my personal fanfic library

You were deeply confused, your mind spinning in an alcoholic, emotionally exhausted overdrive. Your makeup felt damp, your chest still heaving with the remnants of the sob you had choked back, but you didn't have the strength to resist. You let him guide you, your heels clicking unsteadily against the floor as Taehyung turned his back on a brooding Jeongguk and began leading you away into the sprawling, labyrinthine corridors of the venue, heading god knows where.

The cold night air hit your skin like a slap, shocking your system just enough to keep you upright. Taehyung had led you out of the suffocating marble halls and into an inner garden—a secluded courtyard surrounded by high stone arches, overgrown ivy, and the faint, distant hum of the gala's music. It was empty, dark, and beautifully quiet.

You were moving through a thick, heavy haze. Your brain felt wrapped in cotton wool, the emotional whiplash of the night rendering you completely numb. On the walk over, you had mindlessly snatched another two champagne glasses off a passing waiter's tray, downing them back-to-back like water just to drown the noise in your head. Now, you were absentmindedly sipping directly from Taehyung’s glass, the bubbles burning your throat.

Taehyung didn't stop you. He just watched you with a quiet, heavy sadness in his eyes as you leaned back against a stone pillar, staring blankly at the dark hedge maze in front of you.

"Do you want to tell me what happened back there?" he asked softly, his usual animated voice dropping into a comforting tone.

You didn't reply. You just pressed the cool glass against your bottom lip, keeping your eyes glued to the shadows. There was a nagging, heavy intuition pressing at the back of your mind, a sudden realization telling you that you didn't even need to speak.

He already knows.Taehyung was Jeongguk’s best friend. And after the way Jeongguk had just violently soft launched the implication that the two of you were hooking up to Minho, there was no point in lying. The secret pact was already bleeding out into the light.

When you stayed silent, Taehyung let out a slow, heavy sigh. He ran a hand through his styled hair, tilting his head up to look at the stars before his gaze settled back on your fractured profile.

"He’s an idiot," Taehyung began, his voice surprisingly devoid of his usual humor. "Jeongguk, I mean. He’s a tactical genius when it comes to a mixing board or a business deal, but when it comes to... this? To human beings? He has the subtlety of a brick through a window."

Taehyung stepped closer, taking the half-empty glass from your trembling fingers and setting it down on a nearby stone ledge.

"He didn't mean to compromise you, Y/N," Taehyung murmured, looking at you with an intense, knowing sincerity. "But you have to understand how he operates. When Jeongguk sees someone trying to break something that belongs in his orbit... he doesn't negotiate. He destroys the threat. He just forgot that by doing that, he might accidentally crush you in the crossfire."

"I don't belong in his orbit," you corrected him sharply, your voice thick and rough. You glared at the dark grass by your feet, the champagne making your skin prickle with a sudden defense mechanism. "I'm not a planet spinning around him, Taehyung."

Taehyung didn't flinch. He just leaned his shoulder against the stone pillar next to yours, giving you a gentle, playful nudge with his elbow. "C'mon," he murmured, a knowing, slightly amused tilt to his lips.

You snapped your head up, cocking a brow at him, your heart doing a violent, panicked flip in your chest. "What? So you know?"

Taehyung’s smile softened, but his eyes remained sharp, entirely unbothered by the confession. He held up two fingers and brought them to his lips in a mock sealing motion. "My lips are zipped," he said smoothly.

God, everything was so embarrassing. The dramatic confrontation, the screaming match in the alcove, the fact that his best friend knew about the desperate pact you'd made in the ashes of your breakup. You felt entirely exposed, stripped bare in a dress that suddenly felt a thousand times too loud. You should have never come tonight. You should have stayed in your apartment, hidden away where no one could see how easily you were falling apart.

"Sora and Jimin don't know," you whispered into your palms, your voice muffled and laced with a sudden, suffocating panic. You dropped your hands, staring at Taehyung with wide, desperate eyes. "They shouldn't know, Taehyung. Promise me. If they find out about... whatever the hell this is with Jeongguk, I will actually die."

"Then they won’t," Taehyung said instantly, his voice dropping the playful edge completely. He reached out, gently squeezing your shoulder to anchor you. "At least from me, they won’t. I swear it, Y/N. Your secrets are safe."

