hum. The smaller man’s hands find themselves firmly placed on Dae-ho’s broad shoulders, while Dae-ho lets his come to rest on Myung-gi’s hips, squeezing ever so slightly. Myung-gi is so unbearably warm against him, radiating heat in a way that makes his head spin and his thoughts blur. 

He doesn’t register Myung-gi’s hand snaking up the back of his neck until it’s too late. Slender fingers wrap around the base of his ponytail, then pull hard. He has no time to try and hide the shuddering gasp that rips itself from his lungs, nor any time to feel ashamed before Myung-gi is taking the opportunity and shoving his tongue into his mouth. 

Holy shit. Holy shit. The grip in his hair is straight iron, sending shockwaves tingling down his spine. The wind feels like it's been knocked out of him as they kiss; messily, hungrily, selfishly, and he can do nothing but groan into Myung-gi’s mouth and grip onto his waist tighter, tilting his head to the side and allowing Myung-gi better mobility. It’s all escalating so fast, and it’s dizzying. So, so dizzying. 

Just as Dae-ho is about to make the move to try and pull away, lungs burning, Myung-gi does it for him. Their lips break apart as Myung-gi pulls him back by the ponytail, forcing another whimper past his lips. He’s panting hard, and once he finally adjusts to the pressure on his scalp enough to crack open his eyes, he finds Myung-gi equally as breathless, gaze tunnelled in on his expression as if it were the most captivating thing in the world. 

That thought, combined with the heart-pounding awe coursing through his veins, quirks the corners of his lips upwards in dumbstruck awe, all remaining semblances of panic draining from his system. 

“Myung-gi-ssi—”

“My place isn’t far.” Myung-gi breathes, unblinking and undeterred. “Let’s get out of here.”

Dae-ho swallows thickly and nods to the best of his ability. Myung-gi’s gaze remains firm on him for a long few seconds more – then, finally, he lets go. Dae-ho sucks in air through his teeth at the relief it brings, and yet, finds himself mourning the sting against his scalp. 

Trust Lee Myung-gi to find his weak spot within a minute of kissing him for the first time. Goddamn it. 

“Y– Yeah.” His words finally return to him, breathless and fluttery. “Yeah – yeah. Let’s do that. Driving or walking?” Stupid question, really. Nobody here in their right mind would have driven themselves tonight. Myung-gi, though, takes it in stride. 

“Walking. Won’t take more than 10 minutes.” He grabs his wrist. “I can get us a taxi if you don’t want to deal with the cold.”

Dae-ho nods, “Taxi. Please.”

(He’s not bothered by the cold, not really. No, his main concern right now is latching his lips back onto Myung-gi’s as soon as humanly possible.) 

His thoughts are foggy as Myung-gi leads him out from behind the corner, pushing through the crowds of people and out towards the exit. Myung-gi’s tapping away at his phone as they break into the brisk spring night, and as they come to a pause outside the bar, Dae-ho peers over to see a small map with a marker on it, quickly moving in their direction. 

“How far away?”

“Only a couple of minutes.” Myung-gi’s calculating gaze is back on him, and Dae-ho finds no other option than to meet it with his own. How pathetic must he look, still struggling for breath and hazy? He doesn’t realise Myung-gi is still holding onto his wrist until his hold shifts, and suddenly, his whole hand is intertwined with his. “Not having second thoughts, are you?”

Dae-ho’s world spins with the intensity with which he shakes his head. Despite his vision blurring, however, he definitely doesn’t hallucinate the way Myung-gi’s lips curve up, equal amounts pleased and smug.

“Good,” he says, squeezing his hand. “Because I’m not either.”

Myung-gi’s apartment complex is somewhat less flash than what Dae-ho was expecting. Perhaps it’s how Myung-gi dresses and presents himself. Dae-ho often finds himself forgetting that he’s the same guy in need of money enough to float a crypto scam around campus. 

Still, the quality of housing is hardly something he lingers on as the elevator takes them up to Myung-gi’s floor, and eventually outside his place. Myung-gi fishes his key out of his pocket, fumbling with it ever so slightly in impatience. It’s kinda charming, now that Dae-ho has had a little time to regain his sanity. Myung-gi is calm and collected on the outside, but it becomes obvious his heart is on his sleeve the moment you look at him more closely. It makes it easy to be on his wavelength, and it burns a fire within him as they both immediately grab at each other the moment the outside world is shut away. 

Myung-gi’s lips taste less of soju now, having been kissed and licked away prior, but the remnants of it lingering remain addictive. Dae-ho feels a soft groan pass by the other’s lips as he pushes Myung-gi against the door, pressing in closer, body against body, trapping him inside his embrace. Myung-gi is all too eager to take it in stride, arms looping around the back of his neck, kissing back just as fervently and just as hungrily.

No longer surrounded by the scent of alcohol, Dae-ho can better smell the other man’s cologne, clinging to his skin enticingly. It’s fresh, it’s spicy and it’s woody; sharp and smokey, yet aromatic all the same. He can’t stop himself from moaning softly as he nudges his lips under Myung-gi’s jawline, grazing his lips and teeth along the bone as the scent fully hits his nose. 

“F–Fuck.” He mutters, dragging his lips lower, lower, leaving feather-light kisses in his wake. “You smell so good, Myung-gi-ah. So good.”

He feels Myung-gi shakily scoff into his hair. “I better. I spent good money on that bottle– nngh.” Myung-gi groans as Dae-ho bites at the space next to Myung-gi’s Adam’s apple, then drags his tongue over the imprint to soothe it. “Ah. Just can’t keep your mouth to yourself, can you?”

Dae-ho pulls away then, flashing his most convincing pathetic puppy eyes possible. “You don’t like it?” He watches with thinly veiled amusement as Myung-gi’s mind buffers in real time; then, he grins when the other’s face reddens with embarrassment. Cute. 

“...Of course I like it.” He mutters, and Dae-ho feels his hand creeping around towards the back of his head, just like before at the bar. “So you better not stop. Keep going, hyung.”

