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The scary thing about Wong Yukhei isn’t his size, or his resting bitch face, or even the fact that he can literally pick up a grown man and use him as a battering ram without breaking a sweat. People tend to be intimidated by his tall stature and brutal combat techniques, but those who are closer to him, who know him as more than a competent brawler, are the only ones who understand the real danger Yukhei poses.
The scary thing about Wong Yukhei is his temper.
Or more specifically, the lack of it.
Yukhei never gets angry. It’s unheard of. Contrary to Mark, who’s neurotic to a fault and goes about every day like he’s on the cusp of losing his life, Yukhei walks around like the world is made out of cotton candy and there are unicorns farting rainbows over his head.
He’s never raised his voice out of anything other than fear or concern.
He’s never gotten into a physical altercation against a fellow agent.
And above all else, he’s never said a mean word to anyone in the agency.
But that’s just Yukhei at headquarters, without three guns on his person and an arsenal of knives and gadgets that can kill an entire room full of people in less than a minute.
Yukhei on the field, however, is something entirely different.
“I’ll say this one more time,” Yukhei says to the man he’s holding against the wall by the neck. “Where’s the kid?”
The man in his grip struggles and claws at Yukhei’s hands, eyes bulging from the strength of Yukhei’s grip and lack of oxygen. Yukhei refuses to let go, instead tightening his hold around the man’s throat until he can feel the hyoid bone straining against his palm.
“There’s three doors in this room, two of which I know are booby-trapped,” Yukhei says, voice low and dangerous as he glares at his hostage. “You took one of my brothers away from me, and I want him back. Now,” he squeezes the man’s windpipe, feeling it beginning to get crushed. “Point me the right one.”
The man wheezes, his lips pulling upwards into a smug smirk, his hands not moving from where they’re clawing against Yukhei’s skin. Yukhei’s not stupid—he knows this bastard’s just wasting time. People like this will never talk, even if Yukhei does end up killing him.
So that’s exactly what Yukhei does. With his free hand, he brings up his gun, points it between the man’s eyes, and pulls the trigger. Blood spatters the wall and Yukhei’s face, and he lets go of the body, watching it crumple to the floor.
Time’s running out. There’s three identical doors facing him, and only one of them has Renjun behind it.
'Yukhei.' Taeil's voice hisses in his earpiece.
“Oh, I know.” Yukhei raises both hands, turning languidly to face the two men standing behind him, guns drawn and pointed at his face. “Hello, boys.”
One of the men steps forward, gun poised right over Yukhei’s eye. “Who the fuck sent you?”
“Me?” Yukhei grins. “Nobody sent me. Can’t a guy come here just ‘cause he wants to?”
“Bullshit,” the second guy barks, stepping forward as well. “Are you with the cops? Foreign intelligence? Who the fuck are you?”
Yukhei arches a brow, spreading his hands in a ‘look at me’ gesture. “Dude, do I look like a cop to you?”
Two guns cock at him, and Yukhei takes in a breath to prepare for what’s coming next. “I won’t say this again,” the first guy growls, stepping into Yukhei’s personal space and grabbing him by the collar of his jacket. The cold barrel of the gun presses into his temple, and Yukhei stares back into the man’s face.
God, he’s one ugly motherfucker, too.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Why,” Yukhei flashes his most charming smile, seeing the metal in his mouth reflected in the black of the man’s eyes. “I’m nobody.”
Confusion flashes across the man’s eyes for a split second, and then it’s gone. Empty eyes stare back into Yukhei before the body pitches sideways, a bloody slit in the abdomen and gun now in Yukhei’s hand.
“What the—” Yukhei raises the gun at the remaining man, a smirk tugging at his lips as the other flinches.
“Still wondering who I am?” Yukhei drawls, kicking the body aside and watching as the man before him seems to shrink on himself. “Or are we done here?”
