Chapter Text
“Down, boys!” Seonghwa hollered, his voice echoing in the rafters of the massive cathedral. “You’re outnumbered tonight! No point in wasting your lives or your bullets fighting a battle that, I promise, you won’t win.”
The heels of Seonghwa’s pointed shoes echoed just as loudly as his voice as he sauntered gracefully past countless rows of wooden pews. The fur of his jacket dragged behind him, falling off of one shoulder as he dropped his hands to his side.
Far more carefully, calculated footsteps shuffled in the wake of Seonghwa’s confident strides, an entire pack of men carrying rifles at his back. They kept their guns trained on every body they spotted in the dim, warm candlelight of the church like skilled professionals. One by one, they split off to strip their enemies of their own weapons and pin them to the ground, shouting impatient commands behind black masks and heavy hoods.
Seonghwa said “down”, and his men were going to make sure they all obeyed his order.
Nobody was above the queen’s order.
Not even God, Himself—which is exactly why Seonghwa was the only criminal brave enough to breach Gilded Gates Cathedral with weapons in hand instead of a bible.
Hongjoong and his men wouldn’t have been so easily outnumbered if they had ever imagined someone like him existed. Hongjoong was just grateful that no civilians were here at this late hour to end up in the crosshairs of the Ravagers.
Seonghwa came to a stop before the altar with lazy steps and the massive, stained glass windows behind it let in just enough moonlight to paint Hongjoong as the center of his attention. Just the sight of him, dressed in his black robes with that clerical collar and rosary beads in his hand was nothing but comical to Seonghwa. It had him grinning from ear to ear as he met the man’s predictably disappointed gaze.
“Storming a church to hold worshippers at gunpoint is a new low for you, Seonghwa. This act alone could send you to Hell for all eternity,” Hongjoong warned him coldly, looking down his nose at Seonghwa from the high ground of the stage and altar.
“Will you be there with me too?” Seonghwa teased with a purr. “Should I make sure of it?”
A tense muscle in Hongjoong’s jaw clenched as his thumb began to fidget with the rosary beads hanging from his hand. Even his eyes darkened a bit as unwelcome, impure memories of their past close encounters flooded his mind and clouded all rational thought. Memories that Seonghwa thought back on quite fondly, especially with how badly it pissed Hongjoong off just to be reminded of them.
“Haven’t you already?” Hongjoong bit back angrily, his gaze bouncing between every point in the room where his men were being held to the ground at gunpoint. “You would go this far simply to drag me down with you?”
“I’m not here for you, pretty Hongjoong. I already know it doesn’t take 50 men and their rifles to get what I want out of you.”
The hiss that escaped between Hongjoong’s teeth as he resisted the urge to curse under God’s roof had Seonghwa’s mouth splitting his devious features in a giddy grin. He loved getting under Hongjoong’s skin and he loved even more to do it on his turf, under the eyes of his watchful God that Seonghwa didn’t even believe in.
It was all so much fun.
“Where is the Moreau artifact that you stole? The Hwang family wants it back in their hands, not locked up in some sketchy old church,” Seonghwa explained, slowly dropping his amused grin to hold Hongjoong’s gaze with fervor.
A bitter scoff bubbled out of Hongjoong before he schooled his expression. “What, are you a mercenary now? Selling out all your Ravagers like paid help to do other people’s bidding?”
Seonghwa’s eyes narrowed with his growing anger at Hongjoong’s degrading assumptions. He refused to give in to his goading though. He knew Hongjoong too well. He would say anything to poke and prod at Seonghwa’s ego because he knew it was far more effective and could do so much more damage than any physical weapon.
As if Seonghwa would ever work for somebody because, what, he needed money?
What a joke.
The tense silence of Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s stare down hung heavy in the air as more footsteps shuffled behind Seonghwa’s back. He didn’t turn to meet them though, already knowing it would be his own men, and Hongjoong never broke his gaze. Those men and their rifles didn’t frighten him and he had just as much pride as Seonghwa did, if not more.
It’s not like they had killed any of Hongjoong’s men. Yet.
Seonghwa was deranged, cute, but he wasn’t needlessly vicious. They were rivals, after all. Not enemies.
There was nothing to be scared of.
“Seonghwa,” Wooyoung came to a stop beside his boss, keeping his rifle clutched close and ready. “We should secure the rest of the area.”
