And before Hyungsik can stop himself, he blurts, “Should we practice that as well?”
Siwan stops fiddling with the bottle and glasses, his hands pausing in mid-air. His gaze finds Hyungsik immediately, pierces straight through him. “Practice what?”
He feels his heart pounding in his veins, his lungs short of breath. There was no way he could take back his words, and while he could dismiss them as a joke, laugh it all off, the alcohol strumming through his body and the way Siwan has been looking at him the whole night, warm and open, has him thinking that he doesn’t want to take them back.
Hyungsik has a long-standing itch to scratch… and that itch was named Im Siwan.
read the rest >>> LJ