Chapter Text
Sungchan's endless words drowned out in Shotaro's ears the more he continued. His hands automatically moved on his own to wrap the bandages on the burns, sometimes too many layers or not enough, too caught up in his head to pay attention properly.
He shouldn't be here.
Seconds passed, and soon Sungchan realised that Shotaro had stopped listening to him and just endlessly bandaged him up. Sometimes places where he didn't need it at all.
He wanted to say something. The sight of Shotaro zoning out at the bruise on his arm was beginning to make Sungchan shift in his chair awkwardly. As much as he wanted to ask Shotaro what was going on and if he was okay, no words could form on his tongue, thus causing him to just look at Shotaro.
Thankfully for him, Shotaro snapped back into reality.
But that was until he asked an abrupt question.
"Sungchan, tell me, why are you here?" He asked, but Shotaro already knew the answer. He heard it all. He knew about the plan from the very start. He heard everything and knew it all. Nothing the gang plans goes without notice for Shotaro, but he still needed to hear it for himself. He needed it.
He didn't respond for a couple of seconds, letting the question sink in and for the answer to form. The longer Sungchan took to answer, the more restless Shotaro felt.
"Are they listening?" The joking facade he had was replaced with a serious expression, a blunt tone that caught Shotaro off-guard by the unsuspecting question.
He took a bit to respond, trying to wrap his head around it. It was an odd question, for sure. Shotaro hadn't heard someone ask it unless they were somewhat experienced in this line. But he shook his and responded with a lower tone, "No, they aren't," He reassured, "They never listen. They don't care enough to."
Sungchan nodded along. He was happy with the response, and his bright smile came back as if nothing had happened, "I won't explain my whole backstory. I'll just sum it up," He looked at Shotaro with a glint in his eyes, "Unless you want me to say it all, then you tell me yours."
"I–" Shotaro stumbled over his words, unsure of what to say.
Sungchan lightly chuckled and moved on, "To put it simply, I work – or worked at a fight club for this snobby guy," His face mocked a grimace expression, "I did it because I needed the money. It paid well for my place. It also helped my physique, I guess."
He shrugged. His actions and explanation were far too calm for someone who was cursing his boss out for a regular and had to deal with extreme pains in his body for days on end just to afford an apartment and some food. It was rough, but it was the only place he could go to as working in retail industries wouldn't work, considering the cheques were lower and couldn't pay enough for him to sleep under a roof.
There wasn't any reaction from Shotaro. The silence was becoming eerily apparent to Sungchan.
When it became too much for Sungchan, he forced his eyes to look at Shotaro, but almost instantly, his breath hitched, and the words he wanted to say were gone.
Shotaro's eyes were bright and filled with curiosity. The unspoken wants of wanting to hear more of Sungchan's story was painfully obvious to him that Sungchan wanted to tell him every last detail. If he didn't know any better, he would've thought stars were shining in his eyes because of how big they were.
He felt nervous underneath Shotaro's stare. He wasn't looking at his newly burned scars or his old wounds and bruises from past matches. Shotaro didn't even take one glance at the bandages he was supposed to be putting on, nor even at the floor or at the wall behind Sungchan.
Shotaro was looking at Sungchan.
Sungchan gulped, shaking off the little flutter in his heart and took it as anxiousness. It's been an eventful day after all.
"I can tell you more," Sungchan spoke up after gathering himself. The glisten that occurred in Shotaro's eyes from Sungchan's saying pulled at his heart a little, but he ignored it once again, "But, you have to tell me about yourself too. About your backstory, I can't be the only one sharing information here."
The light in Shotaro's eyes slightly dimmed into something of guilt. Sungchan thought he overstepped his boundaries and made the other uncomfortable. He was about to speak again to reassure him he didn't actually have to and that it was just a proposition, but a hesitant agreement came from Shotaro.
"I can tell you," Shotaro's tone wasn't high like usual, much softer now, "But, can you promise me something?"
Sungchan found himself nodding before even hearing the words.
"Like–Are you sure sure that you want to hear my– story?" His eyes drifted away from Sungchan's face for a quick second, going back to see Sungchan's eager nod. Shotaro sighed under his breath like he was fearing for the worst, "And you won't… freak out by it? By me?"
There was something in Shotaro's expression that Sungchan couldn't decipher. Hearing those words shook Sungchan.
"No, I won't. I want to hear it. It's okay." Sungchan wanted to reach for Shotaro's hand, but he couldn't.
He was still sitting parched on the wooden chair with minor burn dents while Shotaro was resting on the floor with his legs crossed and the kit sitting in his lap. Plus, it'd be far too soon for Sungchan to be initiating physical contact. They only met not even half an hour ago. He needs to be more patient.
"And you won't… Call me a freak or anything?" He asked so quietly, barely being able to be heard unless you were in the same vicinity as Sungchan, and something cracked in his heart after hearing Shotaro's question.
He slowly shook his head, "No, I would never."
Shotaro bit his lip, somewhat not believing him, "Not even a monster?"
Another crack, "No. I wouldn't call you anything like that."
There was something soft in Sungchan's voice that he himself couldn't recognise. He doesn't remember the last time he'd been that gentle with anymore, maybe even the first time in his life doing that sort of thing, and it was for a boy he only met today.
The thought process happening in Shotaro's head was evident. It nearly caused Sungchan to chuckle if not for the awkward atmosphere surrounding them.
“Why don’t I talk about myself first? Would that be alright?” Sungchan’s tone was a bit playful now, lightening the mood with a hint of concern.
A tug was seen on Shotaro’s lips like he wanted to smile, but he didn’t, “Yeah, I would like that.”
Sungchan grinned, starting a rough story with a happy look, “I guess it started ever since I was born? Cliché, I know, but it pretty much did since I was born in a family that was deep into financial troubles."
His eyes looked up to the ceiling like he was thinking about something. It only took a few seconds until he was looking back at Shotaro, who had big brown eyes listening intently to Sungchan's story.
When was the last time he'd been in a friendly conversation?
He frowned at the thought but moved on quickly to try to remove the negative wonders, "I had an older brother, about two years older than me. It was me, him, and our mum and dad."
It was as simple as that. There was so much Sungchan needed to add on, to say. But he didn't know how to bring it up, to put it into his story. He didn't mean to, but nearly minutes had gone by without him realising because he was too busy trying to think of how to put together sentences. And the thing is, he was only shocked by the amount of patience Shotaro had.
He didn't say anything when Sungchan didn't continue. He just sat there and waited. It kind of felt off if you asked Sungchan.
