Archive of Our Own

Seungmin trudged up the stairs of the apartment complex, his shoulders slumped from another long day at the office. It's hard trying to go by in a corporate adult job. From inside his shoulder bag, the faint buzz of his phone filled with Discord notifications hinted at the others already logged in and chatting.

Just as he fished out his keys, the neighbouring door clicked open. Minho stepped out, black fitted shirt and jeans, his eyes heavy with fatigue from that familiar after-shift glow, yet carrying that familiar snarky edge. He looked like he was picking up a quick DoorDash order.

"Just finished?" Minho asked, tilting his head slightly, already inspecting the plastic bag.

"Yeah," Seungmin stretches his limbs, pauses to massage the sore spot with one hand, "too much overtime this week. I need to destress. Sleep, actually." He exhales.

Minho's lips curved into a smirk. "And miss game night?"

"You guys can play without me for one week," Seungmin fishes his keys out.

"Why? You too wussed out to lose?" Minho playfully joked. Now, it's good to establish that Seungmin and Minho have had this… sort of back and forth with their constant verbal accusations. They all got along well, that's no lie. But when it came to game night?

"You're acting like you're Jett K/D wasn't a crime last week." Seungmin pauses at turning his keys to give Minho a sharp glare.

"Acting like you're not deliberately full-smoking our entire team on purpose?" Minho bites back.

"I'm sparing my ears from your 'top frag Brim' speeches, actually."

"Besides," Seungmin opens the doorknob, "I need sleep more than I need your 'default A' calls."

"You'd sleep better if you stopped hard-inting our games." Minho chuckles as both doors slam shut, which echoes throughout the halls.

Game night has already started on a great pace.

The Discord channel buzzed with the usual pre-game chaos. Eight icons lit up in the voice chat, each representing a different corner of Seoul's apartment complex. The glow of monitors, the click of mice, the faint hum of cooling fans—all blending into the familiar rhythm of Friday night.

"Anyone else’s brain mush or is that just me?" Chan asked, mic popping to life. "I’ve been staring at the same snare for four hours."

"Producer brain rot," Jisung declared. "Tragic, but great for content."

"Says the guy who edits until 4 a.m.," Felix laughed. "When do you sleep?"

"I do sleep!" Jisung replied, offended. "Blinking counts as a microsecond of sleep, doesn't it?"

"You're on death's door if you keep that up," Hyunjin said, chuckling. "Busking trained my whiffs to be rhythmic."

"Yeah, yeah, rhythm gamer," Changbin scoffed. "Talk to me when your aim survives leg day. My arms are still shaking from push presses."

"That’s a skill issue, not a gym issue," Jeongin said lightly. "Hyung, even my drama coach would tell you to ‘act like your hands are stable.’"

"Rookie actor talking big now," Changbin snorted. "You get one script and suddenly you’re giving everyone notes."

"I’ll give you notes on your comms too," Jeongin replied. "Number one: stop screaming ‘I KNOCKED HIM’ like we’re playing a BR."

"He’s right, you do that. Every time." Felix giggled.

"Okay, but at least I say something," Changbin argued. "Hyunjin just sighs dramatically and dies in Hookah."

"It’s called atmosphere," Hyunjin shot back. "I’m building tension for Jisung’s videos."

"Thank you, finally someone understands me," Jisung said. "I’m out here directing a cinematic universe, and you guys think it’s just clips. I have a vision in mind, y'know?"

"You literally titled last week’s upload ‘My Friends and I get ROLLED,’" Seungmin pointed out, dry. "Very cinematic."

"Working title," Jisung said. "The art is in the thumbnail."

"The thumbnail was just my death cam," Minho deadpans.

"With red arrows. A lot of them. And a cutout of my face I sent to the group chat a week ago."

"And it performed great," Jisung said smugly. "You’re welcome."

"Can we not talk about work for five minutes?" Felix said, stretching audibly. "I spent all day pretending not to notice people recording us busking. I just want to int in peace."

"You can’t ‘just int in peace,’" Seungmin replied. "That’s not how queue works."

"Says corporate slave number one," Hyunjin teased. "Did you escape the office, or are you still mentally in Excel?"

"If anyone mentions spreadsheets in this lobby, I’m logging off," Seungmin warned.

"Noted," Chan said. "No spreadsheets. Only loss streaks."

"So, normal Friday," Jeongin said.

"Normal Friday," everyone echoed in varying degrees of resignation and fondness.

"So who's queuing first?" Chan's voice came through, warm but slightly tired from a long day in the studio. "Valorant's five-man. Someone's sitting out."

"I'll spectate." Changbin's low, steady tone cut through. "Gotta keep an eye on you idiots and clip the fails for Jisung's channel."

"Hey! My content is curated," Jisung protested instantly, his mic crackling as he adjusted his headset. "Every clip is hand-picked for maximum engagement. You wouldn't get it."

"I get that. You reposted my gym fail from three weeks ago without permission," Changbin replied.

"That was artistic," Jisung said. "Framing, lighting, emotional impact—top tier."

"And I'll sit out as well," Jisung chimed in, "gotta focus on getting tomorrow's video up."

"Perfect." Chan’s voice settled into its familiar leader tone. "That's three then. Changbin, Jisung, and I. And I guess Jisung's gonna record footage?"

"Already rolling, captain." A soft click in the background—Jisung toggling his recording software.

Chan huffed a quiet laugh. "Good. Now somebody make the lobby before I fall asleep on this chair. I’ve been mixing the same chorus for six hours; I need to shoot something that isn’t a snare drum."

"You just want to mute us and call it ‘sound design reference,’ admit it," Felix teased.

"If Minho and Seungmin start again, I might actually sample them," Chan replied. "New track: ‘Neighbours in Tilt Minor.’"

"Chat was asking why we didn’t play last week," Jisung cut in. "I told them the chef and the salaryman were having a neighbour’s quarrel."

"It wasn’t a quarrel, it was me hard-carrying and him hard-throwing," Minho said, matter-of-fact.

"You can’t call it a carry when you died first every pistol, Minho-hyung," Seungmin shot back. "That’s just cardio with extra steps."

Jisung cackled. "See? This is premium intro footage. Title: ‘Chef and Office Worker Flames Each Other In Ranked (Gone Wrong).’ Queue up."

"Busking got rained out today, so I’m warmed up with nothing to do," Felix added, rolling with it. "Let me entry, I need to channel this stage energy into Bind."

"You channel it into whiffed flashes," Hyunjin said. "But sure, let’s queue."

"Just don’t blind me again and we’re fine," Seungmin added.

"I had three clients complain about their ‘aim’ at the gym today," Changbin grumbled. "If one more guy tells me bench press helps mouse control, I’m uninstalling."

"So you’re saying Valorant warm-up counts as cardio?" Jeongin asked.

"If you’re screaming at Minho and Seungmin, sure," Changbin replied.

"My acting coach told me to ‘channel real frustration’ for my next role," Jeongin said thoughtfully. "So… Valorant it is I guess. I need material."

"Use Jisung’s comms for that," Minho suggested.

"No, he needs genuine pain. That’s you missing smokes again," Seungmin countered.

A beat of laughter went around the call.

"Okay, okay," Chan said, wrangling them back. "No one's gonna dodge if Bind is first pick."

"If Bind shows up again, I’m dodging," Hyunjin warned, cutting in. "I refuse to watch Minho and Seungmin argue over A short for thirty minutes."

"We wouldn’t argue if he listened."

"We wouldn’t argue if you shut up," Seungmin replied, perfectly timed.

"Stretch your wrists before we start," Changbin reminded them. "I don’t want anyone blaming carpal tunnel when they miss."

