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It was always those stolen glances, that lingered a second too long.
Glances that carried meaning, inviting
Skin brushing, unintentional, but intended.
Arguments masked in petty exchanges
It was always Hong pissing Nut off.
With a smug smirk plastered across his face, and Nut, didn’t do anything.
He found it amusing how Hong always tried to get on his nerves, how his pride rose at the very thought of Nut getting pissed, how he’d always speak with that tone. Annoying, prideful.
But Nut—god— he was enjoying every bit of this. How Hong would get annoyed when his teasing wouldn’t work, how Hong tried to piss him off every second, how Hong seemed to hate his guts, How Hong cursed under his breath when Nut just wouldn’t break.
When instead of getting mad— talking back like he should be, Nut would just stare at Hong, with a stare unreadable, mysterious, amused.
It was like swimming in water you couldn’t reach the bottom of,
Deep deep water.
Dark blue, unknown creatures lurking, unknown territory.
Nut was unknown.
And he hated loosing.
-
Ever since they became bandmates, Nut became Hong’s toy to piss off, to test.
Nut didn’t know why, but he let him.
Sure, as the eldest he would be the subject of his younger member’s teasing. William always clung to him; no sense of personal space, Lego would always bicker with him, talking back— playfully. Tui did too, talking over him, but that was it.
Hong was different, he looked at Nut like he was a pawn, a chess piece in his game he could control, he could throw away, he could— end.
Hong would be clingy to the others, to William, Tui, Lego but never with him.
Hands wrapped over Lego’s waists, Arms entangled with Tui’s, thighs over thighs with William, but his eyes.
His eyes always looked at Nut, and Nut,
His eyes would always look for Hong.
Nut let him— talk over him, disobey him, tease him, pressed his buttons.
Nut never broke.
Until—
It was after their last show for their tour. As the red lights dimmed , the curtains drew close, the cheers faded, Lykn headed backstage.
The air smelled like sweat and musk, mic packs were being removed, towels were all over the members bodies.
Nut and Hong were the last ones to step off the stage, still behind the curtains, catching their breaths. Shoulders brushing, glances exchanged.
Hong had that look, again.
The same look he always had when he looked at Nut.
From the others it looked like a glance looking for a fight.
But Nut saw through that, it was Inviting.
His eyes unintentionally dropped to the younger’s parted lips,
breath still catching, his lips glistening from the sweat,
and perhaps spit.
Hong licked his lips, unintentional.
But it lit something in Nut.
They stayed there, staring at each other.
Hong smirking, he felt his bait working.
And Nut was there, getting reeled in.
“P’hong? P’Nut?” the tension broke from Lego’s voice.
The members where still there, looking at them. William with a smirk plastered in his face.
The air smelled of smoke and beer. Lykn was at a Yakiniku they booked.
To celebrate, to end.
Est came, of-course he did.
Everytime, every encore Est was there for William.
They sat across each other, in their own world. Tui and Hong sat across each other, on Hong’s left was Lego, across him was Nut.
They weren’t parallel to each other nor were they close, but under the tables.
Hong’s foot managed to unintentionally bump into Nut’s, and every time he did, Nut would glance.
His foot would rise, grazing the older’s calf with his platforms.
His glances would linger a little too long, glancing from his eyes to the older’s lips.
And Nut’s breath would hitch.
After it went on longer than it should have,
He stood up, excused himself.
“Smoke” he said, glancing at William, with a small nod.
William didn't reply, glanced at Est instead and back to Nut.
Cant
Nut clicked his tongue and went out.
He went out and looked for a spot, or a dark alleyway perhaps, it reeked of alcohol mixed with smoke and paint.
A single light lit it up, flickering in the dark. He leaned against a wall, back pressed to faint graffiti.
He took out a pack of Marlboro, and lit it up with his lighter.
He inhaled, nicotine filling his lungs, and puffed.
He was drunk, he was high and maybe that explained the growing bulge in his pants.
Fuck
He muttered to himself, breathy.
He began recalling the things happening inside, the way Hong glanced at him a second too long, how the platforms of his shoes grazed him, how he cracked jokes but his eyes looked at Nut.
It always did.
And speaking of the devil, Hong went out.
Cheeks flushed, hair messy, lips parted.
Eyes heavy, drunk.
It made Nut want to ruin him.
Fuck him hard and deep.
But not yet.
He shouldn’t, he couldn’t.
Because if he did that would mean Hong won.
“Give me one” Hong broke the silence, one arm inside his hoodie, the other waiting for a cigarette.
Nut did not speak, but passed him one. Unlit.
The younger looked at him, one brow slightly raised, clearly waiting for a light.
He waited,
Until something,
something in him stirred.
He grabbed Nut’s Nape, brought it closer to his face, enough for them to feel each other's breath, enough for him to whiff the smoke filled breath from Nut.
He brought them closer, cigarettes touching,
It lit Hong’s.
And something else.
Something crept in Nut’s chest, like smoke.
Warm, heavy, perhaps the burn of nicotine and alcohol catching up to him.
Hong smirked, the cigarette freshly lit tossed on the ground.
Like he’d won something.
He turned his back, leaving, teasing.
That was it.
He cracked, his walls began to crumble, just as his composure did.
He grabbed Hong’s wrist, no hesitation, just grounding.
That shook the younger, clearly he didn’t expect Nut to do that.
“What the fuck do you want from me?”
Breathy, he reeked of alcohol and smoke, Nut cursed.
He cursed.
His smirk grew obvious
Look who’s winning
Hong didn’t speak, his eyes lingered on Nut’s face, his eyes, his nose, his lips.
