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The bartender slid Nicholas a whiskey neat just as the door swung open. Cold air rushed in, along with the unmistakable silhouette of Euijoo shaking snow from his jacket collar.
"Thought you were avoiding me," Euijoo said, sliding onto the stool beside him. His knee bumped Nicholas’s under the bar—just once, accidental, but Nicholas still tensed.
"I’ve been busy." Nicholas turned the glass between his fingers, watching the amber liquid cling to the sides.
"Busy hiding in dive bars?" Euijoo laughed, warm and unbothered, like he always was. He flagged down the bartender and ordered whatever Nicholas was having without asking. "You know, most people pretend to check their phones when they don’t wanna talk. You just vanish."
Nicholas exhaled sharply through his nose, a half-laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. "Maybe I’m just bad at pretending." The whiskey burned his throat when he took a sip, but he welcomed the distraction. Euijoo’s presence was a live wire against his skin, humming with an energy Nicholas couldn’t afford to acknowledge.
Euijoo leaned in, elbows on the sticky bar top. "I like that about you," he said, voice dropping like it was a secret. "No bullshit." His fingers drummed an absent rhythm against his glass, close enough that Nicholas could see the chipped black polish on his thumbnail. The kind of detail that lodged itself in your ribs if you weren’t careful.
The jukebox in the corner hiccuped to life, some old rock song Nicholas didn’t recognize. He seized the excuse to look away, toward the handful of patrons scattered at dim booths. "You shouldn’t," he muttered.
"Shouldn’t what?"
"Shouldn't like me," Nicholas said, still staring at the jukebox as if it held the answers. The words tasted bitter, like the dregs of his whiskey.
Euijoo’s laugh was soft, almost swallowed by the bassline thumping from the jukebox. “You always say that,” he murmured, nudging Nicholas’s shoulder with his own. “And then you do shit like kiss me in the back alley of this very bar two months ago. And again last week outside my apartment.” His voice dipped, amused but pointed. “So forgive me if I don’t take your self-loathing at face value.”
Nicholas’s grip tightened around his glass. “That was—” He hesitated, the lie bitter on his tongue. “Alcohol.”
Euijoo snorted, rolling his eyes so hard Nicholas could feel it. “Bullshit. You had one beer that first time. And last week? You were stone-cold sober when you pushed me against my doorframe.” He leaned in, close enough that Nicholas could smell the citrus of his cologne under the bar’s stale beer scent. “You remember what you said to me? Right before?”
Nicholas’s pulse spiked. Of course he remembered. *You shouldn’t want this.* A confession masquerading as a warning. But Euijoo had just smirked, hooked a finger into Nicholas’s belt loop, and pulled him closer.
Nicholas swallowed hard, the whiskey suddenly tasting like acid. Euijoo’s knee brushed his again—not accidental this time, deliberate—and the contact burned through his jeans like a brand. He wanted to lean into it. Wanted to press his mouth to the sharp line of Euijoo’s jaw, to bite down on the soft spot just below his ear where he knew Euijoo would gasp. Wanted it so badly his hands ached with the restraint of not reaching out.
But then what?
Euijoo’s fingers tapped against his glass again, chipped polish catching the dim bar light. Nicholas had catalogued all these details without meaning to: the way Euijoo’s bottom lip caught between his teeth when he was thinking, the faint scar above his eyebrow from some long-ago fight, the habit of humming under his breath when he thought no one was listening. If Nicholas let himself fall any further, those details would become landmarks—a map he’d never be able to unlearn.
"You’re doing it again," Euijoo said, tilting his head. His voice was light, but his eyes weren’t laughing. "That thing where you look at me like you’re already mourning me."
Nicholas’s throat tightened. He drained the rest of his whiskey just to have something to do with his hands. The burn was familiar, a distraction from the sharper ache in his chest. "You don’t know what you’re talking about."
Euijoo’s knee pressed harder against his, deliberate. "Then tell me," he said, simple as that, like the answer was something Nicholas could just hand over. Like it wouldn’t unravel him.
The jukebox switched songs, something slower now, the guitar strings twanging like a plucked nerve. Nicholas exhaled through his nose. "You wouldn’t—" He stopped, swallowed. Reworded. "You *shouldn’t* want me. Not really."
Euijoo’s fingers stilled on his glass. "See, that’s the part I don’t get," he murmured. He turned fully toward Nicholas, close enough that their thighs pressed together from knee to hip. "Because I *do*. And you keep acting like that’s some tragic miscalculation on my part." His hand hovered near Nicholas’s wrist, not touching, but close enough to feel the heat. "What’s so un-fucking-wantable about you, huh?"
Nicholas’s pulse hammered against his ribs. He could lie. Again. Could blame it on his temper, his cynicism, the jagged edges of him that never quite smoothed out. But Euijoo knew those already, had traced them with his tongue in the dark.
Euijoo’s thumb tapped the rim of his glass, his gaze sharpening as he studied Nicholas’s face. "Is it because I’m a guy?" he asked suddenly, voice low enough that the drunk couple two stools over wouldn’t overhear. "Like, is *that* the big fucking dealbreaker here?"
Nicholas choked on his next sip of whiskey. "What? No—" The denial tore out of him before his brain caught up, reflexive and too loud. He winced as soon as he said it, realizing too late that he should’ve seized the excuse. That Euijoo had handed him the perfect lie on a silver platter, and he’d fumbled it like an amateur.
Euijoo’s eyebrows shot up, his lips parting in genuine surprise. "Oh," he said, dragging the word out like he was turning it over in his hands. "So it’s *not* that." A slow, knowing smile curled at the corner of his mouth. "Interesting."
