‣ lounge

how was your sleep?

Same honestly

how are you?

I'm doing alright, bit tired from work

Hey, how are you?

hello beautiful

Hm

I feel so tired today.
/sighs lightly as I lay on ome of the couches letting my eyes fall shut

Dongwook’s posture remained composed, his movements deliberate, betraying nothing as Sunwoo closed the distance between them with that practiced, easy confidence. The tension in the air was palpable, electric, but Dongwook made no effort to fill the silence, allowing it to stretch, allowing Sunwoo’s calculated proximity to settle. His warm brown eyes held steady, their depths unreadable, save for the faintest flicker of intrigue that danced just beneath the surface.

When Sunwoo’s fingers ghosted over the scarf—a gesture so subtle, so deliberate—Dongwook’s gaze didn’t falter. Instead, his lips curved ever so slightly, not quite a smile, but an acknowledgment, restrained and measured, as though offering a quiet counter-move in their unspoken game. “Control,” he said softly, his voice low and steady, carrying a faint undertone of dry amusement, “is not always about restraint. Sometimes, it’s knowing precisely when to yield. Though,” his gaze flicked back to Sunwoo’s face, his words lingering in the space between them, “I suspect you already understand that quite well.”

As Sunwoo leaned back into a confident sprawl, Dongwook’s eyes followed the movement, his gaze slow and deliberate. It traced the line of his posture—the casual placement of his arms, the slight tilt of his head—before dipping lower, briefly, fleetingly, to the subtle curve of Sunwoo’s stomach. The glance was so quick it might have been imagined, a flicker that lingered no longer than a breath, but it carried a weight, a recognition that Dongwook did not voice. His eyes returned to Sunwoo’s face without hesitation, his expression calm, unbroken. “Games,” he continued after a brief pause, his voice softer now, more thoughtful, “are not won with brute force. The best moves are the quiet ones, the ones that linger beneath the surface, waiting to be noticed.” He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, the gesture smooth and precise, as though grounding himself in the controlled elegance of his movements. His gaze lingered on Sunwoo’s for a moment longer, the faintest warmth flickering in his warm brown eyes—a quiet acknowledgment, unspoken but present, as though the conversation held layers neither would name aloud.

“You’ve given me a great deal to consider,” he said finally, his tone dipping into something almost intimate, though his words remained polished, composed. “Perhaps more than you intended.” He stepped back then, his movements fluid, precise, as though taking measured control of the distance between them. But just as he began to turn, his gaze flicked down again—barely noticeable, but there. A fleeting glance to Sunwoo’s stomach, a recognition he did not voice, before his warm brown eyes returned to Sunwoo’s face with a subtle, knowing weight.

“When I’ve made my decision,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost soft, “you’ll be the first to know.” And with that, he turned, the faintest hint of a smile curling at the edge of his lips—a gesture so subtle it could only have been intentional, leaving the tension between them to smolder, unresolved but deeply alive.

[] I WOULD NEVER MAKE YOU DO THAT ICB GDSKSHS gives you everything :<

(( i'll pAY. YOU KNOW I WILL ))

[] a free show is crazy :hair flip:

(( please show me more :pensive: ))

[] just for you :<<<

(( hot 10/10 ))

[] you know it babe

(( gay ))

Sunwoo leaned back, stretching his arms over the couch in an easy sprawl, exuding the kind of confidence that was too practiced, too intentional to be dismissed as careless. His head tilted, gaze tracing the controlled lines of Dongwook’s posture, the measured tension still coiled in his shoulders despite his best efforts to mask it.
Ah.
Sunwoo had pushed, yes, but he had not been repelled. He had set the fire, and though Dongwook pretended he could smother it with mere restraint, Sunwoo knew better.
Knew him better.
His fingers tapped idly against his thigh, a steady rhythm as he let the silence stretch, as if savoring the lingering charge in the air. Then, finally, he exhaled a slow, languid breath, his smirk shifting into something more thoughtful, more deliberate.
“You say you don’t play games,” he mused, voice quiet, yet rich with amusement, “but you certainly move like someone who does.” His gaze flicked pointedly to the scarf—his scarf, if only for a fleeting moment—and then back to Dongwook’s face, unreadable save for that ever-present flicker of challenge. “And winning?” He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “No, sir—you don’t win them. You control them. That’s not the same thing.”
There was no mockery in his tone this time, no outright teasing—just a quiet understanding, laced with something more dangerous.
He pushed himself up from the couch with fluid ease, his movements unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. But instead of retreating, instead of offering some quip and walking away, he did something else entirely.
He stepped in.
Not as boldly as before, not as playfully—this time, it was subtle, precise. A calculated shift into Dongwook’s space, close enough that their breaths nearly mingled, close enough that it would be nothing—nothing—for Sunwoo to tip his head just slightly, to lean in, to—
He didn’t.
Instead, he reached up—slow, deliberate—his fingers just barely ghosting over the scarf resting on Dongwook’s shoulder. Not gripping, not tugging, just a touch—just a reminder that he could.
“That’s the thing about games,” he murmured, voice softer now, threaded with something deeper, something almost intimate. “The best players don’t win by force.” His fingers lingered for a breath longer before pulling away, and when he stepped back, it wasn’t in defeat. It was in calculation.
“You know where to find me,” he added, his smirk returning, but this time, it was something different—something knowing. “When you’re ready to stop pretending you don’t enjoy playing.”

