alea iacta est

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/27956171.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Relationship: Jeon Wonwoo/Kim Mingyu
Character: Chwe Hansol | Vernon
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Mob, Established Relationship, Gangster Kim
Mingyu, Doctor Jeon Wonwoo, Drugs, Medical Inaccuracies, Death
Threats as Proclamations of Love, they're in love though i swear, tender
mw in gose don't lie 2.2 this is for you
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2020-12-08 Words: 5773

alea iacta est

by bloominsummer

Summary

When Mingyu voluntarily walks into the police headquarters and admits guilt to numerous
crimes they've long suspected him of, he leaves Wonwoo no choice but to break him out of
prison.

Notes

title from Latin phrase which translates to: the die is cast; it has a similar meaning with
"there is no turning back [from here on]"

this fic is basically a continuation of this prompt and you can retweet it here (new writing
acc :D).

also... this is written in like, 2.5 hours in a burst of productivity previously unknown to me
and I've read through it once after but my work's always unbetaed and prone to mistakes <3
will edit when I have time but until then, sincerest apologies

See the end of the work for more notes

A seldom heartbeat echoes

joined only by an echo of a neighbouring heart
whose echoes are echoed
which only time could tear apart.
 A seldom heartbeat echoes
whilst butterflies in stomachs roam
and whispers to the neighbouring heart
know that you are never going to be alone.

- NVL

The door of the infirmary bursts open, two guards dragging a barely conscious prisoner dressed in
all blue into the room, the prison warden following closely behind them. Wonwoo lifts his gaze
from the lifestyle magazine he’s been reading to pass the time, feigning boredom. He addresses the
warden with a curt nod.

“What seems to be the problem here?”

Fuck. It was already difficult in theory, pretending to be some prison doctor with no affiliation to
the man in front of him. In practice? Seeing the prisoner’s face shine with sweat, his brows
furrowed in concentration as he tries his damn hardest to breathe — it’s mission impossible. How
is Wonwoo supposed to act like they don’t know each other? The love of his life is suffering.

“Prisoner 3451,” the warden points at the man with his metal baton, “seems to be having trouble
breathing. He’s in and out of it. Complained about chest pain at lunch.”

That must have been when Mingyu received the beta-blocker package from one of the kitchen
ladies Hansol’s managed to bribe. The doctor could see the events playing out: Mingyu plunging
the needle into his body and disposing of the evidence before he started laying out the groundwork
for his escape. Wonwoo swallows heavily because he knows the chest pain Mingyu was talking
about is real. He’s not making it up.

Wonwoo delivers an unknown liquid in a plastic syringe and without hesitation, Mingyu self-
administered the drug. Some blind fucking trust he has in Wonwoo.

The warden cants his head at his guards, who heaves the prisoner up onto one of the infirmary
beds.

“Thought he was faking at first until they checked his pulse. Almost non-existent. If it wasn’t for
his painful groans every once in a while, we would have called a time of death.”

Wonwoo does his best to fix the prisoner with a look of disinterest before he carefully undoes the
first couple of buttons of his prison jacket. The doctor places the diaphragm of his stethoscope over
his left pectoral and listens to the tune the prisoner’s heart sings for a moment.

“Irregular cardiac rhythm with harsh systolic murmurs,” Wonwoo relies on the necessary
information to the warden, who has his lips pinched together in disapproval. “Does…” he glances
at the number patch sewn onto the jacket, “prisoner 3451 have a pre-existing medical condition?”

Good. That’s good. Checking the identification number like that. The minute details are the glue
that will hold this plan together.

“Wouldn’t you know better?” is the unsatisfactory response he gets from the warden. U seless
fucking dick, Wonwoo thinks. He deserves everything that’s about to come his way. “Think of it, I
haven’t seen you around before.”
He buttons the prisoner’s jacket back again. “I’m replacing Dr Hong for the week. His partner won
a good sum from the lottery the other day —” a wonderful convenience arranged by one of
Mingyu’s men, no doubt “— and they’re going on a cruise.”

