#sunric

The last time they had been alone like this, Sunwoo had convinced himself it was real. The stolen laughter in the hallway, the way Eric had looked at him during a late-night practice. Surely that meant something, it couldn’t be just convenience.

But convenience was exactly what it felt when Eric forgot his birthday again. Sunwoo tried to brush it off. Birthdays weren’t that important anyway, right? Yet the empty calendar date clung to him like a shadow, a reminder of how little he mattered outside these fleeting nights.

He shook the thought away and focused on the small signs of affection Eric offered him. A lingering touch on his shoulder. A whispered joke that made him laugh. But it wasn’t enough. Not really. He had a way of being near him physically, but the other part, the one that mattered, was locked away behind a door Sunwoo couldn’t open. He had no code, no password, no key. Just the sight of a heart as hard as stone, deaf to every confession and every word he had whispered late at night, hoping he might finally be heard.

They slipped into Eric’s car, cramped in the backseat. The windows fogged up from their body heat, and Sunwoo’s hands trembled as they traced Eric’s body. He had memorized every curve of his chest, every gesture that made him laugh, every subtle nuance in his expression. Every touch made his heart tingle, this closeness was intoxicating, yet there was always a wall.

So when Eric whispered another name during their private touches, Sunwoo’s stomach dropped. It was a careless slip, a sound meant for someone else. This meaningless intimacy was almost unbearable. He could feel Eric against him, his body warm and responsive, but it wasn’t real. Not in the way Sunwoo wanted it to be.

Sunwoo’s hands lingered under Eric’s shirt, tracing small circles, desperate for some acknowledgment, a sign that he existed in his world beyond the physical. But his gaze was distant, focused somewhere else entirely, the affectionate smiles and tender touches reserved for his girlfriend only. The girl Sunwoo didn’t know much about, the girl who had a place in Eric’s life he could only dream of.

“Eric?” His voice was barely more than a whisper.

His hand lay still on Sunwoo’s lower back. “Hm?” he hummed casually, like it was nothing, like the world hadn’t just shifted.

Sunwoo swallowed hard, the taste of anger and longing bitter on his tongue. “Did you just say her name?”

Eric’s eyes flicked to him, a flash of guilt crossed them. But not even a second after, it was gone. “It just slipped.” His tone was light, almost teasing, but Sunwoo's hands tightened around Eric, pulling him closer. Their legs pressed together under the thin barrier of jeans, breaths mingling, hearts hammering. Every nerve screamed for closeness, for acknowledgement, for something more than a light touch.

“Why does it always slip to her?” Sunwoo breathed. “Why does it have to be her and not me?”

Eric’s lips hovered near Sunwoo’s ear, a whisper finding its way against the sensitive skin. “I didn’t mean it,” he said softly. And yet, he didn’t kiss him. Didn’t close the distance properly.

Sunwoo’s hands roamed lower, tugging at Eric’s waistband with shaky fingers, desperate, needing proof that this wasn’t a dream. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t lean in, didn’t return the longing pressed against him. Their bodies aligned, breath hot, hands exploring, nearly stripping the barriers between them, but the intimacy was not really there.

“Sunwoo…” Eric murmured, almost a warning, almost a sigh, “you know this isn’t—”

“I know,” Sunwoo snapped softly, voice breaking, “But I can’t help it.”

The car rocked gently in the parking lot as their bodies pressed together, hands fumbling with buttons, teeth catching collars, skin heating under their fingertips. It was raw, desperate, but there were no kisses. No affirmation of love. Only the electric friction of closeness and the cruel reminder that the affection he longed for was always just out of reach.

Sunwoo hated himself for wanting it so badly, hated the jealousy that bubbled up and consumed him, even as he knew it was futile. He wished, irrationally, that he could be her. The thought made his chest ache.

The car ride that followed was silent, the hum of the engine was the only sound filling the small space. Sunwoo’s mind wandered to the words he had whispered in the dark, the quiet confessions he had made late at night when no one was listening. Eric didn’t hear them. He couldn’t. Sunwoo’s frustration twisted into something bitter, sharp as a blade. He wanted to access Eric’s heart, wanted the code, the key, something to prove himself that all these stolen moments weren’t meaningless. But the lock remained close, and every small touch felt like a warning.

Sometimes he imagined a world where no one else could reach Eric, where his attention, his affection, his warmth, belonged only to Sunwoo. It was a selfish, impossible fantasy that kept him tethered to the illusion that there was something more tangible behind Eric’s casual, fleeting touches. And yet, the reminders were always there: the forgotten birthdays, the wrong name, the way Eric laughed and touched her with an ease he never afforded Sunwoo.

The city lights passed in streaks, the neon lights’ glow painting their faces in shifting colors. Sunwoo buried his hands in his lap, gripping them, so tightly his nails left crescent shaped prints into his palms.

This wasn’t love. Not really. Not the kind he craved. But it was something. And for now, it was enough. It had to be.

He tried to tell himself that Eric cared in his own way, that these nights were proof of some hidden affection. But deep down, Sunwoo knew it was only him gaslighting himself. He was the shadow, the one Eric would pick when life gets messy, when she bored him, when convenience demanded it. He wanted more. He deserved more. But Eric’s stone heart, and its indecipherable code, kept him out.

And still, despite the ache and denial, despite the hollow intimacy that left him gasping for something he could never claim, Sunwoo couldn’t bring himself to look away. Because even in the shadows of being forgotten, even in the flickering light of stolen touches and whispers, he wanted Eric.

The engine hummed steadily as Eric drove, the city lights blurring past the windows. Sunwoo sat in the passenger seat, the warmth from their earlier closeness still clinging to his skin like a ghost that made the ache in his chest sharper.

“Hey,” Eric said casually, breaking the silence. His voice was low, controlled, as if nothing significant had happened. “You good?”

Sunwoo’s throat tightened. Good? No, he was not. The way Eric had pressed against him, whispered her name, taken what he needed and left everything else empty had left a mark deep inside him.

“Yeah,” he said, voice brittle. “I’m fine.”

Eric didn’t talk again, he just adjusted the radio and kept driving. The city passed by, the rain slicked streets continuously reflecting the lights like a fractured kaleidoscope. Sunwoo stared at the blur, focusing on the movement outside so he didn’t have to look at Eric, so he could hide the trembling in his hands, the tight coil of heat and frustration curling in his stomach.

He wanted to touch him again, to seek reassurance that didn’t exist, but Eric’s presence was enough to make him suffer in silence. Every small detail of their usual intimacy, the brush of lips against each other’s skin, the nearly-kisses, the way he guides his hands, it all played on repeat in his mind. This is it, this is all I get. And it’s not enough.

The car slowed as they pulled outside Sunwoo’s apartment. The engine clicked off, leaving an almost deafening quiet in the small space. He didn’t move immediately, afraid that if he looked up at Eric, he’d see the need in his eyes.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Eric asked again, softer this time, a shadow of concern threading through the detached tone.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Sunwoo whispered. He didn’t trust himself to say more. He couldn’t.

Eric’s hand brushed briefly against his. “Alright,” he said, voice clipped, almost businesslike. “See you later.” Sunwoo forced a nod, muttered a quiet goodbye, and watched Eric drive away.

Inside his apartment, the silence was oppressive. Sunwoo kicked off his shoes and leaned against the door, letting the quiet press onto him. The city lights filtered through the blinds, creating long, uneven stripes across the floor. He moved mechanically, shedding his clothes, washing the lingering scent of Eric from his skin, the faint memory of warm hands and cold eyes sticking to his body.

He sank onto his bed, pulling the blankets around himself like some sort of shield, staring at the ceiling. Every moment, every sound from the car, replayed endlessly in his head. He didn’t want me, he just used me. And I still want him.

A soft sigh escaped him before he buried his face in his pillow, letting the heat of frustration and longing settle around him. He remembered her, the girl who had everything he could never even try to wish for.

Sleep wouldn’t come easily. His thoughts were full of hands pressed too closely, breaths mingling, and Eric’s indifference. Every heartbeat was a memo of the gap between desire and fulfillment, between closeness and love.

But even in the ache, even in the emptiness, he couldn’t stop wanting him, even when exhaustion took over his body.

Sunwoo slouched against the back of the couch, tossing a basketball from hand to hand as the others joked and laughed around him. The room smelled faintly of takeout and burning wood, accompanied by the warmth of flames. It was the kind of cozy environment that usually would’ve made him relax. Usually. But tonight, everything felt different, heavier.

Eric was there, at the center of the room, in that quiet, effortless way that made him magnetic. And by his side was her. The girl. The one whose name had haunted him once again the night before.

Sunwoo’s stomach clenched, memories of their closeness from last night, still raw: the way Eric had pressed him against the kitchen counter, the hotness of his breath against his skin, the teasing of almost-but-not-quite intimacy that had left him aching all night. And now, she was here. Smiling. Laughing. Breathing the same air he had been last night, full and alive in a way he wasn’t.

The heat of embarrassment and jealousy roared quietly, mixing with the bitter ache he carried home from Eric’s place last night.

Eric leaned over, whispering something that made her laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Sunwoo’s fists tightened on his knees. He’s so soft with her. So warm. Yesterday, I had his hands all over me, and he didn’t look at me like that. Didn’t look at me at all.

He tried to focus on the current conversation he was in, nodded when someone asked him a question, laughed when the others laughed. But his eyes kept drifting to the curve of Eric’s smile. To the way his girl’s hand rested lightly against his arm. To the way his body remembered Eric’s body, his muscles, his indifference. He remembered the way he took what he wanted, not caring for anything else, and he burned with frustration.

Hyunjae noticed the shift in his behavior. He elbowed him lightly with a smile stretching his lips, “You’ve been staring into the corner like you’re trying to solve some kind of tragic math problem.”

Sunwoo forced a smile, shaking his head. “I’m just tired,’ he muttered, keeping his gaze low.

Jacob leaned closer. “You’ve been quiet all night. Want to talk?” Sunwoo gave a short laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m fine, really. I was just thinking.”

Kevin chimed with a grin. “Thinking or brooding?”

“Brooding,” Sunwoo admitted softly, running a hand through his hair. He refrained himself from saying more, not wanting to let them see the ache, the jealousy, the shame. They didn’t know about him and Eric. They couldn’t.

The conversation moved on, some teasing each other about an old embarrassing story someone decided to bring up again.

