part 3: the past is at your doorstep, it wants to be let in (wc: 4.1k)

You wondered if Ji-sun had a girlfriend. It's not that you were interested in him that way; just considering that he appeared to be around your age. Another thing you wondered about was what happened to your frog figure. You realized you didn’t have it until you got back to your place, and it wasn’t in your purple pouch. You made a mental note to look for it in your office the next workday. The last thing you wondered about – that rang inside your head like a song you couldn’t get out was what Ji-sun had said to you;

I am asking you to punish me.

Was he flirting with you? He sounded so serious about it, though. He was strange. In all your years as a director, a subordinate never said anything that remotely odd to you. You couldn’t help but let your mind wander, how would he be like as a dom or sub…? 

That was just fantasy, though. He seems like the type that wants to climb the corporate ladder, so this is his way of sucking up to you. So you can’t let his good looks get to your head. You needed to focus, like how you were currently on your way to a bar to pick up your dad after receiving a call from the owner that, once again, your dad was too drunk out of his mind. 

You parked your car and walked up to the bar with a pit in your stomach. You weren’t sure whether you’d be met with the sleepy drunk version of your dad or the raging drunk version. It was always like flipping a coin. As you passed by the window of the building, you caught a glimpse of your dad sitting on the countertop. You braced yourself as you stepped inside, the bartender recognizing you immediately. 

You thanked the bartender for getting a hold of you as you approached them. Your dad had his head against the countertop with several empty glasses surrounding him. At least he wasn’t shouting incoherently. You tapped your dad on his shoulder, and you were met with snores. You somehow managed to get him off the barstool, placing one of his arms around your shoulders as you made your way out the door. You’re not sure how you managed to get him to your car, considering how he seemed to weigh even more due to him practically blacking out. 

As you’re helping your dad into the backseat of your car, he starts grumbling. You ignore it and get him into the seat, having him lie on his side. Before you can close the door, he’s sitting up, his grumbling turning into raising his voice. 

“Get away from me,” He pushes your hand, getting more upset by the second. He points an accusatory finger at you, words slurred as he speaks, “Your fault…mom…died…fucking bitch.”

“I need to take you home,” You respond matter-of-factly, despite his words feeling like a knife being twisted into your stomach. 

Your dad only yells louder, “Get away from me!” 

You sigh, ignoring his protests and trying to get him back into his place. Instead, you're met with a stinging slap across your face. Your hand comes up to your burning cheek, eyes watering from the emotional whiplash your father just gave to you. You bite your tongue and find yourself shoving your dad into the backseat and slamming the car door shut before he can move. You turn around so your back faces the car and burst into tears.

──

San trailed behind you. And he found you heading into a bar. He stood outside, from afar, and watched attentively. He expected you to be inside the bar for a while, but instead, you came out in a couple of minutes. He wasn’t expecting to see a man practically draped around your shoulders as you stumbled over to your car. It was evident — based on the bar and how the man appeared — that he was drunk. San heard the man raising his voice, only catching a couple of words consisting of: mom and fucking bitch. Before San could think of what the man was trying to say, he watched as the man slapped you.

San has to admit that even he is surprised. He’s not sure what to make of the situation, almost feeling as if he’s intruded too far into your privacy, even though this was simply part of his mission. The strangest part of this all was how San found himself feeling concerned. 

That’s a new feeling. Definitely a weird one, at it, too. Why did he feel that he wasn’t sure? He certainly wasn’t going to spend time analyzing why such an emotion had been inflicted on him. He watched as you broke down crying, and as if nothing happened, you wiped your eyes and got into the car. For some unknown reason, San couldn’t continue following you. He has seen enough for today. 

San headed back to his place. When he entered, he immediately noticed the chair at the dining table was slightly more to the left than he had left it. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a pocket knife and quietly closing the door behind him. He cautiously walked toward his living room, where he spotted a dark figure standing by the balcony doors. Before San could react by attacking them, they spoke:

“You’ve got a nice view.”

San’s body tensed; it was Hongjoong. San contemplated it for a moment, where he could just attack him. Slit his throat. It wouldn’t bring anything back, but at least he’d be out of the picture. Then he’d slit his own throat—

“We’ve got a shipment coming up this week,” Hongjoong stated. “And the investigation team is aware of it.” 

San continued to stand there, pocket knife still in his grasp. 

Hongjoong continued, “They’ll send in police to break it up. When you guys arrive, I need you to create a distraction for them.” 

San says, “Understood.”

Hongjoong doesn’t say anything for a moment. When he does, it makes San's blood boil, “Remember when we were kids? When my dad had us fight against one another to see who was better?” 

San swallows thickly, “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Hongjoon reaffirms, chuckling, “you always beat me.” He leans out of the balcony window and walks over to San. He holds a small picture in his hand and gives it to San, who doesn’t even need to look at the photograph to know what it is. “You know, believe it or not, I miss them as well.”

San tenses his jaw, knuckles turning white as he grips the pocket knife. His vision blurs as he feels his body ripping at the seams, wanting to escape, tearing from within the restraints he’s had to train to keep up with his unresolved grievance. He accepts it, that he’ll just allow himself to unravel and accept whatever circumstances await him on the other side. However, Hongjoong is already out the door, and San looks down at the photograph in his hand; his girlfriend and daughter.

──

“He won’t know.”

San sits there, staring at the black and white ultrasound image that has been handed to him. He’s feeling multiple things at once: excitement, fear, and uncertainty. He breathes out shakily, trying to grasp the weight of the situation. More than anything, he’s terrified. 

She places her hand over his arm, squeezing it, “I promise you, he will never know.”

“What will you tell Hongjoong?”

“That it’s his child.”

San flits his gaze to hers, being met with her unwavering gaze that seemed to always hold certainty and conviction. San was overwhelmed, leaning in and kissing her hard. She kissed him back, her fingers weaving through his raven hair. Tears brimmed in the corner of his closed eyes, feeling foolish as the tears made their way past his cheeks. She noticed, wiping at them before they reached his chin. 

