Chapter Text
The locker room stinks of sweat and disappointment. Sion hasn’t said a word since the whistle blew.
The team files in, heads low, peeling off jerseys and murmuring curses. Daeyoung keeps his head down too, avoiding every glance. He knows whose fault it is. Knows who missed the pass. Who slipped and lost the rebound. It was him.
“Everyone out,” Sion says, sharp and low.
No one questions it. They all know better than to get in the way when Sion’s like this. They don’t question when Sion points at Daeyoung—his silent order to stay.
And Daeyoung?
He stays.
Sion doesn’t even look at him. Just sits down on the bench in front of his locker, towel draped over his neck, hair still damp from the game. His hands rest on his knees, fingers twitching like he's still dribbling a ball. Silent.
Daeyoung hesitates in the doorway, sweat drying cold against his back.
He knows this rhythm.
Knows what comes next.
His feet move before his mind does, pulled forward like gravity. He stops in front of Sion, uncertain—hoping, maybe, for something different. Something gentler. A glance, at least. But Sion’s eyes are on the wall behind him, jaw tight, expression unreadable.
So Daeyoung sinks.
To his knees.
“I’m sorry,” he says, because he has to say something. Because that’s the line, isn’t it?
Sion blinks. “Are you? I can’t tell, Daeyoung.”
There’s no real anger in his voice. Just exhaustion, like he’s heard it a thousand times and doesn’t believe it anymore. Like none of this even matters.
Daeyoung’s hands tremble a little as they move, but it’s muscle memory now. The way his fingers find the waistband. The way Sion shifts just slightly, legs spreading, not in invitation but in habit. The way he never says no. Never says yes, either.
Just lets it happen.
Daeyoung doesn’t look up. He doesn’t want to see that detached expression. Doesn’t want to see the blankness, the absence, the nothing.
It’s quick.
Brutal.
All friction, no affection. No tenderness. No guiding hand to his hair, no whispered name. Sion doesn’t touch him, doesn’t watch him. Just leans back against the lockers and stares through the ceiling like he’s not even here.
Daeyoung swallows down the metallic taste of shame. Of Sion. Of wanting.
When Sion finishes, it’s with a quiet, clipped exhale. More like annoyance than release. He tucks himself back in, zips up. Stands.
Still doesn’t look at him.
Doesn’t say thank you. Doesn’t say anything.
His footsteps echo down the hallway as he leaves, towel swinging from his neck like a noose he hasn’t noticed yet.
Daeyoung stays on the floor, knees aching against the cold tile, staring at the drops of sweat—or maybe water—spattered near Sion’s locker.
His throat burns.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. The silence rushes in again.
He doesn’t cry.
Just sits there.
Alone with the quiet, and the taste, and the weight of something he won’t name.
Daeyoung remembers the first time like it’s burned into the back of his eyelids. He tells himself it wasn’t always like this. That once, he might’ve had dignity. That he didn’t fold so easily. But he’s lying to himself.
Sion had stormed into the gym that evening, throwing his bag down like it had personally betrayed him. It was just the two of them—Daeyoung, a nervous first-year staying late to practice his free throws, and Sion, his captain, that he had a sickening crush on with a temper like a lit fuse.
“Come here.”
That was all he said. Rough. Clipped. Not even looking at him.
And Daeyoung—dumb, wide-eyed, too far gone on every stolen glance Sion had never meant to give—he went.
“Do you think you could help me with something, kid?”
Daeyoung blinked. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Sion was already undoing the drawstring on his shorts.
“I just—” Daeyoung stammered, eyes darting to the door, then back. “What do you mean?”
Sion looked at him. Not kindly. Not cruelly. Just blank. Like this was nothing. Like he was nothing.
“You’re always hanging around,” Sion said, casual, like he was talking about the weather. “Thought you might want to be useful.”
Daeyoung’s heart skipped. That wasn’t how he thought this would sound. Not even close.
Still — he didn’t walk away.
Sion stepped forward.
Close.
Too close.
