⋆.˚⭒⋆ ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ'ꜱ ᴘᴏᴠ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎. . .⋙

[■■■■■■■■■■] 100% ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ.

The compound was quiet. It was a contrast to the usual bustle that had become most of their mornings, but as of today, something shifted. The casino was closed for maintenance, or so San claimed for it to be, but in reality, the entire mafia was staking out his parent's house, watching and taking note of their behaviors, marking down new cars as well as vehicles that had come and gone into the premises. San seemed overly convinced that they were meeting someone with a lot of power, or wealth, or perhaps both; he just didn't know. There had been a lot of internet traffic leading up to today, which all revolved around the headline beginning with the word election.

Once again, San's parents had been making moves to delegate more opportunities for themselves, staking out the competition while also making their voices overly apparent. San, for the most part, was composed and kept beneath the radar, but Wooyoung could sense otherwise. He was fuming, agitated and on the edge of tilting over, losing his facade the moment his door clicked shut. His eyes, normally sharp and poised with a darkness that Wooyoung couldn't tame, now held something different. He was angry, bitter, and ravenous. He wanted more. More power, more men, more money, more details, more of it all. Yet, he didn't quite have it.

The data chip, a forever missing piece in their extravagant puzzle, remained just out of reach, safely behind the cusp of a government building, hiding away in a glass box, protected by cameras and security guards, fully prepared to slaughter anyone who dared to come close. San wasn't scared though, he never was. He wanted that chip, and Wooyoung knew he'd do just about anything to get his hands on it.

As of now, with most of the compound empty, he found himself busy with paperwork that Yeosang wanted completed to relay better mounds of information to San. Being the only technological genius in the entire mafia, Yeosang was glued to his desk, eyes flicking between his six monitors, typing away through an array of code before shifting through cameras, trying to create a new backdoor system that would infiltrate anything it fought against. Ideally, from what Wooyoung understood, Yeosang wanted to hack into the corporate office, drawing out legal paperwork and schematics, using them against San's parents in a ploy to get them to finally bend the knee. Though, Wooyoung wasn't convinced that San's parents would easily do so. They seemed arrogant enough, at least, from what little San had revealed, they seemed conniving and utterly callous, making their moves and thought-process all that much harder to understand, or even predict. Yeosang was determined, nonetheless, working tirelessly on his nth cup of coffee, powering through every single tremble of exhaustion, keeping his eyes open, and his mind sharp.

Coffee, in Wooyoung's eyes, wasn't his ideal way of remaining awake, though he has his insomnia to thank for that. But, if it got the job done, then so be it. This paperwork, however, was grueling. He assumed that Yeosang usually handed this stuff off to Yunho or Seonghwa, maybe even Hongjoong, but with everyone missing in action, the boring office work was handed down to the only person left. He was scribbling information down, signing things while highlighting others, trying to assess the work with every ounce of detail he could manage, though he wasn't completely sure if this was the exact thing San was looking for. The schematics in particular felt to be a horrible mix of things, ranging from blueprints, both older and newer, followed by previous seller alignments for different workers like electricians and plumbers, all while covering the entire first level, yet not revealing anything worth noting. These papers, as helpful as they might be to the naked eye, just gave nothing away. Wooyoung knew that San would want more, but if this was all Yeosang could pick up through the mass amount of internet security, who was he to question the work of someone who was clearly trained in his profession?

With a shake of his head, he continues to work through the mound of papers, chewing on his lip as he reads each and every line, absorbing every detail, trying to find a small crack within the government's plans. Yet, everything seemed more concise than Wooyoung would've liked. It was overly meticulous, but this had been nothing in comparison to the work he had done for the agency.

There, he had to deep dive into the complexity of his missions, listing casualties, reasonings, personal relationships to the affected, all while sending a recap of the mission and its outcome. He would be questioned on the deceased, forced to explain if there was a better route, or if things were left better the way they had been. Of course, he always answered honestly, but his words hardly ever changed.

I performed to the best of my ability, in the way that serves not only myself, but that of my country.

