Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It is a cheery morning, sometime mid-September, when Mingyu sees blood for the first time.

Well, maybe not the first time he sees blood in general. He has cut his knees before, running around on his clumsy little legs at the shabby playground opposite of his childhood home. His nose has bled when he jumped face first in the community pool, after a dare from a friend he can’t remember the face of anymore. He has unfortunately seen his mother’s pad in the trash bin of the bathroom, which he thought was the most horrifying thing of all, back then.

When Mingyu saw blood before, he was used to smiling. A dumb, sheepish smile. He made the other kids laugh when he fell over, forever unsteady on his too-large limbs. He won Pokémon cards after the lifeguard cleaned up his messed-up nose. And he joked around with his mother, telling her how gross it was, not knowing any better. An easy relationship, back then.

He went to his mom usually, to get patched up and laugh with her. Because that was all that blood was to him, evidence of a silly, often funny, accident.

For this, he can’t go to his mom.

“Time of death is around 4AM,” he hears from the person kneeling in front of him, way closer to the scene than Mingyu has the balls to go. Way more comfortable, too. “Not really when the clubs close, but when everyone has settled in the bottom of a bottle.”

“So, busy area, empty streets,” the chief says, his arms folded impressively tight over his chest. At least he’s looking though, he’s not trying to avert his eyes. Like always, Mingyu does his best to follow the man’s lead.

The body is not in one piece. Mingyu knew this already, because there is another cluster of officers around a different sheet, a few steps away. This one in front of him is the upper half though, necessary for identification. Necessary, to see the terror frozen in empty eyes, to see bruises around the neck that were hopefully enough to be fatal. Weird thing to be wishing on a Saturday morning, that a person was choked to death.

The other alternatives are not as… pleasant, to think about. There really is too much blood in a person’s body. Knee scrapes, nose bleeds and period accessories don’t do the amount justice.

“Broken nails, she struggled,” the forensic guy still kneeling down says. “Chunks of hair missing too. Can’t know the cause of death yet, there’s too much blood.” And entrails. Nobody ever mentions how many organs a person has until they spill out of them.

“Would it have anything to do with the lower half of her body being detached?” the chief says, dryness his coping mechanism.

“Hopefully not,” the forensic guy gives him a slight smile. “But if it’s like the last one…”

“Hopefully not,” the chief repeats. “It’s too early to have to issue a serial killer hunt. Haven’t even had coffee yet.”

Maybe there will come a time that Mingyu too will be able to play brave in front of a mutilated corpse. For now though, all he can do is look. He looks at all the things neither detectives nor forensic experts have pointed out yet, at least not in his earshot. He looks at soft curls falling over delicate shoulders, probably having taken time and effort to style so nicely. Some of them are ruined, stained with blood, but some of them remained intact to the very end. He notices the make-up, heavy, so it can be visible from below the stage. A dancer then, an artist. Her teeth are yellowing, so maybe she wasn’t one of the fortunate ones. Maybe she was poor, trying to make ends meets. A struggling, beautiful artist.

If nobody else will do it, Mingyu will appreciate the life this woman lived, brief as it was. She can’t be older than 20.

And now she’s cut in half, thrown in the back alley of a strip club that’s only complaint will probably be that police investigations are dissuading customers from entering.

“Not gonna lie, at first glance it looks similar to the last one,” the forensic guy finally stands up. “Not the cutting-in-half part, obviously, but the violence. The type of victim. It’s only been two weeks since the last one. To me, it looks like someone is experimenting here. Getting better at it.”

The chief sighs, deep and inevitable. “I’m not taking your word until I’ve seen the lab reports.”

“Have I ever been wrong, Seungcheol?”

Mingyu’s been in this precinct long enough to know that no, Lee Jihoon doesn’t tend to be wrong. And the chief knows it too.

He makes eye contact with Mingyu, and Mingyu instinctively stands a bit straighter. “Sir,” he says.

“What do you think of it?” the chief asks.

“I wasn’t in the scene for the last one, sir.”

“Jihoon is right, it was the same. Woman, prostitute, probably working somewhere in this hell hole of a neighborhood. Extremely violent. Jack the Ripper level of violent.”

Mingyu looks at the current woman lying in a pool of her own blood. “Jack the Ripper was a serial killer.”

Which means, that it’s not going to stop at two.

“But,” Mingyu perks up, “we don’t live in Victorian London. We have forensics and cameras and all the technology to catch the demon this time. I believe it’s only a matter of time, sir.”

The chief nods. “You’re going to be in the front lines, I hope you know it.”

Mingyu bows his head. A spark of excitement lights itself inside him, a hound sniffing out an opportunity. Chief Seungcheol trusts him, likes him even, but he doesn’t play favorites. If Mingyu is assigned to this case, it will be because he has demonstrated enough skill and competence. This is a chance to prove himself, to do good. This is the reason he wanted to be a police officer.

It’s bizarre, how the gruesome death below his feet loses the spotlight to a fire of determination. Funny how it took killing a person’s dreams to kickstart Mingyu’s own.

“It’d be my honor.”

~~~

The forensic report supports what everyone has started to suspect; there’s a serial killer in the red-light district. Technically, it can’t be classified as a serial-case yet, but the signs are there. No one is blind. A sergeant sighs when the news is announced, loud and performative. From the cold look in his eyes, Mingyu can tell that he’s been here before. Sitting in a briefing room, discussing a future murder he likely won’t be able to prevent.

Five long rows of uncomfortable chairs make up the briefing room. The AC is working overtime to keep so many bodies cool. There’s a mic to the stand next to Chief Seungcheol, but he doesn’t use it. Everyone is quiet enough to listen.

“We couldn’t identify a particular gender or age of the perpetrator, but there are enough similarities between the two cases. The strangling of the neck, the use of multiple knifes. Different edges, different tools to sculpt their statues of horror. Deep knowledge of the lack of surveillance infrastructure of the area. The red-light district is a tricky place to investigate, I’m sure you’re all aware of it.”

“Not our fault they keep breaking the cameras we try to put up,” someone grumbles, and they’re not wrong. The most ancient profession, and it still has to be carried out in the darkness.

“Other than that, they’ve made sure to sterilize the crime scenes. No sexual assault, surprisingly enough. No known motive. As you can tell, we’re going in a bit blind. We need to try and collect more information before we get another body.”

Mingyu can tell who’s been part of a violent murder case like this before with only a glance. Excitement and tiredness are two very different emotions, and only one of them belongs to rookies thinking of their career first, and their duty second.

Mingyu’s not excited that people are dying. He’s not a rookie, but he’s not tired either. Determination still burns three days after the murder, an unshakable sense of duty that has carried him this far. He doesn’t think he’ll be a hero, but he is fully prepared to prevent any other blood from being spilled without laughter to follow it. Whatever it takes.

Chief Seungcheol smiles when their eyes meet. A sad smile, even though Mingyu can’t figure out why.

“I’m not officially assigning this case yet, but we can’t sit on our asses either,” the chief continues addressing the room. “We’re dispatching undercover officers to the major clubs around the district to keep an eye on things. Report suspicious movement, protect people if necessary. For starters, we need a deeper feeling of the going-ons of the district. I’m stressing the undercover part, because it’s too early for our serial killer to know that we’re collecting information.”

A few men exchange looks, smirks forming on their faces. They think it’s going to be easy, pleasurable, going to strip clubs every night as part of the job.

…Well, it sure is not going to be the hardest job on the table.

“Any volunteers?” the chief asks, and Mingyu raises his arm along with a handful other colleagues.

Whatever it takes.

~~~

“How do we know that it’s not simply gang violence?” Mingyu asks, staying late at Chief Seungcheol’s office.

The others have left shortly after receiving the details of their duties and their new identities. There’s seven of them, Mingyu counted, all familiar faces. He can consider Seokmin his friend, they’ve been together since their academy days, and now they’re both going part-time undercover. Mingyu can’t say that he’s not proud.

“I like the use of the word simply,” the chief says, organizing folders on his computer. Seven new ones, one for each of their findings. “It implies that there is a level of sophistication to gang violence.”

“Isn’t there?”

Chief Seungcheol shoots him a look. His office is cluttered, but not too cluttered. Messy, but not dirty. There is a lit candle on his desk that’s not in risk of burning anything, but the wax still drips down on some documents. A lived in office, fitting for someone who practically lives here. If Mingyu came in here one day and saw the couch at the back replaced with a bed, he wouldn’t be surprised.

“I mean,” Mingyu fidgets on his seat. “What if it’s not the work of one person, but it is tied with larger-scale criminal activity? That’s not entirely in our jurisdiction, is it?”

“Gangs always leave identification marks behind, as a power play,” the chief replies. “They don’t care, the important ones know we can’t catch them so easily. Out of our jurisdiction, as you said.”

Maybe Mingyu should have left with Seokmin earlier. Perhaps they could have gotten a drink together and discuss the recent development of their career, it’s been a while since they’ve hung out. He knows why he stayed though. Why he picks to spend as much time with Chief Seungcheol as he can, over and over again.

It’s the bitterness in his voice when he says out of our jurisdiction. In a world where police officers have gone comfortable with their steady income, it’s rare to find someone who actually cares. Even rarer to have the skills to back it up.

If one asked Mingyu what his career goal was, he’d simply point at the man in front of him with pride. Maybe it’s a little silly to have an idol at his age, when most are looking how to make a greater income, but Chief Seungcheol is not… comfortable. He could retire a chief and it’d make for a good life, but no. There’s always more to do, more people to help. A higher rank means more important cases, means more power to pursue powerful enemies. That’s the chief’s goal. Justice.

It's all Mingyu has ever wanted too. To help people, however he can. To be thanked for his service, to provide a sense of safety. If he shoulders the burden in place of someone weaker, then his life is worthwhile, isn’t it? It means something, to be alive.

So he stays late, goes over more details of the case with his chief. Anything he can do to help.

“It was your first time seeing a murder like this, right? How are you handling the sight?” the chief asks, briefly glancing at him. “Did you get any nightmares?”

“Not really,” Mingyu says. “They’re probably there, somewhere, but as long as there is something to do about it, I focus on that.”

Focus on the laughter of his friends, not his knee hurting after the blood. Focus on his new Pokémon cards, not how he can’t breathe right for a few days after the blood. Focus on escaping his mother’s playful slaps, not how scary it is to not know why there is blood. To not know the world around him.

“Hm, you’ve started early.”

“What?”

“You’ve started early,” Chief Seungcheol repeats. “Compartmentalizing. Shoving unwanted images away. It’s a good trick to have in this profession, until it becomes a breaking point.”

Focus on the positive, until it becomes strength.

“I won’t break, sir,” Mingyu says with the conviction of a child who has already been taught this lesson.

“No, you won’t,” the chief smiles sadly at him again. He can’t tell why. “You’re a strong person, Mingyu. I’m glad to have you on board for this case too.”

Mingyu smiles back. It’s a good day, when the person you admire compliments you. It makes all the effort worth it. It makes the sun rise a bit easier the next day, uncertainty replaced with confidence. Mingyu is confident. He falls asleep confident and wakes up energized, ready to face the challenges of this new endeavor.

But first, there’s a club to visit.

~~~

Mingyu doesn’t consciously try to look cool while on jobs like this, it just comes naturally with the profession. He’s not in uniform of course, that’d defeat the purpose of “undercover”, which means he’s in a suit. Plain gray, nothing fancy, but his shoes are polished. His hair is combed back and he’s got a pair of extra dark sunglasses to combat the September sun.

Okay, maybe he tries to look cool a little bit.

It’s strange being in the red-light district under the scrutiny of the sun. It’s very much like one of those liminal places, like a closed-up cafeteria, or a school in the evening. Lifeless, dead, the wind blowing unobtrusively over dry weeds on the ground.

And trash. Quite a bit of it. Empty bottles mostly broken, used condoms, torn clothes, cigarettes galore. Mingyu wonders if it’s always like this, just invisible under the neon lights. But then he sees an old cleaning lady, slowly swiping the streets, and he understands.

This is a house party. The streets are the living room, the clubs the bedrooms. Every night it gets trashed, every morning it gets cleaned, only to repeat over and over again, forever. Cleanliness only needs to be a façade.

The houses here are on the wrong side of poor, crumbling paint and walled off windows. Absolutely no sound escapes them. In fact, there is no sound at all anywhere, not in the district that wakes at night.

It’s 10AM, practically the crack of dawn on a place like this. Mingyu has an appointment with the manager of the club he’ll be investigating, to inform him of the operation and get shown around a little bit.

Mingyu’s heard of Phryne’s House before, but he’s never been. It’s one of the big ones, the more pretentious ones, with little balcony tables overlooking the main street. Phryne’s House, as if an ancient lady of the night would ever find herself at a place like this.

Mingyu knocks on the large wooden door, big like a theater one. Preparing people for the performance that must be the inside. At this time, the curtains have fallen. Mingyu waits so long for signs of life on the other side of the door, that he’s starting to think there are none.

He has an appointment though, and club managers don’t mess with the police if they know what’s good for them. The man that opens is gruff from lack of sleep, messy hair hidden below a cap.

“Good morning. Hanjeong-gu police,” Mingyu flashes his badge. “I believe we have an appointment, mister Park?”

The man rubs one eye. “Yeah. Morning.” He pushes the door further open. “You did not tell me what it was about on the phone. If you want the dancers’ papers, then I’ll have you know I keep them all neat and updated, nothing shady-”

“Oh, no, nothing of the like, you’re not in trouble,” Mingyu flashes him a smile that is too bright for the hall of the club. From the little rays of sun that manage to hit the checkered floor, Mingyu sees dust dancing around him. “If we could speak privately, I’d be much obliged.”

Mister Park grunts and motions him up a set of creaky stairs, tucked away neatly on the edge of the hall room. They lead up to the second floor, where a large corridor spans for most of its length. Rooms are left and right, doors open and cleaning ladies silently changing pink sheets. Mingyu tries not to look for soils.

At the very end of the hallway, the man pushes a door open and Mingyu steps into his office. Cluttered, too cluttered. Messy and dirty. Lived in, by someone who has never known home.

“Have a seat, officer,” the man says, taking his own. “So, this is about the murders.”

It’s not even a question. Mingyu appreciates a sharp man. He carefully takes his glasses off, tucks them in a chest pocket.

“Partly,” he nods. “I’m not in a position to explain everything, but I’d like to inform you that I’ll be going undercover in your establishment as a customer for the foreseeable future.”

“Undercover? Here?” the man arches an eyebrow. “We’re not breaking the law in any way, what are you hoping to find?”

“It’s for protection, mostly. My department has your best intentions in mind, trust me. I won’t disturb your business in any way, I just needed to inform you of my presence.”

“Why?” the man’s eyes narrow.

Mingyu smiles again, hoping it has the intended effect, which is reassurance. Showing he can be dependable. “Because this is a private business and the law requires me to inform you. It goes without saying, you can’t tell anyone. There will be penalties for purposefully damaging an investigative operation.”

Mister Park sighs. He rubs his eyes again, muttering something about it being too early for all of this. Mingyu doesn’t share the sentiment; he has been up for hours already, preparing everything with a jittery energy.

“I have some papers to sign, if that’s okay,” Mingyu continues with a friendly tone.

“Not like I have a choice, officer…” Mister Park grumbles and reaches for a pen in his drawer.

Mingyu gets him to sign easily enough, deflecting most of his questions. The less civilians get entangled in cases, the better, that’s the general rule. Hopefully, those papers will ensure this man’s silence.

“When will you be starting?” the man asks.

“Tonight. No time to waste, I’m afraid.”

Mister Park hums, pursing his lips in thought. “I have to warn you mister Kim,” he says, letting his pen fall on his desk. “The workers here are not dumb. They’ve had their fair share of experiences with your lot. They’ll probably sniff you out in the first two hours.”

“Don’t worry about that, I’m a professional,” Mingyu smiles at him again, putting his glasses back on. Pristine, like his suit, like himself. “Now that I have your silence, would you mind showing me around a bit?”

Mister Park gives him an once-over, something illogical like doubt on his gaze. Something awfully close to condescension. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

~~~

“Go over it once more,” Minghao’s voice filters in Mingyu’s apartment, static-y as he is on speakerphone.

“Give me a moment,” Mingyu speaks towards his phone, resting precariously at the edge of his living room table. “And please decide on the tie already.”

He leans down to straighten his sock, as it got twisted around the ankle. It’s always been an issue for him, getting ready for a night out. Everybody says he takes entirely too long, always ending up late. Some wouldn’t think straightening a sock is important, but some don’t even fix their hair before going out. Mingyu has standards.

“Alright, no tie,” Minghao drawls. “I’m not changing my mind again.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s a strip club. No matter how much it would complement the outfit, you can’t look too formal.”

“It’s a fancy strip club,” Mingyu mutters.

“How fancy can it be if it’s in the red-light district? Now go over your story again.”

Mingyu sighs. He stands up, grabs the belt he threw over the back of a chair before.

“I’m Lee Yoohan. I got moved to the Hanjeong-gu branch of my company recently. I’m a news editor,” Mingyu says with practiced ease. “My life is tame and repetitive, so clubs are my only way of feeling alive. I value them a lot. I have no idea of the clubs here, I just wandered into one that looked promising.”

“With a face like that, why don’t you get a girlfriend?” Minghao asks.

“Too much effort. Wouldn’t be any cheaper, anyway,” Mingyu fastens his belt around his waist.

“That sounds like an excuse. What, are you not straight?”

Mingyu snorts. That took a different turn than expected. “I am straight.”

A small pause. “Really?” Minghao breaks character to ask. “At a place where men perform? Is that part of an identity they gave you at the station?”

“No, but I’m sticking with it,” Mingyu walks over to the mirror. “The best lies are the ones shrouded by truth, right? Plus, Phryne’s House is unisex. All genders perform, as long as they do it well. It’ll make it more believable that I just wandered in randomly and I didn’t know the place beforehand.”

“And the excuse of why you keep returning?”

“I can say I found a dancer I liked or whatever. They won’t ask me that, come on, they want my money,” Mingyu starts folding one of his sleeves up his forearm. Without the tie, just a plain white shirt and his suit’s bottoms will do just fine. Tonight, his style is carefully not-put-together. “They won’t ask if I’m straight either, by the way.”

“Better be prepared for it, in any case,” Mingyu hums. “You never know when you have to lie.”

Mingyu says nothing at that. He fixes his other sleeve like the first one, flexes his forearms a bit. A loose tie would not look out of place, in his opinion. But Minghao is better at these things than him, that’s decade-old knowledge.

“So, will you be taking anyone home?” Minghao continues the questioning, helping Mingyu slowly start slipping into his character.

“No, I’m content just to watch. I’m not a very proactive person in life. I’d rather spend my money seeing people dance.”

“Then why don’t you sit more at the front? Surely the view is better.”

Mingyu opens his mouth to reply, and then closes it again. Huh. “I actually didn’t think about that,” he tells Minghao. “What do you think I should say?”

“Your character seems shy, you don’t want the dancers to see you,” Minghao replies easily, always ready to improvise. Always having a convincing answer for anything. It’s a skill, making his words a statement at an instant’s notice, a skill that has put him where he is right now.

“Right,” Mingyu carefully picks at a strand of his hair. “Does being shy make for a valid excuse in court too?”

Minghao snorts. “I’ll make sure to try it.”

“Oh, I’m sure Mister Lim would love that,” Mingyu averts his gaze from the mirror to look at his phone. “His favorite student, resorting to the fragile emotional state course of action.”

“Mister Lim would believe I’d pull it off,” Minghao says. “He sends his regards, by the way. I mentioned to him that we’re friends and we keep in touch.”

Mister Lim, their old law professor. Back at the academy, it didn’t feel like he remembered any of his students’ names. He remembered Minghao’s though, probably because it is foreign. He remembered it so well in fact, that he ended up taking Minghao as an apprentice after they concluded their education.

“I’m not your friend. Lee Yoohan doesn’t make friends easily,” Mingyu says.

“Ouch. We’ve made this guy such a loser, I’m a little bit sorry for him,” Minghao chuckles, the crunching sound of chips getting eaten following his words. “I suppose it doesn’t matter, when he looks like Kim Mingyu.”

“A guy that goes to strip clubs every night should be a bit of a loser,” Mingyu grabs his phone. “I’m ready.”

“Really? On time? What type of character development is this?” Minghao feigns surprise, and Mingyu regrets that he lives so far away from him now. He can’t smack him anymore when he’s being annoying.

“This is work Minghao, of course I’m on time,” Mingyu rolls his eyes. “I live and breathe work, I’m always punctual, this is why the clubs are the only way to let loose.”

“Alright Yoohan, I get it. Jeez, what a boring guy.”

“If the dancers don’t see me, they can’t call me boring. I’ll just stay in my corner at the bar,” Mingyu lowers his voice a bit. Yoohan probably wouldn’t be as loud as him. It’s a niche little detail to keep in mind.

“People won’t want to talk to you. You look like a creep.”

“No I don’t. Maybe I would if I wore a tie.”

Minghao laughs.

Mingyu slips his wallet to his pocket. He doesn’t take a jacket with him, it’s already too hot in his apartment with the AC on. He doesn’t even want to imagine how it will be at the club.

“I’m hanging up now. You’re keeping me away from my much-needed night out,” Mingyu says, turning off the speakerphone and putting his phone to his ear. “Thanks, Minghao.”

“Have fun. Be careful. Do your job,” Minghao says, and then Mingyu’s left to himself. He puts on his shoes, locks the door behind him, but makes sure to leave a small light inside. He’s bumped on one too many corners when he returns home drunk, the light is a safety measure. Even if he’s not getting drunk tonight, the routine is the same. Like he’s really only going for a fun night out.

When he steps outside, it’s him versus the humid summer night. Him versus the need for information, the clock ticking down until the next body.

Him, versus a serial killer.

~~~

Now, this is more like it.

That’s what Mingyu thinks when he gets out of his car, parked somewhere away enough from the main road. The transition from normal neighborhoods to the red-light district is abrupt. On one side, life is settled for the night, closed shutters and dim street lights. On the other, life is blooming, like daisies on a summer field. White and yellow petals in the form of too-short dresses and neon signs, old enough to shoot electricity sparkles in the black background of the sky. Red lanterns of pollen glowing above every door, marking the spot for any interested bees. Green leaves undoubtedly getting distributed around, even though Mingyu’s not supposed to know about that.

He marches slowly through the district, refamiliarizing himself with it. It’s so different than it was in the morning, with every club door thrown wide open, hordes of pretty people trying to lure customers in. Dark alleys are not empty right now, not when it’s not even midnight. Women are sticking together close when they’re not accompanied by men, bouquets of fresh flowers.

Mingyu can’t help but wonder, which daisy out of all of them is going to get picked next.

One of the things he needs to learn is how much these people know of the murders. They’re supposed to be classified, kept out of the news and the public’s awareness. This is not just the public though. The people here, all the men shouting and catcalling, the women applying eyeliner without even a mirror, they are the blood and the bones of this district. You would expect a gardener to be aware of what is going on in their garden.

Mingyu pauses here and there to look around, like he is dazed. Yoohan is a tourist still, bright-eyed and easily impressed.

And what’s more impressive than the two-storey, tables-on-balconies, named-after-a-historical-figure Phryne’s House? The large doors look even more imposing when they are open, especially with the large bouncers standing guard on each side. Bulky men with sunglasses, the dark lenses probably making their job harder.

So pretentious.

Mingyu plasters a smile on his face and walks over to them, a hand deep in his pocket to show that he has money. That it’d be smart to let him through.

“Stop,” one of the men raises his arm when Mingyu comes close enough. “ID?”

“Do I look younger than 18, gentlemen?” Mingyu asks, amused.

“You look like somewhere who’s never been here before,” the man replies. “ID.”

Now, Mingyu could show his badge and just be done with it. It’s in his wallet, easy to pull out if things get tough.

Where’s the challenge in that though, huh?

“Did I hear correct?” he leans a bit closer to the bouncer that was speaking to him. “Is this the place where girls show their tits if they like you enough?”

“Ha,” the man smirks, looking back at his coworker. “Now who was the one who spread that rumor, huh?”

The other shrugs. “Someone dumb enough to attract outsiders during these times.”

“Hm. Are you an outsider, sir?” the first man returns his attention to Mingyu. “What, a tourist? An important man on a business trip? What is it?”

“You could call me an explorer?” Mingyu blinks, with all the guilt of someone important that needs to hide in a strip club for a few hours.

The bouncer snorts. “Then you’re in the right place, alright. You wouldn’t be the first one that came for the tits and left using the back door.”

Mingyu wants to smile and say that he’s aware, that it won’t make any difference for a straight person. Yoohan, though, has no idea that this club is unisex.

“Stop saying that to all the newbies,” the other guy sighs. “Just let the dude in.”

Without another word, the first man steps aside. “Watch your wallet, newbie. Dicks are no more honest than tits.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Mingyu nods at the man as he walks ahead.

Phryne’s House, such a majestic name. Mingyu remembers the history of this ancient Greek prostitute from the law classes he took at the academy. She was prosecuted once, blamed for disrespecting the gods. At the court though, her line of defense was merely to take her clothes off, show her naked body to the judges.

Someone as beautiful, as ethereal, surely must be favored by the gods. They let her go, unknowingly cementing her name down the history, long after their own was forgotten. Mingyu suggested Minghao do the same with some of his clients. It was back when they lived close enough to be in smacking distance.

Mingyu supposes he walks inside as a judge tonight. He’s here to take note of how this beast of a theater works, find how the law is getting broken. Prosecute and protect alike.

Yoohan though, he just blinks around him at the people-filled hall, companies of friends hanging around or eyeing the upstairs. There’s only a black curtain separating them from the real club, the velvet couches and the bright-lit stages. Yoohan gulps down, and pulls the curtain to the unknown.

~~~

Dim lights make everything look cleaner. They trick the eyes into thinking they can see everything, and therefore putting them at ease when they can’t find stains. Complete darkness though, that’s far more suspicious.

“Can I get a… Kraken?” Mingyu pretends to squint at the catalogue scribbled in chalk above the bar.

The barman snorts. “Forgot your glasses at home, corporate boy?”

Mingyu blinks at the man. “No,” he says, barely audible. “You just have no lights.”

“Your complaints to the manager,” the man waves at him dismissively, nails painted black. He pours him only half a glass of the rum, doesn’t add ice. Doesn’t even ask if Mingyu wanted ice.

Mingyu has to remind himself that he’s not homophobic. And it wouldn’t make anyone’s lives easier if Yoohan is, either.

Mingyu accepts his glass with a shy smile, but he doesn’t tip the barman when he pays. The other definitely notices, judging from the twitch of a perfectly plucked eyebrow, but it’s not like the man cares. Not when there are about ten more people vying for his attention.

“Seungkwannie, is the Kraken the one with the caramel in it?” a middle-aged woman in a very tight dress leans over the bar to ask.

“You bet it is!” the barman winks at her.

“Would you recommend it for someone with my… palate?” she enunciates the last word, dark purple lipstick making her teeth look extra white.

Before the barman can reply, a waitress comes and slips a piece of paper over the counter. She has her hair in twin fishtails, a skirt so short that it might as well not exist. It would be an uncomfortable attire to work in, in any place other than this one.

“Urgent,” she says, and the barman quickly apologizes to the customer. Mingyu has to blink again at how easily the woman forgives his unprofessionalism when he blows her a kiss.

Urgent apparently means there is a group of rich kids in here tonight, and they must be catered to immediately. Mingyu tries to search for them with his eyes, but it’s too damn dark. There’s probably too many stains to hide. Not one of the patron’s faces is visible below the stage. Which, he supposes, it’s on purpose. Anonymity is a valuable thing around here.

Anonymous patrons, anonymous money, anonymous entertainment. The only thing that’s not shrouded in darkness is the stage. From bright white spotlights, to colorful strobes and lasers, the light work up there is very carefully thought out.

The girl currently dancing is not half bad, either.

“Hey,” Mingyu calls over to the barman. “What’s this dancer’s name?”

“Shahwa,” is the swift reply.

Mingyu nods, doesn’t say anything else. He stays tucked in his seat, eyes locked to the stage for now. He sips his drink, keeping tabs at what the servers say to the barman, and all the other patrons sitting at the bar. The only words exchanged are about work and flirting, which aren’t exactly separated in a place like this. Mingyu lets his eyes travel over that Shahwa girl’s body, her dark hair, her chest. It’s what he’s supposed to be here for, after all.

When her song finishes, she blows them all a kiss, skin glittering with sweat, and she takes her leave. She is replaced by a tall guy, with leather boots up to his knees and slicked back hair.

“Ah,” Mingyu says, pointedly averting his eyes. It’s loud enough to catch the barman’s attention.

“What is it newbie?” the guy leans towards him, a shit-eating grin on his face. “You were looking at Shahwa so carefully before, is he not your type?”

“I didn’t realize…” Mingyu says, only for the man to burst out laughing.

“Yeah, right, heard that one before. Go on, don’t be scared, look!” the barman urges him.

Annoyed, Mingyu looks. This was his chance to properly survey his surroundings without looking suspicious. Now, he has to spend a few more seconds looking at the guy up the stage, until the barman gets distracted again.

Mingyu sees him pulling a chair from backstage, setting it up by the pole. Easy, practiced movement. Mingyu can’t say he’s ever seen a man dance before. The closest he has experienced is a few drag shows Minghao took him to, which weren’t bad at all. Heavy make up, intricate dresses and incredible voices, that’s what Mingyu remembers from them.

They were nothing like this. The music starts, and Mingyu finds that the guy up the stage is not effeminate at all. He’s not playing a character, at least not so obviously. His face is kept relaxed, coy even, while he begins his routine. Hands run over his body, his thighs slowly spreading on that chair of his.

Mingyu glances at the barman, finds him occupied. And he promptly takes his eyes off the stage.

“So he’s really not your type?” another patron elbows Mingyu playfully. His hair is thinning at the top of his head. His glasses make his eyes too big.

“Not really, no,” Mingyu gives him a shaky smile. “Too male for me, I’m afraid.”

“Did you wander in here by accident?” the man chuckles. “Phryne’s House does not discriminate.”

“I see that,” Mingyu nods awkwardly. “Um, so is he… you know, your type?”

The man looks over the stage, nods approvingly at something the dancer does. “No, not really. He’s good, but he’s for the women. Have you seen Ren?”

Mingyu shakes his head.

“You wouldn’t be able to tell he had a dick unless you spoke to him. Now, that’s my type,” the man chuckles.

“Do you talk to them?” Mingyu’s eyebrows raise high up his forehead. “I mean… you can?”

“Of course you can, man. You can get real close and personal, if you know what I mean. Are the clubs not like that, where you’re from?”

“Not all of them,” Mingyu twirls his drink in his hand. He hasn’t taken more than a sip. No point getting drunk at work. “I’m glad I moved here, if that’s the case.”

“Cheers to that,” the man raises his own empty drink. “What’s your name?”

“Yoohan,” Mingyu replies. He doesn’t clink their glasses together. Yoohan is not that friendly. “So, if one wanted to, how would they be able to… talk to the dancers?”

“Already thinking of paying the big cash?” the bartender appears out of nowhere, snatching the man’s empty cup away. “Aren’t you in a hurry, handsome.”

Mingyu tries not to glare at him.

“Straight and in a rush, oh you must not be popular with the ladies,” the barman chuckles, sleeveless shoulders shaking from laughter.

“Don’t tease him, Seungkwan,” Mingyu’s new friend throws an arm over his shoulders. “He’ll find his way.”

“Right. I’m sure he will,” this Seungkwan guy looks at Mingyu from head to toe, eyes sparkling in mischief. “Especially with asking all these questions. You can’t possibly be drunk with just a sip of a Kraken, right sir?”

Mingyu does not appreciate the scrutiny. Nor the attention to detail. He takes a gulp of his drink, as if to prove a point. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t mean to offend you, I’m just a little lost.”

“I bet you are.”

And with that, the barman leaves. Mingyu can’t watch him for long without appearing suspicious, but he does see him taking out his phone and texting someone.

The balding guy’s phone rings. A female name appears, along with a wedding photo.

“Shit,” the man exclaims and promptly gets off his seat. “Well, it was nice to meet you, even if I never see you around again,” he says, and before Mingyu can even think to reply, he’s dashing out the club.

If Mingyu’s brief friend was a cheating husband, at least he was a helpful cheating husband. If anyone knows what’s happening in the red-light district, it would be the dancers. And apparently, there is a way to speak to them without arousing suspicion.

He glances at the stage again, where a blonde woman has taken over on the pole. Her long white robe is almost transparent under the stage lights, leaving nothing to the imagination. White, in a place so dark that it feels like it will smudge you if you look too hard. Mingyu doesn’t have to try too hard to pretend to be mesmerized.

“Seungkwan,” someone calls behind Mingyu’s shoulder. “Get me a sangria.”

Mingyu would have found a more subtle way to turn around and look. He would, if it were not for the other patrons around him breaking out in murmurs about the newcomer. Being subtle in such a scenario would only be more suspicious.

So Mingyu isn’t subtle. He turns around, just as the man climbs on the empty stool next to him.

Knee-high leather boots. Slicked back hair. Significantly looser shirt than it was fifteen minutes ago.

“Here. Do consider paying for it, occasionally,” the barman places a big glass with a dark liquid in front of the dancer.

“I can pay for Wonwoo,” that middle-aged woman from before pipes up, not missing a chance. Her purple lipstick is still horrible.

The dancer smiles at her. “I’d be much obliged.”

He is wearing lipstick too, Mingyu notices. He is wearing a whole lot of make up actually, none of which was visible before, with all the lights of him. It still doesn’t make him look effeminate whatsoever.

“Drink up, everyone!” the dancer claps, bare arms flexing. “Let’s all enjoy Chaeri’s performance together!”

Mingyu glances at the woman up the stage, and then at the few people around the bar ordering fresh drinks. Huh. Now things make a bit more sense. The man is still working.

The dancer spins his stool around, letting his back rest against the counter to watch the performance better. And it is a broad back, even beneath fabric. Kind of him, to let people pretend they are not noticed as they stare. His legs are crossed, comfortable, like he’s done this a hundred times.

“I’d offer to buy you another drink if I’d seen you taking even a sip when prompted,” the dancer says, and Mingyu doesn’t startle. Yoohan does.

“Me?” he asks.

The dancer tilts his head in his direction. “That’s a Kraken, right? Is it too sweet for you?”

So much for not getting attention to himself. Mingyu internally curses, but maybe a hushed conversation with a dancer is more common around here than he thinks. No need for alarm yet.

