⋆.˚⭒⋆ ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ'ꜱ ᴘᴏᴠ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎. . .⋙

[■■■■■■■■■■] 100% ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ.

The days after Mingyu's text seemed to blur together. Time felt distant, almost like a glimpse of all the minutes and hours he was wasting in prolonging the inevitable. He didn't have the heart to respond to Mingyu about his request, knowing that the moment he did, he would place himself further inside of a pit he knew he couldn't crawl out of. Was he avoiding it? Truthfully, yes. He was. At this point, he wasn't entirely sure that he cared anymore.

It had been six days since Mingyu's text, now bringing forth the week that he threatened before acting himself, but Wooyoung had blocked it all out. He was ignoring Yeonjun still, watching as messages piled and piled and piled onto his broken device, causing him to close his laptop and never look at it again. There were over a hundred messages left by Yeonjun, but Wooyoung didn't read a single one. He ignored them all, choosing to isolate himself even further, especially as his heart got more and more confused by the actions he was committing to.

Something changed in San ever since that night, bringing him to convince Wooyoung into staying in his room, pulling him into his bed at the cusp of midnight, lavishing him in kisses and intimacy, spurring a feeling that Wooyoung had long since tried to ignore from the moment that he had met San, that now felt difficult to push away.

Five times in a row he spent the evening in San's room, staying with him in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, unable to sleep while his mind ran rampant with a myriad of thoughts that felt too hard to dismiss. But what could he do? Confess? Reveal the truth? He couldn't. Not now, or hardly ever. He wasn't sure what he was going to do, as he knew he needed to leave The Velvet's underground compound, retreating back to the life he once entertained for the sake of San's safety. Partially, he knew that Mingyu wasn't lying. He'd come and raid the base, taking out everyone within these walls before ending San himself, but as to how far he'd get, Wooyoung wasn't sure.

Ever since the mission they had embarked on to steal luxury cars, security had been tripled, leaving San's compound more fortified than Wooyoung has ever seen it. He had been here a month, and in that time he had come to realize two things: there were cameras everywhere, and nothing, and he meant nothing, ever went past San.

He knew how formidable San was, especially with these people surrounding him and protecting him at every turn. But Mingyu was unwavering, persistent; if he wanted someone dead, he'd have their head. Wooyoung wanted to be truthful, but he also wanted to flee, to protect San and pretend that everything had been handled. He didn't want to be in the middle anymore. He just wanted peace and quiet, to run away from just how difficult this entire scheme had become.

His heart, a misguided and abused organ, had tossed and turned over the last week, coming to terms with the idea that he was growing overly fond of San, and not in a way that he could just brush off. He liked him, genuinely liked him, but it wasn't even just about the sex. It was more than that. The intimacy, the way San cared about his health, the care he took to ensure Wooyoung was comfortable and sure of every decision; there was a level of respect behind his every move, something that hadn't been mirrored by Yeonjun. Now, in having been with San multiple times, Wooyoung began to question what being loved truly felt like. Had Yeonjun really shown him what it felt to be cherished? To be adored? To be trusted and loved unconditionally?

The lines were blurred, and now more than ever was he confused, teetering on the edge, slowly beginning to tilt towards a side he would've never guessed he'd fall into. He wanted this, and everything that came with it. The consequences, though dire, didn't seem to matter. At least, not at this moment, they didn't.

He was still laying in San's bed, looking up at the ceiling like he usually had, listening and counting to every breath that San took. It was late into the evening at this point, the room itself dark yet warmed by the duvet and askew sheets. Even as Wooyoung turned his head to glance at San, he couldn't help but feel a tinge of relief in just being near him. Maybe it was the fact that he was showing him something that he had been missing for the last few months, or maybe it was just the fact that San was holding a different place in his heart than Yeonjun once did. He isn't entirely sure what all of this means, and even if he did, he knew that he wouldn't be able to ignore it.

