Chapter Text
Chan's eyes fluttered open, his head pounding with a dull, insistent ache. The air was thick with dust, the scent of rust and damp concrete filling his lungs as he took a shaky breath. Blinking against the dim light, he tried to focus. A storage room? No, it was something bigger. An abandoned warehouse, maybe. Shadows loomed over stacks of broken crates, and scattered debris littered the floor around him.
He shifted, wincing as something cold and heavy pressed against his skin. Chains. His wrists were shackled, metal biting against flesh, but they weren’t fastened to anything. He could move. He pushed himself up slowly, joints stiff, disoriented. The only light in the room came from thin slivers slipping through cracks in the boarded-up windows, casting fractured beams onto the dust-choked air.
What the fuck?
His heart pounded harder now, adrenaline rising. How did he get here? And, more importantly, who put him here?
“Chan, what the fuck?!”
A sharp and furious voice cut through the haze in his head. Hyunjin.
Before Chan could even turn, something slammed into him, knocking him back onto the cold, filthy floor. The impact sent another wave of pain crashing through his skull. He barely had time to process it before Hyunjin was on him, straddling his waist, his weight pinning Chan down.
Chan sucked in a shallow breath, his ribs aching under the pressure. Hyunjin’s face hovered inches from his, nostrils flaring, jaw clenched tight. His eyes burned—not with fear, but with something much worse. Rage.
“Hyunjin,” Chan gritted out, squirming beneath him, trying to get a full breath. “What the hell—”
“You told them, didn’t you?!” Hyunjin spat, his voice raw, cracking with fury. “You fucking told them about us! It’s all your fault!”
Chan's head spun. Told who? About what?
His mind scrambled, grasping for the last thing he remembered. He and Hyunjin. His room. They’d been together, tangled in sheets, breathless, skin flushed from the afterglow of mind-blowing sex. Hyunjin had curled into his chest, their fingers loosely intertwined, their heartbeats slowing in sync. Satisfied. Safe.
They fell asleep.
At least that’s what Chan thought.
So why was he here? And why the hell was Hyunjin looking at him like he wanted to kill him?
Chan’s breath came in sharp bursts, his body tense beneath Hyunjin’s weight. The fury in Hyunjin’s eyes was unrelenting, burning through him like wildfire. It wasn’t the first time they’d been like this—teetering on the edge of love and destruction—but something was different this time. This wasn’t just anger. This was betrayal.
“Hyunjin, I don’t—” Chan tried, but Hyunjin’s fingers were already gripping his throat, not tight enough to cut off his air, but firm enough to be a warning.
“Liar,” Hyunjin hissed, leaning in close, his breath warm against Chan’s cheek. “I know you fucking told them. How else do you explain this?” He gestured sharply around the dimly lit warehouse. “They don’t just take people for no reason.”
Chan’s pulse pounded beneath Hyunjin’s grip. He knew how their world worked. The ones who stepped out of line, who dared to form bonds outside of the state’s control, vanished without a trace. If they had been caught, if someone had found out about them…
No. That was impossible.
“I didn’t say anything,” Chan bit out, his voice rough, strained. “I wouldn’t.”
Hyunjin’s expression flickered, something dangerously close to doubt, but then his fingers tightened, nails digging into Chan’s skin.
“You expect me to believe that?” Hyunjin growled, but Chan could hear the slight waver in his voice, the tiny crack in his rage, the fear beneath it.
They had spent the past year playing a dangerous game, hiding their connection from a world that would rip them apart if it knew. Their bond was an abomination, something that couldn’t be tamed or controlled—and that terrified the people in power.
But it had always terrified Hyunjin, too. Because loving each other meant risking everything.
Chan’s hands shot up, grabbing Hyunjin’s wrists, forcing them away from his throat. He used his strength to push up, flipping them over so he was the one pinning Hyunjin now. The chains on his wrists clanked against the floor as he hovered over him, eyes dark, wild.
“I. Didn’t. Say. Anything.” His voice was low and dangerous, and the unspoken challenge was hanging in the air between them.
They just stared at each other for a second, breaths ragged, bodies rigid with tension. Then, Hyunjin smirked.
“Liar,” he whispered again, but his tone was different this time.
Chan felt the shift before he saw it—how Hyunjin’s rage softened, twisted into something else. Something just as dangerous.
Their relationship had always been like this: a constant war, a battle between who could break first, who could draw blood without meaning to, and who could hurt and love in the same breath.
Hyunjin’s smirk widened, teeth flashing. “You know, if they really did find out about us…” His voice was almost teasing now, but his eyes remained sharp. “Then we’re fucked either way, aren’t we?”
Chan swallowed hard, the reality of their situation sinking in. If someone knew about them, there was no coming back from this.
But Hyunjin was right.
They were fucked.
And still, Chan couldn’t bring himself to regret it.
Hyunjin’s words settled between them, heavy and absolute. They were fucked.
Chan could feel his pulse hammering in his throat, but it wasn’t just fear—it was something darker, something far more familiar. The same thing always lurked between them, creeping into every touch, kiss, and fight.
Hyunjin’s smirk hadn’t faded, even with Chan’s weight pressing him into the ground. His pupils were blown wide, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. His wrists twisted under Chan’s grip, not to escape, but just to test the strength of his hold. To see if Chan would let him go.
He wouldn’t.
Chan had never been able to let Hyunjin go.
“Stop fucking smiling,” Chan growled, voice rough, his fingers tightening around Hyunjin’s wrists.
“Why?” Hyunjin’s lips curled, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. “You like it when I look at you like this.”
Chan hated that he was right.
