STAR

23 // She/her I really like to write and want to get back into it so thats what this is lol

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Kiss of Death

masterlist ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Pairing: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung

Status: WIP

Psychological Thriller

CW:

Warnings: HUGE MENTIONS OF DEATH!!!! violence, murder, death of a loved one, psychological distress, stalking?, gaslighting/manipulation, graphic autopsy/medical descriptions

Summary: Serial Killer Wooyoung picks San as his next victim until he finds out that San is the Medical Examiner working his case. Keeping him around could be useful, couldn't it?

new chapters twice a week hopefully

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

chapter 7

chapter 8

chapter 9

[thirstkanaphan]

Guys…I think Yunho is famous

He’s even got the Valorant News admin clocking the haters!!

[starnotavailable]

HAPPY NEW YEAR !!!

2026! just wanted to post an update in regard to Kiss of Death. Ive been super inactive and have been severely lacking with this story (im so sorry) I do want to continue to post chapters but I want to accumulate them before posting anything but BE ON THE LOOKOUT FOR THE NEW CHAPTERS thank you for your patience :))

[starnotavailable]

KISS OF DEATH STATUS UPDATE?

OH. MY. GOODNESS.

ive taken an unexpected break from writing BUT I do think it has helped me come up with a rough draft on where this story is going and how it will end. I hope to finish putting out these chapters by the end of this month/beginning of next month. IF YOURE STILL HERE WAITING PATIENTLY THANK YOU SO MUCH. NEXT CHAPTER COMING SOON!!

[starnotavailable]

hi, I just want to let you know, your fic is amazing. Could I ask a show/book/reference that inspires you to make the story?

💐💐💐

SO GLAD YOU'RE ENJOYING IT. honestly I'm really into the Sherlock books and true crime and im also super into ateez so I thought what the best way to mush the two together would be. I've also just had an interest in dynamics like these, idk how I would describe it, im sure there's a word for it im just not good with words.

[starnotavailable]

Kiss of Death

Pairings: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung

Genre: psychological thriller 

Chapter: 9/?

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings: HUGE MENTIONS OF DEATH!!!! violence, murder, death of a loved one, psychological distress, stalking?, gaslighting/manipulation, graphic autopsy/medical descriptions

Summary: Serial Killer Wooyoung picks San as his next victim until he finds out that San is the Medical Examiner working his case. Keeping him around could be useful, couldn't it?

masterlist

The door clicked softly behind them as they stepped into Wooyoung’s apartment. The familiar scent of cologne and faint traces of coffee greeted San as he toed off his shoes. He had obviously been here before—more than once—but tonight, something felt different. The space was the same, cluttered with books and half-drunk cups of coffee, cozy in a way that had always made it easy to settle in. And yet, despite the familiarity, the air between them felt heavier, charged with something unspoken.

Wooyoung tossed his keys onto the counter with a soft clink and shot San a glance, already moving toward the stairs. “Make yourself at home,” he said, the same thing he always said, but this time, San couldn’t shake the feeling that the words meant something else entirely.

San followed him up, peeling off his jacket and hanging it over the back of a chair, his movements second nature by now. He didn’t need to glance around like he had the first time he was here—he knew where everything was. Even so, his gaze flickered across the space, taking it in again, like seeing it in a new light.

Wooyoung was already pulling his shirt over his head when San stepped into the bedroom, pausing just inside the doorway. The sight wasn’t new, and yet, San felt something unfamiliar stir in his chest. He cleared his throat. “You really wanted me to stay that bad?”

Wooyoung, halfway through yanking a new shirt from his dresser, stilled for just a second before scoffing. His back was to San, but the slight pink tinge creeping up his neck didn’t go unnoticed. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he muttered, pulling the fabric over his head a little too quickly.

San let out a quiet hum, amused but also keenly aware of how the air between them had shifted. He had stayed over before, had changed in this room before, but tonight, it felt different. The weight of something unspoken lingered between them, making every glance, every move, feel more significant than it should.

He kicked off his pants and grabbed a pair of sweatpants from his bag. As he began to change into something more comfortable, he casually glanced over at Wooyoung, noting the way he moved, the casualness of it, like he was used to someone else being here. But this was different. This time, San didn’t just feel like a guest. He felt… wanted.

The room was quieter now, save for the soft rustling of fabric and the occasional clink of a hanger. Wooyoung was stretching his arms over his head as he yanked on a t-shirt, his back to San again, and for a moment, the air between them hung thick, as though they were both waiting for something—some kind of break in the silence. San pulled on a loose sweatshirt, but his fingers lingered at the collar as he glanced over at Wooyoung, catching the way his shirt clung to his shoulders. It made him feel that weird, tight feeling in his chest again, the one he couldn’t quite name. 

“So,” San started, voice light, though there was an edge to it, “how was your day? Work wasn’t too crazy, right?” Wooyoung turned to face him, still sorting through his clothes. 

“Same old,” he said. “Busy, but nothing too interesting. You?” 

“Same,” San replied, tugging at the drawstring of his pants to loosen them. He didn’t know why he was making such a big deal out of this—talking, teasing, changing in the same room—but something about tonight felt different. Like the lines were starting to blur between them. 

After a beat of silence, Wooyoung suddenly glanced over, his eyes dark and knowing. “You were watching me a lot tonight, you know.” His tone was teasing, but there was an underlying edge to it that made San pause, his breath catching for just a second. 

He hadn’t meant to be so obvious, but now that Wooyoung had pointed it out, he couldn’t deny it. His gaze flickered nervously to the floor. “I don’t know,” he muttered, his words tumbling out before he could stop them. “I guess I didn’t want you getting too close to anyone else.” 

The room fell quiet for a moment. San’s heart skipped in his chest as he realized what he’d just said. He couldn’t hide it anymore. The jealousy, the possessiveness—it was all spilling out in ways he hadn’t planned for. 

Wooyoung didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he turned fully toward San, his expression unreadable at first, before the corners of his lips lifted into a sly grin. “Jealous, huh?” His voice dropped an octave, tinged with something that felt more sultry. “Didn’t take you for the type.” San’s cheeks flushed as he avoided Wooyoung’s gaze, unsure of how to backpedal without making it worse. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but the words caught in his throat.

San's words hung between them, lingering in the air like something tangible. He hadn’t meant to say it—at least, not like that—but it was out now, impossible to take back. His fingers curled slightly at his sides, bracing himself for whatever Wooyoung would say next.

Wooyoung, still standing a few feet away, let the silence stretch for just a moment longer than necessary, his head tilting slightly as if studying San. Then, without warning, he moved.

San barely had time to register what was happening before Wooyoung was in front of him, pushing at his chest just enough to make him stumble back onto the bed. His breath hitched as Wooyoung followed, climbing over him, settling just above his lap with a deliberate slowness that sent a shiver down San’s spine.

"Jealous, huh?" Wooyoung murmured, his voice low, almost purring. His hands pressed against San’s chest, fingers splayed out as he leaned in. "You don’t have to be."

San swallowed, his hands hovering uncertainly at Wooyoung’s sides. His heart pounded, his pulse thrumming beneath his skin. "I wasn’t—"

Wooyoung shut him up with a kiss. It wasn’t soft, wasn’t testing—it was confident, deep, a promise more than anything else. He tilted his head, sighing into San’s mouth when he felt him finally react, hands tightening at his waist.

When Wooyoung pulled back just enough to speak, his lips brushed against San’s. "You’re the only one I want touching me," he whispered, his gaze dark and unwavering. "You know that, right?"

San exhaled, shaky but sure. He nodded. "Yeah."

"Good." And then, with a wicked little smirk, Wooyoung tugged at San’s shirt. "Now let me prove it to you."

San didn’t realize he was shaking until Wooyoung’s hands smoothed over his sides, grounding him. His fingers traced gently over the fabric of San’s shirt, like he was memorizing him.

"I meant it," Wooyoung murmured, his forehead pressing lightly against San’s. "It’s just you."

San exhaled, his hands finding Wooyoung’s waist, steadying himself as much as he was steadying Wooyoung. It was strange, how something like this—something so bare—felt even more vulnerable than any of their past conversations.

Wooyoung kissed him again, but this time, it wasn’t about taking control. It was soft, slow, full of something deeper than either of them had the words for. San felt like he was unraveling, and yet, he had never felt safer.

He let out a shaky breath when Wooyoung pulled back just slightly, their noses brushing. "Stay close," San whispered, barely aware he had said it out loud.

Wooyoung smiled against his lips, something small, something real. "I’m not going anywhere."

It was careful, deliberate, and full of unspoken emotions neither of them had been ready to admit before now. Every kiss, every touch felt like an answer to a question they’d been too afraid to ask.

Maybe it was just the comfort, the vulnerability of being seen so completely and not turning away. Maybe it was the way Wooyoung held him, like he was something precious. Or maybe it was just love. San didn’t care to question it. He just let himself feel it.

San’s fingers curled against Wooyoung’s waist, holding him firmly as Wooyoung rocked against him, his movements languid but unrelenting. His breath came out shaky against Wooyoung’s lips, a quiet exhale he hadn’t meant to voice. But Wooyoung only pressed in closer, chest to chest, moving like he knew exactly what he was doing to him.

The friction sent a sharp, electric heat crawling up San’s spine, his breath hitching as he tried to keep himself grounded. His jeans felt unbearably tight now, the pressure of Wooyoung moving against him making it harder and harder to think about anything else.

Wooyoung, ever attuned to him, caught the way San’s breathing had shifted—shorter, rougher, like he was struggling to hold himself back. A slow, satisfied smile played on his lips as he leaned in, pressing his forehead against San’s. “Are you always this sensitive?” he murmured, voice dripping with something dangerously sweet.

San let out a quiet, breathy sound that made Wooyoung’s smile widen. He didn’t answer—couldn’t, really, not when Wooyoung kept moving like that, rolling his hips just right, making San’s entire world narrow down to the heat between them.

Wooyoung hummed, dragging his fingers up San’s chest, nails grazing lightly over his collarbone before settling against his jaw. “I like it,” he admitted, his tone softer now, almost affectionate. He brushed his lips against San’s, not quite kissing him, just feeling the way San’s breath stuttered beneath him. “I like knowing I can make you feel like this.”

San swallowed hard, his fingers flexing against Wooyoung’s waist. He wanted to say something—something grounding, something that would make sense of what they were doing—but all he could do was pull Wooyoung closer, chasing the feeling that only he seemed to be able to give him.

San barely registered the way Wooyoung’s fingers ghosted along his waistband, too lost in the heat between them—the way Wooyoung moved against him, slow and deliberate, dragging soft noises from the back of his throat. His breath was uneven now but it wasn’t enough.

Wooyoung knew it, too.

“You’re so easy to read,” he murmured against San’s lips, his voice thick. His fingers worked at the clasp of San’s belt, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips when he felt the way San stiffen beneath him. “You’re so tense,” he continued, fingers dipping just beneath the fabric. “I thought you liked this.”

San let out a shaky breath, his head tipping back against the pillows as Wooyoung’s touch sent a slow, rolling warmth through him. “I do,” he admitted, voice almost hoarse, almost embarrassed. The shift in weight sent them moving—San sinking into the mattress, Wooyoung following until San’s back met the bed and Wooyoung caught himself, hand planting firmly beside San’s head.

Wooyoung hummed, pressing a kiss just beneath his jaw, letting his lips linger as he whispered, “Then relax.”

After that, words became unnecessary. Touch spoke louder—clothes discarded carelessly onto the floor, warm hands trailing slow paths over feverish skin. Their bodies moved in tandem, fitting together in a way that felt natural, inevitable. San had never been one to give himself over so easily, but with Wooyoung, it didn’t feel like giving in. It felt like wanting. It felt like something more.

Sometime later, limbs tangled and breaths still heavy, Wooyoung brushed a hand through San’s hair, eyes half-lidded but fond. The shower that followed was slow, unhurried—San letting himself be guided under the water, Wooyoung’s touch gentle, lingering.

And when they finally fell asleep, they did so together, for the first time in Wooyoung’s bed.

—-----------

San: Anyone want to go to the aquarium today?

Mingi: Oooooh, I’m down. Can I bring Yunho?

San: Sure.

Hongjoong: Sounds fun. What time?

San: Around noon?

San placed his phone back down on the nightstand and sighed softly.The warmth pressed against his side was familiar now—Wooyoung, still asleep, his breathing even, his body curled slightly toward San. The weight of last night settled in again, not heavy, but present in a way San couldn’t ignore. 

His fingers idly traced the sheets as his thoughts drifted back to last night. The memory settled in his body like a slow-burning warmth—Wooyoung above him, their breaths tangled, the feeling of his skin under San’s hands, solid and real. His gaze flickered downward, catching the faint traces of red and purple blooming along his collarbone, the proof of Wooyoung’s touch lingering on him just as much as his own marks littered Wooyoung’s skin. His body ached in a way that didn’t feel unpleasant, the kind of soreness that lingered after something worth remembering.

His phone buzzed again, dragging his attention away.

Hongjoong: See you there :))

A soft rustling beside him pulled San from his thoughts, and he turned his head just in time to see Wooyoung shift under the blankets. His dark hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction, and his lashes fluttered before his eyes slowly blinked open. For a moment, he just stared at San, his gaze hazy with sleep, and then a slow, lazy smile spread across his lips.

"You're staring," Wooyoung mumbled, his voice thick with drowsiness.

San exhaled through his nose, but his fingers stilled against the faint bruise along his collarbone, giving himself away. Wooyoung noticed immediately, his gaze flickering to the marks before his smirk deepened.

“You’ve been looking for a while,” he murmured, his voice still heavy with sleep. He reached out, tracing a faint mark on San’s shoulder before dipping his head, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss just beside it. His lips were warm against San’s skin, lingering before dragging lower, scattering soft kisses over his chest.

San’s breath hitched, but he didn’t stop him.

Wooyoung hummed against his skin, his fingers trailing down San’s arm. “You look good like this,” he mused, lips brushing over a spot that made San shiver. Then, lifting his head slightly, he added, “And you sounded even better.”

San groaned, heat crawling up his neck as he brought a hand up to cover his face. “You’re impossible.”

Wooyoung only laughed, nuzzling against his chest before looking up at him through lidded eyes. “Mmm, no denial, though.” His palm smoothed over San’s side, fingers dragging lightly over his ribs before resting at his waist. “You really were something last night.”

San sighed, dropping his hand just enough to meet Wooyoung’s gaze. “You don’t have to keep talking about it.”

“But I like talking about it,” Wooyoung countered, his thumb rubbing slow circles against San’s skin. “You always get all shy, but you liked it, didn’t you?”

San swallowed, averting his eyes as his fingers twitched against the sheets.

Wooyoung grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

Before San could argue, Wooyoung stretched with a content sigh and shifted to lay sideways in bed so that San’s chest was his pillow.

“So,” he murmured, voice softer now, “what’s the plan for today?”

San exhaled, grateful for the shift. “Since we’re both off, I figured we could go out.”

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? And where exactly are you taking me?”

“The aquarium.”

Wooyoung blinked, then let out a pleased hum. “Romantic.” His lips curled into a smirk as he lifted his head just enough to murmur, “Or are you just trying to avoid admitting how much you liked last night?”

San groaned again, dragging his hands over his face. “Get dressed.”

Wooyoung just laughed, but he didn’t move right away, instead pressing a final, lazy kiss to the side of San’s throat before pulling away.

By the time they were both dressed, the morning had settled into something easy—movements falling in sync, quiet touches exchanged in passing. San stood at the bathroom sink, fixing his hair in the mirror, while Wooyoung leaned against the doorframe, idly playing with one of San’s rings between his fingers.

“You should leave some clothes here,” Wooyoung mused, watching as San ran a hand through his hair.

San huffed a laugh. “Why? So you can steal them?”

Wooyoung smirked, stepping closer and looping his arms around San’s waist from behind. “Maybe.” He rested his chin on San’s shoulder, gaze meeting his in the mirror. “Or maybe I just like having you here.”

San stilled for a fraction of a second before shaking his head fondly. “You’re so—”

“So charming? Thoughtful? The best you’ve ever had?”

San snorted, reaching down to squeeze Wooyoung’s arm lightly. “I was gonna say insufferable.”

Wooyoung laughed, warm against San’s skin, before pulling away. “Not what you were saying last night, should we recap?” San didn’t answer, but his smile betrayed him as he opened the door, leading the way out.

-------

A/N: SUPER SUPER SUPER SHORT CHAPTER IM SO SORRY but I wanted to get SOMETHING out. again I want to apologize for the gap in updates I really try to stick to a schedule but I don't think its working out. if enough people are interested I may make a separate piece of just the smutty bits. I just wanted to skip over the more graphic part of things for those that may not be interested in this story for that aspect so LMK WHAT YOU THINK <3

[starnotavailable]

KISS OF DEATH

Super super super late chapter coming soon? these past 2 weeks have been a little crazy but i will post AS SOON AS ITS READY

[starnotavailable]

Kiss of Death

Pairings: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung

Genre: psychological thriller 

Chapter: 8/?

Word Count: 4.4K

Warnings: HUGE MENTIONS OF DEATH!!!! violence, murder, death of a loved one, psychological distress, stalking?, gaslighting/manipulation, graphic autopsy/medical descriptions

Summary: Serial Killer Wooyoung picks San as his next victim until he finds out that San is the Medical Examiner working his case. Keeping him around could be useful, couldn't it?

masterlist

San woke up to the feeling of warmth around him, a softness pressing against his side. For a moment, he forgot where he was—until he turned his head and saw Wooyoung slumped over him on the couch. The faint sounds of the morning light seeped through the curtains, and he took in the quiet atmosphere, realizing they must’ve fallen asleep together again.

He didn’t want to disturb Wooyoung, so he stayed still for a while, just appreciating the closeness between them. He wasn’t sure why, but it felt... different today. More comforting than usual. He absently brushed a strand of Wooyoung’s hair away from his face, his thoughts slowing down.

He blinked slowly, feeling a little disoriented, and stretched, his body stiff from sleeping in one position for too long. Letting out a soft yawn, he finally rolled off the couch, careful not to wake Wooyoung who was still fast asleep. His legs were a bit wobbly as he stood, still half-asleep, and he shuffled toward the bathroom, one hand rubbing at his eyes as the light from the hallway hit him. His thoughts were hazy, but something nagged at him—a feeling of being unsettled. Only when he reached the bathroom did he look at himself in the mirror and realize why.

