Midnight and Dawn (4/13)
Title: Midnight and Dawn (4/13)
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
IV.
They were off on another routine check-up for a house whose burglar alarm had gone off. They just needed to walk in, scope out the premises, radio that the place was in the clear, and they were done for the day. Since the place wasn’t particularly nice looking and Heechul didn’t exactly feel like filching his own coffee out of laminated cabinets, he slid back down into the leather seat and resumed streaming last night’s Inkigayo.
“I’d be wasting my breath if I asked you if you wanted to come in this time, right?”
Heechul stares at Jungmo. “I’m really not in the mood to talk to you, surprisingly.”
“I really think I ought to know what goes on in the office. You leave me out of everything.”
“We’re much older than you, and we’ve all been working for SMPD for years, most of us in 1315. Shit has happened. You should have expected that.”
Jungmo swallows. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t really know anything about you guys, and I just wanted to understand. To get to know you better. Not just them--you. You never talk to me or tell me anything and I just--”
“Just get out of the car.” Somehow Heechul is more resigned than angry. Jungmo really hadn’t known, and Heechul really should have said something. And the only one who got hurt, in the end, was the only one who shouldn’t have: Donghae. He watches Jungmo fiddle with the keys, and figures that maybe the kid really was just too new, too stupid. That maybe they could work something out. He’s not a bad kid. He asks all the right questions. Maybe we’re just too easily triggered.
He isn’t mean. He’s just too new. He’s twenty-four. And we’ve been working for 1315 for too long.
Jungmo slides out of the car, and slams the door behind him. Heechul wonders if they’ll have to have Sharp Words about how much his Mercedes had cost, and what kind of salary cut the kid was in for if he damaged the paint job. That’ll cheer him up, Heechul thinks. He leans back and remembers Sungmin’s face and Donghae’s furrowed brow and figures that if they didn’t kill him, Jungmo overeagerness might not be a bad thing to have around, to balance the atmosphere. He’s a good worker. Makes good coffee, anyway.
Heechul fast-forwards through Kara’s latest comeback, completely uninterested, but watches excitedly for F.T. Island. The episode ends, and Jungmo still isn’t back. What the fuck is taking him so long, Heechul thinks, pulling out his earbuds and winding them around the body of his phone. Sulking somewhere?
Suddenly he hears three cracks. Not a clatter. Not a dog. Three cracks.
Pistol, his mind supplies instantly. Short range.
Heechul grabs for the glove compartment, feels a hiss of relief when he pulls out his nonstandard gun, and pops in a magazine, priming the weapon by pulling back the barrel. It’s heavy in his hands--he hasn’t loaded it in a very long time, but it fits his grip perfectly, just like it always has. He jumps out the car and approaches the house slowly, carefully, every step slight and soft against the overgrown grass.
Suddenly the door opens--it’s Jungmo, black shirt matted to his chest. Heechul almost drops his pistol. Something’s wrong.
“Did you do that just for fun? See if I’d come rescue you? I was going to forgive you, you know. But are you that insecure about--”
“Heechul.” Jungmo voice is too soft, too scared. Heechul steps closer--there’s blood on Jungmo. Everywhere. Heechul chokes.
“Is that--are you.”
“It’s not mine. The guys--I got them. I shattered their kneecaps. They’re inside. She--”
Heechul raised an eyebrow. “She?”
“The girl, she--”
“That was an empty house. The call came in because the family is in fucking Bali.”
“Everyone except the daughter.” And Jungmo is hysterical, undoing the buttons of his shirt, hands trembling. “And now she’s dead.”
Heechul grits his teeth and turns his back on the house. He can imagine her already--long black hair, neck sloping gently onto too-thin shoulders. Scrawny arms. Delicate feet. An amazing sense of balance. A girl who liked to sing and would one day--
He stops himself. He’s hyperventilating. After a moment, when he feels calm enough to speak, he picks up his radio.
“Mi? I’m calling in a two-four-six and a one-eight-seven.” Homicide and shooting in an inhabited dwelling.
“Heechul? Is that--the house, wasn’t it uninhabited?”
“Get Hyukjae. And send a team out.” The line beeps, and Heechul knows Mi’s started transferring the calls. Zhou Mi is nothing but exceedingly professional when on the job, and Heechul appreciates it. He doesn’t want anyone to start asking questions.
“I’m going to sit in the car,” he mumbles. Jungmo grabs at his shirt.
