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The first thing that you notice is the smell, it hits you, not overwhelming but warm. Soft wax and something faintly sweet lingering in the air like it has been sat there for a while. You have no recollection of lighting any candles.
The hallway is dim, the usual overhead light is left off, only a low glow spilling from the bedroom, the light flickering against the floorboards, stretching long shadows towards your feet as you step closer, curiosity getting the better of you.
You and yeosang have been together for a while, the relationship comfortable, teasing, soft. He was always affectionate in his own way, some would say he was a little quiet, reserved and sometime a little detached in a way but that is far from the truth.
You always teased him, watching the reactions you could get out of him, waiting for the moment he would snap. Theres many of times you would go to great length to rile him up.
A few to name would be the time you went to dinner with him and the members, you dressed up nicely in the dress he picked for you and ensured you was appropriately covered but that wasn't what ticked him off it was the fact that when he noticed you bratting out, taking his drink from his hand without asking, rolling your eyes when he asked you kindly to behave when you had been placing your hands where they should not have been in a public setting. He held back, gritting his teeth as you made comments that really itched the part of his brain the wrong way, it stretched his restraint even further.
“You always act like you're in charge” you spoke, your eyes sparkling with a mischief behind them, he wasn't dumb, he knew this wasn't a hurtful dig at him. It was a test.
For weeks after you had been trying to push his buttons even more, ignoring his instructions like when you he would ask you to come here for a second, you wouldn't move, or he’d call your name and you'd just take a beat too long to respond... or worse you always looked away when he looked at you, he had been taking notice, observing each thing.
Each conversation turned into subtle teasing or what you thought was subtle teasing from your side. But the one comment that flipped it into how you found yourself now was “What, are you gonna punish me?” you said this lightly, a soft laugh leaving your lips as you looked at him. You saw the slight change, the darkness glaze over and that's what lead you to this moment here.
Standing outside your shared bedroom, curious as to why there was a sweet smell and flickering light coming from the room. You notice the door isn’t shut, its slightly ajar, like its waiting.
You push it open slowly. The room looks different. Candles are scattered, not messily, but placed intentionally. Along the dresser, the windowsill, the edge of the bedside table. The light they emit isn't enough to fully brighten the room. It's just enough to soften it, to make everything feel, quieter, slower and worst of all.
Controlled.
Your chest tightens a little, not quite nerves, not even anticipation. The feeling settles somewhere in-between, then it hits you.
You’re not alone.
Hes already there, sitting back in the chair by the corner, like he has been there the whole time. Waiting.
One leg crossed over the other, posture relaxed, but not careless. His gaze lifts to you the second you stepped fully inside, like he knew exactly when you would. Like he's been listening to for you.
For a moment neither of you speak, then your eyes drop, ever so slightly and you catch the very detail that makes your stomach flip.
Gloves.
Black, Fitted, Clean.
Deliberate.
Your breath stutters for a second, before you recover. “What’s all this?” the words come out lighter than you feel. He doesn’t answer you straight away, instead he tilts his head, almost as if he is considering you. Taking you in, every little shift in your posture, every flicker of uncertainty you are trying your best not to show.
Then finally, a small exhale, almost amused leaves his lip. “Come here” he says, not loud. Not sharp. And defiantly not a request either. Something about the way he says it settles heavy in your chest.
This was different. You hesitate for a fraction of a second too long. His gaze sharpens, you notice, it's not angry... it's more expectant. Like he's already decided how this is going to go.
“Don't make me repeat myself”
You don't move, not immediately. And that, more than anything else you’ve done feels like a mistake. Because this time he notices, not just the hesitation, not even just the way your weight shifts instead of stepping forward.
Everything.
The way your fingers curl slightly at your sides, the way your gaze flickers, not away but not steady either. He even notices the way that you pause ever so slightly like you're deciding whether to listen or to push again.
His head tilts, slow, measured, almost like he is recalibrating. “Interesting” he murmurs, almost to himself. It's quiet but it lands heavy. Your chest tightens for a second, instinct telling you to just walk over, laugh it off and pretend you don't feel the shift in the room. But instead, you fold your arms, just slightly.
“Youve been acting weird all night” you murmur.
And there it is, that one push, the simple step over the line. At first he doesn't react, he doesn't speak or even move. And somehow that is worse than anything.
Because then he stands. Not abruptly, not angrily. Just deliberate. The chair legs scrape softly against the floor as he rises, unhurried like he already knows youre not going anywhere.
