Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Seungmin sat in his usual corner, coffee in hand, watching.

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

One of the biggest mafia figures in the city, feared and whispered about in every alley, every boardroom, every shadowed street, he should have people running his schedule, handling problems before he even knew they existed.

Yet here he was, in a small café, utterly consumed by a barista making coffee.

Changbin didn’t perform.

He didn’t flirt, didn’t laugh loudly, didn’t show off.

Well in seungmins opinion he was showing off because those biceps were bulging.

He simply worked.

Took orders, steamed milk, handed drinks to customers, wiped down the counter, and moved with quiet, reliable competence.

And that, oh, that, was everything Seungmin could ever want.

He didn’t just notice the way Changbin’s forearms flexed as he lifted a cup, or the tension in his shoulders as he reached for syrup.

He memorized it.

He obsessed over it.

Every subtle movement made his chest tighten in ways he refused to name aloud.

He was a grown man, a feared mafia king, and yet here he was, low-key simping over a man quietly making cappuccinos.

His phone buzzed.

Chan.

Of course.

Seungmin answered, letting it go to speaker so the café could hear the tirade.

No one knew he was a mafia but he really didn't care at the same time.

“Seungmin! Where are you? The shipments-”

“I’m… busy,” Seungmin murmured, eyes locked on Changbin.

Not that he cared about the shipments.

Not today.

“Busy? You-”

Seungmin ignored the rest.

Mid-sentence, he hung up.

Click.

Gone.

Chan could scream, threaten, or collapse in frustration later.

Right now, there was only Changbin, carefully pouring milk into a cup, the curl of his wrist, the subtle flex of his muscles.

Every tiny motion made Seungmin’s chest ache, and he didn’t care who saw.

He glanced around.

Everyone else in the café shifted uneasily, sensing the quiet, dangerous aura radiating from him.

But Changbin?

Calm as ever, serene, working like nothing was unusual.

No flirting.

No performance.

Just… him. And Seungmin felt an inexplicable warmth.

Relief.

Joy.

And also… a little pang.

He wanted that attention.

He wanted it to be just for him.

He knew it wasn't going to happen, but a man can dream.

Changbin treated all customers with the same quiet care, but the fact that he didn’t flirt with anyone else?

It should have made him proud.

Instead, it made him twist in frustration, because he wanted to be special.

A customer coughed nervously.

Seungmin’s head tilted slightly, his gaze sharp.

The café fell a little quieter.

Chairs scraped softly, voices lowered.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t say a word.

Just stared.

Changbin didn’t flinch.

Didn’t change his rhythm.

He moved to hand the customer their drink, calm and polite.

Seungmin’s chest tightened, simultaneously proud and smoldering.

He wasn’t supposed to feel this way.

He wasn’t supposed to notice every detail:

The slight curve of Changbin’s wrist, the tiny roll of muscle in his forearm, the way his hands seemed to handle every cup like it mattered.

Yet he did.

He did.

And every day, it became more obvious.

He was simping.

Entirely.

Utterly.

Irreversibly.

Changbin moved back to the counter, giving Seungmin a polite nod.

That’s all.

A simple acknowledgment of a daily customer.

Nothing else.

And Seungmin’s heart leapt, then sank.

Happy.

Because it was a connection.

Sad.

Because it wasn’t enough.

He let out a low, frustrated groan, hiding it behind a sip of coffee, Chan’s calls could wait.

The world outside this café, the world where he was feared, where everyone obeyed him, didn’t matter.

There was only this quiet, reliable barista, and the unhealthy, completely ridiculous obsession Seungmin felt for him.

And the obsession wasn’t leaving.

Not today.

Not tomorrow.

Probably never.

Seungmin’s eyes widened slightly as Changbin reached for a tall jar of cocoa powder.

In one smooth motion, he rolled up his sleeves just above his elbows.

Oh no. Oh no no no.

Seungmin’s gaze immediately locked on the exposed biceps, the subtle curve of them flexing as he lifted the jar.

He forgot to breathe for a second.

He forgot how to mafia.

The world outside this café, the deals, the threats, the city trembling under his name, vanished.

There was only this quiet barista and the muscles now revealed under his sleeves.

The phone on the table buzzed loudly.

Chan.

Seungmin groaned but, this time, he actually picked up.

“Mm?” he said, still staring shamelessly at the curve of Changbin’s biceps.

“Seungmin! Are you seriously-” Chan’s voice roared over the line, sharp and furious.

“I’ve been calling for ten minutes! The shipment-”

Seungmin’s eyes didn’t waver.

He didn’t blink.

He didn’t move.

He didn’t even lift the phone higher.

He just leaned slightly forward, cider forgotten, completely absorbed in the subtle flex of Changbin’s arms as he returned the jar to the shelf and rolled his sleeves back down.

“The hell are you doing? You’re supposed to be-”

Chan’s voice faltered as Seungmin’s silence stretched.

“Seungmin? Hello?”

“I’m… here” Seungmin murmured, voice low and calm, completely ignoring everything else Chan was saying.

The silence stretched.

Changbin, oblivious, moved to steam milk, unaware that he was simultaneously ruining and saving Seungmin’s day in the most devastatingly perfect way.

“…Are you even listening to me?” Chan’s voice cracked in frustration.

Seungmin’s eyes remained glued to the counter.

To the way Changbin’s muscles flexed under the sleeves as he adjusted the machine.

To the way his hands moved, strong, precise,
steady.

How would they feel moving over his body-

“SEUNGMIN I SWEAR IF YOU ARE BACK AT THAT DAMN CAFÉ”

Seungmin came back to the present.

And then, without answering anything else Chan said he hung up and  he quietly whispered, almost to himself his gaze never wavering.

“Mm… perfect.”

Chapter Text

Seungmin finally stepped into the warehouse, leather jacket perfectly draped over his shoulders, posture impeccable, expression calm and unreadable.

The shipment he was supposed to oversee was already finished hours ago.

Crates stacked neatly, pallets labeled, and everything ready to go.

Chan, the boss, was pacing like a storm ready to break, face red, fists clenching, muttering curses that could have scared anyone.

“Seungmin! Do you even know how fucking late you are? The shipment- was supposed to be supervised! I-” Chan barked, waving his arms like he was conducting an orchestra of chaos.

Seungmin didn’t flinch.

He didn’t even glance at Chan.

His mind was elsewhere, replaying every moment from the café, Changbin rolling up his sleeves, the gentle flex of forearms, the subtle tension in his biceps as he handled cups, the quiet precision with which he worked.

Chan’s yelling was just background noise, irrelevant to the world inside Seungmin’s head.

Felix leaned lazily against a crate, smirking like he’d spotted the easiest mischief of the week.

“Let me guess. The big, scary Seungmin, the one everyone respects and fears, is late because of a café with a hot barista?”

Jisung, still clinging stubbornly onto Minho, peeked around him with a mischievous grin.

“I knew it! Tell us, hyung, was it that barista again? Did he roll up his sleeves? Did you… admire him?”

Minho groaned, trying to pry Jisung off.

“I swear, if you cling one more second-”

Jisung laughed and held on tighter, clearly having the time of his life.

Felix snorted, clearly enjoying the chaos.

Seungmin didn’t respond.

Not a word.

Not a flinch.

Not a glance.

But inside, his thoughts were a tornado of obsession.

Oh, those sleeves.

That forearm.

The subtle curve of his bicep.

How is one person allowed to be this perfect?

Hyunjin tilted his head, curious.

“Seriously, Seungmin,” he asked, voice careful,

“why that café? You’re always going there. It’s… just coffee, right?”

Seungmin’s lips twitched into the faintest smirk.

“It’s… relaxing,” he murmured softly, though anyone paying attention could tell that relaxing was just a cover for full-on, shameless simping.

His gaze drifted involuntarily to the memory of Changbin’s quiet movements, the way he rolled his sleeves, the gentle flex of his arms.

Chan’s shouts escalated.

“Do you even hear me? The shipments! The deadlines! Are you listening?!”

Seungmin lifted one hand lazily in acknowledgment, still distant.

“Mm,” he murmured.

Silence stretched.

Chan’s face twitched.

Felix leaned closer to Jisung, whispering with a grin.

“Yep. One of the most feared, respected members of the mafia, and he’s undone by a barista.”

Jisung squealed behind Minho.

“He’s totally obsessed! Look at him! He’s thinking about Changbin right now!”

Minho groaned loudly, dragging Jisung away again.

“I swear, you’re going to get yourself crushed sticking to me like that!”

Seungmin didn’t care.

He remained perfectly still, calm and stoic on the outside, while internally his heart raced, his chest tightened, and his brain refused to stop picturing every subtle flex of Changbin’s arms, the gentle tension in his shoulders, the way he handled every cup as if it were sacred.

Felix laughed quietly.

“I think he’s imagining Changbin serving him personally, just for him.”

Seungmin’s jaw twitched slightly.

Yes.

That’s the biceps.

That’s the forearm.

That tiny muscle flex when he lifts the cup… yes… perfect.

Chan finally slammed a hand onto a crate.

“Seungmin! You’re impossible! I’ve had it with your attitude! Do you even care about the work?!”

Seungmin’s eyes didn’t move.

He remained focused on his mental replay of the café, the sleeves, the flexing arms.

His lips quirked faintly into a smirk.

“Mm,” he murmured again, soft and dismissive.

It was his only response.

Hyunjin’s eyebrows shot up.

“You’re actually ignoring him…?”

“Completely,” Felix said, trying not to laugh.

“He’s gone. Out of this world. Full-on simp mode.”

Jisung squealed again, clinging to Minho like a backpack.

“He’s obsessed! You can see it in his face!”

Minho groaned, tugging Jisung away.

“I know! I don’t need commentary!”

Seungmin let out a quiet hum, almost imperceptible, as he leaned back slightly.

Yes.

That’s the movement.

That’s the curve.

That’s everything I’ve ever wanted.

Chan threw up his hands.

“I give up! You’re hopeless!”

And Seungmin, calm, stoic, seemingly indifferent, let his mind wander again, fully consumed by the quiet, reliable, perfect barista at the café, completely oblivious to the chaos of the warehouse, the yelling, the teasing, and the playful chaos of his fellow mafia members.

Nothing mattered.

Not Chan’s fury.

Not Jisung clinging to Minho.

Not Felix’s laughter.

Not Hyunjin’s questions.

Only Changbin, quietly rolling up his sleeves, and the subtle flex of his arms.

Chapter Text

Seungmin’s calm, measured pace felt heavier than usual.

The city’s streets were quiet in the early morning, but inside him, a storm brewed.

One of their locations had been infiltrated by a rival gang the night before.

They had lost a few men, and Chan had called an emergency meeting.

Normally, Seungmin could linger at the café, watching Changbin move with that quiet, reliable aura that made his heart tighten in ways he would never admit aloud.

But today, that luxury was gone.

Even walking to the warehouse, Seungmin’s mind drifted.

He could see Changbin behind the counter, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the subtle strength of his forearms.

Every lift of a cup, every tilt of his wrist, it was perfection.

And now, he would miss it.

The ache of it sat heavy in his chest, sharp and insistent.

Days lost.

Days stolen by duty.

By chaos.

By people who don’t understand the importance of a simple café routine.

When Seungmin arrived at the warehouse, the air was thick with tension.

Chan was already pacing, fists clenched, muttering curses under his breath.

Every second without resolution gnawed at him, but Seungmin’s lips pressed into a thin line.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t move.

But inside, a quiet determination simmered.

The faster this is resolved, the sooner I can get back to the café.

“Seungmin! You’re late! We lost men! One of our locations was infiltrated! And the shipment- you were supposed to supervise it!” Chan’s voice cut through the warehouse like a whip.

Seungmin merely lifted his eyes briefly, nodding ever so slightly, acknowledging without speaking.

His mind, however, raced.

Patrol rotations, weak points, backup strategies, all processed silently.

Every calculation had a single end goal:

resolve this quickly, return to the café, see Changbin.

Felix leaned lazily against a crate, smirking.

“Oh, Seungmin is late because of his precious café again?”

Jisung, clinging stubbornly to Minho’s arm, peeked over with wide eyes.

“He… he really can’t resist, huh?”

Minho groaned, trying to  Jisung off who stuck like a sloth to his boyfriend.

Seungmin didn’t respond.

He didn’t need to.

Internally, he tightened his grip on the thought of Changbin.

I’ll get back there.

I’ll get back there, and nothing will stop me.

Chan’s voice grew sharper.

“Do you even hear me?! We lost men! Another attack could come at any time! Are you listening?!”

Seungmin raised one hand lazily.

“Mm,” he murmured softly.

The tension in the warehouse was palpable.

Everyone knew the gravity of the situation.

Every patrol route, every possible point of infiltration, every backup plan had to be flawless.

Seungmin listened carefully, memorizing each detail, calculating the fastest, most efficient ways to prevent another loss.

All the while, his thoughts lingered on the café.

On Changbin.

On the sleeves and forearms he would now have to miss.

Then, mid-meeting, the door swung open.

Jeongin walked in, smiling as if he had no care in the world.

Chan’s eyes went wide.

The usual authority in his voice faltered.

“Jeongin-” he began, but words failed him.

Jeongin didn’t hesitate.

He strode over, leaned in, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Chan’s cheek.

“Hey, babe,” he murmured.

Then, with a casual grace that seemed impossible given the tension, he hopped onto the edge of a crate next to Chan, swinging his legs lazily, almost too close to the ground to be comfortable.

And then chaos erupted.

“Ohhh, is that-?!” Jisung squealed, nearly falling off his chair.

“So cute!” Felix practically shouted, bouncing in place.

Minho groaned loudly, hands covering his face in exasperation, but the corner of his lips twitched in amusement.

Hyunjin’s jaw dropped.

“He’s… adorable!”

Chan’s face turned crimson.

“Everyone, stop! Sit! Down! Now!”

Jeongin didn’t even flinch.

He dangled his legs, waved lazily at the group, and grinned.

“What? You all look like you’ve never seen someone younger before.”

The room erupted again.

Chairs scraped, voices whispered and squealed.

Felix reached for Jeongin’s arm in an attempt to examine him closer.

Jisung tried to climb onto the crate next to him.

Minho, groaning, shoved both away, whispering,

“Stop touching him, for God’s sake!”

Seungmin stayed silent, sipping quietly.

His eyes flicked to Jeongin and Chan peripherally, noting the way Chan’s composure faltered under his boyfriend’s casual chaos.

But there was no humor in his thoughts, just observation.

Everything else, the rival gang, the lost men, the patrol strategies, needed to be handled.

And quickly, so I can return to the café.

Finally, Chan physically dragged everyone back to their seats.

“Sit down! Meeting resumes. Now.”

Silently, Seungmin shifted his stance, focusing on the briefing.

Chan’s voice became sharper, more calculated.

“Listen up. The rival gang hit one of our locations last night. We lost men. We cannot afford another mistake. Security at all warehouses doubles. Patrol rotations increase. Communication protocols must be followed precisely. Seungmin, you’re on reconnaissance along with Felix and Hyunjin.”

A tight ache settled in Seungmin’s chest.

The new patrol system would cut further into the few hours he had for the café.

I’ll miss him.

Days I might have spent just sitting there, watching him…

Even so, a spark of determination flared.

He would resolve this as quickly as possible.

Every detail Chan laid out was absorbed with precision.

Fast, clean, efficient.

Then back to the café.

Then I’ll get my time.

Then I’ll see him.

The rest of the meeting was a blur of strategy:

Patrol schedules, infiltration points, communication protocols, potential traps.

Every suggestion, every countermeasure was analyzed.

Seungmin remained silent, external calm unbroken.

Internally, though, he replayed Changbin’s every motion:

The tilt of his head, the way he handed a cup to a customer, the quiet flex of his forearms.

Each memory sharpened his resolve.

When the meeting finally ended, Seungmin didn’t linger.

He moved with precise efficiency, internalizing every detail of the new strategy.

His steps were measured, his mind racing through the quickest ways to neutralize the threat.

The café waited, quiet and perfect, just out of reach.

Hours later, Seungmin finally arrived at the café.

Later than usual.

Changbin looked up from behind the counter, a slight lift of the brow betraying mild surprise.

“Your usual? You’re later than usual today,”

he said quietly, calm and professional as always.

Seungmin said nothing.

He sat, composed, sipping slowly.

Internally, he replayed every moment he had missed.

The ache of lost days tugged at his chest, but a quiet determination smoldered beneath it.

I’ll fix this.

I’ll finish this.

And I’ll come back here, every day, just like before.

The café remained serene, untouched by chaos.

Seungmin remained still, silent, obsessive.

Outside, the city simmered with danger, rival gangs plotted their next moves, and men were lost.

But in this corner of the world, he could breathe.

For a moment, it was enough.

Chapter Text

Seungmin woke before dawn with a sour weight in his chest he couldn’t remove.

The new patrol rotations cut deep into the small, ridiculous ritual that had become the center of his mornings, the quiet hour at the café where he watched Changbin move like everything in the world made sense.

Now those hours had been parceled out and stamped with times, routes, and backup codes.

Every free minute had become suspect, every plan a thing to be cancelled by one sharp command from Chan.

He checked the route on his tablet while the city was still dim.

Maps, checkpoints, camera feeds, the names of men assigned to each sector, he absorbed it all mechanically.

Strategy was muscle memory.

He could do this with his eyes closed.

Still, his fingers lingered on the screen a moment longer than necessary, scrolling past the street that housed the café.

He imagined the counter, the foam ridge on a cappuccino, the way Changbin would roll his sleeves just so.

The image tightened something inside him, a small, anxious ache.

“Seungmin, report,” Chan’s voice crackled through the earpiece before he’d even reached the first checkpoint.

Business first.

Panic second.

He kept his tone level, even when the edge of it wanted to snap.

“On route,” he said.

“Scanning perimeter cameras now. No movement on north access.”

“Good. Keep it tight. Hyunjin and Felix sweep the east lane. Minho, watch the blind spots. We don’t get a second chance.”

The orders came like artillery, short, necessary, impossible to ignore.

He drove, checked, and moved with the efficiency that had earned him a reputation in the organization.

Yet every time a lull came, the few seconds between checkpoints, his mind slid back to the café.

The new schedule chewed away at those chances, and with every interruption he felt the hot sting of loss:

Not just minutes, but the small stability that kept him anchored.

It was ridiculous.

It was childish.

But it was his refuge, and he resented anyone or anything that took it.

Patrol after patrol, he hunted for anomalies.

He walked rooftops, circled perimeters, argued over static on the radio with men who were too eager and too young to understand the heavy cost of a mistake.

At ten in the morning, when his route should have let him duck into his favorite corner and pretend the world was only the café’s warm light, a new call came through.

“Movement, west yard,” Hyunjin said, voice low and sudden.

“Multiple contacts. Armed. They’re heading for Dock 3.”

The word “armed” fractured everything in the air.

Seungmin’s chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with Changbin and everything to do with the men who’d already been lost.

The patrol plan was no longer a spreadsheet;

it was a map on which lives hung about to shift.

He felt anger flare, at the rival gang for striking, at the situation for forcing him to abandon the only thing that kept the edge at bay, at himself for caring so much about something so ordinary.

“No hesitation,” he said.

“Felix, Hyunjin, meet me at the west access. Minho, lock down the south approach. Chan-” he glanced at the earpiece,

“we’re engaging if they breach the yard.”

“Copy,” Chan said, voice tightening.

“Secure casualties. No showboating. Get them before they get more men.”

They moved faster than the plan had time to be written.

Tires barked, boots hit gravel, flashlights carved white strips through dark.

Seungmin’s mind narrowed to the nouns that mattered: positions, exits, who was watching which blind spot.

His heartbeat tuned to the rhythm of tactical clarity.

He could not do anything poorly.

Not now.

They reached Dock 3 to find confusion already blooming into violence.

Figures moved like shadows between stacked pallets; a low engine growled.

A sentry shouted and a volley answered, the first shots tearing the night into staccato.

The air became a machine of noise and instinct.

Seungmin’s training took over like a second, colder skin.

He barked commands that cut through the cacophony, snapping men into positions with a voice that left no room for argument.

Bullets bit the metal siding.

Men ducked and reloaded.

Someone to his left swore low and dropped, gone from the world of standing and breathing in less than a second.

He did not look at the body.

He could not afford the luxury of that kind of seeing.

There was work: flanking, covering fire, a sweep to the rear.

He moved, and the rifle felt like an extension of his will.

He aimed, fired, suppressed a flank, and then pushed forward with Felix and Hyunjin to reclaim a narrow strip of ground.

The world shrank to muzzle flashes, shouted bearings, and the cadence of men falling or returning fire.

When one of the attackers lunged around a corner and exposed himself for half a beat too long, Seungmin’s rifle spoke, just in time, the man's knife only left a small scratch across his cheek.

The man crumpled.

No triumph rose in him, only a blank, procedural relief that the immediate threat had been removed.

Gunfire was a terrible, honest tool.

It solved the immediate problem and left an ache afterwards that was heavier than any wound:

The knowledge of what had been necessary.

They held the dock.

They secured the fence line.

They moved bodies out of firing lines, shouted medics into lanes, and relayed status to Chan in clipped reports.

Men who had been terrified in their youth now operated with excruciating calm.

Seungmin watched them, took inventory, set patrol codes that would make a routine out of vigilance.

If anything had to be plastered in a scar, he wanted it to be a scar that remembered how to keep the rest of them safe.

Somewhere in between re-securing the perimeter and cataloguing the damage, a younger operative, hands unsteady, asked for orders.

Seungmin gave them clean, efficient instructions that folded risk away like origami.

He wanted to move fast because the faster this was closed, the sooner the schedule could be renegotiated, the sooner he could claw back a few stolen minutes.

He felt guilty for that selfishness and used it as a sharpened focus.

By the time the smoke and adrenaline ebbed into a sticky, awful tiredness, night had thinned into a pale wash.

Men patched up wounds, inventory was recorded, patrols re-assigned.

Chan’s voice, when it came through, was different, cold and tight, with the distance of a leader who’d seen the cost.

“Good work securing Dock 3. We lost two men. We’ll mourn them later. Patrols double. No unilateral moves. Seungmin, recon schedules shift. You're on early again,” Chan ordered.

Seungmin closed his jaw.

He’d done his job.

He’d done it well.

But the new orders were iron that tightened around the one soft thing he’d fought to keep.

His chest ached for the quiet corner of the café more than for any small comfort he’d ever had inside an opulent office.

It was absurd, but the ache was real.

“Copy,” he said, voice even.

The drive back towards the central district was long and thin with exhaustion.

He stared out over the city lights and imagined Changbin standing behind the counter, calm, reliable, his hands moving without thought and with perfect intention.

The memory steadied him like a breath.

He made a small vow without ceremony: finish the sweep, close the holes, punish the intruders, and then, when the emergency leveled into routine, he would go back.

Even if it was only for five minutes.

Chapter Text

The next morning, the first rays of light cut through the alleyways like knives, sharp and intrusive.

Seungmin adjusted the strap of his tactical vest and exhaled slowly, the weight of yesterday’s events still lingering in every muscle.

The scratches along his forearms itched faintly, a reminder of the gunfire and chaos that had already defined his week.

Minor bruises bloomed along his collarbone and the curve of his ribs.

He ignored them, because there was no time to nurse minor injuries, not when another alert had come in, another movement from the rival gang threatening the city’s warehouses.

He gritted his teeth and checked his equipment.

Pistol loaded, rifle cleaned, ammunition in place.

Every detail mattered.

One mistake, one overlooked shadow, and people could die.

And yet… even in the midst of this chaos, his thoughts inevitably drifted.

He pictured the café.

The quiet corner, the warm light spilling across the counter, the soft murmur of customers, the smell of foam and roasted beans.

And there was Changbin.

Calm, reliable, unassuming.

The way he rolls up his sleeves, the slight tension in his forearms, the gentle way he greets every customer, so effortless, so human…

The memory tightened something in his chest.

He hated that he cared so much.

He hated that even with gunfire and blood and strategy, his thoughts kept wandering to a barista.

And yet, he did.

The earpiece buzzed.

Chan’s voice, clipped and sharp, pulled him out of the haze.

“Seungmin. West dock. Possible infiltration. Multiple armed contacts. Engage only if necessary. Confirm casualties immediately. Do not improvise.”

“Yes,” he said, voice level.

Internally, he flinched at the word “engage.”

He knew exactly what it would entail.

And yet… he also knew that once this was done, maybe, just maybe, he could return to the café, even if for only a few stolen minutes.

The drive to the dock was tense.

Every shadow seemed suspicious, every pedestrian suspiciously silent.

By the time he arrived, adrenaline had already begun sharpening his senses into a fine, metallic edge.

Hyunjin and Felix were already scanning the perimeter, weapons ready.

Minho had taken the south access, his stance perfect, eyes flicking between sightlines.

Seungmin stepped out of the vehicle, feeling the cool bite of morning air against the scratches and bruises he had yet to treat.

A faint sting flared where a stray bullet had grazed his arm yesterday, but he ignored it.

His attention was elsewhere, on the dock, the crates, the shadows that could conceal armed men.

“Movement at the east side,” Hyunjin whispered.

Seungmin moved with quiet precision, rifle raised.

They advanced carefully, communicating in clipped hand signals.

Every step was deliberate.

Every corner, every dark alley, every steel container could hold danger.

Then it happened.

Figures emerged from behind the containers.

Guns raised.

A shot rang out, ricocheting off metal.

Instinct took over.

Seungmin’s training, honed over years, directed his movements.

He returned fire with surgical precision, suppressing the attackers while Felix and Hyunjin flanked to cover blind spots.

A man lunged out from behind a crate, Seungmin didn’t hesitate.

A bullet struck cleanly, dropping the attacker before he could fire.

Another round whizzed past, grazing Seungmin’s shoulder and leaving a sting of pain.

He ignored it.

Another scratch, another bruise, merely markers of survival.

The adrenaline was thick, coursing through him, sharpening every sense, but beneath it, the ache of his disrupted café routine grew heavier.

I should be there.

I should be sipping cider.

I should be watching him roll up his sleeves.

A scream from behind alerted him, Felix had taken a glancing hit but was otherwise fine.

Seungmin moved, directing Hyunjin to flank the remaining attackers.

Gunfire erupted again.

The smell of gunpowder and sweat mingled in the air.

He ducked behind a stack of crates, rolling quickly and returning fire.

Another man fell, and another… and just like that, the confrontation was over.

Breath ragged, chest tight, scratches burning, Seungmin assessed the scene.

Only minor injuries, no fatalities among his team.

The dock was secure.

He cleaned his rifle, adjusted his vest, and pulled his jacket tighter over the fading bruises.

His mind already turned inward.

Finally… maybe I can get back.

The drive back to the city was long and quiet.

Every bump in the road reminded him of yesterday’s fight, every minor pain a lingering echo.

He washed quickly, cleaning the dried blood and grime from his arms and face, bandaging scratches and bruises with care.

He changed into clean clothes, still dark, still nondescript, still stoic, but beneath the calm exterior, a small, private thrill fluttered in his chest.

He was going back.

He was returning to the café.

Pushing the door open, the soft chime greeted him like an old friend.

Changbin looked up, eyes widening slightly at the sight before him.

Seungmin froze for a fraction of a second under his scrutiny.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t speak, but the scratches along his forearm, faint bruises along his collarbone, and the darkening edges of a mild contusion near his temple were not invisible.

“You… came today,” Changbin said softly, concern threading through the calm in his voice.

He moved a step closer, careful not to crowd.

His gaze traced the subtle injuries, his brow furrowing.

“What happened?”

Seungmin gave nothing away.

Not a word.

He simply met Changbin’s eyes for a long moment, letting the silence speak volumes.

Internally, he felt a rush of something he couldn’t name, satisfaction, maybe pride, maybe the peculiar thrill of being noticed even without explanation.

He noticed me.

Even like this…

“Your usual,” Seungmin said, voice flat, stoic, betraying none of the satisfaction burning inside.

Changbin nodded and moved to prepare it, rolling up his sleeves with calm precision.

Seungmin watched him, feeling the ache in his chest soften.

This was why he endured the scratches, the bruises, the constant stress of patrols and gunfights.

Because this, this small, ordinary ritual, was worth it.

The careful tilt of Changbin’s head as he measured foam, the soft efficiency in every motion, the quiet patience he showed every customer, it grounded Seungmin in a way nothing else could.

When Changbin placed the coffee in front of him, Seungmin’s fingers brushed the cup absently.

He took a slow sip, savoring the warm bitterness.

The scratches itched faintly under his shirt, but he barely noticed.

The bruises pressed gently against the fabric, a dull reminder of the world outside this café, but he didn’t care.

Internally, he was alive in a way he hadn’t been since the morning.

The adrenaline and stress had not disappeared, but they were dulled by the calm presence of Changbin.

He let himself enjoy it, quietly, stoically, imperceptibly smiling to himself as he took another sip.

Changbin, ever professional, did not press, did not prod.

He simply returned to his work behind the counter, offering small smiles and gentle nods to other customers.

Seungmin’s eyes followed him.

He noticed the little things:

The way Changbin’s shoulders relaxed when he moved between tasks, the careful attention he gave to each cup, the subtle patience in his movements.

Not just the physical strength, the flex of his forearms, or the tilt of his head, but the person, the calm, reliable person who made this little corner of the world feel like a sanctuary.

He stayed for longer than usual, silently observing, sipping, enjoying.

Despite the scratches and bruises and the chaotic morning, despite the gunfire and the lost hours, he felt… good.

Satisfied.

Alive.

Safe in a way he hadn’t realized he craved.

When he finally left, his injuries bandaged and fading, his stoic exterior intact, he carried with him a small, private joy, the knowledge that he had survived, that he had done his duty, and that he had returned, even briefly, to the quiet perfection of the café.

And in the back of his mind, a plan began to form:

However many rival gang attacks, however many patrol rotations, he would find a way to carve out those moments with Changbin, no matter what it cost.

Because in a life of chaos, blood, and danger, those small, perfect moments were worth everything.

Chapter Text

The meeting room hummed with energy, a rare shift from the tense, sharp-edged discussions that usually defined Chan’s headquarters.

For once, there was relief to celebrate.

Seungmin stood silently among the group, posture perfect, expression stoic, but internally, he felt the familiar itch of frustration, tinged with anticipation for something far away from the chaos of the room.

Chan’s voice cut through the murmur of congratulations.

“Good work, everyone. Yesterday’s operation went flawlessly. The rival gang… well, they finally decided to sign a peace treaty. No more interference in our territories, and we don’t touch theirs.” His gaze swept across the team, eyes sharp but gleaming with rare pride.

“This is a win for all of us, and you should be proud. Drinks are on me tonight, celebrate your hard work.”

Felix and Hyunjin immediately cheered, clapping each other on the back.

Jisung bounced slightly, still clinging to Minho’s arm as if he’d spent the last few hours wondering if the world would ever be safe again.

Seungmin, however, remained still, cool, calm, composed.

“I’ll pass,” he said quietly, voice flat, but his words carried more weight than he intended.

“Pass?” Felix echoed, incredulous, a teasing lilt to his tone.

“What do you mean, pass? You can’t pass on celebration!”

Seungmin’s stoicism didn’t falter.

“I… have somewhere else to be.”

The team exchanged knowing glances.

Jisung tugged on Minho’s sleeve.

“He means the café,” he whispered with a grin.

“Our little barista obsessed puppy can’t miss his daily routine.”

Minho groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Of course. I swear, we’ll never understand him.”

Seungmin’s eyes flicked downward briefly, tracing the faint scratches on his forearms from the previous patrols.

“I just… prefer a quieter place,” he murmured.

Felix laughed, nudging Jisung.

“Quiet, huh? You mean he wants to watch the guy roll up his sleeves while drinking cider.”

Before Seungmin could protest, Jisung and Felix launched their coordinated assault.

They cornered him in the locker room, blocking any escape.

“Nope, you’re coming,” Felix said, grabbing his arm.

“You will celebrate with us. It’s mandatory.”

Seungmin tried to resist, his expression flat but internal frustration simmering.

“I don’t need this…”

“Oh, come on,” Jisung said, tugging at his jacket.

“You’re going. And we’re making sure you look presentable. You can’t show up like a zombie after patrols.”

Minutes later, Seungmin found himself being fussed over.

Felix adjusted his tie, muttering about how he couldn’t allow Seungmin to embarrass them.

Jisung was busy with his jacket cuff, muttering something about “standards.”

Seungmin made minimal protests, internally groaning but secretly a little amused by the attention.

Finally, they emerged at the bar.

Music, laughter, and clinking glasses hit him immediately.

He followed silently, posture perfect, expression stoic.

Drinks were poured, glasses clinked, and Chan raised his in a rare, almost celebratory grin.

“To peace, and to us!”

Seungmin sipped cautiously.

One drink became two, two became three, and gradually, the tension in his shoulders loosened.

His usual stoicism blurred under the influence of alcohol, and he allowed himself a rare, private detachment from the rigid control of his daily life.

And then he saw him.

Changbin.

Seated near the back, dressed neatly, sleeves rolled up just enough to hint at strength and casual elegance, calm and poised amidst the noise.

His eyes scanned the room briefly before landing, and landing directly on Seungmin.

Seungmin froze mid-sip.

The glass trembled slightly in his hand.

His chest tightened.

The alcohol fuzzed his mind, but not enough to dull the impact of seeing him here, in the same space, alive and present and entirely unexpected.

Their eyes met.

For a moment, the chaos of the party, the laughter, the music, the drunken shouts of his teammates, dissolved.

Seungmin’s heart thudded against his ribs, and he felt the faint sting of bruises and scratches from the recent patrols as nothing compared to the sharp, dizzying sensation of being caught in Changbin’s gaze.

Changbin blinked, slightly taken aback.

His lips parted, a soft “Oh…” escaping him, equally surprised to see Seungmin here, dressed up, the stoic figure he usually only glimpsed in fleeting, controlled moments.

Seungmin’s usual detachment wavered.

Internally, he felt something like awe mixed with delight.

The calm, reliable aura he so cherished, the subtle confidence that made him irresistible in Seungmin’s eyes, it was all intensified here, in the chaos of a loud, crowded party.

Felix nudged him sharply.

“Oi! You’re staring again! Pay attention!”

Seungmin blinked, snapping slightly out of the trance but refusing to move or look away.

Hyunjin muttered under his breath, smirking,

“He’s completely done for…”

Minho just shook his head with a faint smile, observing quietly as Seungmin, stoic but internally aflame, maintained his focus on Changbin.

Jisung, oblivious, continued to chatter nearby, trying to get his attention.

Seungmin didn’t respond outwardly.

He didn’t need to.

The brief connection, the mutual surprise, the locking of eyes in the middle of a chaotic, boisterous party, was enough.

It rooted him, even amidst the haze of alcohol and noise, in a quiet exhilaration he had never allowed himself to feel before.

And for the first time in a long while, the chaos around him, the celebrations, the teasing, the drinking, didn’t matter.

All that mattered was the small, perfect, unexpected moment of being seen.

Chapter Text

The bar was loud , all low bass, laughter, and clinking glasses , but Seungmin sat in the corner like it didn’t touch him.

His 7th drink had gone warm.

His tie hung loose around his neck, and his thoughts were far away,  not on the mafia, not on the mission Chan kept praising them for.

They were on him.

The quiet barista with soft forearms and shoulders built like temptation itself.

Changbin.

It had been two days since Seungmin last visited the café.

Two days since he’d had coffee in that little glass cup and the scent of freshly ground coffee drifting through the air.

Two days of patrol, gunfire, and exhaustion, and for reasons he couldn’t quite admit, that was what bothered him most.

So when he spotted him, there, standing across the bar in the crowd, laughing with a friend and rolling up his sleeves like he was in some sort of slow-motion commercial, Seungmin’s brain short-circuited.

“There he is,” he muttered out loud, blinking at his glass.

“My… caffeine supplier.”

Felix, beside him, didn’t even look up.

“You’re drunk, mate.”

“Observant,” Seungmin said, finishing his shot in one go and pushing off his stool with purpose,  the unsteady, slightly heroic kind of purpose that only the drunk ever have.

And even though they never really spoke to each other, seungmins drunk brain couldn't rest comprehend that detail.

Across the bar, Changbin hadn’t noticed him yet.

He looked exactly like he did at the café, sleeves rolled, a simple black button-up, that steady, quiet confidence that made people relax just by standing near him.

Their eyes met and that was a sign.

And of course, that made Seungmin’s heart skip like a school girl with a crush.

Seungmin weaved through the crowd like someone on a mission from God, tripping once, twice, muttering curses under his breath.

When he reached Changbin, he stopped short, staring a little too long.

“Hey,” Seungmin slurred.

Changbin turned, surprised.

“Oh- hi? Do I… know you?”

Seungmin blinked. Then, with perfect drunken seriousness, said,

“You make my coffee.”

Changbin blinked right back.

“...Right. That narrows it down to like, a hundred people.”

“You’re the coffee guy,” Seungmin insisted, poking the air vaguely near Changbin’s arm.

“With the-” he gestured at his sleeves, eyes narrowing in concentration, “-unnecessary biceps.”

Changbin choked on his drink mid-sip.

“What- excuse me?”

“I said-” Seungmin leaned forward conspiratorially, swaying a little, “-your arms are offensive.”

Changbin tried, and failed, not to smile.

“You’re drunk.”

“Drunk, yes,” Seungmin said, holding up a finger.

“Blind? No.”

“Wow,” Changbin muttered under his breath, trying to look unimpressed but failing spectacularly.

His ears were red.

“You’re something else.”

“I’ve been told,” Seungmin said, proud of himself, even though his words slurred halfway through.

Then his heel caught on the floor, and he stumbled forward, straight into Changbin.

“Whoa- careful!” Changbin caught him, one hand gripping Seungmin’s arm, the other steadying his waist.

He smelled faintly like espresso and clean soap, and it was instantly, unfairly grounding.

Seungmin blinked up at him, dazed and too close.

“Knew you’d catch me,” he murmured.

Changbin sighed, his laugh soft and helpless.

“Yeah, yeah, apparently.”

They didn’t move.

The crowd blurred around them.

Seungmin stared, openly, shamelessly,  his gaze tracing the slope of Changbin’s jaw, the veins along his forearm, the way his shirt fit across his shoulders.

“You’re staring,” Changbin said, flustered but trying for nonchalance.

“You’re existing,” Seungmin replied, as if that explained everything.

Changbin huffed, somewhere between amusement and disbelief.

“You must really like our coffee.”

“I like the view behind the counter better,” Seungmin said, grinning lopsidedly.

“The one with the muscles and the quiet smile and-” he hiccuped, “-the moral support aura.”

“You’re crazy.”

“I’m honest,” Seungmin countered, leaning closer, balance wobbling again.

Changbin’s hand automatically went back to his waist to steady him.