“It’s fine,” he says, hoping to end it here. “Thank you.”

The man takes a sip of his wine, eyes raking over Mingyu’s face. “I’ll offer again. I’ll buy you a drink if you take a sip now.”

“Why would you do that? Shouldn’t you be getting me to buy it on my own?” Mingyu can’t help but ask.

The dancer gives him a half-smile, eyes glinting even under the darkness around them. It’s probably the eyeshadow, making his gaze more intense than it should be.

“You’re a fresh face,” the man offers. “Someone should take care of you.”

“Aren’t we supposed to be enjoying the performance?” Mingyu mutters.

“Oh, I’m enjoying a performance, alright,” the guy’s smile becomes slyer.

Maybe it was fortunate Minghao made him discuss Yoohan’s sexuality beforehand. Otherwise, Mingyu would be scrambling right now, pretending to be interested. Flirting back, even though it would have been out of character.

“I’m sorry, you have the wrong actor,” he shifts in his seat.

“Really?” the man’s eyebrows raise. “I’m afraid that’s what a good actor would say.”

Mingyu’s afraid that he’s not being clear enough. “A good actor, or simply an honest person.”

He doesn’t miss the way the dancer uncrosses and crosses his legs again, this time so he can lean closer to Mingyu. His attention falls back on the stage, as the white dressed dancer begins her second song. She must be one of the veterans, with the way people cheer for her. Mingyu follows the other’s lead, averting his eyes from their conversation.

“You have to forgive me, I don’t meet a lot of honest people in here,” the man offers his hand. “I’m Wonwoo.”

Mingyu has no choice but to take it. “Yoohan,” he says simply.

“They say the more honest a man is, the more attractive others find him,” the dancer, Wonwoo, continues, taking a sip of his wine. “Would you agree?”

“I suppose,” Mingyu replies. “If you find men attractive, that is.”

“Would you consider yourself attractive?”

Mingyu can’t help but look at him again. The stage can’t hold his attention for long. The other doesn’t give any indication that he notices, his profile the epitome of composed, if a little amused, his eyes following the stage lights around. He’s handsome, of course. Beautiful, in a conventional way. With different make up and clothes, Mingyu can easily picture his advertisements hanging from billboards downtown.

And he asked a pretty damning question.

“Are you asking me if I think myself honest?” he clarifies.

“Am I?” Wonwoo hums.

If Mingyu says yes, he plays into admitting he finds men attractive. If he says no, he admits to dishonesty. Both are answers that could easily prolong this conversation. Both are Wonwoo making his point.

Both are Mingyu breaking out of character.

“Would it be easier if you let me buy you a drink?” Wonwoo glances at him, a knowing smile on his face.

Mingyu sighs. “I suppose.”

Mingyu has to keep feigning indifference as the other gets him a drink. He didn’t think keeping his eyes on a beautiful woman, dancing in such an alluring way up the stage would be the difficult part of this night, but here he is. He doesn’t hear what Wonwoo orders him, he doesn’t ask when it’s pressed into his hand.

“You better drink this one,” Wonwoo winks at him, and Mingyu looks away. He doesn’t remain hidden for long though, because Wonwoo’s fingers find his chin and they yank his face back around. “Be a good actor for me, yes?”

Mingyu’s stomach swoops down for a moment. The next, Wonwoo lets him go, turning in his stool to watch the ending of the performance. He takes a big gulp of his sangria, throat bobbing as he swallows.

Mingyu subtly places a hand on his cheek, away from the other’s eyesight. It’s warm. Fuck, he’s blushing. Now that he has his own stains to hide, he’s thankful it’s so dark in here.

He flexes his shoulders, trying to shake himself out of it. He’s a professional. He’s on a mission. A damn stripper is not going to jeopardize that. He determinedly takes a sip of his new drink, just to prove a point, and he immediately winces at the taste.

The bastard couldn’t have gotten him anything more bitter.

“Wonwoo, time for rounds,” the barman calls behind them, his phone gripped in his hand once more.

Wonwoo finishes his wine in one go, and Mingyu can’t help the way his eyes fall on him again. It’s even more annoying that their gazes meet, Wonwoo smirking behind his glass. He makes sure to keep eye contact as he cleans his lips with his thumb, and then as he shoves it in his mouth.

“I’ll make sure to tell Chaeri how attentively you were watching her,” Wonwoo says, before he slips off his stool and disappears further inside the club.

Even for someone with such an electric presence, it’s impossible for Mingyu to follow him with his eyes for long. He does stare at him, annoyingly enough, for as long as it takes for his body to become indistinguishable among the many others. Mingyu wonders if he’s going to sit with the rich kids he heard about before. He wonders if he’s going to try to fish someone out for extra cash.

And then he remembers that he doesn’t care. He only cares to keep this man, and everyone else in here alive. He cares as far as not wanting to see him cut in half is some alleyway, or strung up on a lamppost from his loose skin, or whatever the hell the monster they’re hunting is going to try next. Him, and the white-clad dancer, and the annoying barman, and anyone else who has entrusted his division with this case.

“Excuse me,” he calls the barman over.

“Yeees?” the man raises an expectant eyebrow at him.

“I’m sorry, I can’t drink that,” he hands over the drink Wonwoo bought him. “If you see Wonwoo again, tell him I apologize.”

The barman snorts. “Too strong? That’s a common mistake he makes.”

“He didn’t look like the type to make mistakes,” Mingyu grumbles, but the other is trained to hear quiet voices in a loud room.

“I’ll make sure to take your complaints to him next time he walks by,” the barman says, in a tone that says he’s absolutely not going to do that.

“Do the dancers stay long after their routine has ended?” Mingyu asks, feigning innocent curiosity.

“And you ask because?”

A beat of silence. “I don’t want to run into him again,” Mingyu says, hoping he has learned something from Minghao after all these years. Hoping his last-minute thoughts sound a bit like statements too.

“Right. I’ll make sure to tell that to him too,” the barman gives him a once over before he leaves him to serve someone else. Phone in hand again. Texting someone, again.

Mingyu soon starts recognizing faces coming and going from the bar, the waiters mostly. After a couple of hours, he thinks he can confidently tell the staff apart from the patrons. He recognizes a few dancers mingling with the crowd too, sharing drinks and laughs and flirty gestures. It relaxes him further to know that Wonwoo’s presence was nothing out of the ordinary. He was probably fishing for customers, same as anyone else.

Mingyu’s Kraken has gotten entirely too warm after all this time. He still sips it from time to time, keeping up the appearances. Apart from the barman, nobody else seems to take notice of his presence. It’s just like every other night on the red-light district, with everyone getting progressively drunker and drunker, until they spill out on the streets or pass out on a pink-sheeted bed.

Mingyu’s ears ring a bit from the loud music, but he knows he better get used to it. He’ll need to find a better reason that the barman’s insufferable charms, but he’s going to be a regular here. He leans his head on his hand, gazing at the stage where a couple is performing together, a man and a woman. That’s a benefit of a unisex club, he supposes.

“Still haven’t moved?”

Mingyu sighs discreetly. He really didn’t want to hear that voice again. He wonders if everyone’s like this, or if he simply had the misfortune to attract the attention of a particularly persistent fisherman.

“You said to enjoy the performance. I’m enjoying the performance,” Mingyu says, as the dancer with the knee-high boots and the slicked back hair finds his place by his side again. It’s easier this time. The crowd has thinned. There are more empty seats at the bar now, but Wonwoo doesn’t take one.

“That’s exactly what you’re doing,” Wonwoo says, a weird tone in his voice. He comes to stand right up to Mingyu, body so close that Mingyu can smell his cologne. He stiffens.

For a second, the white stage lights spin, dousing the entire room in their brightness. Just for a second, just for the people to cheer at the amazing light work. A flash of light, revealing spilled drinks and broken glass, people making out in the corners. Burning evidence that nothing can remain hidden forever.

“What are you doing?” Mingyu asks, when Wonwoo starts giving subtle glances around him, taking note of the eyes on them. And then he steps even closer, past all the lines of personal space.

Mingyu fights the instinct to flinch away. With their bodies all but touching, Wonwoo leans in and whispers in his ear.

“Are you supposed to be undercover, officer?”

Silence.

For a second, Mingyu doesn’t understand. He didn’t do anything wrong. He was subtle. He kept in character. How in the world-

He must be bluffing. There’s no way a mere stripper would hit the nail spot on. No way, when Mingyu has been professionally trained for this. If this is a bluff though, Mingyu’s taking entirely too long to answer, to make a baffled sound and confuse this random stripper with his innocence.

Wonwoo cups his cheek. “People are noticing,” he says quietly. “I know how to throw people off. Play along.”

The stage light spins again. Under its ephemeral, incriminating spotlight, Wonwoo brings their lips together.

And then darkness douses them once again.

Mingyu has two options. Pull away, or kiss him back.

His first instinct is to pull away, less because he never intended to kiss a man in this life and more because there may still be a way to save the situation. If he kisses back, he’s admitting to every way he has been dishonest today. He’s admitting to losing at his own game, while still painfully clueless as to how he lost.

If he doesn’t kiss Wonwoo back though and it’s not a bluff, his cover is ruined. His chance at this case is ruined, maybe his entire career too. He can’t be known as the officer who failed at his first night undercover. The chief will be disappointed, Mingyu’s family even more so. Nameless, disfigured victims will stare down at him forever, knowing he could have helped them. Knowing he could have caught their killer, if only his cover was never exposed that first night.

So, Mingyu puts his hand on the back of this devious strangers’ neck, and opens his damn mouth.

For the first few seconds Mingyu almost doesn’t register it, that he’s engaging someone in a kiss. His heart is beating too loud, the split-second decision ringing loud in his ears. He’s still not safe, not by any means. But at the same time, he’s kissing a man who has made a profession out of it.

Wonwoo’s hand slides from his cheek to his hair, angling his head a bit backwards. His other hand finds Mingyu’s neck, warm and firm over his speeding pulse. When Mingyu’s lips part in acceptance, he doesn’t miss the chance to lick into his mouth, play with his tongue. He slides his lips over Mingyu’s again and again, making it hard to focus on anything else. He nips at his lower lip, sucking it into his own mouth, all slow and sensual and definitely making a show out of it.

Mingyu exhales a stuttered exhale, his hands dropping to the other’s waist. Making a show out of it, that’s what he should be doing too. Being a good fucking actor.

He pulls the dancer closer by the loops of his pants, opening his legs and inviting him between them. He groans when Wonwoo tugs at his hair, he uses tongue too. Wonwoo’s jaw is much sharper than Mingyu is used to, but his taste is not off putting. Irritating, maybe, because he smirks right between their lips, and because Mingyu’s kissing him, he can taste his triumph.

A smirk, because Mingyu just all but confirmed his suspicions. Wonwoo went fishing for sardines and he got himself a grouper. And now, Mingyu’s not the only one in control of his story anymore. His secret is their secret to keep.

“Good job,” Wonwoo mutters when they break apart, his face still so damn close. “Now give me money in a visible way.”

Mingyu curses under his tongue, but he still fumbles for his wallet. He hands Wonwoo the first note he catches, no idea what amount it is. Wonwoo doesn’t look at it either as he pockets it, pressing another brief kiss to Mingyu’s lips.

“Come on,” he grabs his hand and pulls him off his bar stool, towards the mess that is the rest of the club.

Mingyu has no choice but to follow. Wonwoo maneuvers them expertly through drunken bodies, until they reach a far wall with three closed velvety doors, keys hanging from each their doorknobs. Wonwoo takes the key of one an opens it, gesturing at Mingyu to go inside.

It’s like stepping in another world, especially when Wonwoo slides in behind him and locks the door to the outside. The soundproofing of these rooms must be the most expensive investment that has been made to this place. The only thing Mingyu can feel from the loud music outside is a faint beat.

The darkness in here is not as absolute as the outside either. While there is no ceiling light, the bottoms of the walls are lined with neon stripes, glowing a soft pink at the moment.

Wonwoo walks towards a red leather couch, staged strategically on the very center of the room. It has space for two people, and it has the perfect view of a pole, stretching from ground to ceiling. Wonwoo sits on that couch like he owns it, arm thrown over its back.

“I’d offer you a drink,” he motions towards a mini bar at the far corner of the room, “but you didn’t even finish my last one.”

Mingyu looks at the ceiling, surveying the room for any possible threats. Large speakers and an iPad make for the last of the furniture in this room, leaving most of the wooden floor empty.

“There aren’t any cameras or mics in here,” Wonwoo tells him. “These are called the private rooms for a reason.”

“Are you certain about that?” Mingyu frowns at that iPad.

“Yes. You’re not the only man with secrets around here. I recon outing some of the people I’ve danced for in here would make a bigger scandal then a mere police officer.”

Mingyu grits his teeth. “I’m undercover,” he says. “You are interrupting a far larger operation than you think you do. There are penalties for that.”

“I’m not interrupting anything,” Wonwoo raises his hands up, as if in surrender. “I helped you, didn’t I? I just want to talk.”

Mingyu sighs. He paces up and down the room for a bit, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Where did everything go to shit?

“How did you figure it out?” he asks.

Wonwoo shrugs. “Seungkwan did.”

Mingyu stares at him.

“The barman,” Wonwoo elaborates. “To be fair, most of us would if we had time to observe you. First time anybody sees you in this district, you don’t move an inch from the bar, you ask all these questions and you don’t drink? You’re either a closeted rich boy or a cop. And you claimed you were straight.”

“Was he texting you?” Mingyu asks, his frown deeper than it had been the entire night. “That Seungkwan guy, I saw him texting someone, was that you? Or do I have anyone else to worry about?”

“Oh, you noticed that? Good job, officer,” Wonwoo smirks at him again, all condescending now. “It was me. I have experience with the police, he wanted me to check you out.”

“You have experience with the police?”

Wonwoo huffs amusedly. “I mean, I might get some later, if you play your cards right.”

Mingyu grits his teeth. Flirting aside, he’s rapidly coming to realize that this is not going to be easy. To strike a deal you need to know your opponent, and he has a feeling he’s yet to hear an honest word from this man.

“Now, tell me what’s up,” Wonwoo sits a bit straighter. “What does the police want from Phryne’s House?”

“I obviously can’t tell you that,” Mingyu mutters.

“I can help you. I already have, haven’t I?”

Mingyu’s head hurts. He’s tired of pacing the room like an angry duck. The couch is for two, so he makes Wonwoo scoot over and joins him. He needs to be delicate here.

“I appreciate your offer,” he says carefully. “But the best you can do to help is keep your silence on the matter. That’s your duty as a citizen.”

A beat of silence.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Wonwoo says. “People are already suspicious of you. You’re going to need me to put a word in if you want to keep coming back.”

“That’s not for you to worry about,” Mingyu insists. “I’m a professional, I’ll handle it. You can trust me.”

“Are you sure about that?” Wonwoo purses his lips.

“I am,” Mingyu says, a flicker of hope inside him. Maybe it won’t need to go further if the other turns out to be reasonable. “Thank you for your concern,” Mingyu tries to give him a smile, to cement the conviction that it’s okay. That he’s dependable, that he can take care of everything by himself.

Wonwoo throws his head back and sighs. Five, six seconds pass, and when he lifts his head again, there’s hardness in his expression.

“Let me put it another way then,” he says, voice cutting. “If you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’m telling everyone and ruining your large operation.”

Perhaps it would be better if the music from outside wasn’t filtered so well. Now, the loud thump Mingyu feels inside him, he doesn’t know if it’s from the bass or his own heart.

“There are penal-”

“Not if I sell the information to the right people.”

Mingyu shuts his mouth. He knew it. Fucking hell, he knew it.

“That’s illegal,” he tries once more. “You’ll be going against the law.”

Wonwoo shrugs. “Alright.”

And what can Mingyu say to that? What can Mingyu do, arrest him? For a crime he hasn’t committed yet? He can’t. He can’t do a damn thing, not to a person who doesn’t care about doing the right thing. Powerlessness like he’s never felt before surges inside him when he can’t find another thing to say.

“I’m putting on a time limit,” Wonwoo continues, like throwing another ace on the table. “You have fifteen minutes to explain everything before I start making phone calls.”

And now Mingyu’s definitely fucked, because whatever he does, it’s going to be his own choice. No time for advice or permission from his superiors. This whole decision and its consequences will be on him. He can’t be the reason everything fails, he just can’t.

Mingyu slams his fist to the couch. He doesn’t have a choice here at all.

“Fine,” he hisses, cornered like an animal. Panicked like one, too. “Alright, I’ll tell you. But you have to swear you won’t speak a word of this to anyone, you hear me?”

Wonwoo shifts, lets his arm drop from the back of the couch. He sat like that on purpose, Mingyu realizes. Exuding power, before Mingyu realized he even possessed power like this.

“Look, I really mean no harm,” Wonwoo says now, voice a bit softer than before. “I’m really not against you and your large operation, I promise. I just want to get involved.”

“Why in the world would you want to get involved?” Mingyu doesn’t spare him a glance.

“This is about the murders, right?” Wonwoo places a hand on his knee. Mingyu stiffens. “I can help. Maybe more than you think I can.”

Mingyu doesn’t say anything. Wonwoo squeezes his knee.

“I want to help. It’s my friends that are in danger, you know? I need to know I’m doing everything I can to protect them.”

Now Mingyu looks at him, his still flawless make up, his still unbuttoned shirt. Some of his hair is starting to fall in front of his eyes, the only sign that he is not pristine, not a carefully put together fantasy. Not inhuman.

“The police is doing what it can,” he says. “If you have information-”

“I’m going to give it to you,” Wonwoo nods. “I know you can issue NDAs that get civilians involved in cases. I’ll sign one for you, so you don’t need to worry about me speaking.”

Mingyu’s whole faces scrunches. It’s never good when civilians are aware of those damn papers. It’s never good to involve them, beyond getting testimonies out of them. That’s what senior officers always say, and Mingyu’s starting to see why.

“And I’ll help you in here too. I can tell everyone that you’re not a cop, I checked. They’ll trust me,” Wonwoo continues. Back to being helpful, back to being reasonable. Mingyu has the vaguest sense of getting good-cop-bad-copped here.

When left with no choice though, and not taking the trust issues into consideration, maybe he can admit that having someone on the inside would be helpful. Especially someone as sharp as this dancer seems to be.

“…And when I keep returning every night?” Mingyu turns his frown to him. “What are you gonna tell them?”

Wonwoo’s smile returns, easy and seductive. “I can tell them you really liked what happened here tonight, that you’ll want a repeat. Won’t be far from the truth.”

Mingyu clicks his tongue. This is along the lines of what he was thinking himself. The cover was always going to be that he liked one dancer, kept returning for them. He just didn’t expect…

“I really don’t swing that way,” he mutters, just in case it wasn’t clear. “That’s not just part of the character.”

“Well congrats then, your character’s getting an upgrade. Yoohan has a secret now,” Wonwoo grabs his chin again, bringing their faces close. “Better get used to kissing men.”

Mingyu’s lips part on their own, fully expecting another kiss. It’d be the least invasive thing this man did to him tonight. Wonwoo just chuckles though and lets him go. He stretches his arms as Mingyu stares at the ground, uncertain if he made the right call. If he wants someone like this dancer on his side.

He’s supposed to be enjoying what’s happening in here, anyway. Without a word, he starts messing up his hair, ruffling up his shirt a bit. Pinching his cheeks so they redden. A good actor keeps up appearances. Wonwoo watches him silently, his own fingers toying with the rest of the buttons of his shirt. Not that there are many left.

“Alright, I better get going,” Mingyu says, getting up to leave. “I’ll look into the papers and tell you tomorrow how we will-”

A hand stops him. A strong grip on his forearm, stronger than Mingyu expected out of a dancer. He looks back at Wonwoo with a furrowed brow.

“I’m not giving your money back,” Wonwoo says, lightning in his eyes. A whole storm of it, whips of electricity ready to strike out. Mingyu’s throat suddenly feels tight.

The strong hand finds his shoulder and pushes him down, back on the couch. His knees buckle. After everything, this is what finally makes Mingyu lose his words.

Wonwoo leaves him sitting there, heart hammering in his ears, as he walks to the iPad. His steps are slow and purposeful. The song he picks out, even more so.

When he turns to look at Mingyu there’s something predatory in his eyes.

Mingyu swallows.

Chapter Text

The clock on the wall ticks. Mingyu’s not the only one who has been pestering their chief to replace it with a digital, soundless one, but it somehow always manages to remain off the HQ’s shopping list. Something about inappropriate use of budget.

The clock ticks, and Mingyu refused to acknowledge he had a headache before, but it’s getting progressively harder not to. His desk mate has the radio on, quiet murmurs of spokespeople relating the news. The man himself is busy typing away on his computer. He is a man from before computers became the standard in the station though, so he presses one key every five seconds.

Mingyu leans his forehead on his hand, examining his own screen. He slightly rubs at a painful spot, names of document over document running over his screen. There has been an attempt at digital organization over the years, and it’s heaps better to scroll on a mouse instead of manually going through papers. But bureaucracy is a beast in all its forms.

Mingyu’s looking at the model documents sent over directly from the Commissioner’s office. Empty forms, one written for each occasion, saving the officers time and brainpower from composing them themselves. All one needs to do is fill them up with relevant information and file them accordingly, making paperwork less of a nightmare than it used to be.

If one manages to find the proper ones, that is.

Mingyu’s never been in need of an NDA before. He’s not surprised to find there’s a whole bunch of them, some strict enough that they might as well be vows of silence. Mingyu would love to simply grab one of them, but they don’t fit his case. And so he keeps scrolling.

His phone’s screen lights up with a notification. Mingyu almost ignores it, but then he remembers of the last time he ignored a text.

He blinks a few times, until the model forms are not the only thing his eyes are capable of focusing on. Then he grabs his phone.

From, Mom:
Can you come over after work? You need to talk to your sister.

And now Mingyu admits to the headache.

From, me:
I work later tonight too. I need to rest.

From, Mom:
Can you come over anyway?

Mingyu turns his phone off. He places it on his desk, screen down. He barely managed to get any sleep last night, before showing up at work. He got three hours at best, and he was counting on his afternoon nap to keep him energized enough for visiting the club again.

Can you come over anyway?

Can he push himself a little harder than expected, if it means he’s helping his family? Does it matter if he loses some sleep, if it means he’s there for them? If his job is to help people, then the least he can do is the same for his own blood.

He picks his phone up again.

From, me:
Okay

From, Mom:
Thank you.

Better to spend time with them than by himself anyway. The less time he spends by himself, the less he will think about spending more time at Phryne’s House.

Mingyu turns his face to the computer screen again. His eyes take time to adjust, the clock ticking not making it any easier to focus. It ticks and ticks, a steady rhythm, a beat. The voices from the radio, a melody. A body moving somewhere in his periphery, a slim waist, a gyrating hip…

“Everyone, debrief,” Chief Seungcheol’s voice echoes in the room, snapping Mingyu out of it. He shakes his head clear of phantom limbs. Fingers that didn’t touch him, but only in the physical sense of it.

Because last night, Mingyu was gripped pretty damn tight.

He gets off his chair, helps his old desk mate on his feet. The man’s waist creaks, his walking looks painful. Mingyu follows behind him, wondering if this will be him in forty years.

Once on the briefing room, he finds a seat next to Seokmin and two others who were supposedly out with him last night. The fact that Mingyu never ran into any of them probably speaks for their skills.

“Hi,” Seokmin greets him. “Welcome to the sleep deprived corner.”

Oh, he has no idea.

“Great to meet you here,” Mingyu replies.

“How was last night? Anything interesting?”

“I’d say nothing to lose sleep over, but well.”

Seokmin laughs. It pulls a smile out of Mingyu too, the same way Seokmin’s laugh always does. Even sleep deprived, he remains sunnier than some of the others trickling in the room. Unshakeable. Probably didn’t even get suspected of being a cop last night, much less confronted about it. Mingyu looks at the other two as well, wondering if he’s the only one looking up NDAs today.

“Good morning everyone,” Chief Seungcheol steps in the front of the room, a singular piece of paper clutched in his hand. “Forensic reports are back. I need everyone updated on the case until we get information to assign it.” Without waiting for anyone’s reaction, he starts reading from the paper.

Mingyu’s not surprised to find inconclusive evidence linking the two murders together. Different shoe prints, betraying different heights. Different tools, therefore a different build. The strength needed to cut a person in half is not to be ignored. The problem with both the bodies was not lack of DNA to identify a suspect, but the presence of too much, to the point of being unable to separate them. Both dancers had touched a lot of people.

“The forensic experts are still looking over the bodies, but we suspect there might have been some kind of corruption of the crime scene, before we got there. As far as we can tell, there is no discernible pattern to the attacks, so no prediction about what might happen next.”

“Excuse me, sir. When you say corruption of the crime scene?” a rookie raises their hand.

“It can mean a lot of things,” the chief tells them. “In this case, we think there was a significant amount of people who walked by the scene of the crime and just didn’t report it.”

The rookie gapes, unable to understand how one could walk by a person cut in half and simply continue walking. Mind their own business, go back to their lives as if nothing has happened. Mingyu’s gut churns, but this is the red-light district. These are the same people who break all safety cameras that are meant to protect them. Trouble has a nasty habit on befalling those who step on the spotlight. The more heroic the action that gets one noticed is, the worse the aftermath.

“Now, we did get some intel about the presence of illegal drugs in one of the clubs,” the chief nods towards the man sitting next to Seokmin, and he nods back. “It’s a good excuse to have a visit, remind people that the red-light district is still under our jurisdiction.”

He’s right. The absence of the police in lieu of such murders would raise suspicions, especially now that it’s confirmed word has gotten out. It’s good intel, the evidence of drugs, even if it just leads to the gangs they are ultimately unable to apprehend. And on the first night too? Mingyu looks over at the man responsible for it, the one who has the same job as him.

There is a purple mark blooming on his neck. Amongst everything else, his cover was probably better than Mingyu’s too.

The meeting is adjourned soon after, everyone trailing back to their offices. Mingyu waves at Seokmin, but doesn’t follow him out of the room. He lingers, watching as Chief Seungcheol jots something down on that piece of paper he carries with him.

Is he disappointed that Mingyu came back empty-handed? He didn’t look it, and it seems like most of the others didn’t have a breakthrough either. Still, Mingyu feels guilty of the whole fiasco. The others probably didn’t do as bad as him.

“Sir,” he approaches the chief.

“Mingyu,” the chief tucks his pen in his breast pocket. “Anything to report?”

“A question, actually,” Mingyu fumbles with the lowest button of his uniform. A report would have been much easier. He can’t make a report though, not if he wants to keep his position.

“Alright, come to my office,” the chief waves him along.

Mingyu takes his usual seat, opposite of Chief Seungcheol’s desk. The paper his chief carried is tossed onto a pile of other, identical looking papers.

“I’m listening,” Chief Seungcheol takes a new piece of paper and immediately starts jotting down things, not looking at Mingyu as he speaks. Mingyu can’t fault him for how busy he is.

“Sir, what’s your opinion on NDAs?” he asks.

“Useful,” the chief replies instantly. “Just don’t get civilians involved in cases.”

Ah. There goes the second part of Mingyu’s question.

Chief Seungcheol must realize he takes a bit too long to say anything else, because he looks up from his paper. “Did someone get involved in the case?” he asks seriously.

“No,” Mingyu replies, guilt intensifying. “I was just looking at the staff at my club and thought that it might be useful having someone on the inside if they express interest, that’s all.”

“How would you get them to express interest?”

By not taking a drink when prompted, apparently. Of course, Mingyu doesn’t say that.

“I don’t know,” he says instead. “But why is it so bad to include them?”

Chief Seungcheol goes back to writing. “One, you never know who is working with who, especially in the red-light district. An NDA won’t do anything to someone who’s already a criminal, and then you’re just exposed.”

“So it’s a trust issue?”

“Not even just that, it’s about interest. Your guy may be your childhood best friend, but who’s to say he won’t get bribed to reveal information? Everyone has a price. NDAs are good only for people on our side of the law, Mingyu.”

Our side probably doesn’t include someone like Wonwoo, who already threatened to ruin the operation once. Instead of easing his worries, Mingyu finds his hands getting tied tighter and tighter together.

“Furthermore,” the chief says. “It’s dangerous for them too. Bribery is not the only way you can get someone to talk. You’re exposing a civilian to the same risks we are exposed, only that they’re not trained for it. It has gone wrong before, but because of the NDAs, these people will never get justice.”

Mingyu presses his lips together. “I see.”

“That being said,” Chief Seungcheol glances up at him. “It’s not illegal. I won’t stop you, if you judge it as the correct course of action. You understand the consequences of compromising this mission though, yes?”

Mingyu sits up a bit straighter. “Yes, sir.”

“You don’t want any blood on your hands, right?”

Mingyu gulps. “No, sir.”

“Alright,” the chief nods. “Then use the laws we have as you see fit.”

Thank you sir, is what should be coming out of Mingyu’s lips next. Only that, this may be the first time he’s not thankful to his chief for enabling him.

~~~

Mingyu’s mother lives with his sister a good forty minutes away from the station by car. Not far enough for it to be an excuse to not visit, but not close enough to just pop in and call it a day. Mingyu pulls up at the driveway, tires crunching on leaves that have no one to swipe them.

That used to be his job, he remembers.

“Mingyu,” his mom opens the door before he even has a chance to take his keys out. “Thank God. That kid, I swear, she does not understand-”

“Mom,” Mingyu places a hand on her shoulder, barely coming up to his chest. Her hair, carefully tied in a braid, is loose, some strands falling over her face. Mingyu searches her face for any new wrinkles, but he never sees them appearing. He only takes notice of them months later, after he looks at their old pictures together.

“What happened?”

“The same as usual, but this time stubborn enough to toss her paper in the fireplace.”

Mingyu sighs. “Had she written a lot of it?”

“As if,” his mother huffs. “Go talk some sense to her please, the deadline is tomorrow.”

“Alright, don’t worry about it,” Mingyu pats her shoulder comfortingly. And then it’s time to distract her. “Is there anything to eat?”

“I’ll make you something, baby,” her shoulders straighten, some of the burden obviously lifting. “I have leftover chicken from lunch, do you want me to reheat it?”

“Yes please,” Mingyu takes his shoes off, the same way he did when he was a child himself. “I’ll be down shortly.”

Mingyu walks up the stairs, heavier than when he did as a child, with more responsibilities. But heavy as it is, burden comes with a sense of purpose. He needs to be here for his family. He needs to pull their weight along with his own, at least until his sister starts pulling some herself.

Which, incidentally, is going worse than ever.

“Minseo!” Mingyu knocks on her locked door. “Police! Open up!”

“Oh, shut up,” he hears a grumble from the inside, but footsteps follow it shortly. Mingyu smiles. For him, this joke will always be as funny as the first time he tried it to his sister, even if she doesn’t laugh with him anymore.

The door opens. His sister’s eyes are red.

“What?” she bites.

“You know what.” Mingyu spreads his arms. “Come here.”

Minseo huffs, wiping a stray tear, and the she throws her arms around him. “Because a hug is going to solve everything,” she mutters, still griping him tight.

No, a hug probably won’t solve anything. But it will keep them going, for a little bit longer.

Soon enough they find themselves in Minseo’s room, him sitting on the desk chair, her cross-legged on the bed. The sheets are new, Mingyu notices. He’s never seen them before.

“And so I threw the damn thing in the fireplace,” his sister is saying, finishing the story that got them here in the first place.

“Did it feel good at least?” Mingyu asks.

“Hell yeah, it did,” Minseo smiles, the first real smile of today.

Mingyu can only imagine the joy of literally burning unwanted responsibilities away, but he can imagine vividly. He sees the joy of escapism with extreme clarity, and then he turns his back on it. You can’t be a useful member of society by burning your work instead of completing it.

He has to ruin this for his sister.

“And afterwards?” he asks. “Do you still feel good?”

Minseo’s shoulders hunch. “I probably would, if mom didn’t start yelling about it.”

“And tomorrow? When you don’t have your paper to hand?”

“Who cares? I’m never getting a good grade in that class anyway. I’m never getting good grades, period. I’m not you, Mingyu,” she glares at him.

Mingyu looks at the floor. “And after tomorrow? After you get bad grades in all of your classes, then what?”

Minseo falls silent. The curtains of her room are drawn shut, blocking out the sun. If it’s a choice reflecting of her mood, she’s not fooling anyone with ephemeral happiness.

“It’s okay to worry,” Mingyu tells her. “But you can’t forget what all this is for. I can’t do this without you, not forever.”

This time, the silence is more prominent. Minseo was never a loud kid, and always more prone to getting into trouble because of it. Silent in her opinions, silent in her rebellion. Even now, her tears are silent.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, and it comes from somewhere deep inside her. A place of duty Mingyu is all too familiar with. “Mom isn’t helping though. She keeps telling me how I just need to try harder. She says that if you made it and are so successful, there is no reason for me not to do the same.”

“Come on, you know that’s just mom being mom,” Mingyu acknowledges her pain.

“I know!” she bursts now. “I don’t know how you did it. But I’m not doing it Mingyu, I’m not good with school. I’m not going to study, or become a lawyer or a doctor or, or… or a damn police officer!”

“What are you going to do then?”

And that’s where the conversation always halts. Minseo brings her knees close to her chest, buries her face in them. “Do I need to know something like that for this family to love me?”

No, Mingyu wants to tell her, and reassure her that she is free. That her future is hers to do as she pleases, she’ll always have their support. It doesn’t matter that he was never granted the same support, she should not go through the same.

Mingyu would have loved to say all these things, in a different life. One where he wouldn’t have to watch his sister cry like he once did. Maybe one where their father was still around.

“If this is a bout love, then how do you want to love this family?” he asks back, trying so hard not to be cruel in a life that is cruel by nature.

“I d-don’t know.”

“Maybe think about that, then,” he says softly. “Mom and I are doing what we can. All she asks of you is the same. If you fail, you fail. But don’t burn your efforts by yourself.”

“I’m sorry,” Minseo sobs.

“Don’t be,” Mingyu reaches over to ruffle her hair. “Just pull your weight, okay?” And help ease mine.

“How do you do it, Mingyu?” she sniffs, trying to wipe tears again. Trying and failing.

“I love you,” Mingyu replies easily. “And it’s the right thing to do.”

~~~

In the end, Mingyu barely manages to get an hour of sleep before needing to get dressed for the club. It’s a power nap, he tells himself. He only wishes he could bring coffee to a nightclub without it being weird.

