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Chapter Text

"What do you mean you're sick?"

The car veered a little to the right as Seonghwa had to take his hands off the wheel, struggling to connect his phone to the car's bluetooth system. Awfully close to the parked cars on the side of the road, he pressed the brake hard enough that the tires made a nasty screeching sound against the pavement. Everyone stuck behind him in traffic started to honk one by one like angry little robotic domino pieces. 

"What could I possibly fucking mean?" There was a sound like somebody's foot bumping against wood, followed by a loud curse that made Seonghwa wince. It was becoming eerily apparent where Marika had learned that attitude. "I can't even get out of the house for more than ten minutes before..." she trailed off and cursed again. "Ah, fuck— why's everyone honking? Are you in traffic?" 

Seonghwa turned on the hazard lights. A woman showed him the middle finger as she changed lanes to pass him by, and drove away far too quickly for him to even react. "Yes," he replied with a sigh. 

"Did you by any chance hit another inflatable balloon shaped like Mario?" 

"Are you ever gonna let me live that down?" 

"Nope," she said cheerily. Despite himself, Seonghwa smiled. "So, we good?" 

"I— yeah," he replied. "I'll get a few days off work and stay with her." The phone finally connected, and he pumped his fist, feeling good about himself as he put the car back into gear and sped away, not minding his fellow traffic participants' vengeful honks of protest. "I'm on my way to get her from school right now. Need me to drop by and get you anything, Yuna-ah?"

"It's just the stomach flu. I'll be fine. I just need to stay put for a few days until I'm not contagious anymore and I can fucking exist in peace without having to pay a visit to the bathroom, like, once every ten minutes."

"It could be something more serious," he said, frowning as he checked the clock on the dashboard. He was frightfully close to running late.

"Nah," she replied, off-handed. "Plus, how would you know? You're not a real doctor."

"I didn't—" he trailed off, weary. She was right, but it still stung a little. "You know what? I gotta go. Call if you need anything."

He didn't get to hear Yuna's reply before he hung up abruptly and pulled over right in front of the school, hazard lights on, his eyes wide and searching. But the yard was still deserted, and only then did he realize he was seven minutes early and not three minutes late. Still, there were no available parking spots close enough to the school that Marika would have no trouble seeing him when she got out. He stepped on his heart and killed the engine, dialing his boss' number to beg her for yet another favor.

"I already told all this to the officer at the station. Do I really have to go through it again?" Yeosang raked a hand through his hair, eyes darting to the door. The kids weren't even trying to be quiet on the other side. If he ended up having to explain to an angry horde of parents why he hadn’t managed to keep a class of seven year-olds from throwing paper airplanes at each other on the first day...

"It's just a formality" the detective, Choi Jongho, said gently. "I hope you understand..." He flipped through the file he was holding and paused on a picture Yeosang recognized all too well. A blurry CCTV photo of his white hand-me-down Ford Fiesta, a man with his hood up behind the wheel, another in the passenger's side and one curled up in the backseat in somebody's arms. He thanked whatever God was out there that they had at least had the presence of mind to cover their faces, but his hope bled away into nothingness upon the detective's next words. "What I don't get is this — if you lent Jung Wooyoung your car— along with the keys, mind you, why would you storm through the station in the wee hours of the morning, yelling that it was stolen?" 

Yeosang sighed. "I was drunk."

"You were... drunk," the detective echoed. Yeosang went a little red in the face.

"Friday nights, you see," he replied, standing his ground.

Choi Jongho scribbled something down on the file. "What about last night? Where were you?" 

"Here. I filed all my documents. I hate doing them at home. You can ask the staff, I'm sure they'll remember the dilly teacher who spent all night at school." 

Jongho remained impassive in his silence, watching Yeosang shift his weight from one foot to the other, visibly nervous. 

"Do I need a lawyer, Detective?" he asked, aiming for surety in his tone, but only managing to sound shaky and fearful. At that, Jongho gave him a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"That's your choice, Yeosang-ssi."

The hectic laughing of children behind the closed door was taunting him. "Look— I'm a terrible driver. And Wooyoung... Things have been really rough on him since he got out of prison. Is that really so reprehensible of me, helping an old friend in a time of need?"

Jongho didn't look sympathetic at all. "You went to college together, if I'm correct."

"...Yes."

"Yet look at you, a humble school teacher, while he spent a year in prison for drug dealing." Jongho raised his piercing gaze into Yeosang's eyes. "Tell me, what do you know about Choi San?"

Yeosang did his best not to let his face fall. "Choi San," he echoed, if only to buy himself more time. He must have done something really good in a past life, for the classroom door opened and a girl in a red coat emerged, holding a paper airplane between her fingers and a sheepish look in her eyes — a decoy if Yeosang had ever seen one. Marika was a troublemaker through and through, likely one of those who had started the havoc in the classroom, but Jongho didn't have to know that. Yeosang watched, pleased, as his eyes widened and he cleared his throat.

"Oh," Yeosang said with an easy smile, "hello there, Marika-ssi." He accepted the paper airplane handed to him. "Thank you."

She shrugged, then turned to go without a word. "Wait." A little wary, the girl met his gaze, and Yeosang bent down so he was at eye level with her. "How would you feel about asking everyone to gather up all the airplanes you guys made and put them on my desk?"

Her eyes glinted. There she is, Yeosang thought fondly. "My dad says that being greedy is bad," she chastised softly, and Yeosang thought she'd list the other six capital sins as well, but she only leaned in with a conspirative look in her eye and whispered, "but it's okay, Yeosang-ssi. Only cause we like you."

With that, she dashed off. Yeosang stared at the closed door for a long moment, his heart unbearably full. Of course, Jongho had to ruin everything by saying, patronizing in classic police force fashion, "I think I get why you're keeping people like San and Wooyoung in your life."

Yeosang looked at him, resigned. "Why is that, Detective? Humor me." 

"You're a pushover. Not the best quality when it comes to managing seven year olds, but who am I to say?"

"That's right," he replied. "You'd probably scare them so badly that years of therapy wouldn't be able to erase the trauma."

Jongho's eyes widened a little, a surprised smile playing at his mouth. "I went to middle school with Choi San," Yeosang continued. "The two of them met through me when we were around twenty— and they've been inseparable ever since. They went to prison together, but I'm sure you already knew that. No, I don't know what the nature of their relationship is now, but I'd assume they're closer than I've ever been with any of them. Now, if you're done, I have some paper airplanes on my desk and a crowd of parents in the courtyard who will soon turn feral if their children don't get out in..." He checked his watch for emphasis, "...about three minutes."

He turned to go. "Wait," Jongho called, a small rectangular piece of paper in his outstretched hand. "If you remember anything at all..."

Yeosang took his card without touching Jongho's hand and plastered on a sharp smile. "I'll keep that in mind," he said. 

As he popped yet another cig in his mouth, Yunho thought rather begrudgingly that he was smoking more now than he had at the academy. Being a detective meant, when it came down to it, lots of waiting around in his car doing nothing. His fault for sucking at rock, paper, scissors, he supposed, but in his defence, it was pretty much impossible to win anything against Jongho. 

Hence, Jongho was driving his Duster while the car's actual owner was languishing around in the passenger side, smoking and staring out the window as if he was in the music video of a sad song produced by Kim Hongjoong. If he'd only asked for a rematch, it could have been him going inside to interrogate the school teacher — which promised itself to be rather boring as well, but at least he would have heen doing something instead of nothing. 

And that was when he saw the glossy chrome silver Honda Civic pulling up in front of the school, on the pedestrian crossing, no less. A parent waiting for their child, no doubt, but come on, Yunho thought, would it have killed them to let their kid walk a little more? He stubbed out his half-finished Dunhill and stumbled out of the car without bothering to lock it. There was nothing worth stealing inside, anyway. 

The guy was talking on his phone animatedly, and didn't even see him hovering outside his window at first. By the looks of it, he was either too caught up to notice him, or ignoring him on purpose, and whichever the two it had to be, Yunho decided it wouldn't do. He knocked on the window, and the driver jumped slightly — the former, then. Yunho did his best to keep his expression neutral at the sight of him. 

His eyes were wide as he rolled down the window, looking apprehensive. Yunho could hardly make out what the woman on the other side of the phone was saying, but she seemed angry. Yunho raised a brow. 

He covered the mic with his hand and narrowed his eyes up at Yunho. "I don't care what you're selling, I'm not interested." 

Yunho raised a brow and lifted the hem of his crisp blue shirt to reveal his badge. "I'm not selling anything. But I'm afraid you'll still have to pay. You took a theoretical driver's exam; I'll assume you know it's not legal to park on a pedestrian crossing?" 

The guy's eyes widened even further, so much that Yunho wouldn't have been all that surprised if they popped out of his skull. He brought the phone up to his ear and said uncertainly, "Lia-nim, I'm really sorry. I wouldn't have asked this of you if it wasn't an emergency. I really have no one else to leave her with— yes, I know my pay will be cut. It's alright, I'll do the extra weekend shifts. Please, I— I really need to go. There's a..." 

But whatever he might have wanted to say got lost as the woman, his boss and not the wife, as Yunho had suspected initially, hung up with a bothered huff that sounded a lot like "Yeah, right." 

Phone still hanging limply in one hand, he took the time to look at Yunho, really look at him as if wanting to make him disappear through sheer willpower. "Do I know you? You look familiar." 

"License and registration, please," Yunho said firmly, jaw set. 

The driver didn't move at all, only kept staring, puzzled, at Yunho's face. "I could swear I've seen you before." 

"You're mistaken." Yunho stretched out his hand for the documents, making it clear he wasn't in any mood to chat. 

With shaking hands, the guy pulled out the papers and opened the window further so he could slip them to him. 

"I'm sorry, officer," he began, not quite meeting Yunho's gaze. He was red in the face, and his eyes kept darting to the open school gates. The children had begun flooding out. 

"Detective," Yunho corrected, skimming through the file. Park Seonghwa, 29. He'd had his driver's license for seven years, and the car was just as old, insured and with everything in check. Possibly the cleanest record he'd ever seen, and the papers were neatly arranged too, in a way that did not quite give off the impression of a put-together life, but of a life that wanted to appear so. 

"Right, Detective— Detective?" 

Yunho waved him off. "Perfectly qualified to fine you for illegal parking, don't worry." 

"I'll just be a moment... My— ah, my daughter, she..." he looked away, back straightening. "There she is!" 

Yunho followed his gaze to a girl in a red coat, dark shoulder length hair the same shade as Seonghwa's, disoriented as she looked around through narrowed eyes. She was clutching something in her fist, a piece of paper. His heart shrank to half its size when Seonghwa honked, and she bristled from the force of the sound, finally casting her eyes to its source. Her face brightened as she ran to the car, and Seonghwa finally turned to him. "There was a mix-up with her prescription glasses. She... ah—" he trailed off when the girl opened the door to the passenger's side and slid in, her smile dimming upon seeing the strange man standing there in front of the window. 

Seonghwa angled his head so she was looking at him and not at Yunho, plastering a tired, but proud smile onto his face. "How was it, monkey?" 

A little wary, she loosened her grip on the piece of paper and handed him a damp with sweat, albeit beautifully crafted, paper airplane. "Cool," she replied. "I taught everybody to make airplanes."

Seonghwa beamed, eyes glinting. "I assume your teacher was okay with it, or...?" 

"Oh, we left some for him, don't worry." 

"That's not what I... Oh, well. You'll tell me all about it on the way. Yuna-ah is sick, so I took a few days off to stay with you." 

At that, her grin brightened, and she pulled her father in for a tight hug. Her eyes stopped smiling when she trained them on Yunho over Seonghwa's shoulder, and he had the strange urge to step back in the path of the overflowing traffic. Seonghwa patted her back gently and pulled away to look at Yunho. "Go on, Detective," he said coldly. "Fine me, and do it now, because I'm illegally parked on a pedestrian crossing and we really need to go." 

Yunho cleared his throat, feeling sheepish. "I... suppose we can let it go this time." He told himself he'd said it because out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jongho approaching through the open gates. 

Seonghwa's eyes widened, surprised. He accepted the files Yunho handed back to him, fingers still termbling. "Thank you," he said at last, meeting Yunho's gaze and looking not unlike a deer caught in the headlights. 

"Yeah, don't mention it," he muttered under his breath and crossed the street back to his car without looking back as Seonghwa signaled left and infiltrated back into traffic. Jongho joined him not even a moment later, hopping in the driver's seat beside him. Yunho took the discarded cigarette from the ashtray and lit it again, figuring there was no point wasting it. 

"What was that, hyung?" he asked. Yunho didn't look at him as he took a drag, grimacing when the filter burned him. Perhaps he'd overestimated how usable it really was. 

"Ah, just passing the time." His eyes almost involuntarily darted to the empty space where the silver car used to be. He turned to Jongho. "Did you find anything?" 

Jongho put the car into gear with a sigh. "He said he was drunk and forgot he'd lent out the car." 

Yunho raised a brow. "That sounds... sketchy." 

"He was a bit weird, but... I don't think he's involved, Yunho-hyung. He was here all night, filing documents, and started classes very early in the morning. The security guard confirmed it."

"Right," Yunho replied. "Did you tell him what Choi San did? Maybe he'd be more eager to cooperate if he knew."

"Nah, no point in that. If they really are accomplices, he'd just tip San and the other ones off." Jongho wasn't wrong; at this stage in the investigation, they knew far from enough. But it was always better to make the ones investigated think that the cops knew a lot more than they were letting on. Subtle manipulation was an art too. 

"So... scouring through security footage until our eyes bleed it is, then?" Yunho asked. 

Jongho gave him a resigned grin. "Yep."

"Appa, can I play Subway Surfers on your phone?"

"Yeah," Seonghwa replied, though a little reluctant because her ophthalmologist had said to reduce her screen time as much as possible before the glasses arrived. Still, she'd been nervous about her first day and Seonghwa had had to drag her out of bed this morning and dress her as she refused to do it herself, and only softened when he'd stopped at McDonald's for a Happy Meal, — with the Rarity toy, not Fluttershy, if you please — so he supposed that she deserved a reward. "Will you tell me what's up with the airplanes if I give it to you?"

Marika gave him a shit-eating grin and drawled, "...Maybe."

That was a yes. Seonghwa dug out his phone and unlocked it for her when they stopped at a traffic light. "Thanks, Appa."

She let him simmer for a long moment, but he knew better than asking again and giving her ammunition to emotionally manipulate him. Finally, she said, "Yeosang-ssi is so nice. He had to step out to talk to someone for a bit and I taught everyone to make airplanes so we could give them to him." She scrunched up her nose. "Even if he made me sit in the front row because I don't see very well. But Felix is cool. I like Felix."

"Who's Felix? Your desk mate?" She nodded, not looking away from the screen so as to not miss the jetpack. She collected all the coins much like Seonghwa himself did whenever he played, and he stifled a smile.

"He let me look at his notes."

Seonghwa frowned. "You couldn't see the board from the first row, Mari-ah?" She froze, caught. 

"No, I... Appa, I don't wanna wear glasses. Glasses are ugly. Can't I just wear contacts like Mingi-oppa does?"

Seonghwa sighed. "Not yet, monkey. When you're as old as him, maybe."

Marika gave a dramatic groan, though if from his words or the unfortunate way her character bumped face-first into a train, Seonghwa couldn't say. "But that's, like, forever! Mingi-oppa's almost as old as you."

"Hey, I'm not that old," he protested lightly, pulling the handbrake with a sigh when it became clear that there would be long before they managed to pass the green light. Marika's reply got lost in the obnoxiously loud ringing of his phone, the Pink Panther theme song. He looked down, face falling when he saw the name of who was calling him — Kim Hongjoong.

"Oh, it's Hongjoongie-oppa!" she exclaimed happily, showing him the phone as if he hadn't seen it.

"Don't answer," he replied tightly. Marika frowned, but pressed the decline button.

"But why? I miss him."

The phone started ringing for a second time, and before Seonghwa had the chance to stop her, she replied and put it to her ear. "Hi, Hongjoong-oppa," she said sweetly. "Guess who's in the car!" 

"Mari-ssi... Hi— monkey, can you give the phone to your dad?"

Seonghwa shook his head, a warning in his eyes. Not looking away from him, Marika gripped the phone with both hands and said, "Uh, he's not here."

"What? Where is he? Who's driving the car?"

"Ah— well... Defective!"

Seonghwa felt a histerical laugh blooming in his chest. The cars started moving again, and he quickly put his own back into gear so they'd manage to finally pass.

"A what? Hold on, what does that mean?"

"Dunno," she replied with a shrug, toying distractedly with a loose strand in her sleeve. "That's what Appa called him. It's probably his name."

"I don't—" Hongjoong sighed. "Listen, Monkey, tell your Appa to call me as soon as he can. It's an emergency."

He hung up after this, and Marika didn't go back to her game, choosing instead to stare up at Seonghwa with those big eyes of hers. "He said he wants you to call him," she told him absentmindedly, her attention already elsewhere.

"Yeah, I'll call him later," Seonghwa lied. He would absolutely not call Hongjoong later.

"Appa, what's a Defective?"

"Detective," Seonghwa corrected.

"What's that?"

"A detective is a cop. Remember when your Eomma was speeding on the highway when we went to Haeundae Beach and a police car stopped us?" He regretted bringing Freja up in front of her as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but Marika only nodded. She was too curious about what a stupid defective was for the words to truly take root in her sweet heart and turn into something Seonghwa wouldn't know how to pluck out. "Well, a detective is also a police officer, but a bit different. Think of it like... Like Lia is to me."

Marika nodded fervently. "So, the police big bad boss."

"Something like that," Seonghwa replied with a fond smile.

"What did he want?"

"He..." Seonghwa paused, then settled on, "...was in the area and wanted to see my registration." He gave her a small smile, hoping to lighten the mood away from the thing he wasn't telling her. In truth, the guy's presence had unnerved him. Traffic police would have made sense, but a detective, so close to the school his daughter went to... And he seemed awfully familiar, too, even though Seonghwa couldn't pinpoint ever seeing him before. There was something about his face... Maybe he was on one of the true crime documentaries Freja used to watch. 

"Maybe he liked you," said Marika, pulling a sad smile from Seonghwa's lips.

"I don't think so, monkey."

"Are you gonna call Hongjoong-oppa now, Appa? It's later."

Seonghwa grimaced. "Maybe when we get home. I can't talk on the phone and drive."

"But... You use your phone and drive all the time."

"No, I don't." Yes, he did. 

"Is it because you don't like Hongjoong-oppa anymore?" she asked, tilting her head at him. Where had she learned to be so perceptive? It can't have been because of Seonghwa, as he'd been told all his life that he was as oblivious as a goldfish. It can't have been a habit picked up from her sitter either; Yuna only revolved in the same direction as planet Earth when she was asleep. She had to have gotten it from her mother.

"I do like him," he replied carefully. "We're just not very close these days."

"Mm, right..."

"Is that disbelief I hear in your tone?"

"Maybe. I don't know what that is."

Seonghwa aimed his lopsided grin at the rearview mirror as he changed lanes to take a right into the neighborhood they lived in. It wasn't much, and he supposed he could have sold their dainty house by now and gotten them an apartment in the city, but the last traces of Freja were in there, and he couldn't bear separate neither Marika nor himself from them. "Nevermind," he said, but Marika wasn't even listening anymore. "Hey, can I have my phone for a bit? I need to look something up." 

"I thought you didn't drive and use your phone." 

"This time, it's important." 

At the next obnoxiously long red light, he quickly googled the name of Marika's school, holding his breath in anticipation of what he would find — kidnapping? Shooting? A prison escapee hiding in the sewers? But no. Nothing of the sort popped up, the most recent article being about the inception of the school year. 

Outside, Seonghwa fiddled with the key in the gate for a long moment, only to find it already unlocked. He opened the gates from the inside and got back behind the wheel to park the car in the front yard, injecting some cheer in his tone when he asked, "Do you by any chance remember if we locked up the gate when we left this morning, Mari-ah?" 

Marika shrugged. "I don't know, I was asleep." 

He supposed it was possible — forgetting to lock up in the havoc, even though he was usually diligent about it, to the point of exaggeration. Not only once had he taken a detour to check it again, even if that meant he would arrive late to work. But the glimmer of worry in his gut quickly turned into a forest fire when he found the front door also unlocked. He clasped Marika's hand, stopping her from going in, and bent down so he was eye level with her. "Go back in the car, monkey, and lock the doors. You know how, right?"

Marika nodded, confused, but she must have sensed the warning in his tone, because she didn't protest. Only when he heard the tell-tale click of the car being locked from inside did he dare go in, 112 dialed on his phone and only one button away. He held it in front of him like a weapon.

There were voices coming from the living room, and he followed them. Maybe they were amateurs, maybe they were drunk and stumbled in here by accident. Maybe they'd run when he threatened to call the cops. 

His heart stopped when he paused in the doorway, and the voices died down too as they took in the sight of him.

Hongjoong, blue haired like some tropical bird and a desperate look in those bright eyes of his, froze in his tracks. 

"What's this?" Seonghwa asked sharply, tone surprisingly steady, though he could feel his own heart thudding against his ribcage. A man was slumped in a chair at the coffee table, a pained frown on his face as he looked up at Seonghwa, and another one was standing at his side, pressing one of Seonghwa's kitchen rags into the first one's shoulder. The material was rapidly reddening. Blood. 

"Seonghwa..." Hongjoong drew closer, hands stretched out in front of him as if he was approaching a wild animal.

Seonghwa stepped back, waving the phone in front of him so as to make sure they saw the number dialed on the screen. "You have five seconds to explain what's going on."

"It's not what it looks like," Hongjoong tried, taking a wary step in his direction.

"Five... I'd stay there if I were you." Hongjoong stopped moving. "Four..."

"Can't you see he's hurt?" the other one said, sounding hectic.

"I'll ask for an ambulance as well as a police team, then," Seonghwa replied. "Three."

"Seonghwa, please... Hear us out."

"Two..."

"Hyung."

Seonghwa felt a gentle hand on the small of his back, and turned abruptly, blood chilling when he saw Mingi standing there with a clean rag in his hand and a stern look in his eye. He softly pried the phone away from Seonghwa's grip and turned it off, placing it in the back pocket of his washed out jeans. "Hyung, we need to talk."

Chapter Text

"I don't want to sit down," Seonghwa hissed, slapping Mingi's hand away when he tried to reach out. "And don't— fucking touch me." He turned to Hongjoong, a stricken look on his face. "Why would you break into my house?"

A sheepish smile made its way onto his face. "I'm sorry, I— I called, but..."

"That's not an excuse."

Mingi stepped in between them, facing Seonghwa. "San is hurt." Despite himself, he turned to look at the man slumped on his chair, something painful tugging at his heartstrings when he saw the anguished frown on his face. 

"Then take him to a fucking hospital," said Seonghwa, defeated. 

"We can't," the one holding onto San replied firmly. "If we did that, he'd get arrested."

"So you not only broke into my house, but you— you brought a... wanted man in my home, in my daughter's home, I— Hongjoong, what the fuck?"

"Technically, we didn't break in. We used the spare key you hide under that rock in the garden," Hongjoong corrected, very helpful as always. Seonghwa looked close to leaping at his throat, and maybe he would have, if Mingi hadn't put himself between them again, taking both of Seonghwa's wrists in his large hands and forcing him to meet his eyes. 

"Hyung—" 

"Don't call me that." 

"I'm sorry, hyung," Mingi continued as if Seonghwa had never spoken. "We wouldn't have come here if we weren't desperate. Sanni needs your help." 

Seonghwa risked a glance over his shoulder at the wounded man, going limp in Mingi's hold when San gave him a sheepish wave, only to wince at the pain in his shoulder. The other one gave him a withering look. "Don't move. You'll just make it worse." 

"You're making it worse, Wooyoung-ah," he hissed. "You're not supposed to press that hard." 

"Do you want to bleed out?" 

Seonghwa turned back to Mingi and Hongjoong. "I don't think I can... I'm not a real doctor." 

"You went to med school, didn't you?" asked Mingi. 

"Graduated top of his class, too," Hongjoong added, sounding begrudgingly proud. 

"Yeah, but..." 

"Then you're the best we've got," Hongjoong said, coming up next to Mingi to place a hand on his shoulder. Seonghwa tore his eyes away. 

"Hyung, please," Mingi pressed. "You're the only one who can help us." 

"Let me go," he hissed. Reluctantly, Mingi did. 

"Hyung..."

Seonghwa clutched at his temples, pacing around the room, four apprehensive pairs of eyes following his every movement with bated breath. He couldn't let Marika see any of this, and he couldn't make her stay in the car all day. But... He paused in front of San and Wooyoung, and asked sharply, "Can you walk?" 

"Don't send us away, please, Seonghwa-ssi..." Wooyoung pleaded, but his mouth clamped itself shut when Seonghwa shot him a deathly glare in response. 

"I need to know if you can walk up the stairs. I have to bring my daughter inside, and I don't want her to see any of... this." San nodded. "Good," Seonghwa said, then turned to Mingi. "Take these two to my bedroom and close the door. If Marika sees or hears anything, I'm sending all of you out the door in a police car." 

Mingi's eyes immediately brightened, and he tried to take Seonghwa's hand again, but he drew back, preventing it. Mingi cleared his throat. "Thanks, hyung," he said, not losing the grin, and Seonghwa hated it, hated the way he called him that even after he'd told him time and time again he didn't want him to. Hated the way they just assumed they could pull him into their schemes, and hated himself for going along with it only because he couldn't resist the kicked puppy eyes of a man he'd just found in his living room with a knife in his shoulder.

Mingi and Wooyoung hauled San up and helped him up the stairs. With an uncertain look at Seonghwa over his shoulder, Hongjoong went up to follow them. 

"Not you," Seonghwa said sharply. "You're staying here with Marika. And if she goes upstairs, we're done." 

Hongjoong nodded, bottom lip caught between his teeth, and turned back toward the living room, hurrying to wipe away the droplets of blood on the chair and the floor. "I won't forget this," Seonghwa warned as he stepped out the front door without waiting for Hongjoong's reply. God, he was such a pushover. 

"Mari-ah, we have a visitor," Seonghwa told her, clasping her hand in his own and holding on tight. 

Marika grimaced. "Is it aunt Annika? If it's aunt Annika, I'm going to wait in the car. Tell her... Tell her I died." 

"It's not her," he promised. "It's somebody you like." 

"...Okay," she said, and didn't protest again when Seonghwa pulled her inside. 

"Hongjoong-oppa!" she shouted happily, untangling herself from her father's grip to leap in Hongjoong's arms, almost tackling him to the ground in the process. 

"Hi, monkey." 

"I missed you." 

"I missed you too, Mari-ssi. Hey, what's that you have there?" 

"We made airplanes at school today!" She leaned in to stage-whisper, "this one was for Appa, but I'm giving it to you instead." 

"Oh, thank you. Hey, listen, uh, how about you teach me how to make one?" 

"You don't know? But Appa told me you taught him." 

"Uh, that was a long time ago. I forgot." 

Marika tutted him. "Old people." 

Seonghwa gave him a meaningful look over Marika's shoulder, and Hongjoong nodded, taking her hand and pulling her towards the living room. 

"Will you watch My Little Pony with me, Hongjoongie-oppa?" 

Only when he heard him close the door behind them did Seonghwa find it in himself to take a deep breath and climb up the stairs. 

Seonghwa's hands were shaking as he pried Wooyoung's hand away to get better access to the wound, letting the soaked cloth drop unceremoniously to the floor. Still a little wary, Wooyoung stepped into the bathroom to wash the blood off himself. 

"Mingi-ya, bring me my first aid kit from the closet." Mingi, for his part, complied immediately. Seonghwa tried to tug the zipper open with his free hand, but he was shaking so badly he only managed to spray blood everywhere on the sheets. 

Mingi stilled him with a hand on his wrist. "What do you need?" 

"A... a scalpel. And— and bandages, and sanitary alcohol, and..." 

"Scalpel?" San asked, panicked, attempting to shake himself away from Seonghwa's loose hold.

"What the fuck, Seonghwa-ssi?" Wooyoung joined in, pokinghis head through the doorway, eyes widening in sheer panic, the sink still running. "You're supposed to— to stitch him up, not— cut him." 

"Shut up, both of you," Mingi hissed, then turned to Seonghwa. He released his wrist and placed a soothing hand on his back instead. "Hyung." Seonghwa's eyes shot to him, his vision turning blurry at the edges. "Deep breaths," he said calmly. "You know this. Tell us what we need to do, and we'll do it." 

Seonghwa nodded, shaking off the daze so as to take a better look at the wound. He'd never done something like this himself before, as he'd never professed after med school, but Mingi was right. In his fourth year, he and two other students had assisted one of the senior doctors in a stab wound surgery to the stomach. "San-ssi, sit at the edge of the bed. Wooyoung-ssi, get him something to bite down on. He'll need it." 

They exchanged an apprehensive glance, but complied when Mingi urged them with a nod of his head. Seonghwa kneeled on the bed at San's back so he'd have better access to the wound. It was only a penknife to the shoulder, and it wasn't even buried to the hilt. "It's not that deep," he said, willing his hands to stop shaking. It was the type of operation they even let first years attend to in med school. And Seonghwa might have been terribly out of practice, but he remembered. Mingi was right, for once in his life. He knew this. "When did you get stabbed, San-ssi?" 

"I— this morning." 

Seonghwa nodded gently. "Okay. Then it can't have gotten infected. You did well pressing down on the wound, Wooyoung-ssi. He won't need transfusion, but I'll disinfect it just in case." 

Mingi poured sanitary alcohol over a wad, and Seonghwa motioned for Wooyoung to place the cloth in San's mouth. "It'll sting a little," he warned. San hissed when Seonghwa rubbed around the opening, as gently as he could. "That's it, San-ssi. You're doing well. Now—" he threw the wad down. "—scalpel, Mingi-ya." San flinched, and so did Wooyoung. "I need to make a small incision around the tip so I can pull it out without causing any more damage," he explained. 

"Why do you even carry a scalpel in your first-aid kit?" asked Wooyoung. A corner of Seonghwa's mouth lifted up knowingly. 

"I like to be prepared." 

"Seonghwa-hyung's like... really meticulous," Mingi added, sounding almost admiring. 

Seonghwa pressed the scalpel over the wound, but didn't cut yet. San tensed up, panting hard. "What's your favorite color, San-ssi?" 

"What?" 

"Tell me," he insisted, wanting to keep him talking. 

"Uh— purple," he said, words a little muffled by the piece of material in his mouth. 

"It's true," Wooyoung added. "He's really weird." 

"Oh, shut up. Black's yours, and black isn't even a color." 

"Mine's cement," said Mingi, eyes darting to Seonghwa. 

"What the fuck, Min—" San trailed off into a pained grunt when Seonghwa pressed in. 

"Did you go to college, San-ssi?" he asked, keeping his voice surprisingly steady. 

"I— yeah. For a bit, before I dropped out."

"What'd you study?" 

"Mechanical engineering. But I— uh, stopped attending classes after second year." 

"He only kept going for the boxing team," said Wooyoung, finally catching onto what Seonghwa was trying to do. "Tell him, Sanni." 

"Yeah..." he choked out. "I hated all my teachers except the— team coach. But then in third year there were no more sports classes so I... I dropped out." 

"There it goes," said Seonghwa, pleased. "You're doing really well." San nodded, eyes fluttering shut. Wooyoung drew closer to his side, eyes on Seonghwa as if expecting him to reprimand him for it, but he didn't. San needed all the distractions he could get. 

Wooyoung let him dig his nails into his arm. "You were the best out there," he said. "You still are." 

"Yeah, until that asshole—" 

"Care to tell me about it?" Seonghwa asked, dropping the bloody scalpel in Mingi's outstretched hand. "Clamps." 

Mingi dug around helplessly through the kit. "Uh— don't think you have any, hyung."

"What?" San asked, only to for Seonghwa to shush him. 

"Don't worry," he said gently. "Nothing's wrong. Keep talking to us." 

San let out a shaky laugh. "Uh, okay... Well, I was fighting a guy this morning... Smaller than me, nobody thought he had any chance, but... He held his own pretty well, until— I had him, but then he pulled out a knife and..." He whimpered, and Wooyoung rubbed soothing circles into his arm, kissing his cheek. 

"I'm almost done with this," Seonghwa said. "Mingi-ya, help me out." He'd finally found the clamps, and Seonghwa used his free hand to guide him up so each side rested against the ends of the gash. He met Mingi's wide eyes, finding unbridled panic in them. "Can you hold it open?" he asked. Mingi didn't reply. There was a drop of blood on his chin, and Seonghwa had the urge to wipe it away, but couldn't. "Please, Mingi-ya." 

Reluctantly, he nodded. 

"Keep what open?" San asked, flinching. 

"Nothing," Seonghwa replied, shooting Wooyoung a meaningful glance over San's shoulder. "Tell me, how did you two meet? You seem close." 

Seonghwa looked at Mingi, wordlessly pleading with him to keep steady. Mingi tried to smile in confirmation, but it looked more like a grimace. Knowing it was as good as he would get, Seonghwa gripped the knife's handle. 

"Through a mutual friend. I knew him from middle school and— Wooyoung-ah met him in college. Wooyoung studied IT, and he... uh, I can't remember." 

"Oh?" Seonghwa asked distractedly. "Tell me more about him." 

"His name is Yeo—" he trailed off into a gutted scream, barely muffled by the rag in his mouth. 

Seonghwa gestured for Mingi to let go of the clamps and give him the bandages. He threw the bloody knife on the already soiled sheets and used both his hands to wrap the bandages around San's shoulder. The steady flow of blood immediately colored them a sickening shade of red. 

"Did you do it?" San asked, strangled through his pain. "Is it out?" 

"Yeah. I'll need to stitch it up a bit later, but you're good for now." It was a lie by omission, as the wound needed to be sealed up as soon as possible, preferably now, but he doubted San would have been able to take it so soon. He'd give him a small break first. Seonghwa had seen a patient writhe and scream to the point where they had to be restrained for the senior doctor to manage to pull a vibrator out their ass. Being San's makeshift doctor, even like this, had felt... But no. That didn't matter now. 

San broke away from Wooyoung's hold to press at bandages, but Seonghwa slapped his hand away. "Don't do that. Just stay still. Can you do that for me? You can lay down on your other side if you want." 

"I'd kill for a coffee or something right now," he whispered, head tilting back to stare at the ceiling. 

"There's a hot cocoa machine two doors from here, in Marika's room," Seonghwa said, looking at Wooyoung. "No detours." 

"Thanks, Seonghwa-hyung," he replied with a small smile, and Seonghwa didn't have the energy to reprimand him for the address. He slumped back on the bed, exhausted and bloody, only to make contact with something solid, and so, so warm. 

"Hey," Mingi said softly, right against his ear. Seonghwa immediately tried to move away, but he was stilled with a hand on his arm. "Stay, hyung." 

Fuck it. "Yeah, okay." 

He let himself settle back into Mingi's chest, catching his breath. "You did really well, too," he whispered, kissing Seonghwa's head and wrapping himself tighter around him, carefully avoiding touching his bloodied hands. 

Wooyoung came back with two steaming mugs and a sheepish smile. "I made one for your daughter," he said. "Marika, right?" Seonghwa immediately pulled away from Mingi's hold, tensing up. 

"I said no detours," he snapped, reaching out for the mug. Mingi placed a hand on his waist to stop him. 

"You're covered in blood, hyung," he said gently. 

Seonghwa took a dazed moment to look down at himself. Surely enough, his shirt was soaked through, and there was drying blood on his hands as well. He was shaking like a leaf, and didn't need a mirror to know how feral he must have looked right now. 

"I'll take it down to her," Mingi said placatingly, prying the mug away from Wooyoung's hands and holding it in front of him like an olive branch. "She knows me. It's okay." 

Wooyoung discreetly wiped the drop of blood from his chin and examined him for any other traces. "You're all good, Mingi-ya," he said. 

Seonghwa couldn't do anything but watch the exchange, stone-faced and hollow inside. "Can I?" Mingi asked, and he sounded so open, so vulnerable that Seonghwa wanted to cry. Marika adored Mingi. Hongjoong, too. "Trust me," he said, the final nail in Seonghwa's coffin. 

He gave up trying to fight, knowing he couldn't, and nodded numbly, feeling his heart twist when Mingi beamed and thanked him as he walked out the door. 

"So..." Seonghwa began, sounding close to ripping out somebody's throat with his bare hands. "Are you going to tell me why you're running from the cops?" 

Wooyoung exchanged a wary look with San, and started talking. 

"And... that's where we're losing them." 

"What?" Jongho asked sharply, honking when the car in front of him took a right without signaling. "Son of a— What do you mean, hyung? There isn't one shot of that car on any of the cameras here?" 

Yunho let out a mirthless laugh. "There would be, if there were any." 

"What kind of neighborhood doesn't have security cameras?" 

"This one, apparently," Yunho replied. "It's like Godric's fucking Hollow here." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"Didn't you watch Harry Potter when you were younger?" 

"I don't know, maybe. Why are we talking about— fucking Harry Potter? What about the cameras on the boulevard?" 

"I checked, and no sign of them— which means they must still be here. Slow the fuck down." 

Jongho glared at him, but braked, making sure to send Yunho forward in his seat as retaliation and grinning when he let out a curse. "Fucking Dusters. Why would you drive such a thing?"

"Let's switch if you don't wanna drive." 

"Yeah, right, no. I won driving rights for the whole week, fair and square. Not my problem you can't win anything against me."

They kept an eye out for any sign of a white Ford Fiesta, and after a few blocks of driving slower than a granny celebrating her centenary, there it was. Outside the fence of a house that looked exactly the same as all the others, poorly concealed by some overgrown bushes. "Stop," Yunho hissed, and Jongho parked the Duster across the street. 

"None of them lives here," Yunho said with a frown. 

"There were two more men in the car with them. Maybe one of them does." 

"But there's another car parked in the front yard. It doesn't add up if the owner's home."

"They could have broken in or— or maybe the owner knows them." 

"Or they dumped the car and went on foot." 

Jongho raked a hand through his hair and killed the engine. "Worth a try, I guess." 

"What, you really think they broke into a house when the owner's obviously home?" 

"Maybe they threatened them to let them inside. Or they're all accomplices, but..." He took a look around and grimaced. "...People who live in homes like these are, like, the epitome of cleanliness." 

"Perfect lair for a high-functioning psychopath."

"Oh, come on, hyung. Choi San's a sloppy brute. He's no calculated killer, and a calculated killer would want nothing to do with somebody like him. No, chances are, if they're in there, they either know the owner, or they threatened them." 

Yunho took a moment to picture it. Four men, two of which were known ex-convicts, desperate enough that they'd force someone to let them in their home. Fighting back a shiver, Yunho abruptly got out of the car. "It's possible that they just escaped on foot, but... You're right. We should check, just in case." 

Jongho studied him for a long moment — fists clenched at his sides and shoulders tense, so pale he might as well have been a ghost, and placed a soothing hand on Yunho's back. "Hyung, if they really are there, holding somebody hostage... Maybe it's best you stay here." 

Yunho's eyes snapped to his with such intensity that Jongho flinched, and let his hand fall away. "They'll need both of us if that's the case." 

"Mingi-oppa!" 

Marika untangled herself from Hongjoong to pull Mingi in for a bruising hug. "Easy there, Mari-ah," he said, not tearing his eyes from Hongjoong's worried gaze. He gave him a brief nod, hoping he'd understand. "You'll spill the cocoa." 

Marika pulled away. "That's for me?" she asked, prying it away before Mingi had the chance to answer. "It's a bit watery," she said with a grimace after she'd taken a sip. "Have you never used the machine before?" 

"Uh, no." 

"I'll teach you." 

She took Mingi's hand as if to tug him out the living room. "Hey, monkey, how about you tell Mingi about your Appa's new friend first?" 

Marika stopped in her tracks and strode happily back towards the couch, pulling Mingi after her. "Oh, he met a defective today." 

"A what?" 

"She means detective," Hongjoong clarified. 

"Oh," Mingi said carefully, heart thudding. "Really?" 

Marika nodded gravely. "When he was waiting for me to get out from school. Appa said he wanted to see his papers or something, but I think he only wanted to be his friend." 

"Was he the one driving your Appa's car?" Hongjoong asked, and she only scrunched up her face at him, confused. "You told me on the phone, monkey." 

"Ah, no," she said, taking the remote and pressing play on their third My Little Pony episode so far. "Appa said he didn't wanna talk to you, so I panicked and lied." 

At that, Mingi snorted out a laugh, earning a withering look from Hongjoong. "You should have said you wanted to visit, Hongjoong-oppa," she chastised absently, eyes on the screen. "I'm sure Appa wouldn't have minded, even if he doesn't like you that much anymore."

"I'm sure that's not true," Mingi said placatingly when he saw Hongjoong flinch at Marika's side. 

"He doesn't like you either, Mingi-oppa," she said absentmindedly. Ouch, Mingi thought, face heating as he stared at his hands, folded in his lap. He ignored Hongjoong's amused glance. 

"Oh, there's someone at the door," Marika said on that same tone, making them both freeze. Mingi, on his part, couldn't hear anything past the too-loud "Friendship is Magic" theme song. 

"No, there isn't." 

"Mingi-ya, I hear it too," Hongjoong said warningly, and loosely gripped Marika's wrist to make her look at him. "Monkey, I need you to think very carefully. Are there any other guests you're expecting?" 

Marika looked down at Hongjoong's hand questioningly, and then met his eyes. "Uh, no." 

Hongjoong's eyes shot to Mingi. "Get Seonghwa." 

He ran into Seonghwa as he was descending the stairs with a forlorn look in his eye and quickly took both his hands to still him. "Don't—" he tried, but Mingi wouldn't budge. 

"Hyung, there's someone at the door. Whoever it is, you need to send them away." 

Seonghwa looked down at himself and grimaced. His hands were clean now, but his shirt was still soiled. "I... I—" he stammered, but quickly collected himself and nodded, brushing past Mingi to climb down the stairs the rest of the way and pulling off his shirt over his head. He discarded it in the kitchen sink and dug around the hangers in the hallway for something else, hands shaking. 

"Don't say anything about the car."

"What— car?" 

Mingi pulled him by the wrist to the window, and showed him the white car in the bushes. "That's the one we arrived in."

"Couldn't you leave it somewhere else? Anywhere else?" 

"You saw Sanni. He could barely walk." 

Seonghwa shook his head, features twisting up in a pained expression. "What do you even have to do with all this? Underground fighting, that's just—" 

"I'll tell you everything, hyung, I promise."

Seonghwa's blood boiled. "One of these days, I'll murder you, Mingi-ya." 

Mingi only gave him a lopsided grin, turning slightly pink. "Sure, go ahead. But send them away first, okay?"

"Why is no one answering the door?" Marika muttered, evading Hongjoong's attempts to pull her back. "Adults, so stupid." 

Mingi shook his head and sent him back in the living room. "It's better if they don't see you, hyungie," he said gently. "I'll intervene if I have to, but..." 

"Mari-ah, no," Seonghwa hissed, reaching out to stop her, but it was too late. He pulled on the nearest jacket he could find, Hongjoong's cropped one with the fur cuffs, and cursed his existence as he ran to catch up with his daughter. "Don't open the door, Marika," he hissed.

She turned back to face him with a frown, hand already on the doorknob. "Why?" 

"It's probably auntie Annika," Seonghwa whispered. Her eyes widened and she drew back, but the door had already creaked open, the sound piercing through the dense veil of silence. 

"Nope," she said, visibly relieved as she poked her head through the small crack. "It's just your new friend, Appa." 

Seonghwa pulled her behind him. "What... friend?" he asked. He didn't have any friends aside from Mingi and Hongjoong, whom he couldn't really call his friends — and those two were already here. 

"Oh, it's you," he said dumbly when he saw the two men in their crisp shirts, one of whom he already knew. 

The taller one's eyes widened in recognition, but he quickly collected himself and pulled out his badge along with the other one. "Detectives Choi Jongho and Jeong Yunho," the shorter one said sternly. 

The one from this morning, Jeong Yunho, apparently, looked over his shoulder at Seonghwa's car, and then at him again, eyes widening as he took in the sight of him, shirtless save for that stupid jacket that didn't really cover much of anything. "It's uh, good to see you again, Seonghwa-ssi," he said sheepishly, carefully keeping his eyes trained on his face. 

"See, Appa?" Marika asked brightly. "I told you he liked you." 

"Is it?" he asked cuttingly, ignoring Marika's comment. "Go back inside, monkey." He dreaded being alone with them, but hated the idea of using Marika as a buffer more. It made more sense now, he thought, Yunho's presence at the school. They were looking for San. And San was here. 

She frowned up at him for a moment before training her eyes on the other detective, Choi Jongho. "I know you, too. You're Yeosang-ssi's friend." 

"Marika." 

She pouted, but finally relented and ran back inside. Seonghwa presented his best hospitable smile, aware of how ridiculous he must have looked with the jacket undone, but not knowing what else to do. "What can I do for you, Detectives?" 

"Who is it, Mari-ah?" Mingi asked when she returned to the hallway. 

"The defective and his friend," she said with a shrug, and Mingi froze. He couldn't leave Seonghwa alone with them. 

He came up behind him and pushed the door open all the way, making sure they saw the hand he'd placed on the bare skin of Seonghwa's middle, right below the hem of Hongjoong's too-short jacket. Seonghwa flinched a little, but blissfully got the message and leaned into his touch. "Is there a problem here?" 

Yunho tilted his head with a sigh. "Song Mingi. Our favorite lawyer pain. We put criminals behind bars, and you release them."

Mingi gave them a mock salute. "Exactly," he said. "You do your job, and I do mine. Speaking of, what brings you here?" 

Jongho pulled out two sets of photos and handed them out to both Mingi and Seonghwa. Mingi squeezed Seonghwa's waist, drawing closer— a warning. "I haven't seen these men before in my life," Seonghwa replied after studying the photos attentively. 

"I know them," Mingi said. "I defended them two years ago when they got arrested. Did a hell of a good job of it, too. Why? Are they up to no good again?"

"You could say that."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Mingi replied with a sad smile. "I truly thought the time in the recovery center would have helped, you know, clear their head." 

"So you haven't seen them?" 

"Recently, no." 

Jongho took the photos back, searching both their faces for any sign of deception. None of them said anything for a long moment, gauging each other's reactions. 

"Will that be all?" Seonghwa asked with a polite smile. 

"Not quite," Yunho said. "We were wondering if we could take a look at the car." 

"Sure," Seonghwa replied, stretching out a hand in his silver Honda's direction with such decisiveness that Mingi wanted to hug him. "You seem to like my car a lot, Detective." 

Yunho gave him an indulgent smile, eyes glinting almost maliciously. "Not this one," he said. "The other." 

"What do you mean? This the only one I have." 

They could have gone on like that for hours, and they would have if Jongho hadn't cleared his throat and intervened. "There's a white car parked in the street, very close to your backyard, Seonghwa-ssi." 

"Must be my neighbor's," Seonghwa replied, undeterred. 

"The elderly lady we saw in the window, you mean? I'm sure she's a very skilled driver," Yunho mocked. "She probably doesn't park on pedestrian crossings, which would make her more skilled than you seem to be." 

Mingi's eyes darted to Seonghwa, ready to take the lead in case he faltered, as many did whenever Yunho did that thing of his and went overboard, but he only grinned. "She's got seven children — about my age, I think, and older. One of them must have come visit and parked there."

"On your property?" Yunho asked, brows flying up into his messy hair. Seonghwa shrugged, holding his gaze. 

"I only returned home a little over an hour ago. What were they supposed to do, wait outside in the street until I showed up to grant them permission?" He spread his arms out in an all-encompassing gesture. "We're a very close-knit community, you see."

"I'm sure," Yunho replied dryly. "Then you won't mind if we, say, take a look at it?" 

"We would mind, actually," Mingi interjected. "As that car is on Seonghwa-hyung's property, you'll need a warrant. Do you have one?" 

"I believe he wasn't talking to you," Jongho said. 

Seonghwa gave them each in turn a cutting look, and paused on Yunho. "You seem to have quite a problem with cars as a concept, or those in my near vicinity at the very least," he said. "Or is it me you have a problem with?" He broke away from Mingi's hold to step closer. "I'd be happy to come to the station to answer whatever questions you may have. And while I'm there, I might also tell them you've been following a civillian around since this morning."

"I'm not following you, Seonghwa-ssi," Yunho replied sharply. "Merely going where my case is taking me." 

"I have no way of knowing that, but let's assume for the sake of the argument that you're doing just that," he retorted. "Still, it wouldn't look good on your resume, a complaint like that." 

Mingi quickly came up behind him, genuinely scared he'd say something that might actually get him in trouble. He hadn't known Seonghwa had it in him, and felt a pang knowing he was part of the reason for bringing that side of him out to play. "When you come back with a warrant, we'd be happy to let you search for whatever you want. But until then..." 

He shrugged, almost apologetically, squeezing Seonghwa's fingers. Yunho's eyes followed the movement before snapping up to meet Mingi's. "What's a defence lawyer the likes of you doing here, anyway?" 

"Careful there, Detective," he warned with a cryptic smile. "You're dangling on the edge of professionalism." 

"If that's so, you've already crossed that line a long time ago." 

"Yeah, maybe," Mingi replied with a grin. "But I'm off-duty right now. You, on the other hand..." 

Jongho shot his partner a glare and said, "we should go, hyung. But don't worry," he threw to Mingi over his shoulder, "we'll come back with your warrant." 

After they were out of earshot, Mingi tugged Seonghwa's hand back toward the house. "They suspect us," he whisper-hissed, digging his nails hard in the flesh of Mingi's palm. 

Mingi let out a sigh. "They're watching. Laugh as if I said something funny." Seonghwa did, and Mingi pulled him closer to his chest so he could whisper in his ear. "I'm sorry, hyung, but you're going to have to kiss me." 

Seonghwa broke apart, a pink flush spreading over his cheeks. "What?" 

"Make them believe it, too. Or else they'll think we're keeping you here against your will." 

"You kind of are." Mingi's grin was sad. "Okay," Seonghwa said decidedly, wrapping his arms around Mingi's neck. "Don't freak out, alright?" He rose up to press his mouth against his, and Mingi's heart stopped. For a moment, he couldn't move. Seonghwa pulled away to hiss in his ear, "This was your idea, for fuck's sake. Kiss me back, or I'll go inside and hand them over to them myself." 

Mingi whimpered, and snaked his hands beneath his jacket to pull him closer, not holding back this time. He licked his way into Seonghwa's mouth with more force than it was necessary for keeping up their little charade, but he thought it might just have been worth it when he responded just as intensely. For a moment, Mingi allowed himself to think he really meant it. Even though Seonghwa's eyes were open, and he was all tensed up where Mingi was touching him. 

A loud, obnoxious laugh rang through the still air, making Seonghwa pull back from him, startled. "Easy there!" Yunho said, earning yet another withering look from Jongho. "You have a child in the house, for fuck's sake." 

Seonghwa turned even redder, and Mingi cleared his throat, subtly adjusting himself. He glared at them with all his might. 

"He's right, this— it's probably enough," Seonghwa whispered, and Mingi snapped out of it to follow him back inside. Seonghwa wrapped his arms around himself, unable to meet Mingi's eyes and staring down at the floor instead. 

"Hyung, I'm sorry," Mingi tried, reaching out as if to touch him again, but Seonghwa drew back, shoulders slumping like he was trying to make himself as small as possible. 

"It's okay, ah..." He gave a nervous laugh, still not finding it in himself to look at Mingi. "I just don't know what you'll tell Hongjoong." 

"He won't mind. We're not exclusive," Mingi replied with an uncertain smile of his own, and looked like he wanted to add more, but something in Seonghwa's eyes was stopping him.   

He buttoned up the jacket with termbling fingers, and Mingi stretched out a hand as if to help him, flinching when Seonghwa took a step back. 

"Please, I— Don't touch me anymore." He seemed so meek, so vulnerable, voice barely above a strangled whisper, so unlike the man he'd just witnessed pulling out a knife from an open wound and then holding his own with detectives like Jongho and Yunho. Mingi wanted to pull him to his chest and hug him, but he couldn't. 

"I'm sorry," he said again, uselessly, but Seonghwa still nodded, polite as ever. "I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine," he brushed off, finally meeting Mingi's gaze. "I'll go check on San. I need to stitch him up now." 

"Want me to—" 

"No." 

"What do we think?" Yunho asked, back at the car, popping a cig into his mouth and staring out the window of the passenger's side. "Decoy?" 

Jongho shrugged. "Maybe. But you know how Mingi is. He's the type to do stuff like that just to have a laugh at our expense. I'm more worried about the car. It won't be a problem getting a warrant, but if they're really in there, they'll probably leave while we're away." 

"Then you go," Yunho said, still looking as if transfixed at the house through the window. "Call an uber, and I'll keep watch here." 

He didn't acknowledge Jongho's pointed glare, aimed at the side of his face. "Are you sure that's the best idea?" Yunho didn't answer. "Did that man tell the truth, hyung? Were you following him?" 

"And why would I do something like that?" 

"Beats me," he replied, throwing his hands up. "Sometimes I swear I don't understand where your mind's at, Yunho-hyung." 

"I didn't follow anyone, Jongho-ya," he snapped, turning his head to finally look at him. "You were talking to that teacher, I was in the car killing time. I saw him pulling over on the pedestrian crossing, I was bored and wanted to fuck with him a little. I didn't even fine him, anyway." 

"Well, maybe you should have." 

Yunho frowned. "Why?" 

"His kid goes to that school, so he surely knows Kang Yeosang. And Kang Yeosang—" 

"—Knows Choi San," Yunho finished for him. "It could be a coincidence," he said, though he sounded hesitant. 

"You know I don't believe in coincidences," Jongho said. 

"So... You think he's involved?" 

He shrugged. "Maybe. Seems too unlikely, twice in one day." 

"Fine," Yunho said, though he didn't look convinced. "All the more one of us should keep an eye out. And given that this is my car..." 

Jongho sighed. "Rock, paper, scissors?" 

"Not a fucking chance. Out." 

Chapter Text

"Keep still, for fuck's sake."

"Easy for you to say," San hissed. "You're not the one having your skin sewed up like a fucking— wedding dress. Don't you at least have some alcohol, Seonghwa-ssi?"

"I'll go get it if hyung tells me where it is," Wooyoung suggested, to which Seonghwa gave him what could only be classified as a look. Both at the address, and at the proposition. 

"Not a chance. You aren't leaving this room while Marika's here."

"Oh, come on. We can just tell her I'm a friend of yours."

"No," he snapped. "We won't involve my daughter in any of this. And don't delude yourselves into thinking you'll stay here for any longer than you have to. Hide from the cops somewhere else. Anywhere that's not here. As soon as I'd stitched you up, you're on your own."

San gave him a wide-eyed look, almost pleading. "At least let us stay until I'm not at a risk of bleeding out, hyung, please."

"Don't call me that. Either of you. I don't know you, and you don't know me."

The door opened, and Seonghwa knew things were really bad when at the sight of Hongjoong standing there, he felt relieved. "Seonghwa, it's not good. I think they went to get that warrant after all."

"Perfect. Then you all can be on your way before they get back, and I'll have time to clean up any trace of you from my house."

"No, you don't understand. Their car's here. One of them stayed back. He'll— he'll see if we try to leave now. And it's gonna be worse for you if they do, because you lied."

"That's settled then," San said happily. "We're staying." Seonghwa stuck the needle in the wound with a little more force than necessary, making him cry out in pain. He didn't say a word after that. None of them did, only watched Seonghwa's hands as he worked, stone-faced.

"Wow," Hongjoong said, inspecting the needlework. "You should have been a seamstress."

Seonghwa snorted. "Yeah, it would have probably turned out better for me if I was."

He patted San's arm, almost an apology for the rough treatment, and shot one last time over his shoulder, unable to help himself, "I'm sorry. I'll do what I can to help, but if it comes down to it..."

"We know," said Wooyoung, sounding sad. "And thank you. It's more than we dared hope for."

Seonghwa swallowed back the lump in his throat, and without a word, he stepped out after Hongjoong. "Marika?" he asked.

"She's fine." He smiled. "I heated up some leftovers I found in the fridge and let her watch My Little Pony while she had lunch. It was the only way to convince her to eat without you."

"Ah, fuck."

"It's fine, I— you did a really good thing today. Thank you." He held his gaze, eyes warm, and Seonghwa didn't know what to say. He supposed Hongjoong was right, in a way — he could hardly remember the last time he did something this utterly wild and ridiculous and it didn't end tremendously bad. Enter, his college years, and then his entire marriage. And then his tumultuous and not necessarily serious relationship with Hongjoong. This took the cake, though, and Seonghwa knew the chances of it ending badly increased with every second San and Wooyoung spent here. 

"Can you go stay with Marika for a bit? I need to ask Mingi something." 

At that, Hongjoong's lips spread into a shit-eating grin. "Mingi, eh?" 

Seonghwa tried to cover up the heat in his face by narrowing his eyes in what he hoped was a cutting glare. But Hongjoong knew him better than that. He knew him better than anyone. "Don't look at me like that. I only want to ask him how long it's gonna take for that guy to return with the warrant." 

"He won't have it by morning, that's for sure," Mingi said, making Seonghwa flinch. He hadn't heard him approach. "Paperwork's a mess in this city, you see." 

He nodded, lightly relieved. "Where's Mari? Why aren't you with her?" 

"Bathroom." 

"Oh." 

"And Yunho's gonna need to use the bathroom too at some point." 

Seonghwa sighed. "With my luck, he'll probably come here." 

"Think we can smuggle them out the back door when that happens?" 

"Yeah, right," Seonghwa huffed, even though the question wasn't directed to him at all, but to Hongjoong. "San-ssi's too hurt to manage to move quickly enough without making any noise. And even if they manage to get to the car, he'll hear the engine."

"You could always... Distract him," Mingi said shyly, and there was something about his tone that sent chills down Seonghwa's spine. 

"No. I've had enough of your stupid ideas."

"Mingi-ya, we wouldn't want the good old detective to think Seonghwa's easy, would we?" Hongjoong chastised, mocking. Seonghwa blushed and looked away. 

Mingi gave him a warning look before training his eyes on Seonghwa. "As long as there's no warrant, we're good."

"But we're not really, are we? There's a— there's a man wanted for illegal underground fighting in my house." Hongjoong's eyes widened into Mingi's. The younger averted his gaze. 

"Right," Seonghwa said sharply, figuring their silence was an answer too. "I'm gonna go check on Marika. I trust you two won't go anywhere." 

He brushed past Mingi down the stairs, expecting him to stop him again, but he didn't dare, only stared down at him with those gentle giant eyes of his as if he was waiting for Seonghwa to say something. But Seonghwa had nothing to say to him. 

Once he was gone, Hongjoong gripped Mingi's arm tightly and leaned in to hiss in his ear, "You haven't told him?" 

"He wouldn't have even heard us out if he knew." He ripped his arm away. "You fucking tell him." 

"You're scared," he said, almost in wonder, and Mingi snorted. Of course he was scared. He'd gotten himself in a situation that with all his experience in the courtroom, he couldn't foresee the outcome of, especially after they'd had to involve Seonghwa. But that wasn't what Hongjoong meant. "Shit, you really do like him, don't you?" Mingi didn't reply. He didn't have to. Hongjoong smiled, though it was sad. "It's unfortunate, really. Because he'll find out. And when he does, he really will hate you. He'll hate both of us." 

"I thought we'd spend the day together," Marika said, and Seonghwa could tell she was upset when she paused her precious show to give him her full attention. 

"I know, monkey, I'm sorry. I had some work to do. Didn't you have fun with Hongjoong and Mingi-ssi?" 

She shrugged, crossing her arms and jutting out her chin. "Yeah. But I missed you." Seonghwa sat down at her side and pulled her in to press a kiss to the crown of her head. Marika nestled into his arms, and even with all that weight pressing down on him, for a moment Seonghwa let himself feel soothed. 

"How about we stay here tonight, Mari-ah? Watch My Little Pony until we fall sleep, and tomorrow on the way to school we stop for ice cream." 

Marika made a show of considering his suggestion, even though the brightness in her eyes betrayed her excitement. "Yeah, okay. And we're going biking together." 

Seonghwa gave her a fond smile. "Not during the week, monkey. We can go on Saturday. Doesn't Yeosang-ssi give you homework?" 

Marika pouted and faced the screen, frozen in an image of Twilight Sparkle with an eyepatch, cross-eyed and her hair electrified. "Not today, he didn't." 

Seonghwa's eyes fell on the array of paper airplanes all over the coffee table and the floor. He picked one, marveling at the smoothness of the fold for a moment, proud, and sent it flying in spirals across the room. Marika's gaze followed it impassively until it hit a wall and fell to the floor, and then she met Seonghwa's eyes. "I can make mine fly more." 

"Yeah?" he asked. "Prove it." 

She held his gaze as if considering him, and then picked out one and sent it right past Seonghwa's head, but it never hit the wall at all. 

"Your aim's way off," Hongjoong said from the doorway.  

"Nope," Marika replied happily. "I aimed for you, Hongjoong-oppa." 

He placed a hand on his heart and scrunched up his face as if he was in pain. "Ouch. I thought you liked me, Mari-ssi." 

She shrugged, but she was grinning. Seonghwa schooled his expression into something neutral when Mingi poked his head in from behind Hongjoong and rested his chin on his shoulder. "You two can take the guest bedroom," he said neutrally. 

"You're not moving in with us, are you?" Marika asked with a grimace. 

"No, Mari-ssi," Hongjoong replied. "Just for tonight. Is that okay with you?"

"Yeah."

Seonghwa unceremoniously tossed Hongjoong the remote, but this time it was Mingi who caught it right before it hit him in the stomach with more force than a paper airplane could have. "Now I know where she gets the tendency to throw inanimate objects at me," Hongjoong muttered. 

Seonghwa grinned and rose to his feet. "Somebody needs to take a shower," he told Marika pointedly, and she grimaced a little, but then her eyes brightened with the promise of a retaliation. 

"Will you let me play Subway Surfers if I do?" 

"Yeah, not a chance." 

Marika shrugged, but didn't seem to mind all that much. "Eh, I tried." She brushed past him, and only then did Seonghwa realize his mistake. 

"Hey, how about you use the bathroom here?" 

"But I have my own." 

"It's... broken." 

Her eyes narrowed. "Who broke my bathroom?" 

"Faulty plumbing?" said Mingi with a sheepish smile.

"I don't know what any of that means."

"Just use this one, alright?"

"Subway Surfers."

Seonghwa rolled his eyes, but gave in. "Yeah, okay. But only after you shower." He felt around his pockets, only to remember he didn't have his phone. Mingi fished it out from his pocket and handed it to a nearly feral Seonghwa.

"Sorry about that, hyung."

Finally, Seonghwa managed to convince Marika to stay still long enough so he'd go upstairs and get her pajamas, and settled her in the shower. With nothing but the sound of water running in the distance, all three of them had crowded themselves on the small couch, staring at that absolutely cursed shot of Twilight Sparkle on the tv screen.

"He's still there?" Seonghwa finally asked without turning to look at either of them.

"Yeah."

"How do you even know them, Mingi-ya?"

"Yunho put it better than I could ever hope to. They catch criminals, and I defend them."

"Can't you defend San, too? If you're so good at it. How long's the sentence for illegal fighting, anyway? It shouldn't be that much. You said you defended him once. You can just do it again."

He remained oblivious to the withering look Hongjoong shot into the side of Mingi's face.

"It's not that easy, hyung. The law is harsher for people who've already been to prison once."

"What was he charged with?"

"Drugs," Hongjoong replied with a sigh. 

"Consuming or dealing?"

"Dealing. Wooyoung, too. They were caught together."

"What's his deal, anyway? Was he fighting, too?"

"He's..." Hongjoong paused, choosing his words carefully, "...San's coach."

Seonghwa let out a shaky exhale, still not looking at any of them. "And you, Hongjoong-ah? How are you even involved in this?"

"Mingi-ya?" Hongjoong prompted. "Are you gonna tell him, or should I?"

"We, uh..." Mingi began shakily, and swallowed dryly when Seonghwa turned to meet his gaze, appearing close to committing a few crimes of his own. "We like watching the fights. And, uh, placing bets."

"Right," Seonghwa replied. He supposed he was too far gone to let anything surpise him after all that had happened today. "Remind me never to make friends again."

"Hyung..." Mingi tried, eyes wide and almost pleading, sending a pang of guilt through Seonghwa's heart. "...If they get caught, I'll take the fall for it. For everything."

The water turned off, and Seonghwa rose to his feet. Marika would probably need help with all the buttons on that cursed pajama blouse. He'd told Freja it was a stupid idea, buying impractical clothes for a five year-old who could hardly keep still for two minutes unless she was watching something on a screen, but no, she'd wanted to get her that one. "It's too late for that," he threw over his shoulder, and walked away.

To his surprise, Marika had buttoned it fairly well, save for the fact that she missed the topmost one and the blouse was hanging to one side. The material pulled tight around her shoulders, and Seonghwa's heart twisted when he realized that Marika was slowly but surely outgrowing the clothes her mother had picked out for her. But what surprised him even more was finding her on her feet on the washing machine, poking her head out through the small open window.

"What are you doing, Mari-ah?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her middle to get her down. She was heavier than he remembered, but he supposed Marika wasn't the only one who was getting older.

She didn't protest when he kneeled down to button her blouse right, relentlessly rising on her tiptoes as if to catch a glimpse through the window again. "I saw your friend, Appa."

Seonghwa paused, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach. "Why don't you invite him in? Maybe he likes My Little Pony, too. I wonder who his favorite is. He seems like he'd like Applejack. Or... Maybe Princess Luna or something." She hummed. "Yeah, that would make a lot of sense..."

"There," Seonghwa said conclusively. "All settled. Go to Mingi and Hongjoong-ah, alright? I'll take a shower and join you in a moment."

"Subway Surfers."

"Later, please. I need my phone now."

Marika pouted, but seemed to consider it. "You promise?"

"Yeah, monkey. I promise." He gave her his pinky, and she shook it with her own, pleased, before dashing out of the bathroom.

Seonghwa counted ten of his breaths before he started folding up Marika's discarded clothes and pulled out a change for himself from a drawer. He turned on the water to have something piercing the silence, and plopped down on the washing machine, pulling out his phone.

He had the feeling they were keeping something from him, but when he googled Choi San's name, nothing really popped up. Naver profiles of people with the same name and endless ads. An article from two years ago caught his eye, though. San and Wooyoung's arrest, and a shot of each of them on the stand. Mingi was there too, in the corner, and the article mentioned that due to his work, their sentence had been reduced from two years in a maximum security prison to only one in a recovery center. They'd been caught by one Jeong Yunho and another detective named Bang Chan. Seonghwa frowned, recalling Yunho's partner to have introduced himself by a different name.

Choi Jongho. Yes, that was it. A little more digging revealed him as a newly promoted detective, while the search for Bang Chan didn't return many results at all. Seonghwa risked a glance out the window, hoping that Marika had been mistaken. But no, there he was, in the driver's seat of a black Duster parked across the street, smoking out the window. He quickly averted his eyes so Yunho wouldn't see him, and the guilt of wasting the water slowly started creeping in.

He stripped off Hongjoong's jacket without much pretense for care and threw it on the washing machine, but neatly folded his pants and underwear before stepping under the steady stream of water, almost too hot to handle. Still, he let the heat envelop him, eyes fluttering shut and skin reddening all over. He almost didn't register the door opening, until the cold started to seep in and he opened his eyes to tell Marika to close it.

But the person standing in his bathroom wasn't his daughter. It was Hongjoong.

Seonghwa didn't bother trying to cover himself; it wasn't like there was anything he hadn't seen before. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Hongjoong let his eyes wander for a moment before meeting Seonghwa's gaze. "We need to talk."

"Can't it wait?"

"No," he said sternly.

"Fine," Seonghwa replied, reaching for the shower gel with shaking hands. "What is it?"

He stopped in his tracks when Hongjoong drew closer and stepped into the shower, fully clothed, keeping his distance so as to not get water on himself. Seonghwa hitched in a breath. "What exactly do you think you're doing? We— we've... You—"

We broke up. We've never really been together in the first place. You have Mingi now. 

"Mingi likes you a lot," Hongjoong said at last, sounding a little grim. 

"I— I'm sorry," he replied uselessly. "I never meant to..." 

"Ah, no. I don't mind that you kissed him. It was his brilliant idea, anyway, and he knows it was a decoy. He's not stupid, he's just... idealistic," he settled on, a fond smile playing at his mouth, but it was gone in the blink of an eye, replaced by a stern expression that had Seonghwa on his guard. "You'd think that in his line of work, he'd have learned his lesson by now, but no."

"Then..." Seonghwa trailed off, at a loss for words. Hongjoong reached out to brush his fingers over the side of Seonghwa's neck, absentmindedly making him shudder. He hadn't been touched like that in a long time, and while he had been able to brush off Mingi's kiss as a charade and his touching problem as a fault of his personality, he couldn't do the same with Hongjoong now. No, this was a display of something as much as the kiss he'd shared with Mingi had been, but this time, the only audience was Seonghwa himself. "I... I left you without a word, Hongjoong-ah," he whispered, hating the edge in his voice but unable to stop it. "I broke your heart." 

"Don't worry," he said pensively, eyes trailing over Seonghwa's skin as if he was trying to commit him to memory. And Seonghwa, in his endless cowardice and inability to make up his mind, let him. It scared him, knowing that if Hongjoong wanted to touch him, really touch him, he was so out of it he would have probably allowed him that, too. He felt exposed, vulnerable, more so now than he'd ever let himself back when they'd actually been together. "I know you had your reasons. And it was what you had to do to pull yourself out the trainwreck. I'm over it." 

