Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“It made me think… that it’s actually pretty simple.”

“What is?”

“Living and dying.”

“You’re right. It’s simple. It changes in an instant. That’s what makes it so sad.”

The words keep rewinding in her mind like a broken record. She can see his pensive face studying her, taking comfort in her incessant understanding of him; his eyes focused on hers, baring the revelations of his heart. That moment two years ago, when grief finally caught up with him. Although somewhat painful, seeing him try to process it filled her with pride. As she said those words, she remembered her grandfather on his deathbed, her grandma’s absent face at his funeral, and then – a myriad of faces she had witnessed on the job: pleading, wailing, petrified… All those people hit by the reality of their loved ones being gone; the abrupt, brutal truth that could not be reversed. A person lost. A growing emptiness in a place they used to belong. The habit of expecting them to be alive – vanishing forever.

It is simple.

No.

Not now.

This is not the time to retreat into memory. Her life and the lives of the people around her are not lost yet.

Han Yeo-jin clenches her fists, pinching fingernails into the skin of her palms. Presence and vigilance. Calmness and patience. All those de-escalation skills she learned in that crisis negotiation training last year mean nothing if she can’t muster up the poise to apply them.

Besides, he should call back soon.  

Taking a short stretch with her legs, she sits straight, throws a quick glance at her phone on the bar counter, next to Jeon Hang-ho’s gun. He catches her looking, smirks and starts tapping his fingers on the wooden surface. Her feet hurt. She’s still wearing her strict office shoes, even though she would give anything in the world to take them off right now. What a ridiculously mundane thought.

They’ll take off your shoes when you’re dead. No hurry.

“Prosecutor Hwang is late,” Jeon Hang-ho observes, his voice filled with scornful pity. “Or maybe he’s just not that invested?”

He is playing with her. Has been for the past ten hours. Still, her mind is back at it again, Choi Bit’s words echoing in its backstreets, like the sound of a sigh in a tunnel.

“Are you more invested?”

She knows she is, always has been, ever since she started making him out.

“It’s been a long day. And he hasn’t called in three hours. He’s probably on his way already,” she says with deliberate confidence. She has managed to display calm so far, earning a semblance of respect from him. A fool’s respect, maybe.

“Inspector Han, you amaze me. So much faith in a man who wouldn’t even flinch if I put a bullet through your skull.”

This is all too predictable. He wants her to dispute.

“Do you know him that well?” she deflects, gathering up casual stability in her demeanor, in part to let the people in the hall know that she is temporarily in control. They are scared and exhausted, but at least he allows bathroom breaks and water rounds. All of them are waiting for it to be over. Cursing him in silence. Praying they will see their loved ones again.

Thirteen people including herself. The barista, the cook, the cute waitress, nine civilian customers. Eight, if you don’t count the middle-aged guy in a leather jacket who looks suspiciously like a cop. She’s not too sure she’s seen him at the agency before, but throughout the day he’s kept sending her little signals that could only be interpreted one way: we can take him, just wait for the right moment. She has rejected them imperceptibly. It’s a tiny place; with the rolled down curtains and a couple sconces switched on, it looks even smaller. The air conditioning has been turned off, all backdoors - locked, the entrance - shut, newspapers glued to its glass door with water, just like they did in that movie to hide from zombies. Only this time, the covers prevent the snipers from detecting the target.

She is placed on a stool closer to the window as a living shield while he has withdrawn deep into the corner behind the counter, into the least observable position. If he starts shooting even at random, a lot of people here could either die or get hurt. At this moment, their lives depend on her. And Prosecutor Hwang.

“Do you?” she hears Jeon Hang-ho retort and meets his gaze. Their eyes duel for dominance. Putting her palms under the rolled-up sleeves of her shirt, she rubs her elbows, then leans on the counter.

“Jeon Hang-ho-ssi, we both know that none of this would’ve happened if you thought otherwise.”

The sun often shines when the flowers have already bloomed, her grandma used to say. Yeo-jin used to go back to that phrase if a long-forgotten joy descended upon her after she had learned to live without it. Just like it did last month when Hwang Si-mok came back to Seoul to lead his new case and solicited her much-needed assistance.

The past two years they spent apart were her toughest in a long while. Under the new leadership, she kept busy, worked twice as hard and never allowed herself to be swayed by circumstance. Yet, sadness crept in over her gradually and viciously. Questions filled up her head, and she spent months seeking answers. How long until another wave of disillusionment would crush her down, hard enough to make her quit the force this time? Were all these barriers and hurdles on the way to justice too many and too institutional for her to be able to make a difference?

Even with her chief’s support, the steps she was taking seemed too minute, almost insignificant. Her life consisted of paperwork, endless reports, administrative fussing, and cases supervision. The higher-ups held her at bay however they could. Repeatedly, she was prevented from poking her nose into matters too “delicate” for her righteous spirit. Despite that, she grasped at every chance to visit the crime scene - those were her happiest days. Others ranged from hopeful to tolerable to bleak. Some days, she felt too discouraged to even go to work. Friends remained a rare currency, her Yongsan pals – the only ones actively checking on her, most of her workmates – keeping a distance. What nonsense it was to be distrusted simply for wanting to do the right thing. To be deemed a black sheep for protecting the public good, with that being her direct duty in the first place.

Quite often, she rose above the dejection. “Yeo-jin never sulks for more than a day,” her mom used to brag to their neighbors when she was a kid. For how long though? For how long would she retain her merited self-cheering against the loneliness that dawned upon her every evening? She would switch TV channels, read manga, cook dinner, walk outside with a can of beer, and look at the Namsan, surrounded by the city lights like an indolent nature god. The world was closing in on her. Every day was merely a disc of the spiral that she seemed to be forever stuck in. Eager to break the cycle, she made two attempts at dating, only for both to end up in boredom and break-ups. For the first time in her life, Yeo-jin realized that perhaps… she was better off alone… if she couldn’t be with him.

No matter how hard you look, you can’t stop the fog. But isn’t finding your way through the haze so much easier if someone else is calling out for you?

