until my lips turn blue — jeon wonwoo
a/n: thank you to @etherealyoungk for inspiring the confidence and motivation i needed for this! and thank u to @pusoatbuwan for being the best thank u bestie :) i hope you all like it !!
word count: 6.8k
content: fem!reader, mafia au, non idol au, mafia boss!reader, hacker!wonwoo, seungcheol is a bit of a dick i’m so sorry this is not representative of him irl, bestie mingyu, random monsta x kihyun cameo bc i needed a random idol lol, angst, mentions of food, murder, weapons, and drugs to varying degrees.
summary: to thank you for your gracious efforts in tracking down an attacker, seventeen offers to repay your favor. you ask for a date with the cute one with glasses.
“so,” you say, gazing at the fresh scar on seungcheol’s cheek. it hasn’t had a chance or any time to fade yet and you can tell by the fire in the eyes of his men that this was recent, “what happened?”
it’s hard to remember how you exactly got wrapped up in this mess. seungcheol ‘invited’ you over to discuss a certain issue, something vague like ‘internal matters’, but it felt off from the get-go. something was wrong.
and, clearly, you can tell something is wrong now.
he heaves out a sigh, letting his head fall into his hands before pushing his hair out of his face, “i don’t even know,” he says, “all i know is that my underboss in currently in the hospital, lying to every single medical personnel about why he has stab wounds on his thigh.”
your eyes wander around the room and they find a picture of seungcheol with another person, smiling like they were friends. you’d learn later that was him. yoon jeonghan. the underboss.
there’s 11 other people in this room besides you and seungcheol, which adds up in relation to your current knowledge of seventeen’s higher-ups. contrary to the name, there's 13 of them that are considered the most important to the seventeen organization, including their boss.
Seungcheol eyes burn into you, but you hold your ground, “well, that is unfortunate. i do send him my best regards, and i hope he recovers well and quickly, but i suppose…” you look around at all of the others, as if to calculate in your head the best move, “i don’t know what it is you want from me.”
“if i may be blunt,” he says as a proposition, but it’s more like a question. you nod, “i don’t know either,” he admits, “i don’t know what i expect you to be able to do, much less be willing to do. what i do know though, is that you have a reputation of being able to track people down like a hawk.”
you don’t acknowledge the compliment. he shifts, almost uncomfortably.
“all i am currently requesting is your assistance in finding the one who attacked us. should you help us, we will compensate you in whatever means you see fit,” he says almost desperately, you can’t see it in his face but you feel it, “i want revenge. i need your help to get it.”
“you’ll make sure i get something out of it?”
he sighs, “i’ll see to it that you get whatever you want out of this.”
“what do you know?” when you ask, one of the 11 other men steps up, handing a folder to you.
he doesn’t bother introducing himself, but you know of him. he’s incredibly well known for being able to gather information. he probably knows the street you grew up on and the color of your socks right now off the top of his head. his name is joshua, you remember. you’ve heard someone call his name before.
“these are stills from the security footages of the compound. this here—” he points to a spot on the first paper in the folder, “— is our guy. right here, he gets into a car. i ran the license plate, and it’s registered this individual here.” he points again, this time to a mugshot in the next page. there’s a list of charged and convicted crimes next to the picture, “but i don’t think they’re the same person. they have different builds.”
you agree, soon focusing on the name of the individual the car belonged to, “i know this man.”
seungcheol perks up at the good news, “you do? from where?”
“he’s the director of financial operations at a company an associate of mine owns. he’s very powerful, but he’s also had accusations of corruption and funding violence for years,” you say, “he responds to me directly, actually. it shouldn’t be too hard to get the info out of him.”
“well then,” seunghcheol says, “my men will assist you in any way required for the operation. feel free to ask for their assistance,” and with that, he leaves the conference room.
“is there anything required of any of us for you to investigate, miss?” one of them says after a moment. he’s tall, has too pretty a face for this kind of business. he kinda looks like a puppy.
