Archive of Our Own

vulpes velox — swift fox

Although long extinct, the swift fox was once a fairly successful predator, despite its size. With its natural ability to camouflage in its hunting territory, it could easily take down its prey, outmaneuvering its predators as well with (as its name would suggest) swift, sharp movements. As its natural habitat began to shrink, however, leaving it in unfamiliar territory, predators seized their opportunity and managed to wipe out nearly the whole species. Those that remained faced a quickly-dwindling population, eventually fading due to predators or simply lack of resources.

—

So maybe, just maybe, the other bounty hunters had Some credibility when they all said the CrystalTech bounty was impossible. A definite maybe. But not entirely! Wooyoung’s pulled plenty of “impossible” jobs before without a scratch (read: with more scars than unmarked skin at this point), and this shouldn’t have been any different. Unfortunately, it seems Lady Luck got tired of Wooyoung laughing in her face, because this last job was nothing short of disastrous. Wooyoung barely got out with his life and a nasty new set of scars, and his team—well. At least he doesn’t have to worry about their shares anymore, Wooyoung guesses. It’s bad enough having to take care of himself without what he was sure would be his last score, enough to set him up practically for life. Not corpo rich or anything, but enough to at least get a decent apartment for once instead of having to spend everything on his gear. 

Of course, it’s not like Wooyoung ever spends his own money on his equipment, but that’s why he’s currently gritting his teeth through the pain of walking on his leg instead of curling up on his shitty bed in his shitty apartment and letting his last shitty fluid patch at least try to properly heal the wound that nearly took his leg off. The sooner he gets this over with and figures out just how pissed the Songs are at him, the better, lest he end up waking up to a sniper shooting through his window again. His last benefactor skimped on merc costs, but the Songs are fucking loaded, and even if his address has been well-hidden up to now, Wooyoung’s more than well aware of just how trivial information like that is to find for the hackers they keep on the payroll. So, painful as it is, an early confrontation is his best bet.

Thankfully, the back entrance to New World is fairly quiet. It’s to be expected, seeing as it’s hardly the Songs’ most popular club, but Wooyoung’s not taking anything for granted right now. It seems he still has a bit of luck on his side, though, and Wooyoung grins beneath his mask as he recognizes the glowing catlike eyes of the bouncer as he scans the alleyway. Not very subtle, of course, but that’s not really the point. Any bounty hunter worth their shit can recognize Viridian implants, and just the sight of them is more than enough to show the Songs don’t fuck around when it comes to security. Of course, they’ve been producing more discreet versions in the last few years—one of which Wooyoung may or may not have splurged on when they finally started popping up on the black market last year to keep his tech up-to-date while still being able to blend in with his targets and their anything-but-natural “natural” looks—but that piercing yellow glow is just as much a deterrent as the implants’ actual functionalities, which—well. Wooyoung can attest to those himself. There’s a reason he’s the only member of his crew left standing.

“Wasn’t sure if you’d show your face ‘round here after that spectacle of a shitshow,” the bouncer drawls, a smirk on his face as Wooyoung nears the door. “I didn’t join in on the betting pool, but—” He cuts himself off with a low whistle. “Someone’s going home happy tonight, and something tells me it’s not gonna be you."

Wooyoung forces down the instinctive wince, keeping his face an easy, relaxed façade. Not that he’s fooling either of them, but the attempt at illusion is the only thing keeping himself from running away and getting himself shot, so. Faking it it is. “Just tell me he’s here, San,” Wooyoung says, forcing out an almost-bored sigh. “If I have to deal with her, the betting pool’s getting a different answer, I swear to all hells—”

San snorts, showing far more emotion than expected from his stoic, barely-realistic physique, his eyes crinkling with amusement. See, this is why Wooyoung likes San. At least he acts like a real person. “She hates this place. Have you ever seen her here? Only reason she hasn’t moved all the deals to Crescent is ‘cause it’s his favorite, everyone knows that.”

“What self-respecting bounty hunter would ever set foot in Crescent? Even I’ve barely gone a few times, and I don’t listen to common sense. That shit’s for corpos. No mercs wanna touch that unless it’s a target, not a benefactor.”

San shrugs. “I’m just the doorman. I don’t make the business decisions. But they’ve been going off at each other about it for months. Don’t think I’ve even seen him crack a smile once this week.”

“So is that a yes to him being here, or…”

“Oh, he’s here alright,” San says with a scoff. “Here and pissed off as fuck. Hope you brought a peace offering for his guard dog, or he might tear you to shreds before you can even start to say ‘I’m an absolute fuckup—’”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes, pushing past San who, mercifully, lets him. “Go back to waiting to intimidate rookie pickpockets,” he says as he heads inside.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” San calls after him. Wooyoung wordlessly raises his hand, flipping him off as he walks away.

Inside, as he heads down the hallways in the back of the club, Wooyoung can see the dance floor through a tinted window, where most everyone has taken advantage of the filtered air to take off their masks. Wooyoung’s not so eager, though, even if New World’s filters are fairly reliable—it’s just second nature to keep his mask on except for the rare occasion where he’s trying to blend in with a mark. The fewer people know his face, the better, especially since he doesn’t have the employment protections of working for anyone. Freelancing has its perks, but safety is far from one of them.

It’s the same reason most bounty hunters keep their names private, Wooyoung even more diligently than most. His information is buried deep in the furthest reaches of the net thanks to an old friend who’s now long gone. No one’s called him Wooyoung in nearly a decade, and although he’ll be the first to admit just how lonely it can be without anyone to get close to, to confide in, without anyone who truly knows him, Wooyoung’s always quick to kick himself out of wallowing in his head by reminding himself how much he prefers being alive and (mostly) free to being dead or tortured. 

Of course, as soon as that thought crosses his mind, a blur crosses the corner of Wooyoung’s vision, and he instinctively steps back only to collide with a pillar-shaped bodyguard, who, despite Wooyoung’s attempts to stumble away, manages to pin Wooyoung’s arms to his sides with apparent ease, clawed fingers digging through his jacket and into his flesh.

“Some fucking nerve you have showing up here,” a cold voice hisses in Wooyoung’s ear. 

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “Nice to see you too, Yunho,” he deadpans. “Have you considered that maybe I came here to apologize?”

The only warning Wooyoung gets is a low growl in response before he’s shoved into the wall, and he grunts at the impact as Yunho presses his forearm into Wooyoung’s throat. “You think I fucking care if you came here to grovel at his feet?” Yunho snarls. “I should kill you right now before you can sweet-talk your way into another fucking deal you don’t deserve.”

It’s a little hard to breathe, but in pinning his throat, Yunho’s let go of Wooyoung’s left arm, and he takes advantage of his newfound (relative) freedom to inch his hand closer to the holster on his other side. “Why don’t you, then?” he manages to rasp, imbuing as much sickeningly sweet faux-innocence into his voice as he can muster as he smirks up at the bodyguard looming over him with a murderous look in his eyes. “Let me guess. You’re not allowed, are you?”

Yunho’s expression grows even colder, his upper lip curling as he glares down at Wooyoung with blazing, furious eyes. Damn. If Yunho weren’t so hopelessly dedicated to one person and one person only, this could be a lot hotter. He’s attractive enough, and that scowl is far from hurting it. What’s a good hookup without at least a little trying to kill each other, after all?

Unfortunately, Yunho’s preferences don’t really match up with Wooyoung’s, or, if they do, he doesn’t seem to have any trouble hiding it. “I am authorized to dispose of anything I deem as a threat,” he says, his voice even more dangerous than before. “So if you ever want to walk out of here…”

Wooyoung can’t help the pained gasp that escapes his lips as Yunho slams his knee into Wooyoung’s lower abdomen, pinning his wrist between his back and the wall. “Don’t reach any closer for that gun,” Yunho hisses, his arm pressing even more harshly against Wooyoung’s neck, and okay, now he really can’t breathe. 

Wooyoung struggles against Yunho’s grip, finally able to wrench his hand out from behind him and attempt to claw at Yunho’s arm, to pry it away from his throat, but he can only scrabble at the enhanced limb, unable to even budge it, and his head is growing hazier by the moment thanks to the lack of air. Maybe he really wasn’t bluffing.

“Yah!” A deep voice rings out from the end of the hallway, and Yunho’s arm immediately pulls away, allowing Wooyoung to gasp for breath in relief. “I told you, his life isn’t yours to decide. Come on.”

“You can’t blame me for trying,” Yunho grumbles, but he lets go of Wooyoung all the same. 

There’s no response from the other end of the hall but a tired sigh. “Just…send him in.”

Yunho rolls his eyes, but he still steps back, yanking Wooyoung off the wall and shoving him forward. “Move,” he says gruffly.