“You make coffee like you’re saving lives. You don’t flirt with customers. You just… exist. All nonchalant and built and-” He stopped himself, eyes dropping.

“You don’t even know what you do to people.”

Changbin looked away quickly, cheeks flushed, trying to hide his grin.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Seungmin tilted his head, voice softer, hazier.

“Maybe. But right now, I’m just really glad you’re here.”

That did it,  the quiet flicker of surprise in Changbin’s eyes, the way he couldn’t quite look away.

The bar noise faded out, replaced by the hum of two heartbeats and the faint clink of a forgotten glass.

“Muscles,” Seungmin whispered, his voice gentler than he intended.

“You make good coffee.”

Changbin smiled, small and genuine.

“Thanks, I guess.”

“And you’ve got-” Seungmin’s eyes flicked down, then back up, “-really distracting arms.”

Seungmin let his hand trail up his sleeve squeezing the curve of his bicep, not caring about his shameless touch.

“Can I bite them?”

Changbin laughed then, actually laughed, head tilted back just a bit.

“Probably, if you want to.”

And in the tiny space that opened between their laughter, something shifted, soft, warm, reckless.

Seungmin’s hand brushed against Changbin’s arm again, fingers tracing muscle without thought, and for a heartbeat, the distance between them didn’t exist.

Chapter Text

The bell above the café door chimed like it always did, soft, old, a little too out of tune.

Changbin didn’t even look up at first; it was muscle memory by now.

The midday rush had long since passed, leaving the place in a lazy lull of milk foam and mellow jazz.

The kind of quiet where he could almost hear his own heartbeat between the hum of the espresso machine.

Then came the footsteps.

Even, measured, expensive shoes on tile.

Oh.

Him.

The quiet man in the corner was back.

Changbin didn’t know his name.

Didn’t even know his usual order until the third visit, an Americano, no sugar, no milk, always in a ceramic cup, never takeaway.

But he knew the look.

That sharp, silent kind of gaze that made Changbin’s neck prickle when he turned his back.

The kind of look that said he could probably break a man in half if he felt like it.

The first time the guy came in, Changbin had assumed he’d wandered into the wrong place.

He didn’t fit here.

Not with the pastel menus and cat-shaped cookie jars on the counter.

His suit alone probably cost more than Changbin made in a month.

But the man didn’t leave.

He sat down at the corner table by the window, stared at nothing for a while, then ordered coffee in a low voice that made the sugar spoon in Changbin’s hand tremble a little.

And then he just… kept coming back.

Every day.

Same time.

Same seat.

Same stare.

At first, Changbin had thought maybe he was judging him, maybe the latte art wasn’t symmetrical enough or his foam was off by half a millimeter.

But then he noticed it.

The man wasn’t looking at the coffee.

He was looking at him.

By the end of the second week, Changbin had given him a nickname in his head:

The Regular Who Scares Me.

He’d tell his coworker jeongin about it sometimes when they closed up.

“He’s not normal,”

he’d whisper, wiping down the counters.

“He doesn’t even blink.”

Jeongin had only laughed.

“Maybe he’s just into you.”

Changbin had snorted, dismissive, but his ears had gone warm anyway.

“Yeah, right. Into me. Sure. I make him coffee, not eye contact.”

Still, after that, he started noticing more.

The way The Regular always waited until Changbin was the one behind the counter before ordering.

The faint pink tint that colored the man’s ears whenever Changbin rolled his sleeves up.

The way his gaze always-always-lingered on his arms when he tamped the espresso.

It was weird.

Unsettling.

Kind of… nice?

He told himself it didn’t matter.

That he didn’t care if some tall, unreadable guy wanted to ogle his biceps while drinking black coffee.

Customers were customers.

You didn’t question the ones who paid on time and didn’t complain.

But every afternoon, when the bell chimed right on schedule and that familiar presence filled the room, Changbin’s chest felt weirdly lighter.

He’d pretend not to notice, of course.

Pretend he wasn’t suddenly flexing just a little harder when he lifted the milk jug, or that he didn’t time his shirt sleeves to sit perfectly halfway up his forearm.

Totally coincidence.

The next morning, Changbin told himself he wouldn’t look at the clock.

Then he looked at the clock.

12:10 p.m.

He was rinsing the filter, pretending to hum along to the café playlist, when Jeongin leaned on the counter with the kind of grin that meant trouble.

“You’re waiting for him again.”

“I’m not,” Changbin said, too fast.

The filter slipped and clattered into the sink.

Jeongin’s grin widened.

“The tall guy. Suit, tragic aura, death stare. Your boyfriend.”

“Not my- stop calling him that.” Changbin wiped his hands, muttering something about employees who liked being alive.

But he was waiting.

He couldn’t help it.

Ever since the day the tall unreadable guy had come, the café felt different.

Changbin had told himself it was only habit;

People notice when routines change.

Still, every time that bell chimed, a small, traitorous part of him straightened up.

12:14 p.m. exactly.

The door opened.

The tall unreadable guy stepped in, crisp and quiet as ever, but Changbin thought he looked paler, a little tired around the eyes.

“Americano?” Changbin asked, already reaching for the cup.

A faint nod.

The same seat by the window.

The same slow movements, like the whole world was on a leash and he refused to be rushed.

Changbin slid the coffee across the counter.

A pause, then that small, deliberate nod again.

No words.

The same pink climbing up the tips of his ears.

Jeongin elbowed him once he turned away.

“He totally likes you.”

“Jeongin.”

“What? He does. You ever seen anyone stare at you like that while you’re wiping tables? It’s romantic.”

“It’s creepy.”

“It’s commitment.”

Changbin rolled his eyes and went back to wiping the counter, but his chest was too warm for the expression to stick.

Days began to line up like coffee cups in a row.

Every shift had its rhythm now:

Doorbell, quiet steps, Americano.

Sometimes the tall unreadable guy stayed only ten minutes, sometimes a full hour, sitting in silence with his drink, eyes flicking between his phone and the window.

But always, always, he looked up when Changbin moved.

Once, when Changbin bent to pull a bag of beans from the lower shelf, he heard Jeongin whisper,

“He’s watching again,” and nearly dropped the whole sack.

He straightened, wiping a hand on his apron.

“Maybe he’s just bored.”

“Or maybe he likes your forearms.”

“Jeongin-”

“No, really. He looked away when you noticed. And- oh my god-  his ears are red.”

Changbin glanced over before he could stop himself.

The guy's gaze snapped down to his coffee, and sure enough, the shell-pale ears were tinted pink.

The laugh that slipped out of Changbin was too quiet to hear over the espresso machine, but it stayed with him the rest of the day.

It was ridiculous, how much space one silent man could take up.

Sometimes Changbin caught himself wondering what the guy did for a living.

Maybe something important.

Maybe something that kept him up at night, judging by the dark crescents under his eyes.

Whatever it was, he carried it like an invisible coat,  pressed shoulders, steady hands, calm in a way that made the rest of the world feel too loud.

And yet… every time Changbin handed him a cup, his fingers brushed his just enough to make his stomach flip.

Always accidental.

Always exactly one heartbeat too long.

He didn’t know when curiosity turned into habit, or when habit started feeling like expectation.

But one afternoon, when the tall unreadable guy arrived five minutes late, Changbin found himself refilling the sugar jar three times just to keep busy.

When the bell finally rang, he caught himself smiling before he even looked up.

Jeongin, of course, noticed everything.

“You’re hopeless,” he said later while stacking cups.

“He’s your favorite customer.”

“I don’t have favorites.”

“Uh-huh. You rearranged the tables so he’d get better light.”

“That was for everyone.”

“And you changed the playlist from bubble-pop to jazz because you said the pop was too loud.”

“It was!”

Jeongin arched a brow.

“You’re blushing.”

Changbin shoved him lightly with his shoulder.

“I’m adjusting the temperature. It’s warm in here.”

Jeongin just laughed, the sound echoing off the glass windows.

One Wednesday, the man didn’t show up.

The bell rang a few times that day, and Changbin’s head shot up every single time, but it was never him.

By late afternoon, he was trying not to check the clock so much.

He told himself he didn’t care.

He wasn’t waiting for anyone.

He had coffee to make, receipts to print, beans to grind.

But it still bugged him, the way the corner table looked too empty, too still.

Like someone had taken the background hum of the café and cut a piece out of it.

He even caught himself glancing toward the door after closing.

Ridiculous.

Maybe he just liked consistency.

That was all.

It was nice, in a weird way, to have someone who always showed up.

Made the place feel… alive.

The next day, the bell chimed again at exactly 12:14 PM.

Changbin didn’t even need to look up.

He knew the rhythm of those footsteps by now.

But when he did, his breath hitched just a little.

There he was, same suit, same expression, same careful silence, but something was different.

Bandages peeked out from under his cuff, a faint cut ran across his cheek, and his collar looked slightly undone, like he hadn’t slept much.

Changbin’s first instinct was worry.

His second was confusion about the first.

He handed over the usual Americano, trying to act casual.

“You okay?”

The man, Seungmin (changbin finally decided to check his name from his receipt) just nodded once, slow, as if the question surprised him.

Then his eyes darted to Changbin’s face for half a heartbeat before flicking away, and there it was again:

That faint pink tint climbing up his ears.

Changbin wanted to say something else, something light, maybe even stupid, like you look like you fought a cat, but the words stuck somewhere behind his teeth.

Instead, he just nodded back, lips quirking up in something like a smile.

And maybe it was his imagination, or the lighting, or something in the way Seungmin’s shoulders dropped just slightly, but Changbin could’ve sworn he saw the corner of the man’s mouth twitch upward in return.

Chapter Text

The bar was a mess of neon light, thumping music, and the smell of spilled cider.

Changbin had been trying to act casual, sipping his drink, telling himself he was just another guest tonight.

Just… one more night out.

Nothing to see here.

But a gaze, a kind of familiar gaze that made the hair behind his head stand up.

Oh. No.

There he was.

Seungmin.

The terrifying, quiet regular from the café.

The one who made Changbin’s chest flip every day with just a look.

But tonight… tonight he was different.

He was drunk.

And bold.

And… leaning casually against the bar like he owned the place.

Oh my god.

Oh my god.

The scary guy from the café is… looking at me.

He’s here.

He’s actually here.

He’s drunk.

Oh no, oh no, oh no.

Seungmin’s eyes scanned the bar, slow, deliberate… and then they locked on him.

Full stop.

Like a predator locking on its prey.

Changbin’s stomach dropped and fluttered at the same time.

Oh god oh god oh god.

He’s looking at me.

He’s actually looking at me.

My arms.

My face.

My everything.

What do I do what do I do what do I do?

Stay calm.

Smile.

Smirk.

Smile.

Don’t melt.

Don’t melt.

Don’t—oh god he’s walking this way.

Seungmin’s steps were loose, swaying slightly, every motion making Changbin’s pulse spike.

Why is he so magnetic?

Why does everything about him make me want to explode and hide at the same time?

“Hey,” Seungmin slurred, leaning close, hand brushing the bar as if he owned it.

Hiding? Oh my god, he’s flirting. He’s actually flirting. My heart is going to explode. Calm. Breathe. Play it cool. Tease. Tease. Don’t let him see how crazy I am inside.

“Oh hi?” Changbin said, trying to smirk like nothing was happening.

“do I know you?”

Smooth.

Perfect.

Totally fine.

You’re fine. NOT fine. Why is my chest on fire?

Seungmin’s lips twitched into that lopsided grin that made Changbin’s brain short-circuit.

“you make my coffee…” He leaned closer

“yeah that narrows if down to like a hundred people.”

“your the coffee guy with the,“ his eyes trailed his arms.

“with the unnecessary biceps.” he slurred tilting his head.

WHAT. WHAT. HE SAID IT. HE’S FLIRTING.

OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. THE SCARY GUY FROM THE CAFÉ IS FLIRTING WITH ME.

MY ARMS. MY ARMS. HE’S TOUCHING MY ARMS. I CAN’T BREATHE. SMILE. TEASE. DON’T MELT. UGH.

Changbin chocked on his drink.

“wha-excuse me?”

“i said.” seungmin leaned even closer making changbin almost scream like a toddler.

“your arms are offensive.”

“Your drunk.” Changbin managed, tilting his head with a smirk.

Keep teasing.

Play it cool.

Calm down. Wait, why is my stomach flipping? Oh god his hand, he’s touching my arm. My ARM. He’s tracing it. I’m going to faint. Smile. Don’t faint.

“Drunk? Yes blind? No.” Seungmin slurred, tracing over the bicep, hiccuping.

HE SAID IT AGAIN.

HE SAID IT.

HE LIKES MY ARMS.

I’M GOING TO DIE.

CALM DOWN.

TEASE.

FLIRT BACK. TEASE. DON’T MELT.

MY EARS. MY EARS ARE BURNING. STOP

THINKING. BREATHE. SMILE. FOCUS.

“wow, your something else.” Changbin said, voice teasing, fingers gripping the edge of the bar to stop himself from trembling.

Keep it together, Bin.

Act like you’re in control.

He’s drunk.

He’s falling apart.

But I… I might be falling apart too.

Seungmin laughed, low and warm, leaning closer. “I've been told. Just… honest. Can’t help it.”

OH MY GOD HE’S LEANING CLOSER.

HIS LIPS ARE-DON’T LOOK. DON’T LOOK.

HE’S TOUCHING ME AGAIN.

HE’S TRACING MY ARM AGAIN.

SMILE. ACT CASUAL. FLIRT BACK. DON’T MELT.

HE’S DRUNK. HE’S DANGEROUS.

OH GOD I LOVE THIS.

Just then seungmins foot twisted and he staggered down, just in time for Changbin's hands to snap up and grab him, one on his shoulder the other resting on his waist.

“whoa- careful!”

Seungmin looked up not even fazed with a smirk.

“knew you would catch me.”

“Yeah yeah apparently,” Changbin said, teasing, voice steady, smirk in place.

Breathe. Pretend you’re calm.

Heart racing, ears red. Don’t freak out. Tease him.

SMILE.

ACT LIKE YOU’RE IN CONTROL.

Seungmin’s mouth twitched, his eyes trailing shamelessly.

HE’S BEEN NOTICING MY ARMS. HE LIKES MY ARMS. THE SCARY GUY. DRUNK. FLIRTING. TOUCHING ME. MY HEART IS GONNA EXPLODE. BREATHE. DON’T MELT. ACT CASUAL. TEASE. SMILE.

Changbin laughed quietly, fingers tightening on the edge of the bar as Seungmin swayed slightly.

Okay. Okay.

He’s holding onto me. WHAT. HE’S HOLDING ON

Don’t freak out. Just… breathe. Smile. Act cool.

His hand is warm. Oh god my ears.

They’re red. STOP THINKING. JUST SMILE.

“I’m not hiding,” he said again, voice steady, smirk teasing. “You just make it hard not to notice.”

Seungmin hiccupped, swaying more, tracing his forearm again.

“Mm… don’t… don’t push me… I… like… holding you…”

WHAT. WHAT.

HE’S SAYING HE LIKES HOLDING ME.

HE’S DRUNK. HE’S TOUCHING ME.

I’M GOING TO LOSE IT. HE’S SO CLOSE. BREATH. SMILE. TEASE. SMILE. OH GOD.

Changbin smirked, internally melting.

My chest. My stomach. My ears.

He’s… he’s doing it again.

He’s leaning closer. HE’S DRUNK.

HE’S DARING.

HE’S… OH GOD, I’M GOING TO FAINT.

“…I’ve… been… waiting…” Seungmin’s words, barely above a whisper, sent a shiver down Changbin’s spine.

WAIT. WAIT.

HE’S LEANING CLOSER. MY HEART.

OH GOD, OH GOD, OH GOD.

Changbin’s fingers gripped the edge of the bar so tightly he could feel the wood dig in, smirk plastered on, teasing.

I’m fine. Totally fine.

Totally calm. Totally… nope. Nope. Definitely not calm. HE’S SO CLOSE. HE’S GOING TO-

Seungmin’s lips hovered just an inch from his, a deliciously chaotic, dizzying, almost-there  just a brush.

Changbin’s breath hitched.

“Careful,” he whispered, smirk playful but voice shaking,

Seungmin’s eyes twitched at the corner of his lips, grin soft, daring, drunk. “…Maybe… I...dont want…to be…”

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD.

He wants it. He’s drunk. He’s so bold.

He’s…

And in the chaos, Changbin let himself finally enjoy the heat, the thrill, the impossible tension of the scary café guy flirting with him, touching him, teasing him, wanting him.

Chapter Text

Seungmin’s head throbbed like a drumline on fire, and his stomach seemed to be staging a revolt.

He hadn’t wanted to leave his apartment, but the world had other plans, and apparently, so did his mafia “friends.”

Felix leaned casually against Seungmin’s desk, grin wide enough to split his face.

“So… last night,” he started, slow and teasing,

“you were something else.”

Seungmin groaned, pressing a hand to his temple.

“If you so much as say one more word-”

Jisung leaned forward, smirking.

“Oh, we will. We have to talk about this. You were… bold.”

Seungmin’s eye twitched.

“Bold? I… don’t remember being bold.”

Felix’s grin widened.

“Exactly! That’s the best part. You don’t even know who the guy was!”

Jisung laughed so hard he almost fell out of his chair.

“Yeah! Random stranger! And you probably don’t even remember him, right?”

Seungmin pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I literally don’t remember anyone. And if either of you tries to remind me-”

Hyunjin leaned against the wall now, arms crossed, a mischievous smirk on his face.

“Wait, wait, wait. So you, Seungmin… last night… made a move on some random guy at the bar?”

Minho, sitting nearby, shook his head with a fake groan.

“I can’t believe we’re talking about this. But yes, please continue. This is amazing. Tell me every detail.”

Seungmin’s lips twitched.

“I didn’t do anything. And I don’t want to hear any details. Anyone who repeats this story will… regret it.”

Felix leaned closer, theatrically.

“Regret it? How?”

Seungmin’s calm, low voice carried lethal weight.

“By discovering just how uncomfortable they can be.”

Jisung gasped, mock-dramatic.

“Oh my god, death threats while hungover! He’s terrifying AND hilarious!”

Hyunjin laughed, shaking his head.

“You’re the only one I know who can look like a disaster and a mafia boss at the same time.”

Minho added, smirking,

“Seriously, I didn’t think it was possible. But seeing you flustered like that… priceless.”

Seungmin’s glare swept across the room, icy and unyielding.

“If I hear another word about last night, I will personally-”

“Make us your minions?” Felix guessed, grinning.

“Make you regret it,” Seungmin corrected, calm as ever, but his words cut sharper than a knife.

Jisung doubled over with laughter.

“We have no idea who you were flirting with, and you don’t remember?! This is perfect!”

Hyunjin shook his head, still laughing.

“You’re like a legend now. Mysterious, lethal, hungover, and chaotic. Incredible combo.”

Minho leaned in, mock serious.

“Seungmin, this might be your finest hour. Or your most embarrassing. Hard to tell.”

Seungmin exhaled slowly, frustration mounting, but outwardly he remained stoic.

“I assure you, I will personally ensure the details remain confidential. Otherwise… consequences.”

Felix clapped his hands, grinning from ear to ear.

“Oh, consequences! I love consequences! Bring them on!”

Jisung leaned back, laughter still spilling out.

“You’re terrifying. You’re chaotic. You’re… still hungover. This is the best morning ever.”

Seungmin groaned, standing abruptly, headache pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat.

“I’m leaving. The café. Peace. Quiet. Solitude. Avoid me if you value your lives.”

Felix and Jisung exchanged glances, eyes alight with mischief.

“Come on, Seungmin,” Felix said, grinning.

“You can’t just act like that didn’t happen. You flirted with someone last night. Hard. That’s not something you just… forget.”

Seungmin clenched his fists under the desk.

“I don’t remember anyone. I could have been flirting with a mannequin for all I know.”

After what felt like an eternity of teasing, Seungmin quietly excused himself.

He needed quiet.

He needed peace.

He needed the café.

Maybe the familiar smells of coffee and cider would ease his pounding headache.

And with that, he excused himself, moving toward the sanctuary of the café, where at least the chaos would be replaced with calm, familiar aromas of coffee and pastries, and maybe a small moment of relief from the relentless teasing.

The bell above the café door jingled as he entered, and the aroma of roasted beans and pastries hit him immediately, soothing in its simplicity.

The café was quiet, the soft hum of conversation and clink of cups like a balm to his aching head.

He moved with his usual composed posture, despite the nausea threatening to break his calm façade.

He slid into his usual seat, expecting the normal routine:

Order, sip, observe, stare, No one to bother him.

Safe, quiet, comforting.

And then he heard it.

“Rough morning?”

Seungmin froze mid-step.

He… he’s talking to me?

His eyes darted to see Changbin standing behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, hands dusted with flour and the faint scent of coffee lingering around him.

He looked… normal.

Calm.

Hot in that effortless way that made Seungmin’s chest tighten, even in his hungover state.

Seungmin’s usual stoicism didn’t crack outwardly, but internally, a jolt of surprise and… happiness struck him.

He noticed me.

He actually noticed me.

Changbin gestured to the counter.

“Here, try this. On the house. Might help with your hangover.”

Seungmin’s eyes fell to the small orange tart sitting on a plate, bright and perfectly made.

His heart skipped a beat.

He loved sweets.

He loved desserts.

And someone, Changbin, was offering it to him freely, without ceremony, without expecting anything.

A small, imperceptible warmth spread in him, his ears tingling faintly.

He didn’t smile outright, didn’t fidget, he simply nodded once, taking the tart and setting it on the table in front of him.

He sipped his coffee, letting the warmth soothe his pounding temples, and took a careful bite of the tart.

Sweet, tangy, perfect.

The taste alone eased a tiny corner of his headache, and for a moment, he felt… normal.

Changbin leaned slightly, not intrusive, just aware.

“Take it slow. Don’t overdo it today.” His voice was calm, teasing, gentle.

The quiet confidence in him was almost unbearable, yet comforting at the same time.

Seungmin’s internal chaos continued, though outwardly he remained composed.

Why does he notice me?

Why does he care about something as small as a headache?

His ears warmed a little more at the thought, though he said nothing.

He simply ate the tart carefully, savoring it in silence.

Even though it was on the house, Seungmin placed some money on the counter before leaving, a small, habitual gesture of respect.

His movements were precise, composed, stoic.

But inside, he was warm, flustered, and oddly content.

Changbin watched him go, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

He didn’t comment on Seungmin’s subtle reactions, but inside, he felt a small tug at his chest.

Daily, quiet visits from this mysterious, composed man were beginning to matter more than he expected.

Seungmin stepped out of the café, the cool air hitting him, tart and coffee having soothed some of his headache, but the lingering warmth in his chest, he feeling of being noticed, was the kind of relief no drink could give.

He walked away, composed as ever, a small flicker of satisfaction hidden behind the calm, unflinching exterior.

As he was recalling what happened, he stopped in his tracks, as a thought popped up, he almost missed this small detail in his state of euphoria.

How did Changbin know that he was hungover?

Chapter Text

The evening rush had faded, leaving the café humming quietly under the soft glow of the signboard.

The air smelled of espresso and rain; somewhere outside, tires hissed across wet pavement.

Changbin wiped the counter one last time, Jeongin already gone, and flicked off the grinder.

Seungmin sat in his usual corner, same time, same cup, same silence.

He never ordered anything new.

He just came, sat there, and drank coffee like it was the most important ritual of his day.

Everyone else had stopped wondering who he was,  they’d grown used to the quiet man with the sharp eyes and immaculate suit.

Changbin hadn’t.

He noticed the smallest things: how Seungmin’s hands never trembled, how his gaze followed movement with surgical precision, how the faintest crease appeared on his brow when someone got too close.

There was something about him, calm, restrained, and somehow dangerous.

And still, he came every day.

“Same as always?” Changbin had asked when Seungmin appeared that afternoon.

A short nod.

Nothing else.

Now, as the clock neared closing, Seungmin finished his drink and stood.

Changbin glanced up from wiping the espresso machine just in time to see the man slip his wallet out, slide a few bills onto the counter, and leave without a word.

Through the window, Changbin caught the sight of a black car idling by the curb.

Tinted windows, sleek, silent.

Seungmin got in, and the car drifted off into the night like smoke.

He frowned.

Weird.

Must be one of those corporate types.

Still, something about it tugged at him,  the precision, the timing, the way it felt rehearsed.

He shook it off, turned the sign to CLOSED, and stepped out into the chilly street.

The rain had stopped, leaving puddles glinting like mercury under the streetlights.

He locked the door, adjusted his jacket, and started toward his apartment.

The same car was parked there.

Changbin froze halfway down the block.

The same tinted windows.

Same quiet hum of the engine.

For a moment, his chest tightened, that eerie gut feeling he couldn’t name crawling up his spine.

He wasn’t the paranoid type, but something felt off.

He moved closer, curiosity winning out over sense.

The sound reached him before he saw anything, low voices, harsh, clipped, a tone that didn’t belong to ordinary people.

Then a thud.

Someone grunted.

Changbin ducked behind a lamppost, heart hammering.

He peeked around the edge just enough to see movement, two men by the car, one smaller with blond hair, gripping another man by the shoulders.

The third figure stepped into the light.

Seungmin.

Gone was the composed customer with neat cuffs and quiet eyes.

His expression was unreadable, colder than the night air.

He said something low, Changbin couldn’t make it out, and the restrained man shouted back, panicked.

Another sharp sound, a punch, hard enough to echo a loud crack.

Changbin flinched.

Then silence.

The kind of silence that made the world hold its breath.

And then a muffled gunshot, and a loud cry of pain and ruffling clothes.

Changbin stumbled back instinctively.

His pulse roared in his ears.

It wasn’t loud, nothing like in movies,  but it was unmistakable.

He didn’t want to believe what he’d just heard.

He risked one more glance.

The blond one stepped aside, the restrained man now limp, clutching his leg, sobbing.

Blood was pooling under the man hands like a a broken faucet.

Seungmin said something, calm as ever, before nodding toward the car.

The two of them turned,

and Seungmin’s gaze snapped to him.

For one frozen second, their eyes locked.

There was no mistaking it this time.

It wasn’t a fleeting look from across a café table;

it was direct, heavy, knowing.

Changbin’s breath hitched.

His throat went dry.

He didn’t even feel his legs start moving until he realized he was running, sneakers slapping against wet asphalt, heartbeat drowning out everything else.

He didn’t stop until he reached his building.

Didn’t look back.

Didn’t breathe properly until he’d slammed his door shut and pressed his back against it.

The quiet pressed in.

His hands shook.

That same calm man who drank coffee in his shop every evening, who nodded politely, who never smiled,  had looked at him tonight with eyes that didn’t belong to any ordinary customer.

It belonged to someone who kills without mercy.

Changbin slid down the door, burying his face in his palms.

“What the hell are you?” he whispered.

Outside, somewhere in the dark, a car engine started again.

Chapter Text

The world hadn’t gone quiet since that soundless flash.

Changbin had replayed it over and over in his head the way the man had screamed, the way Seungmin’s knuckles had cracked against his jaw, the way the gun had risen, so steady, so deliberate.

The way the silenced shot had thudded through the night air like a distant heartbeat.

He hadn’t even run right away.

His body had gone numb, the air thick in his lungs as he’d watched Seungmin holster the gun and adjust his cuff, like it was just another minute in his life.

Felix had wiped his hands, said something that Changbin couldn’t hear.

And then they’d walked away, leaving the man groaning on the pavement.

Changbin hadn’t breathed as he ran.

Now he sat in his apartment, lights off, curtains drawn.

His hands were still trembling.

The city outside buzzed faintly, the same city that, a few hours ago, had felt safe and warm under the café lights.

He didn’t understand.

He didn’t want to.

His mind kept circling the same thought.

Seungmin.

The quiet customer who came at the same hour every day, who sat in the same corner, who never smiled but always looked at him like he was memorizing him.

The man who never said more than a few words, who somehow made his small café feel steadier, anchored.

And that same man had held a gun tonight.

The air in his apartment felt tight, heavy.

He rubbed his temples, trying to calm the pulsing behind his eyes.

Maybe he’d imagined it.

Maybe it wasn’t Seungmin.

But no,  he’d seen the face, the sharp cut of his jaw under the streetlight, the cold precision in his gaze.

There was no mistaking it.

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes.

What the hell did you see, Changbin?

His thoughts were interrupted by a sound.

Three deliberate knocks.

Each one clean, spaced apart, heavy enough to echo in the silence.

Changbin froze.

No one knocked like that.

No one should have been here.

His chest constricted.

For a second, he couldn’t move.

Then, very slowly, he pushed himself up, every muscle tight.

He stood by the door, staring at the wood like it might move first.

The air felt colder, sharper.

The second set of knocks came.

Not louder, just patient.

Unhurried.

He swallowed hard, his fingers finding the lock.

His throat was dry when he whispered,

“…Who is it?”

Silence.

Then, a calm voice.

Smooth, low, and unmistakably familiar.

“Open the door, Changbin.”

Every part of him wanted to pretend he hadn’t heard.

But his body was already moving, like the voice had weight.

He unlocked the door.

Seungmin stood there.

The hallway light framed him in sharp shadows,  black coat, hands still gloved, eyes unreadable.

He looked clean, composed.

Not a trace of blood on him.

But the cold in his gaze was unmistakable.

Changbin’s stomach twisted.

“Can I come in?” Seungmin asked.

It wasn’t a question.

Changbin stepped back wordlessly.

Seungmin entered, quiet as if the space already belonged to him.

His eyes flicked across the small apartment,  the sofa, the half-drunk mug of coffee on the counter, the curtains drawn tight.

Then he looked back at Changbin.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Seungmin broke the silence first.

“You saw, didn’t you?”

His voice wasn’t loud, but it filled the room.

Changbin’s pulse spiked.

His throat worked before the words came out.

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A lie.

Too quick.

Too shaky.

Seungmin’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Don’t lie to me.”

The air thickened.

Changbin’s back brushed against the door.

Seungmin wasn’t close yet, but it felt like he was taking up every inch of the room.

“I didn’t- I didn’t see anything,” Changbin forced out.

“I was just- I was just walking home.”

Seungmin’s jaw tightened.

He took a step forward, slow and steady.

“Then why,” he asked, voice low, “did you freeze when I knocked?”

Changbin’s breath caught.

Seungmin was in front of him now, only a few feet away.

Close enough that he could see the faint shadows under his eyes, the cut on his cheekbone, small, healing.

His eyes weren’t wild or angry, they were controlled.

That was somehow worse.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Seungmin said.

“But if you open your mouth about tonight-”

“I won’t,” Changbin interrupted, too fast. His voice cracked.

“I won’t, I swear. I- I just-”

Seungmin tilted his head slightly, watching him like he could read the truth straight from his heartbeat.

“Do you even know what you saw?”
he asked.

Changbin couldn’t answer.

Because he didn’t know.

All he knew was the flash of violence, the soundless gunshot, the casual cruelty, coming from someone he’d quietly started to trust, to look forward to seeing.

Seungmin exhaled through his nose, slow.

“This isn’t your world,” he said, almost to himself.

“You shouldn’t have been there.”

Changbin swallowed, trying to steady his voice.

“What is your world then?”

Seungmin’s gaze snapped up to his, sharp enough to make him flinch.

“You don’t want to know.”

His voice was final, colder than before.

He turned slightly, as if to leave, then paused.

“Stay out of it, Changbin,” he said, each word deliberate.

“Whatever you think you saw, forget it. It’ll be better for you that way.”

Something twisted in Changbin’s chest.

“And if I don’t?” he asked quietly.

Seungmin turned back fully, expression unreadable.

His tone didn’t rise, but it was enough to make the air drop ten degrees.

“Then I’ll make sure you do.”

For a second, the tension stretched so tight it almost hummed.

Seungmin’s hand lingered on the doorknob,  and then he looked over his shoulder, eyes softer, something barely visible flickering behind the steel.

“It’s for your own good,” he said, almost under his breath.

Then he was gone.

The door clicked shut.

Silence again.

Changbin stood there, still pressed against the wall, the shape of Seungmin’s presence hanging heavy in the air.

His hands were shaking.

His pulse wouldn’t slow.

He sank onto the floor, elbows on his knees, and stared at the door.

The fear was still there, sharp, trembling through his ribs.

But underneath it was something else, something heavier, quieter.

A strange pull, the echo of the same feeling he had when Seungmin sat in his café,  that tension between wanting to step closer and needing to stay far away.

He dragged a hand down his face, forcing himself to breathe.

It didn’t work.

All he could see when he closed his eyes was Seungmin, his voice low, his eyes colder than ever, and the faintest trace of something like regret when he’d said it’s for your own good.

For his own good.

Then why did it sound like a warning to his heart instead?

Chapter Text

The day began the same way it always did, with a report and a headache.

Only this time, the headache wasn’t from a lack of sleep or a late patrol.

It was from him.

Seungmin could still see it,  the look on Changbin’s face when he’d opened the door, fear cutting through the warmth he was used to seeing behind that counter.

The wide eyes, the tremble in his breath.

And worse, the way Seungmin’s own voice had sounded, low and cold, threatening.

He’d said it because he had to.

Because the alternative, the thought of Changbin getting dragged into his world, was worse.

But it still left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Now, sitting in the dim conference room surrounded by files, he couldn’t stop grinding his teeth.

“...You good, Min?” Chan’s voice cut through the haze.

Seungmin didn’t look up. “Fine.”

“You sure?” Jisung asked, leaning over the table, grin half-nervous.

“Because you look like you’re about to murder someone, and I kinda like my face intact.”

Seungmin flipped a page.

“Keep talking and we’ll see.”

Jisung squeaked and ducked behind Felix, who snorted.

“Bro’s mad mad,” Felix muttered, nudging Hyunjin.

Hyunjin glanced up from his tablet, hair falling over one eye.

“Did someone die?”

“No,” Minho answered before Seungmin could.

“But someone might if you all keep asking.”

That shut them up, for a while.

Only Chan’s steady gaze stayed on him, concerned, thoughtful.

“You’re distracted,” Chan said quietly once the room fell silent.

Seungmin finally looked up. His voice came out sharper than intended.

“No, I’m not.”

Chan raised a brow.

“Then tell me what Felix just said.”

“…Something about the shipment?”

“Felix was talking about his new brownie recipe,” Chan said dryly.

Seungmin exhaled through his nose, long and slow.

“So maybe I wasn’t listening. Doesn’t matter.”

Chan’s expression softened, but he didn’t press.

He’d seen Seungmin like this before, sharp, restless, bottled.

Usually, it meant he was angry.

This time, it was worse: he was unsettled.

When the meeting ended, Seungmin didn’t wait for the others.

He stood, tugged on his coat, and left without a word.

Outside, the air was cold and too bright.

He needed the noise, the hum of the city, the sound of traffic, something to drown the replay looping in his mind.

'Stay out of it, Changbin.'

'It’s for your own good.'

He’d meant every word.

But the look in Changbin’s eyes, fear, confusion, and something else he couldn’t name, had stuck with him.

He told himself he wouldn’t go near the café.

Not today.

Not after last night.

But habits, dangerous, stupid habits, are hard to kill.

So when the clock hit noon., his body moved before his mind could stop it.

The café door chimed softly as he entered.

Same place, same time, same everything, except the air felt different.

Changbin stood behind the counter, sleeves rolled, hair slightly mussed, mid-sentence with Jeongin.

The moment he noticed Seungmin, his words faltered.

For a split second, neither of them moved.

Then Changbin blinked, straightened a little, and muttered something to Jeongin, who took over the counter.

Seungmin walked to his usual spot.

His boots clicked softly against the floor, steady, unhurried, but his pulse wasn’t.

Changbin approached, not with the easy calm he usually had, but with something more guarded.

“Your usual?”

Seungmin nodded once, eyes not leaving him.

“Yeah.”

There was no trace of the drunk warmth or the fascination that used to fill his gaze.

Now it was something colder, sharper, as if he was studying him instead of staring.

Changbin noticed.

Of course he did.

He’d gotten used to those lingering looks, the quiet devotion hidden under the silence.

Now, the weight of Seungmin’s eyes made his shoulders tense.

When Changbin turned to make the coffee, Seungmin’s gaze followed him, not tracing his arms or his movements, but scanning, observing, like every motion mattered.

The usual comfort between them was gone, replaced by an edge neither could ignore.

Changbin set the cup down gently.

“Here.”

“Thanks.”

Their fingers brushed for half a second, unintentional.

Changbin froze, eyes darting up. Seungmin didn’t move.

Something unreadable flickered in his expression.

“I didn’t think you’d come in today,” Changbin said carefully, voice lower than usual.

Seungmin’s eyes flicked to him, unreadable.

“Neither did I.”

He didn’t mean to sound honest, but the words slipped out before he could stop them.

Changbin hesitated.

He wanted to ask,why come at all, after last night? but he couldn’t.

The memory of Seungmin’s voice from the night before still lingered, the way it had pressed against his skin like a warning.

So instead, he asked quietly,

“Are you okay?”

Seungmin’s fingers tightened around the cup.

His eyes didn’t leave the dark surface of the coffee.

“I’m fine.”

It was a lie, clean and practiced.

He took a sip, ignoring the sting at the corner of his split lip, one of the few marks left from the night before.

Changbin didn’t push.

He only nodded and stepped back behind the counter.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, it was taut.

Something unspoken pulsed in it, stretched between them like a thread that neither wanted to cut.

Jeongin passed by, humming softly as he wiped a table.

His gaze flicked between the two, then to Changbin’s tense shoulders, and he quietly decided not to comment.

Seungmin stayed longer than usual that evening.

He didn’t talk.

Didn’t even finish his drink.

He just sat there, pretending to scroll through his phone, every so often glancing at Changbin from beneath his lashes, not with hunger this time, but with an odd, unreadable mix of guilt and fear.

When he finally stood to leave, Changbin looked up, not from surprise this time, but something gentler.

“See you tomorrow?” he asked before he could stop himself.

Seungmin froze mid-step, back turned.

A beat of silence.

Then, soft but firm,

“We’ll see.”

He didn’t look back when he left, but Changbin did, watching the way Seungmin’s shoulders stayed stiff until the door shut behind him.

That night, Seungmin sat in his car, hands tight around the steering wheel, eyes closed.

He could still feel Changbin’s stare, confused, cautious, but unafraid.

That part hurt most.

He should have stayed away.

Should have listened to Chan’s warning from this morning: you look distracted, Seungmin.

He wasn’t just distracted.

He was compromised.

And the worst part?

Even after all that, the fear, the threat, the guilt, he’d still gone back to the café.

Because maybe, just maybe, habit wasn’t the only thing pulling him there anymore.

Chapter Text

Changbin didn’t mean to wake up early.

He didn’t do early.

Early was for people with balanced sleep schedules and no crippling fear of getting shot by their crush.

But there he was.

Awake before sunrise, staring at his ceiling, replaying the memory of Seungmin’s eyes and that gun.

Three knocks.

Cold tone.

