Chapter Text
Last night was all Wooyoung and Yeosang could talk about the next morning.
Wooyoung liked it a little too much. He was already asking Yeosang when the next one was as Jongho walked them to the station. Next Saturday, apparently.
Light filtered in through the blinds, stripes of sun across the couch where Yeosang sat cross-legged with his cereal, hair messy, voice still hoarse from cheering. Wooyoung had barely slept. He couldn't. Not with his head still spinning from alcohol and adrenaline, his body too wired.
He stood by the counter, stirring his coffee more than he drank it, trying to shake off the image of San taking a guy down with a kick- it just kept replaying. “I can’t believe that place still exists,” he said finally. “It’s so illegal. Someone's gonna die there. Also- it's filled with half-dressed men. And you’ve been going there for weeks without telling me?”
Yeosang smirked around his spoon, eyes flicking up to meet Wooyoung’s. “You’d have said no,” he said, tapping the bowl lightly as if punctuating the point.
“You’re right,” Wooyoung admitted, tilting the cup to take a sip, “and then I’d have been so wrong.”
A half hour later, in the lazy, slow morning, Wooyoung had made scrambled eggs, burnt toast, and more coffee, which he had all scarfed down in minutes. By the time he was done, Yeosang had fallen back asleep on the couch, half under a blanket, cereal bowl abandoned on the table.
Wooyoung walked over to him, the floor creaking softly beneath his socks. Yeosang’s mouth was parted slightly, hair a messy halo against the pillow. He reached down and tucked a loose strand behind his ear, careful not to wake him. Then he straightened with a long sigh, deciding it was finally time for a much-needed shower. He had to wash off the smoke, the sweat, and whatever else from last night that still clung to him. He dragged his fingers through his own hair as he moved toward their small bathroom. Warm water poured over him, steam curling lazily around his shoulders. He let it run over his face until the last of the hangover throb dulled, palms braced against the tiles.
By the time he stepped out, the mirror was fogged to white, the air thick with the heat. He wiped a hand over the glass, caught his blurred reflection, and sighed again. He had work to catch up on. Lectures he’d skipped, assignments waiting for attention. Maybe he’d head to the café near campus, the one Yunho liked.
He’d met Yunho in one of his lectures a few months back. Smart, kind, and just the right kind of funny. They’d clicked faster than he expected, and before long, they’d fallen into an easy routine of grabbing coffee between classes or claiming a corner table to “study.” Usually, that meant Yunho actually studying while Wooyoung got distracted watching his face- when focused, confused, or smiling softly as he read, brow creased and lips pressed tight. Yunho never seemed to notice.
He could text him later, see if he wanted to meet. He towel-dried his hair, steam still clinging to his skin as he crossed the room. He left the towel slung over a chair and opened his closet. Pulled on a loose, off-white button-up, the fabric thin enough to catch the light with transparency. It slipped open at the collar, teasing the line of his collarbone as he moved. The jeans he chose were fitted, worn in all the right places. In the mirror, he gathered his hair into a low ponytail, fingers combing through the dark strands before tying them with a small lace ribbon he’d stolen from Yeosang. It fell softly down his back, the loose ends brushing his shoulder when he turned his head. He gave his reflection a faint nod, then grabbed his phone from the counter to text Yunho.
Hey. Thinking about heading to the café to get some work done. Want to join?
He set the phone down and moved slowly through the space, refilling his cup, tidying a few things, calling his parents.
And finally, a half-hour later, the phone buzzed softly.
Yeah, I’ll meet you there. Give me a twenty.
He drained the last of his coffee, pulled on his Converse, grabbed his bag from the hook by the door, and turned on his heels to check his reflection one last time. The keys jingled in his hand as he skipped out.
The weather was already cold, winter creeping up fast. Goosebumps rose along his arms, and he wished he’d grabbed a coat. Winter would be hell. It always was in the city-dreary, slippery, endless. The streets were quiet this early, as quiet as this side of the city ever got, the occasional car drifting past, tires hissing over puddles left from last night’s rain. The walk wasn’t long- maybe ten minutes. When he finally reached the café, the bell above the door chimed softly as he stepped inside. The warm air wrapped around him immediately, with the delicious smell of coffee and baked bread.
The room hummed with quiet conversation, the low clink of coffee mugs and the soft rhythm of typing filling the space. His eyes found Yunho at the usual corner table. Laptop open. Two mugs of coffee set before him. Wooyoung eyed them, warmth rising to his cheeks.
He moved closer, and Yunho seemed to sense him then, looking up with that polite, boyish smile he loved.
“Morning,” Wooyoung said, voice low, a small, toothy smile curling across his face. He reached out casually, letting his fingers brush against Yunho’s hand where it rested on the table, pencil in hand.
“Morning,” Yunho replied, voice friendly. “How are you this morning?”
He leaned back slightly in his chair, letting his gaze drift over Yunho slowly, deliberately, taking in the line of his jaw, the way his shirt fit across his shoulders, the smile adorning his face. Just long enough for Yunho to notice.
“What did you get us?”
