Chapter Text
The world felt hazy as Saint stirred, his senses slowly creeping back to life. A dull ache throbbed in his temples, and his throat felt dry, like he’d swallowed sand. He blinked a few times, his vision adjusting to the soft morning light filtering through the blinds.
What the hell happened? He felt like shit. Like he was hit by a fucking truck.
Then he noticed it, a strange smell dancing in the air. Warm, savory, and entirely unexpected.
Cooking?
Saint furrowed his brow, trying to sit up on his small bed. His body protested, muscles sore and sluggish from the night before. His memories were scattered, the last thing he remembered was leaving Mr. Jo’s place. But to where exactly, he didn’t remember.
He rubbed his eyes, sniffing again. It wasn’t just cooking—it was something specific. Soup? Porridge? And… coffee?
Confused and slightly wary, Saint swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His feet hit the cool floor, and he shivered slightly as he stood. His knees wobbled, but he managed to steady himself, brushing off the lingering dizziness.
That’s when he noticed his clothes.
His brows knitted together as he looked down at the plain, oversized black t-shirt and loose black sweatpants he was now wearing. These weren’t his clothes from last night. These were his—yes—but from his wardrobe.
The small apartment felt strangely alive. The clatter of utensils and the occasional sizzling sound came from the kitchen. Slowly, Saint shuffled toward the noise, leaning against the wall for support as he peeked inside.
The sound of clattering utensils pulled him from his thoughts, and Saint followed the noise, leaning on the wall for support as he shuffled toward the kitchen.
There was a person standing—Shin.
Shin stood at the stove, his back turned, stirring a small pot with a spoon. His other hand held the handle steady, his movements surprisingly fluid, like he actually knew what he was doing.
Saint’s gaze flicked to Shin’s clothes—specifically, the plain gray t-shirt Shin was wearing. Recognition dawned immediately. That’s mine.
For a moment, Saint just stared, a mix of disbelief and confusion swirling in his mind. Why the hell is he here?
“What the hell are you doing here?” Saint croaked, his voice raspy and rough.
Shin didn’t turn around immediately. Instead, he kept stirring, his tone casual as he replied, “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”
Saint scowled. “I’m serious. What are you doing in my house?”
Shin finally turned, leaning slightly against the counter as he raised an eyebrow. “Making sure you don’t die, for starters.” He gestured toward the pot. “Also, breakfast. You’re welcome.”
Saint’s eyes narrowed, his fingers gripping the doorframe for balance. “And my clothes? Why are you wearing my shirt?”
Shin glanced down at himself, his eyes cold, then shrugged. “Oh, yeah. Borrowed it. My own shirt got messed up last night dragging your sorry ass back here, so I washed it. Hope you don’t mind.”
Saint’s glare deepened as he looked down at his own clothes again. “Wait a second… Did you—”
“Yeah, I changed your clothes too,” Shin interrupted, his tone matter-of-fact. “You reeked of sweat, booze, and God knows what else. It was either that or leave you to stew in your own filth.”
Saint’s face burned, though whether it was from embarrassment or anger, he couldn’t tell. “You had no right to—”
“Oh, give me a break,” Shin cut him off, his tone sending shivers. “I didn’t exactly enjoy it, okay? You were half-dead with your burning fever, making me stay all night to take care of you before you were toast. I did what needed to be done. You’re welcome for that too, by the way.”
Saint was stunned, he didn’t know if he should be happy or worried that Shin, the person who hated him with all his guts, was cooking porridge for him.
“So ungrateful,” Shin muttered, turning his attention back to the pot. He grabbed a bowl from the counter and ladled the porridge into it, the steam rising in soft curls. “Now sit your ass down and eat. You need it.”
Saint hesitated, the stubborn part of him wanting to argue further, but his stomach had other plans. A low grumble cut through the tension, and Shin smirked slightly.
“Thought so,” Shin muttered, placing the bowl on the small table and pulling out a chair.
Saint shuffled over reluctantly, easing into the chair as Shin slid the bowl in front of him. He stared at the porridge, its warm, creamy scent somehow soothing and unsettling at the same time. He took a cautious bite, feeling Shin’s eyes on him like a hawk.
“You’re staring,” Saint muttered, avoiding his gaze.
“Making sure you don’t collapse into the bowl,” Shin replied flatly, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter.
Saint let out a dry chuckle, but his mind was racing. The silence hung heavy until he broke it, his voice quieter than he intended.
“So,” Saint began, “What happened?”
Shin tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “You tell me. You don’t remember?”
“I…” Saint hesitated, rubbing his temples. “I remember leaving Mr. Jo’s place. Heading to the casino where I met Pop, and he said he had a lead… and...” He trailed off, his fingers tightening around the spoon.
“And? Tell me, what did you do?” Shin prompted, his tone sharp.
Saint exhaled heavily, his gaze fixed on the table. “I knew, okay?”
Shin blinked. “You knew what? That the drink Pop gave you was spiked? That you were stupid enough to drink it?”
Saint looked up, meeting Shin’s glare with his own defiance. “I needed the lead, alright? Pop wasn’t gonna give it to me unless I played along.”
“You’re unbelievable,” Shin muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Do you have any idea how stupid and dangerous that was?”
“I didn’t have a choice!” Saint snapped, his voice rising. “You think I liked it? You think I wanted this?” He gestured at himself, his hands trembling slightly. “But I needed the name, Shin. I needed to know who to go after.”
Shin stared at him, his expression a mix of anger and disbelief. “So that’s it? You’re willing to destroy yourself for some lead?”
Saint’s lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t respond, but his silence spoke volumes.
Shin shook his head, his voice harsh. “You think you’re being noble or something? You think that’ll make me forget what you did to me? Well, flash news, it’s not. You’re just being reckless.”