“It’s for your own good.”

He groaned, slapping a pillow over his face.

For my own good?

Yeah, right.

You pulled a gun on someone, Seungmin, not offered herbal tea.

He gave up on sleep entirely and decided that maybe caffeine and paperwork could fix him, or at least distract him.

So, he left his apartment early, half convinced every shadow on the street wasn't Seungmin following him, and half wishing it actually was.

The café looked unnervingly peaceful when he arrived.

He unlocked it, flipped the sign, and started prepping the counter in the silence.

For the first time in days, things almost felt normal.

Until the black car appeared.

He froze mid-motion, heart dropping straight to his stomach.

That exact car, sleek, tinted, expensive, the one Seungmin had climbed into the night Changbin saw everything.

He backed up a step, watching as the door opened.

Not Seungmin.

Jeongin.

Changbin blinked.

Jeongin stepped out of the car, grinning, brushing his hair back like some K-drama main lead about to ruin someone’s marriage.

Then another man got out from the driver’s side, tall, built, and suspiciously calm.

They exchanged a look, said something too soft to hear, and then the man leaned down and kissed Jeongin.

Changbin’s soul left his body.

By the time Jeongin bounced into the café, humming, Changbin was waiting, arms folded, expression darker than a triple espresso.

Jeongin froze instantly.

“...Hyung?”

Changbin’s voice was flat.

“Whose car was that?”

Jeongin blinked innocently.

“What car?”

“The black one.”

“Oh. That one.” He scratched his cheek.

“Uh… my boyfriend dropped me off.”

Changbin stared.

“Boyfriend.”

Jeongin nodded nervously.

“Yeah?”

“The one who drives a car that looks like it belongs to an underground hitman?”

“...I mean, technically, you’re not wrong.”

“WHAT.”

Jeongin flinched so hard a spoon clattered off the counter.

Changbin took a step forward, eyes sharp.

“Jeongin, I’m only going to ask once. Who was that?”

Jeongin gulped.

“Chan.”

“Chan who?”

“...Christopher?”

“Jeongin.”

“Okay fine! He’s kind of-sort of- the leader of a thing. A group. You know. Organization.”

Changbin’s hands dropped to his sides.

“A gang.”

Jeongin winced.

“That’s such an ugly word.”

“Jeongin, that’s literally the word!”

“Okay but hear me out-”

“No! You hear me!” Changbin snapped, stepping closer.

“Why was Seungmin in the same car last night?”

Jeongin blinked rapidly.

“...You saw that?”

“Of course I saw it! Do you think I’d mistake a man for someone else after watching him pistol-whip a guy?”

Jeongin paled instantly.

“Oh my god, he what-”

“Don’t you dare act like you don’t know!”

Jeongin opened his mouth, closed it again, then sighed and rubbed his temples.

“Okay fine. Yes. I know Seungmin. Everyone knows Seungmin. He’s Chan’s right-hand man.”

Changbin froze.

“Right-hand what?”

“Man,” Jeongin said miserably.

“Like… top-tier enforcer. Mafia-type stuff. You know. But he’s… he’s not that bad once you get used to him.”

“Not that bad?” Changbin hissed.

“He pointed a gun at someone and threatened me!”

Jeongin lifted a finger.

“Did he shoot you?”

“NO!”

“Then see? That’s his version of polite.”

Changbin’s brain short-circuited.

“Jeongin, this isn’t normal!”

“I know!” Jeongin said, throwing his hands up.

“But you have to understand, Seungmin’s actually one of the more stable ones in the group. Chan’s trying to keep things calm, you know, less violence, more strategy. It’s-”

“Why are you explaining the mafia to me like it’s a PR campaign?!”

Jeongin cringed.

“Because you’re yelling and I panic under pressure!”

Changbin dragged his hand down his face, muttering,

“Oh my god, I’m surrounded by criminals.”

Jeongin crossed his arms, indignant.

“I’m not a criminal! I just… date one.”

“Jeongin.”

“What?”

“That’s literally the definition of being an accessory.”

“Oh my god, hyung, please don’t use legal terms right now, I’m sweating-”

Changbin cut him off, voice dropping low.

“How long have you known Seungmin?”

Jeongin hesitated.

“...A while...”

“And you didn’t think to mention this when he started coming here every day?”

“I didn’t want to freak you out!”

“Well, congratulations!”

Changbin snapped.

“Mission failed!”

Jeongin groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“Chan’s gonna kill me for this.”

“Good,” Changbin said bitterly.

“Then maybe I won’t have to die alone!”

There was a long pause.

“...Can I still make the croissants?” Jeongin asked weakly.

Changbin turned slowly, disbelief painted across his face.

“We’re discussing the mafia and you’re talking about pastries?”

“Well,” Jeongin said,

“if they’re gonna kill us, I’d rather die with carbs.”

Changbin blinked, then let out a strangled laugh

. “You’re insane.”

“I’m coping,” Jeongin said miserably.

“Poorly.”

“I learned from the best.”

The bell over the door jingled as a customer entered,  just as the black car pulled away again outside.

Jeongin tried to breathe normally.

Changbin stood there, half-glazed, mind spinning with far too many realizations.

He had flirted with a man who could kill someone without blinking.

He had been threatened by said man.

And somehow, he still couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Chapter Text

It had been days.

Days since Seungmin had threatened Changbin, days since the man had seen the cold, deadly edge behind his eyes.

Days since Seungmin’s world had collided with the quiet, dependable rhythm of the café.

And yet, here he was.

Again.

The bell above the door jingled, cheerfully oblivious to the storm inside him.

He paused at the entrance, eyes scanning.

Changbin was already behind the counter, moving too quickly, too frantically.

The apron wasn’t enough to hide the tremor in his hands.

His jaw was tight, his ears pinker than usual.

He looked… terrified.

Perfect.

Seungmin leaned against the counter’s edge, the coffee aroma filling his senses.

He let the tiniest corner of his mouth twitch upward, but only the barest hint, enough for Changbin to notice, he hoped.

“You… want your usual?” Changbin asked, voice slightly too high-pitched, eyes darting around as if the room held some hidden threat.

“Yes,” Seungmin said flatly, already knowing this could go hilariously wrong.

Changbin nodded quickly, nearly bumping the milk frother into the grinder, then glancing nervously at him again.

He muttered something under his breath and went to work.

Seungmin observed quietly, every detail memorized:

The way Changbin’s shoulders tensed when a customer approached, the way his hands shook ever so slightly while tamping the coffee grounds, the occasional stutter in his movements like he wasn’t entirely sure how to use the machine today.

And then, catastrophe.

Changbin handed him a cup.

Seungmin lifted an eyebrow, noticing instantly the foam heart was lopsided.

He took a sip.

“…Cappuccino?”

Changbin’s eyes went wide.

“Uh… no, no, I mean… yes! Well, no- it’s your- ”

His words stumbled over themselves as he grabbed the cup again.

Seungmin just raised a brow and let the silence stretch.

The next disaster came seconds later: a cup of tea somehow ended up in front of him.

Changbin flinched when Seungmin picked it up.

“Uh- wait, that’s… I mean, coffee! Right! Yes! Coffee!”

Seungmin let the corner of his mouth twitch again.

Changbin’s frantic fumbling was… entertaining.

He had come to the café to make sure Changbin didn’t mention last week.

But watching him panic like this?

That was a different kind of reward.

A customer approached.

Changbin tried to take their order but called them by the wrong name.

Then another customer came, and he nearly dropped a tray of pastries.

Jeongin appeared behind him, probably to stop the inevitable disaster, but Changbin just waved him off.

“I’ve got this! Totally fine!”

Seungmin tilted his head, amused in that quiet, cold way he reserved for moments like this.

He was supposed to be irritated.

Angry.

He was angry about the fact that Changbin had seen him that night.

That Changbin had seen the mafia side of him.

But that anger kept tangling itself with… curiosity.

Fascination.

The pull of watching the man he had been obsessed with for weeks completely lose control in front of him.

He sipped the wrong drink again, the foam burned slightly because Changbin had accidentally overheated it.

The man froze.

“…It’s… fine,” Seungmin said, voice deceptively calm, letting the sharp, cold undertone linger.

“I like it hot.”

Changbin’s ears turned a deeper shade of red.

He fumbled for a towel, nearly smacking over a glass of water, muttering under his breath.

Seungmin could hear every tiny sound:

the shaking of his hands, the gulping back of breath, the stutter of his words.

And he wanted to reach out.

He wanted to steady the man, put a hand on his shoulder, say,

“Calm down.”

But he didn’t.

Instead, he let Changbin crash and burn in slow motion, savoring every panicked movement.

He could see the fondness in the way Changbin’s eyes flicked to him despite the terror, the way his lips twitched nervously as he tried to regain composure, pretending to other customers that nothing was wrong.

He caught a glimpse of Changbin’s hands trembling as he finally handed him the correct coffee now with the foam slightly off-center, but edible.

Seungmin picked it up.

“Thank you,” he said, voice low, teasingly calm.

Changbin blinked,

“Y-You’re welcome…” His voice cracked.

A tremor of fear, panic, and something else, admiration? -was laced in his tone.

Seungmin took a slow sip, eyes still on him.

He let the smallest, almost imperceptible smirk play on his lips.

Changbin looked away, knocking over a small sugar jar in the process.

Seungmin leaned forward slightly.

“…Careful.”

Changbin’s hands froze. “…Yes.”

He bent to clean the sugar, knees shaking slightly, muttering incoherently under his breath.

Seungmin’s gaze lingered.

Not maliciously.

Not threateningly.

Curious.

Observing.

Waiting.

Every time Changbin tried to straighten himself, he tripped over his own feet, knocking another cup.

Seungmin swallowed a laugh, pressing the back of his hand against his mouth.

He couldn’t laugh.

It wasn’t appropriate.

But the corners of his eyes betrayed him.

He should leave.

He should.

But he didn’t.

Because for all the chaos, all the terror, all the almost embarrassing disasters, Changbin’s earnestness, his effort to keep the day running despite trembling hands, flustered voice, and panicked blush, it was intoxicating.

Seungmin let his eyes follow every movement.

He let his mind catalog the trembling hands, the soft jawline, the reddened ears, the slight tilt of the shoulders when Changbin tried to act normal.

It was… almost too much.

Finally, when the rush died down for a moment, Seungmin rose, leaving a few bills on the counter even though the drink had been wrong twice.

“Keep the change,” he said, voice steady, calm.
Changbin froze, mouth opening as if to say something, then swallowed and nodded mutely.

Seungmin tilted his head.

“Try not to burn the place down while I’m gone,” he said.

And then he was gone.

The door jingled behind him.

Changbin blinked, heart racing.

He stood frozen for a long moment, hands trembling, trying to breathe normally.

Jeongin appeared behind the counter.

“Hyung… are you okay?”

Changbin glared at him, still pale.

“No. No, I am not okay.”

Jeongin just smirked.

“Looks like someone’s got it bad.”

Changbin muttered under his breath.

“…I do not. Shut up.”

And yet, as he wiped down the counter for the tenth time that morning, his thoughts kept returning to Seungmin, calm, collected, watching, always watching, making him tremble even while his chest warmed with an involuntary fondness he couldn’t explain.

He was terrified.

And utterly… hooked.

Chapter Text

Seungmin had intended to enjoy this rare day off.

No meetings.

No urgent calls.

No confrontation.

Just a casual stroll through the busy streets, letting the day pass without the sharp edge of danger pressing against him.

He’d traded his usual black suit for a simple gray hoodie and worn jeans, sneakers replacing polished shoes.

Even dressed down, his presence was impossible to ignore:

Broad shoulders, controlled posture, a quiet aura that drew wary eyes.

He didn’t care.

Today, he wanted to be… normal.

He hadn’t expected normal to find him.

From a block away, Changbin’s ears twitched.

He had errands:

Groceries, snacks, small necessities to fill the cupboards at home.

The streets were alive with smells of fresh bread and roasted coffee, the hum of early shoppers.

And then he heard it:

“-I told you, I want it done now!” a deep voice barked.
“No! You don’t understand-” Seungmin’s voice cut sharply in reply, tension wrapping every word.

Curiosity, his constant undoing, pulled Changbin closer.

He froze in place.

Seungmin, in casual clothes, stood squared against a man twice his size.

His expression was unreadable, jaw tight, eyes dark, and utterly dangerous.

The man’s words were sharp, referencing unfinished “business,” debts, boundaries crossed, clearly not small-time squabbles, but mafia-level threats.

Changbin’s instincts screamed at him:

Someone needs to step in.

Before he could hesitate, his feet moved.

Chest puffed out, fists slightly raised, adrenaline and panic turning him dramatic.

“Hey! Back off!” he shouted.

His voice cracked slightly from the panic, but it carried enough to make the man glance at him.

“And who are you?” the man demanded, looking him over with amused incredulity.

Changbin’s eyes met Seungmin’s, who had just turned to notice him, eyes widening and jaw tightening.

Without thinking, with all the misplaced confidence panic gave him, Changbin said, proudly and loudly:

“His boyfriend.”

Time seemed to stop.

Seungmin froze, stunned, disbelief flashing across his face.

“…What?” he muttered under his breath, as the man’s smirk widened.

“His… boyfriend?” the man repeated, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Really?”

Changbin nodded.

“Yep. Definitely. Handsome, scary, super strong boyfriend. You don’t want any trouble.”

The man’s smirk grew into a grin.

“Fair enough,” he said, stepping back, chuckling, then disappearing down the street.

Changbin spun to Seungmin, puffed up with pride.

“See? I saved you!”

Seungmin’s hands shot out, shoving him back sharply.

“Do you have any idea what you just did?” His voice was low, dangerous, full of frustration.

“You could have gotten yourself killed!”

Changbin blinked, confused.

“I… I mean… you were being yelled at! Someone had to help. I saved you!”

Seungmin clenched his jaw, voice tight.

“Leave me alone, Changbin. Now. None of this is your business and I'm not a damsel in distress who needs saving. You don’t- don’t ever-” He stopped himself, taking a breath, attempting to regain composure.

And yet… in the back of his mind, a small, dangerous thrill gnawed at him.

That audacity.

That ridiculous, reckless chest puffed out like he owned the world.

He called me… his boyfriend.

Seungmin scowled, glaring down the street as Changbin’s wide-eyed, clueless gaze followed him.

He should have been furious.

And he was.

And yet, a corner of his mind couldn’t stop replaying that word: boyfriend.

The way Changbin had thrown himself into danger, unthinking, unafraid, had been insane… and exhilarating.

And infuriating.

Seungmin’s shoulders tightened.

Why am I thinking about this like it matters?

Changbin, still oblivious, adjusted his stance as if preparing for applause.

“You’re welcome, by the way. You can thank me later.”

Seungmin shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

“You don’t understand, do you? Stay out of my life. Out of my work. Out of… everything that matters to me. This doesn’t involve you, Changbin. You weren’t supposed to see any of this. Not like this.”

Changbin blinked, still grinning.

“But I did see. And I helped. Isn’t that… good?”

Seungmin’s hands curled into fists.

He turned away, voice low and dangerous.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

As he walked, Seungmin’s thoughts churned.

He should be furious at the audacity.

He was furious, oh, how furious he was.

But beneath that, a small, insistent heat pulsed at the edges of his chest.

Bold.

Chaotic.

Reckless.

Infuriatingly human.

And addictive.

He remembered the way Changbin had stood there, chest out, not a hint of fear in his face.

He remembered the smirk, the pride, the way he had thrown himself into the unknown without hesitation.

Seungmin’s steps slowed, just for a moment, as he ran his mind over every detail.

The broad shoulders, the stance, the way his ears had likely been pink under that confident mask.

He shook his head, trying to expel the thought.

I should hate him for this.

I do hate him for this.

And yet… he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Obsessive.

It was not romantic.

Not entirely.

Not yet.

It was the reckless adrenaline that Changbin had brought into his otherwise controlled world.

The way his presence made him react, made him lose just a fraction of the careful composure he worked so hard to maintain.

Seungmin’s fingers flexed at his sides.

He had to focus.

He had to stay sharp.

But a part of him, a dangerous, stubborn, unacknowledged part, knew he would replay this moment again and again.

That audacious declaration, that clueless bravery… it had dug its hooks in deep.

And he hated it.

And he wanted more.

The thrill was as addicting as a drug.

But are these spontaneous bursts the only way he could get that thrill he has been craving?

Chapter Text

Seungmin was moving a small shipment down a narrow alley, his usual calm and methodical rhythm keeping him safe.

He’d handled dozens like this before, small risks he could control, people he could predict.

But that illusion shattered when a shadow fell across his path.

A man stepped from behind a truck, tall, confident, smirking like he owned the street.

Seungmin’s grip on the crate tightened.

“State your business,” he said, voice low, eyes sharp.

The man’s smirk widened.

“I know about someone precious to you.”

Seungmin froze.

Someone precious?

No one ever got close enough to him to be “precious.”

His pulse quickened, but not in fear of the man, fear of the implications.

“I’m listening,” he said, voice calm but body tense, eyes darting for escape routes.

“And someone can use against you.”

The words slithered through Seungmin’s mind.

He scanned the man’s face, but all he saw was amusement.

Someone could use… against him?

What kind of stupidity…?

Then the words came:

“Changbin. Your… ‘boyfriend.’”

Seungmin’s entire world stalled mid-step.

Changbin?

His mind reeled.

His chest tightened, his heart stuttered.

His vision tunneled, every detail of the man blurring except for the name that now clawed at his attention.

“Excuse me?” he asked, sharp, almost incredulous.

The man shrugged.

“Rumors, Seungmin. Word spreads fast. Everyone’s talking about your… interest in him. The barista. That guy you keep seeing.”

Seungmin’s blood ran cold.

Interest?

Him?

His fists clenched.

This wasn’t just gossip, it was exposure.

And Changbin… oblivious, innocent, completely unaware of the dangerous orbit he had just been thrown into.

He took a breath, trying to control the rising panic, trying not to think about the way Changbin’s ears would turn pink when he noticed someone looking, the way his muscles flexed naturally when he moved.

But the thought was impossible to suppress.

He’s mine to notice.

Mine to protect.

Mine, even if he doesn’t know it yet.

The man stepped closer, reading Seungmin’s mind with a smirk.

“Careful. Someone like him… someone you care about… is a weakness.”

Seungmin’s chest tightened, not from threat, but from pure thrill.

He was furious.

He was terrified.

And yet, every nerve in him tingled with the impossible thought:

He’s so… untouchable, and yet so entwined in my world I can’t control.

“What do you want?” Seungmin demanded, his voice sharper than he intended.

The man’s smirk widened.

“Just a little warning. Keep your precious barista out of your business. Or people will start using him against you.”

Seungmin’s eyes narrowed.

My business.

My life.

And now him.

His mind raced, calculating risks, scanning exit routes, considering ways to make sure Changbin never got hurt.

And in the back of his mind, there was that spark of chaotic fascination:

The thought of him there, unaware, makes my heart race.

The man finally stepped back, tipping an imaginary hat.

“Be careful, Seungmin. Not everyone gets to be as untouchable as they think.”

Then he disappeared down the alley, leaving Seungmin in silence, the air thick with dust and tension.

Seungmin’s chest heaved.

His fists unclenched, but only slightly.

His mind refused to stop racing.

Changbin.

That name repeated in his head like a mantra.

The way his ears would turn pink.

The way his fingers brushed against the counter.

The way he smiled at nothing, at customers, at life itself…

The thrill of it, the inability to control him, made Seungmin’s pulse quicken.

He had to know Changbin was safe.

He had to know he was protected.

He had to make sure no one else even thought of using him.

And the obsessive part of him, the part that had been simmering quietly every day in the cafe, blossomed fully in that moment:

The thought of Changbin, completely unaware, entirely in his world, and somehow unknowingly entwined with him.

Even walking away from the alley, his thoughts didn’t settle.

Every shadow, every passerby, every potential threat became a thought of Changbin:

What if someone tries to corner him?

What if someone tries to use him?

What if…

Seungmin’s jaw tightened.

His obsession wasn’t just desire anymore, it was vigilance, calculation, and a dark, thrilling need to keep Changbin entirely under his watch.

The way his chest tightened thinking of Changbin’s oblivious smile, his natural confidence, his small, human flaws… it was intoxicating, terrifying, and exhilarating all at once.

By the time he reached the warehouse, his usual calm exterior was back in place, but inside, every nerve screamed with the name:

Changbin.

And he knew, with absolute certainty, that this wasn’t going to fade.

Every time he saw him, every little movement, every careless smile, it would spiral further.

Obsession wasn’t a choice anymore.

It was inevitable.

Chapter Text

The café had become a strange sort of routine for Seungmin.

Every few evenings, when the world outside his organization turned too loud, too heavy, he would slip into the quiet space that smelled of espresso and sugar and watch chaos pour milk into cups.

Changbin.

The man was a mess, loud when he was trying to be quiet, clumsy when he was trying to be graceful.

Still flinching when Seungmin entered, still avoiding his gaze most days.

Yet he was here, as always, sleeves rolled, hair back, eyes bright in a way that felt too raw for the dull world Seungmin lived in.

Seungmin sat in his usual corner, coffee untouched, pretending to read messages from Chan while really… just watching.

It had been almost peaceful.

Until he walked in.

The man looked out of place, his jacket too thick for the weather, his eyes darting too quickly.

Seungmin clocked him instantly.

Not a civilian.

Not one of theirs either.

A dealer, maybe.

A drifter trying to find new channels.

Seungmin ignored him at first, this wasn’t his business, not yet.

Until the man leaned on the counter and whispered something to Changbin.

That made Seungmin’s head lift immediately.

A flicker of annoyance burned in his chest before he even realized why.

He couldn’t hear the words, just the tone, too smooth, too friendly.

Changbin nodded awkwardly, smiling the way he did with customers, clueless and warm.

It was such a stupid, naive thing to do that Seungmin’s jaw clenched.

He leaned back, pretending to scroll his phone, but his attention sharpened like a blade.

The man’s words got softer, Changbin leaned in slightly, confusion in his brows.

Then, to Seungmin’s disbelief, the idiot actually followed the man outside.

“Of course you did,” Seungmin muttered, standing.

His chair scraped the floor with a sound that made Jeongin look up behind the counter.

“Hey, where is he going?”

“Cover the floor,” Seungmin cut him off, tone cold enough that Jeongin immediately nodded.

Outside, the sun was already lowering, painting the street gold.

Seungmin followed them around the corner, silent, practiced, and then stopped.

The man had pulled out a small black pouch, fingers twitching.

He opened it and revealed small white pills glinting in the light.

Seungmins heart stopped at the sight.

Those weren't theirs and nor were those from any other organisation he knew.

New pills in their district?

“Try it,” the man said.

“It’s like heaven. You add this to your coffee blend, you’ll have lines out the door, man. Everyone will want it.”

Changbin blinked, shoulders tense but not from fear, just confusion.

“Heaven, huh? Sounds fake. Also, that’s… kind of expensive, don’t you think?”

He even laughed.

Seungmin pressed a hand over his face, whispering a curse.

He’s going to get himself killed before I even finish my coffee.

The man’s smile dropped. “Do you think I’m joking with you?”

When Changbin shrugged, and the man growled, the knife flashed out.

That was the moment everything slowed.

Changbin didn’t even step back,  he snapped instead, raising his voice like he was arguing with a customer over a wrong order.

“Hey! What the hell is your problem-”

The thrill hit Seungmin like lightning.

That recklessness, that absolute lack of self-preservation, it made something dark and electric curl inside him.

He didn’t even think before he moved.

His hand grabbed the man’s wrist before the blade could get closer.

One twist, one punch, bone cracked, the knife clattered to the ground, and the man stumbled back, cursing before running, his hands gripping into his nose which was now dripping blood, leaving a trail on the wet concrete.

The sound of his boots disappeared down the street.

Seungmin turned.

Changbin was standing there, eyes wide, mouth half open, breathing hard.

His shirt was slightly pulled at the collar from the scuffle, hair a mess.

And Seungmin hated the way that sight did something to him.

“What,” Changbin started, “the hell was that?”

“What was that?” Seungmin’s voice dropped low, sharp.

“You followed a stranger out of the café, into an alley, to talk about pills, and you’re asking me that?”

Changbin frowned.

“He said they were for coffee-”

“Do you believe everything people say to you?” Seungmin snapped.

“Do you have any idea who that was?”

“Do you?”

That shut him up for a second.

Changbin crossed his arms, still standing firm despite the difference in their presence.

“Because from where I’m standing, you look like you just beat someone up in public.”

Seungmin exhaled slowly.

He wanted to be furious, he was furious, but it mixed with something hotter, something dangerously close to fascination.

Changbin didn’t cower.

Not even now.

His voice was shaking, maybe, but he didn’t back down.

“You’re reckless,” Seungmin said finally, quieter.

“You’re bossy,” Changbin shot back. “Why do you even care?”

“Because you’re going to get yourself killed one day,” Seungmin said, stepping closer, too close.

“And I-”

He stopped.

His throat locked on the words he couldn’t explain.

Because what could he say?

Because I can’t stand the thought of someone else touching you, hurting you, taking away the one thing that makes me feel alive again?

Changbin tilted his head, searching his face.

“You… can’t control me, you know.”

The words hit like a spark.

Seungmin’s eyes flickered, not anger now, something colder, deeper.

Control.

Possession.

The sharp edge of obsession that had been growing since the first day Changbin smiled at him.

His voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet enough to feel like a threat.

“Don’t test that theory.”

Changbin froze, unsure if it was a joke.

Seungmin didn’t clarify.

He turned, adjusting his cuffs, heartbeat too fast, the rush of adrenaline and something darker still thrumming in his chest.

As he walked away, he could feel it, that same thrill, crawling under his skin.

He had almost lost control back there.

But worse… he had liked it.

The way Changbin’s defiance tasted.

The way he didn’t flinch even when Seungmin’s voice dipped into danger.

Later that night, sitting alone in his car outside his building, Seungmin replayed the moment in his mind, the knife, the scuffle, Changbin’s voice saying, you can’t control me.

He gripped the steering wheel, jaw tight.

Because he knew exactly what was happening.

And he didn’t want it to stop.

Chapter Text

Changbin told himself he was fine.

Fine with Seungmin showing up every morning.

Fine with the way Seungmin’s voice always made him jump.

Fine with how his heart kept stuttering whenever those dark eyes glanced his way.

He wasn’t fine.

He was scrubbing the espresso machine like his life depended on it when the bell over the café door rang.

The usual sound, just a soft ding,bbut it might as well have been a gunshot.

Seungmin was here.

Again.

“Morning,” Seungmin said in that voice that always sounded like he’d planned the entire day out already.

Calm, quiet, too composed for the small, messy café he somehow kept coming back to.

“Morning,” Changbin muttered, trying to act busy.

He wasn’t even pretending very well; his hand was trembling just enough to rattle the cup he picked up.

“You’re open early ,” Seungmin noted, sitting down at his regular seat.

“That’s new.”

Changbin shrugged, wishing he could crawl into the coffee grinder.

“Yeah, I, uh, just felt like it.”

It wasn’t true.

He’d come early because he’d had a dream about Seungmin’s voice saying his name.

He hated that.

“Your usual?” Changbin asked, still facing the machine.

“Actually…” Seungmin paused.

“Sit.”

The word sliced through the air, low and direct.

And before Changbin could think, before he could even pretend to hesitate, his body obeyed.

He sat down.

Across from Seungmin.

He blinked.

“I-uh-there are customers-”

“There aren’t it's way too early.” Seungmin interrupted smoothly.

“Sit.”

And that was that.

Changbin stared at him.

Something about the way Seungmin’s tone didn’t even need to threaten made his stomach twist.

He didn’t sound like a man who’d give orders, he sounded like someone who was used to being obeyed.

“So,” Seungmin began, folding his hands around his cup.

“You’ve been getting involved with things you shouldn’t.”

Changbin winced.

“It wasn’t on purpose!”

Seungmin’s gaze didn’t waver.

“You followed a man into an alley.”

“He said it was business-related!”

“With pills.”

Changbin groaned and slumped.

“Okay, yeah, bad call.”

Something flickered in Seungmin’s expression.

Not quite anger, not amusement either, something heavier.

He leaned back slightly, eyes scanning Changbin like he was trying to decode him.

“Why?” Seungmin asked finally.

“Why what?”

“Why do you keep running into things that could get you killed?”

Changbin frowned, genuinely thinking.

“I don’t know. It’s not like I’m trying to, things just happen around me.”

That earned him the smallest sound, a low, short laugh that almost didn’t sound real.

Changbin blinked.

Did Seungmin just laugh?

He tilted his head. “Did you just-”

“No.”

“You totally did.”

“Finish your coffee,” Seungmin said, ignoring him.

And that was it again, that quiet command that made something in Changbin’s spine tighten.

He picked up the cup, even though he didn’t remember ordering one.

He didn’t get it.

He didn’t understand why his body reacted like that, why every time Seungmin said something like sit or stay still or even just said his name, his muscles moved before his brain could argue.

He tried to focus on his drink instead.

“So… this a mafia check-up or something?” he joked weakly.

Seungmin looked at him flatly.

“You think this is funny?”

“No,” Changbin said quickly.

“It’s just- you’re sitting here like we’re friends.”

“We’re not.”

The words hit a little too sharp.

He didn’t know why they stung, but they did.

He looked away.

“Right. Forgot. You don’t remember things like… that.”

Seungmin’s brow lifted.

“Like what?”

Changbin froze.

He hadn’t meant to say that.

But now it was out there, dangling between them, like a spark that could burn through everything.

Seungmin leaned forward slightly.

“What are you talking about?”

Changbin swallowed hard.

“Nothing.”

Seungmin didn’t look convinced.

“You’re hiding something.”

“I’m not!”

The lie came out too fast.

Too obvious.

And Changbin realized something that made his stomach flip.

Seungmin really didn’t remember that night.

The bar.

The warmth.

The slow, careful way he’d leaned close, too close, and murmured something Changbin couldn’t forget no matter how hard he tried.

The way his hands caressed his body.

He remembered everything.

And Seungmin remembered nothing.

“Forget it,” Changbin muttered, standing up.

His hands were shaking slightly.

“You were drunk, that’s all.”

Seungmin’s eyes followed him.

“When?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Changbin said too quickly.

He turned away, pretending to tidy a counter that didn’t need tidying.

But he could feel it, Seungmin’s stare on his back, steady and unreadable.

After a few long seconds, Seungmin stood too.

His chair scraped quietly against the floor.

“Changbin.”

He froze again.

“That night,” Seungmin said, voice lower now, thoughtful.

“Was I… unkind?”

Changbin’s breath caught.

“No,” he said finally. “You were… different.”

Seungmin didn’t respond to that.

He just hummed, softly, like he was thinking about something he couldn’t quite name, and left.

The door shut behind him.

The café felt smaller after that.

Jeongin came out from the back, chewing on a biscotti.

“You okay? You look like someone just confessed to a crime.”

Changbin rubbed his face.

“Something like that.”

He didn’t tell Jeongin that every time Seungmin spoke, his body moved on instinct.

He didn’t tell him that he could still hear Seungmin’s voice saying sit in his head.

Or that he’d never felt more terrified, and more drawn, to someone in his life.

And somewhere in the city, Seungmin was probably sitting in his car, wondering why his chest tightened every time Changbin obeyed without thinking,
why he kept remembering the look on Changbin’s face, even if he didn’t remember the night that started it all.

Chapter Text

Seungmin hadn’t meant to lose his composure.

He prided himself on control, the kind that kept his pulse steady when someone pointed a gun at him, the kind that made people flinch before he even raised his voice.

But control didn’t explain why, when he’d said sit, Changbin’s body had obeyed before his mind did.

It didn’t explain the way his breath caught in his throat when Changbin’s eyes lifted to him, startled, obedient, confused, like a reflex.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like that.

He sat behind the wheel of his car now, hand still on the gearshift, the ghost of that moment replaying on a loop in his head.

“Sit.”

The word echoed like a command he wanted to test again.

Seungmin leaned his head back, eyes closing.

He had said it casually.

He’d meant it as a way to control the situation, to make sure Changbin stopped fidgeting and actually listened.

But the second Changbin sat down, without hesitation, something in Seungmin’s chest twisted in a way he couldn’t name.

It wasn’t power.

He knew power.

He lived with it, dealt with it, bled for it.

This was something else, something sharper, deeper.

More intimate.

His fingers drummed against the steering wheel.

His jaw ached from how tightly he’d been clenching it.

And then there was that line.

“Right. Forgot. You don’t remember things like… that.”

That.

Seungmin’s eyes opened slowly, gaze unfocused.

He’d asked what Changbin meant, and the idiot had dodged the question like a guilty child.

What did he mean?

What “night”?

His mind ran through the past months, the scattered glimpses of Changbin’s nervous smiles, the quiet stares, the strange tension that had always hummed between them.

Had something happened?

He’d been drunk before, sure, but not that drunk.

…Had he?

Seungmin exhaled shakily, gripping the wheel until his knuckles turned white.

The thought of losing control like that, of forgetting a moment that clearly meant something to Changbin, made his stomach churn.

He didn’t like not knowing.

He didn’t like being blind to something that involved him, and especially not when it involved...

Changbin.

He hated that name, hated how it lingered on his tongue even in his thoughts.

He’d tried to convince himself it was annoyance.

Irritation at the man’s recklessness, his stupid courage, his constant need to stand up for people he didn’t understand.

Or maybe the attraction he has for his body.

But then Changbin had looked at him today, eyes wide, voice trembling slightly, still managing to argue back, and Seungmin had realized it wasn’t annoyance.

It was fascination.

And it was spreading like a fever.

He’d been calm in the café, careful, deliberate, cold.

But now, alone in the car, every wall he’d built around himself started to crack.

“Why did you obey?” he muttered under his breath, fingers tapping against the steering wheel.

“You didn’t even think. You just… listened.”

He wasn’t supposed to like that.

He wasn’t supposed to imagine saying it again, to see if Changbin would react the same way, if his body would tense or move at just a word.

The thought shouldn’t make his pulse quicken, but it did.

He laughed softly, the sound hollow in the quiet car.

“This is insane,” he told himself.

“You’re insane.”

A flicker of movement outside the windshield broke through the fog in his head.

Seungmin stilled.

Someone was moving near the corner of the street, a shadow slipping between the light from the café windows and the dark alley beside it.

He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes.

The figure’s hood was pulled low, face hidden.

But something about the stance, the way he glanced around nervously-

Recognition hit like a blade.

It was the same man from earlier.

The one who’d tried to sell pills to Changbin.

Seungmin’s entire body went tense.

He pushed open the car door and stepped out quietly, his boots making almost no sound on the pavement.

The man hadn’t seen him yet.

Seungmin approached, slow, calculated, every bit of calm he’d lost earlier coiling back into place.

“Hey,” he said softly.

The man froze.

He turned his head slightly, and even though Seungmin couldn’t see his eyes, he could feel the fear.

The recognition.

And then the man ran.

Bolted, full sprint, like he’d just seen death walking toward him.

Seungmin didn’t bother chasing.

He was fast, but this man was desperate.

Desperate men were unpredictable.

Instead, his eyes caught something on the ground.

A small, silver packet.

Half-crumpled.

Pills scattered near the edge of the pavement.

Seungmin crouched down, picked one up between his fingers, and froze.

They weren’t ordinary.

He knew that shape.

That seal.

His pulse skipped.

He’d seen these before, years ago, during a shipment gone wrong.

They weren’t just narcotics; they were neurological modifiers.

Black-market biotech.

The kind of drug that didn’t just mess you up, it rewired you.

The kind that had torn through a small city once, leaving half its users dead and the rest in hospitals, hollow-eyed and broken.

Seungmin stared at the pill, something icy sinking into his gut.

Whoever was selling these wasn’t small-time.

And if they were here, in Changbin’s orbit, it wasn’t by accident.

He straightened, slipping the packet into his pocket, his mind already running through possibilities.

Heesung’s warning echoed from days ago, someone precious to you.

Seungmin clenched his jaw.

He didn’t have anyone precious.

He didn’t allow that kind of vulnerability.

And yet, the thought of Changbin’s name in someone else’s mouth made his blood run cold.

He got back into his car, starting the engine.

The reflection in the window caught his face, calm again, too calm, but his eyes were darker than before.

Changbin had no idea what kind of mess he was standing in.

And Seungmin wasn’t sure if he wanted to pull him out of it… or keep him there, just to see how far he’d bend before breaking.

The thrill that sparked through him at the thought scared him, but not enough to stop it.

Chapter Text

The café lights still glowed in the rearview mirror, soft amber spilling across the wet street.

Seungmin didn’t look back again.

The small packet sat heavy in his coat pocket,  far heavier than it should’ve been for a handful of pills.

Every time the car jolted over a bump, he could feel them shift, the faint rattle against the lining making his pulse quicken.

He didn’t go home.

Didn’t even consider it.

The steering wheel turned toward the other side of the city, toward a nondescript building tucked between an abandoned office block and a closed-down electronics store, the kind of place that looked empty even when it wasn’t.

By the time he pulled up, it was past midnight.

Inside, the light from the monitors painted the walls a faint blue.

A man sat at the main desk, sleeves rolled up, blond hair tied back, still working through a report even though he’d been told to rest.

Bang Chan didn’t sleep when things went wrong.

Seungmin pushed the door open and stepped in.

Chan looked up immediately.

“You’re early. Or late. Depends how you-” He stopped when he saw Seungmin’s face.

“What happened?”

Seungmin didn’t answer.

He reached into his pocket and placed the packet on the desk.

The faint clatter of pills against metal filled the silence.

Chan frowned.

“What the hell are those?”

Seungmin leaned against the desk, crossing his arms.

“Tell me they’re not what I think they are.”

Chan’s eyes narrowed.

He picked one up carefully, turning it under the light.

The seal glinted, faint, silver, unmistakable.

It only took a few seconds before his face darkened.

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” Seungmin said quietly.

“That was my thought too.”

Chan’s hand tightened around the pill.

“Where did you find these?”

“Outside the café,” Seungmin said.

Chan froze.

“Your café?”

“Not mine. The one I go to.”

“And what exactly were these doing outside a coffee shop?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Seungmin replied, voice low.

“There was a dealer. Same one who tried to sell something to-”

He stopped himself, jaw tightening.

He wasn’t saying Changbin’s name out loud.

Not here.

Chan tilted his head.

“To who?”

Seungmin didn’t respond.

His silence stretched a moment too long.

Then Chan said it softly, almost offhand, but with precision that cut right through him.

“Changbin?”

The air between them shifted.

Seungmin’s eyes snapped to Chan’s, sharp and startled.

“How-”

Chan’s lips quirked faintly, though his tone stayed calm.

“Jeongin.”

Seungmin blinked, thrown off.

“Jeongin?”

“He mentioned a barista he works with,” Chan said simply, leaning back in his chair.