He should have been thinking about how to escape, who had taken them, and what would happen if they didn’t find a way out of here. But all he could think about was the last time Hyunjin had looked at him like that. The way his fingers had curled into Chan’s shoulders, the way his breath had hitched when Chan had—
Chan swallowed hard, his grip tightening on Hyunjin’s wrists.
The room smelled like dust and decay, chains clanking as they moved, but none of that mattered. Not when Hyunjin was looking at him like that—wild, reckless, daring him to give in.
“You’re thinking about it,” Hyunjin whispered, lips curling at the edges. “Aren’t you?”
Chan’s jaw clenched.
“Shut up,” he muttered, but Hyunjin only laughed, breathy and sharp.
“Make me.”
It wasn’t a challenge—it was an invitation. One Chan didn’t hesitate to take.
Their mouths crashed together, all teeth and tongue, bruising and desperate. Hyunjin’s wrists slipped from Chan’s grip, fingers twisting into his hair, yanking him closer, nails scraping against his scalp.
It was always like this. Rough, consuming.
Hyunjin bit at Chan’s lip, dragging a groan from deep in his throat. Chan shoved him back against the cold concrete, grinding against him, hands fisting in the thin fabric of his shirt. They weren’t supposed to be doing this, not now, not when their world was falling apart—but that was precisely why they did.
Because nothing else mattered. Not when they had this.
Hyunjin gasped as Chan’s teeth found his throat, sinking in just enough to leave a mark. His fingers clawed at Chan’s back, hips jerking up to meet his.
“You're such a fucking mess,” Chan rasped against his skin.
Hyunjin only smirked, panting, eyes dark with something wicked. “And you fucking love it.”
Chan didn’t deny it. Couldn’t.
His hands roamed, desperate and possessive, pulling Hyunjin closer as if he could sink into him completely. Their breaths mingled, and their bodies pressed together in a frantic rhythm, lost in the sheer need to feel, to take, to own.
Hyunjin’s head fell back, exposing his throat, a silent surrender that was anything but soft. His fingers curled into Chan’s wrists, nails biting into flesh, wordlessly demanding more.
The cold steel of the shackles around their wrists clinked against each other, the sound intermingling with their growls. Chan's rough hand clamped around Hyunjin's throat, constricting his airways as he squeezed and released. Hyunjin's eyes rolled back, his breath ragged.
“Fuck,” he hissed. “Don't hold back.”
Chan growled, his voice low and guttural, vibrating through both of them. “Like I ever do with you.”
Hyunjin's laugh dissolved into a moan as Chan's hand slid beneath his waistband, wrapping around him with brutal precision. The grip was tight, almost painful, just how Hyunjin liked it. His hips bucked wildly into Chan's fist, desperate and unashamed.
“You’re so fucking hard”, he snarled. “Does this turn you on? The thought that we will die any minute here? You’re so fucking sick.”
Hyunjin's fingers scrambled at Chan's trousers, yanking them down recklessly. “Like you're any better,” he hissed, wrapping his hand around Chan's length, matching his rhythm stroke for stroke.
Their breaths came in harsh pants, echoing off the walls around them. Chan's thumb swiped roughly over the head of Hyunjin's cock, spreading the slick wetness, using it to ease the brutal pace he set. Hyunjin's grip tightened in response, his teeth bared in a feral grin.
“Look at you,” Chan growled, voice thick with desire. “So desperate. So fucking needy.”
Hyunjin's laugh was fractured, breaking on a moan as Chan twisted his wrist. “Takes one to know one.”
Their movements became erratic and desperate, a battle neither wanted to win or lose.
“Look at you,” Hyunjin panted, his grip tightening painfully around Chan. “The great leader, reduced to this. What would they think if they saw you now?”
Chan responded by shoving his thumb into Hyunjin's mouth and pressing down on his tongue. Hyunjin bit down, not enough to break skin, but enough to make Chan hiss.
“They'd see exactly what I see,” Chan snarled. “A fucking psychopath who gets off on danger.”
Hyunjin moaned around Chan's thumb, sucking it deeper, eyes never leaving Chan's face. His hand worked faster and rougher, and he was determined to break Chan's control before his own shattered.
The chains rattled as Chan shoved his body forward, pressing Hyunjin harder against the floor. Their foreheads knocked together, sweat mingling, breath hot.
“You think I don't know what you're doing?” Chan growled, his rhythm faltering as pleasure surged through him. “Trying to make me lose control?”
Hyunjin's pupils were blown wide, a thin ring of dark brown around endless black. His lips, swollen and bitten red, curled into something between a sneer and a smile. “It's working, isn't it?”
Chan twisted his wrist again, drawing a broken sound from Hyunjin's throat. He leaned in, teeth scraping against the shell of Hyunjin's ear. “You're not the only one who knows how to break someone.”
Hyunjin's eyes fluttered closed; his lips parted on a silent gasp as Chan's thumb pressed against the sensitive spot just beneath the head. His own grip tightened around Chan in retaliation, twisting in that way he knew drove Chan crazy.
“Look at me,” Chan demanded, voice rough. When Hyunjin didn't immediately comply, Chan's hand moved to grip his jaw, forcing his head up. “I said look at me when you come.”
Hyunjin's eyes snapped open, pupils blown wide, a challenge still burning in them despite how close he was to the edge. “Make me come, then.”
Chan growled, his voice wrecked. “You think you deserve it?”
Hyunjin's laugh was brittle, with sharp edges that could cut. “Fuck what I deserve,” he spat, hips jerking erratically. “Take what you want.”
That was all the encouragement Chan needed. His movements became brutal, precise, knowing exactly how to push Hyunjin to the edge. The pressure built between them, electric and dangerous, a live wire ready to snap.
“Fuck,” Hyunjin choked out, his back arching off the cold concrete. “Chan—”
“That's it,” Chan hissed, watching Hyunjin's face contort with pleasure. “Let go. Let me see you fall apart.”