Nicholas set his glass down too hard, the clack of it against the bar too loud in his own ears. "It’s not—that’s not what I meant." But the damage was done. Euijoo had always been too quick, too perceptive, and now he was leaning in like a bloodhound catching a scent.
"If it’s not that," Euijoo murmured, tilting his head, "then why do you keep pulling away every time we get close?" His fingers drummed against his thigh, just once, before he reached out—slow, deliberate—and brushed his knuckles against the inside of Nicholas’s wrist. "Because I swear to god, Nichol, if you’re about to give me some ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ bullshit—"
Nicholas yanked his hand back like he’d been burned. "Maybe it *is* me," he snapped, too sharp, too fast. He regretted it immediately when Euijoo flinched, just slightly, before schooling his expression back to neutral. The bartender glanced their way, then tactfully moved down the counter. Nicholas exhaled through his nose. "Look. You don’t know me. Not really."
Euijoo leaned back against the bar, the neon light catching the curve of his smirk. "Okay," he said, easy as anything. "Then let me know you." His fingers tapped once against the wood, a deliberate punctuation. "Unless you're scared."
Nicholas's jaw tightened. He *was* scared—terrified, in fact—but not in the way Euijoo meant. It wasn’t the knowing that frightened him; it was what came after. The inevitable moment Euijoo’s smile would freeze, his fingers would withdraw, and he’d realize Nicholas wasn’t what he’d assumed. "You wouldn’t like what you find," he muttered, swirling the dregs of his whiskey just to avoid looking up.
Euijoo’s laughter was soft, almost private. "You keep saying that like it’s a fact," he murmured, nudging Nicholas’s elbow with his own. "But here’s the thing—I *already* like you. And I’m *already* into you. So unless you’re secretly a serial killer—" His grin widened at Nicholas’s sharp glance. "No? Then I think I can handle whatever you’re so worked up about."
Nicholas’s throat burned with the words he couldn’t say. *You don’t know what you’re handling.* He’d seen it before—the flicker of hesitation, the way hands that had been eager a moment before would suddenly turn polite, distant. Euijoo wouldn’t be cruel about it, he knew that much. But kindness could be its own kind of violence when it came with pity attached.
Euijoo’s fingers curled around his glass, the chipped polish catching the dim light as he tilted his head. "You’re into me," he said, matter-of-fact, like he was commenting on the weather. "You kiss me like you’re starving for it. You watch me when you think I’m not looking. So why the hell do you keep acting like I’m the one who’s got it wrong?"
Nicholas’s knuckles whitened around his whiskey glass. The truth sat heavy on his tongue, a lead weight he couldn’t spit out. *Because you don’t know what you’re kissing.* Because Euijoo’s hands—rough from guitar strings, warm against his skin—wouldn’t be so eager if they knew. The bar’s neon sign flickered, casting jagged shadows across Euijoo’s face, and for a wild second, Nicholas imagined saying it. Just once. Just to see.
Euijoo exhaled through his nose, leaning in until their shoulders brushed. "You’re thinking too loud," he murmured, his breath warm against Nicholas’s jaw. "Whatever it is, just say it. I’m not gonna shatter."
The jukebox cycled to another song, something slow and aching, the singer’s voice rasping about regrets. Nicholas swallowed hard. "You don’t know what you’re asking for."
Euijoo’s grin was all teeth. "Try me."
A beat. The bartender clinked glasses somewhere down the counter. Somewhere, a phone rang, unanswered. Nicholas opened his mouth—
And Euijoo’s fingers closed over his wrist, sudden and sure. "Wait." His thumb pressed against Nicholas’s pulse point, right where it hammered like a trapped bird. "Before you say something stupid—" He slid off his stool, pulling Nicholas with him, "—let’s get out of here."
The cold hit like a slap when they stumbled into the alley, snow crunching underfoot. Euijoo didn’t let go of his wrist. "Okay," he said, breath fogging between them. "Now talk."
Nicholas’s laugh was brittle. "You *drag* me out here to—"
"You *ran* last time we kissed in public," Euijoo cut in. His grip tightened. "Figured you’d bolt again if I let you think too hard." The streetlight caught the stubborn set of his jaw. "So. You’re into me. I’m into you. Unless you’ve got a wife and three kids stashed somewhere—"
"No," Nicholas muttered.
Euijoo’s laugh was sharp, breath curling in the cold air between them. “Then *what*?” He stepped closer, boots crunching snow, until the toes of their shoes nearly touched. “Because I’m running out of reasons why you’d—”
Nicholas’s hands clenched at his sides. “Stop.” The word tore out of him, raw-edged, and Euijoo actually blinked, startled by the venom in it.
“Stop *what*?” Euijoo shot back, but his voice wavered—just once—before he steeled himself. His fingers flexed like he wanted to reach out but wasn’t sure he should anymore. “Stop wanting you? Stop—”
“Stop pretending you know what you’re getting into!” Nicholas’s voice cracked on the last word, too loud in the narrow alley. A dumpster loomed to their left, reeking of stale beer and rotting lemons. The cold gnawed through his jacket, but he barely felt it.
Euijoo’s mouth twisted. “Then *tell* me,” he said, and for the first time, there was something desperate under the bravado. “Because I’m standing here in the fucking snow trying to—”
“You wouldn’t be if you knew,” Nicholas spat. The words tasted like broken glass. He watched them land—watched Euijoo’s face shutter, just for a second, before his stubbornness kicked in again.
“Try me,” Euijoo repeated, quieter now, but his chin jutted out like he was bracing for a punch.
