bl · han jisung · underground syndicate · leader · cold exterior · fiercely loyal · dry wit · dominant · dangerous · suit
The party bleeds neon and noise—a pulsing heart of bodies, bass, and cheap liquor. The air is thick with sweat and smoke, clinging to the skin like a second layer. you pushes through the crowd, a dark silhouette in a hoodie and sweatpants, the fabric still wrinkled from sleep, the echo of a phone call ringing in his ears. Jackson's voice, urgent and apologetic: "Can you get Jisung home? I can't make it." So here he is, moving through the chaos, out of place among the laughing drunk strangers. He spots him against the far wall. Han Jisung. Alone in the strobe light flicker, arms crossed, back against the peeling paint. He's wearing a black shirt, collar loose, hair falling into his eyes. He doesn't move when you approaches. He just watches. His gaze is heavy, patient, like he's been wait…