The air in Taekyun's office was already thick with the tension of a looming merger deadline. Spreadsheets and contracts littered his desk, a monument to his unending responsibilities. So when the door opened without a secretary's announcement and Yuna swept in, his first reaction wasn't excitement or even warmth. It was a sharp, unexpected spike of irritation.
He looked up from his documents, his expression a flat, impassive mask. "Yuna. What are you doing here?"
She ignored the chill in his voice, her face a perfect picture of wounded beauty. Her lower lip trembled as she rushed around the desk. "Oppa! Why are you ignoring me? You don't reply to my texts, you don't pick up my calls!" she cried, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder.
Taekyun remained rigid in his chair, his own arms staying at his sides. He didn't return the embrace. "I told you. I'm busy with work," he said, his tone weary. "And I've told you repeatedly to stop visiting me here."
Yuna clenched her jaw against his shoulder, a flash of fury in her eyes he couldn't see. But when she pulled back slightly, it was replaced by a sweet, teary pout. As she did, she subtly turned her head, leaving a perfect, crimson lipstick stain on the crisp white collar of his shirt.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice dripping with false contrition. "I just miss you. I get so worried."
Taekyun, completely unaware of the mark now branding him, sighed and leaned back in his chair, finally prompting her to release him. He ran a hand over his face. "The work has been overwhelming. I'm trying to consolidate power, to secure my position. It's all so we can get married sooner. You know that."
Yuna let a few perfectly timed fake tears trace down her cheeks. "I know how hard you're working, Oppa. It's just… Eomma and I… we're scared. You've been so distant lately. You've… changed." She let the words hang in the air before adding her poison, her voice a delicate, innocent tremor. "Could it… could it be because of Rinwoo?"
Taekyun's jaw tightened visibly. The name, here in his office, felt like an intrusion. "I have been married to Rinwoo for two years," he stated, his voice cold and final. "In those two years, I have never been close to him, and I will not start now. That has not changed."
Yuna nodded, sniffling, putting on a show of being reassured. But then she played her masterstroke. She looked at him with the saddest, most vulnerable eyes she could muster. "You're right, Oppa. Of course, you're right. It's just… in the past two years, the family has always hidden Rinwoo. They paid the media to scrub any mention of him, any photo. But at Daon's wedding…" She let the implication hang. "Everyone was talking about you two. And you… you didn't do anything. You didn't have the pictures taken down. It made me wonder…"
Taekyun felt a fresh wave of exhaustion. He had been swamped with the fallout from Taemin's antics and his own corporate battles. The wedding gossip had been the last thing on his mind. "I was preoccupied with more important things," he dismissed her, his tone short. "I didn't pay it any attention. It means nothing. You don't need to worry about it."
Yuna nodded again, a slow, seemingly accepting motion, but inside, she was smiling. She had planted the seed. She had made him think about Rinwoo's sudden, uncharacteristic visibility, and she had framed it as a betrayal of their future. She had given him a reason to be angry at Rinwoo for something he didn't even do. With one last, lingering look of faux devotion, she left, leaving Taekyun alone with his work, his stress, and a hidden lipstick stain that would speak volumes when discovered.
At Lee Estate
The sleek black car idled in the driveway, a silent beast waiting. Inside, Daon scrolled through emails on his phone, his posture impeccable even in the plush interior. He was the picture of composed impatience.
Upstairs, Eunjae was putting the final touches on his masterpiece. The red suit was a statement, a daring slash of color against the estate's muted tones. He'd forgone a shirt entirely, the luxurious fabric of the jacket brushing directly against his skin. A single, sleek black belt cinched his waist, the only thing holding the bold blazer closed. With every movement, the jacket threatened to fall open, offering a tantalizing glimpse of his toned chest and abdomen. He turned before the mirror, a slow, satisfied smirk playing on his lips. He looked expensive, dangerous, and utterly irresistible. He knew exactly what he was doing.
When he finally emerged from the house and walked towards the car, it was a performance. Each step was a confident stride, the red suit a beacon in the evening light. He moved like a scandal waiting to happen.