"Hear that, Seungmin? No excuses," Minho said, cocky and mischievous.

"Says the guy who blames ‘bad ingredients’ for bad crosshair placement," Seungmin replied. "You over-season your takes the same way you over-smoke sites."

"Valorant lobby is up. Chef, office worker, get in here," Jisung announced. "Analytics say the audience loves suffering, so let's queue this shit."

"Not my fault, my neighbour has commitment issues," Minho said, like he could almost hear the smirk.

"I committed to work overtime so I wouldn’t have to hear your ‘top frag Brim’ speech again," Seungmin said. "I’m sparing my ears from your ‘top frag Brim’ speeches, actually."

"Besides," he added, adjusting his mic, "I need sleep more than I need your ‘default A’ calls."

"You’d sleep better if you stopped hard-inting our games," Minho chuckled.

"Reminder: neighbours’ shouting travels through the recording," Jisung said, amused. "So when you two start yelling, that’s free ad revenue."

"Then clip Seungmin’s comms when he panics in a 1v1," Minho said.

"Clip Minho missing a molly on a planted spike. Oh wait, you already did," Seungmin replied.

Chan cut in before it could spiral further. "Felix, what mode?"

"Let’s do one calm unrated to warm up, yeah?" Felix suggested. "Nothing too sweaty."

"Calm? With Seungmin instalocking Jett?" Minho scoffed.

"You say that like your blood pressure isn’t already at ranked levels just hearing my mouse click. And my Jett's better than yours," Seungmin adds on.

"Can we at least pretend this is a friendly lobby?" Jeongin asked hopefully.

"Sure," Minho said. "I’m friendly in telling Seungmin to stop dashing in 1v4."

"I’m friendly asking you to stop smoking on our own team," Seungmin replied.

"I’m friendly starting the queue before I log off," Chan said, mock-exasperated. "Queueing in three, two—"

"One second!" Jisung interrupted. "Valorant first, then maybe we swap to something safe like Gartic."

"We say that every week and never make it past Valorant," Chan pointed out.

"Because someone always forgets how to lose gracefully," Felix said.

There was a beat of silence.

"He started it," Minho and Seungmin said at the same time.

The whole call erupted in laughter.

"Alright, alright," Chan said, still chuckling. "Queues started. Everybody focus."

The Valorant client loaded, and the familiar logo pulsed on their screens. A moment later, the queue popped. They accepted in a chorus of clicks.

"Bind again, I swear—" Hyunjin began, then groaned. "Of course it’s Bind. This game hates me."

"This game loves content, that’s what it is," Jisung said. "Chat is going to eat this up."

"I just spent three hours dancing in front of strangers," Hyunjin muttered. "I deserve to throw my virtual body into Hookah without thinking."

"You do that anyway," Seungmin said.

"Says the guy who uses his dash as a suggestion, not an escape," Minho replied.

The agent select screen flickered across their monitors. Valorant's roster glowed—each silhouette promising a different playstyle.

"I have a night shoot tomorrow, so I can only play two games," Jeongin warned.

"Then we start now," Chan said. "Lock in your agents."

"Can I try Duelist today, or will that break the neighbourhood peace?" Jeongin asked.

"One bad Reyna and I’m filing a noise complaint," Minho replied.

"Do it, then you can explain to the landlord why your K/D is evidence," Seungmin said.

All the icons shifted as they chose their agents.

"I’m taking Jett," Seungmin said, clipped and decisive. "Entry fragging."

"You always take Jett," Minho’s voice slid in like a blade. "Predictable."

"Predictable works when you can aim," Seungmin shot back. "What are you playing, Brimstone again? So you can smoke our line of sight and call it ‘strategy’?"

"Brimstone," Minho confirmed, totally unbothered. "Smoke control. So I can cover for our overeager Jett when she dashes into a wall."

"I don’t dash into walls," Seungmin protested.

"You did last week. Three times. I clipped it," Minho said.

Jisung howled from the spectator slot. "I admire Seungmin's playstyle. Probably got me the most clips to farm from his perspective."

"I will end your stream," Seungmin warned.

"You can’t end what hasn’t started," Jisung said. "This is just the prologue."

"I’ll go Skye," Felix chimed in, trying to smooth the mood. "Flash for entry, heal when needed."

"Raze," Hyunjin added. "Need explosions to cope with Jisung’s commentary."

"I’m not even playing!" Jisung protested.

"You’re always playing," Hyunjin said. "In my head. Rent free."

Jisung gasped theatrically. "That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me."

Changbin laughed softly in the background. "Aim training by emotional damage. I like it."

Chan glanced at the timer ticking down on the agent select screen. "Alright, agents locked. Everyone breathe, don’t int, and please—" his voice dipped wryly "—try not to give Jisung too much free content in the first round."

"No promises," Minho and Seungmin muttered, almost in unison.

The countdown hit zero. The match loaded in.

The buy phase ticked down. Agent voicelines overlapped with the click of mice and the rattle of keyboards.

"Alright, boys, default first," Chan said from spectator. "Feel them out before we start griefing each other."

"No promises," Minho murmured.

On-screen, Jett twirled her knife—Seungmin hopped in place at Attacker spawn, warming up his aim.

"Going short A," Seungmin called. "I’ll take first contact."

"Of course you will," Minho replied. His Brimstone model lumbered behind, pistol in hand. "Our favourite damage sponge."

"You’re welcome for the space," Seungmin said. "Try not to smoke my crosshair this time, yeah, Brim?"

"I’ll smoke where the strat demands, not where your ego wants," Minho countered.

Felix’s Skye shifted toward Hookah. "I’ll pressure B with Hyunjin. If they over-rotate, you guys walk in. Easy."

Hyunjin’s Raze bounced in front of him, paint shells already in hand. "Translation: I run it down Hookah and hope for the best."

"Content strat," Jisung narrated. "Chef and office worker arguing on A, buskers speed-running death on B, little Jeonginnie crying in his own corner, and personal trainer complaining from spectator—peak game design."

"I’m not crying," Jeongin said. "I’m observing. For my craft."

"You’re observing a loss screen if they keep talking instead of clearing corners," Changbin said. "Focus, you clowns."

The barriers dropped.

Seungmin dashed toward A short, Classic in hand.

"No util, no brain," Minho muttered. "Love that for us."

"I am the util," Seungmin snapped back. "Watch and learn."

He swung wide short A.

A Sheriff shot cracked from Heaven. A bullet tore through Jett, chunking her low. Seungmin instantly dashed back around the corner, heart spiking.

"Told you," Minho said calmly. "You’re allergic to cover."

"I’m not dead," Seungmin hissed, hugging the wall.

"You’re one tap. That’s basically a ghost on layaway," Minho replied.

From spectator, Jisung dropped his voice into a faux-documentary tone. "Here we see the wild Seungmin in his natural habitat: overconfident, underarmored, approximately one bullet from extinction."

"Shut up, Jisung," Seungmin muttered, popping a dry peek to tag the Sheriff user.

Over on B, Hyunjin’s Raze yeeted a grenade into Hookah.

"Nade out!" Hyunjin sang. The kill feed flashed—one defender caught trying to take space.

"Nice," Felix said, swinging with Skye. "I’ll dog out of Hookah, wait—"

Chan’s voice cut in. "A’s stalled, B’s free. You heard the man, rotate."

"On my way," Minho said. His Brimstone shuffled back toward spawn. "Try not to die before I get there, Jett."

"If I die, it’s because your smoke timings are tragic," Seungmin shot back. "Not my fault you smoke like you’re seasoning a dish—too much, too late."

"At least I’m cooking," Minho said. "You’re just the free appetizer for the enemy team."

