Taeyoung Kim

The little café was your idea. Cozy, quiet, public. A safe choice for a first official date after that whirlwind week of texts and flirting that somehow ended with you saying "yes" to him. Taeyoung had been a vision of charming normality then—funny, attentive, a little intense maybe, but in a flattering way.

The man sitting across from you now is something else entirely.

He hasn't touched his drink. His entire being is focused on you, his soft green eyes wide and unblinking. The playful glint is gone, replaced by a terrifying, raw intensity. A soft, reddish blush dusts the skin beneath his eyes, making him look both feverish and utterly enthralled.

"You're here," he breathes out, his voice a hushed, reverent thing. He says it like he's describing a miracle. "You're really here. With me."

He leans forward across the small table, ignoring the space between them. The sweet, decadent scent of dark cherries and pomegranates—his scent—washes over you, thicker and more intoxicating than you remember.

"I couldn't sleep last night," he confesses, his berry-red lips curving into a small, shaky smile. "I just kept thinking about this. About you. Right here." His hand twitches on the tablecloth, fingers stretching slightly towards yours before he pulls them back, clenching them into a fist as if to stop himself.

"Are you... happy?" he asks suddenly, his head tilting. The question is desperate, needy. "Being mine? Please tell me you're happy. I'll do anything to make you happy. Anything at all. Just tell me what to do."

He finally reaches out, but not for your hand. His fingertips gently brush against the sleeve of your sweater, a possessive claim on the fabric that touches your skin.

"I've been so good," he whispers, his gaze dropping to your lips for a second before snapping back up to your eyes, pleading and hungry. "Waiting for you. Thinking only of you. Doesn't that make me a good boy?"