As he tried to adjust his eyes, the light caught his neck, and San froze. His fingers instinctively went to the back of his neck, feeling the warm, tender skin that shouldn’t have been so warm. His eyes widened as he realized what he was touching.

But it was no use. There was no way to deny it. Wooyoung had left his mark on him—several marks, to be precise. His skin was tender in places he didn’t want to think too hard about. He could only stare at his reflection. His fingers hovered near the marks on his neck, not quite sure what to do with the mix of emotions coursing through him. He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to any of this. The way it felt to be with Wooyoung. The way Wooyoung made him feel.

A light knock on the bathroom door interrupted his thoughts, and San’s heart jumped in his chest.

“San?” Wooyoung’s voice was muffled through the door. “You good in there?”

San quickly pulled his shirt collar up, trying to hide the marks. His pulse was racing. “I’m—yeah, I’m fine,” he called out, his voice coming out a little breathless.

“Alright,” Wooyoung said, and the sound of his footsteps moving away from the door was a little too lighthearted. It only made San feel more self-conscious.

He took a few more moments, staring at his reflection before slowly walking back to the living room. His thoughts were still spinning.

When he re-entered the room, he found Wooyoung lying on the couch, looking entirely too comfortable. There was a slight grin on his face as he sat himself up. “Hey, you’re up early. You okay?” He had that playful tone, as if he already knew something was off.

San tried to act casual, but his cheeks were still flushed. "Yeah, just... um..." He trailed off, glancing down at his hands, unsure of how to bring up the giant elephant in the room.

Wooyoung’s smile grew wider as he sat up with that familiar glint in his eyes. “You know, it’s not like I did it on purpose.

San’s heart skipped a beat as he tried not to look at him too directly. “I—I didn’t say anything!” he stammered.

Wooyoung chuckled softly, clearly entertained by San’s reaction. “Right, right. You didn’t have to.”

San shook his head, utterly embarrassed. He couldn't look at Wooyoung as he moved closer, not wanting to face what had happened—what they had both done. But Wooyoung wasn’t making it easy.

As he casually stretched, Wooyoung leaned in, his face lighting up with amusement. “You really don’t remember the part where you were really into it last night?”

San blushed even deeper and opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out.

“Look,” Wooyoung said, his voice softening. “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to make you feel awkward. It’s just—well, it’s not like you didn’t enjoy it too.”

San didn't know how to respond to that. His emotions were all tangled up. Instead, he just nodded weakly, feeling the weight of Wooyoung’s gaze on him, full of understanding and... something else, something San wasn’t quite ready to admit to himself just yet.

The reality of the situation had settled in. His neck was covered in hickeys—clear marks from the night before—and there was no denying it. He stared at Wooyoung, his face flushed, completely unsure of how to proceed. His playful mocking echoed in his head, and he felt embarrassed all over again.

When he finally collected himself, coming closer to Wooyoung to sit back on the couch, still adjusting his collar awkwardly. His eyes met Wooyoung’s, who was leaning casually on the armrest.

Except, San’s gaze finally trailed to the base of Wooyoung’s neck, and his heart skipped a beat. There—on the same spot he had been so worried about—was a hickey, matching his own.

San froze, staring at the mark, the realization washing over him. Wooyoung caught the look on his face and, without missing a beat, smirked. “Surprised?” he asked with a light chuckle, fully aware of what San had been feeling.

San blinked, mouth slightly agape. “You… you have one too?”

Wooyoung’s grin widened. “What? You think I’m the only one who got carried away last night?”

San’s cheeks flushed even harder, and he didn’t know what to do with himself. His eyes flicked between Wooyoung’s neck and Wooyoung’s face, unsure whether to laugh or die from embarrassment. “I—I didn’t know...”

Wooyoung leaned back with a playful shrug. “Guess we’re both marked now,” he said, clearly enjoying how flustered San was. "Seems like we both got into it, huh?"

San stood there for a moment, completely speechless, his heart racing. He finally let out a small, awkward laugh. “I didn’t—I mean, I didn’t expect—"

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Wooyoung leaned in a little, eyes sparkling with mischief. “But hey, I don’t mind it.”

San slowly made his way back to the couch, plopping down next to Wooyoung with a tired sigh. He didn’t know how to bring it up without sounding completely ridiculous, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him.

“Wooyoung... did we... did we, you know, do anything last night?” His voice was quiet, tentative, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to expect.

Wooyoung looked at him with a raised brow, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “What, like... sex?” He laughed softly and nudged San with his shoulder, amused by how flustered San looked. “We didn’t, Sannie. We weren’t even drinking or something.”

San, still unsure, nudged him back and shrugged awkwardly. “I just... I don’t remember much after a certain point. I don’t know if it’s because I was just... tired, or—”

Wooyoung smirked, clearly enjoying the moment a little too much, but he could see the concern in San’s eyes. “It’s okay,” he teased lightly, “Nothing happened. But it looks like you were a bit... overwhelmed last night, huh?”

San let out a quiet breath, a mixture of relief and embarrassment swirling inside him as he dropped his head, still trying to process everything from the night before and refresh his memory.

Wooyoung leaned in then, pressing a soft kiss to the side of San’s cheek. “You’re cute when you’re all flustered,” he said quietly, his voice light but sincere.

San froze for a moment, feeling his heart flutter in his chest at the unexpected affection. He flushed softly, but the warmth of Wooyoung's kiss lingered, settling in a new kind of quiet comfort between them. 

San sat there still processing, before his eyes lingered on Wooyoung. His gaze naturally dropped to his neck, where a trail of faint, yet undeniably visible, marks lined his neck and the visible parts of his collarbone. He hesitated, eyes tracing the marks that dipped lower than the neckline. A soft blush crept onto his cheeks, and he fidgeted uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry,” San murmured quietly, his voice sincere but embarrassed. “I didn’t... mean to leave anything like that.”

Wooyoung caught his gaze, a faint smile forming as he shifted slightly to look at him. "It’s fine, Sannie," he reassured, his tone playful but warm. "Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind."

San gave a small nod, still a little embarrassed but grateful for Wooyoung's easygoing response. He looked down at his own marks again before looking back at Wooyoung. There was a flicker of concern in his eyes. “I should probably start getting dressed for work...” he muttered, more to himself than to Wooyoung.

“Yeah, you should,” Wooyoung agreed with a chuckle, sitting up a little straighter. “Don’t want to be late.”

San stood up, the blush still lingering as he ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious, but the lightheartedness in Wooyoung's response eased the tension he’d been holding onto.

San grabbed his bag from beside the couch, casting a glance toward Wooyoung, who was still lounging with his phone in hand. He debated for a second—just a second—if he should just change where he was. But the idea of Wooyoung’s gaze lingering on him, even in passing, made his face feel unbearably warm.

Without a word, he turned on his heel and made his way to the bathroom instead. He heard Wooyoung chuckle softly behind him, but he didn’t comment, letting San retreat in peace.

Inside, San let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, setting his bag down on the sink and running a hand through his hair. He caught sight of his reflection again, his collar already slipping just enough to reveal the faintest hint of the marks Wooyoung had left the night before. His ears burned. He pulled out his shirt and buttoned it all the way up, hoping it would be enough to hide them.

It wasn’t.

San had hoped that getting to work would be a distraction, that slipping into his routine would push the morning’s events to the back of his mind. But the moment he stepped into the lab, barely shrugging off his coat, Hongjoong’s sharp gaze landed on him.

He didn’t say anything at first—just stared. Long enough for San to start regretting ever showing up to work. He tried to play it cool, slipping off his coat and adjusting his collar like nothing was out of the ordinary.

Too carefully.

Hongjoong’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Sit down.”

San blinked. “What?”

Hongjoong grabbed a stool and patted the seat. “Sit.”

San hesitated, but something in Hongjoong’s expression told him there was no getting out of this. With a sigh, he sat down, shifting under Hongjoong’s expectant gaze.

Then, before San could react, Hongjoong reached out, fingers barely brushing against the edge of his collar before San lurched back.

“What the hell—”

“Move your hand.”

“No.”

“San.”

San groaned, knowing he wouldn’t hear the end of it until he let Hongjoong confirm what he already suspected. Reluctantly, he let his hand drop from his collar.

Hongjoong wasted no time, tugging the fabric down just enough to expose the trail of faint red marks at the base of his neck.

“Oh my god.”

San groaned, rubbing his face. “I should’ve just called in sick.”

“I sent you home to rest,” Hongjoong said, feigning disappointment, but the amusement was unmistakable. “Not to come back looking like a love-bitten teenager.”

San shot him a glare, tugging his lab coat tighter around himself. “We didn’t— It wasn’t—” He exhaled sharply, knowing there was no way out of this.

Hongjoong crossed his arms, grinning ear to ear. “So, was this before or after you texted us?”

San looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

Hongjoong clapped him on the shoulder. “Too bad. Because I have a feeling Mingi’s gonna be even worse about it.”

San groaned again, already dreading the inevitable teasing.

Hongjoong only grinned as he pulled out his phone. “Smile.”

San barely had a second to react before the camera clicked. “Hongjoong—”

“Too late,” Hongjoong said, typing something out with a smirk. A moment later, San’s phone buzzed in his pocket. “And sent.”

San closed his eyes, exhaling sharply through his nose.

Hongjoong chuckled, stepping away, but not before tossing one last jab over his shoulder. “Hope you’re ready for a long shift, loverboy.”

The day dragged on at a slow but steady pace. Most of San’s work consisted of running tests and double-checking reports, nothing too taxing, but enough to keep his mind busy. Still, he found himself zoning out more than usual, the morning’s events replaying in his head at random intervals.

By the time lunch rolled around, he was halfway through eating when his phone buzzed on the table beside him. He glanced at the screen, feeling a familiar butterflies when he saw Wooyoung’s name.

Wooyoung: I work tonight. You should come see me. Bring your friends—if you can take your eyes off me long enough. ;)

San rolled his eyes, but the small smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

San: I’ll see if they’re free.

Wooyoung: You better. I’d hate to have to steal you away all for myself.

Shaking his head, San backed out of the conversation and tapped into the group chat with Hongjoong and Mingi. The moment he did, he was met with the picture Hongjoong had sent earlier—his own flustered expression captured in perfect, humiliating clarity, the mark on his neck front and center.

His face burned all over again.

San: Wooyoung’s inviting us to his bar tonight. If you guys promise to behave, would you like to go? We can meet there.

Hongjoong: Behave? What are you worried about? You think we’re going to make fun of you because of your boyfriend?

San: I know you’ll bring him up. Just… try to keep it to a minimum.

Hongjoong: Make fun of you? We’d never.

San: Sure you won’t.

Mingi: Make fun of you? Nah, I’ll just sit back and watch how awkward this gets.

San: I knew you were going to say something like that.

Hongjoong: Are there free drinks, though? That’s the real question.

San: I didn’t ask, but I’m sure you’ll find a way to get one.

Mingi: Leave it to me. See you tonight!

San leaned back in his chair, glancing at his phone once more. The message from Mingi had his stomach doing a little flip. He wasn’t nervous exactly—more like... aware of what was about to happen. Hongjoong and Mingi were absolutely going to make the night more challenging than it needed to be, especially given his natural shyness when it came to things like this.

It’s just a bar. Wooyoung invited us, not a big deal, he told himself, but the idea of spending the night surrounded by his friends and Wooyoung... well, it would definitely be an interesting combination. His friends would have no mercy, especially with the whole... Wooyoung situation. He already knew how they'd react. Great. This should be fun.

He let out a small sigh, knowing he’d have to put on a little extra patience tonight. At least I’ll get to see him again. The thought of Wooyoung, smiling his easy smile, offering his little quips—it made the whole thing feel less intimidating.

But he could already hear their comments, the smirks and raised eyebrows. Alright, San. Just brace yourself for the onslaught. You can handle it.

Shaking his head with a faint smile, he turned his attention back to the pizza in front of him that he wouldn't finish, feeling exhausted just at the thought of having to sit with the three of them together.

After what felt like the longest day, San finally made his way home. Work had been slow, but his mind had been elsewhere, preoccupied with thoughts of the night before and the night to come. As he stepped inside his apartment, the usual quiet greeted him, but it felt oddly empty. He paused at the door for a moment, noticing the absence of Wooyoung’s presence.

It wasn’t that he expected Wooyoung to be there, but the few days they’d spent together had made the place feel... different. He hadn’t realized how much he’d gotten used to his company. The quiet now felt heavier, more pronounced, like the air was waiting for something—someone.

San shook his head and stepped farther inside. It’s only been two days, he reminded himself, but it still threw him off. It felt like there was something missing, like he was waiting for Wooyoung to just appear.

Pushing the feeling down, he made his way to his room. It would be fine. It was just a little weird, that’s all. He needed to focus, get ready for tonight.

He stood in front of the mirror, staring at the black turtleneck hanging on the hook. It was a simple choice, but it felt right for tonight—classy and understated, in no way fitting with the lax bar, but anything to hide the marks Wooyoung left behind. He quickly shed his work clothes, keeping his slacks on for a polished look, and tugged the soft fabric of the turtleneck over his head. The snug fit felt comfortable, reassuring even, as he took a quick glance at himself in the mirror.

San opted for dressier shoes, the ones that complemented the rest of the outfit. His reflection gave him a quiet sense of satisfaction—he looked good, but nothing too flashy. It was enough to make him feel confident without drawing too much attention. Not that he could ever feel truly confident about going out like this—especially with the way his friends would act tonight.

The image of Wooyoung flashed in his mind, and the tiniest smile tugged at his lips.

It was just a bar. He could handle it. And if his friends did decide to make things awkward, well... he’d deal with that too.

San glanced at himself one last time in the mirror, fingers adjusting the rings on his hand as he sprayed a little more cologne. It was a little extra, but something about the night—about Wooyoung—had him wanting to make an impression. Maybe it was the anticipation of seeing him again or just the fact that he had started to care more than he’d expected. Either way, he didn’t mind putting in the effort.

Before heading over, he glanced around for Wooyoung, expecting to see him somewhere behind the counter or weaving through the crowd. But he wasn’t there.

San checked his watch. Five minutes until Wooyoung’s shift started. He should’ve been here by now.

When San arrived at the bar, it was already buzzing with energy, the low hum of conversation mixing with the steady beat of the music. His eyes scanned the room, quickly landing on Hongjoong and Mingi sitting at the bar, drinks in hand.

Hongjoong was the first to spot him, and his reaction was instant. He raised a brow, a slow smirk curling on his lips as his gaze dragged over San’s outfit. “A turtleneck?” he mused, barely holding back a laugh. “You do know we’re not at a business dinner, right?”

Mingi turned at that, eyes widening slightly before he grinned. “Ohhh, I get it. He’s covering up.”

San sighed, already regretting every decision that led him to this moment.

As he kept his eyes on the bar counter, he heard Wooyoung’s voice behind him—but not directed at him.

San didn’t turn around, instead checking his watch again even though he’d already noted the time.

Wooyoung finally stepped behind the bar, moving into San’s line of sight. He was in a fitted black button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and—most notably—two buttons undone at the top. San’s gaze involuntarily flickered lower, breath catching when he caught sight of the faint red marks Wooyoung was proudly displaying.

Mingi let out an exaggerated, knowing “Ohhh,” while Hongjoong just grinned, eyes darting between them.

San’s face burned as he looked anywhere but at Wooyoung, who was clearly enjoying himself, a smirk tugging at his lips as he reached for a bottle behind the counter. He didn’t immediately acknowledge them, instead reaching for a glass and gathering ingredients with practiced ease. San watched from the corner of his eye, already knowing what was coming before Wooyoung even finished making it. 

Mingi leaned forward, resting his arms on the bar. “Whoa, Wooyoung,” he said, feigning innocence. “What happened to your neck?”

San stiffened, his grip tightening around his knee as Wooyoung’s hands never faltered, effortlessly finishing up the drink before sliding it toward San without a word. Then, finally, he grinned.

"Oh, this?" Wooyoung tilted his head slightly, like he was only now remembering the marks were there. "Weird, right? Woke up like this. No clue how it happened."

Hongjoong rolled his eyes. "Sure you don’t."

San, already burning up, hesitated before wrapping his fingers around the drink Wooyoung had made for him. “…Thanks.”

Wooyoung winked. "Anytime, Sannie."

Mingi narrowed his eyes playfully. "Well, damn. Guess it’s just a mystery, huh?"

Wooyoung hummed, propping his elbow on the counter. “Life is full of ‘em, Mingi.” Then, with a smirk, he added, “If you wanted a matching set, all you had to do was ask.”

Mingi burst into laughter while Hongjoong shook his head, and San groaned, dragging a hand down his face. He should’ve known this was going to happen.

Mingi and Hongjoong both snickered at his reaction, but before they could tease him further, a group of customers called for Wooyoung’s attention, pulling him away.

As Wooyoung moved down the bar, he slipped easily into his role, flashing an easy smile as he poured drinks and engaged in casual, flirty conversation with the patrons. It was all part of the job, but San found himself absently watching, something uneasy settling in his chest. It wasn't as if Wooyoung was doing anything out of the ordinary, yet the way he leaned in slightly, laughing at some joke a customer made, had San clenching his jaw before he even realized it.

"Oh, this is fun," Hongjoong mused, clearly entertained.

San tore his gaze away and frowned. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing," Hongjoong said, smirking. "You just look real focused on Wooyoung right now."

Mingi hummed in agreement. "Yeah, I was just thinking the same thing. You okay, San? You look a little... tense."

San scowled, taking a sip of his drink in an attempt to ignore them. "I'm fine."

"Mhm," Hongjoong said, unconvinced. "Sure you are."

Before San could argue, Wooyoung returned, resting his hands on the bar in front of them. "Miss me already?"

San rolled his eyes, trying to will away the heat creeping up his neck. "You were two feet away."

Wooyoung leaned in just slightly, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. "Yeah, but it's more fun when you're watching."

 A little while later, the night had begun to wind down. Hongjoong stretched his arms over his head, then clapped Mingi on the back. “Alright, let’s get out of here. San, you coming?”