"My parents… They weren't exactly the most active or present in our lives. Always busting their asses off at work. They would leave before the sun rose and come home after the moon shined the brightest," Sungchan finally continued with a soft sigh, "But I didn't mind. I mean–it hurt. But, it was for good reason. They did it so my brother and I wouldn't go hungry and that we could attend school."
He felt his heart become warm. The small gestures his parents did meant the world to him.
"The older I grew, the more I wanted to become smarter. I wanted to try hard in school. So their hard work wouldn't go to waste. But my brother?" Sungchan looked at the floor, his right hand coming to his neck to softly rub at it, "Not so much."
He pinched himself with the tips of his nails, forcing himself to look back up and continue, "I don't remember when his behaviour started becoming worse, but it happened for sure. He started to become reckless and–stubborn?" He sounded unsure, and the ends of his words became lighter.
"He stopped listening to our parents, didn't listen in school, and his grades dropped. Hell, he even started to argue with my dad in his last year of middle school. It only got worse when he started high school," It felt weird talking about his brother. It'd been years since he talked about him or even seen him, "I think it was nearing the end of his first year of high school, a couple of months after he turned sixteen when he had this massive fight with my parents."
Shotaro had a feeling of what was about to come next. It felt typical for these kinds of stories, and he felt sorry for Sungchan.
"It was a mess. Came home all roughed up and with a bitchy attitude when my mum tried to ask where he was. We never found out where he went or what he was doing, but it was secretive to the point our dad had to be brought in when his voice started to rise at my mum," Sungchan winced as he retraced his memory to that night, "It was a whole lot of yelling. I could hear furniture being moved for some reason and items being thrown and trashed. I think my mum cried at one point."
He felt himself become more quiet when he talked about the next moment, "I cried too. I was fourteen, hiding behind me, and my brothers shared worn-down door. My ear was pressed against it. I couldn't exactly hear everything, but just enough to know that my brother hated my parents. That he hated me."
If Sungchan wanted to cry at the thought, he didn't. He had no more tears to shed over the person he called his brother.
"I don't know why he became like that. I'm pretty sure it was because of our money problem that he became jealous of his friends and classmates. It turned into hatred towards us," Sungchan sighed. He was tired of it all, "That night, he stormed to our room. I don't remember much, but the look my brother gave me when he saw me rushing to my bed with tear tracks on my face was something I definitely won't forget anytime soon."
Sungchan closed his eyes, the sight of his brother having tears threatening at his waterline with his eyebrows furrowed so harshly that it looked like it would tear his skin. His brother had a frown tugged on his lips, but his teeth were visibly gritting against each other.
He didn't stare at him for long, prompting that it'd be too much to handle.
"I closed my eyes after watching him a little, forcing myself to go to sleep. I wanted to ask about it, but I feared that it'd start something else if I interfered," Sungchan re-opened his eyes, a coat of reminiscing on his dark brown eyes, "It was like four in the morning when my mum woke me up in a frantic. Telling me my brother packed all his stuff and went missing the same day. It was obvious he ran away, but it still hurt and was kind of shock to us when it really wasn't."
He looked at the corner of his eyes, staring at the dull ground before him, "I still wonder what would've happened if I asked my brother something."
It was like something had faltered in Sungchan's facade. Shotaro wanted to comfort him, but he stayed silent.
"Anyways–It went downhill from there. The stress and panic constantly remained with my parents. The police didn't do much. It was like a one-week search party before it was put down because of the underwhelming explanations of why this came to be. They said he would come back soon," Sungchan let out an irritated breath, "He didn't. And the police didn't give a single shit."
Sungchan remembered his little hatred towards police stations, but it was diminished not long after. Deciding it was stupid to have grudges on people who didn't care about him.
He sighed for the nth time. The upcoming parts were coming back to punch him in the stomach, "I went back to school two weeks later. My performance dipped, but it was easily excused, considering my situation. Nothing much happened for two years. I finished middle school with ease. My grades came back after a couple of months, and my parents seemed to work harder."
His teeth pinched his bottom lip, lightly sucking it and nearly drawing blood for how rough he was biting on to it.
"I tried finding a job when I was fifteen, but there wasn't much hope for me as most places didn't need me. I lost hope, to be honest, and it became worse when I turned sixteen," He removed his hand from behind his neck, almost forgetting about it until now, "It was in the second half of the year, a couple of weeks before my seventeenth birthday."
Sungchan's hands tightened into a fist, and Shotaro wanted to hold it for reassurance. But he ignored the thought, even if he still wanted to make him aware to Sungchan that he was there for him despite not knowing him much.
His next words were shakey, words that he thought he would never say again, but here he was, saying it all to the last detail, "I came home after school. It was Friday and dark. I thought my parents weren't home and thought it was normal, but when I went to the kitchen, there was a white letter with my name in big letters from them."
A gulp was visible forming down his throat.
"I thought it was something about food that they didn't send through text, but when I opened it, it was so much worse," He should feel like crying, he should feel sad, but instead, he just feels suffocated, "It was a suicide letter. They wrote off their goodbyes on a mere paper, saying they couldn't do it anymore and told me they loved me a lot before ending it. They left everything to me. There was enough money for me to live for a few months, and if I stretched it, it would last for so much longer."
Sungchan huffed his hair to the side, the mood becoming sadder by the second, "Hours went by, and police showed up at my door to tell me my parents were dead, and yadda yadda. Everything was now under my name, and you get the gist of it."
It was silent for a bit, and Shotaro wondered if he should say something, but it was disregarded as soon as Sungchan clapped his hands with a reformed smile like everything was okay.
"Anyways! Enough of my sob story of my family. I'll tell you the sick story of how I joined my fighting job and pretty much–ended up here." The mood did a whole turn, and Shotaro found himself blinking at the suddenness but listened to Sungchan's random cheery words regardless, "It was by pure luck and pretty simple, honestly. I was walking home, and there was this drunk guy on the sidewalk trying to pick a fight with me. I didn't take it, and we fought."
Sungchan laughed at himself, realising how stupid he sounded after he explained his situation, "I beat his ass, though. And it was because of that. Someone had apparently seen me, gave me a recruiting card with a promise of good pay, and the gullible person I am, I went to the address listed there."
Shotaro raised an eyebrow at him. He really went?
He brushed Shotaro's look off, ignoring it and pretended that he wasn't looking at him with the most disappointed expression he'd ever seen.
