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Summary
"Seokmin-ah," Seungkwan mumbled, reaching out, sloppy and grasping. "You're so warm..."
The hand never made contact.
DK caught his wrist mid-air, grip iron-tight, and finally turned his head. The smile was gone. Completely gone. In the passing glow of streetlights, his face was carved from something sharp and angry.
"Seungkwan," he said quietly. Too quietly. "Get it together before I get mad."
Seungkwan's eyes focused with drunken difficulty, registering the shift—the way DK's pupils had blown wide, dark and depthless, the way his polite facade had cracked open to reveal something coiled and waiting underneath.