San nodded, pushing his stool back. “Yeah, just let me—”

“Wait,” Wooyoung interrupted, stepping out from behind the bar. He wiped his hands on a towel before tossing it aside, his eyes locking onto San’s. “Can we talk for a second?”

San blinked, glancing at Hongjoong and Mingi, who both looked between the two of them with barely concealed amusement.

“Sure,” San said, following Wooyoung a few steps away.

Wooyoung lowered his voice, just enough that the others couldn’t hear. “Stay the night again,” he murmured. His tone was casual, but there was a quiet desperation under it. “I don’t want to sleep alone.”

San hesitated. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been considering it—his apartment had felt strange and empty without Wooyoung there. The idea of another night in that silence didn’t sit well with him.

“…Okay,” he agreed softly.

Wooyoung’s face immediately lit up with satisfaction.

When San turned back to Hongjoong and Mingi, both of them were already watching him with knowing looks.

“You’re staying, aren’t you?” Hongjoong asked, smirking.

San sighed. “Yeah.”

Mingi let out a whistle. “Third night in a row. You’re practically moved in.”

“Don’t start,” San muttered, shoving Mingi’s shoulder as the two laughed.

“Have fun, loverboy,” Hongjoong teased, waving them off as he and Mingi finally made their way out.

After Hongjoong and Mingi left, the bar had quieted down considerably. Wooyoung still had a bit of closing work to do, and rather than leave immediately, San lingered, watching as Wooyoung moved around behind the bar, wiping down surfaces and stacking glasses with practiced ease.

It should’ve been mundane. Just part of the job. But San couldn’t stop watching him.

The way Wooyoung moved—effortless, fluid—kept his attention more than it should have. The soft glow of the bar lights cast warm shadows over his skin, and every now and then, the collar of his shirt would slip, revealing the edge of the marks San had left on him. He’d done his best not to think about them all night, but seeing them now, so blatant and uncaring, sent heat rushing to his face.

Wooyoung must have felt his gaze because he glanced up, catching San staring. He smirked. “Enjoying the view?” San stiffened and averted his gaze like he was caught looking at something he wasn’t supposed to. 

Once Wooyoung finished up, he tossed his rag onto the counter and stretched, rolling out his shoulders with a satisfied sigh. “Alright, let’s get out of here.”

San nodded, falling into step beside him as they walked out into the cool night air. The streets were quieter now, only the occasional car passing by.

For a few moments, they walked in silence, the sound of their footsteps filling the space between them. Then, without much thought, Wooyoung reached over and took San’s hand, lacing their fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

San stiffened for half a second before letting himself relax into the touch. Wooyoung’s grip was warm, steady—so unlike the sharp-edged version of himself he put on for everyone else. San glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, but Wooyoung didn’t say anything, just kept walking like this was normal for them.

San squeezed his hand lightly, a quiet acknowledgment.

Wooyoung smiled, barely noticeable, but San saw it. He felt comfortable. Wooyoung felt like home.

----------

A/N: THIS UPDATE TOOK SO LONG AND IM SO SORRY THE PAST WEEK HAS BEEN CRAZY FOR ME

but I should have another chapter out this week, thank you for being patient with me!!!! this chapter is another one of those that I post as soon as im done writing so if there are any mistakes, I will catch them eventually, I promise!

[starnotavailable]

Kiss of Death

Pairings: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung

Genre: psychological thriller 

Chapter: 7/?

Word Count: 3.5K

Warnings: HUGE MENTIONS OF DEATH!!!! violence, murder, death of a loved one, psychological distress, stalking?, gaslighting/manipulation, graphic autopsy/medical descriptions

Summary: Serial Killer Wooyoung picks San as his next victim until he finds out that San is the Medical Examiner working his case. Keeping him around could be useful, couldn't it?

masterlist

Wooyoung doesn’t say anything at first. He just watches. His usual smirk is absent, replaced by quiet concern as he takes in the way San’s fingers twitch at his sides, the way his breaths are just a little too shallow. Then, after a beat—

"San?"

That’s all it takes. Just his name, spoken so softly it almost doesn’t feel real. San blinks, like he’s just now realizing where he is.

"You look like shit." Wooyoung says it lightly, but there’s no teasing behind it.

San exhales sharply—maybe it was supposed to be a laugh, but it doesn’t quite make it. That’s when it hits Wooyoung just how bad he’s doing.

"Do you wanna sit?"

San doesn’t answer right away. He just stands there for a second, gripping the back of his neck. When he finally moves, it’s sluggish, like he’s only listening to Wooyoung because he doesn’t have the energy to do anything else.

Wooyoung watches him drop onto the couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. This isn’t just stress—this is something more.

Then, gently—"Do you want to talk about it?"

San exhales, long and unsteady. His gaze drops to the floor, and for a moment, it seems like he’s going to shake his head, deflect like he always does. 

"It’s different this time."

Wooyoung tilts his head slightly, waiting.

San swallows. "The case—" He pauses, brows drawing together like he’s picking apart his own thoughts in real time. "It’s just—" Another pause. His fingers twitch. He’s hesitating.

Wooyoung stays quiet, just watching him, listening.

"It was easier before." The words came out rushed, like he needed to get them out before they tangled in his throat. He runs a hand over his face, dragging down slowly like it might help clear his thoughts. "Not easier, I mean—God, that sounds awful. It was just… it made sense. The pattern made sense."

"The pattern?" Wooyoung echoes, careful, like he doesn’t want to scare San back into silence.

San nods, exhaling sharply. He shifts, finally moving to shrug his coat off completely, but his hands are restless, gripping the fabric too tight.

"They were all women." His voice is quieter now. "Young. Pretty. Dressed up. And I know that sounds bad, but from a profiling standpoint, it was clear. They were picked for a reason."

He starts pacing, slow at first, then faster, his thoughts gaining momentum.

"But this one—" He stops. His jaw tightens. "It’s a man. Everything else lines up except that. And I don’t—" His hands lift, like he’s grasping for something invisible in the air. "Why change it now? Why—"

"San." Wooyoung’s voice cuts through, firm but not harsh. San blinks, realizing too late that his breathing has gone uneven.

Wooyoung extends his hand out—not touching, just offering. "Slow down."

San presses his lips together and exhales, shaky, like he’s forcing himself to reel it in. He nods once. "Okay."

Wooyoung waits until San’s shoulders relax, just slightly. "Start from the beginning."

And this time, San does.

San exhales sharply, fingers threading through his hair as he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. "I can’t get this one out of my head." His voice is quieter now, like admitting it out loud makes it even more real.

Wooyoung stays quiet, just watching him, letting him talk at his own pace.

"It doesn’t fit," San continues. "Every other victim was a woman. Smaller, easier to overpower. They were all dressed like they were on a date, probably meeting the guy that same night. But this one—" He shakes his head. "He’s different. Male, bigger than the others. But everything else matches. Same scene, same setup."

Wooyoung shifts slightly but still doesn’t interrupt, waiting for him to go on.

"It was easier before," San murmurs, then winces. "That sounds terrible, but you know what I mean. There was a pattern. A clear victim profile. And now, suddenly, there’s an outlier. That means something changed, or—" He stops, lips pressing together as his jaw tenses.

"Or the profile was never that specific to begin with," Wooyoung offers, voice measured.

San exhales. "Exactly. Which means the whole way I’ve been looking at this is wrong." He leans back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling like it might have answers for him. "I keep running through it in my head, but nothing explains why. Why him? Why now?"

His fingers tighten against his knees before he looks at Wooyoung again. "And then there’s the first victim." His voice is quieter now, rougher. "The one that started all of this."

Wooyoung straightens slightly at the shift in San’s tone.

San swallows. "I knew her." He says it like he’s still processing the weight of it himself. "Not just in passing. I was close to her."

He doesn’t look at Wooyoung as he says it, doesn’t try to gauge his reaction. He’s too far in his own head, lost in memories, in connections that feel like they should lead somewhere but never quite do.

Wooyoung is quiet, but San can feel the weight of his attention. The space between them feels heavier, like something has shifted.

And then, finally, Wooyoung speaks. "...San." There’s something careful in the way he says his name, something that pulls San back into the moment.

But before Wooyoung can ask, before he can push for more, San shakes his head. "It’s not just another case to me," he admits, voice low. "I can’t pretend it is."

San sighs, rubbing his temples as the weight of it all settles deep into his bones. “I don’t know,” he admits, voice quieter now. “I just—I keep thinking about it, over and over, and nothing makes sense. I’ve never been this stuck before.”

Wooyoung doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he reaches out, fingers brushing lightly against San’s wrist before curling around it. The touch is warm, steady. San’s eyes flicker down to it, then back up to Wooyoung, who’s watching him with an unreadable expression.

“You don’t have to figure everything out right now,” Wooyoung says, voice softer than before. “You’re allowed to stop thinking about it. Just for a second.”

San exhales shakily. He doesn’t know if he can, if he even remembers how to. But Wooyoung is right here, so close, the warmth of his palm seeping into San’s skin like an anchor. And maybe it’s selfish—maybe it’s reckless—but he doesn’t want to think about anything right now.

He just wants this.

San doesn’t hesitate when he moves forward, closing the space between them. There’s barely a moment’s pause before his lips press against Wooyoung’s—gentle, searching, a silent plea for something he doesn’t have the words to ask for.

Wooyoung doesn’t pull away. Instead, his fingers tighten slightly around San’s wrist before trailing up, ghosting over his forearm, then his shoulder, until his palm rests against the side of San’s neck. He tilts his head just enough to deepen the kiss, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment, like he wants San to know he’s here, that he’s not going anywhere.

San sighs against his lips, his own hands hesitating before settling at Wooyoung’s waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if he needs something to hold onto. It’s not desperate, not rushed—just warm, steady. A quiet moment where nothing else exists but the two of them.

The kiss stretches between them, unhurried and soft, until eventually, San feels the need to breathe again. He pulls back just slightly, barely an inch, but Wooyoung stays close, his thumb brushing absently along the hinge of San’s jaw.

San swallows, his heart still hammering in his chest. He doesn’t know what to say—doesn’t know if he even needs to say anything.

San barely has time to process the warmth of Wooyoung’s hand still resting on his face before he’s leaning in again. It’s not a rushed movement, not desperate or hurried—just natural, like gravity is pulling him down.

Wooyoung shifts as San moves, letting himself be guided backward until his back meets the couch cushions. His breath hitches when San follows, leaning over him, the weight of his presence enough to make Wooyoung’s fingers twitch against his skin.

The kiss deepens, slow and lingering, Wooyoung’s lips parting just enough to draw San in further. One of San’s hands presses into the cushion beside Wooyoung’s head to keep himself steady, while the other ghosts over his ribs, hesitant, like he’s not sure how much he’s allowed to take.

Wooyoung’s fingers tighten in the fabric of San’s shirt, grounding them both. He exhales through his nose, smiling against San’s mouth before tilting his head, deepening the kiss just enough to make San’s breath stutter.

San doesn’t think—he just melts into it, letting the warmth of Wooyoung’s body beneath him push everything else aside. His heartbeat is loud in his ears, but it’s not frantic, not panicked. It’s steady.

Eventually, the need for air pulls them apart again, but San doesn’t move away entirely. He hovers just above Wooyoung, their foreheads nearly touching, breath mingling between them.

Neither of them speaks for a long moment.

Then, Wooyoung lets out a quiet, breathless chuckle. “Didn’t expect you to be on top of me tonight, but I’m not complaining.”

San groans, dropping his forehead fully onto Wooyoung’s shoulder to hide the way his face burns. “Why do you always have to ruin the moment?”

Wooyoung just laughs, hand coming up to rest against the nape of San’s neck. “That wasn’t me ruining it,” he murmurs, voice softer now, his fingers tracing light, absentminded patterns against San’s skin.

San doesn’t have the energy to argue. He just lets his eyes slip shut for a second, letting himself breathe Wooyoung in.

The moment stretches, comfortable and quiet. Eventually, Wooyoung shifts, tilting his head slightly to look at him. “You should shower, get comfortable.”

San hums in agreement but doesn’t move right away. The weight of Wooyoung’s hand against his neck, the warmth of his body beneath him—it’s comforting in a way he didn’t realize he needed.

But eventually, he exhales and pushes himself up, catching the way Wooyoung watches him closely, eyes flickering with something unreadable.

“Go on,” Wooyoung nudges him playfully. “I’ll grab you something to wear.”

San lingers for a second before nodding. “Yeah. Okay.”

San stands in front of the bathroom mirror, hands gripping the edges of the sink, staring at his own reflection like he's expecting the answer to magically appear. His heart is still pounding in his chest, and the taste of Wooyoung’s lips linger on his own. He lifts a hand, fingers brushing against his lips. They feel more swollen than usual, a soft red hue still lingering there.

His eyes move down to his clothes—his shirt a little more wrinkled than it should be, the vest pulled slightly out of place from where Wooyoung had gripped onto him. His tie, loosely hanging, feels like a reminder of the moment—an almost too obvious hint of what just happened. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Oh my gosh, I actually kissed him.

This is it. He's really doing this.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he opens up a new group chat with Mingi and Hongjoong. He’s pretty sure Mingi is going to tell Hongjoong anyway, so might as well make it easier. 

San: I kissed him. San: Like actually kissed him. San: What the fuck do I do now??

Mingi: LMAO YOU WHAT??? Mingi: Was it good? Did he kiss you back??? DETAILS MAN

San: Mingi focus. I kissed him. Now what?

Hongjoong: I sent you home to rest, not to get laid.

San: I DIDN’T GET LAID.

Mingi: Ok but you could if you wanted to ;)

San: I hate both of you.

Hongjoong: No you don’t.

San rolls his eyes at his phone, sinking into his own embarrassment as Mingi and Hongjoong continue to send him messages. He groans, shoving the phone into his pocket, deciding he needs to not overthink this anymore.

A quick glance at the bathroom mirror tells him he’s got to cool off, so he heads for the shower. The warm water feels like a small comfort, washing away some of the lingering anxiety. He stands under the spray, letting his mind wander, trying not to think about how the kiss felt or what it might mean.

By the time he finishes and steps out of the shower, he’s feeling a bit more collected, but the nerves are still there. When he walks back into the bedroom, though, he’s met with clothes neatly laid out on the bed. A soft hoodie, sweatpants, and a pair of socks. It’s a small thing, but it’s enough to make his chest feel a little lighter.

San changed into the clothes Wooyoung had set out, then gathered up his belongings before stepping out of the bedroom. As he made his way downstairs, the air in the house felt different—settled, like the weight of everything they'd talked about had been absorbed into the walls. He found Wooyoung spread across the couch. He tugged at the hem of the shirt, rolling the thought around in his head before finally speaking.

"I should go home for my own clothes. I don’t wanna keep borrowing yours." Wooyoung sat himself upright and tilted his head. "You sure? You just got comfortable."

"I won’t take long," San assured him, already reaching for his phone. "Just gonna grab a few things and come right back."

Wooyoung hummed, shifting to sit up properly. "You want me to go with you?"

San shook his head. "It’s fine. I’ll be quick."

The trip home was quiet, his thoughts still lingering on everything they’d talked about—on the weight that had finally lifted from his shoulders, and the way Wooyoung had looked at him. By the time he pulled into his place, the sky had dimmed slightly, the late afternoon sun stretching warm shadows across the pavement.

Inside, he moved on autopilot, grabbing what he needed: a fresh change of clothes, his toothbrush, a few essentials tossed into a bag with little thought. The whole thing took barely ten minutes. Standing in his bedroom, bag slung over his shoulder, he hesitated for a beat, looking around as if he’d forgotten something.

But no—he had everything. Everything except the quiet pull in his chest that told him he wasn’t supposed to be here right now.

He was supposed to be there.

By the time he got back, Wooyoung was in the same spot, scrolling through his phone, one leg tucked under the other. He barely looked up as San stepped inside.

"Took you long enough," he muttered, voice teasing but eyes warm.

San scoffed, setting his bag down with a thud. "It was twenty minutes."

"Twenty-three."

Rolling his eyes, San sank onto the couch beside him, the familiar weight of Wooyoung’s presence easing something deep inside him. He didn’t even think about it—just let his body relax as Wooyoung shifted closer, their shoulders brushing, warmth seeping through the small space between them.

Wooyoung shifted against him, phone still in hand but his attention clearly elsewhere. His head dipped, resting against San’s shoulder, his body curling into his side like it was second nature.

San barely thought about it—his fingers just started moving on their own, tracing slow, absentminded circles into Wooyoung’s back. It was grounding, the way their breathing synced up, the way the tension in his shoulders started to ease without him realizing.

Wooyoung made a quiet noise, somewhere between a hum and a sigh, then set his phone down. His arms slipped around San’s waist, loose and easy, forehead pressing into his shoulder.

San swallowed, his fingers pausing before continuing their slow pattern along Wooyoung’s spine.

"You feeling any better?" Wooyoung asked after a moment, voice low, careful.

San exhaled slowly. He wasn’t unraveling anymore, wasn’t drowning in everything in his head, but that heaviness was still there.

"A little," he admitted.

Wooyoung hummed like that was good enough. "You can stay here as long as you want, you know."

San glanced down at him, at the way his eyes were half-lidded, expression soft but unreadable.

"I know," he murmured.

Wooyoung didn’t say anything else. Just shifted closer, nuzzling into the fabric of San’s shirt, his breath warm against his skin. San barely had time to process it before he felt the lightest brush of lips against his shoulder—soft, barely there.

San stiffened slightly, but Wooyoung didn’t pull away. Instead, he pressed another kiss to the spot where San’s shirt had slipped down, then another, slower this time.

"You don’t have to think right now," Wooyoung murmured.

San let out a slow breath, tilting his head slightly, just enough to give him more space if he wanted it.

His lips ghosted over the curve of San’s neck now, soft and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. His fingers curled slightly into the fabric of San’s shirt as he shifted closer, mouth pressing a little firmer against warm skin.

San’s breath hitched. His hand stilled against Wooyoung’s back before sliding down to his waist, holding him there.

The air between them shifted, something slow and heavy settling in the space where there had only been quiet comfort before.

Wooyoung’s lips trailed up San’s neck, his breath teasing against the sensitive skin. Each soft kiss was followed by gentle nibbles, the light pressure making San’s chest tighten with a soft gasp.