San had been different towards him as of late, and not in just a means at craving intimacy in the depth of night. He'd been warmer, unable to keep his hands to himself when the eyes of the other members weren't around, and unlike their usual not-talking-about-it arrangement, one that seemed to be wordlessly agreed upon, San said something last night that has been bouncing in between Wooyoung's ears, wrapping around his mind and causing him more confusion than he could bother to understand.

"At this point you should just stay in here," San said, almost half asleep, laying on his back with an arm resting over his eyes. All Wooyoung could do was look at him, trying to slow his breathing, adjusting the blanket that he hastily pulled over his waist. "I've grown used to you lying next to me."

San was growing attached too, even if he wouldn't admit it. Wooyoung could see it in his every action, in the way he looked at him, in the way he expressed just how much he needed this. Maybe it was a delusional thought, or maybe they were both taking something from one another. San needed a reprieve from the weight of everything he was dealing with, while Wooyoung needed someone to mend his internal wounds, the ones that afflicted pain on his heart. He didn't truly mourn his relationship with Yeonjun, placing on a brave face and swallowing the sadness that usually came with a break-up, but in being with San, he was inadvertently healing the wounds that Yeonjun had caused.

They hadn't clarified on what they were considered, perhaps something purely beneficial for both parties. They didn't have to be anything to enjoy any of this, at least, that's what Wooyoung believed. However, he wasn't entirely sure on what San thought about all of this. Maybe he'd ask? Maybe he'd just stay quiet? Maybe. . . ending all of this was for the best? He didn't know how much time he had left, considering Mingyu's warning and Yeonjun's apparent threats. Even still, he found himself wanting to cling on to what he could, regardless of how much time remained. Yet, he knew better than to get his hopes up, even if he tried not to care.

Even if he could ignore the threats and the cruel reality he'd be faced with, it all came down to one realization: San wasn't his. Wooyoung had a feeling he never would be. So, leaving all of this behind should be easy, right?

He could pretend that it would be, just like he had pretended with everything else.

Carefully, Wooyoung uses his elbows to prop himself upright, knowing better than to linger in here for longer than necessary. San was already asleep, and it was unlikely that he'd wake up as he usually slept like a rock throughout the night. But, as Wooyoung shifted to reach for his phone, he eyed the time and allowed his screen to illuminate the area around him, taking a deep breath in as he contemplated his excuse for leaving this time.

Couldn't sleep. Didn't feel well. Needed something to eat. Had something on my mind. Forgot to take my meds.

But at this point, he was tired of lying.

Either way, he carefully removes the blanket from his waist, allowing his legs to swing over the edge of the bed, bending over to reach for his boxers and shorts, feeling the cool air of the room breeze against his skin. He stands up, quietly pulling his clothes back on before reaching for his shirt, tugging it over his head and shoulders as the fabric smoothes over his skin. As he turns to pull the blanket back over the spot he now vacated, San stirred, a breath passing through his lips before his eyes fluttered open, awake and turning to look at Wooyoung, his brows slightly pinched.

"Leaving?" San asks, his voice raspy and thick with sleep.

Wooyoung's lips part to speak, almost prepared to admit a lie once more, but he relents. A sigh passes through, his gaze looking down at the bed, fingers curling into the duvet that he was still holding.

"I've got a lot on my mind," Wooyoung admits, unable to meet San's gaze. "I feel a bit restless. I can't sleep and I can't clear the thoughts in my head. I was gonna–. . . I don't know, actually. I don't know what I was going to do."

"I kind of figured something was wrong last night," San admits, using an elbow to prop himself up partially. "I just didn't want to press you about it, especially if you didn't want to talk in the first place."

"There's nothing to talk about, anyway," Wooyoung says, watching as San raises a brow, almost as if he didn't believe him. "Okay– well, there is stuff to talk about but. . . it's not something you need to worry about. You already have enough going on, and I just. . . it's stupid."

