Kim Younghoon has always liked to play with fire.

When life becomes too boring, too predictable, Younghoon seeks for danger. Even if he has to make it himself.

Thick brows fall into a frown; Younghoon watches as Juyeon returns to the club. Slouching, his face is covered by shadows that weren't there when he suddenly disappeared. There's a growing suspicion in the back of Younghoon's mind, one that has been there for quite a while. He chuckles into his glass—no, it seems too outrageous to actually be real.

Right?

"Where is Hyunjae?" Younghoon asks, like he actually cares about Hyunjae's whereabouts. Although saying he completely doesn't, will be a lie.

"He left."

The answer is short, simple, but Younghoon's interest peaks as Juyeon's eyes fall. There, in the thundering ocean of music, Juyeon's silence is louder than any other sound. Jaw clenching before he exhales—and when he inhales, two pure vodka shots go down as well, and big hands rub against blue ripped denim as he winces.

"Bro, where did you go?" Eric shouts through the music. Bleached blonde hair sticks to his sweating forehead from his adventures on the dance-floor—shirt hanging onto his body for dear life, highly dependent on the one last button Eric may, or may not, have intentionally forgotten to unbutton. "Your girl was looking for you, but she got impatient and left."

"She's not my girl."

Juyeon seems distant, spinning the empty shot glass around on the table, so unaware of Younghoon watching him closely. Every blink of his dark eyes, every breath that seems to hurt, as Juyeon squints every time.

Younghoon feels a familiar tickle at the tip of his fingers, feels his tongue burning—begging him to let the fire out, to let the flames spread all around him. To leave him standing right in the middle of a chaos of his own creation.

Maybe he is bored, maybe he simply wants to cure his curiosity. Maybe, he needs a distraction himself. From himself.

Maybe it's because of Chanhee, and maybe it isn't. He isn't even there at the moment, but at the same time he is. Stuck in Younghoon's mind, just like that damn stupid Taylor Swift song he was singing the first time Younghoon ever laid his eyes on him. "I bet you think about me." Oh, the irony is spread thick on Younghoon's itching tongue.

There is no place in Seoul Younghoon hates more than the Hongdae area. Trashy. That is the exact and only word Younghoon will use to describe it.

"Are you serious? I've waited an hour for you here? We could've just met at my place, as I suggested then. You know how much I fucking hate this place." Younghoon growls, eyes rolling to the back of his head, as Juyeon drowns him in bad excuses through the phone.

Exaggerating to get his point across, the one hour of waiting is in fact closer to twenty-five minutes, not that Juyeon knows that though. To Younghoon, it feels like an eternity anyway.

"Sorry, have to stay a few hours longer at work. I'll come find you later, okay?"

"Whatever man." Scoffing, the phone slips into the pocket of his pants. Younghoon scrunches his nose as he makes his way through the streets.

Friendly reminder to himself that he needs to get Juyeon a job in a different area of Seoul, Younghoon cringes as he pushes his way through the part of Hongdae where the street performers show up, resulting in over-crowded sidewalks. Usually, he turns left before reaching that point, to avoid the crowd, but for some unknown reason, tonight, he doesn't.

Younghoon snorts, curse-words ready to jump from his tongue, as he shoves his way through the crowd — but then, then his attention is suddenly stolen away. And for Kim Younghoon, that is a rarity.

Sitting on a small wooden stool, wearing an oversized powder-blue sweater, one that keeps sliding down the shoulders, and with baby-pink hair, pulled back in one side by a Hello Kitty hair clip, is a young male. Slender fingers fit his willowy frame, and they slide so effortlessly across the strings of the guitar in his lap, that even Younghoon stops for a brief moment.

Big eyes and pouty lips, and hair that looks just like cotton candy. But the voice, his voice. So gentle, so angelic, yet so intriguing. Younghoon feels curious, and it's been a long time since he last felt that way.

Then, long lashes flutter, and the boy looks up. Straight into Younghoon's eyes, burning through with flames Younghoon wants — but is afraid — to touch. Tearing down everything he has ever believed in and about himself. Younghoon knows he should feel ashamed of admiring a male in such a way.

But he doesn't.

And it only makes it all so much more exciting.

