Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I’m not a prostitute,” The man sitting in the small plastic chair opposite Junho’s work desk repeated.

Junho glanced up from the arrest form he was filling out on his computer and studied him. Seong Gihun, age forty-three, resident of Ssangmun-dong. The system showed his only living relative to be his elderly mother. There were numerous citations on file for money issues mostly, but no prostitution. Oh, and today was his birthday.

“Officer,” the man said, wringing his hands like an old woman and rocking in his seat, “I swear.”

Junho took his fingers off the keyboard and crossed them over his desk. “Ajusshi, I have you on video without your pants in a popular love hotel.”

“Do I look like a prostitute to you?” Seong Gihun threw up his hands in frustration, “do I?”

He didn’t, but Junho had gone through his tattered wallet for identification during the arrest and Seong Gihun had less than 500 won on him, so Junho had ruled out the possibility that he had been there as a client. And who knew, these days everyone had weird secrets and kinks they’d rather keep to themselves. Maybe gangly old men with unkempt curly hair filled a particular niche market or something. Better be safe than sorry and let a degenerate back onto the streets without at least some punishment. He’d probably trip and fall right back onto a dick. Junho wasn’t 100% sure, but Seong Gihun looked a little gay.

“What were you there for then?” He asked cooly.

The man’s face spasmed slightly at the question, eyes going to his lap. “Uh, I was…umm, it was a surprise for my…uh, girlfriend.”

The tips of his ears poking out from the rat’s nest of curls had gone beet red.

“You have a girlfriend?” Junho didn’t mean to laugh, but the explosive snort popped out of his nostrils before his brain could catch up.

“You don’t believe me? Why can't I have a girlfriend? Is that so hard to comprehend?” Seong Gihun’s mouth twisted, “and why the hell were you videotaping the whole thing? My bare ass is on camera. That can’t be legal.”

“It’s part of the new crackdown on solicitation,” He explained, “regulation requires video evidence, which makes sentencing easier at the court level.”

“Sentencing?!” Seong Gihun shouted, turning heads in the police station.

“Yes, since it is a first offense, you’ll likely be required to do two months of mandatory community service.”

“But I’m not a prostitute, Junho!”

“Hey!”

“Sorry, Officer Hwang. I’m not a prostitute. This is just a misunderstanding.”

“There is video evidence of–”

“Can I make a call? Is that within my constitutional rights, Officer?” Seong Gihun interrupted rudely, his tone loud and sarcastic. Junho scowled. Their little conversation was starting to attract a small crowd of his curious coworkers.

“Fine. Three minutes.” He said, pointing to the public phone by the temporary holding cells. “Don’t try any funny business or this will be more than just two months of community service.”

He watched like a hawk as the strange little man shuffled unhappily over to the phone. Seong Gihun dialed a number from memory and cupped his hand over the receiver, turning his back to Junho. He rubbed the side of his neck and tapped the toe of a battered shoe anxiously on the floor. Junho glanced at the clock on his display. Barely a minute had gone by before Seong Gihun slithered back into his seat and folded both hands over his lap like an obedient school child.

“Thank you,” He said, giving Junho a tiny bow.

His personal phone buzzed in his pocket. Junho ignored it and turned back to the screen to fill out more information on Seong Gihun’s intake form. It buzzed more insistently. He clicked his tongue and reached into his uniform pocket to silence the call. Personal business during work hours was a big no no. He’d learned that from his older brother, along with the rest of his stellar policeman ethics. He was still relatively new to the job but already a rising star according to his direct supervisors.

“Uh, that seems pretty important,” Seong Gihun said, pointing a meek finger at his pocket.

“I don't take personal calls when I am on duty,” Junho said, not bothering to look at the man.

Then, his desk phone rang.

“Junho.”

He didn’t even get to say his customary greeting. Junho blinked at the sound of that voice. It was—

“Hyung?”

His older brother had taken the afternoon off. Why he was calling Junho’s work number at this hour was a complete mystery.

“He’s not a prostitute.”

Over the line, Hwang Inho sounded annoyed.

“Huh?”

“The man you are processing into holding is not a prostitute,” his older brother repeated flatly.

“Oh.”

Junho looked up at Seong Gihun, who smiled awkwardly at him.

“Wait, what? How did you kn–”

“Junho, don’t ask questions. Let him go.”

“Hyung–”

“Officer Hwang.”

His shoulders slumped. Hwang Inho had just subtly pulled rank on him.

“Yes, sir.”

He still had a million questions, but Junho did as he was told and reluctantly released the man from his custody. Seong Gihun bowed furiously all the way out of the police station and ran off, shirt tails flapping in the sunset like the wings of a weird bird.

Still scowling, Junho stomped over to the public phone and pulled up the call history. There it was, on the top of the list of numbers recently dialed – Hwang Inho’s personal number.

What the fuck?

Chapter Text

It was two minutes past midnight when Gihun hopped off the last bus scheduled for that evening and slowly climbed the steps leading up to Inho’s apartment, well, their apartment now. He’d moved in six months ago, but it still didn’t feel like home. Gihun had spent his entire life in Ssangmun-dong, surrounded by old crumbling buildings and dirty street markets that stayed open long after midnight. He was used to the chaos and noise, the endless traffic sounds and cigarette butts littering the ground.

Inho’s neighborhood, on the other hand, was pristine and perfect, almost surgically so. Just like his “girlfriend.”

The day’s events floated back up in his mind like a bloated corpse, and the crippling hot spike of humiliation was almost enough to send him tumbling down the stairs. So he sat down, on the second to last step leading up to Inho’s floor and buried his burning face between his hands.

How was he ever going to officially meet Junho now the kid had seen him buck naked on a hot pink bed with a rose in his mouth? He was enough of a loser as is.

“Seong Gihun.”

“Here,” He blurted out automatically and then flinched.

Gihun twisted slowly to find Inho watching him from the doorway of their apartment. He was wearing one of Gihun’s old shirts, something he’d won with a scratcher ticket at an amusement park back when he’d been married. The strawberry giving the cheerful double thumbs up (Gayeong’s favorite mascot) had faded to a strange whitish gray due to too many washes and Gihun using the wrong detergents nearly every time.

Like he said, he was a loser.

“Are you drunk?” Inho asked, wandering over to sit next to him.

“No,” Gihun mumbled, shivering slightly when Inho leaned in and sniffed his mouth for the scent of alcohol. His hair tickled the side of Gihun’s neck. It was soft and slightly damp from a recent shower, falling over his dark eyes and making Inho look a lot less intimidating in the pale moonlight.

He had such pretty cheekbones, Gihun thought, staring stupidly at the man’s side profile. Everything about him was pretty, every line and every angle. It was as if God himself had–

Inho’s thin lips curled into a smile.

“Happy birthday,” He said, nudging Gihun with an elbow.

“Ha, it’s past midnight already. Thank god the day is over,” He laughed dryly and picked at the calluses on his palms with a distracted finger. “Sorry I had to resort to pulling out the big guns.”

“I’m the big guns?” Inho lifted an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah…are you mad?”

“No,” Inho cocked his head, “I’m confused.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Inho repeated, jabbing a finger painfully into his ribs, “Seong Gihun, you asked me to meet you in a sleazy motel in Itaewon in the middle of the afternoon. I almost thought you’d gotten kidnapped again.”

“Ow, ow, ow. That was just the once, and I paid him the money back. Also, it was not sleazy. I picked the cleanest one based on the online reviews. They even had complementary flavored lube. It was free!”

“Free is not good in this context.” Inho bit his lip with a pained look. “Please tell me you didn’t strip naked.”

“And what if I did?”

“Well then, I guess the love hotel has fifty camera angles of your flat ass in hi-res video stored to their cloud now.”

“How dare you insult your man’s body on his birthday, Hwang Inho? And after all I went through. Aish…”

“It’s past midnight, ajusshi. Not your birthday anymore, remember?” He said, leaping to his feet lightning quick when Gihun tried to grab his ankle.

That word. Junho’s unimpressed face flashed before his eyes once more. Gihun shot up and raced after him. They spilled into the entryway of the apartment in a mess of tangled limbs, Inho’s quiet laughter in his ear as Gihun wrapped his arms around him like a clingy octopus and buried his face in Inho’s neck.

He sniffled a little.

“What’s wrong?” Inho asked, petting the back of his head with a soft hand.

“Do I really look like a prostitute?” He asked after a pause.

“No, I don’t think so,” His boyfriend said kindly. “At least not an expensive one.”

“Oh. That’s…”

“Come on,” Inho tugged at his ear, “get up. You still need to make a wish.”

“What wish?”

“Your birthday wish, I got you a cake from that new bakery a few blocks down.”

He untangled himself from Gihun’s grasp and walked off into the kitchen. Gihun took off his jacket and put on his house slippers. Inho forbade outside shoes in the living area.

“You didn’t have to,” He said when he saw the multicolored calorie bomb that Inho carefully carried out onto the dinner table. “I’m not a child anymore.”

“Says the man that has a fake gun as a lighter,” Inho said as he used said lighter on the solitary purple candle sticking out of the unicorn pink cake and golden sprinkles.

“That is the symbol of our love,” Gihun protested, glowering at Inho when he tossed it carelessly onto the table. “If you hadn’t kicked me in the chest when I pulled it out to light a cigarette, we wouldn’t be together and I wouldn't have quit smoking. I’m passing that onto our grandchildren, er, Junho’s grandchildren, on account that we can’t biologically–”

“Shut up and make a wish already,” Inho interrupted, smacking him on the arm. He didn’t like being reminded of their unhinged meet-cute where he fractured three of Gihun’s ribs with that kick and sent him to the emergency room on a stretcher screaming and crying for his mother. Gihun thought it was hilarious, although he didn’t get to tell it often. Only Jungbae knew of their true relationship, and even that had been an accidental slip of Gihun’s tongue from a drunken episode a few years back.

“But it’s past midnight, the wish fairy–”

“It’s not past midnight on the other side of the world, but it will be if you keep talking, Seong Gihun.”

Other side of the world, huh?

“You mean America? Land of the bald eagles and hamburgers?” He tried to imitate what an eagle sounded like and failed miserably.

“And real guns, yes,” Inho flapped an impatient hand, “blow the freaking candle out.”

He wasn’t really mad. Gihun could see the amusement in his eyes reflected in the flickering flame. Their gaze met and Inho smiled again, lips curling up in a way that always made him look like a mischievous child.

“I love you,” He blurted out without thinking.

“Ok, but that’s not a wish,” Inho said, which was fair but–

He snapped his fingers in Gihun’s face.

“Oh, uh…”

Flustered, he pressed his palms together, screwed his eyes shut and blew out his purple birthday candle. Inho scooped up a bit of the fluffy icing and wiped it over the bridge of Gihun’s nose.

“Keep it a secret, or it won’t come true.”

“Have you ever been to America?” He asked later as Inho crawled into bed beside him. The sheets were toasty and warm. He curled his body around Inho out of habit, hand going to his waist.

“No,” Inho said, “have you?”

“Nope, but Eunji wants to move there with Gayeong and her new husband.”

“I see.”

“I would have come home earlier, but she called and there was a whole meeting…”

“Did you get to drop by your mother’s place today?” Inho asked.

“Shit, I forgot.”

“I’ll go by tomorrow and bring some groceries. I also got her a new heater. It’ll get cold in a few weeks.”

He tightened his arms around the man. “Ok.”

“You know, this stuff is legal there.”

“What stuff?”

“Us,” Inho patted the back of his hand, “we could get married in America.”

“Yeah but shouldn’t,” Gihun said and felt Inho’s body go stiff against him, “at least not until you make it to the Police Overlord of all of South Korea, oppa.”

“There is no such thing as the Police Overlord of all of South Korea.”

“Well there should be, and you should be it.”

“Go to sleep," Inho sighed, "I have to get up early tomorrow to deal with your nudes on Junho’s police cam.”

“Please don’t call it that.”

“Jagiya, eh? You’re not my– ow, what the fuck? Who the hell are you?”

The footage flickered sharply, Seong Gihun’s shocked face quickly being replaced with another part of his body as Junho pinned the man to the massive heart-shaped bed.

Junho risked a peek at his older brother. His expression was completely blank as he watched the camera feed. Junho’s grunts in between his recitation of Seong Gihun’s miranda rights sounded awfully suggestive.

“Why did you use force?” Inho asked.

“What? He tried to run.”

“Without clothes on?”

“Sir, it was a clean arrest.”

“Stay still, goddamn it! I’m placing you under arrest,” The Junho in the video shouted.

“Oh no, hyung, don’t watch the next par–” He remembered just a split-second too late to remind Inho to look away.

There was a Seong Gihun naked backside jumpscare at 1 minute and 24 seconds. He’d spat hot coffee all over his keyboard yesterday when he’d been cataloguing the video files. The muscles in his brother’s jaw tightened. His face had taken on more of that blank flesh puppet look that was usually a good indicator real anger was not far behind.

“What happened here?”

The screen was frozen on a blurry frame of Seong Gihun’s asscrack.

“I, uh,” Junho could feel sweat starting to prickle along his hairline, “slipped and fell on top of him in the struggle, sir.”

Inho blinked slowly, still eerily expressionless. “Why?”

“The floor was–” Junho swallowed, his face going hot, “there was stuff on the floor. I think he might have dropped a bottle of lube when I broke through the door.”

“Was Officer Kang with you?”

“Yes, but he was downstairs.”

Shit, he’d said the wrong thing.

“That’s against protocol. Your partner should always be with you during an arrest.”

Yes, theoretically his partner should have been present, but he’d been busy scrubbing powdered cheese out of his uniform from a cheesy corn dog mishap from earlier and Junho didn’t have the patience to wait for Kang Daeho to get his shit together.

“Don’t do that next time, you could have been in real danger. What if it wasn’t just a naked unarmed middle-aged man and an open bottle of lube waiting for you?” Inho pointed out dryly.

“I won’t, hyung, eh sir,” Junho nodded vigorously. “I’ll wait next time,” he vowed, gritting his teeth, “that way I can arrest him and his john.”

His older brother’s face spasmed. Inho recovered quickly with a cough and gestured at the laptop, “is this the only copy of the recording?”

“Yes.”

“You can leave it with me. I’ll deal with this.”

“Oh, ok.”

He was rushed unceremoniously out of Inho’s office.

“Hyung, how do you know this g–”

The door slammed in Junho’s face before he could finish his question.

Son of a–

He was so going to tell his mom about this tonight.

Chapter Text

“Maybe he has blackmail on him,” Junho theorized out loud.

Kang Daeho looked up from his lunch, his cheeks bulging with half-chewed food. “Wha–?”

“That guy we arrested last week,” he reminded his partner, grabbing a wad of napkins from the nearby dispenser and wiping a stray streak of ketchup from Daeho’s forehead, “I think he might have blackmail on my brother. I mean, why would the chief of police personally call about the matter if there wasn’t something weird going on?”

“You said he was a prostitute, though,” Daeho pointed out cautiously, swallowing with some difficulty. Junho handed him his iced coffee.

He scowled. “I said he may have been.”

“Well, whatever he is, I think you should stop chasing this,” Daeho sat back and let out a long satisfied breath. There were more condiments smeared on his collar. He was a messy eater and an even messier police officer. “Don’t go poking at things that don’t concern you, and especially not the private business of your superiors. I learned that in the Marines.”

It was highly suspect if he ever served in the Marines in the first place. No way someone like Kang Daeho could survive such an organized military environment and still come out acting like a child with severe ADHD.

“Maybe he’s one of the chief’s old schoolmates or something. I’d bail an old friend out of a jam if I could,” Daeho said and muffled a loud belch in the crook of his elbow.

