⋆.˚⭒⋆ ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ'ꜱ ᴘᴏᴠ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎. . .⋙

[■■■■■■■■■■] 100% ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ.

"Do you really think he'll be upset with me?" Wooyoung asks, sitting on the edge of his bed as Changbin settles at his desk, holding his laptop open on his lap.

"I mean–" Changbin shrugs. "He's been upset, I don't think there's any changing that."

"Is everyone mad at me?" Wooyoung glances at Changbin, his hands fidgeting with one another as the male sighs, looking down at his laptop.

"Mad isn't the correct term. I think confused fits better," Changbin explains, though Wooyoung feels even more puzzled than he had before. "No one really knows you, Wooyoung. I don't think anyone really has a reason to be pissed about it all, especially when San's safety was in question. You just acted; we can't fault you for that."

"But had you been there, would you have done that?" Wooyoung questions, but Changbin doesn't provide an immediate answer. He stays quiet, fingers hovering over his keyboard before he shrugs again, his jaw slightly tight.

"I don't know," he mutters. "I'm not usually on mission detail. I oversee all of San's communication data, transfers, bank accounts and all of his meetings. But, yeah. . . maybe. It's our job to work beneath him, to protect one another, but most importantly, to protect him. He's the one who runs this operation, and without him, what are we?"

"Nothing, I'd assume." Wooyoung glances down, his legs swinging slightly as he sits on the edge of his bed, aimlessly moving to try and distract himself.

It wasn't that he was overly concerned about his place within the cartel, but rather worried about San's reaction. He hadn't yet seen a negative side of San, moreso an indifferent, curious side. His protectiveness knew no bounds, and yet, Wooyoung was treading over every single boundary that was apparently set in place the moment he signed his life away to this group, dancing across it with little thought placed into the consequences that were sure to follow.

Changbin, who had been visiting Wooyoung in his room almost every day at this point, had proved to be a comfort in all of this chaos, especially with the falling out with Yeonjun. Changbin, of course, didn't know about any of that, nor would Wooyoung ever confess, but to have someone to talk to, even about anything and nothing at all in particular, made his healing all that much more tolerable. At this point, Wooyoung had been removed from Chan's strict regime, fully weaned off of his medications and healed after the impact of the car accident. His shoulder was still stiff from time to time, but it wasn't anything that a few stretches and a bag of ice couldn't soothe.

It had been about two weeks since he had properly been in the accident, marking his time within this cartel at just under a month. He hadn't turned his personal phone on once since the incident with his now-ex, nor did he wish to. He knew Mingyu would be cursing and swearing, sending orders, demanding updates; it was all things he didn't wish to hear. Right now, Changbin was his comfort, even if he had to hide everything about the true root of his problems from his friend.

"You're right. We'd be nothing. San really motivates and dictates every action that we take, and without him, I don't think a single person could rule the underworld of Seoul in the way that he does."

"Can you imagine Seoul any other way? Run the way the rest of the world is? Without a ringleader that is hiding beneath the cover of a casino, without the mask of power fueled by billions?"

Changbin pauses, confusion causing his brows to pinch. "You really think the rest of the world isn't corrupted?"

"Didn't say that, just. . . hypothetical."

"You and I both know that Seoul isn't even the tip of the iceberg," Changbin replies, keeping his tone low and even, though Wooyoung can sense the undercurrent of curiosity resting just beneath. "Incheon, Busan, Gwangju, Daegu–" Changbin pauses, "–they're all connected because of San."

Wooyoung's eyes widened a fraction, but not enough for Changbin to notice. That detail was not known by Mingyu, nor had he realized just how far San's grip had reached.

"This underground business, this entire empire, relies on San's intimidation. No one bends the rules beneath him, and no one dares to trip over his boundaries. He sets the tone for this entire business, and because of that, everyone you think holds power within Seoul, fears the true power that San actually has." Changbin glances at his laptop, then leans back into the chair, gesturing slightly with his free hand while the other balances his laptop. "Politicians, the police, lawyers– they're all chess pieces in San's game. He just moves them in the way he sees fit, balancing his assets while he waits for his enemies to make their own moves. They never see it coming, though."

"See what coming?" Wooyoung asks, watching as Changbin smiles, adjusting his glasses.

"Have you ever heard about what they say in regards to sharks?" Changbin asks, his head turned to eye Wooyoung more directly. Wooyoung shakes his head, raising a brow. "They lurk beneath the shadow of the tide, and when the moment's right, they strike. San's always been like a shark, everyone else. . . they're just fish in an ocean of his creation."