“No you will fucking not. We’re going in there to babysit those stupid fucks.” His voice is high, almost hysterical. “I will not go in there again on my own. That’s why--she was shot because--”
“Shut up. Drag them outside. We’ll keep an eye on them out here until backup comes.” I can’t go in there.
Jungmo looks at him, disgusted. “Of course. Kim fucking Heechul doesn’t touch criminals, does he? Just like he doesn’t do a single fucking ounce of work.”
Heechul takes a step back.
“I’ll drag them out,” Jungmo says finally. “But don’t get back into that car.”
By the time backup arrives, Jungmo has managed to bring the burglars outside, kicking them when they scream. Siwon and Sungmin dash out of the car.
“What happened,” Sungmin asks, pulling at his notepad. “You got them out of the house?”
“I shot them inside. I didn’t think it was safe to leave--”
“You idiot,” Sungmin seethes. “Didn’t you learn anything about preserving evidence in school?”
Siwon grabs Sungmin’s shoulder. “You called in a homicide,” he continues gently. “Where’s the body?”
“Inside.” Siwon adjusts his rifle and walks carefully into the building.
“Two agents couldn’t take on two civilian thieves?” Sungmin glares, turning on Heechul. “What were you doing?”
“I wasn’t there,” Heechul responds dully.
“You weren’t--did he--you let him--”
“He was around back. He thought he heard something,” Jungmo manages to choke between chattering teeth.
“Which you didn’t call in,” Sungmin snaps, “because you were playing the fucking hero.”
“Right.”
Sungmin closes his pen and folds his notebook away. “Heechul, tell me this isn’t the same as last time. Tell me this isn’t Yunho all over again. Stop me from punching the fucking daylights out of this kid.”
Jungmo is shaking, Heechul sees. I should have been in there. He puts a hand out to stop Sungmin from continuing. The kid covered for me. “Look. We’ll deal with this later. We’re going home for now. Have Hyukjae calls me if he needs anything.”
“There’s a dead girl in that room, your partner almost got the both of you killed, and you just want to--”
“Kid,” and Heechul’s voice is hard. “Get in the fucking car.”
Jungmo obeys almost mechanically, tugging at his shirt helplessly, slipping into the car. Heechul bends over the console between the front seats and helps him undo the buttons, one by one.
“Throw it out,” he says. Don’t get blood on my seats.”
They accelerate and whiz out of the neighborhood, zooming towards the major city highway. Suddenly, Jungmo swings the car three lanes to the right.
“What on earth--what are you doing?”
Jungmo pulls over and throws open the car door. “Heechul,” he says hysterically. “If you don’t want to work, fine. Sit on your ass, watch your stupid fucking entertainment programs, and collect your paycheck for some stupid thing you did almost three years ago that no one will tell me about. Treat me like shit in the office. You know what, I can handle that. I didn’t think I could but--I know I messed up. I know I should never have touched your gun. But if that was wrong, how could you let me take this call alone? Forget killing me--I’m clearly not worth your time. We--I killed that girl today. I wasn’t prepared. I,” and Jungmo can barely shape the words, “I was too busy watching my own back. And I killed her.”
“Wait--”
“I should have died,” he says quietly, as he gets out of the car. “It should have been me.”
Heechul stares, mouth slightly open as he watches Jungmo walk away in his undershirt and slacks, his arms folded tightly against his chest.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Heechul screams out of the window, scrambling for the door. He wouldn’t.
Jungmo keeps walking, unresponsive.
Heechul kicks the door and shouts, both in agitation and to catch Jungmo’s attention as he tumbles out of the car and slams the door behind him. “Wait,” he yells. “Fuck, I am not diving into traffic after you!”
Jungmo rounds on him. “Am I taking up too much of your day, Heechul? You can’t bother to spend a single fucking second worrying about me because you can’t fucking wait get home to--to check your e-mail and buy shit online and watch the next fucking episode of Star King.”
Heechul almost slams into Jungmo and trips over himself trying to stop. “Hey. Hey, chill out. Let’s talk about this.”
“Talk? Fuck you, Heechul. You--” Jungmo grabs at the lapels of Heechul’s shirt, teeth gritted, eyes hard. “She’s-- dead. Because I went in there alone. I had to watch her die. And you want me to fucking drive you home.” His voice rises and finally cracks on the last word, and Jungmo shoves Heechul and turns, stalking away. “Drive your own fucking car. I am done with you.”
