⋆.˚⭒⋆ ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ'ꜱ ᴘᴏᴠ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎. . .⋙

[■■■■■■■■■■] 100% ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ.

The deepening evening wasn't anything like Wooyoung expected. It was cold, met with a kind of darkness that only came with harboring, tumultuous thoughts. It was heavy in a way that most things weren't, burdensome like a towering nimbus cloud, threatening like thunder with a rotating funnel. What he had hoped to be a better interaction, one met with understanding and smaller, delicate smiles, had been the far opposite.

Nothing felt right. Sure, they were both drunk, or even just the slightest bit tipsy to undergo yet again another bout of possessive, more intense intimacy, but that wasn't the San that Wooyoung knew. He wasn't handsy like that, overly consumed by lust, demanding and taking everything that he needed like he wouldn't survive without it. That was drunk San.

That was the San that didn't think before he did something, the one who didn't consider the risks or rewards of his decisions, the one who was afraid to lose someone so close to him because of his namesake. This San was darker, more possessive and controlling, maybe a bit more egotistical and dark. He wanted what he wanted, without asking or even looking for permission. He took, and took, and took, until all that was left was a mind filled to the brim with doubt.

Doubt that came like a siren, calling with an alluring spell that seemed somewhat peaceful, blissful almost, until their true colors showed, and everything else fell from behind a curtain. This world, this mafia, wasn't what it seemed to be. Wooyoung didn't know what he expected, as being within such a group hadn't been easy. But he expected loyalty, strength in being together, plotting and planning for something grand while remaining under the guise of something that seemed rather innocent. That just. . . wasn't the case.

San wasn't like himself right now. He was sitting on the bed, boxers glued to his form as he sat without his shirt, looking down at the floor with his hands clasped together. Wooyoung just stood there, pulling his trousers back on, looping the button against his waist, avoiding eye contact, wondering why in the hell San would kiss him like that. Wooyoung wasn't sure what they meant to one another now, what this even was, for that matter. They could just label this as a one-night-stand again if they so wanted, but truly, Wooyoung wasn't even sure if that's what he wanted. San, in all of his quiet contempt, looked to be just about as drunkenly confused as Wooyoung, and somehow, that meant something.

In that, Wooyoung found it within in himself to hope, to cling on to a version of his new reality where he'd apologize, where San would forgive him, where'd they simply just try to be together. It didn't have to be perfect, nor did it have to make sense to anyone else. As long as he had San, everything just felt. . . clear.

San, however, moved further into bed, pulling the duvet back, shoving his legs beneath, not saying a word while he rolled to his side, his back now facing Wooyoung. He stands there, watching San's sides rise and fall with a slower, deepening rhythm, teetering on the edge of sleep, sinking into the mattress as he allows the drunken pull of whiskey to guide him into dreamland. Though, the moment Wooyoung bends down at his waist to reach for his shirt, San turns, glancing blearily over his shoulder, a glimmer of something unknown passing over his features.

Wooyoung stays put, his fingers curled around his shirt as he slowly straightens his back, hands twitching with uncertainty, not knowing if San wanted him to leave, or if he wanted him to stay. But, he says nothing. Instead, he reaches a hand out, extending towards Wooyoung, not quite pleading for the male to stay, but silently asking for connection.

Wooyoung hesitates, he pauses completely, eyes shimmering with an unfamiliar surge of tears that dangle and dance against his lashes, coming forth with a realization that he never thought he'd see. San wanted him, too.

So, he takes a chance. He lets his hand raise and plant itself into San's grasp, curling his fingers around San's palm as the male squeezes his hand right back, slightly pulling Wooyoung towards the bed. Wooyoung follows without protest, dropping his shirt onto the floor once more, climbing onto the mattress, mindful to avoid hurting San in the process until he falls onto the other side, adjusting the duvet just enough to cover his legs and waist.

