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Chapter Text

It’s cold and a little dreary, a stray waft coming by every now and then to ruffle their carefully styled hair, the sky nearly as pale as the ground. The snow is meticulously shoveled off the concrete, the pavement free of the powdered white. For good measure, they took out a maroon carpet and allowed it to flow from the main entrance all the way down to the driveway. They can’t have anyone slipping on this important day after all, lest they’ll surely receive a lawsuit for their negligence. More than a handful of valets are lined up by the gates of the campus, dressed in matching uniforms, ready to catch the keys of the wealthy families that will be attending, driving their luxurious cars into the parking lot for them. But really, it’s quite unnecessary, seeing as most had their own drivers anyway.

There’s a subtle furor in the courtyard, the space filled with an array of students dressed in their midnight blue blazers with their red and gray striped ties. The ceremony is yet to start, and the underclassmen linger in the grounds to kill time. The clouds move, but only partly, just enough to let through a slither of the sun.

One by one, vehicles roll in, all windows tinted, exterior either a rich matte or a flawless shine. Instead of what they are meant to do, the valets find themselves opening the doors for the prominent people arriving. 

It’s February, and here, takes place perhaps the most monumental event for the students of Decelis College—the graduation ceremony. Somewhat a rite of passage. On this day, the students don their prestigious uniforms one last time as they stride to the stage, through the crowd, under the blinding lights of the main hall, priding themselves for being able to weather all four years in the unforgiving walls of the institute. And once they arrive, medals of gold, silver, and bronze are hung upon their neck, their diploma—their most prized possession to date—is handed to them. With heads held high, shoulders rolled back in confidence, they face the crowd, no longer a college student, but now the successor of their respective family businesses, now ripe and ready for inheritance.

Decelis Academy is as lavish as it sounds—an academe for the wealthy, a school for the privileged. It isn’t meant for simple people. Class lists contain the children of politicians, the heirs of renowned business men, successors of the biggest conglomerates in Korea.

As one would expect, the hierarchy here runs deeply, like thick roots of white oak trees, slithering beneath the surface. Ranks are not only decided by their parents’ social standing, but also—no, especially, by their academic performance. Wealth isn’t the most important prerequisite to this institute, but wit. The person bearing the highest honors is the one most highly regarded, the envy of all. And most of the time, this comes hand in hand with the student council’s seat of power.

This year, the brightest senior, the student body’s steadfast president, with his unending list of achievements in every field possible, takes the podium to deliver his speech as the academy’s summa cum laude. The crowd immediately quiets down when he angles the mic, immense respect hanging in the air while everyone waits with bated breath. 

His smooth voice spills through the hall a moment later as he reminisces his ups and downs in his four years. Deep, cold eyes try to meet every single person in the crowd, wisdom and authority somewhat dripping from his every word. Finally, he wraps up his address. 

“Níki. Kaneís den thymátai tous ittiménous!” He says in Greek. It’s their school mantra. Win. No one remembers the losers. 

The audience cheers instantly, echoing the quotation with booming voices, and with that, the ceremony comes to a close. 

Usually, graduating students partake in a variety of practices to end their education on a happy note. Some schools throw flour around, write on their polos, tear their uniforms. But Decelis will not participate in such barbaric acts. They are refined, poised, elegant.

Instead, they made a tradition of passing down the golden brooch they wear on the left chest of their blazer to an underclassman they are rooting for. When and how it originated is lost to the students, all they know is that one is lucky to receive a brooch at all. A flaxen pin shaped like the Rose of Sharon, no bigger than the pad of one’s thumb. It’s treated as an omen. A superstition. You will do as well as the upperclassman who passed it down to you. The same path they have paved will be yours to tread. Naturally, everyone keeps an eye on who the summa cum laude gifts it to.

Which is why the exchange happens behind closed doors, abaft the large double-doored entrance to the council room. It’s a space most have only heard of, really. It’s not open to non-members. But based on the stories, it really is fitting for an heir, for the best student. It seems more like a throne than a seat brimmed with responsibility. 

The walls stretch up to the high ceilings, the floor completely carpeted in a rich cobalt blue—the school’s color. A glass chandelier nothing short of exorbitant hangs from the middle, dangling over the mahogany desk meant for the president. In front of it, sits a set of velvet couches, indigo this time. Perhaps the staff like staying monochromatic. Behind the desk, floor-to-ceiling windows stand, giving them an ample view of the meticulously maintained garden below, a stone fountain erect in the middle.

There are whispers going around, word of who students think will be deemed worthy enough to receive the president’s brooch. And there are rumors floating between the marbled hallways of the school, speculations of who will come close, but not close enough, and instead receive the vice president’s—the magna cum laude’s—in turn.

It all points to two boys, currently in their junior year, both in the student council as the secretary and treasurer, infamous for going neck and neck for as long as anyone can remember.

Jaehwa stands before the looming glass windows, hands clasped behind his back as he looks over the garden with a sentimental smile. “I’m going to miss it here.”

“No point in sulking, Hwa.” Chul, the vice president, says as she clears the desk of their belongings, making way for the next in line. 

“C’mon, can’t a man be sad?” He asks, looking over his shoulder to quirk a brow at her.

She huffs, rolling her eyes promptly after. “Sad over what? You literally graduated with the highest honors, in like, history.”

“Chul, why are you so cold?” He jests, shaking his head. “Not a single emotion coursing through your body.”

She purses her lip, sending him a bemused look. “Help me out. They’ll be here soon.”

Immediately, Jaehwa obeys, emptying out their desks and lockers. After, he straightens his tie, crisps out his blazer and clears his throat, waiting for the doors to open. Beside him, Chul stands, only reaching until his shoulder, her round glasses resting atop her button nose. In his peripheral, he spots a tuft of her hair standing up, so he pats it down. And almost immediately, Chul swats his hand away.

At the same time, the side-by-side doors swing open, and in come the two boys they’ve been waiting for.

His eyes crinkle at the sight, genuine fondness coating his heart in a heady amount. He sure is going to miss these two.

“Sunghoon. Sunoo.” He says with a grin. “Thank you for joining us.”

·· ─ · ❃ · ─ · ·

Sunghoon isn’t sure what exactly to feel as Jaehwa stands behind the podium, needing to bend down a little to speak into the mic. It’s the end of an era. It’s bittersweet.

The ceremony eventually dwindles into a repose, the emotion and adrenaline that surged through their veins eventually subsiding. The families of the graduates are leaving in their expensive cars, ready to throw a feast for their sons and daughters who are expected to bring about a bright future, ready to leave all the weight of their companies upon the shoulders of their helpless heirs. All while the underclassmen spend the rest of the day making good use of the festivity.

Not him, though. He doesn’t like wasting time.

Besides, he already has his schedule filled up. After the ceremony, one last meeting with the older council members. 

Sunghoon’s stomach swirls with anticipation mixed with a tinge of anxiety, but he swallows it down and schools his face. He hopes that the president’s brooch is still safely pinned by his chest when he walks through that door. It’s for him to claim anyway.

There are whispers going around, word of who students think will be deemed worthy enough to receive the president’s brooch. And the hushed voices say: Park Sunghoon.

Eldest and only Son of Park Gyeongdae—owner of one of the biggest international mining companies and shareholder of seven of the most luxurious jewelry brands in the world. His name says it all. The great one. Shining. He was destined for triumph. 

And so is his son. He made sure of it the moment he was born—engrained it in the very name he was to carry. Sunghoon. Success. To achieve. It is the meaning of his name. He is provided no room for anything less.

When Sunghoon turns the corner, he would have bumped into someone if it weren’t for the other’s agile steps to evade. Sunoo’s eyes dart to him, hazel, bright, and perplexed. “Watch where you’re going.” The council’s secretary hisses, ironing out the creases of his blazer with the palms of his hands as if the run in had left him dirty.

And there are rumors floating between the marbled hallways of the school, speculations of who will come close, but not close enough, and instead receive the vice president’s—the magna cum laude’s—in turn. The canards mention only one: Kim Sunoo.

Youngest and only son of Kim Kyubong—meaning standard and eminence, a rising name in the pompous industry of perfumery. They are new money rich, a family only able to soar to where they are now by the patriarch’s sheer will and determination. They have acres and acres of land in France where they grow the richest of flowers and herbs, cultivating and extracting the highest quality ingredients from oils to fragrances, supplying these to the high-end brands across the globe. 

He made sure his son would follow in his footsteps, engraining it in the very name he is to carry—Sunoo. Golden. Emperor . His son has wit and tenacity, this he is sure of. Which is why he expects nothing less of him, nothing else but to carry on his legacy and make it even grander.

“I could say the same to you,” Sunghoon answers, falling in step with the younger, a smirk hiking up his cheek. “Too busy staring at my face?”

“You know I do not waste my time on ugly things.”

He scoffs, knowing a lie when he sees it. Sunoo can call him obscene names time and time again, but know that none of it holds the truth. He is pleasing to the eyes, an art embodied. He knows this. And no amount of insults from the younger will ever change that.

“Is that why you turned Daewoo down? Or did Daewoo turn you down?”

At this, Sunoo’s brow merely twitches, shooting him a diffident glance at the mention of one of his… fans, perse. Kim Daewoo, son of Seoul Police Department’s Commissioner General. Nevertheless, irrelevant. Then he turns to where they are headed with the ghost of a sly grin. “Aren’t you a little too interested?”

“Only in your suffering.” Sunghoon grins, smile so warm and genuine one would think he was talking to a friend. But no, Sunoo is no friend. Not when they’ve spent more than half of their lives butting heads, desperately trying to outdo each other in every possible way.

They reach the end of the hallway, and now stand before the council room. A silent huff escapes through Sunoo’s nose, deciding to spare his breath, and instead pushes the hulking doors open. On the other side, the two upperclassmen closest to them await.

“Sunghoon. Sunoo.” The president says with a grin. “Thank you for joining us.” Beside him, Chul is stoic as ever.

“Sunbaenims” they greet in unison, bowing curtly after.

Jaehwa, although quite sentimental, is not one to beat around the bush. He does not offer them tea or pastries like he always does. Today, they have no time for that.

The sun is setting, and through the windows, they could see the clouds that litter the horizon, skies painted in a muted orange. Behind the two seniors, is the large desk and the velvet chair—the throne, now vacant. It looks a little too inviting.

“I’m sure you know why the two of you are here.” 

Sunoo nods earnestly. He knows. He isn’t a fool. He’s heard of the whispers and he’s caught the canards. Everyone expects Chul to gift her brooch to him. From the vice president to the secretary, from the magna cum laude to the second in honors in his batch. And of course, as bitter as the taste it leaves on his tongue, he knows—that Jaehwa’s golden pin practically has Sunghoon’s name engraved in its petal.

Park Sunghoon, an achiever in every sense. Ace of his team no matter what sport he joined, top of his class regardless of his major, pick of the pile despite all the ripe apples around him.

Jaehwa’s hands fly to his blazer, nimble hands beginning to undo the brooch on his chest. The two younger boys still in their spots, breaths hitching in their throat. Similarly, Chul removes hers, specs sliding further down her nose. Honestly, she finds this whole thing cheesy and useless. But tradition is tradition.

“I’ve seen you two grow.” Jaehwa starts, giving out a mandatory speech before the passing of his pin, just as the previous president passed it down to him. “And I know you’re both destined for great things.”

Sunghoon nods, straightening his back and craning his neck with something that looks like pride, subtly buffing out his chest for the senior’s easy access.

“I’m rooting for you.” The president says, stepping forward, hand already outstretched to pin the brooch on the junior.

Sunghoon keeps his head held high, eyes trained on the corner of the room like a soldier being rewarded a medallion. Well, in this sense, he pretty much is one. His blazer’s chest bare and ready for the pinning.

“Kim Sunoo.” Jaehwa finally finishes, pinning the rose brooch on the left side of his chest, just as Chul steps forward to tack hers onto Sunghoon’s. 

Níki. Kaneís den thymátai tous ittiménous.

It was at this moment that Sunoo felt the air in his lungs crystalize, at this moment that it felt like the clouds caught fire under the glare of sunset, at this moment that the golden flower on his blazer weighed a little too heavy against the cloth. His eyes widen momentarily in disbelief, meeting the president’s gaze which was bright and earnest and nothing short of genuine. Jaehwa adjusts the brooch one last time, making sure it was perfectly in place, before patting his shoulder and stepping away.

Sunoo turns to his side, only to see Sunghoon’s stare glued elsewhere. Whether it was from disbelief or dismay, he does not know. Perhaps it was both. Then, painstakingly slow, like his neck would creak at the very movement, he looks over to Sunoo, eyes shadowed and devoid of its usual glint of mischief, lips pulled into a deep frown. Chul secures the pin on the treasurer’s blazer, before retreating to Jaehwa’s side. 

Sunghoon tongues the insides of his mouth in annoyance, a bitter laugh hanging just on the tip of it, threatening to spill, jaw locking in place. He feels an unpleasant flame lap against his gut as he sees the sunset behind him reflected in Sunoo’s eyes, the sky’s burning glow bouncing off the gold resting on the younger’s chest tauntingly.

Win. No one remembers the losers.

Chapter Text

The last residue of the winter leaves in gusts and makes way for a chilly spring. Just as the seniors have left, entrusting all else to those next in line. It is a cycle—a practice held dearly in this academe, a sacrilegious passing of the baton every year.

Sunoo is now in his fourth year. It’s his last lap. Dawdling is no longer a luxury he can afford. Not that he’s ever dawdled before.

He checks his mirror, straightening out the wool scarf scrupulously wrapped around his neck, fingers carding through his fringe in an attempt to style them perfectly. A moment or so later, the car comes to a halt just outside the large gates of the academy.

“Young master, we have arrived.”

Sunoo snaps his hand mirror shut, pressing his lips together to spread the balm he had just applied. “Thank you.” The car door is opened for him, and out he steps into the springtime air. His father’s men bow to him deeply in goodbye, wishing their young master well.

Just then, another car drives in, its sheen black that glints just a little blue if the light hits it from the perfect angles, its belly hanging low against its tires, the revving of the engine boisterous. The vehicle is as obnoxious as the one who owns it. 

A man steps out, fangs behind his lips, and hair as white as the snow that had long thawed away the month prior. A small grin is plastered on his face. To whom it is directed to, Sunoo doesn’t know. Sunoo couldn’t care less actually.

Sunghoon tosses his car keys to a valet in waiting, before sauntering through the gates. When he spots Sunoo, his eyes glint with something unreadable, the smile tugging at his lips widening by a millimeter.

“Good morning, Sunoo.” He greets, swinging an arm around the other’s shoulder. “Still sent to school by daddy’s men? Cute.”

Sunoo scoffs, this taunting is not new to him at all. If anything, he has learned not to give Sunghoon the satisfaction of reacting. 

“Well, my father cares about me…” He replies, careening his head to send the older a smile. Not sure you would know what that’s like. The unspoken part of his sentence is left hanging on the tip of his tongue, but the other seems to understand just that, able to hear his silent words loud and clear.

Sunghoon’s brow juts up momentarily at the jab, lips pursing into a challenged smirk.

“If you’ll excuse me…” Sunoo adds, hands smoothing out his blazer, fingers readjusting the golden rose on his chest a tad too slowly. Sunghoon doesn’t miss the gesture at all. Instead, his eyes zero in on the pin that was supposed to be his. His stomach churns with something unpleasant once more.

“I have matters to attend to.” He finishes, not forgetting to beam at the older with a not so good natured pat on the shoulder. “I’ll see you around, hyung. ”

He turns around on his heel and leaves Sunghoon with an acrid taste swirling on his tongue.

See, here’s the thing. Sunoo is younger. Born a year later than Sunghoon, but really, he’s only younger by a few months. Six to be exact. Regardless, his birth was later, thus, establishing somewhat of a hierarchy between them.

“You have to call him hyung,” His mother would always remind him growing up.

“But he’s not that much older,” A six-year-old Sunoo would whine, peering up at her with bright foxy eyes. 

“Still,” She says sternly, yet voice calm and soothing. “He’s older, you have to respect him.” Sunoo didn’t have much of a choice.

The Kims and Parks are somewhat family friends. Somewhat. But not really. Perhaps acquaintance is the best way to describe it. In an industry of vanity and luxury, it is wise to keep one’s friends close, and one’s enemies closer. Although their businesses aren’t directly linked to each other, people associate jewelry to perfume, perfume to jewelry. All is but a show of pomposity and ego. 

Both family patriarchs have known each other for years, meeting decades ago in a convention in the French town of Grasse. Since then, they’ve decided to remain in close contact, so much so that their own children have grown up with each other’s fleeting presence.

“You have to look out for him.” Sunghoon’s mother would tell him, not even sparing him a glance, eyes trained to the mirror while adjusting the pearls that sit upon her neck.

“But he’s not that much younger.” He reasons, not understanding why the son of a family he couldn’t care less about was being entrusted to him.

“Still.”

Sunoo is younger. Which is why everyone expected him to stand second. Sunghoon is older, which is why he has a head start. Well, supposedly.

Sunoo is younger, and despite this, he had managed to stand on the same stage as the other, sprinting so that he could catch up, pulverizing that head start in a matter of seconds. 

“He will be attending school with you.” Is what Sunghoon was told when he was seven. And all of the sudden he is shoved into a building that seemed frighteningly impending for such a young child. Next to him, an even younger one, a whole head shorter, holding onto his hand innocently. Sunoo looks around with his bright eyes, gaze darting around in awe. Something about the sight of him, the feeling of his hand in his, makes something rotten crawl under Sunghoon’s skin. Sunoo lets go soon, though, off to run forward.

Sunghoon is older, and yet he finds himself grappling to keep up.

· · ─ · ❃ · ─ · ·

“Good morning,” Jungwon greets with a lax smile, pushing himself off the marbled wall he was leaning on, falling in pace with his friend. They begin to walk through the halls of the century old castle that had long been turned into their campus.

“Nothing good about it.” Sunoo grumbles, feet taking him to the direction of the council room without much thought. It’s muscle memory at this point, a habit he had developed from practically living in those quarters the year before. Beside him, he sees the younger boy tilt his head closer to him to catch his eye, something playful fleeting through his features.

“Sunghoon sunbaenim again?”

“I don’t understand why you have to be so polite about him.”

“I mean,” Jungwon starts, shrugging with his hands shoved into the pockets of his blazers. “You two are older than me after all.”

“Age regardless. Respect is earned.” Sunoo states, voice sharp, words concise. 

“Okay…and he earned mine.”

Sunoo is unable to hold back the roll of his eyes, pushing the doors to the council room a little too brashly. Inside, the president’s chair swivels around, only to reveal Riki looking too comfortable on it.

“Riki, you’re here again.” Sunoo sighs. It isn’t even a question. It’s a suffering complaint.

“ Ni-ki. ” The youngest amongst them three corrects him, deep set eyes sharp and cold. For the whole year prior, he’s been trying to convince his circle to forget about his real name in favor of being called Ni-ki. Ni from Nishimura, and Ki from Riki. And it’s totally not because it sounds like the Greek word for ‘win’: Niki. 

“You two aren’t even allowed here.” Sunoo sets his bag down next to Jungwon who made himself feel at home on one of the couch’s corners.

“Best friend privileges.” One of them says, and Sunoo should know better to relent. The two sophomores, now juniors, have always gone about things the way they have always wanted anyways. 

Yang Jungwon. Son of the man that owns the globally acclaimed Yang Airlines, the skies fall under their territory. He is calm. Collected. Cunning.

Nishimura Riki, child of the family that reigns over the trade between Japan and Korea, they are the bridge between the two economies. He is sly. Stealthy. Scheming.

To complete their formidable circle, is the one and only Kim Sunoo. As beautiful as he is conniving. As luminous as he is ominous. As brilliant as he is dangerous.

Sunoo should have been in Jungwon and Riki’s year level had he not entered school a year too early. But what could he do? It’s not his fault that he’s that bright. Not his fault he’s that driven. At this point, everyone knows who he is, a stark contrast to when he was a freshman, when no one would even bat an eye at him. But he’s gone about easily making a name for himself with his wit and grit, wherever he walks, success is bound to follow.

He steps to the president’s desk, pressing the button for the intercom. After the three-tuned trill of a recorded xylophone, his creamy voice fills the speakers that are littered all throughout the campus.

“Good morning, students. Today marks the beginning of another school year. The council looks forward to working with you. As always. Have a good day.” Another set of the three-note song to close the announcement, and the stark fuzz of the intercom sizzles into silence.

For the first two months of the school year, those who are left in the council will still be carrying out the responsibilities of their posts, all until a new leader is elected. Within the first part of that window of time, those who desire to submit their candidacy may do so. And for the latter, campaigning will commence. But for now, Secretary Kim Sunoo and Treasurer Park Sunghoon will take the reins.

As one would expect, the throes for the position is of no simple matter. For the students of Decelis, it is a bloodbath. An opportunity to rise to the top, conquer the food chain, control the tides to their advantage, have that seat of power all to themselves.

And, of course, as one would expect, those in the council are the first ones in line, their access to the council room itself a head start. They know how it works, aware of what happens behind closed doors. And they’re just waiting for the right moment to pounce. 

There are rumors going around, whispers bouncing off the marbled walls. About who will be going head-to-head.

This year, it’s Kim Sunoo and Park Sunghoon against each other. 

As it has always been.

“Non-council members are not welcome here.” Sunghoon’s static voice suddenly fills the room, making all three turn their heads towards him. He closes the large door behind him, its brass knob clicking into place.

“But your friends are always here.” Jungwon rebuts, making no signs of moving.

He careens his head to look at the boy, quirking his brow, eyes tepid, before a smile suddenly breaks through his stoic face. “You’re right, Jungwonie. I was kidding.”

Sunoo’s eyes narrow, the waxing familiarity between the two leaving a distasteful flavor in his mouth. Ni-ki doesn’t budge, instead looking at the senior with his ebony hair falling over his angled eyes. And for once, Sunoo is proud of him.

Sunghoon checks his wrist watch briefly before eyeing the younger boys. “You two better get going. Mr. Soh is going to give you an earful if you’re late.” At this, they finally rise from their seats albeit a little begrudgingly.

“C’mon, we have a meeting with the headmaster.” Sunghoon says, turning to Sunoo when the others finally leave, face draining of all the amiability that painted it just a few moments prior.

Gathering his things, Sunoo tails the other on their way to the conference room on the other wing of the campus, the heels of their shoes clacking against the floor, the two of them eventually falling into step.

At their arrival at the headmaster’s office, they bow deeply to the wise weathered old man, before settling into the sofa of his office. Almost immediately, expensive Gyokuro tea exported by the Nishimuras is served to them in tea sets of refined porcelain, the purple hibiscus blooming upon its glass skin hand painted by a prominent artist from Italy. This year’s election is mentioned, and the headmaster doesn’t fail to notice both of their gazes sharpening. 

They nod, heads dipping down to take notes, the two of them supplying information and suggestions every now and then, both somehow just lapsing into collegiality out of habit. Silently slipping into place like the cogs to a clock, pieces fitting together, making the hands of time turn so efficiently. 

More often than he likes, Sunoo finds himself in predicaments much like this one. It’s disgruntling to be thrusted into an environment where you have to work closely with the person you despise the most, but given his circumstances, he doesn’t have much of a choice. But it’s even more perplexing, above anything, to notice that you work well together. It isn’t the first time they’ve been told that they make quite the team.

The headmaster sees them off to the door, all before bidding them with a few words. “I wish you two well with your candidacy.” And he turns around, leaving both of them a little at a loss. Well, suppose that the headmaster isn’t the headmaster for nothing. He could see the hunger in their very eyes even before their stomachs could even growl.

Neither of them has even mentioned running for president to any of their friends, hoping that the idea would be lost to each other. But then again, they know each other too damn well for that. Sunoo has known the older boy has been eyeing that position the moment he realized how much power came with it. And Sunghoon has caught Sunoo’s eye, seeing the wheels in his mind turning when he realized that sitting on that velvet chair meant being revered, being respected.

Their gazes meet unintentionally, and as if by habit, Sunghoon’s lips stretch into a smirk, incisors all on display. He puts his hand on Sunoo’s shoulder, squeezing momentarily. “Good luck, Sunoo-yah” And with that, he turns around, shoves his hands into his pockets and saunters down the hallway.

Sunoo squints at his retreating figure. Sunghoon meant his words. It wasn’t powered by his petty need to taunt, this Sunoo knows. And this is exactly why he’s left gritting his teeth. Put up a fight, okay? It’s as if these are the thoughts Sunghoon meant to say.

· · ─ · ❃ · ─ · ·

Every school year starts with a pre-test. It’s an unfortunate way to start things off really, but this place is the very definition of cut-throat. Its curriculum is as unforgiving as the winds that harrow the castle; its standards as merciless as the blade that had cut the marbles of its very pillars and columns.

The students’ prior knowledge is put to the test, results pinned against the announcement board three days later. It’s somewhat of a foreshadowing—the students who garner the highest marks for this diagnostic test will probably linger in the top spots for the rest of the year. Which is exactly why despite this having no bearings in their academic performance itself, everyone takes this seriously.

Sunghoon files into the classroom, a few books in hand, the pen his father gifted him safely tucked in the chest pocket of his blazer. More than a handful of students notice his arrival, nodding their head curtly in greeting. He mirrors the gesture, lips tugged into a pleased grin. 

Everyone knows him. Even without the presidential position, he is revered, respected. And he likes it. No, he loves it, loves the feeling of people on the look-out for his every move. Whether it be out of fear or admiration, he does not care. All that matters is that everyone’s eyes are on him. Everyone but one, he supposes. In the corner of the room, sitting on the chair at the very front, farthest to the right, is Sunoo. He has his nose buried in a book, flipping through it diligently. Sparing Sunghoon a glance would simply be a waste of his precious time.

Sunghoon scoffs. “Look at him trying so hard,” He murmurs to himself, popping a piece of candy into his mouth, his sharp teeth chomping into its exterior with a crunch, all while he keeps his eyes fastened on the younger.

The bell rings, and in comes a professor to facilitate their diagnostic test.

Three days later the seniors crowd around the board by the lobby of the main building, shouldering through the others just to catch a glimpse of the list pinned behind the glass. 

Sunoo manages to squeeze his way to the front, heaving a breath before he starts skimming through the names. He has always made it a habit to start from the bottom, eyes scanning upward. Maybe it was to lessen his dismay should he not see his name first. Or maybe it was to build up the suspense brewing in his gut. He isn’t exactly sure.

Either way, he does exactly that, going through the names one by one until he finally reaches the top twenty. His name is still nowhere in sight. That only means he’s higher. A smile starts to pull on his lips. Top fifteen now, still not a sign. Top ten, nothing. With ardor coursing through his veins, a premature celebration already on the tip of his tongue, he drags his eyes all the way to the top, and— 

his smile immediately falters.

Park Sunghoon. 100. Perfect marks.

Below his name, is his. Kim Sunoo. 99.5. Close, but not close enough.

“Ooh,” There’s a voice from behind him, near his right ear, and he doesn’t have to turn around to see who it is. “That’s nice, I’m proud of you.” His voice is dripping with faux fondness, but Sunoo is keen on picking up every bit of poison to it. 

Sunghoon grins, gently placing his large palm on the crown of his head, ruffling his hair. “Last year it was 98.” 

Sunoo clenches his fist, gritting his teeth with a drawn-out exhale, refusing to budge. He prays to god someone drags Sunghoon away before he bursts at the seams. The hand on his head burns, the older’s whispers searing against his ear, and all Sunoo wants to do is to throw a punch for once, make him bleed. His parents will surely be upset if they catch news of what he’s done. So, instead, he closes his eyes and swallows down the urge to shove Sunghoon’s face against the glass of the announcement board.

Sunghoon’s hand slides down to cup his nape, before snaking around his shoulder and tugging him closer into a side hug. With his blood racing through his veins, an inch away from lividness, Sunoo finally peels his eyes from the list to peer up at the boy beside him.

Sunghoon’s eyes brighten, but not with something kind and harmless. He smiles down at him, fingers tightening against his shoulder. “You did so well, Sunoo-yah .”

He shoves him off using a palm to his chest with as much strength he can muster, flinching back as if he was scorched. The miniscule scrunch on his face only brings Sunghoon’s smile to grow. 

Sunghoon steps back. “See you later,” And just like that, he’s turning around and walking away. His back is all Sunoo sees.