It’s equally as much praise as it is a demand, and it fuels a desperately eager part of Dae-ho as he obliges, pressing his lips back against the exposed column of Myung-gi’s neck. Just as he expects, Myung-gi’s hand settles around the base of his ponytail – not harsh like prior, but just enough to semi-dictate his movements – and though the tension is light, he still hums as he again bites into the flesh. It's a harsher bite, and he knows Myung-gi feels it just from the resulting noise he makes, so he doubles down and sucks it into a nice, blossoming bruise. Meanwhile, he allows his hands to wander, smoothing over the fabric of Myung-gi’s chest and hips and teasingly dipping under the fabric of his shirt. Just like the rest of him, Myung-gi feels remarkably soft. The skin around his midriff is plush and warm, and he hears Myung-gi curse under his breath as his fingertips trail up his ribs, intermingled with another suctioned kiss just above his collarbone. 

He’s about to place another right on the bone before Myung-gi finally decides to yank him away, fingers twisting around the hairtie as he once more manages to rip a moan past Dae-ho’s throat. Myung-gi is breathing heavily, face flushed and pupils dilated, but Dae-ho knows that he isn’t faring much better — not with his hair pulled taut at Myung-gi’s mercy. This time, it’s Myung-gi’s turn to smirk, tilting his head upwards to better look Dae-ho in the eyes. 

“Look at you.” He murmurs, near reverent. His tone of voice sends a shiver down Dae-ho’s spine. “So eager to please…” His fingers twist harder in his hair, and Dae-ho whimpers, eyes squeezing shut. “...so compliant.”

It’s true, Dae-ho thinks. Making others happy makes him happy – that’s how he’s always been. It’s a trait that almost always follows him into the bedroom; no matter the dynamic, if his partner wants something, he will give it to them. The praise that usually comes with it is more than enough fuel for the smouldering desire burning in his core, and though Myung-gi’s tone holds a hint of bemused condescension, the wide-blown and hungry look in his eyes tells him everything he needs to know. 

“Yeah, yeah...” He strains, nodding against Myung-gi’s grip. He can feel himself start to burn up again, breathing becoming ragged as the other inches ever-so-slightly forward. “I wanna please you. Can I? Can I, Myung-gi-ah ?”

Myung-gi huffs. “What do you think I brought you here for? Go on.” His breath ghosts against Dae-ho’s lips. Desire pools molten hot in Dae-ho’s lower stomach. “Prove you can be good for me.”

How they end up moving from the door to Myung-gi’s bed, Dae-ho isn’t quite sure. Time simply seems to fade the moment Dae-ho closes the distance, once again pressing into Myung-gi with desperate open-mouth kisses and incessantly roaming hands. He feels himself being tugged along, feels his own feet moving. Still, it all hardly registers until he’s being pushed down against the bed, lips momentarily separating as he falls backwards, only to be immediately ensnared again as Myung-gi crawls on top of him. Like this, his hands easily find purchase on the smaller man’s waist – and he can feel it, brushing against his inner thigh, the clothed imprint of Myung-gi’s hard cock as he presses himself as close as humanly possible. 

Myung-gi is hard because of me, he finds himself giddily thinking. Myung-gi, the most handsome guy in the world, is hard because of me.  

His train of thought is slightly derailed as Myung-gi moves to pull him up by his jacket, hurriedly trying to get it off his frame. Dae-ho happily allows it, shrugging it off and exposing his shoulders and singlet to the warm air, carelessly casting it aside. With less getting in the way, Myung-gi’s hands slip under his singlet’s thin white fabric, fingers shamelessly tracing up his abs and coming to grope liberally at his pecs. Dae-ho all-too-eagerly arches up into the touch, sighing contentedly into the other man’s mouth. His own fingers come up to hook around the top buttons of Myung-gi’s shirt, and he cracks his eyelids open with interest as more and more of Myung-gi’s pale collarbones and flat chest enter eyeshot. 

Just as he feels as though the air in his lungs is running too thin, Myung-gi pulls away, a trail of spit still connecting their lips. Myung-gi looks heaven-sent; hair falling over his face, plush lips reddened and shiny, sweat beginning to stick to his forehead and cheeks and pupils blown wide. The sight makes Dae-ho’s cock twitch in his jeans, a strained groan rumbling in his throat. Myung-gi stares intensely back at him (he really likes to do that, doesn’t he?) then sits up, grinding his ass against Dae-ho’s crotch.

“Your top.” He pants gravelly. “Take it off.”

Dae-ho stares dumbly up at him for a few moments. Then, his body catches up with his mind – and he doesn’t hesitate to peel it off his sweaty form, fully baring his naked chest. Just like his jacket, it gets thrown to the side with a gentle thwack. Myung-gi hums, satisfied, raking over his form like a work of art; something to marvel at.

It makes him feel wanted. A prize deserving of being yearned for.

“Good, good. So handsome.” The man on top of him breathes, fingers once more ghosting over his chest with tantalising, teasing touches. Dae-ho shivers at the praise, parting his lips again with a silent sigh. Myung-gi’s hands squeeze once more at his pecs – then, he’s leaning back further, baring his torso, shirt half-unbuttoned, to Dae-ho’s vantage. He tilts his head to the side, hunger permeating his features. “Help me now, won’t you?”

“Y– yeah. Yeah, let me–” Dae-ho mumbles, hazy, fingers once again hooking around the buttons, tugging impatiently at the fabric. His mouth pools with saliva with every revealed inch of Myung-gi’s skin, pale flesh flushed a tempting pink, his ribs ever-so-slightly peaking out, body slim and smooth and pretty underneath the fabric. Shaky hands fumble as he undoes the last button, pulling Myung-gi’s shirt open completely, and Dae-ho basks in the sight of slightly perked nipples, how the younger’s chest heaves with every breath. 

