Chapter Text
A week later, their next meet.
It wasn’t supposed to go like this.They were careful.
Sunghoon checked the hallway before letting Jake in once, then again.
Jake slipped inside quickly, the door closing with a soft, practiced click. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Jake leaned forward, resting his forehead briefly against Sunghoon’s shoulder.
Just for a second.
“Long day,” Jake murmured.
Sunghoon nodded, breath leaving him slowly. “Too long.”
They sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders barely touching, knees angled inward like magnets pulling despite themselves.
Jake’s hand found Sunghoon’s wrist without thinking, thumb brushing once over his pulse—steady, grounding.
That was the mistake.
The door opened.
Not slammed. Not rushed.
Just opened.
“Sunghoon, I need—”
The voice stopped mid-sentence.
Every nerve in Sunghoon’s body went cold.
Jake froze first, then looked up.
The manager stood in the doorway, clipboard tucked under his arm, eyes sharp and already taking in too much—the hand around Sunghoon’s wrist, the way neither of them had moved apart fast enough, the silence that said more than words ever could.
Time stretched thin.
“…I see,” the manager said quietly.
Sunghoon stood up immediately, heart pounding so loud he was sure it could be heard. “Sir—”
Jake released his wrist at once, stepping back, face carefully blank but shoulders tense. “We were just talking.”
The manager didn’t respond right away. He closed the door behind him instead.
Carefully.
That was worse.
“I’ve noticed patterns,” he said after a moment. Calm. Measured. “Convenient overlaps. You two disappearing at the same times.” His gaze flicked between them. “I didn’t want to assume.”
Jake swallowed. “This isn’t—”
“Safe,” the manager finished. “That’s what you were going to say, right?”
Neither of them answered.
The manager sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? Not just for you, but for the group?”
Sunghoon forced himself to meet his eyes. “We’re careful.”
A humorless huff. “No. You’re lucky.”
Silence pressed in, thick and suffocating. From the hallway outside, footsteps passed, voices laughing, life going on like nothing had just shifted.
“I didn’t come here looking to catch you,” the manager said finally. “I came to remind you about tomorrow’s schedule.”
Jake’s chest tightened. “And now?”
The manager studied them for a long moment. Something unreadable crossed his face.
“Now,” he said slowly, “this never happens again.”
Sunghoon’s heart dropped.
“If someone else sees this,” the manager continued, voice firm, “I won’t be able to pretend. And neither will you.”
He opened the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. “Be smarter. Or be done.”
Then he left.
The door clicked shut.
Jake let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. “That was—”
“Too close,” Sunghoon said quietly.
They didn’t touch after that. Didn’t kiss. Didn’t even sit back down.
But later, when Jake finally slipped out, the fear followed them both—heavy and unavoidable.
Because now it wasn’t just suspicion.
It was confirmed.
And next time, there might not be a warning.