Chapter 12. The Guy Next Door (12)

The door to the basement studio swung open. Jaeheon stepped inside and immediately turned on the faucet.

He felt a buzz from the wine—a bit more than expected. And it unnerved him. He never got tipsy. Never.

Is it because of Jung Eunkyo?

The thought of Lee Dohyun still lingering in her mind irritated him. No—infuriated him. Jaeheon shut off the water.

Droplets ran from his drenched hair down to his chin.

There was no A/C yet, and the fan only blew around hot air. Still, the streetlight glow that trickled in from the window shaped shadows in the darkness. He rubbed his face, staring at his reflection.

In the frameless, modern mirror, he could see the frustration etched on his face—an emotion that felt too small to be called resentment. No—it was closer to inferiority. And he stared straight into that feeling.

“Look like… someone?”

No way.

He knew who she meant.

And he knew, without a doubt—it wasn’t possible.

That was enough for him to push the thought away. He wiped his face with his shirt, ran a careless hand through his wet hair, and checked a message on his phone. Grabbing a bottle of cold water from the fridge, he turned on music from his tablet. 

The dark, heavy room warmed just a bit. He dropped onto the tough leather sofa and tossed his phone onto the table. Then, slowly, slid his hand into his pants.

“Fucking hell…”

His voice was a breathless mutter. Like some horny bastard, he cursed as he pressed a hand to his semi-hard erection, eyes falling shut.

‘Hah…’

“It looked like an idea notebook. Are you working on something?”

It was a half-interested question. Eunkyo, mouth full of tomato, nodded.

“Yeah. I’m stuck on a few things. All those scribbles… they’re actually ideas. Sometimes just flipping through them helps.”

“Sorry but I peeked. It was good.”

“You could read it? I just scrawled all over the place…”

Surprisingly, her face didn’t show any annoyance—only interest. Something about that look made him feel giddy, like a teenager.

“”Touch me. So I can devour you in one bite.“”

He quoted a line directly from the notebook.

A phrase she’d written over and over again—in black, blue, and red ink. He had liked it enough to memorize it.

But then, she suddenly grabbed his arm—her cheeks flushed from the wine, her eyes locked on his lips.

“That line… say it once more. Please?”

The way she begged, just for one more time, nearly made him lose it.

It all started from that moment. When she grabbed his arm without fear and looked up with those shining eyes that could mesmerize anyone. That’s when his impulses crossed the line into danger.

“…Ha. Jung Eunkyo.”

With his shirt pulled between his teeth, Lee Jaeheon finally started stroking in earnest. The hot, firm flesh barely fit in his palm, tight like a rubber ball. Every time he ran his calloused hand from the tip down to the base, the friction stung—but stopping wasn’t an option.

“What about the rest? Don’t stop. Keep going.”

“Why? You like my voice that much?”

“Mhm, it’s the best. Your personality sucks, but why is your voice so damn good?”

“…Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“A compliment. I’m praising you, Lee Jaeheon. I’ve felt this way since the recording—your voice is amazing.”

Flippant. Not just lighthearted, but too light. Who compliments like that?

With alcohol in her system, Eunkyo’s words had become short and sloppy, and she laughed freely without a care. Damn it all—he almost tore off the mask he’d barely managed to keep on.

His breath came rough, his hips slowly lifting. As he clenched the shirt tighter in his mouth and leaned his head back, one knee bent and an urgent climax surged up.

With a large hand, he gripped the tip tightly. A thick, sticky release poured into his palm. Even though he had let out a lot, the arousal clouding his eyes didn’t fade easily.

“Ha…”

Disgusted by the stickiness, Jaeheon collapsed onto the sofa. He had showered before coming, only to be soaked in sweat again.

At that moment, his phone buzzed from the table. It was past 2 a.m.—the middle of the night. There was only one person who’d contact him at this hour. He turned his head and stared at the glowing screen, then finally sat up.

After wiping his hand on a tissue, he picked up the phone with an annoyed scowl.

「I’ve decided to return to Korea.」

The sender’s name froze the muscles in his jaw. He slumped down on the sofa, face cold as stone. Still, the reply he typed ended with a smiley face.

「Congrats, hyung. ^^」

It was read right away. But no response followed.

Expression blank, he stared at the screen, then tossed the phone aside and ran both hands through his hair.

As he tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling, the faint light of dawn filled his dark eyes. Lost in thought, he didn’t even notice that morning had come.

Where the streetlights had flickered out, the pale light of dawn took their place. Seeing it, he muttered a curse under his breath and grabbed his car keys.

There was no way he’d be able to fall asleep like this. Maybe it was better to keep moving.

Opening the cabinet to grab a duffel bag, he paused when his eyes landed on the photos taped inside.

From old Polaroids to printed pictures—there were quite a lot, all neatly arranged. But the subject was always the same.

Jung Eunkyo.

All of them had come from her things. Hidden between notebook pages, tucked in her clothes, stuffed into old drawers—he had found plenty.

He had thought about throwing them away. But he never found a reason to.

With a dry chuckle, he shut the cabinet and locked it tight. Only then did he leave the studio.

As he climbed the stairs, the scent of Eunkyo’s shampoo still lingered in the hallway—just like someone who had stayed here for a long, long time.

He stopped, raising his head instinctively. But, of course, no one was there.