Chapter Text
The city looked colder at night.
War leaned one shoulder against the window, the press of glass cool against his temple as he watched the headlights snake their way through Bangkok’s streets far below. Too far to matter. The kind of distance that made everything feel like someone else’s problem.
Behind him, Yin moved through the apartment in steady, unhurried strides.
A cupboard door opened and shut. The soft scrape of a curtain drawn back. Every sound sharp in the silence.
War didn’t have to look to know exactly where he was. The man moved like a shadow, all precision and quiet purpose. It should’ve felt intrusive. It didn’t. If anything, it was the first time this place had felt safely occupied in days.
His gaze drifted to the envelope still sitting on the counter.
Plain. White. Clean edges.
Inside: a single slip of paper.
You shouldn’t change your password so often. 02176347 worked just fine.
He exhaled through his teeth.
War hadn’t wanted the security detail.
He’d said as much to his manager, his publicist, his label. Said he could handle a few freak letters and an occasional overzealous fan. It wasn’t until that last message arrived — until someone had put his new door code in his mailbox — that they stopped asking for his opinion.
He remembered the meeting.
The agency’s office had been cold, all glass walls and too-clean surfaces. The suits did most of the talking: protocol, escalation, high-risk profiles. War had barely been paying attention until the man they’d assigned to him walked in.
Twenty-nine. Private security for the last six years. Ex-military, clean record, one injury in service, transferred out. The file had been clinical and efficient, exactly the kind of person the agency promised when things stopped being a fan club problem and started becoming a security threat.
Yin Anan Wong.
Younger than him — that was the first thing War noticed, clean-cut, with a lean, muscular frame and a face that didn’t give anything away.
War raised an eyebrow. “You’re kidding, right? How old is he?”
Yin didn’t blink. “Qualifications are what got me in this room.”
The delivery was flat, no sharp edge, no need for bravado. Just a fact. War had met guys who talked tough before. This wasn’t that.
One of the agency directors spoke up, gesturing toward Yin. “Lead security. From now on, he doesn’t leave your side.”
“Great,” War muttered. But the way Yin held himself, not defiant or cocky, just steady and attentive, had been enough to shut him up.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
They’d arrived at his apartment half an hour ago.
Two other men in plain clothes flanked the entrance, already briefed and stationed outside for the night rotation. War went to key in his door code out of habit, only for Yin to catch his wrist mid-reach.
“Wait here.”
War shot him a look. “Seriously?”
“Standard sweep,” Yin said evenly. “Five minutes.”
A few months ago, he would’ve made a joke. Would’ve rolled his eyes and gone in anyway. But the weight of that letter still sat in his chest.War dropped his hand. “Knock yourself out.”
He stepped back, watching as Yin keyed in the code, shouldered the door open, and slipped inside.
He waited.
Could hear it, the muffled click of doors opening, the sharp snap of curtain rods drawn aside. Yin moved with a kind of stripped-down efficiency, clearing for immediate danger. War counted the seconds. Didn’t know why it made him uneasy, standing in the hallway outside his own place. Maybe because no one else had ever needed to check before.
Three minutes later, the door cracked open. Yin reappeared.
“Clear,” he said, stepping aside. “You can come in.”
War pushed past him, scanning the room instinctively. Nothing looked out of place. Everything looked exactly the same as how he’d left them this morning. Still, knowing someone out there had known his password made the whole place feel estranged.
Yin spoke up from behind him. “Don’t touch anything yet,”
“Why, you think my blender’s gonna kill me?”
Yin didn’t rise to it. Instead, the man moved past him without a word, doing a slower, more methodical sweep now — not for immediate danger, but to get the lay of the land. Checking sightlines from the windows. Opening and shutting doors. Testing how long it took to cross from one room to another. The man was building a mental map of every crook of his living quarters.
War watched him from the kitchen.
“You always like this, or am I getting the special treatment?”
Yin didn’t look at him. “It’s protocol.”
He then crossed back to the entryway, methodically adjusting the latch on the front door. War watched the way the man’s hand hovered over the deadbolt for a beat longer than necessary, like checking for telltale signs, scratches, indentations.
War ran a hand through his hair, unsure if he was annoyed or relieved. “Not what I pictured when they said personal security detail,” he muttered.
Yin moved to the balcony door, testing the lock. “What did you picture?”
War shrugged. “Bigger guy. Older for sure. Loud. Sunglasses indoors.”
“The ‘deter the screaming fan’ type.”
That earned a flicker of a grin from War despite himself. “You seem confident.”
Yin finished his sweep, checking the final window latch. He straightened, hands relaxed at his sides, but War could tell by the way he stood — weight balanced, eyes still scanning the place — that it was far from casual.
The room settled around them.
“Pakorn and Tharn stay outside,” Yin said quietly, checking his watch. “They won’t rotate until 0400.”
“You?”
Yin’s gaze met his. “I don’t rotate.”
And there was something about the way he said it, the finality in his tone, that settled under War’s skin like a steady pulse.
The envelope on the counter caught his eye again.
“You figure out what kind of psycho sends a door code in a letter yet?” War asked, a failed attempt at nonchalance.
“Someone patient,” Yin said. “And close.”
That landed heavier than the scenarios War had deluded himself with the entire day.
The unsaid string of words hung in the air;
Whoever it was… wasn’t far.