It was a partial lie, because he of course knew that there was a better way to handle everything that they had done. Drug dealers, assassins, kingpins, political leaders, traffickers– they all seemed to meet the same fate. Personally, he hadn't pulled the trigger while beneath Mingyu's rule, but he sat by and watched as everyone else had. He didn't bother to step in the way, even if the victim was pleading for jail time or something else, anything but a bullet in their chest. Yeonjun, Scoups, Jeonghan– they just didn't care. Their missions were never complete unless there was a trail of bodies behind them, staining their names with more and more crimson liquid that only seemed to grow thicker the longer they performed such tasks. Wooyoung couldn't bear witness to it any longer, turning his head before any of his friends pulled the trigger, listening to the thump of their lifeless body followed by an acknowledging statement, something that had always been cold and calculated.

"Drinks on me," Jeonghan always said, patting Yeonjun on the back. "We get to celebrate tonight, boys."

Wooyoung didn't understand it, at least, not anymore than he bothered to try to. At first, being with Yeonjun romantically, he found himself witnessing a lot more than just murder at the hands of his coworkers, but he never let a word of hesitance leave his lips. Yeonjun had said to him before that his stupidity and empathy would get him killed one day, which then marked a place in Wooyoung's life where he simply remained silent, watching from a distance away, holstering his gun and turning his cheek, praying that the sound of the firing gun wouldn't linger for too long. Maybe this job was finally beginning to haunt him, swirling around him like a specter that simply wouldn't rid itself from Wooyoung's shoulders, or maybe he was just tired. He was fighting the same battle, listening to the same belittling remarks, finding no source of comfort in his own bed, in his own home, in his own relationship, waging a bloodier war at his own job, watching the life fade from the eyes of the men he was supposed to be tracking down for one reason or another. Though, he never expected those lifeless eyes to mirror his own, making him wonder if the battle he was facing at home was ripping him apart more than the battle at his own workplace.

He loved Yeonjun. He truly did. But now, he wasn't so sure anymore. Love was a fickle thing, and though Wooyoung found himself cursed as a romantic, Yeonjun was the opposite. He seemed perfectly content without a partner, completely sane and utterly joyful, almost as if the idea of being a single bachelor in a city as large as theirs never bothered him. Though now, Wooyoung began to feel the opposite. Yeonjun was gripping onto him like a caged tiger, clawing his way back into Wooyoung's life, terrified of the moment that Wooyoung would truly walk away, leaving him to fend for himself behind the bars he created of his own volition.

Yeonjun was a source of comfort, a place where Wooyoung harbored his feelings, but somewhere in the midst of their relationship did all of that shift. He was volatile, spitting words in a manner that made Wooyoung turn his cheek, almost in a repetitive manner that mirrored his actions in his line of duty, becoming more of a habit than he'd prefer for them to be. Turning his cheek, ignoring the words and sounds of reality before him, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, controlling everything from within; it was habitual. A routine, regardless of how forced it was, became the only grounding thing he held onto. He could ignore the world, pretend it wasn't happening, swallow the weight of everything and move on, latching onto Yeonjun and whispering murmurs of love and affection towards him, even as he downed another bottle of scotch and pushed Wooyoung away.

Even through the pleas and the tears, Wooyoung continued to pretend as if nothing was wrong, because pretending seemed to be the only way he could keep himself safe from scrutiny. He didn't want to be seen as weak, nor did he want to be called stupid, which sparked an insecurity that he desperately wanted to avoid speaking about. His response to Yeonjun all those nights ago before tossing his phone away, breaking the screen with an anger that was unlike him, had all been sparked by a trigger that Yeonjun knew all too well on how to push.

Stupid. Idiotic. Dumb. Careless.

Things Wooyoung wasn't, yet Yeonjun was adamant that he was.

With a breath, Wooyoung pushed the paperwork away, wetting his lips, leaning back in his chair as a hand weaved through his locks of hair, unsettling the waves of umber and highlights of blonde. He looked down at his desk, staring at the paperwork, gliding his eyes along the line of every detail, almost as if it were mocking him. He rolls his eyes after a moment, pulling his gaze towards yet another distraction: his phone. It was a bit stupid to be entertaining his device right now, especially given San's quiet rampage and Yeosang's insistent babbles of needing these pieces of papers signed correctly, almost as if he had been working in a corporate office instead of an illegal, powerful mafia. But, he indulges, if just momentarily. He hadn't spoken to Mingyu in a few days, once again, following the rules and buying himself time as he tried to ponder the balance between what he was supposed to accomplish versus what he wanted to avoid.