Hyunjin's body went rigid, his grip on Chan's cock tightening painfully as he came with a broken cry, spilling hot over Chan's fist. The sight of him—wild, undone, completely at Chan's mercy—pushed Chan over the edge. He followed with a guttural groan, connecting their lips in a bruising kiss.
For a moment, nothing but their uneven breathing filled the space, the sound of chains settling as they collapsed against each other. Reality slowly crept back in, cold and unwelcome.
“They'll be here soon,” Hyunjin murmured, voice rough, the fire in his eyes dimming to embers as he stared at the ceiling.
Chan said nothing, using the torn edge of his shirt to clean them both up. His movements were mechanical now, the desperate need from moments ago replaced by something hollow. He knew what Hyunjin meant: their captors, the interrogation.
🐺⛓️🩸⛓️🐺
The scent of blood and sweat clung to the training grounds, thick in the humid air. It filled Chan's nostrils with each metallic and sharp breath. The sky above was a sickly shade of grey, a permanent haze hanging over the facility like a shroud, filtering the sunlight into something weak and watery.
Chan stood at the edge of the sparring ring, arms crossed over his chest, muscles tense beneath his sweat-dampened shirt. He watched the fight unfold with growing unease. Hyunjin moved like a storm—too fast, wild, unhinged. His limbs were fluid, almost graceful in their violence. Each strike calculated yet somehow frenzied, like he was dancing on the edge of something dangerous.
Chan's jaw tightened. Hyunjin fought like he had something to prove, like the only thing keeping him from losing control completely was the thrill of combat, the rush of adrenaline, the impact of flesh against flesh.
And maybe that was true.
Hyunjin's opponent, a bulky recruit named Minho, swung wide—a mistake. Hyunjin ducked under the blow with predatory precision, a flash of teeth visible as his lips curled into something feral. His counter-attack was brutal—elbow to ribs, knee to stomach, then a sweep that sent Minho crashing to the ground with a sickening thud.
Minho hit the dirt hard, coughing, gasping for air that wouldn't come. Blood trickled from his split lip, spattering the packed earth beneath him. The others watching were silent, their gazes flicking between Hyunjin and the body at his feet. Tension hung in the air, thick enough to choke on.
“Enough,” one of the instructors barked, stepping forward. His hand hovered near the weapon at his hip—a small detail that didn't escape Chan's notice.
Hyunjin rolled his shoulders, a fluid, animal motion. He wiped a streak of blood from his cheek with the back of his hand, smearing it across his skin like war paint. “Was just getting started,” he muttered, his lips curling into something that wasn't quite a smile—too sharp, too hungry.
Chan saw the others' uncomfortably shifted posture, tensed shoulders, averted eyes, and subtle step backwards some of them took, as well as their avoidance of Hyunjin's gaze.
The way they feared him.
That was dangerous. Fear bred hatred. Hatred bred violence. And violence against someone like Hyunjin would only end one way.
Chan wasn't supposed to care, wasn't supposed to feel anything about it. They were weapons, all of them. Tools. Expendable. Emotions were weaknesses to be exploited, connections to be severed.
But he did care. The realisation sat like a stone in his gut, heavy and undeniable.
Later that night, long after curfew had descended on the compound, Chan prowled the dimly lit corridors. The facility was never truly quiet—there was always the hum of machinery, the distant murmur of voices, the occasional echo of footsteps. He moved silently, years of training making him little more than a shadow against the concrete walls.
He was passing by one of the command rooms when he heard it—voices, low and serious. The door was cracked open just enough to let sound escape. Just enough for him to catch words that made his blood run cold.
“Hyunjin's unstable,” a low voice muttered. Commander Park, Chan recognised. “The incident today was just the latest in a pattern.”
Chan stilled, pressing himself against the wall beside the door. His heartbeat quickened, a steady drum in his ears.
“He's young, but we all know how this goes,” another voice responded—Dr. Nam, the facility's head doctor. “Shapeshifters slip. Always. And when they do, there's no bringing them back. The animal takes over, bit by bit, until there's nothing human left.”
There was a pause. The sound of liquid being poured into a glass. Ice clinking.
“And what if there's more to it?” Commander Park asked. “What if it's that rare fated mates bullshit? I've seen the way he looks at Chan.”
Chan's stomach dropped, a sudden vertigo making him grip the wall for support. His fingernails dug into the concrete, scraping against the rough surface.
“That's not possible,” Dr. Nam scoffed. “That's old wive’s tales. Superstition.”
“It's rare. Not impossible.” Commander Park's voice hardened. “And you know as well as I do that Chan isn't exactly normal either. There's a reason he's our most successful trainee.”
A beat of silence stretched between them, taut with implications.
“If that happens,” Dr. Nam finally said, each word measured, “we'll have no choice but to contain them. Permanently. We both know what the higher-ups would do if they caught wind of it. The project would be scrapped. Everyone involved eliminated.”
The words carried weight. A warning. A death sentence.
Chan clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms hard enough to draw blood. His skin felt too tight, his chest constricting around lungs that suddenly couldn't get enough air. He stepped away from the door before he could hear more, mind racing, pulse pounding in his throat.
“You look like you've seen a ghost.”
Chan turned sharply, instinct nearly making him lash out.
Hyunjin stood in the dimly lit hallway, arms loosely crossed over his chest, shoulder propped against the wall. Shadows played across his features, accentuating the sharp angles of his face and the hollow beneath his cheekbones. A smirk played at his lips, but his eyes—those eyes that always seemed to see too much—gleamed with something unreadable.
“What are you doing?” Chan hissed, voice low, glancing back at the command room door.