“no, i should be able to go from here,” you make eye contact with another one. he’s wearing glasses, the thin frames complimenting his face well. he doesn’t acknowledge you more than just the brief eye contact, looking away as soon as it happens, “i’ll call the director now.”
“go right ahead,” joshua says, and you pull your phone out and call him, putting it on speaker.
the phone rings several times. there’s an unplaced tension in the room, and you’re not sure who exactly here is bubbling with anger, but you reconcile it with the fact that these are not just associates. they’re friends. and their buddy is in the hospital.
right before the last ring ends before it’ll stop trying, he picks up.
“hello?” he says.
“director lee, hello, thank you for taking my call,” you say, feeling eyes on you from all over the room.
he responds, “ah yes, hello boss. it’s my pleasure. what can i do for you?”
“well, i was hoping you could inform me on something,” you say, relaxing more into the chair, “you see, i’ve been looking for an individual who was found driving your car last night in unknown territory. did you know about this?”
he pauses. you can tell it’s to come up with a lie on the spot, “no, in fact. i had just assumed my car was stolen. i was almost about to alert the police, but i’m sure you understand why i did not.”
“i understand, director. i need you to cooperate with me,” you say.
“yes, boss. what can I do for you?” he asks.
you take in a deep breath, saying, “for reasons i am unable to disclose, i believe this individual is after us. also, the most recent sighting of your car after it was found so far away is in our territory, at the diner down the street from headquarters,” you fake a pause to hopefully show some hesitancy. you were far too good at playing scared, “i am… nervous, director. this individual stole your car, could have obtained the weapons we keep near the peer, there’s no telling what they’re up to or who sent them.”
the all watch you make a dramatic voice as you play up any potential worries. that’s the only way he’ll talk.
“i understand, miss. may i speak openly?” his question makes them all look up, and you almost have to mute yourself to silence your victory.
“yes, director. tell me,” you say with a hidden smirk on your face.
he pauses, and you worry for a second that he’s going to chicken out, but he doesn’t, “i sent the individual. my car was never stolen.”
bingo.
you ask, “who is it?”
“i’ll send over the information after this call,” he says. there’s a smile on joshua’s face as you look up, both silently understanding the victory you just won, “i wanted to send a message to seventeen, but he must have been attacked because he sent me a voice recording shortly after coming into contact with one of the higher-ups. something about accidentally hurting one of them before he got a chance to say something.”
you ask, trying to prompt more out of him, “what were you trying to say to them?” you only ask because you know they’d want you to.
“i do not have the best relationship with their leader. the reason is unrelated to our purposes in our group. i apologize for stressing you, boss.”
you respond with a simple, “i see, thank you, director.”
“of course, miss, should i send you the information right away?” he asks.
“yes, as soon as possible. have a good day, director,” you say and hang up. you look up at them as your phone pings. you show the notification to joshua.
“that’s him,” he says, pulling out a still from his folder, matching them up side-by-side, “this is our guy.”
“i can find him, leave that to me,” you say, “as a favor to seventeen, i’ll take care of him. you will all owe me, though. both for that phone call and for getting my hands dirty.”
“don’t get cocky,” another one says. he’s short, but he’s got this energy that screams ‘fuck with me, i dare you’, “let me know when you get it done.” he hands you a piece of paper with a string of numbers on it. lee jihoon.
you smile, almost like a smirk, “okay.”
and out the room you go.
he’s dead by the morning. you tell jihoon, and get no response, he simply hangs up as soon as he gets the news.
—
the letter is addressed from all of seventeen, but based on the formality of word choice, none of them had a hand in writing it. it was probably written by some subordinate, but it gets a simple message across.
seventeen’s acknowledgement that you were owed a favor. the, in writing, paper that guaranteed you something in return. it felt like solid gold.
you spend some time thinking about what it is exactly that you would like from them. there’s not many limits. if you wanted someone dead, they’d have it done by sunset. if you want illegal weapons for your own plans, they would provide them easily. anything you want, they could do.
that was what was so nice about your relationship with seventeen: you may not get along as people, but you get along as business partners. there is no worry that you will be attacked in their headquarters, and vice versa.
but did you need illegal weapons? not really. your casino heist plans were being made smoothly, and there were not many materials you could have requested to make it any easier. you had access to everything you would need, and then some.
did you need anyone dead? not particularly right now. there’s nothing you need help with right now, aside from maybe needing help with throwing a surprise birthday party for your niece. that, though, was doable on its own.
and then, the idea dawns on you.