“I don’t need instructions on how to go where I was already headed,” Wooyoung snarks back, but he follows them anyway, doing his best to mask his limp as he walks to the office where Song Mingi has already sat back down behind his desk, two fingers running through his close-cropped hair, which has faded to a pale pink in the time since Wooyoung last saw him.

“Yunho, please wait outside,” Mingi says quietly, not looking up. 

“He’s not to be trusted,” Yunho snaps. “There’s no way I’m leaving you alone with him—”

“You are.” Mingi cuts him off, his voice gentle but firm, unwavering as he looks Yunho in the eyes, and Wooyoung isn’t sure if he wants popcorn to enjoy the drama or to throw up from that sickeningly sweet expression. “This is a private conversation, Yunho-yah. I don’t care if you trust him or not, but please trust that I can take care of myself.”

They stare each other down for a good couple minutes before Yunho finally concedes, scowling. “Fine,” he mutters, grabbing at Wooyoung’s hip and pulling his gun out of its holster in one swift movement before exiting, slamming the door behind him. The gun’s hardly the only weapon Wooyoung has on his person, and all three of them know it, but it’s certainly the most efficient, and that seems to be enough for them. Wooyoung’s willing to debate the reality of that, but he doesn’t really have an interest in fighting for his life tonight, so he’s more than happy to take the assumption of incompetence for now.

“Loyal little puppy,” Wooyoung comments as he sits down, kicking his feet up to rest on the desk. “Maybe you need to get him a new chew toy. Bad for business if he keeps clawing up your clients.” He’s well aware that it’s a bad idea to insult anything Mingi really cares about like this, but that’s never stopped him before. It’s practically part of his identity as a bounty hunter to rile up everyone equally, whether they be ally or target or enemy. 

Mingi bristles. “At least I know he won’t stab me in the back,” he says coldly. Ouch. The reminder stings, but Wooyoung was still the one to walk away from that, so. Whatever. It’s a fair response.

“Maybe,” Wooyoung says, “but he still ruined my favorite jacket.” He lifts his forearm to display the mangled mess of fabric barely holding onto the rest of the sleeve. 

Mingi just rolls his eyes, his own—new, Wooyoung thinks, last time they were green—implants a bright blue that Wooyoung often sees on the faces of corpos. They suit him better than they do most, but it’s hardly a high bar. “Good to know where your priorities lie,” he drawls. “Pay me back on time, and I’ll replace it for you.”

Wooyoung sighs. Straight to business, then. “How long do I have?”

Mingi doesn’t respond immediately, instead absentmindedly fiddling with one of the various knickknacks on his desk as an ominous silence fills the room. Wooyoung wants to break it, but the dread pooling in his stomach keeps him from opening his mouth for once. “Look,” Mingi begins. Yeah. This isn’t ending well. “I like you, Velox.”

Oh, even better. Wooyoung barely manages to restrain the urge to roll his eyes, because of all the corpo-adjacents Wooyoung knows, Mingi is by far the most genuine. Not to say he isn’t capable of being a complete snake, because anyone with the ability to keep any sort of power is, but Mingi at least does it with less frequency than most. 

“I know that this was most likely a one-off,” Mingi continues, “and if it were only up to me, I’d probably be willing to be lenient. Give you time to make it up. Unfortunately…” He gives up on the knickknack, tossing it across his desk as he massages his forehead with his other hand. “My mother is involved.”

Wooyoung’s blood runs cold. There’s always a chance of Song Surim dealing with matters personally—that’s the cost of doing business with the Songs—but she hardly ever bothers, not with this, too self-important to want to deal with people like Wooyoung. He’s only met her once, but that was more than enough for Wooyoung to know that he never wanted to again, and that she was one of the most dangerous people he’d ever met, even if he hadn’t already known her track record. 

“…That bad?”

“…Yeah,” Mingi responds. “I’m sorry, Velox, but the potential take was too high-profile. So with your failure, you’ve made her look like a fool. She wants her investment back, and then she wants more as compensation. If not…she’ll make an example out of you.”

Wooyoung grits his teeth. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Three days,” Mingi breathes. “Fifteen million.”

Wooyoung gapes at him. He knew it’d be bad, but— “Three? Fifteen? You gave me ten million, what the fuck—”

“I’d advise,” Mingi says quietly, “for you to meet her deadline.”

Wooyoung lets out a desperate laugh. “Meet it? I could hardly pull that much together in triple the time, you know that—”

“I do, Velox. But you have to know that’s not the point. She wants to tear out your implants and frame them on her wall, or maybe just to sell every piece of you she can, and then she’ll make you work for every credit you still owe her.”

“If she wanted a personal bounty hunter, you’d think she could just hire one,” Wooyoung mutters. 

“That’s not what she wants,” Mingi says, looking at Wooyoung with a face that makes him want to dissolve into the aether right about now. “Her words were, and I quote, ‘those rumors about what’s under that little mask of his seem highly lucrative.’”

The room tilts, and Wooyoung feels woozy as he stands up, blindly reaching for the blade strapped to his thigh. “Fuck you,” he hisses, leaning over the desk and into Mingi’s face. “If you think you’re ever—”

The door bursts open, and a clawed hand yanks Wooyoung back, the barrel of a gun pressing into the back of his head. “Put it down,” Yunho growls. “Now.”  

Wooyoung snarls, but Yunho digs even deeper into his shoulder, and Wooyoung reluctantly stows his knife, raising his hands in surrender. “You think I’m stupid enough to actually try to kill him?” he bites out.

“Yes,” Yunho responds with no hesitation. Mingi snorts, clearly in disagreement, but he doesn’t bother correcting him.

“Escort him out, please,” he says instead. Yunho starts to drag Wooyoung towards the door, and Mingi corrects himself. “Gently,” he adds. Wooyoung can practically hear Yunho rolling his eyes, but he lets go of Wooyoung, lowering the gun and allowing him to walk freely.

“I am sorry,” Mingi says quietly when Wooyoung reaches the still-open door. Wooyoung just scoffs, not bothering to dignify that with a response as he stalks out, Yunho following him close behind. 

It’s quiet until they get to the end of the hallway, where the music from the club can start to be heard, at which point Wooyoung turns to face Yunho. “Can I have my gun back now?” he asks, fluttering his eyelashes innocently as he looks up at Yunho, his smirk hidden behind his mask.

Yunho scowls. “Give me a single good reason for me to give it to you.”

Wooyoung reaches forward, briefly displaying his empty palm before lifting his fingers to trace up the back of Yunho’s neck. “Because,” he purrs, “much as you pretend not to, you like me. I do good work, and you know that.”

“I do not,” Yunho hisses, snatching Wooyoung’s wrist away from him. 

Wooyoung just shrugs. “Whatever you say,” he says agreeably. “But if you want to blame anyone for my gun still being on me, you should talk to Sannie, no? Doesn’t seem fair to punish me for your own employee’s negligence.”

“I can punish whoever I want,” Yunho says coldly.

“Sexy,” Wooyoung responds, grinning at the way Yunho hurriedly tries to bring his stunned expression back to stoicism. “But your priority should be making sure your lovely boss gets paid, right? It's in your best interest for me to have all the tools available I can.”

Yunho grumbles something under his breath, but he clearly can’t argue with Wooyoung’s logic, because he pulls Wooyoung’s prized handgun out from where he’d stowed it away, pausing before handing it to Wooyoung to stare him down. “If I see your face again before your debt is paid, you’ll fucking wish I had killed you earlier. Understand?”

Wooyoung just rolls his eyes, snatching his gun out of Yunho’s hand and holstering it. “You won’t,” he says, turning on his heel and walking away. Trust me, I fucking know, is what goes unsaid.

As soon as he makes it back out onto the street, Wooyoung drops his façade, running a hand through his hair as he finally lets himself feel the absolute terror that’s been building in him all night. Fuck. Three fucking days to come up with fifteen fucking million. That’s barely enough time to plot a heist with that kind of take, let alone execute it. Transport jobs hardly ever come close to that kind of payout, and the ones that do have a vetting process that’d reject Wooyoung immediately for the outcome of his latest job, no matter how much of it was actually his fault. All that to say, Wooyoung’s left with basically one viable option, so he sets his cybernetics scrolling through all the current bounties on hits in the corner of his vision as he ducks into the convenience store at the end of the block. He needs a fucking drink.

Inside, the store is dingy, dimly lit by one flickering overhead holo and no other patrons in sight. Wooyoung’s instinct is to head straight for the hardest alcohol he can find, eager to get so wasted he can just forget this entire night, but the bounties scrolling by just in view remind him why he can’t if he’s going to even try to meet his ridiculous deadline. 