He turns his head while leaning into his pillow, meeting San's gaze, watching as his eyes slowly begin to soften. Wooyoung feels himself growing warmer beneath the male's gaze, eyes searching, wandering, clinging on to this silent, tender moment as if it'd be the last time he'd ever get to experience this. Just then, San raises an arm, his hand slowly moving to brush a strand of hair aside from Wooyoung's forehead, curling the ebony strand behind his ear with a touch so delicate, Wooyoung nearly didn't feel it.

This was the San that Wooyoung missed. The one who didn't need to use words, the one who sought out connection to tether him back to reality, and the one who was softer than the lightest flurry of snow. He wasn't all brawn and brute, cold and deprived of emotion. He was kind, and he cared more than anyone else could ever dare to comprehend. This moment, the faintest tremble of San's touch, the delicate glimmer in the male's reddened eyes, had all spoken of the tenderness that lay inside. He might not show it all the time, but behind this closed door, laden in candlelight and encompassing darkness, his steely gaze melted into a million versions of adoration, his smile slowly bleeding through the enforced cracks of his usual demeanor. He allowed himself to just be human, to not have to be on guard, to be strong and tough, to not be emotionless. He just allowed himself to be exactly that; himself. And now, Wooyoung found it nearly impossible to look away, to walk away from something as beautiful as this because he realized just how much he loved him.

The beginnings of his feelings felt as delicate as a flower. Born as a seed, sprouting a relationship that neither of them dared to comment on, yet the more they watered the seed, the more light they gave it, the more warmth it received, everything finally began to blossom. It was a delicate rose, reddened with beauty, yet tinged with razored thorns, a budding sign of something so rare that it felt to bloom in the midst of a field of daisies.

They couldn't have anticipated this, especially after their first encounter, but with the magnetic pull that came from looking at one another, all the way down to how it felt to just be with one another, it was something that could stop time. The faintest brush of a kiss, the trail of fingers against skin, the curve of that damn smile that always had Wooyoung weak in his knees; it was infatuation. Toxic, maybe, but alluring all the same.

Wooyoung felt like he was drunk while being overly sober, entranced into the male's aura as if he'd drunk the largest bottle of soju. Dizzying and encompassing, San pulled Wooyoung closer and closer, melding their bodies together in an embrace that felt all too intimate to be just friends.

Wooyoung inches closer, glancing down, his hand laid on the mattress between them, desperately close to San's arm. He wants to breach across the distance, to mold their bodies together completely, but he was scared. Terrified to trek too far, petrified to ruin everything that had just fallen back into place. It was a delicate balance, a line teetering between longing and the unknown, wanting nothing more than to walk into that place where he could just be San's again, but after everything he had done, after everything that San had said about staying out of his affairs. . . was it worth the risk?

To fall into the deep, to sink beneath the surface, to allow himself to drown in the hope that San would be the one diving in to save him, to pull him right back to the place they sought shelter in together. It was scary, and Wooyoung couldn't find it within himself to just move across that subtle breach of space, to try and reach for something he wanted so badly, and yet, San does.

San reaches, his arm smoothly wrapping around Wooyoung's middle as he tugged him closer without the single utterance of words or permission.

He just takes. Like he always does.

It was warm, intimate in a manner that was completely unforeseen, unanticipated. Wooyoung didn't protest, however, allowing San to pull him closer, to relish in his warmth, to finally just relax, to just breathe, to just be.

San didn't say a word. He just held Wooyoung. He held him in a manner that felt like a significant opening to their relationship, yet. . . Wooyoung couldn't help but feel a nagging realization that it could very well also be just as much of a goodbye as it was a hello.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎. . .⋙

The morning was calm. Not a comfortable calm, something that was laced with unease, hidden amongst a thicket of the unknown.

San wasn't in bed.

Which, to Wooyoung's waking brain, was the slightest bit worrying. His duvet was pulled back, the sheets askew, his pillows a slight mess without a lingering clue as to where he could be. Upon further inspection as Wooyoung sat upright, Daemon, San's loyal dog, wasn't in the room either. Which only brought forth more questions.

