Chapter Text
The ringing is what startles him awake.
Wooyoung jerks upright, heart hammering in his chest. For a split second he thinks it’s his alarm, that he overslept for class, but then he realizes it’s the weekend.
The phone. The black one on his nightstand; it’s glowing faintly in the dim, morning light. He stares at it, throat dry, as it keeps buzzing insistently. With shaking hands, he answers.
“Hello?” His voice cracks, rough from the night before.
There’s no greeting. Just a flat, bored, and unfamiliar voice. Not San. “Write this down.”
Wooyoung scrambles for the pen on his desk, nearly dropping the phone in the process. “O-Okay.”
The voice rattles off an address. Short and clipped, with no further explanation.
Wooyoung scribbles it onto the corner of an old homework sheet, heart racing with each number and street name. He doesn’t recognize it, doesn’t even know what part of town it’s in. Before he can ask why, or what for, the line clicks dead.
Silence.
Wooyoung stares at the phone, then at the shaky scrawl on the paper in his lap. His stomach churns.
His first instinct is to try to rationalize. Maybe this is just a test. Maybe San wants to see if he’ll come when called. Maybe it’s nothing yet.
Even as he tells himself that, his gut twists with the truth he’s been trying to ignore: he doesn’t get to say no even if it’s not a test.
Every instinct in his body screams to run or hide or to do anything but follow the address. And yet, he knows the moment he doesn’t show up, the consequences will be immediate and severe.
He closes his eyes and presses his palms to his face, willing himself to think clearly; clarity doesn’t come. Only fear. Only that low, heavy weight of inevitability pressing him towards a path he never chose.
Finally, he pulls himself upright, legs shaky, feet dragging across the floor. He stuffs the sheet into his pocket, feeling the crumpled paper, serving as a reminder of how little control he has left.
He takes a deep, shaky breath to steady himself the best he can, muttering, “Okay, okay. I can do this. I have to.” The words feel hollow, even to him; it’s the only option he has.
And somewhere deep down, Wooyoung knows that the moment he steps outside, his life will no longer belong to him.
The streets are quieter than usual, the morning haze settling over Seoul like a thick blanket. Wooyoung keeps his head down, hoodie pulled tight, backpack slung awkwardly over one shoulder. Every step feels heavier than the last, as if the weight of what’s coming has already settled on him.
When he reaches the address, it’s an ambiguous warehouse tucked between two shuttered storefronts. Nothing about it screams danger, and that’s what makes it worse. He hesitates for a second, then steps inside.
The air is cool and smells faintly of smoke and concrete. A man emerges from the corner of the building, tall and lean, dressed in all black. His expression is unreadable, eyes sharp.
“You must be the new kid,” The man says, voice low and even. “San sent you?”
Wooyoung swallows hard, clutching his backpack strap like a lifeline. “Y-Yeah, that’s me.”
The man nods, gesturing for him to follow deeper into the warehouse. Inside, the space is empty except for a table with a few folders and a small stack of packages wrapped in brown paper.
“Sit.” The man orders, to which Wooyoung obeys without question.
“You’ll be handling these,” He continues, pushing the stack towards Wooyoung. He freezes when he sees the contents; they’re a variety of neatly packed drugs. Small bags of powders, pills, and tiny, tightly sealed containers. His stomach twists. “San’s not known for forgiving mistakes.”
Wooyoung’s fingers hover over the packages. He can feel the weight, the danger, the sheer responsibility pressing down on him. “I can do it,” He whispers. “I just don’t really know how.”
The man doesn’t look up at him, he keeps speaking like he’s explaining it to a child. “It’s simple. Pick up, drop off, no improvising. Keep a low profile. Everything else is, well, optional. Optional doesn’t mean safe, though. Understand?”
Wooyoung nods quickly, swallowing hard. The idea that he’s holding something that could ruin or end his life in a single mistake makes his hands shake. He clutches one of the packages like it’s a live bomb.
“What– what if anything goes wrong?” Wooyoung asks, voice trembling.
The man finally looks at him, eyes cold. “Then it goes to San. And trust me, kid, that’s not a situation you want to be in.”
Wooyoung nods again, forcing his legs to carry him to the door. Outside, the sun is higher, the city buzzing with people who have no idea the danger resting in his hands. His backpack feels heavier than ever, and with every step back toward his apartment.
As he walks home, his phone buzzes in his pocket. As he pulls it out, he sees a single message thread from San filling the display. He scrolls through with trembling thumbs.
