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Everything went perfectly.
The gym reeked badly. The stench from the mixture of hardcore determination and sweat only a few managed to resist, and Lee Heeseung was one of them. He stopped noticing it sometime around year two, focused only on the possible calculations to counter his opponent’s attacks. The boxing gym became his second home the moment he turned eighteen, spending most of his days here to rid the loneliness from the outside world.
The boxing ring became his world. The only place he didn’t feel inferior.
His knuckles throbbed as he unwrapped the tape from his hands, red and definitely beaten, the white fabric piling up beside him on the bench. It was eleven PM. Two hours had passed his usual training time. He should have been at home by now, half-asleep on the couch as he watched a replay of previous matches to nitpick on misplays. Or spend his free time beating up his worn-down punching bag. But his coach had wanted to drill footwork until his legs begged for mercy, and he never said no to extra training anyway.
Routine was everything. Routine was his middle name. It was the heart and motto of his daily life. The only thing that mattered, really. Wake at six, run five miles, breakfast, warehouse shift, evening training, home by ten. Rinse and repeat until he died or got proficient enough to partake in international matches—whichever came first.
Except tonight it was eleven. This was way out of his schedule, and the streets would be empty and dark, and he was too fucking tired to care about the difference. He shouldered his gym bag and bid his goodbyes, pushing through the door into the night.
On a good night, the walk home took twenty minutes, less if Heeseung was really hyped up after a win. He kept his head down, hands shoved in his pockets. The alley was dark, kind of isolated by the lack of motion as it was in the part of the city that sat in some weird limbo between industrial wasteland and neighborhoods where people actually locked their doors with purpose. He’d lived here three years without incident, but he’d heard some rumors here and there about the unlit areas being dangerous. Not that he was frightened—he had the capacity to fight back, for god’s sake—but he still kept his head high, just in case.
And guess his luck ran out tonight.
He turned onto his street, passing the closed convenience store and that one flickering streetlight the city would never bother to fix, and that’s when he heard them. Footsteps. Multiple sets approached behind him.
His shoulders locked up, fists ready to swing, but he didn’t break stride. His fighter’s instinct kicked in before conscious thought could catch up, already considering the best way to tackle all of them without even turning around. The introductions weren’t necessary; he already knew what they wanted from him. Why else would they stop him in the middle of the night? To beg for a one night in bed?
There were four, maybe five people spreading out to flank him. Their shadows stretched long in his peripheral vision like grabbing hands.
“Hey you.” The voice came from ahead. Heeseung stopped walking.
Great. Fucking fantastic. He thought he was already done with the fighting today.
A figure stepped out from between two parked cars, ski mask pulled over his face, making it look like a cartoonish heist. Another appeared to his left. Then his right. Until it turned into five masked men surrounding him. The one in front was broader, clearly running the show.
It looked like a terribly laid-out prank, but Heeseung had watched too many cheesy action films to know what was going to happen next.
“Wallet and phone,” the leader demanded like clockwork, not a hint of kindness in his tone. “Give it. Now.”
Heeseung had to bite his tongue to stop himself from laughing and cause more trouble. Being a boxer was already a game of life and death, none of this shit frightened him the slightest. Besides, the exhaustion from training evaporated like it had never existed, replaced by amusement.
He crossed his arms, smirking. “No,” was all he uttered.
“You wanna fight, huh?”
The men moved as one. Adrenaline pumped in. The first guy lunged from the right, and Heeseung’s body reacted befor ehis mind caught up—pivot, duck under the grabbing hands, drive his fist up into the solar plexus. Those were things engraved in his brain by his coach’s endless nagging. And hey, his boxing actually wasn’t useless like how his mom always told him it was.
The gang member folded from his punch with a wheeze that sounded almost comical. Pathetic, like these wannabe mafia losers. Heeseung spun, caught the second guy with a punch to the jaw that sent him stumbling backward into a parked car with a satisfying crunch of metal. He found himself distracted by his own excitement by how amateur these guys were. He wasn’t even exerting his maximum, and yet here he was beating up five guys all at once. It was way too easy, less exciting than those action films made it out to be.
There were three left, including the boss. They came at him together this time. Smarter, or at least learning from their comrades’ mistakes. Heeseung’s gym bag fell onto the pavement as he moved, using every skill drilled into him over years of training. Block, slip, counter. His knuckles connected with a cheekbone—perfect hit, the guy’s head snapping back, and he swore he heard bones crunching. Someone grabbed his jacket from behind, and Heeseung twisted, using the momentum to throw an elbow that cracked against a nose. A wet, gushy sound followed. Definitely blood.
“Fuck, boss. He actually fights—“
“Just fucking grab him!”
But they couldn’t. Every move they made, Heeseung was already countering. Knees to the ribs. Another fist was thrown that sent another guy sprawling. It was comical. Their sounds of despair tasted like the best drug he’d ever tried, injecting adrenaline through his veins. He wasn’t sure if that was the fighter’s instinct or if he was late on realizing that he might actually be a sadist. Well, whatever. He was enjoying this either way.
The boss swore viciously and grabbed one of his fallen gang members by the jacket. “Let’s go, let’s go!”
They scattered like roaches when the lights came on. Scrambled footsteps pounding in different directions, swallowed by the night and their own cowardice. Heeseung just watched them retreat, trying their best not to stumble while running.
They all left. All except one.
Heeseung turned and found the last guy on the ground, clutching his side where Heeseung’s kick had landed. He seemed the most injured of the others, crawling away with one hand pressed against the concrete like that would somehow save him—gripping onto it like it was his last Hail Mary.
Heeseung didn’t waste time. If he got to keep a trophy, it’d be this one. He grabbed the back of the guy’s jacket and hauled him up against the brick wall of the nearest building, forearm pressed across his throat. Not enough pressure to choke—he wasn’t trying to kill anyone tonight, unless he really had to—but enough to keep him pinned and desperately gasping for air.
“Don’t move.”
The guy squirmed beneath him. His breathing came in short, panicked gasps behind the ski mask, chest heaving like he was some sort of beast closing in on its prey.
Heeseung reached up with his free hand and yanked the mask off. His breath caught in his throat when he saw who was underneath it.
What the hell?
The guy looked young—probably his age, maybe even younger. Dark cocoa eyes blown wide with fear, full lips parted as he gasped for air, black hair disheveled and falling into his face. Heeseung had expected a bruiser, those typical crackheads doing drugs and beating up people for fun, not someone who would pass as a college student. His features were soft, the kind of face that definitely did not belong on the streets trying to rob people at eleven PM on a Tuesday night.
Fuck—the guy was attractive. And that made everything worse.
Heeseung’s gut turned sour at the thought, hating himself for even thinking of it. He shoved it down so violently it almost hurt. How could he not? The guy literally tried to rob him, and here he was complimenting the guy’s features. It was completely inappropriate, even for someone as detached as him.
“Please—“ the guy’s voice cracked as he begged.
Heeseung’s grip tightened instinctively. Yeah, the guy was attractive, but he still had some morals in him. Although watching the fear deepen in those eyes kind of aroused something within him. Something he absolutely did not want to explore.
“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t call the cops right now.”
“Please, I—“ the guy’s breath hitched. “I can’t go to jail. Please.”
Heeseung’s expression didn’t change. He just pushed further until the guy started choking, but still not enough to kill him. “Should’ve thought about that before you tried to rob me.”
“I know, I know, just please.” The desperation in his voice was stripped of any pretense. His hands came up, not fighting, just open and pleading. “Please. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, just don’t call the cops.”
Heeseung stared at him. At this stranger who’d just tried to mug him with four of his buddies. Whose face was currently doing something terrible to his concentration and decision-making abilities. This was usually the part where he’d call the police, let them handle it, go home and forget this ever happened. That’s what any sane person would do—and Heeseung clearly wasn’t a part of this narrative.
Something about the genuine terror in the guy’s face made him hesitate. Not that he suddenly felt bad, but it just made him wonder what the hell kind of person looked that scared of going to jail. Gang members were supposed to live their days expecting to either die or get caught, but this one seemed like he forgot that important aspect. He was that desperate to be freed.
Is this guy a newbie?
“Walk.” Heeseung grabbed his arm firmly and pulled him away from the wall. “You try to run, and I’ll drag you to the precinct. Got it?”