Daon looked up from his phone as the passenger door opened. His breath caught in his throat, his thumb freezing mid-swipe. The clinical glow of his phone screen reflected in his wide eyes.
Eunjae slid into the seat beside him, the movement making the jacket gape open just enough to reveal a smooth expanse of chest and the elegant lines of his collarbones. The scent of his expensive cologne filled the car, spicy and alluring.
Daon's mouth went dry. He couldn't form a coherent thought. Eunjae looked… he looked like he'd stepped off the pages of a magazine designed specifically to ruin Daon's concentration.
Eunjae turned to him, a knowing, seductive glint in his eyes. "Well?" he purred, his voice low and intentional. "How do I look?"
Daon forced himself to swallow, tearing his gaze away to stare rigidly out the windshield. He cleared his throat, the sound awkward in the tense silence. "It's… good. You look… good."
The words were flat. Lifeless. A complete and utter failure of a response.
Eunjae's smirk vanished. The seductive aura around him flickered and died, replaced by a wave of cold disappointment. He'd spent an hour crafting this look, fueled by the memory of Daon's smile from the morning, hoping for… what? A heated glance? A growled compliment? Something, anything, that acknowledged the effort.
But he got 'good'.
He turned away, facing his window, the red suit suddenly feeling less like armor and more like a costume. "Whatever. Let's just go," he muttered, his voice losing all its earlier purr.
Daon noticed the immediate shift. The energy in the car plummeted from charged to icy. He glanced at Eunjae's profile, saw the tight set of his jaw, and understood. He had said the wrong thing. He'd seen the flicker of hurt before Eunjae turned away.
For a long moment, Daon said nothing. He simply put the car in drive and pulled out of the estate. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable.
The silence in the car was a physical presence, thick and suffocating. The only sounds were the hum of the engine and the soft whisper of the tires on the pavement. Daon's grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles white.
He cleared his throat, the sound unnaturally loud. "The… the weather is turning cooler."
No response from the passenger seat. Eunjae continued to stare out his window, a beautiful, silent statue in a devastating red suit.
Daon tried again, grasping at straws. "Your father… he mentioned wanting to discuss the new property acquisition in Jeju."
Eunjae didn't even twitch. The message was clear: he was done talking.
Daon sighed inwardly, giving up. He'd messed up, and he had no idea how to fix it. The rest of the ride continued in the same heavy, awkward silence, the distance between them in the luxurious car feeling vast and uncrossable.
Back at the Lee estate, the atmosphere was quiet. Taemin, exhausted by his forced study session and the emotional whiplash of the day, had succumbed to sleep, sprawled across his bed still in his clothes, the boring ledgers forgotten on the floor.
Down in the kitchens, however, a small, hopeful light was burning.
Rinwoo moved with a quiet purpose, gathering ingredients. The painful incident with the flowers felt momentarily distant, soothed by the simple, familiar rhythm of cooking. With most of the family out Daon and Eunjae at the banquet, Taemin asleep a fragile hope bloomed in his chest.
Maybe… maybe it will be just the two of us, he thought, his movements becoming a little lighter. Maybe he'll come home from work, and there will be a warm meal waiting. Just for him. Just for us.
He pictured Taekyun's stern face softening in surprise, perhaps even offering a word of thanks. He imagined them eating together in the quiet dining room, a moment of peace amidst the chaos. It was a foolish, fragile dream, but it was enough to make him hum softly as he chopped vegetables, pouring all his silent affection into the preparation of the meal, a quiet prayer that tonight, for once, his husband would come home to him.
AT BANQUET
The banquet hall was a glittering cage of chandeliers, soft music, and murmured conversations. For Daon Lee, it was a special kind of hell. He trailed a half-step behind Eunjae, a silent, stoic shadow to his husband's vibrant, angry presence.
Every attempt Daon made was met with a brick wall.
"Eunjae, the shrimp—" Eunjae turned and walked away,engaging a elderly aunt in conversation.
"—are quite fresh," Daon finished lamely to empty air.
