codename: Seraphim

Then, a door caught his attention. It was slightly ajar, and curiosity won out as he pushed it open and stepped inside. The room beyond was starkly different from the rest of the hideout. Along the walls were rows upon rows of guns, weapons of all types and sizes, each arranged with the precision of someone who knew how to handle them. Rifles, pistols, even more exotic pieces sat next to an array of tactical gear, knives, and electronic gadgets. Beom took a slow breath, absorbing the sheer variety.

"Done admiring?" Sasha's voice sliced through the silence, making Beom jump slightly. He spun around to find Sasha leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed with an amused smirk on his face.

"Uh… yeah," Beom replied, clearing his throat. He gestured to the impressive arsenal. "All of this… the Russian agency just gave it to you?"

Sasha shrugged with a nonchalant grin. "Yep. What'd you expect? That I bought them myself? Nah, I'm not funding this little armory."

Beom eyed him, unsure if he was being sarcastic or entirely serious, but before he could say more, Sasha tilted his head toward the hallway.

"Your bath's ready," he said, stepping aside to let Beom pass. Beom hesitated, feeling Sasha's eyes on him, then reached out and gave Sasha's shoulder a brief, somewhat reluctant tap.

"Thanks," he said, nodding. Without waiting for a response, he slipped past Sasha, heading toward the bathroom. The moment he shut the door behind him, he felt an odd mix of relief and tension.

The bathroom was surprisingly clean, with spotless white tiles and a large mirror above a polished sink. Beom took a moment to look around, almost impressed by the neatness. He stretched his arms above his head, loosening his shoulders, and then began to strip out of his clothes. One by one, he peeled off each layer, tossing them to the side until he stood bare in the cool air, his skin prickling slightly from the temperature.

He dipped a foot into the ice-filled bath and instantly winced.

 "Ack… it stings,"

He hissed, biting back a full-out shiver. But, gathering his resolve, he lowered himself further into the freezing water, letting out a slow breath as the chill sank into his muscles. He closed his eyes, trying to relax, the ice pressing against his skin like tiny needles. The cold was sharp, but in a way, it felt good—like it was washing away the tension of the day.

Beom let out a soft chuckle as he lifted one leg, kicking it up slightly to play with the ice, watching the small chunks float and shift. It was almost meditative, and for a brief moment, he found himself sinking deeper, submerging his face under the cold water, the sensation numbing every thought, every worry. His eyes shut, and the world faded into quiet.

But then—like a bolt from the blue—an image flashed across his mind. A familiar face, one he'd tried so hard to forget, burst into his consciousness, vivid and unavoidable. His eyes flew open, and he jolted upright out of the icy bath, water sloshing over the sides.

 "NO!"

He shouted, his voice echoing off the tiled walls as he gasped for breath, his heart pounding hard enough to shake him from the inside out.

Breathing heavily, he pushed his wet hair back, water dripping down his face, his expression a mixture of fear and frustration. He hugged his knees, curling into himself as if that could somehow shield him from the memories clawing their way back. The ice bath suddenly felt colder, the chill sinking not just into his skin but into his bones, into the core of him. He sat like that, feeling small, vulnerable in a way he hated.

A voice from the doorway broke the silence, smooth and taunting. "Sup…had a nightmare?" Sasha's voice held a playful lilt, as if he'd found Beom's reaction amusing. He was leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking relaxed and smug.

The intrusion jolted Beom from his thoughts, and he looked up, a flash of irritation crossing his face. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his tone sharper than he intended, clearly annoyed.

Sasha simply shrugged, his expression unbothered. "Nothing. Just checking up on you." He flashed a grin, though his gaze held a hint of curiosity. "Why'd you scream like that? Are you okay…? Childhood trauma, maybe?" His question was casual, but there was a gleam in his eyes, like he enjoyed prying just a little too much.

Beom's eyes narrowed, and he looked away, his expression closing off. "None of your business," he muttered, though his voice softened, some of the anger slipping into resignation. He sighed, sinking down further into the bath, trying to shake off the chill that had settled deep in his chest. He coiled himself tighter, resting his head on his knees, the water's coldness now a comforting numbness. "It's nothing," he added, though he knew Sasha wouldn't buy it.

Sasha continued to watch him, his smirk fading slightly as he took in Beom's posture, the way he seemed to draw into himself, as if trying to disappear. It was a rare moment, seeing Beom like this—guard down, raw and unmasked. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words, as Sasha lingered in the doorway, studying Beom's form in the icy bath, his expression unreadable.

