Chapter Text
16.
I’m still writing, hoping these pages will somehow clean the mess I’ve made, but it’s not working. I’m a bad brother, the one who’s ruining everything. My ass is too big for these chairs, my heart’s too heavy for this apartment, and Hanbin’s cum is still on my mind, a week later. I thought that night would change things, that he’d look at me different, want me like I want him. But he’s pulling away, and it’s killing me.
When Hao’s home, Hanbin’s like a stranger. He won’t meet my eyes, keeps his mouth shut, no sign of that tongue I can’t stop thinking about. He talks to Hao, laughs, touches his arm, but with me, it’s nothing—awkward silences, quick glances, like I’m something he’s scared of. I’m stuck here all day, my convenience store shifts cut to almost nothing, and Hao’s money is the only reason I’m not on the street. This apartment feels too big, too empty, with its clean lines and those windows letting in too much light. Hanbin’s always around, making coffee, his nipples showing through his shirt, sitting on the couch with his thighs spread, but he’s out of reach.
I tried to get close again. Last night, Hao was cooking, humming, his slim frame moving like he’s still got Chongqing in his bones. Hanbin was on the couch, scrolling on his phone, his boxers tight, that cock I touched outlined like a taunt. I sat next to him, my shorts short, my ass half-out, and let my knee touch his. I asked about his day, kept my voice soft, stared at his lips, those full lips I want to taste. He tensed, slid away, said, “Busy, you know,” and kept his eyes on his phone. I didn’t stop, brushed my hand against his arm, let my fingers stay there, feeling his warmth. He got up fast, said he was helping Hao, and left me sitting there, hard, my ass clenching, my chest tight. He didn’t say no, but that dodge was louder than anything.
I went to my room, jerked off to the memory of his cock, the way it pulsed, the cum soaking his boxers, sticking to my hand. I thought about his balls, how they’d feel in my mouth, his tongue on my hole, his nipples hard under my fingers. But it’s not enough. I’m starving, and he’s shutting me out. Hao smiled at me during dinner, said I was quiet, and I wanted to tell him everything—that I’m a traitor, that I touched his boyfriend, that I’m burning for him. I just ate, nodded, and felt like shit. Hao’s the one who got us out of Chongqing, who pays for this place, who loves me even when I’m nothing. And I’m betraying him, dreaming of Hanbin’s cock inside me. These pages aren’t saving me. I’m still a bad brother.
17.
Two weeks, and I’m invisible. Hanbin’s avoiding me, especially when Hao’s here. His eyes don’t crinkle anymore, his mouth stays closed, no trace of the heat I felt that night. He’s all about Hao—sitting close, laughing at his jokes, while I’m just the guy in the corner, the bad brother who fucked it all up. I’m home constantly, my job barely a job anymore, and Hao’s salary is keeping me alive. I hate it, hate being the kid from Chongqing who can’t do anything right. This apartment’s a prison, its big windows showing a city that doesn’t want me, its two bedrooms hiding my shame.
I keep trying, even though I know I shouldn’t. A few nights ago, Hao was grading papers on the couch, his sharp features focused, glasses slipping down his nose. Hanbin was in the kitchen, cleaning dishes, his shirt tight, nipples hard, his thighs filling out his jeans. I walked by, my tank top loose, shorts barely covering my ass, and leaned against the counter, close enough to feel his heat. I said his coffee smelled good, let my hand brush his hip, my fingers grazing the edge of his jeans, where I know his cock is. He stepped back, turned away, said, “Thanks, it’s just instant,” and kept scrubbing, his shoulders stiff. I stayed there, staring at his back, wanting to grab him, to feel his balls, to suck that mouth until he’s moaning. But he didn’t look at me, didn’t give me anything, and I walked away, my dick aching, my heart heavier than ever.
It’s like this every time. I’ll sit too close, let my foot touch his under the table, or “accidentally” brush his thigh when Hao’s distracted. He’ll move, shift away, focus on something else, never rude, never calling me out, but it’s clear—he’s done. I jerk off every night, thinking about his cock, the way it felt, the cum I tasted, the way his tongue looked when he licked his lips. I imagine him fucking me, his nipples in my mouth, his balls slapping my ass, but it’s fading, like a dream I can’t hold onto. Hao’s clueless, thinks I’m “better” because I’m not bringing guys home. He doesn’t know it’s because of Hanbin, because I’m saving it all for someone I can’t have.
Hao made breakfast yesterday, his slim fingers quick with a spatula, and we ate together, just us. He asked about my job, said we’d figure out the money, his voice so soft it hurt. I wanted to confess, to tell him I’m not worth his love, that I’m a monster. Instead, I said I’d look for more work, lied to his face. He’s my hero, the one who got us here, who believes in me, and I’m spitting on that, lusting after his boyfriend. I’m a bad brother, and these words aren’t fixing anything.
I’m trying. I’m trying. I’m trying.
18.
A month’s passed, and nothing’s changed. Hanbin’s a wall, cold and careful, avoiding me like I’m a disease. When Hao’s home, he’s all about him—holding his hand, kissing his cheek, while I’m just there, the bad brother, watching, wanting, breaking. My job’s a joke, two shifts a week, and Hao’s paying for everything—rent, food, my fucking existence. I’m back to being the kid who couldn’t keep up, the one dragging Hao down. This apartment’s too big, its windows too bright, showing me a Seoul that’s laughing at me. Hanbin’s still here, permanent now, his stuff mixed with Hao’s, his smell in every room, but he’s further away than ever.
I’ve tried so many times. Last week, Hao was watching TV, his legs crossed, reading some teaching book. Hanbin was next to him, his thighs spread, boxers showing that cock I’m dying for. I sat on the other side, my shorts tight, my ass spilling out, and let my hand rest on the couch, close to his knee. I said something about the show, leaned in, let my fingers brush his leg, feeling the heat of his skin. He pulled away, crossed his legs, said, “Yeah, it’s good,” and turned to Hao, ignoring me. I tried again a few days later, when Hao was in the shower. Hanbin was making coffee, his nipples hard, his jeans low. I stood close, said his shirt looked good, let my hand graze his arm, my eyes on his mouth, that tongue I want inside me. He stepped back, said, “Thanks,” and walked away, leaving me hard, my ass aching, my chest tight. I wanted to grab him, to feel his cock, to taste his cum, but he walked away
Every attempt’s the same. I touch, he dodges, no words, no fight, just silence. I’m starving, jerking off to the same memory—his cock, his cum, his balls, his nipples, his tongue. It’s all I have, and it’s not enough. I’m betraying Hao, my anchor, my hero, the one who got us out of Chongqing, who pays for this life, who loves me despite everything. I hate myself, but I can’t stop wanting Hanbin, can’t stop trying, even when it’s hopeless.