—
the letter you return back is, on the contrary, written by you. seungcheol knows it’s you, because he’s seen your handwriting. you state your pleasure with working with them. you thank them for their assistance, especially joshua’s, in finding the first piece of evidence.
the moment you are done with formalities, you don’t hesitate to describe, in extreme, excruciating detail, the favor you would like back from them.
‘a date with the cute one that wears glasses’
you ask for a date. you couldn’t remember his name at the time of writing, so you describe him as the ‘one with the glasses’. you describe exactly what you want: a fancy restaurant dinner, him dressed in a suit with styled hair away from his eyes and maybe some jewelry, definitely wearing his precious specs. you’d pay, he’d walk you to your car, and the second the door shut and you were being driven away, seventeen will have paid their favor back.
your letter even reads:
‘there are no ulterior motives. should the favor be paid back successfully, SEVENTEEN will not be bothered over this matter again. should the favor not be paid back in this way, an alternative favor will not be provided unless sufficient reason is given.”
seungcheol almost laughs when he sees the letter, as he’s the first to read it. he wonders if you’re even being serious. it’s probably the most ridiculous request he’s ever gotten, but he can’t come up with a single reason as to why you’d play a prank like this, so he comes to the conclusion that you’re most likely serious.
a copy of the letter is sent over to wonwoo, the one with the glasses, and he reads it probably fifty times. maybe fifty-one.
nothing has ever made him so embarrassed, that’s the issue. not a single mistake he’s ever made or being chastised for not being good enough at his job has had the same effect. he feels the way mingyu’s eyes bore into him, knowing that wonwoo told him all about how he thought you were pretty, and that if you weren’t 1) a boss and 2) literally terrifying to speak to, he’d be down bad.
he feels awkward and clumsy for sticking out, for being the one pushed into the spotlight. he doesn’t particularly want to be the center of attention, but here he is, in his boss’s office, surrounded by his closest associates. he feels weirdly small as he sinks into the chair.
“i know this is… unconventional, wonwoo,” seungcheol says to him, leaning against his desk, “but you need to do this. it’s only dinner and we can’t owe her for much longer.”
“i know,” he says.
seungcheol continues, “there isn’t much of a choice, as well, you know that right?”
wonwoo recognizes the fading scar on seungcheol’s cheek as seungcheol talks to him. he remembers the moment it happened.
this was more than just giving you what you wanted so you were even as groups, but about genuinely thanking you for such a deed. he remembers watching jeonghan get stabbed in the thigh to protect chan. he remembers all the blood, that horrified look on chan’s face. that guy must have known he was a dead man the second he hurt jeonghan, that could have been why he ran. seungcheol is protective of all of them, but especially him.
“i know, i’ll do it,” he says, “i’ll do whatever is required of me. you know that, boss.”
“i know you will, it’s just that…” seungcheol looks uneasy, shifting his eyes away, “i don’t want this to become a bigger thing. don’t develop feelings, don’t do anything to make her develop feelings. just don’t make this messy. and don’t make it my problem.”
“i won’t,” wonwoo is, even in the best case scenario, slightly overestimating himself. he knows that, yet he still lies (not exactly but that’s what it feels like) through his teeth, “this won't become a problem.”
“it better not, now go,” seungcheol orders, trying to make it sound harsh. it doesn’t, though, not to wonwoo. it sounds more like ‘don’t fuck this up for yourself’.