"I'm sure it's not," San replies, sitting upright fully. "If you need to get it off of your chest, then tell me."

"San, you're not obligated to listen to my issues. We're not even together, and frankly, I don't even know what we're doing."

San nods, though he doesn't move to deny it.

"I don't know either," he says quietly. "But I'm here, aren't I?"

"But why are you?" Wooyoung asks, slowly beginning to move to sit himself back down on the bed. He runs a hand through his hair, searching San's gaze, only lit by the dim light from his phone's screen. "You said it yourself– I'm a stranger. You don't know me, but why are you choosing me? Out of everyone, you keep pulling me back in here."

"I can't say that I have all the answers right now, as all of this isn't really my strong suit. I'm not the relationship type, Wooyoung, but there's this–" San idly gestures to the space between them, glancing down, his voice dropping a cent softer, "–pull between us, and I'm having a hard time ignoring it."

"You said yourself that you don't trust me," Wooyoung says, tapping his phone screen to keep the device from turning off. "But then you go and wrap me up into all of this. You do realize that I haven't been in my own bed for almost the last week, right?"

"I do know that," San replies before he turns, reaching for the lamp on the nightstand, turning it on with a quiet click. Wooyoung then turns his phone off, turning it face-down, watching as San turns back to face him. "I'm. . . sorry that I'm confusing. Like I said, I'm not. . . I really don't do this type of thing, and I really haven't been with anyone in years. I keep to myself, handle things on my own, because like I told you, anyone who loves me plants themselves in danger."

Wooyoung shakes his head, looking down as he takes a breath. San was right; he was confusing. But, at the same time, Wooyoung was confusing too. This entire situation was completely confusing in itself, but San didn't know why it was truly so difficult to just melt into the throes of everything they began to share, and Wooyoung wasn't ever sure that he'd uncover the truth. He didn't want to lie, but how could he explain everything? Surely the moment he expressed that he worked for the government and had been sent on a mission to kill San, he'd either be killed, thrown out, or nearly beaten to death. He deserved it, at least, Wooyoung thought he did. He was manipulating San, like he was supposed to, even if he didn't want to anymore.

But the sex, the kisses and the intimacy; it was all real to him, even if he wouldn't admit it.

"I. . . don't expect you to love me, San." Wooyoung takes in an uneasy breath, trying to choose his words carefully. "I just want to know what this means to you. If we're just fucking around and whatever, then that's fine, but I just–"

"It's more than just fucking around, Wooyoung," San interjects, his voice the slightest bit more firm, but gentle nonetheless. "The first time was a bit impulsive of us, and I thought it would just be what most situations end up being, almost like a one night stand. That's just not it, though."

Wooyoung glances up, his brows furrowing ever-so-slightly. "Then what is it?"

"You're more than that. . . to me–" San's voice trails off, a hand coming up as he rubs the back of his neck. He was clearly out of his comfort zone, but Wooyoung didn't push any further. "I don't want to label you as just someone I use to get off, that's not fair to you."

"But, if that's what it is, then–?"

"It's not like that, Wooyoung. Can you just–" he sighs. "Can you please let me talk?"

Wooyoung nods, albeit sheepishly, giving San the space to say whatever it is that he felt the need to.

"Yeah, I mean–" San sighs again, messing with the comforter before gluing his eyes to his lap, struggling to plant his emotions somewhere. "That night, in my office–? I thought we were fueled by the alcohol we drank, and another part of me tried to rationalize it with how pissed off we were at one another. But. . . a small fraction of me couldn't deny that pull I felt towards you. I didn't mean the words I said to you, maybe in the moment, but the day after, I didn't mean them at all."

Wooyoung arched a brow subtly, thinking back to the evening in question. What they did he classified as hate sex, or maybe just drunken escapades, but for whatever it truly was, the words they said to one another weren't exactly nice. Sure, they brushed it off and never really spoke about it again, but with everything else seemingly unraveling in the small space settled between them, Wooyoung felt the nagging pull to be honest.

