It’s a snowy night, but the flakes that fall are gentle as they drift from the dark, starless sky. Yifan is clearing the pathway, slowly, the scrape of his shovel the only noise on this silent night. He wondered why the man on the phone had been so insistent that the snow be shovelled in the evening, rather than the morning, when people would actually be out and about, but they were offering double the usual price, and Yifan needed the money.

His breaths were naught but fleeting clouds of white, and Yifan looked up at the sound of an engine, a long, sleek car speeding down the road and coming to a screeching halt in front of the same building where Yifan stood.

The door next to Yifan slammed open, several huge, burly men coming out to line up on either side of the entrance, the snowflakes catching onto the black wool of their coats. Yifan was tall, but these men were monstrous, and Yifan backed into the shadows of the building, the stone exterior digging into his right shoulder as he peeked over a shoulder to see who had arrived.

At first, all that could be seen from the open car door was a white shoe and black trousers. Yifan blinked, pulse thudding loudly in his eardrums. Who was it? Who had come? The rest of the man emerged, head bowed at first, and when he straightened, Yifan’s heart fluttered in his chest. One of the huge men - he must be a bodyguard or, or something - held an umbrella over the young man’s head, stray snowflakes dotting the shoulders of his midnight blue coat. He paused for a second, lips curled but unsmiling, eyes dark and feline, giving a slow blink before he began to walk.

Another young man scrambled out of the car, following the first closely from behind, edged slightly to the right so he was right by the elbow, but Yifan paid him no heed, too mesmerised by the first man, all languorous hips and feral movements as he came closer.

The huge men lining the pathway up to the entrance bowed low at the waist as he approached, and Yifan’s eyes widened, realisation like a jolt of adrenaline to his veins, and he pressed himself back further into the building, trying to remain unseen.

“Welcome back, Young Master,” they chorused solemnly.

And then just like that, Yifan’s eyes locked with the man’s. There was nothing to be read in them, like a vortex that took everything in but allowed no escape. Yifan held his breath as the man stopped and the tension in the air multiplied tenfold.

“Tao?” The other young man touched Tao gently at the elbow.

Tao turned his head just the slightest. “Baekhyun. The worker. Pay him.”

No further questions were asked as Baekhyun walked off the pathway towards Yifan huddled up next to the building, eyes wide as an envelope was pulled out of the inner pocket and several bills removed. Baekhyun said nothing as he held the money out, and Yifan shook his head, hands clenching even tighter around the handle of his shovel.

“No, I can’t.”

“The Young Master says so, and so it must be done. Or are you refusing him?”

Yifan swallowed hard, eyes darting back to Tao (Young Master, his mind whispered to him), and back at Baekhyun, still holding the money out. “But -”

Baekhyun raises an eyebrow, a corner of his mouth curling into a smirk. “Are you refusing?”

The only lackey upright is the one holding the umbrella above Tao’s head, and Yifan swallows again as he is met with a glare when he glances again in Tao’s direction.

“Um. No. No,” he repeats, and bows as he receives the cash with both hands. “Thank you.” He faces Tao and bows even lower. “Thank you, Young Master.” When he straightens, there’s a shadow of a smile on Tao’s lips, and then he is gone, inside the building with all the men hurrying after him and the door slamming shut.

Yifan is left alone again, in the dark, silent night, clutching five hundred thousand won in used, unmarked notes, harsh breaths sending puffs of smoke dissipating into the winter sky.