So instead, Wooyoung pulls out the sugariest-looking can he can see, cracking it open and downing nearly half in one sip as he finally directs his focus to the list of bounties, re-sizing it to take up about half his vision—the most Wooyoung’s willing to obscure when he’s not alone at home. It hardly seems worth it, though, not when all the bounties he sees are complete garbage. Low payout, low payout, even more impossible than breaking into CrystalTech, low payout…Wooyoung’s about to give up and just look for a bunch of smash ’n grab jobs when a bounty finally catches his eye. 

Twenty million, for a hit on the CEO of a company Wooyoung’s only barely heard of—Kim Hongjoong, owner of Utopia, some new fashion-y corporation that only the corpos who can afford their shit really care about. The only reason Wooyoung’s even heard of it is he’s pretty sure he’s worked for them before. The bounty was anonymous, but the job—stealing and then leaking company secrets from a major competitor—led to Utopia’s profits soaring, and it’s not hard to deduce why. 

Wooyoung never did any research into the corp’s CEO, but it seems it’s a shame he didn’t. He’s pretty even for a corpo, at least in the images provided in the bounty listing. Shame he has to die, but business is business, and he’s just another corpo in the grand scheme of things. If it’s between himself and, really, anyone else, Wooyoung’s picking himself every time. Such is the life of a bounty hunter. Attachments get you—at best—killed. No point in thinking about anyone but himself if he has any interest in surviving.

From what Wooyoung learned from his basic research a few months ago, Utopia is well-funded, but it’s hardly a megacorp with a highly protected compound or something. He’ll look into the security more when he gets home, but it should be…doable. Possibly. Maybe. It fucking better be, because Wooyoung doesn’t have any ideas if it isn’t. Then again, if it isn’t, he’ll probably be dead, so it doesn’t really matter. Better than what Song Surim has planned for him.

Just that thought running through Wooyoung’s head makes him shudder, and he remembers that he’s currently standing in the back of a dilapidated convenience store letting his mind wander, not (relatively) safe at home to surf the net in peace. He shakes himself, minimizing the bounties on his display, then heads toward the exit, only remembering the half-finished drink in his hand when the ahjussi at the front clears his throat, glaring at Wooyoung over the counter where his feet are propped up.

Right. Everyone wants money from him. Wooyoung goes to transfer the credits to pay, but he stops short when he’s met with an error message. What the fuck. He might not have the funds to pay back the Songs at present, but Wooyoung’s not flat-out broke—

Oh. Well isn’t that just fucking lovely.

No matter how many times he refreshes it, that blinking red number stays the same, brightly informing Wooyoung that his account is completely fucking empty. Song Surim is even pettier than he thought, draining him of every last credit Wooyoung has before he’s even hit her deadline. Great. Perfect. Exactly what he needs right now; yet another thing to worry about when he definitely doesn’t have enough on his plate. Wooyoung wants to fucking punch something.

But before he can, the ahjussi interrupts him, breaking Wooyoung out of his incredibly productive thoughts with a gruff voice. “You gonna pay or not?” 

Wooyoung just stares at his sneering face for a second, his brain running a mile a minute and giving him nothing helpful to say in explanation. Even if he could be succinct, people around here aren’t exactly known for caring about anyone else’s personal problems. Pay up or shut up, and this particular ahjussi certainly seems to live by that rule as well.

“You kids think you can get away with anything,” the man grumbles, reaching for the gun lying behind him. “Come on, don’t make me have to make an example out of you.”

Wooyoung stiffens, his instinct to fight back, to end the conflict before it can escalate and he can get hurt, but although his hand is already inching down toward his own gun, a tiny voice in his head reminds him that now is probably a terrible time to have even more heat on him, especially for something as stupid as this. Normally, Wooyoung doesn’t bother listening to that voice. It’s boring and annoying and tends to dredge up bad memories the more Wooyoung lets it speak, but. This one time, it’s right, and Wooyoung holds his hands up placatingly, forcing the corners of his eyes to crinkle in the way that always charms the ahjumma at the tiny storefront he gets his best gear from. “Look, just give me a second,” he says.

The ahjussi opens his mouth to respond, and that’s when Wooyoung bolts, darting to the side and making a break for the door while the man’s caught off guard. Wooyoung almost thinks he’s made it, managing to yank the door open and nearly get out when he feels a searing pain in his calf, his ears ringing from the sound of the gunshot. Fuck. Adrenaline manages to keep him going for a couple blocks, at least until he’s sure he isn’t being followed, but when Wooyoung ducks into an alleyway and leans against the wall, all the energy drains out of him, and he slides to the ground as he hisses in pain, bending forward to examine the wound. 

At the very least, there’s no bullet Wooyoung can see, and it seems like a clean exit. That’s about all the positives Wooyoung can manage, though, because it’s currently bleeding like all hells, and he can’t really tell how bad it is, not to mention how far he still is from his apartment. Getting down here was bad enough with one injury in his leg, but getting back with two? Excruciating. Fun for exactly no one involved, although Wooyoung can imagine Song Surim would be laughing right now if she were watching. Fucking bitch. 

Wooyoung shrugs off his jacket, shivering a bit at the chill but gritting his teeth, knotting the fabric around his leg as best as he can manage in order to staunch the bleeding. The cold air against his skin also makes the wounds in his shoulders sting, because Wooyoung can’t catch a fucking break, but it’s hardly noticeable in comparison to his leg. 

Wooyoung presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath as he tries to calm his racing chest. It’d be trivial if he had a manual switch, or if his entire heart were artificial, but Wooyoung’s never been able to justify the cost of any organ replacements, let alone a fabricated immune system like practically all corpos prance around with so they don’t have to worry about the toxic air they’ve let seep into every crevice of the city. The implants alone are worth maybe half of all the money Wooyoung’s ever earned in his life, not to mention the cost of the procedure. 

So instead of being able to slow down his bodily functions to stop the bleeding, or block out his pain receptors at least until he gets home, Wooyoung just has to suffer as he pulls himself up to shaking legs, one hand bracing himself against the wall while he keeps the other one clutched tightly around his gun. Forget avoiding attention, if anyone comes picking a fight with him in this condition, Wooyoung’s either shooting first or ending up bleeding out on the street. 

That is, unless his makeshift bandage fails and he ends up passing out anyway. Wooyoung’s pretty sure he doesn’t even have any real bandages left back at his apartment. If he’d known he was out of credits, he’d have stolen more than the motherfucking drink, but instead, Wooyoung’s just standing here, slowly bleeding into his jacket with nothing of use available. The urge to stay here—to sit back down and never move again and just wait until he eventually passes out from the blood loss—is highly tempting, but given his luck today, Wooyoung has a feeling that even that wouldn’t go as planned. So much like all the memories that lurk in his worst nightmares, Wooyoung shoves his pain down, deep into the darkest corners of his mind, stubbornly ignoring it as he pushes himself off the wall, finally heading back to his apartment one stiff step at a time.

The elevator’s broken. Wooyoung probably should have fucking expected it, at this rate. Yeah, eight flights of stairs is just what he needs to help his legs. Maybe by the time he gets up to his floor they’ll have finally gone numb and spared him from his misery.

No. The extra exertion does not, in fact, lessen his suffering. Shocking, truly. And completely unpredictable, too, given just how his night’s been going. When he finally manages to get his door open, Wooyoung has half a mind to collapse onto his lumpy, practically useless couch—really, the only good thing about it is how close it is to the door—but he somehow manages to stumble into the bathroom instead, pulling out his pitifully sparse first aid kit. Just as expected, no bandages lie inside, although there is an equally unhelpful fluid patch wrapper that Wooyoung had forgotten about. He pulls it out to throw it away, and beneath the plastic, Wooyoung finds perhaps the first fortunate thing he’s encountered all day. Maybe Lady Luck doesn’t entirely hate him, because although it’s small, this patch of gauze is usable, at the very least. Wrap it in some tape, and it’s hardly the worst way he’s had to deal with injuries in the past. It might not even get infected. 

Of course, Wooyoung still has to clean the wound first if he wants any chance of that, so he sets his weapons on the sink with a clatter before he gingerly starts peeling his clothes off, careful not to disturb the open wounds on his shoulders as he pulls his shirt over his head. He turns to the shower, considering trying to stay standing for only a brief moment before giving in, dragging over the tiny stool from the corner and setting it behind the flimsy curtain. He sits down with more force than intended, too eager to get his weight off his feet. 

The last thing Wooyoung pulls off is his jacket, unwrapping the makeshift bandage to take a clear look at the gunshot wound. It looks…arguably worse under a real light, but Wooyoung’s going to hope that’s just because of the blood dripping everywhere and not because it’s deeper than he thought. Stitches are not in his plan for tonight, thank you very much. 