"You are?" 

He let his hand fall away, meeting Seonghwa's gaze with a small grin that felt loaded. Tentatively, Seonghwa tried to return it, though what came out was a sad excuse of a smile. "Yeah. You were a mess and I... I was there. I knew what I was getting into, so..."

Seonghwa felt the guilt tug at him, and drew closer to Hongjoong, hoping to soothe it. He didn't know what he was doing, what he wanted to do, only that the world felt tilted, and would only right itself if he closed in the distance between them. Hongjoong's breath left him in a shaky exhale, eyes darting down to Seonghwa's mouth for a brief moment before stilling him with a hand on his chest. "You'll feel worse if you do that," he said gently. Seonghwa stepped back as if he'd been struck, face heating as he looked away. He knew Hongjoong was right. 

"What do you want from me?" 

"I... Mingi, he..." He took a deep breath, steeling himself. "...You have the ability to hurt him, and knowing him, he'll probably let you. So I'm doing the only thing I know to prevent it." 

"I wouldn't do that, Hongjoong-ah," he said meekly, earning a sad smile from Hongjoong's lips. 

"I know you have the best of intentions," he replied. "You always do. What I mean is... Mingi won't take it as easily as I did. He can't handle it. Can't handle you."

Seonghwa's eyes narrowed, his walls up as he stepped back until he felt the cold tiles against his skin. "What does that mean?" 

Hongjoong hesitated. "Nothing, I..." he shook his head as if to clear off a daze. "Just be careful with him. Don't play with his feelings like you... You..." He trailed off, averting his eyes, but Seonghwa heard the words he didn't say. Like you did with mine. 

He didn't have it in him to reply, and Hongjoong didn't say anything more as he stepped out, leaving Seonghwa alone under the searing stream of water, heart racing as if he'd run a marathon. He looked down at himself, flushed and half-hard, and wanted to cry. He thought of Mingi's gentle hands feeling up underneath his jacket, the drunken kisses he'd shared with Hongjoong in the dead of night, the slight widening of that detective's eyes as he was taking him in, ridiculous as he must have looked, of Freja's soothing touch, letting it all wash over him as he switched the tap, making the water so cold he couldn't feel his limbs anymore. 

He couldn't meet his own eyes in the mirror while he was getting dressed, shivering all over. Hongjoong's jacket was just sitting there, carelessly thrown onto the washing machine, taunting him. He sighed and put it aside on one of the hangers, something falling away from one of the pockets as he did so. 

Hongjoong's cigarettes, the exact same type they used to smoke together. The minty ones he'd claimed to hate whenever Seonghwa were to offer him one, yet he smoked them now. Making up his mind for once in his life, he pulled one out, along with the neon green lighter Hongjoong kept inside. He'd quit after he'd married Freja, promised himself countless times he would never smoke again, and broke that promise when she was gone and the faucet opened, letting out the wild beast in himself that he'd given up on to start the family he'd never realized he wanted in the first place. 

Marika had brought him back to reality back then. She didn't really cry for her mother, too young to quite realize she was never coming back, and stronger than he'd ever pretended to be. Hongjoong had been there with him through it, going along with his stupid nighttime drunken adventures as Marika stayed home with her sitter, taking the wheel when he lost control and carrying him home when he'd taken too much. "You're the only one she has now," he'd told him one night, as Seonghwa was slumped over the toilet seat, catching his breath after spilling the contents of his stomach down the drain. "You want her to lose you too? Snap out of it before you do something you can't get back from." He'd numbly shaken his head, looking up at Hongjoong with tears in his eyes as if to beg him to stop telling him harsh truths and continue keeping up the sweet lies. Freja had been the responsible one. The brave one, the smart one, while Seonghwa had never quite managed to hold his own. And he hadn't had to, not when she'd been there. 

But she was gone, and Seonghwa had to hold his own now. For Marika's sake, if not for his own. 

So he'd sobered up, and broke it off with Hongjoong, too, the constant reminder of the person that he used to be before he'd met Freja, and of what he'd become after her. It had taken him a year to finally quit smoking, and he hadn't felt the appeal of it since. 

But he felt it now. 

Seonghwa sat down on the washing machine, hands shaking so badly he had to snap the lighter a few times before the flame caught. He choked on the first drag, but didn't stop until he'd smoked it to the filter, afterwards tossing the butt out the window like a teenager who didn't want to be caught with evidence of his misbehavior. 

But he hadn't had enough, and he lit himself another one, and another after that, inhaling deep in his lungs and blowing the smoke out the window, catching sight of the detective again in the process. He was still there, absently scrolling through his phone as he smoked cigarette after cigarette. This time, Seonghwa was too out of it to look away. He wondered what it must have been like, being in a position to do whatever he wanted. Did Jeong Yunho have a family at all? Seonghwa hadn't looked very closely, but he didn't recall seeing a ring on his finger.

He stared down at his own wedding band for a moment, and pulled it off unceremoniously, marveling at how easily it came off. He dropped it in the cigarette pack, putting the lighter back as well and hiding it all in the back of a drawer. He told himself Hongjoong would have had an easier time believing the entire pack lost than he would have if he'd noticed five of his cigs had gone missing. But the truth was, he knew he would need them again. 

He contemplated showering again to rid himself of the smell, but gave up. There was no point in pretending. He couldn't lie to himself, and lying to everyone else would only worsen the feeling of wrong inside him. 

Chapter Text

Who the fuck was smoking out the bathroom window? He couldn't make out his face, but recognized the dark hair as Seonghwa's, whereas Mingi had it dyed a weird lavender blonde. Yunho laughed to himself. The kind suburban daddy was a rebel at heart.

He opened his phone and accessed the database, unable to help himself. He was low on entertainment, and painfully close to falling asleep in the uncomfortable seat of his car. But Park Seonghwa's file was just as pristine and boring as the house he lived in and the life he seemed to lead. A clean background, two living parents residing in Suncheon-si, both of them doctors. Flawless grades in middle school and high school. He'd gone to med school, graduated top of his class there too, but never professed after he'd gotten married to a Swedish-Korean woman, Park Freja, née Hwang Freja-Ingrid. Park Marika, his only child, was born a few years later, while he was attending his second college, majoring in history. 

Current work place — curator and restorer of ancient artifacts at the Seoul Museum of History. Yunho's eyebrows flew up. Did he sense a little animosity here? Both parents doctors, he'd probably attended medical school to make them proud, but then this woman came along into his life, and he'd switched from a promising career in medicine to a less prestigious, and probably a less paying one. 

And that was when things started to get a little shaky. Two years ago, the wife died in a car crash in the opposite part of Korea, so far away from home, leaving Marika a five year-old motherless child. A fine for drunk driving, the only spot on Seonghwa's record, on the same night as the one Freja died. 

Yunho narrowed his eyes. In truth, this record was cleaner than his own, and Yunho was working in the force. He wouldn't have batted an eye to it had it not been for the strange exchange from earlier. And what was Mingi's part in all of this? A defence lawyer, notorious for how far he would go to keep his clients out of jail, and the one who had traded a fair sentence for Choi San and Jung Wooyoung for something as meager as a year in a recovery center where they'd probably lived in better condition than poor people lived in Seoul. Than Yunho had lived all his teenage years. Now Park Seonghwa's apparent... boyfriend?

Coincidence? Yunho didn't know what to think. 

His phone started ringing, pulling him out of his thoughts. "How is it?" he asked, and Jongho sighed. 

"Not good. I've been waiting for hours. If we knew for a fact that Seonghwa-ssi and the child were in danger..."

"Then we wouldn't have needed a warrant at all, Jongho-ya. How long do you think it's gonna take?" 

"They're closing up soon, and the queue's enormous. I think I'm gonna have to come back tomorrow. But we're probably gonna have it by lunch or something. Don't leave." 

"Great," Yunho said with a sigh. "I suppose I'm gonna have to keep busy all night by myself then..." 

"Hyung," Jongho said, a warning in his tone. Yunho hated it. "Want me to come back?" 

"I mean, you could," Yunho replied. "But at least one of us should get some decent sleep. I'll keep watch, don't worry."

Jongho's jaw-cracking yawn betrayed him. "Thanks, hyung, just... You know." 

"Be careful?"

"I was going to say, don't do anything stupid." 

"Who? Me?" Yunho asked, feigning innocence. 

"...Fine."

He hung up, and Yunho was left staring at Park Seonghwa's file on his phone. Would it hurt, doing some digging for the sake of the investigation? he wondered, writing down his mother's phone number at the bottom of some file in his car's compartment. He checked the time, supposing it wasn't late enough she would have gotten worried if a number she didn't know called her phone. 

With one last look at Seonghwa's incredibly boring suburban house, he dialed it. 

It rang so many times Yunho grew certain it would just go to voicemail, and when she picked up, he was so surprised that for a moment, he didn't know what to say. 

"Hello?" the woman inquired, voice croaked. The voice of a heavy smoker, Yunho could tell. So that was where her son had gotten it from. 

"Hello," he said finally, collecting himself. "Are you Park Seonghwa's mother?" 

"...Yes," she replied after a moment's hesitation, wary. "Who is this?" 

"I'm... a friend of his," Yunho settled on, figuring that if he'd told her he was a detective, she would have freaked out and tipped her son off. 

"Oh," she said, sounding relieved. "You're not that horrible guy, are you? What was his name, I always forget..." 

Yunho took a chance. "Mingi?" 

"Who? No, that wasn't it... Hongjoong. That was his name. That godforesaken... What did Seonghwa say he did? Something frivolous, like music." She huffed. 

"Kim Hongjoong, you mean? The music producer?" 

"Yes, I suppose that's him. Troublemaker, that one. Pulling my Seonghwa into all sorts of schemes..." Frivolous? Half of Yunho's favorite songs had Kim Hongjoong listed as a producer on them. And Park Seonghwa knew him? "But I digress," she continued pleasantly, clearing her throat. "Who did you say you were?" 

"I'm, uh, a friend of his from work. My name's Yunho."

"Oh," she replied, cutting, and Yunho knew it had been the wrong thing to say. "He still works at the museum, then, doesn't he?" 

"Yeah..." 

The woman sighed, defeated. "What will it take for him to learn his fucking lesson? It's all that Swedish girl's fault. She's all about following one's dreams and crap like that... I knew she was a bad match as soon as I laid eyes on her. What kind of charms could a divorced woman five years older than him ever have that he'd lay down medicine for— for that?"

Yunho frowned. Could it be...? But he didn't have time to ask, for she continued, "I'm talking too much, I'm sorry. Professional flaw, I'm afraid. What can I do for you, Yoongi-ssi?" 

Yunho didn't bother correcting her. "Seonghwa... Uh, Seonghwa-hyung gave me your number for... I need a..." he scoured his mind, only to come out empty. Was she a cardiologist? Or an orthopedist? "...A consultation," he finished, figuring it was the safest option. "I was complaining about the prices here in the city, and he said I should go to you." 

"He... He did?" she asked, baffled. "Oh, alright. Of course. What exactly do you need? CT scan, MRI, biopsy? I think I can squeeze you in... Uh, in a few months?" 

Radiologist, then. Yunho wasn't even close. "A— biopsy," he replied, the only option that sounded vaguely familiar. 

"Okay," she said, clicking open a pen. "What was your name again, sweetie? My memory's not what it was." 

"Jeong— Yoongi." 

"Jeong Yoongi," she echoed pensively. "Alright. How does October 7th sound for you?" 

"Perfect." 

"Ten in the morning?" 

"Yeah, okay. Thank you." 

"Yoongi-ssi, tell me," she said, "how's my son been doing lately? I have to admit, I was surprised you called. I haven't heard from him in years. Is he still with that horrible woman? And what about my granddaughter? Does she ever ask about us at all? It's not fair of him, keeping her away from her grandparents..." Yunho heard the familiar snapping of a lighter, followed by a sigh. 

His heart skipped a beat. "Mrs. Park, she... You don't know?" 

"Don't know what?" 

She seemed so nice, despite her limited views and her penchant for disapproving anything she deemed... frivolous. And maybe it was the heaviness in Yunho's heart, or the fact that he didn't have parents to be a shitty son to, but he couldn't find it in himself to lie to her. When he spoke, his voice seemed to come from somewhere outside of himself. "Park Freja died two years ago in a car crash."

The woman stifled a gasp. "Freja's... dead? 

"I'm so sorry." 

"And he... My poor, poor Seonghwa, he loves— loved her so much, I should've..." Yunho didn't know what to say. Had he just ruined this woman's life? Why couldn't he have left well enough alone? "I'm sorry, Yujin-ssi, I— I have to go." 

She hung up, and everything in Yunho felt hollowed out, as if he'd just had his own heart broken into. 

He'd called her to get some answers, but all he ended up with were more questions. 

Marika nestled herself close to her father's chest. The lights were off, and everything was quiet save for the sound of the cartoon they were watching. She'd had her fill of Subway Surfers, and Seonghwa could feel her beginning to drift off. "Appa, you smell just like Hongjoong-oppa does after he eats those frog thingies." 

"You mean... Fags?" 

She hummed, and continued as if Seonghwa had never spoken. "Or he's not eating them," she said meekly, looking up at him through her lashes. "He's breathing them, or... I don't know what he does but they smell really weird and there's all this smoke like something is on fire... Are you on fire?"

"No, monkey. I'm not on fire," he replied, his heart twisting painfully. "They're called cigarettes, and adults sometimes smoke them when they're feeling stressed."

"But... They're bad."

"Yeah, they are," he replied with a small laugh. "It's a habit some people have."

"A habit like watching telly while eating snacks?" 

"Something like that," he replied, and softly kissed the crown of her head. 

"But you never let me do that." 

"Because it's bad for your health." 

"But... You said ci... ciggy... Fags are bad too."

"They are, yeah," Seonghwa replied with a sigh. 

"But it's not fair. Why are you allowed to do bad stuff but I can't have lunch watching My Little Pony? You're a... You're a... a hypocrite!" 

"That's a big word, monkey," he said gently. "Do you know what it means?" 

"It means you say one thing but do the opposite in secret. Somebody in class asked Yeosang-ssi today. She said her mother always says that to her father," she explained with a shrug, a self-satisfied grin making its way onto her face. "Did Eomma call you that too?" 

Seonghwa gave her a shaky smile. "No, monkey, she didn't." 

"I miss Eomma." 

He felt a pang, and pulled her close, though if to soothe her or himself, he didn't know. "I know, Mari-ah," he whispered. "I miss her too." 

"That's why you're stressed, Appa? Or is it because Hongjoong and Mingi-oppa are here and you hate them?" 

"I don't hate them," he protested quietly. "Hate is a strong word. We should never use it." 

"What about that driver? The one who killed Eomma because he fell asleep in the car," she said, turning Seonghwa's blood to ice. "Shouldn't we hate him?"

"No," he replied, voice steady despite how shaken he was inside. "We shouldn't."

Seonghwa didn't close his eyes that night. 

"He's still not gone," Hongjoong said with a sigh, appearing in the doorway in the kitchen. He didn't even flinch when he saw Seonghwa there, clutching at his steaming mug of coffee, an empty cup filled with stubbed out cigarettes in front of him and another hanging from his parted lips. Seonghwa wrapped his fingers around it and exhaled towards the ceiling. 

"I know," he said simply. "I've been watching him all night after Marika fell asleep." 

Hongjoong's brow furrowed. "You didn't sleep at all?" 

Seonghwa shook his head. "I couldn't." Guilt crossed Hongjoong's face at that, and Seonghwa wanted to laugh. After bringing a wanted man into his house and forcing his hand, this of all things was the one he was feeling guilty about. 

"I'm sorry, Seonghwa." 

He brushed him off. It was too late for sorry. "How's San-ssi?" 

"Better. Mingi says he can walk now. If only that cop would leave long enough for us to do it..." he trailed off, rolling his eyes to the ceiling before training them on Seonghwa again, pausing on the concerning amount of cigarettes in the cup. "And you, Seonghwa? Are you okay?" 

He laughed at that, but it wasn't the bright laugh Hongjoong knew as well as the back of his hand. It sounded manic, and so unlike Seonghwa that he had to fight back a shiver. "There's a cop outside waiting to search my house, I'm smoking out the window like a depressed teenager at the ass crack of dawn and my own daughter called me a hypocrite. I've never been better, Hongjoong-ah." 

"Right," he muttered, looking defeated. "Stupid question. The monkey's still sleeping?" 

"Yeah," he replied, checking the clock on his phone, but it had run out of battery. He'd forgotten to charge it in the havoc of last night. "What time is it?" 

"Uh, around six-thirty." 

"I should wake her up, soon. I still need to take her to school." 

When he deemed the silence had stretched on for too long, Seonghwa stubbed out his cigarette and started the coffee machine. "Is Mingi up yet?" he asked over his shoulder, raising his voice so Hongjoong would hear over the loud whirring. 

"Yeah, he's with— you know." 

Seonghwa nodded and gripped a mug in each hand, brushing past Hongjoong on his way out. 

"Hey, Seonghwa?" 

"Yes?" 

Hongjoong grinned one of those shit-eating grins of his, and perhaps Seonghwa would have felt irritated about it if he had any energy left in his body to feel much of anything. "You owe me a new pack of those." 

"Suck my dick, Hongjoong-ah." 

Hongjoong's laugh echoed through the quiet, but if he had anything to respond to that, Seonghwa was already too far away to hear it. 

Mingi was sitting at his desk, his phone charging at one of Seonghwa's holders as he scrolled through it, while San was dozing off on the bed with his head in Wooyoung's lap. They all looked up when he entered, beaming like overgrown children when they saw he was bearing coffee. "Thanks, hyung," Wooyoung said when Seonghwa handed him one. San only hummed his thanks, still half asleep. "Come on, Sanni. You can't drink while lying down." 

San forcefully slapped Wooyoung's hand away when he reached out to touch his face. "Ya," Seonghwa scolded, "mind my needlework." 

"Sorry, hyung," San muttered sleepily, and finally sat up to drink his coffee like a normal person. Seonghwa set his jaw, but didn't comment on the address. Instead, he motioned for San to turn around so he could take a good look at the wound. 

"You'll live," Seonghwa concluded. "It wasn't deep enough to cause any lasting damage."

A shadow crossed San's face. "He didn't want to kill me, he... only wanted to win, but..." he trailed off upon recieving a pointed look from Wooyoung. "Ah, well..." 

"You're feeling okay then?" San nodded, a little hesitant.  

"Don't I get any coffee?" Mingi asked with a pout. Seonghwa shot him a cold look. 

"If you want coffee, go and make some. I'm not your servant." 

Wooyoung did a poor job of concealing his laugh into a coughing fit, and it was his turn to be the recipient of Seonghwa's glare. "Did poor Wooyoung catch a cold?" 

"No, sir." 

"That's what I thought." He turned to look at Mingi. "Any ideas?" 

Mingi grinned, Seonghwa's rough treatment forgotten. "A few, actually." There was something about his tone that didn't sit well with Seonghwa at all. 

"Is there any one of them I'm going to like?" 

"Hyung... I—" he stammered, before finally steeling himself to meet Seonghwa's piercing gaze. "No."

"At least he's honest," San supplied, very helpfully. Seonghwa ignored him. 

"Well?" 

"Well," Mingi began, sounding a little disgruntled as he looked at each of them in turn, "Hongjoongie-hyung is the one they don't know about, the ace up our sleeves. He'll help Wooyoung-ah with Sanni and drive the car somewhere safe. I found a route that has very few security cameras."

"You're forgetting a small matter, Mingi-ya," said Seonghwa. "Namely the cop across the street, watching our every fucking move."

Mingi's eyes glinted. "That's where you come in, hyung." 

"Oh, no, absolutely not. I have to drive Marika to school, I can't—" 

Mingi cut him off, rising up from his seat and drawing closer to Seonghwa to grip both his wrists, using his begrudgingly unfair height to his advantage. He held his eyes, and there was something about the way he was looking down at him, something that gave Seonghwa an idea as to why exactly he was such a notorious lawyer in the first place. "Hyung, your head is on the line here, too. So you might as well drop the fucking attitude and listen to me." 

Chapter Text

Seonghwa fiddled with the key in the ignition, and let out a soft curse, tilting his head up toward the car's ceiling. Marika didn't seem to have heard him, though, already half-asleep in the passenger's side. He gently shook her awake, steeling himself for what he was about to do. He'd had a choice yesterday, and he'd chosen to help them. Now he'd run out of choices.

"Mari-ah, wake up."

Her eyes fluttered open, and she groaned. "Why? I don't wanna." Her eyes brightened when she realized they were still in the yard, and they weren't moving. "We're not going to school? Can we still go get ice cream? Please?"

"We are going to school, monkey," he replied gently. "But the car's not working."

"Oh," she replied, her expression quickly turning sad. She brushed her fingers over the dashboard, looking close to tears. "Lizzie, please. Don't die. I still love you."

Seonghwa gave her a sad smile. "Lizzie's not dead, monkey," he replied. "She's just... Expired. We'll need to take her to the car doctor."

"So we aren't going to school."

"No, we are, but..." He reached over her to open her door. "Come on. We'll find another way."

Marika made it clear she didn't feel like walking, and Seonghwa had to almost drag her across the street to Yunho's car. He had his eyes half-closed, the seat adjusted back at its maximum so he could stretch his legs. The window was open a crack so he could exhale the smoke out the window and not stink up the car too much, and, Seonghwa couldn't help but notice, he looked ghastly, cheekbones protruding through much too pale skin and his features twisted in an expression somewhere between dreamland euphoria and a vegetative comatose state. He was a trainwreck, and Seonghwa couldn't look away.

Yunho adjusted his seat, blinking rapidly to shake off the misty haze as he rolled the window all the way down with a caught out look in his eye. Seonghwa gripped the handle of Marika's glittery My Little Pony schoolbag tighter, his other hand sweaty in hers. The sight of the detective so lost in his bad habits like this stirred something unpleasant inside him.

"Seonghwa-ssi," he greeted, trailing off into a cough. "And Marika-ssi, hello." He glanced regretfully at the cigarette in his hand and stubbed it out in the already overflowing ashtray.

"Hi, Mr. Defective." 

Yunho did a half-assed job at morphing his laugh into another cough, more or less faked, as his lungs were no doubt as black as his car, a very good looking Duster.

"It's uh, Detective, Mari-ah," Seonghwa corrected sheepishly, to which Yunho gave him a mildly reassuring smile.

"That's okay. My name's Yunho. You can call me that if you want."

"I can?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Thanks, Yunho-ssi."

"Now," said Yunho, rather enjoying the petrified look on Seonghwa's face, "what can I do for you, Seonghwa-ssi? I see you're dressed this time, so it must be important." His eyes flitted down, a brow raised for emphasis, and grinned when he saw the blush on Seonghwa's cheeks he as he nervously pulled at the hem of the fitted excuse of a shirt he was wearing. Hongjoong's brilliant idea. "Sort of dressed, anyway." 

"Forget it," he replied through gritted teeth. "We'll just walk."

"B— but it's a long way!" Marika protested, gripping Seonghwa's arm in both her tiny hands. "I can't walk that much, Appa."

"Hold on," Yunho said, stepping out of the car with an undignified sigh. "What happened?"

"Lizzie's sick," Marika replied, and Yunho was about to ask what the fuck she meant by that, but a wave of dizziness overtook him, vision turning blurry, and he had to brace a hand on the hood of his car to keep his balance.

"Yunho-ssi!" Seonghwa rushed to him without thinking, the instincts ingrained in him by four years of med school and reawakened by what he'd done for San taking hold of him as he reached out for Yunho's wrist to steady him. Yunho stared down at his hand as if it was fluorescent green and belonged to an extraterrestrial species. He looked like a malnourished ghost, and smelled like tobacco and oranges. 

"I'm okay, just..." 

"The zoomies," Marika said ominously, and Yunho somehow managed to smile. 

"Yeah." 

"Appa has them too when he forgets to eat."

"Does he now?" he asked with a strange look in his eyes, then turned to Seonghwa. "Mingi doesn't spoon-feed you?" 

Seonghwa let go of his hand, figuring that if he was able to be snarky, he also could very well hold himself up on his own. "You're feeling better, I see," he replied dryly, and took Marika's hand to tug her back toward the house. "Don't worry, monkey. We'll find another way. We can walk to the bus station." 

"But... Appa—" 

"Wait," Yunho heard himself say, chastising himself for his stupidity. "What happened, and who the fuck is Lizzie?" 

"Don't curse, Yunho-ssi," Marika chastized. Seonghwa squeezed her hand warningly.

"Lizzie is, uh... My car," he said, a little awkward. "It's not starting. I'll have it towed later, but Marika really needs to get to school. I wanted to ask if you could give us a ride." 

"I..." Yunho hesitated. "I can't leave." 

"It's a fifteen minute drive."

"What about Mingi, can't he—"

Seonghwa's eyes narrowed. "His car's in the service, getting repainted after some assholes keyed it all over. He came here in an Uber. I wanted to call one for us, but my phone's out, and the app on Mingi's isn't loading."

"I'll try," Yunho said, pulling out his battered, out of date Samsung. Seonghwa held his breath, aware that if they'd miscalculated, everything would go to shit. He thanked whatever God was out there listening for Wooyoung's little signal blockage scheme when Yunho let out a curse under his breath. "It's not working on mine, either."

"I don't wanna walk to school, Appa," Marika protested, helplessly pulling at Seonghwa's sleeve to get him to look at her. "Can't we just stay home?"

"It's your second day, Mari-ah," he said gently. "You can't miss it. It's fine, we'll probably turn up an hour late, but... I'm sure Yeosang-ssi will understand."

Yunho made one last attempt. "Can I take a look at your car? Maybe I can fix it."

"There's no time, Yunho-ssi," he said sadly, waving him off. "It's fine, I get it. We'll, uh... Figure it out."

"I'll drive you," he said, his resolve caving in. The thought of Seonghwa dragging Marika on foot to school made him recoil. How long could it possibly take? And when he saw the matching bright grins on both their faces, so alike it felt almost eerie, Yunho thought it might just be worth it.

"You will?" Seonghwa asked, so full of hope that for a moment Yunho could do nothing but stare.

"Yeah, just— can I use your bathroom real quick? I don't think I can ask your neighbor again after waking her up at three in the morning last night," he said sheepishly, looking down at himself with a grimace. "And, uh... I really need to change."

Seonghwa hitched in a breath, heart thudding violently against his ribcage as if wanting to break him open. He knew he couldn't turn him down, and plastered on a pleasant smile. "Yeah, go ahead."

Yunho thanked him and pulled out his gym bag from the trunk. Seonghwa schooled his expression into something neutral as he led him and Marika through the door, hoping Yunho wouldn't see how anxious he was.

"Can I have some cereal while I'm here?"

"I packed some food for you, Mari-ah. We're really running late," Seonghwa said, raising his voice in the hopes that if Mingi or Hongjoong — or worse, Wooyoung and San — were here somewhere, they would hear and hide. But the house was eerily quiet. 

"Let her have her cereal, Seonghwa-ssi," Yunho urged with a small smile. "I'm a fast driver."

Marika didn't wait for her father's confirmation, striding happily toward the kitchen instead, and leaving Seonghwa alone with Yunho. Great.

Seonghwa pointed him to the bathroom and listened from around the corner until he heard the tell-tale clicking of the door as it was closing, only then returning to the kitchen. Marika had fixed herself a large bowl of sugary cereal, and Seonghwa knew she wouldn't be able to finish it, but didn't find it in himself to say anything. She had opened the tablet, his tablet, Pinkie Pie's cheery voice piercing through the tense silence.

"I put a password on that for a reason, Mari-ah," he said.

"Yeah, my birthday. Did you really think I wouldn't try that?"

A small smile crept up his face. "Fair enough. But don't take very long. We shouldn't take advantage of Mr. Defective's kindness and keep him waiting."

"He didn't look like he was doing much," Marika replied.

"It's still not fair to him, monkey."

"Mm, 'kay."

Seonghwa wasn't sure if that meant she agreed or if she had really listened at all, but what would be the use in insisting? How could he make her hurry up without upsetting her, or without telling her that he wanted Yunho out of their house as soon as humanely possible? Still, he couldn't help the tug of sympathy at the thought of Yunho slumped in the seat of his car all night, blackening his lungs to pass the time much like Seonghwa himself had in the kitchen. Seonghwa pulled out a mug from the cupboard to make him a coffee, telling himself he was only doing it because he didn't want Yunho to fall asleep at the wheel and kill all three of them. 

"Ready to go?" Yunho asked brightly from the doorway. Seonghwa's eyes snapped to him, and widened a little. He'd traded the suit for a pair of dark jeans and a loose baby blue shirt, the topmost buttons strategically undone, dangling on the thin edge between classy and crude, and Seonghwa had to begrudgingly admit that it suited him perfectly. Especially with his messed up hair, damp as if he'd ran his wet hand through it, and that sheen of exhaustion over his dark eyes. The soft morning light brought out the bleached strands in his hair that Seonghwa hadn't noticed before. He looked... dubiously unlike the patronizing and prickly detective whose unnerving presence had nagged at him all throughout the sleeplessness of his night. If he'd have passed him on the street or seen him in a coffee shop without having known who and what he was, Seonghwa would have thought him a sight to behold. 

"Sit down," he said with a sigh. "I made you coffee." 

"Oh," Yunho rasped out, dropping his bag next to the fridge and plopping down in the chair across from Marika's. Seonghwa swallowed back a lump in his throat; it was Freja's usual seat. His eyes darted to Marika, but she didn't seem to have noticed. What if she'd forgotten? Two years meant nothing to him, but to a growing child... "Thank you." 

His fingers brushed Seonghwa's as he handed him the steaming mug, freezing cold against his own. "You're cold, Yunho-ssi?" 

"No," he said, softening at the care in Seonghwa's tone. "My hands are always like that." 

Seonghwa nodded, rather awkward. "I didn't know how you take your coffee, so I didn't put anything in it, but..." 

Yunho shot him a distracted smile as he took a sip. "Strong enough to keep a spoon standing upright inside," he said, and Seonghwa didn't know if that was an insult, but then he added— "Exactly what I need right now." 

"I hate coffee," Marika said, wrinkling her nose at Yunho. "I don't get why all of you drink it. It tastes like poison." She turned to look up at Seonghwa. "Is this also a bad habit, Appa? Like you told me fags are?" 

He pointedly ignored Yunho's amused glance. "Yeah. Sort of." He couldn't think of a more witty reply, not when Yunho was staring holes into the side of his head like he was a first year in med school and Seonghwa was fresh cadaver he couldn't wait to stick his hands into for the sake of science. "Hey, how about you finish up your cereal? Aren't you excited to see Felix and Yeosang-ssi again?" 

"I guess," she replied with a shrug, but seemed to increase the pace of her spoonfuls from sloth to a particularly lively tortoise, still staring intently at the screen, the tablet very close to her face. Seonghwa made a mental note to call the ophthalmologist again about those glasses. 

Seonghwa tore his eyes away from her. "Would you like something to eat? Something besides... You know."

"Coffee and fags?" he asked with a lopsided smile. Seonghwa shrugged and averted his eyes. He needed to have a talk with Marika about the amount of things she shared with strangers. "Thanks, but I'll probably just grab something on the road." 

Seonghwa nodded, awkwardly leaning against the counter and switching his gaze from Yunho to Marika. When the credits started playing on her episode, she closed the tablet and dropped the spoon back in her half-finished bowl with a splash. "Can I take the tablet to school, Appa?" 

"Absolutely not," he replied. "You're done?" She nodded, disgruntled. "Let's go, then." 

Yunho put up a finger as he downed the rest of his coffee, and quickly rose up from his seat. Seonghwa ushered them both out faster, not wanting to linger. 

"Yunho-ssi, would you mind if I charge my phone to your car?" he asked once they were inside the Duster, reeking of cigarette smoke but otherwise clean even by Seonghwa's standards. No pictures in the windows, or other sort of memos, nothing to give Seonghwa any insight into who he was. As Yunho handed him the charger, the sight of his hand confirmed his suspicions. No ring. No wife, probably no children either, not if the astonishment in his gaze whenever he looked at Marika was anything to go by. As if the idea of a family was something unusual, something to marvel at. 

Without a phone to distract her, Marika chattered away happily about her cartoons and her classmates, telling Yunho in agonizing detail about how she'd convinced all the other kids to make paper airplanes the day before. Yunho, to his credit, listened intently and prompted her to tell him more without breaking her bubble. "Are we gonna get ice cream?" 

"So early in the morning, monkey?" Seonghwa asked, turning his head so he could look at her. She was pouting. 

"But you promised." 

"I..." 

Yunho drove for another block or two before braking to a stop in the middle of the road and clicking on the hazard lights. "You promised, Seonghwa-ssi," he echoed, eyes glinting. Was he enjoying this? 

Severely outnumbered, Seonghwa relented, checking the clock on the dashboard. Yunho's absurdly reckless driving and evading traffic by ignoring glaringly red road signs that clearly said no entry actually left them with time to spare. Was that what he'd meant when he'd said he was a fast driver? The irony of their first meeting didn't get lost on him. "Fine. But... I don't know where we can find an ice cream place around here. I don't even know where we are, really. Never taken these side streets before."

"How come? Scared of the cops?" 

Seonghwa snorted out a laugh. "You're... You're so..." he trailed off, averting his eyes. Yunho's smile was terribly infectious. 

"Go on," he said with a lopsided grin, "what am I?" 

"...Strange," Seonghwa settled on, looking up to meet Yunho's gaze. His smile dimmed, something uncertain crossing his face. 

"I don't see any ice cream place," Marika said. She'd rolled down the window and poked her head out to take a good look at her surroundings, and Seonghwa averted his eyes from Yunho to take in the sight around them. Bleak concrete apartment buildings with bet cafés and small shops on the ground floor, and the only few people outside were stocky men with beer bellies smoking and drinking alcohol from water bottles at seven in the morning, and women in their robes and slippers talking to each other in hushed whispers, not even trying to make their gossiping look subtle. 

"Marika-ssi, look here," Yunho called, and to Seonghwa's surprise, she obediently stuck her head back inside and trained her eyes to where he was pointing. "Between those two buildings, there's that narrow alley— You see it? Good. It leads to a small patio, where there's a street market. You can find the best fresh fruit there, meat, whatever you want. And yeah— they also have an ice cream stand. The best I've ever had in my entire life, and I've tried lots of things." He turned to Seonghwa. "Is this okay with you?" 

"I... suppose. If you know for a fact that it's safe." 

"Obviously," he replied. "I lived here for half my life." There was an edge to his voice, and Seonghwa feared he'd offended him. 

"That's so cool, Yunho-ssi," Marika said in oblivious wonder. "This is like, the Hogwarts train platform! Only wizards know about it. Is that your secret? Are you a wizard? Can you take me to Hogwarts?" 

Yunho let out a whole-hearted laugh, head thrown back and all, eyes crinkling at the corners. "You have to be eleven, Mari-ssi," he replied. "But I'll put in a good word with the other wizards. Now tell me— what flavors do you like? My treat." 

"No, you really don't have to—" Seonghwa tried, but Marika was already talking over him. 

"Uh, caramel. And chocolate. Appa says it's the only ice cream flavor that actually has in it what they write on the label."

"Yeah, cause cocoa is too cheap to justify using artificial flavoring," Seonghwa muttered. 

Yunho shot him a wicked grin. "Guess I know what I'm getting you, then." 

"I can't... I can't let you do that," Seonghwa protested meekly, feeling himself turn red to the tips of his ears. Yunho's grin somehow stretched even wider. 

"And if I insist ans tell you that it's my pleasure?" There it was, Seonghwa thought, intrigued despite himself. Playfulness becoming irreverence, calculation slipping out feom behind apparent carelessness. Seonghwa had to be careful. Yunho couldn't catch him lying. 

Yunho left, and with him, so did Seonghwa's sense of security. Slums like this one had always made him feel wary of the city and its people. His house may have been boring and identical to all the rest, but it was bright, and exuded a homely feeling in a way the city had never managed for him. Seonghwa pressed a button on the dashboard, locking the car from inside. 

"I think I like him," said Marika absently, fiddling with a loose thread in her sleeve until it came apart. Seonghwa's heart ached. It was the red coat Freja had bought for her to match with her own favorite one, and it was slowly unraveling. 

"You like everyone, Mari-ah," he replied, sounding sad. 

"I don't like aunt Annika. And I don't think I like that big man either." 

"What man?" he asked, tensing up. 

"The man I saw sneaking out of your bedroom, Appa. He was so huge, and he had a lot of scars..." 

Seonghwa turned around in his seat, taking her hand to get her to look at him and stop her from prodding at her coat. "Did he say anything to you? Anything at all?" 

She shook her head. "I wanted to come closer and say hi, but he just got back to your room and locked himself inside. He looked scared of me. Why would he be scared of me?" 

"He's... Shy," Seonghwa replied stupidly, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach when out of the corner of his eye, he could see Yunho was approaching. "Mari-ah, I need you to promise me you won't tell Yunho about him."

She frowned. "Why?" 

Seonghwa squeezed her tiny hand. "It's important, monkey. Please, promise me." 

"...Okay."

Seonghwa unlocked the car and opened the door for Yunho, as he had his hands full. The soft grin on his face almost hurt to look at as he handed Marika her cup. "Chocolate and caramel for you..." 

Marika yelped happily and dug in, thanking him with her mouth full. He gave Seonghwa his, their fingers brushing as he took it. One was obviously chocolate, but he couldn't tell what the white one was. "What's the other one?" he asked, looking down at it questioningly. 

"Try it." 

Yunho sped away on another no entry road. Seonghwa took a spoonful in his mouth, feeling Yunho's eyes on him. "Lemon," he said, his heart giving a painful twist. Freja's favorite. "I love it." 

Yunho's mouth rose up in a self-satisfied smile. "That makes sense." 

"Why? Because it's sour?" 

"No," he replied. "I mean, yeah, you are that too, but... It's also— refreshing, I suppose." Refreshing like a slap to the face, Yunho's mind supplied.

Seonghwa felt his face heat up a little, chastising himself for it when Yunho gave him a knowing smile. 

"What about you, Yunho-ssi?" he asked, the realization finally dawning on him. "You didn't get yourself anything?" 

"Can't eat and drive," he replied. 

"That's a big fat lie!" Marika interjected, making Seonghwa flinch. 

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Mari-ah," he warned. "And don't yell." 

She finished the rest of her ice cream and said, making sure to lower her voice, "Appa eats and drives all the time, Yunho-ssi. Uses his phone, too." 

Yunho laughed again, and Seonghwa had never felt the need to merge with the car's seat so acutely before. But instead of making a snide comment about Seonghwa's driving skills, he said softly, eyes flicking up to meet Marika's through the rearview mirror, "You shouldn't say stuff like this to people you don't know very well, Mari-ssi. You never truly know their intentions. They might use what you say to them to hurt you."

"But... You wouldn't do that." 

Yunho hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. Seonghwa gave him a stern look, shaking his head. "...No," he said at last, tearing his eyes from Seonghwa's to look out through the windshield. "Of course not."

They stopped at a red light, a column of cars stuck in traffic by somebody who had stopped in the middle of the road to get themselves something from a shop. "Ah, fuck," Seonghwa muttered, checking the time. There was no way they would make it. 

"Hold up," Yunho said, looking up at Marika through the rearview mirror again with a small smile. "Wanna see a trick, Marika-ssi?" 

"What trick?" she asked, jutting out her chin at him. Yunho's smile brightened. He pressed something on the dashboard and the tell-tale police sirens rang out, piercing through the sounds of traffic. A few honks later, the other cars swerved off to the side as best as they could to make room. "Cooooool..." Marika drawled, eyes wide. 

"Is that... allowed? We're not in a police car." 

Yunho lifted up the hem of his shirt, revealing the glint of his badge as he maneuvered the wheel with one hand, his eyes flicking to the three mirrors so fast it almost seemed like he was looking through all of them at once. "Doesn't matter what car I drive. I am the police, Seonghwa-ssi." 

Yunho floored the gas pedal and drove over the tram line, even passing at the red light without much pretense for care, the sirens parting the crowd effortlessly for them. He'd beaten the odds and actually managed to pull up right in front of the school, — on the pedestrian crossing, which Seonghwa doubted was accidental — only one minute late. 

"Oh, we're here," Marika said. "You're a better driver than Appa is, Yunho-ssi," she added, and opened the door. Yunho shot Seonghwa a self-satisfied grin. 

"Mari-ah," Seonghwa called, the pain of letting her go tugging at him. She stopped, giving her those confused doe eyes of hers through the rearview mirror. Yunho recognized that look on Seonghwa's own face. "Be careful, okay? Pay attention to Yeosang-ssi. And don't leave trash in the car, give it here." 

As she was handing him her empty cup, he took her hand as if to stop her from going, but Yunho was looking at him too, and the clock was ticking. He had to let go. "Okay," she said with a shrug. "See you later." 

Yunho signaled left to get back into traffic, and before Seonghwa had the chance to think it through, he reached between them and pulled the handbrake. "Wait," he said. "I wanna see her get in." 

"Okay," Yunho replied, for some reason his voice coming out a little strangled. Must have been the need to smoke. He pulled out his pack from the pocket in the door, only to find it empty. "Ah, fuck. Hey, I'm out of cigs, can I have one of yours?" 

"How'd you figure I smoke?" Seonghwa asked distractedly, still watching intently as Marika's red-clad figure disappeared inside the building. Only then did he let out a relieved sigh and jutted out his chin, prompting Yunho to drive. 

"I recognize a smoker when I see one," he replied, suddenly sheepish. "And... I saw you through the bathroom window." 

Seonghwa flushed. "Oh."

"Not that I was... watching," he added, internally cringing at the awkwardness, an embarrassed flush rising high on his face and to the tips of his ears. "My car was parked right there and..." 

"I saw you too," Seonghwa said. Both of them were too embarrassed to look at the other. "Not that I was watching," he repeated Yunho's words back at him. 

He pulled out the pack and gave it to him, fighting back against the need to take one for himself him as Yunho lit it in his mouth, the burning tang of it setting Seonghwa's insides on fire. 

"Minty," Yunho mused. "I like them." Seonghwa didn't reply, lost in thought. "You okay?" he asked, unceremoniously tossing his empty Dunhill pack in the back seat. There goes the cleanliness, Seonghwa thought absently. 

"I— yeah. It's just... I didn't think it would be so difficult to part with her." 

"She's just going to school, Seonghwa-ssi," he said, not quite understanding. "You'll see her again in a few hours."

"Yeah, I know... It's stupid. All my life, I despised my parents for being overbearing and now I'm... I'm becoming that way too." 

"I don't know you, Seonghwa-ssi," Yunho said carefully. "But I can tell you that being protective isn't a bad thing. Not in the world we live in." 

Seonghwa studied him for a long moment, unsure of what to make of him. The words he'd said to Marika about not trusting strangers replayed in his mind. 

Seonghwa switched on his phone, finding it had charged to 20 percent. The surprising array of texts and emails and missed calls made him snort at the irony — he'd never been so popular before. He skimmed through the notifications, all of them from his co-worker, Changbin, about the exposition for Barcelona that needed to be prepared, and its pièce-de-résistance, a jeweled chalice from the 15th century, had been butchered by the junior restorers. Lia needed him to "get his ass down here and fucking fix it". Despite himself, Seonghwa smiled. His boss might have had a beef the size of the former Mongolian Empire with him, but she knew as well as anyone that Seonghwa was the best restorer they had. 

"Yunho-ssi, could you drop me off at the bus station? Turns out my boss needs me at work." 

"I'll drive you there. Where do you work?" 

Seonghwa cocked a brow at him. "Haven't you done your homework, Detective?" 

Yunho sighed, figuring there was no point in pretending. "Seoul Museum of History. You're a senior restorer, but you also have shifts as a curator and tour guide because they're severely understaffed. They should pay you more, Seonghwa-ssi." 

"See?" he asked. "That wasn't so hard." Yunho's smile was sheepish. "Have you ever been?" 

"What, to the museum?" Seonghwa nodded. "Ah, no." 

"How come? Everybody who's ever lived in Seoul has to have visited it at least once." He looked almost disgruntled, and Yunho had the urge to laugh. He wanted to ask him if it was worth it, trading a doctor's career for this, but if the brightness of his eyes was anything to go by, Yunho suspected the answer was obvious. 

"I haven't..." There was something of an edge to his voice, and Seonghwa noticed the set of his jaw, the way his eyes were stubbornly trained on the road ahead. "...gotten out of the neighborhood as a child that much." 

Okay..." Seonghwa said uncertainly, then got an idea. "I could give you a tour." 

He shrugged, turning a little pink when Yunho gave him a look of such utter shock that Seonghwa couldn't help but wonder if he'd said something completely different. "I might just take you up on that at some point," Yunho said with a small grin. "But I'm going to have to get back now." 

Seonghwa nodded, looking down to check his calls, expecting more of the same. 

But neither Changbin nor Lia had called at all. His mother had, though, and not once. Seonghwa's face fell. "Something wrong?" Yunho asked, and a slightly manic laugh left Seonghwa's lips. 

"Uh, my mom called me. Six times." 

Yunho's tone turned carefully neutral. "And?" 

"I haven't talked to my parents in years. They haven't looked for me, or I for them. I wasn't even sure they still had my number." 

"May I ask why?" 

Fuck it, Seonghwa thought. He was so tired. 

"We... fought a lot back when I was in still in college. I went to med school before switching to history," he explained, though he suspcted Yunho knew already. "And then I met Freja — my ex-wife — and everything got even worse. They wanted me to marry some girl from my town, who was also studying medicine, and weren't pleased at all when I..." he trailed off, voice breaking. "My mom, she... At our wedding, she got really drunk and made a scene in front of all our friends, then passed out in her cake. And that's not even the worst of it. She stalked her and threatened her to— to leave me. I'm not sure what happened, I wasn't there, but... My wife called me to pick her up from the hospital that day and told me they'd fought and she— fell on the stairs. She was pregnant. It was a miracle she didn't lose the baby."

"Fuck," Yunho mumbled, guilt nagging at him. He reached out a hand to him, but quickly placed it on the gear shifter instead. "I'm so sorry." 

"Yeah," Seonghwa replied, pensively staring out the window. "I shut her out after that. My father, too. It hurt, but... I couldn't risk putting her and my daughter in danger."

Something unpleasant shimmered beneath Seonghwa's skin, though he wasn't sure if from the memory or the social agony of having overshared to a practical stranger. But Yunho had looked into his past, that much was clear; did that make them unrequited strangers? Seonghwa wanted to change that. 

"How old are you, Detective?" he asked. 

"Twenty-eight." 

"Twenty-eight," Seonghwa echoed. "Jesus." 

"Why?" 

"You're pretty young for a detective." 

"My partner — Jongho — is twenty-seven." 

"You both must have advanced on the post quickly, then..." 

"I guess you can say that... I got into the academy as soon as the law allowed me to, kept my grades up and got a good ranking..." He shrugged. "Started with parking tickets and took all the shifts nobody wanted — I guess it would have been impossible for them not to promote me. Jongho's the overachiever. He was the best in his year, even beating his father's records — his father's the chief of police." He let out a soft laugh, sounding almost fond. "I wouldn't be surprised if Jongho would follow in his footsteps when he retires in a few years."

Seonghwa's blood turned to ice. He cursed himself for not having sent his unwanted guests out the door when he had the chance. "You must know a thing or two about being an overachiever." Seonghwa raised a brow at him, and Yunho turned slightly pink. "I, uh, read your file." 

"I figured as much," Seonghwa replied cuttingly. He looked down at his hands, clasped together over the empty ice cream cups. 

"You're scared," Yunho said. It wasn't a question. Seonghwa opened his mouth as if to protest, but he wasn't having it. "Why?"

"It's your driving," Seonghwa replied with a small, apprehensive grin he didn't quite mean. "I've never been in a car with someone so reckless before. You're... You're..." 

"Strange?" Yunho supplied, then gestured to Seonghwa's pack. "Can I have another one?" 

"Yeah, just keep them," he said off-handedly. "And... Yeah, among other things. Hypocritical would be one of them. Going out of your way to fine me for parking on a crossing when you drive like this? Or do you usually drive like a person and this was just a fluke?" 

Yunho's mouth curled up in a grin that tried to be sly, but the red in his cheeks was betraying him. "I suppose I've been called worse," he replied.

"Why did you do that, Yunho-ssi?"

"What? Fucking with you?" Seonghwa raised a brow at his choice of words, but nodded. "If you want the truth... Jongho had something to do in the area, I had to wait out for him, and I was bored." 

"That's it?" 

"What more do you want?" 

"I... don't know," he replied shakily, but his look quickly hardened. "You didn't answer my question." 

"Oh," Yunho said, a little choked. "I guess I... It's stupid."

"Probably," Seonghwa replied with a lopsided smile, surprising him. "But tell me anyway." 

"I didn't want Marika-ssi to be late for school," he said, so quietly Seonghwa almost missed it. His heart gave a painful twist, though if at Yunho's tone or the mere thought of him, a cop, bending the law just so Marika would get to class in time, he wasn't sure. "I'm sorry if I made you feel uneasy." 

"Yunho, I..." He trailed off, genuinely scared that this in all its absurdity would be the thing that tipped him over the edge and he would start crying in the passenger seat of the detective's car. 

Yunho sensed the shift in the air between them, and felt even worse. Desperately, he tried to lighten the mood. "Well, you heard Marika-ssi. She thinks I'm a good enough driver." 

"Yeah, yeah," he waved him off, covering up the strange mix of sadness and nostalgia inside him with overt irritation. "Whatever lets you sleep at night, Detective. I suppose repeatedly abusing your authority isn't an easy thing for your conscience to bear." 

Yunho was quiet for a long moment, and a figment of guilt twisted at Seonghwa's insides. "I wasn't following you yesterday," he said at last. 

"It would be quite the coincidence if you weren't." 

"Well, I guess I understand where you're coming from. I don't quite believe in coincidences either. But I can tell you I was just as surprised to see you again as you must have been." 

Something about his words didn't sit well with Seonghwa. "You truly are suspecting me." 

"It's in the job description, Seonghwa-ssi." He sounded almost apologetic. "Hey, listen," Yunho continued, a little awkwardly, and Seonghwa had the feeling that whatever it was he wanted to say, he wasn't going to like it. "If by some reason you're involved in this... If Mingi..." 

"I'm not," he replied cuttingly. "And leave Mingi out of this. It's not my problem you can't stand each other." 

"It's not that we can't stand each other," Yunho said, and Seonghwa's eyes darted to him, heartbeat quickening. "It's a bit rocky between us, but..." 

 
Seonghwa didn't quite know what to make of the wariness in his tone. "What does that mean?" he snapped. Yunho gave him a sheepish smile. 

 
"He hasn't told you?" 

 
"Told me what?" 

 
"We used to date." 

Seonghwa frowned. "Oh." 
 

"Yeah. I'm surprised he hasn't said anything about it. He usually complains about me to everyone who's willing to listen. I'd have thought he'd have told his boyfriend." 

 
Seonghwa felt his face heat up. He should have been pleased Yunho had believed their little decoy to be the real thing, but he felt the need to clarify, hoping he wasn't digging his own grave with this, but too proud to let it slide, "We're not... really dating. I— I'm straight." 

Yunho raised his brows. "And... Does he know that?" Seonghwa set his jaw, remaining silent. "It's okay if you just want to experiment or... find yourself, or whatever. Just, you know— careful about using people. It has the tendency to come back to you." Seonghwa recalled Hongjoong's words, and shrank further in his seat. 
 

"Mingi's not..." he trailed off, the words sounding so absurd that he couldn't even utter them. 

"Oh, he is," Yunho replied. "Sorry to be the one to break it to you, but... He has it bad. I know him well enough to see it, not that it's easy to miss. You might want to consider that." 

 
Seonghwa couldn't bear look at him. He felt dirty, and not only at the ease with which Yunho had called him out, however... misguided he was. The fragile peace between them shattered upon hearing Yunho's next words. 

"If you are involved in all this," he began, softly but firmly, and Seonghwa turned to him at once, ready to protest. "I'm not saying you are. Just hear me out, okay?" He nodded, wary, eyes on the road. The need to get away from Yunho nagged at him like something crawling underneath his skin. "Maybe your sense of civility was appealed to, or maybe you were led to believe that keeping your mouth shut would guarantee your daughter's safety. Whichever it is, I promise you that I'll do everything in my power not to let anything happen to Marika-ssi — or to you. As long as you tell me the truth." 

For a moment, Seonghwa considered it. Truly considered it. He had an inkling Yunho wouldn't have gotten down to his level like this if he hadn't meant it. But even if he truly wanted to protect them... that didn't mean much. Yunho was only a piece of a system that was faulty by design, and it wasn't granted that he would manage to keep his promise.

 
And what of Mingi and Hongjoong? Both of their careers would be over as soon as this got out, and San and Wooyoung would have to go back to jail for something that was, in essence, not even that nerve-wracking. The idea of taking and throwing punches for money and for the hell of it repulsed him, but in truth, the system was flawed, and not always fair. Many ex-convicts ended up getting themselves thrown in jail again because they simply weren't able to survive outside its walls. 

He could talk for the immediate promise that he'd be out of the line of fire, but... Honorable people didn't lie to their friends. They didn't betray them, either. And for the first time in what felt like so long, Seonghwa had truly done something with his useless degree and his useless life, something that had truly helped. Maybe this was how he was supposed to return all the good that had been done for him in his worst years. He met Yunho's eyes. 

"I... Thank you, but... I don't have any answers. I'm not the person you're looking for."

Chapter Text

Seonghwa snapped at his boss today. So forcefully and unlike himself that Lia stepped back as if struck, all the color leaving her face. She'd been going on and on about that godforsaken exposition, and how could Seonghwa have dared skive off work in such a moment, calling him unprofessional and threatening to duck his pay. 

"Lia-nim, with all due respect, I'm on medical leave right now. Paid medical leave," he emphasized. "I came in today because you asked so nicely, but I'm not obligated to do any of that." He let out a soft laugh when Lia shot him a stern look, the snarky reply stuck on her tongue. "I'd hand you my resignation, but I have a feeling you'll flick me over the head with it," he continued steadily. "So how about I go do my work, leave at lunch so I can pick up my daughter from school, and we forget this ever happened?"

After he'd watched Yunho drive away, he'd called Hongjoong to tell him he was coming back. "All's clear," Hongjoong had replied, and Seonghwa could hear the grin in his voice. "Thanks, Hwa. You saved us."

And when Seonghwa, as promised, walked out the museum at noon, he felt good about himself. He paid a small fortune for an Uber instead of dragging Marika and himself through the crowded bus, and delightedly listened to her talking ahout her day. He didn't think of Yunho, the mess he'd left Hongjoong and Mingi to clean up, his lies, or his mother's frantic calls that he'd left unanswered.

Reality slowly did start to creep back in when the Uber — a fucking Duster; since when had Dusters grown so popular? He could hardly recall ever seeing one on the road, but now they seemed to be everywhere — pulled up in front of their house. The swarm of cops wasn't what surprised him, though. That, he'd expected. What he hadn't expected was seeing the white Ford Fiesta still in the same place, two men in blue uniforms poking around through it, collecting evidence. Seonghwa's heart stopped. Hongjoong had said all was clear. Why was that car still there?

He almost didn't register the driver asking what were all these cops doing there, and Marika ended up answering instead, "I think they're Mingi-oppa's friends."

The driver cracked a laugh. "Right. I don't think I wanna know, anyway."

Seonghwa and Marika found Mingi and Jongho on his living room couch, exchanging snarky comments masked as plesantries over coffee and sandwiches. Seonghwa's coffee and Seonghwa's sandwiches. Mingi's eyes brightened when he saw him, rising up to ruffle Marika's hair and wrap an arm around Seonghwa's waist, placing a kiss on his cheek. Seonghwa didn't know if to pull away from his touch or draw closer for appearance's sake. Yunho and Hongjoong's words rang through his mind, freezing him in place, and he ended up doing neither. "Hi, hyung," he said sweetly. "I hope you don't mind that I let these kind gentlemen in while you were away..."

Jongho's eyes flared, though he looked rather amused. "Kind gentlemen, Mingi-ya? That's a new one. I distinctly remember you calling me a tactless rascal when I showed you the warrant."

Mingi gave him a cutting smile. "Circumstances, Jongho. Circumstances."

Seonghwa looked at each of them through narrowed eyes and plastered on a grin, too cheerful to fool anyone he meant it. "Of course I don't mind, Mingi-ya. How could I? You're doing whatever you want regardless of what I'm saying." He slithered away from Mingi's hold and turned to look at Marika, not having it in himself to feel anything other than a twisted sort of satisfaction when a pained frown creased the lawyer's face. 

"Mari-ah, what do you say we go have lunch together?" She nodded eagerly, and Seonghwa's eyes trained on Jongho, promptly straying from looking at Mingi as if he wasn't even there at all. "Will that be okay with you, Detective? Cooking something in my own kitchen?"

Jongho had seen too much in his life to let a petulant and slightly hectic man like Seonghwa throw him off, especially since he was too pretty to really appear intimidating. He looked more like a cat that had been woken up from its slumber than anything else. He shot him a sharp grin, ignoring the jab. "Have at it, Seonghwa-ssi."

Seonghwa didn't need to be told twice. He took Marika's hand and dashed to the kitchen. He didn't protest when she pulled out the tablet, figuring she needed all the distractions she could have gotten, and went to the fridge to improvise a meal for them, but something caught his eye. Yunho's forgotten gym bag, still here. The cops mustn't have gotten around to searching the kitchen yet.

He contemplated leaving it there, curious of Jongho's reaction when he inevitably recognized it as his partner's, but for some reason the thought of throwing Yunho under the bus didn't sit right with him. So he grabbed it off the floor and headed upstairs to place the discarded clothes in the wash, as good a pretext as any to check on things. A cop was already there, searching through Marika's bedroom, and he recoiled at the thought of having his daughter's room invaded like that. She asked him what he wanted, as if he was the one intruding in his own home, and when Seonghwa told her, as meekly as he could manage through his endless irritation, that he only wanted to put some clothes in the laundry machine, she made him put on latex gloves.

As if his fingerprints weren't already all over the place.

The woman's eyes narrowed slightly when she caught sight of the gym bag in Seonghwa's hand, a bag she recognized painstakingly well. "I'm sorry," she began as he was turning away, "are you sure that's yours?" 

Seonghwa made a show out of inspecting it as if he was actually pondering something, and he hummed, meeting her eyes with a startled, deceptively clueless smile. "Quite sure. Why are you asking?" 

She shook her head with a dazed smile of her own, waving him off. "It's no matter, Seonghwa-ssi. My apologies." 

Seonghwa wondered what Mingi had done with his bloodied shirt and the sheets on his bed. They'd been pristinely changed, not a thread out of place. Maybe Mingi had burned them. Had he wiped down all the surfaces Wooyoung and San had touched, too? Seonghwa wanted to ask him about the car, why the hell was it still here, and what he had done with the knife, but he had to keep his mouth shut for now.

Instead, he busied himself with placing Yunho's clothes in the wash, only lightly ashamed at his own lack of hesitation to go through his pockets. He only found hygene products, a pair of sneakers and a membership card to a swimming pool that would need to be renewed in exactly two months from now. And a large packet of condoms, only three left. Seonghwa raised a brow, though he supposed he wasn't surprised that Yunho was getting some. He hummed to himself, pocketed one and discarded the bag in a corner of his room. Then he got back down to the kitchen, pulling off the latex gloves and dropping them in the nearest trashcan.

They were severely out of groceries, and Seonghwa barely managed to put something together for their lunch, but Marika seemed content enough to stuff her mouth absently while watching My Little Pony.

He hated eating while there were dishes in the sink, and got to it at once, even if that meant his kimchi fried rice would get cold. His heart stuttered when Mingi walked in, and he felt inexplicably relieved when Seonghwa saw he wasn't alone. The woman he'd ran into upstairs, scouring through Marika's room, was with him.

Carefully ignoring Mingi's gaze, he said to her, "Do you need us to go somewhere else so that you can search here, officer?"

She gave him a bold smile. "What kind of monsters do you think we are? We'll just get to it later, when you're finished. I just wanted to grab a glass of water, if that's okay with you."

"Of course," Seonghwa replied calmly, handing her the water filter jug. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mingi busying himself with getting a refill on his coffee. Marika was too caught up watching her cartoon to even notice, or respond to his attempts at drawing her in conversation. In the end he resolved to pulling a chair and watching My Little Pony with her. "I'd offer you something to eat," Seonghwa said to her, "but I'm afraid I don't have enough for everyone. You're free to use my coffee machine if you like, though."

"Thank you. And... Fuck, I get it," she replied, sounding apologetic. "We're, like, a small army in here. I told Yunho this was pointless, as if he ever listens. Jongho, too. I swear, sometimes I want to grab them by the backs of their necks and knock their heads together." Seonghwa laughed, though it quickly died on his lips when he caught sight of the person leaning against the doorway. He'd changed into a different shirt, pastel green this time, unbuttoned with the same apparent carelessness that Seonghwa knew by now was completely deliberate. His hair looked fluffy as if he'd just finished drying it.

"Ryujin-ah," Yunho said, an easy smile playing at his lips, "I trust you haven't told these people all the work gossip already, have you?" He looked slightly more lively than he did this morning. The woman, Ryujin, jolted a little, choking on her water. Yunho was immediately at her side, prying the glass away from her fingers and rubbing comforting circles on her back. Seonghwa thought about intervening, but it wasn't serious enough for that, and getting in between them felt unbearably wrong. "I'm sorry," Yunho whispered. 

"Fuck off," she replied with a grin, but didn't flinch away from his touch. A little red in the face, — though if from the choking or from Yunho's steady presence at her back, he couldn't tell, — she turned to look at Seonghwa, still with his hands up to the elbows in the sink. "I'm afraid you'll have to tolerate us for a little more, Seonghwa-ssi." 

"That's okay," he replied, keeping his tone neutral. "Just— try not to misplace anything, if you can." A corner of Yunho's mouth curled up at that, and Seonghwa wondered if that was a no-brainer or something. In his defence, he'd never had his house searched by the cops before. They'd never had a reason to search for anything before. 

"We'll do our best," Ryujin replied happily, a dimpled smile making its way onto her face, and Seonghwa couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was, all bright eyes and rosy cheeks and shoulder-length chestnut hair framing her angular face. And that uniform. That stupid uniform. Yunho saw him looking; the way his touch lingered on the small of Ryujin's back as she walked away, only letting his hand fall back when she had gotten too far away to be reached didn't feel accidental at all. Seonghwa doubled down on his cleaning efforts, both to get it done faster so he could finally eat and to have an excuse for avoiding Yunho's eyes. He had, after all, been staring a little too intensely at his... girlfriend, probably. It made sense, too, he supposed. They looked perfect together. 

"Your food's getting cold, hyung," Mingi said gently, rising up from his seat to join Seonghwa at the sink, aware of Yunho's watchful gaze on both of them. He touched his arm gently, looking down at him with soft, pleading eyes. "Let me?"

Seonghwa didn't really want to, but he truly was hungry, and he supposed that washing the dishes was the least Mingi could do after all he'd put him through. Carefully stepping away from his touch, he sat down at the table. Yunho was at Marika's side, a fond look on his face as he had her recount what happened in the episode so far. Something about some halloween party and Pinkie Pie in a chicken costume. 

Seonghwa watched the exchange intently, without joining in. There was something of a trial by fire, seeing the people in his life interact with his daughter, and how receptive she was to them. The people Marika ended up not liking were very few, but selfishly, Seonghwa had hoped Yunho would be one of them. Instead, he watched from across the table as she beamed at him whenever he made some comment about something Rarity or Fluttershy or Rainbow Dash did, and smiled when Marika shot Seonghwa a knowing look when Yunho said that his favorite was probably the moon princess, Luna. "She's so mysterious, but also flawed and powerful. She's like— the queen of the night." 

He ate quickly, not wanting to linger too much, and scoured his mind for an excuse to talk to Mingi alone. He dropped his dish in the sink along with Marika's and laid his chin on Mingi's shoulder, wrapping his arms around his waist and hoping he'd take the hint. Mingi hitched in a breath and turned to look at him, so softly Seonghwa almost forgot what he was actually there for. 

"Yunho-ssi, pay attention," Marika squealed, taking Yunho's large hand in her smaller one to get him to look at the screen again. Seonghwa quickly pulled away from Mingi, clearing his throat. 

"We're out of groceries," he said. "Care to come with me and get some, Mingi-ya? I feel guilty for not offering all these people something to eat."

"Sure thing, hyung. I'll go get my credit card." His chest brushed Seonghwa's arm as he left. 

"Mari-ah?" Seonghwa inquired. Marika waved him off without even bothering to look up. 

"I don't wanna go." 

"Not even if I say please?" 

"...No." 

Seonghwa hated forcing her, but My Little Pony be damned, she spent too much time with her eyes on a screen, and he was at fault for it. "You'll damage your eyes, monkey." 

"No, I won't."

Yunho looked between the two of them pensively, and just as Seonghwa was about to take the tablet away and risk her not talking to him for the rest of the day, he said, "Mari-ssi, do you have pony figurines?" 

Marika's eyes brightened, and in that moment, Seonghwa wanted to take Yunho's face in his hands and kiss him senseless. He didn't know where that thought had come from, and quickly pushed it away. "Two boxes. Can I show him, Appa?" she asked happily, pausing the show. 

Seonghwa chewed at the inside of his cheek, shooting Yunho a grateful look. "Of course," he replied softly. "You're sure you don't mind, Yunho-ssi? I wouldn't want us to impose." 

"We're already imposing on you enough as it is," he replied with a smile. "And besides, I've always wondered how those things look up close." Seonghwa could only stare, but not in unease as Yunho must have thought. "Seonghwa?" he asked warily, breaking him out of his daze. "You can trust me." 

And something in his eyes made Seonghwa realize he was telling the truth. Yunho had left his post to drive Marika to school. Yunho wouldn't let anything happen to her. The house was swarming with cops, for fuck's sake. He could step out for twenty minutes without the burning fear that something would occur while he was away. 

Somehow he found it in himself to speak. "Okay. But when I get back, you're doing your homework, monkey." 

"Mingi-ya, you truly are spectacular." His words were dripping with sarcasm, and Mingi was already trying to take Seonghwa's hand, stammering like a schoolgirl. Seonghwa had never seen Mingi in action in the courtroom; but if he was anything like now, all rosy cheeks and frantic loss of control, he suspected it was better that Wooyoung and San didn't end up on the stand, defended by him. Right now, Mingi didn't even seem to be able to defend himself. The irony didn't get lost on either of them. But it didn't cross Seonghwa's mind that the cause of Mingi's torment could be him. 

"Hyung, I'm sorry." He stopped in his tracks, far enough away from the house that none of the cops would be able to see them. Seonghwa supposed he could have stopped to ask the questions that were begging to be asked, but he remained stubborn, walking on and forcing Mingi to quicken his step so he could catch up. This time, when he tried to take Seonghwa's hand, he didn't resist. "I had no choice, hyung. Leaving it there was the only way not to incriminate you further. Yunho already suspects you. And Jongho suspects me." 

Seonghwa turned to shoot him a deathly glare. "And what of the evidence inside the car? There must be fingerprints all over it. Haven't you thought of that?" 

Mingi's eyes narrowed, some of his self control slipping back in. He'd dealt with angry clients of varying degrees of actual guilt; none of them had been Seonghwa before, but as long as he got past that, he knew what he had to do. "Hongjoong and I had gloves and hoods on," he replied steadily. "Surgical masks, too. If they'd seen any of us on the security footage, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now. And about Sannie and Wooyoung, they already know they were in there. Not finding their fingerprints inside would arouse suspicion." 

"But— how did they leave, then?" 

A corner of Mingi's mouth lifted up slyly. "They didn't."

Seonghwa felt the bubble of anger inside him rise to life like the lava inside a volcano. All he wanted was to go back, take Marika and run to save his skin. Mingi stilled him by grabbing his hands and manhandling him into his chest. Seonghwa fought him every step of the way, thrashing and writhing in his hold, but Mingi was stronger. "Yunho was right," he said. "I should have... I should have..."

Mingi shushed him like he was a child, and Seonghwa could feel the ground underneath him shake along with his hopes that they would somehow get past this. "Hyung." Seonghwa raised his head to glare at him as best as he could, restrained as he was with his face buried in the crook of Mingi's neck. "I cleaned everything up. There's nothing for them to find there."

Seonghwa pulled away from him, but Mingi didn't let go of his wrists, still scared that he'd try to run to Yunho and tell him everything. "Then... Where are they?"

Mingi's eyes pointedly shot to a house in the distance, which Seonghwa recognized as Hwang Yeji and Hyunjin's mother's, who had died a few weeks ago, leaving the place vacant. Going around it revealed Hongjoong's robin's egg Hyundai, discreetly parked in the backyard. Seonghwa's relief was short-lived, though. "Yunho'll figure out that they didn't leave. He'll search the other houses, too."

"Yunho can't do anything," Mingi replied. "They can't go around searching people's houses without warrants, and nobody will give them one for every house in the neighborhood, especially after yours turns out a false lead. The only thing they have is that car. And that doesn't say much at all. Only that at some point, they were here."

"What if somebody saw them get inside?"

"Who? These houses are all empty with their owners gone to work. The cops know it's easier to escape on foot and blend in with the crowd in the boulevard. It's over, hyung. They lost them." 

