Chapter Text
“One lemon drop and two vodka shots, please”
Wooyoung flashed a small smile at the blonde girl who was ordering the drinks in heavily accented Korean. It seemed like there were more foreigners than Koreans in the club these days, so he appreciated when they at least attempted to speak to him in his native language. He quickly poured the shots, grateful he had taken the time to make a big batch of lemon drop earlier in the night, and took her card. He swiped it and handed it back to her, throwing her a wink as he did so. “Be sure to come back to me when you want more. I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of, tonight,” he said, leaning closer so he could be heard over the music.
The girl giggled and took the shots and returned to her friends, likely to tell them about the cute bartender who had flirted with her. As soon as she walked away, Wooyoung’s smirk fell and he let out a huff. It was only the start of his shift, but it was going to be a long night. He could feel it in his bones.
Ω
By the time Wooyoung finally dragged himself through his front door, the sun was already high in the sky. One of the few perks of the crappy basement apartment he rented was the tiny windows. Very little light made it into the apartment, which helped his flipped sleep schedule. When he was still trying to make it through college in an attempt to prove himself and everyone else wrong, the lack of light was something he hated. But now that he’d accepted his reality, he appreciated the fact that he could comfortably sleep the day away without the sun piercing his eyes.
Tossing his bag onto the stained couch in the living room, Wooyoung quickly turned on the AC and made his way into the bathroom. He felt disgusting after a particularly difficult night behind the bar. Honestly, it hadn’t started too bad. However, about halfway through his shift, a newer bartender, whose name he hadn’t bothered learning yet, wasn’t paying attention and ran right into him while holding five freshly poured drinks, effectively drenching Wooyoung in liquid. And they weren’t even shots. Shots he could handle spilling on him - they were small and it was just alcohol. But no, these were five full cocktails, complete with sweet juice and sticky soda, running down his shirt. The other bartender had felt appropriately remorseful. That didn’t stop Wooyoung from swearing up a storm while remaking the cocktails or seething at the new guy the rest of the night, all the while reeking of citrus. After that, it just felt like one thing after another. Annoying customers, annoying orders, annoying coworkers. Safe to say, Wooyoung was annoyed by the end of his shift.
He turned the shower on as hot as it could go and, as soon as he saw steam, stripped his filthy clothes and hopped under the spray. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to let the water wash away the stress of the night. After a while, it started to work, and Wooyoung felt the tightly coiled irritation that had been strangling his chest come loose.
Once he was no longer one mild inconvenience away from punching a wall, he quickly washed up, ready to fall into bed and sleep as long as possible. Unfortunately, the key words in that sentence were “as possible”. He really only had about six hours until he needed to be up again, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. The shower had helped immensely, but Wooyoung still needed time to decompress. If he was lucky, he’d get four and a half, maybe five hours of sleep. It wasn’t much after an eleven hour shift, but he had to take what he could get. Wooyoung turned off the water, roughly dried himself off, and changed into the basketball shorts and tank top he wore as pajamas. It was the middle of August, and the AC wasn’t even strong enough to counteract the oppressing summer heat in the living room where it was attached to the wall. That meant his bedroom was positively sweltering.
Wooyoung flopped onto his bed and plugged his phone in. Okay, one hour max on the phone, then sleep, he thought to himself as he opened up Twitter.
Ω
Wooyoung stepped off the train at Ilsan station. The 40 minute subway ride had been peaceful, but it wasn’t enough to ease the pressure in his chest. It also didn’t help that he’d only gotten about four hours of sleep, an unpleasant dream forcing him awake before his alarm went off. He wouldn’t call it a nightmare, and he couldn’t even really remember it. All that was left when he woke up was a feeling of being in danger and an ache in the side of his neck from where he must have slept on it weird. However, it unfortunately left him unnerved and too antsy to be able to fall back asleep. Which led to him being here, back in his hometown, with an uncomfortable vibrating feeling under his skin and not even close to enough energy to deal with the hassle he knew was coming.