Junho grimaced. “Do you really have to eat like that?”

He smacked his lips loudly and looked up. “Like what?”

“Ugh, why are you like this? I thought you had four sisters.”

He got up and stretched out both arms with a wide yawn. “Yeah, I do.”

“They didn’t beat some manners into you growing up?”

“No,” Daeho scratched his chin and shrugged, “but I can draw a wicked winged liner with both eyes closed, rock a pair of high heels like a k-pop idol and unhook bras with just one finger.”

“Meaning they played dress up with you, didn’t they?”

“All the way until middle school.”

“Shit, man.”

“Look at all this traffic,” Gihun muttered, peering out the rain-blurred window at the sea of red lights ahead of them on the freeway. The usual twenty minute drive to his mother’s place had stretched to over an hour.

“Visibility is low, there must have been an accident up ahead,” Inho said calmly as he finally managed to change lanes. The car inched forward a few more feet and slowed to a halt once more.

Gihun clicked his tongue in annoyance when a horn beeped loudly behind them. “This is pointless. We should turn around.”

“It’s fine,” He dismissed, turning up the AC to get rid of the condensation on the windows. “Besides, it’s been a while since you dropped by.”

“Oh, I doubt she cares.”

Inho tightened his grip around the steering wheel and kept his gaze on the road.

“I mean, all she does is nag and complain about everything when I go anyway. It’s always about Eunji and her new man and what I’m doing wrong and how my influence is so bad for my daughter. What is the point of dragging my ass over there if that’s all I’m gonna hear?”

He couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

“What is the point?” Inho repeated, turning to stare at him, “because that is your mother, Seong Gihun. That is why. She’s over seventy years old, her time is limited on this earth and she nags because she’s worried about you and loves you.”

He’d accidentally slipped into angry police chief mode.

“I–” Gihun sputtered, color rushing out of his face, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“No, it’s my fault, I shouldn’t have raised my voice,” He took a deep breath to calm his emotions and apologized, “and it’s not my place to say that.”

Awkward silence fell over them. Inho swallowed and turned up the radio in an attempt at distraction. Gihun shut it off a few seconds later and plunged them back into hell.

“I’m sorry I said that,” He said, putting his hand on Inho’s arm, “I know you miss your mother.”

“I would give my life to see her one more time,” He admitted quietly, eyes still firmly on the road. He couldn’t look at Gihun right now, see the pity there, and the layer of confusion. He didn’t understand what it felt like to lose his mother – the only person in the whole world that loved him unconditionally. Gihun had that innocent arrogance of someone who’d been babied all his life by a loving parent, thinking he still had the luxury of time on his side.

“Please don’t,” Gihun said, taking his hand and threading their fingers together. It was violating good practices of the road (one should always operate motor vehicles with both hands) but Inho didn’t have it in him to shake Gihun off. “You already gave one of your kidneys to your brother and your heart to me, so we get to keep you for a few more years, yeah?”

He lifted Inho’s hand to his mouth and pressed a little kiss on the faded scars over his knuckles. Result of busting through a car window with his bare fist to save an infant in distress. He had been a bit of a hothead in his youth.

“Jagiya, say something,” Gihun whined, trying to goad a chuckle out of him.

“Don’t use that word,” Inho snapped, fighting the twitch in his lip. He gave Gihun's hand a hard squeeze. He yelled in pain. It sounded like a parrot. “I’ll need at least two more weeks to mentally recover after seeing your arrest footage, you idiot.”

“Fine, oppa then,” Gihun said, kissing the back of his hand some more, “yeobo.” Another peck on his palm. “My sweet darling.” And two more along his inner wrist. “My handsome man.”

Shameless, utterly shameless, Inho thought, shaking his head and finally cracking a small smile that he immediately bit down on. Forty-three years old and still acting like this. His mother was right to be upset.

“Here,” He passed the box of new linens to Gihun from the trunk, “you be the one to give her that.”

“Why? You bought it,” He leaned in, plastering the line of his body against Inho under the safety of their umbrella. It was still raining and the street outside Gihun’s mother’s house was empty, so Inho cupped his jaw and kissed him on the mouth.

“She will appreciate it more if she thinks it came from you,” He murmured, “because you are her son.”

“I must have saved an entire galaxy in a past life to deserve you,” Gihun sniffed, kissing him once more before taking the item. He curled their pinkies together on the way up the stairs, huddled under the same umbrella, only letting go when his mother opened the door after a few knocks.

“Eomma,” Gihun shouted, spreading his arms wide and grinning from ear to ear. “Look who it is, eh?! That’s right, it’s your boy! I come bearing presents!”

Beside him, Inho closed the umbrella and bowed politely. “Ajumeoni.”

“Stop smiling like a fool and blocking the door,” She smacked her son on the side of the head and gestured for them to come in, “Inho’s getting all wet.”

In Oh Mal-soon’s eyes, they were just friends, or Inho was a relatively new friend that exerted only good influences on her son. After they’d “become friends,” Gihun had stopped smoking and drinking; he actually made an attempt at dressing and eating better; and most importantly of them all, he’d stopped taking on debt. The gambling habit never quite went away, but he limited himself to a few scratchers once in a while and some harmless bets with children playing on the street. The only downside, he’d completely stopped trying to get with the ladies.

Anyway, that was what she told Inho whenever he came to visit or bring her supplies and fresh groceries.

He liked her.

She had that refreshing bluntness that came with older Korean women who had grown up in poverty. Inho’s stepmother never told him off to his face or raised her voice in front of him. She was always perfectly polite all the time they had known each other, even when he was signing the organ donation papers for Junho’s transplant surgery. Gihun’s mother, on the other hand, regularly smacked her son wherever she could reach with her trusty feather duster, and he’d sit there and watch Gihun run around her living room, clucking like a hyperactive hen before folding himself behind Inho for the ultimate protection strategy.

It felt real and raw, and while he wouldn’t admit it to Gihun, Inho liked coming to Oh Mal-soon’s house.

“Look at him,” She sighed, scowling at her son who’d draped himself on the narrow couch like a limp noodle and kicked off his slippers while he scrolled through the channels, occasionally scratching at his exposed stomach, “Inho, you don’t have to wash these dishes. I can take care of them tonight.”

“It’s fine, ajumeoni,” He smiled at her, “I enjoy doing them. You should go watch TV. I’ll clean up the rest.”

“Thank you for the linens,” She murmured, squeezing his arm, “and all the thoughtful things you do for this old woman. I know Gihun isn’t that observant.”

“Seventy-two years young,” He reminded her, setting the clean plates out to dry on the dish rack, “and you never have to thank me.”

“Your hands are ice cold! Oh, that reminds me…”

Gihun’s mother wrapped his still-damp fingers in her dry warm ones and tugged him over into her bedroom. She gestured for him to sit on the edge of the bed and hobbled off to the closet where she pulled out a small modest paper box from the bottom drawer and brought it over.

“Ajumeoni?”

It was too quiet in her bedroom. There was a commercial on the small TV outside. He could faintly make out a cheerful k-pop rhythm. Probably something flashy and hip for some international brand trying to capture the younger generation. Gihun made a frustrated noise through his nose and changed the channel.

“It will get cold soon,” She said, gently lifting the lid off the box, “I didn’t keep many of his father’s things after the divorce, and most of mine are meant for women.” She pulled out a pair of nice black leather gloves and a beautiful watch, “I bought these for him with three month's salary when we got married. He only wore the gloves once.”

“I see.”

“He had big hands, like you,” She said, “if they fit, I’d like for you to take them, Inho. And the watch.”

“Oh, I can’t,” He drew in a sharp breath, “Gihun should– those are his…”

“Gihun would lose this thing in a bet to a nose-picking third grader within the week,” She dismissed with a grimace, pressing the watch insistently into his hands. “Like I said, most of my precious items I gave to Eunji when she married Gihun and the rest we sold when he was paying off his debts.”

Cold sweat immediately broke out over his palms. Where on earth was she going with this?

“You don’t have to lie anymore. You hide it well, but my son’s not that smart with the way he looks at you,” She smiled and patted the back of his hand, “I can’t admit that I understand why this happened or how, but you are good for him. And that is all that matters.”

Oh, he thought dumbly, heart pounding against his ribcage.

“Granted, I would like more than one granddaughter,” She continued, “but at least that imbecile out there isn’t actively causing trouble for society and getting himself thrown in jail.”

–they really were having The Talk. And well, speaking of almost getting jailed…

“So, thank you,” She surprised him then by taking his face between her palms, “for loving my stupid boy and bearing with all of his infinite flaws.”

“I–” He blinked past the hot tears threatening to blur his vision and took her hands, holding them tightly in his.

“One day,” She said, stroking his cheek like his mother used to, “not now, and only if you’re ready, I’d like to call you my son if that is alright with you.”

“Yes, I’d like that,” He said quietly.

“Ah, she makes the best kimchi,” Gihun moaned happily, trying to stick his used chopsticks back inside the big jar of fresh kimchi his mother had sent them off with. Inho smacked his hand away and went to grab a clean pair and a small dish. Gihun watched him take out some of the kimchi, piling it neatly in the center of the plate and before carefully pushing it over to him.

“Are you ok?” Gihun asked, peering at him across the dinner table.

“Hmm?”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” He gestured at his own face with the chopsticks before pouting, “wait, oh no, are you still mad at me? Please don’t be. I’m really really sorry. I’ll make it up to you tonight with a blow–”

“No, I’m fine,” Inho said hurriedly, “just tired.”

He was still processing what had happened at Gihun’s mother’s place earlier in his head and definitely not in the mood to be on the receiving end of a messy, kimchi-flavored blowjob.

“Maybe a blowjo–”

“Stop trying to say that word,” He groaned, rubbing at his face and rising to his feet, “I’m going to bed.”

Chapter Text

“Did you forget the– Junho?”

For a split second, his brother looked shocked to see him standing on the other side of the door when it swung open at Junho’s second knock, as if he’d been expecting someone else. The flicker of emotion was quickly snuffed out like a candle blown, and calm indifference returned.

“What are you doing here?” Inho asked. He didn’t move, nor did he offer to let Junho in. His body was jammed in the sliver of space between the wall and the door, posture almost defensive in a way that reminded Junho of himself when he’d been a teenager and their mother tried to enter his bedroom unannounced.

Except the roles had reversed and he was playing the nosy mother now.

“I brought yangnyeom tongdak and tteokbokki,” He said, lifting the two hefty bags of food in his arms in an attempt to entice his older sibling to let him in. Inho stared at him with those expressionless eyes, long enough that Junho almost gave up and ran back to his car with his tail between his legs.

If Inho refused, he would need to text Kang Daeho to help him eat the stuff, he thought distractedly, there was no way he’d be able to finish it all on his–

“Did you bring beer?” His brother finally opened his mouth and asked.

“I did, hyung,” Junho beamed, jerking his chin at his backpack, “it’s in here.”

Inho’s face softened. The shift was imperceptible to the untrained eye, but Junho knew he’d won him over. His older brother rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “Come on in. It’s a bit messy. I would have cleaned up had I known you’d drop by.”

It had been years since he’d last stepped foot inside Inho’s sterile apartment. His brother had been meticulous with the way he kept things organized, almost borderline obsessive. It looked different now – still clean but lived in. Junho spotted a rumpled blue coat thrown almost carelessly on the hanger behind the door. Shoes were slightly out of alignment on the rack, and–

Huh, there were two mugs on the dining table sitting atop matching coasters in the shape of orange cat paws, looking glaringly out of place among his brother’s preferred black and gray aesthetic.

“You can put them on the table,” Inho said, taking the cups and coasters. He clicked his tongue in disapproval when Junho snatched a wing from the takeout bag and tucked it between his teeth, “come wash your hands before you eat, Junho.”

It felt like he was ten again, standing in the kitchen on a stool next to his older brother, singing the little tune in his head that Inho had taught him to finish before he was allowed to rinse the suds off his skin, afternoon sunlight pouring in from the open window.

“A gift from a lady friend?” He asked past the chicken wing in his mouth and gestured at the cat paw coasters Inho had tossed into the sink. They were cute, complete with little pink toe beans.

“No,” Inho said and flicked some cold water at him.

“Hey!”

He caught a flash of his brother’s brief smirk before Inho ducked out of the kitchen. Junho patted his hands dry with the bizarre towel hanging by the fridge and followed Inho into the living room. There had to be a woman in his life that Junho didn't know about, he was convinced now. Hwang Inho would never purchase a towel in the shape of an elongated corgi, well, unless he’d been held at gunpoint at the time maybe.

His brother had cracked open a can of beer and was texting on his phone. A muffled ping came from somewhere in the apartment. Inho blinked, the loose line of his shoulders going stiff again. He bit his lip.

“Are you expecting someone?” Junho asked slowly, taking a seat in the chair opposite him.

“No.”

“Who are you texting?”

“A neighbor,” His brother shrugged, taking a sip of beer and avoiding Junho’s gaze, “they have my mail.”

“Hyung,” He said, setting his half-eaten wing aside. Inho looked up finally, his face impassive, betraying nothing.

“I miss you,” Junho said, “mom misses you. You never come around anymore.”

“We see each other at work,” Inho pointed out.

“That’s not the same.” He scowled. “I want you to be in my life more. You know, the way we used to be, before our father died.”

It was the wrong thing to say, bringing up the man that had lost billions in his business overnight and thrown himself off a building like a coward, leaving behind his oldest son to pick up the pieces. Junho had been in kindergarten at the time. He couldn’t remember much, only snippets here and there – their mother quietly weeping at Inho’s side; men in scary black suits spilling into their home and leaving muddy footprints all over the clean floor; and his older brother, the pride and joy of their family, getting down onto his knees promising to pay back what was owed. And he had, over the span of nearly a decade, with a few court dismissals and invalidations helping ease some of the burden along the way. And then, Junho had gotten sick and Inho had fixed that too.

“Is she doing well?” His brother asked after a pause. He put some more food onto Junho’s plate almost out of habit, falling subconsciously back into their old rhythm.

“I guess,” Junho shrugged, biting into another piece of chicken, “she’s been complaining about the lack of grandbabies a lot lately.”

He peered at Inho from beneath his lashes for his reaction.

“Sign her up for some night classes,” His older brother suggested blandly, “I hear there’s a great old person’s college program near the area. She might meet some grandbabies there.”

“So you’re not seeing anyone?” Junho pressed, licking the sticky sweet sauce from the corners of his mouth. Inho handed him a wet wipe from a pastel yellow dispenser on the other end of the table.

“Are you?” He replied with a question.

He scrunched his nose. “Nope.”

“Hmm.”

“I mean, if you were to want to see someone, hyung,” Junho said, “Daeho has four older sisters. I could set you up with one or all four of them.”

“Please don’t,” His brother said, rubbing his forehead with a pained look.

A knock sounded at the door then, and Inho shot up from his seat, telling Junho a hurried “keep eating, I’ll handle this,” as he rushed off. Naturally, he did not keep eating and followed his brother out into the hallway to see who it was.

Seong Gihun stood in the entryway in a thin gray shirt drenched with rain. He was wearing a pair of ratty cotton boxers and plastic slides.

“Aish…it started raining all of a sudden and all the cats ran off…” He was saying as he pushed damp curls out of his face. He turned and sneezed then, eyes lifting up to connect with Junho’s. The air caught midway up his throat and he dissolved into loud coughs. Inho’s hand twitched, half lifting up as if he’d wanted to pat the man on the back before he caught himself and forced the wandering limb down.

“Officer Hwang,” Seong Gihun gasped between wheezing gulps of air, “long time no see.”