Before his return from Gangwon-do, they had kept in touch sporadically. After he left, she used to write to him often. Joking, curious, asking about trivialities like the Wonju weather, his meals or new colleagues. Later, her emails began turning into a plaintive ballad of self-pity and regret, and she stopped sending them whatsoever. The correspondence thinned out. Once every month, something came up, and they would talk: a call here, a text there. His – typically factual, hers – discreet and subdued. She missed him terribly and grew too stubborn to express it. Did she fear his indifference? As usual, he seemed to be doing just fine without her. What grounds did she have to cling on to this fleeting hope of something else?

One time last year, when she was in a particularly dark place, she called in sick, got into her car and drove all the way to Wonju. She didn’t warn him or even agree to meet beforehand. She feared that hearing his reaction would rip her courage in half. It turned out, he was out of the office, leading a two-day workshop for the prosecutor’s association in the neighboring province. As luck would have it, she bumped into Kim Ho-sub on her way out. Swearing him to secrecy, she rushed out of the building and went to the park nearby. It was late afternoon in a small provincial city, the park was empty and quiet, and she sat there for an hour, drinking coffee, fighting off tears, contemplating her feelings. The sun was so bright, and the cherry-trees bloomed so vigorously, yet all she could do while driving back was berate herself for acting so impulsively. Not everything could be sorted out by rushing headlong into it. The parts of her life that mattered most felt like pieces that didn’t want to make the puzzle just yet.

When he got back to Seoul, the drastic change their camaraderie brought into her life was palpable. They worked hard, they talked more than ever, and this time around justice seemed to love them back. Praise and acclaim might not have been their main motivators, but receiving them at the end of a well-fought battle was nevertheless welcome. She regained her sense purpose. She felt like she belonged again.

In this third chapter of their partnership, their unique connection slightly changed trajectory. Frequent dinners and even breakfasts together, in-depth discussions of things unrelated to the case, subtle signs of caring for each other – all of it seemed to be developing towards… something. Hopefully, not in her eyes only. Last week he informed her he was staying in Seoul for his new position in the Anti-Corruption and Organized Crimes Department of the Supreme Prosecutor’s Office. She took the news with as muted enthusiasm as possible. Not really aiming to conceal it but rather not to jinx her sudden luck. Another turn of separation would affect her a lot more this time.

Grandma may have been on to something, but Yeo-jin sincerely believed that the sun was supposed to help the flowers bloom too. 

“Your faith in him is admirable,” Jeon Hang-ho remarks. “Let’s hope it won’t stay unrequited.” 

Her phone starts buzzing the moment he finishes the sentence. He picks up the gun, as if the opponent on the other end could attack him in any way, swipes the green button and puts it on speaker.

“Prosecutor Hwang, perfect timing,” he says smiling; his large eyes sparkle in the dim café like a predator’s stare.

“Jeon Hang-ho-ssi,” Hwang Si-mok responds temperately, and she knows his politeness is calculated. “It was not my intention to make you wait this long. Finding the accomplice turned out to be harder than you thought. I will tell you all the information I’ve acquired… but first let me hear Senior Inspector Han.”

Jeon Hang-ho gestures for her to answer.

“I am here, Prosecutor Hwang,” she replies in a steady voice. “We are fine, all of us.”

She notices the people in the hall fixing their eyes on the phone like it is some magical device, capable of releasing them from this madness once and for all. They are not wrong.

“It's now less than one hour before the statute of limitations on my father’s case expires, Prosecutor Hwang. I’m sure you’re aware,” says Jeon Hang-ho, casually pointing his gun at the ceiling.

“Yes.”

What if he failed?  On any other day, a thought like this would be brushed off without much effort. Once set on reaching the mountain peak, Prosecutor Hwang would spare not a drop of sweat to climb it. Today, however, many lives are entrusted to his cutthroat tenacity, the timeframe is too narrow, and the assailant’s behavior cannot be fully appraised. He has to have evidence strong enough to initiate the case again. Please.

“Let us not steal more time from all these lovely people. Like they did with my father.”

Han Yeo-jin holds her breath.

“Do you know a woman named Park Jin-sung?” asks Hwang Si-mok.

She sees his brow jump. Something inside her starts shrinking like a piece of cooling steel.

“I don’t think I do,” Jeon Hang-ho replies, his voice betraying surprise and concern.

“We have tracked all of Nam Deok-hwa’s movements in the weeks before his disappearance based on his phone records. It took me and Yongsan detectives half a day. He was last seen near his home in Seongbuk last September. Park Jin-sung may have been one of the last people he met before leaving Seoul. Records show calls to several burner phones that cannot be traced to their owners. Moments ago, one of the witnesses confirmed Nam Deok-hwa was going to meet with a woman by that name on the day of his departure. Of course, we can’t be sure it’s her real name. But we have checked into his background of the past three years, and it’s our strongest lead so far.”

That’s it. The only person that could influence the outcome of this story is gone. They must have combed through half the city if getting that information took them this long. An immense amount of work in less than ten hours. Miracles do occur… but even Prosecutor Hwang can't move mountains.

“At this point,” his resolute voice continues, “we have evidence that she was involved in forgery and provided Nam Deok-hwa with a fake ID, enabling him to leave the city, possibly the country. If we find her, there is a chance we could trace his footsteps after escaping…”

“Which will take another thousand years,” Jeon Hang-ho gruesomely exhales.  

She can see him slowly brimming over the edge. However controlled he looks, he’s getting more dangerous by the second.

“Prosecutor, have you tried checking lists of confirmed and suspected forgery perpetrators at Seongbuk police station?” she asks matter-of-factly, looking at his name on her phone screen with a silent plea.

“We have. Other precincts as well. We found no such name.”

“What about online?”

“Nothing.”

Her heart sinks. Clutches at options and variants. They have never lost when they fought alongside each other. It doesn’t matter that she can’t be out there in the streets, chasing answers with him. Everything works out when they are together. More importantly, they have already decided they aren’t saying goodbye this time. 

