"Fight back," Jeonghan snarls. The knife pressed to Wonwoo's throat nicks the skin. "It's no fun if you let me win."

Wonwoo stares up at him wide eyed, fingernails digging into the thin skin of Jeonghan's wrist. Panic locks his bones into place, and acid burns the back of his mouth.

"Are you afraid?" he asks with a wild laugh. "I told you, after Sokcho. If I made it out alive, I'd kill you."

Sokcho? "I've never even been to—"

"Shhh," Jeonghan smirks, face dangling just inches from his own, close enough to kiss. His hair tickles Wonwoo's nose, sweat cutting through the peach spray that typically sticks to his skin.
That's comforting, despite. That's the same.

Wonwoo's observant in all of the ways except the more obvious. It took him years to notice the beauty mark near Jeonghan's eye. It took him seconds to notice the thin scar circumventing his face, concealed with hastily applied makeup.

Jeonghan's posture is wrong, the set of his mouth. On the inside of his wrist, a rose tattoo curls around and rests at the heel of his palm. Things he would know, find, press his mouth to.

Somehow, something about him is off.

Somehow, someone with his face and name has wronged him in ways that Wonwoo—here, now, bleeding from a split lip and stars in his eyes from the lack of oxygen—must now pay for.

He's always said that Jeonghan has every right to want to lay hands on him. Ending an engagement so soon after proposing is a bitch move. One they've never bounced back from.

"What the hell are you doing?" he manages out, trying and failing to peel back the vice grip Jeonghan has on his collar. "Are you trying to kill me?!"

Wonwoo sure as hell never thought he would follow through. The feral curl of his mouth, the threat in his gaze. Shit. Cold laughter sends a chill down his spine.

"Yes. We've gone over this before."

Jeonghan shifts his grip. The blunt edge digs near where his carotid artery should be. Maybe. It's hard to think with all of his internal sirens screaming danger. "Bringing you in alive just wouldn't be worth it."

"Bringing me in?" he echoes, almost stupid. What is happening here? One day, they're agreeing to be cordial again, exchanging the last of each other's things after the breakup and now—

"The agency has a pretty penny on your pretty little head." Agency? A hand smacks his cheek. "Just business."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Jeonghan groans. "Don't you get tired of this?"

A leg swings over Wonwoo's chest, knee pinning him to the ground. Jeonghan's strength is startling. He can't move. The smirk on Jeonghan's face makes him want to spit venom, though the switchblade spinning in his hands keeps Wonwoo from fighting back.

Jeonghan catches his eyes flitting from the blade to his face, and he makes a cooing sound. Wonungie, whose baby are you? Wonwoo is helpless.

"Jeonghan-hyung." He's pleading. Hair prickles at the back of his neck. All of his senses are screaming danger.

"Please," he begs.

"Ah, honey." Jeonghan pats his cheek condescendingly. The knee on his sternum presses deeper, steel pressure against Wonwoo's ribcage. The tip of the blade cuts open one of the top buttons of his shirt. Then another. And another.

Plastic buttons tic-tic-tic-spin and settle on the linoleum floor. "It'll be fast. Promise."