Tonight, he arrives at the red-light district a bit later, not wanting to chance a meeting with the officers that must be in another club here tonight. The atmosphere on the streets is a bit tenser due to that. But maybe that’s just the lack of weed.

The presence of police is clearly not enough to dissuade the crowd inside the clubs though. Mingyu wears a jacket today, and he takes his hands off his pockets to greet the bouncers.

“Oh, if it isn’t the new guy!” the chatty man from yesterday eyes him up and down. “Did you see any tits?”

If only.

“Saw a couple interesting things,” Mingyu shrugs. “Need to check a few more.”

The man chuckles. “See?” he turns to his coworker. “I’m always right about this type of men, every single time.”

It’s said with a kind of tone that has never, not once been directed towards Mingyu’s way. It bothers him for some reason, even if he’s only supposed to be playing a character.

“What type?” Mingyu asks before he can think about it.

“Just go in,” the other bouncer points Mingyu inside with his head, a vein popping in his head from irritation. The last thing Mingyu hears before the door closes behind him is their arguing.

“Forget the boss, if you make another such remark, I’ll punch you myself.”

“You can kiss my ass.”

“I’ll do that too if it scares you so much.”

The music is different today, is the first thing that Mingyu notices. Last night, it was all about modern hits, from artists that still make it to Spotify’s Top 50. Tonight, it appears as if they have shifted a decade, playing songs that might have been popular at clubs when Mingyu was a teenager. It’s an interesting change. Mingyu wonders if the patrons will be different too.

His question gets answered promptly as he finds his way to the bar.

“Oi!” his balding friend from yesterday waves his hand at him. It would be rude to ignore him now, with such a public display. On his way to him, Mingyu passes a middle-aged woman with a very bad purple lipstick, and even more familiar faces from last night. At least it’s a good indication as to how he fucked up yesterday. All the regulars gather at the bar, and he was a new face.

“Good evening,” Mingyu says, a little awkwardly. He imagines Yoohan wouldn’t want to waste his time with this guy either.

“You came back then, um… Wait, did I ever catch your name?” the man asks loudly.

“Yoohan,” Mingyu replies.

“Riiight, I remember that,” the man takes a generous gulp of his drink. “So did you find your type?”

“Sure diiiid!” a chirpy voice joins them, and Mingyu’s fist clench. At the core of it, yesterday was all this bartender’s fault. “Had so much fun he didn’t even return here after his private dance. And look, you’re back! I missed you, newbie!”

“Seungkwan, right?” Mingyu asks. “Can you get me a Kraken?”

“And see it going warm again after four hours of not drinking it? Nuh uh, you’re getting ginger beer.”

Mingyu stares at him. “…Right,” he forces himself to say. Yoohan is not confrontational. Mingyu repeats that phrase inside him a few dozen times. “Thank you for the suggestion.”

As the bartender walks away, Mingyu notices his preppy pastel skinny jeans. It’s not just the music then that has shifted a decade.

“Did you hear?” the balding guy leans closer to ask Mingyu. “The police went to Miche’s. No idea what he did, his dancers are all legal. Did you happen to see anything out there?”

“Ah, so that’s what happened? I thought people looked a bit tense,” Mingyu says.

“Yeah, it was a mess. Thank god the police never comes here!” the guy cheers and brings a fat cigarette to his lips. It burns suspiciously fast.

Right. Mingyu should probably not be anywhere near close to that.

“I’ll go find a seat,” he tells the other.

“No, no, stay here!” the other insists. “Oi, Kyujung! Move over!”

Internally cursing again, Mingyu takes the seat that is freed for him. Observing his surroundings will be more troublesome if he has to make conversation at the same time. Especially with someone that is high.

“You didn’t see Hwasa last night, did you?” the man gestures at the woman currently on the stage. Mingyu shakes his head. “Maaaan those curves! Still not my type, but just watch! They always put a guy up there after her because she’d outshine whoever dares compare.”

“In fact,” the bartender chimes in the conversation unprompted, appearing out of thin air with Mingyu’s drink. “You’re just in time. Your boyfriend’s up next.”

Mingyu probably takes the drink a bit more forcefully than necessary. “Don’t say that,” he tells the bartender. “I don’t…” Fuck, this is annoying. “I don’t swing that way.”

The bartender bursts out laughing. Mingyu narrows his eyes at him, pissed off that he’s going to justify his laughter later. That Yoohan is going to have a grand revelation over the next few days. Mingyu opens the damn ginger beer, unable to save face in any way whatsoever.

At least that Hwasa is a really good dancer. Mingyu drinks this time as he watches her, without any alcohol in his ginger beer. He can pretend at least. He should have thought of it yesterday too, ordering something non-alcoholic. It would have been less noticeable.

His buddy looks engrossed too, only averting his eyes when the dancer is done with her number. She’s only wearing a bra by the time she starts walking backstage, and there’s a bunch of people up front telling her to take it off. One woman throws her her own. Hwasa ignores their calls, but she picks up the bra. Mine now, she mouths at the woman who threw it, and she leaves the stage.

“Pfft, that was hot,” Mingyu’s buddy says.

And smart. That woman is probably going to ask for her bra back. Maybe later, when they’re in a private room, or a pink-sheeted one upstairs.

Mingyu’s not done thinking about all the ways one can approach a dancer, how much of it is actually their choice, before the next person walks up the stage. Like Seungkwan said, Mingyu’s quite familiar with this one.

Mingyu refused to think about this man the entire day. Even as he looked at NDAs, he firmly kept the reason for them out of his mind. He didn’t want to think of the shame of being exposed, or anything that followed. Nothing to do about it now though. Wonwoo’s up the stage, and Mingyu’s supposed to be looking at him more intently than anyone.

He’s different than yesterday too. He kept the boots, but the rest of him… He’s painted red, from the leather pants, to the leather jacket, hanging open in front of his chest. A see-through shirt has been slapped beneath the jacket, as if it’s meant to hide anything. A singular black glove, that’s probably going to be thrown to the crowd later to reveal a dainty wrist. A black belt over his waist, a waist that Mingyu knows how will move when−

He forces himself to blink. There’s nothing attractive about what he’s seeing right now. Bathed in red, Wonwoo looks like the devil.

The music starts. Mingyu recognizes the chair from last night. He didn’t think it important to remember at the time, to actually watch, but he does remember the way Wonwoo’s thighs spread, how his hand travels the expanse of them, his pants straining against him. He watches now. He watches his body pulse with the beat, and it overlaps with images from his own memories, unwanted as they are. He’s seen these flexing arms up close and personal, grabbing the back of the couch on each side of his face, the same way they grip the chair now. He knows how Wonwoo sheds clothes, revealing his body inch by excruciating inch, provocative.

Mingyu grits his teeth. The devil exists only because he’s attractive.

And Mingyu’s about to make a deal with him.

“Psst,” the bartender pokes his arm, and Mingyu doesn’t think he’s ever been more annoyed at him. “You need to pay me.”

Mingyu fumbles with his wallet, eyes barely leaving the stage. He tosses the coins at Seungkwan just as the chorus drops and Wonwoo’s jacket does too. He grabs the poll, slender fingers around cold metal.

“Hey, real talk for a second,” the bartender says behind him. “Don’t get obsessed, okay?”

Obsessed? Him? Mingyu turns to look at him as if he’s grown a second head. The bartender winks at him and lets him be.

Mingyu misses the next few seconds of Wonwoo’s routine, making sure his face has the appropriate expression for it. He doesn’t want to look like an idiot. When he turns to look at the pole again, Wonwoo’s belt is unbuckled.

And he never touched Mingyu, that’s the issue here. He did nothing to warrant such a pathetic reaction out of him. And now, everybody is watching him dance his sinful dance. Up the stage, put on display, touching his body the way nobody else is allowed to.

This man danced for Mingyu last night.

He lets out a small exhale, the reality of it only hitting him now. He has business with this man, the one that everybody is staring at right now, like a celebrity. An artist trading in arousal, but also a devil who would threaten the police with unknown motives. Mingyu downs the rest of his ginger beer.

He’s fucking intimidated. He needs something stronger.

He calls for Seungkwan, finally gets his Kraken. This time he doesn’t just pretend to sip at it. The song is coming to an end, and as predicted, Wonwoo takes that glove off. It’s a grand finale, with it flying below to the stage, towards a woman Mingyu can’t see but can hear shout.

Mingyu’s buddy claps. “He spiced it up today. That’s his best outfit, in my opinion.”

Mingyu claps too, but it sounds lifeless. Wonwoo only dances one song at a time it seems, leaving the stage for someone else to enter. Mingyu wonders if he’ll see him for another song, or if this was his last one for tonight. He hopes for the later.

But it’s probably the first, as a few moments later he sees a bright red figure weaving amongst the crowd. Still in uniform. Which means he’s still working. People try to talk to him, like the celebrity he is in here. But he sidesteps conversations carefully, making a beeline to the bar.

When he’s close enough, their eyes meet.

“Seungkwan!” he calls somewhere behind Mingyu. “Yoohan is buying me a sangria!”

It takes a moment for Mingyu to realize he’s talking about him.

“Who’s buying him what now?” Mingyu’s buddy mock-whispers at him.

“That’s what I’m wondering myself,” Mingyu mutters, already digging in his wallet.

Wonwoo takes his glass and walks right next to him, only acknowledging the people around vying for his attention with little waves. There’s still sweat on his brow. He never put his jacket back on.

“Hi,” he shoots Mingyu a dazzling smile. “Glad to see you’re back.”

“You… you too,” Mingyu forces out. “I’m not a fresh face anymore. Didn’t think you’d come to me again.”

“Maybe not a fresh face, but a handsome one nevertheless,” Wonwoo leans on the counter next to him. He turns his head a bit more to the side, to look at Mingyu’s buddy. “Hi,” he tells him, and the guy actually chokes on his smoke.

“Hi Wonwoo,” he manages, eyes tearing up. “You were great up there.”

“I’m glad someone around here liked my performance,” Wonwoo eyes Mingyu again.

Mingyu clicks his tongue. Why is he fishing for compliments? As if they don’t have anything more urgent to discuss.

“I liked the glove part,” he says, finding the least risky part of that performance. “Do they ever give it back to you?”

“They used to,” Wonwoo shrugs with one shoulder. “I don’t seek them out anymore.”

“No?” Mingyu tilts his head. “Why?”

Wonwoo’s smile turns sly. “Is the police going to arrest me if I don’t give a reason?”

Bastard. Mingyu’s eyes flicker over to Seungkwan, thankfully finding him occupied. It’s unlikely anyone else around them is going to suspect anything. Still, Mingyu’s not allowed to forget that his cover is in danger.

“Or is this asked with disappointment?” Wonwoo continues, placing his chin on his fist. “Would you want me to toss my glove to you and take you upstairs to retrieve it?”

Fuck you, Mingyu wants to say. “I’m sorry, I’m not…” he is forced to say instead, a bashful Yoohan uncertain of his sexuality.

“I’d be gentle,” Wonwoo says, his voice soft now. “I’d make you see why women like it so much. A man with such a demanding job, I’m sure you’re dying for some release.”

Mingyu’s grip on his glass tightens. He stares at it, unable to meet Wonwoo’s eyes. The smoothness that the words drop out of his lips with doesn’t feel careless at all.

“I’m sorry, I don’t do that anymore,” Wonwoo smiles the next second, releasing the tension. “I just stick to the dances.”

Mingyu’s had enough of this.

“Do they allow you to take your drinks to the private rooms?”

“No. Am I going to the private rooms soon?” Wonwoo’s eyes flicker to his pocket.

Again, Mingyu takes a blind amount of cash and gives it to him. He only briefly registers his buddy gaping at them both, eyes widening when Wonwoo actually pockets the money.

“You know the way, handsome,” Wonwoo cocks his head towards the back of the club.

Mingyu doesn’t know if it’s because of nerves or if he subconsciously knows better than getting tipsy, but he forgets his Kraken. When he realizes he’s following behind Wonwoo dumbly and empty-handed, it’s too late to go back.

They enter the same room as yesterday and Wonwoo gestures him to take a seat. The floor lights are red today, dimmer, more incriminating.

“You’re a really good actor today, by the way,” Wonwoo says, walking over to the mini bar. “What changed?”

Mingyu doesn’t grace him with a reply.

“Or maybe it’s not an act at all?”

Mingyu’s fist clenches. “And you made sure you look like the devil today,” he gives him a once-over, judging all that red. “Did we both drop the act then?”

Wonwoo smiles as he fills a fancy wine glass with something that is very much not wine. “People look at me and I have to make sure they think I look like an angel.” He walks behind Mingyu, lowers the glass in front of him. “That’s the devil’s job.”

Mingyu eyes the offered drink, something transparent and heavy on alcohol. It looks innocent like water, but his nose burns just getting a whiff of its smell. Absinthe.

Mingyu takes the damn glass.

“I have to ask you to reconsider our deal,” he says.

“Oh?”

“I have been advised numerous times, and by my boss too, to not unnecessarily involve civilians in cases. For their own safety, first and foremost.”

Wonwoo looks like he’s not listening. He slowly walks over to the iPad, searching through a couple of playlists for something.

“Did you hear me?” Mingyu repeats a little louder, unable to find his patience today. “I’m saying this as someone whose job is to ensure your safety, do not get involved.”

Wonwoo finds what he has been looking for. He looks away from the screen, and right to Mingyu’s eyes. “Did you bring the papers to sign?” he asks, serious now.

“I did, but−”

“Good.” He presses play.

A slow song starts playing, still on the same theme as the rest of tonight. Club music from the 2000’s, but this one has a purpose.

“Wonwoo,” Mingyu says in warning, tensing up as the dancer starts approaching him. “We need to talk.”

“Talk,” Wonwoo drops to his knees in front of him.

Mingyu bites his lips. Again, he is hit with the realization that a few minutes ago, this man was on stage. And now… Mingyu looks away, shaking himself out of it. This is all a game, and he refuses to lose again. If he’s out of his depth, he better start swimming.

“Another issue is that I can’t trust you. If you’re working for someone, NDAs mean nothing,” he says, still refusing to look in front of him.

He feels the couch dipping on each side of his thighs, Wonwoo’s arms caging him in. Mingyu feels his body heat getting closer and closer, right next to his face, and there is an excruciating moment that he thinks Wonwoo’s going to touch him. He’s right there, his chest in front of Mingyu’s, his body still waving to the beat. He lifts one hand off the couch, and Mingyu holds his breath.

“I have lived a life you righteous little man wouldn’t even dream of living,” Wonwoo says quietly, right next to Mingyu’s ear. “With this, I have a chance of getting out, and you think that you can’t trust me?”

Wonwoo grabs the absinthe out of Mingyu’s hand and tilts it to his lips. Mingyu doesn’t know if it’s aversion or anticipation making his heart beat louder, but he beats both back down.

He closes his eyes. “What are you getting out from?”

“You can’t even look at me.” A knee lands next to Mingyu’s thigh. “If you opened your eyes, you might be able to tell.”

It leaves Mingyu with no choice. Reluctantly, he turns his head, he half-opens his eyes. He is greeted with a lean torso, fingers running teasingly over all the exposed skin. Moving hips, a belt so tight that it looks like it’s going to explode. Mingyu makes himself look at Wonwoo’s body, at the sharp V of his hips that are slowly gyrating above his crotch. Wonwoo’s palms follow his gaze downwards, coming to rest over his belt as he thrusts forward. Red light over red clothes, red blood rushing to Mingyu’s ears.

So much red. Is there a universe where red is an innocent color?

Mingyu makes the mistake of lifting his gaze higher, to Wonwoo’s face. Painted lips half opened, a slight, frightening smile. Cheeks pink, a sweaty brow. It’s his eyes though that make Mingyu finally lose his breath. They say hell is full of fire, but they’re wrong. When their gazes meet, Mingyu’s certain that it’s bitterly cold down there.

And it makes sense then, somehow.

Up on the stage, nobody is able to meet a dancer’s eyes. Down in the private rooms, nobody wants to meet their eyes.

He takes a sip of his drink, from the same side Wonwoo’s lips left a mark. Mingyu’s looking now. And something is telling him that after this, he is never looking away again.

Wonwoo grins at him. “Trust goes both ways,” he says, words tingling Mingyu’s ears. “Will you tell me your name, officer?”

“It’s…” Mingyu swallows. “It’s Yoohan.”

“Hmm,” Wonwoo scans down his body, and Mingyu tries to ignore the little goosebumps raising on his arms. “Come on now. You’re supposed to be a good actor today.”

Wonwoo’s body slides down, on his knees once more. His face is so close, Mingyu can feels the warmth of his breath over his chest, his stomach, and then a hand lands on the couch between his legs. Mingyu squirms. It would have been less nerve wracking if he was actually being touched.

“Show me your badge?” Wonwoo tilts his head to his side, licking his lips as if he is asking for an entirely different thing. Sitting between Mingyu’s spread legs, it’s not too hard to imagine it. Not hard at all.

“It’s in my pocket…” Mingyu mumbles, biting his own lips.

Then, Wonwoo’s hands actually fall on his hips. Mingyu’s hips twitch before he can still them. Bare palms make contact with his waistband and something twists in his gut. Something hot and molten and red, especially when fingers trail downwards. They pause to explore his pockets, both of them, and even after Wonwoo locates his wallet with the badge and the folded NDA papers, he still makes sure his touch lingers as he pulls them out.

Wonwoo plucks the badge out of his wallet. He scans over it, and Mingyu’s still not able to stop staring. He sees it when Wonwoo’s eyes light up, confirming his identity. He sees when he unceremoniously tosses both the wallet and the badge to the couch, his attention directed on him anew.

The song comes to a finale. The last words are sung, a sultry voice dragging out vowels. For his own finale, Wonwoo returns on Mingyu’s lap. With his legs spread on either side of Mingyu’s, thighs bracketing him and flexing as he moves, Wonwoo presses close. But the line has been crossed, when Mingyu genuinely didn’t think it would. It catches him miserably unprepared. He’s too frozen to push Wonwoo’s wandering hands away. Those hands brush over Mingyu’s shoulders, his jaw, and Mingyu tries to keep his breath even.

And it doesn’t stop with his hands. Wonwoo’s lips finds his neck, his ear, as he pushes him against the back of the couch. And when he has him leaning back, he pulls away enough so Mingyu can get a clear view of him unbuckling his belt. He pulls at the leather slowly, making it clink, and he leaves it hanging open. His abs flex with the beat, he makes sure to drag his ass over Mingyu’s thighs, inch over excruciating inch.

Mingyu is rendered speechless, motionless. It is perhaps fear. Like a deer caught in headlights, unable to move to avoid impact. He can only look and look as Wonwoo’s deft fingers find the zipper of those red pants. The sound the metal makes as it gets dragged downwards, slow, tantalizing, is louder than any music. Wonwoo leaves his pants hanging as he lowers himself and grinds against Mingyu’s numb body. He lowers his head too, until it rests right above Mingyu’s shoulder, tilted so his breath ghosts over his ear. The palm that cups Mingyu’s neck, guilty of the crime of temptation, is the most scalding thing that has ever touched him.

The song ends.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Mingyu.”

~~~

Under the metal, rusty overhang of a stone building that has definitely seen better times, a woman sits on the floor. Her calloused hands are steady as she lights up her crumbling cigarette, only a folded-up paper to act as a filter. She thinks, with amusement, that if it is smoking that kills her, perhaps she’d welcome death.

Her exposed shoulders ache, her exposed thighs even more so. She longs for a universe where she doesn’t have to shave her entire body every other day. She tugs at her short dress, counting down the moments she gets to unclasp her suffocating bra. It hurts, just like heels that always feel a bit too small, but this is how women are supposed to feel pretty. Only good when it hurts.

The dingy alleyway is getting progressively darker the more club lights turn off. It’s her last stop here for today, before collecting her money and fucking off to home. A lone, dark moment, in a life filled with colorful lights, a moment for herself. The only moment that she feels alive. A moment she’s been stealing for too many, long years.

A metal can rolls down a nearby alleyway, a small curse from a man’s lips. She takes a drag off her cigarette, doesn’t pay it any mind. The red-light district is not known for housing sober people. She expects to hear unstable footsteps after it, someone tripping and falling to the piss-covered ground.

But there’s silence.

“Oi!” she calls then. Maybe one last, drunk customer wouldn’t hurt. “Are you okay back there?”

More silence.

The woman exhales her smoke, stumps out her cigarette. She gets up on aching legs, pulling her dress and dusting off any smoke. She needs to look good. Pretty. Desirable.

A clink is heard from the nearby alleyway.

Perhaps the past her, raised as a proper girl in a small, catholic town, wouldn’t have known where it came from. But she has lived in this fucked up world long enough to know when a knife gets unsheathed.

She pauses. She looks behind her, at a door long locked, rusty metal hinges impossible to move now. And then she looks further back, at the dead end on the opposite side of the alleyway the noise came from.

“Sweetheart, don’t you want to show yourself?” she calls, years of experience making her voice steady. “I can show you a good time.”

Silence.

“I’ll give you a discount if you’re handsome enough,” she says, her heart starting to beat louder. “C’mon, show that gorgeous face.”

A metal clang is heard, a blade sliding across stone. The woman takes a few futile steps backwards.

“Darling?”

The only reply is a hard, stuttering breath as the person on the alleyway gets closer. Heaving almost, carrying the weight of the world. A shadow, barely visible under the absence of the moon appears on the ground, the pointy tip of a blade seemingly carving the way forward.

The woman runs. Her mouth has run dry, there is nothing left to say. She sprints forward, heels be damned, straight over the alleyway the man is approaching.

She does glance at his way as she tries to run past him. She gets one singular look.

And then a heavy body is slammed against her. A growl, bared teeth and a strong arm thrusting a blade forward.

The woman screams.

Perhaps if it was because of smoking, she would have embraced death. As it is, her screams, her desires, her dreams, they all get violently muffled. At her last painful minutes, she curses her lone, dark moment, the only moment she ever got to feel alive.

~~~

“Do you know what happens after a person dies?”

“Their soul goes to heaven?”

A chuckle.

“Yeah, I suppose it does. Just… if it ever comes to it, don’t look too closely, okay?”

“Why?”

“Darling, there are some things in this world that it’s just not worth seeing.”

A loud ringing startles Mingyu awake. It takes a moment for his mother’s voice to fade from his ears, for the funeral house to turn back into his bedroom. Mingyu’s sweaty, simultaneously staring at his desk and at his father’s casket. The one he was never allowed to open and look. Never allowed to say his goodbyes directly to his father’s face.

Not worth seeing, he repeats in his head. But he’s seen death now. The most recent one, violent and grotesque, it’s there to subtly greet him in his dreams. He never looked in his father’s casket, so there’s nothing stopping him from imagining him cut in half in there too.

Mingyu gulps and looks at his still ringing phone. Chief Seungcheol doesn’t call him, especially not in the middle of the night. Or early morning? In any case, urgency becomes more and more pronounced the longer his chief doesn’t hang up.

Reluctantly, Mingyu picks up the phone. “Hello-”

“There’s been a third one,” Chief Seungcheol says quickly, a siren and noises of the outdoors behind his voice. “It’s officially a serial killer case and I’m assigning it. Come to the scene, now.”

Chapter Text

A police officer walks into a bar. If it sounds like the beginning of a joke, it’s because it is.

It’s been ten hours since Mingyu sat down, and that was at a diner after hours already spent looking at a violent murder site. At this point, he doesn’t know if his stomach’s unsettled by spilled entrails or because he hasn’t fed it. Probably both. A primary example of cause and effect.

With the case assigned to a veteran detective inspector and the chief himself as the head of it, Mingyu and the rest of the undercover agents have been pulled along in the investigative team. As helpers, mostly. Errand boys, if Mingyu wants to be unpolite about it. Directly involved, but not making any decisions themselves.

Which means, to keep their place, they need to be as helpful as possible. Which, in their case, means prolonging the undercover mission as long as possible and producing actual results. The red-light district is a live beast, one that an outsider has no hope of ever understanding. Insight is what the new detective, a woman with graying hair that is always unkept, needs most from them right now.

Mingyu’s certain he looks as disheveled as she did at the crime scene when he enters the club, despite trying his best to fix himself in his car. A long day does that to someone, but there’s no time to worry about it further than finding a convincing reason of why he looks overworked. At least Yoohan seems like the type to work overtime, if it makes him look better in his superiors’ eyes.

Mingyu makes his way to the bar, familiar after a few days, and any hope he had of having a slow start to an otherwise demanding night is thrown out the window. There is a commotion at the bar, a few people cheering on a couple making out on a bar stool. There is a lull up at the stage, a few of the staff frantically moving items beneath low stage lights. But that doesn’t mean the performers are not giving a show still.

Mingyu recognizes blond hair and a white crop top, silver chains wrapped around a fit stomach. The woman is sitting with her legs spread, accommodating the man in front of her who’s almost bending her backwards. Annoyingly, Mingyu recognizes him too. He recognizes him all too easily.

He stays a bit back, not ready to process all of this yet. The music, the lights, all so much brighter to hide whatever is going on at the stage. On closer inspection, despite the incriminating position, the dancers are barely touching anywhere other than necessary for the show. A well-placed arm, a curtain of hair, all very strategically placed to hide the professionalism.

Mingyu has to give it to them. It does look passionate. The way their lips lock, the small breaths, it is a sight. They’re actors, sure, but watching them like this, it’d be so easy to forget. When the woman starts trailing lipstick-stained kisses down Wonwoo’s neck, when he throws his head back, there’s a moment that Mingyu wants to know if he actually moans or if it just looks like it.

He brings a hand to rub his forehead, his eyes stinging. Will the annoying barman murder him if he asks for coffee? Probably, amidst all these people. So Mingyu waits until the lights up the stage all turn on simultaneously, a different couple taking up the center. Wonwoo and the other dancer separate to cheer them on, helping the crowd divert their attention back to the stage. Soon enough, everyone is mostly back on their seats, including Wonwoo, who finds his place by his partner’s side.

Mingyu looks at the ground. He needs to talk to him. As unfortunate as the situation is, they have a deal now. One stained with absinthe but signed with ink nevertheless. If it gives and edge to the investigation, if it gives Mingyu an edge over his fellow errand boys, he might as well use it.

He braces himself for it and finally walks towards the bar.

“Yoohan!” the barman zeroes in on him the moment he is in earshot, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Why were you staring from the shadows, were you too shy to come closer?” he cocks his head towards Wonwoo and the blonde woman.

Does he have an eagle eye or something? Mingyu has already killed him in his mind ten times over by the time he manages to mumble something about not being shy, and to please stop embarrassing him. The barman coos at him, even reaching forward to ruffle his hair, but Mingyu sidesteps him.

Of course, it grabs the attention of the person Mingyu doesn’t really want to, but needs anyway.

“Hey,” Wonwoo turns his stool to him, leaving his partner in her own conversation nearby. “Were you really staring from the shadows?” he grins, entirely too self-pleased. His lipstick is all messed up.

“No, I wasn’t,” Mingyu grumbles. “I, um… I didn’t know… didn’t know if you wanted to be approached tonight.”

“Kind of you to consider my wishes, considering where we are. Cute,” Wonwoo says and kicks a stool next to him aside, clearly an invitation. Mingyu takes it.

“The stage pole malfunctioned,” Wonwoo explains. “Had to take a few to fix it.”

Mingyu nods. He couldn’t care less about the pole. He just doesn’t have the patience for it today, small talk layered with hidden meanings. Not after what he’s seen.

This is his job though. With everything that entails.

“Are you trying to give me an excuse?” he asks. “Didn’t think you were the type that would mind getting caught in the act.”

Wonwoo laughs, something startling for how genuine it sounds. “So you were watching? Should I add voyeurism to the list of kinks I’m beginning to think you have?”

Mingyu briefly closes his eyes, remembers to unclench his fists. He hates how there is a part of him that actually wants to ask about this list. Especially because it doesn’t sound like it’s part of the act at all. Yoohan wouldn’t care for details though, and neither does he.

“So are you like, bi?” he asks, making himself sound as clueless as possible. He glances at his watch, calculating how early would be too early to ask him to the private rooms.

It’s still unnerving how amused Wonwoo sounds when he replies. “What? You’ve been coming here for what, a week? And you think sexuality matters?”

Mingyu frowns. “Doesn’t it?”

“Stop sounding so privileged. Money is money,” Wonwoo takes a sip of his usual dark sangria.

Right. Why is Yoohan attracted to this asshole again? Mingyu’s not the expert by any means, but that’s not what you say to a confused man who’s questioning. He glances at his watch, disappointed to see that barely any minutes have passed. Still too soon.

“I was just wondering…” he begins saying, but Wonwoo waves him off.

“Chaeri!” he calls back to his partner. The blonde woman turns his way. “You’ve been asking about him,” he cocks his head towards Mingyu. “Come meet him.”

“What?” Mingyu hisses. “Wonwoo, I need to talk-”

“Shut up, of course they’ve been asking,” Wonwoo hisses back, only a second before the woman approaches them. She’s all smiles, eyes twinkling over rosy cheeks, in a way that make them look genuine. Angelic.

“Oh, now I’m allowed to talk to him?” she tells Wonwoo in a clear voice, crystalline. “Not scared that I’ll steal him anymore?”

Wonwoo shrugs. He leans back against the counter and just drinks his wine.

“H-hi,” Yoohan says, a bit uncertain, a bit awed. At least Mingyu doesn’t have to pretend too hard this time. From all the performers here, she’s his favorite. “You are a great dancer. I’m a fan.”

“That’s sweet of you,” she smiles sunnily at him. “I didn’t catch your name, darling.”

“It’s Yoohan,” Mingyu gives her a small bow.

“Yoohan! A lovely name for a lovely face,” she brushes his arm. “You’ve been good to Wonwoo, I hear.”

Mingyu can’t help it. “Good for his pocket, at least.”

It’s worth it to make her laugh. “You’re funny. Your head is in the right place, is it?” she places a hand on Wonwoo’s bent knee. Protective, Mingyu notes. Don’t get obsessed, he recalls the barman telling him too. It’s subtle, but these people must care about each other, to a certain degree. Mingyu didn’t believe Wonwoo when he told him that he was interested in the case because his friends were dying, but maybe there was some truth to his words after all.

“Um,” Mingyu pointedly glances at Wonwoo, who only smirks at him. “I’m figuring it out. But, yeah, I love watching you up there.”

“Hmm,” she takes a step closer, her eyes half-lidded. “Only up there? I hear you’re quite intimate with the private rooms.”

“I think you’re… you might be too popular for that,” Mingyu replies, averting his eyes.

“I don’t indulge just anyone,” she smiles. Her fingers trail up Mingyu’s arm, until they tug at the collar of his shirt. “I’m here for the girls and the subs. Do you fall under my clientele?”

Back from his stool, Wonwoo snorts. After all this, it’s now he chooses to enter the conversation. “He’s straight,” he tells Chaeri, smirk so wide it’s more annoying than sexy. “And certain about it.”

“Oh dear,” Chaeri exclaims, as if she only now understands it. “Oh,” she repeats, amused. She addresses Wonwoo when she speaks again. “Can I try?”

Unbothered, Wonwoo makes the go-ahead motion.

And then, there are lips on Mingyu’s own.

Under any other circumstances, Mingyu would be ecstatic. A little part of him still is, he can’t help it. This woman is beautiful, and if there are any hidden intentions behind her kiss, they don’t have anything to do with the case. It’s one thing to watch her from afar, plush lips against another’s, and an entirely different one to feel it. Mingyu’s eyes fall shut, and he has to dig his nails into his palm to prevent them from pulling her closer, kissing her deeper.

Chaeri doesn’t completely pull back when she breaks the kiss. Her face is still close enough to feel her breath when Mingyu opens his eyes. He gets a second to realize her gaze is locked somewhere behind him, painted eyelashes and shadowed eyelids half-closed. A second, that her eyebrows twitch upwards. And then there are fingers in Mingyu’s hair, yanking his head backwards. A hand on his jaw, nowhere near as delicate as Chaeri’s, and then more lips on his, rough, possessive.

Mingyu groans, his balance lost as Chaeri lets go of him and he falls in a different pair of arms. It’s so sudden it gets his head spinning, hands instantly coming to grip at the new person’s wrists. Thin wrists but big palms, long fingers. A sharp jawline, masculine. The taste of wine. Mingyu groans again, even if it’s just out of frustration.

He hears Chaeri giggling from somewhere in the background. “Yeah, I think you’re not one of mine. I don’t do denial. But congrats Wonwoo, he’s right up your alley.”

Mingyu can feel Wonwoo’s huff of laughter before he breaks their kiss. “I know,” he tells Chaeri, patting Mingyu’s cheek. Dismayed, Mingyu finds that it’s all heated up. He clears his throat, tries to pull back, but Wonwoo doesn’t let him.

“Can I just stay here between the dances?” he asks Chaeri.

“Alright, alright,” she wipes the edge of her lips, where her lipstick has smudged a bit. “But don’t be too distracted, get people to buy drinks.”

“Thanks,” Wonwoo says and unceremoniously climbs on Mingyu’s lap. Mingyu stiffens. “Hope you don’t mind, people will be flocking here in a bit, we need the free seats,” Wonwoo says right in front of his face, perfectly composed. Mingyu’s lips part for a reply, something angry and bothered, but the words never come out. His throat is all closed up.

Before she leaves, Chaeri leans forward and kisses Wonwoo again, right on Mingyu’s lap. And Mingyu’s definitely not watching from the shadows anymore. He tries to avert his eyes, hands gripping Wonwoo’s waist tightly. His palms are tingling, his lips are tingling, and there was a dead person choked on their own entrails a few roads away just this morning.

Mingyu exhales shakily, light-headed and overwhelmed. “I need a coffee,” he mutters when Chaeri leaves.

“You’re in a strip club,” Wonwoo throws an arm over his neck, getting comfortable in his lap. Like he owns the damn place.

“I don’t care. Get me a coffee or I don’t know-”

“Shh,” Wonwoo brushes his hair, free of product for once. Mingyu was all too aware of how it fell in his eyes when he looked in the car mirror, and he’s all too aware of how Wonwoo tucks a strand behind his ear now. “Relax. You did a good job.”

“What good job?” Mingyu bites. “I didn’t ask to become part of your damn performa-”

Wonwoo kisses him again. Mingyu’s blood pressure reaches an all-time high. He can hear his blood rushing in his ears, a damn static born out of too little sleep and too loud music. Wonwoo keeps brushing his hair with one hand though, the other coming to cup his cheek. It’s way more indulging than before, Wonwoo caressing his lips instead of bruising them, sucking lightly on the plump parts. He alternates kisses between Mingyu’s upper and lower lips, coaxing his mouth open in a way that would have been sweet, if they were different people.

