⋆.˚⭒⋆ ꜱᴀɴ'ꜱ ᴘᴏᴠ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎. . .⋙

[■■■■■■■■■■] 100% ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ.

The moment glass shatters, San's eyes widen with anticipation. He had pulled on his e-brake, his tires stalling to a halt as the car screeched against the pavement, white smoke trailing up into the atmosphere, all seemingly fading into a blur as he focused on the crash ahead of him.

Wooyoung, as stupid and reckless as he may be, took the brunt of an unprecedented attack that he saw before anyone else. He tracked the movements of the enemy cars, watching from a perspective that resulted in a calculated push to try and divert the attention away from San's car, taking on the brunt of the attack, leaving San completely unharmed.

The cars steered to a halt, bumping into one another with a trail of broken glass shattered around the street. Wooyoung's car, now practically totaled, collided into a lightpost, the hood dented inwards as oil and smoke poured out of the broken grille.

"Seonghwa–" San says through the earpiece, guiding his car to a complete halt before shifting into park. "Call for Chan. Wooyoung crashed."

"He what?" Seonghwa replied back, leaving San to breathe out in irritation. He reaches for the handle of his door, swinging the door open, seeing the bright beam of headlights grow stronger the quicker a car rolls up from behind.

"Mingi, I need you to turn back. Yeosang and Wooyoung are likely hurt. The car is totaled. We can't wait– we need to rip off the license plate and remove any trace of us from around this area." San reaches behind him, feeling the weight of his gun tucked into his trousers and against his back, listening as a car skids to a stop behind him, followed by the slam of another door.

He turns, wrapping his hand around the base of his gun, pulling it free, clicking off the safety as he faces the male walking towards him. This male, whoever he was from this opposing gang, raised his gun without hesitance, but San was quicker. San pulls the trigger, firing twice, watching as the male buckled at the knees and simply fell limp.

San tightens his jaw, clicking the safety back on before he tucks his gun away again, smoothing out his jacket as he turns, leaving his car running as he walks towards the crash site, listening to the hums of broken engines and glass crunching beneath his shoes. It was oddly silent, save for the creaks of the raptured vehicles, but it all sent an uncomfortable chill down San's spine. He was used to this level of chaos, but knowing that his own men were involved in this crash sparked a worry that was unlike him, causing his steps to slightly quicken as he heard the rumblings of another vehicle approaching. Glancing up, San saw Mingi exiting his car, quickly walking towards the accident with his weapon drawn in a protective measure.

"The guy in the Challenger is dead," Mingi says, his gaze forced on the opposing car before he shifts, looking into the smashed window of Wooyoung's car. "He's breathing, but it's labored."

"How's Yeosang?" San asks, rounding the back of the car, moving to the passenger door.

"I'm awake–" Yeosang grits out, the door suddenly being shoved open, followed by a pained grunt. "God fucking dammit."

"Hey, relax. Take it easy," San chides, watching as Yeosang balances himself with the door, slowly pushing himself out.

"I'm fine, just sore." Yeosang winces as he stands properly, but San couldn't see any physical injuries from where he stood. He did seem to be okay, at least, for the most part.

"Mingi, can you get Wooyoung out?" San asks, looking over the top of the car, watching as the male nods. San turns his focus back towards Yeosang, offering him a hand, but the male refuses it.

"I'm fine, San'ah. I can walk."

San takes a breath inwards, biting back the words simmering on the back of his tongue. Yeosang, albeit hesitantly, takes a hold of San's hand, holding onto him, taking a few shaky steps towards him.

"You're sure?" San asks, dropping his entire facade, feeling a strike of concern meld over his features.

"Positive. Just get me to a car. I'll be fine."

San moves around, wrapping an arm around Yeosang's lower back as the male rests his arm on San's shoulders, carefully walking in tandem to the back of the car, but he stops at the center of the trunk. With a careful hand, he reaches for the bolts holding the license plate onto the car, undoing them with a quick, practiced movement, unscrewing both bolts before the plate itself comes loose. He looks up, if only for a moment, now seeing as Mingi fully situates an unconscious Wooyoung in his arms, holding him delicately as he kicks the driver's door shut with his foot. San holds the plate in his right hand, gesturing towards Mingi's car, only because it was closer.

