Callen leaned closer into the doorway, his grin spreading, his hand lifting as though he might nudge past Yu.
"C'mon, don't be like that. You hiding secrets in there?"
His voice dropped, husky with suggestion.
"Or are you just waiting for me to come in and—"
Yu didn't let him finish. His palm darted forward, pressing firmly against Callen's chest—not hard, but precisely where the blond's muscles still ached from yesterday. Callen buckled with a groan, nearly doubling over.
"Augh—!"
His hand slapped against the doorframe to steady himself, his grin breaking into a pained grimace.
"Y-You're cruel, you know that?"
He wheezed, eyes narrowing up at Yu.
"How the hell are you walking around fine after our fuck session?"
The slip of his tongue hung heavy between them. Whether he'd meant to say French or whether the word had betrayed his true thoughts, neither could be certain.
Yu only rolled his eyes, masking the flare of panic still coursing under his skin.
"Maybe next time you won't pass out on the couch like a rookie."
That single word—next—was all Callen heard. His grimace shifted instantly back into a gleeful grin, his green eyes sparking as hope reignited. He straightened slowly, shoulders rolling back as if he hadn't just crumpled under Yu's touch.
"Next time, huh?"
He echoed, his voice low and satisfied, almost purring.
Yu gave him a flat look, already turning away and heading towards the stairs.
"Don't read into it."
But Callen didn't hear that either. He followed close behind as Yu started down the hall, practically humming with renewed energy.
They walked side by side toward the kitchen. Yu began reheating last night's dinner for their lunch. After the news he just got, he didn't feel like trying so hard.
Callen's grin never wavered, convinced he'd won some promise of another night. Yu, meanwhile, stole one last glance back at the staircase, towards his closed bathroom door—its shadow heavy with the hidden tests shoved inside the laundry bin.
For a heartbeat, his expression faltered—torn, unreadable. Then, with a quiet exhale, he continued taking out the food from containers, sealing the secret away in the back of his mind for now.
---
After lunch, Yu moved about the space like nothing was amiss—collecting plates, wiping counters, stacking pans in neat rows. The domestic rhythm steadied him, even as Callen leaned against the counter with that ever-present grin, his arms folded, green eyes tracking every step Yu made.
"So…"
Callen drawled, tapping his fingers against the marble.
"You really mean it—next time?"
Yu didn't so much as flinch.
"I meant what I said about not sleeping on the couch. That's all."
He rinsed a plate and set it in the rack.
Callen tilted his head, his grin curving wider.
"Mmh, sure. Whatever you say."
His voice carried smug delight, but under it, a crack of nervous energy buzzed—like he was daring Yu to contradict him.
Yu dried his hands with a kitchen towel, ignoring the heat in Callen's stare.
"Anyway, I've got the day off. Once I'm finished here, I'll grab my notebook, and we can keep going with the French lessons."
That made Callen freeze. For one split second, the playboy mask slipped, replaced by a flicker of doubt that pinched his features. His grin faltered, his brows arched.
'French lesson? Again? So soon…'
His mind spun.
'Wait… Does he mean… lessons, or lessons?'
Because Callen's body, still aching from yesterday, screamed in protest at the idea of another go around so soon. He wasn't about to admit that, not when his pride was on the line.
"Right. French lessons…"
He echoed, forcing a lazy laugh as he pushed himself off the counter.
"Guess I can… teach you a thing or two more than last time."
His hand scrubbed at the back of his neck.
"Just… hope you can keep up."
Yu, oblivious to the storm whirling in Callen's head, disappeared up the stairs. Moments later he returned, notebook tucked under one arm, a pen between his fingers, expression set with calm determination. He slid into his chair at the dining table and flipped open to a fresh page.
"Alright."
Yu said seriously, meeting Callen's gaze.
"Let's continue with the basics."
Callen dropped into the chair across from him, hiding the faint tremor in his hands beneath the table. He smirked, trying to reclaim his usual ease, but inside his pride crumbled. Yesterday had nearly destroyed him. And if Yu really meant to push him that way again…
He wasn't sure if he could keep up.
But he'd be damned before he admitted it.
Yu smoothed the page of his notebook flat, pen poised, eyes bright with focus.
"Okay. Ready."
Callen lounged in his chair with a lazy grin, leaning his chin against his fist.
"Alright. comment vas-tu —means how are you?"
Yu repeated softly.
"Comment vas-tu?"
His pen scratched neatly across the page.
"Good."
Callen smirked.
"Now, bonsoir. That's what I'd whisper to you in the evening… if we were alone."
Yu didn't even look up, only muttered.
"Bonsoir."
and jotted it down.