The room was dark, slightly illuminated by the light that came from under the door, shone inwards, resting against the floorboards. Wooyoung scanned the door, taking note of the door handle, the lock, the way it was slightly left ajar, as if meaning that San was coming back, and not completely shutting out whatever was done the night previous. At this point, given their history, Wooyoung was sure that everyone in the compound somewhat knew about last night's escapades. Everyone was tipsy, flirting, laughing, just being a casual person for once, which likely led to a slew of trouble all around; surely they could excuse their boss and lowest ranking greenie sleeping together. Surely.

He wouldn't hold it against them, however, if they didn't. He just didn't know what to expect. The unexpected, really, is what he always anticipated, but as of late, with this deepening, thickening web of entangled emotions and connections, he found himself stuck in the fray, trying to piece it all together without completely falling apart.

Sometimes it felt like he was standing at the sidelines, watching everything unfold before him without the slightest warning of what was to come. A storm, a thickening haze, a cold front, maybe even a disastrous tornado coming to sweep everyone up and off of their feet. Who knows? Even as he sat there in bed, legs covered by the covers slightly, almost pulled up to his thighs, he waited, like a deer trapped in the high beams of an oncoming car, wondering if he should even move or chase after the man that began to claim his heart.

What even was last night? Now that he was thinking about it, San was drunk. Wooyoung was the slightest bit tipsy, but San smelled of a deep cologne and the musk of whiskey, drowning himself in the amber liquid before his own feelings could drown him elsewhere. He pulled on Wooyoung, tugged him closer, demanded the intimacy as if he couldn't function without it. Wooyoung gave, and gave, and gave, all so San could take, and take, and take. It was unhealthy, borderline toxic, but at this point, Wooyoung wasn't entirely sure if he cared.

The bed was stagnant compared to the thrumming of his heart, rapidly beating against his chest in anticipation, thundering like storm clouds within the confines of his torso. He could feel his pulse raging in his throat, could hear the thumping rhythm of his heart pounding away in his ears, and furthermore, he could feel the way his fingers slightly trembled, wondering if San would enter into the room with a steely gaze, or the one that softened almost immediately when their eyes met.

Last night. . . very well could be a mistake, in the eyes of some. Wooyoung wasn't entirely sure what he thought, as losing himself in the throes of everything that San could give felt like a rational, relatively okay idea at the time. Though, in retrospect, given their turbulent history, it likely was not a great idea. Well, sue him; Wooyoung couldn't exactly care any more or any less than he did right now, sitting in San's bed, watching the door as if it would simply open or close its-damn-self.

He shifts, almost uneasily, glancing around the room, finding the remaining, darkening reminders of their previous night cast across the floor, almost as if a ghastly reminder of what was to begin, or even to end. His clothes, a scattered mess at the foot of the bed, felt like the wear of his armor, falling apart, piece by fragile piece, leaving him vulnerable, exposed, submissing to San's will every single time the buttons were unlooped and the fabric slipped right off of his delicate shoulders. His trousers, though covering his thighs, hiding away the skin just beneath, hadn't held up against San's touch, the way he grabbed and reached for what he wanted, coming undone as if the fabric itself had a mind of its own.

His hair, a tangled, askew mess from overnight tossing and turning, left pressed up against the hardened edges of San's wall, began to resemble just how frayed his control was, how little of himself now remained that he had completely given up on everything. He wasn't even the slightest fraction of who he was before, lost in a smog of what once was, riddled in lies and deceit from the mouth of someone he claimed to call his lover. The cold, calculated assassin that he once was, just didn't exist anymore. His brain, once emotionless, mostly numb and self-focused, had shifted, wondering if he'd ever get the chance to be loved by the one male that he was sent to kill in a plot of greed and deception.

The person he was had molded into the person he had always wanted to be, met with a relationship that felt right. Was he entirely deserving of it? No, not really. But even still, he so selfishly wanted it all for himself. The idea of someone having San, of someone touching him and whispering words to him, taking the place that Wooyoung once adorned, made his chest boil with an envy that was truly unlike him. But oh well, he thinks. That's what love does to someone.