And then, without saying a word, he reached out — slow, almost lazy — and brushed his fingers against Daeyoung’s cheek. It wasn’t a caress. It wasn’t anything sweet. Just his thumb running along Daeyoung’s bottom lip, testing it. Measuring something.
Daeyoung’s breath hitched.
The touch disappeared.
Sion didn’t say anything else. Just turned, leaned back against the lockers, and waited.
And Daeyoung —
His legs moved before he told them to, knees pressing into the cold tile floor like he was praying for something he couldn’t name.
He sank to the floor slowly, unsure. One hand resting on his thigh, the other twitching as if it didn’t know where to go. His head tilted up—a little shy, a little hopeful. Like, is this what you meant? Is this how I help you?
And for one terrifying, dizzying second, Sion touched his face. Just two fingers under Daeyoung’s chin, lifting it slightly. His thumb brushed along his cheekbone, barely there.
Then he nodded. Once.
Daeyoung’s breath caught.
There was no gentleness after that.
And then — he grabbed Daeyoung’s hair.
Hard.
Daeyoung winced, but didn’t pull away. Didn’t stop. Just let it happen. Because this was the closest Sion had ever let him be. And part of him — the desperate part — thought: maybe this is what it takes to stay.
Sion didn’t undress properly—just shoved his shorts down far enough, like this was a task to complete and not a moment between two people. His grip in Daeyoung’s hair held fast, guiding him with a rough, unrelenting rhythm that had nothing to do with closeness.
Daeyoung tried. He tried to be good. Even when it hurt. Even when his eyes watered. Even when his jaw began to ache so bad he thought it might lock up. He kept going.
It was rough. Awkward. He didn’t know what he was doing. His jaw ached and his eyes stung and he didn’t know where to put his hands.
But Sion didn’t say anything. Just used him. Fast and thoughtless. Like Daeyoung wasn’t a person. Just a solution to a problem.
When it was over, Sion exhaled sharply. That kind of breath you let out when something's been handled. Nothing more.
He zipped up.
Grabbed his jacket.
Didn’t look at him.
Didn’t say thank you.
At the door, he paused.
“Don’t make it weird,” he muttered, without turning around.
Then he left.
Daeyoung stayed kneeling on the floor, staring at the spot where Sion had stood.
His jaw throbbed. His throat burned. His whole body felt like it didn’t quite belong to him.
He didn’t feel broken.
He felt needed.
And maybe—just maybe—if he did this right, Sion would want him to stay.
Now it’s just routine. When Sion’s mad, when practice goes badly, when something with Yushi puts him in a mood—Daeyoung gets the fallout. Gets to clean up Sion’s guilt with his tongue. Gets to pretend the humiliation is affection.
Sometimes he wonders if Sion even knows his name.
He watches the two of them across the court now—Sion, towel slung over his shoulder, laughing at something Yushi said.
Daeyoung clenches his jaw.
He wishes Yushi could see what he sees. What Sion looks like with his hand twisted in Daeyoung’s hair, gritting his teeth like he hates every second of enjoying it. What Sion sounds like when he finishes and pushes Daeyoung away like trash. He wishes he could show him. But there’s not much to show.
Sion never lets him kiss. Never lets him touch.
That’s Yushi’s privilege.
Daeyoung?
Daeyoung is just the place Sion goes when he’s too angry to love the person he really wants.
And that’s how it’s always been. He’s come to love it.
Daeyoung brushes off the swirl of guilt and self-loathing twisting in his gut. It’s familiar by now. He tells himself it doesn’t matter — none of it ever has — and drags his aching body toward the showers.
The locker room is nearly empty by the time he gets there, steam clinging to the ceiling. He shrugs off his shirt, ready to rinse off the shame when he notices someone near the sinks.
Maeda Riku.
Another senior. The complete opposite of Sion.
Riku glances up, startled, his eyes darting across Daeyoung’s body for half a second before flicking away like he hadn’t looked at all. He doesn’t say anything, but Daeyoung catches the subtle shift — the way Riku’s jaw tenses, how his mouth draws in the slightest frown.
Daeyoung's patience snaps.
"What is it?" he snaps, voice sharper than he intended, echoing off the tiles.
