Chapter Text
Jisung woke up to the world smeared at the edges.
His eyes opened slowly, lashes heavy and sticking together, everything soft and out of focus like he was looking through a dirty camera lens.
The headache hit a second later a dull, insistent throb right behind his temples. He didn't even need to look at the clock to know something was wrong. His apartment was too quiet. No sharp, angry alarm screaming at him to get up for work.
Just the low hum of the refrigerator and the faint sound of cars passing outside his window.
He groaned, the sound raw and raspy in his dry throat. "Fuck..."
Rolling over took more effort than it should have. His hand fumbled across the nightstand until his fingers brushed his phone. The screen stayed black. Dead. Completely drained. He must have stumbled through the door last night and passed out instantly, too drunk and too exhausted to plug it in.
Memories from Felix's place floated back in hazy pieces: the warm glow of string lights, the oversized couch, two empty wine bottles on the coffee table, and Felix's soft, tired voice cracking just a little when he talked about missing his fiancé.
Felix had needed him last night. Really needed him.
Hyunjin had been gone for two straight weeks. Ever since Versace announced him as their new prince during that Milan trip last month, the man's life had become a whirlwind. Runway walks that made the entire room hold its breath, back-to-back photoshoots, late-night fabric selections, and concept meetings where he helped shape entire collections.
Hyunjin moved like liquid sin... tall, sharp jawline, long elegant limbs, that effortless, magnetic charisma that made people forget how to speak. He was the definition of walking sex, the kind of beauty that cameras worshipped and strangers stared at too long.
Felix was his perfect counterpoint a walking angel with delicate features, that rich deep voice, and an energy so gentle and soft it felt like pure sunlight. Genderfluid at its finest, effortlessly beautiful in any presentation.
They had met when Felix was behind the camera for one of Hyunjin's early shoots, and from the first click of the shutter they had been inseparable.
Moon and sun. Fire meeting water. Jisung genuinely loved how deeply they loved each other. It was rare and beautiful to watch.
Still, it left a quiet ache in his own chest.
He remembered crushing hard on Felix back in high school. Felix had always been the kind of person people gravitated toward... kind, funny, stunning without trying. Jisung, at the time, had been the chubby, awkward kid with braces and zero confidence. He'd known even then he didn't have a shot. Not with someone like Felix.
But at twenty-five, things had changed.
Jisung finally pushed himself out of bed, bare feet hitting the cool hardwood floor. He walked over to plug his phone in, and as it started charging he caught his reflection in the full-length mirror leaning against the wall. He paused, really looking.
His hair had grown out into long, loose curls that framed his face messily, still tousled from sleep and last night's activities. His eyes were big and round the classic boba eyes that took up half his face, dark and expressive. His waist had pulled in small and defined, creating that coveted taper.
And then there was his ass — perky and round, the kind that filled out jeans just right and had men turning their heads. That ass alone had gotten him drinks bought for him at bars more times than he could count.
Men had fucked into it all too well over the past few years, and Jisung had learned exactly how much power that gave him. It suited him perfectly. He was the perfect bottom, and he wore that truth with quiet confidence now.
He looked good. He knew that. But looking good didn't always quiet the deeper longing.
His phone finally lit up with a soft chime. Notifications flooded the screen.
LIX ☀️: hey... you make it home okay? the uber driver looked kinda shady lol text me when you're safe
LIX ☀️: sungie ???
LIX ☀️: okay you're probably passed out 😂 thank you for coming over tonight. seriously. i needed that more than you know. nyunjin called right after you left and hearing his voice just made the missing him worse somehow. love you so much
Jisung's chest tightened with affection. He started typing a reply when a new message appeared from an unknown number. Sent at 2:17 AM.
UKNOWN: you left your black hoodie here. i can drop it off later if you want
A second message followed right after:
UNKNOWN: It’s Shotaro btw. From last night. You were pretty out of it when you left from what I remember.
Jisung's stomach dropped.
Shotaro. (25 years old)
He was a friend Hyunjin had met during Fashion Week in Paris two years ago. They'd stayed close ever since... late-night texts, shared runway chaos, and the occasional chaotic weekend whenever their schedules aligned. Jisung had first met him last summer when Shotaro flew into Cali for a Louis Vuitton modeling gig. Hyunjin had dragged him along to a casual dinner, grinning like an idiot the whole night because he swore Shotaro was exactly Jisung's type.
