Chapter Text
Hyuntak was fucking pissed.
March had barely begun, and with it came the start of a new school year — and the usual chaos that came with it. Every semester, the schools around Yeongdeungpo put together the same loud, overcrowded talent festival. Music blasting through cheap speakers, students shouting over each other, performances no one really cared about.
And somehow, he ended up caught in the middle of it.
The soda can in his hand crumpled with a sharp crack, metal giving way under his grip as he stood in a forgotten corner behind the festival stage, far from the lights and the crowd.
While everyone else wasted time watching performances and laughing like idiots, Hyuntak had been stuck with cleanup duty that night.
Because of Humin.
Of course.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw tight, his gaze sweeping over the chaos in front of him with thinly veiled irritation. The noise, the people, the forced excitement —everything about it grated on his nerves.
And this was only the beginning of the year.
Which somehow made it worse.
The sound of metal scraping under his sneaker echoed across the empty courtyard.
Hyuntak kicked a crushed soda can against a concrete wall. This time, he didn’t hold back. It ricocheted with a hollow, violent clang, spinning at an erratic angle before rolling uselessly across the asphalt.
“Damn it…” The curse slipped through clenched teeth, low and rough.
He dragged a hand over his face, a heavy gesture of exhaustion, then shoved his fists into the pockets of his blue hoodie. His shoulders were tense; his jaw rigid as stone. His gaze swept across the festival grounds.
Humin was nowhere to be found.
He was probably somewhere laughing, completely satisfied, like the world wasn’t falling apart. Unbelievable.
A few hours earlier, the gymnasium had been a polished battlefield. The festival had barely begun when Park Humin, true to his incurable hero complex, decided to step in. A group of seniors and terrified underclassmen — the usual scene. Humin threw himself into the conflict without hesitation, as if he’d been personally appointed to fix every mess in that decaying school.
And Hyuntak, against his own will, didn’t hesitate either. He just moved.
Hands grabbing uniforms. Voices raised in authority. In the end, intention didn’t matter. Justice was blind — and lazy.
The punishments were handed down like a military verdict:
• Park Humin: dragged to the sports equipment storage room, sentenced to polish basketballs and metal weights until they reflected his “good boy” face.
• Go Hyuntak: condemned to the purgatory of cleaning — the equipment room and the main auditorium.
Hyuntak exhaled slowly through his nose, his pupils dilating under the orange glow of dusk.
All of it… every aching muscle, every wasted minute at that ridiculous festival… all because Humin couldn’t, not even for a single day, mind his own business.
Hyuntak cut through the crowd like a blade, his blue hoodie standing out among stiff school uniforms and poorly fitted talent show costumes.
He passed a group of kids failing miserably at a balloon-popping game booth. The smell of frying oil and burnt sugar hung in the air, mixing with the dust rising from the ground. Every loud laugh, every burst of excitement only tightened the knot in his chest.
His steps led him to a more secluded drink stand, decorated with flickering lights.
The man behind the counter, reeking of tobacco and contempt, barely looked up from an old magazine. He sized Hyuntak up and down, lingering on his youthful features before flashing a mocking grin.
“The daycare’s across the field, kid,” the man said, resting his elbows on the greasy counter. “You even old enough to be here, or do you want me to get you a juice box?”
Hyuntak didn’t hesitate. Instead, a smile of pure pride — sharp and dangerous — curved his lips. Without a word, he pulled his leather wallet from his back pocket and tossed his ID onto the counter. The laminated card slid across the surface, stopping right under the man’s nose.
The man narrowed his eyes, checking the birth year. The mocking smile vanished, replaced by a sour grunt as he grabbed a reinforced plastic cup.
A few minutes later, Hyuntak stepped away from the stall’s blinding lights. Ice clinked against the sides of the cup, where the dark amber of rum mixed with the fizz of cola. The first sip burned down his throat, spreading a deep, penetrating warmth through his chest.
He walked toward the edge of the festival, where the lights faded and the shadows of the old campus trees began to take over. There, near a peeling wooden bench, the noise of the event dissolved into a distant hum.
Hyuntak sat down, letting his body sink against the cold backrest. He stared into the dark liquid in his cup, his eyes growing darker the longer he watched it.
“First time?”
The voice came from the shadows, rough and laced with quiet amusement. The shock hit instantly — Hyuntak flinched, the cold liquid spilling over the rim of the cup and trailing down his chin.
“What the hell…?” Hyuntak wiped his face with the back of his hand, his eyes sharpening as they locked onto the figure beside him. “What are you doing here?”