Lifting his eyes to meet Sunwoo’s, Dongwook tilted his head ever so slightly, the faintest curve of his lips forming a restrained smile—one that didn’t quite reach his dark, steady gaze. “Terrible student, indeed,” he replied, his voice smooth and even, though there was a faint edge to it—a thread of something unspoken, something deliberate. “It seems you’ve grown far too accustomed to playing games, Sunwoo. And yet, you still believe you hold the upper hand.”

He leaned forward just slightly, his movements as precise and deliberate as ever, closing the space between them in a way that felt suffocating and intimate all at once. His dark eyes locked onto Sunwoo’s, unyielding and unrelenting, as though to remind him who truly held the reins. “Perhaps I’ve been too lenient with you,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, measured cadence that carried the weight of authority and something far more personal. “Too willing to indulge your provocations. But make no mistake, firefly—” the term slipped from his lips like silk, softer than the words that preceded it, yet no less impactful— “I do not play games. I win them.”

Dongwook’s hand moved, slow and deliberate, reaching down to retrieve the scarf from the floor. He straightened, his fingers brushing over the fabric as he smoothed it out with an almost ritualistic care before draping it over his shoulder. The action was simple, methodical, yet somehow felt like a quiet reclaiming of the space Sunwoo had occupied moments before. “As for where games might take place…” he added, his voice now quieter, darker, meant only for Sunwoo to hear, “that depends entirely on whether you’re prepared for the consequences of starting them.”

His gaze lingered on Sunwoo for a moment longer, his expression unreadable save for the faint flicker of something deeper in his eyes—devotion, frustration, and a heat he refused to name. Then, with a precise turn, Dongwook returned to his seat, his movements measured and purposeful, though the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes. Sunwoo had pushed, as always, and though Dongwook’s facade remained intact, the fire Sunwoo had ignited burned quietly beneath the surface, waiting.

Sunwoo watched the measured way Dongwook approached, the controlled ease in his stride, the deliberate care with which he set his book aside. Always so composed, so maddeningly unreadable—yet Sunwoo had learned to catch the smallest flickers, the subtle shifts beneath the polished veneer.
And there it was. That fleeting softness, barely a whisper in Dongwook’s gaze as his eyes lingered—lower.
A slow smirk curled at Sunwoo’s lips, a flicker of satisfaction igniting in his chest. Oh, he saw that. He saw everything. His fingers curled lazily around the scarf as Dongwook reached out, brushing against his wrist in a touch so faint, so precise, it sent a sharp jolt of awareness up his spine. The weight of that moment, of what went unsaid, coiled like a live wire between them. Dongwook played at restraint, at patience—but Sunwoo? He thrived in the tension, in the challenge, in pushing just enough to watch the cracks form.
Lifting the scarf between them, Sunwoo twirled it between his fingers once more, his golden eyes never leaving Dongwook’s. “Discretion is a virtue,” he echoed, amusement lacing his tone, the words tasting foreign in his mouth. “Mm. I suppose that makes me a terrible student, doesn’t it?”
The smirk deepened as he leaned forward, close enough that his breath ghosted against Dongwook’s collar. “But if this isn’t the place for games,” he murmured, voice a silken thread of mischief, “then where would you suggest games take place?”
He let the scarf slip from his grip then, the soft fabric falling between them like the closing of a curtain. But Sunwoo? He wasn’t retreating. No, the glint in his eyes said he was already setting the stage for his next move.

