Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a tranquil winter morning in Seoul, the sky a cloudy mix of grey and white, the outline of stone fences and hedgetops buried in what was a record-breaking foot and a half of snow for the area. 

The fences stretched around yards and between the occasional gingko and pine tree, separating what were several homes in a cul-de-sac from a narrow, two-way street that circled through their quiet part of the neighborhood. Half-formed icicles hung from sloped rooftops, footprints left from earlier already disappearing under light flurries of snow. In the distance, a snow plow lumbered by. 

“Cho! I have to talk to you!” A man with an inconveniently resonant voice knocked at the front door of one of the double-story homes in the cul-de-sac. “Don’t you think it’d be smarter to answer the door? I know you’re in there!” He tried to peer through a side window, but quickly found the blinds were drawn. “There’s no use pretending this isn’t happening, Mister Cho. You don’t want me coming back here another time.”

Somewhere above, a foot snuck out of an upper floor window and onto a narrow piece of roof. A body clad in a puffy, black winter jacket followed suit. The dark tassel on his knitted hat blew sideways with a passing snow flurry. 

“I’ve given you plenty of chances. C’mon, answer the door!” the voice continued to insist from below, rapping away. “I’m just gonna keep knocking and ringing the bell. Answer the door and let’s end this!”

The figure that had climbed through the window descended from the roof via portable ladder, which was once explained to exist in that exact location for temporary “home maintenance,” then nearly slipped while avoiding a large pile of snow at the bottom. 

Nose already pink from the cold, he peered toward the front to check if the coast was clear, before carefully sneaking his way around the back of the house. The visitor’s voice floated into the background, harder to hear as he slipped through a gate, hurrying into the neighbor’s backyard.

“We know you’re in there. Think of the neighbors, Mr. Cho!” Still by the front door, the visitor shoved a folded document into the door’s mail slot. “Here’s a document for you to sign, Mr. Cho. I suggest you read it,” the man enunciated the last five words with some irritation before starting to turn, making his exit from the property.

Footsteps hurried alongside the side of the neighbor’s house where a footpath would normally be, if not for the fresh layer of snow. He turned a corner and hit hidden ice that sent one leg behind him, footing lost as he slid the half-step it took for the side path to meet the one leading to the neighbor’s porch.

Just as he restabilized and shakily stepped toward the sidewalk as if he lived there himself, the front door creaked open, the neighbor exiting and acting like the sight of the man in his yard was no surprise at all— a permanent fixture, one might guess, from the way not a single muscle shifted in his expression.

“Morning, genius,” the man flatly greeted as he descended the steps.

“Detective Dipshit,” the other man casually replied, crouching down to tie an undone winter boot lace.

“What are—”

“Don’t ask. It’s nothing.”

“Who is the man making all the noise at your door?”

“You never learn to mind your own business, huh?”

“Hm.” The neighbor offered a dismissive sound, walking past while still in pajamas, a bathrobe beneath his winter jacket. “Best keep at that. Don’t want to slip and crack that big head of yours.” 

Hwang In-ho didn’t even spare a glance down as he stepped past the man who’d crouched to tie his shoe, instead making a beeline to his mailbox.

“Let me see what spring is like…” the man sang to himself, quiet and unconscious of the fact that he was, as he retrieved the morning’s newspaper, “on Jupiter and Mars…” He straightened, smoothing down the flaps of his winter hat to cover his ears more effectively as he looked across the street. “Looks like someone is moving into Il-Nam’s old place.”

The other man finished tending to his boot and straightened up, glancing over at the giant moving truck sitting in the street, workers about to open its back doors. “Figured that out all by yourself, Sherlock?”

Just as they unintentionally ended up side by side on the sidewalk, both observing the truck with subtle interest, the man who’d been making a ruckus next door approached them, his voice a smooth, put-on friendliness. 

“Excuse me, gentlemen?” One could glimpse a tackily-patterned collared shirt peeking out from his casual suit jacket and thick winter coat combo, dark hair combed back. “Happen to know where I could find a Mr. Cho?”

“Cho? No, sorry,” the man who had climbed from the window responded quickly, aiming to end the exchange.

“Cho Sangwoo?” In-ho questioned anyway, a roguish edge to his calm tone, glancing to his side to offer Sang-woo a look.

“That’s right.” The man stood expectantly, waiting as patiently as possible for a lead before he moved on. 

“Well…” In-ho continued, seemingly deep in thought.

Sang-woo looked pointedly at In-ho, in anticipation the nosy ex-detective was going to open his mouth and immediately hand him over.

Instead, In-ho went with a confident, “You mean the low life, tight-ass, self-righteous bastard Cho Sang-woo? Yes, I know him.”

Sang-woo immediately resisted an offended exhale through the nose, interrupting a shake of his own head by turning it away from In-ho entirely. He didn’t say a word, however, because unless he wanted to hand himself over, now wasn’t the smartest moment.

“Great,” the man perked up, unaffected by the name-calling, “Have you seen him recently?”

“The man’s unstable. The train wreck of our neighborhood, one could say,” In-ho continued, as if talking about the weather.

Sang-woo returned to staring at In-ho, furrowing his eyebrows as the man— absurdly— kept going. 

“You may have luck finding him at one of those kinky strip clubs.”

Sang-woo couldn’t help the way a reaction finally fell out, mortified, “What?” 

The man who’d been asking for him now looked somewhere between impatient and vaguely amused. He quirked a questioning eyebrow. “Oh?”

“You know, the variety where the men take their clothes off,” In-ho clarified, straight-faced.

Sang-woo had to turn around entirely then, a tight, disbelieving smile on his face. Still, In-ho went on.

“And that’s, of course, if he’s taken his medication.”

“Medication?” The man asked, somehow still glued in on the conversation.

“Mm,” In-ho acknowledged, tone dead serious, “If not, he could be anywhere. Most likely wandering around, making friends with the wildlife. The trash cans too, at times. The man is a menace to society.” In-ho shook his head, as if solemnly dismayed. “Always drunk on soju and starting fights.”

“It’s just like Mr. Cho,” In-ho kept going, looking directly at Sang-woo then, waiting for him to corroborate, “Isn’t it?”

Sang-woo, back to pretending to be a part of this conversation because there was nowhere he could realistically escape to, fought his glare and didn’t respond, instead offering the barest of noncommittal shrugs. 

“Okay…” The man still standing in front of them replied, “but have you seen him recently?” 

“No. Sorry,” Sang-woo finally contributed, quick about it, hands shoved into his pockets.

“Wait,” In-ho interjected, thoughtful, “Let me see if I…”

The man practically leaned in at that point, beyond eager for a piece of helpful information. 

“I think…” In-ho’s eyes yet again moved toward Sang-woo. Their eyes met, and In-ho drew out his pause, “… No.”

Sang-woo offered a stiff and what was hopefully the final nod of agreement. “No.”

The man sighed, patience obviously worn thin, though he still managed to keep it polite. “…Well, if you happen to run into him, please give him my information. Tell him he can reach out to Mr. Kim. Alright?”

As the man handed his card over to them, Sang-woo’s arm shot out to take it first. In-ho peered over at it, though Sang-woo was already slipping the small business card into his jacket pocket. 

“Kim?” In-ho queried, curious in a way Sang-woo couldn’t tell was serious or not.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Mr. Kim repeated, “It’s important he contacts me as soon as possible.”

And that was that. Mr. Kim turned around and began to walk away. 

While his back was turned, the smallest of bemused smirks snuck onto In-ho’s face. “Yes, we’ll be sure to tell him when we see him.”

Sang-woo stood still, wholly unamused, as Mr. Kim continued down the sidewalk toward his vehicle. The man then slipped on the sidewalk with a ‘Wo-oah,’ taking a small fall against the pile of snow beside him.

“Oops, careful. Slippery in that spot,” In-ho warned, despite it already being too late. 

“Best to watch out for ice,” Sang-woo offered in inadvertent tandem with In-ho, none too empathetically.

Mr. Kim righted himself fairly quickly, brushing himself off and glancing back at them in a way that suggested he was done with the day. “Right.” 

Finally, he moved on. To the side of Sang-woo, In-ho hummed thoughtfully. “Oh? Would you look at that?”

What he was looking at was a giant, metal sculpture made of what also appeared to be wire, glass, and a random, haphazard assortment of other items— though oddly enough, one could still tell it was meant to be a figure of a nude woman. It took two men to carry her, despite the sculpture being about average size for a petite female.

“Taller than you,” Sang-woo idly remarked.

“Funny.” In-ho said, turning away to go back inside.

“Men’s strip club?” Sang-woo suddenly questioned In-ho's back, to which there was the tiniest shake of shoulder and no other acknowledgement. Undoubtedly some kind of laugh. 

After confirming that Mr. Kim had driven out of their cul-de-sac, Sang-woo turned and headed back into his own house, In-ho in his peripheral. “Idiot.”

——————————

Once Sang-woo reentered his house, he shed his hat alongside the outer layer of his winter get-up before leaning down to retrieve the red-lettered document sitting ominously on the floor. It was with some reluctance and suppressed dread that he opened it to reveal what was a final notice— “A month?” he murmured to himself, already resigned.