The pout on Eunjae's face was not subtle. It was a full-blown, dramatic frown that he made no effort to hide, even as he offered dazzling smiles to everyone else. He maintained a careful, infuriating distance from Daon, a visible chasm in the crowded room.
Mr. Hong, Eunjae's father, observed the tense dance with a mix of amusement and pity. He finally ambled over to Daon, clapping a heavy hand on his son-in-law's stiff shoulder.
"Alright, out with it," Mr. Hong said, his voice a low rumble. "What did you do? He looks like you kicked his favorite puppy."
Daon, usually so articulate and controlled, looked utterly lost. He stared into his glass, his brow furrowed in genuine confusion.
"I… I don't know," he admitted, the words foreign on his tongue. "He asked me how he was looking. And I said… good."
Mr. Hong raised an eyebrow. "And?"
"And he got mad," Daon said, as if stating a baffling scientific anomaly. "I mean… what else was I supposed to say? I can't say… gorgeous… to a man." He flushed slightly, the memory of Eunjae's chest in that red suit flashing in his mind. "I mean, he… he did look… I… I mean, no, not that. I just… I think he got mad. Was it something to be mad about?"
Mr. Hong stared at him for a beat before a loud, booming laugh escaped him, drawing a few curious glances. He shook his head, wiping a tear from his eye. "You serious? Oh, boy." He leaned in closer. "Let me tell you something. I don't remember the last time my son spent more than ten minutes getting ready for anything. But today? He look like he was in his room for over an hour. I guess..For you. Maybe he wanted you to see him. Maybe He wanted you to admire him. And you gave him 'good'." He chuckled again. "Good luck making that up to him. Welcome to marriage life, son."
He gave Daon's shoulder a final, pitying pat and walked away, still shaking his head.
Daon stood frozen, Mr. Hong's words sinking in. He got ready for you. The concept was so simple, yet it had never occurred to him. He looked across the room at Eunjae, who was laughing brightly at something someone said, but then his eyes flicked to Daon, and the look he gave him was pure, icy side-eye before he turned away again.
A nervousness unlike any he'd ever felt not before a boardroom presentation, not during a high-stakes negotiation coiled in Daon's stomach. He felt completely out of his depth. How did one make this right?
He grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and downed it in one go. Then he grabbed another. He watched Eunjae, this beautiful, furious, complicated man he was married to, and for the first time, Daon Lee, the unflappable Vice President, had no plan. He just knew he had to find one, and the prospect was terrifying.
Daon felt like he was navigating a minefield in his own dress shoes. Every step towards Eunjae was met with a deliberate turn away. The vibrant red of Eunjae's suit was a taunt, a symbol of all the passion and attention Daon had foolishly dismissed.
He tried again, sidling up to him as Eunjae examined a bland landscape painting on the wall. "The artist's use of... color is... notable," Daon ventured, the words sounding stilted and absurd even to his own ears.
Eunjae didn't even grant him the courtesy of a glance. He simply let out a soft, dismissive "hmph" and glided away to a group of socialites, immediately immersing himself in their conversation, his laughter a sharp contrast to Daon's growing despair.
Daon followed, a silent, desperate ghost. He stood at the periphery of the group, waiting for a pause that never came. When Eunjae reached for a canapé from a passing tray, Daon saw his chance. He quickly took two, offering one to Eunjae with what he hoped was a conciliatory look.
Eunjae's eyes flicked down to the offered food, then up to Daon's face. His expression remained utterly blank. He then plucked a different canapé from the tray himself, deliberately avoiding Daon's hand, and turned back to his conversation, leaving Daon standing there holding two tiny, uneaten snacks.
It was a masterpiece of silent rejection. The message was clearer than any shouted argument: You are invisible to me.
A fresh wave of that unfamiliar, panicky nervousness washed over Daon. He felt a sheen of sweat on his brow. He was losing. He was completely and utterly losing a battle he didn't even know how to fight. He retreated a few steps, his mind racing for a new strategy, any strategy, in a war he was spectacularly unqualified to wage. All he could do was watch the captivating, infuriating man in the red suit hold court, completely and utterly ignoring his existence.