10:00 — 23A Mullae‑dong, Mapo‑gu — 5 x small zip bags (white powder)
12:30 — 7‑2 Hongdae Alley (back entrance) — 2x hard plastic containers (crystals)
15:00 — Unit 402, 11 Gangnam‑daero — 10x blister packs (pills)
17:45 — 2‑14 Itaewon Market, stall #K9 — 1x sealed vial (liquid)
20:00 — Drop at the van by Hangang Park (east pier, under bridge) — return empty bag
A second text follows this one, one that makes his heart sink:
Report after each drop. No deviations.
He blinks at the list again, heart hammering so loud he can’t hear anything else. The times are tight. The locations are scattered across the city: Mapo, Hongdae, Gangnam, Itaewon, Hangang. These are places he’s heard of, seen, walked past a hundred times, but never with this kind of purpose. Each line is almost brutal in the sense that it’s making sure there’s no room for bargaining.
He stares at the items beside each address, picturing the packages he felt in the warehouse: small zip bags that could tear in a pocket, hard plastic containers that clinked when they were moved, blister packs full of pills he’d never checked the names of, a single sealed vial so small it could easily be swallowed and lost in the dark.
A cold panic slides up his spine. The tracker under his skin burns faintly. It’s an ugly, constant reminder that there’s no escaping being watched. He scrolls to the bottom to see the last line again..
Wooyoung presses the phone to his chest like it’s the only thing that’s keeping him tethered to the life he used to have. The list gives him a terrible kind of clarity of his new schedule. His new life.
There is no more importance behind his classes, no fun in hanging out with friends. It’s all routes, times, products, drop points.
He breathes once, shallow and ragged. He has to be somewhere in a few hours. He has to move through the city carrying other people’s lives in his bag. He tries to imagine how to do it without cracking.
❈
The city swallows him whole.
He moves through Seoul with his backpack tight against his shoulders, glancing at the small phone screen every few steps.
First stop: Mapo‑gu. He drops off the white powder, the recipient barely glancing at him. His hands shake, but he keeps them steady enough to leave the package and disappear into the street.
By noon he’s weaving through Hongdae Alley, ducking under awnings, sidestepping clusters of tourists. The crystals change hands in a quick exchange.
Afternoon soon bleeds into the early evening, and with Gangnam’s glass towers reflecting the golden glow of the sun, he’s moving faster now that his adrenaline is pumping. Blister packs in his bag, a careful rhythm of stops and starts, pressing down on the tracker in his arm every few minutes, counting the time in his head like a metronome.
Itaewon comes next. The small vial is lighter than he expects, heavier in responsibility. The drop is precise, almost routine, and for a moment he allows himself to exhale.
By the time he reaches Hangang Park, the city is soft with dusk, the river glittering in the fading light. He leaves the empty bag exactly where he’s told. He stands there for a second, chest tight, watching the ripples on the water.
Then he’s back in the streets, back to his apartment, backpack still heavy, heart still racing.
No one looks twice. He smiles at the familiar glow of his room through the window.
The day passed quickly despite Wooyoung feeling every second of it. His legs ache. His back is sore, and his hands are rough from the bags and the constant clenching.
And somewhere under it all, a dull, persistent fear hums.
He fumbles with his keys to finally push his door open.
“Woo! Where the hell have you been?” Yeosang’s voice cuts through the room before Wooyoung can even step inside. He’s standing by the couch, phone in hand, brows furrowed. “I’ve been calling you all day! Why weren’t you answering?”
It’s Saturday night, so he hasn’t talked to Yeosang for a whole day, not since their small argument on the night of the party.
Wooyoung freezes in the doorway, heat rushing to his cheeks. San threatened his life enough times to know better than to ever tell the truth.
“I uh, I lost my phone,” He stammers, dropping his backpack with a thud. “I have to get a new one.” His voice is hoarse, shaky. He forces a weak laugh, trying to sound casual. “I’ve just been too busy to go and get it.”
Yeosang doesn’t look convinced. He steps closer, eyes sharp. “Busy? You’re normally glued to your phone. And now it just vanishes? You just vanish? What kind of shit is this, Woo?”
Wooyoung swallows, heart hammering. “I just needed a break, I guess,” he mumbles, running a hand through his damp hair. “I’m fine now, I swear. Just really tired.”
Yeosang mutters under his breath, shaking his head, clearly unconvinced. “You better not pull this shit again. This is the second time,” He says, finally dropping the issue for the moment. He flops back on the couch, phone in hand, still scowling but giving Wooyoung space.
Wooyoung exhales quietly and slams his bedroom door shut behind him, sliding down against it.
He’s alone now, but the weight of the day still presses down on him. Every nerve in his body feels raw, every thought spinning in his head. He wants to cry again, or to scream.