His back is all he’s ever seen.

Sometimes, Sunoo wishes his father never met Mr. Park all those years ago in France. He would’ve had at least a semblance of a normal childhood, perchance. Instead, he’s left to handle all the comparisons he would much rather not hear, left to bear the brunt and be on the receiving end of look at Mr. Park’s son, isn’t he amazing? He’s a wonderful boy, is he not? He’s good at everything. 

All his life, he’s been expected to meet the standards of which the older boy has set himself, all while Sunghoon looks over his shoulder, the ghost of a smile haunting his lips as he watches Sunoo struggling and failing to ever surpass him each and every time he tries.

Sunoo’s knuckles begin to turn white before he wills himself to loosen his fists. It was so unfair. Sunghoon isn’t even trying. He’s at the back of the classroom, leisurely seated with his arm against the backrest, casually chewing on sweets while he basks in other people’s attention. All while Sunoo is glued to the front row, neck starting to hurt from all the hours he has spent hunched over his review materials.

And in the end, all that hard work boils down to a point five difference. 

It’s like this, time and time again. No matter how hard he tries, he will always come close, but not close enough. With the cloudy sky’s light streaming through the windows, he looks down at the golden rose resting upon his breast. He starts to think that the passing of the brooch was complete and utter bullshit. 

· · ─ · ❃ · ─ · ·

“Jaeyun what the fuck was that shit shot?” 

“Don’t call me Jaeyun, Jongseong. It doesn’t sound good when it comes from you.” Jake sighs, rolling his eyes and crassly pointing to Jay with his golf club, making him reel back a little. 

“Okay, Jake. What the fuck was that shit shot?”

Jake grins at him wolfishly, adjusting his designer brand visor over his eyes. “That my friend, is a master technique.”

Squinting, Jay stares at him bemused, all before he tries to seek out the horribly stray ball in the field with his eyes. “I don’t see your master technique working one bit.” A few seconds later, he spots the golf ball feet away from the goal.

“I doubt you can even see. ” Okay, now that jab against his poor eyesight was totally uncalled for.

“Are you sure you want to taunt me when I have a golf club in my hand, Jaeyun-ah?” Jay answers, flexing his wrist before taking a stance that seemed more fitting for hitting a person across the head than the sport itself.

Jake shudders, more for the distasteful use of his nickname than the threat. He turns to their other friend who was comfortably lazing in the golf car parked nearby. “Heeseung hyung,” He whines. “Did you hear what he said to me?”

The eldest lifts his head from the paper he was reading, other hand occupied with holding a glass of iced tea. “Sorry, Jaeyun. I didn’t. What was that?” He says apologetically, eyes darting between the two of them.

Jake deflates. “Never mind.”

“How come he gets to call you Jaeyun?” Jay complains, a sneer on his face.

“Because he’s Heeseung hyung.” 

Sunghoon rolls his eyes with a tormented huff, angling the club over his shoulder before swinging down with just the right amount of power. The ball is launched into the air, nearly flying out of sight, before he finally sees it drop down the hole in the distance.

There’s a low amused whistle. “Nice shot, Sunghoon.” Heeseung praises before glancing back down his paper.

“Thanks.” He breathes, wiping the first few signs of sweat trickling down his forehead using his wrist band. 

“Now that’s a master technique.” Jay comments, jabbing his thumb over to their friend while keeping his teasing stare on Jake. Jake’s tongue darts out in response, face scrunching pettily.

Sometimes, Sunghoon forgets just how renowned his friends’ families are with how they act. They carry themselves like idiots and not like the heirs to humongous corporations. But really, if he were to be honest, that’s exactly why he’s friends with them. They aren’t pretentious, not buttering up to him because they’re in need of something he has. They aren’t sidling up to him in hopes of knowing the secrets behind his exemplary academic performance, because frankly, they couldn’t care less. Unlike Sunghoon, they aren’t insane with trying to perfect every single test and quiz. As long as they get a passing score, they’re more than content. And it’s not like they’re sticking around for his wealth either, because if anything, they’re most likely richer than he is.

Park Jongseong, or Jay, as he prefers to be called, is the son of the man who has the upper hand in tourism, his domain perhaps larger than Korea itself, raying out to multiple countries. They have countless resorts, hotels, and malls under their names. All of which are bound to be inherited by Jay at some point. Although his father keeps telling him that should he want to pursue something else, he is completely free to do so. Sunghoon is more than a little jealous of that aspect.

Sim Jaeyun, more popularly known as Jake, comes from a family recognized in the field of medicine. Under their control are numerous branches of hospitals all over the nation, even having a handful in Australia. Not only this, but they are well involved with medicine production too, furthering their already prominent reputation in pharmaceuticals. 

Lee Heeseung, on the other hand, is an anomaly. No one has a clue about his family’s business. Every time someone asks about it, he furtively dodges it with ease, instead diverting the conversation elsewhere without anyone noticing. And with all the Lees in the world, it would be difficult to single out their business on whim. There are times when Sunghoon would think that it was all a façade, and Heeseung is a very rare case of someone managing to land a spot in Decelis with only their intellect. Perhaps, unlike everyone else in the academy, he wasn’t from an affluent family. Either way, whether or not Heeseung decides to divulge his background, he is a friend. One that acts like a very broke college student with his frequent ramyeon-filled meals and his tattered hoodies, and not like a student from one of the most prestigious academies in the world.

After a few more rounds of seeing how horrible Jake is at golf, all four of them settle into the patio of the country club, trays of snacks and pitchers of drinks served to them in a heartbeat. 

“What are your plans for your candidacy, Sunghoon?” Heeseung asks, biting into a hearty sandwich, eyes stuck to a different book this time.

“I never said I was running.” He raises a brow.

“You didn’t have to.” Jay answers, putting his ankle against the knee of his other leg, settling against the chair. “We know you’re running.”

Sunghoon purses his lip, narrowing his eyes at Heeseung a little lightheartedly. “Did Sunoo tell you to ask me that?”

At the mention of the younger boy, Heeseung finally looks up from what he was reading. “What? No.” He answers with an amused laugh. “Sunoo’s smarter than that. I was just genuinely curious.”

“I know that you’re friends. How am I so sure you’re not going to tell him my plans?”

“You’re not.” He smiles and shrugs, and Sunghoon searches his eyes for something briefly. Finding that there was not a trace of two-facedness, he relents. Heeseung has always had a certain approach to things—the ability to make one trust and yield—which is why he’s earned the respect of many. The three younger boys in front of him, especially. 

“I’ll just go for something simple.” Sunghoon replies. Well, there wasn’t much of a plan to disclose anyway. He’ll be banking on his pedigree, his background, his wit, his capabilities, himself. That’s all there is to it. Maybe a few minimalistic posters here and there, but nothing too extravagant.

“Wow, that…doesn’t sound like you.” Jake comments, sipping on his lemonade, Sunghoon bristling slightly with a furrowed brow. “I mean, man. Have you seen your car? You’re down right loud.”

On either side of Jake, Jay and Heeseung are silently nodding in agreement, and Sunghoon can’t help but feel ganged up on.

“Won’t you be giving handouts?” Jay suggests. “Sweets maybe? Treats?”

“I am the treat.” Sunghoon huffs, not appreciating the doubt that’s going around their white patio table.

Heeseung chuckles. “Now that sounds more like you.”

· · ─ · ❃ · ─ · ·

They’re in Jungwon’s room, but really, with one as big as his, it feels more like a lobby than a bedroom. Jungwon and Ni-ki are sprawled on their bellies over plush beanbags, eyes firm over the hefty television mounted on the kempt cobalt walls, video game controllers in hand.

Sunoo is on the foot of Jungwon’s king-sized bed, trying to read through a book, but the sound effects of the other two boys’ game are proving to be a distraction. 

He flips to the next page, when suddenly, in his peripheral, a book is handed to him.

“You’re already done?” Sunoo asks, slightly in disbelief. “How do you read so fast?”

Heeseung merely clicks his tongue, in self-satisfaction more than anything, plucking the book from Sunoo’s hands and replacing it with the one he just finished. They do this often; reading together and then swapping.

“It’s all I ever do anyway.” Heeseung answers, settling back into Jungwon’s pillows and ready to indulge himself in another few hundred pages.

“That’s not true.” Ni-ki pipes in from in front of the TV, not even bothering to turn around and look at them. “You eat more than you read. And you read a lot. ”

“What are you implying?” Heeseung answers, feigning offense.

Ni-ki shrugs. “Exactly what I meant.”

Sunoo shakes his head with their antics, all while wearing a fond smile on his lips. He’s getting ready to dive into another book, sulking a little since he didn’t get to finish the previous one, when Heeseung suddenly asks: “What’s your plan?”

“Plan for what?” Sunoo inquires, a quizzical look on his face.

Heeseung grabs a handful of the chips on the bedside table before popping them into his mouth. “Your candidacy.”

Sunoo flusters a little, not expecting anyone to ask him so soon. It’s not like he’s shown clear interest in the position either. Has he really been that obvious?

“You didn’t have to mention it.” Heeseung says, focused on reading the new book. “Almost everyone knows you and Sunghoon are eyeing the spot. Besides, your face is an open book, Kim Sunoo.” He looks up from the pages to smile at him, intentions innocuous, eyes genuine. He wasn’t poking fun at him at all, and Sunoo isn’t used to not being taunted or provoked.

“How do I know you’re not going to tell him my plans?”

Something between a sigh and a laugh escapes the older boy’s mouth. “He asked me the same thing. Look, the mere fact that I’m friends with the both of you means that I’m on neutral ground, okay? I’m just a spectator.”

His answer isn’t much, but it seems enough to placate Sunoo.

“I was thinking of going all out.” He answers, eyes gleaming a little and the sight endears Heeseung. “Posters, banisters, jingles, give-outs. I want to do things without regret.” Though they both know that whatever Sunoo does, he will always regret more than a few things. It’s just how he was wired.

“What do you think, hyung? It’s our last year anyway.”

Heeseung mulls the thought over for a second, imagining banners with Sunoo’s face hanging from the pillars of Decelis, and it brings him to chuckle jovially. 

“I totally support the idea.”

See, although Heeseung is older, he’s in the same year as Sunoo. Perhaps he took a year or two off to give himself a break. That’s what everyone assumes anyway. Regardless, he fits in perfectly.

“We’ll help!” Jungwon pipes in from the other end of the room, a high-pitched complaint rolling down his tongue right after, Ni-ki kicking his ass unapologetically in the game. The youngest chuckles, cheeky and self-absorbed while he stuffs his face with chips. This is only one of the few perks of being friends with Yang Jungwon. His uncle is the CEO of a video game company. Thus, they get their hands on the games before they’re even released.

“You better,” Sunoo says, something similar to a pout on his face.

· · ─ · ❃ · ─ · ·

Sunghoon drives through the gates of their estate, a heavy sigh already on the tip of his chest, the skies are dark and long past sunset. He secures his beloved car in their garage, among the many other vehicles they own, before heading to their house. 

He turns the knob, and when he swings the door open, the same capacious foyer greets him. Bodacious chandeliers hang from the high ceiling, its bright beams reflected upon the speckless tiled floors. The first floor stretches on for quite the distance, a winding staircase fitting for a hotel leading to the second.

“I’m home.” He says, knowing well enough that his voice will only bounce off the smooth walls, left to echo into silence without a single reply.

His house is empty.

He kicks his shoes off, sure that the maids will pick up after him later anyway. After wearing his soft slippers, he heads straight upstairs their mansion, off to make a bee-line to his room. Going through the staircase without breaking a sweat would be a challenge, given how big it is, but Sunghoon has mastered it by this time. On his way to his quarters, he passes by his father’s office and notices the warm light trickling through the crevices of the doorway. He scoffs a little bitterly.

A few more steps forward and he walks past his mother’s beauty room, hearing the low buzz of the vinyl player she keeps in there, her favorite songs from the prime of her years wafting through the keyhole. Sunghoon heads to his room, and closes the door behind him with a click.

See, his house is empty despite it not being so.

His father is probably shuffling through some documents, checking in with clients, ringing directors. Since he has been buried neck deep in his work ever since Sunghoon was a child, this is the only fatherhood he knows of and will probably ever know of. He does not know the feeling of being teased by his dad over a person he showed interest in, nor did he ever experience even the simplicity of throwing a baseball around with him. Which is why he would be reduced to silence whenever he would hear Jay talk about his father bringing him to Seattle to ski, and he’s left zipping his lips when Jake fondly reminisces about his dad playing soccer with him in the sweltering heat of Australian summers.

Their family driver has attended more of his graduations than his father even had a clue of. Their maids know his favorite food like the back of their worn-out hands more than his vain mother ever will. 

He deposits his car keys into a bowl by a shelf of his bedroom, flumping down his bed with a tired sigh. He brings his forearm over his face and he closes his eyes, and for a second, he just tries to breathe. 

In the neighboring room, he knows his younger sister is enjoying a video call with her closest friends, head free of the worries of being a successor, shoulders unoccupied by the burdens of being the first-born son. 

Sometimes, he wonders how he’s managed to make it this far. How he hasn’t buckled and crumbled under the weight of it all. Then again, maybe he has long been diminished to debris, and he’s just lying to himself—trying to convince that he hasn’t cracked just yet.

There’s a knock, the familiar voice of the old maid who practically raised him coming from the other side of the door. “Sunghoon, would you like a snack?”

Despite all, he finds his chest waxing with the tiniest amount of warmth. 

“I’ll just come down later, auntie.” He answers, hearing the woman grunt in response, her footsteps fading out.

With the coast clear, he finds himself heaving another sigh. The cushion beneath his aching back is plump and soft, filled with the richest stuffing. The floors are lined with quality carpets imported from Europe; his shelves carved from expensive agarwood rooting from South East Asia. His bedroom is spacious, yet it is stifling. He has been provided with everything he could ever want and everything he could ever need. And yet, he still feels so hollow.

He tells himself that he should give himself more credit—managing to trudge through his miserable life with nothing else to ground him.

The phone in his pocket dings, and he fishes it out, peeking out from his forearm to glance at the notification.

Kim
We have a conference with the academy shareholders tomorrow morning.
Don’t be late.
7:22 pm

Park
ok
7:23 pm

The phone in his pocket dings, and he fishes it out, peeking at it under the table to glance at the notification. It’s Jungwon, asking him if he’s free to hang out that weekend.

“Sunoo…” His father warns, albeit only lightly. “No phones during dinner.”

“Sorry,” He answers sheepishly, head ducking and immediately turning his phone off before shoving it back into his pocket.

“Who was that anyway?” His mother glances at him, asking from across the table, cutting a small piece of meat before indulging herself with it.

“It’s Jungwonie.”

“Ah, the Yangs’ son.” His father muses, eyes focused on his meal.

“What did he say?” Asks his mother.

“He was inviting me to hang out this weekend…”

Silence hangs over the dinner table, the squeaking of utensils against ceramic plates suddenly the only sound in the room. Sunoo studies his parents with a careful eye, quite literally on the edge of his seat. A server nears him to refill his glass with water, and he finds himself waiting for the right moment to ask for permission.

“Can I…?”

She hums, giving it some thought for a few seconds, before looking up from her plate to meet him. “But  baby, you already hung out with him a few days ago.” Beside her, his father grunts in agreement.

At the ripe age of twenty-one, Kim Sunoo is still safely tucked beneath the feathers of his parents’ wings. It’s not because he’s scared to venture out alone—see the world for himself. It’s because he can’t.

“That was a week ago, mom.” Sunoo says, trying to dispel whatever tension that accumulated with a soft and flittering laugh. “Besides, we just wanted to meet up and plan for my campaign.” It isn’t completely a lie. But it’s not the entire truth either. Jungwon was simply inviting him to look around and maybe go shopping, but he really did intend to ask the younger one to help him with his plans.

At the mention of his candidacy, his father turns to him. “Is it purely for school?”

“Yes.” Sunoo feels like a child.

“Alright, then. Be home by six, understood?” Six. The sun wouldn’t even have completely set by then. Hell, even middle schoolers head home a lot later. Somehow, the meat in his mouth suddenly doesn’t taste all that good. He chews slowly then swallows down his food—along with it his feelings of unease.

“Yes.” Sunoo isn’t a child.

· · ─ · ❃ · ─ · ·

The first month of the school year has passed, and the first day after it marks the beginning of the campaigning period. Wasting no time, Sunoo immediately gathered a few trusted people and built a team. He hired a graphic designer for his banisters and brochures, contacted a confectioner for the candies he planned to give out, and set his plan to action.

Jungwon and Ni-ki are standing by the main entrance of the campus, stationed on either side of the lobby, a whole bunch of mint green-colored flyers in hand.

“Good morning!” Jungwon greets the students passing by with a dimpled grin, eyes turning into crescents as he hands out the papers. “Please vote for Kim Sunoo!” He has no trouble with distributing the leaflets, seeing as most just accept it with open hands. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that Jungwon is well loved by many—a social butterfly who is gifted with reaching out.

Ni-ki, on the other hand, is the complete opposite. His looming figure is daunting, and his sharp angled eyes intimidating. Not to mention the apathetic look he always seems to wear.

He hands out a flyer to a student passing by without uttering a single word, and the man merely glances up at him before shouldering past him. Ni-ki grabs his backpack, tugging him back to place, making him unceremoniously reel back. He takes the man’s hand and slaps the pamphlet into his palm. The student blinks up at him, and he all but juts his chin a little too threateningly than intended.

“Go on,” He says.

The student gulps, finally carrying on with his day but now with an unwanted flyer in hand. Ni-ki makes sure everyone who walks past him has a mint pamphlet with the big bold letters Vote for Kim Sunoo! written on the front.

Sunoo is walking through the campus with a clipboard, making sure everything is in its place, and that everything goes as planned. He’s just on his way back to the lobby, when Park Sunghoon parades into the campus, his infamous car loud and growling. He honks, and a customized tune rings out from the vehicle. What a grand way to make an entrance.

“I thought he was going to keep things simple?” Jay mumbles, looking over his shoulder to glance at his friend’s haughty arrival.

Jake scoffs, chewing on the straw of his iced coffee. “As if the Park Sunghoon is ever going to keep things simple.”

Jay’s lips are pulled into a defeated frown, all while nodding his head in accord. His eyes travel to a banner tied to the rear of Sunghoon’s vehicle— Sunghoon for president written on the white cloth left to fly in the wind as Sunghoon takes a few laps in front of the gate.

“Don’t you think this is all a little stupid?" Jake says, grimacing at the scene caused by his friend.

“More than a little actually.”

They head into the building, slinging their bags higher over their shoulders. “They would be so much stronger if they just worked together.”

A breathy chuckle hikes up Jay’s throat. “Tell me about it. They should just stop all this rivalry shit, really.”

All of the sudden, they share a glance, eyes wide with an idea.

· · ─ · ❃ · ─ · ·

Time stops for no one. Despite it being the long-awaited campaign period, academics are still well and on-going—exhausting tests and quizzes pumped out week after another. It’s not even the end of the term yet here they are, bags under their eyes, all walking through the hallways with either a cup of coffee or a bottle of an energy drink in hand.

With the lineage of most students in the academy, it’s a given that one of the most populated courses is Business Administration. Next to this are Finance Management and Marketing. After this, home for the children of politicians, is Law and Political Sciences. And of course, Medicine isn’t lagging too far behind.

Both Sunoo and Sunghoon are in Business Ad. This meant that they shared at least half of their classes, if not more.

Sunoo heads into his classroom for his second period, displeased to see that Sunghoon was already seated in the chair next to his. He’s glad to say that the vile feeling swirling in his stomach has not changed one bit over the years whenever he catches sight of the older boy. At least his disdain has stayed consistent.

A few of his classmates greet him, amiable smiles on their lips, and a small mint chocolate pin on the right breast of their blazer. A gratified grin worms its way to his lips. He nods to them politely, all while mentioning words of thanks in passing.

Along with confectionery of all sorts, he gave out small pins shaped like a mint chocolate chip cookie no bigger than the rose brooch the seniors wear. He was afraid it would be a plan no one wanted to be part of, but he’s delighted to see the round green cookie pinned to people’s blazers, parallel to their brooch. It’s a sign that they’re rooting for him, their votes already decided and casted on his friendly smiles. He’s Mr. Congeniality after all. It’s quite impossible for anyone to hate him.

But he supposes that doesn’t apply to one person. 

And that person is not so coincidentally sitting on the spot next to his, arm leaning against the backrest of Sunoo’s vacant chair. 

“Why are you here?” Sunoo hisses, all traces of the grin he wore just now draining from his face.

Sunghoon tears his eyes off the paper he was reading, chomping on the licorice Sunoo was giving out. “Can’t I sit next to my childhood friend?”

He settles into his chair with a raised brow, face arctic and anything but the sunshine he is known to be. On Sunghoon’s desk, he sees the small pouch he was handing out to promote his candidacy. He scoffs at the older’s blatant attempts to mock him. He might as well wear the mint choco pin on his forehead too.

“Sunghoon, if you’re in love with me, you can just tell me, y’know.” He says, fixing Sunghoon with a firm stare. 

Sunoo expects him to flinch back in offense, maybe fume a little bit, grimace at least. But of course, ever so unpredictable Park Sunghoon does none of these. Instead, he leans forward, eyes gleaming with something Sunoo couldn’t quite read.

“Ah, what gave me away?” He answers, hand slowly climbing up Sunoo’s shoulder. Lightning quick, Sunoo slaps his hand away, hoping that his disquiet isn’t as palpable as he thinks it is. 

Sunghoon narrows his eyes, a sliver of a sly grin playing on his lips. “If I didn’t know any better, Sunoo-yah , I’d think the feeling is mutual.” His name on his lips sound like poison.

“The feeling of hatred, yes.”

“Really? ” 

It wasn’t a question. It’s a taunt more than anything. His gaze is unmoving, and Sunoo starts to get antsy under the heat of his stare. He furrows his brows, trying his best to meet him head on. When suddenly, for a second, he thinks he sees Sunghoon’s eyes dart down to his lips, but he’s quickly backing off the next moment, Sunoo’s left to wonder if it was a mere figment of his imagination.

He’s now finally outside Sunoo’s personal space, much to the younger’s relief, and he pops another one of the boy’s hand-out bonbons in his mouth. “Good luck on the test.” He says, before bringing his attention back to what he was reading. Always so damn patronizing.

Sunoo takes a deep breath, gritting his teeth to stop himself from biting back with a snarky remark. Sunghoon never fails to wish him luck on his endeavors, may it be trivial or crucial. But under all those words of encouragement are blatant derisions. It makes Sunoo’s skin crawl more than anything. And the smile—that stupid smug smile he wants nothing but to smack off his face, makes it all the more unbearable. God gave Sunghoon a beautiful face but with a rotten personality to match.

With spite running through his veins, he picks up his pen and answers the test.

Days later, the papers are handed back to them, and the tides are finally turning. He got one item wrong while Sunghoon got three. Despite this, two of the highest marks still belong to them. And this has the rest of the class whispering about how absolutely insane they are since more than half of them have flunked it. They were both in their own world, fighting tooth and nail that they didn’t realize they were drifting farther and farther from their peers, pushing themselves to heights that will be unreachable for anyone else but each other.

Sunoo sends a smile towards his direction, scampish and conniving. And at the sight of it, agitation brews in Sunghoon’s stomach.

· · ─ · ❃ · ─ · ·

The week starts again with the students of Decelis college filing into the grand hall for the Meeting de Avance. It’s time that they get to know the people who have stepped up and are willing to lead.

The hall is what used to be the castle’s ballroom, meant for noble gatherings. Heavy drapes line the windows, and there’s a dais that they have reformed to a stage. The floors and walls still carry the memories of the age it was built in, and the pillars bear witness of what greatness used to take place in that hall. 

The sunlight streams through the glass, painting the room in a mirage of yellow. A female student mans the podium, arranging her cue cards and script for hosting the event. Backstage, stands Sunoo, along with all the other candidates. 

There’s a lot more than he expected, honestly. But the position was open to anyone, a handful of ambitious people were bound to show. He steadies his breathing, trying to remain calm as his palms get sweaty. Through the crack of the heavy curtains that separate the main stage and the back, he sees the place slowly and slowly get filled to the brim.

In the front row, he sees Jungwon and Ni-ki seated together, already looking bored out of their minds. Sunoo wonders if it has anything to do with the fact that they’re younger than he is. Perhaps their attention span ran shorter than his did. But then his eyes wander to the person next to them, and he sees Heeseung, arms crossed over his chest and unabashedly dozing off. Belatedly, he realizes that it does not have to do anything with age. Next to Heeseung is Jake, then next to him is Jay, both occupied in a hushed conversation.

Sunoo rolls his eyes at the sight, appalled with the fact that their friend groups were together. What would the other people think? But then again, Heeseung is part of both circles. He can’t just choose sides after priding himself for being neutral. So, like any other person would do, he brought the circles together just for that special day. 

The event commences with the national anthem, then the Decelis hymn right after. A few more introductions later, the real show finally begins. 

There are six candidates backstage, and one by one the emcee introduces them, and they’re given the spotlight for a few good minutes. They are to talk about their background, and most importantly, what they could offer. 

The speeches of half of the aspirants go over the student’s heads, because quite frankly, they didn’t seem to be all that capable. One introduced himself as the son of the owner of a restaurant no one has heard of, and almost collectively, they cross him off in their heads.

Another barely introduced herself and immediately went on to discuss her horribly unrealistic platform of bringing about world peace. Still waiting backstage, Sunoo cracks a laugh. Perhaps she attended the wrong function. This is the Meeting de Avance for the student council president, not for the president of the nation. Sunoo hears the muffled laughter of the audience, and he feels a tiny bit bad for her. But only a tiny bit.

Eventually, the rest are presented to the crowd, and only the two of them are left. Sunghoon is called next, and as he gets up to go on stage, Sunoo meets his eye.

“Break a leg.” He says, meaning it literally. 

Sunghoon scoffs at him, lips pulled into a deep frown, any signs of jest not present at all. And Sunoo realizes that he likes the feeling of vexing the older boy, of that cold stare boring into his soul. He thinks he should probably do it more often.

He gets up from the waiting area a moment later to peek through the curtains, and he sees the audience immediately quiet down over Sunghoon’s appearance. All the others were simply a pre-show. Now is the real deal. 

The students, as smart as they are, tend to only lean towards those who have been serving in the council for the past few years. They shun new faces almost immediately, subconsciously deciding that those they knew are better, and will do better. Such is obvious in the way everyone suddenly seemed to hang onto Sunghoon’s every word—a contrast to when they were preoccupied with something else during the prior candidate’s speech.

“I’m quite sure everybody already knows who I am.” He starts off, and Sunoo rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Self-absorbed bastard. “But for those who don’t, I am Park Sunghoon.”

He goes on about his pedigree, and his plans for the college if ever he were to be elected. It seems practical really—expanding the parking lot, improving security, adding more inclusive menus in the school cafeteria, etc. etc. But to Sunoo, it sounds like it was all for show.

When he finishes, there’s an ample amount of applause and Sunoo suddenly feels the pressure of speaking after him. People like Park Sunghoon. They like his easy-going nature despite his goal-driven attitude. They like how he’s serious when it’s needed, and absolutely cheeky and mischievous when it’s not. He strikes just the right amount of balance, and Sunoo is slowly ebbing into the shadows of self-doubt. 

How will he compare? Although he wears a smile on his face more often than the other, he takes everything seriously. Maybe sometimes a little too much. His list of achievements falls short, and his qualifications sound bleak in comparison. Before he can further spiral down into dubiety, the emcee finally calls for him.

He takes a deep breath in, braces himself, and steps out into the stage. The students’ faces flash with recognition, and he’s pleased to see them tuning in. He puts his best foot forward, introduces himself, before delving into his platform.

On the sides, next to the other campaigners, Sunghoon crosses his arms over his chest, tonguing the insides of his cheek as he watches Sunoo. The boy is good at selling himself, he thinks, and he laughs a little at how desperate it all seemed to him. He’s banking on his connections, on the surface level friendships he has built, and relying on his sociability.

Sunghoon thinks Sunoo does not have the makings of a leader. Not one bit. His velvet voice is not meant for authority, his benign fingers not made for strenuous tasks. Still, his wit is still quite an asset. Maybe if he wins, he’ll still choose the boy to be part of the council. 

