I couldn't take it anymore.
Not the way Tae-min hovered around him.
Not the way he touched him.
Not the way Beom-soo didn't push him away.
It boiled in my chest like acid.
He's mine.
Only mine.
I stood up.
Everyone turned to look.
Without hesitation, I crossed the room and sat right next to Beom-soo, squeezing into the space between him and Tae-min like it belonged to me.
"Damn," I said casually, draping an arm around his shoulders, "you really play well. We should hang out more—just the two of us next time."
Beom-soo blinked, but only nodded.
His expression unreadable.
Tae-min didn't say a word.
But his knuckles curled into a fist, white and trembling.
I could feel the heat of his anger radiating beside us.
We didn't mention him.
We just kept talking—me pulling Beom-soo closer with every word, with every playful nudge, with every smirk aimed only for him.
It wasn't subtle.
Not even a little.
We were fighting.
Not with fists this time.
But over him.
For him.
Sentence by sentence.
Touch by touch.
Until—
"Enough," Beom-soo said quietly, pulling away.
He stood up and walked around the table.
Then he sat beside Nam-woo and his sister instead, switching places with a confused Do-won.
Silence fell.
Tae-min and I just stared at each other—mutual shock.
No words. No expressions.
Just two rivals who lost a round neither of us saw coming.
Do-won blinked between us. "Wait—what just happened?"
None of us answered.
We sat down again, this time without fight.
And that silence hurt more than any punch I'd taken last week.
---
Later that night, we all headed home.
Everyone split up.
But Beom-soo walked beside me.
Quietly. Casually.
I didn't question it.
I kept waiting for him to say goodbye, but he didn't.
He just kept walking.
I glanced at him. "Aren't you going the other way?"
"I need to pick something up from the convenience store," he said.
We passed it.
He didn't stop.
When we reached my street, I finally asked, "You're still coming with me?"
He shrugged. "I'll turn back after."
But he didn't.
He followed me all the way home.
He stood beside me as I pulled out my keys.
He looked at my door like he'd been here before.
He never brought up the fight.
Never asked what was wrong between me and Tae-min.
Never said anything about the tension earlier.
Just... stood there.
Unbothered.
But I knew.
I knew.
He hadn't switched seats because he was uncomfortable.
He did it because we made him choose—and he didn't want to.
But now?
He came here.
With me.
And that was enough.
Even if he didn't say it.
Even if he never would.
He was still mine.
I turned at my front door and raised an eyebrow.
"…Why are you still here?"
Beom-soo didn't look fazed.
He shrugged, looking up at my apartment building like it was some rare piece of architecture.
"Your house looks good," he said. "Must be cozy."
His voice was casual—but his eyes?
Expectant.
Like he was waiting for something.
An invitation.
I hesitated for a second, pretending to think.
Then I sighed and said, "You wanna come in?"
The moment the words left my mouth, he ran past me into the apartment.
Not walked.
Not strolled.
Ran.
I stood there for a second—surprised—then laughed under my breath.
So this was Beom-soo's other side?
Childish.
Impulsive.
Ridiculously endearing.
He was already halfway into the living room, glancing around with a cool expression he was clearly faking.
Trying to look unimpressed—but his eyes were darting too fast.
Taking in everything.
The shelves. The gaming setup. The couch.
He was pretending to act mature.
But I saw through it.
I couldn't stop grinning as I followed him in, watching the contrast between his usual cold front and this... soft, curious version of him.
He caught me staring and narrowed his eyes.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing," I said quickly, turning toward the fridge. "Want something to drink?"
He clicked his tongue. "Tsk."
But took the soda I handed him anyway.
I leaned against the kitchen counter.
"You hungry?"
He glanced at me. "Can you cook?"
"Sort of."
"What kind of 'sort of'?"
"Edible."
He smirked. "Anything with chicken, then."
I laughed again, pushing myself off the counter.
"Alright, chicken-boy. Give me ten minutes."
---
I didn't have much in stock—just some leftover chicken and ramen noodles.
Not exactly five-star, but I wasn't trying to impress him.
I just wanted him to stay.
And the way he dug into the food once I placed it in front of him?
Like he hadn't eaten in weeks?
Yeah.
That made it worth it.
He slurped the noodles with zero hesitation, chopsticks flying, mouth full, expression blank—but somehow still satisfied.
"…Hungry much?" I teased.
He didn't reply.
Just kept eating.
I sat across from him, chin resting in my palm, quietly watching.
And it hit me again—how easily he switched.
From unreadable to chaotic.
From cold to oddly warm.
Like fire wrapped in snow.
Did Tae-min ever see this side of him?
Did anyone?
Or was it just me?
That thought shouldn't have thrilled me.
But it did.
It made something inside me curl tighter.
Darker.
I wanted more of this.
All of it.
His hunger. His softness. His strange little quirks.
I wanted to own every version of him.
And if anyone tried to take that away—
I'd make sure they regretted it.
After inhaling two bowls of ramen like a starving soldier, Beom-soo finally set his chopsticks down with a soft sigh.
His face looked… satisfied.
Peaceful, even.
I watched from the other side of the table, my hand curled under my chin, amused. "Full?"
He nodded, leaning back slightly, looking like he could nap right there.
Then—he looked at me curiously.
"You live alone?"
I shrugged. "Yeah."
His eyebrows lifted slightly. "What about your parents?"
"Abroad," I answered casually. "They work there. Company stuff."
The word company seemed to catch him off guard. His brows twitched like I'd said something strange.
"What, are they some CEOs or something?" he asked, half-joking, half-curious.
I gave him a lazy smile. "Something like that."
"…Wait, are you—?"
"Yeah," I cut in, unapologetically. "I'm that kind of rich kid."
He blinked.
Stunned.
The way his head tilted slightly, as if re-evaluating me all over again, was almost cute.
"I knew you were different," he muttered. "Didn't think that different."
I chuckled under my breath. "Does that make you nervous?"
He rolled his eyes. "Should it?"
But then—his expression shifted.
Just slightly.
Something softer crept into it, something quieter.
And then, out of nowhere:
"Do you like someone?"
I blinked.
His voice was casual, but the way he asked wasn't.
I looked at him, studying his face.
He didn't look at me—he was pretending to examine a coaster on the table, but I knew better.
"No," I said simply.
His fingers tapped against the table once.
"What about Nam-woo's sister?" he added quickly. "She follows you around."
"Nope."
"You've got no girlfriend?"
"Nope," I repeated.
He finally glanced at me.
For a second.
Just a flash.
And that's when I caught it—
The tiny curl of his lips.
A grin.
Small. Barely-there. But real.
"You seem happy about that," I said, watching him closely.
He looked away.
"I didn't say anything," he muttered, face carefully blank again.
But I saw it.
I felt it.
And that grin?
That tiny slip in his mask?
It did something to me.
Like lighting a fuse I was already too close to.