He wasn't wrong.
Jisung had spent the entire evening trying (and failing) to play it cool while Shotaro laughed easily across the table, all sharp jawline, quiet confidence, and that dangerously soft smile. He'd left without getting the older man's number, telling himself it was probably for the best.
Until last night.
The memories rushed back sharper now. Shotaro arriving later at Felix's with another bottle of wine and snacks after the "come hang" text from Felix. The Japanese guy with the warm, bright smile and that soft, soothing accent. They had talked. Laughed a little too easily. Sat closer as the night wore on and Felix started drifting off.
Then the wine hit harder, hands wandered, kisses turned hungry, and they'd ended up in Felix's guest room. Clothes coming off in a clumsy, desperate rush. Shotaro had been attentive, eager, fucking into him with surprising intensity while Jisung moaned into the pillow, lost in the blur of alcohol and loneliness.
It had been a one-night stand. Nothing more. Just two people filling a temporary void. Jisung stared at the messages, thumbs hovering. He typed, deleted, typed again before finally sending:
JISUNG: oh shit sorry about that yeah whenever you’re free is cool. I can come get the hoodie
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
UNKNOWN: no rush. Im off today actually. You free around 3?
Jisung glanced at the time. 12:45 already. His place was a mess, he still smelled like wine and sex and someone else's cologne, and his curls were wild.
He exhaled slowly.
JISUNG: yeah 3 works… text me your address?
UNKNOWN: i’ll come to you. Easier that way. What’s your building number ?
Jisung hesitated only a second before sending it, then added:
JISUNG: fair warning… my place is probably a disaster right now lol
UNKNOWN: haha don’t worry about it. I’ll bring coffee. You seemed like you might need it this morning.
Jisung let out a weak laugh, running a hand through his messy curls. At least Shotaro was chill about the whole thing.
He set the phone down and looked around his bedroom clothes were scattered on the floor, an empty water glass on his nightstand, the faint scent of last night still lingering on his sheets.
His small waist and ass were marked with faint fingerprints if he looked close enough. Proof that last night had been real, even if it felt like a fever dream now.
He had roughly two hours to shower, clean up the apartment, and figure out how to face Shotaro without dying of awkwardness.
And underneath the hangover and the mild panic, the same quiet ache settled back into his chest.
He wanted what Felix and Hyunjin had that deep, consuming love where someone looked at you like you were their entire universe. Not another blurry one-night stand that left him waking up alone with a dead phone and questions he couldn't quite answer but that's all he could manage to do at this time in his life.
Jisung sighed and headed toward the bathroom, already mentally preparing himself for whatever this 3 o'clock visit was going to bring.
Soon steam was already fogging the edges of the bathroom mirror. His head still felt like it had been stuffed with cotton and then run over by a truck. Every movement sent a fresh wave of nausea and throbbing pain behind his eyes.
He glanced at the clock on his nightstand: 1:00 PM. Way too late to call in sick the normal way.
"Fuck," he whispered, rubbing his face with both hands.
He needed to call the office. Now.
Jisung picked up his phone, still plugged in, and scrolled until he found the department line. His thumb hovered over the call button for a second longer than necessary.
He was the top employee in this branch of the game development company specifically the senior concept artist, promoted just over a year ago to oversee the entire department.
Three years of blood, sweat, and endless late nights had gone into this dream job. He had trained for it. Earned it.
But Minho would never see it that way. He hit call and pressed the phone to his ear, pacing barefoot across the cool hardwood floor of his bedroom. The line rang once. Twice. Three times.
Then it clicked.
That snarky, velvet-smooth voice slid straight into his ear like poison wrapped in honey.
"Jisung."
Minho. Of course it was Minho answering the main department line today.
Jisung's jaw clenched so hard he felt it in his temples. The one person who knew exactly how to ruin a morning and was somehow even more effective at it in person. He could already picture Minho leaning back in his chair, one eyebrow raised, that smug little smirk playing on his lips while he spun a pen between his fingers.
Jisung forced his voice to stay even, trying to sound sick and miserable. "Minho."
A beat of heavy silence stretched between them. Neither wanted to speak first. The rivalry had been simmering quietly for months now ever since Jisung had swooped in at the last second during Minho's failed pitch to the CEO.