See, only the president is chosen by the students. Everyone else is simply hand picked by whoever is voted. It’s much like a cabinet, where one gets to decide who he works with. The image of Sunoo being his secretary, and perhaps his personal assistant—at his disposal, at his very beck and call, suddenly looks more appealing than it should be. Just the thought of bossing him around made Sunghoon’s fingertips tingle with electricity.

Sunoo wraps up his speech, beaming at the audience when they give him a réclame. He joins the other candidates, and fully expects the meeting to come to a close, when suddenly, the emcee speaks up once more.

“And for our last candidate…”

They share confused glances. No one else was waiting backstage. Sunoo was the last one.

“Lee Heeseung.”

Ni-ki and Jungwon widen their eyes in surprise, glancing at their friend who had his eyes closed in slumber. Quickly, Jungwon elbows him in the side, successfully waking him up. 

“Hyung,” He whispers to a shaken Heeseung. “Get up there,”

“Get up where?”

Beside him, Jay and Jake are trying their best to suppress the giggles blubbering up their chests. With sleep still tugging on his eyes, he gets up on stage, having no clue whatsoever about why he was even up there in the first place.

He looks at the emcee, waiting for her prompt, and there’s an awkward air blanketing the hall. 

Trying to salvage the situation and dispel the spaces of silence, the host clears her throat. “Heeseung-ssi, please introduce yourself and present your platform for the presidency.”

Presidency? Heeseung’s eyes nearly bulge from its sockets, and timidly, he turns to the audience, clutching onto the mic like a child asked to sing in front of the whole clan. 

“Good morning, I’m Lee Heeseung. And I…” He gulps, and every single person in that hall seemed to be at the edge of their seat. There isn’t a single murmur, not a single whisper. One could literally hear a pin drop amongst all of it. In the front row, Jake and Jay are desperately holding onto each other, trying to contain their laughter.

“Do not want to be the president. Thank you!” He bows abruptly and immediately has the student body doubling over in chortles. Jay begins clapping, joined promptly after by Jake with loud cheers and whistles. Soon enough, the whole hall is filled with plaudits and a steady chanting of “Lee Heeseung! Lee Heeseung! Lee Heeseung!” 

Heeseung blinks, a baffled smile still lingering on his lips. Then two of his friends in the front row, seemingly too enthusiastic about this, catch his eye. He looks over to them, minutely widening his eyes in a threat, somehow knowing exactly how this happened. The two of them had submitted his candidacy at the last minute behind his back. Maybe he should never leave Jay and Jake alone with their stupid ideas ever again.

· · ─ · ❃ · ─ · ·

Sunoo is lazed upon one of their lavish couches, a book in hand and a cup of warm tea waiting in the coffee table before him. It’s a weekend, and it is the first one he’s had in a while where he could have the whole day all to himself. The campaigns are still afoot, but there is not much else left to do but to wait for the election, all while hoping he gets to win over everyone else. Park Sunghoon specifically. Heeseung’s candidacy was also a surprise to everyone, but he tells himself it is wise not to worry about that too much. Especially since all of it just played out because of Jay and Jake’s stupid whim. Though, it seems that the two of them are persistent, given the fact that they’re funding Heeseung’s campaign themselves and turning it from a simple joke to the real deal. Anyway, Sunghoon is the real competition here.

He shakes his head to rid his mind of thoughts of the other boy. It’s too beautiful of a day to pollute the fissures of his head with such horrid notions. 

Gentle sunlight streams from behind him, spilling through the lofty windows, bathing the living room with just the right amount of warmth. The morning is tranquil, his parents are out and about at some event, and he has the house all to himself. He ponders on inviting his friends over, but decides against it in favor of spending the rest of his time quietly.

In the other room, he knows there are staff waiting should he ever need something. Usually, they would just stand behind him in biding, but he’s told them time and time again that they should busy themselves with something else instead. Reaching for a compromise, they have decided to stay in the nearest room, to free their young master of the weight of their stares.

From the kitchen, Mr. Hak appears, tucking a piece of paper within his blazer’s inner pocket. He’s the family butler, head of staff. He’s been in their service for years, he’s seen Sunoo bloom from a darling child into a beautiful young man.

“Sir,” Mr. Hak says, stopping right in front of him and bowing curtly.

“ Hyung,” Sunoo whines with a slightly scolding tone. Mr. Hak’s eyes crinkles at the ends. Frankly, he’s a little too old to be called hyung anymore, but it makes him feel young. Mr. Hak corrects himself promptly.

“Sunoo, your parents bring news.”

“What is it?” He asks, taking a sip of his tea, busying himself with flipping the pages of the novel rested upon his lap. “Do they want to show me off again in whatever event they’re attending?”

“No, they want you to get ready.” Sunoo squints his eyes. “The dinner with the Parks is tonight.”

“Tonight?!” He bristles. “Isn’t it too early?”

The Kims and Parks have made it somewhat a tradition to have at least two dinners once a year. Usually, it is in the middle of the year, right after Sunoo’s birthday; dining over exotic cuisine over the summer nights. And at the end of the year, right after Sunghoon’s, enjoying warm meals over winter evenings. They’re not even through the second quarter of the year just yet.

“Apparently, there are matters to be discussed.” Mr. Hak says, tone apologetic. He knows just how much his young master dreads these meetings.

Heaving an aggrieved and helpless sigh, Sunoo tosses his book to the cushions of the sofa, standing up with a frown on his lips. Mr. Hak steps aside for him, and he stomps to his room to spend the rest of the day trying to pick out a suit.

He sits in front of his mirror, a thundercloud hanging over his head. His relaxing weekend is now mercilessly flushed down the drain. He wishes his sister was there to help him get ready, but after marrying into another opulent family, the most he sees her is on the holidays. So, he’s left to his own devices. He’s sure Mr. Hak would provide help should he ask for it, but he wants to be alone with his thoughts for now.

He settles on a white dress shirt, tying a small black ribbon beneath its collar. The sky is slowly waning into indigos, and his stomach is churning unpleasantly just at the thought of the impending dinner. He slips on a black blazer, tugging it over his shoulders and pulling it in place. He lingers in front of his reflection, debating whether to slick his hair back, just half of it, or leave it down for a more casual look.

But then again, he wouldn’t want to come off as trying hard to look good, especially not in front of Park Sunghoon. So, he chooses to leave his ebony fringe down. The familiar revving of the family car’s engine is carried by the breeze, and he tweaks the details of his suit, before stepping out of his quarters to greet his parents.

At the sight of him all dolled up, his mother’s eyes brighten, patting his cheek gently. “You look amazing, darling.”

Sunoo gives her a tight smile, not quite reaching his eyes. 

Half an hour later, a vehicle drives into their estate, and from the windows of the lobby, Sunoo sees Sunghoon exiting the backseat, clad in a sable-colored suit, half of his platinum blond hair slicked back. The household staff of the Kims rush to greet the family in all courteousness possible, and Sunghoon glances up, almost immediately meeting Sunoo’s gaze from the inside of the mansion.

He puts on a grin, waving at the younger boy. With a sneer, Sunoo retreats from the tall windows to join his father and mother in welcoming the guests. Mr. Park is as loud as his son is, announcing his arrival with an obnoxious laugh, pulling Mr. Kim into half a hug, firmly clapping his back. The parents exchange their niceties, the wives modestly putting their cheeks against each other in greeting. For a moment, Sunoo is blinded by the amount of jewelry sitting upon their collarbones and woven between their fingers, and Sunghoon wavers a moment, the scent of perfume nearly overbearing.

When Mrs. Kim pulls back from their hug, she beckons Sunoo over. Mrs. Park immediately engulfs him in a hug as if he was her own son.

“My, Sunoo, you've grown up so well. Such a handsome young man!” She coos, cupping Sunoo’s cheeks before giving them a squeeze.

“He got it from me,” Sunoo’s father jests, leading all of them easily to the dining area. The parents quickly fall into a conversation, leaving the two of their children to hang behind.

“Such a handsome young man,” Sunghoon echoes his mother’s words in a high-pitched tune, mocking, leaning forward to the younger’s face. If Sunoo didn’t put some distance between them, he’s sure Sunghoon would have given his cheek a pinch too, intentions to rile him up more than anything.

He pulls a face, bemused, and his reaction only seems to gladden the older boy all the more.

Once at the dinner table, Sunghoon immediately takes the seat next to Sunoo. It has always been his designated seat ever since anyway. He’s done this long enough to know better than attempting to sit the farthest from Sunoo possible. His parents would only pluck him from his spot and place him back beside Sunoo, and he is allowed no qualms.

A menu fitting of a five-star hotel is wheeled into the room, appetizers served over intricately hand woven mantles. Sunoo indulges himself with the chowder, paying no mind to the adult’s conversations. He finds it funny. He and Sunghoon are already well into adulthood, yet they aren’t treated as such. Things are always decided for them, it seems.

“How is your campaign going, Sunoo?” Mr. Park asks from the other end of the table, by Sunghoon’s left, and he’s snapped out of his quiet thoughts.

“Oh, it’s going well, Mr. Park.” He answers, wearing a practiced smile. It always seems to placate the adults anyway. It’s what they always want to see. 

“Is my son giving you a hard time?”

His eyes wander to Sunghoon, who in turn just quirks a brow at him. “He’s an absolute menace.” Sunoo answers with a chuckle, his lighthearted voice dispelling the venom to his words. Laughter quavers momentarily within the rich walls of their dining area, all four adults thinking he was absolutely joking.

“Do you think you’re going to win, Sunghoon?” This time, it’s Sunoo’s father who asks.

He chews on his food, politely hiding his mouth behind a hand, mulling over an answer. “Frankly, yes.” He says, smile somehow both confident and shy. 

Sunoo cuts into his food with a calm smile, hoping it was Sunghoon’s skin he was piercing with his fork instead. 

“Oh, now that’s a shame.” Mr. Kim says, before reeling back in a boisterous laugh. “But really, if you win, you better get Sunoo into the council. It’s nice seeing you two work together.” A scoff nearly escapes Sunoo’s lips, but he stops himself before it could.

“Don’t you worry Mr. Kim.” Sunghoon beams, even going as far to rest a palm against Sunoo’s shoulder. “I’ve been meaning to anyway.”

Sunoo creaks his head towards the boy, trying to read the emotions flashing across his charismatic face. 

“He’s quite the cute secretary, actually.” At this, Sunoo stomps on his foot from under the table. But Sunghoon is a veteran against his tactics, pulling away just in time. He sends Sunoo a grin, finally peeling off his hand and bringing his attention back to dinner. 

Sunoo eyes the grandfather clock ticking in the corner, wanting nothing more but for this wretched dinner to come to a close.

“He’s right. You two make an amazing team.” Sunghoon’s mother muses, back straight and neck craned. She’s a beautiful woman, the costly diamonds on her neck bringing out more of her loveliness. But her voice sounds…horribly vacant, somehow.

This time, it’s Sunghoon who fights back a sneer. It’s not like she’s ever seen him work. She’s only interested when other people are involved. To save face, perhaps. To make it seem like she is a mother. To give people the impression that she cares more about her son than the stones on her knuckles. The other couple seems to buy her show, nevertheless.

“It’s true.” Sunoo’s mother adds. 

Mr. Park takes a sip of his wine. “You two are better off joining hands more than anything.”

A sudden silence blankets the table, and it feels like everything came to a standstill. There’s a fleck in his voice, something in the way he said it that leaves Sunghoon’s chest waxing with unease, a bitter taste spreading across Sunoo’s tongue.

The servers quickly collect their plates after the main course, off to make way for dessert. A moment later, a variety of sweets and pastries are placed in front of them, giving them plenty to choose from.

Sunoo decides on having tea with macarons, while Sunghoon indulges himself with tiramisu cake. Neither of them has spoken much that night, only opening their mouths to either take a bite, or to answer the adults’ questions concisely.

Which is why when Sunghoon speaks up as he absently forks on his dessert, there’s a sudden shift in the air. 

“So…” He starts, eyes trained on his plate, four heads whipping to his direction. His back is rested against the chair, arm leisurely hanging on the vacant seat next to him, and for a moment Sunoo respects how he could present himself to the adults as anything but submissive.

“Would you mind telling us why we’re having this dinner two months early?”

Sunghoon is fearsomely perceptive, this Sunoo realizes. During the moments where he is quiet, he might seem simply lost in his thoughts. But what people don’t know is that in that window of time, Sunghoon has managed to take in his surroundings, discern the situation, and come up with an action plan.

Well, it’s not like Sunoo was completely clueless to the fact that his parents had something up their sleeves. It’s just that he didn’t think he was in the place to bring it up. Darling Sunoo, coddled and pampered by his parents, always seems to think he does not have a voice anyway. And for this, he admires Sunghoon.

“Ah yes,” Mr. Park clears his throat, lowering his utensils. “About that.” He glances at his friend, urging him to handle the rest.

“Mr. Park and I have discussed establishing a new company, equally owned.” Sunoo’s father says, not one to beat around the bush. Sunoo’s eyes widen at the suddenness of it all. He has always thought that Mr. Park was a rival that his father was keeping close. Apparently not, seeing as he’d be willing for a fusion. “We’re both in the supply chain for jewelry and perfume of the best brands. Don’t you think it would be wise to start our own?”

He takes another bite of his macaron, eyeing the parents briefly after. Is that the news? He wonders. Is that it? They seemed to be making a big deal out of it. The two families have been operating closely side by side all these years anyway. Sunoo doubts that a company merging would change much.

But beside him, he notices Sunghoon’s eyes not leaving the adults, his jaw clenched.

“Which is why, it is also wise for our families to merge.”

A beat.

“We’ve discussed that your marriage will do us all well.” 

Silence.

It feels like the temperature had suddenly dropped, everything else around him muffled. Sunoo blinks, lifting his head so slowly he swears he heard his neck creak like an old unoiled hinge. “I’m sorry, what?”

A bitter laugh finally reigns free from Sunghoon, tumbling down his tongue as he looks down at his hands. There was no way his parents would care so much about him and make sure he was presentable if there wasn’t anything at stake. His mother had bugged him about picking the best suit, his father nagged him about not styling his hair. He should have known.

“What did you say?” Sunoo asks carefully, voice so hushed it was nearly a whisper, pinning his father with a gaze he never knew he was capable of. 

Mr. Kim downs the rest of his remaining wine, patting the sides of his mouth calmly with a napkin. “My son. You are to be married to Sunghoon.”

He doesn’t know what takes over him. Maybe it is all those years of trying so hard to be a good son—so pliant and yielding to all of their wants and desires—that makes him snap. His glass has long been filled to the brim, and all it took was a single droplet trickling down like a bomb for it to burst and break. He doesn’t even notice how tight he was clenching his fists, the crescents engraved in his palms lost to him.

To his left, Sunghoon has been reduced to silence, going as still as stone.

His fuse catches fire, and he slams his fist on the table, making the utensils rattle, his mother flinching back at his unforeseen outburst. Despite his rage, he chooses his words carefully, each syllable slipping through his lips like the steady slithering of a snake.

“Did you even ask,” He grits his teeth. “ If we wanted this?”

From the other end of the table, Mr. Park joins the conversation. “I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood, Sunoo.”

Sunghoon shoots Sunoo a glance, eyes speaking, begging him to sit down. 

“You don’t have a choice.”

His heart drops to his gut, the air punched out of his lungs, and he’s left heaving a breath of disbelief, staring at Mr. Park in incredulity. The adult meets his gaze, features devoid of anything. They had this dinner only to break the news to them, he belatedly realizes, not even to discuss it at all. They have long made up their minds, and they aren’t allowed any complaints.

An acrid laugh worms its way to his lips. He finds it funny. He and Sunghoon are already well into adulthood, yet they aren’t treated as such. Things are always decided for them, it seems. Even things like marriage.

“We would have given your sister’s hand. But she is already a wed woman. You are our only child left, Sunoo.” His mother says in a quiet voice, pleading for him to hush.

His sister? Give her hand to Sunghoon if they could? His mother’s words enrage him all the more. His sister was clever enough to find a rich man she loved herself, marrying him before his parents could give her away to some wealthy scum, throwing her into a loveless marriage against her will. Perhaps Sunoo should have done the same. It dawns on him that he is not their child, but a mere pawn to their plans. The boy beside him is not all that different.

“And, we would have given Yeji’s.” Mr. Park speaks of their daughter. “But she is too young, we cannot afford to wait.” 

Sunghoon clenches his fist at the mention of his sister. They are both orphans. These are no parents of his.

Sunoo looks at Sunghoon, for what, he does not know. Maybe he was waiting for him to share his rage, support his anger. He is, after all, in the same predicament as Sunoo is. Instead, the older boy is staring at his uneaten dessert, eyes glazed with something indescribable, hand gripping onto his fork so tight that his knuckles turned white. 

He glances at his parents, silently pleading them to announce it as a mere joke. But he knows they would never do that. His mother holds his hand from across.  He swats her hand away, and pushes the seat back. Darling Sunoo, coddled and pampered by his parents, has had enough.

Piercing silence envelopes the dinner table after that, and Sunoo storms off, livid tears threatening to spill.

Chapter Text

“I don’t understand why you have to do this!” Sunghoon tails his father into their house with his knuckles clenched by his sides, their argument carried over from the car ride home where it started. The moon hangs beneath the midnight blue sky, the mansion nearly as dark as the horizon.

His father is dead set in ignoring him, loosening his tie callously with a galled frown on his face, keeping his back to Sunghoon.

Behind him, his mother rushes from the car, panicked eyes darting from her husband to her son. She nears Sunghoon, trying to pacify him with a hand to his arm. “Baby, this is all for the best—”

“Best?” He shrugs her hand off. “What do you know about what’s best for me?” He turns, now pinning his trophy-wife of a mother under his glare. “What do you even know about me?”

She gulps, shaken, wide eyes staring back at Sunghoon. Not once has her child ever spoken back to her like this. 

“Go on mother. Answer me.” He hisses.

There’s a puff of smoke that suddenly fills the room, whispered through his old father’s wrinkled lips. “This isn’t about you, Sunghoon-ah. It’s what’s best for the company. It’s what’s best for the family.” He takes a seat on their cabriole, tapping the tip of his cigarette against the lip of the ashtray in front of him.

Sunghoon careens his head to face his father with a disbelieved scoff. Leave it to Mr. Park to not sugarcoat one bit. His mind is going a mile a minute, heart racing terribly against his chest. So many thoughts are running through his mind that they all begin to trip over each other.

“You- you can just merge the companies without a marriage.” He pleads.

“We’ll get stronger through this.”

“Same sex marriage isn’t even legal in Korea!” He begs.

“Then catch a flight to a country where it is.” His father has lost his mind. He sees no reason anymore.

Sunghoon grits his teeth, “We can’t even give you a fucking heir if that’s what you want!” His voice is loud now, perhaps louder than it’s ever been, scratching his throat and booming against his chest. 

“Why did you have to drag Sunoo into this mess?”

There’s a pregnant silence, so deafening in the expanse of their mansion. Mr. Park finally speaks. “Are you done now?”

His father takes a long drag of his cigar, then turns to him, eyes empty, bored even. Then he tilts his chin up and takes his time blowing the fog out of his mouth, smoke so thick it nearly conceals all of his face. This is when Sunghoon realizes that he did not stand a chance from the very beginning. This was nothing but a petty skirmish his father has humored him with. 

· · ─ · ❃ · ─ · ·

The skies are one with Sunoo, it seems, lamenting. The sun is blanketed by the heavy clouds that litter the horizon. It might rain soon.

He wakes up with his lids swollen, his nose red from the number of times he had wiped it at dawn. Maybe he should just run away. Maybe it’s time he lives the life he wants. These are the thoughts that have plagued his sleepless night. But with the rising of the sun, his resolve dwindles.

Mr. Hak knocks on his door, and when he doesn’t budge, he hears it open softly. A moment later, he feels the edge of his bed dipping with a light weight.

“Sir,” 

“Hyung, ” He whines quietly. He hates it when Mr. Hak refers to him like that, as if he didn’t practically raise Sunoo himself.

It feels like at this point in his life, Sunoo only has their butler to turn to. In the dead of the night, Mr. Hak had knocked on his door just as he did now, to check on him before delivering more bad news.

He presented a contract, written by their fathers, stating that should they not comply with the marriage, all of their inheritance will be forfeited, and they are to be removed from their respective family registries.

Lips quivering with rage, feeling wronged, Sunoo asked for his help. The older man sighed, with his greying hair and his wrinkled skin, he settled down on the settee in the corner of his young master’s room, and provided the best guidance he possibly could.

He told him that since his parents are treating this as a business deal, he might as well do the same. File an appeal, ask the higher court to review a decision. Although he says that this has no guarantee. Nevertheless, Sunoo nodded, eyes welling with determination and moist with the remnants of his tears. It is better than nothing. And so, with Mr. Hak’s help, he tried to write an appeal to call the engagement off in the dead of the night.

“Would you like to spend the day at home?” Mr. Hak asks, his voice is hushed, ridden with both sympathy and worry. Finally, Sunoo looks over his shoulder, bloodshot eyes peeking out from his duvet, and Mr. Hak’s heart breaks for him all the more.

He mulls over it momentarily before sitting up. “No, it’s- it’s fine. I’ll go to school.” If anything, he’s itching to get away from this mansion in fear that he’ll break anything that reminds him of what had transpired the night prior. And, well, everything reminds him of it. From the grandfather clock in the corner, to the handwoven mantle on the dining table.

Mr. Hak sighs, pushing himself off the edge of the young master’s bed. “I’ll pack you your favorite food.” Without another word, he excuses himself, and shuts the door behind him silently. 

Sunoo finally manages to drag himself out of his plush covers, and he takes his time to get ready, trying to convince himself that this is going to be like any other day. But before he walks out of the front door, he is given a harsh reminder that it isn’t.

“I’m sorry, Young master. Orders from your father.” Before him, a maid holds up a tray, and on it sits a velvet box propped open. 

His brows raise a little, teeth grit. He couldn’t even bring himself to get angry anymore. His body has simply been drained of all feeling and energy to do such. Instead, with vacant eyes, he stares at the ring offered to him. It’s a thin band of gold, a tiny diamond embedded in the middle for a minimalistic look. He sneers. They couldn’t even let him have a say on the rings.

He plucks the ring from the box rather ungracefully, and shoves it down his finger with spite. Not uttering a single word, he trudges down the steps of their porch before slipping into the backseat of the car, slamming the door shut. His lips quiver, and the metal around his finger burns. 

He grits his teeth. He will not cry today.

The world of the rich is ironically small. And as one would expect, word travels fast. 

Whispers fill the courtyard when Sunoo arrives, but his head was up in the clouds and spirits down in the ditches that he didn’t even notice all the eyes on him. He forgets to tell the family driver to take care like he usually does, and he fails to realize this morning’s lack of an obnoxious man driving in with his equally obnoxious car.

He keeps his gaze on the marbled floor, hoping his feet will remember the way to the council room enough to bring him there without looking up. When he arrives, turning the knobs open, Jungwon and Ni-ki are floundering off the chaise to greet him.

“Is it true?” Jungwon asks, brows furrowed, eyes creased with worry. He holds Sunoo by the shoulders, and when he doesn’t answer, he pulls him in for a tight hug. “Oh, hyung.” He sighs, holding him flush against his chest, cupping the back of Sunoo’s head and nudging him to rest his cheek against his shoulder. “I’m sorry you have to go through this.”

He complies, clutching onto the cloth of Jungwon’s blazer, reveling in the comfort as the younger boy runs his palm soothingly down Sunoo’s back. It should be heartening, but if anything, the gesture only makes his eyes sting and well with tears. 

He blinks them away. He will not cry today.

Beside them, Ni-ki takes Sunoo’s hand in his, twining their fingers together in hopes that it would alleviate even an ounce of what was weighing down on his chest. While doing so, he feels the cool metal against his finger. He lifts their locked hands up and frowns at the gold contrasting against Sunoo’s ivory skin. He traces it with sympathy, a frown on his lips. “Even the ring is ugly.” 

At this, the two older boys chuckle, and Ni-ki successfully chases Sunoo’s tears away for the meantime.

He heads to his second period without much thought, and the fog clouds his mind as much as they do the skies. The lecture goes over his head, and he couldn’t even bring himself to be mad about it like he usually would. On a normal day, he would scold himself for spacing out for just a second. But then again, today is unlike any other day.

He finds himself staring at his ring scornfully. It’s a tiny piece of jewelry, and yet it had managed to turn his life upside down, disrupting any semblance of normalcy he had as a college student. It’s a shackle.

When Heeseung sees him in the corridors, he immediately pulls Sunoo into a hug, and it doesn’t make him feel any better at all. Does he really seem that pitiful? So much so that people are looking at him with sympathy? They glance at him, eyes screaming condolences. Is he really that pathetic?

But then some congratulate him on his engagement, as if it’s something worth celebrating, and he doesn’t know which is worse.

The day goes by excruciatingly slowly, and Sunoo doesn’t know how to feel. He wants to break free from the barrage of lectures that has been harrying him all day, but then again, he dreads the thought of having to go home so soon.

He sits on the couch of the council room. Sunghoon should have been there an hour ago to discuss council matters. But the chambers are empty, and Sunoo’s thoughts are becoming too loud for him to bear in the silence. He sinks into the chaise, and so does his heart every time he is reminded of his fate.

He turns to the windows behind the president’s desk and glances at the heavy gray clouds rolling in. Sucking in a deep breath, he tells himself: he will not cry today.

Sunghoon takes a cigarette between his lips, cupping his hand around it to shield his lighter’s fire from the wind. He inhales, long and drawn-out until he feels the smoke seep into his lungs. He used to hate the smell of cigarettes when he was a child, especially since it was all his father reeked of. It hurt his nose and made his stomach swirl unpleasantly. Yet here he is now, holding it in between his fingers, hanging onto every bit of comfort he can get from it.

He's standing against the window of one of the eastern wing’s towers, forearm leaning on the ledge. He’s on campus, but he skipped all of his classes. He even turned his phone off, knowing well enough that his friends would be looking for him.

He takes another drag, and the cigarette seems to be burning into ash too quickly. 

“There you are,” 

Sunghoon tenses at the voice. He turns around and sees Sunoo leaning against the doorway contemplatively. He lingers for a moment before walking up to join Sunghoon. Wordlessly, he holds out his palm. 

Sunghoon stares at his hand, glowering at it before scoffing. He puts a cigarette in Sunoo’s hand. He hangs the tip between his lips, then leans forward. Without another word, Sunghoon lights it for him, cupping his hand around the flame just as he did a while ago. 

Sunoo takes a deep breath in, nearly seeming as if he swallowed the smoke whole. For a moment, Sunghoon panics, thinking that the younger didn’t know how to smoke at all. But then a second later, he exhales mist through his nose. 

Placated, and a little impressed, Sunghoon settles back onto leaning against the ledge. 

Sunghoon takes another drag, and Sunoo eyes the hand he used. “You’re not wearing it,”

It’s not a question. It’s an observation. Sunghoon gives him a quizzical look momentarily, before glancing down his hand in understanding.

“Why, you?” 

Sunoo removes his left hand from his pocket, showing him the ring on his finger with a defeated frown. “They wouldn’t let me leave the house unless I put it on.”

Sunghoon laughs at him, making the younger’s brows furrow, irked. This time, it’s Sunghoon who reaches into his pocket, fishing out his own ring to show Sunoo—a thicker band, but his is silver, a gold stone embedded in the middle. “You’re too obedient for your own good.”

There’s a pregnant pause. Sunoo takes his ring off and shoves it down his pocket. Sunghoon keeps taking breaths from his cig, eyes firm on the graying skies. Sunoo leans against the frame of the window, pinning the older with a studious stare. 

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?”

“Enjoying what?”

“Making my life hell.”

Sunghoon eyes him from the corner of his sight, an arrogant chuckle bubbling up his chest. “My life does not revolve around you, Kim Sunoo.”

He takes another unhurried drag, and the sudden realization that he was acting like his father sends a disgusting chill down his spine. He crushes his cigarette against the castle’s cold stone, then walks away.

That night, Sunoo comes home tight-lipped, dreading dinner time, and yet it looms over him like the fate he cannot escape. The grandfather clock ticks tauntingly, counting down until he’s seated in his spot around the dining table. He knows that not showing up will only do him more harm.