At this time of night, there’s hardly ever any warm water left in the apartment building, but the feeling of ice against Wooyoung’s skin is calming in its own way. The shock is grounding, slightly numbing the pain as he washes the blood away, showing the relatively small hole in his leg as about what he expected. Alright. Better than nothing. He makes sure to clean off his shoulders too, the wounds stinging more than before with how much he’s using his arms, but Wooyoung’s a stubborn bitch, and he’s not letting fucking Jeong Yunho get to him that easily. He’ll be fine.

Once he turns the water off, Wooyoung reaches to grab both his towel and the first aid kit, drying off his leg thoroughly before pressing the tiny gauze pad against it, wrapping the tape tightly around his leg. He’ll find out later if his foot turns purple whether or not he made it too tight, but for now, it isn’t completely agonizing to put weight on it, so Wooyoung’s not going to worry. Much. 

He means to do more research before he falls asleep, really. Usually Wooyoung has no problem staying up, easily getting lost in the net as he collects information on his targets and plans out his next moves. But tonight, Wooyoung’s exhaustion runs bone-deep, and his eyes fall shut before he can stop them, the inky blackness of the night swallowing him whole.

Wooyoung’s head is spinning, his vision hazy as he tries to squint through the hot, bright lights beating down on him from above. There are countless people milling about, but Wooyoung’s limbs are doing nothing but weighing him down, unable to move or even turn his head. Faces swim in and out of view, none of them recognizable until one finally peers down to look him in the eyes, and Wooyoung forgets how to breathe.

Song Surim smirks, towering over Wooyoung as she lifts his chin with a single perfectly manicured fingernail, her acid-green eyes glowing even brighter than the lights above her. “I warned you,” she crows, a cold satisfaction in her voice. “Fail me, and pay the price. Thankfully, you’re going to be very profitable for me.”

She turns away, leaving Wooyoung frozen in place, his neck straining upwards no matter how much he tries to force himself to move. Voices fade in and out around him, chattering over him as if he can’t hear. “Take the eyes out first,” a whisper-thin, reedy-voiced woman calls out. “It’s more fun when they can’t see what’s coming next.” Laughter bubbles out from the crowd around her, airy and conceited.

A hand nestles itself in Wooyoung’s hair as a different voice coos above him, responding in an equally demeaning tone. “I bet it’ll scream, too. Pretty little thing.” The clamor of the crowd grows louder, and they all seem to press closer at once, Wooyoung growing more and more claustrophobic with every second he’s stuck here. The hand in his hair yanks his head back, and suddenly there are hands all over him, uncaring yet deliberate, poking and prodding and grabbing and seizing and he can’t move, can’t fight, he’s trapped in an even worse fate than–

Wooyoung wakes with a start, immediately wincing as he shifts and feels the pain in his leg, hardly improved at all from last night. He can still feel his foot, though, so that’s a good sign. Besides, the pain is a good distraction from his racing thoughts, his still-pounding heart from the horrifying sight of Song Surim’s face, even in his nightmares. 

Wooyoung squeezes his eyes shut, trying to force bursts of color across his vision to distort the images burned into his mind, but it’s no use. The reminder refuses to leave him, the looming threat hanging over him of just how much is weighing on getting this job done as soon as possible. Without sitting up, merely adjusting his pillow, Wooyoung activates his connection to the net, pulling up all the information he looked through last night so he can decide where to start.

At the very least, Wooyoung knows better than to even try to plan for an attack in transit. It may seem like the weakest point to exploit; in between leaving one guarded building for another, but security teams know this full well, and actually seeing a corpo out on the street is rarer than seeing the stars at night, even when there aren’t actively hits out on them. Even if he could track a vehicle well enough to take a shot, it’d be a miracle if Wooyoung made it through the ridiculous materials they’re making cars out of these days. 

So instead, Wooyoung starts looking up the plans for Utopia’s headquarters. There was something in one of the articles he skimmed about Hongjoong being a workaholic, which is weird for a corpo, especially a CEO, but Wooyoung’ll take it at its word for now. Office buildings are usually easier targets anyway, with their fairly predictable windows and surrounding rooftops to shoot from. Wooyoung’s not going to get through any company firewalls any time soon, but he doesn’t need to, not when the city’s cams are so unguarded Wooyoung barely even needs his predownloaded hacks to take over their footage. He sometimes wonders if it’s even legal to have such weak security for such high surveillance in the richest areas, but then he remembers that just makes it easier for all the corporations to spy on each other without paying for their own employees, and it all makes sense again. Whatever. Makes it easier for him, at any rate. 

Wooyoung pulls up all the feeds near the building he can find, trying to spot the obvious weaknesses through the grainy footage. The glass of the windows doesn’t seem to have the telltale sheen of reinforcement, at least on the ground floor, but that’s never a guarantee, especially with newer builds like this one seems to be. Wooyoung certainly doesn’t remember seeing it before in previous scouting runs. 

The more Wooyoung looks at it, though, the more confused he gets. He can’t even catch a glimpse of anything that looks anywhere close to the kind of ostentatious office he’s used to. The only possibility is a couple of stories without any windows at all, but those areas are almost always for tech, the most important part of any company and thus kept away from any possible entrances. 

Hm. Wooyoung keeps the feeds running in the background as he pulls up the article he briefly looked at earlier. Maybe there’ll be something he can use to not have to infiltrate a building without the floorplan it doesn’t seem he has any chance in all hells of getting. 

Have you heard of Utopia? If not, you will soon… 

Ugh. Wooyoung resists the urge to yawn. Get to the actual information already.

I asked multiple employees what it was like working at such a fast-growing company. 

All interviewees have been anonymized due to concerns regarding their job security. 

Kim Hongjoong himself could not be reached for comment, despite many calls to his office.

Interviewee 1: (Laughs) Well, it’s sure as hells not like any other company I’ve worked at. But it’s hard to complain when it’s so much more interesting than my old job. I haven’t worked in fashion before, but…it’s exhilarating, being here. Never a dull moment, you know?

Interviewee 2: (Rolls eyes) I don’t know if I agree that he’s a genius. But he’s definitely crazy. Shows up at the office once every three months to dump an entire catalog of designs on us, then disappears back to his studio. Don’t think anyone I know has ever even talked to him. 

Ah. Great. So all of this surveillance was pointless, good to know. Wooyoung doesn’t bother trying to keep his groan back, dragging a hand over his face as his stomach contributes a similar noise. Shit. When was the last time he ate?

Wooyoung finally clears his display, blinking at the bright hints of sunlight that manage to make it through his blackout shades. He doesn’t really have the energy to get up, but he forces himself out of bed anyway. Collapsing during the job would…not end well, and even though he’s down to his last…thing of ramyeon, he’ll make it work. Ugh. When Wooyoung finishes this job, he’s taking a nap for a week. 

At the very least, he feels a little less tired once he finally eats something. Wooyoung’s only half-sure it actually counts as food, but it’s good enough, and he sits down on his couch to get to work finding wherever this CEO’s stupid studio is.

Wooyoung’s not sure what time it is when he finally finds a real lead, but he doesn’t care. The sooner he gets this over and done with, the better. The apartment building he’s found is weird, though. Just like everything else about this guy. Instead of the city center where practically every well-off corpo lives, or a compound where the ultra-wealthy never leave, Kim Hongjoong has nothing but a penthouse suite at the top of an apartment building in the middle of a neighborhood even Wooyoung’s never heard of. It fits the profile of “eccentric artist,” at the very least, but if Wooyoung weren’t already being paid to kill this guy, he’d probably do it anyway for making it so annoying to track him down. There aren’t any cameras he can find in the area, which means twice the work to scout out a possible angle.

Wooyoung lets out a long-suffering sigh, pulling himself to his feet and heading over to his weapons closet. (The bottom is for weapons. The top is a regular closet.) Stored away in a box with the most precious things he owns, Wooyoung keeps his two remaining drones, even if one of them is all but useless thanks to a damaged hard drive. The other one works near-perfectly, and it’s invaluable for recon work. Wooyoung connects it to his interface, his vision growing a familiar red around the edges in confirmation as he brings it to the window, smiling at the near-silent hum of its rotors before letting it go, directing it to his current target.

Okay, seriously. Wooyoung has to murder this guy. Everything is just so annoying. Not only is every window shaded, so Wooyoung doesn’t have a chance of getting a real shot without thermo-sensing, which, with his luck, would also be blocked, but every single building around it is at least five stories shorter, so even if Wooyoung could see what he was shooting at, he has no angle. He’s a good shooter, but he’s not that good, no matter how many optimizations he adds to his targeting system. Physics has yet to be broken, as far as Wooyoung knows, although chances are some corpo’s sponsored some groundbreaking research into it and is keeping all the secrets to themself. 