Heechul stares. “The house was supposed to be empty,” he says softly. And then louder: “That house was supposed to be empty.”
Jungmo stops walking.
“We couldn’t have known. You couldn’t have known.” Heechul closes his eyes, breathes in, and takes a step forward. “It isn’t your fault. You didn’t kill her. There was no fucking way you could have known.”
Jungmo sits down at the very edge of the road, pulling his knees in close to his chest. “Then who killed her?” he asks hoarsely.
“Two men. One about your height, the other slightly shorter. Overweight. Dark hair, thick hands.” Heechul sprawls out next to Jungmo. “And I don’t just need you to take me home. Who else would make me coffee?”
“You’re cruel, Heechul--I’m just so--”
Heechul ignores him. “Shh. You’re doing fine. We’re--we’ll get better at this. But today wasn’t a mistake. Shit happens. You need to let these things go.” Heechul remembers blood around his hands, a knife clutched between fingers. He swallows and really looks at Jungmo, seeing a boy just months out of the training academy, new and scared and totally alone. Sorry, he thinks. I should have--I--
“How? How can you just--” Jungmo lets his face drop into his hands, clawing at his hair and choking on a dry sob.
“You’ll give yourself spots if you touch your face too much, you know. And yours isn’t all that bad looking.”
“Heechul--”
“I can say that because I’m always right. It will get better. And. I’m not getting rid of you. I’ll admit it--you’re my protégé.”
Jungmo laughs reflexively, pathetically, but his breath hitches and escapes in whining puffs. “Finally,” he chokes. “It only took a few liters of blood.”
Heechul lets him cry.
--
It’s not exactly that Heechul likes having a partner or particularly enjoys the work, but he trudges along more or less obediently when they pull up to a house and he doesn’t demand coffee and biscotti from every well-dressed individual who invites them in. Only a select few. He gives Jungmo advice, teaches him how to question a witness, how to get the answers he’s looking for. How to watch someone’s eyes and listen by looking.
Jungmo, to his credit, learns to work around Heechul, to give him a wide berth on some areas and push him in others, biting his lip silently when Heechul decides to spend another afternoon marathoning dramas. And sometimes, when the frustration builds and Jungmo looks like he’s about to explode, Heechul sees the look in his eyes and sighs and offers an insight into the case or looks over his work and tries not to remember a beautiful black-haired dead girl.
“You didn’t even see her,” Jungmo says one day when he lets the image slip. “And she didn’t have black--”
Heechul blanches. “I don’t want to know.”
Jungmo has learned that Heechul will never answer a question he doesn’t want to answer, and, when irritated, will spend an entire day sending gibberish messages to Han Geng to decrypt and then spend the evening shooting rounds with Donghae in the practice room. Heechul makes it clear that for all his newfound tolerance of Jungmo, the shooting range belongs to him and Donghae alone. He knows that Jungmo has been fishing around for information, but he refuses to entertain the boy’s curiosity.
Months pass. Siwon takes Jungmo out for a few calls when Sungmin is too busy working with Donghae on cases which require combat specialists. Even Jongwoon borrows Jungmo for a day to teach him the ins and outs of dismantling bombs and their strategic value, and slowly Jungmo begins to fit in. He makes jokes, he’s hit on by a few of the girls down in SVU, and Zhou Mi has even given him a nickname (“Momo,” to which Jungmo refuses to respond). Sungmin accepts his apology and treats the floor to dinner when Jungmo has passed three months in the office without incident, and Heechul ducks out as always, spending the time with Donghae shooting rifles or composing long chain e-mails about Kangta’s slow progress with Victoria. Jungmo distressingly finds out that Jay likes to sing, and apparently asks him to join his amateur band. Heechul is viciously glad when Jay turns him down and asks him (so Sooyoung says) to leave him the fuck alone.
“So we don’t talk about Donghae,” Jungmo says, “or Jay Kim.”
“Right.”
“But I can talk to Donghae.”
“As long as you don’t mention guns or his father.”
“But not Jay Kim.”
Heechul grinds his teeth. “No.”
“And I can’t ask why?”
“I’ve told you almost everything else. You practically know as much about SMPD as I do.”
“It was mostly rumors about people fucking their coworkers!”
Heechul sniffs. “That is Important Information.”
“What about where you all hang out? I really feel like I’ve missed a ton of bonding time.”
