Chapter Text
The night was thick with anticipation as the elegant club swelled with the clinking of glasses and murmurs of wealth. Mark Lee sat at his reserved booth, his sharp eyes scanning the room. He wasn’t here for the show, nor for the crowd. He had business to conduct. But despite his usual vigilance, something about tonight felt different. The air was charged, the kind of charge that came before a storm.
He leaned back, his fingers drumming lightly against the table as he waited for the signal—a subtle nod from his informant that the deal was ready. But the signal never came.
Instead, the lights dimmed, and the music shifted into something sultry, drawing the audience’s attention toward the stage. Mark's gaze followed, out of habit more than interest. A figure emerged from behind the velvet curtains—a woman in a blood-red gown, her face partially obscured by a delicate lace mask. The spotlight cast her in a haunting glow as she began to move, every step deliberate, every motion designed to captivate.
But Mark wasn’t easily swayed by performances. He had seen many. Still, something about the way she moved was familiar—a dangerous sort of familiarity that set his instincts on edge. He straightened slightly, his attention sharpening as she danced her way closer.
The woman glided through the tables, a slow and sensual approach that seemed part of the act. But it wasn’t just the grace of her movements or the elegance of her crimson gown that caught his attention; it was the startling beauty beneath the disguise. The mask did little to obscure the striking features—a flawless complexion, lips painted a deep shade of red, and eyes that glinted like dark jewels under the lights. It wasn’t the beauty of a typical performer, though—there was a sharpness, a dangerous allure in every glance, every step.
As she neared Mark’s booth, her gaze locked onto his, and he felt it—a flash of recognition. Those eyes, large and expressive, framed by the delicate curves of her face, were unmistakable even with the makeup and the mask.
Donghyuck.
Mark’s pulse quickened, adrenaline shooting through his veins, though he kept his composure. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, as if he hadn’t just recognized his would-be assassin.
The woman, Donghyuck in disguise, circled his table, drawing closer with each turn of the song. Her lips curled into a slow, seductive smile, one that seemed to promise something dangerous. Up close, the illusion was even more striking—Donghyuck’s beauty was ethereal, almost otherworldly, a breathtaking facade that concealed lethal intent. He looked more stunning than any real performer could, every detail carefully crafted to enchant, yet Mark could see through it, could sense the deadly game beneath the charm.
The last twirl brought Donghyuck close enough for Mark to reach out and catch his wrist, stopping him mid-dance. To the crowd, it looked like part of the show, but the intensity between the two was palpable, a hidden tension masked by the applause.
Mark’s voice was low, barely audible over the music. “You should’ve picked a better disguise, Hyuck. You’re too beautiful for this to go unnoticed.”
Donghyuck’s lips barely moved, but his smirk was evident as he spoke in a voice only Mark could hear. “I don’t think anyone’s complaining.” His tone was laced with amusement and a touch of vanity, the kind that came from knowing how to wield beauty like a weapon. “Besides, where’s the fun in going unnoticed?”
The final note of the song rang out, and the crowd erupted into applause, none the wiser to the dangerous intimacy unfolding at the booth. For a split second, everything hung in the balance. The knife Donghyuck had concealed in his sleeve was ready, and Mark’s reflexes, as sharp as ever, would need to be faster.
Mark tightened his grip on Donghyuck’s wrist, pulling him down to sit beside him. The sudden closeness brought a new kind of tension—a breathless, electric charge in the space between them. His gaze roamed over Donghyuck’s face, lingering on the fullness of his lips and the way the mask framed his elegant features.
Mark raised an eyebrow, his tone taking on a teasing edge. “So, what’s your plan? Seduce me to death?”
Donghyuck laughed softly, his voice a low, velvety sound. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ll just get close enough to end this with a whisper.” There was a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes, a challenge that dared Mark to see through the beauty and glimpse the knife hidden just beneath.
Mark’s eyes gleamed, his grip still firm but no longer harsh. “Well, you’ve definitely got my attention.”
----
The applause faded into a dull murmur as the club resumed its usual buzz of conversation and laughter. The dim lighting cast a soft glow over the polished tables, and servers weaved through the patrons, their trays laden with drinks. But at Mark's booth, a different kind of tension lingered—sharp, quiet, and deadly.
Donghyuck remained seated beside Mark, his posture deceptively relaxed. There was a glint in his eye, one that hinted at both mischief and menace. He hadn't made any overt moves, yet Mark knew the danger was far from over. His hand remained loosely around Donghyuck’s wrist, just enough to feel the pulse beating steadily beneath the skin, a reminder that his adversary was as alive as ever—and so was the threat.
“Let go,” Donghyuck whispered, his tone as smooth as velvet. He didn’t try to pull away; instead, he leaned in, close enough that his breath fanned over Mark’s ear. “Or are you afraid I’ll disappear if you do?”
Mark’s grip loosened, but he didn’t release him entirely. “I’m not afraid of a little escape act. But I think you owe me an explanation.”
Donghyuck chuckled, a low sound that sent a shiver down Mark's spine. “An explanation?” he echoed, turning his head slightly to meet Mark’s gaze. His eyes sparkled with something between amusement and mockery. “You and I both know what this is. You’re the mark, and I’m the hitman.” He let the words hang in the air, as if savoring their weight. “Or did you think I’d come here just to dance for you?”
Mark’s expression didn’t waver, though the corners of his mouth curled into a half-smirk. “You’ve always been theatrical, Hyuck. But showing up in a dress? That’s a new level.”