Wooyoung sighs, saving the footage of the drone’s recon to his hard drive before absentmindedly calling the drone back to his apartment, getting up from his spot by the window to make his way back to the closet, beginning to flick through the part of his collection that isn’t just pure black. It’s hardly extensive, but everything fits, and that’s all that matters. Wooyoung learned early on that it doesn’t matter if he follows whatever week-long trend everyone pretends to care about. What matters is if what he wears fits, and that applies just as much to clothes as it does his face, his attitude, his confidence. He can charm any corpo he wants, but the thing is, it’s not what he wants. Keeping his distance—cold, detached, unfeeling actions—it’s safer. It’s fun to play with a corpo’s heart, fun to be the one in power for once, be in control of something— but walking into that pit of vipers is dangerous enough, and when the possibility of feelings gets involved—

Wooyoung might be more than skilled at teasing out what he needs from rich men with money to burn, but there’s a reason he prefers his guns and knives. A reason he keeps his heart locked away even when he’s not working. Wooyoung knows better by now.

Wooyoung’s dragged out of his thoughts by a gentle tap on his window, and as he gets back up to receive the drone waiting for him, he shakes his head, trying to clear his mind. No use dwelling on it now. Wooyoung has a job to do, and he doesn’t have any options left, so his brain needs to shut up and let him focus on trying to figure out the best way to charm his way into Kim Hongjoong’s penthouse. 

He gently packs the drone away as he starts brainstorming his options. Nothing in his closet’s going to impress a fashion designer, but if Wooyoung’s convincing enough, he won’t have to worry about that. All he needs to focus on is wooing the receptionist on the ground level into letting Wooyoung up to the top floor. If that works, he won’t need any more of a plan. 

Hm. Maybe slutty is the angle, then, if a judgemental “underpaid” worker is all he has to convince. A refined slutty, of course, but whore is probably his best bet. Least likely to get additional questions, at the very least.

Where the hell is—there. Tucked between scouting gear and his backup jacket, almost invisible in the sea of black fabric, Wooyoung finally spots a sheer, gauzy tunic, shimmering slightly in the dim light. It’s a statement piece, and Wooyoung smirks as he lifts it up off its hanger and pulls it on, remembering how speechless his mark had been the last time he wore it. 

Wooyoung decides on much more subtle pants to go with it, not wanting to draw attention away from his chest. Although if they accentuate his ass a little too well, that’s no one’s business but his own. He pulls on an equally subtle blazer next, although it’s a little more…elegant, giving the veneer of class at a glance.

Getting over to the bathroom is tedious, what with his leg crying out in pain with every step Wooyoung takes, but at least he can sit on the counter right up next to the mirror as he pulls out his makeup. Thankfully, he’s managed to avoid any major injuries to his face in the years he’s worked as a bounty hunter, although not entirely by Wooyoung’s own prowess. His mask is much more durable than it looks. Either way, though, it makes his job a lot easier when he only has to perfect mostly-smooth skin, not cover up old scars. (That’s half the reason he has the blazer. The added pressure might be an irritant to his shoulder wounds, but for one, it’s still nothing compared to the fire in his leg, and for two, visible injuries don’t exactly portray the show of exclusivity that’s pretty much any corpo’s fantasy, even when they know it’s not true. They’re possessive like that.) 

It takes longer than Wooyoung expected to finally be satisfied with his work, but that’s probably for the best. The later he shows up, the more believable he’ll be. Wooyoung feels dead to the world, but his eyes betray no emotion. He smudges the dark lines around them a little more, giving himself a slight air of aloofness. All the better for when he pretends to give someone his undivided attention.

Wooyoung takes one last look in the mirror, but he already knows what he’ll see. He’ll never be able to exactly match the perfectly smooth implanted skin practically all corpos get replaced regularly, but Wooyoung’s managed to get pretty fucking close. He looks nearly perfect. Even with his darkened, shadowed eyes, when Wooyoung blinks, slow and innocent, he only looks like a doll. Crafted for someone else’s pleasure. He looks like he belongs, and not to himself, and Wooyoung shudders violently as he feels a phantom hand in his hair. For fuck’s sake, Wooyoung’s so exhausted. He’s so fucking tired of playing nice, of playing along, of acting like a corpo’s plaything just to fucking survive. 

Wooyoung’s frustration bubbles up and out into his fingertips, and before his rational instincts can stamp the urge down, he viciously scrapes off the patches of makeup that cover up his moles, the blemishes marring his otherwise near-perfect face. He blends it in a little, but fuck perfection. Wooyoung’s done trying to look like them. He’s going to look like himself and he’s going to murder that stupid fucking corpo if it’s the last thing he does. (Hopefully it won’t be, though. Living is usually preferable.)

Wooyoung’s careful not to disturb anything as he settles his mask over his face. No point in wasting his hard work, but he’s not making it through the city without breathing. He lifts up the fabric of his pants, strapping his holster to his leg and sliding his most discreet knife flush against his thigh. He’d prefer a gun, of course, but that’s much easier to detect, so. Wooyoung’s working with what he’s got, and the cool touch of the blade against his skin is a welcome distraction from the way his calf and knee ache just sitting here. 

It’s not better by the time Wooyoung makes it down to the street, but after all those stairs, flat ground is a breeze. Now just to walk halfway across the city, because Wooyoung’s bike broke down a month ago, and he can’t pay for a ride, and even if he could, he’d more than hesitate to trust it with how his luck’s been turning out lately. Whatever. Walking is calming, and the more steps he takes, the more it’ll fade into just a dull ache instead of the nearly-blinding fire he feels every time his foot touches the pavement.

Maybe if Wooyoung keeps telling himself that, it’ll turn out to be true. 

Alright, all Wooyoung can say is thank fuck for his neural implant’s navigation system, because this neighborhood makes absolutely no sense. If not for the ostentatious, obnoxious, shining skyscraper towering over everything, he’d think he was walking straight into gang territory, and even with that confirmation, Wooyoung’s still not entirely convinced. He finds his hand hovering just above his hip, tense as he makes his way through the unkempt streets and past the dilapidated buildings, but nothing jumps out or shoots at him, so maybe there really is no one here. It paints an even bleaker picture, but Wooyoung’s not here to do a geographic survey. He’s here to do a job, and so, when he reaches the end of the block, Wooyoung takes a deep breath before gently lifting his mask off his face, folding it up and stowing it next to his knife. 

Inside, the lights are nearly blinding even at this hour of the night, and Wooyoung instinctively scowls before schooling his face into a more relaxed expression. He’s used to this. The crisp, purified air is more than familiar to him, and he knows just how to get his way in this kind of environment. 

The receptionist doesn’t look up when Wooyoung approaches, evidently distracted by something in his holo-view, and Wooyoung nearly scoffs at the laziness before remembering himself, covering it up by clearing his throat instead. 

The guy starts, sitting up in his chair and blinking rapidly before focusing his soft, warm, clearly-outdated eyes up at Wooyoung. “Please don’t tell me you set your apartment on fire. I don’t get paid enough to deal with that.” 

Wooyoung snorts before he can stop himself, resting his elbows on the desk. “No, thankfully. I just have a delivery for Kim Hongjoong and was wondering if you could help me out with that.”

The man tilts his head at Wooyoung, but he shrugs nevertheless, nodding. “Sure. Just leave it with me and I’ll have it sent up.”

“Ah, well, you see, that’s the thing…” Wooyoung begins, leaning closer over the desk. “The contents of this delivery are a little… sensitive.” He shifts seemingly by accident as he speaks, making his blazer fall to expose his bare shoulders.

“…I see,” the receptionist croaks out, his cheeks flushing a frankly adorable shade of pink. “Right, well, I’ll just call up to let him know you’re on your way—”

“Wait,” Wooyoung interrupts, an apologetic smile painting his face. “I was instructed to keep it a surprise for him. Is there any chance you could skip that part?”

“Ah, sorry, but it’s not protocol to let anyone up without making sure they’re allowed…”

“You can’t even bend the rules for me?” Wooyoung asks, pouting slightly.

“I’m not supposed to…”

The man’s eyes widen as Wooyoung reaches forward, gently taking the man’s hand in his and tracing the inside of his palm with his thumb. He can’t look away, and Wooyoung revels in the attention, the power he holds over him. “Here’s how I see it,” he says in a low voice. “However you let me get up there, I’ll have to come back down the same way, won’t I?”

The receptionist nods, lips slightly parted as if he’s mesmerized simply by Wooyoung’s presence. Good. He should be.

“Will you still be here by the time I’m…finished?”

He nods again, more quickly this time. “I have, um, half-sleep augments. Lets me work the full day.”

Wooyoung smiles. “Then how about this? You let me give our friend on the top floor the surprise he deserves, and when I come back down, you can find a good excuse to take a little break for working so hard.”

