Seungho stood stone still, eyes narrowing dangerously, tension like heated steel in every powerful muscle. Yet he didn’t step back. Didn’t flinch. He held his ground, crimson-golden eyes locked onto the glinting mask, the somewhat familiar defiant tilt of the jaw beneath it.
Haneul's lips curled into a viciously pretty smile, dangerously fanged, the smear of rouge on his lower lip enticingly raw.
“Listen… oversized skyscraper beast,” he drawled slowly, voice velvet-wrapped steel, rough yet unbearably sweet, lashes lowering briefly, hiding and showing too much at once. “I don’t want to do this, and your face tells me you don’t wanna either so… just talk whatever, pretend to like me, and pay me a good tip, and I’ll not bite your face off. I might even let you buy me a mooncake from the conbini downstairs.”
Seungho exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he'd been holding, the air catching in his chest. His mind struggled furiouslyagainst impossibility and deja vu, logic and longing colliding fiercely. Yet his expression betrayed none of it, voice rumbling quietly, each word careful, controlled, silk-draped granite.
"Bold words, fox," he murmured deeply, eyes heavy-lidded yet unblinking, their gaze piercing through the boy’s careful bravado. "Are you always this reckless, or is this a special occasion?"
Haneul’s eyes narrowed, interest flaring dangerously, pupils dilating with challenge. His lips curled further, teeth sharp and white beneath the red paint, body leaning forward provocatively, every line daring him closer, pushing him away simultaneously.
"Always reckless. Always special," Haneul breathed slowly, the mask catching the room’s lights, shimmering silver and lethal. "You smell familiar, giant. Like something I lost and forgot. It's irritating."
Seungho's breath stopped again, his fingers twitching briefly at his sides, the impulse to touch—to reassure himself that this surreal, impossible moment was true—almost overwhelming. Instead, he tilted his head slowly, never breaking eye contact, never backing down.
"And you," he spoke softly, voice quiet yet resonant, dripping honeyed danger, "are wearing a mask I've seen before, a mask from dreams I've stopped chasing."
Haneul's breath hitched audibly, betraying a vulnerable shudder beneath that carefully cultivated bravado. For a moment, beneath the glitter and arrogance, he was visibly, achingly young, terribly lost, yearning without understanding why. He shifted uncomfortably on the desk, knees drawing slightly closer, fingers digging briefly into the polished wood.Then, visibly regathering his defenses, he scowled viciously, snapping harshly.
"Stop talking nonsense, old man. Dreams? Chasing? Are you drunk already? Just pretend like the others, pay, and I’ll vanish."
Seungho shook his head slowly, eyes blazing quietly, molten, lethal, filled with restrained longing and fiercely controlled pain. His voice dropped impossibly lower, becoming something more than human, an intimate growl only Haneul could hear.
"Something tells me you are not someone who vanishes quietly."
Haneul stared, chest rising sharply with confused breath, fingertips trembling slightly, betraying how deeply Seungho’s words resonated somewhere beneath his snarling bravado. He did not understand the sudden ache in his chest, the flicker of recognition and hunger stirring deep in his gut. He only knew that something about the man before him felt achingly, dangerously right.
Eyes narrowed fiercely, Haneul leaned closer, his voice whisper-sharp, reckless challenge glittering in his narrowed gaze.
"Fine, skyscraper," he murmured huskily, smile savage and sweet and full of razor edges. "Then don’t pretend. Show me instead. Make me believe you. If you can."
And Seungho smiled—a slow, predatory tilt of lips, eyes crimson-hot, an old fire burning fierce and bright beneath his calm façade. Voice velvet, raw and heated promise, his words wrapped lovingly, lethally around Haneul.
"As you wish, fox."
Seungho regarded the beautiful disaster sprawled across his desk with cautious fascination. Around them, the world had narrowed to a private bubble of tension and confusion. Despite the explicit pose—the boy’s legs parted in a breathtaking display of unapologetic vulgarity—something was profoundly amiss.
This creature did not radiate practiced seduction, nor intentional provocation; instead, there was an odd innocence to his defiance, a blatant contradiction between the invitation of his body and the utterly naive expectation shining raw and honest in those fierce blue eyes.
And then Haneul began to grow bored.
Without warning, one slender, restless hand reached out to flick dismissively at the neatly stacked documents on the mahogany surface, sending them sliding chaotically. Contracts scattered slightly, a symphony of controlled order suddenly disturbed by reckless fingertips. Seungho watched, stunned, as the boy casually picked up his black pen and began drawing delicate little birds along the margins of confidential corporate secrets, snow-colored eyebrows furrowed in quiet concentration, utterly absorbed.
His face, half-hidden by the shimmering silver mask, was focused and almost childlike as he sketched swift, surprisingly elegant lines, capturing an entire flock in mid-flight, swirling around numbers and words that determined the fates of thousands. Oblivious or unconcerned about the gravity of his actions, Haneul only paused momentarily to look up through thick lashes, catching Seungho's incredulous stare and lifting an elegant brow defiantly.
“What?” Haneul demanded sharply, tapping the pen’s tip against the paper with rhythmic impatience. "You're not talking. You're not doing anything interesting. This," he gestured dismissively at the chaos, "is boring. I showed you mycrotch already, skyscraper. I assume that's enough humiliation on my end. So now you're supposed to…do something, entertain me. Why are you staring as if I’ve just grown another head?"
Seungho released a low breath, feeling his resolve splinter and crack dangerously at the edges. A low, reluctant chuckle escaped him, rough-edged and rusty from disuse. He tilted his head, regarding this absurd, dazzling creature perched boldly atop his empire of power and secrets.
“You’re something else entirely,” he murmured, eyes narrowing softly, tone incredulous, almost affectionate despite himself.
Haneul scowled deeply, the rouge on his lower lip smearing slightly as he bit it impatiently. “I’m bored,” he repeated harshly, voice nearly a growl, something raw and wild sparking beneath his irritation. “And hungry. You’re failing. I’m drawing birds on your stupid, expensive papers, and you’re failing. Do something useful. I demanded mooncakes, old man. And maybe a story. Or at least talk so I don’t have to look at your face staring like a corpse.”
Seungho studied him, chest tightening inexplicably. He knew, instinctively, that any gesture from him now mattered terribly, though the boy himself would never admit it.
Slowly, deliberately, he reached into the inner pocket of his dark suit jacket.
He had bought the mooncake hours earlier, from a pop-up stall he swore had never been there before. Just a folding table beneath an orange parasol, tucked between a construction site and a convenience store—the kind of place that shouldn’t exist, but did.
