Drenched in Desire

Jae hi didn't return home that night.

Instead, he stayed in Eunsu's bed, his arm draped over the artist's bare chest as they lay tangled in the sheets. Eunsu's breathing was steady, his fingers idly tracing patterns on Jaeho's forearm, but the silence between them was heavy—unspoken fears, desires, and questions simmering just beneath the surface.

Eunsu broke the quiet first. "So, what now?"

Jaeho didn't respond immediately. He stared at the ceiling, his jaw tight, his thoughts a chaotic mess. What now? That was the question he couldn't escape.

"I don't know," Jaeho admitted finally, his voice low.

Eunsu let out a soft laugh, but there was no humor in it. "At least you're honest."

Jaeho turned onto his side, his dark eyes locking onto Eunsu's. "I'm serious about you," he said, his tone firm.

"Are you?" Eunsu asked, his gaze sharp. "Because it doesn't feel like it when you keep one foot in your world and the other here. I can't—" He stopped, exhaling shakily. "I can't be something temporary for you, Jaeho."

"You're not," Jaeho said, his hand reaching up to cup Eunsu's cheek. "You're not temporary."

Eunsu wanted to believe him, but the doubt lingered. "Then prove it."

Jaeho's lips parted, but before he could speak, his phone buzzed loudly on the nightstand.

Eunsu tensed. "You gonna get that?"

Jaeho hesitated, his hand hovering over the phone before he finally picked it up. The screen lit up with a name that made his stomach drop: Minji.

Eunsu saw the name too.

"Of course," Eunsu muttered, sitting up and pulling the sheets around his waist. "Perfect fucking timing."

Jaeho silenced the call, placing the phone face-down on the table. "It's not what you think."

"Isn't it?" Eunsu snapped, his voice rising. "She's your fiancée, Jaeho. No matter what you say to me, that's not going away."

Jaeho sat up, his hands gripping the sheets as frustration flashed across his face. "You think I want to be engaged to her? That I chose this?"

Eunsu let out a bitter laugh. "Maybe you didn't choose her, but you're still choosing to stay in that world."

Jaeho leaned forward, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Do you think it's that simple? That I can just walk away?"

"I think you're scared," Eunsu said, his eyes blazing. "You act like you're this untouchable, controlled man, but the second things get messy, you freeze. You want me, but you won't fight for me. So, what am I supposed to do with that, Jaeho?"

Jaeho's chest heaved, his hands twitching like he wanted to grab Eunsu, to pull him back into his arms. But Eunsu wasn't finished.

"You're a coward," Eunsu said, his voice trembling with anger and hurt. "And if you can't figure out what the fuck you want, don't come back here."

Jaeho's heart clenched painfully at the words, but before he could respond, Eunsu got up, grabbing his clothes and disappearing into the bathroom.

The drive home was a blur.

Jaeho gripped the steering wheel tightly, his mind replaying every word Eunsu had said. The anger, the pain—it was all justified. But the truth of it cut deeper than anything Jaeho had ever felt before.

He couldn't keep living like this—caught between two worlds, unable to fully commit to either.

By the time he reached his penthouse, his phone was buzzing again. Another call from Minji.

He ignored it.

Instead, he poured himself a drink, staring out at the city skyline as his thoughts spiraled. His entire life had been built on control, on doing what was expected of him. But for the first time, he didn't want that control. He wanted chaos. He wanted freedom.

He wanted Eunsu.

Meanwhileq, at Eunsu's apartment...

Eunsu stood under the shower, the water cascading over his skin, but it did little to wash away the frustration burning in his chest.

Jaeho had gotten under his skin in a way no one else ever had. He hated the way he felt so vulnerable around him, like every wall he'd built over the years crumbled the second Jaeho touched him.

But he couldn't keep doing this—not with a man who was half in and half out.

When he stepped out of the shower, he found himself staring at Jaeho's jacket still hanging on the chair. The faint scent of cedarwood and something darker clung to the fabric, a painful reminder of the man who'd just walked out of his life.

"Fuck," Eunsu muttered, running a hand through his hair.

He didn't know how to move forward, but one thing was certain: if Jaeho wanted him, truly wanted him, he'd have to fight for it.