“Oh my god--” Siwon frowns imperiously in their direction. “Do you ever shut up?”
Jungmo pulls a red notebook from his pocket. “Rule number thirty-two: I can talk about anything unoffensive for as long and as often as I like.”
“You wrote those down to torment me, didn’t you.”
“Rule fifty-nine: I don’t have to answer any threatening questions.”
Heechul groans. “Bonding time, right? Look, if I invite you over on Friday night will you stop pestering me?”
“Is this another rule? Or a one-time thing? I think that changes the terms of the--”
“I don’t care! I just need silence. I’m about to lose another YSL shirt to GentlemanMimi.”
Jungmo smirks. “I’ll see you Friday, then.”
--
Jungmo brings over a bowl of popcorn and a batch of cookies. Heechul winces, remembering the last time Jungmo had come by, knocking at the door, desperately confused. This time he welcomes Jungmo in, shows him where to leave his shoes and the snacks, and shoves him gently in the direction of the television.
“Why do you watch this at work if you watch it at home?”
Heechul grins. “That’s the beauty of the entertainment industry. There are always variety shows, always new debuts. Always new girl bands to follow.”
“So this is--”
“Music Bank.”
“And the football team that just walked on is--”
“Super Junior. They actually have fifteen members, but two of them are Chinese and part of a subgroup.”
“Fifteen?”
The MCs give the act a go-ahead, and the boys start dancing, arms swaying in tune, eyes darkly rimmed with kohl and tight leather pants creasing at the thigh. Heechul swallows.
“Half these guys don’t even sing,” Jungmo continues.
“That’s not the point.”
“Oh?”
Heechul turns and examines Jungmo’s profile.
The boy isn’t classically handsome--his face is a bit long, his cheekbones a bit high, and his nose is too flat. But his eyes are sharp and his lips are beautifully full and the way he grimaces sometimes over a pen--
Heechul leans over, eyes wide, heat pooling low in his groin. “The fans like watching them touch each other. Like this,” and he swipes a hand by Jungmo’s neck, curling it around, teasing at the blond curls at the back of his hair. Jungmo’s breath hitches.
“And they kiss,” Heechul whispers, watching Jungmo’s eyes widen.
Jungmo’s voice is strangled. “Kiss?”
“They call it skinship.” And this is too easy, too tempting. Heechul bends over and down and touches Jungmo’s lips with his own, carefully, then wantonly rubbing, licking, tongue probing deeply and hotly into Jungmo’s mouth. And to his credit, the boy responds beautifully, hands grabbing at Heechul’s side, pulling him closer. Heechul crawls over, almost straddling Jungmo’s lap, fingers teasing at the skin around his ears, skittering down his neck, clutching at his back. His nerve endings burn.
“Heechul,” Jungmo says during a commercial, face oddly serious. His hair is sticking up in dozens of places. Heechul smooths it down with a free hand.
“Yeah?”
“Tomorrow night. Can I. I mean. Can I take you to dinner?”
Heechul laughs. “Like a date?”
Jungmo flushes. “Yeah.”
Heechul leans backward, voice low, and watches Jungmo tense. A memory pricks at him uncomfortably--another guy in a leather-backed chair, his knees on the ground. A softer voice in Heechul’s own mouth.
“You don’t have to spend money,” Heechul says, drowning out his own thoughts. “We could just get to the sex. Right here. Now. On my couch.” Heechul breathes slowly on Jungmo’s ear, mouth millimeters away from licking at the shell. “Or I could get down on my knees? Blow you?”
“Is this a new method of getting rid of me?”
Heechul shrugs. “I’m not that easy.”
Jungmo hesitates before replying. “I didn’t know you were gay.”
The questions rattles something inside of Heechul. He swallows and ignores the rising acidic-flavored panic. “Is that a yes?”
Jungmo exhales shakily before gently pushing Heechul aside. “No, actually. It isn’t. I really want to take you out to dinner. Properly. On a date. At a nice restaurant. Where we’ll eat and have fun and share a bottle of wine and then I will take you home.”
“You drive my car,” Heechul points out. “I don’t want you driving my car after you drink.”
“You know that isn’t the point I’m trying to make here.”
There’s something in Heechul’s head that isn’t quite clicking. He wants to go back to touching Jungmo, to licking and gasping and feeling want curl desperately in his stomach. To not thinking.
“Fine,” he says. He doesn’t mean to; it slips out. His voice feels softer and he clamps down on it. “Fine,” he whispers.