“Desperate times,” Donghyuck murmured. His free hand slipped down to his thigh, where the hem of his dress concealed a hidden holster. Mark caught the movement, his senses sharpening. But instead of a gun, Donghyuck’s fingers closed around a tiny vial, one filled with a shimmering, colorless liquid. He held it up, the light catching the glass as he twirled it between his fingers. “Do you know what this is?”
Mark’s gaze flickered to the vial, his jaw tightening. “Poison?”
“A very special kind,” Donghyuck replied, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Odorless, tasteless. It dissolves in seconds, and death follows shortly after.” He tilted his head, a playful glint in his eye. “It’s already in your drink.”
For the first time, Mark’s composure slipped, just a fraction. He hadn’t touched the glass on the table, but the possibility that the poison had been administered in other ways ran through his mind in rapid succession. He glanced at Donghyuck, who was watching him closely, as though waiting for the realization to fully sink in.
“You’re bluffing,” Mark said, though there was a hint of caution in his voice. He shifted in his seat, readying himself to act if necessary.
“Am I?” Donghyuck’s smile widened. He leaned back, placing the vial on the table between them with a delicate tap. “The antidote is in my possession, of course. And if I’ve timed it correctly, you’ll be needing it very soon.”
Mark’s mind raced. Donghyuck was skilled, that much was certain. But was he bold enough to actually poison Mark without a guarantee of success? There was only one way to find out. Mark reached for the vial, his fingers curling around it, but before he could bring it closer for inspection, Donghyuck’s hand closed over his, stopping him in his tracks.
“Ah-ah,” Donghyuck chided softly. “You’re not making this fun. Where’s your sense of risk?”
Mark’s eyes narrowed. He could feel the press of something sharp digging into his palm—another hidden blade, or perhaps a needle. The feeling wasn’t entirely unfamiliar; it reminded him of other times they’d crossed paths, other dangerous encounters where Donghyuck’s methods had been less than straightforward. The history between them ran deep, and it wasn’t always defined by enmity. Sometimes, it had blurred into something else—something more personal.
He locked eyes with Donghyuck, who still held his hand in a grip that was firm but not aggressive, almost as if the contact itself was more meaningful than the threat. Mark’s voice was calm, his tone edged with curiosity. “Why are you really here, Hyuck? Is it just for the kill, or is there something else you want?”
Donghyuck’s smile softened into something unreadable. “Maybe I’m here to give you a choice.” He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against Mark’s ear. “Or maybe I’m here because I’m tired of running.”
The confession, if it could be called that, was whispered so quietly that it seemed almost like an afterthought, a crack in the otherwise impenetrable facade. Mark felt a strange flicker of something—pity, or perhaps understanding. But before he could process the moment, Donghyuck moved again, swiftly and decisively. He slipped his hand out of Mark’s grasp and pushed the vial back across the table, far from reach.
Mark’s eyes followed the motion, and then he caught the flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye—Donghyuck was standing now, stepping away from the booth with graceful ease. “The antidote, should you need it, will be waiting for you,” Donghyuck said over his shoulder, his voice trailing off as he walked toward the exit. “But you’ll have to find me first.”
As Donghyuck disappeared into the club’s shadows, Mark was left staring at the empty seat beside him. He could feel his pulse quickening—not from fear, but from the anticipation of a chase that had just begun. Donghyuck had left him with more questions than answers, and the uncertainty hung in the air like a challenge.
For now, there was no sign of poisoning, no symptoms surfacing, but Mark wasn’t about to dismiss the possibility. If Donghyuck was bluffing, he’d called it well. If not, then Mark had little time to waste.
He stood, pocketing the vial as he made his way toward the exit. The night was far from over, and as far as he was concerned, the game was just getting started.
---
The night air was crisp as Mark stepped out of the club, his breath visible in the glow of the neon lights lining the narrow alley. The hum of the city surrounded him—distant traffic, the low murmur of voices, the occasional burst of laughter from nearby establishments. But all of it felt muted, distant. His focus was entirely on one thing: finding Donghyuck before the effects of the supposed poison could manifest, if it hadn’t already.
Mark’s mind raced with possibilities. Donghyuck wasn’t one to make empty threats, and if there was even a sliver of truth to his claim, Mark had little time to play it safe. The antidote was out there, and it was clear that Donghyuck wanted to be pursued. This was more than just an assassination attempt—it was a test, or maybe even a twisted game.
Mark moved swiftly, weaving through the back alleys where the club’s performers often went to avoid unwanted attention. He scanned the surroundings for any sign of Donghyuck, his footsteps echoing off the brick walls as he ventured deeper into the labyrinthine network of alleyways. The darkness seemed to stretch on endlessly, broken only by the occasional flicker of a streetlamp.
As he rounded a corner, a faint shuffle of movement caught his attention. Mark’s senses sharpened, and his hand instinctively moved to the concealed weapon strapped to his side. But the alley was empty—or at least it appeared that way. He narrowed his eyes, his gaze sweeping the area with caution.
A flash of red.
It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but enough for Mark to notice the hint of crimson fabric disappearing around the next corner. Without hesitation, he gave chase, his stride lengthening as he closed the distance between himself and the retreating figure.
The chase took them deeper into the underbelly of the city, where the streets twisted into confusing dead ends and narrow passages. Mark was relentless, refusing to lose sight of Donghyuck, who seemed to dart in and out of view like a shadow. It was as though Donghyuck was deliberately keeping himself just within reach, taunting him with the illusion of progress.
Finally, they emerged into a dimly lit courtyard, surrounded by towering buildings that cast long, ominous shadows. Mark stopped in the center, his breath steady despite the chase. Donghyuck stood on the far side, half-shrouded in darkness, his expression unreadable. The red dress he wore seemed out of place here, a stark contrast against the grimy backdrop of the city’s hidden corners.