“Y-you bastard!” Beady eyes flicker between the gun in Yukhei’s hand and the foot-long blade sticking out from underneath his sleeve, still wet with blood. Then the man’s eyes land on Yukhei’s mouth, and all the blood seems to drain from his face as recognition dawns on him.
“Y-you’re the Mad Dog of Hong Kong…”
Yukhei grins. This is the fun part about his job—seeing the fear in people’s eyes when they recognize who he is. Granted, it’s been years since he’s been addressed by the name the underground gave him. He left that life a long time ago. Though he must admit, the name still has a nice ring to it.
“I’m impressed, people still recognize me around here,” Yukhei says coolly, taking another step forward as the man takes a step back. “And what are you then, prey?”
“No!” The man straightens his posture and lowers his gun, suddenly timid. “No, sir!”
“Sir?” Yukhei steps closer, lifting the man’s head with the barrel of his gun. “So much respect all of a sudden. Who do you work for?” His bloodied blade slides over the man’s jugular, a silent threat for obedience. “And if you lie to me, you die.”
“T-the Silver Lotus, sir!” the man stutters, swallowing as Yukhei’s blade presses even closer. “We—we were told an informant was coming with details on the next opioid shipment.”
“And you captured him and what? Planned on torturing him for every last bit of information he had?” Yukhei bares his fangs, watching as the man before him cowers in fear. “What else were you planning on doing to him? Rape him? Kill him?”
“N-no sir!”
“I smell a liar.” Yukhei presses his blade closer, watching the fear in the man’s eyes grow as blood beads over the blade. “And I warned you once, didn’t I?”
“Please, have mercy! I-I’m just a lookout for the Lotus—”
“Then tell me, lookout , where is this informant?”
“T-there.” He points at the door to the left of the room. “He’s in there!”
Yukhei presses the blade closer, breaking the skin. “Liar.”
“No, I—”
The man’s eyes grow wide, then empty as Yukhei slashes his throat. Blood sprays all over him, soaking into his shirt and skin, and Yukhei spares no time with the body as he turns, firing a shot into the door to the left and hearing a thud behind it.
Of course.
They have gunmen ready and waiting for him. Yukhei smirks and drops low, right as another shot blasts a hole through the door in the middle. He rolls closer, keeping as low to the floor as possible, and fires several shots through the door, hearing another thump behind it.
That leaves one door left.
Yukhei keeps low as he approaches the door to the right, and pulls himself up when two minutes pass with no gunshot to be heard. He pulls a small rubber band from his pocket, gives it a good stretch, and loops it over the doorknob. The black band glows redder and redder by the second, and Yukhei goes for cover in the nearby corner, counting to three in his head.
A small explosion rings throughout the room, and the door caves, hitting the adjacent wall with a loud bang. Yukhei wastes no time in pulling himself back up and pokes his head into the room, gun poised and ready.
Renjun sits inside the closet-sized room, a pool of cut rope by his feet and a human head in his lap. His fingers stroke through the hair mindlessly, eyes flitting upwards to meet Yukhei’s.
“Took you long enough,” Renjun snaps, carelessly tossing the head over his shoulder. It just occurs to Yukhei that there’s a headless body a meter behind Renjun and that the entire room reeks of blood. Seems like Renjun doesn’t need to be saved as badly as he initially thought.
“Sorry.” Yukhei helps the smaller boy over some splintered wood as he exits the cramped room. “Met a fan of mine from back in the day.”
“Oh?” Renjun doesn’t look impressed. “And you couldn’t save the chit-chat and just shoot him between the eyes?”
Yukhei shrugs. “What can I say? His reaction was satisfying.”
“Sick freak,” Renjun mutters, like he isn’t also drenched in blood from neck to crotch and stroking a decapitated head a minute ago. “Have you any idea how bored I was in there without a gun? I had to kill the guy the old-fashioned way just for entertainment.”
“And?” Yukhei trails after Renjun like an oversized puppy as the younger leads them towards the fire escape. “How was it?”