His father is pleased when he makes an appearance, the table filled with all his favorite food. He almost laughs bitterly. As if giving him these treats would be enough to appease him for ruining his life from here on out.

“You’re not wearing the ring.” His father comments rather coldly, devoid of the fondness he usually possesses.

Sunoo glances at his empty ring finger, heart stuttering. “It was a little loose.” He reasons.

His father looks at him, before bringing his attention back to his food. “We’ll have it adjusted tomorrow.”

Sunoo clenches his utensils tighter.

The house that greets Sunghoon is empty yet again, so eerily quiet. He ascends the staircase, heading straight to his bedroom with a throbbing headache and a burning finger. The moment he’s within the confines of his room, he takes the ring off hurriedly as if it’s digging into his very bones.

He shoves it into its velvet box, and he finds himself staring at it, its meaning ingrained in the silver it was birthed from, the promises of a marriage encased in the diamond. He snaps the box shut and throws it against his mirror, the glass cracking and shattering to the ground.

· · ─ · ❃ · ─ · ·

Mr. Kim is a man of his word, unfortunately. Which is why Sunoo finds himself accompanied by his father to one of the best jewelry shops in town.

“One day Sunoo, all of this,” he gestures to the grand shop, all gold and silver. “Will be replaced by ours.” He beams, eyes shining with the bright future of the Kims and Parks, joining forces to be the top in the industry of vanity.

They’ve been the main suppliers to perfume and jewelry brands anyway, pulling out their supply would surely cripple the competition, paving the way for their emergence. Soon, surely, they will take the market by storm.

One of the attendants comes with all the necessary tools, taking Sunoo’s measurement and adjusting it accordingly. It’s a tedious process, and yet with the staff’s careful and nimble hands, he finishes without a hitch. Now, Sunoo’s ring sits snugly on his ring finger, leaving him no more room for excuses. He stares at it with quiet disdain.

The campaign is suddenly pushed to the back of Sunoo’s mind despite his friends’ reminders, the engagement now filling the forefront of his thoughts, consuming his waking hours as he pens the appeal again and again, refining it every day. Mr. Hak has no choice but to watch his young master with pity.

The rest of the students, no matter how much they try to mind their own business, notice the shift in the air. It’s difficult not to—not when Mr. Congeniality Kim Sunoo is now wearing a perpetual frown, and valedictorian-in-the-running Park Sunghoon is nowhere to be seen during most of his classes.

Whispers keep traveling of course, as they always do. “I can see why, the merger would practically make them invincible.” Says one student from Finance, speaking from an objective perspective, taking into account not only the two companies, but also the prospect of Sunoo and Sunghoon, two people with such great prowess, teaming up. They would be absolutely formidable.

But the truth hangs over everyone. They are enemies. If anything, this union might just be the key to both their downfalls.

After a few days, Sunoo finally spots Sunghoon in one of the hallways. He grabs him by the sleeve and pulls him into an alcove.

“Why are you acting like this is alright?” Sunoo hisses, blood pumping rigorously through his veins, Sunghoon’s silence unnerving him. If anything, he expected the older to throw a riot, rampage through the streets of Seoul just to call this off. And yet, he seems to be taking it well. “Shouldn’t we do something about this?” He sounds desperate.

Sunghoon merely looks at him, eyes dead. “If you have a plan, then I’m all ears.”

Sunoo opens his mouth to answer, but finds himself hesitating. Then he wavers, shoulder helplessly finding the wall to lean on. He heaves a defeated sigh.

The heavy clouds creep closer, and with it comes a growing drizzle. It’s raining now. 

Raindrops patter against the windows, and that is the only sound that hangs over them. They both look out, droplets splattering against their cheeks, a storm’s gale brushing through their hair, the cold seeping into their bones. An empty look harrows their features, vacant eyes trained on something in the distance. 

They are mourning. Over what, each other does not know. But they stand in that alcove, the brooches on their chest heavy, the rings in their pockets all the more.

“I figured,” Sunghoon scoffs at Sunoo’s silence. If he can’t find a way out of this, then it would be impossible for Sunoo.

Sunghoon steps out of the alcove, but Sunoo grabs his wrist before he could leave.

He stares down the younger, his amber eyes nearly pleading. Silence hangs over them. A beat, then Sunghoon tugs his arm free before leaving.

· · ─ · ❃ · ─ · ·

It’s been a week since the bomb was dropped on them, and Sunoo has been putting his ring on before he steps out, and removing it the moment he’s on school grounds. 

This morning however, he stares at it with more scorn than ever, the gold looking absolutely horrid against his skin, the cold band starting to rot his finger from the inside.

“You’re too obedient for your own good.” Sunghoon’s words ring in his mind, mocking him still.

He scowls, refusing to put it on. He leaves his bedroom with his hands in his pockets, hoping to get away with it.

“I’m off,” He calls out to his parents who are still having their breakfast.

“Take care, darling.” His mother replies, eyes trained on her pancakes.

Sunoo’s nearly out the door when his father’s voice makes him stop in his steps. “Wait.” He freezes, heart clamoring against his chest, threatening to leap out of his throat.

Mr. Kim is next to him all of the sudden, circling him with sharp eyes. Then, he takes Sunoo’s wrist and rips it out of his pocket, gaze landing on his ring finger.

“Why aren’t you wearing your ring?”

Sunoo falls silent, unable to think of another excuse.

“Why aren’t you wearing your ring?!” His father’s voice now grows in volume, and it’s the first time Sunoo hears him this angry. He keeps his eyes glued to the door, refusing to answer. Mr. Kim pulls on his arm so strongly that he nearly feels his shoulder pop.

“ WHY AREN’T YOU WEARI —”

“ BECAUSE I DON’T WANT TO!” He finally snaps, voice roaring and filling the wide space of their living room. “There. Are you happy, father? ” He spits. Mr. Kim reels in disbelief of the disrespect, unable to wrap his mind around the fact that his darling Sunoo, ever so docile, would even dare talk back.

All of the sudden, there’s a loud slap that makes Sunoo’s ears ring, his head hanging to the side, his cheek stinging. His mother gasps loudly, rushing to them in a heartbeat.

“Honey,” She starts, hands on her husband’s arm, trying to placate him. He shrugs her off. Sunoo cradles his reddened cheek, tears welling in his eyes.

“You are no son of mine.” He seethes, restrained in his wife’s hold. “Get out.” He breathes, looking away from Sunoo’s tear stricken face, afraid he might hit him again. “Get out!”

So Sunoo does, slamming the door behind him before rushing into the family car, shoulders shaking with sobs. His chest heaves with dissonance as he struggles to catch his breath, cheek still painful. His driver throws him a sad glance, but is unable to do anything more than that. Before he knows it, they’ve arrived in Decilis.

Sunghoon is just stepping out of his car when he sees Sunoo’s family vehicle wheel in. He ponders whether to sidle up to him and bother him once more. Maybe doing so might lift his spirits at the very least. But then Sunoo emerges from the car, and the sight of him makes Sunghoon freeze. Eyes red and swollen, skin damp with tears, dainty hand clasping his blemished cheek.

He finds himself stepping closer. “What happened to you?” Concern seeps through his words accidentally, unbeknownst to him.

Sunoo glances up at him, taking in a shaky breath, trying to restrain himself. But a teardrop is already trickling down his cheek, and then another, and another. He buries his face in his palms, and Sunghoon pulls him aside, hiding him behind a pillar, away from prying eyes.

His brows knit together in subtle worry, mild panic rushing through his veins. He reaches out a hand, then hesitates. Before the other could notice, he retracts his outstretched arm. At the same time, Sunoo lifts his head up, and the sight of his moist eyes makes something in Sunghoon’s chest hurt.

Sunoo peers up at him with a sniffle, the usual sharpness of his gaze gone. Instead, it is replaced with something akin to defenselessness. “Hoon,”

All of a sudden Sunghoon feels like he’s ten again, standing in their backyard and glancing down at a nine-year-old Sunoo sitting at the foot of the tree, hugging his legs. 

“Hoon,” He whimpers, looking at the older boy with glassy eyes. His lips are pulled into a trembling frown, his fingers gently cupping his grazed knee. Sunoo would always be scolded for not calling him hyung, but honestly, Sunghoon never really minded. The younger was simply resolute on calling him by something else—a nickname that dripped with fondness every time it rolled down his tongue.

“Hoon,”

He sobs. It doesn’t sound fond this time around. It sounds pained more than anything. Sunghoon bends to meet his eye, waiting for what he has to say. Sunoo hides his face in his hands once more and keens.

“Take me away from here.” 

“Park Sunghoon?” The professor calls out. Silence. “Kim Sunoo?” Silence yet again. “Hmm, that’s odd.” Their class erupts into quiet murmurs.

The revving of Sunghoon’s car proves to be great at smothering Sunoo’s loud thoughts, the bass of the music booming. Never, in his wildest nightmares, did he ever think he’d willingly hop into Sunghoon’s car, moreso cut classes with him. What has the world come to?

He has no idea where they’re headed, but he doesn’t ask. As long as they’re far away.

Neither of them speak, but every once in a while, Sunghoon will glance in his direction, eyes landing on the reddening bruise on his cheek.

“Don’t ask.” Says Sunoo sharply, noticing his lingering looks.

He rolls his eyes, slighted that Sunoo assumes he even cares to ask. “I wasn’t interested anyway,”

Finally, Sunoo raises the question. “Where are we going?”

“Don’t ask.” This time, it’s Sunoo who rolls his eyes.

They drive for a few more hours, finding themselves in a different city, and Sunoo begins to recognize the surroundings. Soon enough, Sunghoon pulls into the parking lot of a theme park they used to frequent as kids, back then when they were blissfully naive.

A wave of nostalgia hits Sunoo as they enter the park, memories of his childhood flashing in his mind. One summer when he was eight, they came here together with the Parks. Curious little Sunoo had let go of his mother’s hand and wandered away, getting lost in the sea of people. It was Sunghoon who found him in a fit of tears, hearing his wails, buying him a cone of ice cream to calm him down.

“Why here?” Sunoo asks.

Sunghoon just looks at him before walking away, causing him to scowl in response. He looks around, taking in just how much had changed over the years. He takes a seat on a bench, and almost vividly, he could see his younger self running around the place with a nine year old Sunghoon. Life was so much simpler then. There was no brooch to carry and to ring to worry about.

A cone of ice cream suddenly pops into his line of vision, and he turns to see Sunghoon giving it to him despite looking elsewhere. He accepts the treat just as the older joins him on the bench with a sigh.

Sunghoon holds a popsicle stick, still in its wrapping. But he doesn’t eat it, instead, he presses it against Sunoo’s bruised cheek. Albeit a little surprised, he takes it, a sigh of relief escaping his lips at the cooling sensation against his skin.

They don’t talk, nor do they hop on any of the rides. Instead they just sit there in silence, watching people come and go while Sunoo eats his favorite mint chocolate flavored ice cream.

It’s well past midnight when Sunoo returns home, a placid look on his face as he greets his parents pacing in the living room with worry. They fumble to him, his mother grabbing him by his shoulders, and his father berating. 

“Kim Sunoo, where have you been?” His father snarls, enunciating every word through gritted teeth, as if he hadn’t kicked him out that morning. “We were looking everywhere for you!”

His mother is occupied with examining him, checking his arms and legs for any signs of an injury. He should have been home hours ago, driven to their estate while sitting in the backseat of their family car. But he didn’t show up at the gates when the driver was there to fetch him. And he turned his phone off to save himself from the unending ringing he knows his parents would subject him to.

This is new to him. All his life he has been a pliant son, not one to ever give his parents reason to be angry. But if he were to be honest, this makes a spark in his gut ignite, somewhat empowered. There’s this new feeling of satisfaction creeping under his skin.

“I was with Sunghoon hyung.” He answers blankly. 

They pause. “Sunghoon?” When they glance out of the living room’s windows, they see the young man’s car exiting their estate.

Somehow, it seems to appease them, and a moment later, they’re backing away. His father clears his throat. “Next time, tell us beforehand.”

Sunoo tilts his head. “Aren’t you going to get mad?”

 “What for? He’s your fiancé now.”

Sunoo stares at his drafts of the appeal, feeling the ghost of the popsicle still on his cheek.

· · ─ · ❃ · ─ · ·

When Sunoo realizes his new found freedom, he doesn’t waste another moment to exploit it.

He doesn’t head to the main gates like he usually does in the afternoons. Today, he goes straight to the school’s parking lot. It doesn’t take him too long to locate Sunghoon’s car, and within a few seconds, he’s already on his way to it. From the opposite direction, he sees the older boy approaching. Perfect. Sunghoon presses something on his car keys and Sunoo’s already opening the door to the passenger seat.

He stares at him with distaste. “What are you doing?”

“I’m getting in, what does it look like?”

He blinks at Sunoo with unmoving eyes, before he tongues the insides of his mouth and breaks out into an egoistic smirk. “Did my fiancé miss me that much?”

Sunoo’s eyes darken at the title, face dropping. He finally moves the hand he has on the handle of the door, slipping into the car and slamming it with more strength than needed. Sunghoon immediately slides in behind the wheel, clicking his tongue.

“Hey, if you’re going to barge into my baby uninvited, the least you can do is be gentle.” He berates, but not with bite. He starts backing up, eyes on the rearview mirror, and soon enough, they’re out on the streets.

“So.” Sunghoon starts, focused on the road. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

Sunoo rolls his eyes at the sarcasm, tapping his fingertips against the bag on his lap. “Just shut up and drive.”

“Rude.” He feigns offense, putting on his favorite song a moment later, but only on low volume. “Where do you want to go? I’m not your chauffeur, you know.”

“Just go anywhere.” Sunghoon eyes him cursorily.

“Don’t want to go home yet?” Sunoo nods. “But…won’t your parents get mad?”

The younger huffs, not liking their conversation in its entirety. He’d much rather not talk about home or family right now. “They’re fine if I’m with you.”

That was a mistake. And he only realizes that it was such after it rolled down his tongue and earned him a cheeky laugh from the older boy. 

“I always knew they liked me more.” 

Something about this makes Sunoo’s vein tick. “…more than?”

Sunoo thinks Sunghoon won’t reply, instead keeping his hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road, humming a little to the song playing through the speakers. To his shock, Sunghoon voices the truth.

“More than you.”

Tangible anger hikes up Sunoo’s throat. “What did you say?”

Sunghoon glances at him for a split second before looking back at the road, a small grin on his face. “It’s true. They’ve always liked me more than you. I mean, why would they like you ?”

Pure disbelief waxes in Sunoo’s chest, mixing with his anger . “What?”

“I bet they wish they had me for a son instead.”

“Stop.” Sunoo sneers, staring at the older sharply. “I said stop the car!”

The tires screech against the pavement, both of them jolting in their seats at the sudden halt. 

With an infuriated huff, Sunoo unbuckles his seatbelt and steps out, making sure to slam the car door. “You asshole!” The engine makes another loud noise, and just like that Sunghoon is speeding away, not even bothering to placate him.

“Fuck you!” Sunoo roars at the leaving car, middle finger held up to the sky, uncaring of the weird looks he’s given by passersby. He glances around only to realize that he has no idea where he is. He’s livid, his fury feeling like it’s going to burn through him whole.

“Fuck this marriage.” He stomps down the road. “Fuck Park Sunghoon.”

Sunoo goes back to campus after getting a cab, where fortunately, the family driver is waiting for him. “Sorry, got held up in council.” He lies, and they go back home in silence.

He stares at the appeal and begins to write again.

· · ─ · ❃ · ─ · ·

Sunghoon leans against the marbled wall, deep in thought. He doesn’t even know why he’s here in the first place. Regardless, he doesn’t like being unsure. 

The bell rings and he catches Sunoo the moment he leaves his classroom, hand around his wrist as he pulls him into the parking lot.

“What do you want?” Spits Sunoo, jerking his arm away from the older’s hold.

“We have stuff to work on,” Sunghoon says, which is actually true. “Let’s go grab some food.”

Sunoo glares at him, unconvinced.

He sighs, opening the passenger door before all but shoving Sunoo in. “My treat, okay?”

Brittle silence dangles over them for the rest of the ride, and Sunghoon brings them to a rustic café on the outskirts of town. This is one of the days where they find it easier to coexist than usual if you ignore the nasty looks Sunoo keeps sending him, and they’ve lapsed into a quiet state as they work on papers on the wooden tables. Sunoo’s tea goes cold on his right, and Sunghoon’s iced coffee is now completely watered down by his left. They order a few sandwiches, indulge themselves, but all while not sharing a word. It was as if they were back in the council room. This was how they worked together anyway. Separate.

They leave the café a good few minutes before it closes, with the skies dark and the winds cold, both not really wanting to go back to their respective houses, the thought of what awaits dreadful.

Sunghoon drives Sunoo to the Kims’ compound, skirting through the roads skillfully, knowing the route like the back of his hand. He makes a turn around the grand fountain they had in the front yard, and stops just by the door. 

The frown Sunoo had on his lips all day had not disappeared, wearing it even as he slips out of the car. “Thanks,” He murmurs, slamming the door shut, this time unintentionally. Sunghoon winces at the sound, pressing his lips into a tight line as he tries to summon all the patience he has.

He rolls the window down and watches Sunoo enter the mansion, only driving away after he sees the door close behind the boy. He turns the volume of his radio up, his cluttered thoughts getting too loud for his liking.

When Sunoo arrives home, this time just a few minutes before midnight, his parents simply ask if he’s already eaten dinner. Other than that, they seem pleased. He isn’t sure if he likes that.

Soon enough, their little escapades after school off to god knows where become a routine, and Sunoo finds himself getting into Sunghoon’s car out of habit. The older boy doesn’t even question it anymore, instead, he spends his time nagging Sunoo about closing the door gently. Though, of course, their bickering continues, and they have this ridiculous game of push and pull, hot and cold.

Today, the younger boy controls the aux, playing his feel-good tunes, and Sunghoon drives them somewhere far from their homes once more. It’s odd, really. They go on these night rides and hum to songs playing on the midnight radio, rolling the windows all the way down and feeling the wind brush against their cheeks as they drive down a highway. And yet, when morning comes, it seems that all is forgotten. It is simply a secret in the dark, one that disappears with the shadows at daybreak.

They go to school, barely even spare each other a glance, instead exchanging glares when the results of a certain quiz come out, tutting their chin out when they pass by each other in hallways. And then after that, when the last school bell rings, they’re off into the parking lot and do everything again on repeat. They’re on each other’s necks one moment, and nodding their heads to an old punk rock song the next. 

It’s an enigmatic cycle of them not knowing where they stand with each other. And neither of them is even trying to understand. All is left to sizzle down between the revving of Sunghoon’s car engine, and Sunoo’s quiet singing. And yet, at the end of the day, they are at an impasse, one that gets more stifling with each day.

This—them spending time together, is exactly what their parents want. Neither of them want to succumb to the desires of their families, but they have found an unexpected ally in each other. They both struggle to come up with what to do next.

Sunoo exits the passenger seat, and this time he closes the door carefully. Sunghoon bites back a smile.

“Thanks.” He murmurs, then turns on his heel to head home. But before he does, he looks over his shoulder and says in a low voice: “Take care.”

Sunghoon’s presumptuous grin makes him want to take it back.

When he turns the knob of their front door, he sees his mother waiting for him on their couch. He feels the ghost of a smile he was wearing slip off his face. “Did you have a good day?” She asks.

“…I did.”

“Were you with Sunghoonie again?” The endearment attached to the older boy’s name makes him want to retch.

“…I was.”

“That’s good.” His mother breathes in relief, pushing herself off the sofa and nearing him, taking his hand in hers. She gently pats his knuckles, smiling fondly at the gold band hugging his finger, something akin to pride blooming on her face. It wasn’t the bad kind of pride. It was the type a parent wears when their child achieves a great feat, and at this epiphany, Sunoo finds himself at a loss.

She cups his face and kisses his cheek, whispering goodnight before she disappears behind the door of the master’s bedroom.

Sunoo stands there, in the middle of the living room, blinking. He had been trying to think of a way to get himself out of this bind, but with his mother’s gentle touch and jubilant grins, he’s having second thoughts. 

All his life, he has only ever been close, but not close enough—always losing by a hair’s breadth, forever coming second to Sunghoon. Although his parents were kind enough not to show it, he knows that part of them was and is disappointed. And as he stands there, glancing at the ring he has learned to wear, he thinks that this might be the only chance to make his parents proud.

· · ─ · ❃ · ─ · ·

They’re in the council room, just the two of them, and they’ve spent enough car rides together to realize that it’s better to work with a playlist they both agree on playing in the background. They’re seated on the chaises, hunched over the coffee table in the middle, looming over papers sprawled across the glass. Elections are creeping closer, and with that, they have to start tying up their roles as secretary and treasurer soon.

Sunghoon is busy pondering on the allocation of their given budget, and Sunoo is occupied with organizing the records of all their previous meetings. All of the sudden, the younger boy’s phone rings, and he picks it up without a second to waste.

In the corner of Sunghoon’s eye, he watches Sunoo’s brow furrow slightly, his lips dipping into a subtle frown.

“I’m still at school.” Sunoo says, pinning his phone between his shoulder and ear as he fixes his papers. He pauses, then sighs, properly holding it now, a bit of irritation woven in his voice. “ I told you, I’m still at school. Yes…yes. I understand.” He hangs up promptly after, scornfully tossing his phone to the cushions.

Sunghoon perpends whether he should ask or not, but if he does, Sunoo might think that he cares. So, he pushes his questions to the back of his mind and brings all his attention back to the computations he was making instead. 

He knows that was Sunoo’s father on the line. He could hear his voice through the call. And Sunghoon also knows well enough just how controlling he could be. If his father barely spares him a glance, Mr. Kim’s eyes were too fixed on Sunoo. With such different circumstances, they were simply two sides of the same coin. Still, a part of him feels bad for the younger.

Which is why he finds himself leaning against the wall outside the boy’s last class, arms crossed and foot tapping against the floor. When the bell rings and the students exit the room, they’re more than a little shocked to see him there. But then again, everyone knows the arranged marriage hanging over their heads. 

“Why are you here?” Sunoo squints his eyes when he sees him.

“C’mon, let’s go somewhere.” Apathetic eyes bore into his, and Sunghoon already has his hand on the younger’s wrist, leading him through the passageways, guiding him to the parking lot. 

Sunoo stops in his tracks, pulling away. “Not today. Dad wants me home early.”

Sunghoon stares at him, only to take hold of his wrist once more, leaving the other no choice. When they’re seated in his car, Sunoo’s dejectedness is palpable. He opens his mouth to complain again, but Sunghoon is already caught up in dialing a number and pressing a button on his dashboard to connect it to a loudspeaker. The call rings, and when Sunoo’s father answers, his eyes widen minutely.

“Good afternoon, sir. It’s me.” Sunghoon says, all while backing up with ease and exiting the lot. “Is Sunoo needed at home today?”

“Why do you ask?” Mr. Kim answers, and Sunoo has to pretend he isn’t there, stomach churning acridly.

“I was just wondering if I could borrow him for today, sir.”

They hear Mr. Kim humming in thought on the other end, but Sunoo knows his father is holding back a pleased grin. “What for?”

“I wanted to take him out on a date.” Answers Sunghoon confidently, and Sunoo nearly chokes on his spit.

“…Alright. I suppose we can move our appointments. Just make sure to bring him home in one piece.”

“Yes sir.” And with that, the call ends, and Sunoo is left to stare at Sunghoon in bewilderment.

Sunghoon stirs under his gaze. “What?”

“A date huh.” Sunoo muses, the coy smile on his lips making Sunghoon want to crash his beloved car. “No wonder you don’t look bothered. You’ve been waiting for this your whole life, haven’t you?”

“I’m taking that as a thank you.” Scoffs the older boy.

Sunoo tsks, brow raised. “For what?”

“For getting you out of your house.” 

He’s unable to come up with a retort after that, and instead settles into the passenger seat in silence. Sunghoon doesn’t tell him where he’s bringing him, only driving somewhere unknown to Sunoo, the skies waning into dark shades of orange before finally bleeding blue. The landscape zips by his window, and the only sound that fills the car ride is nothing but a playlist.

An hour passes, and Sunoo realizes they didn’t have a destination in the first place. They’re driving by the outskirts of downtown and the terrain is becoming more and more unfamiliar to him. Another hour passes, and he feels like Sunghoon would be running out of gas soon with the way they’ve been skirting through the roads aimlessly. His stomach grumbles.

“Sunghoon, I’m hungry.”

Silence. Sunghoon keeps driving.

Sunoo purses his lip, stealing a glance of the older. He heard him, that’s for sure. He’s just ignoring him on purpose. Sunoo has the strongest urge to hit his shoulder.

“Sunghoon hyung. ” The honorific almost sounds like an insult when it comes from Sunoo, and Sunghoon has to bite back a scoff.

“ Hoon,” He says, almost in warning. A second later, Sunghoon pulls over to the side of an empty convenience store, its neon lights flickering in the dark.

Feeling somewhat vulnerable in this unfamiliar territory, Sunoo stays close to the older as they enter the store. Sunghoon seems to know his way around, immediately grabbing tongs, getting buns and a hotdog for himself. Then he notices Sunoo looking around in confusion.

“What are you standing around for? Didn’t you say you were hungry?”

Pressing his lips into a line and throwing him a scowl, Sunoo follows suit, carefully watching how Sunghoon does it. This was nothing like their previous rendezvous where they would dine in a hidden gem in the city, or spend the rest of their time in a twenty-four-hour café. Today, they’re holding hotdogs in wax paper, sachets of ketchup and mustard in hand, and seated on Sunghoon’s hood instead of a plump couch.

Sunoo hesitates taking a bite, but when he does, flavor swirls on his tongue and he can’t help but hum in satisfaction.

“Good right?” Sunghoon grins, fangs flashing, and for the first time it isn’t menacing.

He goes back inside the store and returns with a can of soda for each of them, and Sunoo downs it, relishing the fizz. And it’s so weird. Because this is probably the cheapest meal Sunoo has ever had in his entire life, but he feels unexplainably full, a content sigh escaping his lips.

The roads are empty, and this should bother him, but it doesn’t. They’re that far away from the center of the city and he feels like the air here is cleaner, free from the pressure that pollutes it. Twilight has passed, and they’re well into the night.

There’s still the steady buzzing of the car’s radio, but other than that, all else is silent. Serene, even. They’ve abandoned their worries in the city, left their responsibilities by the school gates. Sunghoon starts climbing up the hood, holding a hand out for Sunoo. And although he wavers a little, he accepts the invitation. A moment later, they’re sprawled against the roof of Sunghoon’s car, eyes glued on the heavens as they watch the clouds drift against the navy skies.

Tonight, they are neither council members, nor are they heirs to their fathers’ companies. They are merely boys with stolen youths. 

All of the sudden they don’t feel like they’re twenty-one and twenty-two. Instead, they’re sixteen and seventeen, running away from their family for completely different reasons. How they wish that were the case.

“This…” Sunoo begins, bright eyes reflecting the stars. Sunghoon turns his head to watch him. “This is nice. I could get used to this.”

“I can’t,” Sunoo looks at him, unimpressed. “I’ve babysitted you long enough.” He teases, earning himself a playful punch to the shoulder.

Maybe it’s the shadows of the lightpost playing with Sunoo’s head, or maybe he accidentally drank alcohol instead of soda. He finds himself saying the truth around Sunghoon for once. “I like it better when we’re not fighting,”

Then he wonders where it all went wrong in the first place. They used to get along as kids.

Sunghoon huffs in understanding, but tries to cover it up with a scoff. “It’s your fault we keep fighting anyway,”

“It is not! It’s because you’re an idiot.”

“Try saying that to my grades, Kim Sunoo. Might I remind you, you’ve never ranked first in any of our semesters.”

Sunoo frowns at him, annoyed. “Fuck you.”

Typical Sunghoon inches closer, making a show of loosening his tie seductively. “I know you’d love to.”

Blood rushes up to Sunoo’s cheeks in a heady mix of embarrassment and disgust, pushing Sunghoon away, making him nearly topple off the roof.

The older laughs, enjoying riling Sunoo up, but they fall quiet after. Sunghoon breaks the silence after a while, turning to his side and propping his head up on his palm. “Can you really?” He’s challenging Sunoo, as he always does, and the younger merely rolls his eyes. 

