The room glows with the cool blue haze of my monitor. The sound of gunfire explodes in my ears as I sprint across the virtual battlefield. My squad is yelling into my headset, rapid and chaotic, voices overlapping—

"Eugene, left corner, left corner, cover the left flank!"

"Sniper on the roof, dude, I got you—wait—fuck—!"

"Oh man, push now or we're dead!"

I'm locked in, leaning forward slightly in my chair, fingers dancing over the keys with the kind of muscle memory built over years. My mic is on, eyes narrowing. "Chill. I'm pushing—cover me."

I hear the reload click. The faint buzz of the in-game comms. The chatter blends with the sound of city rain tapping against the window.

I'm focused. Until my bedroom door creaks open.

Just Haeri. Maybe coming to grab something, maybe checking on me before bed. But then the faint sound of her bare feet against wood draws closer, unhurried, and somehow deliberate.

Then her hands are on my shoulders.

I tense — just for half a second — then sigh through my nose and melt under her touch.

Damn it.

A soft kiss lands on my cheek, slow and dangerous. I close my eyes — and they roll backward like I've ascended to heaven. It's ridiculous how fast she can undo me. One kiss. That's all it takes.

My headset still buzzes with frantic strategy calls.

When I open my eyes again, she's climbing onto my lap like she owns me—and God, maybe she does. One knee, then the other, straddling me. My breath catches before instinct takes over and I relax into her weight. I tilt my head and kiss her back, hard and fast. A promise. A warning.

Still leaning slightly sideways so I can see the screen, her face hovers near mine, her breath warm against my jaw. Her body is all over mine, pressing down, every curve a distraction I can't afford—but can't ignore either. She's wearing my shirt — the loose white one I tossed over the chair this afternoon — and from the shape of her against me, I know with tragic certainty she's wearing nothing else.

My brain stutters.

Then it screams.

She always looks good. But this? This is unfair!

My hands twitch on the controller. My mouth parts slightly. I swallow hard.

The game can wait. Maybe. But she leans in again, her lips brushing just beneath my ear now — featherlight — and I bite down on a groan.

"Haeri," I mutter, low and warning, without turning my head. "Don't start."

"Oh, don't mind me," she whispers. Her voice is the definition of trouble — velvet and mischief and sin, all wrap into one. "I'm just here to distract you."

"You're succeeding," I mutter.

On-screen, my character crouches behind cover. But off-screen, I'm already under siege.

"Got one," I say aloud into the mic. "Two more near the container."

"Nice shot," Wonbin replies.

I swallow. Hard.

Her hands slip under my hoodie, fingers cold against the heat of my skin. She presses close, chest to chest, her breath ghosting over my neck.

"Yujin..." she purrs, lips grazing my ear. "You always look so focused when you're playing. So serious."

I grit my teeth. "Don't."

She hums. "Don't what?"

"Don't distract me. I'm in a tournament round."

"You're in your bedroom," she whispers, brushing her lips over my jaw. "With a very impatient girlfriend on your lap."

"You're evil," I mutter under my breath, voice low. "You're trying to get me killed?"

She giggles softly, her breath brushes my ear. "You're so easy to distract when I wear your shirt."

I can feel it. That heat, the bare skin under cotton, the way she shifts her hips just enough to remind me of everything she's not wearing.

I groan, deep in my throat, trying to swallow it down before my mic picks it up. I mute it just in case. My friends are still talking. I don't hear a thing.

Because all I can feel is her. Her fingers tugging my hoodie higher. Her hips rocking, slow, featherlight, just enough to make me curse under my breath.

"Haeri," I warn again, voice tight.

"Yes?" she asks, like she's innocent.

"Seriously," I whisper, "You want our friends to hear what you're doing to me right now?"

"Maybe," she purrs, dragging her fingers into my hair, tilting my head back just enough so she can trail kisses — slowly, deliberately — down the side of my neck. Her lips find my Adam's apple, which she licks, just once, and I shudder. My whole body flinches. I choke on a breath. She smiles against my skin.

"You're the devil," I hiss. I can barely focus. My hands twitch on the keyboard. My eyes flick to the mini map, but my attention's all on her.

She draws her fingers across my jaw, lingers on my mouth. She hovers there, watching me squirm, until she slips one finger past my lips.

I don't even hesitate. My mouth closes around it.

My eyes find hers, dark and daring.

I bite—gently, but with meaning. My tongue flicks over the tip. She inhales sharply. That's her tell. I've won a round.

But she still has me pinned in every way that matters.

"You're cruel," I say, voice rough. "You know what I could do to you right now?"

"I do," she murmurs. "And I know you won't. Because you're a good boy."

"Oh God."

She laughs — softly, wickedly — and rolls her hips against me. Just enough friction to make me nearly throw the controller.

My control is hanging by threads. I could turn off the mic, shut the game, bend her over and make her scream. But I won't. Because she's not just some fantasy. She's my queen. My home. And even when she pushes me to the edge like this—I won't reduce her to that.

Not yet.

I'm rock hard now. No point pretending otherwise. And from the way she shifts against me, she knows it too.

"You're not wearing—"

"Shh. Focus on your game, soldier."

Focus?

A sharp bite lands just under my collarbone. My head snaps back as I groan, blinking hard. My hand jerks the controller by accident. The screen flashes red. "Shit—"

--++*++--

I should've known then. Should've realized how far gone I already am.

One kiss, one touch — she rewires my brain, flips my world upside down, and makes it feel like home.

And the worst part? I don't even fight it. I lean in. Every time.

I don't remember when it started, not exactly. But if I'm gonna tell this story — about how we ended up like this, tangled in each other, half dressed and fully doomed — I better start from the beginning.

Back when she still called me "baby" like a joke.

And I still thought I could walk away.