“We could ask around the area about Park Jin-sung,” she offers, moving closer to the phone. “Starting from the people in his former circle. She’s not a ghost, there must be others who dealt with her…”

“Nam Deok-hwa,” Jeon Hang-ho interrupts her loudly, “destroyed my father’s life. Our family. Thirteen years in prison. My father spent them alone, sick, humiliated. I was beaten and bullied as the son of a criminal. My mother never recovered. While that piece of garbage walked free, enjoying the money he got by murdering his own brother with my father’s hands. And now… he will never answer for the crime he committed. My father took his blame with him into the ground.”

“Give us more time,” she leans forward, her open yet collected pose asking for a negotiation. “If he has committed prior felonies, we will surely find them. It won’t bring your father back, and I’m truly sorry for your loss. But we both know that if Prosecutor Hwang puts his mind onto something, he will not leave it hanging.”

“With the exception of my father’s case,” Jeon Hang-ho replies, and the glassy look in his eyes makes her realize: he has already decided how it's going to end.

Letters, she thinks. I must tell him about the letters.

“Jeon Hang-ho-ssi,” Hwang Si-mok’s voice is unfaltering. “The first person we went to, as per your instructions, was Nam's mother. According to her, you visited her last year and threatened to file a claim against her son the next time you’d come. That may have alerted Nam Deok-hwa. He knew the limitation period on the case would expire in a year and decided to lie low for the time being. Even ten days may not have been enough to track him, let alone ten hours.”

“So, you’re telling me it’s my fault?” he laughs and stares at her. “When I tried knocking on every door for two years after I got my father’s death note. Begging to restart the investigation. To no avail.”

It may as well be her fault. She could have come to the café sooner, as she usually does in the morning. Instead, she stayed glued to graphs in PowerPoint until lunch. No doubt, he was waiting for her. Even a few extra hours could have made a difference. Her friends worked their asses off today. What did she do?

“I apologize on behalf of the Central Prosecution Service,” the prosecutor says immediately. “But without Nam’s testimony or any other irrefutable evidence, no colleague of mine will file a claim on a closed case.”

That is why he picked the last day of all days. Leaving them no choice but to act and throw in all the possible resources before the clock runs out.

“I wonder how you’re doing it.” Jeon Hang-ho looks at his gun. “You know I have nothing to lose, right? Your friend is in danger. As are a dozen people here. And yet you speak with such abstraction. What will you feel if I shoot her in the head? Will you feel anything at all?”

Out of the corner of her eye she can see the cop-looking guy getting tense and slowly moving forward. She can’t do anything about it – Jeon Hang-ho’s gun is now pointed directly at her.

She takes her hands off the counter and raises them a little.

Hwang Si-mok is capable of feeling deeply.

Not many people know it, even fewer – understand it.

Yet, at the thought of him having to look at her breathless, soulless body… she hopes he will feel nothing.

And everything.

Chapter Text

“You’re the only one... who has never disappointed me.”

Last week they were having their usual “case closed” celebratory drinks when he announced he was staying in Seoul. Either dazed by the news or just too stressed out after a lengthy investigation, she drank a lot that night, more than usual. Was it out of excitement or exhaustion or both? He thought he knew her well, yet she still managed to surprise him.

He let her open their fourth bottle of soju, and then she said those words out of the blue. Something came over him suddenly. Something very akin to guilt. He knew because throughout these years he had been researching his sensations. He wrote them down in a diary, analyzed them, attributed thought patterns to physical responses when those manifested more clearly, grasped the causality between events and feelings. Inspector Han kept saying it was a good method to prevent headaches, so he proceeded, learning more about his own humanity, acting as a scientist and a subject at the same time.

The guilt probably rooted in his constant habit to leave. Namhae, Tongyeong, Wonju. Not that he ever regretted moving. Nor was he upset about leaving Seoul behind, in the proper sense of the word. However, something bothered him when he was in Wonju. Han Yeo-jin was on his mind often. She had been saddened by his leaving, that much was obvious when they had dinner at that makgeolli shop before his departure. The more he reflected on it, the more responsibility he placed on himself for her sadness. The one person she looked up to had let her down, and his relocation may have only made the blow heavier.

After he moved, they exchanged texts and rare phone calls, and she sounded like her usual cheerful self, but his attunement to her moods was so customary that he kept thinking he might have done something wrong, as a friend. Did he overestimate the stark nature of her unbreakable spirit? Should he have been more thoughtful?

So, when she cupped her soju-blushed cheeks with her long, thin fingers and said he had never disappointed her, a quick tension went spiking through his jaws and chest like resonance.

He took a slight pause and said,

“Likewise.”

Enlivened for a quick second, she sighed and looked down at her empty glass.

“But I have. That Counsel business… evidence on the assemblyman’s son… Sometimes it felt like the world around me was falling apart, while I just stood there… helpless… because someone expected me not to move. I thought I was doing the right thing. But… it was so hard to know. It only gets easier… when we are together.”

Watching her murmur out her worries and regrets, he thought how unabashedly open and kind she was towards others while remaining so demanding on herself.

“You have never let me down,” he said definitively.

This time, she believed him. Her smile, the tears in her eyes – all spoke better than words.

And now, he has let her down.

She is his partner. His invariably understanding eye. Her acceptance of him is ingrained into every meaningful part of his existence. Their mutual experiences are so momentous, everyone around always wonders at the connection between them. What will he feel if she is gone?

“Jeon Hang-ho-ssi, what I do know is that Senior Inspector Han is right. There clearly may be other crimes that Nam could be indicted for. But finding him is not a matter of one day.”

The hostage taker’s voice is tired and remorseless.

“I guess your effort equaled your investment, Prosecutor Hwang. In justice and Inspector Han’s life.”

Hwang Si-mok looks up at the officers surrounding him. His phone is put on speaker, and Captain Choi, Chief No and Commissioner General Kim of the NPA, who reportedly just arrived, are all looming over it with the most somber expressions on their faces. Within a few steps, the Special Operations Unit team is standing by for orders; its commander, Captain Lee, is observing the failing negotiations silently from the sidewalk, next to a police van. Yongsan detectives, headed by Jang Gong, are still on the road, checking leads that are unlikely to result in anything substantial enough to impact the current situation.