“Can you really get used to this?” He repeats, and there’s this sudden cadence to his voice that sounds so new—almost hopeful. “To this? Being with me?”

Sunoo doesn’t notice this. “Only if you aren’t an asshole. Like how you usually are.”

A chuckle rides up Sunghoon’s chest. “I thought you wanted to push me off the East Wing Tower.”

“I still do.” 

Despite the violence to their words, they find themselves letting laughter sift through their lips in silent breaths. 

Sunoo has his back pressed flush against the car, his hands locked over his chest as he watches each dark cloud that drifts by. And Sunghoon is on his side, temple on his knuckle, watching Sunoo while he watches the sky. The convenience store’s neon lights bathes Sunoo in a turquoise and magenta glow, and yet, it seems as if it is he who makes the lights look pretty, and not the other way around.

Sunghoon drums his fingers against the metal of the car, eyes not leaving Sunoo. 

“What are you looking at?” Sunoo flusters a little under the weight of his gaze.

Ever so slightly, Sunghoon finds himself leaning in, lightheaded. Like the infinite sea beckoning him to jump, until he’s drowning in all that Kim Sunoo is. Sunoo’s breath hitches, but makes no move to stop the older from drawing closer. His eyes flutter close.

Sunghoon’s falling, and falling, and falling—until he’s not. He snaps out of the haze and pulls back as if he’s been burned. “I need to go,”

Opening his eyes, Sunoo looks at him with confusion. “What?” An amalgam of emotions he cannot even begin to understand swirl in his gut.

“I need to go,” He says, urging Sunoo to climb down from the roof. He calls up the Kims’ family driver, asking him to fetch the younger, giving their location. He gives no reason, no ridiculous excuse, just ups and leaves.

Sunoo watches the back of his car as it grows smaller and smaller as it travels the distance. He breathes long and hard through his nose. The audacity of Park Sunghoon, the gall. At this point, Sunoo might just forgo the appeal altogether and instead pay a shaman to curse Sunghoon and his future descendants for years on end.

The family driver arrives a few minutes later, much to Sunoo’s relief, not wanting to stay alone in an unfamiliar place any longer. “Please don’t tell my parents,” He pleads as they wheel into the estate.

“I won’t,” Their kind driver promises.

Whatever growing rapport they’ve had quickly wanes, fanned out by the cold shoulders and the fleeting glances. Not even a taunting smile or a haughty tilt of the head. Park Sunghoon pretends he doesn’t see, hear, or know Kim Sunoo. Which is actually good for him! Sunoo tries to convince himself that this is a blessing. Without an irritating man to bother him, he can finally turn his attention back to his grades and the campaign.

However, despite all this, Sunoo finds himself spacing out, staring into the distance as the moments of that night play in his head. He scowls and grits his teeth, infuriated that he’s been played. He works on the appeal, penning it to perfection.

· · ─ · ❃ · ─ · ·

He massages his temples, basking in the shadows of the council room. Not knowing where else to flee, Sunghoon finds solace in the empty quarters in the dead of night. He barely comes home these days. Most of the time, he spends the night at Jay’s, sometimes at Jake’s—the sight of his house absolutely repulsive.

One of the maids called him once, asking where he was. He lies that he’s with Sunoo, and they leave him alone. But the thing is, he hasn’t talked to Sunoo in a week, ever since that…slip on the roof of his car. 

The image of Sunoo under the night sky, lips looking inviting, haunts him. He clicks his tongue, standing up and pacing, running his fingers through his hair, mind racing a mile a minute. Then he glances down at the band of silver around his finger. He removes it with a scowl, taking it off so quickly he could’ve broken his bones. Without another moment of hesitation, he throws the ring away through the windows, and into the school garden below.

He comes home for once, drunk and smelling of nicotine. Much to his surprise, the house that greets him isn’t empty.

“Where have you been?” His father’s low voice draws from the darkness of their living room.

Sunghoon doesn’t answer, staring at his father, feeling numb all over.

Mr. Park stalks closer, a glass of whiskey in hand. He scans his son, scoffing at his disheveled hair and red eyes. Then, his eyes land on his empty ring finger. He quirks a brow, and the air stills.

“Where’s your ring?”

It’s the darkest hour, just before dawn breaks, when Sunoo hears something hit his window. He covers his head with his duvets, but the glass rattles once more. To add to his growing frustration, his phone rings. He picks it up begrudgingly, only to be greeted with a voice he hasn’t heard in a week.

“Hey, Ddeonu,” There it is—the nickname he used when they were kids. It only comes up once in a while now, when his intentions are to vex Sunoo. And yet, his voice tonight is somber. “Come to your window,”

He wants to hang up, ignore everything Sunghoon just said. But he can’t.

Walking to his window, barefoot and sleep-ridden, he sees Sunghoon in their garden, teeth shining in the moonlight, beckoning him down. And perhaps that’s the thing—Kim Sunoo’s only flaw. He wavers and falters. He cannot stand his ground.

He sneaks down the stairs quietly, so as not to rouse any of the household, slipping through the front doors in his silk pajamas, clad in a thick jacket. He weaves his way to the garden, where he finally sees Sunghoon sitting upon the ledge of one of their fountains.

Sunoo steps closer, only now seeing Sunghoon’s face properly. He gasps. “What happened to you?” 

“Oh, you know.” Sunghoon tries to laugh it off, but the younger sees right through it. “The usual,”

Sunoo joins him on the ledge, fingers reaching out gingerly, tracing the flowering bruises on Sunghoon’s skin. The older welcomes his touch, albeit with a hiss, but doesn’t push him away. Sunghoon smells like a mix of blood, smoke, and alcohol.

He takes this moment to assess the extent of his injuries—his eye is nearly closed with swelling, his cheek turning purple, his lip split with drying blood.

Without hesitation, Sunoo brings him in, leading him to his bedroom and urging him to sit as he fetches a first aid kit.

“What happened?” He’s got his guesses. He’s never seen it with his own eyes, but he’d be a fool not to pick up on the details—the way Sunghoon flinches when his father moves too close, the way he always moves into a defensive position.

“I threw my ring away,” Sunghoon stays still as Sunoo treats his wounds, wiping the dried specks of blood off his pale skin carefully. 

Sunoo sighs, grabbing a cotton swab to clean his split lip next. “Why would you do that? I know I’m too obedient, but you’re too rebellious.” He’s scolding him right now, but his tone is anything but sharp.

“I know,” Sunghoon says with a wry laugh. “I just…it got too much,”

“Where did you throw it?”

“At the Decelis Garden,”

At this Sunoo looks at him blankly, at a loss. He shakes his head and focuses instead on putting cream on the scratches. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Sunghoon ponders, the scenes replaying in his mind, hearing the vase break, feeling his father’s fist against his face, recalling the way the shards felt upon his skin. He shakes his head. Sunoo doesn’t have to hear all that.

He nods in understanding, respecting Sunghoon’s decisions, and yet he couldn’t help the sadness bleeding in his chest. They might be enemies, or rivals, or whatever shit they have going on, but seeing Sunghoon battered and bruised has and will always pain him.

“Oh, Hoon.” Sunoo says, voice barely a whisper, caressing the purple skin with the pad of his thumb. “Does it hurt?”

Sunghoon takes a deep but shaky breath, relishing in the concern he’s given. He doesn’t come across this quite often anyway. He nods, lip quivering despite his attempts to school his face, eyes welling with tears.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” 

Something in Sunoo’s heart breaks. He sounds so vulnerable like this, so broken. He engulfs him in a hug, burying Sunghoon’s face in the crook of his neck, wanting to shield him from all harm.

Sunghoon melts in his arms, but pulls away after a while. Sunoo’s amber eyes scan his face, gently wiping his cheeks dry of his tears. Before he could retract his hand, Sunghoon grabs his wrist and holds him still, leaning his tainted skin into the warmth of his palm.

He grimaces, the slightest touch making his face buzz with pain, and yet he presses his cheek into Sunoo’s hand harder.

“Sunghoon,” The younger says warily, trying to pull back. “You’re hurting yourself,”

All of the sudden, Sunghoon yanks on his wrist, and Sunoo’s tugged forward. Sunghoon cups his cheek, the cuts on his hand staining the younger’s porcelain skin with red. His eyes are searching Sunghoon’s, trying to gauge him.

The older boy meets his stare, but then it wanders lower, and lower. Ever so slightly, Sunghoon finds himself leaning in, lightheaded. Like the infinite sea beckoning him to jump, until he’s drowning in all that Kim Sunoo is. Sunoo’s breath hitches, but makes no move to stop the older from drawing closer. His eyes flutter close.

Sunghoon’s falling, and falling, and falling, and he finally takes the dive. He leans forward, pressing his lips against his.

Sunoo gasps a little at this, and Sunghoon does nothing but kiss him deeper, steadying himself with his arm, lithe fingers tracing the slope of his cheek, all the way down to the cut of his jaw. He angles his head to better capture the younger’s lips, and Sunoo curses at how even in kissing, Sunghoon seems to be exceptional. 

He starts to lose himself in the feeling, Sunghoon’s soft lips robbing him of every breath. With his heart booming against his ribs, bliss blossoming in the pits of his gut, he loses all reason and presses forward to reciprocate, throwing his arms around the older one’s neck.

Sunghoon bites his bottom lip, and Sunoo’s chest swells with pleasure, opening his mouth for the older to enter. Their tongues swirl against each other, and Sunoo starts to taste blood and ointment on his. The older grins, pleased at the easy access, then wastes no time kissing him ‘til the gears in his mind stopped working all together. Their noses collide with every time they angle their faces, wanting to press forward, closer and closer. 

He feels high. On the rough feeling of Sunghoon’s tongue lapping against his. On the boy’s sensual touches from his jaw traveling all the way down his chest. On Sunghoon’s kisses that burn with ardor.

When he starts running out of oxygen, that’s when it hits him, and he snaps out of it—harshly crashing to the ground after floating around in cloud nine. He pulls away with such speed, it was as if Sunghoon’s lips had scorched him.

His chest heaves with heavy breaths, and Sunghoon just watches him impassively, eyes once again proving it difficult for Sunoo to read. He does not make an effort to steal another kiss, nor give Sunoo the explanation he was silently asking for. Instead, he purses his lip in what seems to be dismay, before inching away.

Sunoo blinks, trying to make sense of it. He pushes it to the back of his mind, standing up to put the kit away, but Sunghoon tugs on his wrist before he could. Sunoo looks at him quizzically. 

He sits back down, and Sunghoon wipes his blood off Sunoo’s cheek.

“Oh,” The younger says timidly, not even noticing it in the first place, brows knitting in confusion, having no idea where the blood came from.

“Here too,” Sunghoon says with a little frown, pointing to his hand, a gash running down his palm.

Sunoo’s breath hitches at the sight of it, fresh blood seeping into the lines on his hand. Hurriedly, he disinfects it, berating Sunghoon when he hisses and squirms. “Stay still,” He nags, before wrapping it with gauze.

He flexes his hand and tests the tightness of the bandages, thanking Sunoo quietly. He gets up, then collects his jacket from the younger’s desk. The thought of Sunghoon going home after suffering that much makes something unpleasant churn in Sunoo’s stomach.

“Would you like to stay the night?” He blurts out.

A maid knocks on Sunoo’s door, the rays of sun streaming through his windows. “Young master, it’s time to wake up,” She says, entering to rouse him. But another head pops out from under the duvet, right beside Sunoo, and it makes her jolt and scream at the top of her lungs.

Other household staff come running to her rescue, and at the commotion, even Sunoo’s parents join the fray. “What is going on?” Mr. Kim shoulders through the small crowd, only to see Sunoo glaring at all of them. Right behind him, Sunghoon peeks from beneath the covers, concealing the bruises on his face.

“Sunghoon?”

He laughs sheepishly. “Good morning, sir,”

“All of you, get out!” Sunoo roars, shooing all of them away.

“Sunghoon spent the night?” His mother asks in disbelief as he nudges them out the door. “Why?”

Sunghoon overhears this and freezes, not wanting anyone to know the real reason. To his surprise, Sunoo gives none of it away.

“Why not? He’s my fiancé anyway,” 

The older releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding, chest blooming with something unfamiliar.

Sunoo helps him cover up all his bruises with makeup, and they join his parents for breakfast, dodging all the questions they could.

Sunghoon suggests that they go to school together using his car, an offer that Sunoo promptly refuses. He doesn’t like the implications of this, nor does he enjoy thinking about what their schoolmates would say.

And so, they show up separately, and Sunoo doesn’t speak a word to him after that. He keeps quiet about that night—about the bruises and the blood, and everything else.

· · ─ · ❃ · ─ · ·

“Hurry up,”

Jake rolls his eyes at Sunghoon’s nagging. What a bossy jerk. He should be grateful that Jay and Jake are willing to help him, wasting their lunch break on their knees in the Decelis garden, looking for his ring.

“How did you lose it anyway?” Jay grumbles, squinting his eyes, trained on the ground.

“I dropped it,” Sunghoon answers, scanning through the area.

“By the way,” Jay speaks again, stretching his back from being hunched over too long. “Did you go home yesterday?” He asks since Sunghoon didn’t crash at his place.

“No,” He answers succinctly, still focused on trying to find his ring among the grass.

Jay and Jake exchange glances, the latter shaking his head, silently saying that Sunghoon wasn’t with him either. Sunghoon finally spots something glinting under the sun. The squats down to reach for it.

“Then where did you stay?”

Sunghoon pauses, contemplating. He picks up the ring and dusts it off. “With Sunoo,”

· · ─ · ❃ · ─ · ·

It was a mistake.

Nothing else, nothing more, nothing less. A lapse in his reasoning, a moment of vulnerability.

And yet the feeling of Sunghoon’s lips on his had seared itself into the fissures of his mind, the ghost of his touch, the pad of his thumb caressing the high of his cheek unforgettable. Sunoo tries to bury it deep inside his memory, but it climbs out on its own accord.

He avoids Sunghoon after that, distancing himself as much as he can, planting a rift between them. The older definitely notices, but he doesn’t do anything about it. In fact, he seems to reciprocate the gesture, and they find themselves on a plane of mutual indifference once more—exactly where they were standing two months ago.

“I heard Sunghoon spent the night,” Heeseung says over lunch, making Jungwon nearly choke on his meal.

“He what?” 

Sunoo scrambles to shush them as if the whole world doesn’t know they’re engaged, numerous articles already published about them.

“How did you know?” He asks Heeseung, albeit a little accusingly. Unfazed by his tone, the older shrugs.

“Jay told me.”

A groan escapes Sunoo’s lips as he drags a hand down his face. 

“If you’re friendly enough to have sleepovers, why aren’t you guys talking?” Ni-ki voices the question everyone wants to ask, fork pointed towards Sunoo. 

With a glare, he nudges the fork down. “It’s none of your business.”

Sunghoon is scarily inconsistent, apathetic with the way he looks at Sunoo when they pass each other by in the halls, as if he didn’t just kiss him senseless the other night. As if he hadn’t watched Sunoo under the night sky and thought that he put all the stars to shame. As if his own heart wasn’t thundering against his chest.

Their after-school rendezvous suddenly comes to a halt, and all their friends are left scuffling with the tension that had increased twofold compared to when the academic year started.

“I thought things were going well?” Heeseung asks, voice low.

Sunoo stays silent, the book in his hands left unread.

There were times when the band around his finger didn’t feel that heavy, and the sight of Sunghoon wasn’t all that repulsive. And he thinks, maybe he could do this. For his parents, for his family—to finally make them proud.

And then the next moment his ring is burning his skin to ashes, and Sunghoon is looming over his figure with such contempt in his eyes.

Sunoo can’t do this after all.

· · ─ · ❃ · ─ · ·

Sunghoon catches him in the hallways after their last class, and despite Sunoo trying to shoulder past him, he is quick to catch his arm.

“What?” Sunoo snarls, and something about his tone irks Sunghoon.

“My parents want you over for dinner.”

He sighs begrudgingly, knowing that he doesn’t have a choice, or else he’ll be jeopardizing everything his father had been working for. “Today?”

Sunghoon nods. “They told me to bring you along after class.”

With a roll of his eyes, Sunoo pulls his arm away from older’s grip, and the gesture makes Sunghoon want to grab his wrist and tighten his hold around it until Sunoo pleads for him to let go. He swallows down that urge as they walk to his car.

They head to the Park’s residence, the staff immediately welcoming Sunoo warmly. They’re ushered into the living room while they wait for Sunghoon’s parents to arrive from a prior appointment. 

Sunoo settles into the maroon cabriole, fingers tracing the intricate designs carved into its wood lining. He’s been to that mansion numerous times that it doesn’t feel all too different or new to him. In front of him, Sunghoon takes a seat, fishing his phone out and scrolling, not sparing him a glance, almost pretending that he isn’t there at all. Sunoo doesn’t know why, but just the sight of him ticks him off today.

The head maid approaches Sunghoon a moment later, talking to him in a low voice. He nods in response before turning to Sunoo.

“Sunoo,” The boy is busy on his phone as well, typing away to respond to something Ni-ki had sent in their group chat.

“Sunoo,” Sunghoon repeats, and by this time, his brow is quirking a little in vex. First, he greets Sunghoon with such a foul attitude when he was doing nothing but invite him over for a meal, and now he’s ignoring him? Sunghoon tongues the inside of his cheek with a disbelieved scoff.

“Sunoo, the chef is asking if you have any special requests,”

A moment of silence passes by, and just when Sunghoon is finally convinced that Sunoo isn’t going to answer like the brat that he is, he does.

“Anything’s fine with me.” He drawls, resting his temple against his knuckles in boredom, eyes not leaving the screen of his phone, a sufferable sigh leaving his lips. Sunghoon contemplates on asking the chef to put in ingredients Sunoo was allergic to.

Sunghoon’s parents arrive half an hour later, and the dinner surprisingly goes well. They’re putting on a show for Sunoo, as usual. Pretending that they’ve been nothing but caring parents, and Sunghoon bites back all the bitterness that threatens to spill on his tongue. Sunoo just smiles and nods, but every once in a while, he fails to veil the subtle disgust that spills through his features whenever Mr. Park talks.

It’s more uneventful than the last, thankfully, and they wrap it up without anyone storming away or screaming their lungs off. At this, Mr. Park smiles at them approvingly.

His wife hands Sunoo a box of truffles, telling him to gift it to his parents, and he accepts it with both hands gratefully. And after dessert, they task Sunghoon to walk Sunoo to the yard; where a car is waiting for him—off to drive him home safely.

Sunghoon shoves his hands in his pockets, walking into the nightfall, the air carding through his locks. In front of him, Sunoo walks. They haven’t exchanged a single word all throughout the meal, and Sunghoon isn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Take care,” He says, but Sunoo continues walking as if he doesn’t hear anything, opening the door to the backseat. Sunghoon’s eye twitches in annoyance. Gritting his teeth, he grabs Sunoo’s hand before he could slip into the vehicle, turning him around in a split second, caging him against the car.

He holds the width of Sunoo’s chin with his hand, fingers slightly digging into his cheek, forcing him to meet his eyes. “You don’t get to ignore me, Kim Sunoo.”

If the younger felt threatened at all, it doesn’t show. Instead, his gaze narrows, the glint in his eyes provoking, the shadow of a coy smile playing on his lips. “Or what?”

Sunghoon pushes forward to capture Sunoo’s lips in a kiss, and on instinct, the younger lets his eyes flutter shut in anticipation. But a moment passes and he never feels the boy’s lips against his. When he opens his eyes, he sees Sunghoon smiling at him wolfishly. He had stopped just a millimeter away, a laugh raking up his throat at the sight of Sunoo puckering up, almost famished for his kiss. Then he takes a step back, hands patting down the stray tufts of Sunoo’s hair that the wind had ruffled out of place.

“Take care.” He says, turning on his heel and retreating into their mansion, hands shoved in his pockets.

Sunoo seethes. 

Chapter Text

The next day, Sunoo feels like he’s in an alternate universe.

He had just entered through the main gates, and all of the sudden there’s an arm benignly slung upon his broad shoulders. He glances at it, and he sees a silver band around the ring finger of the person, and when he looks up, it’s none other than the very bane of his existence. Actually, the very sight of Sunghoon wearing the ring had made the sirens in Sunoo’s head ring. He doesn’t wear it usually; he just slips it on when he’s at home to keep his parents off his back.

“Good morning,” Sunghoon tells him, donning an eerily genuine smile, all tooth and dimple. The bruises have begun to fade.

He doesn’t respond, instead eyeing the boy with skepticism, and it makes Sunghoon pout. “Don’t I get a good morning from my fiancé?”

Sunoo breathes. Who the fuck is this person in front of him, and what has he done to the devil incarnate that is Park Sunghoon?

Maybe if he pretends that he doesn’t hear anything, the older boy is going to vacate his side. But much to his surprise, despite his blatant attempts at ignoring Sunghoon, he doesn’t waver. In fact, he stays next to him the whole duration of the walk from the academy’s entrance to Sunoo’s first class. He doesn’t do that. Yes, he would greet Sunoo at the gates every now and then to spite him, but the moment they step foot on the marbled lobby, he’s walking away.

But today, by some god forsaken stroke of…whatever it is, Sunghoon walks Sunoo to class for the first time in the decades they’ve known each other.

Sunoo furrows his brows at him, not even trying to hide his wariness. He’s on his guard, ready for the scheme Sunghoon is playing at. Maybe he’s going to try and do something despicable and humiliate the younger in the middle of the hall, or maybe he’s just waiting for the right moment to push him somewhere and lock him there forever.

His imagination runs rampant, and before he even realizes, they’ve arrived at his lecture hall, and Sunghoon didn’t try to do anything at all. Instead, he nudges a small box into Sunoo’s hands.

“Auntie told me to give it to you. She baked it herself.” He says, and Sunoo isn’t even given time to respond or unleash his usual impudence, because the bell is suddenly ringing, and Sunghoon is urging him inside the class.

He opens his mouth to talk, but Sunghoon’s already sprinting down the hall to catch his own schedule.

Sunoo blinks, glancing down at the mini cake gifted to him. What was that?

When lunch comes, he half expects Sunghoon to pop up out of nowhere and lug him somewhere.

“What is going on with you?” Jungwon asks, digging into the hearty lunch his family had packed for him.

Sunoo breathes, almost exhausted from spending the morning on the lookout for an unpredictable mop of platinum hair. “The guy has been really weird lately, that’s all.”

“The guy?” Ni-ki asks from the other side of the table.

Sunoo glances around the lunch hall, just to make sure Sunghoon isn’t in the vicinity. “You know, he who must not be named.”

Beside him, Heeseung chuckles a little at this. “Never knew we went to school with Voldemort.”

With a roll of his eyes, Sunoo groans, unimpressed. “You get what I mean.”

“Why, what about him?” Jungwon prods, obviously very interested.

“He’s like…he’s just weird okay?”

“Weird how?”

Pressing his lips into a bemused line, Sunoo realizes that he has no escape from this interrogation. Might as well quench their thirst. “He’s been bothering me all day. He’s hot and cold. One moment we’re getting along, the next he’s being an asshole.”

“But…that’s how you’ve been your whole lives?” Heeseung supplies.

Sunoo sighs. “Yeah, I know. But this time it’s different.”

Just as he had foreseen, his run in with Sunghoon that day wasn't the last of it. When he leaves his last class in the afternoon, he already sees the boy waiting for him by the doorway, leaning against the wall and tapping his foot.

“You’re late.”

Sunoo bristles. “To what,” 

At his reaction, Sunghoon chuckles, thoroughly enjoying getting a rise out of him. Blood rushes to Sunoo’s ears and he feels this inexplicable urge to whack the boy across his face.

But he’s getting better and better at snapping Sunoo out of his lividness, it seems. Because before he could even snarl at Sunghoon, he’s being guided to the direction of the council room. And it’s just so weird, because the grip the older boy has on his wrist is unlike how it’s always been. It wasn’t rough unlike when he pulled Sunoo aside to accuse him of bribing the former President to let him join the council, and it wasn’t irritable unlike when he confronted Sunoo about him giving the wrong time and date to their conferences just to sabotage him.

It's just…right. Not really forceful, yet it isn’t all that kind either. It’s just teetering on the edge of both with uncertainty, much like the two of them. And it just throws Sunoo off.

Sunghoon pushes the doors open, and what greets Sunoo isn’t the neat and kept council room that he knows.

The chaise is covered with a variety of fabric, the coffee table is filled with scattered papers, portfolios, magazines of suits, and printed color charts. In the middle of it all, stands a man of short stature, dressed in an eccentric purple suit. He looks like an eggplant, thinks Sunoo.

“Good afternoon,” he greets, nodding curtly. Behind him, stand two of his assistants, hands clasped behind their backs rigidly. 

When they near him, Sunoo realizes that the man only comes up to his armpit, and he doesn’t even think he’s that tall. But the man makes up for his height with assertiveness and pugnacity, angled eyes sharp behind the thick-framed glasses he wears on the tip of his nose.

Not letting go of his wrist at all, Sunghoon tugs him to the chaise, the two of them taking a seat much to Sunoo’s confusion. In the span of a few seconds, the man had managed to introduce himself—he’s an event organizer, says that he’s the best in town. Self-absorbed and audacious, they note. He runs his mouth off, enumerating the types of fabric hanging on the backrest of the sofa, and running them down the best possible dates of that year according to astrology.

Sunoo blinks, turning to Sunghoon.

“Our parents sent him.” The older boy glances at him, and he notices that the jest Sunghoon was wearing on his features just a while ago had simmered down to something a little more serious.

The man proves to be difficult to work with, the pace in which he talks incredibly fast, his opinions imposing. Well, in the first place, Sunoo hasn’t even come to terms with the idea of the marriage, and right now, he’s just wearing the ring to appease his folks. Bile rises in his throat when the man prompts him to choose a motif, and there’s a frown on Sunghoon’s lips when he insists that it’s better to get married in Spring. “It is best to leave this to me, when you obviously don’t know much about planning.”

Sunghoon’s features twist in subtle dismay, not liking the way the man talked to them at all. He was so high on his horse, looking down on them it seems. Which he finds absolutely hilarious because the man is nearly a dwarf in his eyes. He’s even shorter than the average height of a female.

“I want fuchsia.” States Sunghoon, crossing his legs and leaning against the sofa haughtily. Two can play at this game. The man stutters to a silence.

“Fuchs— what?” He had been briefing them with the best possible colors to choose for their wedding’s motif. Ivory, Pearl, Sage, Gold. Muted colors that scream elegance and wealth. And Sunghoon says he wants Fuchsia .

“That simply cannot be—”

“Is it your wedding?”

“N-no, but—”

“Then I don’t really see why your opinion matters that much. What about you love, what color do you want?” Sunghoon suddenly turns to Sunoo and takes him aback with the endearment. With heat spreading to the tips of his ears, he fumbles to play along, catching the playful glint in Sunghoon’s eyes, understanding well enough.

“I think I want neon green. Kind of reminds me of mint choco and all.”

“Neon green?!” The man sputters, turning red and looking close to exploding that Sunghoon has to bite back the filthy laugh threatening to escape his throat.

“How about the date?” Sunoo asks, glancing at the older, bold enough to add things more to the list of: how to irk this arrogant wedding planner.

“Winter sounds beautiful, doesn’t it?” Sunghoon’s eyes gleam, meeting his gaze. “We can have a garden wedding!”

“A garden wedding in the middle of winter?!” The man echoes in incredulity, blood pressure rising that his neck starts to hurt. “This is preposterous!”

The two boys share a silent look, laughter hanging on the tips of their tongues. Now how do they completely chase this man out?

The planner brings out more portfolios from his suitcase, in absolute repudiation of how a couple can have such poor taste. He opens his mouth once more, but Sunghoon stops him before he could.

“Look, I’m sorry. We’re trying to cooperate but I don’t think today is the best day to talk about this.” Sunghoon finally says, pinching the bridge of his nose in faux frustration.

“But your father—”

“But my father will understand that Sunoo isn’t feeling all that well.”

At the mention of his name, he perks up, eyes wide like a deer caught by headlights. 

“Maybe it’s best to postpone this when my fiancé is feeling better.” Sunghoon brings a hand to Sunoo’s knee and squeezes; he has no choice but to follow the act. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” He answers meekly, sending the man an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry Mr. Song. My head has actually been hurting all day.”

