Chapter Text
The Black Swan was alive, pulsing like the beating heart of a city that refused to sleep. Music blasted from the main floor, bass reverberating through the walls as bodies moved in perfect chaos. It was a carnival of vice, a safe haven for those who didn't want to be found and those who lived in the shadows.
But tonight, the air was different. Beneath the neon lights and the haze of cigarette smoke, tension hung heavy, suffocating.
Outside the VIP room, the owners of the Black Swan stood like soldiers before a battlefield. Namjoon-known only as RM to those who mattered-stood rigid, every muscle coiled, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of trouble.
Beside him, Suga leaned against the wall, deceptively relaxed, flicking a lighter open and closed with practiced precision. His posture might've looked lazy, but his fingers gripped the lighter like a weapon, ready to spark chaos the moment it was needed.
"Anything happens, we torch the place," Suga muttered under his breath, not to anyone in particular. His voice was low, dangerous, the kind that made people stop asking questions.
Namjoon didn't respond. He didn't need to.
Inside the room, it was less a negotiation and more a controlled fire waiting to rage. The Shadows and the Claws-a deadly cocktail of old grudges and fragile alliances-were seated across from each other, separated by a table that felt more like a dividing line in the sand.
It was always the same. Meetings like this ended with blood spilled on the table or promises carved into flesh. The balance of power between the two organizations was as volatile as ever. But tonight, there was a shift in the dynamic.
For the first time in ten years, Jeonghan was here.
The Queen of Shadows. The mastermind who had orchestrated some of the most brutal victories in the history of the underground. He had never once attended these fragile attempts at diplomacy. That task was always left to Seungcheol or Jun, who could manage the politics and theatrics required to keep the peace-or ignite a war, depending on the day.
But tonight, Jeonghan had rolled into the lion's den himself, and that alone was enough to send the entire room into quiet disarray.
He sat there in his wheelchair, the same smug, unreadable smirk plastered on his face. His presence was magnetic, a poisonous kind of charm that drew eyes and made the air heavier.
Beside him sat Seungcheol, his usual expression of blank calculation firmly in place. He didn't need to speak; his silence was a weapon in itself, a reminder of his role as the Shadow's enforcer.
Across the table, Kuro sat stiffly, his eyes burning holes into Jeonghan. The scars of their history were invisible to everyone else but carved deep between them.
And then there was Kyofu.
If Jeonghan's presence was unusual, Kyofu's was a spectacle.
The oldest of the Claws had been wheeled into the room in a state that was nothing short of pitiful. His body was a ruin, swathed in bandages, his limbs paralyzed below the neck. The once-feared nightmare who had traumatized the countless number of young individuals a decade ago was now a broken shell, reduced to little more than a head perched atop a shattered body. But his eyes...his eyes still burned with malice.
Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, every inch the predator despite his physical limitations. Beside him, Seungcheol sat like a fortress, silent and immovable, his sharp gaze darting between the Claws and the Shadows' Queen.
This was why they were here.
The man who had been untouchable, a fucking torturer of the Claws, was now a shell of himself, and the Shadows were rumored to be the ones responsible. Whether that rumor was true didn't matter. What mattered was that tonight's meeting wasn't about peace.
It was about vengeance.
Jeonghan's smirk deepened as he lazily traced the rim of his glass with a finger. His eyes, sharp as a blade, lingered on Kyofu just long enough to make the room shift uncomfortably.
"How's the view, Kyofu-san?" Jeonghan asked, his voice dripping with mockery. "I imagine it's a little... lower than you're used to."
Kyofu didn't respond, but the slight twitch in his jaw didn't go unnoticed.
"Enough," Kuro barked, his fist slamming onto the table. The sound echoed through the room, silencing the murmurs from his subordinates.
Jeonghan tilted his head, feigning innocence. "What? I'm just making small talk. Isn't that what we're here for? It's been really long now, hasn't it, Kuro-san"
Seungcheol's hand twitched, but he didn't speak. His eyes flicked briefly to Kuro, then back to the glass in his hand. He didn't need to step in. Not yet.
"You've always been good at running your mouth, Jeonghan," Kuro snarled, his voice low but venomous. "But you've never been good at keeping your hands clean. Isn't that why you're sitting there, crippled and useless?"
The smirk on Jeonghan's face didn't waver. If anything, it grew sharper, more dangerous.
"Crippled, maybe," Jeonghan said, leaning forward slightly. "But useless? Oh, Kuro, you know better than that. After all, you know me better Kuro-san, you built me up, infact you fucking every part of me and you still do. Don't you Kuro-san?"
The tension in the room snapped like a live wire.
________
Downstairs, the energy was starkly different, though no less volatile.
DK, Mingyu, and The8 were stationed near the bar, their post casual enough to blend in with the club's chaos. But they weren't fooling anyone who knew better. Their sharp eyes flicked over the crowd, watching, waiting. Jungkook was there too, pouring drinks with an easy grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. His stance betrayed him: feet firmly planted, body ready to spring into action at the first sign of trouble.
The Shadows' younger members had been drilled well. They knew their job wasn't to stop trouble but to make sure it didn't spill into the club below. The Black Swan was a business, and business thrived on appearances. The club could handle brawls, dirty deals, even a little blood-but a full-blown war? That would gut the Swan's reputation, and no one wanted that.
Not unless it became absolutely necessary.
DK's hand tightened around his glass as his gaze shifted toward the staircase. He didn't like the tension in the air. It was subtle, but he could feel it, like the faint vibration of an impending earthquake.
"Think they'll keep it together up there?" Mingyu asked, his voice low.
_______
Back in the room, the tension reached its breaking point.
Kuro stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "You think this is a game?" he growled, his voice shaking with fury. "Do you think I won't-"
"Sit down," Seungcheol said, his voice cold and commanding.
It wasn't a request.
Kuro froze, his eyes narrowing at Seungcheol. But the weight of Seungcheol's presence was impossible to ignore, and after a long moment, Kuro sank back into his chair, his fury simmering beneath the surface.
Jeonghan chuckled, the sound soft and menacing.