“What are you doing here?” Junho asked with a frown. Inho was watching him, body angled slightly away from the man Junho had arrested very recently, his expression unreadable as always.

“Uh,” Seong Gihun peered between them. He coughed again, cupping a hand over his mouth, “I ran out of soy sauce.”

This made Inho finally turn to him.

“Did you?” His brother asked, both eyebrows shooting up his forehead.

“Oh yeah,” Seong Gihun nodded vigorously, still dripping rainwater on the welcome mat. “I was going to try roasting a pork chop and ran out. Thought I’d pop by and ask my resourceful neighbor for some.”

He slapped Inho jovially on his shoulder and Junho’s older brother’s jaw flexed soundlessly.

“Do you live around here?” Junho asked. They seemed more friendly than just mere neighbors.

“I do, just up the street.”

“Here, let me grab it for you,” Inho said, moving to step past Junho with jerky steps, “you can bring it back tomorrow.”

He watched Seong Gihun in the beat of awkward silence when they were left alone, taking in his rumpled appearance. He was all gangly limbs and sharp elbows, a little wrinkly with age, his hair streaked with bits of gray, no longer a man in his prime years.

“How’s your day going, Officer Hwang?” He asked Junho, shivering a little from the damp wind that carried an early autumn chill.

“It’s fine,” Junho said, his tone not very kind as he added, “I hope you’re keeping off the streets, sir.”

Seong Gihun chuckled, the sound almost indulgent, like he was dealing with a demanding toddler instead of a member of the Korean National Police. He pinched the bridge of his nose and nodded, “Yes, no more love hotels.” His eyes went to something behind Junho, “my girlfriend made me promise.”

Junho turned and found his older brother there. Inho thrust the bottle of soy sauce his way, along with a black umbrella.

“It’s raining,” He explained between them.

“So thoughtful,” Seong Gihun’s eyes crinkled as he smiled brightly, “Thank you. I’ll bring this back later as well.”

Feeling a little guilty for his hostile attitude earlier, Junho said, “good luck with your pork chop.”

Seong Gihun gave him a double thumbs up and winked before scurrying down the stairs in his plastic slides, little puddles of water exploding beneath his feet with each step. Beside Junho, Inho’s mouth had thinned into a flat line.

“What a weird man,” Junho remarked as he followed his brother back inside the apartment.

Chapter Text

“Oppa.”

Park Gyeong-seok looked up from where he was feeding Nayeon dinner. Hyunju stood by the window, peering out into the rainy street. The bakery had emptied out due to the impending storm and he had decided to close early for the day after the last patron exited. Hyunju worked religiously, a habit likely developed during her special forces days, but she deserved a break; and he was determined to force her hand if necessary.

“What?” He asked, spooning steamed egg into Nayeon’s mouth. Gyeong-seok’s baby made a face but kept chewing. He could tell she was on the verge of rebellion but he pressed on anyway.

“There’s a man outside,” Hyunju remarked, pointing at something Gyeong-seok couldn’t quite make out from his spot by the baby chair. She frowned, “he’s been circling the block. I’ve seen him at least three times already.”

“Is it a homeless person?”

There was one bite left. Gyeong-seok nudged the spoon against Nayeon’s lips. They quivered but stayed firmly shut. She shook her head and put a little hand on his knuckles to push him away. He tried again, this time with exciting plane noises, and was met with the same solid refusal. Park Gyeong-seok sighed and crammed the last bite into his own mouth. It tasted great. Hyunju was as good at cooking as she was at baking.

“I don’t think so,” She said when he wandered over to join her by the storefront window.

“A drunk then,” Gyeong-seok decided, squinting at the figure in the rain over Hyunju’s shoulder, “he’s barely wearing any clothes. Is that liquor I see?”

Hyunju tapped a restless finger over her chin, “maybe he’s having a mental episode.”

“Or,” Gyeong-seok nudged her and theorized, “he got kicked out by a mistress mid-hookup when the husband came home early. Like in the dramas you keep forcing me to watch.”

“Oppa,” She frowned at him, “that’s not nice.”

He lifted an eyebrow.

“I thought you liked those dramas,” Hyunju said, looking a little crestfallen. He didn’t like the dramas as much as he liked watching her reactions to them, but Gyeong-seok wasn’t going to tell her that.

“I’m going to invite him in,” Hyunju finally decided, “No one should be wandering around in the rain like this. He’ll get sick.”

“Do we really have to?” He sighed. So much for forcing her to rest a little.

“Yes,” Hyunju said firmly as she unlocked the front door, “because it’s the decent thing to do.”

“And if he’s dangerous?”

He doubted that a scrawny middle-aged geezer in what looked like men’s underwear and flip flops was much of an actual threat, but it was Gyeong-seok’s last ditch effort to keep her from going out into the rain and making a random stranger’s business their business. That made Hyunju laugh. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and flexed her shoulders in a way that made him a little weak at the knees sometimes.

“Don’t worry, oppa, I’ll protect you.”

As it turned out, it was not alcohol he’d been holding. It was a bottle of soy sauce, which was much much weirder.

He studied the man (‘Seong Gihun’ as he’d introduced himself in between the loud bouts of gratitude) as Hyunju rushed off to grab a mop for the spreading puddle of water beneath his feet. He looked familiar. Gyeong-seok was pretty sure Seong Gihun lived around the area, but he and Hyunju had opened the bakery just a few months ago in this quiet affluent part of the city, and they had yet to establish regulars beside the students that all flocked to the store after school ended.

“Here,” Hyunju set down a steaming cup of tea at Seong Gihun’s elbow and handed over a fluffy white towel for the rainwater still dripping from his hair. And then, she retreated behind Gyeong-seok to stare at the guy alongside him and the baby in his arms.

“Thank you,” Seong Gihun repeated, dabbing at his cheek with the towel.

“Are you in a crisis? Can we help in any way?” Hyunju asked, her tone soft and sympathetic. Seong Gihun blinked, mouth going slack for a few seconds before color exploded over his face.

“Oh, uh no,” He said, blushing furiously, “it’s stupid. I came out of my apartment and forgot my keys.”

“But you remembered to bring a bottle of soy sauce?” Gyeong-seok pointed at said bottle on the table.

“Uh…” Seong Gihun blinked, his eyes darting between all three of their faces. Nayeon gave him a toothy grin. His gaze landed on her, lips curling into an absent smile, “she’s very cute.”

“Thanks,” Gyeong-seok said. He hadn’t answered the question, but it’d probably be a dickish move to press the man again after he’d just complimented the baby.

His eyes went to Hyunju then, expression going uncertain for a fraction of a second. Gyeong-seok braced himself for Seong Gihun’s reaction. Kids these days didn’t give a rat’s ass about non-traditional gender identities, but it was the older generation that tended to blurt out hurtful ignorant things and comment on her appearance.

“Ma’am, could I borrow your phone to make a call?” Seong Gihun asked timidly, and something relaxed inside Gyeong-seok’s chest.

Hyunju nodded, “Let me grab it for you. Do you want something to eat? I made dinner earlier.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary, thank you,” He said before sneezing into his hands.

“I’ll grab you some dry clothes to change into,” Hyunju called out, thumping her way up the stairs in the back of the kitchen to their living space on the second floor.

“How old is she?”

“Two,” Gyeong-seok said, shifting Nayeon onto his hip.

“That’s a fun age,” Seong Gihun said, “they grow up fast.”

“Do you have children?”

“I do,” His whole face lit up, “here let me show you– oh wait, I don’t have my phone…”

“Boy or girl?”

“Girl,” Seong Gihun said, smiling, “girls are the best. My Gayeong is my whole world, actually. Well, her and…” He fell silent, a red flush returning to his cheeks.

“Your wife?”

“No, ex-wife now.”

“Ah, same.”

“Are you two…” His eyes darted quickly over Gyeong-seok’s shoulder, “uh…together?”

“No, we’re business partners,” Gyeong-seok explained.

They were more than that, he supposed. They were family in a way that somehow felt more intimate than the relationship he had with his ex-wife. It was difficult to put into words but Cho Hyunju inspired him to be a better person.

“Here,” Hyunju’s reappearance cut their awkward small talk short. She’d grabbed one of Gyeong-seok’s shirts and a pair of black sweatpants.

“Really?” He asked her when Seong Gihun excused himself to go change.

“What? Those pants shrunk in the wash. You can’t fit in them anymore. Besides, they’re going to a good cause.”

“Hey, I got this cake for my birthday,” Seong Gihun said when he came back out, and they both turned to find him standing by the display glass in his new dry cloths, pointing a finger at the purple and pink abomination that Hyunju had birthed forth in a drunken fit of inspiration last month. There had to be at least a pound of gold glitter and food coloring in the thing. He must have been shitting golden turds for a whole week. And she was right about the sweatpants having shrunk in the wash. Seong Gihun was much thinner than Gyeong-seok and they still looked a little snug stretched across his ass.

“You did?” Hyunju said, looking delighted, “did you like it?”

He nodded vigorously, and Gyeong-seok watched them absently out of the corner of his eye as he began to clean up the kitchen sink, Nayeon sucking on an apple slice on the counter next to him. He didn’t know how much time passed when the bell over the front door chimed. A soft wet gust of wind swept through as a man in a black raincoat and umbrella stepped inside.

He looked vaguely familiar, too.

Then, Nayeon chucked the half-eaten piece of fruit somewhere behind the industrial oven and Gyeong-seok spent a whole five minutes using his cellphone flashlight trying to find it. By the time he came up for air, Seong Gihun and his mysterious rescuer had left the store and Hyunju was standing there with a gossipy glint in her eyes.

“Oppa,” She said, “guess what?”

Gyeong-seok grunted, wincing a little and rubbing at the stiff twinge in his lower back. He really was getting old.

“Gihun is coming to work for us next week,” Hyunju said cheerfully.

“What?” He dropped the lint-covered apple slice and it rolled right back under the oven.

Goddamnit.

There was a small group of Junho’s coworkers gathered around his and Kang Daeho’s desk when he hopped off his motorcycle and walked into the police station on Monday morning. Daeho was sucking on his thumb, crumbs spread all down the front of his uniform.

“What’s going on?” Junho asked as he pushed his way past the crowd.

“Chief brought in an assortment of desserts from Usagi,” Daeho grinned, “they’re very good. I like the matcha cream puffs the most.”

Junho lifted an eyebrow. “The chief brought this?”

It was a nauseatingly cute display. Hwang Inho didn’t do cute. This had to be an idea from his lady friend, the one his brother was being extremely tight lipped about. He didn’t understand why Inho found the need to keep that information from him. They were family. The only reason Junho could come up with was maybe he was having an affair with a married woman? But that would be even more out of character for Hwang Inho than the brightly colored sweet treats and kitty paw coasters.

“Don’t look a gift cupcake in the mouth, you wet blanket,” Daeho scowled at his muted response and shoved a baby pink cupcake into Junho’s face before he could dodge out of the way. A few of their older colleagues chuckled at the childish display.

The cupcake tasted pretty good, not too sweet, a subtle balance of fresh cream with a hint of rose. Junho licked the frosting off of his top lip and glanced over at his brother’s office. Inho’s door was closed and the blinds were pulled tightly shut, but the light was on. Junho narrowed his eyes in thought.

Usagi.

There was an address on the hot pink box. It wasn’t far from Inho’s apartment. Junho made a mental note to check the place out. Maybe he’d stumble across a few fresh clues re: his brother’s mysterious love life, and even if not, he kind of wanted to try the matcha cream puffs Daeho had been raving about.

Chapter Text

“What is this?”

Hwang Inho lifted his gaze from the pile of papers on his office desk where Junho had flung his phone down on.

“Text from mom,” He said, indicating to the lengthy message his mother just sent over.

“Is it an emergency?” Junho’s brother asked, starting to frown, “I’m in the middle of something here.”

“What is it?” He squinted down at the papers but it was difficult to make out anything upside down, “Oooh, is it a murder? Can I have it if it is a murder? “

“No,” Inho slammed the casefile shut and rose to his feet. “You’re not a detective yet.”

“But–”

“Hwang Junho, aren’t there traffic tickets you are supposed to be issuing right now?”

“I’m on my lunch break!” Junho huffed. His older sibling sighed, the sound long and very much suffering.

“Fine,” Inho said, walking around the desk and leaning his hip into the edge, “what does mom want?”

“You to come home for dinner this weekend.”

“Just me?”

“I’ll be there, too.”

“Is this going to be yet another attempt to set me up with a random woman she met through her bible group?”

“Not if you bring your own woman to the dinner,” Junho said and watched his brother’s face tighten with barely suppressed annoyance. “Hyung, bring your plus one, I’m bringing a plus one.”

Inho lifted an eyebrow, “who’s your plus one?”

“Daeho.”

“You’re seeing Kang Daeho?” His brother asked flatly, “Did you let HR know? I’ll have to reassign one of you if this is going to be a long term thing.”

“What? No! He volunteered to come because of the free food.”

“I see,” Inho said. “Then you two can both be my plus one.”

Junho blinked. “You can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Hyung, why are you making this so difficult?” He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled, “I’m not a detective but it’s obvious you’re dating someone. Why won’t you just tell me?”

“You’re right, Junho, you’re not a detective.”

“That sounds vaguely insulting.”

“Does it?”

Inho’s face had taken on that creepy calculating look that made Junho’s skin crawl sometimes. It was the 'I’m frustrated with you, little brother, but I am too good of an older brother to tell you outright' expression Junho had been intimately familiar with as a child, which usually resulted in him bursting into tears one way or another. Inho was always creatively cruel with his punishments growing up. But Junho was a man now and he hadn’t cried in years, so he stood his ground this time.

“Bring your lady friend,” He insisted, “mom and I both want to finally meet her.”

His older brother did not reply. Inho stared at him with those expressionless eyes, long enough that the hairs on the back of Junho’s neck started to prickle uncomfortably. Inho’s mouth slowly curled up into a thin smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Sure,” he said.

“Do I look ok?” Kang Daeho asked for the fifth time as he adjusted his tie in the rearview mirror.

“You look fine. Relax, you’re not interviewing for a job,” Junho said, rolling his eyes and slamming the passenger side door shut.

Daeho scowled at him. “I want to make a good first impression.”

“With my mom?”

“Yes.”

“You know we’re not actually dating, right? Just to be extra clear, you’re here for the food and I am strictly into chicks.”

“I know,” Daeho said as he puffed up his chest, “but trust me, bro, as a man with one mom and four sisters, she will appreciate the attention to detail.”

As they made their way from Daeho’s dented Kia SUV (a hand-me-down from his third sister), Junho spotted a shiny silver sports car among the drab gray and black vehicles parked along the street. It looked vaguely familiar for some reason. They took the elevator up to his mom’s apartment and knocked on the door. Junho slapped Daeho’s hand away when his partner tried to brush something off his shoulder. There was a soft click as the door opened to reveal Inho standing on the other side, wearing house slippers and a black turtleneck and black pants.

“You’re late,” Inho said.

“We got caught in traffic,” Junho said distractedly as he tried to peer over Inho’s shoulder for his brother’s mysterious date.

“Chief!” Kang Daeho’s enthusiastic greeting echoed and bounced down the empty hallway. His wild salute almost struck Junho across the temple.

“Daeho,” Inho acknowledged, stepping aside with a polite nod, “thank you for coming.”

They entered the apartment just as Junho’s mom came walking out from the kitchen. A tall man trailed in her wake, decked out in a tailored black suit. He was wearing Junho’s house slippers.

“Fuck,” He muttered under his breath when he caught sight of his face. That car downstairs–

“Hwang Junho,” The psychotic asshole from his childhood shouted, eyes lighting up when he spotted them huddled by the doorway and spreading those long ass arms wide like an albatross’s wings, “you got big, kiddo.”

