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The night is still young—barely past eight—but that doesn’t stop Woojin.
Guilt doesn’t even make the list. Not for following Gunwoo. Not for lying straight to his face.
If anything, it feels justified.
Gunwoo’s face is everywhere now—circulating through the underworld like a challenge, like bait. The most anticipated fight in IKFC, if the whispers are anything to go by. And if there’s one thing Woojin knows, it’s that Im Baekyeong doesn’t let opportunities like that sit untouched.
Woojin doesn’t plan on letting them get anywhere near Gunwoo.
“Are you sure you’re okay staying back here?”
“Yes,” Woojin had said, firm, immediate. He’d nodded like there was no room for argument. “I am. I know you’re in safe hands.”
Gunwoo had hesitated—just for a second.
Woojin saw it. Ignored it.
Instead, he glanced over Gunwoo’s shoulder at Moon Gwangmu.
The man met his gaze and gave a sharp, knowing salute.
No words. None needed.
He’ll be fine.
That’s what Woojin tells himself.
That’s why he convinces Minbeom’s assistant to give him a ride anyway. Why he stars the coordinates Sun-bo sends him without hesitation. Why he keeps his eyes fixed on the car ahead like if he looks away, even for a second, something will go wrong.
He doesn’t need the drugs in his system to feel it—that crawling, tightening paranoia in his gut.
Every time Gunwoo is out of his sight, it’s there.
Waiting.
You’ll come to me, Gunwoo.
The voice isn’t real. Not here. But it lands just as hard.
Woojin straightens unconsciously, jaw tightening as the memory of Im Baekyeong’s gaze presses in—sharp, certain, unrelenting.
You’ll see.
“Yeah,” Woojin mutters under his breath, eyes locked ahead. “We’ll see.”
Outside the club, Gunwoo and Moon Gwangmu linger, their heads bent together in quiet conversation. Strategy, probably. Timing. Exit routes.
Moon glances back once—quick, assessing—before ushering Gunwoo inside.
That’s the moment.
Woojin exhales, already reaching for the door handle.
Beside him, Sun-bo shifts, arms crossed, expression unimpressed.
“You still haven’t told me why we’re doing this,” he says.
Woojin pauses, then sighs, like this is the inconvenient part of an otherwise perfect plan.
“Okay, okay,” he huffs, turning slightly. “You’d do anything to protect your boss, right?”
Sun-bo doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. He gave me a fair chance. I don’t waste that.”
“Exactly.” Woojin nods, like that settles everything. “Same for me and Gunwoo.”
Sun-bo eyes him. “That doesn’t sound the same.”
“It is,” Woojin insists, already half out the door. He jerks his chin toward the building across from the club. “We’re just… protecting them from a distance.”
“A distance,” Sun-bo repeats flatly.
“An unseen distance,” Woojin corrects.
“That sounds worse.”
“Yeah,” Woojin shrugs. “But it’s working for me.”
Sun-bo exhales through his nose, clearly unconvinced—but he doesn’t stop him.
Good enough.
Woojin steps out, the night air cooler than he expects. He scans left, right, every shadow, every passing figure.
Everything feels too still.
“If I don’t come back out,” he says, not looking back, “circle around back.”
There’s a beat.
“…That’s your whole plan?”
Woojin flashes a quick grin over his shoulder. “You’ll figure it out.”
Then he’s gone—slipping toward the entrance, already disappearing into the kind of trouble he told Gunwoo he’d stay far away from.
As long as I’m here, you’ll be fine.
He has to believe that.
Otherwise, this is just a really bad idea.
Inside, the club bleeds crimson—lights cutting through the dark in pulses of blue and violet. The bass is heavy enough to settle in his bones.
Woojin feels it immediately—the dizziness, sharp and sudden. Maybe it’s the lighting.
Maybe it’s the nerves. Eyes track him as he moves through the crowd of men only.
He ignores the eyes that settle on him too deeply.
His focus locks onto Gunwoo.
Too many people. Too close.
A hand brushes against Gunwoo’s bicep.
Gunwoo dips his head slightly, shifting away from the contact without making a scene.
Woojin steps forward—
—and stops himself.
He can handle himself. Stay put.
His jaw tightens. Still… why here?
It’s not their first time in a place like this. He faintly remembers an undercover job they worked—the one that nearly went sideways. They’d gotten out fine, but not without a mess, and unresolved tension that was later burried under the bridge after two drinks in, hoping to have forgotten the night altogether.