Mingi followed suit, each step careful and measured as he watched Wooyoung, San leading the pace, though not too far ahead. Sirens were wailing in the distance, but still were too far out for San to worry about the police appearing. Yeosang eventually lets go of San, using the car to help himself towards the passenger seat, walking on his own so San could help Mingi situate Wooyoung in the backseat. Opening the door, San steps out of the way after tossing the license plate onto the floor of the car, ridding themselves of the physical evidence for the time being. He knew he'd have to get Yeosang to wipe the car from the registry, removing every single trace of it legally, considering that it could no longer be driven, but for now, it was enough.

Carefully, Mingi moves to lay Wooyoung down in the backseat, on his back, flat on the seats, his breathing somewhat steadily despite the circumstances of his injuries. San watched over the entire process, taking a step backwards as Mingi closed the door, secluding Wooyoung and Yeosang in the safety of Mingi's car.

Wooyoung looked oddly peaceful in this state, though the blood streaking down the side of his head mingled with the dirt and debris, casting a weathered look across his usually perfect-looking skin. San stands there, nearly aloof, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest that once seemed peaceful, but now looked rather pained. He could have broken a rib, or even worse, be bleeding internally somewhere, and though San was concerned for his safety, the irritation of knowing that all of this could be avoided, pained him the most.

"Head to the Velvet. I'll be right behind you," San orders under his breath, finally tearing his eyes away, giving Mingi a soft pat on his lower back as he walks away, leaving no word for argument or conversation.

The sound of glass echoes out beneath his shoes as he walks back to his car, the headlights brightening the asphalt, shining against whatever remnants of fluid and glass lay ahead of it. San adjusted his jacket, smoothed out his shirt, taking in a heavy breath as he placed his hand on the open door of his car, still hearing the distant sound of sirens growing closer, loudening with every passing breath. He places a hand on his still-open car door, turning to see Mingi's car beginning to pull away, the engine rumbling as he pressed on the gas. San settles back into his seat, slamming his door, letting a heavy breath sink through his lungs, almost in a motion to relieve the stress.

The image of Wooyoung, unconscious and slumped in the front seat, caused a pang of momentary unease to flash through his veins. He didn't know Wooyoung, really hardly at all. And yet, this male, as known or unknown as he may be, was still a part of his crew, which made his risk and his injury all that more palpable.

He shifts his car back into drive, carefully maneuvering his vehicle past the remnants of the wreck before pressing on the gas, propelling his car further and further away from the evidence of it all. The world was a blur around him as he sped off, listening to the chatter within the earpiece, but he rather chose to remain silent. He was angry, furious even, completely baffled at how the cars had caught everyone off-guard, except for Wooyoung. Though, now that San was overly thinking about it, Wooyoung did say that there were three cars, and only two had been dealt with.

He checks his mirrors, casting a careful glance between each of the reflections, yet finding only street lamps illuminating the space behind him. It was empty, as it should've been, barren of visible enemies or police lights, leaving San to refocus, gazing out at the road ahead of him, trying to guide himself home in the safest manner possible.

The blur of lights, the fading hum of the engine, the cool air coming in from the vents; it all seemed to mask over every single emotion boiling just beneath the surface. San didn't know what to think. He was lost between conflicting arguments, wanting nothing more than to interrogate Wooyoung about his negligence, while also to praise him for being so vigilant. He hadn't even been within the cartel for more than a week, and he was already risking life and limb, calling out moves that he didn't even pass by Minho or San himself, dictating the flow of the mission with one careless, reckless decision.

Even as he arrived back, the atmosphere was suddenly tense, barely interrupted by the sounds of footsteps and engines being killed. The cars were safely parked in the underground garage, organized and accounted for, all of the stolen vehicles untouched, and completely scratch-free. Was it because of Wooyoung's impulsive nature? Was it because of the ill-timed attack? San couldn't be sure.

Now, safely back within his own compound, he follows the remnants of his crew inside, listening as the mumbles of conversation fill the void space where silence seemed to reign.

