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Geonhak supposes it’s funny that they call them the docks. There’s no water in Omene City that hasn’t been shipped in and pumped through the filtration systems a thousand times, but old habits die hard. Wherever ships land to move things place to place, there are docks and there are dock-workers.
And where there are ships, there are people looking to take what’s not theirs.
The Union provides him some measure of protection as he moves through the city — every dock-worker with two working brain cells joins the Union sooner than later — but it’s not a sure thing. There’re always other gangs looking to expand their turf, and one lone Union member isn’t going to pose much of a threat against them.
So when Geonhak rounds the corner and catches the signature green glow of a couple of Emerald Razors looking to make a move, he turns tail right back towards the docks.
He knows the next alley turns out onto the main thoroughfare if he follows it long enough, and then he can lose himself in the crowds — but that assumes he can make it that far. He can hear the sawbuzz of their blades on the ground, raw laser hitting the metal grate of the street and propelling them after him.
His lungs ache even with the nano-enhancements that reinforce his alveoli — his legs are no real match for boys on laserblades, but he’s almost there. Two more turns and he’ll be safe. They wouldn’t dare make a move in plain sight of the cameras and cops out there.
Geonhak curses loudly, skidding and nearly tripping over himself as another Razor appears at the distant head of his escape route. Shit. He takes a left turn down a different alley while he desperately tries to think through his options.
“Quick! In here!”
Geonhak doesn’t think twice before following the unfamiliar voice through a barely visible doorway, easily hidden by trash and shadow. Someone shoves at him as soon as he's over the threshold, getting him out of the way so they can slam the door shut and activate a set of locks and cloaking mechanisms too recent and clean to be part of the original building.
"What the fuck," Geonhak whispers, squinting in the dark — he'd never sprung for retinal implants, and he's regretting it now. "I can't fucking see in here."
"You don't have mods?" Geonhak hears his rescuer muttering halfway across what sounds like a large room before a dim light flips on.
Geonhak huffs a disbelieving laugh, still recovering his breath — they're in the abandoned lobby of a fucking RealiHub. He's pretty sure the last one closed down fifteen years ago when he was just a kid, but the shelves full of VR-reels-for-rent and branded gear litter the floor and plaster the walls.
People must have been squatting here since, cans and wrappers and graffiti and burn marks everywhere his eye lands. A dilapidated couch has been brought in from god-knows-where.
"You okay?"
The first thing Geonhak notices about the guy is his bright orange hair. The second thing is that when Geonhak's interface attempts to scan for name and ID, nothing comes up — this building must be a dead zone, no connection available to the ‘net at all.
"Uh, yeah." Geonhak doesn’t step any further into the room, keeping close to the door. He must look wary because the guy rolls his eyes.
"Relax. If I wanted to kill you, I would've let the Razors do it instead of risking my very safe location." A sunny grin. "I'm Seoho."
"Geonhak. Thanks for the save." He takes a tentative step into the room. “So, do you know what's got them so mad out there?"
Seoho’s grin falls slightly, but not entirely. He flops onto the ground, back up against one of the ruined shelves and legs sprawled in front of him.
“I… might have stolen something of theirs,” Seoho admits.
“You what.” Geonhak has never heard anything so stupid. From his pocket, Seoho pulls a data chip — likely a relic, given that they haven’t been widely used for at least forty years.
“Are you telling me,” Geonhak says, very slowly in an attempt to keep his voice level and quiet, “that you brought the Razors down on both of us for a data chip?”
“In fairness to me, it’s very valuable.”
Geonhak flops down on the dilapidated couch, scrubbing his hands over his face. He had takeout waiting for him in his fridge, and a movie he wanted to watch. He was going to go to bed early, for god’s sake.
“How fucking valuable could it possibly be?”
Seoho grins. “Arcadia valuable.”
Geonhak sucks in a breath. Getting a one-way ticket to Arcadia costs more than he makes in a year, let alone trying to live there. Every dockworker’s dream — clean streets, fresh food, a clear view of the stars. Or at least, that’s what he’s seen in the tourism reels they play at the DMV.
“And you think you’re gonna go there?” he says, giving Seoho a dubious look.