A heavy, miserable groan escaped your throat as you let your head drop back against the cold stone pillar. "Why is he so fucking difficult?" you muttered, closing your eyes as the champagne spun behind your eyelids. "Why does everything have to be so intense with him? One second he's completely ghosting me, and the next he's ripping the room apart."

"Because he is difficult," Taehyung replied smoothly. He turned to face you fully, leaning his lower back against the stone ledge. "He’s a nightmare to figure out, I know. But he’s a good person, Y/N. A really good person. He’s just... guarded. Extremely guarded."

"Guarded people don't usually pick fights at university galas," you whispered, a bitter laugh catching in your throat.

"No, they don't," Taehyung agreed, a faint smile touching his lips as he looked out over the quiet garden. "But when he said he was working these past few days? He wasn't lying to you. He really was."

You opened your eyes, looking at him through the dark. "Working on what?"

"On this gala, for one," Taehyung explained, gesturing vaguely back toward the main building. "He’s been pulling double shifts handling the entire audio-visual design for the faculty boards. But honestly? He’s also been dealing with a lot of his own personal stuff. Heavy shit he doesn't talk about. He’s had his hands completely full, Y/N."

Taehyung tilted his head, his expression turning thoughtful. "He’s just clumsy when it comes to dealing with people. He doesn't know how to communicate when he's overwhelmed, so he just shuts down and goes to work. You don't have to excuse how he handled Minho out there, but don't think he was just ignoring you for the hell of it."

You let out a low, tired hum, the cold stone against your back the only thing keeping you grounded as the garden around you began to tilt. The champagne was fully in control now, making your head feel dangerously light.

"I guess," you muttered, staring at the dark tips of your shoes. "But... I wouldn't really know. We don’t talk about stuff like that. Personal stuff."

Taehyung hummed in response, a low, resonant sound that blended with the rustle of the leaves. He took a slow sip from his glass, his eyes fixed on the distant, glowing windows of the ballroom. "I’m not trying to find excuses for him, Y/N. Truly. He was a prick out there. But sometimes... it’s good to look at the full context."

The full context.

The words echoed in your mind, striking a sudden, hollow chord. You blinked into the shadows of the courtyard, a cold wave of clarity cutting through the alcohol haze. You had never actually thought about that. In reality, you didn't know the first thing about the guy whose shirt you had just shredded in a furious grip.

"Full context," you repeated softly, the realization beginning to bloom in your chest in real time, heavy and unsettling. You looked up at Taehyung, your brow furrowing. "Taehyung... I don’t actually know him. At all."

Taehyung didn't look surprised. He just waited, letting you speak.

"Like, I know his name," you continued, your voice dropping into a breathless, frantic whisper as the reality of it settled in. "I know he mixes audio. I know what his hands feel like, and I know how he looks when he's angry. But I don't know his family. I don't know what his 'personal stuff' even means. I don't know what he does when he's not working, or what keeps him up at night. We made this dark, twisted deal, and he’s out there fighting my ex... and he's a total stranger to me."

You let out a ragged, breathless laugh, the absurdity of it hitting you all at once. "How am I tangled up in a war with a guy whose middle name I don't even fucking know?"

Taehyung didn't laugh. He just reached out and gave your back a slow, grounding pat. "It's okay, he doesn't have one," he said softly, his voice steady against your rising panic. "You don't need to know his whole life story to be in the middle of this right now. Nobody's grading you on it."

But it wasn't okay. You were dangerously close to completely losing it.

The alcohol was swirling violently in your system, stripping away whatever emotional numbness you had left. A cold, suffocating wave of panic crashed over you as the truth bared its teeth: you had given your body to someone you knew basically nothing about, and you were just now fully realizing it.

Were you insane?

Had the heartbreak been that blinding? Was the desperate itch to feel anything other than ruined and abandoned so bad that you threw yourself blindly into a pact with a ghost? Hell, you couldn't even tell Sora or Jimin. The two people who knew everything about you were entirely in the dark, and the only reason you were standing in this courtyard talking about it now was because Jeongguk had probably told Taehyung.

"Don't overthink the logistics tonight, Y/N," Taehyung murmured, leaning his head back against the pillar, his eyes gentle. "You needed a lifeline, and he happened to be the one standing there with the rope. Just because you don't know his childhood dog's name doesn't mean the deal isn't working."

You didn't hear him. Your heart was hammering against your ribs, a frantic, erratic rhythm. Driven by a sudden, alcohol-fueled impulse to bridge the massive, terrifying gap between you and the man inside, you reached into your small clutch and yanked out your phone.