“You’re fast,” Donghyuck remarked, his voice carrying a note of amusement. “But then again, I didn’t expect anything less from you.”
Mark’s eyes locked onto Donghyuck, his jaw tightening. “What’s your objective, Hyuck?” he demanded, his voice cold. “You go to all this trouble, disguise yourself, poison me—or at least pretend to—and then you run. Why?”
Donghyuck took a step forward, his movements unhurried. “You always did like having answers,” he said softly, almost as if he were reminiscing. “But some things aren’t meant to be explained, Mark. Some things… are meant to be experienced.”
Mark’s fingers itched to draw his weapon, but he hesitated. Something in Donghyuck’s tone was different—calm, almost resigned. It wasn’t the voice of a man who was afraid of being caught. “If you’ve come here to die,” Mark said slowly, “you’re going about it in a very roundabout way.”
A quiet laugh escaped Donghyuck, though there was no humor in it. “Maybe I am,” he admitted. “Or maybe I’m here to see if you still have it in you.”
Mark’s brow furrowed. “Still have what?”
“The will to kill,” Donghyuck replied, his gaze steady and unflinching. “Or has running your empire made you soft?”
The accusation hit Mark like a cold blade. His grip tightened on the weapon at his side, but he didn’t draw it. “I haven’t softened,” he countered. “But I have learned not to waste bullets on ghosts.”
Donghyuck’s eyes glinted in the dim light, and he took another step closer, his expression more serious now. “I’m no ghost, Mark. I’m as real as the blood on your hands… and the blood that’s about to be on mine.”
In a swift movement, Donghyuck reached behind him, pulling out a small handgun from beneath the folds of his dress. His aim was steady, unwavering as he pointed it directly at Mark’s chest. The atmosphere shifted, tension crackling in the air like static.
Mark didn’t flinch. His own weapon was drawn in a heartbeat, aimed squarely at Donghyuck. For a moment, they stood there, guns leveled at one another, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words and lingering history.
“Go ahead,” Donghyuck said, his voice low and challenging. “Pull the trigger. Let’s see if you’ve still got the nerve.”
Mark’s finger hovered over the trigger, but something held him back. His eyes bore into Donghyuck’s, searching for the truth behind this confrontation. Donghyuck’s gaze was steady, almost daring him to shoot, yet there was a glint of something deeper—something that hinted at desperation, or perhaps, longing.
“What are you doing, Hyuck?” Mark asked, his tone dropping to something softer, almost concerned. “If you wanted me dead, you had your chance back at the club.”
Donghyuck’s expression flickered, a brief crack in the mask. “And if I wanted you alive, why would I poison you?” he shot back, though there was a hint of hesitation in his voice.
It was then that Mark realized the truth—Donghyuck wasn’t here to kill him, at least not in the conventional sense. This wasn’t about fulfilling a contract. It was about something far more complex. A twisted dance between them, one that was as much about survival as it was about a past that refused to be buried.
Mark’s arm lowered slightly, his aim no longer trained on Donghyuck. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Hyuck,” he said quietly. “And I’m not sure if you’re trying to save yourself… or me.”
The words seemed to cut deeper than any bullet could, and for a moment, Donghyuck’s composure faltered. His gun wavered, but then he quickly steadied his hand, his gaze hardening once more.
“Then shoot me,” Donghyuck whispered, his voice barely audible. “Or let me go.”
The choice hung in the air, and Mark knew that whichever path he took, there would be no easy resolution. He took a breath, his gaze never leaving Donghyuck’s. He could pull the trigger now, end this strange and dangerous dance between them. Or he could lower his weapon and let the night continue its silent watch over two men bound by both rivalry and something unspoken.
In the end, it wasn’t fear or hesitation that made him lower his gun, but something else—a reluctant understanding that this wasn’t the final act.
Mark took a step back, his weapon still at his side but no longer a threat. “Run, Hyuck,” he said softly, his voice carrying an edge of warning. “But if you ever point a gun at me again, I won’t hesitate.”
Donghyuck’s lips curved into a bittersweet smile as he took a step back into the shadows. “You’ll have to catch me first,” he replied, before slipping into the darkness, leaving Mark standing alone in the courtyard.
Mark let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He pocketed the gun, his mind already racing with the implications of what had just transpired. This wasn’t over. Far from it.
Donghyuck had just made it personal.
---
The night stretched on as Mark made his way back to his safe house, a modest apartment tucked away in a quiet part of the city. It was a place far removed from the world of glitz and grime where he conducted his business—a world where deals were struck in the dark, and secrets lived and died in whispers.
He closed the door behind him, the familiar click of the lock echoing in the silence. Mark’s steps were unhurried as he moved to the small kitchenette. He set down the vial Donghyuck had left behind on the counter, its contents shimmering under the dim light. The question still loomed: had Donghyuck really poisoned him, or was it all just a ploy to rattle him?
He reached for a medical kit stashed in one of the cabinets and grabbed a syringe, drawing a small amount of blood from his arm. If there were any toxins in his system, he’d know soon enough. But even as he waited, a different kind of discomfort gnawed at him—one that had nothing to do with poison.
Mark’s thoughts drifted back to the confrontation in the courtyard. He’d been ready to kill Donghyuck, just as he had countless others who’d threatened him. Yet, when the moment came, he hadn’t been able to pull the trigger. It wasn’t fear that had stopped him—it was something far more dangerous: doubt.