Mingyu doesn’t know what’s expected of him here. What is this kiss for, he doesn’t know. A reward for a job well done? A congratulations for getting Chaeri, and consequently all the rest of Wonwoo’s friends off his back? When he realizes that there is no other reason for this kiss, Mingyu turns his head to the side.

“Is she your boss or something?” he asks Wonwoo, voice a little raspy.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo brushes another strand of his hair back. “Unofficially. She keeps us organized. And now she knows you’re not a threat.”

Mingyu exhales slowly, trying to get himself back in order. Necessary, then. All this was necessary. He releases the death grip on Wonwoo’s waist, slumps back against the bar counter. There are people looking at them. Quite a lot of them, taking up seats left and right. Mingyu feels the attention crawling on his arms like tiny ants.

“Can we talk?” he whispers in Wonwoo’s ear.

“I don’t know,” Wonwoo hums, shifting on Mingyu’s thighs. “I rather like this.”

“Wonwoo.”

“Are you in a hurry?” Wonwoo brings his hand to Mingyu’s chin, thumb brushing over his lower lip. “You need to be careful out there Yoohan, they say there’s a murderer on the loose. He killed one of Miche’s last night.”

Mingyu freezes.

He did not expect Wonwoo to know about it, much less mention it first. It’s… it’s supposed to be confidential. They were early this time, damn it, no one was supposed to have seen-

“A murderer?” Mingyu asks carefully. “Like… a serial killer?”

“I don’t know,” Wonwoo shrugs with one arm. “But there were cops over there a few nights ago, and now Rina’s nowhere to be found.”

“You know her name? The person who died?” Mingyu’s eyes widen. How much else you know?

Wonwoo clicks his tongue. “Acting surprised, as if I’m not trustworthy.”

There’s a billion things Mingyu wants to ask, but he’s all too aware of the barman gliding around behind them, collecting Wonwoo’s empty glass and glaring at Mingyu for not having ordered yet. Wonwoo’s eyes fall on him just as Mingyu’s do, but his mouth is faster.

“Get him a ginger beer Seungkwan, he’s already drunk a bit today,” he says.

“Right,” Seungkwan doesn’t hide the judgement. “And should you be on the lap of a drunkard?”

Wonwoo cups Mingyu’s cheek again and smiles. “He’s a cute drunk. A rich, cute drunk, who’s about to get a private dance. Is that right?” he pinches Mingyu’s cheek.

Mingyu nods absentmindedly, already preoccupied with the new information. If Wonwoo knows about the new murder, it’s safe to assume the entire district knows. Or at least the workers. How far out has it gotten though? And how many facts have been distorted in the way, from ear to ear?

“You’re down bad,” Seungkwan shakes his head at Wonwoo. “Watch it, okay?”

“Okay, mother.”

Mingyu pays for his drink and hands Wonwoo money too, before he gets pulled along the darker part of the club. He does pretend to stumble a bit, mildly annoyed that Wonwoo made him a drunkard, but whatever.

“Alright,” he says the moment Wonwoo closes the door behind them. “Speak. How did you know about the murder? It’s confidential. Does everyone know?”

Wonwoo ignores him. As if nothing is happening, he saunters over to the iPad and starts going through playlists.

“Wonwoo,” Mingyu warns, patience running thin.

“Go on, take a seat,” Wonwoo waves him to the couch, not even looking at him. “I need to warm up for the stage.”

He just keeps scrolling. He must be aware of it, the enormity of his words. He must think that he can have Mingyu eating right out of his palm, begging him to speak. And so he silently keeps scrolling. A simple motion of a finger, yet it fills Mingyu with indignation.

“I thought you cared about your friends dying.”

Wonwoo’s finger on the screen. Finally.

“I got you your damn NDA, I’m involving you,” Mingyu continues. “You better start talking.”

After a beat of silence, Wonwoo keeps scrolling. “People speak,” he says, voice clipped. “My own people, sure, even if nobody listens to us and we get punished for it. The problems start when your people start speaking though. I wonder what it is about your voices that makes them louder than they’re supposed to be.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Wonwoo says slowly, as if explaining to a child, “that you better say goodbye to the privileges of keeping this case confidential. Warn your boss, or whatever, the media is getting involved.”

And now, Mingyu takes a damn seat. Invovling the public in a case is never worth it, everyone keeps repeating that. Misdirection and misinformation are a detective’s worst enemies. A thousand voices speaking on matters they don’t know anything about, a thousand ears expecting to know how close their heroes are at catching the killer, exposing their plans. A thousand expectant ears plus one, that of a killer, a wolf who can now hide with ease amongst the sheep. Mingyu lets it stew for a bit in his head, before taking his phone out and opening a note. “Do we have a name? Who was it that tipped them?”

“Tch, I’m not god. I don’t know everything,” Wonwoo grumbles.

“Could have fooled me,” Mingyu mutters back. “What’s your source?”

“If I tell you, then it stops being a source.”

Then Mingyu has no way of knowing if it’s credible. He stares at Wonwoo long and hard, the note page in his phone blinking empty. Wonwoo doesn’t hesitate to stare back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I knew her name, didn’t I? Just trust me on this one,” he says.

“Do you take me for a fool?” Mingyu frowns.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Wonwoo replies and starts the song. “Your turn now, officer. Who did the case get assigned to?”

Mingyu leans back on the couch, watching him approach slow, enticing, with all the intention in the world. “If what you said about the media is true, then you’ll know soon enough.”

“Hm,” Wonwoo circles around the couch, a finger darting on its back. “I suppose.”

“And I’m not an idiot,” Mingyu grabs his wrist before those fingers reach his skin. “I can’t afford to let you do this anymore. I want my money back.”

“Oh?” Wonwoo leans close to his ear from behind. “Are lap dances not in the police’s budget for this grand operation?”

“You’d think so,” Mingyu lets go of his wrist. “Now, I need a profile on the woman. Rina, was it?”

Wonwoo sighs. “The name of your detective,” he demands.

Maybe Mingyu just wants to be stubborn. “No.”

The song plays on, stagnant notes, awkward when nobody is dancing to them. Wonwoo walks back around the couch and comes to stand right in front of Mingyu’s legs. He looms over him like this. He’s a tall man, when he’s not sitting on anyone’s lap.

“No is not an acceptable answer,” he says.

“What difference does it make if I tell you now?” Mingyu asks. “You’ll know along with everyone.”

“I will,” Wonwoo nods. “You’re right, everyone will know. It’s the exact type of useless information that doesn’t sound useless at all, when one’s not aware that the media is getting involved soon.”

Mingyu narrows his eyes at him. “Am I a source for you, Wonwoo?”

“I’m on your side,” Wonwoo repeats, as if it’s going to make a difference if he says it multiple times. “Give me this, so I can get you something back.”

“You’ve signed an NDA,” Mingyu reminds him.

“Oh, shut up.”

Mingyu’s eyes fall at his shoes. It’s backwards, all of this. That’s not… Not how they taught him to get things done, at the academy. It sounds wrong, this level of deception. If he gives his detective’s name to Wonwoo, then the other can sell it to someone for more information. It won’t matter in the long run, if the media does get involved and his detective’s name becomes public knowledge. It’s like trading with chocolate coins, only for them to melt right out of someone’s hands when the weather gets too hot.

“And if you’re lying to me and nobody has tipped the media? Then I’m actually giving you valuable information,” Mingyu insists.

“Then it’s well in your abilities to tip the media yourself,” Wonwoo shrugs.

Mingyu glares at him. The sheer audacity. “You know I won’t do that.”

“I don’t care what you do,” Wonwoo says. “Name.”

Chief Seungcheol told him. He warned him. In the end, it’s all a matter of trust. He doesn’t know Wonwoo, he knows nothing of his interests, his life and his profit. All he gets are glimpses behind a mask, and they’re cruel glimpses. Coldness, ruthlessness, the desperation of the poor. Mingyu won’t delude himself by assuming he has him all figured out, but he’s not clueless either.

There are people who care about Wonwoo, who want to keep him safe. They wouldn’t act on it if it was one-sided. He can pretend he doesn’t give a shit all he wants, Mingyu can read him through the cracks. Ultimately, someone who acts out of empathy won’t be on the side of a serial killer.

That leaves him on the side of the police. Begrudging as it might be, selfish. Stripped of his mask, Wonwoo probably doesn’t know tact, or strategy. He simply does what he thinks is best. And for someone in his line of work, that means trading information. Yeah, Mingyu thinks he has figured him out alright, at least the important parts.

There’s a gamble to be made here. If he can’t trust Wonwoo, then he has to trust his own deductions.

“I don’t have all fucking day, Mingyu,” Wonwoo presses him.

“You’re going to get something useful for me, yes?” Mingyu tells him.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

All this attitude, and for what? Mingyu stares at him, but this time under a different light. He spent far too long intimidated of a random civilian. He made him a beast in his head, a chess player, when Wonwoo’s probably just scared. When he probably just feels cornered and in danger, doing anything he can to survive and help his loved ones survive too. That’s pitiful, if anything.

But Mingyu’s a good man. When everything else fails, he has to retreat to the core of it all, the reason he’s here in the first place. He spent his life as a good boy, a charismatic boy, and now he’s a good man. And so, he can see the aftermath of violence and keep himself sane, he can shoulder sleepless nights and situations out of his control, when other people can’t. It does not affect him, it doesn’t.

He’s a good man, and he doesn’t scorn Wonwoo for not being one, despite the ungodly amounts of discomfort he has caused him. He stares at him now, seeing him clearer than he ever has, and it’s not a question of trust anymore, not really. Mingyu’s a good man, and he wants to help a poor soul in need. That’s his job, in the end. Wonwoo must see it too. He won’t betray him, if he thinks Mingyu’s his best chance.

Mingyu’s temples hurt. A repeated, stabbing pain, that he only becomes aware of now that he lets his body unclench. The situation is under control. For the first time today, it’s under control, it has to be.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay, it’s okay. I’ll tell you her name, and you’ll help me solve this case, yes? Because you’re a good man too, deep down where you don’t want me looking.”

Wonwoo blinks. “Sure.”

Mingyu nods. Under control. Honestly, Wonwoo’s idea isn’t half bad, if the media getting involved is inevitable. Mingyu is good enough of a man to push his ego aside and admit it.

“She’s a senior detective, Kang Jian. She’s solved murder cases before, you can look up her success rate. Sell this information as expensively as possible, you hear me?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Wonwoo gives him a mock salute, straightening his shoulders and puffing up his chest.

Mingyu sighs. No, he won’t scorn Wonwoo for anything when he’s only trying to survive. That doesn’t mean he’s not annoying as fuck. Mingyu starts typing on his phone, a brief summary of everything he has learned today, so he can make a report tomorrow. It’s a lot of info, useful. Identification of a victim is always important.

Wonwoo lets him sit in peace for a bit as he too writes down stuff on a piece of paper he procures from the mini bar. Once he’s done, he folds the paper three times and shoves it in his back pocket.

“Okay, you have three more minutes,” he tells Mingyu. “I need to get on stage.”

“I want my money back,” Mingyu holds out his hand.

“Fine…” Wonwoo mutters, handing Mingyu back his bills. “Don’t expect me to treat you anymore either.”

Mingyu snorts. He’s exhausted. He spent an entire day stressed out of his mind, and he’s not coming down from it any time soon. Right now, Wonwoo promising to stop treating him sounds like the best thing in the world.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” Mingyu finds the courage to tell him.

“And you’re the grandest man that’s ever lived,” Wonwoo shoots back. “I am honored that you have deemed me worthy of your benefit, my lord.” He bows deep, irony dripping from every word like poison.

“I gave you what you wanted, didn’t I?” Mingyu crosses his legs. “Why do you sound so bitter about it?”

“Shut up,” Wonwoo turns his back to him, shoulders stiff. “You condescending prick.”

Mingyu blinks at his back, a bit confused. But Wonwoo takes a deep breath and composes himself. It’s almost a visible thing, how he reels it all back in. When he turns back to Mingyu, his smile is sweet, inviting. A mask fitted back into place, with no chance of getting askew again. Whatever makes Wonwoo thinks he needs it, is none of Mingyu’s business.

“And you don’t need to stare from the shadows, you know,” Wonwoo tells him, the teasing not malicious anymore. “Let me put you up front. After working so hard, you deserve a good view.”

“Of you?” Mingyu arches an eyebrow.

“Of the performance, Mingyu,” Wonwoo winks. “At the end of the day, it’s all we have.”

What a sad way to live, Mingyu thinks, but he lets Wonwoo find a seat for him right below the stage. The couches are plush on the very front, comfortable. Probably meant for people who pay handsomely. Mingyu would never have the money to afford such seats, but he finds himself on them anyway. He claims his place, as if he’s earned it. All for the performance.

~~~

Mingyu didn’t always want to become a police officer. He had dreams of his own, back then. Like every clueless kid, he imagined himself in lab coats, mixing up potions like a wizard. Medicine, maybe. That’s what he told his mother, at least. He concurred with himself that between all the medicine he’d create for the world, he could secretly work on poisons too. He didn’t tell his mother that.

As he grew older, and as things changed, he had to shed a lot of those dreams. Research scientists don’t get paid well. Dreams of beakers and acids and sterile lab floors lost some of their pristine visuals. Mold and decay started growing on what used to be a bright dream, a slow, sickly decomposition.

Do you know how much it hurts for a limb to start rotting while you’re still alive and feel it? You can die from it, rot. If you want to survive, you need to grit your teeth, freeze your heart, and cut that sickly limb off.

Mingyu was probably too young to make a clean cut back then, he doesn’t blame himself for it. Phantom pain lingered, even on his first year at the police academy. He didn’t have to, but he took the lab electives. Chemistry mostly, anatomy. Anything a forensic expert might need to rushedly explain to him on a scene. Not medicine, not wizard-like poisons, but the science of violence.

He’s lucky, Mingyu supposes. He didn’t make a clean cut himself, but he had help. The first lesson of the first day, the first question, it was enough to set him straight.

“Do you know what happens to a human body the moment of death?”

Mingyu didn’t know. But he knows now.

1. The heart stops.

After leaving the club that night, Mingyu goes straight home. Exhausted, he doesn’t think much of falling asleep. He throws himself on his bed, expecting to pass out immediately. He hopes for it, he longs for the release of unconsciousness after a day spent witnessing horrors and making backroom deals with a stripper.

Something nags at him though. He’s too tired to possibly put a name on it, but something keeps him up far longer than it should have. It’s a gut feeling, and it doesn’t want to leave him alone even after arriving at the station the next morning.

He goes to make a report of all his findings, trying so very hard to push that feeling away. He did good last night, he keeps repeating to himself. He has valuable information that his detective and the chief need. He types it all out on his computer, munching on a piece of a sugary apple pie he got on his way to work.

The further down the paper he goes, the longer it takes him to type out words between bites. His mind narrows down to the food in his mouth, bite, chew, swallow, until he’s typing exactly like his elderly desk mate. One letter every ten seconds.

And then he stops completely. He tries, he tries so very hard to wash that nagging feeling in his gut with apples and sugar and caramel. But he starts typing out the reason he gave Kang Jian’s name away to a civilian and it’s getting harder and harder to swallow.

“Do you take me for a fool?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

Mingyu shakes his head, slaps his cheeks too for good measure. He needs to get himself together. It was the right choice. The media is going to reveal it soon anyway. It was the right choice, it was the right choice, it was the right choice.

Half an hour later, he knocks on Chief Seungcheol’s door. The report in his hand is a few lines shorter than the note in his phone. He intends to tell the chief everything, he really does. And he will, the moment the news break out. He’ll explain why he didn’t include his shady deal, the NDA, everything he has been doing at Phryne’s House in the initial report, and Chief Seungcheol will understand. He’s not scared of telling him, he’s not.

Everything is going to be okay. Mingyu fears nothing.

2. The skin gets tight and ashen in color.

The days pass after the murder of Kim Rina. They pass silently. Too silently.

Mingyu gets praised for his contribution to her identification. The chief pats his back, tells him he did a good job. That’s what Mingyu tells his mother and his sister when he visits. His mother is all smiles, his sister punches his arm and calls him Sherlock Holmes. Mingyu stays for dinner, and as his mother cooks in the kitchen, he asks Minseo to put on the news.

“What? But you never watch the news,” Minseo says and Mingyu crosses his legs, smiles at her softly.

“We all need to grow up, eventually,” he tells her in a tone that annoys even himself.

Condescending prick.

What is he to tell her though? That there hasn’t been a moment in the last few days that he hasn’t had the TV open, or obsessively refreshed the news page at his phone? That this nagging feeling, the one he was so content to ignore a few days ago is starting to eat him up alive? That he’s nervous? When he is supposed to be the son and brother who got honors at his work today?

His mother’s food is delicious, and he eats it all gratefully. He lets his family chatter about their days, throws in whatever he can of his own one. The longer he eats with them, the less glances he steals at the TV.

It’s been days. Silent, mute, empty days.

3. All the muscles relax.

Wonwoo told him what to do. It wasn’t subtle at all, now that Mingyu thinks back on it.

“And if you’re lying to me and nobody has tipped the media?”

“Then it’s well in your abilities to tip the media yourself.”

Mingyu sits at his living room, a bowl of mushroom soup by his side on the floor. He eats, he can’t help it. His stomach begs him for food these days, as if trying to make up for something. Probably for all the thinking that he is doing, stressful thinking at that.

So, Wonwoo told him. Which means he, or whoever he’s working for, wants the media involved in this case. This imaginary enemy, they want publicity. What for, Mingyu can’t begin to guess.

But there is an enemy there, he recognizes that now. Maybe Wonwoo himself, maybe someone else. Someone apart from the serial killer perhaps, someone looking for profit amidst the chaos. Whoever it is, they gave Wonwoo the chocolate coins needed for his trade, and Mingyu gobbled them up like a greedy goblin. A fool, who now has fake coins melting out of his hands. 

What does he do now, huh?

There is an obvious answer to his dilemma. Go to Chief Seungcheol, confess his incompetence. Get removed from the case and simply let Wonwoo’s efforts go to waste.

And then let him hook his claws in whoever replaces Mingyu. Let his mistakes get repeated, let this invisible enemy continue their plans. He can’t do that, can he? It’s his job− no, his duty to see this to the end. To fix it.

Mingyu eats his soup. It’s his duty. Whoever replaces him is going to handle this just as poorly as he did, surely. There’s no point to object himself in all this− this shame of failing. No point in lowering his head in front of his chief, admitting he has messed up. He’s his favorite. He can’t even imagine the disappointed look, the vanishing chances of a promotion. To let himself get removed from the case means to let go of the memory of all the victims. What will his mother say? His sister, who he keeps pressuring to do better? His father even, dead just like everyone Mingyu is called to save now.

God. He can’t let any of this happen.

It’s the decision of the devil, but Mingyu makes it. He eats his soup, each bite steadier than the previous one. It’s somewhat cathartic, finally knowing what he has to do. Having the privilege to hate it, to admit that his hand is being forced, means that his heart is in the right place.

4. The bladder and bowels empty.

Mingyu’s sick. He doesn’t take a sick leave, he can’t afford to. He deserves this, he thinks. It’s exactly what should be happening to him after all the stress he put his body under. So he’s sick at the police station, with a flash fever nobody is allowed to know about, and he listens to the radio along with his desk mate.

“−has been going on for nearly a month. The details of the investigation have remained undisclosed to the public as it was all too sudden to make a call, but after the third case of first-degree homicide it has been confirmed that it is a serial killer case. The Detective Inspector Kang Jian of the Hanjeong-gu Police Department is soon expected to give the public an update about the investigation procedure−”

It’s all out there. Words that came out of Mingyu’s mouth, carved out of him by his very own puppet hand. Anonymous, of course, but after the smallest of tips it wasn’t hard for investigative journalists to put their noses where they don’t belong. All Mingyu needed to do was light a match, and then watch the entire forest catching fire.

It’s out of his hands now, out of his control. His fever is going to pass soon, and he’s going to return to the job he did all this to keep.

5. The body temperature begins to drop 0.8 degrees Celsius per hour.

Mingyu finds his seat at the bar. He’s no longer dismayed the bartender has taken a liking to him. No point getting angry, or lamenting his misfortune. The man is suspicious of him, fine. It’s not Mingyu’s problem.

“Why the sour face newbie?” Seungkwan, and Mingyu makes sure to remember his name this time, says. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know of all the first-degree homicides around here? Ah, I suppose upstanding citizens like yourself only get to hear about it on the news, don’t y−”

“Get me an absinthe,” Mingyu tells him curtly. “And stop trying to stick your nose in my business.”

Seungkwan’s mouth parts. Soft spoken, shy Yoohan has never spoken like that to him. He never would. It’s a bit vindicative, watching the surprise on his face, momentary as it is.

“Did you grow balls or what?” he huffs. “Kinda hot of you, I gotta say.”

Mingyu tosses him some coins and ignores him. Which is what he should have done ages ago. His goal is elsewhere, and it had been from day one.

He stopped taking Wonwoo to the private rooms after their last talk. He still sees him of course, like weeds in a poor person’s garden. Impossible to get rid of. Wonwoo keeps an eye on him, Mingyu sees it now. He approaches him sometimes to flirt or make small talk, like nothing is wrong. Other times, he checks him out from afar, making sure Mingyu’s behaving.

Mingyu’s been behaving fucking exemplary.

“Hey there,” Wonwoo says when he inevitably approaches tonight, placing a hand on the small of Mingyu’s back. “Everything okay tonight? You look a little stiff, love.”

Mingyu looks at him with no expression. He’s been a fool. This man has made a fool out of him. He slapped him across the face with his own good will, he choked him with misplaced trust. Even now, there’s a knowing glint in his eyes. As if the news shows are not enough, and he came to secure his victory by himself.

So be it, then.

“Sit down,” Mingyu pats the stool next to him. “Have a chat with me.”

“I’m busy.”

“I’ll buy you a drink,” Mingyu insists. “And maybe your time, later,” he adds, softer.

There is a beat of silence between them. As much silence as you can get, with loud techno music and the beating of a hundred hearts.

“Oh?” Wonwoo crosses his arms over his chest. “I thought you weren’t into that.”

“And I thought you were good at getting people to do what you want, whether they’re into it or not,” Mingyu shoots back.

Wonwoo regards him for a second longer. And then, he takes the offered seat. “Alright, I’ll bite. Something seems to be troubling you. Get me a sangria and I’ll lend an ear.”

Mingyu nods. He calls at Seungkwan to get Wonwoo’s usual, no much fanfare. Seungkwan’s eyes flicker between them all the way, as if he somehow knows that something’s up. Wonwoo signals something to him though, and he promptly leaves them alone.

“Huh. Good to see you’re keeping up your part of the deal,” Mingyu mutters. “Of keeping my cover, I mean.”

“You’ll find I’m very accommodating,” Wonwoo takes a sip of his drink. “But maybe this is a discussion for a private room.”

Mingyu shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I lied. I don’t actually have anything to say to you.”

Wonwoo frowns at him. “I’m working. I can’t be sitting around for nothing.”

“Humor me,” Mingyu leans back on the counter. The top button of his shirt is undone. He takes his time to roll his sleeves over his forearms, one after the other. Letting Wonwoo stare at him as he takes his time, challenging him to leave. The atmosphere is different than usual though, and it’s obvious. Wonwoo goes nowhere.

“I was wondering,” Mingyu says, conversational. “All these murders on the news, they got me thinking, you see. Do you know what happens to the human body at the moment of death?”

Wonwoo cocks his head to the side. “Are you worried I might die? Just because I live in the red-light district doesn’t mean−”

“No.”

Wonwoo pauses. “No?”

Mingyu shakes his head. “It’s just a question.”

Wonwoo shuffles himself on his seat, tries to lean back as well. Appear comfortable. “It’s a weird question, Yoohan.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Mingyu hums, and doesn’t add anything else. He keeps regarding the other expectantly. The absinthe burns his lips.

“I suppose,” Wonwoo replies after enough time to be awkward. “I suppose it gets quiet.” The heart stops. “They might change color, I don’t know.” The skin gets tight and ashen in color. “They get heavier.” All the muscles relax. Wonwoo snorts then, as if remembering a fun fact. “They shit themselves, did you know that? No matter what a prideful life they lived, they all shit themselves when they die.” The bladder and bowels empty.

Mingyu nods. Not many people know this fact, in this sterilized society they live in. “They shit themselves,” he repeats.

“And then it’s just− it’s just cold. I suppose,” Wonwoo shrugs. The body temperature begins to drop 0.8 degrees Celsius per hour.

Mingyu drinks. The music is just noise. The heartbeats, the breaths, the very essence of the people around them, they’re just distractions. The alcohol, the small talk, the performance that never ends, all of them distractions. It’s not enough tonight though. Because hidden in the darkness, tucked into their corner of the bar, Wonwoo gets five out of five correct.

He gets it all right, unnervingly so. Not with the detached indifference Mingyu’s professors used to explain it, no. Not with the knowledge of the books, that would get him any marks in a test. He gets it right with the language of a witness.

It’s Mingyu’s fault, for not catching it earlier. For thinking him innocent, even for a moment. He was scared to admit it before, that nobody would risk having the law against them if they weren’t running from something worse. He was reluctant to face the truth, and it cost him heavily.

Not anymore.

“I see,” he says simply, leveling Wonwoo with a firm stare. Calculating. His sharp eyes, so cold but expertly painted, so attractive to the unassuming. Broad shoulders and strong arms, capable. Dangerous, and isn’t that so alluring? Mingyu has to hand it to him; he fell for it, to some degree. Got intimidated by it.

And he still feels it all, his sense of duty, of righteousness. He knows right from wrong. He is a good man, and that’s why he deluded himself into thinking that all this has been about nobly helping someone who he thought needed it. It’s all part of him, the care and the fear and the desire to do good.

He was young once, he couldn’t make a clean cut of those rotting, unnecessary parts of himself. Parts that were once good and bright and warm, but they ended up hurting him. He’s older now. He grits his teeth. He freezes his heart.

And this time, the cut he makes is as precise as it gets.

Chapter Text

If there’s one thing Mingyu’s grateful of today, it’s his Cartier sunglasses. He got them after he was discharged from his mandatory military service, and just before getting assigned to his current precinct. He didn’t think it at the time, but they probably were a waste of money. The only reason to ever use them was to appear cool, formidable. Maybe impress a lady on the rare night out.

Now though, Mingyu can’t even begin to express how thankful he is of his little ol’ glasses. He was able to fix his hair this morning, he found the time to press his dress shirt, but there was nothing to be done about the dark circles beneath his eyes. And it wouldn’t matter under normal circumstances, heavens know that Chief Seungcheol doesn’t sleep either, but there is a gathering of civilians right outside the station’s door.

Although, calling them civilians might be pushing it.

“Sir, do you work here?” one asks, shoving a mic in his face before even getting an answer. “Camera, over here!”

It’s a red-haired woman, owlish and more put together than anybody has a right to be so early in the morning. Her heels clink on the pavement and they’re caked with dirt, as if she’s been snooping around the garden’s bushes for more information. Comically cartoonish, but unfortunately, cartoon reporters are known for their… tenacity.

“You’re obstructing the way, please let me through,” Mingyu uses his most professional voice to urge her away.

“Sir, we are from the news website tattlecrime.com, specializing in criminal activity within and around Hanjeong-gu,” she insists. “Recently there has been a bombshell of a revelation about a certain homicide case handled by your department, yet there has been a suspiciously prolonged silence from your colleagues. For the people that are concerned for their safety, do you have anything to say?”

“No comment,” Mingyu replies. “Please, move.”

“Are you an officer? I understand that they might keep things from you as well, but the detective, Kang Jian, is known for taking advice and opinions from her partners. Would you agree with that statement? Do you think she’s an appropriate choice for the handling of such a sensitive case?”

Mingyu’s pretty sure his frown is visible, even with the glasses on. This is my fault, he reminds himself and pushes ahead. More people try to stop him, despite his obvious refusal to speak. Mingyu keeps his voice low and steady as he instructs them to clear a path, and some of his irritation must sip into his words. He knows he can look intimidating if he tries, with his height and his stature, his slicked-back hair and his designer sunglasses, and sometimes that’s a blessing.

Only when he passes through the building’s threshold does he allow himself to take his sunglasses off and exhale. Because of the commotion, most of the offices are empty today, and those who aren’t are occupied by people who look less than pleased. Mingyu has no doubt that it must have been harder for some to fend off the reporters, especially with the chief’s instructions ringing fresh in all their ears.

Keep your mouths shut.

No comments, no empty words of comfort, no displeasure allowed. Nobody gets their 5 seconds of fame. Passive faces and tongues, focused on the goal. There’s a separate team assembled, more sleepless agents, whose only purpose is to handle the sudden influx of publicity. Only they are allowed to make statements.

Mingyu barely gets the time to make himself a coffee before the chief is calling a meeting in his office. Not in the briefing room, Mingyu notices, but his office. Where there is clutter and urgency and honesty at every exposed surface possible. Mingyu goes to chief’s office a lot, but it has never been so… pensive. Grieving, for something that hasn’t died yet.

Maybe it’s just the crowd though. The six other undercover officers, looking marginally better rested than Mingyu now. It was just a few weeks ago, Mingyu remembers, that he could joke around and relate with them about their nightly adventures. Now, Seokmin shoots him a look as Mingyu takes his seat, which Mingyu doesn’t know how to interpret. Are you okay, it probably reads as. You filthy traitor, Mingyu hears.

And then there’s the detective herself, Kang Jian. Her sunglasses are more expensive than Mingyu’s own, and she hasn’t bothered taking them off. Her coffee is almost running out, and the day has barely started. She’s half-leaning on the chief’s desk, rubbing her own stiff shoulder.

I’m sorry, Mingyu wants to tell her. He sits close to her, as if proximity is going to convey his regret.

“So, I called you all here because we need to hush out some things,” the chief begins, leg bouncing below his desk. “You’re all the ones who are up to date with the case. I want to thank you, first and foremost, for being people I can rely on and trust.”

Mingyu digs his nails in his palm. He was certain, once, that his enemies were the only people who could aim a dagger in his heart. That every twist would be deliberate.

“I won’t dawdle, you’ve seen the news,” the chief continues. “Jian was just telling me how there were even more reporters at her house.”

“Had to sneak my daughters through the back door so I could get them to their school,” the detective grumbles. “I can’t take a shit out there without someone tailing me.”

Chief Seungcheol nods in grim understanding. “They’ve made you a public figure. The face of the case. I suspect that won’t change unless we take severe measures against the press.” A pause. Chief Seungcheol crosses his fingers in front of his lips. “Which, in the long run, would distract from the actual case at hand.”

“What does that mean?” Seokmin asks. “Are we not taking measures against the press?”

“We could,” the chief blinks at him. “We can keep trying to defend our privacy against them, spending a significant amount of our budget, or…” He looks at the detective. “We can keep them digging where we know what they’ll find.”

Kang Jian sighs. Resignation is never a good look on a senior.

“I won’t be able to do my job properly if this continues. Contamination of a crime scene is going to be the least of our problems,” she says.

“I know,” the chief nods. “I’m asking something huge of you, I’m aware.”

“You’re asking me to be a celebrity, Seungcheol,” the detective says. “You’re asking me to, what, smile for the camera? Give useless updates to keep them satiated?”

“Yes.”

She narrows her eyes. “And what happens after you feed me to the wolves? Who’s actually going to investigate the case?”

“Me.”

A beat of silence. Mingyu darts his eyes around, only to find that everyone else is doing the same. Trying to look away.

“Ah, I see,” Kang Jian says eventually. She leans back on her seat, crosses her hands on her lap. “Forgive me for saying so Chief, but you’re overqualified for the job. And the ensuing credentials.”

“You’ll still be getting all the credentials, of course,” Chief Seungcheol says. “The public needs its hero. And this time, the hero will be you.”

“Is that an order?”

Chief Seungcheol smiles. It’s an art, Mingyu thinks, to make such an apologetic smile not look offensive.

“Do you trust me, Jian?” the chief asks.

Kang Jian shrugs. “I guess I do.”

“What about the rest of you? Do you trust me?” the chief suddenly addresses the rest of the room. Some of the others jump. Some salute.

“With our life, Chief!” one replies.

“With our life,” Mingyu repeats, a bit more lifelessly.

Chief Seungcheol’s smile is softer this time. Mingyu gets the most bizarre sense that it’s the smile a general would give his troops before sending them to their death. All to fight evil and save the world. All for the victory and a brighter, more just future. For such a soft smile, it must be worth it.

“Thank you,” Chief Seungcheol nods at each and every one of them. “It means a lot. Unfortunately, I have some reports from a few of the establishments you’ve been visiting. I have no doubt that you’ve all been doing a proper job, but with the murder cases going viral, some people have connected the dots with your sudden appearances in the red-light district. Your cover’s been exposed.”

Mingyu holds his breath. For all the time it takes Chief Seungcheol to take some documents out of his drawer, he doesn’t take a single inhale. His lungs move again only when all the documents are handed out, to four out of the seven of the officers.

“The reports, as well as your termination notice of the undercover mission,” the chief explains.

Mingyu stares at his empty hands. He sees an alternate universe, where he would have been the first to be given those papers, weeks ago, on his first night. But still, even if he had somehow managed to evade Seungkwan by himself back then, even if the other regulars and the dancers had kept their mouth shut until now, the statistics here show that they wouldn’t remain silent with the media backing their suspicions up. The people of the red-light district don’t take kindly to cops.

Mingyu has no delusions about why he isn’t being removed from the case right now. His alibi has a first and a last name, and a penchant for lying when it matters.

After Mingyu’s done swallowing that hard pill, he looks around him. Seokmin isn’t holding a document either. The guy who had information right from the first night, the one with the hickey, is. There are a few muffled complaints, worded more like interest to further engage with the case, but the chief dismisses them.

“Thank you all for your work until now,” he says, pleasant but with an undisputed finality. “We’ll take it from here.”

More than half of them. Chief Seungcheol dismisses more than half of them from the case, narrowing it down to just five people. And Mingyu’s still part of the team. When the others leave and the office is plunged into silence, he finds his relief is louder than his guilt.

How disgusting of him.

When Chief Seungcheol dismisses them too with the order to keep digging, Mingyu follows behind Seokmin to the coffee area. He drank it all, during the meeting. He didn’t even realize.

“Is it just me, or did this just feel like passing a test?” Seokmin says, grabbing two cups. “Like, at the academy, when there was only a set number of people who could pass a class and-”

“No, you’re right,” Mingyu nods. “I get it.” And then, “How did you do it?”

“What do you mean?” Seokmin asks, starting the coffee machine. It whirrs into life, like the magic fountain of youth. Mingyu can’t wait to drink from it, actually.

“Like, how did they not suspect you at the club?” he asks.

“Oh, I just talk to everyone. All the time. You know, make them laugh, and they don’t realize when I’m being weird by accident or on purpose,” Seokmin shrugs. “What about you?”

Mingyu almost doesn’t stop his bitter snort in time. The best lies are born out of truth. “I play a character that’s very uncool and unlikable and just plain uncomfortable to be around. People tend to steer away.”

“Yeah?” Seokmin tilts his head. “You must be a great actor then, because the dancers in my club tend to make a spectacle out of hot patrons.”

Mingyu winces, internally. He’s been made a spectacle, alright. But for Seokmin’s sake, he takes it as a joke. “Are you calling me hot? Do you not see those dark circles?”

“Come on, it’s sexy!” Seokmin elbows him. “Everybody’s got the hots for a hard-worker!”

Mingyu huffs a laugh. Seokmin is still Seokmin, it seems. Positive and bright, just like Mingyu himself. Or, well… Like Mingyu is too, normally. Like he’ll be again, once all of this blows over. Yeah. He’s thankful for people like Seokmin, to remind him exactly how his life is supposed to be lived. Carefree and happily, yes, but without being afraid to get your hands dirty to keep it that way. To protect others, and find joy in that. Selflessly.

To fix the mistakes of others, but your own too.