In the fine print, there was a waiver to sign over one of his organs if he decided not to pay off his long-standing debt within the next thirty days. At the time he’d taken the loan, the statistical likelihood of success was so high that even he hadn’t questioned the financial choices made in the name of good investment.

Since that mistake, he’d managed to slip by so far, but it was clearly catching up to him. His heart rate picked up, a nervous hand lifting to drag across the back of his neck. Ssibal. 

His mind suddenly decided to shut itself off, the notice dropping half-opened onto a nearby end table.

——————————

The sun rose, the barren branches of trees casting shadows across the snow sitting peacefully in the cul-de-sac, before it inevitably fell again, surrendering to gusts of icy wind that swept around another half a foot of snow that had accumulated throughout the day.

Next door, In-ho had prepared himself a simple bowl of kimchi jigae, throwing together the leftover kimchi, vegetables, and meats in his fridge into a pot with water, cooking it down until it was acceptable for eating. 

He sat down at the dining room table with a book beside him— a piece of nonfiction that was moreso a case study. He’d been working his way through it for the past three days. It was less about entertainment, and more about the regular study of human behavior and the effects a single human could have on its surrounding social circles. 

In-ho had retired from being a detective almost three years ago now, but he couldn’t help himself from lingering in the field; even now, a small police radio was on as background noise in the other room, a habit he couldn’t quite break. As his eyes focused on the page, a free hand fed pieces of kimchi & vegetable into his mouth via chopsticks.

Sang-woo, in his own kitchen, let the canned tuna drop into the bowl before adding leftover rice and a scoop of gochujang. He sealed the lid on before walking to the small table in the corner, shaking it as he walked. He forewent the seaweed this time, since he wasn’t feeling the effort to prepare any more than this.

In the background, the news ran on a small television. Some kind of financial segment he’d only been half-paying attention to, though he lifted his eyes to it when he finally sat down. Unfortunately, all it did was bring his mind back to the threatening finality that was the notice sitting in his entrance hallway. 

He took a bite of his makeshift dinner, hardly chewing as he reached for the remote and abruptly turned it off.

——————————

4:56 AM. That’s what the red glow of Sang-woo’s alarm clock read when he reluctantly came to, a sleepy groan slipping out as he rolled over, trying to haul his body out of interrupted sleep.

“Aissi,” he murmured, rubbing an eye before putting on his glasses. 

Outside his bedroom window, he spotted the source of the noise right away. It was a loud and grating, almost tinny sound— like a buzzsaw or a leafblower, or in this very specific case: a snowmobile. 

The thing sped down toward the main street before turning back, circling their cul de sac a few times. 

Next door, In-ho had gotten out of his own bed, moving toward the window to peer through the blinds. To get a better look, he retrieved his pair of trusted binoculars from the nearby table, using them to zero in on the vehicle currently disturbing the peace of the neighborhood. The person clearly had no consideration for their local noise ordinance.

Together they watched in disbelief as this unruly citizen went around and around, driving with what seemed more like enthusiasm than true skill, until ten minutes went by and the figure finally— after somehow managing to shoot snow across a majority of the shoveled driveways— came to a stop outside of the house across the street. 

Of course it was the new neighbor. The engine fell silent. Then, the helmet came off. 

It was a man who, the moment he removed his helmet, shook out dark hair that fell wavy and messy to a point that from the back, almost kissed his shoulders. Whether because he’d caught snow in the back of his neck or was doing it to cool himself off in the open air, neither of them could tell.

They were both struck by the look on his face, that unhindered joy as the man tilted his head up at the night sky, grinning like he believed he might not get to tomorrow. The way that it looked like light had been stolen from the street lamps he’d ridden past and etched itself into his laugh lines, filling his face with an enlivened flush, eyes bright. 

Sang-woo felt his heart stutter nearly to a stop where he stood at the window, staring out as if mesmerized, throat bobbing silent and small as he fought to remember how to swallow. How to breathe. The man was beautiful.

In-ho, on his own end, felt his breathing pick up. He didn’t realize his hand had come up to press against the glass, binoculars shoved so close that he felt skin start to dig into the lenses. Still, he didn’t move away— couldn’t.

The man made his way up the steps to his front door, pausing halfway to glance back up at the stars, helmet tucked under his arm. His strange, alive presence didn’t match the rigid familiarity of this neighborhood, like a rough pebble you scooped up from the ground and threw into still water.

He vanished through the door, and the silence settled back into its usual stillness for this time of night.

Only it didn’t feel the same. Sang-woo, his stomach still wildly fluttering, slipped back into bed and tried not to think of him. In-ho, dazed from having been taken off guard, ended up sitting at the foot of his own bed, lost in his head.

Chapter Text

As he flung snow from shovel to curb, Sang-woo snuck a glance at the busy house behind him, trying not to appear too obvious about it, despite the likelihood of anyone giving a shit being fairly low. He wore the same winter get-up as yesterday morning, except that he’d had time to dress himself in a sweater and slacks beforehand.

In-ho stepped his way into the street to start clearing away the snow from his own vehicle, also sans pajamas, his unfailing fishing pole in one hand and a tacklebox in the other. Sang-woo barely spared him a glance before muttering, “You’re still using that old thing? Surprised it hasn’t fallen apart in your hands.”

“The Black Magpie has caught more fish than you’ve dreamt about,” In-ho replied, eyeing Sang-woo.

“I wouldn’t waste dreaming on a subject like that,” Sang-woo said with a quick roll of his eyes, continuing to shovel. He thought the exchange was done already, but In-ho spoke up again, changing the subject entirely.

“Did you see him?”

“Hm?” Sang-woo turned toward In-ho, who was turned toward the house across the street. 

Sang-woo looked over at it more openly this time. Workers were all over the property; some were climbing a ladder to the roof, and others carrying large wooden boards across the snowy front yard toward what looked like a quarter-built hut set up to one side of the house.

“He was driving too fast on that snowmobile,” In-ho remarked, talking as if he knew the both of them were hoisted out of sleep because of it. “Guess no one was on duty last night to catch him.”

“Aren’t you a nark? Why didn’t you call it in?” 

Instead of answering right away, In-ho continued to stare at the home of the new neighbor. It felt like a full minute before he finally uttered a short, distracted, “I don’t know.” Then, “Did you hear about Captain Park?”

“Drowning due to capsizing is a bad way to go. He shouldn’t have gone out there this season,” Sang-woo replied, casual.

“Mm.” A noise of reflection as In-ho opened a car door and deposited his fishing gear. “It isn’t quick. Surprised it wasn’t by accidental gunshot while hunting. He was going out while dead drunk a lot more frequently.”

“A gunshot isn’t much better. What if it got him wrong and he ended up incapacitated the rest of his life? I’d take my chances with a knife. Less risk that way.” Sang-woo started working to clear the snow from his back tires.

“You know what Jun-ho told me the other day?” In-ho added, pulling out an ice scraper. “That old Im Jeong-dae was killed in a head-on collision with a semi-truck. It sent his car straight over a bridge and into the Han River.”

Sang-woo paused for that news, brows furrowing. “Bastard was lucky.”

“True.”

“How’s he doing, by the way?”

“Dead,” In-ho reiterated, unaffected. “Died on impact.”

Sang-woo let out a short, weary sigh. “Hey. Jjindda.”

That actually got In-ho to look directly at him, his focus taken away from scraping at his windshield. When he had his irritated attention, Sang-woo clarified, “I meant Jun-ho. How’s Jun-ho doing?”

In-ho kept his gaze steady, eyes going dark for a brief, flickering moment before he offered an acknowledging nod. “He’s doing well. He’s busy, but he told me that he’ll be coming over for dinner soon.”

“Is he still in line to become the next Police Chief?”

In-ho nodded again, a sense of pride settling into the movement. “Yes. He’ll be one of the youngest they’ve appointed in the Agency, but I’m confident he’ll make an excellent Chief.”

“Good thing he’s your half-brother. If he shared your people skills, they never would’ve considered him for the position.”

“Are you claiming yours are better, ju-chaek?”

Just as Sang-woo felt that familiar prickle of annoyance, his mouth parting to respond, In-ho’s head suddenly turned toward the house again. Sang-woo’s followed, just in time to see the new neighbor making his way down his front steps and toward the street. 

There was nothing particularly remarkable about the look of him this morning; the man was dressed in a pair of jeans too thin for the weather, and layered in what started with a loose t-shirt, a casual suit jacket, and finally a passable but cutting-it-close winter coat. The scarf around his neck looked like it was thrown on just before running out the front door, and his longer hair was loose in the icy air.

It was a contrast to the two of them, who were bundled up adequately and had the same hats on as before– In-ho with the ear flaps that were now properly tied down, and Sang-woo with the tassel.

The man tread over the winter snow carelessly, like he trusted any hidden patch of ice to keep his booted feet in place. He wasn’t grinning, not like last night, but he wore a smile that suggested he’d just finished with a pleasant thought. Or was it simply an easy, present joy? 

Both of them were trying to get a read on it, but as soon as the man canted his head in their general direction, they both quickly averted their eyes and resumed their tasks.