"San's hurt," Seonghwa snapped. "He can't walk anywhere."

Mingi's eyes glinted dangerously. "Yes. But they don't know that." He could feel Seonghwa relax a little in his hold, and could only count that as a win. 

"What did you do with the knife?" 

"It's gone," he replied. "Hyung, I need to know exactly what you said to Yunho. Knowing him, he'll have tried to get under your skin by now." A shadow crossed his face at that. Seonghwa had been alone in the car with him, and Mingi knew what Yunho was capable of. "Probably used Marika to get to you. I don't blame you if you gave in. He can be very... persuasive."

Seonghwa felt his words like a slap to the face, and wrenched himself away from Mingi's grip. He rubbed at his reddened wrists, and Mingi drew back in horror. "Fuck, hyung, I'm sorry—"

He shot him a pained look, a hysterical laugh making its way past his lips. "I didn't tell him anything, Mingi-ya," he snapped. "But he told me some things."

Mingi froze. Had Yunho told him about San? "He'd say anything to slither his way into your life. Use his badge to lull you into a false sense of security and then pull the rug from under your feet." Seonghwa felt a twisted sort of satisfaction at the panic on Mingi's face. Serves him well, he thought. 

"So he was lying, then? You weren't together?"

Mingi tried his best not to make the relief on his face look blatant. "For a bit," he replied. "One of the worst mistakes of my life, mind you."

"Why?"

"We were on the same investigation. He... used something I told him in confidence against the client I was defending, and threw both of us in jail. I got out on bail, but she got the life sentence."

"Well, what was she accused of?"

Mingi hesitated. He'd told Seonghwa enough lies. "Poisoning some people."

"And... Was she guilty?"

"...Yes. About some of them, anyway."

Seonghwa didn't look sympathetic at all. If anything, he looked almost cruelly satisfied. "Then it seems to me like one of you was in the wrong, and it wasn't him."

"Right, because the end justifies the means, and betraying someone who loves you is okay, isn't it?" Mingi snapped, losing his fickle patience. "I bet he promised you that he'd protect you if you told the truth. Just as he promised me that nothing I said to him would get past those walls. He's a liar, and a scoundrel. You shouldn't trust him, hyung."

Seonghwa laughed in his face. "And I should trust you? After you and Hongjoong forced my hand and kept things from me? After I lied to the cops for you and went on with all your stupid and demeaning ideas?"

Mingi chose his words carefully. "I did force your hand. But I can't force you to have faith in me. All I can do is ask you to do what you can to protect Marika. There's nothing tying you to the case now. But if you tell Yunho the truth, there will be."

Maybe your sense of civility was appealed to, or maybe you were led to believe keeping your mouth shut would keep your daughter safe.

But Mingi was right. Telling Yunho now would only hurt everyone involved. "After this is over," he said, "I want you out of my house. Out of my life. You've taken advantage of me enough. You have my word I won't say anything, but know that I'm not doing any of it for you. I'm doing it for Wooyoung and San."

With that, he turned to walk away, but Mingi gripped his wrist again, forcing him to meet his eyes. He looked like a kicked puppy, so hurt and open that Seonghwa had the urge to take it all back. "Hyung, please, I..." he trailed off. 

Mingi likes you a lot. 

Careful with using people. It has the tendecy to come back to you. 

But if he was using Mingi, it was only because Mingi was using him right back. Seonghwa doubted Mingi truly grasped the real extent of what he'd caused. He plastered on a smile, harsh and irremovable in his decision. "Why so grim?" he asked. "You got what you wanted, didn't you? You won, Yunho lost. You got your sick revenge." 

Mingi's eyes flared. He cupped Seonghwa's face, tilting his head up so their eyes met. Seonghwa frowned, but didn't pull away, curious as to what he would do. He wasn't used to this Mingi, looking as if he could start a fire through sheer willpower. "Fuck Yunho," he hissed, and pressed down hard. "Fuck him." 

Seonghwa gave a pained whimper, and he let go abruptly, as if breaking out of a trance. Mingi took Seonghwa's wrists, almost tentatively, giving him time to pull away. He brought each of them up to his lips and kissed the faded pink marks he'd left on his skin, looking close to tears. "I'm... Hyung, I..." 

Seonghwa didn't want to hear it. Instead, he grabbed Mingi by the front of his shirt and pulled him down to clash his mouth against his own. It wasn't quite a kiss as much as a promise for payback, and Seonghwa made sure that he knew it, sinking his teeth hard into his full lips without licking softly over the bites to soothe the ache and tasting Mingi's hurt whimpers on his tongue. He broke away when he felt Mingi's clothed cock softly grinding up against his hip, licking his lips at the sight of him, so easy to unravel. "Are you always this needy? I barely even touched you."

Mingi blushed, and tripped over his words in the attempt to muster up a reply. "Hyung, you... I'm... Please—"

Seonghwa shook his head almost fondly, and kissed him again, this time on his cheek. He wanted to bite him again, but at this point he was genuinely fearing Mingi would have an aneurysm at his expense. "You're sweet," he said with a curious tilt of his head. "If you still want it tonight, I'll give it to you."

Mingi nodded so fast it wouldn't have come as a surprise if his head suddenly detached itself from his shoulders. Seonghwa smiled, but inside he was torn up. What if Yunho was right, after all? And Hongjoong... But no. Mingi had always admired him. The road from admiration to want wasn't all that long. That was all this was. It had to be; anything different would have hurt too much. 

Chapter Text

Yunho knew himself as a persuasive person, yet sometimes it still came as a surprise. When he'd off-handedly suggested Marika should get started on her homework before her father came back, he'd expected to be flipped off, but she said happily, "Okay, Yunho-ssi. But only because you asked me."

And she actually opened her book and got to it, though reluctant to let go of her favorite Rarity toy and still clutching it in her left hand as she scribbled disinterestedly with her right one. The thought of Seonghwa coming home to find her quietly doing her homework without him having to negotiate with her had him break out in a self-satisfied grin. Yunho even contemplated cleaning up the mess of toys in her room, but quickly pushed that thought away. He was already getting a little too close, and soon enough somebody other than Ryujin would notice. He didn't delude himself into thinking they would only tease him for it as she had.

He had to stop fucking around and join the search. Ryujin stayed glued to his side, their fingers brushing as she cheerily handed him a pair of disposable latex gloves. "There's nothing here, Yunho-ya," she said. "Just a boring suburban house. Those two must have left the car here to divert our search. They're getting away as we speak, and we're wasting time searching through a little girl's toys."

"I don't believe that," Yunho replied over his shoulder as he entered Seonghwa's pristinely kept room. The double bed was neatly made, and he couldn't help but notice how it didn't look slept in at all. He must have changed the sheets, Yunho thought, assuming he and Mingi had gotten up to no good last night and feeling a pang of something twist through him at the thought, though he couldn't pinpoint why. He checked the laundry basket, but it was empty. "He's diligent," he muttered to himself.

"Diligent about what, exactly?"

He didn't reply, leaning forward to flip through the dressing instead. He paused upon seeing that half of it was filled with neatly arranged, albeit dusty, women's clothes. "You're a bit late, Yunho-ya. We already searched here," Ryujin said, coming up behind him to peek over his shoulder, warm breath ghosting over his neck, a promise for more that Yunho would never pass out on. When her lips brushed the side of his neck, he turned his head to kiss her, but she drew back, delighting in his little frown of protest. "Later," she said, grinning, then spread her arms out in front of her, almost mockingly. "Now... I believe you were in the middle of something."

Yunho pursed his lips, but remained quiet, meticulously flipping through each hanger and opening the lid of each shoebox. He didn't know what he was looking for really, but found the semblance of an answer to that question when his eyes fell upon a red coat, identical to the one he'd seen Marika wearing, but bigger in size. He pulled it out and had Ryujin hold the hanger up as he searched through its pockets.

"You're overdoing it," she hissed. "His wife is dead, let's at least have some—" she trailed off, mouth agape in a soft 'o' of surprise. Yunho was clutching a few papers in his fist, and her curiosity quickly overcame her sense of common decency as she leaned closer to have a look. Hotel and restaurant reciepts, and car rental ones, all under the name Hwang Ingrid. Beneath them, an ID with the same name, obviously forged. The woman in the small photo had wide blue eyes and she was so pale her face almost blended in with the white of the card. "That's her middle name," Yunho said, "and the family name she had before she got married to him. But the dates..." He let out a sad laugh, heart twisting in sympathy. "They're all from the year she died." 

He gave Ryujin a pointed look that sucked out all the air from her lungs, and carefully pried the hanger away from her hands to put the coat back in its place, but kept the papers. "She was planning to leave him," Ryujin said sadly, shaking her head. "Do you think he knows?"

"I— I don't know."

"Maybe we should... It's not our business, Yunho-ya."

Yunho pocketed the evidence and brushed past her to leave the room, shoulders tense and his expression shut off. Ryujin caught his wrist as if to stop him, and the look he shot her was sharp enough to cut through glass. "I think he deserves to know something like this."

Ryujin brushed her thumb over his wrist, holding his gaze despite how much it pained her to look at him whenever he got like this. "I know I always joke about you getting too involved in the cases you take but... Let him grieve her in peace. What's the point in digging up the past? And what if she wanted to—" She shook her head. "Who knows what kind of marriage they had?"

Yunho's eyes sofrened against hers. "There's more. Park Freja died in a violent car crash," he said steadily. "So far away from home, too. That same night, Seonghwa got a fine for drunk driving, not all that close to where she was found, but still on the same the national road."

Ryujin let her hand fall away. "You think he..."

"That he killed her? No. But, think about it. He finds out what she was planning, gets drunk and follows her in his car. He gets into the car with her, confronts her, they fight and she swerves off the road. I read her file, Ryujin-ah. There was no other car involved. Nobody to witness if there was anyone else inside hers. She dies, he gets out and walks to his own, leaving the scene, and doesn't tell a soul."

Ryujin's eyes darkened. "Even if that's true," she began carefully, "he's the only one that child has now. If he's guilty..."

A shadow crossed Yunho's face. He'd promised Seonghwa he wouldn't let anything happen to his daughter. But if he'd caused the death of his own wife, drunk and out of control, was he truly the right person to care for Marika? A thing Yunho had learned about the past is that it had the tendency to repeat itself. Didn't he at least owe it to that child to find out the truth? 

"What are you going to do?" she asked, lowering her voice to a whisper.

"I... don't know. But I have to look into it." 

The war in his mind only intensified further when Seonghwa walked in, all bitten lips and ruffled up clothes, with Mingi following closely behind with two hefty grocery bags in each hand, not looking in much better condition himself. He had a strange look in his eyes as he ushered Mingi to the kitchen, throwing over his shoulder, "The biggest pan I own is in the drawer below the oven, Mingi-ya. You'd better get started, eh? We wouldn't want to keep everyone waiting."

Yunho clasped his hands behind his back and drew closer, the weight of the papers in his pocket pressing down on him and drawing out all the guilt he wasn't quite supposed to feel. "Who's abusing their authority now?" he asked, and Seonghwa's eyes narrowed. "You don't take advice very well." Yunho glanced down at his hands, crossed over his chest. Strange — he could have sworn he'd seen a wedding ring on Seonghwa's finger. Where was it now?

"It's the least he could do," Seonghwa replied simply, holding his ground. "If it wasn't for the personal beef you lot have with him, I doubt you'd be here going through my house." 

"It's not about that," he replied with a frown. Ryujin caught Yunho's eyes from across the room, and she gave a shake of her head before shooting Seonghwa a lopsided smile. His grin brightened at the sight of her, and Yunho couldn't resist it.

"Didn't take you for a badge bunny, Seonghwa-ssi."

Seonghwa's eyes snapped to him. "A what?" Yunho watched in slow motion as the realization dawned on him, and Seonghwa blushed a pretty pink, looking away. "Oh. I didn't mean to... Is she— Are you..."

Yunho's eyebrows rose up. "Here and there. But we're not together, if that's what you're trying to ask," he replied off-handedly, eyes darting to Ryujin, who had been drawn in conversation by an older officer with a touching problem, especially towards younger — and female — force workers. He stifled a smile when Ryujin slapped his hand away and hissed at him. "I'm sure she's used to the attention, though."

"What about you?"

That pulled a startled laugh from Yunho's lips. "What?"

Seonghwa gave him a sly grin. "You're pretty too, Yunho-ssi. I'm sure there's people wandering around the station begging for you to break into their house and handcuff them."

It was Yunho's turn to blush a furious shade of red and shudder. "There was that one time... Get me drunk, and I'll probably tell you all about it."

Seonghwa drew closer, eyes glinting. "Is that a proposition, Detective?"

"You're taken, Seonghwa-ssi," he said cautiously, pointedly looking at the kitchen door Mingi had just disappeared through. "And, correct me if I'm wrong, totally straight."

Seonghwa's gaze turned wary. Was Yunho mocking him? "I'll go check on Marika," he said. "I trust she hasn't disappeared under her mountain of toys while I was gone."

Yunho shot him a self-satisfied smile. "Go see for yourself," he replied. Seonghwa frowned, but quickly ran up the stairs, apprehensive. Only when he reached the top did he halt, realizing Yunho had turned to go. "Yunho-ssi," he called, and Yunho looked at him over his shoulder, a brow raised in surprise. "I— thank you."

Yunho looked like he wanted to say something, but ended up only nodding, baffled and a little moved at that look on Seonghwa's face. 

Seonghwa stood there for a moment, watching him go, then shook himself out of the daze that had overcome him and headed to Marika's room. He didn't know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't seeing her at her desk, peacefully doing her homework.

"Hi, monkey," he said with a smile, wondering what exactly Yunho had bribed her with to make her do it. "How's it going?"

She shrugged. "...Fine. I'm almost done. Can I watch My Little Pony after?"

"We'll see, Mari-ah," he replied hesitantly. He'd called the ophtalmologist's office, and she'd said that it would be at least another week before the glasses arrived to be picked up. Seonghwa should probably get her out of here on a walk or something. Hopefully by the time they returned, all these cops would be gone and everything would turn out to be a bad dream Seonghwa's mind had conjured up as a form of creative self-torment. 

"Appa?" she asked, looking up at him with a confused look in her big eyes, and Seonghwa had the good sense to close the door, expecting a retaliation.

"What is it?"

"Are they looking for the big man?"

Seonghwa sighed, kneeling down in front of her chair carefully. "...Yeah."

"But he's not here anymore."

"No."

"Is he a bad person?"

"He isn't, monkey. He made a mistake, and the police want to punish him for it. You know how I always say we should help our friends in a time of need, regardless of the consequences?" She nodded, a little wary. "Well, this was one of those times. He didn't do anything wrong, but the police won't see it that way. You understand why I asked you not to tell Yunho-ssi, Mari?" Her nose scrunched up, and Seonghwa's blood turned to ice. He took her hand. "Did you tell him? It's alright if you did, I won't be upset."

Marika quickly shook her head, and Seonghwa let out a relieved sigh. "Okay," he choked out, and kissed her cheek, pulling her close to his chest.

"Is Yunho-ssi a bad person, Appa?" she asked, words muffled by a mouthful of Seonghwa's shirt and so impossibly sad that he could feel something in himself shatter. He pulled away to look at her, plastering a smile onto his face.

"No, monkey. He's just doing his job."

She beamed up at him, looking relieved. "Oh, okay," she said.

"You really do like him, don't you?"

In lieu of a reply, she rose up from her seat and picked up a toy from the floor, a dark blue pony with luscious hair precariously cut short with a pair of scissors. Seonghwa fought back a laugh. Princess Luna. She handed it to him and said shyly, "Could you give her to him, Appa? I tried, but he didn't wanna accept. He said I shouldn't give away my toys."

Seonghwa's heart felt so unbearably full he wouldn't have been all that surprised if it ended up bursting out of his chest and cracking open like an oversized piñata. "You should listen to him, Mari-ah," he said softly. "You love your toys. Are you sure you want to give up Princess Luna?"

She shrugged. "I have two more Princess Lunas."

It was true, Seonghwa knew. But he also knew that Marika would probably want her back when the novelty of Yunho wore off. Still, she insisted. "Can you give her to him, please? He'll accept if it comes from you."

Seonghwa huffed, face heating, but placed the toy in a pocket of his pants. "You think?"

Marika nodded gravely. "Yeah. You'll see. I told you he liked you."

He didn't deign that with a reply, suddenly sheepish for some reason that was severely beyond him. Instead, he said, "hey, how about you finish up here and then we can go together in the park?" 

Marika beamed. "Really? I thought you said we couldn't during the week." 

"It's a special occasion," he replied, and Marika looked like she wanted to add something, but changed her mind at the last moment when the door opened to reveal Jongho standing there in the doorway. Seonghwa's smile quickly dimmed as he ushered them both out the door, not wanting him to get too close to his daughter. There was something about Jongho that unnerved him. He recalled Yunho's words about him being some cop prodigy, and he liked that even less. 

"Anything I can help you with, Detective?" he asked neutrally, making his way to the laundry machine and forcing Jongho to follow him. 

"Yes, actually," he replied, undeterred by Seonghwa's coldness. "I wanted to ask you— do you know who the car in your backyard belongs to?" 

Seonghwa took his time folding up the clothes from the dryer neatly, without looking at Jongho. "I'm assuming you don't mean my Honda, so my guess is— well, one of those men that you're searching for." 

"Not quite," he replied with a half-smile, not quite buying into Seonghwa's clueless suburban dad façade, if it was a façade at all. "It's registered to one Kang Yeosang." 

At that, Seonghwa met his eyes with a frown. "Marika's schoolteacher?" Jongho nodded slowly. "Strange. But— small world, I guess?"

"Coincidence takes a whole lot of planning, Seonghwa-ssi. There were four men in that car, you know. One of them has the same stature as our mutual lawyer friend, and the other one..." His eyes traveled over Seonghwa's form, pointedly taking him in. Seonghwa had to fight the urge to squirm under his gaze. "...The other one has yours."

Damn Hongjoong, he thought. They used to share clothes back in college exactly because of their similar build. 

"It feels to me, Detective," he said sharply, "that you're grasping at straws. If you truly had any proof of what you seem to be accusing me of, we'd be having this conversation at the station, and I would be in handcuffs. But alas..." 

He picked up Yunho's clothes and brushed past him, wanting to cut their conversation short and silently apologizing to Yunho for what he was about to do. But if one of them had to deal with Jongho's questioning, Seonghwa would do his best to make sure that it wasn't him. 

He put them back in Yunho's bag and grabbed it off the floor, practically throwing it in a baffled Jongho's arms and taking great delight in the set of his jaw. "Give these to Yunho-ssi, if you please. I think he'll like to have them back." 

Chapter Text

"Did you fuck him?"

Yunho paused with the cigarette halfway to his mouth, raising his brows. "Fuck who, exactly?" He snapped the lighter and hollowed his ckeeks lewdly as he took a long drag, eyes cold against Jongho's. "You're going to have to be more specific."

Instead of answering, Jongho threw open the Duster's trunk with such force that Yunho ran up to him to check for damage. "Yah, mind the paint," he snapped. "It's new." Jongho watched the expression on his face turn carefully neutral at the sight of the gym bag inside. "Oh, I was wondering where that had gone."

Jongho hummed, a corner of his mouth curling up, though devoid of any humor. It still astounded Yunho, how after two years of being partners, Jongho's disappointed glares could still reduce him to silence. "Imagine my surprise when I see our sexy little suburban daddy pulling out your clothes from the dryer and throwing them in my arms."

"I didn't— It's not what it looks like, Jongho-ya."

Jongho spread his arms out in front of him. "Explain away, hyung. I'm all ears."

"I used his bathroom to change my clothes." There was a defensive edge to his voice, and Jongho noticed it. He hummed, but remained silent. Yunho knew this tactic very well, as he used it too. It was a little trick they'd been taught at the academy — silence begged to be filled. Sooner or later, the suspect would give into it and start talking. It hurt, the fact that Jongho was feeling the poignant need to use it on him how; but Yunho didn't give in, holding his gaze firmly. One thing was clear, though; if Jongho were to find out that he'd left his post to drive Seonghwa, he'd get more than a look that could make fresh flowers wither, and his hyung status wouldn't mean jackshit in the face of his wrath. Yunho couldn't tell him about Freja's reciepts now. 

"...Okay," Jongho said at last, sounding a little wary. "Are you sure that's all?" This felt like a test, and Yunho didn't like it at all.

"You shouldn't talk like this to your hyung, Jongho-ya," he replied steadily, not bothering to hide his irritation.

"You're my partner before you're my hyung, Yunho," Jongho said, and to Yunho's surprise, he sounded almost sad. "Your history... You always blur all the glaring red lines until they look green, and then you cross them." This time it was his turn to shy away from Yunho's piercing stare. But Jongho had been the academy's golden prodigy for a reason. He was the top choice for the next chief for a reason, and it had little to do with his father. "You're unpredictable," he said at last. "If it had been up to me, you wouldn't have been sent back on the field so soon after Chan."

"It wasn't up to you."

"Yeah," he replied. "But I'm responsible for you as much as you are for me. Which is why I have to remind you that you're not the only one who'll have to answer for the shit that you do. Interfering with an investigation... You can't do that, for fuck's sake."

"I'm not..."

Jongho put a hand up to stop him. "Okay. Whatever you say, hyungie. It's over, anyway. We're going to run the fingerprints in the car, but... As far as I can see it, Park Seonghwa's clean. There's nothing tying either him or Mingi to the scene."

Yunho raised a brow, choking as he took a mouthful of filter and dropped it on the asphalt. He snorted in disbelief. "Don't tell me you really think that." Jongho raised a brow at him, and Yunho bent down to pick up the muck guiltily, crossing the street to put in the trashcan next to Seonghwa's fence gate. 

Mingi was in the yard, leaning against the outer wall of the house, bathed in the sunset light and watching the cops as they wrapped up, a look of untouchable superiority on his face that Yunho had seen on Seonghwa's as well. He wondered if Mingi had picked it up from him or the other way around. He was smoking, and Yunho recognized the Dunhill Black between his fingers. His heart leaped as their eyes met, for only a moment before Yunho turned away; the irony of it almost made him laugh —Mingi didn't miss any opportunity to trash talk him in any way he could, to his face and behind his back without much pretense for decency, yet he was still smoking Yunho's favorite cigarettes, two years later.

He shook his head as if to clear off a daze; dwelling wouldn't do any good. There was nothing he could say to him now. 

"It doesn't matter what I think," Jongho continued when he returned, as if their conversation hadn't been interrupted at all. "No proof, no crime, you know how it goes."

Unfortunately, Yunho did. But he knew another thing, too, and that was that Seonghwa was lying.

"Maybe the fingerprints will tell us something."

"...Yeah," Jongho replied. "I'd be surprised if there's any match to him or Mingi, though. They're—" 

"Diligent."

Jongho's eyes twinkled like firelights. "Damn, hyung. You almost got me there. I thought I'd lost you to the hot daddy." 

Yunho snorted. "As if I'm that easy."

He caught Ryujin's eye as she pulled off her latex gloves in the trash can, and raised a brow, tilting his head, a wordless invitation. She made a show of considering it, catching her bottom lip between her teeth and tucking a strand of chestnut hair behind her ear. She loved the shy girl act, and though Yunho wasn't necessarily a fan of all that, there was something about the spark in her eyes that got him every single time.

Jongho's gaze impassively followed the exchange. "You were saying?" 

He shrugged, brushing past him to pull open the driver's door. Half inside already, he threw over his shoulder, "You might want to find yourself another ride."

"Hyung! What about the car?" 

"Need me to tell you how to drive, Jongho-ya?" he asked, lightly mocking and a tad vengeful. "I stayed here all night, I deserve some sleep too. You can drive Kang Yeosang's car a few miles back to his appartment without my lovely company." 

"Yeah, right," he muttered under his breath. "I'm sure sleep is all you have on your mind." 

"What was that, Jongho-ssi?" Ryujin asked distractedly as she neared Yunho's Duster, nervously placing her palm on its hood as if she was expecting him to drive on without her. Jongho sighed. Would he truly have to give Yunho the talk about feelings and sleeping with subordinates again? But he supposed it could have been worse. At least Ryujin wasn't a suspect in their investigation. 

"Nothing," he replied with a shake of his head. He'd lost count of how many people Yunho had taken for a casual ride in that car, and he'd only had it for a year— or was it two? Jongho made a mental note to take it to the wash himself, as he didn't trust Yunho not to pick up some cashier or something on the way back and get it dirty again. 

Mingi didn't trust neighborhoods like Seonghwa's. It struck him as an upgraded version of the village he'd grew up in, filled with people with too much free time and too little of a life when it got dark outside, always more concerned with what was going on in their neighbor's house than with their own. He didn't delude himself into thinking he wasn't being watched, especially right now when most of the middle-aged owners of the houses around were returning from work. 

But he took solace in the thought that if San, Wooyoung and Hongjoong had been seen getting into that abandoned house, the cops wouldn't have left with their hands in their pockets and distraught looks on their faces. 

So now Mingi was playing the kind-hearted, but nosy neighbor, a plate in one hand and a hefty grocery bag in the other, a smile on his face as he knocked on the door. It opened a crack, and he stepped in. All the lights were strategically off, and Hongjoong's car was parked in the backyard where the neighbors would have had a harder time recognizing it as belonging to anybody other than the late house owner's children. 

"I come bearing food," he said sweetly, and Wooyoung almost made him drop the plate to the floor with how forcefully he jumped into his arms. 

Hongjoong stood there leaning against the doorway, watching with a tired smile. Mingi felt a pang; it was his fault he'd gotten involved in the first place.

Mingi nudged Wooyoung off him. "Where's Sanni?"

"Sleeping," he replied with a fond smile. "On the couch. They cleared out all the mattresses," he added. "There's nothing edible in this house either, so if you don't mind..." He pried away the groceries from Mingi's hands and took everything to the kitchen. 

"Did they find anything?" Hongjoong asked, and Mingi shot him a look. 

"Of course not. What do you take me for, some amateur?"

Hongjoong raised a brow, petulant as ever. "So they don't think you had something to do with it?"

Mingi shrugged, keeping up a semblance of cheer even as a shadow crossed his face. "I don't give a shit about what they think. They've got no proof."

Hongjoong nodded slowly. "Should I wake him up, Mingi-ya?"

"Not yet," he replied. "I'd say it's safe if you wait till midnight to leave. But... Do they have a place to stay?"

"Wooyoung said they'll spend the night at their friend's place and figure it out in the morning." He elegantly shrugged one shoulder, and Mingi drew closer, pulling him to his chest and laying his chin on his head.

"Kang Yeosang? The Ford's owner?" Hongjoong nodded. "No, that won't do. He's on their radar right now, too." Without breaking away from him, Mingi fished out his keys from the pocket of his jacket and dropped them in Hongjoong's hand. "Take them to my place."

"You're sure about that? You just said they're still suspecting you, and Yunho—"

Mingi pulled away to give him a stern look. "Fuck Yunho. He doesn't know anything."

"I'll just let them crash in my apartment for a night or two. They don't know about me, they won't think to search there."

But Mingi vehemently shook his head. "No, hyung. I've already involved you enough."

Hongjoong rose up on his tiptoes to press his sweet grin against Mingi's lips. He was quick to deepen it, sinking into Hongjoong like he was a lifeline, softly mapping out the inside of his mouth with his tongue as if it was the first and last time he ever got to taste him. Hongjoong circled his arms around his neck to pull him even closer, dropping the keys back in Mingi's pocket as he pinned him against the wall. Hongjoong's hand slithered up beneath the hem of his shirt to feel up the lithe muscle there, and laughed at him when he pulled away for air and Mingi whimpered in protest at the loss. "I'm with you till the end," he said softly. "You know that."

Without looking away from him, he cupped Mingi's cock through his pants and gave him a few tugs, grinning at how responsive he was to his every touch and how he was pushing his hips forward into his hand. "Come on," he said softly. "The bedroom upstairs is pretty cozy."

"Wooyoung said there aren't any mattresses."

"You're boldly assuming we'll need them."

He took his hand and led him up the stairs, sinking to his knees the moment he had Mingi inside the depressingly empty and not cozy at all bedroom with his back against the closed door. Mingi helped him by kicking off his shoes, and Hongjoong pulled his pants and underwear off unceremoniously, throwing everything across the room. He swung one of Mingi's legs over his shoulder and, not wasting any time, he leaned up to press the flat of his tongue right over his rim.

Mingi hitched in a breath, his cock twitching at the unexpected contact even as he fisted a hand in Hongjoong's hair to bring him closer. "Hyung, ah— what are you doing?"

Hongjoong pulled away to give him a smirk, wrapping his fist around Mingi's length. "Gotta open you up real nice for your Seonghwa-hyung," he said, and Mingi froze, unable to speak. Honjoong hummed thoughtfully, quickening the rhythm of his thrusts with no other purpose than watching him fall apart. "He's bigger than I am. It'll be quite the stretch."

He dove back in, lapping at the tight ring of muscle. He breached his hole and pushed in the tiniest bit, and Mingi whimpered, leaking precome all over Hongjoong's fingers. "Fuck, hyung, I..."

He could have come from this alone, but Hongjoong wasn't anywhere near done with him. He licked up two of his fingers and slid in, effortlessly assaulting his prostate with every single thrust. Mingi wasn't even trying to be quiet, fucking his hips back against his fingers and seeking friction up into his hand. "Hyung..."

"Yeah, that's right," Hongjoong said. "He'll fuck you real good, you know? I remember when he took me for the first time. I couldn't sit up like a normal person for days." A corner of his mouth lifted up, though his eyes remained cold. "And then he'll walk away and leave you crying on the floor, all alone."

"I don't..." Mingi tried, only to trail off into an anguished moan when Hongjoong added a third finger. "I didn't... He doesn't—"

"Of course he doesn't," he replied. "That's what I keep telling you, but you aren't fucking listening."

"Hyung," Mingi choked out, looking down at him with what he hoped was a death glare, but they both knew better. "You talk too much. Use that mouth of yours for something good."

Hongjoong snorted, but licked a rewarding stripe from base to the tip of his flushed cock. "Better?" Mingi nodded fervently, trying to move closer to Hongjoong's mouth, only for the fingers inside him to press deeper into his sweet spot. The movement drawing out a choked whimper from his parted lips. "Ah, fuck," Hongjoong rasped out, not looking much more composed himself. His breath ghosted over the outline of Mingi's cock, the anticipation bringing both of them impossibly closer to the edge. "I don't mind that you want him. And you know why?"

Mingi hummed, though without much interest, his eyes fluttering shut as he sank into the bliss. Hongjoong's fingers stopped moving, and he bit down hard on Mingi's hip, making him cry out. "Look at me when I'm talking to you." Mingi didn't move, and Hongjoong bit him again, this time hard enough to leave a mark. "Look at me, or I won't let you come."

At that, Mingi did look down, a comically stricken look on his flushed face. Hongjoong smiled. "You can fuck whoever you want..." He pressed a lewd kiss to the head of his cock, licking up the precome without breaking eye contact. "But I'm still your favorite."

Mingi nodded his agreement, and Hongjoong finally showed mercy and took his cock all the way into his throat, his fingers resuming their ruthless pace against his sweet spot. It didn't even take that long for Mingi to clench around him and spill down his throat with a strangled grunt, so deep inside that Hongjoong didn't even get a taste of him.

"Can you hold yourself up?" he asked firmly, rising to his feet and kissing his cheek softly. Mingi hummed in affirmation, unable to speak. "Good."

Hongjoong turned him around, pressing his clothed length right against his hole, flushed red and gaping. "Hands on the door," he ordered. "Can't have you falling down."

Mingi obeyed without question, eager as always. He heard the tell-tale sound of a belt unbuckling, and Hongjoong spat unceremoniously into his hand to slick himself up. "I'm gonna fill you up," he said as he pushed in. Mingi whimpered from the overstimulation, but thrusted his hips back to chase him deeper. Hongjoong wasn't all that big, but what he lacked in size, he made up for in efforts, and Mingi wanted it so badly that soon enough he was hard again. "Jesus," Hongjoong choked out, "he doesn't know what he's missing out on."

"What?"

Hongjoong wrapped a hand around his cock and jerked him off in time with his relentless thrusts. "Nothing, baby. You're so good for me. Stay just like this, okay?" He pressed a languid kiss to the side of Mingi's neck and watched him fall apart again, hole pulsing and clenching around his cock as he came all over his hand. Hongjoong followed him over the edge, unable to resist it any longer.

"Hyung... Hongjoong-hyung— I love you so much, I'm..."

Hongjoong shushed him as he helped him put his clothes back on and fixed his own. "I know, Mingi-ya. I know."

And he did. Yet the knowledge that the moment he was out of his sight, Mingi would throw himself in Seonghwa's arms hurt. Hongjoong loved Seonghwa, not in the same way he'd used to, but it was still there; but Seonghwa would hurt Mingi. And himself, too. 

Hongjoong had been fooling around with some singer whose songs he was writing and producing, and even though he'd called it off when he realized that Mingi was the one he truly wanted, he hadn't found it in himself to tell him the truth. What if he let it slip to him now that he wasn't seeing her anymore? That Mingi was the only one, that the thought of letting him go to someone else made him feel sick? Would it push him away? Or would he say the same back?

But he wasn't brave enough to do any of that, and barely found it in himself to kiss him back when Mingi pulled him up to lazily meet his mouth, oblivious. "You should go," Hongjoong said, breaking away from him and heading to the door. "Does he know you're here?"

Mingi frowned, looking as if he'd been struck. "He took Mari to the park. I don't know if he's back."

Hongjoong couldn't conceal the irritation in his voice, even as he felt himself recoil at his own coldness. He forced a smile onto his face. "Why don't you go find out, then?" Mingi bristled.

"Hyung, what the fuck? You just had your dick balls-deep in me and now you're treating me like I'm some toy you don't need anymore?" He reached out to him, clinging to his sleeve like a child with a loaded gun in his hands. "We talked about this. One year together, and you still don't trust me to come back to you, even though I always do."

Hongjoong softened. He had a lot of things to say to that, and none of them were kind. So he swallowed it all down and squeezed Mingi's hand, heart twisting painfully at the relief on his face. "I'm sorry," he managed, strangled. "I don't know what came over me." He pressed a soothing kiss to Mingi's cheek and pulled him down the stairs by their joined hands, heading to the door.

"Hyung, what about—"

Hongjoong cut him off with a kiss that felt like a goodbye. Mingi couldn't stand it. "I'll take care of it. We'll talk later tonight." 

"I love you." Hongjoong gave him a half-smile and kissed him briefly again in response, pushing him out into the cold night air.

"Take care, okay?" he said softly, and closed the door behind him without waiting for Mingi's reply. Mingi stood there for a moment, frozen in place and fighting back against his tears. Hongjoong hadn't said it back.

Chapter Text

Seonghwa was right. That uniform on Ryujin was really a sight to cherish, and it looked even better thrown all over the floor of Yunho's car, her shirt undone as she writhed on top of him, his fingers circling at her clit. Her eyes were shut, features twisted up in pleasure, and he was watching her intently through the smoke fluttering out from the tip of his flaming cigarette.

"Yunho-ya, I'm close," she choked out, and leaned in as if to kiss him, but the cigarette was in the way. He flicked out the column of ash in the car's tray absently, quickly bringing it back to his mouth. He didn't feel like kissing her; he wanted to make her fall apart and then do so himself without much preamble. He quickened the rhythm of his fingers, thrusting up into her as best as he could from his position, twitching inside her when she let out a choked moan, walls pulsing around him. He followed soon after, spilling inside the condom and making a mess of ash as the cigarette burned out between his fingers.

She collapsed against his chest, catching her breath, and he let her have at it for a moment before gently nudging her to move as the overstimulation became too much to his now soft cock.

He helped her button back her shirt and fished out her discarded clothes. They were in the parking lot outside her apartment building, out back so the chances to be caught were slim, but still enough to fuel the adrenaline. Ryujin gave him a soft smile through her lashes. "Wanna have a drink with me upstairs? There's some pizza in the fridge."

Yunho glanced pointedly at the empty box discarded on the car's floor. "We're out," he said apologetically

Ryujin raised a brow at him, somehow managing to look menacing even spread out on his lap like this with nothing but a flimsy shirt covering her. "That's the lamest excuse I've ever heard," she said. 

"It's not an excuse," he replied. "We really are out. I thought I had more, but..." 

"Right," she said cuttingly, getting off him to pull her clothes on. Yunho pulled off the soiled condom and threw it in away, then tucked himself back into his pants. He lit himself another cig, the last in his pack, even though he'd only bought it before driving to Seonghwa's house for the search, not even half a day ago. Ryujin looked at him and tried one last time, heat flooding her face. "There's literally a mini market down the street, we passed it on the way here, big red sign and flashing lights and all. Or we can just hang out." Yunho stalled having to reply by blowing an obnoxious cloud of smoke toward the ceiling, and she laughed, the sound bitter as she batted it away. "Fuck, you can't even look at me," she said when she'd recovered her breath. Yunho felt a pang, and finally turned to face her. 

"Ryujin-ah—"

She cut him off, not wanting to hear it. "If this gets out, you know I'm the one who'll have to suffer, right? I'll be the stupid little clueless girl who got seduced by her boss and abandoned in a parking lot, and you... You'll be congratulated for pulling it off." 

"I like you," he said, a defensive edge to his tone. He dropped some ash on her wrinkled pants when he reached out to squeeze her knee. "You know I do." 

She pulled away from his touch, the hurt in her eyes spilling over past all the anger. "You only like me when it suits you. Now you just want me gone." She shook off the ash onto the floor of his car. Yunho didn't bother denying it, as he knew she'd see right through him. She always did. 

"Ryujin-ah..." 

She only shook her head sadly, and pushed the door open with a trembling hand. "Don't bother," she said. "I'll see you at work." 

He watched her walk away, the tangy smoke turning bitter in his mouth, and when he looked down, he realized he was smoking filter again. His eyes stung, and he blamed it on that. His hands shook as he reached for Seonghwa's pack of mints from the pocket on the door, and he blamed it on the lack of sleep and food. Had he even eaten anything today? He couldn't remember. 

When he peeked inside the pack to see how many were left, something glinted in the dim streetlight. At first, he thought it had to be Seonghwa's lighter, but he remembered taking that out. He turned it upside down in his hand, holding the cigarettes steady with a finger so they wouldn't fall, and burst out in a hysterical laughing fit when a gold ring landed in his palm along with a few stray shreds of tobacco. 

It was simple, but classy, and when Yunho turned on the light in his car to take a closer look, he could see Park Freja's name engraved in cursive on the underside, along with a date. June 15th, a little over seven years ago. 

Yunho pulled out her reciepts from his pocket and just stared for a long moment, lost in thought. Seonghwa's solid gold wedding ring, discarded inside a pack of cigarettes like it was worthless. He slipped it on his own ring finger and studied his hand in the light for a long moment, memories of a past life flashing before his eyes. He shook his head, feeling himself growing red to the tips of his ears. He felt insane, and pulled the ring off, dropping it along with the papers in the compartment of his car and closing it abruptly. 

He didn't have the energy to deal with this right now. Seonghwa's failed marriage wasn't his problem, and neither was Ryujin's hurt at his expense. But even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't right. He owed that little girl to find out the truth about the shit her parents did as much as he owed Ryujin an apology. 

But he'd do all that tomorrow. For now, he only wanted to drive aimlessly and get dizzy on Seonghwa's minty smoke. He switched on the siren so he wouldn't have to wait in traffic and got high on that too. He'd worked his ass off and got here all on his own, gave purpose to a life that everybody back in the slum had belived pityingly wasted. 

Yunho only realized he ended up just there when he recognized the curious faces of the inhabitants. He braked hard, staggering forward in his seat with the force of it and clicked off the sirens, watching the red and blue lights fade away along with the feeling of floating in the sky. Hazard lights on, he pulled the handbrake and got out of the car, locking it behind him. He knew these people like the back of his hand, as he'd been one of them for a long time; shiny new cars like this one were a rare sight around here, and they wouldn't pass out on the opportunity to help themselves to whatever was inside. There wasn't much for anybody to steal, but still. 

Yunho made his way through the narrow alleyway quickly, head held high. He didn't remember it being this dark at night, and fought back against a shiver. He didn't belong here anymore. 

The market was depressingly deserted at this hour, save for a single lit stall down the back, the man in charge in the midst of wrapping up his little makeshift bakery. Yunho strode over to him, a smile making its way onto his face. 

Minho's eyes lit up at the sight of him, though only for a moment before he concealed it behind a huff of irritation. "Twice in one day," he mocked. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're getting soft. Cop life isn't treating you well anymore?" 

"It's good to see you too, hyung," he replied, finding that his words were coming out a little strangled. He pointed to a syrupy bagel, the last one left on the stand. "Could I have that?" 

"I just closed, Yunho-ya," he shot back, resuming his packing as if he wasn't even here. Yunho smiled, fond. This was so Minho that his heart ached. 

"I'm sure you can make an exception for an old friend." 

Minho gave him a quizzical look over his shoulder, sizing him up and down. Yunho wasn't in a suit, though it was enough for Minho take one look at him to realize that the jeans and the shirt he was wearing had been costly. "Fine. But I'm charging you double. And only because you look like you haven't eaten in days." 

Yunho fished out a bill from his pocket, debating with himself whether to give him more, but feared that doing so would insult him. Minho didn't pack the bagel in paper or give him a tissue or something, so he just helped himself, sinking his teeth into it almost in apprehensive wonder. The familiar taste of a rocky childhood flooded back to him like a tidal wave, and he would have probably started crying if not for the hunger he hadn't acknowledged before gnawing at him like a living thing. He ate the whole thing up under Minho's amused gaze, and blushed in embarrassment when he was done, feeling caught. 

"You haven't changed at all," he said softly, and reached out to wrap his arms around Yunho, who hugged him back eagerly, careful to keep his sticky fingers away from Minho's hoodie. 

"Neither have you, hyung," he replied against him, taking in the smell of smoke and sweat and sweetness he radiated all over. Minho pulled away to get a good look at him, his hands lingering on Yunho's shoulders. 

"Why don't you eat, Yunho-ya? You have all the money you want, it's not like you have to save up for food." His eyes darkened. "Ah, fuck, you're in debt up to your neck, aren't you?" 

Yunho was quick to assure him, "No, nothing like that. Don't worry about me, I'm fine." 

"You're not fine if you're showing up here of all places." 

"I'm... I had some time to kill." Minho nodded slowly, clearly not buying it, and Yunho added hastily, "What about you? How's the business going?" 

Minho shrugged, plastering on a smile. "Oh, you know, the usual. Ingredients are expensive, customers are few, the landlady is close to kicking me out, but she likes me too much. I'm trying to quit smoking to save something up, but..." He snorted. "I'm sure you know how that goes." 

"Never tried quitting. I think I'll just shrivel up and die without them." 

"Exactly," Minho said with a grin. Yunho nodded, a little awkward. The stickiness on his fingers was beginning to feel uncomfortable. 

"How's your mom? She left you to clean up all by yourself?" 

"I guess you could say that," Minho replied. "She died a month ago. Untreated hepatitis."

"Shit. I'm sorry." 

He shrugged, looking away. "It is what it is." Minho plastered on a smile, too wide to be real, but Yunho knew he didn't have the right to call him out on it. "That child yours?" 

Yunho's eyes widened. "What child— oh. No. Jesus. She's, uh... The guy I was driving is her father. He's— part of a case I'm working on." Despite himself, he felt his face heat up. 

"You're buying ice cream for all your suspects?" Minho asked slyly, and he shrunk even further into himself, unable to think up a witty reply. "You're the talk of the slum, you know?" He spread his arms out, having a laugh at his expense in classic Minho fashion. It was almost endearing, really. "The prodigal son returns. I've never seen Jeongin so excited." 

"He's—?" 

"Still here, yeah. Didn't get into college. He was close, though. Closer than anyone here ever got in years. Everyone except you, anyway." 

"I didn't go to college, I—" 

"Went to the Academy, yeah. I know. I've always thought you'd return at some point. It's rare for people like us to make it out there, but you beat all the odds." He drew closer, lifting up the hem of Yunho's shirt with two fingers to reveal his badge, freshly polished. It glinted prettily in the light as Minho traced his fingers over it thoughtfully. "Why are you really here, Yunho-ya?" 

He stepped back, holding his gaze, piercing and completely serious. Yunho did his best not to squrim under his watchful eyes. The years hadn't been kind to him, hardening the pretty lines of his face that Yunho knew so well. "I, uh... Had a rough day. Brought back some memories." 

Minho raised a brow. "Care to share? Misery loves company." 

Yunho didn't want to dump his shit onto his old friend, who was already struggling with things that rendered his stupid feelings irrelevant. Still, he said, "I'm just— that case I'm working on, it's... Strange."

"Go on," Minho said patiently.

"I thought it would be easy, open and shut, but... All I found were dead ends, suspicion without any real proof to back it up. He's... There's so much that doesn't make sense, and all of it points to this one guy. Dreamy suburban life, a sweet little girl who looks just like him... I think I have something on him, but— if I'm right..." He shook his head, forlorn. 

Minho hummed, deep in thought. "It's the same one from this morning?" Yunho nodded. "Do you feel like an impostor a lot, Yunho-ya?" 

"What?" 

"You do," Minho replied. "Of course you see impostors everywhere. And, fuck it, if you were to put every single one behind bars, there would be no more people left in this world." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Maybe your guy is a liar, maybe he isn't. I can't know that. But I do know you, or at least I like to think I do." He stepped closer, almost wary. "And I know you wouldn't have any qualms on doing what you have to do if you didn't care the slightest bit about him." 

"I don't know him at all, hyung," he replied, a tad defensive. Minho shrugged. He saw right through him, as always. Yunho felt the need to add, "He wouldn't remember it, but I met him once, a few years ago, a little after my former partner..." he trailed off, shaking his head to gather himself. "He reminds me of myself, in a way. And his daughter, Marika, she's... a ray of fucking sunshine in a human being. I can't just..." 

He didn't quite expect Minho to comfort him, he'd never been good at that, yet he still flinched a little when he spoke. "You see so much shit every day. Get a grip, Yunho-ya. You're a cop. It's what you signed up for. What the fuck, you've gone through worse." 

He was right, Yunho knew. "And besides," Minho continued, mouth pursed in a smirk, "the law's easy to bend when you have it in your hands. And you..." he trailed off knowingly. The words didn't quite soothe the inexplicable ache inside him, but the familiar curl of Minho's lips relaxed him the slightest bit. "Eat. I'm sure the hotshot daddy will like it if you fall at his feet, but let's not do that, okay?"

He continued packing up, clearly a sign for Yunho to head back, but he wasn't ready to go just yet. "Hey, hyung?"

"Yeah?"

He pulled out another bill. "Sell me a pack of cigs?"

"Sure." He glanced down at the money with a raised brow. "But that's also gonna be double." Yunho laughed and handed it to him, crumpled and sticky from the sugar on his fingers. Minho counted them, eyes glinting. "Dunhill Black, right? Or you don't smoke those anymore?"

"No, I do, but..." He took out some more bills. "You keep the Dunhill. I have a strange craving for mints."

Marika saw him before Seonghwa did, curled up on the couch with his head buried in his knees, shoulders shaking with the weight of his quiet sobs. 

"Mingi-oppa, why are you crying?" He raised his head, startled. He was so out of it he hadn't even heard the door open, or else he would have scurried off to the bathroom so they wouldn't see him.

Mingi wiped at his cheeks, sniffling as he tried to smile. "I'm okay, Mari-ah. Don't worry about me, it's just... I watched a really sad movie."

Marika frowned, plopping down at his side and sweetly laying her head on Mingi's arm. "The tv's off."

"I, uh... I was so sad I turned it off." Marika pouted sympathetically, wrapping her short arms around his side.

"It's okay. I cry a lot at movies, too." Seonghwa watched from the doorway for a long moment, heart twisting painfully. Upon a pointed look from Marika, he drew closer, warily sitting down at Mingi's other side. He awkwardly placed a hand on his back, looking at him with soft eyes, but the sight of him only made Mingi cry harder.

"I'm sorry, Mingi-ya," he managed, drawing soft circles on his back as Mingi helplessly tried to shove it all back in for Marika's sake if not for his own. But she seemed content to stay like that, enveloping him in her gentle warmth, and didn't move at all until he finally found it in himself to swallow back his tears. He pried her arms away gently, trying his best to smile.

"Did you have fun in the park, monkey?"

She grinned. "Yeah. Appa said we couldn't bike because it was dark and I can't see that well at a distance, but I met my friend in the playground. He and his eomma just moved close by. His name's Felix." She peeked over Mingi's back at Seonghwa. "I think his eomma likes you, Appa." She grimaced. "Felix is cool, but don't marry her, please. I don't think I want him to be my brother."

Seonghwa bristled a little when Mingi started crying again, poorly hiding it behind his hands. "What did I say?" Marika asked, startled. "Did I say something wrong?"

Mingi tried to reply, but all that came out was an incoherent sob. Seonghwa rose up and took Marika's hand. "It's late, monkey," he said gently. "You need to shower and get to bed, or tomorrow you'll fall asleep with your head on the desk."

"Did you ever do that, Appa?"

Seonghwa snorted, tugging at her wrist. "More times than I can count, and I don't recommend it."

Marika followed, shooting a disgruntled "Good night" back to Mingi. "But... How high can you count? I can count to..."

After he'd finally settled her in bed with a brief bedtime story and a promise to buy her some Pinkie Pie toy when he got his paycheck, he returned to the living room, heart in his throat. He'd never seen Mingi crying before, and assumed the worst. Seonghwa found him pacing through the living room, face flushed and puffy but no longer crying, eyes glinting when they met his own.

"Mingi-ya—"

He didn't have time to say anything, though, because Mingi crossed the room in a few quick strides of his long legs and captured his mouth in a sloppy kiss. Seonghwa staggered back a little from the sheer force of it, gripping onto Mingi's shoulders for support, and didn't kiss him back. He began to mouth at Seonghwa's jaw instead, arching up into him like he couldn't get enough. Seonghwa let him have at it for a moment, frozen in place by the unexpected contact.

"Mingi-ya," he said when he finally found his voice again, "stop." Mingi stepped back as if breaking out of a trance, eyes widening when he saw the rapidly reddening marks he'd left on his hyung's skin. He looked close to tears again, and Seonghwa's heart stuttered. He drew closer, cupping Mingi's face and hitching in a breath when he felt him leaning into the touch.

Seonghwa pressed a rewarding kiss to his mouth, more to soothe him than anything, but didn't let Mingi deepen it for fear that he'll lose it again. "What's wrong, Mingi-ya?" he asked, though his hopes of getting an answer faded thinner and thinner into nothingness when Mingi brushed their noses together, chasing his mouth. "Talk to me," Seonghwa insisted.

Mingi pulled back a little so he could look at him, and Seonghwa couldn't really feel his face anymore, but whatever Mingi must have seen on there pulled a low moan from his parted lips. "Fuck me," he said. "Please, hyung, I need you so badly."

He let Mingi indulge in him for a moment, kissing softly over the marks on his jaw almost as an apology, then taking his wrists and doing the same to each of them, even though the trace he'd left on him had faded away, too faint to really leave anything behind. "I'm sorry I hurt you, hyung. I never meant to."

"You— fuck," he choked out as Mingi's lips moved to the sensitive skin of his throat. Before he was able to think better of it, Seonghwa tilted his head to give him better access, and Mingi sighed contentedly into his skin as if this barely there sign of something that wasn't outright rejection was everything to him. Seonghwa pulled back abruptly, visibly worried. "You can't just... fuck away your problems." Mingi's eyes pointedly darted down to the outline of Seonghwa's half-hard cock, visible through his pants. "No," he said sharply. "Sit the fuck down."

Startled at his tone, Mingi complied, heading to the couch as Seonghwa closed the living room door and turned the key. Mingi squirmed in his seat, anticipation and fright blending together with the hurt that was still lingering. Seonghwa joined him, next to him but at a careful distance so none of him was touching Mingi.

But Mingi was aching to feel him, so he took his hand, and Seonghwa allowed it. He gave in and patted his thigh. "Come here," he said. 

Mingi's eyes twinkled as they caught the light, and he wasted no time flinging up a leg over Seonghwa's lap and bracing his weight on his knees on either side of his thighs so as to not crush him. "Can I kiss you?"

Seonghwa gave him a half smile, looking almost sad. With the hand that wasn't holding Mingi's, he reached out beneath his shirt, splaying his palm over the small of his back and keeping it there, the touch so comforting and warm that Mingi almost started crying again. Seonghwa's wife used to do that for him when he was anxious, and it always calmed him down. "Not yet, Mingi-ya. Tell me what's wrong, and if you still want me then, I'll kiss you," he said softly. 

Mingi didn't seem to be able to hold his gaze. "That's the problem, hyung. I shouldn't want you like this. But I... I—" 

"Hongjoongie isn't okay with it?" he asked softly. Mingi shrugged. 

"He keeps saying that he is, but... I don't know anymore." His lip quivered, and Seonghwa's eyes darted down to follow the movement. He didn't know why, but he wanted to suck it into his mouth and bite it raw. "I think he's still in love with you, hyung," he continued in a fearful whisper, and Seonghwa laughed, truly believing that he was taking the piss. But it quickly died on his lips when he saw that look on Mingi's face. 

"He's not... Ah, Mingi-ya, how can I put this..." He laughed nervously. "Hongjoong helped me through a really terrible time in my life. But... we were never together." 

Mingi frowned. Hongjoong hadn't truly talked about it with him, but the things he wasn't saying spoke volumes, too. Whatever had gone on between them, it hadn't been a glitch. Not to Hongjoong, anyway. "I... I don't think I'm supposed to be telling you this, but—" He met Seonghwa's eyes, steeling himself. "Hyung, the first time he saw me..." Mingi blushed, embarrassed. "...The first thing that crossed his mind was that I'm exactly your type." 

"W— What?" Seonghwa stammered, genuinely at a loss. 

"...Yeah. He let it slip to me once, drunk out of his mind and crying on my shoulder. It was our first night together. He'll deny ever saying it if I try to ask, but... I know it's true." 

"You're not..." Seonghwa tried, face heating. Mingi's weight pressing down on his thighs, far too close, didn't help matters at all. 

"You like cute girls with short hair and a good fashion sense," Mingi continued absently, "but also pretty tall guys who dress like the fucking Latino lovers from the soap operas you two used to drink your feelings to. What do you think inspired him to write ARRIBA?" 

"I— I'm straight. He knows that." 

"You're... straight," Mingi echoed, the disbelief in his voice so obvious that Seonghwa had the urge to repeat himself, but he didn't dare. Hongjoong knew him better than anyone. And he did have a thing for the love interests in soap operas, but then again, who didn't? They were the ideal. 

"And you're no Latino lover," Seonghwa added with a small, petulant smile. At that, Mingi's eyes twinkled, a lazy smile curling up his mouth as he hummed. Seonghwa's gaze was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. 

"Wanna bet on that?" 

Seonghwa wanted to reply, but he seemed to have forgotten how words worked when Mingi slid down to his knees in front of the couch, nudging his thighs apart so he'd settle between them. "No puedo dejar de pensar en ti," he drawled out, the accent thick but surprisingly accurate. I can't stop thinking about you. Seonghwa didn't know if to laugh or push up his hips into the hand tracing the outline of his cock. "Llévame a tu cama." Take me to your bed. 

Seonghwa carded his fingers through his hair, looking down at him with marbled eyes the color of the darkest night sky. "Fuck," he choked out. Mingi grinned. 

"How'd I do?" 

"Adequate enough." He brushed his fingers over Mingi's cheekbone softly, something inside him twisting when he leaned into it, craving the touch. "I can work with that." 

"I want you in my mouth. Can I, hyung?" 

Seonghwa's eyes darted to the door, double checking that it was closed. He turned back to Mingi. "You're hurting, Mingi-ya. I don't want you to do something you're gonna regret."

In place of a reply, Mingi reached up to undo his pants, something falling out of his pocket in the process. Seonghwa's face fell when he saw the Princess Luna toy, and Mingi let out a soft laugh. "What's with that, hyung?" 

Seonghwa blushed. "Marika told me to give it to Yunho, but I... didn't get around to it." Mingi raised his brows. 

"To Yunho? Why?" 

"She likes him, I guess." Mingi took the figurine and turned it around in his hand with a strange look in his eyes. 

"Do you, hyung?" Seonghwa's breath left his lungs in a shaky exhale. He took Princess Luna away from him and set it down on the couch at his side. 

"No," he said pointedly, and fisted a hand in Mingi's hair with intention. A corner of his mouth curled up. 

"Whatever you need, hyung," he said, and reached out to expose Seonghwa's cock, half hard and fit to his exact expectations. He wasn't that thick, but he was long enough that Mingi knew he wouldn't last at all with it inside him, and that thought alone had him hitch in a breath. "Mingi..." he warned. "You don't have to. We can talk it out, or I can just hold you." 

"I don't want to talk, hyung, and neither do you. I want you to fuck my mouth." 

Seonghwa fought back against a choked moan, fingers tightening in Mingi's hair. After the briefest of hesitations, he nodded, turning even redder. "Only if you're sure." 

That was all the confirmation Mingi needed to guide his cock into his mouth. He fully hardened around his lips as Mingi got used to the feel of him on his tongue, bobbing his head slowly and using his hand to cover the rest. Seonghwa pushed his hair away from his face so he had the perfect view of his cock lewdly disappearing into his pretty mouth, and Mingi gave him a contented hum of gratitude. He quit his teasing, finally making proper use of his tongue, swirling it around the head and pressing lightly into his shaft. He let the precome gather on his tongue and swallowed, eyes never leaving Seonghwa's. 

"Mingi..." His thighs tensed up as Mingi opened his mouth wide and let his throbbing cock slide lewdly over his tongue, and Seonghwa knew he couldn't take it anymore when he saw he was thrusting up into his palm through his jeans, so turned on by having dick in his mouth. He used the grip on his hair to get him to sink deeper on his length, stilling when he gagged, but Mingi moaned, urging him to let him take even more. "Fuck, you really are perfect, aren't you." 

The words sent Mingi's hips going into his hand as he let Seonghwa use his mouth for his pleasure. He came just like that, making a mess in his underwear like a lovesick teenager, and Seonghwa lost it too at the sight of him falling apart. "Mingi, Mingi-ya, I'm so close, I'm gonna—" 

Mingi nodded, looking up at him and somehow managing to smirk. Seonghwa sank his teeth into his soft bottom lip to keep the sounds at bay as he thrusted his hips up into Mingi's mouth, spilling down his waiting throat. And he swallowed every drop greedily, like he couldn't get enough. Seonghwa had done it to Hongjoong a few times too, and he didn't really remember many details with how drunk and dissociated he'd been, but he didn't remember ever feeling this eager about it, enjoying it as much as Mingi seemed to. 

He tucked himself back into his pants and pulled Mingi up for a lazy kiss, letting him wrap his arms around him and holding his breath in the anticipation that he'd start crying again. But Mingi didn't, content to just stay like that with him, pressing soft kisses to his throat. "Can I sleep in your room, hyung? Don't wanna be alone." 

Seonghwa hadn't really spent the night with anyone since Hongjoong, and he realized, with a panic he couldn't quite explain, that the only two people he'd slept with since his wife died were both men. He was too young for a midlife crisis, for fuck's sake. He needed to get his shit together. He didn't like guys; Hongjoong didn't know shit. 

Still, he knew he couldn't deny him this now, and took Mingi to his bedroom. He let him use the shower first, shaking his head when he suggested they showered together to save water. Mingi pouted, but didn't protest. Seated on the bed, Seonghwa pulled his knees to his chest and laid his head down, not unlike the position he and Marika had found Mingi in. He didn't cry, but he felt empty. 

Mingi kissed his cheek when he returned, oblivious, and said, "I don't blame Hongjoong-hyung. I wouldn't want to share you either if you were mine." 

Seonghwa didn't reply, couldn't reply, but luckily Mingi was too out of it to notice the petrified look on his face, passing out the moment his head hit the pillow. Seonghwa took his time in the bathroom, sitting down on the cold shower floor with the hot water running down his body and absentmindedly scrolling through his phone, wishing he had a cigarette to smoke. 

He was shaking when he finally stepped out, holding his breath in anticipation to see Mingi's face looking back at him with those wide eyes of his, telling Seonghwa that he wanted him again, but he was still fast asleep. Seonghwa slipped out of the room as inconspicuously as he could and shuffled over to Marika's. He stood over her sleeping form for a moment, letting the sight of her ground him, and reached out to pull the blanket over her, gently as to not wake her. 

He grabbed his keys and wallet off the mantel and locked the house behind him, constantly glancing over his shoulder. The contrast to the version of himself who tended to San's wound and held his ground with the detectives pained him. He felt like a criminal, and startled at the smallest of noises, quickening his step. The tired cashier gave him a bored look when she saw him, and he brushed past her, feet leading him straight to the alcohol section. 

His mouth watered at the array of bottles, and he had to tear his eyes away, shaking his head. He turned away, precariously close to crossing a line he'd promised himself he would never cross again. He picked up some frozen lasagna instead and promptly headed to pay, not looking back. He knew that if he did, he wouldn't have left here without a handful of bottles. 

"Anything else?" the cashier asked, visibly bored. Seonghwa bristled a little at the fact that he was being talked to, but quickly collected himself. 

"I, uh... Yeah. A pack of Winston Slims. The minty ones, if you have them."

She turned away to flip through the array of packs behind the cash desk, and just as she was pulling out the one Seonghwa had requested, he changed his mind. "Actually, could I have a Dunhill Black instead?"

Chapter Text

Seonghwa's fingers were trembling around the cigarette, thicker and tangier than the slims he was used to. Stronger, too. How the fuck was Yunho able to smoke so many? He coughed his way through his first one, yet when he neared his house, he felt significantly calmer. He threw it in the trash and lit himself another one, figuring it was as good a way as any to numb himself.

But his toubles were far from over. The sight of the familiar dark blue Land Rover with the headlights on and the engine still running, parked across the street, sent him reeling. For a moment, he thought he was dreaming. He rubbed at his eyes, only for the smoke of the burning cigarette between his fingers to sting him. He had the urge to stub it out, but if she really were here and not a figment of Seonghwa's sleep deprived imagination, he didn't owe it to her to succumb to her expectations. Not anymore.

Heart in his throat, he crossed the street and paused outside her window. Park Youra herself, slumped in the driver's seat with her head tilted back, a cigarette burning out between her fingers and a half-full Soju bottle nestled between her thighs. She had her eyes closed and didn't see him, but oh, he was seeing her. Seonghwa fought back a cruel laugh, and inhaled from his own cig. He could walk away and none would be the wiser. She probably wouldn't even know he'd been there at all.

But he couldn't pass up on this chance. Not after everything. And despite himself, he felt a tinge of worry; what if she drove away, and he found out from the news that she'd died in a car crash? He knocked on the window until she woke up, startled. The ash from her cigarette spilled over her clothes, and so did some of the contents of her bottle.

Her eyes widened at the sight of him, and she quickly put out the cigarette, as if he hadn't seen it, clicking the window open. She made a poor attempt at smoothing out the wrinkles on her clothes, as if not looking her best was the ultimate problem.

"You have something on your pants, Eomma," he said, smoke tendrils coming out of his mouth and right into his mother's caught out face. Her eyes flared, but if she wanted to reprimand him for it, she held it in, realizing what it would have sounded like.

"Seonghwa..." she choked out, her voice raspy. It almost pained him to hear her like this; almost. The rest of him only felt a twisted sort of satisfaction.

Seonghwa looked down at the bottle she was clutching and his mouth curled up. "Does Appa know you're a high functioning alcoholic? Or is he one too, now?"

"He— No. He doesn't even know I'm here," she said, so quietly he almost didn't catch it. She didn't seem to be able to hold his gaze for more than a split second before she had to look away in shame. "He wouldn't have let me come if he did."

"That's wise," he replied, tone clipped. "You should have listened to him."

Her door clicked open, and Seonghwa staggered back as she stepped out, swaying a little before she caught her balance, the bottle still in her hand. He looked away from it, feeling a surge of sympathy. Still, he kept his distance, gripping the store bag tigher and inhaling deep into his lungs. He grimaced at the taste, and realized he was smoking filter. Without a word, he strode over to the nearest trash can, taking his time, aware of her eyes on him, no doubt taking him in, too thin as he was and worn out from the sheer chaos of these past days.

When he returned, she tried to step closer, but he stilled her by drawing back. "Put down the bottle." Reluctantly, she reached inside the car and searched for the cap for what felt like hours before finally discarding it in a pocket in the door. She smiled, and it looked strange in that light, though if from the sheer amount of botox she'd injected into her skin or the sheen of alcohol in her gaze, he couldn't tell. He was frozen in place, only snapping out of it when she drew closer again, hands stretched out in front of her as if in a gesture of peace. "That's close enough," Seonghwa said, as gently as he could.

She looked like she'd taken a slap to the face, but gave a resigned nod and leaned back against the car for support. He watched impassively as she lit herself a new cigarette with shaking hands and took a greedy drag from it, the weary lines of her face immediately relaxing. "How could you not tell us?" she whispered. 

Seonghwa froze. "Tell you... what, exactly?"

"That she's dead."

He flinched, feeling his walls draw up. "As if you cared. You hated her from the moment you saw her, and made it your life's goal to torment her. Why would I have told you?"

"Seonghwa..." she began, a soft sob leaving her lips. "I know you loved her. And that poor, sweet child... We're her family, too. We could've— we could've helped you."

"Don't say her name."

"I only found out her name yesterday, Seonghwa-ya," she said shaprly, with the air of someone who had given up pretending. "From the same PI that got me your address. The house is barely adequate, but I suppose it's the only one a historian and a measly accountant could afford." She huffed out a mouthful of smoke, eyes narrowing. "Don't look at me like that, you stupid boy. How else was I supposed to find you?"

"You weren't. But you have my congratulations." He dug out his phone. "Now you know, and I know that you know, and you can be on your way."

He typed the address on the Uber app, but Suncheon-si was a long way, and he didn't find any ride that far, and especially at this hour, despite having been willing to pay the fee. He muttered a curse under his breath, and sighed, rubbing at his temples and recoiling at the tobacco smell on his fingers. "Ah, shit... I can't let you drive like this."

Her eyes brightened. "Can I stay, then?"

Seonghwa laughed, though the sound was devoid of any humor. "No. Absolutely not."

"I want to see her." He didn't reply, and didn't have the energy to pull away when she stumbled to him and clung to his sleeve like a child. "Please, Seonghwa-ya. You owe me that."

His eyes snapped to her. "I don't owe you anything. Not after what you did. She almost had a miscarriage because of you. I forgave you many things. But hurting her like that..." He met her eyes. "I can't forgive that."

Her eyes filled with tears, and she let go of him, stumbling back. "A miscarriage... What do you mean?"

Seonghwa laughed again, lip curling. "Has all that alcohol wiped out your memory? You can't remember the fight you had? Her falling down the stairs?" Youra stammered, skin pulling taut around a frown.

"I never— I didn't..."

"Of course you didn't," he said softly, feeling something unpleasant twist inside him like a knife to the gut. He was so tired. He reached over her inside the car to roll up the window and kill the engine, then turned to her sternly. "Stay here. I'll be back. Don't follow me."

He jogged to his house, relentlessly looking over his shoulder, but she was still there, staring after him. He knew Youra well enough not to delude himself into thinking she'd listen, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. He took the stairs two at a time and checked on Marika first, making sure she was still fast asleep before creeping into his own room. He breathed out a sigh of relief when he saw Mingi's phone on the bed at his side, and pried it away gently. Mingi stirred, and Seonghwa held his breath in anticipation, but somehow, he didn't wake. He slipped out and unlocked Mingi's phone, knowing the password to be MINJOONG, all in caps and followed by the date they'd met. He sat down on the stairs, as he'd heard the front door open, no doubt his mother deigning she'd waited enough and deciding to snoop around. 

His fingers were trembling, and he left sweaty prints on the screen as he scrolled through Mingi's contacts until he got to the one he was looking for. 

He put the phone to his ear, willing his heart to stop its frantic thundering. Yunho picked up on the second ring, panting into the mic as if he'd been running. "Mingi?" he asked, startled. "What the fuck?" 

Seonghwa wanted to hang up, but he could viscerally feel his mother's presence downstairs, and was desperate for it to go away; so he steeled himself— "No, it's... It's Park Seonghwa." 

He heard a sigh on the other side of the phone, muffled as if Yunho had covered the microphone, followed by something that sounded like "Get off me," and the opening of a car's door. Seonghwa flinched. Was he...? 

His suspicions turned to certainty when he heard the unmistakable rustling of clothes being fixed back into place, the tug of a zipper. Seonghwa brought a hand up to his cheek, helplessly trying to cool down the almost feverish heat of his skin. 

"Seonghwa?" he asked, sounding a little breathless, and clearly worried. "What's wrong? Are you alright?" 

That was when the tears started falling. "I'm... There's—" He swallowed dryly, taking a few deep breaths that quickly turned into hyperventilation. 

"Okay, just breathe," Yunho said firmly, taking a few guiding breaths. Seonghwa did his best to match his steady rhythm, slowly feeling himself come back. "Talk to me. What happened?" 

Seonghwa wiped at his cheeks. He couldn't afford to cry now. "Yunho-ssi," he said at last, "I'm sorry. I need a favor." 