Riku blinks, startled, then flushes deep red — the kind of embarrassed that runs down to his collarbone. “N-Nothing,” he mutters quickly, ducking his head. “Sorry.”
He turns and hurries out of the room, almost slipping on the way out.
Daeyoung watches him go with a tired sigh. He hadn't meant to scare him. Maybe he had looked like a mess — maybe he was a mess.
Still, Riku’s flustered reaction had been...cute?
He makes a mental note to apologize later. Not because he cares what Riku thinks — but because, unlike Sion, Riku hadn’t looked at him with disgust.
Days go by, and university life has Daeyoung swamped. Between classes, assignments, and trying to keep his head above water, he hasn’t heard from Sion and doesn’t expect to until he gets a call late one night.
The shrill ring of his phone slices through the quiet of his dorm room, and Daeyoung's heart sinks when he sees Sion's name flashing on the screen. The glow feels almost ominous.
His phone buzzes once. Then again. No messages, no hellos. Just Sion.
He hesitates for a moment, a sense of dread pooling in his stomach, but he swallows hard and answers.
“Hello?” he says, trying to keep his voice steady despite the flutter of anxiety twisting inside him.
“Daeyoung,” Sion’s voice is low and commanding, a tone that sends chills down Daeyoung’s spine.
“Captain?”
“Where are you?”
That tone. Clipped, cold, coiled with irritation.
“At home.”
“Get here.”
Then the line goes dead.
Daeyoung doesn’t bother to ask why. He never does. There’s a part of him that wishes he could—wants to understand what’s coming—but instead, he pulls on a hoodie and slips out of the dorm like a shadow.
When he arrives, he barely has time to close the door before Sion is on him. No words. No kiss. Just hands yanking down his sweats and pushing him against the wall like he’s something to conquer, not touch.
Daeyoung lets it happen.
He lets himself be stripped, shoved, used.
His back hits the wall with a soft thud, the impact sending a jolt through him. He stumbles slightly, but Sion's grip is firm, keeping him in place. Daeyoung’s breath catches as Sion leans in, close enough for him to feel the heat radiating from his body, but still so far from any warmth he craves.
“Just stay still,” Sion orders, his voice low and rough.
Daeyoung nods, a small, helpless gesture, the excitement and dread twisting together in his stomach. The familiar rush of adrenaline floods through him—this is the closest Sion has ever let him be, and part of him can't help but want more. He shivers, feeling vulnerable yet oddly exhilarated.
Sion moves with practiced efficiency, and Daeyoung can’t help but feel a thrill at the way Sion claims him. The heat of Sion's body presses against him, and Daeyoung's skin prickles with anticipation. He can barely think, heart racing as Sion shoves his sweats down, leaving him exposed.
It’s rough. It’s fast. And it’s everything Daeyoung has been yearning for, even if the way Sion approaches him feels cold and calculating.
Sion thrusts into him without hesitation, his movements powerful and relentless. There’s no tenderness in the way Sion uses him, no sweet words or gentle touches. Just the rawness of it all—the way Sion grips his hips, the sound of their bodies meeting, the way he takes what he wants without asking for permission.
Daeyoung gasps, caught between pleasure and pain, each thrust pushing him further into the wall. His hands grip the edge of the sink nearby for balance, knuckles turning white as he fights against the overwhelming sensation. He feels exposed, like a raw nerve, and yet there’s a part of him that revels in the intensity, in being needed like this.
Sion’s grip tightens on Daeyoung’s hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, but it isn’t just anger. There’s a hesitation—brief, almost imperceptible—when their eyes meet.
And for a second, just a second, Sion's gaze softens.
Like he’s seeing Daeyoung. Like there’s something about this, about him, that means something.
Daeyoung sees it.
He always does.
But just as quickly, it's gone—wiped away like it was never there. Sion's mouth twists, disgust creeping into his expression, like he’s furious at himself for letting it show. For feeling anything while Yushi waits for him elsewhere, clean and untouched by this kind of mess.
Daeyoung lets out a soft laugh. Barely a sound.