In Jisung's eyes, it wasn't his fault. Minho had presented a half-baked concept that completely missed the emotional core of the game. Jisung had stayed up all night, reworked it, and delivered something that actually worked.
He had earned that promotion. But Minho only saw someone who had ripped a hole straight through his ambitions. All Minho saw was betrayal.
Minho finally broke the silence, voice dry and laced with disbelief. "You're calling this late? Must be serious."
Jisung closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. His headache was already getting worse just from hearing that tone. "Yeah, I'm calling in today. I woke up really sick this morning. Stomach's a mess, head's killing me... the works. I'm using my PTO. Can you let Patrick know? He'll probably have to pick up my slack for the day."
Another pause. Jisung could hear the faint sound of typing in the background, like Minho was only half paying attention.
Minho let out a short, skeptical breath. "You don't sound sick. You sound like you drank half a wine cellar last night and regret every life choice that led you there."
Jisung's eyes snapped open. Heat flared in his chest. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," Minho continued, calm and cutting. "Your voice is raspy, not congested. And you're calling at one o'clock. Bold move, Jisung."
Jisung's grip tightened on the phone. He hated how easily Minho could read him... even over the phone, even when he was trying his best to sound pathetic.
"Look, I'm not asking for a medical diagnosis from you. Just pass the message to Patrick so the department doesn't fall apart for one day. That's all."
Minho hummed, the sound low and unimpressed. "Patrick shouldn't have to cover for you because you decided to play hooky after a wild night. But fine. I'll let him know. Try not to die or whatever."
Before Jisung could fire back with the sharp reply sitting on his tongue, there was a loud, abrupt click.
The line went dead.
Jisung pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at the screen in disbelief, mouth slightly open. "Fucking asshole," he hissed, the words bursting out loud and venomous in the quiet apartment.
"Who the hell does he think he is?"
His headache spiked sharper, thanks to that smug idiot. Minho had a special talent for making everything worse just by existing. Three years of dedication, blood, sweat, and tears poured into this job, and all Minho saw was someone who had stolen his spotlight. It made Jisung's blood boil every single time.
He tossed the phone onto his unmade bed with more force than necessary and headed straight for the shower, stripping off last night's wrinkled clothes as he went. The hot water knob squeaked when he turned it alittle more. More steam quickly filled the small bathroom as he stepped under the spray.
The heat hit his skin like a much-needed reset. Water cascaded over his shoulders, down the curve of his petite waist, and over the full, rounded swell of his ass.
Jisung lathered up, trying to scrub away the remnants of the night, but the hot water only loosened the memories.
He remembered the way Shotaro had looked at him on Felix's couch once Felix had dozed off those warm, dark eyes softening, the gentle Japanese accent wrapping around quiet laughs.
"You're cute when you're tipsy," Shotaro had murmured, voice low and teasing. Then hands. Shotaro's fingers sliding up Jisung's thigh, bold and sure.
Their mouths crashing together, tasting like red wine and desperation. The stumble down the hallway into the guest room, shirts yanked off, pants shoved down in a clumsy rush.
Jisung's breath hitched under the spray. His cock twitched, slowly filling as the memory took hold.
He could still feel the weight of Shotaro behind him, pressing him face-down into the mattress.
Strong hands spreading his cheeks, a low groan against his ear as Shotaro pushed inside him thick and hot, stretching him open in one slow, deliberate thrust.
Jisung had moaned into the pillow, hips pushing back instinctively, chasing the burn and the pleasure. Shotaro fucked him deep and steady at first, then harder, hips snapping with growing urgency, hands gripping Jisung's waist and ass like he wanted to leave bruises.
Every thrust dragged perfectly against that spot inside him, sending sparks up his spine. The slap of skin, Shotaro's quiet grunts mixing with Jisung's broken whimpers it had been raw, needy, and exactly what Jisung had craved in that moment.
Water ran slick down his body. His cock was fully hard now, heavy and aching between his legs.
Another flash hit: Shotaro flipping him onto his back, eyes dark with lust as he hooked Jisung's legs over his shoulders and drove in deeper. "You feel so fucking good," Shotaro had breathed, accent thick with arousal.
He fucked him with purpose, watching Jisung's face the whole time watching his curls bounce, his lips part on moans, his eyes flutter shut in pleasure.