He found Youra slumped on the couch, staring down at the Princess Luna toy she was holding in her hands, and fought back a grimace, eyes searching for any leftover trace of what he and Mingi had done there and hoping she wouldn't be able to tell. She smiled wistfully when she saw him, but her look quickly turned into confusion. "Why is your face so red?" 

Seonghwa didn't deign that with a reply. "Come to the kitchen," he told her instead, hearing his own voice as if from outside of himself. He didn't look back to see if she was following, knowing that she would be. She knew as well as he did that if she was allowed close to him, it would be on his terms. He let that certainty ground him as he picked up the discarded bag he'd left in the hallway and calmly placed the lasagna in the freezer. 

He took the cigarettes out, and folded the bag neatly, that simple act somehow bringing back some of the feeling inside him. 

She warily sat down at the table, thankfully not in Freja's seat, for he would have probably blown up, rendering the flimsy progress Yunho's stupid breathing techniques had done for him useless. He took Princess Luna away from her and placed her in his pocket, then sat down too, lighting himself a cigarette and watching her fingers twitch with the need to smoke. 

"You can," he said, gesturing at his own pack.

She gave him the ghost of an uncertain smile and pulled one out from her pack. Sobranie Black, the authentic Russian ones. The strongest and probably the most expensive brand out there. And it looked right at home between her graceful, beautifully manicured fingers, as diligently arranged as the rest of her, despite the toll aging had taken on her and the general fucked-upness of the obvious alcoholism. Seonghwa supposed this was where he'd gotten his neatness from, his need for perfection, and the talent of concealing himself. 

"Since when do you smoke?" he asked her, and she snorted.

"I smoked every day of my life since I was fourteen. Only stopped when I found out I was pregnant with you, and started again the day after I gave birth." 

Seonghwa's eyes widened, heart turning cold. "And... You hid it for years?" 

She smiled sadly. "Did a damn good job of it, too. Oh, close your mouth or you'll catch a fly." Seonghwa's jaw snapped shut almost of its own accord. She twirled the cigarette between her fingers, an absent gleam in her eyes. "Though in my defense, I didn't do it as much back then. It worsened after you... cut ties with us." 

Seonghwa didn't let himself fall into her guilt trap. "Then why did you react like that when you caught me smoking back in high school? You didn't talk to me for days. Why the fuck would you do that to me?" 

She huffed. "You're my child. Of course I didn't want you to make the same mistake I did. And look where that got me. I should've been better to you." 

"Yeah," Seonghwa said sharply. "You should have. But it's too late for apologies now." 

"I don't want to apologize." Seonghwa bristled. "No, you don't understand. I've always wanted the best for you, you know that. All I ever did was to ensure that for you." 

"Keep your voice down," he hissed. 

Youra took a long drag and exhaled toward the ceiling before firmly meeting his gaze again. "I didn't hurt Freja. I didn't like her, but I never would have done anything to harm her." She pointed out each word so forcefully that for a moment, Seonghwa felt his resolve waver. "I don't know what she told you, but I'm not the monster you think I am." 

"I don't— Ah, fuck..." he trailed off, choking on filter. Youra gave him a sympathetic look. 

"I'm proud of you, you know? You did well for yourself, despite everything." She gestured around the house. He snorted in annoyance, but deep down, his treacherous heart gave a painful flip. He'd wanted to hear those words from her mouth for years, yet now that he'd heard them, they weren't soothing at all. 

"What about the alcohol? Did you do that all your life, too?" 

She hesitated for a moment, a flicker of shame crossing her face. "...No. That's— more recent."

"What about your work, Eomma? Your patients?" 

She shot him a cold look. "I never drink at work. What do you take me for?" She paused, then sighed. "I'm planning to retire." 

"You're not old enough to retire," Seonghwa replied, frowning. 

"I know, but..." She gestured to herself, turning sad. "It's getting worse. It's better for me if I go away, really." 

Seonghwa shook his head, heart shriking painfully in his chest. He took her hand, holding her gaze, and she flinched at first, but quickly squeezed back. "It's gonna get worse if you retire, Eomma," he said slowly. "You love your work. You always did. Take comfort in that."

Youra could only stare for a long moment, moved. "Does Marika know anything about us? Anything at all, did you tell her?" Seonghwa retracted his hand. 

"I... No, not really." Whenever Marika asked when she was smaller, he'd brushed it off until she got distracted by something else and forgot about it. In truth, the only extended family that had been around to see her growing up was Freja's mother, who'd died when Marika was four, and now there was only her sister, Annika, who was so overzealous that neither him nor Marika could bear to be around her for more than five minutes at a time, and even that was sometimes too much. 

Youra looked hurt. "She deserves to know her family," she said weakly. 

And Seonghwa's heart hurt too, but when he spoke, his voice remained steady. "I am her family." She didn't say anything to that, so he continued. "Why did you hire a PI in the first place? And why now?" 

"I found out about her, Seonghwa."

"How?" 

"I—" 

"Hyung?" 

They both froze. Seonghwa watched in slow motion as his mother's eyes widened and she rose up from her chair, dropping the cigarette on the table. He picked it up and placed it in the ashtray-mug before turning to a startled Youra standing face to face with Mingi. 

He was wearing nothing but a pair of baby blue velvet pants Seonghwa had fished out for him from his closet, and they were a tight fit around his thighs. No underwear, either, so nothing was left to the imagination. "Who the fuck are you?" she yelled.

"I could ask the same of you, lady," Mingi replied, forehead creasing as the realization dawned on him. "Hyung, don't tell me that's your mother." 

"Of course I'm his mother. Who else would I be?" She turned to Seonghwa. "Why do you have a... a fucking stripper in your house?"

"How dare—"

Seonghwa stepped in between them and conjured up all the calmness he didn't quite feel, taking a few steady breaths. "Mingi's not a stripper," he said. "He's a friend of mine, and that's how he likes to sleep. Isn't that right, Mingi-ya?"

His eyes narrowed, but a pointed look from Seonghwa cut out all his protests. "Yes," he said through gritted teeth, shooting Seonghwa a brief glare. Youra relaxed slightly, though she still looked suspicious.

"You're not... together, are you?" she asked, forcing out the words as if they pained her. Both Seonghwa and Mingi grimaced, though not in disgust at her suggestion as she must have thought. "Oh, good," she said. "I'd rather have you with a woman like Freja, may she rest easy, than..." Her eyes darted to Mingi. "No offense."

"None taken," Mingi replied on a tone that suggested the exact opposite. Youra popped another cig into her mouth as she finally took in the sight of Mingi with a raised brow.

"You're very pretty," she remarked. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

Seonghwa shook his head warningly, but Mingi wasn't looking at him at all. His cutting smile was trained on Youra. "Boyfriend, actually."

"Ah," she said disinterestedly, her attention on the cigarette. Still, she felt the need to add, "But not my son."

"No," Mingi replied on that same tone. "Not Seonghwa."

Seonghwa felt the burning need to flee, and maybe he would have done it if he hadn't seen Marika standing there in the doorway, rubbing the sleep away from her eyes, probably awakened by their shouting. "Appa?"

He froze, and so did Mingi, while Youra grinned softly and lowered herself to the floor so she'd be at eye level with the girl. She still had the cigarette between her fingers. Mingi scooted over to the side to make room. Marika drew closer, glancing warily up at her father as she took in the sight of the woman on the floor. "Hi," Youra said, looking close to tears. "You— you look just like my Seonghwa."

"Appa, who is she?" Marika asked. Seonghwa's heart was frozen inside him, yet he still did his best to give his daughter a reassuring smile.

"Monkey, meet your grandmother." He gestured for Youra to get up and narrowed his eyes at the cigarette, which she stubbed out with shaking hands.

Marika frowned sadly up at him, the last traces of sleep from her eyes fading away. "My grandmother's in heaven, remember?" she whispered. Seonghwa shook his head, unable to stop his heart from breaking. 

"No, Mari-ah," he said gently. "That was your eomma's eomma. She's my mother."

Marika's eyes widened. "You have a mother too?"

"My name's Youra," she said, sounding a little choked up. "You can call me that if you like, Marika-ssi."

Before Seonghwa had the chance to react, Marika threw her arms around Youra's middle and pressed her cheek to her stomach. He exchanged a look with Mingi, who now looked at decency's limit, having somehow found the time to throw on a hoodie. Youra carded a gentle hand through her hair. For a moment, none of them could say anything, collectively holding their breaths. And then Marika pulled away to pout up at her father.

"I like her," she said. "I've always wanted a new granny after grandma Agnes went to heaven. Can we keep her? Can I also have a gandpa?"

"You do have a gandpa, Marika-ssi," Youra said, discreetly wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "His name is Seojoon. Would you like to meet him?"

Marika turned to Seonghwa, the hope in her eyes spilling over and choking him. "Can I, Appa?"

"I..."

Her critical eye quickly turned back to Youra, not quite waiting for Seonghwa's reply. "Why are you crying, Youra-ssi? Did you also watch a sad movie like Mingi-oppa did?"

Youra let out a strangled laugh. "What?"

Marika turned to look at Mingi for a moment, a frown of concentration crossing her face. "Actually, I don't think I'm supposed to tell you. Yunho-ssi said I shouldn't tell stuff to strangers."

"Who's— ah, fuck it," she muttered. "We can get to know each other, Mari-ssi. We won't be strangers then, and you can tell me whatever you want to. Would you like that?"

"Yeah," Marika replied, her smile so wide it took over her face and turned her eyes to little crescent moons.

The sound of the front door opening rang through the silence, and they all turned around in perfect sync, as if they were one body. A strange warmth fluttered through Seonghwa's veins, the relief awakening his heart. 

He was wearing a dark overcoat this time, and his hair was messed up as if he'd had somebody's hands roaming through it. He looked at Marika first, giving her a bright smile, then locked eyes with Seonghwa. For a moment, he couldn't breathe. 

"Who's that?" Youra asked, breaking the dense silence. Seonghwa's eyes lingered on him for what felt like hours but were probably only a few heartbeats, before turning to his mother with a nearly manic grin.

"That's Yunho."

"Is he..." she trailed off, eyes darting between them not unlike they had when she'd seen Mingi.

"I'm a friend," Yunho said, smile dimming into a stone-cold professionalism that drew the same out of Youra, who quickly collected herself beneath his watchful gaze. "There's a car waiting for you outside to take you home." He turned to Seonghwa, and gave him a reassuring smile. Seonghwa wanted to bury himself in the safety of him and stay there until he ran out of air. 

"You're leaving, Youra-ssi?" Marika asked sadly, lip quivering.

"I'll be back," Youra was quick to assure her, leaning down to kiss her head. Her grin turned blade-sharp when she turned it upon her son. "Isn't that right, Seonghwa?"

His heart stuttered, everything inside him filling to the brim with dread. "Eomma..." he tried, but it came out choked. 

"Ma'am, come with me," Yunho urged, ushering Youra out the door as Mingi came up to Seonghwa and took him into his arms. Marika was holding his hand, relentlessly asking him if he was okay. Seonghwa couldn't reply, couldn't even breathe properly, Mingi's grip on him the only thing keeping him from falling down. The more his silence stretched on, the more worried Marika grew, and not even Mingi's reassurances could stop her from breaking out into a fit of confused tears. 

"Is that a police car?" Youra yelled on the other side of the kitchen door, throwing her arms around in panic. "Why would he do that to me? How much can my own son hate me to— to call the cops to take me away, I—" Yunho placed a soothing hand on her back.

"Don't worry, you've done nothing wrong," he said steadily. "That's a friend of ours, and she's going to take you home, alright? Your son doesn't hate you. He wants you to be safe. Kazuha over there and I are only here to make that happen. I promise you you're not in trouble." 

"What about my car?" 

"Don't worry about that," he waved off. "We'll have it towed to you first thing tomorrow." 

Reluctantly, she agreed to let him lead her to the car and help her climb in the front seat, albeit not making it an easy job for him with all her protests, because she liked to be difficult until the end. The driver, Kazuha, took a good look at Youra and said, "You owe me big time for this, Yunho-ya." 

"Yeah, yeah. Coffee's on me for the rest of the month." 

"And I want that pretty green bag I saw yesterday in that shop's window." 

Yunho waved his hand. "It's yours." She nodded, visibly pleased with herself. He moved to close the door, but Youra stopped him, eyes wide. 

"Hold on, you— You're the one who called me, aren't you?" 

Yunho didn't hesitate to deny. "You're mistaking me for someone else." 

"No, I'm sure it was you. I recognize your voice." 

He didn't reply, pushing the door shut and tilting his head to Kazuha, prompting her to drive. 

"Appa, what's wrong?" Marika choked out through her tears. 

With what felt like the last of his strength, Seonghwa pulled away from Mingi so he could look at her, giving her a smile that she might have believed to be genuine were it not for him losing his balance and bracing his hand on the table so he wouldn't fall. Mingi steadied him with a hand on his back and laid him down in a chair. "Nothing's wrong, monkey," he managed. "I got a little overwhelmed, that's all." 

But she only shook her head and cried harder, throwing herself into Seonghwa's arms. "I don't want you to be sad, Appa."

He leaned into Mingi's touch on his back and did his best to hold his tears at bay as he caressed Marika's hair with a shaking hand. His salvation came in the form of the clearing of a throat that made Marika pull away from him, startled. "Marika-ssi? Could I talk to you for a bit?" 

Yunho held out a hand for her, and maybe it was the look on his face, or the sense of security he radiated due to the badge on his hip or simply the way he was, but Marika took it. He gently wiped the tears from her cheeks and smiled down at her. He leaned in to whisper something in her ear, and she frowned, confused. "But..."

He shook his head to quiet her protests and leaned in again. Seonghwa watched as if through a veil of sorts as relief flooded Marika's face upon hearing his words. She turned to him with a sort of curious hope in her eyes. "Is that true, Appa?" 

Yunho gave him a brief nod. "Yeah," he managed, and even smiled a little. "It's okay, Mari-ah."

She brightened and pulled away from Yunho to give her father a bruising hug that almost made him break down crying again, but somehow he managed to hold it in for Marika's sake as he watched her take Yunho's hand again. 

"Can I have a bedtime story?" she asked him, and he gave her a soft grin. 

"Of course." 

As they walked away, Yunho mouthed a quick "trust me", and Seonghwa could only nod, realizing that he did. He shot Mingi a look that seemed to tell him to stay here and let Marika pull him out of the room with a "Good night" thrown over her shoulder. 

Only when the echo of their footsteps up the stairs faded away did he let himself reach for Yunho's — his — cigarettes numbly, under Mingi's watchful gaze. He sat down at Seonghwa's side in the other chair, and snapped the lighter for him when he couldn't with how badly he was shaking. 

He choked again, the sound quickly turning into a pitiful laugh. "I don't understand how he does it," he heard himself say, though if he meant the way he'd calmed down Marika or smoking these cigarettes, he didn't know. 

"Hyung," Mingi called out, reaching for his hand almost warily and giving him time to pull away. Seonghwa didn't, choosing to cling to him instead. "I'm here," he said softly. 

"I know you are," Seonghwa replied, meeting his gaze. "You always are, these days. Even when I don't want you to." 

Mingi's heart hurt at his words, though he did his best not to show it. "Want me to go?" he asked softly, and Seonghwa only squeezed his hand tighter in response. His eyes closed. 

"You caused me nothing but trouble," he mused, exhaling the smoke up toward the ceiling. "But it's okay. I suppose I deserve it." He reached for the front of Mingi's shirt to pull him closer. 

Mingi shook his head with a small smile. "Hyung... You shouldn't fuck away your problems. That's what you said to me, remember?" 

Seonghwa hummed. "I don't want to do that. I just wanna kiss you." 

"I— okay," Mingi replied, and leaned in to press a soft kiss to his mouth, pulling away when Seonghwa tried to deepen it. He let out a soft whimper, and Mingi knew he had to drift the topic away before he broke down again. "You taste like..." His eyes fell on the cigarette in his hand, and then on the pack discarded on the table. "Enjoying my cigs, are you, hyung?" 

Seonghwa frowned, grabbing the pack almost possessively. "Your— no. They're mine. I just bought them." 

"No, I meant they're the same ones I smoke." 

"You like Dunhills too?" 

"Yeah, I..." Mingi froze. Yunho. Hongjoong. He patted his pockets, realizing these pants didn't have any. "Fuck, I think I left my phone upstairs." 

Seonghwa laughed, though Mingi didn't understand the joke. "No, you didn't." He pulled it out from his pocket and handed it to him. "I took it to call Yunho. I don't have his number," he explained absently as he smoked. He leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes again. "Yunho's... He's just so—" 

"Hyung, I need to call Hongjoong," he interrupted. "I'll be right back." 

"Promise?" 

"Yeah." Seonghwa waved his hand vaguely, and didn't even register Mingi walking away. 

He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he could feel were cold fingers prying a burnt out cigarette from between his own. He caught the offending wrist, and opened his eyes right into Yunho's. "Oh, it's you," he said, letting go. "Your cigs suck, you know?" 

Yunho laughed softly. "Yeah, that's what I used to say through my first pack, too." He dropped it in the ashtray-mug and leaned back against the counter. Seonghwa let out a soft sound of protest and patted the other chair. 

"Sit here." Yunho hesitated for a moment, but did as asked. "Is she asleep?" 

"Out cold," he replied. "It's really late." 

"What did you say to her?" 

He shrugged a shoulder, sheepish. "That you'd missed your mom." 

Seonghwa's laugh sounded more like a cough. "That's it?" 

"Yes and no," he replied. Seonghwa snorted, but didn't insist. Marika would tell him herself. "Where's Mingi?" 

"Around here, somewhere," Seonghwa replied, waving his hand aimlessly. "He had to do something, but I forgot what." Yunho's gaze turned worried. 

"Did you take anything? It's okay, you can tell me." 

Seonghwa grinned. "You won't arrest me, Detective?" 

"You have my word." 

"I didn't take anything, though. I know it seems like I did, but... I always get like this when I'm sad. It's probably all the alcohol I consumed through the years. It's okay now, though. I'm clean."

If Seonghwa hadn't known any better, he'd have said the look on Yunho's face was one of relief. "That's good." 

There was a pause, slightly awkward, though Seonghwa didn't quite feel it as acutely as maybe he should have. "I'm really sorry." 

"What for?" 

"This," he gestured around. "I had no right to impose on you like that. Or to..." he looked away, face heating slightly. "...interrupt you. You were... clearly in the middle of something." 

Yunho cleared his throat. "I... it's no matter. You didn't impose. And about the other thing... don't feel guilty, Seonghwa-ssi. About any of it. I'm happy I could help." 

Seonghwa accepted it with a crooked smile and a nod, then fell back into silence for a long moment, deep in thought. "Did she cry any more?" 

Yunho shook his head. "She only did because she was worried about you. She loves you a lot," he said, and Seonghwa heard the barely stifled wonder in his tone. 

"You have a family, Detective?" 

"No." 

"No girlfriend?" His mind went to the exchange he'd witnessed between Yunho and Ryujin right here, in his kitchen. 

"Nothing lasting," Yunho said. "What you heard over the phone wasn't my girlfriend." 

"Boyfriend, then?" 

He smiled. "Not that, either. No partners. Just, you know... here and there." He wasn't used to being on the other end of an interrogation, but found no harm in indulging Seonghwa for a bit. Yunho could gracefully change the subject if he got into danger zone, and it would work at least as a means to distract Seonghwa from the tumult of his mother's arrival, essentially Yunho's fault in the first place. 

"Well, alright, but... What about relatives? Sorry, you don't have to answer if you don't want to, I just—"

Yunho waved him off with a small smile. "It's okay. I have an aunt, but we don't talk that much these days." Not unless aunt Narae wanted money, that was, but he didn't say that to Seonghwa. 

"No sisters, brothers?" Yunho shook his head. "Dogs?" 

"I've always wanted a dog. Wanted a dog so much that I named the cat I had as a child Dog." That pulled a laugh out from Seonghwa's lips, which really had been the purpose of it, though it didn't make the story less true. "But no," he continued. "No current dogs." 

Seonghwa hummed. "You never wanted a family of your own?" 

He hesitated, and Seonghwa was about to drop the matter, but then Yunho replied. "I... I was close to having one once, I think. She— my ex-wife..." 

Seonghwa raised his brows, surprised. "You were married?" Yunho looked away. 

"I... think so." 

"I'm not sure how to interpret your use of the word think."

Yunho rasped out a laugh. "Yeah, well. I was sixteen and she was fifteen. We paid a retired reverend in soju bottles and cigarettes to officiate the ceremony, and he misspelled my name on the certificate. The divorce lawyer laughed at us when we showed it to her and gave my money back." He shook his head as if to clear off the hazy memory. "She wanted to get married then, properly, but I... chickened out and did something... unforgivable," he finished, a pained frown resting between his brows.

"What'd you do, sleep with the divorce lawyer?" Yunho only turned red, and didn't reply. Seonghwa's eyes widened. "No way." 

"Yeah," Yunho said quietly. "I told her immediately after, and she— stopped talking to me, and rightfully so. I felt too guilty to even look for her, and found out years later from a friend of hers that she was pregnant at the time, and got an abortion." 

"Fuck," Seonghwa said. "I'm sorry." 

Yunho shrugged with the air of someone who had covered up bullet wounds with band-aids and blamed himself for the fact that the scars were hurting him. "It's how it usually goes," he said, wistful. "I'm close to having it all, and I ruin it. I ruin everything." The sadness in his eyes cut deep, and Seonghwa couldn't bear it. He reached out to brush his fingers over Yunho's cheek, feeling him shiver beneath his touch, surprise flashing across his face. 

"No," he said. "Not everything." Yunho frowned a little, his blush deepening. Seonghwa caught himself, realizing what he was doing and breaking away to take out another cig. Yunho reached for his wrist to still him, though. He pulled out a pack of his own instead and held it out for him. Minty Winston Slims.

"Have one of these instead?"

Seonghwa's heart stuttered as he took one and put it between his lips. He tried to light it, but Yunho reached out past him to take a Dunhill from his pack, and the closeness made him falter, lighter snapping off uselessly. Yunho popped the Dunhill into his mouth and took the lighter away from his fingers, leaning in to ignite Seonghwa's, so close they could smell the smoke on each other's breath.

Seonghwa's fingers instinctively wrapped around it as he inhaled, watching Yunho intently lighting his own. He hadn't looked at his hands before, finely sculpted with long fingers and veins protruding through papery pale skin, a teenage girl's true wet dream, but now he didn't seem to be able to look away. Without realizing, he exhaled a cloud of smoke in Yunho's face, making him cough. "Ya," he scolded. "I might smoke like a... a gangster, but... too much."

"A gangster?" 

"Like— Prohibition era." 

"That's not a thing people say, Yunho-ssi," Seonghwa said. "And you got it wrong. Prohibition era's all about alcohol."

"They didn't smoke back then?"

"Well, they did, but... you might want to change that to '15th century Frenchmen'. If you wanna be thorough. Ever heard of Jean Nicot?"

Yunho raised a brow. "As in nicotine?"

He nodded, the excitement shining in his gaze. "Yeah. He came up with the term. Fuck, you really should take me up on that tour. If I can make teenagers like history, I can rope you in, too."

"I do like it, I just... still have a lot to learn. About many things."

Seonghwa grinned. "So do I. I'll make it good for you, you'll see."

Yunho's eyes glinted prettily in the kitchen light "Promise?"

"Promise."

"Hyung, I'm— oh." They both turned to find Mingi standing in the doorway, phone in his hand and surprise in his eyes. Yunho took one last drag and threw it in the ashtray, rising up from his seat.

"Right," he said with a sigh. "I should get going." Strangely, Seonghwa wanted to tell him to stay, but didn't dare. Instead, he gave him a lopsided grin, feeling his face heat up.

"Thank you. For everything." Yunho nodded and set down the mints on the table.

"You keep these." He made the switch, taking the Dunhills for himself. He patted Seonghwa's hand awkwardly, and he found himself staring at Yunho's again, so intently he almost missed his next words. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

He barely had time to give him a dazed nod before Yunho turned away from him. "Mingi," he greeted stiffly. "I'll bring in more criminals."

"And I'll free them for a shamefully cheap fee," Mingi replied, and they exchanged the ghost of a smile that Seonghwa didn't quite understand, nor could he avert his eyes from. He brushed Mingi's arm as he went, something of an understanding passing between them. "He's alright," Mingi said after the front door had clicked shut. Seonghwa snorted. 

"I thought he was a liar and a scoundrel." 

"He's that, too. But, you know. Circumstances. Your mother, on the other hand..." 

"Don't," Seonghwa cut him off with a sigh. 

Mingi nodded, waiting for him to finish his cigarette in silence and then said, "Sleep?" 

Seonghwa pondered him for a long moment. "Yeah, okay." 

They lay side by side on Seonghwa's bed, looking at the ceiling instead of at each other. "They're safe. Left while you were talking to Yunho." 

"That's good," Seonghwa replied. The silence between them felt heavy.

"Hyung, I'm in love with Hongjoong-hyung," Mingi said in one breath, almost as if the words would come to life and bite him. Seonghwa nodded, not quite surprised. The password on Mingi's phone was quite telling, and so had been Hongjoong's little ambush in the shower. 

"He is too, I think. With you, I mean. Not with me. Sure, he might still be bitter about what happened between us, but... It's you he wants."

Mingi turned to face him, eyes shining. "You really think that?" 

"I know it, Mingi-ya," he said gently. He reached out to take his hand, and let himself sink into the closeness now. Mingi kissed his wrist, blushing a furious red. 

"It's over, I know, but... Hyung, can I kiss you again?" 

Seonghwa let out a soft laugh. "What?" 

"You're just so... You're— you look like a fucking Greek sculpture. I always had a thing for you, I think." Seonghwa grinned, and leaned over him to slot their mouths together, rather chastely at first, but then Mingi's hands were on his waist, pulling him flush on top of him, and he moaned at the casual show of strength. "Fuck, didn't know you were into that, hyung." Seonghwa hummed, letting his hands wander beneath Mingi's shirt with a fervor and curiosity that he didn't recall ever feeling before. "Though I guess it makes sense," he mused. "Latino lover and all that. You're still straight, right?" 

Seonghwa twisted at his nipple, making him whimper, hips thrusting up into the curve of his ass. Seonghwa stiffened at the contact, wondering how it would feel like. And because he was too far gone to care about any semblance of self-censorship, he asked, "Is it really as good as people say?" 

"What, hyung?" 

"You know..." He dragged over Mingi's slit pointedly, turning pink. 

"Oh," he choked out, surprised. "Maybe not for everyone. But I come the hardest like that." Mingi took ahold of his hips so he could sit up, holding back a sigh as his cock rubbed against the inside of Seonghwa's thigh. "Never done it with Hongjoongie-hyung?" 

"I... No. He asked me a few times, but I kept chickening out and just topped him. He didn't seem to have a problem with that, though," he added. 

"Not with a dick like yours, he wouldn't." He cupped Seonghwa through his pants, drawing a sharp hiss from his parted lips. "Want to try, hyung? I'll make it good for you."

I'll make it good for you. You'll see. 

Promise? Promise. 

Seonghwa bristled, forcing his mind away from him and back to Mingi. "...No." 

Mingi didn't seem to take offense, but maybe that was because he'd known Seonghwa wouldn't accept. He leaned up and kissed him. "That's okay. We can do whatever you want." 

"I... Can I do it to you instead? Wanna see how hard you can come." 

Mingi's cock twitched underneath him at the words. "Fuck. Yeah."

Seonghwa grinned, and got up to lock the door, fishing out the condom he'd nicked from Yunho's bag. He rolled it up on his dick, an almost perfect fit in size, although he suspected that Yunho might be slightly thicker. It was a strange thought to have now, but he supposed it was only fair. He'd interrupted Yunho, and now Yunho was haunting his mind. 

"Hyung?" Mingi asked, pulling him out of his undignified reverie. "You need to open me up first." 

"Oh," Seonghwa said sheepishly, "I'm sorry." He pulled out the lube he used solely for a wetter glide when he jerked off, probably expired or very close to it. He slicked up his hand, finding that he was shaking, anxious. Mingi stilled him by the wrist and took the bottle away. 

"Want me to do it? You can watch." Seonghwa nodded gratefully as Mingi stepped out of his pants and sat up on his knees, thighs spread apart. He poured some on his fingers and warmed it up before pressing one to his entrance. Not pushing in yet, just teasing. Mingi's cock pulsed at the sensation, and he bit down on his lip. Seonghwa felt his own mouth water at the sight. 

"Can I touch you?" he asked, and Mingi nodded, tilting his head up as he finally breached his hole. Seonghwa took him in his hand and testingly pumped his fist a few times, watching for a reaction; and Mingi was as responsive as ever, arching his hips and sliding another finger in, pushing them deep until he started to whimper. Seonghwa wanted to taste him. He felt confident enough now. "Let me take over?" 

Mingi laid down, placing a pillow under the small of his back to give Seonghwa better access. He slicked up a finger and pushed in slowly, though Mingi was open enough that he could safely add one more. He pressed at his walls, finding his sweet spot, and Mingi bit back a moan, trying to fuck himself back on Seonghwa's fingers. "That's it, hyung," he sighed out. "That feels so good."

"At least my medical degree is good for something," he muttered to himself. Not having trouble finding G-spots. Lovely. 

He added another one, angling them so every thrust hit his prostate with agonizing precision, and couldn't resist leaning down to lick a stripe over Mingi's neglected cock, fingers still buried deep inside him. "Fuck, hyung... I want you so bad." Seonghwa moaned, the word sending him reeling, and he used his free hand to guide Mingi's cock in his mouth, pressing his tongue into the slit the way he'd done to him. Mingi fisted a hand in his hair. "I'm actually gonna come like this if you don't fuck me soon."

Seonghwa pulled off and grinned. "Maybe I want you to." 

Mingi shrugged, a smile playing at his lips. "Suit yourself. If you don't wanna be inside me..." 

"Ah, fuck," Seonghwa rasped out, pulling out his fingers and coating his length in a thick layer of lube, wanting to make it easier for both of them. He lined himself up with Mingi's entrance, and said, "You want this?" 

"Yes, hyung," he said pointedly. "How loud do you want me to yell it?" Seonghwa lightly slapped his thigh and slid in, slowly at first but letting himself go faster when Mingi's thighs wrapped around him, pushing him deeper. "Hyung, hyung, you feel so good, I can't— I'm gonna—" 

"I didn't even fuck you properly yet," he scolded, though he wasn't faring much better himself. The tight heat of Mingi's hole around him was almost too much. 

"Then— fuck, do it." Seonghwa leaned in to press his mouth sloppily against Mingi's, pushing his cock all the way inside, so deep Seonghwa could trace the outline of it on his tummy. Mingi moaned at the sight, and Seonghwa bit his lip to keep him quiet. His thrusts were deep, and hit his prostate just right. 

"Hyung... I'm so close."

"Are you now?" Seonghwa asked slyly, though the tremor in his voice betrayed how affected he truly was. "Prove it." 

Mingi arched up into him with an anguished groan, spilling all over himself as he clenched around Seonghwa's cock, trapping him inside and sending him over the edge right after him, filling up Yunho's condom. 

Yunho. Seonghwa pulled off to clean them up, meticulous as ever. Had he been in this room along with the other cops? He wondered of his ex-wife, wondered how exactly Mingi fit into Yunho's narrative, and wanted to ask Mingi about it now, but knew how it would have sounded like. So instead he let himself be held close to Mingi's chest, not feeling the need to shy away from his touch and pushing Yunho away from his mind. 

"Are you okay, hyung?" 

"Hmm? Yeah." He pressed a soft kiss to Mingi's throat. 

"You still want me out of your house? Your life?" 

"Out of my house... Yeah, kind of. Yuna should be up to coming back soon. But my life... Well, I think there's enough room for you, Mingi-ya. Hongjoong, too."

Mingi nuzzled his face into his hair and whispered, voice hoarse with the sleep weighing down on both of them, "Whenever you want me, hyung. I'm here."

Chapter Text

Yunho turned off the engine and stared out the window at the imposing building of the Seoul Museum of History. He took a long drag and choked on his own smoke, empty stomach twisting around in protest. He pocketed Seonghwa's ring and wondered what the fuck he was doing with his life. Maybe he should leave, and find another occasion to give it back to him; when he finally found some actual evidence that tied him to this dead-end case. Wooyoung and San had vanished into thin air, and while they were still on the lookout at the border crossing points, everybody knew by now that the chances of catching them after so long were slim. 

It nagged at him, having to leave such a case open. That boy deserved better, yet here Yunho was, creeping outside Seonghwa's workplace, clinging to a chunk of nothing, the apology flowers Ryujin had thrown back in his face pitifully slumped in the front seat beside him. And he almost did leave, but a movement in his rearview mirror alerted him. A woman around his age, or maybe older, dressed pristinely in a black plaid skirt and a burgundy shirt the same shade as her high heels, was relentlessly trying to unlock her car, but the alarm system must have been faulty, for a loud ringing pierced through the still air of the parking lot. She staggered back and let out a loud curse. Yunho made up his mind and threw the cigarette away, slipping out of the car and locking it behind him.

He strode over to her, pointedly so as to make his presence known. She turned to him with a raised brow. "You need help with that?"

"I... don't know why this keeps happening," she said, the irritation clear in her voice. She tried unlocking it once more, only for the the alarm to go off again. She cursed and threw the keys on the ashphalt, bracing a hand on the car's hood as if to plead with it to open.

"Could be the battery," Yunho suggested.

"Or a dirty latch sensor," she said, shaking her head with an exhausted look in her eyes. "Yeah, I know, I just didn't have the time to fix it..." she trailed off, eyes pausing on Yunho as if she'd only now seen him. "I think I know you."

He hummed. "Do you?"

"Yeah... You were on tv. It was— that serial killer, the one they called Nightshade because she poisoned all her lovers and then her husband— you're one of those detectives who caught her."

Yunho nodded, slightly wary. "That's right," he said. "True crime enthusiast?"

She shrugged, a smile playing at her lips. "Here and there. Female serial killers intrigue me the most of all. There's just something about it that feels oddly satisfying to see. Not that I support murder or anything," she added quickly. A corner of Yunho's mouth curled up. His eyes darted down to the badge around her neck.

"You work here, Lia-ssi?"

"Yeah. I was just leaving. Or trying to, anyway." Yunho picked up the keys off the pavement and handed them to her. Still looking at him in nervous anticipation, she tried pressing the button again, and this time, the car beeped open. "Huh," she said softly, waving the keys in front of her. "Rough treatment, the solution to any problem." He grinned and moved to the side to give her access to the door, but she remained in place, eyes on Yunho's face, studying him. "You're off duty?"

He sighed, weary, pulling out his Dunhill pack and popped one into his mouth, shielding the flame from the wind behind his hand. "Not quite."

Lia gave the cigarette a nasty look, before her eyes flitted down to take him in. Yunho bit down on the inside of his cheek, intrigued. And then she said, "Don't tell me you're investigating one of my employees, Detective."

Yunho froze. Could she be the woman Seonghwa had been talking to over the phone the first time he'd met him outside Marika's school? Was Lia the name he'd spoken? Yunho could have asked her, right there and then, but something stopped him; Seonghwa was haunting him enough as it was. Instead, he gave her a sharp grin. "I'm only testing a... theory. If I'm right, the next time you'll see me will be on the news."

"Now," Lia said, "why wait for the news when the real thing's right here?" Yunho grinned. He liked bold women as much as he did shy men. And he didn't have a problem with badge bunnies at all, unlike many of his colleagues. But then again, many of his colleagues didn't make a habit out of fucking everything that had a pulse and seemed mildly interested. "Are you single, Detective?"

"Yunho," he said.

"Are you single, Yunho-ssi?"

Fuck it, he thought. "You could say that." Lia smiled, eyes traveling him up and down, and it might have been a testament to Yunho's ego, the fact that he was expecting her to take him for a ride in her pretty cherry red Audi and felt genuinely surprised when she slipped into the driver's seat and turned the engine. She rolled down the window, a mischievous smile pulling at her mouth. It made him want to lean in and find out what her lipstick tasted like. Right there and then, if possible. "Hand me one?" she asked, gesturing to his cigarettes. Yunho did, offering to light it for her, but she shook her head. She didn't smoke it, but pulled out a pen and scrawled something onto it before handing it back to him.

His breath caught, impressed. Her number. He grinned and placed it back in his pack. "Call me," she said.

"Oh, I will."

Pleased, she drove away, and Yunho watched her go. But she hadn't even gotten out of the parking lot before putting the car in reverse and stopping right in front of him. "I changed my mind," she said, biting her lip. Yunho's eyes followed the movement as he exhaled the smoke in the air. Lia eyed the cigarette critically. "Throw that thing away and get in."

Nervously pulling at the hem of his now wrinkled shirt and checking for damage, Yunho wondered if this was what the people he hooked up with felt like when he dropped them off. Karma, he supposed. A mixture of leftover arousal and embarrasment overcame him as he slowly climbed up the stairs that led to the museum's entrance. Still, despite his initial apprehension about seeing Seonghwa again, he felt calmer now. Lia turned out to be right; rough treatment was indeed a solution to many problems.

He asked the bored receptionist if Park Seonghwa was there; he was a young boy, probably a broke student, who didn't even look up from his phone as he said, "He's in the middle of a tour now."

Yunho braced an elbow on the counter. "Can I have a ticket?"

"Sure," he replied, finally looking up to give Yunho a stern look. "But don't expect a discount just because you're late." Yunho waved him off and handed him the money.

He glanced helplessly at the corridor around them, finding it forked into five more smaller ones. "Uh, where am I supposed to go, exactly?"

"The tour's all about the Macedonian Empire. Says right here on your ticket. So, gee, I don't know, maybe you should go to Alexander's Hall?" Yunho rolled his eyes and handed him another bill. "Now we're talking," the boy said, looking greatly pleased with himself. "Third corridor from the right, then another right, two lefts and one more through Ancient Greece." He waved his hand dismissively. "It's around there somewhere."

"Ancient Greece?" The boy raised a brow at him. 

"Seriously? You really haven't been here before?" 

"...No."

"Anybody who's ever lived in this city has to have been at least once." 

"So I've been told," Yunho said with a sigh, tossing him another bill. He tried to follow the directions, he really did, but the museum was a fucking labyrinth, and the organization made no sense. Why would they put the hall about French Royalty right next to the one with prehistoric artifacts?  Somehow he did manage to get to the Ancient Greece hall, but that too opened in three more corridors, and Yunho cursed himself. He only realized he'd done so out loud when a girl, around seventeen or eighteen, turned to him with an amused look on her face. "Lost?" she asked.

"I— yeah, pretty much."

"What are you looking for? I know my way around here pretty well."

"Alexander's Hall, I think. There's a tour going on, but I arrived too late."

"Come on, I'll take you." 

"Okay," he replied, relieved, and followed her. "Thanks." She kept staring at him, looking amused, though he didn't know if it was something he'd done or simply the way teenagers acted in general. "What?" he asked, puzzled. 

She shook her head, waving him off. "Nothing. You're a parent? No, scratch that, you're too young to have a sixteen year old child."

"No, I'm, uh, just visiting." 

They rounded a corner, and there he was, at the front of a group of gangly teenagers, in loose linen brown pants and a matching sweater prettily tucked in at the front, hair pulled back from his face in a half updo, badge around his neck. Yunho stopped in his tracks at the back of the crowd next to that girl whose name he hadn't asked for, just staring. Seonghwa's eyes widened when he caught his gaze, and he trailed off in the middle of a sentence Yunho hadn't caught at all. He gave him a small smile, then cleared his throat and turned back to lead them to a statue of Alexander's bust, missing one arm. It was a replica of the one found by archeologists on the Greek coast, he told them. 

"Wasn't he Macedonian? What was that doing in Greece? Aren't those separate countries?" a guy in the front line asked, and Seonghwa's responding smile was patient, though a little forced. 

"Yes, those are separate countries."

"So what was he then?" 

"He was born to a Macedonian king, Phillip the Second, as I've mentioned before. But he had Greek ancestry, too. It's highly debated, really. No Macedonian will ever say he's Greek, of course, and it goes the other way around." He cleared his throat again, and if Yunho hadn't known any better, he'd have said he looked nervous. He went on, "It has been ingrained in him from a very young age, by his mother Olympias, most likely, that he was the son of Zeus, a god walking among mortals, and he was worshipped like one by his people. It's one of the things that set him apart from Darius the Third, the king of Persia, whose empire he would set out to conquer. The Persians didn't have that concept— It does things to a person, believing themselves to be above the laws of the society they live in."

"How does anybody end up believing such a thing?" a girl asked, and this time, Seonghwa's eyes glinted. Finally, a question that wasn't stupid. 

"Psychedelics were often used as a form of religious practice all throughout antiquity. They were a means to connect oneself with their ancestors, but also with the Gods themselves, or so they thought." His mouth curled up. "And where the visions were ambiguous, their minds would piece together the rest." 

"They did drugs?" 

"Among other things, yes." 

"What about alcohol?" 

"That," Seonghwa said, "is a very good question. You see, I don't tell this story to all groups, but I have a feeling you'll like it." He would look at each of them as he spoke, and Yunho flinched whenever Seonghwa's eyes met his own, lingering for a split second before he moved onto the next person. "Alexander was notorious for being a drunk, and he often did reckless things under the influence that he ended up regretting. That's exactly what happened when he conquered the capital of the Persian empire, Persepolis, which meant that Asia was now under his rule. A glorious victory for him, so glorious that he threw an enormous party." He waved a hand around. "A perfect occasion calls for a party — the fall of Persia, we've all been there." Yunho cracked a laugh. "The celebration was so intense that Alexander and his army literally set fire to the city at the suggestion of a drunk lady in waiting. Of course, he regretted it the next day, as all the city's resources were now lost. He set out to rebuild, but the damage was already done." 

"Lady in waiting?" somebody asked, to which the girl next to him said, "He means prostitute, Jihoon-ah. He's just not allowed to say it."

Yunho bit the inside of his cheek to stifle a laugh. The boy, Jihoon, continued, still looking confused. "I know. That's not what I was trying to say." He looked at Seonghwa, flushing an embarrassed red. "I just thought... Wasn't Alexander— you know... Didn't he like men?" 

"He had a wife," another girl said. 

"That doesn't mean anything. Many gay people are married to the socially acceptable gender." 

"You're all stupid," the girl next to Yunho interjected, the first time she'd spoken up. "Everybody knows he was bi, and Hephaestion was his true love." 

"No, that was Roxana." 

"What about Barsine?" 

Seonghwa was quick to cut in. "All of you are right, in a way. He had three wives, to be exact, one of them Darius's daughter, Barsine, as Eunchae-ssi pointed out. But—" a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face as he carefully chose his next words. Seonghwa worried at his bottom lip in concentration, eyes flickering up to Yunho. He gave him an encouraging nod. "They didn't have a term for it as we do now. Gay, bisexual, straight... Those labels didn't exist for them. Alexander took lovers of both genders, and although many sources say that Princess Roxana was his dearest, it is more likely that his... greatest love was Hephaestion." He held Yunho's gaze, and this time didn't look away. "They met before he succeeded his father to the throne, and he remained at Alexander's side until he died, around the age of thirty-two, of a fever. And Alexander was poisoned by grief. So much so that he joined him in death not even a year after." His exhale came in the form of a resigned sigh. "Draw your own conclusions." 

"You could have told me you were coming," Seonghwa said with an upturned grin. "I'd have gotten more prepared." 

"I— it was a last minute thing. And you did well, Seonghwa-ssi. I'm impressed, truly." Seonghwa's eyes lit up, and Yunho looked away, sheepish. 

"Thank you," he said gratefully. "You're off duty?" Lia had asked him the same thing, and Yunho still didn't know how to answer.

"Not quite," he replied. "I need to talk to you." 

His smile dimmed, yet he was still looking as if transfixed at Yunho's face. "Oh, okay." 

Yunho shifted his weight anxiously from one foot to the other, choking out a nervous laugh. "Why are you staring at me like that? Do I have something on my face?" 

Seonghwa snorted. "Yeah. Lipstick. A lovely shade, too." Yunho felt himself turn exactly that color as he wiped at his cheek. "It's still there, Yunho-ssi. Here, let me," he said softly. Yunho nodded, eyes widening as Seonghwa pressed his thumb to the inside of his lip and reached up to wipe the stain off the side of his face. They were in the museum's great hall, and he could feel the eyes on them. Despite wanting to lean into it, Ryujin's words came back to him. Somebody would surely get the wrong idea and spread it around; this was the type of thing Seonghwa could get reported for, absurdly untrue as it was. Yunho tensed up into his touch, taking a step back. Seonghwa's hand fell away, and he stepped back too, turning pink. "I'm sorry." 

Yunho brushed him off and tried to smile, but it came out all wrong, the air between them heavy. Seonghwa shot a nervous glance over his shoulder at a coworker that seemed to be waiting for him and said, "I'll just be a second. Wait for me?" 

Yunho nodded slowly, and headed out for a much needed smoke, leaning back against the museum's outer wall and watching the teens flooding out the gates with a far away look in his eyes. 

"Pass me one?" the girl who'd showed him to Seonghwa asked, leaning at Yunho's side without being prompted to. 

Yunho raised a brow at her, but didn't see the point in sending her away. "You're underage." She shrugged and pulled out her own pack pointedly, grimacing when she found it empty. But she was too proud to ask again, and Yunho gave in. 

"Thanks," she replied, beaming. "I'm Winter." 

"Cool name."

"What's yours?" 

"Yunho." 

"You don't come here often?" 

Yunho blew out an enormous cloud of smoke without looking at her. "It's my first time, actually. I just came to talk to someone." 

"Hwa?"

After a long moment, Yunho replied, "Yeah." 

"You're together?" He froze, quickly deciding he didn't like being interrogated at all. 

"No. He's— I have something of his, and I'm just here to give it back." He checked for Seonghwa's face in the crowd, hoping he'd be here soon. 

Winter gave him a knowing look. "Exes, then?" 

"Don't you have anything better to do?" Yunho snapped, though he ended up sounding defensive rather than firm. Naturally, Winter looked undeterred. 

"Not really," she said, inhaling the smoke so deep that Yunho had the urge to tell her to slow down. "I'm kinda stuck here for a while."

"What—" he trailed off as he saw Seonghwa descending down the stairs, heading their way. He carefully strayed from looking at Yunho, smiling at Winter instead. 

"Minjeong-ah, you shouldn't smoke here," he scolded softly, to which she shot a shit-eating grin back to him. 

"And you shouldn't smoke in the museum bathroom either, but here we are," she replied, and Yunho watched in intrigued delight as an abashed flush blossomed across Seonghwa's cheeks. "And I go by Winter now, I told you."

He gave her an indulgent smile. "Look, I'm trying my best to convince her to let you stay as a permanent employee, Winter. But you have to put in the work too." He trailed off, eyes pointedly drifting down to her cigarette, and then to Yunho. 

The girl sighed, and put it out, dropping it inside the pack so she'd smoke it later. "Ah, fuck," she said, lightly petulant, though sadness did creep into her gaze as she shook her head. "Sorry." 

Seonghwa placed a comforting hand on her arm. "It's okay," he replied gently. "I'll meet you down at the archive later, alright? Don't go to the thesaurus without me." 

She nodded, and with one last glance over her shoulder, walked back inside. Alone with Yunho, Seonghwa's smile turned cold as he gave him a critical once-over. "I see you made a friend," he said at last. 

"She just wanted a cig— don't look at me like that, Seonghwa-ssi. If I hadn't given it to her, somebody else would have." 

"I bet that's a thing you tell yourself a lot," he muttered, and Yunho frowned, growing defensive. Seonghwa shook his head, looking sad. "Ah, sorry about that... I just... I hope my boss didn't see her. She looks down on smokers, and she likes Winter almost as much as she likes me— which is to say, not at all. She keeps me around because she doesn't have a choice, but Winter is cannon fodder to her." Seonghwa stared out into the distance wistfully. "I saw her heading out before my tour started, but you never know." Yunho's suspicions of said boss being Lia got thoroughly confirmed by those words, and he tensed. He wanted to tell him that though Lia was rough around the edges, he knew a bad person when he saw one. But then Yunho would also have to say to him that he'd fucked her.  

"Why?" 

"Why doesn't she like Winter?" Yunho shrugged one shoulder, prompting him to continue. "For one, she's a teenager who ran away from home and lives on her friend's couch. And the other reason... I was the one who hired her. We're really understaffed, and Winter— she'd been coming here with her dad every weekend since before I started working here. And she knows more stuff than most employees twice her age."

Yunho frowned. "And you? Why does Lia hate you?" 

"How'd you know that's her name?" Seonghwa asked through narrowed eyes. 

"I read your file, remember?" Yunho said quickly. 

"Right," Seonghwa replied cuttingly, then reached out to pry away the cigarette from Yunho's fingers, placing it in his mouth as he turned away. "Come on," Seonghwa said over his shoulder. "Let's talk in your car."

Yunho snorted. "You didn't answer my question." Seonghwa made an ambiguous gesture that he suspected wasn't that far off from a middle finger, and just kept walking. "Seonghwa!" 

Yunho followed him back to the parking lot, the black Duster difficult to miss with how precariously he'd parked it, across two spots. Easily catching up to Seonghwa, he took his arm to get him to stop and meet his eyes, the cigarette falling away. "Why the fuck does she hate you?" 

Seonghwa narrowed his eyes, slipping out of Yunho's loose hold. "We have history."

He raised a brow, the disbelief obvious. It didn't seem like something Seonghwa would do, though it would explain the animosity between the two of them. If it was true, that would make Lia the second person that both Yunho and Seonghwa had been with. The thought had Yunho's skin tingle. "You were a thing?" Seonghwa bristled, looking horrified at the implication. 

"No, not that kind of history— why do you even want to know?" 

Yunho waved it off. "Doesn't matter. That's not what I wanted to say to you." 

He unlocked the car and slipped in the driver's seat, making it so that Seonghwa would have to get in if he wanted to hear it. Though he'd been disgruntled when he opened the door, Seonghwa's mouth quickly turned up in a grin as he saw the roses. "Are these for me?" he asked, sarcasm mixing with mischief, and Yunho threw the bouquet in the backseat to make room, face heating. Seonghwa closed the door behind him, the tension in the air between them so thick Yunho could have reached out to brush his fingers through it. 

"She didn't want them," he said. 

"Ouch," Seonghwa said sharply, the grin on his face malicious and promising to cut. "Must have fucked up pretty bad to get turned down like this." 

Yunho tried not to let his tone affect him, hiding behind a stone cold professionalism. He wasn't here to be liked, by Seonghwa or anyone else. He pulled out the ring from his pocket, and Seonghwa flinched at the sight of it, a pained frown crossing his face. "Why would you have that?" 

"You left it in the cigarette pack you gave me," he said, as gently as he could. 

"Oh," he sighed out, holding out a hand; he was shaking. Yunho's heart ached as he gave the offending item back to him. "Thanks." He didn't slip it on his finger, carefully dropping it in his bag instead. "Will that be all, Detective?" 

He had his hand on the door, ready to bolt, but Yunho didn't want to see him go yet. He reached for his arm, preventing it. "Wait." Seonghwa cast his eyes down, wary, but didn't pull away. "I— how are you holding up?" 

A flicker of surprise crossed Seonghwa's face. He leaned back into the seat. "It's... fine. Marika didn't want to tell me what you said to her, but whatever it was... She's been really happy these past days. I expected her to insist about her grandma, but it's almost like she was trying to make me believe she forgot all about it." He turned to look at Yunho, eyes soft. "You didn't have to help me, but you did it anyway. I don't know how to thank you." 

Yunho accepted it with a small smile, the truth of Minho's words settling inside him the way the tar from his cigarettes stuck to the inside of his throat; he was an impostor. And if Seonghwa had known he'd helped him because of the guilt he felt for meddling between him and his mother, he'd have leaped for his throat instead of thanking him with that look in his eyes. 

Yunho retracted his hand, steeling himself for what he was about to do. "There's something else. When we searched through your house—" He reached out over him to open the compartment, but Seonghwa didn't let him. Yunho gave him a strange look. "Don't you want to know?" 

"What you have on me?" Seonghwa asked in disbelief, still holding Yunho's wrist. He huffed, a smile playing at his lips, though it was devoid of any humor. "I told you I'm not the person you're looking for," he said gently. "Whatever it is you think you know... You don't." 

But Yunho held his ground, because it was the only thing he knew. He pulled his hand away, the skin cold where Seonghwa had touched him. He loosened his ponytail and tied it again, looking disgruntled, but not exactly frightened. Yunho watched him, impassive, and leaned in to open his compartment. "You really don't like me at all," Seonghwa said, and he had the urge to laugh. So that was what this was all about. Despite himself, Yunho felt something unpleasant tug at him. He wasn't new to all sort of manipulation tactics, he'd done them himself, so why did it feel this wrong? 

He didn't reply, wordlessly dropping the papers in Seonghwa's lap and watching the look on his face turn from sulky to apprehensive and finally morphing into something pained. "Why— why would you... What does that even have to do with— with the men you're searching for?" 

He looked close to tears, and Yunho was stuck somewhere between cruelly pressing in and taking it back. Perhaps what made him decide on the former was the lack of surprise shining past the hurt in Seonghwa's eyes. "Absolutely nothing," he said steadily, forcing himself to look at him. He owed him to meet his eyes, at least. "But it has a lot to do with... other things." 

Seonghwa took a moment to flip through the offending papers, pausing when he saw the ID. The Freja in that photo was not the same woman he'd gotten married to, but a different person altogether. Somebody he'd never quite known. And with that realization, something else also crept in, cold and unforgiving as the rain he hadn't registered starting, pounding at the outside of the car as if wanting to break through it. Voicing it felt wrong, but he had to know. "You think I had something to do with her death."

Yunho didn't bother denying it, as it was written all over his face. And that hurt, too. Seonghwa had trusted him, with his mother, with his daughter, with himself, and Yunho didn't trust him at all. Still, when he finally spoke, he sounded gentle, almost apologetic. "Did you?" 

Seonghwa let out a sound between a mirthless laugh and a sob, and reached out in front of him to turn off the car's traffic camera. The burning dread in Yunho's heart was threatening to choke him. Seonghwa leveled their gazes together and said, fingers tightening over the papers, "I didn't kill my wife, Detective. I loved her." He set his jaw and swallowed past a lump in his throat. "That's what it means, you know," he mused. "Unconditional love. To love someone even when they... don't love you anymore." 

Yunho didn't know. "You knew, then. That she was going to leave you." 

Seonghwa shot him a look. "Of course I did. I also knew that I would do everything in my power to stop her. That woman... She didn't deserve her, not really. And Marika— Freja knew as much as I did that she couldn't make it work without hurting her." 

"What woman?" 

Seonghwa's eyes gleamed like lightning, and Yunho flinched. "The woman she was cheating on me with. Or didn't you know that?" He didn't wait for Yunho's reply. "I went after her, in my car. We were both drunk out of our minds. She pulled over right there, on the national road, and let me get in. We— made up, somehow. She agreed for us to try again, for Marika's sake. I shouldn't have let her go, but... She wanted to go to her, one last time, to say goodbye. And I knew I couldn't deny her this. Not when I was so sure that she would... come back to me, after all. So I left. Sped away, and got that fine and my license suspended, as I'm sure you know." He met Yunho's eyes. "So I guess you're right, Detective." He stretched out his arms in front of him, halfheartedly pressing his wrists together. "It's all my fault. Is that what you wanted to hear?" 

Yunho's breath caught, heart shrinking painfully. He took his wrists, brushing his thumbs over sensitive skin, and Seonghwa let him for a moment, before he pulled away, folding them in his lap. "I'm sorry," he said softly, and he meant it. Seonghwa looked away, and nodded as he pocketed the papers. Yunho didn't stop him; he had no use for them anymore. "What did you say to Mari-ssi?" 

Seonghwa's smile was painful. "That a drunk driver fell asleep at the wheel and killed her. I— at that time, it felt easier to give her somebody else to blame." 

Yunho grimaced. "I'm sorry." 

"Yeah, you mentioned that," Seonghwa said, not quite looking at him. "It took me so long, trying to make it make sense. If I hadn't followed her that night, if I hadn't let her go... If I'd just seen it sooner, that she was unhappy with me. She'd still be here now."

Yunho had the urge to take his hand again, and tightened his fist around the hem of his own coat so he would stop himself from doing it. "Look at me," he said instead, and Seonghwa did. There were tears swimming in his eyes, and Seonghwa was quick to wipe them away when a few started streaming down his cheeks, smiling through them. Yunho ached for him.

"Jesus, you look ridiculous," he said shakily, breaking out in a fit of undignified, and lightly hysterical giggles. Yunho huffed out a laugh of his own, nervously wiping at where he thought the stain on his face was. "No, not there. I already got that." His eyes flitted lower, to the side of Yunho's neck, but didn't dare reach up again lest he rejected him again. 

"Help me?" Yunho asked softly. Seonghwa reached out with tear damp fingers to wipe it off. 

"You didn't want me to before." 

"I didn't want the people watching to get the wrong idea. You could get in trouble." 

The stain was gone, yet the touch kept lingering. "The wrong idea," he echoed, barely above a whisper. "What's the right one, Yunho-ya?" His hand moved up to cup his face, and Yunho internally cursed his every star even as he found himself leaning into his touch. 

"You tell me." He gripped Seonghwa's wrist, under the sleeve of his sweater and kept his hand there, unsure if he'd imagined the shiver, but knowing that the light pink hue of Seonghwa's cheeks couldn't have been faked. He should pull away, he thought, even as he found himself leaning closer when Seonghwa's eyes darted down to his mouth. Maybe letting himself be manipulated wasn't so terrible, after all. Not when Seonghwa was looking at him like that. 

A phone started ringing, but none of them moved. Was that the Pink Panther theme song? Yunho wondered distantly. "I should get this," Seonghwa said absently, without looking away from him. 

"Yeah, you probably should," Yunho replied on that same tone. 

"It could be something serious." 

"It could," he agreed, and with a forlorn sigh, he reached inside Seonghwa's pocket for the phone, breaking the spell. Seonghwa gave him a withering look for interrupting, but his face quickly fell when he saw the caller's ID. 

His hand was trembling when he placed the phone to his ear, eyes turning worried against Yunho's. "Yeosang-ssi?" With every word said to him, all the color Yunho's closeness had injected into his face bled away. "I'll be there as soon as I can." 

He hung up, shaking all over. "What happened?"

Seonghwa met his eyes, so cold and hollow that it froze Yunho up from the inside. "I... have to go," he said, choked up. "Marika got into a fight at school." 

Chapter Text

— Two Years Ago — 

Yunho's disturbingly high alcohol tolerance wasn't working in his favor this time. He wanted to black out and dream his misery away, but even a soju addled brain knew that if he were to do that, he would still see Chan's face staring back at him when he closed his eyes. 

A couple kept shooting furtive glances to him from across the club, leaning in to whisper in each other's ear over the glass of Martini they were sharing. Yunho had never had a threesome before. Would the guy want to get fucked as he was fucking his girlfriend? Or put Yunho in the middle so they both got a piece? Or for the two of them to fuck her without otherwise touching each other? Yunho realized all options sounded good enough. He downed the rest of his drink and got up from his seat at the barstool, making his way through the crowded dance floor, still mostly sober. 

Someone bumped into him, staggering into his chest and spilling the contents of the bottle they were clutching all over Yunho's coat. "Ya, watch it," he muttered irritatedly, and brushed past, only for the guy to lose his balance and stagger to the floor. His shoulders were shaking with the force of his sobs, and Yunho sighed, shooting a wistful glance to the couple as he turned back and helped him to his feet.

"Don't— touch me," he snapped through his tears, or at least that was what Yunho thought he'd said, for he didn't quite manage to hear him over the music, merely read his lips. He brought the bottle up to his mouth and took a long swig, the dim light making it possible for Yunho to read the label — vodka, one of the strongest brands out there too; no wonder he'd gotten hammered.

"Let's get you outside," Yunho said, raising his voice so he'd make himself heard over the obnoxiously loud mom-om-mommae blasting through the club's speakers. He nodded, with the air of somebody who had lost any desire to fight for themselves, and let Yunho take his arm to pull him to the exit.

He plopped down on the asphalt of an empty parking spot and crossed his legs underneath him, a lost look in his eyes as he drank some more. Yunho couldn't just— leave him there. What if he got into his car, drunk as he was, and caused an accident? What if some equally drunk driver ran him over? Yunho didn't want him on his conscience. He leaned in and wrenched the bottle away from his grasp. "Ya," he scolded, absently reaching out in front of him as if he was seeing Yunho in triple and didn't quite know which was the one who'd taken the bottle. "Give that back."

"Yeah, not happening," Yunho said, and put it to his own lips, grimacing at the taste. "Fuck, how can you even drink this? It's terrible."

The guy smirked up at him, though his eyes remained sad. "I'm not drinking it for the taste." Yunho took his time to look at him, really look at him. Ruffled up hair and wrinkled, but otherwise neat clothes, if a little inadequate for a cold April night with just that flimsy excuse of a shirt on, mostly see-through. Dark eyes, high cheekbones and a sharp jawline that probably starred in every teenage girl's dirty dream. If he'd met him in a different context, Yunho wasn't embarrassed to admit to himself that he'd have probably jumped him. He was too pretty to drink his life away in a place like this.

And maybe Yunho was drunker than he'd thought he was, because he only realized he'd said it out loud when the guy grinned up at him and replied, "Thanks. So are you, you know."

Out of the corner of his eye, Yunho saw the couple he'd been eyeing leaving out the door with some girl sandwiched between them, her hand down the guy's pants as the woman was pressing languid open-mouthed kisses to her collarbone. There goes his chances, Yunho thought distantly, and turned back to the matter at hand. The matter at hand had lit himself a joint, the unmistakable smell of weed getting Yunho on his guard. "You know that's illegal, right?"

He gave a petulant huff. "What're you gonna do about it, call the cops?" Some sort of realization seemed to creep into his wide eyes, and he tensed up in panic. "You're not a cop, are you?"

Yunho didn't reply for a long moment, and watched him impassively as he tried to get up and fucking bolt past him. The pathetic attempt didn't end well, of course, and Yunho ended up having to set the bottle down to catch him by the middle so he wouldn't fall face first to the ground. He struggled against his hold, dropping the joint in the process and muttering some incoherent words under his breath before he gave up altogether and slumped against Yunho's chest. He smelled like weed and that terrible vodka, and didn't seem to be able to control his shivering. "I'm not a cop," Yunho lied, gently patting his back. "And I won't tell, I promise."

He nodded frantically, face buried in the crook of Yunho's neck, and started to cry again. Yunho held him through it, not knowing what else to do. At least he wasn't consuming substances anymore. "Care to tell me what happened to you?"

He pulled away, eyes rimmed with red as he wiped at his face with his sleeve. He was still holding onto Yunho's arm for balance. "I'm in deep shit."

"It's okay."

"I fucked up really bad."

"That's okay, too. We all fuck up sometimes."

"No, you don't understand. My— my wife hates me."

"Hate's too strong a word," Yunho said softly. "You should never use it."

"Despises me, then. We fought, really badly. Accused me of sleeping with our daughter's sitter, who's— she's seventeen, for fuck's sake. She likes me a bit, I can tell, but— I would never do something like that. And— and my wife's gone, I don't know where she is, her phone's off and I can't reach her— I left our daughter with a friend so I could go look for her, and I didn't find her, but... I somehow ended up here," he finished.

"If she loves your daughter at all," Yunho said steadily, "she'll come back, no matter how upset she is with you. Some people run from something when they're too hurt to deal with it."

He nodded, nuzzling closer into Yunho's neck and pushing him back against one of the parked cars. Yunho placed a comforting arm around his back, and he raised his head to meet his eyes. He was a trainwreck, and Yunho couldn't look away. "Is that what you're doing?"

Yunho ached for a smoke, but somehow found it in himself to hold it in. "I... you could say that."

"What'd you do?"

And Yunho was quite far gone himself, enough so that dumping his problems on a drunk stranger felt quite acceptable after said stranger had done the same. "My partner, he— he's dead, and it's my fault. And in order to get the person who did it behind bars, I betrayed the trust of somebody who was really important to me."

The admission felt heavy in the air between them. The man frowned, lip quivering, and threw his arms around Yunho. His breath left him in a shaky exhale at the contact. "You're doing well, okay? You're holding on," he whispered softly, and pressed his mouth to Yunho's cheek. "I'm sorry."

Yunho didn't know what to say anything to that, and even if he had, he didn't think he could have with how choked up he was. Instead, he let him wrap himself around him, chasing the warmth of another body against his own for no other purpose than that of seeking comfort and closeness. When he pulled back, Yunho felt cold.

The stranger wasn't crying anymore, though he looked confused. "I have to go home," he slurred, shuddering. The skin on his arms had prickled with goosebumps. Yunho pulled off his coat and placed it around his shoulders, mouth lifting up in a contrite smile when he saw the blush spreading over his cheeks. The man looked away quickly, scouring through the parking lot through narrowed eyes. "That's my car," he said happily, pointing to a gray Sedan, and then frowned. "Or, no... no, no..." He turned to Yunho, a pleading look in his eyes. "Where's my car? What car do I drive?"

"I don't know," Yunho replied with a shaky laugh, and pulled him back in by the sleeve of his coat when he tried to step in right into the path of a moving car. "Where the hell are you looking?" he hissed at him, and immediately regretted it when he flinched and tears gathered in his eyes. Yunho did nothing, and the tears were blinked away. When Yunho spoke again, his tone gentler this time, "You'll just come back to pick it up tomorrow, okay? I can't let you drive anywhere like this."

His eyes lit up again, the sadness forgotten, as it often happened under the influence of hallucinogenics. "Can you drive me?"

Yunho shook his head. "I'm drunk, too. I shouldn't drive either. I'll just call an Uber, and drop you off on my way home."

He grimaced as Yunho pulled out his phone. "Can I just go with you? My daughter, she... I can't let her see me like this."

Sympathy twisted at Yunho's heart like a knife. "You shouldn't go home with somebody you just met," he said softly. "What if I wanted to hurt you?"

He shook his head. "What if I wanted you to?" That was the breaking point for Yunho.

"No," he said sharply, typing in his home address on the app and clicking to add one more stop. "Do you have a friend you can stay with tonight?"

"I— yeah, I guess... Are you sure I can't just..."

"You can't," he replied, and he looked away sadly, giving in and telling Yunho the address. A grey car pulled up not even a few minutes later, and Yunho helped him get in the backseat first before climbing in after him.

"My wallet is in my car," he whispered, laying his cheek on Yunho's shoulder.

"It's okay," he replied, shifting a little closer to him so he could comfortably lay his head. "Don't worry about it."

"I didn't even ask for your name."

Yunho remained quiet for a long moment. "It's Yunho," he replied at last. "What's yours?" But his breathing had evened out, signifying he'd dozed off, and hadn't heard him. If Yunho had been just a shot glass drunker, or a little less guilty, or him a little less married and heartbroken... 

It struck him as a silly, flustered thought, even as Yunho had had no qualms before, thinking about these things when it had come to the couple who'd been looking at him. There was something about this man, something beyond his beauty, beyond the family man image that seemed to be fraying around the edges. Something that made those thoughts feel wrong. 

Yunho watched his chest rising and falling with every breath, and woke him up when the driver pulled up in front of an apartment building in a richer part of the city. 

"Oh, we're here," he said absently, and turned to Yunho with a soft, burning look in his eyes. "Thank you." 

Yunho watched him go with a heavy heart, asking the driver to wait until he saw him safely getting inside. "Rough night?" 

He snorted, shaking himself out of a trace-like state and meeting the driver's eyes through the rearview mirror. "You can say that again." 

"What happened?" Hongjoong asked, ushering him inside and letting him collapse on his bed. "Did you find her?"

Seonghwa shook his head. "Somebody found me, though."

Hongjoong narrowed his eyes at the vodka-stained, slightly too big for him coat draped over Seonghwa's shoulders, of which he knew for a fact didn't belong to Seonghwa, as he knew all of his friend's clothes. "I can see that."

"Are you upset with me?"

Hongjoong laid down at his side, facing him, and tried to smile past the worry he felt, squeezing Seonghwa's hand. "No," he said softly, and leaned in to kiss his cheek. Seonghwa let out a sound that resembled a whimper, reaching out to cup Hongjoong's face and brushing his fingers over impossibly smooth skin. The softness in his eyes made Hongjoong's heart twist with something he'd thought long gone. He'd watched him as he'd fallen in love with the woman who was now his wife, and never said a thing, despite how much it had hurt at the time. And the passage of time had purged the rest of his feelings, or so he'd thought. 

"Thank you," Seonghwa whispered, eyes closed, and kissed him, so brief and chaste that Hongjoong could almost convince himself that it had been an accident. "You saved me."

Turning a little pink, Hongjoong could only stammer, "I— didn't do anything, Seonghwa." Seonghwa’s eyes fluttered open, and a flicker of surprise crossed his face, as if only now realizing who was in front of him.

He turned on his back, arm in front of his eyes to shield them from the light. "Shit, Hongjoong-ah, I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Hongjoong said softly. "You'll forget all about it tomorrow. You always do."

Chapter Text

"Fuck. Fuck!" Seonghwa pressed the center of the wheel hard, the honk piercing through the steady sounds of rain. He stumbled out of the car and braced a hand against the hood, head down and shoulders shaking, the cold rain soaking through his flimsy autumn clothes. Why hadn't he bothered checking the forecast? He felt a hand on his back, and turned around. "I thought you left."

