The club music hammered against his temples with heavy beats. The lights flashed, alternately fracturing the hall with neon and plunging it into deep shadow. People moved like a single sea: dancing, laughing, merging into a torrent of scents and bodies.
Do-yun navigated through the tables with his tray. To everyone, he was just another waiter—quick, unobtrusive, with a polite smile and a courteous nod for each customer. But inside, he was working differently.
He was observing.
The man at the counter who ordered the same wine for the third evening in a row and looked back at the doors too frequently.
The girl with the bright laugh and the smell of suppressants, artificially even, as if hiding her true nature.
The guy at the far table who clearly wasn't drinking, though a full glass always sat before him.
"The one who hunts could be in this crowd. Or the one who knows more than he should. The next disappearance could start right here."
He placed glasses, took orders, but constantly registered details. A map was being built in his head: who sat where, who spoke to whom, who watched whom. In the reports of missing omegas, this club surfaced more often than any other. And each time, he felt it—the enemy was closer than he seemed.
When the tray was empty, Do-yun circled through the corridor. He wanted a moment away, to consolidate his notes, to catch his breath. He pushed open the staff room door—and froze.
Seung-ho was already inside.
He stood by the wall, as if waiting for him. The dim bulb on the ceiling snatched his sharp features and tall silhouette from the shadows.
"You...?" Do-yun's voice wavered.
"Close the door," Seung-ho said curtly.
The door slammed shut. The hum of the music became distant, muffled, as if a thick wall had shielded them.
Seung-ho took a step closer. His eyes gleamed in the dim light. They held no trace of his usual smirk—only firm tension.
"You're getting too engrossed in observation," he said quietly. "I saw you scanning people. If I noticed it, others will too."
"I'm doing my job," Do-yun replied evenly, but his heart was beating too fast.
Seung-ho reached out, his fingers gently touched Do-yun's face, then slid to his temple. His lips lightly brushed his skin. The kiss on his temple was unexpected, but a shudder ran through his body.
"And my job is to hide you," he whispered.
In the cramped room, less than a step separated them. Seung-ho pressed him against the wall, his palms landing on his waist. Their bodies met. His lips touched his temple, then slid lower—to his neck, leaving a warm breath. His fingers lifted the fabric of his shirt, caressing his back.
Do-yun wanted to say "we shouldn't," but a quiet moan escaped instead of words. His cock hardened; the erection was sudden, and he felt his body betraying him.
Seung-ho invaded his mouth with a kiss. Sharp, demanding. Do-yun responded just as greedily, as if he himself craved this more than he admitted. Their breaths mingled, their voices drowning out the drone behind the walls.
But it all ended too quickly.
Footsteps were heard outside the door. A foreign voice shouted something in the hall, and both men froze.
They stood pressed together, barely breathing, until the footsteps faded.
Seung-ho slowly pulled back. His palm ran over Do-yun's face, pausing at his lips.
Do-yun closed his eyes. His heart was beating so loudly it felt like it could be heard outside.
Seung-ho nodded toward the corridor.
"Let's go. Too many ears here."
Do-yun wanted to object, but he couldn't. He just followed him.