He can’t let anyone know. Not his best friend, not anyone, as much as wishes he could go back to his normal life, he knows it’s not a possibility.
He hugs the bag close, heart pounding as he tries to calm the shaking in his hands. He takes a couple of deep breaths, letting himself calm down.
It’s short lived though, when his phone buzzes again, jerking him against the door. The apartment is quiet, the late afternoon sun slanting through the blinds in orange streaks. His heart hammers in his chest as he checks the screen. Another message, another address.
Check-in. 18:30
9‑12 Seongsu-dong, unit 3B.
He stares at it, stomach knotting, backpack already slung over his shoulder. The city feels larger now; the streets are stretched into a maze that he now has to navigate carrying other people’s products in his bag.
By the time he reaches the building, sweat is beading his forehead despite the cool evening air.
It’s a sleek, modern complex, too quiet for comfort. He punches the code into the keypad, heart hammering. He jumps a little at the sound of the door clicking open.
The elevator hums as it rises, echoing in the metal box. Wooyoung keeps his head down, fingers tightening on the straps of his backpack. Every step feels like walking on a tightrope stretched over a pit of sharks.
When the door’s open, San is there, sitting casually on the couch of the apartment.
He’s in a suit that fits him perfectly, sleeves ending just at the wrists, tie tight but relaxed, exuding a domineering presence that Wooyoung can’t help but notice.
His sharp eyes sweep over Wooyoung with a faintly predatory glint, making Wooyoung’s stomach twist. “Come in,” San says, voice low and smooth. “I was starting to wonder if you’d run off somewhere.”
Wooyoung steps into the apartment, legs threatening to buckle as he shakes his head rapidly. He keeps the backpack in his hands, clutching it to his stomach like it’ll protect him that way.
San tilts his head, eyes roaming over him with an unsettling amusement. “You’ve been busy today, haven’t you?” His smirk is subtle, teasing, and Wooyoung feels the heat rise in his cheeks.
“I delivered everything on schedule,” he whispers, voice barely audible.
“Sir.” San interjects, to which Wooyoung knits his brows in confusion.
“Huh?” He clarifies, stupidly, but San remains eerily patient.
“You will address me as Sir.” San drawls, adjusting the sleeves to his suit and he stands.
“Oh…” Wooyoung’s cheeks quickly turn ruddy, cowering below San. “Yes, of course. Sorry, sir.”
“Mm,” San hums, stepping closer. The faint scent of his cologne is spicy and expensive and it hits Wooyoung in a way that makes his chest tighten further.
“For your first day, you handled everything quite well. I wasn’t expecting that.” His gaze lingers on Wooyoung for a beat longer than necessary. “I cannot help but notice that this kind of thing suits someone like you. Someone young and pretty.”
Wooyoung shifts on his feet, trying not to meet San’s eyes, cheeks burning. “Th-Thank you, sir,” He mutters, hands gripping the straps tighter.
San doesn’t miss the reaction. He steps closer, leaning one shoulder casually against the wall. His voice drops just slightly, smooth and teasing. “Makes me want to see how you’d handle other things.”
Wooyoung swallows hard, mind racing. He knows this is dangerous—San’s words, his gaze, everything about this man is a trap wrapped in false charm—but he can’t help the way his heart keeps hammering into his ribs.
“I don’t know, sir, I’m just trying to do it right.” He whispers, barely audible.
“I know,” San replies, almost coos, straightening his back and running a hand through his hair. “And that’s exactly why I brought you here myself. I wanted to see how you were holding up. You’re handling it better than I expected, but I want to make sure you’re not overwhelmed.”
His eyes then flick down to Wooyoung’s hands that are clutching the bag, then back up, faint amusement dancing in the corner of his mouth, but also the glint of a threat. “It would be a shame if someone like you cracked so easily.”
Wooyoung’s stomach knots, and he can’t stop his eyes from darting to the floor. “I’m fine, sir. Really, I-I’m managing,” He says, voice shaky.
San lets out a soft chuckle, stepping a little closer, close enough that Wooyoung feels the warmth radiating off him. “Good. Because I’d like to see you thrive. I’d like to see you do this perfectly.”
Wooyoung’s chest tightens so much he can barely breathe. He shifts on the balls of his feet, trying to hide how flustered he is. His hands are shaking again, but he doesn’t dare to set the backpack down just yet. “I’ll do everything right, sir. I promise.”
San’s smirk softens slightly, though his eyes stay sharp. “I know you will. You have that spark about you.” He steps closer again, voice lowering into something intimate and dangerous. “It’s interesting, seeing someone like you. So small and delicate, handling things like this. I think if you keep working for me, I’d want to reward you.”