The look Yunho gave him in response had a defensive edge to it. "It's good that I didn't, isn't it?" he snapped, and immediately regretted it when Seonghwa flinched away. "Let me have a look at your car this time?"

He nodded, unable to do much of anything else, and moved aside to let Yunho reach for the lever that opened the hood. Seonghwa had his eyes cast down, unblinking, arms around himself. He should have known all of the things that had happened with San and Wooyoung, the cops ravaging through their house, topped by Youra's visit, would have taken their toll on Marika in some way. And she was volcanic, impulsive much like her mother had been. Yeosang didn't get into the details of it too much, as he'd seemed to be somewhere he couldn't talk freely, but Seonghwa had read in between the lines — something about a girl picking on Marika's friend, Felix.

If she was just defending her friend, maybe the consequences wouldn't be so dire. Right?

"Seonghwa?"

He raised his eyes. Yunho sighed wearily. "I think I know what's wrong with it, but I don't have what I need to fix it here." And then he started going on about mechanics, but Seonghwa wasn't listening anymore, too caught up in his own rising panic. He pulled out a cigarette, couldn't light it because of the rain, and Yunho trailed off in the middle of a long explanation on spark plugs when he started crying. He looked confused, and lightly pitying, which only served to make Seonghwa cry harder, poorly attempting to hide his face by turning away. Yunho took his wrist, forcing him to look at him again, and that felt even worse.

"It's all my fault," he choked out, uselessly snapping the lighter again and again, even as the cigarette was soaked through, and useless. He let it fall to the ground. 

"Why would it be your fault? Children fight all the time." And he meant it, because to him, violence wasn't something unusual. He'd had his fair share of it back in school, and even more so after what happened to his parents and he'd moved in the slum, with a distant aunt he'd never even heard of before, a drunk collecting disability checks. And now he was working in the force, so he witnessed it every day. He didn't quite understand Seonghwa's pain, nor the baffled look he shot up at him through the tears that had mixed up with droplets of rain. 

"No, they don't," he said sharply, furiously wiping at his eyes. 

Yunho sighed. "She has to retaliate somehow, and loves you too much to do it at home. And get that shit out of your head. What happened with your wife wasn't your fault. She made her own fucking choices, and suffered the consequences."

Seonghwa looked as if he'd struck him. "Don't talk about her," he lashed out, trying to move away, but Yunho stepped closer, caging him between his body and the car. "You don't know anything." 

"Enlighten me, then. What am I missing?" 

And Seonghwa almost blurted it all out. What he'd done, what he'd been keeping from him. He placed a hand on Yunho's chest, making him shiver, though if at the contact or because of the soaked material of his shirt freezing against his skin, he couldn't tell. "I'm the one who put this curse on our house." 

Yunho snorted out a confused laugh. "What the fuck does that mean? What curse?"

Seonghwa leaned back against the car, eyes fluttering shut. He looked less like the trainwreck Yunho had stumbled upon that night two years ago, and more like that statue of Alexander they'd seen back in the museum's hall. There was a grace to him that Yunho couldn't help but feel intrigued by. "What do you want from me?" he asked in lieu of a proper answer, soft inquiring eyes opening into Yunho's own, looking at him the way a doctor would look upon a patient who'd grown an extra head before his eyes. Yunho's heart skipped a beat as he let his eyes wander across the sharp outlines of Seonghwa's face. He wanted to do a lot of things, he realized, and few of them were civilized. 

"Get in my car." 

Seonghwa's eyes immediately widened, the grip he hadn't realized he still had in the front of Yunho's shirt loosening as he turned red. "W— what?" 

Yunho was already pulling away from him, pointedly heading back to his car. Over his shoulder, he threw, not even trying to make his smirk inconspicuous, "Didn't you have somewhere to get to? Why else would I possibly take you in my car?" 

All tensed up and rather hot around the collar, Seonghwa locked up his Honda, actually broken this time, as karma often had the worst timing, and strode numbly after Yunho through the rain. 

"I could have just called an Uber," he protested lightly, though he didn't seem to have any desire to get back out there and wait for one in this downpour. 

Yunho shrugged absently, maneuvering the car out the parking lot and infiltrated through the traffic without bothering to respect the basic rules of priority. "Can an Uber do this?" he asked, turning on the sirens. 

"I— Shit. You're..." He gave up trying to voice it and settled on a shaky "Thank you." 

"Why? I'm not doing it for you. I'm doing it for Marika. They're probably all over her right now, making her think she's some kind of monster for throwing a few punches." 

Seonghwa had a lot of things to say about condemning people who threw punches, thinking of San and Wooyoung, but had to keep his mouth shut. "I thought you said children fight all the time." 

Yunho floored the gas until the engine started to whir unpleasantly, already touring it too much for the gear it was in. "Yeah. But they also get in trouble for it more nowadays. Everybody wants to see a troublemaker punished." 

"Yeosang isn't like that. He'll defend her, I think." 

"I'm sure," Yunho replied dryly. He changed lanes without bothering to signal and sped past a glaring red light, eyes drifting between all the mirrors with practiced ease. Seonghwa shifted in his seat, anxiously staring out the window at the blur of traffic Yunho was effortlessly surfing through. 

"What do you mean?" 

"Jongho said he's a total pushover." 

"And what does he know?" Seonghwa asked, not devoid of sarcasm, and lightly defensive. 

"He's the best judge of character I've ever met. He never brought in the wrong murder suspect, not once." 

Seonghwa's eyes widened, all the color bleeding out of his face. "Murder?" he choked out. 

"We're homicide detectives, Seonghwa-ssi," Yunho replied distractedly as he changed lanes again, almost brushing the paint off another car in the process, making Seonghwa flinch in anticipation of a crash that never came. "What else would we possibly investigate?" 

"I— who... What?" he stammered, shooting Yunho a look of pure terror that quickly morphed into sadness. Yunho didn't know what to make of him at all, but something about his reaction had his jaw set in apprehension, foot flying to the gas pedal as he climbed on the tram line and took an abrupt left in front of a moving tram, forcing it to halt to a stop. 

Seonghwa had gripped onto the door for support, ghostly pale and unmoving. Yunho's eyes snapped to him. "What?" 

"You're scaring me, Yunho-ya," he said quietly, not looking at him. "It's too much. Just— slow down. Please." 

And Yunho did. In fact, not only did he slow down, but turned off the sirens and pulled over behind a row of parked cars. Seonghwa frowned, not quite understanding. "What are you— I need to get to Marika." 

The realization dawned on him when Yunho didn't reply, reaching between them to unbutton both of their seatbelts with a grim look in his eyes, and Seonghwa saddened. "Oh. Okay. I'll just..." He moved to open the door, but Yunho's hand on his arm stopped him. 

"Wait." Seonghwa froze in his tracks, his conscience begging him to pull away before he did something he'd surely regret. "That's not why I stopped." 

"Then... why?" 

Yunho's hesitation felt calculated. "Is there something you want to tell me?" Seonghwa swallowed dryly, every anguished heartbeat kicking at his ribcage, threatening to burst him open. He should have figured it out sooner. He should have known there was something else, something they weren't telling him, shouldn't have trusted them so blindly, shouldn't have... But when he'd searched for San's name, nothing had popped up. Which meant it was being kept under wraps. 

"I didn't kill anyone, Yunho-ya," he said quietly, his voice coming out as if from somewhere outside of himself. 

"I'm not saying that," Yunho replied gently, squeezing his arm. Seonghwa wanted to get away from his touch, but couldn't move. "But you might be protecting someone who did." 

"He held his own pretty well, until— I had him, but then he pulled out a knife." 

"He didn't want to kill me, he... only wanted to win, but..." 

Slowly, the pieces came together in Seonghwa's mind. Mingi and Hongjoong had lied to him, brought a murderer into his house, his daughter's house, convinced him to lie to the police, and Seonghwa had gone along with it, believing he was doing something good. And Marika had seen him. 

"He made a mistake, and the police want to punish him for it. You know how I always say we should help our friends in a time of need, regardless of the consequences?" 

But San and Wooyoung were gone, and Seonghwa had to bear consequences he hadn't even imagined in his darkest dreams on his own. Anger and sadness blended together inside him, but his thoughts remained glued to his daughter. Should he come clean, what would happen to her? 

"Who— who died?" Seonghwa asked, voice breaking upon the last word. Yunho gave him a sympathetic smile. 

"I believe you aren't in a position to ask me questions." The truth of those words fully began to sink in, choking him so he was unable to do anything but stare blankly at Yunho's face. "I want to help you," he said, sounding almost gentle. "I do. But you have to help me, too." And Seonghwa wanted to believe him, truly. But he'd believed Mingi and Hongjoong, too. And where did that get him? To a place of no return. "Nobody has to know you're the one who told me," Yunho said softly. "I can call it in as an anonymous tip. No harm will come to you." 

Seonghwa raised his eyes into Yunho's, and all he could see was unbridled honesty and affection pushing past the shine of ambition in his eyes. He'd seen that in Mingi's eyes, too. Mingi and Hongjoong had lied to his face, but they'd only done it because they'd known Seonghwa would have never gone along with it otherwise. And he'd never forgive them for manipulating him like this, but after all they'd been through together, could he really turn them in as if everything meant nothing? They loved him, each in their own way. And Yunho... 

"I bet he promised you he'd protect you if you told the truth. Just as he promised me that nothing I said to him would get past those walls."

To Mingi, Yunho was nothing but a twisted, corrupt cop who'd stop at nothing to solve his cases. Seonghwa didn't see any of that when he looked into his eyes, though, but what did he know? Yunho was an easy person to trust and confide in, and something about him made Seonghwa's heart ache. But Seonghwa's heart had never once pointed him in the right direction before. 

It seemed that the only thing he had to do now was choosing which of two liars he should put his faith in. 

He pulled away fron Yunho's hold and forced himself to meet his eyes. "I did see them," he said, hesitantly at first, but the lies stumbled from his tongue with surprising ease. "The men in the photos. Or I think it was them, anyway. When I got home on Monday, they were getting out of that car you kept asking me about, the one next to my backyard. I took Marika, got inside and locked the doors. Mingi showed up a while later, and then you and your partner did. That's all I know."

Yunho raised a brow, clearly not buying it. "Where did they go?" 

"I don't know. I didn't want to know, because it was none of my business." 

"Right. Then if it made no difference to you, why did you lie to us?" 

"Because I have enough problems without having to deal with a bunch of nosy cops asking me questions I don't know how to answer," he replied pointedly. Yunho's brows flew up.

"And Mingi?" 

"What about him?" 

"Doesn't it strike you as strange, how he showed up to your house around the same time as his former clients did?" 

"At the time, Mingi and I were— seeing each other," he replied carefully. "I have no way of knowing if he had another reason to come to my house besides seeing me, but I doubt it." 

"Were?" 

"We broke it off," Seonghwa replied, tone clipped and cutting. 

"Sorry to hear that," Yunho said. 

"No, you're not," he snapped back. A corner of Yunho's mouth lifted up, though his eyes remained cold. He looked amused, and Seonghwa was having none of it. He needed to get to his daughter. "Look, can't this wait until after I have settled things at school? They're waiting for me." 

"You've seen how I drive," Yunho replied, undeterred. "They won't be waiting for long. When did the relationship between you and Mingi start?" 

"I— don't remember." 

Yunho hummed. "You don't remember," he echoed, the disbelief blatant in his tone. 

"Things between us are — were — complicated." 

"How so?" 

Seonghwa shifted anxiously in his seat, palms clammy with sweat, but Yunho looked eerily calm, as if he had all the time in the world, and would stay here until sunset if he had to. "How is this relevant, Yunho-ya?" 

Yunho raised a brow at the address that hadn't bother him before, but apparently did now; he didn't say anything to correct Seonghwa, though. "It's a simple question, Seonghwa-ssi. When did you start seeing each other?" 

On Monday, on the front porch of my house, right in front of your eyes. 

"We met through a childhood friend of mine a few years ago," he said instead, keeping it deliberately vague. There was no point dropping Hongjoong's name into this, not until he had the whole story and he could decide what to do. "Mingi had a thing for me from the get-go, but I'm straight, and we kept it casual." 

"Who ended it?" 

"Why are you— fuck, Yunho. Both of us did. He's in love with someone else." He held Yunho's gaze. "And so am I." 

Yunho's breath caught, and for a moment he couldn't speak. Seonghwa felt the balance shift, and clung to the opportunity with both hands, plastering a sly grin onto his face. "Does that amount of detail do it for you, Detective? Or do you want me to tell you exactly what Mingi and I did together? We both had him, didn't we?" 

Yunho's eyes narrowed, though his coldness felt carefully calculated this time, and the flush on his neck betrayed him. "As much as I'd love to hear all that," he said sharply through gritted teeth, "I'd rather you focus on the matter at hand and tell me exactly what you did when you saw them. Two men, was it?" 

Seonghwa's expression turned neutral. There had been four people in that car, and they both knew it. "...Yes. They're the only ones I saw. I didn't think that much of it, honestly. My neighbor, she—"

"Has seven children, yes," Yunho replied. "You mentioned that." 

"Exactly," Seonghwa said, relieved. He may survive this, yet. "We stayed inside, I made Marika lunch and watched My Little Pony with her, then Mingi showed up and I forgot all about it." 

"If you didn't think much of it, why did you lock the doors?" 

"I always lock the doors." 

"Right," Yunho replied dryly. "Then why did you say it like it was something unusual? If it's routine to you, why would you think to mention it to me at all?" Seonghwa's relief was slowly morphing back to burning unease. He knew that the absence of proof didn't mean actual proof, but it didn't take a genius' intuition to realize Yunho hadn't believed a word of what he'd said. "And when Mingi came, did you tell him about what you saw?" 

"No," he replied. "It completely slipped my mind until you and Jongho-ssi came to my door, and Mingi said they're his former clients. I was scared that if I told you I saw them then, he'd get in trouble. So I stayed quiet."

"And you didn't tell him afterwards at all?" 

Seonghwa shrugged. "Why would I? He never told me about his cases, and I never asked." 

Yunho nodded slowly, piercing eyes burning holes into his face as if trying to break into Seonghwa's mind and pry out all the things he wasn't telling him. "Okay," he said after a long moment of silence that Seonghwa had thought would never end. "I'll take you to Marika, you're going to do what you have to do, and then we're going to the station." 

Seonghwa flinched, hurt. "What?" 

"You'll need to give a declaration. It's procedure." 

"But you said... You said you'd call it in as an anonymous tip without— without dropping my name." 

"And why would I do that now, Seonghwa-ssi?" he replied, and the cold satisfaction in his eyes froze Seonghwa to the core. He maneuvered the car out of the parking spot and drove on, just as recklessly as before. "This information is of no use to me. I promised you protection as long as you told me the truth. If you didn't want it, that's your call. Maybe my colleagues at the station will have better luck getting it out of you." He shot him a cryptic smile, taking in the petrified look on his face. "That's right. You're the epitome of a field day for them. Pretty, put together, a wreck inside. They're going to love watching you break. It's not even going to take two hours of the average ten."

Seonghwa reached in between them for the gear shifter and set it to neutral, quickly making a grab for the handbrake too, but Yunho was faster. He took his wrist to stop him, and braked to a stop right there in the middle of the road. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he hissed, but Seonghwa didn't even jolt this time. 

His free hand fisted into the lapel of Yunho's shirt, a look of pure sorrow in his eyes that had Yunho's heart shatter to pieces. "You can't do that to me, Yunho-ya," he said pleadingly, looking close to tears. "I told you everything I know. Please, I'll— I'll file a complaint, I'll— you're..." 

Yunho raised a brow at him, trying his best to look carefully unaffected. "Try. I wonder how that'll work out for you." 

"You have no right to— to threaten me like this." Yunho's eyes turned sad, his grip on Seonghwa's wrist slackening without letting go. 

"It's the sad truth, Seonghwa-ssi. It's what happens every day in our department. In every department, really. And everyone turns a blind eye to it, because it does the job. Gets people desperate enough to confess, and by the time they end up on the stand, they're already halfway to being convicted." He paused, hating himself for saying all that to him and for how guilty he felt because of it. "I don't want that to happen to you." 

Slowly, reluctantly, Seonghwa slithered out of Yunho's loose hold and took his hand, using the grip in the rain soaked material of his shirt to pull him closer. He only had so many cards to play, and if this was his last one, he'd play it well. "Then don't," he said softly. "You don't have to hurt me."

Yunho felt the blood rush to his face, and Seonghwa noticed, mouth pulling up in a soft smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He let his hand travel up to the back of Yunho's head, fingers carding through soft hair. "Threatening me didn't work, so now you're doing this?" he rasped out, aiming for surety but only managing to sound strangled. Seonghwa only gave him a cryptic smile.

"I think I like this better."

I'll make it good for you. You'll see.

He leaned up to press his mouth to the side of Yunho's face, where the stain from Lia's lipstick used to be. Where he'd kissed him that night two years ago, and didn't even remember it. Deja vu hit him with the force of a tidal wave, and he stilled him with a gentle hand on his chest just as his lips were moving lower, closer to where Yunho shouldn't have wanted them to be. 

"You can't... do that," he said softly, and Seonghwa seemed to realize the same thing, turning pink and coming back to himself somewhat as he pulled away. 

A car tried to squeeze past in the tight space between Yunho's Duster and the parked cars near the sidewalks, but estimated the distance wrong and almost crashed into them before Yunho had the chance to even see it. Its driver braked and tried to move it backwards with limited success, all the while shouting heavy curses through the open window. 

Yunho heaved out an irritated sigh as he pulled the handbrake and turned on the sirens, watching in a sort of twisted delight how the young boy, probably with a fresh license in his pocket, turned red and clamped his mouth shut. And because he was difficult until the very end, he slipped out the car and strode over to him, shirt strategically ridden up to reveal his badge, drowning out Seonghwa's protests to just fucking leave it be. 

"Ya," he scolded without raising his voice, a malicious grin on his lips, "haven't they taught you at the driving courses that you can get your license suspended for insulting fellow traffic participants?" 

"I— I... Fuck, I didn't— this isn't a cop car, I—" 

Yunho gave a disinterested tilt of his head. "Just your luck, then. How long have you had your license?" 

"Uh... Two weeks." 

"Would be a shame to have it taken from you so soon, wouldn't you say?" 

And Yunho didn't actually want to give that kid trouble, truly. He didn't. But Seonghwa seemed to think otherwise, and emerged from the car, coming up beside him and placing a hand atop Yunho's own, his whole body stiff even as he tried to appear relaxed. "We need to go, Yunho-ya, please. Just leave him alone, he didn't do anything." 

The boy watched them with a confused expression that quickly turned into amusement. Yunho moved away from his touch, one step away from giving this unfortunate kid a fine that would have sent his poor parents in the grave on top of suspending his license, but how the fuck would that have helped? 

So instead he mustered up all the calm he didn't feel, kept his eyes carefully away from Seonghwa, and let the boy off with a begrudging warning before striding back to his car and starting it immediately. Seonghwa did rush after him, shooting an apologetic smile back to the boy, who looked like he was trying very hard not to break out into a laughing fit. 

Yunho drove on at his usual reckless pace, but Seonghwa didn't say anything about it this time. The silence between them felt heavy as Yunho kept refusing to meet his insistent eyes, stubbornly paying attention solely to the road ahead. 

"I'm so sorry," Seonghwa said at last, quietly as if the words pained him. Yunho did look at him at that, his eyes so cold that it hurt. 

"You're right. I don't have to hurt you, and I don't want to. I'll get the truth out of you myself. But don't ever question my authority in front of strangers again."

Seonghwa felt the words like a slap to the face, and shrunk back into his seat, the weight of everything he'd done and almost done pressing down on him with such force that he didn't even register they'd gotten there until the hum of the engine faded into dense silence. He turned to Yunho with a helpless look in his eyes, and could feel him soften, though he refrained from touching him again. 

"She'll be alright," he said gently, a fond look making its way onto his face. "I've never met a kid like her, hyung," he continued, oblivious to the blush that spread across Seonghwa's cheeks at the word, thawing some of the ice that had gathered in his heart at the treatment from before. "If she got into a fight, that means she had a good reason." 

"Yeah, I... I know," he replied shakily, unable to tear his eyes away. Yunho gave him a strange look. 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" 

Seonghwa's smile was sad as his hand moved to the door. "You don't realize, do you?" 

He frowned. "Realize what?" 

But Seonghwa only shook his head and stepped out, telling himself it was now or never, and Marika needed him now. 

"Hyung," Yunho called after him through the open car window, and there it was again, that treacherous twist of his heart. "Realize what?" 

Without turning around, Seonghwa flipped him off and stepped inside the eye of the storm, forcing Yunho away from his mind. For now, he had a bigger fish to fry. Everything else would have to wait. 

Chapter Text

Seonghwa stormed into the principal's office, lightly hysterical and head spinning as if he'd been drinking. Yeosang was here too, and both him and the principal rose to their feet at the disturbance. Marika didn't even lift her eyes off the floor, though, absently swinging her legs in the chair, mind elsewhere.

Seonghwa closed the door and gathered himself up to respectfully greet each of them before going to his daughter. "Are you hurt, Mari-ah?" She didn't reply, didn't seem to have heard him at all, stone-faced and caught up in her thoughts. He quickly assessed her for any injuries, cuts and bruises, but none were visible. The only things off about her appearance were the splotches of ink staining her blouse, and the coat that used to be red. Her hands were covered in it, too. 

"Thank you for coming on such short notice, Park Seonghwa-nim," the principal said with a practiced politeness that Seonghwa would have normally responded to in the same way, but right now he didn't much care for it.

His eyes flickered between the three of them as he asked, "What's going on?"

"Sit down, if you please."

Seonghwa took the seat next to Marika and squeezed her hand, feeling lightly relieved when she squeezed back, even if she was still stubbornly looking at the floor.

"Now," she continued, shooting a sharp look to Yeosang, "as I'm sure you've heard, Marika-ssi shoved another student during recess. This isn't something we tolerate here—" 

"Hold on," Yeosang said. "With all due respect, that's not quite the way it happened. I was there." Upon a stern look from the principal, he turned red and stammered, "I mean, it is, but..." He swallowed dryly and looked away from her to hold Seonghwa's gaze. "I heard raised voices from across the yard, and when I looked over, Felix-ssi was on the ground with Minji-ssi standing over him. I believe she pushed him, and Marika-ssi stepped in between them before I could get there." He smiled, growing more confident as he saw the lines on Seonghwa's face slightly relaxing. "What Marika-ssi did wasn't right, of course. But she was defending her friend, and I think all of us can at least sympathize with that." 

The principal gave a menacing tilt of her head. "We should tell him the rest of it, Kang-seonsaengnim." Her eyes darted to Marika, taking in her stained cothes with a look that Seonghwa didn't like at all. "Shortly after this, she and the very friend she was... defending... had a fight. An... ink fight." 

Yeosang plastered on a grin, too cheerful to be anything other than covertly cutting. "Gotta give them some points for creativity, at least." Seonghwa shot him a grateful look, and opened his mouth to speak, but the principal wasn't done. 

Ignoring Yeosang's comment, she said, "I talked to the other parents, too. None of the children got hurt, and there was no material damage." She looked directly to Marika. "This isn't the way to solve your problems. Whether it is with a friend of yours or someone else. Talk it out. And if that doesn't work out, tell your teacher." And then to Seonghwa— "However... honorable her intentions might have been, these sort of actions can't go unpunished, you must understand." 

Without letting Seonghwa get a word in, Yeosang intervened, "Given that all the kids are my students, I believe I should be the one to deal with this as I see fit. With your permission, of course." 

The principal's eyes narrowed, then briefly darted to the hefty Dostoievski book on her desk she'd no doubt been immersed in before this whole thing was brought to her attention and she was obligated by circumstances to take action. She sighed profusely. "Alright." 

"I'm so sorry," Marika choked out, voice breaking off. She trained her pleading eyes on Yeosang, but the one who answered was the principal.  

"Yeosang-ssi isn't the only person you should be apologizing to. Felix and Minji are outside. The three of you are suspended for the rest of the day." She gave her a meaningful look, and Marika nodded, some of the cheer creeping back into her gaze at the prospect of not having to go to class again. 

"If she should apologize," Seonghwa heard himself say, "so should Minji-ssi. My daughter isn't the only one who did something wrong."

The principal waved her hand dismissively. "Yes, yes. Get out of my sight, I've got work to do." Her tone wasn't quite unkind, but suggested immediate action, and all three of them were quick to scramble out of her office. 

"I'm so sorry, Appa," Marika said, clinging to Seonghwa's sleeve with fear in her gaze. He ran a hand through her hair, damp from the rain, and leaned in to kiss the crown of her head. 

"It's alright, monkey. I'm not mad at you." 

"You're— you're not?" Her marbled eyes were brimming with unfiltered hope, and Seonghwa only hugged her tighter in response. 

"Of course not. I understand that you were defending your friend, but... Can I ask why you fought with him afterwards?" 

Marika turned a little pink, and pulled away. "Forget it. It's stupid." Seonghwa met Yeosang's eyes, and he shrugged, looking like he wanted to say something but was holding it in. 

"Okay. Let's go talk to him, what do you say?" 

The rain had stopped, leaving the sky a dreary gray that matched everyone's mood. A couple in their forties was yelling at Chaeryeong, Felix's mother, and Yunho — Yunho? —, talking over each other in their haste to defend their daughter and place all the blame on Felix. And Chaeryeong was screaming at them right back, holding her own, which only fueled the fire up to the point where they were hardly even listening to each other. Yunho made an attempt to quiet everything down and just get them to talk like normal people, but then Minji's father made a comment about the cigarette in his hand, rendering his arguments null. 

He sighed, giving up any attempt to intervene but still sticking to Chaeryeong's side, eyes lighting up when he caught sight of Seonghwa and Marika making their way over to them with Yeosang following closely behind. Seonghwa gave him a strange look, apprehension quickly settling in past the immediate sense of relief at seeing he was still there. Had he waited so he would take Seonghwa to the station afterwards? 

A few feet away, the two children, Felix and Minji, were sitting down on the curb, her arm around his shoulders and sad looks on both their faces. Yeosang's guard went up instantly when he recognized the detective. He didn't seem to be on duty; Chaeryeong's mother was a single parent as well as Seonghwa, and they seemed rather close. Was he her boyfriend? 

Marika took Seonghwa's hand and dragged him to where the other children were sitting. "Mari-ah," he said warningly, "be nice to them, okay?" 

She frowned up at him, confused. "Of course I'll be nice." 

She hugged Minji first. "I'm sorry, Minji-ya. I know you didn't mean to push Felix." 

The girl looked close to tears as she wrapped her arms around Marika's ink stained back. "I did mean to," she replied shakily. "Felix said he didn't wanna hang out with me, and I got sad. But I don't blame you. I wouldn't wanna hang out with me if I was you." 

Seonghwa glanced at the girl's parents, still arguing like there was no tomorrow, and had an inkling why she was feeling that way. "Minji-ssi," he said, "it's okay to make mistakes as long as you learn something from them." 

She looked up with curious eyes, filled with a sadness that didn't belong on a seven year old's face at all. "I... Yeah. I guess." 

"That's my Appa," said Marika, sounding so proud that Seonghwa almost started crying. 

"It's nice to meet you," he said pleasantly, and Minji actually reached up to shake his hand with an air of seriousness that he suspected she'd learned from those stuck-up parents of hers.

"You too, Marika's dad-ssi." She then turned to Felix with a pleading look in her eyes. "I'm truly sorry, Felix-ah." 

"I do wanna hang out with you," Felix said sheepishly. "I just get really overwhelmed when people I don't know very well try and talk to me. Eomma calls it in some way, but I always forget..." 

"I know the word," Marika said. "Or I think I do." She looked up at Seonghwa. "It's something with an 'a', right, Appa? But I'm not sure how it goes." 

Seonghwa wasn't the adept of hiding things from his daughter, and tried his best to explain them to her as best as he could without burdening her. So he said, "I believe the word you're looking for is anxiety." 

"Yeah, that's it," Felix said. 

Minji looked up at him with a confused frown creasing her brows. "Is that... something bad?" 

Seonghwa made sure to look at all three of them as he answered, much like he did during his tours to help get the information through to everyone. "No. It's not bad. Anxiety is a thought or feeling that makes us feel hurt and uncomfortable. It's like a rain cloud. Pours and pours, but then the sun shines again and everything feels a little better." 

Felix's eyes lit up. "That's exactly what it feels like." 

"It's okay," Marika said, sitting down between them with a diplomacy that clashed with her youth and had Seonghwa's heart ache. She took both their hands. "We can all be friends." Felix nodded shyly. 

"I'd like that a lot," Minji replied, looking wistfully at her parents, whom Yeosang was trying with moderate success to calm down. 

"Do your parents fight a lot, Minji-ssi?" Seonghwa asked carefully, and the girl shrugged. 

"They're lawyers." 

"Oh." 

Minji mistook his surprise for confusion and quickly clarified, "That means they argue a lot and get money for it." 

"He knows what it means," Marika replied. "Appa's friend is a lawyer. And he's really nice." 

"My parents are nice, too." Minji frowned. "Sometimes." 

"There's no need for this," Yeosang said to them. "The problem's already been settled." 

"We're just talking," Minji's mother replied, shooting Chaeryeong a withering look. "Nothing wrong with that, is it?" 

Yeosang plastered on a cuttingly polite smile. "I have the utmost faith that you'll do your best to teach Minji-ssi healthy conflict resolutions in the future, Kim-ssi." 

She gaped at him for a long moment, looking like she wanted to add something, maybe shout at Yeosang too, but thought better of it and pursed her mouth. "Right." She turned to Yunho, looking down at his cigarette with a gleam in her eyes. "Could I have one of those?" 

Her husband's eyes widened in shock, looking close to leaping at Yunho's throat when he handed out the pack to her. 

"Hadn't you quit?" he asked through gritted teeth, but she only waved him off. 

"I— Oh," she said, turning the cigarette over in her hand with a raised brow at the phone number scrawled on it. 

"My bad," Yunho replied with a smile, and gave her a different one. Seonghwa watched the exchange warily from afar, missing the children's next words. 

"Appa?" He tore his eyes away. Marika was frowning. "Don't you wanna hear about how we covered an entire piece of paper in ink and then drew on it with Felix's ink eraser?" 

"Is that how the ink fight started?" he asked carefully, and she shrugged, turning sad. 

"It was my fault, Marika's Appa-ssi," Felix stepped in. "She said something about— I don't know, that she was getting a new family or something, and I teased her about you and my eomma getting married." 

Ignoring the part about him and Chaeryeong getting married after they'd ran into each other once in the park, he said to Marika, "What did you mean by getting a new family, Mari-ah?" 

Her lips pulled down in a decisive pout and she looked away, a clear sign that the more Seonghwa tried to ask, the more stubborn she'd become. "I... It doesn't matter. Forget it." 

"Mari-ah—"

"Come on, Minji-ya," the girl's father said, coming up behind them and stretching out his hand. With a sad look over her shoulder at Marika and Felix, she took it and rose up to follow her parents to their brand new Porsche. "Throw that thing away, for fuck's sake," Seonghwa heard him mutter as they walked away. "Don't smoke in front of the child." 

His wife grinned cruelly up at him and took a long drag, head held high. Seonghwa's heart broke a little for that girl. Yeosang stayed behind to talk to Chaeryeong, and Yunho too, probably, since he was still lingering like this was any of his business, and Seonghwa turned back to Marika and Felix, who were now tangled in a bone crushing hug. "I'm sorry I got mad and broke your pen, Felix-ah. But I really don't want you to be my brother." 

Seonghwa liked this less and less with every passing moment. He wasn't close enough to them to know their situation very well, but Chaeryeong had told him she was divorced, and her ex-husband changed girlfriends like he changed his socks. It didn't really come as a surprise that Felix would expect his mother to start over with the same ease. But Marika... Getting a new family? Where had that come from? Seonghwa hadn't dated anyone since his wife died, supposing that Hongjoong and Mingi didn't count, and surely hadn't brought any girlfriends home to meet his daughter, because there hadn't been any. And Marika had never approached that topic before, because why would she? Her family had only ever consisted of her mother and father, with Freja's relatives on the side but not enough to have any significant impact. And without her mother, there was only Seonghwa. It was a certainty as well as the rising of the sun every day in the east. But Youra's arrival had changed things, and the consequences were only now beginning to rear their little horned serpent heads. 

"That's alright. I don't really wanna be your brother either. I don't know why I said that." 

Marika pulled away, beaming. "We can be best friends, though. If you want." 

"Yeah." 

Yeosang extricated himself from the conversation and strode over to a grim-faced Seonghwa, shooting an apprehensive glance back to Yunho. "Seonghwa-ssi, can we talk?" 

"Sure." 

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly anxious. "...Somewhere else, maybe?" 

Seonghwa frowned, but nodded. "Mari-ah, I'll be right back, okay?" 

She hummed her agreement, and Seonghwa ruffled her hair before quite rudely cutting in on Yunho and Chaeryeong's seemingly animated conversation by placing a hand on his arm. "Could you watch her for a moment, Yunho-ya?" 

"Uh, yeah. Of course." 

He gave Chaeryeong a smile, retracting his hand. "It's good to see you again, Chaeryeong-ssi. The circumstances could have been better, but..."

"It's alright," she replied. "You aren't the problem, really. That girl's parents, however..." Chaeryeong trailed off, exchanging an amused look with Yunho, and Seonghwa took it as a sign to clear his throat and leave them be, following a baffled Yeosang back inside the school. He'd expected him to stop as soon as they were out of earshot, but he only walked faster, forcing Seonghwa to quicken his step so he wouldn't fall behind. Seonghwa's surprise reached its peak when he pulled him by the arm with little to no effort inside one of the school bathrooms. 

"What are you doing?" he asked warily, and Yeosang didn't answer at first, making sure they were alone before he reached behind Seonghwa to close the door.  

The look he trained on him was severe. "What's wrong with you?" 

Seonghwa blanked. "What's wrong with— excuse me?" 

"What's that detective doing here? I thought he came here with Chaeryeong-ssi, but it turns out he's— with you." 

Seonghwa crossed his arms over his chest, growing defensive. However untrue, why would Marika's teacher care if he was seeing a man? "Look, I appreciate you standing up for my daughter. But with all due respect, my personal life is no concern of yours. Why would you bring me to a— a bathroom to talk to me about this?"

Yeosang sighed. "No security cameras here," he said quietly. 

"What?" 

"Listen, Jongho-ssi returned my car to me last night. He didn't give me much detail, but it's clear that the cops don't know where they are. Whatever you do, don't say anything. It's only gonna be worse for you if you do."

Seonghwa tensed. Jongho did tell him the Ford Fiesta belonged to Yeosang, but it could still be some sort of trap. He could be working with the cops, recording their conversation on his phone to give it back to Yunho. Maybe this was what he'd meant when he said he would get the truth out of him. "I have no idea what you're talking about." 

"Yeah, of course not," Yeosang said, sounding unsurprised. "And if I tell you Marika-ssi told me about, and I quote, the big man hiding in your house, you'll also have no idea what I'm talking about, right?" 

Seonghwa slumped back against the closed door, all the color leaving his face. "Believe it or not," Yeosang continued sharply, "I'm just as involved in this as you are. It's why I wanted to talk to you in private. Because if you start shooting your mouth off to your detective lover, I'll have to suffer, too. You know he's only getting close to you for information, right?" He gave a contemptuous laugh. "Sanni and Wooyoung told me all sorts of things. First they try to get under your skin, and if that doesn't work, they start threatening you. Or the other way around. Depends on the cop, really."

Seonghwa couldn't feel his face anymore, but whatever Yeosang saw on there seemed to have all the confirmation he needed. "Sounds familiar?" 

"We're not— He's not..." 

"Yeah, he's not," Yeosang replied. "He's got phone numbers on his cigarettes and he's flirting with married women in front of their husbands. Right now he's out there flirting with Chaeryeong-ssi. Your personal life is no concern of mine, Seonghwa-ssi. But going to jail is." 

It was impossible that Yunho had sent him, Seonghwa realized, but this new variable was making his head spin. Was he the only one who'd been left in the dark? "I was helping my friends," he said. "Friends who conveniently forgot to tell me they were making me accomplice to a murder." 

At that, Yeosang huffed. "Wooyoung did say you have a penchant for drama." 

"Excuse me?" 

"Don't raise your voice," he warned. "They didn't tell me too much so I wouldn't get in more trouble, but I know enough. And it's not like that. Sanni was framed." 

"Then— why the fuck doesn't he go to the police?" 

Yeosang looked at him like he was a particularly thick child. "Because he's a known ex-con who lives off money won in illegal underground fights. It was a perfect crime, and somebody like San is the perfect scapegoat. No one will believe him, and why would they? The only thing the police wants is to solve their cases, nevermind that they're wrong." 

The image of the kind schoolteacher that his daughter boasted about on her first day didn't align at all with what Seonghwa was seeing now. "Yunho isn't like that," he protested weakly. He wanted the truth, and thought Seonghwa was the one who had it. Yunho was using him, yes, but Seonghwa was lying to him, too. If Yunho hadn't pushed him away, if that boy hadn't pulled up behind them... In that moment of vulnerable desperation, he hadn't thought it through, not really. But if Yunho wanted it, if that was what it took to get himself out of his line of fire, he'd have given it to him. And Yunho would have used him well. He wondered what it would it have felt like, letting Yunho touch him the way no one else had before, letting himself taste that sweet lie. Yunho would have made it good for him. Maybe he even would have managed to trick Seonghwa into thinking he cared about him at all.  

Yeosang unknowingly made his turmoil worse by laughing in his face. "That's what they all say, isn't it?" And Yeosang didn't know him at all, but he'd grown fond of Marika, and she looked so much like her father that the hurt look on Seonghwa's face pulled at his heartstrings, and he softened, drawing closer. "I'm sorry, Seonghwa-ssi. I'm sorry you got involved in this. But they're going to leave the country soon, and the cops won't have any choice but to drop the case. You just have to hold on for a little longer." 

"I didn't say anything to him." 

Yeosang nodded, relieved. "Okay. That's good." 

"I don't like this, Yeosang-ssi," he said shakily, trying to muster up what was left of his dignity. He felt like a city laid to waste by war and famine, lost somewhere in the deep sea of history and still waiting for somebody to discover him beneath the layers of dirt and time. "I'll think about transferring my daughter to a different class."

"That's your call," Yeosang replied sadly. "But wait until the case is dropped, at least. Both of you are under enough supervision as it is." Seonghwa looked away. "What, you really think he won't try to interrogate Marika-ssi as well?" 

His gaze darkened. "He can't, not without my permission." And Yunho wouldn't do that. He wouldn't. Would he? Seonghwa didn't know. He didn't know anything anymore. "I have to get back." 

"Seonghwa-ssi—" 

Already halfway out the door, he shot back impassively, "Don't worry. I'll stay quiet. For now." 

Yunho let the cigarette fall to the ground when Marika jumped into his arms under Chaeryeong and Felix's surprised gazes. "I'm so sorry, Yunho-ssi," she said against him, sounding choked up. A little dazed, Yunho carded his fingers through her soft hair for a moment before nudging her away so he could bend down to be at eye level with her. Strangely enough, she couldn't meet his gaze. 

"It's okay, Mari-ssi," he said gently. "You did what you thought was right." 

"No, I..." She shot a wary glance at Chaeryeong, who took Felix's hand, clearing her throat. 

"We should probably go too, buddy," she said, plastering on a grin. "Say goodbye?" 

He did, happily as if nothing had happened at all and hugging Marika briefly. "It was good meeting you, Yunho-ssi," Chaeryeong said. "Thanks for, you know... helping. Minji's parents were definitely something." 

"Glad to be of service," Yunho replied, letting Marika hold onto his hand, her eyes sad. 

They watched Chaeryeong and Felix as they walked back to their car, and as soon as they were out of sight, Marika's lower lip started to tremble. "What's wrong, Mari-ssi?" he asked softly, squeezing her hand. "Is your dad mad at you?" 

She shook her head wistfully. "No, it's... It's not that." She looked apprehensive, and Yunho grew worried. He checked as best as he could for injuries, but there didn't seem to be any. 

"You can tell me," he said gently, and she finally looked at him with her wide eyes, shining with unspilled tears. 

"I got really mad at Felix." 

"...Okay."

"He said he was gonna be my brother." Yunho's eyes darkened, wary. "Is that what you meant when you told me Appa was gonna get me a family? Cause I don't think I want that. Not like this." 

Dread pooled in the pit of Yunho's stomach. Seonghwa blamed himself for her outburst, but it was Yunho's fault after all. In that moment, it felt like a way to calm her down and explain her father's sadness, and it had worked, or at least that's what he'd thought, but he'd turned everything messier than it had to be. He never should have gotten involved. First Seonghwa's mother, then the mess he'd made of Seonghwa himself, and now this. 

"No, Mari-ah," he told her at last. "That's not what I meant. I'm... not sure what I meant. I'm really sorry." 

"Okay..." she brightened a little, blinking away her tears. "I'm happy you're here." And then confusion crept into her gaze. "Why are you here?" 

"I... drove your father. His car broke down. But it's not so bad," he assured her. "She's just a bit sick." 

"Oh, Lizzie..." She hugged him again, and Yunho's heart gave a painful twist. "Can you save her?" 

"I... yeah. I'll, uh, try." 

"You're the coolest, Yunho-ssi." She pulled away to look at him. "When I grow up, I wanna be a defective just like you." 

Yunho's breath caught. "You— you do?" She nodded, grinning, and took his hand again as Seonghwa was approaching them, furiously typing away on his phone. He looked beyond troubled, and was hiding it behind careful coldness.

"I talked to Yuna," he said to Marika, stretching out his hand in the hopes that she'd drop Yunho's. "She's feeling better." But she gave him her other hand, sandwiching herself between them without letting go of Yunho. Seonghwa gave him an impassive look and went back to texting with his free hand. 

Marika squealed happily. "Can she come back now?" 

"I think so, hold on," he replied absently, eyes on the screen. 

"Is Lizzie really sick, Appa?" 

"Nothing a good car doctor won't be able to fix."

"Yunho-ssi can fix her." At that, Seonghwa raised his eyes as if he was seeing Yunho for the first time. 

"Thanks, but there's no need for that. I'll take her to the service myself, but she's gonna have to wait a bit. The exposition thing's pretty urgent."

"The what?" 

"The thing at work I told you about, monkey. It's due in a few weeks or so." 

Marika saddened. "I thought you said you weren't going." 

Seonghwa met her eyes, and softened. "My boss doesn't want me there, but even if I don't go, I still need to help prepare the exposition. There are many things she can't do on her own, and the juniors aren't really helping."

"But why would you have to do that if you're not going? It's stupid." 

Seonghwa snorted. "Yeah. It is." 

He continued texting, and Marika was growing impatient, which Yunho noticed. "Can we go, hyung?" 

"Just a moment, I'm trying to find us an Uber," he replied, not looking at him, and Yunho felt even worse. 

Before he had the chance to say anything, Marika said, "Why, Appa? Yunho-ssi's car is right there." She wrenched her hand from Seonghwa's hold to point across the street to Yunho's Duster. "It's that big black one, don't you remember? Even I can see it." 

"Don't point your finger, monkey." She lowered her hand and clasped Seonghwa's again. 

"Sorry." 

"It's okay, I can drive you," Yunho said. Cornered and without finding a good reason to refuse, Seonghwa relented and let himself be dragged back to Yunho's car. 

"The ophthalmologist called me," he said to Marika. "Your glasses arrived." 

"I don't want glasses," she protested, but Seonghwa only ushered her in the backseat. "I don't want them, Appa." 

"We'll talk at home, okay?" 

Marika pouted. "Can I play Subway Surfers?" 

Seonghwa didn't want her to force her eyes anymore, but he couldn't bear seeing her as sad as she was now. He gave her his phone and let the door fall shut behind her, then pulled out a vape from his pocket, leaning back against the car. He inhaled greedily, avoiding Yunho's piercing gaze burning holes in the side of his face. 

"Vapes, hyung? Since when?" he asked, masking his worry behind an easy smile. 

"I'm trying to quit," Seonghwa replied. "I never should have started smoking again." 

Yunho leaned back at his side, close enough that their elbows brushed. "Those are worse than cigarettes." 

"And what do you know?" he retorted. "You smoke two packs a day, and that's when you're taking it slow." 

"Low blow," Yunho replied, opening his pack to take one for himself, and Seonghwa's eyes fell on the cig that had the phone number scrawled on it. 

"Is that Chaeryeong's number?" 

Yunho raised a brow at him. "Would it bother you if it was?" 

The look in Seonghwa's eyes turned impossibly colder. "Yes, actually." Yunho drew closer, eyes glinting maliciously. 

"Want her for yourself, hyung?" Seonghwa didn't reply. The absurdity of the question made it impossible for him to, but Yunho didn't seem to understand that. "That's okay," he said. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind it if you joined in." Seonghwa turned a little pink at that, and Yunho smirked cruelly, greatly pleased with himself. 

Joined in. Joined in. His eyes flitted down to Yunho's hands as he lit his cig. He'd never quite seen hands like Yunho's. "I don't want her," he said after a long moment, meeting his gaze. "And you're missing the point." 

"Which is?" 

Seonghwa exhaled a cloud of unbearably sweet blueberry smoke in the air and fisted a hand in the edge of Yunho's still rain damp jacket, forcing him to meet his eyes. "You're too close." 

Yunho looked down at Seonghwa's hand and gave a confused laugh. "Let go of me if I'm too close." 

Seonghwa didn't. When he spoke, he emphasized each word, eyes firmly on Yunho's face. "You can have whoever the fuck you want. Find yourself somebody who isn't directly involved in my and my daughter's life. I'd hate having to see you around after your stupid quest is over." 

Yunho frowned, hurt. Serves him well, Seonghwa thought, even as he found himself wanting to take it back. He didn't mean it. He didn't mean it at all, and it scared him. "Hyung..." 

Seonghwa let go of him and took another long hit from his vape, grimacing at the taste. He missed cigs. The heady smell of the Dunhill burning away between Yunho's fingers made his mouth water, and he could almost feel the taste of it on his tongue. "Don't call me that," he said cuttingly, and that hurt too, but Seonghwa's next words were the final nail in Yunho's coffin. "You were right. You do ruin everything. And so do I. Maybe we're more alike than I thought." 

"Get in the car," Yunho said firmly, but Seonghwa didn't move. 

"I'll go to the station myself," he said, tendrils of synthetic smoke slithering out of his mouth and right in Yunho's face. That thing smelled like a cake baked by the world's drunkest cook. "Tonight, after Marika goes to sleep. You made me your problem, and I'll solve it." 

"Don't," Yunho said, eyes sad. "It won't go well for you." 

"Can't be worse than dealing with you." Yunho didn't reply to that. He didn't know how to. Seonghwa pocketed the vape and reached for the handle of the door to the passenger's side. "I know you won't let it go. And it's okay, I get it. All you want is to solve your case. But you're wrong about me." 

Without giving Yunho the chance to muster up a reply, he slid in the seat and closed the door behind him. Yunho stared at him through the window for a long moment, but Seonghwa wasn't looking at him anymore. He got in the car too, and started it. 

"Mari-ah, can I have my phone, please? I need to talk to Yuna." 

"Just one game, Appa." 

"You can play later," he said. "Your eyes need to rest." 

She handed the phone back to him, but not without a fair share of pouting and protesting. "I don't want glasses." 

"I'm sorry, monkey," Seonghwa replied. "But we've been through this already. If you want to see, you need glasses." He began to text again. 

"I don't care," she said, crossing her arms over her chest and stubbornly keeping her eyes trained on the window. "I won't wear them." 

"We'll talk at home, okay?" 

She set her jaw and remained quiet. "What's wrong with glasses, Mari-ssi?" Yunho asked, briefly meeting her eyes through the rearview mirror. He was driving slowly, or at least below the speed limit, a rare occurrence for him, dreading the thought of having to let them go. Despite how much it felt like he was going at a relanti, and how tense Seonghwa was beside him, he wanted to drag it out for as long as he could. 

"They're ugly," she replied, and Yunho's features twisted up in a sad frown. 

"No, they're not. I have glasses." 

"You do?" Marika asked, her tone not devoid of suspicion. "Where are they?" 

Stopping at the red light, Yunho reached inside the compartment in the passenger's side, careful not to touch Seonghwa's legs. He pulled out a dark blue case and placed his pair of thin rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose, giving Marika a sheepish smile through the rearview mirror. "I don't think they're ugly. Do you?" 

"...No." She sounded almost begrudging, and quickly added, "But aren't you supposed to always wear them?" 

"They're for reading," he said. "But I'll probably have to get a pair for distance soon, too. My eyesight is not what it used to be. Old people, you see." 

Marika nodded, still a little torn, but at least she wasn't arguing anymore. Seonghwa raised his eyes to look at him, gratitude shining past all the resentment and conflict he felt. Yunho gave him a soft smile, flushing a pretty shade of pink. "Don't they suit me?" 

"Yeah," Seonghwa replied quietly, "they do." 

"Green light!" Marika shouted from the backseat, and Yunho averted his eyes from him, putting the car back into gear before he gave the people lined up behind them the chance to use the honks they loved so much. He looked through the windshield from above the glasses as best as he could, but it was tricky, and he couldn't really take them off now as he had to keep a hand on the wheel to take a left turn at a difficult crossroads and the other on the gear shifter. 

Without a word, Seonghwa took the glasses off his face and put them back in their place. "Thanks," Yunho said, finding himself a little breathless. 

"Sure," he replied, typing away at his phone with a distracted smile. 

Shin Yuna [13.40]
i'll be right there, oppa
but i'm charging you double for the short notice :)) 

Park Seonghwa [13.40]
Am I financing your shopping sprees again?

Shin Yuna [13.41]
...maaybe
not my fault vapes are so fuckin expensive 

Park Seonghwa [13.41]
They suck, too
I tried one

Shin Yuna [13.41]
really? 

Park Seonghwa [13.41]
Yeah, I guess

Shin Yuna [13.42]
you tried the blueberry one, didn't you

Park Seonghwa [13.43]
How did you know?

Shin Yuna [13.43]
it's the worst one
you always go for the worst ones

He snorted out a laugh, immersed in conversation over text, and Yunho raised his brows, wanting to ask, but Seonghwa looked so at peace, and he didn't want to ruin it for him. He'd done enough of that already. 

"Appa, can I have your phone now?" 

"Later, Mari-ah, I promise." 

"Want mine?" Yunho asked, delighting when her eyes lit up. 

"You got games?" 

"Uh, just Sudoku. But you can install whatever you want." 

"Sudoku?" she asked with a grimace. "How old even are you?" 

"Ya, I'm not that old." 

He unlocked it for her when they stopped at the red light, watching Seonghwa's face for a sign of protest and not finding any. 

"You have a lot of messages, Yunho-ssi," she said. 

"That's okay. I'll get to them later." 

Busying herself with Yunho's phone, she didn't say another word, and neither did Seonghwa, too caught up in his texting. Yunho couldn't help the unpleasant feeling twisting in his chest, but what could he possibly say that he hadn't already said? 

That feeling only intensified when he pulled up outside Seonghwa's house and saw the dainty pink Matisse parked in the yard. Marika handed the phone back to him, and perhaps Yunho should have just stayed there, but he got out with them, much to Seonghwa's confusion. 

The front door opened, revealing a young woman with a wide smile and pretty light brown eyes, straight black hair falling down her back. Grey low waisted skinny jeans and a cream colored fitted sweater, cropped at the shoulders. Not a drop of rain on her, whereas Yunho was soaked through, damp hair sticking to the sides of his face. 

"Yuna-unnie!" Marika shouted happily, almost tackling her to the ground with how forcefully she jumped into her arms. The woman laughed, hugging her back without taking her eyes off Seonghwa, who was also smiling softly at her. Yunho swallowed a lump in his throat, unable to even move. 

The woman, Yuna, consipratively sent Marika inside with the promise of fresh tteokbokki, and stepped out in her slippers to meet Seonghwa halfway, throwing her arms around his neck. "I missed you." Her sweater had a zipper; Yunho pictured Seonghwa tugging it down with the same look in his eyes he'd had when he'd tried to kiss him. He gritted his teeth, looking away. Yunho recalled what Seonghwa had said to him that night, about his wife accusing him he was sleeping with Marika's sitter. Seonghwa had recoiled at the prospect then, but his wife was dead now, and Yuna wasn't seventeen anymore. Was she the person he was in love with? It made sense, too, he supposed. She was young, beautiful, and she'd been there for him for a long time. Would Seonghwa tell her about him? Or had he already filed it away as a fluke, something unpleasant he'd been forced by circumstance to do and didn't matter enough to tell the woman he loved about it? 

He nudged her off him and said with a grin, "You ordered that tteokbokki, didn't you?" 

"Didn't wanna poison the monkey with my cooking," she replied. 

"You ordered it on my card, I presume?" 

"Of course," she replied, only then taking her eyes off Seonghwa enough to notice there was somebody else there with them. "Hey," she said to Yunho, her smile dimming slightly. 

"Uh, hi." 

Seonghwa's expression turned back to something neutral. "That's Yunho," he said. "A... friend of mine." 

"It's good to meet you," Yuna replied pleasantly. 

"You too." 

"I'll be right in, okay?" Seonghwa told her with a small smile, and only when she was inside did he turn to face Yunho, the smile falling away as he wrapped his arms around himself. "Thanks for driving us." 

"Of course." 

"And for the other thing," he said sheepishly, a pink flush gracing his cheeks. "She might actually wear the glasses thanks to you." 

"Hyung, I—" he trailed off, looking away. "I'm sorry." 

"What for, exactly?" 

Hurting you. Making you feel like you had to do something you didn't want to do. Threatening you. Pushing you away. "For everything." 

Seonghwa shrugged, playing at nonchalance and missing the mark completely. "I'm sorry too. For earlier. I was... out of line." 

"Don't worry about it. I was, too." 

"Yeah, well," he replied, eyes darting back to the house. "I'll— see you around, I suppose." 

He turned to go, quickening his step when the rain started again. He didn't look back at him, and Yunho ached. For a long moment he just stood there, in the rain, watching the closed door. He tried to light himself a cig, but of course it didn't work, and he only ended up feeling like a fool as he finally forced himself to snap out of it and got back into his car, driving away. 

Chapter Text

At the edge of Seonghwa's neighborhood, Yunho slipped in the passenger's seat of a shiny dark blue Jaguar, clearly brand new.

"I got you flowers." He handed the woman the bouquet, and she snorted out a laugh, brows raised. She still saw right through him. 

"Thanks. Who rejected them?" 

Yunho threw her his best smile. "Hopefully not you." Calliope grinned at him, amused, and placed them in the backseat. 

She eyed his cigarette. "If you get ash anywhere in my car, I'll gut you like a fish, then make you clean it. You know how expensive cleaning this shit is?" She opened the window for him, and Yunho flicked off the ash outside, grateful she hadn't made him put it out. Ever since he'd dropped Seonghwa and Marika off, he'd chain smoked an entire pack while aimlessly driving around the city for hours, and somehow he'd still ended up here and asked her to meet. 

"Don't give me that," Yunho said. "I know how much you get paid, Cali-ah. Rich insecure people are everywhere. A cheating wife today, a prodigal son tomorrow..."

She shrugged, already used to it. The rivalry between police and private detectives was nothing new under the sun. "Less field work, more money."

"I love the field work," he replied. "It's what I wake up in the morning for."

Calliope raised her brows. "That sounds... depressing."

Yunho took a moment to picture it. Arranging his own schedule, picking out only the richest clients, doing everything on his own terms and getting paid enough to buy his weight in cigarettes every day. "Ah, fuck. You're living the life, aren't you?" 

The smile she gave him in response didn't quite reach her eyes. "You'd think that. Try dealing with rich people and their problems for a day, see how you like it."

Yunho raised his brows. "You talk as if you aren't fundamentally one of them now." She huffed, and for a moment Yunho feared that he'd insulted her. Back when she still worked in the department, Yunho had been a wide-eyed rookie eager to prove himself, overworked and exploited like most young employees tended to be, and Calliope had read him well. He still sought her advice out sometimes. 

"You're wasting your time with this, Yunho-ya," she said with a sigh. And Yunho quickly realized that maybe he didn't want to hear her advice this time after all. 

"How is she?" he asked, ignoring her remark.

Calliope raised her brows. "Rich. A high-functioning alcoholic. Superiority complex the size of her monster ego."  

"Sounds like fun, but that's not what I asked." 

"She— it took me a while, but she agreed to leave him alone until he seeks her out himself." 

"He's never gonna do that," Yunho replied. 

"I know how convincing you can be," Calliope said, a strange look in her eyes. "Youra's difficult, but she's not a monster. I checked the records from all the hospitals in the city from the year the daughter was born, and the one before. The only times Park Freja was admitted was when she went to get her sonograms done, and then when she gave birth."

"So she lied to him about getting pushed? Why— why would anyone do that?" 

"Youra was a thorn in her side," she replied. "This was probably her only way to make sure he'd agree to keep her out of their lives. I doubt Freja was even ill intentioned. She just wanted her peace of mind."

Yunho's eyes darkened. "That's not— it isn't right. He... cut ties with his parents over a lie."

"What's that even got to do with your case, Yunho-ya?" Calliope had called him as soon as she found out that one of the people she was paid to look into was also investigated by the police, and kept Seonghwa's involvement in the case from Youra when Yunho had asked her to, but she was growing impatient. Still, when she continued, her words were gentle, almost pitying. "If you think he's guilty, just bring him in. Why so much fuss? Unless, of course, you don't want to."

"I'm not sure if he's... guilty. At most, he's gotten involved against his will and without even fully knowing what was going on. But I'm starting to doubt that, too." He threw the cigarette away and rubbed at his temple, exhausted. "Fuck, I never should have let it get this far." 

"How far are we speaking?" she asked, ever so pragmatic. The familiarity of it grounded him, even with how deep her next words cut him. "Did you sleep with him yet? Or are we still referring to a casual sort of meddling?" 

"I didn't— sleep with him. He's in love with someone else, I think."

Calliope gave him a look, and he turned red, realizing he'd given the wrong answer. "If that's your argument for not sleeping with one of your suspects, I think the problem is obvious. You can get your kicks somewhere else, Yunho-ya. Or if you really can't let go, get off the case. Hand it over to someone else."

He'd thought about that, too. Yet the thought that whoever might get assigned to it would hurt Seonghwa made him recoil. They wouldn't look at him like he was made of glass, wouldn't bother befriending him, wouldn't get attached to his daughter, wouldn't hesitate. But Yunho had hurt him too, he knew, and supposed that Seonghwa had been right when he'd called him a hypocrite.

"I don't want him, Cali-ah. Plus, there's someone else." He opened the pack, showing her the cigarette with Lia's number on it, the corners of his mouth lifting up in a small smile. "She's... I only met her once, but— ah, fuck. She's a charmer. Bold, beautiful, smart. She knows her cars. Doctorate in history. More of a player than I am."

"Sounds like you finally met your match."

Yunho hummed, lost in the memory of Lia's hands on him, her lips on his neck, hungry eyes roaming over every patch of skin she exposed. What would it feel like, letting her get close to him, letting her linger where everyone before her had made themselves scarce? His biological clock was ticking, too. Maybe it was time for him to try building something real. Would she even pick up the phone if he called? "Maybe," he replied. "How's your husband? The third, is it?"

She laughed. "Fifth," she said. "And on the brink of divorce." 

"I'm... sorry?"

She waved him off. "He was a bad idea from a start. Ten years my junior, you know how that goes."

His mind inevitably went back to Yuna and Seonghwa. She was younger than him by ten years, too. "You don't think it can work?"

She shrugged. "Maybe for some."

And Yunho wanted to ask her. She'd been watching Seonghwa for some time, maybe she knew if... 

His train of thought was interrupted by the pink blur speeding right past Yunho's window. Had she left so soon? But no. Even from the back, he recognized the person behind the wheel. "Shit."

"What?"

"That was him. In that car, the pink one."

Calliope raised a brow. "And? Maybe he's going to the store."

"Or the police station."

"What?"

"We need to follow him." She didn't move, only kept staring at him. "Please, Cali-ah," he pleaded, dimly aware of how desperate he sounded but not caring. "He's going to do something stupid."

"How's that my problem?"

Yunho's eyes narrowed. "I bet you'll love explaining to Youra that her son got himself into trouble under your watch."

She sighed, and finally turned on the engine at a snail's pace. "I thought you didn't care."

"I care about my case," Yunho replied, clipped. "Who the fuck drives at that speed and without headlights if they're only going to the store?"

Calliope checked the mirrors and followed at an inconspicuous distance, saying, "Only because I'm missing the chase."

He shot her a grateful look, and didn't dare say anything else, shrinking back into the seat so Seonghwa wouldn't see his face if he'd checked the rearview mirror. "Go slower or he'll figure it out," he hissed. Calliope floored the gas and gave him a look.

"I'm letting you talk informally to me because of all we've been through together, but I'm still your senior. Don't presume to tell me what to do."

Yunho set his jaw, eyes ahead. What the fuck was he doing? This wasn't the way to the station at all. He held on to the hope that it was just a quick trip into the city to get something, even though he'd have to listen to Calliope's "I told you so" speech. But it all quickly faded away into unease when Seonghwa pulled up in the parking lot of a nondescript non-stop bar at the outskirts of the city, appropriately called Chicken's Doom. Or at least that's what Yunho guessed it was supposed to say; the neon sign had a few letters missing and only managed to spell out Chick n oom. A little further away from Yuna's obnoxiously pink Matisse, Calliope parked the car, and they both watched Seonghwa nervously glance around before locking up the car and heading inside, all tensed up, with the air of somebody who would rather be anywhere else. 

Calliope was growing suspicious too. "He doesn't look like he's been here before."

"He doesn't drink," Yunho replied distractedly, staring after Seonghwa as he disappeared inside the sad excuse of a building. "Not anymore."

He opened his door, but Calliope stopped him. "Leave it to me," she said. Yunho tried to protest, but she was having none of it. "Chill out, for fuck's sake. He'll be fine. Give me your cigs?" 

"Why?" 

"Just do it. Trust me." 

Hongjoong's tropical bird hair was easy to spot, even in the crowd. He was sitting at the barstool, sipping on a mojito and staring at his phone screen, so immersed in it that he didn't even see Seonghwa approach until he'd plopped down in the seat next to him. Alone, no Mingi in sight, and for that Seonghwa was grateful; if he'd seen Mingi here, he would have probably lost it. 

He had the audacity to smile. "It's good to see you." 

"I wish I could say the same, Hongjoong-ah," he replied sharply. 

"Were you followed?" 

Seonghwa shook his head. The only person who could have followed him was Yunho, and he would have recognized his cursed Duster anywhere. He jutted out his chin, "Where are they?" 

Hongjoong raised a brow, the grin falling away. "Safe." 

The bartender asked him what he wanted to drink, and Seonghwa ordered a soda. She uncapped a cola bottle and poured some in a glass, giving him a too-wide grin. "Here to watch the fights?" 

Seonghwa could only gape at her. "The..." 

"Yes," Hongjoong replied for him. After she was gone, Seonghwa's white knuckled grip on the glass tightened as if he wanted to break it. 

"Fights? You're joking." Seonghwa followed his eyes to a staircase that seemed to lead to some sort of basement. 

"Not really." 

"Why would you bring me here?" he hissed. 

"You said you have questions. Ask away." Seonghwa wasn't used to this side of him, brief and cold as if they hadn't been through all sorts of shit together, because of each other. As if Seonghwa was a ticking bomb, or something of a wild animal. He downed his soda. 

"Yunho thinks he's onto me."

"What could he be onto you for? You don't know anything." 

Seonghwa frowned. "He thinks otherwise. Don't I at least deserve to know what you got me into?" Hongjoong didn't reply, choosing instead to gulp down the rest of his drink and order another one that got the same treatment. "A murder charge, Hongjoong-ah?" he pressed, sounding close to panicked tears despite how much he was trying to appear collected. 

"He was framed," he replied simply, as if that answered everything. Yeosang had said the same thing, and it made as little sense to him now as it had then. 

"Did he or did he not do it?" 

"What does it matter to you?" he asked wryly. "They'll be gone soon, after they get the money." 

"The money," Seonghwa echoed. "They're here, aren't they." 

It wasn't a question, and for a moment, Hongjoong hesitated. "Just Wooyoung. He'll tell you all you want to know, I promise." 

"You— What the fuck, Hongjoong-ah?"

"Seonghwa... You should just leave it be. The cops will leave you alone, your life will go back to normal— Why ask me questions you don't even want to know the answer to?" 

"He did it, then." 

"Yes," Hongjoong replied quietly, and he winced. "In self-defense, after that drug-addled boy tried to kill him in the ring." 

"That's not what San said." 

"Of course San would defend him and take the blame for himself," Hongjoong replied with a frown that Seonghwa couldn't quite decipher. "A martyr till the end," he mused. "But it wasn't like that." 

"What was it like, then?" 

Hongjoong opened his mouth to reply, but thought better of it when he saw the middle aged woman who'd taken the seat next to Seonghwa at the barstool. She eyed Hongjoong and Seonghwa's drinks. "Want a refill on that?" 

"Thanks," Hongjoong said pleasantly, unable to find a good reason to refuse, and accepted the Mojito handed to him. 

She turned to Seonghwa, a searching look in her eyes that made him feel exposed, studied like an anatomy textbook. He wasn't sure he liked it. "What about you?" 

"I, uh— don't drink alcohol." 

"Wise," she replied, and ordered for him some water, along with one for herself. The bartender asked her the same question she'd asked Seonghwa, and the woman's eyes twinkled. "I suppose I am." 

"Have we met before?" Seonghwa asked her. She looked oddly familiar. Rolex watch around her wrist, pristinely dyed hair pulled back in a tight bun, no other jewelry save for a thin gold chain around her neck, graceful without being ostentatious about her obvious wealth. Maybe she just reminded him of his mother. She couldn't have been much younger than Youra. 

"I doubt it," she replied, a curious expression making its way onto her face as she took the time to look at him. "On second thought, you look familiar too. You're not one of them idols, are you?" 

Hongjoong actually cracked a laugh at that. "I tried convincing him to audition when we were younger, but he wouldn't hear of it." 

"You're certainly pretty enough." She then looked at Hongjoong. "Both of you are." 

"See?" Hongjoong said to Seonghwa, ever a menace. "But no, he was set out to become a doctor." 

"What'd you specialize in?" she asked him. 

"Oh, I never professed. It wasn't for me." 

Hongjoong wrapped an arm around his shoulders, the three Mojitos beginning to say their word. "That's Seonghwa for you," he slurred. "King of missed opportunities." 

Seonghwa shook him away, shrinking in on himself. "You're drunk. How about I take you home?" 

Hongjoong actually seemed ready to agree, but the woman had something else in mind. "And miss out on all the fun?" 

He rose to his feet, the glint in his eyes making Seonghwa's stomach twist with dread. "She's right. Shall we?" And then he leaned in conspiratorially, an edge to his voice that suggested he wasn't really as drunk as he was letting on. "We have a lot to catch up on." 

The woman smiled, watching them intently. "You two go ahead. I'll join you in a moment, after I've had a smoke." 

Seonghwa's reply surprised Hongjoong, but not her. "Can I come with you?" 

"Of course," she replied, and Hongjoong's eyes darkened. 

"I'll meet you downstairs, okay?" Seonghwa was quick to assure him, and he nodded, a little wary as he turned away. 

"I didn't catch your name," the woman called after him. 

"It's Hongjoong," he replied. "What's yours?" 

"Calliope." 

Now Seonghwa was certain he didn't actually know her; he would have surely remembered somebody with a name like that. 

Outside in the cold night air, Seonghwa pulled out his vape and choked on its sweet, rotten cake taste as Calliope was texting somebody on her iPhone, the last model. "Sorry about that," she said with a distracted smile, putting her phone away. "My husband asks for my location more often than Google." 

Seonghwa huffed out a laugh and coughed again. "I know what that's like." 

"You're married, Seonghwa-ssi?" 

"I was," he replied, not looking at her. "She's dead now." 

"I'm sorry." He shrugged, taking a deep drag and ending up breaking into a coughing fit. 

She gave him a sympathetic look and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "Don't you want one of these instead?" Dunhill Blacks. Seonghwa's breath caught, and for a moment, he couldn't utter a single word. She looked almost amused as she held one out for him along with a lighter that looked exactly like the one he'd left inside the pack he'd given Yunho. Seonghwa stared down at it for a long moment, a sense of deja vu knocking all the air out from his lungs. "What's wrong?" Calliope asked, a cryptic look in her eyes, glinting in the dim streetlights. 

Seonghwa pocketed the vape and lit the cigarette in his mouth, buying himself some time before he had to answer. The tang of it on his tongue made him wonder if Yunho's mouth would taste the same. "They just reminded me of somebody."

Calliope raised a brow, intrigued. "Your wife?" 

Seonghwa looked almost horrified at the suggestion. "Oh, no. She used to smoke those electronic things that taste like scorched socks." He glanced at the cigarette between his fingers, a far away look in his eyes. "No, it's... Someone else." 

"Someone you care a lot for, surely," she prompted. "Or cared." 

Seonghwa hummed. "I'm... I don't know. It's complicated." 

"How so?" 

"He's a walking paradox. A warning sign if I've ever seen one. I hate being around him most of the time. But when he's gone, I think about him a lot." He gave a shaky laugh and turned to her, belatedly realizing he was still holding the lighter, and gave it back to her. "Sorry." 