“Someone who always gives you your order first. Someone who makes you smile without realizing it.” His voice softened, teasing, but not cruel.

“Didn’t take a genius to connect the dots.”

For once, Seungmin didn’t have a retort.

Chan let the silence sit before shifting back to the packet.

“You found these there. That means whoever dropped them either wanted you to see them, or they’re sloppy.”

Seungmin forced his composure back into place.

“The second one. I chased him. He ran. Dropped that.” He nodded at the pills.

“They’re not regular narcotics, Chan. They’re the same line from the Kowloon case.”

Chan’s eyes widened.

“You’re sure?”

“The same seal. The same cut. And the same shimmer when light hits the coating.”

“Christ.” Chan sat back in his chair, running a hand over his face.

“If those are back in circulation, someone’s either stupid or suicidal.”

“Or both.”

“You think it’s Heesung?”

“Maybe. He’s been getting bolder. And he approached me earlier this week with something about… leverage.”

Chan’s brow furrowed.

“Leverage?”

Seungmin hesitated again.

“He said he knew about someone close to me.”

Chan gave him a look.

“Someone close.”

“That’s what he said.”

Chan folded his hands.

“Then he knows exactly how to get under your skin.”

Seungmin’s gaze hardened.

“He won’t get that chance.”

Chan’s tone was steady.

“Just make sure you don’t give him one.”

He paused, then added quietly,

“If he means that much, keep him out of it. You’re good at control. Don’t lose it now.”

Control.

The word lingered like smoke as Seungmin turned and left.

Outside, the city air was sharp against his face.

He slid into his car, the packet of pills still heavy in his pocket.

Control.

He was good at it.

Always had been.

Until Changbin.

And as much as he told himself he only wanted to keep the man safe, the truth was darker, he wanted to command the situation again.

To feel that moment where a single look, a single word, made Changbin yield completely.

The pills rattled faintly as he drove off, the city lights stretching out in blurred reflections across the windshield.

Chapter Text

The café was supposed to be quiet after closing.

The smell of espresso and vanilla hung heavy in the air; the lights glowed dim and warm, and Changbin hummed softly while wiping the counter,  the kind of slow, mindless rhythm that helped him forget about the week.

Forget about Seungmin.

Or at least, try to.

He was halfway through stacking cups when the low growl of an engine rolled up outside.

A black car.

Sleek.

Clean.

Rich.

Definitely not the kind of customer who came for lattes.

If you don't count seungmin that is.

Changbin’s gut dropped.

The bell chimed, and in stepped a man who looked like he could either run a startup or a secret government agency.

His hair was silver and messy in that perfect, deliberate way.

His coat probably cost more than Changbin’s rent, but his grin was warm, too warm, the kind that made you think you could trust him, even though you knew you shouldn’t.

And behind him, Jeongin.

Hands in pockets.

Eyes darting between Chan and Changbin like he already knew this was going to be a mess.

“Evenin’,” the stranger said with a smooth, honeyed accent that didn’t match the cold weather outside.

“You still open?”

Changbin blinked.

“Uh- kind of closing, but yeah, sure. Coffee?”

The man nodded.

“Black. Two sugars. You’re Changbin, right?”

“...Yeah?”

“Right.” The stranger smiled like he already knew the answer.

“Name’s Chan.”

Chan.

Bang Chan.

The name clicked, jeongin had mentioned him once, in passing, the kind of mention that carried more weight than the words themselves.

Probably because this man is Jeongins boyfriend.

The boyfriend with the sketchy organisation.

Changbin’s brain immediately began screaming run, but his body politely ignored it and went to make the coffee.

Chan leaned his elbows on the counter like he owned it.

“Seungmin told me about this place,” he said, voice casual.

“Said the coffee’s good but the barista’s too loud.”

Jeongin choked on air.

“He-he said what?”

Chan just laughed.

“Don’t worry, he also said he keeps coming back anyway. So you must be doing something right.”

Changbin tried to act normal.

“I… guess? Maybe he just likes coffee.”

“Or maybe,” Chan said, eyes glinting,

“he likes the view.”

The spoon clattered out of Changbin’s hand.

“Wh-what?”

Jeongin was red from holding back laughter.

Chan looked positively delighted.

“Oh, come on, mate,” Chan teased, grinning.

“You really haven’t noticed? The way he stares at you when you’re not looking?”

“Kinda..? He-he glares at me,” Changbin protested, flustered.

“He’s literally terrifying.”

“Is he?” Chan tilted his head.

“Then why are your ears red?”

Jeongin laughed outright, clutching his stomach.

“Hyung, you’re gonna make him explode.”

Chan waved a hand lazily.

“Relax, I’m just teasing. You’re fine.”

Then, with perfect timing, he added under his breath,

“It’s kind of cute, though. The whole ‘grumpy mafia guy and the oblivious buff barista’ thing.”

Changbin made a strangled noise.

“Mafia-what?!”

Chan smiled, not denying, not confirming, and said instead,

“I came to ask something. Heard there’s been a few shady people hanging around.”

“Shady?” Changbin blinked.

“Oh- yeah, some guy came in a few days ago. Tried to sell me something weird. Said it would make my coffee famous.”

Chan’s teasing grin softened, but only slightly.

“Did he, now? What did he try to sell?”

“I don’t know, he-uh, pills, I think? Seungmin told him to leave.”

“Good.” Chan’s tone changed.

It was still gentle, but it carried something underneath, a quiet authority that made Changbin’s hands still.

“Those aren’t normal pills. If you see that guy again, pretend you didn’t. And don’t tell anyone, yeah?”

Changbin nodded quickly.

“Got it.”

Chan smiled, the kind of smile that could warm an entire room, or end it.

“Good boy.”

“...Excuse me?”

Jeongin immediately slapped a hand over his own mouth to stifle laughter.

Chan chuckled, absolutely unbothered.

“You listen fast. That’s rare. You should teach Seungmin how to do that.”

“I- what- why would-?!”

Chan leaned in a little, lowering his voice like he was telling a secret.

“He talks about you, you know.”

Changbin froze.

“He what?”

“Not a lot,” Chan said, swirling his coffee casually.

“Just little things. Like how you mess up his order sometimes. Or how you say ‘thanks’ twice when you hand him his cup.”

Changbin wanted to melt into the floor.

“That’s not- that doesn’t mean-”

Chan’s grin widened, pure mischief.

“You’re right. It doesn’t mean anything. Except maybe he pays a little too much attention for someone who’s supposedly annoyed.”

“Hyung,” Jeongin said between giggles,

“you’re bullying him.”

“Am I?” Chan asked innocently, sipping his coffee.

“Nah. Just keeping him alert.”

He looked at Changbin again, softer this time.

“Seriously, though, Seungmin’s got his moods. Don’t think too much about them. If he’s harsh, it’s not about you.”

“Yeah,” Changbin said, still dazed.

“I’ve kind of noticed.”

Chan chuckled.

“Good. You’re learning.”

Then, almost as an afterthought, his tone shifted again, feather-light but firm.

“And one more thing.”

Changbin glanced up.

“If I ever hear that you’ve been talking about this-”

Chan’s voice never rose, but the air around him changed, colder, heavier.

“-to anyone. About the pills. About Seungmin. about me. Anything that sounds like our business. My business”

He smiled.

That same soft, kind, heart-melting smile.

“I’ll put a bullet through your head.”

The words were so gentle that it took Changbin a full second to realize what was just said.

His heart stopped.

His throat went dry.

Jeongin sighed.

“Hyung, seriously? Stop scaring people.”

“I’m not scaring him,” Chan said brightly.

“I’m just setting boundaries.”

“Your boundaries involve bullets.”

Chan shrugged.

“It’s effective.”

He turned back to Changbin with the same fatherly warmth as before.

“Anyway, don’t overthink it, yeah? You seem like a good guy. Seungmin needs people like that around him.”

Changbin’s voice was small.

“People like… what?”

“People who make him feel normal.” Chan winked.

“Even if he’s terrible at admitting it.”

Jeongin groaned.

“Okay, enough therapy session. Let’s go before you make him cry.”

Chan laughed, patting Changbin’s shoulder on the way out.

“Good coffee, by the way. Maybe next time, I’ll come with Seungmin, and maybe a few friends.”

“Please don’t,” Changbin muttered, horrified.

Chan’s grin turned teasing again.

“Oh, I definitely will.”

The bell chimed as he left with Jeongin after a small kiss, and Changbin just stood there, staring after them, his heart a confused mess of fear, curiosity, and something dangerously close to longing to have something like them.

The rain outside had stopped, but somehow the air still felt heavy, thick with the kind of silence that meant something had shifted.

Because now, every word Chan said echoed in his mind:

'He talks about you.'

'Don’t overthink it.'

'You’re the kind he needs.'

And that was the worst part, because for the first time, Changbin wasn’t sure if that made him lucky, or already doomed.

Chapter Text

It was supposed to be an ordinary day.

A quiet morning, a strong coffee, and maybe a stolen glance or two at the man behind the counter.

Seungmin told himself he was just going to the café for a drink.

Not to stare at Changbin’s biceps.

Definitely not that.

The door chimed softly as he walked in, the scent of roasted coffee beans immediately grounding him.

Changbin stood behind the counter, rolled sleeves, black apron, that same focused frown he always had when working.

The sunlight caught the veins on his forearm and Seungmin nearly forgot how to breathe.

He cleared his throat, sitting down at his usual corner.

Calm.

Controlled.

Totally normal.

Until the door slammed open.

“Yah, Jisung, stop stealing my muffin before I muzzle you!”

Seungmin’s head whipped toward the voice.

That accent.

That chaos.

That man.

Bang Chan.

And behind him, Felix, Hyunjin, Jisung, Minho, and… Jeongin.

The entire group, strolling in like they were on vacation instead of being half the reason Seungmin’s blood pressure existed.

And to make it worse, Jeongin didn’t even glance at the counter.

He just followed Chan to the biggest booth, sat down, and pulled out his phone, completely ignoring the register and his job.

“Jeongin,” Seungmin said flatly, standing.

“Aren’t you supposed to be, oh, I don’t know, working?”

Jeongin didn’t even look up.

“Break.”

“Break?”

“Extended break.”

Seungmin pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You work here, not with them.”

Chan looked up with an easy grin.

“Correction: he is dating me, Seungmin-ah. Gives him premium status”

“Don’t remind me.”

Felix was already sliding into the seat beside Jeongin.

“This place is cozy though. Like, I’d totally date someone here.”

Hyunjin smirked.

“Yeah? Maybe Seungmin and that buff barista should test that theory.”

The air went dead silent.

Changbin, who had just walked out from behind the counter holding a tray of coffee, froze mid-step.

He blinked, once, twice, and looked like his soul had left his body.

Seungmin’s face went red so fast it rivaled the coffee machine light.

“Excuse me?”

Chan perked up.

“Oh, come on, Hyunjin, don’t say it like that. You’ll scare the poor kid.” He turned to Seungmin, grin stretching wider.

“But, you know, I did hear you have a thing for him.”

“Who told you that?!”

Chan shrugged innocently.

“Word travels. Also, Jeongin.”

“JEONGIN.”

The boy didn’t even flinch, still scrolling on his phone.

“You stared at his arms for like five minutes straight, hyung. Not exactly subtle.”

“Shut up.”

Felix giggled, covering his mouth.

“It’s okay, Seungmin, we all get it. Those forearms are criminal.”

Hyunjin added,

“Bet he could bench press your attitude.”

“HYUNJIN.”

Even Minho looked up from feeding Jisung a bite of cheesecake, smirking.

“You are kind of obvious, Seungmin-ah. You look like you’re about to interrogate him and propose in the same breath.”

Jisung snorted into his fork.

“I ship it.”

Seungmin’s composure cracked.

“Do you all have a death wish?”

Chan raised a calming hand.

“Hey, hey, relax. We’re just appreciating your taste. He’s… solid.”

He looked toward the counter.

“Hey, Changbin, right? Great arms, man!”

Changbin’s eyes went wide.

“Uh-thank you?”

Felix gasped dramatically.

“He answered! Hyung, he answered!”

Seungmin buried his face in his hands.

“I hate every single one of you.”

Chan chuckled.

“Aww, no you don’t. Come on, sit. We’ll behave.”

They absolutely did not.

When Seungmin reluctantly joined them, mostly to keep an eye on Jeongin who was sipping a latte like this was his house, Chan leaned forward, voice loud enough for the entire café to hear.

“So, Seungmin-ah,” he began with mock seriousness,

“are you two like, together-together or just silently yearning in caffeine-scented agony?”

Seungmin kicked him under the table.

Hard.

Chan didn’t even flinch.

“Because,” Chan continued, even louder now,

“if you keep staring at him like that, someone’s gonna think you’re about to kiss or arrest him!”

Changbin dropped a spoon.

It clattered onto the floor with the loudest clink in human history.

“Sorry! Sorry- uh- my bad!” he stammered, immediately crouching down to pick it up, completely pink from head to toe.

Jeongin, finally looking up, said flatly,

“Wow, he’s redder than you, hyung.”

“Jeongin,” Seungmin hissed, “go. Back. To. Work.”

Jeongin blinked.

“What work?”

Jisung was laughing so hard he had to wipe tears from his eyes.

“You two are killing me. This is the best entertainment I’ve had in weeks.”

Felix added cheerfully,

“He’s totally flustered, though. Look at him, Seungmin. You broke him.”

“Felix.”

“Yes?”

“Drink your coffee.”

“Yes, sir.”

The teasing continued until Seungmin looked about two seconds from either arresting all of them or jumping out the window.

Eventually, Chan stood, stretching, that familiar fatherly grin returning.

“Alright, break’s over. We’ve got work to do.”

Jeongin immediately got up and followed, completely ignoring Seungmin’s glare.

Chan leaned close as he passed Seungmin, voice low but warm.

“Hey. Don’t overthink it, yeah? You’re allowed to want something good.”

Seungmin froze, eyes softening just for a heartbeat.

Then Chan grinned again, calling across the café as they left,

“Thanks for the coffee, Changbin! Take care of our grumpy little guy here!”

The door shut behind them.

And the café was silent.

Seungmin sat there, face burning, and finally dared to look toward the counter.

Changbin was pretending to fix the sugar jars, but his hands were shaking, ears red, eyes darting anywhere but at Seungmin.

He looked terrified.

And beautiful.

Kinda hot.

Seungmin muttered under his breath,

“You’re going to be the death of me, Seo Changbin.”

Chapter Text

The café was nearly empty when Seungmin stood up from his seat.

The last of the evening light fell through the windows, soft gold pooling across the counter where Changbin wiped down cups.

Seungmin didn’t call his name.

He just walked over, silent steps, slow enough to be deliberate.

Changbin looked up, startled, mid-motion

“You, uh, you need something?”

Seungmin tilted his head, pretending to study the stack of saucers.

“You’re closing?”

“Yeah. Almost.”

“Good,” Seungmin said simply, and for a moment he just… stood there. Watching him.

Changbin could feel that stare like heat against his skin.

He tried to focus on the towel in his hand, on the faint hum of the coffee machine, on anything else.

And then Seungmin moved closer.

His fingers brushed Changbin’s arm, a small, harmless touch, but instead of pulling away, he let his fingertips slide slowly down, following the curve of muscle beneath the sleeve.

Changbin froze.

Seungmin’s hand moved again, this time tracing lightly up from his wrist to his elbow, almost absent-mindedly, as if he were testing texture, memorizing it.

Every brush made Changbin’s breath shorter.

“Y-You shouldn’t-”

“Shouldn’t what?” Seungmin asked, voice quiet, smooth.

“You’re- we’re- people can see.”

Seungmin’s mouth curved.

“Let them.”

Changbin’s chest tightened.

He glanced over,  Chan and the others were still lingering near the cafe, talking.

If they looked up right now-

He swallowed, catching Seungmin’s hand halfway through its next slow drag along his arm.

“Come with me,” he muttered, voice half a whisper, half a plea.

He led Seungmin toward the back room, heart beating too loud, too fast.

The moment the door closed behind them, Seungmin laughed under his breath, quiet and rich, not mocking but amused.

“You’re jumpy,” he said softly.

“Because you- you keep doing that,” Changbin hissed, trying to sound annoyed but failing.

“Touching me like- like you know what you’re doing.”

“I do.”

Seungmin reached out again, fingers sliding back to where Changbin had tried to hold them still.

He started tracing again, slow, gentle, up and down his forearm, drawing invisible patterns until goosebumps bloomed in their wake.

“See?” he murmured.

“You didn’t stop me.”

Changbin’s breath hitched.

“You- you’re unbelievable.”

“I’ve heard that,” Seungmin replied easily, his gaze dropping to where his thumb pressed softly against the edge of Changbin’s pulse.

“But you’re still letting me.”

“Because you-” Changbin started, but his voice broke, soft and helpless.

He looked down, his throat dry, his heart trying to crawl out of his chest.

“You’re confusing.”

“Am I?”

“You- you’re just-” He exhaled shakily.

“Why are you doing this?”

Seungmin paused, his fingers still resting against Changbin’s skin.

When he spoke, it was quieter, not teasing anymore.

“You heard what they said today,” he murmured.

“All that nonsense about us.”

Changbin nodded faintly.

“They weren’t completely wrong.”

Changbin blinked, confused.

“About what?”

Seungmin’s fingers started moving again, up along his arm, brushing the inside of his elbow now, slower, almost thoughtful.

“You and me,” he said.

The air grew heavier.

Changbin’s mind stuttered, part of him wanting to pull back, the other too lost in the warmth seeping under his skin.

He tried to speak, to ask what that meant, but Seungmin stepped closer, close enough that his voice dropped to a low murmur.

“If something happens between us,”

Seungmin said, “it doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Changbin blinked, startled.

“What do you,-”

“I’m saying,” Seungmin went on, his thumb tracing lazy circles near his wrist,

“we don’t have to make it complicated. Just… let it happen.”

It took a moment before Changbin understood.

And when he did, the ache in his chest turned heavy.

“Oh,” he said softly.

“Right.”

Seungmin leaned closer, not enough to touch, but close enough that Changbin could feel his breath when he spoke.

“Don’t overthink it,” he whispered.

“You’re good at following orders anyway.”

He ran his fingers one last time up Changbin’s arm l, slow, deliberate, just enough to give a firm squeeze of his bicep and then stepped back, a faint smirk curving his lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The door opened, light spilling in, and Seungmin walked out without another word, leaving Changbin standing in the dim, warm silence, still feeling the ghost of his touch on his skin.

Chapter Text

The door shut behind him.

The bell jingled once, twice, and then silence.

Seungmin stood outside the café, his pulse thrumming under his skin like he’d just sprinted through a storm.

The cold air should’ve steadied him, but it didn’t.

If anything, it made it worse.

He dragged a hand down his face, trying to shake off the image of Changbin’s expression.

That split second when Seungmin said it, when the words “something casual” left his mouth instead of what he really meant.

He had seen it all in Changbin’s eyes.

The hope.

Then confusion.

Then that small, hurt flicker before he looked away.

Seungmin exhaled shakily. “Idiot.”

He leaned against the brick wall beside the café, the chill pressing through his shirt, grounding him just enough to stop him from shaking.

He hadn’t even planned to say anything like that. He wasn’t supposed to say anything at all.

He’d gone towards changbin with one plan.

Ask him to maybe get dinner.

Just a meal.

Something small.

Something normal.

But when he’d gotten too close, when he’d felt the heat radiating off Changbin’s skin and the way his breath hitched when he brushed his fingers against his arm, everything short-circuited.

It was supposed to be a confession.

Not a proposition.

But instead, he panicked.

Because Seungmin didn’t do soft things like “dates” or “feelings.”

He did control.

He did distance.

And yet the moment Changbin looked at him with those wide, bewildered eyes, Seungmin forgot how to breathe.

He pressed his head back against the wall, staring up at the darkening sky.

The city lights blurred.

“Something casual,” he muttered under his breath, the words tasting like rust.

He wanted to bite them back.

To rewind time and say something else,  anything else.

Because he hadn’t meant casual.

He’d meant you make me lose my mind every time you look at me.

He’d meant I want to know what your laugh sounds like when it’s not nervous.

He’d meant I want to hold you without worrying that I’ll ruin you.

But that wasn’t what came out.

What came out was cold and easy and detached, the only language he knew when his heart was panicking.

And Changbin, damn him, had just nodded.

No questions, no protests, no visible anger.

Just that small, disappointed look that broke something in Seungmin’s chest he didn’t even know could break.

He shoved his hands into his coat pockets, pacing the sidewalk.

His reflection in the café window stared back, blank-faced, shoulders tight.

He wanted to go back inside.

Say something that would fix it.

But what would he even say?

Sorry, I actually like you, I just don’t know how to not screw everything up when it comes to feelings?

Pathetic.

And yet, his brain kept replaying the way Changbin had looked at him before it all went wrong, like he was waiting for Seungmin to say something that mattered.

He clenched his jaw.

His heartbeat refused to settle.

The part that terrified him most was that he meant it.

He really had wanted to ask Changbin out.

He wasn’t supposed to get attached.

He wasn’t supposed to care what someone like him thought, not when his world was already made of shadows and blood and secrets he couldn't tell.

But somehow, Changbin had slipped through all of that.

A man with a kind smile, with soft hands that made perfect coffee, who still said good morning to Seungmin like he was just another customer, not someone with blood on his hands.

And Seungmin, in all his stupid, reckless idiocy, ruined it in one breath.

He stopped pacing.

His hands were shaking.

He hated it, the vulnerability, the confusion, the feeling of wanting something he couldn’t have.

He tilted his head back again, eyes closing, inhaling the night air until his lungs burned.

He could still feel Changbin’s warmth against his fingers.

The small shiver that ran through him when Seungmin’s thumb brushed his skin.

It should’ve been a moment.

Just that, a moment.

Instead, it felt like a fault line cracking open under his feet.

He sighed, long and tired.

“Something casual,” he said again, quieter this time, almost like an apology.

He didn’t even realize his voice trembled.

Then, as if mocking him, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

He glanced down.

A message from Chan.

Chan:

-Coke early tomorrow I found a lead.

Seungmin stared at the text for a long moment, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

Then he typed back:

-Fine, I'll be there, just leaving.

Chan’s reply came almost instantly.

Chan:

-Leaving like “we need to clean up a mess” or complicated like “you’re catching feelings”?

Seungmin groaned and shoved the phone back in his pocket before he could answer.

The worst part was, Chan wasn’t wrong.

He was catching feelings.

And for the first time in his life, he had no idea how to handle it.

Chapter Text

Changbin wasn’t sulking.

He told himself that for the third time that morning as he sat at his kitchen table, aggressively stabbing his cereal.

He wasn’t sulking, he was just... thinking.

Reflecting.

Deep introspection or whatever.

Totally not sulking over how Seungmin basically offered him a casual thing instead of an actual confession after brushing his damn fingers down his arm like he wanted to set him on fire.

Totally not sulking that he hadn’t gotten a single message since.

Nope.

Just another normal day.

He sighed, shoving his chair back and deciding to go out.

He needed fresh air, and maybe some snacks.

He was halfway to the market when the universe decided to ruin his life again.

“Changbin-hyung!”

He turned and immediately regretted it.

Felix was jogging up to him with a bag of churros in one hand and a blinding smile, Hyunjin trailing behind like a man resigned to his fate.

“Oh, no,” Changbin muttered.

“No no no-”

“Hyung!” Felix beamed, already linking their arms.

“You’re free today, right?”

“Uh, kinda. Why?”

“Perfect! You can come with us!”

“Come with you where?” Changbin asked suspiciously.

Felix’s smile brightened.

“A little job.”

Hyunjin groaned.

“It’s not little, Lix. There are like, guns.”

Changbin froze.

“...Guns?”

But Felix was already dragging him along, humming.

“Don’t worry, we’ll protect you! Right, Hyun?”

Hyunjin sighed, flipping his hair.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever. Let’s go before Chan kills us for being late again.”

20 Minutes Later-

Changbin was definitely going to die.

They were crouched behind a dumpster, and Felix was grinning like this was a theme park ride.

Across the alley, a group of men were yelling and waving weapons around like they were in a bad action movie.

“Okay,” Felix whispered.

“When I say go, we go in and get the box.”

“What box?” Changbin hissed.

“The shiny one.”

“The shiny one that’s surrounded by men with knives?!”

Felix blinked innocently.

“You’ll do great.”

“I’m a barista, not Batman!”

“Close enough!”

Then Felix actually ran out there, laughing, Hyunjin following reluctantly with a muttered

“I’m too pretty for this.”

Changbin stood frozen for a full three seconds before yelling,

“WHY AM I HERE-” and ducking as a bullet pinged off the wall near him.

He ran after them because apparently self-preservation didn’t exist today.

Felix was kicking someone with alarming enthusiasm, Hyunjin was fixing his hair mid-punch, and Changbin was just trying not to hyperventilate.

At one point he accidentally hit someone with a bag of coffee beans he’d bought earlier.

It actually worked, which only made him panic more.

“This is not decaf behavior!” he screamed as Felix laughed so hard he almost dropped the box.

“See?” Felix yelled back.

“You’re a natural!”

“I WANT A REFUND ON MY LIFE!”

Later, At the “Meeting”

Changbin didn’t even know how Felix convinced him to follow them to their headquarters.

He’d tried to escape three times, but Felix’s grip was unbreakable, for someone so small.

They walked into a room that screamed expensive danger, marble floors, low lighting, Jisung sitting on Minho’s lap making out like it was an everyday occurrence.

Probably was.

Changbin’s jaw dropped.

Then his heart stopped.

Because sitting across from them, looking bored and sharp and very much not supposed to see him here, was Seungmin.

Seungmin blinked once.

Then twice.

Then choked on his own breath.

He slammed his hand on the table loud enough to echo in the room and for Minho and Jisung to stop making out.

“Felix,” he said slowly, voice already tight.

“Why is he here?”

Felix grinned.

“Oh! He came with us! We had a mission-”

Seungmin’s chair screeched back.

“YOU WHAT-”

The door opened again before he could finish, and Chan strolled in with Jeongin behind him, the both of them looking like they’d come from brunch instead of running a gang.

Chan’s smile faltered as soon as he saw Changbin.

“Oh,” he said cheerfully.

“He’s here. That’s… bold.”

Jeongin’s eyes widened.

“Oh my god.”

Seungmin looked like he was trying to hold back an aneurysm.

He grabbed Changbin’s arm,  firm, sharp, enough to make him stumble.

“We’re leaving,” he said through his teeth.

Chan raised a hand in a lazy wave.

“Try not to kill him, yeah?”

Changbin was dragged tollt he end of the building.

The second the door shut, Seungmin let go and dragged a hand down his face.

He was massaging his temple, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “I’m surrounded by idiots” before turning to glare at Changbin.

“Do you have any idea what you just did?”

Changbin blinked, still half-scared and half in shock.

“I-Felix-there were guns-”

Seungmin groaned.

“You shouldn’t have been there at all.”

“I didn’t know! They said it was a small job!”

Seungmin exhaled slowly, trying to calm himself.

His jaw was tight, but there was something else underneath the frustration, something almost like... panic?

“I wanted to meet up with you anyway,” he muttered.

Changbin froze.

“...You did?”

Seungmin looked up at him, his expression unreadable.

Then, without another word, he started shrugging off his coat.

Changbins stared and then seungmin started to unbotton his shirt.

Changbin’s brain short-circuited.

“What are you-what are you doing?”

Seungmin’s gaze snapped up, sharp and calm and lethal.

“Let’s fuck.”

The world stopped.

Changbin blinked once.

Twice.

His soul briefly left his body.

“I-WHAT-WAIT-”

Seungmin just stared, deadpan.

“You heard me.”

Changbin’s brain went blue-screen.

“I-YOU-WE-THERE WERE GUNS FIVE MINUTES AGO-”

Seungmin tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly.

“So?”

“I-I’M NOT EMOTIONALLY PREPARED FOR THIS-”

Somewhere down the hall, Felix’s laughter echoed.

Changbin could only gape, his entire face on fire, hands flailing helplessly.

“Seungmin, what the hell is happening-”

Seungmin just smirked, small, tired, but with something dark flickering behind it, and brushed his hand against him.

“i wanted to sleep with you, you know, to do something about this, ehem, attraction between us.”

Changbins breath hitched as he felt seungmins hand splay in his chest pushing him back till his back was pressed against the wall.

Seungmins warm body was flush against him.

Changbins brain could barely comprehend what was happening till seungmin whispered to him, his breath hot,

“So let's fuck Changbin-hyung.”

Oh god.

Changbin-hyung.

Chapter Text

The apartment door clicked shut behind him with a dull sound that felt too loud in the stillness.

Seungmin toed off his shoes, didn’t bother turning on the lights, and went straight to his desk.

The blue light from his laptop glared across his face as it woke.

He hadn’t planned to open it.

He told himself he’d just shower.

Or eat.

Or not think about the way Changbin’s hands looked holding a coffee cup.

Instead, he typed his name.

Seo Changbin.

The letters looked harmless.

They weren’t.

Within fifteen minutes, Seungmin was knee-deep in information that nobody sane should have access to about their local café barista.

He wasn’t proud of it.

He was methodical about it, though.

It started with harmless curiosity, the café’s website, Changbin’s employee page, a photo where he was smiling too wide and the camera caught the faint scar near his jaw.

Then it got worse.

A LinkedIn profile he forgot to make private.

A random Reddit thread complaining about “the guy at Bean Street Café who makes cappuccinos too strong but looks too soft to argue with.”

An alumni yearbook photo.

A volunteer event post from two years ago.

It was like peeling layers off a person until he wasn’t a person anymore, just details.

Data points.

And Seungmin collected them all.

He opened a document.

Titled it,

“Changbin Info (DO NOT OPEN IN PUBLIC)”

Then he started listing:

Name: Seo Changbin

Birthday: August 11 ,1999

Height: 167 cm  (probably, average of two online entries)

Education: Business diploma, dropped out after one semester (confirmed from a college newsletter mention)

Current Job: Barista, Bean Street Café (three years)

Address: …he deleted it after typing it out because even he knew that was too far.

Favorite Snack: Fried chicken or anything spicy,  ordered it twice in a row last week.

Coffee Order (for himself): Double espresso, no sugar. Makes it at exactly 6:58 every morning before opening.

Hobbies: Gym, running, collecting weird mugs (has one that says “espresso yourself”).

Allergies: Cats. Slight dust allergy (he sneezed three times last Tuesday when someone cleaned the shelves).

Notable habits: Scratches the back of his neck when nervous. Talks to himself while cleaning.

Voice: Rougher in the morning. Says “ah” when he burns his fingers, even when it doesn’t hurt.

Smiles: Too often. Dangerous.

He stared at the document.

Then at the clock. 2:47 a.m.

“Jesus,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

“What am I doing.”

But he didn’t stop.

He opened Google Maps, found the café, and traced the street routes Changbin probably took home.

He checked weather records for the past week.

Did he walk in the rain that day?

Did he get cold easily?

Then, heaven help him, he opened a calorie tracking app.

Just to, apparently, calculate how many calories Changbin might burn per shift.

It’s for analysis, he told himself.

It’s for… conversation prep.

By 3 a.m., his screen was a mess of open tabs.

A bakery review where Changbin replied once with “thanks :)”, an old group photo where he was standing half-hidden behind someone taller, an article about caffeine tolerance he bookmarked “for science.”

At one point, he whispered out loud,

“So he doesn’t like sweet coffee but eats strawberry bread?”

like it was some kind of national mystery.

He leaned back, dragging his hands down his face.

His heart was pounding, not from guilt exactly, but from the sharp, jittery thrill of knowing.

Of pulling the man he knew apart like a puzzle and realizing every piece fit too perfectly.

He closed his eyes and saw Changbin’s smile flash behind them anyway.

He opened his laptop again.

Additional notes:

Smiles with one corner of his mouth first.

Always looks a little sleepy until someone says something dumb.

Wears too-big hoodies even though his arms don’t fit in the sleeves right.

Talks gently to older customers.

Once stopped a kid from dropping ice cream by catching it mid-air.

Reflexes inhuman.

An absolute gym rat.

Probably doesn’t know how much space he takes up in Seungmin’s head.

Seungmin sighed and slumped forward, pressing his forehead against the keyboard.

He’d been sitting there for hours, no music, no lights, just the quiet hum of his laptop and the faint shaking of his leg.

He wasn’t even sure what he was trying to find anymore.

A reason?

A cure?

Something that made this obsessive spiral make sense?

Instead, all he found was the stupidly fond ache that had been building for weeks, festering under his ribs like something alive.

He clicked save.

The document name blinked up at him again:

“Changbin Info (DO NOT OPEN IN PUBLIC).”

He stared at it.

Then, under it, typed one final note:

Conclusion:

He’s just a barista.

And I’m absolutely losing my mind over him.

Chapter Text

Changbin could barely breathe, Seungmin was pressed against him his breath hot on his face.

Seungmin stared and traced him like he was memorizing every reaction, his hands roamed his shoulders, forearms ,biceps, pecs and stomach.

Squeezing every muscle like he had been planning to do every time he stared at changbin across the cafe.

Changbin felt a shiver go down his spine when Seungmins hands around his biceps, his nose almost grazing against his.

Changbin stood still, his arms pressed up at his sides, not knowing what to do with them.

He could oy stand there, trembling and feeling like seungmins every touch was setting his body on fire.

However despite this the real reason Changbin's whole body felt that it was on fire was because Seungmin, used the hyung card on him.

'Changbin hyung'.

Changbin almost fainted with that word only. So innocent on seungmins lips but just as sinful.

“your stiff, hyung.” seungmin said under his breath, as he squeezed his shoulders.

There it is again.

For a solid five seconds, Changbin forgot how to breathe.

He stood there, trapped between Seungmin’s stare and the wall, replaying that sentence like it might sound less insane the second time around.

It didn’t.

And then, as if Seungmin hadn’t just casually thrown a grenade at his sanity, the man tilted his head, his voice low and maddeningly calm.

“Relax, hyung.”

Changbin’s soul left his body.

That one word, casual, deliberate, too smooth to be an accident, hit him harder than the rest of the sentence.

It was like Seungmin had plucked it straight out of his fantasies and used it as a weapon.

His brain?
Gone.

His knees?
Weak.

His dignity?
Vanished.

Seungmin said it again, slower this time, with a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“What’s wrong, Changbin-hyung?”

Changbin was pretty sure his body temperature spiked five degrees.

His mouth opened but no sound came out.

The room spun just slightly.

“You-what-why are you calling me that?” he stammered.

“You’ve never-you don’t-”

Seungmin stepped closer.

“You don’t like it?”

“No, I- I mean, it’s- it’s fine, I just-”

He couldn’t finish.

He couldn’t think.

Because Seungmin was standing right in front of him, close enough that his voice felt like it was vibrating in his chest, close enough that every nerve in Changbin’s body screamed confusion and chaos.

Seungmin’s hands came up again, tracing his arms in that same absent, teasing motion that made Changbin’s whole body tense.

“Hyung looks cute when he’s nervous.”

Changbin made a noise that could only be described as a malfunctioning car engine.

“Stop-”

“Stop what?” Seungmin asked, too softly, too smug.

“That!”

“What?”

“Everything!”

Seungmin’s smirk widened.

“You’re going red.”

“I’m not-!” Changbin slapped his hands over his face, groaning into his palms.

“Oh my god, you’re doing this on purpose!”

“Maybe.”

The word dropped like a spark, and Changbin swore he could feel it travel down his spine.

He peeked through his fingers to see Seungmin watching him, not cold, not calculating, just entirely entertained and something else, sharper and hotter.

“You’re evil,” Changbin muttered.

“Maybe,” Seungmin said again, softer this time.

Then, with a sigh that sounded too casual, he added,

“You worry too much, hyung. I’m not going to hurt you.”

That word again.

Like a curse.

Like a promise.

Changbin couldn’t even look at him.

His heart was pounding too hard, his thoughts a blur of 'why does that sound so good?' and' I’m fucking doomed.'

Little did he know seungmin had planned more than just to destabilise his mental health.

He clearly wanted to destroy it.

Seungmin leaned even closer, so close that changbin could count every eyelash, every small blemish, and every small scar.

His breath hitched.

Seungmins hands wrapped around the fromt of his shirt, gripping it tightly and pulling himself towards him.

Changbin closed his eyes tight and held his breath.

Because in this position only one thing could happen.

Seungmin would clearly finally kiss-

Instead changbin felt his shirt being unbottoned.

He opened one eye to see what was going on and seungmin was opening his shirt and then pulling it apart, his eyes staring at his body hungrily.

Changbin stilled.

That works too I guess.

He felt seungmins hands on his bare skin, rough and soft at the same time.

Changbin could barely breathe he was sure seungmin could feel his heartbeat going crazy.

Changbin almost let out a moan or a scream when he felt seungmins knee go in-between his legs and press it.

His whole body twitched at the feeling of pleasure.

Seungmins hands grabbed Changbin's collar and did something he was not prepared for.

There were a lot of things Changbin thought he was prepared for.

Seungmin’s death glare when he spilled coffee?

Sure.

A sarcastic remark about his apron?

Expected.

A kiss in the middle of a random storage room at a mafia's HQ?

Yeah, that hadn’t made the list.

One second, Seungmin was looking at him like he was a math problem he couldn’t solve.

The next, he was tugged forward, gravity doing the rest, and his lips crashed into Seungmin’s.

The air around them snapped.

The world turned into heat and static.

Changbin’s brain short-circuited.

His hands, untrustworthy traitors, went straight to Seungmin’s waist, feeling the press of muscle beneath his shirt.

It was desperate and clumsy and electric.

And when Seungmin muttered, “Changbin hyung,” against his mouth, soft and low like he shouldn’t have known how to say it that well-

Changbin forgot English, Koreon, and probably his own name.

That’s when Seungmin’s restraint cracked too.

He’d started this, too calm, too in control, kinda sexy, but the second Changbin kissed him back, something shifted.

He made a sound, half growl, half groan, and fisted the back of Changbin’s shirt, dragging him closer, deepening the kiss until Changbin could barely breathe.

Changbin wasn’t sure who pulled harder, who wanted more, who lost first.

It didn’t matter.

What mattered was-

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE!”

They both jumped back like electrocuted cats.

Hyunjin stood at the door, clutching a box of files and a coffee cup, eyes wide as dinner plates.

“WHAT-WHAT-YOU-SEUNGMIN-CHANGBIN-WHAT IS THIS-ARE YOU-IS THIS ALLOWED?!” Hyunjin shrieked, voice cracking halfway through like he’d just seen his parents having sex.

“HYUNJIN?!” Changbin yelled back, just as loud, because apparently that’s what his panic reflex sounded like.

“WHY ARE YOU HERE?!”

“THIS IS MY JOB, WHAT’S YOUR EXCUSE?!”

Seungmin, breathless, hair ruffled, and lips definitely redder than five minutes ago, just stared at both of them, shock flickering across his usually unreadable face.