“Black coffee for me,” Yunho said, lifting his cup a little. “And an Americano for you.”
“Mm. “Let me try yours.”
Without waiting for an answer, Wooyoung slid closer, the chair legs scraping softly against the floor. His hand found Yunho’s thigh, casual to anyone watching, but not really. He took the cup from him and sipped. He licked the corner of his mouth, slow, catching the taste of coffee there before looking back at Yunho.
He blinked, pulling the cup back slightly, lips scrunched in disgust. “Why would you order that? You can’t actually like that.”
Yunho laughed, covering his mouth with his hand, his shoulders shaking. “I’m not drinking it for the flavor.”
Yunho reached out, nudging him lightly with his elbow, still smiling. “Let’s actually get some work done this time.”
Wooyoung bit his knuckle in a half laugh, shifting back to his own seat. He unzipped his bag, and inside, everything was a mess. Cords tangled around a notebook, a half-empty pack of gum, receipts he should’ve thrown out two months ago. He pulled out his laptop and notebook, setting them down in a little heap.
Once everything was out, he straightened a little and clicked through the half-dozen tabs already open on his laptop. He worked on the essay he’d been pushing off for a while, then checked his email, watched a cooking video, and two hours later, he was bored.
So Wooyoung was tapping his pen annoyingly now, pretending to study while stealing glances at Yunho in the pauses between his fake typing. He even “accidentally” kicked Yunho’s leg under the table. Twice. But Yunho kept reading beside him, unbothered.
“You’re having fun, huh?” he drawled.
“I’m reading,” Yunho replied, without looking up.
“You’re not actually reading that.”
“I am,” Yunho replied, finally glancing over. “And what are you doing?” He leaned in closer while he spoke, tilting his head to see Wooyoung’s screen. Wooyoung let out a startled laugh, shifting fast and trying to cover it with his hands. But Yunho had already seen it. “Hey-”
“Oh, you’re watching cooking videos.”
Wooyoung half-rolled his eyes and changed the subject. “I was thinking…” He hesitated, trying to figure out how to ask what he wanted before he continued. “Maybe we should hang out outside of-well, studying.”
Yunho’s hands stilled on his book, and he looked up, curiosity in his eyes. “Oh? Like what?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.
Wooyoung straightened in his seat, his voice picking up a little. “I went somewhere last night.” He leaned forward now, elbows braced against the table, eyes brightening as he talked. “Yeosang- my roommate- he invited me to this.. I don’t even know what to call it. Like an underground ring or something.”
That got Yunho’s attention. “A ring?”
Wooyoung responded quickly, waving his hand. “Yeah, like.. fighting. Real fights. Yeosang’s boyfriend, Jongho, you’ll have to meet him- he’s one of them. I don’t know how safe it is for him, honestly.. but it’s wild to watch.”
He sat back, running a hand through his hair as he tried to find the right words. “Im telling you, Yunho. You need to see it for yourself. There’s another fight this Saturday. So.. what do you think?”
He let it all out in one breath, too excited to pace himself. He might have been using it as an excuse to see Yunho outside of lectures and studying, though part of him just hated being the third wheel with Yeosang and Jongho.
Yunho closed his laptop halfway, the screen’s glow slipping off his face as he leaned in. “You’re inviting me to an illegal fight?” His voice was slow, with disbelief and amusement. Then he leaned back, the chair creaking beneath him, fingers tapping a lazy rhythm against his coffee cup. “I think,” he paused, a faint smile tugging at his mouth at Wooyoung’s hopeful expression, “you’re trying to get me into trouble. Like usual.”
Wooyoung smirked, pen spinning lazily between his fingers. “I’m telling you, you’re missing out, Yunho-ah,” Wooyoung said, eyes glinting like he already knew Yunho would cave.
A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Yunho’s mouth. “It does sound.. thrilling. But I’ll have to let you know, Wooyoung,” he said, eyes drifting to his cup, fingers tracing its rim.
Wooyoung then nudged his notebook forward, the edge scraping softly against the table, and tapped his pen once against the table before leaning back with a small huff. “Well.. I think I’m done for today.”
“Mm,” Yunho said, closing his laptop with a quiet snap. “Good idea.”
Wooyoung stretched, shoulders rolling, letting out a soft exhale. He picked up his notebooks and pens, stacking them neatly in his bag, and glanced up. The café had thinned out, and the late afternoon light had deepened into gold.
“You going straight home?” Yunho asked, slinging his bag over one shoulder.
“Yeah,” Wooyoung replied, glancing sideways at him. “I’ve got a few things to take care of.”
“Same.” Yunho held the door open, and they stepped out together. The evening air was cool, and Wooyoung zipped his hoodie up without thinking, the fabric rising to his chin. Yunho fell into step beside him. “I’ll walk you home.”
Wooyoung’s eyes flicked up, caught off guard, and he swiped a hand through his hair, trying to hide the heat in his cheeks. “Sure,” he murmured, a little too quickly.
They walked in silence for the few blocks back to his place, the distant hum of traffic and occasional footsteps making the city almost feel quiet, intimate. When they reached the apartment, Wooyoung reminded Yunho again about the fight he had invited him to.