~~~

“Oh, you do look like shit.”

“Thanks.” Mingyu doesn’t bother arguing with it. If he looked even a smidge better than what Minghao is currently seeing, he would not have been sent home early.

He curls further in on himself, in his large double bed, in sheets and blankets that are doing the poorest job of keeping the October cold out. His bedside lamp, covered haphazardly with an old shirt, is the only reason his room isn’t in complete darkness, despite it being the middle of the day. Well, that, and the phone screen pointed right to his face.

“And you should not be taking videocalls while working,” he mumbles, cheek squished on his pillow.

Minghao stops typing on his work computer to raise his eyebrows at him. “You’re the one who called me.”

“Yeah, well,” Mingyu sniffs.

Minghao has given him a virtual tour of his office before, but it’s still weird seeing him looking so professional. In a pressed suit, on a leather spinning chair, framed degrees and portraits of old philosophers hanging on the walls behind him. A lawyer at first glance. Mingyu can’t say that it doesn’t suit him, it’s just that he still has vivid memories of them skipping classes together.

“What happened?” Minghao asks while averting his eyes back to his computer’s screen.

It would look dismissive on anyone else, how he doesn’t bother looking at Mingyu. Someone who doesn’t know him might think that he was subtly telling Mingyu to hang up, leave him be. But Mingyu does know him. He’s spent enough finals with him to know that he is perfectly capable of holding a conversation while memorizing constitutional law. A disgustingly good multitasker.

And likewise, Minghao has spent enough time with him to know that he wouldn’t call him while knowing he was busy if it wasn’t at least somewhat important. Minghao has been there through highs and lows, he has met Mingyu’s family, he was there to pick him up when he finished his military service. If there is a person who knows Mingyu, all the burden and all his aspirations, it’s Minghao. Mingyu shares everything with him, his best friend.

There’s one thing Mingyu hasn’t told him. One thing, that not even the ears of a so-called best friend are trustworthy enough to listen.

“I met a guy at the club,” Mingyu says. Half-truths have been more trustworthy than anything to him recently. How easy is a man’s heart, exchanging best friends overnight.

“And?” Minghao still sounds uninterested.

And? And what? This big bad man has caused Mingyu to make questionable decisions? Poor, golden boy, lured to the devil’s side? Mingyu shakes his head. A whiny baby is what he is. “I don’t know. He’s fucked up.”

Minghao does steal a glance at that. “Fucked up how?”

Mingyu shrugs with one shoulder. The blankets shift over him, so he picks them up, tucks them tighter around himself. “He’s a problem. He’s making everything so much harder for me.”

Minghao looks at him again. “Harder? How? Is he suspicious of you?”

Mingyu doesn’t reply. He doesn’t want to lie, he never did. Not more than the absolute necessary. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Don’t know why I called you. I guess, I just…” he trails off, lowers his eyes.

“Just?”

“You know me, right?” Mingyu asks, and it sounds small. Sick, even though he’s physically fine. “You know me, the real me. You know where my heart is.”

Minghao stops typing. A few clicks of his mouse later, he takes his phone in his hand and angles it properly towards his face.

“I know you,” he confirms. “As far as you have let anyone know you.”

“I’m an open book, yes?” Mingyu asks. “Good old Mingyu. People trust me, don’t they?”

“Yes, you have a disturbingly friendly face,” Minghao nods. “But where is this coming from? Are you having an identity crisis?”

Mingyu shakes his head. Minghao’s not wrong to ask this. An identity crisis often arises when one comes face to face with mortality, and Mingyu’s seen his fair share of death recently. It can change a person, perceiving their own end. Ghosts are real, and they are created from empathy towards the departed.

“I need to deal with a problem.”

Mingyu doesn’t have the time or the luxury to have an identity crisis. The privilege has been cut off of him, by a puppet hand desperately trying to free itself. It hardens him, sometimes. It makes his next words sound like trying to reach home, even though you’re aware you’ve taken the wrong route and you’re not on any map anymore.

“Can you tell me again, Minghao? How do I deal with problems?”

“Are you really asking me this?” Minghao’s lips quirk upwards. “Want me to remind you how often it fell to my hands to get your ass out of−”

“I’m really asking,” Mingyu says levelly.

Minghao closes his mouth. For a bit, he just looks at Mingyu, assessing whatever he can through the camera. “Why?”

Because you know me best, and I need to make sure we know the same person. He doesn’t say that, though. What he says is somehow worse.

“Humor me.”

Minghao glances down at his wrist, his watch. He then looks sideways, at what Mingyu knows is the door connecting his office to Mister Lim’s, before letting out a small sigh.

“Alright. I’ll tell you how you deal with problems. You do it head on, with integrity. You don’t hesitate to involve yourself in other people’s business, to look out for the weak. You make a stand for people who can’t, and that’s why you became a damn police officer.”

Mingyu sucks his lower lip in his mouth, contemplative. It sounds good, he can’t lie. It’s exactly what he wanted to hear.

“You’re all smiles and charms, you know,” Minghao continues. “I think you get out of a lot of trouble because at the core of it, you’re a goody-two-shoes.”

You’re a goody-two-shoes.

All smiles and charms, nobody would ever suspect their golden boy to get in trouble, would they? No, why would they? Mingyu hates trouble, he knows better. He has his family to take care of, surely he is dependable. Trustworthy. Surely he is good, the best, a goody-two-shoes.

And because he is such a great person, there is no way he could stand his own against someone who’s not. It’s not his fault. He is innocent. He is a fucking goody-two-shoes.

And it is going to be the ruin of him.

“Thank you,” he tells Minghao, calmer now. Subdued. “This helped a lot.”

“Did it? Tell me then, what’s this problem you−”

Minghao doesn’t get to finish the sentence before a knock is heard on his door and his phone gets abruptly shoved in his lap.

“Mister Lim! Everything okay? Did you get the files I forwarded?”

Mingyu hears another muffled voice, all too far away. He knows to keep his mouth shut now, but he probably would have even without Mister Lim’s interruption. He can’t help but being kinda grateful to his old professor, for once.

“Oh, you’re talking about the one two years ago?” Minghao sounds, just a background noise now, on a dark screen. When Mingyu looks at his phone now, he can only see himself staring back from the top corner of his screen.

What are you doing, he wants to ask that little icon. And more importantly, what are you going to do, you goody-two-shoes?

What does one do, when being good and obedient fails? How can the law he once studied with Minghao in their only shared class help him now? It’s not going to, not the way he needs it to. Does that make the law faulty, or himself?

He closes his eyes. Without even his reflection as a witness, he allows himself to think, further than he ever has.

He is not dropping the case now, not after everything. He’s in it now, and it’s bone-deep. Deeper than any problem he’s needed to solve before, so the approach needs to be deeper as well. Lower. Closer to hell.

“Yes sir, I’ll have it ready,” Minghao says, and a few moments later, he lifts his phone. “Sorry Mingyu, I gotta go. Can I call you later when I finish here?”

“I don’t think…” Mingyu bites the inside of his cheek. Lower. “I don’t think I’ll have time before the club.”

“What? I don’t get off that late.”

“I need to do something. I’ll call you when I can, okay?”

Minghao looks back towards his door, angles his phone just that bit more away from it. “What are you going to do?” he whispers.

“Well, sleep, for once,” Mingyu grins. Smiles and charms. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

Minghao looks like he wants to say something, but he looks at that door again. Responsibility silences him. “I’m not there anymore, Mingyu. I won’t be able to come to your rescue right away if you do something dumb.”

“I know. You’ve done enough. And I’m a goody-two-shoes, remember?” Mingyu sticks his tongue out, playful. “Go back to your work.”

“Fine. Call me.”

“I will.”

After this, Mingyu doesn’t speak to him for several days. Perhaps he’s ashamed, to have become another person right beneath his best friend’s nose.

~~~

What would you do if the world was to end in 24 hours?

Mingyu remembers being asked this once, in elementary school, by a classmate with unrestricted access to the internet. Most of the others had replied that they’d stay with their families, or their friends, or do crazy impossible stuff like climbing a volcano. After some deliberation, Mingyu had picked the family option.

But he didn’t stop thinking about it, afterwards. If the world was going to end in 24 hours, what did it matter what he would pick to do? He wasn’t going to find enjoyment in anything, not with imminent death approaching. He reasoned that wherever he was, he probably wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about the actual end of the world, terrified of it until it happened.

You’re a goody-two-shoes.

Mingyu doesn’t stop thinking about it the entire afternoon. He can’t, for some reason. He remembers the question about the end of the world, and he fears that this is some kind of imminent death as well. And so, in the face of the inevitable, Mingyu keeps repeating the words in his head until the last possible moment, as a goodbye to a world of righteousness that has been housing him for as long as he remembers.

Technically, he is not breaking in. He has the keys to the station, at least the main ones. The guard outside knows him, and he doesn’t even check his badge to let him through after Mingyu tells him he forgot a document inside and he needs to retrieve it. The cameras that are recording him right now would not incriminate him if someone were to check them. After all, all Mingyu is doing is printing a document.

He doesn’t turn on the lights, so the room remains dark. Empty desks and dead computers, eerily silent. No one is supposed to be on this part of the building after hours. The absence of life in a place that usually is buzzing with it is almost more daunting than the actual task ahead. Mingyu attributes his uneasiness to nerves and marches on ahead.

His shoes make noise on the marble floor every step of the way. His chair creaks when he pulls it back, the wheels suddenly louder than they’ve ever been. When he sits, it’s without the company of his desk mate’s radio, without the scent of coffee. Still, he turns on his computer with practiced ease, and he sits silently as it whirrs to life.

There’s a lot that a computer inside this building is authorized to do, compared to a personal one. Mingyu launches programs that are procedure, nothing out of the ordinary. Immediately, rows upon rows of names and pictures show up, information about any citizen in the entire country who’s had even the smallest altercation with the police. Files that are private, usually, to those outside of Mingyu’s occupation.

Mingyu types in a few letters. Jeon is as common a surname as any. Wonwoo though, is less common of a name.

By all means, he should have done this sooner. He’s not supposed to use the programs for personal use, okay, but it’s not like he’s not allowed to. It was morals that held him back. That, and blind faith, both in himself and in his new friend. He didn’t even think to check is the truth, and even if it tastes bitter in his mouth now, he swallows his incompetence down and does what needs to be done. Better late than never.

The files load, and as much as Mingyu wishes it so, Wonwoo’s photo doesn’t appear. Mingyu reloads the page once, twice, but no luck. As far as the police is concerned, Wonwoo’s slate is clean. He has kept a low profile.

Which is fucking bizarre, actually. It’s an unfair generalization to make, but people with his profession don’t tend to start out legally. Especially not in the red-light district. It makes sense for some dancers, those who had it easy at least and didn’t have to resort to other means for survival, to not have records. The rest need to get noticed on the streets first, and only then they will be picked up by one of those fancy bars and get their papers done. Before – if – that happens, well… The world is a cruel place.

There’s one thing that Wonwoo said once, that stuck with Mingyu.

I’m sorry, I don’t do that anymore.

Which means, he used to. Which means that back in the day, he either evaded the police so expertly that he never got noticed or… or he was young. Too young. Claimed fast.

I have lived a life you righteous little man wouldn’t even dream of living.

Mingyu clicks his tongue, annoyed all of a sudden. He turns all programs off, unable to look at all those faces anymore. Miserable, all of them, like mice caught in a trap. But even without having to stare at the eyes of everyone who has ever been arrested anymore, he still feels sick thinking about all those who haven’t.

He closes his eyes for a moment, collects himself. He decides that somehow, Wonwoo simply evaded the police. It’s well within his abilities, from what he’s observed so far. So that’s what must have happened, and Mingyu doesn’t think further on it. There are still things that need to be done.

The station’s archives are notoriously badly organized, still in the process of going fully digital. Mingyu knows this, because he has been spending extra time with his more senior colleagues, showing them how to properly file their paperwork. Locating files can be time consuming, and editing the archived ones is illegal.

Deleting them, even more so.  

Mingyu knows exactly what folder to look for. He’s the last one that touched it after all, putting scanned copies of NDA papers, signatures and all.

Such a useful little thing, an NDA. The academy taught Mingyu how beneficial they can be for cases, if used correctly. A clever way to get information out of someone while keeping the case protected. A way to stop vital information from getting leaked, necessary for the police.

For the police. That’s all they have ever been taught. NDAs are documents that the police needs. They’re always in their favor, and sure enough, that’s what Mingyu believed when he started all this with Wonwoo. But the agreement of silence is signed by two. Victims who have signed NDAs often don’t get justice because their names are unable to be officially used. This bought silence protects the case, sure, but is it the only thing it protects?

No, not at all.

The spotlight of the media burns, but in the red-light district, it can burn someone to death. What would happen if it was revealed that one of their own collaborated with the cops they hate so much? What would become of this person, when the information reached the wrong ears? They could plead and bargain that they were under orders, that they’ve never been on the police’s side, but it’d be too late. They’d already be in the middle of all this attention, and heroes don’t survive in the red-light district.

Wonwoo has kept a low profile for a reason. He wanted Mingyu to talk, secure in his knowledge that it would be illegal for his name to leave his lips. Because Mingyu made him sign an NDA. And then he scanned it, and filed it in the archive, where he still has access to it.

You’re a goody-two-shoes, Minghao said, and that’s exactly what Wonwoo probably thought too. And then he forced his hand, made him tip the media to save his own ass. It’s his fault really, to assume that Mingyu would stop there.

Mingyu finds the NDA with ease. If he deletes it from here, if he commits this crime of tampering with official documents – and it is a severe crime, against the government itself – then both the copies that he and Wonwoo hold will have no value. And then, their deal might as well have never existed.

It only takes a few clicks of a mouse. He made no reports about this, not to his chief, not to anyone. Cowardice that turned out to be wisdom. Because now, nobody is going to know of his mistakes.

With these simple clicks of a mouse, Mingyu’s descent begins. And nobody is ever going to know.

~~~

Mingyu has been sitting on the bar for hours. Entire hours, during which he’s had more than enough time to swallow down any remaining doubts. Wonwoo hasn’t come to him yet, and a little superstitious part of Mingyu can’t help but feel like he knows, somehow, that he has figured it all out and he’s avoiding the confrontation. It’s not true, of course. Mingyu’s spotted him sitting at a table near the middle of the floor, entertaining a group of ladies whose jewelry looks a little too expensive to be on display.

So, Mingyu waits. It’s not like he doesn’t have entertainment of his own.

“…so I asked him about it the other day, and he said he’s taking a leave. Which, honestly, good for him, with all these murders on TV, but what even is this place without Ren, huh? Am I supposed to pick a second favorite? Do you have a second favorite?”

Unlike him, Mingyu’s bald buddy is not here every day. But when he is, he makes a point to sit next to him. Maybe he is really that friendly. Or maybe he has noticed that a certain dancer sits by him on the regular, with all the attention that brings. Men really do anything for attention, don’t they? But Mingyu’s probably overthinking this.

“Hm, I don’t know,” Mingyu replies. “Maybe the cute one, what’s her name, Sana? The Japanese one.”

“Oh, really? I thought you’d say Chaeri,” Mingyu’s buddy drinks. He drinks a lot, and fast, and he doesn’t really have the tolerance for it.

“Chaeri is my first pick,” Mingyu points out.

The man snorts. “Does Wonwoo know that?”

Mingyu shrugs. “The fact that I’m his first choice doesn’t make it mutual.”

The other burst out laughing. “You’re crazy, man. If I was in your place…” he begins, but he lets his words trail off. And because he’s drinking and his brain to mouth filter isn’t all that it’s supposed to be, tonight he lets the jealousy show. “God, I wish I was in your place.”

“No you don’t,” Mingyu says quickly.

“Oh, but I do. You keep searching for him with your eyes, do you know that? And it’d be… pretty pathetic, honestly, the denial and the pinning from afar,” the man chuckles. Amused, until he’s not. “But he’ll come to you later. The moment he’s done with that table, he’s going to walk right here, like clockwork. What the hell is it about you, huh? And you don’t even appreciate it.”

Mingyu swirls his drink in his glass. He could say that it’s because he pays him for private dances, that there’s nothing here but Wonwoo’s wish for profit. It’d be the sensible thing to say. But Mingyu, sue him, rather likes what this particular brand of jealousy is doing to his ego. To have someone thinking Wonwoo’s chasing after him and not the other way around, fake as it is, is somehow pleasing.

Mingyu’s buddy huffs. “Like clockwork,” he says, and Mingyu follows his eyes back to Wonwoo’s table. He’s bowing to the ladies, bills are being slipped into his pants and the pockets of his silk shirt, and his eyes are already on Mingyu. Hair all disheveled, cheeks a little flush.

Mingyu waves at him, friendly and smiley. There’s power thrumming beneath his fingertips, an itching that’s just begging to be scratched. An insane type of anticipation Mingyu hasn’t really felt before in this place. He carefully schools it all out of his face as Wonwoo approaches. When he’s near enough, Mingyu pulls out a stool for him.

“What a gentleman,” Wonwoo says and takes a seat. His shirt is still unbuttoned from his dance, nothing beneath it. He starts doing the buttons up now, one by one, and Mingyu’s eyes are drawn to the movement.

“Sangria?” he asks.

“You buying?”

“Sure,” Mingyu waves his hand at the barman. “I’ve been told I need to appreciate you more.”

Mingyu’s buddy coughs from next to him. Mingyu hides his smirk behind his fist. He doesn’t see why Wonwoo keeps returning for him, is it? Well, perhaps he should show him.

“Wise words,” Wonwoo says, still looking down at his shirt. “Thank the person who finally told you for me, would you?”

“Do you feel underappreciated, Wonwoo?” Mingyu asks.

“Most of the time.”

“Then you should beg for more attention,” Mingyu says. His buddy chokes on his drink. Wonwoo pauses too. “Who knows, you might be able to get it one day.”

Wonwoo’s stare burns. His shirt is still half undone. “Do you want to hear me begging?”

“Do you recon I could make you?”

Wonwoo’s eyebrows almost reach his hairline from how high he raises them. Mingyu just chuckles though. He reaches forward, to the abandoned buttons of Wonwoo’s shirt, and starts doing them up for him.

“Of course I couldn’t, right?” he says. Their eyes meet. “I’m a goody-two-shoes, after all.”

Wonwoo lets him button him up, all the way to his neckline. Mingyu fixes his collar for him, folds it proper. He pulls at his sleeves, straightens his shoulders. The silk is smooth below his fingertips.

“There,” he pats his arm when he’s done. “All proper. You look really good, by the way.”

“…Thanks,” Wonwoo replies. Oh, he knows something’s up. It’s not visible beneath his clothes, but Mingyu was just touching him. He’s gone stiff.

He turns around on his stool to face the bar, grabbing his sangria in the process. He blinks at it for a few moments, before he collects himself once more.

“Does that mean you’re finally out of the closet?” he asks Mingyu, taking quite a big sip of his drink.

“Yeah, are you?” Mingyu’s buddy pipes up as well. It doesn’t sound bitter anymore. Perhaps, in another universe, he would have been Yoohan’s first supportive friend. In this universe though, Yoohan is a miserable, petty fuck. And he is also very much not real.

“Haven’t you guys heard?” Mingyu says, pulling back so he can look at them both. “Sexuality is a privilege around here,” he side-glances Wonwoo, “and it’s so very wrong of people to enjoy their privileges nowadays.”

“Hah,” Wonwoo doesn’t hesitate to push back. “Spoken like someone who truly has an advantage in life.”

“Yeah, well. Only dumb people don’t use their advantages. But oh, I forgot, you take me for an idiot,” Mingyu smiles, but the edge is audible in his voice.

His friend clears his throat. It tells Mingyu that he must have crossed a line somewhere, but this is not the time to stop pressing. He leans closer to Wonwoo.

“You have a pretty mouth, you know that? Tell me again what an idiot I am, I wanna hear it.”

“Yoohan,” his buddy hisses at him, grabbing his arm to pull him back. Mingyu lets him have his way, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Wonwoo. As unreadable as he always is, he hasn’t moved at all, not to flinch, not to push Mingyu away. His lips are pursed, but not unsettled. Mingyu wishes he could unsettle him, just once.

“You seem on edge. Would taking you to the private rooms fix that?” Wonwoo asks pointedly.

Mingyu’s buddy gapes, and understandably so. To his ears, Wonwoo just offered a free dance because Mingyu was, what, upset? The favoritism would have bothered Mingyu too, if he was on the other side of it. But Wonwoo hasn’t offered a dance at all, much less a free one. He doesn’t know what’s going on, and he wants to ask directly. The fact that he’s the one to ask for it this time feels like a victory, albeit a tiny one.

“That’s so generous of you,” Mingyu says. “Do you like indulging me so much?”

“I’m pretty sure indulgence has been mutual, Yoohan.”

Mingyu tries not to snort. Mutual his ass. The playing field has been anything but even. “Let me tilt the balance a bit then, would you?” He takes both his and Wonwoo’s drinks in one hand and stands up. “I want better seats. Would you take me to the VIP area?”

Wonwoo frowns. “How close to the stage?”

“As close as you dare.”

Wonwoo glances up towards the small balcony, shrouded in darkness and cut off from the rest of the area. There is another bouncer right next to the stairs leading up to it, perched by a velvety red rope that marks the stairs as inadmissible. If you don’t have money, that is. Mingyu reaches in his pockets and grabs a paper bill.

“And stay with me,” he tucks the bill down Wonwoo’s shirt.

Wonwoo finds a digital clock on the wall, bites the inside of his cheek in indecision. “…I’ll take my break then,” he says in the end and stands up. “Come.”

Before Mingyu can take a step away, a hand wraps around his wrist. He looks back at his buddy’s incredulous face, and he decides then. This is goodbye.

“I’m gonna go with him,” he says, subtly pulling his wrist back.

“How?” is all the man asks.

There is a universe, that this man really becomes his friend. That Mingyu has nothing to hide, that he really gets his support and continues to have fun with him, like nothing is wrong. A universe that Mingyu never followed Wonwoo in those private rooms, got removed from the case, and never involved himself with his mess. But he did follow him, and the outcome of the decisions he has made are his responsibility to bear. He won’t drag another into this mess.

“Go back to your wife,” Mingyu tells his buddy, and then never speaks to him again.

Wonwoo exchanges a few words with the bouncer, and the man lifts the rope for them. It’s a small climb up to the balcony, the bottoms of the stairs illuminated with LEDs. Wonwoo links their fingers together when they reach the top, guides him to an unoccupied couch at the far end of the balcony.

“Here,” he all but plasters his body to Mingyu’s to whisper, and Mingyu can see exactly why. The few other dancers up here, supposedly on their breaks, are much more generous with their affection than they are down there. The patrons don’t hesitate to touch either, no body part is out of reach. It’s probably deliberate, but Mingyu can’t make out the faces of anyone up here. Some are in way too compromising of positions.

Mingyu takes a seat. The view below him is not half bad. The stage looks bigger, the movement of the performers grander. The seclusion of the balcony, coupled with the patrons who don’t even look at each other’s way, allows for a sense of privacy that is impossible to find down there. Wonwoo sits right next to him, thighs and shoulders touching, and his lips are still pursed together tightly. Mingyu thinks, briefly, that the view next to him is not half bad either.

“You know,” Mingyu whispers to him. “Under different circumstances, you’d be kissing me now.”

“Do you want me to?” Wonwoo somehow makes it sound like a threat.

“You don’t miss a chance to do it down there, is all,” Mingyu shrugs with one shoulder. “I suppose I got used to it.”

Wonwoo clicks his tongue. He doesn’t pull away, but he looks like he wants to, which is a feat Mingyu hadn’t accomplished so far. “Why are the circumstances different, Mingyu?” he asks, the façade dropping a little bit. “Wanna tell me about it?”

“I can’t wait, actually,” Mingyu exhales and makes himself more comfortable on the couch. He stretches his arm on the back of it, behind Wonwoo. Wonwoo still doesn’t move. And so, Mingyu begins.

“I did a lot of talking recently, you saw to that,” he says quietly. “In the name of mutual indulgence, I believe it’s your turn now. You are going to give me the name of your source, the reason they want publicity in the first place, and how they are involved in a fucking serial killer case.”

Wonwoo sighs, long-suffering. “I already told you, if I reveal my source it stops being a source.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And the media did get alerted, as I told you they would. You still don’t trust me?”

The sheer audacity. Mingyu doesn’t know if he’s more appalled or intrigued by it. “How did the media get alerted Wonwoo?”

“I told you I don’t know, I’m not god. I just knew they would.”

“Oh yeah? You don’t have the slightest clue?” Mingyu grits his teeth. “Guess then. How did the media get alerted?”

“I’m not here to play games Mingyu,” Wonwoo hisses at him. “Whatever you think I−”

“Shut up.”

Surprisingly, Wonwoo does. He’s not pleased about it, no, but he doesn’t push now. Mingyu hands him his sangria, takes a sip of his own drink. “Let’s make a toast, shall we?”

“To what?”

“To not thinking each other dumb anymore,” Mingyu says and lifts his glass. Wonwoo doesn’t meet it instantly. It pisses Mingyu off, that he has to think about it. That he really does think him stupid, and it’s not just an act. He deserves it, he supposes, but it still makes his gut stir unpleasantly.

A few moments later though, Wonwoo raises his own glass. He looks at Mingyu carefully as they clink together, as if to tell him fine, I’m listening to you now. You better make it count.

“As I said,” Mingyu continues calmly. “You’re going to start by telling me the name of your so-called source. Or I’m going to assume that this clever trick you pulled was entirely your own idea, and god help you then.”

“Is this a threat?”

“Guess.”

Wonwoo shifts on his seat. It’s not in discomfort, but Mingyu still wishes it was. “Look at you, a police officer threatening an innocent civilian. I should not be surprised, I suppose.”

“But you are,” Mingyu finishes for him. “Because you don’t think I can threaten you with anything.”

“Well, can you?” Wonwoo looks at him, so certain of himself, so self-assured. As if he has nothing to fear.

“You made me run my mouth,”’ Mingyu says slowly, making sure he is heard in the hushed tones they’re conversing. “What makes you so certain it won’t keep running? Jeon Wonwoo, boot-licker of the pigs. That’s what they’re going to call you. And I don’t see that many people running around in this place with that nickname. Why is that, you think?”

 Wonwoo huffs out a laugh. Of all the reactions he could have given, he laughs.

“Oh, Mingyu,” he says, all soft and patronizing. He cups Mingyu’s cheek with his palm, his cold fingers. “I admit it, it’s true. I do get the urge to kiss you sometimes, even when it’s not necessary.”

Mingyu stiffens, prepares for it. But Wonwoo merely brushes a thumb on his lower lip, slow, with more pressure than necessary, and lets him go. “Do you want to know why I know you won’t talk?” he says.

“Do tell,” Mingyu runs his tongue over his lips, wiping the taste off.

“Hm, better yet, let me show you,” Wonwoo says and stands up. “I’ll be right back. Try not to miss me too much.”

Only when he’s gone does Mingyu realize how loudly his heart is beating. Only by himself, in the privacy amidst dark lights and indifferent people does he allow himself to exhale shakily, run a hand through his hair. He can feel it coming, his winning card. The time to play it is approaching. Unless Wonwoo blindsides him with something else, which is always a possibility. The battle is not won yet.

It takes Wonwoo a bit to reappear in the VIP area. He’s very silent as he maneuvers around the rest of the couches, hand inconspicuously shoved in his pocket. He reaches Mingyu and comfortably takes his seat, tucked on his side. Mingyu’s arm still rests on the back of the couch.

“Look at that,” Wonwoo murmurs, pulling his hand out of his pocket. It’s a piece of paper. Mingyu’s heart almost stutters out of his chest. “Look at what a kind officer gave me the other day,” Wonwoo unfolds it. “You recognize this signature Mingyu? Do you know what this means?”

“Explain it to me,” Mingyu swallows. Like I’m an idiot.

“It means, that nobody on your side of the law is allowed to speak my name. Fascinating, isn’t it?” Wonwoo grins up at him.

Fascinating. He could not have used a better word.

“May I see it?” Mingyu extends his hand.

“Of course,” Wonwoo offers it readily. “As you can see, I happen to be a law-abiding citizen, who only wants to help−”

Two. Then four. Then eight. The music is loud, always too loud in the club. But this flimsy bit of paper must be special, because the sound of it tearing manages to be louder. Or maybe, it’s simply the lack of Wonwoo’s voice that makes it so, a voice that got so abruptly silenced. It takes him a few beats to find his words. Mingyu gives him all the beats he needs, while tearing the words even further.

“What are you doing?”

Mingyu can’t hold his smile back anymore. He says nothing as he gets up. He walks to the very edge of the balcony, and then, a hundred little pieces of paper rain down on the stage below. Like confetti to a birthday party.

When he returns to his seat, he finds Wonwoo still frozen in place. “What is it?” he asks him.

“That means nothing,” Wonwoo says carefully. “What you just did, it means nothing. You must have filed it, to make it official.”

“You’re right, I did file it,” Mingyu nods. “Because I needed an NDA so bad, didn’t I? To make sure you won’t talk.”

“Yes,” Wonwoo agrees. “You needed it. It’s still there, anyone can reprint it.”

Mingyu didn’t think he’d enjoy this. He genuinely didn’t think he’d be met with joy, elation, at the aftermath of his wrongdoing. Oh, but he’s feeling it now, the sweet taste of finding himself two steps ahead of this man, for once. He must have dropped his guilt somewhere along the stairs to the VIP area. He must remember to pick it back up when he leaves, but as long as he’s here, he’s allowed to forget.

“Now, would I act so dramatic if that was the case, Wonwoo?” Mingyu says. “You asked me what I did. Guess.”

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo whispers in warning.

“Guess,” Mingyu presses.

A beat of silence. “You deleted the file from the archive. But…” Wonwoo blinks up at him. “But that’s illegal.”

“Very illegal,” Mingyu nods.

More silence.

“You wouldn’t do it. You wouldn’t do any of it, you wouldn’t dare. If you expose me, you expose yourself too. And we both know what lengths you went to to keep that from happening,” Wonwoo says. Finally admits that he was completely aware of it the entire time.

He admits that he’s the reason Mingyu went through sleepless nights and days, worried and nervous until he got physically sick with it. He’s the reason Mingyu has to live with betrayal, the reason he lied, the reason he has given up his integrity for this stupid case. For himself. He admits it, and Mingyu really couldn’t care less if it’s a gamble.

“You think I won’t do it if it means I get to ruin you in the process?” he asks, too calm compared to the hell inside him.

“You’re bluffing.”

“No, I just needed time.” He turns to look at Wonwoo then, really look. Take in how he’s not sitting relaxed now, how his nonchalance is nowhere to be found anymore. “I just wanted to make sure that I’d take you down with me.”

The music plays, and the dancers dance. The beat pulses inside the club, a live thing, a beast that won’t stop breathing. Inside this beast though, there is a couch. A comfortable couch, all the way up on a private balcony, away from anyone’s eyes. On that couch, silence falls like a disease.

Mingyu finishes his drink, doesn’t ask for another one. “I don’t have all day, Wonwoo,” he says, and it’s so gratifying to see how Wonwoo’s whole face twist in annoyance. He says nothing though. There is nothing left for him to say.

“I’ll re-file the NDA if you speak,” Mingyu offers. It won’t mean much, when the threat to keep deleting it is always present. “I will keep you safe, if it comes to it.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Wonwoo mutters.

“I will when you give me a name,” Mingyu replies.

Wonwoo exhales loudly, brings a hand to rub his forehead. “And if I don’t?”

“Then I don’t keep you safe.”

It takes even longer for Wonwoo to gather his words this time. How terrible it must be, to be left without an option. Mingyu would pity him, if he hadn’t experienced it first-hand.

“It won’t help you catch your culprit,” Wonwoo speaks eventually. “Really, I’m not lying. It won’t.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“It’s got nothing to do with the victims. The man who…” Wonwoo curses. “The man, my source, he’s involved in some things that I know are out of your jurisdiction.”

There it is, Chief Seungcheol’s favorite phrase. Mingyu didn’t expect it to find its way out here. There are different slangs for it, different warnings that you’re starting to encroach on gang territory. Yet Wonwoo speaks in Mingyu’s language.

“He’s not that high up the hierarchy, but he knows where profit is,” Wonwoo continues. “He sniffs it out from the most unlikely situations.”

“Profit how?” Mingyu asks. “How does publicity gain him profit?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t tell me those things.”

“But you trust him?” Mingyu raises an eyebrow.

“You and that word,” Wonwoo scoffs. “Of course I don’t trust him. But I’ve known him for more than a decade. When he calls, I listen, that’s how it goes.”

More than a decade. Something sits wrong. “How old are you, Wonwoo?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Wonwoo glares at him. When Mingyu doesn’t reply instantly, he makes a knowing sound. “Ohh, you think I was a child when I met him? That I was helpless? What, abused? Get off your fucking high horse right now, or I’m not telling you anything else.”