Without breaking eye contact with Hongjoong, Seonghwa tilted his chin in agreement. “Go, then.”
Wooyoung adjusted his mask over his face and turned to the others with him. He tapped Mingi’s shoulder and signalled for him to check the right side of the stage and any more rooms in that direction. Mingi nodded and jogged through the pews in that direction, more men following with guns to make sure all of their bases were covered.
Wooyoung took the other two with him toward the left of the stage, following the wall of stained glass, concrete pillars, and ornate statues. He raised his rifle as he shuffled carefully down a narrow corridor, signaling for his other members to split off and cover more ground. Gilded Gates Cathedral was massive and Hongjoong had a lot of men under his order, even if it wasn’t as many as Seonghwa had.
Wooyoung wasn’t taking any chances.
Following a step of spiral stairs up to a second floor, Wooyoung kept his rifle pointed in every direction that his eyes landed on as Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s petty bickering got lost to the growing distance. All that was left to listen to was his careful footsteps climbing stone stairs and the gentle rustling of his protective gear strapped around him. It was so quiet in the upper level of the church, he would be able to hear a pin drop in another room if anybody else was here.
Maybe there was nobody.
Maybe Hongjoong really was lacking in employees.
A blur of motion bursted from one of the rooms in the long hallway before Wooyoung even had the thought to check it, catching him off guard as a hand clasped his rifle and forced it down. With the strap around his torso and both hands white-knuckling the metal, the assailant failed to rip it off of him. Wooyoung stumbled, but he was too quick—too slippery, using his own momentum to dodge the second massive hand reaching out for him before he was caught.
Wooyoung whirled on the man in the doorway in a split second, raising the barrel of his gun to look through the scope and directly into the stranger’s eyes. San froze in place, bracing for the pain of a bullet directly between his eyes, but Wooyoung didn't shoot.
He grinned, though San could barely spot it under his lmask and hood.
“Thought you would be quick enough, huh?” Wooyoung teased, as cocky and giddy as his boss in the most dangerous situations.
San’s jaw clenched with a deep breath that expanded his already broad, buff chest. His wrapped hands came up to grip the doorway, his nails biting into the wood and straining the thick muscles of his arms. Even as fear rippled through him in nauseous waves, he kept his spine straight and tall as he stared down the barrel of Wooyoung’s gun.
He wouldn’t show fear.
Not to someone stupid enough to storm Gilded Gates with a rifle. Who knows how crazy someone like that could be…
“Step back,” Wooyoung commanded firmly.
“You’ve made a biblically catastrophic mistake walking into Hongjoong’s church with a weapon like that,” San growled between gritted teeth, ignoring Wooyoung’s stolen authority.
“Yeah, if you or Hongjoong have a problem with it, take it up with Seonghwa,” Wooyoung argued bemusedly behind his weapon.
“Park Seonghwa?” San breathed, the anger in his expression giving way to shock.
Of course, the only person who could possibly top the level of craziness it took to walk in here with a rifle would be Seonghwa. He didn’t even need a rifle. He had countless men with rifles to do his bidding, and still, he was a thousand times more dangerous than all of them.
“The one and only.”
San’s expression darkened as his muscles grew rigid. “He’s testing God’s wrath, pulling stunts like this.”
“And you’re testing mine,” Wooyoung hissed, gesturing impatiently with his gun. “Step back.”
San pried his hands off of the doorway, raising them beside his head as he took one step back into the room with every step that Wooyoung took forward to follow him. The way his biceps bulged under the tight sleeves of his shirt had Wooyoung ogling him before he could stop himself. It was like the guy had more muscle than his shirt knew what to do with. He might as well be The Hulk, on the verge of bursting the seams of the black fabric amidst his transition.
San was probably a dangerous guy with a body like that. Everybody who worked under Hongjoong was, but San looked particularly threatening just as he was. No amount of muscle was going to be more dangerous than a semi-automatic weapon though, so Wooyoung was happy to have the upperhand here.
San tried to get a good look at Wooyoung’s face as he stepped into the moonlight, but his mask and hood was hiding too much of him. Even as Wooyoung turned to check the rest of the room and make sure they were alone, there was nothing about his all black attire that gave him away.
How was San ever going to get his payback for this if he didn’t even know who he was?