"San'ah," Mingi calls out from the end of the hall, gesturing towards the medical wing. "Chan is here. He needs to talk to you."

San nods, continuing his pace down the hall as he watches Mingi disappear back into the room, the voices from the living space dwindling out the further he walked. His steps echoed, bounced off the walls, reverberating in a clinical sense that seemed to mimic the thumping of his heart. He didn't know what to expect, but for all he knew, Wooyoung could be seriously hurt because of his own impulsiveness, which made San's head spin in a way he hadn't expected. He cared for all of his crew members, their safety and health remaining as one of the things he worries for the most behind whatever facade he maintains. Wooyoung, as new as he was, wasn't isolated from that concern. San knew that Wooyoung could handle himself, but he sure as hell did not have to risk life and limb the way he did.

Turning the corner, San walks into the medic's office, one of which was usually vacant during the morning hours, and hardly ever called upon. San was strict with his security, lowering the risk of injury by every single way he could manage. But, this was different. Partially, he felt guilty for keeping Chan on call like this, but he worked under his beckoning command, and there'd be no room for argument regardless.

"Thank you for dropping everything to come by," San begins, watching as Chan looks up from his computer, adjusting the glasses perched on his nose. "I know it's not exactly ideal."

"No worries, boss," Chan says with a breath, though San could sense the undertone of his exhaustion. "He did quite a number on himself, I won't lie to you."

San raises a brow, folding his arms against his chest. "Alright. Let me hear it."

"Mingi described the event partially," Chan begins, leaning back in his chair. "Car accident?"

"He was practically T-boned," San says, turning to glance at Mingi. "Where'd you leave Yeosang?"

"Yeosang is lying in the other room. Said his head was hurting, so Chan gave him some painkillers and sent him off to rest." Mingi leans back, finding a place against the wall as he stands by, earning a slight nod from San as he turns back to look at Chan.

"Right, well," Chan says, adjusting his glasses. "It's likely that he has a concussion, since the wound on his head makes me believe that he collided with his window, and beyond that, his shoulder was slightly knocked out of place. He's going to be out of commission for at least two weeks, San. You're telling me he's new to all of this?"

"He just acted. I don't know what he was thinking," San explains, shaking his head. "It was careless; reckless, even."

"But, it saved your ass," Mingi speaks up, drawing San's gaze towards him. "What he did might not have been the smartest, but you have to admit, he saved your ass."

San's jaw clenched. Sure, he thought, he did save my ass. But at the cost of what? His car being left abandoned in the middle of the street? Those two gang members ending up with their lives lost? Putting Yeosang's life in danger just because he couldn't help but be impulsive?

"It doesn't change how reckless it was, Mingi. Watch your tone with me," San warns, narrowing his gaze. "I don't care what could've happened to me. Seungjae can send every single man in his house after me, and he will still fall beneath my heel. Don't forget who owns this city."

Mingi nods, though curtly, giving way for San to find a sense of his composure, turning back towards Chan.

"Two weeks?" San asks, watching as Chan nods, crossing his left leg over the other.

"Two weeks. No other way around it. He needs time to heal," Chan gestures to the computer before he sighs, partially glancing between Mingi and San again. "His vitals are normal, which is the best news I can give you. He just needs time, and I mean it, San. This isn't just someone you can bandage and send out on the streets the next day."

"I wouldn't–"

"You have before. I understand you guys have quotas to meet, people to take care of and a reputation to maintain. But take this time to understand the consequences, just for once." Chan rises from his chair, reaching for his folders and documents, rustling around in his pocket to find his car keys. "Besides, you all could use a break. It's been a long few months, and I know you want to be rid of your parents. But you have to remember, these men who work beneath you, at the end of the day, they're just people, and people have limits. Even you."

San bites back the words hanging on the edge of his tongue, taking a moment to nod, swallowing all of the hateful words fighting to be free. He understood, if just partially, but he was withholding too much resentment, too much anger, all of which screamed to be spoken of.

"I won't push it, Chan." San takes a slow breath into his lungs, watching as the male nods, reaching out to place a hand on San's shoulder.

