⋆.˚⭒⋆ ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ'ꜱ ᴘᴏᴠ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎. . .⋙

[■■■■■■■■■■] 100% ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ.

His eyes flutter open with a slight wince. His hangover was already brazingly apparent, throbbing against the frame of his skull, dancing along his skin, causing him to nearly groan in protest. There was no light within the room, leaving it cast in complete darkness, though he didn't mind that. With a breath inwards, Wooyoung tilts his head to the left, letting his eyes flutter shut again, sinking back into a state of peace that seemed to rush towards him. It was almost as if the exhaustion had caught up to him, the weight of his insomnia followed by the dreadful demands placed onto his shoulders by his agency, all came crashing to a halt, causing him to seek out more peace, more sleep, if only for a moment longer.

And then he felt movement in the bed beside him.

His eyes snapped open, his head turning, spotting the slightly familiar contours of a bare back facing him. His brows pinch together, eyes narrowing, piecing back the remnants of his drunken escapades just as it all hits him in a wave. He closes his eyes, a hand raising to cover them and dragging down, mirrored by the internal thought of what the actual fuck?

He slept with San. Though he remembered most of it now, he couldn't remember the details of how he wound up bent over his desk and on his lap, speaking in curses and pleas, only to end up in a bed that isn't his own. He rolls his eyes at himself, looking up at the ceiling as his hand falls away, fidgeting with the edge of the duvet as San sleeps deeply next to him. San, very easily, could've taken him to his own room, and yet, he didn't. He brought him here, to his abode, to his place of comfort away from the chaos of his own life, choosing to allow Wooyoung a step closer than he ever truly imagined he'd be in this entangled web.

Truthfully, it was a ploy to rile San up, to earn some sort of leverage that he could use against him, but. . . he didn't expect this. He didn't expect to feel his heart confused, nor did he expect to find himself not wanting to leave San's bed. He was still mad at him, partially, but he supposes a grudge wouldn't help his situation, either. So, for now, he lets it go, choosing to argue with the brute another time, one where they both weren't drunk and apparently lustful.

He knew what was asked of him. He knew of the job he still entertained, even besides his cracked, and momentarily, shut off phone. Though he longed to ignore it all, he knew he couldn't. Sleeping with San intimately wasn't a part of his plan, but it did help quicken the pace of his facade, making it easier to slip into the hornet's nest, simply undetected.

He didn't know what the morning would bring, nor the coming days, unaware of how truly entangled he had gotten himself. San's reign over the city wasn't anything to take lightly, especially with the men he deemed as his family down here, which made the stakes all that more monumental. It wasn't every day that a kingpin lowered his guard, showing a softer, more vulnerable mirror into his soul, allowing the figure of a stranger into his bed, into his mind, and into the folds of his deeply rooted family. Wooyoung didn't know what he was doing in all pure honesty, feeling as if a part of him became deeply ensnared in the routine he had so helplessly made while here, all in an effort to hopefully try and get himself to sleep more frequently. But, the sleep never came, regardless of how much he tried to familiarize himself with the confines of this underground base, the people here, the weight of San's words and his stare; all of it was familiar and alien in the same notion.

Maybe he was thinking too much into it. Maybe he was entertaining the idea of San's feelings too much. After all, Wooyoung was here to kill him. Why was he so concerned with San's feelings on the matter? Why did Wooyoung think of anything besides his mission? Wasn't that the entire point of why he was here?

He groans. This shit was way too complicated now, and he couldn't be fucked to care, anymore. He knew Mingyu would be pissed, Yeonjun too for that matter, as well as everyone else, most likely. Yet, he didn't care. The rational part of him knew that going back to his regular life after this simply wouldn't be as easy as it had before. All of his previous missions over the years never spanned in a scene like this, causing him to plant himself within the tangled web of a different life for more than a few days. He was here, for weeks, familiarizing himself with the men down here and their roles within the mafia, while also studying San's every move and learning his behaviors. It was almost second-nature now, especially with the way Wooyoung had begun to see San. He wasn't the heartless, cold and merciless kingpin that he once pictured, but rather someone who is pained by his past, seeking vengeance in the only way he was raised to know. His family was cruel, his past even more so for that matter, leaving him fractured and struggling to piece his parts back together. Wooyoung could see him for exactly who he was, all from the simple utterance of a few words and a broken, dusty old photo, wondering if there was more to the story than San led to believe.