“Not that fun,” Renjun admits, cracking open the window for them to climb through. “You and Mark-hyung can kill people like this, but me, I like my bombs and guns that can fire 7 bullets a second.” He nods towards the fire escape, already climbing out through the window. “Now c’mon. I’ve been trapped in there for half a day and I need to pee.”
“They live!” Chenle cheers the moment Renjun and Yukhei step foot back into the NCT main headquarters. “How was Taipei? Did you bring souvenirs?”
Renjun tosses Chenle a bag, and Chenle’s face immediately falls as he picks out a blood-stained t-shirt from inside it. “Injunnie, what the hell?”
“You said souvenir,” Renjun deadpans as he walks past the tech specialist and heads for the elevator. “You never specified what.”
Chenle whines, pouting at the bag of dirty laundry in his hands, and Yukhei takes pity on the poor boy. He taps Chenle on the shoulder, and hands him a pineapple cake, pressing a finger to his lips as Chenle’s eyes immediately lights up in glee. He passes Chenle with a short ruffle to the boy’s hair, then makes his way into the elevator right before the doors closed.
Now that Yukhei is safely back at the main headquarters, there is still some business left to be addressed. He stops by Taeyong’s office, handing in the copy of the mission reports Kun sent him, and drops by Taeil’s office to assure the IT director that everything went well.
It’s the more mundane aspects of his job, but Yukhei likes it. He hasn’t returned to Seoul in months, and it’s a nice change of pace from the China headquarters in Beijing. Here, at least he can see the sun clearly enough to appreciate it.
And, of course, Mark.
“Honey,” Yukhei calls as he opens the door to his and Mark’s apartment later that evening. “I’m home!”
Mark emerges from the kitchen, hair pushed back underneath a backwards cap and round glasses perched on his nose. He’s wearing that dumb hot pink apron Ten got them as a gag gift—the one with “Hey Hot Stuff” written across it in red cursive letters over a winking chili pepper.
“Hey,” Mark greets, crossing the short distance between them to stand before Yukhei. He has to tilt his head up to meet Yukhei’s eyes, and if that isn’t the cutest thing in the world, Yukhei doesn’t know what is. “How’d it go?”
“I killed like five people.” Yukhei counts back on his fingers, trying to recall exactly what happened during his mission. “Yeah, five people. Renjun took care of the last one.”
Mark nods. “Cool. Are you hurt anywhere? You didn’t eat yet, right?”
Yukhei grins, opening his arms to envelop the smaller man in a hug. “Nope.”
Mark squirms a little in Yukhei’s hold before getting his arms comfortably situated around the taller’s waist. He smells like fresh steamed rice and lemongrass, and Yukhei breathes it all in, feeling more relaxed than he’d been all week.
“Well, I’ve got food cooking,” Mark says, “and Jaehyun just sent over some fruit. So if you’re like, really hungry, help yourself.” He nods his head over to the table, where a bowl of apples and bananas sit pretty inside a large ceramic bowl.
“But why’d I wanna eat food when I have you right here?” Yukhei says, smirking as Mark’s eyes grow wide and his cheeks instantly flush pink.
“Don’t say that!” Mark squeaks, hitting Yukhei’s chest weakly as he struggles to escape the hug. “You can’t just walk in here and say things like that—”
“Why not?” Yukhei pouts, pulling his signature puppy eyes. Mark falters, and Yukhei smirks on the inside as he sees Mark’s resolve wilt right in front of him. “It’s been a long day, Mark. I want some love.”
“I feed you, Wong Yukhei,” Mark grumbles, burrowing his red face into Yukhei’s chest. “Isn’t that enough?”
“Nope.” Yukhei tilts Mark’s face up with a finger and points to his lips. “C’mere.”
