The morning light, soft and diffused, seeped into the room, a gentle awakening after a night that had danced on the edge of sleep. Minho lay on the bed, the sheets tangled around his legs, the cool expanse of the ceiling his only focus. His body, still flush with the afterglow, was bare, a canvas of lingering sensations.
He covered his face with a hand, the gesture a mix of shame and wonder. "I've officially become a bottom…" he whispered, the words muffled but clear in the quiet room. A deep breath escaped him, a release of the tension that had built up over the night, followed by a slow, deliberate sit-up.
The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for his next move. "I don't believe how this is possible! I have always been the one to put it in and control everything... and I have loved it so much, until... he showed up!" His gaze drifted to the space beside him, where Seo-Jun had been, the indentation on the pillow a stark reminder of his absence.
The air was still thick with the scent of their shared night, a potent blend of musk and something sweeter, something new. "I can't even imagine being a top anymore... since I won't feel it, like it feels… when he puts it in me and hits that damn fucking spot!" A blush crept up his neck, painting his skin. It was a betrayal, a surrender he hadn't anticipated. He pushed himself up, the sudden movement a jolt of energy. "Get a grip, Minho!" he shouted, the words a sharp command meant to cut through the fog of his emotions. He turned and walked towards the bathroom, each step a conscious effort to regain control. The door closed behind him, leaving the remnants of the night and the echoes of his internal battle to linger in the quiet room.
The cool spray of the shower had done little to quell the storm within. Emerging, Minho wrapped a towel around his waist, the damp fabric a temporary shield against the lingering heat of the night. He moved towards the kitchen, his bare feet silent on the polished floor. The scent of brewing coffee, a morning ritual he usually shared, hung in the air, thick with unspoken words.
His gaze, drawn by a persistent pull, landed on the dining table. There, amidst the usual clutter, a splash of yellow beckoned. It was a sticky note, a familiar beacon of Seo-Jun's presence, even in his absence. Minho approached, his steps measured, and lifted the small square of paper. The message, penned in Seo-Jun's neat script, was brief, yet it resonated with a weight he couldn't quite define: "Make food only for yourself today. I will be home late. -SJ"
He reread the words, each syllable a quiet echo in the otherwise silent kitchen. A sigh escaped him, a soft exhalation of something akin to resignation. He carefully placed the note back on the table, the yellow square now a stark reminder of the day ahead. "I see..." he murmured, the words a quiet acknowledgment of the new reality. The familiar routine of preparing breakfast began, the clatter of pans and the sizzle of bacon filling the void. But the silence remained, a constant companion, whispering of the unspoken and the unseen.
The aroma of breakfast, usually a comfort, now felt like a cruel jest. In the midst of his solitude, a discordant symphony erupted. From the front of the house, a melody of carefree whistling drifted through the air, accompanied by the rhythmic clinking of keys. It was a sound that belonged to a different world, a world of vibrant energy and audacious confidence.
A figure emerged from the shadows of the front corridor. A woman, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, her form exuding an air of command. Sunglasses perched on her nose, she carried a suitcase. Her dark blond hair cascaded down her shoulders, framing a face of sharp angles and dark brown eyes that held a spark of mischief. She moved with the grace of a predator, her every step radiating an unspoken power.
She reached the living room door, her hand hovering over the handle. The moment the door swung inward, a wave of sound crashed into the kitchen. Minho, mid-preparation, froze. The cheerful whistling, the clinking of keys, the very audacity of the intrusion, sent a jolt of alarm through him. "The door opened..." he thought, his mind racing. "It can't be Seo-Jun, it's too early for him to get home, and he didn't call as well."
His hand instinctively tightened around the knife he held. "Intruder." he muttered, the word a low growl in the sudden silence. His movements were swift, silent, and deadly. He moved towards the living room.
The woman, oblivious to the impending danger, continued her happy tune, her sunglasses now resting on her nose. Then, their eyes met. The woman's carefree demeanour shattered, replaced by a scream that ripped through the air. "Who the heck are you?!" she shrieked, her voice laced with a mixture of shock and disbelief.
Minho, momentarily stunned by the unexpected outburst, hesitated. He saw no weapon, no immediate threat. He stood frozen in place, the knife still clutched in his hand, his attire consisting of only his pants and without wearing a shirt. His face was a mask of confusion. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice a low murmur, the question hanging in the air, heavy with unspoken questions.
The air crackled with tension, thick enough to taste. The woman, her face a mask of disbelief, ripped off her sunglasses, her voice a harsh shout that echoed in the sterile apartment, "I asked first!" Minho, a figure of controlled menace, was a stark contrast. His face was an unreadable mask, his eyes devoid of emotion as he produced the knife. The steel gleamed, reflecting the cold, harsh light, and the threat was undeniable. "And I have a knife, so you answer first." he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Who are you and what are you doing here?" The words hung in the air, each one a carefully chosen weapon.
A flicker of genuine fear crossed the woman's face. She seemed to shrink for a moment, the bravado momentarily deserting her. But then, with a visible effort, she regained her composure. "Isn't this Seo-Jun's apartment?!" she demanded, her voice now tinged with a desperate confusion. Minho's expression unwavering, responded, "It is. Are you a delivery person?"
The woman's face contorted in confusion, her carefully constructed facade crumbling. "What?! No! I am Seo-Jun's sister." she exclaimed, the words tumbling out in a rush. The air seemed to shift, the tension momentarily broken. And then, Minho's face changed. The mask shattered. His eyes widened in a flash of pure shock, and the knife, the symbol of his control, clattered to the floor, the sound echoing in the suddenly silent apartment. He stood frozen, the reality of the situation crashing down on him in a wave of disbelief.