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎. . .⋙

Wooyoung, lazily, listened to Changbin complain and work through his paperwork that San had gifted to him at midnight the night previous, typing loudly while muttering things beneath his breath at other times. Wooyoung, on the other hand, laid on his bed, staring at his ceiling, twirling his ring around his finger absentmindedly. His thoughts felt like a rapture of things, all entangled in a fuss of feelings that felt somewhat difficult to decipher.

He had to go and meet San in a few moments, not that he particularly cared all that much, but he knew San wanted to get his point across. Reckless, idiot, impulsive; blah, blah, blah. It was the same shit Yeonjun would spew in this same exact manner, leaving Wooyoung to truly dread every single moment of this meeting. Changbin was trying to be supportive, giving Wooyoung a pat on the shoulder, followed by some charming, teasing remarks that somewhat grew a smile on his lips, but nothing more. Wooyoung was thankful, truly, but it wasn't enough to dismantle the worry that was tightening in his chest.

Now, he was walking down the hall, casting his gaze side to side as he eyed the familiar surroundings of the long, intimidating corridor, spotting the familiar drag of wooden doors that seemed way too grand for their own stature. He reaches for the handle, briefly hesitating before allowing himself to walk through, listening as the door clicks behind him the moment he closes it. He turns, spotting the lingering, overwhelming stare from San as he sits at his desk, twirling a cigar between his fingers. It was lit, smoke lightly twisting around the room as he leaned into his chair, his eyes nearly burning into Wooyoung's skin. Wooyoung hated him.

He looked overly powerful, demanding and overwhelmingly stoic in the worst, smoke-filtered way. His crisp white shirt was slightly unbuttoned, his hair slick, eyes sharp as he watched Wooyoung's every single move, anticipating something; anything.

"You wanted to see me?" Wooyoung asks, trying to remain nonchalant, though they both knew what this was entirely about.

"We've got things to discuss," San says lowly, leaning towards his desk just enough to set his cigar down, leaning on an ashtray. "Sit."

Wooyoung tightens his jaw subtly, following San's command as he lingers closer, moving to sit down in one of the chairs placed at the front of San's rather large, wooden desk. He folds his left leg over the other, hands in his lap, looking up at San as the male shuffles a few folders around, setting them aside, straightening his posture before he speaks.

"The mission," San begins. "We had a clear motive in mind. Steal the cars, take back what was mine, send a message. You did what was asked of you; causing a scene, forcing a distraction, giving us enough time to sneak past their security in order for us to take those cars."

Wooyoung remains quiet, watching as San continues to speak, his expression stilled, revealing little to nothing, giving Wooyoung nothing to read into.

"You put yourself at risk. You saw a threat, you communicated what you saw, and you acted."

For a moment, Wooyoung expects partial, subtle praise, but he'd be incredibly wrong.

"It was reckless and idiotic. You could've been killed, and you could've seriously injured or killed Yeosang at the cost of your foolishness."

"Seriously?" Wooyoung replies, raising a brow. His words bit harder than he truthfully intended for them to, but after a repeat scolding from Yeonjun, hearing the word idiotic really pushed his buttons. "I save your ass, save the mission as a whole, and this is the word of thanks that I get?"

San's brow raises, a flicker of intrigue passing over his feature before it melts into something darker, something more sinister.

"Watch your tone," he mutters in a sneer, though his tone was completely, and unnervingly, calm. "I've sat and I've thought about it for some time, considering your recovery. It was reckless and it was incredibly impulsive. You yourself have even said that you're impulsive, have you not?"

Wooyoung digresses. He did say that. He didn't regret that he said that so honestly, but now hearing it, watching as San used the term against him, all seemed to ignite an irritant that must've been rooted somewhere unseen.

"I know I'm impulsive, I don't need you to point it out to me. But I did what I had to in order to protect you. Nothing more, nothing less. I know how to drive, and I knew how to absorb that impact. Risking your safety was not in the mission debrief. As far as I'm concerned, like I've been trained, protecting the one in charge is typically the most important thing one could do." Wooyoung folds his arms against his chest, listening as San chuckles deeply, something that was enough to spark another layer of irritation within Wooyoung's chest.

"Don't forget who you're talking to," San mutters, leaning back in his chair, watching Wooyoung with a smug smile. "You may work for me, receive payment beneath my deposits, live under my roof, but you will never be able to win an argument against me. There is a code we live by, a work of ethics that keeps us all safe. I cannot sit here and let you walk away thinking that what you did was any semblance of okay."