→ V
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
IV.
They were off on another routine check-up for a house whose burglar alarm had gone off. They just needed to walk in, scope out the premises, radio that the place was in the clear, and they were done for the day. Since the place wasn’t particularly nice looking and Heechul didn’t exactly feel like filching his own coffee out of laminated cabinets, he slid back down into the leather seat and resumed streaming last night’s Inkigayo.
“I’d be wasting my breath if I asked you if you wanted to come in this time, right?”
Heechul stares at Jungmo. “I’m really not in the mood to talk to you, surprisingly.”
“I really think I ought to know what goes on in the office. You leave me out of everything.”
“We’re much older than you, and we’ve all been working for SMPD for years, most of us in 1315. Shit has happened. You should have expected that.”
Jungmo swallows. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t really know anything about you guys, and I just wanted to understand. To get to know you better. Not just them--you. You never talk to me or tell me anything and I just--”
“Just get out of the car.” Somehow Heechul is more resigned than angry. Jungmo really hadn’t known, and Heechul really should have said something. And the only one who got hurt, in the end, was the only one who shouldn’t have: Donghae. He watches Jungmo fiddle with the keys, and figures that maybe the kid really was just too new, too stupid. That maybe they could work something out. He’s not a bad kid. He asks all the right questions. Maybe we’re just too easily triggered.
He isn’t mean. He’s just too new. He’s twenty-four. And we’ve been working for 1315 for too long.
Jungmo slides out of the car, and slams the door behind him. Heechul wonders if they’ll have to have Sharp Words about how much his Mercedes had cost, and what kind of salary cut the kid was in for if he damaged the paint job. That’ll cheer him up, Heechul thinks. He leans back and remembers Sungmin’s face and Donghae’s furrowed brow and figures that if they didn’t kill him, Jungmo overeagerness might not be a bad thing to have around, to balance the atmosphere. He’s a good worker. Makes good coffee, anyway.
Heechul fast-forwards through Kara’s latest comeback, completely uninterested, but watches excitedly for F.T. Island. The episode ends, and Jungmo still isn’t back. What the fuck is taking him so long, Heechul thinks, pulling out his earbuds and winding them around the body of his phone. Sulking somewhere?
Suddenly he hears three cracks. Not a clatter. Not a dog. Three cracks.
Pistol, his mind supplies instantly. Short range.
Heechul grabs for the glove compartment, feels a hiss of relief when he pulls out his nonstandard gun, and pops in a magazine, priming the weapon by pulling back the barrel. It’s heavy in his hands--he hasn’t loaded it in a very long time, but it fits his grip perfectly, just like it always has. He jumps out the car and approaches the house slowly, carefully, every step slight and soft against the overgrown grass.
Suddenly the door opens--it’s Jungmo, black shirt matted to his chest. Heechul almost drops his pistol. Something’s wrong.
“Did you do that just for fun? See if I’d come rescue you? I was going to forgive you, you know. But are you that insecure about--”
“Heechul.” Jungmo voice is too soft, too scared. Heechul steps closer--there’s blood on Jungmo. Everywhere. Heechul chokes.
“Is that--are you.”
“It’s not mine. The guys--I got them. I shattered their kneecaps. They’re inside. She--”
Heechul raised an eyebrow. “She?”
“The girl, she--”
“That was an empty house. The call came in because the family is in fucking Bali.”
“Everyone except the daughter.” And Jungmo is hysterical, undoing the buttons of his shirt, hands trembling. “And now she’s dead.”
Heechul grits his teeth and turns his back on the house. He can imagine her already--long black hair, neck sloping gently onto too-thin shoulders. Scrawny arms. Delicate feet. An amazing sense of balance. A girl who liked to sing and would one day--
He stops himself. He’s hyperventilating. After a moment, when he feels calm enough to speak, he picks up his radio.
“Mi? I’m calling in a two-four-six and a one-eight-seven.” Homicide and shooting in an inhabited dwelling.
“Heechul? Is that--the house, wasn’t it uninhabited?”
“Get Hyukjae. And send a team out.” The line beeps, and Heechul knows Mi’s started transferring the calls. Zhou Mi is nothing but exceedingly professional when on the job, and Heechul appreciates it. He doesn’t want anyone to start asking questions.
“I’m going to sit in the car,” he mumbles. Jungmo grabs at his shirt.