"Come on, Kuro-san," he said, voice laced with mock amusement. "You're practically seeing me after what? A decade? And this is the grand reaction I get?"
His tone was light, casual-dangerously so-but the smirk on his face told a different story. Even confined to the wheelchair, Jeonghan's presence was a noose around the room's throat, tightening by the second. He wore his brokenness like a crown, the embodiment of someone who could not be shattered beyond repair.
Across the table, Kuro leaned back into his seat, his sharp gaze locking with Jeonghan's. The fire in his eyes was still alive, smoldering after years of festering hatred.
"That mouth of yours still runs too much, Angel," Kuro hissed, the nickname tasting like venom on his tongue.
The sound of glass shattering broke through the tension.
Seungcheol's glass cracked in his fist, the shards biting into his palm, blood trailing down his knuckles. His eyes were blank, but the tightening of his jaw betrayed the fury simmering beneath. If not for Jeonghan's sudden hand on his forearm-calm, possessive, and commanding-that glass would have flown across the room and embedded itself into Kuro's head.
Kuro smirked at the display, teeth bared in something between amusement and provocation. "Control your dog, Jeonghan. Or are the Shadows finally falling apart?"
Jeonghan didn't flinch, his grip on Seungcheol loosening but not retreating entirely. Instead, his smirk deepened, smug and cold, a blade dipped in sugar.
"Seems like you still can't forget me, Kuro-san," Jeonghan said, voice low and dripping with condescension. "I'm flattered. Truly. After all these years, you're still obsessed with me, just the same as a decade ago."
Kuro's teeth clenched audibly, his fist curling atop the table, knuckles white. The vein in his neck pulsed, but he didn't lunge-yet.
"I'll never forget you, Angel," Kuro ground out, his voice raw with suppressed rage. "You know me well. So you should also know what happens when you test my patience."
Jeonghan giggled softly-a chilling sound that seemed to crawl under the skin of everyone in the room.
"Of course, Kuro-san," he replied, tilting his head slightly. "How could I forget? But it seems you've forgotten what I'm capable of."
He gestured to himself as if mocking the wheelchair and everything it represented. "You're still underestimating me, Kuro-san. That is your biggest mistake."
The room crackled with unspoken threats. Seungcheol's hand finally unclenched as Jeonghan leaned back into the chair, still smirking, still in control.
Jeonghan's tone shifted, suddenly sharper, clipped like a knife's edge. "But let's not bore everyone with your little fixation. I'd rather finish what we came here for before you decide to escalate this into something we're all pretending to prevent."
The entire room felt his words. The casual dismissal. The razor-sharp confidence. It left no room for challenge, and it only stoked Kuro's simmering fury.
Kuro's stare was locked onto Jeonghan's, but before he could speak, the man beside him-Kage, his second-in-command-cleared his throat.
"We've agreed on not going for personal attacks against members," Kage started, his voice calm but firm. He glanced at Kuro briefly, as though reminding him of why they were here. "I know Seungcheol-ssi and Jeonghan-ssi are more than familiar with the terms. And right now-"
"I think that rule has already been broken by your side, Kage-san," Seungcheol cut in, his voice sharp and unforgiving, slicing through the room's heavy atmosphere.
Kage's jaw twitched as he turned toward him, cursing softly under his breath. The defiance in Seungcheol's tone wasn't something Kage could dismiss, nor could he deny the implication. Jeonghan leaned back, his lips curling into a knowing smirk as Kage's eyes darted to Kuro.
"I warned you, Kuro-san," Seungcheol continued, his words deliberate, each syllable a threat coated in calm. "One wrong step, and I'll do far more than just return the favor."
For the first time, Kuro's stillness faltered, but the interruption came not from him-
"The damage we did is nothing compared to how Kyofu-san ended up!"
Kurayami's voice broke through the silence, high-pitched and strained, his outburst shattering the thin veil of composure still lingering. His hands gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white, his posture twitchy as though he were barely holding himself back.
The laughter that followed was soft at first, a breathy chuckle that crawled under the skin, and then it deepened into something far darker. Jeonghan's sadistic laughter echoed in the room, chilling and deliberate, as he tilted his head toward Kurayami like a predator indulging a prey's useless struggle.
"Be glad that he's still breathing, Kurayami-san," Jeonghan finally said, his tone venomous yet melodic. "The person I sent for the work doesn't typically come back without taking their last breath away. So trust me, Kyofu is still fortunate."
A low sound of approval rumbled from Seungcheol as he smirked, a quick, dangerous flash of teeth. The underlying menace in the room thickened, choking out any pretense of civility.
"Aren't you crossing the line now, Angel?" Kuro's voice finally broke the tension, quiet but lethal, each word dipped in razor-edged malice.
Jeonghan's smirk didn't falter. Instead, he leaned forward in his chair, eyes locked onto Kuro's like twin blades of glass.
"What line, Kuro-san?" he hissed, voice dropping to a low, deadly register. "You managed to erase all the lines of civility the day you pulled this stunt on me."
He gestured toward his paralyzed legs, the movement deliberate, sharp, and full of loathing. Kuro's eyes flickered down for just a second, but it was enough to ignite the fire burning behind Jeonghan's gaze.
Silence fell over the room, but it wasn't empty. It crackled, hot and violent, like a fuse winding toward an explosion.
And then Kuro smirked.
The expression was cold and predatory, a mockery of Jeonghan's own confidence. His voice was quiet, intimate, and vile as he leaned slightly forward in his seat.
"You know what, Angel?" Kuro said, his tone soft but lethal. "You've become something of a dream over the past decade. And looking at you now..." His gaze dragged deliberately over Jeonghan's seated form, lingering on the twisted wreckage of what remained of his once-unshakable body. "I'd love to have you broken under me again. Properly, this time. Tame you the way I should've back then. And trust me, Angel-I won't fail."
The words landed like a gunshot.
Jeonghan's smile vanished. His teeth ground together, and for the first time, his fingers gripped the arms of his wheelchair hard enough to tremble. Kuro had struck something. He could feel it in the shift in the air.