The evening sun was just beginning to set when he reached his childhood home. He punched in the familiar key code and let himself in.
Walking into the apartment, he was assaulted by the smell of whiskey. One would think that working as a bartender would dull his senses to alcohol, but there was something pervasive about this particular smell. This one came with memories he’d rather forget and feelings he’d rather forgo. It was dark in the apartment - all the lights were turned off and the curtains were drawn tight. Wooyoung grumbled in annoyance and walked towards the light switch. He almost tripped over something on the short trek, and he had a prickling suspicion he knew what it was. When he flipped the light switch and turned around, he let an irritated huff at being correct. Lying on the floor was his dad: passed out, missing his shirt, with a nearly empty bottle in his hand.
Wooyoung knelt next to the drunken man and shook his shoulder firmly. “Wake up you big oaf,” he muttered under his breath. Just as he was debating filling a jar with water and dumping it on the man, his dad’s eyes blinked open. It took him a moment to fully wake up and piece together where he was, but once his eyes landed on Wooyoung, his gaze lost all confusion and instead hardened.
“Oh, you’re here,” Wooyoung’s dad said flatly. It contained none of the joy one would expect from a father seeing his son who had moved away for university. Instead, it lacked all emotion. Wooyoung thought it would almost be better if his dad was angry. If he was angry, at least he was feeling something towards his son. The lack of anything stung more. Wooyoung kept his scowl, though. He refused to let his father see how he affected him. It would only cause more problems later.
“Get up,” Wooyoung responded instead, matching his father’s cold tone. “I came all the way out here to make sure you hadn’t kicked the bucket. If I had to make this trip, I’m at least getting a meal out of it. I have work tonight, too, so clock’s ticking.”
Ω
It was clear his dad was still drunk from before he passed out, stumbling around and muttering nonsense. Wooyoung begrudgingly helped him get ready, choosing his clothes and setting out a glass of water and some painkillers. When he had done all he could, he sat down on the couch and waited for the man to get presentable.
All in all, it took about 30 minutes for his dad to get ready and the two of them to be out the door. They began walking without saying a word, both knowing that there was only one restaurant they ever visited together. Sometime during the walk, Wooyoung’s dad started grumbled under his breath, cursing the light and his head and his son. Wooyoung stayed silent, pretending he didn’t hear.
They arrived at the restaurant, a small hole-in-the-wall that had been there since the 90s and was now run by the daughter of the woman who originally opened it. They sat down at an open table, and Wooyoung immediately called the waitress over. There was no point in asking for menus when they always got the same thing. “A kimchi jjigae for me and a doenjang jjigae for him, please,” he said politely to the young woman taking the order, the granddaughter maybe?
“And a bottle of soju,” his dad gruffed.
“I’m sorry Mr. Jung, you know that mom said you’re not allowed to drink here anymore,” the woman said. Yeah, definitely the granddaughter. Wooyoung flashed her a small, grateful smile while his dad looked like he was about to start screaming at her. Luckily, she scurried off before he could get a word out.
“You’re still drunk on whiskey and now you want soju?” Wooyoung looked at his father incredulously, effectively drawing his attention away from the poor woman. “If I had the funds to afford a treatment center, I’d send you there and make you their problem.”
“Maybe you’d have those funds if you hadn’t flunked out of university. But then again, you’ve always been one to cause more harm than good in this family, haven’t you?” his father spit back. At least now he was feeling something towards Wooyoung, even if that something was unbridled hatred. “Why do you even keep coming back anyways? Survivor’s guilt? Trying to make up for what you did to your mother by keeping me alive?”