So, he connects his old phone to his laptop once more, clicking through the data and unlocking it, watching as a flurry of messages breach through his screen in an unkempt manner. Once again, Yeonjun had sent an influx of messages, making his heart crumble. This distance wasn't easy for him, surely, but Wooyoung wanted space, and he was rather demanding it with his silent treatment. He doesn't dare read the messages, as he knew that the moment he had, all of his thoughts would consume him, causing him to act impulsively. So, he moves on, clicking on Mingyu's contact name, watching as a single message floods his screen.

Mingyu

I'm done waiting. You have one more week, Wooyoung. It's been almost a month, and I need this poisonous rat dealt with and done. The elections are coming up, and I cannot have him meddling in the results of it. End it, or I will come in myself and end everyone in there, including you.

He arches a brow at the last statement, eyes narrowing as he ponders on if his own boss was being truthful. End me? Wooyoung thinks, letting a low chuckle breeze through his lips. Sure, Mingyu, sure.

Closing his laptop, Wooyoung pushes all of the evidence away, clearing his desk, opening drawers as he places his pencils and pens away, tucking the phone somewhere safe before reaching for the paperwork, rising out of his chair with a quiet sigh. His mind was racing with a million thoughts, but one remained stark against the rest, causing him to pause, staring at the electronic clock settled ahead of him.

Was Mingyu serious?

He didn't know. Truthfully, based upon Mingyu's behaviors of late, he had no idea if the male would act so rashly or not. Would he risk the entire operation over a little impatience? Sure, maybe he would, or maybe he wouldn't. Maybe it was all an act, a show to bring forth the results that he truly wanted, trying to scare Wooyoung into submission just like he had everyone else. Wooyoung didn't care, though. He wasn't much phased by Mingyu's electronic threat in the way Jeonghan might've been, even though he knew better than to call Mingyu a liar. His threats were usually fulfilled, but never at the cost of one of his own private, secret missions. Wooyoung can't remember if this mission was even approved by the government themselves, which only settled his confusion and slight unease further.

But he moves on, papers in hand, trekking away from his desk as he moves out of his own bedroom and into the hall, closing his bedroom door behind him with a subtle click. The halls were eerily still at this hour, quiet and without the murmur of a word, left to echo Wooyoung's footsteps as he moved through the space, walking closer and closer to San's office. The doors were closed, per usual, but there seemed to be something. . . off.

Opening the door, he peeked inwards to find the office devoid of San's usual presence. There was no cigar smoke meandering through the air, nor was Daemon's cushion tended to with the dog's usual grace. San's chair wasn't moved either, left to sit at the center, poised and intimidating all at once. With a breath, Wooyoung stepped out, knowing better than to linger, closing the door behind him. He knew that San kept secrets within that room, but he didn't bother to stick around to find them, especially not with cameras hidden all over the place.

He reroutes himself, moving through the hall and towards the left, finding the corridor that led to San's bedroom, smiling faintly at the quiet murmurs of soft music thudding against the thick of the wooden door. He wants to raise a hand to knock, or maybe just slide the paperwork beneath the door, but at this point, it all felt too formal, too clinical. He and San had crossed that border a long time ago, and now he wasn't entirely sure if he could ever place himself on San's bad side. So, perhaps a bit brazenly, he opens the door, welcoming a sight of a room that had been occupied by the man in question. He was resting on a large chaise lounge, framed in gold, matched with a dark, black velvet, a glass of something dark in his glass; perhaps whiskey, just like the male preferred. His shirt was completely undone, hanging loosely off of his shoulders, exposing his chiseled chest and abs, glistening beneath the light that shone down in a warm, gentle cast, not completely brightening the room while also not leaving it dark enough to engulf the room into an abyss. Daemon, as any loyal canine would, rested in his bed with a bone between his paws, momentarily discarded as he chased after sleep.

San's brow raised as he met Wooyoung's gaze, his intimidating stature subdued with something lazy, almost as if the alcohol had settled deeply into his bones, pulling his guard down into something more subtle. His eyes were still sharp, but there was something else alight within his deeply-colored hues, something that he's seen before. Something that made him feel like a mere prey item beneath the gaze of a starving predator.

"Yeosang wanted me to give these to you," Wooyoung says, keeping his tone low, almost too professional. "You weren't in your office, so I figured that I'd come to find you."