“Justice is what all of us are after,” he says. “Many lives are in your hands right now. Don’t they deserve justice too?”

“Don’t talk down to me!” his angry voice rings through the air like a siren. “You’ve never shown it to my father nor to me. Only when your dear detective was in danger, did you all start listening. This is how it works in this country. Nobody will move a finger unless it’s for one of their own. I hoped you would be an exception to this rule, Prosecutor. But I was wrong. And now I don’t owe you anything.”

One does not need special training to understand that the man is on the brink of a precipice. His despair must have been immeasurable if he took hostages and barricaded inside a tiny coffeeshop without an escape route simply to facilitate justice. He is certainly ready to act on his threats if the push came to shove. Inspector Han confirmed he had a gun, a standard-issue pistol they use in the army. Violation of firearms laws alone can get him up to ten years in prison. If he no longer values his life, there is no reason for expecting him to value the lives of others.

“We are done here,” the man adds after a few seconds. A stern, icy finality permeates his voice.

Jeon Hang-ho went in prepared to carry his plan through to whatever end in sight. His gun allows for up to fifteen rounds – enough to shoot every single person inside that hall. Including himself.

“Jeon Hang-ho-ssi,” Inspector Han’s voice slinks in, and the men around him all strain even more, “I have… one last request for Prosecutor Hwang.”

She sounds respectful, cautious, almost brittle. Her choice of words is deliberate: she points the assailant’s attention to the fact that it may in fact be her last request. That his actions will determine her fate. That he has the power to choose how it ends.

Apparently, Jeon Hang-ho agrees.

They hear Inspector Han take a deep breath and then say,

“Prosecutor, could you do something for me?”

Unable to look at her, he can still see her nonetheless: fragile and composed, she is doubtlessly facing the criminal with a brave face and those unswerving eyes that have always found him whenever he needed her close.

“Yes, Inspector,” he replies quietly.

“There is a stack of letters I have at home. In a drawer under the TV. Tied with a white rubber band. Will you please… see that they make it to the recipient?”

As much as she is trying to invoke Jeon Hang-ho’s humanity, he understands that she is also saying goodbye. Four years ago, when he called her in the middle of the night after the hardest interrogation in his life, she asked him, delicately and warmly, if the pain was gone. A similar vulnerable note pervaded through her voice then. The urge to see her in that moment was unusually strong. Right now, it is unbearable. 

“I will,” he says, clenching his jaw.

“Thank you,” she says with the same unassuming warmth. “I’m sorry. I–”

Obscure noises intervene in the background, and she stops. Her silence lasts a few seconds.

“Inspector?”

The phone screen lights up, and he sees that the connection is ended.  

“Han Yeo-jin,” he utters into empty air, a surge of sharp cold running down his spine.

Years ago, he resigned himself to an idea that he was meant to spend his life alone. Misunderstood, isolated, unfamiliar with that vast space in his mind that she once portrayed in one of her drawings.

He doesn't want to be alone anymore.

“The limitation period ends in thirty-five minutes,” Chief No says, slanting at the dark coffeeshop, its windows reflecting the flashers of the emergency vehicle parked nearby. “He has to wait at least until midnight to make the final decision. Whether he’s a psycho or just a broken man, he started this believing we’d give him a solution. Do you think he’s not hoping for a miracle until the last possible second?”

“It’s time to storm the building,” Captain Lee joins in, looking impatient. “I doubt talking to this guy will take us anywhere.”

“Too dangerous still,” the Commissioner General shakes his head. “If he’s not talking to us, he’s expecting an attack. We need to call him again and buy us some time. What about the backdoor?”

“My team checked the locks. They can be removed but not quietly.”

“Han Yeo-jin is a smart negotiator,” Captain Choi chimes in, sounding most worried of the four. “What if she convinces him to surrender? I wouldn’t write her off that easily. Storming the place may endanger the hostages even more.”

“The only danger here is the man inside with a gun full of bullets,” Captain Lee breaks him off.

Hwang Si-mok stands in the middle, as the officers around him are arguing, and stares at his phone. His head starts getting heavier, almost like it is filling up with liquid metal. His breath is accelerating.

“It's not like you don't know feelings,” she once told him. “Maybe you aren’t equipped to identify and process them properly, but you can’t hide from them. Anger, sorrow, joy – they find you themselves. And where do you think your relentless pursuit of the truth comes from? You’re so used to it, you just stopped noticing. Even if you can't fully feel something, it doesn't mean you can't know it.”

Amid the ongoing discussion, he taps his phone and calls Jang Gong; he's supposed to be tracking one of Nam’s past contacts that allegedly knows Jeon Jae-Seok was hired for the murder of Nam’s older brother. He doesn’t pick up.

Arms slowly falling down to the sides, he turns and starts walking towards the cordoned coffeeshop.

“Prosecutor, where are you going?” Captain Choi calls out.

“I’m going inside,” he replies, facing forward.

The captain and the chief rush after him.

“There’s still time left. You are right, he will delay the punishment until the deadline. By showing up, I may give him hope that his demands are taken seriously. Maybe he will be willing to negotiate.”

Whatever it takes, he must get in. Everyone around him eventually ends up in the crosshairs. He will not let anyone else get hurt because he was unable to rightfully do his job. Ideally, he will take her place, so that she can go and achieve what he could not. Her resilience and intelligence are a much better use in the field.

“He won’t just let you walk in, Prosecutor!” Chief No minces by. “Do you think he’ll open the door and risk being taken out?”

He keeps marching towards the entrance, calling Inspector Han’s number as he goes. No response.

A scene flickers in his memory, quick and bright like a lightning in the sky: asking Kim Sa-Hyun about symptoms of being worried about someone. Sunbae then looked at him with the shock and annoyance he so often observes on so many faces. Little did he know that he would answer his own question just days later. When he thumped on the lock of that bleach-smelling container. When he sat in his grim dormitory room and thought of Chief Woo threatening Inspector Han. When it felt like every cell in his body was on fire.