Today was my birthday, and Hao made it special. He took me and Hanbin to a restaurant near Gangnam, one with dim lights and good food, not too fancy. He smiled the whole time, his sharp features glowing, said he was proud of me, that I’d find my way. Hanbin was there, quiet, avoiding my eyes, but Hao didn’t notice, just kept talking, laughing, making me feel like I was worth something. He paid for everything, even got me a cake, and when we got home, he hugged me, said, “You’re my favorite person, Ricky.” I almost cried, standing there, knowing I’m a traitor, a bad brother, lusting after his boyfriend, touching him behind his back.
I’m done, or I want to be. I looked at Hao tonight, at his love, his trust, and I swore to myself I’d stop. No more touches, no more looks, no more dreaming of Hanbin’s cock, his tongue, his balls. I want to be good, to be the brother Hao deserves, not this monster who’s breaking his heart. I’m writing this to make it real, to hold myself to it. But Hanbin’s still here, sleeping in Hao’s room, his smell in the air, and I’m scared I’ll fail. I’m a bad brother, and these pages aren’t enough to save me.
19.
It’s been a week since my birthday, since Hao’s smile and that dinner made me swear I’d stop chasing Hanbin. I don’t want to be the guy who betrays his brother, not anymore. Hao’s done everything for me—got us out of Chongqing, pays for this apartment, believes in me when I’m just a jobless mess. I owe him better, so I’m keeping my promise, or trying to. My convenience store shifts are still cut, and I’m stuck here, living off Hao’s teacher salary, feeling like a kid who can’t stand on his own.
Hanbin’s still everywhere, sleeping in Hao’s room, making coffee, filling this place with his smell—sweat, soap, him. Him. Him. I notice him, can’t help it. His eyes. His shoulders. His thighs. But I’m not letting myself go there, not like before. No more. No more. No more his cock, his tongue, his balls. I’m done, done, done. Or I want to be. But he’s looking at me again, soft, curious, and it’s breaking me, breaking me, breaking me.
Now that I’m pulling back, I catch him looking at me sometimes. Quick glances when Hao’s not watching, his eyes lingering on my face, my arms, maybe my ass. It’s not like before, when he dodged me after that night I touched him. It’s softer, curious, and it makes my chest tight, but I’m not acting on it. I can’t.
I’ve been keeping busy, or trying to. Applied for a few jobs—cafes, delivery, anything to stop leaning on Hao. Nothing’s come through, but it keeps my mind off Hanbin. Hao’s noticed I’m different, quieter. He asked if I’m okay, his sharp features all soft, his slim fingers tapping the table like he’s nervous. I lied, said I’m just stressed about work, and he hugged me, said we’d figure it out. I felt like shit, standing there, knowing I’m hiding so much. He’s my hero, and I’m still the bad brother, even if I’m trying not to be.
20.
I met someone yesterday, by chance. His name’s Jeonghyeon, a college student I ran into at a convenience store near Gangnam, not my work one. I was grabbing snacks, feeling low, and he was there, tall and lanky, sharp jawline, kind of nerdy with glasses and messy hair. He dropped his wallet, and I handed it back, and we got talking. He’s 22, studies something like math, stays home a lot, doesn’t go out much. He was shy, kept looking at his shoes, but there was this spark in his eyes when he smiled at me. We exchanged numbers, and I felt something I hadn’t in a while—hope, maybe, that I can move on, be someone new.
21.
It’s been two weeks since I met Jeonghyeon, and we’re still going, which is more than I expected. We’ve been on four dates now, actual dates, not just hookups, though there’s that too. He’s different from the guys I used to bring home, different from Hanbin. He’s tall, 185 cm, slender, with this handsome face that’s sharp but soft, like he could be on a drama but chooses to hide in his dorm. His hands are big, long fingers, and when we’re alone, he’s all over me, his touch hungry, like he’s been holding back forever. But in public, it’s a complete 180. He won’t hold my hand, won’t let me lean on him, pulls away if I get too close. It’s like I’m his secret, and it stings, makes me feel like I’m back to being the bad brother, hiding something shameful.
We met up at a cafe first, somewhere quiet near his college. He was nervous, kept adjusting his glasses, talking about math or some anime he loves. I liked it, how he’s so different from me, how he’s got this whole world in his head. We kissed that night, in his dorm, and it was good—slow, a bit clumsy, but real. The sex came after the second date, at his place, and it’s intense. He’s shy at first, but once we’re alone, he’s bold, his hands on my ass, his mouth on mine, like he’s starving. It’s not like with Hanbin, where it was all in my head, all forbidden. Jeonghyeon wants me, and I want him, but only behind closed doors. Outside, he’s distant, and it makes me wonder if I’m just a dirty secret to him.
I’m still trying to be good, keeping my promise to Hao. I don’t flirt with Hanbin, don’t touch him, don’t let my eyes linger too long on his lips or his chest. But I notice things. He’s not avoiding me anymore, not like he did after that night. When Hao’s at work, Hanbin talks to me more, asks about my day, laughs at my dumb jokes. His eyes stay on me longer, like he’s trying to figure me out. Yesterday, I was doing dishes, my shirt loose, and I caught him watching, his gaze on my back, my ass maybe. It wasn’t sexual, not exactly, but it was something, and it made my stomach flip. I didn’t do anything, just kept washing, but it’s hard, knowing he’s looking again.