Kuro's laughter followed, cruel and triumphant. "What's wrong, Angel? I know exactly where to touch to break you. You're not invincible, no matter how much you act like it." He paused, his voice dropping to a low whisper laced with malice. "All I have to do... is touch Gem."
Jeonghan's head snapped up, his glare sharp enough to cut stone. His eyes, which moments ago had danced with playful cruelty, now blazed with something darker-unfiltered rage, hatred, and a flicker of something far more vulnerable that he crushed back down.
Kuro grinned wider, seeing the reaction, savoring it like a fine wine. "You're already picturing it, aren't you? How quickly you'll crumble when I have Gem under my boot."
Jeonghan exhaled shakily through his nose, forcing himself to regain control, though his body was taut with restrained fury. When he spoke again, his voice was calmer, icier, but every word carried the weight of a threat unspoken.
"It took you a decade to get me where you wanted, Kuro-san," Jeonghan said slowly, each syllable dripping venom. "And yet here I am, still breathing. Still alive."
He leaned forward, a ghost of his earlier smirk returning to his lips. "And Gem? You'll never touch Gem. Not now, not ever. You're not capable of it. You couldn't finish the job the first time, and you won't do it now."
Kuro's smirk faltered.
For all the venom he had thrown, for all his cruel taunting, the truth in Jeonghan's words slithered in under his skin like poison.
"You should've killed me when you had the chance," Jeonghan continued softly, his gaze hard and unyielding. "But you didn't. And now? You're just a bitter old man grasping at ghosts."
The silence that followed was unbearable, thick with everything unspoken, a room on the brink of violence. Kuro's hand curled into a fist against the table, his knuckles cracking as he ground his teeth.
"Enough," Kage muttered finally, his voice tight, though he barely contained his own frustration. "This isn't what we're here for."
Seungcheol stood then, slowly and deliberately, towering over the table as his eyes met Kuro's. The quiet authority in his stance demanded attention.
"You wanted a truce?" Seungcheol said, his voice rumbling low and deep. "Then act like it. Or we'll gladly finish what you started."
Seungcheol's presence radiated unflinching dominance as Kuro's derisive snicker echoed through the tense atmosphere. The room felt heavier with every passing second, a pressure cooker of conflicting egos and unsaid threats.
Seungcheol didn't flinch, his unwavering gaze pinning Kuro in place. He was the embodiment of steadfast authority, a leader who never bowed, never wavered.
Jeonghan, on the other hand, sat back in his wheelchair, his body deceptively relaxed, though the sly, crooked smile curling his lips betrayed the sharpness in his mind.
"Now, if you're done with your little theatrics, Kuro-san," Jeonghan drawled, voice smooth yet laced with mockery, "can we return to where we left off?" He tapped his chin as if lost in thought before his dark eyes flicked toward Kage. "Yes, Kage-san, you were saying something, weren't you?"
Kage's knuckles whitened as his hands clenched against the table. Across from him, Kurayami all but launched himself from his chair, his rage boiling over. Kage's hand shot out, gripping his arm in a vice grip and forcing him back down, though it took every ounce of his strength.
"Jeonghan," Kage ground out, his voice tight with barely contained fury, "the damage your people have done has gone too far. Our shipments are sinking, our men are dying, and the destruction you've unleashed is spiraling toward war. If this doesn't stop, blood will spill on both sides."
Jeonghan chuckled softly, a sound so detached it was almost chilling. He tilted his head, his expression one of feigned sympathy.
"Tell me something new, Kage-san. Your shipments have always been at the bottom of the ocean, and as for your men..." He let the sentence dangle, a cruel smile tugging at his lips.
"Well, you know my kid DK, don't you? He's growing up so fast, and so is his appetite for blood. I'd hate to hinder his hobbies. After all," Jeonghan turned to Seungcheol, batting his lashes mockingly, "my kids come first, don't they, Cheol?"
Seungcheol smirked back, the unspoken understanding between them palpable.
Jeonghan turned his attention back to Kage, a playful glint in his eyes that only served to deepen Kage's scowl.
"You're doing it again, Jeonghan," Kage hissed, the restraint in his tone barely holding.
Jeonghan's smirk only widened as he leaned back further into his chair. "And I'll keep doing it, Kage-san. Over and over. You know me too well to think otherwise." His voice dipped lower, his smile transforming into something colder, sharper. "In fact, you know all of us too well. So let me make this clear-I don't see any lines anymore. Not with you. Not with him."
The words barely left his lips before Kuro stood abruptly, the legs of his chair screeching against the floor. His looming frame cast a shadow over Jeonghan's seated form as he leaned forward, his presence menacingly close.
Seungcheol instinctively shot up from his seat, his body taut and ready to intervene, but Jeonghan's subtle hand signal froze him in.
The signal was clear: Do not interfere.
Jeonghan stared up at Kuro, his expression unyielding despite the sharp shift in atmosphere. Kuro's smirk was wide and feral, his voice low and venomous as he hissed, "Exactly, Angel. You hit the nail on the head. I know everything about you. About your precious Shadows. About your secrets. And most importantly, I know about you."
"You've just admitted it yourself. There are no lines anymore. And you, Angel-you act like some kind of savior, a protector of your precious family. But we both know the truth, don't we?"
For the first time, Jeonghan's smug mask slipped-only for a second, but long enough for Kuro to notice. His pale face betrayed the tiniest flicker of vulnerability before he swallowed it down, glaring up at Kuro with renewed fire.
"I did what I thought was right," Jeonghan snapped, his voice trembling slightly before hardening into steel.
"And I've been doing what I think is right," Kuro shot back, his laughter low and mocking, his breath brushing Jeonghan's face. "But somehow, no one seems to appreciate my efforts. Funny, isn't it?"
Kuro straightened up with a cruel grin, turning his back on Jeonghan as he made his way toward the door. Kage and Kurayami followed, the latter wheeling Kyofu's barely breathing form in silence.
Kuro paused just before he reached Seungcheol, whose fists were clenched at his sides, every muscle in his body coiled with restrained fury.
