DARE

The student council room had emptied out half an hour ago, but the tension lingering within its four walls felt thick enough to choke on.

For three straight days, JJ had been living in a private, suffocating purgatory.

It had all started over something ridiculously mundane—an argument about budget allocations for the upcoming campus festival that had devolved, as their interactions inevitably did, into petty bickering. JJ, exasperated by Net’s unrelenting, sharp-witted teasing, had thrown out a reckless dare. A joke, pure and simple.

“If you’re so desperate to prove me wrong, insult yourself right now. Call yourself an idiot who doesn’t know what he’s doing, and I’ll tell everyone you’re my boyfriend.”

JJ had expected Net to scoff. He had expected Net to roll his dark, elegant eyes, deliver some haughty theatrical retort, and drop the subject. Because Siraphop Manithikhun had an ego crafted out of polished marble. Because they were supposed to be rivals who balanced each other out through spite and stubbornness.

Instead, Net hadn’t even blinked.

“I’m an idiot who doesn’t know what he’s doing,” Net had said instantly, his voice smooth, clear, and without a single trace of hesitation. And before JJ’s jaw could even hit the floor, Net had leaned in, eyes locked onto JJ’s with devastating focus, and repeated it: “I’m completely helpless, President. Now keep your promise.”

The council members—Keng, Namping, Ohm, Latte, and Kim—had gone dead silent. Keng had hidden a knowing smirk behind his clipboard; Namping had exchanged a wide-eyed, ecstatic glance with Latte; and Ohm had simply whistled under his breath. They all knew. They had known for months, perhaps years, that Net’s incessant needling was nothing more than an elaborate, desperate attempt to capture JJ’s undivided attention.

The only person who hadn't realized it was JJ.

And now, JJ couldn’t stop thinking about it. He couldn’t sleep without hearing the low, velvety timbre of Net’s voice murmuring that self-deprecating surrender. It made JJ’s stomach flip in ways that were terrifying, thrilling, and utterly unacceptable. He wasn't supposed to find his vice president attractive. He wasn't supposed to crave the warmth of Net’s gaze during administrative meetings, or wonder how those sculptured lips would feel pressed against his own.

Which was precisely why JJ had resolved to kill it tonight.

Standing by the long conference table, JJ aggressively shuffled a stack of project proposals, trying to make enough noise to fill the silence. Across the room, Net was casually packing his leather messenger bag, looking infuriatingly composed in his pressed linen shirt and tailored slacks. The theatrical elegance Net carried into everyday life was sickening.

"Hey," JJ started, aiming for an airy, dismissive chuckle that sounded brittle even to his own ears.

Net didn’t rush. He slowly zipped his bag, hoisted the strap over his broad shoulder, and turned to look at JJ. "Yes, Mr. President?"

JJ swallowed the lump in his throat and gestured vaguely between them with a pen. "Look, about the other day. That whole stupid dare thing. The... boyfriend comment."

Net’s posture remained unreadable, but his dark eyes sharpened, catching the dim fluorescent light. "What about it?"

"We need to drop it," JJ said, forcing a cheerful smile as he leaned back against the edge of the conference table, crossing his ankles to look relaxed. "It was funny, sure. You got a good reaction out of everyone. Very dramatic, very on-brand for a theatre major. But obviously, it was just a joke. We took the bit too far, and now Ohm and Latte keep making weird comments in the group chat. So let's just draw the line here, call it a draw, and move on."

Silence settled over the room.

JJ held his breath, waiting for the trademark smirk, the sarcastic comeback, or the dramatic bow.

Instead, Net simply stood there. Slowly, he unhooked his bag, setting it back down on a nearby chair. He didn't smile. The playful mask he wore so effortlessly in front of the council vanished, replaced by an intense, heavy gravity that rooted JJ to the spot.

"A joke?" Net asked quietly, his voice dropping into that resonant, stage-commanding register that always made people stop and listen.