Every glance at Eric reminded him of those nights they spent together, every casual touch with her was a knife pressed to his chest.

Changmin noticed him staring silently, fiddling with the hem of his sweater. “Sunwoo, come join us, we need one more player.”

Sunwoo shook his head. “I’m good,” he mumbled, pretending to focus on his phone. Kevin, who was still sitting beside him, rolled his eyes. “Dude, you can’t just sit here sulking. Come on, it’s not even 11 pm.”

Sunwoo didn’t want their pity. He didn’t want questions. Unable to handle the suffocating tension inside, he slipped out to the door to the small balcony. The night air was cool, the city quiet except for the distant traffic. He lit a cigarette, hands shaking slightly, watching the smoke curl into the air, trying to let it carry some of the frustration away.

“Fancy seeing you out here,’ Eric’s voice said softly behind him. He turned to see him casually leaning against the door frame, his girlfriend’s laughter faint through the window. Sunwoo’s chest tightened. Why was he even out there?

Eric smirked faintly, eyes glinting in the dim light. “I needed a break,” he stepped closer, not too close, but enough that Sunwoo could feel the heat radiating off him. “Too loud in there?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Sunwoo muttered, bringing the cigarette to his lips. He could feel the familiar tension building again, the same hollow desire, magnified by jealousy.

Eric leaned on the railing next to him, silent for a moment, his gaze distant. Then he said, almost casually, “You always look like that when you’re thinking too much.”

Sunwoo glanced at him, heart hammering. “Like… brooding?” he asked, half-laughing.

Eric’s smirk widened. “Maybe. I don’t know. You make it look… good, I guess.”

The words were light, teasing, and yet they carried an undertone that made Sunwoo’s stomach tighten. He wanted to say something, anything, but he didn’t. He just inhaled smoke, letting it fill his lungs. He tried to convince himself that his longing wasn’t visible.

They stood like that for a few minutes, the city breathing around them, the faint glow of streetlights casting long shadows. Eric didn’t reach for him, didn’t guide him anywhere. He was still distant, detached.

Finally, he sighed, tossing a small glance towards the sliding door. “I should go back in,” he murmured. “Don’t want her wondering why I disappeared.”

Sunwoo’s chest tightened, “Yeah,” he whispered, flicking the ash from his cigarette.

“Don’t think too much, yeah?” Eric said, the corners of his mouth lifting just a fraction. “Some things aren’t worth it.” Sunwoo wanted to argue, grab him and demand everything he couldn’t have. Instead, he just nodded, “I’ll try.”

Eric gave a small shrug and left, disappearing back into the apartment. Sunwoo stayed a moment longer on the balcony, watching the smoke swirl and dissipate into the night, thinking about warmth and cold, longing and denial, touch and indifference.

When he finally went back inside, the living room was quiet. The others were either gone or winding down. He left the apartment without paying much attention to his surroundings, the only thing he wanted was to go home. When he arrived, he was on autopilot. Moving through the apartment, showering, changing, sliding into bed.

The memory of the balcony, the smoke, Eric’s casual closeness, all lingered like a weight.

He buried his face in the pillow, pulling the blanket tight around him. Even alone in this room, with the city lights bleeding through the blinds, Sunwoo’s heart couldn’t stop wanting him.

The studio was empty except for the two of them, the other members having finally left, tired and muttering under their breaths about the “stubborn part” of their newest choreography. The mirrored walls reflected only their movements, their tense breaths, and the storm of frustration between them.

Eric stood a step away from Sunwoo, arms crossed, his gaze sharp and calculating as he watched him falter for the third time on the same move. “Seriously? Again?” His cutting through the room like a knife.

“I’m trying.” Sunwoo responded, jaw tight, frustration prickling at the edges of his patience. “I just need a second.”

Eric’s eyes narrowed. “Trying isn’t enough. You’re making it worse by hesitating. Come on, Sunwoo, focus. Or do you not even care?”

These last words stung more than Sunwoo expected. Every nerve in his body tightened, the heat in his chest growing unbearable. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he snapped, spinning to face him fully. “You think I’m not trying? That I don’t care? Do you even see me?”

Eric tilted his head, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “I do see you. And you’re trying. But it’s sloppy, hesitant. And honestly, I’m tired of carrying your mistakes.”

Carrying my mistakes. The bitterness he tried to keep under wraps for the last few days boiled over in one hot, jagged surge. “You’re fucking unbelievable,” he hissed, stepping closer, fists clenched at his sides. “You act like you’re better than me, like I’m some kind of problem you have to deal with.”

Eric shrugged. “Maybe I am. Maybe that’s exactly what you are.”

“Why are you like this? I don’t understand–”

“Stop.” Eric interrupted sharply, the tension in his posture radiating control. “Stop trying to make sense of me. There’s nothing to figure out. I’m here to practice, that’s it.”

Sunwoo blinked, he wanted to remind him of the night before, about how Eric could be cold and detached one second and touch him the next. How he could leave Sunwoo aching and then brush against him without a second thought. How could he be warm with someone else and indifferent to him?

Eric leaned forward slightly, “Keep it professional, Sunwoo. Or maybe you can’t.”

Sunwoo felt something snap inside him. He stepped forward, too close, and the mirrored walls reflected every ounce of his rage, his longing, and his frustration. “You think I’m not professional? Do you have any idea of how exhausting it is to be around you? To try to keep up while you act like none of this matters?”

Eric didn’t flinch, didn’t step back. Instead, his lips curved in that faint, teasing smirk that made Sunwoo want to hit him and cling to him at the same time. “Maybe it doesn’t matter to you either. Maybe you’re actually enjoying the chaos. Maybe that’s the reason you’re still here.”

Sunwoo’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You don’t even know me.” he scoffed, voice breaking with anger. “Do you even see me beyond what you want, what you can use?”

The silence that followed was deafening. He could feel every muscle in his body tense, and the air between them was suddenly thick with something unspoken, something electric and painful.

Eric’s expression remained unreadable, detached. “I see enough of you,” he finally said. “I know exactly what you are and what you want. Don’t pretend you’re not here for the same reason as I am.”

Sunwoo froze, Eric’s words hitting him like a bullet he didn’t have the strength to dodge. “You think I’m here because of that?” He felt humiliated, ashamed of his feelings, and of how Eric viewed him.

His lips pressed into a thin line, he wanted to react, to say something. Instead, he just stood there. He couldn’t explode here. They had to keep moving, to rehearse.

Sunwoo swallowed the lump in his throat, positioning himself for the next take. Eric stood beside him, calm and detached, a smirk teasing the corner of his lips daring him to break again.

The mirrors reflected every tense movement, every flicker of discomfort and desire Sunwoo tried to suppress. He danced through the pain. With him. Together, in the empty studio.

Sunwoo exhaled when, an hour later, their last movements came flawless. “Finally,” he murmured, “We got it.”

Eric didn’t respond immediately. He watched Sunwoo for a moment, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Then, in that flat, measured tone that always seemed to cut deeper than anger ever could, he said, “Wow. That was tolerable. Finally.”

Sunwoo froze mid-stretch, realizing what Eric had just said. Tolerable? “I don’t get it,” he said quietly. “Why do you always have to put me down like that? Even when we get it right?”

“I’m not putting you down. I’m stating facts. You’re overly sensitive. Or maybe you just want me to say it differently.”

Sunwoo wanted to press, to ask what it meant, but the pain from before had simmered into something heavier, more frustrating. A gnawing need for something he couldn’t name. “Facts? You call that a fact?” His voice wavered. “You make it feel personal. Every time.”

“I can see when you hesitate. When you struggle. And I don’t sugarcoat it. You get frustrated, I get frustrated. That’s how it works.”

The way Eric saw him, detached, clinical, yet somehow intimate, it cut differently. “It’s not just that,” he whispered. “You have this way of keeping me at a distance. Always. Even when we’re alone. Even when I’m right here.”

Eric’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m not cold for the sake of it. You’re complicated, Sunwoo. I can’t give you what you think I could.”

Sunwoo’s chest tightened, hurt and longing weaving together like barbed wire. “You mean your girlfriend? You care about her, and I’m just… there?”

Silence fell, heavy and oppressive. The rain had begun to drum softly against the studio’s large windows, a distant, rhythmic pulse that matched the pounding in Sunwoo’s chest. He wanted to argue, to beg, to demand explanations, but something in Eric’s expression made his words falter.

“That’s why you’re still here, Sunwoo. You like the game, even when it hurts.”

The truth in Eric’s words burned. He did like the game. He hated it. He wanted more. He wanted less. He wanted Eric to care, to touch, to speak, to notice.

Sunwoo’s eyes instinctively drifted toward the door like he was drawn to it. He needed air. Space. Distance. Anything to stop the ache in his chest from consuming him entirely.

Eric didn’t move. He leaned casually against the mirrored wall, cold but watchful, a small smile teasing the corners of his mouth. “Are you going somewhere?”

Sunwoo’s hand lingered on the doorknob. “I need a break.”

Eric’s gaze followed him, detached yet piercing. “Fine. Go. But don’t think this changes anything. I’ll be here when you get back. Same as always.”

Sunwoo opened the door, the rain immediately soaked him. He didn’t care though, he just needed a moment to breathe, to let the ache wash over him before he had to return.

And as he walked away from the studio, the tension between them remained unresolved.

Sunwoo leaned against the damp brick wall behind the studio, rain plastering his dark hair to his forehead. He’d just lit his second cigarette, letting the thin wisp of smoke curl into the stormy night air. The world around him blurred, but he could feel every heartbeat, every ache in his chest. He had found this tiny patch of shelter, away from the pouring water, away from everything.

Except for the one person he couldn’t get away from, even if physically they were miles apart.

He barely had time to take a deep breath before he heard it: the sound of footsteps on the wet pavement. And then, a voice.

“You can’t hide forever.”

“What do you want, Eric?” Sunwoo’s voice was tight, raw with frustration. His hand shook slightly as he held the cigarette to his lips.

“I want this,” Eric said lightly, gesturing vaguely between them, eyes sharp. There was no warmth in his gaze, only that electric, predatory interest that made Sunwoo ache. “You. Here. Now.”

Sunwoo’s stomach twisted. “I can’t… be here with you like this.”

The heat radiating from Eric’s body made Sunwoo’s chest ache, claws of longing and fury twisting in his stomach. “Why? Because I don’t give you what you want?”