The warden watches on as Wonwoo rummages through the cabinet containing medical records of
all the inmates in the prison. He pulls out 3451’s file with ease, having already known where to
look for it, and flips through the papers until he gets to the page that contains the crucial piece of
information.

“Here,” he says, underlining a sentence with his finger, “he has a bicuspid aortic valve. That does
explain the sounds.”

His face contorting in distaste, the warden glances between 3451 and Wonwoo. “What does that
mean? In terms that non-medical personnel can understand, if you will.”

Wonwoo closes the file before he answers the question. “It means he has a birth defect that restricts
blood movement out of his heart. I suspect the valve’s too narrow now. Who’s he, anyway?” He
gestures absently to 3451’s face. “Looks sort of familiar.”

“Kim Mingyu.”

“Oh, really?” He fakes a good amount of interest here, though not all of it has to be faked. Most of
the reactions Wonwoo’s body, heart, and soul gives at the mere mention of his name—they’re a
product of natural progression. “The mafia boss?”

“Yes. We finally caught the fucking dog.”

He holds back the urge to drive one of the scalpels hidden in his work bag into the warden’s
jugular. Mingyu would be proud of him, had his eyes been open to witness Wonwoo play the part
of the detached third party in this situation. Wonwoo shoves his hands into the pockets of his
jacket so neither the guards nor the warden would catch him balling them into fists.

“Well, that’s a shame,” Wonwoo comments. “Unless you get him to an operating room soon, he
won’t live to suffer through the rest of his sentence.”

Now the warden falters, the flare of dominance in his eyes dimming at the realisation that he might
just lose his prize of the hunt before he can parade the victory around town. He stands next to
Mingyu’s bed and looks down at him with demeaning beady eyes Wonwoo wants to pluck out of
their sockets. Then he makes his decision and tells one of the guards to call for an ambulance.

Wonwoo snorts loud enough for the others to notice that he’s trying to make a point.

“What?”

“Nearest hospital with proper equipment is 15 minutes away, that means the trip to and from here
will take 30,” he breaks down the mathematics. “Dispatching an ambulance takes approval, that's
another 2 minutes. Loading him from this room to the vehicle, another 5.”

“And?”

“And if someone doesn’t bust his chest open in 25 minutes to fix the blockage,” Wonwoo stares at
the warden blankly, “he’s dead.”

One of the guards chooses this moment to let the room know he has functioning brain cells by
asking, “So what are you suggesting, doctor?” He looks unsettlingly green, as green as untouched
pasture. Wonwoo doubts he’s more than a couple of months out of his training.

“Use one of the transport vans.”

The warden says, “Absolutely not,” immediately. “That’s out of the question.”

“Fine then.” Wonwoo shrugs, walking back to his chair. “I swear an oath to do no harm, but if you
want me to watch while the life drains out of this man I’m perfectly fine with that. He’s a criminal,
right?”

Silence blankets the four men standing in the infirmary and the hands of Wonwoo’s golden watch
ticks tauntingly, warning him about the timing. Mingyu wheezes then, hard, gasping for precious
air. It takes Wonwoo everything he has in him not to rush to his side.

“Easy way out,” the doctor forces these words out of his mouth, “if you ask me. To die so soon.”

Finally, the prick snaps out of it and barks an order at the second guard. “Get the van ready.”

He scurries out of the room and Wonwoo simply watches him go.

“You’re going with him,” the warden speaks again to no one in particular.

It takes the young guard a moment longer than Wonwoo does to realise he wasn’t the one being
addressed. Wonwoo stays seated where he is, in an attempt to make it seem he’s not all that eager
to follow Mingyu wherever the younger goes.

“Give him two guards and he’ll be fine. He’s way too out of it to do anything to them.”

The warden turns around to face him. “I wasn’t asking.”

He sighs loudly, a dramatic sound that has no place in his usual line of work, then makes a show of
cleaning his space. The magazine goes inside the bag and three syringes come out in its place,
slipped easily into Wonwoo’s pocket before the other men are able to notice anything.

“Will you still give me two guards at least?”