When he went up to his apartment, he set his bag down on the floor and sank into the small chair at his desk. The sun had dipped lower, the light now softer, warmer, brushing gently across the edge of his notebook.
Opening the diary, he began writing about his weekend, what he did, who he talked to. After, he doodled cutely in the margins. One line- Yunho walked me all the way home- had hearts and smiley-face stickers around it. The heart stickers carried onto the next page too, circling San’s name, underlined, beside a shitty stick-figure drawing of him in a fighting ring.
---
The week that followed stretched long and unkind. Classes piled against him, each lecture blurring into the next. Between them, Wooyoung spent hours working, running errands, juggling assignments that seemed to multiply overnight. He even had to take the subway all the way home outside the city to help his parents renovate their rundown house- he hadn’t been much help in the end anyway.
So, all he wanted was to have fun this weekend.
During lectures all week, Wooyoung had begged Yunho in small, pointed ways- nudging the conversation, dropping sly hints, teasing him into saying yes to the weekend. And finally, on Friday, his phone buzzed with a single, brief message.
I’ll come. Where should we meet?
It was Saturday now. Wooyoung and Yeosang were tearing the room apart- clothes everywhere, the bed buried under piles of shirts and pants, music blasting from a speaker. Every time Wooyoung moved, he stepped on a hanger. Wooyoung didn’t want to stand out. But he did want to look good- good enough for Yunho to notice. And San.
Yeosang stood in front of the mirror, leaning close as he did his makeup. The reflection behind him was entirely a mess.
Wooyoung sat cross-legged on the bed, holding up two pairs of pants that were basically the same shade of black.
“You think Yunho would notice if I wore this one?”
Yeosang humored him anyway, pointing to the pair on the left. His head turned toward the clock on the nightstand. 9:22 p.m. "If the subway runs on time, will make it before Jongho's match. He's first again," he muttered, annoyance in his tone. "Hes a rookie still, apparently. To them at least." He carried a half-smile- fond, proud of his opinion.
Wooyoung rolled off the bed and grabbed his jacket from the chair when they were finally done getting ready, sliding it on one arm at a time. He crouched at the doorway to tie his shoes, gave up halfway, and shoved his feet in anyway.
They spilled out the door, laughter tumbling with them. The air outside was cool, filled with the scent of rain. Wooyoung tilted his head back, hoping it would hold off. Their fingers brushed once, then again, until he caught Yeosang’s hand properly, swinging it between them as they headed for the station. They kept talking-predictions, wondering if someone might finally get knocked out for good this time, Wooyoung briefly brought up San too, of course.
By the time they reached the station, the platforms were half-empty, the lights overhead buzzing quietly. Yunho was already there, leaning against one of the columns, hands in his pockets, hood up.
“Hey,” Wooyoung called, lifting a hand.
Yunho looked up, smiling in that easy, handsome way of his. “Wow, look at you two. This is why you’re late?”
Wooyoung’s grin was instant. He leaned in just a little, head tilted, the confidence in his tone barely covering the laugh underneath. “Worth the wait?”
They met halfway- a quick handshake, and a half-hug. Yunho smelled good, like always. While Yunho and Yeosang exchanged their greeting, Wooyoung bounced on his heels, hands stuffed into his pockets, energy spilling over. He was so excited.
When Yunho finally motioned toward the gates, they fell into step together, voices overlapping as they moved through the crowd. By the time they reached the platform, the subway's distant rumble had started to roll through the tunnel.
They boarded, and found a spot together near the back.
They didn’t stop talking the entire ride. Every story bled into the next. Wooyoung laughed too loud at his own jokes- Yunho’s, too. It felt good, having them both there, the three of them huddled close in one corner of the subway. Yeosang kept reaching over to cover his mouth to shut him up.
By the time they pulled into the last stop, the three of them were buzzing, shoulders pressed close, grins lingering. They spilled out with the rest of the late commuters, laughter trailing behind them. The rundown street crackled under their shoes with bits of glass and broken beer bottles. Yunho made a few offhand comments about how this was exactly the kind of place people got killed in movies. Wooyoung told him to shut up. They laughed, but stayed close anyway, their voices low, echoing against concrete walls and fading traffic.
Eventually, the streets began to look familiar again, and there it was; the door. Same as before, wedged between shuttered storefronts, a flickering neon sign buzzing weakly above it. The door creaked as they pushed inside, and the captivating, addictive thrum of the room washed over Wooyoung. He paused for a moment to take it all in, but Yeosang, already a few steps ahead, tugged on his sleeve and steered him toward the bar.
“Come on,” Yeosang said, voice insistent. “Let’s get a drink.”
Wooyoung let himself be guided, his hand brushing against Yeosang’s as he followed. His eyes roamed over the crowd- just as many people as last time, pressed close together, barely leaving room to move through the sweaty bodies. The bar came into view, its wooden surface scratched and sticky. Yeosang leaned across the counter, nodding toward Mingi’s broad back as he wiped down a glass behind the bar. “Mingi!” he called.
