⋆.˚⭒⋆ ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ'ꜱ ᴘᴏᴠ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎. . .⋙

[■■■■■■■■■■] 100% ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ.

Wooyoung stands there, his gaze raking over the features of the exact man he was there to kill. Choi San.

He looked arrogant, maybe a bit snide and cruel in his stature, so completely sure of himself and everything he stood for as he sat within the confines of his throne, leaning forwards with a subtle raise to his brow. It was almost as if he was waiting for Wooyoung to say something, to say anything, to begin the conversation that he himself wasn't even sure how to begin. There was something unspoken brewing between them, a crackling of emotions that somehow tethered themselves to the space settled between the two males. Wooyoung couldn't convince himself to look away, even if every inch of his entire essence screamed to turn away.

"You've found yourself quite the job," San mutters lowly, reaching for his glass of whiskey again, pressing his fingertips into the delicate dips and curves of his expensive glass, swirling around the liquid inside gently. "Tell me, Wooyoung, what inspired you to take upon our offer?"

Wooyoung can feel his words fall apart before they even had the chance to be spoken, glancing away briefly to try and collect himself.

"I raced a lot in my previous town," he begins, taking in a breath for good measure as he looks back up, meeting the steely gaze of San's own without fret. "I needed more money, bigger goals and bigger targets–" he pauses, watching as San's eyes lull ever so slightly, "–a bigger city."

"So, you come to Seoul? For what? You realize that I control every single inch of this city, don't you?" San contests, slowly beginning to lean back into his seat, allowing the shadows of the room to mask over his expression, making it harder for Wooyoung to decipher the male's true emotions.

"For exactly what I told you," Wooyoung retorts carefully, his gaze unwavering. "Money. I don't care about power, and I don't care to make a name for myself. If the quickest way to a small fortune is through your cartel, then so be it. I can play nice with others."

San chuckles in a low rumble, the hint of a smile bleeding onto his lips as he raises his glass, taking another sip of his decadent whiskey. Wooyoung watches him closely, studying his movements, the slight edge to his voice, the depth of his gaze, the subtlety that came with every movement; as if he held such a dignified grace beneath the hardened exterior that coated him. Wooyoung was intrigued, in an. . . analytical means, nothing more. But, he had to admit, something about San was rather alluring, and he knew that this task, more so than anything else, would be the hardest thing he'd come to face.

"I can't say that I'm impressed with your attitude," San speaks out, setting down his glass once more, his fingers hesitating before he lets go of the glass, barely anything left within the crystalled basin. "But your work ethic, the way you drive– it makes me curious."

"Curious?" Wooyoung dares to question, listening as San's lungs roll out a husky hum. Even in such casted darkness, Wooyoung could see the glimmer in his eyes. He was intimidating, but in the most obscurely alluring way possible.

"Why haven't I heard of you before?" San questions, prying even further. Wooyoung takes a soft breath in, holding it, fearing that the secret was already loose well before it had hardly begun. "You talk a tall tale of being a big name within another city, far from here I'd assume, and yet you come to my doorstep, the most notorious name in all of Seoul, in search of a ghost–"

"You were pretty easy to find for a ghost," Wooyoung retorts carefully, watching as San's lips curled into a dangerous smirk.

"I like you, I'll give you that," San remarks with a brief lapse in his arrogance, leaning forwards again, resting his elbows on his desk. "But hear me when I tell you, if I find out an inch of deceit coming from your name, I'll have your head mounted on the wall."

"Yes, sir," Wooyoung replies jestfully, bowing his head a few inches before looking down, trying to be respectful yet defiant, already having learned that San was rather intrigued by such a demeanor. "You won't hear a thing."

"Be in the meeting room tomorrow morning at nine. Don't be late," San commands, pointing hastily with his finger as he rises from his chair, though his eyes never leave Wooyoung's. "You'll come to see that I don't take kindly to those who disregard the importance of my business."

