crimson and code(bl)

And God help anyone who got in his way.

Eun-jae shivered—not from the cold this time, but from the memory of how Caesar killed.

Because it wasn't normal.

No, normal people killed out of desperation. Out of necessity. Some out of anger. Others out of fear.

But Caesar?

Caesar killed because it made him happy.

It was in the way his eyes darkened just before he pulled the trigger. The way his lips curled up, ever so slightly, as blood painted the walls. The way his breathing slowed—not from panic, but from satisfaction.

That moment, right before impact—that was what thrilled him. That was what excited him.

It was sick. It was terrifying. It was absolutely fucking insane.

And yet, somehow, no one else seemed to notice.

They saw the charming smirks, the smooth words, the expensive suits. They saw the power, the confidence, the effortless control.

But Eun-jae?

Eun-jae saw the truth.

He saw the way Caesar enjoyed the hunt. The way his fingers twitched, itching to pull the trigger. The way his whole body seemed to come alive when there was blood in the air.

"This man is an actual psychopath," Eun-jae thought bitterly. "And I'm supposed to trust him? Fat fucking chance."

He stole another glance at Caesar, who was still by the window, silent, still. But this time, Eun-jae caught something different.

A hint of amusement.

A smirk, barely there.

Like he knew exactly what Eun-jae was thinking.

Eun-jae's stomach twisted.

Oh, fuck no.

skull, sparking confusion, irritation, and the overwhelming urge to throw something at the smug bastard standing in front of him.

His head snapped toward Caesar, who was now strolling toward him, hands casually stuffed in his coat pockets, his expression unreadable—except for the look.

That damn look.

The one that screamed, I know something you don't. The one that made Eun-jae's skin crawl because he hated that look more than anything else in the world.

"Oh, fuck off," Eun-jae thought bitterly, already regretting ever getting involved in this mission.

"I can hear your thoughts from where I was even standing," Caesar said, his voice smooth, dipped in amusement.

Eun-jae groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Oh, please. I was just organizing my thoughts." His voice was dripping with sarcasm as he shot Caesar a glare.

Caesar's smirk deepened, like he was thoroughly entertained by Eun-jae's suffering.

"Ah, I see." His tone was light, teasing, but it did nothing to hide the fact that he absolutely knew Eun-jae had been internally cursing him for the past ten minutes.

Eun-jae clenched his jaw. "This guy is insufferable. Like, actually, clinically, certified-by-a-psychiatrist, insufferable."

But fine. Whatever. He wasn't going to let Caesar get under his skin. Not today. Not when they had bigger things to deal with.

Shaking off his irritation, Eun-jae leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "So, who owns the house Hyunji is in now?" he asked, forcing his voice to sound neutral.

Caesar leaned lazily against the wall, tilting his head slightly, as if bored by the question. "Well, from the look of things, I'm sure it's the Karpov-Troitsky."

Eun-jae frowned. The name wasn't unfamiliar, but it wasn't exactly one he liked hearing, either.

"How sure are you?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

Caesar's gaze flickered toward him, sharp, assessing—almost mocking the fact that Eun-jae even questioned him.

"I saw the Karpov-Troitsky crest on the gates." His tone was laced with amusement, like this was all just a game to him. "Everyone knows it."

Eun-jae stared at him for a long moment.

Of course. Of course Caesar would just know that.

This was the fundamental difference between them. Eun-jae needed research, solid leads, background checks, and actual proof. Caesar? He just saw things. Picked up on tiny, insignificant details, stored them in whatever terrifying supercomputer of a brain he had, and somehow, miraculously, always ended up being right.

It was infuriating.

"Wait," Eun-jae said, shaking his head. "Their crest? How does it look, though?"

Caesar tilted his head, watching him with an expression that made Eun-jae deeply uncomfortable. Like he was being studied. Like he was some kind of fascinating little experiment.

"Two eagles," Caesar said finally, his voice smooth as silk. "Their faces facing opposite directions. And the crest in the middle."

Eun-jae felt his stomach twist.

If Caesar was telling the truth—and he always was when it came to shit like this—then they had, in fact, come to the right place.

Which meant one thing.

This just got a whole lot more dangerous.

Eun-jae let out a slow breath, trying to push down the unease creeping up his spine.

"Alright," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Let's keep things on the low and find a way to get into that house."

He expected some kind of snarky response from Caesar. Some cocky remark, some infuriating comment. Instead, Caesar simply hummed, "Hm, sure," and started walking—only to stop abruptly.

Eun-jae frowned. "What?"

Caesar turned, looking at him with an expression that could only be described as obnoxiously casual.

"There's a sauna here," he said, adjusting his fur coat. "You should come join me." Then, just like that, he walked off.

Eun-jae blinked.

"…A sauna?" he muttered, feeling like he had just hallucinated that entire conversation.

He wasn't even sure which part to be more annoyed about. The fact that Caesar had completely derailed the topic of breaking into a high-security mansion—or the fact that he'd said it like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Does this man not feel fear? Like, at all? Does he have some kind of brain malfunction that prevents him from processing danger like a normal human being?"

Because, seriously.

One second, they were talking about infiltrating a deadly crime syndicate's hideout. The next, this lunatic was inviting him to a goddamn steam room.

Who even does that?

Eun-jae groaned, dragging a hand down his face.'

Eun-jae sat alone in the sauna, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, the thick heat curling around his body like a lazy serpent. The wooden bench beneath him was warm, the scent of cedarwood thick in the air, mingling with the faint crackle of the hot coals. Beads of sweat traced slow paths down his bare skin, and despite the humid stillness of the room, his mind was a full-blown hurricane of absolute, utter nonsense.