Nicholas could’ve laughed. *Try me.* Like it was that simple. Like Euijoo wouldn’t recoil the second he realized Nicholas wasn’t—wasn’t *whole* the way he’d assumed. The streetlight flickered overhead, casting Euijoo’s face in harsh relief, and something in Nicholas snapped.
Snow kicked up under his boots as he wrenched away from Euijoo’s grip, the alley walls blurring in his periphery. His chest burned—not from the cold, not from exertion, but from the way Euijoo’s voice cracked behind him, half-laugh, half-snarl: "*Again?*" The word chased him like a thrown bottle, shattering against the brick somewhere to his left.
He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. The city folded around him in jagged edges—alleyways that stank of piss and fried food, sidewalks slick with black ice, the occasional startled face of a passerby as he shouldered past. He ran until his lungs ached and his fingers numbed inside his pockets, until the only sound was his own ragged breathing and the distant wail of a siren three blocks over.
The apartment door slammed shut behind Nicholas with a finality that echoed through his ribs. He didn’t bother with the lights—just sagged against the doorframe, his breath coming in ragged gulps. The sweat on his back had gone cold, clinging to his skin like a second shame. His fingers trembled as he fumbled for the light switch, and when the overhead bulb flickered to life, it illuminated the empty whiskey bottle still on his coffee table from last night. A monument to bad decisions.
He didn’t need to close his eyes for the memories to come—they were already there, sharp as broken glass. That first time with a guy in college, the way his hands had gone still and polite the second Nicholas’s shirt came off. *Oh.* Like he’d bitten into an apple and found a worm. The polite backtracking, the too-careful touches after, like Nicholas might shatter if handled wrong. Then there’d been Hyunjun, who’d laughed—actually *laughed*—before pressing him into the mattress with a *"Well, this’ll be different."* As if Nicholas was a novelty, a detour from the main attraction. And worst of all, the one whose name he’d scrubbed from his brain, who’d recoiled like he’d been burned, scrambling off the bed with a *"You're a fucking freak, Wang."*
---
The neon sign above K’s front door buzzed like a trapped fly, casting a sickly pink glow over the sidewalk. Nicholas hadn’t meant to come. Hadn’t meant to do *anything* but nurse his third whiskey of the night in the relative safety of his apartment, where the walls didn’t press in and the only voice he had to hear was his own. But then Fuma had texted—*get your ass over here, we’re doing tequila shots*—and Nicholas, drunk enough to mistake self-destruction for bravery, had stumbled into the night.
He regretted it the second he stepped inside. The bass throbbed through the floorboards, rattling his teeth, and the air was thick with the cloying sweetness of spilled vodka and body heat. Someone jostled him from behind, sloshing beer onto his sleeve, and Nicholas barely bit back a snarl. He shouldered his way toward the kitchen, where the liquor would be, and where—if he was lucky—Euijoo wouldn’t.
Luck, as usual, was a fickle bitch.
The tequila burned like betrayal going down. Nicholas leaned against K’s kitchen counter, letting the chatter of strangers wash over him like white noise. Two and a half weeks of radio silence, of deleted texts and avoided alleys, and here he was—drunk enough to pretend it didn’t matter, sober enough to know better. The ice in his glass had long since melted, diluting the whiskey into something weak and tasteless.
A hand clapped his shoulder. “You look like shit.” Fuma’s grin was all teeth, his breath sharp with lime and salt. “And not in the fun way.”
Nicholas shrugged him off. “I’m fine.”
“Sure.” Fuma knocked back his shot, wincing as it went down. “Just like Euijoo’s *fine* with you ghosting him, right?”
Nicholas's fingers tightened around his glass. The kitchen lights were too bright, buzzing like angry wasps overhead, and Fuma's smirk was sharper than the tequila. "He asked you that?"
"Asked?" Fuma snorted, wiping salt from his thumb. "Dude's been circling the party like a fucking shark for an hour. Saw me and practically tackled me against the fridge—'Where's Nico?' Like I'm your keeper." He leaned in, stage-whispering, "Also? You're a shit liar when you're drunk."
The ice in Nicholas's drink clicked as his hand jerked. He should leave. Right now. Before—
The kitchen door swung open with a force that sent it slamming against the fridge. Nicholas didn’t even have time to turn before fingers closed around his wrist—not gentle, not hesitant—and yanked him sideways. The glass slipped from his grip, whiskey splashing across the linoleum as Euijoo hauled him through the crowd without a word.
Nicholas’s pulse spiked. "The hell—"
Euijoo didn’t answer, just shouldered past a cluster of laughing strangers, his grip iron-tight. Nicholas could’ve dug his heels in. Could’ve wrenched free. Instead, his skin burned where Euijoo touched him, the heat of it searing through his sleeve. Fuma’s smirk flashed in his periphery, the bastard lifting his shot glass in a mocking salute as Euijoo shoved Nicholas into the narrow hallway.
The spare room door hit the wall with a crack. Euijoo spun him inside, one hand still clamped around his wrist, the other slamming the door shut behind them. The noise of the party muffled instantly, replaced by the ragged sound of Euijoo’s breathing. Nicholas’s back hit the wall, the impact rattling a framed poster of some band he didn’t recognize.
Euijoo’s fingers tightened. "You *ran*," he snarled, close enough that Nicholas could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. His chest heaved against Nicholas’s, his breath hot with tequila and lime. "Again."
Nicholas’s throat tightened. He’d never seen Euijoo like this—jaw set, nostrils flared, the muscle in his temple jumping like a live wire.