The bright screen illuminated your face in the dark garden, making your eyes water. Your fingers were clumsy, frantically fumbling with the glass, tapping apps until you opened Instagram.

You searched his name. Your vision blurred slightly, but you found it. His profile.

You stared at the screen, your thumb hovering over a single, specific button.

A follow button.

It felt monumental. It felt dangerous. But the time had come, and with a mind entirely fueled by champagne, anger, and a desperate need to find a single anchor in the dark, you let your thumb drop.

You followed him back.

Taehyung was in the middle of reassuring you when a sharp, authoritative voice cut through the garden air. One of the senior faculty board members had spotted him from the glass doors, waving him over frantically about an issue with the main gallery lighting. Taehyung threw you a fiercely apologetic look, squeezing your wrist one last time. "Don't move. I'll be right back," he promised, before being pulled back into the glittering chaos of the gala.

And just like that, you were completely alone in the dark.

You leaned heavily against the stone pillar, the cool night breeze rustling the ivy around you. Your thumb was still resting on your phone screen, right above the button you had just pressed. Following.

A shadow lengthened across the grass.

"For someone who was just screaming in my face about how much she hates my guts, you sure make moves fast."

The voice was low, smooth, and dripping with an infuriatingly arrogant smirk. You snapped your head up. Jeongguk was leaning against the stone archway at the entrance of the courtyard, his hands slid casually into his trousers pockets. He had a cigarette unlit between his lips, and his eyes were locked entirely on you.

He slowly pulled his phone out of his pocket, turning the screen toward you. The bright white notification lit up his sharp jawline: y/n_00 started following you.

He gave you a slow, cocky tilt of his head, playing right in your face. "A stranger, right? Didn't you just say we were a mistake? And yet, here you are, tracking me down the second I walk away."

The alcohol was swirling heavily in your veins, but instead of making you shrink, the champagne finally stripped away the pristine, tightly wound shell you always forced yourself into. For months—years, even—you had played the part of Minho's perfect, quiet, accommodating partner. You had rendered yourself down to be palatable. But tonight, the facade was completely dead. The raw, unfiltered version of you was clawing its way out.

You let out a dry, bitter laugh, raising the champagne glass back to your lips and taking a slow, deliberate sip while locking eyes with him.

"Taehyung talks way too highly of you, by the way," you said, your tone dropping into a dangerous, unbothered purr you didn't even know you possessed.

Jeongguk’s smirk widened just a fraction, his eyes darkening as he took in the sudden, sharp shift in your posture. He liked this version. He liked when you had teeth.

"Yeah," he murmured, stepping out of the shadows and slowly closing the distance between you. "He tends to do that."

He stopped just a foot away, his tall frame blocking out the rest of the courtyard. His eyes dropped to the glass in your hand, watching the pale bubbles fizz against the crystal. The playful, arrogant edge in his demeanor shifted into something almost authoritative.

"Stop drinking," he ordered quietly, his voice rough. "You've had enough tonight."

You didn't pull away. You just tilted your chin up, staring right back into his unyielding eyes, a reckless, stubborn fire burning in your chest.

"Well," you whispered, your thumb tracing the rim of the glass. "I enjoy drinking."

Jeongguk’s gaze dropped to your lips, his jaw tightening as the heavy, dark tension from the alcove rushed right back into the space between you.

"It can turn ugly pretty fast," he warned, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly vibration. "And you're already right on the edge."

"I don't enjoy demands," you said, your voice dropping into a quiet register as you stared up at him. "Not anymore."

Jeongguk let out a low, flat hum through his nose. He didn't reply. In fact, he couldn't reply. The smug, playful facade he’d been wearing just a second ago cracked, and for a fleeting moment, a dark flash of understanding crossed his eyes. He knew exactly where that boundary was coming from. He knew the ghost of Minho’s suffocating control was still hovering over your shoulder, and he probably agreed that you shouldn't take shit from anyone.

But he didn't back down. He just adjusted the grip on his words.

"Still," he muttered, his voice dropping into a softer tone. "You drank a lot."

A reckless, alcohol-fueled smile touched the corner of your mouth. "Oh. So you’re keeping tabs on me now?"

"I saw you after the Minho encounter," he said, his eyes unwavering as he held your gaze. "And I saw you after the fight in the alcove."