Hyunjin tilted his head, a strand of dark hair falling across his forehead. “Shouldn't I be asking you that? Eavesdropping isn't very becoming of our perfect leader.”
Chan ignored the question, the jab, brushing past him with purposeful strides. But Hyunjin didn't let him go far, reaching out, fingers curling around his wrist.
For a split second, the world tilted.
It was a whisper of something ancient, raw and undeniable. A pull deep in their bones, like gravity shifting, like the earth had suddenly changed its axis. Heat bloomed where their skin touched, racing up Chan's arm and settling in his chest like a live wire.
Chan ripped his arm away like he'd been burned. Maybe he had been.
Hyunjin's smirk faltered for just a moment, his eyes widening slightly, his pupils dilating. Then he masked it with amusement, but not before Chan caught the flash of recognition in his gaze. “Huh,” he mused, his gaze flickering over Chan's face, lingering on his lips and throat. “Interesting.”
Chan didn't respond. He couldn't. Because he knew.
And from the way Hyunjin was looking at him—like he'd finally found something he'd been searching for, like he'd just discovered a weapon he couldn't wait to wield—he knew, too.
The air between them crackled with unspoken words, with possibilities too dangerous to acknowledge. Chan's heart hammered against his ribs, each beat a warning he couldn't afford to ignore.
Chan told himself it was nothing.
*
That first time, when Hyunjin's fingers brushed against his wrist in the training room, electricity shot up his arm, and something in his chest tightened like a wire pulled too taut. He'd jerked away, heart hammering against his ribs, and forced himself to ignore it.
But then it happened again in the mess hall. Their hands touched, reaching for the same weapon during drills. Their shoulders bumped in the narrow corridors.
And again.
And again.
Until it became impossible to ignore the static hum that vibrated in his veins whenever Hyunjin was near. His pulse always seemed to sync with Hyunjin's, matching his breaths and movements. A constant awareness that had never been there before with anyone else.
“Move,” Chan grunted, shoving past Hyunjin in the corridor one night, desperate to put distance between them.
Hyunjin caught his arm, fingers digging into muscle. “Why are you fighting it?” he asked, voice low enough that only Chan could hear.
Chan wrenched free, skin burning where Hyunjin had touched him. “Fighting what?”
Hyunjin's eyes gleamed in the dim light, something wild and knowing in them. “Don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you.”
It was a mistake. A defect. A curse.
It was fate.
Neither of them acknowledged it after that, not directly. But Chan noticed how Hyunjin began to position himself during missions—always at Chan's back, covering his blind spots. During briefings, Hyunjin's knee would press against his under the table, a silent pressure that was both a challenge and comfort.
They fought together, trained together, and Hyunjin, for all his recklessness, always ended up at Chan's side. They never spoke about it, but Chan noticed the way Hyunjin's gaze always lingered on him longer than anyone else's. How Hyunjin never let anyone get too close, both physically and emotionally, except for him.
“Your form is shit,” Chan told him one day during sparring, when Hyunjin had pinned another recruit with unnecessary force.
Hyunjin looked up, sweat dripping down his temple, eyes bright with adrenaline. “Worked, didn't it?”
“You're going to get yourself extracted.”
Something dark flashed across Hyunjin's face. “Would you care?”
Chan didn't answer. Couldn't.
So he let it happen—this unspoken thing between them, because Hyunjin was too much and not enough at the same time. Because when they fought, when they were close, it felt like something inevitable. Like they had already crossed a line they could never step back from.
It started one night, after a brutal sparring session. Hyunjin had been acting up again, ignoring commands, provoking the instructors, pushing back just enough to make them wary but not enough to be punished.
“Trainee Hwang,” the instructor had barked, “one more outburst and you'll be in isolation for a week.”
Hyunjin had smiled, all teeth, no warmth. “Yes, sir. Understood, sir.” His tone dripped with insubordination.
Chan watched from across the room, his jaw clenched so tight that his teeth ached. The reckless idiot was going to get himself killed, or worse—marked for ‘containment.’ And for what? To prove he could?
The moment training ended, Chan was on him before he could stop himself, shoving him back into the shadows between the dormitories. The concrete wall was rough against his knuckles as he pinned Hyunjin against it.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Chan hissed, fisting the front of Hyunjin's sweat-dampened shirt. He could feel Hyunjin's heart hammering against his knuckles, matching the frantic pace of his own.
Hyunjin only grinned, sharp and unbothered. “Oh, come on. You like it when I misbehave.”
Chan's grip tightened, twisting the fabric. “You think this is a game? You think they won't put you down the moment they decide you're more trouble than you're worth?”
“Maybe I want them to try.” Hyunjin's eyes flashed with something dangerous. “Maybe I'm tired of pretending.”
“Pretending what?”
“That I'm not—” Hyunjin cut himself off, swallowing hard. “That we're not—”
The air between them crackled, thick with something dangerous. Hyunjin's breath was uneven, but not from the fight. His eyes flickered between Chan's lips and his throat, his fingers twitching at his sides.
“Don't,” Chan warned, but even he wasn't sure what he was warning against.
Hyunjin's tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Why not? We both know what this is.”
They both knew what this was.
Neither of them said it.
Instead, Chan kissed him.
It was violent. Messy. Inevitable.
Hyunjin moaned into his mouth, fingers tangling in Chan's hair, pulling, biting, devouring. Their teeth clashed, nails scraped, hands grabbing, clawing. Chan tasted blood—his or Hyunjin's, he couldn't tell. Didn't care.
“Fuck,” Hyunjin gasped when they broke apart for air, his pupils blown wide. “I knew it.”
Chan growled, shoving him harder against the wall. “Shut up.”
“Make me.”
