It was the middle of the night, and Wonho was, admittedly, not in the best state of mind. He was unbelievably pissed off beyond words and, something he wasn’t going to admit, upset. He wasn’t hurt- no, Wonho didn’t do hurt. He was just vaguely upset, that was all. Just a little bit. Honestly though, he didn’t even know why. Perhaps it was because it had been a long time since he had gotten into an actual argument like that, or maybe it was who he was arguing with. There was just something about Nam Daeun that got under his skin; she could read him too well- how, he didn’t know, but he knew that he didn’t like it. She called him out on his , something even Shownu never did, despite probably being the person that knew him best.

Speaking of that insufferable bastard Shownu, he wasn’t quite sure why hearing his name had made him snap either. Of course, he hated Shownu, but he was, for the most part, able to deal with it, putting on a front when in the presence of the others. The best method was just to ignore the older male, though since they lived and worked together, that wasn’t always easy. Some may ask why he put up with Hyunwoo at all if he truly hated him so much, but it was much more complicated than that- their history with each other ran deep, and that sort of thing wasn’t always the easiest to escape from. However, this time the leader wasn’t even physically present, and he had still managed to set him off.

He knew the real problem. Wonho wasn’t stupid, nor was he oblivious like a certain someone he knew. His denial was one hundred percent conscious and intentional. It wasn’t healthy- god, did he know that-, but it was the only thing he knew how to do, the only way he knew how to survive, and he refused to be ashamed of that. After all, he still had his pride.

Damn, his psych evaluation sheet was probably the biggest ing mess.

The streets were empty, for the most part, at this time of night, in this part of the city. If you wanted to meet someone, then you had to know where to look, and none of the people you would meet would be very friendly. Lucky for him, Wonho knew where to look, and the last thing he wanted right now was friendly. He had a score that needed to be settled.

It wasn't hard to find them- the little street gang was holding out in a roughed-up mechanic’s shop just down the street from the quaint, family owned grocer he had encountered them at this morning. It was typical of a small-time, petty gang like them- pathetic and predictable. They were probably inside now, complaining or bragging about the fight they thought they won earlier. As if. Wonho never lost, a fact he was ready to drill into these s’ heads until he was sure they understood. Banging loudly on the door to the repair shop’s garage in order to get their attention was the first step in doing just that.

“Knock, knock!” Wonho called loudly. His voice was playful and mocking, like usual, but there was a biting undertone to it that it normally lacked and now couldn’t be ignored. There was definitely something about it, some quality that suggested danger and a barely contained sort of sadistic glee.

“Who’s there?” a voice shouted from the inside, sounding defensive and attempting to appear authoritative and intimidating. Once again though, Wonho wasn’t impressed by the wannabe gang in the slightest.

“Sorry, but I don’t know any good punch lines,” he muttered in response. Knock knock jokes were more Minhyuk’s thing than his. Personally, he had always thought they were stupid, pointless.

Taking a few steps back to get a running start, Wonho dashed forward, kicking the door as hard as he could. It was a flimsy metal, old and rusted, barely hanging onto the track and chain that connected it to the ceiling, and so it gave under the force of his momentum. He backed up again and waited, admiring the large dent he had left in the so-called barrier. He could hear them scrambling around inside, their exclamations of surprise, curses, and a flurry of quick orders. Just like he thought, they rolled the welcome mat out themselves, lifting the garage door, and he struck down the first person that came out.

“,” he hissed, sidestepping to dodge another as he shook out his hand.

Punch. Duck. Kick. Move. Pant.

He jumped backwards and in a deep breath, swearing lowly. It had been too long since he fought like this, since he had really let loose. Street fighting was dirty, so it was probably a good thing that Wonho never really gave up that part of him, never relinquished all his tricks- he was a guy that didn’t believe in playing fair, and he never had been. He left sissy like that to Shownu and the others.

Left hook to his opponent’s side, fist placed perfectly between his ribs. A quick jab to his cheek to follow it. Wonho grits his teeth, shifts the weight from one foot to the other, from his heels to the balls of his feet and prepares for whoever’s next.

An elbow to the face of the guy on his right, the one trying to sneak up from behind and grab him. He bites his tongue and tastes blood; does it too distract himself from the burning pain in his forearm from a knife that clipped him in the scuffle. A bat swings over his head a little too close for comfort. Another falls on his shoulder blades with tremendous force and he collapses on all fours on the floor.

Dodge, dodge, dodge it, damnit!

He barely manages to move to the side in time, rolling across the pavement and hissing in pain as his skin scraps against it harshly. Eyes narrowed, he reaches out and yanks on the bastard’s ankle, the one with that stupid wooden baseball bat. Stumbling to his feet, his leg strikes out to kick the in the face for good measure.

A straight hit to the face, a fist planted firmly against his jaw. He jumps backwards, skims a few feet, sneakers skidding on concrete. Turns his head to the side, spits out blood. Now he’s really pissed.

Wonho decides to stop going easy on them.

Roughly ten against one wasn’t a fair fight, but Wonho was never one to turn down a challenge- in fact, he craved them. As much as he had belittled Daeun for the same exact thing, he couldn’t deny that he loved the thrill that causing trouble and doing dangerous things gave him. It was a high like no other, his own personal escape. Contrary to popular belief though, the rush you got from adrenaline actually made you weaker, not stronger. Sure, you might be able to do a couple of incredible things for a few seconds, if you were lucky, but it was extremely draining, pushing your body to its limits like that. Because everything was in overdrive, it left you twice as exhausted as normal once you crashed. Everything was sore, everything ached, any injury you got hurt almost three times as much. The adrenaline rush that came from fighting was different than the endorphin high he got when he ran, and the exhaustion that followed was also on a different level of intensity. Thinking about it, he liked running better, but there was no denying that he missed this too, the heady feeling currently rushing through his veins. When he was running, he felt free, but when he was fighting, he felt invincible.

Again, it wasn’t healthy, but Wonho didn’t care. He figures that he’s so ed up already, it’s not like it would really matter if he gave in a little to the darker desires he usually kept hidden. Wonho had never been good at humility and all that other useless crap, preferring self-indulgence and gratification; after all, what was the point in living if you weren’t really living, if you weren’t happy? Except Wonho wasn’t really happy, per se, so maybe the exhilaration he felt could make up for that. Maybe the brushes with danger, with death, were what he needed to make him feel alive. It was a poor substitute, but one he had made due with for so long he had become used to it, learned to live with it. It was his crutch, his safety net. It was the way he dealt with his problems and one of the things he couldn’t let go of from his past. He was fine with it though. He didn’t need anything more than that.

At least, that’s what he told himself. His actions, on the other hand, said something a little bit different.

By the time the fight is over, Wonho’s the only one left standing. The outcome isn’t a surprise- his opponents were weaklings, wannabes; back when he used to play gangster, he had been known as a monster, and there was clearly a reason for that. That’s not to say he wasn’t without injuries, or that he wasn’t quite possibly on the verge of collapse, his high far more fleeting than he remembered it being in the past. It was gone faster than he would have liked. Without it, he could feel the unbearably itchiness and heat from the cuts on his right arm and the nick on his left cheek, the sharp pai