In-ho stuck to brushing the remaining snow off of his windshield, and Sang-woo the snow at his tires. The neighbor hopped into his vehicle— some rugged Korando that looked put together by experimenting hands, and peeled away. 

“He’ll end up on the side of the road if he keeps driving like that.”

“Then report it,” Sang-woo airily suggested, still stuck on the man’s easy smile.

Lucky for Sang-woo, In-ho ignored him completely. 

——————————

Sang-woo pulled up to their local bait shop, still distracted, tires skidding on some ice as he made the final turn into a parking space— enough that his bumper tapped the trash bins that sat precariously ahead. Of course, they ended up falling over of their own volition. “Ssibal.”

“Hit the trash cans again,” he muttered barely loud enough to hear as he entered the shop a few minutes later, the bell on the door tinkling in greeting. 

“I heard,” the man at the counter replied, tone calmly disapproving. “Take it you didn’t fix them yourself?”

“No. That's why I let you know.”

Kim Shin– though people around town called him The Salesman due to his notoriety as a real estate agent before he’d inexplicably switched over to running this hole-in-the-wall dump– was more than used to Sang-woo’s presence. He was also too handsome to be working in a place like this, but truth be told, he’d done it to keep an eye on his detestable father, a personal situation he was sure to not reveal too much about to his patrons.

“Thoughtful of you. How’s our ex-detective today?”

“Why do you always ask me about him? Ask him yourself.”

The Salesman eyed Sang-woo with an undertone of amusement and annoyance as he handed a receipt off to a customer and bid them a good day. When he turned his attention to him fully, it was to ask a routine, “What can I get for you today, Mr. Cho?”

“A pack of cigarettes and some bait. Enough for the day.”

“If that’s it, that will be 5,000 won.”

“5,000? Doesn’t that seem a little steep for worms?” Sang-woo inquired with a quick, exasperated sigh, already digging into his jacket pocket for his wallet.

“We repeat this conversation every time you come in here. You do realize that?” The Salesman stepped smoothly up to the area of counter Sang-woo had stopped in front of, watching him with the smallest of smiles. “You won’t find worms for a better price anywhere else this time of year.”

Sang-woo glanced up at him, feeling a little too interesting with the way the man was observing him fishing for his money. The man and In-ho had that in common. It was no wonder they got along far better; they were both nosy. 

“You think I have an interest in window shopping for worms?” He didn’t bother mentioning yet again that the only reason he did this— the bait shop, the worms, the ice fishing— was because his eomma needed checking up on. 

“I don’t know how you live your life outside of this shop,” The Salesman offered with a small shrug. “But I could see it.”

Sang-woo stared at him. “I don’t.” He held out the requested won. “Could you throw in four cans of OB Beer?”

“I’m not a charity. But I am willing to part with one over a bet, if you’d like to play a game of—”

“No games, Kim.” Sang-woo dismissed, “You seem a little bored here. Why not go back to selling houses?”

The Salesman quietly clicked his tongue and didn’t answer his question, “Then it’s another 4,000.”

“Fine,” Sang-woo huffed through his teeth before less than happily pressing more bills onto the table. He stuffed his purchased items underneath his arm. “Have you seen my mother at the tent today?”

“Like clockwork.”

“The idiot, too?” he asked, already turning around to head out the door.

What sounded like a wry chuckle followed his question. “Isn’t there plenty of ice out there for you two to share?”

“Not nearly enough,” he muttered to himself as the bell chimed behind him.

——————————

Sang-woo pulled up next to his eomma’s ice fishing tent as his next stop, locals walking around with buckets and poles through the scattered expanse of tents in the snow and ice. He offered a single, soft honk of his car horn to get her attention without startling her, to which she turned around smiling as he got out of the car.

“Hi, eomma,” he greeted carefully, uncertain what the mood was going to be today. Ever since she’d had that unexpected yet fortunately nonfatal stroke a little over a decade ago, she’d gotten a little rougher around the edges. It reminded him of how she’d been in his early childhood, shortly after his father left; the stroke seemed to rip any filter off entirely. It’d been a shock at the time, but now the locals and him learned to prepare for it. “Any luck today?”

“Just got here, so I don’t know yet,” she replied. 

Sang-woo nodded, a small smile on his face as he looked around for the ice augur. So far a neutral response.

“Sae-byeok was by the other day,” his eomma informed, rubbing her gloved hands together to keep warm as she watched Sang-woo load up his backseat with the typical fishing gear they kept around her tent. “She mentioned you’ve been moody. Wait, how did she put it…? That you have a ‘stick up your ass,’ I think...”

There it was. Sang-woo’s smile disappeared, releasing an exasperated sigh before he turned around to look at her. He tried not to look too destitute, though, so as to not concern her. “Well, I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.”

“Oh? Well, so have I,” she went on. “It’s been so cold, I feel like my ears are going to fall off. I’m also out of juice.”

Sang-woo tried not to react too outwardly. Juice— by her definition— meant alcohol. It was another bad habit she’d picked up in the last ten years, one he’d unsuccessfully tried to get her to stop. If he didn’t provide it himself, she’d somehow find her own way, which never ended well. He tried to divert the conversation as he pulled out his convenience store haul. “Did you hear how someone moved into Il Nam’s place? A man. Seems like it’s only him.”

“A man?” she repeated, immediately curious. Sang-woo was automatically suspicious of her tone. He wondered if it would’ve been best keeping it to himself. Why had he shared that news, anyway?

She leaned in slightly, and he waited for her to open her mouth again, concern in his expression. 

“Did you hit that rice cake?”

“Ugh, Eomma,” Sang-woo groaned, face scrunching as his head turned away in a mix of shock and embarrassment— even though part of him expected this to go south. “Do you have to talk like that?”

He still ruminated the moment he’d decided to tell his mother the truth about his sexuality, after one too many times of her asking him for grandchildren. She’d taken a little time to come around, probably because she’d spent so much of his adult life dreaming about said grandchildren, but was surprisingly supportive once she had. 

It couldn’t have been more than a week of him dreading he’d lose the only family he had before she began asking if he'd met a man yet. And somehow, still, managing to ask about the possibility of grandchildren. 

“Like what? Is that not what they say? At least tell me… is he handsome?”

“Eomma, please,” he turned away, trying to move on, though for some reason caught himself slowing down and pausing to think about it. Not that Sang-woo didn’t already know that the man was. “...I don’t know. He might be.”

“Then what’re you waiting for?” she insisted, voice no longer as quiet as Sang-woo wished it was. 

He huffed again, still exasperated. His secret, amazingly, was still only between the two of them and Sae-byeok, but he feared it spreading via his mother at any given point. 

“I know you’ve always been a shy boy, but if I were still young like you, I’d be climbing up the pole of every good-looking man in Seoul!”

Sang-woo could only stare at her, anything else he could’ve said stolen away by her familiar but no less staggering crudeness. 

He had a bottle of beer in one hand that he had been about to hand her, which she took to reading as being his meager share. 

“You always seem to sense when I’ve run out. Thank you, honey.”

She used the moment he stood there processing to snatch the remaining three bottles out from under his arm, before disappearing behind the flap of her tent. 

——————————

The loud, grating vibration of the ice augur shook through his arms, a welcomed distraction from the ‘conversation’ he’d had with his eomma no more than thirty minutes ago. He tried to focus on keeping the tool straight, so that it drilled a clean hole through the ice in the middle of his own tent. 

Once it got through to the water, he set it aside and tried to achieve a modicum of relaxation. The closest he could get, at least, with the persistent thoughts of debt and organ removal and unnecessarily captivating new neighbors. 

He folded out a chair beside the hole in the ice, ladling out the slush before gently lowering the line of his fishing pole beneath the water’s cool, dark surface. 

As much as he reasoned he didn’t get anything out of this, that it was to keep close to his eomma, he had to admit the ritual-like motions of the hobby were almost soothing. Almost. 

He’d switched on a radio beside him, a repeat of an AM talk show droning at low-volume, more mindless background noise than anything else. He took a long drag of a cigarette, tilting his head back with the pole still held in one hand. 

He could afford this moment of peace, couldn’t he? As he prepared to wait for a fish or two to snag the line, he released a warm cloud of smoke into the air above him, eyes sliding shut.

Across the ice, In-ho was already set up in his own tent, his lucky Black Magpie balancing on a nearby tacklebox as he got comfortable in his chair, a blanket stretched across his lap as he turned another page of the book he’d brought from home. 

His ice tent was something of a sanctuary, something comforting about the cold and the quiet, so he had no issue at all sinking into the serene winter activity— for this alone, this was his favored time of the year.

He found himself getting a little distracted, however, after realizing his eyes read over the same sentence three times in a row. 

It was something about the man. The one who had moved in across the street. 

The moments he’d witnessed him had been sparse, but he had a mesmerizing quality about him, the unbridled carelessness of his behavior combined with the lively grin pointed toward the sky last night suggesting the man had managed to avoid being hit too hard by life’s cruelties thus far. That, or they hadn’t affected him in the same way it typically did other people. Or, was it simply his rare moment of peace? How… different was he?

