Not like he expected to see Seungho.
Just… in case.
Because there was something in that voice—low, rough, real—that made his bones ache, like a fever you never quite shook.
He tried to snarl it away. He couldn’t name it anyway. That man hadn’t even touched him, and still his pulse hadn’t slowed since the moment their eyes met. That gaze had held him—no, caught him, like a fish on a silent hook, dangling in some memory he didn’t know he had.
“The hell was that,” he grumbled, swiping at his cheek. He didn’t know if it was sweat or something else.
The city blurred around him. Traffic murmured. A drunk girl screamed joyfully three blocks away. Haneul kept walking, ducking under signs, stepping over litter and sidewalk cracks, weaving through puddles of fluorescent light. A club flyer fluttered near his foot.
"VELVET ECLIPSE – All Night. All Desire."
He sneered.
Desire.
As if any of them knew what that meant.
He turned the final corner and paused at the alley beside the club. A patch of cracked asphalt framed the back entrance, where a lone cigarette butt still glowed faintly in the ashtray nailed to the wall.
He reached for the door handle—then paused.
Swallowed.
That man’s face burned behind his eyelids again.
The way he looked at him.
Not like prey.
Not like property.
Like he was real.
Like he mattered.
And fuck—didn’t that just make Haneul want to bite someone?
He slammed the door open too hard, letting it rattle the hinges like a warning shot, and disappeared inside, braid swinging like a severed tether.
??????
The backstage hallway smelled of citrus cleaner and expensive sweat—cloying perfume, spilled gin, and the faint, unmistakable trace of shame.
The kind of scent you couldn’t wash off.
Haneul stepped into it like a returning ghost, bare feet silent on the linoleum, braid trailing like a thread unspooling from a too-tight heart. The dim corridor lights flickered, old bulbs in Art Deco fixtures trying to keep up with the club’s mood lighting. He knew this hallway too well—every chip in the black tile, every scuff mark from stilettos or fights or things no one talked about.
He kept walking, not running, not slowing either.
The hush before impact.
Atthe far end, the manager’s office door was cracked open. The glow from within spilled like poured gold across the black floors. Velvet Eclipse rarely made noise back here. The throb of bass was always distant, like a giant heartbeat muffled by velvet and steel.
And inside that glowing office sat Cha Yul.
Legs crossed, fingers templed, jacket unbuttoned just enough to show the black silk shirt beneath. He didn’t look up when Haneul entered.