Seongje was sprawled across the bench next to him, his careless posture masking the danger everyone at school knew he carried. He tilted his head slowly to the side in a predatory motion before exhaling a thick cloud of gray smoke. The tip of his cigarette glowed like a live ember in the dark.
“I was here first,” Seongje replied, his voice flat, without a trace of apology.
Hyuntak let out an unintelligible grunt, turning back to his drink. A heavy, suffocating silence settled between them, broken only by the faint crackle of melting ice and the soft burn of paper as the cigarette smoldered. Two minutes passed, but to Hyuntak it felt like hours. Curiosity began to burn beneath his skin, slowly overtaking his irritation.
He cast a sidelong glance at Seongje’s profile.
“How do you know it’s my first time drinking?”
Seongje took a deep drag, holding the smoke in his lungs for a moment before exhaling. He didn’t look at Hyuntak, but a faint smile —almost imperceptible — curved at the corner of his lips.
“Your cheeks…” He lazily lifted the cigarette in Hyuntak’s direction, the smoke trailing a thin ribbon through the cold air. “They’re flushed.”
Hyuntak felt the blood throb in his temples. Seongje’s comment, though delivered with an almost bored calm, hit him like a slap in the face.
He stood up abruptly, the wooden bench creaking against the asphalt under the sudden force of his movement.
“Mind your own business, Seongje,” Hyuntak snapped, irritated. “Put that cigarette in your mouth and shut up.”
He turned his back without waiting for a response. He took two steps toward the darkness of the main building, but didn’t get far enough to escape what followed.
A laugh.
It wasn’t loud or mocking, nor a sharp burst of ridicule — but something low, guttural, and genuine. The sound vibrated through the cold air, carrying a quiet satisfaction that made the hairs on the back of Hyuntak’s neck stand on end. It was the kind of laugh that belonged to someone who had gotten exactly what they wanted: to throw the other off balance.
Hyuntak quickened his pace, feeling the weight of Seongje’s gaze burning into his back like a red-hot iron. They weren’t friends. Not even allies.
Their past was a minefield. Hyuntak remembered their first encounter vividly: the smell of rain mixed with garbage in an alley on the outskirts of Eunjang, bloodied knuckles, and the chilling realization that Seongje didn’t fight just to win — but to study his opponent. That night, they had been Baekjin and Humin’s war dogs, destined to tear each other apart.
Hyuntak hated Seongje’s personality with everything he had. He hated how Seongje never seemed to lose control, as if he were always watching a film whose ending he already knew. That infuriating composure, that effortless calm — it felt less like confidence and more like arrogance disguised as certainty.
He wanted, in some way, to put that arrogant bastard in his place.
Hyuntak sat on the cold corridor floor, his back pressed against the icy tiled wall beside the music room door. His hand covered his face, fingers pressing into his temples in a futile attempt to ease the dull, throbbing ache left by the rum. The heat of anger still lingered under his skin, tangled with cheap alcohol and something far more disorienting. Maybe it had been too much — even for him.
Hyuntak, apparently, was very weak when it came to alcohol. Not that he was drunk.
The watch on his wrist glowed a pale green: 5:57 P.M.
The festival was coming to an end. Laughter and distorted pop music blended with the sound of chairs scraping against the floor and the hurried footsteps of people eager to go home. He had run into Humin minutes earlier, but his friend — still absorbed in his civic duty— had already headed off to the storage room. Hyuntak was alone.
At exactly 6:00 p.m., the click of the electronic lock echoed through the empty corridor. The door opened, and Hyuntak’s gaze was drawn up, his increasingly blurred vision locking onto the figure stepping inside.
“Ah, I can’t believe this…” The muttered words carried a bitter trace of disbelief.
“Relax,” Seongje replied. He carried a faint, sweet and sharp scent — something freshly smoked — his eyes slightly narrowed, but still focused. He dropped his backpack; the thud of leather hitting the floor echoed like a gunshot in the silence of the room. “I’m only here because the teachers decided I’m ‘too unruly.’ Apparently, I need something useful to do at the start of the year.”
“Figures…” Hyuntak murmured with disdain.
Seongje kept that faint, crooked smile on his face — a look Hyuntak had always found infuriatingly arrogant. His gaze, however, drifted away from Hyuntak’s face and slowly lowered, lingering on the boy’s knee.
The memory resurfaced effortlessly: last year’s end, four months ago. Na Baekjin’s direct order, the sound of bone cracking under a precise strike, and the cold asphalt of an alley. Now, the skin beneath the fabric of his pants was fully healed, but the invisible scar from that fight still lingered between them, pulsing beneath the surface.