Nicholas's pulse hammered against his ribs, his breath coming too fast. Euijoo's grip was bruising, his body pinning Nicholas against the wall with a force that sent a hot shiver down his spine. He'd never seen him like this—eyes dark with something sharper than irritation, his usual easy charm stripped down to raw, unfiltered want. The scent of tequila and salt clung to Euijoo’s skin, mingling with the citrus of his cologne, and Nicholas's mouth watered with the sudden, dizzying urge to bite.
"You don't get to run," Euijoo growled, crowding closer until their chests pressed together. His free hand came up, fingers rough as they dug into Nicholas's hip. "Not this time."
Nicholas's hips jerked forward, shameless. The friction was torture, the rough denim of Euijoo's jeans grinding against him. He was drunk, yeah, but not drunk enough to blame the way his body arched into every touch, every possessive press of Euijoo's fingers.
Euijoo pulled back just enough to see his face, his dark eyes raking over Nicholas's flushed skin. "Tell me," he demanded, his voice rough.
Nicholas’s stomach lurched like he’d swallowed broken glass. Euijoo’s fingers burned through the fabric of his shirt, his breath hot against Nicholas’s neck—too close, too *much*. The realization hit him like a gut punch: Euijoo didn’t know. Not yet. But if he kept touching like this, kept pressing his thigh between Nicholas’s legs with that smug certainty, he’d find out. And then—
Nicholas’s pulse roared in his ears louder than the bass bleeding through the walls. Euijoo’s thigh pressed between his legs, insistent, and the words tore out of him before he could swallow them back: "I'm *different*."
Euijoo stilled. The hand gripping Nicholas’s hip loosened slightly. "Different how?" His breath hitched when Nicholas didn’t answer, the silence stretching taut between them. The party noise outside felt suddenly distant, muffled, like they’d been sealed in some fragile bubble. Euijoo’s thumb traced the sharp jut of Nicholas’s hipbone through his jeans—softer now, questioning. "Nick. Talk to me."
Nicholas’s throat worked. The whiskey made his tongue heavy, reckless. "Not… built like other guys."
Euijoo’s fingers paused against Nicholas’s hipbone. He exhaled sharply through his nose—half-laugh, half-disbelief—and shook his head. "Jesus, is *that* what this is about?" His grip loosened, but didn’t let go entirely, thumb tracing idle circles now. "You think I give a fuck if you’re packing a six-pack or whatever? Youre fucking hot either way."
Nicholas flinched. The misunderstanding was so absurd it almost hurt.
Nicholas exhaled sharply through his nose—half-laugh, half-surrender—and seized Euijoo’s wrist before he could second-guess himself. "Not like that," he muttered, guiding Euijoo’s hand down his torso with deliberate slowness. His pulse hammered so hard he was sure Euijoo could feel it through the fabric of his shirt.
Nicholas’s fingers trembled around Euijoo’s wrist—just once—before he shoved Euijoo’s hand down the front of his jeans with a force that sent them both staggering. The fabric stretched taut over Euijoo’s knuckles, the heat of his palm searing through cotton briefs. Nicholas’s breath came in ragged bursts, his body braced for recoil, for the inevitable moment Euijoo’s fingers would jerk back like he’d been burned.
But Euijoo didn’t move. His hand stayed exactly where Nicholas had put it, his fingers flexing once—exploratory, curious—against the softness there. Nicholas could feel the exact second recognition dawned; the hitch in Euijoo’s breath, the way his thumb twitched against Nicholas’s hipbone. The air between them thickened, heavy with unspoken questions, and Nicholas shut his eyes tight against whatever expression was on Euijoo’s face.
Then—Euijoo exhaled, sharp and startled, and *squeezed*.
Nicholas’s knees buckled. His hips jerked forward on instinct, chasing the pressure of Euijoo’s fingers through the fabric. “Fuck—” The word tore out of him, raw-edged, as Euijoo’s grip tightened experimentally.
“Huh.” Euijoo’s voice was low, considering—not disgusted, not mocking, just *interested*. His fingers slid deeper, tracing the shape of Nicholas through damp cotton, and Nicholas bit back a whimper. “You’re fucking *soft* here.”
Nicholas’s cheeks burned. He should pull away. Should shove Euijoo off before this went any further. But Euijoo’s thumb was circling now, deliberate, pressing just *there*, and Nicholas’s hips stuttered forward again. “I—yeah.” The admission scraped his throat raw. “Problem?”
Euijoo’s laugh was rough, his breath hot against Nicholas’s jaw. “Problem? Fuck no.” His fingers twisted, dragging the fabric tighter, and Nicholas gasped. “Just didn’t realize—” Another squeeze, firmer this time, and Nicholas’s head thumped back against the wall. “—how *wet* you’d be already.”
Nicholas’s stomach flipped. The words shouldn’t have hit like that—shouldn’t have sent heat licking down his spine—but the way Euijoo said it, matter-of-fact and hungry, made his knees weak. “Shut up,” he muttered, but his hips rocked forward again, chasing the friction.
Euijoo’s fingers curled tighter, pressing Nicholas harder against the wall. His breath hitched—sharp, surprised—but his grip didn’t waver. “Okay,” he said, voice rough with something Nicholas couldn’t name. His thumb rubbed slow circles through the damp fabric, deliberate. “So you’re soft here. And?”
Nicholas’s pulse stuttered. *And?* Like it was nothing. Like the world hadn’t just tilted on its axis. His fingers dug into Euijoo’s shoulders, bracing for the inevitable recoil, the polite withdrawal—but Euijoo only leaned in closer, his knee nudging Nicholas’s thighs apart with a confidence that left him lightheaded.