"Anyways, I went there, saw this old-looking guy and found out he was the boss of it. He told me to go through a trial run—which was a fucking match between me and this random, but I still won, so who cares? I got the job and have stuck with it ever since. It was a pain in the ass, but the pay was good like said and was enough for me to keep living somewhat comfortably," Sungchan shrugged casually, "But it's also because of the job that I'm here."
It wasn't a win-lose situation for Sungchan. The whole time it had been a lose-lose situation, and Sungchan was disappointed in himself for not seeing it sooner.
He rested his hands on his lap, laying on his thighs, "Apparently, your–or our–boss had his goons apply for matches also. I won against them every time. And I guess they didn't take it prettily, considering they decided to kidnap me yesterday and torture me because they couldn't put up a good fight."
Sungchan rambled unintentionally, but he needed to get it out. He felt a little better after sending insults about them.
An exhale came, relaxing his now tensed body, "But that's it. That's my backstory and how I got here."
Shotaro's response had him off-guard, yet he felt kind of happy in a sense, "I don't think you realise how not sick your story is to get here. I mean–a drunk guy on the sidewalk, and you were gullible to go to a sketchy location?"
Sungchan fumbled over his words, occasionally stuttering due to his flusteredness, "Hey–It's not my fault! I was like eighteen trying to get money to live, and this is the first time I've ever told this to someone. Much less to a stranger whom I met about an hour ago!"
The frustrated tone had Shotaro feeling something he hadn't felt in a while. It was nice.
And what he did next had Sungchan feeling proud and his heart fluttering.
An airy giggle came from Shotaro. It was soft and gentle, yet so genuine and light on the heart that it made Sungchan want to hear it over and over again.
He found himself laughing as well. Shotaro was too contagious for him not to.
The joyful atmosphere died down when Shotaro stopped, a moderately serious face painting on. It kind of scared Sungchan with how fast his emotions can change like that, "I have to say mine too now, I'm guessing?"
Sungchan nodded, "Yeah, but if you don't want to–"
"No. I want to. It's okay. You've already promised me you won't judge me or call me anything, and I trust you on that," Shotaro cut Sungchan's comforting words with his own. A miniature smile came to his face, "I don't remember much of my childhood. I was born in Japan but moved to Korea not long after. I think I was three."
Shotaro reached down to pick at his fingers, and Sungchan wanted to tell him to stop, but Shotaro continued speaking, and Sungchan shut his mouth.
"I still spoke Japanese, though. It was just my parents and I. They thought it was best that they spoke Japanese when I was with them, and I'd learn Korean when I was old enough to differentiate languages." Shotaro sighed, placing his hand on his chin, "It wasn't needed in the end. It turns out they loaned something from a gang, and they couldn't pay it back."
It was just one sentence, a couple of words, but it had Sungchan in either anger or sorrow when he realised what was going to come next.
"So, they gave me to them. I don't remember much. I was about four, nearly five, I think. There was a lot of crying and kicking while my parents just sobbed," There was a remote bitterness coating his remarks, and Sungchan couldn't blame him, "I think what irked me most was the fact that my parents never apologised once. I don't remember a goodbye, a love you. They just cried."
Something tightened in Sungchan's chest. He desperately wanted to say something, but what? The blank look on Shotaro's face was clearly just to hide his feelings, and Sungchan just wanted to hold him.
He moved on without a glance, "I'm still mad at them, but I don't hate them. I love them still, and I don't know why."
It was confusing. He wanted to hate his parents so much. He hated them so much for giving him to a gang that took away his childhood. He hated them for not telling him that they loved him. He hated them because he still loved them both, even if they didn't.
"I grew up here. I cried a lot, but it stopped when I was around eight years old. By then, training had already started when I was six. I was tutored for the subjects I should've learnt in a normal school, but at least they taught me normal education." Shotaro tried to sound somewhat grateful, but it didn't necessarily work, "I learnt the difference between Japanese and Korean. They were kind enough to teach me both. That's the only thing I will thank them for."
That was true. If it wasn't for their 'kindness', he would've been stuck in the dark without a thought of his heritage and disconnected from the language.
A shaky intake. He was scared to admit this, but he trusted Sungchan, and he did, "I was nine when I killed someone with my own hands."
Sungchan's eyes widened. While it got him in shock, his thoughts about Shotaro didn't change. He kept quiet, a silent signal for him to keep talking.
"Boss told me to kill someone because they were mean. And I was a child, so I followed the instructions. I learned a lot in the past three years. How to keep quiet, and how to aim for the crucial parts. I don't remember how I killed the man, but I remember having blood staining my hands and my cheek," A slow blink, "I should've felt guilty. I don't think that person did anything wrong, but I killed them because someone said they were mean. But, I never felt guilt. In fact, I remember myself feeling proud."
Sungchan wanted to remind Shotaro that he was a child. He didn't know any better. He was practically manipulated into doing such things. He had no reason to blame himself.
Shotaro didn't stop talking like he wanted this to be over already, but he still wanted to tell Sungchan his story because he felt that he deserved to hear it after he opened up to him.
"Then, I killed another person. And then another, and soon, when I was around thirteen, I was called a murder weapon."
Thirteen?
Sungchan felt things he hadn't felt before. When he was thirteen, he was busy trying to find his friends in the playground during a game of tag. No person should have been doing that sort of thing.
"It was also around that age when I realised what I was doing wasn't okay. The whole time, I stabbed and shot each person without care, just wanting to get the job done. But after I shot this one woman, her last dying breaths had me thinking about it nonstop," Shotaro swallowed, "She told me I was a monster."
That was why he had asked Sungchan if he promised not to call him such things.
He felt his eyes sadden. Why would he call him such things for something he can't control?
"And the thing is? She was right. I am a monster. I killed so many people without a thought, without a care for their family or friends. I just killed them without feeling anything. They all had lives and futures, and I took that away. I don't think I'm ever forgiving myself for that," Shotaro inhaled and exhaled, gathering himself, trying not to cry, "Their pleas and cries for me not to kill them isn't something I'm forgetting anytime soon. They were innocent civilians who had small mishaps, and that cost them their lives."
Shotaro remembers repeatedly saying sorry for every life he took. He shed tears for those he killed. It was too late. Far too late. He didn't deserve to cry. But he did anyway. He wanted to say sorry to them, even if they couldn't hear them.
"It was after that that I had demanded new cases. I told them I wasn't going to kill anybody unless they truly deserved it, like a rival who'd done worse things in their life. I didn't budge until they gave in, and ever since then, I was assassinating people with a little less guilt." Shotaro's play with his words tries to make him feel better.
Sungchan knew there was more to his story. The words coming and rolling through Shotaro's head were clear to him. All he had to do was wait.
