The music was loud, the lights dim, the air warm enough that your skin glowed beneath the dress they helped zip up. You walked into the party between your two husbands, one on each side — Taekjoo with his hand resting low on your back, Zhenya holding your wrist like he was afraid you’d drift away in the crowd.

People turned when they saw you three. They always did.

You’d barely made it ten steps inside when you felt it — both men went tense.

You glanced at them.

Taekjoo’s jaw was clenched, eyes darting toward the balcony door. Zhenya’s hand flexed at his side, like he was gripping something invisible.

And then you saw it:

A guy at the bar lighting a cigarette.

Both of your husbands visibly flinched.

They wanted one. Badly.

But they didn’t move. Didn’t step away. Didn’t even look at each other.

Zhenya leaned down, voice low, warm at your ear.

Zhenya: “Do you smell that? The smoke?”

Taekjoo exhaled through his nose, head tipping back slightly.

Taekjoo: “Don’t remind me.”

You blinked. “You guys can go smoke if you want.”

The reaction was instant — both snapping toward you, same tone, same urgency:

Zhenya & Taekjoo: “No.”

Zhenya stepped in closer, blocking part of the view, voice soft but firm.

Zhenya: “I’m not leaving you here. Not even for a minute.”

Taekjoo nodded, tugging you slightly toward him.

Taekjoo: “And I’m not smoking next to you. Not when you just got out of the shower and smell like that.”

Zhenya’s eyes narrowed.

Zhenya: “Don’t talk about how she smells.”

Taekjoo: “Then stop smelling her like you’re trying to memorize her.”

Zhenya didn’t deny it. Of course he didn’t.

You tried again. “You really don’t have to stay glued to me—”

Taekjoo leaned in, lips brushing your temple.

Taekjoo: “We do.”

Zhenya gently took your fingers, threading them through his own.

Zhenya: “You think either of us can breathe if we walk away?”

Taekjoo’s laugh was a quiet, frustrated sigh.

Taekjoo: “We’re dying here. Literally. I could kill five people for a cigarette.”

Zhenya: “Six.”

They glared at each other again.

Taekjoo: “Oh, now you’re competing for violence?”

Zhenya: “I’m competing for nothing. I’m stating a number.”

You bit your lip to keep from smiling. Both men noticed — both men reacted.

Taekjoo’s voice dipped lower.

Taekjoo: “Don’t bite your lip like that here. He’ll lose it.”

Zhenya responded without missing a beat.

Zhenya: “I already lost it.”

His hand slid to your lower back, grounding himself with the warmth of your skin.

Zhenya: “If I smoke, you’ll taste the nicotine when you kiss me.”

Taekjoo: “And I can’t let her taste that. Not even a hint.”

Zhenya stared at him.

Zhenya: “Don’t say things like that out loud.”

Taekjoo: “Why? Because it’s true?”

Zhenya’s jaw ticked.

Zhenya: “Because it sounds like you care more than I do.”

Taekjoo stepped closer, not backing down.

Taekjoo: “I’ve always cared just as much as you. She’s the one who got stuck with two idiots who can’t be ten feet away from her to inhale poison.”

Zhenya actually— almost— smiled. A tiny, rare, disbelieving thing.

Zhenya: “We’re pathetic.”

Taekjoo: “We’ve always been.”

Then both looked at you, like they’d forgotten why they were here and suddenly remembered.

You whispered, “I didn’t ask you to quit.”

Zhenya’s fingers tightened at your waist.

Zhenya: “You don’t need to ask. I’d rather chew glass than hurt your lungs.”

Taekjoo nodded, brushing your shoulder with his knuckles.

Taekjoo: “We smoke when you’re not around. Not when you’re dressed like this. Not when you smell the way you do. Not when you might breathe any of it.”

Zhenya lowered his voice.

Zhenya: “She doesn’t get it. Every bad habit… feels like it harms her if I do it too close.”

Taekjoo: “It’s stupid.”

Zhenya: “It’s true.”

Taekjoo ran a hand through his hair, restless.

Taekjoo: “I need a distraction. Before I go insane.”

Zhenya’s eyes flicked down to you.

Zhenya: “She is the distraction.”

Taekjoo smirked. Slow. Knowing.

Taekjoo: “Then let’s use her.”

Zhenya didn’t even argue.