Mingyu stops asking. This, at least, he gives it to him. After Wonwoo makes sure he’s not going to probe further, he tosses his drink back and puts the glass aside.

“I was a child,” he mutters. “And then I wasn’t, and I had to find a job. He got me hired here, and that’s that.”

Mingyu nods. He makes a note in his mind to revisit this later, figure out if there’s any actual loyalty here, of if Wonwoo is faking this too.

“Can I get a name?” he asks.

“I don’t know what you’re going to do with it,” Wonwoo grumbles. “But fine. Okay. It’s Choi Euisoo.”

A decade or not, Wonwoo’s loyalty obviously stops where his personal safety starts.

“Now, you probably don’t need me to tell you what happens if word gets out that I’ve given out his name,” Wonwoo says.

“I told you I’ll keep you safe, didn’t I?” Mingyu replies. “And besides, when all this is over, who do you want to be working for? Me or him?”

Wonwoo shifts on his seat, his knee bounces. He’s not one to fidget, so when he does, Mingyu notices it. It’s quickly becoming his most incriminating physical tell. “I work for whoever gives me the better deal,” he says, and that’s not the answer of the man who danced for him the other night, who told him right in his face that he has a life he needs to get out of.

“No, that’s bullshit,” Mingyu shakes his head.

“Is it now?” Wonwoo crosses his arms over his chest, buries his fingers below his armpits.

“You keep lying, even now,” Mingyu presses. “Are you scared of him? Does he have something on you?”

Predictably, Wonwoo doesn’t say. Mingyu doesn’t want to pity him, it’s not worth it. In the end, he’s nothing but another stripper, trapped in a cage of his own bad decisions.

“You haven’t been scared of me for a moment after we met. That was your mistake,” Mingyu says.

When Wonwoo says nothing again, Mingyu places a palm on his shoulder. “You started this, Wonwoo. You’re taking this gamble with me.”

“You took my choice,” Wonwoo mutters. His lips are still pressed together, after all this time. His lipstick is undisturbed, and it somehow feels wrong, after all this.

“And you took mine,” Mingyu concedes. His hand slips from Wonwoo’s shoulder, travels higher. “So I’ll make this choice for you too.”

It happens in a heartbeat. He grabs Wonwoo’s chin. He angles it towards himself. And then, he presses their lips together.

It’s a chaste thing, closed mouthed but full of meaning. This isn’t a performance, they don’t have anyone to put a show for. No, this is for themselves, and Wonwoo indulges it. He goes slack, and Mingyu has to hold him a little tighter for it, all the while wondering what the hell he is doing.

He pulls back first, but he doesn’t go away. He caresses Wonwoo’s chin with his thumb, he finds his eyes.

“From now on, you work for me,” he whispers.

Chapter Text

What does it mean to trust someone?

In the beginning of it all, trust is pure, unconditional. It comes in the form of a parent’s heartbeat, the breath, the laughter, while the baby is still in the womb. It comes in the form of care, of knowing nothing but that the presence of your parent means safety. The ultimate trust is knowing you’d never have survived the first years of your life without a parental figure taking care of you, and there’s no way around that. A baby trusts their parent long before they know what trust is.

It makes sense then to believe that for something that starts out in its perfect form, the only way to go is down. Evolution in the form of deterioration. Loss of trust can be quiet, so subtle that it is unnoticeable, like when a child realizes their friend is lying to them for the first time. It can also be violent, destructive, in the form of abuse from the parent you used to think the world of. There are a myriad ways for trust to lose its divinity, and all of them are traumatic.

Mingyu was lucky, he supposes. Lucky that he had a good family, a normal childhood. They didn’t let him see it in himself, realize that his trust was reducing each time someone betrayed it. Even when his father died, they didn’t let him look in the casket, so he never really processed the biggest betrayal of them all. Death.

Very lucky, that’s what Mingyu has been. To remain childishly hang up on the word “trust”, to still feel something at its loss. He sees it in his sister too, in the way she looks at him sometimes, as if she believes Mingyu is the one turning night into day. She trusts him, dependable as he is, and how great that must be.

There’s an argument to be made, about whether trust can somehow be mended again, after its concept has been defiled. Return to its pure form, after it has been dragged through the human experience. As Mingyu sits with his sister, sharing the kitchen table with both their laptops open, he finds that there’s nothing he’s ever wished for more than this trust.

You and that word, Wonwoo told him. And he was right, Mingyu was too naïve about it. Too innocent. Because the real death of trust is not when you get lied to, when you get betrayed.

It’s when you do it to others.

“Mingyu, I’m bored,” Minseo says, for what feels like the hundredth time in ten minutes.

“Tough luck,” Mingyu replies, continuing his own typing.

“Aren’t you bored?”

“Of doing my job?” Mingyu glances at her over the top of his screen. “What makes you think I’m allowed to?”

Minseo sighs, cheeks puffed up and grumpy. She types a few more words in, before she crosses her arms over her chest. “But I’m bored!” she whines, and it sounds so childish, Mingyu can’t help but smile secretly. But then, she continues, and it doesn’t sound childish anymore.

“Do you ever think that this is done to us on purpose? Enslavement not in the form of war, but the destruction of our soul. Am I wrong to want my freedom?”

She is not wrong, of course. Mingyu should not let her see him being proud, fond even, of her ideas of freedom. His job is to make sure she graduates and gets into a good college. But, well, he hasn’t been a model citizen himself, recently.

“Break until mom gets home?” he offers.

“Hell yes!”

Mingyu does smile, and he does let her see it.

“What are you even working on that you had to bring it home?” Minseo asks, and Mingyu closes his laptop. It’s hell’s work, anyway.

He replies, “Just a report that’s overdue.” And untruthful.

It’s easier than he expected to alter the events of the story, make it sound like neither he nor Wonwoo ever did anything wrong. It’s easy, and it’s enslavement, not in the form of war, but destruction of the soul.

“Do you do anything interesting?” Minseo asks. “I mean, that you can talk about?”

Because he’s not allowed to talk about the case anymore, not to his relatives, not to his friends, even the most trustworthy ones. Not with the media lurking like hawks, waiting for someone to slip up and give them a scrap of food. Mingyu can’t give her anything of actual importance, but, well…

“I kissed a guy the other night,” he says in what he hopes is a nonchalant way.

“Oh, word?” Minseo raises her eyebrows. “Did you like it?”

It’s not important, Mingyu tells himself, even if it felt so in the moment. He remembers it so clearly, the aftermath of a victory, still a bit drunk on power. The release of his nerves, the tension. Mingyu kissed a man all on his own, no driving force behind it other than wanting to make his point. Gloat a bit, maybe.

And the way Wonwoo went slack… The way he didn’t move, didn’t try to take the upper hand, like he’d been doing during all the other times, it still scratches at Mingyu’s brain. And his eyes afterwards, looking at Mingyu like he is doom itself, like he is hope and despair at the same time. 

“Maybe,” Mingyu sucks his bottom lip in his mouth, still undecided.

“Would you do it again?” Minseo asks.

Mingyu raises his eyes to his sister, his smart, insightful sister. So loving, and accepting, and everything a little sister should be, yet Mingyu can’t tell her he’s proud of her. No, Mingyu has to force a shape onto her, get her ready for a society she will never thrive in, so she can share his burden of survival. He lies to her about her future, and about her worth, and about himself. He lies about everything that is important.

“I wouldn’t,” he says.

He doesn’t even tell her about what this report he’s slaving over is. He doesn’t share his concerns about what he learned, that Wonwoo’s source might be an immediate cease-fire when he brings it up to Chief Seungcheol. They are not allowed to deal with gangs, but what if their serial killer is hiding in one? Mingyu worries that all of this has been for nothing.

“Why, was the guy bad to you?” Minseo asks, amused now. Smiling, like Mingyu’s not killing her.

Mingyu laughs like he’s not guilty. “The worst, actually.”

He can’t let it be for nothing. He places his hand on his laptop, still warm. Chief Seungcheol trusts him, and Mingyu trusts him back. But it’s not them, it is trust itself that is slowly starting to lose its meaning. Mingyu does fear his chief’s reaction when he tells him what he’s been up to, and he does crave his approval. He so wishes that everything could be over, that he’d be absolved from having to make more gambles.

And yet… He started this, with Wonwoo. It’s the two of them who made the mistakes. Perhaps, Mingyu needs to become the devil’s minion and follow this lead to the end. In a way that he might not be able to, were he to bring it to the light of the law.

A car parks right outside the house. Mingyu glances out the window, sees the familiar Toyota of his mother. Babysitting is over, then. Minseo will have to get back to her homework, and Mingyu will have to decide whether he is deleting yet another report. Whether he can live with the guilt of it.

Minseo follows his gaze out of the window and sighs. “I don’t want to get back to work,” she says.

Can Mingyu live with the guilt of it? Can he live with the tough choices, the sacrifice of his own peace of mind for the greater good? Does he need to be the one to do it, is there nobody else?

“You have to, Minseo,” he says, the same thing he has been saying all these years. “Freeze your heart if you need to, and do it.”

The truth is, he’s been living with this guilt for years. No apology will ever be enough for everything the people you trust make you go through. Mingyu has never forgiven his father, and Minseo will never forgive him. He can live with it.

She doesn’t say anything. She just opens her laptop, silent and gloomy. Mingyu opens his too. The screen stares at him, the half-truths of his report. He types one final sentence.

If there is no forgiveness, Wonwoo, you need to keep me company in hell.

And then, he deletes the whole thing.

~~~

After a long, long time, Mingyu sleeps well. He wakes up well-rested, the sheets not tangled up to his neck. He slept peacefully, and it’s a stark reminder to how much of a difference it makes in getting on with life. Without dark circles to make him wince every time he looks in a mirror, he takes the time needed to take care of himself.

He brushes his teeth. He shaves carefully, more precise than he did in weeks. He washes his face with the special soap and gently pats the aftershave into his skin. He applies moisturizer after it dries, to make sure it keeps the freshness. His skin glows like this, and devoid of the physical evidence of the last days, he feels normal again.

He finds enjoyment in fixing his hair, instead of it being just another chore. He pushes it back, out of his eyes and parted in the middle. He fixes every last strand into place, makes sure it sticks exactly how he wants it with hairspray. His suit comes next, a formal gray. One of his more expensive pieces, all folds and elegance. It is a good day to be well-rested, if it’s only so he doesn’t look washed out in it.

And today is no day to look anything other than vibrant, alert. His phone is still charging, but Mingyu didn’t quite close the messaging app before he left it there.

Chief
We have important people over, make sure you’re prepared for attention. Don’t be late.

So Mingyu makes a healthy breakfast too, treats himself to fresh orange juice before he inevitably washes it down with coffee. It is a rather invigorating morning, all things considered.

An hour later, equipped with the clearest mind he’s had in weeks, he makes his way through the station’s glass door. And he’s lucky, so lucky to have been allowed a good night’s rest. Because the moment he enters, he barely has time to perceive some desks that have been shoved to the side to make an impromptu buffet counter, before his chief is laying a claiming hand on his shoulder.

“And this is Kim Mingyu,” he tells to a group of men that seem to be following him around. “One of our agents that won’t be shown during the interview, you understand.”

“Ah, the undercover ones, right?” the man in the middle smiles and offers his hand. “Don’t tell your chief, but I’ve wanted to meet you the most.”

Mingyu smiles back, appropriately amused. He grabs the man’s hand. “No allure quite like that of mystery, is that so?”

The man’s smile widens. Friendly and open, just like his whole stance, but Mingyu knows better than to underestimate someone who acts freely like that in the midst of a crowd wearing suits more expensive than Mingyu’s own. “You’re right,” the man says. “Everyone enjoys a mystery here and there, isn’t that so everyone?”

The others around him all break out into murmurs of agreement. No one’s quite as relaxed, though.

“Mingyu,” Chief Seungcheol’s hand slides to his back, subtly pushes him forward. “This is the mayor, Han Dongsoo.”

“I am aware, sir,” Mingyu says. “I do believe I voted for him.”

“Did you now?” the mayor’s eyes sparkle. “Oh wow, do you believe that Kangmin?” he turns towards one of his men. “Your campaign got us the support of the most exciting people.”

“Sir,” another man, Kangmin probably, bows to him.

“Your campaign was mighty impressive, no doubt there,” Chief Seungcheol says, all smiles himself. In a pristine suit too, as put together as he gets. “You do tend to take your endeavors seriously, is the word around here.”

“Oh my, whose word is that, Chief?” the mayor asks.

Definitely not any of the older officers’ around here. These guys find no entertainment greater than complaining about politicians to each other, knowing that they have found an agreeable audience. That includes the chief, too. On any random day, you’d be more likely to get him started on a rant about inefficient budget and wrong funding priorities than to get him praising anyone with even a smidge of political power.

Not today, though. Today, apparently, is flattery day. Mingyu knows exactly what his role here is.

“Voices don’t always have names, sir,” he says. “They only deal in gratitude.”

“And I have theirs?” the mayor turns to him. “Those voices’ gratitude?”

“As they have yours, I presume. That’s why we’re here, right?” Mingyu asks this at Chief Seungcheol, who looks marginally more relaxed by his side, Mingyu notes. He knows Mingyu’s good at talking to people. Mingyu is always glad to be of use to him.

“Mayor Han wanted to personally express his support in our case,” the chief explains.

Which means, he wanted to see what the fuck they’re doing, letting the public witness their mess under his term.

“How very generous of you,” Mingyu tells the mayor, bright and pleasant. “I suppose our chief has been giving you the rundown of the case then?”

“What can I say, I love being privy to confidential information,” the man chuckles. “Even if this information is just your budget management. It makes a person think.”

Ah, there it is. That’s why Chief Seungcheol is in flattery mode. Anything for the case.

“It is so very hard to think, nowadays,” Mingyu nods. “With all the cameras outside, one needs to think extra hard of the publicity they get. How it might affect the voices’ opinions.”

This time, when the mayor’s lips quirk upwards, it is a bit sharper. “And so, we are here. Kim Mingyu, was it?”

“Sir,” Mingyu bows.

“Come with us, why don’t you?” the mayor waves him along. “I’m sure you have a lot to add, being on the streets every night. I mean, only if that’s alright with your chief?”

“He’d be honored to come along,” Chief Seungcheol hurries to reply. “Right, Mingyu?”

“Of course. It’s not every day one gets to speak to their mayor,” Mingyu says.

“Yes, yes, and we do have a lot to talk about. In such a little time too. What, is it 10 already?” the mayor turns to the only clock the entire hall has. The one that still ticks too loudly, that nobody has replaced because they simply don’t have the budget for it.

“We only have an hour left before my filming crew arrives,” the mayor continues. “It’s a pity that you can’t join the interview, Mingyu. You do have the face for it. No, instead I get your ever elusive detective, who I have not even met yet.”

Mingyu takes the compliment to his physical appearance, ignores the jab at his detective, and then proceeds to charm the man for the next hour. He doesn’t have to work too hard for it, because it’s an easy deal. Mayor Han gets his publicity, Chief Seungcheol gets the money he needs for the case. Everyone is happy… Except those who are dead already. Those who could have done with a proper budget for proper protection, before all of this started. But this is not Mingyu’s battle to fight.

He has his own job to do, of course. He gets straight to it, when the filming crew of a TV channel heavily associated with the mayor’s political party arrives. They take shots of every office, but the interview is held on the briefing room. Detective Inspector Kang Jian is fashionably late to it, hair as unkept as ever. Mingyu doesn’t miss the discreet glare Chief Seungcheol sends her from the sidelines, as she takes her seat in front of the cameras.

With all the attention on the next room over, Mingyu gets a few moments to himself. Things are different now. He needs to be sneaky, mindful of anyone approaching him from behind. Thankfully, he kept his copy of the NDA Wonwoo signed, so all he has to do is scan it and send the file to his desk computer. It’s done in seconds, and in barely ten minutes, the document is refiled. As if nothing happened. It’s just that now, Mingyu makes sure to “accidentally” name it a wrong thing, something that nobody will need to re-check. If Wonwoo is not in any of Mingyu’s reports, then it wouldn’t do for the administration to find out about him this way.

The real battle begins, then. Mingyu was never supposed to have any power in this case. He was included in the team for his undercover work, for information, not for decision-making. If someone judges him unqualified, well, that’s too bad. The world is filled with unqualified people in control of the most sensitive jobs.

Choi Euisoo is not as elusive as Jeon Wonwoo. He’s older, for one, which means he’s had way more time to get acquainted with law enforcement. Mingyu finds two men with his name on the database, out of which, one lives five provinces over. The other’s current place of residence is registered as Hanjeong-gu.

His picture is a plain thing, black hair, thick glasses, pointy nose. A regular middle-aged man, maybe pushing the middle part of it a bit. He’s had two DUIs, one when he was in his 20s, one five years back. They found him in possession of weed once, made him pay heftily for it, but he didn’t serve any jail time. And then, under bold letters, there’s an attempted lawsuit for sexual assault to a minor. Attempted, because all the charges were dropped soon after they were filed, and the plaintiff never came forward again.

Mingyu tries to find exactly why the charges were dropped, but it’s not mentioned anywhere. Chief Seungcheol told him once that when details are omitted from a case, it’s probably on purpose. Murky waters mean there are sharks ahead. Proceed with caution, but proceed. It doesn’t matter how successful they are at it, when one tries to hide something, it only means that there is something to hide.

Wonwoo met this man, the one accused of sexually assaulting a minor, when he was a child. Mingyu allows himself a singular moment to blankly stare at his screen, before he exhales any unwanted concern out of his lungs. He’ll have to ask Wonwoo what he knows about it, about that lawsuit. He’ll need to verify if the man was guilty. He only hopes that he’ll get a straight answer.

It's been peaceful for Choi Euisoo after those dropped charges. He’s kept himself in check, so much that there’s nothing obvious tying him to any gangs. Nothing but a random stripper’s words, in a report Mingyu didn’t make.

And yet, it’s Mingyu’s only lead. With the minimal information presented, he’ll have to decide on a course of action, with nobody to guide him. And he is absolutely not allowed to fuck up anymore.

With the mayor’s voice in the next room over, promising of support and unity in those trying times, Mingyu makes his first real call. All by himself. The irony is not lost on him.

~~~

Mingyu reaches the club a bit later than normal. Parking is always harder on a Saturday night. Not even the news of a murderer is enough to make these streets less packed on nights like this. Of course, nobody thinks they can ever become a victim. The scary stories on the TV are never to be taken seriously, until Mingyu gets called at ass o’clock in the morning to clear up a crime scene. And that’s when parking truly becomes a nightmare.

There’s a line outside of Phryne’s House, unfortunately enough. People flock to this place, as much as they do to the other major clubs around here. Most are left unmonitored now, with only three undercover agents remaining. Mingyu just hopes the lack of protection won’t be the cause of another victim.

He starts making his way to the end of the line, the pavement sticky below his shoes, when he notices something in front of the door. The two bouncers that work here are busy as bees, checking everyone before letting them in. If it’s just the two of them, Mingyu has no problem getting inside anymore. They know him, and if he waits patiently in the line, nothing is going to go wrong.

Except, they’re not by themselves this time. There’s a dancer behind them, leaning against the club’s walls. He doesn’t look like a dancer at first glance, with his dark suit pants and his fancy tie over a pressed white shirt, but no bouncer is that handsome. The man looks pensively over the crowd, his usual enticing half-smiles nowhere to be found. He just stands there, like a statue, making no move to tempt anyone inside. People still spend an awful amount of time looking at him before they enter.

Mingyu is just part of the crowd. He’s nothing special, he knows this deep down. And yet, when he stares at the dancer, the other’s eyes move to stare back. They meet in recognition and they keep looking at each other, and Mingyu knows he’s not special, but sometimes he does feel like it. Someone makes him feel like he is, and it’s a dangerous, dangerous feeling.

They’re still making eye contact when Wonwoo lifts his hand and brings a burning cigarette to his lips. He takes a big drag, swallows down the smoke. When it’s time to exhale, he looks away.

Mingyu didn’t know he smoked, of course. There are probably hundreds, thousands of things he doesn’t know about him. Things he doesn’t want to learn, and he probably never will. But, call him impulsive, call him entitled, he finds that he wants to know what Wonwoo’s eyes look like when he blows out smoke.

He steps away from the line. One, two steps, and maybe he realizes why Wonwoo called him privileged, all these nights ago. He’s not part of the crowd, he’s here on a mission. He doesn’t want to wait in the line, like a sheep waiting for slaughter. He reaches the very front of the crowd, and he cuts in.

“Hi,” he greets the bouncers.

“Woah, do you not see the line man? Go back,” one of them ushers him away.

Mingyu looks at Wonwoo. His empty eyes are back on him alright, but his expression hasn’t changed. He brings his cigarette to his lips.

“Hey,” Mingyu calls to him. “Enjoying your night?”

“Oi,” the other bouncer steps in front of Wonwoo. “He’s on a break, leave him alone. And go back to the line.”

Maybe it’s not wise of Mingyu to ignore him, but he does. He sidesteps him, while he keeps looking at his privilege. The one he’s staking his entire career on.

“Care to tell them to let me in?” he says.

“My dude, are you not listening?” a heavy hand falls on his shoulder. “Get your delusional ass away and let him be.”

“I know him,” Mingyu tells the bouncer.

“Yeah, I bet you do. Now go away, you’re holding the line back.”

And Wonwoo still says nothing. He stares at Mingyu with an unreadable expression, posture still relaxed. He just smokes, slow and unhurried, as Mingyu is starting to get shoved away.

“Wonwoo!” he calls, annoyed now. A scene is the last thing he wants to cause.

Wonwoo taps the excessive ash off his cigarette. And then, he finally tugs the bouncer’s sleeve. “Let him in. He’s my friend.”

“Are you sure about that?” the man that seems so protective of him frowns.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo lets go of his sleeve. He takes another long inhale of his smoke, turns to Mingyu. There’s a moment that Mingyu refuses to blink, until Wonwoo blows the smoke out. And then he does, and it’s exactly as Mingyu thought it would be. Absolutely nothing special. Except that, he’s witnessed it now.

The hand on his shoulder drops, he stops being shoved away. He steps behind the bouncers as they get back to the rest of the line, reassuming their jobs. Mingyu leans on the wall next to Wonwoo, hands in his pockets.

“That was a flashy enter,” Wonwoo tells him, eyes back on the crowd.

“I knew my friend would have my back,” Mingyu comments.

Wonwoo falls back into silence. He’s already wearing makeup. He’s in a professional attire. Yet, this is probably the first time Mingyu meets him while he’s not working. It’s impressive how little of a difference it makes to the way he is being perceived. Like a celebrity, like he’s not real. Like he’s simply someone who made a deal, and now he’s being used for all its benefits.

A smoke break is always too short, no matter your line of work. Wonwoo throws the butt of the cigarette on the ground and smashes it with his polished shoe. He doesn’t bother to pick it back up. Mingyu’s eyes are still on it when fingers circle around his wrist, and he starts getting pulled away from the wall.

When they get inside the club, loud music drowns out any semblance of peace. Wonwoo doesn’t pause, he keeps walking, and Mingyu follows. They pass by the bar, the couches by the stage, the VIP area. When they reach the private rooms, Mingyu realizes that they were holding hands all along.

Wonwoo not only closes the door behind them this time, but he also locks it.

“Give it to me straight,” he says when his voice can be heard over the music again. “How many of your people know my name?”

“I could very well ask the same thing.”

“Mingyu.”

Mingyu sighs. “None.”

“None?”

Mingyu walks further inside the room. He remembers sitting frozen on this couch, once. He remembers panicking and being stupid. Now, he sits more comfortably than he ever should have.

“You mean to tell me you told no one?” Wonwoo hurries behind him, sits by him. “And you want me to stop thinking you stupid?”

“If I told my chief that you insinuated your source was out of our jurisdiction, I’d have been forbidden from continuing this,” he points between them. “Would you have preferred to be dropped on your ass? After everything?”

Wonwoo makes to rub his eyes tiredly, before he remembers he shouldn’t smudge his eye shadows. He places his hands on his thighs instead and squeezes. “What does that mean exactly?”

“It means,” Mingyu says carefully. “That we’re dealing with this by ourselves.”

“And what in the world does that mean?”

Mingyu glances at the mini bar behind them, suddenly craving a drink. He hasn’t been offered one though. He hasn’t paid to be here, to occupy Wonwoo’s time. Not in money, at least. He’s not allowed to forget how expensive this talk is. How much it cost.

“I want you digging deeper,” he says. “I need solid proof that your guy is involved in the murders, no matter what insignificant aspect of them. Link him to our case, and then he’s under our jurisdiction, no matter who he’s in cahoots with.”

Wonwoo shakes his head. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?” Wonwoo glares at him. “I won’t find anything you can use, can’t you see that? I get my information from my guy, he gets his information from someone else, that someone else gets their information from someone else. You’ll never get to the bottom of that rabbit hole, and neither will I.”

“Then people will keep dying,” Mingyu says simply.

“Looks that way,” Wonwoo replies, eyes falling back on his lap. His jaw is tense, but set. Almost stubbornly so.

“Look, I’m not asking you to find me the end of the rabbit hole,” Mingyu tries again. “Someone along the descent is bound to know more about these murders than we do. More than we can legally learn, even.”

Wonwoo just shakes his head again. Refusing to listen, as if he is allowed to.

“This is a chance that we can’t let go to waste,” Mingyu presses. “You started this, remember? Because your friends are the ones who are dying, and I can help put an end to this.”

Wonwoo’s expression sours, but he doesn’t speak. He just sits there, unmovable, when Mingyu had to run miles over his integrity to get here.

“Do you realize how much I’m sticking my neck out for this?” Mingyu leans closer to him. “Everything about this is illegal.”

“Yes, it is,” Wonwoo turns away. “That’s why I know there’s no way you’re pulling it off.”

“Have I not proved myself?”

“What, by getting a useless name out of a useless stripper?” Wonwoo scoffs. “Please.”

“So you just want to turn a blind eye to it all at the first inconvenience?” Mingyu reaches over, grabs his shoulder. “How nice it must be, to have the luxury. And you’re the one who called me privileged?”

Wonwoo yanks his shoulder away. “Does it look like I−”

“I did what had to be done!” Mingyu speaks over him. “Now it’s your turn.”

“And what happens if you’re found out, huh?!” Wonwoo abruptly stands up, hands balled into fists. “What, you get fired? You get fined, after a fair trial with a judge that’s partial to you because oh, I was only trying to solve the case! Whatever it takes, sir, I promise, I’m a good boy!”

“Sit back down.”

“You know what happens if I get caught, Mingyu?” Wonwoo continues, resolutely ignoring him. “I’m sure you have an idea. You must do, but you don’t care! And you know why you don’t care? Because you’re never going to find my body if I’m caught, you dumb idiot!” he flat out yells at him by the end.

Mingyu watches him walk away, something vile burning inside him. It’s horrible of him, petty, but in this moment, he hates him. He hates every single word that has ever come out of his mouth, the truth more than the lies. But he doesn’t have the luxury to be influenced by these emotions anymore, he’s already too far into this. What he needs to do is shut his mouth and convince a person to potentially walk into their death. For the case.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and it burns his tongue. But he needs Wonwoo back on the couch, where they can talk like adults. “I know you’re risking more than me. I just think you’re fully capable of pulling this off safely.”

“Yeah, right,” Wonwoo mutters somewhere behind him. The sound of a cork popping follows, liquid being poured into glass. Mingyu doesn’t need to turn to know that Wonwoo downs it all, before he slams the shot glass back on the mini bar.

“I think you are intelligent,” Mingyu continues. “You can get people exactly where you want them, like you did to me. I saw it first hand, Wonwoo, you can’t downplay your abilities to me. And if it comes to it,” he bites the corner of his lips. “If it comes to it, I’ll do anything to keep you safe. Even if it’s illegal. You know… you know I’m capable of that.”

In the silence that follows, Mingyu wants to assume that his words get Wonwoo thinking. He’d like to think that he said the right things, pushed him to the right direction. He doesn’t get to find out what effect his little speech had though, because there’s a sudden knock on the door.

Mingyu startles, Wonwoo even more so. He rushes away from the mini bar, hand fumbling to loosen his tie.

“What time is it?” he hisses at Mingyu.

“I don’t know, twelve?” Mingyu replies, getting the signal to mess up his hair a little bit. Look like he’s been entertained.

Wonwoo unlocks the heavy door and cracks it open. Mingyu doesn’t see who the person on the other side is, doesn’t hear their exchange. Wonwoo’s fingers tap incessantly on the doorknob, his agitation invisible to whoever it is that he’s talking. Mingyu sees though. It’s not an insignificant action, if it is being witnessed. He crosses his legs, waiting for a verdict.

As Wonwoo speaks, his fingers progressively still on the doorknob. A storm calming down, or a mask being put back on. It’s not good news. Mingyu would rather have him angry and honest than scheming and passive. Dealing with Wonwoo when he has hidden motives is a task he’s not sure he’s up to, especially not right now.

The door starts closing again, the person on the other side of it gone. Wonwoo leans against it when it’s shut, hands instantly going to fix his tie. Smooth over the collar of his shirt, dust his pants. He touches his hair, makes sure it’s still in place. For a few moments, that’s all he does. He’s fixing himself, his outside appearance as much as his expression, and Mingyu lets him have at least this.

“Can I remind you of something?” Wonwoo asks eventually, his voice calm again.

“Are you asking my permission?” Mingyu arches an eyebrow.

“I am,” Wonwoo looks at him as he pushes himself off the door. “Because I think that it will trouble you, if you remember.”

Mingyu eyes him cautiously as he walks the remaining distance between them, before stopping right in front of him. He offers his hand then, right palm up, like a gentleman asking a lady to a dance.

Curiosity killed the cat, they say. God knows Mingyu doesn’t need any more trouble, and Wonwoo’s warning, his actions, they all reek of it. From up close though, Mingyu can also smell his cologne. It’s so subtle, something clean and fresh and masculine, one would wonder at its existence in this place of dirty affairs and gender fluidity. If it’s a shield of some sorts, it makes for a poor repellent.

Mingyu takes his hand. Whatever he gets himself into, it can’t be worse than where he already is. And this is not trust, he knows it now. Except, this is what he would have labeled it as, just a month ago.

They leave the room just as they entered it, holding hands. Mingyu expects to be let go once in the public, ushered back to the bar so the other can work. Wonwoo though merely tugs at his hand, a subtle nod to follow him. Mingyu doesn’t get suspicious at once, why would he? They make their way further up front, so maybe Wonwoo wants to get him a seat below the stage. Wouldn’t be the first time.

Not only do they pass by empty seats, they also start moving to the side of the stage instead of the front. People cheer when they see them, and Wonwoo waves at them, all winks and smiles. Even under all the attention, he keeps leading Mingyu towards the little stairs that lead up on the stage. As if he intends to take him up there too.

And then it hits Mingyu.

The dancers in my club tend to make a spectacle out of hot patrons. Seokmin’s words come back to him all at once, what was once a joke now a very real situation.

“Wonwoo,” Mingyu hisses, trying to slow him down without anyone noticing.

“What?” Wonwoo turns back to him, a smirk that was nowhere to be found before, now firmly put in place. “Nervous?”

“I’m undercover,” Mingyu whispers, so quiet that not even Wonwoo must hear him. Mingyu’s attempts to tug him back are fruitless. They start climbing the stairs, and it would cause a lot bigger scene for Mingyu to run away now.

When his feet reach even surface, he looks at the ground. Bashful, shy, straight Yoohan, who was never meant to be on the spotlight. But he is now, and even if the stage lights take on a dark, misty hue, they still shine right into Mingyu’s eyes. When he glances at the people below, he finds that he can’t make out a single face.

A chair gets dragged to the middle of the stage. The music briefly goes silent. Mingyu thinks his footsteps make an awful noise as he is led to that chair, a body circling behind him. Two hands press on his shoulders then, with more force than expected, and he is made to sit.

The music starts all at once. The cheers pick up, but they’re so faint up here. Hands run down the expanse of Mingyu’s arms, palms slow and exploring. The person behind him slowly leans down, nose running the expanse of Mingyu’s neck, until hot lips blow even hotter in his ear.

“Don’t move if I don’t move you,” Wonwoo speaks just for him, his deep voice echoing in Mingyu’s brain. His palms have left Mingyu’s arms, now dragging up his chest. Under different circumstances, it would be a soothing gesture. “Relax.”

He stops touching Mingyu all at once, and a breath is punched out of him. Wonwoo walks in front of him one step after the other, and Mingyu can only stare at his back, the way that white shirt hugs his shoulders, too loose all of a sudden. This is a strip show, Mingyu remembers. This is everything he never wanted to experience again, not from this man. His stomach tightens with dozens of eyes on both of them.

Wonwoo slowly faces him. His fingers reach his tie, the music slows. And then saxophones blare, the piano picks up, and Wonwoo’s tie goes flying. He circles his fist around it, makes a whipping motion as he strides back to Mingyu. Before he knows it, the silky tie is thrown around his neck, and Wonwoo yanks him forward and he climbs on his lap.

Mingyu doesn’t know what it is he is supposed to be remembering. He doesn’t know why he keeps giving his permission to this man, fully aware that it’s going to be abused every time. The suit pants tighten over Wonwoo’s ass every time he rolls his hips. His belt struggles with every motion, and Mingyu’s eyes should be drawn to neither of these. His head is kept angled upwards with the tie, and Wonwoo finds the chance to explore his bare neck with his lips.

Mingyu’s breath stutters. He’s stiff, and the slow touch is searing. It starts an earthquake deep in his gut, dangerously shaking his composure. It’s worse knowing that this is all witnessed, because he can’t play it off as insignificant. Wonwoo pulls back after entirely too long, a wicked smile on his lips. Because he knows, it’s obvious, that Mingyu’s in his turf now. There’s no winning this battle.

Wonwoo throws his tie aside, and then drops on his knees. Mingyu only has a beat to calm himself, before his thighs are being pushed open and Wonwoo’s torso slides in between. His chest touches him from crotch to stomach, hands gripping the meaty part of his thighs as if he wants to advertise it. Mingyu’s legs tingle, muscles flexing, and it only makes the grip harder.

People are watching. As much as Mingyu can’t wrap his head around it, he also can’t stop thinking about it. Those that were waiting in line out there, the ones that Mingyu should have been nothing but a part of. Another nameless person in this world of anonymity, the reality of his unimportance drilled to him since he was able to think. Mingyu’s praised for being humble, for having learned this lesson early on.