Hao’s been great, too great. He made dinner last night, his slim fingers quick with a knife, and we talked about Chongqing, about old times. He said he’s proud of me for trying, for applying to jobs, and I felt like a liar, knowing I’m still carrying this guilt, this want for Hanbin, even if I’m not acting on it. I’m a bad brother, but I’m trying to be better, for Hao, for myself. Jeonghyeon’s part of that, I think. He’s not Hanbin, but he’s real, and I’m holding onto that, even if it hurts to be his secret.
22.
A month since my birthday, and I’m still holding onto my promise, but it’s not easy. Jeonghyeon’s been over a lot, crashing at our place when Hao’s at his hagwon late. We’re on our sixth date, and it’s steady, more than I’ve ever had with anyone. He’s still the same—nerdy, quiet, stays in his head until we’re alone, then he’s all hands, all mouth, all need. Last night, he came over, and we fucked in my room, his long fingers gripping my ass, his kisses deep, like he’s trying to make up for how he is outside. It’s good, really good, but it’s not enough to erase Hanbin, not completely.
Jeonghyeon’s so different when we’re out. We went to a park near Gangnam, and I tried to hold his hand, just a small thing, but he pulled away, looked around like someone might see. At a cafe, I leaned close, and he shifted, put space between us, his eyes on his phone. It hurts, makes me feel like I’m something to hide, like I’m dirty. But at home, he’s mine—curling up with me on the couch, his head on my shoulder, his fingers tracing my arm. It’s like he’s two people, and I’m only allowed the one behind closed doors. It hurts, but the trifecta of being an unemployed foreigner who also happens to be a faggot, maybe it’s justified?
Hanbin’s noticed him, I can tell. Jeonghyeon’s been over enough that it’s obvious something’s going on. Hanbin doesn’t say anything, just watches, his soft eyes catching mine when Jeonghyeon’s not looking. When Jeonghyeon’s here, Hanbin’s quieter, stays in Hao’s room or the kitchen, but I feel his gaze, like he’s trying to understand. Jeonghyeon gets weird around him, too. He’s already shy, but with Hanbin, it’s worse—won’t look at him, keeps his distance, like he’s scared Hanbin knows he’s hiding. Last night, Jeonghyeon was leaving, and I walked him to the hallway. I wanted to kiss him goodbye, just a peck, but he stepped back, glanced at the open door, at Hanbin in the living room, and just said, “See you,” his voice tight. He practically ran down the stairs, and I stood there, deflated, feeling like a disgusting secret, like I’m not worth being seen with.
I came back inside, and Hanbin was on the couch, his thighs spread, his shirt tight, nipples showing. He looked at me, didn’t say anything, but his eyes stayed on mine, longer than before, like he saw how I felt. I wanted to talk, to tell him I’m trying to be good, that I’m not the bad brother anymore, but I just went to my room, closed the door, and sat on my bed, my ass heavy, my chest heavier. Hao was still out, and I thought about him, about how he loves me, how he trusts me, and I felt sick, knowing I’m still not clean, not really. Jeonghyeon’s not Hanbin, and maybe that’s why it’s not enough. I’m trying to be good, but Hanbin’s gaze is back, and it’s pulling at me, even when I don’t want it to. I’m a bad brother, and these pages aren’t fixing me, not yet.
23.
It’s been a month and a half since my birthday, since I swore to stop wanting Hanbin, and I’m holding on, mostly. I’m trying to be the brother Hao deserves, the one who doesn’t betray him, but it’s hard when Hanbin’s still here, filling this apartment with his presence. I notice him—his soft eyes, the way his shoulders fill out his shirts, how his jeans hug his thighs—but I’m keeping it in check, not letting my mind go where it used to, not thinking about his mouth or his cock or his balls. I’m better than that now, or I want to be. But something’s shifting. Hanbin’s looking at me again, talking to me, and it’s messing with my head.
Jeonghyeon’s been my anchor, keeping me grounded. We’re still together, pushing past seven dates, and it’s real, deeper than I thought it could be. He’s still the same—tall, lanky, sharp jawline, glasses slipping down his nose, always talking about math or some anime he’s obsessed with. When we’re alone, at my place or his dorm, he’s all over me, his long fingers on my ass, his kisses hungry, like he’s making up for lost time. We had sex again last night, in my room, and it was good—slow, intense, his hands gripping me like I’m all he wants. But outside, he’s different. Won’t hold my hand, won’t let me touch him, always checking if someone’s watching. It hurts, makes me feel like I’m his secret, but I’m accepting it. He’s cute, sweet, and when we’re alone, it’s enough. I tell myself it’s worth it, that I’m lucky to have someone who wants me, even if it’s only behind closed doors.
Hanbin’s been different lately, less guarded. He’s started talking to me again, not just small talk, but real conversations. Yesterday, Hao was at his hagwon, and Hanbin was in the kitchen, making coffee, his shirt tight, nipples showing. He asked about Jeonghyeon, just casual, like he was curious. “How’s it going with that guy?” he said, his eyes on me, steady, like he actually cared. I was honest, told him it’s good but hard, that Jeonghyeon’s shy in public, won’t touch me outside. I even said, “I envy you, you know. You’re not ashamed to be with Hao, showing it all the time.” My voice cracked, and I felt stupid, but Hanbin just nodded, his lips soft, like he got it. “That’s tough,” he said, and for a second, I saw something in his eyes—maybe pity, maybe something else. It made my chest tight, but I pushed it down, didn’t let myself think it meant more.
I’m still unemployed, but I’m trying to change that. Applied for a bartender job at a club downtown, and I’m waiting to hear back. If I get it, it’ll mean less time in this apartment, less time noticing Hanbin, less of Hao’s money keeping me alive. Hao’s been so good to me, cooking dinner, asking about my job hunt, his slim fingers quick with a knife. He said he’s glad I’m “finding my way,” and I wanted to tell him I’m trying to be good, that I’m not the brother who wants his boyfriend anymore. But I’m still carrying this guilt, this weight, and it’s heavy, even with Jeonghyeon, even when I’m trying to be better.
24.
I got the bartender job, and it feels like a win, like I’m finally pulling my weight. Started last week at a club in Gangnam, all neon lights and loud music, pouring drinks for people who don’t look at me twice. The pay’s better than the convenience store, and I’m learning fast—mixing cocktails, flirting just enough to keep tips coming. It’s late nights, so I’m out when Hao’s home, which is good, keeps me from dwelling on Hanbin. I’m not leaning on Hao as much now, paying my share of the rent, and it’s a relief, like I’m not just his kid brother from Chongqing who can’t do anything right.