It's the fifth Thursday in a row, Younghoon finds himself shoving his way through the streets of Hongdae. Eyes on his watch, he is late, and he curses his father for forcing him to attend a dragged out meeting at the company.

More than a month has passed since Younghoon first laid his eyes on the pink-haired boy. More than a month of absolute torture. Of thoughts in his head that won't go away, of a growing desire he is unable to control. Or, maybe he doesn't want to control it?

The boy is stuck in Younghoon's mind. His voice, his face, the way he so gracefully moves, the thought of how it would feel, to have his fingers play every little part of Younghoon's body, like the way he so effortlessly plays the strings of his guitar.

One week has passed, since Younghoon walked by the street performers with Juyeon, and brown eyes and yet another Taylor Swift song once again tried to lure him in closer. But it has also been one week, since those certain brown eyes weren't only looking at him. Not that Juyeon noticed the attention, he rarely does.

If there is one thing Younghoon hates more than anything, it is losing, and with the boy's attention suddenly on Juyeon, Younghoon knew time was running out. With that thought, his heart does drop a little, when the usual spot is occupied by someone else for the night. He came too late...

With hands stuffed deeply into the pockets of his open trench coat, and a spin of his heels, Younghoon sees no point in sticking around any longer. There are no plans set up with Juyeon tonight, nothing to do in this godforsaken place. Hand clenching around his phone, about to pull it out and call for his driver, when-

"You're not stalking me, are you?"

Younghoon lets the phone drop to the bottom of the coat pocket. Wondering at first, if the question was meant for him, but the voice, that heavenly voice, Younghoon is certain he will recognize anywhere — even if this is the first time he hears it speaking instead of singing.

"Are you talking to me?" he asks as he turns around. Voice unfazed, but heart racing.

A smirk spreads over cherry red lips, and brown eyes look at him behind pastel hair swayed by the wind.

"You're not from this area, are you?" A quick glance at Younghoon, scanning him from top to toe, as hasn't the lithe beauty already done so several times before. Although, never this close up.

"My friend works around here," Younghoon replies, as hot breath gets stuck in his throat.

Shit, he is pretty.

The perfect mixture — that boy is the perfect mixture of the voice of an angel and fuck-me eyes, and everything Younghoon should feel ashamed of desiring. It is a sinful temptation, standing right in front of him, looking at him as if they were both already naked. Drowning him in a fire rain of Hail Marys, while the Devil is breathing at his neck.

But Kim Younghoon has always liked to play with fire.

An airy laugh, of course, pretty and as intoxicating as the way the boy sings, the distance narrows as the stranger draws closer, and erases any doubt that Younghoon's forbidden desire shouldn't be reciprocated.

"Is that the only reason?" Fingers sliding along the strap of the guitar case, hanging from an exposed and slender shoulder under a white tee. "I've seen you staring at me every Thursday for weeks now."

"You have a nice voice when you sing," Younghoon lets out a small scoff, shrugging his shoulders at the same time, downplaying the compliment.

"Thank you. I'm Chanhee. Choi Chanhee."

"Kim Younghoon."

A small hum is all Younghoon gets in return, as silence sweeps in and leads them down the street side by side. Younghoon has never been much of a talker, and for now it appears that Chanhee is just the same. Fitting.

At the metro station, they find their first difference as well. About to walk down the stairs at exit 9, Chanhee stops and looks back at Younghoon.

"Not taking the metro?" he asks, albeit showing he already knows the answer — one sharp brow slightly raised.

"No. I'll just call my driver."

"Of course you will," Chanhee chuckles, but he does take one step closer. "Knew you weren't from around here."

Younghoon simply rolls his eyes at the remark, Chanhee isn't wrong... But, he is about to slip right out of Younghoon's hands, and if that happens Younghoon swears he will never return to Hongdae again. The humiliation will be too unbearable.

"Why don't you come with me?" A bold suggestion, Younghoon is aware of that himself. They just met, they aren't drunk, they barely even talked. But there's an easy solution to that. "Let's go get a drink."

Chanhee laughs. An angelic sound, but Younghoon sees the fire in his eyes. And he wants it. Wants it to burn him to nothing but ashes, spread across starry nights and crumpled sheets, by a simple blow of Chanhee's glossy lips.

"Not tonight," Chanhee replies, so sweetly. "But give me your number, and I'll call you sometime."

