V’s eyes fluttered open. The dull ache in his head pulsed in rhythm with the faint buzzing at the back of his skull. He blinked slowly, the light catching on polished surfaces, and the room unfolded around him.

His arm throbbed as he lifted it, noticing the IV taped to his skin, the small tube feeding fluid into his veins. His fingers brushed against the angry scratches along his palms and arms. The sting of his own self-inflicted marks was a sharp reminder of the panic and desperation he had carried through the night. His lips still stung where he had bitten down, his cheeks hot from slaps and pinches meant to anchor him in himself.

For a moment, he allowed himself to drink in the details. At first it barely registered. The soft cream walls, high ceilings, and carefully arranged furniture felt sterile and precise. The faint scent of sandalwood tugged at the corners of his mind. The smoothness of the floor reflected the sunlight slanting through the tall windows. The soft hum of the city below was almost like it belonged somewhere else entirely.

Then the realization struck with a cold clarity. The precise, curated order of the room, the quiet authority in the way everything was placed, the subtle but undeniable presence of someone who moved in these walls as if they were an extension of themselves—it all pointed to him.

V’s chest tightened. Relief collided with apprehension. Panic still lingered from the night, but beneath it, a new awareness settled. V’s fingers had instinctively reached for his phone in the haze, the name barely registering in his mind. Only now did it strike him. He had called Kaimin. Of all people. And now he was at one of his guestrooms. The realization sent a cold shiver down his spine.

Still, he drifted back into a fitful sleep, body slack with exhaustion, and when he awoke again, the sun had long set. With tentative movements, V swung his legs over the side of the bed, wincing at the sting along his arms and wrists. He forced himself upright. He was aware how his heart was hammering against his chest and his senses alert as if every muscle was ready to bolt. He removed the IV from his arm.

The living room beyond the guestroom door was bathed in soft warm lights. V froze at the threshold. Kaimin was there, sitting on the edge of the sofa looking down at something on his hand.

Seeing Kaimin was surreal as if V was stepping into a memory he hadn’t realized he had stored away. And the walls here had too much ghosts. Memories were like raindrops and V the sand in the desert, absorbing them like nourishment until they became overwhelmingly toxic.

Then there was the hum of a dryer. Kaimin’s hand warm against his neck. Sit still, he’d murmured once, thumb brushing just under his jaw.

Careful, V had said back then, voice softer than he meant. That doesn’t feel like just drying my hair anymore.

A faint smile. Maybe you should stop talking before you say something you can’t take back.

“Slept well?”

The vivid images dissolved as Kaimin’s voice pulled him out of his reveries.

Kaimin was now leaning at the sofa, looking at him. Those assessing grey eyes met V’s and the room seemed to shrink, as if the walls themselves leaned closer to witness how apprehension and panic were scattering around the edges.

V swallowed hard. He wanted to respond casually, to anchor himself in some layer of normalcy. “I—yes,” he stammered. His hands clenched at his sides, gripping the fabric of the pajama top that clearly belonged to someone else. Most probably, Kaimin’s. “I just… woke up.”

Kaimin’s gaze lingered. There was no rush but the quiet attention was suffocating. V’s mind spun, memory, fear, and longing colliding. It was too much. And yet, he couldn’t look away.

The tablet shifted slightly in Kaimin’s lap. The light reflected off the screen, illuminating a faint outline of graphs, messages, and notes. Here, in this living room, in the stillness of Kaimin’s presence, V was both anchored and unmoored. Every rational thought urged him to escape, but a part of him—the part he had buried for so long—wanted nothing more than to stay, to remember, to feel.

Kaimin set the tablet aside, the soft click echoing in the quiet room. V’s fingers itched, wanting to touch something, anything, to feel grounded.

“You called me,” Kaimin said, voice even but sharp enough to slice through the haze clinging to V. “Not anyone else. Me.”

V’s throat constricted. “I… I didn’t know who else to call. I—” He stopped because he knew it was a lie. Kaimin knew that too. Because calling him was his instinct taking over. Now that he was sober, there was no reasonable excuse for his action.

Kaimin tilted his head slightly. “You don’t usually call. Well, not after all this time.”

“I…” V faltered, hands shaking, trying to steady them against the wall. “I panicked. It… it wasn’t… I—” His sentences tumbled over each other, fragments of shame, fear, and denial colliding. He wanted to retreat but his legs refused to move.

“You think being scared changes things?” Kaimin’s voice dropped lower but still measured.

V’s breath hitched as Kaimin rose from the sofa. The soft click of his shoes on the polished floor seemed louder than it should have been, echoing through the quiet room like a warning.

V pressed his back against the doorframe, shoulders tight. His pulse hammered in his ears as Kaimin stopped just a few feet away.

Kaimin scrutinized V with a stare. “But I wonder… how much of you is pretending even now?” he asked, almost an accusation.

V wanted to curl inward, to disappear somewhere beyond the reach of those eyes. Kaimin’s presence was like gravity pulling V’s defenses apart. But with the distance, he could see the faint rise and fall of his chest betraying a barely restrained tension.

“Let me ask again. Why?”

V’s chest heaved, each breath uneven. “I—I thought you’d…” He trailed off, the confession lodged somewhere between fear and self-loathing, a raw truth he couldn’t force past his lips.

“Thought I would what?” Kaimin’s voice was quiet, but it landed like a weight pressing against V’s chest. “Save you? Protect you? You think you can just disappear one moment, reappear the next, and everything's back to square one? You think you can just parade a lover around and then call me when things get shitty?”

V was taken a back. Kaimin looked calm but there was an edge in his every word V felt lodged straight to his chest.