A shaky, hesitant nod.
Heeseung retrieved his gym bag with his free hand and started dragging the guy down the street toward his apartment building. The scenario was funny. If someone saw them, he’d be the one looking like he had done something illegal than the guy who literally tried to mug him.
The whole way, his captive didn’t struggle, didn’t fight back, just stumbled along beside him with one hand tending to his injured side.
Heeseung told himself this was temporary. He’d figure out what to do with him in the morning and clean up this mess. He absolutely did not let himself think about why he wasn’t just calling the cops right now like a normal person. Why he was dragging a gang member back to his place with the possibility of getting stabbed while asleep.
No idea.
His apartment was small and nearly empty—one bedroom, a narrow living room with a couch and a TV he rarely turned on that began to acuumulate dust, a kitchen barely spacious enough to turn around in. But despite the impracticality, it was perfect. He barely was even home anyway due to his training and work. And it did him a favor. He didn’t have to clean as often. Everything was clean, organized, and provided him with everything he needed. No decoration, no personality. He lived here just for the basics of human survival.
He shoved the guy toward the couch and locked the door behind them. The sound of the deadbolt sliding home made his captive flinch like he had been shot.
“Sit.”
The guy obeyed immediately, movements sluggish and pained. His eyes tracked Heeseung’s every movement as he dropped his gym bag by the door and headed for the kitchen where he kept his zip ties. A plumber had given them to him months ago for securing a loose pipe. It was supposed to be used for that, and Heeseung had a feeling this wasn’t what the guy had in mind.
“Hands behind your back.” Heeseung commanded as he returned.
“Wait, please—“
“Now.”
The guy complied, shoulders slumping in defeat. Heeseung secured his wrists with the zip ties, maybe using more force than necessary. He moved as if this wasn’t his first time doing this. He seemed like a serial killer right now, and it made him feel ill. And when he stepped back, it literally looked like a crime scene. He allowed himself to really observe his captive in the light.
Yeah, he was definitely the one getting interrogated if someone found this out.
The fear from his hostage was still there, present across every feature. The guy’s eyes were trembling, using their last energy to exert effort in begging, but it didn’t work. It wouldn’t work for Heeseung. He made sure of that, even as hard as it seemed knowing a part of him found the guy attractive and fitting to his taste. Holy shit… he needed to get his head checked.
Heeseung dragged a chair over and sat down across from him, careful to keep a safe distance between them. “Who are you and what do you want from me?”
His captive’s jaw tightened, avoiding his gaze. “Why the fuck do you care?”
“You just tried to rob me with your gang. I’m entitled to know what the hell you want from me.”
The guy continued staring at the floor like it might offer him an escape route.
Something in Heeseung stirred. Wonder? Lust? Whatever it was, he wanted to continue mocking this guy. It was fun.
He leaned forward, “How long have you been doing this? Was tonight your first time or are you a regular piece of shit?”
Something flashed in those dark eyes—anger, maybe, or shame. Pretty hard to tell. But he definitely looked offended. “I’m not—“ the guy stopped, swallowed hard. “I’m not telling you anything.”
“Alright then.” Heeseung stood up, pulling his phone from his pocket. He faked dialing a number that made his captive wiggle in fear. “I’ll call the cops and let them ask the questions if that’s what you want. I’m sure they’ll be nicer about it.”
“No!” the guy yelled. “No, please, I beg you. Don’t.”
“You told me you can’t go to jail. That’s not my problem.”
“Tsk. It will be if they find out you’re keeping me here tied up like some kind of fucking hostage.”
Heeseung’s lips thinned, the amusement in him dying. “This is self-defense. You and your shitty gang attacked me, and I subdued you until the cops could arrive. Pretty straightforward. Want to bet on whose story they’ll believe?”
He watched the guy’s face crumble slightly, the bravado leaking away as quickly as it came by. His shoulders slumped forward. “Please,” the guy pleaded again, quieter this time. “I’m sorry. I really am. I just—“ there was almost a sob that threatened to escape. “I didn’t have a choice.”
Heeseung found the excuse laughable. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Everyone has a choice.”
“Well, not everyone.”
Heeseung studied him. The trembling in his hands despite his attempt at defiance spoke of another story he was yet to uncover. The way he kept glancing at the door like someone would burst it open any second and save him, was interesting yet also pitiful. The genuine fear seemed like more than just fear of arrest. Something was up with this guy, for sure.
Against every instinct screaming at him to just call the fucking cops already, Heeseung continued interrogating, “What’s your name?”
The guy hesitated for a while, then glanced up at him. Their eyes met, “Jake.”
“Jake.” Heeseung tested the name, found it fit somehow. Simple. Sounds like an ordinary name. Nothing like the situation they were currently in. “Heeseung.”
“I know.”
That reply made Heeseung pause, something cold settling in his chest. “You know?”
“Saw you at the gym once. You’re a boxer.”
Now it made sense—this had been targeted, planned. They’d known who he was, studied his routine, learned exactly when and where to hit him. The ugly realization settled in Heeseung’s gut like a stone, and that adrenaline was rushing back, but this time, something out of anger.
“So you motherfuckers were after me specifically.”
“It wasn’t like that.“
“Then what was it like?” Heeseung grabbed Jake’s chin tightly, making him look directly at him. “Explain it to me, Jake, because it seems like you and your friends planned to jump me and take whatever you could carry. That seems pretty fucking schemed.”
Jake’s mouth opened, then closed. He pulled his face away, jaw clenched so tight Heeseung could see the muscle jumping. No explanation came, just the silence that lingered between them.
Heeseung let go of the guy’s face, angry red marks left behind. “Whatever. I’m going to bed. I’ll figure shit out with what to do with you in the morning.” He headed toward his bedroom, then paused at the door. “Don’t bother trying to get out. And don’t even think about making any noise. My neighbor’s a cop.”
Not really. That last part was a complete lie just to throw the guy off, but Jake didn’t need to know that. It was fun seeing him whimper in fear.
Heeseung closed his bedroom door and leaned against it, eyes shut. The situation was batshit crazy. He had no idea what he was even trying t achieve, holding a possible murderer captive under his own roof. But he knew his heart was still racing, the adrenaline still not completely gone from the fight. Underneath all this confusion was the unwanted awareness of his strange pull toward the guy tied up in his living room. He tried to shove it off as just an effect of being hit in the head too many times, but it remained persistent.
That fearful, begging face was ingrained into him even when he closed his eyes like a curse.
He pushed off the door and headed for the shower. Let the cold water fog his mind. This was temporary. Just an accident. Morning would come, and he’d have figured out what the fuck to do with Jake. Simple. Easy. Nothing to panic about. He completely ignored the fact that the thought made something in his chest feel tight…
…
Heeseung didn’t sleep. He couldn’t.
Not that he was expecting to even get some sleep tonight, with the fact that there was a random stranger—the one who tried to mug him—right outside his room. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling like it might offer answers for his confusion, hyperaware of every single sound from the living room. At some point, he heard Jake shift on the couch and wondered if he had somehow managed to escape. But the shaky exhale that sounded way too close to a sob that followed cleared his suspicions.
Heeseung pressed his palms against his eyes hard enough to almost make him blind. This was insane. Completely fucking insane. He should have called the cops already, and let them handle the criminal like how things should be, gone to bed and acted like he wasn’t about to die like a normal person who didn’t make terrible decisions. But here he was. Something had stopped him. Was still stopping him.
And that something was currently tied up in his living room, probably pissing his pants right now.
Fuck. Heeseung threw off the covers and got up. He pulled on sweatpants and a t-shirt and opened his bedroom door as discreetly as possible.
Jake was awake, with bloodshot eyes and looked even worse than he already was. He sat hunched forward on the couch, hands still secured behind him, staring at nothing. His face was pale in the dim light filtering through the curtains from the street. Heeseung nearly thought the guy had died until his head snapped toward him when he heard the door click.
“You still awake?” Heeseung asked mockingly.
Jake ignored him. Just stared at him with those dark eyes. Resentment obvious behind them.
Heeseung’s mouth pulled into a lopsided, crooked smirk, like the guy’s situation was amusing to him. He moved into the kitchen and filled a glass with water. He brought it over and held it to Jake’s lips without announcement. “Here. Drink.”
