dunjoouuuukiki
Joong stood among the dead, blood soaking his shirt, his men moving silently around the warehouse. His phone buzzed at 2 AM. It was Dunk-his sunshine, his weakness, the university student who had no idea his boyfriend was a mafia heir.
"I was sleeping," Dunk pouted through the phone, "but I woke up and you weren't here. Come back safe. Then I'll complain properly."
Joong's cold mask softened. "Okay."
"Good night, Joong."
"Hmm."
Hours later, Joong slipped into their bed, still carrying the weight of violence. Dunk curled into him without waking, seeking warmth in his sleep.
Joong held him close, thinking: This is why I survive.