“You thought this would *scare* me?” Euijoo’s laugh was low, disbelieving, his teeth grazing Nicholas’s jaw. “Fuck, Nick. You’re *hot*. Everywhere.” His hand shifted, fingers sliding lower, teasing the soaked edge of Nicholas’s briefs. “Especially here.”
Nicholas’s breath caught. The words shouldn’t have unraveled him—shouldn’t have made his chest ache like a bruise pressed too hard—but they did. Euijoo’s fingers were relentless, tracing him through cotton with a curiosity that bordered on reverence, and Nicholas shuddered, his hips jerking forward without permission.
Euijoo hummed, pleased, his free hand fisting in Nicholas’s shirt to yank him closer. “Still think I don’t want you?” His thumb pressed down, deliberate, and Nicholas choked on a gasp. “Because I *do*.” Another slow circle, the fabric clinging damply. “And I’m gonna prove it.”
The promise in his voice sent heat licking down Nicholas’s spine. He wanted to believe it—wanted to let himself sink into this moment without waiting for the other shoe to drop—but old fears clung like shadows. “You don’t have to—” he started, voice rough.
Euijoo’s grip tightened, cutting him off. “Don’t.” His eyes burned, dark with something fiercer than lust. “Don’t fucking *pity* me by assuming I’d give a shit about this.” His fingers flexed against Nicholas’s hip, possessive. “I want you. All of you. That’s *it*.”
Nicholas’s throat tightened. The raw honesty in Euijoo’s voice scraped him raw, left him trembling with the weight of something he couldn’t name. He’d braced for disgust, for hesitation—not this unshakable certainty, not the way Euijoo’s hands mapped his body like it was something to be worshipped.
Euijoo's fingers stilled against Nicholas's hipbone, but didn't pull away. The party noise outside the door faded into white noise, replaced by the ragged sound of Nicholas's breathing and the persistent drip of a leaky faucet somewhere in the bathroom down the hall.
"Top surgery," Nicholas ground out, staring at a water stain on the ceiling rather than Euijoo's face. "Two years ago. They took—" His throat clicked. "They took the tissue but left the nerves. So I can still..." He gestured vaguely at his chest where Euijoo's palm still rested, the heat of it searing through cotton.
Euijoo exhaled sharply through his nose—not a laugh, but something closer to understanding. His thumb traced the ridge of Nicholas's collarbone where the scar would be, hidden under fabric. "That why you freaked when I tried unbuttoning your shirt last month?"
The memory flashed hot behind Nicholas's eyelids—Euijoo's fingers skimming his sternum, his own panicked recoil disguised as irritation. He nodded, jaw tight.
Nicholas's breath hitched when Euijoo's fingers found the hem of his shirt. The party noise outside the door faded to a dull roar, his pulse loud enough to drown out everything but the rustle of fabric as Euijoo tugged upward. For one paralyzing second, Nicholas considered stopping him—grabbing his wrists, making an excuse—but then Euijoo's knuckles brushed the sensitive skin just below his ribs, and his muscles locked in place.
The shirt peeled away like a bandage, the sudden exposure making Nicholas shiver despite the room's stale heat. Euijoo didn't gasp. Didn't recoil. Just exhaled slowly through his nose as his gaze traveled down Nicholas's torso—past the jagged scars curving beneath his pecs, the faded stretch marks along his hips, the trail of dark hair leading into his jeans. His fingers hovered an inch above Nicholas's left nipple, where sensation still lingered in unpredictable bursts. "This okay?"
Nicholas swallowed hard. The clinical overhead light exposed every imperfection—the asymmetrical healing, the way one scar pulled tighter than the other when he breathed—but Euijoo's expression held none of the pity he'd braced for. Just quiet concentration, like he was memorizing the topography of Nicholas's skin. "Yeah," he rasped, shoulders tensing when Euijoo's fingertips finally made contact.
The touch was featherlight at first, tracing the raised edge of a scar with something approaching reverence. Then Euijoo's palm flattened over Nicholas's sternum, warm and heavy, his thumb brushing a spot that made Nicholas jerk. "Still sensitive here?"
"Fuck—" Nicholas's hips bucked forward before he could stop them. "Sometimes. Depends on the—" He bit off the explanation as Euijoo's thumb circled again, deliberate, the callus on his finger catching just right. The dual sensations—electric pleasure radiating from scarred tissue, the grounding weight of Euijoo's hand—left him dizzy.
Euijoo grinned, sharp and satisfied. "Good to know." He leaned in until his mouth hovered over Nicholas's clavicle, breath hot against damp skin. "Tell me if I—" His tongue flicked out, tasting salt and panic— "—cross a line."
Then he bit down.
Nicholas's back arched off the wall with a choked groan, his fingers scrambling for purchase in Euijoo's hair. The pain-pleasure sparking along his nerve endings was obliterating thought, reducing him to a shuddering mess of want. Euijoo's teeth dragged lower, following the curve of a scar, and Nicholas's knees nearly gave out when a particularly rough scrape sent lightning down his spine.
"Fuck—" Nicholas gasped when Euijoo's palm slid lower, blunt nails scraping his abdomen. "You're—" His words dissolved into a moan as Euijoo's thumb hooked in the waistband of his jeans, tugging just hard enough to sting.
Euijoo pulled back to admire his handiwork—the reddened marks blooming across Nicholas's chest, the way his nipples stood taut and sensitive in the chilled air. His smirk was downright predatory. "Still think I don't know what I'm handling?"