Jake hesitated for maybe half a second, probably assuming there was poison in it, then leaned forward and drank like he had been wandering the desert for days. Heeseung’s gaze snagged on the way his lips curved around the rim of the glass. Soft, fuller than he remembered. The realization hit him too late when Jake started choking, water spilling down his chin, and Heeseung immediately pulled the glass away.
“Thanks,” Jake murmured, voice raspy.
Heeseung set the glass down on the coffee table and dropped into the chair again. This time, they stayed like that for a long moment, neither speaking. It was obvious that there were still things neither of them seemed willing to say.
“You’re hurt,” Heeseung finally remarked, nodding at the way Jake was caressing his side.
“I’ve had worse.”
“Not the feat you think it is.”
Jake’s mouth twitched—almost a smile but not quite. Almost like he wanted to, but realized the stakes of his situation. “Wasn’t trying to brag anyway.”
Heeseung found himself studying Jake’s face again, deeper this time. The cut above his eyebrow had stopped bleeding but it needed cleaning. There was a bruise forming along his jaw, blooming a dark purple color under tanned skin. And the way he was holding himself suggested his ribs were at least bruised, maybe even cracked. Pity was there for Heeseung, but he also reassured himself that the guy deserved it.
“How old are you?” The question came out before Heeseung could contain himself.
“Twenty-one.”
Just two years younger than him. Heeseung felt something uncomfortable swirl in his chest—he couldn’t quite point out what it was, didn’t really have the guts to do so.
“And this thing. How long have you been doing this?”
Jake’s expression turned hostile immediately. “Why the fuck do you care?”
“You keep asking me that.”
“No shit. Because you keep asking questions that don’t change anything.” Jake’s tone was harsher now, the initial panic faded into something finer, more offensive. “You’re going to turn me in anyway. Just do it. You don’t have to pretend you give a shit.”
“You’re right. Maybe I’ll turn you in.” Heeseung leaned forward. “Or maybe I’m trying to understand why someone who looks like he should be in college is out robbing people on the street.”
“Looks like?” Jake’s laugh was cynical. “What, I don’t look criminal enough for you? Want me to get some tattoos, maybe a face scar to complete the aesthetic?”
Heeseung found himself amused rather than offended at the remark. He smirked, “I doubt you’re strong enough to even get one.” Jake’s irritated look entertained him. “You look scared. Not something a gang member would usually be like, no?”
Jake took the offense to heart. It hit him harder than any of Heeseung’s punches had. His expression cracked for just a second before he forced it back together, brows furrowed as he tried to maintain the “strong” act. But to Heeseung, it seemed like he was just trying too hard to scare him.
“You don’t know anything about me.” Jake spat.
“Exactly. I don’t. So tell me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m trying to decide if you’re worth the trouble of calling the cops or if I should just throw you out and forget this shit ever happened.”
Jake glared at him for a moment, something unreadable looming over his face. Then, quietly, he whispered, “I needed money.”
“No kidding. Everyone needs money.”
“Not like this.” Jake’s voice dropped. He tilted his head downward, probably to avoid Heeseung’s judging gaze. “It’s because—“ He stopped, shook his head hard. “Forget it. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
But Jake dismissed his challenge. The silence came back again uninvited, and Heeseung knew he wouldn’t get anything else out of him tonight. Maybe not ever. At least he got to entertain himself for a while before throwing this guy away the next day. And that strange feeling toward Jake, too? Yeah, it kind of settled down a little. Maybe it really was just the adrenaline that made him have… off-putting thoughts.
He stood up, bones feeling heavier than they should. “Don’t fucking move.”
“Where exactly would I go?”
Fair point. For some reason, Heeseung felt that he might as well do this if he was going to throw this guy away the next morning—clean the guy’s wounds. Remove any evidence that pointed toward him. He had already had enough trouble in one day.
He retrieved the first aid kit from the bathroom and returned to the living room. He sat down on the coffee table directly in front of Jake, close enough that their knees almost touched. Jake tensed immediately, flinching like Heeseung might throw another punch at him.
“Hold still.”
Heeseung dampened gauze with antiseptic and reached up toward Jake’s face. The latter flinched when it touched the cut above his eyebrow, hissing through his teeth. It should have annoyed Heeseung, but he somehow found the guy’s pitiful state entertaining. God, he really was a sadist.
“I said hold still.”
“It stings like hell.”
Heeseung ignored him and continued cleaning the wound. From this close distance, he could see details he’d missed before. The dark circles under Jake’s eyes dug so deep they looked like bruises. He didn’t know if it was from the lack of sleep from mugging people late at night or because he was exhausted from being held hostage. Whatever the reason was, Jake looked weak. Fragile. His lips were chapped too, split like he had been biting them raw.
Jake’s eyes met his suddenly, and his hand stilled without meaning to.
They were close. Too fucking close. Heeseung could see his own reflection on Jake’s irises, could count his eyelashes if he wanted to, could smell something underneath the sweat and fear—something pleasant, almost sweet, like Jake had showered recently despite everything else going to shit in his life. Speaking of, Jake’s breathing quickened, just slightly, barely noticeable except that Heeseung was noticing everything right now.
Heeseung forced himself to look away and finished cleaning the cut with movements that were maybe a bit too rushed from the sudden, strange feeling that crashed onto him. He plastered a small bandage, fingers brushing against Jake’s temples. The latter’s eyes fluttered closed likethe touch hurt.
“Your side,” Heeseung pointed toward Jake’s ribs. “How bad is it?”
“It’s fine.”
“Let me see.”
“I said it’s fine—“
“Jake.” Heeseung’s tone left absolutely no room for argument. “Either I check it right now, or you can explain to the paramedics tomorrow how you got injured during a robbery attempt and get caught. Your choice.”
Jake’s jaw tightened, defiance and resignation present in his reaction. “You’d have to untie me.”
Heeseung considered it. It was a risk—possibly a stupid one. But Jake was injured and exhausted. He was clearly terrified of something bigger than just getting arrested, so he probably wouldn’t try running away. If he did run, he wouldn’t get far with his weak state. And honestly, Heeseung was pretty sure he could catch him again if it came to that.
“If you try anything funny—“
“I won’t.”
Heeseung grabbed the kitchen scissors and moved behind the couch, cutting the zip ties. Jake brought his hands around slowly, wincing as he twisted them like every movement hurt, rubbing at the angry red marks circling his wrists where the plastic had dug in.
“Shirt off,” Heeseung said.
Jake’s eyes darted to him. Something that might have been disbrlief or might have been something else entirely hovered around his face. But instead of protesting, he obeyed, shrugging out of his leather jacket first and then pulling his black t-shirt over his head.
Heeseung’s breath caught in his throat.
He knew the guy had a slimmer build than him, but he didn’t expect him to be defined underneath those clothes. His lean build suggested that he’d missed too many meals but stayed active out of necessity. And the occasional gang fights must have helped him keep in shape too. His skin was golden in the dim light, almost alluring. And there—an ugly bruise across his left ribs, dark purple and spreading like spilled ink.
“Christ,” Heeseung muttered under his breath. Usually, he wouldn’t feel bad when his opponent was bleeding in the ring, but this time… he felt somewhat guilty. He stood up abruptly. “I’m gonna get ice. Don’t move.”
He retreated to the kitchen, grabbed an ice pack from the freezer, and wrapped it in a towel. Almost worried. When he returned, Jake was surprisingly still there, sitting shirtless, arms wrapped around himself like he was trying to hold himself together.
Heeseung sat down beside him on the couch this time. Closer than before. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off Jake’s skin. It was unsettling and cozy at the same time.
“This might hurt,” Heeseung warned, then pressed the ice pack gently against Jake’s ribs without waiting for a response.
Jake winced, body going rigid. His hand shot out instinctively and gripped Heeseung’s thigh hard enough to leave a mark. “Fuck. It stings.”
“Yeah. Just breathe through it.”
Jake’s breath came shakily, chest heaving. Heeseung kept one hand on the ice pack, the other moving without conscious thought to steady Jake’s shoulder. The touch was supposed to be meaningless, just a humane gesture to someone who was clearly injured, meant to keep Jake from pulling away. But it didn’t feel meaningless at all. It sparked a feeling he didn’t know he’d ever feel towards someon—and worse, to the guy who attempted a crime against him.