His parents did something heinous, something that resulted in this complete fracture between himself and the rest of his family, causing him to lash out and seek isolation, controlling the city in every single asset that he could reach. His parents, from what Wooyoung saw above ground, looked the part that every notorious and rich family played. Poised, arrogant, politically correct; the usual bullshit that Wooyoung never believed. Yet, San was none of those things– well, maybe arrogant. But poised? Politically correct? No. He was the far opposite. He was cynical, composed, collected, calculated, keen and eager, but more than anything else was he ravenous. He was hungry for more of anything; power, money, gain, people. Anything he could grab, he wanted, likely in a move to hold more figures over his parent's head before enacting on his promised strike that he kept referring to. He needed the data chip, the one that Mingyu talked so highly of, which would give him access to every single network available to do. . . well, whatever he wanted to, really. He wouldn't have a limit, and the world, as it seemed, would be available at his fingertips.

Wooyoung watches San's sides rise and recede, his deepening breaths soothing the tide of slumber he seemed overly entrapped within. For a moment, he debates on waking the male, on asking about why he was in his bed, but he chooses not to. San needed to sleep, and he needed to get the hell out of here. Especially before anyone could dare to ask questions about any of this.

Carefully, Wooyoung sits upright, keeping his movements slow, pressing his hands against the sheets and mattress, propping himself up as he glances at San again, who hadn't moved an inch. Assured, Wooyoung moves to toss the blanket off of his legs, feeling as the room's cool air strikes against his bare skin, leaving him flushed and confused, wondering why San had let him sleep in just his boxers, in his bed, especially after claiming to hate one another so passionately.

With a subtle breath outwards, Wooyoung glances around the room, eyeing the floor, the nearby chair, the dresser, trying to search for any sign of his clothes, yet remaining unsuccessful. There seemed to be no sign of his personal clothes, which meant they were either still in San's office, scattered around the desk, or he had placed them elsewhere. With an internal groan, Wooyoung tosses his legs over the side of the bed, listening as San shifts around, moving to lay on his back, but yet not quite waking. Carefully, he rises from the bed, reaching for his phone that had been delicately placed on the nightstand nearby, slowly beginning to walk away from the bed where San slept. He glances around the opposite side of the bed, spotting yet again, no clothes, before looking in the nearby closet, whose doors had been left slightly ajar and open.

He rolls his eyes, clutching onto his phone as he turns, spotting San still sleeping, his chest rising and falling with a content rhythm, something that made him seem a lot more peaceful than he normally ever was. Curious, Wooyoung walks closer again, hovering near the edge of the bed, his eyes trailing over every single curl of San's tattoos, raking his eyes across the sight of his broad chest and chiseled figure, feeling as he unconsciously bites his lip. Why was he so infuriatingly attractive?

It was only then that he took a true moment to spot the scars laden across his body, almost as if he had been marred from a previous battle, ravaged by a pack of wolves and left to die, alone and without the support of his crew. Wooyoung's brows pinch, curiosity controlling his movements as he lingers closer, knowing all too well the shapes of these scars and their afflictions. He had two scars from two bullets, meaning he had been shot some time ago, but for circumstances Wooyoung couldn't picture. San wasn't one to really put himself into harm's way, but in seeing this, a wave of confusing concern melts over his core, making him wonder why San, of all people, would risk his ass for someone else?

Changbin admitted to him yesterday that this place, this group, would be nothing without San. So why would San risk everything? Why would he dare to risk the entire molding of his empire to crumble at the seams, all for what? Saving someone else? It didn't make sense to Wooyoung, especially when San had been described as ruthless, careless, selfish; everything that Mingyu oddly was.

But, he drags his eyes away, rounding the bed again, settling down on the edge of it where he had previously laid. Part of him really didn't wish to leave, especially at this early hour, but not having any clothes to protect him from any prying eyes left him nearly helpless.