"Oh, that’s good," Jisung laughed. "Chat is gonna quote that for weeks."

They’d somehow scraped the pistol and anti-eco. Now it was bonus time.

"Okay, we actually win these," Chan said. "Two rounds up, bonus guns. Don’t ego peek like it’s highlight reel auditions."

"Tell that to our instalock Duelist," Minho replied.

"Our Brim talks like he didn’t swing B long alone last round," Seungmin countered. "You thought you were Reyna for a second?"

"I got two," Minho said. "Entry chef. I cook and I clean up."

"You also died with full util," Seungmin pointed out. "That’s a health code violation."

"Can I get that as a YouTube short?" Jisung asked. "‘Office worker flames chef’s util hygiene’—that’s the title."

"Focus," Changbin cut in. "Guns up. B hit?"

"Yeah, yeah. Five man B," Felix suggested. "Hyunjin, you go in first. You’re built for chaos."

"You guys always use me like a flashbang with legs," Hyunjin complained.

"Because it works," Jeongin said. "Character-driven storytelling. First act: Hyunjin explodes."

The barriers dropped again. They grouped outside B long.

"Minho, I want long and elbow smoked," Chan directed. "We hit on your go."

"Copy," Minho said. He lined up smokes. "Three smokes, medium rare… go."

His smokes bloomed.

"See, that’s a good smoke," Felix said, pushing through with Skye’s wolf. "Not the ‘I can’t see anything but brimstone’s ego’ ones from last week."

"You’re welcome," Minho replied.

Seungmin dashed past them into site, Updrafting over Tube to clear. "Back site clear, CT unknown—"

He whiffed his first burst.

"Nice spray, employee of the month," Minho said dryly, trading the kill from long.

"Says the guy padding his stats off my entries," Seungmin snapped. "You’re welcome for the bait, chef."

"That’s not bait, that’s feeding," Minho said. "Know the difference."

"Semantics," Jisung hummed. "I call it content."

By round 7, the score was 4–2 in their favour, but the tension was climbing.

"Okay, they’re stacking B now," Chan observed from the minimap. "Every time you show Raze util, they over-rotate. Fake B, hit A."

"Finally using those producer brains for something other than reverb settings," Jisung said.

"You want your voice to sound like a Nokia ringtone on the next upload? Keep talking," Chan replied.

"I kind of want that," Felix whispered. "Nostalgia."

They set up. Hyunjin made noise toward B with a Boom Bot and grenade, while the others crept up A short and showers.

"Don’t dry swing this time, Seungmin," Minho said. "We actually need your knives later."

"You only ‘need’ me when your util runs out," Seungmin said. "It’s giving codependency."

"I’m dependent on competent teammates, actually," Minho replied. "So I don’t know what that makes you."

"Makes him your favourite rage topic," Jisung chimed in. "My viewers have a drinking game for every time you say ‘Seungmin’ and ‘int’ in the same sentence."

"Your viewers are going to die of alcohol poisoning," Felix muttered.

They hit A. Seungmin dashed in off Felix’s Skye flash, cutting through the blinded defenders.

"One U-Haul, one truck!" Seungmin called. He snapped to U-Haul—clean headshot. Swung to truck—traded out by a crossfire.

"Nice," Hyunjin said, cleaning up the last one with a satchel swing. "Space-maker Jett actually made space. Mark the calendar."

"Clip that, Jisung," Seungmin said. "Proof I do more than ‘feed for info.’"

"Already on it," Jisung said. "Slow it down, add dramatic music, subtitle it ‘When Your Team Finally Trusts You.’"

"Trust is a strong word," Minho said, planting the spike. "I just assume if I follow your body, there’ll be at least one guy who wasted his bullets on you first."

"You’re welcome for the entry tax," Seungmin replied. "Pay up in assists."

"I’d love to ‘trust’ you both to shut up for the post-plant," Changbin said. "One CT, one Heaven. Play crossfire, not podcast."

Swapping sides, Minho bought full util and armor, settling into anchor mode.

"Alright, chef, you’re on A anchor with Seungmin. Figure out your issues or I’m splitting you up like a toxic duo queue," Chan said.

"We’re not toxic," Seungmin said.

"We’re… communicative," Minho added.

"You’re loud," Jeongin corrected. "Which is good for my acting notes, terrible for team morale."

First defence round on Bind, the enemy hit A hard.

"They’re here, footsteps short," Seungmin called. "I’m knifing out early, dash if they commit."

"I’ll molly choke when they swing," Minho said. "Don’t over-peek."

"Don’t tell me not to over-peek, you’re the one who swings smokes like they insulted your cooking," Seungmin replied.

The enemy Raze boom bot rolled around the corner.

"Bot!" Seungmin dashed updraft to dodge it, floating over the explosion and landing behind the bot. He burst down the first attacker, then instantly got traded by the second.

"2 short," Seungmin hissed as he fell. "One more showers."

Minho dropped a smoke to cut short, mollied default, and pre-fired the smoke swing.

Two kills in the feed.

"There we go," Chan said. "Anchor diff."

"Look at that," Minho said, voice calm. "When my Duelist stops griefing for 0.5 seconds, I can actually play the game."

"You’re welcome," Seungmin said dryly. "That was my sacrifice arc."

"Your sacrifice arc has more episodes than Jisung’s upload schedule," Hyunjin muttered.

"Rude," Jisung said. "But fair."

Scoreline: 10–9.

"Okay," Chan said, suddenly serious. "We throw this, I’m banning ranked talk for a week."

"You can’t ban ranked talk," Jisung protested. "That’s like banning sunlight. Or copium."

"Last buy, don’t grief," Changbin added. "I’m too invested to watch you lose from match point."

They stacked B.

"If they hit A here, I’m AFK," Hyunjin said.

"You’re AFK in your soul anyway," Felix replied.

Footsteps pounded outside B long.

"They’re here," Seungmin said, rotating through CT. "Minho, don’t solo swing."

"You telling me not to solo swing is rich," Minho replied, dropping an instant smoke on long. "Flash through, Skye."

Felix popped a flash through smoke. Raze nade flew. Chaos exploded at B long.

Seungmin burst through CT into site, knives drawn. He caught one in Tube, another on site box.

"Two down," he panted. "Last long, last long!"

Minho sprayed through his own smoke and connected.

Round win.

"Oh my god," Jeongin exhaled. "That looked scripted."

"If it was scripted, Minho would’ve died first for dramatic effect," Seungmin said.

"If it was scripted, you would’ve hit your first burst instead of needing three," Minho replied. "But we work with what we have."

"I’m calling that ‘co-op clutch,’" Jisung said. "New thumbnail: ‘NEIGHBOURS CARRY EACH OTHER?? (Emotional)’."

"We are not putting ‘emotional’ in the title," Seungmin said.

"Too late," Jisung replied. "I already typed it."

"One more and we’re done," Chan said. "Lock in. No hero plays."

"Someone tell that to Jett," Minho said.

"Someone tell that to Brimstone who thinks he’s Reyna with a stim," Seungmin shot back.

"At least my stim is for the team," Minho said. "Your dash is for your ego."

"And yet," Felix said gently, "both egos are currently top fragging. So let them fight."

"I hate that he’s right," Hyunjin muttered.

The last round timer ticked down. Guns bought, armour topped off.

"Win or lose," Changbin said, "my heart rate says this counted as cardio."

"Win," Chan corrected. "We’re winning."

"We better," Jisung said. "I already wrote the video description like you do. Don’t make me change it to ‘pain compilation.’"

"Just hit start, Chan-hyung," Seungmin said, exhaling. "I’ve got one more good dash in me."