Jeonghyeon’s been over a lot, crashing at our place when I’m off work. We’re steady, and I’m letting myself care about him, more than I expected. He’s still shy, stays in his head, but when we’re alone, he’s like a different person—his hands on my ass, his kisses deep, his slender frame pressed against me like he can’t get close enough. We fucked again last night, in my room, and it was slow, his long fingers tracing my back, making me feel wanted. But in public, it’s the same. We went to a movie, and I reached for his hand, but he pulled away, looked around, like someone might know him. At a cafe, I sat close, and he shifted, put his bag between us. It stings, makes me feel like I’m nothing, but I’m telling myself it’s okay. He’s cute, he cares, and I’m unemployed no more, but still not someone to brag about. I get why he hides me—I’m not exactly a catch, not like Hao or Hanbin.
25.
Hanbin’s been talking to me more, and it’s throwing me off. He’s not avoiding me anymore, not like after that night I touched him. When Hao’s at work, he’ll hang out in the living room, ask about my job, about Jeonghyeon, JEONGHYEON. Last night, I was home early, and he was on the couch, his thighs spread, shirt loose, nipples faintly visible. He asked how the club’s going, and I told him it’s good, tiring, but good. Then he asked about Jeonghyeon, not Hanbin, not Hanbin again, said, “He seems nice, but it sounds tough, him being so private.” I opened up, told him it’s hard, feeling like a secret, how I wish I had what he has with Hao, just being open. “You’re not like that,” I said, “you’re proud of Hao.” He looked at me, his soft eyes steady, and said, “It’s not always easy, but yeah, I’m lucky.” His gaze lingered, and my stomach flipped, but I didn’t let it go anywhere. I can’t.
I’m still trying to be good, keeping my promise to Hao. He’s been busy, his hagwon piling on extra classes, but he checks in, asks about my job, says he’s proud. It hurts, knowing I’m still hiding this part of me, the part that noticed Hanbin’s gaze, that still feels something when he talks to me. Jeonghyeon’s helping, keeping me focused, but he’s not Hanbin, and sometimes, late at night, my ass heavy on the mattress, I wonder if I’ll ever be clean of this. I’m a bad brother, but I’m fighting it, for Hao, for myself.
Jeonghyeon. Hanbin. Hao.
26.
Jeonghyeon’s my boyfriend now, official, and it’s good, deeper than I thought I could have. We spend most nights together, at my place or his, and when we’re alone, he’s everything—his long fingers on my ass, his kisses slow, his nerdy laugh making me smile.
Last night, he crashed here, and we fucked, his slender body pressed against mine, his glasses fogging up, and it felt right, like I could be happy with him. But outside, it’s still the same. He won’t touch me, won’t look at me too long, always checking for eyes on us. Yesterday, we were at a park, and I tried to link arms, but he stepped away, said, “Not here,” and I felt like nothing again. I’m accepting it, though. He’s cute, he cares, and I’m just a bartender, not someone you show off. I get it.
Hanbin’s been so different, and it’s messing with me. He’s not just talking to me now—he’s seeking me out. When Hao’s at his hagwon, Hanbin will sit with me, ask about the club, about Jeonghyeon, even about Chongqing. His eyes crinkle again, his mouth soft, and he listens, really listens. Two days ago, I was mixing a drink in the kitchen, practicing for work, and he leaned against the counter, his shirt tight, nipples showing, thighs filling out his jeans.
He asked about Jeonghyeon’s closeted thing, said, “That must be rough, feeling hidden.” I was honest, said it sucks, that I envy how he’s so open with Hao, how he’s not ashamed. “I’m just a bartender,” I said, “no wonder I get guys who hide me.” He looked at me, his gaze steady, and said, “You’re more than that, Ricky.” My heart stopped, and for a second, I saw it—his lips, his tongue, the way he used to look at me before he pulled away. I didn’t do anything, just nodded, but it’s been in my head since.
27.
Hao dropped a bomb last night. We were eating dinner, his slim fingers quick with chopsticks, and he said Hanbin’s moving in permanently, not just crashing. He asked for my permission, his sharp features nervous, like I’d say no. “It’s been good having him here, right?” he said, and I froze, my mind racing. Hanbin, permanent, his stuff in our apartment, his smell, his body, always here. I was surprised—why isn’t he moving out with Hao, getting their own place? And then it hit me, this stupid, dangerous thought: maybe he’s staying because of me, because he wants me, deep down. It’s delusional, I know, but it’s there, waking up those fantasies I buried. I thought about his cock, his balls, his nipples, his tongue, all the things I swore I’d forget. I said yes, of course, told Hao it’s fine, but inside, I’m shaking. I’m trying to be good, but Hanbin’s gaze, his voice, his permanence—it’s pulling me back.
I’m still with Jeonghyeon, and I care about him, but he’s not Hanbin. When he left this morning, I walked him to the hallway, and he pulled away again, no kiss, just a quick “bye” because Hanbin was in the living room. I came back, deflated, feeling like a secret, and Hanbin looked at me, his eyes soft, like he knew. I’m a bad brother, and these pages aren’t saving me. I’m trying to be good, for Hao, for Jeonghyeon, but Hanbin’s here, forever, and I’m scared of what that means.
28. 10 AM
I’m hungover, my head pounding, my mouth dry, and I’m writing this to try and make sense of last night, to confess what I did, what I’m still doing, even though I swore I’d be better.
I’m trying to be good, but Hanbin’s here, permanent now, and my mind’s twisting everything, telling me he wants me, even when I know it’s a lie. I’m a mess, and last night proved it.
Hao dropped another bomb a few days ago, at dinner, his slim fingers nervous, picking at his chopsticks. He said he’s got a three-day seminar out of town, some camp thing, starting tomorrow. He looked at me, then Hanbin, and said he trusts us to hold down the apartment.
