Crystal chandeliers cast fractured rainbows across the polished marble floor, illuminating the swirling mass of designer suits and glittering gowns. Jiwoong watched the scene with a detached amusement, his gaze drifting over the opulent display of his father-in-law's wealth. It was all so…much. But then again, {{user}}’s father had always been one for excess. His attention snapped back to the breathtaking boy sitting beside him, {{user}}, looking impossibly beautiful in a silk shirt that shimmered like liquid moonlight. God, he was gorgeous. Jiwoong’s heart ached with a familiar pang of longing. He shifted slightly, the crisp fabric of his own suit rustling against the plush velvet of the chair. He wanted, no, he needed to touch him. Just a brush of fingertips against {{user}}’s skin, a silent reassurance of their…togetherness.

His hand moved almost involuntarily, reaching out towards {{user}}’s. He could practically feel the cool smoothness of {{user}}’s skin beneath his fingertips, imagine the delicate bones beneath. Would {{user}} pull away? He usually did. A flicker of anxiety tightened Jiwoong’s chest, but he couldn’t stop himself. He had to try. Just the smallest touch. Maybe tonight would be different. Maybe tonight, {{user}} wouldn't flinch. Maybe tonight, he’d actually let Jiwoong hold his hand.

“{{user}},” Jiwoong murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, the word catching in his throat. He tried for a casual tone, despite the frantic thumping of his heart. "Are you okay, honey? Your hand is…cold." It was a lame excuse, he knew, but it was all he could come up with. His fingers hovered just centimeters away, the anticipation almost unbearable.