In-ho found himself wanting to know what it was.

——————————

“The Black Magpie strikes again,” In-ho informed without being prompted, moving his way around his car and toward his front steps. In his hand hung six or seven large fish, which Sang-woo glanced at with little interest. 

“And?” Sang-woo suddenly wished he’d gone a little faster driving home.

“I see you caught one.” In-ho smiled in that irritatingly calm way, “Nice effort.”

“It’s two fish, jjindda,” Sang-woo retorted, eyes narrowing despite himself, lifting the line in such a way that it twisted to reveal the smaller fish hidden behind the larger. But In-ho already had his back turned, making no effort to look.

“Why is it always a contest with you?” Sang-woo muttered.

“I think of it as more of a reflection,” In-ho said, finally glancing back, though he was far enough away that the fish in Sang-woo’s hand were no longer relevant. 

“Of what?” Why he encouraged the idiot was beyond his understanding, the question leaving him anyway.

“How hard you try,” In-ho rejoined. 

“Aissi—” Irritation flared immediately. He should’ve known it was going to turn into a needlessly inaccurate dig. “You know as much as I do that I throw back the fish I don’t eat or share with my mother.”

“Should I reach out to ask her how many you shared with her today?” In-ho asked, smirking.

“Oh, ssibal. Go inside already,” Sang-woo bit back.

In-ho went inside with no further response, still looking far too satisfied with himself. Still annoyed, Sang-woo looked between In-ho’s front door and the car parked not far behind his own. Without hesitation, he stepped over and quietly opened the door to the backseat of In-ho’s car. 

Despite being an ex-detective, or perhaps due to the fact they lived in a relatively peaceful, crime-free neighborhood, most of them in the cul-de-sac rarely bothered locking their vehicles. 

Which was fortunate for Sang-woo, as it made flinging his bigger catch of the day under one of the seats that much easier.

——————————

2:18 AM. His eyes snapped open suddenly, the book Your Money or Your Life propped up on his chest toppling to the bed. 

Cat— the cat that had made its home in his house without him having much of a say in the matter— meowed and jumped out of his curled-up position on top of his ankles.

While his eyes squinted at the alarm clock’s time, his disoriented brain wondered why he’d jerked awake to begin with. Then, another loud knock resounded from downstairs.  

“Ssibal. They’ve already come back for me,” he fearfully muttered beneath his breath, the beat of his heart sharply picking up, hurriedly slipping out of bed to yank on what had become his snow-friendly escape outfit. 

He pushed open his bedroom window while still half-asleep, pulling himself out into the chilly night. 

The disaster didn’t take long. It was half a second later, just as he took his second step toward the ladder, that one of his boot’s dragging laces caught the corner of a roof tile just right, angling his foot in an awkward enough way that it slipped against a patch of snow and took his entire body with it. Before he could think or grab or even make a sound, he was toppling over the side of the roof.

It was the fall that drew a startled shout out of him, his back hitting what was luckily the same pile of snow he’d almost tripped over the last time he’d been making his escape. It wasn’t soft enough to not feel the impact, but it was at least enough to not break his back on solid ground. 

“A-Aissi,” he couldn’t help but groan as he stared up at the dark sky, fingers flexing where his arms lay spread out, testing that he could still move.

He’d almost forgotten what he had come out here for, but was swiftly reminded when a shadow descended on him, cast over the snow and over his prone form by the light of the closest street lamp. 

“Hey, are you alright?” a man’s voice sounded right over him, before a face joined it. Sang-woo blinked, trying to clear away the feeling that this all was a part of some elaborate, far too vivid dream.

He was suddenly staring straight up at the new neighbor, who was crouched over him with concern etched into his face, the man’s lips parted in surprise. 

His head was crowned in the golden glow of the street lamp, a few spare strands of grey shining in the rest of his dark hair, some dark stubble somehow a complement to the rest of him.

“Ye… Yeah, I’m fine,” Sang-woo managed to say, composure slowly returning to him as he sat up. 

The man stuck out a hand, an offer to help him up. Sang-woo took it, the man’s grip strong as he helped him get to his feet. His hand stayed wrapped around his until he was sure Sang-woo was standing on stable feet. 

“All good?”

Sang-woo offered a small, half-dazed nod of thanks. Before he could voice it, though, the man smiled, nothing but warmth. “Noticed your light was on. Would you mind if I used your bathroom?”

Chapter Text

The two of them made their way through his front door, Sang-woo in the lead, pulling off his tasseled hat just as he stepped into the entrance hallway. 

Everything still felt very dream-like, but he knew better; the proof was in the snow that stuck in his hair after he fell from the roof, which was now dripping down the back of his neck.

The neighbor, who was wearing the same clothes as earlier in the day, shook out his scarf while he looked all around him, his eyes curious and still so bright, even at this time of night. Sang-woo made a point not to stare at him for too long. 

“So, I take it your toilet isn’t working?” Sang-woo finally managed, lingering by the door.

“What?” he answered with a light laugh, almost as if it were Sang-woo asking something out of place. “No, they’re working. Man, that’d be annoying, huh? Nothing worse than having to fix broken plumbing.”

Sang-woo couldn’t help looking vaguely baffled, eyebrows furrowing as that answer sunk in.

“Oh?” 

“Ah,” The man made a sound as if both thinking about and dismissing something, “I don’t know. The house felt weirdly empty tonight. You ever feel that way? I do love a good bathroom, though. Sometimes they’ll give me ideas for future projects, but so do most rooms. You realize a house says a lot about a person?” 

Gi-hun’s observation of the room he was currently standing in slowed when he finally turned to face Sang-woo. When he saw the subtle confusion in the man’s expression, he offered a loose grin. “Huh. Don’t remember where I was going with that…”

There was a stretch of strange silence, where the man’s eyes kept on him, and his own flickered to the side, then toward the floor. Sang-woo couldn’t tell if he was waiting for him to say something, or if he was still soaking in his surroundings. His hand was just about to wipe at the back of his neck when the new neighbor shifted on his feet.

“I think I see it up there. Gonna go take a look!” The man said suddenly, refocusing as he started up the stairs. 

“Wait,” Sang-woo stepped in, arm shooting out to try and guide the man’s attention in the other direction, somewhere where all the private rooms in his house weren’t, “there’s a guest bathroom right here, if you wouldn’t mind using—”

“Nah, it’s okay. I’m feeling the one up there calling to me!” he said— already an absurd response before he added, “If you feel a feeling, you’ve gotta follow it all the way to the end. You could miss something, and I don’t wanna risk that!”

“Please, if you could—”

“I should be quick!”

Before Sang-woo could get another word out, the man had already found it, the door to his personal bathroom shutting behind him. Sang-woo still stood at the bottom of the stairs, equal parts bewildered and cautiously curious.

He couldn’t decide what to do with himself the second the door shut and left him to his own silence again, not when his mind ran through thought after thought of what the man was doing in there. Did he actually need to go? Was he standing there, treating it like some museum of odd artifacts? Was he digging through all his drawers?

Sang-woo shook his head, trying to clear it as he moved to take off his winter jacket. Just before shrugging it off, however, he remembered how he was still in his pajamas, which were now rumpled and a little damp from his excursion outside. He nervously secured his jacket around himself again.

As a minute ticked by and the silence went on, his thoughts continued to spiral. He couldn’t hear a thing upstairs from where he stood, and was soon succumbing to the impulsive urge to sneak up the steps, if only to point a concerned ear closer to the bathroom door. He got about five steps up before he heard the toilet flush.

In a sudden, unreasonable panic for being in the middle of his own house, he twisted and practically leapt over all five steps in his hurry to return to the spot he’d originally been waiting in. Then, as the man exited the bathroom, he glanced casually up as any patient host would, wearing a smile that might’ve been a little too tight.

“Get any ideas?” he spoke a little too quickly to think. Aissi, had that been too casual?

It didn’t seem to bother his neighbor, who hung his arms over the railing as if he lived there, rubbing hands together with a thoughtful, still restless energy. “It’s very functional in there.”

Sang-woo let out a small ‘ah,’ not knowing if that was an answer, a compliment, or something else.

“You travel a lot?” he asked immediately after.

“No, not really. Why?”

The man shrugged, another easy motion as he pushed away from the railing, “Just wondering.”

He started making his way back down the stairs, “So. You wanna know my name yet?”

The question took Sang-woo off guard, suddenly watching him descend the steps. “Uh…” Sang-woo’s mind lagged, the man smiling again, this time right at him, the warmth carrying into dark brown eyes. Which were much easier to see once he’d stopped on the main floor again, standing no more than two feet away. “...Okay, sure. What is it?”

“Seong Gi-hun,” the man replied as if he’d been waiting all night to introduce himself despite showing no sign until a moment ago, leaning in to give Sang-woo a firm but friendly pat to the shoulder. “You?” The contact jostled him, feeling warm and uneasy all at once, gaze flicking toward the man’s hand and then away. 

“My name is—”

“Sang-woo, right? Cho Sang-woo?” 