“What are you doing?” Hyuntak asked, his voice dry, defensive, and sharp.
“Nothing,” Seongje replied, his tone indifferent.
Hyuntak clicked his tongue in impatience. He pushed himself up with visible effort and walked toward the center of the room, where fallen microphone stands and tangled amplifier cables coiled across the floor like metal snakes.
The tension between them, once purely hostile, shifted into something thick and electric in the silence of the room. As Hyuntak crouched to lift the heavy equipment, the fabric of his pants strained to the limit, tracing the raw, provocative lines of his muscles with obscene clarity.
For Seongje, the "enemy" filter didn't just flicker; it disintegrated.
His gaze, driven by a sudden, predatory hunger, locked with surgical precision onto the firm, rounded curve of Hyuntak’s backside. That position — at once vulnerable and powerful — ignited a sharp, restless heat in Seongje’s gut. He found himself tracing the strain in Hyuntak’s thighs, the arch of his spine, and the way the physical exertion made his breath come out heavy and rhythmic. It was an unintentional invitation that hit Seongje like a direct provocation.
For the first time, desire overrode discord. The bitterness between them vanished, replaced by an urgent, pulsing need to close the distance and feel that solid heat beneath his palms.
As Hyuntak moved to turn around, Seongje averted his gaze with calculated agility, scratching the back of his neck and feigning interest in a torn piece of partition lying on the table.
Hyuntak spun around abruptly, balancing a solid wood crate that seemed to carry the entire weight of the festival. Inside, drumsticks, metal pedals, and tangled XLR cables clattered with a heavy, chaotic thud. The exertion made the veins in his neck pop, and the heat of the rum, mingled with his own mounting satisfaction, finally boiled over.
Seeing Seongje still standing there, that distant look on his face and a faint haze of smoke drifting around his head like an aura of indifference, Hyuntak lost the last shred of control he had left.
“Stop daydreaming and get to work already, dammit?!” Hyuntak’s shout sliced through the silence of the room, sharp and commanding. “I’m not hauling dead weight while I clean up this mess by myself. Get up and grab the rest of the amps!”
Hyuntak clenched his jaw, the muscles in his arms tightening beneath his hoodie. He was ready for a reaction. He expected Seongje to laugh in his face, to return the insult with the arrogance of someone aligned with the Union, or simply shove him against the wall just to remind him who was stronger.
But Seongje did none of that.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Seongje simply stared him down for a second— his gaze lingering just long enough to feel like it was searing right through Hyuntak’s skin. Then, without a word, he settled into a mechanical calm. His movements were fluid, devoid of any resistance. He walked over to the heavy amplifiers and began to hoist them— doing exactly as he was told.
Hyuntak blinked, momentarily thrown off balance. He had expected a wolf, but instead, he found something that, for a brief moment, seemed willing to be tamed.
The silence between them stretched, thick and suffocating, as if the room itself had closed in around them. Even the noise of the equipment felt distant now, swallowed by something heavier neither of them dared to name.
He cleared his throat, turning his face away and forcing himself to refocus on the box in his arms, pretending the shift in atmosphere hadn’t affected him. But his body betrayed him — his heart pounding hard and uneven, hammering against his ribs like it wanted out.
Across the room, Seongje was pressing down on something far more than just an order.
Holding the cold metal equipment in his hands, a faint electric tingling spread through Seongje’s stomach. Hyuntak’s voice—the sheer command in it, the absence of hesitation, that brutal authority that erupted when he raised it—had awakened something Seongje never expected to find in him.
He no longer saw him as just “Humin’s right hand.” He saw potential.
A shiver ran down Seongje’s spine, a warped echo of pleasure that made his fingers tighten around the amplifier. He wasn’t obeying simply because of the school’s rules on tolerance. With unsettling clarity, he realized he wanted more of that voice. He wanted to see how far Hyuntak would go if he ever lost the control he worked so hard to maintain.
For the first time in months, Geum Seongje was no longer just bored.
The temperature in the hall seemed to rise several degrees within minutes. The metallic noise of amplifiers being dragged across the floor and the creaking of wood were the only sounds filling the space between them. Hyuntak struggled to focus on the task, but his mind was a storm; Seongje’s silent approval weighed more heavily on him than any argument he had ever had.
They moved toward a metal shelf at the back of the room, where heavy cables and iron stands were supposed to be stored. It was a narrow space, squeezed between the wall and a grand piano covered with a dusty tarp.