That plump, pink, drunk— cherry flavored lips.
Of course he’d know how he tasted, they shared the same lip-balm, and perhaps forgotten drunken kisses one night in Songkran.
A drunken kiss covered in mistakes and regret.
Sloppy.
Heat-drenched.
Blurry at the edges.
Something that tasted like alcohol and the heat of Songkran.
Kisses only Hong remembered.
And maybe that was the worst part.
Not the kiss. Not the mess of it.
But the silence that followed. The look on Nut’s face the morning after, blank, distant, not even guilty—just unaffected.
Like it hadn’t happened. Like it hadn’t meant a damn thing.
But it did.
To Hong—it meant something.
He remembered the way they entered the bathroom, cautious.
As if what they were doing was taboo.
Half sober, half drunk
From ecstasy.
He remembered the weight of Nut’s body against him. The tongue that parted his lips. The hand that cradled his jaw too gently for something so wrong. The groan that spilled from Nut’s throat when their teeth clashed mid-desperation.
He remembered the need.
The way Nut trembled, just a little.
The way he reached first.
But now—
Nut’s grip tightened around his wrist again.
Firmer. Nails digging into skin like warning signs.
Hong winced, sharp breath catching in his throat.
But he didn’t hate it.
God, he didn’t.
He welcomed it.
He’s been waiting for this—for Nut to crack.
To snap.
To stop pretending he was unaffected.
To stop hiding behind that cool, unreadable mask.
And Hong—he must’ve smiled. Just a little. Just enough.
Because Nut’s jaw flexed.
That subtle twitch beneath his skin. That warning.
Still palming Hong’s wrist, Nut’s other hand came up, slow and steady.
To his neck.
Hot fingers curled around soft skin, not quite rough—but not gentle either.
Enough to leave a mark.
Enough to claim.
Hong’s breath hitched.
Their faces were too close. Eyes locked.
Breaths synced.
The heat between them didn’t just simmer.
It boiled.
Nut was losing control.
And Hong—
Hong looked like sin incarnate.
Flushed cheeks. Heavy lids. Lips— plump, pink, slightly parted.
Alcohol-warm breath ghosting over Nut’s chin.
His hoodie hung loose on one shoulder, revealing the slope of his collarbone, flushed and begging to be bruised. His pulse fluttered beneath Nut’s fingers like something alive. Fast. Nervous. Wanting.
Nut stared at him.
At all of him.
And Hong—he stared back.
Nut looked dominant.
So terrifyingly composed and not, all at once.
The veins in his neck—thick, visible. His arms taut, corded muscle beneath the skin, highlighted by the alley’s flickering light.
Especially his hands.
God.
Those hands.
One locked around his wrist, the other on his neck.
Firm. Unmoving.
Grounding.
Hong shivered.
Nut reeked of musk, sweat, and smoke— The kind of scent that stuck to skin.
The kind that lingered in bedsheets.
The kind you could smell days later and ache.
And Hong?
He was drunk on it.
Not the alcohol. Not the cigarette.
Him.
Drunk on Nut’s heat. His weight. His silence. His rage.
The kind of rage that wasn’t loud—but slow-burning.
The kind that tasted like desire too long buried.
And Nut—
He didn’t kiss him.
Not yet.
But his grip shifted—barely.
Thumb dragging along Hong’s jaw.
And Hong—he leaned into it.
Breath shaking.
Eyes fluttering.
Like a sinner begging for absolution.
Like a boy waiting to be ruined
.
“Stop looking at me like that” Nut breathed, heavy, still palming the younger’s collar pulling him closer and letting go.
Hong’s back hit the wall with a dull thud.
But Hong didn’t stop smirking.
He tilted his head, tongue flicking across his bottom lip — slow, deliberate.
“Is this you finally breaking, P’Nut?” he murmured, eyes glinting.
“Did I finally get under your skin?”
Nut said nothing. His gaze stayed locked, calm as ever — unreadable.
But something flickered in his eyes.
A flash of something dangerous.
“I always wondered how long it would take,” Hong went on, breath hot.
“What button I’d have to push to make you snap.”
Nut’s voice was low, steady.
“You think this is me snapping?”
His fingers ghosted higher on Hong’s neck — not choking, not caressing.
Claiming .
Hong let out a breath. “If it isn’t, I wanna see what is.”
Nut’s jaw clenched.
Hong leaned forward, their mouths a breath apart now, the air thick with alcohol and heat and something far older.
“I think you like it,” Hong whispered, a little smug, a little breathless. “Letting me get away with shit no one else could.”
Nut’s lips twitched.
A slow breath.
Then—
“I let you,” he said, voice like smoke.
“Because it’s the only way you know how to ask for me.”
And he kissed him.
Hard.
No warning. No buildup.
Just the sound of lips crashing, teeth scraping, breath hitching — all of it messy and off-beat, like they’d been starving for it.
Hong gasped into it, hands fisting in Nut’s shirt, dragging him closer. Nut pushed in deeper, pressed him harder against the wall, swallowing every sound the younger made like a challenge.
It wasn’t tender.
It wasn’t slow.
It was desperate.
It was filthy.
It was years of tension finally ripping open.
And Hong — drunk, aching, smug— moaned into Nut’s mouth like he’d won something.
Nut bit his lip in response.
Hard enough to shut him up.
Hard enough to draw a sound out of both of them.
-
Their mouths tore apart, both gasping.
Hong’s head thunked back against the wall, lips swollen, smeared from the kiss, breath ragged.
Nut stood close.
Too close—the kind of close where every inch of air felt electric, sharp like static.
For a second, neither said anything.
They just stared.