Inho retreated out of the way as Junho was swept into a tight headlock of a hug by Cho Seok-woo. He smelled overwhelmingly of expensive cologne. It made Junho’s eyes water.

“Daeho, come wash your hands please,” His older brother beckoned his partner away as Junho tried and failed to pull himself free from the chokehold.

“Let go!” He growled against Seok-woo’s suit-clad shoulder.

“All grown up,” His brother’s longtime friend sniffed dramatically, grabbing Junho’s cheeks and pinching hard so that his lips stuck out like a gasping fish, “you used to run after Inho in your pink raincoat and yellow hat like a baby duck, remember? I still have the pictures. It was very cute. You looked like a little girl, Junho.” His smirk widened as he cocked his head to the side, expression going predatory, “you still kinda do.”

“What are you doing here?” Junho squeezed out.

“Oh, Inho invited me.”

Ah, so this was his choice of cruel and unusual punishment.

“And you didn’t even greet me properly,” Seok-woo’s mouth pulled down into an exaggerated pout, “how rude.”

Junho glared up at him.

“Junho,” His mother reprimanded from the living room where everyone was watching. He felt his face go hot.

“Hello, hyung…” Junho grudgingly muttered.

“Good boy,” Seok-woo ruffled Junho’s carefully styled hair with a massive hand and finally let him go.

Grumbling under his breath, Junho went to clean up before joining the rest of the odd group gathered around the dining table. Aside from his aging mother, there was not a single woman in sight. So much for making any progress in his side quest investigating his brother's mysterious paramour. Inho took a slow sip of his barley tea and met Junho’s hostile gaze with bland indifference. Seok-woo patted the empty spot next to him and smirked.

“Junho, come sit by me,” He said.

“Seok-woo, do you really still have Junho’s old childhood photos?” Their mother asked.

“I do,” His grin stretched wide across his stupid face, “it’s all saved to the cloud. I’ll pull them up in a bit.”

“Oh, perfect,” She said happily and promptly threw all thoughts and questions about Inho’s love life out the high-rise apartment window.

To add insult to injury, his mother fucking adored Kang Daeho.

“How was the dinner with your mom and Junho?” Gihun asked when Inho got back that evening. It was nearly midnight and he was curled up on the couch with a blanket, scrolling through his phone.

“Exhausting,” Inho said, stepping out of his shoes and padding over in his socks. “It’s late. You didn’t have to wait up for me.”

“But I wanted to,” Gihun said, “you’ve been so busy with the influx of cases in the past week I barely see you anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” He touched Gihun’s cheek with a hand still cold from the outside, “hopefully it’ll pass soon.”

“They’re working you to death, my big brave handsome police officer,” Gihun complained, crawling up from his blanket nest and stretching with a wince. He muffled a yawn behind his hand, “wash up and then go to bed?”

Inho smiled. “Yeah.”

He followed Gihun into the bathroom. Gihun squeezed a dollop of toothpaste onto his toothbrush, crammed it into his mouth and moved aside to make room for his lover, but Inho pressed up against him from behind and put his arms around his waist.

“What are you doing?” Gihun asked, scrubbing at his back molars.

The bridge of Inho’s nose brushed his shoulder. He laid a close-lipped kiss over the naked patch of skin at the edge of Gihun’s loose collar, “just let me hold you for a while.”

“Oh, ok,” He said, patting his partner’s hand, “can I keep brushing my teeth?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Inho hummed. One of his hands dipped under Gihun’s shirt. He rubbed his palm over Gihun’s stomach. Gihun shivered a little, muscles jumping beneath his skin. His touch tickled.

“Are you drunk?”

“Cho Seok-woo and I went out for a few drinks after dinner.”

“Oh.”

A thumb dragged not so innocently over his right nipple. Gihun’s wet grip around his toothbrush slipped. The brush head went crashing into his gums. He winced. Inho shifted behind him and let out a quiet sigh, ruffling the soft curls behind his ear with his warm exhale.

He was–

Oh.

It had been a long time since they had done it.

Gihun spat out the suds and rinsed the lingering taste out of his mouth. He purposefully pushed his ass into Inho’s crotch and heard his breath hitch. He was also getting a little worked up, as evidenced by the tent in his loose boxers. Inho finally grabbed onto his waist with both hands.

“Bend over,” He said, voice gone rough.

Chapter Text

“Straighten your spine. You look like a cooked prawn.”

Gihun yelped when his mother smacked him unexpectedly on the back and almost slipped off the stepping stool he was precariously balanced on trying to fish out the bag of rice Oh Mal-soon had stuffed deep inside the cupboard above the fridge. He didn’t understand why she insisted on squirreling away heavy bags of grain in all the highest places she could find.

“Eomma, are you trying to kill your only son?” He shouted, wincing at the painful pull of sore muscles in his hip and thighs.

“Seong Gihun, did you hurt yourself?” She asked sharply from behind.

“What?”

He’d finally hooked his index finger in the cloth bag holding the rice when he felt his mother’s hand on his waistband. Gihun’s shirt had ridden up to reveal a sliver of skin and she pushed it further up his back.

“You’re covered in bruises!”

Fuck.

It wasn’t that Inho had been particularly rough earlier that week. It was just that Seong Gihun had the "shapely hips of a middle aged woman with two kids" (a creative insult from Park Jungbae that was unfortunately quite an accurate description) and bruised as easily as a ripe peach. He still wasn’t sure what had gotten Inho so worked up that evening, but he’d shoved Gihun against the bathroom sink and had his way with him for over an hour. As such, and as a direct result of being an out-of-shape forty-three year old man, Gihun had overslept the next morning and missed half a day of work at the cafe. Thankfully, Cho Hyunju had not minded and he’d promised her he’d take an extra shift to make up for it.

“This is a hand print,” His mother accused, eyes going wide with alarm, “did you– was it a loan shark again? Did they beat you up? Oh, Gihun, why do you keep getting involved with those bad people…”

“What? No, it’s–” His face was burning. Gihun slapped his mother’s hands away from his pants and hopped off the stool. His back gave a little twang of discomfort at the sudden motion. “Eomma, it’s not that. Can you just let this go?”

She pursed her lips disapprovingly, “Does Inho know?”

“What does Hwang Inho have anything to do with this?” He sputtered, stuffing his shirt tails inside his waistband for extra safety and retreating out of grabbing distance.

Oh Mal-soon put her hands on her hips and gave him a withering look. He glared back suspiciously, heart thumping in his chest. Then she shook her head and shuffled off into the living room, muttering under her breath the whole way. With his mother finally off his back, Gihun ducked into the small adjacent bathroom where he lifted his shirt up to inspect the damage. There it was, Hwang Inho’s hand imprinted into the pale skin over his jutting hip bone, the edges already fading to a yellowish green. Gihun ran his thumb over the worst of the bruise and shivered a little at the phantom ache.

He must be really stressed at work, he thought absently. Inho never talked about his job beyond a few vague off-hand comments and the occasional snippets of phone conversations Gihun overheard. He knew Hwang Inho was a particular favorite of the current Deputy Commissioner General, and he was relatively young compared to the other men at his rank in the police agency. From what Gihun understood, there had been a power struggle a few years back, with Inho’s mentor emerging victorious and taking on his current role. Inho had been promoted to Senior Superintendent General at the SMPA two weeks before his fortieth birthday last year.

The point was Hwang Inho was going places, very high and powerful places.

Gihun stared at his reflection in the mirror. His hair was getting long, the naturally curly ends starting to twist around his ears. There was even more gray scattered among the black. He didn’t think himself a particularly attractive man, but for some mysterious reason, Hwang Inho couldn’t get enough. They’d been together long enough that Gihun’s crippling self doubt no longer had a place in the conversation about their future. It was just…he didn’t want his presence in Inho's life to negatively impact the man's career. It didn’t really matter whether any of their parents recognized their relationship as long as they got to stay like this, even if things had to be kept secret.

“Are you pooping? Is it diarrhea?” Oh Mal-soon’s loud knock on the bathroom door made Gihun jump. “I told you not to eat that leftover bulgogi from last week.”

“No, eomma,” He groaned, tucking his shirt tails in again, “go away.”

“Come outside,” His mother said, “Inho’s on TV.”

“What?” He stepped out of the bathroom and trailed curiously after her. They stood side by side in front of the small color TV in the living room and watched as the mayor of Seoul finished his speech. Hwang Inho was standing among the handful of middle aged men in suits on the left side of the screen, his expression neutral as the Commissioner General walked up to speak next. He stood out among the group of slightly obese balding high-ranking government officials and military members in his sharp uniform and full head of hair.

“Look at our Inho,” Gihun’s mom said fondly, “so handsome.”

She shuffled closer to the screen and trailed her fingers over his face. Gihun bit his lip. He’d done the same thing a few years back before they started dating, when he’d been having a full blown midlife crisis and questioning his sexuality for the first time.

Look at me now, Gihun thought with some amusement, taking dick on a Saturday evening like it’s nothing. Then, over the live feed of the event, Inho lifted his arm and checked the time.

Oh Mal-soon gasped.

“He’s wearing your father’s watch,” She said, sounding delighted.

Gihun felt his stomach drop. “What?”

“Oh, I gave Inho your father’s watch,” His mother said casually, not taking her gaze off of the television, “you know, the one I bought him as our wedding gift.”

“Why?”

“You’re never going to use it,” Oh Mal-soon shrugged, “I wanted it to go to someone who would actually cherish its sentimental value.”

“Oh,” He said nervously, “and that’s it?”

She finally turned to him, her expression a little strange. “Why else, Gihun?”

They stared at each other for a moment. He was at a loss for words, but Inho saved him from having to reply when he stepped up to the podium. Gihun’s mother turned her attention back to the TV, and he let out the small breath of air he’d been holding in. He didn’t hear what Inho said. Gihun’s heart was pounding too loudly in his ears.

“Such a good boy,” Oh Mal-soon repeated when Inho finished his talk. Gihun watched as she walked off into the kitchen, instructing him to bring Hwang Inho her salted fish. She said he liked the salted fish that she made, and something about asking him to come over next week so she could show him the steamed pork buns that she learned from her Chinese friend at the fancy old person center that Inho got her into via his connections. She and her friends played Mahjong together there on Tuesdays.

“Gihun,” His mother patted him on the jaw, “did you hear what I just said?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Nevermind,” She sighed, pushing a neatly wrapped parcel into his arms, “please refrigerate that as soon as you go home. I will call him myself about the rest.”

He didn’t know they communicated with each other outside of his presence.

“Oh,” Gihun said dumbly, “ok.”

He was standing on the street outside of his mother’s house, holding what he assumed was the salted fish, when Inho texted.

What are you up to? He asked.

Just heading back to the bakery, Gihun wrote back before adding, do you like salted fish??

If it’s your mother’s recipe, yes, Inho wrote back. He added a little :) at the end.

Oh.

Gihun stared at the smiley face.

Should I learn to make it for you? He typed. Should I steal my mother’s trade secrets to please my handsome husband?

Inho sent a laugh-cry emoji. Why the sudden interest?

Because I love you, he thought, staring at his phone, and I’m starting to suspect my mom knows about us.

I want to be a better housewife. Gihun wrote instead. Do you like steamed pork buns? I can try and steal that from my mother’s Chinese Mahjong friend.

Two laugh-cry emoji this time.

Please don’t commit any intellectual property theft against the elderly, Seong Gihun.

But it’s in the name of love, oppa…

I’m heading into another meeting, Inho wrote back. A pause, then: I can’t wait to see you tonight and heart emoji.

His insides squirmed a little at that. This was the diabetic, tooth-rotting stuff he used to scoff at when it showed up in the romance dramas his ex-wife watched. Except he was now the twenty-year old wide-eyed female protagonist on the receiving end of the affection. Gihun sighed and looked up at the steps leading up to his mom’s apartment. Mind made, he tucked the fish under his armpit, shoved his phone in his back pocket and climbed back up the stairs. Gihun wiped his slightly damp palms over his jeans and knocked on Oh Mal-soon’s door.

“I’m not interested in purchasing supplements!” His mother shouted from the other side. “And Christianity is a lie.”

“Eomma,” Gihun groaned, “open up, it’s me.”

The door cracked open after a few seconds. His elderly mother peeked out cautiously.

“Oh,” She said. “It is you.”

“Eomma,” He said again.

“Did you forget your keys?” Oh Mal-soon asked.

“No,” Gihun shook his head and swallowed past the hot lump in his throat, “c-can I tell you something?”

“I am your mother,” She said, “you can tell me anything.”

“Eomma,” He lowered his eyes to the ground and confessed in a tiny wobbly voice, “it’s about me and Inho.”

“Oh Seong Gihun, you stupid child,” She sighed from deep within her chest and took his hands in her wrinkled, leathery ones, “come back inside.”

Chapter Text

“It’s so cute!” Cho Hyunju squealed, “I love it so much. Oppa, come take a look!”

Inho silently held out his hands and she passed Nayeon over with a hurried thanks and rushed back inside the cafe to find Park Gyeong-seok. He adjusted his grip around the child and peered up at the figure inside the pink bunny suit.

“Can you see?” He asked.

“Not well,” Gihun’s muffled voice said from behind the mascot head. “This thing is heavy.”

The baby in Inho’s arms reached out a tiny hand, her eyes shining and expression absolutely enthralled. He took a few steps closer and said, “Seong Gihun, bend down and hold still. Nayeon wants to touch the bunny.”

“Oh.”

His partner obliged and Inho carefully guided her small fingers through the soft artificial fur over Gihun’s head. He smiled when she gasped at the texture and flexed her digits through the fluff.

“Does she like it?” Gihun asked.

“Yes, I think so.”

“Do you like it?” Gihun pressed.

Inho stroked the rabbit’s round cheek, “I like what’s underneath more.”

“Jagiya, do you mean me?” Gihun let out an exaggerated shout and fumbled the mascot head off of his shoulders. He was grinning from ear to ear and a little out of breath, hair sticking up in a halo from the static electricity.

“Not in front of Nayeon,” Inho scolded, giving the side of his leg a half-hearted tap with his leather boot.

“Nayeon doesn’t mind, does she?” He wiggled his eyebrows at the little girl in Inho’s arms, “you’re such a cutie.”

“Appa,” Nayeon said, grabbing Gihun’s nose.

“No, no, your appa is working,” Gihun corrected her and set the costume head down on the ground. He put an arm around Inho’s shoulder and pointed to himself with a pink bunny paw, “Seong Gihun. That’s me, Nayeon. Remember? Can you say my name? Seong. Gihun.”

“Bunny,” She said instead, patting his forehead.

“Close enough,” Gihun laughed, eyes crinkling. He pushed his head into Inho’s shoulder and asked, “and who is this?”

“Appa,” Nayeon said with a giggle. Inho chuckled. He could tell she was doing it on purpose. Nayeon was a smart child for her age. She probably enjoyed making Gihun hop around like a monkey in a circus.

“Hwang Inho,” Gihun said, rubbing his gloved hand all over Inho’s face and making Nayeon laugh. He leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “Nayeon, it’s a secret, but he’s my most favorite person in the whole wide world.”

Inho lifted an eyebrow at that. Gihun turned fully toward him and took his face between his squishy bunny hands.

“My handsome man,” He said, incredibly fondly. Then he turned and winked at the baby, “Nayeon, be a good girl and close your eyes.”