His mouth opened and closed a few times. Each time he wanted to speak was just wrong. It took a minute or two for Shotaro to resume, "The training only got more intense from there. It got harder. They were stricter. I was hurt more, but I didn't mind. If it meant for people who didn't deserve it. I'll go through it. I'll explain how training goes when I explain the rules."
Wait, rules?
Shotaro continued to talk, not giving Sungchan a second to even think about it, "Don't worry about being cuffed, by the way. I was only restrained because I had disobeyed that time."
What the fuck?
"I'll be honest. There's not much for me to say anything else. You'd find out how I live not long after," Shotaro shrugged like everything was normal, "I mean–For my parents? I think they have a daughter now. And another son now, but I'm not sure. I stopped caring about them when I forced myself to realise that they didn't care about me, so I shouldn't either."
Sungchan nodded, mumbling a quick right before his mind sidetracked back to what Shotaro had said previously.
Rules? Disobeying?
That was not fucking normal, yet Shotaro was acting like it was. And it hurt Sungchan's heart. How badly did they fuck him over? He shouldn't be thinking about that, not at all.
He wanted to ask about it, but he selected not to. A quick decision to find out more about it when Shotaro would tell him about the so-called rules he had to learn. That's going to be a pain.
"Thank you for telling me, Shotaro," He shot him the fondest smile he could, "I don't think I could see you in a negative light, by the way. Like ever."
Whether Shotaro could believe him or not, Sungchan was telling the truth. No matter how hard Sungchan thought, he genuinely couldn't see Shotaro as a bad person.
He saw him as a kid who just needed love.
"Thank you, Sungchan."
Shotaro's words were quiet again. Trailing off as his hands suddenly moved to Sungchan's legs. Then, he felt a weight being lifted off and a relief sensation coming to his skin. Ah. Shotaro was removing the ropes from his legs. He almost forgot about them due to their sob session of backstories.
While Shotaro was busy removing the second rope, Sungchan found himself asking other questions in an attempt to fill the silent room that was borderline depressing, "How old are you? Like birthday and year?"
A hum came from Shotaro's throat, taking a second to respond. The rope he was working on was albeit stubborn to take apart, "I'm twenty-three. Turning twenty-four on November twenty-fifth. I was born in 2000."
He answered casually, finally being able to untie the last rope at last, but not quick enough to see Sungchan's shocked expression with disbelieving words following right after.
"You're older than me?!" Sungchan coughed out. His eyes were wide like saucers. He started mumbling under his breath, but loud enough for Shotaro to hear and listen to, "I was born in 2001… September thirteenth, holy shit. There's no way you are older than me, what the fuck–"
Shotaro wasn't sure if he should feel flattered.
Ten found himself feeling groggy and tired out of his mind walking into a café with his pyjamas still on. He had woken up about thirty minutes ago and did not give less of a shit to change out of his clothes. Brushing his hair, throwing on some body mist and brushing his teeth before calling it a day to go grab some coffee.
Thankfully, a café wasn't too far from where they were located. A mere ten-minute walk away if you took the shortcut.
His fingers wrapped around the wooden handle that was coated with lamination before pushing it open with minimum force, the cool air greeting him and going flush against his skin and hair. The smell was refreshing to his body.
The café was moderately empty, a couple of people here and there either sipping on a cup or having a quick breakfast. A sight Ten could never get old of. It was something so reassuring to him. The sound of hushed conversations or skits and sounds coming from people's phones, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the grinds sitting in compartments. The occasional doughnut smell and toast steaming on the side. It was the one thing Ten could handle about the morning. Maybe the only thing.
He stood behind the queue of two people, looking over the menu to think of what he was going to get, even though he knew he was most likely going to get the same thing every day, but you never know. He might change.
Officially lining up, Ten was, in fact, not changing his order.
He grabbed his phone out of his pocket. Ten opened it to some of his apps. Answering some of his texts and messages before shortly scrolling on a few socials, looking at the time occasionally to see how much time has passed.
After some time, a voice with an accent that Ten could recognise smoothly called out, "Next, please!" He put his phone back in his pocket and walked up to the register, standing in front of the cashier, who was staring at him – kind of oddly. Ten shrugged it off, thinking it was his sleepiness coming to him.
He ordered his coffee with a small pastry on the side. He could go for something sweet. He fished his credit card from his other pocket, tapping it against the machine, placed it back in his pocket and walked over to an empty table on the side of the café resting against one of the big windows, not noticing the way the worker had observed him going back to his seat. It might've felt like a silent plea for something if you looked into it, but Ten hadn't noticed.
And when he did look back, he was a second too late. His eyes strayed over to the cashier, who was now talking to another customer, his body language a little languish. It was as if the boy was hurt.
His head tilted to the side, trying to remember if he'd seen him before. His wavy hair – which was obviously not being taken care of properly, was flat against the uniform cap, narrowly poofy and little curls peeked from beneath the hat. His eyes were lightly shadowed by the said cap. He couldn't see much of his features unless he looked closer. He had a barely noticeable accent, but Ten knew he was somewhat Chinese with the features he could make out of and how he pronounced his words.
He wore a white long-sleeved shirt underneath his work uniform. It was loose on the ends, fully covering his wrists and the bottom of his palms. It was strange seeing a teenager–is he even a teenager? Ten was sure he was, but if he thought about it, his features were a little too defined to be considered younger, but his figure was smaller, and it almost looked underdeveloped. Like he hadn't eaten in such time. But either way, it was odd. He was covered head to toe even though the temperature had been heating up recently.
Ten hummed to himself, scanning his eyes over the boy, uncaring if he was being obvious in a public space. His mind retraced to past encounters, but none of them matched up. He's never met him before, so why does it feel like it?
He shook his head to himself, looking back at his phone and tapping away at it until he heard his order being called up with the same voice he was just thinking about. He shut it off and stood up to head to the pick-up station. The same cashier was standing there with his order on the counter in front.
This time, he took the initiative to properly look at him when he could. He took a look at his features, having a better view now that there wasn't anything obstructing the view. Ten looked at the uniform he was wearing, going over it before they landed on a white name tag on the side of his apron. His eyes went over and over the name. When it registered it in his head, he repeated it silently, but it was unfamiliar on his tongue, so he knew he had never met the boy in his life.
Gently grabbing the hot drink with a tissue wrapped around the handle and the ceramic plate holding his pastry in the other, he peacefully went back to his desk with a confused expression. He set the items down on the white table, sitting back on the wooden chair. He got his phone again, opening it to his contacts to see if he had anyone in his contacts that were similar to the cashier. Maybe he was wrong.
