Chapter 8

Ju-woon's head was pounding.

A deep, dull ache settled behind his eyes, throbbing with every slow beat of his heart. His body felt heavy, like he was drowning in deep sleep, sore from muscles he didn't want to think about. Something wasn't right—the air, the warmth against his skin, the sheets he was on.

Sheets that weren't his.

His fingers twitched, grasping the fabric while the senses kicked in. The scent in the air didn't belong to him—faint traces of cologne, warm skin, someone else's presence lingering in the space next to him.

And then he felt it.

The slow, steady rhythm of breathing next to him.

Ju-woon's eyes snapped open.

His body turned stiff, blood running cold as he turned his head with dread curling in his stomach even before his brain could process why.

And there he was.

Min-ho. 

Right next to him, half-buried face first in the pillow, his slightly disheveled black hair fell over his forehead. The bedclothing barely reached up to his waist, exposing the sharp cut of his upper body golden under that soft light seeping in through the blinds. His lips were slightly parted, breathing steadily, and the very face seemed peaceful in sleep.

For a moment—just a moment—Ju-woon forgot to breathe.

Min-ho didn't look like the smug, teasing bastard Ju-woon knew. He didn't look like someone who had just ruined him last night. He looked… calm. Peaceful. Too intimate in that moment. 

Then, as if a horrible floodgate burst open, memory came in crashing.

The party. The drinks. Min-ho's hands on him. The teasing words, the knowing smirk, and the way he had come apart under Min-ho's touch.

Ju-woon shot up in bed so fast the sheets slipped down his naked body; a sharp inhale caught in his throat. No. No, no, no… A slam in his ribs told him that it was all too real.

Half-clothed in his underwear, he thought briefly, and where Min-ho had pulled off the shirt he had worn yesterday was across the room, the jeans scattered nearby, and the shoes Obviously nowhere in sight.

He had to get out.

His hands were shaking as he reached for what was left of his clothes, jerking stiffly. Every noise seemed ominous in the eerie silence of the room-every rustle of fabric, every creak of the bed. He cast a terrified glance toward Min-ho, hoping he wouldn't wake up and…

Min-ho stirred.

Ju-woon froze, heart racing.

But he merely sighed softly and shifted a bit before settling back into a sound sleep.

He didn't waste another second. 

Snatching up his jeans, he threw them on, losing his shirt in the process, then grabbed his shoes and ran from the apartment.

Ju-woon had very little memory of the bus ride back to his own place. His body had reacted and moved on instinct with the overwhelming desire to escape. 

Now he stood in his own room, gripped tight against the edge of the desk as he tried to steady himself. His hands still shook. His breathing was irregular-as if he had just run a marathon. 

What the hell was that? 

He had flings before. He'd had drunken mistakes before. Last night should have been nothing more than that-a mistake-a senseless and easily forgotten error. 

So why does this feel so different? 

Why did his stomach pull tight at the mere thought of Min-ho's touch still lingering on his skin? 

His phone buzzed, bringing him out of the reverie. He blinked and looked down. 

Class in an hour. 

And suddenly it struck him. 

Min-ho is in that class. 

And worse—we sit next to each other. 

Shit.

Ju-woon stepped into the lecture hall ten minutes late, his heart still beating too fast in his chest. He kept his head down, his grip on his bag tight, hoping—praying—that Min-ho wouldn't be there yet. Maybe he'd skipped. Maybe— He wasn't that lucky.

Min-ho was already there, seated exactly where he always was. Casual. Relaxed. Like nothing happened. He was twirling a pen between his fingers, his long legs stretched out under the desk, expression unreadable. But the second Ju-woon stepped closer, he felt it-that gaze, heavy and knowing, dragging over him like Min-ho already knew every thought racing through his head. Ju-woon swallowed, forcing himself to sit down without looking at him.

The silence was suffocating. Min-ho said nothing. No smug teasing, no offhanded remarks, nothing to make this worse. And somehow, that was so much worse. Ju-woon's fingers tapped restlessly against the desk. The professor's voice was just noise in the background, words slipping past him without meaning. All he could focus on was the heat of Min-ho sitting right there. The fact that his body still remembered Min-ho's hands. The way he could still smell him faintly on his clothes. At one point, Min-ho shifted in his seat, stretching his arms behind his head-and his hand brushed against Ju-woon's chair. A light touch. Barely anything. But it sent a jolt through Ju-woon's entire body, making his fingers tighten against his notebook.

He heard it then-the soft, amused exhale from Min-ho's lips. Ju-woon clenched his jaw.

Bastard.

The class dragged on, the air between them thick, heavy, unbearable.

Then, finally-the bell rang. Ju-woon bolted up, shoving his books into his bag without care. He needed to leave, to breathe, to pretend like last night never happened.

But just as he reached the doorA strong grip wrapped around his wrist.

Before he could react, he was yanked back, pulled out of the flow of students and into the shadowed alleyway next to the building. His back hit the cold brick wall.

And Min-ho was right there.

Standing too close, body caging him in, his grip still firm around Ju-woon's wrist.

His dark eyes burned with something unreadable, something dangerous. Ju-woon's breath hitched. "What the hell-" Min-ho leaned in, voice low, deep, too calm.

"Gonna talk about what happened yesterday?" Ju-woon's stomach flipped. Not just from the way Min-ho's breath ghosted over his skin.

Not just from how close he was, how the warmth of his body still felt like an echo of last night.

But because he didn't have an answer.

Did he want to forget? Or did he want more?

Shit.

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