geonhaoism
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Geonwoo’s grip shifts—one hand sliding to Jiahao’s shoulder blade, fingers splaying wide, iron-hard. He shoves, just enough to press Jiahao flush against the wood again, bodies aligned from chest to hip.
“Do you want to do that again?”
Jiahao’s lashes flutter. His lips part on a soft exhale. “But we don’t have any pepero right now.”
“… Do we really need one?”
Or: Geonwoo can’t stop thinking about the pepero game.
Series
- Part 1 of geonhaoism