Into The Thrill-Chapter 12.2

“Ah, fuck, you're heavy as shit. You don’t even look it—why the hell are you so heavy? Is this all muscle?”

“I think I’m gonna puke.”

“No, don’t! Hold it in! You can’t do that here!”

Panicking wouldn’t make the elevator rise any faster, but Jung Ho-myung anxiously stared at the floor display as he struggled to support Woojin, half-carrying him up.

As soon as the elevator stopped and the doors opened, Jung dragged Woojin out. He jabbed at the doorbell to Haewon’s officetel like a madman, slamming it over and over so hard it made noise.

“Just hang on a bit longer! Please, sunbae! Just a little more!”

“I’m dizzy... I think I’m gonna throw up.”

Woojin muttered. Jung continued hammering at the bell like a maniac, then set him down on the ground.

“I got him here safely. Alright then, goodnight.”

The door hadn’t even opened yet, but Jung bolted back toward the elevator like he couldn’t get away fast enough. The elevator took him down.

Woojin, who had been slumped over with one elbow propped on his knee, stood up as the elevator stopped on the first floor. He brushed off his disheveled clothes.

Before Haewon could open the door, Woojin punched in the code and let himself inside. Haewon had just come out of the bathroom, a shower gown wrapped around him—he must’ve jumped out mid-shower at the sound of the doorbell.

“What the hell?”

“Sorry. I suddenly couldn’t remember the code.”

“I thought something happened.”

Haewon scowled irritably and went straight back into the bathroom.

Woojin tossed off his jacket and threw it on the sofa, opened the fridge, and pulled out a beer. He drank as he walked to the window. His silhouette reflected dimly against the black glass, lit by the city behind him.

His shirt was untucked and messy. He tucked it back into his pants and straightened his appearance. Once he finished the beer, he tossed the can into the trash.

Right then, Haewon came out of the bathroom again, having finished washing up. He tied the knot of the shower gown and roughly towel-dried his dripping wet hair.

Woojin walked over to Haewon as he dried his hair. The opened front of the robe revealed the pale nape of his neck. Woojin wrapped his arms around that slim waist and pressed his nose into the nape. The scent of soap seeped softly into his sinuses. He breathed in, and Haewon twitched his shoulder at the ticklish sensation.

“You smell like alcohol. Did you drink?”

“Ah... yeah.”

Haewon turned to face him, like he’d just remembered. Woojin didn’t look drunk. His clothes, hair, movements, and expression were all neat. Yet he leaned in clumsily, resting his forehead against Haewon’s shoulder.

“Who’d you drink with?”

“It was a work dinner.”

“Oh, with the new deputy chief? Didn’t you say you had lunch with him last time?”

“Had to drink with him too.”

“Did you drink a lot?”

“A bit... a bit more than a bit.”

Just like how other people let their guard down when Woojin pretended to be drunk, Haewon also softened somehow when he did.

Normally, Woojin didn’t need anyone’s help—he was too perfect, to the point it made people uncomfortable. But when he loosened up and leaned on someone after drinking, he suddenly felt fragile, even pitiable, and Haewon’s chest filled with something both tender and aching.

Just as he had with Jung Ho-myung, Woojin pretended to lose his balance and leaned into Haewon.

“There he goes again.”

“Haewon. Haewon?”

“I’m Moon Haewon, yeah.”

“I want to sleep with you.”

“...”

Woojin’s breath, thick with alcohol, spilled over Haewon’s neck. He rubbed his forehead against Haewon’s shoulder, swaying slightly. Haewon, stiff for some reason, just held onto his arm. Woojin pressed his lips against the curve of his neck and said again,

“I want to sleep with you. With Moon Haewon.”

“...Do you like me?”

“I do. I like... some college kid who’s twenty-nine—no, thirty now—so much I want to fuck him.”

“I’m not a college student.”

“You’re not? Thought you were?”

Frowning like he was trying to refocus his blurred vision, Woojin leaned in, bringing his face close to Haewon’s.

Haewon looked at him with an expression he couldn’t hide—so full of affection, so helplessly in love, it glowed in his eyes.

Woojin felt a sharp, sweet ache shoot down his spine. This was what he wanted to see—those eyes sparkling with affection for him. It was worth the act.

He brought his lips to Haewon’s and lightly sucked on them.

“You smell like booze.”

Haewon turned his head, wrinkling his nose slightly to avoid him.

“Want to sleep with me?”

“...What even is that? Who are you trying to hit on right now?”

“You. I’m hitting on you.”

The hand that had been resting on Haewon’s back suddenly tugged at the bathrobe. It slipped off his shoulders, revealing skin. Woojin pressed his heated lips to Haewon’s shoulder, savoring the warmth and scent, dragging his mouth along the skin.

