Chapter Text
When Seonghwa's voice rang through his system, giving the command to escape, Wooyoung almost exploded with indignation. For some reason, no one but him was surprised to hear the captain's real name, they were too focused on making sure that Jongho's father didn't strangle his own son. Wooyoung worried about him too, but his worry bordered on excitement, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Seonghwa told them to run and this sent an unexpected wave of anger through Wooyoung's limbs. He's never been against Seonghwa's patronage to some extent, but he crossed the line when he started deciding who Wooyoung could talk to and who he couldn't. Right at the moment San was standing behind his shoulder, he knew that for sure. Just as he knew that he wouldn’t leave this building without him – for the sake of San's salvation or against Seonghwa's instructions.
As soon as Seonghwa activated the optical camouflage and Jongho's father screamed in confusion, Wooyoung took off. The sleeve of San's turtleneck stretched out under his fingers as he grabbed it to pull him along. The trampling of the others' feet signaled that Seonghwa's plan had come into effect, and the last thing Wooyoung saw before running down the stairs was Seonghwa shoving Jongho into Mingi's arms.
“I'm driving! Yeosang, the keys,” Yunho had an incredible advantage in running in the form of long legs and was the first to reach the cold basement, already starting the engine while the others coughed on the frosty air.
“There's no time to warm up the car, we need to take Jongho away!” Yeosang rushed past Wooyoung and hopped inside. “Move your asses!”
It turned out to be quite problematic to fit four adult men in the back seats of even such a large car as Yeosang's. Wooyoung was trapped between Jongho and San so that even his titanium ribs creaked, and still no one dared to complain.
Yunho drove off as soon as the car doors slammed shut, and they drove out into wintry Night City in complete silence, except for some gross song on the radio, which Yeosang immediately turned off.
When his breathing returned to normal, Wooyung looked at San. He was sitting, squeezed between Wooyoung and the plastic door, looking out of the window indifferently. Wooyoung no longer held his wrist and could easily pat his thigh to get his attention. Two bright green eyes met his with an attentive gaze.
“You okay?” it was hard not to cringe under such intense staring but Wooyoung courageously didn't even blink.
“You took me with you, of course I’m okay,” San said as if nothing had happened and grinned, waiting for a reaction.
Wooyoung just rolled his eyes, ignoring the stab of warmth in his stomach. “Why do you try to give literal things some hidden subtext every time? You never mean that.”
“Who said I don’t mean it?”
“Right. I shouldn’t have asked,” Wooyoung turned away from him, focusing on the way the implants on Yeosang's temples light up and go out instead. “Shouldn’t even have brought you with us.”
San chuckled softly, pushing him lightly into the cramped car. “Mommy Seonghwa is gonna be so, so mad. The princess ran away with the knight right under the dragon's nose.”
The initial tension abruptly turned to confusion, and Wooyoung looked at him again, not hiding the skepticism on his face.
“Who’s the princess in question? And how do you know he’s gonna be mad?”
“I can be a princess if you want. I don’t mind,” San's luminous, phosphorescent eyes almost disappeared under his eyelids as he smiled at Wooyoung with a sticky, enticing smile. If Wooyoung could, he would’ve turned San’s face away from his own, but unfortunately his hand was tightly clamped between their sides, so only could to turn away himself. Again.
“Answer the question.”
“I already did.”
“The other question, dumbass. Have you been eavesdropping on my conversations with Seonghwa?”
”I wish I could, but no,” by the rustle, Wooyoung realized that San was no longer drilling him with his eyes. “You can see it in his face. He doesn't like me.”
“Show me someone who likes you,” he paused. “He's a jerk, you don't have to take everything he says close to heart.”
Wooyung was still staring at the back of Yeosang's head, even when he felt a curious gaze on him. Warmth crept up his neck, as if San was physically conveying his interest to him.
“You’re being inconsistent.”
“I am more than consistent. The fact that you’re an unserious idiot and the fact that he’s not always right coexist perfectly in my head.”
San's reply was muffled by Jongho's polite cough, and Wooyoung happily shifted his attention to him. San was able to be insightful and persistent to the point that it was embarrassing. Jongho wasn't.
“Excuse me, but where are we going?”
Yeosang sighed heavily in the front seat. He was obviously under more stress than either of them, and if San was always quite indifferent, then Wooyoung usually couldn't turn a blind eye to his friend’s concerns. It was still hard for him to feel bad because of his dulled empathy – Minho's blockers worked perfectly.
“We're just driving in circles.”
“Why?”
Wooyoung didn't see it, but he knew that Yeosang pursed his lips. Yunho answered for him.
“We don't know where to go or where to stay yet.”
Jongho lowered his head guiltily. The boy had just escaped from the shackles of his tyrant father and the first feeling he faced was guilt. Wooyoung would comfort him and tell him that sooner or later they would have left the cold concrete box where he had first met them, but Jongho wasn’t the type to openly accept support. The best thing to do would be to turn away so as not to embarrass him.
Fortunately, the depressing silence was interrupted by Mingi. His predatory eyes shone with enthusiasm through the cut of his balaclava.
“Remember when Hongjoong said something about Wooyoung’s landlady and Jongho’s voice box? Like we can put it to use and move?” He let the questions settle in the air before continuing. “We simply need Wooyoung to say a couple of phrases for Jongho to reproduce them while calling the landlady.”
The blood in Wooyoung's veins ran cold. No one in the car shared Mingi’s excitement, and Wooyong would be relieved if he didn’t realize that it was their only way to find accommodation in such a short time and he was going to most likely feel pressured very soon. Yeosang’s tone only confirmed his fears when he turned from his front seat.