Hyuntak reached for the upper shelf, trying to lift a tangled bundle of cables, but the awkward angle and weight made him hesitate. In that same moment, Seongje stepped in behind him, reaching out to steady the load.
The contact was made.
Seongje’s long, cold fingers brushed firmly against Hyuntak’s forearm, sliding just under the raised sleeve of his hoodie. It was brief —but the reaction was immediate.
A shiver ran down Hyuntak’s spine. Seongje’s skin felt almost burned against his, a brutal contrast to the freezing air of the auditorium. He froze in place, breath caught in his throat, suddenly aware of how close Seongje was —too close, almost pressed against his back.
“I got it,” Seongje said near Hyuntak’s ear, his voice low, resonant, and dangerously soft.
He didn’t pull his hand away right away. His fingers lingered there, sliding a few millimeters along Hyuntak’s wrist — a slow trace that seemed to map out the other boy’s racing pulse.
Hyuntak should have stepped away. Should have shoved Seongje back or snapped at him again. But the shock of the contact — and the way Seongje seemed to lean in just a little instead of retreating — left him frozen.
For a single second, the “Eunjang soldier” and the “Alliance soldier” ceased to exist. All that remained was skin against skin, and the scent of tobacco and rain clinging to Seongje’s presence.
Hyuntak finally pulled his arm away, the sudden movement making the cables jingle.
“I told you not to get in my way,” he hissed, but his voice came out weaker than intended— betrayed by the flush now creeping not only across his cheeks, but down his neck.
Seongje took a step back, but there was no regret in his eyes. Instead, a new glint settled there — something refined, predatory, curious.
He had seen what happened to Hyuntak. He had felt the tremor in his arm.
The silence in the music room returned, but now it felt diseased, suffocating.
The air was heavy, not just with dust and the lingering scent of tobacco and rum, but with an invisible static that made Hyuntak’s skin prickle with every small movement.
They worked at opposite ends of the room, maintaining a safe distance neither of them dared to cross. Yet the awareness of the other’s presence was absolute.
Hyuntak focused on organizing the sheet music, but his eyes kept drifting back to Seongje.
Seongje was sitting on the floor, surrounded by a scattered constellation of gold and silver glitter that refused to disappear no matter how much he wiped it away. He tried —clearly with a patience he didn’t possess — to gather the tiny metallic fragments with a damp cloth.
“Fucking glitter…” The curse escaped under his breath, hissing through his teeth. “Stupid-ass idea… Who even needs this shiny shit?”
Hyuntak let out a sharp huff, rolling his eyes.
“If you’d stop bitching and just focus on cleaning it right, you’d be done by now.”
Seongje stopped moving. He stared fixedly at the cloth, then at the floor, where the sparkles seemed to be mocking him.
The frustration — blended with the lingering effects of the weed and the heat slowly pooling under his skin — finally burned through what little patience he had left.
With a sharp, impatient jerk, he slammed the cloth onto the floor. Before Hyuntak could even open his mouth to protest, Seongje grabbed the hem of his black shirt and yanked it upward, revealing pale skin and the subtle definition of his abs and chest. He tossed the fabric over an amp with a dull thud.
Hyuntak froze. His eyes widened, his pupils dilating instantly. The movement was so sudden and raw it nearly made him drop the stack of sheet music in his hands.
“What... what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Hyuntak’s voice came out louder than intended, a mix of shock and defensive indignation.
Seongje didn't even look at him at first. He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up, and let out a short sigh, almost relieved by the cool air hitting his bare skin.
“It’s hot as balls in here,” he replied simply, his tone flat as he slipped into his flannel shirt with deliberate laziness. “The AC in this building has been busted for years.”
He finally flicked his eyes toward Hyuntak. It was a swift, almost imperceptible movement. His gaze slid from Hyuntak’s face, down his neck, traced the line of his shoulders under the blue hoodie, and paused at his waist before returning to the glitter-covered floor.
Hyuntak, still paralyzed by the shock, couldn't withstand the scrutiny.
“You should take that hoodie off too,” Seongje continued, his voice soft but carrying a tension that made Hyuntak’s stomach do a slow somersault. “You’re going to suffocate in there.” The implication hung heavy in the air— no air, no space, no safety.
Hyuntak felt his face burn, and this time it wasn't the rum. It was a physical wave of heat, visceral and immediate, triggered by the sight of Seongje’s bare torso and the silent, deliberate intimidation radiating from him in that moment. Seongje’s skin caught the dim light of the room, gleaming faintly, while the scar on his knee — now hidden beneath his pants — seemed to throb in Hyuntak’s memory.