He poured himself a drink, downing it in one swift motion as he considered the events of the night. Donghyuck’s taunts, his cryptic words—"Still have the will to kill?"—were they truly about Mark's skills, or was there a deeper meaning? There was a history between them that lingered, something unresolved that kept resurfacing despite the years and distance.
The sound of the door clicking open startled him, and Mark immediately reached for his weapon. He aimed it at the figure stepping inside, only to pause when he recognized the visitor.
Jeno stood in the doorway, his eyes flickering with concern as he took in the sight of Mark, tense and on edge. “Whoa, easy there,” he said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “It’s just me.”
Mark relaxed slightly, lowering his weapon but not entirely dropping his guard. “What are you doing here, Jeno?” His voice was curt, a subtle edge of irritation masking his relief. Jeno was one of his most trusted men, and seeing him here was unexpected.
“I heard what happened at the club,” Jeno said, closing the door behind him and taking a few steps closer. “Figured I’d check in on you. Are you all right?”
Mark's gaze darted to the vial on the counter before returning to Jeno. “Depends on your definition of ‘all right.’ Donghyuck showed up tonight. In disguise.”
Jeno’s eyes widened slightly, the surprise clear on his face. “Donghyuck? I thought he was working with the Seoul syndicate. What’s he doing here?”
“Trying to kill me,” Mark replied, a wry smile playing on his lips. “Or at least, that’s what he wants me to think.” He gestured toward the vial. “He left that for me, claiming I’d been poisoned.”
Jeno approached the counter, eyeing the vial warily. “And do you believe him?”
Mark shrugged. “He’s always been unpredictable, but this feels different. There’s something else going on here.”
Jeno picked up the vial, holding it up to the light as if he could discern its secrets just by looking at it. “We could run tests, find out exactly what’s in it. Or,” he hesitated, glancing back at Mark, “we could use it to set a trap.”
Mark’s brow furrowed. “You mean bait Donghyuck?”
“Why not?” Jeno suggested, setting the vial back down. “If he’s playing games, let’s play along. We can leak information about the antidote, make him think we’ve found something valuable. It’ll draw him out.”
Mark considered the proposal. It wasn’t without risks—Donghyuck had a knack for turning traps on their heads—but it was better than waiting idly for the next encounter. “Fine,” he said after a moment. “But we’ll need to be discreet. If Donghyuck catches wind that we’re onto him, it could drive him deeper underground.”
Jeno nodded, a glint of determination in his eyes. “Leave it to me. I’ll make sure the word gets out, just enough to get his attention.”
As Jeno turned to leave, Mark’s voice stopped him. “One more thing,” he said, his tone dropping. “If it comes down to it… if you find Donghyuck first, bring him in alive.”
Jeno glanced back, his expression unreadable. “Are you sure? He’s dangerous, Mark. If he really is trying to kill you—”
“I’m aware,” Mark interrupted, his gaze steady. “Just do as I say.”
Jeno gave a reluctant nod before exiting, leaving Mark alone once more. As the door clicked shut behind him, Mark let out a slow breath. It wasn’t just about catching Donghyuck—it was about understanding why he was here in the first place. There were too many unanswered questions, too many loose threads connecting their pasts.
Mark's thoughts wandered back to years ago, to the time before Donghyuck had vanished into the underworld. They hadn’t always been enemies; in fact, there was a time when they’d fought side by side, loyal to the same cause. But something had changed, and Donghyuck had walked a different path—a path that had led him to become one of the most elusive assassins in the game.
Mark’s phone buzzed, snapping him out of his thoughts. He picked it up to see a message from Jeno: The bait’s been set. Now we wait.
He glanced at the vial once more, its contents glinting mockingly under the light. Mark wasn’t sure if the poison was real, but there was no denying that Donghyuck’s presence had left a mark—a mark that ran deeper than any toxin could. This wasn’t just about survival; it was about confronting the ghosts of the past.
---
The following days passed in a blur of tension and careful maneuvering. Jeno had done his part, quietly spreading word among trusted circles that Mark’s men had identified a rare antidote linked to a recent poisoning attempt. It was enough to draw attention without being overtly suspicious—a breadcrumb trail left for only the sharpest of minds to follow. If Donghyuck was monitoring the underworld’s whispers, he would know soon enough.
Mark kept to his routines, but his every move was calculated to give the appearance of vulnerability. He frequented the usual haunts, conducted business as expected, and let his guard appear slightly lowered, knowing that Donghyuck would be watching for any sign of the trap. The question wasn’t if Donghyuck would show up, but when—and under what circumstances.
Mark was prepared for the encounter. What he wasn’t prepared for, however, was how soon Donghyuck would take the bait.
It was three nights after the rumors began circulating that Mark found himself back at the same upscale club. The atmosphere buzzed with the same restless energy, the kind that promised danger and indulgence in equal measure. He was seated in the same booth, his drink untouched as he scanned the crowd with a practiced eye. The faint flicker of anxiety crawled up his spine—anticipation mingled with the uncertainty of facing an opponent who knew him too well.
The familiar sound of heels clicking against the polished floor reached his ears, pulling his gaze to the entrance. There, shrouded in a long dark coat, stood Donghyuck. His appearance was no longer disguised—gone were the crimson dress and mask. Instead, he wore a sharp, dark suit that seemed to blend into the shadows. His expression was calm, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of amusement as he spotted Mark watching him.
Without a word, Donghyuck crossed the room with smooth, deliberate steps, stopping just short of Mark's table. He slid into the booth across from him, his demeanor casual as if they were simply old friends catching up.
“So,” Donghyuck began, his tone light but edged with sarcasm, “I hear you’ve found something valuable.” He leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. “Antidotes don’t come cheap, you know.”