They weren't gentle. They weren't careful.
Because if they slowed down, if they let themselves think, the weight of it all would crush them.
That was the first time.
It wasn't the last.
They didn't talk about it. Not the next morning when they passed each other in the mess hall, Hyunjin's throat marked with bruises in the shape of Chan's fingers. Not the following week when they were paired for a mission and Hyunjin's hand lingered too long on Chan's shoulder during the debrief. Not even when it became a pattern—late nights, stolen moments, hands dragging over bare skin, biting down moans against each other's shoulders.
“You're going to get us both killed,” Chan muttered one night, his back against the cold metal of the storage room shelves, Hyunjin on his knees before him.
Hyunjin looked up, lips swollen, eyes defiant. “Then die with me. Die feeling alive for once in your goddamn life”
They drowned in each other, raw and reckless, using pleasure as a way to forget. To forget what they were. What they couldn't have. What would happen if anyone ever found out.
They never said “I love you.”
Maybe because love wasn't meant for creatures like them. Maybe because it was already too obvious.
But Chan could feel it in how Hyunjin's hands always trembled slightly when he touched him. The way his name always left Hyunjin's lips like a curse, like a prayer.
“Chan,” Hyunjin whispered one night, face buried in the crook of Chan's neck, body still trembling with aftershocks. “If they find out—”
“They won't,” Chan cut him off, fingers tightening in Hyunjin's hair.
“But if they do—”
“They won't.”
And he knew Hyunjin felt it too.
Because sometimes, in the quiet after, when the room was dark and their bodies were sore and sated, Chan would catch Hyunjin looking at him with something raw, something unspoken.
“What?” Chan asked once, when Hyunjin's stare had lingered too long.
Hyunjin's fingers traced the line of Chan's jaw, feather-light. “Nothing,” he said, but his eyes said everything.
And Chan would close his eyes. Pretend not to see it.
Because if they admitted it, if they let themselves say it out loud, then it became real. And in this world, reality meant death. So they kept it hidden. They played their parts in the daylight, and at night, they burned together in secret.
“Do you ever think about running?” Hyunjin asked one night, voice barely audible, his body curled against Chan's in the narrow maintenance shaft they'd claimed as their own.
Chan's hand stilled where it had been tracing circles on Hyunjin's hip. “Running where?”
“Anywhere. Away from here.” Hyunjin's fingers tapped a restless rhythm against Chan's chest, right over his heart. “Just you and me.”
The question hung between them, dangerous and tempting. Chan knew he should shut it down and remind Hyunjin that there was nowhere to run and that they'd be hunted down and killed before they made it past the first checkpoint.
Instead, he found himself saying, “Tell me more.”
Hyunjin shifted, propping himself up on one elbow, eyes bright with something that looked dangerously like hope. “I've been watching the patrol schedules. There's a gap, every third night, between 02:00 and 02:15. The eastern fence has a weak spot where—”
Chan pressed a finger to Hyunjin's lips, silencing him. “Not here,” he murmured, glancing at the ventilation shaft above them. “They have ears everywhere.”
Hyunjin nodded, understanding, but the look in his eyes remained. A spark that hadn't been there before.
A plan. A possibility.
Waiting for the day it would all catch up to them—or the day they would finally break free.
🐺⛓️🩸⛓️🐺
Chan's mind clicked suddenly, and the realisation hit him like a fist in the gut. The ventilation. He looked up at the rusted metal grates high on the walls, their edges corroded with time and neglect.
“Fuck,” he muttered, the word escaping on a breath.
Of course there had been ears listening when they'd talked about running. It hadn't even been a real plan—just whispered words between them in what they'd thought was safety. A passing comment, a dangerous thought that had slipped past Hyunjin's lips while Chan's fingers traced patterns on his bare skin.
“Do you ever think about running?”
Six words. That's all it had taken. And now, six days later, here they were. Locked away in some abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere, with chains on their wrists and death hanging over their heads.
Chan's throat tightened. He'd been careless. He should have known better.
He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face, feeling the rough scrape of stubble against his palm. His eyes scanned the room methodically, taking in the crumbling concrete walls, the patches of mould spreading like disease in the corners, the single bulb hanging from frayed wires that cast more shadows than light.
“We need to check the perimeter,” he said, voice low. “Find out where we are, what's around us.”
Hyunjin was sprawled across a stained mattress in the corner, his long limbs stretched out carelessly. The filthy fabric sank beneath his weight, springs poking through in places. Chan noticed dark stains speckling the surface—blood, probably. Old blood.
“How fucking generous of them,” Chan scoffed, nodding toward the mattress. “They could've at least thrown in some clean sheets.”
Hyunjin’s lips curled at one corner, eyes half-lidded as he ran a hand through his hair, only to remember there was none. He’d shaved it off for the latest mission. Chan had cursed that night, fucking into him from behind with nothing to grab onto.
“We could've got off on here instead of the floor,” he mused, voice rough from their earlier activities. His tone was casual, as if they were discussing the weather rather than being imprisoned and awaiting whatever twisted fate their captors had planned.
A breathy chuckle escaped Chan's lips before he could stop it. “You were too eager to find a softer surface.”
“True,” Hyunjin smirked, tilting his head to the side, exposing the fresh marks Chan had left on his neck. “Your fault for not stopping me.”
Their eyes met, and something passed between them for a moment—something unspoken but understood. A shared acknowledgement that even here, even now, they couldn't stop this pull between them.
Chan shook his head, the brief amusement fading from his eyes as reality settled back in. His expression hardened, jaw setting in a tight line. “We should check our surroundings. Get a feel for the terrain at least.”
He moved toward one of the small, dirt-crusted windows, careful to stay to the side to avoid being seen from outside. The glass was cracked, cobwebs stretching across the corners like delicate lace.