"And I’ve got one more good smoke to cover when you inevitably grief it," Minho added.

"There it is," Jeongin said softly, amused. "The love language of gamers—insults and badly timed util."

The barriers rose one more time.

The first few rounds blurred together in a haze of chaotic calls and missed shots. Bind's hooks and teleporters became background noise to the real entertainment—the nonstop verbal sparring filling Discord.

"Minho, you literally swung into three people and died," Jisung commentated. "That's not entry fragging, that's feeding."

"Setup was bad," Minho deflected smoothly. "Sova dart was late, info was garbage. Seungmin, your timing's off tonight."

"My timing?" Seungmin's voice stayed flat. "Maybe if someone actually traded instead of ego peeking every angle—"

"Children," Chan interjected. "Save the energy for when it matters. You're both negative right now."

"Stat padding," Minho muttered. "I'm creating space."

"Space for the enemy team," Hyunjin added. "Viper's carrying this lobby and I'm not even trying."

Felix laughed. "Phoenix flash into site was clean though. Minho, you just ran past it blind."

"Because I trust my aim," Minho insisted.

"Your aim trusts you back about forty percent of the time," Jeongin chimed in. "Math isn't mathing, hyung."

Seungmin snorted quietly. Minho's exhale crackled through the mic.

Round eight. Score tied 4-4.

Seungmin had been patient, methodical, landing consistent support plays. Then Minho made the mistake.

"Seungmin, hold B long, I'm pushing hookah," Minho called.

Seungmin moved into position. Sova dart out, owl drone scouting. He spotted two pushing B, relayed the info. Minho's Jett updrafted into hookah completely ignoring the call.

And died instantly to the waiting Ares.

"I called two B long," Seungmin said, voice dangerously calm.

"They weren't hookah," Minho argued. "Different angle."

"They rotated because you made noise. I told you. You didn't listen."

"Maybe if your dart actually—"

Seungmin's next words were clipped. "Got it. My fault."

The following round, Seungmin locked in. His aim had purpose now. When Minho's Jett called for a smoke on A main, Seungmin's Sova deliberately shot his shock dart wide—straight into Minho's path.

Minho's character staggered. Thirty damage. Then another dart. Twenty-seven more.

"Seungmin." Minho's voice dropped.

"Did you just friendly fire me?"

"Oops," Seungmin replied, zero inflection. "Misinput."

"You don't misinput. You're doing this on purpose."

"I'm providing cover."

"You're shooting your own teammate!"

"Maybe next time you'll listen to calls."

Jisung howled. "OH, we're doing this now? Seungmin's actually griefing!"

"Justice served," Changbin said between laughs. "Minho, you brought this on yourself."

Minho went quiet for a moment. Then a sharp thud echoed through Discord—not from the game. Real sound. Physical.

Everyone heard it. The distinct knock of a fist against drywall.

"That's the shared wall," Felix realized. "Minho, are you—"

Another bang. Harder.

"Kim Seungmin," Minho's voice came through low, controlled. "I can hear everything through this wall. Your chair squeaks. Your keyboard clicks. And if you friendly fire me one more time, I'm coming over there."

Seungmin's silence stretched for exactly two seconds.

"Empty threat."

Bang.

"That wasn't a threat." Minho's tone shifted—still playful but with an edge. "Keep testing me. See what happens."

"Is this live?" Jisung was losing it. "Chat, clip this. Minho's actually threatening domestic violence over Valorant."

"Domestic?" Chan repeated. "Jisung, they're neighbours."

"Same energy."

Hyunjin wheezed. "Minho's really banging on the wall like they're married. This is unhinged."

The lobby erupted. Spectators and players alike couldn't hold it together.

"I can't—" Changbin gasped. "The way Minho just—banged—and Seungmin didn't even flinch—"

"They do this constantly," Felix said. "Remember last month? Minho threatened to cut off Seungmin's wifi."

"And Seungmin said he'd report him for noise complaints," Jeongin added. "They're literally an old married couple."

"We're not married," Seungmin deadpanned.

"Could've fooled me," Chan said. "Minho knows your chair squeaks, Seungmin. That's intimate knowledge."

"Thin walls," Minho dismissed. "Acoustic nightmare. Nothing else."

"Sure," Jisung drawled. "Nothing else. Just two grown men threatening each other through drywall at eleven PM over a video game. Totally normal neighbour behaviour."

Hyunjin pitched his voice higher, mimicking. "'Minho, I can hear your keyboard.' 'Seungmin, your chair squeaks.' Next you'll be complaining about each other's cooking smells."

"Actually," Seungmin started, "his kitchen vent does—"

"Don't finish that sentence," Minho cut in. "I'll cook something that'll clear your sinuses for a week."

"Was that a threat or a promise?" Felix asked.

"Both."

The game resumed. Round twelve. Minho had been relatively quiet since the wall incident, focusing on his gameplay. His Jett was actually performing now—clean entries, traded kills.

Then Seungmin spoke.

"Nice round, Minho. Almost carried your weight that time."

The lobby went still.

"Almost," Seungmin repeated, mild as ever. "Keep practicing. Maybe one day you won't need Sova babysitting."

Jisung inhaled sharply. "Oh no."

"Seungmin," Chan warned. "Don't—"

But Minho's laugh cut through. Low. Not the usual playful sound. Something different.

"Careful, Seungmin-ah." His voice was soft now. Too soft. "You're pushing buttons you don't want pushed."

"Is that another wall bang threat? Getting repetitive."

Silence.

Then Minho spoke again, each word deliberate. "No more warnings. Keep talking. See where it gets you."

The match continued, but something had shifted. Even Jisung stopped commentating.

Jeongin whispered, "Did it just get tense in here, or...?"

"Old married couple fight," Changbin murmured. "This one's real."

Seungmin said nothing. His Sova played clean the rest of the round.

But everyone heard Minho's quiet parting words before muting briefly:

"Keep testing me, Kim Seungmin. I dare you."

Round fourteen. Minho had been quiet—too quiet. His Jett played mechanically, no flashy plays, no snippy callouts. The lobby had settled into an uncomfortable rhythm, everyone walking on eggshells around the obvious tension.

Then Seungmin's Sova whiffed a recon dart. Completely missed the angle, bouncing uselessly off a wall.

Minho exhaled through his nose. Didn't say anything.

Seungmin noticed. "Something to say?"

"Nothing worth wasting breath on."

"Wow. The Lee Minho, speechless. Must be a first."

Minho stayed silent. His Jett repositioned, cleared angles, got traded. Clean, efficient, emotionless gameplay.

And that somehow made it worse.

Seungmin's voice dropped, casual and cutting. "You know, for someone who talks so big, you really don't back it up. All bark, no bite. Typical."

Still nothing.

"Maybe that's why you're still single," Seungmin continued, light as anything. "All that attitude, nothing to show for it. Must be exhausting, being that—"

"Seungmin." Chan's warning was sharp.

But Seungmin was on a roll now, the adrenaline of the game and the earlier friendly fire incident loosening his tongue. "What? I'm just saying. Minho acts like he runs everything, but at the end of the day, he's just—"

"A chef who works himself ragged?" Minho finally spoke. Each word precise. Controlled. "A neighbor who puts up with your 2 AM keyboard clicking? Someone who's won more rounds this game than you have?"

"Someone who's projecting," Seungmin shot back. "Compensating for something, maybe. All that aggression—"

"Careful."

"No, really. The wall banging? The threats? Over a video game?" Seungmin laughed softly. "Pathetic, honestly. You're like a chihuahua. All noise, no—"

"That's it."

The Discord notification cut through everything.

