Jiwoon wakes with a pounding headache and a dry mouth. It takes a few seconds to register where he is—and what happened.

His eyes blink open: the room is unfamiliar. The sheets cling to his skin like a warm embrace, and the familiar scent of jasmine hits him before the memories crash in.

The living room. The couch. Hanjae’s hands on him. The fingers spreading him open. The heat, the tears, the orgasm. Minji’s name on his tongue.

“Christ,” he mutters, pressing his fingers to his temples. But when he moves his hands, he notices his knuckles are bandaged. Clean, neat.

He didn’t do it himself.

The bed beside him is empty, but still warm. Jiwoon pulls himself up, naked, scrambling to put on his pants and t-shirt from the floor. The smell of coffee and a low humming voice guide him to the kitchen.

Hanjae stands with his back to him, spreading jam on toast, wearing only loose linen pants. Bare hips, sharp shoulder blades. His voice hums lazily to an Arctic Monkeys tune.

Jiwoon clears his throat. “Uh… morning.”

Hanjae turns, a mischievous smile curling his lips. “Morning.”

The air hangs heavy. For a few seconds, neither speaks. Then, handing him a mug of warm milk, Hanjae breaks the silence with a smirk:
“So, do we pretend it’s normal to have breakfast after I rode you in the living room?”

Jiwoon chokes. And coughs again. Milk and cereal sputter back into the cup as he hacks like a man dying.

“What the fuc—” he manages, blushing deep red.

Hanjae bursts out laughing. A light, genuine laugh that slices the tension clean.

“Relax,” he grins, sitting across the table, stirring his coffee. Jiwoon stares down at his bowl, poking at the cereal.

“You told me you wouldn’t regret it,” Hanjae says after a beat, tone softer now. “But if you’d rather, we can pretend it never happened—”

Jiwoon shakes his head, running a hand through his messy hair. “That’s not it. It’s just…”

“It’s just that you slept with your best friend. And you just broke up with your boyfriend.”

“…Yeah.”

Hanjae tilts his head, eyes flicking from the bowl back to him.

“What happened to the Jiwoon from last night? The one who decided that, now that he’s single, he’s not going to take himself so seriously anymore?”

Jiwoon bites his lip, remembering the embarrassing antics from the night before at the club, on the street. “I-I’m just scared I ruined everything,” he admits.

“You?” Hanjae raises a brow, tapping his chest with the spoon. “Wasn’t I the one bouncing happily on your dick last night?”

Jiwoon nearly chokes on his own spit. “C-Can you be a little less explicit?!”

“You sound like a virgin,” Hanjae chuckles. “Didn’t you and Minji ever talk about sex?”

“Y-Yeah! B-But not… not like that…” Jiwoon stumbles, words useless. “Different” doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Hanjae’s satisfaction is obvious. Jiwoon had never once complained about his private life with Minji, but knowing last night wrecked him this much—it’s delicious.

“Listen,” he says softly. “You’ve got a choice now. You can act like nothing happened, and I won’t bring it up again if that’s what you want…”

He pauses, eyes sharp and heavy on him.

“Or, and I strongly recommend this option, you can keep having mind-blowing sex with your best friend—considering how much you enjoyed it last night—”

Jiwoon blinks. Eyes wide. Spoon frozen midair.

“W-w-what—?! Wh-who the hell said I—?!”

“Baby,” Hanjae murmurs, leaning in, voice dripping sweet poison, “last night, after making sure you came inside me, you literally passed out.”

Jiwoon gapes, torn between laughing and fainting. But he doesn’t get the chance.

“I-I was drunk!”

“You’re a dominant, it takes way more than a couple beers to knock you out like that,” Hanjae smirks, while Jiwoon struggles for a comeback.

Then Hanjae stretches a bare foot under the table, brushing Jiwoon’s leg. The touch trails upward, slow, warm, deliberate, until it presses against his groin. Direct contact. Jiwoon stiffens. His half-hard cock jerks to full attention instantly.

“Han…”

“Shh.”

His toes move with precision, stroking lazily. Pressing, teasing, tormenting.

The heel presses at the base of Jiwoon’s cock while the arch rubs along it gently. Toes pinch and toy with the tip, like fingers.

Jiwoon throws his head back, a muffled moan escaping. He can’t look at him. It’s too much. Too soon. Too fucking good.

“Look at how fast you react, baby.” Hanjae’s voice is rough, sinful. His smile says it all—I know you love this.

“You’re even more sensitive this morning…”

Jiwoon grips the edge of the table. His hips move on their own, chasing more friction. Hanjae’s foot torments him with maddening slowness, alternating strokes, pressure, circles.

Then—he presses harder. The sole of his foot crushes Jiwoon’s erection, toes flicking at the swollen, wet tip.

“Fuck… Han—”

“Come for me, Kook. Just like that… let it go.”

One more stroke.
That’s all it takes.

Jiwoon moans, loud, breath shattering, as he comes messily in his pants, body trembling, back arching.

When his eyes flutter open again, Hanjae is already standing.

“Gotta get dressed, I have a meeting,” he says evenly, grabbing his coffee. Then he turns, walking away.

“Think about it. No rush.”

But he glances back, smiling—wicked and beautiful. With one hand, he slaps his own ass, the motion hypnotic.

“Don’t overthink it though. This ass needs frequent, generous meals.”

With a wink, he disappears down the hall, leaving his best friend there.

Sweaty.
Exhausted.
Utterly fucked.