The most useful hint he had so far was that he was a Ravager, which meant he wasn’t a threat to be taken likely, but he was one in a million. Finding him would be like finding a needle in a very dangerous haystack.
“Do Ravagers have names?” San asked as he reached for his water bottle resting on a side table, Wooyoung too distracted surveying the room to notice. “Or are you just expendable cannon fodder for a deranged psychopath?”
Wooyoung ignored San’s goading, taking in every inch of the space with meticulous eyes. It was obvious by the heavy equipment that this room was used as a gym, which would explain why San’s tank top was soaked in sweat, the veins in his muscles were bulging, and his knuckles were wrapped. There was a gently swinging punching bag by one of the windows that he must’ve been wailing on before he heard Wooyoung coming up the steps.
And he was alone.
Good.
“You call Seonghwa a psychopath while Hongjoong’s got his assassins training in the second story of a church,” Wooyoung playfully argued, dropping his rifle but keeping his hands on it.
“I’m not an assassin.” San watched Wooyoung saunter across the room, tipping his water bottle to his lips for a few gulps. “More like a debt collector.”
Wooyoung stopped in front of San, a glint of moonlight making the amusement in his eyes sparkle as he stood toe to toe with the man who looked like a royal Duke. Not only was his muscular frame enticing, but so were his soft eyes and his slicked back hair and his impossibly strong jaw. Wooyoung couldn’t help but size him up and take in the inch or two that San had over him.
It was a shame they worked on two different sides of a very bloody war, or Wooyoung would be making eyes at a guy like him from across the bar at Red’s.
“And if someone can’t pay their debts to your precious Hongjoong?”
San stared down his nose at the giddy little devil before him. “That’s none of my business. I’m a debt collector, not an executioner.”
“Trying to get in God’s good graces?” Wooyoung teased. “You’re just as much of a criminal as the rest of us, you know.”
San’s fists clenched at his sides, his chest rising and falling faster with his bubbling anger. His moral compass being questioned in the same breath that his character was being degraded was like a slap in the face that San didn’t take lightly.
“What’s your name?” San seethed.
“You first.”
San hesitated, debating his losses by revealing something as simple as his name. It wasn’t like he had much more to hide in a situation like this. Wooyoung was already in their church, keeping him pinned down and away from the others, staring into his eyes like he knew he held all the power here. He had every advantage he could get. Giving his name wasn’t what was going to get San killed here.
If Wooyoung or Seonghwa planned on executing people tonight, he was as good as dead already.
“San,” he answered stiffly.
“Alright, San-ah—” Wooyoung reached for the zip ties he had secured at his hip, “—kneel.”
San’s eyes grew so wide, they nearly popped out of his head in shock. The command was absurd enough, but the way Wooyoung called him so informally, without even giving his name in return, was incredulous.
He shouldn’t be surprised by this little devil’s audacity, San knew that. The guy was a Ravager for Seonghwa, who historically liked to play by his own rules. This guy was probably just as much of a brat.
“How do you figure I’m not older than you?” San barked in outrage.
“Because frankly, I don’t care either way,” Wooyoung said plainly, holding up the zip tie once again. “Kneel, San, before you find out if I’m a debt collector or not.”
San paused, his eyes bouncing between Wooyoung. If he was looking for any signs of him bluffing, he wasn’t going to find any. Wooyoung was just as dangerous as he seemed and he wasn’t above putting down a pretty face.
Sure, it would be a shame, but there were others out there with pretty faces that actually obeyed orders.
Offering his water bottle to Wooyoung, San took the zip tie with his other hand and didn’t move as Wooyoung looked between him and the water. He hesitated, rightfully assuming he was being tricked, but San had just taken a sip of the water a moment ago. He wasn’t trying to poison him—more likely just trying to get it out of his hand so he could obey Wooyoung’s pesky orders.
So Wooyoung took it, their eyes locked in the tense silence as their fingers brushed. It was the briefest touch, barely even a graze, and it had Wooyoung’s skin buzzing with little fireworks. San was simply so good looking that one touch had him itching for more.
What else were those big arms for, if not to hold someone down while he fucked them senseless?
The overwhelming rush of arousal triggered by Wooyoung’s imagination had him pulling down his mask so he could drink from San’s water bottle and cool himself down. He hadn’t even realized it was exactly what San was hoping for when he handed him the water bottle in the first place.
