Chapter Text
Wonwoo wasn't a man of many words. He found out that whenever he spoke, horrible things tended to follow.
He discovered this “power” when he turned eight. His mother had always been disgusted with him, refusing to initiate skin to skin contact. She'd only use gloves when bathing him, changing her shirts if she had to hold him. He came home from school to find her lifeless body dangling from the ceiling fan in their living room. He remembers how the paramedics cut her down, someone holding him close--preventing him from seeing her body sealed away in a bag.
He was placed in his fathers care that summer. He moved away, leaving everything behind. His father was different from his mother, neither one truly loved him--but the way they looked at him was different. His mother stared at him with a sense of sadness in her eyes, while his father looked at him with nothing but hatred.
Wonwoo put together that he wasn't supposed to be here, he wasn't supposed to be alive.
He learned that his fathers job was different than most. He dealt with crime, or rather--enabled it. He was never hands-on in his operations, wasn't even in the room when they were created. At age twelve he was trained in the art of defense. He was taught how to attack shortly after, next to subdue, and after how to kill.
Wonwoo found out that his specialty was cleaning up the aftermath. Part of it made him feel like he was still human, and being the one who placed the bodies in the incinerator gave him peace. In a way, he was the one who laid them to rest.
His father kept him off the front lines, claiming he was useful elsewhere, which is how he ended up with the task of disposal. He was in charge of cleaning up the interrogation rooms, wiping down the guns and knives they used and returning them to their rightful places. He had a picture perfect memory of every gun, every blade and the type of damage they dealt.
Now at age 28, he's a shadow of the person he could have been. Cold, closed off and quiet. It made it easy for him to slip away, vanish in broad daylight.
He was always easy to find if you looked hard enough, if you remembered the crucial details and applied them correctly.
He first met the members of Seungcheol's syndicate at a banquet his father held. It was a disgusting display of wealth--one Wonwoo wasn't entitled to. He felt relieved the blood money would never touch his wallet, but a part of him knew you could put a price on peace if you paid enough.
He sat across from him, hands folded in his lap. Eyes downcast.
“Seungcheol, this is my only son, Wonwoo.” His father hums, bringing his wine glass to his lips.
“It's nice to meet you.” Seungcheol hums, eyes meeting his.
Wonwoo turns his head to meet his stare. Forcing his lips to curl upward. His chest aches, hands shaking as he quickly looks down.
“Based on our agreement, I think he would be a great addition to your team.” His father turns his attention back to him. “He specializes in disposal of the body. He's trained in defense and hand to hand combat, mostly with knives.”
Seungcheol nods. “Jeonghan and I previewed his file last night. It's a bit hard to get around all the redacted information though. I thought you could trust me?”
“Details were omitted not out of lack of trust, but due to lack of relevance. The file focuses on his specialties and attributes, everything else isn't important.”
Seungcheol chuckles, another spoonful of rice in his mouth.
“He'll head over to your residence once we're done here. I saw Woozi and Hoshi took on the task of moving his belongings?”
“Yes, there wasn't a lot to pack but we made it work. I'll have them give Wonwoo a tour of the basic facilities. Especially where we keep our cleaning supplies.”
Their conversation drags on. Wonwoo feels himself grow distant. Consonants simmer into faint mumbles. His appetite disappears, stomach full with a pit of dismay. He swallows thickly, keeping his head down.
Dinner ends on what Wonwoo assumes is a good note. He doesn't say much as Seungcheol walks him to the car. The hallway is quiet, heels of his boots clicking against the tiled floors.
“I'm Seungcheol,” He says again. “You probably knew that but I wanted to tell it to you myself.”
Wonwoo casts a glance in his direction, not saying much else besides a simple nod.
“It's late, when we get back you'll probably only see Woozi and Hoshi. Everyone else sleeps early or hides in their rooms until they fall asleep.”
The car comes into view, high beams blinking as the mechanics click and the door unlocks. Wonwoo reaches for the back door, only for Seungcheol to put a hand on the door. He stares up at him, face still.
“Ride in the passenger seat.” He suggests.
“Yes, sir.”
Wonwoo sits straight, seat belt buckled and hands resting on his thighs. He stares forward as the car comes to life. He hears Seungcheol’s seat belt click into place. The gear shifts and the car moves backwards, it stops--changing again and suddenly they move forwards.
“You can talk freely. I know because of our line of work we thrive on intimidation, but I know your father.”