“You never give me what I want. You touch me, you tease me, but you never—” His voice faltered. “You never kiss me. Not properly. Not like I deserve.”

“I told you from the beginning that this was not about romance. It was never supposed to be about more than what we have.”

“You really don’t care about anything else? About me? About us?” His voice rose, wet from the rain, half-shout, half-plea.

Eric’s lips curved faintly in that teasing smirk. “Care about you? That’s cute. Do you want affection? Comfort? You know I’m not like that.”

Sunwoo’s chest tightened painfully. “Why do you have to be so mean about it?” He flicked ash from the cigarette into the rain, the smoke mingling with the mist.

Eric took a step closer, close enough that Sunwoo could feel the heat radiating off him. Yet there was no softening, no comfort. Only the electric pull, the subtle power of someone who could be gentle but deliberately chose not to be. “You always make it sound worse than it is. But maybe I just like seeing you burn a little. Makes you human.”

Sunwoo’s fingers gripped the cigarette like it was a lifeline. “Human? You think that using me makes me human? It’s just cruel.”

Eric’s smile deepened faintly. “Using you? No, no. You’re here of your own volition. And I told you, from the beginning, what this was. You’re so dramatic, Sunwoo.”

“I don’t care what you said from the beginning. I want more. I deserve more than her.”

Eric’s smirk deepened, darker now, subtle, teasing in a way that made Sunwoo ache even harder. “Deserve more than her?” he said softly, a little mean look on his face as he moved a inch closer, waiting for Sunwoo to look at him. “Are you crying for me?”

Sunwoo didn’t answer, just pressed his lips together and shook his head slightly, silent.

Eric took another step, enjoying the quiet ache radiating off him. “Mhm,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “You are. It’s kind of beautiful, you know, seeing someone feel like this. For me.”

He wanted Eric to care. He wanted warmth, attention, and love. And he knew he’d never get it. Not from Eric. Not in this way.

Sunwoo’s teeth clenched. “I hate you.” The words spilled out, raw and trembling, more truth than he wanted to admit.

Eric’s smirk softened slightly, just a hint, but his voice remained steady, cold. “You don’t hate me. You wouldn’t be standing here in the rain, cigarette in hand, telling me you hate me. You want me, Sunwoo. Just say it.”

Sunwoo’s hands shook, tears mingling with the rain on his face. He could feel the pull, the ache, the unbearable frustration of wanting warmth from someone who would never give it. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Eric’s eyes followed him, sharp and calculating. “Leave then. Go ahead. But we both know you’ll come back. You always do.”

With a shuddering breath, Sunwoo dropped the cigarette onto the wet pavement, stamping it out with a frustrated stomp.

The sound of Sunwoo’s footsteps fades into the rain, leaving Eric alone under the awning. He stays there for a moment, unmoving, one hand shoved into his pocket, the other clenching and unclenching at his side. He tells himself it’s just the rain soaking through his shirt that makes his chest feel heavy, but he knows that’s not true.

As he walks towards his car, the argument replays itself in flashes: Sunwoo’s eyes, the tightness in his voice, the way he asked asked why he never kisses him. It’s not the words that sting, it’s the look that came with them. That mix of hope, anger and something Eric refuses to name.

The drive home is long, too long. The rain follows him onto the highway, drumming against the windshield in a relentless rhythm. The wipers beat it back, but the sound still fills the car, heavy enough to drown out the radio. He doesn’t bother turning it on. Silence feels safer.

Every red light feels like an interrogation. His reflection stares back at him from the windshield; blurred, tired eyes, wet hair clinging to his forehead. He doesn’t look like someone in control. He looks like someone who’s unraveling.

He thinks about calling Sunwoo back, just to say something, anything, but his hands tighten around the steering wheel until his knuckles ache instead. He doesn’t know what he would say. Sorry? Stay? All of it feels weak. All of it feels like admitting he wants more than he should.

By the time he pulls into the parking garage, his throat is dry from not speaking. He sits in the driver’s seat for a full minute, engine off, listening to the rain soften against the windows.

It’s easier to stay here, in this in-between space, where Sunwoo is gone but his girlfriend hasn’t appeared yet.

But eventually, he forces himself out. Forces himself up the stairs, down the hall, key twisting in the lock.

The apartment is warm and bright when he steps inside. It smells like detergent and vanilla candles, and for a second, Eric almost laughs at the contrast. Outside, he’s still damp from the rain, his sneakers squeaking against the floor. Inside, everything is soft, familiar, safe.

His girlfriend’s voice calls from the living room. “You’re late.”

Eric’s lips curve automatically, the smile sliding into place like muscle memory. He drops his bag by the door, rakes a hand through his wet hair, and walks toward her as he takes off his drenched puffer jacket. “Practice ran over.”

She’s curled on the couch, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, a movie flickering on the TV. She tilts her face up as he leans down, and he presses a kiss to the crown of her head, practiced, easy, impersonal. She accepts it like always, tugging him down beside her.

He goes, because that’s what he does. Because it’s easier.

Her warmth seeps into his side as she cuddles against him, but it doesn’t touch the cold sitting heavy in his chest. He drapes an arm around her shoulders anyway, watching the screen without seeing a thing.

Sunwoo’s voice won’t stop echoing. “You never kiss me.”

His girlfriend shifts, murmuring something about how good the movie is. Eric hums in response, eyes still on the screen, but his mind is miles away; back outside the studio, rain dripping down Sunwoo’s jaw, cigarette smoke curling between them.

The way Sunwoo’s mouth had trembled around the words. The way his eyes had glistened, tears threatening to fall.

Eric squeezes his girlfriend’s hand when she threads their fingers together, the gesture automatic. He hates how wrong it feels. How much heavier Sunwoo’s hand would have been. How much need would’ve been in the grip.

He wonders, briefly, what it would’ve been like to give in. To lean forward in the rain, close that distance, kiss him. Just once. Would Sunwoo have stopped asking questions if he’d given him that? Or would it have only made everything worse?

His chest aches. He tells himself it’s just exhaustion.

When his girlfriend laughs, he forces a chuckle too. It sounds fake even to his own ears. She doesn’t notice, or pretends not to.

Eric stares at the TV until the images blur. He can still see Sunwoo when he blinks. His lips muttering how much he hates him, the way his voice cracked, the way he walked away without looking back.

Maybe Sunwoo’s right. Maybe Eric is pathetic. But still, Sunwoo doesn’t understand. Eric can’t give him what he wants. He doesn’t know how.

He leans back against the couch, eyes slipping shut for a moment, his girlfriend’s weight warm and light against him. It should be enough. It should feel like enough.

It doesn’t.

By the time the credits roll on, Eric can’t remember a single thing that happened on screen. His girlfriend stretches, yawns softly, and nudges his side. “Bed?”

He nods, forcing another smile, and follows her to the bedroom to change. The rain still rattles faintly against the window, but here, everything feels muted: soft lamplight, pale sheets, the smell of her shampoo.

As she pulls the blanket back, she glances over at him. “By the way, how’s Sunwoo doing? Haven’t seen him in a while.”

The question lands like a punch to his ribs.

Eric freezes, just for a beat, before covering it with a shrug. “He’s fine. Busy.” His voice sounds casual enough, but his throat is tight.

She hums, satisfied with the answer, already climbing under the covers. She has no idea. No idea that Sunwoo’s voice is still echoing in his skull, that Eric’s chest still aches from watching him walk away.

Eric sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. The thought hits him hard, suddenly: I’m a horrible person.

He’s cheating without ever calling it that. He deliberately got into a relationship, knowing the nature of his and Sunwoo’s at the time, and he kept waiting for him to come back. He’s lying without ever saying the words. Sunwoo deserves better. His girlfriend deserves better. He knows that. He knows it with a clarity that makes his stomach churn. And yet he can’t stop.

Sunwoo’s apartment is quiet when he steps in, jacket heavy on his shoulders. He throws it on the coat rack, takes his shoes off, and slides open his bedroom’s window just enough to let smoke curl in the air. Lighting a cigarette, he leans against the sill, watching the smoke rise like a ghost of what he wants but cannot have.

He inhales slowly, trying to calm the tight coil in his chest. Every memory of Eric presses against him : the way he spoke, the way he touched him. He closes his eyes and imagines it all over again, replaying every brush of skin and lingering look. His fingers flex around the cigarette, nails digging into the filter. It’s a poor substitute, but it’s all he has.

When Eric finally slides under the blanket, she curls against him immediately, her arms looping around his waist. The warmth is real, but it feels… borrowed.

He kisses her because he’s supposed to. Slow at first, then deeper when she pulls him closer. Her lips are soft, familiar, everything they should be.

But it’s wrong.

Because as soon as his mouth moves against hers, another face flashes behind his eyelids. On his tongue was a taste he can only imagine, another warmth he craves.

Sunwoo.

It’s his name that stirs at the back of Eric’s throat when she gasps softly against him. It’s his weight he imagines pinning him down, his fingers tugging at his shirt, his voice breaking in that same rough, angry way it did earlier.

Her lips are soft when he leans down, brushing against them in a kiss that should feel warm but tastes artificial. He deepens it because it’s what he’s supposed to do, because she expects it, because he expects it of himself. His hands move over her shoulders, along her back, and every motion brings Sunwoo’s face to the forefront of his mind.

He imagines Sunwoo’s mouth instead of hers, he imagines the way he would hold him, the way Sunwoo would respond, trembling, needy, angry, wanting. It makes him hard to breathe. The shame presses in, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop.

Sunwoo curls into the sheets. One hand presses against his chest, tracing the memory of Eric’s touch on his skin. His lips part as if he could kiss the air, whisper Eric’s name. He clenches a pillow to his chest, dragging it along his body in rough, aching strokes, imagining Eric’s hands instead of his own.

He’s trembling now, hot and cold all at once. His breath comes in short gasps as he rocks slightly, fingers clutching the sheets in a mimicry of what he craves. No one is there. No one will ever be there but Eric, and that thought twists his gut like a knife.

The more desperately Eric kisses her, the more he feels the absence. Like no matter how hard he presses in, it will never be enough.

He pulls her closer, letting hands wander, but it’s mechanical. Each caress is layered with Sunwoo’s voice, the echo of his laugh, the burn in his eyes. Her body is soft, pliant, easy, and yet he feels nothing but hunger for something forbidden.