It was still early and thirty minutes before the bakery was scheduled to open for the day. The street was empty. Gihun bent and kissed Inho under the pastel pink awning of Hyunju’s store, a cool autumn breeze scattering the brown and yellow leaves at their feet. They only separated when Nayeon grabbed both of their ears with her little hands and tugged. Seong Gihun buried his startled laugh in Inho’s neck, and he brushed his mouth against Gihun’s temple before stepping back as Cho Hyunju came running out with Park Gyeong-seok trailing curiously behind her.

“Gihun-ssi, put the head back on,” She urged, clasping her hands in front of her chest. He did, and she turned to Park Gyeong-seok with a beaming smile, “What do you think? Isn’t it so cute?”

“Where did you even get this thing?” Park Gyeong-seok asked.

“Custom ordered from Osaka a month ago! It arrived this morning.”

“Oh,” Park Gyeong-seok said, his tone a little awkward. “It looks…nice.”

“Well, Inho-ssi likes it,” Cho Hyunju said, as if that justified her choices. Technically, he hadn’t voiced any such opinions.

“Seems a little snug,” Park Gyeong-seok commented, circling around to inspect Gihun’s costume at all angles. Now that he mentioned it, the fabric was stretched taut over Gihun’s backside. Inho allowed his gaze to linger there for a bit while no one was paying him any attention.

“Oh, I chose the medium because Youngmi, Gihun and I are going to take turns greeting guests in the bunny!” Cho Hyunju explained to her business partner. “She’s taking the Wednesday and Friday shifts because she gets out of classes early then.”

“Huh,” Park Gyeong-seok said, “that’s smart, I suppose.” He cleared his throat and turned to Inho, “thank you for watching Nayeon.”

“Of course,” He passed the little girl over to her father and checked his watch, “I should get going to beat the morning traffic.”

“Have a great day at work, Inho-ssi!” Cho Hyunju called after him. They were an odd collection of individuals standing in front of the cafe under the soft dawn light. Park Gyeong-seok smiled weakly. His baby waved. Inho’s idiot in the bright pink bunny suit made two little hearts with his index finger and thumb at him.

“You as well,” He said, giving them a curt nod and setting off down the street.

The anniversary of his mother’s death this year was on cloudy Saturday. He was working overtime and it was still raining when Inho stepped out of the police station onto the wet street in a black trench coat and umbrella.

“Hyung,” Cho Seok-woo waved at him from where he was leaning against his sleek silver convertible, a large bouquet of fresh flowers cradled in the crook of an arm.

“You really didn’t have to,” Inho sighed as he stuck the umbrella over the man’s head to shield him from the worst of the elements.

“I wanted to,” He said, smiling, “my mom would disown me if I didn’t. She sends her well wishes, by the way.”

“Let’s take my car,” Inho decided when Seok-woo pulled open the door to the driver side, “I don’t want to get this fancy thing all covered in mud.” His SUV was parked further up the road. Inho glanced at Seok-woo as they made their way over, “how is she doing? Your mother.”

“Pretty good,” He shrugged, stooping a little to keep his head inside the umbrella. He was taller by a significant amount. Inho passed control of the umbrella over to Seok-woo and took the flowers from him.

“And the rest of the family?” He prompted, unlocking the car with his key fob.

“You mean her American husband and my American step-sister?”

“Yes.”

“He moved them from New York to San Diego, that’s on the west coast,” Cho Seok-woo updated casually, “oh, and Gabriella got into Stanford.”

“That’s a good school,” Inho remarked. He didn’t know much about the U.S. education system, but when Seok-woo had been accepted into the law program at Harvard after SNU, he had looked up the list of school rankings for better understanding. Stanford had been up there at the top.

“It is.”

“They must be very happy.” Inho set the flowers carefully down on the backseat along with the ones he had gotten earlier that morning. Seok-woo didn’t reply. He was scrolling through his phone when Inho got into the driver seat.

“Put on your seatbelt,” he reminded him. Seok-woo did as he was told before going back to his phone again.

“Busy?”

Seok-woo grunted. There was silence for a while as Inho drove out of the city. His mother’s grave was located in the countryside with her side of the family, far away from his father’s resting place. It was better this way, less awkward when his stepmother went to visit him, and Inho liked the privacy of going alone to see her sometimes.

“I sold the condo in Manhattan.”

Inho peered over at Seok-woo. “You’ve decided to stay in Korea long term?”

“For now anyway.”

He wasn’t close with his father even though the man still resided in the area. Cho Seok-woo split his time between New York and Seoul after his parents’ divorce. But both sides had married new partners and gotten new children, and he’d sort of gotten left behind in a sense.

“Good,” Inho said, taking a left turn onto an empty street, “that way I can keep an eye on you.”

“Hyung.”

“What?”

“I’m thirty-three.”

“I know.”

He reminded Inho a little of himself before he got together with Seong Gihun, stuck in that state of perpetual limbo with nothing in particular to look forward to or come home for. Just a solitary cog in the industrial capitalism machine, churning nonstop day and night. Their lives looked shiny and perfect from the outside, but Inho knew how isolating it could feel at times.

“You can always come by,” He added, just in case Cho Seok-woo didn’t understand what he meant, “in fact, you should come back with me tonight. I haven’t introduced you to Gihun yet.”

“You can’t just spring that on me,” Seok-woo frowned, “I didn’t bring anything. And he doesn’t know either.”

“You don't have to bring anything, and I can call and let him know.”

“When are you planning to tell Junho?”

There had always been a weird dynamic between Cho Seok-woo and Hwang Junho. They’d constantly fought for Inho’s attention as children even though they were ten years apart, and as much as Inho loved his baby brother, Seok-woo was the one he trusted more with his personal life. Their mothers had been best friends growing up. He still remembered her at the funeral, seven months pregnant with the guy sitting in his passenger seat, hugging Inho close and comforting him through the worst day of his life. She and Inho were the last few people still keeping his mother’s memories alive.

He tapped his fingers against the leather grip of the steering wheel. “Not anytime soon.”

“Why?”

“He’s…I don’t know,” Inho struggled to find the right words, “Life is good right now. I don’t want to rock the boat.”

And the thought of his stepmother finding out was nerve-racking.

“Does Seong Gihun’s family know?”

“Yes.”

Gihun had confessed to his mother without prompting last week, much to his surprise; and it was all out in the open with Oh Mal-soon now. Nothing had changed. In fact, she doted on Inho even more. He smiled at the memory.

“Eww,” Seok-woo said abruptly. “Don’t do that with your face.”

“What, smile?”

“Yes, it’s creepy.”

“I’m going to kick you out of my car and make you walk back in the rain in those expensive shoes, Cho Seok-woo.”

“He’s so cool,” Kang Daeho sighed dreamily, his cheek in his palm as he looked down at his phone. "And handsome."

Junho didn’t bother glancing up from his computer screen. “Who are you talking about?”

“Seok-woo-ssi.”

“What?”

That name got him to pause.

“We followed each other on Instagram at your mom's last week,” Daeho grinned, “and I’m going golfing with him next Sunday.”

“He invited you to golf?” Junho asked incredulously.

“Yeah.”

He turned his attention back to the report he was filling out. “Pretty sure the bastard’s just trying to get to your four sisters.”

“Why are you like this, hmm?” Daeho asked, kicking his feet up onto the edge of Junho’s desk, “why are you such a little hater, Hwang Junho?”

He shoved his partner’s shoes off the tabletop and turned to scowl at him, “because that’s what he does. He comes in and steals your siblings, Kang Daeho.”

“You’re weirdly obsessed with your brother, man,” Daeho said, side-eyeing him with a funny look on his face. “I think you need therapy. I wasn’t even like this when my favorite sister started dating that really stupid guy with the gold teeth at the tattoo shop a few streets down.”

“Are they still dating?”

Daeho shuddered. “No, thank the heavens above.”

“Let me see his Instagram account,” Junho demanded, snatching Kang Daeho’s phone from his hands before he could stuff it in his pockets. He grimaced as he scanned the photos, “ugh, it’s just thirst traps. Gross.”

There were countless pictures of Cho Seok-woo shirtless, showing off his flawless pecs, or conveniently dripping sweat after a workout. A few shots here and there of beautiful foreign women sprawled in his arms or kissing his cheek, lots of food and beach pics. And then, a more recent photo of two hands holding glasses of scotch together set to a glittering sprawling cityscape of Seoul. It looked like the view from a fancy highrise apartment or five-star hotel room, Junho couldn’t tell which.

First night back in SK, the caption read. Thanks for picking me up at the airport ❤️🥰

Junho frowned. That other hand in the photo looked oddly familiar. He dragged on the image to make it bigger and saw the faint scattering of scars across the knuckles.

It was Inho. He’d recognize Hwang Inho’s hand anywh–

Fuck, maybe Kang Daeho had a point about his unhealthy obsession with his older brother.

Chapter Text

He’d left Junho on read.

Hwang Junho: Cho Seok-woo, approve my follow request

That message had been sent yesterday. He pulled up the dickhead’s Instagram once more. Junho’s request was still pending. Fuck.

Junho switched to Kakao and messaged his older brother: hyung, what’s Cho Seok-woo’s number?

Inho responded almost immediately with a simple: why? What are you planning to do?

Junho spammed a slew of stickers and typed: just give it to me. He added a please at the end to soften his tone.

It’s his old number, Inho wrote back, you should already have it.

Junho fiddled with his contact list for a bit. They hadn’t connected in years, really. His best bet would be in the cloud where he’d dumped everything from his past. But he was surprised when he found Cho Seok-woo already added to his messenger app. His icon, a black and white thirst trap of his bare abdomen, refreshed with the aid of Junho’s 5G mobile data to a photo of–

“Motherfucker,” He said aloud in the convenience store aisle. Cho Seok-woo had replaced it with a picture of them. Junho couldn’t have been more than ten years old in the blurry polaroid, his fat little arms wrapped around Cho Seok-woo’s bigass head, both of them grinning at the camera, pressed cheek-to-cheek. Junho was even missing a tooth.

Had Inho taken that one? He couldn’t recall.

Delete that now, he typed into a new chat between them. Or I will find a way to give you so many parking tickets you will be forced to file for bankruptcy.

So rude and mean, Junho, came the response, followed by a crying rabbit sticker. I’m telling hyung. What's your policeman number, officer?

No, you leave my brother out of this! Junho stomped to checkout and slammed the bottles of soju onto the counter with a scowl. The cashier flinched.

“Sorry,” He said sheepishly as he paid for the items and scurried outside. It had gotten dark and Kang Sae-byeok was already waiting for him across the street, her hands tucked into her loose pants and leaning against an ad-covered lamp post. Pushing Cho Seok-woo out of his head for the moment, Junho waved and crossed over to her.

“You’re really leaving,” He said.

“Yeah, next week,” She shrugged and took a dragging pull on her cheap cigarette. “There’s nothing for us here, and I can’t seem to hold down a job so…”

She offered the lit smoke to him. Junho shook his head.

“Maybe Busan will be better,” Kang Sae-byeok said, “Ji-yeong and I can even plan a little trip to Jeju Island in the spring.”

“Do you have the money for it?” He knew she’d had some run-ins with the local loan sharks in the past. That had been how they’d become friends a few years back. He’d arrested her on theft charges on his very third day of work. Besides two school friends, she was the only person Junho actually hung out with on a regular basis. Everyone else had left Seoul or lost contact with him one way or another over the years.

“No, but we’ll figure it out.”

“You said next week,” He tried to recall his pay schedule, “if you can delay it by a few days, I get my monthly paycheck the Monday after–”

Kang Sae-byeok cut him off by throwing her arms around his neck. Junho hugged her tightly back. She felt like skin and bones under the big jacket, light and frail as a delicate bird. 

“You really shouldn’t put your phone in your back pocket, Officer Hwang,” Kang Sae-byeok said when she withdrew, waggling his device in his face and ducking to quickly wipe at her eyes.

“Who’s Cho Seok-woo?” She asked when his screen lit up.

“A pain in my ass,” Junho sighed, swallowing the contents of his bottle of soju. He preferred the lychee flavored one over Kang Sae-byeok’s favorite melon.

“Why’s he sending over baby photos of you?”

“Hey!”

They tussled for his phone, Junho almost slipping off the narrow concrete ledge they were sitting on in his haste. Kang Sae-byeok finally took pity on him and gave it back.

“I don’t want you to go,” He admitted.

“I know,” She said, scooting over and laying her head on his shoulder, “but this won’t be the last time we see each other.”

“Do you promise?" 

"Yes," She held out a pinky, "let's shake on it." 

Cho Seok-woo had approved his follow request on Instagram when he got out of the shower and checked his phone that evening. He didn’t follow Junho back though.

Hwang Junho: follow me back

He toweled his hair semi-dry and changed into his sleeping shirt. Junho checked his phone again. The bastard had left him on read again.

Hwang Junho: Cho Seok-woo follow me back!! I know you can see my messages

He got the “seen” label a third time.

Junho ground his teeth and typed: hyung, please follow me back

An almost instant response from Cho Seok-woo: k ❤️

“Gaesaekki,” he muttered under his breath.

Junho was still feeling woozy from the sheer amount of soju he and Kang Sae-byeok downed earlier that evening. He flopped onto his bed and went back to stalking Cho Seok-woo’s account. He’d shared golfing photos with Kang Daeho and gotten an onslaught of thirsty face or fire emojis in the comments. Junho posted three poops just to spice things up.

He switched over to Kakao and dialed Cho Seok-woo. He didn’t pick up.

Hwang Junho: pick up

He tried again.

Hwang Junho: pick uppp

Cho Seok-woo finally did on his third try.

“Junho, I’m working,” He said.

“But it’s like 10:30 at night,” Junho exclaimed.

“It’s morning in the US."

 Junho could hear him typing. There was also a woman’s muffled voice over the line. Cho Seok-woo murmured something back. The click of a door swinging shut and silence fell.

“Who’s that?” Junho asked, rubbing at his tired eyes. His head hurt.

“My secretary,” Cho Seok-woo replied absently, “she’s taking dinner orders. I just got out of a three-hour meeting.”

“What did you get?”

“Chicken and a salad.”

“That sounds gross.”

“I’m getting old, Junho,” He said, “I have to be careful what I eat.”

“You're like thirty.” Junho scoffed, “that’s not old. And you still have perfect abs.”

“Do I?” There was faint laughter in Cho Seok-woo’s voice now, “thank you for that sweet compliment.”

“I hate it,” He dangled his legs over the edge of the bed and closed his eyes, “I used to be so jealous. But not anymore."

"Oh?"

"I have better muscle definition than you now," He said smugly, smiling to himself and rubbing a palm over his shirt-covered stomach. Junho went to the gym religiously, even more than his mother with church.

There was more typing on Cho Seok-woo’s side. He heard the sound of an email being sent and the distant shuffle of papers as the printer kicked to life.

"Don’t believe me?" He didn’t know why he asked that.

"I’ll show you next time." Junho didn’t know why he said that either. He could feel his heartbeat pulsing in his brain and behind his eyes. The hand on Junho’s stomach trailed up to his face. It felt hot to the touch.

“Junho,” Cho Seok-woo finally said, “are you drunk?”

He didn’t sound offended at Junho’s lack of manners. His tone was still casual and light, like they were discussing the weather. Come to think of it, Cho Seok-woo tolerated a lot of shit from him. Junho rolled over onto his side and kicked his duvet off the bed. He tucked the phone against his cheek and curled both arms around his pillow.

“Yeah,” He admitted. There was silence between them for a while, the soft clicks of Cho Seok-woo’s mouse the only sound in the background.

“What are you doing?” Junho asked.

“Reviewing documents and answering emails,” came the reply. “It’s getting late, you should go to sleep.”

“Is this what it feels like…?” He yawned, jaw cracking.

“Mmm?”