"You've done a commendable job holding this group together, Scoups-ssi," Kuro said with a faux-friendly tone, though his smirk oozed malice. "But you've slipped up now, haven't you? You've dangled a prize I've been dreaming of for years right in front of me."
Seungcheol's glare was molten, but Kuro only smirked, leaning in slightly.
"You've had your fun for a decade. But now..." He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, "Say goodbye to your Angel. I'll be taking him back where he belongs."
Seungcheol's jaw tightened, his teeth grinding audibly as he hissed through clenched teeth, "Over my dead body."
Kuro's smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. "Oh, I'm counting on that, Scoups. Over your body, under my boot... it doesn't matter to me. Once I have Jeonghan back in my bed, it'll be just like the good old days." He chuckled darkly.
"Of course, if it's over your body, the only thing missing will be my personal punching bag and my favorite guinea pig for testing my latest drug shipments. But don't worry..."
He reached out, patting Seungcheol's cheek condescendingly. "I'm sure it can be a new way to make him scream. I'm pretty sure he'll gladly take up your place."
Seungcheol's fist snapped up in a blur, but Kuro dodged with a laugh, retreating with his entourage before the tension erupted into outright violence.
The door slammed shut behind them, leaving Seungcheol and Jeonghan alone in the suffocating aftermath.
Jeonghan's hands trembled slightly as they gripped the arms of his wheelchair, his smirk nowhere to be seen. Seungcheol crouched beside him, his jaw tight, his eyes searching Jeonghan's for a semblance of calm.
"They won't touch you," Seungcheol said, his voice low and unwavering. "I won't let them."
Jeonghan exhaled shakily, forcing his usual confidence back into place. His smirk returned, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"They can try," Jeonghan murmured, though his voice lacked its usual bite. "But I'm not the same Angel they broke a decade ago."
Jeonghan's voice trembled slightly, the words spilling out before he could think twice. "But Cheol... I know what he's capable of. I'd be the last person he'd touch. And if the kid ever found out-"
Panic flickered in Jeonghan's eyes, his normally composed demeanor cracking under the weight of his spiraling thoughts. Before he could continue, Seungcheol moved faster than Jeonghan could react, gripping the smaller man's chin and crashing their lips together in a kiss that was anything but tender.
It was raw, aggressive, and bruising-meant to silence and ground him all at once. Jeonghan's breath hitched as he instinctively tried to pull back, but Seungcheol's hold was firm, his lips demanding. The kiss spoke louder than words: Shut up. Stop spiraling. I won't let it happen.
Jeonghan's hands clutched at Seungcheol's shirt, his pulse racing, but just as he started to give in to the heat of the moment, the distinct sound of a door creaking open shattered the tension.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Seungcheol growled under his breath, pulling back abruptly to glare at the intrusion.
What greeted them was a mix of smirks, snickers, and outright laughter. Mingyu stood in the doorway, his tall frame leaning against the doorframe with his signature cocky grin. Behind him, Minghao and Seokmin peeked into the room, their expressions a mix of amusement and faux shock.
"Well, well," Mingyu drawled, his tone laced with mockery. "Didn't know the Claws could turn you on, hyungs."
Minghao immediately slapped Mingyu's arm with a gasp. "Yah, you didn't have to say it like that!"
But it was Seokmin who chimed in, his laughter ringing out unabashedly. "Wow, I always knew you two were kinky, but this?" He gestured between them with a teasing smirk. "Your range is... Fucking disgusting."
Seungcheol's glare could have melted steel, but Jeonghan, ever the instigator, leaned back in his wheelchair with that sly smile curling across his lips again.
"You've got no idea, Kyeom-ah," Jeonghan quipped, his tone dripping with mischief. "Why don't you join us? I'm sure we could show you together."
Seokmin's face scrunches up in disgust, "I'd rather fuck myself."
Jeonghan's smirk deepened as he continued, "Jun and Wonwoo would probably kill us if I suggested it to them. But you? I think you'd fit right in."
Minghao gasped, pointing an accusatory finger at Jeonghan. "Yah! Leave me out of this. I didn't even say anything!"
Seokmin shook his head vehemently, his hands waving as if to ward off the mental image. "I'll pass, thanks. I'll stick to missionary, thank you very much. No need to venture into your twisted... fucking sessions!"
The tension in the room lightened momentarily as laughter rippled through the group. But just as the teasing reached its peak, the sound of approaching footsteps and the familiar click of a lighter turned all heads toward the door.
Suga and Namjoon entered, their presence immediately shifting the atmosphere from playful to deadly serious. Suga's frown deepened as he scanned the room, the flicker of his lighter casting fleeting shadows across his sharp features.
"Well," Suga drawled, his voice low and biting, "did the two of you come to an agreement, or..." His dark eyes narrowed. "Have you finally managed to drag Kuro back to being human instead of the rabid dog he's become?"
The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. Jeonghan's smirk disappeared, replaced by a blank mask, and Seungcheol's jaw tightened. The three younger men exchanged confused glances, their earlier humor snuffed out.
Namjoon sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "Yoongi, not now," he muttered, though his tone held no real reprimand.
Suga shrugged nonchalantly, snapping the lighter shut with a metallic click. "What? I'm just stating facts. It'd explain why that bastard's been grinning like an idiot lately."
Namjoon rolled his eyes. "Enough, Yoongi." Turning to Seungcheol, his expression softened slightly. "You know where to find us if you need help."
Seungcheol nodded once, his expression grim. "We'll handle it."
Jeonghan's gaze flicked between them, his sharp eyes catching every nuance in their body language. There was no time for questions, no time for hesitation.
Suga gave a lazy wave as he turned to leave. "Good luck, then. You're gonna need it."
As the door shut behind them, the three youngest in the room turned to Seungcheol and Jeonghan with identical frowns.
"Okay, what the hell was that?" Mingyu demanded.
Seungcheol's glare silenced him instantly. "Don't ask questions. This isn't something you need to concern yourselves with."
"Cheol-" Minghao started, but Jeonghan cut him off.