"Next."
"Je t'aime."
Callen said smoothly, his green eyes glinting.
"That one's important. Means 'I love you.'"
Yu's pen hesitated mid-stroke.
"That seems a bit advanced for day two."
"Hey, you'll need it…"
Callen's grin sharpened.
"Maybe sooner than you think."
Yu only hummed in acknowledgment, adding it to the page with tidy lettering.
For the next hour, the rhythm held—Yu bent seriously over his notes, repeating each word with care, Callen weaving double meanings into his translations.
"Tu me manques… means 'I miss you.' Like, right now."
"Viens ici… 'Come here.'"
He leaned forward when he said it, testing.
"Mon chéri… 'my darling.' You'd look good saying that one."
Each time, Yu scribbled the phrase down, expression cool but unfazed. Each time, Callen's chest tightened a little more, his reckless pride forcing him to keep trying.
But the clock ticked. Hours passed. And Yu never once slid the notebook aside or shifted the "lesson" into something heated.
Callen's body betrayed him anyway—his muscles ached, his pulse quickened, desire stirring even through his exhaustion. He clenched his jaw, refusing to show how drained he still was. When Yu finally leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen against his lip, Yu caught it:
The faintest trace of disappointment sliding into Callen's expression. His hazel eyes gleamed mischievously as he tilted his head.
"You look tired, Callen."
Callen scoffed, straightening in his seat.
"I'm fine."
"You should rest up…"
Yu teased, lips curling in a smirk.
"Before thinking about anything else."
For the first time in years, Callen had no comeback. His smirk faltered, just a flicker. And Yu chuckled, returning to reviewing his notes, leaving Callen to stew in equal parts frustration, hunger, and a reluctant admiration for how thoroughly he'd been disarmed.
Callen's smirk slinked back into place as Yu shifted focus off him.
'Rest up, huh?'
If Yu thought he could brush him aside so easily, he was mistaken.
The golden-haired playboy leaned sideways, letting his arm slide across the table inch by inch until his fingers nearly grazed Yu's knuckles where they rested over the notebook. He imagined it—catching Yu's hand, lacing their fingers, pulling Yu's attention back to him instead of those damned French words.
But before he could lock the moment, Yu pinched his forearm. Not cruelly—just sharp enough. The already sore, overused muscles from the other night screamed under the sudden pressure.
"Ah—!"
Callen gasped, his cocky grin snapping into a grimace as his arm buckled. He nearly fell from his chair, clutching at his arm like an injured soldier, eyes wide with shock.
Yu didn't even glance up. He hummed softly under his breath, pen gliding across the page as he repeated.
"Viens ici, mon chéri."
His tone was smooth, utterly focused, as though Callen's flailing didn't even exist.
The dismissal was crushing. Callen froze, chest rising and falling, staring at Yu's calm profile framed by the fall of long dark brown hair.
'He did that on purpose. He's playing me…'
For the first time in a long time, Callen Wright felt small. Weak. Outplayed.
And yet, as the ache in his arm throbbed, so too did something else—a hunger, a wild challenge sparking in his veins. He bit down on his cheek, forcing his expression back into something nonchalant, though his pride burned.
'Fine, Yuvin…'
He thought, flexing his sore muscles.
'You want me to rest? I'll rest. I'll get stronger. And next time… next time you won't be able to shove me off so easily. I'll make you melt again, but I'll last. No. I'll outlast.'
Yu's soft hum filled the silence between them, his hand still scribbling neat French words and phrases. And Callen, smoldering in silence, quietly began plotting not just how to keep up with Yu next time—but how to dominate him completely.
---
The apartment was warm with the faint scent of herbs and butter clinging to the air when Adrian stepped through the door. Callen was exactly where Adrian expected him to be—half-sprawled across the couch with his phone in one hand, muttering under his breath as his thumbs flew across the screen. Every so often, the words—
"Stamina training regimen…"
or
"Increase endurance…"
—slipped from his lips, his brows furrowed in determined concentration.
But Adrian's attention didn't linger there.
From the kitchen, Yu emerged with an apron still tied around his waist, sleeves rolled neatly up, his long hair brushing his shoulders as he dried his hands. His energy had a softer edge now, slowed from the day's lessons, but the domestic rhythm still radiated from him.
"Welcome home."
Yu said gently, voice touched with the same warmth that always startled Adrian in its simplicity. He reached for Adrian's briefcase without hesitation, fingers brushing against his as he pulled it from his grip, then his coat, hung precisely on the coat rack. The practiced smoothness made it feel like ritual.