She waved him off and lit herself one, hands shaking slightly. Seonghwa couldn't help but notice that she wasn't inhaling the smoke into her lungs. "You're wasting it if you smoke like that." 

"I'm... not actually much of a smoker," she said. "I just needed to get some air." 

"You don't seem the type of person who'd frequent such places, if you don't mind me saying."

"Neither do you," she shot back, and he took it as a sign not to pry. "That friend of yours— Hongjoong, was it? What's his deal?" 

Seonghwa frowned. He wasn't used to getting roped in conversations with strangers at bars, and wondered if they were supposed to feel like thinly veiled interrogations. "What do you mean?" 

"He caught my eye, that's all." 

Picturing her with Hongjoong, Seonghwa couldn't imagine two people who'd fit less together, and fought back a smile. "Didn't you say you were married?" 

She gave him a cocky smile that seemed to erase ten years off her face. "What's wrong with a little fun?" His eyes turned sad, and she noticed. "Sensitive topic?" 

"You could say that." 

"Care to tell me about it?" She leaned in, "Promise I won't judge." 

Seonghwa looked back over his shoulder at the bar's entrance, knowing he should probably return to Hongjoong, but Calliope was handing him another cigarette. He took it. "My wife, she— ah, she cheated on me. For a long time." 

"Ouch. I'm sorry." 

"I don't even blame her, really. That woman could charm the pants off anyone if she puts her mind to it. My misfortune was that she wanted my wife." 

Calliope raised her brows. "A woman?" 

"Yeah... It's a long story."

"I don't mind," she said patiently. "I'd like to hear it. If you wanted to, of course." 

Yang Calliope [23.56]
I'm keeping him talking. Fights downstairs. Look for a man with blue hair

Without taking his eyes off them, Yunho dialed Jongho's number. It barely rang twice before he picked up. 

"Where the hell have you been?" Jongho hissed. "I've been calling you all day." 

Yunho quickly dismissed him, "We found the new location for the fights, Jongho-ya. I'm sending it to you now." 

"What? Hold on, who's we?" 

"Calliope and I." 

"You don't mean the former Detective Superintendent Yang? Isn't she a PI now? Hyung, what the fuck have you been doing?" 

"Come with reinforcements." Without awaiting for Jongho's reply, he hung up. The burning need to get Seonghwa out of this place was nagging at him, but leaving the shelter of the car would only blow Calliope's cover. He had to wait. 

Chapter Text

Seonghwa spotted the two police cars, headlights off and no sirens approaching, a split second before Calliope did. She trailed off in the middle of a story about her third husband as she saw Seonghwa's face fall, and frowned, worried. Impassively, she followed his gaze.

"Oh, I'm sure it's just a routine control or something." She patted his arm comfortingly, and Seonghwa fought the urge to get away. The cops were too far away for him to make out their faces, but he knew that if Yunho was there, he'd have recognized him. Still, he needed to warn Hongjoong. Wooyoung, too. There he was, foolishly thinking he was going to get answers. Why hadn't he stayed put? 

"The fights are illegal, Calliope-ssi."

"Are they? Do tell." There was something about her tone that Seonghwa didn't like at all. He narrowed his eyes.

"I— I need to go."

Before he could, though, she grabbed his wrist, the look in her eyes changing to something severe that seemed right at home on her face, and he shuddered. "Trust me, you really don't."

He wrenched himself free. "Who are you?" 

"I'll tell you everything, I promise. Just— stay here, okay?" Seonghwa wasn't looking at her anymore, but at the Dunhills in her hand, and the lighter. Yunho's cigarettes. Seonghwa's lighter. He should've known. 

He bolted back inside, straight to the staircase. Calliope sighed, and set out to run after him, but he was quicker, and closed the basement door in her face, pulling down the latch. It wouldn't keep them out for long, but hopefully it would be enough for them to get out. That was, if this wasn't the only exit, in which case he'd done something terribly stupid. He'd gotten too far, he'd lied too much. At least this once he felt like he'd chosen to do so himself. 

He followed the unmistakable noise through a long hallway that led to a door, guarded by a bouncer twice Seonghwa's size. "Password?" 

"Seriously?" He didn't respond. "The cops are outside, for fuck's sake. We need to get everyone out." 

He gave Seonghwa a cold look. "Nice try." 

"They're breaking down that door as we speak," he said, pointing out each word. And surely enough, they both heard the heavy pounding. The bouncer hesitated for a moment, then opened the door and stepped in alongside him. 

On low wooden benches not unlike those the sports hall at his school had, the bar's customers were watching two men kicking and punching each other in a makeshift ring, drinking beer and placing money in a hat that the bartender was holding out as she walked through the rows. 

"Cops!" the bouncer shouted from the top of his lungs, before Seonghwa had the chance to spot either Hongjoong or Wooyoung in the crowd. Nobody seemed to have heard him over the cheering and booing, and he shouted again, this time louder. They all turned to him as if they were one body, and for a moment, everything fell silent. Even the fighters had stopped in their tracks. And then somebody rose up from their seat and started shouting, pushing themselves through the tight space between the benches and heading for the door they'd come through. Seonghwa's heart dropped. The only exit was the one he'd come through, and he'd brought the cops right to it. They were stuck. 

And then chaos broke out, everyone scrambling to get to the exit. Kicking down the benches and each other, furious panicked faces headed past him like a hoard of mongolian conquerors, only without any sort of discipline or unity, reduced to anarchy. The stench of desperation and fear sucked out all the air from the room. Seonghwa spotted a head of blue hair, and tried to get himself through the crowd, but it was like trying to go against the current. 

When he got to him, he took his arm, and the realization that this wasn't Hongjoong at all came with a shove to Seonghwa's chest that had him trip over one of the turned up benches. 

"Seonghwa!" 

Somehow he found it in himself not to fall, and followed the sound as best as he could, getting himself an elbow to the gut and a knee to the shin, and giving some of his own in the haste to get to him. Hongjoong and Wooyoung, along with two other men, probably the owners, judging by the nametags on their lapels, and the bartender, were heading towards the opposite end of the room. When he finally managed to reach them, Seonghwa was panting, the unbearable heat making his clothes cling to his skin. 

"Quick, through here," Wooyoung said, whispered really, even though the crowd was too agitated to hear it. Upon a pointed look from one of the men, he hit the light switch, and everything went dark. Seonghwa blinked a few times, willing his eyes to adjust. One of the men pulled aside one of the likely fake persian rugs Seonghwa had seen hung on the wall, and he could faintly make out the glint of a door handle. 

"Where does it lead?" Hongjoong asked. 

"Out back," the bartender shot back, clutching the hat to her chest so the money wouldn't fall, and scrambled out. This must have been the money Hongjoong had told him Wooyoung was here to collect, way more than it should have been given the fact that the fight was interrupted and the betters hadn't gotten it back. Wooyoung tried to follow her, only to be stopped by one of the men's harsh grip on his arm. 

"Did you get it?" 

"Jisung said he didn't have it," he replied, eyes darting to the exit, so close yet so far. "What do we need it for, anyway? Can't value that much." Seonghwa felt a hand in his own, the familiar shape of it having him breathe out a sigh of relief. Hongjoong. 

Wooyoung's question was ignored. "He's lying." 
 

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Wooyoung hissed, wrenching himself free. "Of course he's lying. But he doesn't know about this exit. They'll— catch him with it... Let me go, for fuck's sake." 

And gone they were, just as a loud breaking sound pierced past the agitation. Hongjoong pulled at his hand, but he wouldn't move. 

"Police! Hands behind your head, now!" Jongho. 

Hongjoong gripped his hand tighter. "Seonghwa, we need to go." 

If he ran now, it would be a testament to his guilt. No, he had to stay. He reached inside his pocket for Yuna's keys and placed them in Hongjoong's hand. 

"It's the pink Matisse," he said. "If they follow the car they're in, you have a chance to escape unseen." 

Hongjoong tightened his fist around the keys. "What about you?" 

Seonghwa's sigh was drowned out by the sound of a warning shot fired into the ceiling, making them both flinch. Honjoong had to go. "I'll be fine," he said. "They won't hurt me." 

Hongjoong nodded, and leaned in to press a brief kiss to his cheek. "Thank you," he said into Seonghwa's ear, and walked out. Seonghwa rearranged the rug back into place and got away from the hidden exit, steeling himself. He had to find Calliope. She was the trap Yunho had set out for him, he knew that now, but if the way she'd pulled him out of the bar and tried to stop him from going back accounted for anything, he didn't have to fear them. Something in Calliope's attitude towards him felt almost protective, and Seonghwa saw Yunho's own subterfuges in the ease with which she'd gotten close to him. Maybe she was where he'd learned it from. 

A pained scream reached Seonghwa's ears, and his heart twisted, recognizing Yunho's voice. He followed its source as best as he could through the darkness, abandoning his hopeless efforts of finding Calliope and going past the frantic crowd, carefully so as to not trip on the benches, until he bumped into something solid with enough force to make him stagger back. A low, angered grunt; the bouncer, heading for the other exit. The next thing Seonghwa knew was a sharp pain in his temple, followed by a wave of dizziness that had his vision blur at the edges. He couldn't hear anything past the ringing in his ears, and forced himself not to succumb to it and fall to the ground. If he did, the unseeing, frantic crowd would have trampled him. 

The ophtalmic artery stemmed from the internal carotid one, supplying each eye with oxygenated blood through the temporal lobe. Damage to said lobe, depending on the severity, could result in eyesight impairment, a decrease in attention and memory— 

He had to get out of here. Yunho could hold his own, whereas he... The door behind the persian rug. Yes, he had to... 

Yunho wrenched himself free from the enormous bouncer's chokehold and fought back against the pain in his ribs. There had to be a light switch somewhere— 

His eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness. Jongho, Ryujin and a few other officers had managed to detain a few people, but many had escaped past them in the chaos. The warning shot he'd fired had fueled the agitation instead of cooling it down, the fear for their lives turning the stirred crowd feral. He glimpsed a head of blue hair and dashed to its possessor, remembering Calliope's message. He hadn't seen her after breaking down that door, and hoped she'd managed to get Seonghwa out of here safely. 

"Oh, no way..." the blue haired man grunted, attempting to kick at Yunho's face. 

"You have the right to remain—" He ripped himself out of Yunho's grip and pushed him hard in his already fractured ribs, making him fall back against the wall, and right into the light switch. Yunho blinked off the haze, and he could see again. Jongho shot him a grateful look, only to be forced to the floor by the same blue-haired man as he dashed toward the exit. Yunho clutched at his side, wincing as he caught his breath, and took the opportunity to scan the scene unfolding around him.

To his left, Jongho and the others were fighting to keep the flood in. The blue-haired blur of a man, half of Yunho's height and twice as broad, wearing a sports tank and with a red piece of material around one arm, signifying he was one of the fighters, threw expert punches wherever he could reach. And to his right, a few feet away, Seonghwa, slumped back against a wall and helplessly pulling at the corner of what looked like one of his aunt's old dirty carpets. Half of his face was covered in blood, flowing out through his hair and into his white shirt. Yunho's pain only intensified. 

He heard Jongho's voice as if through a veil, "Hyung, a little help?" 

Yunho gritted his teeth and rushed in the opposite direction, away from the hustle instead of towards it. He gripped both of Seonghwa's arms and forced him to turn to look at him. "Hyung..." 

But Seonghwa didn't seem to have heard, or seen him at all, an absent gleam in his eyes that had Yunho's heart shrink painfully in his chest. When he spoke, all that came out was a shaky, and almost unintelligible, "Temporal lobe... Bone— structure, carotid artery... Damage to the neocortex..." 

"Let's get you out of here." 

He tried to pull him to the exit, but Seonghwa broke away from his hold to hang onto the miserable tapestry. "Persian carpets were used as diplomatic— gifts... In the antiquity, they..." 

Yunho gripped his wrist, tuning out Jongho's voice calling for him, and jerked him back, the carpet falling away from where it was pinned to the juncture where the wall met the ceiling. He pulled Seonghwa into his chest so the heavy material wouldn't fall on him, and came back to himself somewhat when he saw the door. 

"Jongho, through here!" he called out from the top of his lungs, making Seonghwa flinch against him and inching closer as if to shield himself. "It's okay," Yunho said to him, picking him up and ignoring his own pain as he hauled them both out the door. Jongho kicked somebody off him, eyes on the door Yunho had disappeared through and ready to follow. 

"Jongho, watch out!" Ryujin shouted, and in the next moment, the barrel of Jongho's own gun was aimed at his face.

"Nobody... Fucking... Move." 

Yunho carried him to where Calliope had parked her Jaguar, but it was gone. So was Yuna's Matisse, he noticed grimly. Feeling himself beginning to give out, he laid him down gently in the empty parking spot. As he scrambled through one of the police cars' trunk for the first aid kit, he dialed 112 and asked for an ambulance. 

Jongho. Ryujin. His colleagues. The blue-haired man Calliope had told him about. Had Wooyoung and San escaped through the hidden door and in Seonghwa's car, if they'd been here at all? They must have, and Calliope had to have taken the car to follow them. Yunho found he didn't care. He inspected the wound as best as he could without shaking him and pressed a clean compress to it. Seonghwa's eyes fluttered open, and for a moment he thought he saw a glimmer of recognition in his gaze. 

"It's me, hyung. It's Yunho." 

"I know," he replied shakily, voice gutted. "You're always here." 

"Only because you are." Seonghwa hummed, slowly falling into unconsciousness. Yunho cupped his cheek with his free hand and drew closer, the movement sending a stab of pain through his side. "Stay with me, okay?"

Seonghwa limply pressed his palm above Yunho's on the wound. "Stalin died of a cerebral hemo— hema— internal bleeding." 

Yunho would have laughed at the comparison if he had any energy left inside him to do so. "Stalin was a marxist tyrant who controlled his political rivals by keeping them either on the brink of alcoholic coma or severely hungover. I wouldn't say you have much in common, hyung." 

His eyes lit up. "That's— that's exactly what I..." 

"Said in your master's degree presentation?" He grinned. "I know. I found it on Youtube." 

"You watched it?" Yunho nodded, a little sheepish. "Why?" 

"Research," he replied. "And I quite like the way you talk. Could listen to you for hours." 

"Yunho, I... I wasn't— I didn't know it was going to..." 

Yunho shushed him, brushing the pads of his fingers over the side of his face and maintaining pressure on the wound with his other hand. "It's okay. You'll tell me all about it when you feel better." 

Something about what he'd said seemed to knock some awareness into Seonghwa's eyes, a sliver of panic creeping in as he tried to get up, taking the now bloody cloth from Yunho's hand. "Hyung..."

"I'm fine. I need to get home. Marika..." 

Yunho stilled him with a hand on his waist, holding him up against his hurt side so he wouldn't collapse. "She's safe, hyung. She's with Yuna-ssi." 

He opened his mouth to reply, looking confused, but whatever it was he'd wanted to say lost itself in the sound of sirens approaching. 

Seonghwa frowned, the motion only intensifying his headache. "Ambulance? Are you hurt, Yunho-ya?" 

Yunho pulled him closer into his chest, pressing his lips to crown of his head. "No, hyung," he lied. "It's for you." 

The ambulance pulled up right in front of them, the back doors instantly opening and a few paramedics rushing out to take Seonghwa from his arms and to a wheeled carrier. "Yunho-ya..." 

"That's okay," he said, forcing a smile past his pain, "you're gonna be okay."

He quickly explained to the paramedics what he thought had happened, brushing them off when they asked him about his ribs. Without risking a glance at Seonghwa, he clutched at his side and strode back to the door they'd exited through. Jongho should have gotten out by now. The fact that he hadn't couldn't mean anything good. He pulled out his gun.

The man who had Jongho at gunpoint had forced the others to drop theirs, frantically threatening to shoot him and then himself. In the havoc, everyone else had escaped past them, and Jongho doubted the officer they'd left outside the door as guard would manage to do much to contain the flood. "You don't want me dead," he said, a manic laugh blooming past his lips. The plastic lenses of his thick framed black glasses, caught the light, making him resemble a bank clerk robbing his own workplace. "If I die, you'll never find out what happened to her." 

"Put the gun down before you hurt yourself," Jongho said gently. "You can tell us all about it, what do you say?" 

His eyes narrowed, the grip on Jongho's gun tightening. "No, you don't understand. I didn't kill her." 

"I know," Jongho said, reaching out his hands in front of him slowly, a gesture of peace. "It's alright."

"We're not here to hurt you," Ryujin interjected, and the man's eyes shot to her, lips pulling up into a smirk. In that moment, Jongho wanted nothing more than to send a bullet through this man's head and maybe one through Yunho's. If he'd only listened to him, for once in his life, maybe they wouldn't have been in this situation. He should have seen the signs, should have insisted to his father to pull him out of the case when he'd seen... 

"You can hurt me anytime, officer." 

Eyes flaring, she held it in and managed a smile. "Put the gun down and I'm sure it can be arranged." 

And to everyone's surprise, a flicker of something almost vulnerable crossed his face, though it was gone in the blink of an eye as he drew closer to her, aiming the gun to her instead. Jongho stepped closer. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, Detective," he mused, not taking his eyes off Ryujin's face. "Fuck, you look just like her." 

"Who?" she asked, keeping up the charade. He reached out to touch her face, and she sneered, but didn't pull away, the gun pressed into her stomach. 

"So sweet... Just like her. Too bad I'll walk out of here and you'll never know." He hummed, thoughtful. "Maybe I'll take you with me." 

If he were to flee through the second exit, they might have been able to catch him even if he had the gun, and Jongho held onto that hope, even as he didn't seem to want to move anytime soon, probably dimly aware of the same fact. The more time passed, though, it became clear that he was more inclined to go through with his first choice, the one that included taking out as many cops as he could before blowing his own brains. 

The sound of footsteps through the hallway, piercing through terse silence, alerted all of them. The man turned slowly, without pointing the gun away from Ryujin. Jongho took the opportunity. "You hear that?" he asked, and the barrel darted to him instead. 

"You'll regret this. Oh, how you'll regret this." 

Yunho was barely holding himself up, the hand holding his gun shaking as the other one was pressed into his side. "Drop it," he hissed, and the man actually laughed, a hollow sound. He turned around, aiming for Yunho's head, and Jongho was on him at once, tackling him to the ground. 

A shot rang through the still air. He must have missed, Yunho thought distantly, watching as if from behind a veil of thick fog as Jongho kicked the gun from the man's hands and cuffed his hands behind his back. "I'm looking forward to hear all about that girl," Jongho hissed down at him, forcing him to his feet. "Shooting a police detective is one of the worst things to get accused of, you know?" 

Shooting a police detective? Yunho wondered distantly. The only two here were Jongho and himself, and— Oh... His gun fell away as he caught sight of the blood streaming out of the left side of his stomach, staining the material of his shirt. Was that the spleen? He made a mental note to ask Seonghwa later. Yes... 

He didn't register the pain, nor Ryujin and another officer running to him, holding him up. "Call an ambulance," somebody said. Yunho wasn't sure who. 

"I already did," he choked out. "For... Seonghwa." 

"Okay," Ryujin said gently, stroking his arm. "You're okay, we just have to—" Her eyes darted to the exit. "Think you can help us get you there?" 

He nodded, trying to take a step and only managing to trip over the edge of that cursed rug. He couldn't see Jongho anymore, nor the man who'd shot him. The only thing his mind could focus on was the pattern of the thick tapestry he was currently being dragged across. "That's a Persian carpet," he said to her, trying to turn his head to look back at it. "Did you know they were used as diplomatic gifts in the antiquity?" 

"No, Yunho-ya," she said, sounding pestered, or perhaps worried. Was she worried about him? "Come on, you have to—" 

He felt the night air on his face, and tried to open his eyes. He couldn't recall closing them. "Just a little further, okay?" 

There were white lights dancing behind his eyelids. Was he dying? He didn't realize he'd said it out loud until a voice he didn't recognize said to him, "You're not dying. You're okay." 

For a few moments, it felt like he was flying, hands poking and prodding at him, sirens ringing in his ears. 

"You signed a hospitalization refusal, you can't just—" 

"I know him," he hissed. "And maybe I can help. I'm— I'm a doctor." 

His eyes fluttered open. Seonghwa. He tuned out the paramedic's protests, rushing to Yunho's side. "No, you're not," Yunho heard himself say, attempting to smile and failing. Were they moving? He couldn't breathe. Somebody was sticking a needle into his arm. He couldn't recognize the people around him, but he recognized the midnight eyes staring back at him, brimming with unfiltered hurt, and focused on that, even as the white light blinding him made him want to shut his eyes and never wake up again. He reached up, only for somebody to lower his arm and place it as his side, and Yunho didn't try again. His chest felt cold; where was his shirt? 

"Yunho-ya..." 

He had a bandage around his temple, not bleeding anymore, eyes glassy. "How's your— temporal lobe?" 

Seonghwa tried to draw closer, but a stern look from one of the paramedics kept him in place. "Don't talk," he said gently, holding on to one of the handrails for support as the car swerved abruptly. "You're okay." 

Yunho wanted to ask him something, if only he could remember— everything felt foggy. Right, the spleen. "Seonghwa-hyung, what's— where's my... spleen..." 

Somebody shushed him, though it felt distant. The injection they'd made through his arm must have been taking hold... His train of thought derailed into darkness. 

Chapter Text

It was six in the morning when Seonghwa woke with a start, the burning fear of having overslept filling him with dread. It took him a moment to realize he wasn't in his bedroom at all, but slumped in a chair in the waiting room of a hospital. "Slept well?"

From the seat beside him, Ryujin gave him a tired smile. Her uniform was a little rumpled; had he dozed off with his head on her shoulder? He cleared his throat, face heating. "I'm sorry," he said, and she brushed him off.

"'S alright. How's your head?"

"It only hurts when I'm paying attention to it," he replied sheepishly, and she cracked a laugh.

"You talk in your sleep, you know?"

"I— maybe I shouldn't have refused hospitalization. What did I say?" 

She shrugged, a glimmer of worry crossing her face. "You kept apologizing. To... Yunho. And you said some other things, like your daughter's name. Marika, right?" He nodded, the motion sending a wave of pain through his skull. 

"I need to take her to school." He tried to rise to his feet, only for a wave of dizziness to take over. Ryujin helped him back down. 

"Want me to call the nurse for you?" 

"No, it's fine." She had a point, though. He was in no condition to go anywhere. He took out his phone and dialed Yuna's contact. 

"Seonghwa-oppa?" she asked, voice groggy, and he felt a pang of guilt at having woken her, much earlier than he should have. 

"I'm sorry, Yuna-ah. I don't think I'll be home in time to take Mari." 

"Oh, that's okay. I don't mind dropping her of. Need me to pick her up, too?" 

"Yeah, I'll pay for the Uber. Don't worry."

"Uber? What for?" He heard the shuffle of steps across wooden tiles. 

"Your car's, uh... How should I put this..."

"It's in the yard, Seonghwa-oppa. What are you talking about? Are you... drunk?" She whispered the last word as if it had a weight of his own, and it did, they both knew. 

"No, Yuna-ah," he replied, smiling lopsidedly even though he knew she couldn't see. He hadn't expected Hongjoong to bring the car back so soon, and found it eerily surprising. And convenient. A little too convenient. "I'm just caught up in something right now." 

"I knew you were going on a date," she said mischievously. "Went well, I assume?" Seonghwa didn't bother correcting her, only hummed neutrally. "Who is she, by the way?" 

"Yuna-ah," he warned. 

"Okay, okay. I'll pry it out of you, don't you worry." Seonghwa's heart twisted, recalling Yunho telling him a variation of the same thing, though in a much more unfortunate context. He hung up quickly with a rushed goodbye, and turned to Ryujin, who was absently looking at the same reel over and over again, mind elsewhere. 

"You okay?" 

"Yeah," she replied, forcing a smile as she jutted out her chin to the closed O.R door. "I'm not the one who got shot." 

Seonghwa's frown was pained. "He was there because of me." 

"He was doing his job, Seonghwa-ssi. If there's anybody we should blame, it's the son of a bitch who did it."

"He's the only one you caught?" She narrowed her eyes, but nodded. 

"We interrogated a few more people, but they were let go. No charges."

But that didn't alleviate Seonghwa's worry, which only intensified when Jongho walked in, ghost-faced and with droplets of blood clinging to his uniform. Ryujin's eyes gleamed maliciously. "Did you beat him up well, Jongho-ssi?"

The smile didn't reach his eyes. "Just a bit. The only thing he knows how to say now is that he wants a lawyer."

Her eyes darkened. "Of course." Seonghwa flinched when Jongho's gaze met his, any semblance of affability falling away.

"We need to talk."

He'd known this was coming. "Okay." Jongho turned away, motioning for him to follow, and Seonghwa got up slowly, blinking rapidly to shake off the haze. He shot Ryujin a sad look over his shoulder and went after Jongho, expecting a harsh interrogation, but he walked in silence, slowing to let him catch up.

When they reached the stairwell, though, Seonghwa paused, apprehension slithering in as his vision turned blurry. "Think you can get down?" Jongho asked gently.

"Can't we talk here?"

"No," he said sternly, and wrapped an arm around Seonghwa's middle for support. "This okay?"

"If I must," he replied hesitantly. 

"You must."

Letting Jongho drag him down three flights of stairs that felt endless, he muttered, "There are easier ways to murder me and get away with it, Detective."

Jongho didn't reply to that, and let go when they reached what he'd initially thought was the ground floor, but was actually the basement. It was colder here, and Seonghwa shivered. Jongho's eyes were firm against his own. "You misunderstand me, Seonghwa-ssi. I don't have a problem with you. Only Yunho does."

He startled. "What?"

"I saw everything, you know? We needed him, but he... He went to you."

"I don't— I'm..." he stammered, unsure of where this was going. He'd caused Yunho enough trouble already. "I was so out of it that... If not for him, I don't know what would have happened."

"I'm telling you what would've happened," Jongho replied, leaning closer for emphasis, his look harsh. "He wouldn't have gotten himself shot."

Seonghwa flinched back. "I didn't fucking shoot him," he whispered harshly. 

"I suppose you didn't," Jongho mused. "Come with me."

"Where?"

He shot him a look. "You went to medical school, didn't you? Take a fucking guess."

The lowest floor of a hospital. Biting chill, an eerie sort of silence. As he numbly followed Jongho through a long hallway, the echo of their steps bouncing off the walls, he was transported back to a moment in time, two short years ago, when he'd crossed a similar hallway, different hospital, to identify his wife's body. He didn't register Jongho talking to the forensic pathologist, but he must have waved his badge around, for she stepped aside to let them in, and gestured them to a drawer in the far corner of the room, bathed in an unforgiving white light. There was a fresh body on the table, an old woman, and she covered her with a sheet before stepping out, closing the door behind her.

When Jongho pulled the drawer open, for a moment Seonghwa's heart dropped, expecting to see Yunho's lifeless face in front of his eyes. But of course it wasn't, and he wasn't quite ashamed of the wave of relief that coursed through him. He didn't avert his eyes. "Why would you show me this?" he asked Jongho, frozen and pale not unlike the corpse of the young boy they were looking at, artificially kept from decomposing by the ruthless temperature and the formaldehyde that had been put inside him. His face was mauled and so was the rest of him, and Jongho remained impassive, though a flicker of sadness did cross his expression. 

"Nobody came to identify him," he said instead of an answer, as if Seonghwa had never spoken. "He's lived on the streets all his life. No one noticed when he went missing, and why would they? Not even the press cared enough to write about it." Seonghwa opened his mouth to speak, but he wasn't done. He pulled out a file and handed it to him. Seonghwa scanned it for a long moment, the words swimming before his eyes. Hwang Yejoon, 19 at the time of death, a few hours before San and Wooyoung had shown up at his house. The amount of methanol found in his system made Seonghwa dizzy. But what ended the boy's life was the hit to his head. 

In self defense, after that drug-addled boy tried to kill him in the ring. 

A perfect crime needs a perfect scapegoat. And what better way to hit two birds with one stone was there than to pin the murder of a dreg of society to another dreg of society? 

"Methanol poisoning..." he echoed, shaky fingers pressing so tight into the edges of the file that the sweaty prints ripped through the paper, and Jongho took it away. 

"I assume you know it's an important constituent of methamphetamine." 

"So are acetone and ether, not to mention residue of the drug itself. This wasn't casual meth use, Jongho-ssi." 

Jongho nodded, a mix of lingering suspicion and intrigue brimming in his eyes. "No," he said after a long moment's hesitation. "It was cold blooded murder." 

"But... Why? It doesn't..."

"Add up?" Jongho supplied. "Exactly. This changes everything, Seonghwa-ssi." He tilted his head to the corpse, the bobbing of his throat as he dry swallowed the only sign that he was feeling disturbed at all. "He pissed off some people he shouldn't have pissed off, and got himself killed for it. You understand why it's imperative that we put a stop to this?" 

Seonghwa recalled the guilt he'd seen in San's eyes, which at the time he hadn't made sense of. He didn't know how much of what any of them had said to him was true, but he didn't believe San a cold-blooded killer. He was nothing more than a victim of circumstance, but if he were to tell Jongho all that, would his conceit manage to look past the fact that he'd lied and see the substrate? And what of Hongjoong and Mingi? But Jongho was right about one thing — this truly did change everything. It could be San and Wooyoung's only chance to clear their names, but only if Seonghwa played his cards well. 

"I told Yunho everything I know," he replied. And Seonghwa would tell him the rest, too. The previous night was all a blur after the hit he'd taken to the temple, but he remembered enough; Yunho had pulled him out the train wreck and got him to safety. If Seonghwa trusted him with his life, he could trust him with this. He knew what the doctors in this city could do — a bullet to the gut didn't hold a candle to the things Seonghwa had seen them do first hand during his college years. But that's what he'd thought when he'd first heard of Freja's crash, too. 

"Of course you did," Jongho mused, breaking him out of his thoughts, mouth curling in a sad smile. Deeming he was done torturing him, he helped him up the stairs in silence and laid him down in a chair back in the waiting room, jaw set and carefully avoiding looking at the closed door of the O.R. Ryujin wasn't there anymore, but somebody else was.

"What are you doing here?" Seonghwa asked, aiming for something of a cutting edge and only managing to sound as exhausted and pained as he felt. 

"That, Seonghwa-ssi, is Detective Superintendent Yang," Jongho replied, a malicious glint in his eyes. Seonghwa wished he could feel surprised. She only raised a brow at him, amused.

"Former," she said, leaning back. She didn't look tired at all, but it might just have been the expensive makeup. And then to Seonghwa, "I'm not a cop."

"Why, then?"

She didn't answer, turning to Jongho again, "Did you bully him real well, Jongho-ya?"

"Merely doing my job, Yang-nim," he said, tone flat and betraying nothing. His smile was tight, and so was hers. "With all due respect, I'll have no choice but to tell the chief of your involvement." 

"Shit, you really are just like your father," Calliope — was that even her real name, or had she lied about that, too? — said wistfully, and that seemed to really pester him. She talked over him when he tried to protest. "What if I told you that my... involvement... is the thing that brought you information you couldn't have gotten your hands on otherwise?"

"Humor me. How'd you and Yunho know about the fight?" 

"Through an informant whose identity will have to be protected," she replied sternly. "Public figure, you understand." All the color drained out of Seonghwa's face. Hongjoong. 

Jongho's eyebrows flew up, gesturing to Seonghwa. "What about him, then?" 

She broke out into a grin. "Love's a beautiful thing, Jongho-ya. Even if you don't allow it to happen to you. Even if it's not returned." 

Seonghwa was confused, but he had half a mind to catch on. "Yes. What she said." 

Jongho looked absolutely feral, but played into her little scheme out of sheer curiosity. "What about Mingi?" he asked, a mocking edge to his tone. "Did you get sick of him so soon?"

This time, Seonghwa didn't flinch. Confidently, he told him what he'd told Yunho, "We ended it. He loved somebody else, and I... I was never really in it, either." He pointedly let his eyes wander to the door to the operation room, not needing to fake the wistful look on his face.  

Jongho supposed that stranger things had happened than somebody falling in love with Yunho and trailing after him like a puppy everywhere he went — which sometimes happened to be towards a crime scene. And Yunho loved the attention, he always had. Especially when it came from somebody like Seonghwa, an inverted mirror he could project all his suffering and desires onto because they were so fundamentally, irrevocably like two bits of the same broken puzzle piece. Jongho could almost see Calliope's words reflected in Seonghwa's gaze. 

"Right..."  

Calliope waved her hand. "So go, please. Tell your father. I'm sure he'll love to hear how the woman he's sent to early retirement because of his sheer displeasure of her company managed to obtain information his own son couldn't."

A vein on Jongho's forehead pulsed. "Don't think that this is over," he warned.

"You're right, of course," Calliope said nonchalantly. "You still have to catch them. Or you need me to do that for you as well?"

His pointed steps rang through the deserted hallway, and only when the sound of them faded away did Calliope train her piercing gaze on Seonghwa, who by now was absolutely livid. "Now, I believe you have a lot of things to tell me."

Seonghwa felt as if his mind had been short circuited. "Why would you... do that?"

She raised her brows, impatient in the face of his — justified, in his opinion — confusion. "What are you referring to, exactly?"

"Protecting me. Saying those things. Everything. What the hell, Calliope-ssi? Or is that not even your real name?"

"No, that is my name," she replied. "My parents thought that calling me that would make me feel... unique. And they were right, in a way. There are many unique ways to get it misspelled. I'm close to fifty now, and the creativity of it still astounds me." Seonghwa hadn't processed a word of what she'd said, and she gave him a sympathetic grin. "But I'm getting ahead of myself. You did some things, more or less knowingly, and I chose to help you." She glanced at the watch on her wrist. Seonghwa couldn't feel his body anymore. "Whether or not it stays that way, it's up to you."

When he spoke, he heard himself as if from the bottom of an empty wine barrel. "What did you do to Hongjoong?"

She snorted. "You can give him a call, if you'd like. But I'd imagine he's probably sleeping at this hour. In his lovely home in Gangnam-gu," she added. "Not a prison cell." 

"I... What?"

"The truth, Seonghwa," she said sharply. "And if you lie to me, I'll know."

He swallowed dryly, pale as a ghost, without looking away from the door that separated him from Yunho. This wasn't how he'd thought this would go. But she'd given him an alibi in front of Jongho, and could just as easily take it away. What choice did he have? 

Yunho woke up to a blinding white light in his face, feeling the steady clicking of a heart monitor through his every nerve ending, amplifying the fuzzy feeling of anesthesia. The pain in his side felt everpresent, but muted somehow, like an annoying buzz of background music, acute yet distant. The nurse adjusting his perfusion smiled down at him, and he tried to smile back, but couldn't quite feel his face at all. His mouth was dry as if he'd been munching on sandpaper.

"Can I..." he rasped out, then cleared his throat. "Can I have a cig?"

The woman laughed as she arranged that horrifying sack of liquid into place. "I'll tell your friends you're awake." 

She rushed out before Yunho had the chance to ask her all the other things he wanted to. His eyes fell on a hefty bouquet of — what were these things called? Orchids? 

Calliope's smile looked like a million dollars, not a hair out of place on her head, makeup pristinely done. Ryujin, Jongho and another of his colleagues, Taehyung, all of them in civilian clothes walked in after her, and more would have if not for the nurse yelling at them that this was a hospital, not a lounge, and that if she caught a whiff of cigarette smoke, she'd kick them all out. 

"Good to see you're alive enough to want a smoke," Jongho said, his resentment cast aside in the face of the relief of seeing his hyung was alright. 

"How long was I out?"

"A little over a week," Taehyung replied, and Yunho sighed, trying to sit up. They helped him as best as they could, and he fought back against the pain shooting through his entire torso. He looked down to see the ugly black wire he'd been sewn with, and the bandage wrapped around his broken ribs.

"Fuck."

"Oh, you didn't miss that much," Jongho waved him off. "Though I think you would've liked to see how Ryujin here punched that guy."

Ryujin shook of an imaginary speck of dust from her shirt, eyes glinting with a pride that Yunho couldn't help but return. "It was necessary," she said, and they shared a smile, though she quickly looked away, turning slightly pink.

"They're very pretty," Yunho said, gesturing to the flowers with the arm that had a needle sticking out of it. "Thank you."

"Oh, that wasn't us," Calliope replied with a grin. "I hope you don't mind that I called your girlfriend."

Yunho raised his brows. "I don't have a girlfriend."

"Oh? Bold, beautiful, smart. Knows about cars, doctorate in history? Doesn't ring any bells?" She threw his own words back at him, and Yunho's face heated.

"Oh," he managed weakly. "Her."

"Shouldn't I have called her?" Calliope asked, sounding amused. Jongho seemed to share the same sentiment, though there was something of a malicious gleam in his eye that Yunho didn't understand, while Ryujin looked uncomfortable. Taehyung, bless his heart, just seemed confused.

"No, it's— it's fine. It was sweet of her to come." Inside, he was a little terrified. Lia had been here, and he'd seen him at his worst without him even being aware of it. Would that push her away? And if it didn't, would she stay just out of pity? But if she hadn't felt the same spark he had, then why bother showing at all? He didn't want to think about that now. It was all too much for his barely awake, hurt and nicotine lacking brain to bear. He didn't remember the last time he'd gone so long without smoking, conscious or otherwise, ever since he'd started doing it at fourteen. He turned to Jongho. "What about the case?"

Strangely enough, he shot a withering look to Calliope and set his jaw. "I'll tell you later, hyung. Don't worry about it." Something in his tone didn't sit right with Yunho at all. He felt himself slip down on the bed and pathetically tried to move, only to find he couldn't use much else save for his lower half and his free arm if he didn't want to feel like he was coming apart. Jongho and Taehyung tried to lift him up, but it hurt to the point where he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out or tearing up, and they gave up, laying him down instead. He'd never felt this useless before.

"Tell me," he insisted, aware of how pathetically desperate he sounded. Jongho hesitated for a long moment, looking at Calliope as if to make her leave by sheer willpower, and Yunho raised a brow. What had he really missed? Jongho used to respect her a lot, even if he'd done so without his father's knowledge. "It's okay," Yunho said, not devoid of caution. "If not for her, we wouldn't have gotten this far." That seemed to make Jongho's animosity worse, his expression hardening, but he didn't protest.

Instead, he gestured for Ryujin to give him something, and she pulled out a sealed evidence bag with a gold necklace, a heavy magpie pendant hanging from it. "We found this on Han Jisung at the time of his arrest."

"The asshole who shot me."

"Exactly. Reminds you of anything?"

Yunho motioned for him to come closer so he could take a better look. "That girl. Baek-nim's daughter. She had it on when she went missing, didn't she?" Three years before. High-profile case with her being the daughter of the chief's second in command, and him and Chan had gotten assigned to it, but they'd never found out what happened. It was as if she'd disappeared into thin air. Jongho nodded grimly. He recounted the few things that Jisung had said about her, and Yunho felt a burning wave of anger. "It has to be connected with that boy's death," he said slowly, mind working relentlessly as if he hadn't just woken up from a difficult surgery and wasn't hurting all over.

"...Yes," Jongho replied cautiously. "But, Yunho-hyung, you—" He trailed off upon recieving stern looks from both Taehyung and Ryujin. "We'll solve it," he said after a moment. "I have a good feeling about it."

Yunho wasn't sure he shared his optimism, but he didn't press it, feeling the shift in the air. He'd get Jongho alone, and prod him about it freely. He had things to ask Calliope, too, but one of them nagged at him the most of all. He didn't even let Jongho's disapproving glance bother him. "How's Seonghwa? Is he okay?"

She smiled softly. "He just left, actually. To pick his daughter from school, I think."

Yunho's heart gave a painful twist. "He was here?"

Calliope sounded almost fond. "Every day."

Seonghwa had lost the bandage and covered the rapidly scarring patch of skin with strands of hair he usually kept tied up. The bruise was still somewhat visible, though, and anybody who asked was told he'd gotten himself a cupboard door to the head. Marika had cushioned herself in his arms and kissed the spot softly when he'd come home after that talk with Calliope, which had ended with her hauling him out the hospital door and telling him to have some fucking respect for himself. Not in those words exactly, but he'd read between the lines.

She'd also told him to talk to his mother, and called an Uber for him before he had the chance to ask what the fuck had she wanted to achieve with that. In some ways, especially after he'd met with Mingi and Hongjoong to tell them what happened, getting what he'd done off his chest felt relieving. And Calliope hadn't gone back on her word, though Seonghwa knew she'd had plently of opportunities. He'd gotten his Honda fixed, too. "Put on your seatbelt, Mari-ah."

"Will Yunho-ssi stop you if I don't?" she asked, staring up at him through her new glasses. They made her already big sweet eyes stick out even more, and Seonghwa had an even harder time resisting her when she asked him for things. He felt a pang, both at the sight and at the mention of Yunho. She asked about him a lot ever since Seonghwa had told her he was sick in the hospital. 

"No, monkey," he replied. "But Lizzie will be upset. Can't you hear her crying?"

"It's okay, Lizzie, don't cry," she crooned, patting the dashboard. Seonghwa stifled a smile. As if on cue, the car just started beeping louder, and Marika rolled her eyes, but grabbed the seatbelt. "So moody," she muttered. "Can we go get ice cream, Appa?" 

He shrugged. "I don't see why not." He took an abrupt swerve right, signaling too late and earning himself a prolonged angry honk from the car behind his, and drove through the no entry road that Yunho had taken them through what felt like ages ago. He was right; this was the best ice cream Seonghwa had ever had. He parked the car and felt the eyes on them as he locked it, keeping Marika close to him as they walked through the narrow alleyway that led to the market. 

It was modest, and the smell of cigarettes and booze blended with that of fresh fruits and pastry, rendering it almost cozy compared to the rest of the slum, which gave him a perpetual feeling of deep unease. It felt almost surreal that somebody like Yunho had lived here. He mustn't have had much growing up. 

"This isn't anything like Hogwarts," Marika mused, "but I think I like it anyway." She wanted bubblegum and raspberry, and he got himself lemon, thinking of Yunho. Was he paranoid, or were people here really staring at them? He was pretty sure the ice cream shouldn't have been so expensive. Somebody bumped into him as they passed, almost making him spill his cup and drop Marika's hand. 

"Hey, watch it," he said, a little bit of sting in his voice. The man sneered up at him. 

"Lost, are we?" 

Seonghwa pulled his daughter closer to him. She yelped a little, but must have sensed how tense he was, and stayed quiet, looking up at the stranger with wary eyes as Seonghwa said, "Excuse me?" 

He took a step closer, and Seonghwa drew back towards the alleway back to their car. He didn't like the hollow looks on the faces of the stall owners and the few customers as they tried to appear busy, but were clearly staring. It gave him the feeling that if this man were to pick a fight, they would stand by and watch like they were on television. 

"Wait," he called after them, and Seonghwa only walked faster, pulling Marika after him. 

"Appa, what—" 

Her words were interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing. They didn't slow down, and Seonghwa only answered when they were in the car, locked from the inside, without even looking at who was calling him. "Yes?" 

He watched through the rearview mirror as that man turned away, and breathed out a sigh of relief. "Seonghwa-ssi?" It took him a moment to realize the voice belonged to Calliope, and he tensed. 

"Yes," he echoed, neutrally. He didn't need to ask how she'd gotten his number. Couldn't have been that difficult for a former cop. 

"He woke up," she said. Seonghwa's heart did a backflip as he balanced the phone against his shoulder to start the car with shaking hands, giving his untouched ice cream to a confused Marika. "Thought you might care." 

"Of course I care," he replied. 

"He asked about you." 

Seonghwa felt something strange course through him as he changed lanes, cautiously enough to stay safe but reckless enough that he marveled at himself; he had much less practiced dexterity than Yunho. "He did?" It was difficult not to feel safe with Yunho behind the wheel despite his schemes, but Seonghwa wasn't Yunho, and he gathered himself up, taking it slow in the genuine fear that the cops might actually stop him. 

"Yeah... You should've heard him when the meds kicked in. He kept asking me about your temporal lobe and... something about Stalin?" 

Seonghwa cracked a laugh. "Should I get him anything?" 

"We already got him what he needs from his apartment. He keeps asking for sweets, but obviously he's not allowed any... Maybe get some fruit, the doctor said it's okay. Oh, and whatever you do, don't give him cigs."

She sounded fond, and Seonghwa couldn't help but share the feeling. After he'd hung up, Marika asked, "Was that Yunho?"

"A friend of his," he replied softly. "He's feeling better." He was going to drop her off at home to stay with Yuna, but she asked if they could visit him together, and he didn't have the heart to refuse. Weirdly enough, she missed him, and Seonghwa figured Yunho would be happy to see her.

So here they were, walking through the hospital doors at midday, Seonghwa holding his daughter's hand in one of his own and a store bag in the other, feeling like an oversized fool the closer he got to the hospital room they'd transferred him to after he was out of surgery. Calliope had said that Yunho had asked about him, but what if she'd lied and only called him here to keep up the unrequited love charade in front of Jongho, and Yunho didn't want to see him at all? What if he was allergic to strawberries and he'd just done something really stupid? As stupid as coming here every day like a lost puppy and having Yunho's cop friends stare at him like he was an alien, probably. 

Marika tugged at his hand to make him go faster. When they got to the waiting room, Ryujin said Jongho and the chief were already in, and they awkwardly sat down at her side to wait them out. Marika asked for his phone as he made pleasant conversation with Ryujin, dreading the moment he'd come face to face with Jongho. Would Yunho's face fall when he saw them here? He'd snuck the Princess Luna toy in the store bag he was going to give him, and wanted to get it out, but didn't dare with Ryujin here.

Along with Jongho, an older man stepped out of Yunho's hospital room, taller than him and grim-faced. The chief, Jongho's father. They looked nothing alike save for the matching frowns on both their faces, and they didn't even look at Seonghwa as they walked away, talking amongst each other in hushed whispers. He paused the game on Marika's screen and took his phone back, ready to go in, but a nurse stopped to look at him with a murderous look in her eyes. "Don't upset him further."

Further? Numbly, Seonghwa nodded, and she stepped aside to let them in, softening when she saw Marika's bright eyes. And surely enough, the lines on Yunho's face were tight, a defeated look in his eyes that made Seonghwa rethink all the decisions he'd made in his life prior to this moment. Marika yelped happily as Seonghwa closed the door behind them, rushing to hug him. "Hi," he said, smiling past the pain in his side, intensifying the tigher she pressed herself into him. Still, when Seonghwa tried to nudge her aside, he shook his head, looking close to tears as he wrapped an arm around her back, the wire pulling at the IV pole he was tied to. 

"I missed you," she said when she'd pulled away, grinning from ear to ear. 

"Me too, Mari-ssi," he replied, sounding choked up, but visibly softening.

"How're you feeling?" Seonghwa asked, pulling Marika aside to give him some space, which was the opposite of what Yunho wanted.

He shrugged, and winced again at the movement. "Like I got shot in the spleen and had three of my ribs broken. You know, the usual." He trained his eyes on Marika, taking in her new glasses. "They look well on you."

"Yeah, they do," she replied proudly. "Felix said they make me look really smart. And I really like seeing stuff."

Yunho studied Seonghwa's face as if inspecting for wounds, and he fought the urge to squirm beneath his gaze. "Your temporal lobe's alright?"

"Yeah, I—"

Marika took Yunho's wrist in both of hers, curiously looking at the needle sticking out of it. "I had one too when I was a kid. I fainted in the playground in kindergarten," she explained. "This hospital is pretty ugly, though. Mine had giraffes and hippos on the walls."

Seonghwa reached out to pull her hands away, only for Yunho to grip his fingers and shake his head softly. "It's okay, hyung. I don't mind."

He blushed, though if at the word or the feel of Yunho's damp fingers in his own, he couldn't tell. Marika dropped his hand as brusquely as she'd taken it and treaded to the open window, scaring the pigeons with her running. "Hey, don't go," she pleaded, pouting. 

"Careful with the window, monkey."

"The view's ugly too," she said sadly, moving away. "I wish I was a cat."

Yunho snorted out a laugh. "Why?"

She beamed at him as if she'd been waiting for him to ask, and Seonghwa smiled softly at her antics, still holding onto Yunho's hand, as he didn't seem to have any desire to let go, and frankly, neither did Seonghwa. "Cats play all day," she replied happily. "And nobody thinks they're silly when they run after pigeons."

"Cats also eat pigeons," Seonghwa said mischievously. "Want me to catch one for you, rouse your inner cat?"

She grimaced. "Appa, no! You're impossible."

"She's kind of right," Yunho approved, and he gave an exaggerated pout, something inside him twisting when his eyes darted down to stare at Seonghwa's mouth. Marika explored the hospital room for a long time, poking and prodding at anything she could reach, then got bored and went to the bathroom, which she apparently liked more because there were some Blackpink stickers stuck to the mirror. She asked for his phone, and he gave it to her with a forlorn sigh. 

"Don't take too long, okay?" 

"I won't." 

Seonghwa cleared his throat, the air between them heavier without her there. He tried to pull his hand away, but Yunho was stubbornly holding on, a smile playing at his lips as if he was taking great delight in flustering him. Seonghwa didn't really blame him for it, figuring that he was probably short on entertainment. "I, uh, got you some stuff." He placed the bag on his nighstand, almost knocking over a vase filled to the brim with orchids with how badly he was shaking. "I hope you're not allergic to strawberries."

"Who the fuck's allergic to strawberries?"

"My wife was," he replied half-heartedly. "And so is my boss. She never lets us eat them in the museum." 

"Well, I love them. Thank you."

"There's also a sudoku book in there. Figured you'll need all the distractions you can get." He'd picked it up on the way to the cash register, recalling Marika teasing Yunho about having Sudoku installed on his phone. He looked close to tears again, and for a moment Seonghwa remained frozen in place. Yunho tugged at his hand, and he took the hint to sit down at his side on the bed, careful not to disturb his wound.

"I won't break, hyung. It's alright." Seonghwa squeezed his hand in response, unable to look away from his face. He was paler than he'd ever seen him before, and it struck Seonghwa what a close call this was. If the bullet had gone a little higher— Seonghwa reached out to brush his fingers over Yunho's cheek, and lingered. Yunho groaned softly, eyebrows drawing together in a pained frown. "You smell like my cigs."

"Don't even dare asking me for one," Seonghwa said, recovering somewhat from the trance Yunho didn't even know he had put him in.

"Not even if I say please?"

Seonghwa sighed, looking up to check the security camera's placement. Beneath Yunho's gaze, he inched closer so it had a view of the back of his head instead of Yunho's face, and pulled out his vape. "This one's actually good, I promise," he said softly, and Yunho nodded, eyes bright. Seonghwa untangled their hands so he could lift his head and put the vape to his lips. Without taking his eyes off him, he inhaled, a sigh escaping his lips along with some tendrils of minty smoke that had Seonghwa a little dizzy. His eyes fluttered shut as it kicked in instantly, the effect amplified by the amount of time Yunho had spent without nicotine in his blood, allowing his body to get used to it again. Seonghwa didn't give him any more, not wanting to have to explain it to Marika if she were to walk out now, even though he suspected that the phone would keep her busy if the tell-tale Subway Surfers music was anything to go by.

He pocketed the vape and leaned in with a conspirative smile, geturing to the bag. "There's one more for you in there. Just don't get in trouble, okay?"

"Aren't you full of surprises?" Yunho reached up to brush the strands of hair away from his face, revealing the mostly healed up wound and the bruise that had yellowed. His touch was testing, not enough to cause any real pain, but Seonghwa still let out a soft whimper. "Does it hurt?"

He shook his head. "Not anymore. It did the first few days, but... I think it was mostly the shock." He paused, then said, "I never got to thank you. For helping me."

"Of course I did," Yunho replied. "Clever thing, that persian rug. Almost like you knew the exit was there."

"Did Calliope-ssi tell you—"

He grimaced. "I changed my mind. Shut up." Seonghwa frowned. Did he not know, then? About what Calliope did, lying to Jongho to hide Seonghwa's involvement, and what exactly that lie entailed? About what Seonghwa himself did, and had kept hidden?

"Something wrong?" he asked carefully. "You seemed upset when we came in. The chief—"

"Fuck the chief. Honestly, fuck them all," he said with a sigh. "I'm taking a vacation."

"Vacation?"

He hummed. "I'm getting off the case, hyung." Yunho failed to mention to him that he wasn't doing it of his own will, and that the vacation was more of a suspension. An inappropriate relationship with a suspect? I had to report it, hyung, I'm sorry. As if Jongho didn't know him at all. He'd refused to fill him in on the case anymore, acting like he had no choice, when in truth, he'd had many of them. Not exaggerating things to his father would have heen one. What was he supposed to do? Leave Seonghwa bleeding? But he had to admit that however misguided, Jongho did have a point. He had, after all, lingered on him without needing to, got to know him, called his mother, helped his daughter, showed up to his workplace. Followed him. Watched his tours on the internet. 

"You are?" Seonghwa sounded almost regretful about it, though it might just have been Yunho's unfortunate imagination deigning to play tricks on him, to taunt him. 

"Yeah. But you don't need an excuse to see me, you know," Seonghwa flushed, and looked away. Yunho took his hand again, getting him to meet his eyes. If he was off the case, why wouldn't he... "No, I mean it. I'm happy you're here. Didn't think you'd— ah... Give me another hit?"

"Yunho-ya, I'm..." he trailed off, getting an idea. The weight of Yunho's eyes on his face felt dangerous, making Seonghwa want to play it just so. Without looking away, he took a deep drag from his vape and leaned in. Yunho's lips parted almost as if they had a mind of their own, recieving the barely there press of Seonghwa's mouth to his own and inhaling the smoke into his throat, reveling in the treacherous taste of it. It wasn't quite enough, and Yunho found he needed more. Seonghwa, for his part, hadn't thought it all that far, and panicked a little when Yunho's mouth didn't let him pull away, chasing him closer, nails digging into the meat of Seonghwa's palm. 

Seonghwa allowed himself to indulge in the feel of Yunho's mouth against his own for a moment, chaste enough that he could almost fool himself into thinking it was an accident. His eyes were closed as he let his fingers card through the soft strands of hair on the back of Yunho's head, the vape forgotten on the sheets between them. He dared to deepen it, letting Yunho map out his mouth and getting a little high on the way he whimpered when he tasted the lingering smoke of the cigarette Seonghwa had smoked earlier in the store's parking lot. This felt nothing like kissing Mingi, or even Hongjoong, and it scared him, how easy it was to fall into it, to forget himself. What would Freja think of him, were she to see him now? If she was somewhere out there, watching him, she was probably having a laugh at his expense, and he wouldn't have quite blamed her for it. He was a mess, and Yunho... Seonghwa sunk his teeth into the soft flesh of his bottom lip warningly, and Yunho took the hint and pulled away, his now flushed mouth pulling up into a grin, though his eyes remained heated against Seonghwa's face. "Fuck," he sighed out. "Maybe I should get shot more often."

"No, you really shouldn't." Seonghwa found it in himself to get up and knock on the bathroom door. "Monkey, you'll catch a cold if you stay on the toilet for so long. You can play in the car."

"One game!"

One game was too much. "I need to get to work, Mari-ah."

"Do you really," Yunho said wryly, not quite a question. He sounded almost hurt, and Seonghwa's heart broke a little. He strode over to him and took his hand, needing to ease his mind. 

"Yeah, actually. I need to make sure everything's in order for the Barcelona exposition." 

"You're going to Barcelona?" 

He snorted. "Oh, no. My boss wouldn't let me even if I wanted to. But she still needs my help organizing the whole thing, so..."

Seonghwa put his vape back, fingers brushing over Yunho's chest as he did so, making him hiss. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's— Hyung, I... Fuck, you're..."

He trailed off upon hearing the toilet flushing and the water running in the sink, and Seonghwa let go of him sheepishly. He retrieved his phone from Marika's hand and nudged her gently toward the door. "Call if you need anything, okay?"

"I don't have your number."

"Don't you?" Seonghwa asked, feigning disinterest as his eyes pointedly landed on the bag on Yunho's nightstand.

Yunho bit back his smile, following his gaze. "Don't get in trouble," Seonghwa said, eyes flicking up to the security camera and hoping Yunho got the message to use the vape carefully. 

"I'm already in trouble." 

Marika hugged him goodbye and they stepped out, feeling Yunho's regretful eyes on them as they walked away. Seonghwa risked a glance back at him and almost bumped into somebody outside Yunho's door.

At first, he thought it was just his sleep paralysis demon deciding to make an appearance in the daylight and for a moment hoped he'd dreamed up the whole thing and hadn't really kissed Yunho, but not even his mind was that cruel. She really was here, and the panic he felt was reflected in her eyes. He entertained the fantasy that she was only here to yell at him for not being at work, but her pretty dress and high heels said a different story, one he didn't quite want to think about.

He greeted her stiffly, and Lia responded in the same manner, looking like she wanted the Earth to open up and swallow her whole. He thought up a lie to explain his presence, but she seemed just as reluctant to ask as she was to explain her own. 

The silence of her peculiar absence at the museum these past few days began to make a begrudging amount of sense. "The exposition doesn't prepare itself, Seonghwa-ya," she said curtly.

"I'm— heading there now," he managed, but Lia had already brushed past him and through the door, to Yunho.

He blinked rapidly to shake off the haze, and didn't even notice Ryujin still sitting there in the waiting room, fucking around on her phone, until she spoke to him. "You know her?"

"She's... my boss. Do you know her?" Does he know her? was what he really wanted to ask, but knew how stupid it would have sounded. Why would she have been here if he didn't know her? 

She shrugged, expression neutral. "I kinda have to. She's his girlfriend, after all." 

Chapter Text

The pretty pink Matisse resisted heroically to the rough treatment Hongjoong applied to its gas pedal, but it was no match for a factory-fresh Jaguar.

It cut past him on the other lane and swerved to the side in the middle of the road, blocking his way. Hongjoong had no choice but to brake, hand flying to the gear shifter so he'd go in reverse, but it was hopeless. How could he have been stupid enough not to realize she was an undercover cop? The woman from the bar got out of the Jaguar without closing the door behind her and strode over to him with spring in her step, her face relaxed, and only a tad smug. 

She knocked on the window with the air of a nosy salesperson finding their next target for their unfortunate marketing schemes. Hongjoong would— what could he do, really? If he reversed and went back, he'd probably drive right into the path of the rest of the cops. He lowered the window.

"Good boy," she said, and Hongjoong sneered. "Now, now. Don't look so glum. If I wanted you arrested, you'd have been in handcuffs by now."

"What do you want, then?"

"Just a little chat. Step out for me?"

"No."

She shrugged, a patronizing grin playing at her lips. "You shouldn't be driving drunk." He didn't deign that with a reply. "You really deserve that Grammy." This time her smile felt almost sincere. "How about you help me make sure you're not getting your next one from a prison cell?"

"I have no idea what you—"

"Maybe you'd rather we wait for the actual cops to arrive, then, if you have no idea what I'm talking about." 

"The actual cops," he echoed, staring at her like she had grown an extra head. "Who are you, then? If you're not a cop?"

She opened the driver's door with a sigh. "Get out."

"Huh?"

"I'll answer your questions after you've answered mine. Unless, of course, you'd prefer to stay here and answer theirs." Numbly, Hongjoong shook his head and stepped out. "I knew you were smart."

"Will I regret it?" he mumbled.

"That's only up to you." She raised her brows, gesturing to her Jaguar. "How about we get this out of the way and I drive you home?"

"I—"

"Oh, and start from the begginging. Monday morning, was it?"

Yunho's WhatsApp didn't have a picture; he hadn't saved Seonghwa's contact.

Jeong Yunho [11.10]
hyung
i'm bored

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.11]
Aren't you supposed to be in physical therapy right now?

As Yunho was typing, Seonghwa laid the phone down on a table so he could move an oversized ceramic plateau into a box, and picked out some padding for transport protection. Changbin tossed him some tape to seal it with, humming to the obnoxiously loud music playing in his airpods. Sorry, I Love You, by— what was the name of that band? Seonghwa always forgot... He didn't really want to listen to Changbin's heartbroken music, so he put Rover by Kai on loop at maximum volume.

Jeong Yunho [11.13]
taking a break
this shit is making me realize i'm not 20 anymore
like
you have no idea what they made us do at the academy

Jeong Yunho [11.14]
hyung

Jeong Yunho [11.16]
are you still there?
don't leave me :(

Seonghwa snapped him a picture of the mess of boxes in the hall as explanation for his lack of reply.

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.17]
Photo
This shit doesn't pack itself up yunho ya
Not all of us have the freedom of slacking off 😔
And count your losses
Being 20 isn't one of them

Jeong Yunho [11.17]
wtf even are those things
why is that plate thing so big

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.18]
Hold up
I'll show you

He zoomed in and took another photo, making sure the gold splices on its surface were visible through the lens.

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.19]
Photo
We found the fragments buried somewhere in Yonaguni Island four years ago

Jeong Yunho [11.19]
yonaguni??
i've always wanted to go there

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.20]
You should
It's one of the prettiest places I've ever been to
That whole expedition was... interesting

Back then, he and Lia were still getting along like people. They'd worked on the Kintsugi together, collaborating instead of constantly trying to demonize and one-up each other.

Jeong Yunho [11.20]
wait hold on
okay so you not only found the fragments or whatever
but you pieced it back together??

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.20]
That's the entire point of restoration. It's my job

Jeong Yunho [11.20]
you did that. from scratch. 

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.21]
It took us five months but
Yeah pretty much

Jeong Yunho [11.22]
for real??
you actually
shit

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.22]
Yeah 😂
I'm good at some things yunho ya
You shouldn't be so surprised 😂

Jeong Yunho [11.23]
you do surprise me
every time

Seonghwa bit down on the inside of his cheek, a little flustered. They hadn't acknowledged it, and they hadn't acknowledged Lia either, no matter how much they'd texted these past days. Seonghwa had cut down on his visits, only showing up to bring him whatever he was craving that day and leaving quickly with some excuse or another, reluctant to linger. There was only so much they could talk about before the silence became heavy with the things they weren't saying to each other. Texting was easier.

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.23]
How so

Jeong Yunho [11.25]
i never had somebody writing me their number in a sudoku before

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.25]
I thought about writing it down on a cig
But you've seen that already so

Jeong Yunho [11.26]
what if i didn't figure it out?

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.26]
Your problem

Jeong Yunho [11.26]
harsh
but fair enough

Rover, Rover, I'm coming over... Seonghwa could almost see Yunho driving in his usual abnormally reckless manner to this soundtrack, and didn't know if to skip or keep listening.

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.28]
Yunho ya
Give me a song to listen to

Jeong Yunho [11.29]
hm let me think
what genre do you want
what mood

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.29]
I don't care
Anything

Jeong Yunho [11.30] 
you said you went to yonaguni

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.30]
...Yeah

Jeong Yunho [11.32]
then
hold on
listen to this
Link

Seonghwa clicked the link, and paused his already half hearted working, taking the time to listen. His Spanish was not what it used to be, but he understood enough. He searched for the translated lyrics to check the things he hadn't caught onto, and turned a little pink.

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.37]
Do you even know what he's saying?

Jeong Yunho [11.37]
not the faintest idea
except for the japanese bit in the outro ;)

Seonghwa went even redder at that, as he'd understood it too.

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.38]
Riiight
Well
I'm free tonight so

He laughed out loud at the three dots fumbling as Yunho thought up a reply. Seonghwa put him out of his misery and typed,

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.40]
I'm kidding dw
But if you need anything I'm here
For real

Jeong Yunho [11.40]
thanks hyung
^-^

Seonghwa smiled softly down at his phone screen. Cute.

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.42]
So have you decided what you'll do on your vacation?

Jeong Yunho [11.42]
not really
yonaguni sounds like a viable option tho

Seonghwa added Yonaguni to his playlist and pressed play on a pre-made one that had the artist's entire discography. He hadn't worked on his Spanish in a long time. Maybe this was a sign that he should try.

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.43]
Ahh yes

Jeong Yunho [11.43]
you know
we could go

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.44]
We?

Jeong Yunho [11.45]
yea
you could show me around
marika would love it too i just know it

Seonghwa took a moment to picture it. The three of them, walking together through the lane of some of his worst memories and repainting it, creating some new ones. Yunho was good at this, after all — making him forget himself.

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.47]
Hmm
I might take you up on that one day
Anyhow that song is really beautiful
Didn't think you had taste 😂

Jeong Yunho [11.47]
of course i do
also why the hell do you know spanish?

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.48]
My parents had me tutored in Japanese, English and French/Spanish
They let me choose
And I really liked telenovelas when I was younger so Spanish it was

Jeong Yunho [11.48]
shit
it doesn't sound like you were allowed to be a child
(no offense) 

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.49]
None taken dw
It's true, kind of
But I'm glad for it now even if I don't have that many chances to use it
Also
Yunho ya

Jeong Yunho [11.49]
yes

Seonghwa hesitated. Should he even tell him?

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.51]
I took Marika for ice cream in that place you took us to that day
And

Jeong Yunho [11.51]
wait
what?
you really did??

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.51]
Yeah...
On the same day as when you woke up
It was a bit weird
Everybody was staring at us

Jeong Yunho [11.52]
they don't really like strangers
did anything happen tho?

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.52]
Some guy followed us back to the car
He didn't do anything
I think he wanted to tell me something actually

Jeong Yunho [11.52]
what did he look like

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.52]
Uh
About my age, dark hair idk

Jeong Yunho [11.53]
let's hope you never end up being interrogated as an actual witness for something
you'd make a terrible one
...oh right.

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.53]
Fuck off
He was the owner of a small improvised bakery if that helps??
Maybe he was mad because I didn't buy anything?

Jeong Yunho [11.54]
ah
that's minho
he just looks threatening but he's really not

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.54]
He's your friend?

Jeong Yunho [11.54]
yea

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.55]
Any idea what he wanted with us?

Jeong Yunho [11.55]
uh

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.55]
???

Jeong Yunho [11.57]
he saw you in my car when i took you there
and asked me later
he probably recognized you

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.57]
Aw
You're talking to your friends about me

Jeong Yunho [11.57]
...

+82 010 2831 6070 [11.58]
<3

"Seonghwa?"

He jumped a little, exiting the chat while Yunho was still typing, and paused rather begrudgingly midway through a song called Aguacero. Lia looked almost sheepish staring at him like that, and it made him uneasy. She never was anything other than sharp and brief with him, and only talked to him when she had to give him work or was unsatisfied with something he'd done.

"Yes. Sorry. I'm working, I swear."

She glanced at Changbin and Winter — whom Seonghwa hadn't even registered showing up — struggling to move a painting off the wall. "I know," she said warily. "It's not that, I..." she trailed off, giving up. "Come with me down to the thesaurus?"

"...Okay."

The last time somebody had dragged him down the stairs to a basement, he was shown a dead body, and though as far as Seonghwa knew, there weren't any cadavers in the museum, the possibility that Lia was taking him there to turn him into one didn't seem that far-fetched at all.

She led him to the room adjacent to the one that was exposed for visiting, the room usually reserved for restorations. On the table, along with all the chemicals, was the chalice he still hadn't gotten around to fixing, and it took only one good look at it for him to realize that Lia hadn't been exaggerating when she'd said they were fucked. "Oh, no, what'd they do, apply too much methacrylate gel?"

She sighed, closing her eyes in dismay as she shook her head grimly. "Look." She urged him closer, the fragility of the material becoming apparent from this new angle. "They forgot to coat the fragments in it and wondered why the normal adhesive quantity didn't work in sticking them together. So they used the methyl cellulose adhesive with the highest chemical action."

"Shit."

"And there's more. At some point, somebody remembered they forgot the methacrylate for preservation and instead of starting over, they just coated the entire thing in it."

"Hence how fragile it is," Seonghwa concluded, and she nodded sadly.

"I know how to make it right," Lia said, wiping her hands on a towel. "But I need your help."

"My help," he echoed, hollow. "You need my help."

Lia inched closer, meeting his gaze. It seemed to be taking a great toll out of her, talking to him so openly. "I'm the best we've got here," she said sharply, then sighed. "But you're a close second."

Seonghwa laughed at that, knowing it was probably as good as he was going to get from her. "Right."

She caught his arm on his way to the door. "What I'm trying to say is— I can do it, just not in time for the exposition. Imagine having to tell the Spanish we're postponing."

"Doesn't sound like my problem."

She sighed again, looking like she was struggling against the urge to rip his throat out. "I can't do it without you," she whispered through gritted teeth. "Not so fast."

"Are you gonna threaten to fire me if I don't?"

"If I have to," she replied. "But we both know I can't do that. Without you, what would I be left with?"

"People who don't know the difference between synthetic resin and natural one, probably."

She nodded, sheepish, and pulled her hand away. Feeling the energy shift between them, Seonghwa gave her a shit-eating grin. "You know, I've always wanted to see Barcelona."

"Seonghwa..."

"Heard it's pretty there. Finally gonna put my Spanish skills to use, wouldn't you say?"

She set her jaw, daggers in her eyes, but they weren't touching Seonghwa at all. "Fine," she relented. "Just— get me out of this mess."

"Gladly."

"I never should've given this to the juniors," Lia said grimly as she handed him a Berzelius glass filled with solvent. They had masks and protection glasses on, and time had gone by strangely fast as they both got over the inconvenience of each other's presence in favor of focusing on the matter at hand. Time had changed many things between them, but they still worked begrudgingly well together.

"You're right," he replied gently, keeping the snarky retors on his tongue to avoid picking a fight, while they were working with dangerous chemicals at least. "But don't worry about it now. We're doing it, see?"

"My hero," she muttered sardonically. Seonghwa did turn to her at that, unable to keep it in any longer. He grabbed the elephant in the room by its tusks.