"Yeah," JJ said, his voice tightening as his heart began to drum an erratic rhythm against his ribs. "A joke. You know... banter? What we always do."

Net didn't answer with words. He took a single, deliberate step forward.

JJ flinched slightly, gripping the edge of the wooden table behind him. "Net. What are you doing?"

Another step. Net moved with the fluid, deliberate grace of a hunter who had waited an eternity for his prey to walk into a corner. "You really think I spent months getting under your skin just for banter, JJ?"

"Net, stop playing around—"

"I’m not playing." Net closed the remaining distance in two long strides, stepping directly into JJ's personal space.

JJ tried to pull backward, but the edge of the sturdy conference table dug into his lower back, trapping him. He tried to sidestep, but Net planted a broad, warm hand flat against the table on JJ's right, effectively caging him in. The sheer proximity was dizzying; Net smelled faintly of sandalwood, rain, and clean cotton, a scent that flooded JJ's senses until he could barely think.

"Look at me," Net murmured, his tone devoid of mockery. It was soft, dangerous, and impossibly earnest.

JJ looked up, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Up close, Net’s features were striking—the sharp line of his jaw, the dark intensity of his gaze, the faint arch of his brows. "Net, seriously, back up. What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me is that I gave you an opening, and you’re trying to slam the door shut because you're terrified," Net said evenly. He reached up with his free hand, his long, slender fingers lightly brushing against JJ’s jawline.

JJ shivered violently at the contact, the warmth of Net’s skin sending a shockwave straight down his spine. "I'm not terrified of you."

"Not of me," Net corrected, tilting his head slightly as his thumb traced the delicate curve of JJ’s lower lip. "You’re terrified of what happens if you stop hiding behind your jokes. Do you honestly believe I swallowed my pride in front of the entire council just for laughs? Do you think I called myself an idiot because I care about winning some childish bet?"

JJ’s breath hitched. "You... you always want to win."

"I wanted you," Net countered fiercely, his voice dropping to a gravelly, intimate hush that made JJ’s knees feel weak. "I have wanted you for so long that watching you pretend not to see it was driving me insane. I took your stupid dare because it was the only way you’d ever utter the word 'boyfriend' in the same breath as my name."

JJ’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief. "Net..."

"It was never a joke, Radchapon," Net whispered, his eyes dipping down to JJ’s parted, trembling lips. "Not to me."

Before JJ could formulate a single defensive quip, before his brain could process the terrifying, exhilarating reality of the confession, Net leaned down and captured his mouth.

The impact stole the air straight from JJ’s lungs.

It wasn't a gentle, testing brush of lips. It was a hungry, possessive, desperate collision that shattered whatever fragile composure JJ had left. Net’s mouth was hot, firm, and demanding, slanting across JJ’s with the kind of practiced authority that made the world tilt on its axis.

JJ gasped in sheer shock, and Net instantly took ruthless advantage of the opening. Net’s tongue slipped past JJ’s lips, hot and slick, claiming the interior of his mouth with a slow, devastating sweep.

A choked sound tore from JJ’s throat, a strangled whimper that was swallowed entirely by Net’s relentless kiss. Net’s hand on the table moved, his fingers tangling roughly into JJ’s soft hair, gripping the strands just tightly enough to tilt JJ’s head back, exposing the pale, vulnerable column of his throat.

The angle deepened the kiss to an unbearable intensity. Net tasted like black coffee and sweet mint, dark and intoxicating. His tongue stroked against JJ’s in a rhythm that was deliberate, erotic, and utterly unyielding, coaxing a response out of JJ through sheer, overwhelming heat. Every brush of their tongues sent liquid fire racing through JJ’s veins, unspooling every defense, every excuse, every ounce of resistance he had spent months constructing.