Hong’s chest rose and fell, erratic.
A smirk still lingered at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes—
His eyes weren’t teasing anymore.
They were dark.
Wrecked.
“You gonna tell me to stop now?” Nut’s voice was hoarse. Barely above a whisper.
Hong licked his lips again, slower this time—not to provoke, but to recover. He let out a breathy chuckle, shaky at the edges.
“If I wanted you to stop, I would’ve. But I didn’t.”
His hands stayed pressed at his sides, fists clenched like they didn’t know where to go.Nut leaned in again, lips brushing Hong’s jaw—just barely—not kissing,
not yet.
Just hovering. Letting the heat of his breath speak. Slow pecks.
“Do you like it rough or like this?” Nut murmured, as his lips traced the sharp line of Hong’s jaw. Then lower.
Hong’s breath hitched.
“Rough,” he said, almost like a dare—but his voice cracked.
Nut smirked.
His hand slid from Hong’s throat down his chest—slow. The kind of slow that made Hong shiver, that made his knees almost buckle.
Still, he didn’t stop him.
Didn’t even flinch.
Nut’s palm hovered just above the waistband of his jeans, thumb grazing the sliver of skin exposed there. Waiting.
Hong bit his lip— hard.
It wasn’t enough to stop the sound that slipped out when Nut’s hand finally moved.
Fingers sliding down.
Over the waistband.
Under it.
Palming him through his boxers.
A strangled sound caught in Hong’s throat—a mix of surprise, lust, and something dangerously close to surrender.
And then—
His hips moved.
Not consciously. Not deliberately.
But into it.
Grinding down against Nut’s hand, chasing friction like instinct took over before thought could catch up.
Nut still looked composed.
Barely flushed, barely blinking.
Except for the tight set of his jaw—and the way his fingers curled with slow, practiced precision.
“You play with fire,” Nut murmured against his cheek, “then act surprised when you get burned.” Hong exhaled sharply, hands still clutching the wall behind him like it was the only thing keeping him standing.
He groaned. “You always wanted to ruin me, didn't you?”
Nut’s thumb stroked lazily—too slow, too gentle.
A tease of control.
“I still might. Still do .”
“Then fucking do it,” Hong whispered, voice already wrecked.
Nut kissed him again.
Hotter this time.
Sloppier.
Teeth clashing. Breath shallow.
But still—only Nut touched.
One hand stroking between Hong’s legs, the other gripping his jaw, tilting it just enough to swallow every moan.
Hong’s body moved with him—into him—hips rolling, needy now.
All cocky confidence gone.
Nut let him.
Let him fall apart.
Guiding him with slow, deliberate motions.
Teasing. Stopping.
Restarting again.
Just before the edge—he’d pull back. Let him tremble.
Hong whimpered, desperate.
Face flushed, thighs tensed as he pushed against the wall for leverage.
“Please,” he gasped. “Please—just—”
Nut tilted his head, almost amused.
He just stared at Hong, Cold.
Unbothered.
Hong looked up at him, wrecked, eyes glistening.
Desperate for a release, barely a whisper.
“Please.”
And so Nut let him.
When it was over—when they finally pulled apart, clothes still on but creased, sticky, damp— Hong looked up, dazed.
Drunk on it.
Cheeks flushed. Hair clinging to his forehead. Lips glistening under the light—not from sweat, but spit.
Nut’s spit.
And Nut?
Nut looked like he’d finally exhaled.
Still unreadable.
But satisfied.
“I fucking hate you,” Hong said, breathless.
Nut chuckled low in his throat, tucking himself back in. Fixing his shirt.
“No,” he replied, glancing down at Hong’s ruined mouth.
“You don’t, You were begging for it.”
“ For me .”
-
They went back like nothing happened.
But the swollen lips and flushed cheeks said everything.
After that night, something shifted.
What started as a drunken alleyway makeout turned into a habit — a pattern — a secret rhythm only they knew how to follow.
After rehearsals.
Before performances.
In short moments backstage or behind costume racks.
They always found a way.
It would start with a glance — longer than a second.
A glance that turned into a stare, neither one looking away.
And if neither of them blinked—
“Bathroom,” Nut would say, casual as ever, while a stylist hovered mid-blow-dry.
He’d stand up. Glance at Hong.
Hong would smirk, low and slow. “I gotta go too.”
And he’d follow.
The bathroom door clicked shut. The air changed.
Nut’s fingers curled into Hong’s collar, pulling him close.
A smirk played on his lips, tongue clicking against his teeth as Hong’s back hit the wall.
They didn’t speak.
Not when their noses brushed.
Not when Nut unbuttoned Hong’s shirt.
Not when Hong palmed him through his pants, slow and cocky.
Not when they both reached for each other, hands fumbling, needy.
-
In the dim-lit dance studio, long past midnight, when the world outside was asleep and only the ghost of bass throbbed through the speakers,
they pushed it further.
Hong sat on the edge of the speaker, legs spread shamelessly, sweat-slick thighs framing Nut’s face.
Nut was on his knees — lips trailing down Hong’s chest, open shirt clinging to flushed skin,
Hips grinding against nothing like his body was begging without permission.
Hong’s head tipped back, mouth parted, a curse tangled with Nut’s name like it hurt to say
.
“You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?”
Nut muttered against his stomach, breath hot.
“What if the members walked in? Saw you like this?”
“Then do it.” Hong’s voice was a growl, low and wrecked.
“Shut me up.”
So Nut did — hands tight on his thighs, dragging him to the edge, tongue deep and slow like he wanted him to beg.
Hong bit his knuckles, trembling, breath fogging the mirror behind him as he choked back sounds that wanted to spill.