"Enough," Jeonghan said, his voice sharp. "This will be dealt with back at headquarters. Stay here and clean up the mess you left behind."
The three younger men exchanged frustrated glances, clearly unsatisfied with the lack of answers, but they knew better than to push further.
Seungcheol moved behind Jeonghan's wheelchair, his hands firm on the handles as he began to wheel him out of the room. Jeonghan's smirk reappeared as they left, but it didn't reach his eyes.
The door shut behind them with a heavy thud, leaving Mingyu, Minghao, and Seokmin standing in the now-empty VIP room.
"Great," Minghao muttered, throwing his hands up. "As if things weren't tense enough, now we're completely in the dark."
Mingyu sighed, his expression unusually serious. "You should've just fucking killed that piece of shit.."
Dokyeom crossed his arms, his gaze fixed on the door. "I fucking should've."
"Let's just get going back," Minghao muttered, his voice sharp with frustration. He frowned when neither of the other two moved from their spots. His narrowed eyes landed on Mingyu, who had sprawled back lazily into the couch, swirling a glass of whiskey he'd picked up somewhere during the conversation.
Catching Minghao's glare, Mingyu shrugged nonchalantly, his movements slow and deliberate, the liquid in his glass catching the dim light. "Wonu hyung's here to spend some time with Kook," he said, taking a slow sip before continuing. "And it's not like we'd get anything out of the two back at headquarters tonight. At least not until tomorrow morning."
Minghao raised an eyebrow, but Mingyu kept talking, his voice taking on an edge of weariness masked by his usual cockiness. "The only thing you'll find there tonight is an awfully eerie tension. I'd rather stay here and drink my way through it. Wonu hyung's here, anyway," he finished with another shrug, his fingers tapping against the rim of his glass.
The8 rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath about irresponsibility. "Fine," he snapped, turning his attention to Seokmin, who had been unusually quiet. His patience was wearing thin. "DK, let's get going?"
Seokmin barely spared him a glance, his expression unreadable. "Gotta be somewhere," he replied vaguely, his tone clipped.
Minghao frowned, tilting his head. "And where exactly is 'somewhere'?"
Mingyu snickered at the sharpness in Minghao's voice, but Seokmin just smirked, letting out a low chuckle. The sound was sudden, rare, and almost unsettling.
It wasn't DK's usual way of brushing things off-it felt more real. Mingyu choked on his drink, coughing as he stared at Seokmin in disbelief, while Minghao froze in his spot, his mind struggling to process the moment.
Mingyu recovered first, still staring at Seokmin like he'd grown a second head. "Wait-did you just laugh?"
Seokmin blinked, his expression shifting back to neutrality, though there was a faint twitch of amusement in the corner of his lips. "Isn't that what people do when someone jokes?" he said, feigning ignorance, though the deflection felt almost calculated.
Minghao wasn't buying it. He stepped forward, shaking his head in disbelief. "No, no, no. That's exactly what people do-but it's not what you do. Not by DK."
Seokmin shrugged, turning his face away, clearly uninterested in indulging the conversation further. "I've done it plenty of times with Su-A, Hao. You're exaggerating."
Minghao scoffed, his frustration bubbling over. "Exactly! You've done it as Su-A's Minnie-not as DK. And especially not here in Black Swan."
The accusation hung in the air for a moment, but Seokmin didn't bite. Instead, he scoffed, brushing past Minghao without so much as a glance.
Mingyu let out a low whistle, leaning back into the couch with a teasing smirk. "Seems like Hong turned out to be one hell of a doctor, Hao. Maybe our DK's finally starting to feel things again."
Seokmin stopped in his tracks for a fraction of a second, his shoulders tensing at the comment. But he didn't respond. Instead, he walked out of the room without a word, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.
"Yah!" Minghao yelled after him, his voice tinged with confusion and annoyance. "You don't even have a target to hit tonight! Where the hell are you going?"
But Seokmin was already gone.
Minghao sighed, his frustration evident, but before he could follow, Mingyu grabbed his arm and yanked him back onto the couch with surprising force.
"Relax, Hao," Mingyu drawled, his voice low and mocking as he pressed a shot glass into Minghao's hand. "You're too tense. Drink."
Minghao glared, resisting for a moment, but Mingyu tilted the glass insistently, the liquid spilling dangerously close to the edge. With a grumble, Minghao gave in, tilting his head back as Mingyu poured the drink down his throat.
Minghao coughed, choking on the burn, and shoved Mingyu's hand away. "Asshole!"
Mingyu laughed, taking another sip of his whiskey, his grin widening. "Listen, just because you and I can't have a good fuck with the ones we actually want doesn't mean we get to cockblock our dear friend DK. Especially when he's finally having one of his own for the first time in, well... ever."
Minghao stared at Mingyu incredulously, his jaw tightening. "You're seriously impossible."
Mingyu raised his glass in a mock toast. "And you love me for it."
Minghao groaned, leaning back into the couch with a muttered curse. The room fell into a brief silence, broken only by the clink of Mingyu's glass against the table and the muffled echo of music from the floors below.
But Minghao's thoughts lingered on Seokmin's uncharacteristic behavior. The rare chuckle, the shift in his demeanor, the mention of Hong-it all felt off, like pieces of a puzzle that didn't quite fit.
"Whatever he's up to," Minghao muttered under his breath, "it better not come back to bite us all in the ass."
Mingyu, half-drunk already, smirked at the ceiling. "With DK? Always a fifty-fifty chance, Hao."
_________
The silence in the headquarters was heavy when Seungcheol and Jeonghan returned from Black Swan. The boys, scattered around the lounge and hallways, barely spared them a glance before looking away, pretending to be engrossed in their own activities.
One look at the tension etched into Seungcheol's shoulders and the distant, dangerous gleam in Jeonghan's eyes was enough to warn them against asking questions. Whatever had gone down with the Claws was a conversation no one dared to touch.
The door to their shared quarters shut with a quiet click, muffling the noise of the rest of the base. The room was dim, illuminated only by the faint light seeping in from the bedside lamp. Seungcheol pushed the wheelchair inside, his hands steady despite the storm brewing behind his stoic demeanor.
