Archive of Our Own ^beta

Doyoung first learns of his gift when he's eight. 

It's nothing much, really — or at least, as uneventful as raising the dead can be: his dog was just hit by a car, and Doyoung cries by his side, mourning the loss of his best friend. The sun shines high in the sky, and kids laugh somewhere in the background.

But Doyoung is heartbroken — and in a desperate attempt to send off his goodest boy properly, with love and warmth and care, he kisses him. He cups his little precious face with his hand, and with tears blinding his sight, accidentally misses his little nose and kisses him on the mouth instead.

Yucky, a regular human being would say, because — well, it is yucky. But for Doyoung, all that happens is an immediate effect, and lo and behold: Gaston stands up straight, fresh as a daisy. He barks, and yaps like he used to when he was alive — he licks Doyoung's tears away (paints his face red with fresh blood in the process), and kisses him back a million times. Doyoung can't believe his eyes, can't believe his tears and his blood-painted face: he cries, this time of joy, and hugs his resurrected best friend tightly against his chest.

'I love you,' he tells him, just so that Gaston knows, even if he's been brought back to life and the world can go back to spinning the way it did before the accident. 'I love you so, so much.'

The sun shines high in the sky. Kids laugh and Doyoung cries tears of joy.

And then his gift's time limit makes itself known, and Gaston dies again.

💋

Since then, since that rather traumatic event, Doyoung has grown. He's checked into therapy to fix his Gaston-related rollercoaster of bottled up feelings, has been doing superbly well thanks to it — and he's figured out many things about himself: 

- first, only first kisses bring the dead back to life — and once said-dead are resurrected, they only have a few minutes of timeout until they go back into death's arms;

- second, his kisses only work on the dead. (Sadly, this also means his nemesis, also known as his first live experiment, is still very much alive, and also convinced Doyoung is in love with them rather than dearly wishing they were dead);

- third, taxes are a pain in the ass;

- and, last but not least, fourth and foremost, also known as the centre of every decision Doyoung has taken for the past two decades: if he's gonna have a freaky power anyway, no matter how much he's prayed to get rid of it, he might as well just roll with it. If he's bound to be bringing back the dead with kisses, whether he wants to or not — he might as well want to, and use that skill well, all for the sake of a better world.

Which sounds misleading, worded like that — Doyoung has most definitely not become someone with questionable morals, and he most definitely does not enjoy kissing the dead. He's only made the dead his living — and what was once a horrifying curse, is now something rather handy on the job.

It's taken trials and tribulations, a few years of stress and many more of sneaking in and out of morgues — it's taken looking at his reflection in the mirror multiple times throughout his student, then policeman career, and asking himself if it was all worth it .

And it's taken one kiss — a single peck on cold, putrefied, crumbling lips that reveal who killed them — to answer it:

'Your brother killed you? With the axe?'

'Yes.'

It is worth it.

💋

However, no matter how cool bringing the dead back to life for around five minutes might be, there are flagrant downsides to it. 

Of course, there's the obvious 'cannot tell anyone for fear of being locked up' (or worse, experimented on…) — along with the horrifying question of 'if I kiss someone alive, will they die?', which Doyoung spent thirteen years sweating and crying about until he tested out the theory, and found out it was wack (as mentioned above).

But there are job-specific problems, too, and these make up a much bigger list:

1) There's the fact that knowing who killed a victim doesn't make proof magically appear out of thin air — it doesn't make the whole world (most importantly: the law) see the culprit as guilty, and there are still heaps to do once the victim is back into Death's arms;

2) Kissing the dead back to life means kissing them no matter what — even if there's dried blood on the lips, or other fluids, substances Doyoung tries his best to ignore when they're mentioned during an autopsy (even if only One lip remains, or the victim has been dead for five weeks);

3) Kissing a dead person, no matter who, no matter when, no matter where, is kind of weird — Doyoung is fine with the idea of kissing a beloved goodbye, but strangers: less so. And he thinks the world would agree with him — which leads us to the following point;

4) Kissing victims is not socially acceptable, especially not when you've been a fully-fledged inspector for a good seven years — especially when you're the ace of your team, and intend to keep on being seen as such. Kissing victims is really, fucking weird, and doing it anyway means Doyoung has to take A Lot of precautions.