Woojin glances at Gunwoo again, something quieter slipping in beneath the tension.
He faintly wonders if Gunwoo remember that night too?
He’s snapped back to reality just in time to see them inch closer—closer than they should be in a place this crowded.
Woojin reacts on instinct, slipping behind a backdrop just as Moon Gwangmu and Gunwoo are led deeper inside.
The man guiding them doesn’t look like much at first glance.
But there’s something in the way he moves—an easy sway through the crowd, deliberate rather than casual. People part for him without hesitation, information. He has it. Gi-na.
Their only real lead.
Minbeom is still in the hospital. Still fighting for his life.
Woojin’s hand throbs beneath the bandages at the thought. He flexes his fingers once, testing, then pushes the feeling aside.
Focus.
He steps forward—
—and looks up.
They’re gone.
The shift is instant.
Panic hits, sharp and unforgiving.
Woojin turns, scanning the crowd. Faces blur together. Movement everywhere, but nothing he needs.
No Gunwoo.
No Moon Gwangmu.
His chest tightens.
He squeezes his eyes shut, just for a second, forcing a breath in—then out.
Think.
Then he moves.
Fast.
He pushes through the crowd, ignoring the protests, the shoulders he bumps into, heading straight for the back exit.
The alley is quiet.
Too quiet.
Woojin barely gets two steps in—
“Hyung! Woojin-ah!”
He freezes.
Gunwoo rushes him, grabbing his arm and pulling him around.
“Hyung—why are you here?” Gunwoo demands, breath uneven. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
His eyes scan Woojin quickly—sharp, assessing—
—and stop at the bandaged hand.
Woojin pulls slightly, like he can hide it now.
“Yah—! I’m fine,” he says quickly. Too quickly. “I just—I was worried. This drug, it’s serious, and you being here— I just wanted to make sure you and Mr. Moon were okay…”
His voice trails off.
He glances past Gunwoo, silently asking for backup.
Moon Gwangmu steps in without missing a beat, resting a steady hand on Gunwoo’s shoulder.
“Ah, Gunwoo,” he says easily, like none of this is unusual. “You know how it is. Us Marines—we look out for each other.”
He gestures lightly toward Woojin.
“And these kinds of places? No one comes alone. Better to have backup, right? And who better than him?”
He nods once, as if that settles it.
Woojin tries to match the confidence.
He almost pulls it off.
Almost.
Gunwoo doesn’t buy it.
Not even a little.
“You knew?” Gunwoo asks, quieter now.
The question lands heavier than anything else.
Woojin doesn’t answer.
And that’s answer enough.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Moon Gwangmu already stepping back.
“Well—!” Moon says, clapping his hands once, just a bit too bright. “Looks like we’ve got enough to track Gi-na.”
He’s already retreating.
“Let’s regroup, yeah? I’ll go get the car.”
And just like that—he’s gone.
The alley falls silent again.
Woojin is left standing there— alone under Gunwoo’s gaze.
Gunwoo doesn’t look away.
Not once.
Woojin exhales, shoulders slumping as the fight leaves him.
“I’ll be honest, Gunwoo,” he says finally. “When I saw your image on the IKFC website… my mind just—ran. It felt like we were already losing.”
“It was AI, it wasn’t me…” Gunwoo says, brows knitting together as he looks at him incredulously.
Woojin shakes his head.
“I couldn’t stop thinking that maybe… you’d take the first chance you got. That you’d run off to see Baekyeong. That you’d try to fight him on your own.”
Silence.
“Do you think I would?” Gunwoo asks softly.
The disappointment in his voice lands heavier than anything else.
Woojin looks away.
“I don’t know,” he admits.
The words come out quieter than he expects.
“But I know you wouldn’t act without something solid. I know that much.”
He hesitates, then reaches out, placing his hands on Gunwoo’s shoulders—careful with the injured one.
“You would tell me, right?” Woojin says, voice steadying. “If something like that crossed your mind.”
A beat.
“We’re family. We deal with this together.”
“I wouldn’t go anywhere if I didn’t know you were okay, too,” Gunwoo says quietly.
He reaches for Woojin’s injured hand, holding it carefully. His thumb brushes over the bandage, gentle—like he’s checking without making it obvious.
