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Summary
it starts with nam-gyu’s idea — coke lined across su-bong’s lower stomach, a reckless grin, and no hesitation. from there, it spirals into something messier: a leash tight around su-bong’s throat, cigarettes burning marks into nam-gyu’s skin, wax dripping slow and hot, and hands that don’t know whether to hurt or soothe. they fuck like they’re desperate, but the aftercare is soft — like they’re trying to patch up what they broke. the room smells like strawberry wax, smoke, and everything they can’t say out loud.