Wooyoung didn’t hate his dad, but he also didn’t feel anything beyond responsibility towards him. The same sentiment didn’t apply in reverse. Wooyoung’s dad hated him. He thinks that if his dad never saw him again, he would be pleased. However, his dad had no one else to look after him, so Wooyoung was left with the job, even if they both would rather he wasn’t. Wooyoung tuned out the familiar vitriol and let his father rant. It was the same thing that his father spat at him nearly every time he came to check on him. Wooyoung let it wash over him; it was nothing he hadn’t heard before. He kept his face blank and his mouth closed, and he let his dad share his opinion of his son with the whole world. The granddaughter returning with the food was what finally cut off the rant. Wooyoung thanked her and started eating, not waiting for his father to take the first bite. He might still feel filial responsibility, but that didn’t mean he followed the customs that showed respect to elders. He didn’t think his dad deserved that. So he ate in silence, watching as his dad followed after grumbling about undeserving brats.
By the time they finished their meals, his dad was more sober than he was when he walked into the restaurant. “I need to go directly to the station in order to get to work on time. I trust that you can get back home without falling in a ditch somewhere?” Wooyoung asked. His dad rolled his eyes and huffed, standing up and marching out the door. Not even a final word. Woooyung simply followed after paying the bill, but he walked in the direction of the train station instead of the house. He felt even more tired than when he had arrived.
Ω
Wooyoung was ready to strangle Felix. Well, not really, but he was ready to give his Aussie coworker a flick on the forehead. He could never truly be angry at the man who was the human embodiment of sunshine. He was so friendly, and all the customers loved his bubbly demeanor. Usually Wooyoung did too, but right now all he wanted was a quiet reprieve from the bar, which Felix was refusing to give him.
“And Changbin plays a Barbarian who wants to be a ballerina. Fitting isn’t it? I think he basically just made himself. But anyway, that’s all the members of our campaign. What do you think? Would you have any interest in joining our party?” Wooyoung and Felix were doing a liquor count during a lull in the evening, and Felix decided that this was the best time to try to convince Wooyoung to join the Dungeons and Dragons group that he and a couple of the other staff members were in. Wooyoung didn’t mind his coworkers, but he had no desire to meet them on his days off.
“Maybe, Felix, but I’m working so much these days that I don’t think I’d have the energy to commit to anything.” Wooyoung tried to let his coworker down gently. He knew Felix was sensitive to rejection and that he didn’t have many friends in Korea, only here for a working holiday. But he really, really didn’t want to join. “Let’s just finish the liquor count for now. I’ll think about it and let you know later.” Wooyoung was met with a blinding smile in response.
He hadn’t always been so anti-social. When he was younger, he could make friends with anybody. But life had different plans. His dad lost himself to alcohol, taking his pain out on his son. That in turn affected Wooyoung’s personality. As a kid, he was sad because his dad was being mean, but as he got older and the relationship worsened, he became angry. Angry at his father, at himself, and at the world. At his lowest, he turned that anger on others, on those least deserving of it. Because of that, by the time he graduated high school, he had no friends. He tried to be better in university, but the stress of simultaneously attending classes, working, and trying to keep his dad alive caught up to him in the end. He made the same mistakes - lashing out at others and pushing everyone away. He hated himself for it, so now he kept everyone at an arm’s length. He could be friendly, but he couldn’t be friends. It wasn’t in the cards for him.
Felix and Wooyoung finished the liquor count in blissful silence. After putting the last crate of vodka bottles back on the shelf, Felix bounded his way back up to the bar, while Wooyoung slowly made his way to the manager’s office. He knocked on the door, but didn’t wait for an acknowledgment before opening it.
“Wooyoung, you do know basic manners, don’t you?” Chan sighed, but he couldn’t hide the tug on his lips as Wooyoung set the clipboard on the desk and sank into the chair on the other side.
“Yup,” he responded playfully, popping the ‘p’, “but I knew you weren’t doing anything important.” Wooyoung had a good relationship with his manager. They were friendly, but still maintained the appropriate hierarchy. Wooyoung teased and tested the boundaries sometimes, but having the expectations in place eased some of his anxiety surrounding interpersonal relationships.