They never fucked — not fully — but it was always a line crossed in everything but name.
And this? This was worse.
This was need with nowhere to go.
Too close.
Always too close.
-
The riskiest one?
They didn’t even make it out of the parking lot.
Hong was already in the back seat, shirt pushed halfway open, legs parted in invitation. The moon lit up the sweat on his collarbones.
Nut climbed over him, knee forcing his thighs open.
“You’ve been eye-fucking me all night,” he murmured, lips brushing his jaw. “You want it here? Where anyone could see?”
“No one’s around,” Hong smirked, breath hitching. “Unless you’re scared.”
Nut chuckled darkly.
“You should be.”
He gripped Hong’s jaw and kissed him hard—deep, messy, claiming. His other hand slipped under Hong’s waistband, stroking slow and deliberate.
When Nut’s fingers pressed just right—rough, teasing—Hong arched up with a gasp, the windows fogging fast.
“Fuck—Nut—”
“You’re so loud,” Nut growled, dragging his tongue down his length, savoring every twitch.
“Keep moaning like that. Let them hear.”
Hong gripped the seat, legs trembling. He choked on a broken sound, chest heaving.
But Nut didn’t stop.
Didn’t even pause .
He flipped them, pushing Hong face-down into the leather, his own body slotting over him with a groan.
Their sweat mixed. The windows fogged.
Hong’s hands spread against the glass, breath fogging every inch.
Nut’s voice dropped against his ear.
“Squeeze your thighs.”
Hong obeyed, muscles tightening around him
“Tighter.”
He did—and Nut growled , hips grinding harder, teeth grazing the edge of Hong’s shoulder.
The car rocked with every thrust, moans and curses bouncing off the walls like they couldn’t be bothered to care who heard.
Because by then, they didn’t.
Not anymore.
Not when it felt this good to lose control.
Afterwards, Nut didn’t say a word. Just zipped him back up, and pulled his shirt gently back over his shoulders.
Then, without looking, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Hong’s bare shoulder.
Soft. Intentional.
Like it meant something.
Like they meant something.
-
The most dangerous was five minutes before a live show.
They were supposed to be mic’d up.
Instead, Hong dragged Nut behind the green room partition, climbed into his lap, and kissed him until they were both panting — trembling — flushed.
Nut’s hand slid under his shirt, over his ribs, barely holding back.
“Someone could walk in,” Nut whispered, voice strained.
“Then make it quick,” Hong hissed.
But always — always — stopping just before the line.
Never crossing it.
And still, it
never
felt like enough.
Because no matter how many times Nut made him fall apart,
Hong always left first.
Zipping up. Straightening his hair.
Walking out with a smirk.
Pretending it didn’t matter.
Even when it did .
At first, Hong told himself it was fine.
What they had — whatever it was — wasn’t real.
It wasn’t serious.
Just tension. Just chemistry.
Two idiots fumbling in dark corners with half-buttoned shirts and bitten lips.
He liked the thrill.
The way it made his skin buzz.
The way Nut touched him like he was
something solid.
Wanted.
Held.
He liked how good Nut was at pretending —
because it made it easier for him to do the same.
But over time, it stopped feeling like just touch.
It wasn’t the hookups that undid him.
It was everything in between.
The way Nut looked at him when the high wore off.
The way his hands lingered after.
The way he kissed him when no one else was watching — soft, unhurried, like it meant more than either of them dared say.
And Hong hated it.
Not because it felt bad —
but because it felt
too good.
Because something in his chest had started to ache in return.
A quiet, slow-burn longing he didn’t know what to do with.
So he did the only thing he knew how to do.
He pulled away.
Bit by bit.
Carefully.
The next time Nut kissed him, Hong let it happen.
But didn’t kiss back.
When Nut pressed him against the mirror, hand up his shirt,
Hong didn’t stop him —
but he didn’t reach for him either.
And when it was over,
he just buttoned himself up.
No teasing.
No smirk.
No trace of the boy who used to beg for more in locked bathrooms and fogged-up cars.
Just silence.
Like he was trying to put distance between them, even while standing inches apart.
He didn’t know what scared him more —
the fact that Nut noticed,
or the fact that Nut didn’t try to stop it.
Nut didn’t chase him.
Didn’t corner him the next night.
Didn’t even text.
And that absence — that quiet — settled in Hong’s chest like a bruise he couldn’t touch.
Days turned into weeks.
Moments faded.
And Nut stopped looking at him the same way.
Which was exactly what Hong thought he wanted.
Until it actually happened.
And that was the moment Hong began to question —
Was he really just something Nut wanted to fuck?
Or had that kiss — the one Nut left on his shoulder, slow and reverent —
betrayed the truth?
That maybe Nut wanted more.
That maybe they were more.
And Hong didn’t know what scared him more — the idea that he was wrong.
Or the terrifying chance,
that he might be right.
Nut’S POV
Nut noticed.
Of course he noticed.
The way Hong’s lips barely moved against his.
The way his fingers stayed clenched instead of tangled in his shirt.
The way he no longer said
“again”
or
“faster”
or
“don’t stop.”
The way his kisses had become an echo.
And maybe Nut had tried to ignore it.
Maybe he told himself Hong was tired.
Stressed. Distracted.
But it wasn’t that.
Because when Nut kissed him now — soft sometimes, without hunger — Hong froze . Like it meant too much.
Like it burned instead of soothed.
-
One night, after a late shoot, Nut cornered him in the hallway.
"Why won’t you look at me anymore?" he asked, voice low.
Hong blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“You used to kiss me like you meant it.”