“One driver and one in the back with you.”

“Two in the back with me,” Wonwoo bargains.

“You said he’s way too out of it to do anything,” the warden points out the flaw in Wonwoo’s
reasoning, just as the doctor wanted him to.

He rolls his eyes. Detail, detail. Wonwoo must display clear reluctance here, so they won’t think to
label him as an accessory upon Mingyu’s disappearance. If they see him as a victim, it will help to
keep his status and standing hidden.

Wonwoo doesn’t inquire further as to why Kim Mingyu’s transport to the hospital will be under
guarded, because he already knows the answer. Several days prior there’s a mild case of mass food
poisoning which can be traced to the beef stew from the guards’ dining hall. He makes a mental
note of asking Hansol how he had made that happen later.

“Alright, one in the back with me.”

Taking one of the two smaller syringes out of his pocket, Wonwoo walks over to Mingyu once
again.
“Bronchodilator,” he shows the object to the warden, “it’ll help him breathe for now.”

After he receives an acknowledging nod, Wonwoo rolls up Mingyu’s sleeve to trace the line of a
prominent vein along his forearm. The moment Wonwoo touches him, Mingyu’s body seems to
relax, the tension dissipating out of the rigid lines. It is as though he recognises Wonwoo’s fingers
wrapping around his wrist, subtly caressing the circumference given the circumstances. Wonwoo
remains careful, vigilant. He can feel the young guard watching him with keen eyes.

The last drop of the solution in the barrel has just been injected into Mingyu’s circulation when the
second guard returns and tells the warden that the car is ready. Wonwoo grabs his bag and follows
the guards out the infirmary, throwing the warden one last look.

Good fucking bye.

He’ll hang for this mistake, letting Mingyu slip through his fingers so easily. Professional suicide.
Wonwoo will look out for word of his resignation, though he doubts the news will reach the
foreign soil he’s heading off to.

He walks behind the guards who are struggling to carry Mingyu’s weight. The younger one is
having an especially hard time and Wonwoo prays that Hansol will be gentle with him, at least.
Praying is futile in Wonwoo’s world, even more right now, considering the only God he truly
believes in can’t even stand on his own two feet. But Wonwoo prays anyway.

And Mingyu, as incapacitated as he is, still manages to answer his prayer. As always.

The moment they come out through the rear exit of the compound, Hansol jumps at the older
guard. His right hand comes to block his mouth, left arm securing the guard’s head in a tight
chokehold, cutting off his air supply. The younger guard topples over Mingyu’s weight and
Wonwoo helps him secure the heavy yet invaluable cargo. His eyes are wild and frantic as he tries
to comprehend what’s happening, making Wonwoo feel slightly guilty about reaching over and
pushing a needle into the guard’s jugular vein.

He falls onto the floor within 30 seconds, the approximate duration it takes for the blood in his
body to complete a circulation. It has got to be one of the longest 30 seconds of Wonwoo’s life.

“Shit,” Hansol says from behind him, having finished his own task. There’s awe in his intonation
and Wonwoo would appreciate more if his legs aren’t getting tired from supporting Mingyu.
“What did you give that guy?”

“Something that wouldn’t leave big fucking bruises,” he snaps, looking over the second guard’s
limp body on the floor. “Duct tape and chains. Put these two inside one of the other vans, quick.
We need to get out of here.”

Hansol goes to work without another word and Wonwoo drags Mingyu into the van that was
initially prepared for his transport. He lies him carefully above the metal bench, propping his bag
underneath Mingyu’s head as support. Wonwoo makes sure to close the doors behind him, then
goes straight back to Mingyu’s side, kneeling beside him. The gangster's forehead is dotted with
beads of perspiration, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids.

“Mingyu,” he calls out to him softly.

No response.

The van jostles when Hansol slides into the passenger seat and slams the door close, revving the
engine once before he takes them out of the parking lot.
Wonwoo glances at his wristwatch.

“What’s happening?” asks Hansol, lifting one hand off the steering wheel to wave at the guard on
duty at the exit post.