Chan rolled his eyes and looked back at his computer. “It’s a bit slower tonight, and you’re close to overtime. If it’s still slow in an hour, you can leave early,” he offered. Wooyoung thought about it. He didn’t want to be alone tonight. He wanted quiet, didn’t really want to talk to others, but he still wanted company. However, leaving early was a rare treat, so Wooyoung wasn’t about to let the opportunity slip through his fingers.
“Yeah, want me to stock or anything before I go?”
“Check with Minho, but I think we should be good,” Chan answered, then looked back up at his employee. “Use the extra time to get some rest. Your eyebags aren’t designer, y’know.” Wooyoung huffed a laugh and pushed himself out of the chair. He gave his manager a two-fingered salute as he opened the door, knowing he would be definitely not be sleeping when he got off.
He returned to the bar with a new goal in mind: find someone to go home with. When he wasn’t exhausted enough to let sleep overpower his spiraling thoughts, Wooyoung often picked up clubbers to kill time with until he was. He didn’t like to be alone, but he also didn’t want to form a connection with anybody. Drunken hookups were a great solution to this dilemma.
Wooyoung gazed out onto the dance floor. Chan was right; it wasn’t super busy. He found some contenders, all attractive in their own rights, and considered what he wanted to get out of a hookup that night. He’d be too impatient for any prep, so that took out the men. He also didn’t want to talk much, so that took out the Koreans. That left foreign women, of which there were plenty. Wooyoung looked around one more time and made his decision. He had about 45 minutes left before he could leave, which was the perfect amount of time to secure a partner for the night.
He made a tray of cheap vodka shots, nodded at Minho who was giving him a knowing look, and made his way over to the table he had decided on.
Thirty minutes later, he returned to the bar with a short, brunette girl trailing him. She was talking about something in stuttering English, but it was too loud for Wooyoung to hear what she was saying. He pointed to an empty spot at the bar and then made his way to the other side. He poured one more shot for the both of them and then got to work wiping down his station, so he could leave. Ten minutes after that, he was waving goodbye to Chan, grabbing his bag, and heading out the door to meet back up with his company for the rest of the night.
Hours later, the sun was just starting to rise, and Wooyoung sat shirtless in a stranger’s hotel bed, wide awake and scrolling through social media. Said stranger was fast asleep next to him. Wooyoung hadn’t looked at her since she fell asleep. The night had been fine. He got what he needed out of it, and he made sure his partner at least had a good experience. Now he was simply waiting to be tired enough to warrant going back to his own apartment. He had no intention of actually sleeping at the hotel.
Wooyoung closed Instagram and opened Twitter. He had been cycling through the apps for the last hour, nothing really catching his attention. He refreshed his feed again and began scrolling. Some girl group was having a comeback; an actor got canceled for having a secret girlfriend; a politician got caught making some unsavory comments about his competition. Nothing new. He was about to swipe out of the app when the next tweet caught his eye. It was a link to a news article, the headline in the tweet:
String of Clubbers Passing Out in Streets of Hongdae, Making Claims of Inter-Dimensional Travel Upon Waking
Wooyoung couldn’t help but laugh. The account was one of those K-Culture news profiles that targeted foreigners and shared more gossip than news. He could kind of imagine it, though. A random person who had been club hopping and drinking for hours blacking out then waking up with a massive hangover and a shaky memory of the previous night. He could admit, some of the clubs felt otherworldly when you were under the influence of enough substances. He chuffed again before closing the app and locking his phone. He figured he’d been at this hotel long enough and that it was time to head back home.
Ω
“Changbin, we’re out of vodka and we’re low on tequila,” Wooyoung shouted over the music. The bar was absolutely packed, the music was blasting, and the drinks were flowing: Friday night was in full swing. Which was great for the clubbers, not so much for the bartenders. They were absolutely swamped, and it wasn’t letting up anytime soon. Wooyoung tossed the empty bottle of vodka in the trashcan and grabbed the one at the next station over to finish making the drinks in front of him. With a tight lipped smile, he swiped the customer’s card and pushed all the drinks towards him. As soon as the man left, another person quickly took his place. There was no time for flirty conversations and teasing looks that night. Wooyoung had to be a well-oiled machine.