He could hear San's breaths deepening before suddenly hitching, his body and arms moving, the faintest of groans escaping from his parted lips. Wooyoung turns over his shoulder, spotting San's eyes now fluttering awake, adjusting to whatever ailment had caused him to groan so quietly, glancing around the room until he stumbles across Wooyoung.

At first, neither of them said anything. Wooyoung shies away from San's glance, too afraid to face the truth of what was laden beneath, turning to glance at his phone that held no notifications of a single kind. He didn't know what to say as hateful, vengeful one night stands weren't typically his thing. Should he apologize? Should they talk about it? Should he leave? He didn't know. This was unfamiliar territory.

But, after a moment, San speaks, his voice a low, husky murmur that sends a trill through Wooyoung's core. "Hey, you okay?"

Wooyoung glances over his shoulder again, searching San's expression before he nods, trying to figure out the best words to express. "Fine, just– tired."

"Seems to be more than that," San replies, adjusting the way he had been laying until he sits upright, brushing a hand through his hair. "You can tell me, Wooyoung. It's not going to hurt my feelings if you hated everything that we did."

Wooyoung raises a brow, contemplating internally, weighing the options and the truth behind his every urge last night. Truthfully, he didn't know if being intimate with San was something he wanted or not, but in the aftermath, he can't find himself to hate it. Though, he wishes he wasn't completely drunk, as he would've rather been rational and sober for something like that, but he supposes there was a first time for everything.

"Hated it?" Wooyoung says, turning slightly to face San better. "No, I didn't. I just. . . didn't expect it."

San nods, glancing down at his lap, allowing the silence to briefly engulf them. "We were both too drunk to be thinking rationally."

"Were you drunk?" Wooyoung asks, watching as San meets his gaze, a flicker of uncertainty flashing across his eyes. But, eventually, San relents.

"I guess not to the extent that you were. You drank more than I did."

"So, you wanted to do all of that?"

"There's no easy way to answer that, Wooyoung–"

"But I need you to," Wooyoung responds, turning fully now, facing San as he reaches for the blanket, covering his bare legs, watching as San's gaze begins to falter, a sudden vulnerability crashing over his usually steely demeanor.

"We just hooked up, Wooyoung–" he begins to say, but he shakes his head. "Even if I wanted to place feelings into it, I don't think that either of us should. Getting involved with me, especially right now, only places a target on your back."

"As if being a part of your mafia hasn't?" Wooyoung contests, watching as San lets a sigh bleed through his lips, rolling his eyes.

"You're not hearing me. People want me dead, Wooyoung. I'm not an idiot. I know there's a bounty on my head, and there's a reason I don't keep someone close to me like this. Their life will be in danger from the moment anyone spots us together, or somehow knows that my heart cares for someone in an intimate means. Their life suddenly becomes more endangered than mine ever would be, because people aim to hurt me. The only way to hurt me anymore is to take someone from me, someone that means something to me."

Wooyoung nods, partially expecting an answer like that while also feeling unsure if he really wanted more with San to begin with. Yeonjun wasn't really his priority anymore, especially after his last words, but this, whatever this was, caused a slight twist in his heart that he hadn't felt before.

He was conflicted, and in the most painful way possible.

"It can mean nothing," Wooyoung says abruptly, causing San's eyes to shift towards his own again. "No one has to know, you know. We're adults, we can just– I don't know, pretend it didn't even happen."

San raises a brow, but he doesn't look away this time. "Are you sure? Is that something you want?"

"What else can we do, San?" Wooyoung says with a breath, almost exasperated by the mere idea of entertaining anything more suddenly, truly knowing the outcome of what would happen if they became even more familiar with one another. He wasn't even here to be with San, he was here to kill him. He just couldn't draw the line between the two ideas; not now, not yet.

"I don't know, that's why I don't really do this kind of thing," San admits, his hand messing with the duvet before stilling, letting another deep breath pass through his lungs. "I'm not one to just sleep around, Wooyoung. It did mean something, even if neither of us are going to admit it. But if that's what you want, we can pretend it didn't even happen."

Wooyoung, in a weird quirk, smiles, letting the words roll off of his tongue before he could even dare to stop them. "Are you calling me special, Choi San?"

Surprised, San's eyes widened, completely caught off-guard. "Special–? No, why the hell would I say that?"