He looked like he was buffering.

Then, because the world clearly hated him, Changbin’s own brain rebooted just enough for him to realize what they must look like.

Pressed against the wall, lips swollen, breathing hard, very much not innocent.

“Oh my GOD-Hyunjin-this isn’t-this looks-okay, maybe it is what it looks like-but it’s not what it means!” Changbin stammered, gesturing wildly.

“We were just-uh-ventilating stress?”

“VENTILATING WHAT?!” Hyunjin’s voice cracked into a squeak.

He slammed the coffee down and turned to bolt.

“I CAN’T UNSEE THIS, I’M TOO PRETTY FOR THIS TRAUMA!”

He ran out of the room screaming something about bleach and therapy bills.

The silence that followed was painful.

Changbin buried his face in his hands, groaning.

“Oh my god, I’m gonna die. He’s gonna tell everyone. Chan’s gonna-Felix-Minho-Jisung-jeongin-they’re all gonna-oh, I’m so dead.”

Seungmin exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, trying to look calm but failing spectacularly.

His jaw clenched.

He looked… flustered.

Actually flustered.

For the first time, Changbin saw the crack in that perfect composure, the way Seungmin’s fingers trembled just slightly as he straightened his shirt.

Seungmin turned toward him, eyes locking on Changbin’s flushed face.

And then, in a voice that was way too low, way too serious for what just happened, he muttered,

“We’ll finish this later.”

Changbin froze.

Seungmin’s voice wasn’t angry.

It wasn’t cold.

It was dangerous.

He looked up, eyes wide.

“Wha-wait-what do you mean finish this later?!”

Seungmin leaned close again, his breath brushing Changbin’s ear, the faintest smirk curling on his lips.

“Exactly what it sounds like, hyung.”

Then he stepped back, straightened his collar, and walked out like he hadn’t just set Changbin’s entire nervous system on fire.

Changbin just stood there, staring after him, brain fried beyond repair.

He pressed his back to the wall, slid halfway to the floor, and whispered to no one in particular-

“...I think I need a doctor. Or a priest.”

Chapter Text

He shouldn’t still feel it.

The taste of Changbin, the heat, the way he’d shuddered under Seungmin’s hands, it should’ve faded by now.

But it lingered.

Like a ghost in his mouth.

Like something that wasn’t meant to be there, but now would never leave.

Hyunjin’s scream had blown everything apart.

Everyone knew.

Seungmin didn’t even try to deny it.

There was no point pretending he hadn’t kissed Changbin.

He had.

He’d wanted to for too long.

He’d told Changbin to go home. To leave.

But of course, the idiot clearly got lost.

And when Seungmin found him again, of course it had to be there, the meeting room, full of eyes, laughter, and Felix’s bright voice wrapping around Changbin’s name like a ribbon.

Felix was leaning on him.

Touching him.

A hand on his shoulder, fingers brushing his arm.

Harmless.

Playful.

But it made Seungmin’s stomach twist like he’d swallowed a blade.

He stood in the doorway, unseen for a moment, and watched.

Changbin was laughing nervously.

He didn’t even realize how easy he was to touch, how easily people reached for him.

Felix knew.

Felix always knew where to touch, how to make people smile.

And Seungmin hated him for it, not because of Felix himself, but because he could do it to
Changbin without consequences.

Seungmin wanted to walk in there and tear that hand away.

He wanted to mark every inch Felix had touched and whisper, mine until the word became a prayer.

But he didn’t.

He stood still.

He forced his heartbeat to slow.

He let the jealousy settle deep in his chest, heavy and quiet.

When Felix laughed again, head tilted, his fingers brushing against Changbin’s arm, that was when Seungmin moved.

“Felix.”

Just his name, spoken evenly.

But Felix froze like the air had turned to ice.

Seungmin walked in slowly.

Deliberate.

Measured.

He looked calm.

Always calm.

That was the dangerous part.

Everyone else had already turned toward him, but he didn’t care.

His eyes were only on Changbin.

The way he stood.

The way his lips parted when he saw him, surprise first, then guilt.

Always guilt, as if he’d done something wrong by existing too close to someone else.

Felix smiled, half-nervous.

“Hey, Minnie. Didn’t see you there.”

“I noticed,” Seungmin said quietly. “You were busy.”

Felix blinked. “Busy?”

Seungmin’s gaze flicked once, to the hand on Changbin’s shoulder, then back to Felix’s face.

He didn’t need to say it.

“Oh,” Felix muttered, awkwardly pulling his hand away. “Right. Sorry.”

Changbin shifted, eyes darting. “Seungmin, I-”

“You got lost,” Seungmin finished for him.

Changbin hesitated, then nodded.

Seungmin’s jaw tightened. “And somehow ended up here.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“I know.”

He said it softer, because he did know.

Changbin didn’t mean to do anything.

He never did.

That was the problem.

Felix, however, couldn’t stay quiet.

“You two good? You look kinda-”

“Felix.”

It was almost a whisper, but it shut him up instantly.

Seungmin stepped closer, not enough to touch, but enough that Felix instinctively moved back.

His calm voice never changed.

His tone stayed polite, polite enough to sound wrong.

“Don’t touch him again,” he said evenly.

Felix blinked. “I was just being friendly.”

“I know.”

His eyes narrowed faintly. “Don’t.”

Felix stared, caught between confusion and discomfort. “...Right.”

Behind him, Jisung mouthed a silent holy shit and Minho muttered, “I told you he’s terrifying when he’s quiet.”

But Seungmin didn’t hear them.

His eyes were still on Changbin.

He wasn’t angry anymore, not exactly. Anger would have been easier to explain.

This was something else.

Possession without violence.

Control that cost him every ounce of restraint he had.

Changbin looked at him, uncertain, like a boy standing too close to a fire.

“I didn’t think you’d come back.”

“I shouldn’t have.”

It was the truth.

But the truth didn’t matter anymore. He had already crossed that line.

Changbin opened his mouth to say something, but Seungmin cut him off softly,

“Go home, Changbin, the exit is down the hall, left.”

He hesitated. “Are you mad?”

“No.”

Lie.

“Then-”

“Just go.”

Before I forget how to let you.

Changbin looked at him for a long moment, eyes flickering like he was trying to read something on Seungmin’s face, then nodded.

“Okay.”

The door closed behind him, and Seungmin finally let out a breath.

He could still see it,  Felix’s hand on Changbin’s shoulder, his laugh, the way Changbin’s eyes softened for someone who wasn’t him.

He sat down, pressing his nails hard into his palm until it hurt.

He didn’t need to hit anyone.

The pain was enough to anchor him.

Felix cleared his throat, breaking the silence.

“You… really like him, huh?”

Seungmin looked up, slow and calm.

“I told you not to touch him. That’s all you need to know.”

Felix lifted his hands in surrender.

“Okay, okay. Message received.”

The others whispered something,  teasing, amused, whatever, but Seungmin didn’t hear.

His thoughts were somewhere else, circling the same image over and over:

Changbin’s lips. The way he’d gasped when Seungmin kissed him. The way he’d looked at him afterward, dazed and unsure.

He wanted to taste that again.

But not now.

Not yet.
He had to wait.

Control himself.

Because when it happened again, and he knew it would, he didn’t want it to be a mistake.

He leaned back, eyes half-lidded, and murmured quietly to no one in particular,

“He’s mine.”

No one dared to answer.

Chapter Text

Tonight had already been insane.

First, Seungmin kissed him like he was both a sin and salvation.

Then, Hyunjin screamed loud enough to wake the dead.

Now, Changbin was wandering the streets alone, mentally replaying the scene like an idiot who didn’t know how to stop self-torture.

Every nerve in his body was still jittering, part from adrenaline, part from whatever that look in Seungmin’s eyes had been.

That look that burned, claimed, and then… disappeared.

He hadn’t said goodbye.

Just told him to leave.

So, Changbin left.

Or rather, stumbled out of the HQ, hands shaking, heart pounding, and brain screaming, “What the hell just happened?”

By the time he reached the quiet end of the street, the city lights had thinned out into flickering orange lamps.

The kind of area where even the shadows looked suspicious.

“Good job, me,” he muttered under his breath, kicking at a bottle.

“Survived a mafia HQ, now let’s die in an alley. Full circle moment.”

His laugh came out more nervous than he intended.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and kept walking, trying to ignore the weird chill running down his spine.

Every sound felt too sharp, footsteps echoing behind him, a soft rustle of fabric, something metallic tapping against the wall.

He glanced back.

Empty street.

“Probably a cat,” he whispered. “Or a rat. Or-”

Something moved.

He froze.

A figure, hooded and still, standing just barely out of the light.

Changbin’s pulse spiked.

“Uh-hey?” he called, voice cracking halfway through the word.

“You good there, buddy?”

No answer.

He took a cautious step closer.

Maybe he’d imagined it.

Maybe it was just trash-

The figure lunged.

Changbin barely managed to dodge, tripping backward and slamming against the wall.

His vision spun as a hand grabbed at his jacket.
Instinct kicked in.

He swung wildly, caught the person in the arm, and heard a low grunt.

“Oh my God,” Changbin gasped. “You’re real?!”

The attacker didn’t answer, just went straight for him again, this time faster.

Changbin ducked, threw an elbow, and managed to hit them again, this time hard enough to make them stumble.

His chest heaved; he could hear his own heartbeat roaring in his ears.

Adrenaline burned through him, the good kind, the terrifying kind.

“Listen, man,” he panted, backing away, hands raised.

“If this is a mugging, I have, like, ten bucks and a loyalty card for coffee-”

The figure charged again.

Changbin tried to run, but a hand shot out, catching the back of his neck, dragging him down.

He kicked, twisted, and managed to elbow his attacker in the ribs.

Another grunt.

He almost smiled-

Then pain exploded across the side of his head.

White-hot, blinding pain.

His knees buckled.

He hit the ground hard, vision fragmenting into noise and color.

Somewhere through the ringing in his ears, he heard the sound of something dropping, maybe the metal object they’d hit him with, and a voice, low and sharp:

“You really shouldn’t have fought back, pretty boy.”

A rough hand grabbed his chin, tilting his face up.

He blinked, dazed, trying to focus, but all he saw was a blur of black fabric and pale eyes that didn’t belong to Seungmin.

Then, nothing.

The world folded in on itself, the last thing he heard being the scrape of boots on asphalt and the echo of a car door slamming shut.

Changbin woke up to the smell of iron and cheap cologne.

Something pulsed angrily at the side of his head, like a dull drumbeat inside his skull, and when he tried to sit up, his arms wouldn’t move far.

Rope. His wrists were tied behind the back of a chair, ankles bound to the legs.

The room was dim, lit by a single flickering bulb that buzzed louder than the voices arguing nearby.

“I told you not to hit him that hard, Jungho!”

That voice had bite, authority.

“Hyung, he swung first! What was I supposed to do, let him stab me with a coffee stirrer?” came a defensive voice, deeper, guilt-ridden but not enough.

Changbin blinked blearily toward the sound, and his vision cleared enough to see a man with dark hair, Jungho, apparently, shifting awkwardly under the glare of someone shorter, sharp-eyed, and radiating command.

Hongjoong.

Hongjoong pinched the bridge of his nose.

“He’s not a punching bag. He’s leverage. You can’t trade leverage if you break it.”

“I didn’t break him,” Jungho muttered, arms crossed. “He’s literally awake.”

“Barely,” Changbin croaked, voice rough.

All heads turned.

For a moment, everything went quiet, too quiet, and then another man with an undercut and mischievous grin leaned forward on the table.

“See? He’s fine! Hey, you good, man? You want water?” Wooyoung said like this was a housewarming party.

Changbin stared at him blankly.

He wasn’t sure if he should scream, cry, or ask for an aspirin.

“...Where am I?” he finally asked.

Yunho, tall, friendly-looking, and probably the most normal of them all, stepped forward with a reassuring smile that didn’t match the situation.

“Just a little misunderstanding! Don’t freak out.”

“Yunho,” Hongjoong said warningly.

“Okay, medium misunderstanding.”

Wooyoung leaned against the table, chin propped on his hand.

“Technically, you’re a guest. A really important one. Seungmin’s boyfriend, right?”

Changbin froze.

The words hit him like another punch to the head.

He blinked, throat tightening.

“W-what- no- I’m not-”

“Oh, c’mon,” San piped in lazily from where he sat cross-legged on a desk, twirling a knife between his fingers like it was a fidget toy.

“That rumor’s been everywhere. Cold, scary Seungmin with his soft barista boyfriend. It’s kinda cute.”

“I’m not his-!” Changbin started, tugging at the ropes, panic rising in his chest.

Hongjoong groaned.

“God, you all sound like gossiping high schoolers. Can we focus?” He turned back to Jungho.

“You were only supposed to bring him in quietly. This is not quiet.”

Jungho pointed at Changbin, frowning.

“He hit me!”

“Because you grabbed me first!” Changbin yelled, offended and terrified all at once.

“See?” Jungho gestured. “Violent.”

“He’s tied to a chair, Jungho!” Wooyoung cackled.

“What’s he gonna do, headbutt you?”

Changbin, whose head hurt way too much to even think about headbutting anyone, groaned softly.

“I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“Because,” Hongjoong said, crossing his arms and tilting his head like this was obvious,

“we need to send a message to Seungmin’s crew. They’ve been sticking their noses where they shouldn’t, and nothing gets under his skin more than someone he-”

He paused, lips twitching in amusement.

“-cares about.”

“I-I don’t think he even cares about me that way,”

Changbin muttered, voice small.

For the first time, the room actually went quiet.

Then San snorted. “Ouch. That’s rough, buddy.”

Wooyoung threw a peanut at him.

“Don’t be mean! He’s adorable. I like him.”

“Please don’t ‘like’ the hostage,” Hongjoong said tiredly.

“I’m just saying-”

“No.”

“But he’s so soft!”

Changbin sat there, bewildered, staring between them all.

Was this what insanity felt like?

He’d been kidnapped by a group of people who acted like this was brunch.

His head throbbed.

His stomach churned.

And underneath it all, a quiet, bitter thought whispered at the edge of his mind.

Seungmin’s not coming.

He tried not to think about it, but it hung there anyway.

Why would he?

Seungmin was careful, methodical, always one step ahead.

The kind of man who didn’t let feelings get in the way of business.

Changbin was the opposite, reckless, noisy, and stupid enough to walk into trouble with both feet.

Maybe this was just one mistake too many.

“Hey.” A low voice pulled him back.

It was Yunho, crouching beside him with a bottle of water.

“You should drink something. You look pale.”
Changbin hesitated, but when Yunho loosened the rope enough for him to sip, he took it.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“See? He’s polite,” Yunho said, smiling.

“Yeah, well, being polite doesn’t make him less kidnapped,” Wooyoung replied, rolling his eyes.

Hongjoong pinched the bridge of his nose again.

“You two are banned from future abductions.”

“You say that every time,” San called.

“And I mean it every time.”

As the others bickered in the background, Changbin’s eyes drifted toward the small window, just a sliver of night outside.

Freedom.

His wrists burned where the rope rubbed raw, but he didn’t care.

He needed to find a way out.

Even if no one came for him, he wasn’t staying here.

He shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and muttered quietly under his breath,

“You got yourself into this, you’ll get yourself out.”

Wooyoung’s voice cut through the silence, cheerful as ever.

“So, like, does he get snacks or something? We’re not monsters.”

Hongjoong turned slowly, eyes twitching. “I swear to God-”

Chapter Text

The room had gone still again.

Too still for a place full of criminals.

Changbin sat on the edge of a wooden chair, wrists still bound in front of him, a dull throb pulsing behind his temple where the bandage pressed too tight.

He didn’t bother trying to look brave anymore, it wasn’t like it fooled anyone.

Across from him, Hongjoong leaned casually against a table littered with papers, expression unreadable.

The others lounged around like it was a casual hangout instead of a hostage situation.

“So,” Hongjoong said, tone light but sharp,

“you’re the one Seungmin’s been protecting all this time.”

Changbin looked up slowly, eyes narrowing.

“Protecting, or just… dealing with?”

Wooyoung snorted.

“Oh, he’s feisty.”

“Calm down,” Yeosang muttered, tossing a snack in his mouth. “He’s still got a concussion.”

Hongjoong ignored them, eyes fixed on Changbin.

“You know, when we found out who you were, we almost didn’t believe it. Seungmin’s lover. That quiet strategist’s weakness.”

Changbin flinched at the word, lover.

It felt heavy, dangerous, and almost unreal in this place.

Hongjoong stepped closer, his voice dropping lower.

“You’re leverage, Changbin. That’s all. You’re not our enemy. Just… necessary.”

“Necessary,” Changbin repeated bitterly, a humorless laugh escaping him.

“Great. So I’m an accessory now.”

“Don’t take it personally,” San said from the couch.

“It’s just business.”

“Kidnapping your rival’s boyfriend is business?”

Wooyoung grinned.

“Welcome to the mafia, sweetheart.”

Changbin clenched his jaw, head spinning slightly.

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t trust his voice not to crack.

Hongjoong sighed, clearly tired of this.

“We’re waiting for Seungmin to make the first move. He’ll come for you. He definitely will.”

Changbin’s heart clenched, hard. He looked down at his bound hands, a bitter smile tugging at his lips.

“No,” he said quietly. “He won’t.”

Hongjoong’s brows rose slightly. “No?”

Changbin shook his head, voice cracking as he forced the words out.

“He’s… he’s smart. Too smart. He won’t risk his team for me. He won’t come. Not for this.”

There was silence, just the hum of the lights and the distant city noise outside.

Then, as if trying to fill the tension, Wooyoung piped up, voice teasing:

“You could always yell his name again. Maybe he’s got supersonic hearing or something.”

Yeosang chuckled.

“Yeah, maybe he’s perched on a roof waiting for his cue.”

Changbin looked up, glaring weakly.

“You think this is funny?”

“No,” Wooyoung said, still smirking. “I think it’s worth a shot.”

Changbin’s lips trembled. His throat felt raw.

Something inside him cracked, exhaustion, fear, heartbreak, everything.

“Fine,” he muttered hoarsely.

He drew a deep breath, and before he could think better of it, he shouted,

“SEUNGMIN!”

His voice echoed off the walls, desperate and furious.

No answer.

The room snickered quietly.

“SEUNGMIN!” he yelled again, louder this time, the plea raw.

“I’m right here, okay?! If you can hear me, you win! Just… come get me!”

His voice broke on the last words.

Silence.

And then, the ground shuddered.

The sound came like thunder, a single BOOM that rattled the windows, shook the walls, and sent a shockwave through the floor.

“What the-” San started, standing up just as the far wall exploded in a burst of concrete and smoke.

Dust filled the air.

The sound was deafening.

When it cleared, a figure stood framed by the wreckage, gun raised, chest heaving.

Seungmin.

His eyes were wild, wide with something between rage and terror.

His hair was dusted gray with debris, his knuckles white around the gun.

Behind him, Minho, Chan,, and Hyunjin moved like shadows, weapons drawn, ready.

Felix and Jisung followed, but even they looked startled by the sheer fury rolling off Seungmin.

Hongjoong didn’t move.

He just blinked once, lowering his hand slightly, surprised, not scared, but definitely thrown off.

Seungmin’s gaze found Changbin instantly.

And something broke in him.

He didn’t say a word.

He crossed the distance in seconds, shoving debris out of the way, dropping to his knees in front of Changbin.

His hands trembled as they cupped Changbin’s face, his eyes scanning the bandages, the bruises, the fear.

“You-” Seungmin choked out, his voice rough.

“You idiot. I thought- I thought you were gone.”

Changbin blinked at him, disbelief and shock mixing with tears he didn’t even realize were collecting in his eyes.

“You came.”

“Of course I did,” Seungmin snapped, voice breaking halfway.

“You called for me.”

Seungmin didnt say anything further.

His eyes were locked on Changbin, sitting on the cold floor, wrists still bound, hair messy, a faint bloodstain wrapping the side of his head.

The second he saw the blood, something in Seungmin snapped.

No hesitation.

No words.

Just grabbed Changbin and pulled himself tight against his chest, no, into his chest,  like he’d been starved for the feeling.

The room went utterly silent.

Changbin gasped softly from the sudden force of it, but then Seungmin just buried his face against him, breathing in like he needed to prove Changbin was real, like the scent alone was what tethered him to sanity.

“You— You actually came,” Changbin managed again, voice hoarse.

“Of course I came,” Seungmin murmured against his chest, voice shaking.

“You think I’d let them keep you?”

Changbin’s breath hitched, the pain in his head forgotten for a moment as he clutched back weakly.

Hyunjin must have cut off his ropes.

The rest of the room just stared, stunned into silence.

Wooyoung whispered, “Okay, I’m… not laughing anymore.”

Yeosang muttered, “Remind me never to piss him off.”

Hongjoong just exhaled through his nose, watching the scene unfold with reluctant awe.

“So he really did come,” he murmured under his breath.

Dust still fell from the ceiling.

The air still smelled of smoke and gunpowder.

But for Seungmin, none of it existed.

He just held himself against Changbin tighter, his voice shaking as he whispered against his chest,

“You’re safe now. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

And for the first time since the night began, Changbin actually believed it.

Chunks of plaster crunched under boots as the noise from the explosion faded into a heavy, unnatural silence.

Ateez stood frozen in their ruined meeting room, blinking through the haze, because standing in the hole where their wall used to be.

Hongjoong exhaled slowly, brushing concrete dust off his sleeve. “So,” he said, trying for calm,

“I assume you’re here for him.”

Seungmin didn’t answer.

Felix and Jisung exchanged a look, half relief, half “oh, they’re dead.”

Because everyone in that room already knew.

And still, Changbin had been dragged here.

Chan cleared his throat carefully, stepping forward.

“Alright, before we start killing each other-”

Hongjoong’s eyes flicked from Seungmin to Chan.

“We didn’t hurt him seriously. We just needed- leverage. There’s something circulating underground. Pills. Dangerous. We thought your side-”

“Leverage,” Seungmin repeated quietly, still pressed to Changbin’s chest.

The word came out almost like a laugh, low, humorless.

“You kidnapped him for leverage.”

Hongjoong didn’t flinch, but his posture tensed.

“You understand how the underground works, it's not the first time a lover had been used-”

That was as far as he got.

Seungmin moved faster than anyone expected, in a split second he was out of Changbin's arms Infront of him, his fist connecting with Hongjoong’s jaw so hard the sound echoed off the concrete.

The room erupted instantly.

Yeosang lunged, San shouted, Wooyoung swore, Jungho grabbed Yeosang, holding him back.

Hyunjin and Chan grabbed Seungmin before he could swing again.

“Seungmin, enough!” Chan barked, holding him back.

Seungmin struggled, voice raw, furious.

“He knew! He knew he was mine!”

The declaration rang out, shaking the air.

For a second, even Ateez froze.

Seungmin was all sharp edges, trembling fury, until Changbin moved.

Still dazed, still scared, but he reached out.

His hand found Seungmin’s sleeve, tugging gently.

“Seungmin,” he whispered.

“Please. I’m fine. I’m here.”

That was all it took.

Seungmin’s entire body slackened.

The tension drained from his shoulders, his breathing slowed.

Without another word, he turned back toward Changbin, pressing his face into his chest again.

His voice came out muffled. “Don’t move away from me again.”

Changbin exhaled shakily, his fingers threading through Seungmin’s hair, grounding him.

“I won’t,” he promised quietly.

Hongjoong, still wiping blood from his lip, sighed.

“You understand why we did this. We didn’t want war. We just wanted information. Those pills could destabilize all of us.”

Chan’s voice was sharp.

“And you thought the solution was kidnapping his emphasis on SEUNGMINS lover?”

A long silence followed.

Then Chan said, low and even,

“We’ll cooperate. But if you ever touch one of ours again, you won’t have a base left to run.”

Hongjoong gave a short nod. “Understood.”

And while the others discussed the fragile terms of their alliance, Seungmin stayed where he was, head buried in Changbin’s chest, breathing finally even, like the world could crash around them and he’d still refuse to let go.

Chapter Text

Something felt wrong the moment he woke up.

The air felt heavier, the morning too quiet.

He ignored it at first, dressed, told himself he was overthinking.

But when he reached the café and the bell above the door chimed, there was no familiar voice greeting him.

No sound of Changbin humming behind the counter.

“Jeongin,” Seungmin called, eyes scanning the room. “

Where’s Changbin?”

Jeongin blinked, confused.

“He… didn’t come in today.”

The words hit like ice water. “He what?”

Jeongin checked his phone.

“He didn’t text me or answer my call s. He always does if he’s late, but-”

That was all Seungmin needed to hear. His pulse picked up, pounding in his ears. He pulled out his phone.

Call. Voicemail.

Call again. Voicemail.

Text. Read, no, not even read.

By the fifth try, his hand was shaking.

He left without another word.

Changbin’s apartment was only ten minutes away, but the walk felt endless.

When he reached the door, he knocked once, twice.

Nothing.

“Changbin?” His voice came out louder than he meant it to.

He waited. Silence.

Something in him snapped.

He kicked the door hard enough for the lock to crack and stepped in.

The place was spotless.

Too spotless. The mug on the counter still had a coffee ring, but no warmth left.

His jacket still hung by the door.

He called again.

“Bin?”

Nothing. Just the hum of the fridge.

Panic pooled low in his gut.

He tore through the apartment, bedroom, bathroom, balcony, nothing.

No note, no clue, no trace of him.

When Felix and Chan arrived a few minutes later, Seungmin was standing in the middle of the living room, hands gripping his hair.

“Min-what happened?” Chan asked carefully.

“He’s gone.”

“Maybe he-”

“He wouldn’t just leave!”

Felix took a hesitant step closer.

“Let’s just-”

“Get everyone out,” Seungmin snapped. His voice was raw.

“I want eyes on every street in this city.”

“Min-”

“Do it!”

That was when they realized reasoning was useless.

Within an hour, Seungmin had half their network sweeping the area.

Calls to informants, money passed to guards, street cameras hacked.

His commands were clipped, precise, and trembling at the edges.

“Sector C, double the patrols. No, now.”

“Check the alleys behind the market.”

“If anyone saw a black car, report immediately.”

Chan tried, softly, “We’ll find him, Seungmin.”

But Seungmin didn’t answer.

He just stared at the map spread on the table, muttering under his breath,

“He wouldn’t disappear. Not him.”

Felix hovered nearby. “You haven’t eaten anything. Please-”

“Don’t tell me to rest,” Seungmin said without looking up. “Find him.”

Night fell before they found anything.

Seungmin’s eyes were bloodshot, hair a mess, shirt half-untucked.

He’d stopped pretending to be composed hours ago.

Every time his phone buzzed, he jumped.

Finally, one of the guards burst in, panting.

“We found something!”

Seungmin turned so fast his chair scraped the floor.

“What?”

The guard held up a cracked phone, Changbin’s.

The sight of it almost stopped Seungmin’s heart.

The screen was spider-webbed, a corner smeared with what looked too much like blood.

“Where?” His voice was barely a whisper.

“Old market district. Near the back alleys.”

He snatched the phone from the guard’s hands and bolted.

By the time he reached the market, the streets were nearly empty.

The air was thick and damp, the sky bruised with clouds.

Neon lights flickered in puddles as he ran, scanning every shadow.

He shouted his name once.

Then again.

Nothing.

Every dark corner looked like a threat.

Every sound made his pulse spike.

He was half-mad now, imagining a thousand awful things, his mind feeding him pictures he couldn’t bear.

Then, just when he turned a corner, he thought he heard it-

Faint. Muffled.

A voice.

“…min-!”

He froze.

“…Seungmin!”

It wasn’t his imagination this time.

The voice was raw, hoarse, desperate.

His name, echoing from somewhere deep within the maze of warehouses.

“Changbin?” he whispered, then louder, “Changbin!”

Another yell, clearer this time, carried through the wind. “Seungmin! Please-!”

Seungmin’s breath hitched.

He didn’t think; his body just moved.

He sprinted toward the sound, heart hammering, vision tunneling.

His earpiece crackled with Chan’s voice asking where he was, but he couldn’t answer.

He turned another corner, and another, closer now.

Until-

A distant crash.

A muffled shout.

And then, silence.

Seungmin stopped dead, chest heaving.

His eyes scanned the shadows, the flickering light pooling over the pavement.

“Changbin?”

No answer.

Just his own breath, ragged and loud, echoing in the alley.

He stood there, trembling, knuckles white around Changbin’s broken phone.

For the first time in years, his vision blurred with tears.

The last thing he heard before everything went quiet again was his name, soft, broken, terrified,

“Seungmin…”

And then, nothing.

And all Seungmin saw was red.

Chapter Text

If anyone had told Changbin that Seungmin, cold, controlled, too-composed Seungmin, would turn out to be clingy, he would’ve laughed.

But here they were.

Seungmin had turned into his own personal shadow.

He used to just stop by the café for coffee, maybe hover around for an hour before disappearing into whatever mafia business he had.

Now he stayed for entire shifts.

Sat in the corner seat, arms crossed, pretending to be doing “work” but really just… watching him.

It should’ve been creepy.

But it wasn’t.

Not when Seungmin’s gaze followed him so quietly, or when he leaned against the counter just to murmur a soft, “Drink some water,” as if Changbin was the fragile one, despite the small concussion which wasn't that serious.

It wasn’t until the fourth day that Changbin started realising, Seungmin wasn’t guarding him.

He was anchoring himself.

Like if he didn’t keep an eye on Changbin every second, something terrible would happen again.

And maybe that should’ve been alarming, but instead it just made Changbin’s chest ache a little.

The clinginess bled into everything else.

When Changbin went to run errands, Seungmin followed.

When he stopped by the supply store, Seungmin waited outside the door, scrolling his phone but glancing up every few seconds.

At the hospital to check his concussion? Seungmin would stand there holding his hand so tight Changbin was afraid his fingers would break.

The day Seungmin dragged him to a meeting, Changbin thought it would be a quick visit.

He was wrong.

The room was filled, Chan, Minho, Felix, Jisung, Hyunjin, everyone looked up when they entered.

Changbin barely had time to sit when Seungmin just… didn’t take another chair.

Instead, he walked straight to him, wordlessly lowered himself onto Changbin’s lap, and leaned back like he owned the spot.

The room froze.

“What-Seungmin,” Changbin stammered, hands awkwardly hovering midair, unsure where to put them.

“Shh,” Seungmin muttered, already burrowing in.

His face pressed against Changbin’s chest, nose brushing against his collarbone, voice low enough for only him to hear.

“You’re warm.”

“Yeah, because I’m embarrassed,” Changbin whispered back, glaring at Felix’s grin across the table.

Felix was glowing with amusement.

Jisung mouthed something that looked suspiciously like “oh my god,” his hands shaking Minho.

Chan sighed into his hands.

The entire mafia meeting had officially turned into “Seungmin refuses to let go of his emotional-support barista.”

But Seungmin didn’t care.

He just stayed there, perfectly calm, perfectly at ease, while Changbin tried very hard to pretend this was normal.

At first, Changbin thought maybe Seungmin would move once the discussion got serious.

He didn’t.

When Chan started talking about supply lines, Seungmin hummed quietly and nuzzled closer.

When Minho mentioned intel reports, Seungmin’s hand absentmindedly rested on Changbin’s side, not possessive, just gentle.

Every so often, he’d shift, chasing comfort, muttering half-asleep things like “stop fidgeting” or “stay still.”

Changbin tried not to melt.

He failed miserably.

Because for all the chaos, for all the teasing, there was something grounding about the weight against his chest, the warmth, the quiet hum that vibrated through Seungmin’s throat.

It wasn’t just affection.

It was need.

And it made Changbin’s heart thud painfully in his ribs.

The others kept sneaking glances, some amused, some deeply confused, when this started to happen the whole week.

At one point Hyunjin leaned toward Felix and whispered, “Is this… normal now?”

Felix shrugged. “Define normal.”

Even Chan gave up pretending to lead the meeting properly.

“Alright,” he said dryly, “since Seungmin has apparently merged with Changbin, let’s just roll with it.”

That earned a faint laugh from Changbin, until Seungmin stirred and mumbled, “Not funny.”

And that was that.

No one dared make another joke.

When the meeting finally ended, everyone scattered fast, clearly too nervous to stay.

Seungmin didn’t move.

He just stayed tucked against Changbin, his breath soft against his neck.

“You’re not gonna move, are you?” Changbin muttered, half-exasperated, half-something else entirely.

Seungmin shook his head slightly, voice muffled. “You scared me.”

It wasn’t a confession, it was a quiet truth.

Changbin’s breath hitched.

He wanted to say something light, something to cut the tension, but the weight in Seungmin’s voice kept him still.

“…You found me, didn’t you?” Changbin said quietly.

“When I called your name.”

A pause. Then, a whisper against his shirt.

“I heard you before anyone else did.”

Changbin blinked hard, fighting the strange, sharp twist in his chest.

He wasn’t used to being needed.

Not like this.

Not by someone like Seungmin.

And though it should’ve felt suffocating, maybe even dangerous, the warmth in Seungmin’s arms felt almost like safety.

He sighed, rested a tentative hand on Seungmin’s back, and let himself breathe for the first time all day.

Felix poked his head through the door just long enough to mutter, “You two are disgustingly domestic,” and disappeared before Seungmin could throw something.

Changbin laughed under his breath.

Seungmin didn’t even bother to deny it, just nuzzled closer, muttering a lazy, “Stay.”

It was quiet, half-asleep, but Changbin heard it.

And for the first time… he didn’t argue.

Chapter Text

The café had long gone quiet when Jeongin decided he was tagging along.

Changbin didn’t argue, mostly because arguing with Jeongin was like arguing with a caffeinated squirrel, and partly because he knew it would end the same way:

Jeongin showing up to the meeting anyway, smug grin and all.

By the time they reached the main floor, Seungmin was already there.

He didn’t look up when Changbin entered, just reached for his wrist in the same quiet, practiced motion,  like muscle memory.

Changbin’s pulse jumped the same way it did every time.

They sat.

Or rather, Seungmin sat on him.

His weight was comfortable now, familiar.

His hair brushed against Changbin’s chin, soft and clean, smelling faintly of coffee beans and mint soap.

Changbin didn’t even question it anymore.

He just adjusted slightly to let Seungmin rest against his chest, the younger’s arms looping lazily around his neck.

Chan, across the table, sighed like a man reliving his past sins.

“Are we doing this again?”

“Meeting’s starting,” Seungmin replied flatly, still tucked against Changbin. “Focus.”

That shut Chan up immediately, not because of Seungmin’s words, but because of the tone.

It wasn’t teasing.

It wasn’t lazy.

It was sharp. Commanding.

And that tone, that edge, hadn’t been there in months.

Only started after changbin had been kidnapped.

As the reports began, Seungmin’s posture shifted.

He didn’t slouch.

He didn’t lean.

His gaze was fixed on the table, calculating every number, every coded update Chan read out.

When Felix mentioned a missing shipment, Seungmin asked for timestamps.

When Hyunjin added a report from surveillance, Seungmin corrected the coordinates before Chan even double-checked.

He was focused, his mind running miles ahead of everyone else.

Even Jeongin, who had been whispering complaints about unfair treatment, quieted when he saw how still Seungmin had gone.

The air changed when Chan finally said it.

“We found another supply chain,” he began carefully.

“Warehouse in the south sector, supposed to be under our control. Someone’s been leaking. The product matches the signature of the pills we destroyed years ago.”

The room stilled.

Changbin felt it immediately, the way Seungmin’s entire body tensed in his lap, the faint hitch in his breath.

For the first time in weeks, Seungmin wasn’t looking at him.

He was staring at Chan, eyes dark and unreadable.

“How sure are you?” he asked.

Chan hesitated. “Ateez confirmed the compound. It’s the same formula. There’s no mistake.”

Seungmin’s jaw tightened. “Who had access to the formula?”

“Only us. And the labs we-”

“No,” Seungmin cut in, voice colder now.

“Who else had access before the purge?”

Chan didn’t answer immediately, and that silence said enough.

Felix’s usual warmth dimmed.

Jisung looked away.

Minho actually looked up from his phone.

And hyunjin stopped fixing his hair.

The entire room, usually alive with snark and laughter,  felt like it was holding its breath.

After that, the meeting dragged on, heavy and strained.

Seungmin barely moved, except to point something out or ask another sharp question.

His fingers, though, never let go of Changbin’s sleeve, gripping the fabric like he needed something solid beneath his hands.

Changbin stayed still, his arm wrapped loosely around Seungmin’s waist, quietly grounding him.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t dare.

Not when Seungmin’s eyes looked like that.

When Chan finally dismissed everyone, Jeongin immediately cornered Chan with some new argument, Felix and Jisung trailed after them, whispering, and Hyunjin left without a word.

That left only Seungmin and Changbin in the echoing quiet of the meeting room.

Seungmin still hadn’t moved.

He was sitting upright now, staring at the empty chair across from them, his thumb absently brushing against the seam of Changbin’s shirt.

“You okay?” Changbin asked softly.

No response.

He tried again. “Seungmin.”

That made him blink, like he’d just remembered where he was.

He exhaled slowly, looked down, then turned in his lap to face him.

For a moment, there it was again, the faint softness, the small ghost of a smile.

It made Changbin relax a little.

But then he said, “Why are you more scared about the pills than everyone else?”

The shift was immediate.

The tiny warmth vanished from Seungmin’s eyes like someone had flipped a switch.

He went very still.

Then, slowly, he pulled away.

It was subtle, no harsh movement, no anger, but it felt like something inside Changbin had been unplugged.

The space where Seungmin’s weight had been just seconds ago felt suddenly too cold.

“Don’t,” Seungmin said, voice quiet but sharp.

Changbin frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I said don’t ask.”

His words weren’t harsh, they were fragile, like the sound of something thin about to break.

He stood, pushing his chair back quietly, avoiding Changbin’s eyes.

“I’m going to the washroom.”

He left before Changbin could say anything.

The door closed behind him with a soft click.

Changbin sat there for a long while.

The room still smelled like coffee and dust and Seungmin’s cologne, and for some reason, that made it worse.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d gotten used to the constant weight, the quiet warmth of Seungmin draped across him, the steady sound of his breathing.

Now that it was gone, everything felt hollow.

He ran a hand through his hair, muttering,

“What did I even say wrong…”

That’s when Jisung and Felix came in, mid-laugh about something, but they froze when they saw him sitting alone.

Felix frowned first. “Where’s Seungmin?”

“Washroom,” Changbin muttered.

Jisung raised an eyebrow. “He left you? That’s new.”

Changbin glared weakly. “Not the time, Ji.”

Felix’s expression softened immediately. “Did something happen?”

Changbin hesitated. “…He got weird when I asked about the pills.”

Jisung exchanged a look with Felix.

Then, quietly:

“You really don’t know, huh?”

“Know what?”

Felix sat down beside him, voice careful.