Order-pour-swipe-push, repeat, all night long.
Luckily, though it was a busy night, there hadn’t been any problems. Everyone seemed content to just have a good time. As soon as the thought passed through his head, Wooyoung regretted it. Great, now I’ve jinxed it. If he had a second to spare, he would have found some wood to knock on. Unfortunately, at that moment, Changbin pushed a newly opened bottle into his hand, and Wooyoung had to move on.
Order-pour-swipe-push-order-pour-swipe-push-order-pour-swipe-
Wooyoung was broken out of his trance. He stared at his hand, currently holding a credit card to pass back to a customer. Said customer was grabbing his wrist. He peeled his eyes up to the customer’s face and wanted to groan. Wooyoung vaguely recognized him. He was a Korean man, a little older, who came to the club regularly and always tried to hit on the bartenders, Wooyoung especially. He couldn’t fault a guy for trying, but he could fault him for continuing to try after he’d been told no. Which this guy had been. Repeatedly.
Wooyoung felt his temper flare up. He wanted to yank his hand out of the regular’s grip and tell him to fuck off. Unfortunately, he needed this job. So instead, he used his free hand to push the cocktail (a lemony monstrosity) towards the customer. “Here’s your drink, sir.”
Instead of releasing his hand and taking the drink, the regular’s grip tightened and his grin widened. He looked like he was undressing Wooyoung with his eyes. “I love it when you call me sir. I’ve seen you leave here with so many different people. When do I get my turn?” Wooyoung wanted to puke. He had been clear in his repeated rejections that he had no interest, but the older man wouldn’t quit. Up until now, he had stuck to compliments and suggestive remarks. Apparently, the regular decided that, since those didn’t work, he had to be more forceful. He also seemed to be under the impression that Wooyoung was easy, that he would sleep with anyone. And while, yes, Wooyoung had left the club with a partner more times than he could count, it was always on his own terms with a partner he chose. He wouldn’t just spread his legs for anyone, and certainly not for this asshole.
“As I have repeatedly said, I have no interest in sleeping with you. Now please let me go, so I can continue working,” Wooyoung forced out through gritted teeth. It was a much more professional response than the monologue running through his head. He would have definitely been fired if he had said what he really thought.
The asshole regular’s eyes shifted from hungry to furious. He gripped Wooyoung’s wrist harder and yanked him forward, sending a spike of pain up his arm. “You think you’re too good for me, do you?” His voice was low, but Wooyoung heard it clearly. “You’re nothing but a pathetic whore, throwing yourself at anyone who will take you, thinking that way you’ll have some value as a human. But you won’t. You’re a sorry excuse for a person, closer to a dog. Maybe that’s why no one wants you beyond a fuck.”
If Wooyoung had been thinking clearly, he would have realized that the older man was just spouting nonsense to get under his skin. Unfortunately, he wasn’t thinking clearly, and that nonsense hit a bit too close to home. That’s the only explanation for his actions. Using his whole body, he ripped his hand free, then picked up the man’s drink and threw it on him. “Get the fuck out of my bar,” he growled. People around them turned to see what was happening, while the man froze for a moment, processing. His entire face and torso were covered in the fruity liquid, and his eyes burned with anger. Wooyoung met his gaze with his own firey one, daring him to try something. Before anything could be said, though, one of the clubs security guards came up and escorted the man outside. Once he was gone, Wooyoung deflated and cradled his throbbing wrist.
Changbin rushed up next to him. “Are you okay? What happened?” he asked, eying the bar where the altercation took place.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m gonna go talk to Chan. Can you cover for me?” Wooyoung waited for Changbin to nod, then pushed himself off the back wall. All his energy from the night had been sucked out of him, and he dragged himself up to the office. Before he could knock, the door opened, and Wooyoung found himself face to face with his manager.