“How will we raise her?” San asks in a broken voice. 

She smiles, it’s warm and loving, and confesses in a whisper, “Let’s get out of here. We can start new.” 

──

Blood oozes down your arm. Your thoughts are numbed out as the burning sensation takes its place. Everything around you goes into its default setting of sounding muffled. There’s work to get done, but you're still occupied with the events of last night, consisting of your adult self continuing to be abused by your alcoholic dad. 

What a stupid life. You thought by the age you are now, that things would be somewhat better. Easier. However, it seemed your life was still consumed and constrained by the old habits and life events that began in your childhood. Maybe you should go back to therapy. But how do you tell your therapist that you’re still self-harming? You can’t go back to inpatient services. 

You press a tissue to the cut you made on your thigh, followed by bandaging it and putting on your skirt over it. Another reason why you can’t focus is due to feeling nervous over the fact that you and Ji-sun will be getting drinks once the work day is over. It annoyed you considering the fact that you felt on edge regarding seeing him. 

You hadn’t seen San on the way to work today. You hoped you would have seen him, but only because you wanted to see what he’d be wearing. You had changed your usual work pants and opted for a midi skirt and high-heeled boots. Had you overdressed? It was Friday, anyway. Fridays are meant to live a little and look more presentable than the rest of the week. You were overthinking this. 

There was a knock at your door, and without looking up from your paperwork, you called for whoever was there to come in. Your heart dropped as you watched In-su step inside. You wipe your already clammy hands on your skirt as you straighten your posture. 

“If it’s regarding the reports, they’re still not done yet,” You say to him. 

He gives you a disgustingly cocky smirk. It makes you want to roll your eyes. You know he thinks he’s hot when he does that. You can feel your skin crawling with every step he takes closer to you. 

“I’m aware of the reports,” He says, tapping his pen against your table. “I was wondering if you wanted to grab something to eat after work.”

You nearly scoff at his shameless bluntness. You turn your gaze to your computer, in hopes he’ll get the hint that you’re too busy for his small talk. “I can’t tonight, I already have plans.” 

In-su stops tapping the pen, which makes your shoulders stiffen. He makes his way around your desk until he’s standing behind you, putting his arms on either side of you, palms placed on the surface of the desk. He’s got you caged in; he’s so close you’re afraid he can hear your heart pounding against your chest. You feel his breath fan against the shell of your ear, and tears blur your vision. As always, he manages to make you feel small. 

“Come on,” He slithers against your ear, “aren’t you forgetting how you got here?” You exhale shakily, having to place your hands in your lap, gripping fistfuls of the fabric of your skirt. 

In a moment of panic, you blurt, “I have a boyfriend.” You can’t see the expression on In-su’s face, and maybe, it’s better that way. 

His tone is warning, “Are those your plans tonight?”

There’s a lump in your throat you can’t swallow; you manage to say, “Yes.”

You feel him lean away from you, earning a sigh of relief. He acts like nothing happened: “Well, get those reports in by next week.” Once he leaves your office, you practically fall over from how rigid you were. You’re filled with shame at his reminder of how you got your position in the first place. 

──

You and In-su walk out of the bar. The cold night air doesn’t bother you. You feel warm. Fuzzy. For a split moment, it feels like the ground is shifting, making you stumble. In-su catches you in his arms, with one of them snaking around your waist, pulling you against him. 

“Sorry,” You mumble.

You hear In-su chuckle, surprisingly, you can’t smell alcohol on him. However, it’s all over you. You might even reek of it. You felt too tipsy in the moment to feel that it was embarrassing. You’re not sure how you get there, but you’re being helped into the passenger side of the car, the door being shut behind you. In no time, In-su comes into the car, sitting beside you. 

“I like you, Y/N…I think you’d be great in a higher position.”

“Really?” You giggle. 

“Yeah,” A hand is placed on your thigh, pushing the edge of your skirt up high, “I can do that for you.”

You feel his hand against the back of your neck; you’re not sure how it got there so fast. It sends a shiver down your spine. The car is spinning. You hear a zipper being undone. His lips are pressed against the shell of your ear as he says; 

“I can bring you to the top, just do this one favor for me, yeah?”

──

San already had a glass of alcohol. He knew it was stupid and reckless of him, but he couldn’t help but start his day that way with the circumstances of last night. He couldn’t catch the same train as you due to his alcohol addiction. He arrived at work right on the dot and noticed that you stayed in your office the majority of the day. San started to feel restless as the day got closer to being done; he had to be able to resist the urge to drink later tonight with you.

When it was time for everyone to go home, San still didn’t see you come out of your office. He packed his things and headed towards your sanctuary. However, when he approached your door, he noticed it was slightly ajar. He knocks, with no response. He takes a peek inside, to be met with an empty office. 

San decides to take a look around the office, examining other office rooms and even the bathroom. By this point, everyone has left, and you’re nowhere to be found. He knows you’re still here with your coat and purse in your office. As San passes by the supply walk-in closet, he hears muffled crying. San stands at the door for a moment, listening. 

He knocks with the back of his knuckles, “Miss L/N?”

The crying comes to an abrupt stop, followed by a moment of silence, and to his surprise, “Yes? Come in!”

San opens the door to find you looking at one of the rack shelves that holds endless office supplies. You had been having a crying session with puffy eyes and a red nose. San doesn’t point it out. You pick up a stack of printing paper into your arms, “Let me just set these in my office and we’ll head out,” You say to him. 

San waits for you by the elevators. You are in the middle of putting on your coat as you approach him. He makes note of your attire: a black midi skirt with a button-up blouse. You’re wearing red lipstick as well, your hair half up, half down. He can see it on the look on your face — you look exhausted. 

“Hi,” You breathe out as you get next to him, pushing the elevator button. San greets you, and the two of you step into the elevator. The elevator ride is awkward, and neither of you says anything. San was starting to feel on edge, and the one thing that would ease his nerves would be several glasses of alcohol. 