Saint’s gaze dropped to the porridge, his appetite gone. “So why are you here?”
Shin stared at him with silence.
“Why are you here, taking care of me, Shin? Why do you bother being here, cooking for me?”
“Because you’re no good to anyone if you’re dead!” Shin snapped.
“You think I’m doing this for your sorry ass? Oh believe me, I still hate you from the bottom of my heart. What I’m doing here is my role and job as your team leader, and I would do it for any other member of the team. So please don’t flatter yourself.”
The room fell silent, the only sound the faint clink of the spoon against the bowl as Saint stirred the porridge absentmindedly, his throat tight as if thorns were stuck deep in it.
“What you did was unforgivable, Saint. The one who I trusted and valued much, sent men to beat the shit out of me. And didn’t even visit or check. It’s unforgivable.”
Saint’s eyes widened at Shin’s words. “What do you mean by that?”
Shin laughed at the latter. “You’re just gonna keep denying it forever?”
But before Saint could answer, a sharp ring cut through the air, snapping both of them out of the moment.
Shin pulled his phone from his pocket, glancing at the screen before answering. “Yes, Chadjen?” His face hardened as he listened, the silence on his end growing heavier by the second.
“Understood. Keep them out and secure the area. I’m on my way,” Shin said before hanging up, his movements swift and deliberate as he stood from his chair.
“What happened?” Saint asked, the sudden urgency making his chest tighten.
“Another body was found,” Shin said grimly, moving toward Saint’s wardrobe and pulling out his clothes from last night. “Three dots on the knee. Chadjen says it matches the others. This one... it completes the pattern.”
Saint pushed himself to stand, his body still weak but his resolve stronger. “Give me a minute. I’ll get changed, and we’ll—”
“Stop.” Shin’s hand landed firmly on Saint’s shoulder, halting him in his tracks.
Saint blinked up at him, confused. “What?”
“You’re not going,” Shin said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“Why the hell not?”
“Are you seriously asking me that?” Shin raised an eyebrow, his hand moving to Saint’s forehead. His fingers lingered just long enough to confirm what he already knew. “You’re still running a fever. You can barely stand without wobbling. You need to rest.”
“You must be kidding,” Saint’s frustration boiled over. “I can’t rest with people dying out there!”
“You will do as I say,” Shin snapped, his voice dropping into something darker, more commanding. “I’m your team leader, and you’re going to listen to me for once in your life. Stay here and recover. That’s an order. You’re no good to anyone walking around passing out at any moment”
Saint looked at the latter with utter shook., his eyes following him as he headed to the door.
The last thing he heard was the click of the latch and the sound of Shin’s footsteps echoing down the hallway, fading into the silence.
As Shin walked his way out of Saint's apartment, his phone buzzed indicating a message sent.
Here’s information about your guy. Remember to save my number, Shin. - Pop ^^”
Well… fuck.
Shin exhaled slightly with his hands on his hips. He looked at the man sprawled on the bed in front of him, passed out and breathing heavily.
“Your fever is increasing.” Shin’s lips pressed into a thin line as he placed his palm on Saint’s forehead. “Your clothes also need to be changed.”
He went to the small, old, brown wardrobe across the bed. He opened it and got a black t-shirt and sweatpants.
“Come on, let’s get you changed.”
He lifted Saint to lean on the bed’s headboard. His hands going to the t-shirt’s rim and pulling it across Saint’s torso.
Shin's hands stopped suddenly. “What the hell?”
His eyes were locked at Saint’s stomach, hands frozen with the shirt hanging in his hand.
“What the fuck, Saint?!”
Shin’s breath hitched as his eyes lingered on the long, jagged scar running across Saint’s abdomen. It was old but deep, the kind that told stories no one wanted to hear. His fingers hovered inches above it, as though touching it might reveal the truth of how it got there.
“What the hell happened to you?” Shin muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible in the quiet room.
Was it after they got separated? Did Pop’s people do something to him while he was gone?
Then he remembered.
“But they wouldn’t let me. They wouldn’t let me see you.”
Was it from a mission in Chaing Kham? Or was he held by that drug ring? Was he tortured?
Saint groaned softly, his head lolling to the side but showing no sign of waking. His fever had him completely out of it, beads of sweat clinging to his pale skin. Shin exhaled sharply, shaking off the initial shock and forcing himself to focus. Whatever questions he had would have to wait.
He pulled the black t-shirt down over Saint’s head, careful not to jostle him too much, and slid his arms through the sleeves. Every movement was deliberate, almost mechanical, but his mind raced with fragmented thoughts.
Once the shirt was on, Shin moved to change Saint’s pants, his hands steady but his chest tightening with every passing second. He had seen wounds before—he himself had multiple scars—but this felt different. Shin was sure Saint never had this scar while he was friends with him.
After finishing, Shin grabbed a towel and dampened it with cold water from the small sink in the corner. He returned to the bed, gently dabbing Saint’s forehead and cheeks, trying to cool him down. The fever wasn’t breaking, and that only added to Shin’s growing unease.
Sitting beside the bed, Shin sat beside the sleeping man on the bedside, staring at Saint’s face as his chest rose and fell in shallow breaths.
“What the hell happened while I was gone?” Shin whispered, his tone a mix of frustration and worry.
Memories of their shared past flickered in his mind—high school, the fights, the betrayal.
During the years away from Saint, Shin had always thought he was just a reckless asshole, the type who took risks without caring who got hurt. But now, seeing the scar, feeling the heat radiating off Saint’s fevered body, he couldn’t shake the sense that there was more to the story.
Something’s wrong. Shin thought. I need to know what it is.