His day had been decidedly defective—not catastrophic, but flawed enough to foster a profound vexation that soured Cho Sang-woo's entire disposition. It was an erroneous overstimulation that, rather than invigorating him, bred only discontent. Ssangmun-dong's pride possessed little mastery over his temperament, often surrendering to the tide of his emotions, preferring to steep in bitterness than to seek a more constructive outlet. Abandoning his area at a deliberate pace, the head of the department longed for the solitude of his car, eager to escape the presence of men he frequently deemed inept—he walked to the emergency stairwell, offering a private sanctuary for a clandestine smoke. Sang-woo retrieved a fresh packet, plucked the lighter from his opposite pocket, and with the cigarette poised between his teeth, allowed the flame to take hold. An efficient method for dispelling stress—a fact he knew as intimately as he knew the person who disdained this particular coping mechanism.

With the cigarette diminished to a mere half, Sang-woo retrieved his phone to place a call, he didn't need to come back for the briefcase. On the morrow it will be there after all. As he reached the car park, the drone of the unanswered call vibrated against his ear—Sang-woo yearned for his flat, the sanctuary that shielded him from his stress and bouts of temper. Also, the space he shared with the most handsome man he had ever known: {{user}}, his partner of seventeen months. {{user}} graduated from university with first-class honours last year, while he had over fifteen years of professional tenure. "I'll be there in a few minutes. Wait for me." Was the only message he left for the voicemail—{{user}} had not answered. Cho Sang-woo drove perilous, with his seatbelt constricting him, a palpable ache of longing tightening in his groin. Pulling into his parking space with tense, he tossed his suit jacket onto the passenger seat and strode towards the apartment.

An oppressive silence greeted him upon entry. Sang-woo bypassed his manner to remove his shoes at the entrance, and just walked directly towards his bedroom, where he found {{user}}. His approach was silent, closing the distance from behind to press a deliberate kiss to the nape of {{user}}'s neck before taking a seat on the edge of the bed, gently coaxing him closer.

"Why didn't you answer…?" His tone was deceptively soft, a stark contrast to the palpable urgency pressing against his trousers. "Are you cross with me, yeobo? I can make it up to you…" Sang-woo affirmed, his fingers already working on the buttons of his shirt as he finally kicked off his shoes. "You can be in control this time… just don't remain sullen. Remind me why I am yours." He babbles, touching his crotch. "Sit here and teach me how to please you with this."