"So how'd you meet him?"

"Him who?" He raised a brow as if to tell her to cut the bullshit. "Oh. The alarm on my car kept going off when I tried to unlock it, and he helped." Her eyes softened. "Or tried to, at least. He was really sweet."

Seonghwa's heart twisted a little. "...Here?"

"Yeah. He was... I don't know what he was doing, really. He said he was—" And then realization darkened her expression, "He came to you, didn't he."

It wasn't a question. "Yeah."

She snorted, but when she spoke, it wasn't anything close to what he'd expected to hear from her. "If you got into trouble with the cops, I'm entitled to know."

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, why else would he—"

Seonghwa gave her a smile that held no joy whatsoever. "I'm not in trouble with anybody, Lia-nim. It was a misunderstanding."

She looked relieved, and for a moment he wanted nothing more than to see it bleed out of her face when he told her the truth. But the joke was on him, and he wasn't laughing. The lipstick stain Seonghwa had wiped off his neck, that look in Yunho's eyes. Out of everybody in this fucking city, on this fucking planet, of course Yunho had had to pick her.

"I'm sorry," Lia said softly, sounding so genuine that Seonghwa was taken aback. "I can't imagine how awful it is to have cops trailing after you."

"You'll find out if Yunho sticks around, I suppose," he replied, an edge to his voice. She drew closer and placed a conciliatory hand on his arm.

"Seonghwa, I'm... I know we have our differences, but—"

"Yes, you've told me all that before. You're so much better than me in every way, and my wife saw it too."

She froze, letting her hand fall away. "Freja was gay, for fuck's sake. It's not about anyone being better than anyone. Even after so long, you still can't see that?"

He turned to face her fully, a warning in his eyes. "You know what else she was? Someone with a family who cared for her. And she cared for us, too."

"Yes, keep on making me the villain. As if I forced her into anything. She was miserable, and you couldn't even see it."

He'd heard all this before, and still didn't know what to make of it. The image of the woman Lia had known didn't quite align with Seonghwa's perception of his own wife. Which of them was closer to the truth? The more time passed, the more he learned about the mother of his child, it felt like he'd never really known her at all. Who had he married? "Right," he mumbled to himself, and got back to work, taking comfort in the familiarity of the pieces in his hands. This, he knew how to deal with.

Lia, for her part, looked so shocked that she could only gape at him. She'd have sooner expected a splash of methacrylate to the face than him just... not doing anything. "Are you— alright?"

Seonghwa glanced at her over his shoulder, placing the Berzelius in her hands. "If I'm alright? No, not really. There's more sides to every story, Lia-nim. I only know the one I experienced on my own skin, and the guilt that came with it. It's enough without having you assign me yours. Take that and do with it what you will. She's dead, anyway."

About three years ago, a girl in her early twenties named Baek Miyeong disappeared while on her way back from the mall. Her car was found untouched in the underground parking lot of said mall. The security cameras caught her walking towards it, but lost her as she stepped out of range, and even when analyzing the footage from all thirteen of them, the only significant clue Yunho and Chan had found was the appearance of a sky blue Ford. Unidentified man behind the wheel, wearing glasses and a surgical mask, a baseball cap on his head, leaving half an hour after Miyeong was seen walking to her car. They'd run the plates, and found that they'd been stolen.

The employees saw nothing suspicious, and the one who'd taken his parking ticket didn't recall ever seeing him. They'd scoured every inch of the parking lot for hours and found nothing; the abductor made no demand for ransom, and the search quickly became futile as a demand for 2 million Won remained unanswered.

A few weeks after, the Ford was found abandoned in some junk yard in the opposite part of the country. It proved to be just as stolen as its plates, and it was wiped clean — no fingerprints, strands of hair, or any trace of blood. The range, the ruthless planning of the scheme quickly made it clear that they weren't dealing with an ordinary criminal.

The urgency of it was heightened by the fact that she was the daughter of one of the city's two assistant chiefs, Baek Hyunsuk, and of course it was highly publicized, and given the highest priority by the department. One thing wasn't made public at the time, though, and that was that Miyeong was three months pregnant at the time of her disappearance, when her boyfriend told as much to her family. The police worked around the clock to find her, yet despite that, she wasn't heard from or found, alive or otherwise.

Mingi was sure she was dead, but if so, when had she been murdered? The worst possible scenario was also the most likely, and everybody knew it — she wasn't murdered immediately, but held captive until she gave birth and only then killed.

The only real lead they had was the one provided by her boyfriend — a gold necklace with a magpie pendant that he'd given to her on her previous birthday. They'd figured it would have been pawned, and as the ransom money piled up, a tip led them to a chain of possession they followed to a pawn shop in south Daegu. The owner told them he'd sold it for 50 thousand Won to a man "with squirrel cheeks" and "big funny glasses" that they hadn't found.

Until now. Han Jisung was a thirty-three year old drifter with no apparent means of actual financial support. History of petty thievery and drug dealing at a small scale, living in a trailer park with his alcoholic mother. The real evidence of his involvement in the Baek Miyeong case was flimsy, even with the necklace found on his person, but the shooting of a police detective was ensuring him a long time behind bars regardless.

No matter how harsh Jongho was in his interrogation techniques, now relentless and insistent he could be, Jisung was all clammed up and stiff, responding, "I demand a lawyer" to his every question. Finally, Jongho relented.

"Okay. Public defender's office will send one for you."

Jisung shot him a malicious grin. "Oh, there's no need for that. I already have one. It's that guy— Song Mingi."

The last thing Mingi needed was more trouble with the cops. But then again, everybody had the right to a lawyer, regardless of how vicious they were or how serious the crime. And Mingi, for his part, had never known how to mind his business. Jongho and Yunho had been chasing Wooyoung and San, but had come up empty — thank heavens, or thank Seonghwa — and arrested this man instead, after he managed to shoot good old Yunho and put him on the bench for a long time. Bonus points for the necklace found on him, rendering the two cases somehow connected.

As if Wooyoung and San didn't have enough problems already, they were now linked to the murder of a cop's daughter. Mingi was still trying to reach them, but they had vanished. Ever since that woman, the former cop, cornered Hongjoong, and then the scheme that pulled Seonghwa out of the case... There had to be a catch. Mingi needed all the information he could get.

And defending the worst possible sort of criminals was what he was good at, after all.

Down the hall, staring pensively through the one way window to the interrogation room, Jongho and another detective whose name Mingi didn't know stood there, not talking to each other. Jongho didn't waste his time with cases he couldn't prove, but it took a long way for him to let go of it if he got assigned to it. The determination and perfectionism he usually approached his cases with rendered him one of the best detectives in the department, despite his youth, and in no correlation whatsoever to his father, who'd have liked him to be a singer. Jongho wasn't even thirty, but looked older by at least ten years, the harshness of his job taking its toll on him in a way it hadn't on Yunho, or not in the same way.

He saw Mingi, and gave him a brief nod, beckoning him over. They didn't say hello to each other. Jongho's opinion on defense lawyers wasn't the most fortunate one, and Mingi was most definitely not his favorite exemplary of the species. The other detective made himself scarce, and Mingi's gaze followed him as he approached Jongho.

"New partner?"

"Yes."

"How's Yunho?"

"Recovering."

"Is he...?" Mingi trailed off, unsure of how to put this, and his loss for words only recieved a blank look.

"What?"

"...still on the case?"

"Which one? Baek Miyeong or Choi San and Jung Wooyoung?" 

"Either."

Jongho held his gaze. "No. He got suspended. For getting involved with a suspect."

Seonghwa. It didn't really add up, though. "A... suspect," Mingi echoed, frowning. "That doesn't sound like something Yunho would do."

Jongho shrugged. "I didn't want to think that either. How about you ask your ex? Park Seonghwa, I mean, not... Yunho."

Mingi's heart dropped. Seonghwa had told him that Yang Calliope had protected him in front of Jongho — but he'd failed to mention exactly how. Mingi recovered quickly, though, remembering where he was and what he was here for. Seonghwa would have to wait. The guy, Han Jisung, was alone in the interrogation room, and had leaned back in his folding chair, his feet propped up on the edge of the table, bored with everything and everyone as if he hadn't just shot a fucking detective. Pleading insanity seemed the only vaguely promising option from the angle Mingi was seeing things from. "What's he said?"

"Since we arrested him, absolutely nothing. Name and ID number, and after that he asked for you. He said he saw your name in a newspaper. The Nightshade case has really consecrated you, Mingi-ya."

Strange how the thing he was the most known for was one of the cases he'd failed most successfully. Not taking Jongho's bait, he asked, "He can read, then?"

"IQ of 120 or higher. He's just trying very hard to look stupid."

"You said he hasn't said anything ever since you arrested him." Jongho nodded, very slowly. "But he said something before."

He hesitated for a moment before he replied, a flicker of uncertainty slithering in his gaze, "Yes. He was mostly incoherent, probably doing it on purpose to confuse us, but... He talked about a girl. He told us he'll walk out and we'll never find out what happened to her."

"Our girl?"

"Seems so. But... I'll be honest with you, Mingi-ya. Necklace or no necklace, there isn't much tying him to the girl's disappearance. Or to that kid's murder."

Mingi nodded, thoughtful. "Seems like you got plenty of suspicion, as you always do."

It wasn't difficult to realize that Mingi was looking to rile him up, but Jongho wasn't really having it. Instead, he let out a laugh. "Look at him, Mingi-ya. Even if he hadn't had a gun to my throat and stuck a bullet in Yunho's gut, I'd still give him ten years in solitary based on first impression alone."

Mingi didn't really disagree with that, but for the sake of the argument, he said, "Five, maximum. You exaggerate." To either attract attention or ridicule, he was wearing a pair of the ugliest thick-framed black glasses he'd ever seen on anyone. "About those glasses, Jongho-ya," he said. 

"They're from cheap fakes from a Lidl. He doesn't need them."

"He fancies himself a disguise expert?"

"He's pretty good, actually. He looks like a different person when he takes them off. Go talk to him. This should be fun."

"For you, I'm sure."

Jongho actually reached out to pat his arm, looking almost sympathetic. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"You're sorry," Mingi repeated, not even bothering to conceal his disbelief.

"Yeah. I was wrong to accuse you."

Mingi stepped away from his hold, wary of a trap but still plastering on a smile. "Took you long enough."

"Yeah, well," Jongho said, something of a gleam in his eye. "We should work together, you and I."

Mingi didn't lose the smile. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you think all defense lawyers are scum and wouldn't get down to our level in a million years."

"Circumstances, Mingi-ya." 

Mingi hummed. "Thanks, but... I think I'm better off flying solo." He raised a brow, his height working in his advantage as Jongho had to look up at him. "I wouldn't wanna end up snitched on to your daddy for having the nerve to get attached to someone."

Jisung took his feet off the desk, stood up, and they made the introductions. Firm handshake, holding eye contact, steady voice without a trace of concern. He was playing it cool, and Mingi fought the urge to tell him to take off those cursed glasses. If he liked them, then Mingi was crazy about them too. He sat down unceremoniously across from him at the table.

"The Nightshade thing was really something," Jisung said. "Especially after she killed that detective. If not for that information leak, you'd have gotten her out with a slap on the wrist."

"But alas, that's not how it happened," Mingi said neutrally, and he shrugged.

"Maybe not. But I said to myself, "If he'd dare defend somebody that wicked, and almost succeed, he'll defend me as well." What I did is nothing compared to... you know, that."

"Flattering," Mingi muttered. "And it's not nothing. You shot a police detective, Jisung-ssi. That's a serious charge."

Jisung waved his hand as if that didn't matter to him at all. "Ever heard of police brutality?"

Mingi raised a brow. He had, alright. But Yunho hadn't brutalized him, and neither had the others. The lack of security cameras in the bar helped, but it would have been Jisung's word against that of the entire police department. Pleading for that would erase Mingi's credibility for good, not to mention how futile it would have been for the accused himself. He wouldn't last a second on the stand with this, especially if the prosecutor was somebody like, say, Kim Seungmin. "I'd be careful saying things like that if I were you. You can't play that, but if you so desperately want to try, you can find yourself another lawyer."

"Oh, please," he dismissed him. "You won worse cases than this. And anyhow, that's the least of my problems, man."

"How so?"

"That girl, man, you know the story. These guys think I'm involved somehow, and they're harassing me. It's cause of the baby, see; if she was pregnant, what happened to the child? That's the million dollar question. And would you believe it — they haven't left me alone for a second ever since they brought me in. Nevermind that they punched me. You ever watched Law & Order? These guys watched way too much of it, and their acting sucks. That young one, Choi, he thinks he's the good cop, always looking for the truth and trying to twist my words, catch me with a lie. He thinks I killed the girl, and some other boy too, as if I have nothing better to do than going around killing people. And then the older one with the pretty face, Kim Taehyung, comes in and starts yelling at me. Good cop, bad cop, I've seen it all before, man. Ain't my first rodeo."

"But it's your first armed assault and double murder charge, am I right?"

"Hang on, pretty boy. You're pretty like a girl, has anyone told you that before? I ain't been charged yet." He tilted his head, grimaced. "Not with the second thing, anyway."

In him, Mingi saw a silver lining for his friends. Thin, faded, but it was there. The boy had already been dead when he'd stepped in the ring — all San did was do what he'd been put here for, and that was throwing punches. But because it was him who gave the fatal blow, during an illegal fight and no less, the cops wanted him behind bars. If only Mingi could prove there was more to it, him and Wooyoung might just get out of it clean.

"Got it," Mingi said. "Are you employed?"

Jisung shrugged. "Here and there. I can afford bail, I think."

"Easy there, tiger. Getting out on bail means you have a lawyer who can arrange it. And I haven't decided to be that for you yet."

He rolled his eyes, as if Mingi was just a nuisance he had to deal with. "Fine. How much do you charge?"

"For a case like this, I'll need a million Won up front. Not to mention the fact that I'm not certain they'll let you out on bail. And even if you do, even if you aren't charged with murder, you still put a detective in hospital. Trial's inevitable regardless. When you get there, we'll talk of a more serious fee. Can't afford it, you go elsewhere."

"Where might that be?"

"Public Defender's office."

"Figures," Jisung mumbled. "I'll get the money, for the bail and for you, one way or another. Question is, will you represent me?"

Mingi didn't really have a choice. Carefully, he replied, "Assuming you can pay me, yes."

"How does five hundred thousand sound? It's all I can do, given that I also have to pay the bail money."

Mingi didn't bother repeating to him that bail for him was unlikely. "Alright," he replied. "In the meantime, don't say a word to the cops. You already did enough of that when you started shooting your mouth off to them about the girl."

Usually, by this point in the first meeting, the accused had already denied all the charges. It didn't escape Mingi's notice that Jisung hadn't done so at all, and even seemed to be welcoming indictment, with the heavy trial that would inevitably follow.

"I won't," he said. "Can you get them to back off, though? I'm getting sick of all this harassment, man."

"I'll see what I can do," Mingi replied, placid. They shook hands again and he left the room, finding himself face to face with Jongho again. He'd watched the little meeting, likely listened to it too, nevermind that it was illegal. Standing next to him was Baek Hyunsuk, the father of the missing girl. He glared at Mingi with so much unbridled hatred as if the five minutes he'd spent with their first real, albeit weak suspect, meant clear proof that Mingi himself was involved in his daughter's disappearance, and that perhaps he'd killed her, too.

Mingi had all the sympathy in the world for this man and his family, but right now, he felt the imminent threat of a bullet to the back of his head. "He'll get out on bail over my dead body."

Mingi leveled their gazes with more courage than he really felt. "I'm just doing my job."

Outside, a swarm of reporters had gathered, expressions turning feral when they saw Mingi, shoving at each other so they got better shots. He brushed by with a rushed "No comment, no comment," and hopped in his rental car. He'd have to change it for another if he didn't want it blown up.

Mingi wanted to meet. Seonghwa had almost dropped the methacrylate jar in his haste to reply when his phone started ringing, thinking it was Yunho. He narrowed his eyes down at Mingi's ID caller as if staring hard enough would change it into something else. Of course that didn't happen, and when Seonghwa excused himself to Lia and replied, he was in a sour mood.

"You'd better have a good reason for this."

At that, Mingi laughed. He sounded more bitter than anything else, and Seonghwa felt a tug at his heartstrings. "Oh, trust me, I do. Clever thing, seducing him to get yourself out. Didn't think you had it in you, hyung."

Seonghwa tensed. "I didn't," he hissed. "It's— it's not like that."

But Mingi wasn't having it. "We're all in this together, hyung. I can't protect you if you don't fucking talk to me."

He huffed. "Protect me? All you did was lie and hide things from me."

"The guy who shot him is—"

"You know what, Mingi-ya? The connection's really fuzzy. I'd move somewhere else to get a better one, but... I just realized that I don't care."

"Hyung..."

"Don't call me anymore. I'm done with this. Done with you."

"Wait, Yunho's—" 

He hung up before he got to hear the rest of it, not bothering with a goodbye. It felt good, being able to do that, even as part of him was riddled with guilt. "Everything alright?" Lia asked wryly. 

"Yeah... Just some friend of mine. Or— former friend, I guess." 

"Sorry," she said. 

Seonghwa shrugged, checking his phone to distract himself, and finding some unread messages from Yunho.

Jeong Yunho [11.58]

<3333333

Jeong Yunho [14:35]

hyung

could you

by any chance

maybe

pick me up?

Seonghwa turned a little wary, eyeing Lia as she worked. Yunho had never asked him for this before, and he hadn't offered, knowing that whenever his boss left the workplace close to midday, she was taking Yunho home, as he still couldn't drive because of his injury. 

+82 010 2831 6070 [14:37]

Lia can't?

Jeong Yunho [14:38]

i just talked to her

she's busy

Seonghwa might have believed that if he hadn't been with her for the past two and a half hours and he hadn't known that Yunho hadn't called her, or even texted her. This couldn't mean anything good. Still, he couldn't pass on this opportunity. 

+82 010 2831 6070 [14.38]

Alright 

I'll be right there

"I have to go," he told Lia, who gave him a look. 

"What? Now?" 

"Yeah. It's important. But I'll be back, I promise." 

She sighed and shrugged, knowing she couldn't really deny him this. If he wanted to go, he would with or without her approval. "Fine."

Yunho was shaking all over when he hopped in the passenger's seat of Seonghwa's car, spilling the ash from his cigarette all over the floor and making a mess. Seonghwa slid down the window for him and closed his own, not wanting the flow of air to trigger him into catching a cold; he was sweaty, the loose plastic sports t-shirt sticking to his skin, platinum blonde hair matted to his forehead — platinum blonde? 

"What'd you do to yourself, Yunho-ya?" he asked with a small laugh, fighting the urge to turn his head so he could have a better look at him, and maybe find out if it felt as soft as it looked to the touch, as he had to keep his eyes on the road. He wasn't used to driving with music on, and the song was distracting him enough as it was without Yunho's help. 

"Figured I needed a change," Yunho replied, sounding a little sheepish. "Is it that bad?" 

"I didn't say that. You look beautiful, actually." 

His eyes brightened. "Thanks, hyung." In the slight pause, Yunho finally heard the song playing, and broke out into one of his characteristic shit-eating grins. "I love the song." 

"So do I," Seonghwa replied in the same manner, aware of the heat in his face. Yunho was everpresent in the back of his mind, and that had only intensified ever since he'd found out about him and Lia. Seonghwa was as straight as a line, yet despite himself, he felt a surge of triumph at the fact that he'd called him now instead of her. 

"Hyung, not that I don't appreciate you coming, but... Where the fuck are you taking me?" 

"Oh," he rasped out, belatedly realizing his mistake. He pulled over on the side of the road, hit the hazard lights and said stupidly, "Sorry." He took out his phone and turned on the Waze, unable to look at him. "Where do you live, Yunho-ya?" 

Yunho provided him with the address, not in the slum as Seonghwa had foolishly thought at first, but somewhere in the Changdong neighborhood. His driving was fumbled and awkward, and the battered Civic was having none of it, the engine turning itself off right in the middle of a difficult intersection while he was lining up for a left turn. "Oh, fuck you," he muttered, and Yunho snorted out a laugh. 

"It's not poor Lizzie's fault," he chastised softly. "You need to loosen up, hyung. Here." He put the cigarette to Seonghwa's lips and let him take a confused drag, choking not from the smoke, but from how closed up his throat was. Yunho gently took the wheel to prevent the car sliding off to the right before Seonghwa finally found it in himself to recover. 

"Thanks," he mumbled, and Yunho gave him a sympathetic smile. 

"You okay?" 

"Yeah, don't mind me. I'm just a terrible driver." 

"A Civic's not the right car for you," Yunho said. "It's street smart. You're not."

"...Thanks." 

"You're book smart, hyung. Like a Tesla."

Seonghwa cracked a laugh. "I can't afford a Tesla." 

"I can." 

His eyes widened, hands sliding down on the wheel, causing the poor Honda to slide again, but this time he fixed it himself. "What?" 

Yunho shrugged. "Yeah. Why not?" 

Seonghwa didn't quite know how to reply to that, or if Yunho had said it just to get a reaction out of him, so he didn't say anything, focusing on the road instead. After a long, silent pause, he said, "Yunho-ya, you didn't talk to Lia." 

"What?" 

"She was with me. I'd have known if you did." Yunho set his jaw, and didn't reply. Seonghwa risked a glance at him. "Everything okay with you?" 

Had they broken up? It seemed unlikely, as Seonghwa would have seen it on Lia's face if they had, so it must have been something else.

"Yeah," Yunho said quietly. "I needed to talk to you." 

Seonghwa frowned, sad. "Oh. Okay." 

Yunho steeled himself. Neither of them was too keen on pretending they wanted to look at the other. "Calliope said some things to Jongho. About us," he said awkwardly. Seonghwa had expected that, yet the apprehension in Yunho's tone still struck him a little. 

"Yeah," he replied carefully. "I don't know why, but she wanted to protect me." 

"I figured," said Yunho, sounding disgruntled. The realization crept in slowly, cold icy fingers running up and down Seonghwa's spine. 

"You didn't get off the case because you wanted to." It wasn't a question, and Yunho didn't deny it, because he couldn't. "You were taken off because of me." Yunho's silence was also an answer. "I'm sorry." 

"Hyung, she wouldn't have resorted to this if you were as innocent as you claim." It was Seonghwa's turn to remain stubbornly silent. "Don't you think you owe me this, at least?" 

"You did say you'll get the truth out of me," Seonghwa said softly. And he had told himself he'd tell Yunho everything when he was better. "I'll tell you," he promised, glancing at the traffic camera filming everything. "But not here, okay?" 

Yunho nodded grimly, and didn't say anything, choosing to stink up Seonghwa's car instead, chain smoking one after the other. Outside in the parking lot, Seonghwa finally pried the half smoked cigarette from between his fingers and threw it away as he helped him out of the car. Yunho winced slightly, but allowed it, leaning back against the closed door of Seonghwa's dusty car, not having it in him to care about getting his shirt dirty. 

Seonghwa hovered over him with worry in his gaze. "Does it hurt a lot?" he asked, inching closer. Close enough that Yunho could reach out and wrap a hand around Seonghwa's waist to pull him even closer, which he did. Seonghwa braced a hand on the car beside his head so as to not fall into him and press his weight right into Yunho's injury. 

"No," Yunho lied. "It's alright." 

"I'm sorry," Seonghwa said softly. "I didn't mean to get you in trouble." 

"You didn't mean a lot of things," he whispered, and Seonghwa didn't quite know what he referring to, but didn't dare ask. It would have been so easy, he thought, leaning in to close that distance between them, even if just for a moment. Stealing something of Lia's like she had done to him all those years ago. Did he even care about her at all, or was he only letting her tag along until he got bored?

Yunho's cold hand was brushing skin where his shirt had ridden up, making him shiver. Not for the first time, he wondered what it would have felt like. He brushed his fingers over Yunho's side, softly so as to not cause him more pain, feeling up rough bandages through the flimsy plastic of his training shirt. "Take me upstairs," Seonghwa whispered, and Yunho's breath caught as he watched him break away from his hold and turn away. 

"What?" 

"We have a lot to catch up on," Seonghwa said over his shoulder, and Yunho finally got up to follow. 

"Right," he muttered, and then broke out into a grin that shone past his unease. "Hyung," he called, holding out a hand. 

Seonghwa eyed it warily and took it. "Yes?" 

"It's the other building."

Yunho took a seat at his kitchen table as Seonghwa busied himself, first with making them coffee, and then with scouring around his fridge and cupboards, complaining about the lack of real food. "You need to heal, Yunho-ya," he scolded. "Expired yogurt and crackers don't classify as food." Neither did all the cigarette packs on the table or the big vodka bottle and the orange juice on the fridge door, but Seonghwa strayed from mentioning those. "And what's with all these open windows? You'll catch a cold." 

"Hyung, stop," he called, sounding exhausted. "Come here." Seonghwa turned to look at him as if he was seeing him for the first time. He shut the fridge door and crossed the room to him slowly, the echo of his every step bouncing off the walls of the eerily empty apartment. It hardly even looked lived in, and Seonghwa doubted it was only because Yunho had spent the last two weeks and a half cooped up in hospital. 

There was only one chair, so Seonghwa pushed the cigarettes out of the way and sat down unceremoniously on the table, figuring he wouldn't mind. He wasn't meeting his eyes, and Yunho placed a hand on his thigh to change that, but didn't move it. A little emboldened by the change of pace, as Seonghwa was the one who usually had to look up at him, he said, "I've been lying to you." 

"I figured that," Yunho replied gently. "It's alright. Help me understand. It's not like I can do something to you now." 

He swallowed dryly. "Mingi... Mingi said you leaked some information he told you in confidence and got both him and his client in jail."  

Yunho's eyes darkened. "Yes. I'm not proud of that, but... I did what I had to do. The woman he was defending killed my partner." 

"Bang Chan?" Yunho looked startled. "I looked you up." 

"Oh. Yes." Seonghwa placed his hand over Yunho's on his thigh, and squeezed softly.

"I'm sorry." Yunho accepted it with a curt nod, not wanting to linger on the topic. The briefest mention of Chan hurt him, and there was a lot to unpack there that he would eventually have to get to, but he wasn't ready for that yet. If he started telling Seonghwa about him, he would surely cry. 

"I can't promise you this is staying between us," Yunho said, sincere. 

"I understand. And thank you for being honest with me. It's more than I deserve after— ah, fuck. Calliope-ssi told them everything that was relevant already, though. Via anonymous tip."

"Oh," he managed weakly, feeling foolish. Of course Calliope was ten steps ahead of him. Why was he even bothering to try? But if he wasn't a police detective, what even was he? 

Seonghwa took a deep breath and started talking. About Mingi, about Hongjoong, Wooyoung and San showing up at his house on that fateful Monday, the knife and the meager knowledge he had about what had happened, along with all that he thought he'd pieced together from what Jongho had told him at the morgue. His lying, his doubts. Hongjoong calling to meet him at the bar and him helping them escape. Yunho could tell he was being sincere this time, even though he was unable to look him in the eyes, the weight of all his guilt pressing down on his heart. Yunho rose to his feet and took his face in his hands, and Seonghwa leaned into the barely there touch, finding that he needed it.

"It's okay," Yunho said gently. It wasn't, though, they both knew. He'd gotten suspended for this, but maybe not all of that was Seonghwa's fault. Yunho tried to inch closer, couldn't because of Seonghwa's legs between them, and he took the hint to spread them apart so he could settle in between them. The position was awkward, as the table was too low and Seonghwa found himself face to face with his chest. Before he could stop himself, he reached for the hem of Yunho's shirt and looked up, "Can I see?" 

"Yeah." 

He tugged it up slowly, giving him time to pull away, and paused for confirmation when he exposed the still pink and swollen wound. Yunho nodded, lips parted softly. Seonghwa brushed the skin, feeling him shiver, but not in pain, as the touch was too light for that. "Fuck— when'd you get your stitches out?" 

"Yesterday," Yunho replied, barely above a whisper. Seonghwa nodded, moving up to the bandaged ribs. 

"Eighth to tenth," he muttered to himself. "All the false ribs." 

"I don't know what any of that means." 

Seonghwa met his eyes, a glint in them as he motioned for him to take the shirt off. Yunho pulled it over his head and threw it on the floor, feeling exposed. He'd lost so much weight after his injury that the ribs that weren't bandaged were showing through the skin. Seonghwa didn't seem to mind, though. "The first seven pairs," he pressed lightly on each one as demonstration, "are articulated directly to the sternum, which means they're true ribs." His fingers went lower, hovering loosely over the bandage without touching. "Eight to ten connect to the costal cartilage of seven, so they're called false ribs. And then—" A touch, lower. "Eleven and twelve, floating ribs. They're only articulated—" he traced his fingers over Yunho's side and up to his back, "—here. To the spine." 

"Right," he managed, stuck somewhere between teasing his hyung for his obvious excitement at getting himself a live-sized carcas to fuss over and telling him to touch somewhere else. Lower. 

"And— wait. He felt around a spot above the bandage, a frown of concentration between his brows that morphed into a bright smile when he found what he was looking for. With his other hand, he took Yunho's and opened his fingers, pressing two of them to the spot. "Can you feel it?" he asked cheerily, and Yunho did feel something — the searing heat of Seonghwa's fingers circling his wrist, his inner thighs where they were pressed into the sides of Yunho's legs, but that was probably not what he'd meant. 

"What am I supposed to be feeling, exactly?" 

"Shut up. Pay attention." 

And surely enough, there it was, the weak flutter of a heartbeat. "Uh— is that normal?" 

Seonghwa let out a gentle laugh. "Yeah. It's called apexian shock. The furthest point from the sternum where you can feel the cardiac impulse, in the fifth intercostal space, on the middle clavicular line." And then he frowned, letting his hand fall away. Yunho dropped his too, and they hung awkwardly at his sides, not knowing what he should do with them. "I've never felt it so clearly before." 

"What's that mean?" Yunho asked, and Seonghwa shot him a look as he climbed off the table, brushing past him. 

"It means," he said pointedly, "that I'm going to the store to get you something to eat." 

Yunho gaped at him. "You don't have to—" 

"I won't be long. You can cook, right?" 

"I only know how to bake frozen vegetables, but sometimes I burn them. And pasta, but I never get the sauce right. Or I just have takeout." 

Seonghwa's laugh was a little horrified. "Yeah, no. I'll make you something." He pulled out his car keys and treaded to the door, and then turned, eyes wide. "Is that— okay with you? I can just drop off the groceries and... go." 

Yunho didn't want him gone, and blamed it on not wanting to be alone. And the idea of something cooked that wasn't made in a hospital kitchen made his mouth water. He hadn't even realized he was hungry. "I won't say no to you cooking for me," he said.

"Good."

With that he walked out, and Yunho was left staring at the closed apartment door for a long time before he finally snapped out of it and realized he was half naked, sweaty and cold. He stalked over to the bathroom and took out some new bandages for later along with some sweatpants and his oversized Un Verano Sin Ti shirt, figuring he had to look vaguely presentable when Seonghwa returned. 

He didn't look at himself in the mirror as he stripped down, scared of what he'd see, and went through the motions quickly, the ghost of Seonghwa's fingers everpresent over his skin where he'd touched, and where he hadn't. Yunho took care of it quickly, the precome and water making it easy to slide a finger inside, prodding at his sweet spot as his other hand found a frantic rhythm on his cock.  

He came undone in record time, cleaned up any trace of it, then flipped the tap until the water was freezing. He took out his roughest sponge and dumped what felt like half of the shower gel bottle onto it. He'd been a terrible almost-husband to Jihyo — scrub; betrayed Mingi's trust and broke his heart — scrub. Hurt Ryujin's feelings. Scrub.

Lia had consoled him while he cried over his own helplessness at the inability to pick her up and take her to bed. She'd stayed when she could have left, drove him around because he didn't trust himself behind the wheel, made him feel somewhat desirable whereas he couldn't even meet his own eyes in the mirror. Scrub, harsh over the sensitive skin of his wound, making him cry out in pain. The shampoo was stinging his eyes, and he fought back his tears, shaking from the cold and the discomfort in his side, but somehow when he was finally cleaned up, he felt better. 

Lia was right, it seemed. About rough treatment solving most problems. Except that it hurt, and the trembling in his limbs wasn't helping him wrap the bandage around his ribs at all. Eight to ten, false ribs, his brain supplied, very helpfully. The pain in them was true, though, more so than most of the things he told himself sometimes in order to get some sleep at night. 

That was how Seonghwa found him, collapsed on that same chair, half dressed and no closer to getting it right than he'd been ten minutes ago. "Oh, Yunho..." 

He dropped the grocery bag on the counter and rushed to him, frowning when he saw his skin was pricked with goosebumps. He hadn't dried his hair, and droplets of water were flowing down onto his skin, making him shudder even more. Seonghwa brought the back of his hand to his skin, if only to confirm his suspicions. "You're so cold." 

Yunho didn't reply, couldn't with how badly he was trembling, couldn't even look at him, the memory of the shower setting his insides on fire with guilt. With one last brush of fingers through his hair, a reassurance of sorts that he was coming back, he strode over to the bathroom to pick up a towel from the rack. He didn't give it to Yunho, and he was grateful for it, as he didn't think he'd have been able to do it himself without dropping it. Seonghwa's hands were purposefully gentle as they dried his hair and wiped off the stray drops from his shoulders and chest, avoiding touching the now exposed bruises. Yunho was still holding the bandage, now ruined, knuckles white, and Seonghwa pried it away, picking out another. 

This time, he did ask, "Let me?" 

Yunho nodded, shutting his eyes. "Thank you." He started to count down from eighty to distract himself, and hardly even got to fifty when he felt the lack of Seonghwa on his chest, now tightly patched up. He looked down, surprised. It looked prettier than anything Yunho or Lia or even some of the nurses had managed, and had hurt less, too. "How'd you do that?" Yunho met his eyes, and watched him smile. He liked Lia's roughness, but quickly realized he could get used to something more gentle, too. 

Seonghwa shrugged, a little sheepish. "Paid attention in med school." 

He picked Yunho's discarded shirt off the floor and handed him the clean one before he moved to the counter where he'd left the grocery bag. He kept throwing him glances over his shoulder as he worked on cutting up the vegetables, every now and then asking him if he was okay. 

"Yeah." 

"Wanna lie down till the food's done?" 

"No." He wanted something else, actually. 

"Okay," Seonghwa replied, and went to get him a blanket from the bedroom. Yunho found himself distantly horrified at the thought that he'd seen the mess in that room, knowing how diligently clean he kept his space, but if Seonghwa was judging him at all, he was doing so silently. By the time he returned, Yunho had already gotten himself the vodka, not bothering with the orange juice and drinking straight from the bottle, lit cigarette in his hand. 

Seonghwa paused in the doorway when he saw, and Yunho felt the deja vu. Maybe if he got drunk enough, he'd tell him about it. Why should he have been the only one haunted by that memory?

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I know you don't drink anymore, I just..." 

"It's fine, Yunho-ya," Seonghwa replied, swallowing a lump in his throat and averting his eyes from the bottle. "You're an adult. You don't need my permission to drink." 

He placed the blanket around his shoulders and got back to work, though not before pulling out the orange juice and pouring some in a glass. Yunho filled the rest with vodka, spilling some over. "That's better," he muttered to himself, and downed the whole thing before Seonghwa even managed to fully turn back towards the counter. The next one Yunho poured himself had even more vodka. 

"Take it easy," he warned. "You can drink more after you've eaten something." 

Yunho hummed in affirmation even as he drank his next shot, then went to the bathroom. Seonghwa rushed as best as he could, beating his record of fifteen minutes to a valiant thirteen, and although this wasn't anywhere near the best japchae he'd made, he felt good about himself. He rinsed two dusty plates from a drawer — who kept their plates in a drawer? — and made sure Yunho's had more food. He sat down on the floor so Yunho would take the chair, but when he returned, he plopped down next to him on the tiles, taking the bottle with him as per se. It was open, and Seonghwa didn't feel like cleaning vodka off the floor, so he eyed it warily and had Yunho give it to him to put aside, at a far enough distance that none of them would knock over it. 

"Food first, okay? I'll give it back to you after." 

Yunho stared at the two plates in his hand as if they were made of solid gold and took the one handed to him and the fork with a wonder that pulled a laugh from Seonghwa's lips. "Hyung, this is so good," he said, mouth full and manners forgotten, and if it would have been anybody else, Seonghwa would have felt beyond irritated, but right now, despite being stone cold sober, he felt warm inside, as if he'd gotten second-hand drunk from Yunho's vodka. 

"Glad you like it," he replied, proud. He felt even prouder when Yunho finished everything from his plate and had some of Seonghwa's, too. Yunho reached for him when he tried to rise up to wash the dishes with a little hum of protest. "I'm not going anywhere, Yunho-ya. Just a moment." 

"What time is it?" 

"Four in the afternoon." 

Yunho startled. "Didn't you— weren't you supposed to— Marika-ssi..." 

"I asked Yuna to pick her up from school." 

"Yuna," he echoed pensively, and Seonghwa mistook his tone for confusion.

"That's her sitter. You met her once, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember," he replied. "She was— ah, very pretty."

Seonghwa cracked a smile. "She's too young for you. And you have a girlfriend."

Sip. "Too young for me?" Another sip, bigger this time. "You're—" sip, "—older than me."

Seonghwa had had his fair share of drunken incoherences, and decided to humor himself. "Whatever do you mean?" Yunho looked at him like he'd just told him that two plus two equals five. 

"Aren't you, like..." he lowered his voice to a whisper, "...a thing?" 

"No, Yunho-ya." 

He closed the blinds when he saw Yunho's eyes were narrowed, hurting from the light, and reveled in his little sigh of relief. Yunho was smoking again, the glass becoming his ashtray. Seonghwa didn't reprimand him for it, choosing instead to sit cross legged in front of him and giving him sips of water between the gulps of vodka. 

It was so dark inside that if he hadn't known any better, he'd have thought it was nighttime. "I'm happy you're not with her, hyung," he whispered, eyes shut. Seonghwa's heart leaped. 

"Why?" 

Yunho put down the bottle and took his hand; he didn't stop him, telling himself it was better for him to hold onto Seonghwa than the vodka. "I hate clichés. And you deserve better." 

"She's a great person," Seonghwa protested. 

"Oh, I'm not contra— contri— dispute... I'm not denying it. I don't know her." He took a deep drag from his rapidly burning out cig. The small ignition of the flame cast light over his features, sharpened by the weight he'd lost and the exhaustion, and softened them a little, bringing out the gentleness Seonghwa knew existed inside him. "But you'd be better off with someone else." 

He wanted to ask what the fuck he meant by that, but refrained from it, knowing that trying to have a productive conversation with somebody drunk on vodka was futile. And Yunho had drunk a lot, almost a third of the entire thing, and the bottle was half a liter. He placed it on the table, and Yunho pouted at him, but had no energy left in him to say anything or get it back. He'd crossed the excitement phase and was now slowly getting into the incoherence zone. Seonghwa's best bet was putting him to sleep before he crossed into the territory of sickness. "Yunho-ya, wanna lie down for a bit?"

He shrugged, putting out the cig and lighting another one, and then plopped back onto the tiles, pulling Seonghwa after him with surprising strength, or maybe he was truly that weak. He flung a leg over Yunho's thighs so as to keep his balance and not hurt him, holding onto one of his arms for support. Only then did Seonghwa take a good look at the print on his shirt.

"Oh, I know that song. It was in the playlist I listened to. He sang some of what he remembered, a part of the chorus. 

"What's all that mean?"

"Seriously? If you love the album enough to have a shirt with its cover printed on it, shouldn't you at least know what the person's singing about?"

Yunho huffed up some smoke in his face as he laughed. Seonghwa grimaced, taking his cig away, and Yunho didn't even seem to notice. "I wanna hear you mansplain it to me," he said sweetly. "It's hot."

Yunho was too drunk for his words to have any real impact, yet Seonghwa still felt his face heat up a little. "A summer without you. Not gonna lie, I'm spending it well— but sometimes your name doesn't let me sleep. Happy— ah," Seonghwa's fingers reflexively wrapped around the cigarette Yunho popped into his mouth, and took the lighter away from him when he started to fumble with it and almost burned his fingers. "Way to shut me up," he said under his breath, and Yunho grinned.

"I don't want to shut you up. Told you I could listen to you talk for hours. I just wanna have a smoke with you."

His eyes darted down to Seonghwa's mouth pountedly, making the intention as clear as the question in his gaze. "You're drunk, Yunho-ya," he warned.

"I'm not asking you to fuck me, hyung." His eyes brightened with newfound realization. "You could, though. If you wanted to. I wouldn't mind."

Seonghwa didn't remind him about Lia. He wasn't sure Yunho would understand him if he tried, and he didn't want to talk about her, anyway. "Or I could do it to you," he said slowly, and this time Seonghwa fought back a shudder, hoping his blush wasn't visible in the dark. He'd pictured it before, just like that, and had bought himself some new lube to try it on himself, but lost his nerve when he felt pain and abandoned the mission. However worthless Yunho's drunken words were now, he felt a little less terrible at the fact that he wasn't the only one crazy enough to think about it.

"Shut up," he said gently. "You're gonna regret saying this later. If you remember at all, that is." He eyed the bottle. 40 percent pure ethanol, and he'd had quite a lot of it. Seonghwa would have been all blacked out by now.

"I'm not like you, hyung. I remember everything. It's a blessing and a curse, really."

Seonghwa frowned. "What?"

"Nothing," Yunho dismissed, and tugged at the hand holding the cigarette Seonghwa had forgotten about.

"Okay," he relented, flicking the ash in the glass. Yunho's eyes were firmly trained on his mouth, and he made a show of it, hollowing his cheeks more than he had to as he took the smoke in deep. He leaned close, minding the wound as his lips hovered over Yunho's without brushing them. He inhaled what was offered to him greedily, and would have asked for more if he'd had any breath left in him to do so. The pressure was already too much, and the fact that Seonghwa was moving around so he could reach the ashtray didn't help at all. Yunho stilled him with a hand on his waist. "Hyung," he hissed out, "you might want to— ah, move." 

Seonghwa flushed and muttered under his breath, "Sorry," attempting to get off, but Yunho's grip on his waist had other plans. 

He used the leverage of alcohol-infused strength, wondering if it was enough. But Seonghwa went pliant in Yunho's hold, and didn't resist when he flipped them around, not that he wouldn't have been able to.

Now, Yunho didn't usually get drunk. His alcohol tolerance could rival Jongho's on his better days, and even though he'd had a lot and all at once, deep down he knew he would have felt the same fuzzy warmth inside even if he'd been sober. Seonghwa was lying back onto the tiles, slightly overgrown fluffy jet black hair pooling around his head like a halo, revealing the scar on his temple. Yunho leaned in and kissed it, the hitch of Seonghwa's breath more than only a figment of his imagination. "I liked it when you kissed me," he said quietly. "Can we do it again?"

"You don't want me," Seonghwa replied, sounding wistful. "And you're drunk."

He sighed heavily and pulled off to lie down on his unhurt side next to him. "I know."

Seonghwa pulled him closer so his head rested against his arm rather than the cold tiles. "You like her?" he whispered. 

"Yeah," Yunho said. "I'm sorry." Seonghwa carded his fingers through his hair, a far away look in his eyes. 

"You shouldn't be. We don't get to choose whom we love."

"No," Yunho sighed out. "I guess we don't."

"Wanna go to bed?"

He hummed. "I like the floor. It's really comfortable."

"Not for me, it isn't." He grunted softly, nudging Yunho's arm. "Come on."

Yunho didn't really cooperate after he'd lifted himself up off the floor, and as Seonghwa more or less carried him to the bedroom, he wondered if this was how Hongjoong had felt when he'd had to do it for him. He didn't mind doing it for Yunho now, but it felt wrong, knowing that he'd been in a position of such vulnerability that he'd have let anybody do anything to him as long as it made him feel something. He rushed to the kitchen to get him more water and bring back the discarded blanket, and when he came back he found him singing, bobbing his head to a melody in his mind. "Me matas sin un pistolón— Y yo te compre un Banshee... Gucci, Givenchy... Un poodle, un frenchie... Te canto un mariachi..." 

Seonghwa climbed onto the bed at his side and lifted his head up to help him drink, effectively putting a stop to it. Yunho grabbed his wrist and held on even as he threw the blanket onto his legs, not letting go until Seonghwa was settled down at his side. "So you do know Spanish," he said with a small smile. 

"When I'm drunk I know French and Chinese too. I have no idea what I just said, though," he replied. "I just really like the song."

"You told me that I kill you without a pistol. That you wanna buy me a Banshee, Gucci, Givenchy, a poodle and a frenchie, then sing me a mariachi." 

"I'm scared to imagine you with a pistol. But I can do the rest," Yunho said sleepily. "What's a mariachi?" 

"Let's not, alright? You have a pretty voice, though." 

Yunho beamed. "I'm an even better dancer. I know the whole dance to Crazy Form. Ninety-two-four, kick that drum..." 

Seonghwa grinned. "How about you go to sleep instead?" 

"Can I have a smoke first?" Yunho asked, barely above a choked whisper, eyes already shut and a hand around Seonghwa's waist to prevent him from leaving, not that he would have. "I won't ask to kiss you again, I promise."

"When you wake up."

"Okay." The curtains were already drawn shut here, preventing any light to shine through, and maybe it was better this way. "Will you be gone when I do?"

Seonghwa had promised Lia he'd be back at work, and he had to at least call Yuna and check on his daughter, but he could send her a text. "No. Just try and sleep, please." 

Yunho gave a contented hum, and Seonghwa's plans to take out his phone while he was in dreamland faded away into impossibility when Yunho wrapped himself around him, burying his face in the crook of his neck and taking his hand. Seonghwa's breath left him in a shaky exhale when he felt a thigh between his legs. "Yunho-ya..."

He grunted absently, so out of it he didn't even realize what he was doing, and Seonghwa didn't protest further, letting him finally drift off. He kept his eyes away from Yunho, choosing instead to count the cracks in the ceiling, and it almost worked, but then Yunho shifted closer in his sleep, unknowingly applying more pressure. He bit down on the inside of his mouth, close to tears.

There was no way he'd survive this. Slowly, he untangled himself from Yunho, keeping quiet as he knew it would be next to impossible to conceal it if he woke him up now. Lights off, he closed the bathroom door behind him. It didn't have a lock, so he leaned back against it so he'd at least buy himself some time if Yunho's drunken mind deemed it a good idea to follow him.

But the house was eerily quiet, and he breathed out a sigh of relief, opening his zipper just enough to free his aching cock from its confines. It didn't take long, pressing into the shaft in the way he knew got him off the quickest and stroking fast once he'd fully hardened. He knew that by allowing himself this, even with how horrible he felt about it, the next time he'd have a quick one in the shower or in the darkness of his room, his mind would think it okay to supply him with images of Yunho's soft hands, the feel of his bare chest under Seonghwa's fingers, his sweet voice slur-singing that song to him. He'd listened to it because of Yunho and it was forever ruined for him. A faucet had been opened, and he was scared to think of what it meant. 

He bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep his sounds in, cock pulsing from the sheer force of it as he came all over his fist with a stifled sigh. He cleaned up, checking with the lantern of his phone to make sure none of it had spilled over. He needed to find himself a girl and get laid, and made a mental note to do so quickly. 

Yunho woke up to a pounding headache, aroused by the rustle of the sheets as Seonghwa was climbing back in bed. His mouth felt unbearably dry. "Stay with me." 

Seonghwa shushed him and squeezed his hand. "I just went to the bathroom. It's okay, I'm here now. Let's go back to sleep."

Chapter Text

"Yunho-ya."

A gentle hand softly shaking him awake. Yunho caught the offending wrist and grunted sleepily, opening his eyes out of pure spite. Seonghwa was hovering precariously over him, close to falling but somehow holding back with all his might so as to not hurt him. "I'm sorry, Yunho-ya," he said sheepishly. "I have to get home. I fell asleep and didn't return to work like I promised, but... I need to get to my daughter. I just didn't want you to wake up alone." Yunho let go, staring up at him with a transfixed look in his bright eyes, still a little glossed over. He'd rather still be sleeping, but if he had to be awake, the least Yunho could get out of it was the drunken privilege to openly stare at Seonghwa's face. Seonghwa frowned at him, confused. "Are you okay?" He touched his palm to Yunho's forehead. "You don't have a fever." 

"Don't worry about me," he managed at last, voice raspy with sleep and the tar that was periodically gathering onto the inside of his throat from how much he smoked. "Go if you have to." 

"Are you sure?" 

No. He wasn't. But he'd already done enough; he did remember everything, and the fact that Seonghwa could still look at him was a wonder. "Yeah." He lifted himself up into a seating position, fighting back against a wave of nausea, and gave a reassuring squeeze to Seonghwa's fingers when he asked him if he was okay again. "Thank you." 

Yunho used to be a much better actor than this. Now he couldn't even fool himself, so it shouldn't really have surprised him that Seonghwa wasn't buying it either. He sat down at his side, soothingly rubbing his back, tilting his head into Yunho's field of vision to get him to meet his eyes. "You can talk to me if you want. I'm here." 

Yunho did look at him at that, something sharp in his eyes that made Seonghwa flinch, hurt crossing his face. His hand stilled its movements without falling away. Yunho didn't know if to push him away or shift closer, and couldn't reply to him. Seonghwa sensed that something was wrong, and made sure to keep his tone gentle and impassive as he asked, "Want me to call Lia for you?" 

Yunho looked startled at that, immediately shaking his head. "I don't want her to see me like this," he said quietly, averting his gaze. Yunho could feel him hurting for him, and that made it all worse. 

"You can't build something real if you don't let her love you at your worst," he said, on a tone that resembled the one he'd used to explain Alexander the Great to teenagers. "It's never good to hide yourself. At some point they'll find out, the things you aren't showing them. There's no point investing in something if you're not fully in it." 

"Investing? That's a bit cynical, hyung." 

"Maybe," he shrugged. "I didn't think this way before, but... a lot has changed after I lost her."

Yunho met his eyes. "Is this the way you do it now?"

"I haven't exactly dated anyone since my wife died. But if I do decide to try again," he said carefully, "that's how I'll go by it." 

"You never felt anything for Mingi?" Seonghwa opened his mouth to reply, but Yunho was faster. "I know it was a charade. But I also know Mingi. Enough to see that it meant something to him. Even if it didn't to you."

"We got from each other what we needed in that moment," Seonghwa replied carefully, this time his turn to look away. "But I did mean it when I told you he's in love with someone else."

"Right. Hongjoong. The guy who wrote and produced half of my favorite songs, somehow involved in this shit too." 

"I'm sorry, Yunho-ya." 

"I would have protected you, hyung," he said honestly. "It didn't have to get this far. There were so many chances for you to come clean. But you kept on lying."

"I thought I was helping. And then it was too late. If not for Calliope-ssi..." 

Yunho managed something close to a smile. "I'm still glad you told me." 

Seonghwa saddened, guilt overtaking him. The light squeeze he gave Yunho's waist was riddled with it. "It didn't do you much good, did it?" 

"What about you, hyung?" Yunho asked after a long moment, instead of answering his actual question. 

"What about me?" 

"Were you lying when you told me you're in love?" 

Seonghwa worried at the inside of his cheek for a long moment. The way he'd said it made it sound like he'd diagnosed himself with some sort of rare disease. "I... don't know," he settled on. 

Yunho raised a brow. Something in Seonghwa's eyes gave him the feeling that he didn't really want to know. Awkwardly, he patted the back of Seonghwa's hand. "It sounds like you do," he whispered, and even in the dark, he could see Seonghwa's caught expression. "I hope it works out for you, hyung." 

A flash of sadness crossed his face, but it was gone as soon as it appeared, making Yunho wonder if he'd imagined it. Seonghwa didn't move away from him, though he did tense up. "Yeah, you too." 

"I don't think it will," Yunho muttered softly, feeling the air between them shift. "I must be cursed."

"Why?"

"You said it too, and you were right. I ruin everything. I'll find a way to ruin this, too." 

"I said it to hurt you." 

He'd expected Yunho to flinch, but if anything, he looked almost resigned. "I know. And you did. Don't look at me like that— I hurt you first." 

"I'm still here," Seonghwa said softly. 

"Because you feel sorry for me." Seonghwa looked contrite at that, and a little stricken, only proving Yunho's point further. "It's different for you, hyung," he added, lowering his tone to a whisper. "You're allowed to think that way. You already have a family."

I could be your family. The words were right there on his tongue, and he shoved them back in where they belonged, looking away from Yunho's earnest eyes before he said something that both of them would regret. That was when he saw it, the unmistakable shape of it, right there on Yunho's desk, next to his computer. Seonghwa's lip trembled as he turned to him, tone heavy with emotion. "You kept it?" 

"Kept what?" Yunho followed his gaze, and smiled sheepishly. "Oh, Princess Luna. It was in the bag you gave me. Marika-ssi must be looking for it, and I meant to give it to you, but I somehow managed to break one of its wings and didn't get around to fixing it—" 

"Shut up," he cut him off, moved. "She wanted me to give it to you." 

Yunho grinned, squeezed the first bit of Seonghwa he could reach, which happened to be his thigh. "That's sweet. She hasn't asked for it back yet?" 

Seonghwa shook his head. "Not at all. It surprised me, too. She likes you a lot." 

A little choked up and trying to hide it, Yunho pressed his smile to the side of Seonghwa's head below the scar, not quite a kiss but close enough that it brought heat to both their faces. "I'll treasure it, hyung. Thank you. Both of you." 

Seonghwa didn't have it in him too reply, all shook up and somewhat light headed. Yunho rose to his feet, and the absence of him on Seonghwa's skin made him instantly miss the warmth. 

"Fuck, my head hurts," he muttered, clutching his temples. 

"Forty percent pure ethanol. What'd you expect? I saw a butcher's shop on the way here. Want me to get you a new one? You'd be surprised how similar pigs are to humans."

Yunho cracked a laugh, a mock terrified look on his face. "Did you just compare me to a pig?"

He played at exaggerated innocence, eyes glinting. "I would never."

Yunho returned his smile over his shoulder, heart leaping as he went through his closet, pulling out the first pair of linen pants he saw and a crisp, slightly wrinkled from the wrongful placement, grey shirt, along with a suit jacket. He'd look grimly professional in these, the no doubt drawn and exhausted expression on his face adding to that, and it was exactly what he was going for. Seonghwa rushed to him when he faltered, an arm around Yunho's waist to steady him. 

"Okay?" he checked in, unsuspecting and soft. "Need me to help you?" Yunho's eyes widened a little. "I don't mind," he added sheepishly.

"No, I got it," he brushed off, and though he wasn't sure, he'd had enough of other people dressing him while he'd been in hospital and needed to do it on his own. He shuffled over to the bathroom, throwing back to Seonghwa with a small, reassuring smile, "You can go if you want. I'll be fine."

Seonghwa remained unconvinced, though, and waited for him anxiously at the kitchen table, helping himself from Yunho's hefty Dunhill supply, chain smoking not unlike the younger had done a few hours before and shifting in his seat, the need to get home mixing up with that of seeing Yunho get out of there safely. His loud coughing to clear off his airways didn't soothe Seonghwa's worry. If he was getting dressed, he probably wanted to go to Lia, and Seonghwa didn't like that at all, telling himself he was only looking out for him. And however true that was, there was more to it, and he didn't like that either. Was that how Lia had felt, like a shameful dirty little guilty secret, thinking about Freja day and night and dreading the fact that what they'd had was short lived, as she had to let her get back to her husband, to Seonghwa? Images of the two of them turning around in her head, making her sick to her stomach?

Seonghwa discarded the thought away, as it was futile as well as troubling in ways he didn't even want to think about right now, or ever for that matter.

When Yunho returned, shirtless and bare of bandages, he was in a sour mood, and the sight of Seonghwa didn't help matters at all. His gaze turned carefully neutral as he moved to tie his ribs up by himself. "You didn't go." 

"I'm sorry. I couldn't leave you." 

Seonghwa didn't offer to help with the bandage again, and Yunho didn't ask, even as he struggled for a full five minutes to get it right, rapidly pulling on his shirt and suit jacket. He looked pretty all dressed up like that, yet Seonghwa still couldn't help the remark blooming on his tongue, "I think I like you better in your sleep shirt."

Yunho glanced at the Un Verano Sin Ti t-shirt he'd dumped onto the table as if he was seeing it for the first time, and revealed his teeth in a sharp grin. "You like it so much, hyung?" He tossed it to a baffled Seonghwa, who numbly caught it. "Keep it." 

It wasn't like Yunho would be able to wear it again or listen to that album without his mind inevitably going to him. Seonghwa shrugged, though a blush did creep into his face as he put out the cig so he could pull his shirt over his head and replace it with Yunho's. It was already oversized, and swallowed Seonghwa's smaller frame whole in a way Yunho found he couldn't look away from. He purposefully folded up his discarded shirt and placed it on the back of the chair as if daring Yunho to ask him to take it back. He didn't. "Suits you," he said, letting his eyes dart down to take him in. 

"Thanks," Seonghwa replied, playing at casual, though the feeling of Yunho's shirt over his skin did send his mind reeling. It smelled like him, Dunhills, alcohol and sweat, and Seonghwa got a little high from it. 

Yunho grabbed two packs of cigs and his car keys off the mantel and shot to him, "Let's go?"

Seonghwa eyed the keys warily. "Maybe, uh— don't you want me to drive you, instead?"

Yunho stared at him coldly for a long moment as they crossed the hallway to the elevator, then pressed the keys into Seonghwa's hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world. In reality, he was marveling at himself; he didn't like seeing other people behind the wheel of his Duster, hated it when he'd had to give driving rights to Jongho because he never managed to win at petty games, but if Seonghwa wanted to play it like this, who was Yunho to deny him? "Alright."

"In... my car, maybe?"

Yunho pressed the button for the ground floor. "Nobody has moved mine in weeks. Cars are made to be used. It's going to rust in the parking lot."

"Right."

The Duster was higher than what he was used to, the seat rougher under him, and the air in it felt different too, tighter somehow, though Seonghwa didn't know if it was because of the perpetual cigarette smell or Yunho's steady presence in the passenger's side, watching him. "Why are you shaking? It's just a car."

Seonghwa hadn't realized he was, but Yunho was right. His foot was trembling on the clutch, it had taken him two tries to put it into gear properly, and was driving at a nervous relanti that had him transported right back to the driver's exam he'd failed twice before finally managing to pass it — with the maximum penalty points, no less, and the examiner had been indulgent. "It's not just a car," he replied, slightly strangled. "It's your car." Yunho blushed, and to soothe the weight of his words, Seonghwa added, "You love it. You'll kill me if I damage it."

"Not quite," he said, a smile playing at his lips, leaning back against the headrest, tilting his head slightly to the side so he could look at Seonghwa's face. "But I might punish you."

Seonghwa had the strange urge to swerve off and see what that entailed. His hand trembled on the wheel, and Yunho's eye caught the movement. He licked his lips. "Drive, hyung. Drive like you're running from the cops." 

Seonghwa gave him a knowing look, but did press the gas pedal, quickly understanding what Yunho liked about the Duster so much. The whirring of the engine, the feeling of the wheel beneath his palm, how responsive it was to the lightest press, as if begging him to floor it. Like it was made to be used. 

"You're doing it again, you know."

"Doing what?" Seonghwa asked, startled. Driving a car like Yunho's made it easy to forget himself, much like its owner's effect on him. "Oh. Right. Where does she live?"

"Where does who live?" They exchanged confused looks, and Yunho had to jut out his chin to remind him to keep his eyes on the road. The traffic was almost nonexistent at this hour, but Seonghwa was right about him loving his car. And Yunho might actually stay true to his words if he were to crash it into a curb or another parked car. 

"...Lia? Is there any other girlfriend you'd like to tell me about?"

"I'm not going to her," Yunho said, clipped. "I'm going to the station." 

Seonghwa's tone was wary. "What for?"

"I need to have a word with Jongho. He's not picking up my calls."

There was an edge to his voice, and he was still too dazed for Seonghwa not to notice it. "I'm not taking you there, Yunho-ya," he said gently. "Not now."

"Fine, then. Pull over." Seonghwa floored the gas past a glaring red light, making it clear that he wouldn't. He turned on the sirens, too, and Yunho couldn't stand it anymore. "Please," he choked out, hand flying to the handbrake between them, the only thing he could do from that position. He pulled, and the car struggled, beeping furiously. Using the last of its traction force, Seonghwa swerved to the rightmost lane and braked to a stop right there, switching on the hazard lights. Seonghwa turned to him, a pleading look in his eyes, brimming with a hope that Yunho knew had to be snuffed out. "It's your fault, hyung," he said quietly, not quite looking at his face, but at the car's dashboard.

"Tough luck," Seonghwa said, narrowing his eyes through the hurt. "I'm not letting you go there and make a scene because you're bitter. I'll take you to Lia's if you want. You can be bitter in her bed."

"Or in yours." 

"Or in mine," Seonghwa said after a long moment, so quietly that at first Yunho thought he'd imagined it, but the flush in his cheeks told a different story. 

Grinning, he pushed the door open and rounded the car with pointed steps. The sirens were still blaring and flashing, bathing him in red and blue. For a moment, Yunho thought he could hear the shot of a gun ringing through the still air of the underground room. The white light shining behind his eyelids. He did his best to shake the memory away. 

He didn't register Seonghwa's door opening, nor the arm he placed around him, calling his name as he helped him into the backseat. He was careful to mind his hurt side, and cradled his head to keep from bumping into the headrest, climbing next to him as far the seat would allow it, not touching him anymore now that he was settled. Yunho didn't want that at all. Breathless, he took his hand and tugged him closer, until Seonghwa took the hint and sat down on his thighs. His weight felt consciously maintained, careful not to cause any more damage, but he was going along with it, letting Yunho find purchase on his hips, the feel of him under his hands pulling him from the knife's edge he was dangling on.

Seonghwa leaned into the feel of his cold and dry hands over bare skin, pulling the shirt up as they roamed higher, exposing him to Yunho's eyes. He whimpered softly, eyes fluttering shut. 

"You're so warm," he breathed out, the ringing of the sirens muted and distant as if he was hearing it through a veil. As if Seonghwa lying on top of him was the only reality he was conscious of. 

"Look at me," Seonghwa whispered. "It's okay, I'm here. You're okay."

Nothing prepared him for the sight of Seonghwa's face when he opened his eyes, bathed in the dim streetlights, the shine in his gaze, nor for the way he made Yunho's airways cut off; he couldn't look away even if he tried. His hands traced higher, over his ribs. When he spoke, he was a little breathless, "Twelve and eleven, floating ribs." Higher. "Ten to eight, false." He felt up each of them, and paused when he got to the seventh; Seonghwa shivered, goosebumps rising over his skin. 

"Is this okay?" 

Seonghwa's breath caught, a choked sob making its way past plush lips, parted. Yunho wanted to hear it again. How did he look like when he fell apart? 

"Yeah. You can touch if you want. If— if it helps." 

Yunho looked up at him, and found his own need reflected back at him past the righteous self-sacrifical bullshit he was likely justifying this with. "I don't know, hyung," he mused. "Does it help?" Pointedly, his eyes flicked down to the outline of him through light blue bell bottom flared jeans, loose around his calves but tight on the thighs and waist. Tight enough that it was impossible for Yunho not to see that he wasn't the only one thinking about it. 

He decided he liked playing with him, maybe more than he should have. Seonghwa had a dancer's waist and he held it beneath his palm, marveling at the feel of it as his other hand moved up under his shirt. Yunho's shirt. "True ribs— seven, six..." He pressed onto each of them, and they were both breathless and shivering by the time Yunho's countdown got to one. "That day, on your doorstep— the jacket..."

"My shirt was covered in blood," Seonghwa replied sheepishly. "Had to take it off. I grabbed the first thing I could reach." 

"I couldn't stop thinking about it. How you looked. I wanted to have you right there. I still do." 

"Yunho-ya..." He was straining hard against the fly of his jeans, too out of it to even bother hiding it, as if there was any use in trying. He seemed big enough for Yunho's own cock to twitch at the sight, and he brushed his fingers over it testingly, growing more bold when Seonghwa arched into the touch, then stopped, nervously casting his eyes around as if only now realizing where they were. In the middle of the emergency lane, not even having bothered to take it to some parking lot. There wasn't any traffic for them to really hinder, though, and the few cars on the road could effortlessly pass them on the other lanes. 

Seonghwa met his eyes, pupils blown wide. The heat of him was searing, or maybe Yunho was just that cold. "I'm pretty sure this is illegal."

"Tinted windows," Yunho explained. "Why'd you think I have them?" Holding the hem of his shirt up with one hand, he pressed his thumb into the slit, making him whimper. 

"What about— what about..." he trailed off. He didn't want to say her name, and Yunho didn't seem to want to hear it either. "What's this mean?" he asked instead, meeting his eyes. 

This of all things made something unpleasant course through Yunho's body, but it was gone as soon as Seonghwa shifted, dragging the curve of his ass right over his own aching cock. "It doesn't have to mean anything," he whispered. Seonghwa had no right to feel hurt, as he'd seen it coming. 

He bit his lip. Maybe it was better this way. Yunho would go back to normalcy, be it with Lia or somebody else, and build himself the family he wanted, while Seonghwa would be free to pretend it never happened if he so wished. "Okay," he said, and leaned in to press his forehead to Yunho's. "Whatever you need."

Yunho nodded, not pausing to think about the flash of pain he thought he'd seen on his hyung's face. Seonghwa was straight and going through some sort of almost midlife crisis Yunho didn't even want to think about. All he wanted was to be taken seriously, and Yunho fucked everything with a pulse that seemed vaguely interested. He'd always been like that, but he would change it. He would abandon his old patterns and be a good partner, the best she'd ever had. He would. 

After he'd had Seonghwa once. 

His fingers toyed with the button, a question. Seonghwa wasn't anything if not impatient and restless, so he pushed his hips forward into Yunho's hand to rush him. It was all the incentive he needed to finally undo the button and the zipper, revealing a pair of tight boxers he knew would haunt his mind for a long time, flushed tip poking out from beneath the waistband, begging to be touched. Yunho rubbed his finger over it, letting the beads of precome gather, and put it to his lips, lewdly sucking it in his mouth, eyes firm against Seonghwa's own. It had to be the filthiest thing Seonghwa had ever seen. "Please..." he managed, taking Yunho's wrist and placing it over the outline of his throbbing cock. 

Without breaking eye contact, Yunho tugged at the waistband and snapped it, keeping up the teasing just to hear that sound from Seonghwa's pretty mouth again, something between an irritated grunt and a needy moan. Seonghwa bit down on Yunho's neck to prevent himself from betraying how much he needed this. Yunho wimpered into it, pulling away before he had the chance to leave a mark, then finally took mercy and pulled him out. The first touch of his cold hand against his length was enough to make Seonghwa hiss in anticipation for more, grinding down on Yunho's cock in a way that almost felt accidental, though the lopsided grin Seonghwa gave him when he felt him twitch against the inside of his thigh wasn't.

Yunho took in the sight in front of him. Long and beautiful like the rest of him, slightly curved in a way that made him get an inkling as to how the girls he fucked surely melted under his every touch. He pictured it for a moment, Seonghwa on top of some girl or another, maybe that gorgeous sitter, the image quickly making way for Mingi's face. It didn't come as a surprise that Seonghwa had had him far gone without even trying. Mingi had always loved easily, and Seonghwa was easy to love. "Look at you, hyung," he whispered, feeling something tug at his heart when Seonghwa thrusted up into his hand with a shallow whimper, thighs pressing together into Yunho's own, caging him closer against his body. His dick rubbed against the inside of his pants at the movement, and he was helpless to stop the moan from pouring out from his parted lips. Seonghwa wanted nothing more than to taste it, but didn't dare, as if so many lines hadn't already been crossed. "So gorgeous. Crafted by a fucking surgeon."

Seonghwa let out a laugh that came out strangled. "I haven't heard that one before. But you're right, in a way. My father's a surgeon."

"Figures," Yunho said with a hum, leaning in to tug his shirt up so he could press open mouthed kisses over the expanse of his chest, his other hand stroking him at a slow rhythm, wanting to drag it out for what it was worth. And in Yunho's headspace, where nothing quite mattered anymore, it was worth everything, feeling Seonghwa pulsing and writhing like this on top of him. Seonghwa fisted the shirt to pull it over his head, only to be stilled by Yunho's hand wrapping around his wrist. "Keep it on, hyung." 

"You like it that much?" 

"I like the way my clothes look on you." His teeth caught onto Seonghwa's collarbone, holding the shirt up for better access as his fist worked. Seonghwa moaned into it, and he doubled down on his efforts, sucking at sensitive skin until he couldn't breathe and had to pull away. 

Seonghwa looked throughly wrecked like that, and Yunho couldn't resist him, didn't want to resist him. He gripped Seonghwa's ass through the jeans, whimpering as he found friction on his thighs. 

Seonghwa's hand fisted in his hair, and it gave him an idea. The angle was awkward, tough on his head and even more on his side, but if only for the shudder coursing through Seonghwa's entire body when he pressed an open mouthed kiss to the head of his cock, it was worth it. "I'm gonna come," he managed, his neck flushing an even deeper shade of red. Yunho leaned in and tasted it, tugging the collar of his shirt aside so could suck hard over the reddened skin below his collarbone, sinking his teeth only to soothe his tongue over the mark. 

The pace of his hand quickened, and so did Seonghwa's own hips, chasing him closer, the grip in his hair tightening until it ached, tugging Yunho's head up so they were eye to eye again. "That's it, hyung," he whispered, close to his mouth. "Come for me."