The man looked up instantly, a grin breaking across his face when he saw them. “Yeosang!” he said warmly, wiping his hands on a rag before stepping closer. His eyes flicked to Wooyoung, lingering just a moment longer, recognition passing over his face. “And.. Wooyoung,” he added, the name rolling easily off his tongue.
Mingi’s gaze shifted to Yunho, taking him in slowly from head to toe, curiosity in his expression. “And who’s this?”
Yunho gave a small, friendly smile and extended a hand. “I’m Yunho. Nice to meet you.”
Mingi shook it firmly, nodding once. “Yunho.. nice to meet you,” He said, reaching out to grab a few stray beer bottles and empty glasses cluttering the counter in front of them.
Yeosang smiled while adjusting on the barstool until he found a comfortable spot. “How’s the night treating you, Mingi?” he asked, voice gentle.
Mingi shrugged, casual, leaning back on the counter. “Busy as usual,” he said. “But good. Always better when I get to see familiar faces. Are you guys drinking?”
“Hell yeah,” Yeosang said before anyone else could answer, already fishing a few bills out of his pocket. “Three shots of tequila.”
“Coming right up.” Mingi turned, reaching for the bottles.
Wooyoung leaned closer to Yunho, half-shouting over the noise. “It’s a lot, huh?”
Yunho gave a small, crooked smile, eyes still moving across the crowd. “Yeah. Kind of what I expected.”
When Mingi came back, he slid the shot glasses across the counter, the liquid spilling slightly as they landed in front of them. “The fights are the real action,” he said, flashing Yunho a brief, knowing grin. “It’ll be fun.” Then, glancing at Yeosang, he asked, “See Jongho yet?”
“No, don't want to distract him while he's warming up,” Yeosang replied, reaching for his glass.
Mingi nodded, wiping down a patch of condensation on the counter. “He’s been good lately,” he said, pride in his voice. “People like watching him fight.”
Yeosang smiled, quiet, fond. “Yeah, they do.”
Eventually, a little later, Yeosang and Yunho were talking quietly, Yeosang explaining how things worked here to him. Wooyoung, restless, decided it was finally time he satisfied some of the curiosity he’d been holding all week. He waited until Mingi came back down their side of the counter, then leaned a little closer.
He tilted toward Mingi. “Hey, Mingi,” he said, raising his voice just enough to cut through the surrounding noise. “Who runs this place, anyway?”
Mingi glanced at him, amusement flickering across his face. “Why? You thinking of applying for a job?”
“Curious, that’s all,” Wooyoung replied.
“Hongjoong. You’ll see him running around- the short guy, blue hair.”
“Ah, yeah,” Wooyoung said, nodding. “I saw him handling the money last week. Hard to miss that hair.”
“That’d be him,” Mingi confirmed, wiping the rim of a glass with a clean rag. “Owns most of it. Handles the fights, the money, the people’s bets. Shows up early, leaves last.”
Wooyoung’s gaze drifted briefly toward the crowd. “So this whole underground thing, It's organized. The crowd, the bets, the rules- someone’s keeping it in check.”
Mingi gave a small approving hum.
“How much do the fighters usually win?” Wooyoung asked, curiosity sparking in his voice. “Like.. on a good night.”
“Depends. Some do it for the payout, some just for the rush. But a decent match can pull a few thousand. More if it’s someone people actually bet on. You could ask San- he’s the one who-”
Wooyoung cut him off at the name, leaning a little closer over the counter. “Right, San. He won big last week, didn’t he? Scary win, too. I was honestly scared he’d killed the guy.”
Mingi smirked, shaking his head. “Yeah, he’s intense. But don’t worry, the guy’s still breathin’.” Mingi said, nodding towards the back. “San’s dangerous in style, but he knows the line.”
Wooyoung felt a faint thrill even thinking about the fight. So that confirms it, San clearly made the most out of this.
“And how many people bet?”
“Almost everyone who comes,” Mingi said, leaning forward on the bar. “That’s what keeps the place alive. They bet small, they bet big and stupid, but they bet. Half the fun is just placing them.”
“And when does it usually clear out in here?”
“Late,” Mingi said, glancing toward the far end of the bar where a few men were laughing. “Closer to four. Sometimes later, if the lineup’s good. You wouldn’t want to be here when it empties. It gets messy. It's all drunk guys trying to start fights with each other, and people who can’t handle their alcohol passed out on this filthy floor.”
Wooyoung shook his head slightly, letting out a small laugh. “Yeah, I can imagine.” He paused, watching a guy stumble past the bar before turning back. “So you’ve worked here for a while? You sound like you’ve seen a lot of fights.”
“I have,” Mingi said easily, shrugging. “Doesn’t mean I like all of them.”
After that, Mingi excused himself to break up the beginning of a fight on the other side of the bar, then went back to serving the angry, impatient drunk men crowding the bar before coming back and starting a conversation with Yunho.
The three of them settled into their worn wooden stools, the bar’s energy pulsing around them. Wooyoung let himself relax, feeling comfortable in the way they all fit into the small corner. Yeosang leaned slightly closer, talking quietly to Wooyoung, explaining something about the fights. Wooyoung nodded along, half-listening, but his attention drifted in bursts toward Yunho and Mingi. The two of them had started talking in low tones, laughter drifting from them. It made Wooyoung curious. What was so funny?