The man chews at his lower lip, obviously conflicted, and Wooyoung knows he’s got him. “And if he gets mad, I’ll say I forced you to let me up. Win-win for you.”

The receptionist swallows, then nods, looking away. “Elevator’s behind you,” he mumbles.

Wooyoung grins, lifting the man’s hand up so he can press his lips to it before pulling away. “I appreciate it. Really.” He turns away before he can see the man’s reaction, but as he watches the wall on the other side of the foyer open up, revealing the elevator hidden behind it, he hears a choked breath behind him, and it puts a smirk on Wooyoung’s face as he crosses the floor, stepping inside.

The doors slide shut, and Wooyoung’s tempted to slide to the floor in an effort to take some weight off his legs, but he doesn’t know if this elevator will take two minutes or two seconds, so he settles for leaning against the wall, staring out the tinted glass to the darkened city outside, watching as the surrounding buildings fade away beneath him, leaving just the tiny pinpricks of light stemming from far-off clusters of other skyscrapers to light up the sky. It’s unlike any view Wooyoung’s ever seen, and he’s so distracted by it that he almost jumps when the elevator stops, the doors opening with a soft chime to reveal the penthouse within. 

The first thought that crosses Wooyoung’s mind is yeah, a crazy artist definitely lives here. Every available raised surface is strewn with fabric, save for a single couch where materials have been pushed aside to let its leather cushioning show, and the floor is hardly much better, the marble only half-visible through the complete mess. 

A figure shuffles into view, mumbling to himself with a steaming, fragrant mug clutched in his hands. When he finally looks up to see Wooyoung standing there, he does a double take, eyes widening as he stumbles back, sloshing the dark liquid in his mug over himself. “You’re not my silk,” he says, staring at Wooyoung.

For a moment, Wooyoung is equally transfixed. The pictures he found didn’t do Kim Hongjoong justice at all. Wooyoung is used to corpo beauty, of course, the way they smooth out their skin and sharpen their faces to mimic only the “best” of humanity, swapping out nearly any of their features at any point on a whim to keep up with the trends. 

But Hongjoong…Hongjoong is nothing like that. His features are stark, but they’re realistic, simple yet far more striking than anyone that’s ever caught Wooyoung’s eye. Hongjoong’s clothes are clearly mismatched, unprepared for company, but they fit him with a kind of practiced ease that can only come from someone with so much experience he knows how to look good without a second thought. His eyes, however, are what truly have Wooyoung stunned. They must be custom, Wooyoung thinks, because he’s never seen any implants that look anywhere near to how Hongjoong’s do. Even tired as he appears, Hongjoong’s eyes glow brilliantly, not with a mechanical light but with pure emotion, one that Wooyoung can’t quite decipher, but is nevertheless enthralled by anyway. 

Briefly, Wooyoung’s struck with the desire to spare this man, this corpo he doesn’t even know, just because of how simply alluring he is. Wooyoung wants to devour him whole, wants to map out every inch of that lithe frame, wants to dig into his brain and rummage around until he finds out just how it works. 

A pretty face won’t keep you alive, a familiar voice at the back of Wooyoung’s mind reminds him, and he mentally shakes himself. He just can’t afford to do anything but kill Kim Hongjoong, no matter how intrigued Wooyoung is by him. This is work. He only gets close enough to strike, then pulls away before he can get hit himself.

“No, I’m not,” Wooyoung replies breezily, exiting the elevator. “I bring something better, though.”

“And what would that be?” Hongjoong asks, eyes unblinking. 

Wooyoung smiles, stepping closer. “A little birdie said you’d enjoy my company.”

Realization dawns on Hongjoong’s face, and he scowls, his upper lip curling as he puts his mug down on a table Wooyoung can barely even see. “Park Seonghwa, I’m going to fucking kill you,” he mutters as he looks down at himself, examining his clothes to see the extent of the damage done by his drink. “I have work to do,” he says more loudly, absentmindedly flicking his hand in Wooyoung’s direction. “So you can go.”

Wooyoung frowns, ignoring him and taking another step closer. “You look like you could use a break from your work.”

Hongjoong scoffs. “I don’t take breaks. I need to finish my collection.” His scowl deepens as he shrugs his jacket off his shoulders, tossing it onto a chair before pulling his stained, sopping shirt away from his skin. 

“You’re the CEO, though,” Wooyoung says, continuing his slow pace forward. “Surely you can afford to take a night off.”

Hongjoong finally looks up to see Wooyoung right in front of him, and Wooyoung can practically watch as his argument dies in his throat. “You must want to take some time for yourself. Haven’t you ever wanted to go out and meet someone? Have a bit of fun?”

“I don’t go out,” Hongjoong says coldly, but there’s no bite to it, no true desire to see Wooyoung go, and Wooyoung capitalizes on that weakness, pushing further.

“Ah, but you would,” he says, smirking, “if you could meet someone like me, wouldn’t you?”

“I…”

“Shh,” Wooyoung says, reaching up to brush his fingers against Hongjoong’s neck. “You don’t need to think about a thing. Just let me help you relax.”

Hongjoong’s pupils dilate, inhaling sharply, and before Wooyoung can react, he’s fisted his hands in the fabric of Wooyoung’s blazer, shoving him up against the wall and crushing their lips together, his eyes burning with lust.

Wooyoung gasps into the kiss, his skin set alight by the fierce contact so unlike anything he’s felt in years. It’s all too easy to return in kind, parting his lips as he runs his hands across Hongjoong’s chest, pushing his shirt off and only breaking them apart for a moment as he deftly pulls the wet fabric over Hongjoong’s head, letting it fall to the mess of a floor beneath them without caring where it lands. 

As soon as they can reconnect, Hongjoong all but attacks him again, this time with his teeth, first only nipping at Wooyoung’s lips but soon biting down hard, drawing a breathy moan out of his mouth. “So fucking unfair,” Hongjoong hisses, his own hands now taking free reign of Wooyoung’s body, slipping beneath his shirt and pressing into his chest, and it’s then that Wooyoung remembers himself.

Right. As intoxicating as the feeling of Hongjoong’s lips against his is, as much as Wooyoung wants to take his time and savor every desperate, frenzied, gorgeous sound Hongjoong makes—if Wooyoung lets this go much further, he won’t be able to hide the blade strapped to his thigh, and then he’ll be completely fucked. 

So when Hongjoong pulls away momentarily to breathe—an oddly human action for the ethereal creature he seems to embody—Wooyoung brings his hands lower, digging his fingers into Hongjoong’s hips nearly hard enough to bruise as he yanks him closer, spinning as he does so to pin Hongjoong against the wall, switching their places. The whine that escapes Hongjoong’s lips is enough to get drunk on, and Wooyoung allows himself to close his eyes for a brief moment as the sound rings in his ears, burning itself into his mind.

Then, his eyes snap open, and Wooyoung wraps his fingers around the hilt of his blade, bringing it up in one swift motion to slice against Hongjoong’s throat, crimson bursting from his veins and staining Wooyoung’s hands, dripping down his fingertips. 

Hongjoong’s eyes are wide, but it’s not fear, or anger, or even confusion that paints his face as he slowly slides to the floor, held up only by Wooyoung’s hand still clutching onto him. No, it’s a look of awe that stares up into Wooyoung’s eyes, a mix of amazement and surprise and delight.

“It is you,” Hongjoong croaks out, his lips twisted into a bloody, crazed grin, and before Wooyoung can even begin to process what that’s supposed to mean, a snap echoes out across the room, and a white-hot, searing agony flares to life in Wooyoung’s head, his vision instantly going dark as he collapses.

Wooyoung’s head feels fuzzy as he blinks awake, like everything is only processing at half speed. Even more oddly, though, he’s not in pain anywhere. Hm. Maybe he’s dead. Wooyoung can’t really bring himself to care, his eyes slipping back shut as he sinks even deeper into the soft, silky cloud he’s lying on, curling into himself. Surely, if he’s dead, he’s allowed to rest for a while. Finally.

A soft touch breaks Wooyoung out of his haze, gentle fingertips ghosting up his calf and making him shiver. He reluctantly opens his eyes once again, looking up to see Kim Hongjoong gazing down at him, a fond look in his eyes. 

“You’re awake,” he says, a giddy smile on his face. “Fucking hells, I always hoped to see you again, but I never imagined it’d be like this.” He shifts, moving from where he sits next to Wooyoung’s legs and leaning forward, putting his hands on either side of Wooyoung’s torso, boxing him in. 

Wooyoung gapes at him, his lips starting to form a question, and Hongjoong’s expression instantly shifts, melting into a forlorn, disappointed look. “But why?” he pouts, the claustrophobia beginning to set in as he looms over Wooyoung. “The payout I gave you was more than fair, given the jobs you pull. And even if it wasn’t, why now?”