Seonghwa let out a high pitched sound none of them had thought him capable of, and came all over Yunho's fist, breath punching out of him in shaky exhales. Some spilled onto the hem of his white shirt, but he couldn't even begin to care about that right now. "Thank you," he whispered, and pressed a languid kiss to Yunho's jaw, wanting to collapse against him but having half a mind not to do it, as it would hurt him. Instead, he leaned onto the back of the passenger's seat, catching his breath. 

With his clean hand, Yunho helped tuck him back into his pants, and Seonghwa started to realize that the mess he'd made needed to be cleaned up. He patted his pockets for some tissues, realizing he'd taken the jeans with the stapled decorative pockets, and there didn't seem to be any wipes left around Yunho's car either.

Yunho did have some, in the compartment in the front, but he had something else in mind. He clutched onto the hem of Seonghwa's shirt, wordlessly getting him to look as he made a show out of licking off the come from his hand. Seonghwa felt his spent cock twitch at the unbelievably filthy sight. He hadn't even known he was into that, and wondered if he would have felt the same if Mingi or Hongjoong or anybody else had done it. But deep down he knew it was just Yunho, his effect on him. What were they doing? And how could he ever look at someone else again without feeling Yunho's hands on him?

His eyes were drawn to Yunho's mouth, and he saw it, grinning up at him like he knew everything that Seonghwa was thinking. "Hyung wants to kiss me?"

Seonghwa grinned back, though it didn't hit the mark as he'd hoped, not with how blissed out and flushed he was all over. "Oh, I do." He got off his lap and scooted back to the far side of the seat, but before Yunho could ask him what he was doing, he'd already leaned down, face hovering above his clothed crotch.

It was Yunho's turn to blush furiously and stammer, even as his fingers carded through Seonghwa's soft hair, reflexively pulling him closer. His eyes were dark when he looked up at Yunho's face, and a tad fearful, nervously swallowing past the dryness in his mouth in anticipation. Everything he'd done with Hongjoong, with Mingi, felt like it led up to this lone moment in time, a night in the beginning of October that he'd make the most of as if it was his last. Yunho was breathless above him, the feral hunger in his eyes clashing against the gentleness of the fingers in his hair. "Are you sure, hyung?"

Strangely enough, the apprehension came from performance anxiety, and not reluctance. "Yeah," he said, smiling lopsidedly up at him. "I wanna know how you taste like."

Yunho was too fucked out to speak, so he only nodded, gracelessly undoing his pants with shaking hands. He wanted to make this good for him, make it something he'd remember. Seonghwa realized he was in over his head when he saw him, hard and leaking, veiny not unlike those hands of his, and bigger than he'd anticipated. He'd known he was big the moment he'd rolled the condom he'd found in his bag onto his own dick, yet it still took his breath away, looking at him so openly. He didn't even compare to Hongjoong, or even Mingi. Yunho watched his face, unable to follow his train of thought, and traced back, wondering what he'd done wrong. 

But Seonghwa asked, a flicker of fascination in his eyes, "Does it hurt, Yunho-ya?" 

It probably would start to soon if he kept this up for long, but Yunho didn't tell him that. He shook his head, trying to look reassuring. "Hyung, you don't have to." 

"I want it. Do you?"

Yunho nodded furiously, and when Seonghwa looked up again to check in, he only found his own desire staring back at him from those eyes of his, dark and greedy. He licked a timid stripe over a vein on the underside of it, emboldened to use his hand when Yunho whimpered sweetly in indisputable assent.

He made good on his promise to kiss him, open mouthed and lewd not unlike what Yunho had done to him, and moaned around him when Yunho let out a moan of his own. He was threatening to rise to life again, and he resisted the urge to grind down against the car seat. Yunho would probably not want to deal with that again, and he'd rather not have to drive home with a raging boner from the sheer feeling of Yunho's ridiculously big cock in his mouth. Encouraged by his responsiveness and guided by the hand in his hair, Seonghwa dared to take more, stopping when it reached the back of his throat. It still was a mystery to him, how his wife had managed to take him deep into her throat without gagging at all, but he didn't have that ability, and didn't want his choking to throw Yunho off. He tasted nice, clean and musky and so Yunho it made Seonghwa's heart clench. 

Something nagged at him, a burning question he'd wanted to ask before, but had never been crazy enough to do it until now. He pulled off, letting out a light laugh at the low sound of protest that left Yunho's lips at the loss of contact. "I'm curious," he said, wetting his lips and tasting Yunho on them too, "how many people had you like this here? In this car with your stupid tinted windows."

"A lot," Yunho said honestly, with a smile that looked vaguely sheepish. "But you're certainly in— top ten."

Seonghwa's eyes flared. "Top ten?" He held his breath and took him deeper this time, ignoring the ache in his jaw and sucking hard, gaze firmly fixed on Yunho's face. Seonghwa was rewarded with a moan, so loud Yunho grew even redder. He brushed his fingers through Seonghwa's hair with newfound fervor now.

"Top five— top five."

Seonghwa hummed against the cock in his mouth, letting it bulge in his cheek as he took a much needed breath, still not quite satisfied. The sight had Yunho's grip falter as he pulled him closer. "Top three," he hissed. "That's the best you're getting, hyung."

He managed to smirk, content with the compromise this time, though his eyes did hold a promise in them. Yunho knew right there and then that he was in big trouble. "Close," he warned.

It was now or never, Seonghwa thought, and pulled off to ask, "Show me, Detective." He doubled down on his efforts, bobbing his head with purpose.

Yunho's thighs clenched hard as the wave coursed through him. "Hyung, hyung, Seonghwa-hyung—" 

Seonghwa moaned, guiding him through the aftershocks and breaking off only after he'd gone soft. He kept his eyes on Yunho's as he swallowed, realizing that he could get addicted to this, if he wasn't already. The moments Seonghwa got to spend with him felt like the first taste of cigarette smoke on his tongue after weeks of withdrawal. Guilty, sinful, and burning out just as fast in his hands, disappearing into ash until the bitterness of filter was the only thing left, and he'd greedily take that too, as long as it meant getting to lay eyes on Yunho's face and have him look at him like that in return. 

The heat in Seonghwa's eyes as he swallowed up as if he couldn't get enough had to be the hottest thing Yunho had ever seen in his life. Unable to resist it, he pulled him in to clash their mouths together in a way they hadn't before, not like this, tasting each other on their tongues. Seonghwa was the one who pulled away first, biting the inside of his mouth to fight back a bashful smile. "You're turning me on again, Yunho-ya."

Yunho was about to tell him, more or less jokingly, that he wouldn't mind it at all, but took the hint to rearrange back his pants when Seonghwa pulled off him to fix his clothes without looking at him anymore. It's over, his eyes seemed to say. It's over and done for, and we aren't talking about it. 

He was too weak to move, to even say anything when Seonghwa climbed back into the driver's seat and sped away as if nothing had happened at all. Yunho pulled out his phone, finding a worrying array of missed calls that he hadn't heard, for he always kept it on silent. All of them from Lia. Nothing from Jongho, or Calliope, or any other of his colleagues. 

One of them was from a few minutes ago. The thought that Lia had been calling him, probably worried sick at his lack of reply, while Yunho's dick had been down somebody else's throat made him shift anxiously in his seat. His finger trembled over her contact, and he chickened out, but he'd already accidentally pressed on it.

She replied on the second ring. "Yunho? Are you alright? Why haven't you been answering your phone?"

"Yeah," he replied, voice coming out raspy and choked. He cleared his throat. "I had a few drinks, then I fell asleep and— fuck, I'm sorry."

"What's that sound? Don't tell me you're driving right now."

"No, I—" he met Seonghwa's eyes through the rearview mirror and looked away after a moment as if it burned. "I took an Uber."

"Where?"

"The store. I ran out of cigs."

Lia sighed, though she sounded rather fond. "I got you an Iqos device," she said.

"Iqos? You didn't have to," he protested weakly.

"Try, okay? Maybe you'll like them better." Yunho didn't have it in him to argue about this now. And he knew that sort of shit was expensive, so he wasn't entitled to making a fuss.

"Okay," he relented. "Thank you."

"Want to come over? I can drive you to that appointment thing of yours in the morning before I head to work." Dread pooled in the pit of Yunho's stomach. He'd forgotten about the biopsy. His eyes darted to Seonghwa, but he wasn't looking at him through the mirror anymore, pointedly staring at the road ahead, all tensed up as he floored it. He'd just not go. Youra had recognized him, anyway, and he couldn't face her after that, nor would he be able to face Seonghwa himself anymore after going to see his mother behind his back, as if he hadn't already done enough. 

"I'm not feeling very well, Lia-ah," he said gently. "Do you mind if I come to you in the morning?"

If she'd picked up on the edge in his tone, she didn't show it. "Sure, don't worry about it."

They said their goodbyes and hung up, but Yunho's relief was short lived. "An Uber, Yunho-ya? Seriously?" His laugh was bitter, and hurt. 

Yunho didn't know what to make of it. "What was I supposed to say?" Seonghwa didn't have a smartass reply to that, and remained silent, jaw clenched. It still ached. Yunho was scared to break that silence, afraid that he'd get — and it would have been well deserved, for that matter — thrown out of his own car, but then there was the burning issue of where the fuck Seonghwa was taking him. 

He asked him as much, and the older's reply cut deep. "You don't want to go to your girlfriend, but you obviously don't want to be alone in your sad excuse of an apartment either. I'm not letting you go to the station, so we're going to my house." Yunho's eyes brightened at a suggestion, finding some leftover hope in it that he hadn't crossed into the realm of no return just yet, but Seonghwa was quick to change that. "You can stay in the guest bedroom." 

"Appa, you shouldn't be working so late," Marika chastised him seriously when he walked in, Yuna at her back, phone in her hand and an airpod tucked in. They both had pajamas on, matching in color but not in pattern — Marika's had Pinkie Pie's face, while Yuna's had cartoonish avocados with little faces printed on them. 

"I'm sorry, Mari-ah," he said, the sight of her erasing some of the lingering pain away. "It's been a rough day." He hugged her close to his chest and asked softly, "Aren't you tired, monkey? It's past your usual bedtime." By three hours, exactly. 

He turned to Yuna, who shrugged, ruffling Marika's hair. "She wanted to wait for you."

"Who cares, anyway?" 

"You should," Seonghwa replied. "Don't you have school tomorrow?" 

Marika looked up at him like he was crazy. "It's Saturday tomorrow." 

"Oh... Right. Of course." Yuna shot him a worried look, and seemed about to ask something, but he was saved by the creak of the front door opening. Yunho had insisted on parking the car in the driveway himself, something about the sensors being faulty, but Seonghwa was sure he'd only done it because he was looking for an excuse to bolt. He didn't know if to feel relieved or disgruntled that he hadn't. Three pairs of eyes snapped to him at once. 

"Uh, hi," he said awkwardly, pausing in the doorway. Marika's eyes brightened, while Yuna's narrowed. Seonghwa could only watch, stone-faced. 

Marika jumped into his arms, startling him. Yunho winced at the pain in his side, but welcomed it nonetheless. "Mari-ah, you're hurting him," Seonghwa heard himself say, and she pulled away, eyes sad. 

"I'm sorry, Yunho-oppa." 

Yunho-oppa? When had he started being that to her? Seonghwa wasn't sure that he liked it. Yunho gave him an awkwardly grateful smile before he looked down at Seonghwa's daughter. "You didn't hurt me, Mari-ah. It's okay. I'm happy to see you." 

"Me too," she said cheerily, then tilted her head curiously up at him. "Wait, are your other police friends here too?"

"Just me this time, Mari."

She poked her head past him through the door before he had the chance to reply, then turned to her father, brows raised. "Appa, where's Lizzie?" 

"She's uh, sick again, monkey," he lied, despising himself for it. He pulled nervously at the hem of his shirt, hoping that Yuna wouldn't notice that he'd had a different one when he'd left this morning and that she'd assume the stains on it were from a spilled drink. "I left her at the car doctor. That out there is... Yunho's car." 

Marika ushered Yunho inside and closed the door, asking, "You never told me his name, Yunho-oppa." 

"His... name?" Yunho repeated, dumbfounded. 

Marika tutted him like he was being particularly difficult. "Your car...?" 

"Oh, that's... Dus— uh, Dust," he finished, giving up. Seonghwa had to mentally remind himself not to laugh, holding onto the grudge for a little longer. 

"Dust," Marika repeated thoughtfully, then shrugged. "Seems about right. What happened to your hair? Oh, and why are you here?" 

Yunho looked to Seonghwa for help, and though it would have given him great satisfaction to watch him stammer as he thought up a fitting answer, he had some face to save too. The lie tumbled out of his mouth easily, an art Mingi had initiated him into and Yunho had helped develop. "There's a rat infestation at his apartment."

"It should be settled by tomorrow, though," Yunho added when she grimaced, his natural comforting affability shining past the lingering haze Seonghwa had left him in. "Is it okay with you, if I stay here tonight?" 

Marika nodded, and he returned her smile. When he looked at Seonghwa, though, it fell away. He was freezing. They both were, and it hurt. "Hyung? Can you show me to..." 

The hospitable grin Seonghwa plastered on his face didn't reach his eyes. If Marika looked a little confused at the tension in the air, Yuna seemed downright suspicious, and kept throwing furtive glances at Seonghwa that neither him nor Yunho acknowledged. He led him to the guest bedroom that Mingi and Hongjoong had slept in that fateful night, and showed him to the bathroom too, with the air of a bored real estate agent presenting his nth house of the day. "There's that," he concluded with. "I'll find you some clothes and, uh— you're probably hungry by now. You know where the kitchen is. There has to be something there, help yourself to whatever you want." Yunho just kept staring at him. Seonghwa cleared his throat, awkward like a hookup who didn't want to linger. Was that what they were to each other now? "Right, I'll... go." 

Yunho caught his arm when he turned away, a heated look in his eyes as he pushed him into the wall beside the open door. "You're a good liar," he assessed, a finger coming up to trace the outline of Seonghwa's scar and down to his lips, where they paused for a moment. 

"So are you," Seonghwa replied, holding his eyes with a determination he didn't quite feel. "You, smoking Iqos?" 

"Why wouldn't I?" he retorted, and because he was feeling bold, added, with more conviction than he actually felt, "I'm quitting, hyung." Seonghwa laughed at him, a hollow sound, and it shocked Yunho so much that he let his hand fall away, clinging onto the collar of his shirt. His eyes flashed. "You don't think I can do it?" 

"Oh, you can. You just won't. It's simply the way you are." They weren't quite talking about cigarettes anymore, and they both knew it. 

"It's different this time," he said quietly, pushing him further into the wall, the press onto his collarbone making him hiss out in pain. Yunho's heart twisted, and he let go abruptly. "Did I hurt you?" 

"No, it's..." Cheeks pinking, he tugged the collar off his shoulder, just enough to reveal the rapidly forming bruise below his collarbone. Yunho brushed his fingers over the mark, careful to keep the touch light this time, and saddened.

"So I did hurt you." 

Seonghwa took his wrist, but didn't push his hand away, just held onto him. "I didn't mind it." Yunho forced himself to draw back. He couldn't think clearly, not so close. 

"Hyung, I— do you regret it?" Seonghwa frowned, taken aback. To him, the answer was obvious, but something stopped him from voicing it. 

"Do you?" And the answer was obvious here, too. Seonghwa saw it in his eyes when he looked away. 

"I... don't know."

Seonghwa swallowed back his hurt. He wasn't entitled to it. He couldn't stay upset with Yunho either, and that hurt too. However sad, his smile was genuine this time. "It's okay," he said, slightly choked. Yunho wanted to gather him in his arms and kiss him until they were both breathless, but when he wanted to step forward, his body wouldn't listen. "I'll put Mari-ah to bed and leave what you need in the bathroom, okay? I'm sorry." 

He turned to go.

"Hyung." Seonghwa stilled, tilting his head so he could look at him over his shoulder, eyes wide.

"Yes?" 

Yunho snapped himself out, shook his head. He patted his pocket for the cigs, knowing he'd need them. "It's nothing. Forget it." 

Yuna was still there, on the living room couch, watching cartoons with a half-asleep Marika, both of them waiting for him. He plopped down next to his daughter, pulling her close to his chest — a wordless apology of sorts. She leaned into it, peering at the tv screen from behind her glasses, not struggling with her eyesight any longer. Yunho's merit.

Yuna gave him a worried look over Marika's head, her eyes darting down and widening when she saw that his shirt was precariously tugged to one side, exposing the bruise. Self-conscious, Seonghwa quickly fixed it, face heating. 

"What's wrong with him?" she asked, tilting her head in the vague direction of the guest bedroom. 

"He got shot in the spleen," Seonghwa replied stupidly, knowing that wasn't what Yuna had referred to, but what else could he say. 

"What?" she asked, just as Marika interjected, "What was a spleen? I forgot." 

Seonghwa explained to her what a spleen is and took her up to bed, sitting next to her on the edge until she fell asleep midway through a bedtime story about the animal farm they'd created together. In tonight's episode, the farm's leader, a black cat he'd named Svartalf — after a World of Warcraft character — was impersonated by his much more lighthearted and unserious twin brother Gandalf, who was having a laugh at the expense of Gigi the dog and Benjamin the horse. He kept talking even after her breath had evened out, reluctant to let go just yet, and only trailed off when he felt a presence in the doorway. 

Seonghwa took in the sight of her. Yunho was right about how pretty she was. He hadn't looked at her with anything other than cordiality after Freja had wrongfully accused him of sleeping with her. Had she already been cheating on him at that time? Or had she been so convinced of his infidelity that she'd done one of her own because she was hurt, and things only escalated from there? Had that unfounded accusation been her way of telling him that they weren't working anymore, that she wasn't happy with him? That maybe she never had been at all? 

Seonghwa supposed he'd never know now, and it was too late for him to try and understand, no matter how much he turned it over in his head. 

Yuna was wearing a mild smile, worried and fond all at once, and jutted out her chin for him to follow her out. Hesitantly, he did. He knew that a questioning was awaiting him, but instead of feeling apprehensive about it, all he wished was to get it done faster. She led him back to the living room and sat down on the couch at his side.

The house was eerily quiet, nothing giving away Yunho's presence save for the water running in the bathroom, his third shower in the last twelve hours. When she spoke, her tone was so gentle that Seonghwa felt even worse. "What's going on, Seonghwa-oppa? He's— he looked familiar when I saw him the first time, but I couldn't place him. Then I remembered seeing him on tv." Seonghwa looked confused. "It was all over the news, don't you remember? Like, two years ago? That serial killer, the poisoner." 

Seonghwa hadn't been himself at all during that time, dissociated completely and balancing so many things at once, so maybe that was the reason why it had taken him so long to piece it together. Yunho's partner, Chan, Mingi's grudge—

He'd told her what he'd told Lia when she'd asked about his connection to Yunho, that it had only been a misunderstanding, and repeated as much to her now, but Yuna didn't seem convinced at all this time. "He's a homicide detective." Seonghwa averted his eyes, and didn't see that hers had saddened. She took his hand. He didn't pull away, though he did flinch a little when she leaned closer to whisper, "Did they dig into Freja-ssi's accident?" 

She didn't add anything beyond that, knowing she didn't have to. "No," Seonghwa said. 

"Then— what's wrong?" she asked softly, squeezing his hand. "Are you in trouble?" 

Seonghwa let out a humorless laugh. "Yeah," he said, eyes drawn to the closed bathroom door. "I am." 

"What've you done?" she asked, her tone gentle, devoid of any judgement. 

"I had sex with him." Yuna's eyes widened so much they almost popped out of her skull. A grim realization settled on her face as she stared down at the stains on the shirt of which she knew for a fact didn't belong to Seonghwa. Somehow she managed to recover enough to find her voice again.

"Since when do you even like men?" 

Seonghwa was still staring at the door, a far away look in his eyes. "I don't." 

"I don't get it." He didn't reply, and Yuna tugged at his hand, getting him to meet her eyes. "Were you..." her expression twisted up in a frown, visibly pained, "were you forced, Seonghwa-oppa?" The words rang hollow in the air between them, still now that Yunho had turned off the water, and he fought back a shiver. 

"No," he was quick to assure her. "Of course not." Seonghwa thought of his sweet eyes, his mouth, his hands, the way he'd felt in his arms, the weight of him on his tongue. The sharp sting of his rejection, his regret. How he'd taken over Seonghwa's mind and slithered into the cracks in his walls. It scared him, how Yunho made his heart flutter open for him like a flower in bloom. 

"He's the person you said you were seeing?" 

"I never told you that, Yuna-ah. You assumed it yourself. And I'm not... seeing him." 

"Hyung?" Yunho poked his head through the door, pink dusting his cheeks. His face fell when he caught sight of Yuna's hand in Seonghwa's, and he let go almost automatically, rising to his feet. He mentally reprimanded himself for his own eagerness, misguided and unnecessary. But Yunho was already hurt, and the tiles were slippery. He didn't acknowledge the withering look Yuna shot his way. 

"What is it?" 

"I have to change my bandage," he said sheepishly, and Seonghwa realized far too late that he'd forgotten to bring him some. 

"Sorry. A minute, okay? I have some upstairs." 

"Thanks." He closed back the door and counted his breaths to steady them. The underwear Seonghwa had gotten him was unnecessarily tight, and Yunho wondered if he'd done it on purpose. The pants weren't much better. They were large enough to fit him well, but the horrendous gray was unforgivable, not to mention that they revealed everything. He couldn't picture Seonghwa ever wearing them. This along with the Christmas green and red socks made him feel as ridiculous as he looked. And he'd be damned if he let that Hannah Montana t-shirt anywhere near his skin. 

He hung up the wet towels and strode out, head held high as if he wasn't resembling one of those overconfident gym bros with dicks for brains, minus the muscles. His wounds were on display, and Yuna's eyes widened when she saw him, phone forgotten in her hand. He fought back against the need to cover himself, and brushed past the couch to get his cigs, but found the vape Seonghwa had given him instead. He inhaled from it testingly, and figured there was enough left. 

"You mind?" he asked her when he returned, leaning back against the wall across from the couch, next to the tv, shut off. Yuna still had that look in her eyes, something between curious apprehension and— wonder? She was careful to look away from the wounds, though, and didn't prod him about it, even though Yunho could tell she wanted to. She shook her head and pulled out her own similar one. 

"Not at all," she replied, waving it around before taking a greedy drag, eyes fluttering shut at the first taste. Yunho's gaze lingered on her. "Good to see Seonghwa-oppa's spreading my wisdom around. You're a heavy smoker?" 

"Yes," Yunho said, his mind still stuck on the knowledge that she'd been the one to introduce Seonghwa to vapes. "My girlfriend's trying to get me to quit, though, so who knows." 

Yuna's brows flew up. She looked like she was solving math problems in her head. "Girlfriend," she echoed, vape smoke pouring out from between full lips. 

She was judging him hard, and Yunho didn't really understand. "...Yes?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but clamped it shut around the vape's mouthpiece when she heard steps descending the stairs. Seonghwa hitched in a breath at the sight of him, slumped against the wall in nothing but those cursed sweats that left absolutely nothing to the imagination, and had to physically force himself not to freeze on the spot. 

"Who would have thought you two have something in common," he said neutrally, eyeing the vapes in both their hands. 

Yuna didn't reply, jaw set as she looked at each of them in turn. Yunho had expected it to be awkward, but this was more than that; it felt like his presence in this house was a personal affront to her. Seonghwa handed him the bandages when he was within reach, careful not to touch his skin. "Want me to help you?" 

Yuna raised a meaningful brow at him from behind Seonghwa's back. "Uh— no. I got it." 

He had enough presence of mind to realize when he wasn't wanted, and strode over to the kitchen, figuring he'd grab himself something to eat while he was at it. 

They both watched him go — Yuna, through narrowed eyes, and Seonghwa, wistful. Once he was out of earshot, she said, "He has a girlfriend." 

"I know," he replied. 

"Doesn't that— I don't know, mean anything to you? After..." 

If the edge to her voice stung now, Seonghwa didn't want to imagine how she'd get if he were to tell her that Yunho's girlfriend was the same person his wife had cheated on him with. "It was an accident." 

"You do realize what that sounds like, right?" Seonghwa blushed, and she laughed sardonically at him, rising to her feet, her eyes serious as she drew closer. "I don't care what he does to his relationship. It's you I'm concerned about. This type of shit always hurts the most for the mistress." 

He steeled himself to meet her eyes, and plastered on a blatantly fake grin. "You shouldn't be. I can take care of myself. And it's over, anyway." 

"If you say so." Yuna, too, could read the room well enough to realize she'd overstayed her welcome. "I'll see you on Monday, alright?" 

"Wait, don't you want to, uh—" he eyed her pajamas warily, not liking the thought that she'd go out like that and be leered on. 

"I'll change at home." 

"Yuna-ah..." 

"It's fine. Have fun, I guess." 

She gathered up her stuff in record time and dashed to the door, asking a darkly confused Seonghwa to lock it behind her. Only after he heard the tell-tale sound of a car speeding away did he shake his head to clear off the unease, and joined Yunho in the kitchen. He was slumped in Freja's seat, one leg crossed over the other, struggling to wrap the bandage with the vape still between his fingers. He still didn't want help, and Seonghwa didn't offer again, but he did pry the vape away and put it to his own lips, watching intently. He liked Yunho nervous and squirming under his gaze. 

"You managed to make Yuna mad," he said. Yunho's hands faltered around the bandage for a moment, and he doubled down on his efforts, finding it the best excuse to avoid meeting Seonghwa's eyes. 

"She likes you. Don't blame her for being jealous." Yuna did have a youthful crush on him, yes, something neither of them had ever discussed or acted upon, especially after Freja's accusation, only for her to return the second day and apologize to her, offering her a raise so she wouldn't quit. That night was a blur in Seonghwa's mind, and letting his thoughts linger on it was something he couldn't allow himself. Seonghwa didn't feel like talking about that with Yunho, though. 

"It's not like she has anything to be jealous of, is it?" 

Yunho's eyes flashed, a warning. "Hyung..." He finished tying up the bandage, so precariously Seonghwa had the urge to slap his hands away and do it himself, but refrained from it. 

"Yes?" 

Yunho eyed the vape. "Give me a smoke?" 

Seonghwa huffed out an obnoxious amount of it. "What happened to quitting?" Yunho raised a brow. "Go and get it yourself if you want it so bad." 

He rose up, but instead of reaching to take the vape from Seonghwa, he left the kitchen to retrieve his cigarettes. Seonghwa didn't even bother hiding the grin when he saw he was walking slightly sideways and was purposefully avoiding his gaze, struggling with the lighter in a way that a smoker of his caliber shouldn't have. He closed the door behind him, the intention clear to both of them. 

"You're okay, Yunho-ya?" he asked, testing and somewhat mocking. "You seem a bit... on edge." 

Yunho finally lit it up, more or less successfully as it gave off a smell of something burnt. His breathing was shallow, pupils blown wide, and he didn't waste any time crowding Seonghwa further against the counter, the hand that wasn't holding the cigarette hiking up one of his legs for better access. There was no way Seonghwa couldn't feel him like this, their similar height allowing them to press together. He was so hard that Seonghwa was dizzy. "You did this on purpose," he hissed. 

"Somebody had to," Seonghwa replied with a sly little grin, eyes darting down to Yunho's lips, wrapped around his cig. He gave his ass a light squeeze, holding back a pleased sigh of his own when Yunho whimpered. "I've seen what you have under there, Detective. No wonder everybody wants you." It had been a test of sorts, figuring that Yunho's reaction to this little scheme would reveal how he really felt, if anything at all. Aside from that, it was a soft form of vengeance that Seonghwa allowed himself to indulge in at Yunho's expense. It hit Seonghwa right in the face, though — the only thing he'd managed to achieve with this was irritating him; and turning him on. 

"Yeah? Then how come you can't even get hard for me now? You didn't have a problem earlier, when I barely even touched you." He didn't reply at first, and Yunho loosened his grip, ready to step away. Seonghwa's hand came up to rest on the back of his neck to prevent it, his fingers tugging at soft hair. 

"You said... You said you regret—" 

Yunho kissed him then, tasting of smoke and the sugary cereal he'd been munching on, casually throwing what was left of the cig in the sink without looking. His eyes were closed, and Seonghwa shut his, too, letting himself feel it as he filled out between them. He chased him back when Yunho pulled away to look at him, open and honest. "I do regret it, hyung," he said softly, and watched Seonghwa's heart crack open a little further. "It's reckless, and it doesn't make any sense, and... I regret it, because I don't want it to stop. Do you?" 

The blush spread over his cheeks like a flower blooming. "The night's not over yet," Seonghwa replied, sounding a little choked. The hand in Yunho's hair traveled up, tipping his head back to expose the column of his throat. He pressed his mouth to the vein there, taking in the scent of his own shower gel on Yunho's skin. 

"What artery's that, hyung?" he teased, grinding down on Seonghwa's cock harshly, and drawing a broken sound from his lips that made it difficult for him to answer. 

When he did, his voice was so deep Yunho felt the vibration of it all over his skin. "It's a vein, Yunho-ya. The— ah... jugular..." he trailed off into a barely stifled moan, his hips arching up to meet Yunho's relentless thrusts. He lifted his head to meet his eyes, looking thoroughly tortured, their faces so close that their noses were brushing. 

"Yes, hyung? Go on." 

"Arteries carry oxigenated blood from your heart to the cells in your body..." 

"Yeah?" 

"...while veins transport the rezidual carbon dioxide back to the heart. That's why they're blue. This—" he mouthed the outline of it on Yunho's neck, making them both shudder, "—is the jugular. It's one of the superficial veins, that's why you can see it beneath your skin." His fingers traced those on the inside of Yunho's arms too for good measure, awestruck. "Med students would love you, Yunho-ya."

"Would they?" Yunho gave him a particularly harsh thrust, pressing his mouth to Seonghwa's jaw, making him whimper. "Is it sore, hyung?" he asked, on a whim to torment him even further, and Seonghwa's reaction to that transcended all his expectations. He hadn't thought it possible for somebody's entire body to blush, but if it was, this was probably how it would have looked like. 

"A— a bit," he admitted, pushing his hips into Yunho. "You're gonna make me come, Yunho-ya." 

Yunho pulled back, snatching it away from him. The stricken look Seonghwa gave him in return dulled the ache of his own cock, helplessly straining against the tight fabric. Yunho gave himself a few strokes to relieve some of the pressure, dying a little inside when Seonghwa let out an anguished groan, his hips thrusting up against nothing. 

"Please..." 

"Please what, hyung? Tell me." Seonghwa's eyes shot daggers at him. He tugged at Yunho's waistband, the intent obvious, and Yunho would have teased him for his impatience if he hadn't shared it. "Hyung wants to come on my cock?" 

Seonghwa moaned, fighting the urge to avert his eyes, and nodded, cock twitching, though if at the way that word rolled off Yunho's tongue or at the suggestion, he didn't know. Yunho caught onto it, and placed a soft kiss to his jaw, a reward. "You like it when I call you that, don't you?" Seonghwa's blush only deepened, a confirmation if Yunho had ever seen one. He'd had enough of torturing them, though, and finally freed them both. 

Yunho looked even thicker in the unforgiving white light of the kitchen, and Seonghwa's breath caught. They fit like misplaced puzzle pieces together, and he knew he'd been wrong before; this was the filthiest thing he'd ever seen, Yunho's large hand struggling to wrap around them, only to slip and falter, and the blush in his cheeks as he asked him, "Help me, hyung?" 

Seonghwa was happy to comply. He tangled his fingers through Yunho's cold ones, tightening to add to the pressure. He wanted to taste his mouth, and Yunho let him take the reins, finding a harsh rhythm that had him letting out a shaky whimper right into Seonghwa's kiss. He was soft and pliant in his hold, letting his free hand wander down Yunho's chest, brushing over the bandage and pausing when he felt scarred tissue. Yunho squirmed a little, and he pulled away to whisper, eyes flicking between the wound and his face, "You're perfect, you know?" 

Something pained crossed Yunho's expression, though if he had something to say to that, it got lost in the pained moan that ripped from his lips as he fell apart. The sight of him, the wetness of it, Yunho calling out his name as if it was the only one on his lips tipped Seonghwa over the edge too, coming all over Yunho's length and their hands stroking them both through it. Seonghwa's vision was still swimming around, everything inside him sensitive and aching. "Yunho-ya, I..."

Yunho was too scared to want to hear it, though. He nudged him to the sink and cleaned them both up and tucked them back in. He checked in with a small smile, "You okay?" 

Seonghwa bit down on the inside of his cheek, sensitive from how hard he'd sunk his teeth into it before, his eyes glinting as they flitted down to Yunho's mouth again. "Yeah. You?" 

Yunho nodded absently, and didn't kiss him. He craved a smoke, and needed some sleep. A drink, maybe, too — but from that he held back, assuming that Seonghwa didn't have any alcohol lying around his house. 

Seonghwa caught onto the hesitation in his expression, and drew back, allowing him the space he so wanted. Yunho looked down at himself and grimaced. "Can I have some actual clothes, hyung?" 

"Of course. I'm sorry." 

"Don't be," Yunho said honestly. "I liked it, truly." 

Seonghwa tried to smile. "Me too." 

"Right..." 

"Yeah, I'll— Do you still want to go to the station?"

"I don't know," Yunho replied. "I shouldn't."

"Want me to drive you in the morning? Or now. Anywhere you need. I'll wake Marika and—" 

Yunho cut him off. "It's alright. Driving is second nature to me. I think I can manage to get there on my own if I decide to do that. But... can I... " He forced himself to meet Seonghwa's eyes. "Hyung, can I stay here tonight?"

"That was the plan," Seonghwa said sheepishly. 

"Thank you." 

Awkwardly, heart in his throat, Seonghwa brushed past him to get to the shower, figuring he desperately needed one. 

Chapter Text

Yunho was at his desk when Seonghwa got out of the shower, eating some cold chicken wings he'd found in the fridge, having helped himself to some loose striped pajamas from Seonghwa's closet and giving up on underwear for his dick's sake. He'd looked for it then too, when they'd searched the house, but his attention had been quickly drawn aside by the finding of his wife's red coat, matching the one he'd seen Marika wearing. Now he dared pause on the sight of it — the dark overcoat he'd given Seonghwa two years ago. It had been Yunho's favorite, and he'd regretted giving it away for a long time, but felt strangely warm inside at the thought that Seonghwa still had it. As autumn settled in and the weather started to call for it, Yunho wondered if Seonghwa would wear it, and what he told himself when he tried to recall where he'd gotten it from. 

Seonghwa had nothing but a towel around his waist, and startled a little when he saw Yunho there, staring at the two diplomas framed next to his computer and alternating between eating food and smoking vape. "How can you even do that?" Seonghwa asked. "Doesn't it, I don't know, taste bad?" 

Yunho shrugged, letting his eyes wander down Seonghwa's figure. He couldn't really taste anything he was putting in his body anymore, but he did want to taste the sweet blush he'd managed to rouse on his hyung’s skin with nothing but his roaming gaze. He didn't, though, only watched him intently while he pulled out some pajamas from the closet, taking in the slight shake of Seonghwa's hands as he peeled off the towel. "Fucking hell," Yunho choked out with his mouth full, and Seonghwa's flush only deepened. A split second's decision made him forego the clothes entirely and slip into the bed just like that, eyes on Yunho's face as he propped himself up on one side. "Want some?" he asked, waving a wing around.

"Sure," Seonghwa said, but made no movement to get up. Yunho laughed and strode over to the edge of the bed, cradling his head up to give him a bite, then a hit from the vape. "Not that bad, actually," he concluded. "Somebody's gonna make millions from selling minty chicken infused with nicotine one day." 

"Smoking aids at their finest. Fuck nicotine patches and Iqos."

"You won't quit if you smoke Iqos, though," Seonghwa said, looking away with a slightly forlorn curl of his mouth. "In case you thought that." 

"I might quit just from how unpleasant they taste." 

"Like fucking burnt socks," he added, grimacing. "But you get used to them quickly." 

"You tried them?" 

"Freja smoked those a lot. I quit for good after marrying her, but at some point it was too tempting, and we started sharing them." His eyes grew unfocused with the distant memory. "After Marika was born, we didn't have money to spare for that anymore, and I quit." 

"You quit? What about her?" 

"She did too," Seonghwa said. "Only started again after weaning her."

Yunho nodded thoughtfully, and gave him some more, only taking the wing back when he'd left nothing but small bones. Seonghwa eyed the vape, and he gave him some of that too, then strode back to the desk. There was one more wing left. "Want it?" he asked, and Seonghwa shook his head. 

"You have it." 

"You didn't have much to eat, hyung. You're sure?" 

"We had japchae at yours, remember? I'm okay, just eat it." He didn't want to hear it when Yunho tried to protest, so he ate it, wiping his fingers on a tissue afterwards as he stared pensively at the two diplomas. 

"Why didn't you drop out if you didn't wanna do it?" 

"What, med school?" Yunho nodded, and he shrugged. "It was teaching me a lot, and I enjoyed it, in some way. Professing scared me, though. I saw the toll it took on both my parents, the late nights, the patients they'd lost... I knew it wasn't something I could have handled." It was strange, confessing all that to him now after what they'd shared, naked and without any defenses left to put up, but something about the exposure felt almost comforting. 

"You could have specialized in research. You wouldn't have dealt with all that this way." 

"I thought about that, too. But cooping myself up in a lab didn't seem like something I'd have liked doing for the rest of my life. I love working with people. And history's something I've always loved." His eyes brightened. "When I told Freja all this, she encouraged me and took my side in front of my parents. I'll always be grateful to her for that." 

"Don't you regret all the years you wasted studying?" 

"They weren't wasted for me. I loved learning it. And it still fascinates me." 

Yunho's mouth curled up slyly. "I noticed."  

He fought back a shudder, face heating. "Yes, you're... something else. It's not just that, though. It felt good, really good. Helping San. More than I ever thought it would. Like getting a glimpse from a life I chose to walk away from. Made me see what I've been missing." 

"If you could do it over..." 

"Oh, no. I wouldn't change a thing." He didn't know if Yunho had meant letting them in his door, or giving up medicine, but his answer was the same regardless. After all, everything he'd done and hadn't done throughout his life had gotten him here. 

Seonghwa chewed at his bottom lip, stuck on a thought. "Come here? Only if you want to," he added. Yunho nodded as if he'd been waiting to be asked, took the vape and laid down at Seonghwa's side on the bed, within reaching distance but far enough that they weren't touching. 

"Hyung, when you tried to kiss me that day— after I told you I'd take you to the station..." Seonghwa shrunk in on himself, wary. "No, it's alright," Yunho assured quickly, "I was just wondering." 

"What were you wondering? If I did it just to get myself out?" 

"Among other things, yes." 

Seonghwa reached for his wrist, putting the vape to his lips while Yunho was still holding onto it, not tearing his eyes away from him. He brushed his fingers over the intricate pattern of veins there, lingering for a moment before he let go. "Yeah, that was the idea. But... I wanted it. I'd have let you do whatever you wanted to me, I think." The admission settled heavy in the space between them. 

"I know," Yunho said darkly. "I saw it in your face. It's why I stopped it. You weren't— thinking straight." 

Seonghwa still wasn't, not where Yunho was concerned. "Why are you asking, though?" 

Yunho averted his eyes. "Jongho showed me some pictures. From that kid's traffic camera. Apparently he got into an accident later that day, and called the cops. Traffic police looked through all the recordings, and one of them recognized me. When I got out of the car to talk to the boy, and you followed me. You were holding my hand and... He— went to Jongho with it." Yunho's eyes darkened. "He pleaded with his father to take me off the case then, but the chief wouldn't hear of it until after I got shot. He told me all this when I... when I asked. Why he did it." 

"Fuck." 

"Yeah." 

"Why didn't that guy just go to you? Why ask Jongho?" 

"He's an ex of mine. It... ended badly."

"Jesus. Did you date the entirety of the department?" 

"Dating isn't the right word. Lia's the first person I really dated since— since Mingi. The rest were just..."

"Fuck buddies?" he supplied, and Yunho gave a sheepish hum of confirmation. 

"Yeah." 

"But you want to change your ways." It wasn't a question, but Yunho still nodded, meeting his eyes. And because he could feel the openness in the air between them, Seonghwa laid something else out there. "I fucked Mingi thinking of you." 

Yunho's eyes widened against his, and he turned a little pink. "You... you did?" 

"Didn't read too much into it at the time, but... yeah," he admitted. "Couldn't get it out of my head, the fact that you'd had him too." 

Yunho's eyes looked glazed over as if a memory was playing on loop in his mind. Seonghwa squeezed his hand to get his attention again. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but... Yunho-ya, what happened between you?" 

Yunho tensed, and he immediately regretted asking. Seonghwa thought he'd clam up, but instead of that, he let the floodgates open. The words poured out of him as if they'd been waiting for the smallest sign that it was okay to let go. Seonghwa brushed his wrist, signifying that it was. "Chan-hyung and I were on the Nightshade case," he said. "We brought her in for questioning, and she hired Mingi. We'd all run into each other before, and he liked me, that much was obvious. Chan said to go for it, maybe we could find out something that would help convict that vile woman or at least get us some answers. She was meticulous, apartment wiped clean of any evidence, spotless record. The only palpable thing we had on her that tied her to the case was the declaration of a hotel receptionist who'd seen her go up to the room we found her lover's body in. Symptoms of a brusque heart attack that made no sense given that how young he was, and the lack of medical history, but the poison in his system was long gone by the time of the autopsy. And then the receptionist changed his declaration and said he'd seen her leave a few hours before the time of his death. She was going to slip away, and we had no proof, nothing to prevent it."

"So you found some," Seonghwa said. 

Yunho nodded. "Mingi told me one night that he would meet her at her house in the countryside the next day. There were no records of another property on her name except for her apartment in Seoul. I told Chan and he followed him there. The plan was to wait until Mingi left and then go in and have a look. Don't know what happened, exactly, but... I didn't hear anything from him all throughout the rest of the day, and started to get worried. Turns out he disappeared. Two days later, anonymous tip— a man fitting his description checked himself in a hospital three cities away, incoherent and on the brink of hypothermia. He'd barely managed to crawl himself out of a lake, but it wasn't the cold that killed him." He swallowed dryly, a tortured look on his face as he drew closer to Seonghwa's body, draping himself over him like a blanket. "It was a... brain aneurism," he continued sadly. "He didn't recognize me when I got there, couldn't speak at all. A few hours and he was gone, just like that."

"Shit. I'm so sorry." 

Yunho accepted it with a soft, defeated hum. "I needed to— I knew I needed to get to the bottom of that shit. Chan-hyung would have wanted me to. I went through Mingi's files. Found her highschool boyfriend, some drug dealer turned pharmacist that she was still seeing here and there. He was her supplier, he owned a bunch of properties in the countryside. One of them was very close to the town we found Chan in. She wasn't there, but we found a stash. Poisons synthesized from plants that grew in the area, and chemicals that the boyfriend managed to nick from his workplace. It wasn't hard to convict them both after that, and Mingi..."

Seonghwa felt him shiver, and took his hand soothingly, lacing their fingers together. Yunho shot him a grateful look through dark eyes and continued, "...he punched me right there, in the hallway of the station. This is how he got arrested. He got out when I didn't press charges, but— everything else went to shit." 

Seonghwa pressed a soothing kiss to the inside of his wrist. "You did it for your partner," he said softly. Yunho pressed his mouth to Seonghwa's throat, legs tangling together over the covers they hadn't laid out yet. He traced the tips of his fingers over the bare skin of his waist to ground himself. "I'm sure Mingi understood that after a while." 

"I know. And he did, I think. He bought me a drink a few months after the case had blown over, and told me so. But it was hard on him, too, you know. Defending criminals is something many people hated him for already. The girlfriend of one of that woman's victims, she... hired some thugs to attack him. They almost killed him, hyung."

Seonghwa froze. Mingi had never told him that. In the light of the new things he was finding, he thought he understood them both a little better; Mingi's lingering bitterness, Yunho's guilt. He slipped a hand beneath Yunho's shirt, splaying his palm over the small of his back in a comforting touch, and felt him relax into it, letting out a defeated sigh into Seonghwa's neck. "It wasn't your fault, Yunho-ya," he whispered. "For any of it." 

"Hyung, I..." he trailed off, lifting his head go take a hit from the vape instead, and exhaling the smoke between Seonghwa's parted lips. It had a different weight now, the gesture, and the slide of Yunho's mouth over his own felt like coming home. He shut his eyes, getting lost to the sensation as he tasted the guilt he was harboring, hoping to take some of it for himself and ease Yunho's mind. They broke apart for air, Yunho still hovering above him. He reached out to brush the hair away from Seonghwa's face and kissed his scar, something strange flashing across his expression. "Hyung, who was Alexander's true love?" 

Seonghwa let out a startled laugh. "What?" 

"You never did tell us. I'm curious."

"As I remember it, I told you to draw your own conclusions." 

He raised a brow. "I want to hear your take on it." Seonghwa was about to shut it off, but then he added softly, "indulge me." Seonghwa wet his lips, and Yunho's eyes followed the movement as if bewitched. 

"He... had many lovers," he said. "But a cynic would say his greatest love was war and destruction, and the power that came with it. But in the end — and I stand by this — it wasn't his ambition that put an end to him. It was grief. That one person who stayed with him through everything..." He brushed his fingers absently over Yunho's back. "...wiped out from something as banal as disease. And Alexander didn't know how to live in a world without him, so he didn't." 

"Hephaestion," he said. 

Seonghwa nodded, a smile playing at his lips. 

"Hyung, if I leave her..." 

Seonghwa leaned up to kiss him again, brief and soothing, and broke his own heart before Yunho had the chance to do it for him. He had nothing to give him, and Yunho would come to realize it too. Lia had loved his wife, and he hadn't been able to see it until it was too late. And even then, he'd held onto the remains of his marriage with all he had left. Freja's indecision had broken all three of them. Seonghwa wouldn't put anybody else in that situation again. "You can do whatever you want," he said coldly. "But don't do it on my account." 

He knew Yunho hadn't felt all that he'd felt, yet Seonghwa had still given him his best, and that he didn't regret. He couldn't. "Keep me in your top three," he added, softer so as to soothe the ache left by his previous words. "Or forget me. Take whatever you want now, and go back to what you need."

Yunho collapsed back at his side, lip trembling. They were back to not touching each other, and maybe it was for the better. "What if— what if you're that for me?" 

"I'm not, Yunho-ya," he said gently, meeting his eyes. "And... you're not it for me, either."

"Who is she?" 

Seonghwa was grateful for that little lie now, as much as it had been taunting him. "It doesn't matter." 

"No, I suppose it doesn't." He sat up so he could hover above him, a newfound determination crossing his face. "Does she love you back?" 

Seonghwa shook his head, looking away. Yunho drew closer and tilted his chin so that he'd have no choice but hold his heated gaze. "She will," he continued certainly, as if he had any idea what he was talking about. 

Yunho rose up to kill the lights and lock the door, and Seonghwa squirmed in anticipation, feeling himself slowly rising to life again as his skin tingled. Yunho saw it immediately, not that it was possible to miss it with nothing covering him. His throat was all dried up, and ached when he tried to swallow the lump in his throat. "What—" he tried, but trailed off in the face of the intensity in Yunho's gaze. He'd always had such intense eyes, and now all of it was for Seonghwa. 

"You've been thinking about her an awful lot, haven't you?" Seonghwa nodded once, careful. "Been plaguing that pretty mind of yours, breaking your sweet heart." He almost laughed at the absurdity of Yunho saying these things to him now, but the look in his eyes stopped him. He'd read once about a far-away planet made out of ice that burned in flames, and wondered if in the few seconds he'd spend on its surface before he suffocated, he'd feel just like Yunho's gaze on him was making him feel now. "I can make you forget her name." 

And who would make me forget yours? he thought, but didn't say it. Instead, he tilted his head in the vague direction of his desk. "There's a drawer hidden behind that... other drawer." Yunho was quick to open it, and pulled out a pocket sized clear bottle of lube. He seemed amused, though not necessarily at the hiding place, but at the fact that it wasn't quite full. 

"What've you been up to, hyung?" 

Seonghwa blushed. He was fully hard without even having been touched, and he stroked himself loosely a few times to relieve some of the tension, but also hoping that he might just distract him into forgetting. Yunho's eyes flared. He was on him at once, prying his hand away and effortlessly holding both his wrists in his own larger one. "Tell me." 

"I... tried doing it to myself, but it hurt too much and... I gave up." 

Yunho's eyes widened. "You haven't done it before at all?" 

He shook his head, suddenly wishing he'd taken Mingi up on it when he'd asked. At least he wouldn't have felt his inexperience as acutely as he did now. "No," he said for good measure. Yunho gave his mouth a rewarding kiss. 

"You want it now?" He hesitated for a moment. The sole reason that he'd walked into that pharmacy and mustered up the last shred of his dignity in front of that poor pharmacist was to find out how it felt, and maybe imagine Yunho doing it to him instead. And now that it was slowly becoming reality, Seonghwa didn't know what to do with himself. What if something went wrong, what if his lack of experience turned Yunho off and he decided to take his imminent leave faster? "Hyung. Look at me." Reluctantly, he did. All he could see in his dark eyes was his own need staring back at him, and a soft reassurance. "We don't have to do anything. We can sleep, or I can just... leave."

He spoke the word as if it pained him, and it hurt Seonghwa, too. "I want it," he said in earnest. And feeling a surge of boldness, he added, "I bought that thing with you on my mind."

Yunho groaned, "Fuck..." The loose pajama's pants didn't quite manage to hide the way his cock pulsed at the words. 

The sight of him brought with it another issue — "You're so big, Yunho-ya. I don't think there's any way I can take you." 

A confident grin making its way onto his face, Yunho knelt down in front of him on the bed, and he got the hint to spread his legs and bend them at the knee to make room. He was shaved bare, his neat freak tendencies would not allow it otherwise, and the cold air along with the exposure that hadn't bothered him before now made him feel shy and out of his depth. "Don't worry about that," he said. "I'll be good to you, okay?" 

"Promise?" 

His eyes softened. "Promise." 

Seonghwa felt that reassurance warm him from inside, and let himself relax the slightest bit. "How do you— do you want me to... turn around?" He reddened even further, cringing at his own awkwardness. Yunho didn't seem to mind in the slightest, though. If anything, Seonghwa's nervousness had him glowing, astonishment in his gaze as if he couldn't quite believe the sight in front of him was real. 

"No," he replied. "I want you to look at me." He reached for a pillow, and patted Seonghwa's hip to get him to lift up. It still felt a little strange, but he supposed it was slightly better this way. "All good?" he asked, leaning over him to kiss his cheek when he nodded. Seonghwa caught his mouth, unable to help himself, and Yunho let it happen, only pulling away when he felt him arch his hips up onto his clothed cock, seeking some sort of friction. "Be patient, hyung. You like kissing me that much?"

"Is it that obvious? 

"A little," Yunho replied with a small smile, his lips tracing lower and lower, pausing to mouth softly at the bruise on his collarbone. Seonghwa selfishly wished he could mark him up too, leave him with something, anything at all, but knew there was no point in asking. Yunho could find excuses for canceling plans, but he couldn't hide bite marks inflicted by another's mouth. 

Seonghwa's hand wrapped in his hair, needing him somewhere else. Yunho smirked up at him, but swallowed the remark on his tongue. When his lips finally wrapped around the flushed head of his cock, Seonghwa's grip tightened, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out. Yunho kept his eyes on him as his tongue worked. Since the goal wasn't to make him come, he played with him as he wished, mouthing and licking at sensitive skin, to ease his mind as well as to watch him melt in his touch. 

He pulled off when he felt the tension building up in his thighs, the soft sound of protest Seonghwa let out at the loss of contact having him a little light headed as he uncapped the bottle. He watched carefully for a reaction, and what he got in return was nervous anticipation, but not fear or rejection. He asked, "Still okay?" 

The knot in Seonghwa's throat was making it difficult to speak without sounding breathless. "Yeah. Definitely." 

Yunho poured a generous amount onto his fingers, and nudged his legs wider apart, drawing a little closer. 

A finger circled softly at his rim, cold at first, though the substance quickly warmed as Yunho attentively spread it around. The sensation felt foreign, strange yet not unpleasant, or maybe it was just Yunho's closeness, a testament to the trust Seonghwa had given him, and the consequences of his own actions. His touch was testing at first, and he leaned in to press an open mouthed kiss to the inside of his thigh, nipping and biting on soft skin until he had Seonghwa arching off the mattress, a string of curses falling away from that pretty mouth of his. "Yunho, please..." 

A corner of his mouth tugging up, Yunho pressed in slowly, eyes on Seonghwa's face for any sign of resistance. But even though he was so tight that it had Yunho's dick anxious, his walls welcomed the intrusion better than he'd thought they would. "It feels strange, but not... bad," Seonghwa mused, rising up on an elbow so he could watch Yunho's finger sliding in and out of him, the lewd sight rising the color in his cheeks. It hurt the slightest bit, though it didn't compare to the pain he'd felt when he'd attempted it on his own. 

"Yeah?" Yunho asked with a sly grin, leaning in to mouth at the underside of his cock just as his finger curled up. Seonghwa stilled, sparks dancing under his skin as if he'd been electrocuted, breaking out into goosebumps. Yunho hit the spot again, taking the head in his mouth and swallowing the precome that spilled out at the movement, somehow managing to smile through it. 

"Yunho-ya, I'm... that feels so good," he groaned out, pushing his hips to chase his finger deeper.

"Want more?" 

"Yes. Yes." 

Yunho pulled off his cock so he could pour some more lube and add a second one. It was met with some more resistance this time, but one more rough kiss to the inside of Seonghwa's thigh did the trick and got him to relax, still propped up on an elbow to watch. 

"Lie back, hyung." 

"And think of England?" Seonghwa supplied, a corner of his mouth tugging up softly. Without slowing down the pace of his fingers or looking away from him, he kissed the smooth patch of skin above his hipbone. 

"Think of me," Yunho said, as if Seonghwa could possibly think of anything else. He laid back. Yunho scissored his fingers inside him to open him up, the motion having them brush against his prostate and pulling a soft sigh from his lips. Mingi had had a point, he realized now. The feeling was overwhelming, and coupled with Yunho's sinful mouth on his cock, he could come from this alone. "If you want me inside you, you'll need to take another one," he said warningly, breath ghosting over the sensitive head, and Seonghwa had never nodded so fast in his life. 

He didn't have much freedom of movement in that position, yet he still thrusted his hips back on Yunho's three fingers as best as he could, not looking away from his beautiful face, pupils blown wide and a flush rising high on his pale cheekbones, betraying how affected he was, his palm every now and then pressing against his hardness to relieve some of the tension. It didn't take long for him to turn Seonghwa into a wreck in his hands. "Fuck me," he whispered, pleased to see his words were taking root in Yunho's mind and wrecking him too. He still wasn't sure he could take him, but if only to make him fall apart, he would try. The squelching of lube as he pulled out his fingers had them both flinch in anticipation. 

"Do you have..." Seonghwa froze, the answer written all over his face. He hadn't even thought to buy condoms when he'd bought the lube. "I have some in my car," Yunho said quickly, getting off the bed. Seonghwa reached for his wrist to pull him back, rising up into a seating position and hitching in a breath at the pain shooting through his lower half. Yunho sat down at his side, noticing despite the fact that he was trying to hide it. "It hurts?" he asked gently. 

"No," he lied. He needed this. "Please, I... Let's go without, okay?" 

Yunho's eyes widened. "Are you sure? I mean, I'm tested, but..." Seonghwa fought the urge to roll his eyes. Yes, Yunho slept with lots of people, he knew. 

He nodded, and kissed him, using the momentum to push Yunho onto his back and climbing on top of him. Yunho let out a surprised moan, cold hands finding Seonghwa's waist. "I wanna know how you feel like," he whispered when they'd pulled away for air, pointed and sure. He reached for the lube when Yunho nodded, transfixed and seeming to have been left speechless in the face of his decisiveness. Seonghwa took the vape, too, and gave it to Yunho to hold, wanting to take charge and make him feel good. As good as Yunho had made him feel. 

He pulled down Yunho's pajama pants just enough to expose him, grinning slyly when he saw the lack of underwear. His hands didn't shake as he poured a generous amount of lube onto his cock under Yunho's watchful gaze. There was a tiny frown of concentration resting between his brows and pulling at his scar as he wrapped both his smaller hands around him to spread the wetness around. He placed a hand on Seonghwa's hip and kept him there, both to guide him and to ground himself. 

"You're so beautiful like this, hyung," he whispered dreamily, wonder in his tone as he helped Seonghwa line them up. He gave the sweetest little whimper when he was breached, lowering his forehead into Yunho's and breathing heavily. 

"Kiss me," he breathed out, cupping Yunho's face and inching closer, but not closing the distance yet, waiting for him. Yunho bit his lip, feeling his insides do a back flip the moment his lips met Seonghwa's. He took the lead, the more collected of the two but not less fucked out, and smoothed his thumbs over Seonghwa's hips in a wordless reassurance. 

He was cold, so cold that Seonghwa shivered. He lowered his hips a little more, allowing himself a moment to adjust and holding back from collapsing forward into Yunho's chest. He couldn't even kiss him right anymore, every slide of his tongue messy and orderless, and though Yunho didn't seem to mind, he pulled away, needing to look at him. "Do you need to stop, hyung?" Yunho asked softly, caressing his skin to show that he meant it, and he immediately shook his head. He could take it. He needed it like he needed air. 

Yunho kissed his face, tasting salty tears on his tongue, and Seonghwa was falling apart. He wasn't even all the way inside, yet the sensation of overwhelming fullness, the unforgiving press against his prostate and that look in Yunho's eyes were almost enough to push him over the edge. The vein on Yunho's neck pulsed, betraying his strain. Seonghwa kissed it, hand trailing down beneath his shirt and pausing over his scar. His touch was too featherlight to cause him any pain, but Yunho still shuddered, hips thrusting up into him the rest of the way. Seonghwa threw his head back at the sensation. So deep, so much, so... His neglected cock twitched, aching for release. "Yunho-ya..." he choked out, "touch me, please. I need you." 

Yunho wrapped his fist around his cock as Seonghwa summoned what was left of his strength and started moving, establishing a slow rhythm as his walls greedily clenched around Yunho's cock, ripping out a tortured moan from his lips. 

"You take me so well, hyung. I'm not gonna last," Yunho warned, strangled. "At all." He was too tight, too beautiful, too perfect. Yunho pressed hard into his shaft, fully intending to pull him over the edge with him. 

Seonghwa wanted to kiss him again. Wanted to stay here forever, on top of him, watch him as he fell apart over and over again. Instead, he whispered, "Look down." 

It took a great toll out of him, looking away from Seonghwa's face, sweaty and blissed out, but when he finally dared to tear his eyes away, the sight of his own cock bulging in his stomach had him cry out.

"You like that, Detective?" he breathed out teasingly, the final nail in Yunho's coffin. His hips stuttered, throbbing and pulsing against Seonghwa's tight walls, and he couldn't speak, couldn't manage out any words of warning. Seonghwa saw it anyway, and fisted his hand in Yunho's hair, tipping his head back so their eyes met. "That's it, Yunho-ya," he whispered, and quickened the rhythm of his thrusts. "Inside me." 

Seonghwa reached for the vape with his free hand, the grip on Yunho's hair tightening as he inhaled from it with so much force that the led flickered. Yunho's hips snapped up as Seonghwa exhaled the smoke past his parted lips. Yunho's moan tasted like synthetic smoke in his mouth, and Seonghwa would have coughed from the sheer amount if he'd had any energy left in him to do so. With what felt like the last of his strength, Yunho flipped them around so he could fuck his come into Seonghwa's hole, painting his insides white. Tendrils of smoke floated past their mouths and into the air around them, the sensation of being filled up too much and too little all at once as his own climax hit him, pulsing and clenching around Yunho's senstitive cock with the force of it. He hadn't shut his eyes, but he couldn't see anything, couldn't see Yunho's face as dots of white flooded his vision. He arched off the mattress, Yunho's hand on his cock guiding him through it without stilling his thrusts even after he'd gone soft. 

Yunho whispered a string of praises against his mouth, and he didn't hear any of it either, but he did register feeling empty when he pulled out, and did feel his absence when he left. He'd only gone to the bathroom for a damp cloth to clean them up with, and Seonghwa's relief to have him back felt like a jug of cold water to the face. He knew what withdrawal and relapsing felt like, and it hurt. 

"You okay?" He asked with an easy smile, unable to see his torment. 

"Yeah," he managed. "I'll be right back." Somehow he found it in himself to get up, whimpering as he did so. Yunho was lying down on the bed, looking up at him through his lashes. He was so tired, they both were. Seonghwa grabbed his pajamas and staggered to the bathroom, now his turn to walk sideways. He closed the door behind him and risked to look at himself in the mirror, a twisted surge of satisfaction coursing through him when he saw exactly what he'd expected to see. Marked up all over, a canvas Yunho had painted on as he wished whereas Seonghwa hadn't left anything on him at all. He could feel Yunho's come seeping out of him, and pressed a finger past his rim testingly. He barely even felt it with how loose he was now, and sucked it clean, feeling like a pervert. The laugh he let out was bordering on manic, and he averted his eyes, knowing he'd start crying if he kept staring. He washed his hands and pulled on underwear and sleep shorts, but when he got to the shirt, he faltered.

His eyes fell on the one he'd discarded on the washing machine before he'd showered. Un Verano Sin Ti. A summer without you. A lifetime without Yunho. He pulled it over his head, dirty as it was, and splashed some cold water over his face as if to wake himself from this. 

It didn't work, but it did wash his tiredness away. 

He must have spent longer in the bathroom than he realized, because when he got out, Yunho was asleep on his side, facing the door he'd just stepped through, a pillow tucked under one arm. Seonghwa covered him with the blanket and slid in beside him carefully, without joining him underneath it. 

He lay propped up against the pillows as far away from him as the bed would allow it, as if avoiding his closeness would erase the sensation of Yunho's hands on him. The vape lay forgotten on the sheets between them, and he took it, wishing for something stronger. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through it without seeing anything, not even attempting to try and sleep. 

He didn't cry, felt too far gone for that, too, but he did look at him, peaceful and unmoving, counted his even breaths up to sixty and then stopped. "I love you, I think," he whispered into the still air, holding his breath as if waiting for Yunho's eyes to open into his, wide in horror, but they didn't. 

The lack of response didn't dull the weight of the overwhelming realization. He let its truth dilate around him, bend and break the shadows to its will. 

He felt alone. "I'm sorry," he whispered, and rose up from the bed, steps quiet but sure. He couldn't help the jingling of keys as he unlocked the door, though, and his heart stopped at the sound of it ringing through the silence, but Yunho didn't even stir. With one last look back at him, he stepped out, leaving the door open a crack, and treaded to his daughter's room. 

This type of shit always hurts the most for the mistress. Was that what Seonghwa had been reduced to? If not, then it was a close feeling. Second wasn't the same. 

Marika opened her eyes to see him standing over her, and grinned sleepily up at him, unsuspecting. He smiled back, and it came out all wrong, wrong enough that a worried frown creased his daughter's sweet face. "Appa, what's wrong?" He leaned in to kiss her head. 

"Nothing, monkey, I'm sorry. Go back to sleep." 

"Did you have a nightmare?" 

At that, Seonghwa snorted softly. "Yes," he said. 

Marika took his hand in both of her smaller ones and said seriously, "It wasn't real, Appa. It's what you always tell me." Seonghwa nodded, not bothering to correct her. It had been real, and it still was, to him. Not a nightmare, but a fever dream, and he was still stuck in it. She scooted over to one side to make room and tugged at his hand to get him to lay down next to her. "What was it about?" she asked gently, wrapping her arms around him. He didn't reply, hoping she'd let it go, but she pressed, "Was it about Eomma?" 

"No, Mari-ah. Don't worry about it. I'm okay." 

She lifted her head to look at him through wide eyes. His eyes, his face, his hair. There was nothing from her mother in her, save for her temper. It was as if Seonghwa was staring at his reflection. "I've thought about it, you know." 

"What?" 

"Getting a family." 

"What do you mean, monkey?" he asked, tensing up. She shrugged carefully, having felt the shift. 

"I never told you what Yunho-oppa told me." He froze at the casual mention of Yunho's name, but prompted her to continue. "After grandma Youra came. You were so upset, and he said... He said you'd get us a family." 

Seonghwa's heart stung. "Why— why would he say that to you, Mari-ah?" 

"I didn't understand why you were crying so hard and he said... He said you were feeling lonely. And that you wanted us to have a big happy family, so neither you or me would ever feel lonely again."

"You're my family, monkey," Seonghwa said. "I don't need anyone else as long as I have that," he assured her, even as he knew it was only partly true. 

"I know and... I miss her a lot and I don't feel lonely with you but... I don't want you to be lonely either. Even if that means Felix will be my brother." 

The fight at school and what his daughter had said to her friend started to make more sense to him now, hearing this. It was ridiculous, and she had it all backwards, but it made sense. "Mari-ah, I don't like Felix's mother," he clarified. "Did Yunho tell you I did?" 

She shook her head. "He didn't tell me anything else. And when I asked him about it at school, he got upset too and told me he didn't know why he said it. But I mean it, Appa."

"You want..." he swallowed back the lump in his throat, forcing the words out. "You want a big family, Mari-ah?" 

"I think so," she said softly. "I like it when it's just the two of us, but... I'd like it if you found me a new Eomma."

"A... new Eomma?" 

She nodded, already drifting off. "Someone pretty. And sweet. Who would watch tv with me and tell jokes and play with me and get me stuff. Like Yunho-oppa does." 

Seonghwa wanted to cry. "Where would we possibly find someone like that?" he whispered, and Marika shrugged, nestling closer to his chest. It felt like hours before he finally managed to drift off too, and when he did, he dreamed of walking through the slum with Marika, holding a cup of lemon ice cream in his hand and hers in his other. On her other side, Yunho, holding her other hand and smiling softly at the both of them.

We could be your family, Seonghwa said to him in his dream, eyes wide and heart in his throat. 

You already are, he replied. 

Yunho woke up to an empty bed and a headache, blaring alarm snapping him out from a dream starring Seonghwa's sinful lips, mouthing softly at his scar. You're perfect, you know? 

Half-hard and achingly cold from Seonghwa's glaring absence at his side, he forced himself out of bed. He had to get ready, and rushed the process of getting dressed, the lingering confusion erasing the arousal away. Was he up already, or had he not slept next to him at all? 

His clothes were all wrinkled from how carelessly he'd thrown them off him last night, and he looked as messy as he felt. He checked for marks, almost regretting not finding any on his body. As if it never happened, even though he could still feel... He shuffled his feet down the hallway, heart tearing open when he saw him in his daughter's bed, spooning her against his chest. He looked so at peace that it stung, the realization that Yunho couldn't make him feel that way, didn't know how. 

Take whatever you want now, and go back to what you need. 

He wondered if Seonghwa had gotten what he'd wanted from him, if the experiment had proven successful. If Yunho had been enough for him. 

He didn't know how long he'd been standing there in the doorway, just staring like a madman, and he was snapped out of it by Marika's eyes opening, smiling at the sight of him as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "Hiya," she grunted sleepily. 

"Hi, Mari-ah," he whispered, returning her grin, though inside he was torn up and didn't even fully understand why. "D'you sleep well?" 

"Uh-huh." She quietly untangled herself from Seonghwa's arms, and when she was gone, he hugged Marika's Twilight Sparkle patterned pillow instead, humming contentedly in his sleep. Yunho's heart stuttered, and he found himself unable to tear his eyes away. He wondered what he was dreaming about. Marika shot him a strange look and took his hand, leading him away. "Let him sleep, Yunho-oppa," she chastised. "He's exalted." 

"You mean exhausted...?" And indeed, Yunho had exhausted him well. 

"Yes, that." 

"Wait, shouldn't we—" 

He trailed off, letting her pull him down the stairs and into the kitchen. Yunho had decided to go to Youra after all, and he checked his watch, figuring that if he turned on the sirens and drove fast, he could halve the two hours it would take him to get to Suncheon-si. Which left him with time to spare. And selfishly, he didn't yet feel ready to go. Marika had opened Seonghwa's tablet on the latest episode of My Little Pony and yawned at the screen, turning it around so he could watch with her. 

He gathered himself up enough to ask her, "Mari-ah, don't you need your glasses for that?" 

She shook her head. "Not for close-up stuff. And I hate wearing them in the morning." 

"Alright," he replied, slightly awkward. "Listen, do you want some breakfast?" 

She brightened, eyes darting to the open cereal box he'd munched on last night, before, well... "I want those." 

Yunho was relieved she didn't ask for anything more complicated, as he was a disaster in the kitchen, and he'd probably done Seonghwa enough harm without adding setting his house on fire to the list. He poured her some in a bowl along with milk and gave it to her, then made himself some strong coffee that didn't help with his headache at all, and shuffled over to the window so he could smoke without it getting in her eyes but he could still see the screen. 

He barely registered what was happening, and heard himself asking, "But why did they turn Discord to stone?" 

"He used his powers to make the ponies gray." 

"Gray as in...?" 

"As in gray." 

"...Right."

"But they're giving him a second chance now."

"Even if he... made them gray?" 

"Pay attention, Yunho-oppa. Yes. Everyone deserves some love."

They watched on, Yunho's confusion only increasing. "But... He's playing them. Can't they see that?"