Liam: Come on, let’s go out tonight. Weekend fun.

Michael stared at the message for a moment, chewing the inside of his cheek. Normally, he would’ve ignored it, but the house felt too quiet, too heavy. Being alone here only made his thoughts spiral.

With a small sigh, he typed back a simple “Okay.”

---

The bar was loud—music pulsed through the floorboards, glasses clinked, voices rose and fell like crashing waves. Liam and Johan had dragged him along, claiming he needed to loosen up. They were already laughing, clinking their drinks together while Michael sat at the edge of the booth, nursing his glass.

He forced a smile, but his mind wasn’t with them. The laughter around him felt hollow.

Finally, he excused himself, muttering something about needing fresh air. The cool night air outside was a relief compared to the stifling noise inside. He slipped into a narrow alley beside the building, leaning against the wall with a long exhale.

And then—he froze.

Under the soft yellow glow of a streetlamp stood a familiar figure. The same man who had been sitting in their home days ago, casually smoking on their couch as if he belonged there. Now, his hands were tangled in another guy’s shirt, mouths pressed together in a shameless kiss. They laughed against each other, not caring who saw.

Michael’s stomach dropped, twisting into something sharp. Disgust churned inside him, but beneath it was something heavier, darker.

His fists clenched before he even realized it. Without another glance, he stormed back inside, grabbed his bag, and slipped on his jacket.

“I’m leaving,” he muttered.

Liam blinked at him, confused. “Huh? Already?”

“Michael?” Johan called, but Michael didn’t answer. He just pushed through the crowd and walked out.

----

Later that evening, Michael sat quietly at the dining table, his phone resting beside his plate. He’d checked it at least five times in the last hour.

A single message from Won lingered on the screen.

Won: “Let’s have dinner together tonight. Don’t eat without me.”

So Michael had waited. He had even gone out of his way to make one of Won’s favorite dishes, setting the table neatly as though it were a small occasion. But as the hours dragged on, the food grew cold, the candles he’d lit sputtered out, and the silence pressed down harder and harder.

By midnight, frustration and disappointment tangled in his chest.

Then—the front door clicked open.

Michael shot up instantly, only to stop short as the door swung wide. Won stumbled inside, his arm slung heavily over another man’s shoulder.

The stranger was tall, sharply dressed, and carried himself with ease. His features were handsome in a polished, practiced way. But Michael didn’t like the way his eyes scanned the room—sharp, curious, assessing him like a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit.

“You must be Michael, right?” 

the man said smoothly, adjusting Won’s weight. 

“I’m Sean. Won’s friend. He got a little too excited drinking tonight, so I brought him back.”

His tone was polite, but there was something underneath it. A quiet curiosity, almost territorial.

Michael’s lips pressed into a thin line.

 “I see.”

Sean went upstairs and lowered him onto the bed gently. Won let out a small, drunken laugh, oblivious to the storm brewing in the room.

Michael’s fists clenched at his sides.

The silence between them thickened. Sean studied him carefully, and Michael could tell the man had already picked up on the truth—he wasn’t just a roommate.

But Sean didn’t press. Instead, he offered a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. 

“I’ll get going then. Take care of him.”

Michael gave a stiff nod, nothing more.

When the door clicked shut behind Sean, the apartment seemed to grow darker, quieter. Michael turned to Won, who had already dozed off on the bed, his face peaceful, almost boyish. As if nothing was wrong.

Michael thought bitterly.

He sighed, moving to tuck him under the blanket with practiced care, his frustration tangled with worry. He was ready to turn away, to put the night behind him—

But then, Won’s hand shot out, fingers curling loosely around Michael’s wrist.

Michael froze, looking down. Won’s eyes were half-lidded, hazy with drunken sleep, but his voice was soft, almost tender.

“You’re still here…?”

The words made Michael’s chest tighten.

“I’m… here,” 

Michael whispered, almost reluctantly.

Won’s lips curved into the faintest smile, his eyes drifting closed again. 

“Good… Don’t go.”

Michael stood there, frozen, staring at the man who always laughed, flirted, and pretended nothing ever touched him. But now, in the dark, he looked vulnerable. Childlike, almost.

Michael swallowed hard, torn between anger and something softer he couldn’t admit.

“You’re such an idiot,” 

he muttered under his breath, carefully sitting on the edge of the bed so Won wouldn’t let go.

Won’s fingers still loosely wrapped around his wrist. He thought about pulling away, but the grip tightened just a little

Won shifted, his face turning slightly toward Michael, so close that Michael could feel the faint warmth of his breath. His heart skipped.