As Adrian bent slightly, Yu's deft hands rose to his tie, loosening the knot at his throat. The intimate act carried no hesitation—it was muscle memory for Yu, something he did without thinking.
But Adrian thought about it. He thought about it every time.
Before Yu could step back, Adrian's larger hand caught both of Yu's, still tangled in the loosened tie. The air stilled, and for a breath the distance between them seemed too fragile, too close to collapsing everything.
Yu blinked, startled by the pause, his lips parting as if to ask a question.
Adrian only softened his gaze, letting the edges of his usual stoic composure slip. His thumb brushed the ridge of Yu's knuckles, deliberate but tender.
"...Thank you."
He murmured, the words carrying weight far beyond the simple act. His voice was low, softened, almost vulnerable.
For a beat too long, it felt like he might not let go.
Then, with a faint incline of his head, he released Yu's hands and walked to the stairs—toward his bedroom—tie hanging loosely, his coatless shoulders broad and sharp in the dim light.
Yu stood there a moment longer, staring at his own hands as if they'd been burned, tingling from the soft brush of warmth against his skin.
It had been such a small thing, a fleeting brush of gratitude—but it clung to him, heavy and warm. His chest tightened unexpectedly, as though someone had plucked an old, half-forgotten string deep inside him.
'Why does it feel… familiar?'
The thought came unbidden, sharp enough to sting. He didn't know why, couldn't place it, but something about the weight of Adrian's touch, the sincerity in his eyes, echoed something that felt like… Taichi.
Yu's heart gave a dull throb. The stinging ache nearly unraveled him before DK01's cool voice snapped faintly in his head.
[Focus, host. Do not chase after ghosts you cannot remember.]
He swallowed hard, pushing the ache down like a stone into water. He turned briskly back to the kitchen, busied his hands with plates and cutlery. The clatter and weight of porcelain steadied him.
By the time Adrian returned, freshly washed and composed in his casual clothes, Yu was already setting the table. Callen had dragged himself upright, his phone now abandoned, and was scooping generous portions of grains, fruit, and greens onto his plate with a soldier's determination, chewing as if preparing for battle.
Yu hummed under his breath as he served—soft and lilting, the faint tune of a French song, practice woven seamlessly into his daily rhythm. He moved easily, sliding Callen's plate closer, then Adrian's, before finally sitting with his own.
Callen didn't even glance up from his plate, face solemn, almost grim, as though leafy greens alone could rebuild the vitality he'd lost. His fork stabbed the food with nearly martial precision, and Yu had to bite back a laugh at how serious he looked when eating his food.
Meanwhile, Adrian's silence carried an entirely different weight. He ate in calm, deliberate motions, posture straight, eyes down. But his stillness only thickened the tension. His hunger wasn't only for the meal, and Yu could feel it—like a second pair of eyes tracing his every hum, every flick of hair, every delicate gesture of his hands.
The clink of silverware filled the space where words should have been.
Callen chewed with grim intensity, shoulders squared like a man preparing for combat. Grains. Greens. Lean meat. Fruit. Each bite was a vow. If his body had betrayed him once, it wouldn't happen again. Not when Yu—delicate, soft, utterly addictive Yu—was sitting across from him. He wouldn't lose face like that a second time. He pictured himself stronger, longer-lasting, imagined Yu panting and begging under him.
'Next time…'
He promised himself with every forkful.
'Next time, I won't stop until you can't walk.'
Yu, on the other hand, hummed lightly, spearing food into his mouth with a serene rhythm. His mind wandered far beyond the table.
Paris. Sketchbooks. Runways and stitches in the city of fashion. He thought of hiding the small swell that would come in a few months under thick coats, of balancing the mission with Joy and Izan, of Theo's tightening grip. And then, beneath that tangled web of planning, the thought of… snacks.
His eyes flicked briefly to Adrian, quiet and brooding across from him, and his lips quirked.
'Maybe a mid-mission indulgence. Just enough to keep me fed while Callen rebuilds his stamina and Theo stays complicated.'
He stabbed another bite of vegetables, as if that settled it.
Adrian, however, barely tasted his meal. He studied Yu in fragments:
The curve of his wrist as he lifted his fork, the fall of his hair across his cheek when he leaned down, the domestic hum like music only he was allowed to hear.
'This is mine.'
Adrian thought darkly.
'This warmth. This ritual. No one else deserves it. Callen can scheme. Theo can circle. But this—this home—is mine. And Yu will be mine too, in every way.'
He pictured Yu's lips parted in soft gasps, Yu's body arching against his tattoos, his marks claiming that porcelain skin. His appetite had nothing to do with the food.
Adrian continued to eat—simmering quietly, his desires dark and steady—every bite of food only underscoring the hunger curling low inside him.