From shoulder to neck, the back of the neck, along the helix of the ear, to the soft lobe—his flushed lips trailed all over Haewon.

“I want to get serious with you.”

“Are you actually drunk? Why are you saying weird shit?”

The drunken whisper tickled Haewon’s flushed ear.

Woojin stared at their reflection in the window, overlaying the city lights.

Haewon, now bare-backed in the robe, was trapped in his arms. Woojin’s hand was caressing his exposed back, their bodies fully visible in the massive window. He untied the robe at Haewon’s waist. It slipped completely off, pooling around his feet.

Long bare legs, a small backside, the smooth curve of Haewon’s waist—his silhouette wound its arms around Woojin’s neck.

Woojin didn’t take his eyes off that view in the dark glass. He stared relentlessly at Haewon’s back.

His large hand could cover the entire width of Haewon’s back. He looked on as if admiring a piece of art. He brushed down Haewon’s thighs, grabbed his ass, his hands roaming eagerly over Haewon’s bare body.

Heat rushed to Woojin’s lower half.

He pushed Haewon. Haewon staggered backward, until his back hit the window. At the touch of the cold glass, he shuddered lightly.

Woojin tore his gaze away from the reflection and looked down at Haewon. He pressed his forehead to his. The warmth of Haewon’s body heat was thick in the air.

“I want to be entangled with you.”

“I... don’t want to be entangled with you.”

“Date me.”

“...You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

Haewon looked up at him, eyes full of hurt. Woojin exhaled heavily, like the drunken words were weighing him down.

“You always say this shit when you’re drunk. You’re doing it on purpose, aren’t you?”

“What are you talking about?”

Whenever Woojin got drunk—or rather, whenever he pretended to—he always said the same things.

Everything he’d just said was another round of testing, trying to shake Haewon, to confirm how much he wanted him, how deeply he loved him—enough to show it in his eyes. Woojin enjoyed this ritual.

Haewon’s eyes were soaked, like a child on the verge of tears. Beneath the fallen robe, his half-hardened desire peeked out, framed by soft, fine body hair.

Woojin hadn’t even touched him. Had only said a few words. And Haewon couldn’t hide it—his feelings for Woojin poured out raw and unfiltered. Because he believed Woojin was drunk. If Woojin had said those same things while sober, Haewon might’ve laughed them off.

Alcohol was strange. It made people honest. It peeled off the masks of lies they wore. Alcohol was useful. As a weapon in psychological warfare, nothing before or after civilization had been quite so effective.

“You’re always like this when you drink. What kind of fucking drunk behavior is that? Making people’s hearts race.”

“Your heart’s racing?”

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“Most people cry when they drink, or call someone they barely know... they pass out, or sing songs. Be a normal drunk. Don’t do this.”

“...Really? Is that what other people do? What about me?”

“You’re... you’re so mean. You’re bad. You’ve got terrible habits. Are you like this with everyone else too?”

“Everyone else? Who?”

“Other people... people you dated before. Were you like this to your fiancée too?”

“Who?”

“The person you dated the longest...”

“Who? You?”

Whenever Haewon believed Woojin was drunk, he inevitably brought up Hayeong. It was a topic he absolutely refused to ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ touch in normal conversations.

But to Haewon, it seemed to be a serious matter—how close Woojin had been with Hayeong, how deep their relationship had been, how much he’d loved her. Though she was long dead and gone, Hayeong seemed deeply etched into Haewon’s consciousness, quietly gnawing at his nerves.

Haewon looked at Woojin with pouting resentment. He was sure Woojin was just playing with him again under the guise of being drunk. Every word he said shook his heart, every tone made it tremble.

“Do you like me?”

“I like you.”

“...Do you love me?”

“I love you.”

He said it without a blink, without shifting his gaze.

Haewon wrapped his arms around Woojin’s shoulders and brought their lips together. Their heated bare skin tangled with each breath. Haewon hastily began undressing Woojin.

Faint dawn light seeped through the gap in the curtains.

Woojin had woken up an hour ago.

Haewon once said he couldn’t sleep anywhere but this bed—and the bed really was worth what it cost. Woojin himself didn’t want to get up once he was in it. That feeling of not wanting to do anything... it was strangely unfamiliar.

And today was the same. Dragging his feet, refusing to get out of bed, was something Woojin never allowed himself.

Even as a kid, when his family would sleep in late on weekends, Woojin would still wake up at his usual time and follow his routine, no matter the day.

But now, even after waking up an hour ago, he was still lying in bed like some lazy bastard, staring at the ceiling and wasting precious time.

The mattress was firm and soft in perfect balance, and the bedding was light and warm, wrapping around his naked body like downy clouds.