“Nothing yet,” he meets Hansol’s gaze through the rearview mirror. “Keep your eyes on the road.”

Hansol takes a sharp turn left and Wonwoo would have slid across the floor if he hadn’t been
holding onto Mingyu’s hand tightly. No muscular response yet. Mingyu hasn’t squeezed his hand
back.

“If I go to prison, will you wait for me?” the gangster had asked an unsuspecting Wonwoo, a
couple of months prior.

Oblivious to what Mingyu had planned to do, Wonwoo simply laughed the question away and
tackled Mingyu into the mattress. Satin bedsheets pooled around his waist, barely hiding the
trinkets of love Wonwoo had left all over the golden stretch of skin.

“Fuck no,” he scrunched his nose at the image of Mingyu with grey hair, a split second before he
decided the younger would look hot even then, “with the crimes they’re trying to pin on you, you’ll
be old as hell when you get out.”

“That’s good to hear,” Mingyu answered with a smile that didn’t quite reach his bright eyes. His
hands came up to frame Wonwoo’s face, treating him as delicate as one would a blooming flower.
“You should find another, live a happy, full life without me. Don’t waste your time.”

He remembers the sudden wave of anger that washed over him when he heard what Mingyu said.
Wonwoo raised his hand in the air, ready to slap the younger for his impudent suggestion. How
dare Mingyu downplay all that they’ve been through together into something that Wonwoo can
simply move forward from?

Live a happy, full life without me.

That’s not possible.

Forget happy. Forget full. For him, there is no life without Mingyu.

Wonwoo is a survivor, and thus he will survive a great many things including the hypothetical
ultimate loss of his lover, but all the aspects that make him feel alive reside within Mingyu.

Even as his palm approached Mingyu’s cheek at an alarming speed, the younger didn’t flinch
away. The closer Wonwoo got to his ultimate destination, the less force there was behind his
attack.

“You ever as much as think about leaving me,” Wonwoo leaned in to kiss the cheek he meant to
slap, whispering lowly into Mingyu’s ear, mouth brushing the shell, “and I will kill you.”

The gangster was grinning when Wonwoo withdrew, the doctor’s hand now twirling jet-black
strands at his nape. “I’m counting on it.”

“And if you ever propose such an idea again…”

“You will kill me?”

Wonwoo nodded in confirmation. “I will kill you.”

“I’m counting on it,” Mingyu said, dragging Wonwoo back into his personal space to kiss him
again.

He didn’t know what Mingyu meant then, but Wonwoo sees it now. The doctor sees it clearly—
Mingyu’s entire game plan, the big picture—and still Wonwoo is none the wiser for it.

Hansol’s voice brings him back to the present. “What’s happening?”

He's starting to sound like a broken record, which doesn’t give Wonwoo a peace of mind at fucking
all. Wonwoo gets that he's worried, Wonwoo is too, for fuck’s sake. There’s no other person who
is more concerned with Kim Mingyu’s wellbeing than he is.

“Nothing yet.” Wonwoo grits his teeth, trying his best not to snap. “Just drive.”

“We’re five minutes out to the vehicle switch location,” Hansol tells him, a little bit on edge. “He’s
supposed to be awake by now.”

“I gave him 5 milligrams of glucagon…” the doctor checks his watch to be sure, “eight minutes
ago. Another two and I can push in 5 more.”

The sound of the car’s horn makes Wonwoo jump. He glares at Hansol through the rearview
mirror. They don’t need to draw any unnecessary attention to the prison van. The last thing
Wonwoo wants is for them to get involved in a road rage incident. Mingyu’s chest heaves up and
down in front of him, his lips cracked and dry, the colour concerning.

“Maybe whatever you gave him to drop his heart rate—” He turns his left indicator on, a signal to
switch lanes. An action that distracts enough that he splits his sentence awkwardly, but not too
much that he forgets what awful insinuation he was leading toward. “Maybe you gave him too
much?”

Wonwoo would strangle Hansol for that, but he can’t drive the van and check on Mingyu
simultaneously. “I didn’t make a mistake,” he hisses lowly. “Do you think I would ever do
anything to hurt him?”