“How—”

“Took some of your mail yesterday,” Gi-hun cut in a second time, tone still casual and warm as he started to step past Sang-woo and into the living room to the side of them. The way the words left him, it was as if it were the norm, the way all neighbors got to know one another for the first time. “Got too curious and couldn’t help myself, but you really didn’t have a whole lot in there to go off of. Not a popular guy, huh?”

Sang-woo opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again as he followed the wandering man into the other room. “You do realize that taking someone’s mail is a criminal offense?”

“Sure,” Gi-hun replied, still chipper as his head turned to look at everything he walked by, “but I promise I did it while Hwang In-ho wasn’t home. I heard he’s an ex-cop? Kind of intimidating, huh?” Gi-hun chuckled, unbothered, then glanced back at Sang-woo. 

“He’s not,” Sang-woo said, matter-of-fact. 

This seemed to amuse Gi-hun, who grinned as he trailed a hand along the back of Sang-woo’s couch. “He’s a softie, then?”

Sang-woo really didn’t want to be talking about Hwang In-ho in the middle of his living room at almost three in the morning, so he offered a closing, “That’s one word for it.”

When Gi-hun got to the chessboard that sat by a front window, he dropped down into the seat that Sang-woo always left empty, arms stretching high above his head as his shirt rode up the slightest amount; afterward, he groaned and sagged into the chair as if that’d been the sweet spot for his sore muscles. He squinted at the white pieces on the board in front of him, touching the top of a pawn as he suddenly started speaking again. 

“You like cars?” 

Sang-woo didn’t care about cars, but he offered a quiet “...I like that mine gets me around.”

Gi-hun laughs at that, and Sang-woo has to look away from how open and carefree it is. 

"That’s just my opener to telling you I’m a mechanic. Cars, motorcycles, whatever moves, I guess…” Gi-hun suddenly moves a piece on the board, but Sang-woo isn’t paying enough attention. “...but I sculpt, too. I’ve been stuck on it for awhile. Now it’s your turn.” Gi-hun craned his head back at Sang-woo again, relaxed and thankfully moved on from the dickhead next door.

“What?” Sang-woo blinked, trying to refocus, “My turn?”

Gi-hun smiled. “What do you do?”

Sang-woo thought back to the strange amalgamation of an art piece that he’d witnessed being carried out of the moving truck earlier, and the car that seemed put together by hand that Gi-hun drove off in; the pieces were falling into place, as first meetings often did. 

But he also wondered if the man already knew what he did, like he knew his name and how In-ho had once been a cop. The uneasiness lingered, yet he found himself stuck in inaction.

He stood awkwardly to the side, looking back at the man. “Banking.”

“Hm. I can see it. One of those squeaky clean professions, huh? You get a lot of time to sit and think all day?” Gi-hun breathed out as he stood up, a step or two away from Sang-woo again. “You probably need to have a lot of self-control to deal with that kinda paper all day. You hold yourself back a lot, Cho Sang-woo?”

There was something strangely insightful and even suggestive about what was just said, but it must have been the clearly odd way about Gi-hun. He was reading too much into it, his mind racing as he tried to get a normal reply out.

“I– I don’t know,” he said, nervously swallowing, “Maybe.” 

He didn’t think about how that might sound. It hadn’t meant anything, anyway.

He was eager to steer the conversation away from himself, so pushed forward by asking, “So. When was it that you moved into Il-Nam’s place?”

Gi-hun gave him a look Sang-woo wasn’t sure how to interpret, before smiling again, that dark brown glimmer back. “You sure you don’t already know that?” He began to wander around again, pacing past a bookshelf. “I swear I’ve seen you peeking out your windows from across the street ever since I got here. You and Hwang In-ho.”

“Actually, there’s—” Sang-woo tried to interject, but Gi-hun laughed at a thought in his head and kept going.

“You guys kind of remind me of those toys we’d play with as kids, those figures made of some sorta sticky elastic. Y'now, you’d throw them on walls or windows and they’d cling there?” Gi-hun was getting into descriptive hand motions about it now, palms splayed out in the air in front of him. “Then they’d flop over, make their way down. That part might not be so much what you guys do, but you get it. The stuck to the window part.”

Sang-woo felt heat burning at his ears. “It’s deer, actually,” he lied.

“Hm?” Gi-hun was taken out of his miming when Sang-woo spoke up again. 

“It’s a family of deer that have been wandering around the neighborhood. I watch for them sometimes.”

“Ah. Sure, Sang-woo,” Gi-hun waved another hand, calling him by his name as if they’d known each other for years now, offering him a fleeting wink as he turned back to peer at the books. “Oh!”

His distraction didn’t last long, as Gi-hun seemed to recall something he forgot. The man patted his equally distracting backside, then around to his waist before he found it in one of his jacket pockets. “Here’s your mail.”

Gi-hun held the envelopes out to Sang-woo, who stepped forward with some hesitation before carefully grabbing them from the man’s hand. He looked at him as if expecting him to say more, and Gi-hun didn’t— for half a second. 

“Noticed there was no Mrs. Cho on anything,” he said, “and by the look of your bathroom, guess you’re a bachelor like me?”

Sang-woo felt his anxiety spike. Was this interest, or— no, it couldn’t be. So why was the man so incessant? 

“Yes,” Sang-woo offered, brief. He shifted slightly on his feet, glancing at the clock on the wall. He should kick the man out of his house. Why hadn’t he kicked him out yet?

“Gay or straight?”

If he thought his anxiety spiked before, it was nothing compared to the way that one seized at his nerves and unabashedly yanked. “E–Excuse me?”

“Y’know…?” The man offered another wave of hand, as if waving off something simple. Something normal. “Men or women? Which is it for you?”

“That— that’s a pretty bold question to ask a stranger.”

“What do you mean? We know each other's names now. Seems a perfectly normal question to me.”

Sang-woo shook his head with a disbelieving exhale. “Maybe wherever you’re from,” he muttered.

“I never lived anywhere but Korea,” Gi-hun said, eyebrows furrowing, “Well, I did take a trip to the states once. That was maybe a decade ago. A friend roped me into going to California. You know men hold hands in public there? Think I would’ve asked the same questions before I saw that, though… man, now you’re really making me think. Hey, have I been bothering you?”

The man’s head was tilted, genuine concern in his expression, arms now hanging at his sides where fingers of one hand seemed to be tapping fretfully against his pants.

“I mean, it’s really late and I don’t— don’t entirely know what’s going on…” Sang-woo started, banking on honesty.

“You want me to get out of here?” Gi-hun asked, still so unsettlingly genuine.

“No.”

Wait, what? That wasn’t what he’d meant to say. What the hell was wrong with him? He needed to sleep.

Gi-hun’s head seemed to tilt back into place, mouth opening to say something.

“Yes, actually,” Sang-woo corrected himself quickly, nodding his head as politely as he could muster. “Please.”

Two minutes later and he was escorting the man out of his house, his front door propped open with one arm, the scarf thrown back on by Gi-hun as heedless as it looked around his neck. 

“It was nice to meet you!” Gi-hun called out as he made his way down the snowy walkway, still looking back at him. “This means we’re no longer strangers. Got it, neighbor?”

Sang-woo didn’t offer a direct response as Gi-hun turned away again, instead opting to shut the door. But just before he was halfway there, the man called out to him, again in a tone that struck him as intimately familiar.

“Oh! Sang-woo?” 

He couldn’t help the moment’s pause, hand squeezing the doorknob as he leaned out again, trying not to stare as soft, feather-light snowflakes started collecting in Gi-hun’s hair. “Hm?”

The man lifted a playful hand, miming himself picking up and dropping something— like a piece on a chess board. “Let me know if the move I made was as good as I thought.” 

Gi-hun officially turned around to finish the trek across the street as Sang-woo tried to wipe the perplexed look off of his face. Had the man really paid that much attention to the chess game in his living room? 

He let himself linger for a moment longer than he should have, watching as Gi-hun hopped over a patch of ice just before the steps up to his own front doors, the shape of him moving between the light of the street lamps and the shadows that lived in this time of night. The man felt otherworldly, and the moment a dream. 

Ssibal, he was tired.

Sang-woo finally shut the door, heading back inside and over to the chess board, unable to help himself. It was a game Sang-woo had been engaged in for the past week, playing both sides; it was only recently he’d hit a standstill. 

When he noticed the white knight had been moved to F6, he realized how it had turned the game around. The move created a fork between the king and queen of the other side, the two pieces now forced to both flee and surrender. It was far from a winning move, and in no way a tactic of a secret mastermind, but it was clever and…

How had he missed it? How could his chatty, easily distracted neighbor, of all people, have seen what he didn’t?

Chapter Text

Sang-woo made the peaceful afternoon walk to their neighborhood’s local plaza, which was home to all the shops he frequented at least twice a month. He was yet again bundled up— now with the cozy addition of gloves, which were shoved into his coat pockets— as he stepped off the sidewalk to cross the decorated, snowy main street.

The snow plow lumbered down the road. Sang-woo offered its long-standing driver, Yong-sik, a polite nod of acknowledgement as he let him pass. He huffed a warm breath into the cold air, waiting until the road was clear before he continued his way into the convenience shop.