Suddenly, the door is pushed open, a palm flat against the wood as more light bleeds into the room, followed by the soft click of nails and patter of paw pads, causing Wooyoung to look upright just a little more, watching as San's figure trails inwards. He didn't look at Wooyoung, not immediately, not just yet. He was cradling a cup of coffee, a loose black tee adorned to his torso, fitted and matched with joggers, making Wooyoung wonder if he was preparing to workout, or just casually decided to dress down for the day.

Then, their eyes meet. The door shuts, Daemon's steps halting as he sits on his bed in the corner, an electric spark firing off between them as Wooyoung waits for anything that San has to say. But his eyes, the ones that had softened the night before, the same ones that looked so full of love just hours ago, darkened immediately.

Wooyoung's lips part, the words catching on the edge of his tongue, but San glances away, taking a sip of his steaming coffee, the scent of creamer and coffee beans lingering in the cavernous space that settled between them. Wooyoung's legs shift, his hands reaching for the blanket, almost wanting to flee and duck for cover, yet the other half of him, the half that loved San, clung to the mattress, wanting nothing more than his approval.

The door closes, locking them in an intimate darkness, though before one could protest, San flicks on the overhead lights in part of the room, dimming out near his closet, leaving the bed dark, almost veiled over by his unwillingness to truly look at Wooyoung. The male just sits there, fingers dancing along the edge of the duvet, pondering on getting up and leaving, closing the distance between them, or simply staying put. Then, San speaks.

"You're awake."

Wooyoung raises his brow, only partially, studying San as he treks towards the lounge chair nearby, setting his coffee down, letting his fingers brush against the ceramic of the mug. Wooyoung follows his gaze, trailing over the black mug before glancing upwards, watching as San adjusts the watch adorned on his wrist with a movement so mechanical, it felt forced.

"And you're not in bed," Wooyoung replies, keeping his tone even, not yet giving away the tumultuous storm of things raging around inside of his head.

San nods, his jaw absently tightening before he turns, hands falling down to rest at his sides. "I don't owe you an explanation, Wooyoung. I'm allowed to come and go as I please."

Wooyoung glances down, his fingers curling into the fabric of the duvet. "So. . . you're not completely okay with what we did last night?"

San is quiet for a moment, and Wooyoung can feel his eyes on him. It's intense, likely filled with something unexpected, a reaction to words that Wooyoung didn't truly mean to let slip free. But he had to know. He had to. Was this just meaningless, hateful sex again? Was it possessive? Was it San trying to prove a point once more? Or did it mean everything that they both couldn't admit to?

"I wasn't in my right mind, Wooyoung," he says, his voice unfaltering, without the slightest hitch of doubt. "I was drunk, and I wasn't thinking about the consequences."

Wooyoung looks up at him, his heart heavy with the realization of San's mindset. He didn't want this; he didn't want him. He resented everything they did, likely hated himself for it, even if he couldn't completely look at Wooyoung as the words spewed from his lips. Did he mean them? Was he deflecting? Or was this the honest truth that Wooyoung was trying to make excuses for?

"Why would you use me then?" Wooyoung asks brazenly, his brow furrowing as he pushes the duvet aside, pushing himself upright and off of the bed. "If you wanted no part in this, and if you didn't want me, why would you let me walk in here and pull me closer?"

San's posture grows rigid, his eyes scaling over Wooyoung as he assesses the situation, debating on a further reply.

"Because! I was fucking confused, Wooyoung. I was drunk out of my mind, trying to drink away the memories and the thoughts that I apparently can't get rid of because you've poisoned my mind. I'm trying to get rid of you, and you keep crawling back here towards me."

Wooyoung scoffs, biting back the hurt that swelled in his chest. "You claim that you want to get rid of me, that you want nothing to do with me, then you turn around and fuck me, pull me into your bed, all to just push me away again. You do realize how that sounds, don't you? Delusional. Like you're trying to run away from me but you can't bear to live without me in your orbit."