Behind him, Hyunjin stretched his arms over his head, the sound of popping joints filling the silence. Chan didn't need to look to know exactly how Hyunjin's muscles would be shifting beneath his torn shirt, how his spine would arch slightly with the movement. He'd memorised every inch of Hyunjin's body long ago.
“Good idea,” Hyunjin said, his voice closer now as he approached. Chan felt the heat of him at his back, that familiar prickle along his spine that always came when Hyunjin was near. “By the way, what the fuck is the deal with these shackles? Why put them on if they aren't cuffed to anything?”
Chan glanced down at his own wrists. The metal was cold against his skin, heavy enough to be a constant reminder but not so heavy that it impeded movement. It made no tactical sense.
He rolled his shoulders, feeling the tension knotted there. “Fuck knows,” he muttered, the words bitter on his tongue. “Probably their way of reminding us we're already prisoners.”
Outside, the sky was murky gray, the sun hidden behind a thick blanket of clouds. Chan couldn't tell if it was morning or afternoon. They could be anywhere—miles from the facility or just around the corner. The thought made his skin crawl.
Hyunjin hummed, a low sound in his throat. When Chan turned to look at him, his eyes had narrowed, something calculating in their depths. “Or a way to make sure we remember who we are.”
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning. Shapeshifters. That's what they were. Creatures built for power, for chaos, for things this society had tried to strip away. The chains weren't meant to hold them physically—they were meant to humiliate them—a mockery of restraint.
Chan felt something stir in his chest, a slow-burning anger that he'd kept carefully banked for years. The kind of anger that could consume everything if he let it.
“They think they're being clever,” he said, voice dangerously soft. “Making us wear our status like this.”
Hyunjin's fingers brushed against his own, a fleeting touch that sent electricity racing up Chan's arm. “They've always underestimated us.”
Chan clenched his jaw, feeling the muscle jump beneath his skin. “Let's move,” he said, pulling away from the window. “There has to be a way out of here.”
“Lead the way, Alpha,” Hyunjin said.
🐺⛓️🩸⛓️🐺
Chan moved first, his boots scraping against the concrete as he explored every corner of their prison. He ran his fingers along the walls, searching for any weakness, any crack that might offer escape. The chains at his wrists clinked softly with each movement, a constant reminder of their captivity.
“There has to be something,” he muttered, more to himself than to Hyunjin.
Hyunjin stalked behind him, never more than a few feet away. Even now, there was something mesmerising about the way he moved—that predatory grace that seemed effortless, like darkness itself had shaped him. His eyes gleamed in the dim light, taking in everything and missing nothing.
“You really think they'd be stupid enough to leave us a way out?” Hyunjin asked. He trailed his fingers along a rusted shelf, metal flaking beneath his touch.
Chan shot him a look. “I think everyone makes mistakes.”
The warehouse stretched around them, vast and cavernous. What seemed like a single room was a labyrinth of abandoned industrial equipment. Skeletal shelving units towered above them, some collapsed into twisted metal heaps, others still standing like the ribs of some long-dead beast. The air tasted stale, heavy with dust and the lingering scent of motor oil.
Chan tested a door—heavy steel, its hinges crusted with rust. Locked. Of course. He moved to the next, and the next, each one as unyielding as the last.
“Windows?” Hyunjin suggested, tilting his head back to look at the high, filthy panes near the ceiling.
Chan followed his gaze, calculating. “Too high. And probably reinforced.”
“We could stack some of these shelves,” Hyunjin said, kicking at a fallen metal strut. “Make a ladder.”
“And make enough noise to bring whoever's watching us running?” Chan shook his head. “There must be another way out.”
The words had barely left his mouth when a metallic groan echoed through the space. Chan froze, every muscle tensing as the heavy main doors rattled. Hyunjin shifted closer to him, their shoulders almost touching—instinct pulling them together in the face of a threat.
The doors swung open with deliberate slowness, revealing a man silhouetted against harsh exterior light. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a fitted tactical uniform that hugged his muscular frame. Weapons glinted at his belt—a gun, a knife, something that looked like a baton but probably wasn't. His stance was casual, almost bored, but his eyes were anything but. Sharp, calculating, cold.
One of them. One of the enforcers.
“You two really don't know how to sit still, do you?” The man's voice echoed in the cavernous space, followed by the slow, mocking sound of applause. His boots struck the concrete with measured steps as he approached.
Chan felt his jaw clench, teeth grinding together as his fingers flexed at his sides. “We were wondering when someone would show up,” he said, voice deceptively calm. “Thought you'd leave us here to rot a little longer.”
The enforcer laughed, the sound hollow and empty. “Oh, don't worry.” His smile didn't reach his eyes. “Rotting's still on the table. But first, we need to have a little chat.”
Chat. Chan's stomach tightened. He knew exactly what that meant. Interrogation. Pain. Breaking points.
Beside him, Hyunjin tilted his head, reminding Chan of a predator sizing up prey. His lips curved into that familiar, dangerous smile.
“Let me guess,” Hyunjin drawled, voice dripping with mock excitement. “Questions, threats, maybe a few broken bones?” He rolled his shoulders in a fluid motion, chains jingling softly. “You really think we'll give you what you want that easily?”
The enforcer didn't flinch. His smirk remained fixed as he reached into his jacket, pulling out a sleek black device no bigger than a cell phone. Chan tensed, instinct screaming danger.
One press of a button—
Pain.
White-hot agony exploded through Chan's body, a thousand knives slicing through every nerve ending at once. His muscles seized, contracting violently as electricity coursed through him. His knees struck the concrete hard, the impact barely registering beneath the overwhelming torment.