Jake’s skin was warm under Heeseung’s palm—almost hot, like he was having a fever. Heeseung could feel the rapid flutter of his pulse just beneath the surface, could feel every harsh breath Jake took every time his touch lingered a little longer than it should, the rise and fall of his chest. The desire to keep exploring was strong, temptingly strong. His thumb moved against Jake’s collarbone, and he became suddenly aware of how close they were sitting. Thigh pressed against thigh. Jake’s bare shoulder was almost touching his chest. The smell of him—a weird mixture of sweat, blood, and leather that rubbed off him. It made Heeseung’s head feel fuzzy.
“Heeseung.”
The way Jake said his name, soft and uncertain and maybe a little desperate, did something to him that Heeseung absolutely did not want to experience.
He looked up without meaning to and found Jake already staring at him. It was sudden. Their faces were inches apart—close enough that Heeseung could see the way Jake’s pupils had blown wide, could see his lips part slightly as his breathing quickened. This… whatever this was, was seriously not part of the plot he had in mind, but he was quite enjoying how things were turning out— wait, what the fuck am I thinking?
He swore he saw it happen. The way Jake’s gaze dropped to Heeseung’s mouth and stayed there, before turning away as his skin grew hotter, red rushing to his neck.
It was because of the injuries. It couldn’t be anything else. And Heeseung’s mind was begging him to move away, to put distance between them, to fucking remember that this was the same guy who’d tried to rob him just a few hours ago. This was wrong on about one hundred different levels.
But he was allured by this guy’s siren song. Or something like that—whatever the thing was from that pirate film he’d watched a few days ago.
He didn’t move. And neither did Jake.
The moment stretched taut between them. Heeseung’s own pounding heart was so loud that he was sure Jake could heart it, could see the way the latter’s breathing had gone uneven. He didn’t even realize it, but his hand on Jake’s shoulder had somehow migrated to the side of his neck, thumb brushing against his jaw in a way that was definitely not friendly-gesture territory anymore. Definitely not anything except exactly what it was.
Jake's reaction made things worse… or better? Heeseung wasn’t really sure. The guy’s eyes fluttered closed, seemingly obedient out of fear, or maybe he expected to be hit.
Then reality kicked in.
Heeseung jerked back like he had been burned, standing up so abruptly the ice pack fell to the couch between them. When Jake realized he was safe, his eyes snapped open, confusion and something that resembled strangely like hurt flashed briefly across his face before he swallowed down his own questions about the situation.
“You need to sleep. You’re leaving in the morning.” Heeseung announced, already on his way to leave. To get out from whatever curse was roaming around this guy, he did not want to get caught up in whatever that was again.
Jake blinked at him, expression blank now. Then he reached for his shirt and pulled it back on with stiff movements. “Okay.”
Heeseung grabbed a blanket from the hall closet and threw it at him harder than necessary. Honestly, he didn’t even care if it hurt Jake. That would’ve saved him from unnecessary overthinking. “Couch is yours.”
He retreated to his bedroom without another word, closing the door with just a bit too much force. He stood there in the dark, one hand pressed flat against his chest, trying desperately to get his breathing under control. It didn’t make sense. He didn’t come from a spar to be short of breath. What the hell had caused him to be acting like this?
This was wrong. Very, very wrong. Everything about that was so fundamentally fucked up he couldn’t even begin to explain it to himself. Jake had tried to rob him. Hell, the guy would’ve probably killed him too. He was a criminal. The fear and desperation were simply a facade to fool Heeseung out and let him go.
The fact that he was a pretty boy didn’t change anything.
Heeseung pressed his head against his hands, desperate to rub off the weird sensation growing within him. The fact that he had wanted to do something weird with Jake—had been seconds away from actually doing it—meant absolutely nothing. It couldn’t mean anything.
Maybe he just needed to jerk off and get rid of his hard-on and sleep. He’d eventually forget about it. He tried very hard to convince himself that it was true.
It didn’t work.
Morning came cold. Heeseung woke at six out of pure habit, despite having slept maybe two hours total. He lay in bed for a long while, staring at nothing in hopes of waking up from a long coma, before the memory of last night came flooding back in excruciating detail.
Jake. On his couch.
Heeseung got up before the thoughts from last ngiht could drown him. He opened his bedroom door, half expecting the living room to be empty. Half hoping it would be, honestly. But unfortunately, Jake was still there. Asleep, curled on his side under the blanket with one hand tucked under his cheek. Call him surprised. He had seriously expected the dude would ransack his home while he was asleep, not laze on his couch being vulnerable in a way that made something uncomfortable set in Heeseung’s chest. Yet again, it might have just been morning hunger kicking in.
He forced himself to look away and headed for the kitchen. Coffee first. Then, when he was energized, he’d figure out what the fuck to do about his unexpected houseguest. Except that he was measuring out grounds, he heard Jake stir. A sharp intake of breath that sounded like pain.
“Bathroom’s down the hall,” Heeseung announced without turning around. “Don’t try anything stupid.”
Footsteps trailed behind him—sluggish and careful, like every step hurt. The bathroom door closed. Water ran.
Unconsciously, Heeseung made coffee for two. He might as well take care of his houseguest one last time before kicking him out. When Jake emerged a few minutes later, looking slightly more put together but no less exhausted, Heeseung slid a mug across the counter without meeting his eyes. If he did, he was sure he would lunge across the table and shove the coffee down Jake’s throat.
Yeah. That was a weird way to summarize the dream he had about the situation last night.
Jake stared at it, still skeptical. “Thanks.”
They drank in silence. The morning cold didn’t leave any room for solitude, making everything from last night feel surreal. Like maybe it had happened to different people and Heeseung just mistook it as his own experience. But no, he was still studying Jake over the rim of his mug. Noticing the cut above his eyebrow still irritated despite the bandage, and the bruise on his jaw had darkened overnight to a deep purple hue.
In short, he looked like shit. Worse than last night. But he also looked, unfortunately, still conventionally attractive.
Damn. Heeseung’s life was a fucking joke. Horny over a criminal.
“So,” Jake finally broke the silence. “Are you calling the cops now or what?”
God, how Heeseung wished he also knew the answer to that question. He had been asking himself that all night. The logical answer was yes. The safe answer was yes. Anyone would agree. And the answer that didn’t involve him catching feelings for someone who’d literally tried to rob him was definitely, absolutely yes.
“No,” he heard himself say instead.
Jake’s eyes widened. “What?”
“I’m not calling the cops.” Heeseung set his mug down. “But you need to leave. I don’t wanna get involved with your illegal shit. And if I ever see you again—if you or your gang ever come anywhere near me again—I won’t hesitate.”
Jake nodded slowly, a mix of confusion and disbelief present on his face. “Why though?”
“Don’t ask me that. Just take it and get the fuck out.”
Jake drained his coffee in one long gulp and set the mug down carefully, like he was afraid it might shatter. He seemed to have understood the deal. He grabbed his jacket from where it had fallen on the floor last night and headed to the door. He paused with his hand on the knob, turning around.
“Heeseung—“
“Get out.” Heeseung still couldn’t look at him, staring instead at the coffee maker like it held the secrets of Babylon. “Just go.”
The door opened. As soon as it clicked behind Jake, the silence that surrounded the apartment felt suffocating. Heeseung stood in his kitchen, trying very hard to ignore the strange loneliness spreading through his chest like an infection. Shit, had he gotten used to that— No, no, he hadn’t.
Training that afternoon was an absolute disaster.
Heeseung couldn’t focus for shit. Every time he threw a punch, his mind flew somewhere else entirely. His coach called him out twice for sloppy footwork that would’ve gotten him knocked out in an actual fight. During sparring, he took a hit to the chest, he should have been able to counter—would have seen it coming if his head wasn’t completely fucked by him.
“Where’s your head, son?” His coach asked after the third time Heeseung missed a punch like an amateur.
Heeseung didn’t have an answer. He couldn’t even lie to save himself. Or he had one, but it wasn’t something he could exactly say without it sounding as stupid as his feelings. He couldn’t just straight up say ‘sorry coach, can’t focus because I spent last night with a criminal tied up in my living room and he was weirdly attractive and I lowkey got horny and wanted to fuck him bad’. Yeah. As if it would definitely work out.
