Chapter 2: Possession
The city lights sprawled below like spilled jewels, cold and distant. Up here on G’s penthouse terrace, the air was thick with the cloying sweetness of night-blooming jasmine, a scent Dunk usually loved. Tonight, it choked him. G’s fingers were vice-like on his waist, pressing him back against the chill metal railing. The sheer drop yawned behind him, a silent threat beneath the moonlit glitter.
"You keep looking for warmth in all the wrong places," G growled, his voice low, almost intimate, yet carrying an edge that scraped raw against Dunk’s nerves. The expensive whiskey on G’s breath did nothing to soften the words. "But I'm the only one who truly knows what you need."
Dunk flinched. The casual cruelty of G's words echoed the sting still fresh from the film set, the image of Joong walking past, oblivious or indifferent to his hopeful smile. That smile felt like ashes in his mouth now. He tried to twist free, a small, panicked movement. "G, come on. You’re drunk. Let go."
G’s grip only tightened, his other hand coming up to trap Dunk’s wrist against the railing. His thumb pressed into the delicate bones. "Am I? Or are you just refusing to see what's obvious?" He leaned in closer. The city lights reflected sharply in his dark eyes. "Joong? Really, Dunk? That brooding iceberg? He wouldn’t recognize genuine affection if it bit him. You’re wasting your light on someone determined to live in the dark." His gaze raked over Dunk’s face. "And you looked so desperate tonight on set, waiting for a crumb. Pathetic."
The word landed like a physical blow. Dunk’s cheeks flamed. He had felt pathetic. Standing there alone under the harsh lights after Joong vanished, his optimism crumbling. Hearing G name it made it worse. Mortifying. "It’s none of your business, G," he managed, voice tight. He tried for his usual lightness, but it cracked. "Joong’s just… focused."
"Focused on himself," G scoffed. He released Dunk’s wrist abruptly, only to cup his jaw instead, forcing Dunk to meet his intense stare. The sudden shift from painful grip to possessive touch was jarring. "I see you, Dunk. Your talent. Your fire. That ridiculous, beautiful hope." His thumb stroked Dunk’s cheekbone. It wasn’t tender. It felt like a brand. "You need guidance. Protection. Someone who appreciates what you offer and won’t… waste it." His voice dropped to a murmur. "Someone who can open doors Joong wouldn't even know existed. Stick with me. I’ll make sure the world sees your star shine."
The offer hung in the perfumed air, veiled in velvet menace. It was tempting, in a terrifying way. Dunk knew G’s influence was real. Connections, opportunities – things that could rocket a career. But the price… the way G looked at him, like a collector assessing a rare, fragile acquisition. The cool metal of the railing bit into his lower back.
Dunk swallowed hard. The scent of jasmine was suddenly overwhelming, nauseating. He pictured Joong’s retreating back, the casual dismissal. The loneliness that followed. Was G right? Was he throwing himself against a wall made of ice? The thought was a fresh ache.
He pushed against G’s chest, not hard, but with a surprising firmness born of sudden revulsion. "I need air that isn’t… this." His voice was steadier than he felt. He ducked under G’s arm, putting a crucial foot of space between them, the edge of a massive potted fern brushing his leg. "Thanks for the drink. And the… advice." The sarcasm was thin, barely covering his trembling.
G didn’t move to stop him. He just watched, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face as Dunk backed towards the sliding glass doors. "Running back to the cold, little star?" he called softly, the threat now open, a serpent uncoiling. "It’s a lonely place. Remember who offered you warmth. Who sees your true value." He lifted his whiskey glass in a mocking toast. "Don’t take too long to realize it. Opportunities fade. My patience… isn’t infinite."
Dunk didn’t reply. He fumbled for the handle behind him, the cold glass a shock against his sweating palm. He slid the door open just enough to slip through, the warm, stale air of the penthouse interior a welcome contrast to the cloying terrace.
He didn’t look back. He walked briskly through the opulent, silent living room, past abstract sculptures and low-slung designer furniture that felt alien and forbidding. His heart hammered against his ribs, a trapped bird. His waist ached where G’s fingers had dug in; he could almost feel the bruises forming beneath his crisp shirt.
The private elevator doors slid open with a hushed sigh. Dunk stepped inside, jabbing the button for the lobby. Only when the doors closed, encasing him in mirrored silence, did he let his shoulders slump. He leaned his forehead against the cool metal wall, closing his eyes. The hum of descent vibrated through him.
In the reflection, his face looked pale, strained. The charming actor’s mask had slipped entirely. He saw the confusion, the lingering hurt from the set, the sharp sting of humiliation from G’s words, and beneath it all, a flicker of raw fear. ‘Stick with me.’ ‘Protection.’ ‘Patience isn’t infinite.’ The words echoed, twisting in his gut.
He took a shuddering breath as the elevator slowed. The doors opened to the sterile marble calm of the lobby. Safety. Escape. For now. He straightened his spine, forcing the familiar, easygoing smile back onto his face, the one that felt like brittle armor. He had another scene with Joong tomorrow. He had to be ready. He stepped out, the click of his shoes on the marble loud in the quiet lobby, leaving the scent of jasmine and the spectre of G’s obsession far above. The smile felt tight, unnatural. A performance already beginning. Someone was always waiting.