“You weren’t around back then. Seungmin’s been with us for years, but he didn’t start here. Before Chan found him… he worked with the people who made those pills.”

Changbin froze.

“He didn’t know what they were at first,” Jisung added.

“He just distributed them. Until someone close to him got hooked.”

Felix’s eyes dimmed.

“They didn’t survive.”

Changbin’s stomach dropped.

“He burned everything after that,” Jisung continued quietly.

“Labs, records, the warehouses, his old life. He walked away from all of it, and Chan found him before he could erase everything about  him completely.”

Felix nodded.

“He’s been trying to make up for it ever since. But the pills,  they’re a ghost that won’t stay buried.”

Changbin didn’t say anything.

He just sat there, staring at the empty chair where Seungmin had been minutes ago.

He thought of the way Seungmin had tensed when Chan said the word pills.

The way he had stayed still, silent, but his hand hadn’t let go of him the entire time.

It all made sense now, the clinginess, the overprotectiveness, the fear behind it all.

He wasn’t holding onto Changbin because he wanted to.

He was holding on because he needed to.

Because this time, he was terrified of losing someone again.

And Changbin-

He didn’t know what to do with the ache that thought left behind.

Chapter Text

The corridor outside the meeting room was quiet when Seungmin stepped back in.

The low hum of voices that usually filled the building had faded, only the faint sound of a clock ticking and the distant grind of an espresso machine reached his ears.

He wiped the last of the cold water from his hands.

His reflection in the mirror back there had looked too much like the boy he thought he’d buried, the one with shaking hands, who’d watched everything fall apart because of those damn pills.

But he wasn’t that boy anymore.

At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

Changbin was still in the room, sitting on the edge of the conference table, scrolling through something on his phone.

The sleeves of his black shirt were rolled up, exposing his forearms, calm, casual, steady.

He looked up the second Seungmin entered, and that look, that small flicker of worry that softened immediately into relief, almost knocked the air out of him.

“Hey,” Changbin said quietly. “You okay?”

Seungmin didn’t answer.

His throat was tight, words caught somewhere behind it.

He just walked forward, slow, deliberate steps, until he stood in front of him.

Changbin set his phone aside immediately, like it didn’t matter, like nothing else in the world mattered except him.

That was the problem.

Seungmin reached out first, fingers brushing against Changbin’s shoulder before sliding up around his neck.

He didn’t ask; he just pulled him closer and buried his face against Changbin’s chest, inhaling that familiar scent of coffee and detergent.

Changbin went still for half a heartbeat before one arm looped around his waist, firm and grounding.

It should have been comforting.

Instead, it hurt.

The warmth pressed against him, Changbin’s heartbeat, his hand resting at the small of Seungmin’s back, the quiet sigh he let out when Seungmin didn’t move away.

It was too familiar.

It reminded him of the one person he swore he’d never think about again.

The one he lost to the pills.

He tried not to remember, the way that person used to hum against his hair, or how their warmth had once made him believe that everything was going to be okay.

He tried not to remember the shaking, the withdrawal, the emptiness that followed.

But the memory slipped in anyway.

He felt Changbin’s fingers card through his hair gently.

“You’ve been quiet,” he murmured, voice low. “You sure you’re fine? You disappeared when I asked-.”

“I’m fine,” Seungmin said against his chest, but it came out muffled and fragile.

“Just… needed a minute.”

Changbin hummed softly, unconvinced, but didn’t push.

He never did.

That made it worse.

The more patient Changbin was, the more Seungmin felt like breaking something, himself, maybe.

He pressed closer, arms tightening around Changbin until his knuckles hurt.

He could feel the rise and fall of Changbin’s breathing, steady and warm, grounding in a way that made him hate himself.

Because this wasn’t supposed to happen.

This wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

It was supposed to be casual.

Something easy.

Something that didn’t bleed into his chest like this.

But it wasn’t.

Not anymore.

When Changbin chuckled softly, his chest rumbling under Seungmin’s cheek, it sent a pang straight through him.

He looked up before he could stop himself, and for a moment, all he saw was that smile.

That same, soft smile that once belonged to someone else.

Different face.

Different eyes.

But the warmth, it was the same.

His breath caught.

Changbin tilted his head, eyebrows furrowing a little. “What?”

“Nothing,” Seungmin whispered quickly, looking away.

He hated how it sounded, too fast, too defensive. He tried to smile, to brush it off, but it felt brittle.

“Just tired.”

Changbin nodded, though his gaze lingered on him longer than Seungmin could stand.

Then, with a faint smile, he pulled him back in,  arms circling him again like it was second nature.

Seungmin didn’t fight it.

He stayed there, still and silent, listening to the faint ticking of the clock and Changbin’s heartbeat under his ear.

And for the first time, he realized how much he depended on that sound.

When the others came back in, Chan, Jisung, Felix, murmuring about reports and leads, Seungmin didn’t move.

He stayed draped across Changbin’s chest like he belonged there.

He barely even blinked when Chan raised an eyebrow, or when Felix tried to hide his grin.

They could laugh.

They could whisper.

He didn’t care.

He would rather be called childish and clingy then lose that warmth again.

As long as Changbin’s hand stayed on his back, as long as that warmth didn’t fade, he could breathe.

But deep down, guilt coiled tighter in his chest, heavy and sick.

Because the warmth he craved wasn’t just Changbin’s anymore,  it was a ghost of something lost.

And that terrified him more than anything.

Chapter Text

Changbin’s legs were heavy as he trudged into his apartment, finally free from Seungmin’s grip.

The Mafia had walked him here, silently, like a tether he couldn’t escape.

The weight of the past week pressed against him, Seungmin had spent almost every moment of his shifts leaning on him, burrowing into his chest, climbing into his lap during meetings, and Changbin had been powerless to stop it.

Now, alone in the quiet of his small apartment, the heat finally hit him in full force.

His chest thudded against the lingering memory of Seungmin’s weight, of the warmth pressing into him, of the soft nuzzles and quiet sighs that had made him freeze every single time.

He leaned against the door, swaying slightly.

The apartment felt suffocating, yet he didn’t move.

His fingers fisted in the fabric of his shirt, tugging slightly as he tried to calm the chaos inside him.

His pulse still raced, and his body hummed with a heat he couldn’t name.

Every brush of Seungmin’s hand from the past week replayed in his mind, the deliberate, subtle touches, the way Seungmin had shifted closer whenever he could, always climbing into his lap, always seeking him out.

He had thought he could handle it, that it was just casual, harmless, but now, in the quiet, it felt like a furnace.

His head fell back against the wall.

Why does it feel like this?

His thoughts tumbled over themselves: the feel of Seungmin’s chest against his, the warmth of him pressed close, the way his restraint had been impossible to maintain, week after week.

It had been maddening, and now, finally alone, he realized how completely he’d let himself be undone.

He leaned forward, hands on his knees, trying to shake off the heat, but it lingered.

Every muscle still remembered Seungmin’s weight.

Every nerve buzzed with the faint echo of Seungmin’s nuzzles.

His face burned, his heart raced, and yet, he couldn’t stop the small, reluctant smile that tugged at his lips.

Changbin sank onto the couch, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor, back against it.

The apartment was quiet, but his mind screamed with the chaotic mix of relief, longing, and the overwhelming awareness of how much Seungmin had gotten under his skin.

He hadn’t realized how deeply it had gotten to him, the way his chest had tightened, the way his body had reacted, the way he’d been both flustered and strangely exhilarated every time Seungmin climbed onto him or burrowed into his chest.

Now, alone, the weight of it all pressed down on him, and he shivered, hot and battered, overwhelmed by just how much he had allowed himself to feel without admitting it.

He closed his eyes, letting the heat simmer.

His breaths were shallow, quick, and every pulse in his body was a reminder: Seungmin had left him standing at his door, but the imprint of him, of his touch, of his presence, lingered everywhere.

And Changbin, exhausted and flustered, couldn’t deny it.

And most probably also hard.

He went to the washroom, tearing his clothes off his body, trying to rid the heat that was simmering in his body.

Well most importantly.

The heat down there.

Feeling a little disgusted with himself for thinking thoughts like this, especially about someone like Seungmin.

This has never happened before but that man made  Changbin feel things he never felt before.

Seungmin was being clingy and that felt like the end for Changbin's self control And he had ignored it for far too long the last week.

Especially since seungmin had already decided Changbin's lap as his personal seat, he had been constantly been-ehem-pressed on.

He spent the whole week during the meetings praying he would not pop a boner in the middle since seungmin would obviously feel it.

Thankfully his prayers had been answered but he could only restrain himself for so long.

His trembling hand came down and he touched the bulge on his boxers and his breath hitched.

Fuck it.

He pulled them down the fabric brushing against his already sensative member.

The cold air was like a slap to his whole body and he couldn't help but shiver.

He looked down at the red angry tip of his cock, the veins bulging and desperate.

It was throbbing with heat so much it hurt.

He wrapped his hand around it and he let out a muffled moan as he bit his lip.

He squeezed his eyes tight, trying not to imagine seungmin being the one on his knees fisting his dick.

His pretty pink lips stretched apart over him, wet with spit, his doe eyes looking up at him, pretty and desperate.

Him bouncing on his cock right on his lap in the middle of meetings, using his tie as a leash pulling him closer.

Him moaning in his ear, his warm breath tickling him.

His face dripping with his cum.

His quiet composed voice finally breaking with desperation.

“Changbin hyung...”

Changbin felt his grip tighten as he finally came on the cold hard marble.

He pressed his forehead against the walls and turned on the shower and watched his release go down the drain.

He really shouldn't be thinking like this.

Chapter Text

Seungmin didn’t tell anyone.

He couldn’t.

If he said the words out loud, the pills are back, he might fall apart before he could do anything about it.

So he left before dawn, slipping out of the HQ while everyone still slept, his steps soundless, his chest burning.

The city was grey and heavy.

A dull fog hung over the streets like ash.

He didn’t even bring backup.

He didn’t need it.

He’d done this before.

And part of him, the part that had learned to live with ghosts, almost wanted to see what waited for him.

The warehouse was just outside the main district, tucked behind the shipping docks, where the air smelled of salt and rust.

The lock on the side door was old, easy to break.

When he stepped inside, the air changed, stale, chemical, too familiar.

It took him a moment to breathe again.

And then he saw the crates.

Dozens of them.

Towering, lined up in perfect rows.

The old stamp he recognized burned into the wood.

His stomach turned.

His hands shook.

It can’t be.

But it was.

The same mark, the same shipment structure, everything he’d destroyed years ago was here again.

Like it had never left. Like he had never left.

He walked closer, fingers brushing the side of one crate, and for a second his vision blurred.

The world bent.

And suddenly, he wasn’t in that warehouse anymore.

He was fourteen again. In a different warehouse, smaller, darker, and filled with laughter. His brother’s laughter.

“You worry too much, Minnie. These pills are nothing. They make people feel alive, that’s all.”

“They hurt people,” Seungmin had said back then, voice shaking.

“They help us make money though.”

His brother had just smiled, that same wide, gentle smile that used to calm him when they were kids.

When their father used to come home drunk, slamming doors and throwing things, his brother would hide Seungmin behind him and whisper, “Close your eyes. You’re safe.”

Back then, his brother was everything good.

Warm, kind, a little reckless, but always there.

And then the pills came.

Slowly, he had stopped sleeping.

Stopped eating.

His voice became sharp, his eyes wild.

The laugh that once soothed Seungmin started to sound like glass cracking.

And then one night, the night that changed everything, he came home with blood on his hands.

Not his own.

Seungmin had begged him to stop, to throw the pills away, to run.

His brother had just smiled, soft, almost sad,  and whispered, “It’s too late. I already belong to them.”

That was the last night Seungmin saw his brother as his brother.

The next time they met, it was on opposite sides of a gun.

He hadn’t wanted to shoot. He hadn’t even raised the gun until his brother lunged at him, delirious, shaking, screaming that Seungmin had betrayed him.

There had been a flash, a sound, and then it was over.

The silence after the gunshot still haunted him more than anything else.

Because he remembered how his brother’s hand had reached for him, trembling, still gentle even in death, and how Seungmin had been too scared to take it.

He never forgot that warmth.

He never forgave himself for it.

And then… somehow… Changbin happened.

He hadn’t realized it at first.

How the small moments, the way Changbin smiled at Jeongin, the way he muttered to himself while cleaning mugs, the way his laugh came out quiet but bright, had started to worm their way into Seungmin’s ribs.

It wasn’t about resemblance.

Changbin didn’t look anything like his brother.

It was the warmth.

The softness.

The way being near him didn’t hurt.

Until now.

Now, it burned.

Because that warmth was everything Seungmin had lost once, and he was terrified of losing it again.

His breath came short.

He could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

He didn’t even notice the footsteps until they were close.

“Hey!” a voice shouted.

Seungmin turned just as a bullet cracked past his shoulder.

Instinct took over, he dove behind a crate, firing back.

The warehouse filled with echoes, gunshots, shouts, footsteps. The air smelled of gunpowder and dust.

He hit one.

Then another.

But there were too many.

Something slammed into his side, a bullet grazing his abdomen.

He gasped, stumbling back, pressing his hand to the wound.

It didn’t matter. He couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t.

He staggered toward the main crate stack, vision blurring, hand fumbling for the detonator clipped to his belt.

The pain made him dizzy, but his body moved on instinct.

If I don’t end this now, it’ll happen again.

He’ll die too.

He pressed the trigger.

The explosion swallowed the world, deafening, blinding, violent.

Flames leapt into the rafters, and he stumbled through the smoke, coughing, blood slicking his hand.

He barely made it outside before collapsing to his knees, the city lights spinning in his vision.

He dragged himself to his car.

He didn’t remember driving.

Didn’t remember unlocking the door to his apartment.

Only the pain, the sweat, and the faint taste of metal in his mouth.

By the time he reached his bedroom, his hands were shaking too hard to hold the bandage steady.

He pressed the gauze to his wound, hissed through his teeth, and forced it tight until the bleeding slowed.

Then he sat on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing.

The apartment felt too big, too cold.

His coat was scorched, his hands burned, his mind blank.

He thought of his brother.

Then of Changbin.

How strange that the warmth he thought he’d never feel again had found its way back to him in the shape of a man who smiled too easily and blushed too fast.

“Changbin…” he whispered, his voice cracked and raw.

“I wish you were here.”

He lay down slowly, clutching the blanket to his chest, imagining it smelled like coffee and sweat and something familiar.

But they didn't have the same warmth.

His eyes fluttered closed, and the pain in his side pulsed slower and slower until everything faded.

And when sleep finally took him, it wasn’t gentle.

It was heavy, filled with smoke, blood, and the memory of a brother he killed…

and a boy he couldn’t bear to lose.

Chapter Text

The morning started like any other day.

Too quiet. Too ordinary.

Changbin should’ve known that was a bad sign.

The café was warm, sunlight spilling over the counter, the hum of the espresso machine steady in the background.

It was the kind of calm that usually made him relax, except today, it only made him uneasy.

He kept glancing at the door. Waiting.

Seungmin was always here before noon.

Always.

Sometimes he’d slide into his usual corner seat, arms crossed, pretending he wasn’t watching Changbin work.

Sometimes he’d help wipe the counter, saying it was “boring to just sit there.”

Sometimes he’d lean on the counter just to tease him about how slow he moved.

But today… nothing.

The chair stayed empty.

The bell over the door didn’t ring.

By one o’clock, Changbin had checked his phone twice.

By two, he couldn’t stop glancing at the street outside.

“Expecting someone?” Jeongin asked, smirking faintly.

Changbin tried to laugh it off.

“Nah. Just, weird day.”

But by three, his nerves had started buzzing.

Something was off, he could feel it.

Like a weight pressing down on his chest that wouldn’t let him breathe properly.

That’s when the café door slammed open.

Felix stumbled inside, panting, hair sticking to his forehead, his jacket half off.

His eyes were wide and frantic, and as soon as he spotted Changbin, he hurried over.

“Changbin,  have you seen Seungmin?”

The words hit like a punch.

“What?”

“He’s missing,” Felix said, voice tight and rushed.

“He left HQ last night and didn’t come back. No one’s seen him since. His phone’s off.”

Changbin froze.

His hand clenched around the edge of the counter.

“What do you mean missing?”

“There was an explosion early this morning near the docks,” Felix continued, breath quick.

“A warehouse, full of the same pills. Chan thinks Seungmin went there alone.”

Changbin’s stomach twisted painfully.

“He wouldn’t- he-”

“He would,” Felix cut in quietly. “You know he would.”

That was all it took.

Changbin grabbed his jacket, tossed the apron aside, and left with Felix, not even locking up.

By the time they reached HQ, chaos had already swallowed the room.

Chan was pacing with his phone pressed to his ear, voice sharp and panicked.

Hyunjin and Jisung were arguing in low, worried tones, Minho sat against the table, rubbing his forehead.

When Changbin and Felix entered, all eyes turned toward them.

Chan hung up and ran a hand through his hair.

“Still nothing. He’s not answering. The explosion destroyed half the place, a couple of bodies found but no signs of him either.”

“Seungmin always goes off alone,” Hyunjin muttered, “but he’s never- he’s never gone silent like this.”

Changbin’s heartbeat wouldn’t slow down.

His throat was dry, words scraping out.

“We’re wasting time talking. He might be-he might be hurt.”

Chan nodded tightly. “Minho, Hyunjin, Jisung, check the docks again. Felix, with me. Changbin-”

“I’m going to his apartment,” Changbin said before Chan could finish.

Chan looked at him, then sighed. “Go. Take Jeongin with you.

Seungmin’s apartment was too still.

The door was locked, but no lights were on.

The curtains drawn. It didn’t feel like a place someone had just come home to, it felt empty.

Changbin knocked twice, then harder. “Seungmin! It’s me-open the door!”

Nothing.

He looked at Jeongin, who hesitated but nodded.

One kick,  the lock gave way with a harsh crack.

The door swung open.

The air hit him immediately, metallic, burnt, faintly chemical.

It made his chest tighten.

“Seungmin?” Changbin called, stepping inside.

The living room was untouched, neat.

Kitchen spotless.

But when they reached the hallway, something dark streaked the floor near the bedroom door.

Jeongin’s voice cracked.

“Is that-blood?”

Changbin didn’t wait to find out.

He shoved the door open.

And there he was.

Seungmin lay slumped across his bed, shirt half torn, side soaked through in red.

His skin was pale, lashes resting against his cheeks, lips parted slightly as he breathed shallowly.

For a heartbeat, Changbin couldn’t move.

Everything inside him just stopped.

Then he stumbled forward, dropping to his knees beside the bed.

“Seungmin- hey- hey-” His hands were shaking as he pressed them against Seungmin’s shoulder, then his cheek, desperate for warmth.

“Come on, open your eyes, please.”

Seungmin didn’t stir.

Jeongin was already on the phone, voice cracking as he called for help, while Changbin pressed a towel against the wound, whispering anything that came to mind.

“It’s okay, I got you, you’re fine, just-stay with me, okay? Don’t you dare do this to me-”

Felix and Jisung arrived minutes later, then Chan, and soon the room was chaos again.

Hyunjin cursed under his breath, Minho checked Seungmin’s breathing, Chan knelt beside Changbin, saying softly,

“He’s alive. He’s alive, Bin. We just need to keep pressure on it.”

Changbin couldn’t stop staring.

He’d never seen Seungmin look fragile.

He wasn’t supposed to.

He was supposed to be sharp, untouchable, the one who always walked into danger without fear.

Not this.

Not lying here, trembling faintly, barely breathing.

When Seungmin’s body finally went still from exhaustion, Changbin almost screamed.

But Chan caught his shoulder, voice steady.

“He’s passed out. It’s shock and blood loss. Help me lift him.”

They carried him down to the car, every step heavy, silent except for Changbin’s ragged breathing.

Back at HQ’s infirmary, the medics worked fast.

They cleaned the wound, bandaged him up, set up IV fluids.

“It missed anything vital,” one of them said. “He lost too much blood and fainted. He’ll wake up soon, but he needs rest.”

The rest of the team stayed nearby, some pacing, some praying quietly.

But Changbin didn’t move from his spot beside the bed.

He held Seungmin’s hand in both of his own, tight enough his knuckles ached.

Minutes turned into hours.

The steady beep of the monitor was the only sound in the room.

Felix eventually whispered, “You should rest too.”

Changbin shook his head without looking up.

“I’m not leaving him.”

He stayed through the night.

Every time Seungmin’s breath hitched, his heart jumped.

Every time Seungmin shifted, he flinched.

It wasn’t until dawn broke through the blinds, painting soft gold across Seungmin’s bandaged form, that he stirred.

Changbin’s head jerked up instantly.

“Seungmin?”

A faint sound came from his lips, barely audible.

Then, slowly, his eyelids fluttered open.

His gaze wandered, unfocused, until it landed on the one thing he recognized.

“...Changbin…” he whispered.

Something inside Changbin cracked wide open.

“Yeah,” he breathed, his thumb brushing Seungmin’s wrist gently. “Yeah, I’m here.”

Seungmin’s lips curved faintly, tiredly. “Knew you’d come.”

Then he drifted back into sleep, still holding Changbin’s hand.

And Changbin just sat there, head bowed, tears falling onto their joined hands, realizing for the first time that somewhere between fear and fury, he’d fallen far too deep.

Chapter Text

The first thing Seungmin felt was warmth.

A steady pressure against his palm, something soft beneath his fingertips, familiar, grounding.

He blinked slowly, vision blurry from the white lights above.

His body felt heavy, but his mind was louder than it had been in days.

“Changbin…” The name slipped out before he could think.

His throat hurt, dry and cracked, but he didn’t care.

All that mattered was that he could still say it.

A second later, the warmth on his hand tightened.

“Seungmin? You’re awake-” Changbin’s voice cracked halfway through his name, and Seungmin turned his head sluggishly to look at him.

His face looked like he hadn’t slept in years, red eyes, messy hair, his shirt wrinkled, hands trembling where they held onto Seungmin’s.

Seungmin blinked again, slow and disoriented.

For a moment, his eyes unfocused, and it wasn’t Changbin’s face he saw.

It was someone else’s, a smile sharper, older, familiar in a way that hurt.

“Hyun…,” he whispered, breath hitching.

“Hyun, the pills-don’t take them-please, you promised you wouldn’t-”

He didn’t even realize he was trying to sit up until pain shot through his side, white-hot and dizzying.

His breathing hitched, panic crawling up his chest. “Hyun, stop-stop-”

“Seungmin!” Changbin grabbed his shoulders, pushing him gently but firmly back down.

“Hey, hey, it’s me! It’s Changbin, you’re safe-look at me.”

But Seungmin was halfway lost in the memories, the smell of smoke, the sound of laughter that wasn’t really laughter, the sight of his brother’s shaking hands clutching a bottle of pills and that same voice telling him, I’m fine, Minnie. You’re overreacting.

His vision blurred further.

He could feel his heartbeat in his wound, his breath coming unevenly.

“Seungmin!” Changbin’s tone was desperate now.

“It’s over. You’re okay. You’re not there anymore.”

That voice, that tone, snapped something back into place.

The sharpness of reality hit all at once.

He blinked, staring at Changbin’s tearful eyes, his grip steady but trembling.

The fog in Seungmin’s mind thinned, the echo of his brother’s voice finally fading.

“…Changbin?” he breathed, small and hoarse.

Changbin let out a shaky laugh, half relief and half heartbreak, and leaned down, pressing his forehead to Seungmin’s hand.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he whispered, voice breaking.

“You scared the hell out of me.”

Seungmin swallowed hard.

His chest hurt, but not from the wound this time.

Slowly, he raised his uninjured hand to touch Changbin’s hair, thumb brushing gently against his temple.

“I didn’t mean to,” he murmured. “I just, needed to finish it.”

Changbin looked up at him, eyes glassy.

“You almost finished yourself instead.”

The guilt that came with that sentence nearly crushed him.

He wanted to look away, but Changbin didn’t let him.

The man’s hand came up to steady his jaw, his thumb brushing his cheek gently.

“I hate seeing you hurt,” Changbin whispered. “More than anything.”

Something in Seungmin’s chest gave way at those words.

He looked at him,  really looked, and for a moment, the ache of his brother’s memory tried to crawl back up.

But this warmth, this voice, this trembling sincerity in Changbin’s eyes… it wasn’t the same.

This was him.

Not his brother.

Not the ghost of his past.

And so, instead of answering, Seungmin let out a soft exhale and leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Changbin’s chest.

“Then hold me for a bit,” he said quietly.

Changbin did, without hesitation.

That’s when the door opened, and Chan’s voice broke through the soft silence.

“Good. You’re awake,” he said, though the relief was visible in his posture.

“You’re not leaving anywhere alone anymore, Seungmin. If you try, I’m putting a tracker on you.”

Seungmin groaned softly, his face still buried in Changbin’s chest.

“that’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not,” Chan said, his voice firm. “You nearly died.”

“…fine,” Seungmin muttered, sounding both exhausted and resigned.

When Chan finally left, Changbin didn’t move, he just held him closer.

Seungmin’s fingers clutched weakly at the fabric of Changbin’s shirt, and his heartbeat slowly calmed against the sound of the other’s steady breathing.

His mind still whispered fragments of the past, laughter, pills, fire, but he buried them deep.

Because this warmth wasn’t from the past.

This one belonged to now.

To Changbin.

Chapter Text

The clock ticked quietly against the white wall.

It was well past midnight, but Changbin couldn’t bring himself to leave the chair.

It was an awful chair, straight metal legs, no cushion, stiff back that made his shoulders ache, but his eyes refused to leave Seungmin’s sleeping form.

He’d watched that chest rise and fall for hours now, terrified that if he blinked, it might stop.

The doctor had said it wasn’t fatal.

Just blood loss.

Exhaustion.

Trauma.

Still, his brain wouldn’t stop showing him flashes of that bed soaked in red, of Seungmin’s pale skin and limp hand.

He rubbed his face and leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“You’re gonna be fine,” he muttered quietly. “You have to be.”

A soft sound made him look up.

“Changbin…”

His head snapped toward the bed.

Seungmin’s eyes were half-open, sleepy but aware, his voice scratchy from dehydration.

“Hey,” Changbin said softly, standing immediately.

“You should rest.”

Seungmin blinked at him, slow and heavy.

“You’re still here?”

“Where else would I be?”

A faint smile tugged at Seungmin’s lips. “You look uncomfortable.”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re not.” He shifted slightly, wincing when his bandaged side brushed the sheets.

“That chair’s gonna break your back. Just-” He patted the side of the bed weakly. “-lie down here.”

Changbin froze. “No way. You need space.”

“There’s space,” Seungmin muttered.

“You’re just stubborn.”

“I said no, Seungmin. You’re hurt-”

And then Seungmin tilted his head, voice low and soft and just a little vulnerable as he whispered,

“Changbin hyung… please.”

It was barely a word, more breath than sound, but it shot through Changbin’s chest like lightning.

His mind went blank, his body went limp before he even realized it, and suddenly Seungmin was tugging weakly at his sleeve.

Changbin let out a shaky sigh. “You’re evil.”

“You’re dramatic,” Seungmin mumbled, eyes fluttering shut again. “Just come here.”

Changbin hesitated for another beat, then finally gave in, carefully sliding onto the bed.

It wasn’t wide enough for comfort; their shoulders touched, their legs brushed.

The warmth between them felt like a live current.

He tried to stay still, tried to ignore the frantic thudding of his heart.

He was pressed close enough to smell Seungmin’s shampoo, faint, clean, something citrusy and soft.

Seungmin shifted again, nestling closer until his forehead brushed Changbin’s shoulder.

“Better,” he murmured, already half-asleep.

Changbin swallowed hard. “You’re gonna make me die early.”

“Then you’d still be next to me,” Seungmin whispered drowsily.

Changbin exhaled, his chest tightening.

He didn’t have an answer to that.

For a while, they lay in silence.

Seungmin’s breathing steadied, his body relaxing against Changbin’s, until the quiet began to feel… safe.

Then, just when Changbin thought Seungmin had drifted off completely, he heard a faint whisper:

“My brother used to hold me like this.”

Changbin turned his head slightly. “Hm?”

Seungmin’s voice was slow, slurred, like he was dreaming and speaking at once.

“When I was scared. During storms. He’d say… it’s okay, Minnie, it’s just noise.”

Something fragile cracked in Changbin’s chest.

Seungmin’s tone trembled, the words spilling out between shallow breaths.

“But then he started taking those pills. Said he felt powerful. Said he could finally protect me. But he wasn’t him anymore. He laughed all the time. He hit me. I didn’t… I didn’t even recognize him.”

His fingers curled into Changbin’s shirt, trembling.

“I had to stop him before he hurt anyone else. He smiled before he fell. Said I still had warmth.”

A tear rolled down his cheek, soaking into the fabric near Changbin’s collarbone.

Changbin didn’t think.

He just wrapped his arms around Seungmin, holding him carefully but firmly, his voice low and steady.

“You still do,” he whispered. “You didn’t lose it.”

Seungmin didn’t respond, only shifted closer, tears still slipping silently as he pressed his face into Changbin’s chest.

Within minutes, his breathing softened again, exhaustion winning over pain.

Changbin stayed awake long after.

His arm had gone numb.

His chest ached from holding back too many feelings.

But he didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

He just watched Seungmin sleep, heart thundering, realizing, maybe too late, that whatever warmth Seungmin’s brother said he had… Changbin had fallen straight into it.

Chapter Text

The first thing Seungmin noticed when he opened his eyes that morning was warmth.

Not sunlight,

Changbin.

Changbin’s head was tucked just under his chin, breath soft, his arm looped instinctively around Seungmin’s waist.

For a split second, Seungmin forgot where they were.

Until a scream shattered the peace.

“OH MY GOD-”

Felix’s voice hit an octave Seungmin didn’t know humans could reach.

Then Jisung’s horrified echo followed,

“They’re cuddling! On the hospital bed!”

Changbin jerked awake so fast he nearly smacked his forehead into Seungmin’s chin.

“Wha-what-why are you screaming!?”

Felix was already snapping pictures, gleefully narrating,

“Look at this, our mafia prince snuggling his hyung like a plush toy!”

Jeongin walked in right after, took one look at them, and deadpanned, “Cute.”

Chan appeared next, rubbing his temples like a single parent of too many children.

“Can we please not start chaos in a hospital room?”

Then Hyunjin strutted in like a model on a catwalk, with a buzz cut.

Everyone went silent.

Seungmin blinked. “What happened to your hair?”

Hyunjin sighed dramatically. “A small… accident with fire. And bleach. Don’t ask.”

Jisung burst out laughing so hard that Felix nearly dropped his phone.

Minho stood in the corner, looking vaguely disgusted at everything.

It was chaos, pure, unfiltered, Stray Kids chaos.

And in the middle of it, Changbin was still sitting there, hair messy, cheeks pink, glaring at the world like a cat yanked from its nap.

Something about that sight made Seungmin smile, he couldn’t help it.

By the time they got Seungmin discharged, Felix had already declared that they must celebrate the “miracle recovery.”

“No arguments!” he said, dragging Seungmin toward the van.

“Jackson Wang’s throwing a party tonight and we’re all going!”

Changbin frowned immediately. “He’s still healing, Felix.”

“I’m fine,” Seungmin said, rolling his eyes. “I got shot, not turned into glass.”

Changbin gave him that look again, half stern, half worried, and completely unfair.

“You lost a lot of blood, Seungmin.”

Seungmin leaned in, lowering his voice just enough to make Changbin fluster.

“I’ll be fine, Changbin hyung.”

He felt the way Changbin froze beside him, jaw tightening just slightly.

Perfect.

The bass thudded like a second heartbeat under Seungmin’s ribs.

He’d been drinking slowly, not enough to blur, just enough to quiet the hum of nerves in his head.

The only clear thing in the haze of color and sound was Changbin.

His hyung.

That stupid word rolled off his tongue too easily tonight.

It was almost a weapon the way he used it, soft, sweet, and precise, watching how Changbin’s composure cracked each time.

He’d been doing it all night.

Every “Changbin hyung” earned him a new shade of red in those cheeks, a stutter, a swallow, a flicker of something he couldn’t name.

Now, cornered against the wall in a quieter hallway, Seungmin could hear Changbin’s breathing, uneven, unsure.

“Say my name,” Seungmin murmured.

“Wha—?”

“My name, hyung.”

“Seungmin…”

His voice. Soft. Hesitant.

The sound tangled around Seungmin’s chest and pulled tight.

“Again.”

Changbin hesitated, then, “Seungmin.”

God. It felt unfair.

Seungmin exhaled, laughter caught in his throat.

“You have no idea what you do when you say it like that.”

Changbin looked ready to melt.

“You’re impossible,” he whispered.

“Maybe.” Seungmin tilted his head, just close enough for the space between them to tremble.

“But you like it.”

Changbin’s breath hitched. “You’re drunk-”

“Barely,” Seungmin murmured. “And you’re nervous. That’s worse.”

Changbin opened his mouth to respond, and that’s when:

“SEUNGMIN! CHANGBIN! FOUND YOU!”

Felix’s voice pierced the air like a siren.

The two froze. Footsteps echoed closer.

Seungmin closed his eyes.

The vein in his temple twitched.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“HYUNJIN IS TRYING TO JUMP INTO THE CHOCOLATE FOUNTAIN!” Felix shouted again, stumbling around the corner, wide-eyed.

“Oh, there you are!”

Seungmin’s jaw clenched.

Slowly, he turned his head, smile sharp and utterly fake.

“Felix,” he said softly. “Go away.”

Felix blinked. “What-”

“Go. Away.” His tone was low, controlled but edged with something that made Felix’s shoulders shoot up instantly.

Felix gulped, backing a step.

“O-okay, you got it, I’m leaving, please don’t kill me, Hyunjin’s bald now anyway!” And he ran.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Seungmin sighed, pressing his fingers to his temple. “Every time,” he muttered. “Every. Single. Time.”

Changbin was still standing frozen, like his body hadn’t processed that Felix was gone.

“He-he didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Seungmin gave him a sidelong look, then stepped close again, voice quieter. “You know what’s funny, hyung?”

Changbin blinked. “What?”

“I wasn’t even that mad until you defended him.”

Changbin’s lips parted, but nothing came out.

Seungmin smiled faintly, that kind of dangerous, too-calm smile that made it impossible to tell if he was joking.

“You really don’t get it, do you?”

He leaned in just enough for his breath to ghost against Changbin’s ear.

“You make me lose control, and everyone else just keeps getting in the way.”

Then he stepped back, the smirk fading to something tired,  raw.

Changbin’s throat moved. “…Seungmin.”

“Not now, hyung.” His voice was soft again, almost fond. “If I stay here any longer, I’ll do something I shouldn’t.”

Changbin blinked, but before he could say anything, Seungmin turned away, walking back toward the noise of the party.

But before Seungmin could go far Changbin's fingers grab his hand.

Changbin’s hand tightened around his wrist, firm enough to make Seungmin freeze mid-step.

He turned, ready to glare, but his voice caught somewhere between his throat and his chest.

“Changbin hyung?”

The second the word left his lips, Seungmin regretted it.

The air between them shifted, subtle, but charged.

Changbin’s eyes softened, then darkened in amusement, and he took a step closer.

“Say that again,” he murmured.

Seungmin blinked, confused. “What-”

“‘Hyung,’” Changbin repeated, his voice dropping low, teasing in a way Seungmin wasn’t used to hearing.

“You sound different when you say it.”

His stomach twisted.

He wanted to scoff, to roll his eyes, but all that came out was a quiet breath.

“You’re being weird.”

Changbin chuckled, low and warm. “Maybe. But it’s working, isn’t it?”

“Working?” Seungmin repeated, backing up half a step before realizing the wall was right behind him.

“On what?”

Changbin tilted his head, that grin of his sharpening.

“Getting your attention.”

Seungmin’s heart thudded hard enough that he swore Changbin could hear it.

The room around them blurred, the hum of the music, the faint echo of laughter from the hall, everything dissolved into the heat of Changbin’s presence.

He reached out slowly, his fingertips brushing against Seungmin’s sleeve.

“You always act like you’re not affected,” he said softly. “But the way you look at me… you really think I don’t notice?”

Seungmin’s breath hitched.

“You’re imagining things.”

Changbin leaned closer, close enough that Seungmin could feel the warmth of his breath.

“Am I?”

He wasn’t touching him, not quite, but the space between them felt razor thin.

Every word Changbin spoke came slower, quieter, like he was savoring the effect.

“You’ve been calling me ‘hyung’ a lot lately,” he said, almost whispering now.

“You don’t even do that with Chan sometimes.”

“Don’t,” Seungmin warned, but it came out too soft to sound convincing.

“Don’t what?” Changbin smiled.

“Don’t talk? Don’t stand this close? Or don’t make you say it again?”

“Changbin-”

“Hyung,” he corrected playfully, eyes gleaming.

Seungmin’s mind blanked.

He wanted to retort, to shove him back, to laugh it off, anything to keep the upper hand, but every time Changbin said that word in that tone, his pulse stuttered.

Changbin moved just an inch closer, voice low and steady.

“You keep running, Seungmin. You flirt, you pull back, you make me chase you. I thought maybe you liked the game, but…” His lips quirked.

“You’re shaking.”

“I am not,” Seungmin snapped, though his hands betrayed him, clenched, trembling slightly.

Changbin’s grin deepened. “Sure you’re not.”

His gaze lingered, trailing from Seungmin’s eyes to his mouth, and Seungmin swore the room tilted.

He didn’t know if it was the leftover dizziness from the hospital or Changbin himself, but everything felt too much.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered.

“Like what?”

“Like-”

Changbin’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “Like you’re the only thing worth looking at?”

That was it.

That one line, quiet, unguarded, and so Changbin, snapped the last thread of Seungmin’s composure.

He wasn’t supposed to be the flustered one.

He wasn’t supposed to be trembling, staring up at Changbin like this, feeling his throat go dry.

He took a sharp breath, heart pounding painfully hard.

“You talk too much, hyung.”

And before he could second-guess himself, Seungmin reached up, grabbed a fistful of Changbin’s collar, and pulled him down.

The kiss crashed between them, sharp, sudden, all heat and confusion.

Changbin made a soft, startled sound against his mouth, then stilled, his hand catching Seungmin’s waist in reflex.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t planned.

It was desperate, Seungmin’s last attempt to take back control, to stop the room from spinning.

When he finally pulled back, both of them were breathing hard, eyes wide, faces inches apart.

Changbin’s lips parted, stunned. “…Seungmin-”

“Don’t,” Seungmin whispered, his voice rough.

“Don’t say anything right now.”

And he didn’t.

Changbin just smiled, small, shaky, full of quiet disbelief, as Seungmin stood there, cheeks flushed, trying not to show how badly his hands were still trembling.

For the first time that night, it wasn’t clear who had won.

The sound in the room was the pulse in his ears. Nothing else.