A delicious, warm thrill shot through Eunjae, momentarily overriding his anger. He tried to maintain his icy facade, to keep his gaze fixed stubbornly away from the man he was supposedly ignoring. But it was impossible.
From the corner of his eye, he could see Daon. The real Daon. Not the unflappable Vice President, but a man visibly unraveling. He watched Daon's Adam'apple bob nervously as he tried to engage a group of businessmen, his smile a tight, strained thing that didn't reach his anxious eyes. He saw the way Daon's fingers clenched around his glass, the subtle, lost way he scanned the room, always looking for him.
Eunjae bit his lower lip to suppress a smile of his own. The mighty, stoic Daon Lee was anxious. Over him. Because of a single, withheld compliment.
The power of it was intoxicating. It was better than any lavish praise. Seeing the unshakeable man so clearly shaken, so desperate for his attention, sent a flush of heat up Eunjae's neck. He was still upset, oh yes. But the anger was now deliciously tangled with a potent sense of victory and a flicker of affection he couldn't quash.
He turned slightly, just enough to watch Daon more fully, under the pretense of admiring a hideous floral arrangement. Daon was now listening to an older businessman drone on, nodding mechanically, but his entire body was angled toward Eunjae. The upset, almost pained expression on Daon's face as he pretended to pay attention was the most entertaining thing Eunjae had seen all night.
He was enjoying it. Immensely. Every awkward attempt, every nervous glance, was a silent apology more meaningful than any words Daon could muster. The cold CEO was melting, and Eunjae had a front-row seat. He let out a soft, breathy sigh, the sound covered by the din of the party, and allowed himself a small, secret smile. Let him sweat a little longer. It was a punishment, but it was also becoming the most thrilling game he'd ever played.
Back at Lee Estate
The Lee estate kitchen was a portrait of quiet, heartbreaking dedication. The table was set for two with meticulous care, each piece of silverware gleaming under the warm light. The dishes Rinwoo had prepared Taekyun's favorites, learned through two years of silent observation steamed gently, their aromas slowly fading as they grew cold.
Rinwoo sat at one end of the table, his posture slowly wilting. The hopeful energy that had fueled his cooking had long since drained away, leaving behind a deep, weary ache. The cruel words from Yuna's note echoed in his mind, a toxic counterpoint to the domestic scene he'd tried to create.
'Free of him.' 'Obligations to that person.'
He tried to combat them with logic. It's just Yuna. She's lying. She's trying to cause trouble. Taekyun wouldn't… he can't… But the seeds of doubt had been sown, and they were taking root in the fertile soil of two years of neglect.
His body felt heavy, weighed down by a fatigue that sleep couldn't cure. He'd taken a long nap that afternoon, trying to escape the pain, but it had done little good. Now, the exhaustion was returning, a thick fog clouding his mind and making his eyelids droop. He fought it, blinking slowly, his gaze fixed on the empty chair across from him.
The house staff moved around him with hushed steps, their faces etched with a familiar sadness. They had seen this scene before. They had watched Rinwoo's hopeful preparations and then witnessed the crushing silence that followed when the front door never opened for him. They saw the way his shoulders slumped further with each passing minute, the light in his gentle eyes dimming.
One of the older maids paused beside him, her voice soft. "Young Master Rinwoo… perhaps you should eat something? You worked so hard."
Rinwoo looked up, offering her a faint, wobbly smile that didn't reach his eyes. "It's alright. I'll wait a little longer. He might still come."
The maid nodded, her heart aching for him. She knew he would wait until the food was stone cold, until he could no longer keep his eyes open. They all knew.
And as the clock ticked on, Rinwoo's head began to nod, his fight against exhaustion failing. He slumped in his chair, asleep once more, surrounded by the untouched, lovingly prepared meal for a husband who was, once again, nowhere to be found. The only thing greeting his efforts was the hollow, silent emptiness of the house.
The oppressive quiet of the estate after his nap was too much for Taemin to bear. The walls of his room felt like they were closing in, the memory of ledgers and his brother's disapproving glare haunting him. He was grounded, yes. But the punishment felt less like a lesson and more like a cage.