He let himself listen without interrupting, eyes flicking between Yeosang and them, half-focused.
He listened in like an intruder into Mingi’s voice that carried over the noise. “So.. do you live around here?”
“No. Not around here. My apartment’s in the Mok‑dong area.”
Mingi’s eyebrows lifted slightly, and for a moment his smile faltered quickly, before it settled back into place. “Ah. Nice area.. You live alone?” Mingi leaned in slightly, nodding as he reached for a clean glass.
Oh. He knew that question, that tone. An easy lean-in disguised as casual conversation. He’d used it himself more than once.
“Yeah.” Yunho said, voice just loud enough to be heard over the bass. “Just me.”
“How about you? Live nearby?”
“Yeah, a couple blocks down.” Mingi hesitated before answering, pretending to focus on opening a beer bottle. Maybe even a little shy about answering.
“Nice. Easy commute, then.”
Wooyoung caught the faint curve of Mingi’s mouth as he turned on his feet. “I’ll grab something for you. Something light.”
Yunho smiled, polite, soft, and pretty. “Thanks.”
He reached for a bottle then, the motion slow and deliberate. The liquid hit the glass with a soft glug that cut clean through the hum of conversation. Mingi slid it forward, fingers brushing against Yunho’s for a beat too long than casual before retreating again to serve others.
Wooyoung looked away, lips pressed together, swirling what was left of his drink just to keep his hands busy. The sound of the crowd was louder and rowdier now, with the match coming soon.
Yeosang tapped the bar twice, the rings on his fingers making a sharp click against the wood. “Okay,” he said, glancing toward the back. “Let’s go find Jongho. His fight should be starting soon.”
Wooyoung nodded, pushing off the stool. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Yunho still half-turned toward Mingi, the two of them talking again- Mingi leaning close, voice low enough to get lost in the music.
Yunho caught their movement and lifted a hand in an easy wave. “I’ll meet you guys there,” he said, his tone calm, polite, the same soft smile on his face. “Let me just finish this.” He pointed at his drink.
Wooyoung’s brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t say anything. Yeosang had already started weaving through the crowd, so he followed, the press of bodies and the hum of bass swallowing the space between them. Still, he couldn't help it. He glanced back once- then again- at Yunho at the bar, head tilted toward Mingi, his drink halfway to his lips. Mingi said something that made him laugh quietly, and that was the last thing Wooyoung saw before the crowd closed around them. He exhaled through his nose, restlessness crawling beneath his skin. But he brought himself to move, trailing after Yeosang into the back room.
When they entered, Jongho was near the far end, sitting on a low bench, head down as he wrapped his hands. The light overhead flickered against his face, sweat already slicking his temple. When he looked up, that love sick grin broke through.
“About time.” Jongho was practically beaming as he got up to greet us, his eyes only on Yeosang.
“I had to get a drink first,” Yeosang said easily. “And say hi to Mingi.”
“How was the trip here? You know I don’t like you comin’ when I can’t take you. Even if you’re with your friend here.” Jongho jutted his chin toward Wooyoung.
Yeosang looked up at him from under his lashes, meeting him halfway, fingertips brushing along Jongho’s jaw before leaning in to kiss him once. “Oh, we’re fine.” He gave a lazy wave of his hand.
“You better not get hurt badly today, Wooyoung brought another friend you need to impress,” he added with a giggle.
Jongho laughed under his breath. “Well, this fight’s a given.” He shrugged. “Hongjoong refuses to give me tougher opponents. I’d beat them too.”
“Of course you would.”
Wooyoung shifted back, giving them space. Again. He lingered near the doorway, waiting for Yeosang and Jongho to finish. He fiddled with his fingers, then with his phone, awkward in his own skin and wishing Jung Yunho was here right now- for this reason exactly. He swayed on his heels until, embarrassingly enough, he lost his balance in an awkward fumble.
Thankfully, before he could humiliate himself in front of a bunch of- scary-as-hell guys, gentle hands caught him by the waist-steadying him and setting him back on his feet like it was nothing.
“Oh-thank y-” he started, breath catching halfway through the words.
When he turned and saw who it was, the rest of the sentence died in his throat. All sense was knocked out of him at once. Those gentle hands weren’t gentle at all.
San didn’t even look at him, would not grant him the satisfaction of a single glance.
Wooyoung’s eyes, all doe-like and probably way too obvious, followed his every move. San’s short hair was damp, curling slightly at his temples and slicked back from his forehead. Dressed in all black, he looked every bit as dangerous as he remembered. San dropped a heap of gear, a jacket, and a cigarette box onto a table. Then he stretched, tan skin gleaming with the glow of sweat. He looked nothing less than stunning.
After way too long staring, long enough that Wooyoung didn’t understand how he wasn’t caught, Jongho was ready to go. Already bouncing on his feet, Jongho cracked his knuckles as he shuffled out the door. Yeosang, Wooyoung, and the rest of the room trailed after him.
