codename: Seraphim

As Beom stepped into the dimly lit room, his mind was still simmering with thoughts. "Pervert... is that really all he thinks about? Always trying to find a way to fluster me, to get under my skin," he grumbled inwardly, feeling the faint ghost of Sasha's taunting smirk lingering even in his absence. Beom's jaw tightened as he recalled the smirking face Sasha wore so naturally, that irritating way he seemed to revel in pushing boundaries.

Trying to shake off the memory, he scanned the room and noticed a pile of neatly folded clothes laid out for him. A slight sense of relief washed over him. "Oh," he thought, a little surprised. "I was about to ask for some clothes... guess he's not entirely a menace."

He picked up the shirt and held it out, inspecting the oversized fabric. It was clearly one of Sasha's, the shoulders broad, the length hanging well past his own frame. "Isn't this too big?" Beom muttered, eyeing the loose material. He pulled it on, feeling the soft fabric slip over his shoulders, the cloth pooling around his chest and hanging a little too low for his taste. Sasha was, after all, broader, taller, and undeniably built with that confident strength that seemed to radiate off him. "Guess the size difference is more obvious than I thought," Beom murmured as he tugged the shirt down, feeling slightly swallowed by the fabric.

He picked up the pants next, sliding them on and adjusting them around his hips. They were loose, sagging at the waist until he managed to position them where they could hold. "Thank God for these hips, or I'd be tripping all over myself," he thought with a wry smile, pulling at the waistband to make sure it stayed put. He tugged the shirt down over his frame, its oversized sleeves falling past his wrists. For a brief moment, he caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of a small wall mirror, the casual, slouched look making him appear a bit younger, almost vulnerable. He felt strange in Sasha's clothes, as if they'd somehow brought part of the man's presence into the room with him, despite the silence around him.

Trying to refocus, Beom took a breath, pushing Sasha out of his mind and turning his thoughts to the mission at hand. "We've finally tracked down someone who knows Yaroslav," he thought, the anticipation stirring in his chest. Merlin Berlov, the woman who'd once served in the Vyshnevsky mansion—she was their best lead yet. "When we find his place... maybe we'll get to that Seraphim Code, finally securing it, or even better, destroying it for good."

But with every step they took closer, the weight of the mission bore down heavier on his shoulders. He knew all too well that Yaroslav wasn't the only player in this dark network. Powerful people had likely woven themselves into whatever sinister organization operated behind closed doors. Beom's brows furrowed, and he felt a prickle of unease. "There's no way he could have been acting alone. People like him don't move through the world without allies, powerful ones."

He found himself lost in the questions swirling through his mind, uncertainty tugging at his thoughts. Had Yaroslav really perished in the water? Or was that another layer of deception, a smokescreen concealing something far more dangerous?

Beom settled down at the table, pulling the chair closer to Sasha, who remained engrossed in his work, glasses perched on his nose as he focused intently on the screen. The soft glow of the laptop illuminated his face, casting sharp shadows along his features, making him look both serious and a little weary. Sasha's fingers rested lightly on his coffee cup, taking an occasional sip, his gaze unwavering as he combed through lines of information.

When Beom took his seat beside him, Sasha lifted his head, giving him an appraising look. "Oh... you're back. You look small," he noted with a faint smirk, clearly amused by Beom's slightly out-of-place look in his oversized clothes.

Beom rolled his eyes, shrugging nonchalantly as he reached over to pour himself a glass of water. "Why wouldn't I? The clothes are bigger than me," he muttered, trying to hide his slight annoyance at Sasha's teasing. He then took a sip, feeling the coolness settle in his throat, before sliding his chair even closer and leaning in to peer at the screen Sasha was focused on.

Sasha gestured to the monitor, his voice calm and informative as he pointed. "I just found the restaurant she works at."

Beom leaned closer, narrowing his eyes at the address displayed on the screen. He let out a small, disapproving noise. "That's a café, genius," he corrected, smirking slightly. "You're wearing glasses and still can't see."

Sasha blinked, glancing back at the screen with a raised brow as if realizing his mistake. "Oh," he murmured, not quite sheepish but slightly thrown. Recovering quickly, he shut the laptop with a soft click and stood up, stretching his arms with a yawn. "I'm going to bed," he announced, a hint of exhaustion in his voice. "I'm tired. Good night." Without another word, he strolled off to the room, his footsteps fading as he left Beom alone with the laptop and his thoughts.

For a moment, Beom sat there in the quiet, staring at the screen where Sasha had left off. The faint hum of the device filled the silence, and Beom couldn't help but feel a surge of satisfaction. "Finally, some progress," he muttered to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips as he took in the details Sasha had uncovered. The lead might actually get them somewhere; it was a step forward, at least.

Beom's eyes drifted around the room, spotting his phone on the table. He picked it up, realizing it was low on battery, and connected it to the charger. While waiting, he glanced at the telephone on the other side of the room. An idea sparked. Would he be able to get in touch with his sister? It was a long shot, but he decided to try anyway, walking over and dialing her number.

After a few tense rings, the line clicked, and a familiar, cheerful voice came through. "Hello?" Beom-sook greeted, her tone warm and slightly surprised.

"Hey, it's Beom-ki," he replied, a smile breaking across his face as relief washed over him.

"Beoooooommm! How are you doing?" Beom-sook's voice was playful, filled with sibling affection.

He chuckled, feeling a sense of ease he hadn't felt in a while. "I'm good... How about you?"

"I'm also good," she responded, her voice bright. "How's the mission going?"

Beom leaned against the table, nodding even though she couldn't see him. "It's going well," he said, a hint of pride in his voice. "And you? Are you already in the States?"