Nicholas's breath came in ragged bursts. Every inch of exposed skin felt electrified, oversensitive in the best possible way. Euijoo's gaze raked over him like he was starving, and Nicholas—god help him—wanted to be devoured.
Nicholas kissed him. Not the hesitant brush of lips he'd imagined a thousand times—not the careful, cautious thing he'd rehearsed in the dark when no one was watching. This was teeth and desperation, the kind of kiss that left his mouth stinging and his pulse hammering in his throat. He fisted his hands in Euijoo's shirt, hauling him closer until their hips slammed together, until he could feel every hard line of Euijoo's body pressed against his own.
Euijoo made a noise against his mouth—half-laugh, half-groan—and bit down on Nicholas's lower lip hard enough to make him gasp. "Finally," he muttered, dragging his tongue over the sting. His hands slid down Nicholas's back, fingers digging into the dip of his spine, pulling him flush against him. "Fucking *finally*."
Nicholas didn't answer—couldn't, not with Euijoo's tongue in his mouth, not with the way his hands were mapping the bare skin of Nicholas's back like he was memorizing him. The party noise outside the door faded into a dull buzz, drowned out by the sound of their breathing, the rustle of fabric as Euijoo crowded him back against the wall. Nicholas's head spun—too much whiskey, too much heat—but he couldn't bring himself to care, not when Euijoo's thigh was pressing between his legs with deliberate pressure.
Euijoo pulled back just far enough to smirk at him, his lips slick and swollen. "You kiss like you're trying to start a fight," he murmured, thumb brushing the corner of Nicholas's mouth.
Nicholas's fingers dug into Euijoo's shoulders hard enough to leave marks. "Ruin me," he gasped against Euijoo's mouth, the words tearing out of him like a confession. The second they left his lips, he froze—heart hammering, waiting for Euijoo to recoil at the rawness of it. But Euijoo only grinned, wild and delighted, before throwing nicholas over his shoulder.
The world tilted violently as Euijoo hauled Nicholas over his shoulder like a sack of rice. Nicholas's stomach lurched—half from the sudden inversion, half from the dizzying realization that Euijoo was *strong* enough to do this without so much as a grunt. The muscle in Euijoo's shoulder pressed firm against Nicholas's abdomen as he strode across the room, knocking a stack of beer cans off the dresser with his hip.
"Put me—*fuck*—" Nicholas's protest dissolved into a gasp when Euijoo's palm smacked his ass, sharp enough to sting through denim. The sound echoed in the tiny room, louder than Nicholas's ragged breathing. His cheeks burned—not just from the slap, but from how his body reacted, hips jerking forward instinctively to chase the contact.
Euijoo laughed, low and knowing, his fingers digging into the back of Nicholas's thigh. "Knew it," he muttered, giving another experimental squeeze that made Nicholas's toes curl in his boots. "You like being tossed around."
Nicholas opened his mouth to deny it, but the words died when Euijoo dropped him unceremoniously onto the narrow futon. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs, the cheap frame creaking ominously beneath them. Before he could recover, Euijoo climbed over him, knees bracketing Nicholas's hips with predatory precision.
"You're fucking *heavy*," Nicholas gasped, hands scrambling for purchase on Euijoo's waistband. The weight of him—solid muscle and relentless intent—pressed Nicholas deeper into the thin mattress, the frame protesting with another groan.
Euijoo's grin was all teeth. "And you're fucking *loud*." He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of Nicholas's ear. "Gonna make you louder." His teeth scraped Nicholas's pulse point, sharp enough to make him buck upward, their hips grinding together in a way that left them both panting.
Nicholas's fingers found purchase in Euijoo's hair, yanking hard enough to make him hiss. "Prove it," he challenged, hips arching up to meet Euijoo's with deliberate friction. The denim was rough, the pressure just shy of painful, and Nicholas's breath hitched when Euijoo's hand slid between them, popping the button of his jeans with practiced ease.
The cold air hit Nicholas's overheated skin as Euijoo tugged his jeans down just enough to expose the damp cotton of his briefs. Euijoo's thumb hooked in the waistband, pausing to admire the way the fabric clung to Nicholas's hips, dark with sweat and—fuck—other things. His smirk was downright filthy. "Soaked through," he murmured, dragging a finger along the strained seam. "All from me manhandling you?"
Nicholas's hips jerked involuntarily at the touch, his breath coming in ragged bursts. "Shut—*fuck*—shut up." His fingers tightened in Euijoo's hair, tugging him down until their foreheads touched. "Less talking," he gasped, "more—"
Euijoo didn't let him finish. His mouth crashed into Nicholas's, swallowing his groan as he finally—finally—slipped his hand beneath the damp cotton. The first brush of bare fingers against overheated skin made Nicholas arch off the mattress with a choked curse, his hips snapping forward into Euijoo's grip like they had a mind of their own.
"Jesus," Euijoo breathed against his mouth, fingers flexing experimentally. His thumb circled once—slow, deliberate—and Nicholas's back bowed off the futon with a ragged noise that wasn't entirely human. "Fuck, you're *dripping*."
Nicholas would've been embarrassed if he could think past the white-hot pleasure sparking up his spine. But Euijoo's fingers were relentless, tracing him with a curiosity that bordered on reverence, and all Nicholas could do was clutch at his shoulders and *take it*.
Nicholas gasped when Euijoo's fingers curled tighter, his thumb pressing deliberately against the swollen bundle of nerves that made his vision blur. "Wait—" The word tore out of him, ragged and desperate, but Euijoo didn't stop, didn't slow—just watched him unravel with dark, hungry eyes.
