Midnight & Dawn (2/13)
Title: Midnight and Dawn (2/13)
Authors: e and hopeandmemory
Rating: NC-17 (for sex and violence)
Overall Word Count: 36283
Warnings: Whatever you'd reasonably expect to see on western television in a crime drama will be found in this fic. If you are easily triggered by material referenced (but rarely explicitly shown) in these kinds of programs, you might want to tread carefully.
Summary: In 2006, Kim Heechul put Kim Youngwoon behind bars. He became a legend almost immediately--the guy who watched Star King instead of doing work, drank more than his fair share of the shitty office coffee, and managed to drive off every partner he'd ever been assigned. And then in 2009, Kim Jungmo joins the force, a new case leaves Special Ops Department 1315 grasping helplessly at straws, and everything changes. Heechul/Jungmo
II.
It is not, in fact, the dog who stole the jewelry in that burglary case, Siwon informs Heechul the next day. It was a human. Shockingly.
“Maybe it wasn’t the canine this time,” Heechul replies darkly, throwing a lollipop wrapper at his computer screen, “but you can never be too sure when it comes to dogs. They’re not like cats, you know.”
It is only 10:30 a.m., but the day is already looking quite bleak--earlier this morning he’d lost a bidding war on eBay against some tool called “soldier_of_light” for an antique solid sterling silver cigarette lighter (and Heechul was going to find out what fucker was behind that username if it was the last thing he did--how could the guy respond to Heechul’s gently worded request for a rematch with “Sorry, I bought it to decrease the amount of sin and vice in the world, and I will not let you have it”), and user “GentlemanMiMi” has just outbid him on an original silkscreen t-shirt by YSL. Heechul promptly calls Zhou Mi to bitch.
“How could you,” Heechul moans desperately. “It was beautiful. It was supposed to be mine. We were going to frolic in the grass together.”
“Are you using the confidential phone lines to complain about a t-shirt,” Jungmo gasps as he sets Heechul’s coffee down.
Heechul valiantly ignores him. It is, after all, not just any t-shirt. It is perfect and gorgeous and from fucking Yves St. Laurent and how dare Zhou Mi take it.
“I was clearly more dedicated,” Zhou Mi replies, sniggering. “And go deal with your new protégé while I continue to outbid you.”
“Kyuhyun wrote you a code to help you cheat, didn’t he.”
Zhou Mi hangs up. Heechul leans back in his swivel chair, puts his feet up on his desk, and closes his eyes.
“Are we going to start researching? Brainstorming? In school we were told to make Lists and Flowcharts and Causation Diagrams and--”
“I am going to count to one, at which point I want to hear absolutely nothing from you while I listen to this new album and go to sleep.”
--
An hour later, when Heechul asks Jungmo to refill his coffee mug (a half cup of skim milk, three Splenda packets, two red stirrers, off you go) for the third consecutive time, the kid just stands up, twitches angrily, and stomps into Hyukjae’s office. Luckily, he manages not to have the foresight to close the door, so everyone in the office hears his hysterical outburst, and Heechul doesn’t have to resort to subtly convincing Han Geng to turn on the intercom.
“Are you serious?” Jungmo screeches. “I graduated top of my class. Why would you put me with him? He does nothing all day. Why don’t you fire him?”
Hyukjae pauses. Everyone tries to look exceedingly busy while listening in. “He’s Kim Heechul, Jungmo. He put Kim Youngwoon behind bars. And if you think you can top that, go right ahead. But Heechul is one of our best agents.” And then more softly, “We didn’t shaft you.”
Heechul finds that his fingernails are digging into his desk. He replaces his right hand over the computer’s mouse, and clicks on one of the pop-ups decorating his screen advertising free newspaper delivery for the rest of his life if only he downloads one simple program. He accepts the file transfer.
After five minutes, he calls Kyuhyun. “My computer is broken again, dickwad. Come fix it.”
--
Three days later, they’re out in the field again. Heechul throws Jungmo his keys, fully expecting this to be last time, and queues up a few new episodes to watch while Jungmo busies himself with work. He practices a few choice insults as well, just in case his acerbic personality doesn’t do the trick.
When Jungmo finally manages to parallel-park, he turns to Heechul before opening the door. “In case you’re curious, we’re doing witness statements today.”