“Nah.” Seoho’s playing with the chip, rolling it between his fingers like a magic trick. “Lots more I could do down here than up there. Nothing interesting happening in Arcadia.”
Geonhak snorts. “Do you make a habit of pissing off powerful people?”
Seoho’s giggle is unexpected, high and cute, his eyes shrinking further into little crescent moons. Geonhak feels the oxymoronic urge to hear more of it and to shut him up.
“Only if they deserve it,” Seoho replies.
“So, what, you’re some kind of vigilante?”
“I guess.” Seoho draws out the word, stowing the data chip back in his pocket. “It’s not like I’m making unilateral decisions or anything. There are plans.”
Suddenly, pieces fall into place and Geonhak’s left with a welling sense of dread.
“Oh, fuck,” he breathes. “You’re one of the Neon Moons, aren’t you?”
Seoho’s expression remains largely intact, but Geonhak can tell he’s wary.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Seoho says, quiet and slow. He brings his palms down to the floor — readying himself to jump up at a moment’s notice. As answers go, it’s practically a yes and they both know it.
“Tell me why I shouldn’t just call the cops on this location right now,” Geonhak growls, “because I’d rather deal with the entire force than be caught dead with a Neon Moon.” His fingers twitch instinctively towards the interface that floats in the air near his palm, visible only to him.
“Because this chip is dangerous,” Seoho blurts, “and if I don’t keep it away from them, it’ll be really, really bad for everyone in Omene.”
“Bad how?”
“Bad, like, the Razors take the whole city kind of bad. Like, lots of people die, kind of bad.”
Geonhak’s brow furrows. “You’re lying. You said it was valuable, you’re just trying to make money.”
“It is! Kind of.” Seoho’s eyes are wide. “My crew, we’re getting paid to find it and bring it back so we can destroy it. You take it out of here and try to sell it, no one’s gonna buy.”
As stories go, it makes sense in a twisted-up kind of way. Geonhak relaxes slightly, running a hand through his hair — he can feel a headache building.
“Also, you can’t call anyone, ‘cause I blocked the signal,” Seoho quickly adds, before sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, watching Geonhak’s expression carefully.
Fuck.
“Fine,” he grumbles. “Do whatever you want, as long as I never have to hear about this again after this is over.”
Seoho lets out a relieved little sigh, slumping down against the countertop again. Quiet overtakes them, nothing but the distant creak and hum of the city filtered through the thick concrete walls of this abandoned wreckage.
“We should probably wait a few hours at least,” Seoho says, breaking the silence. “The longer, the better.”
Geonhak shrugs. “Sure.”
The longer they sit there in the quiet, the more Seoho begins to fidget — Geonhak can tell from the motions of his fingers that he’s flicking through his interface, over and over, the repetitive gestures beginning to irk Geonhak the longer they go on in his peripheral vision.
“Can you stop?” he demands.
Seoho flicks his eyes up to the ceiling, like he’s really considering it. He sucks on his bottom lip again, letting it go with an obnoxious pop.
“Probably not, unless you get a lot more entertaining.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Geonhak demands.
“I don’t know,” muses Seoho, drawing his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on them. “Do you have any talents? Juggling? Poetry?”
“No. Any other ideas?”
Geonhak stares at him, and Seoho stares right back.
“Do you wanna make out?” Seoho asks with a grin. It’s so sudden, his smile is so blinding that Geonhak honestly splutters for a moment, heat rushing to his cheeks and ears.
Seoho’s eyes go wide. “I was kidding.”
“Were you?”
“I mean…” Seoho tilts his head, as if assessing something fully imperceptible about Geonhak. “We are stuck here for a while, and you’re hot enough—”
“Wow, thanks.”
“—so I’m down if you are.”
Geonhak should say no, but something about Seoho makes him reconsider — maybe it’s his honesty when Geonhak had demanded answers, or the hint of danger underneath his oddly cheerful demeanor. Maybe it’s just that he’s pretty, and Geonhak’s tired and hasn’t been kissed in longer than he cares to remember.
“Yeah,” he mumbles, “sure.”