He presses his lips harder against hers, tasting the memory of another boy in every motion. His body reacts, betraying him, and a sharp pang of guilt slices through him. He imagines Sunwoo’s hands instead of hers, his voice instead of her whispers, and he shudders.

Sunwoo presses his lips against the cold pillow, rocking faster, breath hitching. Fingers clutch the fabric, dragging along himself in an attempt to replicate what he truly desires. The cigarette burns down to the filter, forgotten in the ashtray.

He imagines the weight of Eric on him, the pull of his body, the rough edge of his hands, and it’s unbearable. His chest tightens, eyes glistening, and he presses harder against the pillow, quiet but desperate. Every motion is mirrored longing, every gasp a shadow of the other night’s intensity.

She whispers something sweet against his lips, words he doesn’t really hear. He responds with a hum, with another kiss, with hands pulling her closer, pretending it’s what he wants.

He stops for a moment, hands resting lightly against her skin. Her eyes meet his, curious, innocent. He should stop. He wants to stop. But he can’t. Sunwoo’s face is burned into his mind, screaming at him silently, and the ache in his chest is unbearable.

He leans down again, kisses her throat, tasting what should be her alone, but his mind is elsewhere. Every stroke, every whisper, every breath is a reminder that the boy he wants is not here.

But every move feels like a betrayal. Not just to her, but to himself.

He finishes his cigarette, fingers slick, chest heaving. Eyes shut, body trembling with want and frustration, he curls into himself, imagining Eric pressing down, whispering, teasing, indifferent but dangerous. He imagines the same roughness, the same cruelty, the same desire and its bittersweet agony.

When they finally pull apart, she rests her head on his chest, content. Eric stares up at the ceiling, silent. His heartbeat should be steady, but it’s not. It stutters, skips, pounds with the memory of another boy standing in the rain, cigarette smoke clinging to his lips.

Eric holds her tighter, as if that will drown it out. But all it does is make the guilt louder.

Eric lies back against the sheets, tangled in her arms, staring at the ceiling. Thoughts of Sunwoo ripple through him like fire, guilt coiling tighter than any desire he has for her.

Sunwoo stares at the ceiling too, cigarette smoke curling around him, imagining Eric in every possible way. Empty sheets surround him.

The night stretches on. Both restless, both craving, trapped in the same loop of want, denial, and heartbreak.

And for the first time in a long while, Eric wishes the night wouldn’t end. Because in the dark, with her breathing steady against him, he can at least pretend he isn’t falling apart.

The apartment is quiet. Rain drums softly against the windows, tapping out a rhythm that seems to echo the pounding in his chest. Eric lies back on the bed, tangled in the sheets, staring at the ceiling. Her breathing beside him is light, steady, oblivious. And yet he feels nothing but a hollow ache.

Her warmth presses against his body, soft, predictable, safe. He should feel comforted. He should feel content. But the truth presses down like a weight: this isn’t what I want. Not really. His mind is elsewhere, and the more he tries to focus on her, the further he drifts. Sunwoo. Every thought, every pulse of desire, every flash of guilt leads to him.

He traces a hand along her side automatically, feeling the softness of her skin beneath his fingers. And yet, with every touch, his mind replaces her with Sunwoo; the sharpness of his jaw, the curve of his shoulders, the tension in his chest when their bodies are pressed together. The memory is vivid, almost tangible. He can feel Sunwoo’s hands on him, imagined or recalled, hotter and more insistent than anything he feels here.

He closes his eyes and breathes deeply. Why do I want him this much? The question has no answer, at least not a clean one. He wants Sunwoo for himself, but he can’t. Part of it is security: the easy comfort of his girlfriend, the predictable warmth, the sense of safety in routine. Sunwoo is unpredictable, intense, demanding, and dangerous in ways he’s never confronted and doesn’t know how to handle. To be with Sunwoo fully would be to unravel, and Eric isn’t ready for that. Maybe he never will.

And yet, the selfishness lingers. There’s something intoxicating about having Sunwoo as this close, the knowledge that he can touch him when he wants, take from him, tease him, and then walk away. The guilt is deliciously sharp. He’s aware of the cruelty, aware that he’s using Sunwoo in the exact way he promised he wouldn’t, and it makes him feel good in a way he hates himself for.

Then there’s the complication he hadn’t expected: feelings. He wanted Sunwoo for nothing at first, just sex, just a distraction, just a thrill. But after dating his girlfriend, after trying to reconcile his life with her, he realizes that what he feels for Sunwoo is different. He wants more. Not just the body, not just the teasing, but the boy himself. The anger. The need. The sharp, unrelenting desire that leaves his chest tight, his stomach coiled, his mind spinning.

He rolls onto his side, clutching the pillow, tracing invisible patterns along her skin with his fingers. The smell of her shampoo mixes with the ghost of Sunwoo’s scent in his memory. The sensation of warmth he should feel is tainted by the ache for someone else. He’s burning with need. It’s confusing, frustrating, and it makes him tremble.

He touches himself almost unconsciously before resigning. The friction is meaningless, futile. Each shiver, each hitch of breath, reminds him that the boy he wants is elsewhere. That the warmth beneath his hands is not enough. That the ache in his chest will never abate while he remains trapped between desire and reason.

The apartment feels smaller now, as if the walls themselves press down with the weight of his obsession. He rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling, tracing the tangled sheets across his body. The rain continues, soft and steady, indifferent to his turmoil.

He can’t stop thinking about Sunwoo. Every breath, every movement, every pulse is haunted by him. And yet he is aware of the comfort beside him, the safety, the predictable presence that makes it “okay” to be here while thinking of someone else. It doesn’t make it better. It only makes him feel worse.

He sighs, fingers brushing lightly against his lips as he imagines Sunwoo’s touch instead. He remembers their fight in the rain, the way Sunwoo’s body had trembled, desperate. That had nothing to do with sex or desire and everything to do with sincerity, feelings. That memory coils around his chest, tight and insistent.

And he wants it. Desperately. He wants it in a way that terrifies him, that makes him feel monstrous. But he won’t stop. Not even if it ruins him.

He lies there, tangled in sheets that can never satisfy, brushing her hair back gently, imagining the curve of Sunwoo’s neck, the set of his shoulders, the tension in his hands when he touches him. He closes his eyes again, heart hammering, breath hitching. Desire, guilt, longing: they are one and the same.

And the truth, the brutal, undeniable truth, settles over him like rain on his skin. He has no right to want Sunwoo like this. He is selfish, he is cruel, he is human. He can have neither safety nor satisfaction, neither the warmth of this bed nor the touch of the boy he craves.

He exhales slowly, letting the quiet consume him, the rain outside drumming a soft rhythm over his thoughts. Somewhere deep inside, he knows he’s lost, trapped between what he has and what he refused to give, suffocating under the weight of desire, guilt, and his own self-made chaos.

And still, he wishes, more than anything, that Sunwoo were here instead.

Sunwoo woke to silence. His lashes lifted slowly, sticking from the dampness of a restless sleep, and he found himself staring at the ceiling of his apartment, the light gray of dawn bleeding through the blinds.

He hated how much it hurt.

Not the physical ache. That he could handle. It was the way his chest felt scraped raw, like he’d been left open without permission. They touched each other like it meant something, like they were the only two people in the world, and then Eric had disappeared back into the life where Sunwoo didn’t exist.

That was the pattern. And Sunwoo had let it happen. Again.

His hand fell away from his face, fingers curling against the sheets as if he could claw out the memory. Eric’s weight pressing him down. The sound of his voice when it softened, when it broke, when it almost sounded like he cared. Sunwoo replayed it against his will, the way their bodies fit like they’d been designed for it.

He should hate him.

God, he wanted to hate him.

But what burned through him wasn’t hatred. It was shame. A humiliation that pooled deep in his stomach. Because he knew what he was to Eric: an escape. A release. A pair of hands, a mouth, a body to fall into when he was too restless or too weak to deal with his own life.

Not a person. Not someone worth choosing.

Sunwoo forced himself to sit up, sheets pooling around his waist. His room looked exactly the same as always. Everything was in place, but he wasn’t. Inside, everything had been rearranged and broken apart.

He rubbed his face, dragging his palms down hard enough to sting. “You’re pathetic,” he muttered under his breath, the words hitting the empty air with no one to argue back.

The truth was simple. Eric had a girlfriend. A life. A safety net that Sunwoo could never be part of. What happened between them was a shadow, something shoved into dark corners where it didn’t belong. And Sunwoo had been stupid enough to think that maybe, just maybe, there was more underneath it.

But if there was, Eric would have stayed.

He needed to stop letting this destroy him. Needed to stop letting Eric dictate the rhythm of his heart like this.

So he built walls. Fast, desperate walls, stacking them high in his mind until the air around him felt cold again. He told himself it didn’t matter. That it was just sex. That he could separate it. That he would separate it. Because if he didn’t, he was going to drown in this ache, and Eric would never even notice.

He made the decision there, with his heart still raw and his sheets still heavy with someone else’s scent: he would never let himself be near Eric again. Not like that. Not outside of work, not in his bed, not in his arms.

If Eric wanted to pretend they were just colleagues, just friends, Sunwoo could do that. He could bury everything else beneath sarcasm and distance. He would learn how to look at him and feel nothing.

Because he refused to be the secret anymore. He refused to wake up alone in a bed that smelled like someone else’s choice.

He lay back down, pulling the pillow over his face, pressing until his lungs begged for air. The fabric was still warm with traces of Eric, and for a moment he let himself inhale, one last time, before he promised himself he would never need it again.

But deep down, he knows that he’ll probably never be able to escape.

It had been days since the rain, since the argument that left Sunwoo soaked and aching in ways that no words could fix. Time had passed, the group had carried on, the members laughing, practicing, joking, but between Eric and Sunwoo, there had been a quiet distance.

Not silence, exactly. Not complete avoidance either. But a subtle drifting apart: small spaces in rehearsals, glances held a second too long, hands brushing accidentally, fleeting touches that lingered in Sunwoo’s chest long after they separated.

Sunwoo hated it and loved it at the same time. Every day, every rehearsal, every shared room became a battlefield of wanting and resisting, longing and despair. He craved Eric’s touch in ways he couldn’t admit, ways he didn’t even fully understand himself. And yet Eric was everywhere and nowhere. Close enough to sting, distant enough to wound.

