Chapter Text
Gunwook grabbed a glass of champagne from one of the waiters, the cool liquid fizzing gently against the crystal. The room was packed with sharp suits, glittering gowns, and the unmistakable scent of expensive cologne and perfume layered over something deeper — dominance, arrogance, and the heavy expectation of bloodlines.
His oldest brother, Jiham, had dragged him along to this so-called social party. It was one of those events where the most elite families paraded their prized alpha and omega offspring like thoroughbred racehorses. Perfect smiles, practiced laughs, and eyes constantly assessing — who was stronger, who was prettier, who was worthy.
But Gunwook didn’t care.
He didn’t care that he was an alpha. He didn’t care about the politics, the posturing, or the desperate way people tried to offer up their sons and daughters like bargaining chips for alliances and status. It was always the same — someone’s daughter batting her lashes, someone’s son “accidentally” brushing against him, their parents lingering nearby with hopeful eyes. It made his skin crawl.
The only reason anyone in this room treated him like royalty wasn’t because of him — it was because of his family name. The Park family was one of the most feared in the country, their reputation cemented by his father’s ruthless work. No one crossed the Park family and walked away untouched. That kind of power clung to them like a shadow, and it made these parties even more unbearable.
Gunwook leaned against one of the marble pillars, scanning the room with disinterest. Somewhere amidst the crowd, Jiham was already making rounds, shaking hands, charming investors, and securing partnerships. Jiham didn’t love these gatherings either, but as the heir to the company, he was good at it. He knew how to navigate the snakes, how to trade a smile for information, a drink for leverage.
Gunwook took a slow sip of the champagne. The bubbles stung his throat, but it was better than nothing. He just needed to survive the night without throttling anyone or starting a scandal their mother would laugh about for weeks.
The evening was just getting started. Gunwook was halfway through his second glass of champagne, already debating how soon he could slip out without causing a scene, when someone caught his attention.
It wasn’t easy to stand out in a room like this — a sea of tailored suits, perfectly styled hair, and faces sculpted by genetics and money. But this one… damn.
He was tall, his frame long and lean, dressed in a jet-black suit with subtle velvet rose embroidery that fit like it had been sewn onto his skin. Sharp features, a strong jawline softened by the kind of beauty that made people stare a second too long. And those eyes — foxy, cat-like, narrowed just enough to give him a dangerous, teasing edge. They were lined in dark, but still light makeup that made them pop against flawless skin, a soft sheen catching the light every time he turned his head.
Gunwook wasn’t the type to get distracted. He usually tuned out the flirtatious glances and lingering looks, but this… this was different. Was he an omega? He was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at him for too long.
Gunwook found himself staring, his grip on the champagne glass tightening. The stranger moved through the crowd with a lazy kind of grace, the world parting around him like he was something untouchable, something important.
And for the first time that night, Gunwook wasn’t bored. He tilted his head, curiosity prickling under his skin. Who the hell was that?
Gunwook couldn’t take his eyes away. The stranger moved like he owned the damn room, people crowding around him, trying to catch his attention — but none of them seemed to matter.
There was a cold kind of detachment in the way he faked a nod, a polite distance in the tiny curve of his lips. And then, without a word, he broke away from them.
Gunwook’s pulse kicked up. The stranger was walking toward him.
For a split second, Gunwook’s mind scrambled, and like a guilty idiot caught staring, he quickly looked away — pretending like he hadn’t just been watching him like a starved man at a feast. He lifted his glass, pretending to be oh-so-fascinated by the chandelier overhead, though his eyes flickered back without meaning to.
Closer now. And then it hit him. A scent. Faint at first, then impossibly thick and sweet as the space between them narrowed. Strawberries — fresh, sharp, and mouthwateringly ripe. But underneath it, something heavier. The kind of heady weight that settled in the air and made it harder to breathe, made skin prickle, made instincts twist.
Pheromones…
Gunwook’s throat went dry. His alpha instincts, usually easy to ignore, stirred awake, and it pissed him off how easily it happened. How easily this beautiful stranger threw his balance off with nothing more than a look and the scent of strawberries wrapping around him like silk.
He didn’t even know the guy’s name, and yet the room suddenly felt suffocating, heavy, charged. Who the hell was this? And why did it feel like the night had just shifted on its axis?
The strawberry smell was intoxicating, Gunwook felt like he was getting lightheaded. But the thing was… those weren’t omega pheromones. Gunwook realised it too late. The scent was sweet, yeah — but not submissive, not soft, not the kind of delicate pull omegas carried.
