Chapter 84
The after-party was a jarring, sensory overload , a contrast from the structured perfection of the stadium to the raw, unbridled relief of a tour's end. The venue was a high-end, underground lounge in the heart of Hong Kong's Central District, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of expensive baijiu, roasted meats, and the metallic tang of lingering adrenaline.Staff members, from the lighting techs to the wardrobe assistants, were finally letting loose after months of high pressure. They toasted with boisterous shouts, their faces flushed with the heat of the room and the freedom of a completed contract. Their voices clashed against the heavy bass of a local playlist that vibrated through the floorboards.
In the center of this swirling vortex of celebration, Haru sat with Raiven. Mr. Kim, ever the silent guardian and a staunch non-drinker, had declined the invitation, likely preferring the sterile silence of his own room .It left the two of them in a strange, public intimacy. They sat on opposite sides of a low, mahogany table, nursing their drinks with a discipline that felt increasingly difficult to maintain. Haru took small, methodical sips of a crisp gin-and-tonic, the ice clinking against the glass as he watched the room with the quiet, observant eye of a man who had seen a thousand such parties.
The atmosphere shifted when a group of high-profile guests arrived. Among them was a woman who seemed to occupy the center of every room she entered. She was a Chinese B-list singer, a petite and elegant force of nature named Mei-Ling. She was the kind of talent that transcended expectation, possessing a porcelain-doll beauty and a voice that was currently topping charts across chinese platforms and her name getting more widespread in households.
She sat next to Raiven with a familiarity that made the ice in Haru's glass feel suddenly, painfully cold. Haru watched, his gaze hooded and steady, as they slipped into a comfortable, rapid-fire conversation in a mix of English and Mandarin. She was stunning- her skin had the luster of fine silk, and her movements were a masterclass in understated grace.
Then, Haru saw it.
Under the low, amber glow of the table's light, Mei-Ling's hand shifted. It disappeared beneath the edge of the table, moving with a subtle, practiced ease. She continued to smile innocently at the person across from her, her laughter like silver bells, but her body was angled toward Raiven in a way that left little to the imagination.
Haru felt a sudden, sharp spike of heat in his chest - a primitive, jagged emotion .When Raiven happened to look up, his dark eyes seeking Haru's across the table, Haru didn't offer a supportive smile. He looked away instantly, his jaw tightening as he stared at a flickering neon sign on the far wall.
Unable to sit in the suffocating silence of his own thoughts, Haru finally decided to engage. He knew he was being childish but he wanted to scope her out. He leaned forward, striking up a conversation with Mei-Ling, his voice a smooth, polite silk that masked the storm brewing beneath.
To his utter agitation, she was delightful. She spoke about a collaboration they had done a year prior, describing how Raiven had been instrumental in producing one of her most complex tracks, a balland that received praise from industry critics. She was humble, intelligent, and genuinely kind, answering Haru's questions with a warmth that made it impossible to hold a grudge. It was infuriating. It's easy to hate a villain; it's a special kind of torture to feel threatened by a saint.
The tension reached a breaking point when Raiven leaned in close, whispering something directly into Mei-Ling's ear. She nodded with a knowing, conspiratorial smile. A few minutes later, she stood up, excusing herself politely, and walked toward the exit. Without a word of explanation, Raiven stood and followed her out into the humid Hong Kong night.
Haru's eyes trailed them until the heavy doors swung shut. The silence at the table felt deafening. He looked to his side and caught Ash staring at him, his expression unreadable. For a split second, their eyes locked, an acknowledgement of the shared, uncomfortable observation, before Ash looked away, his jaw set in a hard line.
Haru grabbed a shot of dark liquor from the tray in the center of the table and downed it in one fluid, aggressive motion.
"Take it slow, tiger," Se-hee snickered from beside him, her vlog camera nowhere to be seen. She was busy engaging in conversation with Hae-rin and other staff on the table behind them. The laughter from the table filling the restaurant occasionally.
Haru didn't answer. He just stared at the door. When Raiven and Mei-Ling finally returned nearly twenty minutes later, the girl offered a polite, sweeping goodbye to the group. Raiven sat back down, his demeanor calm, seemingly oblivious to the storm brewing in the man sitting opposite him.
When the party finally began to wind down, the group moved toward the exit like a wounded army. Hae-rin was swaying, her composure finally undone by several glasses of rice wine. Despite Raiven's insistence that he could help, Haru hoisted a semi-conscious Hae-rin toward the taxi. He moved with a cold, efficient strength, his movements stiff. He and Raiven tucked her into her bed at the hotel, the silence between them becoming a third person in the room. Se-hee had already vanished into her own suite, claimed by total exhaustion.
