Behind the Red Door

The bathroom reeked of cheap soap and beer, but under the red light dripping from the cracked bulb overhead, it felt like another world — one made only for secrets.

The door slammed shut behind me before I could catch my breath. Jun was already there, back against the sink, eyes heavy, chest rising fast. The music outside was still pounding, muffled through the walls, but in here, it was only us.

“Dylan…” His voice was low, rough enough to scrape fire along my skin. He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

In two strides, his hands were at my waist, dragging me forward until I was caged between his body and the cold tile. The mirror above us reflected our shadows in broken streaks of red. His fingers slid beneath my top, hot against my skin, and my breath hitched.

I grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him down before I lost my nerve. The kiss hit hard — wet, fierce, desperate — like the night had been leading us here all along. His mouth moved against mine with hunger, with claim, and I opened for him without hesitation.

The sink creaked as he lifted me onto it, my thighs parting instinctively around his hips. The counter was icy under me, but all I felt was the heat of him pressing closer, closer, until there was no space left to breathe. His tongue slid against mine, slow then rough, and my hands fisted in his shirt, needing him even nearer.

When he broke the kiss, it was only to drag his lips down my throat, biting just enough to make me gasp. My head fell back against the mirror, and for a moment, I caught sight of myself — flushed, trembling, eyes shut — and his mouth on me, marking me redder than the light itself.

“Do you know what you do to me?” he whispered against my skin, his breath hot, his grip unyielding.

I didn’t answer. I only pulled him back to my lips, drowning the words in another kiss, because in that bathroom, under the red glow, there was nothing else — only Jun, only heat, only the wild, reckless burn of being his.