This was heavier, sharper, threaded with something dark and commanding. It didn’t ask for attention; it demanded it. And it left a lingering sense of warning, like sharp teeth hidden behind a smile. More intimidating than any alpha he’d ever met.
The stranger didn’t even seem to notice the effect he was having, or maybe he just didn’t care. He’d stopped a few metres away from Gunwook, standing before one of the oversized art pieces mounted on the wall. The painting itself was abstract — streaks of red, black, and white that looked like chaos frozen in time. Fitting, really.
Gunwook stole another glance, careful this time. The stranger’s profile was ridiculous. Sharp nose, high cheekbones, full lips that looked almost too pretty for this place. And his eyes… even from the side, those fox-like eyes had a glint to them, like they saw things most people missed.
Damn. He was so nice looking it was unfair.
Gunwook ran his tongue along his teeth, debating. Maybe he should talk to him. At least get a name. Worst case, he gets shot down. Best case… well, who the hell knew. His fingers tightened around his glass. Yeah. Screw it.
Gunwook took a quiet, steadying breath and pushed off the pillar, crossing the few metres of space between them. His heartbeat was annoyingly loud in his ears, and he hated how ridiculous it made him feel. He was an alpha, for fuck’s sake — he didn’t get nervous. And yet here he was, palms a little clammy, stomach doing an irritating flip.
The stranger didn’t turn when Gunwook stopped beside him, still admiring the chaotic smear of colour on the canvas like it was something worth his attention. Up close, the scent was stronger — that intoxicating mix of strawberries and something sharper.
Gunwook cleared his throat. “Park Gunwook,” he introduced, forcing his voice steady, aiming for cool and confidence but it came out a shade too careful.
The stranger finally turned his head, those sharp, foxy eyes flickering over Gunwook like a casual inspection. A once-over. Not lingering. Not flirty. Just a calm, unreadable stare.
His expression stayed stoned — not cold exactly, just impossible to read. Then, finally, in a voice so velvety and low it felt like it slipped under Gunwook’s skin and settled there, the stranger spoke. “Shěn Quán Ruì,” he said, then the faintest of smirks tugged at the corner of his mouth. “But everyone calls me Ricky.”
Gunwook’s face flushed, heat prickling along his neck and ears. Goddamn, even his voice was perfect — smooth and deep, with a slight edge to it, like silk hiding a blade. He swallowed. “Nice to meet you,” he managed, already cursing how awkward it sounded in his head.
Ricky just hummed, turning his gaze back to the painting, like Gunwook was an interesting footnote but not the main event. And weirdly, that only made Gunwook want to know more.
Gunwook lingered, every part of him wanting to say more, to keep the conversation going — or hell, even start a real one. He didn’t know why, but something about Ricky hooked him. He’d never seen him before, and in a circle this small, that was rare. And Gunwook wanted to know more. Needed to.
He opened his mouth, words right on the tip of his tongue—
“Gunwook.”
Gunwook stiffened as Jiham suddenly appeared at his side, a hand clapping onto his shoulder like a vice. His older brother’s tone was all calm authority, but there was an unspoken ‘don’t embarrass me’ edge to it that Gunwook knew too well.
“There are some people you need to meet.”
Gunwook’s eyes widened, a little spike of panic flaring. No. No no no. Not now! Not when he was finally talking to this guy.
“H-Hyung, give me a sec—”
“Gunwook-ie.” Jiham’s voice lowered, expression tight but polite, flicking a glance at Ricky with a single raised eyebrow. Not exactly hostile, but sizing him up the way older brothers did when they smelled potential problems. “This is important.”
Gunwook’s jaw clenched, cheeks burning in frustration. Of course it was. Of course now, when for the first damn time tonight something interesting happened, he had to go play heir-apparent loyal little brother.
Ricky didn’t say anything. He just watched the exchange, expression unreadable, but Gunwook swore there was a flicker of amusement in those sharp eyes. Like he knew exactly what kind of hell Gunwook was being dragged into.
Gunwook swallowed his annoyance and managed one last glance at Ricky.
“I’ll… see you around?”
Ricky’s lips quirked — the barest, faintest smirk. “Maybe.”
And with that, Jiham was already steering Gunwook away toward some uptight board member and his equally uptight omega daughter, while the scent of strawberries lingered behind like a goddamn ghost.
Gunwook was pissed.
And intrigued.
And completely screwed.
A few weeks later, Gunwook still couldn’t get Ricky out of his head.
It was pathetic, really. He’d tried. Focused on training, meetings, family dinners, mind-numbing reports Jiham shoved at him — none of it worked. That party was already a blur of fake smiles and empty conversations. Gunwook couldn’t even remember what that smug CEO had said to him, or the name of the omega daughter who kept trying to touch his arm.