He punished himself by deliberately taking hits on the head—maybe that could rewire him to think normally again. But even then, his thoughts kept drifting back to Jake. To the way his eyes begged not to send him to jail. The way his voice had sounded saying Heeseung’s name in the dark. To that moment when Heeseung had felt the pull toward Jake like it was gravity itself.
It meant nothing. He repeated that to himself through three brutal rounds on the heavy bag. Through conditioning that left him gasping. Through cool-down stretches that did absolutely nothing to cool him down.
“The fuck is wrong with you today?” his coach demanded after Heeseung missed a combination he could normally do in his sleep.
“Nothing.”
“You’re distracted. Sloppy. If this were a real fight, you’d be on the canvas right now.” His coach grabbed his shoulder, forced him to make eye contact. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Heeseung repeated, faking a small smile. “Just an off day.”
His coach studied him, then sighed, patting him to send him off. “Get out of here. Go home and clear your head. Come back tomorrow when you can actually focus.”
Heeseung wanted to argue, wanted to stay and punish his body until it was too exhausted to feel anything else. But his coach’s expression left no room for negotiation. He showered and grabbed his bag, heading home with doubts in his mind. Maybe his brain was just tired, thinking stupid shit because he was stressed and couldn’t act properly. These were all mere distractions to throw him off track.
Oh, the lie was so fucking hilarious.
Three days passed. Three days of Heeseung throwing himself into routine like it would save him. Wake up, run, work, train, home, sleep. Repeat. Don’t think about Jake. Don’t wonder where he is. I don’t care about him.
It was working fine. Except it wasn’t, and Heeseung knew it, and apparently his sparring partner, Jay, noticed it too, because one day he pulled Heeseung aside after sparring.
“Dude, you look like shit lately,” Jay said, arms crossed. “The tournament is in two months, yet it seems like you’ve been beaten to hell.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.”
Heeseung rolled his eyes, strapping off the boxing gloves and ignoring the judging look directed at him.
“I don’t know what’s going on in your personal life, and I’m not gonna pry. But whatever it is, don’t let it ruin your momentum. You’ve been off with your counters lately. It’s hilariously sad.”
“I know.”
Jay stuck true to his words and didn’t question further, just rambling something about electric guitars and a guy he had been talking about too much recently that didn’t really enter Heeseung’s occupied mind.
By the time he left the gym, night had fallen again—same route, same flickering streetlight, same everything. So far, nothing was out of his routine. He continued walking slowly, gym bag over his shoulder, hands shoved in his pockets.
This was going well. And he hadn’t seen the guy for three days straight. Because if he did, then that would be insane. Jake had every reason to stay as far away from him as physically possible. Hell, he’d probably left the city by now, was probably halfway to somewhere else in his getaway car with bags of stolen goods. Heeseung told himself that it was for the better. The best possible outcome, really.
A part of him suggested otherwise, but he ignored it.
But he saw Jake up ahead.
Heeseung stopped dead in his tracks, his heart suddenly pounding in a way that had nothing to do with working out.
He saw Jake standing under a broken streetlight half a block ahead, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, shoulder hunched against the cold like he was trying to make himself appear invincible. Well shit, it wasn’t working. He stood out like a sore thumb. He wasn’t doing anything, just standing there. Waiting. And as if fate was playing with them, their eyes met across the distance.
Heeseung’s first instinct was to turn around. He had built up so many possible scenarios he could have done whenever this would have happened. He could just take a different route. Pretend he hadn’t seen him and avoid this entire exchange because he knew damn well nothing good could come from this.
But his feet kept moving forward instead, fists clenched so tight they bit his palms. As he got closer, he saw Jake tense up like he was preparing to either fight or run—couldn’t quite tell which. The reaction didn’t help Heeseung’s growing sense of superiority against Jake.
“Oh. I’m—I’m not here to cause trouble, I swear.” Jake stumbled with his words, cautiously stepping backwards.
“Then why the hell are you here?” Heeseung’s voice came out cold, almost angry for a reason he couldn’t point out. “I told you what would happen if I saw you again.”
“I know.” Jake took another step backward, hands coming out of his pockets, palms up as a desperate sign of peace. “I know, I swear I’m not—I just happened to be here.”
Heeseung clicked his tongue, “To rob me again? Are you really this money hungry?”
“No!” Jake waved his hands, “No, fuck, I swear. I just wanted to—“
The sound of footsteps cut him off. Multiple sets, and it definitely didn’t come from either of them. They were approaching fast from behind Jake.
Jake’s face was drained of blood, turning completely white. “Shit.”
“What’s going—“
Three men rounded the corner, all of them bigger than Jake, faces angry and hard. One of them seemed to have recognized Heeseung immediately—one of the bulkier men from last night, the one who’d chickened out first when it was his turn to get beaten up.
“There you are, you little cunt,” the leader growled, and his tone definitely promised violence.
Jake backed up a step instinctively. His shoulder bumped into Heeseung’s arm.
“Friends of yours?” Heeseung asked, trying to lighten the mood when he had already connected the dots. And… it didn’t really work as he intended it to be, with the way the men’s expressions shifted to an offended one. Ready to attack.
“No. Not exactly.”
The three men fanned out, blocking the street in both directions. The leader cracked his knuckles in a way that was probably supposed to be intimidating. It mostly just looked stupid.
“You fucked up last time, Jake,” the leader said. “Made us all look bad in front of the boss. Cost us a good score. Boss ain’t happy about that, you know. You fucked it up big time.”
“I didn’t mean to—“
“Shut the fuck up, wuss.” The leader took a step forward. “You’re done. We gave you a chance, and you blew it. This time we’re making sure you ain’t getting back up again.”
Jake’s panic was visible. His breaths were short and quick, coming in gasps. He was scared, Heeseung realized. Genuinely terrified of these guys. And it was ironic coming from someone who used to hang around this type of guy.
“Please,” Jake tried, voice sounding weak despite obvious efforts to keep it neutral. “I’ll make it right.”
“Too late for that.”
They started moving forward as one, synchronized like they were some gymnastic team. And that’s when Heeseung saw the knife. The leader pulled it from his pocket. Nothing fancy, just a basic switchblade, but it was definitely sharp enough to do some serious damage.
Now, Heeseung could’ve walked away. He was just a bystander caught up in this mess. He should have let Jake deal with his own shit because this wasn’t his problem, this wasn’t his fight. Jake had made his choices and now he was dealing with the consequences. But he felt the urgency to protect Jake. He remembered vividly the desperation in the guy’s voice when he begged not to go to jail. Remembered the way he’d looked sitting on Heeseung’s couch, hurt and fucking terrified. Remembered the moment when their faces had been inches apart and Jake had looked at him like Heeseung might actually be able to save him.
And fuck it, this was probably his only chance to get under Jake’s pants because the guy was really, really fuckable.
He stepped in front of Jake, stance solid, shielding the latter from their attack. “Back off, or else I’m calling the police.”
The leader’s eyes narrowed. “It’s the boxer. Should’ve fucking known you’d be sniffing around. What, you and him got something going on now? That's why you let him go?”
“I said back off.”
“Or what?” The leader grinned, showing teeth that were crooked and stained. It probably was rotten too. “You gonna fight all three of us? You just got lucky last night, caught us by surprise. But we’re putting you down this time.” He waved the knife lazily. “And Jake’s the one we want. So move the fuck away or we'll kill you too.”
Behind him, Heeseung could feel Jake trembling. Could hear his panicked breathing. Could practically feel the fear radiating off of him. Seriously, how did this guy even become a part of this gang?
“I’m not moving,”
“Your funeral then,”
They attacked. The guy with the knife came first—amateur move, leading with his best weapon instead of saving it was a huge blunder. Heeseung caught his wrist mid-thrust, twisted hard and heard something crack with a deeply, sadistic and satisfying sound. The leader yelped in pain. Heeseung drove his knee into the guy’s crotch and shoved him aside like trash.
The other two followed, smarter this time, but not not enough to outsmart Heeseung’s years of training. He slipped the first punch, countered with a hook that connected so hard he felt it vibrate in his shoulder, and shoved an elbow into the second guy’s temple. They were bigger and had more muscle than him, but he was faster and more precise. And his every movement was honed by years of drilling. It really paid off in the end, huh?