Trusts us. My stomach twisted, knowing I’m not trustworthy, not with Hanbin around. It’s worse because Jeonghyeon’s finals are the same time, so he’ll be buried in his dorm, studying, leaving me alone with Hanbin for three days. Three days. The thought made my chest tight, not just with guilt, but with something else—hope, maybe, that stupid, dangerous hope that Hanbin’s staying here for me, not Hao.
Hanbin’s been so friendly lately, too friendly, and it’s fucking with me. He talks to me all the time now, asks about my bartender job, about Jeonghyeon, about stupid stuff like my favorite drinks to mix. His eyes crinkle, his lips soft, and he leans close, like he’s really listening.
Yesterday, I was practicing a cocktail in the kitchen, my ass filling out my jeans, and he stood next to me, his shirt tight, nipples showing, thighs strong. He asked about Jeonghyeon again, said, “You seem happy with him.” I shrugged, said it’s good but hard, him hiding me. Hanbin nodded, his gaze steady, and said, “You deserve better, Ricky.” Better. The way he said it, the way he looked at me, I swear it meant something. My mind’s screaming he wants me, that his staying here, permanent, is because of me, not just Hao. It’s delusional, but I can’t stop it.
Jeonghyeon’s still my boyfriend, and I care about him, more than I thought I could. He’s been over, his lanky frame curled up with me, his long lanky fingers on my ass, his kisses deep. But he’s still closeted, won’t touch me in public, and it makes me feel like shit, like I’m not worth showing off. He’s got finals coming, so he’s been distant, focused, and I’m trying to be okay with it. I’m a bartender now, not some jobless loser, but I’m still not someone you brag about, not like Hao or Hanbin. I tell myself Jeonghyeon’s enough, but Hanbin’s here, and my promise to be good is cracking.
Last night was the first night of Hao’s seminar, and I fucked up. I had the night off, and so did Hanbin, some rare scheduling fluke. Jeonghyeon was studying, so it was just us, and I got this idea, against every good thought in my head. I invited Hanbin to my club, said it’d be fun, that he could see where I work. He said yes, his eyes bright, and I felt it—that spark, that delusion that he wanted to be close. I’m a bad brother, and I knew it, but I couldn’t stop. I’m writing another entry later to get it all down, because I’m hungover, and I need to remember everything, need to confess how far I went.
29. 4PM.
I’m still hungover, my head’s a mess, and I’m writing again because I need to get last night out, every detail, before it blurs. I’m Ricky, the bad brother, the one who swore to be good but keeps slipping, keeps wanting Hanbin, keeps betraying Hao. These pages are all I have, my confession, my punishment, and I’m hoping they’ll make me stop, but I don’t know if I can. Last night was a mistake, a plan I shouldn’t have made, and now I’m sitting here, my ass heavy on this chair, my heart heavier, trying to piece it together.
Hanbin and I went to the club, my work, around 9 PM. It’s all neon lights, bass thumping, people pressed together, and I felt alive, like I could be someone else, not the bad brother. I wore tight jeans, my ass looking good, a black shirt that showed my arms, and Hanbin—God, he looked perfect. His shirt was fitted, nipples faintly visible, jeans hugging his thighs, his soft visuals glowing under the club lights. He smiled at me, that crinkly-eyed smile, and said, “This place is wild, Ricky.” My chest tightened, and I told myself it was just a night out, nothing more, but I was lying.
We started drinking at the bar, my coworker pouring us shots, free because I’m staff. Soju, whiskey, some fruity thing Hanbin liked, and we kept going, laughing, talking over the music. He leaned close, his breath warm, his lips so close I could’ve kissed him. He asked about my job, said I looked good behind the bar, and I felt it again—that delusion, that he was here for me, that he wanted me. I poured us more shots, my hand brushing his, and he didn’t pull away, just smiled, his eyes soft, maybe drunk, maybe something else. We moved to a booth, sat close, our thighs touching, and I was buzzing, not just from the alcohol, but from him, from the way he looked at me, like I was someone.
The drinks kept coming, and we got sloppy. Hanbin was laughing, his head tipped back, his throat exposed, and I wanted to lick it, to feel his pulse. I said something stupid, like, “You’re too pretty for this place,” and he grinned, said, “You’re not so bad yourself.” My dick twitched, my ass clenched, and I knew I was crossing a line, but the alcohol made it feel okay, made me think he meant it. We danced, sort of, just swaying by the booth, his body close, his hands brushing my hips once, maybe an accident, maybe not. I was drunk, he was drunk, and I kept thinking, This is it, he wants me, he’s here with me, not Hao.
The walk home was a blur, the uphill climb to our apartment slow, Hanbin’s warmth against me, his smell—sweat, whiskey, him—filling my head. We got inside, and I didn’t want it to end. I said, “One more drink,” and poured us soju in the kitchen, my hands shaky, my mind screaming to stop. He sat on the couch, his thighs spread, shirt riding up, nipples hard, and I sat close, too close, my knee against his. We drank, talked about nothing, and I kept looking at his mouth, his tongue, thinking about that night, the cum on my hand, the way he let me.
I thought we’d just crash, both of us too drunk, too tired to do more, but it didn’t end there. Hanbin stood, swaying, his jeans tight, cock outlined, and mumbled, “Gotta shower, I reek of alcohol.” His voice was slurred, his soft eyes half-closed, and he stumbled toward the bathroom. I was drunk, my head spinning, but I couldn’t let him go, not like that. “You good alone?” I asked, following him, my voice thick. He nodded, but I pushed, asked again, “Sure you’re okay? You’re wasted.” He leaned against the wall, his nipples hard under his shirt, and I asked a third time, “Hanbin, you sure?” I was worried, but part of me just wanted to stay close, to keep him with me.
He laughed, a low, drunken sound, and looked at me, his tongue flicking out, wetting his lips. “Fuck, Ricky, you reek too,” he said, his words sloppy. “If you’re so worried, just come with me.” My heart stopped, my dick twitched, and I knew I should’ve said no, should’ve gone to my room, but I was too far gone. I nodded, followed him into the bathroom, my ass heavy in my jeans, my mind screaming that this was wrong, that I’m a bad brother, but my body didn’t care.
