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“But you keep coming back,” Seunghyun says, voice tight, eyes dark with a mix of frustration and something he can’t quite hide, something softer, more dangerous. His hands are shoved into his pockets, shoulders stiff, but the pull of Jiyong in front of him makes him falter.
“I know,” Jiyong admits, his gaze dropping to the floor, fingers twisting nervously at the sheets. “I’ve been trying not to.” Every word trembles, carrying the ache of longing he can’t seem to control, the need that always draws him back despite knowing the consequences.