Wooyoung bites his tongue, but just as he motions to quiet himself, he watches as San's smirk grows, his intrigue only growing further.

"Cat got your tongue?" He asks, causing Wooyoung to squint his eyes slightly, trying to filter the words spilling off of his tongue. San smirks, his eyes flicking down towards something before trailing back upwards, causing Wooyoung to nearly squirm in his seat. He isn't uncomfortable, but he's rather uneasy. He can feel San's eyes on him, trailing across his skin, the line of his tailored clothing, the jut of his jaw and the flutter of his eyelashes, and yet, he does nothing to stop him. It was. . . flattering. Oddly, Wooyoung allows San's eyes to linger, turning his head, taking a subtle breath inwards as he listens to San's husky hum trail off of his tongue, finding amusement in something.

"You see, Wooyoung–" he begins, the chair creaking beneath his every movement with a quiet shift of leather, drawing the younger's focus back towards the male, listening to his every word curl in the space between them. "What you did really fucking pissed me off, I'll be honest. I could sit here, have you killed without even raising a finger, and yet, I have zero trail on who you really are."

Wooyoung raises a brow, lips parting to speak, but San raises his hand.

"You're like a ghost, and for some fucking reason, I like that about you, even though you piss me off with every impulse and rash decision that you make. You're like an unkempt fire that's bound to unravel into a wildfire, to burn freely, to escape everything and everyone, destroying everything in its path. Many have run from you, have they not? They've seen this destructive behavior, this impulse and this child-like thought process that you maintain, and they run for the hills." San leans closer, dropping his tone. "Don't they?"

Wooyoung tries to remain as unphased as he can, but the growing frown of disapproval was likely more stark than he realized.

"You're unkempt. Untamed. Untouched." San reaches for his cigar again, letting his lips wrap around it before inhaling, letting the cigar burn before he releases it, allowing a slow breath to part from his lips along with a noticeable trail of cigar smoke. "I respect that you have ideals to maintain, a certain. . . code to live by, per se. But listen to me when I say this, Wooyoung–" San turns, his free hand raising, pointing in a manner that sends a twinge of anger to spiral through his veins. "I will fucking kill you if you step on my toes again. Stay in line and do as you're told. No more gallivanting, no more impulsive decisions. You're in my mafia. You're surrounded by my men. You'll be dead before you can even blink if you try that shit again."

Wooyoung, after a moment, curtly nods. His jaw is tight, eyes alight with a fire that he was sure San could sense or rather see, but he didn't care. He was angry, downright pissed, listening as the male sat across from him as if he were completely untouchable. What was stopping Wooyoung from leaping over the desk and ending all of this now? What was preventing him from sneaking into San's room at the dead of night, killing him while he sleeps, then escaping through the door without notice?

Nothing, apparently. Yet, he chooses not to.

Wooyoung bit back his words, carefully entwining his hands together so tightly he nearly was white-knuckled, sitting in his seat with the utmost elegance that he could dare to portray. San was overly infuriating and demeaning, settled on his leather throne of arrogance and lies. He didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing him crack, nor did he really want San to see any reaction out of him, but by the time he registers San's voice speaking again, his grasp lessens, feeling a subtle numbness beginning to creep in.

"Do you understand me?" San asks, narrowing his eyes, using his closest elbow to lean against his desk, closing the distance with an obvious taunt, lowering his tone as he speaks once more. "I said, do you understand me, Wooyoung?"

"Yes," Wooyoung mutters back, keeping his eyes locked onto San's, which somehow began to portray the very eyes of the one he laid in bed with every night. The same eyes that demeaned him, that threatened him, that expressed lies of love and lust and yet treated him like complete shit.

San and Yeonjun were so irritatingly similar, and Wooyoung couldn't stand it.

"Go," San dismisses casually, pulling his cigar back towards his lips. "I'm done talking."

Wooyoung rises out of his chair, straightening his shirt before he turns on his heel, leaving with an unrelenting, burning anger that only seems to deepen with every echoed step that he took. He could hear the faint growl of San's dog somewhere from within the room, followed by the scent of cigar smoke and San's husky cologne, which all made Wooyoung's stomach twirl with uneasiness.

He steps through the doors, closing them behind him, allowing his feet to carry him back towards the quiet den of his own room. An involuntary chill of sudden coldness settles along his spine, causing him to flinch, taking in a breath, a hand fleeing up towards the back of his neck as he rubs the skin there, closing his eyes as he pauses, listening as his heart races against his chest.

