Beom nodded, his expression darkening. "It makes sense. Vladivostok is isolated, far enough from prying eyes. If I were hiding something as dangerous as that code, I'd want it somewhere remote too."
"Right," Sasha said, his voice lowering. "But if it's there, it's not just lying around. It'll be heavily guarded, probably hidden in one of those underground facilities the Petrovich family loves so much."
Beom rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "So we'll need to find out exactly where it's being stored before we make any moves. Charging in blind would be suicide."
Sasha grinned, a predatory glint in his eyes. "That's where I come in. I'm good at... persuading people to talk."
Beom rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I've seen your methods. Not exactly subtle."
"Subtlety doesn't always get results," Sasha countered, leaning back with a smirk. "But you—Mr. Good Cop—you'll probably want to stick to your own way of handling things."
Beom ignored the jab, his mind already working through their next steps. "First, we need intel. Contacts, locations, floor plans—anything we can get our hands on. I'll handle the recon."
"And I'll handle the fun stuff," Sasha said, cracking his knuckles.
Beom gave him a pointed look. "This isn't a game, Sasha. The Seraphim Code is lethal. If it falls into the wrong hands..."
"It won't," Sasha said firmly, his smirk fading. For once, there was a seriousness in his tone. "We'll get it. I'll make sure of it."
Beom studied him for a moment, surprised by the sudden shift. Maybe Sasha wasn't all jokes and chaos after all.
"Alright," Beom said, standing up. "We need to stay focused. Vladivostok isn't going to be easy, but if we play this right, we can get in and out before anyone knows we're there."
Sasha smirked again, the teasing light returning to his eyes. "Sounds like a plan. Just don't freak out if things get... messy."
Beom sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Messy with you is inevitable. Let's just try not to burn the place down, okay?"
"No promises," Sasha said with a chuckle, but there was an edge of determination in his voice.
As the train rattled on through the Russian wilderness, the tension between them settled into a tentative truce. For all their differences, Beom knew they needed each other to see this mission through. And despite everything, he had a strange feeling that Sasha—chaotic, frustrating Sasha—was someone he could rely on when it really mattered.
Beom pushed himself off the bed, the creak of the wooden floor beneath his feet breaking the stillness of the room. His movements were deliberate as he walked over to the small table, his hand brushing over his laptop before turning his gaze to Sasha.
"Can I use your phone?" Beom asked, his voice calm yet carrying a hint of hesitation.
Sasha raised an eyebrow but didn't argue, fishing his sleek black phone out of his pocket and tossing it onto the table in front of Beom. "Knock yourself out," he said, leaning back on his bed, arms crossed behind his head.
Beom picked up the phone, the cold metal casing cool against his palm. He stared at the screen for a moment, debating if this was the right time. But the ache in his chest—the one that had been there since he left Seoul—demanded he do this now. He needed to hear her voice, to ground himself amidst the chaos of this mission.
He dialed the familiar number, each beep echoing louder in his ears as he pressed the phone to his ear. The line rang twice before a soft, warm voice answered on the other end.
"Yeoboseyo?"
Beom swallowed, his throat tightening as a wave of emotion surged through him. "Eomma," he said softly, his voice breaking slightly. "It's Beom-ki."
The other end went silent for a heartbeat, then came the flurry of words he expected, her voice tinged with both relief and worry.
"Beom-ah, where have you been? Why haven't you called? Are you eating well? Are you safe?"
Her questions came rapid-fire, and Beom couldn't help but smile faintly, even as guilt pricked at the edges of his heart. He had been so caught up in this mission, so consumed by the danger and secrecy, that he had pushed her to the back of his mind. Now, hearing her voice, it felt like coming up for air after being underwater for too long.
"I'm fine, eomma," he said, his voice gentle. "I've just been... busy. Things have been hectic."
"Hectic? What are you doing that's so hectic you can't even call your mother?" she scolded, though her tone softened immediately after. "You've lost weight, haven't you? I can tell, even without seeing you."
Beom let out a small chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "Eomma, you can't tell that over the phone."
"I'm your mother. I know these things," she replied firmly, and he could picture her now, standing in the tiny kitchen of their apartment, a dish towel thrown over her shoulder as she lectured him.
The sound of her voice brought a sense of comfort Beom hadn't realized he needed. It reminded him of home—the small, cozy apartment that always smelled of kimchi stew and laundry detergent, the faint hum of the TV in the background as his mother watched her dramas. It felt a million miles away from this cold, rattling train and the looming danger of Vladivostok.
"Are you staying warm?" she asked, her concern genuine. "It's cold this time of year. Make sure you're wearing enough layers."
"Yes, eomma," Beom replied, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "I'm staying warm."
"And don't skip meals. You need to keep your strength up. Eat some meat, not just ramen."
Beom nodded, even though she couldn't see him. "I'll eat properly, I promise."
There was a pause, the line crackling faintly, and then her voice came again, quieter this time. "Beom-ah... I miss you."
The lump in his throat returned, and he closed his eyes, his grip on the phone tightening. "I miss you too, eomma," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Sasha watched from his bed, his expression unreadable as he observed the one-sided conversation. He didn't understand a word of Korean, but he could tell by the tone that it was someone important to Beom. The usually stoic man looked softer now, his defenses lowered, his voice tinged with a vulnerability Sasha hadn't seen before.
"I'll call again soon," Beom promised, his voice steady. "Take care of yourself, okay? Don't overwork yourself."
"You take care of yourself too, Beom-ah," she replied. "And remember, no matter where you are, you're my son. I'm always here for you."
The call ended with her usual reminders, and Beom handed the phone back to Sasha, who raised an eyebrow.
"Touching," Sasha remarked, his tone light but curiously void of its usual edge.
Beom didn't spare him a glance. "Please shut up," he replied flatly, his voice tinged with fatigue.
Sasha chuckled, his smirk deepening as he leaned back, arms spread casually across the headboard of his bed. "Wow, you really love your mom. Mommy's boy, huh?" he quipped, a glint of amusement in his sharp gaze.
Beom clenched his jaw but stayed silent, knowing better than to engage with Sasha's taunts.
But Sasha wasn't done. "You know," he continued, his voice dripping with mockery, "I always thought mommy's boys were the kind who stayed home knitting sweaters or whatever. Never expected to find one on a mission with me."
Beom's patience cracked. He let out a sigh, long and exasperated, before finally looking at Sasha, his dark eyes steady and unimpressed.
"It's just love, Sasha," Beom said, his voice measured but carrying a weight of emotion that Sasha couldn't ignore. "Of course, you wouldn't understand that."
Sasha raised an eyebrow, intrigued but unfazed. "Oh? And why's that?"
Beom leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "Because I'm sure you haven't loved someone so hard that it hurts, right? You've never cared for someone so deeply that their happiness becomes your reason for living. Someone who, even when they're miles away, is the only person you think of when you're in hell."
The room fell silent, the distant rumble of the train the only sound between them.
Beom's thoughts churned as he spoke, memories flooding his mind. His mom's laughter echoing in their tiny apartment when he told her a silly joke. The way she worked tirelessly, sacrificing everything to make sure he and his brother had a future. Her hands, rough from years of labor, still somehow tender when she stroked his hair to comfort him during tough times.
"She's been my rock, my constant," Beom continued, his voice softer now, almost as if speaking to himself. "Even when the world felt like it was falling apart, she held everything together. You can mock me all you want, but you have no idea what it's like to owe everything to one person."