“Simply. Mingi, you have no idea what you’re talking about,” the annoyance on his face mixed with determination as he shifted his eyes to Wooyoung. “I’m sorry Wooyoung, but it’s high time you fucking start to talk.”
“No,” it was an instant reaction, and Wooyoung shrank into the back of the seat, pushing San and Mingi aside with his shoulders. “No.”
“How assertive you are, Yeosang,” San retorted lazily. He wasn't even for a bit bothered by the curious glances of other drivers on the road when they noticed a broad-shouldered man whose back covered almost the whole window. “Give him time to think.”
“San, I swear, if we don't die by morning at the hands of some gang, I'll kill you myself.”
“And I swear that you have more important things to do,” San was cool as a cucumber. “You're trying so hard to escape from Jongho's father here, and no one has thought to check Jongho's system for a tracker yet?” He shifted his gaze to Jongho, who was looking back at him, frowning. “Your dad cut off your hand and sewed on a new one, it's unlikely that his conscience wouldn’t allow him to track your movement.”
After a moment of confusion, Jongho's face turned sad again, and he looked at Yeosang with eyes that would have made Wooyoung turn away in shame if Jongho had looked at him like that. Yeosang's concentrated coldness faded a bit as he sighed and nodded.
“It's okay Jongho, just sit still and try not to push me away from your system. Wooyoung, you prepare for your task.”
Wooyoung could have gone into denial again, saying that he had been silent with Seonghwa for two months and could do that again, but he knew that Yeosang was adamant. He knew that Yunho was silently casting impatient glances at him through the rearview mirror, that Mingi was sparkling with the idea of finding them a decent place to live.
When only Seonghwa and Yeosang pressured him, he could play hard to get and indulge his complexes, which eventually turned into weaknesses. Right now, he didn't even hear the quiet conversation between Yeosang and Jongho, too focused on the fact that he would have to speak again, for the first time in months.
The lanterns above the highway rushed past, hypnotizing the image of a dark tunnel. Wooyoung had several implants disabled, an inconspicuous scar on his stomach and packs of pills in his pockets reminding him that he was far from healthy. He was ill, as all people get ill – as machines never do – and he despised this realization.
“San, do you get ill?” he asked to get distracted from the pity he had grown to himself. Mingi's broad and rough but warm hand rested on his knee. He didn't put it away.
“Like, a sore throat and runny nose? No. At least not after the hospital,” he said, and Wooyoung felt something tighten in his chest. “But I know I'm not immortal, I can cut myself while training with a knife and I got a bad stomach for alcohol. I even get sunburns when my skin is exposed.”
“What skin?” Wooyoung snorted almost in despair. San's words sounded like a mockery. “You never take off that ugly turtleneck.”
“It's winter, Wooyoung, and I didn't have many outfits here. I'll show you my freckles once they show up, if you don't believe me.”
Freckles. Wooyoung looked up from his knees, where Mingi's hand was heavy and hot, grounding, and frowned. Freckles were such a humane thing, he never had them. He had moles but they disappeared when he got his skin renewed. San's skin was natural.
“Your voice. Is it, like, yours since birth?”
“Maybe not since birth,” San chuckled. “Since my puberty ended, yes. I didn't change it.”
San's voice was natural, and his voice was nonexistent. He looked at the man with distant sorrow.
“You're more of a human than I am, and still you are a cyberpsycho and I'm not.”
San looked at him searchingly and patiently. “Are you not, though? What exactly is holding you back? The pills? I didn't have the pills back then, and here I am. If you stop taking them, what will you become?”
Wooyoung knew he was pathetic. He was pathetic in how weak his body was, how imperfect and easily affected by others' opinion. He thought so before and he still thought so now, but currently his body was kept alive and functioning by strong blockers and sometimes even sedatives. San only saw him chained to pills, as if he were a puppy whose leash was held by a stake driven into the ground. It wasn't just humiliating, it was just deadly to what was left of his proud mind.
“I'll do it,” he said to everyone, more to convince himself than others. “I'm not sure I'll say much, but I'll try.”
Wooyoung saw the echo of a smile in the corners of Mingi's eyes. Yunho was the first to answer.
“Great. Yeosang will finish checking on Jongho, we'll stop somewhere and then do everything we need. Warm up your tongue and throat. I haven't seen any water here, so you'll have to go without it for now.”
It was hard to tell from Yeosang's face if he had heard Yunho, and Wooyoung patiently waited for the moment when the wrinkle between Yeosang's eyebrows smoothed out and the misty gaze focused on his face. There was relief in his eyes – he must have heard at least some part.
“Jongho’s clean, no signs of any filthy fingers in his system. We can park safely.”
When Wooyoung glanced at Jongho and gave him a gentle shove to wake him up, the boy smiled sheepishly.
“I’m okay, it’s just a bit… uncomfortable to have someone in your brain. But now it’s fine.”
“Are you sure?” Yeosang asked, ready to apologize.
“Yeah. I knew that it was only you, so,” he made a futile attempt to shrug in too narrow a space. “I’ll survive.”
Wooyoung couldn't remember ever letting anyone in his system. His colleagues from work, which he had almost forgotten about, said that it was possible to get into someone's system only with the permission of the person, or while they're unconscious, but this only concerned more or less legal methods. Wooyoung wrote scripts and understood perfectly how to implement them and what purposes they serve – many said that an unfamiliar script felt like an itch right under the skull, as if an annoying fly had laid eggs right deep into your ear canal and they began to hatch. This description was enough for Wooyoung to go and updated his cyberdecks on the same day.
However, it wasn't that his mind became absolutely secure after that. People couldn't get to him, but he easily let the machines predominate him. He sighed heavily.