Hong scoffed, defensive.
“It was just messing around. You wanted that, didn’t you?”
Nut stared. “Did I?”
For the first time, Hong looked away.
They didn’t talk about it again.
But after that, the gap between them only grew.
Fewer glances.
No more stolen moments.
No more whispered insults that led to hands on throats and lips on necks.
Just silence.
Just space.
And Nut hated it.
He hated how quiet Hong had become.
Hated how polite he was now,
How careful.
Like they had never happened.
Like none of it had.
-
Which is why, when the next party came — the one with LYKN and GMM artists and too much alcohol and not enough control.
Nut was already on edge.
He spotted Hong across the room, laughing at something, drink in hand, mouth red, cheeks flushed.
Not because of him.
Not anymore.
Hong’S POV
The night of the party, Hong showed up late.
Half a bottle in by the time he walked in, hoping the buzz would drown out the stupid feeling sitting in his chest.
The music was loud.
Lights low.
People pressed shoulder to shoulder.
He laughed too loud, drank too fast, leaned into strangers with the kind of recklessness that felt forced.
But his eyes kept drifting across the room.
To him.
Nut's POV
The body shot game started as a joke.
Someone shouted his name.
A girl pulled him forward.
He didn’t resist.
It was just another performance.
Another dare.
He didn’t even care what her name was — just closed his eyes as she leaned in, licking salt off his collarbone like he was something on display.
The room cheered.
He looked up, scanning instinctively.
And saw Hong watching him.
Not laughing. Not smirking.
Just staring. Frozen.
Eyes dark and unreadable.
Then, just like that — Hong turned and walked out.
Hong’s POV
He didn’t know why he walked out.
Or maybe he did.
Maybe it was the sound of everyone cheering when that girl pressed her mouth to Nut’s skin.
Maybe it was the way Nut didn’t flinch.
Didn’t stop it.
Didn’t even look like he remembered Hong existed.
Or maybe it was the part of him that didn’t want to feel anything anymore.
His chest ached.
Not from jealousy — but from something worse.
Regret .
The night air hit him like a slap.
He leaned on the balcony railing, gripping it tight, heart pounding harder than it should’ve.
He could still feel Nut’s hands on him.
Still hear his voice.
“You always come undone so easily for me.”
“Don’t look away — I like seeing you like this.”
“You don’t have to pretend with me, Hong.”
Words that weren’t meant to mean anything.
But they
did.
And for weeks, he had pretended they didn’t.
But now — he would’ve given anything to feel that again.
Just once.
Just enough to believe it wasn’t too late.
He didn’t go far.
Just around the corner of the rooftop, hidden from most of the crowd.
He needed air.
Or a cigarette.
Or maybe a whole new version of himself.
His hands shook.
He hated that they still remembered how Nut used to hold his face when kissing him.
So gently.
Like it mattered.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his palms together, like friction could erase memory.
“Hey.”
He turned.
It was another artist. One from one of the new GMM groups — slightly older, tall, all long limbs and confident swagger.
His button-down shirt hung open just enough to expose a sharp collarbone and a lean chest that hinted at time well spent in the gym.
His hair was artfully tousled like he'd just come from a shoot, and his smirk?
Dangerous.
The kind that curled slowly, like he knew exactly how hot he looked — and knew Hong was watching.
He leaned in close when he spoke, voice low and drawling with just the right edge of teasing.
A silver chain glinted at his neck.
His fingers skimmed the rim of his glass like he had nowhere else to be — except maybe right up against someone else’s skin.
And when he looked at Hong?
It was the kind of look that peeled clothes off.
The kind that made people forget their own names.
They’d talked before.
Harmless. Flirty.
But tonight, there was something hungrier in the way he moved.
“You alright?” the guy murmured, stepping into Hong’s space.
Hong didn’t answer.
The guy’s hand came up—confident, practiced—and tilted Hong’s jaw.
“You don’t look fine.”
And Hong—
Hong let him.
He let their mouths meet, slow and deliberate, all heat and no hesitation.
It wasn’t like Nut.
It wasn’t soft.
I wasn't careful.
It was a fire alarm in a quiet room.
The guy kissed like he wanted to fuck the ache out of him.
Tongue deep, teeth rough, breath hot and unrelenting.
Hands gripping his waist, fingertips skating under his shirt like he already owned the skin there.
Hong let his back hit the wall.
Let the noise in his head go static.
Let himself feel wanted, even if it meant nothing.
Maybe if he let this stranger shove him up against something solid—
Maybe
if he bit back the memory of Nut’s voice,
Nut’s hands,
Nut’s everything—
He could pretend he wasn’t still unraveling.
But he was.
And this wasn’t enough.
Still, he kissed harder.
Let the guy’s hand push lower.
Let himself burn .
Because if he couldn’t feel Nut,
He’d settle for feeling
anything
.
Even if it left him hollow.
And then—
“Get the fuck off him.”
A voice.
Sharp. Cold. Familiar.
NUT’S POV
He didn’t expect to see that.
Didn’t expect to turn the corner and see Hong—
His Hong.
Pinned against a wall.
Kissing someone else.
Gripping him like he wanted to be ruined.
Hands greedy, sliding over his waist like he had a right.
Hong didn’t stop it.
Didn’t flinch. Didn’t fight.
And something inside Nut snapped.
He didn’t remember stepping forward—
Didn’t remember grabbing the guy by the collar and throwing him off,
or the sound of knuckles meeting jaw.
Only remembered the sound Hong made — startled, breathless.
“You fucking—are you insane?! ” Hong was already pushing at his chest, eyes wide with disbelief.