With a curious pop of his brow, San studied every curve of Wooyoung’s face in the moonlight as he tipped his head back to gulp down every last drop of water. His features were so sharp and slender compared to San’s. His eyes held a darkness that seemed unique to people in this line of business, his nose was as sleek as his jawline, and his adam’s apple bobbed with every gulp of water. Even his gear hanging off of his lithe frame looked like it weighed more than him.
San was dangerous because he had trained his body to be a weapon. Wooyoung was dangerous because his mind was, judging by his overall size. That was the frightening part.
What was going on in that head of his that would determine whether San lived or died tonight?
Wooyoung tossed the empty water bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, tossing his hood off his head. San took in the messy strands of black hair that fell over his forehead before he slicked them back. That’s when the smudged, red mark on the back of his hand caught San’s attention, giving him more information than his name ever would.
That mark looked new, but there were faint, slightly older marks around it too.
Wooyoung frequented Red’s.
Smothering a smirk, San dropped to one knee, met Wooyoung’s eyes so he could see every ounce of intention in his own, and then dropped the other. San wove his hands through the zip tie and caught the end in his mouth, pulling it tight around his wrists with his teeth, the muscles in his arms and neck straining with the effort.
When San looked up at Wooyoung through his lashes, his expression was tight with irritation but his eyes were soft and shining like a sad puppydog.
“Jesus Christ,” Wooyoung hissed under his breath. “You’re a real piece of work. God really took his time making you, didn’t he?”
A smug smirk crawled across San’s princely features, turning his softness into something lethal. “Is that your way of saying you’d like to be unmade?”
That simmering buzz of arousal kicked up in the deepest pits of Wooyoung’s guts as his imagination ran wild at the idea of San unmaking him.
Those big hands, his firm muscles, soft skin, and hot breath… It would be a dream to be wrapped up in a man like San and completely devoured—unmade—in his strong embrace.
Just for one night.
Anything more would be too complicated.
Wooyoung took a few short steps towards San and dropped to a crouch in front of him, smiling softly at the man bound in front of him. San’s soft, sensual gaze danced in Wooyoung’s, both of them silently calling each other’s bluff with nothing but their eyes. The challenge was like a shot of adrenaline in Wooyoung’s eyes, making him itch to cut that zip tie and see just what San was really capable of.
This was all business though. Wooyoung was working.
“If I don’t get any orders to kill you, I’ll let you do a lot more to me than some unmaking…” Wooyoung promised with a whisper, his bottom lip getting trapped between his teeth.
San’s heated gaze tracked that plump lower lip with a roar of hellfire in his veins that had his wrists twisting against the zip tie. He could probably use enough force to snap it, grab Wooyoung by his gear, and pin him to the creaky floorboards of the church. Even Wooyoung had to know he was stronger than the thin band of plastic he handed him.
The zip tie wasn’t to combat his physical strength though, it was to test his obedience, restraint, self control. San liked to think he had a lot of all three, but with Wooyoung only a breath away and offering himself up on a silver platter, it was a struggle to remember himself.
Before either of them could continue playing the subtle game they had woven into this conversation, Wooyoung’s walkie on his hip chimed to life. A muffled voice came through, relaying words and phrases that didn’t make any sense to San’s ears. It wasn’t until Wooyoung stood up and put some distance between them to answer the walkie in his own compilation of random words that San realized it was all code.
Seonghwa’s team really didn’t mess around about their secrecy, did they?
San didn’t even manage to get a name out of his captor when he tried, and now they had secret codes…
Hongjoong and his team were powerful, sure, but it was becoming apparent why Seonghwa had so much success in his ventures.
Tucking his walkie back on his belt, Wooyoung grabbed his rifle and sauntered swiftly toward San. His spine straightened with alarm as a cold chill dripped down his spine and drained all of the blood from his face. But instead of aiming the rifle at his head and pulling the trigger, Wooyoung caressed San’s jaw in his palm and tilted his head up to meet his gaze.
“I don’t have to kill you,” Wooyoung announced with a dazzling grin. “Doesn’t that mean you owe me a debt now? For sparing your life?”
Wooyoung could feel the muscles in San’s jaw bounce under his skin as he took a deep breath, like a bull eager to charge.
“Not after the promise you just made me. That’s my debt to collect,” San declared lowly, a heated promise in his eyes.