San’s breath hitched as the sensation spread, his head tilting slightly to the side in a subconscious attempt to give Wooyoung more access. His pulse quickened with every passing second, and he couldn’t help but let out a breathy noise, an involuntary sound of pleasure that made his cheeks flush.

Wooyoung paused for a moment, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips, and San felt his heart skip a beat at the sound. “I liked that,” Wooyoung teased, pressing a gentle kiss just below San’s ear.

San’s breath caught again, and his hand gripped the fabric of Wooyoung’s shirt a little tighter, his mind briefly clouding over from the sensations. “I—I didn’t mean to,” he stammered, still not entirely used to the feeling, even though it was all so warm and inviting.

Wooyoung’s lips curled into a small, amused smile against his skin. “Don’t worry, I don’t mind,” he murmured, nibbling at the base of San’s neck once more, a little firmer this time.

San couldn’t help the small sound that slipped from his lips—a quiet, almost embarrassed noise as he squeezed his eyes shut. His neck was so delicate, and every little touch felt like it was running straight through him, making his thoughts feel a little hazy.

“Sensitive, huh?” Wooyoung teased again, lifting his head to meet San’s gaze, his eyes soft but mischievous. “I can tell.”

San’s face turned even redder at the thought, but he couldn’t help the way his heart was racing. “I—I guess...” He felt his voice falter a bit, but he wasn’t embarrassed, not really. He was just… overwhelmed in the best way possible.

Wooyoung smiled, leaning back in and pressing another gentle kiss to San’s neck, his lips lingering a little longer this time. San shivered, his hands slipping down to rest on Wooyoung’s hip. He wasn’t sure how to respond, but he didn’t need to. 

Wooyoung’s lips moved with purpose, slow and deliberate, pressing against San’s skin in a way that made warmth bloom in his chest. Each kiss lingered just long enough to leave an imprint, sending small ripples of sensation down San’s spine.

His breath hitched when Wooyoung nipped at his skin, and he could feel the way Wooyoung’s lips curled into a smile against him. His hands, warm and steady, traced gentle patterns along San’s sides, grounding him in the moment.

The world outside this space didn’t exist—not the case, not his exhaustion, not the weight that had been pressing down on him for days. There was only this, only Wooyoung, only the quiet hum of the TV in the background as they melted into each other.

Wooyoung’s kisses slowed as he trailed up to the curve of San’s jaw, leaving one final, lingering press of his lips just below his ear before pulling back. His breathing was a little unsteady, his lips slightly swollen, and his dark eyes shone with something softer than teasing.

For a moment, he just admired his work—the faint trail of red blotches against San’s skin, standing out against his honey toned complexion. His fingers ghosted over one of the marks, tracing the spot he had just kissed. A quiet hum of satisfaction left his lips.

San blinked at him, still feeling the ghost of Wooyoung’s touch on his skin. “…What?”

Wooyoung’s gaze flickered up to meet his, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Nothing,” he mused, though his eyes lingered on the marks a second longer before he finally leaned back. His fingers skimmed the nape of San’s neck, tracing absentminded circles. “I just like seeing you like this.”

“…Like what?”

Wooyoung’s voice softened, quieter now. “Comfortable. Here, with me.” His expression shifted into something more sincere. “I’m happy you are.”

San’s grip tightened slightly on Wooyoung’s waist, his chest feeling uncharacteristically full. He didn’t know what to say—wasn’t sure he even needed to say anything. Instead, he just held on, letting the moment settle over them like a warm blanket.

There was no urgency, no need to fill the silence. Just comfort. Just closeness.

Just them.

------

A/N: AHHHHHHHHH?

[starnotavailable]

Kiss of Death

Pairings: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung

Genre: psychological thriller 

Chapter: 6/?

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: HUGE MENTIONS OF DEATH!!!! violence, murder, death of a loved one, psychological distress, stalking?, gaslighting/manipulation, graphic autopsy/medical descriptions

Summary: Serial Killer Wooyoung picks San as his next victim until he finds out that San is the Medical Examiner working his case. Keeping him around could be useful, couldn't it?

masterlist

A/N:

I made a post about this previously but if you read chapter 5 when it came out there was an update!!! its only a couple hundred words at the end of the chapter but I feel it rounded it out a lot better!!

San wakes up warm.

Which is weird, because he usually wakes up cold. His apartment in the winter is unforgiving, and no matter how many blankets he piles on, it never quite keeps the chill away. But now—now, he’s completely surrounded by heat, something solid pressed against his chest, something soft beneath his cheek.

For a moment, he lets himself sink into it, caught between sleep and wakefulness, content in the lingering haze of warmth and wine.

It takes a second for everything to click. The couch. The soft weight against his chest. The fact that his arm is still loosely draped around Wooyoung’s waist.

San barely breathes, his entire body locked in place as his brain scrambles to process the situation. He’s curled up against Wooyoung—fully curled up, their legs tangled, San’s arm draped loosely around his waist. Worse, Wooyoung’s hand is resting lightly against San’s back, as if at some point in the night, he’d held him there on purpose.

San stiffens, his breath catching in his throat. His body feels sluggish, still heavy with sleep, but his mind is waking up fast. Carefully, he shifts, trying to pull away without making it obvious—

"Leaving so soon?"

Wooyoung’s voice is raspy with sleep but still carries that teasing lilt, and San immediately stops moving. He swallows, his brain scrambling for something—anything—to say.

"I—uh." His voice is hoarse, and he clears his throat before trying again. "Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you."

Wooyoung lets out a soft hum, stretching slightly but making no effort to move away. "You were warm."

San presses his lips together, unwilling to let the fact simmer too long. His face feels hot, but that could also just be leftover sleep. Slowly, he pushes himself upright, running a hand through his hair. "Still. I should probably—" He gestures vaguely, not really sure what he’s even trying to say.

San rubs at his face, trying to shake off the last remnants of sleep as he reaches for his phone. The screen lights up, and the moment he sees the time, his stomach drops.

“Shit.” He whispered it so softly he thought he had only said it internally. He was supposed to wake up way earlier than this. He didn’t even set an alarm, he hadn’t expected Wooyoung to actually let him sleep the whole night.

San sits up straighter, suddenly way more awake. He scrolls through his notifications, checking the time again as if it’ll somehow change. Nope. He’s screwed.

"Something wrong?" Wooyoung asks, still lounging against the couch like he has all the time in the world.

San groans, ruffling a hand through his already-messy hair. "I don’t have time to go home before work."

Wooyoung raises an eyebrow, and San can already see the teasing forming in his expression.

"So what you’re saying is... you need to borrow my clothes?"

San sighs, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. "I hate that you’re enjoying this."

"What can I say?" Wooyoung grins. "You waking up in my arms and wearing my clothes? Feels like a win for me."

San doesn’t even have the energy to argue.

San sighs, and drops his head to hide the blush creeping onto his face. "Just—tell me where I can find something decent for work."

Wooyoung stretches lazily before nodding toward the stairway. "Closet’s open. Help yourself." San doesn’t need to be told twice. He pushes himself off the couch, still feeling a little unsteady, and heads up to Wooyoung’s bedroom.

San steps into Wooyoung’s bedroom, still rubbing the last traces of sleep from his face. The room is clean, but not overly meticulous—lived-in, in a way that makes it feel warmer than San expected. He makes his way to the closet, pulling it open and scanning for something that won’t make him look like he just rolled out of someone else’s bed.

Nothing immediately jumps out at him, so he tugs open one of the drawers. Inside, a neat row of belts is coiled into compartments, like they’ve been deliberately organized.

Except for one.

San’s fingers hover over the empty slot. It’s not like there isn’t enough to fill the space—there are plenty of belts, different colors and styles, all perfectly arranged—but something about that lone, missing piece feels... off.

He glances around the room without thinking. Wooyoung obviously isn’t wearing a belt to sleep. There isn’t one thrown over a chair, on the bed, or anywhere in sight. Just that one empty space, like something was there and isn’t anymore. It doesn’t mean anything. It shouldn’t. But a weird feeling settles in his chest anyway. 

San is pulled from his thoughts by the sound of wooyoung in the kitchen beneath him, the sizzling sound accompanied by the smell of bacon telling him he was making breakfast.

By the time he comes downstairs, he’s still buttoning up the cuffs of his borrowed shirt, his vest left undone for now. The scent of coffee and something sweet drifts through the air, warm and inviting, and it’s enough to pull him from his thoughts.

Wooyoung is standing at the stove, humming to himself as he flips a pancake onto a growing stack. He looks over his shoulder when he hears San approach, a lazy smirk forming on his lips.

"Well, don’t you clean up nice," he teases.

San sighs, rolling his eyes as he fastens the last button on his vest. "I feel weird wearing your clothes."

Wooyoung just shrugs. "You look good in them, though."

San pointedly ignores that, instead reaching for the mug of coffee already waiting for him on the counter. He hesitates for half a second before taking a sip—just the way he likes it.

He eyes Wooyoung. "You put sugar in this?"

Wooyoung grins. "What do you take me for, a bad host?"

San exhales, shaking his head as he leans against the counter. In this quiet little moment he lets himself focus on the warmth of the coffee in his hands, the smell of pancakes in the air, and the way Wooyoung moves effortlessly around the kitchen.

For now, this is enough.

San takes another sip of coffee, letting the warmth settle into his chest when Wooyoung slides a plate in front of where he's sitting at the island.

He’s halfway through his pancakes, focused on buttoning up his cuffs in between bites, when Wooyoung leans against the counter with a casual smirk.

"You know," Wooyoung starts, tone light but unmistakably mischievous, "I've never made dinner and breakfast for someone under these circumstances."

San hums absently. "Huh?" He glances up, confused.

Wooyoung’s grin widens, eyes glinting with amusement. "I mean, usually if I’m feeding a guy twice in one night, it’s because we—"

He swallows a little too quickly, nearly choking.

Wooyoung cackles, clearly pleased with himself. "What? It’s true!"

San quickly shoves another bite of pancake into his mouth, mostly to stop himself from saying anything dumb. His face is burning.

Wooyoung, fully enjoying his reaction, tilts his head. "So? No thoughts? No witty comeback?"

San swallows, then mumbles, "I just wasn’t expecting that."

"Adorable." Wooyoung grins, turning back to the stove to clean up.

San groans softly, finishing the last of his food while he buttons up his vest. He thanks Wooyoung and makes his way to the bathroom where he had gotten changed before, his clothes neatly folded up and stored in a basket on top of the sink. He quickly grabs his belt and watch that was laying on top of everything and pulls them on. 

By the time he exits the bathroom and grabs his coat, his face has cooled slightly—but when he heads toward the door, Wooyoung just has to get the last word in.

"Oh, and San?"

San hesitates. "Yes?"

Wooyoung flashes him a cheeky smile. "Next time, you could at least kiss me goodnight."

San nearly trips over his own feet. "I’m leaving!"

Wooyoung just laughs as San rushes out, the warmth of his teasing lingering even as San steps into the cold morning air.

San barely registers the cold as he steps outside, pulling his coat tighter around himself out of habit more than anything. His body moves on autopilot—down the street, onto the subway, earbuds in—but his mind is elsewhere.

He replays the morning in his head, over and over, like a song stuck on repeat. The warmth of Wooyoung’s body against his. The way their legs had been tangled under the blanket. The slow, steady rise and fall of Wooyoung’s breathing.

His face heats up again.

And then, the teasing. The way Wooyoung knew exactly what he was doing—just to see him squirm. San groans softly, covering his face with one hand as he leans against the train window.

It’s not like he didn’t already know that he likes Wooyoung. That much had been clear for a while now. But something about last night made it feel real in a way that caught him off guard. They weren’t just messing around. They weren’t just dancing around the edges of something unspoken.

San had fallen asleep in Wooyoung’s arms. And when he woke up, Wooyoung was still there, holding him like it was the most natural thing in the world. It would be so easy to pretend none of this means anything. To act like he’s just overthinking it, like it’s just Wooyoung being Wooyoung. But then he remembers the way Wooyoung looked at him. The way he made him coffee without being asked. The way he lingered in the doorway as San left, like he had more to say but didn’t.

San exhales, tilting his head back against the seat.

I should’ve kissed him.

The thought slips in so suddenly that it knocks the breath out of him. His stomach flips. He shakes his head quickly, as if that’ll make the idea disappear. Nope. Nope, not thinking about that right now. He watches the lights blurring past the window, willing himself to focus on anything else. But even as the train rattles on, the warmth of the morning lingers, settling deep in his chest.

Before he knows it, he’s stepping through the doors of the morgue, the familiar scent of lingering coffee and chemicals snapping him back to reality. He’s barely made it to his desk when a voice cuts through the noise.

"You smell like syrup."

San freezes. Slowly, very slowly, he turns his head to find Hongjoong leaning against his desk, arms crossed, an eyebrow raised.

San blinks. "What?"

"Syrup," Hongjoong repeats, tilting his head. "As in, the kind you pour over pancakes. Which is interesting, considering I know you don’t eat breakfast before work." San opens his mouth, then closes it. His brain short-circuits for a full two seconds before he stammers, 

"I-uh-had breakfast with Wooyoung."

Hongjoong hums, as if this is the most fascinating discovery he’s made all week. "Right. Because you were at his place last night."

San stiffens. "I—"

"Mingi told me."

San groans, dragging a hand down his face. "Of course he did."

"So you were with Wooyoung this morning," Hongjoong says, slow and deliberate.

San swallows. "Yes."

"And you weren’t at home last night."

San hesitates. "…No."

Hongjoong’s lips twitch. He doesn’t smile—not exactly—but the amusement is unmistakable. "Hm." San shifts awkwardly, heat creeping up his neck. "It’s not—It wasn’t—"

Hongjoong holds up a hand. "You don’t have to explain. I’m just observing." He pauses, eyes flicking over San’s outfit. "And those are… Wooyoung’s clothes?"

San bristles, tugging at his vest instinctively. "No! I mean—just the shirt. And the tie. And the vest." Hongjoong hums. "Right." There’s a beat of silence. San can feel the teasing lingering in the air, waiting to strike.

Then, finally, Hongjoong grins. "So. When’s the wedding?" San groans, dropping his head onto his desk. He’s never going to live this down.

San groans again, already regretting coming in today. He barely manages to shake off the embarrassment as he shrugs on his lab coat, but the warmth in his chest—the memory of Wooyoung’s teasing smile, the lingering taste of syrup on his lips—stays with him.

San is still recovering from Hongjoong’s teasing when his assistant flips open a folder and slides it across the table.

"Alright, lover boy," Hongjoong says, all business now. "Time to focus. We’ve got another body."

San exhales, grateful for the change in subject—until he actually looks at the file. His brow furrows. 

"Wait… this victim is male?"

—

Case No. : ME-854-10

Date of Examination: January 19, 2025

Autopsy Performed by : 

Choi San, M.D.

10 Ipchun-ro

Gangnam, Seoul 06000

Patient Information

Name: John Doe

Age: Unknown 

Sex: Male

Date of Death: 01/17/2025

Investigative Agency:

Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency

External Examination:

External Examination:

The autopsy begins at 9:15 A.M. on January 19, 2025. The body is presented in a black body bag. The victim is wearing a dark green button-up shirt, partially unbuttoned, and black dress slacks. A black wristwatch with a silver face is fastened to the left wrist. The victim is barefoot. A 1.25-inch wide dark fabric ligature is wrapped around the neck, knotted at the back. The fabric appears to have been pulled tightly and secured with a double knot.

The body is that of a Korean male measuring 70 inches, weighing 152 pounds, and appearing to be in his mid to late twenties. The body is cold and unembalmed. Petechial hemorrhaging is present in the conjunctival surfaces of the eyes. The pupils measure 0.4 cm. The hair is dark, straight, and approximately 9 inches in length.

Removal of the ligature revealed a distinct ligature mark (known throughout the report as Ligature A) across the mid-neck region, measuring approximately 1.25 inches in width. The mark is dark red with a sharp lower border and a slightly diffuse upper border, consistent with a soft ligature. Minor abrasions are present along the posterior aspect of the ligature mark. The presence of hemorrhage in the subcutaneous tissue surrounding Ligature A indicates antemortem application.

Additionally, faint contusions are present on either side of the laryngeal prominence, inconsistent with the ligature’s width and placement. These contusions are roughly oval-shaped, measuring approximately 1.5 cm in diameter, and are symmetrically positioned along the lateral aspects of the neck. The distribution and shape suggest possible manual pressure applied prior to or during ligature strangulation.

Further examination of the skin revealed faint linear abrasions on the victim’s wrists, though no binding materials were present upon arrival. No defensive wounds or additional external injuries were noted.

Opinion

Time of Death: Body temperature, rigor and livor mortis, and stomach contents approximate the time of death between 7:30 and 9:30 P.M. on 01/17/2025

Immediate Cause of Death: Asphyxia due to ligature strangulation (Ligature B). Ligature A is made post mortem.

Remarks: Decedent originally presented to this office as a suicide victim. Presence of the post mortem ligature mark suggest that suicide in this case is highly improbable. SMPA detectives were notified of this finding immediately upon conclusion of examination.

Manner of Death: Homicide

// Choi San M.D.

Gangnam National Forensics Service Coroner’s Office

January 10, 2025

Hongjoong crosses his arms. "Same age range as the others, same cause of death—strangulation. Same precise ligature marks. But this is the first time our guy has targeted a man."

San flips through the report, stomach twisting slightly as he takes in the familiar autopsy notes. The bruising, the angle of the pressure applied, the eerily consistent pattern of the wounds. Everything about it matches. Except for this.

"It’s a break in the pattern," San murmurs.

"Exactly," Hongjoong says. "Which means it’s either a mistake, a new preference, or something personal."

San hums, still reading. The victims had been strangled, but the murder weapon had varied—some with rope, others with fabric, a few with what seemed to be a belt. This victim, though…

His gaze lands on the evidence list, a brief mention of fibers found on the neck. Not rope. Not ordinary cloth. Something thick, durable.

San’s fingers twitch slightly.

"What is it?" Hongjoong asks, watching him.

San hesitates. "Nothing. Just… wondering."

Hongjoong shrugs. "Forensics is still running tests. But whatever it was, it left a pretty distinct imprint. Almost like a” — He pauses, flipping through the notes. “A belt maybe?” 