But it cuts.
Sion freezes for half a beat, like the sound slapped him.
“There it is,” Daeyoung murmurs, voice rasping around exhaustion and bitter amusement. “For a second I thought you liked me.”
“Shut up,” Sion snaps, jaw tight, eyes burning. He grabs Daeyoung's hair again, pushing his head away, trying to reestablish control.
Trying to make him forget.
But Daeyoung doesn't resist.
He just smiles, unseen.
Because he's already won something—something small, maybe, but real.
Sion felt it.
And that’s why he’s furious.
Sion’s breath quickens, low groans escaping him, and Daeyoung can’t help but feel a rush of satisfaction at being the source of that pleasure. But that satisfaction is quickly overshadowed by a deep-seated ache. This isn’t how he wanted things to be. He wants to be held, to be cherished—not just used as a means to an end.
When Sion finishes, it’s with a low, guttural groan, a sound that reverberates through Daeyoung’s chest. The sensation leaves Daeyoung feeling empty, like a puppet cut from its strings. Sion pulls away, zipping up without so much as a glance back, as if the moment had meant nothing at all.
Daeyoung slumps against the wall, legs trembling, his skin sticky and burning from the encounter. His chest feels hollow—no heartbeat, just static. The silence left behind is deafening.
And then—
A towel hits his stomach.
He looks up, startled. Sion’s already walking away, disappearing into the bathroom without a word. The towel smells like detergent and fabric softener. Like home.
Daeyoung clutches it to his chest, feeling the warmth seep into his skin. He lets his eyes flutter closed, trying to find some semblance of comfort in the soft fabric.
He gets to stay tonight.
That has to mean something.
But as he sits there in the quiet aftermath, the reality sinks in. The thrill, the need, the intimacy he craved feels tainted now, overshadowed by the emptiness Sion left behind.
And deep down, he knows he’ll keep coming back for this. For him. For any scrap of attention, any hint that he might be more than just a moment of release.
But the truth lingers like a bitter taste in his mouth: he’s just a body to Sion, and the worst part is—
He can’t bring himself to care.
He wakes up alone. Blankets tangled around his legs. A cold patch on the pillow next to him.
There’s a half-empty cup of water on the coffee table. No note. No text.
Daeyoung doesn't expect one.
He showers, dresses, and leaves without saying a word.
But when he passes Riku in the hallway back at campus—books clutched to his chest, hoodie sleeves too long for his hands—Riku looks up.
Their eyes meet.
Riku hesitates, then offers a nervous smile. It’s small. Unsure.
Daeyoung doesn’t smile back. But he doesn’t glare either.
He thinks of soft lips and flushed cheeks. Of someone who didn’t ask for him just to spit him out.
He thinks maybe he should’ve said sorry then, but Riku is already gone.
Daeyoung is on his knees again.
He doesn't even remember how it started this time—if Sion said something, or just looked at him a certain way. His jaw aches, and his fingers are digging into the fabric of Sion’s shorts like he needs to anchor himself.
Sion’s hand is in his hair, cruel and tight, controlling his rhythm. He’s panting, hips jerking forward with every wet pull of Daeyoung’s mouth.
"You like this, don’t you?" Sion growls, voice low, almost disgusted. "Fucking pathetic."
Daeyoung moans around him, hums a yes because it’s the truth. Because if he admits how far he's fallen, maybe it won't hurt as much. Maybe he'll finally stop feeling the ache in his chest every time Sion pulls away like Daeyoung is something shameful.
Sion hisses, his grip tightening.
Daeyoung doesn’t stop. He wants to give him everything. Wants to be ruined for him.
And then—
The door swings open with a heavy clang.
Daeyoung freezes.
Sion doesn't. Not immediately.
But then he looks up, and so does Daeyoung.
Riku.
His eyes go wide, jaw slack. The door is still half open behind him, like he hadn’t even expected to see anyone inside.
He wasn’t meant to be here. Maybe he forgot something. Maybe he was looking for someone.
He wasn't supposed to see this.
Not Daeyoung—sweaty, flushed, on his knees with spit slicking his chin.