"What am I even doing here?" he thought, scowling at the ceiling.

He had walked here on his own. Nobody dragged him. Nobody coerced him. He—Eun-jae, an individual with free will—had willingly stepped into this heat chamber of questionable decisions. And for what? Because Caesar suggested it?

"Tsk. Idiot. You're an idiot, Eun-jae," he muttered under his breath. He threw a little more water on the coals out of pure frustration.

Steam curled upward in thick, rolling waves, the heat swallowing him up completely. His muscles—tight from days of tension—slowly began to loosen, and he hated to admit it, but… it was kind of nice. For once, Caesar had actually suggested something not borderline insane.

But just as he was beginning to appreciate it, his eyes snapped toward the door.

"Where the hell is he?"

Because, of course, the same man who invited him wasn't even here.

What was the point of suggesting this whole sauna plan if he was just going to disappear like some kind of ghost? Did he get lost? Fall asleep? Or—Eun-jae's stomach twisted—was he planning something?

Because Caesar always planned something.

That man's idea of "relaxation" was slipping into a dark alley, pressing a knife to some poor bastard's throat, and whispering with an almost obscene level of enjoyment, "I wonder how much pressure it takes before the blood spills?"

Eun-jae had seen it firsthand.

The way Caesar's lips curled just slightly as he pulled the trigger. The way his breathing slowed right before the kill, as if he was savoring the moment, like a chef appreciating the final touch of a perfectly plated dish. The way his eyes darkened—not with fear, not with hesitation, but with something far worse.

Excitement.

He didn't kill out of necessity. He didn't kill out of revenge. No, he killed because he liked it. Because it thrilled him. Because it sent some sick, twisted rush through his veins like a drug he couldn't quit.

And now, Eun-jae was sitting here, roasting like a damn piece of meat, while that man was off doing who-knows-what with who-knows-who.

"Ugh, I should've just stayed outside," he thought, rubbing his temples.

His foot tapped against the floor impatiently. He looked toward the door again. Then—his brain did something stupid.

Wait a minute…

This was a sauna.

Caesar would have to be… shirtless.

Eun-jae's body stiffened. His eyes widened slightly. Oh.

His mind was suddenly cursed with imagery.

Caesar—sweat-slicked, his usually pristine clothes discarded, steam rolling off his body in slow, curling wisps. Muscles shifting beneath golden skin, damp strands of hair falling messily into those dark, piercing eyes. A lazy smirk. A slow stretch.

Eun-jae's hand shot up to his face like he had been physically slapped by his own thoughts.

"NOPE. NOPE. NOPE."

He groaned, shoving his palm against his burning face, as if he could physically block the mental images from forming.

"Why am I even thinking about that?! It's just a man's body. A MAN'S. BODY. I have seen plenty of men's bodies before. This is NOT a big deal!"

And yet, his brain was like, But have you ever seen Caesar shirtless? Like, really seen him?

Eun-jae slammed his fist against the bench in frustration. "FUCK."

Because the truth was… he hadn't.

Not once. Not during any mission. Not even in passing. Hell, not even when they'd— NOPE. Not going there. Not THINKING about that.

Caesar was always fully clothed. Even in bed. Even when things got… complicated.

Which was suspicious as hell, now that Eun-jae actually thought about it.

"What is he hiding? Does he have a secret tattoo? Scars? A third nipple?" His thoughts were spiraling now, completely unhinged. "Or is he just built like some Greek god and doesn't want me to pass out from shock?"

His face was on fire. He fanned himself dramatically, as if the actual steam suffocating him wasn't enough.

"This damn heat is messing with my brain. That's the only explanation. I'm dehydrated. Delirious. Hallucinating. Clearly, I need water."

He poured more over the coals instead, sending another thick wave of steam into the air.

"I am NOT going to think about Caesar's abs. Or his stupid smirk. Or how he'd probably—"

His brain cut him off before he could complete that sentence, but the damage was already done. He was doomed.

Eun-jae clenched his jaw, forcing himself to sit up straighter, like some form of discipline could erase the absolute mess of thoughts in his head.

"Damn it! Why does he always have this effect on me? It's infuriating!"

And worst of all?

Caesar knew.

He always knew.

That bastard could read people like an open book, and Eun-jae just KNEW—somewhere, somehow—Caesar was already aware of this mental catastrophe happening inside his head. He was probably laughing about it, too.

Cocky, insufferable, smug, psychotic…

The door creaked open.

Eun-jae's breath hitched.

A silhouette stepped inside.

The heat in the room suddenly felt twice as suffocating.

Eun-jae was not prepared.

Not even remotely.

He had walked into this sauna expecting, at most, an awkward moment, maybe a little bit of forced conversation, or perhaps, if the gods were merciful, absolute silence where he could just sit, close his eyes, and pretend for a few minutes that his life hadn't completely spiraled into this chaotic, mindfuck of a mission.

But no.

Because the moment he stepped inside, the moment he turned his head—

His soul almost left his body.

There stood Caesar.

Completely. Stark. Fucking. Naked.

Holding a vodka bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other, like this was some kind of casual business meeting and not a scene straight out of Eun-jae's worst fever dream.

For a solid three seconds, Eun-jae's brain shut down.

Like, fully.

A full-system crash.

He wasn't looking. He wasn't going to look. He refused to look.

But his eyes betrayed him.

Before he could stop himself—before his better judgment could kick in—his gaze flickered down.

And that was the moment he knew.

He had fucked up.

His entire worldview was shattered.

His eyes widened, and for a split second, he just—

He couldn't breathe.