—
wonwoo reads your letter for the fifty-second time. this time, he’s closely checking your instructions on how you wanted him to dress. it’s a little bit weird, but he supposes you’re going somewhere fancy, and maybe he has to match.
he sighs dramatically, he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing.
why is he dressing up in a suit he never wears to come meet you, a literal mob boss that thought he was cute, at some restaurant he doesn’t even know exists, to have dinner with you and play along to make you happy but not enough for either of you to get too attached?
what does he even think he’s doing?
he has literally killed people before, but that was so much simpler than this. slicing someone’s throat is so much less complicated than picking out a tie to wear to your date. everything down to asking him to wear a little bit of gold jewelry— gold, not silver— was complicated. he doesn’t understand this at all.
he’s somewhat horrified that this will go wrong, but if he thinks about it as only ‘a pretty girl asked him on a date’ and forgets all the context, he can breathe slower.
He leaves the compound with mingyu to act as a body guard, and then to sit at the bar area during your date to be there in case something happened. mingyu had told him he had no plans of interrupting anything in case the date goes a little too well, but he did want to be there in case something worse happened and wonwoo wasn’t able to fight on his own.
mingyu enters before him, actually. wonwoo waits by the entrance, just as your letter requests, and he almost wonders for a second if this was all just an elaborate ploy of yours, something just to waste time as you’re comfortably doing whatever mob boss stuff you normally do.
that is until you’re in front of him, in the most stunning sapphire dress he’s ever seen in his life, and he sees why you requested a navy suit on him. you both match perfectly, and he can help but blush like a freaking anime girl when you walk in together. you’re so breathtaking, the kind that could kill.
you had made reservations apparently, and all he could do is watch and follow along cluelessly as you’re taken to the table, and you both sit down.
you take in a breath, and then really look into his eyes. you don’t say anything for a moment, so he tries to start.
“hey,” he says, a little bit breathless, “you look gorgeous, by the way.”
“oh, you don’t have to flatter me, dear. that’s not required of you,” you laugh, and god, it is so beautiful. he could faint right now.
he forgot, honestly, that he didn’t have to impress you. he berated himself for a second when he realizes that he complimented you of his own volition, because he wanted to. that was bad.
“it’s okay, you don’t have to act so nervous. i don’t have any intentions to hurt you,” you say, reaching out for his hand. his hand tremors really had to come at the worst times. your hand is so warm (and he’s such a cold person, he could get used to warm hands holding his cold ones), “is this where you start wondering why i asked you to come on date with me?”
“i’ve been wondering since i read the letter,” he responds. he’s fidgeting, nervous. you have such an intense stare that’s hard to match.
“i’m sure you have,” you say, “if i’m being honest, it didn’t feel like there was much i wanted to ask for. everything is alright— knock on wood— for the moment with me. and i,” you pause, and it catches his attention even more, “i wanted something like this. something normal.”
“i take it… mafia life isn’t really for you, huh?” he half-asks.
“i suppose it’s not too bad of a fit, actually. i think the heists and gambling and money-laundering isn’t too bad. that kind of stuff has been my whole life, so it’s kinda fun to me,” you say, “but it prevents you from living simply. there is no family, there’s no relationships, no house on the hill. i feel like i’m missing out on that aspect of life.”
“yeah, you’re right. i suppose it is sad,” he says. he’s not sure what else to say.
you just continue, “and i just… i wanted to experience something different tonight. maybe i shouldn’t have involved you in my attempt to feel that, or at least didn’t force you to be here.”