Wooyoung’s smile only broadened with excitement. “Then come and get it, San-ah.”
Wooyoung’s hand slipped from San’s face to pull his mask back up and over his smile, hiding it away before San could think to savor it. He grabbed his hood too, throwing it over his head and concealing even more of himself. San couldn’t stop staring at him though, watching, admiring, committing as much of him to memory as he could.
There was no mistaking that mark on the back of his hand. You only got that when you went deep into the backrooms of Red’s.
Most people washed the mark off, too ashamed of their debaunchery to go back into their stuffy office jobs and risk other people seeing it. Wooyoung has multiple marks though, and judging by how faded some of them were, he was there too frequently to wash them off properly even if he tried.
There was no doubt San would be able to find him, if he even dared to search for that needle in the very dangerous haystack, that was the Ravagers. It would just be a matter of time.
Wooyoung moved toward the door of the makeshift gym, his hands back on his rifle, before San called after him and stopped him.
“I didn’t get your name,” San reminded him in a last ditch effort.
He didn’t need it. They both knew that.
“If you’re half as good at your job as you should be, you’ll get my name when you find me and fuck it out of me,” Wooyoung argued coyly.
Tossing San a playful wink, Wooyoung spun on his heels and checked the halls one more time before he ran off. He bounded down the spiral staircase, ran into the others on his team that he had split from, and returned to the main cathedral where they had left Seonghwa to do his negotiations with the head priest and captain of the crew, Hongjoong.
Wooyoung glanced up at the altar as he passed, finding Seonghwa had managed to pin Hongjoong to his ornate podium. And it didn’t even take physical force to have him right where Seonghwa wanted him. All he had to do was get a little too close and Hongjoong was pressing his back into the podium with all his might to avoid Seonghwa’s touch.
Of course, that didn’t really work out too well for him.
“Now give it to me, Reverend,” Seonghwa purred, his eyelids salaciously low as he leaned further into Hongjoong’s bubble.
As if obeying his commands would get Seonghwa away from him faster, Hongjoong moved his hand from behind his back and offered the artifact hidden in his tight grip. A triumphant grin spread across Seonghwa’s face as he admired the priest’s handsome features, and then he closed the distance between them, snatching the artifact between his teeth so fast that Hongjoong jumped in his own skin.
Seonghwa nearly nipped his fingers.
“Thank you, my love,” Seonghwa muttered around the artifact, moving his hands to Hongjoong’s waist.
Before Hongjoong even realized what he was doing, Seonghwa used his mouth to press the artifact to Hongjoong’s neck and drag it gently down his body. Over his tight collar, down his chest that heaved with every breath, over his stomach, until it caught on his belt and had Hongjoong jolting with awareness of how close he was to the undeniable erection straining beneath his cassock.
Hongjoong wasted no time shoving at Seonghwa’s shoulders hard enough to have him falling on his ass in front of him. With blazing red ears, shallow breaths, and shaky hands, Hongjoong feigned irritation as he stared down at the cocky criminal at his feet.
It was just… so hard to be disgusted with him when he looked so… pretty.
That fur coat hanging off his shoulders, those pretty eyes, that sly grin around the artifact in his mouth like he was some mischievous cat that stole someone’s catch. Seonghwa was beauty and grace and deviance and terror all wrapped in one and topped with a pretty bow.
“You’re the devil, aren’t you?” Hongjoong hissed at him, crossing his hands and the rosary beads in front of him to try and hide that aching erection he could barely ignore any longer.
Seonghwa tilted his head, letting a strand of black hair fall in front of those pretty eyes he batted so confidently up at Hongjoong. “Not like any kind you’re familiar with.”
“Clearly,” Hongjoong snarled.
Turning on his heels, Hongjoong took a look around his cathedral at all of his men that had been captured and held at gunpoint in the midst of Seonghwa’s invasion. Anger boiled in his veins and turned to steam that came out his ears as he marched fearlessly toward the right of the stage, where he would find solace in his office.
That was the only place he could think to run with this problem that Seonghwa gave him between his legs.
“Now, take your wretched Ravagers and get out of my chur—” Hongjoong began to holler, getting cut off by the echo of something crashing in the direction he was headed.