"So?" you challenged, tilting your chin up.

"So why are you downing champagne acting like you can’t cry instead of drink?"

The question hit like a physical blow, cutting straight through the numbness. You stared at him, your breath catching in your throat before a bitter, exhausted honesty took over.

"Because I’m tired of crying," you whispered, the anger draining out of you, leaving only a raw, hollow fatigue. "I have no more tears left for that man. None. So... I’m stuck with drinking."

To emphasize your point, you swung your arm slightly, swishing the remaining liquid in your champagne glass as you tried to find the words to explain the absolute mess inside your head. You didn't even notice the sharp movement causing a couple of pale, sparkling droplets to splash over the rim, hitting the center of your palm and slowly trailing down the sensitive skin toward your inner wrist.

You didn't notice.

But Jeongguk’s eyes tracked those droplets instantly. His gaze locked onto the small, glistening path of alcohol sliding down your skin, his pupils blowing out in the shadows of the courtyard.

"There," he murmured.

You cocked a brow, the champagne making your reaction time sluggish. "What?"

Before you could ask what the hell he meant, he moved. In a couple of seconds, his large hand slid down to trap yours. His fingers were rough—calloused from hours of handling audio cables, heavy gear, and faders—and the coarse texture of his skin grated beautifully against your smooth, damp palm, sending a sharp, sudden jolt of electricity straight up your arm.

He pulled your hand up, bringing it into the narrow space between your chests.

In another couple of seconds, you felt something intensely warm press against your skin. Right at the soft, vulnerable junction between your palm and your inner wrist.

It was soft. Wet.

Lips.

A gasp caught in your throat as Jeongguk parted his lips, his tongue flicking out to drag across your skin, slowly sucking the warm champagne droplets right from your pulse point. The intense, localized heat of his mouth against the cool night air made your knees instantly go weak, your fingers curling into his grip as he held you perfectly still, drinking from you.

"Why did you do that?" you breathed, the question escaping your lips as a shaky, uneven whisper.

Jeongguk slowly pulled his mouth away from your skin, though he didn't let go of your hand. His lips were wet, glistening in the faint moonlight, and his eyes lifted to yours with an unbothered, deliberate calmness.

"It’s all I'll allow myself in matters of alcohol," he said, his voice dropping into a rough, low register that sent a shiver straight down your spine.

You let out a sharp huff, trying desperately to ignore the sudden, roaring wildfire his action had just ignited in your lower abdomen. Want.

It was a heavy, intoxicating ache that the champagne could no longer numb. You wanted him. You wanted the rough texture of his hands, the heat of his mouth, the blunt certainty of his weight crushing the remaining thoughts out of your head. You wanted him to take you right here, away from the galas, away from the ghosts, away from everything.

"How come?" you asked, leaning slightly into his space, your voice laced with a reckless defiance. "Can’t drink and work?"

Instead of answering right away, Jeongguk leaned his head back slightly and finally brought the flame of his lighter to the cigarette between his lips. He lit it, but he didn't use his hand to hold it. He kept the tobacco stick clamped firmly in the corner of his mouth, taking a deep, quiet drag. He exhaled a thick plume of gray smoke through the opposite corner of his lips, the scent of burning tobacco instantly mingling with the sweet, sticky smell of the champagne on your wrist.

Through the haze, his eyes locked back onto yours. "I started to choose other vices."

"So only cigarettes?" you challenged, your heart thrumming violently against the structural fabric of your dress—the beautiful, loud fuchsia masterpiece Taehyung had built for you, now rising and falling with your shallow breaths.

Jeongguk took another long, slow drag of the cigarette. The cherry glowed a fierce, angry hue in the dark, casting sharp shadows across his high cheekbones. His gaze lingered on your neck, tracing the line of your collarbone before snapping back to your eyes.

"Only cigarettes," he murmured around the smoke. "And women."

A sharp, bitter huff escaped your throat before you could stop it. "Multiple?"

Jeongguk smirked against the filter of his cigarette, his eyes drifting away from yours to look out over the dark hedge maze, entirely unbothered by the bite in your tone.

"Just you for now," he said smoothly, exhaling another cloud of smoke into the night air. He let his gaze slide back to you, the cocky, dangerous edge returning to his eyes. "Problems?"

Problems? Did you have any?

Your mind spun, trying to map out the borders of the dark territory you had stepped into. You weren't exclusive. You knew that. The word hadn't been uttered once, and the boundaries of your pact only stretched so far—just two desperate people bleeding into each other to numb the pain.