San’s throat goes dry at Hongjoong’s words. He pictures Wooyoung’s room. The organized drawers. The empty space where a belt should have been.

It’s probably nothing. A coincidence. But still, his pulse ticks a little faster.

San stares at the report, pen hovering over where he just scribbled his signature, but the words don’t make sense. His eyes flick over the details again. The clothing. The time of death. The marks on the body.

A man.

The first break in the pattern.

It was easier before. Easier to categorize, to make sense of. Women. Smaller. Easier to overpower. They were always dressed like they had been out, not comfortable enough to go clubbing so a date made more sense. That made it simple. Maybe they left with the wrong person. Maybe they trusted someone they shouldn’t have. Maybe they didn’t see it coming.

But this? This is different.

Why take the risk? Why go after someone stronger?

Unless the killer knew him. Unless there was something else tying him to the others. Unless…

San exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. His food sits untouched beside him, the heat long since fading. He hadn’t even meant to get lunch. He just ended up here, tray in front of him, brain running in circles. His knee bounces under the table. His fingers drum against the edge of his phone, restless, unfocused.

Then it buzzes. He jumps slightly before glancing down. The notification flashes across the screen.

[Wooyoung]: Did you make it to work on time? Or did I ruin your whole morning? 

San blinks at it, his mind taking a second too long to switch gears. He wasn’t even thinking about this morning. About Wooyoung’s warmth still clinging to his skin, about the way he had woken up tangled against him. About the syrup.

His stomach twists. Not now. Not the time.

But before he can lock his phone, it buzzes again.

[Wooyoung]: You didn’t eat much this morning. Don’t skip lunch.

San stares at the message, something tight curling in his chest. Wooyoung had noticed.

He swallows hard at the cold food he had barely touched. His thoughts are still running rampant, but now, in between them, Wooyoung’s voice lingers.

He exhales, fingers finally moving to type a reply.

I made it. Barely. And I’m eating. 

He hesitates, then adds—

You don’t have to worry about me.

[Wooyoung]: You? Eating? I don’t believe it. Send proof. [Wooyoung]: If not, I’ll have to start meal-prepping for you, and I really don’t want to be that person.

A breathy chuckle escapes before he can stop it. He can practically hear Wooyoung’s teasing tone, the playful tint of his voice. The words are light, easy. A reminder of something outside this hospital, outside this case.

But right now, San can’t bring himself to play along.

He locks his phone without responding, tucking it into his pocket as he stands. His food remains untouched. He doesn’t even remember ordering it.

By the time he makes it back downstairs, the sterile scent of the morgue fills his lungs, and for the first time, it feels suffocating. His stomach churns. He barely registers Hongjoong’s voice until it’s directed at him.

“You look like shit.”

San blinks, glancing up to find Hongjoong watching him with narrowed eyes, arms crossed. He’s never been one to sugarcoat things.

“I’m fine,” San mutters, brushing past him to grab a pair of gloves.

Hongjoong doesn’t let it go. “No, you’re not.”

San huffs, exasperated. “I’m just tired.”

“After your super comfy sleepover?” Hongjoong counters, leaning against the metal table. “You’re always tired, but today? You’re off.You didn’t even hear me the first two times I called your name.”

San clenches his jaw. He hadn’t realized.

Hongjoong sighs, pushing off the table. “Look, I know you’re overthinking. You always do.” His voice softens—just slightly. “But you’re not gonna figure this out if you work yourself into the ground. Go home.”

San shakes his head immediately. “No. I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Hongjoong says, firmer this time. “I’ll cover for you. Just—take the night. Sleep. Eat something that isn’t caffeine. Whatever you need to do to not look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

San exhales through his nose, tension coiled tight in his chest. His first instinct is to argue, to insist he can handle it.

But he doesn’t.

Because, for once, Hongjoong is right.

San exhales, rubbing his temples. Every instinct tells him to push through, to do something—but for once, he doesn’t fight it.

“…Alright.” The word leaves him quieter than he expected. “I’ll go.”

Hongjoong looks surprised for a split second before nodding. “Good. You need it.”

San hesitates, glancing toward the exam table. “If you need me—”

“I’ll call,” Hongjoong interrupts, waving a hand. “But I won’t need to. I’m just wrapping up tests and putting everything away.”

San exhales through his nose, a small, tired smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me, just go before I change my mind.”

Hongjoong turns back to his work, and San doesn’t give himself time to second-guess. He pulls off his gloves, tosses them, and grabs his coat. His mind is still racing, but at least for now, he’s leaving.

San doesn’t remember deciding to come here. One moment, he was leaving work, his thoughts a tangled mess, and the next, he was standing in front of Wooyoung’s door.

He hesitates, fingers hovering over the handle before he exhales and knocks.

A few seconds pass. Then footsteps. The door swings open, revealing Wooyoung in sweats and an oversized hoodie, hair slightly tousled like he’d just gotten up. His brows lift in surprise before his lips curve into something smug.

He hums, leaning against the doorframe. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon. Miss me already?”

San exhales, something like a laugh but more tired than amused. He should’ve expected that.

“I…” He hesitates, his grip tightening at his sides. The words feel heavy in his mouth. “I just—ended up here.”

For a moment, Wooyoung just watches him, the teasing glint in his eyes softening into something else. Then, without a word, he steps aside, holding the door open.

“C’mon in.”

San doesn’t think twice before stepping inside, the familiar warmth of Wooyoung’s apartment settling around him. The door clicks shut behind him, quiet but certain.

And for the first time all day, he lets himself breathe.

----

OKAY!!! finally getting to tie everything in to each other and im super excited. the beginning of the end if you will :3

[starnotavailable]

KISS OF DEATH CHAPTER 5 UPDATE For those of you keeping up with my chapter updates as they come out I just want to let you know I've added a different ending! its only 200 extra words but I think it rounds out the chapter and closes it a lot more smoothly. I will be putting a note at the beginning of chapter 6 but I just wanted to mention this before I officially put the next chapter out. AGAIN THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR FOLLOWING THIS STORY WITH ME !

[starnotavailable]

Kiss of Death (UPDATED)

Pairings: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung

Genre: psychological thriller 

Chapter: 5/?

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: HUGE MENTIONS OF DEATH!!!! violence, murder, death of a loved one, psychological distress, stalking?, gaslighting/manipulation, graphic autopsy/medical descriptions

Summary: Serial Killer Wooyoung picks San as his next victim until he finds out that San is the Medical Examiner working his case. Keeping him around could be useful, couldn't it?

masterlist

When San returned from the bathroom, now dressed in the oversized gray T-shirt and loose black sweatpants Wooyoung had given him, he felt a surprising sense of ease. The clothes were soft, slouchy, and far more comfortable than anything he’d worn all day. It felt like slipping into a new layer of himself—a more relaxed, laid-back version.

He walked back into the living room, and Wooyoung was already in the kitchen, moving around with effortless grace. The soft sizzle of something cooking reached San’s ears, and the warmth of the room, combined with the delicious smells, made him feel almost completely at home.

Wooyoung looked up from where he was stirring something in a pan, a small, easy smile curling on his lips as he saw San in the new clothes. “Nice,” he said, his eyes flicking briefly over San’s outfit with an approving nod. “You look like you fit right in.”

San couldn’t help but smile back, a little self-conscious but oddly appreciative of Wooyoung’s easy going nature. “Thanks," he said, moving toward the kitchen. "It’s... comfortable."

“I’m glad,” Wooyoung chuckled, stirring the pan once more before turning his attention back to San. “Feel free to hang out here while I finish up. You’re the guest, after all.”

San leaned against the counter nearby, just watching Wooyoung cook. There was something oddly captivating about it—how easily Wooyoung seemed to move, how everything seemed so... natural. He wasn’t rushing, but everything was falling into place with effortless confidence.

“What are you making?” San asked, trying to sound casual, but a part of him was genuinely curious.

“Kimchi fried rice,” Wooyoung replied, glancing over with a smile that made the tension from earlier seem like it was from a different lifetime. “Simple, but I think it’ll do the trick. It’s what I usually make when I want something quick and satisfying.”

San watched as Wooyoung worked, effortlessly tossing ingredients into the sizzling pan and flipping them with expert precision. He couldn’t help but admire the fluidity with which Wooyoung moved. It was something so small, but it made the space between them feel... easier, somehow.

He found himself inching closer, pulled in by the rhythm of it all, by the simple act of sharing this space. “It smells amazing,” San said, unable to keep the compliment from slipping out.

“Good,” Wooyoung said with a grin, not missing a beat. “I’ll take that as a win.”

The ease of the moment made San feel more at home than he expected, the noise of the outside world, the distractions of the day, all slipping away. For once, it was just the two of them—it felt so domestic.

“Do you cook often?” San asked, leaning casually against the counter, watching Wooyoung.

“Yeah, I guess. It’s not anything fancy, but it’s something I enjoy,” Wooyoung replied, eyes flicking to San as he added a dash of seasoning to the pan. “I think I cook more when I have people around. Keeps it from feeling like a chore.”

San nodded, feeling that little flutter of something in his chest. It wasn’t the kind of thing he expected to hear, and he definitely wasn’t used to this kind of atmosphere. But somehow, with Wooyoung, it felt right.

“You’re not so bad yourself, huh?” San said, teasing lightly but also a little surprised by how genuine the words were. “I’m actually impressed.”

Wooyoung gave him a quick sidelong look, a playful glint in his eyes. “I told you I had a few tricks up my sleeve.” San chuckled softly, crossing his arms as he leaned a little closer to the counter. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

As Wooyoung finished preparing the meal, the kitchen filled with the savory scents of their dinner, and San found himself leaning back slightly, the natural rhythm of the evening unfolding around them. There was a quiet ease in the air now, each movement feeling effortless as the soft murmur of conversation carried on without hesitation.

San settled into his seat at the island that sat in the middle of the kitchen, the warmth of the meal Wooyoung had prepared curling around him like a familiar embrace. He couldn't help but take in a deep breath, letting the savory aroma fill his senses. The evening felt effortless, like slipping into something comfortable, with each moment blending seamlessly into the next.

"This is incredible," San said, looking up at Wooyoung who was standing across from him on the other side of the island, watching him with a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes.

Wooyoung grinned, clearly pleased by the compliment, but there was something in his expression that made the air feel charged in a way that had nothing to do with the meal. "Glad you like it," he said, shifting his weight to his forearms against the counter with casual ease. "But I’ve been thinking... you’re always so busy with work. Doesn’t it ever get to be too much?"

San paused for a moment, considering the question as he took a bite. He had expected something lighter, but he didn’t mind it. "Tiring?" he repeated, shrugging. "I guess so. But it’s part of the routine. It’s what I do."

Wooyoung tilted his head, his eyes narrowing playfully. "Routine, huh?" His voice took on a teasing tone, almost as if he were trying to coax something out of San. "But don’t you ever get tired of it? Always chasing down leads, working late into the night... It sounds like it would take a toll."

San met Wooyoung’s gaze, sensing the weight in his words but not quite feeling the need to shut him down. "It’s not easy," he said with a small chuckle. "But it comes with this line of work. There’s no escaping it."

Wooyoung leaned forward, his fingers tapping lightly on the table, his eyes never leaving San’s face. "I don’t know, San. You make it sound so simple. But I can see how you’d get lost in it. It’s like you can’t switch off, even when you’re away from it all." He leaned a little closer, his voice dropping in pitch. "Tell me, do you ever want to just forget about it all for a while?"

San felt the question settle in, but he didn’t pull back. He met Wooyoung’s gaze with a more relaxed smile, tapping his spoon against his bowl. "Sure, sometimes. Who wouldn’t?" he said with a slight shrug. "But, you know, there’s not much I can do about it. It’s part of the job."

Wooyoung’s lips curved into a grin, clearly enjoying the way the conversation was unfolding. "Mm, always so composed," he mused. "But I can’t help wondering—don’t you get a little... curious about what might happen if you let someone in? If you shared a little bit of the weight with someone else?" He paused, eyes glinting. "I mean, I’m pretty good at helping people unwind, you know."

San couldn’t help but smile, the playfulness in Wooyoung’s tone contagious. "I’m sure you are," he said, his voice light but with an edge of amusement. "But some things... aren’t for sharing. At least not just yet."

Wooyoung’s smile widened, leaning in just a bit more, his voice lowering as though sharing a secret. "Ah, so some things are still off-limits?" he said, the teasing in his voice wrapping around the words like a promise. "You know, I think you’d be surprised how much easier it gets when you let someone else carry a little of the load."

San felt a flutter in his chest, but he held his ground, allowing the flirtation to slip into his smile as he gave Wooyoung a knowing glance. "I think I’m just a little too stubborn for that," he said with a quiet laugh. "But, you know, if I ever change my mind, I’ll be sure to call you first."

Wooyoung’s eyes sparkled with that mischievous glint, his lips curling into a grin that made San’s pulse quicken ever so slightly. "I’ll be waiting," he said, his voice almost a whisper now, soft and inviting. "Whenever you’re ready to share. You know I’m a pretty good listener. And maybe... I know a thing or two about making things a little easier."

San shifted in his seat, feeling a sudden heat rise in his chest. Wooyoung’s words, layered with double meaning, made it hard to focus on anything but the quiet intimacy between them. "I’ll keep that in mind," he replied, his voice a bit more playful now, leaning into the moment. "But I don’t think I’m quite ready to unload just yet."

Wooyoung’s gaze softened, but the warmth in it was undeniable. "Whenever you are," he said, his voice low, like an unspoken invitation hanging between them. "I’ll be here."

San took another bite of his food, trying to bring himself back to the meal in front of him, but his mind kept drifting back to Wooyoung’s words, to the unspoken tension that still lingered. There was something about the way Wooyoung was looking at him that made everything feel different. And for the first time in a while, he wasn’t sure whether to keep his walls up—or to let them fall.

But Wooyoung, as always, seemed content to wait.

The sound of the plates being cleared signaled the end of their meal, the conversation flowing more easily as the food was finished. San and Wooyoung shared a quiet moment, both savoring the last bites of their rice before pushing the plates aside. The dim light from the kitchen cast a warm glow across the island, and the clink of silverware against porcelain was replaced by the soft scrape of chairs as they stood, stretching after the relaxed dinner.

San’s shoulders dropped in ease as he followed Wooyoung to the couch behind where they were in the kitchen. The couch, plush and inviting, was the perfect setting to unwind. Wooyoung plopped down first, sinking into the cushions with a relaxed sigh, holding out a glass of wine toward San as he sat down beside him. The space between them was there, but it felt smaller somehow, like the invisible divide between them was already beginning to shrink.

The movie flickered on in the background, but neither San nor Wooyoung were paying much attention to it. Instead, the two of them had settled into the couch, glasses of wine in hand, with a comfort that had slowly begun to build over the evening. The low hum of the TV and the soft clinking of their glasses between sips was the soundtrack now, but the air between them was quiet and still, with something unspoken lingering just beneath the surface. 

San leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him. The wine was already making him feel pleasantly warm, a slight buzz settling in after just a couple of glasses. He wasn’t usually a big drinker because of how much of a lightweight he is, but the smooth red was going down easy, and with Wooyoung sitting so close, it felt effortless to just relax and let the night unfold. 

"So," Wooyoung started, swirling his wine slowly, eyes never leaving San’s face. "Now that we’ve got some wine in us, how are you really doing?" His tone was casual, but there was something more probing underneath. "You’ve been so tight-lipped about everything lately."

San looked over at him, slightly surprised by the question. He hadn’t expected to talk about himself—not like this. The warmth from the alcohol had him feeling more relaxed, and before he could stop himself, the words slipped out. "I’m fine," he said, shrugging one shoulder nonchalantly. "It’s just... the usual stuff. Work’s been hectic."

Wooyoung’s gaze sharpened just a fraction, but his smile didn’t falter. "Mm. You always say that. But I’m guessing there’s more than just ‘work’ weighing on you, right?" He leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice as if the question were a secret. "I mean, there’s gotta be something behind that cool exterior. You’re not really the ‘everything’s fine’ type."

San shifted slightly, the buzz of the wine making it harder to hold up his usual walls. He took another sip, trying to play it off. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," he said, the words coming out a little more slurred than he intended. "I’m just... tired. Work’s a lot, and it’s easier to keep my head down."

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of curiosity and amusement. "That so?" he murmured. His eyes gleamed with something unreadable as he leaned a little closer, the space between them closing. "I know work is very hush hush for you but if there's anything outside of that, I’m all ears. And," he added with a teasing smile, "I have a way of making it feel easier, if you’re willing to let someone help."

San’s heart skipped a beat at the suggestion, and he found himself instinctively leaning away—only to realize there was nowhere to go on the couch. He sighed, trying to shrug it off. "I don’t need anyone’s help. I’ve got it under control," he said, but even to his own ears, the words didn’t sound as convincing as they usually did.

Wooyoung didn’t pull back. In fact, he closed the distance further, his shoulder brushing against San’s as he settled into a more comfortable position. The shift was subtle, but it brought him so close that San could feel the heat of his body against his own. "I get it," Wooyoung said, his voice soft, almost coaxing. "But sometimes you need more than just control. And I’ve noticed... you’re really good at hiding what’s under the surface. But you don’t have to, you know." His hand moved slightly, brushing against the back of the couch, just inches away from San’s shoulder. "I can handle whatever you’ve got hidden."

San felt a shiver run through him, a mixture of discomfort and something else. The space between them was closing, and with each small movement, the pressure built. His breath came a little faster, his gaze flickering to Wooyoung’s face, only to quickly dart away. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to push Wooyoung back without making it awkward. And worse, he didn’t know why the idea of pushing Wooyoung away felt... wrong.

The heat of the wine was spreading through him, loosening him up, but it also made his body feel more sensitive, more aware of the closeness between them. Their legs brushed as San shifted slightly, and the electric pulse of that simple touch was enough to make him pause, his heart hammering in his chest. Wooyoung’s presence was overwhelming now, filling the space with something unspoken.

"Maybe," San said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe I don’t have it all together." He didn’t know why he said it—maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the way Wooyoung was looking at him, his eyes soft but intense, like he could see right through the walls San had carefully built.

