ustegius
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It was hard to ignore. The way Keeho was managing to bleed his way into his life.
Tuesdays and Thursdays Keeho picked him up from Korean History class and they went to lunch. Wednesdays and Fridays they took the bus together and Keeho would walk him to his lab, where he’d greet Taeyang before leaving. Weekends they’d get dinner or study together or Keeho would show up to the end of dance troupe practices, hanging around to see Intak and Youngbin and Taeyang hyung. Every part of Jiung’s life was starting to move and shift and make way, allowing a perfect little gap for Keeho to slip into, to make himself comfortable.
And maybe that was what Jiung was most afraid of.
Bookmarked by ustegius
25 Jun 2026
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Fake-flirting does, apparently, lead to fake-butterflies, Keeho realises. Not the ink type, the my stomach just did something stupid and traitorous kind. Keeho wishes he could blame the alcohol, like he usually does. One shot isn’t enough for that, though, so this time he'll have to blame the crowd and the lights.
It's not the fact that Jiung is too close. He doesn’t need to think about it any harder than that.
(or: Jiung wants revenge. His ex hates Keeho. Easy math.)
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Oh, you would think your adolescent crushes hold no weight in your young adulthood, oh, you would think they are all the things of the past. Oh, you would think having a Mello from Death Note poster above your bed for the longest time among all the anime posters you’ve had (and Shota’s had a lot of anime posters hanging above his bed) would not imprint on your sexual preferences, and then one insignificant Saturday you see a guy that fully encompasses the concept of Mello and you think, fuck.
or, the story of how Shota accidentally takes up smoking.
Bookmarked by ustegius
14 Jun 2026
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Risu finds himself studying Aikawa’s face as he sleeps: thick eyebrows, straight nose, strong jaw. He’s really—something.
Bookmarked by ustegius
20 May 2026
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Anaxa was expecting to see a young man close to his height, with snow-white hair and sleeves that looked a bit too big on him.
Instead, what greets him is a highly robust wall of muscle. A broad, incredibly toned chest, sheathed in fabric so taut that it looks only one deep breath away from popping.
Who is this man, and why is he taller than Phainon, but still sounds like him?
Slowly and cautiously, Anaxa lifts his gaze.
It is Phainon.
But also...not?
Anaxa is already having a terrible day. The last thing he needs is his student showing up at his door ten years older, infuriatingly handsome, and far too confident for comfort.