“No you will fucking not. We’re going in there to babysit those stupid fucks.” His voice is high, almost hysterical. “I will not go in there again on my own. That’s why--she was shot because--”
“Shut up. Drag them outside. We’ll keep an eye on them out here until backup comes.” I can’t go in there.
Jungmo looks at him, disgusted. “Of course. Kim fucking Heechul doesn’t touch criminals, does he? Just like he doesn’t do a single fucking ounce of work.”
Heechul takes a step back.
“I’ll drag them out,” Jungmo says finally. “But don’t get back into that car.”
By the time backup arrives, Jungmo has managed to bring the burglars outside, kicking them when they scream. Siwon and Sungmin dash out of the car.
“What happened,” Sungmin asks, pulling at his notepad. “You got them out of the house?”
“I shot them inside. I didn’t think it was safe to leave--”
“You idiot,” Sungmin seethes. “Didn’t you learn anything about preserving evidence in school?”
Siwon grabs Sungmin’s shoulder. “You called in a homicide,” he continues gently. “Where’s the body?”
“Inside.” Siwon adjusts his rifle and walks carefully into the building.
“Two agents couldn’t take on two civilian thieves?” Sungmin glares, turning on Heechul. “What were you doing?”
“I wasn’t there,” Heechul responds dully.
“You weren’t--did he--you let him--”
“He was around back. He thought he heard something,” Jungmo manages to choke between chattering teeth.
“Which you didn’t call in,” Sungmin snaps, “because you were playing the fucking hero.”
“Right.”
Sungmin closes his pen and folds his notebook away. “Heechul, tell me this isn’t the same as last time. Tell me this isn’t Yunho all over again. Stop me from punching the fucking daylights out of this kid.”
Jungmo is shaking, Heechul sees. I should have been in there. He puts a hand out to stop Sungmin from continuing. The kid covered for me. “Look. We’ll deal with this later. We’re going home for now. Have Hyukjae calls me if he needs anything.”
“There’s a dead girl in that room, your partner almost got the both of you killed, and you just want to--”
“Kid,” and Heechul’s voice is hard. “Get in the fucking car.”
Jungmo obeys almost mechanically, tugging at his shirt helplessly, slipping into the car. Heechul bends over the console between the front seats and helps him undo the buttons, one by one.
“Throw it out,” he says. Don’t get blood on my seats.”
They accelerate and whiz out of the neighborhood, zooming towards the major city highway. Suddenly, Jungmo swings the car three lanes to the right.
“What on earth--what are you doing?”
Jungmo pulls over and throws open the car door. “Heechul,” he says hysterically. “If you don’t want to work, fine. Sit on your ass, watch your stupid fucking entertainment programs, and collect your paycheck for some stupid thing you did almost three years ago that no one will tell me about. Treat me like shit in the office. You know what, I can handle that. I didn’t think I could but--I know I messed up. I know I should never have touched your gun. But if that was wrong, how could you let me take this call alone? Forget killing me--I’m clearly not worth your time. We--I killed that girl today. I wasn’t prepared. I,” and Jungmo can barely shape the words, “I was too busy watching my own back. And I killed her.”
“Wait--”
“I should have died,” he says quietly, as he gets out of the car. “It should have been me.”
Heechul stares, mouth slightly open as he watches Jungmo walk away in his undershirt and slacks, his arms folded tightly against his chest.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Heechul screams out of the window, scrambling for the door. He wouldn’t.
Jungmo keeps walking, unresponsive.
Heechul kicks the door and shouts, both in agitation and to catch Jungmo’s attention as he tumbles out of the car and slams the door behind him. “Wait,” he yells. “Fuck, I am not diving into traffic after you!”
Jungmo rounds on him. “Am I taking up too much of your day, Heechul? You can’t bother to spend a single fucking second worrying about me because you can’t fucking wait get home to--to check your e-mail and buy shit online and watch the next fucking episode of Star King.”
Heechul almost slams into Jungmo and trips over himself trying to stop. “Hey. Hey, chill out. Let’s talk about this.”
“Talk? Fuck you, Heechul. You--” Jungmo grabs at the lapels of Heechul’s shirt, teeth gritted, eyes hard. “She’s-- dead. Because I went in there alone. I had to watch her die. And you want me to fucking drive you home.” His voice rises and finally cracks on the last word, and Jungmo shoves Heechul and turns, stalking away. “Drive your own fucking car. I am done with you.”
