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Summary
But now he needs it, seeks it out. The attention. The high. The jittery itch down his spine and trembling in his wrists when Hyunjin looks at him from his perch on Jeongin’s shoulder, eyes dragging down his frame as a reminder, gaze so heavy he can feel it like a pair of hands. The fantasy that maybe this—that Hyunjin—was always meant to be his, anyway.
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In which Jeongin doesn't know what Jisung is up to and Hyunjin doesn't know what Jisung's intentions are and Jisung doesn't know very much of anything at all.