They were at a small gathering with the members and a few other friends one evening. It was casual, laughter and music filling the apartment. Sunwoo’s gaze kept drifting to Eric, who sat across the room, leaning against the counter, speaking softly with a few members. His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from his forehead, then lingered against the edge of the countertop, just enough that Sunwoo felt the spark, the faint touch of his fingertips, the familiar softness of his skin.

Sunwoo tried to keep himself composed. He sipped his drink, nodded at jokes, smiled faintly, but his heart pounded with the memory of Eric’s touch, the brush of his hand during practice, the intensity of him even when he wasn’t trying.

“Hey,” Chanhee, who he was sitting next to, nudged him quietly, noting the sad expression in Sunwoo’s eyes. “Are you okay? You look weird.”

Sunwoo shook his head slightly, trying to mask the ache in his chest. “I’m fine,” he muttered, though his gaze kept flicking to Eric, who had now leaned slightly closer to Juyeon while reaching for a snack, the tip of his fingers brushing the small of his back.

Why do I want this so badly when he’s like that with everyone else?

Eric’s eyes caught his across the room. A flicker of awareness passed, faint, almost imperceptible, before he looked away.

Later, Sunwoo found himself near the balcony, trying to catch a breath of air, cigarette pressed to his lips again. The rain from earlier had left the city glistening, streetlights reflecting off wet streets below. A quiet presence appeared beside him.

Eric.

Sunwoo stiffened, though he didnt turn around. “I… need a minute.” Eric leaned casually against the railing, close but not too much, just enough to make Sunwoo’s body shiver. “You’ve been quiet today.”

“I’m fine,” Sunwoo whispered, exhaling smoke into the cool night air. “Just thinking.”

Eric smirked faintly. “Thinking about me?”

Sunwoo’s jaw tightened. “No,” he muttered, though a flicker of truth lingered in his chest.

Eric let out a low hum, leaning just slightly closer, brushing the tip of his shoulder against Sunwoo’s. Not enough to really touch, but enough to spark a reaction on Sunwoo’s face. “You still want it,” Eric said softly, almost to himself. “I can see it. Always.”

“I don’t. I… it’s not fair,” he whispered. “You do this and I can’t—”

Eric’s gaze lingered on him, sharp, teasing, almost cruel. “Not fair? Life’s not fair, Sunwoo. You knew that. And yet… you’re still here.”

“You’re really just gonna leave it like that?” Sunwoo asks, without even a tremor, just exhaustion wrapped in sharp edges.

Eric doesn’t look at him. His hands bury themselves in his hoodie pocket, shoulders tense like he’s holding something back. “What do you want me to say?”

“That maybe you give a shit.” The words snap out of Sunwoo before he can stop them. “That maybe all of this—” he gestures vaguely between them, that cursed, unspeakable space, “meant something more than just filling time when you’re bored.”

Eric doesn't answer. So Sunwoo presses harder, like pressing a bruise just to feel the sting. “Why did you never kissed me?”

Eric finally looks at him, startled. “What?”

“You heard me.” Sunwoo’s laugh comes out broken, bitter. “You’ll put your hands on me, you’ll pull me under and tear me apart every other way, but you’ll never kiss me. Not once. Not even by accident.”

Eric blinks, something flickering across his face too fast to catch. “You’re making it sound bigger than it is.”

“Bigger than it is?” Sunwoo repeats, incredulous. His chest aches so violently, he swears his ribs are splintering. “Do you even realize what that does to me? It’s like you’re screaming at me that I’m good enough to fuck but not good enough to actually—” He cuts himself off, choking on his own words.

Eric exhales, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “You expect too much from me.”

“That’s your favorite line, huh? I expect too much. Expecting you to act like I matter is too much?”

Eric’s tone sharpens. “You act like I’m supposed to change my whole life for you.”

“I never asked for your whole life,” Sunwoo shoots back, though maybe that’s a lie. Maybe, deep down, that’s all he’s ever wanted. “I just wanted you. Not the scraps, not the pieces you throw me when it’s convenient. You.”

The silence that follows is thick enough to strangle them both.

Eric looks away first. His voice softens, barely audible. “You think it’s easy for me?”

That catches Sunwoo off guard. He stares at him, blinking. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Eric’s hands twitch in his pockets, like he’s about to reach out but traps himself before he can. “It’s not like I don’t—” He stops, shakes his head. “Forget it.”

Sunwoo feels the crack in his chest widen. “Not like you don’t what, Eric? Care? Feel something? Then fucking say it. Just once. For once in your life, stop hiding behind that wall you love so much and—”

Eric cuts him off, cold again. “And then what? You want me to play house with you? Hold your hand in front of everyone? Pretend this isn’t a disaster waiting to happen?”

There it is: the knife Sunwoo knew was coming. He lets it sink in deeper this time. His voice drops into something terrifyingly steady. “You know what the real disaster is? Wasting myself on you.”

Eric finally looks at him, and there’s something wounded in his gaze, buried so deep it almost doesn’t exist. Sunwoo wants to grab it, pull it to the surface, but he’s tired. God, he’s so tired.

“I hate you,” Sunwoo says, and it feels like truth and lies all at once. “I hate you for making me believe this could ever be enough. And I hate myself more for still wanting you when you clearly don’t want me.”

Eric’s lips part, like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out. Just silence, stretched thin between them.

And then, softer, quieter than the smoke still clinging to the air, Eric murmurs, “I never said I didn’t want you.”

It’s not a confession. It’s not even comforting. It’s a breadcrumb tossed in the dirt, and Sunwoo is done crawling for scraps.

Sunwoo laughs, bitter and shaking. “Pathetic.”

This time, Eric doesn’t stop him when he walks away.

The days after their last discussion blurred together. Practice went on as usual, schedules filled with rehearsals and recordings, and the members moved like clockwork around them. No one seemed to notice the subtle shift. How Sunwoo no longer lingered near Eric, how his jokes didn’t carry across the room to meet him, how the air between them grew taut, heavy with something unsaid.

Or if anyone noticed, they didn’t say a word.

Sunwoo tried to convince himself he was fine. Tried to believe that if he ignored the itch in his chest, the restless energy whenever Eric walked in, it would fade. It didn’t. He found himself tracking Eric out of the corner of his eye, catching the way his laugh softened when his girlfriend’s name lit up his phone, the casual brush of his thumb across the screen before his whole demeanor brightened. Sunwoo couldn’t stand it, and yet he couldn’t look away.

The first real test came during a rare free evening. The members had gathered at Younghoon’s place, ordering food and throwing themselves across the couch in a tangle of limbs. Music spilled from someone’s phone, half-forgotten as they talked over each other.

Eric arrived late, with her.

Sunwoo felt the world tilt the second they walked in. She clung to his arm, smiling shyly as the others greeted her, while Eric beamed as though she belonged there, as though she had always belonged there. He led her in without hesitation, introducing her again to the members who already knew her name.

Sunwoo’s chest tightened as she settled beside him, their shoulders pressed close. Eric laughed at something she whispered, his hand absently smoothing down her hair before he reached for a slice of pizza. It was the kind of touch Sunwoo had never been offered.

He told himself not to look, not to care. But his gaze kept slipping, drawn to the curve of her smile, the way Eric leaned into it.

“Hey.” A voice snapped him out of it. Hyunjae nudged him with his knee. “You’ve been quiet all night. You good?”

Sunwoo forced a smile. “Just tired.”

“Tired of staring,” Juyeon teased from across the table, smirking when Sunwoo flipped him off. The others laughed, but the sound was distant, muffled. Sunwoo’s pulse thundered in his ears.

Changmin, softer, more perceptive, leaned in. “Seriously, though. You seem like… you’re somewhere else.”

“I’m fine.” The lie slipped too easily. He shoved another bite of food into his mouth, hoping the conversation would move on.

It did. But the weight in his chest didn’t.

Later, when the night had dragged into half-empty plates and the soft buzz of late conversations, Sunwoo slipped out onto the balcony, as usual. The air was cool against his skin, the city stretched below in glowing fragments. He lit a cigarette, the first inhale grounding him, though his hands still shook.

He told himself he needed the air, the quiet. Not the distance. Not the chance to breathe without Eric’s laugh filling the room.

But the door slid open anyway.

Eric stepped out, alone.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Sunwoo exhaled smoke into the night, refusing to look at him, pretending the silence was enough to keep him safe.

“You still doing that?” Eric’s voice was low, almost casual.

Sunwoo let out a humorless laugh. “Still pretending to care?”

Eric leaned against the railing, too close, as though nothing had shifted between them. “If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be out here.”

“Yeah?” Sunwoo turned finally, eyes sharp in the dim glow. “You’ve got someone waiting for you inside. Why bother with me?”

Eric’s jaw tightened, but his smirk stayed. “You think I don’t notice the way you look at me? Even tonight, you couldn’t stop.”

Sunwoo’s stomach dropped. He hated how transparent he was, how easily Eric cut him open with a single line. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” Eric tilted his head, studying him. “You act like you’re done with me, but here you are, hiding out. Smoking like it’ll burn me out of your system. Doesn’t work that way.”

Sunwoo’s hand tightened around the cigarette, the ember flaring with his breath. “You don’t get it.”

“Then tell me.”

The challenge hung heavy between them, but Sunwoo bit it back, unwilling to hand over more of himself. He’d already given too much. The silence stretched, suffocating. Then Eric’s hand brushed his arm, fleeting, a spark of contact that burned more than the cigarette.

It was enough to unravel him all over again.

The studio lights were harsh, humming overhead, throwing their shadows long and thin across the polished floor. Most of the members had left hours ago, their footsteps echoing down the hallway, leaving the two of them alone in the cavernous room. Sunwoo tugged his hoodie tighter, trying to keep his distance, his sneakers scuffing the floor as he moved into position.

Eric, on the other hand, looked unusually calm. Calm, but deliberately close. As they ran through the sequence, adjusting arms and shoulders, he would brush a hand along Sunwoo’s waist when he demonstrated a move, lean in just a touch too long, linger over corrections with a smirk that made Sunwoo’s stomach twist.

“You know,” Eric said softly as they paused to try the sequence again, “you’re still way too stiff here.” His breath grazed Sunwoo’s ear, subtle but unmistakable. “Relax… like you used to.”

Sunwoo flinched, recoiling slightly. “I’m fine,” he snapped, voice tighter than he intended.