Wooyoung nods, on the cusp of replying further, but he chooses not to. He was too keen on watching San as he stepped around his desk, adjusting the collar of his shirt and brushing a hand through his slicked hair, his head turning to truly show off the sharpness of his jawline. Wooyoung swallows hastily, looking between Seonghwa and San both as the two males begin speaking softly between themselves.

"You're free to leave," Seonghwa mutters, looking at Wooyoung before turning to look back at San, resting a hand on the male's shoulder. "We'll send someone to grab your things out of your car."

Shit. The phone.

"I can go get it–"

"No need," Seonghwa interrupts, shaking his head. "Settle in, get some rest. We have plans to discuss in the morning and it's already late."

Wooyoung bites the inside of his cheek, offering a brief nod as he turns on his heel, walking back towards the very doors he had walked through. He could hear the mutterings of Seonghwa and San continuing to converse behind him, though he paid no mind. He moved through the doors and back into the lavish hall, glancing at the paintings and scalloped-like lights adorned to the walls, listening to the silent hum of the space culminating the vacancy where voices lacked. It was odd to Wooyoung that he was freely allowed to stroll back into his room, given that he could willingly explore the rest of the compound with curiously-lead steps, though he wouldn't, knowing that San likely had cameras installed everywhere around this underground mansion.

So, he wills himself back to his apparent room, guiding himself back to the familiar stretch of walls and lights, finding the door to his room with eventual ease. He turns the handle down, swinging the door open, revealing a smaller space, completely bland of decor. It was quaint, but modernized, met with a desk and a computer, a big enough bed, a wardrobe and en-suite bathroom. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough.

Striding indoors, he leaves the door ajar, waiting for the inevitable arrival of his things, slightly worried about his phone having been left in the center counsel of his car, though he tries to not think too heavily into it. Making himself anxious would only give way to concern from the rest of the members within this cartel, and he couldn't give way to his vulnerabilities; not now, not yet.

Getting close to San would be a game of trial and error, playing his cards correctly, balancing his scales, trying to inch as close as he could maintain. He didn't know how, but beyond the rushing thoughts trying to consume him, he knew he'd have to play it safe, to watch everyone closely, take mental note of routines and escape routes before it was too late. This mission would take more than just a few days, maybe even weeks. Part of him worried that he'd be here for months, but that was the cost of all of this, wasn't it? Mingyu warned him that there'd be risks in partaking in all of this, mostly being the risk to his life in the event that San caught on way quicker than Wooyoung could anticipate, but he hadn't thought about that much. Wooyoung was well-trained, and he knew what he was doing. He was far from stupid, but San wasn't exactly idiotic either. They were both incredibly smart and overly critical, but there was something about the way San was already studying him, which only made Wooyoung worry more.

He needed to get into contact with Mingyu. More importantly, he needed to contact Yeonjun, to let him know that he had been successful, well into enemy territory beyond unknown lines and boundaries, but most importantly, that he was safe. All of this was beyond stressful, but it wasn't far from anything he had witnessed before. At least this place had a room to sleep in, food to eat, the semblance of safety to cover over all of the negative aspects as to where he was exactly. There was a bonus to some of this, Wooyoung supposes, but he knew what he was ultimately here for. Not for friends, not for money, not for the rush of adrenaline; to kill the kingpin. That wouldn't change.

The sudden approach of footsteps drags Wooyoung's attention away from his reverie, moving to shed his jacket as he rests it over the back of his desk chair, turning to see an unfamiliar face holding his duffel bag, though Wooyoung has a feeling he's seen this man's face before in the depth of his analytic files.

"This all you had?" He asks, earning a nod from Wooyoung.

"Yeah," Wooyoung takes a few steps forward, taking the bag from the male's hand, looking back up to briefly scan over his features. He was shorter, though it was obvious he frequented the gym just based upon his build alone. His hair was shorter, dark and ebony in color, his eyes a hue of brown, but his voice wasn't all that closed-off. He seemed slightly personable, a striking difference in regards to Seonghwa and his crew.