He can’t stop the awed laugh that slips past him as he fully pulls Myung-gi’s shirt off, watching as the other shifts his arms to make it easier. “Holy shit.” He breathes. “You really are— you’re so beautiful. Fuck. Myung-gi…”

Myung-gi smiles at that, small and flushed. “I should be the one saying that.” Myung-gi once more grinds back against Dae-ho’s clothed erection, and Dae-ho bites his lip at the sensation. “I could stare at you for hours. You’re like eye candy. Want to devour you.”

Dae-ho feels his face burn hotter, even more heat pooling in his stomach at Myung-gi’s words. “U- Uh-huh?

“Yeah. I do. So handsome.” Myung-gi’s hips find a slow but steady rhythm, and Dae-ho watches the breath start to leave him in ever-quickening pants. He can hardly think with Myung-gi on his lap like this, and when the younger moves just right, he can’t stop the visceral gasp escaping past his lips. Myung-gi is looming over him now, hands braced on Dae-ho’s upper arms, his eyes darkening with every desperate movement. Then, he’s dipping his neck down and tucking his sweaty face into Dae-ho’s neck, huffing against his throat with inaudibly murmured praises.

He feels like a fucking teenager all over again. He shouldn’t be getting off so easily on just dry humping – but fuck, the friction feels like pure ecstasy, red-hot and electrifying, ripping whine after whine from his tightening throat. Myung-gi softly moans into the nook of his neck, warm breath tickling quickly-bruising skin, and Dae-ho digs his fingernails hard into the younger man’s waistline. Myung-gi’s touch is endlessly roaming, endlessly curious, seeking out answers from his broad yet trembling form, and Dae-ho wants it, wants more. 

So, for the first time tonight, he takes advantage of his strength. He secures his hold on Myung-gi’s waist and flips them both over, drawing a startled gasp from the younger. Myung-gi looks up at him with surprised, questioning eyes, palms resting on Dae-ho’s forearms.

“Please,” Dae-ho breathes, leaning down until their noses brush. “I wanna take care of you. Let me? Please?”

Myung-gi swallows thickly, and Dae-ho watches as realisation flashes in his eyes. Whatever the younger man has noticed, Dae-ho isn’t all too sure, but he feels him relax underneath him, confusion morphing into something like satisfaction. 

“Yes,” Myung-gi says, finally, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Go ahead.”

Permission given, Dae-ho presses a kiss to Myung-gi’s lips, chaste and sweet, and then another to the corner of his mouth. He traces his lips down in feather-light grazes past his jawline and down the column of his neck, tracing over pre-existing marks until he reaches his chest, teasing with the occasional scrape of teeth. He runs his hands across every open expanse of skin they can find, taking his time in mapping out his sternum with his mouth, basking in the contented little sighs he hears from above. Feeling assured, he gently latches his teeth around one of Myung-gi’s nipples and quietly grins as the other gasps. He remains there for a long few moments, a hand coming up to tweak at the other, then pulls away with a parting kiss, lips continuing their journey downward. Myung-gi’s stomach is smooth and lean under his mouth, and when Dae-ho glances up, he meets his pupils, blown wide and sharp with interest. 

“You really are so beautiful.” He repeats, purposefully allowing his breath to ghost against the other’s skin. He’s rewarded with a slight shiver. 

“Don’t stop now.” Myung-gi murmurs. “Keep going.”

Dae-ho bites his lip in thinly veiled excitement. “Can I?”

“Yeah. Go on.”

Permission granted, Dae-ho undoes the buckle of Myung-gi’s belt, not bothering to take it off all the way before he unclips the front of his slacks. He tugs the fabric down past Myung-gi’s hips, and finds himself having to swallow down saliva as he comes face-to-face with the tent on Myung-gi’s boxers. 

It’s not like this is an unfamiliar process to him. Granted, he has been with more women than men, but the times he has been with men are enough for him to know what he’s doing here, at least, he hopes. He traces his fingers against the bulge teasingly, grinning up at Myung-gi as the other man’s breath quickens. He plays with his food for a few moments more (to Myung-gi’s flustered chagrin), then finally hooks his fingers around the waistband, letting Myung-gi’s dick spring free. Despite his overall smaller stature, his cock isn’t something to laugh at; it’s nicely sized and flushed with a sweet, vibrant pink towards the tip. It’s achingly hot to the touch as Dae-ho wraps his hand around the base, and at the groan Myung-gi gives, he feels his own dick twitch inside his pants. Myung-gi is just too alluring like this, half-naked and panting, his dick in front of his face waiting to be served. He can feel the anticipation burning in Myung-gi’s gaze as he stares down at him, smouldering and half-lidded, a slender hand coming to rest atop Dae-ho’s head. 

Something has changed in his expression. A switch has flipped, his eyes piercing and demanding and eye-wateringly stern. It knocks the air out of Dae-ho’s lungs. 

“What are you waiting for?” he mutters, his voice impatient, commanding. “Don’t make me ask you again.”

Fuck. If he keeps that tone up, Dae-ho might just implode. 

His mind feels heavy with need as he obliges, beginning with a teasing kitten lick before taking the tip fully into his mouth. Myung-gi groans, fingers twisting into his hair as Dae-ho takes him deeper, tongue lapping at the underside of the first inch. Dae-ho, admittedly, is used to approaching giving head with a little more care than this, but everything feels so unbearably hot, and the sounds Myung-gi makes with every little ministration are like music to his ears. He’s never wanted to please someone as much as he wants to please Myung-gi now. The feeling is overwhelming. 

He hollows out his cheeks and takes Myung-gi deeper, stroking with his hand from the base up to where he hadn’t yet reached with his mouth. Myung-gi’s hips jerk up unconsciously, and Dae-ho squeezes his eyes shut, gagging at the intrusion. It feels so good. Fuck, it feels so good. 

Suddenly, and without warning, Myung-gi is ripping Dae-ho off his dick by the hair. A strained moan rips its way from his throat, a line of spit still connecting his lips to the tip.