But he remembered everything about Ricky.
The sharp line of his jaw. The lazy, unreadable glint in those fox eyes. The velvety way his voice wrapped around the syllables of Shěn Quán Ruì. The way his scent hung in the air — strawberries and danger.
Gunwook groaned into his pillow, flopping onto his bed like a lovesick idiot.
Why hadn’t he asked for his Kakao?
It would’ve been so easy. “Hey, mind if I get your ID?” Casual, like it was nothing. But no — he let Jiham drag him away and now he was stuck thinking about a guy he’d spoken to for, what, thirty seconds?
He didn’t even know where the hell to start looking. No one at the party had mentioned him by name. No whispers of a powerful family bringing in a new alpha or omega, or whatever Ricky was. Nothing. And it was driving Gunwook insane.
His phone buzzed and he grabbed it like a lifeline, only for it to be a dumb meme from his friend group chat. Gunwook sighed, tossing it aside.
Maybe he’d show up again. Maybe. Hopefully. And if he did… Gunwook wasn’t leaving without a number, and maybe a taste of those strawberry lips.
Wait what?!
Gunwook sat up so fast he nearly launched his phone off the bed. His heart did a weird, traitorous stutter as the words replayed in his head.
A taste? Like… a kiss?
His face went hot. “What the fuck—!” he hissed at himself, raking a hand through his hair like it’d help erase the thought. Since when was he out here daydreaming about kissing strangers?
Okay, not a stranger. Ricky. But still.
Gunwook groaned, falling back against his pillows, one arm flung dramatically over his face.
“Get it together, dumbass,” he muttered.
He was an alpha. A Park, for fuck’s sake. He wasn’t supposed to get all flustered over pretty faces and velvety voices and eyes like sharpened glass. And yet here he was, weeks later, face burning like some kid with his first crush.
A kiss, huh? Gunwook chewed the inside of his cheek. Okay, maybe just a little one. Hypothetically. And if Ricky tasted even half as good as he smelled—
“Fuck.” Gunwook grabbed a pillow and smacked himself in the face with it. This was already getting out of hand.
Gunwook was mid self-inflicted pillow suffocation when his phone buzzed again. He groaned, half-expecting another dumb meme or a passive-aggressive reminder from Jiham about tomorrow’s meeting. But when he picked it up, it was a message from Gyuvin, his loudest, most reckless, and debatably worst-influence friend.
Gyuvin [20:07]:
YAH, new club opening in Itaewon tonight. VIP only. You coming or you gonna rot in that sad-ass room of yours?
Gunwook stared at the screen, debating. He should say no. He had things to do tomorrow — family obligations, business meetings, boring company shit. But then that treacherous little thought snuck in again.
What if he’s there? What if that pretty menace was leaning against the bar, sipping something dark, giving the room those sharp little glances that made Gunwook’s brain short-circuit like a rookie in heat?
“Fuck it,” Gunwook muttered, thumbs already moving.
Gunwook [20:08]:
Send me the address.
No more moping. No more pillow smothering. If the universe was feeling generous and threw Ricky in his path again, Gunwook wasn’t about to waste it. He was getting a number, a dance — and if the night went his way, a taste of those smug, strawberry-scented lips.
“Pretty menace, you better show up.”
Gunwook didn't waste any time, quickly getting in the shower and freshening himself up. He wasn’t the type to overthink his clothes, but tonight felt different. If he was walking into a club full of alphas, omegas, and social climbers, he wasn’t about to look like some forgettable heir-apparent.
He threw on a black silk button-up, the kind that clung just enough to hint at the build underneath without screaming for attention. The top two buttons stayed undone — a deliberate kind of carelessness. Around his neck, a thin silver chain glinted against his skin.
Over it, a tailored midnight-blue blazer, just flashy enough to catch the light but dark enough to stay mysterious. The fabric shimmered faintly when he moved, like oil on water. Simple black slacks, sharp as hell, hugged his legs, and a pair of polished designer boots which added a little height he didn’t need but liked anyway.
A silver ring or two, nothing excessive, and a sleek watch that cost more than the average car. Hair messy in that ‘I don’t try but I look good anyway’ way.
He checked the mirror once and smirked. Cool. Confident. A little bit of mystery. Exactly the kind of look you wore when you were hunting for a pretty menace.
Gunwook slid out of the taxi, ignoring the line of chauffeured black cars and luxury sedans crowding the curb. He didn’t need some stiff in a suit opening his door. Not tonight.