“Mmm.” Heechul doesn’t look up from his iPhone--Lee Shim is speeding through Thailand, cheating on his wife with Min Hyorin. Whore, he thinks, frustrated. The guy has an entire fucking palace, an (admittantly braindead but still very) attractive wife, and still manages to spend half of every episode moping around miserably. He flicks the screen.
“We’re here,” Jungmo says flatly. “And I am getting out of the car now.”
Heechul looks up. They’re in a beautiful neighborhood--manicured lawns, trimmed rosebushes, small gates in front of long driveways.
“You coming in?”
Heechul pauses the action. Hyorin’s hat is half off her head, toothy smile filling the screen. “Why not.”
Jungmo almost drops the keys. “Wait. Really?” They’d been out twice in three days, and Heechul hadn’t moved once. He figures it’s time to shake things up--the boy is proving fairly resilient.
“They might serve good coffee. Anything’s better than the shit Hyukjae passes off as grounds in an effort to Preserve The Budget.”
--
“Can you tell us a little about your neighbor?” Jungmo’s voice leaks through the crappy headphones Heechul hasn’t had time to replace, interrupting Goong’s theme song. Heechul turns up the volume. The woman--Shin or Shim, he really didn’t take much time to look at the report--shoots an uneasy glance at Heechul, who merely props one foot up on the glass coffee table.
“Er,” she says. “He’s an interesting sort of guy--always bringing home these plants for his greenhouse. And I’ve never really seen him throw any parties or really have people over. He seems like the solitary type.”
Heechul is amused by her stammering and purposefully shifts so that both feet are resting on the glass. He snaps his fingers, and the lady jumps out of her skin.
“Coffee please,” he drawls, managing to make the please sound as rude as possible. Jungmo scowls.
The lady seems to grow a backbone. “Is this part of your investigation? I really don’t have to entertain you, do I?”
“We’re the police,” Heechul snarls. “Of course you do.”
Jungmo is actually going red. His eyes are wide, hands practically shaking, and he shuts off the tape recorder.
“Heechul,” he says quietly. “Can I have a word with you? Over here? In the corner?”
“After I have my coffee.” Heechul looks at the middle-aged woman, studies the pearls around her neck and the expensive skirt--probably Armani. “You must have something better than Nescafé here, and that’s all our boss will spring for, I’m afraid. And I work much better when caffeinated.”
The woman purses her lips and gives in--moving into the kitchen.
Jungmo takes the opportunity to grab at Heechul’s iPhone. “Heechul, please go sit in the car.”
“I said I wanted coffee.”
“Please let me finish this.”
Heechul winds an earphone cord around a finger. “You know, this is really what the next five, ten years of your life is going to be like. Babysitting me. Having stealthy arguments in public, fighting before, during, and after every mission. We’ll never get assigned anything important, because everyone knows I hate doing real work. We will never work well together, and you will never be promoted, because you’ll be the only guy who can manage Kim Heechul.”
“So you’re going to ruin my life?”
Heechul stares. “How badly do you want this? Because seriously, whatever girl you’re trying to impress, or murdered parent you’re trying to avenge, I promise, it is not worth this.”
“I didn’t join the force to get laid, you fuck. I want this. I believe in this. I want to help people and protect people.”
“You won’t be able to. I promise you, Jungmo, as long as you work with me, your life will suck.”
The lady comes out with three cups of coffee in beautiful china cups on saucers. Empty saucers. Heechul sighs.
“No biscotti?”
--
Heechul makes a beeline for his desk as soon as he and Jungmo arrive back at the precinct and logs into his e-mail to see a message from Kyuhyun. Stop fucking downloading viruses on purpose, you ass. I already have one idiot too stupid not to click them--I don’t need the both of you eBay addicts fucking with my system. I’m warning you--I will take away your Internet. Heechul adds it to the rest of Kyuhyun’s angry e-mails sitting nicely in his virtual Recycle Bin.
Heechul leans back in his chair just as Sungmin looks up from a stack of reports he’s filing a few desks over and sees the downcast look on Jungmo’s face. “Oh no, not you too. I really thought you’d be the one to stick it out.”
Jungmo tilts his head. “Huh?”
“Heechul ran off another one?” Han Geng asks as he passes by Sungmin’s desk en route to his own. Sungmin looks up in confusion and Geng sighs, muttering, “Why do I even bother?” under his breath.