“i’m not forced to be here,” he says, even if it’s honestly not very true, “i think i want to be here, too. i’ll experience it with you.”
you smile, and this time it’s softer than he’s ever seen. he can’t seem to remember why your presence was so intimidating before, because in this moment, you are nothing but warm and inviting, “okay, then. it’s settled. let’s have a beautiful night.”
it was cheesy, sure, but it made his heart flutter all the same.
he sees mingyu out of the corner of his eye. he’s sitting at the bar, making small talk with the bartender. wonwoo and mingyu make eye contact, and it’s almost like a series of questions: ‘how is it going? are you alright? do you need me to step in?’
and wonwoo gives a small smile back at him, as if to say ‘i think i’m okay’.
he looks back at you, as you give your order to the server. he doesn’t see someone evil or done anything that is commonplace for his and your kind of life. he just sees you: someone aching for something different. something soft and sweet and normal.
dinner with him flies by, filled with pretty conversations about each other’s lives. you both skirt around conversations about your groups, instead choosing to focus on yourselves. he learn about your hobbies and passions, you learn about his friends and what he likes to do in his free time.
you tell him about the time you were robbing a bank when you were younger. maybe 17. you tell him about the restaurant that’s a front for high-up associates that you used to go to when you were younger. you tell him about how your dad’s assasination put you in the boss spot when you were 19 and stupid and too young for that kind of power. it went to your head and has barely worn off since.
he tells you about how mingyu and him have saved each other’s asses maybe 500 times each. he tells you about how he likes computer games, that if he was given a second shot at life, he’d be a pro-gamer for sure. he tells you about his cat, ranting about how cute it is (and he looks adorable doing it).
wonwoo realizes what’s happening while it’s happening; he’s not dumb or oblivious. he realizes that with every smile, every laugh, every time you get passionate about what you’re talking about and make these dramatic hand movements, and every time you unconsciously make that cute thinking face, he’s falling for you more and more.
and yet he doesn’t have it in himself to pull back; instead, he chooses to lean in. he smiles when you smile, laughs when you laughs, plays along when you tell him overly dramatic stories. he’s so mesmerized that he doesn’t notice the passage of time, how late it’s getting.
what he does notice is you reaching to grab the bill that was dropped off by the server. he snatches it before you can, and quickly puts the money in, catching the server’s attention and asking them to take it now.
you make a upset face at him, but it doesn’t hurt him in the slightest, “my treat.” he says simply.
“i was supposed to pay! you didn’t have to do that!” you argue, and he looks at you with a kind of vulnerability that is so raw, it’s almost infuriating.
“i wanted to. for you.”
you stand, so he stands too. you turn to walk away, but he grasps your wrist at the last second. he thinks you’re about to storm off, mad or something. why were you mad at him? he was trying to do something nice for you!
it’s until you groan and turn back around, getting so so close to him that the rest of the word fades out of view. for a moment it’s just like that. there’s no one else in the world except for you and him.
you’re looking into his eyes, reaching your hand up to lightly cup his cheek, letting your finger drag against his jaw, “can i?” you ask. you don’t even need to say it.
“yeah,” he breathes, shakily, “do whatever you want.”
you kiss him while his stomach does somersaults. his hands find your waist, letting you lead, and, funnily enough, only once he starts to relax, you’re pulling away.
“we should get out of here,” you say, and his heart rate picks up, which you seem to notice (his own heart betrayed him), “we don’t have to do anything, but it’s so loud and energetic in here. i want some peace and quiet.”
he couldn’t agree more. you both walk outside, and he shoots mingyu one last ‘i’m okay’ look, seeing the smirk on his friend’s face may annoy him, but he’s too happy to care.
once you reach your car, you pull him close. his hands rest on the same spot as before, gently on your waist. you ask him, “can i kiss you again?”
“yes,” he whispers back. something about asking the second time feels sweeter, “kiss me a little harder this time, please.”
you smile at his request, gently pressing your lips to his before you grasp the back of his neck to use as leverage when your kiss becomes more intense, giving him what he wants. he’ll always get what he wants now, you suppose. anything he asks for, you’ll give him.
you don’t pull away as fast this time, instead letting him savor the moment.
but you eventually do, pulling back to look at him. he’s so pretty in the moonlight.
“i don’t want this to end,” he says. you smile almost sadly at him.
“i’m sorry, baby, i wish it didn’t have to end so soon, but our agreement was only dinner,” you say, “and you need to go back. our night together has been fun, but this is it. we were only given tonight.”