Without a word, he bent down and scooped Jeonghan up into his arms, cradling him carefully as though he were made of glass. Jeonghan's arms instinctively looped around Seungcheol's neck, his head resting against the elder's shoulder.
"I'd like to shower, Cheol," Jeonghan said, his voice soft but sharp, cutting through the quiet like a blade.
Seungcheol frowned, hesitating as he moved to place Jeonghan onto the bed. "Angel, you should rest. You've-"
"I said I want a shower, not a fucking bath," Jeonghan interrupted, his grip tightening on Seungcheol's shirt. His fingers twisted into the fabric, crumpling it in his grasp.
Seungcheol's jaw clenched, his eyes scanning Jeonghan's face. He saw the defiance burning in his eyes, a fire that masked something far more fragile underneath. He sighed, relenting with a nod. "Fine. I'll fill the bath-"
"No." Jeonghan's voice was firm, cutting him off again. "I said I want a shower, Cheol. Not a bath. Not anything else."
Seungcheol's frown deepened. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his frustration not with Jeonghan but with the unspoken reasons behind his stubbornness. Still, he didn't argue. He couldn't-not when he understood exactly why Jeonghan was digging his heels in.
Without another word, Seungcheol carried Jeonghan to the bathroom, setting him carefully on the counter near the sink. The mirror reflected both of them: Jeonghan, his expression guarded but his eyes betraying cracks in his composure, and Seungcheol, his face dark with worry and restrained anger.
"Angel," Seungcheol began, his voice low, almost pleading.
"Don't." Jeonghan's gaze met his, unflinching. "Don't say it. Don't pity me. Don't treat me like I'm broken. I'm not."
Seungcheol stared at him for a long moment, his chest tight. He knew exactly what this was. He knew the wheels turning in Jeonghan's head, the desperate need to prove that Kuro hadn't taken anything from him. That bastard hadn't won. Even something as simple as standing under a shower instead of soaking in a bath was a battle Jeonghan refused to lose.
"I'll help you," Seungcheol said softly, his voice steady as he moved closer. "If that's what you need, I'll help you."
Jeonghan's lips twitched, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. But it didn't reach his eyes. "Of course you will, Mr. Choi. You always do."
Seungcheol's heart twisted at the brittle edge to Jeonghan's voice, but he didn't respond. Instead, he reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it off in one fluid motion. Jeonghan frowned, his expression hardening.
"I said I wanted a shower, not a sex session," Jeonghan snapped, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
Seungcheol's lips quirked into a faint smirk. "I never said it was one. Unless... you want it to be?"
Jeonghan rolled his eyes, but before he could retort, Seungcheol stepped closer, his hands moving with deliberate slowness as he began undressing Jeonghan. His fingers lingered, brushing against soft skin, tracing faint bruises, old scars, and fresh marks that made his blood boil.
"Cheol," Jeonghan warned, his voice tight, his mask slipping as Seungcheol's hands ghosted over a particularly tender spot on his ribs.
"Shh." Seungcheol's voice was soft but firm, his gaze meeting Jeonghan's with an intensity that left no room for argument. "Let me."
Piece by piece, he undressed Jeonghan, his hands steady but his movements careful, almost reverent. He didn't rush, letting the silence settle between them, the sound of their breathing and the faint drip of the faucet the only noise in the room.
By the time he was finished, Jeonghan's mask was nearly gone, his vulnerability laid bare in the curve of his shoulders and the slight tremble in his hands.
Seungcheol turned the shower on, the water cascading down in a steady stream, filling the room with steam. He lifted Jeonghan off the counter, his grip firm on the younger's waist as he carried him under the spray.
As soon as Jeonghan's feet touched the ground, he yelped, his knees buckling. Seungcheol caught him instantly, pulling him close and shifting his weight onto his own feet. Jeonghan's feet rested on top of Seungcheol's as the elder steadied him, one arm wrapped securely around his waist.
Jeonghan clenched his eyes shut, his head tipping back as the water poured over them, soaking their hair and running down their bodies. The tension in his frame slowly eased, though his hands clung to Seungcheol's shoulders like a lifeline.
"See?" Seungcheol murmured, his voice a low rumble in Jeonghan's ear. "You're still standing. He didn't take that from you."
Jeonghan let out a shaky breath, his fingers digging into Seungcheol's skin. The elder held him closer, his grip unyielding as the water washed away the remnants of the night.
The shower continued to pour over them, the sound of the cascading water filling the room like a relentless storm. Jeonghan's grip on Seungcheol's shoulders tightened, his nails digging into the elder's skin, grounding himself in the heat of the touch and the solid presence holding him upright.
The grip around his waist was bruising but comforting-a silent promise that no matter how far he fell, Seungcheol would catch him.
Jeonghan's blonde hair clung to his face and neck, dripping in thin, messy strands that framed his sharp features. His lips parted as if to speak, but only a shaky exhale escaped, his breath mingling with the steam that surrounded them. He finally opened his eyes, the heavy weight of them locking onto Seungcheol's.
In that moment, the facade he'd been desperately clinging to crumbled. The devil-may-care mask of Black Swan's queen shattered under the steady onslaught of the shower, leaving only raw vulnerability etched into his features.
Seungcheol's eyes softened, though the tension in his jaw never eased. He had seen this Jeonghan before-one the world wasn't allowed to glimpse, one who crumbled only within the safe, suffocating confines of their shared space.
If it weren't for Seungcheol's countless nights spent with Jeonghan in moments like these, he might not have been able to tell the difference between the shower's relentless trails and the faint tear tracks on the younger's cheeks.
He pressed his forehead against Jeonghan's, his deep voice a low rumble in the intimate space between them. "So much to let go, Angel?" he asked, his words carrying a weight that resonated deeper than their physical closeness.
His hand slid down the length of Jeonghan's bare back, his fingertips pressing into the taut skin, grounding him, while his other hand never loosened its vice-like hold around Jeonghan's waist.