The bass from the club thumped through the pavement, neon lights slicing through the night. He adjusted the cuffs of his midnight-blue blazer, smirking to himself, and headed for the entrance.
Gyuvin spotted him first, waving him over with a grin that could’ve lit up the whole damn block. Gunwook reached him easily, weaving through the small crowd like it parted for him naturally. When he was close enough, they clasped hands in that casual, practiced way — the kind of greeting that said brothers-in-arms, partners in crime.
And fuck, Gyuvin looked good tonight too. He was decked out in a charcoal-grey leather jacket, cropped just enough to flash the tailored black turtleneck underneath. A delicate chain hung around his neck, catching the neon lights in flashes of silver. Slim-fit black trousers and dark combat boots that added a rough edge to the look.
Where Gunwook was smooth and dangerous, Gyuvin was sharp and reckless. Together, they looked like they’d walked off the pages of some high-fashion streetwear magazine — all lean lines, sharp jaws, tall figures and cool stares.
They towered over most of the people passing by, and more than a few heads turned. Some stared outright, others tried to be subtle about it. The pair of them weren’t the kind of faces you forgot in a crowd like this.
“Yah, you clean up nice, Gunwook-ie,” Gyuvin teased, giving him a once-over. “Trying to steal hearts tonight or start a fight?”
Gunwook smirked. “Why not both?”
Gyuvin laughed, throwing an arm around his shoulders as they headed for the VIP entrance. And somewhere in the back of Gunwook’s mind, that familiar itch returned.
Pretty menace… you better be in here.
Inside, the club was a sensory overload. Low neon lights. Heavy bass thrumming through the walls. Smoke machines and expensive perfume hanging thick in the air. The kind of place where alphas postured, omegas flaunted, and everyone else tried to act like they belonged.
Gunwook and Gyuvin didn’t have to try. They walked in like they owned the place. It wasn't the first time they'd been the centre of attention, but regardless they could have carried themselves all the same.
Gunwook, a neutral alpha, carried himself with the kind of quiet, heavy presence people instinctively moved aside for. He didn’t need to puff his chest or bare his teeth — it was there in the way his gaze cut through the room, in the calm, dangerous ease of his steps.
Gyuvin, though a recessive alpha, moved with that same confidence. Maybe it was the sharp grin, the quick, reckless glint in his eyes, or the fact that standing next to Gunwook, the two of them together, made people pay attention by default. Either way, they both carried an air of importance, like you should know their names, or you’d regret it.
They made their way through the crowd, brushing past groups of overdressed elites and hungrier-looking social climbers.
“VIP’s upstairs,” Gyuvin shouted over the music, jerking his head toward the staircase, already flashing his invite at a bouncer built like a wall. Gunwook followed, his eyes scanning the crowd. Not for faces he knew — for one he couldn’t stop thinking about.
Then, like fate was in a particularly generous mood tonight, he saw him.
Leaning against the bar at the far end of the VIP lounge. Jet black suit. Foxy eyes catching the light. Glass in hand. That same sharp, unreadable expression. The pretty menace himself. Ricky.
Gunwook’s stomach did a stupid flip.
“You see someone?” Gyuvin asked, catching the shift in his expression.
“Yeah.” Gunwook’s lips curved into a smirk. “Trouble.”
Gyuvin tried to follow the line of Gunwook’s gaze, squinting a little through the haze of lights and bodies. And when his eyes landed on Ricky, something in his expression shifted. His usual cocky grin dropped for a second, replaced with wide eyes and a sharp breath through his teeth. “No fucking way.”
Before Gunwook could even ask, Gyuvin pushed off from where they were standing, weaving through the VIP crowd with none of his usual swagger — like a man on a mission.
“Yah—what? Wait, Gyuvin—” Gunwook called, confused as hell but following without a second thought.
They cut through the room fast, Gunwook’s curiosity spiking with every step. Gyuvin never looked like that. Not for anyone. Not for omega idols, not for elite heirs, not for power-hungry alpha execs.
And yet here he was, storming toward Ricky like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Ricky, for his part, didn’t flinch. He clocked them approaching with those lazy, sharp eyes, one brow lifting in mild interest like oh? you again?
Gunwook was still two steps behind when Gyuvin reached him, stopping dead in front of Ricky.
“I don’t fucking believe it.” Gyuvin hissed, staring at him like he was seeing a ghost. “You’re alive? You’re actually alive?”
Gunwook’s stomach dropped. What the hell? Alive? What did that mean?
He stepped up beside Gyuvin, heart pounding now for a whole different reason, eyes darting between his best friend and the pretty menace he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about.