"He has a list of instructions for his medications sitting next to his bed. Just keep him calm, for now. He shouldn't wake up for the next few hours, but I'll be back in the morning to check on him and to stay for a few days."

"You're not staying now?" San asks, raising a brow.

"I do have a job outside all of this, San," Chan says, dropping his tone slightly. "I do work for you, and I am loyal to you, but I have a family I need to support. I'll be back."

San nods, albeit reluctantly, but he understood, at the very least. "Thank you, Chan. Mingi–" San turns, facing his bodyguard, "–escort him to his car and out to the gates. Make sure no one is lingering around from Seungjae's crew."

Mingi nods, leaning away from the wall as he makes his way out of the medical office, Chan not too far behind him. San stands there, chewing on the interior of his cheek, brushing a hand through his hair as he looks up, eyeing the ajar door just ahead of him. Wooyoung was just through that door, passed out, medicated and recklessly injured, yet alive. San didn't know if he should be grateful or not, even if a part of him flared with anger at the male's rash, impulsive behavior.

Quietly, he walks forwards, pressing a hand to the door as he softly pushes it open, just enough to accommodate for himself. His eyes look upwards, catching sight of Wooyoung sleeping in the bed, covered in a thin, woven white blanket, his head tilted to the left, eyes closed, chest moving upwards and down in a steady rhythm, stuck in the deep confines of sleep. There was a bandage on the side of his head, the remnants of a stain running down his cheek from where the blood had leaked past, though San could see the undercurrent of something more within Wooyoung, even from such a distance.

He was tired. His eyes were dark beneath, laden with circles and bags, signifying his reluctance to find the bliss captured with sleep, marking his truth about having insomnia. San's heart clenches, his steps instinctively finding footing as he roots himself closer, settling in the black chair that was against the wall nearby. He sits down, leaning forward, resting his arms on his knees, his head tilting down, listening to the hums and beeps of the machines, the IV bag nearby dripping with every half-second.

He sighs, shaking his head, almost in a mock of disbelief. Things don't go wrong like this, they hardly ever do. But, the rational part of him accepts that accidents happen. Mistakes happen. It's all a part of life, even if he didn't want to accept them.

Having been raised beneath a strict regime, San can't help but feel out of control. He seeks to maintain control, to keep his power, to follow a timeline; but this was different. It fell out of the loop, spiraling out of his control, causing the accident itself to send the plan into a near cluster-fuck, which drove the plan even deeper into the gutter. He was meticulous, maybe a bit over-reactive, or even demanding, but there was a means behind his madness. There always had been. This just simply wasn't any different.

His parents, who held an overwhelming authority over many political parties within the city, ran a strict household, met with consequences in the form of physical abuse. San learned, from a very young age, to do as he was told, to follow strict orders, to behave a certain way, and to speak with a certain tongue. He never divulged far from that path, acting like a near-robot in front of his parents, watching as they continued to harass and correct his little sister. He couldn't do anything about it, all in the fear that they'd turn on him, giving him the same hateful corrections for simply saying a word out of place.

Soo-ah, who had been such a bright light in San's younger years, had always been a bubble of light. The maids, who almost always took care of San and Soo-ah, allowed them to freely express themselves, giving them warnings, preventing them from being found out by their parents. They would color, dress-up, watch movies and eat an absurd amount of junk food, entertaining themselves while being locked away in a lavish estate, one of which began to feel like a heinous prison.

For once, when San was fifthteen, he allowed himself to grow lax. He was open with Soo-ah, talking about his plans for the future, claiming that he'd find a way to get rid of their parent's fortune, finding a place for just the two of them so they'd never have to endure this ever again. Soo-ah readily agreed, making a serious swear in the form of a pinky promise that she'd do everything she could to help, even if she was only nine years old.

But, one fateful day, San found himself staring at the blood on his hands, knelt down on the ground, his eyes shaking with a rapture of tears he wasn't sure if he could ever prevent. Their plans had gone astray, not followed correctly, completely abandoned, leaving him to stare at the empty eyes that were once shown with so much adoration and love right back at him. Soo-ah, in all of her youth and genuine kindness, was now riddled in blood, laying lifelessly before San as he sat in the grim surroundings of his parent's estate.