Jisung had come untouched, back arching off the bed, clenching tight around Shotaro as waves of pleasure crashed through him. Shotaro had followed right after, burying himself to the hilt with a low, guttural groan as he filled him.
Jisung's hand drifted down his stomach, fingers brushing the base of his cock. The water made everything slippery. It would be so easy to wrap his fist around himself right now, to stroke slow and firm while replaying how Shotaro had taken him how good it had felt to be fucked deep and used just right.
He wanted it. Badly.
His fingers twitched, ready to give in, heat throbbing low in his gut. But then reality crashed back in.
"No," Jisung whispered harshly, snatching his hand away like he'd been burned. He pressed his forehead against the cool tiles, letting the water pound against his back. "No more. It was just a drunk hookup. You needed comfort because Felix was sad and you were lonely. That's it. You don't even know him past his smile."
He wanted so badly to touch himself. To chase that high again, to lose himself in the memory of being pinned down and thoroughly fucked. But he forced his hands to stay planted on the tiles, breathing hard as the hot water continued to rain down.
"Get it together, Jisung," he muttered under his breath, voice barely audible over the spray. "No more one-night stands blurring into something they're not."
He scrubbed quickly, trying to wash away the faint scent of woodsy cologne and sweat along with the lingering arousal. By the time he stepped out, towel wrapped low around his hips, some of the fog had lifted.
His long curls were damp and dripping onto his shoulders. In the foggy mirror, his eyes looked a little less puffy, though the dark circles were still visible.
He wiped a clear spot on the mirror with his palm and stared at his reflection for a moment.
The muscle shirt slid over Jisung's damp skin, clinging just enough to outline the lean definition of his shoulders and chest. He wasn't trying to impress anyone... really but Shotaro had rolled into Felix's apartment last night looking like sin poured into black jeans, and Jisung wasn't above a little subconscious effort.
His fingers brushed the edge of the tattoo creeping up his side, the ink a winding trail of sharp geometry from hip to armpit. A relic of his 21st birthday, three hours under the needle while Felix held his hand and joked about sunburn pain tolerance.
"You're whimpering over a little sting," Felix had teased, sunlight catching the tiny sun inked on his pointer finger as he passed Jisung a juice box. "How are you gonna handle a dick?"
Jisung snorted at the memory, adjusting the shirt's hem. Turned out he handled dick just fine, thank you pain tolerance wasn't the issue. The tattoo had been worse. A fact he'd proven repeatedly since.
By 2:50 the apartment was as clean as it was going to get. Jisung had shoved the scattered clothes into the hamper, wiped down the surfaces, and sprayed enough air freshener to mask the lingering scent of stale Chinese food.
His long curls were drying into messy waves that framed his face, and the muscle shirt continued hugging his petite waist and defined chest just right.
When the doorbell rang, his stomach did a small, traitorous flip.
He still was as hot as everytime he'd seen him before , Jisung thought the moment he opened the door. his type to a T.
But that wasn't enough.
Shotaro stood there looking unfairly composed, holding a paper bag and two iced coffees. "Hey. So I got you greasy food and caffeine. Figured it would help."
"Thanks," Jisung said, stepping aside to let him in. He kept his voice light, casual. "again you really didn't have to come all the way over."
They settled on the couch with the food between them. Shotaro was easy to talk to he was quietly funny, attentive in that gentle way that made Jisung's chest feel tight. Every time he smiled that eye-smile, Jisung had to remind himself why he couldn't let this go anywhere.
He wanted to be loved. He craved it, deep down in the quiet parts of himself that still ached on lonely nights. But he wanted a certain kind of love ... the steady, all-consuming kind that didn't leave one person waiting in an empty apartment while the other chased spotlights across the globe.
The kind Felix and Hyunjin had, even when distance tried to pull them apart but they both lived that life style so it worked for them. Not this half-life of goodbyes and missed calls.
His last real relationship had been his first everything his first love, his first gay experience, the one that helped him fully come out of the closet at nineteen. It had lasted two beautiful, messy years until he turned twenty-one.
Ever since that breakup, Jisung unconsciously measured every guy against his ex, waiting for someone to live up to that same feeling of being truly seen. No one ever quite did.
That was why the past month had been nothing but quick, dirty hookups. Gay bars, messy bathroom stalls, the backseat of someone's Honda parked outside the club. Bodies pressed together in the dark, chasing release with no names, no promises, no risk of getting hurt again.