"You just said you don't sleep around," Wooyoung quips, his smirk never failing. "So why'd you choose me?"

San's usual demeanor falters, and for once, Wooyoung feels slightly victorious. He was getting too used to seeing San like this, and being this close with him.

"Wooyoung–"

"It's alright, you don't have to admit it," Wooyoung says teasingly, leaning closer, carefully pressing a finger against San's chest, unable to miss how San's breath hitches. "I secretly know why, anyway."

"You're annoying," San says with a roll of his eyes, but his true humor was belayed by the slight twitch of his lips, causing a smile to linger at the faint edges, giving Wooyoung the clear signal to keep going.

"Yet, I'm here, in your room, and not in my own. Why's that?"

"I just couldn't. . . I don't know. It felt wrong to leave you alone in your room, sobering up– I just. . . didn't have a clear conscience about leaving you alone when you were drunk like that."

"You're such a soft mafia boss," Wooyoung says, leaning away, moving to toss the covers off of his legs once more. "You can't fool me, San. You can act all tough outside that door, but after tonight, you're all mush to me."

"Remember that I'm still your boss beyond all of this," San says in a mock-warning, which results in Wooyoung smiling even more, tossing a playful glare in San's direction.

"I know. You made it very clear how much you like to be in control last night," Wooyoung says, lowering his tone just enough to elicit a subtle flush to creep across San's neck.

"Wooyoung–"

"I need to shower," Wooyoung interrupts, not allowing San to speak anymore into their previous escapades. "How am I supposed to get back to my room?"

"By walking."

Wooyoung arches a brow, unamused. "Funny. I don't have clothes on, genius. How are we supposed to hide this from everyone if I'm practically naked?"

"Take some of my clothes," San suggests, gesturing to the closet. "I think I left yours in my office, anyway."

Wooyoung blinks, twice, nodding soon after, trying to grapple with what San had just said. Take some of my clothes, as if it was just casual to say that?

"O-kay, fine, but. . . how did you bring me in here, anyway? I don't. . . remember much."

"You helped me clean a bit before you sat down in my chair, claiming to need a minute to gather yourself, and when I looked over after fixing a stack of papers, you passed out in my chair."

Almost embarrassingly, Wooyoung shakes his head, feeling a flush crawl over his cheeks. "My God, don't tell me you had to dress me too?"

"No, you can still have some dignity there. You put your boxers back on before becoming sleeping beauty in my chair."

With a roll of his eyes, Wooyoung rises from the bed, running a hand through his hair. "Fair enough. At least I can walk away with some dignity."

"You owe me a new shirt, by the way," San teases lightly, watching Wooyoung's every move as the male saunters over to the male's open closet.

"Do I?" Wooyoung asks, pushing one of the doors open. "I don't think you minded when I ripped it open."

San chuckles, and though Wooyoung can't see it, he was sure there was a smirk of some sort plastered across the male's expression.

"That was an expensive shirt, Wooyoung. All those buttons came right off."

"Oops," Wooyoung says with a shrug, glancing over his shoulder. "Considering the size of this closet, I think you'll live."

"I mean it, though. Take whatever you want. I'm sure you can hand them back over to me another day. I clearly won't miss them, considering the fact that you're making fun of how much clothing I have, anyway."

Wooyoung pulls a sweatshirt out of San's closet, distressed and intentionally ripped in some places, hued in a deep gray. He raises a brow, turning around, raising the item by the hanger. "Even this? You won't miss it?"

"I hardly wear it anymore, anyway. Take it," San mutters, running his hand through his hair again, almost absently.

Wooyoung, somehow assured, pulls the sweatshirt off of the hanger, tugging it over his head carefully, feeling the item become baggier than it seemed, nearly pooling over his arms and sinking well past his waist, nearly drowning him in it. Wooyoung feels his face flush, somehow unaware of how San fit into a shirt of this size because of his stature and muscles, which made his flush only deepen. Moving on, he quickly discarded the hanger, moving over to the dresser in an attempt to find shorts, sweatpants, joggers; something.

After searching through two drawers, Wooyoung finally finds a pair of black joggers, pulling them over his legs and waist, tying the drawstring tighter to sinch on his waist, only in a move to keep them from falling straight down. He didn't anticipate for San's clothes to be this different in comparison to his own, but the mere thought of it was slightly attractive.