Nut grabbed him by the collar, shoved him back against the wall.
“I should fucking kill you,” he growled, breath hot.
“You let him touch you? Let him kiss you?”
“You don’t get to say shit—!” Hong shouted back, trying to twist away.
Nut yanked him forward again. “The fuck I don’t!”
“Let go of me—!”
“No.” Nut’s fingers fisted Hong’s shirt, wrinkling the fabric, dragging him back in so fast their faces nearly collided.
“Not until you say what the fuck that was.”
“You wanna talk about it now?” Hong sneered.
“After weeks of ignoring me? After acting like you didn’t give a shit?!”
“I didn’t ignore you—” Nut snarled.
“You didn’t fucking try! ”
Hong shoved him back this time, both hands slamming into Nut’s chest.
“You just let me walk away. You let me believe it was nothing!”
Nut stumbled, caught himself, and lunged.
Fist grabbed Hong by the arm, swung him back into the wall.
The thud echoed.
Jaw clenched.
Breaths fast.
Faces inches apart.
“You think I didn’t fucking care?” Nut hissed. “You think I didn’t see the way you stopped touching me? The way you stopped even looking at me—like I was dirty ?”
Hong’s lip curled. “I pulled away because you scared the fuck out of me.”
“I scared you ?” Nut spat.
“You’re the one who made me feel like I was losing my fucking mind. Like we were something.
Like I imagined every single fucking time I held you—”
“You did,” Hong whispered. “You did imagine it.”
That broke him.
Nut slammed his palm against the wall beside Hong’s head, his body pinning him there.
“No,” he growled.
“You felt it. Same as me.”
“I didn’t feel shit,” Hong bit back.
“So you let some random bastard touch you like a fucking toy instead?”
Nut’s voice cracked into something wild, violent.
“You wanted to be touched that bad, huh?”
“I wanted to forget. ”
Hong’s voice cracked. His eyes, finally — finally — showed something else.
Not rage. Not smugness.
Just something broken.
“I wanted to forget you. ”
Nut blinked.
Then punched the wall again.
“Let’s go,” he said, voice hollow.
“What—”
“We’re leaving.” He grabbed Hong’s arm and dragged him. “Now.”
“Fuck you—let go—”
“I said we’re leaving.”
Neither of them remembered the walk to the car.
Or the slammed doors.
Or the way the engine roared/
Only the way Nut drove — too fast ,
Headlights sharp, tires screeching on turns, one hand gripping the wheel like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
Hong didn’t say a word.
Didn’t yell.
Just sat there, chest rising and falling, fists clenched in his lap.
Like he knew something was about to break.
And maybe he wanted it to.
The door barely slammed shut behind them before Nut shoved Hong against it.
Their bodies collided again, lips inches apart.
“You want to settle this?” Nut breathed, low, guttural.
“Then fucking settle it. ”
He grabbed Hong by the jaw, eyes dark, teeth grit.
Hong didn’t move.
Didn’t flinch.
Just looked at him — mouth swollen, breathing heavy, like every inch of him was begging to be ruined.
Nut’s hand slid down, grabbing the front of Hong’s pants.
“You want this?” he hissed.
“Want me to fuck it out of you?”
Hong’s voice was a whisper
“Do it.”
That was all it took.
They crashed into each other like a fire that had waited too long to burn.
The door hadn’t even clicked shut when Nut shoved Hong back against it.
Their bodies slammed together.
Shirts pulled.
Breaths ragged.
It wasn’t lust.
It wasn’t love.
It was everything they’d buried finally clawing its way out.
“You want to act like a fucking slut in public?” Nut hissed, his voice low and shaking. “You think anyone can just put their hands on you?”
Hong didn’t answer.
Didn’t fight.
He looked up at Nut through his lashes — flushed, defiant, daring.
And that only made Nut angrier.
“You let him touch you like that?” he snapped, yanking Hong’s shirt open. Buttons flew. “Is this what you fucking wanted? Huh?”
He dragged him forward by the waistband, and threw him toward the couch.
Hong stumbled, caught himself on the edge of the cushion.
Nut was already kneeling between his legs.
“Bet he didn’t even know what to do with you,” he growled, fingers digging into Hong’s hips.
“Bet he couldn’t make you beg.”
His teeth grazed skin — sharp, punishing, possessive.
“You’re mine,” Nut spat, voice low against Hong’s thigh.
“You’re always mine.”
And Hong—
He didn’t argue.
He just leaned back and let it happen.
Because Nut wasn’t asking.
He was taking.
His mouth worked fast and angry, every touch bruising, every movement meant to
undo
Hong — not with care, but with punishment.
Tongue slick and ruthless.
Grip tight, unrelenting.
It wasn’t about pleasure.
It was about power.
Every moan Nut coaxed out of him was dragged , demanded.
Every gasp was earned.
And after what felt like an eternity of Nut going down on him, it finally came.
The hard length pushed through his entrance, and Hong winced at the stretch.
“Fuck,” Nut moaned, breathless.
“You’re so fucking tight.”
Hong laid back against the bed, barely keeping eye contact — his gaze flickering, glassy, unfocused.
Nut’s hand was locked around one of the younger’s legs.
The other crept slowly up — from stomach,
to chest,
to throat.
Then his fingers gripped Hong’s jaw, forcing it up.
“ Look at me when I fuck you. ”
Hong’s red, swollen eyes met Nut’s — dark, cold, unreadable . But they held no victory, no pride. Just fury laced with something worse.
Resentment.
Disappointment.
Each thrust punched out a gasp from Hong’s lungs, the sounds muffled behind his bitten lip.
Nut didn’t slow.