And Sunghoon—the little shit that he is, even cups Sunoo’s cheek and brings his head to his shoulder, lips pressed into a line, shaking his head as if to say oh what a shame, my poor lover isn’t well. Sunoo’s brow twitches, swallowing down a complaint as Sunghoon’s palm presses his cheek firmly against him. He reaches his hand behind the older and pinches the skin of his nape, nearly making him yelp in pain.

The man gives them disapproving looks, having no choice but to stand up and collect his things. He sneers at them, mumbling that bad luck will befall such a stubborn couple, then ordering his team to gather the rest of his belongings.

He trudges out of the council room with a scowl, and the two couldn’t hide their elation. They can’t believe they managed to bully this irritating man away with joint effort.

“Goodbye Mr. Song!” Sunoo sings, craning his neck over his shoulder to watch the tiny man walk away.

Belatedly, Sunghoon adds: “Come back when you grow taller!” And it’s just so out of the blue that Sunoo’s eyes are blown wide, an unprecedented and disbelieving laugh blubbering up his throat, his hand slapping against Sunghoon’s shoulder in amusement.

His joy is contagious, apparently. Because a split second later, Sunghoon finds himself smiling, more at Sunoo’s glee and less at his own joke. And as he watches the younger throw his head back, learning that he has trouble stopping once he starts to laugh, he realizes that making him smile seems to be more satisfying than making him mad. And he starts to wonder, in the years they’ve known each other, how many times has he been able to see Sunoo this happy?

“You’re an asshole,” He wheezes, now wiping away tears, and Sunghoon just…can’t keep his eyes off him, fascinated with the way his eyes crinkle, how his lips are pulled taught his cheeks start to hurt, and the way Sunoo’s laugh just seems to bounce off the walls. 

A moment later, his laughter finally seems to die down, and he’s heaving, trying to catch his breath and gather his wits. But there’s still a stray chuckle from the both of them every now and then and Sunghoon is physically unable to look away.

Sunoo turns to him, the ghost of a grin still hanging on his lips, eyes bright, and everything just…stops.

Sunghoon greedily lunges forward, and Sunoo’s arms almost immediately welcome him, wrapping around his shoulders as he presses their lips together. It's messy and rushed, their teeth clack against each other at first, but once they've found their rhythm, all is lost to the heat they’re dancing in.

It’s as intoxicating as it was the first time, a heady mix of their colognes permeating into their airways. Sunoo wraps his hand around Sunghoon's frame, finding his reason stripped away from him again. But this time—with the addicting feeling of the older's lips against his, the rumbles in Sunghoon's chest when he silently grunts against his lips, the heart in his throat threatening to jump out—he doesn't fight against it. Instead embracing it whole. 

He's pushed against the cushions of the chaise, and he stumbles into a position that isn’t all that new to him lately: trapped against a surface, caged between his arms, pinned under a glare, Sunghoon looming over him.

His chest is ridden with heavy breaths, and Sunghoon pulls away for a second, only to run his eyes down Sunoo's doll face. Eyes unfocused, hair disheveled, lips swollen. He thinks Sunoo has never been prettier. 

Sunoo grabs him by the collar and tugs him down to crash their lips once more, and Sunghoon smirks against it, ego soaring with how badly the younger seems to crave him. 

Sunoo is such a beauty—his movements refined; his smiles graceful. And yet here he is now, underneath the Parks' firstborn son, hands running all over Sunghoon's back in an attempt to pull him closer, if that’s even possible. Sunghoon feels the younger one’s breath hitch with the kisses, and he thinks that Sunoo is easy to play with. 

He swipes his tongue across Sunoo's lower lip before taking it between his sharp teeth, nipping playfully. Sunghoon earns a tiny gasp from the boy, and he seizes the opportunity, diving in with his tongue, skillfully pushing it against Sunoo's. 

The spark in his gut is starting to grow, the smoking embers making its way to his throat with every time Sunoo tugs on the roots of his hair, the younger's tongue exploring his mouth in famished pelts. 

Sunoo doesn't back down, he's never been one to anyway. He presses forward, determined. Swirling his tongue and fighting for dominance. A chuckle escapes Sunghoon's lips from his eagerness, and Sunoo is unsure whether he finds it sexy or annoying. 

Sunghoon tastes surprisingly sweet. Like the cake gifted to Sunoo by the Park Household's head maid. Perhaps he snatched a bite of it before. But with every time Sunghoon angles his jaw, cupping the back of Sunoo's head, tongue coiling around his, he finds a tinge of a cigarette woven beneath the sugary taste. And god , how he likes it. 

The smokey fragrance invades his nose, and along with Sunghoon's musky perfume, it wafts all the way to Sunoo's mind and it stays there, molding his brain into something shaped like the older. And he just keeps wanting more, and more, and more. 

Sunghoon pulls away breathlessly, only to attach his lips to the crook of Sunoo's neck, hand cradling his nape for easier leverage. Sunoo finds himself tilting his head back, fully exposing his jugular for the wolf preying on him. Sunghoon runs his tongue up painstakingly slow, as if to tease. Then he takes the skin between his fang and bites—not piercing, only hard enough to leave a mark. Then he presses his open lips to the dent, bruising the spot with his tongue, sucking on it until it turns purple. 

Sunoo shudders at the feeling, Sunghoon's relentless lapping sending chills down his spine, blood rushing all the way south. He’s dizzied. He can feel nothing and everything all at once. He’s drunk—on Sunghoon’s scent and Sunghoon’s taste and there's a horrid want burning through his veins that it becomes too overwhelming. His breath hitches in his throat, and he taps the older's shoulder. 

"Wait," He gasps, and Sunghoon is pulling away, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. Sunoo tries to catch his breath, covering his beet red face with his arm, and Sunghoon merely smirks at the sight of him starting to unravel.

He supposes that’s that for the day. He fixes Sunoo’s polo for him, fastening the top buttons that he had absently undone.

That afternoon, when he drives Sunoo home, the air is thick with tension.

Sunoo opens the door wordlessly, off to slip out. But before he even could, Sunghoon tugs on his wrist, pulling him back to place a reckless kiss on his lips. The younger scoffs, but pushes forward against it, even going as far as angling his face. He doesn’t want to lose, even when it comes to this.

This time, it’s he who leaves Sunghoon breathless. He steps out of the car, slamming the door shut, knowing just how much it vexes the older. “Take care.” He turns around and heads home without another word.

Sunghoon clicks his tongue with a disbelieving smirk. That brat.

He towels through his damp hair, a tired sigh breezing through his nose, slumping down his bed in exhaustion. That day was an emotional rollercoaster, but Sunoo finds that he likes thrilling rides. His eyes wander to the brown envelope on his bedside table—the finished appeal neatly sitting within.

With his feet bare, the towel now hanging around his neck, he steps towards it. And with careful thought, he tucks it away.

· · ─ · ❃ · ─ · ·

The rollercoaster ride only goes downhill from that, and Sunoo’s barreling down at a frightening speed, wind slapping against his face, ripping through his hair. And yet the thrill makes a mess of his heart; tickles his sides. Just like how Sunghoon’s hands are now—gripping his waist, digging into his skin, pinning him against the cold wall of an empty classroom.

Sunoo doesn’t know how this happened. Perhaps it was that one afternoon on the chaise of the council room, when they ganged up on the wedding planner and laughed so hard that they ended up kissing. It had rolled down the hill and snowballed into something that couldn’t be stopped. Between Sunghoon eagerly waiting for him in his car after class, and them abandoning their council paperwork in favor of something more…exciting, they’ve begun to look past their rivalry. Instead opting to bring their focus on each other’s lips, each other’s hands, each other’s breaths mingling with their own. 

But deep down, when Sunghoon’s finger traces his jaw, and when his tongue laps against his neck, Sunoo wonders what they are. Where they stand. Who they are to each other. But Sunghoon presses his lips against his, now knowing what and where he likes it best, and all those thoughts crumble by his feet. Sunghoon pulls him closer, pressing their chests flush against each other, and all else is forgotten.

“Come to my game?” Sunghoon asks in between their kisses, nosing against Sunoo’s ear, breath tickling the crook of his neck. 

Sunoo leans his head against the wall, his knees nearly buckling when Sunghoon bites his earlobe. He breathes. “Okay,”

It’s the first game of the season and not even an hour before it starts, the field is already brimming with excitement, stadium lights blinding against the shadow of the night. Sunoo makes his way to the bleachers, Jungwon and Ni-ki tailing him almost begrudgingly.

“Tell me again why we’re here just to watch your boyfriend?” Jungwon grumps, settling into the seat next to him.

“He’s—” He pauses, uncertain. Then continues with a small voice. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. He’s your fiancé. Whatever.” His best friend rolls his eyes, stuffing his face with the chips they brought with them. “But he’s your fiancé, not ours. So why do we need to be here?”

From Sunoo’s other side, Ni-ki grunts in agreement.

He sighs. “C’mon you guys, I don’t want to watch alone. Besides, you can just think of it as watching for Heeseung hyung!”

At this, the two juniors grumble, relenting. And as they wait for the game to commence, Sunoo finds himself lapsing into silence, Jungwon’s words harrying his mind. 

Boyfriend…? Fiancé…?

He isn’t allowed much more time to ponder, because soon enough, the stadium erupts into cheers at the players’ entrance. Dressed in red and blacks, out comes the team from the College of Siracusa, the university rivaling theirs. Well, at least they try to rival them, but honestly, it’s one sided. The students who don’t make the cut for Decelis attend Siracusa. Think of it as a bin for leftovers.

There’s heated tension between the two schools, and it bleeds into everything else—into intercollege debates, into sports, and even after graduation when they’re propelled into the real corporate world. But really, amongst all of this, Siracusa always seems to get the short end of the stick.

If the field was loud at visitor’s arrival, the ground shakes when the football team of Decelis emerges from the sides, clad in blues and ivories, waving at the crowd in their home field, players led by the quarterback Park Sunghoon.

Sunoo’s nerves feel like livewire as he watches the older down in the field, donning his royal blue helmet, shoulders padded heavily. There’s nervousness coursing through his veins, as if he were the one playing, and Ni-ki has to tell him to relax.

He has no clue about the rules of his game. He’s never been inclined to sports anyway. He would much rather spend his afternoons in the debate club, or writing a feature article for the Decelis Paper, than get himself dirtied with soil while rolling around the grass. He’s never been able to see the appeal of it either.

However, with his eyes trained on Sunghoon, the boy stepping forward for the coin toss, authority still somewhat rolling off of him in waves, Sunoo thinks that maybe this sport was worth watching after all.

After that, the game starts with a heated kickoff from the opponent, and the audience roars, following the players’ movements like hawks perched on the trees. Sunghoon and his friends (including Heeseung) are all players of the Decelis Jaguars, and needless to say, they are the pillars of the team.

Sunghoon’s standing behind Jay—the center, on guard as he adjusts his helmet, intense focus thrumming through his every limb. The ball travels from the other side of the field, and immediately, Jake, the wide receiver, catches it with ease. He bolts to the goal, shouldering through defense and with great coordination, makes a pass to their running back—the one and only Heeseung. And in the split of an eye, with his fast feet and wide strides, Heeseung scores a touchdown. He’s got the stadium hollering, his hands raised in the air in victory as the audience makes noise with their blue cheering sticks.

Jungwon and Ni-ki jump up in glee, whistling and howling in hopes their friend would hear it, instantly forgetting that they actually didn’t want to be there in the first place.

The sport is very grueling, Sunoo realizes, watching Sunghoon get tackled after their second down, and he feels like he’s going to fall off the edge of his seat. He silently hopes the older boy’s helmet and protective gears are doing their job.

They fail to push for ten yards and they’re onto their third down. Jay holds onto the football, protecting it with all his might, keeping the defenders at bay as he tries to barrel forward. As soon as he sees an opening, he tosses the ball high up into the air. Someone jumps up to catch it, and he’s running down the field to the goal line, past all the players of the opposing team. Decelis scores another touchdown and the crowd cheers, the bleachers booming.

Before Sunoo could even make sense of what had happened, Sunghoon’s turning around from the goal line, thumping his fist against his chest and raising it in the air, a roar ripping through his throat, lips pulled over his fangs in a celebratory smile. There’s sweat dribbling down his chin, his features waxed over by the glow of the stadium lights. 

Sunoo’s miles away from the field but he sees it all so clearly, and his pulse stutters a little at the sight. Actually, no, it’s not just a ‘little’. It’s practically thundering against his chest like the chanting of the audience. Sunghoon! Sunghoon! Sunghoon! goes the crowd, and Sunoo thinks that little by little, his heart is falling in sync with it. 

It's hard to focus on the game after that. All he knows is that he forgets how to use the clappers and the cheer sticks, instead gripping it in worry whenever he sees a particularly large player of Siracusa lunge for Sunghoon, wincing whenever he sees the older get pushed into the ground.

The points steadily increase with each quarter, the teams scoring one after the other, neck on neck. Halftime passes and they’re onto the latter half of the game. The night falls over them in its entirety, stars blanketing the skies, but really, Sunoo couldn’t care less about that. Not when he’s unable to rip his eyes off Sunghoon.

He’s never been to Decelis’ football games before, not even to show Heeseung support because he doesn’t want Sunghoon to think that he’s there for him. He’s that petty. But now that he’s there, watching the older in his element, sweat dripping down his face as he pushes through the opposing players, there’s a certain fire that sparks in Sunoo’s gut.

Forty-five minutes later, the game ends with Decelis’ victory—a winning sprint by the quarterback. After the teams shake hands to show their sportsmanship, as usual, College of Siracusa is left to trudge home in defeat. The team throws Sunghoon into the air, rejoicing their win, and the crowd celebrates with them.

This was always somewhat a big deal in their academy, and with this being Sunghoon’s last year, Sunoo knows how much this probably means to him.

Little by little, the stadium begins to lose its audience, until all that’s left are the team players and a few of their friends who are waiting for them. There’s an afterparty, their teammate whose family is in the liquor industry inviting the whole team over to one of their bars. But as Sunghoon sees Sunoo stepping down to the bleachers and make his way towards him, he passes on the invitation.

“Are you serious?” Jake asks. Sunghoon has never been one to reject invites to parties, especially when it’s after a win.

“Let him be,” Jay quips, head nodding towards Sunoo’s direction, and following the movement, Jake finally nods in understanding.

Sunghoon pulls away from his team to meet Sunoo halfway through the field, damp hair clinging to his forehead. He beams at him, putting on a toothy grin as the stadium lights hit him from the back, engulfing his frame in an almost angelic glow that Sunoo almost teeters to a stop at the sight. 

“You came,” He says, taking Sunoo’s hands in his as soon as he was close enough, and the gesture makes something in Sunoo’s chest pang. 

“I did,” He says, unable to hold back the smile, Sunghoon’s elation contagious.

“Did you see me out there?”

Sunoo scrunches his nose apologetically. “No sorry, I was busy watching Jake hyung,”

The older raises a brow, tongue swiping over his lips in offense. “Jake huh. Maybe I ought to cripple him so he never gets to play again—” He turns to Jake’s direction to do just that, but Sunoo holds him back by the hand.

“I’m kidding. Of course, I saw you.”

The athlete turns back to him and chuckles sheepishly, and it sounds so different from the laughter of the Sunghoon Sunoo knew from two months ago. And he finds that Sunghoon’s smile now—seemingly carefree and content, fits him so much more.

“You did great.”

A genuine smile on his face, a faint pink against his cheeks. He’s pulling Sunoo closer by his waist and cupping his jaw, leaning forward to place a soft kiss against his lips. 

He’s sweaty, and his uniform has specks of soil and dust, and he kind of smells a little like grass right now. But Sunoo realizes that he doesn’t mind. Instead, he slings his arms over the older boy’s shoulder, avidly returning the kiss.

Only when they pull away, do they realize that everyone else has left the field, and it’s just them beneath the blaring lights of the stadium.

Sunghoon doesn’t let go, clasping his hands together right on the base of Sunoo’s spine as he looks at him earnestly. Sunoo holds his gaze, seeing fondness flash in the older’s eyes. But then he blinks, and it’s gone,

“So,” Sunghoon starts, breaths mingling at the proximity. “Who do you think played best today?”

Sunoo hums. “Hmm, honestly speaking, I think it was Heeseung hyung.” Sunghoon reels back a little. Those were not the words he wanted to hear.

“Sweetheart, did you even understand the rules of the game?” He challenges.

Sunoo quirks a brow, a little irked by his tone, but what’s new? “Of course I did.” 

“Do you think you’d be good if you played?”

He doesn’t think he has the physique for American Football, but of course, he’ll never admit that in front Sunghoon. He would much rather be caught dead, actually. “Of course, I would.”

Sunghoon finally pulls away, and Sunoo finds himself pursing his lips at the loss of warmth around his frame. The older turns on his heel to retrieve a ball his team mates had left behind, before returning to Sunoo’s front.

“Would you like to test that theory?”

It’s stupid. Especially for debater, essay writer, sports-hating Kim Sunoo. But really, it’s like Sunghoon’s best talent is to bring out sides of Sunoo that he didn’t even know he had himself.

And that’s exactly why he’s in the middle of Decelis’ empty field, football in hands as he tries to shoulder past Sunghoon.

He lowers his stance, ready to play defense as he instructs Sunoo on what to do. “C’mon, just try to get past me at least.”

Sunoo presses his lips in deep thought, brows knitting as he tries to deduce just what he should do to win this. Meeting Sunghoon head on is a suicide mission, but he doubts he could reach the other end without coming into contact with him at least once.

“Fuck it,” He bolts forward, but swerving just when Sunghoon thought he’d run straight to him. He manages to evade the older’s attempt to block him, but soon enough, Sunghoon’s hot on his heels. Sunoo runs forward as fast as he can, the wind whipping through his hair as he looks over his shoulder with a laugh.

In the blink of an eye, Sunghoon catches up to him, grinning, pulling him backward by the waist before the abruptness of it all causes them to topple to the ground. He cushions their fall, and in giggles, Sunoo pushes himself off Sunghoon’s chest, rolling into the grass. The older boy laughs, only to inch nearer.

Sunoo lies there, Sunghoon hovering over him, lips parted from his thick breaths, a smile slightly tugging on the corners of his lips. There’s shaky laughter slipping through their teeth, and Sunghoon pauses, brushing a tuft of Sunoo’s fringe away from his eyes. Then he’s leaning down, meeting his lips chastely.

It’s soft, and so surprisingly tender—with Sunoo cupping Sunghoon’s angled jaw, long lashes fluttering down to his cheeks. The older holds the hand he has on his face, guiding Sunoo’s arms around his neck. He presses forward, this time stronger, hungry for his taste.

It just feels…so right now. Sunoo’s slotting his lips against Sunghoon’s, fingers tangling with the strands of his hair, tongue tracing over his cupid’s bow, knowing the curve of it like the back of his hand. 

It just feels…so natural now. As if this is what they were meant to be doing in the first place, as if out of all the places in the world, this is where they belong. Sunoo takes his bottom lip between his teeth before lightly tugging on it, pleased by the gruff sound Sunghoon makes before he presses Sunoo firmer against the ground.

Their pace starts to pick up, Sunghoon’s meekly licking the plump of Sunoo’s bottom lip, asking for access. And when he provides just that, the older jumps right in, swallowing down all the small sounds that escape Sunoo’s mouth.

Inpatient. Needy. Wanting. There’s a storm brewing in his guts and he feels like only Sunghoon would be able to quell it. But with each time the older swipes his tongue over his, lapping against him, Sunoo only feels the hurricane pick up. 

He’s on fire—Sunghoon’s touches leaving his skin with burns, fingertips melting the ivory that he traces. He breathes through his nose, wholly taking whatever the older gives him, slacking his jaw for Sunghoon to explore his mouth with the tip of his tongue, craning his neck for him to paint like a canvas with his lips.

There’s a hungry growl that reverberates from Sunghoon’s chest, and Sunoo feels it course through his body, sending shivers down his nape. Whatever tenderness to their kisses had completely dissipated by now, making way for thirst and lust.

Sunghoon seems desperate almost, pelting over his swollen lips only to nip on it a moment later. It's a rough game of dominance, and even in this, he is playing offense—the outcome of it all laying in the palms of his hands for him to control. And even in this, he is winning.

Sunoo whimpers under him in pleasure, arms firmly pulling him closer, starving for more. Sunghoon pulls away only to nose at the younger’s neck, peppering him with wet sloppy kisses, and there’s a soft moan that escapes Sunoo’s lips. The sound goes straight to Sunghoon’s ear, the younger’s breath fanning his skin, and it sends tingles all throughout his body.

“Fuck,” Sunghoon curses under his breath, hands trailing down the younger’s small waist. “You’re so hot Sunoo-yah ,”

Sunoo thinks he’s gone completely insane. Even the sound of his name tumbling down Sunghoon’s tongue nearly sends him into a frenzy, undoing his very being, and he shamelessly pulls him back up to meet his lips with a whine. 

“Aren’t you needy, love?” He chuckles, diving down to indulge his demands, tongue ravishing the insides of Sunoo’s mouth until their saliva had mixed seamlessly. The pet name has Sunoo’s breath hitching in his throat, and when Sunghoon pulls away momentarily to catch a breath, he echoes the word with uncertainty, testing how it feels on his tongue.

“Love…” 

Humming in response, Sunghoon’s back down, now completely straddling him, lapping against his collar bone.

Despite being out in the open, nighttime air hitting them from all sides, Sunoo feels stuffy—finding it nearly impossible to breath while Sunghoon’s making a mess out of his chest—he doesn’t even know when the older had undone the buttons of his dress shirt. His large hands are tracing his cheek, traveling down his arms, snaking around his waist. The flame in his gut has come to grow larger, fed by Sunghoon’s kindled touches, and he’s afraid that the flames would engulf him whole.

And yet, he wants more, and more, and more. So much more than what they already have. So much more than what they already are.

Sunghoon’s about to lean down to capture his lips again, when he suddenly asks against the still of the night: 

“Sunghoon, what are we?”

He stutters to a stop, his brows furrowing a little before he laughs it off. “Do we really have to talk about that now?” Sunghoon bites on the shell of his ear, and Sunoo has to suppress the chills caused by his hot breaths, trying to pull away.

“Yes,” He struggles to answer, palms against Sunghoon’s toned chest, soft moans flitting up his chest with every hickey Sunghoon gives him. “What are we?” He grips the older’s bicep to make him stop and listen, but Sunghoon is relentless.

“Baby, that’s not important right now,” He purrs, leaning down to fill the other side of his neck with marks, but Sunoo stops him with a firm hand. He reels back and sees that all the bliss has drained from Sunoo’s face, lips now pulled into a scowl. And yet, there’s a heady streak of pink across his cheeks and Sunghoon has the strongest urge to make a mess of him more.

“Not important? ” he echoes, and Sunghoon doesn’t miss the uncertainty in his voice. He pauses, then pulls away to sit up, tugging Sunoo up with him. Somberness replaces want in a split second, and Sunoo feels the midnight air embrace him. They’re now sitting face to face on the grass, still so close that their breaths are melding.

“Sunoo,” Sunghoon starts, voice soft as he tucks a few strands of the younger’s fringe behind his ears, unveiling his bright eyes that hold the stars. “What’s important is that you’re here with me, right now.” A kiss on the forehead. One on each cheek. On the tip of his nose. Then he’s leaning in to kiss Sunoo square on the lips so softly it almost feels like a feathery touch.

And despite the heart in his words, and the warmth of his actions, Sunoo feels uneasy.

When Sunghoon pulls back, Sunoo searches his eyes. But before he could completely, Sunghoon returns to steal another kiss, this time deeper, and harder, and Sunoo just lets him. Allows him to cup his cheek and hold his waist and brandish him as his.

In the span of a few weeks, Sunghoon had managed to ease himself into Sunoo’s routine so seamlessly, as if they’ve been living that way for years—of him walking him to class, of him bringing him snacks, of him waiting in his car in the afternoons. Without permission, he barged right in and molded Sunoo’s heart into a shape that resembled him, and with Sunoo’s growing realization that he doesn’t mind, he panics.

But Sunghoon’s kisses are dizzying, his embrace distracting, and he’s forced to push everything else to the back of his mind so he could enjoy the euphoric feeling of getting lost in Sunghoon’s touches.

“C’mon, I’ll drive you home.” He pulls Sunoo up to his feet, draping his varsity jacket around the younger’s shoulders before putting an arm around him. As they exit the field, the feeling of Sunghoon’s hand holding him close already familiar, Sunoo is left to lament over his unanswered question, uneasiness settling in his chest.

The car ride to the Kims’ estate is stilted and a little heavy, but Sunghoon doesn’t seem to notice.

“Will you be attending the after party?” Sunoo asks, curious. A part of him just wants to know even though he knows he doesn’t have the right to.

Sunghoon shrugs as he pulls into their residence. “I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not.”

Sunoo wants to tell him to text him if he’ll go, wants to tell him not to drink too much if he does, wants to tell him to take care and not drive drunk. But the very thought of all that scares him. See, growing up in such a controlled household, Sunoo is a stranger to uncertainty—he loathes it. There are lines between them that are glaring—telling him not to cross, telling him to stay in his place, because he does not have the right to want what he cannot have. 

But Kim Sunoo is greedy.

“Text me if you will,” He closes the passenger seat’s door gently. “Take care,” He whispers, voice missing its usual self-assured cadence. If Sunghoon notices, he doesn’t say anything, instead sending Sunoo a small smile before he turns around and walks away.

Sunghoon exits their estate before he could make it through their front door, and Sunoo looks over his shoulder, his question lingering in rigid air.

What are we?

Somehow, he already knows the answer.

One which Sunghoon had kept to himself, for Park Sunghoon is selfish.

He finds that Sunghoon’s friends have posted pictures online, and there’s Sunghoon, in the middle of a grand party, beaming and seemingly having the time of his life, holding onto glasses and gripping bottles and throwing his head back in arrogant one shots.

Sunghoon didn’t text him.

· · ─ · ❃ · ─ · ·

An unpleasant feeling had taken root in his gut that night, and no matter how many times he tosses and turns, no matter how hard he tries to bring it up to his friends and fails, he can’t just seem to shake it. It creeped throughout his chest and clamped on his heart and weighed it heavy for the days that followed.

Sunghoon greets him the morning after, as he always does, seemingly clueless to Sunoo’s internal conflict. Then the rest of the day is spent like any other. In between his classes, he comes across the older in one of the hallways, and he seems to be too busy in a conversation with his group mates to even pay Sunoo any mind.

When lunch comes, he meets the Sunghoon’s gaze in the lunch hall. He perks up to motion for him and his friends to join them, but Sunghoon is turning the corner before he even could. His shoulders sink and he brushes it off, well he tries to .

He tells himself to do the same, to pretend that he doesn’t care, that he isn’t affected. But he finds it terribly difficult to lie to himself. As much as he wants to think that nothing has changed, that they’re still in their little bubble filled with midnight rides and convenience store runs, he knows something has shifted.

Sunghoon seems to be keeping his distance—but not drastically so, change so subtle that Sunoo could barely feel it. He’s just an arm’s breadth away from where he usually was—as if to keep something, or someone at bay. Yet it all feels the same to Sunoo. Whether he was right next to him in the car, or on the other side of the hall, it feels as if he is oceans away. And it angers him, makes his blood boil, makes his gut twist—that he wants to do nothing but to cross that distance.

And that scares him.

There’s only about a week left before elections, and Sunoo finds himself dwindling into unrest. His mind is cluttered, and his feelings are a mess. He fears that the turmoil growing larger and larger within him is going to make him burst at the seams.

“What’s on your mind?” Sunghoon asks, joining him by the ledge of the East Wing Tower.

Sunoo stirs at the sudden company, much rather wanting to be alone. How does he even answer that question? 

You. Us. Our parents. This marriage. The elections. Us. You.

A heavy sigh. “Nothing,”

The older pouts, putting a hand on Sunoo’s waist to pull him closer, hoping to comfort him, but he inches away. The gesture has Sunghoon’s brow twitching, a frown pulling on his lips as he straightens his back at the rejection.

“What’s wrong?” His voice drops, words not dripping with concern or curiosity. Instead, it feels demanding, if anything. And the tone has Sunoo tumbling farther into his furor.