The elevator reaches the main floor, and the two of you get off. You’re the first to say, “I know a bar close by around here.”

San agrees, and you lead the way. He’s aware this isn’t a date, but considering how awkward both of you are acting, it sure does feel like one. Thankfully, the bar is indeed close by – a comfy bar with an intimate atmosphere. There’s a booth open, which the two of you decide to take. Then it comes to ordering the drinks.

Fuck. 

God, more than anything, San wants alcohol. Shit, he wants an entire bottle. He had gotten slightly better with less intake of alcohol once he started working at the office; however, he still had his fair share of glasses daily. He bounced his leg underneath the table as the two of you skimmed the drink menu. 

“You know what you want?” You ask him. 

His gaze flits over to you, and the golden light from overhead makes you look soft and pretty. He glances back at the menu, settling with, “Not sure. How about you?”

You scratch the back of your neck, a sheepish smile playing at your lips, “This might sound embarrassing, but I, uh…I don’t drink.” 

San hums, knowing he’s going to have to bite the bullet for tonight. “Let’s do mocktails then.”

There’s a slight gleam of surprise that flashes across your features, “If you want a drink, go ahead.”

San sets down the menu, leg still bouncing under the table, “I’m fine, mocktails will do.” 

The two of you get mocktails, the drinks coming out in no time. You slowly swirl the straw around in your drink while San doesn’t even touch his. At this point, it’s starting to become tense. San needs to get a grip. 

He spat it out, “Did you think about what I asked of you?”

You look up from your drink, “Which was…?”

“About punishing me,” San reminds you.

You scoff, dismissing him, “You know, that’s not professional of  you.” 

San sets his elbows onto the table, leaning in closer, “We’re not at work right now.”

The air between you becomes intense. He notices you short-circuiting, which is amusing to him, because he knows you’re into this sort of stuff. He’s also aware that out of all the dates he’s watched you go on, a man has never been this direct with you. 

You take a big drink of your mocktail, once it’s set down, San notices the red lipstick mark on the edge of where it was placed against your lips. “What sort of punishment are you looking for?”

“Whatever you think is fitting,” San returns.

All of a sudden, you stand up from your seat and stride off into the hallway that leads to the bathroom. San takes the glass of the mocktail and swings it up, drinking it all in a couple of swigs. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and follows after you. Just as he’s about to knock on the door of the bathroom, it swings open and San’s pulled in by his wrist. He’s pushed, his back coming in contact with the bathroom door. You stand in front of him, giving him a look of…excitement. 

“Sorry,” You say to him, “I panicked back there. It’s just that…” Your voice trails off, and then ends up starting somewhere else, “If I punish you, this stays between us.”

“I know.” 

“What are your limits?”

San’s eyes scan your face, “I don’t have any for tonight.”

“What’s your safe word?”

San scans the bathroom until his eyes land on an item: “Toilet paper.”

You laugh, it’s genuine. It’s his first time hearing that from you. You shrug, “Works for me.” You take a step back and cross your arms over your chest, ordering, “Take off your belt.”

San is taken off guard, realizing it then, he doesn’t know what to expect from all this. From you. But he doesn’t object; his hands go to the buckle, undoing his belt. You extend an open palm to him, which he hands to you. 

“Let me see your hands.”

San does as you say, putting his hands out where you clasp them with his belt. You pull the strap until his wrists are together, firm but not suffocating. You fasten it with the buckle and hold the end of the strap with one hand while the other goes to your hip. Your demeanor has changed; there’s a playful yet wicked smile plastered on your lips. San finds his heartbeat brisking against his ribcage; it must be those nerves that still need to be settled with alcohol. 

You command, “On your knees.”

San has no other choice but to follow your orders. He gets on his knees while you continue to hold the strap of his belt. He has to look up at you to keep your gaze. Suddenly, you press the heel of your boot against his shoulder, pushing him back until his shoulder blade comes in contact with the door. His breath hitches in his throat, both from the impact and unpredictability of your actions. 

“You look strong,” You comment, tone impish and eyes gleaming, “I know you can take this.” 

San opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He swallows, taking in the fact that for the first time in his life, a woman has brought him to his knees in such a way. You tug at the strap, his hands pulling up towards you, and you lever the strap until his hands straight up over his head. 

He’s not sure what to feel, but his training rings a bell in his head that says he's in a completely vulnerable position. His vital points are all out on display, the way an art piece is in a museum. 

Dear God, he’s at your mercy. The realization makes him almost tremble. You, on the other hand, look satisfied with the predicament you’ve got San in. You huff, placing your free hand on our hip, “What should I do with you?” 

San knows that’s a rhetorical question; however, he still finds his mind going blank, trying to search for an answer. The bathroom floor is cold underneath his knees, while his face feels hot. Just when San feels he’s got some composure, he feels his hands being lowered, the sound of the belt buckle being undone.

“Let’s stop here,” You say to him.

San is astonished by the whiplash he just experienced. “Are you sure?” 

You smile, nodding your head, “We should have a proper discussion about this.” You finish unclasping the belt and roll it up. 

San realizes he’s still on his knees and gets back on his feet. You hold out his belt to him, which he takes, feeling slightly embarrassed. He loops it back through his waistline, and you continue to stand there. When he finishes, you appear to be back to your constrained self: 

“Was that too much for you?” 

“Not at all,” San answers, “it’s just that I haven’t done that in a while,” he lies through his teeth. 

You smile, “Trust me, I know the feeling.” 

San knows this, considering he’s watched you go on endless failed dates in trying to find a dominant. San was just relieved to finally have you where he needed you to be; to think you had control over all this. You readjust your top and tell him you’ll be waiting for him back at the table. San is left in the bathroom, collecting everything that had just happened. San had had plenty of sex before, especially back when he was together with his girlfriend. But what you were into didn’t seem to be about sex, despite it being sexual. That was something San kept racking his mind over as he indulged himself in more research regarding these things you were looking for. He still couldn’t make full sense out of it, just that for now, he had to play along as closely as possible. 