Was he angry? Was he getting sick? Was San really having this much of an effect on him after one measly meeting?

Wooyoung didn't know, but what he did know was that he could feel San's eyes on him that entire time he walked back towards the doors, almost as if they were glued into his back, burning holes through his clothes and skin, trying to break him apart in any single way he could manage. That, and that alone, sent an unnerving chill to settle along his skin in a manner that he couldn't easily shake. He knew he needed to end this mission as soon as possible, or maybe, just maybe, would San figure him out before he could even begin to unravel this entire cartel.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎. . .⋙

The night drags on uncomfortably, but Wooyoung doesn't mind. He's three bottles of soju deep, laughing in the living space as he watches Changbin make an absolute ass of himself in front of the two males he assumed were Minho and Jisung, who had been watching with amused smiles. Changbin had been trying to balance a bottle on his head for the last twenty minutes, yet nearly dropped it every single time, somehow avoiding letting it crash down to the floor. He likely was drunk too, doing shots with Minho to gain courage, or so he explained, to confront his ex. He never did text anyone, now that Wooyoung was thinking about it, but he didn't care. He was slightly drunk, unable to feel anything except the fleeting, floating feeling of being free of the anger that once consumed him.

"Bin'ah," Minho scolds, his one arm draped around Jisung's shoulders in a casual manner. "Stop pussy-footing around it. Just walk. The bottle will stay as long as you walk in a straight line."

"I don't think he's capable of that," Wooyoung says, taking another drink from his glass that was currently full of whiskey on ice.

"Am too!" Changbin argues, turning slightly to point at Wooyoung. "You're just a hater, Young'ah. Watch the magic happen!"

"Magic?" Wooyoung questions, listening as Jisung laughs from the opposite sofa. "More like a circus act."

Changbin pouts, but he continues on, focusing on the task at hand. He places his arms straight out, moving one foot in front of the other as he begins to walk in a slightly-steady straight line. It's not entirely graceful, but Wooyoung can hear Minho and Jisung's laughter from where he was sitting, and by their laughter alone, he could only begin to guess at what face Changbin was making. He couldn't tell, as Changbin's back was to him, but the moment Changbin half-steps on his own shoe, he wobbles, a slight, drunken-squeal emerging from his lips as he trips fully, the bottle falling until it crashes against the floor. Minho and Jisung were beside themselves, laughing loudly as Changbin stared at the wreckage in defeat, blinking several times as if he was trying to understand what had just happened.

Wooyoung stifles his laughter with his hand, unable to contain the flurry of giggles as Changbin raises a hand before completely face-palming himself.

"Do I even need to say, I told you so?" Wooyoung asks between giggles, watching as Changbin allows a smile to creep onto his lips.

Wooyoung shakes his head, watching Changbin as the male moves to sit on the edge of the sofa, looking down at the scattered pieces of his empty bottle, only to be interrupted by a familiar voice striking a chord of fear within him.

"Dropping bottles, are we?" San asks, looking down at the mess.

"Not on purpose–"

"It was on purpose," Minho interrupts Changbin, earning a glare in return, which only was met with another flurry of laughter.

Wooyoung glances up, finding that San's eyes had also risen, meeting his own with an electric current that hadn't yet dimmed. Wooyoung was still angry, even if it was buried deep beneath the haze of soju and the burn of whiskey. He didn't like how arrogant San was, how he seemed to be untouchable in his little throne room. He was just another person, sitting beyond a desk, calling the shots while everyone else did his dirty work. Just like Yeonjun had been.

Yeonjun wasn't like Mingyu, of course. He didn't oversee all of the missions and hear directly from the government, however, he was a specialist, which ranked him higher than Wooyoung. Yeonjun was never nice about the orders he gave to Wooyoung, and Wooyoung never expected him to be, however, every single time there was something mentioned about a detail or drop point, Yeonjun spoke down to him, almost as if he held no comprehension skills. San, in some manner, spoke with the exact fucking same dictation. And in that, Wooyoung feels the fire quell stronger, burning from either the sting of liquor, or from a familiar fire that had been ignited weeks ago.

"I'll be in my office. Clean up the mess, Changbin," San demands casually, not quite putting a stop to their fun, nor really encouraging it. Wooyoung raises a brow, almost seething in his damn seat. He fucking hated him.

"Buzz kill," Wooyoung mutters as San turns the corner, watching as Minho and Jisung eye him curiously, yet stay wordless.

"He's just. . . bleh," Changbin tries to explain, though not really providing an explanation for anything.

"Bleh?" Wooyoung asks. "The fuck does that mean?"