“Wow, don’t get too excited,” Seoho laughs, pushing himself off the floor. Geonhak sucks in a breath as Seoho swings a leg over his lap, settling down on his thighs like he’s done it a million times, like they aren’t strangers stuck together by a stupid twist of fate and trapped by bloodthirsty Razors outside.
“Don’t grab my left forearm too hard, the cybernetics are finicky,” Seoho says. “You got anything I should avoid?”
Geonhak shakes his head — all his mods are internal, shoring up his bones and organs.
“Cool.” Seoho tilts his head again, like some kind of small, curious creature. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”
And he does. His lips are warm, and soft — a luxury when the city’s thin, recycled air tends to dry out skin faster than you could slap moisturizer on it. Geonhak can only imagine that his lips feel like sandpaper, but he can’t linger too long because Seoho’s hands come up to frame his jaw and tilt his head just so, tongue slipping into Geonhak’s mouth.
Geonhak’s breath shudders out, loud in his own ears. He grabs onto Seoho’s waist, desperate for something to ground him, fingers digging in hard enough to hurt, but Seoho doesn’t shy away.
Seoho licks his lips as he pulls back, grinning at the wide-eyed look Geonhak gives him.
“Well?” he says.
Geonhak opens his mouth, but he has absolutely nothing to say. Instead, he leans forward, kisses Seoho again, harder this time. Seoho gasps, but he doesn’t pull away. He lets Geonhak push himself closer, his hands finding the back of Seoho’s neck, pulling until there’s no space between them, no air left.
Seoho’s fingers wind into his hair and tug, and Geonhak jolts with a quiet, “fuck.” Seoho giggles against his lips.
“That’s cute,” he says, and before Geonhak can protest he tugs again, harder. “It’s like you have an off button.”
“Shut u— ah!” Geonhak squeezes his eyes shut as Seoho pulls and doesn’t let go, forcing his neck to crane back and exposing his throat.
“Wow,” Seoho laughs, “quiet down or the Razors will hear you.”
“Fuck you,” Geonhak grumbles, but he can’t help the noises that escape as Seoho ducks down to kiss along the side of his neck.
“Sure, maybe, if you’re really lucky,” Seoho says against his skin, criss-crossed with tiny silvery scars, and Geonhak can’t deny the way his body softens and leans into the sensation, fingers curling around Seoho’s waist to grind him down and—
There’s a frantic beeping from somewhere across the room, cutting through the soft, organic sounds of their making out. Seoho tenses, startled, and then pulls back.
“He always has such perfect timing,” he mutters, rolling his eyes and clambering off Geonhak’s lap. Exposed, Geonhak realizes that he’s half-hard, and he tries to surreptitiously adjust himself in his pants as Seoho flips on a small physical monitor on one of the rickety shelves.
“Who?” Geonhak asks, and then, “wait, I thought this was a dead zone?”
“It is, this is wired,” Seoho says, eyes scanning quickly over the monitor’s readout before he straightens and his eyes flick to Geonhak. “Our ride is here, if you want it.”
“If I— is my other option the front door?”
“Yep!” Seoho crosses his arms across his chest, his cybernetics glinting in the low light. “The Razors are probably gone, but I’d still take the ride if I were you.”
Geonhak swallows. “I’ll take the ride, thanks. Do they know you’re bringing a plus one?”
“Nah, but Hwanwoong won’t mind,” Seoho says, gesturing for Geonhak to follow him towards a back entrance. “He’ll try to convert you to the cause, though, so fair warning. Big speech and everything.”
Seoho stops him suddenly, pushes him against the wall with his arm across Geonhak’s chest, pinning him. Geonhak’s first instinct is to push him off, but Seoho’s eyes are narrowed and brimming with danger.
“But if you don’t join us… we’ll have to erase your memories.”
Geonhak’s blood goes cold. “What?”
Seoho grins, stepping back like nothing had happened. “Just kidding! Come on, don’t wanna keep him waiting.”
As he follows Seoho down the hallway and out the back door to the waiting plasma car, still feeling the imprint of Seoho’s lips on his neck, Geonhak decides he doesn’t like this guy very much.