(He wonders what he must look like; hair falling out of its half-pony tail, teary-eyed, mouth parted and drooling. Does Myung-gi still think he’s handsome, like this? Does the sight of Dae-ho in this state make him feel good? Is he doing good? Please, tell him he’s doing good.)

“Want to fuck your mouth.” Myung-gi rasps, lust a wild fire behind dark eyes. He’s half-sat himself up, braced against the bed by his other hand against the sheets. “You’ll let me, won’t you? You’ll let me fuck your mouth?”

It’s not a question – not really. Myung-gi knows the answer already. Myung-gi knows Dae-ho will do whatever he asks. He knows full well that he’s the one with the power here. Dae-ho nods enthusiastically, panting heavily against Myung-gi’s dick; then, chokes on his breath as Myung-gi tugs at his hair again, hard.

“Say it.” Myung-gi hisses. “Tell me you want it.”

“I— I want it.” Dae-ho gasps, a near-whine. His nails dig hard into Myung-gi’s thigh. “I want it. Please.”

Myung-gi clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Try again. Tell me exactly what you want. I can’t let you if I don’t know.”

Dae-ho’s thoughts come out slowly and fuzzily. The condescension is thick in a way he’s not used to, and yet, he’s so, so unbearably turned on, red-hot and aching, desperate for more. Maybe it’s just Myung-gi – but being put down has never felt this good. 

“I want you to—” Words fail him, then tumble out. “Want you to ff– fuck my mouth. Please, sir .”

The title slips out before he can think about it. If he were more lucid, he’d be humiliated; but he’s very decidedly not lucid, and when Myung-gi’s expression flares and his cock twitches within his grasp, he knows the younger isn’t displeased, to say the very least.

“ Fuck .” Myung-gi curses, hand moving down to reposition the tip of his cock against Dae-ho’s lips. “You’re so hot– ah —”

Dae-ho is ready when Myung-gi thrusts his hips up, forcing his throat to relax and letting his eyes momentarily drift shut. Both of Myung-gi’s hands rest on his head, intertwined in his hair, pulling him up and pushing him back down, and the sting feels like pure pleasure in his desire-addled mind. Myung-gi’s thrusts are shallow and impulsive, barely breaching the back of his throat, and yet the intrusion is still somehow so pleasantly suffocating. He hums around the other’s dick as he thrusts back in, relishing in the moan and the cut-off “ oh, fuck– ” from above; only to gag again when Myung-gi pushes his head down fully, his nose pressing against the younger’s naval. 

Tears built up in his eyes. He wills himself to swallow around the length, sucking what little air he can through his nose. Then, Myung-gi lets up, and he retracts with a spluttering gasp. 

“Ghh— Good boy,” Myung-gi praises through gritted teeth, fingers drifting down to trace along Dae-ho’s cheek, his jaw. The touch is only gentle for a moment before his thumb and pointer are pressing in hard to the skin, pulling him forward to take Myung-gi back in his mouth. Dae-ho obliges all too easily, the noise obscene as he sinks his head back down, cock dragging against his tongue. “Eyes on me. Want, ah– want to see you like this.”

Dae-ho flicks his teary gaze up towards Myung-gi, and nearly moans at just how dishevelled he looks. Myung-gi’s face is fully flushed red, mouth parted and eyes half-lidded, fueled by drunken pleasure and intense desire, hair messy and pushed haphazardly out of his face. His flush has spread down his neck and chest, illuminating the purple hickies left behind in brilliant proof of Dae-ho’s presence. He’s looking down on him with pure and potent lust, unlike anything Dae-ho ever thought someone would look at him like; and when Dae-ho takes him to the base again, he watches enraptured as he squeezes his eyes shut and throws his head back. 

He wants more. Myung-gi resumes thrusting up into his mouth, and he chokes as it hits the back of his throat, but he still wants more. More of calm, reserved Myung-gi being made to feel like this, more of his beautiful little sounds. 

His face is burning so hot that he doesn’t even realise tears are leaking from his eyes until Myung-gi’s thumb is brushing them away on one side. He feels stupid with desire and eagerness; the thought-collapsing pressure of his throat unwittingly spasming around Myung-gi’s cock, the way Myung-gi’s pace quickens and quickens and his moans begin to crescendo louder and louder. He’s muttering equal amounts of praise and condescension, stroking his cheek while pulling his hair, staring at him allured while bucking up hard into his mouth. Dae-ho’s face feels wet with tears and drool, and he is certain that he must look wrecked like this – yet when Myung-gi calls him pathetic immediately followed up with perfect in that fond, lustful tone, he almost feels as though this is how he’s meant to be. 

“Fuck– Fuck, hyung, ‘m close,” Myung-gi gasps, his pace quickening. Dae-ho can barely think – only mindlessly continuing in his ministrations, trying to keep his eyes open so he can watch Myung-gi fall apart.  “Keep sucking like that, oh yes, oh– oh fuck– yes—”

Myung-gi shoves his head down and bucks his hips up one last time, cumming with an aborted moan down Dae-ho’s throat. He swallows it all down despite the burning ache in his lungs, digging his fingernails into the plushness of Myung-gi’s hips, a few more fat tears rolling down his cheeks. Just before he’s about to tap on the younger man’s thigh, Myung-gi releases his hold on Dae-ho’s ponytail, and he pulls off with an obscene pop and a choked gasp. He coughs a few times, and Myung-gi, chest heaving and dizzy, properly sits up. Both of his hands come to cradle Dae-ho’s cheeks. 

“So good,” He praises again, breathless, his gaze warm and assessing with an ounce of concern. “You were so good for me, hyung. Are you okay?”

Dae-ho’s throat is rough and scratchy when he first tries to speak. A strained croak is all that escapes. Then, he swallows thickly, wiping at his mouth with the back of a trembling hand. 

“Y– Yes.” He manages to get out, panting heavily through parted lips. “Yes, I am, I…”

Myung-gi inches closer, a devious curiosity flashing in hazy eyes as he thumbs away the remnants of tears on Dae-ho’s face. He watches him for a long few moments, studying his features. “Hmm… You sound like you want something. What is it?”