"He's not one to sit and drink with us," Minho continues, trying to cover up for whatever drunken slur of words were about to leave Changin's lips. "He prefers his solitude. He's always been a bit quiet."

"He calls you guys family, but he won't have a drink with you all?"

Minho shakes his head. "Never has."

"What an ass," Wooyoung mutters to himself, taking another drink from his glass.

Yet again, another similarity to Yeonjun. Isolating himself, drinking in the lone of night, withholding secrets and plans, sharing nothing, closing the door to who he truly was, and for what? Privacy? Fear? The inability to trust a single fucking person on this planet?

Wooyoung rises out of his seat, strolling over to the liquor cart that had been nearby, wrapping his fingers around the neck of a rather expensive-looking brand of whiskey.

"What are you doing?" Jisung asks, turning to glance over the edge of the sofa.

"He's going to come and drink with us, whether he likes it or not."

"You're awfully determined," Changbin mutters, smirking lightly. "Got a soft spot for the boss?"

"Soft spot?" Wooyoung spats. "Fuck no. I just hate it when people isolate themselves and pretend to be high and mighty afterwards. We're in this hellish shitshow together, and it's about time he starts acting like it."

"He won't like that–" Minho tries to warn, But Wooyoung waves him off with a drunken smile.

"He's going to have to," Wooyoung replies, beginning to walk away. "I'm rather. . . persuasive."

With measured, careful steps, Wooyoung marches himself towards San's office. He was fueled by irritation, along with the burn of liquor and something else. Something more. . . brazen.

Lazily, Wooyoung swings the door open, a bottle of whiskey hanging in his palm as he waltzes forward, a daring smile fading across his lips. He didn't know what he was doing, nor did he feel a specific way about any of this. He was pissed off, drunk, and maybe a little vengeful, but sue him.

Fueled by the burn of soju and whiskey alight in his veins, his eyes find San's from across the room, watching as the male raises an unamused brow, settled back in his chair with his black button-up partially opened at the top. Wooyoung wets his lips, taking a step further into the room, letting the door slowly click shut.

"You need to let loose," Wooyoung chides, his smile inescapable.

"I'm plenty relaxed right now, Wooyoung. Go join your friends. I'm busy."

"Busy doing what? Being arrogant? Talking all high and mighty as if I'm the only one who brings you any trouble." Wooyoung saunters closer, swirling the amber liquid around in the glass bottle, listening to the slight swish as a consequence of his rotating wrist. "I don't like to do as I'm told, San. And yet– you push my buttons, all the time. Do you realize that?"

"I thought you played well with others?" San questions, now somewhat intrigued by whatever game Wooyoung was playing.

"Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't," Wooyoung mutters, tilting his head, stopping right before San's desk, setting the bottle of whiskey down with a soft thud. "You, as a matter of fact, drive me fucking insane. All of these orders, all of these expectations, all because you're– what? Intimidating? Cold? Brooding?"

Wooyoung leans closer, pressing a hand flat on San's desk, towering over the length of the oak. "I don't fear you, Choi San. I fear nothing."

San smirks, furthering his amusement, leaning back into his chair. Wooyoung watches him, feeling an impulsive string of words settle at the base of his tongue, watching as San's smirk only deepens, his eyes somewhat alight with amusement and humor as this conversation only continues further.

"You don't fear me?" San asks, tilting his head, his eyes sharp with something Wooyoung hadn't seen before. He was acting arrogant again, almost as if he knew everything, or as if he held every single answer for every single altercation he'd come across. He was used to getting whatever he wanted, without consequence, all at the flick of his wrist or snap of his fingers, which made Wooyoung's stomach curl. He could feel the irritation boiling beneath his skin, causing his eyes to narrow, the flush from his drunken haze only growing further as San sat forward in his seat, resting his elbows on the darkened oak.

"Tell me–" he says lowly, his eyes tracing a delicate, vulnerable line across Wooyoung's jawline and features. "Why is it that you think you can undermine me? You act as if you're so smart, so unruly, yet the moment you've stepped foot through that door, you've done as you've been told, without a single word of rebuttal. You may not be scared of me, Wooyoung, but you have to admit, I do own you."

Wooyoung's eyes widened, taken aback slightly, which must've been the exact reaction San sought to draw out from him. San chuckles, reaching upwards, pressing a finger beneath Wooyoung's chin as he tilts the male's head, forcing their eye contact to withhold laser focus.