"I trusted you!" San yells suddenly, the hurt in his voice radiating through as Wooyoung stands there before him, arms slowly folding over his chest as he steels himself over, like a practiced performance that he had endured from an ex-lover time and time again. "I gave into you, and I gave you my heart. I gave you the parts of myself that I would never let anyone see because I trusted you! You broke that trust, Wooyoung. I didn't."

Wooyoung nods, not quite deflecting from the truth, because he couldn't. He did break San's trust, and probably his heart, but never on purpose. That was where the true disconnect was hidden, lost amongst a thinning line of being lied to and not meaning to hurt someone with the harsher truth. A double-edged sword, swinging in the delicate space that hung between them, but it's only now that Wooyoung realized just how much that sword pierced into San's chest and ripped him apart.

"I know what I did, San. Do you really think that I intended for things to end up the way that they did? I was sent here, emotionless and fully prepared to commit to the things I was hired to do, and I didn't. I gave in to temptation and I slept with you, over and over again, because I can't sit here and deny the fact that I have feelings for you."

"Don't fucking pull that shit with me, Wooyoung–" San says, biting every word that erupts from his lips. "You made a choice. You chose to come in here, seduce me, and to try and kill me without bothering to even let me in on the truth until your psychotic ex-boyfriend nearly killed you."

Wooyoung is silent, turning his head slightly, gaze becoming avoidant, trying to keep his emotions at bay while he listens to San yell and raise his voice, over and over again.

He deserved it. He knew he did. But he didn't feel like San was listening to him.

"What we did meant nothing to you, did it? It was just sex to win me over, so you could slip in my room, unnoticed, and what? Slit my throat, kill me in my sleep?"

Wooyoung lets out a shaky breath, shutting his eyes tightly. "No–" he says with a whispered breath, his voice breaking slightly. "No, that's not– no! You're putting words in my mouth, San!"

"Then speak! Tell me the fucking truth, because right now, from where I'm standing, you just look so fucking guilty that you can barely even make eye contact with me."

"What am I supposed to do?!" Wooyoung replies, finally turning, his eyes burning with tears, meeting San's gaze defiantly. "You didn't have to go through everything that I did. You didn't have to sit here and lie your way through everything, to try and please the people in the government who are watching your every move like a prey-starved hawk. I was under their radar, San, and yet, I chose to give up everything I had for you!"

"I never asked you to play superhero, Wooyoung. You did that all by yourself."

Wooyoung looks at him, truly looks at him. Beyond the veil of San's anger, was the thicket of hurt he was so desperately trying to mask over, forcing himself to be the bad guy so he could avoid crushing under the weight of what he was truly feeling. He was hurt, heartbroken, trying to reassemble his shattered trust like a myriad of puzzle pieces, all belonging to the wrong box.

"I made the choice to ruin everything that I had waiting for me," Wooyoung says, keeping his voice quiet, tightening his jaw. Tears were bridging over, and yet, he willed them not to fall. Not here, not now, and especially not yet. "I ruined my entire life for you, San. I wanted to be here, to be with you, because I can't stand the thought of being without you."

San says nothing, his posture rigid, eyes slightly wide, hands curled into fists beside him, listening without interrupting, almost as if he was waiting to hear something to mend the wounds marring over his entire being.

"I had a house, a car, a fucking selfish, piece of shit partner and a job that paid the bills. I had everything that someone should want, and yet I wanted none of it. I just wanted you." Wooyoung feels his lip tremble, but he calms himself, letting the final reach of his words to linger in the space there, hoping, praying, that San would finally see the truth of his intentions. "I still do. I want you, San."

San stands there, completely still, his eyes brimming with an emotion that Wooyoung never thought he'd see. Tears. He was hurting, so profoundly, so deeply, that for once, his steely exterior finally began to just crack.

"Get out," he mutters, shaking his head, trying to dislodge everything that was beginning to fall over. "Get out, Wooyoung. Leave my cartel, stay, I don't care. Just leave my room and stay out of my shit."

"San–"

"I said leave, Wooyoung." San turns away, clenching his fists so tight that his knuckles bled white. "Last night was a mistake, and it'll stay that way. We're done."