"You're Wooyoung?" He asks with a pry of curiosity, earning another nod.

"That's me," Wooyoung breathes out, moving to set his bag down on the edge of his bed, turning to spot the male nodding, glancing around the room before his eyes eventually land onto that of Wooyoung's own once more.

"I'm Changbin," he begins, shoving his hands into his pockets. "We'll probably be seeing a lot of each other since we'll work beneath the same people."

"I haven't been assigned to anyone, I don't think–?"

"You will be tomorrow morning. I heard it from Yunho; he's my boss," Changbin muses, almost playfully, rolling his eyes. "You'll get to meet everyone, and you'll see who to report to and who lays where within the hierarchy. It's complicated, but– ah, you'll see what I mean."

"I expected nothing less," Wooyoung admits, offering the slight curve of a smile. "By the way– where did they park my car?"

"In the garage," Changbin replies, raising a brow. He was suspicious, maybe a bit curious, and Wooyoung can sense the change in dynamic between them. Maybe it was because he knew he was an outsider to this closely-knit group, and threatening the safety of that made Changbin defensive, albeit subtly. Though, he couldn't be too sure, so he elected to try and change the topic before Changbin became too suspicious.

"Just curious–" Wooyoung waves him off, smoothing out his shirt. "Wasn't exactly given the grand tour, you know?"

Changbin cracks a smile, the tension leaving his shoulders. "Sure, sure. I'll see you in the morning."

With that, Changbin leaves, turning on his heel and exiting the room, closing the door behind him with a decisive click. Wooyoung takes a breath, subtle and quiet, glancing around the confines of his new room for the next few days, maybe weeks or even months. This place wasn't home, and more than ever did he know that his insomnia would act up in such a situation, but this was what he was trained for. He could stay awake, studying the faces he'd see within the confines of this underground operation, report back to those he trusted and left behind, moving about the next day in the hope to forge an eventual plan that would end with the kingpin six feet beneath the ground, and Wooyoung far from the Velvet Mirage.

The room was quiet, maybe too still for his liking, spurring the need to move. He was anxious, albeit internally, worrying about his phone, trying not to let the thoughts and feelings get into the way of what composure he managed to front. But that wasn't what mattered. He needed his phone, he needed to communicate with Mingyu, to relay his safety; but he wasn't sure how.

He would wait, settling here on the edge of his bed, watching as time ticked past on his burner phone, only then acting upon a later hour, accompanied by the depth of the night and hopeful stillness. He needed to find the garage, to find his car, and, hopefully, maneuver through this hellish prison the mafia called home.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎. . .⋙

As the evening crawled to a deepening drawl, Wooyoung sat in his room, eyes transfixed on the wall ahead of him, his fingers tapping lightly against the edge of the bed. He was nervous, wondering too heavily about his car and his phone, waiting for the most opportune time to exit the safety of this room and head into the eerily lit halls, meandering towards the unknown location of the garage.

He was impatient, though composed, listening to the subtle creaks and shifts of the bed as he rustles and moves about, switching between laying on his back and sitting upright, anticipating everything yet nothing all at once. He was worried that the mafia held eyes everywhere, only partially, knowing that there was a huge possibility that there had been cameras in this room, or at least a microphone, meant to weed out the weak and kill off the traitors who sought to steal San's crown. It was slightly obvious, in the most obscene sense, but Wooyoung knew better than to trust some random room without windows, conversing with himself or that of his boss openly and without fear. The consequences would be grave, and he would never choose to risk this entire facade for the sake of a few nerves.