“You two know each other?” Gunwook asked, voice tight. And Ricky just smirked. That same dangerous little curve of lips that made Gunwook’s pulse spike.
“It’s been a while, Gyuvin.” Voice like velvet and sin. “Did you miss me?”
For a second, Gyuvin just stared, like his brain was still trying to catch up. Then — like someone flipped a switch — his face broke out into a wide, shit-eating grin.
“You cocky bastard!” Gyuvin laughed, smacking Ricky’s arm before yanking him into a hug like they hadn’t just dropped some cryptic, life-or-death-level drama in the middle of a club. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you were back from Shanghai?!”
Ricky rolled his eyes, but there was a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He returned the hug, one-armed and half-reluctant, but it was there. “I didn’t feel like being smothered by you the second I landed, Gyuvin.” That voice, smooth as dark silk and sharp as a switchblade, like he was born to sound smug.
Gunwook just stood there, flabbergasted. Mouth slightly open, blinking between them; what the actual fuck is going on?
“Wait—wait, hold on, hold on,” Gunwook blurted, raising a hand like he was physically trying to slow the conversation down. “You two… you know each other? Since when?!”
Gyuvin laughed, pulling back from Ricky and throwing an arm around Gunwook’s shoulders “Bro, this little menace? We go way back. Boarding school days. LA. He disappeared like a damn ghost a couple years ago, nobody’s heard from him since.”
Gunwook’s jaw dropped a little more, flicking his gaze to Ricky, who was watching him with that unreadable, half-amused stare. Pretty menace, huh? Turns out he wasn’t just pretty. He was a fucking mystery. And Gunwook was already too deep in this mess to turn back now.
Gyuvin kept the conversation rolling like no time had passed between them at all. “Shit, man — how’ve you been? What the hell have you been up to? How’re your parents? Your old man still scaring the life out of people?” he grinned, nudging Ricky like they weren’t both dressed like minor royalty in a club full of greedy predators.
And to Gunwook’s surprise — and irritation — Ricky actually answered. Not just with cold, clipped one-liners, but easy, casual replies. Like he didn’t mind giving Gyuvin the time of day.
“Been alright. Busy. Shanghai was… intense, but you know how it is. My parents are still alive, unfortunately, and my old man’s worse than ever.” He sipped his drink, eyes glinting under the low club lights. “He sends his regards. In his usual charming way.”
Gyuvin barked out another laugh, clapping him on the back. And standing there beside them, Gunwook growled under his breath. He didn’t mean to. It slipped out, low and quiet, but Gyuvin caught it — glancing at him with a knowing smirk.
Gunwook scowled, looking away. He shouldn’t feel like this. Shouldn’t be annoyed that his best friend knew the guy he’d been obsessing over for weeks. Shouldn’t give a shit that Ricky was actually smiling a little around Gyuvin, when he’d barely spared Gunwook a glance at that stupid party.
They were old friends. Obviously, they’d get along. Nothing to be pissy about. But fuck if it didn’t grate on his nerves. And that smug little flicker of amusement in Ricky’s eyes when he shot Gunwook a side glance? Yeah. He fucking knew.
While Gyuvin kept rambling, catching up like they weren’t standing in the middle of a packed VIP lounge, Ricky lazily tipped his glass to his lips. His sharp, fox-like eyes slid sideways to Gunwook, clocking that tight jaw and the barely-contained scowl.
And he had the gall to fucking smirk.
“Something wrong, Park Gunwook-ssi?” His voice was velvet-wrapped poison, smooth and knowing, like he’d peeled Gunwook’s whole mood apart in a single glance.
Gunwook stiffened, instantly defensive. “What? No.” Too fast. Too obvious.
Ricky’s smirk deepened. “You’ve been scowling since I hugged Gyuvin. Didn’t peg you for the jealous type.” The way he said it — low and edged with amusement, like he was teasing a bite out of him — made Gunwook’s pulse spike.
Gyuvin nearly choked on his drink, cackling. “Oh shit — Gunwook, are you seriously pouting right now? Bro. Bro!”
“I’m not pouting.” Gunwook snapped, but his ears were hot and he could feel it.
Ricky just hummed, sipping his own drink again like he wasn’t completely wrecking Gunwook’s cool. “Relax, pretty boy. If you wanted my attention, you could’ve just asked.”
And there it was — that smug, lethal little grin. Gunwook’s stomach dropped clean through the floor. Yeah. He was so fucked.
Gyuvin burst out laughing, practically doubling over as he pointed between the two of them. “Goddamn, I missed you, Rick — but don’t be an ass. You can’t just show up and bully my boy like that.”