He is humble, he tells himself as he lifts his eyes to the ceiling, his pants starting to tighten. Wonwoo slides up his body, hand coming to cup his cheek.

“You little show-off. I should have known,” he mouths against his lips, barely touching, and then he turns around, his back facing Mingyu, and sits on him.

A grunt leaves Mingyu’s throat, and it’s the worst sound he’s ever made. It’s then that Wonwoo finds his hands, grips them between his own. They are placed on his waist, just above the belt, and Mingyu can feel the muscles shifting as he starts grinding down. He feels it all, the rise and fall of his chest, the hair tickling his cheek as Wonwoo leans backwards, and worst of all, the friction on his pants. The song plays and plays, never-ending, and Mingyu feels himself stirring.

He grips Wonwoo’s waist tighter, even though he can’t exactly stop him in the middle of his performance, can he? Such a small waist too, miles of smooth skin underneath his shirt. Wonwoo lets his hands go, but Mingyu doesn’t move them. He needs something to hold on to, as Wonwoo runs his hands up his torso, all the way to his neckline. The music pauses. Then, it raises in pitch, and Wonwoo rips his shirt open.

The crowd cheers. Buttons fly. Mingyu thinks, part of his mind flies too. What is he supposed to be remembering? Why is Wonwoo doing this to him? The shirt slips off Wonwoo’s shoulders, and Mingyu struggles to focus, find a reason for this performance. Wonwoo grabs his hands again, and this time, he makes Mingyu’s palms rub all over him. He makes him squeeze his breasts, trace his abbs, and there’s not a single part of him that is soft, gentle. Mingyu’s touched more than his fair share of naked bodies, but this is a man. And yet, as this man keeps grinding down on him, all heat and passionate expertise, Mingyu’s getting roused.

Wonwoo must be able to tell. He has to, and it’s mortifying, that he can get such a reaction out of him. Mingyu doesn’t know if he gets emboldened, or if it’s just part of the show, but Wonwoo leads his hands right on top of his belt buckle. And then he turns his head, until his face is right in front of Mingyu’s.

“Take it off me,” he says, and before Mingyu can react, he captures his lips in a kiss.

Mingyu groans again, he can’t help it. Spurred by the cheer of the crowd, he kisses back, making sure to not let Wonwoo be the only one putting on a show. He opens his mouth, making it as filthy as possible. He bites Wonwoo’s lower lip as his hands get to work, unbuckling his belt with surprising dexterity. He is urged to continue with his zipper, letting everything hang open in front of dozens of damn people. Wonwoo rewards him with a particularly hard grind, and Mingyu lets go of his lips to bite his neck.

Wonwoo swallows then, a subtle thing, invisible to the audience. He grips one of Mingyu’s hands tighter, and drags it down his exposed underwear. Mingyu doesn’t actively try to feel around, find out if he is also responding to this. But then, Wonwoo actively grinds up against him, and maybe it’s only part of the show, but Wonwoo swallows again, and then he stands up.

His lips are parted and shiny when he looks at Mingyu, eyes half lidded. Mingyu’s certain he looks no better. His bulge must be visible by now. Wonwoo looks down at it, between Mingyu’s still spread thighs, and he smirks. Hatred flares up inside Mingyu, burning and hot and urgent. He assumes it’s hatred, at least.

Still facing him, Wonwoo lifts his foot and presses the heel of his shoe on the chair, right below Mingyu’s most sensitive parts. It makes him stiffen up again, his whole body going on alert. The song picks up for one final time. Wonwoo drags his shoe up, and Mingyu has to fight to remain still, the way he was ordered to. Pressure increases and increases, and Mingyu can do nothing but stare into Wonwoo’s eyes, daring him to go further. Daring him to finally be obvious in how he hurts him.

The pressure releases before any of it happens. Frankly, Mingyu didn’t expect it to. He blinks at Wonwoo, an abrupt sense of clarity coming to pierce through whatever spell he was just under. He is supposed to be remembering something. Something here is supposed to be troubling him, and it’s probably not his own sexuality. His brain is slow in turning, but there was something about Wonwoo deciding to spare him at the last minute that rings as important in Mingyu’s head.

Before he can even attempt to connect the pieces, Wonwoo pulls him off his chair. He makes him stand up, and Mingyu’s legs feel sluggish. His own clothes are messed up, indecent, but Wonwoo merely places a hand on the small of his back and pushes him further in front of the stage.

“Give it up for Yoohan, everyone!” he calls. “Happy birthday, darling,” he winks and gives a sharp slap to his ass. Mingyu grits his teeth. It’s nowhere near his birthday.

His thoughts get drowned out by cheers, both the important and the unimportant bits. He lowers his head again, pretending to be bashful in a way he no longer is. How can he be, when he is the one standing up here, while the rest of them are down there? How can he not feel special, more important than all these other fools who have no idea of the mess that rules this district? He doesn’t know why he does it, but he searches for Wonwoo’s hand and squeezes.

He gets squeezed back in response, right as the song ends. He glances at the stairs in pity, not ready to return below the stage. His blood is still rushing in his ears, he can’t calm it. Thankfully, Wonwoo tugs his hand again, and this time it’s towards the backstage. Mingyu follows him blindly.

He has to duck a bit once behind the curtains, and so does Wonwoo. The stairs leading to the dressing rooms are made of metal and they’re narrow. The space kinda opens up afterwards, and a woman seems to be waiting for them there. All dressed up in lingerie and gentle curls falling over her shoulders.

“Gosh, you’re bringing him backstage?” she tells Wonwoo, barely glancing at Mingyu’s direction.

“Don’t you think he earned it?” Wonwoo smiles at her.

“Whatever, not my problem,” she sidesteps them both and gets on the stairs. “I’m up.”

When she leaves, like clockwork, a man comes to take her place. He’s quite young, quite lean, and maybe this is the reason he doesn’t dare say anything as Wonwoo pulls Mingyu further inside. They take a sharp turn through another heavy curtain, and the darkness instantly dissipates.

The only backstage room Mingyu’s ever been inside was when his class put up a play, when he was thirteen. There was a bit of chaos with the props, and their teacher trying to keep them all in line and send them up when it was their turn, but for the most part, everyone could find a bench to sit on.

It’s not like that in here. It looks like the room used to be organized once, with big chests of clothes and wardrobes, and even mirrored desks with cute little chairs for the performers to sit, like in the movies. It could have been cozy, if there wasn’t a hurricane of people darting around, picking out clothes and getting naked right in front of everyone, the air heavy with hairspray and makeup products. Clothes are spilling out of their designated places, thigh-high socks and tiaras, and an honest-to-god firefighter uniform. Wonwoo adds to the mess by tossing his ruined shirt on a pile, uncaring where it lands. He lets go of Mingyu’s hand to do up his pants, and immediately a robe is slapped over his chest from a seemingly random direction.

Mingyu lifts his head to see none other than Chaeri, hair still undone, an unimpressed expression on her face. “Backstage? Really?” she asks Wonwoo. “You’ve only been given permission for the lap dance.”

“He’s okay, I promise,” Wonwoo tells her as he slips his arms in the robe. He nudges Mingyu with his hips. “Tell her what a good boy you are.”

Years of academy training allow Mingyu to keep a straight face. “You can pretend I’m not even here, I won’t bother anyone!” he puts on his most earnest voice to say.

Chaeri gives him a tentative smile. If she pities him, good. If she keeps questioning Wonwoo about bringing him here, even better. Mingyu has no idea what he is doing here either.

In the end, she does neither of those things. She just sighs and pulls at the strings of Wonwoo’s robe, helping him tighten them. “I need you back out in twenty. Don’t dawdle, and don’t go where I can’t see you.”

“Sure,” Wonwoo replies.

Chaeri makes the final knot, and she looks at Wonwoo straight in the eyes. “Careful,” she mouths at him, before letting him go, to go attack another shirtless guy with a robe.

Wonwoo wraps an arm around Mingyu’s and tugs him forward. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s meet my friends.”

“Why?” Mingyu can’t help but ask. “Why any of this?”

“You tell me, darling,” Wonwoo answers by not answering. Mingyu doesn’t get the chance to question him further though, because he’s already turning towards one half-naked guy, currently trying to fit in very tight pants.

“Hey,” Wonwoo greets him.

“Oh, hey,” the other replies, eyes flitting to Mingyu. “Seungkwan was right, you really are down bad.”

Wonwoo huffs, amused. “Changkyun, this is Yoohan. Yoohan, this is the worst teammate to have on League.”

“You did not just introduce me as that,” Changkyun makes to kick Wonwoo, before realizing his leg movement is restricted.

“You play League?” Mingyu doesn’t bother to hide his surprise. “The video game?”

“Why yes, Yoohan, some of us have lives outside of office hours,” Wonwoo teases him. Friendly, as if all of this is normal. As if Mingyu has ever thought of Wonwoo, or any other dancer in fact, as a person existing outside of this place. It’s not something any of them usually encourages, it breaks the magic.

“It’s the whole reason he’s blind as a squid,” Changkyun tells Mingyu, pulling a belt around his pants. “Don’t let him fool you with a cool story for his poor eyesight. He’s just a nerd.”

You have poor eyesight, Mingyu wants to ask Wonwoo. He’d have never guessed.

“Even blind, I still carry you,” Wonwoo shrugs, and Changkyun rolls his eyes.

“Whatever man,” he says. “Pleased to meet you Yoohan. Now both of you, shoo, I need to do makeup.”

“Do you need help? I have a bit of time,” Wonwoo offers, which is quite generous of him. Mingyu feels like he’s been thrown for a loop. It’s still Wonwoo by his side, his voice, his appearance, yet he speaks like a stranger.

“I got it, go give your boyfriend a tour,” Changkyun waves him off. “Oh, and don’t talk to Soohee today, she’s not in the mood. It’s her turn to babysit.”

“Okay, thanks,” Wonwoo says before he tugs Mingyu forward. “Come on, next person.”

Mingyu doesn’t bother questioning him anymore as they navigate through the chaos. He has to come to terms with the fact that he’s not getting any answers. It’s up to him to figure out why in the world would Wonwoo willingly let him know he plays League and has bad eyesight. As if it’s relevant to the case. As if it’s more important than the conversation they were having in the private rooms.

“Jessi,” Wonwoo taps the shoulder of a woman, rummaging through the wardrobe. She curses as she drops something, but when she turns to face Wonwoo, her expression is not annoyed.

“What is it sweetheart?” she asks, before her eyes land on Mingyu. “Ohh, you’re the hot one who got the lap dance,” she smiles, white teeth showing.

“Hi,” Mingyu greets her. “Nice to meet you.”

“This is Yoohan,” Wonwoo introduces him briefly.

“Oh, I know,” Jessi places an appreciative palm on his bicep. “Damn. Even better up close. The one time Wonwoo gets a man, and he looks like that.”

This, Mingyu does question.

“The one time?” he asks Wonwoo.

“Shh,” Wonwoo tries to hush Jessi. “Too much information.”

“Am I embarrassing you? Am I annoying you?” she pretends to whisper, leaning close to Wonwoo.

“No.”

“Oh poor baby, wanting to appear all cool and intimidating,” Jessi laughs.

“Stop,” Wonwoo tries to push her away, but it’s without any actual force.

“I’ve known this one since he was a baby,” Jessi tells Mingyu, pointing her thumb at Wonwoo’s chest. “Barely eighteen, not cool at all. Is he cool now, Yoohan?”

Mingyu briefly looks at Wonwoo, how he’s frowning without really frowning, bothered about something unserious. He does look like a kid, in front of this woman. Mingyu can almost picture him, still fresh in this job, adopted by a big sister. He quickly shakes his head to rid himself of the image. Innocence does not suit Wonwoo.

“He is pretty cool, yeah,” Mingyu says.

“Yup, I think so too,” Jessi pinches Wonwoo’s cheek. “The coolest.”

Wonwoo clicks his tongue, and under any other circumstances, Mingyu would think it genuine. He has seen him genuinely distressed though, with things that actually matter, so he knows that this is nothing but a pale reflection of his actual anger.

“I just wanted to ask who’s babysitting today,” Wonwoo manages to break free from her grasp.

“Soohee,” Jessi replies. “Don’t talk to her.”

“Geez, okay,” Wonwoo rubs his cheek. “Was that so hard?”

Jessi just cackles, enjoying this much more than she should. Wonwoo is not subtle in how he pushes Mingyu away, eager to get away from a person he deliberately approached. A person who he had to know was going to be embarrassing, ruin his image.

What is Mingyu supposed to be remembering?

“What do they mean by babysitting?” he asks as Wonwoo leads him to a corner of the room, as far away from the commotion as possible.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” is all Wonwoo says, picking up a makeup bag. “I’d love to introduce you to more people, but I need to get ready.”

And just like that, he leaves Mingyu standing against a wall, while he leans over a mirror to fix himself once again. Mingyu didn’t realize how ruined his hair got after the dance, how all the clothes remaining got rumpled. His lipstick too. Mingyu wonders if there’s any of it visible on his own lips. He brings his fingers up to feel it, as if he could identify it by touch alone.

They left a talk unfinished. It was due to external intervention, Mingyu can’t fault Wonwoo for that, but there’s still something important he needs to convince him to do. He won’t let him get away from it.

“Wonwoo,” he speaks when he lowers his fingers and finds no trace of color. “You’re going to put on new clothes. You’re going to fix your hair and makeup. And then you’re going out there.”

Wonwoo’s hand still in the bag for a moment, before it reassumes its work. “And what will I be leaving behind?” he says quietly.

“Friends, okay, yes,” Mingyu replies. “I see. But if they are already in danger−”

“No. Look closer.”

Reeling back his own annoyance, Mingyu does as he is told. He looks, he really does. He takes a moment to simply take the entire room in, every corner, every person. The mess, the voices, beautiful people running around in urgency. Actors and performers, a glimpse behind their mask. It doesn’t change anything, it doesn’t change the situation Wonwoo has put both of them in, by calling him out on his job all those weeks ago. It’s his fault. It’s the consequences of his own−

Mingyu’s eyes abruptly fall in the corner opposite of theirs. There, behind tall moving bodies, up on a makeup stool, there is a little girl. Mingyu has to blink, make sure he’s seeing this correctly. But no, this is no mirage. There is a little girl, dressed in a jumper and pajama bottoms, mixing around eyeshadows in a little palette in her hands. She can’t be older than 6.

By her side, sitting hunched over a pile of clothes, is a black-haired woman who looks like she’s trying really hard to smile. She talks to the little one, animated and gentle, but when the kid looks away, she wipes tears away from her eyes.

“Soohee,” Wonwoo offers, somehow understanding what Mingyu is looking at. “Babysitting Chaeri’s kid.”

Mingyu’s eyes almost bulge out of his head. “She has a kid?”

“A very sweet one,” Wonwoo leans closer to the mirror to wipe the smudged lipstick at the corner of his mouth. “Little Chaeyoung. We take turns looking after her, while her mom looks after us.”

Mingyu tries to imagine spending a childhood in here, amidst naked, sexualized skin and deafening music, and people who sell their bodies like it means nothing. He tries imagine being raised by dozens of these people, a different one every day, until the word parent completely loses its meaning. He is horrified.

“Does she have… I don’t know, nowhere else to leave her?” he asks. “The dad?”

“Is this a serious question?” Wonwoo looks at him through the mirror.

Mingyu bites back an apology. He is not surprised. He should not be surprised. Nobody would be working here if they had a choice. But what happens after you accept you don’t have a choice? You can’t stay bitter until the end. What these people do, what everyone does, is try to make the situation bearable for each other. To the best of their meager abilities.

“Even you?” Mingyu asks. “Do you look after her too?”

“Even me,” Wonwoo replies, eyes glued to the mirror in front of him. “I sometimes cry by her side too. I get her to talk about her day, about the girls at her school whose parents don’t let them play with her, and I try to be a little girl, to be the friend she needs. I help her with her homework, even though she’s not good at it, because it’s really hard to study in here. And when she looks away, just like Soohee, I have to wipe away tears because ten years from now, she’s going to put on a uniform and join us on the stage. It’s her only future, just like it was ours.”

And suddenly, Mingyu has to avert his eyes too. He can’t look at the scene anymore, innocent as it was a few moments ago. He feels punched. It’s wrong, all of it, so very wrong. He became a police officer to help fix this world, to help people. It’s debilitating, to know that there’s nothing he can do about this, except call in social workers. But what are they going to do? Separate her from her mother and put her in a house where even more strangers will raise her? At least here, she is loved.

At least here, everyone remembers their humanity to hold each other up. Even Wonwoo.

Mingyu clicks his tongue. It tastes foul. The things he asks Wonwoo to do, the way he tries to push him deeper in the pit the other has explicitly told him he wants to get out for. And for what? To solve the case? To save his own ass?

He steps closer to him, until both their figures are reflected on the mirror. Their eyes meet in the glass, and that is awful too, how there’s understanding in there.

“Say it,” Mingyu whispers. “What do I need to remember?”

This time, Wonwoo doesn’t hesitate. “I am human.”

Mingyu respects him enough to not look away. Even as it physically hurts him to keep looking, to at least give him this common decency.

“Don’t tell me to go out there if you can’t accept that,” Wonwoo adds.

This is the point that Mingyu should turn back. This is the moment that he swallows his guilt, his pride, and admits that everything has been for nothing. There is still time to return to his usual life, to his usual self. Golden boy Mingyu, trustworthy, dependable. This is the time to be the bigger person and let Wonwoo go back to his life too. They’ve played around enough. The wounds inflicted on each other from now on won’t be superficial.

He places a hand on Wonwoo’s shoulder. He steps even closer, until his lips are right next to his ear.

“Is it your humanity that will get you out of here? Or is it the thing that holds you back?”

Wonwoo purses his lips. “So you can hit lower. Good to know.”

“But I’m right,” Mingyu grabs a hairspray out of the bag. “There is something that’s holding you back,” he brushes Wonwoo’s hair out of his eyes, parts it to the side. Careful, gentle, like coaxing an animal out of its hiding place. A delicate maneuver.

“There is,” Wonwoo looks up at him, almost stubbornly so. “Do you really want me to show you?”

More than anything I’ve ever wanted, Mingyu thinks, and the thought surprises even himself.

“I do,” he says, shaking the hairspray before he covers Wonwoo’s eyes and presses on it. He waits for a moment, until the air is less suffocating, before he lowers his hand. It is his own hairstyle, the one he has given him. Despite the ugliness of the conversation, he is, of course, uncannily handsome. And now, a bit more like Mingyu himself.

“Alright. I’ll show you,” Wonwoo reaches up to feel his hair, the way they have been molded. “You don’t have a shift tomorrow morning, yes?” he asks, and Mingyu nods. It’s a Sunday. “Then meet me outside the club at 12. We’ll have lunch.”

“Deal.”

Wonwoo doesn’t grace him with anymore secret conversations that night. He takes him back to the front of the club, dumps him among those Mingyu belongs with. But he keeps stealing glances at him whenever he walks by. He looks at him, in a way that is irreversible.

Like he is hope and despair at the same time. Like he is doom itself.

Chapter Text

At night, Mingyu can’t sleep. It’s quite the rare problem nowadays, as he is always exhausted by the time he finally returns home from Phryne’s House. Coupled with the knowledge that he needs to rise for work the next day, it’s only a matter of getting out of his clothes and crawling into bed before he passes out.

Not tonight though. Tonight, he is a kid again, a kid believing in Santa Claus. He sits in his bed and stares up at the ceiling as if it’s the Christmas Eve, and he has to keep his ears alert to hear reindeer on the roof. There is not a roof above his head for reindeer to land of course, neither a chimney, merely another apartment of the building, probably identical to his. That visceral feeling of anticipation though, that is exactly the same as back then.

Logically, Mingyu knows he is not waking up to presents in his living room. And yet it’s eating away at his brain, that tomorrow is going to be an important day. Something to look forward to, unexplainable as it is. He’s meeting up with Wonwoo at 12. They are going to have lunch, as he tries to convince him to dig deeper. It’s a simple ordeal, if not a mundane one, but there is a part of Mingyu that can’t help but look forward to it. A traitorous, unassuming part, that goes in great contrast with the general dread and the dislike Mingyu has for the other.

It’s enough to keep him up way longer than it should. Going over possible conversation paths, trying to predict in what unpredictable way Wonwoo is going to blindside him this time, and coming up with imaginary counters for it. The sky is not as dark when sleep finally claims him, but at least he wakes up in time. He showers and dresses himself quickly, deciding to keep the clean and proper quality that suit pants and a dress shirt provide. He wears them in lighter colors, a morning attire, before spending decidedly less time than usual fixing his hair. This is not a date.

There used to be a time, when Mingyu was first assigned to this precinct, that he wanted to do absolutely everything possible to make a good impression on his coworkers. An eager rookie, a guy with a big heart who loved to ease others’ burden. He still is like this, he supposes, because every time a Sunday comes around and it’s not his shift, he still is considerate of his working colleagues. He doesn’t bring them sweets every week anymore, but it was a good habit to have. It made them smile.

It's a sunny day, if a bit cold. It’s the perfect day for kindness, and recently, Mingyu needs to be reminded of the person he truly is. Before his appointment with Wonwoo, he stops by the bakery near his house and gets a little assortment of pastries, sweet-smelling and cute to look at. He carefully deposits the box on the passenger’s seat, and he takes a detour through his station.

Everyone is happy to see him. He gets grateful looks and pats on his back, and it really does make him feel warm inside. For a little bit, everyone gets a break, and their happiness is contagious. For a little bit, everyone leaves their posts unattended, enjoying the fresh air of positivity Mingyu brings.

Because he has an appointment, he doesn’t linger. He’s in and out quickly, apologizing for not keeping them further company. They all shoo him away, with wishes to enjoy the rest of his day, and just to make them happy, Mingyu thinks he will.

Like the first time Mingyu visited the red-light district during the day, its stillness doesn’t fail to surprise him. Gone are the people, the lights. Instead of the loud music coming from the clubs, there are birds chirping as they pick at the trash thrown all over the pavements.

Mingyu brings his car to a slow, trudging through the streets for once instead of parking away. The road is silent too, not a single moving car in view. It makes his trip to Phryne’s House short, and his palms all the more clammy for it. He wipes them quickly on his pants. He is not nervous.

Wonwoo stands much at the same spot he did last night, smoking against the wall. He is the only person out and about, in this long street of emptiness. He notices Mingyu’s car pretty quickly, and he leans down to put out his cigarette on the floor. When he stands up again, Mingyu is parked right in front of him.

Mingyu’s hands get clammy again. The Wonwoo that stands in front of him is not the one he is used to. Mingyu knew, theoretically, that he wasn’t getting the performer today, with his makeup and his revealing clothes. But he didn’t know how Wonwoo would look like without it all. Just in a pair of sweatpants and sports shoes, and a thick turtleneck that doesn’t really fit with either. Hair falling over his eyes, a hint of stubble. At least his friend last night mentioned his bad eyesight, so Mingyu is not taken aback by the glasses.

Just like that, Mingyu goes from knowing nothing about Wonwoo outside of work, to having a clear image of him in his head. He rubs his arms as he walks around Mingyu’s car to get to the passenger seat. He looks cold, the way a dancer is never allowed to, no matter the lack of clothing. Mingyu cranks up the heater, before the door opens.

“I should have brought a jacket,” is the first thing Wonwoo says. His voice is the same, a little bitter, a little regretful. “Didn’t think you’d be late.”

That shakes Mingyu out of his staring. “I’m not,” he says, turning his eyes on the road as he starts the car again. “Where are we going?”

“Home,” Wonwoo replies, and Mingyu whips his head right back around.

“What?”

“What?” Wonwoo asks back. “I didn’t dress like this to go to some fancy restaurant.”

And just like that, he catches Mingyu unprepared. He supposes he should be used to it by now.

“You should have told me earlier,” he mutters as they drive away from the club. “I would have bought you the customary house-visiting gifts.”

“Yeah?” Wonwoo gives him a faint smile. It’s probably mocking. “Would you have gotten me flowers?”

“Sweets, actually,” Mingyu replies. “I brought some at the station, I should have gotten more.”

“Hmm,” Wonwoo leans against the window, looking at the road absentmindedly. “That’s not a bad idea. There is a bakery a few blocks away, if you still want to get something.”

“A bakery?” Mingyu asks. “Here?” He would not have thought the red-light district had such amenities. That small businesses would be allowed to survive.

“Shocking, I know,” Wonwoo replies dryly. “Wait until you hear about the convenience store. Would you believe that poor people need food to survive?”

Mingyu bites the corner of his lips, beating shame back with a stick. Condescending prick. 

“There,” Wonwoo points him to a small bakery. It looks run-down, the same way all non-club buildings look around here. The smell coming off of it though, fresh bread and cinnamon, is nothing sort of mouthwatering.

“Get something fancy,” Wonwoo instructs him as he leaves the car.

Mingyu doesn’t know why, but he listens to him. He buys a whole apple pie, still steaming from the oven. Even if he still has doubts about its quality, at least it’s fresh. It instantly fills the car with that pleasant cinnamon scent when Mingyu places the box on the backseats. When he returns to his own seat, he finds Wonwoo rubbing his hands over the heater.

“So where do you live?” Mingyu asks him.

“Take a left here, it’s not far,” Wonwoo replies.

It turns out to be the truth. A few roads over, there is a cluster of two-storey buildings, an apartment complex that could have been considered fancy, fifty years ago. It was obviously made with something grander in mind than what it turned out as, dirty marble and broken window frames. On one roof, three women are doing laundry in a basin, the way people did before washing machines. Clotheslines spread between most of the balconies, silently waving against the wind. A lonely grandpa gazes blindly at the horizon from inside a yard, almost falling over for how slouched he sits. A forgotten football rests between some stairs, torn and muddy, an echo of children playing outside, once. They don’t anymore. Everything is silent in the red-light district during the day.

Mingyu parks his car nearby and picks up his apple pie, before following Wonwoo towards one of the chipped wooden doors. He is still looking around all the houses when Wonwoo knocks.

“Bohyuk get the door!” a woman’s voice sounds from inside.

Mingyu has only a few seconds to register the footsteps from inside the house, the open windows up on the second floor. The way Wonwoo makes no move to unlock the door on his own.

“You don’t live alone?!” he manages to hiss at Wonwoo before the door opens.

A tall boy appears at the doorway. A boy with the same wide shoulders as Wonwoo, the same sharp jawline, even if he must be significantly younger. Said boy says nothing as he gives Mingyu an once-over, and then throws Wonwoo a long stare. Something with meaning, familiar in a way Mingyu can’t decipher.

“Do try to remember you have keys next time,” the boy says, finally stepping back to let them in.

“Sure,” Wonwoo says, and the other rolls his eyes in a way that betrays they’ve already had this conversation more than enough times.

Wonwoo places a hand on the small of Mingyu’s back. “So, this is my brother, Bohyuk,” he introduces the boy, with a type of casualness in his voice that sounds extremely out of place. “Bohyuk, this is Mingyu.”

Mingyu’s eyes widen. He tries to be subtle as he glances at him, trying to understand why in the world would he introduce him with his real name, before societal etiquette dictates that he has to shake the boy’s hand and bow. Bohyuk does the same, but it doesn’t look like he wants to. He says nothing as he disappears further inside the house, going up a creaky flight of stairs and closing a door behind him.

“Wonwoo?” Mingyu whispers once they are alone. “What the fuck?”

The other simply starts taking his shoes off. “What?” he asks him. “You’re not undercover here.”

Mingyu doesn’t get to reply, before another door opens, this time loudly. The noise and scent of a kitchen in full action slips inside the room, something roasting in the oven. A middle-aged woman appears from what must be the kitchen door, quite tall herself, with a stained apron tied around her torso.

“Hello there!” she greets Mingyu, wiping her hands on her apron. “I’m sorry I didn’t get the door myself, I had to flip the meat.”

“Good morning,” Mingyu bows politely. “It’s no problem at all.”

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo says, his name still sounding offensive spoken in front of others. “This is my mother. Mother, this is Mingyu.”

“Pleased to meet you dear,” the woman nods at him.

Mingyu doesn’t have even a second to gape. Not even a fraction of time to make sense of the sudden situation, where he is apparently a guest over at Wonwoo’s family house. He has to play his part.

“Likewise,” he says. He then remembers he is holding a big box with an apple pie. And suddenly, he is grateful Wonwoo pointed him towards that bakery. “This is for you,” he extends the box towards Wonwoo’s mother. “Thank you for having me today.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you.” Her eyes wrinkle when she smiles. “Please, come inside, make yourself comfortable. Wonwoo, go bring him slippers.”

Mingyu is a little lost as he is shown through the living room and pointed to sit on a double couch in front of an unlit fireplace. It’s an impressive fireplace, carved with intricate patterns, but all the furniture around it is old. A fraying cover over an armchair, carpets on the marble floor, in an attempt to stave the coldness of it off.

“Would you like some tea, dear?” Wonwoo’s mother, Wonwoo’s actual mother, asks, and Mingyu tries not to do a double take.

“Please, I don’t want to trouble you,” he smiles politely.

“Nonsense!” she waves him off. “Do you know how rare it is for Wonwoo to bring his friends over? You’re getting pampered today, I’m afraid.”

Mingyu laughs a little, the appropriate amount. “Well, in that case…” he agrees tentatively.

The woman immediately stands up straighter, scanning the room with her eyes. She finds Wonwoo, who has just arrived with a pair of slippers.

“Go on, don’t just stand there!” she slaps him lightly with a towel. “Go make him tea.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Wonwoo places a hand on his hip. “Anything else, ma’am?”

She huffs a laugh and looks back at Mingyu, in that exasperatedly fond way only mothers do. Mingyu is dumbfounded. Especially since Wonwoo does go to the kitchen to prepare him tea, no complaint whatsoever. 

“I hope he is less sassy to you than he is to me,” his mother comes to sit by Mingyu. “He can be insufferable sometimes.”

Mingyu has half the mind to tell her exactly how insufferable her son has been to him. “It’s endearing, most of the time,” is what comes out of his mouth instead.

“I’m glad you think so too,” she grins. “He is a good boy. It’s always nice to see that he is not as alone as he seems sometimes.”

Mingyu doesn’t know what to say to that. From up close, he can see the blemishes in the woman’s skin, a little loose here, a little rough there. A thin white scar below her sunken eyes, hair pulled neatly in a bun. Up close, he realizes that she must be younger than his own mother. And yet, time has caught up with her much more extensively.

“I’m afraid I need to return to the food,” she says apologetically and stands up. “Make yourself at home, I mean it! The bathroom is over there if you need to freshen up. Wonwoo will return shortly to keep you company.”

“Thank you,” Mingyu bows with his head again. “You’re being really kind to me.”

It is his face that is friendly, probably, the way he still knows how to sound earnest. The way that he has spent his entire childhood loved by adults, knowing how to be likeable. Now too, Wonwoo’s mother ruffles his hair before she leaves the room, a pleased expression on her face.

Mingyu finally gets a moment to himself. Against his better judgement, curiosity gets the best of him. He uses that moment to look around the living room more extensively, at all the cupboards and the shelves that he can see while sitting down. It is a family living room through and through, with display wine bottles gathering dust, a sewing box, and framed photos of years past scattered around every available surface.

Most of them depict four people. A kid that can’t be older than ten and a younger version of the woman Mingyu was just talking to, usually holding a baby. And behind them, holding them all in an embrace or just standing back to admire them, there is a man with Wonwoo’s broad shoulders and narrow waist, his jawline. It’s a beautiful family. They’re all smiling.

In some pictures, there are only three people. There are two or three obviously before Wonwoo’s brother was born, with him as a toddler, as an elementary school student, at a sunny beach. These all look normal too, if a little old. But as Mingyu maps out the rest of the pictures, as he sees Wonwoo’s brother growing up right before his eyes, he can’t help but notice there is a person missing. And the smiles that are so natural on the rest of the photos, they slowly fade as everyone gets older. In what must be the most recent one, one that the three of them are gathered around a cake that says Bohyuk Happy 18, only their mother is smiling.

There is one picture in particular that Mingyu spends a long time looking at. It’s up on the fireplace, right next to one of Wonwoo with a backpack that looks bigger than him, probably some kind of first day at school. Similarly, in the picture of Mingyu’s interest, it’s his brother with the backpack that looks comically large on him. Behind him, his mother is holding his shoulders, tired but prideful. On her right, a teenage Wonwoo is looking to the side, eyes distant, closed off. On her left, the picture is torn.

It raises questions Mingyu doesn’t have the time to ask, because the kitchen door opens. He is slow to avert his eyes from that picture. Wonwoo comes in carrying a tray of teacups and biscuits, and it only takes him a second to realize what Mingyu is looking at. He rounds the living room with his tray of steaming tea, and when he passes in front of the fireplace, he casually turns the frame around. Firmly away from Mingyu’s wandering gaze. He says nothing of it as he serves him tea. Mingyu doesn’t say anything either.

“Your family looks lovely,” is what he tells him instead. “You take after your father. Your brother does too.”

“Strong genes,” Wonwoo says as he sits down himself. He makes his own tea. “Well, at least until cancer decided to show up. Not so strong, then.”

That answers Mingyu’s unasked question. Wonwoo leans back, holding his cup in both palms to suck up the warmth. He crosses his legs, makes himself comfortable, and he looks at Mingyu expectantly. Ready for questioning, it seems. Mingyu’s not going to miss his chance.

“How old were you?” he asks.

“Twelve.”

“I’m sorry. Must have been rough,” Mingyu sips his tea. “Was that when you met−”

Wonwoo kicks him. It’s sudden and sharp, spreading a numbing pain up his calf. Coupled with the flash of warning in Wonwoo’s eyes, it’s enough to make Mingyu shut his mouth. Message clear.

“It was rough,” Wonwoo continues, as if nothing happened. “Money was tight until I started working too.”

Mingyu pretends not to know exactly how this feels. He pushes aside that unwanted pang of recognition, of familiarity.

“How old were you when you started working?” he asks.

Wonwoo hums absentmindedly, scratching the side of his head in thought. “I forget,” he says in the end. “But I made a lot more than my mother from the get-go. Had to handle more things than her, too.”

“You became responsible for them,” Mingyu says, eyes falling miserably on his tea. “Carried the burden of survival.”

Wonwoo blinks at him. “That’s… exactly it, actually.”

“What about your brother? Does he help?” Mingyu asks.

“He started working at that convenience store I mentioned, after he was done with high school. He’s saving up for a higher education,” Wonwoo explains. A beat of silence. “I don’t allow him to spend his money anywhere else.”  