Michael tried to lean back, but the bed creaked, and Won instinctively pulled him closer. In the soft glow of the bedside lamp, Michael found himself staring at him—really staring. The curve of his jaw, the faint flush from the alcohol, the way his lips parted as he breathed.

His chest tightened painfully.

Michael bent forward just slightly, intending only to adjust the blanket, but in that moment—Won stirred. His head tilted. And suddenly, their lips brushed.

Michael froze.

The contact was feather-light, clumsy, and brief, but it sent a jolt straight through him. He pulled back instantly, eyes wide, his entire face burning.

Won murmured something incoherent, still half-asleep, and turned his face back into the pillow, completely unaware.

Michael sat there, stunned, his hand covering his mouth. His heart pounded so violently he was sure the whole apartment could hear it.

He finally stood, carefully slipping his wrist free from Won’s grip. He stumbled back a step, staring at him one last time before turning away.

As Michael closed the bedroom door softly behind him, his lips still tingled with the memory of the accidental kiss.

And that night, sleep never came.

-----

The next morning, Won woke up with a pounding headache. His temples throbbed as if a drum was lodged inside his skull. He groaned and dragged a hand over his face.

“Ugh… what happened last night?” 

he muttered, his voice rough with sleep and exhaustion.

The apartment was quiet, save for the faint clinking of utensils and the soft sizzle of a pan. Following the smell of food, Won shuffled into the kitchen.

Michael stood at the stove, shoulders slightly tense, carefully flipping a pancake. He didn’t glance up, his focus narrowed to the golden-brown circle in the pan.

At the table, Rocky leaned back lazily in his chair, one eyebrow raised. 

“You sure had fun last night,” 

he said with a teasing edge.

Won blinked, confused. 

“Fun?”

Rocky smirked, resting his chin on his hand. 

“Sean said you were hammered.”

Won let out a short, nervous chuckle.

 “I don’t even remember anything after the third drink.”

Behind him, Michael froze. His hand trembled as he lifted the spatula, nearly tearing the pancake in half. 

Michael’s thoughts screamed louder than the sizzle in the pan. 

He forced himself to steady his grip, pressing his lips together to keep his expression calm. But his chest tightened, and the weight of unspoken words burned like a secret he couldn’t let slip.

Won sat at the table, stretching out his arms before inhaling deeply.

 “Smells good,” 

he said with an easy smile, unaware of the storm brewing just a few feet away.

Michael finally turned, his lips curling into a practiced smile that didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Want some?”

 His voice was light, almost casual, but his heart was pounding too loudly in his chest.

Won nodded, oblivious, while Michael swallowed the ache in silence.

The table filled with the smell of warm pancakes, but for Michael it was hard to breathe. He set a plate in front of Won, keeping his eyes on the food rather than his face.

Won leaned forward immediately, grabbing his fork. 

“Perfect, as always.”

 He smiled, the kind of easy grin that always made Michael’s chest ache in ways he didn’t want to name.

Rocky poured himself coffee, watching the two of them like he always did—quiet, calculating, as though he saw more than either of them wanted him to.

“You’re lucky,” 

Rocky muttered, eyeing Won.

 “Most people wouldn’t have made it back in one piece last night.”

Won waved a hand dismissively, mouth full of pancake.

 “I can handle myself."

Michael’s grip tightened on his fork. He wanted to scream, 

Instead, he swallowed hard, forcing his voice steady. 

“You should be more careful.”

Won glanced up at him, a brow raised. 

“What’s with you all this morning?.”

Michael looked away quickly, his face heating. He really doesn’t remember. The kiss—whether mistake or not—was burned into Michael’s mind, but to Won it was as if it had never happened.

Rocky’s eyes narrowed slightly at Michael’s expression. He didn’t say anything, but the corner of his mouth twitched, almost like he was smirking.

Won, oblivious, reached over and ruffled Michael’s hair.

 “Don’t worry so much, brat. I’m fine.”

Michael froze at the touch. His heart slammed against his ribs. He shoved Won’s hand away a little too harshly.

Won blinked.

 “Hey, what was that for?”

Michael stood abruptly, taking his empty plate to the sink.

“Nothing. I’m just… not hungry anymore.”

He turned his back quickly, shoulders tense.

Won frowned, confused, but went back to eating. Rocky, on the other hand, sipped his coffee slowly, eyes glinting with quiet amusement. He knew something had shifted—something Won was too blind to notice.

And Michael? He stood at the sink, staring down at the running water, the memory of last night replaying over and over.