They were enemies. Soldiers on opposite sides. But there, in that isolation, the sight of Seongje’s bare skin didn't evoke thoughts of combat.
It awakened something darker — a murky curiosity, a forbidden craving that Hyuntak desperately tried to bury under his usual rage.
He gripped a partition with so much force that the paper crumpled in his hands.
“I’m not...” He cleared his throat, trying to get his voice under control. “I’m not hot. Mind your own goddamn business and clean up this mess.”
“I disagree.”
“What?” Hyuntak thought he’d misheard him.
Seongje let out a low, almost inaudible chuckle. He didn’t look up, but the corner of his mouth curved into a faint, knowing smirk.
The sound of the rain began as a distant suggestion, but within seconds, it turned into a rhythmic roar against the auditorium’s high ceiling. The storm hit with the usual violence of the season, sealing the exits and isolating the music room from the rest of the world.
Hyuntak let out a heavy sigh, feeling sweat sting the back of his neck. The heat was unbearable — a stifling mix of humid rain air and the lingering adrenaline that refused to subside. He couldn’t stand the weight of the thick fabric clinging to his shoulders for another second.
Giving in to the discomfort, he grabbed the hem of his blue hoodie and yanked it over his head in one swift motion. Underneath, he wore only a white cotton t-shirt that hugged his frame, tracing every line of muscle tension.
Seongje, still shirtless, went dead still. He didn’t say a word, but his gaze grew heavy, tracking Hyuntak’s every move.
He watched the way the white fabric clung to the other boy's chest, how Hyuntak’s arms —veins slightly prominent from the strain of cleaning — looked strangely more exposed without the hoodie. More vulnerable... and somehow, more dangerous.
TAAA
A thunderclap shook the building, followed immediately by the unrelenting roar of the rain lashing against the glass windows.
"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Hyuntak snarled, throwing his hoodie violently onto a chair. "Goddamn rain! Of all times... now?!"
He marched to the window, watching the festival lights outside turn into soft blurs through the curtain of rain. They had their hands on the handle, ready to leave, but nature had other plans.
Hyuntak felt Seongje’s presence behind him even before he heard his footsteps. The scent of the rain seeping through the cracks mingled with the heat of Seongje’s bare skin, now only inches from his back.
“Looks like we’re stuck here for a while,” Seongje said, his voice lower than usual, falling in perfect sync with the thunder echoing outside.
Hyuntak didn’t turn around. He kept staring at the rain, but his fingers tightened on the windowsill. He could feel Seongje’s heat behind him — a silent pressure, almost like an invisible barrier pinning him against the glass.
The rain, which had been a steady drizzle before, transformed into a hypnotic roar. Without warning or a single word, Seongje simply turned his back and walked toward the exit.
Hyuntak spun around abruptly, his white t-shirt clinging to his body from residual sweat.
"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?" he barked, but his voice was swallowed by the thunder.
Seongje didn't answer. He didn't hesitate. He simply crossed the threshold and disappeared into the curtain of cold rain.
Hyuntak’s curiosity — that damn instinct that always dragged him straight into the eye of the storm — pulled him to the doorway. He stood there, sheltered under a small overhang, and what he saw took his breath away.
Seongje stood in the dead center of the courtyard, right under the downpour. He had abandoned every last shred of his Alliance soldier posture. His eyes were closed, his head tilted back at an almost sinful angle. Rainwater streamed down his face, tracing the sharp line of his jaw and spilling in natural rivulets over his bare chest. His pale skin shimmered in the gloom, every muscle of his abs and chest carved out by the reflection of the moisture.
He opened his arms, offering himself to the storm, and then, with deliberate slowness, he flicked out his tongue, catching the heavy droplets as they fell.
Hyuntak felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. The scene was raw, visceral, and drenched in an eroticism he wasn't remotely prepared to handle. The water chased itself down to the waistband of Seongje’s pants, which, now completely soaked, clung dangerously low to his hips.
Watching it — Seongje’s absolute, almost savage surrender — made that old tingling sensation flare up again. A hot, treacherous, and insistent pulse that started at the base of his spine and settled exactly where he feared it most.
Hyuntak tried to look away, tried to convince himself it was just the rum or the exhaustion talking, but his feet were rooted to the spot. He was hypnotized by the way Seongje’s chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, by the way he seemed to be in total ecstasy under the merciless rain.
Dammit, Geum Seongje.