This is a cruel, cruel world. All of last night’s anticipation, all that frail excitement, it’s unnerving how quickly it disappears now. How it fizzles out to nothing, a bitter reminder that there is nothing fun about what Mingyu needs Wonwoo to do for him.

“They’re holding you back,” Mingyu mutters, understanding far more than he ever should have. “And you brought me to meet them.” He closes his eyes. “You are sick.”

“Pot calling the kettle black,” Wonwoo replies softly, unbothered. “My mother was really excited when I told her I’d bring someone for lunch. She is making her specialty. We’re going to sit around the table and share food, and you’re going to answer all of her questions, and you’re going to get to know us. And then you can ask me again to involve myself further in your mess.”

There is no way Mingyu just sits there and takes this. He can’t let this case be the complete ruin of his morals. “I did not agree to this. What’s stopping me from walking out right now?” he asks.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t want to know me,” Wonwoo sips his tea. “Then again, denial suits you.”

Mingyu glares at him.

“Also, if you leave, I’m having you banned from the club,” Wonwoo adds.

The audacity is not surprising anymore. Neither is the way Mingyu gets cornered. If he leaves now, he loses this game, simple as that. He can’t afford that now, not after everything.

Mingyu has no choice but to steel himself for it. It’s like he always says to his sister, when there are unpleasant things that need to be done. You freeze your heart and you do it. But maybe he should not be thinking of his sister at a time like this. In fact, his own family should be the furthest thing away from his mind. He should not want to run home when Wonwoo’s mother calls for them to set the living room table. He can’t afford to imagine her despair if something were to happen to the son she relies so heavily on. Not when he is the one asking Wonwoo to endanger himself.

He should not be disgusted at himself, wanting to run back to his own mother’s arms and never look back at this filthy case.

He is an adult. He handles it.

The food that Wonwoo’s mother pulls out of the oven is some kind of roast, family recipe she says. It’s the type of thing that is usually made with beef, strung together with a bunch of vegetables and spices, but Wonwoo’s mother has used pork. Tastier, she says with a straining smile. Cheaper, is what Mingyu hears.

Wonwoo’s brother makes a reappearance when the food is served. They all take their seats, leaving Mingyu opposite of Wonwoo. It’s discomfort he finds at the fact that they’re not next to each other, and then disturbance for ever having such a thought.

“Mingyu dear, don’t be shy,” Wonwoo’s mother says. “Eat like you’re at home. If you don’t, these two will clear the tray before you’ve had your fill,” she says, pointing at her boys with mischief.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, proving her point by taking quite a big portion of the meat for himself. Bohyuk doesn’t make a sound.

“It’s really good, ma’am. I wouldn’t blame them,” Mingyu replies.

“Eh, I’ve done better,” she shrugs. “But it’s warm and it fills the belly, which is more than I could ever ask for.”

And suddenly, Mingyu’s eleven years old again, eating watered-down mushroom soup for dinner and complaining about it. It’s warm, it will help you sleep, his mother had told him, eyes so big, so desperate for him to enjoy her food. Mingyu stopped complaining afterwards.

“So, Mingyu, what do you do?” Wonwoo’s mother asks conversationally.

“I, um,” Mingyu wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin. He isn’t undercover, he reminds himself. Wonwoo’s family gets to have the real him. “I’m a police officer.”

“Really?” the woman sounds pleased again. “Are you assigned to this district?”

“The Hanjeong-gu station, actually,” Mingyu clarifies. “But yes, this part of the town is under our jurisdiction.” When it’s convenient, at least.

“Oh. Then you must be aware of the happenings here. This lady I clean for, she leaves the TV on at her living room. I see the news. Is it true that−”

Wonwoo clears his throat. It’s loud enough that it makes his mother stop talking to look at him. “He obviously can’t talk about cases,” he tells her.

“Oh,” she says, as if only now realizing. “Of course. I apologize.”

Mingyu gives her an apologetic smile of his own. The exact same one he gives his own mother when she asks him questions he can’t, or just simply doesn’t want to answer.

“Everyone is curious, don’t worry about it,” Mingyu says. “I promise we’re doing the best we can to keep everyone safe.”

“That’s a relief,” the woman says. “Everybody is already so worried, but me even more so. I don’t have daughters you see, but I do have a son that’s closely related to the victim profile.” She glances at Wonwoo, and indeed, her gaze is full of worry. “It’s good to know someone personally cares for his safety.”

Mingyu almost swallows wrong. Perhaps, this is the worst thing Wonwoo has ever subjected him to. The man doesn’t even say anything, he just smiles down at his plate, probably knowing exactly how hard the words strike Mingyu. He looks almost fond.

“I’ve told him repeatedly,” Mingyu says, burning holes in him with his eyes. “I’m not letting anything happen to him.”

Wonwoo’s mother looks between them for a moment, curious, but Wonwoo doesn’t even lift his head. He says nothing, except, he keeps up that fond smile long after it is appropriate. His brother hasn’t looked away from his plate once either, but now he’s frowning.

“So,” Mingyu’s mother starts again, a renewed lightheartedness in her voice. A change of subject. “How did you two meet?”

Before Mingyu can come up with a lie, Wonwoo beats him to it.

“Work.”

That gets a reaction out of Wonwoo’s brother. He coughs in his fist, eyes watering. Dramatic, Mingyu thinks, until he realizes that Wonwoo’s family is fully aware of his profession. And in that profession, meeting at work has an entirely different meaning than normal.

“Don’t be like that, Bohyuk,” Wonwoo’s mother chastises him. “Wonwoo’s allowed to have work friends. You have work friends.”

“Not the clients,” Bohyuk mutters, shooting Mingyu a dirty look.

It shouldn’t bother Mingyu, if this stranger assumes he’s sleeping with his brother. Neither Bohyuk nor his mother mean anything to him, who he didn’t even know they existed two hours ago. He doesn’t need to defend his pride here, and he definitely doesn’t need to defend Wonwoo’s.

But Wonwoo’s mother is looking at him a bit worriedly now, even though she tries to hide it. The pleased expression is gone, or at least the sincerity of it. Mingyu was supposed to be making a good impression, even if nobody told him to do so. It’s an instinct, a natural thing, to be likeable. To be a good person in the eyes of the innocent.

“It wasn’t like that,” he tells Bohyuk. “There is a program about teaching self-defense to people in situations of possible danger. With what’s been happening, there were demonstrations at all the clubs in the area. I was just assigned to Wonwoo’s.”

The only indication Mingyu gets that it’s a good lie, is the slight eyebrow raise Wonwoo gives his brother. As if telling him, see?

“Yeah, whatever,” Bohyuk grumbles.

“Bohyuk,” his mother says in warning.

The boy sighs. “Sorry for assuming,” he tells Mingyu. “With the shit Wonwoo does, it’s only natural.”

“Bohyuk!” his mother says, a bit louder.

Mingyu expects Wonwoo to let it drop. He doesn’t. “What is the shit I do?” he asks. “Bringing in money for the food you’re eating?”

“Wonwoo, come on. Not in front of a guest,” the woman pleads this time, and then Wonwoo drops it. His brother bites his lips, glaring daggers at the roast on his plate. A bit of a silence falls over them, during which, Bohyuk is probably the only one not trying to let go of the moment.

“You have to forgive them,” the woman says eventually, pleasant enough. The gentle way she’s looking at Mingyu is back, and that’s all he cares about. “Boys will be boys.”

Boys will be boys, except when people say that, it’s not about arguments regarding the bitterness of survival. As hard as Mingyu looks, he can’t take Bohyuk’s anger as something comedic. He can only fear it, or at least, he fears it in his own sister’s voice. He fears the inevitability of it.

“How old are you, Bohyuk?” Mingyu asks.

“Nineteen,” the other replies dryly.

Two years older than Minseo. Is this what comes after high school, then?

“It must have been rough,” Mingyu speaks. “I know Wonwoo downplays it, when he speaks about it. You should not have to apologize for it, I get it.”

“Thank you, Mingyu,” their mother is the one who nods at him, when Bohyuk fails to reply. “I can only hope one day he’ll stop downplaying it. If not to us, then to his friends at least.”

“What has he even told you?” Bohyuk asks, distrust dripping from his voice.

Mingyu meets Wonwoo’s eyes. The other looks rather calm, chewing on some rice. He blinks at Mingyu expectantly, as if he too wants to listen to Mingyu’s assumptions about his past.

“He said that he’s been working since he was young,” Mingyu replies tactfully. Wonwoo’s mother purses her lips.

“And before that?” Bohyuk presses.

“…before that?” Mingyu asks.

“He hasn’t told you about our uncle, right?”

It’s like a bomb drops on the table. There’s something Mingyu’s missing, because he looks around him confused at the deathly silence, as Wonwoo’s mother’s face turns ashen, as Wonwoo obviously kicks Bohyuk below the table. And he kicks hard, Mingyu knows from experience.

“And you think you’re special, you damn pig,” Bohyuk mutters, ignoring the warning.

“Would you shut up?” Wonwoo hisses at him.

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I not allowed to talk about it? Am I allowed to talk about anything?!” Bohyuk blows up. His chair rattles as he pushes it back. The plates on the table shake when he brings his fist on it. “You only brought him here to act as a buffer,” he points an accusing finger at Mingyu, wrath fully directed at Wonwoo. “Because you never talk! And you know why you never talk? Because you’re full of shit!”

He storms out, the slam from the door upstairs echoing all the way to the kitchen. Mingyu can only sit stunned, too many questions that he knows will never get answered. It is the first time he hears of Wonwoo’s uncle, but then again, this is also the first time he heard of the rest of his family too. The first time he’s been allowed a deeper glimpse, and now all he can think about is whether that torn photo on the fireplace was of that uncle.

Wonwoo pours a cup of water for himself, sips it slowly. He doesn’t look surprised, and Mingyu has to wonder if he knew this was going to happen. If this is part of what he wanted to show him. The messy parts. The human parts. A cat exposing its belly to the predator, knowing it can defend itself better this way.

Once he’s done with his water, he pours a cup for his mother too. “Don’t mind him,” he tells her quietly. “Just keep eating, okay?”

“We have a guest over…” the woman whispers, and she sounds so sad now. “Your friend. I’m sorry, I tried−”

“It’s okay, it’s just Mingyu,” Wonwoo pets her hair. “He won’t think of me any different, I can guarantee that.”

It’s intended for Mingyu’s ears and Mingyu’s ears only, the slight irony, the dare. Of course, Mingyu has been villainizing him from day one. It made it so much easier to think of him as an enemy, the kind that you need to keep the closest to you. He tried to cut off all the parts of sympathy, poisonous as they were. He tried to kill all his understanding, because Wonwoo was dishonest.

As if dishonesty is inhuman.

Watching him trying to comfort his mother, Mingyu can’t judge him as the antagonist in a comic book, and he can’t cast himself as the hero. There is one big problem with his plan of acting indifferent, even cruel to someone who arguably deserves it.

Mingyu’s a human too.

“Ma’am,” he shifts closer, puts a hand on the woman’s arm. “You have a lovely family. I know that, because despite everything, Wonwoo is still trying for a better future for you all.”

“He is?” the woman asks, small and shaky, but with a tinge of hope.

Wonwoo looks at him funnily. His hand is on his mother’s shoulder, and it’s the easiest thing for Mingyu to place his own above it.

“I wouldn’t be here if that wasn’t the case,” Mingyu says and squeezes Wonwoo’s hand. Just for a second, but it throws the other off. Wonwoo quickly snatches his hand away, as if he’s never touched Mingyu before. He probably hasn’t, not without the shield of acting that is, and Mingyu doesn’t have it in him to keep up the pretenses right now.

Wonwoo’s mother stands up straighter, exhales a big breath. She looks between them once more, before taking Wonwoo’s hand in hers. This, Wonwoo allows.

“I think we’re done with lunch,” she says. “Will you help me cut the pie Mingyu brought us?”

“Sure,” Wonwoo replies and stands up. He doesn’t look at Mingyu as they walk to the kitchen, but he leaves the door slightly ajar. Not enough for Mingyu to be able to look inside, but enough to listen to whatever private conversation Mingyu should absolutely not be listening to.

In the beginning, he hears nothing. Just the clatter of plates, cupboards opening and closing. But then Wonwoo’s mother speaks.

“Is he your boyfriend, Wonwoo? I won’t get mad, you can tell me.”

Mingyu closes his eyes. The fond smile. The sneaky hand-holding that Wonwoo pulled away from. The fact that apparently, he doesn’t often bring people around. Wrong, all of it.

“What do you want me to say?” Wonwoo’s voice sounds as calm as ever.

“I want you to be honest about your happiness. It’s not a bad thing if you’re dating him.”  

Mingyu holds his breath. He doesn’t know why he does it. He shouldn’t even be listening to this.

Wonwoo sighs. “If it makes you feel better, then yeah, I’m dating him.”

And the performance never ends. You can take the man away from the stage, but you can’t take the stage away from the man. It must be tiring. So terribly tiring, to always have a part to play, even amidst the people you’re supposed to love. For their comfort, for their sake. Mingyu rubs his face with his hands, preparing himself to slip into the role of a boyfriend. It comes easy, way too easy for the good person Mingyu is supposed to be.

When Wonwoo and his mother return, the man drags a chair right next to him. And despite everything, Mingyu finds that he was right. He does feel more comfortable to have him on his side.

The apple pie is crumbly, soft. He doesn’t hate the sweetness. He can’t hate anything that’s easy to swallow. There are too many things that are hard to swallow today, and he’ll take anything to make them go down easier. The way Wonwoo’s mother is back to smiling, is another thing that makes it easier.

“I have to say, you do look good together,” she says, and Mingyu pretends to be alarmed, shooting Wonwoo a worried look.

“It’s fine,” Wonwoo murmurs to him.

“Oh dear, there’s nothing to worry about,” Wonwoo’s mother adds. “I’m sure there are so many mothers who’d love to be in my position right now.”

“O-oh,” Mingyu says, still sounding uncertain.

“It can’t be the first time someone tells you so. You’re a catch,” the woman winks, and the face Wonwoo makes at her feels all too genuine.

“Thank you,” Mingyu gives her a small smile of his own. “It, um, it means a lot.”

“It’s the truth. I do believe I owe you, actually. It’s good that this guy,” she points at Wonwoo with her thumb, “finally has some authority in his life.”

“Authority?” Wonwoo arches an eyebrow.

“Well, he’s a police officer,” the woman tells him. “I’m sure you’re not going around getting in trouble anymore.”

“Ah,” Mingyu forces a chuckle out. “It’s not like that. Being an officer doesn’t give me such power.”

“Oh, but it does!” Her tone gets more certain, her back straighter. “It’s unconscious, all of it. Do you know about the five branches of power?”

“Mother.”

“What?”

“Spare him, please.”

The woman huffs. “Everybody should know this stuff. So tell me, Mingyu, have you heard about this before?”

“Can’t say I have,” Mingyu smiles politely.

Wonwoo sighs and leans back in his chair, the way the students in the academy did when they knew they were about to hear a long, long lecture. Mingyu made a point to keep his attention firmly on the instructor back then, to appear as attentive as possible, and he does the same now.

“There are five powers that rule society,” Wonwoo’s mother begins. “Five types of people that get to make decisions. The politicians that make the rules,” she starts listing off with her fingers. “The judges that make sure the laws are upheld. The law enforcement, which is you, the police. The media that is in control of the information, and of course, the common folk. When you keep that in mind, it makes it easier to understand both the world and ourselves. Both inside and out, we are made to respect that authority, and it always factors in when we make decisions.”

“I see,” Mingyu replies, the same face full of understanding he always showed his professors too. It’s not always an honest face. “And you say we respect that power subconsciously?”

“Yes we do,” the woman nods empathically. “We punish ourselves with guilt for our own mistakes, even if nobody else is aware of them. We must assume that is because society’s authority is engraved in us so deeply, that it has practically become our moral compass.”

“That implies that we don’t think for ourselves,” Mingyu says.

“We do of course, we’ll always have free will. That’s the power of the common folk. But it’s not just ourselves inside us, that’s what I’m getting at. There’s a bunch of other people there who put rules down for us, and that’s what has led to the progression of society as a whole.”

Mingyu does let the words turn in his head for a bit. It’s not an uninteresting discussion to be having. Morals and society and authority, it’s the most ancient debate. Minghao used to go on similar rants when staying up late at night after his sociology classes. He would be able to be a decent conversation partner here, whereas Mingyu can only listen and act. Law and law enforcement.

Wonwoo is looking mighty unimpressed, eating his apple pie in silence. Mingyu wonders how many times he has heard this lecture, and if it has ever managed to convince him that there is authority behind the madness that is survival. He doesn’t look convinced. Most poor people don’t. It’s why you only ever hear the opinions of the rich on such matters.

His mother though, aged beyond her years and with ghosts swimming behind her eyes, she seems heavily opinionated.  She looks like she has it all figured out, and again, Mingyu knows that this is an impossible feat. The most lousy philosophers are the ones who have stopped questioning their theories. But on the other hand, they are the happiest. So, if it makes the woman content, Mingyu can act like a student. It’s an easy role.

“The power of the common folk,” he repeats. “Is there such a thing?”

Wonwoo’s spoon makes noise as it drags against his plate. One look at him, and the question can be easily answered. There’s immense power in the common folk, power that has the capacity of influencing the other ones. A second look though, at the conditions of his life, at the whole reason Mingyu is here, is enough to put that power in question.

“That’s what most argue about,” the woman replies, taking a bite out of her own slice. “But you can’t deny we make some decisions for ourselves. After we’re told what we can and can’t do, and after we are made to know the consequences of our misbehavior, there are still things that are decided by the individual.”

Mingyu thinks of the reporters in front of the station, of having to make a symbol out of Kang Jian. And then he thinks of the mayor with his fancy words and his broadcasted generosity, an endless campaign to get the common folk’s votes.

“After the decisions get influenced by the media too,” he says.

“Yeah, that too,” Wonwoo’s mother nods. She lets out a small chuckle. “God knows that even without having any money to spare, I’d really love to buy that washing machine I keep seeing on the TV of the lady I clean for. It’s on a discount, for a limited time only.”

Mingyu smiles back in understanding. “That means that the common folk’s power is at the bottom of the pyramid. Otherwise, you’d have gotten it already.”

“Indeed,” she agrees. “But it is the bottom that the rest of the pyramid is built upon. Power would be nothing without people.”

“I can see that,” Mingyu says and grabs his glass of water. “This is a very interesting theory. Thank you for sharing it with me, ma’am.” He raises his glass towards the woman.

“Oh, aren’t you a darling,” she clinks her own glass to him. “Finally, someone willing to listen to me,” she looks pointedly at Wonwoo.

“You know my opinion on the matter,” he shrugs.

“Disliking reality is not an opinion,” she shoots back.

“Not with that attitude,” Wonwoo scrunches his nose at her, making her let out another exasperated sigh. In return, he takes her plate, fills it with more pie.

Conversation becomes lighter after this, but they don’t sit around for long. The first chance he gets, Mingyu excuses himself, says he has an evening shift. He doesn’t, but there’s only so long of Wonwoo’s home he can take. There’s only so much he can see of his casual clothes and his crooked glasses, and the way he takes care of his mother even if she insists she’s okay. Mingyu was never supposed to be here.

“Thank you for the meal,” he says again as he puts his shoes on. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“Likewise, sweetheart,” she ruffles his hair. “Don’t let Wonwoo keep you away from me. You’re welcome here anytime.”

Mingyu smiles gratefully, even if he knows this is probably the last time he sees her. He should have never met her in the first place. He should have never known of her warmth, because now he has to consider how much Wonwoo has already sacrificed for it to be able to exist. How much they have sacrificed for each other.

Wonwoo’s brother doesn’t make an appearance even as Mingyu is walked out. His mother leaves them too, probably giving them some privacy to say their own goodbyes. Mingyu puts on his coat, runs a hand through his hair, and like this, he can no longer hold the act.

“Come with me,” he whispers to Wonwoo. “Let’s just, I don’t know, let’s go for a drive.”

“Why?” Wonwoo whispers back.

“I need to talk to you.”

Wonwoo crosses his arms in front of his chest, the calculating look back on his face. “What could you possibly have to say to me?”

“I’ll buy you ice cream.”

Wonwoo looks at him funnily. The corner of his mouth lifts in amusement, before he schools it back down. “You make a tempting case, officer.”

Mingyu won’t beg him for it, but it must be visible how desperate he is for a talk. A real one, after an afternoon full of pleasantries and bitter realizations. Wonwoo regards him for a second longer, before he sighs and bends down to put on his shoes.

“I’m going with Mingyu!” he yells to the kitchen. “I’ll be back before work!”

Once in the car, despite everything that has been boiling inside, begging to be let out, Mingyu’s mind blanks. He just drives towards the setting sun, taking vaguely familiar roads towards vaguely familiar places. Wonwoo discards his shoes, brings his feet up on the seat and stares out the window, the scenery passing by in a blur. They stay like that, no words exchanged and everything hanging in the air, until they leave the red-light district behind.

It’s a hill that the road is taking them to, Mingyu realizes. A lookout spot, with a parking lot amongst a few lonely trees at the very top. It overlooks quite a bit of the area, a small fog having fallen along the last rays of the sun. The further up they go, the more similar the houses below appear, until one can’t even tell where the red-light district begins and where its neighbors end. All it takes is distance for the differences to disappear. Mingyu glances at Wonwoo, face cast in gold and forehead pressed against the window, and he wonders if distance is what could have fixed them all along.

Well, it’s too late for that.

He parks the car beneath a tree, the road having turned to dirt a few meters back. When he turns the engine off, it’s just the wind that moves outside the car. Mingyu doesn’t lower any windows. What’s in here now is private.

“You were supposed to get me ice cream, I think,” Wonwoo says.

Mingyu hums. It lacks amusement. “Do you think your mother liked me?”

“Please. She loved you, you made sure of it. Nobody listens to her five powers spiel anymore.”

“It’s not very out of place,” Mingyu points out. “She’s not wrong about many of these things. Did she come up with it by herself?”

“No, she heard it on the TV,” Wonwoo replies. “Some morning show, I don’t know what her client lets her watch. She came home one day looking like she’s found religion. It’s actually an idea based on Montesquieu’s theory of administrative powers− Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t−” Mingyu hurries to look away. “Didn’t realize you knew that stuff.”

Wonwoo scoffs. “Right, I forgot, strippers are all dumb and uneducated.”

“I didn’t say that−”

“I have access to google. I searched it up,” Wonwoo says, but he looks embarrassed now. “Didn’t go to those fancy universities of yours, but I know about the separation of powers. Is it very funny to you?”

“No, Wonwoo,” Mingyu says, and he means it. “I apologize.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Wonwoo looks away again.

But Mingyu knows what it’s like to feel like your word doesn’t matter, that you don’t have worth past your work. It’s a bitter feeling, society rejecting the parts of you it thinks unnecessary, until it makes you reject them yourself. What business does Wonwoo have knowing about Montesquieu? None, but he does. The same way he has a family to love, the same way he wears glasses and turtlenecks and plays League. Human, human, human.

“Tell me more,” Mingyu says, and when Wonwoo shoots him a weary look, he adds, “I won’t laugh. It’s not funny.”

“It’s really not,” Wonwoo mutters. “It’s, um… tsk, do you really want me to tell you?” He sounds annoyed all of a sudden. “Is that why you brought me out here? For small talk?”

“But it’s not small, is it?” Mingyu grips the steering wheel tighter. “Tell me about Montesquieu. Tell me why your brother hates you. Then tell me why would you make your mother think we’re dating, and while we’re at it, tell me about your uncle too.”

Wonwoo winces. He wraps an arm around his knees, leans against the window. As far away from Mingyu as possible, but there’s not enough distance between them. Mingyu sees him clearly.

“You wanted me to know you and you thought I wouldn’t ask?” he says, averting his own eyes. “You don’t think things through, Wonwoo.”

The silence that falls is miserable. Wonwoo doesn’t speak, Mingyu doesn’t force him to. Miscalculation upon miscalculation, that’s what their interactions have all been. They’re walking down a path of landmines, and they’re detonating all of them. Mingyu’s so tired of getting blast after blast to his face, and he can’t be the only one. He’s angry, but he’s been angry this entire time and it’s not fixing anything. He’s aching to walk with softer steps.

It's hard, but the words finally come to him.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. It’s long past overdue. “I want you to know, more than anything, that I am sorry.”

“We’re way past apologies,” Wonwoo mutters, eyes still locked on the view.

Mingyu shakes his head. “I’m not apologizing for what I’ve done.”

Not when what’s yet to come will be ten times worse. Mingyu sees it briefly, how the road is going to be if the landmines end. It will be long and windy, treacherous and dishonest, but they’ll be walking it together.

Wonwoo’s expression doesn’t change. “…Ah,” is all he says. “I see.”

They’ll be walking right next to each other, and Mingyu doesn’t know if he’s crazy for it, but he thinks he’d like to be able to reach over and take his hand. Find him solid and present, and not a mere passerby following their own road that sometimes happens to intertwine with Mingyu’s. For the singular moment that this vision lasts, Mingyu wants to be known too. He aches to share even the parts he has no business sharing.

“My father died when I was little too,” the words tumble out of him, like it’s a confession. “I have a little sister, two years younger than Bohyuk. My mother worked two jobs to get me through school. She has developed chronic back pain from it, and in a few years she’ll need surgery. I… I wanted to be an architect when I was little. My favorite color is red.”

Wonwoo still keeps his gaze away. “…Mine’s purple.”

“Yeah?” A smile trembles in an out of existence. “Good to know.”

A small silence falls between them. The vision of a future path disappears, as if it was never there. Mingyu suppresses it almost subconsciously, something inside him judging it as absurd. And yet, Wonwoo doesn’t disappear with it. He’s right here. And his favorite color is purple.

“I always wanted to be like my chief,” Mingyu breaks the silence eventually. “Seeking justice, in a path of blazing glory. I am selfish. I fear the consequences of my actions. But I’m here.” He pauses. “Out of all the officers that were assigned undercover missions, I’m the one you ended up with. Do you hate me for it?”

“Yes,” Wonwoo doesn’t hesitate to reply. It’s the most honest Mingyu has ever heard him.

“Yeah…” Mingyu looks down at the steering wheel. He owes him the same. “Yes, I hate you for it too.”

More silence. A stray leaf makes its way above the car, swirling in the wind before it disappears into the city below. Dying, but free.

This feels a bit freeing too, admitting it out loud. This dance they’ve been dancing, it’s only right for it to come to a conclusion of hatred. Ironically, it’s comforting.

“There is a program,” Mingyu starts again. “A witness protection program. If anything were to happen to you, I’d get your family involved with it. They take people away from trouble. It’s a little restrictive in the beginning, no jobs, no education, but it gets better. Once things have settled, they are allowed to make a life for themselves again.”

Wonwoo grits his teeth, but he says nothing.

“So either you help me with the case and get compensated for it,” Mingyu continues. “Or something happens, and I help your family out. Either way, things will be better for them, I can promise that.”

Wonwoo’s frowning now. Mingyu wishes he could get him to look his way for this. If he’s going to be earnest, he wants to be seen, witnessed. But, Wonwoo never gives him what he wants.

“You must think I’m joking when I say I’ll do anything possible to keep you safe,” Mingyu says. “I’m not joking. I’m already going behind peoples’ back. If I’m not completely on the police’s side, and I’m not on the murderer’s side either, do you know where that leaves me? On your side.” He reaches over, touches Wonwoo’s sleeve. “Whether I like it or not.”

He waits a bit to see how Wonwoo responds to the touch. He doesn’t, not at all. He doesn’t shake Mingyu off, or acknowledge it in any way. He just closes his eyes, and Mingyu can practically feel the heaviness of his thoughts.

“You have your own reasons for doing all this,” Mingyu continues, “and I have mine. So I… Forgive me, but I will ask you again.”

To ask after everything, maybe makes him selfish beyond reparation. Maybe it makes him a bad person, when he wants to be anything but. Maybe, it is just inevitable. As if giving him permission, Wonwoo nods.

“I need you to dive deeper,” Mingyu says, and something dies in him. “I need more information about the case from your source.”

Wonwoo exhales slowly. He doesn’t say anything for a while, he doesn’t move. When he speaks, as expected, it’s painful.

“Promise me.”

Mingyu wants to gawk. He wants to shake him, ask if he really just asked that of him. A promise made of dust and goodwill, childish, naïve, like neither of them can afford to be anymore. A last resort, a fraying rope of help to a person that’s doomed to fall anyway. Trust.

Trust is a dying commodity. It starts dying from the moment it is born, and Mingyu used to wonder if it can ever be revived. For a moment, Mingyu’s heart beats louder. Then, he throws the rope.

“I promise you. I’ll keep them safe. I’ll keep you safe.”

Wonwoo stretches his hand, and in the beginning, Mingyu thinks he’s going for a handshake. He is prepared to return it, but all the other does is hook his fingers around Mingyu’s and hold. A weak grip, cold, but a grip nonetheless. A touch. One second, two, and then he lets go.

“Montesquieu separated the powers to legislative, judicial and executive,” he says. “He thought that for a society to run smoothly, they all need to be separated from one another, and that the influence of one should never be greater than the other two, separate or combined.”

Mingyu’s confused for a single moment. Then, he understands. “I see,” he says.

“My brother doesn’t hate me,” Wonwoo says with a small, sad smile. “He used to adore me. But then he grew up, grew angry, and he had to direct his anger somewhere. I’m the one responsible for his life, so I’m the target.”

Mingyu blinks. It’s a big thing for Wonwoo to share, but more than that, Mingyu can’t help the feeling of premonition he gets.

“Then, my sister…” he thinks out loud but stops himself. Wonwoo gives him a small nod, and it’s all the confirmation he needs. Something heavy settles in his stomach, but he pushes it aside for later. As best as he can, at least.

“My uncle,” Wonwoo continues, but it’s a lot more hesitant this time. He has to take a moment, gather his thoughts. “My uncle was my father’s brother. He… um, he moved in with us when my father died. To… help.”

Soft steps, Mingyu reminds himself as he comes face to face with the familiar minefield. No wrong questions allowed, not when Wonwoo sounds like this.

“Is he still around?” he asks carefully.

“God no,” Wonwoo says, shuddering just at the thought. “No, he’ll never be around anyone ever again.”

And that’s more than Mingyu should have ever learned. He glances at Wonwoo’s hand, wanting to reach over again. Now that he got a taste, it’s harder to keep his hands on his lap. But Wonwoo’s hands are balled into fists, and Mingyu’s not cruel enough to press him any further, even if it’s just for comfort. Not today.

“Thank you for telling me,” is all he says.

“Will you take me home now?” Wonwoo asks, and he finally sounds as tired as he must be. As tired as he should be.

“Yeah,” Mingyu says. “But you’re in, right? We’re doing this?”

Wonwoo nods. A simple, hesitant nod, but it suddenly feels like all of Christmases combined.

“Give me your phone, then,” Mingyu manages to keep that visceral excitement out of his voice. It’s not a logical thing to be feeling.

“Why?” Wonwoo tilts his head.

Because Mingyu is a good guy, considerate to his colleagues. He made lots of people happy today at the station with the sweets, so that makes it okay.

“I have something to put in it,” Mingyu says, reaching to the backseat to take a small box out of a bag. “I’ll just put it next to the battery, it won’t change anything.”

“What is it?” Wonwoo asks curiously as Mingyu fumbles with the tools in the box. He’s done this before, but only once. He’s not an expert, but he gets the phone open alright.

“It’s to track your location and allow you to give emergency signals. It links it to my phone directly, no apps or anything needed. No third parties,” he explains.

“And you’re authorized to use it on just anyone?” Wonwoo frowns. “Isn’t that abuse of power?”

Mingyu coughs politely. “Authorization comes with certain warrants. We don’t put these on just anyone. That’d be too expensive.”

“Oh?” Wonwoo raises his eyebrows. “So you just stole this?”

Mingyu says nothing.

“You’re a sneaky bastard, aren’t you?” Wonwoo relaxes back into his seat, pacified for some reason.

“To protect you,” Mingyu reminds him. He puts the little device in place and then goes back to fixing the phone. “I’ll always know where your phone is now, okay? For an emergency, you press the power button four times in a row, fast, and my phone will start blaring even if it’s turned off.”

“When you say it’ll start blaring?” Wonwoo asks.

Mingyu shows him. Even with the phone unscrewed, he activates the device, and its complementary piece in his own phone makes a loud siren noise fill the car. His screen starts blinking too, needing a password to deactivate the alarm.

“Shit, okay,” Wonwoo covers his ears. “Make it stop.”

Mingyu types the password, the generic one they provide at the station. Maybe it’s not the best for security, but all these devices have the same password, in case someone forgets.

“Remember,” Mingyu says. “Four presses of the power button. Don’t use it unnecessarily.”

“Oh, so I can’t use it to wake you up in the middle of the night?” Wonwoo smirks, and there’s something light in his voice that wasn’t there before. Something teasing, but not malicious. Something awfully close to acceptance.

“If you do, I’m not buying you ice cream,” Mingyu counters, securing the phone and handing it back to him.

Wonwoo snorts. “And here I thought that was just a plot to lure me away from home.”

“It worked though, didn’t it?” Mingyu asks, and starts the car. The engine comes to life, a welcome background noise compared to the silence of before. “Which reminds me, you answered all but one of my questions.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “Just get me the ice cream, Mingyu.”

“Sure,” it’s Mingyu’s turn to smirk. “Do tell your mother that your boyfriend treats you on the regular. I’m sure she’ll be very happy.”

“Shut up,” Wonwoo rests his head on the window again. “I’ve never had a boyfriend before. I just thought it’d be a good opportunity to stop her wondering.”

“Right,” Mingyu says.

“And I wanted to make you uncomfortable.”

Mingyu smiles. That, he is more eager to believe.

So he gets Wonwoo his well-deserved ice cream, even if he is a bitch about it and gets every topping possible to make for the most expensive ice cream Mingyu’s ever gotten. Still, he can’t find it in himself to complain. He is mellower in the face of success. Success against all odds, a victory sweeter than expected. It’s not Christmas, and Santa isn’t real, but all this anticipation was not for nothing.

They drive around a bit more as Wonwoo eats, and when he’s done, he takes him home to prepare for the night. Mingyu needs to get ready too. Sundays are busy in the red-light district. There is no rest for those who need it most.

And after today, Mingyu fears there will be no rest at all.