Just that, and the feel of Changbin’s breath brushing against his lips when he finally pulled away.

They both stared, wide-eyed, stunned into stillness.

Seungmin’s fingers were still tangled in Changbin’s collar.

He could feel the warmth through the fabric, the faint rise and fall of his chest.

Neither of them spoke.

He didn’t even know what had made him do it, the tension, the teasing, the way Changbin had looked at him, but the instant their lips met, something inside him had cracked open.

Now, standing there, he felt it all rushing back at once.

Panic. Relief. Hunger.

“I-” Seungmin started, but the word broke halfway out of his throat.

Changbin’s gaze flicked from his mouth to his eyes, searching.

For what, Seungmin couldn’t tell.

Then, slowly, Changbin lifted a hand, fingers finding Seungmin’s chin.

His touch was firm, deliberate, grounding.

Seungmin froze again.

“Don’t run this time,” Changbin murmured.

Before Seungmin could react, Changbin tilted his chin upward and kissed him again.

This one was steadier,not a crash, not desperation. It was warmer, slower, heavier.

The kind of kiss that made the world tilt sideways and come back softer.

Seungmin’s knees nearly gave out.

He gripped Changbin’s shirt to keep himself from falling, feeling the muscles shift beneath his palms.

Changbin’s hand stayed on his jaw, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth like he didn’t want to let go.

It wasn’t perfect.

Their rhythm fumbled; breaths mixed unevenly. But it was real, too real.

When they finally broke apart, Seungmin’s head dropped to Changbin’s shoulder.

He didn’t know what to say.

He could feel Changbin’s heartbeat against his chest, fast, nervous, the same as his.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

“Hyung,” Seungmin whispered, not daring to look up.

Changbin laughed softly under his breath, a shaky sound that didn’t know whether to smile or sigh.

“You’re going to ruin me with that.”

That made Seungmin smile, small and tired and too full of feeling.

“You started it.”

“Yeah.” Changbin’s fingers brushed through his hair once, gentle. “I think I did.”

Silence stretched between them again, not awkward, just uncertain.

The kind of silence where both wanted to ask what now but neither dared to.

Seungmin finally stepped back, just enough to breathe properly.

“We should probably… go back.”

“Yeah,” Changbin said again, but his eyes didn’t leave Seungmin’s.

Neither of them moved.

When they finally did, it was slow, like pulling away from something magnetic.

By the time they walked out into the faint noise of the party, the tension still clung to them, invisible but undeniable.

Their shoulders brushed once, and both of them pretended not to notice.

Friends.

Partners.

Something in between.

Seungmin didn’t know what they were, only that when Changbin’s fingers brushed his again by accident, he didn’t pull away.

Not this time.

And he will make sure he gets what he wants from Changbin tonight.

Chapter Text

The party had gotten louder since Felix turned the music up and declared it a “celebration of survival.”

The neon lights flickered pink and blue, glasses clinked, and laughter spilled into every corner.

But Seungmin wasn’t laughing.

He sat at the edge of the couch, arms crossed, a drink in one hand, glaring at the scene across the room, more specifically, at Changbin.

Changbin, who was laughing too loud.

Changbin, who was smiling at everyone.

Changbin, who was supposed to be his tonight.

The alcohol burned sweetly down Seungmin’s throat as he took another sip, eyes narrowing when he caught Changbin helping Jeongin fix the speakers.

Helping.

Always helping someone else.

Not helping Seungmin deal with the chaos in his chest.

“Stupid hyung,” Seungmin muttered under his breath, his voice just a little slurred.

“Can’t even see when someone’s dying for attention.”

Felix plopped down beside him, offering another drink.

“You good, Minnie?”

Seungmin scowled, cheeks flushed pink.

“No. This party’s stupid. And the music’s too loud.”

Felix blinked, then grinned.

“Or maybe you’re jealous?”

Seungmin nearly threw the cup at him. “I’m not-!”

But his glare faltered when Changbin laughed again, that deep, warm sound that usually made Seungmin’s stomach twist in a nice way.

Now it just twisted.

Felix followed his gaze and stifled a laugh.

“Uh-huh. Totally not jealous.”

“Shut up,” Seungmin snapped, cheeks puffed. He looked away, muttering,

“I’m just… annoyed.”

Felix didn’t bother arguing.

He just grinned and walked off, leaving Seungmin to stew in his own pouty frustration.

Across the room, Changbin was joking with Chan and Hyunjin, and Seungmin’s jaw clenched tighter with every passing second.

The alcohol was warm in his veins, softening his control, magnifying every feeling.

Every time someone touched Changbin’s arm, Seungmin’s grip on his cup tightened.

Finally, when Changbin didn’t even look his way for five whole minutes, Seungmin snapped.

“Changbin-hyung!”

His voice was sharp, loud enough to make several people turn.

But Changbin just glanced over, smiled, and waved, before turning back to Chan.

That did it.

Seungmin stomped across the room, cheeks flushed, hair slightly messy, eyes burning.

He stopped right beside Changbin and tugged at his sleeve.

“Hyung,” he said, louder. No response.

He frowned, and practically shouted into Changbin’s ear, “Changbin-hyung!”

Changbin flinched, spinning around. “What-? Minnie?”

Seungmin just glared up at him, eyes glossy and pout in full force.

“You’re ignoring me.”

“I wasn’t-”

“You were,” Seungmin cut in, poking his chest.

“I called you. Twice. And you didn’t come. You like them more than me?”

Changbin blinked, completely lost. “Seungmin, are you-drunk?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Seungmin declared, swaying slightly.

“You’re just being mean.”

He crossed his arms, turning his face away, lips forming a stubborn little pout that made Changbin’s heart skip.

God, this was not fair.

Seungmin wasn’t supposed to be this cute.

Not when his hair was falling into his eyes and his cheeks were pink and his lower lip jutted out just so.

“Come with me,” Seungmin demanded suddenly.

“What?”

“Hyung, come with me.” He tugged Changbin’s wrist, surprisingly strong for someone half tipsy.

“Where-Seungmin-”

But Seungmin didn’t answer, just dragged him toward the elevator.

The others barely noticed, too caught up in the music and laughter.

The elevator doors slid shut behind them, and silence settled.

Seungmin leaned against the wall, arms still crossed, eyes avoiding Changbin.

The pout hadn’t left his face.

“You really mad at me?” Changbin asked softly.

Seungmin didn’t answer.

“You’re pouting,” Changbin added, smiling a little.

“I’m not,” Seungmin muttered, voice small.

“You are.”

“…maybe.”

Changbin laughed quietly.

It was warm and soft, and something inside Seungmin fluttered.

When the doors opened, Seungmin stumbled out, still tugging Changbin along.

They reached a quiet hallway, and Seungmin fished out a room keycard from his pocket.

Changbin blinked.

“You… already got a room?”

Seungmin gave him a half-lidded glare.

“Just wanted to sleep.”

“Uh-huh.”

Seungmin opened the door, turned back, and said,

“Come in, hyung.”

And Changbin followed-because he couldn’t not.

The room was dim, the city lights filtering through the window.

Seungmin turned to him, expression softer now, exhaustion and alcohol mixing into something achingly tender.

Then, without warning, he tugged Changbin by the shirt and pushed him gently down onto the bed.

Changbin froze. “Seung-”

“Sleep,” Seungmin mumbled, collapsing right on top of him, cheek pressed to Changbin’s chest.

He was out within seconds.

Changbin lay there, stunned, every muscle tense.

Then Seungmin shifted, mumbling softly, “...hyung…”

His lips barely brushed against Changbin’s shirt, and the word came out like a sigh.

Changbin swallowed hard, staring at the ceiling.

His heart was thundering, and his arms hovered awkwardly before finally giving in and wrapping around Seungmin’s waist.

Seungmin was warm and  Ridiculously cute.

And Changbin had absolutely no idea what they were anymore.

Just that he couldn’t move, didn’t want to move.

A few hours later.

Something heavy was pressing on Changbin’s chest

And moving.

He cracked one eye open, only to freeze.

Seungmin. Sitting. Right. On. His. Lap.

“...What are you doing?” Changbin croaked.

Seungmin blinked sleepily, then leaned forward, hair a fluffy mess, expression deadly serious.

“I’m asserting dominance.”

Changbin just stared.

“You’re sitting on me.”

“Yes.”

“Get off.”

“No.”

“Seungmin-”

“I’m the top now.”

“What-? That’s not- you can’t just sit on someone and declare that!” Changbin spluttered, pushing himself up on his elbows, his cheeks red at the sudden words.

Seungmin tilted his head, unimpressed.

“Why not? You’re beneath me. That’s how it works.”

“Oh my-you’re literally a five-year-old!” Changbin groaned.

“I’m taller,” Seungmin shot back instantly.

“Not relevant!”

“Taller means top.”

“No it doesn’t!”

“Yes it does!”

“Seungmin, for the love of-”

“I’m not moving.”

“Fine, then I’ll move you!”

Seungmin gasped dramatically.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I so would,” Changbin said, voice muffled as he tried to sit up.

“Try it, hyung.”

That word, the smug little curl in Seungmin’s tone, made Changbin pause for half a second.

That’s all Seungmin needed to poke his cheek.

“See? You can’t.”

“Oh, that’s it!” Changbin lunged.

The bed instantly turned into a warzone.

Seungmin yelped, kicking his legs as Changbin tried to grab his wrists; Changbin’s hair went everywhere; the blanket somehow got stuck around both of them.

“Stop squirming!” Changbin barked, laughing despite himself.

“You’re cheating!” Seungmin snapped back. “You used both arms!”

“You didn’t say I couldn’t!”

“That’s basic honor code!”

“There’s no honor in bed wrestling!”

“You’re a liar!”

“Cry about it!”

Seungmin did, in fact, try to bite him.

“Hey! Did you just- you bit me!”

“Self-defense!” Seungmin declared proudly.

“Oh, I’ll show you self-defense-”

One roll later, Changbin had Seungmin pinned beneath him, wrists gently caught above his head, their breathing loud and uneven.

The movement stilled, their laughter fading into something quieter, heavier.

Changbin’s grin softened as his eyes met
Seungmin’s wide, shining faintly even in the dark.

“Guess I win,” Changbin whispered, chest heaving slightly.

Seungmin’s lips parted, his glare half-hearted.

“Only because I let you.”

“Sure,” Changbin murmured, smile crooked.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Silence stretched, not awkward, but electric.

Neither moved, not even when their knees brushed or when Seungmin’s breath hitched.

Changbin’s hand loosened, his fingers tracing faintly along Seungmin’s wrist.

“...You’re heavy,” Seungmin muttered finally.

“You started it.”

“You provoked me!”

“You sat on me!”

They both broke into quiet laughter again, the tension refusing to fade but the edges softening into something almost fond.

When the laughter died down, their eyes met again, closer this time.

No one said another word.

Seungmin stared up at the ceiling, blinking as his breath came in short bursts.

Changbin had him pinned, not harshly, just firmly enough that it reminded Seungmin he wasn’t the strongest person in the room anymore.

For once, that didn’t irritate him. It… turned him on.

“You’re heavy,” Seungmin muttered, glaring up, trying to salvage what little pride he had left.

Changbin grinned down, arms locked on either side of Seungmin’s head.

“You started it.”

“I was proving a point.”

“Oh yeah?” Changbin leaned in a little, just enough that Seungmin could feel the weight of his presence.

“What point was that again?”

Seungmin’s mouth opened, then closed.

He wasn’t sure.

Somewhere between the childish argument over who was stronger and the clumsy wrestling match that landed him here, his irritation had melted into something hotter, a strange attraction.

It was ridiculous.

He was the mafia here.

The one people feared.

The one who made others back down with a glance.

And yet, lying here with Changbin’s strength pressing gently but unyieldingly against him, Seungmin felt… horny to say the least.

Changbin’s smirk softened when he noticed Seungmin’s silence.

“You okay?”

Seungmin blinked, snapping out of his thoughts.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, then added, just to cover the way his chest was twisting and the fact his pants were becoming noticeably tighter.

“You’re still annoying though.”

Changbin chuckled. “Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that, Min.”

Seungmin rolled his eyes again, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

He didn’t push Changbin away this time.

He wanted all of him today.

“But you really are though, hyung.” seungmin said his hand coming up to stoke his chest, smirking at the way he could feel Changbin shiver.

“So annoying, that you don't even notice anything.” he said his voice sultry and breathless, he could see the way Changbins breath hitched and cheeks flushed, his eyes turning a bit hooded.

Seungmin heat raced in excitement, he lifted his knee just enough to add pressure over Changbin's growing bulge.

“Seungmin...” Changbin said softly his voice was low and gruff like he was holding himself back.

But seungmin waited way too long to stop.

“What is it hyung?” he pressed his knee harder and Changbin's hips buckled, chasing the pressure.

Changbin let out a low breath and looked at Seungmin who was smirking at the sight of him disheveled and panting.

Before seungmin could say another word changbin grabbed his arm and flipped him over, his face was now facing the mattress, his ass up and pressed against Changbin's hips.

“You're hurt.” Changbin said his grip on his arm was unyielding and seungmin just rolled his eyes.

“It's just a scratch nothing life threatening, besides,” he raised his ass pressing it harder against Changbin's bulge.

“I'm healthy enough for a bit of fun...” Changbin let out a shaky breath which could almost be heard as a low moan.

“Seungmin...” Changbin whispered almost pleading, as he pressed himself harder against his ass.

Bingo.

Seungmin grinded on him despite his position on the bed.

“Fuck me, hyung.” Seungmin said, his voice almost like a whine, shaking his ass.

Changbin let out a moan at the words and with swift move pulled down seungmins pants.

Seungmin didn't even have much time to register what happened. Changbin's hands were already kneading the soft flesh of his ass, pulling his cheeks apart and licking him through the boxers, moaning at the taste.

Seungmin let out a yelp in surprise which slowly turned into a moan as he raised his ass higher but Changbin's tongue was gone as quickly as it came.

Changbin pulled seungmins boxers down, and started at his ass hungrily his hands spreading them apart to look at the real gift inside.

Seungmin shivered at the feeling as he dug his face deeper into the mattress, almost embarrassed at the way Changbin was staring at the most hidden  part of him, but he was excited as well, eager almost.

Not knowing where changbin got the lube but the cold liquid was quickly poured over his exposed ass, dripping down his inner thighs pooling on the bedsheets.

It was more than necessary since seungmin isn't a virgin but he wasn't complaining.

Changbin was quiet the whole time like he was holding his breath, but Seungmin could feel his stare on him like he was something holy.

And god how Seungmin was enjoying the attention.

Seungmins dick was throbbing, hanging and dripping precum uselessly on the bed, Changbin ignoring it fully.

His hand stayed on his ass and his eyes were glued onto his puckered up hole.

Changbins first finger slid in easily due to the immense amount of lube, making soft squelching sounds as he thrust it in.

Seungmin relaxed to let it glide in smoothly, the Intrusion was a bit uncomfortable but he quickly eased into it, easing his ass higher so changbin could get a better angle.

Changbin was almost annoyingly slow, his finger going in and out carefully like Seungmin would break.

“Hyuuung...” Seungmin whined shaking his ass,
“Faster, I'm not gonna break.” He says dragging out the words.

Changbin didn't even answer as he quickly stuffed his second finger.

Seungmin didn't expect him to listen so quickly but moaned at the feeling.

Changbin started thrusting harder, letting his fingers press in deeper.

“So impatient.” Changbin said his voice breathless as his fingers dug into the curve of seungmins ass.

“I wanted to take my time, open you up, make sure we both could have fun, but someone.” he added his thrusts finger making seungmins knees almost give out, his moan so loud that he could barely hear Changbin's voice.

“Was too impatient.” his fingers pressed against his prostate, making Seungmin almost cum.

“Maybe I should give you what you want,” Changbin said his fingers going faster, each time digging into his prostate.

Seungmin was seeing stars as he pressed harder and his dick finally gave in, spraying his cum onto the already ruined sheets.

Changbin removed his fingers and poured more lube over Seungmins ass, which was still wet but now drenched.

Seungmin could feel the cold air inside as his hole kept clenching onto nothing.

He heard shuffling, the sound of clothes being removed, he turned his head to see Changbins cock, thick, big and hard.

He could drool over that thing.

But to Seungmins disappointment he wasn't thrusting it in, instead he was.... Jerking off...?

Changbin was panting, biting his lip to stop from moaning, his hand wrapped around his dick, pumping him up and down, his gaze was locked onto seungmins ass, which was drenched in lube and gaping to nothing but cold air.

Seungmin was surprised and confused.

Surprised because Changbin was bigger than he expected and confused because why was changbin jerking off right now of all times?

Changbin came with a loud moan, his hot release coating seungmins already drenched ass.

Seungmin blinked.

What the hell.

Seungmin turned around.

“What are you doing?” He asked like genuinely confused about why he wasn't being fucked stupid right now.

“Im not going to fuck you.” Changbin replied his voice still gruff, but his tone was final.

Seungmin turned around and sat up, ignoring the wetness dripping down his thighs.

“why not?” he said almost irritated but Changbin just pulled his boxers up, covering the best view seungmin had all year.

“Your hurt.” Changbin said like it was obvious but seungmin scoffed, getting a bit more angry now.

“i said I'm fine.” Seungmin said but Changbin was ready going to the washroom to bring wet towels.

“maybe another time?” Changbin said with a sheepish smile, so adorable seungmin almost forgot to be angry.

Instead he looked away and grumbled about being cockblocked as Changbin wiped him with wet towels.

After Seungmin refusing to lay down on the drenched bed again they and to get a new room where seungmin layed down tiring away from changbin his arms still crossed.

But changbin just smiled and wrapped his arms around him.

Seungmin could almost forgive him for not fucking him.

Almost.

Chapter Text

At first, Changbin didn’t realize he was dreaming.

The world felt too vivid for that, the cold wind, the damp air, the way the sky hung low like it was about to break apart.

He was standing in a gray, endless field, the scent of rain heavy in the air.

And Seungmin was there.

Just a few feet away.

Back turned.

“Seungmin?” Changbin called, voice cautious, soft.

No answer.

He took a step forward, the grass whispering beneath his shoes.

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” he said again, trying for a chuckle, something normal. “Why’re you just standing there?”

Still nothing.

Something uneasy twisted in his gut.

He reached out, fingers brushing Seungmin’s arm-

-and Seungmin flinched.

Hard.

Changbin froze, startled. “What-?”

Then Seungmin gasped.

It wasn’t a small sound.

It was sharp, pained, a cry that shot straight through Changbin’s chest.

Seungmin staggered a step away, clutching at his arm. His face twisted, eyes squeezed shut as if the touch had burned.

“Seungmin!” Changbin lurched forward instinctively, but the moment he reached out again, Seungmin’s knees nearly buckled.

“Don’t-!” Seungmin’s voice cracked as he stumbled back, breathing fast. “Don’t touch me!”

Changbin stopped dead. The bruise had already begun to spread, dark purple blooming where his hand had been seconds ago.

“What-what happened?” Changbin’s voice shook.

“I didn’t- I didn’t even-” He looked down at his hand as if the guilt was something physical, something crawling over his skin.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

Seungmin’s eyes were wet.

His pain wasn’t just physical now, it was confusion, fear, heartbreak all tangled together.

“Why do you always hurt me?” he whispered.

The words hit harder than the scream.

“Always?” Changbin’s throat closed up. “Seungmin, I swear, I didn’t-”

But the bruise crept higher, ugly and relentless, up his shoulder, his neck, blooming against his jaw like ink seeping through paper.

Changbin reached again without thinking, then stopped halfway, fingers trembling.

He couldn’t risk touching him again.

“Please,” he begged, voice splintering.

“Please, I didn’t mean it. I don’t know why it hurts you, I just- I just wanted to hold you.”

Seungmin looked up at him, eyes glassy, full of tears that didn’t fall. “It always hurts, Changbin.”

And then the ground shifted, and the world shattered like glass.

Now he was in their apartment.

Dim lights.

Silence heavy as guilt.

Seungmin stood by the door, a duffel bag over his shoulder, eyes swollen as if he’d been crying for hours.

Changbin’s pulse quickened.

“No,” he whispered. “No, not this again.”

Seungmin’s hand gripped the strap of the bag tighter.

“You can’t fix everything, Bin.”

“Don’t say that,” Changbin snapped, voice already cracking.

“Don’t walk away, please. Just-just tell me what I did this time, I’ll fix it, I swear-”

“It’s not about fixing.”

“Then what is it?!”

Seungmin’s eyes met his, glistening under the dim light.

“You don’t know when to stop.”

Changbin froze.

“I’m trying,” he whispered. “I really am.”

“I know,” Seungmin said softly, tears finally spilling down his cheeks.

Then he turned the doorknob.

“Seungmin, please!” Changbin lunged forward, trying to grab him, but his hand passed right through.

Cold air filled the space where warmth used to be.

And when the door closed, the sound echoed like a gunshot.

“Please don’t leave me,” Changbin whispered. His voice broke apart.

The apartment fell away around him, the floor melting, walls bending into a haze of red and smoke.

The next moment was a nightmare in its rawest form.

Blood everywhere.

The smell metallic and thick in the air.

Seungmin lay on the ground, his shirt torn, chest rising in shallow, weak breaths.

Changbin fell to his knees beside him, pressing down on a wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding.

“Seungmin! No-no, no, no, please-”

His fingers slipped on the blood, shaking violently as he tried to hold the wound shut.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’ve got you, just-just stay awake, okay?!”

Seungmin groaned softly, his lips pale.

“You… you didn’t mean to.”

Changbin’s breath hitched. “What?”

“You didn’t mean to hurt me,” Seungmin whispered, voice trembling.

“But you always do.”

“Stop saying that!” Changbin cried. His tears fell into the blood, mixing, blurring.

“Please don’t talk like that. Please, I’ll fix it, I can-”

Seungmin tried to smile, but it came out broken.

His hand lifted weakly, brushing Changbin’s cheek, smearing red across his skin.

“You can’t fix me.”

“Don’t say that! Don’t you dare say that-” Changbin’s hands trembled harder. “You’re all I have. You’re all I-”

Seungmin’s eyelids fluttered once.

Twice.

Then stillness.

“Seungmin?”

No answer.

“Seungmin!”

The scream ripped through the silence, raw, violent, desperate.

He grabbed Seungmin’s face with shaking hands, shaking him gently.

“Wake up! Please-wake up, wake up, wake up!”

The world began collapsing around him, buildings crumbling, light bleeding into darkness, the wind howling as if mourning with him.

And then-

He woke.

Changbin gasped for air, his lungs burning, his heart pounding like it wanted to tear itself out of his chest.

It was dark.

The real kind of dark.

The kind that hummed softly with a fan in the background and the steady rhythm of breathing beside him.

He blinked, eyes darting to his side, and there he was.

Seungmin. Safe. Whole. Asleep.

Changbin’s breath trembled out of him like a broken prayer.

He reached forward, hand shaking, and touched Seungmin’s wrist, just barely.

When Seungmin didn’t flinch, when there was no bruise, no blood, just warmth, that’s when Changbin finally let himself breathe.

He pulled Seungmin close, wrapping his arms around him tightly, almost desperately.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into his hair. “I’m so sorry.”

Seungmin stirred faintly, mumbling something sleepy against his chest, something that sounded like “Hyung, it was just a nightmare.”

Changbin laughed shakily, a tear slipping down his cheek.

“Can’t help it,” he whispered back.

“You keep scaring me, even in my dreams.”

He pressed his face into Seungmin’s shoulder, breathing him in, grounding himself in the reality that this- this -was real.

And for the rest of the night, Changbin stayed awake, holding him like he might disappear if he let go.

Because he knew now exactly what it felt like to lose him-

and he never wanted to feel it again.

Chapter Text

The first thing he feels is pain.

A dull, pounding ache that lives behind his eyes and hums through his skull.

He groans and tries to turn away from the sunlight bleeding through the thin motel curtains.

His throat is dry, his head heavy. His body feels like lead.

The hangover hits harder than expected.

And then, he realizes he can’t move. Something heavy is sprawled across his chest.

He blinks his eyes open, only to see Seungmin sleeping soundly, his arm draped around Changbin’s stomach, his face pressed against his shirt.

His breathing is steady, his hair messy, his expression… peaceful.

For a mafia strategist, Seungmin sleeps like a puppy, unbothered and entirely unaware that he’s smothering someone under him.

“Min,” Changbin croaks.

A soft hum, followed by a sleepy mumble.

“Five minutes.”

“Five minutes? You’re crushing me.”

Seungmin only shifts slightly, muttering something like, “You’re comfy, hyung,” before going still again.

Changbin sighs.

His headache throbs.

His back aches.

But he can’t bring himself to push Seungmin off.

Not when his expression is that soft, not when the faint weight against his chest feels like safety.

For a few minutes, he just lies there, counting Seungmin’s breaths.

By the time they reach HQ, Changbin’s skull feels like it’s cracking.

Every noise echoes too loudly, the sound of boots on the marble floor, the distant chatter, even the low hum of the elevator.

Seungmin doesn’t seem to notice.

He’s walking beside him, a faint frown on his face but his hand still brushing against Changbin’s.

He’s unusually gentle, or maybe still a bit hungover too.

When they enter the main hall, everyone straightens.

Chan’s already sitting at the head of the long conference table, looking half-exhausted himself.

Jisung and Hyunjin are whispering on one side; Felix is balancing a cup of coffee on the other.

“Morning,” Chan says, voice low. “You both survived?”

“Barely,” Changbin mutters.

Seungmin just hums and, before anyone can comment, plops down right onto Changbin’s lap like it’s the most natural seat in the room.

“Seriously?” Changbin whispers, his face burning.

Seungmin leans back, crossing his arms and resting his head on Changbin’s shoulder.

“My chair’s too far,” he says simply.

“You have your own chair.”

“This one’s better.”

Chan doesn’t even bother looking up. “I give up.”

A few chuckles circle the table, but no one says more.

Seungmin is a high-ranking member, Chan’s right-hand strategist, cold, efficient, and terrifying when he wants to be.

If he wants to use a barista as a chair, no one will question it.

Changbin groans quietly, trying not to move as Seungmin leans back more, clearly comfortable.

The weight on his thighs doesn’t bother him, it’s the pounding in his head, the way the lights blur slightly, and the dull spinning that won’t stop.

Seungmin tilts his head, whispering,

“You okay,?”

“Just a headache,” Changbin replies softly.

“Hangover.”

Seungmin frowns, shifting a bit as if to help,but only ends up pressing closer.

“You should’ve stayed in bed.”

“You dragged me to a mafia meeting.” Changbin mutters.

“Smart choice, actually.”

Despite everything, Changbin snorts.

His eyes close briefly, trying to block out the harsh light and noise.

Halfway through the meeting, the pain becomes unbearable.

His vision swims.

Chan’s voice fades in and out, something about shipments, about a possible alliance.

He can’t focus.

He mutters something about needing a moment and quietly slips away to the bathroom.

The fluorescent lights sting his eyes.

He grips the sink, breathing slowly as water runs over his trembling hands.

The coolness helps, but not enough.

“Rough morning?”

Changbin glances up in the mirror.

A man leans against the doorframe, younger, with short dark hair and a faint scar across his jaw.

He’s wearing the same emblem as one of the allied groups.

Small and red.

“Heesung, right?” Changbin asks, trying to sound composed.

“Yeah,” the man says easily, stepping closer.

“You look like death, no offense.”

“None taken,” Changbin mutters.

Heesung chuckles and digs something out of his pocket, a small white bottle.

“Here. Painkillers. They work fast. Chan’s used them before.”

Changbin hesitates, staring at the pills. “You sure?”

“Promise,” Heesung says with a small grin. “Just one or two. You’ll feel better.”

He doesn’t think twice.

The pain in his head is too sharp, too relentless.

He takes two pills from the bottle, thanks him quietly, and swallows them with a handful of tap water.

The relief hits quick, too quick.

The pounding fades.

The dizziness slips away.

Even the tension behind his eyes softens, melting into something close to quiet.

Heesung claps him on the back.

“Told you. Works wonders.”

“Thanks,” Changbin says, voice calmer, lighter.

But as he looks at his reflection again, something feels wrong.

It’s too quiet. Too steady.

The pain is gone, but so is the edge.

He feels… muted.

His heartbeat doesn’t race, even when he thinks of Seungmin, the memory of him sitting on his lap, teasing and soft.

There’s no spark of nervousness or fond panic.

Just calm.

Too calm.

When he returns to the meeting room, Seungmin’s still there, perched on the counter now, looking half-bored and half-annoyed at something Jisung said.

He spots Changbin instantly, his expression softening a little.

“You look better,” he says, hopping off and walking over.

“Yeah. Took something for the headache,” Changbin replies casually.

Seungmin hums, satisfied, and reaches up to fix the collar of his shirt.

“Good. You were pale earlier.”

Changbin just smiles.

But there’s something strange about the way it feels, mechanical, slow, like it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

He pushes the thought aside.

Maybe it’s just the hangover. Maybe it’s fine.

But as Seungmin tugs him back toward the others, fingers laced with his, Changbin can’t help but notice that his heart doesn’t skip anymore when Seungmin smiles at him.

It just beats, steady, even, quiet.

And for the first time, that calm feels terrifying.

Chapter Text

Seungmin hadn’t begged in years.

He didn’t need to, people usually jumped when he spoke.

But there he was, standing in front of Chan’s desk, arms crossed, expression perfectly sweet and dangerously fake.

“One day. Just one,” he said, voice calm but eyes sharp.

Chan groaned, slumping in his chair.

“You’re supposed to handle the trade debrief with Hyunjin-”

“Hyunjin can handle it.” Seungmin leaned forward, tone sugar-smooth.

“Unless you’d prefer I handle you.”

That got him the day off immediately.

Seungmin grinned, spinning on his heel.

He was already making plans in his head before Chan even finished muttering about his “terrifying little gremlin for a subordinate.”

Coffee, maybe the riverside, definitely dinner.

Something peaceful. Something normal.

A day where no one bled, no one lied, and no one had to look over their shoulder.

The café smelled like roasted caramel when Seungmin walked in.

Changbin was behind the counter, head bent, drying a cup.

His hair was messy, his shirt untucked, and his expression tired, but when he looked up, he smiled.

A small, lopsided one.

The kind that used to make Seungmin’s stomach twist.

“Hey, you’re early,” Changbin said, voice a little hoarse.

“I was excited,” Seungmin replied, hopping onto a stool. “You look like hell.”

Changbin chuckled, rubbing his temple.

“Hangover hit harder than I expected. Took a painkiller this morning, but it’s still kind of there.”

Seungmin hummed, leaning forward, elbows on the counter.

“You’re the one who kept saying ‘one more drink.’”

“You didn’t stop me.”

“Didn’t want to.”

Their smiles met halfway, lazy and fond, the way they always did.

So when Seungmin reached out and brushed a thumb across Changbin’s cheekbone, it felt natural.

The skin was warm under his touch, but the moment only lasted a heartbeat before Changbin stepped back slightly, as if startled.

“Come on,” Seungmin said quickly, pretending not to notice. “I got the day off.”

“You… got a-?”

“Don’t ask how,” Seungmin said. “Just go change.”

The day looked perfect.

Blue skies. A light breeze. The smell of coffee and asphalt.

But it didn’t feel perfect.

Changbin laughed when Seungmin teased him, but it came half a second too late.

He smiled, but not the kind that made Seungmin’s chest warm.

He held Seungmin’s hand, but his grip felt loose, like he was there, but not really there.

They wandered through the park, Seungmin talking more than usual just to fill the silence.

Every time he turned to look, Changbin’s expression was somewhere else, eyes glazed, jaw tight.

“You okay?” Seungmin asked, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah. Just tired,” Changbin said again. Always the same answer.

By dinner, Seungmin’s worry had settled like lead in his stomach.

They sat across from each other in a quiet restaurant, warm light flickering over their faces.

Changbin had barely eaten, head occasionally dropping into his hand as though the world was too heavy.

“You can tell me if something’s wrong,” Seungmin murmured.

“It’s fine,” Changbin said. “The painkillers helped, but I guess they made me a little out of it.”

“Maybe don’t take more tonight,” Seungmin said softly. “You look…”

He trailed off. He didn’t want to say it.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re somewhere else.”

Changbin looked at him for a long second, something unreadable in his eyes.

Then he sighed and reached across the table, squeezing Seungmin’s hand gently.

“I’m here,” he said, quiet but firm. “I promise.”

For a moment, Seungmin wanted to believe it.

He wanted to believe everything was fine, that the warmth in his hand meant something solid.

But then-
When he leaned forward to brush a bit of rice from Changbin’s cheek, just a small, soft thing he’d done a hundred times before,Changbin flinched.

Not harshly, just a small, reflexive jerk, his hand rising to push Seungmin’s away.

It was quick. Barely a second. But it landed like a slap.

Changbin froze, realization flooding his face.

“I-sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay,” Seungmin cut in quickly, pulling his hand back, forcing a small smile. “You’re just tired.”

He looked down at his plate, pretending to focus on his food, pretending his chest didn’t feel hollow.

Across the table, Changbin’s voice came out quiet, almost broken.

“Seungmin…”

But Seungmin just shook his head, still smiling.

“Finish your dinner, Bin.”

And even as they sat there, side by side, something in Seungmin knew that something precious was quietly slipping through his fingers-

and he didn’t know how to stop it.

Chapter Text

Changbin woke up to the pounding in his skull.

It wasn’t a normal hangover.

It was the kind that made his bones ache, the kind that pulsed behind his eyes like a heartbeat.

He squinted against the morning light bleeding through the curtains, dragging himself upright.

His throat felt dry, his mouth bitter.

He stumbled into the bathroom.

The reflection staring back at him looked awful.

Pale. Tired. Almost sickly.

He didn't look like his usual fresh and bright self.

He splashed water on his face, breathing hard, and opened the drawer where he’d stuffed the small bottle Heeseung had given him.

The pills clinked softly when he shook them.

“Just to take the edge off,” he muttered.

Yesterday, one had helped.

So he took two.

Then, hesitating only for a heartbeat, added a third.

The pounding eased, the fog settled.

Everything went quiet, eerily quiet.

At the café, the day passed in fragments.

The hiss of the espresso machine.

The chatter of customers.

The faint hum of the old radio near the window.

It all bled together, dull and slow.

Changbin worked mechanically, pouring, steaming, wiping, each movement a second behind his thoughts.

His memory stuttered; he’d start making a drink and forget the order halfway through.

“Hey, you forgot the syrup,” his Jeongin pointed out.

“Oh,” Changbin blinked, looking at the half-filled cup.

“Right. Sorry.”

When Seungmin arrived later that afternoon, the whole café seemed to tilt around him.

His voice felt too sharp in Changbin’s head, every syllable too clear, too close.

“Bin,” Seungmin greeted softly, leaning on the counter with that familiar half-smile.

His jacket was unzipped, his shirt slightly wrinkled, he looked effortlessly put together in that dangerous, disarming way only Seungmin could.

“Didnt sleep well last night?”

Changbin forced a chuckle. “You could say that.”

Seungmin hummed, eyes narrowing.

“You look pale. You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

“I said I’m fine, Seungmin.”

The younger man tilted his head, studying him.

Something uncertain flickered in his expression, but he didn’t push.

Instead, he slipped onto one of the seats by the counter, arms folded, staying there the entire time Changbin worked, watching him, quietly.

Every time Changbin met his eyes, something in his chest twisted.

Seungmin’s gaze was gentle, patient, but today it felt unbearable.

By the time the café closed, Seungmin was still there, waiting.

“Come on,” he said, tugging Changbin’s wrist.

“Your coming to the meeting tonight, remember?”

Changbin sighed. “Right.”

At HQ, the air felt heavy.

The halls buzzed with quiet tension, the low hum of conversations, the soft click of guns being checked, paperwork shuffled.

Seungmin walked beside him, brushing shoulders now and then, his hand ghosting near Changbin’s whenever no one was watching.

During the meeting, Seungmin did what he always did, sat on Changbin’s lap.

Everyone was used to it by now.

Even Chan didn’t bother commenting, just shot them an exasperated look once before continuing the agenda.

Normally, Changbin would’ve wrapped an arm around Seungmin’s waist without thinking.

But today, his hands stayed limp.

His mind felt fogged, disconnected.

His chest ached like something was missing, but he couldn’t figure out what.

“Bin?” Seungmin whispered between discussions, looking over his shoulder.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Changbin murmured.

“Just tired.”

“You’ve been tired all day.”

“Min.”

Seungmin frowned, lips pressing together.

“What’s wrong?”

“I said nothing’s wrong.”

“Then why are you-”

“I said no, Seungmin!”

The word tore out of him sharper than he meant it to, loud, final.

He never raised his voice, not to anyone, never to seungmin.

Seungmin froze.

His body went still in his lap, eyes widening.

The room wasn’t empty, but no one dared look their way.

Changbin’s breath caught. “I didn’t mean to, I-”

But Seungmin had already stood up.

The faintest tremor ran through his hand before he tucked it into his pocket, looking away.

His expression was unreadable.

“Forget it,” he said quietly. “I’ll talk to you later.”

And then he walked out.

Changbin sat there, staring at the doorway long after he was gone.

His heart was beating too fast, his temples pounding.

The image flashed again, the dream from before, Seungmin leaving, fading away.

His stomach churned.

His hands shook.

He got up, stumbling down the hall and into the nearest bathroom.

The fluorescent light buzzed overhead as he gripped the sink, breathing unevenly.

“Why did I-” He pressed his palms to his face.

“Why did I do that?”

The pounding in his head intensified, louder, sharper, like knives scraping bone.

He slid into one of the stalls, clutching his head.

The images kept looping, Seungmin turning away, walking farther, disappearing into nothing.

He fumbled for the bottle in his pocket, his breath ragged.

He couldn’t think.

He just wanted the noise to stop.

The pills rattled in his hand.

He swallowed them dry.

And finally, the world went still again.

Chapter Text

The first thing Seungmin noticed when he stepped into Changbin’s apartment was the smell.

Not coffee this time.

Not the faint vanilla scent that always clung to the air because of Changbin’s hand cream or his stupid habit of leaving open syrup bottles on the counter.

This time, it was something heavier, sour, metallic, and stale. Like the room hadn’t been aired in days.

The second thing was the silence.

It wasn’t the calm kind that Seungmin liked,  the peaceful quiet of two people reading or watching TV together.

This was the kind that swallowed sound whole.

The kind that screamed wrong.

His hand tightened around the spare key.

He didn’t even bother locking the door behind him.

He came here to confront Changbin, why he yelled at him at the meeting this morning, ask him what was wrong.

“Bin?” he called, voice soft at first. “Changbin, you here?”

No answer.

The only sound came from the direction of the bedroom, a slow, unsteady movement, the shuffle of feet on the floor.

“Changbin?”

He walked faster now.

The sight hit him like a punch.