Daeho whimpers. “Please, sir.” He leans eagerly into Myung-gi’s palms, cracking his eyes open to blearily stare up at him. He’s so hard. He’s so, so fucking turned on and hard right now. “P-Please – more, please. I was good, wasn’t I? I was so good for you.”

“Mm. You were good. A very good boy,” Myung-gi hums, that softly smug look from prior once again clear as day on his features, relishing in Dae-ho’s submission. “...But I don’t know. Do you think you deserve it?”

He nods jerkily, swallowing back a desperate sob. “Yyy- Yes, yes, I was– I’ve been so good. Please. Please. I need it. Please.”

Myung-gi has the gall to laugh at his distress, and Dae-ho finds his mind torn in two different directions. Please. I’ve been so good. Don’t stop talking to me like that. Please give me more. I want it so bad. Please hurry up and reward me. Laugh at me like that again. Just don’t stop. 

“So impatient.” The younger sighs, endeared. Dae-ho vaguely registers as Myung-gi hooks his fingers around his hair tie, letting the rest of his long hair fall loose over his face and shoulders. His hand combs through the dark locks in earnest, and Dae-ho shudders, momentarily placated. “You want more, but you haven’t even prepared me yet… How does that work?”

Dae-ho suddenly sits up. “Can I?” He asks, voice pitching up with earnestness. “P- Prepare you?”

Myung-gi looks him up and down, feigning as if in thought, and Dae-ho is almost about to start hysterically pleading again until Myung-gi nods. “Second drawer to the left. There should be lube in there. Got it?”

Dae-ho practically springs up with the command, clamouring over to the drawer with acute eagerness. He rummages around inside, quickly locating the small branded tube inside. Meanwhile, Myung-gi finally shimmies out of his slacks, pulling them down from where they rested around his thighs and kicking them carelessly onto the carpet below. Now fully naked, Myung-gi repositions himself up closer towards the top of the bed, nodding approvingly as Dae-ho crawls back with the lube in hand. “Good boy. How do you want me? Your choice.”

Biting his lip, Dae-ho takes a moment to admire the younger man lying out comfortably in front of him. His cock is already half-hard again just from having watched Dae-ho begging for him, and the thought makes Dae-ho giddy with some pathetic sense of fulfilment. Myung-gi really does find me attractive, he thinks. I really can’t believe it…

“ Hyung ?”

He blinks out of his thoughts, his vision refocusing on Myung-gi’s face. He’s looking at him with concern – and Dae-ho realises he’s just been staring. 

“A- Ah.” He smiles, embarrassed. “Sorry. I’m just. I think I’m really lucky.”

Confusion flickers onto Myung-gi’s features. “Huh?”

Dae-ho shuffles forward, shakily exhaling as he strokes Myung-gi’s thigh with his free hand. He’s still so, so painfully aroused – but there’s something else panging in his heart, a warm sort of affection that’s almost entirely inappropriate for the impulsiveness of what they’re doing. He mentally tucks that feeling in the back of his head for now, focusing on the softness of Myung-gi’s skin, his wide doe eyes. The thought that this is reality, he’s really experiencing this, is sobering. 

“I’ve imagined this before,” he shyly admits, his hand cheekily slipping towards the inside of the other’s thigh. Myung-gi seems to understand the gesture, and willingly spreads his legs for easier access. “You, like this, I mean. I never thought I’d actually get to see it.”

Myung-gi stares up at him, visibly taken aback. “You…” He’s silent for a few seconds; then, his gaze softens, shaking his head in fond disbelief. “...You make it hard to be mean to you. You know that, right?”

Dae-ho retracts his hand momentarily to pop open the lube, lathering it liberally over his fingers. “...Is that a good or a bad thing?”

“Hmm, I don’t know.” Myung-gi tilts his head to the side, thoughtful. He watches with acute entrapment as Dae-ho coats his fingers, anticipation clear in his eyes. “Do you like it? When I’m mean?”

Dae-ho feels his face redden, embarrassment creeping up the back of his neck. “Y-Yeah… Yeah, I do.” His hand makes its way back up the inside of Myung-gi’s thigh before finally reaching his hole. “But I like it when you praise me, too.”

“Oh, I’ve always known that.” Myung-gi smiles sardonically despite the pressure at his entrance. “I think everyone knows about your affinity for compliments.”

“W- Well. What can I say? Maybe I just like my ego stroked.”

“Not the only thing you like– ah –!” Before Myung-gi can finish his sentence, Dae-ho presses his finger in, breaching the ring of muscle in a decisive yet gentle action. The surprised gasp it punches out of Myung-gi travels straight to Dae-ho’s dick, visceral and curious for more. He lets it sink in until it’s just past the knuckle, his free hand rubbing soothing circles into the other’s hips, and watches attentively as Myung-gi grits his teeth, sucking a slow breath in between his teeth.

“That’s it.” He mumbles quietly, listening to the other sigh as he moves, dragging his finger in and out with careful, practised consideration. Dae-ho leans over him, grazing his lips against his cheek in a pseudo-kiss, “Breathe nice and steady for me, yeah?”

Myung-gi hums, the sound low and strained against his ear. He spreads his leg out a little wider, giving Dae-ho a better vantage point as he presses deeper, continuing to mutter quiet assurances to the younger. It’s an eyebrow-raising reversal of the positions they were in not even a few minutes ago, but just as pure submission came to him with ease, so too did the need to dote; to take care, to be gentle and kind in his handling of the reins. He could never find it in him to be punishing to his partners – not even Myung-gi, who teases and taunts in a confusing symphony of degradation and praise. 

“Another,” Myung-gi demands with a whisper, his hand holding on to Dae-ho’s forearm. And Dae-ho, who knows he has the power to take control just as Myung-gi had done, happily chooses to comply. 

(It’s a reversal only in appearances. It didn’t matter which one of them was the one on top of the other; Myung-gi still calls the shots.)