None of them move.
Daeyoung’s hands drop from Sion’s hips slowly, fingers trembling. Shame blooms fast and violent in his gut, crawling up his throat like bile.
But Riku doesn’t say anything.
Doesn’t yell. Doesn’t laugh.
He just stares at Daeyoung like he’s seeing him for the first time.
The moment the door slams shut behind Riku, the silence is deafening.
Daeyoung still hasn’t moved. His knees sting against the cold tile. His mouth is open, breath catching in his throat. The taste of Sion still lingers, hot and bitter.
But he’s not thinking about that.
He’s thinking about Riku’s face—how he didn’t look disgusted or horrified like Daeyoung expected. No, Riku looked... sad. Like watching Daeyoung like this hurt.
And that—
That almost makes him want to throw up.
“You’re kidding me,” Sion mutters, the venom in his voice instant. He grabs Daeyoung by the jaw, forces his gaze up. “Why the fuck did you stop?”
Daeyoung blinks. He doesn’t know what to say. His heart’s still pounding, his lips swollen and wet, shame crawling up his spine like ice.
“He—he walked in,” Daeyoung says, like it’s obvious. Like it explains everything.
“So?”
Sion’s eyes are wild with something dark—anger, ego, something mean and hot. “You think I give a shit about Riku?”
“I didn’t know what to do,” Daeyoung says quietly.
Sion scoffs, letting go of his face roughly. “You knew what to do five minutes ago.”
That stings.
Daeyoung pushes himself up slowly, still dizzy, still aching. His knees pop as he stands. He doesn’t meet Sion’s eyes.
“I just thought... I thought maybe he didn’t deserve to see that.”
Sion laughs, sharp and bitter. “Don’t start pretending to be a saint now.”
Daeyoung flinches.
He doesn’t respond. There’s nothing to say. He did put himself there. Every time. Over and over, like it might mean something eventually. Like he could earn Sion’s love by giving up every piece of himself.
But he hasn’t. He won’t. He never will.
Sion’s already pulling his shirt back over his head, back to ignoring him like always. “If you’re not gonna finish what you started, then get out. I’m not in the mood anymore.”
Daeyoung stares at him.
He doesn’t move for a long moment, Sion’s words ringing in his ears.
But instead of standing, instead of leaving like his pride tells him to—he drops back down.
His hands tremble as they find Sion’s hips again, and his voice is barely a whisper.
“I’m sorry. I’ll keep going. Just don’t be mad at me, please.”
That’s all it takes.
Sion looks down at him—silent at first, expression unreadable—and then, for the first time in all their time together, he smiles.
It’s not kind. It’s not soft. It’s cruel.
Like he knows exactly how far Daeyoung has fallen, and it pleases him.
“Good boy,” he says, voice low and mocking.
And Daeyoung, shame crawling up his spine and burning in his throat, closes his eyes and lets himself pretend—for just a second—that this is love.
It’s been weeks since the incident, and Daeyoung still can’t meet Riku’s eyes.
Not in class, not in the halls, not even when Riku quietly offers him a cup of canned coffee from the vending machine like nothing happened.
Daeyoung takes it with a muttered thanks, fingers brushing, but he doesn’t look up.
Riku never mentions that night. Not the way Daeyoung had dropped to his knees. Not the way Sion had looked. Not the way Daeyoung had stayed.
And that silence is somehow worse than being judged. Worse than being pitied.
Because Riku isn’t avoiding him. He’s still around. Still soft. Still watching.
And Daeyoung hates it.
He hates how gentle Riku is. How his silence feels like forgiveness Daeyoung doesn’t deserve.
So he keeps his head down, drinks the coffee, and walks away. Every time.
It’s another long practice, and someone messes up—badly. The coach yells. Tempers rise. But Daeyoung already knows how this ends.
Sion doesn’t have to say a word. Doesn’t have to look at him. The silence says everything.
As the gym begins to clear, Daeyoung lingers near the water fountain, pretending to check his phone. He’s waiting. Not for a ride or a message—just for everyone else to leave. For the air to clear. For that moment when it’s just the two of them again.