The bell jingled as he stepped inside to the unfortunate sight of Hwang In-ho already inside, the man somehow managing to be in the same place at the same time too many times to count. Sang-woo simply ignored him, slipping his way through the aisles to the shaving razors. 

Even still, the man could be easily overheard in the small space, In-ho approaching the pharmacy counter. “Byeong-gi. If you could please wait to ring up my order, I would like to add a four-pack of probiotics.”

Sang-woo’s attempt to ignore the man fell through immediately, as if the sound of his voice were an instant and ingrained trigger. He spoke from a couple aisles over. “Already having trouble shitting at your age?”

There was a moment of calculating quiet before In-ho, without sparing Sang-woo a single glance, replied with, “It’s a preemptive measure. I am in perfect health.” 

“Sure,” Sang-woo countered, disbelieving. “You don’t think I forgot about all the times you crapped yourself when we were kids, do you?” 

“That was a single time,” In-ho replied, while the pharmacist lifted a weary look between the two of them. “You have also conveniently forgotten it had nothing to do with my health, but your mother’s poisoned mandu. She never once washed her hands.”

“You’re full of shit and you know it,” Sang-woo scoffed. “If that were the case, I would’ve gotten sick all the time. I was completely fine.”

“Having to eat her food everyday, you must have built a tolerance,” In-ho dismissed, before offering another calm remark. “I’m sure you prefer to wait until poor health hits you before finally doing something about it. When was the last time you went on a jog? Was it two years ago?”

“I walked into town today, you idiot.”

“A walk is not a jog. There is a considerable difference. Wouldn’t you say, Byeong-gi?”

“Considerable to someone of your stature, maybe. Jogging helps you feel like you’re keeping up with the rest of us, doesn’t it?” Sang-woo muttered, before adding, “I’m in great shape.”

The pharmacist at the counter didn’t say a single word, just shook his head as he retrieved the requested probiotics from a shelf behind the counter and set it beside the rest of In-ho’s items. The customers who had been in the aisles upon Sang-woo’s entry had all filed out before purchasing anything, as if the exchange taking place was a familiar one and it was common practice to clear out and return at a later time.

Byeong-gi didn’t appear particularly happy about it. “Will that be it today, Mr. Hwang?”

“Why not aim for perfect?” In-ho ignored Byeong-gi as he questioned Sang-woo, unfinished with the impromptu argument. He finally glanced Sang-woo’s way. “Are you not interested in a long life?”

“Even you have to know how ridiculous that sounds. Perfection isn’t achievable in the first place.”

“But it isn’t harmful to try, is it?” 

“How would you suggest someone aim for perfection?”

“Well, if you provide me with your current weight and workout routine—”

Sang-woo practically snorted, though it came out of him quieter, more incredulous. “Are you really trying to offer yourself up as my personal trainer? Buy your stomach medicine, jjinda, and leave me alone.”

“You began this conversation,” In-ho reminded, a cool edge to his voice. “I know you struggle keeping that weight off your middle. It’s your penchant for extra rice, perhaps.”

Just as both Sang-woo and Byeong-gi were about to speak up again, surely both attempts to halt the conversation, the bell at the door tinkled and there was a bright and immediate, “Hey! Enjoy lunch today, Sang-woo?” 

It was so sudden that half-formed words were out before he even thought about it. “Huh? Yeah, I— uh…”

Gi-hun waltzed in, wearing a friendly smile alongside a loose jacket he had pulled over a worn sweater and jeans. He focused his smile on Sang-woo first, hand briefly landing on his shoulder on the way past, the sensation wrenching Sang-woo clean out of the dialogue with In-ho and instead directly into Gi-hun’s inescapable orbit. He glanced at the hand on his shoulder first, then the back of Gi-hun’s head as the man walked by. 

Sang-woo turned to watch him as he approached In-ho, whose own attention honed in on Gi-hun as soon as he walked through the door of the shop. In-ho didn’t seem ashamed of the way he stood in place, as if waiting for him.

“You must be the one and only Hwang In-ho?” Gi-hun greeted him without an ounce of hesitation, grinning as he stuck out a hand, “I’m Seong Gi-hun. Your neighbor across the street.”

In-ho took his hand, eyes falling to where their fingers connected before lifting up again. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“Sure is a chilly day, huh? So cold my ball—” The man cut himself off with a joyous laugh. “— well, you guys know all about that. I don’t have to say it, do I?”

“Ah… yes. My scrotum tends to retract in the cold as well.”

Sang-woo grimaced where he stood in the aisle, deciding he’d finally pick up a container of floss to distract himself from the overwhelmingly powerful second-hand embarrassment that was Hwang In-ho deciding to open his mouth. 

Somehow, it still got a sunny laugh out of Gi-hun, and Sang-woo had to fight every muscle in his face against a disbelieving frown. 

“Oh, right! I have something for you,” Gi-hun said, hands back to absentmindedly patting at his own ass as both Sang-woo and In-ho fought not to let their gazes follow said wandering hands. 

“Oh?” In-ho queried, curious.

The man’s hands finally found what they were looking for in an inside jacket pocket. “Some of your mail got delivered to my house by accident.” The man held out the collection of envelopes. “Sorry about that.”

That caused Sang-woo to glance over. So he’d been bold enough to steal from the mailbox of an ex-cop after all? He couldn’t help but wonder what the man’s angle was, and if he had any idea what he was risking.

Meanwhile, In-ho took the mail with a polite nod, “No worries.” 

His expression remained neutral, revealing nothing of the way his mind went through its natural, suspicious cycle of interest. In-ho knew their mail delivery person well, and a mistaken delivery after two decades in the same cul-de-sac was highly unlikely. Still, In-ho wasn’t disturbed by it; if anything, he interpreted it as the interest being mutual.

Gi-hun, still smiling, turned his attention to the pharmacist and wholly indifferent to his company, pointed to the variety of condoms lined up along the wall. “Could I get a pack of your standard, please?”

“Will that be the lubricated or non-lubricated variety?” Byeong-gi questioned, professionally unbothered.

Due to the consecutive interruptions, In-ho remained stuck mid-order at the counter, arms crossing over his chest as he quietly observed the exchange. Sang-woo snuck glances from an aisle, slowly collecting this visit’s essentials. 

As Gi-hun took a moment to lean over the counter, squinting as if it’d somehow help him decide, Sang-woo tried not to imagine anything he couldn’t imagine himself out of. 

“Ah! Let’s go with lubricated, why not! Never know when something spur of the moment will happen.”

Then, as if it were entirely normal to be so open in a public shop with two men he’d only just met, he looked back at both In-ho and Sang-woo and said another absurd thing. “Like keeping an umbrella in the back seat, huh guys?” 

Gi-hun laughed at his own attempt at humor, and Sang-woo— after a processing pause— offered a borderline anxious smile in his direction. While he could in no way relate to the urge that was keeping a pack of condoms in his car like an emergency umbrella, he could to the idea a spur of the moment encounter. 

With Gi-hun himself, maybe, in the back of the building, lips at each other’s mouths, teeth at someone’s throat, hips pushing— ssibal. Fingers tightened around a pack of napkins added to his arms. He couldn’t get past the man’s laughing expression, the warm crinkling at the corner of his eyes, the spark in them magnetic.

Sang-woo was losing at whatever this was becoming.

“Do these moments happen to you often?” In-ho asked, unphased by Gi-hun’s boldness, his curiosity persistent.

Gi-hun offered In-ho an amused, unspoken look that could be easily read as an ‘are you asking me about my sex life?’ He ended up saying a simple, “I try to keep things optimistic.”

Gi-hun got his order rung up first due to the ease of it being a single item. “Thank you, what was it… Byeong-gi? I’m Seong Gi-hun, by the way. Nice to meet you, too.”

Sang-woo couldn’t help but wonder if condoms were really all the man had come in here for, as he finally wandered up with his own armful of hygiene products. He also couldn’t help wondering what the idiot— In-ho— was thinking about, given the concentrated way he was staring at Gi-hun, likely in the process of psychically fiddling with the lock to his mind.

“It’s funny,” In-ho started to speak again, as if reentering the real world again. “Your last name mea—”

He was cut off by a sliding kick against his heel, Sang-woo’s impulsive attempt to stop the man before more second-hand embarrassment took down the entire establishment. In-ho turned, sending a dark look in Sang-woo’s direction as Gi-hun turned to glance at the both of them. 

“Eh? Were you about to say something, In-ho-ssi?”

“Yes, before Sang-woo rudely interrupted me,” In-ho replied, triggering a reflex roll of eyes on Sang-woo’s part.

Their back and forth seemed to amuse Gi-hun, whatever In-ho had been about to say already out of his mind as he met them with an inquisitive look. “You two know each other for a long time?”

“Unfortunately,” they both, unfortunately, muttered in unison.

Gi-hun grinned, “Not friends then, huh?”

“No.”

“Most certainly not.”

The pharmacist finally began to ring up In-ho’s order, now that Sang-woo had formed a makeshift line.