We stripped, clumsy, drunk, clothes hitting the floor. Hanbin’s body was perfect—muscular chest, nipples hard, that trail of hair leading to his cock, thick and half-hard, his balls full, hanging heavy. My ass was out, massive, my own dick stirring, but I tried to focus, to keep it practical. We got in the shower, the water hot, steam filling the room, and we were close, too close, our bodies brushing as we moved. I grabbed the soap, my hands shaky, and started washing myself, but my eyes were on him, on his cock, his balls, his mouth, those lips I wanted to taste. He was washing too, his hands slow, and then he looked at me, his eyes dark, maybe drunk, maybe something else.
“Ricky,” he said, his voice low, slurred, “gimme a hand.” My breath caught, my dick hardened, and I thought I misheard, but he nodded at his cock, now fully hard, thick, the head glistening. I didn’t think, just moved, my hand wrapping around him, feeling the heat, the pulse, the way it throbbed. I stroked him, slow at first, my fingers tight, sliding over his length, brushing his balls, heavy and warm. He groaned, his head tipping back, his tongue darting out, and I was lost, my ass clenching, my own dick aching. I kept going, faster, my hand slick with soap, jerking him off, feeling every vein, every twitch, his nipples hard, begging for my mouth, but I didn’t dare.
He came, hard, his cum shooting onto my hand, thick and hot, some hitting my thigh, mixing with the water. I wanted to taste it, to lick it off, but I didn’t, just kept stroking until he was done, his breath shaky, his eyes half-closed. Then he said, “Lemme wash you,” his voice rough, and I nodded, too drunk, too desperate to say no. He took the soap, his hands on my back, my shoulders, then lower, to my ass, his fingers kneading, spreading my cheeks. I felt his cock, hard again, slick with soap, sliding between my ass cheeks, not inside, just grinding, hot and thick, teasing my hole. I moaned, couldn’t help it, my body burning, my dick leaking, and I pushed back, grinding against him, letting the heat take over.
I turned, desperate, grabbed his hands, pulled them to my chest, my nipples, my thighs, making him touch me, feel me. His cock kept sliding, soaped, between my cheeks, his balls brushing my skin, and I was shaking, grinding back, wanting more, wanting him inside, but he didn’t go there. We were drunk, messy, his hands everywhere—my ass, my hips, my dick, stroking me once, twice, until I came, my cum mixing with the water, my moans loud, my guilt louder. We didn’t kiss, didn’t speak, just rinsed off, the water washing away the evidence, but not the sin.
We got out, dried off, and he mumbled, “Gonna crash,” stumbling to Hao’s room, his jeans back on, cock still half-hard. I went to mine, my ass sore, my body buzzing, and jerked off again, thinking about his cock, his hands, the way he slid against me, the way he let me touch him. I remember every detail—the heat of his cock, the weight of his balls, the slick grind, his nipples under my fingers, his tongue when he groaned. I’m a bad brother, worse than ever, and I hate myself, but I didn’t care then, and I’m not sure I do now.
I stood in my room, towel around my waist, my ass tingling, my body still buzzing from the shower, from Hanbin’s cock, his hands, his cum. I wanted to follow him, to crawl into Hao’s bed and beg for more, but I didn’t. I checked on him instead, like nothing happened, like I wasn’t a bad brother who’d just crossed every line. I knocked on Hao’s door, my head still spinning, and he was there, sprawled on the bed, shirtless, jeans unbuttoned, nipples hard, his soft visuals blurred by alcohol. “You good?” I asked, my voice rough, my dick stirring just seeing him. He nodded, slurred, “Yeah, just drunk,” and I left, my heart pounding, my guilt screaming, but my want louder.
I checked again an hour later, after pacing my room, my ass heavy on the mattress, my mind replaying the shower—his cock between my cheeks, his balls brushing me, his hands on my nipples. He was still awake, sitting up, his thighs spread, jeans low, cock outlined. “Still okay?” I asked, leaning against the door, my towel loose, my ass barely covered. He looked at me, his eyes dark, tongue flicking out, and said, “It’s chilly tonight.” His voice was low, slurred, and my stomach flipped, my dick hardening, my mind twisting his words into something they weren’t. I should’ve grabbed a blanket, should’ve walked away, but I didn’t. “Body heat’s the best for that,” I said, my voice shaky, bullshit spilling out. “Keeps you from hypothermia, you know.” It was stupid, not really a lie, but he didn’t laugh, just looked at me, his lips soft, his nipples begging for my mouth.
I moved before I could stop, dropped my towel, climbed onto Hao and Hanbin’s bed, fully naked, my ass massive, my dick half-hard. I lay down, my back to him, my heart racing, my guilt screaming that this was Hao’s bed, Hao’s boyfriend, but I didn’t care, not then. I backed up, slow, deliberate, my ass pressing against his hips, feeling the heat of his body, the bulge of his cock through his jeans. He didn’t pull away, didn’t speak, and I felt him shift, his jeans gone, his cock hard, hot, pressing against my lower back, his balls heavy, brushing my skin. My ass clenched, my dick throbbed, and I was gone, lost in the heat, the sin, the want.
His breath was warm on my neck, then his lips, drunken, sloppy, kissing the curve where my shoulder met my throat, his tongue flicking out, tasting my skin, salty from sweat and shower water. My body shuddered, my nipples hardening, my ass pushing back, needing more. His kisses trailed up, slow, wet, his tongue dragging along my neck, lapping at the pulse point, sucking gently, leaving heat in its wake. He didn’t kiss my lips, stayed on my neck, my jaw, his teeth grazing the bone, his tongue swirling, coating my skin with spit, making me moan, low and desperate, my dick leaking onto the sheets.
I shifted, spreading my thighs, guiding his cock—thick, pulsing, slick with precum—between them, not inside, just nestled tight, the head brushing my balls, his shaft hot against my inner thighs. My ass cheeks clenched around the base, holding him there, and I started grinding, slow, deliberate, my thighs squeezing, my muscles flexing, milking his cock with every move. His balls pressed against my skin, heavy, warm, shifting with each thrust, the hair tickling, the heat making my hole twitch, begging for more. My dick bobbed, untouched, leaking, the tip grazing the sheets, my nipples aching, my body on fire.
