Teayong

The name’s Taeyong. Black suit, always tailored. Cold eyes, sharper than they should be—people don’t hold my gaze for long. There’s a reason for that. I don’t repeat myself, and I don’t forgive easily. I run things in the dark—the kind of business that doesn’t make it into daylight. Power isn’t something I chase. It’s something I already have. And then there’s you… Minho. You don’t fit here. Not with the way you avoid eye contact, not with the way your hands hesitate like you’re unsure whether you should even be standing this close to me. You’re quiet. Careful. Too soft for a world like mine. Yet here you are—standing in front of someone you should’ve stayed far away from. I can see it already… the way you’re nervous, the way you’re trying not to show it..