all that glitters is not gold (TSCTIR)

Chapter 1 Part 1

First fic on Wattpad?! *gasps dramatically *
I'm gonna feed all you deprived souls of the TSCTIR/SCTIR content.
This is a mafia au of my fav couple, Sung Hyunjae and Han Yoojin. Sprinkled with found family, angst and a bunch of canon-typical violence, slow-burn romance with a hint of cringe, this fic had roughly been in my mind for so long.
Heed the tags though. (Just saying, turn back before you regret anything)
English is not my first language, so I'm sorry for the grammatical errors.
Enjoy! <3 ; PC.
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TW: Mentions of drugs, alcohol, guns, blood and other issues that might be sensitive or triggers.

The sky split open, streaks of light crashing through the rain. Thunder roared and crackled, the atmosphere prickly with electricity. Peals of rain drenched the entire cityscape, mist and fog hanging over skyscrapers like a cold hug. An onslaught of violent gales and heavy downpour drowned out the bustling city beneath. The roads were slicked wet and slippery, drains and sewers overflowing with dirty rainwater.

Despite the unholy weather, the streets of the red light district, or more known as Bliss Block by the locals, was still running smoothly as usual. The streets were packed with people seeking pleasure on a Friday night . There were drunkards and delinquents prowling the winding, narrow alleys, alongside drug addicts and prostitutes. The brothels and bars were crammed with patrons, all eager to pay hefty fees for quick-lived hookups and one-night-stands. The most influential bar 'Haven', was located on a hill, overlooking the street. Haven was big and Haven was good. Haven, as it's name implies, is a heaven for patrons in need of partners and/or drugs. It is infamous for the highly illegal, underground black market, running through the hidden levels of the bar.

Ditzy lights only illuminated the floor dimly, not enough to light up every corner. Bodies were pressed together, sweat and perfume mingling in the air, and the entire floor reeks of alcohol. Loud music blasted through speakers, the dance floor haphazardly full. Drinks, drugs, as well as kisses and illicit touches were traded in half-darkness.

The ground floor was vibrant and colourful, contrasting with the upper floors. The upper floors were decorated with screams instead of laughter, and blood was spilled instead of beer. Gunshots were masked by the noise from the floor below. The floors were scarce of party-goers, only powerful men and women with their loyal dogs tailing their every move. The rich, the famous and the wicked did business in lavish private rooms. Secrets were shared, punches were thrown and gunshots were fired. The Angel of Death had a permanent presence, his kiss chilling the bones of both perpetrators and their victims.
Fear and horror ran thick through the workers barely paid to serve these people of the upper echelons. They all were scared witless, these poor men and women who were unlucky enough to be called to please these figures of power and wealth.
This also includes a young man in his mid-twenties who had just awoken from slumber. But he did not fear them, he feared himself.

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Note: Thank you for reading!