After grabbing Yunho from the bar on their way, they pushed through the crowd until they found their place near the ring again. They stood shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the men, their bodies pressed close in the crush of the crowd.
The crowd lost it when Jongho stepped on the ring. The fight moved fast, punches and blocks coming and going in a blur, but he stayed focused the whole fight. Step by step, strike by strike, he gained the upper hand. The crowd cheered only Jongho’s name throughout the fight; it seemed everyone already knew he would win, too. By the time the final blow landed, the room was all energy. Jongho raised his hand in quiet victory as he stepped away from the center of the ring.
His opponent didn’t get back up. Jongho’s chest heaved as he caught his breath, but his grin was pure satisfaction. Woyoung’s eyes followed him, wiping blood from his face with a rag, while Yeosang pushed forward, dragging Woyoung and Yunho by the hands, calling out Jongho’s name. The moment their eyes met, Yeosang was already there, throwing his arms around him.
Together, they drifted back toward the bar, the four of them squeezed into a half-circle near the counter. Mingi poured drinks without needing to ask, sliding them across. Yunho complimented Jongho on his win, told him he made it look easy. Jongho seemed to instantly like Yunho, maybe because of the praise, but also, Wooyoung knew Jung Yunho was someone people just instantly liked.
For a while, all it was was laughing, shouting over the music, retelling the same moments from the fight even though they’d all seen them. When Jongho disappeared to get patched up, Yeosang trailed after him, leaving Wooyoung and Yunho at the bar with Mingi. The three of them drifted from one topic to another, anything, as they got to know each other better. At one point, Wooyoung asked if they ever needed an extra hand around the place. Mingi told him they could always use a few people to help clean up at the end of the night- or technically, the early morning.
The hours passed in fun. Jongho and Yeosang eventually came back, still glowing in that post-fight way, like his adrenaline hadn’t worn off. Jongho seemed proud and calm now, clean shirt, towel still looped around his neck.
By the time Sans' fight came, and they all hurried over together, the front was already packed. Bodies pressed close, shoulder to shoulder. They barely managed to wedge themselves into a pocket of space near the back, the view mostly blocked by taller men craning forward for a glimpse. Wooyoung stretched onto his toes, fingers curling around Yunho’s arm for balance.
“Can you see anything?” Yunho asked over the noise, laughing at him. Honestly, that was a jeer.
“Barely,” Wooyoung muttered, bouncing for height.
Through a break in the crowd, San came into view finally, his jaw set, eyes sharp and filled with anger. A few minutes later, the bell rang, and the fight began. Between shifting bodies, Wooyoung caught glimpses of a strike to the other man’s ribs, multiple violent kicks, and then a nasty punch to San’s jaw that snapped his head fastly to the side.
The crowd surged forward. Yunho caught Wooyoung around the waist before he could get shoved too far, lifting him easily off his feet as people shouted and jostled for space. From up there, Wooyoung finally had a clear view.
San once again moved like the fight belonged to him once again. It was completely cocky, the grin he wore through a bleeding nose, while wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth with his thumb. As if it were nothing more than sweat. Wooyoung was drunk enough that every movement in the ring doubled before coming back into one shape. His vision kept slipping, motions blurring together, and his head rocked back and forth with a lazy dizziness.
Though, San was getting most of the hits in, he could register that much. But whoever the opponent was, he wasn’t weak. Every so often a harsh punch sank into San’s side or chest.
Then came a solid punch to the opponent’s eye socket. A punch that looked strong enough to pop the man’s eye out or crack his skull. He went flying backward, head snapping from the force.
And San had won. Again.
The usual roar of the crowd erupted around them. A streak of red ran down his temple, his hair sticking to his forehead- but San looked thrilled by it.
Once they rushed near the winner, Jongho was lingering beside his brother for a while. Leaving the rest of them to stand awkwardly behind.
Soon enough they started heading toward the back, following at a slower pace.
Inside the back room, San was already pulling off his shirt, swapping it for a clean one, spitting blood into a rag and wiping his face. Jongho said something to him quietly, a hand on his shoulder. The rest of them hovered nearby, sharing a few words between each other, but Wooyoung was focused on the brothers. Well, San.
Then Jongho turned back to the group, a big smile across his face. “Let’s go back to our apartment, smoke a little, celebrate.” he demanded, bumping San’s shoulder casually.
Wooyoung paused. Our apartment? His eyes flicked between Jongho and his brother, eyebrows raising.
Jongho turned back to San, who was now talking quietly with a money-bearing Hongjoong.
“You good enough to drive us back?” Jongho interrupted.
San’s eyes flicked up at him, then gave a side eye to Wooyooung and his friends. Wooyoung expected a gruff refusal or a sarcastic comment, but San just nodded once in approval. “Mhm. Let’s go.”
The group started heading toward the door, San leading the way. Wooyoung felt like he wanted to speak, to say something clever, or maybe bold, but the words caught in his throat. He felt nervous. So he just followed, keeping pace, his eyes flicking to San every few steps. Hongjoong stayed behind with his boyfriend, Seonghwa, and Mingi to deal with the money and clean up. Wooyoung wished they could come too.