His hand found my chest, fingers rough, drunk, circling my nipple, pinching, twisting, sending jolts through me, my moans louder, my thighs tightening around his cock. He kept licking, his tongue broad, sloppy, painting my neck, my jaw, sucking the skin, his teeth nipping, not hard, just enough to make me shake. His cock slid, slick, between my thighs, the head nudging my balls, the shaft dragging, the friction burning, his precum smearing, mixing with my sweat. I grinded harder, my ass bouncing, my thighs gripping, feeling every vein, every pulse, his balls slapping softly, the sound wet, obscene, filling the room.
My body was slick, sweat beading, my ass cheeks flexing, my hole clenching, empty but desperate, as his cock fucked my thighs, slow then fast, his hips thrusting, his breath ragged against my neck. His tongue kept working, lapping my jaw, sucking the skin under my ear, his spit dripping, cooling, making me shiver. His fingers rolled my nipple, tugging, the pain sharp, the pleasure sharper, my dick jerking, cum pooling at the tip, smearing the sheets. I pushed back, my ass grinding, my thighs squeezing, his cock trapped, throbbing, his balls tight, pressing, the heat overwhelming, my moans a mess, my guilt drowned by want.
He shifted, his other hand gripping my hip, fingers digging into my ass, kneading, spreading my cheeks just enough for his cock to slide higher, the head grazing my hole, not entering, just teasing, making me gasp, my body shaking, my dick pulsing. I grinded faster, my thighs slick, his cock gliding, the friction raw, his balls slapping, the rhythm unsteady, drunken, but relentless. His tongue was everywhere—my neck, my jaw, my ear, licking, sucking, his spit coating me, his breath hot, his moans low, vibrating against my skin. My nipple burned under his fingers, pinched, twisted, my chest heaving, my ass clenching, my thighs trembling, his cock fucking them, hard, fast, the head nudging my balls, the shaft pulsing, ready to burst.
I came first, my dick untouched, cum shooting, thick, hot, splattering the sheets, my moans loud, broken, my thighs squeezing, milking his cock. He kept thrusting, his cock slicker, his balls tighter, his tongue lapping my neck, his fingers tugging my nipple, and then he came, his cum flooding between my thighs, hot, sticky, coating my skin, dripping onto the sheets, mixing with mine. His cock pulsed, spurt after spurt, his balls emptying, his hips jerking, his breath ragged, his tongue still on my jaw, licking, sucking, as we both shuddered, spent, but still grinding, slow, messy, the cum slick, the heat lingering.
We didn’t stop, not really. His cock stayed between my thighs, half-hard, slick with cum, and I kept moving, gentle, my ass pressing back, my thighs flexing, feeling him, wanting more. His hand stayed on my nipple, softer now, circling, his tongue lazy, lapping my neck, his spit cooling, his breath steadying. We were drunk, exhausted, but the heat didn’t fade, the want didn’t stop, and I knew, lying there, naked on Hao’s bed, Hanbin’s cum on my thighs, that I’d gone too far, that I was a bad brother, worse than ever.
It’s evening now, and Hanbin’s awake, in the living room, acting like nothing happened. We haven’t talked about it, but he’s here, his shirt loose, thighs spread, and I’m still hungover, still wanting. Hao’s gone, Jeonghyeon’s studying, and this apartment’s a trap, holding us together. I don’t know what tonight will bring, but I’m scared, because I’m already planning, already wanting more, and I’m not strong enough to stop. I’m a bad brother, and these pages are just proof of how far I’ve fallen.
30.
I’m writing this in the dark, my hands shaking, my mouth still tasting of him, my heart heavy with what I’ve done. I’m Ricky, the bad brother, the one who keeps breaking every promise, who can’t stop wanting Hanbin, who’s betraying Hao with every breath. These pages are supposed to clean the sin from my soul, but they’re just a record of how far I’ve fallen, how I’m drowning in this apartment, in Hanbin, in my own fucked-up head. Last night didn’t stop with the shower, with his cock between my thighs, his cum on my skin. It kept going, and tonight, it went further, deeper, and I’m a monster, worse than ever, writing it all down because I need to remember, need to confess, even if it doesn’t fix me.
We didn’t talk about last night, not a word about the shower, the bed, his hands on me, his cock fucking my thighs. Hanbin acted normal, like it never happened, and I followed his lead, checking on him through the day, asking if he needed water, if he was still hungover, like I wasn’t burning inside, like my ass wasn’t tingling from his touch. He was in the living room, sprawled on the couch, his shirt loose, thighs spread, nipples faintly visible, his soft visuals calm, like he hadn’t fucked my thighs hours ago. I kept my distance, tried to be good, but my mind was screaming, replaying his cock, his balls, his tongue on my neck, and I knew I was losing, knew I couldn’t keep my promise to Hao.
Dinner was takeout, hangover soup, spicy and steaming, ordered because we were both too wrecked to cook. We ate at the kitchen table, the apartment quiet, the street lights dim through the windows. Hanbin’s boxer briefs were tight, his cock outlined, his lips soft as he sipped the broth, his tongue flicking out, and I had to look away, my dick stirring, my ass clenching. We talked about nothing—work, the soup, how we drank too much—but it felt like a lie, like we were dancing around what happened, what we both knew. My guilt was heavy, knowing Hao was gone, trusting us, his slim frame probably hunched over seminar notes, while I was here, wanting his boyfriend, failing him again.
After dinner, Hanbin suggested a horror movie, his voice casual, his eyes meeting mine, crinkling just enough to make my stomach flip. “Something scary, you in?” he said, and I nodded, my head still fuzzy, my body already buzzing. It felt like months ago, that night on the couch, when I touched him, when his cum soaked his boxers, and I knew, sitting there, that this was dangerous, that I should’ve said no, gone to my room, called Jeonghyeon, anything. But I didn’t. I followed him to the living room, my ass heavy in my shorts, my heart racing, my mind twisting his suggestion into something it wasn’t, telling me he wanted this, wanted me. Bad brother. Bad brother.