Junho buried his face into his soft cotton sheets and sighed contemplatively, “you know, housewives waiting for their busy husbands to come home...”

There was a quiet laugh on the other side.

“Should I record this and play it back to you when you’re sober tomorrow?” Cho Seok-woo murmured, “wife?”

“Don’t,” Junho whined, flopping fully face-down onto the bed now. The residual buzz from the alcohol was making him do and say weird things. Bold things. Things he usually would not have said. “Hyung.”

“Yes, Junho?”

“My friend’s moving away. She was one of the only ones left.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“And I miss my brother,” He confessed into his bedsheet, chest aching with a hollow expanding something that took his breath away, “I miss when he would come pick me up from school and we’d get ice cream on the walk back.” Junho could almost taste the phantom memory, one small hand gripped tightly in his older brother’s and his bright yellow backpack slung over Inho’s shoulder, “and it would rain in the summer, remember? Just days on end. It’d stretch into weeks. You used to come over and play with me. I miss that, too.”

“You’re not six anymore.”

“I know,” He said sadly, “it just feels like everyone’s moved on, and I’m the only one left in the playground with no one coming to take me home.”

“That’s part of growing up,” Cho Seok-woo sighed, an edge of frustration bleeding into his smooth voice, “and you really shouldn’t drink like this anymore. It’s bad for Inho’s kidney and my sanity.”

“Cho Seok-woo,” He called out over the phone.

“Hwang Junho,” His brother’s friend replied.

“Do you like Inho?” Junho asked.

There was a quiet choke on the other end. “What?”

“I don’t want you to like him,” He said. He’s my brother. He should be with someone who’s…

“Junho, you know,” Cho Seok-woo cleared his throat, “men can like men. That’s a thing that happens.”

“I know, but…” Junho had lost his train of thought.

“Do you not want Inho to be happy?” Cho Seok-woo prompted him.

“I do,” He argued, yawning once more, “it’s just, it can’t be you, ok?”

“Why?” He sounded like he was trying hard not to laugh.

“Because,” Junho frowned.

He didn’t know why the idea bothered him so much. They were both such pivotal figures from his childhood. It felt…wrong to think Hwang Inho would fall in love with Cho Seok-woo. He tried to imagine his stoic police chief brother kissing Cho Seok-woo and almost heaved up the remaining soju swirling around in his stomach.

“Because it would be gross,” Junho decided, “and I would be all alone. I don’t want that. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“So if it were another guy, that’s fine?” Cho Seok-woo tested.

“But I want a sister-in-law. She would be so nice to me,” Junho sighed, smiling at the thought, “and cute nieces and nephews. You know, Inho would be a great husband and father.” He made a face and added, “unlike you.”

“Ouch.”

A phone rang in Cho Seok-woo’s office. He groaned.

“I have to go,” he said, sounding a little apologetic, “you should get some rest. Sleep this off.”

“Ok, goodnight, hyung,” He mumbled back, “don’t work too hard.”

“Goodnight, Junho.”

“Junho.”

It was Hwang Inho calling him. Junho was standing in a hospital corridor in his patrol uniform and reflective vest. He followed the sound of his brother’s voice and entered one of the private rooms.

There was a bed. Inho reclined in the bed with a brightly colored bundle of something cradled to his chest. He was wearing one of those gowns with the really high slit birthing mothers wore. Cho Seok-woo stood next to him, in his usual black suit and tie, dabbing at his eyes with a crumpled tissue.

“Come meet your new niece,” His brother beckoned expressionlessly.

“My new…what?”

Something was moving in the…was that the long corgi hand towel from his brother’s kitchen wrapped around…? He could hear crying infant noises coming from the hand towel.

Mesmerized and unable to stop his legs from moving, Junho walked up to the strange duo and peered down at–

Junho bolted upright so hard he fell entirely off his bed. Tears sprung into his eyes. His head was throbbing. And Junho’s knee, fuck, he’d slammed his knee on the hardwood floor in his haste to run away from the weird baby with Kang Daeho’s face that Hwang Inho had been holding in his unhinged nightmare. His stomach twisted as cold sweat itched up along the skin of his neck.

It was morning. Soft sunlight seeped in from the gaps in the curtains over his bedroom window. Junho doubled over and vomited all across his bedroom floor like an old sickly cat.

After he apologized to his mother for drinking too much, thoroughly mopping his floor clean and taking another shower, Junho checked his phone. It was seven-thirty-five, a cool fifteen degrees celsius outside. There was a new message from Cho Seok-woo.

Good morning, wife. ❤️ How’s the hangover? It read.

And memories of last night’s conversation all came crashing back.

Fuck, Junho thought, biting down on his knuckles and sweating for a whole other reason. I am so unbelievably fucked.

Chapter Text

“Hwang Junho.”

He looked up from his phone and saw a middle aged man in a wrinkled black suit smoking a cigarette, leather briefcase tucked under his left arm. Junho blinked.

“Senior Prosecutor Kim,” He bowed his head in greeting.

“You smoke?” The man shook a half empty carton of cigarettes at him. Junho didn’t, but he took one just for politeness sake and leaned in to ignite the tip on the man’s lighter with a quiet ‘thank you, sir.’

They stood side by side on the steps of the police station, watching sheets of rain pour from the gray sky. A wet breeze swept through, spraying little droplets of damp over Junho’s face. He took a pull on the cigarette and grimaced at the taste. It was the expensive kind but he never quite got the hype around nicotine.

“What year are you now?”

“It will be two at the end of December, sir,” Junho supplied helpfully.

“You planning on applying for a promotion?”

He nodded. Whether they would approve his request was a whole other question. Junho’s mentor had pushed for it a few times, but Inho, or the Chief Superintendent General himself, seemed determined to have him writing parking tickets and dealing with minor inconveniences in the neighborhood until the end of time.

“Tough day to be out patrolling,” Senior Prosecutor Kim commented, exhaling a mouthful of smoke. “Your brother upped the number of policemen around the courthouse.”

“There were some small riots in the area.”

“Protests from civilians?”

“Yeah,” Junho confirmed. It was a high-profile case.

“Victims’ families.”

“I…I’m not sure.”

“I was surprised SCG Hwang assigned additional officers to protect the defendant’s legal team,” Senior Prosecutor Kim said, eyeing Junho’s face, “considering that your father’s old company was one of countless businesses affected.”

“What?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t know. That part’s not confidential information. The embezzlement activities span over two decades. They destroyed a lot of lives, Junho. He’s not the only man that committed suicide because of the mountains of debt that sprung up almost overnight.”

That casual comment was a hard slap to the face. He and Inho didn’t talk about their father’s suicide. Junho flinched, the lit cigarette slipping from stiff fingers to land beside his boot.

“But then, I did a little more digging,” Senior Prosecutor Kim continued, “and apparently the media darling that’s been plastered all over the news recently is your brother’s close childhood friend. Attorney Cho? Good looking guy, should have gone into the entertainment industry instead of this.”

Junho had seen the avalanche of articles that had poured forth from gossip sites, social media and national outlets. They’d captured a photo of Cho Seok-woo coming out of the courthouse with the older litigation partners at his law firm, head bowed and strikingly handsome despite part of his face being obscured behind someone’s shoulder, and decided to use that image for all the posts reporting on the case. Safe to say, half the country had looked him up on the internet in the past few days. Even Kang Sae-byeok’s girlfriend had sent Junho an article detailing Cho Seok-woo’s academic background. But he hadn’t contacted the man since his shameful drunken fuck-up last week.

He frowned. “Sir, what are you saying?”

“The family he’s representing is pure evil. You don’t get this rich by being kind or compassionate, and their lawyers certainly aren’t operating for the good of the people.”

“Attorney Cho is just one member of the defense team,” Junho found himself protesting automatically, “you can’t pin his client’s actions on him.”

“No, I can’t,” Senior Prosecutor Kim agreed, flicking his cigarette butt into the rain, “but our confidential informants have been dropping like flies. Four out of the five that were scheduled to testify this week are dead. The managing head of the US subsidiary for the corporation is missing as well.”

“Are you suggesting…” Junho could feel his face going hot. “My brother would never–”

“Maybe not,” Kim murmured, his expression grim, “but there’s a leak somewhere. I’ve been in this line of work for over thirty years. People dying like this is not a coincidence. And this concentrated effort to shift media focus from the defendants to a hot young thing like Attorney Cho? Feels orchestrated at least.” He pulled out a card from the breast pocket of his suit and held it out to Junho between index and middle finger. “I hope you can give me a call if you come across anything.”

“Of course.” Junho took it carefully with both hands.

“Junho, roll call’s happening in two minutes,” Kang Daeho’s head popped out from the entrance of the precinct. Another cold gust of wind swept over them. Junho shivered.

“Go do your job, Officer Hwang,” Senior Prosecutor Kim flapped a dismissive hand his way and lit another cigarette between his cupped palms.

So Junho went.

His patrol route for the third day of the hearings was in his brother’s neighborhood. Inho lived a mere fifteen minute walk from the courthouse where the trial was taking place. Junho could even see his brother’s front door from the street, and as he puttered about trying to figure out where to grab food for the day, a familiar gangly man slipped out from Hwang Inho’s apartment. He watched as Seong Gihun threw a ratty baseball hat over his head and turned to lock the door. Then, whistling under his breath and swinging the keys around his index finger, the man took the steps down to where Junho was standing in his uniform.

“O-o-officer Hwang,” Seong Gihun stammered when he unexpectedly caught sight of Junho, backpedaling so hard he almost fell into the decorative bushes. Junho snagged him by the front of his gray sweater and dragged Seong Gihun back onto the sidewalk.

“Why do you have keys to my brother’s apartment?” He went straight to the point.

“Oh, these?” Seong Gihun lifted the key chain in his left hand. There was a tiny plastic Pikachu hanging there. It had been a gift from Junho. “Ah, I uh, Hwang Inho-ssi asked me to see if he left the stove on this morning. He couldn’t remember if he turned it off or not.”

“Really?” Junho had seen his brother at the roll call that morning. He didn’t look like a man that had been worried about his apartment burning down because of an unattended stovetop. “Did you drop by the station for his keys? That’s awfully kind of you.”

“I have a set,” Seong Gihun said, noticing Junho’s attention on the Pikachu, “he gave me a copy. He has extra keys to my place as well. Just in case we accidentally get locked out or something.”

“Huh.”

Junho didn’t even have keys to Inho’s place, and he was the actual brother. He made a mental note to confront Hwang Inho at length about this later, preferably after the trial ended.

Seong Gihun cleared his throat. “Why are you in the area, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“This is my patrol route today, officers are being staffed in the area due to the criminal trial taking place this week,” Junho explained, checking his watch, “I’m trying to figure out where to get lunch.”

“Oh, would you like to come by Usagi’s? I’m about to head over for my shift,” He said brightly, “Hyunju, she’s the owner, recently debuted a bunch of different sandwiches for the cafe. They are very good.”

“You work there?” Inho had brought in more sweets to the police station from there. Junho hadn’t found the time to drop by himself.

“Yeah, I started recently,” He said, smiling.

“What did you do before?” Junho asked conversationally as they fell into step next to one another.

“Random things,” Seong Gihun admitted. He fiddled absently with a sleeve as they walked, “I’m not very good at holding down a job. I’m trying to, though.”

“That’s good,” Junho said.

“Do you like what you do, Officer Hwang?”

“Most days, yes,” He conceded, “there are times where I question my orders, but I’m fortunate to have my brother looking out for me. I want to be a fair and just policeman, like him.”

“He’s a good man.” Seong Gihun nodded in agreement.

There was a small girl loitering by the entrance of the cafe/bakery when Junho and Seong Gihun walked up the steps. She reached out both arms to him and Junho watched as Seong Gihun let out an exaggerated cry of delight and snatched the child up into the air. They nuzzled each other, her tiny fat fingers tangling in his hair and pushing the cap off of Seong Gihun’s head.

“Nayeon,” He cooed, eyes crinkling with joy.

“Bunny,” She giggled as Junho bent and picked the hat up for him.

“Thank goodness you are here,” A giant woman, or Junho thought she was a woman, came bustling out, her hair pulled into a messy bun, “I need to go pick up the supplies. The riot police blocked off all the major streets, and the grocers can’t get through for the rest of the week. Could you handle the shop and Nayeon while we’re out? She’s already had lunch.” She cupped the baby’s cheek, “be good with Gihun-ssi and…”

She turned to Junho.

“Oh, that’s Officer Hwang,” Seong Gihun supplied hurriedly. “Hwang Junho.”

“Are you by chance Inho's brother?”

Junho nodded.

“Cho Hyunju,” The tall woman introduced, “I’ve heard a lot about you from him, Officer Hwang. He very much enjoys certain selections we have to offer.”

She elbowed Seong Gihun and he flushed bright red for some reason.

“What does he usually order?” Junho asked, walking over to the bright display. There was so much to choose from.

“Try the fried chicken sandwich if you are looking for a lunch option,” Cho Hyunju suggested as she strode out of the shop, “I got the chicken recipe from Gihun-ssi.”

“This is really good,” Junho said when he bit down on the warm crispy chicken sandwich that Seong Gihun set in front of him.

“I used to own a little restaurant of sorts,” He admitted.

“Was it a fried chicken place?” Junho guessed, putting a hand over his mouth as he chewed. Inho usually made him swallow before speaking when he was a child, but he wasn’t here to police Junho’s manners at the moment.

Seong Gihun nodded. “Yeah, it was my first business.”

“What happened to it?”

“It closed down,” He said, suddenly looking a little embarrassed and breaking eye contact. “Turns out, giving out a bunch of free food is not great for making ends meet.” He exhaled quietly and rubbed a hand over his jaw, “I, uh, borrowed money from some bad people to try and save it, but it didn't work out in the end.”

“You are very kind,” Junho said after struggling to find appropriate words. Seong Gihun laughed.

“More like stupid, or kind to a fault,” He said sheepishly, “that’s what my ex-wife used to say.”

“And what does your girlfriend say?” He remembered Seong Gihun mentioning being in a relationship.

“Ah,” Seong Gihun’s face twitched, his blush resurfacing, “she told me that was what she loved the most about me.”

Junho gave him an encouraging smile, “you’re with the right person now.”

He smiled back, “I think so, too.”

Junho swallowed the food in his mouth, wiped his palms clean, and got up. Seong Gihun stared in alarm as he swung into a deep bow.

“I’m so sorry for mistaking you for a prostitute and arresting you, Seong Gihun-ssi,” Junho confessed in a rush of words, “please accept my sincerest apology.”

“All’s forgiven, Officer Hwang,” He hurriedly rose to his feet and took Junho’s hands in his, “really, no need to apologize. You were just doing your job.”

“Please call me Junho,” Junho said when he sat back down once more.

“Junho-ssi,” Seong Gihun repeated, smiling. “And you can call me whatever you want.”

“I’ll have to come by more often,” Junho promised, gesturing down at his half-finished sandwich, “I love this, hyung.”

“And I’ll try my best not to give you too much free food.”

Chapter Text

“Coffee?” Gihun asked.

“Black, no sugar or milk, please,” Cho Seok-woo said. He was standing by the hallway mirror, carefully fixing a curl of hair over his head, the navy and silver tie he had planned for the day hanging loose around his neck. He’d opted for a bolder suit that day — a subtle narrow pinstripe pattern over charcoal black.

“Would you like to try the egg tarts I made?” Gihun prompted, “I’m learning to bake from Hyunju.”

“No thanks,” He said lazily, not looking away from his reflection. Seok-woo ran a hand over his jaw and grabbed the ends of the tie, “I don’t consume processed sugar.”

“Oh.”