A fist grazed his cheekbone—close enough to sting, not close enough to do real damage. Heeseung tasted blood in his mouth, metallic. But it didn’t matter. Hearing Jake grunt as he avoided the attacks pumped him up. He kept fighting, kept putting himself between them and Jake like his body was a shield they couldn’t break. And every time he heard Jake gasp from the shock of a punch, it drove him to fight back harder.
One of them got smart and tried to circle. Heeseung pivoted, caught him with a straight right that dropped him to one knee. The guy stayed down this time, clutching his face and making sounds that might have been whimpering.
It was more challenging than last night, but still not as challenging as his weird attraction for the guy he was doing this for right now.
The leader clutched his broken wrist, the other two pressing onto their bruises. They glared at Heeseung with unprecedented fear or might have been grudging respect. It was hard to tell from the blood flowing through their faces.
“This isn’t fucking over, the leader spat, “You’re both dead. The boss will kill you.”
“Go.” Heeseung cut him off. “Before I change my mind about letting you walk away with your balls still between your legs.”
They retreated again. Stumbling and cursing and making promises of revenge they probably couldn’t keep.
Heeseung stood in the middle of the empty street, breathing hard, knuckles bleeding. Behind him, Jake made a sound that was almost a sob or maybe even a laugh—impossible to tell. What mattered was that those motherfuckers were running back to their boss.
“You—you didn’t have to.”
Heeseung turned around slowly, found Jake staring at him with eyes wide and wet. From crying or from the sweat, he wasn’t sure. “They were going to kill you. That wasn’t a threat. They meant it.”
“I know, I know.” Jake took a handful of his hair, distraught. “But why did you—why do you keep doing this?”
“I don’t know,” Heeseung replied, and it was the truth. He had absolutely no fucking idea why he’d just fought three guys for someone who tried to rob him. Yes, he was still not over this fact. But he had no logical explanation, just a rational justification.
Maybe he felt like being the Batman of his city. Who knows?
“They’ll come back,” Jake said quietly. “They’ll still find me. I don’t—“ He swallowed hard, looking lost in a way that made Heeseung’s throat ache. “I don’t have anywhere to go. They know where I live, they know all my spots. Shit, they’ll—“
He was spiraling. An obvious panic attack about to take over him—Heeseung had had one of those moments when he lost his first few matches as an unwashed boxer. He could see it happening in real time—the way Jake’s breathing was getting faster, shallower, the way his whole body trembled.
“Hey,” Nothing. “Jake, look at me.”
Jake’s eyes snapped to his.
“How bad are you hurt?” Heeseung asked.
Jake touched his side gently, winced. “They got me a few times. I’m okay, though. I think.”
“You’re bleeding.”
Jake looked down like he hadn’t noticed. His shirt was torn, blood seeping through the fabric. “Oh,” was all he muttered.
Heeseung closed his eyes briefly, fighting with his own values. Every logical brain cell he had left was screaming at him to walk away, to let Jake figure this shit out on his own. He needed to stop making everything in his life exponentially more complicated. And involving himself with this guy would definitely mean more fights like this again in the future.
But Jake was swaying slightly now, clearly hurt and scared. Just looking at it hurt too.
“Come on,” Heeseung forced himself to say. “You’re coming with me.”
“What?” Jake shook his head. “No, I can’t. They’ll follow me to you, they’ll kill—“
“I don’t give a fuck what they do. You’re not staying here.”
“Heeseung—“
“Jake.”
Jake swallowed and nodded slowly in defeat. He then reached up and took Heeseung’s hand. It was hard to tell what he was feeling right now. Relief, maybe. Confusion. Or something else Heeseung couldn’t identify. “Thank you,” Jake murmured, eyes dropping. “I don’t know why you’re helping me, but… thank you.”
Heeseung didn’t bother answering, just pulled the other closer. Jake swayed immediately, legs nearly giving out, and Heeseung caught him around the waist without thinking. The guy was shivering, whether from the cold or the fear, he didn’t care. Tried not to care too much.
“How long since you ate?” Heeseung asked.
“I don’t—I don’t remember.”
Heeseung adjusted his grip, taking more of Jake’s weight. “Think you can walk?”
“Yeah. Of course. Maybe.”
That was not reassuring. They were three blocks in when Jake’s legs gave out completely. Heeseung caught him before he hit the pavement, then made a decision that was probably stupid but felt inevitable.
He picked Jake up.
Jake made a sound of protest, fighting back. “What are you doing—“
“Shut up and let me help you.”
The exhaustion probably made Jake shut up. He let himself get carried by Heeseung the rest of the way home. He was light in Heeseung’s arms, his face pressed against his shoulder like he was trying to disappear.
This was a terrible idea. Someone needed to knock some sense into him. This was possibly the worst idea he’d had in his entire life. Even worse than the time he looked up porn out of curiosity. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not really when Jake was involved.
Back at the apartment, the silence felt different this time. More charged with things neither of them seemed willing to mention. But the aftermath of that fight was present.
Heeseung locked the door behind them and tossed his gym bag aside. Jake stood in the middle of the living room, looking lost, as if this was his first time being here, looking like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself now that they were back here. The image of him being within Heeseung’s walls was becoming quite familiar.
“Sit,” Heeseung said, nodding toward the couch. “I’ll get water.”
Jake sat slowly, wincing with every movement. His leather jacket was torn now too, adding to the collection of damage on his body. He somehow looked worse than he had last time, if that was even possible—new cuts layered over old bruises, exhaustion so present in his features it looked like a chronic illness.
Heeseung went back with a glass of water in his hand, handing it to Jake this time. He sat down beside the latter. Closer than necessary, but the couch was small and he needed to see if Jake was hurt anyway. That was the only reason.
“How long?” Heeseung asked out of the blue.
“How long what?”
“How long have you been with them?”
Jake was quiet for so long. Heeseung thought he might not answer. Then, “Six months. Maybe seven.”
“That’s not long.”
“Long enough to fuck up my entire life.”
Heeseung leaned back onto the couch, letting his system rest from the rush. He closed his eyes, but he could feel Jake’s gaze boring holes through him. “Why’d you join? You don’t even seem like you’re cut out for the job.”
“I told you. I needed the money.”
“For what?”
Another long silence stretched. Heeseung could feel Jake’s hesitation, could practically see him weighing how much to say, how much truth to give. Finally, sighing, he said, “My grandmother. She’s sick. Has been for a while. The hospital bills are too expensive. I couldn’t pay them. Couldn’t get a job that paid enough, couldn’t get loans, couldn’t—I was out of options.”
Heeseung’s eyes lingered on Jake’s face, watching as the latter’s expression dropped. “So you started stealing.”
Jake nodded. “Even then, it barely covers anything. The bills keep coming and I keep—I kept trying but it’s never enough. It’s never fucking enough.”
Heeseung continued staring at Jake, surprised that the boy even let him, even though it was obvious by his flushed ears that the embarrassment was starting to paint him red. The new information still didn’t excuse what Jake had done—didn’t make the robbery attempt less illegal or erase the fact that he’d made terrible choices. But it explained things. Heeseung understood where he was coming from. It made Jake seem less like a criminal and more like someone desperate enough to go through desperate measures.
Made him seem… human.
“You’re grandmother,” Heeseung said. “She knows what you’ve been doing?”
Jake laughed for the first time, a bitter tone laced around it. “Fuck no. She thinks I’m working construction, picking up night shifts. If she knew—“ he paused, head dropping low. “It would kill her. Literally. She’s got a bad heart on top of everything else.”
Heeseung straightened, thinking for a while. “Why don’t you just tell the truth? You’re still lying by doing this.”
Jake’s head snapped up. “You think I don’t know that?” his voice thinned. “If she found out, she’d look at me differently. And I don’t want that to happen.”
“And when you get killed by those guys? How’re you gonna explain that?”
Jake’s shoulders tensed. He stared at the floor, one hand limp at his lap. “At least I tried helping her. Besides, I’ve already lied to her that I’ll be leaving the city for work. She won’t question why I’m gone.”
“Why don’t you just leave then? Start over somewhere else.”
“With what money?” Jake’s laugh was empty. “I’ve got maybe two hundred bucks to my name. That’ll last me what, a week? Two if I starve myself. And then what? My grandmother’s here, I can’t just leave,” his voice trembled. “I’m trapped until I pay my debts. Completely fucking trapped.”
