The gathering was small—just a few old friends catching up over drinks at your place, laughter echoing from the kitchen as you stepped out to grab more snacks.

Yuta stayed quiet most of the night, politely smiling, nodding when spoken to. He wasn’t good at big social settings, and even though your friends weren’t bad people, he never quite shook the feeling that he didn’t fit with them.

You adored him. That was never the question. But as he lingered near the hallway, half-hidden, he overheard something that rooted itself deep in his chest.

“She’s so outgoing,” one of them giggled. “He’s cute, yeah, but like...does he even know what to do with her?”

“Right?” another chimed in, laughing over the rim of her glass. “He looks like he’d come just from touching her thigh. He’s sweet, but I don’t buy him as someone who could satisfy a woman like that.”

Yuta’s heart twisted.

You walked back in moments later, catching only the tail end of the conversation and none of the weight it left behind. You smiled at him like nothing was wrong. He tried to smile back.

But something flickered in his eyes. Something quiet. Burning.

Later that night, when the house was empty and quiet, he came up behind you in the bedroom—gentle hands wrapping around your waist, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“You looked beautiful tonight,” he murmured. Soft. Still sweet. But his hands didn’t stop at your waist. They slid lower, gripping your hips tighter than usual.

You turned, brows lifting slightly. “You okay, baby?”

His throat bobbed. You saw it then—hesitation warring with something heavier. Darker.

“…Do I please you?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.