“Mm, right,” Eric murmured, lips curling. “Fine. Sure you are.”

The teasing wasn’t malicious, exactly. But it hit every nerve. Sunwoo hated himself for how it made him feel: flushed, restless, aware of every inch of Eric pressed nearby. He hated that his heart betrayed him, even when his mind screamed to step back.

They ran the sequence again, Eric insisting on correcting minor missteps, leaning close under the guise of helping. Sunwoo’s hands clenched into fists, every instinct screaming both to flee and to reach for him.

Finally, Sunwoo stopped mid-step, throwing up his hands. “I can’t… I can’t do this with you standing like that.”

Eric’s grin didn’t falter. “Like what?” His voice was teasing, light, but Sunwoo caught the edge of something sharper like longing, frustration, maybe even guilt.

“You’re too close. I can’t—”

“Can’t what?” Eric pressed, leaning just a fraction closer. “Can’t handle me?”

Sunwoo’s chest ached, his breaths coming short. “I don’t want… this right now.”

Eric’s smirk faltered for the briefest moment before he straightened, stepping back. “Alright. Alright.” But the pause hung thickly between them, neither able to forget the proximity, the heat, the tension that had been simmering for days.

They didn’t speak for a few minutes, just going through the motions of practice with forced attention. Sunwoo’s mind raced. He hated himself for craving Eric’s nearness, for remembering too clearly the way his touch could make him tremble, for replaying moments they’d shared where there was something that almost felt like… care.

And then she arrived.

The soft click of heels on the polished floor was enough to make Sunwoo’s head snap up. Eric’s girlfriend stood in the doorway, a bag slung over her shoulder, eyes bright and smiling. “Hey!” she chirped. “Sorry I’m late. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Eric’s face lit up genuinely. “You’re fine,” he said warmly, stepping toward her. He held the door, waved her inside. Sunwoo could see the ease in their interaction, the casual intimacy, the jokes, the touches that he could never have.

Sunwoo’s chest tightened. He forced a small smile, moving to greet her as if nothing was wrong, as if the last few weeks of tangled desire and frustration had never existed.

“Sunwoo! Hey,” she said brightly. “You look tired… Long day?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, voice clipped, trying to maintain distance. His mind screamed at him not to look at Eric, but he caught the side of his face as he laughed at something she whispered. His chest clenched with a bitter ache.

Eric, noticing him watching, leaned slightly into her space, hand brushing her back. Sunwoo swallowed hard, eyes burning. He wanted to storm out, wanted to demand attention, wanted to escape and never look back.

Instead, he forced polite conversation, focusing on details around them like the music, the studio lights, random topics that allowed him to anchor his emotions. All the while, he could feel Eric’s attention drifting, the warmth in his laugh, the subtle glances toward her, everything reminding Sunwoo of his place: peripheral, secondary, unwanted.

When the others trickled back from the break, the energy shifted. Sunwoo excused himself, muttering something about finishing early. He stepped outside, the cool night air hitting him like a shock. He lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly, trying to steady the storm inside him.

Inside, Eric and his girlfriend continued laughing softly, the sound carried faintly through the glass. Sunwoo’s hands shook slightly as he dragged smoke into his lungs. He hated himself for how much he still wanted him, hated himself for the ache of seeing Eric happy with someone else, hated that even as he promised himself he wouldn’t give in, his mind kept tracing the memory of Eric’s warmth, the press of his body, the ghost of a touch.

He crushed the cigarette beneath his sneaker, letting the last ember die. He couldn’t stay here. Not tonight. Not anywhere near this, not when the desire mingled with disgust and the impossibility of what he wanted.

And yet, even as he walked away, he could feel the pull of Eric’s presence, lingering in his chest like a wound that refused to close.

The backstage area was a blur of exhausted bodies and half-packed equipment. Sunwoo’s legs felt like lead, his shoulders aching from the weight of the day. The concert had been brutal, hours on his feet, voices strained from singing, every move of the choreography etched painfully into his muscles. All he wanted was a shower, a bed, and silence.

Most of the members had already left, either piling into cars or being whisked away by staff. Only Eric lingered, tidying a few stray items, tossing a glance in Sunwoo’s way every few minutes.

“Hey,” Eric said, voice casual, but there was something in the tone that made Sunwoo’s chest tighten. “Want a ride? My car’s right outside.”

Sunwoo hesitated, trying to weigh the pros and cons. After these last four concerts, he refused each time. He wanted space, distance. But the exhaustion was heavy, fogging his judgment. He shook his head slightly, muttering, “I’m fine” before sighing, conceding. “Yeah… okay. I’ll go with you.”

Eric’s grin was almost victorious as they stepped outside. The night air was cool against their heated skin, a faint drizzle beginning to fall. Sunwoo followed, trying not to think, to just focus on the ground beneath his feet.

Once in the car, the tight space forced them close. Sunwoo slumped in the seat, hoodie pulled over his head, trying to make himself invisible. Eric started the engine, humming softly to the background music that filled the space.

“You look exhausted,” Eric said, leaning slightly toward him to grab the cupholder. The brush of his fingers against Sunwoo’s hand lingered far longer than necessary.

“I am,” Sunwoo muttered, shifting slightly.

Eric didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he tilted his head, watching him with that lazy, teasing smirk. “You’re cute when you’re tired, you know that?”

Sunwoo froze, mouth dry. “I’m not,” he said, confused at Eric’s behavior.

“Mm,” Eric hummed, leaning a bit closer, his shoulder brushing Sunwoo’s. “You’re wrong.”

Every nerve in Sunwoo’s body screamed, and he hated himself for it. Hated that his chest felt too tight, that his breath hitched at Eric’s nearness. He shifted back subtly, trying to create space, but Eric followed, leaning as if it were the most natural thing.

“Don’t… don’t do that,” Sunwoo muttered, voice low, almost pleading.

“Do what?” Eric asked innocently, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “Just sitting here? Breathing?”

Sunwoo clenched his fists in his lap. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

Eric’s grin widened. “Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t.” His hand brushed against Sunwoo’s under the pretense of shifting forward. Sunwoo’s stomach twisted. He wanted to push him away, he wanted to get out, but he was too tired to fight entirely.

“You’re annoying, seriously.”

Eric leaned in closer, the faint scent of his cologne filling Sunwoo’s senses. “Maybe I just like seeing you like this,” he murmured softly.

Sunwoo’s stomach sank. His pulse thundered in his ears. “Stop,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Eric’s smirk faltered, just a fraction. “I can’t,” he admitted, voice softer, almost unguarded now. “Not when you look at me like that. Not when you care too much. Even when you think you don’t.”

Sunwoo turned sharply, frustration and longing warring inside him. “I don’t care!”

Eric chuckled, low and amused, leaning back slightly. “Sure.”

For a moment, they drove in silence, the faint sound of rain pattering against the windshield. Sunwoo tried to focus on the road ahead, the city lights blurring past. But the tension, the ache in his chest, the warmth of Eric near him was all too much. When he pulled near Sunwoo’s place, Eric sighed, cutting the engine, then he turned to look at him.

Eric’s voice came quiet, almost desperate. “Sunwoo.”

Sunwoo’s head snapped to him. His eyes were fixed on the steering wheel, but his voice carried a vulnerability that made Sunwoo’s chest twist.

“Every time I kiss her…” Eric’s words faltered, almost as if he wasn’t thinking, “I wish it was you.”

Sunwoo’s heart stopped. His body reacted before his mind could catch up. He hated the admission, hated himself for how much it made him ache.

Eric swallowed hard, voice trembling slightly. “Please, kiss me. Just… just once.”

The desperation in the words hung thickly in the car, mixing with the hum of the engine, the faint hiss of rain, and Sunwoo’s own ragged heartbeat. He wanted to look away, to pull himself together, to step out and never see him again.

But he didn’t.

He froze, chest tight, mind spinning, body betraying him as much as his heart. The space between them felt impossibly small, every brush of Eric’s arm, every glance, every unspoken desire burning into him.

“Please…” Eric repeated, softer this time, almost a whisper. “I just… I need to know it’s real. Just once. Just this one time.”

Sunwoo swallowed, shaking, torn between everything he wanted and everything he knew he couldn’t have. The tension was unbearable, electric, suffocating. The car seemed to shrink around them, a cocoon of longing, confusion, and desperation.

And then… the moment hung, suspended in time, leaving them both on the edge of something inevitable, something messy, and something neither of them knew how to face.

The car felt smaller than ever, every inch of space charged, humming with unspoken tension. Sunwoo’s hands gripped the edges of his seat, knuckles white. His chest was tight, heart hammering like it might shatter his ribs. Eric’s confession still hung in the air: “Every time I kiss her… I wish it was you.”

Sunwoo’s stomach churned, a mix of anger, longing, and frustration. He wanted to shout, to run, to shove him away, but he couldn’t. Eric’s proximity made his body betray him, muscles tense and trembling at the smallest brush of skin.

Eric leaned closer, gaze locked on him. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, voice low and rough, a teasing edge threading through the desperation. “I just… I just need to feel you. One last time. Please.”

Sunwoo’s pulse spiked. “Eric… I—”

“I know,” Eric interrupted, almost pleading, his fingers grazing Sunwoo’s cheek softly. “I know. You don’t want this. But I…” He swallowed, voice dropping even lower. “I need you right now.”

The words were so raw, so unfiltered. Sunwoo hated himself for the way it made his body respond, for the flutter of heat, for the ache building between his legs, and for the way his hands itched to reach out even as his mind screamed to push Eric away.

His free hand brushed Sunwoo’s arm, slow, deliberate. Sunwoo didn’t pull away. Not yet.

Eric’s grin was crooked, mischievous, a little cruel. “You know, maybe I like that about you.” His thumb traced a slow line along Sunwoo’s forearm. “The fact that you can’t hide anything from me. That every look, every breath, every heartbeat screams that you want me too.”

Sunwoo’s chest burned with a mixture of shame and desire. “I don’t…” he began, then faltered.

The first brush of lips came unexpectedly, soft, testing. Sunwoo froze, heart threatening to escape his chest.

Eric’s lips pressed again, firmer this time, brushing over Sunwoo’s with deliberate care, teasing, a mixture of hunger and control.

Sunwoo’s body betrayed him entirely. The tension, the heat, the ache that had been coiled inside him for weeks, was unraveling in a rush. His hands gripped Eric’s shoulders, pulling him closer despite the confusion and disgust twisting inside him.