Sunoo turns to him, blinking, searching his eyes for something he’s been desperately looking for these past few weeks. And he finds…nothing.

All those kisses, the feeling of Sunghoon’s lips trailing his neck, his fingertips dancing on his skin—it all meant something to him. But every time he pulls away, Sunghoon’s gaze fixed on him, he sees…nothing.

“It’s nothing,” He says after a deep breath, peeling his eyes off the older and training it back to the horizon. In his peripheral, he sees Sunghoon cross his arms over his chest.

He scoffs. “Okay, fine. If you say so.”

Sunghoon finds Sunoo particularly difficult during days like these—when he refuses to lay his thoughts out, splay his sentiments. He keeps it all in and he becomes a nasty mix of all sorts of emotions. He’d much rather wish the boy scream and shout and get his words across than this—than him being on the receiving end of cold shoulders and mood swings.

Sunoo is tight lipped across him, forking through his pasta with his eyes downcast. What is he even moping about? It’s not like he’s lost the elections just yet (though Sunghoon expects him to). 

It’s not like his parents are on his ass again (as long as Sunghoon’s involved, they won’t bother). 

In fact, he thinks that Sunoo has been having the time of his life just a few weeks ago, loving the wind on his face as they drive with the windows down, enjoying Sunghoon’s lips on his when they park in an empty lot.

But the frequency of their night drives has abated, until it had somehow completely ceased, Sunoo preferring to take their family car home again. 

There’s this growing urge to ask him outright: what are you bitching about? But Sunghoon knows that will not land him anywhere. So, he rolls his eyes with an exasperated sigh, feeling his spirits get dampened as well by the thundercloud looming over Sunoo’s head.

Sunoo glances at him briefly, eyes flitting up to see the scowl on the older’s face. Perhaps he’s upset with him, though he doubts Sunghoon cares that much to feel such. He’s pretty sure that he’s just stumped because he can’t have his fun, displeased that he can’t have his way.

It’s just a nasty cycle of push and pull, of hot and cold, of highs and ups and inconsistencies. 

And it’s just so exhausting—having to keep up with this emotional roller coaster ride that Sunoo belatedly learns he should’ve gotten off long ago.

“Tell me,” Jungwon asks one afternoon, inviting himself to Sunoo’s bedroom.

“Tell you what.”

“What’s going on?”

He’s on his bed, sprawled, staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t answer for a while. “Nothing.”

He hears the younger boy sigh, then feels the edge of the bed dip with weight. “Hyung,” he says, almost sympathetically. “Then why are you like this?”

Sunoo pauses, mulling his words over and over again in his mind until they’re fit to be said. But maybe, just maybe he shouldn’t say it out loud. Maybe if he tucks these sentences beneath the folds of his thoughts, he wouldn’t have to confront it.

But Jungwon’s stare is boring through him, and the air is becoming thin.

“That’s the thing. Nothing’s happening…I want something to.”

His voice falters into a whisper, and he turns on his side and curls in on himself, the admittance crashing over him like angry waves. He can’t play pretend anymore.

Kim Sunoo is greedy. 

After everything Sunghoon has given him—freedom, pleasure, excitement—he wants something more. He wants to hold Sunghoon like he’s for him to hold in the first place. Wants to sit next to him during meals, wants to be told where he’s going. He wants to tell him to drive safely. Wants to run his palm down his chest and think that Sunghoon’s racing heart is his fault. He wants to twine their fingers and look at their wedding bands while they’re seated on the chaise.

He wants, but he knows he cannot take. He wants what he knows he cannot have.

Jungwon lies down next to him, putting an arm on his elbow comfortingly. “What now?”

He takes in a shaky breath, voice threatening to crack. “I…I don’t know.”

He decides to keep his distance, thinks that this is what he should have done in the first place. Perhaps he never should have taken that passenger seat in the older’s obnoxious car, never should have allowed himself to be swept away by Sunghoon’s current.

It was a mistake.

Nothing else, nothing more, nothing less. A lapse in his reasoning, a moment of vulnerability.

This rollercoaster ride will do him no good, so he steps off, leaving Sunghoon in the cart alone.

Sunghoon looks at him, and there’s this slither of hope in him that he would get off to join him, perhaps chase after him. But with his tepid stare, he watches Sunoo go, and makes no attempts to move from where he is.

He doesn’t fail to notice the rift planted between them with Sunoo’s own hands, picking up on the way he avoids crossing paths with him at all costs—briskly walking down the hallways, getting into the family car before the bell even rings. He watches Sunoo from across, sees him struggling to stay steady, grappling with the amalgam of emotions that have been hounding him. And yet, he turns on his heel, and walks away.

Park Sunghoon is selfish.

He could not be bothered to reach out, or even ask why Sunoo was acting that way. He would not risk his own safety just to leap over the fissure the younger had put between them himself. If Sunoo wanted to draw the line, then who was he to stop him? Who was Sunoo, for Sunghoon to cross that very line just for him?

Why should he be troubled with people who did not want him? His childhood was spent trying to get his parents’ attention, pestering them for an ounce of love. But he quickly learns that all is futile. Begging people to stay and love him will do him no good, it will only make him look pitiful. Having expectations of people only leads to pain. He learned this the hard way. Everyone has always let him down one way or another.

Sunoo is no different. 

Sunoo, who was ready to put him aside once he’s had his fun, once he’s enjoyed the freedom he had gained, once he realizes that Sunghoon is unable to give him any more.

And just as he has always done, just as he has learned to do, Sunghoon walks away before he gets hurt.

· · ─ · ❃ · ─ · ·

There’s a knock on his door, and when he answers with a hum, his mother’s head pops in between the opening. “Sunoo. Bijoux Gala is this weekend.”

“Okay, have fun.” He says, not even lifting his eyes off his phone, sitting on his lounge chair.

“You’re coming with us,” She smiles, pushing through the door and now entering his room completely.

“What?” Sunoo whips his head toward her. “Why?”

“We have to show our support to the Parks. You, most especially.”

Sunoo scoffs, shaking his head and turning back to scrolling through his phone. “I’m not going.”

He half expects his mother to brush it off, tell him that he doesn’t have a choice, just as she had always done. But her brows furrow in concern instead. “Why? Did something happen between you and Sunghoonie? Did you fight?”

His face contorts from both her tone and her questions, not even knowing where to begin. Maybe it’s the way she’s talking about Sunghoon—like her child’s boyfriend—that is so sickening to Sunoo. And the way she had assumed that things were going well for them, that the news of a fight is so disconcerting to her. So many things wrong in such few words.

Sunoo blinks, before heaving a defeated sigh. “Something like that.”

She purses her lip sympathetically, inching forward to linger beside him by the lounge chair. “Did he do something?” She runs her hand through Sunoo’s hair. “Did he hurt you?”

He looks up at her with subtle surprise. “No,” he says, voice small. “Not really.”

“Okay,” Hand running down to Sunoo’s back, palming his taut muscles through his shirt. “You don’t have to stay with him during the Gala. All you have to do is show up.” She says calmly. “Does that sound doable?”

Sunoo ponders on it, meeting his mother’s eyes, and knowing well enough that he won’t be able to say no. Because that’s the kind of son he is. 

“Okay,” He sighs. 

His mother plants a kiss on the crown of his head with a pleased smile, then skirts out the door.

Weekend arrives in a blink, skies almost warning Sunoo of what was to come. The sun doesn’t shine, the horizon a little bleak.

His suit has been picked out for him, courtesy of his mother, and with the news of the dress code and theme for the party, there’s a mask that sits upon his bedside table.

Picking it up, he runs his fingers across its surface, silver and grey, meant only to cover the eyes. There are pristine white feathers sewn to its corners, its expanse covered with mesh, lined with pearls and pewter trimmings. 

The suit hanging on his rack, on the other hand, is pitch black—a stark contrast to his mask. Its cuffs are decorated with silver buttons, its lapels margined with the same color to match. An iridescent sheen coats his pearl-colored dress shirt, and on the breast of his suit jacket, lies a silver brooch the shape of a jasmine—the most used flower for perfumes.

He hasn’t talked to Sunghoon for over a week, and the older had made no attempts to near him. He isn’t completely sure how to feel about that.

But now, the thought of seeing him at that Gala…it’s nerve-racking. Not even half a day before the event and he’s already pacing in his room, thinking of what to do should he ever come across the boy. Perhaps he’ll stay by his parents’ side, but then his mind wanders to how Sunghoon is surely going to tease him again for being such a mama’s boy. He debates on backing out at the last moment, but he just knows Sunghoon is going to hound him and call him a coward.

Somehow, no matter what he does, what he thinks, his thoughts end up with Sunghoon. Sunghoon. Sunghoon again. Sunghoon who always comes out on top. Sunghoon who always has the upper hand. It’s infuriating. 

Grumbling, he hops in the bath to get ready for the Bijoux Gala. 

Bijoux means jewelry in French. It’s held by the prominent people in the industry of Korea, Sunghoon’s family therefore playing a pretty large role. That evening, along with the serving of treats and high-end liquor, is an exhibit for prodigious accessories, stones and gems. Guests are free to roam, look around the display with champagne flutes in hand. After that, they’re going to hold an auction for the jewelry. It says all proceeds will go to charity, but almost everyone knows that isn’t real.

The only real thing right now, is how much Sunoo is dreading to see Sunghoon that night.

They arrive at Signiel Seoul Hotel with their family limousine, and right before they step out, his mother is adjusting his collar, and straightening her husband’s tie. They’re also donning their own masks, and if Sunoo were to be honest, he thinks that concepts like these should be left to the young ones. His parents are no longer in their prime. It’s awkward to see them dressed up in trendy things now.

An attendant opens the car door for them and leads them to the hotel with such staidness. The nighttime air is chilly, skies dark, but the hotel is a beam of bright, almost huffish light. Even from the outside, the place is already reeking of wealth. 

There’s a carpet that leads up to the entrance, well-trimmed bushes lined with fairy lights on the sides. The main door stands meters tall, glass doors bordered with gold, gray stone surrounding the whole entryway.

The air immediately smells different when they enter, free from the smoke of Seoul, instead replaced with fresh aromas. The floors are marbled, the height of the lobby’s ceiling almost inconceivable, glass chandeliers blinding. They’re ushered to the grand ballroom on one of the top floors, and with the lengthy elevator ride up, Sunoo’s mind is already on what possible fate would befall him that night.

The hall is bustling when they arrive, the exhibit already set up, the stage prepared for the auction later on. There’s a snack bar by one of the corners, a long table filled with an array of delights, and on the other end—a liquor bar, although there are waiters making rounds to offer wine and champagne.

Sunoo is an absolute beauty, this he already knows. But the thought is solidified when he sees heads turn to him the moment he arrives. Sleek crisp suit almost as dark as the midnight sky, black hair slicked back. His eyes sharp beneath an ivory mask that contrasts everything else, long lashes bewitching, glossed lips inviting.

His parents rush forward to greet their acquaintances, calling for him every once in a while so they could introduce their pride and joy. Other than that, the evening is pretty uneventful so far.

He cranes his neck, on the lookout for platinum hair he’d be able to spot anywhere. With the lack thereof, he breathes in relief. He settles on grabbing a flute for himself, making leisurely strides along the exhibit, scanning over the jewelry displays, scrutinizing the ways the stones glint under the light.

A few approach him every now and then, children of the prominent people there, attempting to make small talk. He merely offers his niceties in return, but makes no attempts at lengthening their conversations.

He’s timidly sipping on champagne, when a figure approaches him.

“Good evening,” The man grins sharply, a red and black mask over the upper half of his face. Sunoo doesn’t recognize him.

“Hello,” He greets, nodding curtly.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sunoo.” The man extends a hand. “Jang Chinhwa.”

Wow, his name already sounds obnoxious. Sunoo shakes his hand before inching away, not even trying to hide his distaste. “Pleasure is all mine,”

“You are as beautiful as they say,” He comments, snatching a glass from a passing waiter’s tray. “You put women to shame.” 

Sunoo’s eyes narrow at him. “I appreciate the compliment.”

The man beams at him wolfishly. “Good, because that comes with a price.”

“I’m sorry?”  

“Do you like being praised, Sunoo-ssi?” he questions, glancing down to trace the lip of his glass with a thumb. “I heard you’re quite the achiever.”

Sunoo doesn’t answer, instead raising a brow in bemusement.

“What else do you work hard for if not praise?”

“I work hard to achieve,” He deadpans. “Not to be complimented.” Sunoo isn’t exactly sure how much of that is true. But one thing is for sure, he absolutely does not need this man’s praise. 

Whoever he is, whoever he thinks he is, with his long oily hair falling over his cakey cheekbones, bullets of sweat trickling down his forehead, crooked smile off putting. He doesn’t look that much older than Sunoo, perhaps four—five years, but he oddly looks like he’s on the verge of withering horribly. Maybe it’s the rotten personality that Sunoo has already caught a whiff of making him decay from within.

“Hmm,” The man hums, eyes going over Sunoo in his entirety. “Are you sure about that? It’s alright to like being praised, you know.”

Maybe agreeing would be the fastest way to get him off his back. “Okay, I admit. I do like being praised sometimes.”

A pleased grin worms its way to the man’s chapped lips, and the sight nearly makes Sunoo want to hurl. “Great, because I think I’m quite good with that. Would you like to come with me? Let’s leave this useless party. I’ll praise you all you want.”

Sunoo flinches back in disgust, eyes darting around the room in search of his parents, but he finds them nowhere nearby. By some stroke of luck, or fate, or whatever it is, he spots platinum hair slicked back, a placid face hiding behind a royal blue mask, walking by the far end of the hall.

“I’m afraid I can’t, Mr. Jung—”

“Jang.”

Sunoo breathes an empty laugh. “I have elsewhere I need to be,”

He doesn’t even wait for a response before he shoulders past the man, heading straight towards Sunghoon who was lingering by the bar. He swallows thickly, hoping that the creep hadn’t followed him. He trains his eyes on the other boy by the corner, taking in the whole sight of him. Dressed in a Broncos blue double-breasted suit, his lapels trimmed with the same gold that embroidered his mask. There’s a cravat hanging by the base of his neck, kept in place by a tawny pin.

He looks princely—otherworldly even. If this event had an award for the best dressed, Sunoo thinks Sunghoon would take the crown without a shadow of a doubt. And honestly, he doesn’t know how to feel about that either. It’s difficult—being competitive and objective at the same time.

Once he’s near enough, he tugs on the hem of Sunghoon’s blazer, and the boy turns around, the large ebony feathers of his mask swaying with the movement.

Their eyes meet, and Sunoo already feels his heart rate pick up. Although he isn’t sure if its from needing to get away from a weirdo, or being this close to Sunghoon after what feels like an eternity. Sunghoon’s gaze fall on him, face passive, lips pulled into a tight line. Then, his eyes dart to something over Sunoo’s shoulder.

“Did you bring a friend, love?” He asks, voice cold despite his words. It almost makes the hair on the back of Sunoo’s nape stand. He shakes his head discreetly, alarmed eyes trying to catch Sunghoon’s. He seems to understand well enough.

He takes Sunoo’s hand and lightly pulls the younger to stand behind him. “Thank you for keeping my fiancé company. I’m Park Sunghoon,”

At the sound of his name, the man seems to put two and two together, realization dawning on his unsightly features as his eyes flit from the silver band on Sunghoon’s outstretched hand, to the gold on Sunoo’s, which he had hooked through the older’s elbow.

“Ah yes, pleased to meet you.” He shakes Sunghoon’s hand, and when he pulls away, Sunghoon wipes his palm against the cloth of his pants.

“I hope this Gala finds you well,” Sunghoon speaks, but the stranger’s eyes are on Sunoo the whole time. And this vexes him. Not only is he being blatantly disrespected by being paid no mind, but the fact that this man is ogling his fiancé in front of him is just fucking infuriating.

Sunoo squirms under the weight of the man’s stare, and inches closer to Sunghoon, nearly tucking himself whole into the older boy’s side.

The man attempts to stay a little longer, make small talk with them, but he obviously does not care about Sunghoon. Soon enough, he manages to drive him away.

“It seems like someone is calling for you,” He notes, craning his neck to the direction of two old men conversing, looking at them. Belatedly, Sunghoon realizes that it was his father, chatting with one of his employees. When the stranger looks over his shoulder and sees who it was, he excuses himself.

“All that bullshit and he’s just the son of one of my father’s men.” Sunghoon scoffs, sipping on his drink. 

Sunoo visibly sighs in relief, shoulders deflating with the man’s leave. The older glances down at him, shrugging off the hand Sunoo still had on his arm.

There’s silence between them despite the bustle of the party. Sunoo speaks after a while. “You’re wearing it,”

“Of course, I’m wearing it. Do I look like I have a choice?” Sunghoon’s tone is biting—even more so than the crisp night air.

There’s a pause, classical music playing in the background, notes woven in the noise of people chatting. “Thank you,” Sunoo finally says, albeit meekly. He’s had his fair share of creeps in the past, but it’s definitely easier to deal with them when he’s not alone. 

Sunghoon huffs, training his eyes on anything but Sunoo.

People really should reconsider who they invite, Sunghoon thinks. Wealth and social standing shouldn’t be the only prerequisite, but also class. Especially now that he finds that these three don’t come hand in hand automatically. The man that had pestered Sunoo was well-off, that’s true. But he was a pig more than anything.

Sunghoon waits for the bartender to hand him his drink before he saunters off, leaving Sunoo fumbling to tail him. He eyes him. “Why are you still here?”

Sunoo raises a brow in question.

“I presumed you were pretending not to know me.” He chuckles. “As you’ve been doing the past week. You can leave now.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Sunoo bites back, irked by being told what to do.

He pauses, then purses his lips, relenting. “I’ll be the one leaving then.” 

He turns on his heel to go elsewhere, but Sunoo stops him with a hand to his arm. “Wait, what if he comes back?”

Sunghoon faces him with a sigh, pinning him with an empty stare. “Seems like I only exist to you when it’s convenient.” 

Sunoo teeters to a stop, reeling. “How dare you,”

Tonguing the inside of his cheek, he smiles. “It’s true. I’m only your driver and bodyguard, aren’t I?”

There’s a bitter laugh that escapes Sunoo’s lips. The fucking audacity of Park Sunghoon to say this when between the two of them, it’s he who thinks so little of the relationship they have. It was him who had kissed Sunoo senseless, made a mess of his heart, only to leave the room without another word. It was him who refused to talk about what they were, instead dismissing it as trivial. So how dare he say that to Sunoo.

But there’s a truth to his words—one that the younger fails to see. How much effort Sunghoon tried to exert had simply passed him. He walked him to his classes, brought him sweets he liked, drove him to places when he knew home was getting too stifling. He felt more like a chaperone than a fiancé, he didn’t even feel like a friend. It was as if his sole purpose was to drive Sunoo to cafés and keep weird strangers at bay.

“That’s not true.”

“Yeah, right.” Sunghoon scoffs. “You’re so used to being coddled you expect everyone to serve you.”

Sunoo fumes silently, irritation plastered on his face. And yet, he still follows Sunghoon through the hall.

“Nice suit. Did mommy pick those for you?”

Sunoo takes a long, suffering intake of breath, closing his eyes and trying to summon all the patience he has. “Yes. My mother chose it.”

Sunghoon chuckles, sipping more of his drink. “Twenty something and your parents still change out your diapers, huh. No wonder you’re a spoiled brat.”

His eyes narrow at this jab. “Is this your way of seeking attention? Since you failed at getting that from your parents?”

“Funny coming from you,”

“My parents gave me all the love and attention I ever needed, thank you very much. Though, I wouldn’t expect you to know how that feels.” 

Sunghoon throws his head back to laugh, as if Sunoo had said the most hilarious thing he’s ever heard. “As if you know how that feels. Your parents don’t love you either, Sunoo-yah.” He turns to leave once more, and Sunoo is hot on his tail.

“That’s not true!”

Sunghoon wanders to the exhibit, looking at the jewelry lying atop velvet surfaces. “Oh, but it is, sweetheart. We wouldn’t be here in the first place if they did.”

There’s a furrow in his brow and a frown on his lip. “At least my parents care about me. Yours probably wouldn’t even bat an eye if you disappeared.”

“I don’t mind, really. I have the freedom you’ve wanted your whole life.” He continues looking through the exposition, seemingly unbothered. “Besides, yours wouldn’t either. The only thing they’ll cry about is the lost partnership.”

Sunoo’s mouth parts in disbelief, following the older across the hall. “That’s not true!”

“Is that all you can say?” Sunghoon throws him a look, enthralled by how he seems to be on the verge of tears—like a child whose bubble has been harshly burst.

“Look, you don’t have to lug me in with you just because you’re unwanted and unloved.”

Sunghoon comes to a stop. His ears are ringing, his vision slowly bleeding red. 

“What did you say?” He turns to face him, voice dripping to a low cadence, so slow his bones nearly creaked. 

Straightening his back, Sunoo meets his stare head on. “You are unwanted and unloved .”

Something inside Sunghoon snaps and he rushes forward, closing the distance between them in the blink of an eye. “And you think you are?” He spits, jabbing a finger to his chest, Sunoo finds himself inching backward, gulping. “You think your parents care about you? You think they have your best interest at heart? They’re only nice to you so that they can control you.” 

“You are not a child to them, Sunoo. You’re collateral. You’re just their means to get money. To get the fucking partnership that they need. You’re a pawn to their plans and they don’t give a shit about what you want as long as they get theirs!” He says through gritted teeth, the air becoming too thick to breathe in. His words pierce through his chest, getting lodged deeper every time Sunghoon opens his mouth to speak.

“You could be fucking miserable for the rest of your life. You could kill yourself in this fucking marriage and they wouldn’t give a shit. Now tell me again, Sunoo. Do they care about you? Do they love you?” He snarls.

His breath has completely hitched in his throat, hands shaking, eyes blown out, lips quivering in rage. There are tears stinging the back of his eyes, and even so, he refuses to peel his stare away from Sunghoon. He brings his hand up and strikes him across the cheek with all the strength he can muster.

· · ─ · ❃ · ─ · ·

It’s the day of the presidential election, but it’s the last thing on Sunoo’s mind.

He storms through the corridors with abandon, leaving it to people to be the ones to jump out of his way. In his hand, he holds a brown envelope, grip nearly crumpling it.

The Gala had been a disaster. He fumed out of the ballroom and left Sunghoon in the middle of it all with a stinging cheek. Before his parents could even run after him, he had hailed a cab and locked himself inside his room the moment he got home.

He cried himself to sleep that night. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Sunghoon’s words were piercing, sharpened by the truth he’s been trying to avoid. Arguments with the older are not new, but this one was different. It turned all the feelings he’s ever had for him—from dislike to the fleeting fondness—into despise. In his eyes, Sunghoon is despicable.

And there was no way he was going to spend the rest of his life with such.

He pushes the council room doors open, the wood swinging on its hinges and landing on the walls with a loud thud. Inside, he sees Sunghoon.

They’re supposed to be tidying the quarters for the next president, but the older is sitting on the velvet chair, legs crossed arrogantly as if he had already claimed victory.

Sunoo is seething at the sight of him, being in the same room almost unbearable. He nearly rips the envelope open and slams the paper on the desk in front of Sunghoon, standing by his side.

“Sign.”

Scanning through the text, his brows furrow, Sunghoon peering up at him. “Kim Sunoo.” He says in a low voice, a warning. “Who do you think you are, telling me what to do?”

He snarls through gritted teeth. “Sign it. Now.”

Sunghoon makes the effort of taking the papers in hand, reading the appeal, and as he goes, the scowl etched on his face grows deeper.

Sunoo reaches into his blazer’s pocket and even takes out his fountain pen, almost shoving it into the older’s hand. There’s silence as he waits for Sunghoon to finish, not noticing the older’s gaze shadowed.

He tosses the paper back to the desk. “I don’t want to.”

“What ?”

“I don’t want to sign it.” Sunghoon repeats, swiveling the chair slightly to face Sunoo.

His face is calm, fingers twined over his chest, and that’s when something in Sunoo just…snaps.

In the blink of an eye, Sunoo’s hand is wrapped around his throat, fingers trembling with rage. “Do you like making my life a living hell?” 

Sunghoon is unfazed, Despite the pressure on his jugular, he keeps his eyes on the younger, unyielding, unwavering. 

He tightens his grip. “Do you enjoy seeing me miserable?” There are tears trickling down his cheek, pure spite rolling out in heady drops. For once in his life, he thinks he has the upper hand, quite literally holding Sunghoon in his palm.

There’s a rush of red creeping up Sunghoon’s face as he blocks his airways, breathing now becoming burdened. And something about the sight of him suffering makes Sunoo’s gut twinge in pleasure.

But all of the sudden, the older boy’s lips crack into a smile, and Sunoo feels his heart stop.

“Are you done?” Sunghoon asks, ripping Sunoo’s hand off his neck with ease. “I’ve been trying to indulge you but is this really the best you can do?”

Time and time again, he loses. Time and time again, Sunghoon is looming over him, standing above him, forever out of reach.

He pulls Sunoo by the tie, making him jerk forward. “You fucking brat.” He holds the younger’s face between his fingers, grip so tight he pulls out a whimper from him. “This won’t do.”

“Just because people have been humoring you, doesn’t mean you can do what you want, Sunoo-yah.” He croons near his ear, breath making his skin tingle.

Sunoo glares at him in protest, doll eyes filled with hatred. “Get your fucking hands off me—”

“Shh,” Sunghoon hushes him with a click of his tongue, disciplined like a dog, fingers digging into the hollow of the younger’s cheek. “Did you not take etiquette classes?” He says calmly. “Do not speak unless you’re allowed.”

“You fucking lunatic—”

Slap.

Sunoo’s head limply hangs to the side, cheek burning red. He shakes the fringe that has fallen over his eyes to glower at the older, and the sight just makes Sunghoon purse his lips into a smile. He runs his hand through Sunoo’s hair, pushing it all away from his face before he gives it a hard tug, making him hiss in pain.

His roots ache, livid tears pricking his eyes, but oddly enough, there’s a sickening delight running through his veins, coursing through his veins all the way down.

“Do you like that?” Sunghoon hums, giving his tufts another hard pull, and Sunoo has to bite on his lip to suppress a moan. “You fucking slut.”

Eyes dart down to the growing tent in Sunoo’s pants, and pride swells in Sunghoon’s chest. He brings a hand to cup his erection, and with a filthy moan, Sunoo is torn between wanting to flinch away or press closer. 

“What would mommy and daddy think if they found out just how filthy their little angel is?” He chuckles, voice dropping to a cadence that makes the cloth around Sunoo’s crotch grow tighter.

Sunghoon brings a hand and palms his erection firmly, eyes shining when he watches Sunoo wither in pleasure under his touch, moans sifting through his teeth no matter how hard he tries to swallow them down. Then he pinches, that crazy bastard, the smile on his lips pulled taught at the younger’s attempt to put distance between them. His grip is tight and Sunoo is squirming, whether from pain or pleasure, he doesn’t know. And he doesn’t care either.

His fingers return to hold Sunoo’s jaw, bringing their faces closer, breaths mingling. “Do you understand now, Sunoo?”

He isn’t sure exactly what Sunghoon was talking about, but his fingernails are carving crescents into his skin, hand clutching Sunoo’s member mercilessly. He tongues his cheek and spits at Sunghoon, making him flinch back in surprise. 

Sunghoon blinks slowly, laughing in disbelief as he wipes Sunoo’s saliva off his cheek with the back of his hand. “You psycho,”

The next second, he’s crashing their lips together with no care, teeth clacking, noses colliding. Sunoo almost loses his footing, Sunghoon’s shoulders the first thing he manages to hold on to. He bites on Sunoo’s lips so hard that it nearly bleeds, hands fumbling to undo the buttons of his shirt. A whine rakes up his throat, as he finds his own arms encircling Sunghoon’s frame, making no attempts to push him away.

The older slides down, canines grazing his neck, purpling his skin with no hesitation. He all but pushes Sunoo’s blazer off his shoulders, ripping his polo open when he realized he couldn’t be bothered with the buttons. 

Sunoo hisses at the sudden nip of cold air, but Sunghoon’s searing tongue lapping against his chest is enough to distract him.