Everybody in the cathedral jolted in surprise, unsure of where it was coming from or what to do, even as the sound of a struggle followed. It sounded like glass shattering and furniture being tossed somewhere in the distance, but it was obviously coming from somewhere deep in the church.
Everybody on Seonghwa’s team was supposed to gather so they could leave quickly, now that Seonghwa got the artifact he came for, but somebody was missing.
Mingi.
Footsteps scrambled at the first sign of trouble, all beelining for whichever rooms were hidden on the right side of the cathedral. Hongjoong knew the way, as familiar with this place as he was the back of his hand, while the others followed close behind. He threw open one of the doors down a long hallway where there was more clattering, and just as they had thought, Mingi was inside—and he wasn’t alone.
There was another priest, someone who operated just under Hongjoong, dressed in a cassock and a clerical collar. It didn’t matter that he was a man of God or that Mingi had a rifle strapped to his chest. The priest had Mingi by a strap of his gear and was throwing furious punches into his face over and over, as if he was seeing red.
He didn’t let up, even as Mingi tried to block his face and tripped over an overturned chair. He didn’t falter even as Mingi hit the ground. He threw punch after punch after punch, splitting Mingi’s brow and then his lip, until his knuckles turned bloody and crimson stained the dark wood of their ancient cathedral floors.
“Enough! Enough!” Hongjoong demanded with a roar, stumbling into the room until he could catch his fellow priest by his arm and fight to stop him. “Yunho! He’s had enough! You’re done!”
Hongjoong managed to pry him away, shoving him hard enough to make him stumble back against a wall of bookshelves. A few toppled over, decorating the floor around Yuno’s feet with the words of God, his disciples, and wise followers. Yunho blinked a few times to clear the red mist that had taken over, feeling nothing but shame creep into the cracks of his rage.
It didn’t help when he looked up at Hongjoong to see pure outrage in his eyes as he clenched his rosary beads so tightly in his fists that they might just shatter.
His anger had gotten the best of him.
Again.
Wooyoung slipped into the room, ignoring the tension and the silent conversation Hongjoong and Yunho were having. He went for Mingi without question, pulling him to his feet just in time for Jongho to appear with a cloth to stop the fountain of blood seeping from Mingi’s nose. They both coddled him as they dragged him out, leaving Seonghwa to glance back and forth between the priests with unbridled disdain in his eyes.
He waited until Hongjoong pried his eyes off of Yunho and finally looked at him before he spoke.
“I thought we would be even after this job. You gave up the artifact so easily, after all, I thought you wanted that too—some shred of peace…” Seonghwa said, twirling the artifact playfully between his fingers as he flashes Hongjoong a devilish smirk. “I’ll be reconsidering that now.”
Hongjoong gulped, his mind battling between anger and desperation. “Seonghwa—”
Seonghwa didn’t want to hear anything else Hongjoong had to say, so he turned and left.
He may have stormed his church and ambushed him with a bunch of men and rifles, but he didn’t touch any of his men. Didn’t hurt them, didn’t kill them, didn’t erase his entire organization—even if it would’ve benefited him. They were rivals and Seonghwa showed up with all of the power he needed to do some real damage, and he did nothing but conduct a bit of business and was ready to leave peacefully.
It was Hongjoong’s priest that had broken that flimsy seal of trust. Yunho was supposed to be a holy man full of love and guidance and forgiveness, and he had brutally bludgeoned the first guy that had gotten in his way. Without a thought of what the consequences could be.
“Fuck! Fuck!” Hongjoong shouted through gritted teeth, grabbing the front of Yunho’s cassock and shoving him back against the bookshelf again.
His anger was getting the best of him too, but he refused to crumble and slip into that familiar darkness again. So instead of taking his anger out on his most trusted men, Hongjoong clasped the back of Yunho’s head and pulled him close until Yunho’s head hit his shoulder.
They both stood in the wreckage of the room in silence as the Ravagers fled, absolutely floored by the destruction Seonghwa managed to bring without even causing it himself.
Seonghwa didn’t need to play the role of a demon when they had their own demons playing in their heads.
“I’m sorry,” Yunho whispered, clenching the sleeves of Hongjoong’s cassock desperately in his hands. “I-I couldn’t keep my cool. I failed you a-and I failed our Lord…”
“No, no, Yunho,” Hongjoong reassured him, gently petting the hairs on the back of his neck as he held him. “That is just what happens… when the demons close in on you.”