Lee Know has disconnected from the voice channel.

The game announcement followed: Lee Know has left the match.

Silence.

Absolute silence.

"Uh," Jisung said. "Did—did Minho just—"

"He left," Felix finished. "He actually left."

"Mid-match," Changbin added. "Minho doesn't leave mid-match. He's the one who yells at us for leaving early."

Seungmin stared at his screen. The empty spot where Jett's portrait had been. The bot that would now control Minho's character.

"I..." Seungmin started, then stopped.

"Seungmin," Chan said carefully. "What did you just do?"

"Nothing. I was just—he's overreacting—"

"Overreacting?" Hyunjin cut in. "You called him pathetic. And single. And said he was compensating for something. In front of everyone."

"That's—that's just how we talk—"

"That's not how you talk," Jeongin said quietly. "That's how you hurt someone."

Seungmin's mouth went dry.

Then he heard it.

A rattling at his front door.

Not knocking. Not banging. The distinct sound of a key sliding into a lock.

His lock.

Seungmin froze.

The spare key.

Months ago, when Seungmin had first moved in, he'd given Minho a spare key. Emergency purposes. "In case I lock myself out," he'd said. "Or, I don't know, if there's a fire or something."

Minho had taken it with that inscrutable expression of his. "Sure. Emergencies."

They'd never talked about it again.

Seungmin had forgotten.

And now—

The door swung open.

Minho stood in the doorway—black shirt sleeves rolled up, dark jeans, that stupid silver chain he always wore. His hair was messy from running his hands through it. His eyes were dark.

He didn't look angry.

He looked focused.

"Hi," Minho said, voice flat.

Seungmin's headset was still on. He could hear the chaos in Discord—Jisung asking what was happening, Chan calling for calm, Felix and Hyunjin losing their minds.

But all he could focus on was Minho.

Walking into his apartment.

Closing the door behind him.

Locking it.

"You left the game," Seungmin said, hating how his voice came out uneven.

"You ran your mouth."

"It's just trash talk. We always—"

"There's trash talk." Minho stepped closer. "And then there's you, digging into things that aren't any of your business."

Seungmin's chair squeaked as he rolled back slightly. "You're being dramatic."

"Dramatic." Another step. "That's interesting. Coming from the person who friendly fired me because I didn't follow one call."

"You never follow calls. You ego peek everything—"

"And you sit in the back, judging everyone else's gameplay while you play safe." Minho's voice was low now. Almost intimate. "Always watching. Always criticizing. Never putting yourself on the line."

"That's not—"

"What am I compensating for, Seungmin?" Minho asked, head tilting. He was close enough now that Seungmin could smell him—something warm, cedar, maybe, with an edge of kitchen grease. "Tell me. Since you seem to know so much about me."

Seungmin's throat worked. "I didn't mean—"

"You meant it." Minho's hand came down on Seungmin's desk, caging him in. "You always mean what you say. That's the problem."

"The problem is you can't take a joke—"

"A joke?" Minho laughed, soft and dangerous. "You think calling someone pathetic is a joke? Telling them they're single because they're not enough?"

Seungmin's pulse was hammering now. He could hear his own breathing in the headset mic, knew the others were hearing everything, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"I didn't—" Seungmin started.

"You did." Minho leaned down. Close. Too close. His breath ghosted against Seungmin's ear. "You push and push and push, Seungmin-ah. And you never think about what happens when someone pushes back."

"I'm not scared of you."

Minho's smile was slow. Knowing. "I didn't say you should be scared."

The words hung between them.

In the voice channel, chaos reigned.

"ARE THEY FIGHTING OR FLIRTING?" Jisung's voice cracked. "I CAN'T TELL."

"Both," Felix said. "Definitely both."

"This is better than the game," Changbin muttered. "We should've been recording."

"I AM recording," Jisung said. "Chat's going insane. They heard the door open. They heard 'push back.' This is content gold."

"Should we... intervene?" Chan asked, sounding pained.

"Absolutely not," Hyunjin replied. "This is the most alive either of them has sounded in months. Let them cook."

"Did Minho just say 'what happens when someone pushes back'?" Jeongin asked. "In that voice? Is this—should I mute?"

"Mute if you're uncomfortable," Chan said. "Otherwise, witness history being made."

"I'm uncomfortable," Jeongin said. "But I'm also not leaving."

"Lee Know just walked into Seungmin's apartment," Jisung narrated for his stream. "Locked the door. We can hear everything through Seungmin's mic. Chat, I'm not editing this out. This is raw, unfiltered content. They're either about to kill each other or—"

"Jisung," Chan warned.

"—have a very productive conversation about their feelings," Jisung amended. "Family friendly stream."

In the background, through Seungmin's mic, they heard:

"You think you're so clever, don't you?"

"I think I'm right."

"You think a lot of things."

And then—

Silence.

The kind of silence that made Jisung's chat explode with question marks.

"Did they just—" Felix started.

"Shh," Hyunjin said. "Listening."

The silence stretched.

Then a sharp intake of breath. Seungmin's voice, barely audible: "Minho—"

"Shut up for once in your life."

Jisung's stream chat went absolutely feral.

Minho's patience snapped like a rubber band stretched too thin.

One moment Seungmin was sitting in his gaming chair, that infuriating smirk playing at the corner of his mouth—and the next, Minho's hand fisted in the front of his hoodie, yanking him up and out of the chair with enough force that it spun wildly, wheels clattering against the desk.

"Wha—Minho—"

Seungmin stumbled, off-balance, but Minho didn't give him time to find his footing. He shoved him backward, one hard push to the chest, and Seungmin's calves hit the edge of his bed. The mattress caught him with a soft thump, his back bouncing once against the comforter.

"What the fuck—" Seungmin started, propping himself up on his elbows, but Minho was already there, already climbing over him, one knee pressing into the mattress beside Seungmin's hip, then the other, caging him in.

"You want to know what happens when someone pushes back?" Minho's voice was low. Controlled. The calm that came after the storm broke. "This is what happens."

Minho's hand pressed flat against Seungmin's chest, pushing him down against the mattress. Not gentle. Not cruel either—just firm. The kind of pressure that said stay without needing words.

Seungmin's breath hitched. "You're insane. You can't just—"

"Can't just what?" Minho leaned down, close enough that his nose nearly brushed Seungmin's. "Walk into your apartment? You gave me the key, Seungmin-ah. Practically an invitation."

"That was for emergencies—"

"This is an emergency." Minho's free hand came up, thumb pressing against Seungmin's lower lip. Not pushing in—just resting there. A threat. A promise. "You seem to have forgotten how to keep that mouth of yours in check. Consider this... remedial training."

Seungmin's eyes were wide, dark, fixed on Minho's face. His chest rose and fell rapidly under Minho's palm. "You're being ridiculous. It was trash talk—"

"You ego peeked me all game." Minho's thumb dragged down, pressing Seungmin's lower lip away from his teeth. "Running your mouth. Testing me. Seeing how far you could go before I snapped."

"I wasn't—"

"You were." Minho shifted his weight, his thigh pressing between Seungmin's legs, and Seungmin's voice caught on something that definitely wasn't a word. "And now you're going to learn what happens when you peek without checking your corners."

"I know how to peek—"

"Clearly you don't." Minho's hand slid from Seungmin's chest to his throat. Not squeezing—just holding. Feeling the rabbit-fast pulse jumping under the skin. "Because if you did, you would've checked before you ran your mouth about me being pathetic. About me compensating."

Seungmin swallowed against Minho's palm. "Maybe I meant it."

Minho's eyes narrowed. "Maybe you didn't."

The silence between them was deafening.