Which means a good one third of his career has been spent creeping in and around morgues, and half of his time on a crime scene is aimed at trying to figure out how he'll get to have some alone time with the victim. Which means he's absolutely bummed that Jaehyun, the only medical examiner he trusted enough with his secret, has been promoted to another province - because now he's back to square one, and it's really not fun at all.

Which leads us to now: these above mean Doyoung, in his mid-thirties (aka way too old to be sneaking into buildings he knows like the back of his hand, especially now as a renowned inspector), and up far past his bedtime, is now sneaking into the forensic institute a few cities away. Because he needs answers, and there's simply (sadly) no other way for him to kiss his newest victim awake and crack their case.

Once again, had sweet, tender Jaehyun been there, it would have been a piece of cake — but Jaehyun is long gone now, and Doyoung is certainly not trusting the new M.E assigned to his team with sensible information. Loud, brazen, brutally honest and frighteningly smart — Nakamoto Yuta is up to no good if you ask Doyoung — and even if he weren't: Doyoung has a bad feeling about him. He sticks to him like gum and Doyoung always finds him staring when he risks glances towards him — he's strange, sharp-witted in Doyoung's opinion, and Doyoung doesn't like it one bit. When smart people have the upper hand on you, things go to shit — and with a gift such as his, Doyoung thinks he has an idea of how shitty life can get.

Which is why, once again, we find him sneaking into the lobby of the West State Institute and promptly heading downstairs — not bothering to turn on the lights of the corridors (who knows, at 2am, God might be watching — and Doyoung still dreams of a spot in heaven), and instead pawing at the wall, feeling it as he walks, until the familiar, round door knob installed after Jaehyun broke the old one makes contact with his fingers.

Yes, he quietly exclaims, celebrating his small victory — and he inserts his spare key into the lock. He looks right, then left, like a thief making sure he's safe, then walks into the room — he shuts the door behind him, and turns the light on.

💋

White tiles and metallic tables come to light, and turned off screens welcome Doyoung's reflection into their world — the large refrigerator, by the end of the room, lies untouched, and Doyoung steps forward without a doubt.

'Number 53, number 53…'

No matter how unpleasant and stressful the experience is, Doyoung has done it enough times to know how to proceed coolly: all he has to do is look for his victim, roll them out of the fridge, then kiss them — listen to them as they tell him about their murderer, then assure them they did well as life hands them back to death's hands. It's simple, in a way — it's foolproof, has never once not worked, and Doyoung is nothing but confident as he undoes his scarf, coat and rolls up his sleeves — he's nothing but sure of himself as he finally finds the drawer numbered 53, and pulls it towards him.

And it's a sigh of relief that escapes his lips when he sees the victim: Mr. Na is certainly far too young to be lying there, and now definitely a fallen star — but he's in a quite decent state, for someone who died six days ago, and Doyoung has to admit, he's glad to see it. He'll never take any pleasure in this entire thing, but at the very least, this means he won't have to wash his mouth with detergent, or puke his insides out while Jaemin reveals who killed him.

Brushing his hair back nervously, clearing his throat like he always does before Such Thing, Doyoung leans in and takes a deep breath — he smells death, disgusting and invading his world, and accepts it, gets used to it before fully bending down. He mutters a sorry, just like he always does before resurrecting a victim, then fully lowers his head.

His lips meet Jaemin's for a brief second — then the contact is gone, and Doyoung straightens himself up, waits for the kiss to have its effect. 

And as time undoes death's bidding, Doyoung turns around to get some tissue to clean his mouth — and finds out, Nakamoto Yuta has been watching him.

💋

It's sudden noise under a bridge, in a church; it's a concert of I fucking knew it! I fucking knew it! and let me explain, please! ricocheting against the walls and the metal, set everywhere in the room — it's Nakamoto Yuta, somehow standing at the other end of the room, pointing at Doyoung with his forefinger, and telling none but himself that… 

'I was right,' he exclaims, 'Oh my god, I was right! I was convinced I saw your silhouette slipping into the stairs. Kim Dongyoung, you fucking weirdo-'

'Please, Yuta,' Doyoung cuts him (attempts to, because the man keeps on gloating). 'I swear I can explain.'

