The room is dark; dim lights throwing reaching shadows on the wall, flickering golden orange on Junho's cheekbones. Black shirt and charcoal grey suit, finger tracing something on the heavy desk.

'Three years.' Junho doesn't look up as he speaks, his voice restrained, and Wooyoung looks down.

the day is sunny and wooyoung's eyes are keen and focussed he recites a life story meant to be his own and his heart is hammering like a jackrabbit in his chest and the room is loud and junho's smile is wide as he introduces himself-

The game is up.

'Did you ever mean any of it?'

flirtatious looks and lingering fingers and wooyoung finds himself tripping and falling into a game he doesn't know the rules to-

Junho breathes in the silence to feed his next words.

'Did you ever regret any of it?'

Wooyoung keeps quiet.

Contradictory answers that amount to the same meaning.

--

Lunch with the boss meant that Wooyoung was sitting in a car he was pretty sure cost more than his house plus furnishings, reminding himself that this was dirty money, dirty money, and no matter how good a stockbroker he was, a Bugatti Veyron did not come without illegal dealings.

Considering he’d been offered at lunch, he was pretty sure his new boss didn’t care much for issues of legality.

Of course, this wasn’t news to him. He was here for a reason, and the fact that he was having lunch with the boss meant he was doing something right.

Jonghyun was talking at a million miles a minute, frantic theorising that gave Wooyoung barely a minute to respond, and when the car screeched into a parking bay Wooyoung was glad to escape- as much as he didn’t want to leave the car. 

The second partner was leaning against his car (a lovely fire-engine red Maserati, Wooyoung noted with a slight hint of envy) with an amused smile quirking at his lips.

‘Oh, look who finally decided to show up at work,’ Jonghyun declared boisterously, pulling Junho into a brisk hug, Junho laughing and smoothing the lapels of his suit down after they separated.

‘I had a dentist appointment, I told you this,’ Junho replied genially and Jonghyun’s expression fell into one of realisation.

‘Ah, yes. It’s Wednesday already? Well, me blind,’ Jonghyun remarked, before clapping a hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder. ‘This is Wooyoung, new guy on the floor. Rising star.’

Junho nodded, lips curled in a smirk. ‘I know. I hired him.’

‘Of course you did,’ Jonghyun agreed readily, and Wooyoung fought hard not to drop his head under Junho’s gaze.

(Fast forward three months and Junho’s crowding Wooyoung into the side of his filing cabinet, hand already going for his pants button and Wooyoung’s breath was catching in his throat with panic because his walls were glass and anyone could see and this wasn’t what he came here for, and he didn’t know how this had happened and then Junho’s hand was covering Wooyoung’s mouth and his other hand slipped past his waistband and Wooyoung held on for dear life-)

Wooyoung had been at the company for two months when a party was thrown and Jonghyun magnanimously invited him.

Two months and Wooyoung was hoping he could avoid taking narcotics.

Two months and Wooyoung succeeded in avoiding narcotics by nursing a few drinks, which meant he was very willing to be led away.

Which is how he found himself in a bedroom, Junho’s mouth blazing a trail down his throat and his fingers tugging at Junho’s top and all clothes were divested and Juno was marking his thighs when he belatedly realised that he should not be doing this.

Moments later and he couldn’t care less about what he should or should not be doing, a strangled whine caught in his throat.

A year found him tangled up in the bedsheets in a foreign hotel, basking lazily in the sun, tracing idle patterns on Junho’s shoulder, their voices pitched soft as they spent a weekend far removed from stockbroking, from embezzlement, from hidden badges and displayed drugs and Wooyoung allowed himself to forget (again).

A year and a half and by all rights Wooyoung had everything he needed- more than he needed- but he haggled for more time, used every persuading technique he’d learned to give him more time, more time even though he knew there would never be enough.

But he could put off the inevitable as long as he could manage and he couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t meant to be like this, even as he was ing Junho’s crisp white shirt.

Two years and Wooyoung’s hands were far from clean, but he had immunity where others (Junho) had none and every kiss bled his desperation, as if every kiss was their last. He refused to think about if things were different, because they weren’t, and why torture himself with fruitless fantasies when he could focus on Junho warm under his touch, when he was running on borrowed time, when the house of cards he’d constructed could fall apart at any moment.

Two and a half years and Wooyoung could hardly believe that it was still standing, couldn’t believe that he was still waking up to Junho crushing him and mumbling incoherently when he tried to extricate himself. 

Two and three-quarter years and Wooyoung had exhausted his luck and the only thing left for him to do was to make sure he didn’t get caught in the rubble. So he started pulling away, slowly, subtly, trying to ignore the confusion that flickered across Junho’s face when he refused him, tried not to let it lance right through him.

Three years and Jonghyun was lucid enough with his world crashing down around him to pay attention, to shoot narrowed eyes at Wooyoung from across the room, to get a dangerous glint to the wildness already evident in his eyes. Three years and Wooyoung knew he couldn’t drag it out any longer, that the band-aid would have to be ripped off cleanly, even if his involvement would be anything but.

Three years and Wooyoung poured his everything into one last night, claiming, marking, wanting, needing, holding, tasting (loving).

Three years.

And it’s all over.

--

‘And I suppose you get away from everything scot-free,’ Junho says coldly, ‘No repercussions for whatever you’ve done.’

Neither of them need Wooyoung’s confirmation.

Junho’s face is guarded when he looks down and a second later Wooyoung wants to believe he sees some of the softness that used to be given to him so easily.

‘Why did you come back?’ 

Junho’s words are barely louder than a whisper, and Wooyoung wonders if the question was meant to be heard.

They hear the yelling as if it were from another world, and Wooyoung closes his mouth.

He has nothing to say, anyway. 

Nothing he can say will make it better.

The door bursts open and officers swarm in, flowing around Wooyoung as if he were furniture. Junho’s quiet as they read him his rights, doesn’t struggle when they cuff him, doesn’t break eye contact with Wooyoung even as he’s jostled, his face devoid of expression, his eyes empty of feeling.

In the seconds it takes for Junho to be led out, Wooyoung wonders if there might have been another way, if he could have done things differently, if there might have been a different outcome.

But there isn’t, and maybe there wasn’t, and Wooyoung is left alone in a dark room, dim lights throwing reaching shadows on the wall, flickering golden orange on the final wisps of a forever that never got the chance to be dreamed of.