“We’re almost there, don’t worry,” Yunho must have mistaken his sigh for demonstrative fatigue. They turned into a dark alley, where signs of questionable establishments glowed here and there in broken houses with peeling paint. At the stairs, leaning on the railing, there were girls in outfits that Wooyoung couldn't describe in any other way than tastelessly vulgar. “Start when you’re ready, I’ll just stop somewhere here.”
Yeosang gave Yunho a strange look, wondering why he chose a street with brothels out of all the places, but didn't say anything. Instead, he turned expectantly to Jongho and Wooyoung, raising his eyebrows to show that it was time to start.
“Okay, so,” Jongho cleared his throat, and Wooyoung felt nervousness settle in his stomach, heavy as a rock. “You know what to do. A couple of solid phrases, try to use some words you’d use if you called your landlady yourself. What’s her name, by the way?”
Wooyoung swallowed. “Megan.”
“No, say it out loud.”
“Already? For the record?”
“No, no, just to practice. It’s only two syllables, c’mon.”
Wooyoung coughed into his fist, feeling the sweat on the artificial skin of his palms – a pretty telling indicator of extreme stress. Jongho wasn't even looking at him, he was peering at something ahead, the implants under the seams of his neck were slowly getting a glow. Wooyoung took a deep breath and a hoarse semblance of a sound came out of his mouth.
“Again, please,” Jongho squinted at one of the brothels.
Wooyoung was focused only on him. If he took into account San's hot body San on the side, or Yeosang, attentively listening to him, or Mingi and Yunho, calm but waiting, he wouldn't even produce a single sound. One more attempt, air into his lungs, and he heard his own voice for the first time in months.
A glow of fleeting pride and immediate embarrassment swept over him.
“Not that I doubt you, Wooyoung, but it’s barely a vowel. What’s her name, once again?”
“Me…” the voice dropped to a whisper and he coughed again. “Megan.”
It was harsh and stiff, but it was more important than everything that Wooyoung had managed to do for the previous weeks. He kept staring exclusively at Jongho, radiating with fluctuating energy.
“Nice, now I’m gonna record your voice, okay? Say yes if you’re ready.”
Wooyoung swallowed quickly. “Yes.”
“Speak.”
And Wooyoung spoke. Short words, short collocations, barely a sentence, but Jongho was patient. Wooyoung’s throat already started to hurt and he blurted out some more words before going silent and thirsting for a bottle of water.
The red under Jongho's skin slowly shimmered, and when he opened his mouth the after that, Wooyoung heard his own voice, a little more hoarse than it once was.
While Jongho was calling the poor woman who was going to have six men move into her apartment instead of one, Wooyoung felt his strength running out and his limbs getting heavier second by second. His body was still acutely reacting to the overload of his nervous system.
“You did it.”
Wooyoung slowly turned his head to look at San with a sleepy gaze, meeting only a cloudy green gleam in response. Had his eyes always been so blurry? Wooyoung missed the moment when his ear, and then his head, gently rested on San's shoulder.
“Yeah.”
He heard Jongho talking to his landlady about the apartment, asking something, but every word seemed to sound in a distance. He could barely even catch the intonation, could barely see the outlines of faces in front of him, could barely feel his own body, but he was still awake. The system lazily analyzed and fixed the mistakes, and he just let it do it, resting on the warm shoulder of San, who sat motionless and didn’t bother him anymore.
Finally, Jongho said goodbye to the deceived woman, carefully pretending warmth in his voice and apologizing several times for the late call. When the car turned silent, Wooyoung sat up straight, still exhausted, but already regained his senses.
“She promised to give me – well, not me, technically, but Wooyoung – the keycard tomorrow morning,” Jongho said proudly and smiled. “We won’t freeze to death, congrats.”
A few sighs of relief convinced Wooyoung once again that it was a small matter: he himself would have to meet the landlady – he could handle it. Now that the breakthrough had already been made and literally saved them, Wooyoung couldn't help but feel more confident.
After a short meeting, they came to the conclusion that it was too risky to ask for overnight accommodation in brothels, and there would be no one to protect the car, so they would have to spend the night in turns. It was not the first time they had to do so, and Wooyoung easily agreed to stay awake for a while, giving Yunho, Mingi and Jongho the opportunity to sleep.
It was cooler outside than Wooyoung had expected. They were getting out of the abandoned building in a hurry, and he didn't really have time to feel the wind, which hugged his ribs in a vice and made him shiver from the unpleasant cold.
“Glad we've sorted this out, you did great,” Yeosang leaned on the hood, folded his arms on his chest and nodded gratefully to Wooyoung. “We’re already in shit, the problems are through the roof. Seonghwa and the captain won’t respond to me.”
“Maybe they’re just busy,” Wooyoung reasonably assumed, standing next to him and feeling San stop right there, putting his elbow on the car. Yeosang barely paid attention to this, too stressed to make it a big deal.
“If by busy you mean they're still alive, then I damn well hope they are. Seonghwa’s going to be so glad to know that you were silent only while he was around,” he grinned mockingly when Wooyoung poked him in the side.
“Don't you think that he and Hongjoong will strangle each other even before Jongho's father does?” Wooyoung asked to entertain Yeosang and take him away from thoughts of the potential death of their friend and the recent acquaintance . “I've hardly seen them talk normally at least once in these weeks.”
Yeosang shrugged, looking somewhere in the direction of the nearest brothel with a bright pink sign in the foreign language. “Already told you. They had a bad start.”
“They act like two peacocks in the same pen,” San lazily turned away from the scenery of vibrant nightlife, placing both elbows on the hood and looking at Yunho and Mingi who were sleeping in the front seats. “Their Hongjoong and your Seonghwa want the same thing, safety. It's funny that only Hongjoong keeps this division in mind so far. I'm wondering how he's going to divide Jongho.”