"You sure you want to do this?" San asks, still sitting on his bed, watching Wooyoung curiously.

"We have to, remember?" Wooyoung adjusts the jumper before walking back towards the bed, snagging his phone that he had left lying on the mattress. "You're concerned for my well-being, even if you won't admit it. That's fine. I'm okay with being a rational adult, San. I work for you, and that's all that this can be, if anything, anymore. I'm not a teenager, I won't cry over not having sex with you again."

San nods, and for a moment, Wooyoung can sense a flicker of guilt passing over his features. It was subtle, almost passed over, but he could see it nonetheless.

"Right, well–" he sighs. "Go on. I'll be out in a bit. We've got a debrief this evening about another shipment, so I need you rested."

Wooyoung smiles, offering a faux-salute, slipping his phone into the pocket of San's joggers. "You got it, boss."

With that, he turns, heading for the door, reaching for the handle, nearly hesitating, wanting to look back and cast San some sort of a smile or expression of assurance, but he doesn't. That's not what he was here for, not at all. He needed to stick to his mission, to communicate with his true boss and partners, to stay on track. His feelings could wait, even if it pained him to do so.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎. . .⋙

After a shower, Wooyoung found himself at his desk, plugging his shattered phone into his laptop, hoping to extract the data so he could continue to communicate with Mingyu in the only way he had left, considering that his device was no longer usable. The screen flashed with a few messages and codes before switching over to the messaging application, leaving a sigh of relief to flood Wooyoung's system.

Mingyu had sent a myriad of messages, as had Yeonjun, but Wooyoung wasn't concerned about the latter. He clicks on the messages with Mingyu, reading them carefully, taking in every word before shaking his head, knowing that Mingyu was coming from a place of responsibility rather than empathy.

Mingyu

I need you to remain in contact, Wooyoung, no matter what happens in your personal life. Yeonjun told me the details of what had happened, and though it is not my duty to interfere, I need you to remain focused on where you are. Yeonjun has received specific orders to refrain from contacting you, and you are to do the same.

San needs to be dealt with, and you know it. I know you see how awful he is, how corrupt and monstrous he's become. Don't fail me, Wooyoung. Don't fail this country. Do as you're told and get the job done. I'm growing impatient.

[sent seven hours ago.]

Wooyoung rolls his eyes, chewing on his lip, debating on a response, yet choosing against it. Though, curiosity belays his interest. He backs out of his messages with Mingyu, clicking on Yeonjun's contact. Messages flood the screen in a flurry, leaving him to nearly gasp at the notification bubble that reads 99+.

He scrolls through most of them, half-reading some while skipping over others, that is, until he eyes the most recent.

Yeonjun

You can't just leave me, Wooyoung. We're a team. We're partners.

It's always been you and I, remember? Us against the world, no matter the price.

Don't tell me you've fallen for San's fucking charm and his seemingly perfect appearance. Don't tell me that you've fallen victim for his pitiful game.

You're better than this. Better than that. Better than him.

I know you're reading these, Wooyoung. I know you miss me. I miss you too. I miss you so much that I can't stand it. It's been nearly three weeks and I feel like I'm losing myself over how much I truly miss you, Woo.

Don't leave me abandoned. Don't ignore me forever, Wooyoung. Please.

Fine. If you want to fucking ignore me, I'll come there myself. I'll come and put a bullet between his eyes so he can't take you from me.

Is that what you want? Is that what it's going to take so I can have you back? You need me to prove my loyalty to you? You want me to prove that I love you?

Fine, Wooyoung. Don't say I didn't warn you.

[delivered two hours ago.]

Wooyoung feels his jaw tighten, hesitantly closing his laptop and unplugging his broken phone, searching the space ahead of him for answers blankly, almost as if the wall ahead of him could provide him with such.

Mingyu explicitly told Yeonjun not to contact him, and yet he had, several times over, and almost a bit obsessively? Wooyoung hasn't ever seen Yeonjun behave like this, especially in a manner that seemed so out of control, so possessive and. . . crazed. Was something deeper happening behind the scenes? Was there something more that he couldn't see? Was Yeonjun always this ill-behaved?