But, he grows nearly restless, pushing himself off of the bed, wetting his lips as he strides towards his door, turning the handle down, slowly pulling the door towards him. The hinges shift slightly as the door moves, but it makes little noise as it falls open, leaving Wooyoung to take a cautious few steps outside, shifting his gaze left and right before spotting the same vacant walls he had gazed at before. He pulls the door closed behind him, softly letting go of the handle as he turns the opposite way, walking away from the direction of San's office, back into the unknown where a labyrinth of halls and unknown rooms come into play.

Delicately, he walks through the hall, subtly glancing upwards as he catches the sight of a camera, not noticing the reddened hue that usually emanated from one while in use. It must've been off, or focus must've been pulled elsewhere; whatever it was, Wooyoung had a feeling they were watching; that San was watching. He knew he needed to be careful, to make this journey as quick as he could manage, for the fear of questions requiring answers he could not yet convey.

He reaches an impasse, a break in the long hall that narrows down to what he assumed to be the common area. There were a few bits of furniture, a large television, yet seemingly lavish and vacant, left amongst the modern walls, abandoned. The room was colored in whites and blacks, adorned with marble accents and golden picture frames, but Wooyoung had yet to truly see the colors that Choi San was hiding beneath. There was more at play here than some decorative styles he hadn't agreed with and a few bits of gold.

It was more than just the silence that crept through the halls and the blank video cameras, vacant of their usual glare. It was the way fear crawled up his spine, keeping him on edge, sending the hair on the back of his neck to stand in defense, worrying around every corner he'd turn. The underground of the Velvet Mirage was well-kept, clean and nearly sterile, void of a mess yet organized with the fashion of someone who cared. However, Wooyoung has a feeling that this mask, this golden facade, was covering more than just the blood that was smeared across Choi San's name.

As his eyes drift away from the common space, he greets the sighting of the staircase he had descended just hours previous, knowing that the easiest access to the back of the casino was from there. But, there was always a guard present, or so it seemed, so it would never be the easiest way to escape, if he needed it.

He moves past the staircase, walking down a shorter hall, coming across a few doors that hadn't been labeled. He takes a breath, glancing at each door before spotting one at the end, well-lit by the light hung on the wall above it.

Wooyoung raises a brow, assessing all of the doors, taking note of the similarities woven between. There was no clear distinction that would set the doors apart, but something about the door at the end of the hall made him utterly curious, driven with an instinct to investigate. He walks closer, pausing in his steps as his hand reaches for the handle. His hand freezes, just a mere inch away, hovering over the golden knob, reminding himself that he wasn't supposed to be investigating random rooms within this underground maze, but rather searching for his car, realizing and remembering the risks that came with him just being out of his room.

Sudden voices spur Wooyoung's attention to look behind him, listening as the sound of encroaching voices appear louder. He hesitates, albeit briefly, before pushing the handle down to the mysterious room and disappearing inside. He closes the door quietly, letting the darkness of this unfamiliar space crawl and linger against his skin, feeling his heart thump impeccably fast against his chest. He presses his ear to the door, listening as the voices outside louden before they simply disappear, the sound of a door closing behind them with the disarming sound of laughter following. Wooyoung's brows furrow, almost having not expected such a jovial noise in such a place, but for a moment does the realization cling to his memories of what lives people maintain behind the facade of their occupation. They were all just people, trying to survive. Just like that man that he allowed to be murdered with his family.

He turns, swallowing harshly as a defensive act to dissolve the memory before it lodges back into his cranial nerves, blinking twice before looking up, taking in the sight of everything around him. The space was vacant of life and dark, but laden with what looked to be a mass amount of shelves, storing a million forgotten memories. Carefully, Wooyoung moves closer, his hand reaching out to touch an opened box, peering inside before reaching for the first thing that appears before him. It was a picture frame, dusty and slightly cracked at one of the edges, though intact. Gently, his fingers brush over the glass, wiping away the dust to reveal an image of something he hadn't expected.

