Seungho’s voice was a breath at Haneul’s ear: “…Did you want me to cry, Snow?”
There was a flicker, a hesitation—a smile faltered at the edge of Haneul’s mouth. A rawness, new and unguarded, peeked through the armor of bravado.
And that, that naked question, that tiny quake in the mask, was what finally broke the king’s patience. He leaned over Haneul’s body, mouth grazing the shell of his ear, and growled, “I only cry after I ruin you.”
Haneul sighed. Threw his leg up—absurdly high, a move that should have been lewd but was just… defiant. He planted his heel on Seungho’s cheek, pushing him away with the irreverence of a bratty god rejecting devotion.
“Why would I want to make you cry, idiot?” he grumbled, still pressing, still not letting Seungho come too close. Not yet. Not until it was safe.
“The idea of you going all soft like that… ughhh, grosses me out…”
Seungho grinned, letting Haneul feel his teeth against his heel.
“You think you’re gonna cry when you ruin me?” Haneul taunted.
He finally yanked his leg back, rolling sideways on the futon, braid whipping over his hip—a snarl of silver, a dare of vulnerability.
“You’re delusional… fire king…”
Seungho snorted. Watched him curl into himself—arms wrapped around ribs, voice low and bitter and half-buried under the sheets:
“You can’t ruin something that’s already wrecked, idiot…”
A silence. Seungho’s breath. Haneul’s heartbeat. The tension between want and warning.
Seungho shifted—climbed over him. Not rough. Not gentle. Just… there. Just heavy enough to keep Haneul’s storm from spinning out of orbit.
Haneul opened one eye, wariness flickering.
Seungho bent, pressed his lips to Haneul’s brow, and murmured, “Then let me be the first to rebuild you.”
Haneul grunted. Grabbed the nearest pillow. Dragged it over his own head with the fury of a prince forced to bow to a fool.
Underneath it, his voice came half snarl, half plea: “You are OVERHEATING me.”
Seungho blinked, stared at the back of the pillow, then grinned. He couldn’t help it. This was his undoing. He had never lovedanything like this—never wanted to devour and worship and tease and break all at once.
Haneul bucked his hips sideways—a violent, childish shove. Seungho let him, shifted just enough for Haneul to feel he’d won, though the king’s weight barely yielded.
“You’re unbearable,” Seungho muttered, watching the pillow shake, watching the golden light from his own core ripple across Haneul’s tangled hair.
He leaned down, growled just above the pillow: “You’re overheating because you’re under a fucking pillow, frostbrain.”
A beat. Haneul burrowed deeper.
Seungho reached under the edge, sliding his hand over Haneul’s ribs, fingers mapping every bone, every bruise. Cool, silken, alive.
“Want me to cool you down?” Seungho murmured.
Haneul’s breath caught. He didn’t answer.
Seungho pressed his lips to the pillow. “Or do you want another ride through the air, upside-down and screaming, like last time?”
Haneul peeked out—a single eye, shining, wild, a storm waiting for the command to break. His mouth curled into something between a snarl and a smile.
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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE– You’re Asking Me to Stay, Aren’t You?