Now he knows. Knows it too well.

“Where’s the list of confirmed hostages?” he turns to Captain Choi.

“I doubt any of the phones are on,” the captain replies, taking the list from inside his jacket pocket. “They’ve been off the whole day.”

“We need to…”

The words hardly leave his mouth when they hear a gunshot.

For a moment, everything becomes so silent, all he can hear is his heart pounding like a hammer inside his chest. Time seems to have stopped, car engines and screeching walkie-talkies go extinct, the air itself turns into vacuum. There is nothing left but a simple, irrepressible feeling: terror.

“It’s coming from the inside!” someone yells near the building.

“We’re going in!” Captain Lee commands.

The scene turns into a whirlpool of figures and flashes and movement: captains are clamoring, operatives are sprinting towards the door, there is a battering ram, assault rifles, black helmets and heavy boots, the door breaks, its glass scatters in the air, they storm in, a horde of reporters, armed with cameras and microphones and projectors and shrieking voices, are pressing on the uniforms behind the yellow tapelines, the commotion is indiscernible for maybe half a minute – then an operative shouts,

“OFFICER DOWN! WE NEED MEDICS! ALL CLEAR!”

Paramedics rush in.

The reporters almost smash the cordons.

The night darkness impends through the abundance of lights, surrounds and infiltrates his entire being. Seamlessly, the mishmash of noise starts morphing into one sound, so particular and so agonizingly familiar: the ringing. 

He cannot breathe. He cannot move. His whole body is burning.

The world stops.

He remembers lifting the cover and looking at the woman lying in the pool of her own blood. She died alone, distrusted, unprotected, abandoned. Her picture smiling at him at the funeral. The lifelong guilt he knows will accompany him into his grave.

What will he feel when he sees Han Yeo-jin’s photograph framed with wreaths of white flowers in Young Eun-soo’s stead? How will he live after that?  

As if through the ground glass, he sees hostages being walked out one by one. Disoriented, stunned, he is wading to the entrance. His feet, the ground underneath… do not feel real. The ringing is moderate and there is no pain yet. Unlike all the previous tinnitus attacks, this one is slow and treacherous.

He thinks about the letters.

An eternity has passed since the storming. Or maybe only a few minutes. Time does not feel real either. Stopping a dozen meters away, he looks at the shattered door and waits until he learns to breathe again.

Then… Captain Choi shows up in the doorway, his arm arched over someone’s shoulder. He asks the operatives to let them through. As one, all of the camera lights behind the tapelines are turned on the pair. A reporter yells, “It’s her! Senior Inspector Han!”

Uproar ensues. Cameras flash, journalists holler questions, the captain swears under his breath and hurriedly leads her away from the crowd – towards him.

Hwang Si-mok is unable to move.

Han Yeo-jin’s eyes meet his and she stops.

Captain Choi surveys them both, asks her something, she nods, and he goes back inside.

Cameras keep flashing as the two of them are standing there, staring at each other. Hesitantly, Han Yeo-jin starts moving, carrying her jacket and handbag in one hand, allowing her face to light up at the sight of him. She looks tired and frail, but she is untouched.

The ringing in his ears intensifies, absorbing all other sounds. The pain has arrived and is shooting arrows through his temples, but he is now walking to her too. His mind is surprisingly clear and filled with one single thought: he never wants to take his eyes off her.

The dreadful headache is taking over, and it feels like in a moment he is going to collapse right at her feet…

Instead, he reaches out and locks her into a tight embrace. 

Her body melts into his arms. The ringing recedes. The pain backs down. He can hear his heart racing, as if it was trying to tear its way out of a cage. The sound of her steady breathing chases the darkness away.

The world starts spinning again.

Chapter Text

Closing her eyes, she gently presses her hands against his back. Incredible as it feels, somehow this is the most natural thing in the world – to be in his arms, shielded from malice and sorrow. In a split second, she relives the last ten minutes of her life and offers gratitude to whatever power is listening. She is alive. 

His breath is slowing down, and she wonders if his condition was about to manifest again. Chances are that it was, judging by the paleness and exertion on his face moments ago. Any emotion bottling up inside him would have to rupture at some point, as she is well-aware. Was it hard for him to witness this mayhem from without? Is he as desperate for her comfort as she has been for his? When was the last time he hugged someone like that?

His cheek is brushed against her hair, his hands are wrapping her shoulders with firm tenderness. Han Yeo-jin takes a deep breath, and her palms slide down his coat to signal that she is fine. Loosening his grip, he affords her a little space to look at him while holding onto her still. The anguish on his face makes her heart drop. “Are you all right?” she asks.

He looks at her in disbelief, pauses and says, “I should be asking you that.”

The vulnerability on his face is slowly fading into undemanding relief, and she can’t help but smile. Seeing him up close again, feeling his fingers humbly squeeze her arms is– surreal.

“You two are going to be all over the morning newspapers,” they hear Chief No approaching and turn at the troops of reporters mechanically snapping pictures of them. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

The kindness in his voice makes her choke up.

“I heard some action star tried to take down the bad guy?” he asks.

She nods and notices Hwang Si-mok making a little step back to give them room for a quick briefing. His eyes are still following her.

“Yes. I figured he was a cop. He did try to stay out of it until the very last minute. Seems like he talked the guy next to him into faking an asthma attack as a distraction. When he started coughing, Jeon Hang-ho broke me off, he was already on edge. Then he got closer to them, and the guy just leaped like a tiger. They fought, but I couldn’t do anything, he still had the gun. And then it went off. Seconds later the tactical unit stormed in. It all happened so fast.”

“Well, we couldn’t wait anymore.”

“Of course. I found the badge in his jacket when I was trying to stop the bleeding. His name is Lee Jae-min. He’s from the Mapo station. I hope… I hope he makes it.”

Thankful as she is, she can’t wave off her annoyance with the guy. That adventurism could end up costing him his life. And could have cost everyone else theirs. She takes another breath to finalize the report, reining up the tremble in her voice, “I think I yelled that everyone should cover their heads, so they didn’t get hurt… it was expected.”