Jeonghan's lips quivered before forming words, his voice unsteady but cutting. "You know how I am, Cheol. You've always known."
Seungcheol hummed softly, his nose brushing against Jeonghan's cheek in a tender yet possessive motion. "Of course I do."
Jeonghan's voice grew sharper, tinged with venom as he continued. "When that fucking bastard hovered over me today... for a moment-just a fucking moment-I thought I was back under him."
His breath hitched as his eyes squeezed shut, his nails scraping along Seungcheol's shoulders in frustration. "The way he addressed me, the sick way he breathed in my face-I fucking hated it, Cheol. I hated it."
Seungcheol let Jeonghan vent, his lips brushing against the younger's neck, a soft hum vibrating in his throat as a silent reminder of his presence. This was Jeonghan's way-showing his steel to the world but folding only in front of him. Jeonghan, the defiant, untouchable queen of Black Swan, sought solace in Seungcheol's unwavering arms.
"You don't know how badly I wanted to smash a glass into his face when he dared call you Angel," Seungcheol growled, his voice dark, dangerous. His lips trailed to the curve of Jeonghan's neck, his teeth grazing the tender skin, each nip carrying the weight of suppressed rage.
"How much I wanted to put a bullet through his head right there, end him on the fucking spot. If it wasn't for..." He trailed off, his frustration evident in the way his teeth sank lightly into Jeonghan's skin, leaving a faint mark.
Jeonghan shivered, his hands slipping into Seungcheol's damp hair, gripping the strands tightly as though anchoring himself. His lips curled into a faint, wicked smile. "You'll get to do it soon, Cheol. We've stalled enough. It's time to fucking finish this."
Seungcheol pulled back slightly, his eyes dark as they bore into Jeonghan's. Uncertainty flickered for just a moment before he spoke, his voice steady and deliberate. "It won't be me, Angel. It has to be you. You'll send him off. I'll just make sure he's ready for the send-off."
For a moment, Jeonghan stared at him, his lips twitching before a low, dark laugh bubbled up from his chest. His head tipped back slightly, exposing the column of his neck to Seungcheol as he let the laughter escape, wicked and haunting. The sound sent a shiver down Seungcheol's spine, but it was a welcome one.
When Jeonghan looked back at him, the fire had returned to his eyes-the devilish gleam that Seungcheol knew all too well. "Fine," Jeonghan murmured, his voice sultry and full of malice. "I'll do it. I'll end him myself. But only if you promise me one thing."
Seungcheol's lips curled into a smirk, his heart pounding in his chest as he recognized the transformation. This was his Jeonghan-the demon angel, the queen who ruled with a wicked smile and an iron will. "Anything," Seungcheol whispered, his voice full of reverence and anticipation.
Jeonghan's lips brushed against Seungcheol's ear, hi breath hot against his skin as he whispered, "Make sure he knows it's me before he takes his last breath."
Seungcheol's smirk deepened, his heart thrumming with life at the sight of Jeonghan's dark smile, the fire in his gaze burning brighter than ever.
"Done," he murmured, pulling Jeonghan closer, the water from the shower cascading around them as if washing away the weight of the night and baptizing the bloodshed to come.
______________
Kuro leaned back in his chair, the sharp, acrid scent of burning tobacco and molasses wafting from the ornate hookah pipe on his desk. His fingers idly traced the polished wood of its base as he exhaled a cloud of thick smoke that curled and writhed like phantom snakes in the dim, oppressive light of his office. His gaze remained locked on the scattered photos and files before him-images of wide-eyed children, faces pale and terrified, frozen in moments of despair.
The knock on the door was sharp but hesitant, followed immediately by the staggering figure of Kurayami. He reeked of alcohol, his movements sluggish and careless as he half-stumbled into the room.
"Oni-san," Kurayami slurred, his words dripping with drunken familiarity, before Kuro silenced him with a glare so icy it could have frozen hell.
Kurayami paused, blinking rapidly to focus, before his eyes dropped to the chaotic mess spread across Kuro's desk. Curiosity piqued, he shuffled closer, his unsteady movements almost timid as he peered at the images. His brows furrowed as the stark reality of the photos hit him.
"Shit," Kurayami muttered, his voice low and uneasy. "They look dead."
Kuro let out a sharp, humorless snicker, his lips curling into something that resembled a smile but carried none of its warmth.
"What did you even do with them, Oni-san?" Kurayami asked, his voice shaky but brimming with misplaced bravado. "Did you run some kind of sick project or what?"
Kuro scoffed, his expression twisting into one of disdain. He leaned forward, flicking ash from the mouthpiece of the hookah onto the corner of one of the photos. "You've been watching too much Netflix," he muttered, his tone dripping with condescension.
Kurayami scratched the back of his neck, offering a sheepish smile. "Maybe," he admitted, trying to laugh it off.
Kuro's gaze darkened, his expression hardening into something far more dangerous. His fingers tightened around the hookah pipe, his knuckles whitening as his voice dropped to a low growl. "I practically owned Shibuya back then," he began, his words cutting through the haze in the room like a blade. "People feared me. Respected me. I had the underground in my fucking palm, Kurayami. Nothing moved through Shibuya's night streets without me knowing. Not a whisper. Not a deal. Not a single soul."
Kurayami nodded, his expression caught between awe and fear, though the latter crept closer as the elder's words grew sharper. "I get it, Oni-san. You had it all. But... that still doesn't explain what you did with them. They're so young."
The question hung in the air like the smoke, dense and suffocating. Kuro's jaw tightened, and his eyes flicked up to meet Kurayami's. The younger man took an instinctive step back as the weight of Kuro's glare pinned him in place.
"You want to know what I did?" Kuro hissed, his voice venomous. "Fine. Sit your drunk ass down and listen carefully, because I won't repeat myself."
Kurayami hesitated, his legs trembling slightly as he sank into the chair opposite Kuro.
"I didn't 'run a project,'" Kuro sneered, mocking the very idea. "I ran a fucking empire. The kids? They were my currency. My leverage. My soldiers." He picked up one of the photos, holding it up to the light. The face of a young boy stared back, hollow and broken.
