Taekwoon sits against the cold wall, sheets pooled around his waist. Next to him, another passing face sleeps, facing their other side, and he's just fine with that. It was all of no consequence anyway and he was sure whoever they were knew that.

He wasn't drunk and he wasn't high, but a part of him wished he was. Maybe then, he could actually feel something for the person below him covered in sweat.

The beside table conveniently holds a pack of cigarettes and an ashtray; since the window is open anyway, he figures it's time for a smoke. Just one, and then he'll disappear from this person's life and they'll disappear from his.

It's another night of failures, where his heart doesn't beat in his chest, where blood chills through his veins, and he even dares to wonder if he's alive. As the cigarette rests on his lips and the smog stings down his throat and pollutes his lungs, he decides Well, it seems I'm at least half-alive. As if smoking proves that, and maybe it does.

He's lied to himself, finishing three instead of just one, and it'll be a regret later because the truth is, no one who smokes actually likes it. They're just compensating for something else, just trying to deny something else.

When the body next to him shifts in a telltale way, Taekwoon decides it's time to hightail it out of there. They were nice, but he didn't want anything to do with them anymore.

After shucking on his pants and slipping on his white t-shirt, he glides out of the room and closes the door quietly behind him. He disappears from the apartment like he was never there, and he won't be missed.

The alarm to his car directs him to it and of course they came in his car; he wasn't about to ride in any stranger's car, it was probably messy and remnant of sex with other faceless strangers. He at least had the decency to wait until they got to whatever apartment before they fucked.

When he finally arrives back home, he can hear his dog excitedly hopping around in the dark. He flicks on a dim light and a tall black and white husky bounds his way. He's tired, but when Podo nuzzles his legs, he can't help but bend down and coo at her.

"Oh, my Podo," he quietly singsongs, scratching behind the dog's ears. Podo yips delightedly and then follows Taekwoon to his room.

Taekwoon soon strips himself of his clothes and slips on an oversized shirt and shorts. Podo can sense he's tired so she hops onto the bed and circles around to get comfortable. He can't help smiling at her and he sighs. The only being he needed to love in his life was his adorable pup.

He sighs one more time before curling up into bed and drifting to sleep.

Another night, he's pressed up against the body in a strange turn of events, where one of the hottest men he's ever come across is mouthing down his neck, along his exposed collarbones.

He's on fire and the club is hot; there's so many people around he's sure someone's watching, but it doesn't really matter since his dick is so hard he's not sure how any blood is in his brain.

He hasn't caught the man's name, but he usually never does and doesn't give his name in return. Still, with some of the best eyebrows and eyeliner he's ever seen, he'd at least like to know for once who's about to give him probably the best sex of his life.

Yet that's all he'll probably be giving him.

"It's Wonshik," the man hums into his ear before he can ask.

"Taekwoon," he pants back, pressing a knee between Wonshik's legs.

"I like it," Wonshik says, nibbling on his earlobe, and a shiver runs up his spine. "My place or yours?"

And that's how Taekwoon finds himself, the faceless one instead, under someone he's inevitably using to fill the void in his chest. At least he's on his stomach.

Wonshik pushes his face into the sheets, sliding himself into Taekwoon all at once and they both groan. Taekwoon tells himself he should bottom more for someone who knows what they're doing, it feels fucking good. It feels even better when Wonshik begins pounding into him, grip too tight on his hips and thighs, stretching him farther then he can go.

Taekwoon claws into the sheets, back arching in just to get Wonshik deeper because god knows he can't get enough when he's desperate for some kind of compensation.

One of Wonshik's hands slides hip his spine, curling into his hair and he tugs. Taekwoon bends in a strange way but fuck he likes it because he's burning up and drowning and the knot in his stomach is pulling tighter, ready to snap.

"Fuck, more," he hisses, and Wonshik changes the angle of his hips. Taekwoon gasps out, losing all sense of up and down when Wonshik slams back in, right onto his prostate.

"There!" he moans, overcome with dizziness and pleasure. His thighs tremble as Wonshik goes harder than he asked for; the bed creaks with their weight and erratic movements. Wonshik bends over, pressing his body against Taekwoon's back, molding them together, pushing himself deeper inside.

Taekwoon's back arches more and Wonshik's two fingers reach around to press against his lips. He opens his mouth and takes them in, sucking eagerly and moaning around them, bucking into the other hand Wonshik has wrapped around his cock. As saliva drips down the corner of his mouth, his blood boils and his brain completely overloads.

His orgasm lightnings through him, shocking up his spine and twisting his stomach. If it wasn't for Wonshik still bracing him up, he would have collapsed, but Wonshik still goes for a few moments before locking them together. The overstimulation of being filled to the brim with cum makes his eyes roll into the back of his head.

Wonshik drops his forehead against the nape of Taekwoon's neck and finally rides it out slow. All Taekwoon's limbs are trembling and he collapses onto the bed, breathing heavy and hard, blissfully spent and mindless.

Nothing but panting fills the room and Taekwoon thinks this time, he could actually fall asleep here, but Wonshik has to talk.

". . . So what are you running away from?"

Taekwoon furrows his brow, not in the mood to take shit from a stranger, but he hates being provoked. "Why are you talking to me?" he muttered, too tired for bite.

Wonshik chuckles. Now Taekwoon is really getting irritated. They may have just had some really great sex, but he doesn't need to be aggravated by someone he doesn't know.

"You have tons of lovebites all over you. You don't want me to talk to you now, which clearly means you hate talking to any of your other partners and when I first saw you, you were clearly scanning the crowd for someone to fuck." It all slips from Wonshik's mouth so easy.

His muscles tense up, an uncomfortable heat seeping through him. If he had the energy, Taekwoon would punch him.

But then he thinks of one particular word he said.

Lovebites.

He hates that. They were hickeys, bruises, sucker marks. Not lovebites. They never had anything to do with love. "Why do you care?"

"I don't." Wonshik claims, but Taekwoon's left to believe otherwise.

"Do you always talk to your partners after you blow their brains out?" he deadpans, and it gets a full laugh.

"Not really," he yawns. "Just seems like you're compensating for something."

And that strikes a cord. Taekwoon rolls over and sits up, not even bothering to look at Wonshik because he's already sick of him—and the thought of someone trying to get to know him makes him even more sick. He starts to get up from the bed.

There's something wrong with that, he thinks, that he's almost scared to get to know someone else and their feelings and vice versa. It wasn't even their feelings, it was the thought of them mistaking he had any interest in them.

"It's not like we're gonna see each other again, right?" Wonshik yawns again, loud and obnoxious. Taekwoon sees his point, but what he doesn't see is the point in indulging him.

Then he bites his lip.

It wasn't like they were going to see each other again . . . He'd been wanting to talk to someone other than Podo about his worries. His worries about how maybe he was broken or how he was a sociopath or anything that meant he couldn't . . . feel whatever those movie stars felt when they looked at each other and smiled, those things that warmed crowds' hearts, that people sought out all their lives. What his parents told him he'd experience when he'd grow up.

How he would fuck anyone he deemed good enough just to feel something, just to make sure he could actually feel things like ecstasy and crashing and euphoria, that his brain was able to process things instead of insecurity and sadness. He sighs. Maybe this was his only chance.