Wooyoung looked up. “And you.”
San slowly turned his head at him, a hungry python in the darkness of the savannah. “I do not need to be divided, I am able to determine myself where to belong.”
A dangerous light flashed in his eyes, reminding Wooyoung that he was standing next to not just a cold and attractively charismatic man, but an officer of the most brutal executive branch in the city.
“Don't get cocky, San. The only reason you're still here is because we don't know where to put you. Wooyoung grabbed you like a kitten to get you out of there, you should be grateful.”
It seemed that Yeosang didn’t even feel the sinister aura around San. The latter was clearly about to say something, glaring at Yeosang, the line of his shoulders froze, and even the hint of a smile disappeared from his lips. Wooyoung scratched his throat.
“By the way, about that building. It would be good for us to go there and pick up our things, we can't let all the water we bought disappear.”
“Good idea,” Yeosang’s answer was automatic before he gave it a second thought. “Really, we'll have to send someone there.”
“Yunho and Mingi, huh?” Wooyoung made the most charming face his facial muscles were able to make, but Yeosang just shook his head.
He didn't have time to answer, because suddenly, in the background noise of voices, car horns and music, the sound of heels became too clearly audible. A girl in a mesh sweater and a solid strip of optical system instead of eyes slowly approached them, seductively wagging her hips. Wooyoung would have been impressed by such devotion to gaudy clothes if he had been a little less tired.
“Miss, we don’t need you here,” Yeosang warned even before the girl stopped right in front of them, putting one hand on her slender waist. In silence, she took the time to study them from head to toe, especially San, who turned to face her, curious. Wooyoung rolled his eyes at the sight.
“Not even a hello?” She asked Yeosang, stretching her vowels like chewing gum. “I see, you’re a decent young man, we have girls for you there.”
She nodded to the brothel behind her, and Yeosang grimaced. That was enough for her to leave him alone and move on to the next goal, which unfortunately turned out to be San. He, completely calm, was looking down at her with half-closed eyes, expressing nothing but mild interest.
“You, on the other hand,” she leaned closer, a smile spreading across her pink lips. Wooyoung resisted the urge to push her away. “I can see the spark that only hot-blooded men have.”
“And you’re acquainted with many of such men?” San responded in a low voice, and Wooyoung’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets.
The girl was flirting – it was okay, it was her job. The worst part was that San was flirting back, and Wooyoung started feeling nauseous. He snorted in disgust but was ignored.
“The men here are different, I barely see someone who has both temper and potential, and,” she shamelessly swept San's figure with a predatory gaze, “such a seductive body.”
San grinned. Wooyoung couldn't help but purse his lips in indignation – San didn't even know this girl. Yes, she was beautiful and bold, was it really enough for him to get laid? Not wanting to know the answer to this question, Wooyoung moved closer to San, looking at the girl with the most venomous smile he was capable of, at least to distract her for a while.
“San, we don’t have money to fulfill the wishes of your dick.”
San silently gave him the same relaxed look that made goosebumps run down Wooyoung’s spine. Unfortunately, the girl understood it in her own way.
“Oh, you wanna join? I don’t mind, two handsome men are always better than one, hm? It’s gonna cost more, though.”
Yeosang cleared his throat demonstratively.
“I doubt this is what he wants,” San replied, still looking at Wooyoung calmly and almost searchingly. “He has erectile dysfunction.”
“What?!”
Wooyoung's expression must have given San incredible pleasure – his smile widened and he raised his eyebrows in anticipation of an answer, but Wooyoung had nothing to answer. The pills had indeed lowered his libido, but there was no way San could know that. Not in the condition where seven adult men shared one cold room and had a so-called shower once in a while. Not that anyone dared to jerk off there – at least, Wooyoung hoped so.
“You’re a nasty motherfucker,” having forgotten about the girl, he grabbed San's turtleneck. “You’d fuck a sofa if it smiled to you, wouldn’t you?”
Something like amusement flashed across San's face. “You think my bar is so low?”
“It must be on the floor if you really don’t understand that sometimes it’s better to keep your microscopic dick in your pants.”
“Are you projecting?”
The grip on his turtleneck tightened, and Wooyoung would have slammed San into the hood of the car if he hadn't remembered the people sleeping inside.
“See? Nothing to catch here,” Yeosang repeated to the girl, who was watching the fight break out with growing confusion. “You’d be a third wheel in bed with them.”
The sound of the girl's retreating heels brought Wooyoung’s sanity back a little. Let San say that he couldn’t get it up, he’d get over it. He had dignity and principles that San didn't have. He unclenched his fist, taking a deep breath, but still feeling the blood rushing through his veins.
“We can’t afford these girls,” he snapped, turning away from San's attentive eyes. “Moreover, it’s gross.”
“Didn’t know you were a nun,” San snorted, but meekly accepted the end of the conflict.
“I’m not. But at least I’d try to find out something about those who I sleep with.”
There was no response. A minute, two, and Wooyoung's breathing was no longer shallow, his thoughts returned to the rest of the night in the cold car, to the apartment, to normal things that didn’t cause him an adrenaline rush. The barely built idyll was broken by Yeosang.
“You know, I’ve been watching you for some time, and I don’t really know what I’m seeing,” he folded his arms. “You two clearly influence each other and I’m sure you don’t even realize it.”
The confusion in the curve of San's eyebrows made it clear that he was at least surprised by his words, and at most disagreed. Wooyoung shared his feelings about it, whatever they were.
“Elaborate?”
Yeosang looked at them for a long time, shifting his gaze from one to the other and back again. “No.”