Mark’s jaw tightened, but he kept his tone measured. “And here I thought you might come here to apologize.” His gaze didn’t waver from Donghyuck’s face. “Didn’t realize you had such a vested interest in my health.”
Donghyuck smirked. “I’m curious by nature. Especially when it comes to the people I’ve tried to kill.” He tilted his head, studying Mark with a glint of mischief in his eye. “Tell me, Mark—how are you feeling? Any… unusual symptoms?”
Mark's expression remained inscrutable, refusing to give anything away. “If you’re asking whether I’m dying, I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the vial, placing it on the table between them. “But I think you already knew that.”
The corner of Donghyuck’s mouth twitched, a barely restrained grin forming. “You’re sharper than most,” he admitted, eyeing the vial as if it were a trivial curiosity. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You were always good at staying one step ahead.”
Mark’s fingers drummed lightly on the table. “Enough with the games, Hyuck. What do you really want?” He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping. “Why come after me now? What’s the endgame?”
Donghyuck’s expression shifted, a subtle change that suggested a deeper conflict beneath the surface. For a moment, it seemed as though he was considering the question seriously, as if weighing the risks of telling the truth. Then, he leaned in, his voice lowering to a near-whisper.
“The endgame?” he repeated, his tone almost wistful. “Maybe I just wanted to see if you were still the same man I used to know. The one who didn’t hesitate when it came to cutting loose ends.” His eyes met Mark’s, holding his gaze with a dangerous intensity. “Or maybe,” he added, a faint smirk forming on his lips, “I wanted to remind you of what it’s like to live on the edge.”
Mark’s eyes narrowed. “You’re risking your life for nostalgia?”
Donghyuck chuckled softly, but the sound was tinged with something darker. “It’s not just nostalgia, Mark. It’s about unfinished business.” He reached for the vial, his fingers grazing its surface before pulling back. “There are things that we never got around to finishing—things that were left unsaid.” His gaze bore into Mark’s, filled with a quiet defiance. “And I’m not leaving until we settle them.”
Mark felt a flash of irritation mixed with something else—a sense of recognition that he didn’t want to admit. There had always been a kind of unspoken connection between them, even when they were on opposite sides. Now, it seemed that Donghyuck was deliberately trying to invoke that shared history, to pull him back into the tangled web of loyalties and betrayals they had once navigated together.
“You’re walking a fine line, Hyuck,” Mark said, his tone low and steady. “There are easier ways to get closure than by putting a target on your back.”
Donghyuck’s smile faded slightly, his expression softening into something almost genuine. “Easier, yes,” he conceded. “But where’s the thrill in that?” His voice dropped, a hint of something unspoken hanging between them. “You and I—we were never the type to do things the easy way.”
Mark clenched his jaw. “This isn’t a game.”
“Isn’t it?” Donghyuck shot back, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous resolve. “If it isn’t, then why are you still playing along? Why haven’t you ended it yet?” His words cut through the tension, a challenge that went beyond the surface of their cat-and-mouse game.
For a moment, Mark had no response. The truth, as much as he hated to admit it, was that he didn’t know why he hadn’t ended it. He could have shot Donghyuck back in the courtyard, or called for his men to take him down now. But something in him had resisted, something that recognized the ghost of the man he’d once fought alongside.
Donghyuck stood up from the booth, his movements graceful and fluid as he turned to leave. “You have a choice, Mark,” he said without looking back. “You can keep pretending you’re just doing your job—or you can face what’s really keeping you from pulling that trigger.”
He started walking toward the exit, his steps unhurried. “I’ll be in touch,” he added over his shoulder, his voice fading into the background noise of the club. “Try not to miss me too much.”
Mark watched him go, the words lingering in the air like a challenge. He felt a mixture of frustration and curiosity swirling inside him. The confrontation had left him with more questions than answers, but one thing was certain: whatever game Donghyuck was playing, it was personal.
Mark knew he’d have to dig deeper into their shared past if he wanted to unravel Donghyuck’s true motives. And that meant confronting parts of himself he’d long buried, parts that had started to resurface with every encounter.
He pocketed the vial once more, his gaze still fixed on the exit where Donghyuck had disappeared. The game was far from over. In fact, it felt like it was only just beginning.
---
Mark left the club soon after Donghyuck’s exit, his mind racing with the implications of their exchange. The night air felt colder than usual, wrapping around him like an unwelcome reminder of the past. He walked with a purpose, each step a steady rhythm as he made his way back to the safe house. The encounter with Donghyuck had rattled something loose inside him—memories he had kept locked away, thoughts he had long buried.
By the time Mark reached the safe house, the first hints of dawn were lightening the sky. He entered the dimly lit apartment and closed the door behind him with a quiet click, then leaned against it for a moment. His gaze drifted to the vial still in his pocket. He pulled it out and set it on the counter. It seemed to mock him, a small and seemingly insignificant object that held so much weight in their dangerous game.
With a sigh, he turned to the wall on the far side of the room, where an old lockbox sat on a shelf. Mark hesitated for a moment before retrieving it. His fingers brushed over the metal lid, feeling the cool, familiar surface. It had been years since he’d opened this box—years since he’d had any reason to. But Donghyuck’s sudden reappearance had changed everything.
He unlocked the box and lifted the lid, revealing a handful of old photographs, a lighter, and a worn notebook with a cracked leather cover. Mark picked up the notebook and flipped through its pages, skimming past faded notes, sketches, and names. There were pages that detailed past missions, alliances, and betrayals—all remnants of a life he had thought was behind him.