"You can't even tell me that I'm wrong. You're calculated, impulsive, reckless, and you're such a fucking pain in my ass that it drives me insane," San breathes out, almost as if he had been holding such irritating words from within himself for much too long. "You think you can waltz into my dealings, raise hell, act rashly and behave however you wish to? Well, you'd be very fucking wrong, Wooyoung."

"Prove it." Wooyoung watches as San's smile falters, if only for the flash of a second, but it still struck a chord in the fashion Wooyoung had hoped for it to. "You can be intimidating, cold, and arrogant all you want to those who serve you loyally, without question. But I see right through you, San. I see the pain. I see the anger. I see the little boy who hates his parents for what they did to him. You're weak, just like me–" Wooyoung smiles, driven brazenly once more by the burn of souring liquor. "Admit it, San. You need me. Otherwise, if I irritate you so fucking badly, why am I still here?"

Steadily, San retracts his hand, his jaw tightening, the admission acting like a spark between the two as their standoff only deepened. One wrong move, and it seemed like the entire office would be cast up in flames from the light of a simple match.

"I challenge you– is that what it is? Is that what you're into?" Wooyoung asks, smiling wildly. "I bring out a side of you that you wish you could contain, and yet, here we are, talking in throes of power, thinking that you're in control, but just know that the moment I leave this room, I will have won. You want something I won't give you, and that in itself is more powerful than whatever power you claim to withhold."

"You think you can just walk out of here?" San asks, his hand reaching, fingers tapping against his desk before he stands up. "You truly believe that you can talk to me like this without a single shed of consequence?"

"I don't think, San," Wooyoung mutters, smirking as he speaks. "I know."

San stands there, his chest slightly heaving from the anger simmering beneath the surface, but Wooyoung just remains still, smiling and watching the effect of his presence slowly begin to unravel every single asset of San's facade.

San was callous, manipulative and irrational. Wooyoung hated him, or maybe he hated how he thought that he could just control every single aspect of everyone's lives. He and Yeonjun, both hateful, spiteful and hard-headed, made Wooyoung's blood boil. They were both so arrogant, thinking that the world owed them something, yet they did nothing to truly deserve said power. Wooyoung wanted to prove something, to prove that he was more than all of this, yet, for some reason unbeknownst to him, the alcohol burning his stomach causes him to reach out, wrapping his fingers around the golden chain that was once resting against San's exposed chest. He pulls him closer, their faces inches apart, breaths warm against unkissed lips.

"You're a fucking asshole," Wooyoung mutters, brows furrowing, fingers tightening around the cold golden jewelry, struggling not to simply rip it off of his neck. "You're a dick to everyone. You're cold and you're fucking obsessed with destroying everything within Seoul–"

"Don't act like you know me," San protests, staring at Wooyoung with eyes so dark, Wooyoung couldn't tell if the male withheld a soul any longer. It was like he was possessed, riddled with darkness, overrun by a demon that was starting to slowly crawl out from his inner, poisoned-self.

"I do fucking know you. You're just like every piece of shit man that I've ever met. Spiteful, entitled, thinking that they're bigger than everyone else because of what? Money in your pockets? Mommy and daddy's fortune feeding your entire fucking empire? Admit it to me San! You're just a fucking coward!"

"Fuck you," San retorts, reaching up to grab Wooyoung's wrist, squeezing with a force that was nearly vice-like. "You're an impulsive, annoying, careless idiot who knows nothing except how to drive a fucking car."

"Well this impulsive, annoying and careless idiot saved your fucking lazy ass two weeks ago!"

For a moment, Wooyoung watches as San's face twists further in anger, and for a fraction of a second, he regrets the drunken, hateful words spewing from his tongue. But, the moment Wooyoung's lips part to speak, San shakes his head, chuckling lowly, his hand moving away from Wooyoung's wrist and down to his shirt, grabbing a hold of his lowered collar.

"You're such a fucking brat," San muses huskily, though the faint trace of a smile breaks through, causing Wooyoung to pause, questioning the entire conversation before he feels himself be pulled closer, his lips brushing up against San's. "I own you, Wooyoung. Your life, your heart, your blood– you signed it all over. You just won't admit it because you're too caught up in the idea that you hate me."

Wooyoung's breath hitches, almost in pure reaction to the sudden lust clouded in San's dark eyes, suddenly causing him to reel back in the throes of reality that felt to be slipping away from his fingers. The alcohol may have been enticing him to further this encounter, but he didn't mean for this to turn into. . . this, whatever this was.

