Cold air clings to the empty corridor of the arts building, smelling of floor wax and old dust. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a clinical, flickering glow over the polished linoleum floors. Standing outside Studio B, Jake presses his forehead against the double-paned glass, his breath fogging the surface in a small, fleeting cloud. Inside, the world is warm, bright, and utterly devastating. Heeseung occupies the center of the wooden floor, his lean frame moving with an effortless, predatory grace that draws the eye like a magnet. Sweat glints on his collarbone, tracing a glittering path down his chest where his black shirt hangs loosely open. Next to him stands Sunghoon, laughing at something Heeseung just said, his eyes crinkled in genuine amusement. Jake’s fingers curl into tight fists inside his jacket pockets, his nails digging into his palms until they burn. Watching them feels like swallowing glass, a slow and agonizing tear in his chest. Laughter echoes faintly through the heavy door, muffled but sharp enough to slice through Jake's fragile defenses. Heeseung reaches out, his long fingers wrapping around the collar of Sunghoon’s white practice shirt to straighten it, his touch lingering on the column of Sunghoon's neck. Such a simple gesture, yet it makes Jake’s chest constrict with a terrifying, suffocating jealousy. "They are just friends," Jake whispers to the empty hallway, the words tasting like copper and regret. Saying it aloud does absolutely nothing to cool the fire in his gut. Jealousy is a physical weight, pressing down on his ribs until breathing becomes an active chore. Confessing his feelings would mean risking the only connection he has with the older boy. Vulnerability is a luxury Jake cannot afford, a trap door that leads straight to abandonment. Staying silent is safer, even if it means dying a little more every day. He pulls the oversized black hoodie tighter around his torso, seeking comfort in the heavy fabric. It belongs to Heeseung, smelling faintly of cedarwood, laundry detergent, and a hint of tobacco. Wearing it feels like a secret rebellion, a way to keep Heeseung close even when the older boy is miles away emotionally. Yet right now, the scent only serves to mock him, reminding him of how easily Heeseung shares his space. Music had been playing moments ago, a heavy, rhythmic bass that vibrated through the floorboards and under the soles of Jake's sneakers. Now that the music has stopped, the silence in the corridor is deafening. It leaves him alone with his thoughts, which are far more dangerous than any loud beat. He watches Sunghoon reach up to ruffle Heeseung's damp hair, a gesture so casual and intimate that it makes Jake's stomach drop. How long have they been like this? Jake knows they are close, knows they have trained together for years, but the green-eyed monster in his chest refuses to listen to logic. Every touch between them looks like a threat, a silent promise that Jake will always be on the outside looking in. --- Memories of last night crash over him, refusing to be contained by the cold glass of the studio window. Midnight had already passed when they found themselves alone on the worn green velvet couch in the dorm living room. Shadows stretched across the walls, painted by the blue glare of the television screen. Heeseung had shifted, his broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the room as he turned to face Jake. Without asking, Heeseung had reached out, grabbing Jake's ankles and hauling his legs onto his lap. Warm hands had slid up Jake's calves, fingers tracing slow, deliberate paths through the soft fabric of his trousers. "You're too tense, my prince," Heeseung had murmured, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that resonated in Jake’s chest. Shivers had raced down Jake's spine at the nickname, a title Heeseung used like a weapon. Every touch had been slow, agonizingly deliberate. Heeseung’s thumbs had pressed into the sensitive skin of Jake's inner thighs, squeezing gently, claiming space. Breath had caught in Jake's throat, his body freezing under the sheer weight of Heeseung’s focus. "Look at me," Heeseung had whispered, leaning closer until his breath fanned Jake's cheek, smelling faintly of mint and coffee. Jake had looked, drowning in those dark, intense eyes that seemed to see right through his defenses. "What kind of photos do you think guys like to get?" Heeseung had asked, his voice casual but his eyes burning with a strange intensity. "What do you mean?" Jake had managed to choke out, his heart hammering against his ribs. "You know. Intimate ones," Heeseung had said, his fingers sliding an inch higher on Jake’s thigh, resting on the bare skin just beneath the hem of his shorts. "What angles do they prefer? What makes them lose their mind?" Panic had warred with a dark, heavy desire in Jake's chest, leaving him speechless. Heeseung’s knuckles had brushed against the highly sensitive skin of Jake’s inner thigh, sending a jolt of pure electricity through his veins. "Do you like them clean, or do you prefer when the lighting is dark, showing just enough to make you guess?" Heeseung had whispered, his voice dropping to a dangerously low pitch. "I want to know what makes you tick, Jake." He had wanted to scream, to ask if Heeseung was asking for himself, or if he wanted to send them to someone else. Instead, Jake had remained silent, his jaw clenched, letting the quiet stretch between them. Heeseung had only smiled, a slow, dangerous curve of his lips, before squeezing Jake’s thigh one last time and letting go. --- Now, standing in the cold hallway, the memory feels like a cruel joke. How could Heeseung touch him like that, call him those names, and then look at Sunghoon with the same warmth? Sunghoon leans against the mirror, wiping sweat from his neck with a small towel. Heeseung stands close, his posture relaxed but possessive, a natural orbit that Sunghoon easily accepts. Pain flares in Jake's chest, a sharp, physical ache that makes him want to double over. He wants to tear them apart, to slide his own body between them and force Heeseung to look only at him. Such thoughts terrify him. Possessiveness is an ugly emotion, a symptom of his deep-seated fear of being replaced. Heeseung is a free spirit, someone who distributes his affection like sunlight, warming everyone in his path. Jake is just another flower reaching for that light, foolishly believing he is special. "Stupid," Jake mutters to himself, his fingers digging deeper into his palms. Blood rushes in his ears, a roaring sound that drowns out the quiet hum of the building. He should leave. Walking away is the smart choice, the only way to preserve what little dignity he has left. Yet, his feet remain glued to the floor, heavy as lead. He watches as Heeseung says something else, throwing his head back in a hearty laugh. Sunghoon shoves Heeseung’s shoulder playfully, a gesture of easy, effortless brotherhood. It is a bond Jake can never replicate, a history he can't compete with. Anger, hot and dark, bubbles up through his jealousy. Why does Heeseung play these games? Why touch Jake so intimately, whispering sweet things in the dark, only to act like this in the light? Maybe Heeseung knows exactly what he is doing. Maybe he enjoys watching Jake squirm, enjoys the power he holds over him. Jake’s breath hitches as Heeseung suddenly stops laughing. Slowly, as if sensing the intensity of the gaze on him, Heeseung turns his head. His eyes, dark and sharp, scan the mirrors before landing directly on the glass window. Jake’s heart stops. Time seems to stretch, the space between them turning into a vacuum of pure tension. Heeseung doesn't look surprised to see him standing there in the shadows. Instead, his expression softens, a familiar, devastating warmth creeping into his eyes. Sunghoon is still talking, oblivious to the silent conversation happening through the glass. Heeseung ignores him, his focus entirely locked on Jake. Before Jake can turn away, Heeseung mouths the words 'wait for me' while sliding his hand down Sunghoon's arm, leaving Jake trapped in a devastating choice between fleeing to protect his pride or staying to face his own torture.

Chapter 1: The Ghost in the Ice