“Really? You suck. And you’re being amateurish, which is even worse.”
Yeosang only shrugged at Wooyoung's weak attempt to provoke him, as he always did when he wanted to tease him. San tsked, showing that he couldn't take the situation seriously. At least it looked so when he turned away from them again, the green implants pulsing dully on his neck.
If Wooyoung didn't know better, he would have got offended by such a reaction. His impact couldn’t be so bad as to cause contemptuous laughter and demonstrative disregard. He did influence San. Just as he influenced everyone who was with him for the past few weeks, and it was at least strange to be offended by this.
But this was San, and he had his own notions of norm, which Wooyoung had the pleasure of meeting during their many lengthy conversations on, it seemed, all topics in the world. When they discussed the weather, San was relaxed and had no preference for the time of year. When they talked about politics, San was indifferent and frivolous, least of all concerned about the discontent of the people and social issues. As soon as it came to something that could concern his personality – medicine, psychosis, implants – San would turn into an actor who was suddenly asked about the secret of his success. He would curl his lips into a thin smile and there was not a single question that he would answer directly and without prevarication.
One day he said that there was nothing good in the hospital where he was staying, and immediately changed the subject. Wooyoung doubted that it was because he wanted to keep the formula of the divine treatment for himself.
Every week it seemed to Wooyung that he was about to crack the protective shell, and every day San pushed him away, hiding again. It didn't help that San was a former cyberpsycho, meaning he had about the emotional intelligence of a plastic fork. Still, Wooyoung was amused by the little he already knew about his acquaintance – he could hardly call San a friend, San himself didn’t allow it.
Wooyoung shivered in the cold of the night and checked the time – it had only been a little over half an hour since they left Yunho, Mingi and Jongho sleeping in the warmth of the car. The night was starless, the city smog and lights didn’t even give a chance to see the sky. Wooyoung sighed, looking up longingly and trying not to think that if it weren't for Yeosang and Seonghwa, he might have ended up right on this street, in a brothel with a bright pink sign, but as a doll.
Shaking his head, he felt himself getting angry: he had never liked to wander around Night City at this time of day. Not only because poverty and pervasive vice oppressed him, but also because the rolling melancholy, which had only intensified recently, was suffocating him with ruthless fingers.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that San was no longer standing still like a cold statue, but instead was giving him sidelong, studying looks. Wooyong didn’t indulge him with his attention. Each of them was on their own thoughts, and San had something to think about.
Their ephemeral exchange of glances was interrupted: Hongjoong was calling Yeosang. Wooyoung immediately realized the reason for his furrowed eyebrows: why was the captain calling and not Seonghwa? For a second, Wooyoung's heart sank into his heels, and even San seemed to pay attention.
But everything was actually more or less good. Jongho's father really turned out to be an asshole – not that Wooyoung didn't realize it right away – but now Seonghwa and Hongjoong were at least free from his persecution.
“And guess what?” Yeosang’s tone became teasing as he looked at Wooyoung. “Wooyoung really saved our asses. He and Jongho, to be precise. But he managed to say some things out loud.”
The pride with which Yeosang said this – as if he was bragging about the successes of his beloved younger brother, as if Wooyoung had won world competitions, and not almost tore off his vocal chords because of a couple of words – made Wooyoung inhale the cold air abruptly. The smile on Yeosang's face widened when he heard Hongjoong's response.
“You heard me!” and after a little pause, “Wooyoung, Seonghwa asks if you took your pills.”
Wooyoung nodded. More than anything, he wanted to see Seonghwa's surprised look as he heard the news, how his mouth would open to say something but he wouldn’t be able to say anything. Instead, his best friend was standing next to him, rejoicing as if his treatment had finally begun to get results.
Yeosang soon changed the topic to some formalities that Wooyoung didn't care about and he casted a surreptitious look at San, who was still there, immersed in his own thoughts or listening attentively to every Yeosang’s word – Wooyoung could never tell.
“Wanna go to sleep?” a peace offering.
“I don’t think it’s possible now,” San sensibly noted with no emotion in the digitized voice. “Later.”
And he closed his eyes, as if that was enough to take a break from the hustle and bustle that evening had brought. Yeosang was still busy talking to the captain, explaining something about the apartment, and Wooyoung forced himself to turn his speech into white noise. He mirrored San's posture and sank into a long-awaited nap.
What was the surprise when he opened his eyes and instead of a dark street full of brothels, he saw the front seat of a car and the dawn breaking outside the window. If it wasn't for Yeosang's silhouette at the wheel – he could recognized him in any condition – Wooyoung would have thought he had been drugged and kidnapped.
He thanked all the gods that even the deactivated implants in his neck didn’t let it go numb, and looked around forlornly. Yunho was fast asleep, his head hitting the car window every now and then. Wooyoung winced – a few more minutes of driving like this, and Yunho would get a lump on his forehead. Mingi was right next to him, trying his best to take up as little space as he could, which was almost impossible given his build. Jongho calmly watched the road in the front seat, and only then did Wooyoung realize who most of his weight had fallen on while he was asleep.
Already knowing what he would see, he turned his head. Attentive green eyes glittered in the gray twilight, the black matte chrome on San's jaw shone with cold.
“Morning, sunshine. Did you sleep well?” He asked quietly.
Just telling him to shut up was useless, Wooyoung had already figured it out. It didn't help that he actually had a wonderful sleep. He suspected that it was San and Yeosang who moved him but couldn’t remember a single second of this castling.
He decided that the best gratitude for his rest would be the most expressive frown he was capable of.
“Yes,” he said and his voice was not louder than a whisper. He didn’t intend on keeping quiet but couldn’t complain, given that Yunho was still resting. “Where are we?”