But, before he can even speak in protest, San's opposite hand snaps Wooyoung's away before curling into his shirt, keeping him still as their lips collide in a messy, battling kiss. Wooyoung wants to resist, wants to pull away and scream obscenities, but the sensation of San's lips moving against his, riddled with the lingering taste of whiskey and soju, urged on by the share of warm breaths, only made his resolve crumble into a million, fruitless pieces. He was melting into it, but not passively, rather stroked by the same fire that curled the same anger just moments ago.

He was pissed, not wanting to let San take control, refusing to let the male hold any type of power over him, regardless of how any of this were to turn out. He swallows his whimpers, gasps and whines, pressing into San, feeling as the male ripped and tugged at his shirt, scrambling to pull him closer, nearly on top of the desk. Wooyoung follows, not wanting to be seen as weak for running from this or backing down, but rather fighting against it, raising a knee onto San's desk before the other followed, now sitting on San's desk, his hands finding purchase on San's shoulders as he forcibly tried pushing him backwards towards his chair. San wasn't easily swayed, standing put, demanding his own space, curling his hands around Wooyoung's waist as he drew him closer and closer, impulsively dragging Wooyoung to the edge of the desk until his legs were split, welcoming him in between.

Wooyoung doesn't fight him; not now, not yet, playing it out, listening to the rumbles and growls settled at the back of San's tongue, waiting for his own moment to display whatever dominant, arrogant behavior that he could manage. Wooyoung, though, wasn't having it. In a rash move, Wooyoung grabs a hold of San's shirt, struggling with the first button before he forcibly rips it open, thread by thread, listening as the buttons scatter across the floor and onto the desk, but San didn't seem to care. Wooyoung's motions are mirrored by San, clothing now being scattered and ripped off of one another, followed by the unbuckling of belts and tossing of pants and underwear, leaving them utterly nude and pressed against one another with a fervent energy so powerful, it made Wooyoung feel like he was drowning.

"God, I can't fucking stand you," San rasps out, taking a moment to breathe, curling his fingers into Wooyoung's hips.

"I can't stand you either," Wooyoung breathes back, pressing a hand to San's chest, trying to control the moment, but San didn't give in. He grabs Wooyoung's wrist, forcing his hand back down. San tilts his head, inching closer, dragging his lips and teeth along Wooyoung's jaw, refusing to give the male a moment to catch his breath. Wooyoung tilts his head back, biting his lip, withholding and suppressing his noises, trying not to give the male the slightest bit of satisfaction, but it began to feel like a battle he was slowly losing.

San's teeth find his jugular, sinking in and sucking, surely leaving a purpling bruise, laving over it with his tongue and lips, causing Wooyoung to involuntarily gasp, hand flying upwards to curl into the back of San's ebony tresses. San wraps his hands around Wooyoung's hips, pulling him off of the desk and turning him around, pressing against his lower back as he bends him over forcibly. Wooyoung glances over his shoulder, watching as San leans over him, curling his fingers into his hair, tilting his head back, lips brushing up against his ear as his words escape in a husky mumble.

"I own you, just like I own this city. You'll be reminded, each and every single time that you test me, that I will bend you over as a reminder of just how much I own you, just like this."

It's hateful. In every single movement, every single dance of fingers and pull of hair, every single press of skin against skin; it's utterly hateful. Wooyoung doesn't care as to how San treats him, as this feels to be the most freeing thing he's felt in the last month. Even when he feels San roughly push into him, ravaging his insides, staking a claim to whatever the fuck this was going to end up being labeled as, he'd never felt more freed than this.

Maybe it was the severed ties to Yeonjun, maybe it was finally being able to breathe in a society where his opinion mattered, where he was heard and listened to, where the lives they affected somewhat accounted for something. The agency was ripping him apart, limb by limb, sucking him dry and feasting on his insides, and for what? Another paycheck? Another glorified badge and a promise of secrecy? Protecting his deviant past from leaking out into the streets of Seoul just to disturb those who look at the agency to protect them from people just like Wooyoung? Or even better, from people like San?

He didn't care. In this moment, with his hands curled around the edge of the desk, pressing his hips back into San, letting loose a mantra of sounds he can barely comprehend, nothing else mattered. He hated San. He hated Yeonjun. He hated Mingyu, and more importantly, he hated this fucking messy, disgusting web he got himself tangled up into.

"God, I hate you–" Wooyoung forces out, followed by a rushed intake of air, feeling as San's hand holds his hips still, keeping him pressed between the desk and the onslaught of San's thrusting hips.

"Hate me all you want," San mutters back, his voice breathy, but no less dominating. "But right now? You're all mine."