"I'm perfectly fine... there is nothing to worry about," Beom said, his voice softening as he tried to dismiss Sasha's concern. He took a steadying breath, letting his hands rest momentarily on the cool edge of the jacuzzi before he stood up. The bathwater slid from his skin, leaving a faint shimmer of droplets in its wake, as he stepped out onto the tiled bathroom floor. Every movement was controlled and precise, the water dripping from his form in quiet splashes that seemed to amplify the stillness between them.

Sasha remained motionless, his eyes fixed on Beom with a certain intensity. Arms crossed, he leaned against the doorway, studying him as though he were trying to understand something unspoken. Beom felt the weight of that gaze, and it stirred something in him that he wasn't entirely comfortable with. He grabbed a soft, plush towel from the nearby rack, beginning to dry himself, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Sasha's eyes were tracing every move he made, absorbing every detail.

As he wrapped the towel around his waist, Beom caught Sasha's reflection in the large bathroom mirror. Sasha's gaze hadn't faltered, and it carried an unfiltered curiosity, perhaps even a hint of admiration. Beom frowned slightly, feeling a touch of irritation mingled with a strange, almost exhilarating awareness of Sasha's attention.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" he finally asked, a trace of annoyance in his voice as he met Sasha's gaze in the mirror. He tightened the towel around his waist, hoping that Sasha would take the hint and look away.

Sasha merely tilted his head, a playful smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. "Nice tat and piercing," he said, his voice rich with amusement. "Never seen a man with damsel piercings on the waist."

The comment caught Beom off guard, and for a brief moment, he hesitated, his mind flashing to the ink on his skin. His tribal tattoo was intricately designed, wrapping around his lower back and dipping just slightly toward his hips, where it seemed to merge with the lines of his body in a way that felt both personal and powerful. The tattoo wasn't just decoration—it was a piece of his story, a connection to his heritage, to moments that had shaped him.

And then there were the piercings. They glittered subtly along his waistline, small studs that caught the bathroom's light in a delicate shimmer. Each one was carefully placed, accentuating the natural curve of his lower torso, giving a unique edge to his otherwise rugged appearance. The back dermals piercings were a bold choice, a personal statement that he had chosen without apology, embracing both the strength and vulnerability they symbolized.

"Yeah, well, it's my body. I can do what I want with it," Beom replied, attempting a dismissive tone, but the pride in his voice was unmistakable. He ran the towel over his shoulders, drying off with an air of practiced ease, though he felt his heart quicken under Sasha's lingering gaze. Part of him was annoyed, and yet another part found a certain satisfaction in Sasha's attention—a subtle affirmation that his choices, his unique style, were not only noticed but appreciated.

Sasha's smirk softened just slightly, his tone sincere yet laced with teasing as he replied, "I'd say you pull it off well. It suits you."

The compliment threw Beom off balance for a moment. He wasn't used to Sasha being so direct, so openly appreciative. A faint warmth spread across his cheeks, and he tried to hide it by focusing on drying himself, wrapping the towel firmly around his waist.

"Whatever," Beom muttered dismissively, his voice laced with irritation as he brushed past Sasha, ready to end the strange interaction and leave the bathroom behind him. He felt a simmering embarrassment in his chest—a feeling he wasn't used to, and one he was not about to let Sasha see. He held his head high, giving a wide berth as he strode towards the door.

But just as he passed, Sasha's voice, casual yet laced with something unmistakably suggestive, broke the silence. "It would look so beautiful when you're getting pounded from behind," Sasha remarked, his tone dripping with amusement.

The words halted Beom mid-stride. His back stiffened, and he could feel the heat rise to his cheeks, spreading up his neck in a wave of fury and mortification. Slowly, he turned to glare at Sasha, his brows knitted in a look of indignation that was equal parts outrage and disbelief.

"Shut up, pervert," he snapped, his voice a low hiss, laced with the embarrassment Sasha had been hoping to provoke. Beom's fists clenched as he tried to keep his composure, but he couldn't shake the flush that had overtaken his features. It was infuriating how Sasha could say something so bold, so utterly shameless, with that same self-satisfied grin on his face.

Sasha simply chuckled, watching Beom's reaction with an amused glint in his eyes. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his expression as relaxed as if he'd just complimented Beom's choice of shoes. The mischief in his gaze only intensified as he looked Beom up and down, taking in the way Beom's eyes flashed with irritation and the way he squared his shoulders, defensive but somehow... adorably flustered.

"Cute," Sasha murmured, barely loud enough for Beom to hear, though he intended for him to catch it. He reveled in the effect he had, finding an odd satisfaction in pushing Beom's buttons and seeing him riled up. There was something oddly endearing in Beom's defiance, in the way he so desperately tried to keep his cool.