Myung-gi moans, long and low, his hips bucking up into Dae-ho’s touch. “Shit—” He gasps, his fingers digging into Dae-ho’s arm. “F- Faster.”

“Okay,” Dae-ho mutters, his breath quickening, his dick achingly hard against his stomach. He increases the speed, his fingers pressing against Myung-gi relentlessly, his thumb idly rubbing circles against his perineum. He peppers his lips down with tiny, tiny kisses, all the way to Myung-gi’s jawline.

“Another,” Myung-gi eventually repeats, eyelids still squeezed shut. 

Dae-ho raises an eyebrow, a light laugh escaping his lips. “I thought I was the needy one.”

Myung-gi’s eyes snap open, and he glares up at Dae-ho half-heartedly. “Shut up,” he mumbles, embarrassed. Dae-ho laughs again, pressing a soft kiss to Myung-gi’s lips before obliging, adding another finger. Myung-gi stiffens, a low hiss escaping past his teeth, and Dae-ho soothes him with gentle kisses and soft murmurs of praise. 

“Shh, it’s okay. You can take it,” he murmurs, his fingers slowly thrusting into Myung-gi again. 

“Y– yeah, I know,” Myung-gi mutters, his voice strained. He takes a shuddering breath and relaxes, his body opening up again for Dae-ho. Dae-ho smiles down at him, prideful in his ability to make him so open and vulnerable. He begins to properly stretch him out now, pressing his fingers in and out in a slow but steady rhythm, making sure to hit Myung-gi’s sensitive prostate with every thrust. Myung-gi whimpers, and Dae-ho’s breath hitches at the sweet sound, his clothed erection becoming almost unbearably hard.

After a few minutes of Dae-ho torturing him like this, Myung-gi decides he’s had enough, grabbing the older man’s wrist and pushing his hand away. Dae-ho obediently pulls away, tilting his head to the side. “Overwhelmed already?” He light-heartedly teases, to which Myung-gi scowls. 

“Shut up,” Myung-gi grumbles again, his cheeks still flushed. “I’m ready, just… come here.”

Dae-ho smiles again, but obliges, moving to settle his hips against Myung-gi’s ass; but the younger man pushes him back. “No, not like that.”

…He blinks dumbly. “Ah?”

Myung-gi rolls his eyes, shuffling out from under Dae-ho before moving to sit on his knees. “Lie down against the pillows,” he commands, gesturing towards the head of the bed. “I want you like that.”

Dae-ho shudders at the command, a small moan escaping his lips as he quickly scrambles to follow Myung-gi’s instructions. The pillows are soft beneath his head as he lies back, watching eagerly as Myung-gi looms over him. Myung-gi moves to unzip his jeans (fucking finally), and Dae-ho holds his breath in anticipation. The younger man is still teasing him, agonisingly slowly pulling the jeans off and over his hips, and Dae-ho almost wants to plead for him to hurry up, but forces himself to be obedient, patient, and still. Once his jeans are off, Myung-gi tosses them aside carelessly before sitting up to look down at Dae-ho. Myung-gi pulls the boxers off next, and Dae-ho sucks in a sharp breath as the air hits his straining dick. He can’t look away from Myung-gi’s gaze as the younger man takes in the sight, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly at the sight. Myung-gi hums in contemplation, his fingers ghosting over Dae-ho’s length, and he moans softly at the touch. 

“Where’d the lube go?” Myung-gi asks, glancing around the bed. Dae-ho gestures a little further down the sheets, and Myung-gi locates the bottle, squeezing some out onto his hand and coating Dae-ho’s dick with it. Dae-ho hisses at the contact, his dick twitching as Myung-gi pumps it with his hand. Myung-gi raises an eyebrow at him. “So pent-up…”

“C— cause of you.” Dae-ho slurs out, his hips bucking into Myung-gi’s hand. Myung-gi hums again, pumping a few more times before releasing his dick and shuffling up the bed to straddle him. He leans down and presses their lips together, sighing softly into Dae-ho’s mouth, and his hips grind down against Dae-ho’s, rubbing his wet hole against his dick. Dae-ho moans into the kiss, his hips bucking and seeking friction, but Myung-gi pulls back, smiling at him. 

“Are you ready?” he asks, and Dae-ho nods fervently. Myung-gi chuckles fondly. “Beg for it.” 

Dae-ho whines. “Please, Myung-gi… I want– I want you so bad…”

Myung-gi groans, and without warning, he lifts his hips and sinks onto Dae-ho in one smooth motion, taking the entire thing to the base. Dae-ho cries out, his voice hoarse and desperate as his dick is enveloped in Myung-gi’s tight, wet heat. Myung-gi throws his head back, moaning in pleasure, his fingers twisting into Dae-ho’s shirt. Myung-gi places his hands on his stomach, bracing himself with the slight force of the thrust, and Dae-ho thinks he can see him smirk in the corner of his vision. It takes everything in him not to buck his hips up again and to instead keep himself steady; the younger man’s walls are hot and soft and oh, so tight. His head feels like it’s been stuffed full of cotton, and all his thoughts are hazy, melting with need and pleasure and desperation and desire. He doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol or not, but the blood that has been pooling in his groin for the past hour is only building and building to a white-hot ache.

“Fuck— Myung-gi—” Dae-ho gasps, his hips involuntarily bucking up into him; then, he jumps when Myung-gi gently slaps his thigh.

“Don’t move,” he breathily commands, and Dae-ho groans, forcing himself to stay still beneath him as the younger adjusts to the stretch. Eventually, he relaxes, sighing with satisfaction. He does not give him the friction he needs, however; only sitting atop him with his dick pulsing deep within his hole, a pleased smile on his face as he looks down on the other. Dae-ho stares back up at him, his eyes half-lidded with lust, his lips parted as he tries not to beg for Myung-gi to move.

“You like it?” Myung-gi asks, grinding down on Dae-ho but still not moving enough.

“Yes, yes, yes–” Dae-ho breathes out in a rush, his eyes almost rolling back in his head as his hips move again.