Zhou Mi pokes his head out of the break room, holding a cup of coffee in one hand. “Oh no,” he pouts. “I thought it might turn out differently this time.”
Siwon shakes Jungmo’s hand. “Well. Thank you for your work, and good luck in the future. ‘Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.’ Matthew, chapter six, verse thirty-four.” He smiles kindly.
Jungmo just blinks.
Hyukjae rushes out of his office. “What’s going on out here?”
“Another one bites the dust, Lieutenant,” says Jongwoon, as he makes his way toward the throng of people lining up to shake Jungmo’s hand and express their sincere thanks for putting up with Heechul for a full three days (a new record).
Hyukjae pinches the bridge of his nose (a defense mechanism, Heechul has always said, against his own stench), closes his eyes, and takes a breath before walking over and pushing his way through the crowd surrounding Jungmo. “I am so sorry, Jungmo,” he says, shaking his hand vigorously. “I really appreciate you giving it a shot, and I can’t blame you for leaving us. I’ll write you a recommendation, if you like, and try to have you transferred to your first choice department--”
“Wait!” Jungmo says loudly, cutting him off. Everyone around falls silent, the chatter dying away. “Guys. I’m not quitting.”
“You’re not?” Hyukjae says, dropping his hand in shock.
“No,” Jungmo says. Heechul watches him out of the corner of his eye. “Why would I quit? Heechul might be a total asshole, but I’ve always wanted this. I wouldn’t quit. I will not quit.”
“Oh my god, he is such an ass, isn’t he?” Sungmin cackles to general laughter and assent.
Hyukjae claps him on the shoulder. “There’s a boy,” he says, almost proudly. “Knew I could count on you.”
“We should celebrate! Hey,” Sungmin yells to everyone in the vicinity, “drinks and noraebang after work, on me!”
The office erupts into cheering and scrabbling for wallets and phones, and Heechul feels his molars grinding together. Fuckers, encouraging the jerk, he thinks, looking out for Donghae to beg a ride off of him. Donghae’s desk is empty, but his jacket is still slung over the back of his chair. The range, then, Heechul thinks, and shoves back from his desk, knocking his coffee mug onto the floor where it cracks into three pieces, liquid leaking out onto the carpeted floor. No one pays attention. He scowls and leaves it, grabbing his leather jacket and stalking off toward the elevator.
--
Heechul clicks the sub-basement button on the elevator’s control pad and leans back, admiring his reflection in the glass, slipping his necklaces underneath his black top and folding his jacket under his arm. The descent is almost relaxing--he shuts off his phone and breathes in deeply. The doors open, and he strolls out.
The practice room is almost always half empty, save special training days. Donghae is the sole occupant of the room, and he’s standing in perfect form, left leg back, rifle nestled deeply into his chest, heavy black earphones clamped sturdily over his ears. Heechul waits until Donghae’s finished the clip, every single bullet emptied perfectly into the center of the moving target, before clapping him on the back.
“An M16?” Heechul knows better than to compliment Donghae on his marksmanship.
“Yeah. You going to join me?”
“Absolutely. Do you need another magazine?”
“Two, thanks.”
Donghae resets the targets to an easier present program with less lateral movement, while Heechul slides on a vest and fits heavy earmuffs over his head. He picks up a gun, sliding his authorization card across the holder that Amber sullenly proffers, and grabs four magazines of bullets.
“Catch!”
Donghae grabs two out of the air and clicks one effortlessly into the bottom of the gun. “Can I start,” he mouths.
Heechul gives him a thumbs-up, and they begin. Wooden squares and circles start sliding back and forth beyond the waist-high partition separating the pair of them from the range. Heechul breathes, holds, aims, and fires, index finger clicking against the trigger and then moving backwards to reconfigure his aim and gauge his accuracy. Every shot is calibrated faster than the previous one, muscles quickly remembering how to brace for recoil, how to keep the rifle tucked closely to the body.
Donghae changes his magazine almost without pause, lifts his gun, and shoots a steady stream of bullets directly into Heechul’s target.
Asshole, but the boy is good. The best marksman he’s ever seen, Heechul thinks. As well he should be.
Every shot reverberates through Heechul’s body. He shoots and forgets and the world melts away.