'Oh, really?' Yuta laughs. 'Because not only did I see you sneak into the building and my office, it seems to me like you just kissed a victim. Fuck, Kim Dongyoung. I figured something was up with you, but I didn't think it was… that.'

'Well, it's not!' Doyoung throws a glance to Jaemin, and finds that he is as dead as he was before — panic rushes into his heart, then is pumped out of it and into the rest of his body. 'Yuta, believe me, it's not!'

He steps forward, then backward — he pleads Yuta with a small voice, and looks back at Jaemin again — he finds that nothing has changed, and thinks the world might just crumble under his feet.

'Please? That's what you say?' Yuta snickers, this time — and he, too, steps forward. 'You're kissing a dead body, and trying to justify it? You're bonkers, Kim. You're a pervert, and a disgusting one, at that. Kissing a dead body!'

Kissing a dead body! he repeats, again and again, and Doyoung inhales, exhales — he rubs his eyes, and begs for his sight to be clear, real — he begs for Jaemin to rise, and end this. 

But Na Jaemin is lying flat on his bed of metal, and is making no sign of ever rising. He remains dead, and freaks Doyoung out. Could it be that he's immune? Could it be that someone else, with the exact same power, has kissed him? That's, technically, impossible — but how impossible is it, when Yuta himself is facing someone with such a gift? When the world is big and wide and mysterious, and you never really know anyone?

No, Doyoung tells, swears to himself as Yuta vociferates and laughs and curses him in the background — no. The kiss was probably too fleeting, and he didn't channel enough energy into it — his mind was elsewhere, or Jaemin is too dead. For sure, it has to be the kiss. It cannot be - anything else.

He has to kiss Jaemin again.

Rolling his sleeves once more, trying to focus on the dead below him — Doyoung tells Yuta he can explain, swears it's not what it is one last time — and when the answer that welcomes his words is fuck you, Kim Pervyoung! , he ultimately decides to let all of this go.

'Fine,' he spits, and if it weren't for the distance between them and the current situation, he would be shaking Yuta up-down-left-right like a scientist in need of apples for his theory on gravity — he would be strangling him, and not even reanimating him once he's done killing him. But there is a more pressing matter at hand, and Doyoung only came here for it — not Yuta's murder.

'Fuck off,' he growls, then adds that Yuta ought to wait five fucking minutes — he flips him off, for good measure; then, with the most anxious, the most precipitated heart — he leans in, cups Jaemin's face forcefully, and smashes their lips together.

And this time, as Doyoung stumbles backward, and is hit with Montaigne's Chapter XLVII — as Yuta shrieks and yells that he needs security right here, right now, this pervert has lost his mind — Jaemin's eyes flutter open, and he temporarily rises from his sleep.

💋

'You know, I mean it. I'm really sorry.'

Sat at his desk, forced to look at Yuta from up close as the other cleans the wound his borrowed philosophy essay left behind — Doyoung huffs, offended, and pretends to be hurt by the alcohol the M.E is applying onto his wound. He winces, dramatically, and only glares when Yuta, stupid and oblivious, falls for it and apologises again.

It's been like this for ten minutes, now: since Jaemin went back to being dead, and Yuta, after his initial shock of seeing a dead body speak, finally came to his senses and realised he was very much in the wrong. He's been apologising profusely ever since, and is seemingly trying to make amends by offering Doyoung some iced chocolate from his fridge (... the other one), along with patching up his surprisingly decent wound. 

But Doyoung is nothing but petty, so he's not planning on letting Yuta have his way — although he has to admit, the drink he now holds in his hands is high quality, and the fresh and careful fingers on his bruised forehead, more than welcome.

'Look, Doyoung,'

'That's Mr. Kim to you.'

'My ass. Look, Kim Dongyoung, I do mean it. I'm sorry.' 