Even as he resided in this quiet medical room, his hands reaching, clasping together tightly, feeling as the remnants of his control begin to slip past the tip of his fingers. He shakes his head, swallowing a breath, closing his eyes tightly, listening as the steady beat of the heart rate monitor continues in the background, steadying his thoughts, if only for the moment.

He could hear the laughter of his sister ringing through his ears, causing him to wince, feeling the sudden rush of cold blood settling over the palms of his hands. His eyes snap open, his head rushing upright, looking around the scape of the room, taking in a steadying breath. As he settles back into a state of forced-composure, he watches as Wooyoung shifts, his brows furrowing, his breath catching, hand clenching into a fist; almost as if he were fighting off the urge to remain asleep, wishing to be awake.

San watches him, leaning against the back of his chair, listening as Wooyoung mumbles something incoherent before his eyes slowly peel open, his irises shifting around to study his surroundings before his pupils dilate, almost in fear.

"Hey, you're fine," San speaks out, watching as Wooyoung's head snaps in his direction, suddenly softening as realization sinks into his skin. "We're at the Velvet. You're safe."

He nods, leaning back into his pillow, shifting around a bit uncomfortably before he settles, wincing the moment he moves his injured shoulder.

"What happened?" He rasps out, taking a breath inwards, likely soothing the tide of whatever anxiety had mulled over him.

"You got into a pretty bad accident," San explains, watching as Wooyoung's brows pinch together. "Do you remember anything?"

"Just. . . watching the car through my window. I can hear the yelling, the pleas to not act like an idiot from Yeosang, but I just–" he pauses, turning his gaze back towards San. "I don't know. I acted, I guess."

"You did, but we'll discuss all of that later," San assures, trying to suede the conversation elsewhere. "Are you in pain? Do you need anything?"

"No, no, I'm fine, I think," Wooyoung says, slightly raising his hand to wave it slightly. "I'm just tired– really tired, actually."

"Rest." San stands from his seat, approaching the side of Wooyoung's bed. "The doctor will be back in the morning. Your phone is here–" San reaches for it, taking it off of the bedside table. "Use it to contact me if you need something."

"I'll be fine–"

"You might think you are, but your injuries are serious. You're on strict bed rest guidelines, and it's important that you give yourself time before trying to run off and do something else that's impulsive."

Wooyoung's once mischievous demeanor softens into something else, maybe understanding or cooperation. Whatever it was, it gave San enough peace of mind to trek back into his office.

"I'm serious. I don't take injuries lightly, regardless of how long I've known you. Rest. There's nothing more for either of us to do right now."

For a moment, Wooyoung looked as if he wanted to respond, slowly taking his phone out of San's hand, choosing to rather stay quiet. San turns on his heel, walking towards the door, setting his hand on the handle before he hesitates, feeling an ounce of his previous self crawl to the forefront.

He didn't even know Wooyoung, let alone trust him. Yet, here he was, feeling overly protective over someone he'd barely known for more than a few days. But, he couldn't help but feel a slight, deepening root of concern, wondering if he could've done something to prevent all of this. Was there something he hadn't seen in the planning? Should he have been more vigilant? Should he have paired the teams differently? Should he have not been so rash in plotting to steal something as materialistic as a few luxury cars?

"I mean it, Wooyoung," San mutters, just barely turning his head to glance over his shoulder. "Don't fight against yourself. Just rest. I know you have insomnia, and I know it's hard, but just allow yourself the chance to relax for once."

Wooyoung's brows furrow, looking down at his phone, his jaw tightening as he tries to find the words, but nothing comes out. San looks away, walking through the doorway, leaving the door ajar behind him. He wasn't sure at what was going through Wooyoung's mind, but he knew it was likely a myriad of stubborn defiance, laced with guilt, or something similar.

Trekking into his office, San opens the door to find both Hongjoong and Seonghwa settled inside, sitting in their chairs, concern laced into their hues. San raises a brow, eyeing them both, moving past them as he strode towards his desk, looking down at the mound of paperwork he had been trying to avoid.

