The motorcycle ride back to his studio apartment complex was pure torture. Hyun-woo was pressed flush against my back, his arms locked desperately around my waist, his thighs gripping mine every time the Ducati accelerated through the quiet streets. His face was buried in the heavy leather at the nape of my neck, his hot, alcohol-laced breath soaking through my clothes. I could feel the feverish heat radiating from him, my mind violently flashing back to the wire feed—to the memory of his hands pulling at his own chest while he whimpered into his empty room.

By the time we reached his building, the alcohol in his system had turned him into complete dead weight. I kicked the stand down, pulled him off the seat, and practically carried him up the narrow stairs to his floor.

Fumbling with his keys, I finally unlocked the door. "Shoes off," I murmured gently, nudging his heels at the hyeon-gwan.

He kicked off his loafers clumsily, toeing them into the small recessed entryway as custom demanded, though he almost toppled over in the process. I stripped off my own boots and jacket, then guided his swaying body down the short hallway to his bedroom. The space smelled faintly of yuja tea and that soft, familiar laundry detergent I’d memorized weeks ago.

 I laid him down on the mattress. He sank into the bedding with a soft, needy whine, his copper curls splayed wildly against the pillow. I stood over him in the dim light, my chest heaving slightly, the balaclava still covering the lower half of my face. I just wanted to stare down at him. To take in the sheer, pathetic vulnerability of a man who spent his days pretending to be an unshakeable educator.

"Ji-ho-ya..." he muttered, his voice thick, slurring under the heavy fog of alcohol. He didn't even open his eyes; his hands were just reaching blindly into the empty air, searching for something to anchor him. "Don't... don't look at me like that..."

 I froze, my pulse spiking into a frantic rhythm. Does he know?

 His dark, glassy eyes fluttered open, staring straight up at my masked face. For a terrifying beat, I thought my cover was blown. But as he blinked up at me, there was zero recognition—just the hazy, desperate stare of a man completely lost to his own repressions. He wasn't seeing the leather-clad stranger who had picked him up off a club stool; his alcohol-soaked brain was projecting the exact boy who had been terrorizing his thoughts.

 A dark thrill coiled in my stomach. I relaxed into it. 

"And what if I do, Seonsaengnim?" I purred, my voice dropping into that familiar, raspy cadence, testing the dangerous limits of his delusion. Internally, my mind was screaming—What the fuck are you doing? You're an investigator, not his fantasy. But the sheer intoxication of rolling that formal title off my tongue while holding him helpless beneath me was too addictive to stop.

Hyun-woo’s brow furrowed in a loose, drunken pout. The alcohol had utterly destroyed his rigid professional boundaries, stripping away the solemn teacher and leaving behind a pitifully needy creature conversing with a ghost.

 "You make me... want to do bad things..." he whispered, the words slurring together as his fingers twitched against the bedsheets, reaching up to clutch at my sleeve. "You make me want to kiss you..."

My heart slammed hard against my ribs. Slowly, agonizingly, I reached up and dragged the balaclava off my head, letting the dark fabric drop silently to the floor.

He blinked, his drunken brain struggling to process the reveal. His eyes widened slightly, but he was too far gone to register the full implications of who I was. He just saw who he desired.

 I leaned down, crawled into the bed, and kissed him.

Finally, I tasted the mouth that I’d been craving for weeks. It was soft, tasted of whiskey and something inherently him. He froze for a microsecond, a sharp intake of breath hissing through his teeth, and then he melted into me. He kissed me back with a desperate, clumsy fervor, his hands coming up to grip the front of my shirt, pulling me down onto the bed.

"We shouldn't," he breathed against my lips, his thumb tracing my jawline. "You're... you're my student."

I laugh softly, my voice dropping an octave, trailing a line of open-mouthed kisses down his jaw to his neck. It’s too late to turn back now…"

He lets out a shaky, pathetic little whine as my teeth graze his collarbone.

I reach for the hem of his polo shirt, pulling back just enough to strip it off completely, tugging it over his head impatiently, exposing his bare chest to the cool air of the bedroom and the onslaught of my hands racing to skim over his shoulders and chest. He was so warm, so incredibly clingy. He arches into my touch, pulling me to him like he never wants to let go, his legs tangling with mine.

I trailed my lips down his sternum, feeling his heart hammering wildly beneath my mouth.

When my tongue finally grazed his nipple, sucking it gently into my mouth, he bucked uncontrollably beneath me. His hips jerked up, his hands flew to my hair, gripping the strands tightly as a sharp, breathless sound escaped his throat.

" Ji-ho..." he gasped, his eyes rolling back, completely lost to the sensation, to the boy that was the absolute ruin of his carefully constructed world.

“Dear Lord…” I muttered, capturing his lips with mine again. I fed his lustful mouth, sliding my tongue against his, tasting the sharp bite of him. It was like nectar after a long, agonizing fast. His soft, breathy moans vibrated against my lips, it fed my own rising heat until I was practically feral, pulled deeper into the same dark abyss of ecstasy he was in. In truth I felt like the one who is truly caught.

“So sweet, seonsaengnim,” I breathed into his mouth.

I shouldn’t be doing this, I thought again for the 100th time but I couldn’t help it. I need to see that undone face of his.

I go lower, pulling away the trousers from his squirming lower body. I took him immediately into my mouth, and his sharp cry almost undoes me. I trembled as I sucked on him, loving how he expanded inside my mouth, how his body twitched and trembled. I couldn’t remember wanting anyone as much as I did him now.

His face—the way his lips were trapped between his teeth, eyes open wide, wild, then shut, mouth sagged, head thrown back.

Yes, that look. That's what I want to see.

It didn’t take long; I felt him tense, then cry out, tasted his spill in my mouth.

“Wait. No, noooouuu…” he cried as he did, the sound breaking small and fractured from his throat, like he was trying to claw the moment back. I swallowed it all as he spasmed uncontrollably, loving the taste of him, the way he trembled like he would break.

Done, he withdrew from me and curled inward, burying his face in his hands as a harsh sob wracked his entire body. The heavy, suffocating weight of his own guilt hit him all at once, crushing him right there on the sheets.

I froze, the feverish heat of my lust extinguished at the sight of him. He looked so small, so fragile. This wasn’t the victory I wanted—it was pure, agonizing conflict.

"Hey..." I murmured, shifting closer across the bed. Whatever predatory urge had driven me this far completely vanished, giving way to something fierce, and protective. "Look at me. It's okay."

I gently pried his hands away from his wet face, framing his flushed jaw instead. His skin was feverish, stained with tears, and his dark eyes were drowned in a shame so sharp it stung to look at. He whimpered—a broken, breathless sound—and tried to turn away from my palms, completely undone.

He looked entirely shattered.

"Shh, I've got you. Just breathe," I whispered, drawing his trembling frame against my chest. He resisted for a fraction of a second, his sobs harsh and uncontrolled, before he completely collapsed into me, hiding his face in the crook of my neck.

I wrapped my arms tight around him, rocking him slightly, smoothing my hand through his soft curls as his chest heaved against mine. I let him weep, absorbing the tremors of his guilt until his breathing gradually slowed, hitching less and less as exhaustion finally took over.

Soon enough, the tension drained from his limbs, and he fell into a deep, defeated sleep against my skin.

I lay there in the quiet room, staring up at the dark ceiling, feeling the damp warmth of his tears lingering on my collarbone.

Two things had become undeniably clear: he had completely, helplessly fallen for his student—and the weight of it was breaking his heart.