Running to You | Park Han + JL + Steven | Haneulz + Stejay AU

Chapter 77: Shoot Me

It should be said, first and foremost, that JL had no idea how he was still standing.

Scientifically, a body that had been thoroughly dismantled by one man and thoroughly kissed by another should have liquefied by now. Morally, he should have turned into mist. Emotionally, he was somewhere between a scream and a dying gurgle.

But biologically -- miraculously -- he was upright, dressed, and currently walking toward the set of a sportswear commercial like he hadn't just become the living embodiment of a love triangle meme with two terrifyingly hot angles.

Which was, of course, a lie.

His walk was steady in the same way a house of cards is steady: technically upright, but only because no one had sneezed and destroyed its flimsy facade.

He passed a mirror in the hallway. Paused. Stared.

"...Huh."

He looked like someone trying to cosplay a sane human being.

Zip-up athletic jacket (because Zhang Sportswear branding). Hair styled (because cameras). Eyes... well.

Eyes like someone who had slept next to a man who whispered mine into his soul and then got up for pancakes.

He kept walking.

Somewhere behind him, Woongki cackled with the kind of glee that made JL worry about what rumors were already being drafted for social media. A thirst trap meme was probably already in progress, and he was the subject.

JL's legs moved without consulting him.

His brain was busy rewatching the past few nights in high-definition, complete with surround sound, closed captions, and the sudden realization that he may have, in fact, cried during sex. Just a little. One of those quiet, involuntary tears Steven had kissed away like he knew exactly what to do with it.

And Han.

Han had stood in a kitchen drying spoons like they'd wronged him in a past life. He'd made direct eye contact with Steven and declared psychological war using nothing but dish soap, hot water, and unshakeable self-confidence.

All of which was deeply distressing to JL's mental equilibrium. And his cardiovascular system.

JL stopped walking. Put his hands on his knees. Took one long breath.

"This is fine," he said to the floor.

The floor didn't respond.

At the far end, the set lights were coming on. Someone was yelling about camera angles. Someone else was holding a clipboard like it was a high-stakes hostage negotiation.

This was a commercial shoot, after all. There were abs to feature. Sweat to glisten. Groins to outline tastefully under very expensive lighting. The internet was waiting.

And JL... JL was supposed to jog onto a beach in tight spandex and a smile.

"Fantastic," he muttered, standing up straight.

He walked onto the set.

It is a widely known but rarely discussed fact that nothing prepares you for seeing someone you've recently kissed -- or been emotionally and physically obliterated by -- in a branded speedo.

JL had barely made it onto the sand before the consequences of his life hit him.

The first thing he saw was Han.

Or rather, Han's presence. Because Han didn't just stand, he loomed, like a hot vampire who read Nietzsche and punched walls.

He was shirtless, porcelain, and perfect. His skin caught the light like marble. The black Zhang speedo wasn't just tight. It molded like a second skin... to everything.