"What's bothering you?" Seonghwa asks, earning a scoff from San in turn.

"What isn't bothering me, Seonghwa? This entire night was a fucking disaster."

Hongjoong shifts uncomfortably in his seat, exchanging a glance with Seonghwa before the male speaks again, leaving San to settle down in his leather chair, too tired to truthfully deal with any of this.

"San," Seonghwa begins. "I know you, better than you know yourself, sometimes. Both of us have known you for almost a decade, so don't sit here and pretend that you're fine. Just because you're the boss of all of this, doesn't mean you can't be upset about something."

"I am fucking upset about something, but what does it matter? What does it solve?" San places a hand down on his desk, clenching his jaw, turning his gaze away to stare at the stack of papers again. "What would've happened if Wooyoung would've died? What then?"

Seonghwa is silent, so San continues to talk, uninterrupted.

"He nearly died because of his fucking stupid, impulsive thoughts, none of which anyone dared to convince otherwise. Minho couldn't stop him, he wouldn't listen to me, nor Yeosang; he just– he fucking–"

"He did what he had to," Hongjoong interjects lightly, keeping his tone calm. "Your life was at risk, and he did the very thing any of us would've done if we would've noticed in time."

"You do realize that he said there were three cars, right? Only two were taken care of. That means, someone is lurking around the streets looking for us. Seungjae doesn't know that it was us, but I have a strong feeling, a very fucking strong one, that he's going to waltz right into my casino and start slaughtering people."

"You really think he'd test you that openly?" Seonghwa asks, his brow raised in confusion and slight shock. "He's not that much of an idiot."

"I stole what's most precious to him, Seonghwa. I stole his cars, the things that make him the most money besides his collection of illegal drugs. If he doesn't have these cars, he holds no leverage. He has nothing, and he knows that. Street racers pride themselves on their cars, we all know that."

"Then, we prepare. We have Hyunjin watch the perimeter, station Yeosang on double security, monitor patrols–"

"Enough," San spits out, halting Hongjoong's proposal. "I've had enough of this shit. I'm fucking over it."

"We need to think this through, San. We can't keep dancing around this for days to come. We need to handle it, and we have to handle it now." Seonghwa rises from his seat, taking a step closer. "I know you're scared to lose people San, but Wooyoung is fine–"

"Don't you dare talk about what I'm afraid of! You have no right to bring up anything about my past right now, Seonghwa." San rises from his seat too, planting his palms against the desk, trying to withhold his irritation the more his fear propels his anger, but the moment Seonghwa begins to speak again, he snaps.

"San–"

"I said ENOUGH–!" San whips his arm out, sending the entire stack of paperwork and files to the ground, scattered in a messy heap, floating and fluttering down to the ground, completely askew. "I will fucking handle it. Now, please, go to bed. It's three in the fucking morning and I'm tired."

Seonghwa looks at Hongjoong, and for a moment, both of the males hesitate. San raises his gaze, pleading with his silence for the males to just leave, to spare themselves whatever rage was still burying itself deeply into San's core. But, after a few seconds of silence, Seonghwa nods, gesturing with his head as he nods towards the door. Hongjoong follows wordlessly, both of them leaving without the slightest acknowledgement, the door clicking behind them as they leave. San takes a heaving breath inwards, threading a hand through his hair.

He was annoyed, overly so, glancing down at the mess of papers and ruined stability, sending a flurry of irritation to lace across his chest.

He hated lashing out. He hated acting so aggressively. But, more than anything else, did he hate when things spiraled out of control. He was losing himself, losing his composure, losing his sense of control with this crew, watching as Wooyoung openly defied him to protect him, nearly costing him his life and almost injuring Yeosang in the process. San shook his head again, dispelling the anger, if only momentarily.

With a huff, he settles back into his chair, tapping his fingers against the armrest. He looks at his office door, listening as the silence folds inwards, pressing down on his shoulders, reminding him of just how much he was risking himself.

He was losing every single inch of himself to this anger, to this will to control everything. And yet, it'd be worth it all, every single bit of it, just as long as he could put his parents deep in a grave, six feet beneath the earth, right where they belonged.