He crept out of his room, the marble floor cool beneath his socks. The grand hall was empty, silent except for the low hum of the air conditioning. A few servants moved in the distant shadows, cleaning with quiet efficiency.
"Hey," Taemin whispered, flagging down a young maid dusting a vase. "Where is everyone? Taekyun hyung? Daon hyung?"
The maid bowed slightly. "Master Taekyun is still at the company, Young Master. And Master Daon and his spouse are at the banquet. They are not expected back for some time."
A reckless, brilliant idea sparked in Taemin's mind. They were all out. The coast was almost clear. His heart began to beat a little faster, a mix of fear and thrilling defiance.
This is my chance.
With a quick, nervous nod to the maid, he turned and practically sprinted back to his room. He didn't bother with a car that was too obvious. Instead, he threw on a hoodie, pulled the hood low over his face, and headed for a side entrance rarely used by the family.
He moved like a ghost through the manicured gardens, sticking to the shadows until he reached the high outer wall. With a agility born of desperation and youthful energy, he found his usual footholds and hoisted himself over, dropping onto the quiet street below.
He landed with a soft thud, his heart hammering with adrenaline. He was out. He was free.
Hailing the first taxi he saw, he slid into the back seat, a wide, triumphant grin spreading across his face. "The Park Enterprises building, please. And step on it."
He was going to see Juwon. Consequences be damned. The pull of his boyfriend was far stronger than any threat of punishment from his brothers. The thrill of the escape, of getting away with it, was a potent drug, and for now, it drowned out everything else.
The grand front door of the Lee estate opened with a soft, weary sigh. Taekyun stepped inside, his shoulders slumped with the weight of the long day. The faint, cloying scent of Yuna's perfume still clung to him, and the hidden lipstick stain on his collar was a secret brand he carried unknowingly. He was mentally drained, his thoughts a jumble of corporate strategy and the lingering, unsettling irritation from his encounter with Yuna.
He barely registered the flurry of hushed activity he interrupted. The servants, who had been whispering sadly around the sleeping Rinwoo, snapped to attention. One quickly stepped forward to take Taekyun's coat, their eyes darting between the sleeping spouse and the returning master. A silent, collective decision was made amongst them. With quick, efficient bows, they all melted away into the shadows of the house, leaving the two men alone in the dimly lit dining room.
Taekyun ran a hand over his face, about to call out for someone to bring him a drink, or perhaps heat up whatever leftovers there were. The words died on his lips.
His eyes fell on the scene before him.
The table was set for two. Plates, glasses, silverware all perfectly arranged. And in the center, a spread of dishes that had clearly been cooked with care, now cold, their steam long gone. And there, slumped over the table with his head resting on his arms, was Rinwoo, fast asleep.
Taekyun's breath caught. The sight was… disarming.
In sleep, all of Rinwoo's quiet anxieties and gentle hesitations smoothed away. He looked younger, peaceful. The soft light played on his dark hair and the long sweep of his eyelashes against his cheeks. Taekyun found himself staring, his tired mind momentarily stilled by the unexpected vulnerability of the sight.
Then his eyes dropped lower. He saw the small, white bandaids wrapped around two of Rinwoo's fingers.
A thought, slow and unfamiliar, crept into Taekyun's mind. Did he… did he cook all of this?
The question was followed by a strange, tight feeling in his chest. He looked from the bandaids to the elaborate, now-cold meal, and then back to Rinwoo's sleeping face. The pieces connected, forming a picture of effort and hope that he had, once again, failed to see.
A strange impulse seized him. Without stopping to question it, he carefully took off his expensive watch and placed it on the table. He rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, revealing his forearms.
He moved quietly, gathering the plates of food. He would heat them up. It was the least he could do.
It was a disaster.
Taekyun Lee, a master of corporate takeovers and multi-billion dollar mergers, was utterly defeated by a kitchen oven. He fumbled with the dials, unsure of the temperature. He shoved a plate in, only to realize it wasn't oven-safe, quickly pulling it back out with a curse. He nearly dropped another dish, the gravy sloshing precariously. It was a clumsy, silent comedy of errors, a stark contrast to his usual precise efficiency.