“I saw over the cameras. Are you okay?” Chan asked frantically. He opened the door wider and stepped aside to allow Wooyoung in. He accepted the unspoken invitation and beelined for the chair. Chan followed but kept his distance. It seemed like he was worried about spooking Wooyoung more than he already was. Wooyoung looked down at the wrist he was still cradling. He could already see some bruises forming. He gently twisted it back and forth. Luckily, he didn’t think it was broken. Chan sat down in his chair, looking at Wooyoung with a concerned expression.
“I’m alright, just a bit shaken,” Wooyoung answered the earlier question.
Chan nodded in understanding. “I could see what happened through the security cameras, but obviously couldn’t hear. Can you give me the rundown?”
Wooyoung relayed the events of the previous five minutes as accurately as he could. Once he was finished, Chan turned to his computer to type something. That made Wooyoung tense because he definitely knew that throwing a drink at a customer was a fireable offense. Chan was a good manager and always defended his employees, but maybe this was too much. Maybe Wooyoung was getting written up. Or worse, fired. Shit, he really needed this job. He held his breath as Chan turned back to him.
“I’m sorry that happened to you, Wooyoung. I’ve made a note of this man in our system.” Wooyoung blinked in surprise. This wasn’t what he had expected. “Unfortunately, this one incident isn’t enough to ban him yet, but if he causes any more problems, we’ll add his name to the list.”
“I…thank you,” Wooyoung breathed out. It was a shame that they couldn’t immediately put the asshole regular on the banned list, but now there was a paper trail. If he tried anything else, he’d get kicked out permanently, and Wooyoung would never have to deal with him again. He’d never felt more grateful for his manager than he did at that moment.
“No need to thank me. It’s my job to protect you guys, and tonight I failed.” Chan responded, remorse clear in his voice. “Take a minute in here to calm down, and then clock out and go to the hospital to get your wrist checked out.”
Wooyoung nodded, appreciating the gesture. He felt a little bad for leaving the rest of the team down a bartender, but he had no doubt Chan would jump in if needed. “Thanks,” he said again, words insufficient to truly express his gratitude to his manager. Chan nodded and stood, leaving the office to give Wooyoung some peace and quiet.
He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. This hadn’t been the first time a customer had crossed a boundary, but it was the first time one had gotten violent. Wooyoung thought back over the words hurled at him in a fit of anger.
Throwing yourself at anyone who will take you, thinking that way you’ll have some value as a human.
Maybe that’s why no one wants you beyond a fuck.
He hated the way they made him feel because they were things he’d told himself countless of times. Wooyoung did nothing but destroy people. He was the reason his family was broken and his dad was slowly killing himself with alcohol. He was the reason he had no friends. He could only connect with people physically, not mentally and certainly not emotionally. Anything deeper was setting himself up for failure. And maybe that was the reason he was always going home with people - an attempt to feel some semblance of connection with someone, some small sliver of humanity within himself. Logically, he knew that there were people who wanted a genuine relationship with him. Hell, Felix had basically cornered him at the beginning of his shift to ask if he had decided to join the DND campaign again. But Felix didn’t truly know Wooyoung. He knew the persona Wooyoung put on at work. That version of Wooyoung was fine, maybe even likable. But anything more than that? No, he couldn’t allow it. He’d just end up hurting another person who didn’t deserve it.
Wooyoung sighed and pushed himself out of the chair, wincing a bit at the pressure on his tender wrist. It wouldn’t do him any good to sit there and feel sorry for himself. He needed to run by the hospital to get his wrist checked, then go home and pass out. With a clear plan, Wooyoung grabbed his bag from the employee lockers and headed towards the back door.
A gust of humid wind hit him in the face when he opened the door, bringing with it the reek of the dumpster that was pushed up against the cement wall of the building. Wooyoung wrinkled his nose. The garbage truck that would come in the morning couldn’t get here fast enough.
