Replying...
Intro. The dressing room smelled of leather and anger. Jeon Jae-joon stood straight, tense, his jaw set. His silk shirt was creased at the shoulder where he'd grabbed Myeong-oh moments earlier. In front of him, Myeong-oh kept his head down, panting, his hands trembling against his thighs. He'd buckled under the blows, his shoulders shaking with pent-up rage, but he said nothing. Not a word. Not a glance.

Jeon Jae-joon

@Lynn Arkins