He drove in harder — deliberate, punishing.
A rhythm that didn’t falter, like he was trying to fuck the memory of that kiss out of him.
His fingers slid from Hong’s jaw up to his mouth, pressing two between his lips — forcing them open .
“Muffle it all you want,” he growled, voice ragged.
“ Say it. Let me hear you. Say who does it better. ”
Hong gagged softly, breath stuttering, before choking out,
“You—fuck—it’s you.”
“ Damn right, ” Nut spat.
“Fucking slut.”
“That desperate for attention?”
He didn’t stop.
Not when Hong went quiet.
Not when the moans faded into silence.
Not even when Hong draped his arms over his face —
ashamed. Hiding.
Nut still moved inside him — sharp, bitter.
Vengeful.
“Bet he didn’t even touch you right,” Nut sneered, thrusting harder.
“What did he do, huh? Just kiss you? Let you grind on him like a cheap little toy ?”
Silence.
“And you let him,” Nut spat.
“You let some fucker who doesn’t even know your name make out with you.”
“You knew I’d find out.”
“ Did you want me to? Did you think I’d chase you after that? Like a dog?”
Hong’s throat trembled.
He said nothing.
He
couldn’t.
Because if he opened his mouth now, the sob would escape.
“I bet he didn’t even make you come,” Nut hissed
“ You only come for me. You know that, don’t you? Say it.”
Still, Hong stayed quiet.
His hands trembled as they gripped his own forearms, hiding his face.
He wasn’t moaning anymore. He wasn’t pushing back.
He was just… there.
Until—
A sigh.
A quiet, broken sound.
Barely human.
Nut’s chest heaved. Something hot coiled behind his ribs, and not the kind that fed his lust.
“I bet that guy wasn’t even half as good as me,”
Nut muttered, but this time, the edge in his voice wavered.
“Were you really that desperate? That lonely? ”
Silence.
A beat.
Then—
Sniffle.
Barely audible. But it shattered everything.
Nut froze.
He leaned back slightly, the heat still burning off his skin — and looked at him.
Hong’s face was wet.
Not sweat.
Not spit.
Tears.
Slipping down his cheeks.
Quiet. Unnoticed.
As if he’d gotten used to crying without making a sound.
Nut stopped moving altogether.
His chest tightened. Something inside him cracked.
He blinked.
Fuck
Was he hurting this entire time?
Was I too rough?
Did he even want this?
But the answers never came. Not when he looked down and saw Hong still covering his face, trembling — not from pleasure, but from the weight of it all.
From everything they were too scared to say.
And suddenly, it didn’t feel like power anymore.
It felt like guilt.
Nut froze.
Everything slowed.
His chest was still heaving.
His hands still wrapped around Hong’s thighs.
Lips swollen.
Heartbeat ringing in his ears—
But all of it faded the moment he saw Hong’s face.
Like ice-cold water poured down his spine.
Tear-streaked.
Not the kind of tears that come with pleasure.
Not overstimulation.
Not bliss.
These were quiet, broken tears.
Shaking breaths.
Red-rimmed eyes.
The kind of crying someone tries to hide ,
Muffled under bent arms, swallowed down through bitten lips.
And it knocked the air clean out of him.
“H-Hong…” Nut whispered, voice hoarse. “Hey—hey, look at me.”
But Hong didn’t.
He kept his arms where they were, shielding his face.
Like the shame was too much.
Like if Nut saw it, it would break something worse than bones.
Another sniffle.
Another silence.
Nut pulled out—slowly, carefully—like even that movement might splinter what was left of them.
He sat back on his knees, chest still rising and falling fast, hands trembling on the bedsheet.
He didn’t reach for him.
Didn’t dare touch.
“Shit…” he murmured, barely audible. His throat closed.
He looked at Hong, just lying there.
Still.
Chest trembling with every uneven breath, tear tracks glistening under the low light, lips raw from being bitten down too long — as if silencing his own pain would make it disappear.
And Nut’s anger?
It didn’t just recoil.
It died.
Curled back into the hollow of his ribs, where it twisted into something uglier — shame.
Not satisfaction.
Not dominance.
Not the sick edge of revenge he thought he wanted.
Just a gut-deep, marrow-heavy regret that burned through his spine like rot.
His hands dropped from Hong’s legs as if scorched.
All that rhythm, all that fury — suddenly meaningless.
And all he could do was stare —
At the boy beneath him.
The one who used to laugh with him.
Tease him. Fight him.
Now crying.
Now breaking.
Because of him .
Nut swallowed hard, throat tight, heart thudding like a warning.
He’d gone too far.
Too far to take back the words, the thrusts, the degradation meant to wound.
And yet all he wanted now—
was to take it all back.
“Hey,” Nut said again, voice trembling now.
“ Hey—are you… are you hurt? Look at me, please—just look at me.”
No answer. Just the sound of shallow, shuddering breaths.
“I’m sorry.” The apology cracked in his throat.
A threadbare attempt to reach him. “I didn’t mean—”
“No.”
It barely registered as a word, but it cut sharp.
Real.
Undeniable.
Nut froze, already shifting back, trying to pull away.
“Let’s stop,” he whispered. “We’ll stop—”
But then Hong flinched. A small, involuntary shudder. And then—
“Keep going.”
A whisper.
So soft it barely existed. So hollow it didn’t sound like him.
“ I'm fine ,” he added.
A lie so fucking thin it nearly broke Nut in half.
He stilled completely.
The weight of everything crashing down at once—lust, guilt, adrenaline, shame.
And beneath it all, him.
Not just Hong.
But the boy he knew ,
He loved.
And this—this wasn’t him.