San didn’t realize he was breathing heavily until his hands went to his belt to fasten it. Not just that, but below his beltline, there was a hardened tent. Blood rushed to San’s face at the comprehension of what he was feeling. He felt hot, and most of all, confused. He leaned the back of his head against the bathroom door and recollected himself. When he came back out, you were back at the table, appearing as if you weren’t just demanding a man to be on his knees. 

San sits back across from you, and there’s a serious look on your face. He notices you finished your drink. “If we’re going to do this,” Your gaze meets his, unfaltering and steady, “no one can know about it.” 

San notices that at the corner of your right eye, your mascara is slightly smudged. It reminds him of how he had found you crying earlier. But you didn’t know. The warm light makes his body buzz, similar to how alcohol does. He savors it, lets himself in this moment, and becomes relaxed. His lips move, and he hears:

part 2: a long day (wc: 3.5k)

It was a nightmare. San hadn’t realized this just yet. He was running, everything fragmented and flickering images that slowed by with each passing second. He saw it all: the gun, their helpless bodies, the blood. San witnessed everything from a third-point perspective, like a fly on a wall. He watched himself hurl towards the two bodies. He was pushed back, thrown to the floor, and detained. He fought against the two men helplessly, he saw himself scream but couldn’t hear it. No, wait. This wasn’t a nightmare, but rather a memory. This had already occurred. This already happened – 

San practically falls out of his bed, gasping and trying to grab anything his hands can hold onto. He’s gasping as if pulled from underwater and out into the merciful air. Cold sweat glistened down the side of his temples, dark hair sticking to his forehead. It was dark in his room, except for the alarm clock on the nightstand next to him, the red neon numbers reading; 

4:53 A.M.

San sits in bed, trying to catch his breath and slow his rapid heartbeat. He gets out of bed, to indulge himself in a cold shower. He stands underneath the running water with his teeth chattering and body trembling. For those few minutes, he stands under the cold water, forgetting his dream. Intuitively, his fingers wrap around a silver pendant that hangs around his neck. He’s washed over with memories – her smile, scent, presence. The little one’s first steps, small hands, and gummy smile. He realizes that he’s starting to forget the details of their faces. San breaks down in the shower, a grown man’s shoulders tremble as a broken wail erupts from him. 

Once San is out of the shower, he’s back in his bedroom, already dressed for work. He sits at the edge of his bed and opens the nightstand drawer. He grabs something cold in his hands and turns it over, examining it. He contemplates it for a moment and then inhales shakily, bringing the cold item up to the side of his temple. He sits there, finger pressed against the trigger as he’s engulfed in racing thoughts. 

I’ve got nothing to lose anymore. He killed the two people I loved the most. There’s nothing left for me anymore. I thought I could trust him…

The gun clicks. San opens his eyes and sits there in still silence. As if nothing happened, he places the gun back into the drawer and decides to head to the office. Before he’s out the door, he tucks the pendant underneath his shirt. Today, he was going to take the train you always take to work. He arrives at the station you always are at the same time every morning. Per your usual conduct, you are there, wired earbuds in and looking down at your phone. 

San steps into the same compartment as you, just one door down from where you enter. He holds onto a hanging strap, the entire time, eyes fixated on you. Once the train starts, he makes his way down the compartment, with each step, getting closer to you. When he makes it to you, he stands in front of where you’re seated, facing him as his arm is raised above him to hold onto another hanging strap. 

You look up from your phone and say, “Mr. Lee?” 

──

When you wake up, your arm aches. You have to get up on your opposite side to avoid putting any pressure on the soreness that covers your skin and seeps deep into your bones. As you walk to the bathroom, you wince as you raise your arm to flicker on the lights. Your eyes aren’t even fully open as the water from the faucet is turned on. You’re doing the motions like a robot is programmed to do its role – unwrap the bandages from last night, run the area under cold water, dry it with a towel, apply ointment, and wrap it up in new bandaging. 

The water splashed against your face finally wakes you up. You do your makeup and make a half-assed breakfast that contains toast with peanut butter and a banana. When you’re back in your room to pick out clothes, you instead find yourself sitting on the floor in your pajama t-shirt and underwear. A plastic box is in front of you, which you open and sift through until you find what you’re looking for; a trinket. It’s a frog that sits on a rock while it holds an umbrella. It’s a trinket you had found in your parent's basement, stuffed at the bottom of a box that held all sorts of forgotten items long needed to be thrown away. 

Your favorite part of this trinket was the umbrella because the end top was sharp. You brought the edge of the end top against your thigh and dragged it across, but not deep enough to bleed, just enough to leave a faint, red line that you had done your deed of the morning. You decided you’d take the frog with you to work today. Your thigh burned as you put on your pants.

Then you’re out the door, slipping your earbuds in and opening text messages you had received from your latest date. You internally scoff at his lame attempt to try to go on another date with you. The block button is pressed next to his icon. You take a seat on the train and indulge yourself in blasting music against your ears. Your phone vibrated, an email notification popping on your screen of a meeting that was to be rescheduled at work today. Just as you’re about to respond, you catch from your peripheral vision someone stepping in front of you. When you look up, you see the last person you were expecting to see. 

“Mr. Lee?”

Su-jin stands in front of you, hand holding onto the hanging strap above him. He wears a black jacket with a matching colored shirt underneath. His dark hair falls over his face as he looks down at you with a much less serious demeanor than he usually has going on for him. 

He gives you a small bow of his head and greets you, “Good morning, Miss L/N.”

You take the earbuds out and find yourself standing up, holding onto the pole for balance. “I didn’t know you took this train to work,” You mention. You step forward from the sudden impact of the training coming to a stop. Your chest bumps into Ji-sun’s, but he doesn’t move back an inch. You try to move back, but instead, the two of you are squished into one another as a flood of people enter the doorway of the train. 

His scent overwhelms you; a mixture of shampoo and cologne. The two of you are so close, that you can feel the heat from his body. The train doors close, finalizing your situation that you’d have to remain close to him until your next stop. You clear your throat, in a lousy attempt, trying to garner some space between the two of you. However, the two of you are stuck in this predicament, and your face practically in his chest has you faltering.