“Eric…” His voice was strained, a mix of pleading and warning.

Eric’s lips moved against his, slow, almost cruelly deliberate. “Please… just this once,” he murmured against Sunwoo’s mouth. “Just one last time. I need to feel you.”

The confession, the desperation, the raw heat of it all shattered Sunwoo’s defenses. He kissed back, slipping in tongue in Eric’s mouth in a messy, desperate way, hands tangling in his hair. Every motion was a mix of anger and longing, hate and need, a twisted symphony of what they couldn’t have but couldn’t resist.

Eric’s hands roamed carefully, tracing the lines of Sunwoo’s back and shoulders, never crossing the line fully, always teasing, always testing. “I’m yours tonight,” he whispered, voice rough, almost pretending. “Even if it’s just for this moment.”

Sunwoo pressed harder, hungry, frustrated, confused. “You’re… awful,” he gasped, pulling back slightly, breath ragged. “I… hate you.”

Eric’s lips brushed his ear, hot and teasing. “I know.” He lingered there, almost mockingly. “I like that you hate me.But I know how much you love me.”

Sunwoo’s hands clenched at his sides, tears pricking at his eyes, silent but burning with the intensity of everything he wanted and couldn’t have. Eric noticed. “Are you crying for me?” he whispered, voice low, teasing but almost gentle. He gently kissed the tears away, not feeling strong enough to admit this was turning him on.

Sunwoo’s chest tightened further. He wanted to scream, to shove Eric away, to run, to cry, to beg all at once. He pressed his forehead against Eric’s, letting the heat of him sear into every nerve, desperate and trembling.

Eric pulled back just slightly, eyes dark and raw. “You feel it too,” he murmured, almost more to himself than Sunwoo. “You can’t lie to me now. You want me, don’t you?”

Sunwoo’s breath hitched, body trembling. “I…” His voice broke. He hated how much he wanted him. How much he’d always wanted him. “I can’t—”

Eric leaned close again, lips brushing Sunwoo’s temple, his jaw. “Not now. Just… take what you want.”

The world outside became distant, everything faded into the background, leaving only the two of them suspended in this raw, desperate heat.

Sunwoo pressed his lips to Eric’s again, messy, fierce, almost angry, tasting everything he wanted and resented all at once. Eric’s hands gripped him firmly, holding, teasing, guiding. The ache, the frustration, the twisted longing. All of it exploded in that press of lips, that whisper, that desperate, fleeting touch.

Finally, Sunwoo pulled back, chest heaving, lips trembling, eyes stinging. Eric’s gaze followed him, dark, raw, desperate, and somewhere in it… almost tender. “You’re incredible,” Eric whispered, voice rough. “And I…” He faltered, letting the confession hang, unspoken, messy.

Sunwoo’s chest heaved. “I can’t… I can’t do this anymore,” he said, voice low but firm. “I need space.”

Eric’s lips twitched into a half-smile, half-grimace, the teasing, desperate glint still in his eyes. “I’ll wait,” he murmured, almost like a promise, almost like a threat.

Sunwoo leaned back, shoving the door open. Rain splashed against his hoodie, cold and sharp. He let it soak him, let the ache pulse, let the anger and longing mix until it was almost unbearable. He walked away from the car, leaving Eric behind, desperate, messy, human, flawed. And more wanted than ever.

The apartment felt too quiet. Too still. Sunwoo sank onto the edge of his bed, hoodie damp from the drizzle outside and muscles still sore from the rehearsals and concert aftermath. The city lights flickered through the curtains, casting thin stripes across the floor. It all felt too bright, too sharp, too heavy.

He pressed his palms to his face, trying to squeeze out the ache lodged in his chest. Every memory of Eric stabbed like a razor: teasing touches, whispered confessions, the way his lips had pressed against Sunwoo’s in the car. He hated how much he remembered. He hated how much he felt.

He had to stop.

No more texts, no more calls, no more excuses to see him outside of work. Sunwoo’s fingers hovered over his phone, hovering over Eric’s contact as he imagined the familiar message tones, the teasing words that would make his chest ache. He had to resist. Every part of him screamed to answer, to beg Eric to come over, to tell him he was sorry for pulling away. But he didn’t.

Not this time.

It wasn’t just about desire anymore; it was about dignity, self-respect. He had spent months being used, craving affection that would never come, chasing a version of Eric that only existed in stolen moments. The car, the whispered “please… kiss me” it had been messy, desperate, but it had also been the last reminder that he would never be more than what he can give.

He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Every laugh, every touch, every fleeting warmth had been real at the moment, but now it was just a memory. A painful, beautiful memory that would fade in time if he let it.

Sunwoo’s phone buzzed lightly on the nightstand. Eric. The urge to check the text he had just received made his stomach twist. But he didn’t reach for his phone. Instead, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, counting the seconds as if each inhale and exhale could ground him from the storm inside.

Hours passed in silence. He moved through his apartment robotically; making tea, staring out the window at the rain, pressing his palms to the glass, wishing he could wash away the ache in his chest.

Work was looming tomorrow, rehearsals waiting, but he felt like he’d been awake for weeks straight, trapped in the tangle of longing and regret. He let the quiet stretch around him, feeling the weight of his own heart, remembering every moment he had clung to Eric’s touch.

Eventually, fatigue claimed him. He lay back in bed, hands gripping the sheets, and allowed himself a single thought: I deserve more than this. I deserve someone who wants me fully, not just in stolen moments.

Tears slipped silently down his cheeks. Not the explosive, screaming kind, but slow, quiet drops that left him vulnerable and exposed. He didn’t try to wipe them away, they felt like proof that he had cared, that he had loved, and that he could survive heartbreak.

Somewhere in the haze of exhaustion, he imagined Eric outside his door, knocking, calling his name. Part of him wanted to throw it open, to let the messy, desperate man sweep in, to feel the warmth again. But he didn’t. He knew he couldn’t. He would not.

The phone buzzed again. Another message, still unread. Sunwoo pressed it down to the bottom of the nightstand drawer, out of sight, out of reach. And in the quiet of his apartment, with the city’s neon heartbeat pulsing faintly against the walls, he drifted into a restless, bittersweet sleep. His heart was heavy, mind sharp, and a little stronger than before.

The streets blurred past the car windows as Eric drove, mind spinning faster than the tires on wet asphalt. Every neon sign, every honking taxi, every reflection in the puddles felt like a reminder of Sunwoo’s warmth, his quiet strength, and the ache he couldn’t stop craving.

He had chased him for months, stolen moments and whispered confessions, teasing and demanding, messy and desperate. And now? He had realized the depth of what he’d done, and worse, the depth of what he felt. I love him. I’ve always loved him. The thought burned like a fever, impossible to shake.

By the time he reached his apartment, rain dripping down his hair and coat, his chest felt like it would burst. He entered quietly, the familiar hum of the building mocking his turmoil. His girlfriend was there, waiting innocently, unaware of the storm inside him.

He could see the worry in her eyes when he walked in. “Eric? Are you okay?” she asked softly.

He swallowed hard, the guilt knotting in his stomach. “I think we need to talk.”

The conversation that followed was messy, dramatic, and raw. Words tripped over each other, emotions spilling like water from a broken dam. He admitted everything; the messiness, the stolen moments, the confessions, the longing. He didn’t sugarcoat it. He didn’t try to protect himself. He told her the truth: he loved someone else, someone he shouldn’t, someone he had never stopped wanting.

Her face crumpled, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. “You… you never even tried to hide it,” she whispered. “You… you cheated on me… with him?”

Eric flinched at the words. He hated himself at that moment, hated how messy he was, how human, how broken. “I truly didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry,” he said for the sixth time. “But I can’t lie anymore. And I need to try to fix what I can. Even if it’s too late.”

The silence that followed was thick, painful, heavy. He left their shared apartment that night, heart raw, chest aching, knowing he had hurt someone he had once loved, and yet still consumed by thoughts of Sunwoo.

He made his way to Sunwoo’s building, hands trembling as he knocked, calling his name softly. “Sunwoo… please… it’s me.”

No answer.

The fear, the ache, the desperation clawed at him. He pounded lightly, then stopped, breath ragged, knowing that the door might never open. Sunwoo had made his choice. He was clear, firm, and strong. And yet Eric couldn’t stop the longing, the hope, the human flaw that made him want to reach out anyway.

Defeated, he walked back to his apartment, every step heavy. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he stared at his phone, thumb hovering over Sunwoo’s number. He couldn’t let the night end without one last attempt. One last confession.

The message came out almost as a whisper:

“I love you. I always have. I’m sorry. I was too much, too messy, too late. I’ll wait if you want me. I’ll leave if you don’t.”

He sent it, chest tight, fingers trembling, knowing he had no control over what would happen next. For the first time in months, he let himself feel the full weight of longing, guilt, and love. Messy, human, raw, and painfully, beautifully true.

And somewhere in the quiet, under the glow of streetlights and the hum of the city, he waited. Not for an answer. Not for forgiveness. Just hoping that maybe, somehow, Sunwoo could see the honesty in it, could feel the love he had always hidden behind teasing and cruelty.

The apartment was silent again, the hum of the city muffled behind closed windows. Sunwoo sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, fingers brushing over the screen like it was something fragile, something dangerous.

A notification blinked. He opened it without thinking.

“I love you. I always have. I’m sorry. I was too much, too messy, too late. I’ll wait if you want me. I’ll leave if you don’t.”

The words felt heavy, almost tangible, pressing into his chest. Sunwoo stared at them, heart twisting and aching in equal measure. Part of him wanted to throw the phone across the room, scream, curse Eric for everything, for every stolen moment, for every ache he had left behind.

But another part wanted to reach out, to open that door, to let the messy, human man inside.

He set the phone down slowly, thumb hovering over the screen. The decision wasn’t his to make tonight. Not now.

He took a deep breath, letting it fill his lungs and settle the storm in his chest. He wasn’t ready, maybe he never would be. But reading those words, seeing the vulnerability he had never expected, he felt something shift. A crack in the armor, just small enough to let a sliver of hope through.

Sunwoo leaned back, staring at the ceiling, quiet tears threatening to spill. For the first time in months, he let himself feel everything at once: heartbreak, longing, relief, and a tiny, cautious thread of something else: possibility.

He didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.

Not yet.