JJ’s hands, which had flown up instinctively to push Net away, faltered. His palms flattened against Net’s chest, feeling the heavy, wild thudding of Net’s heart—beating just as violently, just as frantically as his own. The fabric of Net’s shirt bunched beneath JJ’s fingers. Instead of shoving him, JJ found his fists clenching, dragging Net closer.

Net let out a low, vibrating groan against JJ’s lips—a sound so raw and undone that it sent a sharp jolt straight to JJ’s core.

Emboldened by JJ’s surrender, Net pressed his entire body flush against JJ’s, trapping him completely between the heavy wood of the table and the unyielding warmth of his chest and hips. The friction was intoxicating. JJ could feel the hard line of Net’s thighs, the rigid tension in his frame, the sheer physical reality of how badly Net wanted him.

Net’s free arm slid firmly around JJ’s waist, hoisting him slightly upward until JJ was forced to part his legs, letting Net step between them. The intimacy was suffocatingly complete. Net sucked JJ’s lower lip into his mouth, biting down gently, just enough to elicit a sharp, shuddering gasp before soothing the sting with a deep, wet slide of his tongue.

JJ was completely unraveling. His hands slipped from Net’s chest to wrap tightly around Net’s broad shoulders, his fingers digging into the firm muscle beneath the linen. He kissed back with an answering ferocity that shocked even himself, parting his lips wider, meeting Net’s tongue with a messy, feverish urgency. Saliva slickened their lips, the quiet room filling with the wet, friction-filled sounds of their mouths moving together, punctuated by ragged, shallow breaths.

Every time JJ thought he had caught up to the rhythm, Net shifted the pace—sometimes bruising and demanding, other times slow and devastatingly thorough, tracing every ridge of the roof of JJ's mouth until JJ was trembling from head to toe, completely unmoored. Net kissed him as if he were memorizing him, as if he had rehearsed this scene a thousand times in the dark corners of his mind and was finally bringing it to life under the stage lights.

When Net finally, reluctantly broke the seal of their mouths, it was only by a fraction of an inch.

Both of them were panting, their chests heaving against one another, their breaths mingling in hot, ragged bursts. A thin trail of spit caught the dim light between their red, swollen lips before snapping. Net rested his forehead against JJ’s, his eyes half-lidded, dark with an intoxicating blend of lust, tenderness, and triumph.

JJ could barely keep his eyes open. His head was spinning, his lips tingling and aching in the most magnificent way, his entire body humming with an electric aftershock. His hands were still trembling against Net’s shoulders, his grip loose but refusing to let go.

"Tell me," Net rasped, his voice rough and breathless, his thumb lightly stroking over JJ’s flushed cheekbone. "Tell me that was a joke."

JJ swallowed, staring into the dark irises that held him captive. The teasing rival was gone. The polished vice president was gone. All that remained was Net—unmasked, sincere, and burning with a love that JJ had spent far too long pretending wasn't there.

"You're a menace," JJ whispered, but there was no bite to it. His voice was husky, cracked around the edges, stripped bare of all his usual deflection.

Net offered a faint, breathtakingly soft smile, his lips brushing against the corner of JJ’s mouth in a tender, lingering caress. "Only for you, President."

JJ closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting the warmth of Net’s presence wash over him, letting the stubborn walls he had built finally crumble into dust. When he opened them, the fear was still there, but beneath it was something entirely new: an exhilarating, undeniable truth.

"The council is never going to let us hear the end of this," JJ muttered, though a faint, helpless curve touched the corners of his lips.

Net chuckled, low and deep in his chest, his arms tightening around JJ’s waist to pull him closer still. "Let them talk. As long as you don't take it back."

"I won't," JJ admitted quietly, leaning his head forward until his forehead rested against the crook of Net’s neck, breathing in the scent that would now forever belong to him. "I'm not running anymore."

Net exhaled a long, shuddering breath, burying his face in JJ’s hair, holding him as if he had just won the only prize that had ever truly mattered. The game was over, the curtain had fallen, and for the first time in their lives, neither of them had to pretend.