The sensation of bare skin touching fine sheets—he’d never cared about things like that. He’d spent his whole life ignoring them, as if they didn’t exist. But now, every morning, the feel of it struck him anew.

Haewon’s sleep habits were another reason Woojin found it hard to leave the bed.

Because of this, Woojin had started setting his internal clock an hour earlier. He’d wake up, stay in bed resisting the pull of the mattress, and then get up at his usual time.

Still deep in sleep, Haewon rolled over and slipped one bare leg between Woojin’s thighs.

He rubbed his calf against Woojin’s, brushed his soft, dry instep along Woojin’s foot and shin, slowly stirring his awareness.

Woojin, lying with one hand behind his head, turned slightly to gaze at Haewon.

Haewon was nestling into him—his limbs brushing against Woojin’s, his arms weaving through Woojin’s to share warmth, skin, scent, body heat.

He did this every morning, a lazy, sensuous way of rousing the senses. His eyelids trembled faintly before they slowly fluttered open, just like always—so leisurely, so uselessly beautiful, like a royal princess with no worries in the world.

Woojin turned his eyes back to the ceiling and then shut them.

“...Mmm.”

Stretching like a cat, Haewon curled into Woojin’s arm and gave a little shiver. Then, without warning, he bit lightly into Woojin’s bare shoulder.

Only then did Woojin open his eyes. He turned his head and locked eyes with Haewon, still holding his shoulder in his mouth.

“Did you sleep well?”

His just-woken-up voice cracked slightly. Woojin liked that sound. In moments like this, he could almost understand Haewon’s bizarre habit of recording his own voice and listening to it. Not that he wanted to do it himself.

“What happened last night?”

“Don’t you remember?”

“Must’ve had too much soju. Did Jung Prosecutor bring me here?”

“You came by yourself last night. I didn’t see Prosecutor Jung.”

“Prosecutor?”

Woojin echoed incredulously.

“Your junior prosecutor.”

“Why the honorifics? That’s creepy.”

“Felt weird just calling him ‘Jung Prosecutor’ without anything else.”

“Don’t add honorifics. I hate how it sounds.”

“God, you’re picky. Is your head okay?”

“My head’s fine. My body aches.”

Woojin furrowed his brow, recalling the night before.

“It probably hurts a lot. Last night, you...”

“Huh?”

“Last night... last night... Just get up already.”

Haewon turned away and gave him a gentle push, unable to meet his eyes as the memories of the night and Woojin’s words flooded back.

He missed the warmth and texture of Haewon’s foot rubbing against his, but there was no more time to waste lounging.

Too embarrassed to look at him, Haewon burrowed under the sheets again. Woojin finally got up and headed to the bathroom. Haewon stayed in bed the whole time—while Woojin showered, applied toner and lotion, and changed into fresh clothes.

With a face full of more affection, more thoughts of Woojin than the day before.

The effort from the night before had paid off.

As always, Woojin was reminded—alcohol was a useful tool.

It was rare for Haewon to wake up before him.

He watched Woojin prepare for work the way one might watch a documentary. He’d laze around another hour or two, and only when it was time to leave and barely make it to the orchestra ten minutes late would he reluctantly start getting ready.

Even now, Haewon’s gaze trailed Woojin’s back like a spectator.

Woojin finished his shower, changed clothes, and stood in front of the mirror, buttoning up his shirt. The tie was the same color as yesterday, just a different fabric. Finally, he put on his jacket and walked over to the coffee maker.

Woojin was extremely particular. Especially about what he drank. He wouldn’t touch wine or whiskey unless it was top-tier, and the same went for coffee and tea.

Even before he got engaged to the chaebol chairman’s daughter, he’d already long been immersed in that lifestyle—everything he ate, wore, and used was high-end.

He ground fresh beans and brewed coffee, then opened the fridge.

It was just as unimpressive as it had been the night before. He hadn’t had time to shop. And Haewon clearly had no intention of restocking anything himself.

Lately, Woojin’s life had been more relaxed than usual—half by choice, half not. As he spent more time with Haewon, little things that hadn’t bothered him started to.

Like the beer and shriveled apples rolling around in Haewon’s fridge. The bathroom with only a shower, no bathtub. The multi-purpose room that got messy again the second it was cleaned. The ceiling, slightly too low, muting the resonance of Haewon’s playing.

But the most irritating thing of all was that the men Haewon had seen before still knew where this officetel was.

A rich, aromatic Arabica scent wafted into the air.

Woojin closed the fridge. As he turned back for his coffee, Haewon suddenly crept up and snatched the mug he’d just poured.

Haewon cupped the hot mug in both hands and took a quick sip.

“Smells so good.”

“......”