I will kill you.

He finds Mingyu’s pulse point on his wrist and starts counting, but it doesn’t take Wonwoo long to
know that his blood pressure is still crashing.

I’m counting on it.

“Perhaps not intentionally.”

He ignores Hansol and cards his fingers through Mingyu’s hair all tender. “Mingyu, hey.”

One and a half more minutes pass with Mingyu still showing no signs of regaining consciousness,
so Wonwoo retrieves the last syringe from inside his pocket and finds the younger’s vein again.
Come back to me, Wonwoo screams inside his head as the pushes down on the plunger.

Come back to me, you asshole.

He doesn’t have any more glucagon shots on him, because this third syringe was supposed to be a
precautionary measure only. Mingyu is supposed to have woken five minutes ago, and when they
get to the car Wonwoo can start an IV drip for him.
“Wake up,” he whispers, body shaking rather horribly out of fear that he might lose the one
important thing in his life.

Hansol must have caught the tremble in his words because he spares Wonwoo a cursory glance
over his shoulder.

“Wake up.”

Wonwoo squeezes Mingyu’s hand in his and rests his head on Mingyu’s chest, listening to his
erratic heartbeat.

In all their years together Wonwoo has never fallen apart in front of Mingyu’s men. Not when the
two of them argue, not when Mingyu argues with someone else and pulls his gun out on them, not
when they stand over a grave to bury a comrade. Wonwoo never fell apart, because there is always
a chance that Mingyu might. If that ever happens, he has to be the rock for Mingyu to lean on.

But right now…

Mingyu coughs.

Wonwoo’s head shoot ups and his hope comes back to life when Mingyu’s eyes flutter open. The
gangster squints, adjusting to the lighting of the van, then his gaze lands on Wonwoo.

“I must,” he croaks out with difficulty, voice hoarse like he hasn’t spoken in years.

It’s been so long since Wonwoo’s heard him speak. He couldn’t risk being lodged as a visitor in
the prison; someone might recognise him when he sauntered into the place as a substitute for Dr
Hong.

“I must,” Mingyu tries again, doing a much better job the second time around, “be in heaven.”

Fuck you, Wonwoo wants to say, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. Instead of throwing curses at him,
the doctor simply buries his wet sob in the crook of Mingyu’s neck.

“Got an angel at my bedside and all.”

“You’re crazy, boss,” Hansol pipes in from the front seat, but the relief in his tone is palpable.
“Absolutely batshit.”

Mingyu’s hand come up to Wonwoo’s head, stroking his hair softly until Wonwoo looks up at him,
tears pooling at the corner of his eyes. They won’t spill, Wonwoo won’t let them, but Mingyu
notices them straightaway and offers Wonwoo a weak smile.

“You did a great good job killing me.” It’s a compliment delivered with half the smugness usually
colouring their banter and Wonwoo’s heart aches. Then Mingyu gives him the other half as he
says, “Just like you said you would.”

This time, Wonwoo does curse him aloud.

“Fuck you.”

He kisses Mingyu on the mouth then, hard, pouring out all of his frustration and longing into the
act, hoping Mingyu can understand him through this special form of communication.

“Baby,” he says in a gentle voice upon separation. The term of endearment makes Wonwoo’s lips
tingle. “At least let me recover first before we get into that.”
The prospect of choking Mingyu with his bare hands is almost too enticing for Wonwoo to pass
up, but then Hansol announces that they’ve arrived at their first stop. Wonwoo decides to keep his
comments to himself for now, helping Hansol move Mingyu from the van into the more
comfortable backseat of the silver sedan. He gets in with Mingyu and immediately, the gangster
rests his head on Wonwoo’s lap.

His eyes are closed again.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Wonwoo tells him, taking the kit Hansol hands to him. “Mingyu, stay awake.”

“I will,” Mingyu answers, but it’s faint.