Ricky didn’t even blink. Just smirked, eyes still locked on Gunwook, like he was trying to see how deep he could push before it cracked. Gunwook glared back, jaw tight, though his ears were still burning. He couldn’t let this get under his skin, he refused.
Gyuvin scoffed, shaking his head as he took a swig of his drink. “And besides — how do you even know he wasn’t pouting ‘cause he wanted me back to talk to, huh? Ever think of that?”
At that, Ricky actually laughed, a low, smooth sound that made Gunwook’s pulse kick up for a whole different reason. He raised an eyebrow at Gyuvin, sharp and amused.
“Please. If he was pouting over you, he’d be clinging to your arm like some lovesick pup.” Another smirk, gaze sliding back to Gunwook. “That wasn’t a ‘where’s Gyuvin’ pout. That was an ‘I want attention’ pout.”
Gunwook made a sound halfway between a growl and a scoff. “In your dreams.” But even as the words left his mouth, he knew he’d already lost whatever high ground he thought he had — because Ricky’s eyes glinted like he’d just won something anyway.
Gyuvin just laughed harder. “God, you two are gonna kill me. I swear, I already need another drink.” And just like that, the night was officially out of Gunwook’s control.
Ricky took another slow sip of his drink, eyes never leaving Gunwook. That smug little grin stayed plastered on his stupidly perfect face, like he was having the time of his life watching Gunwook unravel.
“Tch. Relax, Park Gunwook-ssi. Don’t act like you’re not enjoying the attention.” His voice dipped low, just enough for Gunwook to catch over the music, smooth as silk and twice as dangerous.
Gunwook straightened, scowling. “Y—You don’t know me. Don’t act like you do.” He meant for it to sound sharp. Cool. Dismissive. But it came out kind of weak. Stumbling over the first word, biting back the nerves in his throat — and obviously Ricky fucking caught it.
The bastard grinned, leaning in the tiniest bit closer, just enough to dip into Gunwook’s space and make his pulse go haywire. “No? Could’ve sworn I had you figured out, sweetheart.” He winked. Actually fucking winked.
Gunwook’s brain short-circuited. “Yah—! I—You—Shut up.” His comeback was nonexistent, face burning, fists clenched at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.
Gyuvin nearly dropped his drink from laughing so hard. “Bro, this is the best night of my fucking life. I should’ve brought popcorn.”
And through it all, Ricky just smirked, that wicked, fox-eyed menace, knowing he’d thrown Gunwook completely off balance — and loving every second of it.
Gunwook sucked in a deep breath, squaring his shoulders like he was about to face down a goddamn boardroom full of alphas. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might break his ribs apart, but fuck it. He wasn’t about to let some pretty menace with equally gorgeous eyes but a smug mouth get the better of him.
Not twice.
He met Ricky’s gaze dead-on, lips quirking into a cocky smirk he didn’t entirely feel, but it was good enough to pass. “You talk a lot of shit for someone who keeps hovering around me like a moth to a flame.” His voice steadied at the end, a little rough, a little cocky.
Ricky’s grin sharpened, pleased. There it is.
Gyuvin let out a wheeze. “Holy shit, Gunwook actually bit back. Someone call the press.” Gunwook shot the elder alpha a glare, but it seemed to have no effect on Gyuvin whatsoever.
Ricky chuckled, eyes glittering like he was genuinely impressed. “There we go. Knew there was some fight in you, Park Gunwook-ssi. Guess I’ll have to stick around and see how much.”
He tipped his glass in salute before draining the rest, the promise in his words hanging heavy in the air like a dare. Gunwook’s stomach flipped, heat curling in his chest.
Gyuvin, still grinning like a cat who’d caught two very stupid, very petty mice, grabbed both of them by the wrists and tugged them toward an open booth. “Alright, you two lovebirds — enough with the tension. Drinks are on me.”
Gunwook grumbled under his breath, but followed. Lovebirds? Please. Even if it was a joke, it clawed at Gunwook’s chest, but he couldn’t tell if it was painful or pleasant.
A server was flagged down and a round of top-shelf stuff ordered like it was pocket change. Gyuvin flopped down on one side of the booth, Gunwook sliding in opposite after — and of course, Ricky took the seat right beside him like it was fucking natural.
Gunwook’s pulse was still in his throat. God, how was he supposed to keep this going when he was already cracking under the pressure.
Gyuvin immediately launched into a story, waving his hands as the drinks landed.