“Sorry.” 

“Not your fault,” You reply, followed by, “do you usually take this train?”

“I do,” He tells you, feeling his gaze on you. The train begins moving, and from the motion, it makes your weight move back. You react by grabbing onto the first thing for balance, which is San’s jacket. The two of you look at where your hand fists the fabric of his jacket, and to your surprise, he gives you a genuine chuckle. 

“I –” 

“It’s okay,” He informs you, “we’re kind of stuck here, aren’t we?”

You find yourself relaxing at his attempt to humorize the awkward situation and let go of his jacket. You adjust the strap to your bag on your shoulder, “Yeah, guess we are.” 

He says, “The reports are almost done.” 

“Talking about work before we even arrive?” You quip. 

“Good to give you a heads up,” He returns, his voice low, almost like he only wants you to hear his answer.

You look up at him and see that he’s already been looking down at you the whole time. “Well…” You find yourself getting a flash of flutter dance across your chest. You regain composure and finish, “Can you get it done today?”

His eyes scan your face and then says, “If that’s what you want, then yes.”

You look away from him as your face becomes consumed with heat. The train comes to the next stop, with a large portion of people heading out the doors, allowing for the two of you to take a step back. You hear Ji-sun say;

“Aren’t you coming?”

You realize the stop is the one you get off of. You put your earbuds back in, and say to him as you pass by him, “Get the reports done by noon.” 

──

A stack of reports is set onto Yunho’s desk, who gives San a perplexed look. San relays to him, “Miss L/N wants you to go over these and make sure there are no mistakes before handing them over to her.”

Yunho side glares at San then swivels in his chair to face him, “Miss L/N did not relay this information to me,” He picks up a folder and scans through the pages but San can tell he’s pretending to examine the paperwork. 

“You can verify that with her,” San remarks. 

Yunho sets the folder back onto the stack and turns to face his computer screen. “Well, since I wasn’t advised directly by Miss L/N with such a task, I’d say to find someone else who can look it over for you.” 

San doesn’t budge, pushing the stack of folders further onto Yunho’s desk until it raps into his keyboard. “I’m just doing as I was told,” He reaffirms, not giving Yunho a chance to further rebuttal by walking away from him. 

San watches as Yunho gets up from his desk, clearly exasperated. Yunho makes his way over to your office, knocking on your door. He’s in and out in under a minute, with a defeated Yunho walking back to his desk while avoiding San’s gaze. 

A man walks into the room, resulting in all of the employees abruptly standing up from their seats and greeting him with a bow. San follows after, glancing up to catch who had just stepped into the room – your administrator, In-su. He holds a binder in his hands and heads straight for your office. The door is closed behind him. Shortly afterward, the blinds are closed to the windows that overlook your office. 

San heads over to Yunho, “Are you done?”

Yunho is hunched over his desk, holding his forehead. He slams the pen down against the stack of reports. “You just handed these to me,” He jeers with a death glare. 

San reaches over and grabs the stack of reports, “I’ll take responsibility if anything’s wrong.” He heads towards your office door and knocks. San inches closer, his hand on the handle, and listens, hearing slight shuffling. He knocks again after no response and opens the door, to find you standing against your desk with In-su in front of you. The two of you jump, with you fixing your hair and In-su clearing his throat. 

San bows, “My apologies. Good morning Mr. In-su.” He straightens up, “I can come back another time.” 

In-su grabs the binder he had carried with him that was set on Y/N’s table, “It’s okay, I was just heading out.” He passes by San and is out the door. 

Before San can say anything, you abruptly order, “Put the reports on my desk.” You exhale shakily and go to your purse where you pull out a purple pouch. San makes note of your hands shaking. He sets the stack of papers on your desk and as he’s leaving, he notices you taking something out of the purple pouch. 

──

You feel like you’re going to vomit. But nothing will come up. Your heart might explode before that happens, though. Or you might slash your wrists first. Your palms are clammy as you rummage through your purple pouch, first going for the frog figure. You bring the end top to the inside of your arm, the sensation not giving you the satisfaction you’re seeking at the moment. Your vision is a blur as you erratically spill the rest of the contents of your pouch onto your desk. You hear something fall to the ground, but you’re too engrossed in trying to find your only salvation in the moment. 

Your razors. It’s done before you even know it. Head pressed to the cold surface of your desk as you let your arm lay beside you. Shaky breaths become slow, deep ones as your senses are deluged in the burning from the cut you made. You slap a bandage over your wound and put everything back into your pouch. That’s when you realize the stack of papers on your desk.

That’s right – Ji-sun handed the reports to you not long ago. And he had kept his promise, he got the reports done by lunch. You pull yourself together and begin going through the reports to check if any errors come up. To your surprise, there aren’t any. You think about Ji-sun’s timing and how he practically saved you. You take a pen from your desk and make a mark on a piece of paper. You take the stack of reports and head over to where Ji-sun is seated at his desk. You throw the stack onto his desk, making him look up from his computer screen. 

“Come to my office,” You order sharply.

Ji-sun follows after you with the reports in his hands. You lean against your desk, arms crossed over your chest as he closes the door behind him. “So you got the reports in on time,” You begin, “but as expected, you made a mistake.”

Ji-sun doesn’t argue, instead, he stands there, silent and listening. You nod at the stack of papers he holds and skim through the pages until he lands on the one you had made a mark on. You hold your breath, waiting to see what his response is. 

He insists, “My apologies, I will fix this and get it back to you by the end of the day.” 

“Ji-sun, are you capable of keeping up?”

“Of course.” 

“I don’t want to see another mistake.” 

“Agreed.” 

Silence. You awkwardly shift your weight and then head over to your seat, “You’re dismissed.”

Ji-sun remains in his place, “May I ask something?”

You huff, clicking away at your computer, “What is it?”

“Can I make it up to you?”

You give him a confused look, “What do you mean?” 