“It’s not—it wasn’t personal,” Wooyoung feels the need to protest. “There’s a hit out on you. And what do you mean, the payout you gave me?”

Hongjoong’s frown deepens, and he shifts forward again, resting his weight on Wooyoung’s abdomen. He’s lighter than Wooyoung expected, but still heavy enough that he couldn’t easily push Hongjoong off him, not from this position. Wooyoung’s not entirely sure if he wants to. It’s almost…comforting, the weight holding him down like this, even as Hongjoong looms even closer into Wooyoung’s personal space.

“I hired you,” Hongjoong says, his fingers delicately crawling up Wooyoung’s neck, and suddenly, Woyoung is all too aware of the fact that his clothes are gone, replaced by nothing but a silken robe that pools around him. Despite himself, Wooyoung feels heat curl in his gut at the idea of Hongjoong’s hands all over him even more than he’s demonstrating right now.

“You helped me take down one of my greatest competitors,” Hongjoong continues, tracing his thumb across Wooyoung’s throat. “You were magnificent, little fox. Do you really not remember?”

“No, I—of course I remember,” Wooyoung says quickly. “CEOs just don’t usually pay attention to people like me unless I make them. They leave the hiring to their assistants.”

Hongjoong scoffs. “I do everything important myself. But you would have caught my attention no matter what, little fox. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you ever since.” He smiles fondly, seemingly lost in thought. “When you appeared in my doorway, I thought you could only be a doll. One of Seonghwa’s custom creations, come to taunt me. But then…” His face shifts abruptly once again, his fingers pressing into Wooyoung’s throat as he hisses, “You tried to kill me. I can’t believe you. I would have done anything for you, and this is how you repay me?”

Wooyoung’s pulse spikes, and for the first time since he woke up, instinct surges through him, his hand shooting up to seize Hongjoong’s wrist and dig his fingernails into the pale, soft skin there. Hongjoong hisses, recoiling, and Wooyoung uses the momentum to his advantage, surging upward and shoving him down, keeping him pinned with far more ease than expected. “You think I fucking like killing people for no reason? Not all of us were born with a silver spoon in our mouths. Sometimes people have to work to live. And if it’s your life versus mine…”

Wooyoung brings his hands up to where he slashed Hongjoong’s neck…however long ago. There’s almost no sign of the wound that should have killed him, the skin just barely shiny with newness. Wooyoung presses his fingers against Hongjoong’s throat, pressing down lightly and feeling the pulse beneath, the slow, steady marker of life in his hands. “It’s not about you. I’m picking me every time.”

Hongjoong merely hums, his throat vibrating against Wooyoung’s fingertips. “I would reconsider that if I were you,” he says softly, an edge to his voice.

Wooyoung tilts his head, glaring down at Hongjoong. “And why is that?”

“Well,” Hongjoong begins to respond, “it’s not like…” He trails off, his eyes lighting up with understanding, and he smirks as he continues. “It’s not like your first attempt was very successful. And given the result of your previous bounty, aren’t you beginning to think you may not be cut out for this, little fox?”

“How do you know about that?” Wooyoung growls.

Hongjoong’s smirk only widens. “I know a lot of things, Wooyoung-ah. Especially about you.”

Wooyoung-ah. The name rings in his ears, memories springing to the surface of his mind, and his grip tightens around Hongjoong’s throat, squeezing the breath out of him. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Wooyoung snarls, “but I’ll be sure to be extra thorough this time.”

Infuriatingly, Hongjoong barely even reacts. He doesn’t gurgle or gasp for breath or claw at Wooyoung’s hands or anything. The only indication he gives that anything’s even different from a moment ago is the way he turns his head, staring off to the side where he taps his fingers rhythmically against the bed.

Wooyoung’s vision is getting…dimmer. He blinks rapidly, but it only gets worse, and there’s a sharp, growing pain in his head, stabbing at him from inside. He feels dizzy and weak and he’s losing his balance and when he blinks again, he’s flat on his back, Hongjoong lazily holding him down from above.

“I warned you, little fox,” Hongjoong says. “It’s not that easy to get rid of me. And you can pretend all you want, but I know you. I know your last heist fell right into the gutter, just like your dreams of retiring. I know you went to the Songs for backing, and I know they wouldn’t be happy with you losing everything but your own life.” He leans forward, his eyes bright, oddly excited as he stares down at Wooyoung.

“That’s why you’re so concerned about finishing me off. Tell me, Velox, how much are they offering for my head?”

Wooyoung all but shivers at the question. It’s odd, hearing his hunter name in Hongjoong’s voice. He can’t tell if it’s because he’s pronouncing it like he actually speaks Latin (fucking corpo) or because Wooyoung’s already grown used to the pet name Hongjoong’s been calling him, but either way, it takes a few moments for Wooyoung to collect his thoughts before he manages to mumble, “…Twenty million.”

Hongjoong laughs, sharp and bright, not bothering to cover his mouth as it twists up into an amused grin. “Wooyoung-ah, do you have any idea how much I’m worth? If someone stole ten times that from me I wouldn’t even notice. The reason I never worried about that bounty is that no one would ever be stupid enough to kill me for such a low payout.” The except you goes unsaid, but Wooyoung hears it anyway, and he feels his cheeks heat in response.

“If it’s nothing to you, then why don’t you just give it to me, then?” Wooyoung snaps.

Hongjoong looks almost offended as he frowns down at Wooyoung. “Were you not listening earlier when I said I would give you anything?”

Wooyoung raises his eyebrows. “Sorry if I’m not used to taking everyone at their word when they say they want to make my life easier for no reason,” he drawls, “but even if you were being genuine, there’s no way you’d do it for free. So what do you get from me? Do you need a personal bounty hunter to do your dirty work for you?” he asks coldly.

“I thought about it, when I first saw you,” Hongjoong admits. “A beautiful, competent, confident bounty hunter at my beck and call? Add a few stealth augments, and you’d be the perfect tool.” He hums, tapping his fingers absentmindedly against Wooyoung’s skin. “But as I watched you more, as I learned more about you, as I researched every job you’d ever done, I couldn’t help but get attached. And no matter how good you are at what you do, that’s not what you want, is it?”

Wooyoung shrugs. “What does it matter?”

“It matters,” Hongjoong says, leaning in close enough that Wooyoung can feel the ghost of his breath on his skin, soft and delicate, “because what I want is to protect you, little fox. I’ve seen how tired you get. How often you get hurt. How stressful it can be. What I want,” he murmurs, tracing a finger beneath Wooyoung’s chin, “is for you to be mine, and I’ll make sure no one else will ever hurt you again.”

Wooyoung shivers at the touch, forcing back the urge to melt into such fondness, such reverence. No matter how tempting it is, no matter how sweet, how perfect it seems, it’s never worth it to give in to true attraction. It can only end in heartbreak. He tries to push Hongjoong away, to sit up and at least pretend like this conversation is between equals, no matter how much power Hongjoong clearly has over him, and to Wooyoung’s surprise, Hongjoong lets him, his hand only moving down to rest on Wooyoung’s thigh as Wooyoung moves back, leaning against the pillows at the base of the soft, cushioned headboard.

“I don’t need your protection. I can take care of myself.”

Hongjoong cocks his head, his hand moving down to brush his thumb over Wooyoung’s knee. “Can you?” he asks.

Wooyoung jolts at the touch, his skin oddly sensitive, but he quickly schools his expression back into something more neutral, crossing his arms. “I’ve been doing it for years.”

“But not very well, from what I’ve seen,” Hongjoong muses.

“The hells is that supposed to mean?” Wooyoung snaps. “I know you only leave your ivory tower once a fucking season, but you can’t honestly think it’s easy to survive in this city when you’re not a corpo. I’m still alive, if you hadn’t noticed. In my circles, that’s worth more than you’d ever know.”

“I know,” Hongjoong says softly, looking cowed by Wooyoung’s accusatory tone. “That’s not what I meant. By your standards, what you’ve done is an accomplishment. And it is. But you shouldn’t have to do something just because you’re good at it. And seeing you come to my home all cut up and bruised? It hurts to see you suffering like that, little fox, especially when my medbots could fix it so easily. You’ve taken care of yourself as best you can. But I can give you what you deserve.”

Wooyoung shifts uncomfortably. Hongjoong isn’t to be trusted. Wooyoung knows that. But Hongjoong’s words, and the way he says them, with bright, gleaming eyes staring down at Wooyoung like he’s the only thing in the world, are so easy to listen to, so easy to let wash over him.

“Isn’t it tiring?” Hongjoong continues, his voice dripping with empathy. “Looking over your shoulder wherever you go, never trusting a soul, only ever being able to worry about surviving and not living?”