The air outside the building was thick with smoke, so strong that Wooyoung broke into a coughing fit. Yeosang had to pat his back to help him stop, which only made Yeosang and Yunho laugh harder. The rest of them spilled out into the alley, where San’s beat-up white van waited, its headlights flickering faintly.
It looked like it had lived a hundred lives. One of the side panels was dented, the paint chipped and rusted around the wheel well, and a strip of duct tape held the bumper together.
“Everyone in,” Jongho said, tossing his duffel bag into the back with a thud, and San doing the same.
San said nothing, merely sliding the key into the ignition. Wooyoung lingered at the edge, fingers brushing the chipped paint, heart thudding for a reason he couldn’t name. But, he followed Yeosang inside. The van had a heavy scent of cigarettes and worn leather. The seats sagged with years of use, springs groaning softly as they settled beneath them. This van felt like it held a hundred stories that it had witnessed in the dark.
The drive wasn’t long, maybe ten minutes, some traffic now from the city's night life. Headlights sliding over cracked streets, the night air humid through the half-open window. Music played low from the van’s old speakers, the bass fuzzy and uneven.
Wooyoung was sat in the back, half watching San’s profile in the rearview mirror. Even with the dim light, he could see the cut on his lip and the way his jaw slightly clenched sometimes.
Jongho cracked a joke about one of the opponents from earlier, and Yeosang giggled, but San barely reacted- just a hot twitch at the corner of his mouth, Wooyoung couldn’t tell if it was amusement or irritation. At some point, San lit a cigarette. Smoke filled the van, and after Wooyoung coughed, again, San silently responded by rolling his own window all the way down now, letting the smoke escape only into the night.
They finally pulled into a narrow lot behind a, well.. run-down building. The van rattled to a stop with a cough. The paint on the building was peeling, the wood splintered, and the single flickering light above the stairwell buzzed like an insect.
Jongho hopped out first, turning to help Yeosang out. San just grunted, grabbing his and Jongho’s duffel bags from the back.
Wooyoung trailed behind, glancing up at the building again. He wasn’t sure what he had expected. Maybe something rough, since Yeosang had mentioned that Jongho lived in this part of the city, though he hadn’t thought it would be this rough.
Didn’t they make good money fighting?
Inside, the hallway walls were stained, concrete flooring, it was cold. San led the way up two flights of creaky stairs, the others following in a loose line until they reached the door at the end. Jongho unlocked it as he had the key, shoving it open with his shoulder.
The apartment was small. Two bedrooms, a tiny kitchen, and a couch that had seen better decades. Clothes were draped over chairs, a few dishes piled in the sink, and a cracked mirror leaned against the wall. Though, it was warm, comfortable. Lived in, like they seemed to make the best of it, anyway.
San tossed his bag near the couch and went straight to the fridge. “There’s beer,” he muttered. Yunho jumped up at that, grabbing a bottle from San’s hand after he popped the cap.
“Perfect,” Jongho added, flopping down on the couch- so hard the cushions wheezed.
Yeosang joined him, pulling out a lighter, waving it around cutely. “Soo.. celebration time?” Jongho nodded with a smirk while getting up to throw open a window for air. The city’s noise, honking, buildings creaking, people talking- filled the room.
A joint was lit and passed around- Jongho to Yeosang, and then to Wooyoung. He took a slow drag, the burn catching in his chest before fuzziness and euphoria crept in. Another hit. Then another. Definitely too much, too fast.
Jongho had music playing low through a cracked speaker now- some heavy bass, a rap track that thumped beneath the old wood and rattled the weak walls. It mixed into the laughter, into the scrape of bottles against the counter. Yeosang was curled against Jongho, giggling into his shoulder with lazy affection. Wooyoung sank into the couch facing the window, the city outside twinkling beside the night’s stars. Body tingling now, the neon lights sparkling through the glass, colors dancing fractured across the walls, onto San’s silhouette by the counter.
He watched the fighter move, lifting his bottle for another sip. The light caught his jaw, ran down the side of his neck. Wooyoung was high, too far gone to ignore the way his body reacted.
San finally moved through the room toward the couch, and Wooyoung watched him the whole way- up and down, every step. His eyes had gone glassy, glowing, like he might float right out of his chair. San sat close enough for Wooyoung to hand him the joint. He did, and San’s small, appreciative smile made his stomach flip.
Five minutes later, Wooyoung was all giggles. Leaning and swaying back on the couch, grinning like an idiot. The smoke curled around the room, thick, and every little movement San made seemed amplified for some reason. San kept shifting just slightly on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, fingers tapping lightly against each other, and Wooyoung couldn’t stop watching.
Yeosang was chatting about some essay he had due tomorrow, and everyone’s attention was on him. So Wooyoung turned toward San, his eyes following him and letting the others fade out of focus. He leaned just enough for San to see him close, hear him close, and let the words slip breathily.
“San.. yeah?” he practically purred, his high making his voice lazy.