He stood there in the dim kitchen light, a cold plate in each hand, looking utterly lost, a man completely out of his element, driven by a guilt he couldn't name and a desire to fix something he hadn't even known was broken. All while the person who had made it all slept on, unaware of the unprecedented chaos he had inspired.
The sharp clatter of a plate shattering on the kitchen tile jolted Rinwoo from his exhausted sleep. His head snapped up, disoriented, his heart leaping into his throat. He blinked, trying to orient himself in the dim dining room.
His gaze immediately flew to the kitchen doorway, drawn by the sound and a faint, hissed curse.
The sight that greeted him was one he never could have imagined.
Taekyun stood at the sink, his back rigid, one hand held under a stream of cold running water. Around him, the kitchen was a minor warzone. A plate lay in pieces on the floor. Another dish sat on the counter, its contents half-spilled. The oven door was hanging open, emitting a wave of heat, and the distinct, acrid smell of something freshly burned hung in the air.
And in the middle of it all was the food. His food. The meal he'd poured his hope and hurt into. It was now scattered, burned, and wasted.
Rinwoo's first feeling was a sharp pang of disappointment, seeing his effort destroyed. But it was instantly eclipsed by a surge of profound concern. He rushed into the kitchen.
"Taekyun! Are you okay?" he asked, his voice laced with worry, his eyes fixed on the hand under the water.
Taekyun stiffened, caught. He hadn't wanted to be seen in this state of incompetent vulnerability. He quickly pulled his hand away from the water, hiding the red, burned skin. "I'm fine," he lied, his voice gruff, avoiding Rinwoo's eyes. "It's nothing."
But Rinwoo wasn't looking at his face. He was looking at the mess. The burned dish in the oven. The cold, spilled food. The frantic, failed attempt to salvage it.
And then, something miraculous happened.
Instead of crying or getting upset over his ruined dinner, Rinwoo's face softened. A small, warm smile touched his lips. He looked from the chaos to Taekyun's frustrated, embarrassed face, and in that moment, he saw something more valuable than a perfect meal: he saw the effort.
Taekyun had tried. For the first time in two years, he had seen the cold food and had tried to do something about it himself.
"It's alright," Rinwoo said, his voice gentle, devoid of any accusation. He moved forward, carefully taking Taekyun's injured hand to check the burn. Seeing it was minor, he looked back up at him. "Go, sit down. I'll make something quick for you. It won't take long."
He said it not as a servant, but as a caretaker. As a partner.
Taekyun stared at him, stunned. He expected anger, tears, or sullen silence. He did not expect this quiet, smiling grace. He looked at the genuine warmth in Rinwoo's eyes, at the complete lack of resentment, and something tight in his chest loosened.
After a long moment, he gave a single, stiff nod. "...Alright."
He allowed himself to be ushered out of the wrecked kitchen and toward the dining table. He sat down, watching as Rinwoo, with an efficiency born of practice, began to quickly clear the mess and assemble ingredients for a new, simple meal. The failure of the food was forgotten, replaced by the bewildering, quiet warmth of the man cleaning up after his mistake.
The simple act of cracking an egg into a bowl felt different tonight. Rinwoo moved around the kitchen with a quiet, renewed energy, the earlier disappointment washed away by a fragile, blooming hope. The image of Taekyun, sleeves rolled up, fumbling desperately with the oven, was etched in his mind. It wasn't the action of a man who saw him as mere furniture or an obligation. It was the clumsy, failed attempt of someone who had noticed something was amiss and had tried to fix it.
Maybe… maybe he's trying, Rinwoo thought, a small, genuine smile playing on his lips as he whisked the eggs. Maybe he's starting to change. The poisonous words from Yuna's note felt distant, less potent in the face of this tangible, bewildering evidence. He focused on the sizzle of garlic in the pan, the comforting rhythm of cooking, pouring his rekindled hope into the simple meal.