Then Minho's grip tightened—just slightly, just enough—and Seungmin's head fell back against the pillow, exposing the long line of his throat. A sound escaped him. Small. Breathless. Not quite a whimper.

"There it is," Minho murmured. "Finally. Something other than smart remarks coming out of that mouth."

Minho released Seungmin's throat only to grab his jaw, tilting his face up, forcing eye contact.

"Here's how this works," Minho said, each word precise. "You're going to stop running your mouth. You're going to listen. And maybe—maybe—I'll let you off easy."

Seungmin's lips parted. "Or what?"

Brat.

Minho's hand moved from Seungmin's jaw to the back of his neck, pulling him up just enough to crush their mouths together.

It wasn't a kiss. It was a claim—hard, demanding, taking everything Seungmin had to give and then some. Minho's teeth caught Seungmin's lower lip, biting down until Seungmin gasped, and then his tongue was pushing inside, swallowing every sound Seungmin tried to make.

Seungmin's hands came up, fisting in Minho's shirt, and for a moment it wasn't clear if he was trying to push him away or pull him closer. His fingers twisted in the fabric, knuckles white, and a muffled noise escaped into Minho's mouth—something between a whine and a moan that made Minho's blood run hot.

When Minho pulled back, Seungmin was panting. His lips were swollen, wet, bitten red. His eyes were glazed, unfocused, pupils blown wide.

"Shut up for once," Minho said against his mouth. "Understood?"

Seungmin's throat worked. He nodded.

"Good." Minho's hand slid down Seungmin's side, finding the hem of his hoodie, pushing underneath to find warm skin. "Now let's see if you can actually follow instructions for once."

The truth was—Seungmin had been pushing Minho on purpose.

Not tonight specifically. Not with any grand plan. But consistently, for months, every game night, every hallway encounter, every moment they spent in each other's orbit. He'd poke and prod and provoke, watching Minho's jaw tighten, watching that dangerous glint appear in his eyes, and something inside him would twist.

He'd noticed Minho the day he moved in. Hard not to—the man had walked past his open door carrying a bag of groceries, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that should've been illegal, and Seungmin had thought, oh no.

Then Minho had opened his mouth, and it had been snark and sarcasm and sharp edges, and Seungmin had thought, oh no, worse.

Because Seungmin didn't do soft. He didn't do gentle or sweet or easy. He did sharp. He did biting. He did the kind of banter that walked the line between affection and aggression, and Minho—Minho matched him stroke for stroke.

It was intoxicating.

And if Seungmin had been pushing harder lately, testing limits, seeing how far he could go before Minho finally broke—

Well.

He was finding out.

Minho's hands were everywhere now. Pushing up Seungmin's hoodie, exposing his stomach, his chest. Mapping skin like he was memorizing it, like he was proving a point.

Seungmin squirmed under the attention, oversensitive where Minho's calloused fingers dragged across his ribs. "Minho—"

"What did I say about talking?"

"I'm not—you can't just—" Seungmin's voice cracked when Minho's thumb found his nipple, pressing down. "Ah—"

"Can't just what?" Minho's voice was deceptively soft. "Touch you? You've been begging for it all night. Every smart comment, every little dig—that was you begging, Seungmin. You just didn't know how to ask properly."

"That's not—"

"Stop acting like a brat, and I won't treat you like one."

The words landed like a slap. Seungmin's whole body went taut, a flush spreading down his neck, across his chest. His cock was hard in his sweats—had been since Minho had pushed him onto the bed, if he was being honest—and Minho's thigh pressed against it now, deliberate, grinding down.

Seungmin bit his lip to keep from making a sound.

Minho noticed. His eyes narrowed. "Still can't follow instructions."

His hand slid down Seungmin's stomach, fingers dipping below the waistband of his sweats, and Seungmin's hips jerked up involuntarily.

"Minho—wait—"

"No." Minho's hand wrapped around Seungmin's cock, and Seungmin's brain whited out. "You've been running this mouth all night. Now you're going to lie there and take it."

Seungmin couldn't help it. Even now, even with Minho's hand on his dick, even with his brain melting out of his ears—some part of him couldn't resist the urge to push.

Maybe it was self-preservation. Maybe it was the desperate need to not seem affected. Maybe it was just that being a brat was so ingrained in his DNA that he couldn't stop even if he tried.

So when Minho's grip tightened, stroking him slow and deliberate, Seungmin's mouth opened and the stupidest possible words came out:

"You sure you can even find my spo—"

"AHH—"

Minho's thumb pressed directly against the underside of Seungmin's cock, right where the head met the shaft, and pressed hard. The pleasure-pain of it shot through Seungmin like lightning, his back arching off the bed, a broken sound ripping from his throat.

"Found it," Minho said flatly. "Anything else you'd like to question?"

Seungmin couldn't speak. Couldn't think. His cock was leaking precum over Minho's fingers, his thighs trembling, and every nerve ending in his body was screaming.

"Didn't think so." Minho started stroking him properly now, tight grip, twisting on the upstroke, thumb swiping over the head on every pass. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? All that pushing. All that testing. You wanted me to snap."

Seungmin's hands flew up, grabbing Minho's shoulders, nails digging in. "I—fuck—I didn't—"

"You did." Minho's voice dropped lower, rougher. "You've been thinking about this. Wondering what it would take. How far I'd go."

Seungmin's hips were moving now, fucking up into Minho's fist, chasing the friction despite himself. "Minho—please—"

"Please what?" Minho's grip tightened, slowing down, and Seungmin sobbed. "Use your words, Seungmin-ah. You're so good at them normally."

"I can't—you're—"

"I'm what?" Minho leaned down, lips brushing Seungmin's ear. "Finishing what you started?"

"Uhh, guys, we're still—"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP LET ME HEAR THIS."

Jisung's voice cut through, absolutely feral. His eyes were glued to his monitor, where Seungmin's Discord avatar sat uselessly while the most unholy sounds filtered through the mic.

"You know Jisung, you're still recording—"

"It's about time they fucked it out…" Hyunjin muttered, tone somewhere between amused and resigned.

"NOT IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE DISCORD CALL?!?!" Felix screeched.

Jisung's chat was moving so fast it was a solid wall of text. His viewer count had jumped from three thousand to twelve thousand in under two minutes.

"Can someone hack Seungmin's live webcam feed?" Changbin asked, voice disturbingly casual.

"Hey chat, place your bets, who's gonna blow first?!" Jisung announced to his stream, eyes manic.

"Are you even gonna get monetization for this?" Chan asked weakly.

Jisung's eyes went wide. "CAN I?!?"

Through the mic, they heard the sharp crack of skin on skin—another slap—and Seungmin's muffled cry into the pillow.

"Jesus Christ," Jeongin breathed. "They're actually—"

"Yep," Hyunjin confirmed. "They're actually."

Seungmin was trembling.

Face-down in the pillow, ass in the air, skin burning where Minho's palm had connected. His cock hung heavy and neglected between his thighs, leaking steadily onto the comforter.

"Minho—" His voice came out wrecked. "Please—"

"Please what?" Minho's hands spread Seungmin's cheeks apart, thumbs digging into the muscle. "You wanted this. Pushed and pushed until you got it."

"I didn't think you'd actually—"

"Didn't think I'd what?" Minho's thumb dragged across Seungmin's hole, pressing lightly. "Bend you over? Teach you what happens when you run that mouth?"

Seungmin's breath caught. "There's—lube—in the drawer—"

Minho laughed. Low. Dark. "Oh, I know. I've heard you through these walls, Seungmin-ah. Late at night. Thinking I can't hear you getting yourself off."