Myung-gi huffs at him. “You can’t even sit still, can you? I thought you said you’d be good for me.”

“I– I did—!” Dae-ho manages to gasp, his hips stilled once again. “I– I do, I do, please, sir…”

“Mm, you sound so pretty when you beg,” Myung-gi muses, his hands moving to play with Dae-ho’s nipples. Dae-ho shivers, his fingers gripping onto Myung-gi’s thighs. “What else are you going to beg me for, hyung ?

“Ah, ff– fuck— anything, please– I— I’ll be good, I’ll do anything you want—” Dae-ho babbles, his head fuzzy with need.

Myung-gi chuckles and finally, finally begins to move, rising to the tip of Dae-ho’s cock and slamming back down again. Dae-ho throws his head back with a cry, his back arching off the bed, and Myung-gi begins to set a brutal pace, fucking himself on Dae-ho with abandon. “Yes— yes–!” he chants, his voice rough and loud as his head falls back.

“Look at you, Dae-ho hyung,” Myung-gi says, his voice breathy and desperate. “You look like a fucking slut.” He rises again and slams down once more, and Dae-ho lets out a guttural moan, his hands grabbing Myung-gi’s waist. “I knew you had a dick that big, but I didn’t think it’d feel this good. You like it? You like fucking me, huh?”

“Y– yes, yes, yes–” Dae-ho continues to repeat in a fog, his brain and body overwhelmed by the pleasure and the praise, his hips moving to meet Myung-gi. He looks back up at the younger man, and Myung-gi is looking at him like he’s the centre of his universe. He almost wants to cry again. He brings his hands to the younger’s hips, helping him keep the pace, but then he brings them to his ass, squeezing and pulling apart his cheeks. Myung-gi moans at the sensation, and Dae-ho continues to squeeze and caress his ass as Myung-gi fucks himself. Dae-ho then brings his thumb to Myung-gi’s stretched hole, rubbing it with the pad of his thumb, and Myung-gi shudders in pleasure. “I love it,” Dae-ho chokes out, breathless. “I fucking love it— fuck, Myung-gi, sir, you feel so good.”

Myung-gi does not respond; he only moans louder, his pace becoming erratic as his hand comes down to his own dick to start pumping. The sight of Myung-gi touching himself sends Dae-ho into overdrive, and he begins to lose himself in the pleasure. He sits up and pulls Myung-gi closer to him, latching his mouth onto his neck, sucking and biting it, his fingernails digging crescents into his back. He moves down to one of his nipples, sucking it into his mouth, and Myung-gi cries out, his nails digging into Dae-ho’s shoulders. He sucks and bites at his nipples as Myung-gi continues to fuck himself, and the younger man begins to fall apart above him. His head is thrown back in pleasure, his mouth wide open as he continues to moan loudly, his pace faltering as his orgasm approaches. Dae-ho feels his orgasm approaching, too, and he bites onto Myung-gi’s shoulder to stifle a loud moan.

Then, Myung-gi grabs his hair and pulls him away, forcing him to look up.

“Look at me when I cum,” Myung-gi demands, his voice rough and hoarse, and Dae-ho swallows, nodding, forcing his eyes to stay open and trained on Myung-gi. The younger’s face is flushed and sweaty, his hair messy and hanging in his face, his eyes lidded, lips parted and wet as he pants and moans. He really is beautiful like this, Dae-ho thinks; he looks ethereal, like a god, a vision. Dae-ho does not want to look away, and he keeps his eyes fixed on the other as Myung-gi's pace grows even more erratic, until finally he cums with a long, broken moan, spilling all over himself and Dae-ho.

Myung-gi collapses onto his chest, still riding out the aftershocks. Dae-ho wraps his arms around his waist and holds him close, his hips bucking up into him, shuddering wildly. He is still so close. Myung-gi seems to realise this, too, because he sits up, still breathing heavily, and brings his hands back to Dae-ho’s wrists, pushing them away from his hips.

“No touching,” Myung-gi commands, and Dae-ho releases his grip, whimpering. Myung-gi begins to move again, rising up and falling down, setting a new pace. It’s slower than before, but still hard and rough, and Dae-ho chokes on his own moan. “You’re going to cum from just this,” Myung-gi tells him, voice strained. “T- That’s right, hyung; you’re going to cum, aren’t you? Cum for me.”

Dae-ho nods his head fervently, his breath hitching, and his voice catches in his throat as he tries to respond. “I’m going to–!! I— fuck— Myung-gi please, Myung-gi, Myung-gi, I’m gonna—”

He babbles, his head falling back, and his hands gripping the sheets, and he cums harder than he ever has before. His vision blurs over, his eyes roll back as his orgasm washes over him, and he cums inside of Myung-gi with a choked shout, his hips bucking. Myung-gi doesn’t stop, and he continues to ride him throughout his orgasm, drawing it out until Dae-ho is almost sobbing with overstimulation and exhaustion.

It feels like an eternity before Myung-gi pulls himself off, and when he does, all the tension leaves Dae-ho’s body – breathing heavily, his eyes closed. He cannot think; his mind is in a fog, and his body is spent. He only becomes aware again when he feels Myung-gi lying facing him, stroking his cheeks. Dae-ho slowly opens his eyes, blinking blearily at him.

“You did so good,” Myung-gi murmurs, his touch gentle, his gaze searching. “Good boy.”

Dae-ho wants to reply, but he finds he does not have the energy. He surges forward instead and presses a kiss to his lips, softer and sweeter than all of the kisses they’ve shared prior. Myung-gi responds in earnest, too tired to put up any more pretence, and it devolves into something lazy and warm, something that settles deep within Dae-ho's very being.

It takes him a few more moments, focusing his mind on the warmth next to him and the feeling of lips on lips, but soon, clarity returns to him. His hands, returning to Myung-gi’s hips, move to instinctively soothe the red indents in the skin, massaging with fingertips still trembling yet a heart so warm. He breaths in Myung-gi’s scent – still sharp, still woody, now twinged with sweat and fluids and the smell of sex, and finds himself just as intoxicated by it as he was at the beginning.