Like he knows you can't.
Your breath catches before you could even stop it, he takes a step forward, then another, each step slow enough that you could move.... hell you could even leave if you wanted to, but you don’t. You stay exactly where you are. Watching him. Waiting.
His gaze doesn’t leave yours as he closes the distance, not fully but enough that the space between you both feels intentional. Chosen. Controlled.
“Is this what you think this is?” he asks quietly. Not sharp, not raised even slightly. Just certain. Your mouth opens, ready with something quick, something light. Another deflection, another challenge. But the words don't come out the same.
“What else would it be?”
Theres a small beat, a beat long enough for something in his expression to change, to shift ever so slightly. His hand lifts, slowly. And for a split second you think he is going to touch you.
But instead, his fingers hover just under your chin, not quite there but close enough that you feel it anyway. A warning.
“Careful” he says, softly... a little to softly. “Because you have been testing that theory all week” Your breath falters and he closes the distance, just enough. Tilting your chin up with the lightest pressure.
The gloves make it feel different, less warm. More deliberate. Impossible to ignore. His eyes flick down to your lips for half a second before returning to your gaze and then low and measured. Final. “Say it again”
Your breath catches, he doesn’t move away, doesn’t give you space to recover or laugh it off like you usually would, he just waits. “Say it again” This time it's not louder, which somehow makes it worse.
Because now it feels like a choice, Yours. You could easily stop here, you could soften it, shrug, step back and break whatever this is before it settles too deep, but instead your lip's part and you push.
“You wouldn't do anything”
Theres a flicker in his eyes, there and gone but you see it, this time he doesn’t hide it. A slow exhale leaves his lips, almost like a quiet laugh, except there is no humour in it. “Right”
The word sits heavy, whipping and swirling around the room landing and sitting heavy between you. His grip shifts, not rough, not sudden but firmer now, tilting your chin just enough that you can’t look away even if you wanted to. Not that you do.
And that's the problem, you don’t. He studies your face like he is looking for something, hesitation, maybe. Regret. But whatever he finds only seems to settle something in him.
A decision.
“You really don’t know when to stop,” he murmurs. And then he lets go. Just like that.
The loss of contact hits sharper than it should. Before you can process it, he steps back, not far, just far enough to create space again.
Controlled space, something intentional.
His hands flex once at his sides. The leather catching the candlelight, before he gestures, the movement subtle, but unmistakable.
“Move”
Your stomach flips, there is not a hint of softness, no teasing edge. Just raw expectation. You hesitate again, for just a second, but it is different this time. Because now you feel the shift. The way the room has gone from warm to something tighter, something thicker. Like the air itself is waiting to see what you will do.
“Where?” you ask quieter than before, his gaze sharpens slightly. “Don't start that now”
Theres a slight beat, then slower. “Over here”
He nods toward the edge of the bed, eyes never leaving yours. And theres something in the way that he says it, like he already knows you’re going to listen this time. Not because you have to, but because you want to see how far this goes.
You swallow, taking a step, then another. Every movement you make feels noticeable. Like he's tracking all of it. The hesitation, the way your shoulders tense. The way your hands don’t quite know where to rest. You stop where he indicated. Wait.
He doesn't come closer immediately. He lets you stand there for a moment longer than necessary. Letting it sink in. Letting you feel it.
“Look at you” he says softly, the words leaving his lips so purely it sends a shiver down your spine. “Acting like you weren’t asking for this”
Your breath stutters, “I wasn't-” “Don't”
It cuts through your words cleanly, not raised but final. He steps in again closing the space you just created, close enough now that you can feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that if you shifted even slightly, you'd brush against him. But you don't more. You don’t dare. He lifts his hand again slower this time, giving you every chance to pull back. You don't, so his fingers settle. Light at first, against your jaw, guiding your face just enough to meet his eyes fully.
“Don’t lie now” he murmurs. A pause. His thumb presses just slightly, grounding, deliberate. “Not after all that” Your pulse jumps at the words. For the first time since you walked in, you don't have a comeback. Don't have something clever or teasing to throwback at him.
Because now?
Now it doesn't feel like a game. He watches the realisation settle in your expression. And something about it seems to satisfy him. “Good” he says quietly. Almost approving, his gaze flicks over you, slow, assessing before returning to your eyes. And then softer, but somehow heavier.
“Now we can start”