Work Text:
“So, uh…you getting used to Chuncheon yet? Been in the mountains already?”
Warm and teasing in his own way, Dongsik’s voice purred through the open speakers of the Traverse as the vehicle halted on the parking lot.
“Little by little, it’s…less hectic than Seoul, easier on the streets. And yes, before you ask: I behave in traffic.”, Juwon answered with a slow smile, paper bags rustling in his arms as he picked up groceries from the passenger seat.
“Good to hear you behave for once.”
“I don't remember a time I didn't behave but it’s a nice area. Fewer people, fewer idiots.”
“Aigoo, so you must be bored out of your mind.”
“Mh. Not really.”, Juwon said, the tiniest hint of laughter in his voice as he put the phone between his ear and sore after-work shoulders. “You’re still around to text me every hour while illegally tracking my position, you practically moved in with my phone.”
“I do this because I need to make sure you eat well, you’d simply forget it without me.”, Dongsik shot back, their usual…unusual humour synching in a perfect static this evening.
“Because you know, even if you live in a prettier area now, sleeping, eating and-”
“...don’t say it.”
“So, you pooping well, Inspector Han?”
A dull click popped up, then the rustle of fabric, the faint thud of a car door closing swept through the speaker.
“You’re annoying, I’m gonna hang up.”
A gentle laughter rumbled at the end of the line. For a moment, all Dongsik heard was Juwon’s footsteps over the parking lot and the delicate jingle of his keys moving in his coat pocket or hand…
- just to be interrupted by two crisp, deafening cracks too close to the phone, too far away from Dongsik himself.
“...Juwon-ah?”
A dull sound of a phone hitting something hard like a pavement or street.
“Han Juwon!”
Straightening up from his couch with a hammering heart, he listened…and listened, entirely frozen in his movements, the piercing sound pierced through his own heart.
“Juwon-ah, talk to me. What was that?!”
He knew what it was.
He heard this sound too many times in his life before and suddenly he could smell it again; the smoking fire, mouldy glass shards, the wet asphalt and the metallic stench of blood rising up into his nose.
“Officer down…officer down!”
Within seconds, the image was back. The image of a dying man, of dying eyes, a dying face, cradled in his arms.
“Juwon-ah! Talk to me!”
His vision blurred, but no breath, no answer came.
“Juwon-ah, answer me!”
His voice died in his throat, hoarse and high-pitched in desperation.
“P-pick up the phone! Pick it up!”
His right leg gave in as he stood to rush out, penetrating, sharp pain shooting through his flared nerves in a relapse, wrecking him until he collapsed to the ondol floor, phone clasped between shaking hands.
“Juwon-ah…?”
“Juwon-ah?!”
“Juwon-ah…I’m here. I…m on…my way.”
One, two…three. He breathed, crawled forward, but his leg wasn’t moving, not cooperating, cramping, stopping him as he clawed his hand into the pulsing scar beneath the fabric of his pants, his vision drowned in wet salt dripping from cheeks.
“Ten minutes…I’m sorry…sorry for being annoying…
please…hold the line, Juwon-ah…hold the line…I’m sorry…”