Ship/Member: Soonyoung/Wonwoo/(Jeonghan) Major Tags: N/A Additional Tags: vague criminal underground AU, mild violence Permission to remix: Yes going for [Year of the Tiger] and potentially [Rarest Pair], if this qualifies!
***
Wonwoo is walking home from the office when Jeonghan finds him.
“One more job.” Jeonghan says before he can speak. They fall into step together, like it hasn't been three years and a career change since their last conversation. “I wouldn’t be asking if I weren’t desperate.”
His hair is blonde now. It looks good, catching the light like the sea at golden hour. Wonwoo shoves his hands deep into his coat pockets and wishes he could say no. This is an obvious ploy—Jeonghan has never been desperate a day in his life.
And yet.
“Who else is on your roster?”
Jeonghan gives him a little grin. “You already know the answer to that.”
-
They call him the tiger.
Legend says that if you get close enough to see his eyes through the windshield, you’re already dead.
Those stories used to make Soonyoung laugh. He loved to hear rumors about himself, passed around seedy bars by people who’d heard nothing more than there’s a number you can call for the best driver in Seoul… no, the best in Korea! He’ll do what you need. As long as you can pay.
For years, no one knew the man behind the myth. Except Wonwoo.
Then came Yoon Jeonghan.
-
The plan goes south.
Wonwoo blows open the front door of the mansion, sending long yellow shadows over the grass. He freezes halfway over the threshold—hands scraped bloody, gun drawn, heaving deep breaths of cold midnight, decidedly not in possession of the jewels he came for—when a boy crashes down the stairs behind him.
The boy is pretty. Privileged. Still in his blue silk robe, despite the blaring alarms and the faraway hustle of private security getting their asses into gear.
An orange Ferrari squeals up to the front gate. Wonwoo lowers the gun. “Sorry to wake you,” he says to the boy.
Then he runs.
Slamming himself into the passenger seat, Wonwoo has just enough time to close the door before Soonyoung hits the gas.
“What the fuck is up, Jeon Wonwoo,” he says in welcome, his hands white on the wheel. A grin shatters his face. Wonwoo feels vaguely sick. “It’s been a while. Look who came crawling back.”
“I didn’t get the rubies.”
Soonyoung doesn’t care. Soonyoung never cared about the money—he’s in it for this, for the way his engine thrums when he pushes the car faster, farther, eyes darting to check his rear through the dark, winding streets. A cheery pop song repeats on the stereo, like a twisted little circus soundtrack, where all Wonwoo can catch is a trilled horanghae!
“No one’s following us.” Wonwoo flicks his hair back and accidentally smears blood across his forehead. His heart begins to slow. “The police weren’t there yet when I left.”
“Then why’d you bail?”
“The safe was empty.”
“Shit.” Soonyoung laughs. “Jeonghan’s gonna be pissed.”
He’s just like Wonwoo remembers: sharp as a diamond, devilish in a three-piece suit. Beautiful as all hell. It hurts to look at him, knowing that he belongs to someone else now. Knowing that Wonwoo is the one who walked away.
Soonyoung takes a hairpin turn and starts edging up the side of the mountain. Trees blur by in dark, amorphous shapes.
“So,” he says, in a low tone of voice that Wonwoo has never heard before. “Did you miss me?”
“Shut the fuck up, Soonyoung.”
“Don’t be an asshole. I just want to know, really—do you regret it?”
Wonwoo clenches his hands into fists and lies. “No.” He turns his face toward the window. “I told you, I won’t watch you die for him.”
Soonyoung turns off the main road and starts climbing the car up a steep dirt path bracketed by bushes. His mouth twists wryly. “Hasn’t happened yet.”
Wonwoo makes the mistake of looking over, and—Soonyoung’s face is lit with little stars from the dashboard, bright and glittering. Their eye contact is electric.
Wonwoo’s heart falls out of his chest and tumbles down the cliff-side. He can’t admit to Soonyoung the truth: he still loves him. Despite the weapon he’s become.
(Maybe, part of him thinks, because of the weapon he’s become. There is something deeply erotic about serving a man like Jeonghan—about how that service changes you. Wonwoo’s always had difficulty distinguishing between lust and jealousy.)
“Yeah,” he says, a little too late, his throat inexplicably raw. “You’re a lucky bastard.”
Soonyoung pulls up to a dark, unassuming house with a wraparound balcony. His teeth glint white in the gloom.
“Luck has nothing to do with it.”
Wonwoo can’t help himself—he reaches out and touches Soonyoung’s face, his thumb swiping over his full bottom lip. Dried blood flakes off and catches in the corner of his mouth. Soonyoung licks it off reflexively, his expression falling open.
“I hope to God you stay lucky,” Wonwoo whispers. He drops his hand. “Goodbye, Soonyoung.”
When he gets out of the car, he doesn’t walk to the safe house where Jeonghan is undoubtedly waiting. He lopes into the trees, his hands still stinging, his eyes adjusting slowly to the moon’s dim cast of light. It’s a long hike down Bukhansan—but it will be worth it. There’s a wad of cash stuck into the waistband of his pants that’s worth far more than a few precious gems.