“I’m asking you to punish me.” 

His answer nearly has you gaping. The two of you stare at one another, trying to search his features for any sign of banterment. Instead, you're met with his usual serious demeanor. You’re speechless, opening your mouth but nothing comes out. 

“You’re bleeding.”

You look down at your arm and see the spot of blood that has stained through the sleeve of your shirt. Of course, you had to wear white today. You’re quick to cover it up by placing your palm over it and standing up from your seat. 

“Oh, this is nothing,” You note with a jittery tone. You can feel all of the whiplash from today building inside of you like a boiling tea kettle. All you can think about is how to get out of this situation and attend to your bleeding wound. 

San attempts to approach you, “Are you okay?” 

“No,” You fumed through clenched teeth, “just get away from me.” You pushed past him, rushing out of your office while clutching onto your arm. You kept your head down as you made your way through the main space and into the bathroom. Before turning on the faucet, you made sure there was no one else in the bathroom. You rolled up your sleeve, wincing at the pain of having to pull off the bandages wrapped around your arm. You didn’t realize you had cut that deep. 

The cold water running over your fresh wound made you want to hurl over. Your head is spinning from the bizarre day you’ve been having so far. It’s like you couldn’t catch a break. The door of the bathroom opened, earning a gasp from you, expecting it to be a female co-worker. Instead, to your surprise, it was San, who had paper towels in his hand. As if your day couldn’t get any worse. 

“What are you doing here?” You try to exhort the question sternly, but instead, the pain you are experiencing only makes you sound helpless. Without saying a word, San came to your side where instinctively, you hid your arm by your side. Water droplets from your arm make their way to the tiled floor. 

San met your gaze, “Let me see your arm,” His voice was gentle. 

After a moment of reluctance, you raised your arm back into the sink as the water continued running. You avoided his gaze as your face burned with the embarrassment of there being no chance that you could hide your cuts from him. However, the pain was starting to become unbearable for you to resist help. You held your breath as you waited for him to backtrack in disgust or shock at your arm that held past scars. Instead, you were met with silence and his firm touch. 

He ran your arm under cold water while placing the paper towels against your arm. You bit the inside of your cheek as he applied pressure. You couldn’t dare to look at him, and wondered why he hadn’t walked out just yet. You couldn’t even remember the last time anyone had seen your arms. And yet here you were, for some unknown reason, letting one of your subordinates take care of your arm. 

After letting your arm run under cold water, San dried the area and applied the ointment he had brought with him along with bandaging it up. Once it was done, he asked, “Are you okay?”

“Huh?” You blurted. 

“Your arm,” He nodded at your now, bandaged arm that you hugged against your side. 

You snapped out of it, rolling down your sleeve like that would make any difference. “Yes…thank you.” 

He says, “I’m sorry for interrupting your meeting with In-su.” 

“It’s okay,” You tell him, “we were finishing up right when you came in, anyways.” You can feel your face burning, and like an idiot, you profess, “I need to get back to work,” you brushed past him and hurried into your office, shutting the door behind you. You made sure to close the blinds as well.

──

Seam ripper. Hello Kitty bandages. A pack of razors. And ointment. Those were the items the purple pouch contained. When you exited your office, San had taken a look inside your pouch that was set on your desk. Those items were the last things he expected. When he stumbled upon the razors, he remembered the time he had watched you debate over getting razors in the convenience store. The items didn’t make sense to him until he had seen your arm in the bathroom. 

San had seen plenty of scars, but nothing like the ones on your arms. The way they were placed on your skin was evident it was self-inflicted. San continued to be perplexed by you. Especially when he found a frog figure on the ground next to your chair. He pocketed the figure instead of putting it back in your pouch. 

When it was the end of the day, and you came out of your office, San approached you. He immediately sensed the awkwardness in your features. You had your coat on, he wondered about your arm. His hand went to his pocket, fingers clasping around the frog figure. 

“I hope you have a good rest of your night,” San says to you, bows and makes his way out of the office. As he’s waiting in front of the elevator, he is hoping you’ll come after him. The elevator dings and the doors open. He steps in and has to admit that he does feel disappointment that you didn’t follow after. 

Just as the doors are about to close, someone sticks their hand in between the small space, the elevator doors jerking back open. You stand there, a little out of breath, the strap of your purse falling to your elbow. 

“Sorry,” You breathe out, “I just wanted to ask you if you could refrain from telling anyone about today.” You avert his gaze, “In the bathroom…” your voice trails off. 

San nods his head, “I won’t. Don’t worry.” 

You mumbled a sheepish, “Thank you,” And you stepped inside the elevator. The doors closed and neither of you pressed the button to the floor. Instead, you said, “Do you want to grab a drink this week?”

“Sure.”

You turn to look at him, “How does this Friday sound?” 

part 1: the mission (wc: 3k)

Several pictures were placed on the table, showcasing professional headshots of various employees. Two men occupied the brightly fluorescent room, with cold walls, floors, and a pair of cuffs that were certain to leave marks on the young man’s wrists. Hongjoong, one of the young men seated, finished setting the rest of the pictures on the table. He crossed one leg over the other, arms placed on the table with clasped hands. 

“Memorize these faces and names,” Hongjoong stated matter of factly, “you’ll be given a new I.D, name, and age. You’ll wait for updates and carry out assignments as we give them to you…”  

Hoongjoong’s voice faded into the background as San looked ahead, the table becoming a sea of blurred faces. He gnawed at the inside of his sore cheek, tensed jaw, and clenched fists accompanied by white knuckles. In a small whisper, he said, “Let me see them one last time.”

Hoongjoong leaned further in, the room becoming engulfed in deafening silence. He emotionlessly scanned San’s face, followed by a snicker. He scratched the side of his temple, “For someone who just messed up, you sure are acting like you’re in a position to make requests.” 