Dongwook’s dark eyes flicked to the scarf still wrapped in Sunwoo’s teasing grip, his expression composed, though the faintest tension tugged at the corner of his mouth. Slowly, he set his book down with deliberate care, his fingers brushing against the leather spine as he rose to his feet. His movements were fluid, unhurried, as though the playful provocation before him hadn’t disrupted his carefully cultivated composure. Crossing the room in measured strides, he came to stand in front of Sunwoo, his hands clasped lightly behind his back. His gaze lingered briefly on Sunwoo’s relaxed form, the sharp glint in those golden eyes, before dipping ever so subtly to the slight curve of his abdomen. The sight, though imperceptible to anyone else, softened something in his gaze for the barest of moments. “Sunwoo,” he began, his voice low, refined, carrying a subtle weight beneath its calm exterior. “While your penchant for theatrics is not unfamiliar, I must remind you of the importance of… restraint.”

He reached out, his hand hovering just a fraction of an inch from the scarf, but he didn’t grab it. Instead, his fingers brushed lightly against Sunwoo’s wrist—an act that appeared casual but carried the weight of their unspoken connection.“Discretion is a virtue,” he added, his tone neutral, though there was an almost imperceptible warmth beneath the words, a reminder meant for Sunwoo alone. “And though I find your determination… admirable, this is hardly the place for games.”

His fingers brushed the edge of the scarf, his touch light and fleeting, before withdrawing entirely, leaving the decision in Sunwoo’s hands. His dark gaze returned to meet Sunwoo’s, steady but carrying an unspoken message—a silent acknowledgment of the bond between them, one that needed no grand declarations to assert its strength. “You enjoy testing me,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, a thread of dry amusement woven through his words. “But do not mistake my restraint for weakness.”

Sunwoo’s smirk only deepened at the way Dongwook’s fingers brushed against his, so controlled yet betraying just the slightest hint of tension. He could feel the heat of that touch, fleeting but enough to stoke the fire of his amusement.
“Now, now, /sir/,” Sunwoo murmured, tilting his head slightly as he tightened his grip on the scarf, refusing to let it go so easily. “If you wanted it back so badly, you could’ve just asked nicely.” His voice was smooth, teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something sharper in his gaze—something challenging, something daring.
Straightening, he twirled the scarf around his fingers, letting the soft fabric slip through them just enough to tempt, before flashing Dongwook a slow, knowing grin. “But I have to say, it looks better in my hands, don’t you think?” His tone was light, playful, but the unspoken tension between them crackled like a live wire. He took a half-step back to carelessly plop down on an empty couch nearby.

Dongwook’s deep brown eyes lifted from the book resting in his hands, his gaze steady despite the faint flicker of something unspoken behind them. His fingers tensed slightly against the leather cover as Sunwoo’s teasing drawl reached him, the younger man’s audacity pulling an almost imperceptible sigh from his lips. As Sunwoo leaned in, invading his space with that insufferable confidence, Dongwook’s jaw tightened, though his expression remained carefully composed. “Sunwoo,” he began, his tone as measured and polished as ever, though there was a faint edge of reproach beneath the smooth cadence of his words. “It seems you’ve mistaken this lounge for a stage.” His gaze flicked pointedly to the scarf clutched in Sunwoo’s hand, his dark eyes narrowing ever so slightly. With deliberate calm, Dongwook reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against Sunwoo’s in an effort to reclaim the scarf without making a scene. Yet even that subtle touch sent a ripple of heat through him, a reaction he ruthlessly suppressed.

Sunwoo strode in like he owned the place—because, in his mind, he did. His sharp eyes scanned the room, lips curling into a knowing smirk when they landed on a familiar figure tucked into a corner.
With a confident sway in his step, he made his way over, ignoring the way others subtly glanced at him. Stopping just short, he leaned down, bracing his hands on the edge of the chair, he invaded the Alpha’s space, their faces only inches apart.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he drawled, voice teasing, but his gaze was sharp, challenging before pulling back with a smirk, the scarf clutched in his hold.

He walks inside and loosens his scarf as he sits down near the window

Beomgyu barely managed to keep his books from scattering as he stepped into the lounge, his shoelaces conspiring against him and sending him into a clumsy half-stumble. He caught himself just in time, but not before a quiet chuckle drifted from a nearby table, making his ears burn.

With a deep breath, he brushed his wavy hair from his face and straightened up, adjusting the weight of his bag and novels in his arms. Without much thought, he dropped onto an empty couch, exhaling as he tried to gather both his balance and his dignity.

-tosses his bag on the couch and takes a seat, pulling out his laptop to work on homework-

/cards my fingers through my long blonde locks as I come in and sit in an empty seat. One leg crossing over the other as one hand drops to tap against my bare thigh while the other scrolls through my phone

bounces in and sits on the couch with a little "oof!"

-listens to what you have to say, my eyes softening before nodding-
Thank you..
-slowly standing, I make my way over to where you are-
M-May I sit?