"Find me, huh?" San asks, tilting his head, his arm stretched out, resting against the back of the lounge. His tone was playful, very obviously loose with the effort of the alcohol clouding his senses, but his sense of authority was completely obvious. He hadn't lost all coherence just yet, but he was tipsy enough to lose most of his edge.

"Yes," Wooyoung replies. "These papers are important, remember. The schematics for the government buildings–?"

"Ah," San says, turning slightly, setting his glass down with a clink. Wooyoung watches him closely, trying to ignore the surging feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

"Do you want me to leave them somewhere?"

San shakes his head, adjusting the way he was sitting until he allowed himself to man-spread, leaning back, lowering his voice in a way that sent immediate chills up Wooyoung's spine. "Come here."

Complying, Wooyoung takes timid steps as he crosses the room, the door closing behind him as he leaves the comfort of the doorway, moving across the large room with the papers slightly moving in his hand as he adjusts his grip, pausing half of a pace away. San eyes him carefully, almost as if he was undressing him with his eyes, drinking up everything that Wooyoung was, pulling him apart, piece by delicate piece. Wooyoung wanted to melt right then, but he remained still, extending a hand out, offering the papers.

"Sit."

Wooyoung parts his lips to speak, but he finds himself unable to. San was looking at him, his gaze unwavering, the delicate, sleek folds of his black shirt hanging loosely off of his frame with subtle elegance, causing Wooyoung's gaze to shift. He could see the shimmering gold of San's necklace glaring back at him, the etches of jet black tattoos, the firm, slightly-flushed skin of San's torso glimmering back at him beneath the warm cast of light, almost sending him a half-step backwards. Sit? Sit where?!

"San–"

"I said sit, Wooyoung."

He swallows hoarsely, leaning carefully to set the papers down on the table where the glass of barren whiskey lay before moving to sit down next to San, that is, until he felt the male's hand grip his hip.

"Not there–" he comments, pulling Wooyoung closer, tapping his thigh. "Here."

God, was he bold right now, and though previous Wooyoung would've hated it, this Wooyoung, this very sober and coherent Wooyoung, couldn't help but think one simple thing: San was effortlessly attractive right now.

So, he indulges. Carefully, he sits down, feeling as San helps him adjust on his lap before humming huskily, his eyes raking down every single piece of Wooyoung's bare skin, which just so happened to be the vulnerable skin adorning his neck and jaw. Otherwise, he was covered in a hoodie and joggers, the least attractive things he could've possibly picked out for himself, but San didn't seem to care. His eyes were elsewhere, tracing the line of Wooyoung's jaw, down his throat, all the way down to where his collarbones disappeared beneath the hem of his hoodie.

"San–"

"I don't feel like working, Wooyoung," San admits, his expression shifting to something softer, more contemplative. "I don't want to think. I've been thinking too fucking much and frankly, I'm sick of it."

Wooyoung nods, unsure of what to say.

"Can you do something for me?"

Wooyoung raises a brow, but he nods, feeling as San shifts closer, his proximity closing in, the distance fading suddenly. He could feel San's breath warm against his cheek and jaw, hesitating just a mere few inches away, though his words felt to be pressed right against his ear.

"Just be with me," he whispers, using his free hand to wrap around Wooyoung's thigh, dragging further upwards. "I'm not a begging man, Wooyoung. But please, for one night, just be with me until the thoughts go quiet."

"I don't know what you're asking of me, San–"

"Yes you do," San mumbles, pressing closer, brushing his lips against Wooyoung's jaw. "I can see it in the way your breath hitches, the way your cheeks warm, and the way your hands tighten around the sleeves of your hoodie. You want me as much as I want you right now, even if every part of you wants to resist."

Wooyoung absently tilts his head, baring his neck, feeling as San's grip on his hip tightens in return.

"What about what we agreed on?" Wooyoung asks, feeling San's eyes on him. "It was just a one time thing, San."

"Was it?" He asks, raising his free hand, cupping the opposite side of Wooyoung's jaw until his hand falls away, leaving his finger to trace against the jut of his jaw. "You can say that all you want, Wooyoung, but your body is saying otherwise."

"Maybe," Wooyoung replies, turning his head slightly, leaving their lips to daringly remain inches apart. "But you always seem to draw a reaction out of me, San."