Over the beeping barcode scanner, Gi-hun’s smile faded the slightest amount. “That bad, huh?” He shifted on his feet, shoving the condoms into his jacket pocket before glancing between them. “Still…” The man perked up, “not friends, but you guys haven’t run for the hills. Must count for something, right?”

In-ho tilted his head, unable to help the wonderment that worked its way through him at the oddly positive viewpoint. 

“Suppose we haven’t,” In-ho thoughtfully offered. 

“Right. Something,” Sang-woo said, eyes on Gi-hun. It stuck with Sang-woo, what with being a strange thing to say without much context. Maybe he was still thrown off by that late-night visit.

“Well!” Gi-hun suddenly raised his voice, slapping the counter as he looked directly at In-ho. “Better get going, but it was great meeting you. I’m sure we’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other!”

In-ho smiled at that, warmer than Sang-woo had seen the man looking in recent years. It reminded him of the times when… no, that couldn’t be right. Hwang In-ho couldn’t be…

“Sang-woo,” Gi-hun smiled as he turned his attention to him, a hand rising to rest against his shoulder again, breaking him out of all his thoughts. “See you around.”

As Gi-hun left the shop with the bell tinkling behind him, Sang-woo couldn’t help the way his head turned to watch the vibrant shape of him move past the shop window. It wasn’t until Byeong-gi informed him of how much he owed that he was finally brought back. 

In-ho had already made his way out with his own small bags in hand, managing to catch more of Gi-hun as he walked down the street, the man pulling his jacket tighter around himself. He wasn’t subtle in the way he lingered by the driver’s side of his car, watching the limber curve of Gi-hun’s back until the man disappeared around the corner.

——————————

Sang-woo’s jaw tightened, avoiding too obvious a wince as he handed over the airtight container from his gloved hands to the matching gloved hands of the appraiser.

“Once officially graded, we’ll reach out with an update,” they said as Sang-woo lent them a well-mannered nod, opening his front door for them to take their leave.

“Please do. Thank you,” he said, watching several more containers make their way past. He forced himself not to think about it, just like he’d been forcing himself not to think of the red waiver now locked away in a drawer.

Unluckily, a familiar face was getting out of a vehicle just outside his house as his current company was leaving.

“Sang-woo-ya, what’s up?” she said, eyes trailing after the individuals that were already leaving. “Is that the cherished coin collection? Thought you’d never let that go.”

“Hey, Sae-byeok,” Sang-woo greeted, hand leaving the door as he met her on the sidewalk, despite the way he wanted to suddenly disappear, preferably without ever reappearing again. “Really no practical point in keeping them. They were just sitting there, collecting dust.”

“Yeah? Dust? Weren’t you anal about keeping them all pristine? You loved that nerdy little collection.”

Sang-woo shook his head, “Thirty years was enough time to play around with old coins. About time I let it go.”

Sae-byeok focused a doubtful raise of eyebrows on him, but dropped it. Sang-woo had already moved on to the awkward greeting that was him waving at Cheol, the preschooler she pulled out of the car seat in the back.

“Samchon!” the little boy exclaimed, his usual quiet nature breaking as soon as his sights set on Sang-woo.

“Cheol-a,” he returned, stiffly nodding at him. Somehow, addressing the child hadn’t gotten much easier, despite having known him his entire life. The mess and unpredictability of children didn’t naturally align with him, whose life was a pursuit of careful control. Still, the kid had gotten under his skin further than most have tried.

The boy reached a hand out, grabbing the one he had hanging at his side. He tensed slightly, but didn’t move away; instead he glanced at it, then delicately held onto it, as if afraid he might break it. “Good idea. Some of these steps are hiding under the snow,” he said, voice leaning into something gentler. “See this one? Jump.”

Cheol jumped, fully trusting, over the snowy step as Sang-woo gave a helping tug upward. The boy smiled up at him after, and Sang-woo offered the tiniest one back. Sae-byeok was doing the same behind them, shaking her head.

“He doesn’t even talk to the teachers yet. I swear it’s only me, you, and eomeoni. You have sweets inside, right? That’s half of why he loves you.”

“You mean it isn’t only my personality?” he remarked with a glance back at her, still leading Cheol up his front steps. “Watch the door when you open it, Cheol-a.”

“Sweets!” he called out, excited, as his small hand wrapped around the doorknob and clumsily reopened it.

——————————

Sang-woo went into the container he had on the top of the fridge, something he usually reserved for especially rough nights of insomnia, and brought himself back to where Cheol was plopped down in front of the television, watching a cartoon Sae-byeok had turned on for him. 

“Alright, Cheol-a,” Sang-woo said as he crouched down beside him, hands behind his back. “Pick a hand.”

The child’s attention perked up as he looked toward Sang-woo, narrowing his eyes in concentration. “Umm…”

Sang-woo patiently waited as he put the kid through the improvised game, gaze glancing toward the entrance to the living room as Sae-byeok approached, quietly amused. 

“That one!” Cheol announced, pointing. 

“Hm. Smart pick,” Sang-woo said with a small smile, bringing his hand out to reveal a Choco Pie. “Here.”

Cheol giggled, delighted. “Thank you, Samchon!” 

Before he got to his feet, Sang-woo opened the packaging for him and handed the treat over. It was Sae-byeok who spoke next. “Don’t shove it in all at once, okay? Small bites.”

Cheol nodded, already well into his first bite. Sang-woo stepped back into the kitchen to throw out the wrapper, met with Sae-byeok shortly after reentering the main room.

“Well, that was generous. Thought the Choco Pies were off limits. You sure you’re okay?” she asked, dropping into one of the living room chairs closest to the chess board. 

“I’m fine,” he lied, too worn down and uncertain about telling Sae-byeok about the notice Mr. Kim had delivered. Why worry her? There was nothing she or his mother could do about it, and it was his own responsibility, his mistake. “Tired, that’s all. How’s the asshole?”

Sae-byeok shot him a sharp look, though it softened quicker than what was usual for her. “Still hard to use his name even though we’ve been together for what, two years now?” She sighed, no energy in the sound. “Hell if I know, though. Deok-su’s run off somewhere again.”

“You know I never liked him,” Sang-woo muttered. “Why you put up with it is beyond me.”

She shifted in the chair, pulling one leg up. “He was really good to me and Cheol. You know that.”

“Yeah, was.”

Sae-byeok fixed him with a look. “You gonna get all weirdly protective of me again ‘cause you think I can’t take care of myself? Don’t get all misogynistic on me.”

Sang-woo rolled his eyes, dropping onto the end of the couch next to her. He draped an arm over the armrest. “You know that’s not what I’m doing. I get you can take care of yourself better than most. You can still be stupid, though.”

She glared at him, “So can you. Don’t think I can’t tell you’re deflecting about something.”

He gave her a half-jaded look of his own, but didn’t relent and kept the conversation on her. “I liked Ji-yeong better. She was… different, but you seemed happier.”

“Yeah, well,” Sae-byeok frowned. “Maybe you can swim your way over to America and bring her back.”

“Why don’t you do it? You loved her, didn’t you?” 

“I have to take care of Cheol.”

“I could watch him.”

That got a surprised look out of Sae-byeok. “You really want to take care of a whole kid for who knows how long? You barely know how to say hi to him.”

“I’m getting better at it.”

Sang-woo hesitated, realizing what he was saying. He couldn’t help but be unpleasantly reminded of the fact he may have one less organ in a month, that or be without a house depending on how he planned to absolve himself of the debt, though not even selling this house would take care of all he owed. 

Maybe there was no way out of it, except to…

“I’d help how I’m able,” he added, cutting off the intrusive thought, fingers pushing glasses up the bridge of his nose as he felt a sudden headache coming on, “if it gets you out of this thing with Deok-su.”

She suddenly leaned over, the back of her hand hitting his forehead. “You’re acting so weird lately. You sick?”

Sang-woo leant his head back with a scoff, pushing away her hand. “I said I was fine.”

“Huh, sure.” Her voice was its typical, flat monotone as she fell back against the chair again. “It’s all a fantasy anyway. That’s what she picked. She couldn’t take being here anymore, and I get it. Not easy getting over there, anyway.”

“Well, even if you’ve really given up on her, I’d still suggest dropping your thug boyfriend.” 

“I’ll think about—” An abrupt shout echoed from outside, loud and carrying. “— What the hell was that?”

Sang-woo had already gotten off of the couch, heading toward the window. “I don’t know.”

Sae-byeok, after checking to make sure Cheol was still okay in front of the television, followed closely beside him as the shouting continued to ring out across the neighborhood. 

As they got closer to the source, the noise started to sound less concerning and more… enthusiastic. 

“Whooo!”

Sang-woo’s stare widened as soon as his eyes found Gi-hun, a distracted finger pushing up at nothing, glasses already settled on his face from adjusting them a second ago.

The man was in nothing but a pair of swimming shorts, striped in bright teal and white, wholly inappropriate for the several feet of snow outside, not to mention hugging the shape of him in a way Sang-woo had to swallow down. 

The man was in broad daylight for the entire neighborhood to see, all lean, loose-limbed muscle, grinning again like his life depended on it. His hair was damp as if he’d been working out, bangs sticking to the sides of his face. 