“So anyway — this punk here,” he gestured to Gunwook, “I met him at university. First week, campus mixer, and the dude picked a fight with a third-year alpha for cutting in line at the bar. Didn’t even blink. Been my guy ever since.”
Gunwook groaned. “You don’t have to tell him that.”
“Why not? It was such a good night, the way you squared up to that guy. I swear he avoided us like the plague after that.” Gyuvin laughed, happy thinking back on their memories.
Ricky smirked, leaning back lazily, one arm draped along the top of the booth, eyes sliding to Gunwook like he was studying something curious. “You go to university?” The way he said it — like it was mildly shocking, or maybe like he’d expected something different — made Gunwook’s hackles rise.
He narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. Final year.”
Ricky hummed, that smug little half-smile tugging at his lips again. “Didn’t peg you for the academic type, sporty type maybe. Guess there’s more to you than fists and pouts.”
Gunwook scoffed, but his face was warm again, and he hated that Ricky could do that to him so easily. He didn’t need to know that Gunwook was actually in the top 3 students of their entire year.
Gyuvin just cackled, raising his glass. “To surprises. And Gunwook’s soft-ass heart under all that brooding alpha nonsense.”
They clinked glasses, and Gunwook swore he felt Ricky’s fingers brush against his a little longer than necessary. Goddamn it. He was doing it on purpose!
Gyuvin was already two drinks in and getting loud in that way only he could pull off — lounging back with a shit-eating grin and no shame whatsoever. “Man, you should’ve seen this one as a kid, Gunwook. A menace even back then. Alphas, omegas, betas — didn’t matter. They were all on his tail.” He jabbed a finger toward Ricky, who just groaned and rolled his eyes, but didn’t bother denying it.
“Every damn school event, some poor fool would be trying to confess to him. House parties? Absolute bloodbath. Even the fucking teachers used to trip over themselves.” Gyuvin snorted, shaking his head fondly.
Ricky leaned back in the booth, an exasperated little sigh escaping him as he swirled the ice in his glass. “They were just stupid kids. And it was worse back then…”
“Bro, you had a fourth-year alpha crying in the hallway after you rejected him when you were fourteen. Don’t even play.” Gyuvin recalled, his head lolling to the side in amusement.
Gunwook couldn’t help it — he turned, eyes catching on Ricky’s face. The lights of the club flickered over his sharp features, catching on the edges of that impossibly perfect jaw, those too-pretty lips. And then Ricky’s gaze lifted, catching him looking.
Gunwook’s breath stuttered. For a second, the noise of the club felt like it dropped away. Ricky’s fox-like eyes held his — unreadable, sharp, but with something behind it that made Gunwook’s pulse skip.
Not a smirk this time. Just… watching.
Gunwook swallowed hard, looking away and grabbing his drink like it was the most interesting thing in the world. Ricky smirked again, but this one was softer. A little quieter. Like he’d seen something he liked.
Gyuvin grinned, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, eyes glinting like he was about to stir up some real shit. “Alright, alright — but for real, Ricky. Was there anyone you were even interested in back then?”
He raised an eyebrow in response. Gyuvin carried on, “you broke hearts like it was your damn hobby, but you never actually liked anyone. What gives?”
Ricky’s lips curled into a crooked smirk, like the question was amusing but not surprising. He swirled the amber in his glass lazily, gaze dropping for a second before flicking back up.
“Nothing really.” A shrug. “People are easy. Predictable. Boring. Same shit, different faces.”
Gyuvin snorted. “God, you’re such a menace.”
Ricky’s eyes slid sideways again — to Gunwook. Held there a little too long. “Never found anyone who could keep up.”
Gunwook’s throat went dry. Was it the heat of the club or the fact that Ricky was basically looking at him when he said that?
Gyuvin missed the tension completely, laughing as he waved a hand. “You’re hopeless. No wonder you disappeared to Shanghai. Nobody here could handle you.”
Ricky hummed, but his gaze didn’t leave Gunwook. And Gunwook… Well, he was starting to think maybe he wouldn’t mind trying to keep up. Fuck… what was he even thinking?!
Ricky caught the flash of panic before taking a slow sip of his drink, never breaking eye contact. His gaze was sharp, teasing, but there was a heat in it now — something heavier under the playful smirk.
He set his glass down, leaned in just a fraction closer, voice dropping low enough that only Gunwook could catch it over the noise. “Though…” A lazy, dangerous smile. “Maybe I just hadn’t met the right kind of trouble yet.”
His eyes flicked down to Gunwook’s lips, then back up — deliberate. Smooth as fucking sin.
Gunwook’s breath caught. His pulse went wild, throat dry as sandpaper. And that fucking menace just leaned back again like he hadn’t just lit Gunwook’s entire bloodstream on fire.