Heechul stares. “The house was supposed to be empty,” he says softly. And then louder: “That house was supposed to be empty.”
Jungmo stops walking.
“We couldn’t have known. You couldn’t have known.” Heechul closes his eyes, breathes in, and takes a step forward. “It isn’t your fault. You didn’t kill her. There was no fucking way you could have known.”
Jungmo sits down at the very edge of the road, pulling his knees in close to his chest. “Then who killed her?” he asks hoarsely.
“Two men. One about your height, the other slightly shorter. Overweight. Dark hair, thick hands.” Heechul sprawls out next to Jungmo. “And I don’t just need you to take me home. Who else would make me coffee?”
“You’re cruel, Heechul--I’m just so--”
Heechul ignores him. “Shh. You’re doing fine. We’re--we’ll get better at this. But today wasn’t a mistake. Shit happens. You need to let these things go.” Heechul remembers blood around his hands, a knife clutched between fingers. He swallows and really looks at Jungmo, seeing a boy just months out of the training academy, new and scared and totally alone. Sorry, he thinks. I should have--I--
“How? How can you just--” Jungmo lets his face drop into his hands, clawing at his hair and choking on a dry sob.
“You’ll give yourself spots if you touch your face too much, you know. And yours isn’t all that bad looking.”
“Heechul--”
“I can say that because I’m always right. It will get better. And. I’m not getting rid of you. I’ll admit it--you’re my protégé.”
Jungmo laughs reflexively, pathetically, but his breath hitches and escapes in whining puffs. “Finally,” he chokes. “It only took a few liters of blood.”
Heechul lets him cry.
--
It’s not exactly that Heechul likes having a partner or particularly enjoys the work, but he trudges along more or less obediently when they pull up to a house and he doesn’t demand coffee and biscotti from every well-dressed individual who invites them in. Only a select few. He gives Jungmo advice, teaches him how to question a witness, how to get the answers he’s looking for. How to watch someone’s eyes and listen by looking.
Jungmo, to his credit, learns to work around Heechul, to give him a wide berth on some areas and push him in others, biting his lip silently when Heechul decides to spend another afternoon marathoning dramas. And sometimes, when the frustration builds and Jungmo looks like he’s about to explode, Heechul sees the look in his eyes and sighs and offers an insight into the case or looks over his work and tries not to remember a beautiful black-haired dead girl.
“You didn’t even see her,” Jungmo says one day when he lets the image slip. “And she didn’t have black--”
Heechul blanches. “I don’t want to know.”
Jungmo has learned that Heechul will never answer a question he doesn’t want to answer, and, when irritated, will spend an entire day sending gibberish messages to Han Geng to decrypt and then spend the evening shooting rounds with Donghae in the practice room. Heechul makes it clear that for all his newfound tolerance of Jungmo, the shooting range belongs to him and Donghae alone. He knows that Jungmo has been fishing around for information, but he refuses to entertain the boy’s curiosity.
Months pass. Siwon takes Jungmo out for a few calls when Sungmin is too busy working with Donghae on cases which require combat specialists. Even Jongwoon borrows Jungmo for a day to teach him the ins and outs of dismantling bombs and their strategic value, and slowly Jungmo begins to fit in. He makes jokes, he’s hit on by a few of the girls down in SVU, and Zhou Mi has even given him a nickname (“Momo,” to which Jungmo refuses to respond). Sungmin accepts his apology and treats the floor to dinner when Jungmo has passed three months in the office without incident, and Heechul ducks out as always, spending the time with Donghae shooting rifles or composing long chain e-mails about Kangta’s slow progress with Victoria. Jungmo distressingly finds out that Jay likes to sing, and apparently asks him to join his amateur band. Heechul is viciously glad when Jay turns him down and asks him (so Sooyoung says) to leave him the fuck alone.
“So we don’t talk about Donghae,” Jungmo says, “or Jay Kim.”
“Right.”
“But I can talk to Donghae.”
“As long as you don’t mention guns or his father.”
“But not Jay Kim.”
Heechul grinds his teeth. “No.”
“And I can’t ask why?”
“I’ve told you almost everything else. You practically know as much about SMPD as I do.”
“It was mostly rumors about people fucking their coworkers!”
Heechul sniffs. “That is Important Information.”
“What about where you all hang out? I really feel like I’ve missed a ton of bonding time.”
“Oh my god--” Siwon frowns imperiously in their direction. “Do you ever shut up?”
