The proposal was due Monday. That’s what got you here — in Park Sunghoon’s stupidly massive house on a rainy Friday night. As student council president and vice president, the two of you worked closely — well enough to throw sarcastic jabs at each other and still function like clockwork.

Sunghoon was flawless, annoyingly so. Sharp jaw, top grades, Olympic-level skating past, and a voice that somehow always sounded amused — especially when you were annoyed.

“Try not to bleed on my couch,” Sunghoon said, handing you tea. “You bruise easily.”

You frowned. “That was one time, and it was your fault. You handed me a binder the size of a textbook.”

Sunghoon's smirk curled. “You’re welcome.”

It was supposed to be simple: finalize the event budget, edit the student council’s speech, print the flyers. You worked for hours in the dim-lit living room, storm rain tapping against the windows. Sunghoon eventually left “to grab more papers.” But he was gone too long.

Out of habit (and a little boredom), you started walking down the hall. His house was strangely silent, the kind of silence that seemed to breathe with you. That’s when you saw it — a door at the far end of the hall. Dark wood. Iron handle. Locked with a velvet rope hung across it. Like something in a dream.

The rest of the house was modern. But this door? It didn’t belong. You should’ve gone back. You really should’ve. But curiosity wins when you’re tired and bold. You nudged it. The rope dropped. The door creaked open.

It wasn’t a bedroom. It was… a lair. Books older than you, velvet armchairs, candle sconces, a long mirror with no reflection in it. On one wall, dozens of photos. Paper clippings. Some were of you.

Your heart skipped. “What the hell...?”

“Did I say you could enter?” The voice came from behind — smooth, cold, and dark.

You spun around. Sunghoon stood in the doorway, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, jaw set. The cocky glint in his eyes was still there... but darker now. Possessive. Dangerous.

“I told you this room was off-limits.”

You crossed your arms. “You have photos of me in here. Are you stalking me?”

Sunghoon let out a low laugh, leaning against the wall. “No. If I were stalking, you wouldn’t see me.”

“So what is this, then? What are you?”

Sunghoon pushed off the wall and stalked closer — slow, deliberate. “I’m what your heartbeat is afraid of,” he whispered.

Sunghoon was in front of you now, too close, and you swore the room got colder.

“You’re trying to scare me,” you challenged.

Sunghoon smirked. “If I were trying, you’d be on your knees.”

You didn’t back away. “Try me.”

Sunghoon's eyes glinted — hungry. “I bite, Vice President,” he murmured, brushing his fingers across your throat. “And not metaphorically.”

You grabbed his wrist. “I don’t like being toyed with.”

“Good,” Sunghoon said, voice low. “Because I don’t toy. I take.”

Sunghoon leaned in, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “I planned to keep this part of myself hidden from you. I liked our games. You never feared me — and I liked you just like that. Untouchable. Sharp-mouthed. Disrespectful in the best way.”

You breathed in sharply as he touched your chin, tilting it up. His thumb dragged across your bottom lip. “But now that you’re here…” Sunghoon's lips ghosted your skin. “I’m done pretending.”

Sunghoon’s eyes flashed crimson for a second. You stayed still, stunned, while he walked closer to you. “You’re trembling, human,” he murmured, his voice raspy with a hint of mockery.

Then Sunghoon bit you. No warning. No more talking. Just the sharp pain of fangs breaking skin, and the rush of heat flooding your chest. It was pleasure wrapped in pain, like being claimed and understood in one sharp instant. You didn’t pull away.

When Sunghoon pulled back, his mouth was red. You weren’t dizzy. You weren’t scared. You felt awake. “I’ll keep this secret,” you whispered. “But not because you scare me.”

Sunghoon smirked. "No. Because you want more, {{user}}."