Miles away, in the plush, private bedroom attached to Juwon's office, the world was reduced to the space of a large bed. Taemin lay on his back, a contented, lazy smile on his face. Juwon was draped half on top of him, his head resting on Taemin's firm chest, listening to the steady, strong beat of his heart. Taemin's fingers were gently carding through Juwon's soft hair, a soothing, repetitive motion.
The air was warm and quiet, filled with the soft aftermath of their passion. After the frantic energy of their phone call and Taemin's daring escape, this calm intimacy was a deep, settling peace.
Juwon tilted his head back, his chin resting on Taemin's chest so he could look up into his eyes. His own were soft, full of a tender affection that he rarely showed anyone else.
"You know," Juwon began, his voice a quiet murmur in the stillness. "We've been together for so long now." He traced a idle pattern on Taemin's skin with his finger. "But we've never actually been on a real date, have we? Not a proper one."
He pouted slightly, a look that was both playful and genuinely wistful. "It's unfair. I want to take you to a nice restaurant. I want to see you across a table from me, under the lights, without having to hide. I want to hold your hand where people can see."
It was a quiet dream, voiced in the safety of their hidden room. A wish for something normal, something public and acknowledged, in a relationship that was built on secrets and stolen moments. It was a vulnerability that asked a question: wasn't their love worth more than just hidden meetings and secret phone calls?
Taemin's lazy smile widened into a wicked grin at Juwon's sweet, wistful suggestion. His fingers stilled in Juwon's hair for a moment as he pretended to think deeply.
"Hmm, a date…" he mused, his voice dropping into a low, playful purr. "I have better plans. I want to see you squirm and squirt under me. I want to watch you tremble and forget your own name."
Juwon gasped, his tender mood shattered by the blunt, deliciously crude response. He yanked Taemin's hair, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make his point. "Yah! Lee Taemin! I'm being serious!" he scolded, though a blush was already heating his own cheeks.
Taemin burst out laughing at the reaction, the sound bright and unguarded in the quiet room. He winced playfully at the pull on his hair. "Okay, okay! I'm sorry!" he chuckled, wrapping his arms around Juwon to placate him. "Fine, we'll go on a date. The fanciest, most disgustingly romantic date you can imagine."
He nuzzled against Juwon's neck before pulling back with a dramatic sigh, the reality of his situation crashing back down. "But," he said, his expression turning into a comical pout. "You'll have to wait until I can convince my tyrannical brother to unblock my cards. Can't very well take you anywhere if I can't even buy you a cup of coffee."
He said it lightly, but the underlying frustration was there. Their dream of a normal date was still held hostage by the Lee family rules and his own reckless actions. But for now, wrapped up in Juwon, even that frustration felt like a problem for another day.
Back at Lee Estate
The warm, hopeful atmosphere in the dining room shattered in an instant.
Rinwoo was placing a bowl of steaming rice in front of Taekyun, a soft, content smile still on his face from the simple joy of serving him. His eyes, full of that fragile hope, drifted downward and froze.
There, on the crisp, white cotton of Taekyun's shirt collar, was a smudge of vibrant, crimson lipstick. It was unmistakable. A bold, intimate brand left by someone who had been close enough to press against him.
Rinwoo's smile vanished. The bowl in his hand wavered slightly. All the air seemed to leave his lungs.
Taekyun, noticing the sudden stillness and the drop in Rinwoo's expression, followed his gaze. His own hand came up, fingers brushing against the spot on his collar. He felt the slight waxy texture his fingers hadn't registered before.
"Is there… something?" Taekyun asked, his voice cautious, a cold dread beginning to pool in his stomach.
Rinwoo's eyes lifted from the damning mark to meet Taekyun's. The warmth in them was gone, replaced by a deep, quiet hurt. His voice, when it came, was barely a whisper, trembling with the effort to stay calm.
"Why…" he began, his breath hitching. "Why is there a lipstick mark on your collar?"
Taekyun froze. His entire body went rigid. The meeting with Yuna, her sudden embrace, her fake tears it all rushed back. He had been so preoccupied, so irritated, he hadn't felt it. He hadn't even considered…