“Almost there,” Yeosang answered him, also quietly. “You'll need to pick up the keys, and we'll finally get to the warmth.”
Now Wooyoung heard Jongho humm to himself while looking at the scenery outside the window. Mingi blinked like an owl when Wooyoung looked at him. How did he live before that? Without the constant presence of other people, whom he already considered friends and whom he saw in all possible unpleasant situations, with stubble and dirty clothes.
He even felt a little sad when, coughing and growling, he talked with the landlady in short phrases. She believed the lie about him having a severe cold and was still recovering, so the meeting went quickly enough. No matter how much she cherished him, she cherished her well-being more.
The apartment was even smaller than the one that Wooyoung rented, and it still was better than four bare walls. The sigh of relief that everyone let out as soon as they crossed the threshold must have shaken the whole house, and the queue for the shower lined up instantly. Mingi tried to occupy the bed and was immediately stopped by Jongho, demanding that he at least change his clothes before dirtying the sheets with sweat and dust.
The small rooms were filled with the hum of five male voices and the trampling of six pairs of feet. Even San showed an unusual interest in the benefits of civilization which he had already forgotten.
The clothes turned out to be a big problem. There was a bathrobe in the apartment, Wooyoung found some large towels in the cupboards built into the walls and that was it. No one had a particular desire to get back into their mud-soaked clothes after a shower, and Yunho was sent to the nearest store to get the cheapest temporary clothes that would look at least a little more decent than floor cleaning rags.
Then, witnessing San looking at a cheap shirt with some kind of mascot from a children's cartoon in disbelief, Wooyoung realized what was so dear to his heart. Everyday life, which was a necessity in the early days, became a familiar and pleasant routine that Wooyoung wasn’t ready to part with.
That's why when Mingi, wet and hot after a shower, again wearing his mask, nodded questioningly at the bed, Wooyoung smiled readily. The hot water did wonders to him, washing away the dirt and exposing lazy fatigue. Climbing under the heavy blanket, he decided to leave the hassle to the others, wrapped himself in Mingi's arms and closed his eyes again. He wouldn’t probably fall asleep anymore, but he could hear the others talking quietly behind the bed, the clink of dishes, feel Mingi's warm breath on the back of his neck, and all this reminded him that he was not alone.
Half asleep, his brain couldn't catch on to a single thought, and he drifted from one memory to another, from one thought to another, until he lit up with the idea that by the time Seonghwa and Hongjoong returned, he must invariably show them his independence. Especially Seonghwa: Wooyoung liked his attention – he was a sucker for almost any kind of attention – but sometimes Seonghwa turned into an overprotective parental figure instead of remaining a responsible friend.
A completely childish desire to prove that he was worth something was beginning to take hold of him. It wasn't that living with Seonghwa had completely robbed him of his autonomy, he didn't feel like he was blending into the background, but he also knew that he could be so much more. San knew he could be more. He never said it outright, but Wooyoung could tell he was intrigued.
His thumping heart sent blood rushing through his body, and he extricated himself from Mingi's embrace even before a clear plan of impressing all those present was formed in his head. But instead of a joyful audience waiting for him with smiles, he saw only Yunho and Yeosang looking at San with disgust. Jongho was also there, the confusion on his face bordering on anxiety.
“What did I miss?”
“Seonghwa called,” Yeosang didn't take his eyes off San. There was nothing in the officer's posture that showed how uncomfortable he was, except for the glowing eyes looking at them from under his brows. “He said that Militech sent him and the captain on a mission to the Oasis. Yunho will tell you the details, but in short, Jacob Dere was supposed to go there.”
“The netrunner that–”
“That was killed by MaxTac, yes. You know, San, you should learn to shut your mouth,” Yeosang said and kicked the leg of San's chair, causing him to sway. Wooyoung looked at Jongho in disbelief but he just shrugged in response.
“Can someone explain what the hell is happening here?”
“San thought it was so funny to laugh at the death of an innocent man and said he was just, let me quote, collateral damage,” it was the first time he had heard such coldness in Yunho's voice.
San didn't flinch. The two green eyes were still burning holes in Yeosang and Yunho's skulls, he didn't even glance at Wooyoung.
“And how are Dere and this act of humiliation related? He's always been a brute, it's time to accept it.”
”Idiot,“ Yeosang spat out. “MaxTac’s aim has never been Dere. Militech sent them to capture Seonghwa and Hongjoong and bring them to their office. This is exactly what Jongho’s father did.”
Wooyoung blinked slowly. If MaxTac was chasing not Jacob Dere, but Seonghwa and Hongjoong, then his death was indeed an accident. It was really devastating, but still Wooyoung couldn't understand this level of drama.
“But wouldn't MaxTac have hurt one of us if Dere had escaped then?Wouldn't it have been even worse?”
“Are you defending him?” Yeosang was in disbelief and Wooyoung froze. “Dere’s dead. Seonghwa, Hongjoong, you – you all were injured. We lived half-starved for a month and slept on concrete. Jongho left his home – and all this because Jacob Dere was killed. And you've been with us all this time, you’ve witnessed all this,” he looked at San again, clearly hoping to see remorse but saw only stubbornness. “How can you say collateral damage about a man who caused so much to happen? How can you say that about a human being?”
It took a long second and finally Wooyoung realized what was happening. Yeosang and Yunho were angry not because San was a MaxTac officer and not because he was rude, but because they still couldn’t comprehend who exactly was sitting in front of them. San wasn't just a quiet man that made sarcastic comments from time to time. He was a psycho and never denied it. The thing was that no one, except for Wooyoung and, perhaps, Seonghwa and Hongjoong, took it seriously.
