Chapter Text
Seongje doesn’t understand what it is that Go Hyeontak doesn’t understand.
He hates fighting the same people over and over, hates the boredom of predictable victories, hates when people dismiss him. And yet, he keeps returning to Hyeontak. Seongje says he hates repetition. But he’s been circling the same boy like gravity itself bends for him.
And that idiot, he dares to go on a date with a girl. What, because Seongje didn’t show his face for two weeks(only because he knew Hyeontak had a tournament and Seongje doesn't want his opponents to gain an unfair upper hand, weak as Hyeontak already is)?
As if he can be replaced.
As if that’s how this works.
Baekjin calls him in.
Still behind his desk, surrounded by his lame schoolwork and authority, he doesn’t even look up when he speaks. “Did I not tell you to leave Go Hyeontak alone?”
“You did,” Seongje sighs, collapsing into the couch like it’s his rightful throne.
“Then why did Baku storm in here again? Screaming about leaving his friends alone?”
Seongje scoffs, lazy and unbothered. “What? Gotak belongs to him now? Every look is Baku’s business?”
“I don’t know,” Baekjin finally looks up, eyes sharp and voice calm. “You tell me.”
“I’m messing around,” Seongje says coolly, “This has nothing to do with you or Baku. It’s between me and Gotak.”
He meets Baekjin’s stare, refuses to blink. He may be the so-called head, but Seongje doesn’t answer to anyone. He’s not here because he needs to be, he’s here for the thrill.
Baekjin doesn’t flinch. “You’re in the Union. What you do reflects the wishes of the Union.”
“Fine,” Seongje rises, sharp and smooth, like a blade unsheathing. “I’ll leave, then”
“No need for theatrics,” Baekjin replies, tone flat. “Just make sure Baku knows I didn’t send you.”
Perfect. That gives him one more excuse to go see Hyeontak. A visit, it is.
He rings the doorbell, just once. Enough to be heard but not enough to seem eager. Hyeontak’s mother opens the door, kind-eyed and unsuspecting.
“Hello, ma’am. I’m Gotak’s friend,” he says, all sugar and deception.
“Ah, really? He didn’t mention anyone coming over. That boy.” She smiles, steps aside. “Come in.”
She calls down the hallway, “Hyeontak-ah, your friend is here.”
“Baku, just come in,” Hyeontak’s voice echoes back.
“It’s not Baku,” his mother calls, gesturing for Seongje to go ahead, exactly what he wants.
The door opens just as he arrives.
Hyeontak stands shirtless in the doorway, caught mid-motion and freezes the second he sees him. His expression shifts from shock and dread to something unreadable.
He’s beautiful.
Not just the way he looks, although Seongje takes that in too, every muscle, every bruise he left behind like a signature. But the vulnerability in the way he stands. Unready. Exposed.
Seongje’s gaze lingers on a particularly dark bruise near his ribs and something inside him curls in satisfaction. His hands did that. His presence lives in the lines and bruises of Hyeontak’s body.
Hyeontak pulls him inside without a word, slamming the door behind them.
“What are you doing here?” he hisses.
“Nice bruise,” Seongje says, reaching for it.
Hyeontak slaps his hand away, shoves his shoulder, “Stay away from my family.”
“Or what?” Seongje tilts his head, voice honeyed and sharp. He has no intention of doing anything to his mother. But if it riles Hyeontak this much, why not push?
Hyeontak throws on a shirt, movements frantic. No time to process, no room to breathe. The next moment, a kick comes flying, fast and hard, and it lands on Seongje’s arm with intent.
Fine. If it’s a fight he wants.
Seongje grabs him by the collar, dragging him in close. His thumb presses into the hollow between Hyeontak’s collarbones. Not gently, not kindly. If the way Hyeontak stops breathing is anything to go by, it hurts.
Hyeontak stops breathing.
“Listen, you piec--” The door opens.
And then, Hyeontak’s mouth is on his.
It happens so fast he barely registers it. Lips pressed in panic, a desperate smokescreen. Seongje doesn't move, couldn’t. The kiss is brief, desperate, a cover-up that tastes too much like want. Then, it's over. Hyuntak turns to his stunned mother, face flushed with a thousand emotions.
