Archive of Our Own ^beta

In-ho’s hurried footsteps echoed through the empty hallway. Carrying him toward the man he might kill tonight.

After finally reaching the end of the hallway, he looked up at the tiny camera above. It scanned his mask for a single second.

Identity confirmed. The automatic door allowed him to enter into a much darker stretch. The nightshade hallway was meant to confuse anyone who didn’t belong—not In-ho, though. This was almost like muscle memory to him.

After a final turn, the space turned into a narrower corridor he walked through before standing still in front of the door for a moment, then raising his gloved hand to press flat against the biometric panel. In an instant, the heavy metal door slid open smoothly.

Without so much as a glance, the officer was already standing by the counter, the unlit cigarette sitting between his lips. In-ho fought the urge to wrap his hands around his neck right here and there.

“Tell me, officer—when exactly did you start thinking my rules no longer applied to you?” In-ho said in a concerningly calm tone. “Or did my lack of interest in your side hustle make you forget yourself?”

The officer let out a low, amused huff without turning. Both hands came up to shield the lighter’s flame. The tip of the cigarette glowed as he drew in deeply.

“Would you like to tell me why is it—” In-ho pressed on, “I’m hearing that one of your deliveries is sitting in a police evidence room, getting investigated?”

The tip glowed faintly as he took the first drag—taking a moment to breathe it in before responding.

His gaze traced over In-ho, lingering just a fraction longer than necessary before breaking away. A faint curl tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“You really think I’d leave a trail here?” His voice showed a hint of amusement. He let the pause stretch. “Clearly, you’ve been gone too long.”

In-ho sucked in a breath, his demeanor stilling for a second before he reached to the back of his head and unclasped his mask away.

His cold gaze now fixated on the officer’s face, betraying no emotion as he stepped in closer. “Hyun-woo.”

“Hyun-woo,” he repeated, firmer this time. “How fucking stupid do you think I am?”

The officer didn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked over In-ho’s face.

“I already put up with your dirty work,” In-ho went on, voice sharp now. “Then you start breaking rules, breaking chain of command, involving outsiders—and you truly think handing over two disposable idiots like that’s supposed to clean your shit? If the police dig an inch deeper, we’re both fucked.”

Without breaking eye contact, Hyun-woo started to wander in the room. “Well,” he began, “you’d just find the right someone to cover the tracks, right?” He tapped the cigarette gently to shake off the ash.

In-ho’s still gaze unsettled him slightly. Those dark eyes pinned him down—they were cold, expressionless, and unfeeling.

Something tugged at his heart as the image of a once lively In-ho flickered through his mind. Then again, he could hardly claim to be much different himself.

One minute. Two. Neither of the men broke the unspoken eye contest.

Suddenly, strong gloved hands lunged at Hyun-woo’s shoulders—pinning him instantly against the wall, his back slamming with a thud.

“Do you think this is a joke?” He tried to break free, but In-ho tightened his hold, his grip unforgivable. “Hyun-woo,” his voice was low, “I could snap your neck right here and there, and you’d be replaced before the day is done. Are you testing that?”

Hyun-woo exhaled smoke slowly, In-ho’s eyes staring daggers at him.

“No.” Hyun-woo said, a sardonic grin playing at his lips. “Not at all, sir.”

“Then, what is it you think you’re doing?” In-ho said, his voice tightening.

Hyun-woo tilted his head against the wall. “You’ve been… distracted lately, sir.” He kept the polite title with a smirk, almost mocking.

In-ho’s grip tightened, fingers digging into his shoulders. “You really think now’s the time to run your mouth?”

“I think,” Hyun-woo continued, lowering the cigarette from his lips, letting the smoke settle into the narrowed space between them, “you’ve been a bit too fixated on a certain thing... or rather a certain player.”

In-ho sucked in a deep breath, pressing his chest harder against Hyun-woo’s—angrier now.

“Pick your next words carefully, Officer.”

In-ho hadn’t crushed his throat yet. That was enough to give Hyun-woo a small boost of confidence—he knew for a fact he was listening now.

“Number 456, wasn’t it?” In-ho’s stare sharpened. “You’ve been watching him for too long, leaning too forward on a single horse—” Hyun-woo’s voice was almost too sweet for his words. “The games need to be sharp. I need you to be sharp.” He shrugged lightly against the wall.

“I pushed a pin to test you.” He slid a thumb along In-ho’s jaw—light as a feather. “And... you didn’t disappoint.”