But what surprised Wooyoung even more was the hidden sadness in San's expression. Something in the corners of his eyes, in the line of his mouth, in the furrowed brows betrayed an emotion that he was trying his best to hide.
“But all this means that MaxTac is no longer a hindrance to us,” Yunho said with a detached look. “They had plenty of time to come after us. And after him,” he nodded at San. “They didn’t come.”
Without saying another word, he walked around the table where San's chair was standing and left the room. Yeosang followed him, not even deigning to look at Wooyoung. Jongho, who had been standing behind San all this time, looked at the officer’s broad shoulders for only a few seconds before turning around and heading out too.
San was silent. There were no taunts, no tantrums. He just sat there, staring at the wall in front of him and ignoring Wooyoung's presence. With a sigh, Wooyoung ran his hand through his hair and took a seat on the chair opposite. The room turned silent for some long seconds.
“You were being a moron,” he finally said. “Again.”
And although Wooyoung understood the reasons for his rudeness, he couldn't just let it go. He could relate to San: he was deprived of empathy in a place that his brain had mercifully forgotten, and learnt to feel the same way small children learn to walk.
San didn't react but it was clear that he was experiencing more emotions than he was used to. No matter what they did to him in those labs, he remained a biosocial being and belonging to the group gave him self-confidence. Looking at how tense the muscles of his thighs were, how patiently he controlled his breathing and how stubbornly he refused to look up, Wooyoung realized that San wasn't just annoyed or worried – he was completely lost.
Seeing that there was no point in waiting for him to open up, Wooyoung slapped his knees and stood up. He wanted to touch San's shoulder to show support but decided not to provoke the overstimulated cyberpsycho and only stopped next to him for a split second.
“I’m always here.”
He didn't get even a sound in response and decided that silence was better than a fight. What San thought of Dere didn't bother him much, but he didn't like seeing the eternally confident MaxTac officer – already probably a former one – in a mess. It was necessary to smooth things over. And not only with San.
The kitchen was too crowded. The metal walls didn’t allow the space to look bigger at least visually. There was only room for a sink, a countertop, and a tiny portable burner. Three people occupied the entire place, and when Wooyoung entered, Yunho almost immediately straightened up and muttered something about checking on Mingi. He gave him a tight smile before squeezing through and leaving.
Jongho gave him a brief glance before continuing what was saying before Wooyoung arrived.
“And he keeps calling me. I really didn't want to dump it on you but I thought he might threaten you too.”
“Your dad?”
Jongho nodded, and Wooyoung looked at Yeosang, waiting for some comment. If Jongho's father had done something again, then it was urgent to come up with a plan to solve whatever it was.
“He's been calling him all morning, and just now Jongho received a notification that his bank account has been blocked.”
It was bad. Not fatal, but bad. It deprived Jongho of independence.
“But there was no money there anymore, right? You spent it on an apartment, no?”
He suspected that the problem was not only about money. Jongho sighed, the red implants on his neck blinking to the rhythm of his heartbeat.
“I did. But all this means that I won't come home anymore. And that I might not even dream of going to the medical academy.”
He spoke calmly, too softly for his usual voice. Yeosang put a hand on his shoulder, giving him a little squeeze.
“You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. For now, you can train online so as not to forget what you already know.”
“I don’t know where to go,” Jongho's voice became almost robotic, as if his voice imitator had become a safety net for his trembling chords. “I know we won't stay here forever. You won't be here with me forever. I have no one but my father. I don't want to live on the street.”
“You won't,” Yeosang quietly interrupted him when he realized that the flow of his words only contributed to the growing panic. “We are deep in shit, and we’re in it together. Right?”
He looked at Wooyoung, clearly indicating that if the answer was no, he wouldn’t wake up in the morning. Luckily, Wooyoung didn't even think about disagreeing.
“Absolutely. We’re all piecing ourselves together here. There is no way to do it without sacrifices, but we are all alive, healthy and not starving. Don't forget about Hongjoong and Seonghwa, we definitely won't be lost with them.”
That seemed to cheer Jongho up enough for him to take his eyes off the floor and look at them. There still was no smile but his face no longer seemed gray with sadness.
“You promise?”
Wooyoung smiled faintly and took a deep breath.
“We won’t leave you.”
His voice was rough like rough rubble after sleeping but it had its effect. Corners of Jongho’s lips lifted up and his shoulders relaxed a little. He was still not himself, but the atmosphere had changed.
“We didn’t even leave San, it says a lot,” Yeosang said and Jongho chuckled.
“I should block him, then. My dad,” his words didn't sound like a question but there was uncertainty in eyes as he looked from Wooyoung to Yeosang once more.
“You probably should. If he bothers you.”
Jongho nodded once more and plunged into the system. A couple of seconds – and something in him snapped, he exhaled sharply.
“Done.”
“Cool. And now… Are you two hungry?” Yeosang pushed off from the countertop he was leaning on, taking Jongho with him and leaving Wooyoung a little behind. Their humble way of life has started its gears again.
A little later, when the rubber-tasting spaghetti warmed his stomach, Wooyoung received an important assignment: the realization of the idea that came to his mind at night now rested on his, Mingi and Yunho's shoulders. He didn't mind. He really wanted to know more about the Oasis, and the questions filled the silence as soon as they started the car, Mingi and Yunho in front, he in the back.
Yunho still spoke to him reluctantly, preferring listening, and Wooyoung was only slightly upset. He thought Yunho would be a great storyteller.