Insurance, he tells himself. For when Jeonghan comes calling again.
[FILL] heart in your headlights
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: vague criminal underground AU, mild violence
Permission to remix: Yes
going for [Year of the Tiger] and potentially [Rarest Pair], if this qualifies!
***
Wonwoo is walking home from the office when Jeonghan finds him.
“One more job.” Jeonghan says before he can speak. They fall into step together, like it hasn't been three years and a career change since their last conversation. “I wouldn’t be asking if I weren’t desperate.”
His hair is blonde now. It looks good, catching the light like the sea at golden hour. Wonwoo shoves his hands deep into his coat pockets and wishes he could say no. This is an obvious ploy—Jeonghan has never been desperate a day in his life.
And yet.
“Who else is on your roster?”
Jeonghan gives him a little grin. “You already know the answer to that.”
-
They call him the tiger.
Legend says that if you get close enough to see his eyes through the windshield, you’re already dead.
Those stories used to make Soonyoung laugh. He loved to hear rumors about himself, passed around seedy bars by people who’d heard nothing more than there’s a number you can call for the best driver in Seoul… no, the best in Korea! He’ll do what you need. As long as you can pay.
For years, no one knew the man behind the myth. Except Wonwoo.
Then came Yoon Jeonghan.
-
The plan goes south.
Wonwoo blows open the front door of the mansion, sending long yellow shadows over the grass. He freezes halfway over the threshold—hands scraped bloody, gun drawn, heaving deep breaths of cold midnight, decidedly not in possession of the jewels he came for—when a boy crashes down the stairs behind him.
The boy is pretty. Privileged. Still in his blue silk robe, despite the blaring alarms and the faraway hustle of private security getting their asses into gear.
An orange Ferrari squeals up to the front gate. Wonwoo lowers the gun. “Sorry to wake you,” he says to the boy.
Then he runs.
Slamming himself into the passenger seat, Wonwoo has just enough time to close the door before Soonyoung hits the gas.
“What the fuck is up, Jeon Wonwoo,” he says in welcome, his hands white on the wheel. A grin shatters his face. Wonwoo feels vaguely sick. “It’s been a while. Look who came crawling back.”
“I didn’t get the rubies.”
Soonyoung doesn’t care. Soonyoung never cared about the money—he’s in it for this, for the way his engine thrums when he pushes the car faster, farther, eyes darting to check his rear through the dark, winding streets. A cheery pop song repeats on the stereo, like a twisted little circus soundtrack, where all Wonwoo can catch is a trilled horanghae!
“No one’s following us.” Wonwoo flicks his hair back and accidentally smears blood across his forehead. His heart begins to slow. “The police weren’t there yet when I left.”
“Then why’d you bail?”
“The safe was empty.”
“Shit.” Soonyoung laughs. “Jeonghan’s gonna be pissed.”
He’s just like Wonwoo remembers: sharp as a diamond, devilish in a three-piece suit. Beautiful as all hell. It hurts to look at him, knowing that he belongs to someone else now. Knowing that Wonwoo is the one who walked away.
Soonyoung takes a hairpin turn and starts edging up the side of the mountain. Trees blur by in dark, amorphous shapes.
“So,” he says, in a low tone of voice that Wonwoo has never heard before. “Did you miss me?”
“Shut the fuck up, Soonyoung.”
“Don’t be an asshole. I just want to know, really—do you regret it?”
Wonwoo clenches his hands into fists and lies. “No.” He turns his face toward the window. “I told you, I won’t watch you die for him.”
Soonyoung turns off the main road and starts climbing the car up a steep dirt path bracketed by bushes. His mouth twists wryly. “Hasn’t happened yet.”
Wonwoo makes the mistake of looking over, and—Soonyoung’s face is lit with little stars from the dashboard, bright and glittering. Their eye contact is electric.
Wonwoo’s heart falls out of his chest and tumbles down the cliff-side. He can’t admit to Soonyoung the truth: he still loves him. Despite the weapon he’s become.
(Maybe, part of him thinks, because of the weapon he’s become. There is something deeply erotic about serving a man like Jeonghan—about how that service changes you. Wonwoo’s always had difficulty distinguishing between lust and jealousy.)
“Yeah,” he says, a little too late, his throat inexplicably raw. “You’re a lucky bastard.”
Soonyoung pulls up to a dark, unassuming house with a wraparound balcony. His teeth glint white in the gloom.
“Luck has nothing to do with it.”
Wonwoo can’t help himself—he reaches out and touches Soonyoung’s face, his thumb swiping over his full bottom lip. Dried blood flakes off and catches in the corner of his mouth. Soonyoung licks it off reflexively, his expression falling open.
“I hope to God you stay lucky,” Wonwoo whispers. He drops his hand. “Goodbye, Soonyoung.”
When he gets out of the car, he doesn’t walk to the safe house where Jeonghan is undoubtedly waiting. He lopes into the trees, his hands still stinging, his eyes adjusting slowly to the moon’s dim cast of light. It’s a long hike down Bukhansan—but it will be worth it. There’s a wad of cash stuck into the waistband of his pants that’s worth far more than a few precious gems.
Insurance, he tells himself. For when Jeonghan comes calling again.