He was the enemy, an Alliance psychopath —the guy he was supposed to hate. But there, in the middle of the storm, watching him lose himself in it, Hyuntak saw the barrier of hatred he’d spent months building wash away in the rain, leaving nothing in its place but a dark, ravenous craving.
Seongje opened his eyes — a dark, hazy glint behind his damp frames — and locked them directly onto Hyuntak. He knew he was being watched. And he didn't move an inch to stop it.
The sound of Seongje’s footsteps was different now: a heavy, wet tread marking his path from the courtyard toward the hall.
Hyuntak clicked his tongue, a sharp sound of pure denial, and spun around abruptly. He scrambled away from the door in an act of poorly disguised desperation. He slumped at one of the wooden tables, leaning forward so the telltale bulge threatening to expose him was muffled by the shadow of the furniture.
His heart hammered like a drum. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to summon images of Humin, Siheun, Juntae, the school— anything to pull him back to the safe reality of "enemies".
But there was no time.
The trail of water on the floor announced his arrival. Seongje emerged from the shadows, his skin gleaming like wet marble, his chest rising and falling in a slow, predatory cadence. He didn't stop at a respectful distance; he invaded Hyuntak’s personal space with that dangerous gait that seemed to disregard every law of physics and morality.
The mocking smirk was there, sharper than ever. Seongje stopped in front of the table, the moisture from his body radiating a chill that clashed with the feverish heat Hyuntak felt.
"Like what you saw?" The question came with a magnetic arrogance, his voice vibrating with the absolute awareness of the effect he’d had.
“Shut the fuck up...” Hyuntak shot back.
His voice came out lower than usual, stripped of its habitual aggression. It was a raspy suggestion, almost a plea, revealing more than he intended. He couldn't hold the gaze; his eyes stubbornly traced the path of the water droplets still sliding down Seongje’s chiseled abs, disappearing into the low waistband of his soaked pants.
The game was reaching its breaking point. Seongje took a step forward, letting the water from his body drip onto Hyuntak’s boots, a feline smile playing on his lips.
"What’s the matter, Hyuntak?" he began, his voice a slow drawl, almost a purr. "Did you lose your voice because you saw that Humin’s watchdog has desires, too? Or is it because, for once, you’re looking at an enemy and you don’t want to hit him?"
That was the snap. The mention of Humin, laced with that malicious innuendo, made Hyuntak’s temper explode.
In one blurred motion, Hyuntak lunged from the table. His fingers coiled into the collar and neck of Seongje’s shirt, shoving him with brute force against the tiled wall. The impact produced a dull thud that echoed through the entire music room.
Hyuntak pressed his body flush against Seongje’s, one hand sliding up rapidly to wrap around his throat. "I told you to shut your fucking mouth!" Hyuntak hissed, his face inches from the other, eyes flashing with savage fury. "You don’t know shit about me. Absolutely nothing!"
He squeezed, applying firm pressure, expecting fear, resistance, or the usual contempt. But what he got instead caught him completely off guard.
Seongje didn't fight back. He didn't try to break free. Instead, his head tilted back gradually against the wall, and his eyes, clouded and dark, shimmered with something that wasn't agony. A low sound escaped his throat — a ragged breath, almost a moan of restrained satisfaction. His expression softened into sinful delight, his eyelashes fluttering as he surrendered to the chokehold.
Hyuntak shuddered violently.
The shock surged through his arms like an electric discharge. He had expected to subdue an enemy by force, but instead, he found a man who took pleasure in his aggression. That sound... — note of pure submission coming from someone as dangerous as Geum Seongje made Hyuntak’s stomach flip.
His fingers wavered, but he didn't let go. The tingling in his groin intensified, turning into a throbbing ache. He saw, with a mix of fascination and terror, that Seongje’s reaction hadn't repelled him — on the contrary, it was an invitation to tighten his grip even more.
"What...?" Hyuntak started, his voice hoarse and strained, as he watched Seongje’s smirk broaden under his fingers.
"Keep going," Seongje whispered against his palm, his breath hot and damp. "That’s it, Hyuntak. It’s exactly what I need."
The laugh that escaped Hyuntak was dry, born of a desperation bordering on panic. He felt Seongje’s pulse under his palm, a racing rhythm that seemed to feed his own adrenaline.
"Have you lost your goddamn mind?" the question came out in a short breath, nearly a growl.
Seongje didn't hesitate. On the contrary, he leaned his face forward, his grin widening to reveal his teeth in an expression that mixed pure delight with insolence. Rainwater still dripped from his soaked hair, falling right onto the hand Hyuntak was using to strangle him.
"No..." he whispered, his voice raspy from the pressure on his throat. "I think we all have a dark side."
