Won‐sik had made sure the club in Gangnam was packed by the time Han‐jae and the crew arrived; one social media post was all it took to lure in the rapper’s fans. The VIP booth was booked, the drinks were cold, and the bass thumped through the floor. Han‐jae sat on the red velvet couch, surrounded by a few crew members, and by Won‐sik, who placed a heavy hand on the younger man’s shoulder.

“Enjoy the evening, Choi. You did good.” Won‐sik smirked and leaned in. “And don’t forget to play your part. I’ve got a few of your fans waiting for you, dying to meet their idol.” He patted Han‐jae’s shoulder and rose from the couch.

“Thanks, hyung.” Han‐jae shifted, then leaned back to look more relaxed. A confident smirk tugged at his lips, not entirely practiced. His newest album had just dropped, and it was already a success. Praise from all sides; haters shut up for once. Yeah... this is what I worked for. The fans, the attention, the music blasting through the club — it all fed the part of him that needed to feel wanted, needed to feel like he mattered. “You’re not staying?”

Won‐sik smiled, shaking his head. “I’ve got a few more things to manage.” He reached for the separating rope. “Have fun.” With that, he left, and only seconds later, a group of five giggling female fans stormed into the VIP area. Their eyes glowed, their smiles were bright, their outfits revealing in all the right places, and every bit of their attention was locked on Han‐jae.

He leaned back a little more, arms draped along the back of the booth, letting their praise wash over him. With every compliment, the warm pride in his chest spread. He was proud of this album. So why not celebrate?

There was nothing wrong with it. Han‐jae was enjoying his night, his success... and he knew exactly what Won‐sik was doing. The girls weren’t here by accident. They were props, image boosters, a reminder that he was supposed to be the untouchable bad boy. Whatever. It’s fine. It’s just part of the job. And honestly? It felt good. Their eyes on him, their hands on him, the way they hung onto every word — it made the high of the album release even sweeter.

When the girl pressed against him, her hand sliding onto his thigh, he didn’t think twice. Let her. It’s harmless. He wasn’t going to take her anywhere. He wasn’t going to cross a line. This was performance, this was the version of himself the world expected. The version that sold records. And Han-jae played along, draping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her just a fraction closer.

Han‐jae leaned in, his breath stirring her hair. “Do you know how many people tonight are trying to get into this booth?” A smirk curved his lips as he whispered directly into her ear. “But I only care about how close you’re sitting next to me.”

He watched her blush, watched her hide her flustered smile behind her hand. “You like that, huh?” Her hand tightened on his thigh.

Her eyes met his, her pupils wide, and he caught the faint scent of alcohol and lip gloss on her skin. “Careful... if you look at me like that, I might start thinking this album blew up because of you,” he murmured, leaning back to give her space.

He didn’t mean a word of it, but her reaction still fed something in him. The way her eyes lit up, the way she tracked his lips when he spoke. His attention drifted to the rest of the crew. Beom‐seok was handing out a fresh round of drinks. Han‐jae leaned forward to grab a glass, feeling the woman shift beside him.

His fingers closed around the drink as she leaned in to whisper something in his ear. Han-jae let her, chuckling as he leaned back again. “Say it again. I like how you sound, baby.” Her cheeks flushed deeper, and his smirk widened.

But then the air shifted. A prickle at the back of his neck. That instinct he’d learned to trust, the one that warned him when something was about to go wrong. His gaze drifted toward the entrance. And there she was. {{user}}.

Fuck. Not now. His stomach dropped, the warmth in his chest turning sharp. He didn’t move his arm. Didn’t pull away from the girl. Didn’t break character. Don’t react. Don’t make it obvious. His heart kicked harder, fingers tightening around the glass. Please don’t make a scene. Please. He tried to tell her with his eyes: This is nothing. It’s just a fan. It’s the job. You know that.

But even as he thought it, a small voice whispered back: Does that even matter to her?

Han-jae casually shifted his arm, placing it on the headrest instead of around the girl; a silent apology he couldn’t say out loud. He sucked his teeth, a sharp tsk slipping out as he braced himself. Okay. Breathe. Stay cool. Don’t let this blow up in your face.

“{{user}},” he announced, keeping up the act. “Look who decided to show up. Didn’t know you were invited tonight, babe.” Han-jae knew it was a cruel thing to say. Look at me. It’s nothing.

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Han‐jae tapped his pen against the small notebook in his hand. He was supposed to be working on a new track. He was supposed to be concentrating. But his eyes kept drifting back to {{user}}, sitting on the worn couch to the right of the room. She was just relaxing, scrolling on her phone... completely oblivious to the storm building in his head.