A strangled growl tore from his throat as he fought to stay conscious. Beside him, Hyunjin had collapsed too, his body jerking with the same violent spasms. But instead of screaming, Hyunjin was laughing—a breathless, broken sound that somehow cut through Chan's pain.
“Ah,” Hyunjin gasped, body trembling as sweat beaded on his forehead. “That's new.”
The enforcer took another step forward, the soft click of his boots echoing. “We've learned a few things about your kind,” he said, almost conversational.
Chan barely registered the words. His vision swam, darkness creeping at the edges as rage built in his chest, hot and consuming. The pain was excruciating, but he'd endured worse. They both had.
Instinct took over. Chan reached for the shift, that primal part of him that had always been there, waiting beneath his skin. He felt for that familiar pull in his bones, the stretching sensation as his body should transform, teeth lengthening, muscles reforming—
Nothing happened.
His body remained stubbornly human, the shift slipping away like water through his fingers. A sickening wrongness settled in his gut, an emptiness where his wolf should be. He tried again, desperation clawing at him, but it was like slamming into an invisible barrier.
Hyunjin let out a sharp, frustrated growl beside him. Chan didn't need to look to know he had tried the same thing and failed just as completely.
“Oh,” the enforcer laughed, the sound grating against Chan's ears. “You really thought we wouldn't account for that?” He gestured lazily toward their wrists, where the metal shackles gleamed dully. “No wolf form, I'm afraid.”
Chan's breath came in harsh pants, chest heaving as he realised — the shackles weren't just restraints or humiliation tactics. They were inhibitors, specifically designed to lock them into their human forms—their weaker forms.
Hyunjin exhaled slowly through his nose, his eyes darkening to something almost black. “Tch. That's annoying.”
“Annoying,” the enforcer repeated, amusement dripping from each syllable. “That's an understatement, pup. You're done. You're—”
Chan didn't let him finish.
He moved first, channelling pain into action. His body launched forward, low and fast, muscles coiling and releasing in one explosive movement. The enforcer's eyes widened a fraction—the only indication he hadn't expected Chan to be able to move so quickly after the shock.
Chan's fist connected with the man's throat, crushing his windpipe with a precise, brutal strike. The enforcer's words died in a choking gasp, hands flying to his neck.
Hyunjin was right there with him, moving in perfect sync like they'd choreographed it. His knee drove upward with vicious force, slamming into the enforcer's ribs. The crack was audible, wet and sharp.
The enforcer crumpled, blood bubbling from his lips as he struggled to breathe. Chan moved to finish him, but the sound of multiple boots against concrete made him freeze.
More of them. Coming from all sides.
Chan spun, back pressing against Hyunjin's as they faced outward, surrounded. The pain from the shock still rippled through his muscles, but adrenaline pushed it aside, sharpening his senses to a knife's edge. He could feel Hyunjin's body heat against his back, the steady rhythm of his breathing matching Chan's own.
Five enforcers approached, weapons drawn, faces hard with cold determination.
Hyunjin's laugh was soft and deadly, a sound Chan felt more than heard. “Well,” he said, rolling his shoulders as the chains at his wrists clinked. “This is a bit more fun.”
Chan wiped blood from his split lip with the back of his hand, eyes never leaving the approaching threats. His body hummed with the need to kill, tear, and destroy even without his wolf form.
“Try not to get stabbed this time,” he muttered to Hyunjin, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet.
Hyunjin's voice was warm with dark humour. “No promises.”
A man rushed Chan—a stupid mistake. Chan ducked, grabbed him by the collar, and spun him into Hyunjin’s waiting elbow. Hyunjin cracked him across the jaw, sending him reeling.
Another charged, but Chan was already reacting. With no words, no signal, just instinct , Chan grabbed Hyunjin’s waist, the familiar curve of his hipbones fit perfectly against Chan's palms as he lifted him.
Hyunjin didn’t even hesitate.
He twisted midair, using the momentum to launch himself forward, boots connecting with two men simultaneously. Their heads snapped back violently as they collapsed.
Chan barely had time to set Hyunjin back down before another enforcer closed in. He caught the man’s arm, twisted hard, and Hyunjin finished the job—driving a knee into the guy’s ribs with a crack hard enough to tear a strangled scream from the enforcer's throat. Chan released him, letting him fold to the ground like a discarded puppet.
The fight blurred into something primal, something visceral. Every move was synchronised without thought or planning. Chan could feel Hyunjin at his back, the heat of his body, the rhythm of his breathing. He could sense when Hyunjin would duck, strike, or need Chan to create an opening.
It was intimate, making Chan's blood sing with something daring. Something he shouldn't want in the middle of a life-or-death struggle.
Hyunjin's breath ghosted hot against Chan's neck as they spun together, avoiding a wild swing from another enforcer. The sensation gave Chan the chills that had nothing to do with fear.
And Hyunjin was fucking grinning.
Even as a knife sliced through the air—too close, aiming for the soft spot between his ribs—Hyunjin's lips were curled in that feral, hungry smile that made Chan’s gut tighten. He
dodged the blade with millimetres to spare, spinning into Chan's waiting grip. Chan's fingers locked around Hyunjin's forearm, feeling the coiled strength beneath sweat-slicked skin.
Hyunjin's eyes met his for a fraction of a second—wild, alive, trusting. He didn't hesitate, balanced his weight perfectly as Chan braced, muscles straining as he threw Hyunjin toward another approaching attacker.
Hyunjin soared through the air, a deadly projectile of precise violence. His legs snapped out in a scissoring motion, catching two enforcers simultaneously—one boot connecting with a throat, the other with a temple. Both men dropped instantly.
Hyunjin landed in a predatory crouch, chest heaving, a streak of blood smeared across his cheek like war paint. His gaze flicked to Chan's, and there it was—that fucking look.