But after mindless scrolling, there was nothing.
Ten's eyebrows furrowed together. He grabbed his cooled-down coffee and took a sip out of it slowly, still confused.
He'd never met someone called 'Chenle', so why was he so familiar to him?
His thoughts were cut off by the call interaction filling his screen, the bold letters spelling out, 'TAEYONG!' at the top of his screen, slightly bolder than the rest. He pressed his thumb against the answer button, placing it against his ear while he drank more of his coffee.
"Ten, just to let you know, we're going to start to plan when you come back," Taeyong explained. He sounded kind of serious, but Ten didn't take note of that, too tired to care, "The others found out accidentally, thanks to Jeno overhearing and scamming it out to everyone when it wasn't supposed to."
In one queue, a dejected voice could be heard yelling in the background, protesting against the accusations, but Taeyong waved him off with a shush.
He went back to his phone, ignoring the misbehaving boy in the back, "Anyways–if you can, try not to take too long. You know how Yuta is with these kinds of things, and he's already incredibly frustrated at Joo–"
"At Joonwoo and wants to fuck with him so badly he begs for it to stop?" Ten finishes off Taeyong's sentence with a soft chuckle, speaking quietly in case nobody could hear him or eavesdrop on the private conversation, "I know, I know. I'll be home right after I finish my cake. Don't you worry, Tae."
He didn't need to be there to know that Taeyong had playfully rolled his eyes at his response, moving on anyway, "So be prepared. Is that good with you?"
It was a rhetorical question. Ten knew that. Everyone who was associated with Taeyong knew.
Ten nodded either way, acting as if Taeyong could see him, "Mhmmmm," He hummed with his m's elongated, "You could've just texted me, you know? I would have answered either way. It'd be better if you texted me actually so that I could remember what you're telling me–" The call ended abruptly, causing him to laugh.
It was one of Ten's favourite activities to do, bug Taeyong. It was funny seeing him annoyed.
And at that, because of that small interaction, Ten had forgotten all about the cashier, who he was so worked up about until a minute ago.
Maybe if Ten had turned around for a split second before going back to his table, he would've noticed the cashier staring at him from the ordering station. If he had looked up again from where he was sitting, he would've seen that the cashier was nowhere to be seen, that Chenle had disappeared without a trace not long after.
And Ten hadn't realised. He had forgotten all about it.
The joking aura from the age findings had quickly died out and turned into something serious, much to Sungchan's dismay. But he didn't say anything, especially not when Shotaro was unusually quiet all of a sudden.
"Sungchan." Shotaro's mood formed into something Sungchan didn't want to mess with. If he wasn't under this immense pressure, he would've cracked a joke, but didn't when he saw the harsh look in Shotaro's eyes.
A lump swallowed down Sungchan's throat. His response didn't come out for a few seconds, trying his best to make himself not shakey and withering because of Shotaro's gaze on him, but when he spoke up, he wanted to shake himself since his words were all over the place, "Wh-Yeah–Yes?"
Shotaro would've laughed or at least brightened at the jitteriness, but he didn't. He remained stoic, and that only made Sungchan more nervous. Did he do something wrong despite only talking for the past hour?
"Sungchan," Shotaro finally spoke up, and Sungchan gulped again. His nervousness only increased by the second, becoming worse the more Shotaro stalled to talk to him. "I have to tell you all the rules now," He said, catching Sungchan off-guard by his suddenness. He couldn't even speak.
"You have to–no, need to listen to every single one of these rules and follow them all, please." He looked at Sungchan with eyes so desperate that it twitched Sungchan's heart and formed a feeling inside his gut, something going along the lines of pity or even sadness.
"Rules?" That was the only thing Sungchan could say. He was still trying to wrap his head around this whole concept and situation. Now, there were rules? He had only just barely gotten over Shotaro's age and story. Now he has to listen and try to remember all the rules? He could already tell it wouldn't go well, but he was willing to try.
Not like he had much of a choice anyway.
Shotaro nodded eagerly, his fluffy hair bouncing along with each head movement. Sungchan would've cooed if not for the serious atmosphere, "Please listen to me, Sungchan. There are unspoken and spoken rules around here, and I need you to listen to me carefully."
He breathed in and out, a mere quiver with each breath. His tone had changed with each word. It was starting to throw Sungchan off, "You have to follow each one if you want to survive in the place," Shotaro's tongue licked his inner corner, the dryness bugging him far too much, "If you want to live to see another day, you need to follow them, please."
Sungchan acknowledged each word carefully, his head moving along to signal that he was saying yes to everything. That he was ready to listen and to take it in.
Another breath could be heard, but then Shotaro spoke, his voice almost unrecognisable, "I'll start with the rules that are publically set and verbally said or listed down. The first one is simple. Most of them are. Don't interrupt the boss when he's talking. That should be easy, and the second one is following it, only asking questions or speaking when given permission. This only applies to meetings or when the boss is around."
He hummed. He could remember that. Easier said than done. It shouldn't be worse than his old boss, right?
"The third rule is to always be on time. We have scheduled times for specific things. So, for training, you'll have a set time, and you need to be on time, otherwise you get no breaks during the whole session," That sounds like pure horror. A whole hour or more of ruthless training and sweat with no water? Yeah, he's remembering that, "The fourth one isn't that important. Not even the boss really cares, but still. Don't eat after nine pm, but nobody cares. But to be safe, grab food and head to your room."
It was a somewhat odd rule, but Sungchan could deal with that. It wasn't that uncommon for him to hear.
If Sungchan thought Shotaro was being as serious as he could, then the shock he felt when he heard Shotaro's voice turned with a harsher tone was almost comedic to him, "The fifth and last one. If the boss calls for you, you have to get to him within five minutes. The only exception to this is if you are on a mission, in a different area or in the hospital. Otherwise, there isn't anything that could excuse you."
He didn't want to ask, but the curiosity was getting the better of him that he couldn't help but ask with his words quivering and faint, "What happens if you don't? Like if you took longer than five minutes?"
Fear flashed in Shotaro's eyes.
"Punishment."
Sungchan froze. His movements stalled in place. One singular word had his mind racing and disheartened. The only things loading in his mind were negative predictions and what-ifs.
Shotaro looked down at his lap, his fingers automatically going to lightly pick at the top of his fingertips, dry skin falling to the ground. Sungchan was worried that it was going to start bleeding soon.