“You did well.” He lightly taps her on the elbow.

“Thank you, sir.”

They watch the paramedics carry the stretcher with Lee Jae-min to the ambulance. Reporters crow over the soon-to-be local hero, as he is loaded into the vehicle and driven away. Straight after, Jeon Hang-ho is taken outside by Captain Choi, eyes facing downwards, arms handcuffed and hanging helplessly in front of him. Delegating him to the officers, the captain points to the vans and jogs back towards them.

“Prosecutor, will you be joining the interrogation?” he asks with his usual hands-on-hips manner. 

“No,” answers her partner, and she glances at him with wonder. Everyone is waiting for him to elaborate. Hwang Si-mok remains impassive. 

“Well then,” Captain Choi concludes and nods at her. “Are you sure you’re okay? We can ask the doc in the other ambulance to give you a quick check.”

She sizes up the paramedics who are examining the two students from the café that were huddled together. No-one else seems to have been seriously damaged, at least physically; the hostages are now being safeguarded by officers on the lawn not far from the entrance, served with water and blankets. Suddenly chilly herself, she puts her jacket on. Her hands feel very cold.

“I’m fine. Really.”

“Then you should go home,” Chief No suggests. “Rest up. Take a day off.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Just a moment, if I may,” a deep chest voice speaks behind her, and she turns to see a tall gray-haired character in picture-perfect dress uniform, his ranks glowing off his shoulders like silver flowers.

“Commissioner General,” she exhales and bows. Has he been here all this time? He thanks her for her service, her bravery and grace under pressure. Honored beyond measure, she starts feeling dizzy. His words are getting lost on her. The distress and fatigue are pinning her down at last. Chief and Commissioner General say goodbye and move to talk to the reporters.

“I’ll call the boys and tell them you’re okay,” Captain Choi says. “They’ll check on you tomorrow if that’s all right.”

“Absolutely.”

“Do you need someone to drive you home?”

Frozen for a second, she collects herself. “No need! My car is at the agency. I’ll drive just fine.”

“I’ll have someone drop you there.”

“It’s okay!” she asserts and then adds nonchalantly, “Prosecutor Hwang will give me a lift. It’s nearby.”

She catches Hwang Si-mok scrutinizing her with his sharp eyes.  

“By all means,” he confirms.

Watching the captain leave, they breathe in the cold night air of the city.

“Prosecutor,” it occurs to her, “I’ve never seen you in a turtleneck.”

Instinctively, he touches up the woolen fabric under his chin. Unconfounded, admitting, filing yet another trait about himself he wouldn't think worth noticing otherwise. Too bad he can’t perceive how dashing he looks right now. News agencies are going to have a field day with his photos in their issues tomorrow. No doubt about that since his name recognition is way bigger than hers. Or maybe they will flaunt their reunion hug instead. Not that it bothers her. People have been talking behind their backs for years.

They walk along the restriction lines to his car. He is very quiet. Disburdening his mind with their regular thoughts bounce-off wouldn’t be unusual even in the current context. Not this time though, understandably. She lets him process the day. Walking side by side with him is one of her favorite things in the world anyway.

They get into his car, fasten their seatbelts. For some reason, he doesn’t start the ignition yet. Staring at the dashboard for a second, he takes a can of green tea out of the cup holder and offers it to her.

She looks at him adoringly. “Thank you.”

These small gestures have been abundant in the past month: stashing drinks and snacks for her, being the first to ask what food to order or what restaurant to book, calling her a cab after having ideas sessions with soju late at night. He even bought her chocolate candy once, rendering her speechless on the spot.

He taps on the phone, opens the navigation app and waits. Clinging onto her drink like an elixir of a brighter future, she wearily leans back in her seat.

“Take me home, please,” she says.

We are all living on borrowed time, she thinks as the empty streets are passing by behind the window. Tonight, her fate was decided by a lucky coincidence. Who knows when the next catastrophe drops? By nature of their work alone, she is bound to tread in dangerous waters and clash against all possible threats. One day, she may run out of luck. And then, the system propagates new threats and remains so allergic to being rectified. It rashes and wheezes and seizes and destroys itself from within before it allows betterment of those it is supposed to serve. Jeon Hang-ho is only one of the many who went under the wheel in the name of justice they pleaded for. How betrayed he had to feel to commit such a hideous act against innocent people. How hurt he must have been to let loose of his desire to hurt others.

Will she ever be able to affect change on a higher level, as a commander one day? Can she be sure that her endeavor and contribution will eventually take root and advance towards the values everyone likes to serenade yet discards the minute they stop benefiting them? Integrity above any personal level. Priority to the people above oneself. Defending what is right to the death. Those principles she was bestowed with in Asan, still tucked deep inside her heart. Every single one of them – upheld by the man beside her.

The car stops and brings her mind back to the present. They have arrived. He turns off the engine, and their good friend silence falls upon them once more.

“Come inside for a minute?” she says after a pause.

His face does not betray surprise. She secretly hopes her invitation was expected.

“It’s been a stressful day,” she adds. “I better keep an eye on you in case you have a headache or something.”

With a cute little pout on his mouth that signifies agreement, Hwang Si-mok nods.

“Sensible idea.”

Returning home after a near-death experience brings a certain newness to her unchanging, cooled down apartment. She finally takes off her torturous shoes, sets the thermostat to warm up a little and leads him into the living room. Looking around with interest, he focuses on the framed pictures on the wall.

“You had a lot more drawings posted in your old apartment,” he notes.

“I am not as conceited now,” she smiles. “Most of mine are archived. By the way, there’s one that I don’t think I’ve showed you before.” Pulling out the drawer under the TV set, she sifts through a folder and picks one of her most treasured possessions. This jerk.

“My first portrait of you, Mister Prosecutor.” She offers it to him. He studies the long-nosed arrogant face on the paper with an air of genuine amaze.

“I did it after we first met. I was really mad at you.”