San stood with his parents, but in front of the three of them was the image of a younger little girl. Her hair was tied back nearly, wearing a flowing blouse with a matching skirt, her smile radiant as she held her hands in front of her, poised and elegantly placed in the middle of what seemed to be her family. Wooyoung takes a breath in, hesitating, feeling his heart beat with uncertainty before he moves to look in the box again, yet finding only the remnants of papers and miscellaneous files. He glances back at the frame, his eyes tracing over every single detail with a meticulous gaze, trying to understand why such a memory had been stored and hidden, locked away from the eyes of someone who should've cared.

San looked. . . younger, here. He was poised and stoic, his smile not as beaming as the girl's, but polite, nonetheless. He was dressed in a sharp suit and trousers, the white of his undershirt not subdued by the sheen of dust laden on the glass. His eyes, now currently dark and intimidating, wore a different nature in this image. He looked at peace, almost whole, as if the entire world around him hadn't shattered and stripped away his humanity. He looked to be just a person, a picture-perfect son standing with his parents and what looked to be his little sister. He wasn't covered in tattoos, nor was he as muscular in this picture, but he was still San, maybe just the remnants of who he used to be versus the fraction of what he was now.

Carefully, Wooyoung sets the picture frame back into the box, moving the lid hesitantly back into the place he had found it, taking a few steps back to survey his surroundings properly. There were hundreds of boxes in here, all unlabeled, likely storing papers and files, leaving Wooyoung to wonder if there was more beneath the surface of such a picturesque family. From the outside, it seemed to be as if San's parents were just as cold as he was, funding his empire all while running their own, staking claim to a fortune that Wooyoung wasn't sure they deserved. The family was notorious for being wicked and evil in ways that Seoul typically shied away from, but now it was all they knew. San funded the police and political parties, swaying things in the favor of whatever he desired, taking control of shipments and supplies in the same fashion a dictator would. Whatever game was at play here, Wooyoung had a feeling that he was about to uncover something more than just an old, dusty photo.

With another breath inwards, he turns on his heel, placing his hand on the door handle before turning it, carefully beginning to make his exit. The halls were vacant once more, only mildly disrupted by the faint click of the door closing behind him. He walks through the hall with tentative steps, glancing around the corner before peering back into the common space, walking in the opposite direction towards the other long stretch of walls, finding more doors, all unlabeled and ominously similar. He sighs, yet treks forward, uncertainty clinging to his every step before he pauses, turning to the right to spot a door within an inlet, oddly painted white, yet again unlabeled, but a stark contrast to the other, darker oak doors with golden handles. He inches closer, opening the door hesitantly, and with a breath of relief, spots the familiar contours of a garage setting, met with the view of several luxurious sports cars. He steps through the door, closing it gently behind him, turning to the left to see a wall rack laden with key rings. They weren't labeled, so Wooyoung assumed everyone only drove their assigned car, leaving him to reach for the familiar key ring that belonged to his coupe.

Keys in hand, Wooyoung peruses past each of the cars, the dim lighting overhead casting a sheen over each of the cars delicately. Each vehicle was different in its own right, a different model, different make, fitted with various equipment and engines, making each member's taste far different from that of Wooyoung's own. He wasn't much of a car fanatic, but he liked his car to be. . . simple; elegant, maybe. He didn't need anything flashy or expensive, just something that would drift easily and speed away from whatever threat he was running from. This car was exactly that, a quick and yet nimble vehicle, hard to spot and trail with its dark body paint and tinted windows. It was all Wooyoung needed, and for whatever reason, Mingyu supplied it, just for the sake of this mission. Though, Wooyoung wouldn't dare complain.

His steps echo quietly through the concrete garage, his eyes gazing over each vehicle until he stumbles across the familiar contours of his own. His hands move automatically, unlocking his car with the keyfob before clambering inside quietly, eyes running over every single detail in the fear that his car had been stripped and robbed of its contents. But, everything looked to be in place.