“i don’t want to go back yet, i don’t want to leave you,” he whispers painfully. god, it was so easy to get comfortable in his arms.
you see that sadness in his eyes, the kind that kills any chance of ever getting over him, “i know, i know, i’m sorry. i didn’t think we would get so close so fast,” you can feel the shaking of his hands even as they rest steady on your hips, “when i asked for a date, i thought it would be a night that would end with no hard feelings about never seeing each other again.”
“well, look where that got us,” he makes himself chuckle, though it’s not out of actual humor.
there’s a pause where neither of you dare to make the next move. there’s a sinking feeling that one of these next kisses will be the last.
“i’ll tell you what: i’ll kiss you until my lips turn blue, so you can never forget what it feels like. not even if you tried,” you say, moving your hands to his shoulders to steady yourself.
“okay,” he responds, “don’t let me forget. don’t ever let me.”
“you know i won’t,” you say, and your kisses are so passionate that for a second, he forgets that he’s jeon wonwoo, seventeen’s best hacker and technology expert, and only knows that he’s yours.
and for you, he’s so sweet, so kind and giving and reciprocative, kissing you back with just as much energy, it’s just as easy to get lost in him.
you stay there for as long as the night will allow, kissing him with feverish intensity, before you really have to send him on his way.
his eyes have that tragic look to them, like he’s sad in such a complicated way. it was never supposed to end like this, with him walking away from you as you get into your car, but the more he thinks about it, he’s wrong.
it was supposed to end like this. with him and you separated.
when he returns, he knows he probably shouldn’t, that he should lie and say it went well (but not too well) and this will not cause future problems, but he tells seungcheol afterwards that he 100% fucked this up for himself. he’s really, really into you.
his boss isn’t surprised.
—
it’s been two months— not exactly, maybe a month and three weeks or so, but close enough— since that night. not a word from seventeen, nor from wonwoo. it’s hard to not wonder what happened between him and his boss as soon as he returned, if he saw those feelings written out all over his associate’s face, or if it was the lipstick stain on his lips that gave it away.
in your world, nothing had changed (except for maybe everything about your soul). nothing about your mob boss life had been altered. seventeen never spoke a word about the favor, not to you or anyone else. even though word travels fast and very easily, it never got back to you that anyone besides you and seventeen knew about it.
maybe it’s a good thing that you haven’t seen or heard from him, that you probably never will again, but him having that much control over you is dangerous because you’re sure that seungcheol knows. he knows wonwoo likes you, he knows you like wonwoo, and everything in between. he has so much power that it’s incomprehensible what he could manipulate you into doing. he probably knows that. he revels in it.
so you made the point to not reach out, knowing there’d be a trade off next time. you assume that’s why it’s radio silence on his end too.
it only hurts a little bit.
—
the news hits you as you’re sitting in your office, drinking your coffee as an associate is detailing all possible back up plans for the casino heist planned for next week.
“hold on one minute,” you say to them, and they immediately shut up, letting you take a call that had come in as they were talking, “yes, kihyun? why are you calling? i thought i told you not to call my personal phone.”
he seems anxious on the other end, which is not pleasant to hear, “i tried, boss, but you weren’t answering. and i know i wasn’t supposed to, but i assumed you would want to hear the news as soon as possible.”
“what news?”
“jeon wonwoo of seventeen went missing three days ago. not even his own associates know where he is or if he’s even alive,” he says, and his words, especially the last few, hit particularly hard.
he’s not dead, right? he can’t be dead.
“i… see. thank you, kihyun,” you say.