San’s head lifted slowly, eyes meeting his in the low light that made him look unfairly handsome. He didn’t say anything. Just stared.
Wooyoung bit his lip, grinning wider, the joint still dangling loosely in his fingers. “You hear me?” he said, tilting his head, leaning a fraction closer. He was trying to be casual, but it just came out all flirty.
San reached over, deliberate, plucking the now burnt-out, ash-falling blunt from Wooyoung’s fingers. His eyes caught Wooyoung under the lashes.“Yeah. Hey.” He put it out gently against the ashtray.
“Yeosang’s friend?” San eyed him up and down again. “What’s your name?”
“Wooyoung,” he answered instantly, fingers nervously brushing the edge of the armchair from the attention.
“Wooyoung,” San repeated, nodding once. Then, after a long, awkward pause,
“You like watching my fights?”
He coughed, caught off guard, throat dry from the smoke. “Yeah.” His voice turned sly. “I like watching you. I came back.. to watch your fight.”
“Mine?” San leaned forward on his elbows, intrigued. “Did you bet on me?”
“Not this time,” Wooyoung said slowly, testing. “I haven't decided if you’d be a good investment yet. Next time, maybe.”
San eyes were glinting. He liked seeing someone flush and falter under his gaze, especially the way Wooyoung did. “Mm.. I could tell you when I’ll win. You could bet then.” He was enjoying how effortlessly he could make Wooyoung lean closer without even trying, and he was enjoying being a little mean about it.
Wooyoung’s eyes squinted slightly, leaning closer. “Sure. When’s that?”
“Next week.” San rolled his eyes, tilting his head toward the ceiling as if thinking really hard. “And the Saturday after that one.”
Wooyoung giggled at his confidence. “Okay.. But if I lose money ‘cause you’re cocky, you’re buying me dinner. And a drink.” He made a show of staring at San’s lips, biting, then slowly licking his own. His hand brushed against San’s leg.. by accident, of course.
When nothing happened, he leaned in just a little too close, then lost his balance, catching himself on San’s thigh.
San jerked back pretty much instantly- with a low laugh from his chest. “You’re high as hell.” He moved to shift Wooyoung slightly then, making sure he was balanced against the couch.
Wooyoung just let out a soft laugh, head tilting slightly, hair falling over his eyes. He looked up at San with a lazy, sweet smile, cheeks tinged a pretty pink. “Just a little,” he said, voice soft and teasing, fingers drumming lightly on the couch as he leaned back.
San drawled, voice deep, “How old are you, anyways?”
“Twenty.”
San’s eyes went wide for a second, then he let out a low whistle and an exasperated laugh. “Does Mingi know that? Serving you drinks all night?”
The laugh that bubbled out of Wooyoung in response, high and feminine, San loved.
“You in school?”
“College? Yeah.”
San jutted his chin toward Yeosang, curious. “The fancy one Yeosang’s in?”
Wooyoung nodded, hair slipping further into his eyes, tilting his head just slightly, soft grin lingering. “Yeah.. that one.”
Their bubble burst as Wooyoung sensed Jongho, Yeosang, and Yunho’s eyes on them in his peripheral. Instinctively, he shifted back, even though he was already far enough from San to be perfectly safe.
“You doing okay, Wooyoung-ah?”
Sinking deeper into the chair, Wooyoung stared back with half-closed, red eyes. “Yes,” he said, voice lazy and playful, tilting his head just enough to catch Yeosang’s glance. “I think my mood’s somewhere.. above my head right now.” Somewhere between all this, Yunho got up to grab him some water.
He didn’t notice the way San’s eyes followed Yunho’s every move.
By the time the next blunt had burned out, the group had settled into scattered chatter. Tired now- high and buzzed from the night’s chaos.
Across the room, Yeosang and Jongho were already debating the next fight. Yunho had downed a few more beers. An hour later, Yeosang stretched, letting out a long, tired sigh. “Alright, I think that’s enough excitement for one night. We should probably wrap this up before we completely turn into zombies.”
Jongho groaned, standing and rubbing his shoulders. “Yeah. Let’s head out. I’ll walk you guys to the subway.”
A soft laugh slipped from Wooyoung, still sinking deeper into the chair. “Fine, fine.. I’ll move,” he murmured, hair slipping over his face as he reluctantly pushed himself up.
“Don’t make me carry you,” Yeosang whined.
“I’m coming,” Wooyoung giggled, brushing a hand through his hair.
They spilled out onto the street, Jongho led the way.The ride was a blur. Wooyoung let the sway of the subway carry his exhausted body, head lolling slightly against the glass. Every stop felt like it lasted too long, every passing light outside making him dizzy.
Eventually, they all dragged themselves home. Yunho shuffled off to his apartment first, waving a tired goodbye over his shoulder. Once inside his own, Wooyoung let out a soft, “Goodnight,” to Yeosang before shuffling to his room, settling onto his bed to journal.
He pulled his knees up, notebook open on his lap. His fingers brushed the page, then drifted to his lips, biting softly as he thought of only San.
He finally put pencil to paper, scrawling words in a messy, almost frantic hand.
God, please don’t let him be straight.