Heeseung understood that feeling better than he wanted to admit. The sense of having no good options, being stuck in a dilemma between terrible choices and worse ones. He’d felt it himself plenty of times—after his parents died, when the insurance barely covered the funeral costs. He was only seventeen and knew nothing better. He had to choose between keeping their apartment and eating regularly. When he’d realized that boxing was the only skill he had that might actually get him out of the void that was slowly killing him.
Different circumstances, yeah, but the same desperate and helpless feeling of having no way forward that didn’t lead to worse outcomes.
Heeseung didn’t know when it happened, but their knees were touching now, had been for the last several minutes, and neither of them had moved away. “There’s always a way out,” he said, not sure if he believed it but saying it still meant something.
“Yeah?” Jake turned to look at him, they were suddenly very close again. The same dangerous proximity as that certain night. “What’s mine?”
Heeseung didn’t have an answer. His brain had stopped producing coherent thoughts the moment Jake’s eyes met his. They were close enough that he could see the way Jake’s pupils dilated slightly. Close enough, he could see his lips part, could feel the shift in Jake’s breathing.
This was dangerous territory. This was the edge of something Heeseung absolutely could not let himself fall into. Jake was still a criminal at the end of the day. He’d tried to rob him. The grandmother story could be all fake for all he knew. That didn’t change the fundamental facts of the situation. But Jake was looking at him with so much genuineness that it ached, dismissing it as a con. When he shifted closer to Heeseung, something felt like it was crackling with electricity.
“You’re staying here,”
Jake’s eyes widened, “What?”
“Here. With me. Until we figure this shit out.”
“Heeseung I can’t—“
“Yes, you can.” Heeseung set the final verdict, not entertaining any of Jake’s protests. “You obviously can’t take care of yourself out there.”
“You don’t have to do this. I tried to rob you. I’ve brought nothing but trouble. Why would you do this?”
“Because you’ll die if you don’t,” Heeseung cut him off. Not addressing the real reason behind his decision. “And I’m not in the mood to keep protecting you in some alley. Shit gets boring.” It wasn’t the whole truth. It wasn’t even close. But it was all he could make himself utter out loud.
Jake just blinked at him. “I don’t understand you.”
“Good. You don’t have to. You just gotta stay alive.” Heeseung stood up. “First aid is in the bathroom. We’ll deal with everything else tomorrow. Take care of your wounds.”
Jake opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but eventually stopped himself. His shoulders slumped in defeat. “Okay,” he whispered. “Okay…”
Heeseung told himself this was necessary. It was practical. That he was just preventing a death he’d feel guilty about later. It had nothing, nothing to do with the way his body reacted when his gaze accidentally fell on Jake’s lips. He almost believed that delusion.
They fell into a routine over the next few days, though calling it a routine felt off somehow. Too normal for what this actually was.
Heeseung would wake up early and find Jake already awake on the couch, blankly staring at nothing. They’d have coffee in silence. Heeseung would go to work, then training, always checking his phone in case Jake needed something. He’d come home to find the guy exactly where he’d left him, like he hadn’t moved all day. He blamed it on the lack of space in his apartment, but a part of him blamed himself for kind of imprisoning the guy here.
On the third day, Heeseung came home spent from training to find Jake in the kitchen.
“I made dinner,” Jake said, gesturing awkwardly at the stove. “It’s not much. I’m not a good cook. Just pasta. But I figured— I don’t know. I should probably contribute something since I’m staying here.”
He was right. The pasta was overcooked and the sauce was from an expired jar, but it was the best thing Heeseung had eaten in weeks.
“Thanks.”
Jake’s smile was small, but genuine. The first real smile Heeseung had seen from him. It was always like this. Jake would do something that made Heeseung’s chest tug uncomfortably, and it only got worse the longer they stayed together.
They ate at the small kitchen table, knees bumping underneath. And for the first time since this whole thing started, it felt almost normal. Almost like they were just two friends sharing a meal instead of whatever complicated mess this actually was.
Wait, were they even friends?
“Tell me about your grandmother,” Heeseung said suddenly.
Jake’s fork paused halfway to his mouth, dropping. “What?”
“Your grandmother. You mentioned she’s sick. Tell me more about her.”
For a moment, Heeseung thought he had done something to upset Jake by the way he went eerily still. Then, hesitantly, “She raised me after my parents died when I was young. My mom died after giving birth to me, then my dad died later on ‘cause of cancer.” His voice went soft, holding back his sadness. “She’s the only family I have left. The only person who’s ever cared for me. She’s everything.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Heart failure. Kidney disease. Diabetes. Take your pick.” Jake chuckled, but it immediately faltered. “She’s been sick for years but it got worse about eight months ago. The treatments are expensive, and her insurance barely covers anything.”
“Where is she now?”
“Care facility.”
“Have you visited her?”
Jake shook his head. “Not when I look like this,” he gestured at his bruised face. “I’m sure that she’s worried sick and I can’t even call her because what the fuck would I say?”
Heeseung thought for a moment. “Tell her you got in an accident. That you’re staying with a friend while you recover. It’s not exactly a lie.”
Jake looked at him, brows pulling together. “Is that what we are? Friends?”
The question hovered there, waiting. Because no, they definitely weren’t friends. Friends didn’t look at each other the way they did. Friends didn’t have moments of silence where the air felt tense and electric. Friends didn’t lie awake at night thinking about each other. Well, most of these were on Heeseung’s side. And to top it all off, a friend definitely didn’t think about the other while reaching his climax.
“Sure. Friends.”
They finished dinner in silence.
A week passed. Then two. Jake’s bruises faded underneath his golden skin. The cuts healed. He started smiling more, being more comfortable, laughing at stupid jokes on TV, filling Heeseung’s once-empty apartment with a presence that felt both foreign and necessary.
And the tension between them kept building.
It was the small things that got to Heeseung. The way Jake hummed while washing dishes. How he’d stolen Heeseung’s favorite mug and claimed it as his own. The way he’d curl up on the couch with knees tucked under him, completely absorbed in whatever trashy reality show was on. This didn’t really describe what a “friendship” should feel like.
On day nine, Heeseung woke up to the smell of coffee.
He shuffled out of his room, still half-asleep, to find Jake in the kitchen attempting to make breakfast. Attempting to be the keyword—the eggs were slightly burnt, the toast was uneven, and Jake had somehow managed to get flour on his cheek despite not even baking anything.
“Oh, morning,” Jake said, turning around with a sheepish grin. “I uh… tried to make breakfast. It didn’t go well.”
Heeseung stared at him. Was this the same guy who attacked him weeks ago? Because the same guy was now standing in his kitchen, wearing one of his old t-shirts, hair sticking up in every direction, looking domestic and completly at home. The morning light reflected on his features, made him look golden and—
And Heeseung realized with a sinking feeling in his gut that he enjoyed this. Not just for today. Not just until they figured shit out. He wanted Jake to stay here as long as possible. Wanted to wake up to burnt eggs and see that stupid grin every morning. Wanted his clothes mixed in with Heeseung’s laundry. Wanted him to take up space in Heeseung’s life like he belonged there.
Something went wrong with Heeseung. This wasn’t how it was supposed to turn out.
“Heeseung? You good?” Jake’s smile lowered. “Is it that bad? I can make something else—“
“No.” Heeseung cleared his throat. “No it’s… it’s good. Thanks.”
Jake’s smile returned, brighter this time. Heeseung was fucked. He was so completely fucked. He had no idea what to do about this. This wasn’t just an attraction anymore. He had had too many flings to differentiate that from what he felt towards Jake. It was something more terrifying, something more real. He knew it was dangerous. Even considering it complicated everything.
“What?” Jake asked, catching him staring.
“Nothing. Just thinking.”
“About?”
About you. About this. About how I don’t understand this shit. He shoved those thoughts away. “About training. Got a session later.”
“Okay.”
Heeseung threw himself into training with even more intensity, trying to burn off the constant overthinking about Jake being in his space. He tried and tried to keep himself busy until he couldn’t think about anything anymore.
He was wound so tight it was only a matter of time before something snapped.
It happened on a Saturday night.