She clears her throat, not unkindly, “I left money to order dinner. I have the night shift. But clearly, we have things to talk about. Come on out.”
Hyeontak gives Seongje a death glare before following. Seongje follows too, rolling his eyes, still dazed by the ridiculousness of it all.
They sit at the dining table. Hyeontak fidgets beside him, his leg bouncing in sync with the ticking of the clock in Seongje's head.
“Hyeontak, talk,” his mother prompts.
“Um..” Hyeontak stares at his lap. “I like guys.”
She doesn’t react the way he seems to expect.
Her expression softens. “I figured. But I want to know what’s going on between you two.”
“Nothing,” they both say at once.
Her brow arches, “That didn’t look like nothing.”
Hyeontak panics, “He’s not my boyfriend! I barely know him!”
Seongje suppresses a smirk. That'll have to change.
“Hyeontak,” his mother warns, “you kiss boys you barely know?”
“I-I was curious.”
“Curious,” she echoes, turning the word over like a pebble.
“Yeah…curious,” he says again, more certain now. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“But you’d tell me if he was?”
“It’s never going to happen.” The shrug is too careless. Seongje sees through it. We’ll see.
“And your name?” she turns to Seongje.
“Keum Seongje.”
She nods. “What’s your relationship with my son?”
He hates the question. Seongje has never in his life, since he attained consciousness and grit, felt the need to lie. But tonight, he does it. “We’re friends, ma’am.”
“Friends who kiss?”
“Apparently.” he replies dryly.
She almost smiles. But the duties of motherhood keeps her firm.
“Well. I’m off. But this conversation isn’t over, my curious child,” she says, tousling Hyeontak’s hair.
“Mom..”
“And next time Seongje visits, the door stays open. No funny business. You're dismissed for the time being." She turns to Seongje with a knowing smile, "Seongje-yah, be good to my son, okay?” Seongje almost nods before he realises what he's doing and stops himself.
“I told you it’s not like that,” Hyeontak mumbles.
She ignores him. “Money’s beside the TV. Don’t get curious again.” She leaves.
The silence hangs for a beat too long.
Then Hyeontak shoves him, “Why are you here?”
“No need to get violent. I was telling you, before you shut me up.”
“Oh my god,” Hyeontak covers his face, “I did that because it was easier than explaining what was actually happening.”
“You sure it wasn’t just an excuse to kiss me?” Seongje leans in, voice low. “Be honest. You’ve thought about it, haven’t you?”
Hyeontak turns scarlet.
Oh.
“Ohhh. You have,” Seongje grins, “You dream about it. You’re such a little freak. What willl Baku think?”
“I swear to god, shut the fuck up and get out of my house.” Hyeontak grabs him and drags him to the door.
Seongje doesn’t resist. He puts on his shoes lazily, all the while sensing Hyuntak’s unease like he's waiting for the next surprise, trying to anticipate his next move, acting like he knows Seongje will turn and hit him any moment now.
And that? That irritates Seongje. He likes being unpredictable. So, he acts. He moves quickly, grabs both of Hyeontak’s arms, leans in, doesn’t rush.
Hyeontak flinches but doesn’t pull away. His eyes close, a breath escapes.
Seongje kisses him.
This time, it’s deliberate, measured. Soft. And then, Hyeontak kisses back. Harder. Real, this time. No audience. Just the two of them and a heat that simmers between fury and longing.
Hyeontak clutches at Seongje’s jacket like it’s the only thing anchoring him. Before he knows it, Seongje's hand is on the back of his head, pushing them closer together.
They don’t stop until Seongje chooses to.
When they part, Hyeontak looks stunned. Like he’s trying to reconcile something that doesn’t fit in his head. No punches. No insults. Unguarded, as though caught in a dream he isn't t ready to wake from.
So, Seongje speaks, “I came to tell you that I'm not here because of Baekjin. Or Baku. I’m here because I want to be. You are my area of interest. My playmate.”
Still no reply. Good.
If only he’d known stunned silence suited Hyeontak so well, he’d have kissed him much sooner.
Seongje opens the door to leave. Pauses. “Don’t think too hard,” he says, smirking. “You might lose the only crease left in your brain.”
And then he’s gone.