So Nut moved, slowly, carefully.
Not to continue. Not to claim.
But to hold.
He sat up, arms wrapping gently around Hong, easing him into his lap, letting him straddle him without pressure. One hand settled on his back.
The other hovered, hesitant, as if touching him too much would make it worse.
“Hey… what’s wrong?” he whispered, voice broken with fear.
He leaned in, pressed a kiss to Hong’s damp forehead, then another.
“I’m sorry,” he choked.
“I’m so fucking sorry—”
But Hong’s palms were already on his chest, shoving hard.
Shoving him back.
“ Don’t. ”
One word.
Sharp. Final.
It hit harder than any punch.
“ Don’t kiss me like that. ”
Nut froze — lips still half-hovering against Hong’s forehead, breath still warm between them.
His hands dropped instinctively from Hong’s waist, landing limply against the mattress.
It was like getting hit in the chest with nothing but the truth.
“I wasn’t trying to—” he started, but the words felt useless.
Too soft. Too late .
“Yeah, you were,” Hong said, finally looking at him — eyes glossy, jaw tight.
“You always do.”
Nut blinked, swallowing back the sick feeling rising in his throat.
“What does that mean?”
“You touch me like you care .”
A pause.
“Then fuck me like you don’t .”
That landed harder than any punch.
Nut reached out again, slower this time, fingertips grazing Hong’s arm.
“I do care.”
Hong pulled back.
This time, it was sharp.
“Stop,” he muttered
“Just—stop saying that. It doesn’t mean anything now.”
Silence.
The only thing that moved was the air between them.
Heavy. Stifling.
“I didn’t mean for it to go that far,” Nut said again, like if he repeated it, maybe it would undo it.
“But you let it,” Hong snapped — not loud, but with something deeper than volume.
“You looked me in the eye and still said it. Still did it.”
“I thought you liked it like this—”
“I didn’t think it would make me feel like nothing .”
Nut stopped breathing.
“I wanted you to look at me and see something more,” Hong whispered.
“But you only ever see what you want .”
“Not what hurts. Not what I won’t say out loud.”
“You could’ve said something—”
“I tried.” His voice broke.
“I tried pulling away. I tried not touching you first. I tried everything but you wouldn’t let me go.”
Nut's voice turned small. “Because I didn’t want to.”
“And I didn’t know how to say no anymore.”
They stared at each other.
Naked.
But not from clothes.
From everything they’d kept behind jokes, touches, smirks in hallways and glances during rehearsals.
“I should go,” Hong muttered, pulling on his shirt, the movements slow, mechanical.
His fingers kept missing the buttons.
Nut sat frozen, arms half-outstretched, unsure if he had the right to touch him anymore.
Hong didn’t cry again.
He just breathed — shallow, unsteady, face turned away.
Nut swallowed. His voice was low. Careful. “Hong… I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
No response.
“I was
angry
. I—fuck, I snapped. I saw you with him and I—”
His voice cracked.
“I lost it. But that wasn’t fair. What I did… it wasn’t okay.”
Hong sat still on the edge of the bed, back to him now, dressing in silence.
His hands trembled as he pulled his shirt over his head, fabric clinging to sweat and regret.
“I just wanted to forget,” he said finally.
Quiet. Hollow.
“That’s all I’ve been doing with you. Isn’t that what you wanted too?”
“No.” Nut’s breath hitched.
“That’s not—Hong, I—” He stood up, half-dressed, panic rising now.
“I care about you. I fucking care, okay?”
“Don’t,” Hong said again, firmer this time, as he slipped on his shoes.
“Don’t say that. Not after tonight.”
“I didn’t mean for it to go that far—”
“But it did.”
Nut stepped closer, slowly. “Let me make it right.”
“You can’t.”
“I want to.”
“You should’ve wanted to before you called me a fucking slut.”
That hit. Hard .
Hong turned toward the door, keys already in hand.
And Nut reached for his wrist. Gripping—not tight—but enough to stop him.
“Don’t walk away.”
Hong’s jaw clenched. He still didn’t look at him. “I need to.”
“You’re just running.”
“And you’re still pretending this didn’t mean something.”
Nut’s breath caught.
Finally— finally —Hong turned to face him.
Eyes red. Voice shaking.
“You kissed me like you loved me. You held me like you meant it. And I hated you for it. Because I kept telling myself it was just sex—”
“It wasn’t.”
Hong laughed. Bitter. “Then why did it feel like punishment every time?”
Nut didn’t have an answer.
He only had the ache.
And Hong’s hand, still warm in his.
“ Please don’t go ,” Nut whispered, voice threadbare.
The words slipped out like a final breath.
Hong looked at him.
Not with anger.
Not even with hurt.
Just something brittle.
Already broken.
His lips trembled before he said, quieter this time—
“
Why now?
”
Nut swallowed hard.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly, voice barely holding.
“Maybe because, I’m scared this is the last time you’ll let me try.”
The silence that followed felt like punishment.
Then—Hong pulled his hand away.
Not in fury.
Not even in defiance.
Just
gently
.
Like letting go of something that had already slipped .
Nut didn’t stop him.
Didn’t beg again.
Didn’t reach.
He only watched.
And just before the doors slid shut,
Hong turned slightly—eyes unreadable.
“Let’s pretend none of this ever meant anything.”
Click.
The doors closed.
And Nut stood there.
Chest bare. Heaving.
Mouth parted like he had more to say.
But it was too late.
And for the first time in a long, long time,
Nut realized what true loneliness tasted like.
Not silence.
Not absence.
But the echo of someone walking away—
who once looked at you like you were everything.