In-ho’s hand shot out, grasping Hyun-woo’s wrist with a calm but unforgiving hold. “You’re here to follow orders, not to test me.” The intensity of his gaze locked on him. “I am your superior.”

In contrast to In-ho’s burning gaze, Hyun-woo’s eyes softened. “I’m here to keep everything on track, including my superior.”

“You are not to question me. Ever.”

Hyun-woo hummed. “No, that would be above my pay grade,” he said, and it sounded like he was making a joke. In-ho didn’t laugh.

In contrast to In-ho’s burning gaze, Hyun-woo’s eyes softened. “Let me fix the mess, In-ho. Quietly. For you,” he said as he lifted his free hand up, still holding the smoke, and pressed it between In-ho’s lips.

In-ho’s eyes narrowed, his face betraying no emotions as he let the cigarette rest between his lips. He inhaled slowly, then pushed the smoke out—letting it curl through the cramped space between them.

For a moment, silence lay thick between them. The room was full of tension. Then, without breaking eye contact, In-ho released his grip on Hyun-woo before turning around and stepping toward the emerald armchair Hyun-woo had been using.

He sank down with ease, velvet plush familiar against his back. “You’ve got one chance to clean this up, Hyun-woo. Don’t waste it.”

Hyun-woo stepped up behind him, fingers brushing lightly over the tight muscles at the base of In-ho’s neck. His hands settled gently on In-ho’s shoulders, kneading slowly—an intimate, grounding touch.

“You carry too much on those shoulders,” Hyun-woo murmured, leaning down, his breath hot near In-ho’s ear.

“Perhaps,” In-ho let out a dry chuckle, leaning his head back a little to look up at him. “But careful there, or I might start thinking you’re going soft.”

Hyun-woo only looked down slightly at him with a soft, pensive smile.

For several long minutes, the room was still—broken only by Hyun-woo’s steady kneading, In-ho’s occasional groans, and the curl of smoke filling the air between them.

Hyun-woo couldn’t remember the last time he saw In-ho this relaxed. Slow. Free, even if just for a moment, from the weight of the deadly games that doomed them both.

But then again, could he really blame him? This place demands it—forces you to strip away every last bit of emotion inside of you. Forces you to detach from reality until seeing bloodshed becomes like any other Tuesday.

Ultimately, it’s kind of ironic that Hyun-woo’s path ended up here. After all, he tried to escape his homeland—his prison—for so long, only to land in another one. Just with more blood staining his hands now.

Hyun-woo then broke the silence.

“What is it about number 456 that holds you in such a tight grip?” Hyun-woo said, his hand sliding smoothly to trace a faint line on In-ho’s neck.

In-ho drew in a long drag, releasing the smoke gently. “Winners teach you things,” he said, his voice practiced. “How people go on to live their lives after their faith in humanity is stripped away.” His eyes stayed on the smoke, avoiding Hyun-woo’s.

Hyun-woo let out a dry snort, his hands stiffening in their movement. “Sounds like you’re starting to care,” his voice low—a challenge.

For a moment, In-ho’s jaw clenched. A debate raged inside him—he saw player 456 not just as a winner, but as a possibility; that someone could take the prize, leave all of this bad dream behind, and maybe find something real again, go back to his daughter.

He pushed those thoughts away quickly—thinking with anything but his mind and logic was dangerous here, even if only for a moment.

Of course, that flicker of doubt wasn’t lost on Hyun-woo.

Soon after, In-ho stood up abruptly, flicking the cigarette butt into the ashtray with a sharp tap.

“There’s still work to get back to—you’re still not off the radar yet for that little slip-up. So, keep your head clear,” he said in a cool and dismissive tone.

“Oh, I’ll keep it clear all right. Just like you keep everything else ‘under control.’”

Hyun-woo took slow, deliberate steps toward him—closing the space between them until he stood just a breath away. His hand rose casually, resting against In-ho’s chest, fingers splayed with a lazy smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

In-ho’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t push the hand away. Instead, he scanned Hyun-woo up and down.

“This isn’t a game you walk away from, officer. You learn to live with it.”

Without another word, In-ho turned and moved quickly toward the door. The heavy metal slid closed behind him smoothly, as if he was nothing more than a phantom passing through.

Hyun-woo’s hand dropped slowly, lingering for a moment on the spot In-ho was standing in a moment ago. His smirk faded quickly.

“Keep saying that, but you’re just another player, Hwang.”