“For a good reason.” He looks at her, the angles of his mouth slightly popping upward.

The magnitude of growth his character has gone through over the past years astounds her. Just like that, a funny piece of memorabilia is now enveloping their entire journey, from the smallest steps to the greatest discoveries. After today, this instant feels like a milestone in the story. Their story.

“Take it. It’s a gift.” She moves towards the fridge. “Are you hungry? I have some japchae leftovers from yesterday.”

Despite it being past midnight already, this day is not quite finished yet. He probably hasn’t had a single warm meal in the last twenty-four hours. Nor has she, to be fair. She takes out a container, puts it next to the microwave, then peeks into the living room. “Heat it up, if you like.”

Nodding, he slowly draws his eyes back to the opened drawer under the TV set.

“Are they for someone you care about?” he asks, and her pulse quickens.

“Huh?”

“The letters.”

Oh no. She really thought she would never see him again, didn’t she?

“Well… yeah,” she mumbles.

“Not your parents though,” he infers. “You talk to them regularly. And since you didn't ask me to "mail" them, it means the person probably lives in Seoul.”

“I’ll take a shower, okay?” she rapidly announces, waves around and strides to the bathroom. “Just five minutes!”

The door closes behind her. She meets her reflection in the mirror and for a good minute stares at the blunt panic that is gushing from her every feature. Then goes back to the living room. He is in the kitchen checking out the food. 

“They're for you,” she says and exhales.

Taken aback, he turns to look at her, and she feels like she has confessed to a crime.

“There's a bunch of emails I never sent you. That I wrote when you were in Wonju. I was going through stuff… so, whenever I used to feel low, I would just… pour it into words. Things I had no-one else to talk about with. Then I would print it out, delete it and move on. It became a habit. A diary of sorts.”

The cat is out of the bag.

“Why didn’t you send them?” he asks.

“I didn’t want to impose my feelings on you. It wasn’t about… anything really. Just me trying to find my bearings. Talking to you like that.”

She tries to calm down. Letting this off her chest at last is liberating. No reason to fret. Despite her putting up a brave face and her stubborn denial, at some point he ought to have noticed she had a rough time after they had parted ways. He is unlikely to associate the letters with anything more than longing for a friendly ear. It’s not like she mentioned her deeply buried feelings for him in some of those…

Except that she did.

“Would you still like me to read them?”

Paralyzed, she bats her eyes incredulously.

“Do you want to?” she asks.

“Yes.”

This is, truly, the most unprecedented day of her life. And she’s had them aplenty.

“Sure,” she utters and shrugs.

Awkward silence enters the space between them. His face is somewhat eager and confused at once. Hers – probably pathetic.

“I’ll… go,” she says and scoots back to the bathroom. Impatient to stop overthinking, she doffs her armor and gets into the shower.

The water is hot and ruthless, yet it makes her shiver. Soon, the letters fade into the background, and her brain starts wandering back and forth between events, overlapping images like a badly developed film. The barrel of the gun in her face. The endless rhythm of her heartbeat flushing blood to her cheeks and then withdrawing it in a blink of an eye. Commissioner General calling her a national hero. Her feet still reeling from pain. Her mind – clambering up the concept of her shamelessly unpreventable mortality.

The shower is engrossing. She thoroughly rinses herself, intent on washing away whatever cortisol her body has produced in excess during the day. Only when she is fresh and no longer smelling like a trapped animal, she can think straight again. Back to the letters. Was he serious? Stupid question, when is he not. Of course, he could have said it out of courtesy, as a sign that he valued the time and effort that she'd put into writing them. Nice try, but highly unlikely. He knows her. Leaving them as her bequest to him already spoke volumes about their importance.

Finally, she gets out, brushes and blow dries her hair, puts on her home sweater and pants, checks herself out in the mirror. You can do it. On full alert, she decidedly steps out of the bathroom, prepared for a conversation.

Hwang Si-mok is seated on the couch in the living room. Eyes closed, head leaning forward, one arm supported by a large pillow next to the armrest, an expression of hard-earned respite stretched over his face. She glances at the clock on the wall. It’s past 1:00. Her shower musings took so long, her partner fell asleep waiting for her to return.

Fascinated by the scene, she steps up closer. Two mugs are sitting on the coffee table, filled with tea already out of steam. The tea bags labels are hanging down the sides. Chamomile. Helps you relax and sleep better. She sneaks to the side of the couch and switches on the torchère in the corner, then turns off the upper lights. The room gets dim and peaceful.

Wondering if he has eaten, she peeks into the kitchen. The container is unopened, but now there are two bowls placed next to it. He wanted them to eat together.

She watches him quietly sniff in his sleep. This is all she could ever ask for. Him making her tea, napping on her couch, feeling safe where she is.

Tiptoeing to the couch, she sits down and curls up next to him. For a while, she is taking in every little thing about this unflinching noble warrior who now looks so serene and endearing by her side. The day has taken its toll on him, but he is untroubled at last, the weight of the world for now removed from his shoulders. Silently, she thanks him for changing her life in ways she'll never be able to fully comprehend. For coming back. And for staying.

She leans her head against his arm and closes her eyes.

Chapter Text

Loving you is hard work, Si-mok.

It always feels like drowning. Every time his body is rioting in a desperate attempt to bypass the broken chemistry of his brain, it feels like a vortex pulling him inward, filling his lungs with water, ripping oxygen off its tiny helpless cells… Until her face appears like a colorful spot in the sea of dead white and she leads him out of emptiness, urging him to stay afloat. That’s how it felt two years ago when she helped him brace through the pain on that staircase, and then earlier today when he held onto her in the middle of that all-encompassing havoc. Even as he is plodding through the fabric of dreams, which has been growing over the past years, the truth of her presence grounds and pacifies him. She will not let him drown.

His mother’s voice from long ago is following him in the thickness of his slumber, dismal and reproachful.

“Not everyone is prepared to carry the burden of loving someone. And loving you is hard work, Si-mok. If you find someone who will not be averted by your coldness, someone ready to carry the weight of yearning for your smile, you must hold on to them. Wherever your heart lies, you hold on to them. So that maybe one day… you love them back.”  