"I mean it," San mutters, wrapping his hand around the back of Wooyoung's neck, trying to decrease the distance. "Fuck the rules, Wooyoung. Just be with me."

Wooyoung pauses, glancing up, meeting the insatiable, lidded gaze of San's own eyes, watching as the male pleads wordlessly with a desire that he felt himself beginning to completely mirror. He wanted to avoid this, knowing all too well of what his duties were, but his body was betraying him. His breaths were short and heavy, heart thumping away against his chest, his cheeks hot with flush, lips parting to speak; he was entranced, listening as San's every word pulled him deeper, just like a siren's song.

Nodding, Wooyoung leans closer, finally meshing their lips together in a kiss that was hesitant at first, testing the waters as they melted into one another before allowing the pace of their thudding hearts to guide them further. Wooyoung feels his hands fly up to San's jaw, cupping the skin there, leaning into him, allowing the kisses to rapidly deepen. He was swept up by San's desire, too content in swallowing the male's sighs and subtle grumbles of satisfaction, never bothering to pull away as he sat there and drank all of it in, relishing in the attention he was getting from the one male that made him feel something that none of his other partners ever had.

He felt seen. If just for a moment, a brief lapse in time where he'd give San every asset of himself, but even in those minutes, there was something different about the way San treated him and held him, almost as if he was a royal treasure, too sacred to be worshiped by anyone else. So, he gives in, threading a hand through San's hair, tugging him closer, feeling as San's tongue breaks through the barrier, wrestling and controlling his own, spurring their once-hesitant kiss into a feverish battle for the usual dominance that Wooyoung felt slipping through his fingers.

San shifts carefully, pulling Wooyoung further onto his lap as the male's thighs completely straddle him, hands now finding purchase on his hips as he daringly drags his fingertips beneath the hem of Wooyoung's joggers, slowly beginning to pull them down. Wooyoung's hands don't remain idle, brushing San's shirt lower down his arms, allowing the fabric to begin falling away, exposing more and more of his tattooed and scarred chest, making their intentions overly clear.

San removes the shirt from his torso, tossing it away before curling his fingers beneath Wooyoung's hoodie, pulling the fabric free, throwing it to the floor carelessly as their skin presses together, lips still content in their feverish dance, unable to stand the distance that clothing seemed to bring anymore. Wrapping an arm around the younger's waist, San carefully lifts him almost effortlessly, securely holding him in his arms as he walks through his room, trekking towards his bed with a slow-paced, even walk. Wooyoung littered the male's chest, jaw, face and lips with kisses, holding his face still between his palms, allowing San to pull away before tossing Wooyoung onto the bed, hovering over him, hands planted on either side of his head as he leaned down, capturing his lips again. Wooyoung gasps into the kiss as he feels San's hand drift to his joggers, pulling them further and further until the fabric is kicked away, abandoned to the floor. Parting away, Wooyoung glances down, hands frantically searching for San's belt, deftly undoing the leather and golden buckle before sliding it through the loops of his trousers, listening as the leather clashes against the floor with a thud, the fabric of San's pants now falling away as Wooyoung tugs them down, removing any remaining barriers that kept them apart.

Climbing onto the bed, San settles himself between Wooyoung's legs as he presses himself against him, lips leaving a sloppy, messy trail of kisses up the male's neck, hands bracketing his head as they sit in the center of the large bed, surrounded by satin sheets and an askew duvet. San doesn't seem to waste any time, however, as he reaches his hand down and aligns himself, urging Wooyoung to wrap his legs around the male's waist, bringing them insatiably closer and closer together. San eases himself inside, both males letting a groan slip past their lips, unable to contain the moans creeping through as San's hips slowly thrust inwards and out, rocking the bed with every single shift.

Wooyoung threads a hand through San's hair as he pulls him closer, his other arm wrapped around the male's neck, his back arching into San, craving more of the delicious feeling that San was giving him. He didn't care about anything else, anymore. He just wanted this. He wanted San.

"Fuck–" San groans, deepening his every thrust, reaching his hand up to grip Wooyoung's hip. Wooyoung moans in return, keeping himself close, meeting San's every thrust with a move of his own, trying to urge the male deeper, feeling as his eyes roll before closing completely.

This was incredibly different from their first intimate encounter, one that was met with the surge of alcohol and utter distaste for the other. Now, they wanted one another, clinging to one another and chasing after shared passion, indulging in an affair that both of them knew better than to entertain. But Wooyoung didn't care.