Eric sat on the edge of his bed, the room dim except for the soft glow of his phone screen. He reread the message he had sent moments ago, fingers trembling slightly, heart hammering like it might escape his chest.

He had sent the message, and now there was nothing left to do but wait. The air felt heavy, thick with regret, longing, and a bittersweet kind of hope. He thought about Sunwoo, the way he had carried himself, the way he had protected his own heart even as Eric had clawed at it, teasing, desperate, careless.

A part of him wanted to drive back, knock again, beg, plead. But he didn’t. He had already crossed the line too many times. He had hurt Sunwoo, hurt others, and for the first time, he felt the full weight of it.

He leaned back, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into the empty room. Not just for the lies, the games, or the messy moments, but for himself , for being incapable of loving cleanly until now.

The night stretched on, quiet and unyielding. He imagined Sunwoo reading his words, maybe smiling, maybe frowning, maybe feeling a fraction of longing.

Eric didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. He didn’t know if Sunwoo would forgive, respond, or stay silent forever. But he did know one thing: he loved him, fully and painfully, for the first time in his life. And that truth, messy, human, irrevocable, was enough to keep him awake, heart aching, waiting for whatever might come next.

And maybe, just maybe, in another time or place, they could learn to hold each other without the ache.

“Sunwoo, hurry up! This is a race, is it not?” Eric’s voice called back against the wind. After a long day of running the city streets and causing various mischief, the sun shone its goodbyes across the horizon’s expanse to call an end to another hot summer day. The younger of the two had called a race back to the car and made a run for it in an instant. Sunwoo, maintaining a casual stroll, smirked in expectation. Only steps after his exclamation and mere feet from the car, Eric tripped over his own feet and hit the ground with a heavy thud. Sunwoo darted ahead with a laugh suppressed between his lips before lifting Eric by the arms, turning to press his own back against the side of the car. “I won.”

Eric whined and writhed against Sunwoo’s grip. “Whatever! You just got lucky. Now get in, asshole, we’re going to your house.” Sunwoo climbed into the passenger’s side only after calling shotgun as if there was anybody else to take it to begin with. Eric’s car was a sight on its own with a glossy black exterior that seemed to never hold claim to any blemish. Its interior was largely trimmed in off-white leather with black at the seams. Red fuzzy dice hung from the front mirror, a gift from Sunwoo for the sole purpose of making the car seem tacky. The engine started up with a low purr and welcome chime.

The drive to Sunwoo’s house was no longer than 5 minutes in length but plenty enough for him to glance over at Eric’s focused expression and sweat coated brow. When driving, Eric had a habit of taking his bottom lip softly into his mouth every time he made a turn… a habit that never failed to make Sunwoo’s stomach churn. However unsafe, Eric drove with one hand at the top of the steering wheel and the other dropped between his thighs that presented a subtle flex of his triceps.

The youngest’s outfit for the day was simple yet undeniably effective. For a shirt, he donned a simple, loosely fitted white tank with dropped armholes that he kept tucked into black cargo pants. Sunwoo on the other hand wore a cropped Hysteric Glamour top (that may or may not have been a normal length prior to an unfortunate round of laundry) and denim shorts that cut off at the knees. Formerly he’d had a bomber jacket colored red white and blue, but Eric had long since sullied it by tackling Sunwoo straight into a pile of gravel.

Eric let out a relaxed sigh and pulled the vehicle to the curb out front of Sunwoo’s home, turning off the ignition and scrambling to the other side of the car to open the door for his senior. “You’re so annoying,” Sunwoo feigned a scoff and took Eric’s hand to lift himself from the seat. “Come on, let's take a seat on the couch. There’s plenty of room.”

Eric practically flung himself down on the brown suede sofa, man spreading to the best of his capabilities and stretching one arm after the other. “Aren’t you gonna leave me any space?” Sunwoo groaned and kicked his buddy’s shin.

“Mmm… nah, I like having this room.”

“Well-”, a wicked thought flicked through Sunwoo’s mind. “I guess you won’t mind if I make my own seat.”

Sunwoo sat himself directly between Eric’s legs and pressed his ass up against the other’s groin. Practically jumping out of his skin, Eric grabbed fistfuls of the sofa’s material as if he’d disappear if he didn’t. “You know I’ve been staring at you the whole day, don’t you?” Sunwoo muttered nonchalantly and innocently wriggled his hips. “You just had to wear that tank top, huh? Just had to show off those toned arms of yours.”

“Watch yourself, man...” Eric hissed as he snaked one arm around Sunwoo's waist. “You aren’t the only one that’s been waiting for a bit of privacy.” He licked a long stripe up Sunwoo’s neck, pulling a whine from the boy on top of him. “Get up, if you’re so desperate then show me.”

Eric shifted to rest his back against the arm of the couch, urging Sunwoo to straddle his hips in turn. Sunwoo, taking only a moment to process what was going on, leaned in and desperately took Eric’s lips into his own. His hand massaged Sunwoo's ass as he hurried to take control of the kiss. “I didn’t realize you were so needy, babe.” Eric groaned.

"Maybe you should learn some critical thinking skills.” Sunwoo ground his hips against Eric’s dick, already painfully hard. “You’re the one who has to be such a tease in everything you do.”

Eric growled under the friction and shut his partner up with a firm bite to his collarbone. “Be quiet, Sunwoo. Just kiss me, you’re having this much fun while we’re both fully clothed.”

A chorus of desperate moans filled the room, Sunwoo’s hips stuttering in rhythm. Eric had initially only meant this as foreplay, but he took notice of how worked up his partner was already. Sunwoo was sweating, his curled light brown hair losing its form in return. His brows were furrowed in a mix of both concentration and frustration while tears welled in his dark eyes. With every thrust, Sunwoo felt euphoric waves of heat wash over his shaking body. Unable to bring himself to interrupt Sunwoo’s pleasure, Eric yanked his head back by a fistful of soft hair. Eric pulled Sunwoo down in such a way his heaving chest pressed against his own and softly nipped at his earlobe. Sunwoo lost himself deeper into his overwhelming joy with every passing moment, whiny moans tumbling from his lips. His dick twitched against the firm fabric of his jeans.

“You’re my dirty little slut aren’t you, Sunnie?” Eric whispered seductively into his senior’s ear.

“E-Eric, don’t- fuck, Eric!” Sunwoo stopped in his tracks, thighs quivering with every hit of pleasure. Hot spurts of cum hit the fabric of Sunwoo’s briefs, bringing breathy whines of Eric’s name each time. Eric froze in surprise, taking in every utterance of his name. Sunwoo’s face flushed deep red upon realizing what he’d just done. “I-I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to… Shit!” Embarrassed teardrops fell from his eyes and landed on Eric’s chest.

Eric wiped Sunwoo’s tears with his thumbs and pulled him into a soft kiss. “Sunwoo, don’t apologize…”, he whispered. “You’re so fucking hot, baby.”

“Alright,” Sunwoo smirked with a renewed confidence. “Then stop messing around and shove your cock in me.”

Eric wasted no time in unbuckling Sunwoo’s belt and discarding his shorts to the floor, his own pants following suit. “Hands and knees.” Eric ordered eagerly and rummaged through his bag for a bottle of warming lube. Dripping a considerable amount onto his fingers, he circled Sunwoo’s entrance before gently pushing one digit in. A soft gasp escaped Sunwoo's lips at the intrusion, and he pushed back against Eric.

Eric gently curled his finger around inside before slipping another in. He stared wide-eyed at the boy before him, admiring the way Sunwoo’s ass greedily pulled his finger’s inward. “Look at you, such a good little whore.” Eric cooed, which earned a whimper from Sunwoo.

“Mmm, Ric… only for you.” Sunwoo braced himself on one arm and reached the other down to stroke his aching cock. “Please, I’m ready, just fuck me already.”

Eric removed his fingers to Sunwoo’s dismay and poured lube on to his length, taking a moment to slather it on. “Since you asked so kindly, my dear…” Placing his hands on Sunwoo’s toned waist, he guided him to hover just above his hips.

Sunwoo eagerly lowered himself down on to Eric, his law dropping slightly with a drawn out moan. “God, Eric, you’re so big.” He groaned, eventually bottoming out.

Soaking in the praise, Eric began to roll his hips into Sunwoo at a steady and deliberate place. “Your little ass is so tight,” He grunted. “You take me so well, Sunnie.”

Sunwoo’s dick slapped against him in time with every thrust, smearing precum across the supple skin of his stomach. Beads of sweat rolled down Eric’s temples, looking up at Sunwoo with admiration. Eric could never truly process Sunwoo’s beauty. His golden honey skin, the contour of his abs, his toned thighs, his juicy lips, but more than anything his eyes. His deep eyes that held all the stars of the universe in them and conveyed his every thought. Nothing matched the glossy sheen that overtook Sunwoo’s gaze in such intimate moments, Eric decided then that no other sight could be so divine.

“Faster, please, need it,” Sunwoo borderline begged Eric. “Feels so good.” Who was Eric to deny such pretty pleas? Eric adjusted his grip on Sunwoo’s thighs for ample leverage and slammed his hips firmly into Sunwoo’s ass. Bordering closer to cries, Sunwoo’s moans filled the room alongside Eric’s grunts. It wasn’t long before the two felt the familiar coil build inside of them fueled by the enthralls of lust.

“God- Sun, I’m so close… cum with me?” Eric gasped between groans, ignoring the complete cliché of it all. Sunwoo’s faltering pace and unsteady breathing was all Eric needed to know he was close.

“Mhm, please, inside.” Sunwoo draped his arms over Eric’s shoulders to anchor himself. Moving one hand from his lover’s hips to pump his dick instead, Eric pulled Sunwoo against him. Eric picked up the pace exponentially with the two’s foreheads pressed together, sloppy kisses exchanged between them.

In a few more thrusts Eric buried his cock as deep as he could manage, shooting white-hot loads into Sunwoo’s asshole through strangled moans. Sunwoo followed not long after, crying out Eric’s name as if his well-being depended on it. Still stuffed in him, Eric planted soft kisses across Sunwoo’s face, attempting to help him ride out his orgasm.

"You did so well for me, Sunwoo,” Eric purred into Sunwoo’s ear. “You always do… let’s run a bath?” Sunwoo nodded weakly and pulled himself off of Eric’s cock, spilling cum across the both of them.

"Ric,” Sunwoo pouted. “Love you so much.”