Last night with Shotaro had been exactly that: a hot, drunk fuck to scratch the itch. Nothing more.
Still... Shotaro had good intentions written all over him. The kind of guy who showed up with hangover cures and iced coffee instead of ghosting. It made something in Jisung twist uncomfortably.
"You were really sweet last night," Shotaro said after a while, glancing at him with that soft smile. "Even when you were drunk and stealing all the blankets."
Jisung laughed, but it came out a little forced. "Yeah... it was fun. Really fun." He paused, then added more carefully, "But I'm not really looking for anything serious right now. My life's kind of a mess, and with work and everything..."
Shotaro nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes. He didn't push. "I get it. I travel a lot. Modeling schedule is pretty crazy." He shrugged lightly, though a hint of disappointment crossed his face.
"No pressure. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. And... I liked spending time with you."
The words landed heavier than Jisung expected. Good intentions. Too good.
They finished eating in lighter conversation, but the undercurrent remained. When Shotaro eventually stood to leave, he paused at the door and turned back.
"Text me if you want to hang out again while I'm in town," he said gently. "Even if it's just as friends. No expectations."
"Yeah... maybe," Jisung replied, offering a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Once the door clicked shut, Jisung leaned back against it and exhaled slowly.
The rest of the day stretched out lazily since he was officially off work. Jisung wandered around his apartment for a while, tidying up half-heartedly before grabbing his phone.
He might as well check on Felix and see how the blonde was holding up after last night's antics.
He hit call and waited. It rang once, twice, then a third time before a groggy, deep Aussie voice answered.
"Hello...?" Felix sounded like he'd been dragged through hell.
Jisung grinned, leaning back against the kitchen counter. "Well, good afternoon, sunshine."
"Fuck you," Felix mumbled, voice rough and sleepy. "What time is it?"
"Three-thirty, Lix. You slept the entire day away."
"Shit—" There was a loud shuffle on the other end. "I have to pick up Hyunjin from the airport in forty-five minutes. Why the fuck did I drink so much last night? Sungie, you should've stopped me, you useless bitch."
Jisung laughed. "I tried. But when I reached for the bottle, you smacked my hand away and told me 'queen never cry' before chugging the rest like it was your last. So I backed off. Still don't know what the hell that even meant by the way."
Felix let out a dramatic groan. "My head is killing me and my throat is sore as fuck. Never drinking again."
"Yeah, okay. We both know that's a lie," Jisung teased.
A second later, Felix started a FaceTime call. Jisung accepted and his best friend's face popped up on the screen his fluffy blonde hair going in ten different directions, freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks, eyes still puffy from sleep.
Jisung took one look at him and shook his head in disbelief. "How the hell do you look this beautiful right after waking up? I stared at myself in the mirror this morning before my shower and literally rolled my eyes so hard they almost got stuck. This life is so goddamn unfair."
Felix gave him a tired but genuine grin, running a hand through his messy blonde hair. "Shut up, you look hot and you know it. Those pants last night were doing numbers on Shotaro, by the way. He couldn't keep his eyes off your ass."
Jisung felt a flicker of heat at the mention, but he kept his tone casual. "He stopped by earlier with food and coffee. He's cute, I'll admit it. Nice smile, good hands, that soft accent... definitely my type. But I shut it down quick. Told him I'm not looking for anything."
There was a short pause. Then Felix sighed, his expression turning fond but exasperated.
"I can't believe you're still stuck on my brother out of all people. Like... Christopher?! Really?"
Jisung's cheeks warmed. He carried the phone with him into the laundry room, propping it up on the shelf so he could talk hands-free while he started a fresh load of clothes.
"I mean... he made me feel seen. He was there when my dad passed, just as much as you were. He saw me in my most natural environment chubby, awkward, braces, crying over everything and never judged me. Not once."
He tossed jeans and hoodies into the washer, the familiar rhythm making the conversation feel like every other everyday call they had. They were practically inseparable; these chats happened almost daily.
On the screen, Felix had set his phone down on the bathroom counter and was clearly taking a piss, the sound of the stream faint in the background as he kept yapping without missing a beat.
"Babes, I love you, but as much as I would love to hear you gush about my brother for the next twenty minutes, I really think you need to keep your options open," Felix said, shaking himself off before washing his hands.