Wonwoo gets to work quickly. He’s learned to be efficient and effective by necessity. It takes him
two minutes to connect Mingyu to the portable EKG machine, the lighted display showing
measurements of his blood pressure and heart rate straight away. They haven’t gone back to the
normal set point but Wonwo could see them increasing in a stable manner. He starts the drip as
Mingyu watches him with fascination shining through his eyes.

“IV’s in,” Wonwoo nods at Hansol to give him the go signal. “You can drive.”

The youngest of the three presses his foot down on the gas pedal and Wonwoo looks back at the
abandoned prison van as they drive away. In ten minutes, the warden would call the hospital or one
of his guards to check in on Mingyu’s status. He’d notice something has gone terribly wrong, and
they’ll hunt down that van to find no trace of neither Mingyu nor the doctor that was supposed to
be with him.

They’d check Wonwoo’s credentials next and finds nothing particularly suspicious. Wonwoo’s
made extra sure of it. On paper he’s nothing more but another doctor; not one line in his profile
will warrant further investigation.

When Wonwoo gazes down at Mingyu again, the fascination that was present there moments
before is now replaced completely by love.

Love, unadulterated. Love, unconditional. Love, immeasurable.

“I’ve missed you so bad. Did you miss me too?”

He can't believe what his ears are hearing. “You wouldn’t have to miss me if you didn’t turn
yourself in!”

“You know why I did it.”

Wonwoo does. It doesn’t excuse Mingyu from leaving a note on his pillow with the words I’m
counting on it written in his cursive left-hand. It doesn’t justify the panic he caused Wonwoo when
he woke up alone in an empty bed, calling Mingyu’s subordinates one by one only to have them
tell him to turn on the news.

The headline he read almost sent him into a cardiac arrest.

Kim Mingyu, the elusive leader of the country’s biggest crime syndicate, has just turned himself in
at the Metropolitan Police.

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo sighs in defeat, “you could’ve warned me.”

“No,” Hansol supplies unhelpfully before Mingyu can say anything in his own defence. What a
loyalty he inspires in his people, to have them rise to his aid like this. “He couldn’t have. You
would try to convince him otherwise and in that time the police would’ve gotten to Chan.”

Gnawing at his bottom lip, Wonwoo knows Hansol’s just made an excellent point. Chan, brilliant
yet reckless Chan, had failed to cover his tracks properly in his insatiable ambition of carrying out
increasingly complicated schemes. Mingyu threw himself on the sword to take the heat off of him,
give Chan ample time to rectify what must be rectified: launder some money, burn some
documents, shush some mouths.

He needed to give the police a fish big enough to distract them, and what fish could possibly be
bigger than the head of the organisation himself? Chan is rather inconsequential catch compared to
Mingyu.

“What if I didn’t understand what you meant?” asks Wonwoo.

This entire jailbreak plan hinges on Wonwoo’s ability decipher Mingyu’s code from both their
conversation and the note he left. Mingyu wanted Wonwoo to infiltrate the penitentiary using his
professional credentials, induce a medical emergency, and rescue him on the supposed transport to
the hospital. Yet he neglected to inform Wonwoo even one step involved in this plan, leaving
Wonwoo to figure things out on his own.

“What would happen then?”

Mingyu reaches for his hand and brings it to rest above his heart. Wonwoo’s gaze flicks to the
EKG machine. 90 over 60.

“The languages this speaks,” Mingyu’s palm cover Wonwoo’s own, pressing the doctor’s hand
down against his chest, his heart, “you’re the most fluent linguist in all of them.”

He’s being overwhelmingly cheesy and it has nothing to the drugs in his system. Wonwoo
supposes this development is worth celebrating, for Mingyu’s starting to regain pieces of himself,
one at a time. Not wanting to look like he’s forgiven Mingyu entirely for the stunt he’s pulled,
Wonwoo lets out a long exhale.

“How long until the hangar?” he poses the inquiry to Hansol. “The plane’s ready, right?”

“12 minutes, 15 tops if this stupid BMW in front of us keeps slowing down at yellow light. Plane’s
set. Chan called to confirm.”