Yuta steps back to grab a piece of paper, and starts fanning Doyoung's forehead with it — he meets Doyoung's gaze, briefly, and pretends it never happened, instead gets closer and acts like the tiny wound he created is the most interesting thing in the world. And who knows? Perhaps it is. Yuta is a doctor, after all. 

'Doyoung-'

'Mr. Kim.'

'Doyoung,' Yuta repeats — and this time, he locks eyes with Doyoung, lingers there for a moment, unyielding. Then he lays his improvised fan on his desk, and grabs a bandaid, undoes its sticky parts from their protections. 'If you weren't always prowling around like a curious little man, things wouldn't have gone this way. You act like you've murdered each of these victims, you know that?'

So suspicious, he murmurs as he sticks the bandaid to Doyoung's forehead, and Doyoung takes a raging sip of his iced chocolate as a retort.

'Just trying to figure out how to kiss them,' he admits bitterly — and because Yuta steps back and admires his handiwork with a smile, he adds, 'It's hard, with you always being in the way.'

And he expects Yuta to take the bait and argue back, but gets none of these: instead, Yuta chuckles — and as he turns to his desk to rid it from the pharmaceutical products laid upon it, he admits Doyoung is right.

'Mustn't have been easy, indeed. Sorry, won't happen again,' he promises — and he grabs his bottle of disinfectant and bandaids, and leaves Doyoung on his own by his desk — he reiterates that he thought he was doing what was necessary to avoid a streak of murders at the station, and has Doyoung rolling his eyes.

'Still can't believe it's the fiancé, though,' he adds as he shuts the door of his medicine cabinet — and Doyoung immediately forgets about their feud: he sinks back into the earlier situation, and remembers Everything — he opens his mouth, and replies,

'Horrifying, huh? Especially for that reason.'

Not that he's never seen someone murder their fiancé.e to inherit something of theirs — but it's something, to be told by a victim themself that the ten years of blissful dating they thought they had weren't, actually, blissful, and they actually fell in the categoy of long con — that they found out by no other way than with a dog leash around the neck, and they kinda wish they knew, kinda wish they'd trusted their best friend on that. It's something, and even now, Doyoung still isn't quite used to it — he can only imagine how Yuta, amateur and doctor Yuta, has-never-seen-a-dead-rise Yuta, better-at-reading-entrails-than-feelings Yuta, feels amidst it all.

(Surprised, probably. Concerned, as well. But who knows: Yuta is a doctor, and he seems cooler than all cucumbers, as he disinfects his hands and continues,)

'Yeah, pretty damn horrifying. But you'll get the dude, right?'

(And Doyoung has to admit — it takes him a moment to land back in the moment, back into his inspector mindset — it takes him a few seconds, and when he opens his mouth to reply, Yuta is once again by his side.)

'Of course. We — the squad and I — had no exact idea where to look up until now. Now I, we do, thanks to Jaemin, and we'll do our very best to catch the guy. Just give us some time — a morning meeting tomorrow around some coffee, and we'll be set.'

Dear fiancé wants to be a dog, he muses — and gazes, at the leash still resting on Yuta's desk, a trial and success when it came to comparing the marks it left with the ones sealing Jaemin's fate — a reminder, of Doyoung's work and what it means, a flame that sets him ablaze.

'I'll play and dig up old bones.' 

'And if he bites?' Yuta asks — arms crossed, but grinning under the glaring lights — looking more wolfish than he's ever been, and yet - as honest as Doyoung has ever seen him.

'I'll bite back. Wouldn't be my first. Probably won't be my last either.'

These words are welcomed with a slight eyebrow waggle, and a small, barely audible laugh — they're taken into account, as they are — and then replied to, with something else, framed by a more serious face, a more serious tone:

'Is that how it goes for them too?'

Yuta gives the drawer that contains Jaemin, the fridge full of cadavers a nod — he sets his gaze on Doyoung, and tilts his head, expectant.

'That's none of your business,' Doyoung hisses — then takes a sip of his cold chocolate, looking away from the biblical bane that self-inserted itself into his night. 'Doesn't concern you.'

'I beg to differ,' Yuta retorts — and Doyoung almost believes there is amusement in his tone, almost hears it, loud and clear, slip into his ears like music — and he turns back, to him, and defies his eyes, stupidly sparkly and indeed - amused, 'These are my bodies, Doyoung.'