Opening the center counsel, Wooyoung spots the relieving and familiar sight of his personal phone, reaching for it and holding it tightly in his grasp, carefully backing out of his car and closing the door. He eyes his car for a moment, his gaze slowly traveling to the space around him, but he decides against lingering outside of his room for much longer. He had a feeling there were eyes on him, though he couldn't see them, but he knew they were there.

Quickly, he moves back towards the garage door, hanging his keys back up to the same hook they laid on before, opening the door as silently as he could manage, listening for any type of disturbance as he steps back inside. The corridor was still quiet, void of life, leaving him feeling comfortable enough to move back through the halls, clutching onto his phone as if the device would simply disappear from his grasp. It felt like the only lifeline he had, the last remnants of his previous self masked beneath the facade of some hardened criminal. He wanted his own bed, his home and his partner, to be in the arms of someone who made it so easy to fall asleep. Yet, here he was, awake and alert, subconsciously worried about his every breath as he turned a corner, unsuspectedly meeting the gaze of someone he hadn't expected to be walking towards him.

"Oh–?" Seonghwa says, raising a brow, pausing his steps. He was holding a book in his hands, wearing black-framed glasses, his hair slightly tied back, adorning a more casual appearance versus the one Wooyoung had seen just hours ago. "What are you doing up?"

"Insomnia–" Wooyoung spits out, almost out of an automatic habit, trying to keep his voice even as his hand slowly moves behind him, reaching for his pocket. "I don't sleep very well, and I couldn't find my medication in my bag–"

"Where did you go to look for it?"

"I thought it might've been in my car," Wooyoung says, shrugging as he carefully slid his phone into his back pocket, trying to be as nonchalant as he could manage. "I was wrong, so I must've forgotten it."

"We do have a doctor on site," Seonghwa mentions, watching Wooyoung's every move. "If you needed medication, we could've directed you there. What do you take?"

"Estazolam," Wooyoung says with a breath, knowing very well that Seonghwa was prying as a mere test, though he begins to step away, dancing on the words that hang on the edge of his tongue. "I will make a quick visit there tomorrow morning."

Though, he pauses his meaningless trek as Seonghwa halts him with just the utterance of his words. "You realize what time it is, right? It's nearly five in the morning. The meeting is in a few hours, so if there is any chance of you resting, I'd do it now. We'll all be fairly busy the moment that meeting ends."

"I understand," Wooyoung mutters, watching his words carefully, glancing back at Seonghwa. "I won't be late. I'll be there. Just. . . adjusting to a new place."

Seonghwa nods, though a glimmer of doubt settles into his eyes, continuing to watch Wooyoung's body language with a curious gaze. "It's been a long night, Wooyoung. Go rest. If you need something else, ask."

Seonghwa turns, heading down the hall and off to the right, likely heading towards his room or somewhere else. Wooyoung turns on his heel, quickly making his way back to the confines of his room, allowing the rush of a relieved breath to smooth past his lips.

Locking the door, Wooyoung strides towards his bed, reaching for his phone, slowly pressing the side buttons inward as the phone turns back on, beaming with life as his home screen comes into focus. Unlocking his phone with a code, he swipes and slides to his messages, watching as notifications begin to pour in from Yeonjun and Mingyu.

Yeonjun

Haven't heard from you. It's been hours.

I know you're safe, but just. . . let me know you're alright when you can.

He pauses, hesitating; unsure of if it were completely safe to be texting the members of his agency at this time, given that San could be watching his every move at any given second. But, he decides to anyway.

I'm fine. Don't worry. Going dark, I'll contact you as soon as I can.

He swipes away, moving to Minyu's messages, reading through an array of details that felt all too burdensome to digest right then.

Mingyu

There will be no time for us to talk, Wooyoung. Listen to me. Choi San is an evil, cruel man. He has eyes everywhere, and those people you interact with will protect him with their lives. If they find out your true intentions, they will have your head on a stick. Do not give them a single trace of what we're doing, and do not contact us unless absolutely necessary.