Donghae drives him home.
→ III
Authors: e and hopeandmemory
Rating: NC-17 (for sex and violence)
Overall Word Count: 36283
Warnings: Whatever you'd reasonably expect to see on western television in a crime drama will be found in this fic. If you are easily triggered by material referenced (but rarely explicitly shown) in these kinds of programs, you might want to tread carefully.
Summary: In 2006, Kim Heechul put Kim Youngwoon behind bars. He became a legend almost immediately--the guy who watched Star King instead of doing work, drank more than his fair share of the shitty office coffee, and managed to drive off every partner he'd ever been assigned. And then in 2009, Kim Jungmo joins the force, a new case leaves Special Ops Department 1315 grasping helplessly at straws, and everything changes. Heechul/Jungmo
II.
It is not, in fact, the dog who stole the jewelry in that burglary case, Siwon informs Heechul the next day. It was a human. Shockingly.
“Maybe it wasn’t the canine this time,” Heechul replies darkly, throwing a lollipop wrapper at his computer screen, “but you can never be too sure when it comes to dogs. They’re not like cats, you know.”
It is only 10:30 a.m., but the day is already looking quite bleak--earlier this morning he’d lost a bidding war on eBay against some tool called “soldier_of_light” for an antique solid sterling silver cigarette lighter (and Heechul was going to find out what fucker was behind that username if it was the last thing he did--how could the guy respond to Heechul’s gently worded request for a rematch with “Sorry, I bought it to decrease the amount of sin and vice in the world, and I will not let you have it”), and user “GentlemanMiMi” has just outbid him on an original silkscreen t-shirt by YSL. Heechul promptly calls Zhou Mi to bitch.
“How could you,” Heechul moans desperately. “It was beautiful. It was supposed to be mine. We were going to frolic in the grass together.”
“Are you using the confidential phone lines to complain about a t-shirt,” Jungmo gasps as he sets Heechul’s coffee down.
Heechul valiantly ignores him. It is, after all, not just any t-shirt. It is perfect and gorgeous and from fucking Yves St. Laurent and how dare Zhou Mi take it.
“I was clearly more dedicated,” Zhou Mi replies, sniggering. “And go deal with your new protégé while I continue to outbid you.”
“Kyuhyun wrote you a code to help you cheat, didn’t he.”
Zhou Mi hangs up. Heechul leans back in his swivel chair, puts his feet up on his desk, and closes his eyes.
“Are we going to start researching? Brainstorming? In school we were told to make Lists and Flowcharts and Causation Diagrams and--”
“I am going to count to one, at which point I want to hear absolutely nothing from you while I listen to this new album and go to sleep.”
--
An hour later, when Heechul asks Jungmo to refill his coffee mug (a half cup of skim milk, three Splenda packets, two red stirrers, off you go) for the third consecutive time, the kid just stands up, twitches angrily, and stomps into Hyukjae’s office. Luckily, he manages not to have the foresight to close the door, so everyone in the office hears his hysterical outburst, and Heechul doesn’t have to resort to subtly convincing Han Geng to turn on the intercom.
“Are you serious?” Jungmo screeches. “I graduated top of my class. Why would you put me with him? He does nothing all day. Why don’t you fire him?”
Hyukjae pauses. Everyone tries to look exceedingly busy while listening in. “He’s Kim Heechul, Jungmo. He put Kim Youngwoon behind bars. And if you think you can top that, go right ahead. But Heechul is one of our best agents.” And then more softly, “We didn’t shaft you.”
Heechul finds that his fingernails are digging into his desk. He replaces his right hand over the computer’s mouse, and clicks on one of the pop-ups decorating his screen advertising free newspaper delivery for the rest of his life if only he downloads one simple program. He accepts the file transfer.
After five minutes, he calls Kyuhyun. “My computer is broken again, dickwad. Come fix it.”
--
Three days later, they’re out in the field again. Heechul throws Jungmo his keys, fully expecting this to be last time, and queues up a few new episodes to watch while Jungmo busies himself with work. He practices a few choice insults as well, just in case his acerbic personality doesn’t do the trick.
When Jungmo finally manages to parallel-park, he turns to Heechul before opening the door. “In case you’re curious, we’re doing witness statements today.”