"The streets don't give a shit about age, Kurayami. These kids? They were a part of the system before they even knew it. They carried messages, laundered money, ran drugs in places my men couldn't go without raising alarms."
Kurayami swallowed hard, his hands gripping the edges of the chair.
"And when they weren't doing that," Kuro continued, his voice cold and detached, "they were bait. Pretty faces to distract rivals, moles to plant in enemy operations. Some of them were traded-because in the underworld, flesh is as much a commodity as money or power."
Kurayami's stomach churned, the alcohol threatening to come back up as his Oni-san's words settled in. "You... you sold them?"
Kuro's lip curled in disdain. "Sold, traded, used-what's the difference? I didn't waste assets. The world isn't kind, Kurayami, and neither am I."
"But-"
Kuro slammed the hookah pipe down onto the desk, silencing Kurayami with the sudden, violent sound. "Don't you dare fucking judge me," he growled. "I did what I had to do to build what we have today. Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I enjoyed it?"
He leaned forward, his face inches from Kurayami's, his eyes burning with fury. "They were tools, and I used them. That's the way the game is played. You don't survive in this world without getting your hands dirty. Remember that."
Kurayami nodded weakly, his voice failing him. The weight of Kuro's words and the stark reality of the photos before him left him speechless.
His voice trapped somewhere between his gut and his throat. The air in the room felt heavier now, suffused with the weight of Kuro's words and the chilling truth laid bare on the desk.
The photos and files scattered before them seemed to come alive, each one a silent testament to horrors better left unspoken. Kurayami's instincts screamed at him to shut up, to lower his head and walk away before his curiosity led him somewhere he couldn't return from.
But Kuro wasn't done.
The elder reclined in his chair, his expression distant yet coldly calculating as he exhaled another plume of smoke. "But those twelve," he began, his voice low and venomous, "they were different."
Kurayami felt his breath hitch, his hands gripping the back of the chair for stability.
"I fucking trained them," Kuro continued, his words sharp and deliberate, each one a knife carving into the air. "Each one an ability of their own, molded by these hands-mine to abuse, mine to relish, mine to command. And now?" He slammed his fist onto the table, making Kurayami flinch.
"Now, those ungrateful little shadows are using my own fucking teachings to take me down. All because of one pretty little mole disguised as an angel."
Kuro's lip curled into a sneer, his eyes narrowing with unmasked contempt. "The one who thought he was too clever for his own good. The one who knew crying wouldn't get him anywhere, who learned to weaponize his pretty face and soft lies. The one who knew exactly what he was getting into before he even walked through my doors."
Kurayami gulped, the pieces falling into place in his alcohol-clouded brain. He wasn't stupid enough to miss the implication, but he was stupid enough to let his mouth run ahead of his caution. "Oni-san," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "why aren't they killing you yet?"
The room fell silent, save for the faint crackle of the hookah's coals. Kurayami braces himself, expecting a blow, a shouted reprimand, or worse. Instead, what he got was something infinitely more unnerving: a laugh.
It started low, guttural, and crooked-a sound that didn't belong to a man but something far more twisted. The laugh grew louder, more chaotic, until it echoed through the room like the mocking cries of a madman. Kurayami felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as Kuro's laughter tapered into a hoarse chuckle.
"You know, Kurayami," Kuro rasped, his voice thick with amusement, "you have a lot of stupid fucking questions. Stupid questions that, if you bothered to think for half a second, you'd realize every answer lies within me."
Kurayami nodded quickly, his mouth dry as he tried to keep his expression neutral.
Kuro leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as he stared directly into Kurayami's eyes, the intensity of his gaze pinning the younger man in place. "Do you think they haven't tried?" he asked, his tone turning cold.
"Do you think those shadows haven't plotted and schemed and come at me with everything they've got?" He leaned back again, a smug smirk curling his lips. "But they won't kill me. They can't kill me."
Kurayami's brows furrowed, confusion mingling with uneasiness.
"You don't wipe away the man who made you," Kuro continued, his voice dark and deliberate. "You don't destroy the one who broke you into pieces and remade you in his image. Because when you do, you lose the only thing tethering you to this miserable fucking existence."
Kurayami blinked, unsure if he fully understood.
Kuro exhaled another cloud of smoke, the bitter scent filling the room. "When you're too broken, letting go of your enemy isn't liberation. It's annihilation. Killing me wouldn't just end my life; it would end theirs. Because no matter how much they hate me, I'm the one who gave them purpose. Pain is all they know, and I'm the one who gave it to them. Without me, there's nothing. No anger to feed on, no vengeance to chase. Just a fucking void."
He laughed again, softer this time, but no less chilling. "And I've managed to break those kids to that level. They're so far gone, Kurayami, they don't even realize it."
Kurayami swallowed hard, his stomach twisting. "So... they're stuck?"
Kuro smirked, a cruel satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. "Stuck, trapped, shackled-whatever you want to call it. They'll keep coming at me, clawing and biting like the feral dogs I made them. But they won't ever finish the job. They need me, even if they don't want to admit it."
Kurayami nodded slowly, his mind spinning. He wanted to ask more, but his survival instincts screamed louder this time.
"Now," Kuro said, his tone dismissive as he gestured toward the door, "get out of my sight. Go sober up before you embarrass yourself again."
Kurayami scrambled to his feet, his legs trembling as he backed toward the door. His hand fumbled for the handle, and as he turned to leave, Kuro's voice stopped him one last time.
"And Kurayami," Kuro said, his voice sharp and laced with finality, "don't forget who you belong to."
Kurayami nodded rapidly, "Ofcourse Oni-San, I'm always on your side, right beside you.", his face pale, before disappearing out the door.
Kuro leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting back to the photos on the desk. He picked up one of the images, staring at the young face staring back at him with hollow eyes. His thumb brushed over the edge of the photo, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
"Mine," he muttered, his voice low and possessive. "You'll always be mine."
He took another long drag from the hookah, exhaling slowly as the room filled with smoke and silence.
.
.
.
.
.
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