Three days had passed. Jiwoon still couldn’t look Hanjae in the eyes for too long. Not because he felt shame—or maybe, yes, a little—but because inside he felt like he was underwater. As if every time he looked at him, his chest tightened into a knot he didn’t know how to untangle.

Hanjae didn’t help.
He walked around the house half-naked, indifferent to the winter cold. Sometimes he wore only sweatpants, hanging low on his hips. Other times a simple oversized hoodie, with nothing underneath. But the worst—the worst—were the bananas.

Jiwoon knew perfectly well that Hanjae had never liked them. He had said it more than once: “The texture disgusts me.”And yet, for the past two days, he always had one in his hand. And in his mouth. He bit into them slowly, eyes locked on Jiwoon. And not only did he bite. He deep-throated them. He sucked them. He let them slip past his lips with such shameless theatricality that it almost seemed comical.

It was sexy. But also ridiculous.
Jiwoon didn’t know whether to laugh or bang his head against the wall.

And yet, in that lightness there was something he had been missing for a long time. The idea that you could desire someone and laugh about it. That you could feel safe, even naked. Even confused.

His university life, his classes, went on monotonously. Proof that the world kept spinning, even if Jiwoon felt his own world slowed down, suspended.

His friends around him were a bit more cautious. Jiwoon sensed their fear of delivering the final blow that might knock him out like in any video game. But he didn’t mind; in fact, he was grateful, because he himself had that same impression.

During lunch break, in the university cafeteria, Jiwoon noticed that the air around his friends’ table had grown heavier, and it had taken only a few minutes.

“Hey, what happened while I was getting pudding?” he asked, sitting back down in his seat next to Minhyu. “Don’t tell me some famous celebrity died,” he joked, seeing how Eun Woo, across from him, stared pale-faced at his phone.

“H-he’s just checking his grades,” Minhyu laughed, though he looked uneasy.

Jiwoon raised an eyebrow. “Grades? Exams are two months away,” he frowned, watching them stiffen, running out of excuses.

“What are you reading there?” he asked, standing to snatch the phone from Eun Woo’s hands.

Minhyu tried to stop him. “Jiwoon, wait—” but it was too late.

His eyes, now burning red, fixed on the screen displaying the headline:

“Park Minji, debut idol and model, denies the scandal and confirms: ‘The director and I are in a stable relationship.’”

His breath died in his throat, choking him. His chest ached, as if his heart had exploded inside it.

“There’s no scandal. Just two adults in love. It’s a stable relationship. I’m happy, finally.”

Minji smiled in the photo.
Elegant. Composed. He almost looked… sincere.
A good liar.

Jiwoon set the phone down on the table with robotic calm. So calm that his friends grew truly alarmed.

“Jiwoon, where are you going?” they tried asking, but Jiwoon ignored them.

He walked—dragged himself—out of the hall.

—

When he returned home, the lights were dim. Hanjae was in the living room, staring at the TV in disbelief. In his hand, Jiwoon’s KakaoTalk chat was open, showing a string of messages the other alpha hadn’t answered.

As soon as he saw him, he shot to his feet, alarmed.

“God, finally. I called you a thousand times. Where the hell have you been?! Mingyu said you left the university hou—”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Jiwoon kissed him.

Not a timid kiss. Not a clumsy kiss.
It was hunger. It was rage. It was pure pain. His hands grabbed his face, yanked him closer. His fingers tangled in his hair. His lips pressed hard, almost crushing him.

Hanjae didn’t resist. He let himself be taken. He let himself be shoved against the table, the wall, against every rational thought.

Jiwoon undressed him as if tearing off skin that was too tight. Clothes fell to the floor. Their breaths grew heavy, damp.

There was no delicacy. Only need.

He forced him to his knees.

He took his mouth, ruby eyes piercing him. “Open your mouth,” this time it was Jiwoon giving the order.

Hanjae swallowed, then obeyed.

Jiwoon slid inside without preamble, holding him firmly by the hair. Hanjae looked up from below, relaxing his throat as much as possible, while Jiwoon pushed his head up and down along his erection. Saliva dripped from his lips, mixing with precum. His tongue moved skillfully, tracing every vein, every ridge.

Jiwoon kept going, until the blood rushed entirely to his cock, then yanked his head away, spilling himself across Hanjae’s face anyway.

Hanjae gasped, his long fingers scooping the thick drops of seed from his cheeks, dragging them into his mouth, sucking them up diligently.

When he raised his face, he knew the alpha in front of him was far from satisfied.

“Well… is that all you can do?” he challenged.

Jiwoon didn’t answer. He grabbed him again, hauled him up. Then dragged him to the bed. He stripped on the way, hurried, furious. Urgency seemed to burn his soul.

He threw him onto the bed, spread his legs wide, then pressed them back against his stomach. Then he aligned himself, his erection already pressing against the pulsing muscle.

He entered him without words. Only stares. Only raw force against his skin.

And as he thrust in and out of him with fury, as he pounded deep, striking his most sensitive spot, he saw his lips part. Heard him whisper:

“…Minji…”

Hanjae’s body stiffened, if only for a moment.
His eyes clouded, as if a shadow had crossed them. But he said nothing. And Jiwoon didn’t notice.

How could he?

Instead, he leaned down to kiss him, needing it. A kiss Hanjae gave him.

He kissed him with pain. With rage. With desire.
He kissed him in a desperate attempt to drown out that name, in the desperate desire to replace it with his own.

He clung to him tightly, as if he could hold him with sheer willpower, as he came with a muffled moan.

Jiwoon quickened. Bent over him, inside him, against him, until he emptied himself. A growl stuck in his throat as he climaxed. Hanjae’s eyes widened when he felt him swell, knotting.

“FUCK!” he cried out, as the other collapsed on top of him, exhausted and trembling.

Silence fell. Hanjae felt him drag his face along his body, nestling into the crook of his neck.

He felt him trembling, quivering.

This time, Jiwoon wept silently. Tears rolled down his cheeks, falling onto Hanjae’s skin.

This time, though, it didn’t feel like remorse. This time, what afflicted him was the awareness of loss.

The awareness that the story with Minji was truly over. That it wasn’t coming back.

Hanjae didn’t speak. 

He stroked his wet hair with one hand, while the other traced the lines of his muscles all the way down his back.