He’s pushed against the wooden table, back against the cool surface, Sunghoon caging him in his arms as he ravishes his skin. Sunoo’s heart is beating treacherously loud against his chest, pace picking up when he sees Sunghoon dive for his nipple, taking the bud between his teeth. A moan escapes his lips at the sensation, and he clamps his hand over his mouth.

Sunghoon smirks against his skin. “Such a whore.” He muses, taking the other one between the pads of his fingers and pinching so damn hard that Sunoo yelps. He is vigilant, guard up for what the older is to do next. But Sunghoon pulls away, only to tug Sunoo with him and flip him over, pressing his chest flush against the table, making his cheek knock against the wood.

Sunoo grunts, subtle pain seeping through his face from the blunt force. He tries to push himself off the table, but Sunghoon is quick to grab him and pin his hands behind his back.

“You know, Sunoo.” He’s tracing the dip of his spine with the tip of his finger, touch so fleeting that it sends chills through the younger’s body. “I could’ve given you what you wanted if you had asked nicely.”

“That’s a lie,” Sunoo snaps, struggling beneath his hold.

“You’re right.” Sunghoon chuckles, leaning over to his ear, breath fanning his skin. His eyes travel to the abandoned appeal by the table—to the petition to call the engagement off. “No way in hell I’d let you go.” He bites on his earlobe and Sunoo shivers, blood rushing all the way south.

“Perhaps there are other things you want. Just tell me,” He plants wet kisses down his neck, painting his skin with reds and blues.

“I want you to get off me.” Sunoo growls, only to gasp when Sunghoon pulls on his hair callously, scalp searing with pain.

“Wrong answer.” 

Sunghoon’s ripping Sunoo’s pants off, all while keeping the younger’s wrists in one hand, the cloth falling to his ankles.

He gasps in horror. “What are you doing?!”

Slap.

Sunoo whimpers; feels the imprint of Sunghoon’s large palm on his ass cheek.

“I’m giving you what you want.”

“Who said this is what I wanted?” He snarls, pushing his luck and running his mouth off.

“Is it not?” Sunghoon hums, reaching under and taking Sunoo’s hard cock in hand, the touch instantly making his breath catch in his throat. He wraps his fingers around it, giving it one, two, three thrusts down its base, Sunoo writhing under him as he thumbs over the slit.

Sunoo’s jaw slacks at the sensation, canting his hips into Sunghoon’s hand, trying to chase the pleasure. But all of the sudden, the other one is pulling away, leaving his member painfully erect.

“Wait, no—” He pleads. He looks over his shoulder, and sees Sunghoon hovering over him, want and contempt both swimming in his eyes.

“Tell me again, Sunoo. What do you want? Ask nicely.”

Sunoo glares at him, neck hurting with the way he’s careened it. What plea that lingered on his tongue had flown out the window, malice replacing it. “Fuck you.”

Sunghoon shoves his face back against the table, a string of curses lilting under Sunoo’s breath. Sunghoon steps forward, pressing his own erection against the younger’s rear, dragging it up so painfully slow, pulling whimpers and sobs from him. 

Sunoo feels the shape of Sunghoon’s head rub against his entrance, and his legs wobble. He takes Sunoo’s dick in hand once more, wrapping his fingers around it like a sheath, pumping it with more speed than last time.

Sunoo’s knees give out, whole weight now slumped against the expanse of the table with his hips hanging by the edge, movements stuttering at the immense pleasure. His precum trickles onto the older’s fingers, the sensation of Sunghoon humping him through his pants dizzying. He moans, the need to stay quiet now lost to him. There’s the feeling of molten lava pooling in his gut, and it rises—about to erupt.

But before it does, Sunghoon retracts his hand, making Sunoo whimper pathetically at the denial.

“I’m giving you another chance, Sunoo.” Sunghoon whispers, the hold on his hair easing into a caress. “Make it count.”

Anger rises in Sunoo’s throat, and he finally manages to push himself off the table, making Sunghoon stumble backwards. He seizes the opportunity and pushes him into the chair behind him. “Stop acting all high and mighty, Park Sunghoon.” Sunoo hisses, unzipping the older’s pants. “We’re in the same boat anyway,”

Without warning, he takes out Sunghoon’s erect member and straddles him, aligning it with his hole and descending brazenly. The air is knocked out of Sunghoon at the sudden warmth around his cock. He throws his head back, hips canting, low and guttural moans vibrating from his chest.

“You fucking whore.” He groans, unable to reclaim dominance as Sunoo pins his wrists to the armrest. “Why are you loose?” 

Sunoo grins as he rips the older’s polo open, controlling the tides, rolling his hips as his hands travel up Sunghoon’s torso, tracing the curves of his abdomen, to the dip of his clavicle, before his fingers find their way across his collarbones and around his neck once more. He squeezes, making Sunghoon gasp for air, and the sight delights him. “Wouldn’t you like to know,”

“Why?” He prods. Clawing at the hand around his neck, Sunghoon’s face slowly starts to change color, mouth agape in desperate need of oxygen, and his suffering makes something tight coil within Sunoo. 

The younger beams, hovering over him, cheeks flushed pink, lips wet, eyes crazed. The hands around Sunghoon’s neck tightens and his vision blurs, pain and pleasure mixing and pooling in his core.

“I was touching myself,” He finally answers before letting out an obscenely lewd moan, his pace picking up as he throws his head back in ecstasy, eyes rolling. He feels Sunghoon twitch inside him, breathless, Sunoo’s cock slapping against his own abdomen as he rocks back and forth.

The thought of Sunoo—sprawled on his king-sized bed with his ass raised in the air, lithe fingers pushing into his hole as he prepares himself for his lover, biting on his lip—abruptly flashes in Sunghoon’s mind. His gut swirls. Then, the image of Sunoo doing so, eyes flitting to the back of his head with someone else’s name rolling down his tongue in needy pants—

Sunghoon sees red.

He pushes Sunoo off and flips him around, shoving him back down against the hardwood table, a growl ripping through his lips.

He takes his erect member in hand, aligning it with Sunoo’s hole and pushing in without any warning.

The wind is pushed out of Sunoo’s lungs, jaw slacking at the drag of Sunghoon’s cock, the rim of his hole stretching to accommodate. His voice is torn out of him, breath staccato as the older plows into him persistently, pressing against his prostate again and again.

Sunoo’s back arches with every deep lunge, moans tumbling down his gaping mouth, drool dribbling down to the table’s surface.

“You dirty little thing,” Sunghoon growls near his ear. “I bet you want the whole school to know just how much of a fucking whore you are.”

He grabs the device by the corner of the table, pressing the school intercom’s button, briefly hearing the three-note song, before they’re connected to the speakers littered around the campus. He brings it to Sunoo’s mouth.

“Go on,” He whispers. “Let everyone hear your nasty moans.”

Sunoo bites on his lip, peeking over his shoulder to glare at Sunghoon through his lashes.

Sunghoon thrusts deeper, hips snapping against Sunoo’s ass with his hilt sheathed entirely. There’s a cry that rakes up Sunoo’s throat and he wants to clamp a hand over his mouth in panic, but Sunghoon has his wrists pinned. Instead, he presses his lips shut, trying to swallow down the sounds as Sunghoon pounds into him, heedless.

“Aren’t you going to speak? Tell all of Decelis just how much of a slut their secretary is? One and only Kim Sunoo, being fucked like a bitch on election day. Better put that on your plaque if you win as president.”

Sunoo moans, his length rubbing against the edge of the table with each time Sunghoon presses against him, the friction making his head light. The wood grazes his cock, its corners catching against the bulb of his head, and it makes everything worse. Despite all, he zips his mouth shut, refusing the intercom to pick up on his whines.

At his disobedience, Sunghoon throws away the device in agitation, pulling it out of its socket. Sunoo releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding, deflating against the table as Sunghoon grips his waist, planting bruises the shape of his hands.

“Who was it?” He thunders, pace is unwavering.

Sunoo stutters. “W-what?”

“Was it Jake? Was it Heeseung hyung?” He clenches his jaw, the sound of skin slapping against skin mercilessly echoing through the large walls of the council room.

“What are you saying?” He shouts, squirming under Sunghoon’s clutches, prostate prodded wantonly.

“Is that why you’re so fucking hell bent to get rid of me?” He spits, letting go of Sunoo’s wrist in favor of gripping his hips entirely, anchoring himself on the dips of his waist. “Is that why you even wrote this stupid fucking appeal?” He roars, grabbing the papers barely hanging on the edge of the desk and smothering it against Sunoo’s face.

Sunoo’s jerks back, flinching, but then his eyes roll to the back of his head—Sunghoon’s dick buried so deep within him, thoughts barely coherent with the lust and pleasure rushing through his body. “W-what are you talking about?”

Sunghoon grits his teeth, movements losing their precision, before he gathers his bearings and regains his ruthless pace. 

All his life, all he wanted was to be wanted.

And now, the only person he wants—the only person he’s ever wanted, so desperately wants to get rid of him, so much so that he’d even file an appeal. As if he was some inhumane bill to be vetoed.

He pounds into him, the table creaking against the floor with the movement. He will not stop, no matter Sunoo’s pleas, or whimpers, or moans. He will not stop until he molds Sunoo, reshapes him so that only he would be able fit into his crevices. He will not stop until the only name that rolls down Sunoo’s tongue is his.

“Who were you thinking of?”

Sunghoon’s asking him something, this he knows. But he’s so debauched that his brain feels like slush in his skull.

He grabs his hair and tugs Sunoo’s head up, snapping him from his stupor. “Who were you thinking of?” Whose face was in mind when you dragged your hands up your dick? Whose voice were you imagining when you pressed a finger into your ass?

“I’m- I’m gonna—” Sunoo slurs, breathing shallow. Something pools within his gut, swirling and scorching.

“Who is it?”

“H-hoon,” He moans, hole clamping onto Sunghoon’s member, making the older grunt. “I’m gonna cum, gonna cum. Hoon, gonna cum” He cries, barely coherent, gritting his teeth at the feeling of his dick rubbing against the table.

Sunghoon ignores him and his sobs. He could come again and again until he’s spent and withered and he wouldn’t give a fuck.

“Who is it?!”

Sunghoon pulls out only to impale Sunoo abruptly, pressing his palm against the younger’s abdomen, sick satisfaction creeping through his skin when he feels his stomach bulge. He pushes in again, hitting the younger’s prostate head on, and Sunoo grunts, back arching, eyes rolling back, and toes curling—strings of white spewing from his length. His dick twitches, jerking with every burst of semen that comes out. He shivers, orgasm raking through his body in rapt waves, leaving him breathless and senseless.

The only sound that comes from Sunoo are strangled whines as he rides out his high. Then he collapses, laying completely limp on the council president’s desk, too fucked out to even think or move. 

He’s still thrusting in and out, not caring at all if Sunoo was overstimulated. Sunghoon pushes the hair out of his face, catching a glimpse of the glaring red flushing his cheeks, eyes unfocused, mouth hanging open. 

Sunoo blinks, exhausted, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. His pink lips are slick and swollen, ivory skin brandished blue. Sunghoon spots the way his long lashes slowly land upon his rosy cheeks, eyes traveling to the faint freckles on his skin. Even like this, Sunoo is so beautiful.

So out of his reach.

Like expensive China that lies on the topmost shelf, tucked away from his destructive hands.

“Who is it?” He croaks, thrusts beginning to turn sloppy, the grip he has on his waist easing. His head hangs low, lips quivering, eyes stinging.

He shouldn’t ask. God knows and god forbids whatever he’ll do when he gets an answer, and finds that it isn’t what he wanted to hear.

But he continues plodding, trying to chase his own high, movements turning sluggish with each one. The sound of skin slapping against each other becomes dissonant, and he finds the fire within him simmering down to crackling embers.

“Who is it?” He whimpers, asking so many questions all at once. Who is it? The one you were thinking of when you touched yourself? Who is it? The one you hold so dear that the thought of marrying me is unbearable to you?

“Who is it?” He cries, a tear escaping his lids as he loses more and more strength to his thrusts.

There’s silence, the only sound filling the spaces was Sunghoon’s sobs, head hanging low as he tries to finish.

“You.”

His eyes shoot open, meeting Sunoo’s half lidded ones. He still looks out of it, but he pushes himself to speak. “It’s you. I wanted you.”

A hefty breath escapes Sunghoon’s mouth all in one go, and his shoulders slack in disbelief. Sunoo tries to prop himself up, and Sunghoon rushes forward, gently flipping him onto his back. 

The moment he’s facing Sunghoon, he reaches for him, tugging him down to kiss him. It’s clumsy and nothing short of graceless, but Sunoo presses forward, thumb wiping the older’s cheek dry.

Sunghoon regains his prior pace, now hunched over with Sunoo’s arms wrapped around him, ankles locked at the base of his spine.

“Sunoo, Sunoo, Sunoo” He recites like a mantra, thrusting into him. Sunoo hums in response, holding him close and kissing the older’s temple, moaning once he feels the head crash against his prostate.

“Sunoo, I wanted you,” He whimpers, barely sounding like himself, humping him all the while.

“I’ve wanted you,” He sobs, burrowing his head into the crook of the younger’s neck. And Sunoo just tightens his arms around him.

He snaps his hips against Sunoo’s rear, but all his movements have lost their prior vigor, touches languid, turning tender. 

“Wanted?” Sunoo questions, voice something between disappointed and hopeful.

He wanted Sunoo, when he was ten and Sunoo’s knee was grazed. He wanted Sunoo, when he was fourteen, and Sunoo brags about beating him in a competition. He wanted Sunoo, when he was sixteen, and he smoked his first cigarette, and Sunoo scolded him. He wanted Sunoo, when he was eighteen, and Sunoo was glaring at him after suffering defeat in an important test. He wanted Sunoo, when he was twenty, sitting next to him during their joint family dinners, his fingers itching to stab the knife into Sunghoon’s hand.

Sunghoon pulls back to look at him, and Sunoo searches his eyes, and for once, he sees something. Something fond swimming beneath the tears welling. “I’ve always wanted you,”

The older is cupping his jaw, thumb tracing the tear tracks that stain his cheek. “I still do.”

A smile cracks through Sunoo’s puffed lips, arms snaking around Sunghoon’s neck to pull him down again for a kiss, and he’s more than glad to do so.

Sunoo tightens, clamping down on Sunghoon’s cock, making a groan rake up his throat. “ Fuck, Sunoo. I’m close,”

He runs his hands through Sunghoon’s scalp, tugging on his hair while patching the skin of his neck up with hickeys, helping him reach his climax. “Go on, love,”

Sunghoon moans, the endearment nearly enough to make him come alone, pace frantic as he struggles to reach his finish. “Fuck, fuck. I’m gonna cum.” He grits his teeth, trying to hold out. “Where do you want it?”

Sunoo nips his ear and whispers. “Inside.”

His toes curl and his muscles spasm, white spend coating the walls of Sunoo’s insides, all lust and desire now clearing to make way for something more intimate. He rides out the rest of his orgasm, and Sunoo just lets him, peppering his cheeks with tender kisses, and it all but brings tears to his eyes.

“Why are you crying?” Sunoo asks him as he reaches up to cup his face, hair splayed against the table like an angel’s glow.

There’s a sheepish laugh that blubbers up Sunghoon’s chest, and he leans into Sunoo’s palm, eyes closing to relish the feeling and revel in his warmth.

“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” He asks, pensive fingers tracing all the marks he had left on Sunoo’s skin.

Sunoo shakes his head. “It’s fine. I liked it.”

“You whore,” Sunghoon finds himself chuckling, wiping the rest of the tears that had threatened to spill out. Sunoo giggles, and he leans forward to wrap him in an embrace, not even pulling out just yet.

Sunoo welcomes him wholeheartedly, carding through his messy hair—a stark contrast to when he was pulling on it just a few moments ago. Sunghoon can’t seem to put a stop to his tears, and the sound of his sobs make Sunoo’s heart break.

He’s whispering something against the juncture of Sunoo’s shoulder, wisps of i’m sorry’s and I love you’s coming out of his mouth in a rush. I’ve loved you all along. He fails to pick up on the rest of it, but he runs his hand down Sunghoon’s back nonetheless. He’s sure they’ll talk about it later.

Sunghoon finally pulls back, wiping the remnants of his tears, looking embarrassed. But Sunoo just smiles at him, planting one last kiss on the tip of his nose, and Sunghoon’s heart soars.

“I can’t believe we did this here.” Sunoo lightly jests.

“It was bound to happen, I think.” Sunghoon shrugs.

“Oh my god, you pervert.” Sunoo says in exasperation, feeling fatigue slowly pull on his lids, exhaustion thrumming through his limbs.

He senses Sunghoon pull out after a while, but he’s too tired to move from where he is. Hands careful, Sunghoon wipes him dry with gentle touches, holding him as if he were the most delicate thing in the whole world.

He may be clumsy, but he isn’t destructive—Sunoo thinks as he feels Sunghoon place feathery kisses on all of his bruises in silent apology. A moment later, the older picks him up, gently carrying him to the chaise, covering him with a blanket they had kept within one of the cabinets should an all-nighter ever need to be pulled.

He stands up to collect their clothes—littered around the floor after being absently tossed, but Sunoo stops him before he can, words barely coherent, still in subspace. “Don’t go,”

A smile worms its way to Sunghoon’s lips as he sighs, endeared. He sits back onto the end of the chaise and allows the younger to clutch onto his hand. “Okay,”

When Sunoo wakes, the skies beyond the council room’s floor to ceiling windows are set aflame in an orange sunset, and just as he promised, Sunghoon is sitting by him, brushing through his hair with his fingers.

“Hi,” He says when he notices the younger stir, the dork in him shining through, and Sunoo bites back a chuckle.

Sunghoon’s now fully clothed, looking crisp in his midnight blue blazer. He feels a pleasant flame lap against his gut as he sees the sunset engulf Sunghoon’s frame, warmth highlighting his features. The sky’s burning glow bounces off the gold resting on the older’s chest, as well as on the wedding bands he rolls between his fingertips. 

“Sunoo, let’s talk?” He says. “About us. About what we are.”

He’d been scared the first time Sunoo asked, afraid that once he learns how he truly feels, how he’s felt all those years, he would run away. But Sunoo’s rising from the cushions, greeting him with a sleepy smile, and he thinks that he doesn’t have to be scared anymore. 

Chapter Text

Neither of them wins the elections, much to their disappointment and surprise. 

“I told you you’d lose,” Sunghoon comments, finding it in him to be all smug despite being in the same boat.

“Bitch. You didn’t win either?” Sunoo smacks his arm. Behind them are Ni-ki and Jungwon, giggling at the outcome. All that rivalry and tension and useless banter only for both of them to be losers. It’s hilarious.

Although they did come neck and neck, Lee Heeseung came in the lead by just a smidge. He’s fuming, of course, especially since he didn’t want to be the student council president in the first place. On the sidelines, Jay and Jake are clutching their stomachs in laughter, arms slung upon each other’s shoulders.

Apparently, people thought he was a breath of fresh air—a grounded student amongst snobby brats. People said perhaps it was from his humble background, which is why he got everyone reeling when he brought his pedigree to their knowledge. 

Lee Heeseung, youngest son of Lee Hajoon, perhaps one of the most, if not the most, prominent in the oil industry. Heeseung carried himself so casually that no one would have ever guessed him to be the son of one of the richest men in the world. All his peers were fooled by his constantly repeated wardrobe and his daily diet of instant noodles and kimbap.  

“You never asked,” Heeseung shrugs at his friends.

“Yes we did!” Jungwon exclaims. “You just kept dodging it.”

Heeseung merely laughs sheepishly, scratching his head while all of them stare at him, jaws slackened at the information. They feel betrayed, really. Not knowing that their friend, the one that survives on convenience store food and goes to school with ripped hoodies, was this filthy rich.

Without much of a choice, Heeseung is inaugurated. And as payback to Jay and Jake who had submitted his candidacy behind his back, he selects them as his vice president and secretary respectively.

“What the fuck,” Jay breathes, visibly paling when Heeseung breaks the news to them, nearly dropping the golf club in hand.

“Wait, no- hyung. Hyung, look at me, this isn’t you.” Jake pleads, but Heeseung merely scrunches his nose in bemusement, sending him a winning smile after.

“You guys got me into this shit without my permission. An eye for an eye.” The two boys groan in defeat, knowing well enough that they won’t have a choice anyway. Rules are rules. The president handpicks his council members. That’s that.

“Who’s going to be treasurer?” Jake asks after managing to collect his bearings.

Heeseung turns to Sunghoon, visor shadowing his eyes. “Are you up for it, Sunghoon-ah?” 

“Nope, sorry.” He shakes his head with a smile, angling the club over his shoulder and hitting the ball with precision. 

“Look at this bastard.” Jake snickers. “He gets his feelings reciprocated and all of the sudden he’s a changed man.”

“Hey,” He bristles.

“Cut him some slack,” Jay butts in. “He’s liked Sunoo since like— forever .” He says, revealing Sunghoon’s top most secret without much of a thought. Well, he would know, since he had known Sunoo and Sunghoon since they were kids too. He was always the one watching the two of them run around the playground and chase each other with flittering laughs while he stands by the side with a disgusted frown.

Sunghoon isn’t actually sure when he had begun to like Sunoo. Perhaps it was when they were chasing dragonflies that one summer when they were nine and ten. Or maybe when they experienced the first fall of snow on Sunghoon’s fifteenth birthday. All he knew was he didn’t like it when Sunoo called him hyung despite their mothers’ reminders. It was because he didn’t want Sunoo to treat him like a brother. All he knew was he didn’t like it when Sunoo wasn’t beside him.

Now that he thinks of it, they never really hated each other when they were kids. They got along swimmingly in fact. Maybe it was the constant comparisons—the constant pressure put upon their shoulders by their parents, that made them turn against each other.

“Hey!” Sunghoon fumes, red creeping up his skin.

“Well, does Sunoo want the post?” Heeseung asks while they were on the topic.

“I don’t think so, hyung.” He answers as they head to the country club’s patio, discarding his gloves, eyes darting down to the ring around his finger with a smile. “I think we’re done with council duties.”

With the lessened weight on their shoulders, Sunoo and Sunghoon join forces, properly this time, and they realize just how powerful they are together. They give their parents an appeal—a contract that states that they will comply with the marriage, as long as the entirety of their inheritance is given by their wedding day, and 60% of the ownership of the new joint company will be theirs.

“Or else what?” Mr. Park challenges, and Sunoo merely grins, holding onto Sunghoon’s hand tightly.

“Or else we’ll elope and you’ll never hear from us again.” Says Sunghoon, but his father is stubborn.

“That’s it?”

Sunoo pipes in. “Well, we have this too.” He hands them more papers, documenting their fathers’ tax evasion, embezzlement, human trafficking, and their most recent development—coercion. They’ve consulted a third party lawyer, ironing out the groundwork for possible lawsuits.

Mr. Sunghoon grows red with rage. “Are you blackmailing me?!”

Sunoo smiles at him brightly, eyes crinkling and voice chirpy, stepping protectively in front of Sunghoon. “Yes!”

Mr. Kim almost collapses on the spot, and eventually, both parties reach a compromise.

The bell rings, and just as Sunoo expects, he sees his fiancé waiting for him. “How are you always here before the class ends?”

Sunghoon takes his hand and twines their fingers together. “I sneak out early.”

The younger raises his brows. “Park Sunghoon? Sneaking out of his classes?”

“I don’t need to be there every single minute just to pass. Unlike someone I know,” Sunoo jabs his elbow lightly into his side, but Sunghoon quickly doges with a laugh. “C’mon, we’re late.”

They hop into the older boy’s car, and off they go to get their new rings fitted. Their previous ones were absolutely ugly. “For being in the industry, your father has real bad taste.” Sunoo tells him, which he wholeheartedly agrees to.

“I know, that’s why we’ll be running the new company.” He says, leaning closer and grinning, fangs on display.

Their new rings are still gold and silver, this time adorned with more stones, the insides engraved with each other’s names.

In a few months time, Sunoo and Sunghoon will be moving into a house of their own, finally able to breathe away from their families. And when they settle down, they’ll be focusing on planning their wedding.

Sunoo’s lying sprawled across their maroon cabriole, socked feet propped against Sunghoon’s lap. A maid inches forward, asking Sunghoon something in a hushed voice. He nods, answering softly before the maid retreats to the kitchen.

“What was that?” Sunoo asks. 

“She asked about food. I told her to put nuts in the pho.”

“You jerk,” He curses, playfully kicking his heel against Sunghoon’s arm. 

Sunghoon laughs, clutching his bicep, feigning hurt. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Everyone in this household knows your allergies Sunoo. They’ll be hearing an earful from me otherwise.”

Sunoo pulls a face, not really convinced. He lets it go anyway, allowing Sunghoon to massage his calves. He brings his eyes back to his phone, scrolling through his feed, when suddenly, he jolts up with a loud gasp.

“Why? What happened?” Sunghoon questions in alarm.

“Chul sunbae and Jaehwa sunbae got married?!”

Sunghoon blinks, immediately scooting closer to peek at Sunoo’s phone. And he was right. On his screen, there’s a picture of the previous president and vice president, showing off their rings. 

Sunoo scrolls further, and when he does, both of them chortle at the sight. The motif of their wedding was fuchsia.

“Oh my god, that’s a horrible color,” Sunghoon breathes, hooking his chin over Sunoo’s shoulder as they continue browsing through the older couple’s pictures.

“I guess them passing the brooch down to us meant something different, huh,” Sunoo muses.

A flaxen pin shaped like the Rose of Sharon, no bigger than the pad of one’s thumb. It’s treated as an omen. A superstition. You will do as well as the upperclassman who passed it down to you. The same path they have paved will be yours to tread.

When Sunoo and Sunghoon got theirs, they had both assumed that the seniors’ titles as president and vice president, as well as suma and magna, were for them to inherit. But never did they think that the superstition of the brooch would work in this way. The path Chul and Jaehwa treaded just so happened to be the aisle, and in a few months’ time, they’ll be walking down it just the same.

They’re laughing about it now, but just half a year ago, they were ready to rip each other’s heads off the afternoon they received their rose brooches. Perhaps the other juniors would be ready for a brawl too, just to get their hands on Sunoo’s and Sunghoon’s pins.

But with Heeseung’s term, that tradition dies. Everyone used to look forward to whom the president of the council passes his brooch to. But the thing is, Heeseung never got a brooch in the first place. He was lying so low that none of the seniors even knew he existed.

At that, the practice lost its thrill and essence, and honestly, it made all the juniors breathe a little easier. Instead, it’ll be the school who issues a new batch of golden brooches every year for when the juniors move a year up.

“Wow, I never knew they were a couple, actually.” Sunoo hums, grimacing when he comes across a picture of his seniors kissing and posing awkwardly.

Sunghoon snakes his arms around the younger’s waist and tugs his back flush against his chest. “I knew there was a rumor. But I never thought it would be true.”

There’s a short-lived silence before Sunghoon decides to speak again. “Do you think they did it in the council room too—”

“Oh my god, shut up!” Sunoo flusters, blood rushing up his neck as he attempts to bury his face in his palms.

There’s a cheeky laugh that escapes Sunghoon’s lips, prying Sunoo’s hands away from his cheeks so he can fully see just how embarrassed he is. “Okay, okay. I’m kidding.”

A beat.

“Do you think if we ask Heeseung hyung he’ll let us—”

“Hoon!” 

He throws his head back, chortling, nuzzling his face in Sunoo’s temple, trying to appease him with a playful kiss. It seems to work, because Sunoo’s rolling his eyes and scoffing with a begrudging smile. Then he begins to point out the things he saw in their seniors’ pictures that he liked. He compliments Chul’s bouquet, but then insults the way Jaehwa’s hair was styled.

And Sunghoon listens to every word intently, a grin playing on his lips, heart feeling awfully full like it would burst at the seams anytime soon. Sunoo’s talking about whether they should have a garden wedding, and whether or not they’ll have it in spring. Sunghoon just nods, turning the younger around to face him, before wrapping his arms tight around his frame.

A fond huff of breath escapes Sunoo’s lips, but he gives in anyway, settling his cheek against the older’s chest, hand on his heart. Sunghoon sighs, content. 

Sunghoon’s often like this—pulling him close even when the space between them is nonexistent. Because to him, whether Sunoo’s beside him, on his lap, or in his arms, Sunghoon always pulls him close, as if he isn’t close enough.