nyctophilia
[ nĭk′tə-fĭl′ē-ə ]
n.
a preference for the night or darkness
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"Oh we're definitely killing them then, I need to pad my stats anyway."
"You sound like a serial killer."
"I know, I still wonder why...
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I grabbed Wooyoung by the collar of his shirt and slammed him against the cold, tiled wall of the bathroom stall with a force that left no room for argument. My grip was like iron, and he wasn’t going anywhere—not with my hands pinning him in place, not even with his own attempts. If he thought he could squirm his way out of this one, he was sorely mistaken.
We were packed tightly into the last stall of the gym’s locker room, the kind of cramped space that made the tension even more suffocating. Outside, rain lashed against the windows, its rhythm a constant reminder of the storm brewing both within and outside these walls. The gym itself was deserted, the weather having driven all the guests away. No one lingered but me and Choi, our so-called therapy session having wrapped up mere minutes earlier.
Hajoon had already left, likely to counsel another pair of unfortunate souls, leaving us alone with Wooyoung. Or rather, leaving us free to confront our beloved supplier in the eerie silence of the gym.
It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say Eden wasn’t going to be thrilled with our progress.
Wooyoung raised his hands in mock surrender, his voice strained but filled with an almost playful resignation, “I give in, I give in, Yuri!”
My fingers twisted tighter into his shirt collar as I stood firmly between him and Choi. I didn’t even need to glance back at Choi to know he was watching, arms crossed, his usual calm replaced with a cold, severe stare. His black hair hung slightly over his face, shadowing his eyes in a way that would intimidate anyone with half a brain.
“Tell us everything you know,” I growled, my voice low and steady as I tightened my hold on Wooyoung, “or I’ll throw you in the river.”
“Okay, okay, Yuri,” he said quickly, his voice tinged with exasperation, “I was going to tell you sooner—”
“Is the drug manufactured here?” Choi cut in, his voice dropping an octave as he stepped closer. The weight of his presence alone was enough to make Wooyoung flinch, despite the two being the best of friends.
I'll admit, Choi can be intimidating when he's serious. Don't tell him that, though.
Wooyoung nodded hurriedly, “I’m guessing it is, because there’s a lot of it. People buy it in bulk, so they’re clearly not running out anytime soon.”
“The guests here?” I pressed, my tone sharper now.
“The employees find suitable guests who meet the criteria, then sell it to them,” Wooyoung admitted, his gaze darting nervously between us, “But... lately, I’ve heard people aren’t buying it as much. I guess they don’t trust me enough to spill the details beyond that.”