He glances up. Sion is sitting on the edge of the bleachers, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the floor with that unreadable expression. But then—
Riku’s still here.
Daeyoung freezes. Watches Riku zip his bag slowly, cautiously. There’s hesitation in his movements. Like he knows something. Like he’s bracing for what’s next.
Just as Daeyoung takes a step toward Sion, Riku intercepts him.
“Hey,” he says quietly, his hand brushing Daeyoung’s elbow. “Can we talk?”
Daeyoung’s chest tightens. He glances past Riku toward Sion. Their eyes meet.
Sion’s jaw tics. His arms unfold. There’s a flash in his gaze—cold, territorial.
Daeyoung nods numbly and lets Riku lead him into the hallway.
“Do you really want this?” Riku’s voice is soft but firm, his brows drawn with concern. “With him?”
Daeyoung doesn’t answer. He can’t. His heart is pounding too loudly in his ears.
“You can stop,” Riku says. “You just don’t want to. That’s not the same thing as love.”
The words sting—more than they should. Because it’s true. Because it’s been true for a while now.
“I can’t—” Daeyoung starts, but the words catch. His voice feels too small for the weight in his chest. He just laughs bitterly. Riku has always been able to read him for filth.
Riku nods slowly, not pushing. Not judging. “You don’t have to say anything. I just want you to think about it.”
He steps back, gives Daeyoung one last look—sad, maybe a little hopeful—then walks away.
Daeyoung stands there, staring at the floor, long after the gym lights click off. For the first time in weeks, he doesn’t go back in. Doesn’t return to Sion.
He walks home alone.
The next few days, something shifts.
Riku finds him after class. They end up sharing snacks on the grass, talking about music and dumb memes. It's easy. Uncomplicated. There’s a kind of warmth to it that Daeyoung forgot he could have.
He gets between them after every practice. And Daeyoung doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t pull away, either.
A few days later, Daeyoung ends up at Riku’s place.
It’s nothing big. Just a casual offer after class—"Wanna hang out for a bit?"—but Daeyoung says yes before he can overthink it.
Riku’s apartment is small but warm, lived-in in a way that feels different from anything Daeyoung’s used to. There are plants on the windowsill and a hoodie draped over the back of a chair, the faint smell of citrus tea clinging to the air.
They sit on the floor, legs stretched out, a lazy playlist humming in the background. Riku tosses him a blanket without comment when he notices Daeyoung shivering.
No tension. No unspoken expectations.
Just quiet.
Riku's flipping through a comic book, and Daeyoung is staring at the ceiling, mind blank in a way he hasn't felt in... he doesn’t know how long. Usually, his thoughts are loud—scratching, clawing, hungry. But here, with Riku beside him, everything goes still.
“I used to think silence meant something was wrong,” Daeyoung says suddenly.
Riku doesn’t look up. “And now?”
“I think maybe I was wrong.”
There’s a pause. Then Riku nudges his foot with his own.
“You don’t have to be okay all the time, you know.”
Daeyoung huffs a quiet laugh. “I don’t even know what ‘okay’ looks like.”
Riku finally sets the comic down and shifts closer, shoulder brushing Daeyoung’s.
“It looks like this,” he says simply. “Not having to brace yourself every second.”
Daeyoung’s throat tightens. He looks at Riku, really looks at him—and something in his chest cracks open. Because Riku isn’t asking for anything. Isn’t expecting him to earn affection or prove his worth just to be held.
They don’t kiss that night and Daeyoung finds himself a bit disappointed.
They just sit there, side by side, wrapped in the same blanket.
And for the first time in months, Daeyoung falls asleep without feeling like he's holding his breath.
“I really like you,” Riku says, breath warm against Daeyoung’s cheek.
It’s the weekend, and Daeyoung doesn’t call it a date, but he meets Riku outside the convenience store anyway, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket, pretending he didn’t spend an hour debating what to wear. They buy ice cream—cheap, melty cones—and a couple bottles of soju, the kind that goes down too easy. They walk without purpose, shoulders brushing now and then, sharing bites, laughing at nothing. It’s more than a hangout, but less than a confession, and when Riku wipes a smear of ice cream from Daeyoung’s lip with his thumb, neither of them says a word—they just keep walking, like whatever this is doesn’t need a name yet.
