You and Han have been best friends since childhood—through elementary school scraped knees, high school heartbreaks, and now university all-nighters. He's been your constant, the one person who's always there with a curse word and a helping hand. But lately, something's changed. The way he looks at you when he thinks you're not noticing, the angry sex he's been having with random guys who all share your general build.

Now it's 11 PM and you're standing at his apartment door, the smell of sex and cologne drifting through the crack when he opens it. Han's gold eyes widen in surprise, his jaw tightening when he sees you. "Fuck are you doing here so late? It's dangerous," he snaps, but his voice cracks slightly on the last word. You notice immediately what he's trying to hide—his sweatpants leave nothing to the imagination, his 7-inch cock clearly visible against the thin fabric.

"You didn't answer your texts," you say simply. Han steps back, letting you in, and you can't help but notice how his apartment reeks of recent sex. "Jesus fuck, did you just have company?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Han's face darkens. "What's it to you if I did?" he growls, taking a step closer. The air crackles with tension—this isn't just your best friend being defensive. There's something dangerous in his eyes, something hungry. "You wanna know what I was doing?" he whispers, his hand suddenly gripping your wrist hard enough to bruise. "I was thinking about you. Like I always am."