"Yep," she confirmed, and he could hear the faint sounds of bustling city life in the background. "Have you talked to Mom? I'm sure she's worried sick about you, you know... mummy's boy," she teased.

He rolled his eyes, chuckling. "I'll call her tomorrow," he replied, though a part of him already felt a bit guilty for not reaching out sooner.

Beom lingered on the phone call with his sister a little longer, letting the warmth of their conversation settle over him. Finally, as they exchanged goodbyes, he hung up and took a deep, steadying breath. The weight of the mission, the constant chase, the ever-present edge of danger—it all felt a bit lighter after hearing her voice. But now, as silence filled the room again, that weight began to creep back in.

Beom moved over to the couch, grabbing the thick blanket Sasha had tossed there earlier, and wrapped it around himself. He settled in, letting the cool fabric brush against his skin as he stretched out, seeking the comfort of a rare moment of rest. Pulling the blanket snugly over his shoulders, he closed his eyes, squeezing them shut as though he could block out not just the light but all the noise and tension buried deep within him. Slowly, his body surrendered to the pull of sleep, his breathing becoming deep and steady as he drifted into a slumber.

But that rest was short-lived. A warm breath tickled his ear, followed by a whisper, low and teasing. "Wakey... wakey..." Sasha's voice intruded into his dream, gentle yet insistent.

Beom jolted awake, eyes snapping open, instantly alert. He turned to see Sasha leaning in close, looking down at him with a mischievous smirk.

"Ugh, what the hell?" Beom groaned, rubbing his eyes as he tried to shake off the remnants of sleep.

"Get up and get ready," Sasha replied smoothly, unbothered as he straightened up and settled onto the couch with a casual grace. His presence seemed to fill the small space, his gaze watchful as he observed Beom's groggy attempts to get up.

Beom sighed, half-tempted to curl back under the blanket but aware that Sasha wouldn't let him. He tossed the blanket aside, got up, and made his way toward the bathroom. The coolness of the tiles underfoot helped wake him up, and he splashed his face with water, the cold shock jolting him fully awake. He could feel the mission's urgency seeping back into his mind, sharpening his focus.

This was no ordinary day—it was time to dive into their plan, to find and confront Yaroslav's connection to the Seraphim Code.

After Beom finished dressing, Sasha tossed him a thick, dark jacket with a quick, almost careless motion. "The weather's pretty cold," he said, already moving toward the door. Beom pulled on the jacket, feeling the fabric wrap him in a comforting warmth, then followed Sasha out. They stepped into the brisk, icy air, the sharpness of it biting at any exposed skin, a reminder of how unforgiving Moscow winters could be.

The two of them climbed into the car, Sasha taking the wheel as usual. As they pulled onto the snowy streets, Beom settled in, glancing out the window. The cityscape was transformed under a fresh blanket of snow, the pure white reflecting the morning light, casting a serene and almost otherworldly glow. "It really did snow," Beom thought, his eyes tracing the soft layers covering everything from rooftops to lampposts, giving the entire scene an ethereal silence.

Sasha's voice broke through the quiet. "About the Seraphim Code..." he began, his tone low, thoughtful. Beom's attention snapped back, his gaze shifting from the winter scene outside to Sasha's face, which remained focused on the road.

"We've got some serious players involved," Sasha continued, his hands steady on the steering wheel. "People with more resources than we've got and enough power to make sure anyone who interferes...vanishes without a trace." There was a gravity in his voice that wasn't there before, a rare display of the weight he was carrying on his shoulders.

Beom nodded, understanding the implication. The Seraphim Code wasn't just any information; it was rumored to be a key to countless secrets, leverage that could shake governments or topple criminal empires. It was the kind of information that people would kill to protect or control. "So, what's our move when we actually get to it?" Beom asked, his voice steady, though the enormity of the task sent a chill through him—one that had nothing to do with the weather.

Sasha glanced over, a glint of determination in his eyes. "We don't let it fall into anyone's hands—especially not Yaroslav's people. If it comes down to it, we destroy it. No one can have that kind of power, not even us."

As they drove through the snowy streets, Beom's thoughts lingered on Sasha's last words, his mind racing with questions he couldn't push away. His eyes flicked toward Sasha, and he spoke before he could second-guess himself. "But that code… wasn't it created by Yaroslav himself?"

Sasha's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as if weighing what to say next. "Yes," he admitted finally, his tone clipped. "Yaroslav created it himself. The Seraphim Code wasn't just some stolen document or leverage he picked up from someone else. It's a map of his empire—contacts, hidden accounts, backdoor deals, connections to governments and agencies. Every detail of his entire network is encrypted in that code."

Beom felt his heart skip a beat as the realization sunk in. This wasn't just a set of coordinates or a list of targets; it was the blueprint of everything Yaroslav had built. "And you think he made it because…?"

Sasha glanced over at him, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Because he doesn't trust anyone, not even his closest allies. Yaroslav's paranoid, always has been. The Seraphim Code is his insurance policy, his failsafe if things go wrong."

Beom exhaled slowly, piecing it together. "So, if we get this code… we'd have control over his entire operation. Every ally, every safehouse, every deal."

Sasha nodded, his gaze sharpening as he spoke. "Exactly. It's the kind of power that could dismantle Yaroslav's empire in a single blow—or, if it fell into the wrong hands, make someone else just as untouchable as he is."

They fell silent, the weight of it settling between them. Beom's mind buzzed, considering the enormity of their task. To get hold of that code would mean they could cripple Yaroslav's influence for good, bring down the empire he'd spent years building. But the danger… that same power would be enough to make anyone a target, hunted from every direction.