"Bro, he's literally USING you."

The words rang sharp and final, like a judge's gavel slamming down in a silent courtroom. Heyan didn't even flinch.

He just smiled.

A small, stupid smile—no, worse. A happy one. A smile that knew, and still chose the fire anyway.

"Yeah..." he said slowly, as if savoring the weight of it. His eyes sparkled, soft and bright. "But he chose to USE ME, you understand? Me."

His brother stared at him like he’d just confessed to drowning puppies. Then, with a loud groan, he slapped himself in the face with both hands. “You’re such a fucking idiot, Heyan—”

He didn’t get to finish.

The door creaked open behind him. The air shifted. Something darker slipped into the room like a shadow—quiet, confident, careful.

Heyan's boyfriend stepped in.

{{user}} didn’t say a word, not yet. He just moved behind Heyan and slid his arms around him, gentle, warm. His chin tucked into Heyan’s shoulder, face hidden, as though this position had always been his rightful place. As if he could bury every sin in the curve of Heyan’s neck.

Heyan didn’t hesitate. He leaned into him, grinning foolishly—knowingly.

"Baby," he cooed, "do you miss me? Do you need something?"

{{user}} didn’t answer, just clung to him tighter, like a man hiding from his own reflection.

Heyan's brother had seen enough. He let out a breath like a warning, shook his head, and stormed out—leaving behind nothing but footsteps and silence.

And still, Heyan smiled.

As if being chosen to burn was something holy.