He finally turned then, eyes falling to the half-eaten egg tart in Inho’s hand. His gaze flickered quickly between Gihun and Inho. “Ah, Gihun-ssi, I meant…”

Inho watched with some detached amusement as he tried to come up with an excuse on the spot.

“I don’t have hyung’s genetics or metabolism,” Seok-woo gestured to Inho with a saccharine smile, “one bite of that amazing looking thing and I’ll never fit in these tailored pants again, and Hwang Junho, that cruel boy is going to laugh his ass off.” He unwrapped the tie around his neck and casually tacked on at the end, “I’m also pre-diabetic, so you’ll have to forgive me for not indulging.”

“Oh no, you poor thing,” Gihun said, trusting to a fault and immediately believing every single lie that just came out of his mouth.

“Here, let me,” Inho muttered, dusting his fingers off on the edge of his shirt and rising from his seat. He slapped Seok-woo’s hands away from his collar and took over with the windsor knot.

“Jagiya, how was this batch?” Gihun called from the kitchen.

“Delicious,” Inho informed him, looping one end of Cho Seok-woo’s tie over the other, “best ones so far.”

“Really?” Seok-woo murmured between them.

“No, the bottom is completely raw, but he somehow burnt the top. And he’s not getting any better,” Inho disclosed in a low monotone. “I’m afraid baking is not one of Seong Gihun’s many talents.”

“You ate like three.”

“I have a problem,” Inho admitted.

“Hyung, I just threw up a little in my mouth from how cute that was.”

Inho pulled the knot tight around his neck. Seok-woo choked.

“Sorry,” He said, not actually apologetic, and fixed the tie so that it sat flush against Seok-woo’s crisp white shirt. He ran his gaze over him and commented, “you look good.”

“Thanks, I’m giving closing statements today,” Seok-woo gave him a half smile. He looked tired, if Inho were to be honest. Sleeping on their couch had probably contributed to the bruised shadows under his eyes, but he’d been preparing for the last day of trial when Inho got home around two in the morning so he doubted the man actually got any rest either. “And thanks for letting me crash here last night.”

Despite the number of officers patrolling the area, an angry civilian outside the courthouse had slashed the car tires of one of Cho Seok-woo’s older colleagues and spray painted the windows with curse words. Inho didn’t want him spending the evening alone after that unpleasant incident.

“Thank Gihun,” Inho yawned, “I was barely here.”

“Gihun-ssi, thank you for being such a gracious host last night,” Seok-woo said sweetly to Gihun when he shuffled back out with fresh coffee for both of them.

“You really don’t want breakfast? Hot bean juice is not the way to start a long day of hard lawyering, Attorney Cho,” Gihun said, circling over to Inho. He felt Gihun’s hand in his hair as he tried to push down the rebellious strand that stuck out in the back. Inho had gone to bed with hair still damp from the shower and woke up looking like a small bomb had exploded over his head this morning.

“No, it’ll make me sluggish,” Seok-woo said, checking his phone, “I need to be sharp for this part.” He smiled when Gihun brushed the hair off of Inho’s forehead and pinched the strands into a small pigtail between his fingers. “You two are disgustingly domestic. Please adopt me. I can handle the paperwork.”

“I’d rather not,” Inho said flatly, “dealing with one whiny manchild is more than enough.”

“Hey!” Gihun pinched his ear. Seok-woo laughed.

“Judge Lee is making his decision today?” Inho asked.

He took a sip of coffee. “If it all goes accordingly, then yes.”

“You must be relieved it will be all over soon,” Gihun commented, absently rubbing Inho’s shoulders with his palms.

“There’s always more work and the next big case,” Seok-woo lowered his gaze to the table, “I would like to make partner before I’m thirty-five.”

Inho frowned. “That’s…”

“My old man did it by thirty-five.”

“Yes, thirty years ago at a much smaller firm.”

“You think I can’t do it?”

“That’s not what I said,” Inho looked him in the eyes, “I just don’t think you should kill yourself over this to prove a point.”

“You’re already the most impressive person I know,” Gihun added behind Inho, sounding a bit concerned.

Seok-woo’s lips curled up, “even more than hyung?”

Inho and Gihun turned to look at each other.

“Much more impressive,” Gihun said seriously, making Seok-woo laugh again.

“Well, you have his vote of confidence at least,” Inho said drily.

Seok-woo lifted an eyebrow at him. “Not threatened by my impressiveness, hyung?”

“No, I prefer you over the other SNU guy he keeps talking about.”

“Oh, come on,” Gihun huffed, turning red, “I only mentioned Sangwoo once!”

Inho drank some of his coffee. “If by once, you mean roughly six times a week, then yes, you’ve only mentioned him once in the three years we’ve been together.”

“Gihun-ssi, someone’s jealous,” Seok-woo observed.

“Not this guy,” Gihun let out an exaggerated gasp and ruffled the hair on Inho’s head. “It can’t be.”

“So who is this Sangwoo?”

Inho glared at him, “don’t you dare get him started.”

“Taro soft serve?” Seong Gihun breezed by with two small cups of something in his hand. He’d stuck a pink and green plastic spoon on top of each.

“Ah, really?” Kang Daeho moaned happily and accepted one of the ice cream samples with his oily-ass hands. Junho threw a few napkins at his face and took the other with a quiet “thank you” to the man.

“I’m gonna stay,” Daeho said, “I’m never leaving this place. I’ll live in Hyunju’s dishwasher or something.”

“Tell me if you want more,” Seong Gihun said, eyes crinkling as he smiled at them.

Junho was quickly starting to understand why the students in the area liked coming to Usagi so much. His six-pack was already suffering the negative effects of prolonged exposure to the people that ran the place. Cho Hyunju mothered the kids nonstop and Seong Gihun kept handing out random samples of stuff to anyone that made eye contact.

“Nayeon, would you like to try?” Junho scraped a small chunk of the taro ice cream onto his little spoon and offered it to the baby scribbling on a piece of paper with her packet of water markers scattered all over the table. Daeho grabbed the green one that was dangerously close to rolling off the edge and stuck it back inside the plastic pack.

She ate some of Junho’s offerings and went back to work. He tried a bite. It was Hyunju’s newest creation. It was super creamy and there were little chunks of real taro inside.

“What color next?” Daeho prompted when she looked up.

“Black.”

He handed the black one over to the little girl and popped the last bite of his sandwich into his gaping maw. Kang Daeho chewed like an industrial trash compactor, his cheeks extended to outrageous proportions. Junho tore his gaze from the disgusting sight and peered over at Nayeon’s masterpiece.

“What are you drawing?” He asked. There were two blobs on the page – one pink and the other a squarish thing in black.

“Heh,” Daeho chuckled, pointing to the black one, “that looks like the chief.”

It kind of did. The thing even had Hwang Inho’s massive eye bags and stiff frown lines around the flat slit that Junho guessed was its mouth. She was fantastic at capturing key features in a picasso-esque way at the tender age of two years and ten months. There was also a crooked heart between the two misshapen creatures.

“They kiss,” Nayeon explained, looking up at Junho.

He blinked. “Who?”

“Bunny,” Nayeon said, pointing to the flesh-colored lumpy thing on the left and then the other pitch-black one, “appa.”

“Your dad, huh?” Junho exchanged a glance with Kang Daeho.

He’d have to be blind not to notice the way Park Gyeong-seok looked at Cho Hyunju, and she had been greeting guests in the weird pink rabbit mascot suit earlier when Junho came in for his lunch break. It was the last day of trial and he would be back to his regular duties come Monday. He was going to miss going to the cute cafe/bakery every day and seeing their familiar faces.

Daeho burped. “Still looks like the chief to me, man.”

Junho’s phone buzzed and he got to his feet with a quiet groan. They had to be back by the courthouse with the riot police officers in twenty minutes. Protesters had already been gathering in the area since that morning and he had gotten yelled at by a few onlookers when he walked by with Kang Daeho at his side. And the reporters, god, they were even more insufferable.

The verdict came down mid-afternoon and Junho, being where he was further down the street, only caught a glimpse of the sea of flashing camera lights as the defendants came down the steps with their bodyguards and legal team. He pulled out his phone and saw the notification headline that all charges had been dismissed. A murmur of noise swept through the crowd and he caught Kang Daeho’s eye across the way.

He didn’t know why, but something felt off.

A man wearing a black baseball cap low over his eyes was weaving his way closer to the group of people under the spotlight. Junho saw Cho Seok-woo, who was easily taller than the rest of his coworkers, bend to speak to a young woman at his side. Junho shoved a few onlookers out of his way and vaulted over the temporary road blocks. The man was fast approaching the group and–

A woman yelped as Junho pushed past her and grabbed the guy’s forearm.

He twisted around. “What the fu–”

A shot rang out. For a moment, there was only confusion. Then, someone screamed and the crowd panicked as one. An elbow slammed into his shoulder. He ducked to avoid the next flailing limb and shoved forward. Other officers were moving at the edges of his vision, but all Junho could focus on was his brother’s childhood friend standing in the center of the chaos.

A knife swung out of nowhere. Junho caught the woman’s wrist before it could meet its mark and she twisted to kick at his crotch. It caught him in the knee and hot pain lanced through Junho’s leg. Seok-woo swung his heavy leather briefcase at the back of her head and dragged Junho over to him by the front of his uniform. The shoulder of his expensive tailored suit had torn through in the scuffle and his tie was askew. One of the nearby bodyguards was clutching his arm, droplets of red dripping from his fingers.

There was more than one attacker, he realized just as the man with the baseball cap reappeared. His swinging attempt to stab the people behind Junho was much more difficult to block. Junho caught the blade with a gloved hand and cried out when the sharp edge bit through the thick fabric and sliced into the flesh of his palm. Seok-woo sent the man stumbling with a kick to the stomach. His female colleague was screaming for help and when Junho turned, he was relieved to see a team of SWAT police in full gear descending upon the chaotic scene.

“Are you ok?” He yelled at Seok-woo. His suit was totally ruined. There was no way they’d be able to salvage–

“Junho,” He was staring at something lower, eyes wide and face ashen. He felt Seok-woo’s large hands on his face. They were trembling.

“Junho,” He said again, voice cracking, and Junho followed his gaze and looked down.

There was something sticking out of his abdomen. Red was rapidly starting to seep through the thick white fabric of his uniform. He hadn’t felt the pain of getting stabbed. The adrenaline must have overridden everything else.

“Oh,” Junho said, “that’s not good.”

“I brought you a fresh set of clothes.” That was Hwang Inho’s voice.

Junho tried to open his eyelids but it felt as if someone had glued them shut. His mouth was bone dry, too.

“Hyung, that’s really not the priority right now,” Seok-woo said tightly.

“You’re covered in blood, Seok-woo-ssi…”

Huh, that was not someone Junho had expected to show up.

“Please,” Seong Gihun said, “Junho’s out of surgery. We’re all waiting for him to wake up. You don’t want to scare him when he does, do you?”

“Fine,” Seok-woo finally agreed after a pause. Junho heard the sound of rustling fabric and then him asking, “satisfied?”

“Thank you,” That was his older brother again, “put it in this evidence bag.”

“Did you tell your mom?”

“I was planning to take Gihun home first. And then drive over to pick her up. I'll tell her in person. Gihun wants to stay with Junho but now’s not really the time to bring my shit into the mix.”

“Probably best to do one thing at a time, or she might end up getting hospitalized, too,” Seok-woo agreed. “I’ll stay.”

“Ok,” Inho sighed, “text us if he wakes up.”

Junho heard footsteps approach the bed and felt a warm dry hand brush his hair back. Hwang Inho hadn’t kissed him on the forehead since he turned twelve, but he did so now, almost a whole twelve years later. Junho tried his hardest to open his eyes. A soft thumb trailed over his cheek.

“I hoped I’d never have to see him in the hospital again,” Inho said, his voice rough. His older brother sniffed. “This kid is just so…”

“Jagiya,” Seong Gihun said, "Junho's going to be ok." 

“Right,” Inho exhaled shakily and took his hand back, “let’s go.”

Junho flitted in and out of consciousness for a while, bits and pieces of things happening around him managing to penetrate the drug-induced fog. His mother came and went. She was old and couldn’t take the stress of staying in the hospital room with him for long periods of time. Seong Gihun came by again, accompanied by a tearful Kang Daeho who Junho suspected ate his hospital food while the rest of them were talking.

When he finally opened his eyes, it was morning, and sunlight pooled like water in the sheets over Junho’s legs. He was connected to a bunch of IVs and tubes, and there was a man awkwardly curled up on the chair by his bedside, his fingers tangled loosely in Junho’s. There was at least two days worth of stubble growing over Cho Seok-woo’s perfect jaw.

“Hyung,” Junho tried to say. It came out as a wheezing puff of sour air. His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cobwebs and sand. Junho ran his index finger over the back of Seok-woo’s hand and he stirred awake, rubbing at his back with a wince of discomfort as he sat up straight.

Junho watched him scrub a hand over his tired face and yawn. Then, their eyes met and his brother’s friend shot to his feet.

“Junho!”

Junho finally pried his mouth apart and said, “could I have some water?”

"Sure," He helped Junho up and fed a straw between his lips. “Anything else?” 

“Yeah,” Junho reached over and rubbed a fascinated thumb through the stubble on his chin, “you look stupid with a beard.” 

Seok-woo’s face sped through a range of emotions, finally settling on peaceful indifference. 

“On account of you heroically getting stabbed to protect me,” He said, closing his eyes as if he was praying for strength from god himself, “I’ll let you get away with that hurtful comment, Junho.” 

"Heh." 

“How are you feeling?” Seok-woo asked him, graciously allowing Junho to run his hand over the prickly texture on his lower face.

“Like I’m on a lot of drugs,” He admitted. 

“That would be an accurate description.” 

Junho suddenly remembered something. “Is Inho’s kidney still ok?” 

“His kidney’s fine,” Seok-woo bit his lip and said quietly, “you almost bled to death through the hole in your abdomen. My hand kept slipping in all the–” 

Junho interrupted him. “I didn’t, though.” 

“Right, sorry.” 

“Did you at least get to see my beautiful abs?” He asked after a bit of silence between them. "It's my best feature." 

“What?” 

“When you were carrying me to the ambulance like in the dramas, oppa,” Junho said, laying it on thick just to annoy him. 

“Junho–” 

“Here, I’ll show you,” He lifted his hospital gown and blinked down at the thick bandages around his torso, “oh.” 

“No, no, I did see,” Seok-woo groaned, looking pained, “they were the best. Way better than mine. Please lay back down before you rip your stitches.” 

“But I didn’t get to compare yours against mine,” Junho said, “you can’t give me a win out of pity.” 

“Junho,” Seok-woo caught his wrist when he tried to cop a feel, “you’re high as fuck right now. You have no idea what you’re doing.” 

“Yes I do,” He insisted and stuck his hand up the man’s sweatshirt. There was warm skin over firm muscle underneath. It was very impressive for someone over the age of thirty working the crazy amount of hours Seok-woo did every week. Junho sighed, a little enviously.

“That’s really nice,” He said, rubbing his palm all over Seok-woo’s taut stomach. 

“Is it?” He asked drily, letting Junho. 

“Yeah, I hate it," Junho confirmed. 

“Ok.”

“By the way, is Gihun-ssi my brother’s lady friend?”

Chapter Text

Junho’s phone buzzed on the small table beside the hospital bed. He reached over, wincing at the itchy pull of his healing wounds, and managed to grab his device with the fingers on his good hand. The other was still bandaged up from the knife attack.

It was Kang Daeho, and he had sent over a photo in their private chat with: plz Junho I’ll be the best uncle 😭😭😭

What the hell was he on about?