Wooyoung flushes, heart hammering so fast he can feel it in his throat. Because what the fuck does he mean by that? He just nods quickly, looking down at the floor. “Y-Yes sir.” He whispers.
He knows better than to let anything slip. San’s words are like fire, and he can’t afford to get burned.
San gives him one last measured look. “Good boy.” He hands Wooyoung a wad of cash wrapped in a thin, fancy band. Wooyoung takes it with shaking hands, not expecting to be paid this early on, or this much.
“Keep up the pace, and maybe next time, I’ll have a little something more waiting for you.” He smiles eerily, then gestures toward the couch. “Sit. Let’s go over today’s deliveries and tomorrow’s schedule.”
❈
The morning is too early to have burnt off all of the lingering dew that clings to the city. It’s something Wooyoung thinks about as he follows his GPS to his drop.
The building is in a sketchy area, and absolutely reeks of rot and stale smoke, like something in the walls has been left to die. He was originally somewhat relieved that he only had one address today, but now that he’s seen what the address looks like, unease quickly swells in his gut.
He climbs the stairs with each step being heavier than the last, his backpack thudding softly against his spine. He tells himself to breathe, to just keep walking.
It’s only a drop. Just another address.
But the air feels wrong the second he reaches the landing. The hallway is too quiet, the single bulb overhead buzzing faintly. He lifts his hand to knock, but the door swings inward before his knuckles touch.
The man inside looks him over slowly, a grin curling across his lips. His shirt hangs open, gold chains glittering against a broad chest, and his eyes track down Wooyoung’s body in a way that makes his skin crawl.
“Well, what do we have here?” The man drawls, smoke curling from the cigarette between his fingers. “Did they send me a delivery boy or a toy? You look better than the goods.”
Wooyoung swallows. What the fuck? His throat feels dry, his blood ringing in his ears. He pulls the small package from his bag and holds it out, his hands a little shaky. “This is for you.”
The man doesn’t take it. He leans against the doorframe, watching Wooyoung like he’s prey. “You in a hurry? C’mon, step inside. Show me what else you can offer me and I’ll pay you double.”
Wooyoung’s grip tightens on the package. “I just deliver what I’m told. Nothing else.”
That only makes the grin widen. The man saunters closer, smoke trailing from his lips. “Pretty mouth on you. I bet Mr. Choi didn’t tell you that sometimes clients want a little more than powder and pills.”
Wooyoung’s chest burns, his face paling. He takes a step back. “T-That’s not my job.”
The man laughs low, reaching out quickly to catch Wooyoung’s chin, forcing his face up. His fingers dig into the soft skin of his jaw, and the stink of smoke and cologne crowds into Wooyoung’s lungs. “Not your job, huh? Then what are you here for? Think you can just drop a package and run? Where’s the fun in that?”
Wooyoung jerks his head free, heart racing so hard it hurts, and he doesn’t want to show how fucking scared he is right now, because as his past has proved to him before, it’s not a great idea.
His voice shakes, but he forces it out. “You try anything, and San will hear about it before you finish lighting another cigarette.”
That name lands heavy. The man’s smile falters for just a beat before curling sharper. “Oh. There’s a bite in you after all. Cute. You know whose leash you’re on, don’t you? But do you really think Mr. Choi will help you?”
“I do,” Wooyoung snaps, surprising even himself with the heat in his words. “Which means if you’re smart, you’ll take the package and keep your hands to yourself.”
The man freezes, then tips his head back and laughs, the sound booming off the walls.
“Goddamn you got some teeth, don’t you?” He snatches the package from Wooyoung’s hand at last, still chuckling as he weighs it in his palm.
Before he can say anything about it, the man waves him off. “Don’t forget that not everyone’s gonna care about a name.” His voice a low growl against Wooyoung’s ear as he leans in closer. “You better pray Mr. Choi keeps you close. Otherwise, someone’s gonna chew you up.”
Wooyoung doesn’t answer. He hastily zips his bag back up, and bolts down the dingy stairs of the landing. His hands are shaking so hard on the stairway railing that he nearly misses a step; he doesn’t stop until he’s back outside, gulping the cold night’s air.
As soon as Wooyoung is gone, the man pulls out his phone, voice low and even. “He pushed back. Threw your name in my face. Stared me down, even. Kid’s got balls. Scared, yeah, but he bit back for sure.”
There’s a pause, then a soft chuckle on the other end.
“Good,” San murmurs. “That’s very good. I can’t wait to see what kind of flower he blooms into.”