The table felt tight, every unspoken thought pressing against the silence.
Finally, Callen broke it with a clap of his fork against the empty plate.
"That's it. Ice bath for me, or my legs are going to mutiny."
He rose, wobbling only slightly, and swept up a tray piled high with ice cubes before shuffling off down the hall like a wounded soldier.
Yu chuckled under his breath, shaking his head.
"He's ridiculous."
He murmured as he stacked the plates.
Adrian didn't answer. He only stood, steady and silent, and carried his plate into the kitchen. By the time Yu arrived with the rest, Adrian already had the faucet running, water steaming.
"I'll help."
He said simply, cuffing his sleeves up to his wrists before putting on the dishwashing gloves.
Yu blinked, unsettled by the sight of Adrian in his kitchen, shirt cuffs damp past the edge of fabric as he reached for a dish.
"You don't have to…"
Yu said softly, hands brushing Adrian's as he tried to take the plate.
"I want to."
The words landed heavy, weighted with something more than domestic duty.
The kitchen, decent in size and warm with the scent of food and soap, suddenly felt like a trap. Yu's pulse jumped as Adrian's hand lingered over his, as his shadow fell too close. The tension that had been simmering all dinner long thickened, reaching a breaking point in the hush of water and clattering plates.
Steam curled in the warm kitchen air, the sink a steady hush of water. Yu placed the final dish on the drying rack, patting his hands on the towel before glancing sideways at Adrian.
Adrian's gaze was already fixed on him—steady, unwavering, and far too close. Dishwashing gloves off and hung to dry. His sleeves were rolled high now—tattoos peeking from under his sleeve cuffs and veins standing out under the lamplight—and when Yu leaned back slightly, Adrian leaned forward, bracing one palm against the counter near Yu's hip. The air between them compressed.
"You do too much for us."
Adrian said lowly, voice like gravel smoothed by restraint.
"Cooking. Cleaning. Caring. Every evening you meet me at the door like I'm coming home to—"
He cut himself off, but his eyes didn't waver, darker now. Hungrier.
Yu froze for half a breath, towel twisting in his hands. DK01 hissed a warning in his head.
[This is a claim. He's making a claim. Host, get away from him!]
But Yu couldn't ignore the way Adrian's heat pressed into his space, how deliberate every word was.
Adrian reached up, slow, deliberate, and tucked a strand of Yu's long brown hair behind his ear. His fingers lingered against the curve of Yu's cheek, grazing soft skin before resting there, thumb brushing lightly.
"I don't want to share this anymore…"
Adrian murmured, the words hushed but final.
"I don't want to share you."
Yu's heart stuttered, the weight of the confession pinning him in place. He could have stepped back. He should have. Instead, he lifted his chin, hazel eyes locking with Adrian's as if daring him. The towel slipped from his hands to the floor with a faint thud.
Adrian's breath hitched. That look—unguarded, challenging, trembling on the edge of refusal and surrender—it was all the opening he needed. He tilted his head, lips brushing against Yu's in the faintest ghost of contact, testing, pressing the claim he'd already spoken aloud.
And Yu… didn't move away. His lashes lowered, his lips parted just enough, and he let the silence between them stretch, let Adrian's restraint fray. He had taken the bait, whether he meant to or not.
The moment Yu didn't pull away, Adrian snapped.
His lips crashed back down, harder against Yu's—hot, desperate, unrestrained. One hand tangled in Yu's long brown hair, the other fumbling at his waist before finding the small of his back and yanking him flush against his chest. The sound of the fridge's low hum, the faint drip of water from the faucet—everything else in the kitchen vanished beneath the heat of Adrian's kiss.
Yu gasped, the sudden force stealing his breath, and instinct—dark, long-slumbering Incubus instinct—flared awake inside him. It was as if his body had been waiting for this, humming like a taut string as he clung back, fingers curling into Adrian's shirt, dragging him closer still. His hips pressed forward before he even realized, a soft moan slipping free as Adrian deepened the kiss, tongue demanding, tasting.
Adrian groaned into Yu's mouth, his hunger too sharp, too long contained. He roamed hungrily—hands sliding up, down, fumbling as if he couldn't decide whether to claim Yu's hair, his waist, or the curve of his hip. Every time Yu tried to shift, Adrian only pulled tighter, greedier.
Yu's Incubus instincts coiled like fire in his blood, whispering to give in, to feed, to drown in this heat. His nails dug faint crescents into Adrian's chest as he arched closer, lips parting willingly for another searing kiss. For a moment, he forgot the danger, forgot the warnings.
Forgot everyone but Adrian.