“i’m here if you need anything, boss,” he says, but you don’t respond, only hanging up the phone and closing your eyes.
you remember there’s still someone else in the room, so you shoo them out, “we’ll go over these plans tomorrow,” you say, as if to tell them to go away. they catch on.
and you’re suddenly all alone in your office, with nothing but the thought of wonwoo being dead to occupy your thoughts. seventeen had enemies, of course they did, but why wonwoo of all of them? why was he the target? it was just impossible to rationalize why someone would choose him to be the one to take out. what would even be the motive?
it doesn’t seem real, the idea that he could be dead, even though it’s technically possible.
the idea dawns on you that maybe it was someone in his own group, maybe even the whole fucking mafia collectively decided to take him out.
and maybe it was because of you. the idea makes your stomach sick.
it’s impossible to know for sure, and you can’t spend your day getting lost in maybe or possibly. you assume the worst, that he’s probably dead, and give yourself a moment to grieve.
and then it’s back to work.
—
it’s late, so late it’s almost early again, at your residence. the sound of rain is constant and almost soothing as you drink your tea, giving a sense of peace and calm to your night. looking over documents from the casino, everything seems to be in order. last minute preparations for tomorrow are going smoothly, and all that needs to happen now is sleep before the big day.
there’s a ring at your doorbell. so, there goes a peaceful couple hours of sleep.
no one should know that this place exists or that you live here. this place was secret for your own safety and the fact that someone is here, ringing your doorbell at three in the morning is a terrible sign.
you grab the gun you keep under your coffee table as you approach the door. there’s no way to check who it was without letting them know you were there, you just had to open it.
“i’m so sorry i’m here right now!” you hear, barely able to make out the baritone voice over the heavy rain, “i’m sorry i didn’t say anything after that night, i was ordered to not contact you on my own! i’m sorry i’m here, bothering you at your house, but it was the only place i could go!”
when you open the door, the rain covers his frames, concealing his eyes, but it’s him.
not a single thought of ‘how the fuck did you get my address?’ or ‘why did you disappear?’ is more important than him at that moment. you open the screen door and yank him inside, tossing the gun somewhere onto the floor of your kitchen. you rush to grab him a towel, because he’s shivering and freezing and that’s scaring both of you.
you’re borderline yelling at him as you scold him for showing up, especially at this hour, “what were you even thinking? you could have gotten hypothermia! you could exposed this place to people who want me dead! you could have gotten us both killed!”
and yet all he could do is look at you with those beautiful, lovestruck eyes, “i’m so sorry,” he says with a smile.
you hug him, wet clothes and teary eyes and all, crouching down on the floor to meet where he is, curled up in a ball, covering himself up with that towel. he looks so small like this.
“i’m sorry,” he whispers again.
“don’t be, i’m glad you’re alive,” you whisper back, tightening your grip on him as if he’d whither away and disappear if you didn’t.
“i missed you, every single day i thought about you,” he mumbles into your shoulder.
“i did too,” you say, “what happened? why did you disappear? when did this become the only place you could go?”
“i-um,” he starts, hesitant and quietly, “i got into a fight with seungcheol. i told him i didn’t want to live like this anymore, and he said he’d… cut off my head if i ever left.”
“but you still left?”
“i had to, i was so unhappy that it was killing me,” he says with more confidence, still holding onto you like you’re his lifeline, “and, god, i’m so into you that it hurt so bad to never talk to you again. how the hell was i supposed to move on?”
“so what happened after you left? where did you go?”
“mingyu told me i could crash on the couch at his place out of town while i tried to find you, but seungcheol beat that information out of him,” he pulls away just a bit to look at you while he speaks, still holding on for what feels like dear life, “i found this place about a week ago, but it wasn’t until i was literally running for my life that i felt there was nowhere else i could go.”
his stomach rumbles, so you ignore his words for the present and ask, “oh my god, when’s the last time you ate? no, don’t even answer me, i’m making you ramen.”