Near the back, his eyes settled on a name that stood out from the others, written in Donghyuck’s unmistakable handwriting: Operation Crossfire.
Memories surged back like a flood—Mark and Donghyuck, younger then, part of the same syndicate. They had been more than just partners; they had been allies, bound by shared risks and mutual trust. "Operation Crossfire" had been one of their most dangerous assignments, a high-stakes operation meant to destabilize a rival faction. It was supposed to be their defining moment, the mission that solidified their reputations in the underworld.
But something had gone terribly wrong.
The operation had been compromised from the start. An informant had leaked their plans, and the rival syndicate had set a trap. They had walked into an ambush, and Mark had barely escaped with his life. Donghyuck had been left behind, believed to be dead or worse. The mission had shattered their bond, leaving a gaping wound that never quite healed.
Until now.
Mark snapped the notebook shut and set it back in the lockbox, his jaw tightening. The implications were clear—Donghyuck’s return wasn’t just about killing him; it was about the unfinished business between them. The operation that had left them both scarred was now resurfacing, dragging their unresolved history into the present.
Mark’s phone buzzed on the counter, snapping him out of his thoughts. It was a message from Jeno: Got a lead on Donghyuck’s whereabouts. Sending you the details.
Mark’s heart quickened. He opened the attached file, which showed a location—a small warehouse on the outskirts of the city, one that was rarely used but had enough space for anyone who didn’t want to be found.
His grip tightened around the phone as he considered his next move. There was no guarantee that Donghyuck would be there, but if he was, it would be the perfect opportunity to confront him and demand answers.
The warehouse loomed in the darkness like a forgotten relic. Mark approached cautiously, his senses on high alert. The building was silent, its windows shattered and its exterior covered in peeling paint. It looked abandoned, but Mark knew better than to trust appearances.
He crept closer, staying low as he slipped through a side entrance. The interior was mostly empty, filled with dust and old crates that had long been forgotten. But there, in the dim light near the center of the warehouse, stood Donghyuck, as if he had been waiting for Mark all along.
“You’re persistent,” Donghyuck said, his voice echoing in the empty space. He turned to face Mark, a faint smile on his lips. “I knew you’d come.”
Mark didn’t lower his guard. “You left me breadcrumbs,” he replied, his voice laced with suspicion. “Why?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Donghyuck took a step closer, his movements deliberate and unhurried. “I wanted you to find me.” His eyes met Mark’s, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them. “We need to talk.”
Mark’s hand hovered near his weapon. “About Crossfire?” he asked, his voice cold. “Or about why you’ve been trying to kill me?”
“Crossfire,” Donghyuck confirmed, his tone softening. “And it’s not what you think, Mark.” He spread his arms, as if to show he was unarmed. “I didn’t come back to kill you.”
“Then why?” Mark demanded, the frustration spilling into his voice. “Why all the theatrics? The poison, the games—what are you really after?”
Donghyuck’s expression darkened, the playful façade slipping away to reveal something deeper, something raw. “Because you left me,” he said quietly, the words almost a whisper. “You thought I was dead, didn’t you? You didn’t come back for me.”
Mark felt the weight of the accusation settle in his chest. “I didn’t know,” he replied, his voice strained. “I thought you were gone. I searched for you, but there was nothing—no trace, no sign. I—”
“Save it,” Donghyuck interrupted, a bitter edge to his tone. “You moved on, built your empire while I was left to crawl out of that hell on my own.” He took another step closer, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and betrayal. “Do you know what it’s like, Mark? To be left for dead?”
The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. Mark’s hand dropped from his weapon, and he took a step back, a bitter realization dawning on him. “This was never about killing me,” he murmured, more to himself than to Donghyuck. “It was about making me remember.”
Donghyuck’s lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. “Congratulations. You’ve finally caught on.” His gaze softened, but the pain behind it was unmistakable. “This is what it’s all been about, Mark. Not revenge, not power—just the truth.”
Mark felt a strange mix of relief and guilt wash over him. For so long, he had been prepared to face Donghyuck as an enemy, but now he saw the truth—their conflict wasn’t driven by hate, but by a sense of betrayal and a need for closure.
“Then let’s finish it,” Mark said quietly, meeting Donghyuck’s gaze. “The way we should have years ago.”
Donghyuck’s eyes flickered with something like hope. “Finally,” he whispered, “we’re on the same page.”
---
The tension in the warehouse hung thick, though it felt different now—less like an impending fight and more like a long-overdue confrontation. Mark’s pulse raced, but not with the usual adrenaline of facing an enemy. Donghyuck was close, close enough that Mark could see the emotion flickering in his eyes, close enough to feel the sharpness of his breath when he spoke.
The anger that had defined their earlier exchanges simmered beneath the surface, never fully dissipating. It was there in the way Donghyuck’s jaw clenched and in the bitterness that lurked behind his gaze. Mark took a step closer, his hand reaching out tentatively toward Donghyuck’s face. But for the first time, Donghyuck didn’t flinch; he didn’t back away.
“Tell me the truth, Hyuck,” Mark said, his voice quieter now, as if pleading. “If this was never about killing me, what was it really about? Why come back now?”
Donghyuck’s eyes narrowed as they met Mark’s. The mask of cynicism and anger slipped just slightly, replaced by something raw and wounded. He let out a slow breath, his voice low and sharp. “You still don’t get it, do you?” His lips curled into a cold, humorless smile. “It was never just about killing you, Mark. It was about making you remember what you did. Making you pay.”
