Yichen sat in the dark hallway just outside his room door, his back against the wall, his breaths shallow and uneven. His shirt still smelled faintly of Andre's scent, his lips ached from the boy's forceful bites, and worst of all—his body still hummed with the echo of that unwanted heat.
What have I done?
He pressed his hands to his face, his jaw tight. The mark of Andre's teeth still stung on his lower lip. No matter how many times he repeated it to himself—that it was just anger, just the rashness of a spoiled eighteen-year-old—the memory wouldn't wash clean.
Andre's words cut deeper than he cared to admit.
"You must want me now, right? The way you're staring at me."
He hadn't even realized how long he'd been staring until Andre had thrown it in his face. And yes, maybe he had been staring—because the boy had changed. Because those silver eyes were no longer the innocent eyes of Celia's son, but eyes that challenged him, tempted him, dragged him into shadows he shouldn't even glance at.
But Yichen wasn't that man. He couldn't be. He wouldn't.
He clenched his fists until his knuckles whitened. "I don't want him," he whispered into the silence, as if saying it aloud would make it true. "I don't."
And yet… the truth betrayed him.
Andre's lips—harsh, inexperienced, reckless—had burned like fire. His grip, too strong for someone his age, had pinned Yichen in place, stripping him of all composure. And that mocking smile at the end, the one that said I've broken you, still lingered behind his eyelids.
Worse than everything was the humiliation of his body's betrayal.
Andre had felt it. That shameless hand pressed against his crotch, that mocking chuckle when he discovered Yichen hard despite his resistance. Yichen's ears burned at the memory.
How could he explain that? How could he explain that the same body that had trained itself into discipline through years of power and control had faltered—reacted—to Celia's son?
"No," Yichen hissed, forcing himself to stand. His legs felt weak, but he straightened anyway, dragging himself back into his own room.
He washed his face three times, scrubbed his skin until it was raw, but Andre's presence clung stubbornly, like smoke that refused to lift. He lay down in bed but found no rest. Sleep evaded him, chased away by flashes of silver eyes and the phantom taste of Andre's lips.
Why him?
Why was it Andre who could stir this restless hunger inside him? Not even women, not even men of experience, had ever made him feel so defenseless. It wasn't just attraction—it was greed, a pull that unsettled his soul.
"Peace," Yichen muttered bitterly into the dark. "He brings me peace." That was what he'd told himself before, the excuse he'd crafted. Andre's presence soothed him, quieted the storms in his head. He hadn't realized until tonight how quickly that peace could twist into something sharp, something forbidden.
And Andre… Andre wasn't afraid.
The boy looked at him with defiance, not fear. He mocked his silence, mocked his composure, mocked even the possibility of Yichen being human enough to want.
And maybe, just maybe, that was what made him terrifying.
The night stretched long. When sleep finally came, it was shallow, restless, haunted by half-formed dreams of Andre's laughter echoing in his ears.
⸻
Morning light crept through the curtains.
Yichen rose with heavy eyes, his body still tense, his mind far from clarity. He looked at his reflection in the mirror—his lips still faintly swollen, hickey on his neck, a shadow beneath his eyes betraying his sleeplessness. He straightened his tie with mechanical precision, as though discipline could erase the memory of weakness, having wearing high collar shirt that need to covered to those marks of evidence that what happened last night is real.
But it couldn't.
Every sound outside his door made his chest tighten. He expected Andre's mocking voice, his bold steps. He dreaded and longed for them in equal measure.
When he finally left his room, the smell of breakfast drifted from the kitchen. Celia was humming softly, setting dishes on the table, her face bright and unaware. Made feel more guilty of what happened.
Hearing the sound of footsteps, Celia turned toward the sound finding it was Yichen. YICHEN!? She thought with great shocked In her heart.
"Good morning Celia" he greeted as usual with his tone as usual.
He is looking so pale and tired like he hasn't had any sleep, feeling quite shaken by his looks. " Good morning Yichen. You are back? But when?"
"Oh, last night. didn't want to disturb you, so I just went straight to my room" he said has he sit for breakfast
"Oh dear it's nothing. But what's wrong? you look so stressed. You know you shouldn't be too hard on yourself self Yichen"
"don't worry I'm fine okay" he says with his eyes on the breakfast she serves him, remembering last night and felt even more guilty with the concern she shows towards him while he was…. 'I don't want to think about it' but can't stop his self from thinking.
The memory of Andre's hand, his lips, his laughter—they were all still there, waiting, coiled tight in the silence between them.
And Yichen knew with absolute certainty: this wasn't over.
And It left him anxious.