But as you stared at the lazy tilt of his smirk, a cold prickle of reality hit you. Maybe you had just stupidly assumed that you would be the only sexual endeavor he allowed himself for the time being. Maybe you had let yourself believe that while you were sharing a bed with a ghost, he was at least keeping the sheets clean for you.

"No," you said, your voice dropping. You tried to sound unbothered, but the word came out a little too flat, a little too heavy. It was embarrassingly easy to catch the quiet drop of disappointment in your tone.

Jeongguk hummed, a low vibration that rumbled in his chest. He took another drag of his cigarette, his eyes fixed on your face, watching the way your expression shifted under the dim moonlight. He didn't miss the change in your voice. His gaze just lingered, heavy and knowing.

"Why did you tell Taehyung about us?" you asked, shifting the weight off your own vulnerability.

"I didn't," he responded fast. Too fast. Like he didn't even have to think about it. Like it was already known. "He figured it out on his own. Our lies weren't cohesive, Void. He has eyes."

You let out a soft hum, your eyes dropping to the glowing cherry of his cigarette. You believed him. Maybe you shouldn't have—maybe you were being a fool—but the champagne was still swirling heavily in your veins, blurring your defenses. His scent, a dizzying mix of expensive cologne, clean sweat, and bitter tobacco, was completely clouding your senses. His face looked impossibly smooth under the harsh glow of the embers, and the ghost of his wet, warm lips was still burning against the skin of your wrist.

The ache of want deepens. It clawed at your stomach, heavy and demanding, overriding the logic, the anger, and the embarrassment of the entire night. You didn't want to talk about Minho. You didn't want to think about who Jeongguk was or what he did when he wasn't with you. You just wanted the noise to stop.

You took a small step closer, your dress rustling against his trousers.

"How long does this gala last?" you whispered, looking up at him through your lashes.

A slow, wicked smile spread across Jeongguk’s face, the ember of his cigarette illuminating the sharp curve of his lips. He cocked a single brow, his gaze dropping to the way your chest rose and fell heavily against the fabric of your dress.

"Why?" he asked, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly murmur that practically vibrated against your skin. "You got somewhere to be?"

You didn't answer with words. Instead, you tilted your head back, downed the absolute last of the champagne in one sharp swallow, and carelessly let the crystal glass slip from your fingers. It hit the soft grass by the stone pillar with a dull thud, rolling away into the shadows.

Why? The word landed exactly where it was meant to—somewhere deep in the pit of your stomach, where the liquid heat of the alcohol met the sharp, ravenous ache he had ignited. It was a dark, desperate place where you would never dare to go sober, a place where pride didn't exist and the only thing that mattered was survival.

You stepped directly into his space, your heels clicking against the stone until the structural lines of Taehyung's masterpiece were pressing flush against his tailored dress shirt. You could feel the heat radiating off his broad chest, the solid reality of him.

You looked up, locking your eyes with his dark, blown-out pupils.

"Take me to yours," you whispered.

The desperate words from your lips—the exact, reckless invitation frozen in the garden—hang heavily in the cool night air between you.

His dark eyes scanned your face, tracking the slight sway in your posture, the glassy, overstimulated sheen in your eyes, and the faint scent of champagne clinging to your skin.

He wanted you. His body was practically screaming for it, the friction of your dress against his shirtsending a dangerous spike of adrenaline through his veins. But through the fog of his own arousal, a stark, irritating wave of rationality hit him. He looked at you and didn't see the calculating partner from your dark pact, he saw a girl who was entirely loaded, emotionally compromised by her ex, and running on pure, destructive impulse.

"You're drunk," Jeongguk said, his voice flat, gravelly, and entirely too rational for the fire burning in your gut. "We're not doing this while your head is spinning."

"I don't care," you breathed, stepping even closer, your hands blindly reaching out to grip the collar of his shirt . You pulled him downward, your fingers trembling with a sudden, exponential spike of neediness. "Jeongguk, please. Just take me."

You heard the raw desperation in your own voice, a needy, pleading tone you didn't even recognize, but you completely ignored it. The tightly controlled, sensible version of you was gone. It was like something else entirely had taken over your body—a frantic, starving entity that just needed to feel his hands on you to drown out the echoes of the gala.

