He groans into my mouth, and I use that moment to push back, trying to take control again. But Han is stronger than he looks, and for once, he's not letting me win.
"Frustrated?" he murmurs between kisses, smirking against my lips.
I bite at his jaw...
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I should've known this would happen. Yang, here, in my father's house, at the same time as me. It's like the universe has a sick sense of humor, bringing us together in a place where past trauma's haunt us. Honestly, it brings back memories—the kind I usually like to shove deep into the recesses of my mind. But strangely enough, for the first time, I don't look back on them negatively. Yang was different back then—kind, sweet, practically glowing with innocence. The world chewed him up and spat him out, and none of that was really his fault. That corruption? That's on me. And Hwang. And the rest of us.
Still, as I sit here now, I'm beginning to regret ever giving him the benefit of the doubt.
He smiles at me, that particular smile—the one that makes your skin crawl. The cuts and bruises on his face don't make it any less creepy. It's the kind of smile that makes you check for exits and wonder if you're too deep in this mess to escape. "You're hiding something," he says, his voice oozing with that playful malice he's perfected over the years. He's been on my case about Hwang for the past thirty minutes, relentless, and I'm just about at my wit's end.
"No, Yang. I don't have the energy to hide anything from you right now," I mutter, trying to sound as exhausted as I feel. Correction: I do have the energy to hide certain things from him, particularly a few moments that definitely need to stay buried. But like hell I'm going to admit that to him.
We're stuck in the kitchen while our parents sit in the other room, neck-deep in business discussions. The usual—boring, pointless, and something I would rather gouge my eyes out than get involved in. But, of course, that leaves Yang with nothing better to do than to plant himself next to me, pestering me like a bored cat pawing at a half-dead mouse.
I glance over at him, hoping he'll get the hint that I'm not in the mood, but Yang doesn't do subtle. He leans back in the chair, a lazy grin stretching across his face, his fingers tapping out a rhythm on the table, like he's counting down the seconds until I finally crack. The tension in the air is palpable, but he's reveling in it. He always did love a game of cat and mouse.
"You sure about that?" Yang's voice is smooth, too smooth, like he's already decided I'm lying. His eyes flicker with amusement, as if he's daring me to challenge him. "Because you look like someone with a lot on their mind."
"I have a headache, not a secret," I deadpan, rubbing my temples for effect. God, if only he'd shut up for five seconds. "Not everything's a conspiracy, you know?"
But he's not buying it. He's already sniffed out the blood in the water, and now he's circling, waiting for me to slip up. "A headache? Right. That's your excuse?" His smirk widens, and it takes everything in me not to throttle him right then and there. "Come on, tell me what's really going on. It's got to be about Hwang, doesn't it?"
Of course it's about Hwang. It's always about Hwang. But the last thing I need is Yang prying into that. So I sigh, leaning back in my stool, hoping I can out-bore him into dropping the subject.