He pulls San down towards him, moaning into his mouth, feeling his body shift upwards with every forceful thrust that San snaps his hips into, quickening his pace, following the surge of desire that was pooling in his veins. Wooyoung drags his teeth along San's bottom lip, listening as San groans, snapping his hips harder, muttering curses and Wooyoung's name beneath his breath.

Wooyoung clung to him tighter, biting his lip as San parted away, his face buried in the crook of Wooyoung's neck, pulling the male's hips back into his every thrust, building up to the familiar throes of a crescendo that felt rather inevitable. Every thrust, every breath, every single press of lips against lips felt to be a turning point, bringing a feeling that Wooyoung hadn't felt in a long time to surge to the forefront.

He's confused, more than he ever has been, wondering if he should truly end this, or chase after it. He wants to feel close to San, to cling to him and to melt into his touch, but what of the life he once entertained? What of his job and his home? What then? The agency surely would come after him if he were to turn their back on them for this. . . whatever this situation with San was considered at this point, and beyond all of that, San would have an even bigger target on his back because of this.

He had to end it. He had to. There didn't feel to be a different route than this.

San continues his relentless movements, burying himself deeper, teeth grazing along the line of Wooyoung's collarbones and throat, hands smoothing up the male's sides before curling one behind the back of Wooyoung's neck, forcing their gazes to cross paths.

San's eyes were hazy and colored over, driven by a lust that was all too familiar. But, beneath the haze of lust and desire was something that Wooyoung found himself mirroring all the same, something similar that felt like a plea for peace. San was harboring so much, and though Wooyoung knew nothing of it, he could see it. San was dealing with something heavy, and he was shouldering it alone in the only way a kingpin could. He didn't know how to make him feel better, but he had to hope that all of this would allow the worries to melt away, left to drift elsewhere but here.

So, he pulls San down to him again, connecting their lips in a languid, fiery kiss. San's thrusts slow, if just for a moment before they quicken once more, an imminent rush belayed by the feverish dance their lips had entangled themselves into. Wooyoung gasps, hands searching, grabbing onto San's shoulders as he feels his stomach twist and pull taut, feeling as San's pace only quickened in response, likely sensing Wooyoung's impending ascent into euphorics. He was drawing closer and closer, the nerves in his stomach twirling and binding until they pulled even tighter, causing the male to gasp before his breaths cut short, nails curling into San's shoulders just as the line snaps suddenly, causing him to moan in response, settling into the euphoric pull of his release. San follows a moment later, stilling his hips, resting his forehead down on Wooyoung's shoulder.

Wooyoung wants to kiss him, wants to soothe his worries, to wipe the strands of hair from his forehead, but he doesn't. It was too intimate. San wasn't his. This was just a means of letting go for San, another way of releasing the tension built into his core. Wooyoung knew better than to get his hopes up, but what for? He had just broken up with Yeonjun, and now he was here with San, at the mercy of his hips, kissing the breath from his lungs and entertaining a beneficial situation with his boss, who seemed to want him just as much as Wooyoung wanted him.

He was confused, and this encounter didn't make it any better.

But, as San leans away, he rustles about to plant himself on the edge of the bed, taking in a deep breath. Wooyoung watches him, leaning up on his elbows, chest still heaving from the after effects as he lingers there, wondering what could've possibly been running through San's mind at that time. But, he doesn't get the chance to ask. San gets off of the bed, heads back towards the lounge, bending down and grabbing their discarded clothes that had been left in a near-trail before walking back towards the bed, handing Wooyoung his own. Wooyoung follows San's actions, almost in a mimicking manner as he pulls his clothes back on, layer after layer, running a hand through his sweat-slicked hair before he turns, watching as San settles into bed almost wordlessly, allowing a breath to move past his lips. He stands there at the edge of the bed, brows pinched together, torn on leaving completely or staying, even when he shouldn't.

Then, before he could even murmur a word, San turns, looking at him with an expression that spoke of his fatigue. "You can stay."

Hesitantly, Wooyoung nods, wanting to protest, yet his heart, his goddamn heart, spoke for him. He moved to the other side of the bed, settling in, shifting around on the blankets and sheets before allowing his head to settle into the pillow, chewing on his lip as he stared off at the ceiling. He didn't know why he was staying. He didn't know why he didn't just walk away. But, here he was, cheating on Yeonjun, feeling his heart pulling him in a direction that wasn't healthy nor sane.