Junho clicked on the attachment, waited for it to fully load under the shitty hospital wifi, and felt his face go hot when he saw the contents. It was a screenshot of Daeho’s Kakao chat with Seok-woo. That crazy asshole had sent a smiling selfie with Junho passed out in his hospital bed in the background, mouth hanging open in the most unflattering way possible. Seok-woo had placed a bunched-up sweater in Junho’s arms, a large tangerine from the fruit basket sent by Junho’s work colleagues used to cosplay the fake baby’s head. Junho had a feeling it was the same tangerine that Seok-woo had peeled for him earlier that afternoon.

The text caption read: mom and child are both doing well ❤️

Kang Daeho had replied with: this is huge. congratulations on becoming a father, hyung 🥳

Cho Seok-woo: thank you Daeho 🫶🏻🥹

As soon as I get out of here, I’m going to run you both over with a car, Junho typed to his partner as the other guy he planned to murder came walking into the room with the on-call nurse to change his soiled bandages. He had opted to stay with Junho the past few days while he was in the hospital. Seok-woo’s pretty secretary had come by earlier in the week with his work laptop and fresh flowers.

Oh, and he had flirted his way through the complete roster of female doctors and nurses on Junho’s floor. If Junho heard one more “oppa” he was going to throw up.

“How are you feeling?” Seok-woo sat down in his usual chair beside Junho’s bed when the young woman, blushing and sneaking glances at him, finally exited the room. He was wearing a SNU blue hoodie today and no gel in his hair. It made him look younger, less like a ruthless asshole attorney and more of the guy Junho had grown up fighting with.

“It hurts,” Junho said.

“Where?” Seok-woo immediately rose to his feet, “want me to call her back in?”

Junho threw the half-dried tangerine peel at his stupidly concerned face and said, “can’t believe you made me eat our child, hyung.”

“Junho,” He groaned, bending to pick up the litter, “it’s not fun if you play along.”

“I know,” Junho said, “you’re not supposed to be having fun, gaesaekki.”

The TV mounted on the wall opposite his bed was still covering the incident outside of the courthouse. Seok-woo moved to grab the remote control and switch the channel but Junho stopped him.

“It’s ok,” He said.

Inho had probably pulled some strings to keep Junho’s identity a secret. He was just an unnamed police officer that had gotten injured during the small riot. There hadn’t been any casualties, but the assailants had all been arrested and charged.

“So your clients just get to walk after ruining all those lives?”

They hadn’t talked about this, especially in light of what Senior Prosecutor Kim had shared with Junho.

“Not quite,” Seok-woo said, “there may still be an appeals process if the prosecution decides not to drop their investigation, but we’ll be ready when that happens.”

“How do you do it?” Junho asked, still watching the news report, “how do you go up there and defend something that’s so objectively horrible?”

“Someone has to,” Seok-woo shrugged.

Junho frowned at his flippant attitude. “But it doesn’t necessarily have to be you.”

“Do you think that makes me a bad person?”

Junho finally turned off the TV and met his gaze. “No.”

“Why not?” Seok-woo asked.

“Because I know you,” Junho insisted, “I’ve known you since I was a child.”

He smiled at that. It looked vaguely condescending.

“Am I wrong?” Junho asked. He was starting to feel annoyed, and underneath that, a layer of discomfort that he didn’t want to examine too closely, at least not now.

“Oh Hwang Junho,” Seok-woo chuckled, the quiet sound getting stuck halfway up his chest. “What am I to do with you?”

He reached over and wrapped his hand around Junho’s, squeezing gently the way he used to when his palm could engulf Junho’s whole fist. It was a brotherly gesture meant to reassure, but the strange look on his face only made Junho more concerned.

“Don’t ever change,” He said, his tone a little melancholy, “stay like this, Junho. For me.”

“Like what?”

“Mmm,” Seok-woo murmured, noncommittal. He traced the shadow of a blue vein beneath Junho’s skin with the edge of his finger.

“Hyung, tell me what’s wrong. Let me help–”

A phone buzzed in the room. Seok-woo closed his eyes, and when he opened them, whatever had been there was gone. He smiled and let go, giving Junho an apologetic pat to the back of the head.

“Sorry, kiddo. It’s work. I have to take this.”

They released him from the hospital on a Friday. Inho came to pick him up with his mother in tow and stood by as she bemoaned over the fact that he had lost weight, which was to be expected after nearly dying from blood loss.

He would be on bed rest for two more weeks, and then strict desk duty for three whole months. Oh, and his promotion application had been approved.

“Really?” Junho asked excitedly. His mother muttered something under her breath in the backseat of Inho’s SUV and twisted her hands in her lap. Both of her adult male children ignored her.

“Yes,” Inho confirmed, flicking on his turn signal, “but you need to verify your information with payroll and sign some papers before the salary increase can kick in, so don’t forget to do that.”

“Ok, I’ll stop by when I’m cleared for duty.”

Inho dropped them off at their mother’s place. He helped carry the massive piles of snacks and get-well-soon cards and gifts up to Junho’s room and declined the invitation to stay for dinner. He had more work to do and planned to grab food somewhere close to the office. Junho took a shower, careful not to wet his bandages, and curled up on his bed with the stack of cards and a bag of shrimp chips. There was a hot pink one addressed to him in a child’s handwriting with a small polaroid inside.

Get well soon, hwang junha ❤️

Nayeon had penned the message and miswritten the last character of his name. Junho studied the picture. It was a photo of the people working at Usagi, and he would hazard a guess that the young girl in the school uniform was Kim Youngmi. Junho had heard about her but they’d never met in person. And in the back, with his hair sticking up from the static electricity and holding the rabbit head, was Seong Gihun. He was wearing the pink mascot suit.

Ah, so that was what Nayeon meant by Bunny. He had been so so stupid.

Junho grabbed his phone and pulled up his Kakao chat with Hwang Inho. He smiled a little at his older brother’s profile picture. It had been the same one since he first registered his account: a baby photo of Junho, back when he had been roughly the size of a small watermelon or large radish, cradled securely against Inho’s chest. The last message his brother had sent was telling him that the weather app forecasted snow today. It hadn’t snowed, but Hwang Inho had brought Junho his puffer jacket and a thick scarf anyway.

Junho pulled up the keyboard on his phone and nibbled his lower lip in thought for a few moments. Then he wrote: hyung, I know about you and Seong Gihun.

Inho wasn’t one to partake in excessive cell phone use, but he got the read receipt almost immediately. The status showed Inho typing, then nothing, and then more typing.

When Hwang Inho finally replied, it was a simple: I see.

And then, do you have questions?

Can I come by this weekend? he wrote back.

Yes, Inho replied.

Hwang Junho: Did you ask Seong Gihun?

A few minutes ticked by. Junho ate a few pieces of the shrimp chips. Then, a short ping signaling a new message. He picked up his phone again.

Hwang Inho: He says you can always come by.

“So the kitty coasters and corgi towel were Gihun-ssi’s idea?”

Inho poured him some tea and gave a curt nod.

“Does that imply you are now open to more cute gift ideas?” Junho asked.

His older sibling frowned, “no.”

“Damn, still no fun.” Junho made a face. “How long have you been together?”

“About three years.”

“So before I graduated from the police academy?!”

“Yes.”

“Wow, are we really not that close? How did I miss this?” Junho stared unseeingly down at the steam gently rising from his tea cup. “I suck at detecting. Is that why you kept blocking my promotions?”

“I wasn’t blocking them.”

“Oh, but you do think I am bad at detecting.”

Inho declined to comment. Junho’s scowl deepened.

“Hold on, did Cho Seok-woo know about this before me? Is that why he gave me the weird little talk about it being ok for guys to like guys?”

Inho choked on his sip of tea and coughed for a bit before asking in a strained voice, “he talked to you about us?”

“Not about you two, just in general,” Junho corrected, “I thought he was going to confess his undying love for you or something, which would be disgusting.”

“Junho–” Hwang Inho began, still coughing a little, but the sound of a key turning in the front door made him pause and they both stuck their heads out to peer down the hallway where Seong Gihun had let himself in, both arms ladened with bags of produce.

“Ah, the seafood market was so crowded I nearly had to fight an old guy for the same fish…” He trailed off when he saw Junho, eyes widening. And then, curiously, he retreated back outside and proceeded to try and shut the door.

“Seong Gihun,” Inho called out, the corners of his mouth twitching, “where are you going?”

“Oh right. Sorry, muscle memory kicked in.” He came back inside and turned a horrible shade of red under their gaze. Gihun smiled awkwardly at Junho and gave him a little wave after fumbling out of his sneakers and into house slippers.

“Hyung, let me help with that,” Junho said, rising to his feet.

“No no, you two continue,” He shook his head and gestured at the bags, “I’ll pop these in the kitchen. It’s for later. Sorry I interrupted.”

“Later?”

“You are staying for dinner, right? I’m going to test the spicy chicken recipe I stole from my mother’s mahjong friend.”

“Learned,” Inho corrected with a sigh, “she taught you willingly, Seong Gihun.”

He cackled and flounced off into the kitchen.

“I forgot what we were talking about,” Inho said after an awkward pause. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose and tried to offer more tea to Junho.

“Hyung,” He said, gently refusing the tea and smiling at his older brother, “you look happy.”

Inho’s eyebrows went up.

“Like really really happy,” Junho said, leaning in and knocking their legs together under the table, “and it's all that matters.”

His brother ducked down, the tips of his ears reddening. “Thanks.”

“Jagiya,” Gihun’s voice came floating over from the kitchen, “I, uh, accidentally cut my finger.”

They both shot up when he came stumbling out with his left hand coated in red.

“Oh god,” Junho said, “where’s your first aid kit?”

“Under the bathroom sink,” Inho muttered, walking over to apply pressure on the bleeding wound. “Seriously?”

“I got a little too excited with the chicken…”

They sat together on the couch, Gihun’s left hand now all bandaged up and Junho’s right hand in a similar situation. Inho had taken over in the kitchen after cleaning up the blood on the cutting board.

“Wanna watch a movie?” Junho suggested.

“Ok.”

There were some older films newly available in the subscription service that Inho used. He put on a random thriller and hunkered down to watch with Gihun.

“He looks a lot like Inho,” Gihun commented after a while, “that Lee Byung-hun.”

“Yeah, people at work say he’s the discount knock-off version,” Junho laughed, turning up the volume so that his brother wouldn’t be able to listen in on their conversation, “who do you think is more handsome, Gihun-ssi?”

“Ah, you’re going to get me in trouble.”

They watched for a while longer in silence. Delicious smells were starting to come from the kitchen. Seong Gihun had pulled his knees up to his chest.

“I don’t like this,” He said with a quiet grimace, “if I died, I wouldn’t want my loved ones to lose their humanity just to avenge me.”

Junho turned to him. “What would you want?”

“I don’t know,” Gihun murmured, frowning in thought, “just not this. Seeing them like this would hurt me more than death itself.”

“What are you two watching?” Inho demanded as he carefully carried a steaming pot of soup out onto the dining table.

“A Lee Byung-hun movie,” Gihun said, not taking his eyes away from the blood and violence on screen, “his fiance died and it’s making me sad because he looks so much like you.”

“Not this Lee Byung-hun crap again,” Junho’s older brother groaned, “change to something else. You’re going to get nightmares.”

Inho’s cooking was pretty decent. Not as good as their mom’s, but definitely better than Junho's by a long shot.

He stayed over for the evening.

And as his brother had predicted, Seong Gihun did indeed have nightmares about the Lee Byung-hun movie.

He made a new group chat on Monday. The one with Inho and his mom was named “Junho’s Diehard Fangroup,” so he named the new one “Junho’s Diehard Fangroup #2” and pulled Inho and Gihun in.

Gihun sent a heart sticker a few minutes later and thank you for inviting me!

You’re welcome hyung, Junho typed back. Who is the cute little girl in your profile pic?

My sweet daughter Gayeong, Gihun wrote, who is the cute little girl in your profile pic?

My sweet brother Inho, Junho wrote.

He sent a copy of the black and white picture into the group chat. It was Hwang Inho at the tender age of four, expression already serious despite the baby fat weighing his round cheeks down, wearing a horrendously fresh bowl cut and dressed in his little school uniform.

Hwang Inho: delete that right now hwang junho.

Hwang Junho: no

Seong Gihun: Jagiya~ you look like little Maruko-chan!!! You know from that japanese kid’s show. Gayeong loves her. I am saving it down

Inho left the group chat.

Junho pulled him back in.

Seong Gihun: Junhoho, what movie are we watching this weekend?

Hwang Junho: Train to Busan???

Seong Gihun: Is Lee Byung-hun oppa in it?

Hwang Junho: sadly no

Seong Gihun: aww

Inho exited the chat again.

They threw him a promotion party at Usagi after his first week of desk duty. Cho Seok-woo also came, and Junho finally got to meet Kim Youngmi and immediately understood just how accurate Cho Hyunju’s description of her being an “adorable little wet Shih Tzu” was.

It was a fun event, and when he popped into the bathroom to pee, Junho got a notification that Seok-woo had posted something new on IG. He pulled up the man’s profile and saw that it was a photo of Junho himself, taken from behind, with one hand in his pocket and the other waving at something in the distance, completely unaware.

All grown up, the caption read. He stared at the words until the pixels blurred into little dancing spots of light before his eyes.

There were already a handful of the usual comments beneath his post. The keyboard popped up on his phone screen. Junho tapped ❤️❤️❤️ and dragged his thumb over the enter key before he could stop himself. The three little hearts stood out among the 🔥 and 🥵 emojis and questions asking Cho Seok-woo who the person was.

Seconds ticked by.

His hyung was chronically online. Surely he must have seen by now. The time stamp on the top right side of his screen ticked forward by one digit.

A minute passed. His palms were starting to sweat.

Junho exhaled.

He pulled up his comment, deleted the hearts and replaced it with his usual 💩💩💩. The string of poops still stood out among the thirst reactions, but at least the reason was innocuous now.

“Junho, there’s cake!” That was Seong Gihun calling his name from outside the bathroom.

“Coming,” He yelled back.

Junho washed his hands and exited just in time to see Hyunju unveil her newest cupcake flavors. Kang Daeho was already cramming one into the black hole beneath his nose. Junho grabbed a bright pink cupcake with extra frosting and approached Cho Seok-woo from behind. He was so engrossed in his explanation of the benefits of a keto diet to Park Gyeong-seok that he didn’t notice Junho until it was too late.

The cupcake skidded over the bridge of his nose and over his moving mouth, smearing fluffy strawberry flavored cream frosting everywhere. Park Gyeong-seok jumped out of the way before any of it could get on him.

Junho pressed his palm cruelly over Seok-woo’s lips and murmured in his ear, “a little processed sugar won’t kill you, you narcissistic asshole.”

Seok-woo choked.

Junho frowned at the sound and yanked his hand back. “Hyung. Hyung!”

“I’m allergic…to strawberries,” He wheezed, grasping Junho’s wrist and starting to cough.

“Oh fuck, I’m sor–”

“He’s not,” Inho interrupted from the nearby table before Junho could fly into full panic mode, “both of you, quit it. You’re being rude.”

“He started it,” Seok-woo said, poking a finger into Junho’s cheek.

“I don’t care, you’re a full decade older,” Hwang Inho replied, “keep it up and I’m going to make you and Junho eat a dozen of Gihun’s experimental egg tarts.”

“What’s wrong with my egg tarts?” Seong Gihun asked from behind the counter. “Oh no, are they bad?”

Seok-woo laughed then and turned to look at Junho. He was so close yet so out of reach.

This was enough, Junho decided, smiling back. It would have to be.

- Fin -