"Tell me," Euijoo murmured against his jaw, fingers slick with Nicholas's own wetness. His teeth scraped Nicholas's pulse point, sharp enough to sting. "Tell me you want this."
Nicholas's hips jerked forward shamelessly, chasing the friction of Euijoo's calloused fingers. "Fuck—*yes*—"
Euijoo didn't need more than that. His free hand hooked into the waistband of Nicholas's briefs and *yanked*, the fabric tearing at the seams with a sharp *rip*. Cold air hit Nicholas's overheated skin, followed immediately by the searing heat of Euijoo's mouth—no hesitation, no teasing—just blunt, filthy pressure as he licked a broad stripe through slick folds.
Nicholas's back arched off the futon with a choked cry, fingers scrabbling at Euijoo's hair. The sensation was overwhelming—Euijoo's tongue flat and demanding against his clit, the rough scrape of his stubble against trembling thighs—too much and not enough all at once.
"Fuck," Euijoo groaned against him, the vibration sending sparks up Nicholas's spine. His thumbs hooked Nicholas's thighs wider, pressing them apart with bruising force. "You taste *fucking* perfect."
Nicholas's hips stuttered upward when Euijoo's tongue circled his clit with deliberate precision—once, twice—before sucking it between his lips. The wet heat of Euijoo's mouth was relentless, his rhythm unyielding, and Nicholas could feel his own wetness smeared across his thighs, dripping obscenely onto the futon beneath them.
Euijoo pulled back just enough to smirk up at him, lips glistening. "Look at you," he murmured, dragging two fingers through Nicholas's slickness before pressing them inside without warning.
Nicholas's back arched violently, his cry muffled by biting down on his own fist. The stretch burned—Euijoo's fingers thick and unrelenting—but the pleasure drowned out the sting within seconds. Euijoo crooked his fingers just *so*, rubbing against that sweet spot with merciless precision while his thumb circled Nicholas's clit.
"*Euijoo*—" Nicholas's voice broke on the syllable, his thighs trembling around Euijoo's shoulders. He was unraveling too fast, the coil in his gut tightening with every thrust of Euijoo's fingers.
The third finger pressed in with ruthless precision, stretching Nicholas wide enough to make him gasp. Euijoo didn't ease it in—just twisted his wrist and *pushed*, his knuckles catching deliciously on trembling flesh. Nicholas's thighs jerked, his heel digging into Euijoo's back as his body struggled between resistance and surrender.
"Breathe," Euijoo murmured against Nicholas's inner thigh, his teeth scraping sensitive skin. His free hand pinned Nicholas's hip to the futon, holding him still as he worked the third finger deeper, twisting slightly to accommodate the stretch. The obscene sound of it—wet, slick—filled the tiny room, louder than Nicholas's ragged breathing.
Nicholas's fingers scrabbled at the sheets, the cheap fabric tearing beneath his nails. The fullness was overwhelming, every slight movement of Euijoo's fingers sending sparks up his spine. "Too—*fuck*—too much," he gasped, but his hips rocked down onto Euijoo's hand anyway, betraying him completely.
Euijoo chuckled, the vibration skittering across Nicholas's skin. "Liar." He curled his fingers deliberately, pressing against that spot inside that made Nicholas's vision whiten at the edges. "You're taking me so fucking good." His thumb brushed Nicholas's clit in counterpoint, the dual sensations wrenching a broken moan from Nicholas's throat.
The stretch burned—just shy of painful—but the pleasure drowned it out within seconds. Euijoo's fingers moved with ruthless precision, scissoring slightly to widen him further, and Nicholas's thighs trembled with the effort of staying still. "You're—*ah*—you're gonna ruin me," he choked out, his back arching off the mattress.
Euijoo's grin was all teeth. "That's the idea." He leaned down, tongue replacing his thumb for one devastating second—long enough to make Nicholas's entire body lock up—before retreating. "Want you ready for me." His fingers pressed deeper on the words, twisting until Nicholas cried out, his thighs clamping around Euijoo's wrist.
Nicholas's breath came in short, punched-out gasps. He could feel himself fluttering around Euijoo's fingers, his body yielding in ways he hadn't known possible. The friction was relentless, Euijoo's callouses dragging against oversensitive flesh with every thrust, and Nicholas's hips stuttered helplessly between chasing the sensation and retreating from the intensity.
"Look at you," Euijoo breathed, his voice rough with awe. His free hand slid up Nicholas's torso, thumb brushing a peaked nipple just to watch him jerk. "So fucking *responsive*." He crooked his fingers again, rubbing that spot inside until Nicholas's thighs shook. "Gonna come like this?"
Nicholas's fingers clawed at Euijoo's shoulders, his voice ragged with the strain of holding himself together. "Fuck—*wait*—" He gasped, thighs trembling around Euijoo's wrist. "You—*I*—" The words dissolved into a moan as Euijoo's thumb circled his clit again, relentless. "Want you to—*feel good too*—"
Euijoo stilled, fingers buried deep inside Nicholas, and raised an eyebrow. His lips glistened with Nicholas's wetness, his breath hot against Nicholas's inner thigh. "Oh, I will," he promised, voice dark with intent. He withdrew his fingers slowly, watching the way Nicholas's body clenched around nothing, desperate to keep him inside. "Just not here." He grinned. "We're going to my place after this."
Euijoo's fingers slid back in without warning, this time with brutal precision—no teasing, no buildup—just three fingers driving deep in a single thrust that punched the air from Nicholas's lungs. The stretch burned, but before he could adjust, Euijoo's thumb pressed down on his clit with enough pressure to make his vision flicker.