He forces his eyes open, pulls away from the other. Then, slowly, he moves a hand away from Myung-gi’s hip to brace himself against the mattress, moving himself into a sitting position. 

“Myung-gi-ah,” He whispers, his voice hoarse and unsteady. “Let me take care of you.”

He’s barely aware of what he’s saying or what he’s doing. He just knows that he wants to make Myung-gi feel good, and he wants to feel good by Myung-gi again. He knows that they both need aftercare, but he doesn’t want Myung-gi to be the one taking care of him again.

Myung-gi gives him a small hum in affirmation, and doesn’t resist as Dae-ho gently rolls him onto his back. They’re both pretty fucked out, but they’re both still lucid enough for things to be lighthearted and comfortable between them as Dae-ho takes care of Myung-gi the best that he can, cleaning him up and wiping him down and giving him water. The more and more that he takes care of the other man, the more and more clarity he gets back. He’s in his element when he’s looking after someone, and even though he’s exhausted, he feels good knowing that Myung-gi is happy.

Once he’s sure that the younger man isn’t going to wake up in too much discomfort, he pulls back the covers and slips into the bed. It’s big enough that there’s a respectable distance between them, but Dae-ho reaches out anyway. He wants to be close, and he can tell that Myung-gi does too when he rolls over to meet him, curling into his side with an ease that he didn’t expect. Dae-ho wraps his arm around the younger man’s shoulders and pulls him close.

It’s strange. He really doesn’t know Myung-gi all too well, everything considered, and he’s pretty sure that the feeling is mutual, but this feels natural. It feels comfortable. Myung-gi presses a kiss against the exposed skin of his shoulder. The gesture is sweet and unexpected.

“Thank you, hyung,” he murmurs, visibly sleepy. His face looks especially cute when not tied up in thought or stress, Dae-ho thinks. “Was great.”

Dae-ho chuckles, then winces at the soreness of his throat. “S- Says you. You were…” He can barely even find the words to describe it. He doesn’t end up having to, because Myung-gi is wrapping his arms tighter around his waist, nuzzling even closer.

“You should stay the night.” He mumbles into Dae-ho’s skin. 

Dae-ho frowns, feeling the guilt suddenly start to creep back in. He wants to, he does, but it feels… wrong. Merely ending up here in Myung-gi’s bed is beyond common sense and decency. To stay the night is too selfish, even for him.

“I can’t,” Dae-ho says, apologetic. He places a hand on top of Myung-gi’s head, stroking through his hair. “I’m sorry.”

Myung-gi huffs against him, and for a brief moment, Dae-ho is worried that he’s upset him. Then, the younger man tilts his head up to look him in the eye.

“You could stay for just a little while longer, couldn’t you?” Myung-gi asks. It’s a trap, and both of them know it. A while will become until morning, and from there lies the difficult conversations; what was this? Was this all spur of the moment? Did you mean any of it? What does this mean for us? Does it mean anything?

And yet, Myung-gi sounds uncertain and uncharacteristically vulnerable – and Dae-ho, at his core, will always be too eager to please. 

Dae-ho wakes up alone the next morning – but not before a hand brushes his hair out of his eyes and a soft voice tells him I’m off to work, and text me when you get home. It’s not ideal, but he’ll take what he can get. 

He manages to lug himself out of Myung-gi's all-too-comfortable bed and checks the time. It’s barely past ten, much to his relief. He finds his clothes folded on a nearby dresser and quietly gets dressed. He manages to find his hair tie, lost in mussed-up sheets, and reties his messy, sweaty hair.

He leaves Myung-gi a note on his kitchen table, telling him that he had a really good night. 

(He means it. Against all common sense, he really, truly means it. )

He opens the door, and he steps out into the hall; then, he pulls the door shut behind him, making sure it’s locked. He stares at the handle for a long, long time. And then, with a shaky sigh and a heavy mind, he shuffles to the elevator.

As he steps into the lobby of Myung-gi’s apartment complex, he realises that it’s raining outside. He doesn’t have an umbrella, and he has no idea when the next bus is. He’ll have to go out in the rain, get soaked, and wait for who knows how long for a bus that’ll take him back to campus, where he’ll inevitably cross paths with Jun-hee on their mutual day off. 

His phone buzzes. He mindlessly checks it. 

[Heehee ^_^] 8:12am

> u wanna get lunch today? :)

> ???

> dont tell me ur hungover

[Heehee ^_^] 10:37am

> :skull:

The cold air and the rain wash away whatever afterglow he still has as he stares at the screen. He feels a deep pang of guilt for the thousandth time since last night, staring at Jun-hee's name. Myung-gi may have been the one who approached him, who instigated this whole thing; but it was still wrong of Dae-ho to accept. Dae-ho knows that he will never, ever, ever be able to tell Jun-hee about last night, and he knows deep down that even if Myung-gi didn’t make it clear that this would be a one-time thing, it has to be. He could never, ever do something like this again.

(Because Myung-gi made him cum harder than he has in his entire life last night. Myung-gi made Dae-ho feel wanted and needed and desired and valuable in a way that he hasn’t felt in so, so long. He’s selfish; he wants it again, so badly, so badly. But he knows that he’s not deserving of such a thing.)

He tries to remember Myung-gi’s face from the night before; the way his eyes looked half-lidded and lidded with pleasure, the way his face looked flushed and blissed out, the way his voice sounded low and raspy and strained when he moaned for Dae-ho. He tries to remember the way Myung-gi felt against him, in his arms, beneath his hands; the way he tasted, the way he smelled.

(It all returns too vivid.)

He walks out of Myung-gi’s complex, through the rain and into the unknown, and he repeats to himself that he’s not going to let this happen again. That it was a one-time thing. That he won’t let this happen again.

He can’t let this happen again.

(And yet, his heart can't help but want.)