Wooyoung gasps out, gripping the desk tighter, biting his tongue as a slaughter of moans threaten to spill over, struggling to remain quiet, feeling as San becomes nearly unrelenting. He was fueled by his will to dominate, to prove a point, to show Wooyoung at just how much power he still had, and yet, Wooyoung still smiled, taking everything that San was giving him without bothering to break.

He could feel San's grip tightening, he could hear his breaths hollow before rushing out, but he could also feel that vulnerable chase to please, hidden somewhere beneath the urge to simply prove a point. Sensing this, Wooyoung moved his hand, forcing it beneath him as he tried to push himself upward before finding the confidence to shove San off of him. Taken aback, San raised a brow, simply just staring at him, but Wooyoung wasn't done.

Laying a hand on San's chest, he pushed him back into his leather chair, listening as it shifted to accommodate San's weight toppling into it, followed by another added weight as Wooyoung moved to straddle his waist. Wooyoung placed a hand on San's shoulder, looking down at him through lidded eyes, smirking all the while, finally feeling a sense of power through his every move as his hand wrapped around San, teasing him with the sensation of his palm.

"You're such a fucking dick," Wooyoung mutters, raising his hips, leaning closer as he brushes a kiss against the corner of San's lips.

"And you seem to like it–" San retorts, only to be forced into silence by the feeling of Wooyoung sinking back down onto him, shifting his hips inch by inch, welcoming the surge of pleasure coursing through him.

"Just shut the fuck up," Wooyoung hisses, pressing his lips to San's, allowing San to wrap his hands around the thick of his thighs, hesitantly guiding each and every rising motion, encouraging Wooyoung to match the pace of their beating, and feverish hearts.

San, however, wasn't undeterred. His hand reaches up, wrapping around his neck, fingers stroking against his jaw, tilting Wooyoung's head down forcibly as his tongue seeks refuge past the male's teeth, battling for dominance in their pleasurable, hateful dance. Wooyoung can't help but moan into San's mouth, wrapping an arm around San's shoulders, digging his fingers into his skin, leaving marks that would surely leave a lasting reminder of just how sinful their drunken acts had become.

Wooyoung feels his stomach tighten, his pleasure reaching an insurmountable peak that he felt rather fruitful. He was chasing after it, sinking his nails into San's skin, messily kissing his lips, dragging his teeth against San's bottom lip and rolling his hips to try and urge San deeper, to encourage his rapture into oblivion. San seemed just as desperate, thrusting his hips upwards, his lips moving to trail a path on Wooyoung's neck, teeth sinking in and biting, leaving lingering marks that would surely bruise over in just a matter of minutes.

"God, fuck you–" Wooyoung breathes out, strands of his sweat-coated hair dangling in front of his eyes as he tilted his head forwards, then back, arching his spine and pressing his chest against San's, fingers curling deepering into San's skin. "Fuck everything about you– fuck–"

"Can you stop talking?" San asks breathily, wrapping his arm around Wooyoung's lower back.

"Can you stop–?" Wooyoung trails off, swallowing a moan.

"Stop what?" San smirks, bringing Wooyoung's attention back down towards him, murmuring his words against Wooyoung's lips. "It doesn't seem like you want me to stop."

"You're arrogant if you think I'm enjoying this," Wooyoung retorts, subtly watching as San inches closer, melding their lips together in a languid, barely-there kiss.

"You're an idiot if you think I'll treat you any differently after this," San murmurs, gripping Wooyoung's jaw tighter as he kisses him again.

Abruptly, San sharply thrusts upwards, causing a guttural moan to slip past Wooyoung's lips, sending him hurtling towards that desirable ascent into oblivion.

"You're a dick," Wooyoung rasps out, his hand flying up to thread into San's hair, grinding his hips down in a sloppy, hurried manner, feeling as San's hands move, gripping into his waist, bringing Wooyoung miles and miles closer into chasing the fleeting feeling that was dancing around at the edge of his fingertips.

Wooyoung wants to say something else, to reinstate his feelings into the matter, but he can't. He's wordless, his breaths are heavy, laden with ecstatic, drunken pleasure, alight by the whiskey in his veins and simmering to a pleasurable boil.

Wooyoung clings to San, skin pressing to sweaty skin, fingers curling into hair, breaths sharpening before they cut off; leaving Wooyoung to exhale the moment he sinks into pure bliss. His release is utterly euphoric, though the dread of what he had just done sinks right into his core, a fluttering reminder of what he had just done, along with who he had just done it with.