"I didn't mean them either." Wooyoung glances at San before moving to look at his hands, messing with the ring on his finger. "I get. . . a bit hostile when I'm drunk. It's a learned behavior from my ex."

"We both said stupid shit," San replies, reaching over hesitantly, delicately placing his hand on Wooyoung's shoulder. "But now, with everything else between us. . . labeling it sounds too difficult for the both of us. Why don't we just. . . test it out?"

"Test it?" Wooyoung asks skeptically, searching San's tired gaze. "Test it how?"

"Let's just exist," San suggests, keeping his tone light, contemplative. "I don't think either of us are prepared to fully step into something committed, but we can stay like this, no ties and no rules, just. . . as we are."

Wooyoung's heart clenches. He should say no. He should walk away from all of this to prevent ruining not only his own heart, but that of San's too. He should stop the conversation and walk out of the room, but he doesn't.

He's selfish, oblivious and delirious, looking at San as if the mere scape of his presence would provide him with all of the answers. San was quiet, waiting for Wooyoung to answer, his expression softened by the remnants of his exhaustion though sharpened by the curiosity to Wooyoung's reaction. Even if he knew what the right answer was, the only thing he knew was that he didn't care. Mingyu, Yeonjun, Jeonghan, Scoups– what was the point?

He could go back eventually. He could mislead Mingyu, he could tie loose ends and backtrack everything he had done. He could get away with it. He could be here, like he longed to be, to be with San and to leave his previous life behind–. . . but all his thoughts came crashing to a halt as he leaned closer to San without even realizing it.

His hand lifts up, cupping the male's jaw, leaning close enough until their noses touch. His eyelashes flutter, causing his eyes to lull, mind racing with a million thoughts that all plea for silence. San doesn't move and he doesn't say anything, letting Wooyoung drift as close as he wanted by tilting into his touch. Wooyoung's breath hitches, feeling the warmth of San's exhales press against his lips until something inside of him just snaps.

He hesitates, seconds ticking away as he teeters over the boundary of work and reality, feeling as the line only blurs and blurs and blurs. His past, his memories, his job and his duty; it all came crashing down in a haze of smoke and fire, left to burn as embers until it disappeared into the fog. Wooyoung knew he had a choice to make, to draw the line and appease the one he worked for, or to finally just give in to the screams of his aching, broken heart. So, he makes it.

He presses a delicate, chaste kiss against San's lips, pulling away, afraid to teeter too far, pushing against boundaries that lay unknown. But San shakes his head, his hand rising to rest on the back of Wooyoung's neck, pulling him closer, breaching across the distance that completely broke the line in half. The kisses weren't rough and feverish as they usually were, the ones that typically ended up with Wooyoung's legs wrapped around San's hips, hands tangled in one another's hair with slick skin pressed against one another. No, this was the opposite. It was tender, a slow affirmation of what they both had been dancing around from the moment their eyes saw one another. It was a reaction, a test to see if the spark would truly alight, brightening the fire that they had tried to snub out time and time again.

But they weren't just members of the same mafia anymore. They weren't just people working in the same compound around familiar stretches of walls beneath the facade of a golden casino. They were real, and Wooyoung knew the longer he allowed these kisses to deepen, the more he'd truly never leave.

Just as Wooyoung was seeking more, San delicately parted away, his thumb soothing a small circle against Wooyoung's neck as his eyes raised, seeking to connect with the younger's gaze. Wooyoung feels his heart drop into his stomach, worried that he allowed his own mind to be consumed into his own desires, blind and completely disregarding anything that San could possibly want.

"Better?"

Wooyoung sheepishly smiles, lowering his hand down from San's jaw and to the side of his neck, feeling his pulse beat beneath his touch. "Yeah, I just. . . needed a bit of clarity on something."