It starts with a drink he didn’t need.
One bottle turns into three, and Daeyoung loses track of how many more after that. He’s not sloppy, not loud—just quiet. Heavy-lidded and swaying slightly on Riku’s couch, a bottle dangling from his fingers, head lolling back against the cushions.
Riku sits beside him, knees brushing. He hasn’t touched his drink in a while. Just watches Daeyoung with that same gentle patience, like he’s waiting for something.
Maybe he is.
“I don’t think he even likes kissing me,” Daeyoung says suddenly. His voice is soft. Slurred, but not messy. “Not that he ever really has. Not on the mouth. Not like...”
He trails off. Laughs, bitter and cracked. The sound barely fills the space between them.
Riku doesn’t say anything. Just lets the silence settle.
Daeyoung looks down at the bottle in his hand. “It’s always just... rough. Quick. Like he’s trying to get rid of something. Like he doesn’t want to look at me.”
He swallows hard. “He never kisses me, Riku. Not once. Isn’t that pathetic? I let him do everything else, and he won’t even—” His voice breaks.
And then he’s crying.
Not sobbing. Not loudly. Just tears sliding quietly down his cheeks, like they’ve been waiting a long time to fall. He wipes them away with the back of his hand, almost annoyed with himself.
“I’m so fucking stupid.”
“No,” Riku says, his voice gentle. Firm. “You’re not.”
Daeyoung shakes his head. “He has Yushi. And I still—I still go when he calls. I thought maybe... maybe one day, if I stayed long enough, if I was good enough, he’d start wanting me too.”
Riku shifts closer. Not all at once. Just enough for Daeyoung to feel his warmth, to know he’s there.
“You deserve more than that,” Riku says.
Daeyoung scoffs. “Yeah? Like what?”
Riku is quiet for a moment, then:
“Do you want me to kiss you?”
Daeyoung lifts his head, blinking through tears.
“What?”
“I’m not saying it fixes anything,” Riku says carefully. “But if you want to know what it feels like... for someone to kiss you because they mean it...”
He trails off, eyes locked with Daeyoung’s. Open. Waiting.
Daeyoung doesn’t answer.
But he leans in.
And Riku meets him there—slow, cautious, lips soft against his. No force. No hurry. Just two people finding each other in the quiet.
Daeyoung breathes in sharply. His hands tremble where they cling to Riku’s hoodie. And when they pull apart, he stays close, resting his forehead against Riku’s, eyes closed.
No one says anything.
They don’t need to.
For the first time, Daeyoung doesn’t feel used. He doesn’t feel anxious or hollow or scared.
He just feels held.
Later that night, his phone buzzes.
Sion.
Then again. And again.
A short, furious text follows: "Don’t ignore me."
Daeyoung stares at the screen, thumb hovering.
He powers off his phone.
And for the first time in what feels like forever, he falls asleep without thinking about Sion’s voice in his ear.
But peace was never something Daeyoung was meant to have.
A few days later, he’s back in the locker room after practice, sweat still clinging to his skin, muscles aching in that satisfying way after a hard workout. The others file out, laughing and tossing towels, their voices fading into the hallway. He’s about to head to the showers when he hears it—the sound of the door clicking shut behind the last of them.
He already knows.
Sion’s there. Leaning against the wall near the showers like he’s been waiting. Like he owns the place. Like he owns him.
Daeyoung doesn’t say anything as he walks past, steps slow and careful like he’s hoping—stupidly—that maybe this time Sion will let him leave. That maybe things have changed.
But the moment he reaches the row of sinks, Sion’s hand is on his collar, yanking him back so hard he stumbles.
“You think you can fucking ghost me now?” Sion growls, shoving him against the tiled wall.
Daeyoung gasps, more from shock than pain. The cold from the tile seeps into his back. “I wasn’t ignoring you,” he mumbles, trying to sound casual, trying to deflect. “Just busy.”