San slammed his fists onto the table, resulting in some of the pictures falling to the floor. The cuffs rattled with his movement, eyes bloodshot with raven hair falling over his face. Sustained cuts by his eyebrow, nose and chin accompanied by a bruise on his jaw. Splatters of blood strewed across his cheek, neck and arms.  His anger became washed with overwhelming pain, trembling bottom lip making him feel like a small child. 

“Let me see them one last time,” He desperately pleaded, voice cracking as hot, thick tears slipped past his cheeks so fast he didn’t feel them. “That's all I ask.” 

The legs of the metal chair scratched across the hard floor, making San flinch. Hoongjoong picked up the fallen pictures and set them back on the table. He straightened them out, and simply affirmed, “Memorize these faces and names. I’ll check back in a couple of hours.” 

Before San could protest, Hoongjoong left the room, the door clicking shut behind him. San’s head dropped in defeat between his trembling shoulders. A wretched sob escaped from within him, a sound he never knew he was capable of. In a fit of rage and grief, San somehow managed to flip the table over. The metal table clattered against the wall, the pictures silently sloping to the floor. He fell from his chair, on his knees, and curled forward, the only faces he could see at the moment being two faces he’d need God to make him forget. Two faces he’d need death to set him free from. 

One of the fallen pictures had landed next to him, which caught San’s attention. Momentarily, he sat up and examined the person in the headshot — a young woman with the title written in the corner of the photograph:

Y/N L/N, Director of Investigation Services

──

The time frame was one year. The assignment was rather simple and monotonous. San had to follow the lives of the people in the pictures he was given. He found himself falling into a pattern of impassive actions that began encapsulating the essence of his life. Comprehensively, he followed different people across the span of months. He became familiarized with the different people’s habits, schedules, social lives, and even the drink orders from the localized coffee shops the people ritualistically attended.

Over time,  San built reports on the people he followed. So much so, that was all that took up and made San’s life consist of. It had almost been a year since San found himself starting to forget the details of the two faces he held dear. Only in his recurring nightmares did he catch glimpses of their faces. It came at a price, the two faces were always disorientedly smeared with blood. The blood. Blood that had happened, almost a year ago. Blood that was his fault. On his hands. 

San indulged in staying awake for as long as possible. He did this in several ways, excessive amounts of caffeine, smoking, and alcohol. He was fully aware he was a functioning alcoholic when he’d start his day with a glass before making his breakfast. On rare occasions, when he’d get a day or two for himself, he found himself in long episodes of being blacked out. He stopped shaving the way he used to, so he always had stubble adorning his face.

Edging towards the end of the first part of his year-long assignment, San was on his last round of people he needed to accustom himself to. When he found himself looking at the picture of the last person, he recognized the face. He had seen it almost a year ago, the picture that had fallen next to him, the director of the investigation services.

He followed you. However, out of everyone so far, he found your schedule to be the most puzzling. Sure, your schedule had its rhythmic mundaneness to it such as: you were usually the first one to arrive at the office, you liked to grab coffee during your lunch instead of before work and you were usually the last person to get off from work. This was expected, considering your position. It was mostly your schedule outside of work that had San unsure of what to make out of you.

You seemed to go on dates, lots of them. However, they were always with different men. Not that San was in any place to judge. At first, he thought you were seeking out someone to marry, as these dates seemed to correlate with blind dates; usually over a dinner meal, in different restaurants and different men. Though you never went home with any of them, nor did you ever invite them back with you. It wasn’t until one night, as San had sat down in a booth next to yours, his back against the seat, that he was able to fully listen to the conversation you shared with the new man sitting across the table from you.

“Have you ever had a sub before?”

“Yes, plenty, in fact,” The man answered.

You were quick to follow it up with, “Did it consist of 24/7?”

“I’m not sure what that means.”

San heard you sigh, something that sounded annoyed and impatient. The way you were asking the questions, someone would mistake it as a job interview. Instead of explaining it further, you instead asked, “How long was your last sub-relationship?”

“It was on and off for almost a year.”

Abruptly, you declared, “This isn’t going to work.”

San perked up at this, leaning further into the seat, as he heard the man let out a surprised noise. Before he could object or defend himself, you were standing up, putting on your coat. San pulled the cap of his baseball cap further over his face and turned to look at the window he was seated next to. The man called after you, but you were already out the door. 

San followed after you, keeping a fair distance between the two of you. You walked down the sidewalk, eventually making your way into a convenience store. From the way you walked, you had something specific you wanted to purchase. You entered an aisle, and San went to the next one, making sure you were in his vision at all times. Your back faced him, and you stood in front of the item you were looking at. He saw as your hand reached up to grab an item, then it dropped down to your side. San pretended to be occupied with the first aid items he was standing in front of. 

You walked down the aisle, and San took the chance to see what you were about to grab. Razors. You stopped at the end of the aisle, then turned back around and went back to the razors. However, you didn’t grab them. You were walking back out of the aisle, going into another. You did this for almost fifteen minutes. San was sure you’d be suspected of someone who was contemplating stealing. Finally, you gave in, grabbing the razors and taking them up to the register to check out. 

San followed you home. You took a taxi back to your place since the man you had gone on a date with had picked you up at your place. The night ended as he watched you enter your apartment complex building. San found himself later that night, at his place, searching up the terminology you had used to ask your date. San’s perplexion with you grew deeper when he found his search bringing up multiple websites pertaining to BDSM. 

San wasn’t sure what to make of this — all the other people he had followed led lives with their share of relationship encounters. He didn’t fully understand your approach and why you had this specific tactic. When San caught himself engrossed in this topic, he shut his laptop in exasperation, slightly annoyed with himself. He wasn’t supposed to reason your encounters, he was simply to observe and take note. San went to bed that night at a reasonable time for the first time in almost a year. 

──

It was Friday night. That meant you were going to go out on a date. That’s what San had made out of your schedule. At this point, for months, he witnessed you go on endless dates. San wondered why you were so persistent. Each date resulting in the same, failed occasion. You were persistent, and San couldn’t figure out where you even found all these men to begin with. 