Another new to Younghoon, someone who's so used to being the one getting numbers, and rarely calling back. Not the other way around. But he feels the excitement tickle at the back of his neck, when Chanhee's phone is caught in his hands.

"You like my voice when I sing?" Chanhee smiles, as he takes the phone back, leaning in even closer — so close his lips brush against Younghoon's ear. "Then you should hear what I sound like when I cum."

"Fuck, marry, kill," Younghoon says, eyes at nothing in particular, now too bored to keep the urge for chaos calm any longer. "Me, Eric... Hyunjae."

Juyeon reacts instantly. Feline eyes narrowing even more, glaring at Younghoon, who simply smirks in response. The empty shot glass is left forgotten on the table, as Juyeon's hand slips away. He straightens his back, looking more alive than he has all night.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"I did. But, why?"

"It's a game," Younghoon sighs, containing the gloating smile twitching at the corners of his lips. Juyeon appears stressed, and it only adds to Younghoon's suspicion of him.

"I know it's a game, but-"

"Just answer."

And while Juyeon returns to spin the empty shot glass around, his eyes search the dance floor.

"Definitely, kill Eric."

Younghoon nods at the first answer, eyes following towards their younger friend showing off his drunken dance skills to a group of girls—shirt completely ripped open by now.

"Fuck you , I guess?" Juyeon rolls his eyes, as he continues.

"Obiviously, I mean, bro to bro, I'm pretty fucking hot."

It's a repetition of the eye-roll, but adding a sudden silence.

"And marry..." Juyeon then pauses again, and Younghoon's curiosity peaks, although there is only one option left. "Marry... Hyunjae..."

It's the way Juyeon's voice softens, the way it's almost too quiet to survive in the waves of loud music. But it is there, it does reach Younghoon's ears. It's the way dark eyes lose their focus, how they flicker and shoulders drop.

It's the way everything suddenly makes sense. Why Juyeon always has to drag Hyunjae along to everything, much to Younghoon's annoyance. The way Juyeon insists on inviting Hyunjae, but leaves him sitting by himself most of the night, only to end up fabricating a horrible excuse for the both of them to leave at the same time. Every. Single. Time.

It's the way Younghoon knows Juyeon has been lying to him for a while now. How Juyeon has tried to cover marks on his neck, only to sheepishly claim it came from a girl he took home—but Younghoon has heard complaints from friends of those certain girls, saying Juyeon never took any of them home.

Suddenly, everything adds up, and Juyeon's question from last weekend is echoing in Younghoon's mind.

"Hyung? Have you ever kissed a guy?"

"I'm going home." Juyeon suddenly stands up, and he leaves no time for Younghoon to answer, before staggering through the crowded club, unaware of the eyes following him.

Younghoon's frown grows bigger. Curiosity cured, but reality is kicking in. Fuck. Could it really be... Juyeon is in love with Hyunjae?

"Are you stalking me, Kim Younghoon?"

Outside, the air is cooling and refreshing, but suddenly Younghoon feels his body heating up, and the realization of his best friend being in love with a guy, is instantly pushed aside.

After all, he has his own boy crush to worry about. Or, Younghoon would much rather prefer the term addiction. Definitely not a crush.

An oversized tee, beige shorts and wavy pastel hair—Chanhee stands in perfect contrast to Younghoon's dark slicked back hair, and white button-up shirt tucked into black pants.

"You wish," Younghoon replies in a mumble. White smoke flows from his lips, the same unattainable way Chanhee always feels around him.

Maybe he does have a small crush...

"Whatever."

A quick move of his hand, and Chanhee snatches the cigarette from Younghoon's fingers. Neck extended, head tilted towards the dark sky above, the smoke spreads from soft lips. Lips, Younghoon sometimes wishes he had never kissed, but late at night he always craves to feel them against his skin.

Their hands touch, when Chanhee gives the cigarette back, briefly but like adrenaline shot directly into Younghoon's veins. Hadn't he already been drunk, the rush would possibly have knocked him off his feet.

Their first time together, should have been the only. Younghoon knows he should feel ashamed of himself, disgusted, but he doesn't. He wants more, craves for it like a complete addict.