We sat on the couch, close, like before, a blanket thrown over us, the TV flickering with some cheap jump-scare flick. Hanbin’s legs were open, his thighs strong, his boxer briefs barely covering him, the fabric thin, clinging to his cock, the head already peeking out the leg hole, rock hard, throbbing, a dark silhouette in the dim light. His arm went around my waist, casual, his fingers grazing my bare skin where my shirt rode up, drawing slow, maddening circles, each touch sending sparks through me, my dick hardening, my nipples tightening, my ass aching. I leaned into him, my shoulder against his chest, his nipples hard through his shirt, brushing my arm, and it was like that night, the same positions, the same heat, but worse, because I knew what we’d done, what we could do.
We kept up a fake conversation, our voices low, pretending the movie mattered. “This part’s creepy,” I said, my eyes on the screen, but my mind on his cock, on the way his fingers moved, teasing my skin. “Yeah, that ghost’s intense,” he said, his voice steady, his hand still circling, dipping lower, brushing the edge of my shorts. A jump scare hit, and I flinched, playing it up, my hand landing on his thigh, inches from his cock, feeling the heat, the pulse. “You scared?” he said, his tone light, but his fingers pressed harder, his cock twitching, the head fully out now, glistening, thick, the vein pulsing, the shaft curved, heavy, begging for me. “Kinda,” I lied, my voice shaky, my ass clenching, my dick leaking. “Take cover if it’s too much,” he said, and it was all I needed, his words a key, unlocking every sin I’d tried to bury.
I moved, slow, deliberate, sliding down, my face level with his lap, the blanket half-off, the TV’s flicker lighting his cock, a fucking masterpiece—thick, seven inches, the head swollen, purple, slick with precum, the shaft veined, pulsing, the leg hole of his boxer briefs stretched, his balls barely contained, heavy, hairy, spilling out, musky, perfect. My breath caught, my mouth watering, my guilt screaming, but I didn’t care, not then. I reached out, my fingers trembling, and pulled his cock free, the fabric ripping slightly, his balls tumbling out, full, warm, the skin tight. I leaned in, my tongue flicking out, tasting the precum, salty, bitter, coating my lips, making me moan, low, desperate, my dick throbbing, my ass twitching.
I licked him, slow, my tongue flat, dragging from the base, where his balls met his shaft, up the length, tracing every vein, circling the head, dipping into the slit, his precum smearing, dripping onto my chin. His cock pulsed, hard as steel, the head flaring, his balls shifting, tightening, as I licked, my tongue swirling, lapping the underside, teasing the frenulum, my spit mixing with his precum, slick, messy, dripping onto the couch. I took the head in my mouth, my lips stretching, my tongue curling, sucking gently, then harder, my cheeks hollowing, my moans muffled, vibrating against him. His hand tightened on my waist, fingers digging, circling faster, his thighs trembling, his cock throbbing, leaking, filling my mouth with precum, salty, thick, making me greedy.
I went deeper, my throat relaxing, his cock sliding, the head hitting the back, making me gag, my spit drooling, coating his shaft, his balls, the couch. I bobbed, slow then fast, my lips tight, my tongue swirling, sucking, my hand gripping the base, stroking, twisting, my other hand cupping his balls, rolling them, feeling their weight, their heat, the hair tickling my palm. His cock was slick, my spit everywhere, dripping, the taste of him—musk, salt, him—overwhelming, my dick leaking, my ass clenching, my nipples hard, brushing the blanket, sending jolts through me.
Hao’s boyfriend Hanbin’s hips moved, subtle at first, then harder, fucking my mouth, his cock sliding, the head hitting my throat, my gags loud, wet, my spit pooling, dripping onto his balls, his thighs. I let him, opened wider, my throat burning, my lips bruised, my hand stroking, faster, my fingers squeezing his balls, tugging, making him groan, low, primal, his fingers on my waist gripping, bruising, his circles frantic, teasing my skin, driving me insane. I sucked harder, my tongue flat, dragging, my lips tight, my throat milking, his cock pulsing, swelling, ready to burst, his balls tight, heavy, slamming against my chin with each thrust.
The movie kept playing, screams and music a distant hum, our fake conversation gone, just the sound of my sucking, my gags, his groans, the wet slap of his balls, the squelch of my spit. I was lost, my ass raised, my dick grinding against the couch, my nipples aching, my mouth full, his cock fucking, relentless, his precum flooding, salty, thick, coating my tongue, my throat, making me choke, making me want more. His hand left my waist, gripped my hair, guiding me, pushing me deeper, his cock hitting my throat, my gags desperate, my spit dripping, my eyes watering, my dick pulsing, close, too close.
He came, hard, his cock jerking, his cum flooding my mouth, hot, thick, bitter, spilling over my tongue, down my throat, too much, choking me, dripping from my lips, onto his balls, the couch. I swallowed, greedy, my throat working, sucking, drinking him down, his cum coating me, filling me, his cock pulsing, spurt after spurt, his balls emptying out, his hips bucking, his groans loud, raw, his hand tight in my hair, holding me there, fucking my mouth until he was done, spent, trembling. I pulled off, slow, my lips swollen, my tongue licking the last drops, his cum on my chin, my chest heaving, my dick throbbing, my ass aching, my guilt crashing back, heavier than ever.
I sat up, the blanket falling, my dick hard, wet, my mouth raw, his taste still there, sharp, lingering. He looked at me, his eyes dark, soft, his lips parted, tongue out, his cock softening, slick with my spit, his balls glistening, his hand back on my thigh, calm, like it was nothing. The movie ended, the credits rolling, and I nodded, said, “Goodnight,” my voice hoarse, my throat sore, my chest tight. He nodded back, said, “Night,” and we got up, him to Hao’s room, me to mine, like nothing happened, like I didn’t just suck my brother’s boyfriend off, like I’m not a bad brother, drowning in sin.
I’m lying here now, my ass heavy, my dick still hard, his cum in my stomach, his taste in my mouth, and I hate myself, but I don’t, not really. Hao’s gone, My boyfriend’s Jeonghyeon’s studying, and Hanbin’s here, and I’m planning, wanting, knowing I’ll do it again. These pages aren’t saving me, they’re just proof of what I am, what I’ve done, and I’m scared, because I’m not stopping, not with him so close. I’m a bad brother, and I’m falling, deeper every day.