"I'll move on to the unofficial ones now. These aren't as serious as the previous, but if you do fuck them up, you're either going to get yelled at or looked down upon," He restarted. This time he didn't look back at Sungchan and continued staring at his roughed hands. It felt like there was guilt streaming off his body, "There's only a few, but for starters, you always address everyone else politely. It doesn't matter if they're younger. You must address them formally. This is because we aren't classified as members, more so a 'mindless add'."
That nickname annoyed Sungchan. He knew where it was coming from. That they weren't joining at their own will, a last-minute decision with force. He didn't necessarily ever talk to people formally and with high respect who didn't deserve it, but Shotaro seemed desperate that he couldn't shut his heart like that.
So, with a rushed inhale and an irritated exhale, he nodded, letting Shotaro move on to the next.
"There's two more, and that's about it. The second thing you shouldn't really do is make a mess. It's standard, but if you don't clean up after yourself within a certain time or if someone else sees it, regardless of the situation, you'll be bound or locked into a dark room for a day. Even if someone just happened to be in the same room as you when you messed something up," Well, that sounded like fun.
Sungchan was delighted to hear such a thing. If he broke something unintentionally and someone walked in not even a second after, he'd get reprimanded for that? Bullshit.
But then again, everything about this place is wack and unneeded. Nothing would make sense or be fair to them in the slightest.
"The last and final one is that you cannot, and I repeat, cannot disagree with anything. And I mean anything. If they ask you to do something or if you have an opinion against one of their actions or plans, you can't say anything. Keep it to yourself. I mean it," Shotaro finally looked back at Sungchan with determination in his eyes, "These are all the unspoken rules, but if you don't keep to them, the same thing will happen if you don't clean, maybe even worse depending on the circumstances."
Sungchan gazed into his eyes, barely registering the rules because he was too busy taking note of how beautiful they were, getting lost in the sight below him, but he understood with the knowledge he had.
He finally nodded his head, agreeing to every last one of them, even if some of them were pushing it against his normal behaviour and such, "Yes, I understand. I promise I'll do my best to listen. You can trust me."
Sungchan promised with each word, nearly going overboard with his honesty and truth for someone who was just a stranger to him not long ago. It was something about Shotaro that caused Sungchan to not lie, making it seem like he didn't have the heart to.
The reassuring smile came back to Shotaro's face. It was like magic because seeing the sight made his nerves settle down, and his lips quirked up not long after. It was sweet, contagious and the softest thing he's seen. He had the urge to kiss the corner of his lips each time but always brushed it off. Thinking it was crazy for him to be thinking that, and it was the post-torture speaking to him.
"Thank you, Sungchan," His words were so pure it made Sungchan want to cry.
The more he thinks about it, this might've been the first friendly–or even civil conversation Shotaro's had in a while. It broke his heart thinking about it, another silent promise to himself that he'd be Shotaro's best friend there could be, to take care of him no one else had. To give him the love he didn't ever get. He didn't care if he barely knew him. He was undeniably determined to do such things, and no one was going to stop him.
"Of course," He returned the sugary smile, a nickname sitting atop his tongue, on the very edge, but he kept it to himself. It was for another day, "Shotaro."
His smile grew, nudging at his eyes.
For once, despite being in the shittest place Sungchan had ever been in, he felt like he could breathe.
Around twenty minutes had passed, and Ten was back to strolling on the path back home. The sun was brighter now, the bottom of it being covered by clouds. It was bearable, and the wind had died down. You could barely feel it unless it was around certain places like his hair. His hand swayed freely on the side while the other was wrapped around his half-finished coffee cup, taking sips of it now and then.
The weight in his back pocket helped reassure Ten that his phone and credit card were secured there, not having to worry about them going missing or leaving them behind.
His eyes wandered from tree to tree, the leaves rustling against each other and the occasional fall to his foot, giving it a nice, satisfying crunch when he put his foot on it, leaving it disgruntled and in the piece when he walked away.
He was taking his sweet time going back to the base, not caring that he had a whole group of members waiting on him and an extra fuming person on the side. They wouldn't even notice. He could pin it on the food or something, even if he's taking the shortcut. Either way, they couldn't get mad at him. They knew better.
It didn't take much time before he could recognise the familiar surroundings coming into place. The same trees he'd seen grow for years, the replicas of nests and hidden trails were bright to Ten's eyes while it'd be invisible to people who didn't know of the area.
Soon, he reached the dirty pavements that scratched against his multi-coloured shoes and the hem of his pants, giving them a colour that he'd have to watch out for later. With his free hand, he wrapped his fingers around the metal railing, collecting specs of dust when he footed onto the stairs, going up and up with each step.
When he got to the door with the navy blue paint peeling off of it and the rusty doorknob showcasing it to the empty road, he picked his spare key from the other pocket on his backside, carefully inserting it into the hole and twisting it to open the door, a creaky sound sounding in his ears.
He rubbed the bottom of his shoes against the old, spiky doormat, cleaning off any dust he collected from his short trip. He pocked his key and went to a hidden door that was tucked in the dark, making it easy to walk past it without knowing since it was camouflaging within its surroundings with many other entries on different floors and sides that were shining in the dimmed lights that'd throw you off if you hadn't known about it.
Opening the door, he entered the vintage-looking room with nothing in it except for a camera and a black block on the wall. Ten didn't bat an eye and placed five of his fingers on the bottom of it. Not long after that, a scanning motion was being made to his hand, and the camera moved in Ten's direction, invisible rays scanning his body and face.
Within a second, the white, empty wall had moved up, and the silent sound of it opened to Ten's eyes. Seeing a few elevators on one side and steps going down on the other, Ten decided to go into the elevator since he didn't feel like going all that way down. He stepped inside and pressed one of the buttons. The silver doors closed on him, and the vibration of it going down was relaxing to Ten. He was back home.
When he reached his floor and took one step onto the floor, he was immediately greeted by a loud and high screech. Ten instantly recognised it was Yangyang.
"Hi, Ten–AHH!" Another screech came from Yangyang, running from the living room to another space. Not so long after, Hendery ran into the living room, looking slightly pissed off.
Ten raised an eyebrow with a chuckle, fully inside now. He was amused by what he was seeing. It was funny seeing his friends fight over little things.
With a shake of his head, Ten made his way to the other side of the room where smaller steps were located. He went up a few before a fancy-looking wooden room was visible to his eyes with the door wide open for Ten to see Yuta, Taeyong, Jaehyun, Doyoung, and Johnny sitting about, with Taeyong sitting behind the desk that gave off boss vibes.
He greeted everyone with a wave and the sound of him closing the door when he walked inside, going step by step to where the others were around the glass table, "So, we getting started now?"