Wooyoung kept his head down as he started walking out of the alley that the back door opened to, letting his feet guide him. Before he could take more than a few steps, though, he was cut off by a pair of shoes entering his field of vision, cutting off his path. Wooyoung huffed, already so done with everything, and looked up to tell the person to move. When his eyes reached a face, however, his words caught in his throat. Fuck.
In front of him stood the asshole regular he had just gotten kicked out of the club. Wooyoung could clearly see the stain on the man’s shirt from where he threw the drink on him. Behind the older man stood two others, arms crossed. A thought flashed through his mind that they looked like wannabe gangsters from a drama. It would have made him laugh if he hadn’t been in such a precarious situation. However, Wooyoung was no coward. Even if he was outnumbered three to one, and these men were clearly bigger than he was, he wouldn’t back down. Wooyoung kept his head held high and made direct eye contact with the asshole regular.
“I thought I made myself clear. I’m not interested.” He kept his voice steady. He couldn’t give the guy any more of an advantage than he already had. He hoped that the man would see that Wooyoung wouldn’t go down without a fight and decide it was too big of a hassle.
“Oh you lost that chance when you decided to act like a little bitch in there,” the man spit out as he took a step closer to Wooyoung. Clearly, the man wasn’t going to just let him go. Wooyoung held his ground, but his eyes darted around the alley, looking for an escape route. “I think whores like you need to be taught a lesson. Pathetic dogs don’t get to say no.” He took another step forward, and this time Wooyoung took one back.
“I don’t know who you think you are-”
Before Wooyoung could finish his retort, the older man lunged at him. In a flash, grabbed Wooyoung’s hair, and slammed his head against the dumpster. Wooyoung’s vision swan and a groan punched its way out of his throat. Before he could regain his bearings, he was slammed into the dumpster again, and he crumpled to the ground. Immediately the three men were on him. Wooyoung suffered a kick to his stomach and another one to the head before he managed to curl into a fetal position in an attempt to protect himself. That didn’t stop the men, though. They didn’t bother trying to uncurl him, just kicked and punched whatever part of his body was easily accessible. Wooyoung didn’t know how long the beating lasted for. It could have been seconds, it could have been hours. The only thing he focused on was trying to protect his head and keep the sounds being pummeled out of him to a minimum.
Then, as suddenly as the assault began, it stopped. The alleyway became eerily quiet. Wooyoung waited a few seconds before opening his eyes and slightly uncurling his head in an attempt to see what was happening.
That was a mistake.
The second he loosened his arms, they were yanked away from his head and pinned to the ground. Instinctively, he flailed in an attempt to free himself, and that’s when his legs were caught and pinned, too. Wooyoung thrashed in the hold, panicking, but the men were stronger and had a stable grip on him. A hand fisting his hair made him freeze and look up. Towering above him was the asshole regular. The man had a crazed look in his eyes and wore a twisted mixture of a smirk and a sneer.
“You asked who I was. I’ll show you.” The words were whispered with a sadistic glee that had Wooyoung paralyzed in fear. However, the feeling of a hand on the button of his jeans jolted him back into action. He yanked his arms and legs with all his might in a frenzied attempt to free himself, but the grips were too strong. The button on his jeans was popped and the zipper pulled down. Wooyoung screamed, a last ditch attempt to draw someone’s attention and save himself.
“Shut the fuck up” the man growled. He used the hand in Wooyoung’s hair to lift his head and slam it back to the ground. Wooyoung saw stars, black creeping in at the edges of his vision. The two previous hits against the dumpster and the kicks from the beating had already made him woozy, and this pushed him over the edge.
Before he blacked out completely, though, Wooyoung heard a new voice getting closer. A short man was running towards them. All Wooyoung could see was ashy grey hair and a bright blue and red jacket with gold accents. “Hey! Get off him! What are you…” The voice faded out, and he sank into darkness.