"Kissing me gave you clarity?"

Wooyoung's face floods with color, eyes forcibly flicking down as a smile curls on the edge of his lips, tilting his head as he looks up again, finding some sort of satisfaction in San's reaction. "A bit, yeah. Is that okay?"

"More than okay," San says with a small smile. "It's nice to see you let your walls down a little."

"Says you, Mr. Mafia," Wooyoung teases, leaning a little closer, his eyes flicking down to glance at San's lips. "I cracked you, maybe inadvertently, but I still found my way to your softer side."

"Not completely," San says with a lilt, tilting his head back as Wooyoung closes in. "Maybe I just want you to be soft with me too."

Biting his lip, Wooyoung moves his legs, shuffling around before throwing his leg over San's lap, sitting himself down, watching as San leaned back against the headboard. Wooyoung leaned down, hands resting on the elder's shoulders, his lips curled into a teasing smile, letting his words warm the few inches between them.

"You make me want to let go of everything," he confesses. "You have a way of making my thoughts disappear."

"Then tell me," San begins. "Why were you really trying to leave earlier?"

Wooyoung shifts slightly, his fingers pressing against San's bare shoulders, biting back the words of a truth that he wasn't sure this. . . relationship, or whatever it was to be considered as, would survive. He wouldn't only break San's trust, he'd sure as hell break his heart.

"It's complicated, San," Wooyoung says quietly. "Yes, I can't sleep, and I can't. . . my thoughts are a bit distracting right now–"

"Want me to silence them?"

Wooyoung feels his breath hitch, his heart leading the decision as he slowly nods, pleading in a way that words simply couldn't. San, having caught the message, placed his hands on Wooyoung's hips, pulling him closer before letting his hands drift beneath Wooyoung's shirt, soothing circles against his hips.

"Be with me," San whispers, the distance decreasing as Wooyoung's forehead came to rest against San's, sharing the same air, allowing the warmth of their breaths to collide and dance between them. "Let it go. Just be with me, Wooyoung."

He nods once more, allowing his thoughts to drift away, settling into the peace that San brought him. The moment their lips connect, Wooyoung feels himself abandon all reasoning, melting into the blur of realities that felt too blissful to ignore.

San only pulled Wooyoung closer, swallowing his sighs and tightening his grip, giving in to everything that Wooyoung seemed to have needed. Wooyoung took and took and took, letting the feeling of San's lips against his blur out everything else, sending his thoughts to pause and his heart to calm, reminding him of just how difficult leaving would be.

But he'd cherish it for as long as he could before plotting against the life he once knew, focusing on getting Mingyu to place his attention elsewhere in an effort to keep San safe.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎. . .⋙

The morning came quickly after their nightly discussion, met with kisses and smiles that seemed to dispel the darkness for a moment longer. Now, Wooyoung had since left San's room, heading back into his own to take a shower, change his clothes, take his medication, all before sitting down at his desk, staring at his laptop, trying to figure out just what he could say to Mingyu in order to deter him.

He was chewing on his lip, watching the cursor blink back at him as he struggled to convey the correct words. He hadn't typed anything, but Mingyu's previous message was staring right back at him, mocking and taunting, threatening in all of its digital glory even if it didn't scare Wooyoung in the slightest.

Mingyu– I know this last month has been difficult, but I've made significant steps towards progress. I've unveiled some things, but I am still in the process of uncovering others. While I can assure you that the problem will be taken care of, there is a bigger problem at hand. |

He pauses, taking a moment to breathe before leaning back in his chair, contemplating on if Mingyu would even believe any of this.

San's parents are deeply invested into a scheme that involves more than just political gain. I'm working on finding the root of the cause, but I need to ask for more time.

Would it be enough? Maybe. He'd just have to hope it would be.

