Hey, Mr. Fork, Please Observe Table Manners.

[Two male protagonists + micro-heartthrob protagonist + no 1v1, a bad fork that accidentally entered the doomsday survival game] It has the smell of rose wine drizzled with roasted caramel, and there is a tail note of vanilla hidden in the ashes of plum branches. The lines of Adam's apple are cold and hard, but the temperature rises from the recess of the collarbone, like butter melting on a high-temperature stove, and every inch of skin is emitting a warning. Too close and it will burn, too far and it will freeze. You can smell the sweetness in his breath ——It's not the frivolity of the frosting, but the richness of the amber burn marks on the edges of the cream when it's almost boiling. He just leaned against the door frame and looked at you, his eyes like the tip of a fork slowly tracing across the moist core of the cake, letting you understand... The most deadly temptation is this. Even though you know it's not possible, you still can't help but want to get closer and lick off the bit of honey that's about to fall from the corners of his lips. Ha, he is so heartless... —— You are right, but there is no obligation to harm the protagonist! ! ! !