Jeongguk's jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked. Your sudden compliance, the way you were practically begging against his chest, was doing lethal things to his restraint. He liked when you had teeth, but this unhinged, vulnerable need was a different kind of trap. If he took you back to his place like this, it wouldn't be a clean transaction.

It would be messy.

And Jeongguk hated messy.

You didn't care about his rational arguments. You kept pleading, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt, desperately pulling him down toward you as if he were the only thing keeping you from sinking into the stone floor.

Jeongguk's eyes flicked sharply toward the glass doors of the gala, his jaw tightening as he scanned the shadows. "Someone could see us out here," he muttered, his voice dropping into a harsh, urgent whisper. "If anyone walks through those arches, our cover is completely blown. Everything we've built to protect the secret is over."

"I don't care," you gasped out, your voice thick and unhinged. You pulled at him again, completely blind to the risks. "Jeongguk, I don't care."

With a low growl, Jeongguk's patience snapped. In one swift, effortless motion, his large hand clamped around both of your wrists, trapping them together in a vice grip and pinning them firmly against his chest. The sheer power in his arm cut off your frantic movements instantly.

"Look at me," he commanded, his dark eyes boring into yours, forcing you to anchor your spinning vision on him. He could feel your pulse hammering violently against his palm, a frantic rhythm that matched the dangerous spike in his own chest.

He was fighting a losing battle against his own instincts. Your sudden compliance and the raw, unhinged neediness bleeding out of you were doing insane things to his restraint. He wanted to take you—every dark, protective impulse in his body was screaming at him to give you exactly what you were begging for—but his mind was still fiercely trying to calculate the aftermath. He remembered the strict boundaries you had drawn when this pact first started.

"You're not thinking straight," he explained, his voice rough and strained as he held you completely still. "You don't want me like this. And you definitely don't want to be in my apartment. You're the one who explicitly told me it was too intimate for a deal like ours."

But you forcefully disagreed, tossing your head back and pulling against his grip, your eyes flashing with a desperate, alcohol-fueled fire.

"No," you breathed, the confession tearing out of you as you literally begged him. "I changed my mind. I decided tonight that your house is the perfect place." You leaned all your weight into him, throwing his own cynical logic right back into his face. "You said it yourself, Jeongguk. You said it doesn't matter where we go. You said we just need a bed and walls. So give them to me. Please."

You were a mad woman. You couldn't tell where the suffocating sadness from earlier tonight ended and where this roaring ache for him started. The boundaries between your heartbreak, your humiliation, and your desire had completely melted away under the influence of the champagne, leaving only a chaotic, driving force that pushed you closer and closer into his space.

Maybe you wanted to prove something. Maybe his casual, arrogant mention of just you for now had set a quiet, dangerous fire under your skin—sparking a sudden, possessive urge to somehow mark a territory that wasn’t even your own. You didn't own him, and he certainly didn't own you, but the thought of anyone else in his bed right now made your stomach twist.

Or maybe it was simpler than that. Maybe you were just tired of hurting. Why should you be so terrified to feel good? In the wreckage of your broken relationship, Jeongguk was the only person who had managed to make you feel alive. He made you feel good. You just wanted more of that. Was that so crazy?

Maybe you had simply drunk too much, but it was already too late to turn back. You were already actively ignoring every single rational thought your brain tried to fire off.

Jeongguk stared down at you, his chest rising and falling heavily against yours as your desperate words hung in the space between you. He pondered for a moment—a beat too long, his eyes searching your face with a calculating, intense scrutiny.

A sudden, cold spike of fear hit you. You were terrified he was going to deny your ache again, that he was going to push you away and leave you alone in the dark garden with your spinning thoughts.

Instead, with a harsh, frustrated exhale, he let go of your wrists. He raised his hand, aggressively ruffling his fingers through his dark hair, pulling at the strands almost as if he were physically battling his own thoughts. He was a man tearing himself apart trying to maintain the rules of a deal you were actively trying to shred.

"Fuck it," he muttered under his breath, his voice thick with a dark, defeated heat. He dropped his hand, his eyes locking back onto yours with a heavy almost promise. "I have one more song to mix for the faculty board inside. Just one, and then I can leave."

He leaned in closer, his shadow completely swallowing you up as his gaze dropped to your lips one last time.

"That gives you exactly twenty minutes. You have until then to rethink what you want, Void. Because if you’re still begging when I get back out here... I’m not stopping."

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