Woojin’s eyes sting.
He blinks quickly, sniffing once and tilting his head away just enough to blame it on the cool night air.
“I know,” he mutters. “It’s just been… a rough few hours.”
Gunwoo watches him for a moment longer than necessary.
“…Hyung, are you crying?”
“I’m not crying,” Woojin shoots back immediately, a little too fast. “It’s the wind.”
“There’s no wind.”
“There was wind.”
Gunwoo hums, unconvinced—but lets it go.
“The car is here,” he says instead. “Let’s just head back and plan our next step, okay?”
Woojin nods, a bit slower this time.
“…Okay.”
There’s a brief pause where neither of them moves.
Gunwoo is still holding his hand.
Woojin looks down at it. Then back up at him.
Gunwoo follows his gaze—then quickly lets go, clearing his throat.
“Right. We should—go.”
“Yeah. Go,” Woojin echoes, already turning a little too quickly.
Behind them, the car rolls up silently, headlights off, engine humming low like it’s in on the secret.
The back window rolls down just enough.
“Are you two done?” Moon Gwangmu’s voice cuts in, dry. “Or should I circle the block again?”
Woojin freezes.
Gunwoo straightens.
“…Get in the car,” Woojin mutters.
They both move at the same time—bumping shoulders on the way.
Neither of them comments on it.
The car door shuts with a dull thud.
For a moment, neither of them says anything.
Woojin leans back into the seat, exhaling slowly, like his body is only just now realizing it’s allowed to rest. The adrenaline ebbs all at once, leaving something heavier behind.
Beside him, Gunwoo sits a little straighter than usual.
Not tense—just… aware.
The engine hums quietly as Moon Gwangmu pulls away from the curb without a word, the city lights slipping past in streaks of color.
Woojin lets his head tip back, eyes closing for a second.
Just a second.
“You should’ve stayed back,” Gunwoo says eventually, voice low.
It’s not sharp. Not even upset.
Just… honest.
Woojin huffs quietly, eyes still closed. “Yeah. I know.”
A pause.
“…You scared me.”
That makes Woojin open his eyes.
Gunwoo isn’t looking at him—he’s staring straight ahead, hands resting on his knees, fingers curling slightly like he doesn’t know what to do with them.
Woojin swallows.
“I scared you?” he repeats, softer now.
Gunwoo nods once.
“When I couldn’t find you,” he says. “I thought—”
He stops.
Doesn’t finish.
He doesn’t need to.
Something in Woojin’s chest tightens, sharp and immediate.
“…I was right behind you,” Woojin says, like that somehow fixes it. Like that makes it better.
“It didn’t feel like it.”
The words land heavier than anything else tonight.
Silence settles between them again—but it’s different now. Not empty. Just full of things neither of them is saying.
Woojin shifts slightly, wincing before he can stop himself.
Gunwoo notices immediately.
“Does it hurt?”
“It’s fine,” Woojin says automatically.
Gunwoo turns this time, giving him a look.
Woojin lasts all of two seconds under it.
“…It’s a little sore,” he admits.
Gunwoo doesn’t say anything else. He just reaches over again—slower this time, more deliberate—and takes Woojin’s hand back into his.
Careful.
Always careful.
His thumb presses lightly over the bandage, not enough to hurt—just enough to ground.
Woojin doesn’t pull away.
Doesn’t make a joke this time either.
The car is quiet except for the low hum of the engine and the faint noise of the city outside.
After a moment, Woojin lets his head tilt—just slightly—until it rests against Gunwoo’s shoulder.
It’s subtle. Like he could still pretend it was an accident if he needed to.
Gunwoo goes still for half a second.
Then relaxes.
Just enough.
“You should rest,” Gunwoo murmurs.
Woojin hums, already half there. “Wake me up if something happens.”
“I will.”
A beat.
“…Hyung?”
“Mm.”
Gunwoo hesitates, then—
“…Don’t do that again.”
Woojin’s lips twitch faintly, eyes still closed.
“…No promises.”
Gunwoo exhales softly—something between a sigh and a quiet laugh.
“…At least warn me first.”
That, Woojin considers.
“…Yeah,” he says after a moment. “Okay.”
From the front seat, Moon Gwangmu glances at them through the rearview mirror.
He doesn’t say anything.
Just turns the radio on—low enough not to disturb them—and keeps driving.