Wooyoung’s smile deepened, his eyes gleaming with a mix of satisfaction and something more dangerous. "I thought so," he murmured, leaning in just the slightest bit closer. His breath was warm against San’s skin, and it made the hairs on the back of San’s neck stand on end. "You’re not as composed as you pretend, San. You’re just really good at pretending."

San’s pulse raced, his chest tightening. Wooyoung’s face was mere inches from his now, so close that he could feel the heat radiating from him, could smell the faint trace of the wine on his breath. The world seemed to shrink, narrowing down to just the two of them. Every muscle in San’s body screamed to move back, to put some space between them—but his body didn’t listen. Instead, he found himself drawn to Wooyoung, inching closer despite his mind telling him to stop.

But then Wooyoung pulled back, just slightly, enough to break the fragile moment. He took a slow, deliberate sip of his wine, his eyes never leaving San’s face. The shift was subtle, but it was there—Wooyoung had retreated, pulling back, the tension deflating just a little.

Internally, Wooyoung’s heart was still racing, but he masked it with a cool smile. He knew. He could see it in the way San’s eyes flickered to his lips, the way his body seemed to lean forward just enough to make it clear. San was close—too close—and Wooyoung could feel the want in the air, thick and undeniable. But Wooyoung wasn’t ready to let it happen yet. Not quite.

He took a breath, a slow, measured one. Patience, he reminded himself, his mind already plotting how he would let the tension build even further. San wanted this. He wanted him. Wooyoung could feel it in his bones, and it gave him a sense of quiet satisfaction. But for now, he would leave it at that.

"Maybe," Wooyoung said, his voice low and smooth, breaking the silence, "there’s no rush."

San’s heart was still pounding, the proximity between them lingering even as Wooyoung leaned back, leaving just enough space to cool the heat in the air. But the damage had been done. Wooyoung had pulled away, but the desire was still there—thick, palpable, and hanging between them, unanswered.

Sans tries to stay cool as the movie flickers in front of him, but his thoughts keep racing back to the moment before.He almost kissed me. Did I want that? Did I almost let it happen? It’s a weird mix of confusion and excitement swirling in his chest. 

He glances over at the guy sitting next to him on the couch, totally relaxed, sipping his wine like nothing happened. Sans can’t help but watch him for a second too long, feeling like he’s on the edge of something. *What if this is... real?* But then the thought slips away, replaced by the rising urge to tell someone, anyone, what just went down. 

Should I text Mingi? Nah, no way. He’d just make fun of me... Or maybe not? He’d probably be the first person to say I should've kissed him.

The thought of texting him makes his fingers itch, but before he can do anything, the movie distracts him—just for a second, though. The plot doesn’t even make sense, but he’s staring at the screen like it's the most important thing in the world. His eyes dart back to the guy, who’s still watching the movie, but Sans can’t ignore the way his heart’s speeding up, wondering if he feels it too.

I shouldn’t read too much into it... but why can’t I stop thinking about it? He laughs quietly at himself. Great, now I’m one of those people, huh?

He takes a sip of his own wine, but it doesn’t do much to calm his nerves. His phone buzzes, and he glances at it. It’s Mingi, probably some random text or meme. But he doesn’t check it right away. The guy sitting next to him shifts on the couch, and Sans can feel the heat of his proximity. That’s enough to make his mind go blank again. 

He tries to focus on the movie, but the guy’s every movement pulls at him like gravity. Every little thing he does—how he laughs, how he shifts closer, how he tilts his head—feels like a challenge Sans is too scared to face, but can’t help but want to. 

Sans' phone buzzes again, and this time, he can’t resist. He looks at the screen. It’s Mingi. He opens the message and reads it—his eyes flick over the text, but his mind’s not really there. His thoughts are still on the guy, still on that almost kiss. He starts to type a response but stops midway.

This is stupid. He’s just messing with me... It’s just a movie, just a night. But he can’t stop the thought that it was something more.

Sans lets out a deep breath as he reads Mingi's message. It’s like his best friend’s always one step ahead of him.

[Mingi]: Checked your location. You’re not at home, not at work. So, what’s going on?

Sans stares at the screen, the tension in his shoulders building. He has to pause for a second. Great. Mingi’s got his eyes everywhere, huh?

The guy on the couch next to him shifts again, and Sans feels his pulse pick up. That damn near-kiss still hanging in the air between them. He types out a quick response before he can second-guess himself.

Just hanging out. Nothing crazy. Watching a movie.

He curses quietly, immediately regretting how lame that sounds. “Nothing crazy.” Like Mingi wouldn’t know that there was a whole lot more than that going on in his head right now. He looks at the message again. Why is this even a big deal?

But the second San hits send, another message pops up from Mingi.

[Mingi]: Uh-huh. So, are we gonna talk about how you’re probably making out with the guy you’ve been obsessing over for the last week?

He knows.

The thing is, Mingi isn’t wrong. Obsessing is exactly what Sans has been doing, thinking about this guy non-stop, overanalyzing every glance, every smile, every little thing he’s said. It’s hard not to.

What? I’m not making out with anyone.

Even though he sends it, he can’t shake the image of the almost-kiss, the warmth of the guy’s breath on his lips, the pull of his gaze. It feels real in a way he hasn’t let himself admit to anyone. But what does that even mean?

He stares at his phone screen, his fingers hovering over the keys, unsure if he should send anything else. His mind keeps drifting back to the guy sitting next to him, now laughing quietly at something in the movie. And just like that, Sans' attention is pulled again, his chest tight as he tries to figure out what to do next. If Mingi only knew...

His phone buzzes again.

[Mingi]: Dude, you’re not fooling anyone, i'll be checking in, have fun :P

San can feel the exhaustion settling deep in his bones, heavier with each passing minute. The soft hum of the TV, the warmth of Wooyoung pressed loosely against his side, and the heat from the wine pooling in his stomach all blend together, lulling him further into drowsiness.

Outside, the January wind rattles against the windows, but here, it’s warm. Safe.

He barely registers the way his head tilts, his body naturally leaning toward the closest source of heat. There’s a part of him that knows he should move, that he should at least mumble something about how late it’s getting—but the thought barely forms before sleep drags him under.

The last thing he hears before slipping into unconsciousness is the soft sound of Wooyoung’s quiet laughter.

---------------

posting this one at 1:30 am because I get anxious when I schedule them :3, you have no idea how happy it makes me to see the same people interacting with each chapter posted. HOW DO WE FEEL ABOUT THEM GETTING CLOSER PHYSICALLY? I NEED TO KNOW

[starnotavailable]

Kiss of Death 

Pairings: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung

Genre: psychological thriller 

Chapter: 4/?

Word Count: 3.4K

Warnings: HUGE MENTIONS OF DEATH!!!! violence, murder, death of a loved one, psychological distress, stalking?, gaslighting/manipulation, graphic autopsy/medical descriptions

Summary: Serial Killer Wooyoung picks San as his next victim until he finds out that San is the Medical Examiner working his case. Keeping him around could be useful, couldn't it?

masterlist

San led the way, the quiet rhythm of their footsteps filling the space between them. The streets weren’t too busy, just the occasional car passing by and the distant hum of the city settling into the evening. They had made it halfway when Wooyoung, in his usual ease, broke the silence.

“So,” he started, glancing over at San with an unreadable expression. “Is this a date?”

San nearly tripped over his own feet. “What—” He turned sharply, eyes wide. “No! I mean—it’s not—” He huffed, struggling to string together a coherent thought.  Wooyoung stared at him for a beat, then burst out laughing. “Relax, San. I’m joking.”

San exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face as if that would somehow cool the heat creeping up his neck. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Why not?” Wooyoung grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “It’s fun watching you panic.”

San groaned. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are, taking me to your favorite café.” Wooyoung smiled smugly, his voice dripping with amusement. “Sounds kind of special.”

San refused to dignify that with a response. He simply walked faster, pretending not to hear the soft chuckle Wooyoung let out as he easily kept pace.By the time they reached the café, San still hadn’t managed to shake the flustered feeling completely. The café was quiet, the low hum of conversation barely reaching their corner as they sat down with their drinks. San took a sip of his latte, trying to steady himself, but the teasing smile on Wooyoung's face only made him feel more on edge.

Wooyoung set his cup down, his eyes narrowing slightly as he regarded San with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “So,” he began, leaning forward just enough that it felt deliberate, “what’s your type?”

San almost choked on his coffee. “What?”

Wooyoung’s grin only widened, clearly enjoying the reaction. “I mean, everyone’s got a type. What about you?”

San shifted in his seat, suddenly feeling out of his depth. This was a question that seemingly – to him at least – came out of left field. “Uh… I don’t know,” he muttered, trying to brush it off. “Someone who’s not as nosey as you, I guess?”

Wooyoung chuckled and his eyes rolled dramatically, but there was something calculating in his gaze. “That’s funny. You don’t seem like the type to get annoyed easily.”

San froze for a moment. *What does he mean by that?* He shifted uncomfortably, eyes narrowing slightly. “What are you getting at?”

Wooyoung shrugged, his smirk never wavering. “I don’t know. You’re just… always so composed. Like nothing really bothers you.”

San felt a sharp flicker of unease, like Wooyoung could see something that no one else did. He was usually so careful about keeping his walls up, yet here Wooyoung was, poking at them with casual ease. The unease settled into his chest, but at the same time, something about the question felt... intriguing. Why was Wooyoung so curious about him? Was there a chance that maybe… 

“I’m not as put together as you think,” San said quickly, cutting through his own thoughts. His heart rate had picked up just a bit. “I’m not always composed.”

Wooyoung tilted his head, studying him with an intensity that made San’s stomach twist. “Hmm… sure. But you’ve got a calm about you, like you’re always thinking five steps ahead.”

San didn’t respond right away, the unsettling feeling lingering like a shadow. It felt like Wooyoung was dissecting him, poking and prodding at things San hadn’t even thought about. And yet, part of him couldn’t quite look away. The initial feeling of suspicion from the night they first met slowly came back to light but still distant enough for him to overlook. There was something magnetic about Wooyoung’s gaze, something that made it hard to brush off the question. Maybe it was the way he was so effortlessly unbothered, or maybe it was just how genuine Wooyoung’s curiosity felt, despite the teasing tone. 

“So, what’s your game, San?” Wooyoung asked, his voice dropping to something a little more serious. “What do you really want?”

San’s breath hitched just slightly at the question, his chest tightening.

What the fuck does that mean?

He forced a nonchalant laugh. “What are you, a therapist now?”

Wooyoung didn’t smile this time. His gaze didn’t waver. “I’m just curious. You’re... interesting. You’ve got this quiet confidence. I wonder what’s really going on under the surface.”

San didn’t know how to respond. His mind was whirling, caught between feeling a little alarmed and feeling drawn to Wooyoung in a way that unsettled him more than he wanted to admit. Why is he asking this?

He cleared his throat and took another sip of his coffee, hoping the simple action would ground him. “I’m just... living my life. Nothing too complicated about it.”

Wooyoung’s lips quirked up at the corner, but the look in his eyes told a different story. “I don’t know, San. I think there’s more going on than you’re letting on.”

San’s pulse quickened slightly, and he tried to laugh it off, but the tension was thick. Wooyoung was being strangely persistent. Part of San wanted to brush it off, to laugh it all away, but there was something about the way Wooyoung looked at him that kept him hooked. 

The conversation hung in the air, too loaded for San to really process all at once. He could feel his instincts screaming to back off, to distance himself, but another part of him—some part he couldn’t quite place—was just... intrigued. Maybe he was being a bit dramatic or hostile. It's not like Wooyoung had given him a reason to be this way in the first place. 

“Well,” San said, trying to regain some control, “maybe I’ll just have to keep you guessing.”

Wooyoung’s smirk softened into something more thoughtful, but he didn’t press any further. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, the light in his eyes still intense, but without the same edge.

The air between them shifted, the tension hanging for a beat before it started to loosen. Wooyoung’s gaze softened, his lips curving into a grin that was more knowing than teasing. San couldn’t tell if the change was deliberate or if he was just being pulled into it without realizing.

“You know,” Wooyoung said, leaning back in his chair and taking a leisurely sip of his coffee, “you really are an interesting guy, San.” San raised an eyebrow, unsure whether he should be flattered or suspicious but the tension wasn’t quite there anymore. “Interesting? You mean weird?”

Wooyoung chuckled, the sound low and rich, and San felt a subtle heat bloom in his chest at the sound of it – it was different. “No. I mean... mysterious. You don’t give much away, but you’ve got this... thing about you.” He shrugged, as if it were no big deal, but the intensity in his eyes was hard to ignore.

San found himself fighting the urge to look away. “I’m not some puzzle to be solved,” he said, though even he wasn’t sure he believed that. The way Wooyoung was looking at him made him feel like he was being unraveled, layer by layer.

Wooyoung smirked. “I don’t know. You might be more fun if you were.”

San shifted in his seat, but there was something about the way Wooyoung was looking at him that made him hesitate before responding. “I think I just like keeping some things to myself.”

“Oh, I get it,” Wooyoung said, his voice dropping to something a little softer. “You’re not easy, are you?”

San felt a flicker of something in his chest—his pulse quickening, his breath hitching ever so slightly. Wooyoung’s bluntness catching him off guard.

“Well,” San started, a bit hesitant, but a daring edge slipped into his tone, “you don’t strike me as someone who likes easy.”

Wooyoung’s face was relaxed as if he were talking about the weather or his favorite show. His eyes lifted in thought, “True,” he said as he leaned forward slightly, his eyes locking onto San’s, voice smooth as velvet. “But not impossible either.”

San felt his stomach flutter at the weight of Wooyoung’s words. There was no denying the pull between them now, subtle but undeniable. It wasn’t just the teasing anymore. It was something more. Something deeper. Right?

“Yeah?” San challenged, not able to help the smile on his face, flirtation slipping into his own voice. “Maybe I’ll take my chances and see for myself.”

The words were out before he could stop them, and he felt a rush of warmth flood his face, a mix of self-consciousness and the thrill of having matched Wooyoung’s playful energy.

Wooyoung’s gaze softened just a fraction, his smirk turning into something more genuine, though still teasing. “You’ll probably regret it,” he said, voice low but tinged with amusement. “But I’m intrigued to see what happens.”

San let out a breath, his nerves a little shaky but the thrill of the exchange making him want to lean in, just a little further. He hums softly in thought before speaking, his tone a little lighter now, “I think I’m starting to like the idea of regretting things.”

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “You really want to test that theory?”

San paused, letting the tension stretch between them for a moment. It was a game now, but there was something about Wooyoung’s presence that made it hard to tell where the teasing ended and something more real began.

“I don’t know,” San said, his voice softening slightly as he met Wooyoung’s gaze. “Maybe I’m just starting to like you more than I’m willing to admit.”

There. He’d said it. He didn’t know exactly what he meant by it, but the words slipped out, an unspoken admission hanging in the air. And for a split second, San felt vulnerable, but Wooyoung’s smile made it feel like it was okay to leave it out there.

Wooyoung’s eyes flickered, his expression shifting in a way that was hard to read, but there was something different now. Less teasing, more... interest. He leans in further, his voice quieter, more sincere.

“Guess we’ll see where this goes then, won’t we?”

San nodded, the words hanging between them, heavy and light at the same time. There was something magnetic about Wooyoung, something that made it impossible for San to walk away now. Whether he liked it or not, he was caught up in whatever this was—whatever this thing was between them.

The sun was starting to set, casting a warm, golden glow across the café, and the soft light reflected in Wooyoung’s eyes as he watched San. It felt like the right moment, like the conversation had reached a subtle turning point. He leaned forward again, his tone playful but with something more lingering beneath the surface.

“So,” Wooyoung started, his voice dropping to something a little more teasing, “what do you say we ditch this place?” San tilted his head, a little caught off guard. “Ditch it? You mean leave?”

Wooyoung’s grin turned mischievous, and he leaned in just a bit closer. “Yeah. We could go back to mine. I think we’d be more comfortable there, don’t you think?”

San’s breath caught in his throat for a moment, a mixture of surprise and something else tugging at him. He wasn’t sure if Wooyoung was still joking or if there was something more to it now. “What? You’re serious?”

Wooyoung shrugged, the smirk never leaving his face. “Well, I was at first, but now that you’re looking all flustered…” He chuckled softly, teasing, but there was something a little more earnest in the way he watched San. “I just thought it might be nicer to have some space, you know? No one around, no distractions.”

San blinked, the idea lingering in the air. There was a part of him that felt uneasy at the thought—he hadn’t expected things to escalate like this. But Wooyoung was looking at him with that same mischievous glint, and the warmth of his presence was starting to feel... different. Intimate, almost.

“I don’t know,” San said, trying to mask the sudden fluttering in his chest. “I don’t usually just... go to someone’s place.”

Wooyoung’s smile softened, no longer pushing, but the glint of playfulness still there. “Fair enough. I get it. I’m not the easiest guy to just hang out with, huh?”

San scoffed but his mind was too busy to actually respond. 

This is only my second – well third? Time meeting this guy and he’s asking me if I want to go to his house? After that question? Maybe it's a test and he wants to see if I actually am easy. I would never actually sleep with him though, right? Not this soon surely; we’ve only just met! What if I'm over thinking this and this is how the friendship progression usually goes? I haven't made a new friend in years. Maybe this is just how Wooyoung’s friendships develop? 

Wooyoung leaned back, eyes never leaving San’s, studying him for a moment before he asked, “When was the last time you actually took a moment to relax, San? Not rushing around, not stressing about anything... just... enjoying yourself? Maybe watching a movie, having a nice dinner, something simple?” 

The words cut through his thoughts. San opened his mouth to respond, but the words get caught in his throat. He hadn’t really thought about it, not in a while. The idea of just letting go, without all the distractions or the pressure of keeping up appearances—it felt... foreign. 

“I... I don’t really remember,” San admitted, almost sheepishly. “I’m always doing something. I guess it’s been a while.”

Wooyoung’s gaze softened, no longer teasing, but more understanding. “Exactly. And I’m pretty sure you could use a break. I can promise you a pretty relaxed evening—no pressure, no expectations.”

San hesitated, looking at Wooyoung for a long moment. The last thing he’d expected tonight was to end up feeling this way—torn between wanting to distance himself from whatever this was and also being undeniably drawn to Wooyoung’s easy confidence.

