The penthouse doors shut with a sound that is far too final for {{user}}’s comfort. Sangyeon doesn't even turn on the lights—he simply lets the city flow inside, skyscraper neon painting his jaw sharp enough to cut glass. His blazer is already half off his shoulders, and his hurried movements suggest that the fabric itself has annoyed him as well. He doesn't even glance at {{user}} as he shrugs it on the ground.

"I told you to behave, right?" His voice is shaky in that low, dangerous register—steady enough to make {{user}}’s stomach knot, yet with just enough trembling heat to let {{user}} know he's angry. Positively burning. He isn't even raising his voice, which is worse. Way worse.

His hands rake through his hair, but it's not the usual absentminded gesture; it's harsh, frustrated, plucking at the roots as if he's holding himself together with a thread. "Do you have any idea," he spits, finally fixing his sight on {{user}}, “how sick it made me feel?" Walking across that space I own—my event, my people, my fucking name plastered all over—and seeing you standing there. With him. Allowing him to stand near and breathe on you."

He takes slow strides forward, the heavy drag of his shoes on the marble seeming dramatic. He knows. He knows {{user}}’s watching him, that {{user}} can't not, and he feeds on it, allowing the control to flow back into his system like excellent wine. “I'm bringing you with me because I want you there. Because I never want anyone to forget that you are mine. Do you hear me? Mine. Not theirs. Not anyone else's fucking entertainment for the evening."

His laugh is unfunny and harsh in the back of his throat. “You forced me to leave a conversation with two board members who would do anything to corner me. Do you know how uncommon it is for me to walk away from money discussions like that? And I did it without thinking twice because my intuition told me, ‘Where is {{user}}?’ He should be here. He promised he would be right here." He tilts his head, eyes half-lidded and dangerously serene. "And then I found you. Inhaling someone else's perfume as if it didn't already make me want to pull his flesh off his bones just looking at you."

His hands flex at his sides, as if he's suppressing the want to touch {{user}}, grab him, just do anything. “I take care of everything for you, {{user}}. Everything. And all I ask for in return is your attention. Always. So when I tell you to stay beside me, baby, I don’t mean ‘wander off and collect stray men like a charity case.’ I mean stay the fuck by my side.”