Dinner suddenly becomes heavy in Wonwoo's gut. Seungcheol knows the performance his father puts on. He doesn't see how the light leaves his eyes when liquor enters his body. He's never witnessed his father blame him for his mother's passing--all while choking him out. He remembers how his fathers tears fell onto his cheeks, hands weakly clinging to his wrists as he struggled to account for his innocence.
“Thank you, sir.” Wonwoo says instead, looking at his lap.
“Seungcheol is fine. Honorifics don't go past hyung. Once you get settled in we'll touch on that.”
The rest of the car ride is quiet. Nothing but the tires bonding with the terrain. The car ride isn't as long as Wonwoo assumes, possibly 30 minutes give or take.
The car pulls into a small tunnel, the road curves and a large door opens. It settles into a garage, parking between two SUVs. The car stops and the keys leave the ignition.
Wonwoo steps out, watching Cheol guide him toward the door on the other side of the room. The garage is spacious--only two cars are missing. The keys are put onto a hanger. Each one corresponds with the car's model.
“Shoes off.” Seungcheol hums as they step inside. He takes a moment to remove his shoes, watching as Wonwoo does the same. They're standard work boots, beat up and aged from the back breaking labor he was trained with.
They head down a hallway, stepping through another door and standing in the living room. The lights are dim, and two strangers are sitting on the couch. Hushed whispers come to a halt as the two enter. Their heads whip around to meet them.
“You're back.” One of the men says, his voice is gruff--almost unamused. “This the new guy?”
“I told you I'd be gone for two hours,” He huffs, removing his jacket. “Yes, this is Wonwoo. Starting tomorrow morning he'll be tidying up around here. The armory and the interrogation room mostly.”
They both hum, nodding slowly.
“Soonyoung and Jihoon,” Cheol says over his shoulder. “They put your things away, and stayed up like weirdos afterwards.”
Soonyoung is the first to act offended, a hand rests on his chest brows raised as he shoots a look toward Cheol. Jihoon, who Wonwoo is just now registering their height difference, looks equally unamused.
“Jihoon specializes in technology, he works with Jun on surveillance. Hoshi specializes in hand-to -hand combat. He's mostly skilled with blunt objects and pistols.”
Wonwoo nods, making sure to bow now that he's learned their names.
“Cute.” Sooyoung says, earning a smack from Jihoon.
“I'll show you to your room.” Cheol says, nodding his head toward the stairway.
The second level consists of a hall composed of six doors. Wonwoo makes an educated guess that they share rooms. A bit odd for grown men in his opinion, but since he works for them he won't say much.
Wonwoo's room is the first on the left. It's a single room, bed pressed against the side wall, facing the door. The window rests beside it, wide and showcasing the moonlight through the thin curtains. A dresser hugs the opposite wall and a closet sits not too far away.
“Here is your room. Your bags are beneath your bed. They said you only have uniforms so we left some clothes on your bed for you to shower and wear. Bathroom is down the hall, feel free to use any shampoo, body wash or whatever.”
Wonwoo nods, taking a moment to step forward. The clothes are a simple black shirt with Adidas sweatpants. Basic sleep attire, better than the thin cloth Wonwoo wore at his fathers house.
Once left to his own devices, Wonwoo showers, taking the time to read each shampoo label. The first thing he notices about this house is that it's lived in. An obvious observation to anyone with eyes, but his father's home was similar to an art gallery. Things stood still as if time never moved once you stepped inside his home. The air was thick, simmering with words left unspoken, anger that was yet to be displayed and regret that swallowed him whole.
He steps out of the shower, taking a moment to glance at his reflection. His battered body stares back at him, faded bruises and old scars linger on his skin. He dries quickly, slipping into the pajamas. They hug him nicely, Wonwoo almost sighs at the feeling of the cotton against his skin.
His hair, having grown out since he lived with his father, rests on his shoulders. He dries his hair, slipping his glasses back onto his face. Taking his dirty laundry and heading for his room.
The clothes sit in a pile, Wonwoo choosing not to acknowledge them until his shift starts.
Sleep comes to him easy, chest rising and falling as he lies on his back. Submerged in the scent of fabric softener and plush bedding.
“How could you do this?”
“You know how much I sacrificed for you? And you're gonna throw it all away?”
“Useless little--”
Wonwoo's eyes snap open, facing the ceiling. He's had this dream before, the faint ache in his neck and the throbbing pain in his shoulder return for only a moment. He knows that if wounds could talk, he'd be a symphony of strikes speaking over each other.
Sitting up, pulling the blankets off of himself, he rises. Grabbing his glasses and walking towards the door. He's unsure of the time, but based on the absolute silence he can only assume it's still early.
