"I’m reporting this to the boss," Haneul declared, loud enough for the entire room to hear. He turned in a dazzling spin of rage, braid flying like a whip behind him, glitter cascading off his skin like shrapnel. "For your fucking safety!IDIOT!!"
The room had frozen entirely now. One of the other hosts—smaller, wide-eyed—had backed into a corner and was watching like a rabbit before a dragon. A few of the executives cleared their throats, some chuckling awkwardly, others shifting in their seats, unsure whether this was performance or madness.
Only Seungho remained still.
Watching.
No, not watching.
Worshipping.
His chest burned with something ancient and reverent as he stared at the boy—this creature who had just shattered the illusion of this whole ridiculous party in one ferocious, beautiful act. He’d protected his own, shamed a predator in front of peers, made a mockery of power with nothing but jaggedsequins, rage, and bare feet. Not one man in this room would dare touch him now. Not after that display.
Haneul’s voice ricocheted, beautiful and unignorable, a snarl of love twisted into fury. And then Junseo cracked.
Lips tense, voice bitter, he barked, “That’s rich—coming from someone who lets his boyfriend beat the shit out of him every night!”
The world stopped. The oxygen burned out of the air. Haneul’s entire body went rigid, his soul torn open and raw. Then he exploded, scream shattering, barreling at Junseo like a winter gale off the northern sea.
A tangle of limbs, fists, snarling.
They slammed back onto the table in a crash of glass and fury, limbs flailing, bodies colliding. Haneul was on top, clawing like an animal, Junseo dragging him by the braid, shouting, bruising, cursing. Tie half-wrapped around Haneul’s arm. Haneul bit down on Junseo’s shoulder with a snarl that drew blood.
Gasps.
Cheers.
Phones came out.
One executive stood, half-hard behind his tailored slacks, hand half-raised to intervene—until Haneul backhanded him without looking.
The man staggered back, humiliated, wheezing.
No one tried again.
Because in that moment, Haneul was untouchable. Chaos and glass-light dust and bones. Screaming in a voice older than language. Crying, maybe. Furious. Glorious.
Junseo ended up pinned under Haneul’s knee, eyes wide, mouth cut, nose bleeding.
“Say it again,” Haneul hissed, voice a rasp. “Say it and I’ll rip your tongue out. You don’t know anything!!.”
Junseo just shook his head. Too scared to speak.
Haneul didn’t move. Sweat poured down his neck. The mask had slipped to his chin, revealing one cheekbone smeared with star-shaped stickers, and a fading bruise like a secret tattoo. His mouth trembled.
The room was dead silent now.
Only Seungho breathed.
And then—the moment broke.
Seungho stood.
One motion. Absolute.
He stepped forward slowly, and the crowd parted for him like a tide.
“This party is over,” he said.