“Come on,” Mingyu tries to sweet-talk his way back into Wonwoo’s good graces. “You love Chan
too much, you wouldn’t want to see him spend one night inside a prison cell.”

“Oh, so now you’re saying you did it for me?”

“I do everything for you.” He says this with a pleased smile, like he has built a whole empire to
make sure no harm ever befalls Wonwoo. Maybe he has. “You know I do everything for you.”

Stubborn, Wonwoo refuses to meet his lover’s piercing gaze. He looks outside the tinted window
instead, the houses lining the streets getting farther and farther apart in distance as they head more
toward the outskirts of the city.

They just have to make it to the plane now. Chan will meet them there and Wonwoo will finally
forgive his incompetence and let him out of the doghouse, now that Mingyu’s back safely with
them. Hansol will fly them to a country without an extradition treaty. All will be well.
“Look at the bright side,” Mingyu tries again, relentless as he is.

“And what’s the bright side, may I ask?”

“You’ll finally get the honeymoon you always wanted.”

Wonwoo snorts sharply. “We’re not even married.”

He feels something cold sliding over his ring finger and it doesn’t register with him what it is until
he looks down and finds pure gold staring back at him, the plain band glinting, reflecting light
coming through the sunroof above their heads.

“Say yes, and we can be.”

“You—you,” Wonwoo sputters incoherently. No fucking way Mingyu didn’t plan this beforehand
if he had carried the ring on his person. No fucking way Hansol, his right-hand man, didn’t have a
clue about said plan. “What is this?”

“A proposal.”

“If this is you trying to make up for the fact that you went rogue and gave yourself up to the
authorities,” Wonwoo begins to warn him, voice teetering at the edge of danger. “I don’t want it.
In fact, it’s more insulting than leaving me out of your decision to become a martyr.”

He looks straight into Mingyu’s eyes to let the gangster know that he’s not fooling around. Mingyu
lifts his head from Wonwoo’s lap and forces his body upright to a sitting position.

“Careful, please,” Wonwoo reminds him. Pleads with him, more like. He can’t bear to see Mingyu
hurt more than he already has today. “Don’t move around so much or you’ll rip the IV out.”

“I told you to find another,” says Mingyu, completely neglecting Wonwoo’s words of caution.
“And life a happy, full life without me.”

He doesn’t know where Mingyu is going with this. Please, Wonwoo just needs him to rest and
regain his strength because Wonwoo had to be strong for everyone while Mingyu is gone and he’s
depleted of his energy. He needs Mingyu to take the burden off of his shoulders.

“And I said I’ll kill you if you ever bring this up again.”

“You already killed me,” Mingyu taps his IV to make his point, “you could’ve let die if you
wanted to be free of me, but you brought me back. You could’ve let me rot in prison, but you broke
me out.”

Wonwoo stares at him, waiting, for he knows Mingyu is nowhere near finished. The heart monitor
tells him that, the subtle intake of breath tells him that, the slight furrowing of Mingyu’s brows
tells him that. It’s not just Mingyu’s heart that speaks the language Wonwoo’s learned to master.
It’s Mingyu, in his entirety.

“I gave you a chance to walk away and you didn’t take it, so from this point on, there will be no
walking away.” His eyes move to the wedding band on Wonwoo’s fourth finger, gaze as heavy as
the implication of his following sentence. “From this point on, there’s no turning back. You are
mine.”

A shiver rips through Wonwoo from the intensity of his words, the conviction he puts behind his
delivery.
“And if I walk away?”

“Then I’ll return your favour.” Even the score. “I will kill you.”

Wonwoo wonders if unlike him, Mingyu would make death last. Does it matter? Wonwoo has no
intention of leaving him. He has no plans of walking away from Mingyu despite the life of crime
and corruption that awaits them. He’d walk through his days with a breeze, standing tall next to the
man of his dreams.

In this particular light, Mingyu reminds Wonwoo of his younger self. Rough around the edges,
rougher with his tongue, roughest with his fists. Wonwoo’s lost count of how many nights he spent
bandaging the younger’s bruised knuckles as a first-year resident. They’d spent these cold nights in
silence, Mingyu’s eyes devoid of any emotion.

