Wooseok’s lips pressed shut.
He was at a loss for words.
After all, there were no words to even describe this batshit insane situation.
He had no idea what Wooheon needed to “check,” but there was no way this was normal.
Kang Wooheon—of all people—was voluntarily clinging to him?
“Hurry up. Hug me, and pat my back while you’re at it.”
“Fuck you, Wooheon.”
“Do it nicely.”
“I feel like throwing up, and you expect me to be gentle?”
For the first time in years, their conversation devolved into a childish squabble, just like when they were kids.
After some back-and-forth bickering, Wooseok finally let out a long-suffering sigh and patted Wooheon’s back.
‘I should probably talk to Dad about this.’
With an empty, soulless expression, Wooseok stared at the ceiling as he reluctantly embraced his oversized younger brother.
The living room was silent, save for Wooseok’s annoyed breathing.
Wooheon, still nestled against him, focused on the warmth—or rather, the lack of it.