Jungmo pulls a red notebook from his pocket. “Rule number thirty-two: I can talk about anything unoffensive for as long and as often as I like.”
“You wrote those down to torment me, didn’t you.”
“Rule fifty-nine: I don’t have to answer any threatening questions.”
Heechul groans. “Bonding time, right? Look, if I invite you over on Friday night will you stop pestering me?”
“Is this another rule? Or a one-time thing? I think that changes the terms of the--”
“I don’t care! I just need silence. I’m about to lose another YSL shirt to GentlemanMimi.”
Jungmo smirks. “I’ll see you Friday, then.”
--
Jungmo brings over a bowl of popcorn and a batch of cookies. Heechul winces, remembering the last time Jungmo had come by, knocking at the door, desperately confused. This time he welcomes Jungmo in, shows him where to leave his shoes and the snacks, and shoves him gently in the direction of the television.
“Why do you watch this at work if you watch it at home?”
Heechul grins. “That’s the beauty of the entertainment industry. There are always variety shows, always new debuts. Always new girl bands to follow.”
“So this is--”
“Music Bank.”
“And the football team that just walked on is--”
“Super Junior. They actually have fifteen members, but two of them are Chinese and part of a subgroup.”
“Fifteen?”
The MCs give the act a go-ahead, and the boys start dancing, arms swaying in tune, eyes darkly rimmed with kohl and tight leather pants creasing at the thigh. Heechul swallows.
“Half these guys don’t even sing,” Jungmo continues.
“That’s not the point.”
“Oh?”
Heechul turns and examines Jungmo’s profile.
The boy isn’t classically handsome--his face is a bit long, his cheekbones a bit high, and his nose is too flat. But his eyes are sharp and his lips are beautifully full and the way he grimaces sometimes over a pen--
Heechul leans over, eyes wide, heat pooling low in his groin. “The fans like watching them touch each other. Like this,” and he swipes a hand by Jungmo’s neck, curling it around, teasing at the blond curls at the back of his hair. Jungmo’s breath hitches.
“And they kiss,” Heechul whispers, watching Jungmo’s eyes widen.
Jungmo’s voice is strangled. “Kiss?”
“They call it skinship.” And this is too easy, too tempting. Heechul bends over and down and touches Jungmo’s lips with his own, carefully, then wantonly rubbing, licking, tongue probing deeply and hotly into Jungmo’s mouth. And to his credit, the boy responds beautifully, hands grabbing at Heechul’s side, pulling him closer. Heechul crawls over, almost straddling Jungmo’s lap, fingers teasing at the skin around his ears, skittering down his neck, clutching at his back. His nerve endings burn.
“Heechul,” Jungmo says during a commercial, face oddly serious. His hair is sticking up in dozens of places. Heechul smooths it down with a free hand.
“Yeah?”
“Tomorrow night. Can I. I mean. Can I take you to dinner?”
Heechul laughs. “Like a date?”
Jungmo flushes. “Yeah.”
Heechul leans backward, voice low, and watches Jungmo tense. A memory pricks at him uncomfortably--another guy in a leather-backed chair, his knees on the ground. A softer voice in Heechul’s own mouth.
“You don’t have to spend money,” Heechul says, drowning out his own thoughts. “We could just get to the sex. Right here. Now. On my couch.” Heechul breathes slowly on Jungmo’s ear, mouth millimeters away from licking at the shell. “Or I could get down on my knees? Blow you?”
“Is this a new method of getting rid of me?”
Heechul shrugs. “I’m not that easy.”
Jungmo hesitates before replying. “I didn’t know you were gay.”
The questions rattles something inside of Heechul. He swallows and ignores the rising acidic-flavored panic. “Is that a yes?”
Jungmo exhales shakily before gently pushing Heechul aside. “No, actually. It isn’t. I really want to take you out to dinner. Properly. On a date. At a nice restaurant. Where we’ll eat and have fun and share a bottle of wine and then I will take you home.”
“You drive my car,” Heechul points out. “I don’t want you driving my car after you drink.”
“You know that isn’t the point I’m trying to make here.”
There’s something in Heechul’s head that isn’t quite clicking. He wants to go back to touching Jungmo, to licking and gasping and feeling want curl desperately in his stomach. To not thinking.
“Fine,” he says. He doesn’t mean to; it slips out. His voice feels softer and he clamps down on it. “Fine,” he whispers.
→ V