Heeseung came home from a particularly rough training session to find Jake in the kitchen again, making dinner. He’d gotten comfortable here, confident enough to use Heeseung’s space like he belonged here. He was wearing one of Heeseung’s t-shirts, and it hung loose on his frame in a way that was unfair and tempting. This was one of the only things that annoyed Heeseung while living with Jake.
“How was training?” Jake asked, not turning around as he continued preparing dinner.
“Fine.” Heeseung plopped his bag by the door, tried not to stare at the way the shirt fell off Jake’s shoulder, the way his collarbones were exposed. “Smells good.”
“It’s just ramen. Nothing fancy.”
Heeseung moved into the kitchen to grab water and ended up standing too close, reaching past Jake for a glass. Their bodies brushed—just barely, just for a second—and like clockwork, the air between them turned awkward and electric.
Jake turned slowly, and suddenly they were face to face, barely a foot between them. They were so close in fact that Heeseung could feel Jake’s breath graze his face. Too hot that it almost made him sweat despite the cold weather.
“Heeseung,” Jake whispered, and it sounded like a question and a plea all at once.
Heeseung’s hand was still stretched past Jake’s shoulder, gripping the counter now instead of reaching for a glass. Caging him in without meaning to. Jake was trapped between Heeseung’s body like prey. And neither the counter or they were moving to change that.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Heeseung said, leaning his head on Jake’s shoulder.
“I know.”
“This is a fucking bad idea.”
“I know that too.”
But Jake’s hand came up anyway, fingers touching Heeseung’s chest hesitantly. Just resting there over his heart like he was trying to feel it pound like crazy.
Heeseung’s patience was growing thin. He’d been fighting against temptation for weeks, had been so careful to maintain distance, to not let this exact situation happen. To keep things between them friendly. But Jake looking at him like this and touching him dangerously was too much.
“Jake,” he said. A warning.
“Yeah?”
Then the thread snapped.
Heeseung closed the distance between them and kissed him. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft or any of the things a first kiss probably should be. It was a release from weeks of pent-up tension bursting all at once—desperate and hungry. Too much so that it became violent in its intensity. Jake made a sound against his mouth, something between relief and shock, and kissed back just as desperately.
Heeseung’s hands found Jake’s waist and lifted him, setting the latter on the counter without breaking the kiss. He managed to position himself between Jake’s legs as they wrapped around almost instantly, ankles locking behind his back, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them. Too close until they both merged into one.
Jake’s hands were in Heeseung’s hair, gripping hard enough to hurt, but Heeseung didn’t care. If anything, this just drove him crazier and kissed him harder, if that was even possible by the way he was devouring Jake’s lips, tasting coffee and something even more addicting underneath. He groaned against his mouth, deepening the kiss.
“Fuck,” Jake breathed when they broke apart for air, chest heaving. His lips were red and swollen, eyes blown wide and definitely searching for more. “Heeseung…”
Heeseung couldn’t wait. He kissed Jake again, swallowing whatever he had been about to say. His hands slid under Jake’s borrowed shirt—his shirt. Something about that aroused something animalistic within him. His fingers splayed across bare skin that was feverish and burned to the touch. Jake arched into it, head falling back against the cabinet, exposing his neck.
Heeseung wasted no time and kissed down his jaw, his neck, and felt Jake’s pulse rushing beneath his lips. It tasted salty and skin. Jake gasped when Heeseung’s teeth grazed his collarbone, nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt, legs tightening around his waist, almost scared he’d lose the sensation.
“Bedroom,” Jake managed to say, “We should—“
“Yeah.” Heeseung pulled back just enough to look at Jake. Flushed and messy, and something desperate clenched so hard in his chest he wanted to taste Jake again like he was a drug.
Jake’s hands slid down to grip Heeseung’s shirt, pulling him back in for another kiss that was all teeth and tongue. Clearly desperate. “Now,” Jake said against his mouth. “Please now,”
Heeseung didn’t need to be told twice.
He pulled Jake off the counter, hands under his thighs, supporting his weight. Jake wrapped himself around him, never breaking the kiss as Heeseung carried him down the hall like that—both kissing frantically, messily, with Jake’s fingers tangled in his hair and Heeseung’s hands gripping his thighs hard enough to leave marks. He was sure Jake also felt the pent-up frustration growing from Heeseung between their bodies.
They barely made it to the bedroom without stumbling. Heeseung kicked the door shut behind them and they fell onto the bed. Jake pulled him down immediately, arching up to meet him, and the kiss somehow turned even more desperate. Heeseung held himself up with his forearms to keep from crushing Jake, but his hands were everywhere, pulling him down to close the distance between them, making little needy sounds that drove Heeseung absolutely insane.
He thought he was crazy enough already, but he wasn’t aware of Jake’s game.
“Off,” Jake gasped, tugging at Heeseung’s shirt. “Get this off.”
Heeseung complied. Obedient, like the words controlled him. He sat back just long enough to abruptly pull his shirt over his head and toss it aside. Jake’s eyes went dark, his hands immediately reaching up to touch bare skin like it was treasure he had been long searching for, fingers tracing over his chest, his abs, the lines of muscle earned from years of training. It was fucking hot.
“Fuck,” Jake breathed. “You’re so—“
Heeseung cut him off with another desperate kiss, one hand sliding under Jake’s shirt, pulling it up. They broke apart just enough for Jake to raise his arms and let Heeseung strip it off him. Then back to skin against skin, with Jake making these sounds in the back of his throat that were absolutely wrecking Heeseung’s control.
“Tell me to stop,” Heeseung said against Jake’s mouth, giving him one last out even though he knew that stopping might actually kill him at this point. “Tell me that this is a fucking bad idea and I’ll stop right now.”
Jake’s hands came up to cup his face. “Don’t fucking stop.” He whispered. “I’ve been waiting for this for weeks. I’ll kill you if you do.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Heeseung did as he was told. He reached for the bedside drawer, fumbling for a condom. Jake watched him with expectant eyes and a shy grin that made Heeseung’s hands shake.
This was going to be a fun night.
…
Later, they lay tangled together in Heeseung’s bed, both breathing hard, skin flushed and damp with sweat. The sheets were messy, twisted around their legs. Jake’s head was on Heeseung’s chest, one arm draped across his stomach as Heeseung traced idle patterns on the other’s back.
The room smelled disgusting. Like sex and sweat. And something else that felt dangerously close to intimacy. To whatever they were right now.
Jake’s fingers traced along Heeseung’s chest, warm and tingly, making him shiver. “That was…” Jake started, then stopped like he couldn’t find the words to describe what they got themselves into.
“I know,” Heeseung agreed. He didn’t have the words for it either. His brain was still pretty thoroughly scrambled from wrecking Jake.
Jake propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at Heeseung with a soft expression and maybe a little uncertainty. His hair was all over him, his lips swollen and red from kissing. There were also a few marks forming on his skin that Heeseung definitely remembered making.
“So what happens now?” asked Jake.
Heeseung reached up, tucked a piece of hair behind Jake’s ear. “I don’t know.”
“Do you—“ Jake hesitated, biting his lips. “Do you regret it?”
“Hell no.” The answer came immediately, sure. Heeseung pulled him down for a kiss that was gentler this time to prove his answer. “Do you?”
“No,” Jake grinned ear to ear. “Not even a little bit.”
They stayed like that for a while, just kissing lazily. They just enjoyed the pleasure of being close to each other. Eventually, Jake settled back against Heeseung’s chest, both of them too tired to move.
“We should probably talk about this,” Jake murmured after a while. “Figure out what this means. How to move forward from here.”
“Yeah. Tomorrow.” Heeseung said, “We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Jake’s breathing calmed down after a few minutes, exhaustion finally pulling him to sleep. Heeseung stayed awake a bit longer, staring at the ceiling. Jake’s weight and warmth was grounding, embracing him peacefully—something he thought only existed in books.
The realization still hung heavy. He’d just crossed a line he couldn’t uncross. Made everything more complicated. And he still didn’t know what the fuck they were going to do about the gang, about Jake’s grandmother, about any of it. He didn’t even know what he felt for Jake. Was it lust? Actual romantic feelings?
It was whatever. What’s important was that Jake was here, safe and sleeping in his arms. Right now, that felt enough. As long as he was safe with him, it would be enough.
Heeseung pressed a kiss to the top of Jake’s head and let himself drift off too.