Whispers of Desire || Woosan🔞

27: Always?

Tap the star lovies🫢❤️

     
             ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

The warehouse still smelled of ash and smoke. San stood alone in the center of the room, booted feet crunching over glass shards and scorched wood. The bouquet, though carefully sealed away in an evidence bag, haunted his memory like a ghost—bloody oleander and daffodils, and the message that made his blood run cold: "Stop messing with fire."

He hadn’t slept. Not properly. Not in days.

The first week was spent in endless meetings and interrogations. He had questioned every top-ranking officer in his organization, flew in his lieutenants, re-ran every piece of surveillance footage, cross-checked intel with allies in Berlin, Tokyo, and Milan. But there were no leads.

Nothing concrete.

Whoever had done it knew him. Knew how to attack without leaving a trace. Knew what that warehouse meant. And they wanted him to feel exposed.

And it worked.

San was a ghost of his usual self—unshaven, sharp eyes dulled by sleepless nights, his voice rougher, colder. His usual poise, his commanding presence, was replaced by the deep tension that clung to his every movement. Even his men tread lightly around him, avoiding his gaze.

He had built an empire out of precision and fear. And now, with one calculated strike, someone had made him look vulnerable.

What infuriated him even more was how this distraction had pulled him away from the one person who gave him peace.

Wooyoung.

He hadn’t called. Not once. He couldn’t.

Not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t know how to explain any of this. Not the danger, not the risk, and especially not the fear clawing at his chest.

So he chose silence.

For two weeks.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Back home, the silence was deafening.

Wooyoung sat on the edge of his bed, clutching his phone like a lifeline. Each day he tried calling. Each time, it went unanswered. No texts. No explanations.

At first, he told himself San was just busy. Maybe something important came up. He knew San was powerful, had business all over the world. But days turned into a week. Then another.

And still, nothing.

The smiles faded from his face. His usual spark dulled. His appetite disappeared. Even sleep became a struggle. The San that had kissed him sweetly in the morning, who held him so close at night, felt like a dream now—like a fantasy his mind had made up.

He didn’t know if San was safe. If he was angry. If he would ever come back.

And it was tearing him apart.

His grades started slipping. Teachers noticed. Friends noticed.

Felix was the first to speak up. "You okay, Woo?"

They were seated on the school lawn during lunch, but Wooyoung hadn’t touched his food.

"Yeah. Just tired."

"You’ve been tired for two weeks. That’s not normal."

Jisung plopped down beside them with his tray, already eyeing Wooyoung. "You’re lying, you know."

Wooyoung tried to laugh it off. "I’m not. Seriously, I’m fine."

Felix leaned in, his voice softer. "You haven’t smiled properly in days. You look like you’re about to cry half the time. And don’t even get me started on how you barely talk anymore."