Kaimin exhaled slowly. “This is tiring, V. What do you expect me to do?” The sigh that followed was deeper, carrying the weight of restrained frustration and exhaustion, as though it had been stored somewhere in his chest for years. “What do you want from me?”

V’s throat constricted. Words stuck, tangled and useless. His mind felt fragmented, a haze swirling from panic and disorienting feelings that painted Kaimin in softer tones and shadows that made his eyes seem almost gentle. Almost forgiving despite the thunder in them.

V’s knees buckled first, then his body gave way, slumping to the floor. The hallway seemed to tilt and swell around him.

“I…” he choked out, trembling violently, hands gripping the carpet as though it might anchor him. “They could have… I don’t know… done something…” His voice broke again, tears streaking his cheeks. “I tried…”

His words were tumbling over each other in a torrent of fear and shame. He didn't realize how much impact last night had on him until hid body shivered as though those suffocating gazes and mocking laughter had seeped into his bones again even in the presence of Kaimin—especially, in the presence of Kaimin, as if every muscle remembered how to be vulnerable. He spoke without pausing, probably incomprehensible in between broken breaths, spilling the horror in its rawest form, the possible scenarios racing through his mind.

When he finally looked up, the overhead light caught Kaimin’s face, sharp and unreadable. V swallowed hard, tears still streaking his cheeks. “I’m sorry for calling. After everything. I’m sorry. I know I'm being selfish. After all I did…after abandoning everything…we had. And still, craving for it…”

“Stop it, V.” Kaimin’s voice was low, carrying that brittle edge of anger.

V’s thoughts tumbled, a jumbled mess of regrets and fears, cascading faster than he could contain. “I’m sorry Kai…min. I know you’re not going to forgive me. I'm sorry Kai…”

Kaimin’s hand was suddenly on his wrist firmly as he knelt to level V’s gaze. “I said stop.”

But the dam had broken. Words and tears poured out of V uncontrollably. “I’m sorry… for calling you. I’m sorry for still thinking about you when I—”

A sharp curse fell from Kaimin’s lips. Then, warmth pressed against V’s. It was abrupt and harsh that felt like a punishment and a tether at once. His tears were still falling he could taste them against his mouth. Yet, V’s body shuddered against the kiss, the room spinning, every fragment of emotion turned into physical sensations.

Kaimin’s arms tightened around his waist, a demand that V could feel in every joint of his body. V responded without hesitation, pressing back, shoving his hands into Kaimin’s hair. The room seemed to shrink until nothing existed outside of their mouths, the storm of heat, anger and desperate need. V gasped and groaned, letting himself be lost in Kaimin’s tongue, letting the shame and regret and longing bleed out all at once. Every kiss was fire, every bite of a lip or neck a declaration. He let himself forget the world, forget the past, forget all the apologies he’d rehearsed.

By the time they finally pulled apart for more than a breath, their foreheads pressed together, chests heaving in tandem, it was not peace but a tense, furious satisfaction. Yet, the storm inside V refused to settle. Without thinking, he captured Kaimin’s mouth again. Kaimin stiffened for a fraction, then responded in kind, letting the kiss carry the same anger and fire that had been simmering between them for years. Their bodies moved as one toward the bedroom, feet stumbling over floorboards, arms wrapped tight, lips never breaking apart. The door closed with a thud behind them, sealing the world outside as the air inside trembled with their heat and need. V’s hands roamed Kaimin’s back, over shoulders, pressing him into the wall, into the doorframe. Kaimin’s own hands were everywhere. Gripping, pulling, and each movement was commanding, letting V knew who was in charge.

By the time they hit the bed, it was a collision. Kaimin yanked open the bedside drawers, opening a latex with his teeth in a swift, practiced motion. As if following a ritual they had repeated countless times, V took it in his mouth, teeth sinking into the rubber, tasting strawberry, guiding it along Kaimin’s length with tongue and fingers. Kaimin hissed, fingers tangling in V’s hair, a curse slipping past his lips. When he was done, Kaimin pushed him into the mattress and poured the liquid into every crevice Kaimin momentarily explored with his tongue and fingers. V felt every nerve came alive with each contact, leaving him unable to distinguish between moans and Kaimin’s name.

The room shook with their rhythm. Time collapsed. The world, past and future, dissolved into heat, weight and friction, every fluid motion pushed them closer and closer to oblivion.

When it ended, silence swelled around them. V didn’t know whether he should speak. He wouldn’t have known what to say anyway. Then Kaimin shifted, pulling him into his chest. V didn’t question the gesture. He simply let it happen, let himself sink into the warmth of Kaimin’s arms. That familiar comfort, paired with exhaustion, pulled him swiftly into sleep.

He dreamed of gentle hands stroking his hair, fingers brushing through it the way he had always longed for. But when he woke, the warmth was gone. Silence pressed against him like a wall. At some point, Kaimin had dressed him in his pajamas, the pair V had left in the penthouse years ago. The thought stirred a fragile, foolish joy in his chest. His cheeks flushed at the intimacy of it, even as soreness pulled at his body. A glass of water waited neatly on the bedside, his clothes folded with care. For a fleeting moment, he smiled. Kaimin was still Kaimin after all.

He drank the water first before he reached for his phone resting on top of his clothes. A message was waiting. Warmth spread through him as he opened it, but the words snatched it away in an instant, as if cold water was poured on him.

Make sure not to forget anything when you leave.

The smile died. The fantasy shattered. What remained was the sharp, unrelenting truth. Last night hadn’t been anything but weakness. Lust dressed as something it could never be.

Tears threatened to fall, but he forced them down, swallowing against the hollow in his chest. He had always reminded Kaimin before not to leave marks on him because of the nature of his job but he wished he left more than just the wound on his lower lip.

He wished Kaimin had left him burns that would remain through the years.