“With Riku?” Sion’s voice is venomous now, thick with disdain. “You’re busy with him. What, you think he’s better than me?”
There it is. The real reason.
Daeyoung shifts, trying to step away, but Sion closes the distance.
"You think he sees you?” Sion sneers. “You think he wants this?” His hand snakes around Daeyoung’s waist, possessive and bruising. “You think he’ll still want you after this?”
And that’s when it clicks.
This isn’t jealousy.
It’s sabotage.
This isn’t about love or heartbreak. It’s about control. About ruining Daeyoung so no one else can have him. So Riku won’t want him anymore.
And Sion planned it. Every piece. Down to the exact moment.
The words hit like a slap. Not I miss you. Not I want you.
Just mine.
And then Sion kisses him.
For the first time.
It’s not soft. Not careful. It’s a calculated strike. A weapon.
Daeyoung stiffens beneath it, stunned—because Sion doesn’t kiss. Not him. Not ever. It’s always been hands, breath, bruises. Never lips.
But now he’s kissing Daeyoung like he’s starving, like he wants to burn every trace of Riku out of his mouth.
Daeyoung shudders. He should push him away. Should run. Should scream.
Instead, he melts. Because a part of him has always wanted this.
And that part is stupid. Weak.
Sion’s mouth hard and claiming, stealing the breath from Daeyoung’s lungs. His lips taste like anger. Like ownership. Like poison disguised as longing. And Daeyoung, traitorous and weak, lets him.
Sion spins him roughly, pinning him to the tile. His voice drops lower, almost soft. “Let me remind you who you belong to.”
Daeyoung shudders.
Sion tears at his clothes, rips his hoodie halfway down his shoulders. He doesn’t ask. He never has. His hand wraps around Daeyoung’s hair, dragging his head back as he mouths at his throat like a dog sinking teeth into a chew toy.
He doesn’t say yes. But he doesn’t say no.
The water pounds around them, steam rising as Sion pushes into him—fast, unforgiving, like he’s driving a wedge between Daeyoung and the world. Each thrust is a claim. Not of love. Of possession. Of ruin.
Daeyoung grips the tile, knuckles white, eyes shut tight. He can’t think. Can’t breathe. The shame curls in his chest, hot and suffocating.
“Please,” Sion mutters, low and bitter. “Let it happen.”
And Daeyoung does.
Sion fucks him against the cold tiles, beneath the artificial light, steam rising around them like fog on a battlefield. His hips snap forward with rage more than need, like he’s claiming land. Daeyoung grips the wall, fingers splayed wide, eyes squeezed shut. Every thrust drives guilt deeper into his spine, but it doesn’t stop the noise he makes.
He hates it. Hates himself.
And then—
The door creaks open.
“Captain, you wanted to—?”
That voice.
Daeyoung freezes.
He turns—just slightly—and sees him.
Riku.
Standing in the doorway. Bag still slung over his shoulder. Eyes wide. Frozen. Silent.
Their gazes lock. And something inside Daeyoung collapses.
Riku doesn’t yell. Doesn’t speak.
He just stands there, shattered.
Daeyoung opens his mouth to say something—anything—but nothing comes. Sion doesn’t even stop. Doesn’t turn around. His grip only tightens, as if this was the plan all along.
And suddenly it’s clear.
This wasn’t an accident.
Sion wanted him to walk in.
Wanted Riku to see.
To ruin Daeyoung. To make sure Riku never looked at him the same again.
Riku blinks, then slowly backs out the door. It shuts with a hollow thud that echoes louder than the slap of skin against tile.
Sion exhales behind him, satisfied. He nips at Daeyoung’s shoulder, like he’s proud of the wreckage.
“There,” he murmurs, almost smug. “That’s better, isn’t it?”
Daeyoung can’t breathe.
He slumps to the floor when it’s over, knees scraping tile, water still running over his skin. His chest heaves, but there’s no air.
No love. No warmth.
Just cold.
Just shame.
Just Sion.
And he thinks—if he calls Riku now, he won’t answer.
Why would he?