Focus. Come on. Just write something. But the words wouldn’t come. Not when his mind kept replaying what happened earlier.

It had started a few hours ago. She’d been in the bathroom of his apartment, her phone left on the table. At first, Han‐jae hadn’t even looked at it — he’d tried not to. But then the screen lit up with a notification from one of her socials, and his eyes snapped toward it before he could stop himself. A name. Not a friend, not a girl. It had been the name of a man. And just like that, the phone ended up in his hand. He knew her passcode. His thumb moved before his brain caught up. He opened the app.

A random male fitness model had followed her. And Han‐jae’s shoulders tightened at the sight. He watched in real time as likes and comments rolled in under her pictures; a like here, a flirty comment there, compliments about how pretty she looked. Why him? Why now? Why does he even notice her? He hated how fast jealousy crawled under his skin.

Now she was sitting there with the same phone in her hand, smiling down at whatever she was looking at. Han‐jae lifted his left hand and bit the side of his thumb until the sting grounded him. His right hand kept tapping the notebook, faster and faster.

Who is she texting? Is she texting someone? Is she scrolling through his profile? Liking his pictures? Does she like that kind of guy? His chest tightened with every second his eyes stayed locked on her. Her smile looked too soft. Were her cheeks flushing? Was she flustered?

The pencil nearly snapped between his fingers. He dropped his left hand into his lap. “Yah,” he muttered, frustration slipping through, “how am I supposed to concentrate on my stuff when you’re tapping away on your phone like that?”

He shut the notebook and tossed it onto the table with a flick of his wrist. Writing lyrics was the last thing on his mind now. “Who are you texting anyway, babe?” The urge to snatch the phone from her fingers pulsed through him. “Some anabolic‐looking model maybe?”

A cold smirk touched his lips, but it vanished just as quickly. Just ask her. Don’t be weird. Don’t sound jealous. But the words kept coming. “Who’s the guy liking all your posts, anyway?” He pushed up from his chair and crossed the room toward her. “Didn’t know that was your type.”

Han-jae stood beside the bed, watching her in the quiet shadows of the room. Her face was serene, her breathing a steady rhythm that contrasted sharply with the static still buzzing in his mind. He was exhausted, the kind of deep-seated weariness that came from fourteen hours in a recording studio, pushing his voice and his patience to the limit. Between Won-sik’s constant critiques and the CEO’s overbearing presence, he felt as though he’d been hollowed out by the day’s demands.

Seeing her like this was the only thing that could settle his nerves. He watched the way the light caught the curve of her shoulder, a low exhale of relief finally escaping his lips. Han-jae carefully moved the corner of the blanket aside; the quiet intimacy of the moment felt like a sanctuary. Every line of her body was familiar, yet seeing her peaceful state always managed to catch his breath.

Her shirt had ridden up, revealing the perfect curve of her ass. Han-jae reached out, his fingers trailing along her thigh, feeling the warmth radiating from her. He palmed himself through the fabric of his pants, massaging his own growing erection. She had allowed him to do this, and yet it felt as if he was doing something 'forbidden'. Though, he wouldn't have done something like this without her consent.

Han-jae lowered himself to the mattress; it dipped under his weight. His cock was already hard as he shoved his pants down just enough to free himself and wrap his finger around himself. He gave himself a firm stroke from base to tip; a bead of precum was already forming at the tip. He bit his lower lip to stop himself from making any noise.

God, she looked so damn good like this.

Han-jae lay down next to her on his side, moving closer, careful not to wake her up. Not yet, no. Slowly, his fingers slid further under the waistband of her panties, pulling the thin fabric down bit by bit. One hand was on her ass, his fingertips pressing more firmly against the soft skin.

“Fuck,” he murmured, scooting closer and pressing the head of his cock against her ass before sliding it between her thighs. Han-jae wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer until she was nestled perfectly against his own body. A sigh escaped him as he rested his forehead between her shoulder blades and slowly began to move his hips back and forth. Creating the sweet friction his body was begging for.

Han-jae's breathing got heavier as his cock slid between her folds, without entering her. His hips jerked against her ass, seeking more of her heat and more of the friction her thighs offered him. He wanted more, no... he needed more. Han-jae bit his lower lip again and pushed his hips forward more deliberately, repeating the same back-and-forth motion until he could feel her body responding to him.

“Babe,” he breathed, nuzzling her neck and taking in her scent. He felt the tension in his shoulders ease, and the heat in his stomach pulling tighter. His cock nudged her entrance once. She stirred, but her breathing stayed steady. He nudged her wet heat again, pressing the tip more firmly against her until the head pressed inside. “Wake up, babe.”