“it’s okay, you don’t have to-”
“don’t say another word, unless it’s to tell me you’re dying. you’re going to go take a nice, warm shower, and then eat some ramen before we even think about what to do about you going forward,” you cut him off, but your scolding tone is so filled with love and care that he doesn’t mind.
he showers, finally feeling the relief of warm water. he always hated being cold in any capacity, much less freezing to death.
he changes into the clothes you give him: an oversized crewneck and some sweatpants. when he walks back into the kitchen, where you are, he pulls the sleeves as far as they’ll go, giving himself cute little sweater paws.
he’s so adorable, so easy to fall for.
you place a bowl of ramen in front of a seat at the kitchen counter, “eat up, baby.”
baby. he could get used to being called something like that. easy. he sits at the counter, eating like a madman once he realizes how hungry he truly is.
you watch him tenderly, all the adrenaline having faded out and now he’s just here. what are you even gonna do with him? you can’t just kick him out, he’ll get found immediately. so long as no one else finds out about this place, you’re both safe.
he can’t return to seventeen, though. maybe that thought has sunken in for him too, because when he looks up at you and smiles when he sees you looking at him, he’s not smiling like how he did last time you saw him. his smile is smaller and more forced.
all his friends he left behind, all his past he left behind, and that comfortable life he left behind, all to be here, with you.
“what now?” you ask, and the depth of the question is not absent in his mind. he knows what you mean.
he frowns, playing with his chopsticks, “i… i don’t know. i can’t go back, but i’m unsure how to move forward.”
“do you want to give up this life completely? just start fresh?”
“i don’t think so. it’s all i know, all i feel competent at, and if i’m being honest, i don’t mind it. i just need something more,” he says with a chuckle, “i don’t think i could live a life of white picket fences and nuclear families.”
“then,” you say, sitting at the spot next to him at the counter, “consider joining me. i can’t give you a top position, but you can continue your work as a hacker under my group. as much as i want to give you choice, i'm gonna be honest with you: that’s your only good option.”
“i know,” he says.
it hurts a little bit, and he knows what you’re gonna say before you say it, “and i'm sorry i have to say it out loud, but… this will provide you protection against seventeen.”
which is the most miserable thing to think about: his own friends coming to kill him. he’s a traitor now, though. he knows he’s dead to seungcheol. it hurts him somewhere deep in his chest every time he thinks about it.
“okay,” he says, somewhat dully, “i guess i don’t have much of a choice.”
“it’s not that you don’t have a choice in the matter, but you only have one good one,” you say, matter-of-factly, “you won’t be safe anywhere else-”
“i’m sorry,” he says suddenly, and it’s heartbreaking how he just can’t stop saying it, “i’m just so sorry. i put you and mingyu in danger just so i could have a chance to escape. he even let me stay on his couch and then got hurt because of my selfishness.”
“it’s not fair to you to judge yourself so harshly like that. mingyu did that because he wanted to, for you. you couldn’t stop whatever hell came after,” you say, comfortingly, “it’s better to be selfish than unhappy. if mingyu knew you were safe with me, he’d see his efforts as worthwhile.”
“and what about you?” he asks.
“what about me?”
“i put you in danger,” he says.
“wonwoo, i’m a mob boss. and a woman one at that. i’m always in danger,” you say, “it’s nothing new.”
“but-”
“stop talking,” you order, and he complies. you sigh, “it’s not worth it to think about all the things you did wrong. where you are now is where you are; there’s no changing that.”
“i’m sorry,” he laughs breathlessly, “can you just kiss me if you need to shut me up?”
you look into his eyes once again, seeing nothing but beauty and honesty in them. your hand reaches to tilt his chin up as you lean in for a kiss, and all the passion of that night comes back in full force, except with so much more vulnerability and tenderness.
but he pulls away this time.
why is he about to cry?
he answers the question for you, “i’m sorry, i uhm- i’m sorry,” he whispers, his apologies stabbing you incessantly, “nothings wrong. i’m just… so happy. i’m so happy we ended up like this. nothing compares to you.”
i’m so happy we got the happy ending (somewhat).
tomorrow (well, more like later today. in a few hours) he’ll be jeon wonwoo, the best hacker in the area, known for being able to hack into power grids and major international banks. maybe he’ll be there with you, keeping track of the operation, taking down security cameras or disrupting communications.
but for tonight, he’s simply wonwoo. he holds you like he doesn’t want anything else from this life.
nothing compares to this.
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