Wooyoung stands there, arms falling away from his chest, lips parting to speak, but the words, fragile and afraid, die before they could even come to fruition. The tears finally bridge over, storming down his cheeks, curling and falling to the floor, just in the same manner his heart had fallen out of his chest and shattered into a million, crumbled pieces. He wants to say something, to reach out and to fix this, but as San turns further away, his back now facing him, Wooyoung realizes that it's too late. The damage was done. Just as it had begun, it had ended, all because of a selfish lie.

He grabs his phone, bending down to grab his shirt from the floor as he reaches the door, opening it with the faintest creak from the wood and metal hinges. San just stands there, his gaze turned away, his steaming mug of coffee still resting there, more tranquil than the atmosphere itself had felt. Wooyoung's hand lingers on the door, standing in the doorway, waiting, hoping that San would turn around, but he doesn't.

He doesn't dare meet Wooyoung's gaze, and instead, he turns again, walking further into the dark of the room to hide far away from the one person that had hurt him in a manner that no one else had. Wooyoung lets himself step out, the door closing, a definitive click ringing against his ears as he stands there, the quiet seeming too numbing, too loud, causing his entire demeanor to crumble at the seams.

His eyes shut, his hand falling away, wondering how he could've ended up here. He lost everything, now. His home, both of his partners, both loved and unloved, his job and his friends, leaving him in a space where he wasn't even sure he belonged anymore. The walls were empty, once riddled with secret kisses and languid touches, giving way to a freedom he hadn't felt before. And now, they were deathly silent, pale in color, and whispering about everything he had done so discreetly, painting him to be the villain he had always sought to erase from this world.

His steps, teetering and unsure, lead him down the sterile corridor, listening as voices fan out behind him, joyful and jovial, likely enjoying the morning company of one another as Wooyoung walked, alone and isolated, back to the confines of a room that slowly began to resemble more of a prison than it did a home.

The moment he opens his door and walks inside, the entire dam breaks loose, causing him to toss his shirt away, reaching for his desk, latching onto the one hoodie that still somehow smelled like a part of his life that he no longer had. He tugs it on, arms pulling through until the warmth seeps over his skin, but it does nothing to fix the broken ailments of his soul.

He then sits there, placed on the edge of his bed, staring down at the floor, vision blurring with tears as he tries to comprehend how he fucked up so badly. He should've never taken this job, should've never agreed to it, shouldn't have listened to Mingyu, and how he never should've slept with San in the first place. Maybe then, this wouldn't be so complicated. Maybe then, just maybe, would he be whole again.

Yet, the other half of him lingered in that master suite, locked away behind the door, staying with the one man that held onto his heart so tightly, that it simply broke into several pieces. He didn't want it back, in truth. That small portion of himself, the one that loved San still, even despite the yelling, the words, and the pain inflicted by mere sentences, clung to him, wondering how he could ever move past someone who treated him in the way no one else ever had?

Yeonjun was never like that with him. He was cruel, manipulative, sharp-witted with a tongue that truly spat abusive words in every direction that Wooyoung thought of. He didn't want anyone else, now. He wanted to be by himself, to isolate and to cower in the darkness, trudging through what felt to be the most turbulent year of his life.

This back and forth, this magnetic pull was anything but healthy, but now with their ties severed, Wooyoung feels himself drift freely in a manner that he didn't want. He was free-falling, lingering in the depth of an ocean that encompassed a merciless tide, one that was beginning to swallow him whole.

He wanted nothing more than to disappear, to gather his things and flee the country, to simply try somewhere else; and yet. . . he convinces himself to try. One more time.

He'd give San a little bit of time, give them a little bit of time to heal from the lies and deceit, only to talk it through and let San see just how much he changed. He wasn't ready to give up just yet, lingering in a mafia that wasn't even home to him anymore, but he'd risk it all for San. Just once more. He was worth that much.

But if he were to fail, if he couldn't make San see the truth, well. . . he'd pack everything and disappear, just in the way a ghost always did.