Gyuvin, completely oblivious, was already flagging down the server for another round. Gunwook gripped his glass so tight he thought it might crack. Goddamn it.
The rest of the night blurred in a haze of flashing lights, heavy bass, and the burn of good liquor. Ricky never stopped — every so often dropping little comments, flickers of smirks, brushes of his knee against Gunwook’s under the table like it was nothing.
“You always get that flustered when someone pays attention to you, Park Gunwook-ssi?” A quiet murmur when Gunwook almost choked on his drink. Or when he leaned in too close to say something in his ear, lips brushing just barely against the shell of it — a simple, “Cute.” before pulling away like he hadn’t just set Gunwook’s nerves on fucking fire.
Gunwook held it together. Barely.
Kept his answers clipped, threw back weak banter, eyes darting anywhere but Ricky’s mouth. His ears burned, but no way in hell was he gonna give that smug bastard the satisfaction of seeing him melt.
Gyuvin clocked the tension early. Watched it grow, practically tasted it in the air, but he said nothing. Just grinned to himself, downed his drinks, and let the storm build.
At one point, Gunwook caught him smirking knowingly across the table. “What?” Gunwook barked, defensive.
“Nothing.” Gyuvin raised his glass, eyes gleaming. “Absolutely nothing.”
Ricky just smirked wider. It was almost like they were in it together now.
The club was finally winding down, the bass a little softer, the air thick with sweat, spilled drinks, and leftover tension. Gunwook practically dragged Gyuvin’s drunk, grinning ass out the door, the idiot still cackling about “menaces” and “poor Gunwookie’s red ears.”
“You’re fucking done, man,” Gunwook muttered, shoving him toward a waiting cab.
“Love you too, bro!” Gyuvin laughed, throwing his arms around Gunwook’s shoulders in a sloppy hug before stumbling into the backseat.
Gunwook slammed the door shut. “Take him to this address please.” He gave the driver the postcode before turning back to Gyuvin. “Don’t puke in the car, Gyuvin.” The cab peeled off.
Gunwook turned back toward the club, and there was Ricky — leaned casually against the wall like sin incarnate in a suit, eyes glinting under the dim streetlights.
Gunwook scratched the back of his neck. “Uh… you wanna share a cab too?”
A shrug, lips quirked. up at one corner. “Sure.”
Simple as that. Like it hadn’t been a whole night of tension and teasing and Gunwook trying not to combust. Gunwook quickly flagged another cab down, and when it rolled up, Ricky slid in first, not bothering to wait.
Gunwook climbed in after, heart kicking stupidly in his chest. And the door shut behind them.
The cab rolled through the quiet, late-night streets, the neon glow of the city flickering across the leather seats. The inside was silent, save for the low hum of the engine and the steady beat of Gunwook’s heart in his ears.
Gunwook stared out the window, trying to act cool, even though he could feel Ricky’s presence beside him like a storm cloud about to burst. Then — movement.
Ricky held out his phone. Screen unlocked, contact page open. Expression almost bored looking, but there was a faint twitch at the corner of his lips.
Gunwook blinked. “Uh…?”
Ricky rolled his eyes, playful. “Your Kakao, genius. Unless you plan to keep stalking me at clubs.”
Gunwook flushed, grabbing the phone probably faster than he should’ve. “Didn’t know you wanted it that bad.” He meant it as a tease, but his voice cracked a little at the end… Fuck.
Ricky snorted, leaning his head back against the seat, a lazy smirk playing at his lips. “This menace remembers what he wants.”
Gunwook grumbled under his breath as he typed in his ID, handing the phone back. Ricky’s fingers brushed his deliberately when he took it. The cab slowed to a stop outside Gunwook’s building, the driver glancing back expectantly.
Gunwook hesitated, hand on the door handle, half-glancing at Ricky, not sure if he should say something or just fucking jump out and scream into the night. Before he could decide, Ricky leaned in, close enough for Gunwook to catch that faint, intoxicating strawberry scent under the sharpness of his cologne.
Voice low, velvet-smooth, right by his ear. “Next time, don’t make me chase you so hard, Park Gunwook-ah.” A flash of a smirk — wicked, knowing. “Or do. I like the game.”
And then he leaned back, like he hadn’t just casually drop-kicked Gunwook’s soul out of his goddamn body. Gunwook fumbled the door open, muttered something that was supposed to be a goodbye, and practically fled.
Ricky’s soft laugh followed him out into the night.
He wasn't just a pretty one, he was a genuine fucking menace.