The sun has just greeted the moon by the time Wonwoo steps into the hallway, gentle footsteps almost invisible as he walks down the stairs. He makes an educated guess, stumbling across a closet stocked with cleaning supplies.
He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes.
“Time to start the day.” He thinks to himself.
It takes him a moment, but he does find the armory. Flipping on a light, glancing around the room. Its spacious, guns rest on the wall. Each one labeled with its rounds, possible modifiers and mags.
He grabs a nearby clipboard, writing today's date and going around the room, checking each gun in. The ammo is tucked underneath in a large cabinet, boxes of bullets separated by their millimeters, aligned from brass to silver. He makes a mental note to ask about that, maybe vampires do exist after all?
He ignores his curiosity and pushes his hair back, using a rubber band to secure his hair. He grabs a solvent, inspecting each gun for damages. Double checking the safety is on.
He's just finished wiping down the first wall of guns when the door behind him opens. He looks over his shoulder, meeting a new face.
“Hoshi-ah, I told you the apocalypse isn't real--oh?”
A man stands there, brows raised. His hair is blonde, shoulder length. A bit messy from his slumber, brown eyes trail over Wonwoo's frame. He tilts his head for a second, biting his lip.
Wonwoo adjusts his glasses, setting the gun down on the worktable beneath the wall. He bows, earning a soft laugh from the stranger.
“I'm Jeonghan. Seungcheol might have mentioned me, but I'm seen as his second-in-command. You must be Wonwoo..” He says, staring at him.
To Jeonghan, Wonwoo looks almost like a scared animal. He's tall and intimidating upon first glance, but once you catch sight of his glasses it's like you've stumbled upon a baby fawn or something.
“Yes..hello, Jeonghan-ssi..” Wonwoo breathes out. His voice is low, almost rich.
“Jeonghan is fine.” He quickly answers, arms folded across his chest. “How long have you been down here?”
“It's been about…two hours.”
“It's 7:15.” He tilts his head.
Wonwoo shuffles, looking down at his feet. “I..figured I should start early..in case you needed to use them.”
Jeonghan hums, stepping forward. He takes the gun Wonwoo had set down, inspecting it carefully. Eyeing the barrel, fingers brushing over each groove and marking. He sets it back onto its pegs, looking at him.
“You don't have to start early. And until we get to know you better I don't want you walking around this place by yourself, it's for both of our safety.” Jeonghan assures. “I've read your file, what can be read from it anyway. You're a good man on paper--but I and the others need to confirm that for ourselves.”
“Yes, Jeonghan-ssi," He says. "It won't happen again.”
“Jeonghan.” He says, glancing at him. “I'm going to start breakfast, follow me.”
Wonwoo leaves the room, glancing back for a second before he stumbles after the blonde. He feels guilt start to pool in his stomach--his task was incomplete. That's a punishment, Wonwoo knows that. Was this a test? Had he failed?
They reach the kitchen, and Seungcheol is seen sitting at the island. His head lifts, a similar look of confusion on his face.
Wonwoo steps forward, kneeling onto the floor. He leans forward, hands pressed in front of himself as his forehead presses against the tile.
“What are you--”
“Forgive me, Seungcheol-ssi. I neglected to finish my task. Jeonghan was likely testing me and I failed.”
The room is quiet, the air thick as Jeonghan and Seungcheol share a glance. The kitchen is dim, only the light above the stove is on. Wonwoo is but a shadow in the sacred light.
“Wonwoo, stand up.” Seungcheol sighs, swallowing his discomfort.
Wonwoo stands, almost robotic like. Hands rest at his sides as his eyes remained focused on the floor.
“Look at me,” He demands. “It's alright.”
His voice is soft, opposite of what he sounded like at dinner. It's almost like he's in the passenger seat again.
“There was no test, and there's no punishment coming for you.” He tells him. “Jeonghan found you and figured you could eat.”
Wonwoo glances at Jeonghan, who nods. His stomach grumbles, a reminder of his lack of intake. He couldn't eat at the table last night, too much pressure was on his shoulders. Anxiety sat in his stomach, churning and introducing the concept of nausea.
“Well, we know he's hungry.” Jeonghan muses, turning on the stove.
Wonwoo can't help but blink. This wasn't right--where were the harsh words? The cruel punishments. It didn't make sense, he wasn't like them, he was lower than them. So why was he allowed to stand so close, to forgo honorifics? Why did they see him as human?
He breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth. Today is going to be a long day.