As Wonwoo’s medical career progressed, so did Mingyu’s affinity for illicit affairs. Fortunately,
Mingyu is twice as smart as he is rough and he climbed the ladder of hierarchy with ease. He
started having lackeys to carry out the dirty work in no time, which meant patching him up became
a less frequent occasion for Wonwoo. At some point the nights grew warmer, the two of them
sharing body heat a contributing factor to the change. The veil slowly lifted and Wonwoo fell in
love with the fire beneath layers of ice.

Mingyu’s eyes may be as steely as they were in the past, the gangster putting his walls back up in
the case Wonwoo’s rejection is what will welcome his return, but the moment Wonwoo tells him:

“I love you.”

— warmth bleeds into those orbs again. The confession is a yes and I do and I am far past the
point of no return all in one, and Mingyu is aware of this.

There is a signature gentleness in the way he reaches for Wonwoo and gathers the doctor in his
strong embrace, fitting their lips together. Wonwoo presses himself closer, practically climbs onto
Mingyu’s lap as careful as he can manage to avoid ripping out the IV line. Mingyu’s hands steady
him by the waist; the king mighty once more, on his way to reclaim his throne.

Mingyu opens him beneath him beautifully, lips parting to let Wonwoo inside, and Wonwoo slides
right home. Back where he belongs, after a painful period of separation. He basks in the wonderful
feeling the action invokes within him, something that in Mingyu’s absence he realised he’s been
taking for granted. The pride that comes from being able to kiss him whenever he wants, however
his heart desires, because Mingyu is always pliant and malleable and eager under his touch—as if
Wonwoo’s taste is a drug the gangster’s developed dependence for.

In the background Wonwoo hears faint beeping of a machine, but how is he supposed to care about
the source when Mingyu’s nibbling at his lower lip, drawing a broken moan out of him?

“Hey,” someone says.

Wonwoo just kisses Mingyu again, their mouths making wet sounds that he hopes will be sufficient
to drown out the constant interruption.

“Hey!” Hansol calls out to them again, and this time Wonwoo releases Mingyu. His lover’s eyes
are lidded with satisfaction, lips slick with spit—his, Wonwoo’s, theirs—and warm breath tickling
Wonwoo’s philtrum.

“What?”
 “Does love make you deaf or something? Can’t you hear that shit? The fucking heart machine is
going off like crazy,” he says to them, and that’s when Wonwoo finally understands where the
beeping had come from. “Whatever you want to do, better save it for later,” Hansol suggests
lightly, amusement barely concealed. “Unless you want to kill him again.”

Wonwoo sees red in an instant. “Little imbecile—” he flings his hand toward the driver seat, but
Mingyu catches him before he can do Hansol any harm.

“It’s a wonder sometimes,” Mingyu brings Wonwoo’s hand to his mouth and drops kisses across
his knuckles. One by one, until he gets to Wonwoo’s special finger, now adorned with his mark of
possession. He kisses the ring then, an act carried out with such reverence that it makes Wonwoo
feel divine. “How you’re only ever soft around me.”

He tips Mingyu’s chin up to kiss him again, softer this time, not wanting to fluctuate his heart rate
between two extreme ends. “Don’t make me regret saving you.”

“What will your regret even do now?” Mingyu challenges, though his delivery is rather playful
now. “I told you, no turning back.”

The doctor tilts his head to the right and Mingyu does the same, mimicking him just for the fun of
it. Wonwoo’s in love, he knows he is, and he wouldn’t trade Mingyu for anything. Even if he has
to witness the world burn into a pile of ashes, as long as he gets to keep Mingyu, Wonwoo will
gladly watch apocalypse happen with a smile.

“I don’t plan on turning back.”

“That’s good to hear,” Mingyu admits candidly, and this time the smile does reach his eyes.

End Notes

I've been writing for KMUTM lately so this has been a fun break from that!! hope
everyone's having a good December so far~ would love to know what you think, hopefully
i'll get time to reply to comments soon

cc :D

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