“Mmm.” Heechul doesn’t look up from his iPhone--Lee Shim is speeding through Thailand, cheating on his wife with Min Hyorin. Whore, he thinks, frustrated. The guy has an entire fucking palace, an (admittantly braindead but still very) attractive wife, and still manages to spend half of every episode moping around miserably. He flicks the screen.
“We’re here,” Jungmo says flatly. “And I am getting out of the car now.”
Heechul looks up. They’re in a beautiful neighborhood--manicured lawns, trimmed rosebushes, small gates in front of long driveways.
“You coming in?”
Heechul pauses the action. Hyorin’s hat is half off her head, toothy smile filling the screen. “Why not.”
Jungmo almost drops the keys. “Wait. Really?” They’d been out twice in three days, and Heechul hadn’t moved once. He figures it’s time to shake things up--the boy is proving fairly resilient.
“They might serve good coffee. Anything’s better than the shit Hyukjae passes off as grounds in an effort to Preserve The Budget.”
--
“Can you tell us a little about your neighbor?” Jungmo’s voice leaks through the crappy headphones Heechul hasn’t had time to replace, interrupting Goong’s theme song. Heechul turns up the volume. The woman--Shin or Shim, he really didn’t take much time to look at the report--shoots an uneasy glance at Heechul, who merely props one foot up on the glass coffee table.
“Er,” she says. “He’s an interesting sort of guy--always bringing home these plants for his greenhouse. And I’ve never really seen him throw any parties or really have people over. He seems like the solitary type.”
Heechul is amused by her stammering and purposefully shifts so that both feet are resting on the glass. He snaps his fingers, and the lady jumps out of her skin.
“Coffee please,” he drawls, managing to make the please sound as rude as possible. Jungmo scowls.
The lady seems to grow a backbone. “Is this part of your investigation? I really don’t have to entertain you, do I?”
“We’re the police,” Heechul snarls. “Of course you do.”
Jungmo is actually going red. His eyes are wide, hands practically shaking, and he shuts off the tape recorder.
“Heechul,” he says quietly. “Can I have a word with you? Over here? In the corner?”
“After I have my coffee.” Heechul looks at the middle-aged woman, studies the pearls around her neck and the expensive skirt--probably Armani. “You must have something better than Nescafé here, and that’s all our boss will spring for, I’m afraid. And I work much better when caffeinated.”
The woman purses her lips and gives in--moving into the kitchen.
Jungmo takes the opportunity to grab at Heechul’s iPhone. “Heechul, please go sit in the car.”
“I said I wanted coffee.”
“Please let me finish this.”
Heechul winds an earphone cord around a finger. “You know, this is really what the next five, ten years of your life is going to be like. Babysitting me. Having stealthy arguments in public, fighting before, during, and after every mission. We’ll never get assigned anything important, because everyone knows I hate doing real work. We will never work well together, and you will never be promoted, because you’ll be the only guy who can manage Kim Heechul.”
“So you’re going to ruin my life?”
Heechul stares. “How badly do you want this? Because seriously, whatever girl you’re trying to impress, or murdered parent you’re trying to avenge, I promise, it is not worth this.”
“I didn’t join the force to get laid, you fuck. I want this. I believe in this. I want to help people and protect people.”
“You won’t be able to. I promise you, Jungmo, as long as you work with me, your life will suck.”
The lady comes out with three cups of coffee in beautiful china cups on saucers. Empty saucers. Heechul sighs.
“No biscotti?”
--
Heechul makes a beeline for his desk as soon as he and Jungmo arrive back at the precinct and logs into his e-mail to see a message from Kyuhyun. Stop fucking downloading viruses on purpose, you ass. I already have one idiot too stupid not to click them--I don’t need the both of you eBay addicts fucking with my system. I’m warning you--I will take away your Internet. Heechul adds it to the rest of Kyuhyun’s angry e-mails sitting nicely in his virtual Recycle Bin.
Heechul leans back in his chair just as Sungmin looks up from a stack of reports he’s filing a few desks over and sees the downcast look on Jungmo’s face. “Oh no, not you too. I really thought you’d be the one to stick it out.”
Jungmo tilts his head. “Huh?”
“Heechul ran off another one?” Han Geng asks as he passes by Sungmin’s desk en route to his own. Sungmin looks up in confusion and Geng sighs, muttering, “Why do I even bother?” under his breath.