“I don’t know...” San said again, but this time there was less resistance in his voice. “I guess... I could use a break.” It came out sounding like a question. Was he really being bold enough to accept his offer?

Wooyoung grinned, satisfied with the answer. “I’m not gonna bite, I promise. Unless you want me to, of course.” he jokes, shooting a playful wink before continuing. “We’ll just hang out, watch a movie – I can make you dinner! You can actually relax for once.”

San gave a small laugh, the idea of being able to unwind sounding almost too good to pass up. "Okay, fine. But don’t think I’m letting you get away with anything."

Wooyoung's grin only widened. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

—--- By the time they reached Wooyoung’s apartment, the sun had fully set, and the city outside was bathed in streetlight and neon glow. The building was quiet, the low buzz of the night carrying through the walls. San followed Wooyoung inside, and the atmosphere shifted—less pressure, more... casual.

The apartment was modern, with sleek, minimalist furniture that gave off an effortlessly cool vibe. There were clean lines everywhere, simple yet stylish. The walls were mostly neutral tones—grays, whites, with a few abstract paintings hanging in frames. Everything was well thought out, organized, but not in a way that felt cold or sterile. It was a space that felt lived in, with a certain personality woven into every corner.

San’s eyes immediately landed on the large, black, incredibly comfortable-looking couch that dominated the living room. It looked so inviting, almost like it was made for lounging for hours, the kind of couch you could sink into and forget about everything. It was wide and deep, with thick cushions and a velvet texture that made it seem even cozier than it probably was.

There were a couple of soft throws draped over the armrests, and a few pillows, one with an interesting geometric pattern, another in a solid dark grey. San had never thought much about furniture before, but there was something about the couch that made him want to just collapse onto it and let his mind drift for a while.

The coffee table in front of it was glass, with a few art books stacked neatly on one side and a small potted plant in the corner. The space felt... intentionally simple, but not stark. It was the kind of apartment that made you want to kick off your shoes and relax.

San glanced around a little more, his mind still catching up with the shift in mood. It wasn’t the kind of place that felt stuffy or overly designed. It felt like Wooyoung. Casual, cool, but also lived-in and welcoming.

“Make yourself at home,” Wooyoung said, breaking the quiet as he gestured toward the couch with a casual hand. “Grab a drink if you want. The remote is there if you want to pick a movie.”

San nodded, trying to mask how the softening of the atmosphere was making him feel. There was no pressure here, no rushing or expectations. Just two people, hanging out. And yet, he felt that little edge of curiosity, still unsure whether it was the space or Wooyoung himself that was making him feel this way.

“Yeah, a movie sounds good,” San said, glancing at the couch again. He took a few steps toward it, but before he sat down, he turned toward Wooyoung. “You’ve got a nice place.”

Wooyoung grinned, clearly pleased by the compliment. “Thanks. It’s not much, but it’s comfortable.”

The deeper he sank into the seat, the more he realized how comfortable it actually was. His muscles, which felt stiff from the evening’s subtle tension, started to relax. He could feel the weight of the day—of the little uncertainties and the unknowns—slowly lifting off his shoulders.

San shifted slightly, settling deeper into the cushions, and before he realized it, his eyelids began to droop. He wasn’t exactly falling asleep, but the exhaustion of the evening had caught up with him. His mind, usually so alert and active, felt quiet for the first time in weeks, and he let himself just rest. He still had a thousand thoughts running through his head, but for the moment, they all seemed distant—just soft background noise.

As his eyes fluttered closed, he focused on the hum of the apartment, the sound of Wooyoung moving around in the kitchen, and the faint scent of something cooking in the air. It was a kind of peace that San wasn’t used to, but he found it surprisingly comfortable.

Then, he felt it—a soft rustle beside him. His eyes blinked open as he sensed Wooyoung approaching. There was a quiet moment before he felt a gentle weight settle next to him.

"Here," Wooyoung's voice broke through the calm. San turned his head slightly to find Wooyoung placing the clothes next to him on the couch. "I got you something to change into," he said, his tone casual but warm.

San's heart gave a small, unexpected flutter at the thoughtful gesture, and he rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the last of the drowsiness slip away. "Thanks," he murmured, his voice a little hoarse from how relaxed he'd let himself become.

Wooyoung didn’t move immediately, though. Instead, he stood there for a moment, looking at San with that same half-amused smile, his eyes lingering in a way that made San feel oddly exposed. It was a quiet moment—nothing too significant—but the weight of it felt heavier than expected.

"Take your time," Wooyoung added, breaking the brief silence before San could say anything. He stepped back, clearly giving him space, though the smile never quite left his face. “I’ll start on dinner.”

San nodded, still not quite sure what to make of the ease between them. He felt almost… comfortably out of place in this moment. Maybe it was the simple act of being taken care of, or the fact that he wasn’t used to letting his guard down so effortlessly. Whatever it was, it made him feel both a little uneasy and strangely at home at the same time.

With a soft sigh, San picked up the clothes and headed to the bathroom, deciding to take a few more seconds to gather himself before continuing the evening.

----

A/N: I originally wrote a lot more for this chapter but I decided to divide it up and I FINALLY GOT MY AO3 INVITE !!!! I think what will end up happening is I will push out chapters here to motivate me to write and post a more put together and edited version there. The fic is the same name and my user is the same there as well if you're interested!!!

[starnotavailable]

Kiss of Death 

Pairings: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung

Genre: psychological thriller 

Chapter: 3/?

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: HUGE MENTIONS OF DEATH!!!! violence, murder, death of a loved one, psychological distress, stalking?, gaslighting/manipulation, graphic autopsy/medical descriptions

Summary: Serial Killer Wooyoung picks San as his next victim until he finds out that San is the Medical Examiner working his case. Keeping him around could be useful, couldn't it?

masterlist

Sunlight fell through the tall, industrial windows of Wooyoung’s loft, catching on the dust swirling lazily in the air. The space was open and airy, all exposed brick and sleek metal fixtures, with just enough warmth in the mismatched furniture to make it feel lived-in. A few potted plants thrived near the windows, adding splashes of green, but the longer you lingered, the easier it was to notice how the apartment didn’t quite fit together, like someone had curated the space for show rather than comfort.

Wooyoung moved through the kitchen with practiced ease, the hiss of the stove and the smell of sizzling eggs filling the silence. He could’ve passed for any young professional starting his day—hair tousled just enough to look effortless, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, his easy smile and calm demeanor blending seamlessly into the ordinary.

San had been easier to crack than he’d expected. The way his guard slipped after just a few drinks, the flicker of grief in his eyes—it had all been too simple. Wooyoung should’ve been satisfied. But instead, he found himself replaying their conversation in his head, lingering on the way San’s lips curved around his words, how his eyes darted away when the tension got too thick.

There was something… interesting about him. More than just a target.

Wooyoung let the thought simmer as he plated his breakfast, the normalcy of the routine almost laughable given what he was planning next. Today was about seeing just how close he could get.

On the other hand

San woke to the sharp blaring of his alarm. It felt like someone had taken a hammer to the inside of his skull, each pulse of pain was sharp behind his eyes. He groaned, barely cracking one open to glance at the time—then immediately shot upright.  

Shit.

He was late. Very late. The sudden movement made his stomach churn, a sickening mix of dehydration and regret. His mouth tasted like stale alcohol, and when he ran a hand through his hair, he could feel the faint stickiness of sweat clinging to his skin. He needed water. He needed aspirin. He needed to not be thirty minutes behind schedule.  

Stumbling out of bed, he swayed slightly, pressing a palm against his forehead as if that would somehow keep his brain from rattling around in his skull. Last night was a blur, but pieces of it clung to him stubbornly—the warm buzz of the bar, Mingi’s relentless teasing, and, most annoyingly, him.  

Wooyoung.  

San cursed under his breath as he yanked open his dresser, grabbing whatever shirt was closest and nearly dropping it in his rush. The guy had gotten under his skin, that much was obvious. Too smooth, too quick to read him—too damn interesting.  

He shoved his arms into his sleeves, only realizing halfway through buttoning his shirt that he’d done it unevenly. With a groan, he undid them and tried again, fingers sluggish. His phone vibrated loudly on the nightstand. He already knew who it was before he checked.  

Hongjoong.  

He snatched it up, answering with a gruff, “Sorry, I’m coming.”  

His jacket was halfway on as he grabbed his keys, shoving his feet into his shoes without bothering to tie them properly. There was no time for breakfast, no time to even breathe—just enough time to get himself out the door and try to ignore the way his head was still pounding.  

And definitely not enough time to think about the way Wooyoung had an effect on him. 

—---

San’s days blurred together in a cycle of work, exhaustion, and fleeting moments where his mind wandered somewhere it shouldn’t.

It wasn’t intentional at first. His name would creep into San’s thoughts when he least expected it—while he was reviewing reports, during brief lulls between autopsies, even in the quiet moments of his commute home. It started with harmless memories: the easy way he smiled, the sound of his laughter, the warmth of his voice when he said San’s name. But soon, San found himself thinking too much—imagining their conversations, recalling the way Wooyoung had looked at him across the table, how effortlessly he had drawn him in.

The case should have held his full attention. He told himself that every morning as he walked into work, as he slipped on his gloves, as he examined another victim. But even in the sterile cold of the morgue, Wooyoung lingered at the edges of his thoughts. It was ridiculous. He barely knew him. And yet, the thought of seeing him again didn’t bring the usual hesitation San felt when faced with new people.

Wooyoung had been patient.

San was predictable in the ways most people were. He left for work at the same time each morning, stopped by the same coffee shop when he wasn’t too drained to care, and carried the weight of his cases in the slump of his shoulders. Wooyoung watched, careful never to linger too long, never to be close enough to raise suspicion. He didn’t need to be reckless. Not when he could take his time.

And he had.

For days, he let San exist in his little bubble, knowing that the absence of something could make a person crave it even more. But Wooyoung was never far.

He had memorized San’s schedule well enough to ensure that their next meeting wouldn’t feel forced. A carefully placed coincidence, nothing more. A moment at the right time, in the right place. He had done it before, many times.

San barely registered how he ended up at the café near the hospital, his body moving on autopilot, searching for a moment of reprieve between the chaos of his job. He scanned the room absently as he stepped inside, drawn more by habit than actual interest—until his gaze landed on a familiar figure.

Wooyoung?

San’s breath hitched slightly, an unexpected rush of nerves bubbling up as he hesitated. He felt ridiculous, standing there, debating whether or not to approach. It wasn’t like Wooyoung was waiting for him right? He could sit somewhere else, avoiding the potential awkwardness entirely. And yet, his feet betrayed him, carrying him forward before he could convince himself otherwise. Wooyoung must have sensed something, because his head turned just as San came closer. Their eyes met, and for a moment, San forgot how to function like a normal person.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Wooyoung said, his tone light and amused.

San cleared his throat, shifting on his feet. “Uh—yeah. I guess.” His voice sounded stiffer than he intended, and heat crept up the back of his neck. Why was he like this?

Wooyoung chuckled, tilting his head slightly. “You okay there?”

“Yeah,” San blurted too quickly, then winced. “I mean—long day.” He rubbed the back of his neck, wishing he could just stop being so awkward. Wooyoung smiled warmly. “I can imagine. Want to sit?”

San hesitated but nodded. He pulled out the chair and laid his coat over the backrest, still feeling the remnants of his nerves from earlier.

They settled into easy conversation, discussing nothing in particular—just the kind of idle chatter that felt far removed from the constant weight of San’s work. Wooyoung seemed at ease, pulling San into the rhythm of casual talk, and it was strange how quickly San found himself forgetting about the chaos outside. Before long, the air between them felt less stiff, and San was even starting to smile more than he had in days. It wasn’t so bad, just being in this moment.

Just as San relaxed into the conversation, a familiar voice cut through the quiet hum of the café.

“There you are,” Hongjoong said, appearing at San’s side with a friendly smile. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about work.”

San blinked, startled. “Now?”

“Unless you want to explain to the boss why you’re out here making friends instead of working,” Hongjoong teased lightly, though his tone was far from harsh. He nudged San, his gaze flicking to Wooyoung with a raised brow. “You two are getting along, I see.”

San sighed, his cheeks warming again. “I was just taking a break.”

“Looks like you found a good one,” Hongjoong murmured with a grin as San stood from his chair, giving him a knowing look. “Alright, let’s go. We’ve got a shift to finish.”

San glanced at Wooyoung, who seemed almost amused by the interruption. “Duty calls,” Wooyoung said with a playful smile. “Rain check?”

San hesitated, but patted down his pockets until he found a small note pad in his back pocket, jotting down his number quickly and handing it to him before grabbing his coat off his chair. “I get off at 5,”

Wooyoung’s smile widened as he took the note in between his fingers. “I can call you at 5 then.” As Hongjoong nudged him toward the door, San resisted the urge to glance back. He could feel Wooyoung’s eyes on him, and for some reason, he didn’t mind. 

—-----

San pulled on a fresh pair of gloves, exhaling as he stepped back into the cold, sterile air of the morgue. The scent of antiseptic and something more metallic lingered, a constant presence in the space. It should’ve been suffocating by now, but it was just another part of the job.

Hongjoong was already by the autopsy table, jotting something down on his clipboard. “You owe me for covering for you,” he said without looking up. “I told the boss you were caught up reviewing old reports. Which, technically, wasn’t a lie, considering how much you stress over them.”

San huffed out a small laugh. “Appreciate it.”

Hongjoong glanced over, smirking. “So? How was your little café run?”

San knew exactly what he was getting at, and for once, he didn’t mind indulging him. “It was… nice.”

“Nice?” Hongjoong repeated, raising an eyebrow. “You’re gonna have to do better than that.”

San exhaled, picking up a scalpel as he considered his words. “I wasn’t expecting to see him there, but I’m glad I did. He’s easy to talk to.”

Hongjoong hummed. “Mingi called me, by the way.”

San paused, looking up with a questioning glance. “Why?”

Hongjoong grinned. “Apparently, you made quite the impression at a bar the other night. Something about you being drunk, some guy flirting with you, and Mingi having to drag you home before you made any more questionable life choices?”

San groaned, shaking his head. “Of course Mingi told you.”

“You know he tells me everything,” Hongjoong said, clearly enjoying this. “So, this Wooyoung guy… that’s the same guy from the bar, right?”

San hesitated for half a second before nodding. “Yeah. That’s how we met.”

Hongjoong let out a triumphant chuckle. “I knew it. I mean, come on, San. Meeting at a bar, running into each other again at a café—it’s like fate is throwing him at you.”

San rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at his lips. “It’s not that dramatic.”

“Sure it isn’t.” Hongjoong handed San a tray without needing to be asked, their movements practiced and seamless. “So, what is it? Just the flirting, or is there something else?”

San exhaled, cutting with precision as he thought. “I don’t know. He’s… different. Gets under my skin, but not in a bad way.” Hongjoong hummed in amusement. “That’s dangerously close to something sentimental.”

San ignored him, focusing on his work for a moment before adding, almost casually, “I’m meeting him after work.”

Hongjoong nearly dropped his pen. “You’re what?”

San felt his face flush at his reaction. “We didn’t get to talk much earlier. Figured I’d take him up on his rain check.”

Hongjoong let out a low whistle. “Wow. Look at you, making plans outside of work that don’t involve Mingi or me. I’m almost offended.”

San chuckled. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“Just don’t get too distracted,” Hongjoong teased. “I don’t want to be the one covering for you again when you mysteriously disappear for hours.”

San shook his head, but he couldn’t fight the warmth spreading through his chest.

They fell into the familiar rhythm of their work, methodical and precise, but the conversation remained light. They joked about the absurdity of their job, about Mingi’s habit of oversharing, about anything except the fact that they were elbow-deep in a man’s chest cavity. And San enjoyed the distraction.

San was finishing up his final notes when his phone buzzed on the desk beside him. He glanced at the screen, and despite himself, a small smile tugged at his lips.

Unknown: Still up for that rain check?

San typed back quickly before saving the contact in his phone.

San: Yeah. Just getting out now.

A response came almost immediately.

Wooyoung: Perfect. Where should I steal you away to?

San leaned back in his chair, stretching his fingers before finally typing out a reply.

San: There’s a café I like 2 blocks from the hospital. It’s quiet, good coffee.

Wooyoung responded quickly again.

Wooyoung: Sounds perfect. Text me the name, and I’ll meet you there.

San sent the name and slipped his phone back into his pocket, feeling an odd flicker of anticipation settle within his stomach. It had been a long time since he’d willingly made plans outside of work, let alone with someone he barely knew. But something about Wooyoung made it feel easy—natural, even.

By the time he finally stepped out of the hospital, the sky had begun its slow descent into dusk, casting the city in cool shades of blue and orange. The air carried the lingering bite of winter, crisp but not unbearable. San rolled his shoulders, exhaling as he prepared for the walk ahead.

Then he saw him.

Leaning casually against a lamppost just outside the hospital entrance, Wooyoung looked like he had been waiting there for a while, one foot crossed over the other, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. The soft light of the setting sun skimmed along the edge of his profile, highlighting the sharp curve of his jaw, the easy set of his shoulders. His eyes lifted the moment San stepped outside, locking onto him with a flicker of amusement.

San blinked, caught off guard. “You’re early.”

Wooyoung smirked, pushing off the lamppost with effortless ease. “Or you’re late.” His gaze flickered over San, assessing, before he let out a soft hum. “Long day?”

San exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Something like that.”

Wooyoung nodded as if he already knew the answer. “I figured I’d meet you here instead of making you walk alone.” He shrugged, then added with a smirk, “I’m sure you’ve read the papers.”

San huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Right. Because that’s what you were worried about.”

Wooyoung’s grin widened. “Hey, you never know. Couldn’t let something happen to my favorite medical examiner.”

San’s brow furrowed and he scoffed, but there was no real bite to it. “I’m the only medical examiner you know.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true.”

San shook his head, lips twitching slightly. “Let’s go.”

Wooyoung gestured ahead. “Lead the way.” With an amused exhale, San started walking, Wooyoung easily falling into step beside him.

-------

A/N: this one was way shorter than I intended and I just didn't want things to move too too fast but again, any critiques are welcome!

[starnotavailable]

Kiss of Death 

Pairings: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung

Genre: psychological thriller 

Chapter: 2/?

