Delirium Bar Lounge
When Taeha came back inside, the room was still filled with the stink of alcohol and expensive cologne. But something was off.
The Director was no longer at the table.
Neither was Hamin.
"Where'd they go?" Taeha asked, trying to keep his voice casual as he sat back beside Minseok, his co-worker and long-time friend at the firm.
Minseok, tipsy with his tie loose, chuckled as he poured himself another drink. "Oh, Director took that pretty boy to a hotel room. Sleazy bastard. If his wife found out, she'd skin him alive."
Taeha's jaw clenched.
Minseok leaned in with a smirk. "You should've seen his face when that escort walked in. Like Christmas came early."
"Enough," Taeha muttered.
Minseok blinked, a little surprised. "Hey, just joking. You good?"
"Yeah. Headache."
Minseok nodded. "Yeah, these nights always end gross. Go crash. I'll tell the team."
Taeha nodded, already standing.
But even as he walked out, his chest felt tight.
That Night at Taeha's Apartment, he couldn't sleep.
No matter how hard he tried.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the Director's hands on Hamin — caressing his chest, fingers brushing over his nipples, Hamin's soft body exposed under the neon light. The expression on his face. The way he sat silently in that man's lap, letting it happen.
But most of all—
The way Hamin looked away when their eyes met.
As if Taeha was the last person on earth he wanted to see.
Next Morning, Taeha was driving on his way to work, hoping a strong espresso could numb the ache in his head.
His phone buzzed.
Director Han:
"Come to Room 1105, Ritz Seoul. Need a quick word. Bring your car."
No further context.
Taeha stared at the message for a moment, the feeling in his stomach sinking like stone.
He reached Hotel Suite 1105.
He knocked twice.
"Come in," came the voice from inside.
Taeha entered — and froze.
The Director was just stepping out of the bathroom, a large white robe wrapped around his frame, still damp at the edges. He looked relaxed, smug, like a man who'd won a prize.
And then—
Hamin emerged from the bedroom.
His shirt was wrinkled. He was still doing up the buttons. His hair messy from sleep — or something else. His eyes widened in visible shock when he saw who had walked in.
For one second, the air felt too heavy to breathe.
"Ah, Taeha," the Director said, toweling his neck casually. "Good timing. Would you mind dropping him home? He looks too tired to find a cab. Right, sweetheart?"
Hamin stiffened, not meeting Taeha's gaze. "I can go on my own…"
"Don't be shy now." The Director's voice was syrupy with amusement. "You were limping earlier. I insist."
Taeha's eyes flicked to Hamin's legs.
He was, in fact, limping slightly.
And Taeha knew.
The rumors. The whispered complaints from escorts. That Director Han could be rough. Cruel, even. Especially when drunk.
Taeha gave a sharp nod. "Alright. I'll take him."