Johnny looked up. His face was looking somewhat relieved now that Ten was here. He returned the wave with a flick to his head, "Yup, thank god you came here in time. Yuta was about to lose it."
Ten chuckled while Yuta reached over from the table and lightly hit Johnny in the neck, a not-so-subtle gesture for him to shut up.
"We'll inform the others about everything later, most likely tomorrow or the day after. We just need a general scrap of a plan before we get everyone onto it without further disruptions," While the idea might've been unfair to everyone else who was as equally involved, it'd be difficult to plan from scratch with twenty-plus opinions, so this was the best option and has been working well for past events, "And what we know already, it's clear they've been doing this ever since we made a deal with them so we wouldn't be suspicious if our income had ever decreased."
Jaehyun nodded. It was clear that the opposite gang had been planning this from the start. That every transaction, every deal, it was all schemed without them knowing.
If it wasn't for that anonymous letter with countless pieces of evidence listed, god knows how long it would've taken for them to finally realise their true colours, "Thankfully for us, they aren't a fighting gang, to put it. They most likely work with drugs and other substances, but remember to not underestimate them. They still have skilled specialists in certain areas that could fuck with us."
Taeyong leaned forward, his elbows now resting on the desk with his arms propped up to his ears, playing with his earrings and looking down at the papers laid out.
"They've got tight security for their base. And remember, these people are smart. They've fooled us for two years and could fool us again without a glance," The mention of it had Yuta ticking his tongue, "If we aren't careful, this operation could go down, leaving us in the dust and moving to a different location with no trace."
Taeyong's words struck Johnny's head, prompting him to speak up and add, "We also need to take note of how well they know us. They've seen glimpses of our weaknesses, how we act, how we fight, how we work. While we know them, they know us. So, we shouldn't be going in without an idea of how everyone is."
"Thank you, Johnny. I was thinking about that. Doyoung, I was wondering if you could take a look at some of the photos to take a quick analysis of them and write down what you remember or know of each member?" Taeyong agreed with Johnny, his eyes darted to Doyoung, who agreed without a word.
He got off the wall he was leaning on and walked over to Taeyong's desk. His delicate fingers grabbed the miniature stack of papers with photos filling the canvas, and his other hand grabbed a pen and a notepad. Doyoung was already flicking through each one while he was heading back to the others, this time sitting in an empty seat.
When the others discussed other details about other things they should bring up and detail for the plan, Doyoung focused on the pictures he was holding. He placed the notepad on the table, opening it to an empty list and clicked off the pen cap to pop it on the end.
His eyes went side by side with each picture, putting one to the back to move on with the next, doing the same process at least two more times. Everything seemed normal so far. Every member seemed familiar, and Doyoung already had a grasp on what to write down, but when he reached the last paper, he was left in a stance.
While Doyoung knew who everyone was standing in the photo, his gaze went to the top corner. At first, he had thought it was an object like boxes stacked onto each other or a lamp even, but when he squinted his eyes and looked carefully, the figure started to shape into something more human.
Doyoung thought he was going insane, but the more he stared and moved the papers in the light direction, the more he could make out of the figure.
With as much vision as he had, Doyoung could make out that the boy had dark brown hair. It seemed poofy and untaken care of. His bangs were flat against his forehead, and it seemed to be growing to the point it touched his eyes. A frown was shown on Doyoung's face the more he looked at him. He thought it might've been a member who was late to the picture, but much to his dismay, it seemed that he was hiding behind some objects like he was waiting.
His eyes trailed down, trying to see if he could see more, but were obstructed by another member's body, only leaving gaps for Doyoung to analyse.
The upper body had shown his two arms pressing together, getting closer the further you went downwards. He peeked through someone's open arm. The only thing he could see that was most likely connected to the boy had his heart freeze.
It was a chain dangling from beneath his hands.
Doyoung swallowed his saliva, blinking multiple times, trying to see if that was, in fact, right.
And god, did Doyoung hope he was seeing that wrong.
He looked back at the mysterious boy's face, taking in every detail he could, completely moving on from the original task he had been assigned, this was more important. It was because of the outgrowing hair that Doyoung couldn't see much, but he had rounder eyes, most likely a chocolate brown colour.
His skin was pale, nearly ghostly like he had not seen the sunlight in weeks. The pose he had done and the dull expression plastered was definitely unintentional, hinting that they hadn't meant for the boy to be included in the photo. It was a mishap, but they didn't realise it. Neither did Taeyong.
Only Doyoung saw him.
The features Doyoung could see with the poor quality, Doyoung sensed that he was a type of foreigner. He didn't seem like he was from China, his looks didn't accordingly match up with his members, but he could always be wrong.
Doyoung just had a slight gut feeling that he was Japanese like Yuta. He resembled the man in a way from when he was younger.
But Doyoung moved on from those thoughts. He didn't want to assume anything until he saw it for himself and that he was certain about it
He tried to look at him more, but there wasn't anything else to look for. His body was fully clothed, the top of it was a black-sleeved shirt, and he couldn't see his pants because of the obstructed view. It was frustrating for Doyoung. He didn't like what this was implying. At the bottom left of the photo, it was labelled with the date from last year. But even so, he still had to ask.
"Taeyong," Doyoung spoke up. He could've cut off a conversation they were having. That was incredibly likely, but he didn't care. Taeyong replied with a hum, telling Doyoung to continue, "Do they have a… foreign member? At all?"
It was quiet for a bit. The sound of typing and paper brushing together was the only thing they could hear before Taeyong placed the pieces of paper down and shook his head, "Nope, every member in the gang are all Korean. Even their business partners that their boss–Joonwoo, contacts with. It feels kind of strange now that I think about it, but yeah. That's what I found. Why?"
Doyoung narrowed his eyes. That didn't make any sense.
It was an abrupt decision, but now he couldn't stop thinking about it. He had to get to the bottom of it now. Doyoung stood up and waltzed over to the door with the photos still being held. His tone was blunt and straightforward, going straight to the point with no questions asked, "I need to research something. Tell me about the plan with everyone else."
And just like that, Doyoung was gone. He walked out without listening if Taeyong or the others had any objections.
Shotaro uncrossed his legs and stood up, his legs had the slightest shake. He brought his hands to the bottom of his shirt, dusting off anything and then looked at Sungchan with a silent question.
He replied with a grin on his face and his hands moving to the side of his chair, supporting him to get up. His body felt lighter now, he felt free after hours of burning and being bound to a stupid chair. He had the thought to burn it or break it apart but decided against it. Maybe in the future, at least.