Zhou Mi pokes his head out of the break room, holding a cup of coffee in one hand. “Oh no,” he pouts. “I thought it might turn out differently this time.”
Siwon shakes Jungmo’s hand. “Well. Thank you for your work, and good luck in the future. ‘Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.’ Matthew, chapter six, verse thirty-four.” He smiles kindly.
Jungmo just blinks.
Hyukjae rushes out of his office. “What’s going on out here?”
“Another one bites the dust, Lieutenant,” says Jongwoon, as he makes his way toward the throng of people lining up to shake Jungmo’s hand and express their sincere thanks for putting up with Heechul for a full three days (a new record).
Hyukjae pinches the bridge of his nose (a defense mechanism, Heechul has always said, against his own stench), closes his eyes, and takes a breath before walking over and pushing his way through the crowd surrounding Jungmo. “I am so sorry, Jungmo,” he says, shaking his hand vigorously. “I really appreciate you giving it a shot, and I can’t blame you for leaving us. I’ll write you a recommendation, if you like, and try to have you transferred to your first choice department--”
“Wait!” Jungmo says loudly, cutting him off. Everyone around falls silent, the chatter dying away. “Guys. I’m not quitting.”
“You’re not?” Hyukjae says, dropping his hand in shock.
“No,” Jungmo says. Heechul watches him out of the corner of his eye. “Why would I quit? Heechul might be a total asshole, but I’ve always wanted this. I wouldn’t quit. I will not quit.”
“Oh my god, he is such an ass, isn’t he?” Sungmin cackles to general laughter and assent.
Hyukjae claps him on the shoulder. “There’s a boy,” he says, almost proudly. “Knew I could count on you.”
“We should celebrate! Hey,” Sungmin yells to everyone in the vicinity, “drinks and noraebang after work, on me!”
The office erupts into cheering and scrabbling for wallets and phones, and Heechul feels his molars grinding together. Fuckers, encouraging the jerk, he thinks, looking out for Donghae to beg a ride off of him. Donghae’s desk is empty, but his jacket is still slung over the back of his chair. The range, then, Heechul thinks, and shoves back from his desk, knocking his coffee mug onto the floor where it cracks into three pieces, liquid leaking out onto the carpeted floor. No one pays attention. He scowls and leaves it, grabbing his leather jacket and stalking off toward the elevator.
--
Heechul clicks the sub-basement button on the elevator’s control pad and leans back, admiring his reflection in the glass, slipping his necklaces underneath his black top and folding his jacket under his arm. The descent is almost relaxing--he shuts off his phone and breathes in deeply. The doors open, and he strolls out.
The practice room is almost always half empty, save special training days. Donghae is the sole occupant of the room, and he’s standing in perfect form, left leg back, rifle nestled deeply into his chest, heavy black earphones clamped sturdily over his ears. Heechul waits until Donghae’s finished the clip, every single bullet emptied perfectly into the center of the moving target, before clapping him on the back.
“An M16?” Heechul knows better than to compliment Donghae on his marksmanship.
“Yeah. You going to join me?”
“Absolutely. Do you need another magazine?”
“Two, thanks.”
Donghae resets the targets to an easier present program with less lateral movement, while Heechul slides on a vest and fits heavy earmuffs over his head. He picks up a gun, sliding his authorization card across the holder that Amber sullenly proffers, and grabs four magazines of bullets.
“Catch!”
Donghae grabs two out of the air and clicks one effortlessly into the bottom of the gun. “Can I start,” he mouths.
Heechul gives him a thumbs-up, and they begin. Wooden squares and circles start sliding back and forth beyond the waist-high partition separating the pair of them from the range. Heechul breathes, holds, aims, and fires, index finger clicking against the trigger and then moving backwards to reconfigure his aim and gauge his accuracy. Every shot is calibrated faster than the previous one, muscles quickly remembering how to brace for recoil, how to keep the rifle tucked closely to the body.
Donghae changes his magazine almost without pause, lifts his gun, and shoots a steady stream of bullets directly into Heechul’s target.
Asshole, but the boy is good. The best marksman he’s ever seen, Heechul thinks. As well he should be.
Every shot reverberates through Heechul’s body. He shoots and forgets and the world melts away.
Donghae drives him home.
→ III