Yeonjun didn't love him like this. Yeonjun didn't make him feel this way. Yeonjun didn't fluster him and make him want to lose himself in the throes of his own desire.

Yeonjun yelled. Yeonjun drank. Yeonjun got what he wanted; time and time again.

So, why was he crying? Why did all of his emotions come tumbling out? Why was he lying here, in San's bed, muffling his cries because he was growing attached in a way that he can't explain?

"Hey," San's voice breaks through the quiet, a shuffling on the bed that Wooyoung hadn't noticed before becoming overly apparent. "Everything okay?"

No. No it wasn't. It was all falling apart. He needed to kill San, he had to kill San, he couldn't betray the people that he thought loved and supported him. He couldn't let his country down and betray the oath he had taken. He couldn't give up on everything he fought so hard to hold for himself. He couldn't lose anyone else, not anymore. Not again.

"Yeah, just–" Wooyoung sniffles, swallowing his tears. "Thinking a lot. That's all."

"You don't have to tell me," San mumbles, his voice thick with sleep. "Just be here, Wooyoung. Be here with me."

Wooyoung turns his head, looking at San, who had now been facing him, watching as the male's eyes drifted shut, his breaths evening out, a hand placed on the bed between them, almost like a wordless invitation to remain close, to cherish this, to simply just stay.

Wooyoung bites down on his lip, turning his gaze back to the ceiling, allowing the minutes to fall away. He doesn't know how long he lays there, nor does he bother to look at the clock. He knew he couldn't stay. He knew better than to entertain this anymore, but he relents. He remains selfish, he indulges in his fragile heart, wanting nothing more than to cater to a part of himself that he thought he had lost well before enlistment.

Even as an hour shoots past, Wooyoung finds himself glued to the bed, listening and counting San's every breath, torturing himself with an internal monologue that screams to just leave. He needed to comply, to follow through with Mingyu's orders, even if it tore his heart in half to do so.

So, he gets out of bed, carefully and slowly, unable to miss the way San's hand moves over to his side of the bed, almost in search of him even in the depths of sleep. He glances to his right, eyeing the time, spotting that it had ticked well past midnight by now, but not able to miss the familiar curves of a pocket knife tucked away in the open slot of San's bedside table.

This was it. Wooyoung takes a breath, reaching his hand down, wrapping his fingers around the small leather handle. He could end it. He could make Mingyu proud. He could go home and complete his mission. He could finally just be done with this.

He looks at San again, searching the male's face, tracing over the contours of an expression that finally seemed so peaceful after being so slurred with a haze of alcohol and obvious tension. Even as he slides the button upwards, pushing the blade to free itself from the sheath, Wooyoung can't bear to look at him.

He turns his cheek, like he has, time and time again, gripping the handle tighter and tighter, hoping that reality will simply just fall away.

He doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want to ruin him. He. . . doesn't want to kill him.

He grips the knife tighter, leaning closer to the bed, opening his eyes just enough to allow his hand to hover carefully over San's exposed neck, but he hesitates. It should be so incredibly easy right now, left with a perfect moment of San defenseless and vulnerable, but he can't do it. Tears stream down his cheeks, cascading down in a flood of emotion that seemed to unravel him completely. He shakes his head, turning away, an uneasy breath passing through his lips as he lets his arm fall away, the knife now cast down at his side, completely abandoned.

He slides the blade back down, hidden beneath the handle, carefully putting it back in the place he had found it, unable to miss the subtle shift of San's body as he moved closer to the space Wooyoung had now vacated. His heart clenches painfully, eyes swelling with tears that were unlike him as he turns away, moving through the space of San's bedroom with rushed steps, quietly opening the door before he halts. He swallows deeply, turning over his shoulder, watching as San's slumped form continues to rest, unabated, but all he can do is turn his cheek, ignoring every single emotion that wracked over every facet of his emotions.

Maybe he was weak. Maybe Yeonjun was right. He was stupid. A fool, even.

But even as he left that room and stormed back to his room in a rush, his confusion only wove itself deeper, masking over the reality where he now knew that he'd never be able to kill Choi San.