Now that he wasn't restricted to a specific place and tears welling in his waterline with anger filling his head, Sungchan had a better view of the room he was in.
"This is unpractical, but this is our room, by the way. It's not the best, but enough for us to have our own beds and desks."
Sungchan nodded along, twisting body and head to look at every crevis on what seemed to be his new home.
The walls of the room were painted a dull grey, giving it a natural sad feeling. At the front, it was the front door currently closed. It was the typical design, and Sungchan didn't pay much attention. There was nothing besides it. The front of the room was bland unless you looked to the right corner, where you could see a bookshelf. It was practically empty. There were at least a maximum of seven books located on it.
On the other side of the wall was a tall lamp, illuminating a yellow glow.
He turned around. There, he could see where the beds were. They were pushed against the back wall, two separate beds next together, inches apart. If you rolled on it, it was plausible that you could end up in the other bed without dipping to the floor. The beds were skinny, but Sungchan didn't complain. He was used to it.
Next to the beds were old nightstands. The drawers were hard to open unless there was a harsh tug and pull, and atop both were these sketchy lampshades, dying out with each second, but if it worked, it worked. Beside the lamps were clocks. They were the olden ones with the antennas shooting out and the paint peeling off, but it was still functioning well. His eyes trailed sideways, landing on a bunch of wooden legs resting on the floor.
There was a small desk sitting there with another wooden chair in front of it. The only thing that was on the desk was an open textbook and a couple of stationery lying around. A pencil here and there with a rubber to the side, there were about three pens.
Sitting at the back of the table, flush against the wall, was a small mirror with minor cracks.
Beside the desk was a wardrobe. It wasn't the biggest, but Sungchan had faith that it would fit everything he and Shotaro would need. Well, if they could ever get any more clothes that is. A bit useless now that Sungchan put some thought in.
While this room wasn't the most suitable for two people who were here against their own will, it was more homey than the stereotypical hostage room. But even so, Sungchan didn't bat an eye at it. He simply thought that Shotaro was able to get this treatment after growing up in a place like this. This was the only positive thing that they could reward Shotaro with.
After he scanned the room, Sungchan turned to look at Shotaro, but when he did, his breath hitched, and what he wanted to say disappeared into thin air when he saw that Shotaro was already looking at him.
A faint blush dusted Shotaro's cheeks when Sungchan made eye contact with him. It grew harder when he realised he wasn't going to look away and continued to stare. Shotaro bit his inner cheek, softly asking Sungchan his opinions, "Do…Do you like the room? Like I said, I know it's not the best, but it was the best I could convince them with—"
"I love it," Sungchan cut him off, both their eyes widening. Sungchan quickly resumed, trying to cover it up with fumbled speaking, "I love–I love the room. I don't mind it. It's better than what I would've expected!"
The unreasonably sharp words and the thumbs up at the end threw Shotaro off, sending the male into a fit of giggles that had Sungchan laughing as well.
He hadn't looked away either. Something so endearing about him, "I find this amusing, too. Why didn't they torture me in a different room? Like they could've put some effort in, you know what I'm saying?"
Shotaro's giggles turned into laughter. It was growing the more Sungchan joked around, giving him a sense of pride and the motivation to keep going.
"They really don't care, huh? And I thought I could've been a little special!" Sungchan exclaimed, faking an exasperated tone.
Shotaro laughed. He laughed and laughed until his arm came around his stomach to clutch it. He didn't understand why it was this funny to him. But, it was the first time Shotaro could laugh comfortably, to actually laugh without force. So, while the jokes might've been unfunny, it was relieving to him.
It took a minute or two for Shotaro to calm down, taking a couple of inhales to get the rush of coolness through his body and bringing his pointer finger to wipe his eyes, "Sorry–Sorry, let's move on, shall we?"
A frown came to Sungchan's face. He didn't want to move on already. He liked seeing Shotaro laugh freely at his stupid jokes.
"It's nothing bad. I just tell you about your supposed schedule and what you have to expect for each one," Shotaro smiled, reassuring Sungchan.
This time, it was a disappointed sigh escaping Sungchan's lips, but he agreed to listen anyway. Following Shotaro to their beds without a fight, even if he really wanted to protest against it.
"There isn't much to it. It's the same as mine. I just have to tell you the details," Shotaro explained, sitting on one of the firm mattresses with Sungchan doing the same. A few inches away to ensure that Shotaro was comfortable, "There's breakfast. It starts at around five am before ending at seven for us to head to our training session,"
There were scheduled meal times?
Sungchan wanted to groan and shove his head into the mattress already but stayed content and forced his way through it.
"Training goes for two hours, one for attack and the other for defence. You'll be in the same session as me, considering, you know–" Shotaro gestured his hands a little, and Sungchan knew right away what he meant. At least they'll be together, even if Sungchan did not want to be awake that early, "And honestly? That's it."
Shock ran through Sungchan's body alongside relief.
But it was short-lived when a sheepish look came onto Shotaro's face and continued talking, "But, boss will most likely call for us to make us run some errands or to clean or just make us do something for him. But I swear, other than that, if you don't have an actual mission, that's it."
Sungchan deadpanned at Shotaro's continuation. He had to do errands for another entitled boss again?
"Alright, got it, thanks," A forced grin and Shotaro stifled another laugh. That caused Sungchan to let out a big sigh, every weight inside his chest going out with that breath, "Can I ask you other questions now? I don't wanna talk about this anymore."
Shotaro didn't waste a second to nod.
"Great!" Sungchan clapped his hands together, changing his mood in a second, "Before I ask any other questions, ones that are less about here, I need to ask this one because it's starting to throw me in a loop."
Shotaro leaned forward, making it obvious to him that he was listening intently and was willing to all the questions he had for him. It was fun having someone like Sungchan.
Sungchan took another breath, it wasn't needed, but he did it anyway, "What is your–well, ours, boss's name? Like, I need to know because this whole time, like the past few hours I have been referring to him as 'old guy', 'snobby dude', 'grumpy man', like each time and it's starting to get to me, what is his name?"
He rushed it out. A worry flashed in his eyes when he realised Shotaro was only blinking at him. He was about to re-explain it to him in fear that he went too fast for him to comprehend, but Shotaro replied.
"Wow, you talk fast–" Shotaro meant it in a light-hearted way. Sungchan awkwardly chuckled in response, waiting for Shotaro, "But I can tell you that, no worries."
Sungchan tilted his head to the side. Finally, he was going to know his name. It was starting to get confusing.
"Joonwoo." Shotaro said flatly, "That's his name."