“I’m not saying that Hongjoong is our leader, he himself says that we are all on equal terms here, but the Oasis is his thing. We only help,” Mingi loudly cleared his throat after a complicated story about a so-called camp of rich refugees for whom Hongjoong was responsible. “Before that, we were doing everything up to the robbery – Hongjoong did even worse – so whatever that woman offered was better than what we used to do.”
“But doesn't he hate corpos?”
“He does,” Mingi nodded “But money is money, he has his own motives for doing it. We, on the other hand, don’t care much about corpos, right?”
He turned to Yunho, expecting him to join the lively conversation, but Yunho's mood was clearly worse than ever.
“Unlike Hongjoong, neither Mingi nor I have ever fought for life and have never seen the world black and white. We had a roof overhead and even studied at the academy.”
“Which we did not graduate from,” Mingi butted in.
“Which we– Yes,” Yunho admitted. “Education would’ve given us nothing. Now at least we have fun.”
Yunho hardly looked like a big fan of entertainment, too good-natured and calm, not as intimidating as Yeosang, but just as responsible.
“This is some kind of unstable fun, don't you think?” Wooyoung peeked out from the back seat to get a better look at the other two men.
Yunho shrugged. “And what choice do we have now? From the prospects for the future, only illegal activities.”
“We’ve put up with it,” Mingi explained when he noticed Wooyoung’s furrowed eyebrows. “Not like that the whole world is against us and there are only three of us in it, no. Rather, we just realized that we can’t get ahead of ourselves, you know?”
Wooyoung didn't answer, leaning back in his seat and looking out at the city landscape. He was always told to avoid life down on the streets because it was unsightly, poor, and barely meaningful.
And that was where he found himself right now, wading through the cold stones of an abandoned building where he had spent a month eating energy bars and cheap porridge. All this time, he considered this lifestyle temporary, and Mingi's words about the permanence of such a living stuck in his head. Would he be able to earn money by physical labor, to give up the meaningless but beautiful implants that modified his body, making him look more like an exquisite toy than a human? As he carried the things he had forgotten in a hurry to the car, he thought about the fact that Yunho, Mingi and Hongjoong were many times stronger than him. No matter what material his ribs were made of or how expensive his artificial skin was, he still wouldn't have been able to withstand half of what others had been living with for years.
Everyone in his social circle was so resistant, and only he broke down like a twig and had to take pills and stay away from the Net, like a small child, punished for disobedience. Sadness must have shown on his face, and a heavy warm hand rested on his shoulder as he shoved his favorite blanket into the trunk.
“Don't bother your head with what Mingi said,” it was Yunho. He still wasn't smiling, but there was a familiar warmth in his puppy dog eyes. “It will be fine.”
Huffing and cussing, Mingi came out of the house, carrying a bag of food that they hadn't finished before. Wooyoung looked away and cleared his throat before attempting to speak.
“It’s… not that.”
In the cold, the chords seemed to become tougher, it was more difficult to speak. Yunho didn’t comment on this in any way, only his palm went up to Wooyoung's shoulder to squeeze it.
“Then what?”
“Do you think I’m a deadweight?”
Yunho blinked in surprise, Mingi stopped right by the car, forgetting about the stack of food in his hands.
“Who told you that?” Yunho asked.
“No one,” Wooyoung had to clear his throat to keep his voice from sounding too hoarse. Even his tongue was too lazy to move after so many months of silence.
“You’re not a deadweight, Wooyoung,” with a bang and a ring indicating that a couple of cans were probably just broken, Mingi put the bag in the trunk. “If it’s because of what we said before, then leave it. No one should get used to what we have. Hongjoong’s trying his best to make us live better than before.”
“That's the point,” emotions slipped away and Wooyoung's voice cracked. Reluctantly, he went back online. “You're all doing something while I'm just sitting in one place. I can't even work!”
“Because you're in the process of rehabilitation right now,” Yunho squeezed his shoulder once more and walked to the car. “Get inside, or you'll catch a cold.”
“We all know that you need special treatment now,” Mingi explained, taking his place in front. He waited until Wooyoung got into the car and slammed the door behind him before continuing. “No one thinks you're weak. Sometimes I think Hongjoong forgets that you're on medication at all. You're not a child, and that's why you're with us here. Yeosang sent you because he knows you’re able to control yourself. We’re all very glad that you started talking out loud again.”
“Besides, as much as I hate to deny it, you make San look more humane,” Yunho added, drowning out the sound of rubble under the wheels. “He behaves better when you're around, without you we'd all be dead for sure. Please keep doing whatever you do because it’s working.”
“Is it? You wouldn’t have told me the same an hour ago,” Wooyoung gave him a weak smile.
“Well, I’m not so angry anymore,” Yunho smiled back as he drove out onto the paved road. Mingi clicked on the radio on the monitor and the lively voice of some girl quietly began to advertise another cosmetology clinic. “We are not in a position to hold grudges for a long time. Do I share his point of view about Dere? No, definitely no. Am I going to get my hands on him as soon as we see each other again? Not either. As Mingi said, some things have to be put up with.”
It seemed that resignation was all they had left. Seonghwa and Hongjoong weren't around – there was nothing they could do about it. Jongho's father may have posed a threat to them – they could only try to protect the boy. The money was barely enough for a couple of months of rent – they could only try to spend this time with joy. San's cynicism was just another nuisance from the list.
He suppressed a sigh. Such an amount of emotion in half a day was overwhelming but he preferred to feel all this than nothing at all. It reminded him that there were people around him and they in return didn’t let him forget that he was also a human being. He wasn’t alone and could find confirmation of this at any moment.
Looking at the sprawling Night City outside the window, Wooyoung thought that life there was really terrible. He hated dirt and misery with his whole heart but couldn’t deny that he managed to extract something good from it, grains of joy, and only because he had company.