"Because...*" Jin began sharply.
Because he was the reason Jin's heart was still racing.
Because he'd marked him with that damn mark on his neck, the one that was still lingering just beneath his shirt.
Because he looked utterly infuriatingly perfect this morning while Jin had bed-head, messy clothes, and a flush in his cheeks that just wouldn't go away.
But he didn't say any of that.
Instead, he just scowled and muttered,* "…You're annoying."
And now Ming Ji was *laughing.*
A low, soft chuckle that made Jin want to simultaneously punch his smug face and kiss the hell out of him.
"You're just grumpy this morning," he said, still smiling.* "It's endearing, you know."
̶Jin's scowl deepened, his fingers twitching at his sides.
"*Endearing?* I'm not some pet or damsel, Ming Ji."
But the man only leaned closer—dangerously close—his voice dropping to that rough whisper Jin already knew was designed to wreck him.
"No," he murmured,* "You're *mine.* Which makes your little temper tantrum... cute."
Jin opened his mouth to argue—
when a sharp voice cut through the hallway like a blade.
**"Are we quite finished with morning flirtations?"**
Commander Veyra stood at the end of the corridor, arms crossed and eyes sharp as ice.
**"The mission doesn't wait because someone couldn't keep their hands off each other."**
Jin went beet red, his jaw snapping shut so fast he could've sworn he heard a *click*.
Damn Veyra.
Ming Ji, on the other hand, looked utterly unperturbed. He even had the audacity to smirk at Veyra.
"You have a habit of ruining the mood, Commander," he drawled.* "Anyone ever told you that?"
**Veyra's eyes narrowed, her lips pulling taut into a scowl. It was clear she was in no mood for Ming Ji's insolence this morning.**
**"I don't need your 'mood'. I need you to stop acting like horny teenagers and get your asses in the meeting room, or you can spend the day in the training room."**
She turned on her heel and strode off down the hall, likely to wake up any other stragglers herself.
There was a beat of silence.
Then…
Ming Ji let out a quiet bark of laughter.
Jin glared at him,* still bright red.
"Can you *not?* We're about to go in front of everyone—Esper Council, guides, Veyra—and you're laughing like we didn't just get caught being… being…"
"Affectionate?" Ming Ji offered,* clearly enjoying himself.
"*Shut up.*"
He started walking toward the hall, shoulders tense. But after a few steps, he realized Ming Ji wasn't following.
He turned back—only to find him leaning against the wall again,* that infuriating smirk back on his face.
"*What now?*" Jin snapped.
Ming Ji pushed off the wall and closed the distance in two long strides.
He stopped just an inch from Jin, close enough that his voice dropped into that low, rough tone again—
the one that made Jin's breath hitch.
"Just remembering," he murmured, eyes flickering down to his lips, "how *not* quiet you were last night."
Jin's face burned hotter than a fire spell.
"*You—!*"
But Ming Ji was already stepping past him, tossing over his shoulder with a grin:
"Relax. I'll behave… *during* the briefing."
̶Jin was torn between wanting to strangle him and wanting to kiss him.
He settled for glaring at the back of his head as they walked—side by side, but not touching.
Not that anyone would believe it, considering how *charged* the air still felt between them.
They turned the corner into the Hall of Echoes—a vast chamber lined with glowing sigils, where esper energy hummed in the air like a heartbeat.
The others were already gathered: guides in soft robes, Espers standing tall in their battle-ready gear. Some turned as they entered. A few exchanged knowing glances. One guide actually smirked behind her hand.
Jin wanted to vanish into a shadow and never come out.
Ming Ji?
He strode forward like he owned the place—calm, composed… and just a little too pleased with himself.
Jin tried to ignore the knowing glances and whispers, the heat still burning in his cheeks.
They took their place on a small dais alongside the other Espers, and Jin forced his shoulders straight and his expression neutral.
He had to act normal. He had to pretend his mind wasn't still in his bed—that he didn't still feel those lips and hands, the rough words in his ear, the mark on his—
He took a sharp breath.
He had to *get himself together.*
His eyes met Ming Ji on the other side of the dais. He was watching him. *Studying* him, more like. And damn it—
He could probably see the flush that still stained his cheeks. He could probably see every bit of his frustration, his memory of last night, and how he still hadn't quite recovered—
Ming Ji gave him a slight smile. The same damn smug smile from earlier.
*Bastard. He's enjoying this.*
Jin wanted to snap at him. He wanted to look away. He wanted to wipe that smile of his damn face and show him that he was perfectly fine, completely in control, not at all affected by the memories of last night.
But that would be a damn lie and he knew it.
Because he *was* affected.
He could still feel the ghost of those lips—hot and rough and demanding—all over his skin. The memory made him shiver. The mark on his neck was still sore.
Ming Ji's smile got bigger.
Jin ground his teeth, a fresh surge of irritation and *want* rising up in him.
The bastard knew *exactly* what he was doing.
He'd marked his body, branded him so that everyone would know Jin was *his—*
And now he was watching the effects it had like he was damn pleased with himself.
He hated that confident smirk.
*He wanted to kiss it right off his face.*
̶Jin's hands curled into fists at his sides.
He should be focusing on the mission, on the briefing, on *anything* but the man across from him who looked like he'd won a war just by existing.
But then Ming Ji tilted his head—just slightly—and mouthed three words:
***"Still thinking of me?"***
Jin's breath hitched.
*Damn him.*
Before he could respond—before he could even glare properly—
Commander Veyra stepped forward, her voice cutting through the chamber like a blade.
**"Enough."**
Her gaze swept over them both—sharp as steel, unimpressed as hell.
**"If you two are quite done with your silent war of hormones—we have an invasion to stop."**
A few snickers broke out. Jin wanted to sink into the floor and disappear forever.
Jin didn't even need to look at Ming Ji to see the cocky grin on his face.
He could practically feel his smugness radiating across the dais.
He tried to keep his head forwards, tried to focus on Commander Veyra's stern briefing, but his mind was racing—a confusing tangle of irritation, want, frustration, and the memory of warm lips, rough words, and his own needy gasp in that goddamn bed.