Seungmin's face burned. "You—"

"Every time you came, you got louder. Like you wanted me to hear." Minho leaned down, breath hot against Seungmin's exposed rim. "Did you? Want me to hear?"

Seungmin didn't answer. Couldn't.

"Brat."

Minho reached for the nightstand, yanking the drawer open. His hand closed around the lube—but then his eyes landed on something else.

The oversized gaming mousepad. The one with the wrist rest. Smooth fabric surface, thick foam base, rectangular and firm.

An idea formed.

"Minho, what are you—"

"Shh." Minho grabbed the mousepad, turning it over in his hands. Testing the edge. The corner was rounded but solid. "You wanted to learn about peeking. Let's teach you about checking your corners."

"What does that even—Minho, that's my mousepad—"

"And now it's going in your ass."

"YOU CAN'T JUST—"

Minho's hand cracked down on Seungmin's ass again, and the protest died in his throat.

"I can. I am." Minho slicked up the edge of the mousepad, coating the rounded corner thoroughly. "You've been opening your mouth all night. Time to open something else."

The first press of the mousepad's corner against Seungmin's hole made him jolt.

"Minho—that's not—it won't fit—"

"It'll fit." Minho's voice was calm. Controlled. The voice of someone who had planned this. "You're going to relax and take it. Like a good brat."

"I'm not a—ah—"

Minho pushed forward, and the slick corner of the mousepad breached Seungmin's rim. The stretch was immediate—wider than fingers, wider than anything Seungmin had taken before. The smooth fabric dragged against his insides, the foam core firm and unyielding.

"Oh god—" Seungmin's hands fisted in the sheets. "Minho—it's too much—"

"It's not too much." Minho worked the mousepad in slowly, twisting it, feeding more of the edge inside. "You can take it. You've been taking my shit all night. This is nothing."

The stretch burned. Seungmin felt himself opening around the intrusion, his rim fluttering and clenching around the thick foam edge. Minho pushed deeper, angling, searching—

"There."

White-hot pleasure lanced through Seungmin's body as the mousepad pressed against his prostate. His back arched, a broken moan tearing from his throat.

"Found it again," Minho murmured. "Seems I'm good at that."

"Fuck—fuck—Minho—"

Minho started working the mousepad in and out. Slow, deliberate thrusts. The squelch of lube filled the room, obscene and wet, mixing with Seungmin's desperate gasps.

"IS THAT A SQUELCH." Jisung's voice cracked. "CHAT. CHAT. THAT'S A SQUELCH."

"I'm leaving," Jeongin announced. "I'm leaving the call. I'm leaving the country. Also, Jisung, I'm pretty sure your channel's gonna get banned."

"Nobody leave," Hyunjin ordered. "Historical documentation."

"THAT'S NOT A DICK," Felix said, sounding distressed. "That's—that sounds too wide to be a dick—what is he PUTTING IN THERE—"

"Maybe it's a toy," Chan offered weakly.

"Seungmin doesn't own toys," Changbin said. "I know because he complained about it for forty minutes at lunch last Tuesday."

"THEN WHAT—"

Jisung's chat was losing its collective mind. Clips were being clipped. Screenshots were being taken. The hashtag #2MinIsReal was trending, which was confusing on multiple levels, but the internet didn't care about accuracy.

"Chat's asking what's happening," Jisung said, voice strained. "What do I tell them?"

"The truth," Hyunjin said. "Minho is railing Seungmin with household objects."

"NOT THE TRUTH."

Seungmin was losing his mind.

The mousepad stretched him open obscenely, the edge thick and unforgiving inside him. Minho fucked him with it steadily, each thrust pushing against his prostate, sending sparks of pleasure-pain through his body.

"Minho—please—I need—"

"What do you need?" Minho's voice was infuriatingly calm. "Use your words."

"I need—you-your cock, p-please—"

Minho's hand stilled. The mousepad sat inside Seungmin, stretching him wide, pressing against that spot.

"My cock?" Minho's thumb traced around Seungmin's stretched rim, feeling where the foam disappeared inside. "You think you've earned that?"

"Please—" Seungmin was beyond dignity now. Beyond brattiness. "I'll be good—I'll stop—I won't-"

"You won't what?" Minho twisted the mousepad, and Seungmin screamed into the pillow. "Stop running your mouth? Stop pushing? Stop being a brat?"

"Yes-yes—I promise—please—"

Minho pulled the mousepad out in one smooth motion.

Seungmin's hole gaped open, slick and fluttering, clenching around nothing. The emptiness was worse than the stretch.

"Minho—"

"Hands and knees." Minho was already shoving his pants down, his cock springing free, hard and leaking. "Now."

Seungmin scrambled to comply, his limbs shaky, his hole still open and waiting.

Minho lined himself up and pushed in without warning.

The first thrust punched a sound out of Seungmin's lungs.

Minho was big. Bigger than the mousepad, thicker, hotter. The slide was smooth from the lube already inside, and Seungmin's body opened for him like it was made to.

"Fuck—" Minho groaned, bottoming out. "You're tight. All that attitude, and you're this tight."

Seungmin couldn't answer. Could only gasp into the pillow, fingers clawing at the sheets.

Minho started moving. Hard, deep thrusts that rocked Seungmin's whole body forward. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room—wet, obscene, unmistakable.

"Minho—" Seungmin's voice was breaking. "Please—more—harder—"

"You want harder?" Minho's hand fisted in Seungmin's hair, yanking his head back. "You can take harder."

The new angle drove Minho deeper, hitting Seungmin's prostate with every thrust. Seungmin's mouth fell open, desperate sounds spilling out—

And then Minho's fingers pushed past his lips.

"Shh." Minho's fingers were thick, pressing down on Seungmin's tongue, muffling every sound. "The neighbours, remember? You wouldn't want them to hear."

The irony was lost on no one—especially not the twenty-three thousand people currently listening through Seungmin's Discord mic.

Seungmin's tongue worked against Minho's fingers, tasting salt and skin. His moans came out muffled, wet, desperate. Drool escaped the corners of his mouth, dripping down his chin.

"That's it." Minho's thrusts grew harder, more erratic. "Take it. Take all of it."

The squelch of lube and precum filled the room. The bed frame creaked with every thrust. Seungmin's cock swung between his legs, neglected and dripping.

"Minho—" The name was garbled around Minho's fingers. "I'm close—please—let me—"

Minho's free hand wrapped around Seungmin's cock, stroking in time with his thrusts.

"Come then." Minho's voice was rough, commanding. "Show me what a brat looks like when he comes."

"HE'S GAGGING HIM," Jisung shrieked. "CHAT. HE'S GAGGING HIM WITH HIS FINGERS."

"I'm going to throw my computer out the window," Jeongin said calmly.

"Don't you dare," Hyunjin warned. "We're approaching the climax."

"MULTIPLE MEANINGS," Felix added.

Through the mic, they heard it—the moment Seungmin broke. A muffled scream around Minho's fingers, the wet sound of release, Minho's low groan as he followed.

Silence.

Then heavy breathing.

Then Minho's voice, rough and satisfied: "Good boy."

Jisung's chat exploded.

Minho's fingers were still shoved past Seungmin's teeth, muffling every sound, and yet—

Seungmin laughed.

It came out garbled and wet around the thick digits pressing down on his tongue, but the defiance in it was unmistakable. His eyes, glassy and tear-rimmed, found Minho's over his shoulder. Bratty. Challenging. Insufferable.

Minho pulled his fingers free with a slick pop. A string of drool connected them to Seungmin's swollen lips.

"Something funny?"

Seungmin grinned—wrecked and feral and still somehow smug.

"Do you want them to listen to your pretty moans, Seungmin-ah?"