So, he sends it. The message turns blue as it sends, entering with a delivered message just beneath. He leans back, searching the wall ahead of him for any type of distraction, that is, until his eyes land on the mound of notifications from Yeonjun's contact name. He moves his cursor, clicking on the contact, watching as a flood of messages blur across ahead of him, but he can't bring himself to read all of them. They were confusing, back and forth between length and friendliness, but beyond that, the later in the night that the messages were sent, the more angry and violent they turned.

Wooyoung couldn't bother to read through most of them, eyes looking past each message with a tinge of disinterest before moving his cursor towards the top, clicking on the icon to the right, bringing up Yeonjun's contact details. He scrolls down, all the way to the bottom, hovering his cursor over the block caller button. He feels his teeth sink into the interior of his cheek, heart racing with the mere idea of just getting rid of the one person who was a source of his stress, even if it made his heart hurt all the same. But he clicks it, watching as Yeonjun's number faded and the entire contact went blank, now titled as Blocked Caller.

He felt free in a weird way, but that did nothing to solve the anxiety that came with Mingyu's message notification. He clicks on it, pulling up the previous chat history, only to find a message he hadn't expected.

Mingyu

You have one more day, Wooyoung. If I don't hear from you that you're going to our drop point by tomorrow evening, I'll take care of it myself.

Kill him, Wooyoung.

Don't test your luck.

Wooyoung stared in awe as he watched the very nature of his plan fall apart at the seams. He thought he had it figured out, that he found a solution to his problem, but Mingyu relented. He was still stuck, entangled into his own mess, caught in a web of threats and lies, trying to escape for the sake of his own sanity. He wanted San. He wanted this. But now. . . he'd simply have to let all of it go.

"Shit–" he curses under his breath, hovering his hands over his keyboard before he types something simple, allowing another plan, the one he had made just in case, to take precedence.

I'll take care of it.

Closing his laptop, Wooyoung moves out of his chair, threading a hand through his hair before he makes a quick decision to leave his room before he'd feel himself explode. He was upset and angry, clutching his fake phone with a vice grip, trying to keep it all contained. But even as he rounded the corner, trekking down the hall and submerging himself into the living space, he found no one there. Well, except for San.

He was dressed casually, his hair slightly unkempt with glasses perched on his nose, a mug of steaming coffee sat on the kitchen island before him as he looked at something on his phone. Wooyoung paused, debating on turning around before deciding against it, staying put, slipping his phone into his pocket. San's gaze travels upwards, meeting Wooyoung's, hesitating before putting his phone down.

"Where is everyone?" Wooyoung asks, taking a step closer, reaching a hand out as he leans against the island counter.

"Surveillance," San replies, reaching for his mug of coffee. "Just you and me here, plus Yeosang, but I doubt we'll see him because he's watching over the CCTV footage."

Wooyoung nods, taking a soft breath inwards. "He's in his lair, huh?"

"As usual," San mutters before taking a sip of coffee, proceeding to then set the mug down. "Have you eaten yet?"

"No, no, not yet, but I will," Wooyoung says, trying to dismiss the male's worry.

"I was just about to make breakfast for myself, I was handling a phone call with Seonghwa, but if you're hungry–?"

"No, San, you don't have to," Wooyoung tries to plead, but San seemed to have other plans.

"Well, that's too bad. I've already decided," San says, an almost smug-looking grin plastered against his lips. Wooyoung rolls his eyes before he nods, giving in without even bothering to argue.

So, he chooses to rather settle down at the island, planting himself on one of the stool as he watched San turn around and open some cabinets, getting out a pan and utensils before preparing to make their breakfast. Wooyoung sat by, propping his elbow on the countertop while his chin found refuge in his palm, watching San with an amused stare that he hadn't seemed privy to yet.

"What's on the menu, Chef San?" Wooyoung asks.

He chuckles, glancing over his shoulder. "Omelets?"

