𝑃𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑜𝑛 / 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑔

S2 ch 69

Jiwon sat at the table, hood up, aggressively stirring his cereal. He looked like he hadn’t slept at all—which he hadn’t.

Because every time he closed his eyes, he felt that warmth again. That teasing voice. That soft grip around his wrist. The low rasp of Rafayel saying “So move me.”

He nearly dunked his head in the cereal bowl.

Across the kitchen, Minho sat with his coffee, eyes locked on Jiwon. Unmoving. Judging.

Beside him, Jisung leaned against the counter, biting into an apple with a smug grin. He whispered behind his hand, "He's blushing again."

Minho narrowed his eyes. “He’s hiding something.”

“He’s hiding a crush.”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say it was on Rafayel.”

Minho gave him the look. Jisung smirked.

Meanwhile, Jiwon tried to act casual—like he wasn’t replaying yesterday’s laundry room moment in his brain like a fanfic.

---

Jiwon flopped onto his bed, dragging his sketchbook to his lap. He’d always doodled when his head was messy. But this time, the pen felt possessed.

He drew… green eyes.

Then dark brown hair.

Then a shirtless outline that he immediately scribbled out in horror.

“NOPE,” he muttered, flipping the page.

He drew a cat. Then drew the cat flipping someone off. Then added a speech bubble that said “You’re the problem, not me.”

Then... a heart.

He stared at it. Then at the scribbled-out Rafayel sketch.

“…Ugh.”

Rafayel had just gotten home, wearing a fitted black turtleneck (yes, he was clothed this time) and looking dangerously good. He dropped his coat on the couch, stretching slightly before heading to the kitchen.

Minho and Jisung were on the couch, still watching.

Jisung nudged Minho. “Are you breathing?”

“I told you I didn’t like this.”

“He’s trying though.”

“He’s trying to seduce him.”

“Minho.”

“Jisung.”

Jiwon was baking again, frosting a new batch of cupcakes—mumbling to himself and zoning out. Rafayel leaned in from behind the fridge door with a water bottle.

“You look serious.”

“Because I’m focusing.”

“Sure. Is this frosting or anger you’re spreading?”

“I will throw this spatula at you.”

“Bet.”

Jiwon turned to sass him—then stopped.

Rafayel's smile blurred.

Something flickered in Jiwon’s head. A flash—so fast it made him dizzy.

Blood. Screeching tires. Rafayel screaming his name.

Jiwon staggered back, hand trembling.

“Hey—whoa, whoa—” Rafayel rushed to him, concern replacing his grin. “What happened? You okay?”