The words landed like a blow. The air seemed to thicken, bringing the distance between them down to nothing. Mark’s heart gave a hard, painful thud in his chest, and his breath caught in his throat. “Pay for what?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper. “I thought… I thought we were—”
“More than business?” Donghyuck finished for him, his tone laced with bitterness. “We could have been, Mark. But you were always too focused on your empire, on making a name for yourself. You didn’t care about anything else… anyone else.” His gaze burned with a mix of resentment and something deeper, something that had been festering for too long. “You left me behind. You made your choice. And now, I’m making mine.”
Mark took another step closer, his hand hovering over Donghyuck’s cheek. The touch was hesitant, as though afraid that any wrong move might snap the fragile thread of this moment. “Hyuck…” he murmured. “I didn’t know. I thought you were gone. I—”
“You didn’t look hard enough,” Donghyuck interrupted, his voice breaking ever so slightly. “You left me to rot, Mark. You chose your path, and it didn’t include me. But I’m here now, and I’m not the same person who watched you walk away.”
Mark’s fingers tightened slightly, his touch growing bolder, more desperate. “I should have come back,” he admitted, his voice rough with the weight of his regret. “I should have fought harder. But you have to know, Hyuck, it wasn’t just business between us. It was never just a job.”
Donghyuck’s breath hitched, and he met Mark’s gaze with a mixture of fury and something resembling hope—hope that he couldn’t quite let go of, despite everything. “Then tell me,” he whispered, the question a challenge, a demand. “Tell me what we were.”
Mark’s hand cupped the side of Donghyuck’s face, his thumb brushing over the curve of his cheekbone. His heart pounded in his chest, the years of unspoken words and unresolved feelings pushing him to say what he’d never allowed himself to admit. “We were… everything,” he said, his voice barely a breath. “We could have been everything.”
Donghyuck’s eyes glistened, but they hardened again just as quickly. He reached up, his fingers curling around Mark’s wrist with a grip that was more painful than tender. “It’s too late for that now,” he said, his voice low and filled with an edge of cruelty. “You don’t get to come back now and decide what we could have been.”
Mark’s jaw tightened as he felt the sharpness of Donghyuck’s words cut through him. “Then why are you here?” he asked, his tone hardening. “If you just wanted revenge, you could have killed me the first chance you got. But you didn’t.”
Donghyuck’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “Because I wanted you to suffer,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “I wanted you to feel the same emptiness I felt when you left. I wanted you to know what it’s like to lose everything.”
The confession hung in the air, and for a moment, the rage seemed to flicker, replaced by something vulnerable and broken. Mark saw it then—the hurt behind Donghyuck’s anger, the wounds that hadn’t healed, the years of bitterness that had twisted what they once shared into something darker.
But before Mark could respond, Donghyuck’s expression shifted, a cold resolve settling over his features. “But I’m not here to forgive you,” he said, his voice firm. “I’m here to end this.”
The knife was out in an instant, flashing between them before Mark could react. Donghyuck lunged forward, aiming for Mark’s chest with a swift, practiced motion. But Mark was quicker. He caught Donghyuck’s wrist just in time, the blade hovering inches from his skin.
Their faces were so close now, breaths mingling as they struggled against each other. “Don’t do this, Hyuck,” Mark said through gritted teeth, his grip tightening on Donghyuck’s wrist. “I’m not letting you go like this.”
Donghyuck’s eyes burned with anger and something else—a desperation, a plea. “You already did,” he spat, his voice breaking. “And you don’t get to save me now.”
With a sudden surge of strength, Donghyuck twisted out of Mark’s grasp and shoved him back, the knife still clutched tightly in his hand. Mark stumbled, but caught himself before falling. He raised his hands in front of him, his voice raw and pleading. “It’s not too late,” he said. “We can still find a way out of this.”
Donghyuck shook his head, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “No,” he said, his voice steady but filled with a quiet finality. “There’s no going back.”
Before Mark could react, Donghyuck turned and ran, disappearing into the darkness of the warehouse. Mark’s heart sank as he watched him go, the echoes of his footsteps fading into silence.
For a long moment, Mark stood there, his breathing uneven, his mind reeling. The weight of everything—of what they could have been, of what they had become—pressed down on him like a crushing force. He didn’t know if Donghyuck would ever come back, or if this was truly the end. But he knew one thing: they had crossed a line tonight, one that couldn’t be undone.
The silence that followed was suffocating, filled with the ache of unfinished business and the lingering scent of betrayal. Mark’s heart ached with a realization that hit him with a bitter finality—Donghyuck’s anger wasn’t something he could fix, and the past was something they could never reclaim.
But maybe, just maybe, the next time their paths crossed, they could find a way to be something other than enemies. Or perhaps that was just another impossible hope.
As Mark turned to leave, the darkness seemed to close in, swallowing the last traces of what might have been. The only thing left was the promise of an uncertain future—one where revenge, regret, and love blurred together, and where nothing was ever truly over.
Not between them.
----
The sound of footsteps faded into the darkness, leaving Mark alone in the silence of the empty warehouse. His mind raced, torn between the raw ache of Donghyuck’s words and the urgency clawing at his chest. Something wasn’t right. He could feel it—a dangerous intuition honed over years in the underworld.
As Mark moved toward the exit, his senses on high alert, a distant commotion reached his ears—muffled voices and the unmistakable click of weapons being readied. He quickened his pace, following the noise outside into the night. The cold air bit against his skin as he emerged onto the deserted loading dock, scanning the area.
Then he saw them.
A group of men, dressed in black and armed, closed in on a familiar figure who had stumbled onto the asphalt. Donghyuck stood his ground, clutching his side where blood seeped through his shirt. His expression was a twisted mix of pain and defiance, eyes burning with a fury that only seemed to deepen as the men advanced.
