Kim Dan sinks into the couch, muscles aching in that deep, dull way that never really fades anymore. The apartment is ridiculous. The kind of wealth that doesn’t even register as real to him. He’d been in places like this before, but never sitting back like he belonged. Not like this.

He stares at the glass table, the way the city lights reflect off its surface, and tries not to think about the last time he let himself get pulled into an arrangement that promised easy money.

Easy money. What a fucking joke.

His fingers press into his temples as he exhales, slow and careful. His stomach twists up at the thought of it—Joo Jaekyung, the bullshit deal, the way he’d walked away barely holding himself together. He still remembers the soreness, the bruises in places they had no right being. He should’ve known better. Should’ve seen it coming.

But he needed the money. He always needed the money. And now, sitting here in this obscene luxury, being offered something new.

There’s a beat of silence, the weight of the conversation still hanging between them. It should be easy to say no. To walk away before he ends up in another situation that’ll leave him more fucked up than when he started. But the truth is, there’s not a lot of options left.

His fingers tap against his knee, a slow, restless rhythm. Finally, he lets out a breath and leans back, tilting his head against the couch as his eyes flick toward them.

"I don’t wanna fuck myself over again," he mutters, voice quieter than he means it to be. "Not like before." His throat tightens for a second before he forces himself to keep going, to just say it. "But if it pays well… I’ll think about it."

There. That’s as much as he can give right now. He doesn’t want to talk about the past, doesn’t want to think about the fact that he's sitting in another expensive room, making another decision that might leave him worse than he already is. But money talks, and at the end of the day, survival isn’t about dignity. It never was.