Seongje’s gaze, which had been locked on Hyuntak’s eyes, lowered slowly. It was a deliberate, heavy movement that forced Hyuntak to face his own reality.
"And you have yours, too."
Hyuntak recoiled at that look, feeling the world spin on its axis. His left hand was still clenched near Seongje’s waistband, his fingers straining against the drenched fabric. But what truly paralyzed him was the physical evidence manifesting between them. Seongje’s erection, firm and pulsing under the pressure of his hand, was an obscene invitation; yet, it was the undeniable weight in his own pants, straining hard against Seongje’s thigh, that sealed his fate.
The silence in the music room became absolute, save for the sound of the rain drumming on the roof.
Hyuntak’s "loyal soldier" mask didn't just crack; it disintegrated. He saw that Seongje wasn't just being dominated; he was exposing Hyuntak’s own voracious nature, ripping it out of him with the same violence he'd been shoved against the wall with.
The shock of reality hit Hyuntak like a blast of freezing air. He released Seongje’s neck as if his skin had turned to hot coals, staggering back. Shame flooded him, staining his face a deep crimson that had nothing to do with rum.
The part of him that still tried to maintain a shred of decency — the shyness buried under layers of aggression — shrieked in despair. He backed up until he collided with one of the sound mixing boards; the impact made the equipment groan, and Hyuntak gripped the wooden edge so hard his knuckles turned white. He hung his head, hair falling over his eyes, trying to hide his ragged breathing and the damning proof of his body’s betrayal.
But Seongje wouldn't let him escape. Not now.
The sound of Seongje’s wet feet splashing again was slow and deliberate. He moved like a shadow that refused to be dissipated by light. Hyuntak didn't look up, but he felt the heat of Seongje’s skin radiating toward his arms, the scent of ozone brought by the rain and tobacco flooding his senses.
Seongje leaned forward, closing the distance until his lips were mere millimeters from Hyuntak’s ear.
"Where are you running to, Hyuntak?" The whisper was so low it almost got lost in the storm outside, but every word weighed like lead. "You can't hide from yourself. Not in here."
He reached out a wet hand, not to strike, but to lightly touch Hyuntak’s wrist — the one still white-knuckled from gripping the table —feeling the tremor the other man was trying, in vain, to control.
"You feel it, don't you?" Seongje continued, his voice soft, almost affectionate in its cruelty. "The weight of your hand on my throat... the way your body reacted to mine. The 'other side of the coin' is much more interesting than playing hero and villain, don't you think?"
Hyuntak let out a muffled breath, his fingers digging even deeper into the wood. He wanted to tell Seongje to go to hell, but the words were stuck in his dry throat. Seongje’s silent dominance was only beginning to erode what was left of Hyuntak’s pride.
The atmosphere in the music room became claustrophobic. The sound of the rain outside seemed muffled, turning the auditorium into a vacuum where only Hyuntak’s breathing and Seongje’s touch existed.
“Go to hell, Seongje,” Hyuntak’s voice came out as a broken whisper, choked by the monumental effort to keep his composure. He wanted to push him away, wanted to scream that this was madness, but his fingers stayed firmly planted on the table, unmoving.
Seongje let out a short laugh, a sound that vibrated deep in his bare chest.
"I'd rather do something else," he murmured, running his tongue over his rain-slicked lips, a gesture loaded with dark, ravenous desire. "If you'll let me."
Hyuntak didn't have time to react. The thermal shock hit him as Seongje’s freezing fingers slipped under his white t-shirt. The contrast between the cold skin and the feverish heat of his abdomen made him gasp, his back arching slightly.
“Seongje...” It was a warning, or perhaps a summons, but the name died in his throat.
“Shhh,” Seongje silenced him, his dark, dilated eyes shimmering with a calculated submission.
He knelt slowly, his posture shifting from aggressor to devotee. From below, he looked up at Hyuntak through the wet strands of hair covering his face — a gaze that blended enticement with a cutting challenge. Without breaking eye contact, Seongje unbuttoned Hyuntak’s jeans with a dexterity that bordered on an insult.
When Seongje’s mouth finally closed around him, Hyuntak’s world collapsed.
Hyuntak’s legs buckled instinctively in a spasm of shock and raw pleasure. The contrast was overwhelming: Seongje’s mouth was a sanctuary of humid, delicious heat —an oasis against the cold rain still radiating from his body. Hyuntak brought his hand to his face, biting his knuckles to stifle the moan that threatened to shatter the silence of the empty building.