It is. It’s fucking exhausting, running along the edge of the cliff when the ground is crumbling beneath his feet. Every time he thinks he’s found purchase, a stable footing, another crack opens up, threatening to send him tumbling down into the chasm below if he doesn’t keep moving, keep working, keep going onto the next job and the next bounty and the next payout until he either dies or fucking kills himself. And here Hongjoong is, standing at the bottom of the swirling abyss like it’s nothing, promising to catch him.

“I know how hard it is,” Hongjoong murmurs, reaching out slowly to place his hand on the side of Wooyoung’s neck, his touch feather-light. “So let me take care of you, Young-ah.”

Wooyoung’s vision blurs, but this time, it’s no mystery why, his eyes beginning to sting with tears. He swallows, squeezing his eyes shut, and lets himself fall. 

“Please,” he whispers.

The ghost of Hongjoong’s touch leaves his neck, but Wooyoung doesn’t even have time to make a noise in response before Hongjoong’s cupping his face with both hands, pulling him into an achingly tender kiss, mouthing at Wooyoung’s lips so sweetly it hurts. Wooyoung lets out an embarrassingly loud whine, but as he pulls away, Hongjoong doesn’t laugh. Instead, his thumb finds the mole on Wooyoung’s lower lip, brushing against it so gently it’s as if he’s worried he’ll rub it off. 

“I haven’t been able to take my mind off you for so long,” Hongjoong breathes. “Now, I’m afraid I can’t keep my hands off you.”

Wooyoung regains control of his voice just in time to respond. “Good,” he murmurs. “You can touch me any way you want.”

Hongjoong’s other hand nestles itself in Wooyoung’s hair, tugging his head back to expose his throat. “You don’t need to tell me, little fox,” Hongjoong murmurs, trailing his lips down Wooyoung’s neck. “I was already going to devour you.”

He brings his hands lower, pushing Wooyoung’s robe aside to spread his palms across every inch of exposed skin he can find, mapping every piece of him. 

Wooyoung shivers. Hongjoong’s skin isn’t flawless, not like the other corpos he’s wooed with their manufactured perfection, but his privilege is nevertheless evident, his body free of blemishes or bruises or any marks of having to live in the real world. It’s yet another reminder of how wildly different they are—no matter how many penthouses Wooyoung cons himself into, no matter how many beds he finds himself splayed out on, no corpo’s ever thought of him as something to keep once they see who he really is, sees his scarred, battered body littered with reminders of every job he’s ever pulled, an impossible image for someone who’s never worked a full day of labor in their life.

But Hongjoong— Hongjoong, who’s been watching him for so long and never blinked, never turned away, never shown a hint of fear—is tracing each scar on Wooyoung’s chest with reverence, pressing lips to every mark of his otherness like they’re—like he’s something to be treasured, and finally, Wooyoung’s tears spill over, dripping down his face in shaky, shuddering breaths as he melts, boneless, beneath that caring, loving touch, letting Hongjoong take him apart with every brush against his skin, every gentle squeeze, every kiss so delicate Wooyoung might as well be made out of spun sugar with the way he’s still dissolving under Hongjoong’s every caress.

Finally, Hongjoong reaches up to push Wooyoung’s robe off his shoulders, running his hands down Wooyoung’s arms and sending a full-body shiver racking through him, a choked whimper escaping his throat.

“Something wrong, little fox?” Hongjoong breathes.

Wooyoung whines in response, too sensitive to give a coherent answer, and Hongjoong takes his wrists in one hand, pinning them to the headboard above him, tsking softly. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll just have to guess…”

Wooyoung doesn’t know how to explain it, doesn’t know how to say that every touch burns with the pain of heartbreak and loss and grief and desperation for something he’s never been allowed to have, that he’s so overwhelmed by it that he’s tearing apart at the seams and that he’s never felt so fucking good, that it’s too gentle and it’s too much and it’s not enough and all he can do is squirm beneath Hongjoong’s piercing, knowing, almost predatory gaze. 

Hongjoong’s free hand finds its way back down to Wooyoung’s chest, drumming smooth fingertips against his tender skin as he leans in, breath fanning against his neck. “You need something more, don’t you?”

Wooyoung doesn’t have time to respond before Hongjoong acts, attaching his lips to Wooyoung’s skin and sucking like he wants to drain all the blood out of him, his teeth scraping against raised veins. The blood’s definitely going somewhere, especially as Hongjoong swipes his thumb back and forth over Wooyoung’s nipple, drawing a moan out of him.

“That’s what I thought,” Hongjoong murmurs, and Wooyoung can practically hear the smirk tugging at his lips as they move down to his clavicle, marking up his collarbone with a necklace of bites and bruises that makes Wooyoung gasp and shudder at each one, trying to pull free from Hongjoong’s grip.

Hongjoong giggles at his attempts, pulling away just enough for Wooyoung to see an amused light in his eyes. “I told you, I’m not that easy to get rid of, little fox,” he says, and sure enough, when he lets go of Wooyoung’s wrists, it hardly changes a thing, his hands still trapped above him, held fast to the headboard by restraints that refuse to give way.

Wooyoung struggles against them, but the only thing he receives is bruises against his wrists as Hongjoong dives back down to take a nipple between his teeth, sucking at it before biting down, hard, and Wooyoung moans at that, his back arching desperately. “Let me go,” he begs shakily, still pulling at his restraints. “Wanna— ah— touch you too…”

Hongjoong smirks up at him, his lips shiny with saliva as he shifts even closer, seating himself on Wooyoung’s lap and draping his arms around his neck. “No,” he says, delighted eyes staring Wooyoung down. “You’re mine, little fox. I’m never letting you go.” His fingers find their way to Wooyoung’s chin, gripping it tightly as he continues. “But even if I would, that’s not what you really want, is it?”

Wooyoung opens his mouth to respond, but as he does, Hongjoong rolls his hips over Wooyoung’s lap, slowly, teasingly grinding against him, drawing a moan out of him and cutting off anything he was going to say.

Hongjoong tilts his head, a smirk playing across his lips. “See? All I see is a horny little fox, desperate for attention. You don’t need to touch anything, Young-ah. I know what you really need.”

“That’s not…I don’t…” Wooyoung protests, but Hongjoong deliberately shifts against him once again, and all his words melt into whines.

“If you’re really not convinced,” Hongjoong muses, rocking his hips back and forth and clearly taking delight in the noises he’s teasing out of Wooyoung, “do you know why my company is so successful, little fox?”

“Because—gods, fuck— because you pay people to do corporate espionage?”

A sharp, stinging pain blooms across his face, and Hongjoong growls as he pulls his hand away. “Brat,” he hisses. “Look into my eyes. Tell me what you see.”

“Pretty,” is what first escapes Wooyoung’s lips, because that’s all he’s been able to think about them since he first saw Hongjoong in the flesh, and Hongjoong throws his head back with a sharp laugh that makes Wooyoung’s heart swell, even as his cheek still stings.

“That’s right, little fox. Not like anything you’ve seen, hm?” Hongjoong asks, gently caressing Wooyoung’s still-smarting cheek and making him whimper, nodding in response. “That’s because you haven’t. In a market saturated with endless fakery made by thieving, unoriginal machines, in an industry populated with edited faces and bodies and people, you know what sells? Something real.”

He keeps teasing Wooyoung almost absentmindedly as he continues, making Wooyoung squirm and only get himself even more riled up, chasing the friction against Hongjoong’s pants to no avail, only able to access what Hongjoong chooses to give him. “I know authenticity when I see it, Wooyoung-ah. I don’t have anyone or anything but myself augmenting my perception, and what I’ve seen from you…”

He trails off, bringing his hand down to finally wrap it around Wooyoung’s aching, dripping cock, and he only keeps talking once he’s ripped a loud moan from Wooyoung’s throat, continuing to tease him with brief drags of his fingers along his length.

“I’ve watched you pretend to be anything that’ll get you what you want,” he says, smirking at the way Wooyoung interrupts almost his every other word with his whimpered moans, bucking his hips up into Hongjoong’s hand. “But the most truthful I’ve seen you was when you came to me, dressed like a whore and so desperate…”

Wooyoung whines, breathless and needy, and Hongjoong runs a finger all the way up his shaft before wrapping his fingers around it, moving torturously slow with Wooyoung writhing beneath him.

“Please,” Wooyoung gasps. “Please, I—”

“Remind me,” Hongjoong interrupts, thumbing over the slit of Wooyoung’s cockhead, squeezing tightly. “What are you, little fox?”

Wooyoung tenses, the building pressure finally spilling over, and he comes with a weak cry, arching his back before sinking deeper into the mattress beneath him, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Yours,” he whispers.