Mingyu watched Lee Chang in return, lips thinning in displeasure, discomfort. He, too, felt drawn to Lee Chang in ways he could not fully comprehend, ways he could not stem or control, and that set him on edge. There was a wrongness to it, the way Lee Chang disarmed him, drew him in. The man reminded him too much of himself. The inherent loneliness, the apparent self-loathing. Lee Chang was him but by all accounts a better man. Mingyu should feel revulsion, should resent his mere existence, and yet—

He found himself keeping Lee Chang close while wanting him even closer.

Unable to tear himself away, with no real reason to burn this bridge here in this place, all that was left was to see if Lee Chang was who he appeared. To look into the darkest corners of the man's heart, see the truth of him. Perhaps the act of it would repulse Lee Chang enough to walk away so Mingyu would not have to, or Mingyu would see some unpalatable truth and be able to leave this behind.

So he slid his hand over Lee Chang's torso, delved past his robes, until his palm rested against bare skin.

"You just might regret that," he warned.