Mark squirms and protests, but Yukhei knows it’s not serious, because Mark is barely using any of his actual strength to push him away. The blush that sits nice and pretty on his face only grows redder and redder as Yukhei closes the distance between them. Mark tastes sweet, and Yukhei’s almost positive it’s because he’s been sneaking candies while he cooks. Mark has always had a bad habit of eating junk food before meals.
Yukhei brings a hand to cradle the back of Mark’s head and deepens the kiss, licking gently over Mark’s lips until the other opens his mouth to grant him access. He lets Mark take the lead for a short while, before gently nipping on the other’s lips with his teeth. Mark whimpers as the pointed metal threatens to break his skin, but Yukhei isn’t that much of a sadist to actually hurt him like that.
When Mark sighs into the kiss, Yukhei swallows it completely, and in this moment, he feels nothing but pure bliss as his senses are overridden with Mark, Mark, Mark.
Mark is home .
Mark is the sign that he’s still alive and breathing on this planet, and a reminder that no matter how many people he’s killed, Yukhei is still a human being. He’s the only person alive on this planet who knows all the faces of Yukhei, and who loves each and every one equally, even if it’s not outwardly shown. And god, Yukhei doesn’t think he can ever love another person in this world as much as he loves Mark Lee, the perpetually ill-lucked prodigy from Canada who almost gets himself killed on a regular basis.
They break away too soon for Yukhei’s liking, but Mark is heaving for breath as he stares up at Yukhei, and the sight of him so flustered and kiss-drunk is absolutely worth it. Yukhei leans forward and steals one last peck, and Mark whines, pushing himself away and pointing at the dining table.
“Okay, you got what you want,” he says breathlessly. “Now sit your ass down.”
“You wound me, Mark Lee.” Yukhei sighs, holding his hand over his heart. “We had a moment, a connection, you and I.”
Mark throws his hands up and power-walks to the kitchen. “Yukhei, just sit down so I can feed you, damn it.”
He’s talking to Yukhei like he’s some sort of dog, and Yukhei finds that he doesn’t really mind it. Mark’s most likely just stressed and embarrassed and has no other way to show it. And to be fair, he did make Yukhei food, so he’s not exactly in a place to complain, either.
“Yukhei!” Mark calls, carrying a pot to the table. “What’re you standing there for, dude? C’mon, sit down!”
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Yukhei makes his way to the table, seeing the generous helping of rice in his bowl as well as the hearty stew Mark has prepared. He doesn’t hesitate before digging in, savoring every bite of food, because contrary to popular belief, Mark is an excellent cook.
If anyone had told Yukhei five years earlier that he would be sitting at a table with a cute boy across from him, cooking him food and loving him, Yukhei would laugh in their face and probably bite them to death.
‘Mad Dog’, they called him back in the streets and underworld of Hong Kong, with fear and terror in their voices.
‘Agent Wong’, they call him at headquarters, with awestruck eyes and nods of respect.
‘Yukhei’, Mark calls him, exasperation and fondness mixed into his voice as he stares at him, a small smile on his lips.
Of all the names and faces associated with him, Yukhei decides that he likes the one he shows around Mark the most. There’s no threat, no professionalism involved. It’s just him—just Yukhei.
Yukhei, who can’t cook to save his life and is maybe accountable for at least 15 of the tallies on Mark’s board of near-death experiences. Who laughs too loudly and doesn’t know his own strength when it comes to combat training. Who knits everyone scarves for Christmas and is the prime test dummy for Chenle and Jaemin’s new inventions.
Who held a scared Canadian boy in his arms when bullets rained on them from outside a supposedly hidden safehouse.
Who fell in love the moment said Canadian boy whipped out the largest machine gun Yukhei’s ever seen in his life and began firing back.
And who is still in love as the beautiful man before him watches with absolutely no judgement as Yukhei pulls the entire pot of stew towards him and begins eating out of it.
Honestly, Yukhei doesn’t care how ugly his face looks right now, dripping with stew and bulging from all the food he’s crammed into his mouth.
All he cares is that Mark is the only one who will ever see it.