This particular Friday night was different. He waited outside your office building, across the street, your departure soon to happen. He saw you come out of the front glass revolving doors. A man approached you, which San recognized. He was one of the first people he followed earlier that year — your administrator, In-su. He was a man in his mid-fifties and had two children, a wife and a dog. He regularly went out to late open bars and even clubs, where he’d always have his two arms around young women. 

He watched the two of you exchange words, inaudible to him due to the distance. You held your coat over your arms, purse strap hanging by your clasped fingers. You appeared rigid. Uncomfortable, even. Pursed lips and nodding your head to something your administrator said to you. You nodded your head, and then gave him a one-word exchange, turning on your heel to walk the opposite way. In-su set his hand on your arm, stopping you in your tracks. You gave him a tight-lipped smile, followed by a clear refusal with a shake of your head. He stepped in front of you, both of his hands on either side of your shoulders. 

San found himself taking a step forward, almost as if by instinct, he wanted to intervene. He stopped himself, realizing how his body reacted. He reserved back to his original position, by the wall of the tall building he had been leaning against. Your hands brushed the man’s hands away from your shoulders, this time, giving him a slight bow and hurrying to walk away. You walked away from In-su. 

In-su followed after you, catching up with you in no time. He motioned with his hand, towards a car. The headlights of the car flashed. You slipped on your coat, In-su led the two of you to his car, where he opened the passenger side of the car. San made sure to catch a taxi and trailed behind. You were dropped off at your apartment, and once you went into your apartment, you didn’t come back out for the rest of the night. San stayed around until he saw the light in your apartment complex turn off. 

──

“I heard the new guy starts today!” Yunho exclaimed with a wide smile, and placed folders on your table. You looked up from the forms that you were working on, pushing aside some items on your desk to create more space for the new pile of work you’d have to get to. 

“Don’t get too excited,” You responded, “new people usually tend to slow us down until they get the hang of things.” 

“Yeah, but it also means we can hand all the paperwork to them,” Yunho gives you a wink, laughing at his joke. 

You scoff, “Get back to work,” which Yunho gives you a salute, earning a laugh from you. You glance over at the folder next to you, setting your pen down and flipping through the contents placed inside. Your eyes fall on the rectangle picture paper clipped to the stack of papers, showcasing the image of a young man. The young man that would be starting today. 

Lee Su-jin, the name read. You had met with him during the interview process; the first thing you noticed about him was his overly serious ambiance. That was exactly what you needed, considering the last employee who didn’t even last six months, treated his work role too casually. He had given frank answers to all the questions that were asked, something else you liked about him during the interview process. 

There was a knock at your door, without looking up, you remarked, “Come in.”

“Miss L/N, Lee Su-jin is here to see you.”

You quickly close the folder before you, pushing it underneath another pile of work mounted on your desk. You straighten your back and permit him to enter. The assistant moves out of the way and Su-jin walks in. He wears his work identification card around his neck, wearing simple attire consisting of all black. Black long-sleeve, black pants, and matching black tennis shoes. 

He gives you a bow and you motion for him to take a seat across from you. Today, instead of his hair falling over his forehead, it’s parted to the side with several strands encasing his face. There’s a twinge of acknowledgment that crosses your mind; he’s handsome. You brush it off, reaching for a stack of folders and placing it in front of him. 

“Work on these,” You tell him, matter of factly and sternly, “if you need help, reach out to Yunho. Don’t bother me with questions he can help you with.” 

Su-jin takes the folders in his hands, stands up to give you a bow and simply responds with, “Yes, Miss L/N.” 

He’s out the door before you know it, finding yourself slightly surprised by his stark behavior. You walk over to the glass in your office that gives you a full view of the office space with employees seated at their desks. Su-jin’s desk is at the very end, where the desk faces your direction. Your eyes linger on him, where he’s already engulfed in sorting through the folders. You pull the strings, the curtain blinds enclose. 

By the end of your day, your neck is stiff and you're hungry. You pack your belongings into your bag, turning off the desk lamp. The sun has already set, and everyone at this point has left besides you. As you’re locking the door to your office, someone startles you.

“Sorry,” It’s Si-jun, giving you a bow, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

The keys jingle in your grasp as you slide them into your purse. “It’s okay, I wasn't expecting you to still be here.” 

He gives you a short nod, noticing then, the stack of folders he holds at his side. He brings them in both of his hands, presenting them to you, “I’ve got these sorted and done. I wanted to give them to you before I left.”

You blink, staggered at his pace, but don’t show it. The second time he had inflicted such emotion in you. Instead, you cross your arms over your chest, “Well, you can hand them to me tomorrow. But before you do, have Yunho make sure you don't miss anything.

He gives you another nod, “Of course, I’ll hand them to Yunho tomorrow for him to examine.” 

“Well,” You adjust the strap of your purse over your shoulder, “you have a good rest of your night, Si-jun.” You walk past him, and don’t glance back at him when you enter the elevator on your way down.

──

After San’s first day of his new job, he’s heading over to meet with Hongjoong at the requested location. San turns off the engine of the car as he pulls up to an isolated area where the water looks over the city skyline in the distance. He spots Hongjoong’s cigarette smoke before his silhouette. When San is next to him, Hongjoong offers him one, which San takes. 

San gives the full report of his full day to Hongjoong, to which he responds with a nod of his head and blowing smoke through his nostrils. He flicks the butt of the cigarette to the gravel and puts it out with the heel of his foot. 

“I want you to get close to Y/N L/N,” Hongjoong states.

San raises an eyebrow, silent for a moment, and then says, “Understood.”

Hongjoong takes a step closer to San, placing his hand on his shoulder. “I want you to get real close to her,” He reiterates, “you know, let her form a crush on you.” A wicked, lop-sided grin adorns his face as he makes the last comment. San’s eye twitches, he wants to punch the cocky grin off his face. He can almost feel the elation that’d come with punching Hongjoong as a cool breeze blows against his knuckles with his hand raised to his lips, inhaling the smoke.

Again, San says, “Understood.” 

Hongjoong squeezes San’s shoulder, “Great. See you soon.”