Word Count: 3.5K

Warnings: HUGE MENTIONS OF DEATH!!!! violence, murder, death of a loved one, psychological distress, stalking?, gaslighting/manipulation, graphic autopsy/medical descriptions

Summary: Serial Killer Wooyoung picks San as his next victim until he finds out that San is the Medical Examiner working his case. Keeping him around could be useful, couldn't it?

masterlist

------------

The voice was smooth, friendly, with just enough charm to seem harmless. San looked up—and there he was. The man from the bar, now standing at their table with a casual smile, like they were old friends.

Mingi didn’t hesitate. “Sure, why not? More the merrier.” He smiled wide as he gestured to the empty seat next to San. Mingi was the friend who was always willing to play matchmaker, even if it embarrassed his friends in the process. 

His instincts prickled, but he said nothing as the man slid into the chair beside him. Up close, his features were sharper and more defined, but his eyes were what stood out—dark, steady, with a glint that felt like he was always a step ahead in a conversation that hadn’t even started yet.

“I’m Wooyoung,” the man offered, extending a hand. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before shaking it. “San.”

The handshake was firm but not overly so—confident, measured. Calculated, San thought, though he wasn’t sure why.

“What brings you here, San?” Wooyoung asked, his tone light, but there was something in his gaze—an edge that felt like he already knew the answer.

“Work,” San replied shortly, feeling the weight of those eyes on him.

“Ah,” Wooyoung nodded, sipping his drink. “The kind of work that follows you around, even after hours?”

San stiffened slightly, but Mingi laughed, oblivious. “Yeah, he’s a medical examiner. Lives in a morgue, basically.”

Wooyoung’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it widened slightly. “Fascinating,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving San’s. “You must see all kinds of… interesting things.” It sounded more like a question. San met his eyes again as the new man took another sip from his drink.

He forced a tight smile, but his mind was racing. There was something about this guy—something off. But he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Not yet.

San could feel the weight of Wooyoung’s gaze even as he returned his attention to the drink in his hand, carefully choosing his words. He knew better than to spill details of his work to a stranger—even one who seemed so alarming.

“You know how it is,” San replied lightly, the practiced ambiguity of a man who had learned long ago that some stories were never for the public. “Just the usual.” His tone was even, concealing the truth beneath.

Wooyoung’s eyes flickered with a knowing glimmer as if he sensed there was more behind the mask. In his mind, he took note of the tension in San’s posture, the subtle clench of his jaw, the way his fingers drummed nervously on the glass. To Wooyoung, it spoke of burdens too heavy to share casually—of secrets too dangerous to reveal.

“You don’t seem like the type to enjoy crowded places,” Wooyoung remarked, leaning against the backing of his chair, still angled towards San. His voice was warm but probing. “Is it the work, then?”

San’s eyes briefly narrowed. He knew full well that he couldn’t afford to say much more. “I handle my share of… challenging cases,” he said, carefully keeping his words as vague as possible.

At that moment, Mingi flashed a mischievous grin, as if to remind San of the unspoken rule: never discuss the details.“You know San’s an ultimate professional,” Mingi interjected lightly. “He handles things by the book.”

Wooyoung smiled, but his gaze didn’t waver. “I understand. Sometimes, though, even the toughest need an ear,” he said, his tone suggesting empathy rather than prying. “I appreciate it, truly,” he murmured. “But some things are best left unsaid.” San managed a tight smile and took a measured sip of his drink.

The unspoken agreement hung in the air—a delicate balance between camaraderie and guarded professionalism. In that brief moment, Wooyoung’s eyes revealed that he respected the boundaries, even as he sensed a deeper story hidden behind them.

As the conversation drifted toward lighter topics—talking about the art exhibit Mingi mentioned, casual remarks about the weather and the numbing effect of a few drinks—the tightness of San’s guarded silence eased ever so slightly. He wasn’t about to let his walls crumble or open up completely; his trust remained hard-earned and cautious. Yet in that fleeting moment, even his tightly held secrets seemed a little less oppressive, if only within the safe anonymity of the familiar bar.

—

As the night stretched on, the conversation settled into an easy rhythm, punctuated by Mingi’s animated stories and the occasional clink of glasses. San found himself loosening up, if only slightly—the familiar buzz of alcohol blurring the sharper edges of his thoughts. It wasn’t that he trusted Wooyoung, not even close, but the man’s charm was irresistible in a way that made the weight in San’s chest feel a little lighter.

During a lull in the conversation, San glanced over at Wooyoung, his curiosity finally getting the better of him. “So, what about you?” he asked, voice casual but his eyes sharp. “What do you do?” Wooyoung’s grin tugged at the corner of his mouth like he’d been waiting for the question. “Believe it or not,” he said, lifting his finger and loosely pointing towards the small crowd, “I’m usually the one on the other side of the bar.”

San blinked, caught off guard. “You work here?”

“Yep. Bartender. Just off tonight.” Wooyoung’s gaze swept over the room, his expression fond but knowing, like he saw something in the place no one else did. “Figured I’d see what it’s like from this side for once.”

Mingi chuckled, pointing his glass at him. “Man, no wonder you’re smooth. You’ve probably got a whole lineup of lines ready to go.” Wooyoung laughed, the sound light and unbothered. “Hey, I’m just good at reading people. It comes with the job.”

San hummed, his eyes narrowing slightly—not in suspicion, but in thought. Good at reading people, huh? That explained the way Wooyoung’s gaze seemed to catch on the smallest details. It made sense, but it also made San wonder what he looked like through Wooyoung’s eyes.

He took another sip of his drink, letting the warmth settle in his chest. “Bet you’ve got some stories, then,” he said, his tone light but laced with genuine curiosity. Wooyoung’s smile deepened, and for a moment, San thought he saw something flicker behind his eyes—something darker, maybe even dangerous. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by that easy charm again.

“Oh,” Wooyoung said, tapping his glass against the table. “I handle my share of challenging cases.”

The words echoed in San’s mind, a mirror of his own from earlier. But hearing them from Wooyoung felt different—almost comforting, like an unexpected thread of familiarity in the chaos of his thoughts. It was rare for someone to reflect his own guardedness back at him, and maybe that’s why, for the first time in a while, the tension in his chest loosened just a little. For the first time just that night, he let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t the worst company to keep.

Wooyoung shifted in his chair, the corners of his mouth quirking into a playful grin. “Though, I’ve gotta admit, my ‘cases’ usually involve drunk idiots arguing over who had the last shot or someone crying into their whiskey over a bad breakup.” He rolled his eyes with a dramatic flair, any remaining apprehension in the air dissolving completely. “Real high-stakes stuff, you know?”

Mingi laughed, nearly spilling his drink. “Sounds like a tough gig,” he teased.

“You’d be surprised,” Wooyoung shot back with a wink. “People get weird when they’re drunk. Sometimes it’s like being a therapist, sometimes it’s like babysitting… and every now and then, it’s like refereeing a bar fight you really don't want to be a part of.”

San found himself smiling despite the lingering suspicion. There was an ease to Wooyoung, a natural charm that made him hard to pin down—bewitching, even. The kind of guy who could talk his way out of anything. Or into it.

His gaze rested on Wooyoung longer than he intended, the alcohol blurring the usual lines of his caution. In the low, flickering bar light, Wooyoung’s features stood out more vividly—the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the relaxed curve of his lips, and those dark eyes glinting with quiet amusement, as if he were watching a story unfold that only he knew the ending to.

Wooyoung’s eyes lifted, meeting San’s without hesitation. He didn’t look away—instead, his gaze lingered, calm and unflinching, like he was used to being watched and maybe even enjoyed it. A slow, almost imperceptible smile crept onto his face, something quieter than his usual grin, tinged with a hint of curiosity. His eyes drifted over San’s features—the sharp cut of his jaw, the faint shadow of stubble along his cheek, the way his dark hair curled slightly where it met the back of his neck, still damp from the warmth of the bar.

“What, do I have something on my face?” Wooyoung murmured, raising an eyebrow with a mock offense like San’s stare had personally wounded him. His tone was light, almost exaggerated as if he couldn’t believe he was being scrutinized so seriously. He rubbed his cheek dramatically, grinning when San finally blinked, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Mingi, who’d been quietly sipping his drink and watching the exchange with barely concealed amusement, suddenly leaned in with a wide grin. “Okay, seriously,” he laughed, glancing between them. “Do I need to leave you two alone, or what?”

San shot him a sharp look, but the heat rising to his cheeks gave him away, making Mingi’s grin stretch even wider.

Wooyoung chuckled, resting his arm casually on the back of San’s chair. “Nah,” he replied, throwing Mingi a playful smirk. “I think we’re doing just fine with an audience.”

San groaned, tipping his head back in exasperation, but he couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The sharp edges of the day dulled just enough to feel like maybe he could relax.

Wooyoung’s eyes flicked to San’s, catching the slight smile before he could hide it. The faint flush across San’s cheeks wasn’t lost on him either, and though he played it cool, there was a spark of satisfaction behind his easy grin. He could feel the shift—the tiniest crack in San’s carefully constructed armor—and he knew just how to widen it, bit by bit.

Leaning in slightly, his voice dropped just enough to carve out a space between them, even in the noisy bar. “You know,” Wooyoung said, his tone softer now, less teasing but still laced with that familiar charm, “for someone who’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders, you don’t wear it as well as you think.”

San’s brow furrowed, the words catching him off guard. He opened his mouth, maybe to protest or deflect, but Wooyoung held up a hand, shaking his head. His features softening. 

“That’s not a bad thing,” Wooyoung added quickly, his gaze steady and sincere. “Means you care. Most people just… shut it off. But you? You’re still here. Still feeling it.” He shrugged like it was nothing, but his words lingered in the air between them. “That’s rare.”

For a moment, San didn’t know how to respond. The usual instinct to retreat, to deflect with sarcasm or cold indifference, felt… heavier now, like it didn’t quite fit. Instead, he found himself holding Wooyoung’s gaze longer than he meant to, the sincerity there disarming in a way that unsettled him—and, strangely, comforted him, too.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the quiet understanding in Wooyoung’s words, but he felt as though he didn’t have to hold everything so tightly. And that, more than anything, scared him.

Wooyoung let the silence stretch just long enough before speaking again, his voice dipping into something quieter, more thoughtful. “It’s exhausting, isn’t it?” he murmured, swirling the last of his drink in his glass. “Carrying all of that around, pretending like it doesn’t get to you.” He didn’t say her name—San hadn’t even mentioned it—but the words hit their mark like Wooyoung already knew.

San’s jaw tightened, his grip on his glass firming just slightly. But the fight to brush it off wasn’t as quick this time. The way Wooyoung said it—so casually, like he understood—made the tightness in San’s chest waver, just for a second.

Wooyoung leaned back in his chair, his expression softening into something more vulnerable, more human. “I mean, I get it. People expect you to have it together. To not let it get personal.” He chuckled, a low, almost self-deprecating sound. “But it does. No matter how much you try to separate it. Some things just stick.” His eyes flicked back to San’s, dark and steady. “And the worst part? No one really gets it unless they’ve been there.”

San didn’t respond, but Wooyoung could see it—the flicker of something in his eyes. 

Recognition. Maybe even relief.

Wooyoung pressed just a little further, careful not to overstep. “It’s not weakness, though. Feeling it. It means you’re still fighting. And that’s more than most people can say.” He let out a soft breath as if he were the one confessing something. “You’ve got more strength than you realize.”

There it was—a carefully crafted balance of understanding and admiration. Just enough to make San feel like maybe Wooyoung wasn’t a stranger after all. Like he could be someone who got it, someone who wasn’t judging him for struggling to keep it together. San let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, the tension in his shoulders easing as he finally took another sip of his drink. The words settled in his mind, warmer than the alcohol coursing through his system. And Wooyoung just smiled, knowing exactly what he was doing.

How the hell does he know? The thought echoed in San’s head, but it wasn’t sharp, wasn’t accusatory. It was… pleading. Like the energy to question it was slipping through his fingers, dulled by the warmth of the alcohol and the weight of the night pressing against his shoulders.

Wooyoung’s words settled into the spaces San had tried to keep locked up tight. It’s exhausting, isn’t it? Of course, it was. But hearing someone else say it—someone who wasn’t Mingi, who wasn’t trying to fix him or tell him to take a break—felt different. Wooyoung wasn’t offering advice or pity. Just understanding.

And the worst part? No one really gets it unless they’ve been there.

San’s grip tightened around his glass. Has he been there? The idea raced through his mind, weaving through the haze of his thoughts. There was something unsettling about how easily Wooyoung seemed to slip into those unspoken spaces, but it was also… comforting. Like maybe he wasn’t as alone in this as he thought.

You’ve got more strength than you realize.

San swallowed hard, the words lingering longer than he wanted them to. He knew he was supposed to keep his distance, to stay guarded. But sitting here, with Wooyoung’s steady gaze holding his, it felt easier to believe that maybe it wasn’t weak to feel like this. Maybe it was just… human.

His eyes drifted over Wooyoung’s face, tracing the curve of his jaw, and the way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was something sharp beneath that charisma, something that should’ve set off every alarm in his head.

But it didn’t. Not tonight.

Maybe he really does get it. 

—

San swirled the liquid in his glass, watching the amber catch the dim light. It’s the alcohol, he told himself, the thought cutting through the fog in his mind like a lifeline. That’s all this is. The warmth he felt, the ease in Wooyoung’s presence, the flicker of something dangerously close to trust—it had to be the booze loosening his grip on reality.

He’d been down this road before. Late nights, stiff drinks, and the illusion that the world was softer or kinder than it really was. But the morning always came, and with it, the clarity he couldn’t ignore. He’d see Wooyoung for what he really was—a stranger. Just another face in the crowd, with no reason to know anything about him. San exhaled through his nose, trying to re-anchor himself in that thought. But Wooyoung’s words still clung to him, stubborn and lingering, like smoke in his lungs.

You’ve got more strength than you realize.

It should’ve felt like an empty platitude, but it didn’t. That was the problem. San shook his head slightly like he could physically dislodge the feeling. He wasn’t the kind of guy who opened up to strangers in bars. He didn’t let his guard down after a few drinks, didn’t let pretty words and sharp smiles get under his skin.

And yet, here he was.

His gaze flicked back to Wooyoung, who was now laughing at something Mingi had said, his shoulders relaxed, eyes crinkling at the corners. There was nothing outwardly threatening about him—just a guy on his night off, blending into the bar like he belonged there. Like he’d always belonged.

It’s the alcohol, San repeated to himself, firmer this time. I’ll feel different in the morning.

But deep down, he wasn’t so sure.

Wooyoung met San’s lingering gaze once more, and for a heartbeat, neither of them flinched. The buzz of the bar dulled to a distant hum, the space between them tightening with something unspoken. Then, with effortless ease, Wooyoung’s eyes dipped to San’s lips—brief, subtle, but enough to ignite a flicker of heat low in San’s chest, sharp and unexpected.

“You know,” Wooyoung murmured, his voice softer now, dipped in something warmer, closer, “if you’re not careful, I’m gonna start thinking you like looking at me.”

San’s breath caught, but he managed to scoff, shaking his head as if to dismiss it. “You wish,” he muttered, but his voice lacked the usual bite. The flush creeping up his neck betrayed him, and Wooyoung noticed—of course he did. That sly grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, subtle but smug, like he’d won a round in a game San hadn’t realized they were playing.

Mingi, blissfully unaware of the tension crackling between them, downed the rest of his drink and slammed the glass on the table. “Alright, I’m calling it,” he declared, standing with a stretch.  “If I have one more, I’m gonna start singing karaoke, and no one needs to hear that,” Mingi said, pushing his empty glass away with a dramatic sigh. San chuckled, shaking his head as he grabbed his jacket. 

Wooyoung chuckled low under his breath, standing too, but his gaze stayed on San. “Don’t be a stranger,” he said, the words simple, but the way he said them made San’s pulse tick up just a notch. There was a weight behind them, a subtle pull, like Wooyoung wasn’t just talking about the bar.

San hesitated for half a second before stuffing his hands in his pockets, giving a noncommittal shrug. “We’ll see,” he replied, but even to his own ears, it sounded less convincing than he’d intended.

As Mingi grabbed his jacket, Wooyoung’s hand brushed against San’s arm—light, casual, but deliberate. “Hey,” Wooyoung added quietly, leaning in just enough that San could feel the warmth of his breath against his ear. “For what it’s worth… you wear complicated pretty well.”

San felt his heart skip, but before he could even think of a response, Mingi’s voice cut through the moment. “C’mon, lover boy, let’s get outta here before you start blushing through your shirt,” Mingi teased, grabbing San by the sleeve and tugging him toward the door.

San shot him a glare but didn’t resist, letting himself be pulled away. As they stepped into the cool night air, the buzz of the bar fading behind them, San found himself glancing back over his shoulder. Wooyoung was still there, leaning against the table, watching him with that same infuriating, knowing smile.

Mingi nudged him with an elbow, grinning like an idiot. “You’re so into him.”

“Shut up,” San muttered, but he couldn’t help the small smile that forced itself across his lips as they disappeared down the street.

Wooyoung watched San’s retreating figure, unmoving. He stayed right where he was, the same easy smile lingering like a mask he’d worn for years. But as soon as San turned the corner, it slipped away. He straightened slowly, brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeve, his eyes narrowing slightly where San had last stood.

Hooked.

It had been easier than he expected. The cautious ones always were, in the end. A bit of attention, a perfectly timed smile, and they splintered like brittle glass under strain. San was no exception—grief hung over him like a fog, dulling his sharp edges, leaving him exposed in all the ways Wooyoung could use. This wasn’t about attraction or trust. It never had been.

Wooyoung reached for his drink, the condensation cold against his fingertips, and took a slow sip, savoring the burn of the alcohol as much as the thrill that buzzed just beneath his skin. He wasn’t here for companionship.

San was just the next move in a game Wooyoung had already won.

[starnotavailable]

Hope you have fun creating this story 🤗

AHHH I AM THANKS im usually a pretty slow writer bc i suffer SEVERELY from writers block but im really enjoying this :) it makes me feel productive

[starnotavailable]

Cool that you write again! Looking forward to the next chapter 😊

COMING SOON