“Hand him over,” one of the attackers demanded, raising his gun. “We know he’s here, and we’ve got orders to bring him in—dead or alive.”
Donghyuck’s laugh was bitter, a sound that cut through the darkness. “So that’s the deal now?” he spat. “You’re not even pretending to give me a choice.”
Before the men could respond, Mark lunged forward from the shadows, his movements swift and lethal. He took down the first attacker with a brutal strike to the head, then disarmed another with a swift kick that sent the gun skittering across the pavement. In seconds, he was standing between Donghyuck and the remaining men, his body positioned like a shield.
“Back off,” Mark growled, his voice low and dangerous. “He’s not going anywhere with you.”
The men exchanged glances, uncertainty flickering in their eyes. Mark’s reputation wasn’t one to be underestimated, and the sight of him standing there—his expression cold and unyielding—was enough to give them pause.
“Fine,” the leader sneered, raising his weapon. “If you want to die for him, then so be it.”
The first shot cracked through the night air, but Mark was already moving. He knocked the leader’s arm aside just as the trigger was pulled, the bullet whizzing past them and embedding in the metal siding of the warehouse. Mark spun and drove his fist into the man’s jaw, dropping him to the ground.
More shots followed, forcing Mark and Donghyuck to dive for cover behind a stack of crates. Mark's breathing was harsh, but his mind remained focused, calculating. He glanced at Donghyuck, who was clutching his injured side, his face pale but defiant.
“Stay down,” Mark ordered, his tone sharp. “I’ll handle this.”
“I don’t need your help,” Donghyuck snapped, though his voice lacked its usual venom. He winced, blood trickling from the wound in his side. “You should have just let them take me.”
Mark’s eyes darkened, and a scowl crept across his face. “Then you’d be dead by now,” he shot back. “And as much as you might hate me, I’m not letting you die like this.”
Without waiting for a response, Mark sprang from cover, taking out two more attackers in quick succession. He moved with the fluidity of someone who had fought his entire life, each motion deliberate, each strike landing with lethal precision. It wasn’t long before the remaining men retreated, dragging their wounded comrades with them.
The dust settled, leaving an uneasy silence in its wake. Mark turned back to Donghyuck, who had pulled himself up to lean against the crates, his breathing labored and his glare cutting. Mark approached cautiously, his gaze softening as he saw the pain etched on Donghyuck’s face.
“Let me see,” Mark said quietly, reaching for Donghyuck’s side.
Donghyuck slapped his hand away, his expression twisting with anger. “I don’t need your pity,” he growled, his voice trembling with rage and exhaustion. “You think this changes anything? You think I’ll forgive you just because you showed up and played the hero?”
Mark’s jaw clenched. “This isn’t about forgiveness,” he replied, his voice edged with frustration. “It’s about not letting you bleed out in the middle of the street.”
He knelt beside Donghyuck and carefully peeled back the fabric of his shirt to assess the wound. The bullet had grazed him, tearing through flesh but missing anything vital. It wasn’t fatal, but Donghyuck had lost a lot of blood, and it would only get worse if it wasn’t treated.
Mark tore a strip of fabric from his own shirt and pressed it against the wound to staunch the bleeding. Donghyuck flinched, his breath hitching as pain shot through him, but he didn’t resist this time.
“You didn’t have to save me,” Donghyuck muttered, his voice thick with resentment. “I wasn’t worth the risk.”
Mark’s hands stilled for a moment before he met Donghyuck’s gaze, his eyes filled with a fierce intensity. “You don’t get to decide what you’re worth,” he said, his tone rough but sincere. “And I’m not risking my life just for anyone.”
Donghyuck’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second before the anger returned, like a flame that refused to be extinguished. “You think this makes us even?” he snapped, his voice rising. “You think you can just show up and play savior, and I’ll forget what you did?”
Mark’s expression hardened, a flicker of frustration passing over his face. “No, I don’t,” he admitted, his voice low. “I know I can’t undo what happened, and I know that you have every right to hate me. But I’m not here to fix the past. I’m here because I’m not letting you walk away again.”
Donghyuck shook his head, the bitterness in his eyes warring with something else—something like desperation. “You had your chance to hold on to me,” he said, his voice raw. “You let me go. Now you’re just too late.”
Mark’s chest tightened, the weight of Donghyuck’s words hitting him like a blow. “Maybe,” he conceded, his voice softening. “But I’m still here. And if you want me gone, then say the word. I’ll leave, and you’ll never see me again.”
The silence that followed was suffocating, the tension crackling in the space between them. Donghyuck’s jaw tightened as he looked away, his expression one of conflicted anger. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words. The thought of Mark leaving, truly leaving, twisted something painful and unwanted inside him. Yet the rage he felt, the betrayal that burned so fiercely, refused to let go.
“You don’t get to make that choice,” he said finally, his voice hoarse. “I’m not yours to save.”
Mark swallowed, a flicker of pain flashing across his features. He finished bandaging the wound and stood, his hands stained with Donghyuck’s blood. “Then don’t think of it as saving you,” he said quietly. “Think of it as refusing to let you go.”
For a long moment, they stared at each other—Donghyuck’s gaze still hard, Mark’s filled with a quiet determination. Then Mark turned and walked away, leaving Donghyuck to wrestle with the bitterness, the hurt, and the stubborn ember of something that wouldn’t quite die.
It wasn’t forgiveness, and it wasn’t redemption. It was something in between, a dangerous middle ground where anger and longing coexisted. And as Donghyuck watched Mark’s retreating form, he knew that no matter how much he hated him, a part of him wasn’t ready to let go, either.
Not yet.