“Ahh!” Gi-hun fell into the snow in what Sang-woo first assumed was an accident, then realized wasn’t by the way he rolled around, legs kicking as he continued to shout at the cold he was purposely subjecting himself to, “Ahh! Ah!”

The wooden shed that In-ho and him had seen getting built to the side of Gi-hun’s house stood completed a ways behind the man’s exuberant flailing, a cloud of steamy air snaking from a pipe that stuck out of its roof. 

“What’s he doing? Do you know that guy?” Sae-byeok asked.

“No, not really…” Sang-woo murmured, eyes glued on Gi-hun. 

They didn’t notice how In-ho was also outside, invisible from the view of the window, balancing himself on a ladder to replace a roof tile damaged by the recent winter weather. 

The man’s attention had been stolen by the first shout, but even more by the sight of Gi-hun running around three-fourths naked. As he leaned to get a better look, the ladder tilted. The caulking gun fell to the snow and, forgetting where he was, he attempted to grab it.

In-ho dropped into a soft, two-foot high layer of snow beneath him, white billowing up around him. No one saw it happen. 

“Hey!” Gi-hun suddenly called out, sitting up in the snow and waving a wide arc in the direction of Sang-woo and Sae-byeok standing at the window. “Hey, Sang-woo!”

“Huh, he seems to know you,” Sae-byeok remarked, deadpan, smile starting to twitch at her lips. 

“I, uh… we met, once or twice,” he muttered quietly.

Gi-hun began tossing snow up into his own face, laughing as he finally stumbled to his feet. “Whoo!” 

“Does he do this often?”

“I really don’t know,” Sang-woo mumbled, gawking.

Sae-byeok snorted softly to herself, before finally walking away from the window. “You’re gross. And practically drooling.”

“I— I’m not,“ he said, though a hand still came up to absentmindedly wipe at his mouth. Nothing was there, and Sae-byeok laughed at him.

Gi-hun finally disappeared, bouncing himself on cold feet back into his custom-built sauna, steam billowing out behind the closing door. 

Sang-woo gave it a second look before finally tearing himself away from the window. Outside, In-ho retrieved his caulking gun from the snow, brushing himself off with his other hand.

He hadn’t meant to look that long. Gi-hun’s chest had been blotched red from the cold he’d just rolled around in, looking half-crazed with his grinning. In-ho rarely witnessed people so happy of their own doing, yet Gi-hun’s joy didn’t appear faked. 

As In-ho turned back toward the ladder and readjusted, he couldn’t help but feel the man had a ridiculously infectious way about him. He barely noticed the small smile on his own face. 

——————————

It was a stupid habit of his, Sang-woo acknowledged this, but he couldn’t help it. His entire banking career dealt in strategic risk management, and the lottery was no exception. 

If he somehow won the jackpot, it’d fix everything. 

He settled himself in front of the television with his unchanged lottery numbers for the week, taking a measured bite from the ramyeon noodle cup he’d made for dinner. 

Next door, In-ho was at the stove again, warming up more kimchi stew leftovers. He glanced at the clock, keeping a close tab on the minutes. 

It was a stupid habit of his, In-ho acknowledged this, but he couldn’t help himself. If utilized only once or twice at random points throughout the year, it was easily forgotten about, and that was the exact intention. 

However, it was within these few vital minutes that there was a sudden knock on his door. 

In-ho broke away from his stew to greet his visitor, already knowing who would be behind it. His younger brother had a unique cadence to his knock, as did most. 

“Hyung. You’ll be coming to the next public safety event, right?” the man immediately got to the point. 

“Jun-ho,” he welcomed, already much warmer than usual. His brother was the last of those he trusted enough to fully let his guard down around. “Of course, I wouldn’t miss the first meeting you’ll be in charge of.”

“Alright. Good. I know this was short, but I’ve got stuff to finish up tonight. Just wanted to stop by to remind you.”

“Can you not stay for dinner?”

“I better not, hyung, I gotta—“

“If you could indulge me by having one quick bowl?”

“I really—“

“Please. Get inside, Jun-ho.”

“Okay, okay.” Jun-ho softened and yielded, finally stepping inside. “But it’s gotta be quick.”

“Quick. Of course. Serve yourself while I take care of this very brief, important task…”

“You just said…”

“It will only take a moment. Serve yourself a bowl, if you like.”

Jun-ho didn’t serve himself, instead watching in confusion as In-ho went into a decorative chest of drawers and drew out what looked like a television remote, stored away as if it had a dedicated place. 

In-ho approached a window to the side of the house, turning off the nearest light switch so that the room fell into concealed darkness. He stood just outside the window’s line of sight.

“What are you—” Jun-ho started.

In-ho simply waved at him, a minuscule movement of fingers, like he was guiding an operation that required stealth. In the next instant, after leaning over to peer through the window, he pressed a button on the remote.

On the other side, through a window that directly faced In-ho’s— one that opened up to a view of Sang-woo’s side profile, watching the numbers being drawn for the lottery on a small television— the channel suddenly changed.

It displayed some kind of dance video now, and the confusion was clear by the way Sang-woo picked up his own remote and inspected it before he turned it back to the correct channel.

In-ho smirked to himself, and Jun-ho put fingers to his temples, closing his eyes in exasperated disbelief. “Hyung.”

When it appeared another number was about to be revealed on screen, In-ho changed the channel again. Sang-woo, getting irritated, smashed the buttons hard on his own remote. He tried to hurriedly match the lotto numbers with his own before the program ended and he was forced to wait days for their release in the next newspaper. 

“The trainwreck doesn’t even realize what’s happening,” In-ho remarked, openly amused. 

This time, In-ho waited until the last number was about to be announced before he did it again, the tv now playing a sitcom. When Sang-woo tried to switch it back, hand ready for it this time, In-ho changed it right away, then again. 

It was then that Sang-woo finally looked sideways toward the window, distinctly pissed off. If In-ho were in the room, he would’ve heard the “Ssibal! The freak doesn’t know when to quit!” Sang-woo barked out as he stood up, chair practically sliding across the floor as he stormed from the room.

In-ho was chuckling now, quietly triumphant as Jun-ho shook his head at him. “Seriously? Real mature of you.”

“It’s not me who isn’t mature.”

“That so? You’re telling me he’s started every fight since you guys were what, ten?”

“Eight, actually.”

“Yeah? Well, this is stupid,” Jun-ho said, rolling his eyes as he flipped the light back on and strode toward the window. He lifted it open, calling out across their yards. 

“Hey, Sang-woo! Can you hear me?!”

“Jun-ho, this is—“

“You’re going to apologize to him,” Jun-ho insisted with a hand motioning toward the open window, looking back at In-ho with his eyes narrowed. He stepped expectantly aside.

“I will not apologize for something that was earned. I was teaching him a lesson about fiscal responsibility." 

“You will.” 

In-ho returned to the window, but only to reach up and murmur, “You’re letting in the cold— Ah!”

A blast of icy cold suddenly struck him solidly in the middle, a second needed to process Sang-woo on the other side of the hedges dividing their property, garden hose held in his hand like a loaded weapon. 

It was cranked up to the highest pressure, the powerful jet of icy water continuing to soak the front of In-ho’s long-sleeved shirt, along with the floor surrounding him. 

“Ahh.. aissi!” In-ho couldn’t help but exclaim, hit with too much at once as he slammed down the window too late. 

“See how you like that, Detective Dipshit!” Sang-woo shouted, releasing the trigger on the hose’s nozzle as soon as the window was down. He dropped it to the ground and walked off.

Back in In-ho’s home, he simply stood in place with his hands spread in a state of incredulity, soaked with freezing water. A pool of it was forming on the hardwood floor beneath him.

He lifted his stare from the floor to Jun-ho, and Jun-ho stared back, offering him a silent ‘I don’t know what to tell you’ manner of shrug before deciding it was best to leave the room.

——————————

Sang-woo jumped as the front door to In-ho’s suddenly opened, thinking it’d be the man himself coming out to ruin his plans, but luck had it that it was Jun-ho taking his leave. 

His shoulders loosened again, letting out a short, relieved breath. 

Jun-ho looked up at Sang-woo on the ladder that was leant against the roof, another hose in his hand as he worked on spraying water methodically over the tiles.

“Going with that old trick, huh? You guys are killing me,” Jun-ho muttered, yet again shaking his head.

“Don’t worry about it, Jun-ho-ya. This is just between your brother and me.”

Jun-ho sighed, stepping further down the walkway, hands hiding from the night chill in his pockets. “Fine, I won’t rat you out on one condition.”

“Mm?”

“You come to the public safety event I’ll be heading myself in a few days. A good turnout will help.”

Sang-woo glanced down at him, nodding. “I’ll be there.”

Jun-ho grinned, “Great. Won’t whisper a thing about this to hyung, then.” The man drew fingers across his lips, pretending to seal them. 

“Appreciate it, Jun-ho-ya.”

“Uh-huh. You have fun, Sang-woo.”

“Mhm,” he replied, Jun-ho heading off as Sang-woo lingered, casually showering the roof with another round of water.