Get close to him. Do whatever you have to in order to get close to him. We know the costs, and we know the price to pay. But, at the end of the day, the greatest evil Seoul has come to know will be dead, and you'll be the one to thank for it.

Wooyoung chews on his lower lips as he reads, threading a hand through his hair. Mingyu didn't want to be bothered, nor did he want to be contacted. He didn't wish to bring more risk to the table than necessary in regards to all of this. As much as Wooyoung wanted to reply and to demand answers for truths that seemed yet untold, he kept silent, swiping away from the messages with a heavy heart. He knew Mingyu was right, as he usually had been, but he couldn't help the feeling of abandonment sinking into his core. He was alone here, well and truly alone.

These people, this ring of misfits and criminals; they were family to each other. Their bonds were unbreakable, and amongst that was the undeniable fact that they'd simply trade their lives for the sake of San's. Wooyoung knew the feeling of wanting to protect his family and the ones he cared for most, but this was different.

It was like a blood pact, a deal signed with the devil himself, pledging not only your allegiance, but your life, in regards to protecting the crimson throne. Choi San was enigmatic, intimidating, and utterly powerful, and all Wooyoung could do was sit on the edge of his own bed, eyes glued to the wall ahead of him, feeling a shiver crawl down the sill of his spine the moment he remembers the darkness cast across San's deep gaze.

His eyes were dark and dreary, solemn in a way that he'd never seen before. The image of him sitting there, alluring in the most cunningly annoying ways, adorned with jewelry and a large coat, sipping on his whiskey as if the whole world fell at his knees; it was a reminder of the power shift at play, a key difference in their worlds that felt so adrift. Though, Wooyoung couldn't help but notice the current settled between them, sparking with an electric fire that made his skin tingle. San had an almost primal look about him, as if he were a lone wolf searching for prey with blood-stained jowls and paws, ravaging anything in its path for a simple conquest. Wooyoung had felt like a deer in the headlights then, unraveling and wavering in his composure, becoming the exact thing that San must've been hunting for.

San was curious, teetering on a fine line of indifference and indulgence. Wooyoung was trapped there too, wanting to know more, to dive in deeper, to discover the truth behind that old, dusty photo. He wanted to know what lay behind the mask of glitz and glamor, to see the pool of crimson blood flooding beneath the surface. He was curious in a way that he couldn't describe, wanting to know more, to see everything– but more importantly, he wanted to seek the truth, to find out why San held an iron grip over the entirety of Seoul.

He swallowed sharply, his pulse thudding away in the depth of his neck, clutching his phone tighter as the image of San's eyes on him makes his heart slowly race. This wasn't just a trial of power or a means of simply killing one another, if at all. It was a waiting game, a test of patience, glimmering with anticipation for one's next move.

San knew more than he was led to believe, and the thought of that only unsettled Wooyoung more than he'd like to admit. But in the fashion that it scared him, it also made him feel something else, something that he hadn't felt in a long, long time.

He was excited; enthralled, really.

He smirks to himself, shaking off the cool chill that caused goosebumps to lay over his skin, hating the effect the male's gaze still held over him, even after all this time. It was infuriating in the most tantalizing of ways, but Wooyoung couldn't find it within himself to hate it.

He didn't know much about San's past, nor his family line and the history that came with him acquiring such an empire, but Wooyoung wanted to unravel it all. He wanted to absorb every detail into his skin, wear it like armor, relish in the idea of knowing the utmost secrets of such a sought after cartel. This challenge, this risk laden with isolation, though complicated, only made Wooyoung's heart race quicker.

His smile lingers, his gaze dropping down to his phone, shaking his head slightly as his brows pinch together. He knew this would be difficult, but he just hadn't anticipated how difficult it'd remain.

"Choi San–" he whispers, allowing himself to fall backwards onto his bed, letting the mattress capture his fall. "Who even are you?"