It's a bad habit, and like the cigarette burning at his fingertips, Younghoon knows Chanhee does just the same. With Chanhee, things are never certain, never predictable or easy—and that is the very reason why Younghoon keeps coming back for more.

"So, are you heading home now?" The question toned with a purr, soft and playful, falling from pretty lips and waiting for Younghoon to catch it with his own.

"Yeah."

"Can I come?"

Younghoon flicks the cigarette away with a smirk, and his eyes find Chanhee's under dimmed lamp posts and neon signs.

"I'll make sure that you do."

The air is heavy, thick and suffocating—Younghoon absolutely revels in it. The smell of Chanhee's perfume mixed with his own, of rough kisses and everything unholy. It might be Younghoon's favorite scent.

A yawn sneaks over his lips as he stretches his naked, exhausted body on the messed up bed—the bed he has no intention of sleeping alone in tonight. Not when he can still taste Chanhee on his tongue.

The oversized t-shirt covers pale shoulders, and Chanhee ruffles his pink hair around. Younghoon watches—takes in, breathes in, secretly adores everything that is Chanhee in front of him.

"Don't go." At the questioning look on Chanhee's face, Younghoon quickly adds: "It's late."

"So?"

"Stay the night," Younghoon says with a simple shrug.

"We don't do that. Don't be greedy, Younghoon."

"Tell me, do you only know how to compliment me, when I'm inside of you?" Younghoon scoffs.

"Please," Chanhee laughs. "Like you need more compliments. Wouldn't want your ego to explode now, would we?"

"You talk like you actually know me. Come back to bed, at least stay for a second round."

Chanhee simply snorts at the offer, brown eyes shooting a cold glare towards the bed.

"Those words really confirm that I already do know you, Kim Younghoon. But if you still doubt me, I will tell you. You are a selfish, spoiled rich-kid, who is bored with your picture-perfect life, and you're searching for an easy thrill. Something to make you feel alive, something that will make you think you're more than what your parents and surroundings have decided you are. But deep down, it doesn't matter, because in the end you will end up exactly like that. It's a comfortable life after all, isn't it? You will marry a girl fit for your own social status. One who will make your parents proud, and birth you two, maybe three, kids that all look like perfect carbon copies of you. But then, you'll get bored again, and you will have an affair. Maybe with your secretary, maybe even your wife's sister. You know, just for the thrill of it. You're just a fucking cliché, Kim Younghoon."

The subtle clank from Chanhee's belt, is the only thing to break the silence following his words. The silence that seems even thicker than the air filling Younghoon's lungs.

Kim Younghoon is many things, and being a spoiled rich-kid is definitely one of them. It is something he will never deny, but also something no one has ever told him in such a harsh way.

And he likes it. Oh, he definitely does.

"If you think I'm such an asshole," he then questions, "why did you sleep with me in the first place?"

"Because that was the exact reason why I did it. You and I are not meant to be. We are not lost soul mates caught in a cruel world. We are just two young people, who both love good sex, which so happens to be with each other. So why not just enjoy it, while it lasts?"

And Younghoon is about to speak, when he notices something in Chanhee's voice change—and the way his eyes suddenly avoid Younghoon. A thin jacket is picked up from the floor, and Chanhee tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. He is ready to leave, but something is suddenly different.

"I'll call my driver to take you home," Younghoon says, as he slowly gets out of bed. The surprised look on Chanhee's face makes him smirk to himself. "Guess you don't have me all figured out, after all."

Fingertips chase along the soft skin of Chanhee's neck, the scent of him fills Younghoon's lungs to the brim.

"No don't, I'd feel bad if you call him now. It's late. I'll just get a cab." Chanhee's voice turns even softer than usual, a breathy laugh at the end, giving into the touch of Younghoon's fingers lost in his hair.

"Let me pay for it then," Younghoon whispers, leaving small pecks down Chanhee's neck, and the jacket falls back onto the floor.

"I can pay for my own cab, Hoonie..."

But Chanhee doesn't complain further, when Younghoon slips the t-shirt right off of him again. Warm breath over equally as warm skin, and lips tracing along marks they made earlier, until they find each other. It's a light kiss at first, somehow different, somehow better. It deepens, until Younghoon sees colors behind closed lids and he leads Chanhee back towards the bed.

"It's late," he softly whispers. "Let's go to sleep."