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The teachers’ lounge was a grave. The principal’s body sagged over the desk, blood pooling beneath his chin, the silence broken only by the faint buzz of a flickering light.
Cheong-san stood frozen in the doorway, the stench of iron filling his lungs. And there, leaning lazily against the desk as if it were a throne, was Gwi-nam. His face was streaked with gore, eyes glinting with that familiar, cruel amusement.
“You missed the fun,” Gwi-nam said, his voice low, almost playful, but laced with menace.
Cheong-san’s fists tightened, nails digging into his palms. He should attack. He should kill him. That was the only reason he’d come in here. But when Gwi-nam pushed off the desk and started toward him, slow and deliberate, Cheong-san’s pulse betrayed him—pounding, frantic, not just from fear.
“You came here to fight me,” Gwi-nam murmured, circling him like a predator. “But tell me… is that really what you want?”
Cheong-san’s throat tightened. He wanted to say yes, to spit in his face, to scream. But the words caught, tangled with the heat in his chest. When Gwi-nam’s hand shot out and grabbed his collar, yanking him close, Cheong-san’s breath hitched.
Their faces were inches apart, Gwi-nam’s smirk curdling into something darker. “You hate me so much,” he whispered, “but look at you. Shaking. Not because you’re afraid of dying. Because of me.”
Cheong-san snarled, but the sound broke when Gwi-nam slammed him against the wall. The impact rattled the glass cabinets, shards tinkling onto the floor. Pain shot through his back, but it was nothing compared to the fire in his chest as Gwi-nam’s mouth crashed against his.
It wasn’t a kiss—it was a battle. Teeth clashing, lips bruising, a violent claiming. Cheong-san fought back, pushing, resisting, but every shove only pulled them closer, the fury twisting into something rawer, sharper. His pulse roared in his ears, drowning out the world outside—the screams, the pounding feet, the moans of the dead.
When Gwi-nam finally tore his mouth away, both of them were gasping, their breaths ragged in the suffocating silence. Blood smeared across their lips—not all of it theirs.
Cheong-san’s fists trembled against Gwi-nam’s chest, torn between striking and clinging. “I’ll kill you,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice unsteady, betraying him.
Gwi-nam only grinned, eyes wild, his thumb smearing the blood at the corner of Cheong-san’s mouth. “Maybe,” he said softly. “But not before you taste me again.”
The tension thickened like smoke, deadly and irresistible. Outside, the world burned—but here, in the heart of death, they were locked in something far more dangerous.
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