Chan's mouth went dry. He knew that expression too well. The way Hyunjin's pupils swallowed the brown of his irises, leaving only a thin ring of colour around bottomless black. His lips parted just enough to show the edge of his teeth, his tongue darting out to taste the blood at the corner of his mouth. The flush high on his cheekbones had nothing to do with exertion and everything to do with the twisted pleasure he took in this dance of death they shared.
It was the same look he wore when Chan pinned him to the wall, when Chan's teeth sank into his skin, when Chan made him beg.
Heat pooled low in Chan's stomach, inappropriate and irrefutable. His body responding to Hyunjin's in ways it shouldn’t in the middle of a goddamn brawl. Fuck. The way it turned them both on.
Hyunjin laughed, breathless, wiping blood from his cheek. “Fuck, I love fighting with you.”
Chan swallowed hard, forcing down the surge of want. “Focus,” he bit out.
“Oh, I am,” Hyunjin said, his gaze raking over Chan's body with such blatant hunger that Chan felt it like a physical touch.
The moment shattered.
A flash of movement caught in Chan's peripheral vision—too fast, too close. Metal glinted under the harsh warehouse lights. An enforcer had circled behind him, weapon raised—a reinforced baton, crackling with blue electricity.
Chan tried to twist away, muscles already tensing to dodge, but he was a fraction too slow.
The baton struck his ribs with crushing force. White-hot agony exploded through his body as electricity surged through him, setting every nerve ending on fire. His muscles seized, locking rigid as his body betrayed him. A strangled sound tore from his throat as he collapsed to his knees, unable to control his own limbs.
Through the haze of pain, he heard Hyunjin's voice—sharp, hysterical. His name ripped from Hyunjin's throat like it had been torn out by force.
“Chan—!”
Rough hands grabbed him, yanking him upright by his arms. His head lolled, vision swimming as his muscles spasmed with aftershocks. Too many hands. Too many enforcers. They'd been holding back, he realised dimly. Waiting for the right moment to overwhelm them.
Through blurred vision, he saw more enforcers closing in on Hyunjin, weapons drawn, confident smiles on their faces.
Then—
Hyunjin screamed.
It wasn't a sound of pain. It was something else entirely. Something primal, something feral that raised the hair on Chan's arms and sent icy shudders through his body despite the electricity still burning through his veins.
Chan forced his eyes to focus, fighting through the pain to see Hyunjin, and what he saw made his breath catch.
Hyunjin had snapped.
There was no other way to describe it. One moment, he was Hyunjin—deadly but controlled, precise in his violence. Next, he was something else. Something Chan had never seen before, not even in their most brutal training sessions.
Hyunjin moved like water and struck like lightning. An enforcer lunged at him with a knife, and Hyunjin didn't just dodge—he flowed around the blade, grabbed the man's wrist, and twisted so violently that the bones shattered with an audible crack. Before the scream could even leave the enforcer's throat, Hyunjin had driven his elbow into the man's larynx, crushing it.
He didn't stop to watch him fall.
Blood sprayed across Hyunjin's skin, across the concrete floor. He didn't seem to notice or care.
Chan felt a blade press against his throat, cold steel biting into his skin. A voice hissed in his ear, “Tell your rabid dog to stand down, or I'll open your throat.”
Hyunjin's head snapped up, as if he'd heard the whispered threat from across the room. His eyes locked with Chan's, and what Chan saw there made his blood run cold.
There was nothing human in Hyunjin's gaze.
Just endless black, pupils blown so wide they'd swallowed the iris completely. His lips were pulled back from his teeth in a snarl that belonged on a wolf's muzzle, not a human face. Blood, not his own, dripped from his chin, from his fingertips.
“Let. Him. Go.” Each word was dragged from his throat, guttural and distorted, barely recognisable as Hyunjin's voice.
The enforcer's hand trembled against Chan's throat, the blade nicking skin. A warm trickle of blood slid down Chan's neck.
Hyunjin's nostrils flared, catching the scent of Chan's blood. His eyes narrowed to slits.
Hyunjin was slipping, losing himself to the wolf clawing its way to the surface. Chan could feel it, like the sharp ice crack before it shattered. And if their places were reversed, if it were Hyunjin with a blade at his throat, bleeding, helpless, Chan knew he would’ve lost himself even faster.
There wasn’t a universe, a single possible timeline , where Chan wouldn’t burn everything down to keep Hyunjin safe even if it meant dying. Even if it meant tearing himself apart limb by limb, the price would always be too small.
To keep Hyunjin alive. To keep him here. To make him happy, even just for a second longer.
Hot tears burned down Chan’s cheeks, his body thrashing uselessly against the grip holding him down. He wanted to scream , but his throat was locked, his voice strangled before it could even rise. Hyunjin would do the same for him, of course he would. But none of that mattered. Not now.
Because once a wolf goes feral , there is no coming back.
Chan was going to lose him.
Not to death, not yet, but to something worse. Something irreversible. To the instinct that would consume him whole, erase Hyunjin as he was, turn him into something mindless. Something that had to be put down.
Fuck the bite mark. Fuck the bond they hadn’t dared to name.
Hyunjin was his mate. His fucking mate.
And he was about to watch him be ripped away—
Or worse.
Be the one forced to end it himself. Put him down like a mad dog.
That’s when Chan heard it—deep, guttural, unambiguous. A growl.
No. That wasn’t possible. The shackles should’ve prevented Hyunjin from shifting.
His heart slammed against his ribs as he forced his eyes open, searching—praying it wasn’t what he thought.
Hyunjin was still in his human form. Blood-spattered and feral, yes, but human.
Then who the fuck was growling?