Haneul narrowed his eyes further. “Who the hell are you.”
Seungho blinked, still trying to make sense of this feral pillow demon masquerading as a human being. “Excuse me?”
“That,” Haneul snapped. “That thing you did. Last night. That wasn’t sex. That was sorcery. You—” he jabbed a finger into Seungho’s pec like it owed him an apology, “—did something to me. I was fine before. Normal. Functioning. Then you—then that happened and now I can’t feel my knees. Or my brain. Or—” he paused, dramatic and accusatory, “—my innocence.”
Seungho just stared at him, stunned and motionless.
“And don’t lie!” Haneul hissed. “If you spiked the antiseptic with some kind of herbal arousal potion or CEO pheromones, I will find out. I’ll dissect your cologne. I’ll get it tested in a lab.”
He leaned down, noses almost touching, that same wild, beautiful fury flashing in his eyes.
“I swear, if you—”
And that was when Seungho cracked.
Not in defense. Not in irritation.
In laughter.
It started as a snort, slipped out sideways, then snowballed—deep, rich, head-thrown-back laughter that shook the bed and his ribs and something in his soul. Haneul jumped like he’d been electrocuted, eyes wide in horror.
“What the actual fu—are you laughing at me?” he screeched, scrambling backward over the tangle of blankets. “I come to you, vulnerable and corrupted, and you—what the hell, you oversized lumbering—don’t laugh!!”
Seungho tried to breathe, wiping at his eyes. “I—I’m sorry—no, I’m not, actually—God, you’re ridiculous—”
“I’llshow you ridiculous!” Haneul growled. “Take it back! Take it all back right now or I’ll shove a spoon up your—”
But before the spoon threat could reach its anatomical conclusion, Seungho surged forward, caught Haneul’s ankle, and yanked.
“Who am I?” he echoed, voice going low and molten. “You’re the one who needs to answer that. I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you. You’re gonna pay for that, Sky.”
“What—hey! Let go—LET GO—!”
“Make me.”
And that was how the morning devolved into a writhing mess of limbs, yelps, missed swats, and laughter muffled by sheets.
Somewhere between a pin and a counterattack that failed spectacularly, Haneul managed to wiggle free and roll off the bed with a thud, dragging the blanket with him like a flag of retreat.
“I’m taking a shower,” he declared, already backing toward the bathroom. “And if you so much as smirk at me when I come out, I’ll poison your coffee.”
Seungho, breathless and half-grinning, watched him go.
He didn’t say anything.
Didn’t say that his heart felt too full. Or that this—this mess, this morning, this boy and all his storms—had somehow folded itself into the shape of home.
??????
By 8:15 a.m., the king had returned to his corporate throne.
Yeol Holdings towered silver and sleek over the city, air-conditioned and polished to a gleam. Everything about it screamed control, as usual.
Except Seungho.
He looked perfect, of course—he always did. Hair slicked back, shoulders broad and squared, suit sharp enough to intimidate investors into submission, jaw locked like a steel trap. But the illusion cracked at the edges.
His tie had a single crooked fold. His left cufflink was missing. And his eyes—his eyes—kept darting to his phone like it was some kind of lifeline.