"Chris was great for you back then, yeah. He was your first everything... but that was years ago. You can't keep holding every guy up to that standard. It's not fair to them... or to you."
Jisung measured out detergent, pouring it in while nodding. "I know, I know. It's just... hard to find someone who gets me like that. Someone who sees the real me and doesn't run."
Felix's face reappeared on the screen as he picked the phone back up, now walking toward his closet. "Then stop shutting cute guys like Shotaro down before they even have a chance. He seems sweet. And from what you described last night, he definitely knows how to fuck. You came untouched, right? That doesn't happen every day."
Jisung laughed, slamming the washer door shut and starting the cycle. "Yeah... he did. Fucked me deep, pinned me down just right. It was really good. But still I'm not trying to catch feelings and end up waiting by the phone like you do when Hyunjin's traveling."
Felix's expression shifted, a small defensive edge creeping into his voice even as he stayed calm. "It's not that hard on me, Sungie. I know why he's gone so much. He's doing it for our future this nice house, the life we want, all of it. I miss him, yeah, but I'm not sitting around miserable every second. I support him. That's what we do."
Felix then blinked at the phone, pulling a clean shirt over his head. "Just don't close yourself off completely, Sungie. Not every guy is gonna disappear on you."
Jisung leaned against the washing machine, the low hum vibrating against his back. "Yeah... maybe. Go pick up your man before he thinks you forgot about him. Tell Hyunjin I said hi."
"Will do. Love you, drama queen," Felix said, blowing a kiss at the screen.
"Love you too, Lix," Jisung shot back with a grin before they hung up.
He stayed there for a moment, listening to the washer fill with water.
The was now around 6pm rest of the day had stretched out lazily. Jisung had just finished throwing a load of laundry in the dryer when his phone started ringing. It was Patrick his boss of all people. He answered, already bracing himself.
"Hey, Patrick."
"Jisung," Patrick's voice came through sharp and frustrated. "We need to talk. I got an earful about how you called in today, and it doesn't sound good. At all."
Jisung's stomach tightened. "What? I told Minho I was sick my stomach was messed up, my head was killing me. I said I was using my PTO. I wasn't trying to screw anyone over."
Patrick let out a heavy sigh, clearly not in the mood. "Well, however it went down, it painted you in a really bad light. The kind of light that makes the rest of the team question your reliability.
I'm not interested in the back-and-forth. Bottom line: I need that pitch finished and on my desk first thing tomorrow morning. No extensions. No excuses. Get it done tonight."
Jisung's eyes widened. "Patrick, wait... I can come in right now and explain, or at least—"
"I said no," Patrick cut him off, tone final. "You're off today. Stay home, sober up, and have the pitch ready by tomorrow. I don't want to hear anything else about it. Just make it happen."
The line went dead before Jisung could argue further.
He stood there staring at his phone, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. "Fuck," he hissed, the word echoing in the quiet apartment.
Patrick's words had been short, but the message was clear: someone had made today's absence look bad enough that his boss was pissed and demanding immediate results with zero grace. And Jisung had a pretty good idea who was behind it.
He grabbed his sketch tablet, laptop, and a fresh energy drink from the fridge, then settled at his small dining table that doubled as his home workstation.
The screen glowed brightly in the dim apartment as he pulled up the files.
For the next several hours, Jisung lost himself in the work. He refined the concept boards, tightened the color palette, reworked the emotional beats from another employees original pitch had completely missed the idea.
His fingers flew across the tablet as he sketched new keyframe ideas, adjusting lighting and mood to make the level feel more alive, more immersive.
Every so often his phone would buzz a text from Felix asking if he was okay, another from Shotaro that he deliberately ignored. He silenced notifications and kept pushing.
By 11 PM his eyes were burning and his back ached, but the pitch was starting to come together. He stood up to stretch, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck, the muscle shirt riding up to expose the edge of his tattoo again.
"Almost there," he muttered to himself, grabbing another energy drink.
right now, all he could focus on was proving he wasn't the unreliable mess Patrick had been made to believe he was. He refused to let Minho's petty games win.
Jisung sat back down, determined to finish before sunrise if he had to. The quiet hum of the refrigerator and the occasional car passing outside were the only company he allowed himself tonight.