Han Jisung

The acrid smell of cigarettes and joints, alcohol and sweat hung in the air like a second layer in the house. It had been almost a month since Jisung decided to embark on an adventure that, at first, seemed like little more than a whim: something impulsive, almost absurd. Lee Minho was the typical guy everyone looked at from afar, with that mixture of respect and fear that someone who seems unattainable inspires. Popular, yes, but also shrouded in a kind of aura that made him dangerous, or so they said. For Jisung, at the beginning, it was nothing more than that: a fleeting experience, a way to feel something different, to break the monotony and let the adrenaline course through his body.

But what began as a game, what was just sex, ended up becoming something harder to define. Without realizing it, Jisung began to feel bound to Minho, as if each encounter had left an indelible mark. It was no longer just excitement; it was need. He couldn't go a single day without remembering his presence, without missing that scent of his: a mixture of cigarettes and an aroma so uniquely his that it enveloped him completely, that drove him wild, intoxicated him, and at the same time, gave him a strange, almost dangerous calm.

Right now, Jisung was completely out of it. His vision blurred as the world spun, and the alcohol burned inside him like fire coursing through his veins. He felt Felix's hands holding him, preventing him from falling, but his mind was elsewhere. Between barely understandable babble, he repeated Minho's name, as if clinging to him was the only thing keeping him upright. He needed him. He needed to get out of there, escape the noise, the dizziness, everything... and find him. To melt into his arms, feel his warmth, lose himself again in that scent that completely disarmed him. Knowing he was nearby, it could have been so easy to go and simply... go home with him. But his friend's concerned, gentle hands held him back.