The walk to their room was silent. Haru didn't look at Raiven, his gaze fixed on the geometric patterns of the hotel carpet. The moment the keycard clicked and the door swung open, Haru moved with a sudden, decisive speed. Before Raiven could even draw utter a word, Haru vanished into the bathroom.
Click.
Raiven stood in the middle of the room, his hand half-extended, staring at the locked door. He let out a long, weary sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. He tried the handle, but it remained firm he had locked the bathroom from the inside.
"Haru?" he called out. "Are you okay?"
No response came through the frosted glass apart from the sound of the shower turning on. Raiven waited for a moment, the silence of the room amplifying the fatigue in his bones. Finally, he gave up, sinking into the velvet armchair beside the bed. He pulled out his phone, scrolling through messages, but his eyes kept drifting back to the bathroom door.
Inside, Haru stood under the spray of the shower, leaning his head against the cold tile. He knew he was being childish. He knew he was being petty. The logical part of his brain was screaming at him that be was being irrational. But his heart was filled with fear of a person who had finally found something worth losing, was acting out of pure, unadulterated spite. He stayed under the water until his skin was pink, deliberately taking his time.
He finished his shower quickly and stepped out, wrapped in a towel. Raiven was waiting for him, perched on the edge of the bed now. As Haru moved toward his bag to pick out something comfortable , he could feel Raiven's eyes tracking every movement - heavy, questioning, and slightly amused.
Raiven stood up and walked toward him, stopping just inches away. He crouched down in front of Haru, looking up at him with an expression that was entirely too knowing.
"What?" Haru snapped.
"You're angry," Raiven stated. There was a faint, annoying trace of amusement in his voice. To Raiven, the sight of the usually composed Haru acting like a wounded kitten was ... cute.
Haru let out a jagged sigh and stepped away, pulling on a pair of boxers with aggressive haste. He ignored the way Raiven's gaze lingered on his skin. Without a word, he turned toward the bed, ready to bury himself under the covers and end the day. He was halfway across the room when he felt strong, warm hands wrap around his waist from behind, pulling him back against a solid chest.
"Tell me," Raiven whispered into his ear. The heat of his breath sent a treacherous shiver down Haru's spine.
"I am not angry," Haru lied, his voice sounding thin even to his own ears. He tried to pry Raiven's fingers off him, but the grip only tightened, pulling him deeper into the embrace.
"Are you jealous?" Raiven whispered again.
Haru went still. The word hung in the air like a challenge.
Raiven let out a low, vibrating chuckle against Haru's back, a sound of pure triumph.
"I am not..." The response was weak, devoid of its usual conviction.
"She is just a friend, Haru," Raiven said, his voice softening as he turned Haru around to face him. He kept his hands on Haru's hips, locking him into his space.
"What kind of friend flirts so openly?" Haru challenged, the words bursting out before he could stop them.
Raiven chuckled again, though this time it held a note of genuine affection. "She is very handsy, I'll give you that. It's her personality. But we went outside because she's helping me with a business venture I want to start - something outside of the agency. She has connections in the Hong Kong investment scene that I need. It's strictly business, Haru."
He leaned in, giving Haru a quick, tender peck on the lips.
Haru stood immobilized. The mention of the business venture and the desire for independence hit him. It was exactly what Sunghoon would have done. He felt the anger begin to drain away, replaced by a lingering, stubborn pout.
"I still don't like it," he confessed, his voice small. It was a rare admission. It was a rare admission. In his past life, Sunghoon had always been the one to choose trust, finding jealousy to be an exhausting, low-frequency emotion. But in this body, with this man, the stakes felt different.
Raiven looked up at him, his expression turning profoundly tender. He captured Haru's lips in a slow, deep kiss that tasted of lingering wine and the absolute promise of loyalty. He broke the kiss only to lead Haru toward the bed, their movements slow and synchronized.
Raiven hovered over him, his long, blue-tinted hair creating a curtain that walled them off from the rest of the world. He brushed Haru's hair back, his eyes mesmerized.
"So," Raiven whispered, his mouth moving toward the sensitive skin of Haru's neck. "Where is my present?"
""Aren't you tired?" Haru asked, his hands coming up to push at Raiven's shoulders, though his heart wasn't in the rejection. "I'll give it to you tomorrow. You've had a long day."
Raiven stopped, looking up at him with the expression of a wounded animal. "Tomorrow? You have a kink for torturing me?"
"Go freshen up," Haru scolded, though the edge was gone from his voice. "You smell like a dozen different perfumes and hairspray. I'm not letting you into this bed like that."
Raiven let out a bright, unrestrained chuckle, the sound echoing in the quiet suite. He leaned down, stole one more biting kiss from Haru's lips before rolling off the bed.
As the sound of the shower started up again, Haru lay back against the pillows, his chest heaving. He looked at the ceiling, a small, tired smile playing on his lips.