Changbin was half on the floor beside the bed, trying to open a drawer that wouldn’t budge.

His hair was a mess, his skin pale, his breathing shallow.

Sweat slicked down his temple, his shirt clinging to him like he’d been running a marathon.

“Changbin!” Seungmin rushed forward, grabbing his shoulders to steady him.

“What happened?”

“Min-” Changbin’s voice cracked, dry and hoarse.

“Where… where are they?”

“Where are what?”

“My pills.”

The way he said it made Seungmin’s stomach twist.

“What pills?”

“The painkillers,” Changbin snapped.

“My head-it’s splitting, I can’t-” He shoved Seungmin’s hands away, fumbling again with the drawer.

“They were here this morning, I swear-”

“Changbin, stop. You’re shaking-”

“I just need them!” Changbin’s voice rose, raw and desperate.

“You don’t understand how much it hurts!”

Seungmin caught his wrist, holding him back.

“You’ve already taken enough, you said it yourself last night! You just need to rest-”

“Seungmin, move.”

“Bin-”

“I said MOVE!”

The shout tore out of him, sudden and sharp, the kind that echoed in Seungmin’s bones.

It wasn’t the usual Changbin voice, not the calm, warm tone that soothed him on bad days.

It was harsh. Angry. Strained.

Seungmin froze, staring at him in disbelief.

His heartbeat stuttered painfully.

“...Did you just yell at me?”

Changbin blinked, realizing too late what he’d done, but Seungmin was already stepping back.

“You think this helps you?” Seungmin said, his voice trembling at first, then sharper.

“You think I’m the problem because I won’t let you drown yourself in whatever that is?”

“Min-please-”

“No,” Seungmin cut him off, his tone suddenly cold.

“Don’t ‘Min’ me right now.”

“Just let me take one-”

“Are you hearing yourself?” Seungmin’s voice broke, not loud, but heavy.

“This isn’t you.”

“I just-”

“Don’t yell at me,” Seungmin said again, quieter now, but colder. So cold it made Changbin flinch.

“You don’t get to yell at me, Changbin. Not you.”

Something in Changbin’s chest cracked at the way Seungmin said his name.

Not “hyung.” Not “Bin.” Not soft.

It sounded like a stranger’s voice.

“Seungmin,” he whispered, reaching out.

But Seungmin’s hand moved first.

The sound of the slap echoed before Changbin even processed it.

He froze.

Seungmin stood there, his chest rising and falling fast, his eyes glassy, not furious, not blank, just broken.

His voice came out quiet, shaking.

“Don’t you ever yell at me again.”

He took another step back, his heel hitting the door.

Then another, his expression hardening, every trace of his usual warmth gone.

He kicked the door open, the sound loud enough to make Changbin flinch again.

“Get your head together, Bin,” Seungmin muttered, his tone brittle, his throat tight.

“Because I’m not gonna let you treat me like some worthless fuck just because you can't control yourself.”

Then he turned, shoulders trembling as he walked out.

Changbins heart dropped.

“Seungmin please don't leave, Seungmin-please.” He tried to stand up.

The door shut behind him hard enough to shake the frame.

For a few seconds, there was only the ringing in Changbin’s ears, the pounding in his skull, and the echo of Seungmin’s voice.

He stayed like that for a long time, kneeling on the floor, surrounded by shattered stuff and silence, before he finally dragged himself toward the door, whispering,

“Min… please… don’t leave.”

But Seungmin was already gone.

And for a long moment, Changbin just sat there on the floor, one hand pressed to his stinging cheek, the other still trembling as it hovered over the empty drawer.

The sound of the door echoed long after Seungmin was gone.

And in the silence that followed, something in Changbin broke wide open.

Chapter Text

Seungmin didn’t remember leaving Changbin’s apartment.

He didn’t remember getting in his car either.

All he knew was the sound.

The sound of that door slamming.

And Changbin’s voice breaking behind it.

It looped in his head until he thought he’d lose his mind.

His hands were still shaking on the steering wheel, white-knuckled.

His cheek burned, not from Changbin, but from the memory of his own palm connecting with skin.

The sound of it.

The way Changbin had just… stared at him after.

Eyes glassy. Small. Like he didn’t even recognize him anymore.

He’d sworn he’d never do that again. Never.

Not after his brother.

And yet he had.

The anger, the panic, the way it all spiraled out of him before he could stop it- it was the same script, same ending, same trembling voice begging,

“please, don’t leave.”

The wheel blurred in front of him.

His throat tightened, vision tunneling until the world outside the windshield dissolved into colorless noise.

He pressed his forehead to the steering wheel.
“Why did I hit him-why-” His voice cracked,
swallowed by his own breath.

“He was just hurting-”

It was supposed to stop this time.

He was supposed to be better.

He didn’t know when the HQ came into view- maybe he’d driven on instinct, maybe his body knew where to go when his mind didn’t.

The next thing he knew, he was stumbling out of the car, his chest hollow, eyes raw from crying but still somehow dry.

The hallway lights at HQ were too bright.

Everything felt too loud.

He barely made it through the lobby before his knees buckled.

“Seungmin?”

It was Jisung’s voice, faint and startled, somewhere in front of him.

Then a rush of footsteps.

Minho behind him.

Seungmin hit the floor hard, catching himself with his palms, breath shuddering.

“I-” He couldn’t finish.

The words refused to form.

Jisung dropped beside him instantly.

“Hey, hey, breathe. What happened? Are you hurt?”

Seungmin shook his head, but the movement only made him dizzy.

His mind felt like static, replaying every second from an hour ago.

The mess. The shouting. The look in Changbin’s eyes.

“I-” His voice cracked. “I hit him.”

Jisung froze. “What?”

“I hit him, Jisung.” His hands trembled as he gripped his own arms, like trying to stop the shaking.

“He was-he wouldn’t stop-he kept saying he needed his painkillers-”

The word came out like something dirty, something sour in his mouth.

Minho exchanged a look with Jisung, cautious, sharp.

“Seungmin,” Minho said quietly, “slow down. You hit Changbin because he wanted painkillers?”

“He was desperate,” Seungmin rasped.

“He couldn’t even stand still. His hands were shaking. I thought-God, I thought he was-”

His breath hitched again.

“I thought he was my brother.”

The silence that followed was almost merciful.

Minho didn’t speak.

Jisung just stared, eyes wide, voice barely above a whisper.

“Seungmin… what pills was he taking?”

Seungmin blinked, staring blankly at the floor.

“What?”

Jisung swallowed.

“You said he kept asking for painkillers. Did you see what kind? What bottle?”

Seungmin opened his mouth to answer, but his mind replayed it in flashes, the white bottle, the label, the faint red line circling the top, he sa it peeking out Changbin's pocket yesterday.

The same red he’d seen years ago, when he’d knelt on the bathroom floor beside his brother, shaking him, screaming for him to wake up.

He froze.

Jisung’s voice softened, though it trembled. “Min, tell me. What did it look like?”

And that’s when Seungmin saw it clearly, the same brand, the same warning stripe, the same damned red cap.

His chest constricted, every breath slicing his lungs. The world tilted sideways.

The sound that left him wasn’t a word, just a raw, broken gasp.

“Red,” he whispered, staring past them, his voice gone hollow.

“It was red.”

Jisung’s face drained of color. Minho’s jaw tightened, eyes flicking to Jisung, the silent kind of understanding that felt like the ground splitting open.

Jisung reached for him, voice trembling..

“Seungmin-listen to me, we’ll fix this, okay? We’ll go to him, we’ll-”

But Seungmin couldn’t hear anymore.

He was already falling again, through memories, through guilt, through the unbearable weight of realization.

His brother’s voice, faint and far away,

“It’s just to help me sleep, Min.”

And Changbin’s, trembling in the same tone:

“I just need them for the pain.”

Sand slipping through his fingers, again.

Chapter Text

He hadn’t slept.

The light outside was a gray smear, barely dawn, but his apartment looked like it had survived a storm.

Clothes were thrown everywhere, a cup rolled under the table, and the orange-tinted pill bottle lay by the couch, the only thing that stayed perfectly still.

His head wouldn’t stop pounding.

Every throb was like a nail hammered behind his eyes.

He sat on the floor, knees pulled up, trying to breathe through it.

Every inhale came jagged, shallow.

Every exhale hurt.

The fight replayed in his head over and over, the way Seungmin’s eyes hardened, the tremor in his voice, the way his hand had cracked across Changbin’s face.

He deserved it.

He knew he did.

He hadn’t meant to yell.

He didn’t even remember raising his voice.

It had just… happened.

His head had been on fire, his chest tight, and the words came out louder than he meant.

And then Seungmin was gone.

Now, even the memory made his stomach twist.

He looked toward the bottle again.

His lips pressed together.

The pounding grew sharper, angrier, until his hands trembled from it.

“No,” he muttered, shaking his head. “No, no, no-”

He couldn’t take them again.

He wouldn’t.

He shoved the bottle with his foot, watched it roll under the couch.

“Not again.”

But the pain didn’t stop.

It just grew louder, heavier, until his breath came out in choked gasps.

His body ached, every heartbeat screaming through his skull.

“Stop,” he whispered. “Please stop-”

He bent forward, pressing his hands over his ears, but it didn’t help.

The silence didn’t come.

The pills called to him instead, small, white, merciful.

He dragged himself across the floor, half-crawling, and pulled the bottle out again.

One look at it and he wanted to throw up.

But his head throbbed so hard he couldn’t think.

He tossed it away again, harder this time, until it hit the wall and bounced back.

Changbin didn't cry easily but tears stung his eyes.

“Just stop hurting…”

And then- a crash.

The door slammed open, hinges rattling.

“CHANGBIN-HYUNG!”

He barely had time to lift his head before Felix was there, dropping to his knees beside him, his blond hair messy, face pale.

“Hyung-what-what happened-?”

Changbin opened his mouth but no words came out.

He just clutched his head, shaking.

Behind Felix, Hyunjin came running in, his buzzed hair messy from sleep, eyes wide with alarm.

“Felix, he’s-holy-he’s burning up!”

Felix cupped Changbin’s face, his hands trembling. “Hyung, hey-look at me, look at me-what did you take?”

“I didn’t-” Changbin gasped, his voice raw.

“I didn’t take any-my head-it won’t stop-”

Hyunjin’s eyes caught on the bottle lying near the couch.

He frowned, grabbed it, and his expression shifted instantly from confusion to horror.

“These pills,” he muttered, his voice dark. “They’re not painkillers.”

Felix blinked, still holding Changbin up. “What are you talking about-?”

Hyunjin turned the label so Felix could see.

“These are the same pills that ruined Seungmin’s brother. The ones Chan said were still being sold underground.”

Felix froze. “What?”

Changbin’s eyes went wide, the words sinking in slowly, like ice spreading under his skin.

He turned toward Hyunjin, his voice trembling.

“No-no, that’s not true, they’re just painkillers, Heesung gave them to me-he said they were-”

“They’re not,” Hyunjin said quietly. “Heesung, that asshole must’ve lied.”

The color drained from Changbin’s face.

He stared at the bottle like it was something alive and poisonous.

“No… no, no, no-” He shook his head, his voice cracking.

“I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t know-”

Felix’s grip tightened as he saw Changbin start to shake harder.

“Hyung, it’s okay, it’s okay, you didn’t-”

But Changbin couldn’t stop. The guilt tore through him too fast, too sharp.

“I didn’t know, Felix. God-I didn’t-” He pressed his hand over his mouth, breath stuttering, tears running down his face.

“He’d hate me-he’d-if he finds out, Seungmin’s-”

His vision blurred, his pulse roaring in his ears.

Felix tried to pull him up. “Hyung, you’re okay, look at me-breathe-”

Changbin shook his head violently. “No, no, no- please tell me I didn’t-please-”

His body swayed suddenly, his knees giving out.

“Felix!” Hyunjin yelled, catching his other arm.

Changbin’s lips moved again, barely sound- just a whisper, his voice raw, breaking apart.

“I didn’t know…”

And then he went still.

Felix froze, panic flaring in his chest.

“Hyung-hey-hey-Changbin-!”

But his body was limp, eyes closed, chest heaving shallowly.

Hyunjin grabbed his phone, voice shaking.

“Call Chan. Now!”

Felix nodded quickly, his hands trembling as he tried to keep Changbin upright, tears falling freely now.

“Hold on, hyung. Please, just hold on.”

Outside, the morning sun had barely risen, faint light spilling across the floor, glinting off the pills scattered like ghosts of a nightmare.

And in that silence, Changbin’s last whispered words still hung in the air,

soft, guilty, desperate:

“I didn’t know…”

Chapter Text

The phone nearly slipped from Seungmin’s hand.

Felix’s voice was barely recognizable, hoarse, frantic, gasping between words as if every second was stolen.

“Seungmin-it’s Changbin- he’s not okay- his head- he can’t stop shaking-the pills, their from Heesung- they’re not normal,- they’re- they’re the same ones your brother-”

And the line cut.

For a moment, everything stopped.

Then the sound came back all at once, the ticking of the clock, the chatter from the lower floors, the hum of the city outside.

But inside Seungmin’s chest, there was nothing but static.

His fingers went cold.

His throat closed.

And then, before he even knew it, he was running.

He didn’t remember getting into the car. Didn’t remember the drive to HQ.

He only remembered the sound of his pulse thundering in his ears and the image of Changbin’s pale, shaking face flashing behind his eyes.

By the time he pushed open the doors to the hallway, he was already breathing hard,b his rage so thick it made the air hard to swallow.

Everyone who saw him froze immediately.

The members standing near the offices went quiet, stepping aside instinctively.

Even Chan, who had been halfway through a phone call, fell silent mid-sentence, eyes narrowing as he watched Seungmin storm past.

He found Heesung near the end of the corridor, low-ranking, from one of their allied crews, flipping through a clipboard, humming softly.

That small, harmless sound snapped something inside Seungmin.

He didn’t think. His body moved before his brain could catch up.

His fist connected with Heesung’s jaw before the man could even look up.

He stumbled back, crashing into the wall.
“What the hell- Seungmin-!”

“WHAT DID YOU GIVE HIM?!” Seungmin roared, grabbing his collar and slamming him back against the wall again.

“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU GIVE HIM, YOU BASTARD?!”

Heesung blinked rapidly, dazed, trying to focus.

“I-I don’t-who-what are you talking about?”

Seungmin’s eyes were wild, red-rimmed, glistening with fury and terror.

“Changbin! The pills you gave him! You said they were painkillers!”

Heesung stammered, “They are-! I swear they’re just-”

Seungmin hit him again,bonce, twice,beach word landing with a blow.

“Those, aren’t, painkillers!”

Heesung’s mouth split, blood running down his chin.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Don’t lie to me!” Seungmin shouted, voice cracking.

“Do you know what they are?! Do you even understand what you did?!”

His fists trembled as he struck again, this time slower, more broken.

His voice began to crumble, the fury twisting into something fragile.

“They’re the same ones,” he whispered, his tone shattering. “The same ones that killed my brother…”

Heesung froze. The weight of that name hung in the air like a ghost.

“I swear-” Heesung gasped, trying to catch his breath.

“I swear I didn’t know, Seungmin. Someone from another crew gave them to me. I just-he said they were regular painkillers-”

For a second, Seungmin’s hand stopped mid-air.

His breath came in ragged gasps, his eyes glassy and unfocused.
“You didn’t know…” he whispered, almost to himself.

His lip trembled. “You didn’t-know-”

And then, with a choked sob, he hit him again.

“Then you’re just a fool who killed him anyway.”

That was when Jisung and Minho burst into the hall.

“Seungmin!” Jisung shouted, rushing toward him. “Stop, stop! What the hell’s happening-”

He grabbed Seungmin’s arm, and Seungmin twisted, eyes wild, his voice breaking apart.

“He gave them to him! He gave Changbin the same pills-”

Jisung went still, horror washing over his face.

Minho’s expression hardened as he grabbed Heesung, pinning him back as Seungmin’s knees nearly buckled under him.

“Seungmin, look at me,” Jisung said quietly, his hands still gripping Seungmin’s shoulders.

“Changbin’s alive, okay? Felix and Hyunjin have him. They’re bringing him here right now.”

Seungmin shook his head, tears spilling freely now.

“He was shaking. He was burning. He didn’t know, Jisung-I didn’t know…”

His voice broke into a sob, raw and trembling.
For a long, terrible second, the hallway was silent.

Everyone watched, wide-eyed. Because they had never seen Seungmin like this.

The ice-cold strategist. The one who never flinched, never cried.

Now he was trembling, his face streaked with tears, his breathing shallow and shaky.

When he finally looked up again, his eyes were rimmed in red, his expression hollow.

He turned to Heesung, who was still bleeding and pale.

“Where,” Seungmin said softly, too softly,v “is the supply?”

Heesung swallowed hard, shaking. “I-I don’t know all of it. I swear. But-”

He gulped. “Some in Dock 19. A warehouse near Itaewon. One more east side, please, that’s all I know-”

Seungmin raised his gun. The click of the safety coming off echoed like thunder.

Jisung moved instantly, catching his wrist.

“Seungmin, don’t. Don’t do something you’ll regret.”

Seungmin’s jaw clenched. He didn’t fire.
He just stared at Heesung for a long, quiet moment, then pushed Jisung off gently and lowered the weapon.

Without another word, he turned and started walking down the hall.

Chan appeared at the corner just as Seungmin passed, but Seungmin didn’t look at him. His eyes were empty, unfocused.

“Where are you going?” Chan demanded.

Seungmin’s voice was calm now. Too calm.

“To fix what your alliances broke.”

The night burned.

Ten warehouses.

Three hundred men.

No mercy.

Every shot was clean. Every explosion was precise.

He didn’t just destroy, he erased.

The others followed in the distance, unable to stop him, too terrified to try. The Seungmin they knew, calm and contained, was gone. In his place was something untamed.

A storm wearing a man’s body.

By the time dawn began to break, Seungmin stood alone before the last warehouse, his gun heavy in his hand, his clothes covered in dust and blood.

The city glowed behind him in the distance, orange and grey, still trembling from the chaos.

He didn’t feel victorious. He didn’t feel anything.

His knees gave way. He sank to the ground, the gun slipping from his hand as he whispered hoarsely into the smoke,

“Never again. I won’t lose him too.”

Behind him, faint and broken, Jisung’s voice called out through the haze.

“Seungmin- please. Changbin’s asking for you. He’s alive. Please come back.”

Seungmin didn’t move for a long time. His hands shook as the flames reflected in his eyes.

When he finally turned, his voice was a whisperr,  soft and brittle.

“I’ll come,” he said. “But if he dies… I’ll finish what’s left.”

Chapter Text

The room smelled of antiseptic and burnt air, that strange mix of hospital sterility and the faint scent of smoke clinging to Seungmin’s clothes.

The hallway outside was quiet, except for the muffled voices of the others, Chan giving hushed orders, Felix pacing nervously, Hyunjin staring at the floor with wide, terrified eyes, with Jeongin who had his arms around himself, holding back sobs.

Inside, the world was still.

Changbin lay motionless on the bed, his skin pale beneath the white hospital lights.

Wires and IV lines wrapped around his arm, the steady beep of the heart monitor the only sound proving he was still alive.

Seungmin stood by the door, unable to move.

His hands were shaking, bloodied knuckles, streaks of ash across his face, and dust coating his hair.

His shirt was torn, dark with smoke and dried blood from the cuts running along his arms.

He looked like someone who had crawled out of fire, because he had.

He had torn through every warehouse, every alley, every underground dock that had been selling those pills.

He had burned them down until the night sky turned orange.

He didn’t stop until his fists bled and his body gave out.

But even now, it wasn’t enough. He knew there were more. He could feel it, the same poison still out there, somewhere, waiting to destroy someone else.

And yet… all he could think about was the man lying in front of him.

“Min,” Jisung whispered from the corner, his voice cautious, worried.

“He’s stable now. Felix called in time.”

But Seungmin didn’t move. He just stared, his chest rising and falling unevenly, like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

Then Changbin stirred. Barely. A flicker of movement, a faint twitch of his hand against the sheets.

His eyelashes fluttered before he opened his eyes, bleary and weak.

“...Min?” His voice cracked, barely audible.

That was all it took. Seungmin crossed the room in seconds, falling to his knees beside the bed.

His hands hovered above Changbin’s body, afraid to touch, afraid that if he did, Changbin would vanish again.

“You’re… filthy,” Changbin whispered, a small, broken smile tugging at his lips. His eyes trailed over Seungmin, the dirt, the ash, the blood.

“What did you… do?”

Seungmin swallowed hard. “You don’t want to know.”

Changbin blinked slowly, confusion in his glassy eyes. “Did you… get hurt?”

Seungmin’s lips trembled. “You should be asking about yourself, not me.” He exhaled shakily, trying to hold back the tears building behind his eyes.

“You scared me, Changbin. You-” His voice cracked. “You almost died.”

Changbin frowned faintly, his fingers twitching.

Slowly, painfully, he raised his hand.

Seungmin instinctively caught it, clutching it tightly. Changbin’s thumb brushed along Seungmin’s cheek, across a small cut. “You’re bleeding,” he murmured softly.

The simple touch shattered him.

Seungmin’s vision blurred as tears spilled over. “Don’t- don’t touch me like that,” he choked.

“You don’t get to almost die and then ask if I’m okay.”

Changbin tried to smile again, but it faltered, lost to exhaustion.

“I didn’t know, Min. I swear I didn’t. I thought they were just… painkillers. I didn’t-”

“Stop.” Seungmin’s voice came out harsh, trembling. “Don’t. Please, just… stop talking.” He leaned forward until his forehead rested against Changbin’s shoulder, his voice breaking with every word.

“I can’t lose you. Not like him. Not like before.”

His shoulders shook violently as he whispered,

“I destroyed them, Bin. Every place I knew, I burned it all down. But it’s not over.” His voice grew colder, harder, each word laced with grief and fury.

“I’ll find the rest. Every last one of them. I’ll make sure no one ever touches those pills again.”

Changbin blinked slowly, his gaze distant but pained. “You… did all that for me?”

“For you,” Seungmin breathed, the words trembling on his tongue. “Because I love you, you stubborn idiot.”

The room froze.

Chan looked down, his chest tight. Felix’s hand went to his mouth.

Jisung’s expression softened, Minho’s eyes flicked toward Seungmin with something between pain and pride.

Jeongin looked up in shock, and Hyunjin just sighed.

But Seungmin didn’t notice them.

He only saw Changbin, who blinked up at him, lips parting slightly as if to respond.

But his breath hitched, his eyelids drooping, and the monitor beside him beeped softly as he drifted back into unconsciousness.

“Bin?” Seungmin whispered, panic bleeding into his tone.

He grabbed his hand again, pressing it against his forehead. “Please stay with me- please don’t go to sleep-”

But Changbin was already gone to the fog of the medicines, his hand limp in Seungmin’s grasp.

Seungmin sat there for a long moment, shaking, tears silently falling.

Then he whispered, voice breaking, “You’re not leaving me. Not you too. I’ll destroy every last one of them if I have to-I’ll burn the world down before I let it take you.”

And as the others stood in silence, Seungmin stayed by Changbin’s side, bloodied, trembling, and for the first time in his life, utterly terrified of losing the one person who made him feel alive.

Chapter Text

Seungmin sat at the edge of the hospital bed longer than anyone expected.

Changbin’s fingers were small and warm in his own, like an anchor that kept him from drifting off into the frantic, raw spaces of his mind.

He had not moved all day; he had not eaten.

He had slept in fits of exhaustion and nightmares about flames.

When he finally let go of Changbin’s hand it felt like stepping off a cliff, necessary, but gutting.

He walked out into the gray light of the courtyard on instinct more than purpose.

The air hit him sharp and cold.

Every breath tasted like metal and ash.

He walked without thinking, his boots hitting the pavement with a dull thud that felt too loud in his ears.

The world felt too bright, too present.

He needed distance.

He needed a place where his fists could stop trembling and his head could stop replaying the sound of Changbin’s voice when he’d whispered “I’m sorry.”

A shriek of argument reached him before he could see anything: a man’s voice, frantic and accusing, and a second voice threading panic through every syllable.

Seungmin moved toward it; the sound led him down a narrow lane between shuttered shops and cold dumpsters.

A small crowd had gathered, a knot of people clustered under a lone streetlamp.

Heesung was there, on his knees, shaking, hands up in a pleading, ridiculous gesture. His eyes were wild and searching.

“You told them,” the accuser hissed. “You told them where the shipments were. You told them to the east side, why would you do that, Heesung? Why would you give them away?”

Heesung’s voice cracked as he stammered,

“I didn’t- I thought they were just-normal drugs. Someone gave them to me and said they were normal-please, man, I didn’t know-”

Seungmin’s steps sped without his permission.

He knew Heesung; Heesung had been a low-ranking runner whose hands blurred in the margins of the city’s deals.

He knew denial as a reflex in men like that. He also knew the smell of someone terrified.

The argument was only beginning to mount when a single gunshot ripped through the night, a sharp, clean report that made the crowd flinch as one.

The world contracted to the sound of that shot and then exploded into motion.

People scattered. Someone screamed.

Seungmin watched, transfixed, as Heesung slumped against the brick, a dark bloom spreading under him.

The man who had been shouting collapsed too, hands pressed to his mouth.

Blood pooled slowly on the pavement and the alley filled with the high, metallic scent of it.

Seungmin looked up and saw who had fired.

Hongjoong stood on the little rise above the alley with a pistol hanging at his side.

His clothing had the faint, telltale drops of red flecking the fabric, not an abundance, but enough to announce a presence that had been bodily in the violence.

He hadn’t run. He hadn’t panicked.

He had lowered the weapon with the same inside-out calm that made Seungmin’s skin go cold.

For a beat Seungmin’s brain refused to rearrange this image into meaning.

Hongjoong, who moved like a conductor and spoke like a man who could make any problem turn convenient, had just shot a man in an alley.

He had the map in his hands, or at least the knowledge. He had been the quiet center all this time.

“Why?” a voice near Seungmin murmured.

Heesung’s eyes were a glassy, betrayed expression that imprinted itself behind Seungmin’s ribs.

Hongjoong didn’t move hurriedly.

He wiped his fingers on his coat as though tidying a stain, then looked down at Heesung's body with a businesslike tilt of chin.

When he saw Seungmin he gave a minimal dip of his head, an acknowledgement, not a shock.

“You came,” he said with an almost bored softness. The fact of it, that Seungmin had come, read like a confirmation he had been waiting for.

Seungmin should have moved.

He should have reached for Hongjoong, shouted, ripped the truth from him.

He should have forced the man to explain why he’d hoarded the pills, why he’d let them circulate under cover of deals and favors.

Instead, his body felt like a vessel emptied of movement. Rage was a hot, slow thing that filled but did not move; it sat in his chest and cooled to ice there.

He could taste a new kind of betrayal that had a shape to it,deliberate, ledgered, almost elegant.

“You had them,” Seungmin said finally, his voice raw and precise.

The naming of it made the air fracture.

“You were the one who kept them.”

For a breath, Seungmin was stunned into immobility, the city noise, the flash of blue lights, Heesung’s body, Hongjoong’s cold composure.

Then the shock was swallowed by a hotter thing, a control unspooling into raw, white-hot rage.

Everything moved too slow and too fast at once, the drip of blood, the smear on Heesung’s collar, the soft way Hongjoong folded the pistol back into his hand like he’d been handling nothing more dangerous than a pen.

“You had them,” Seungmin said, but it was no longer a question.

The world tightened to a single line between him and Hongjoong. The anger under his ribs woke and spread like wildfire.

Hongjoong’s expression didn’t change. He tipped his head as if appreciative that Seungmin had finally arrived at this particular understanding.

“You destroyed a lot,” he observed mildly. “You took care of what you could see.”

Seungmin heard himself laugh, a sound that meant he’d run past the edge of himself.

He advanced without thinking, every word a blade.

“You hoarded poison while people got ruined in the streets. You let it into circulation because it suited your ledger.”

Hongjoong’s smile thinned.

“You think in absolutes, Min. That’s endearing.”

That was the last small courtesy.

The space between them collapsed as Seungmin moved. He closed in and struck, not with the clean precision he used on operations, but with the brutally animal force of someone who had been hectored by grief and fear into fury.

His first blow caught Hongjoong on the jaw; the second landed along the side of the face.

Hongjoong stumbled back but did not stagger.

He had cornered worse things, and worse men, and his balance returned with the cruelty of someone who never let the world surprise him twice.

Hongjoong recovered fast, hand dropping to the pistol at his hip.

Metal flashed; instinct pushed Seungmin into motion, and he lunged as Hongjoong’s fingers brushed leather.

Their hands closed on the weapon at the same moment.

Cold metal bit into his palm.

For one charged second the gun was a third body between them, a fulcrum of violence, until the barrel skittered from their grip and clattered across the wet asphalt.

The gun slipped from both of them as if the city did not want an easy end.

It spun once and fell near Heesung’s lifeless body, glinting, a man shouted, someone else ran.

For a moment nobody moved, breath frozen.

Then the fight broke loose.

It was not neat. It was ugly and close and relentless.

Seungmin hit like someone who had been saving a lifetime of blows for a single moment, a flurry of elbows, a shoulder into ribs, a palm to face.

Hongjoong answered with the slow, precise counters of a man used to negotiation through force, he blocked where necessary, twisted joints to take advantage, aimed throws that were textbook and cruel.

They wrestled atop the alley’s puddles, mud and blood spattering the cuffs of their jackets.

Hongjoong’s lips were a thin red line. His eyes were too bright, and there was something like a gleam of pleasure when he landed a hold and tried to control the tempo, he liked the theater of this.

Seungmin, meanwhile, felt more like a machine someone had plugged sorrow directly into, every attack a translation of how close he’d come to losing Changbin, every hit an attempt to turn helplessness into damage.

The crowd backed up, a few men tried to intervene and were shoved away with savage efficiency.

Jisung and Minho arrived at the alley mouth, breathless and shouting, but they were beaten back too, not by Hongjoong, but by the kinetic force of two men who refused to let anyone into the rhythm of their rage.

Felix’s voice cut through the chaos, frenzied and terrified, telling people to call for police and medics.

Hyunjin was yelling orders in half-shouting, half-panic, trying to get people to keep distance.

Seungmin’s sight tunneled.

He felt each blow as if it were being landed on the center of his chest, memory and present fused.

He took a reckless hit to Hongjoong’s ribs and shoved him away, sprinting in with a reckless charge.

He planted his shoulder and drove Hongjoong to the wall, the impact rattled the bricks.

Hongjoong’s hand fumbled, the man was good, but not infallible. Sweat and blood made everything slippery.

And then, suddenly, the momentum turned on him.

Hongjoong twisted, trapped Seungmin’s arm, and used his leverage to drive him down.

For a moment Seungmin thought he would be able to roll, he was strong, he trained to fight rotations and counters, but Hongjoong’s hold flattened the breath from his lungs.

They crashed together, and Hongjoong ended up on top, pinning Seungmin’s arms across his chest with the practiced cold of a man who’d subdued dozens.

Hongjoong’s knee held Seungmin’s hips; his forearm pressed across the throat in a manner meant to immobilize more than smother.

The alley narrowed to the feeling of leather and bone and sweat and the stupid impossibility of being subdued.

Seungmin could taste iron.

He could hear his own heart, so loud that for a dizzy second he couldn’t tell if it was his or the thud of footsteps and shouts.

He had been so close, so close to making Hongjoong look small, and now he was pinned, breath chewing at the back of his mouth.

Anger fanned hotter, then colder, until it was a raw, pleading thing.

Hongjoong leaned down and said, low and certain,

“You’re not as clean as you pretend, Min. You think you can burn everything away? Men like me don’t slip. We write ledgers. We watch the flames and decide which ruins are useful.”

Seungmin’s face was close enough to watch the tiny movements of Hongjoong’s lips.

He could see the blood glistening on a cut at Hongjoong’s temple. His hands were trapped, he pushed and twisted, trying to pry an arm free, but pain exploded up his side.

Then the world detonated.

The gunshot came from behind Hongjoong, loud and decisive.

The sound blurred the edges of everything.

Hongjoong’s head snapped, his scowl fracturing into a stunned grimace.

The hold loosened; the pressure on Seungmin’s throat released as Hongjoong’s body went slack for a second. He slumped forward, as if the pain had finally reached a place that would not bear it.

For a beat no one moved.

Then men shouted.

Jisung lunged.

Minho pivoted and took a step toward the shooter.

Standing a short way off, still composed and stony-eyed, was Chan, coat collar turned up, a smoking pistol in his hand.

He had a scowl carved deep into his face, and blood flecked his clothes, but his stance was controlled, like a man who had never trusted anyone to finish the job for him.

Hongjoong hit the ground in a heavy thud, the impact hard enough to rattle the small alley.

He didn’t move.

Dead.

The gun skittered away from the pool beneath him, forgotten.

For a glowing second Seungmin felt like he would collapse into laughter or scream or both.

Chan’s face didn’t soften. He let the smoke curl upward from the pistol like a warning.

“He's dead, throw the body” Chan said, voice flat and final.

It was not a request. It was an order that carried the weight of everything he’d built,  and the implication that anyone who crossed it would find a fate just as absolute.

Jisung and Minho scrambled to get to Seungmin first, but he shoved them away not out of disrespect but because he couldn’t stand to be moved.

He rolled onto his side, gasping, hands scrambling for his breath as if he had been underwater.

The alley smelled like gunpowder and cheap rain and the copper tang of blood.

He looked down at himself, at the mud and blood on his knuckles and the sweat on his brow, and something like the first crude relief of battle surged through him.

He wasn’t clean. He didn’t want to be.

He only wanted, wanted what had been too near to him and almost snatched away.

Chan walked over, eyes never leaving Hongjoong’s still form, and then turned those eyes to Seungmin.

There was no pity; there was only an appraisal, a hard, unreadable weight.

“You did what you had to do,” he said quietly. “But this… this is not a war you wage alone.”

Seungmin’s chest heaved with ragged breaths.

Tears burned the back of his throat, a mix of rage and grief and the raw shock that sometimes followed violence like an aftershiver.

He looked at Hongjoong’s motionless body and felt no joy. Only emptiness, and a small, terrible satisfaction that the ledger had finally bled.

Around them, the alley vessels of chaos began to settle into protocol.

Men checked pockets, someone lifted Heesung’s body gently to a stretcher.

Seungmin didn’t move for a long minute.

He tasted smoke and tears and metal and knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that the war was only beginning.

Hongjoong had been a major node severed, but he had not been the root.

There were other ledgers, other men who’d counted the cost of keeping poison in circulation.

Seungmin’s hands were not clean; his soul was not clean. But his fury had found a place to focus, however monstrous the means.

Someone, Jisung, or perhaps Minho, took his wrist and hauled him up with a firm grip.

He let them.

He let Chan step close and look at him with the kind of hard, odd affection that belonged to commanders and men who had survived worse.

“We go back,” Chan said. “Now.”

Seungmin nodded once, the motion small.

He let the others guide him away from the alley and toward the hospital, each step heavy with the knowledge that the ledger had lost a page but the book still had many more.

He had done what was necessary, and yet he felt the cost in the raw places of his chest.

In the back of his mind, beside the heat of the fight, the image that would not leave him no matter what came next was the way Changbin’s fingers had slipped from his grasp in the quiet room, still warm and trusting.

He would burn the rest of the pages if he had to.

But first he had to go back and hold the hand that had kept him steady through the smoke.

Chapter Text

The room was heavy with the sound of the monitor’s slow, steady beeping. Changbin lay motionless beneath the sterile light, his face pale and his body still littered with IV lines.

His breathing was shallow, soft, fragile, too human for someone who had once laughed so loud, fought so fearlessly.

Seungmin hadn’t moved in hours.

His hand was still wrapped around Changbin’s, his thumb tracing faint circles against the back of his palm.

He’d memorized every scar, every line. Every warmth that was left.

He wanted to stay.

He wanted to believe that love was enough to keep Changbin breathing.

But love, his love, had brought him here.

Jisung entered quietly, his expression drawn, unsure.

“You haven’t eaten since yesterday,” he whispered.

Seungmin didn’t answer.

His eyes were locked on Changbin’s still face, his throat tight, dry.

“Do you remember,” he started, his voice low and cracked, “how he used to tease me about sleeping too little?” He let out a soft laugh, one that trembled halfway through.

“Now he’s the one who won’t wake up.”

Jisung took a cautious step closer. “Seungmin…”

“I’m going to fix it,” Seungmin interrupted, not looking up. His voice was calm,  too calm.

“I’ll fix it in a way no one else can hurt him again.”

Jisung frowned, sensing something dangerous in his tone.

“What are you talking about?”

Seungmin finally turned toward him. His eyes were red, not from sleeplessness this time, but from tears he’d refused to shed.

“He can’t stay in this world, Jisung,” he whispered. “Not like this. Not with the memories of me, of this life. If he wakes up… if he remembers what I’ve done, what he’s seen… he’ll break again.”

Jisung’s heart dropped. “Seungmin, you can’t mean-”

“I want you to make him forget.” Seungmin’s voice was firm now, the kind that left no room for argument.

“Everything. Me. This place. The blood. The warehouses. Every piece of hell I’ve dragged him into.”

Jisung shook his head immediately.

“No-no, you can’t ask me that. He loves you, Seungmin. He’ll want to stay.”

“That’s why I can’t let him.” Seungmin’s words came sharp and final.

“Because he loves me enough to destroy himself. And I love him enough to let him go.”

For a long moment, there was only silence.

The monitors continued their rhythmic beeping, the cruel reminder that Changbin was still alive, still tethered to this world.

Seungmin’s gaze softened. He reached forward and brushed his fingers across Changbin’s cheek.

“He deserves peace,” he murmured. “A life that doesn’t taste like blood. A life where the only thing he remembers is warmth, not war.”

Jisung swallowed hard. “And you? What about you?”

Seungmin smiled faintly, a sad, broken thing. “Me? I’ll remember for both of us.” He leaned down, pressing his forehead gently against Changbin’s hand.

“That’s enough.”

Jisung’s throat tightened.

He wanted to argue, to scream that this wasn’t fair, that love shouldn’t mean erasing yourself from someone’s life.

But the look in Seungmin’s eyes stopped him.

It wasn’t madness. It wasn’t resignation. It was devotion, the kind that burned quietly, fiercely, and refused to fade even when everything else did.

Seungmin stood after a long while.

The room felt colder the moment he let go of Changbin’s hand.

“Do it tonight,” he said softly, his gaze still fixed on the man lying unconscious before him.

“Before he wakes up. Before he remembers me again.”

He took a step back, forcing himself to turn away.

Each step felt like tearing a part of his soul out of his chest.

Behind him, Jisung whispered,

“You really love him that much, don’t you?”

Seungmin paused at the doorway. His voice was quiet,  almost a breath.

“I love him enough to disappear.”