Wooyoung hums, almost appreciatively, unsure of if he was admiring the thought of breakfast, or just admiring the view ahead of him. San's shoulders were broad, his muscles slightly defined beneath the press of his shirt. Each flex, each movement, somehow shone by the overhead lights as the male seamlessly went about a cooking routine he was overly familiar with. Wooyoung didn't mind what they ate, nor if they really ate at all.

Suddenly, his phone starts vibrating. He chooses to ignore the first notification, but the momentary peace is distracted by another. And another. And another.

"You're popular," San comments without turning around.

"Maybe," Wooyoung mutters, furrowing his brow as he pulls his phone free, tapping on the screen as he spots several messages from an unknown number.

Unknown

You think you can block me?

You really think that you can bury your past?

I will find you, Wooyoung. I know what you're up to.

You blocked me because you're fucking him, and I'm going to make you watch when I put a bullet in his head.

His heart thumps away in his throat, fingers growing lax as he barely finds the support to hold onto his phone. It buzzes, again and again and again as the messages continue to flash through, his head slowly shaking with his eyes wide, wondering how he could've missed the warning signs of getting himself entangled with a psychopath.

"Hey–" San says, turning around and facing Wooyoung after possibly hearing the rapid succession of each text, curious and now-concerned. "Something bothering you?"

"Uhm–" Wooyoung lets his words melt against his tongue, unsure of how to even explain anything of what he was seeing.

"Talk to me," San says, putting down the spatula that he was holding. "If someone is bothering you, Wooyoung–"

"It's my ex," Wooyoung blurts out, putting his phone down on the counter as messages continue to trickle through. "He's. . . obsessive."

San nods, listening quietly, allowing Wooyoung the space to talk, or simply not to.

"He's been harassing me for some time, and I blocked his number but he keeps sending messages and I can't. . . I'm not used to this." Wooyoung turns his phone face-down, trying to ignore the onslaught of threats breezing past his screen. "He wasn't always like this, you know? He used to be kind and considerate, someone who loved me and tried his hardest everyday, but now. . . I don't even know who the hell is texting me."

"Was he. . . mean to you?" San asks, watching as Wooyoung's head tilts down, averting his gaze.

"The last couple of months that we were together were hard. He was stressed, I was stressed, and he just snapped. He drank a lot, spoke unknown truths to me when he was beyond incoherent, blabbing out hate and slurs when he thought I was too drunk or too stupid to remember. Maybe I was too stupid because I stayed, and I kept going back, clinging on to the one person I thought wouldn't ever leave me." Wooyoung chews on his lip, holding his emotions at bay, just in the way he was trained to, watching his phone vibrate once more. "But, I was wrong. I let him abuse my heart, shout at me, drink himself into oblivion, and just. . . do whatever it was he wanted, even if that meant ignoring my words and committing murder."

"Wooyoung–"

"He's an asshole, you know?" Wooyoung looks up, searching San's gaze. "I'm just his punching bag."

"Hey," San interjects, turning around to turn off the burners before rounding the island, reaching to place a hand on Wooyoung's shoulder. "Don't belittle yourself down to that. You're more than anything he's ever said to you."

"But he's always been right." Wooyoung swallows sharply, trying to push his emotions away. "I'm an idiot. Especially now, especially after everything–"

"You do realize who I am, right?" San asks, leaning down slightly to catch Wooyoung's gaze with his own. "Whoever he is, I can deal with it."

Wooyoung should've been put off by San's offer, but instead, he smiles, shaking his head, leaning back slightly. "Okay, Mr. Mafia. Maybe one day I'll let you take care of it for me."

"One day?"

"One day," Wooyoung smiles, letting a breath flee through his lips. "But for now, can you do something for me?"

He nods, his gaze softening. "Of course."

"Just be with me," he mutters, reaching a hand up, delicately threading his hand through San's hair. "Please."

San smiles, leaning closer, pressing a delicate kiss to Wooyoung's forehead.

"Okay, Wooyoung," he breathes out. "Whatever you want."