Something pokes him, and he slowly opens his eyes. The room is darker now, softly lit by one floor lamp next to the couch. Just like he prefers.

Her head is resting on the slope of his arm. She is fast asleep. Her body is so light, he barely feels her weight on his shoulder. He leans in and contemplates her small face, her quiet breath, her hair smelling of shampoo, a bit longer now than the day they first met and the day they said goodbye two years ago. It pleases him, seeing her like this, free from that persistent stamp of worry and conflict she usually works so hard to conceal.

Ever since they started working together, he has been registering a steady, irrevocable change in his attitude towards her – and the way he approached the world around. For most of his career, his life was solely focused on delivering the truth and bringing justice to those robbed of it. He never expected anyone to willingly fight by his side, let alone – care enough to stay on it. With her appearance, his life took an unpredicted turn. The effect she has produced on his sense of self is… indescribable. From what started as a professional proximity her quick mind and agility have led her into, their partnership has now grown into a kinship, as tremendously important to him as it is suited to the very foundation of his being.   

Now seeing her next to him working on a case and restoring the equity of law is not enough.

He wants more.

To see her joyful and at peace with herself.

To never see her worried or pressed into being someone she is not.

To know that she is safe and in no danger.

To be by her side whenever she needs him… and in moments like this.

Does he deserve it? Does he deserve someone to do the hard work of loving him? Is it fair to impel her to covet conventional affinity when he is still so far from offering it? What reason does he have to count on the same level of acceptance, if she includes him into every other aspect of her life? To believe that it will not interfere with the trust and reliance their partnership has been built on? 

One thing is clear though: if he can wholeheartedly share the tranquility of his personal space with anyone, it’s her. Ever since she invited herself into that court room, and then his car, and then the crime scene, from her falling asleep in the chair in his office to him dozing off on the couch in her apartment – every moment in her presence has felt right.

Her head slightly tips off the side of his shoulder, and a strand of hair crosses her face. On an impulse, he tucks it behind her ear, making sure she’s not awakened. Her skin feels soft under the brush of his fingers.

Why was she conflicted about sending him those emails? Was she uncertain of his ability to understand how she felt? Of course, his record of showing her empathy is yet to be improved, but, still, since his return to Seoul, she has been nothing but candid. Perhaps, he was too distant during their last goodbye dinner, causing her to withhold her troubles onward. Or she simply took it upon herself to overcome the next challenge, as she does. She is Han Yeo-jin. The one that borrows another’s burden until they are strong enough to carry it themselves. But who would readily carry hers?

Promptly, he remembers that one time she visited his office in Wonju when he was out of town. Investigator Kim accidentally blurted it out at lunch days after, then spent the rest of the week in repentance for breaking his promise not to tell him. Naturally, and begged by Kim not to compromise his decency, he never revealed he was aware of the visit, even though his curiosity insisted on finding out the reason for such secrecy. Was it somehow related to why she was writing those letters? Could it be that at some point her need for conversation drove her all the way to Gangwon-do? And could her pride have kept her from telling him about it eventually? Or was it something else?

As much as he considers himself tight-lipped, she could give him quite a head start. When it’s time to show her wound and ask for help, she bandages it and tempers, like a blade that gets quenched right after heating. He always found it admirable and concerning.

The more he learns about himself, the stronger his want to share it with her. These past weeks she’s been asking a lot about his family, his childhood, his university years, and he didn’t deflect a single question. Opening up to her has been easy, gratifying. There is solace and warmth in her attention for him, her dedicated nurturing of his self-awareness. It isn’t right that she cannot feel the same ease she provides him with. Regardless of his limitations, he has already shown progress in exploring his emotional sphere, no reason for him to stop now. Maybe, after reading the letters he will understand more. Enough to make another step towards the necessary change. There is nothing he wouldn’t do for her, really.

The past day seems ages away. Their most short-lived case so far. Unfinished, since the investigation is yet to continue. Not by him but with his supervision, that is for sure. He realizes, his investment has already been weirdly removed from the situation, as if getting her out safe was indeed his only objective. After all, he was there because her life hang in the balance. The culprit knew that. Their partnership has been made too popular for their own good.

He thinks about the drawing he put in his coat’s pocket. First impressions. He can distinctly remember the first thing he noticed about her: determination. She would not yield to anyone. Through all the hurdles of her career, she still managed to retain her unfailing autonomy. Never has he met anyone as intelligent, industrious, as unconditionally sympathetic and stoutly upright as Han Yeo-jin. Furthermore, she has that enviable skill to use the scope of her imagination and paint each case with as many colors as necessary to account for every detail. An artist's eye. There is hope for the force while she works within its ranks. She would make an outstanding commander.

He looks at the tea mugs, then at the clock: he has slept for two hours straight. How long has she been in this pose?

Perhaps, he should move her to the bed, but it seems impossible without waking her up.

To make it easier, Han Yeo-jin starts budging on the pillow of his arm and rubs her nose into his sleeve. Yawning, she opens her eyes, blinks for a few seconds, then looks up at him. Her eyes are prying and bright, and something inside bounds him to cherish them, as if they were a vital clue in the grandest case of his life.

For a while, they are gazing at each other. The profound tenderness in her eyes is somehow contrasted by the serious look on her face. It dazes him. No-one has ever looked at him like that.

Without looking away, he quietly notes, “The tea is cold.”

Her eyes fill with resolve. She moves her face closer to his and presses his mouth with a soft kiss. It lasts for a moment, then another one… and another. The novelty of the experience overwhelms him. His mind empties like a shell. The world narrows down to the sound of her breathing and the warmth of her lips. He humbly responds. He doesn’t want it to stop.

A few more moments pass and she gently breaks off, meeting his eyes. The corners of his mouth start climbing up. Smiling back, she takes his hand, interlocks their fingers, and leans her head back on his shoulder. He looks down on their hands joined together, and engraves this moment into his memory.

They relish this intimacy, smiling in silence.

It feels like home.