The scene was surreal, almost profane. Geum Seongje — the Union’s monster, the man he was supposed to hate with every fiber of his being — was on his knees before him, engaged in a task that subverted every power hierarchy they knew.
Hyuntak’s thrill reached a violent peak. It wasn’t just physical pleasure; it was the toxic satisfaction of having his enemy in a vulnerable position, yet simultaneously in absolute control of his reactions. The Eunjang man’s volatile temper was losing the battle to pleasure, and the victor was the man devouring him with silent dedication.
The air in the hallway felt like it had been replaced by static electricity. The only break in the silence was the roar of the torrential rain and Hyuntak’s heavy breathing, echoing like trapped thunder against the walls.
Seongje stopped abruptly. The wet, slick sound of his mouth pulling away cut through the air, leaving a trace of malicious glint on his lips as he looked up. The contrast between his rain-soaked face and the cynical pleasure in his eyes was a vision Hyuntak knew he would never be able to erase from his memory.
"The door is open..." Seongje remarked, his voice hoarse and dragging in a whisper. He tilted his head with an ironic smirk that suggested anyone walking down the hall at that moment would witness the fall of the Eunjang boy.
Hyuntak’s common sense should have screamed. He should have felt terror; he should have zipped up and bolted for the safety of the dark. But the rum, the adrenaline, and the sight of Seongje on his knees incinerated any shred of caution.
"To hell with it." The words came out as a low growl, laden with an authority Hyuntak didn’t even know he possessed.
In an instinctive gesture of dominance, Hyuntak buried his fingers into Seongje’s damp hair. It wasn't a delicate move; he gripped the strands tightly, forcing Seongje’s head forward to resume exactly what he had started.
Seongje let out a muffled laugh, a vibrating sound lost against Hyuntak’s skin. He didn't feel insulted by the aggression; on the contrary, the spark in his eyes only intensified. He saw, with dark delight, that he had uncovered yet another layer of Go Hyuntak: the danger of being caught didn't scare him — it fueled him.
Hyuntak savored the spectacle, too. He relished the risk that the open door might reveal, at any moment, that he wasn't just Humin’s shield, but a man capable of subjugating the Union’s monster in the most humiliating and pleasurable way possible.
Seongje resumed the task with renewed dedication, eyes locked onto Hyuntak’s as he took him in once more. The tension in the air had reached the point of no return. There, amidst the dusty trophies and the looming risk of an open door, their personal war had found its true battlefield.
Suddenly, the beam of a flashlight swept across the corridor, casting long, distorted shadows that danced through the cracks of the ajar door. The sound of rhythmic, heavy footsteps from security approached — a brutal reminder that the real world was about to collide with that sanctuary of sin and sweat.
“Anyone still in there?” the guard called out, his voice weary, oscillating between exhausted resignation and sudden authority.
The shock of reality was like a bucket of ice water. In a purely instinctive reflex, Hyuntak recoiled sharply, his body jerking back with an agility bordering on panic. Seongje, caught off guard by the force of the movement, tumbled back onto the cold floor, but there wasn't a trace of frustration on his face. He simply wiped a stray thread of saliva from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, wearing a smirk that seemed to glow in the dim light.
Hyuntak didn’t look back. His hands shook as he yanked his pants up and buckled his belt in record time, his breath escaping in short, irregular hitches. Common sense — long muffled by desire and alcohol — was now screaming in his ears.
"This is never happening again," he hissed, his voice carrying a promise that sounded less like a certainty and more like a desperate attempt to convince himself rather than Seongje.
Without waiting for a response, he snatched up his blue hoodie and his backpack, throwing them haphazardly over his shoulder. He brushed past the guard in the hallway with his head down, hurriedly muttering, "I'm leaving," his heavy, rapid footsteps echoing across the floor as he fled the scene.
Inside the room, silence returned — broken only by the sound of the rain outside and the droplets still falling from Seongje’s hair. He sat on the floor, leaning against the cold wall, indifferent to the flashlight beam now sweeping through the empty auditorium.
He stared into the void, his chest still rising and falling slowly. The hostile politics, the war between Eunjang and the Alliance, Na Baekjin rules… none of it mattered now. Seongje knew what he’d seen in Hyuntak’s eyes when he let go of his hair. He knew what he’d felt in the grip on his throat.
He had found someone. Not just a loyal soldier, but a wild animal that only needed a little bit of darkness — and the right person — to be set free.
"See you soon, Hyuntak," Seongje whispered into the empty hall, while the rain continued to pour over the world — but unable to wash away the mark they had left on one another.