He shakes his head, pushing himself out of his chair before marching over to his side table, tossing the phone inside and messily hiding it, closing the drawer with a definitive sound that felt like shutting the door on his relationship with Yeonjun.

He didn't care about being loved anymore, as that wasn't something he readily felt in the last few weeks. Yeonjun was behaving like a toddler, screaming and throwing a tantrum, freaking out over something he refused to name. This wasn't the man Wooyoung fell for all those months ago, nor was he even a fraction of the person he had met years ago. Yeonjun was someone else, someone darker, someone more sinister.

In this moment, he truly questioned if Yeonjun had been talking about San in using those words, words like evil and heinous, or if he was simply talking about himself without admitting it. He'd have no way to ask, nor did he care to, stirring his attention towards his door as he walked out into the corridor, leaving all of that information behind him.

He could smell the familiar scent of pancakes and eggs, which somehow brought a smile to his face. All of his conflicted and turbulent emotions melted away, leaving him to peak around the corner, spotting Seonghwa and Hongjoong preparing a feast, mumbling a conversation between the two of them without bothering to spare a glance.

"Wooyoung–!" Changbin calls from the island counter, a plate of pancakes ahead of him. "How's the hangover?"

"Fine," Wooyoung says with a smile, walking a bit closer. "Are you hanging on? You were pretty wasted when I saw you last."

"Fine now, thanks to Seonghwa's expertly prepared hangover pancakes," Changbin says with a lilt, gesturing to the large plate ahead of him. "It helps a lot, I promise. You should have some."

Seonghwa, who had been busy cooking, then looks up, offering a subtle smile at Wooyoung. "Take whatever you want. There's still more to cook."

Wooyoung bows his head slightly, offering a smile back. "Thank you, genuinely."

Seonghwa pauses, his eyes squinting carefully as he looks at Wooyoung, looking at something. Wooyoung didn't know what, nor was he really sure of what could've been wrong. He changed out of San's clothes a near-hour ago, which left him seemingly normal, or at least he hoped so. His hair was fine, piercings intact, clothes as they usually appeared to be– oh, shit.

"Someone had fun last night," Seonghwa says, raising a brow with a smirk.

Wooyoung's hand flies up to his neck, covering the spot he knew damn well had a hickey imprinted into his skin. San, for some fucking reason, was quite the biter, and couldn't seem to help himself with making his control clear last night.

"I, uh–" Wooyoung stammers, only for the sound of footsteps to break through the moment, causing him to turn and glance over his shoulder. He finds San standing there, watching him with intrigue before he looks away, saying something to Changbin and the other male that had been sitting there, who he presumed to be Hyunjin, who never visited a lot because of his role in security within the casino itself.

But, Wooyoung can't take his eyes off of San now. He, very obviously, had just gotten out of the shower, allowing the damp strands of his hair to dangle in an unkempt manner, sweeping over his eyes and his features with a tighter black tee against his frame, matched with a dark-colored pant, which made Wooyoung's heart race. He could see San's figure outlined from the shirt, hiding the delicate secrets just beneath, all of which Wooyoung found himself eager to unravel.

"Sannie, our boy finally came out of his shell–!" Seonghwa says in a teasing tone, gesturing to Wooyoung. "Someone has a hickey."

Wooyoung's eyes widened, feeling every single pair of eyes dawn over him, sending a flush to curl over his cheeks. "I– what? No–!"

"Everyone is allowed to have their fun," San comments, his eyes suddenly warm, alight with something new. "Even you, greenie."

Wooyoung's lips part to speak, but he can't, earning a quiet laugh from Seonghwa and Changbin both. Wooyoung shakes his head, reaching for an empty, clean plate, preparing to energize himself with Seonghwa's infamous pancakes.

He didn't know why he felt so at ease right now, even when everyone seemed to be laughing at his expense. Maybe it was the company, the domestic nature behind this morning, or perhaps the sudden levity he felt in leaving all of his transgressions behind. But, for some reason that he can't quite name, he feels at peace, no longer wondering if the world was going to swallow him whole.

Yeonjun, Mingyu, the agency– it could all wait. For now, before he was to ruin everything, he wanted to enjoy this, for as long as he could.