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The chatter of the party fades into the background, and time stands still for Inho, as he zeroes in on the two figures standing in the far corner of the room, engrossed in their own conversation. Junho, utterly beautiful with his casually styled hair, the semi-formal attire highlighting his tall, well-trained figure, seemed to attract everyone’s attention wherever he went, and this time is no different. But if before his suitors consisted of mostly the mix of both young girls and experienced women, trying their luck at flirting their way into Junho’s bed, and maybe even his heart, this time it’s someone entirely different.
A man, an older man. Around forty, if Inho had to guess, and wealthy, if the watch on his wrist is anything to go by, with a look that says he’s used to being the one in command in any room. Imposing and authoritative, with perfectly good manners. But Inho knows men like him, sees them for what they are. Behind their polite smiles and well-kept composure lurks something ugly and dangerous, akin to a predator, waiting for unsuspecting prey to sink their claws and teeth into. They look for something beautiful and pure, something they can own, play with, and slowly destroy, before tossing it aside and starting the hunt for their next victim. And now one of them seems to have his sights set on Junho.
And this stranger – Inho sees it in his posture, how he holds himself around Junho, tilts his head in demonstrative attention, and stands far too close for his intentions to be mistaken for anything friendly. He looks him up and down, discreetly, appraisingly, in a way that makes it abundantly clear that he likes what he sees, his gaze intense with barely hidden hunger. And Inho is all too familiar with that look, knows exactly what that man is under the surface – he's seen it before in his own reflection, knows that he himself is no better. No, Inho is the worst of them all. He wants to consume Junho, to possess and dominate and hide him away somewhere far and secluded, until Junho learns to need his company only, craves his touch and sweet words like nothing else, so that his love is the only thing he lives for.
A high-ranking official in the justice department, as they’ve introduced the man earlier, who just so happened to share Junho’s passion for all things cars, something Inho himself never really got into. Although that never stopped him from always thoroughly researching the topic so they could discuss it together, just as they did everything else. A mere lack of interest would not get in the way of being able to participate in every part of his life if it was up to Inho. But now, seeing Junho so engaged in his conversation with a stranger, he’s struck with the painful realization that it might not be enough, that he might not be enough.
He sees it, Junho laughing at the man’s words, all bright and happy and beautiful, and he burns. Red fills his vision, his fury sharp and sudden, his chest burning white-hot with jealousy. Inho knows he shouldn’t, doesn’t have the right to; Junho is not his, no matter how much it aches him. But the faint voice of reason is quickly replaced by the possessive storm brewing within him. His entire being revolts at the thought of it, that Junho could smile at, laugh with, give his full, undivided attention to someone who isn’t him. It’s unacceptable, impossible, wrong.
The stranger places his hand on Junho’s shoulder, leaning slightly closer in a casual yet calculated movement, and Inho wants to break his arm. The arrogance of this man, to think he could touch what is not his.
Inho stares openly now, uncaring of how he must look to the other guests – eyes cold and narrowed, jaw tense with simmering anger, and hands gripping the back of the chair to prevent them from doing something foolish, like punching the man, wiping that overly pleased expression from his face. He can feel himself growing agitated with every passing moment, restless and itching with the need to do something. That inner voice is back, whispering in a mocking tone, challenging him to eliminate his competition, daring Inho to go over, to put his arm around Junho and show the man who he really belongs to. To take Junho away from him, away from the party, to somewhere private, and have those eyes back on him, to feel that singular focus that Inho craves like flowers crave the warmth of the sun, directed at him, only ever him. No, he cannot stand this any longer, he has to move, has to–
Jimin’s voice cuts through the fog in his mind, concern visible on her face as she asks if he’s alright, feeling the tension in his shoulders under her hands. She follows the direction of his gaze to the corner, where Junho stands, still, in the company of the other man, and frowns. Trying and failing to see what has upset her husband so much – to the point of breaking through the steel of his composure and bringing to light the kind of raw, unfiltered emotions that he usually keeps hidden somewhere deep in his heart, far from anyone’s reach. But she can tell, right away, that it has something to do with Junho, as most things tend to do. Inho’s soft spot for his younger brother and his overprotective nature don’t go unnoticed by anyone who’s ever known him, even if only for a day, and she, for her part, has always been keenly aware of the special place Junho holds in her husband’s life. Though, if she’s honest, she has always struggled to understand why Inho insists on paying so much attention – too much, even, if someone were to ask – to every aspect of his life, and even more so, why Junho lets him. He’s a smart, capable man in his early twenties, surely guys his age wouldn’t like having someone, especially their strict older brothers, following their every step? Are all brothers this close? She’s missing something, she’s sure, a crucial detail that would explain everything, but the only conclusion she comes to is that her confusion must be tied to the fact that she’s an only child, who didn’t grow up having to rely on her siblings instead of her parents. Yes, that must be it, she decides, and sets her mind on getting her husband out of his gloomy state.
But Inho already steps forward with only a short later, i promise to Jimin, his feet moving on their own, pulled like a magnet in Junho’s direction. It’s only when he puts his arm around that slim waist that his fury subdues a little, his inner beast no longer thrashing at its cage, demanding to be let out, to be allowed to hunt and take and kill; now it all but purrs in satisfaction at the closeness, at the feeling of warm skin through the layers of clothes, his scent filling its senses, sweet and dizzying.
Junho nearly jumps at the sudden touch and whips his head around, but the alerted expression on his face quickly gives way to relief, his eyes lighting up and his smile growing wider, happier, at the sight of him. An excited “Hyung!” escapes him before he bashfully turns his head away, the tips of his ears turning red, as he corrects himself to Detective Hwang. Inho wants to kiss him, right there and then, in front of everyone, just so he can see that same pretty shade of red settle on the high of his cheekbones. Instead, he returns the smile and tightens his grip before turning to the guest in front of them. The look on the man’s face is half-surprise, half-annoyance at being interrupted so unceremoniously, but he’s quick to pull himself together and offer him a curt handshake. His eyes dart back and forth, from the placement of Inho’s hands and his casual display of familiarity to the lovesick expression with which Junho looks at him. They are a perfect picture of shared intimacy, and the man is irritated by it. Good.
As they attempt a civil conversation, Inho’s hand moves up and down on Junho’s waist in slow but confident motions, undoubtedly sending shivers through Junho’s body, his skin getting heated and face flushed. But he doesn’t pull away from the wandering hands, instead leaning closer into the touch, still oblivious to the silent contest taking place in front of him, and Inho is thrilled. The sight is alluring, not meant for anyone’s eyes but his; the look that he gives to their sole spectator, smug and territorial, makes it impossible to mistake the show Inho has put on for anything but a clear warning – the boy is taken. And maybe that’s not the whole truth, but the man doesn’t need to know. Let him think what he wants, let him believe Junho is his boytoy, his pet, his lover, his. Let the man see that Junho belongs solely to him, – and Inho is not one to share.