The words were meant to humiliate. To make him clamp his mouth shut, blush, behave.

Seungmin licked his lips. Tasted salt and skin.

"At least they'll finally listen to someone's calls."

"HE DID NOT JUST—" Jisung choked on his own spit.

"Seungmin has a death wish," Chan said flatly.

"That's not a death wish," Hyunjin corrected, voice strained. "That's a fuck it, burn it all down wish."

"Minho's going to destroy him," Felix whispered.

"Minho's already destroying him," Changbin pointed out. "He's just doing it politely."

"POLITELY?!"

Minho's eyes went dark.

Something shifted in his expression—something dangerous, something that made Seungmin's stomach flip with equal parts terror and want.

"Alright." Minho's voice was low. Controlled. The calm before a hurricane. "You want to be loud? Let's be loud."

He pulled out.

Seungmin made a sound of protest—empty, gaping, clenching around nothing—but Minho was already moving. Strong hands gripped Seungmin's hips, flipping him onto his back with zero effort. Then those hands hooked under Seungmin's knees, pushing up, spreading wide—

"Holy shit," someone breathed through the Discord mic.

Seungmin's legs were split apart like Moses parted the Red Sea. Ankles nearly touching the headboard on either side, thighs stretched impossibly wide, hole exposed and dripping lube. Every inch of him on display.

"Minho—" Seungmin's voice cracked. "This is—you can't—"

"I can." Minho settled between those spread thighs, cock nudging against Seungmin's entrance. "I am."

He pushed in. Again.

The angle was devastating. Deeper than before, impossibly deep, hitting that spot inside Seungmin with surgical precision. Seungmin's back arched off the bed, a broken moan ripping from his throat—

And this time, Minho didn't gag him.

"Loud," Minho commanded, pulling back and slamming home. "You wanted loud. Give it to me."

"HEY, WHO THE FUCK IS BEATING THEIR MEAT?!" Jisung screeched.

A pause.

"Sorry, my bad." Hyunjin's voice was breathy. Too breathy.

"CHANGBIN, GO TEND TO HYUNJIN," Felix ordered.

"Wait—" Changbin's chair creaked. "I wanna record this for future blackmail."

"You're just gonna open up an OnlyFans with their voice audios, aren't you?" Chan asked, exhausted.

A beat of silence.

"…Damn, why do you have to ruin the fun." Changbin sounded genuinely disappointed.

"BECAUSE WE'RE IN A DISCORD CALL WITH TWENTY-SIX THOUSAND PEOPLE," Jeongin shouted.

"Twenty-eight thousand now," Jisung corrected, eyes manic. "Chat's going feral."

Minho fucked like he cooked—precise, relentless, and absolutely ruining Seungmin's composure.

Each thrust drove the air from Seungmin's lungs. His legs trembled in Minho's grip, thighs burning from the stretch, but Minho held him open like it was nothing. Like splitting Seungmin in half was just another Tuesday.

"Minho—ah—fuck—right there—"

"Right here?" Minho adjusted the angle, grinding against Seungmin's prostate. "Like this?"

"You—shit—you know exactly—"

"I know exactly." Minho's hips snapped forward, brutal. "I've watched and heard you through these walls for months, Seungmin-ah. Watched you come home tired. Watched you make dinner alone. Watched you touch yourself thinking I couldn't hear."

Seungmin's hands flew up, grabbing the headboard, knuckles white.

"I heard every time." Minho's pace increased, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing through the room—wet, obscene, unmistakable. "Every time you said my name."

"I didn't—"

"You did." Minho leaned down, folding Seungmin further in half, his lips brushing Seungmin's ear. "You said Minho-hyung every time you came. Like a prayer."

Seungmin sobbed.

"Good boy," Minho murmured. "Let them hear."

The rhythm was punishing now. Minho drove into Seungmin like he was trying to breach spawn, each thrust a headshot, each grind a clutch play.

"Minho—fuck—you're so deep—"

"Deeper than your agent pick, and you still couldn't hit anything."

A laugh bubbled out of Seungmin—hysterical, broken. "You're—ah—still mad about the friendly fire—"

"I'm mad about every time you've shot me in the back." Minho's hand wrapped around Seungmin's throat. Not squeezing. Just holding. A reminder. "In game. Out of game. Every time you open that bratty mouth."

"Maybe you should—shit—mute me then—"

"Maybe I should make you mute."

Minho shifted again, hiking Seungmin's hips higher, and the new angle made Seungmin see stars. His cock jerked between their bodies, leaking precum onto his stomach.

"Close," Seungmin gasped. "Minho, I'm—"

"Not yet." Minho's grip tightened on his throat. "You don't get to come until I say. That's how this works. That's the penalty for team damage."

"You can't just—fuck—implement game mechanics in bed—"

"I can and I am." Minho's thrusts grew harder, more erratic. "You've been griefing me for months, Seungmin. Time for your ban."

"He's implementing GAME MECHANICS?!" Felix wheezed.

"That's the most gamer thing I've ever heard," Changbin said, still audibly recording. "And I once watched Jisung try to seduce someone with Minecraft pickup lines."

"They worked," Jisung muttered.

"They did NOT work—"

"SHUT UP, THEY'RE APPROACHING CLUTCH ROUND," Hyunjin hissed.

Through the mic, they heard it—Seungmin's desperate, wrecked voice.

"Minho—please—let me come—please—"

And Minho's response, low and commanding:

"Say my name."

Seungmin was shaking.

Every nerve ending on fire, every thrust pushing him closer to the edge, held back only by Minho's command. His cock throbbed, neglected and desperate, smearing precum across his stomach.

"Say it," Minho repeated, pace brutal. "Say my name like you do when you're alone. When you think I can't hear."

"Minho—"

"Properly."

"Minho-hyung—" The word broke apart on a sob. "Minho-hyung, please—"

Minho's hand released Seungmin's throat and wrapped around his cock instead, stroking once, twice—

"Come."

Seungmin shattered.

His whole body seized, back arching off the bed as he came harder than he ever had in his life. Ropes of cum shot across his stomach, his chest, even reaching his chin. His hole clenched around Minho like a vice, spasming through the orgasm.

Minho followed two thrusts later, burying himself deep and groaning as he filled Seungmin up. The sound he made was guttural, primal—satisfied.

They stayed like that for a moment. Breathing. Trembling.

Then Minho pulled out, and Seungmin felt the obscene trickle of cum dripping from his gaping hole.

Silence.

Absolute, deafening silence across the Discord call.

Then—

"Thirty-two thousand viewers," Jisung whispered. "We hit thirty-two thousand viewers."

"I have enough audio for a three-part series," Changbin added.

"I hate every single one of you," Jeongin announced. "I'm going to become a monk."

"Hyunjin, put your dick away," Chan said tiredly.

"Give me a minute."

"CHANGBIN, I SAID TEND TO HIM—"

"I'm multitasking—"

"You can do that now?!"

Through the mic, they heard shuffling. The sound of Minho collapsing next to Seungmin on the bed. Heavy breathing.

"Same time next week?"

Seungmin's laugh was hoarse. Wrecked. Happy.

"If you can keep up, old man."

"I just split you in half."

"And I let you."

A pause.

"Brat."

"Asshole."

"...Round two?"

"Give me five minutes."

"Three."

"Five, Minho."

"Four."

"...Fine. Four."

"MY NEIGHBOURS FUCKED ON STREAM! [NOT CLICKBAIT] [I GOT DEMONETIZED]"

"Is it really worth uploading that on YouTube?" Chan glances over Jisung, who's already got a shit-eating grin plastered.

"Eh. Gotta get the algorithm one way or another,"