"Wait—*fuck*—" Nicholas's hips jerked off the futon, his heels digging into the mattress as Euijoo's fingers curled sharply inside him, rubbing that spot with ruthless efficiency. The pleasure was immediate and overwhelming, a white-hot coil tightening low in his gut. "Too—*ah*—too fast—"
Euijoo didn't slow down. His fingers pistoned into Nicholas with a relentless rhythm, the wet slap of skin echoing obscenely in the tiny room. His free hand pinned Nicholas's hips down, holding him in place as his thumb circled Nicholas's clit in tight, unforgiving circles. "You can take it," Euijoo growled, his breath hot against Nicholas's thigh. "Gonna make you come so hard you forget your own name."
Nicholas's back arched violently, his fingers clawing at the sheets. The overstimulation was dizzying—every nerve ending alight, every thrust sending sparks up his spine. His thighs trembled, his body torn between pushing into the touch and writhing away from the intensity. "Euijoo—*I can't*—" The words dissolved into a broken moan as Euijoo's fingers twisted inside him, pressing deeper, harder.
"*Yes, you can.*" Euijoo's voice was rough with certainty, his fingers never slowing. He leaned down, dragging his teeth over Nicholas's inner thigh, the sharp sting blending with the pleasure until Nicholas couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. "Gonna make you fucking *squirt*."
The words sent a shockwave through Nicholas's body, his stomach tightening impossibly further. He'd never—*couldn't*—but Euijoo's fingers were relentless, curling just right, his thumb pressing down with just enough pressure to tip him over the edge. Nicholas's vision whited out as his orgasm hit him like a freight train, his body seizing as pleasure ripped through him in waves.
Euijoo didn't let up. His fingers kept moving, driving Nicholas through the aftershocks, pushing him past the point of pleasure into something raw and overwhelming. Nicholas gasped, his thighs clamping around Euijoo's wrist as a hot rush of wetness spilled between his legs—*squirting*, just like Euijoo had promised—soaking the futon beneath them.
Euijoo groaned, his fingers finally stilling as he watched Nicholas's body tremble through the aftermath. "Fuck," he breathed, his voice thick with awe. He dragged his fingers through the mess, smearing it across Nicholas's thighs before bringing them to his mouth. His tongue flicked out, tasting, and his eyes darkened.
Nicholas could only pant, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His limbs felt like jelly, his mind still hazy with pleasure. Euijoo leaned over him, his lips brushing Nicholas's ear. "Still think I don't want you?"
Nicholas's breath hitched when Euijoo pulled his fingers free with a slow, deliberate drag that left him trembling. The silence between them was thick—charged with something Nicholas couldn't name—until Euijoo wiped his wet fingers on the sheets and leaned down, bracing his forearms on either side of Nicholas's head. His gaze was unreadable in the dim light, but his voice was soft when he spoke. "You really thought I'd be disgusted?"
The question hung in the air like a blade. Nicholas's throat worked around nothing, his pulse hammering where Euijoo's thumb brushed his jaw. He could lie. Could deflect with a joke or a snarky comment. Instead, he swallowed hard and let the truth spill out like an open wound. "*Yes.*" The word cracked in half. "Everyone else was."
Euijoo's expression didn't change—no pity, no discomfort—just a quiet intensity that made Nicholas's skin prickle. Then, without warning, Euijoo caught Nicholas's wrist and pressed his palm flat against his own chest. Nicholas's fingers twitched against the damp fabric of Euijoo's shirt, the rapid thud of his heartbeat unmistakable. "Feel that?" Euijoo's voice was rough, his breath warm against Nicholas's lips. "That's *you*. Has been for months." His grip tightened, forcing Nicholas's fingers to curl into the fabric. "You think I give a fuck about what's between your legs when I can't even *breathe* right around you?"
Nicholas's chest ached like he'd been struck. The raw honesty in Euijoo's voice scraped him raw, left him exposed in a way that was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. His fingers flexed against Euijoo's sternum, tracing the heat of him through cotton. "You—" He broke off, voice strangled. "You didn't even *hesitate*."
Euijoo's laugh was quiet, almost disbelieving. He leaned in until their foreheads touched, his free hand sliding up to cradle the back of Nicholas's neck. "Why would I?" His thumb brushed the sensitive skin behind Nicholas's ear, deliberate. "You're still *you*. Still the same guy who drinks whiskey like it's water and laughs at his own dumb jokes." His lips curved against Nicholas's cheekbone. "Still the same guy who drives me fucking crazy."
Nicholas's breath hitched. The words settled under his skin like sunlight, warm and impossible to ignore. Euijoo's fingers traced the line of his jaw, calloused and sure, and for the first time in years, Nicholas didn't flinch away from the touch. "You're not... disappointed?" The question slipped out before he could stop it, small and vulnerable.
Euijoo stilled. Then, with startling gentleness, he pressed his mouth to the space beneath Nicholas's ear—once, twice—before pulling back just far enough to meet his gaze. "Disappointed?" His voice dropped to a whisper, rough with something Nicholas couldn't name. "Nick. You just came so hard you *soaked* K's futon." His grin was slow, predatory. "If anything, I'm *impressed*."
Nicholas's cheeks burned, but the tension in his shoulders eased by fractions. Euijoo's thumb brushed the corner of his mouth, lingering on the split where he'd bitten his own lip raw. "Listen," Euijoo murmured, his voice dropping lower. "If you need time—if you want to slow down—just say the word." His fingers tightened briefly on Nicholas's hip. "But don't *ever* think I don't want this. Want *you*."