'Mr. Kim.'

'Dongyoung. This is my work. My tools, my office, my career. These are my dead, and I would like you to remember that next time you intend to kiss one.'

'So what,' Doyoung barks — and as irritation rises in his heart, so does he. He gestures to the fridge, then continues, 'I stop kissing them, is that what you mean? I let myself hit walls, and I forget I can find out the most crucial answers by bringing these people back to life? I let criminals tarnish these people's reputation? Their memory? Is that-'

'Did I ever, at some point, imply this was my wish?' 

Yuta uncrosses his arms, makes a large gesture that embraces their surroundings — he crosses them, again, and looks at Doyoung - softly, gently.

'I am not telling you to stop,' he says — and his voice does awful things to Doyoung, soothes him and brings his frustration down — it comforts him, and leads him away from the warpath he was about to take. 'I am not telling you this.'

Your… gift is hella weird, I'll give you that, he laughs.

'But this isn't the first time you do this, isn't it? This isn't the first time you sneak around in a morgue, let alone my side of the morgue. Isn't it? This isn't your first M.E's office adventure, and this isn't the first dead you're kissing. This isn't the first time you're stuck, and the first time you require Tangible answers. This has been going on for a while, hasn't it?'

Yuta marks a pause, takes an inspiration — he leans forward, slightlyslightlyslightly, and invades poor, upset Doyoung's personal space.

'You've said it yourself, this won't be your last. So — I offer you a deal.'

Yet another pause, during which Yuta lets his words hang in the air, sink into Doyoung's mind — during which Doyoung squints, and crosses his own arms, dubious.

'A deal,' he repeats.

And in the deepest corner of his being, he hopes he sounds confident. He hopes he sounds sure of himself, rather than scared of being 1) sold to the army, the government or both on a silver platter; 2) blackmailed by Nakamoto Yuta; 3) millimetres away from losing his job, or framed as dangerous, a little too fond of death — not reliable, not at all. He hopes he sounds proud, and not shaken like his heart, fragile and upset and oh-so worried, just as emotive and weak as it was when he was eight and bloody and mourning. He hopes his terror doesn't slip through his demeanor, and prays for Yuta to care about something else, the wound on his forehead or how important interviewing the undead is — anything, everything but him and his trembling hands, his trembling heart, soul, self.

'Yes. A deal.'

Yuta leans back, against his desk — he seems to gauge Doyoung, before continuing,

'You tell me when you intend to kiss one of my dead. And you don't skulk around like that — you let me help you. As simple as that.'

And Doyoung snorts — thinks he should have figured.

'So you want a front row to temporary resurrection? Is that what this is? And then what? You film me and you post the video on YouTube? You get a movie deal from it?'

Unbelievable, he mutters, and he chuckles, bitterly — adds that Yuta is a monster, and that he should be ashamed of himself.

'These are victims, Nakamoto Yuta. Not a Disneyland attraction.'

'And did I ever say they were that?' Yuta retorts — and his tone suffocates all traces of acerbity Doyoung had: it extends cold hands towards him, and strips his frame of bitter sarcasm and disgust — it forces him to pay attention, and actually listen. 'I am very much aware these are victims who deserve justice, Kim Dongyoung. I work on them. I'm the one opening then stitching them up; I'm the one you get reports, analysis and proof from. Everything that you know, not only I do as well, but I see, and have to photograph, analyse, brutally touch and cut and take as if it were mine. These are my dead, Doyoung. Not because I yearn to see them on the internet, or because I make money from butchering them — not even because I want to see them alive, and witness what they were in life — but because they are my duty, and I wish to bring them peace, justice. I see what they've gone through, everything they've taken as marks and into an early grave. I see, and I take it with me, because it is my job.

I'm an M.E, Doyoung. Which means I'm here to help you solve these cases, and you, as an inspector, help me see that these souls rest in peace. It's mutual support, and it's what I'm asking for. Nothing less, and definitely nothing more.'

Plus, Yuta adds after marking a pause — nodding towards the door, and seemingly relaxing, losing a bit of the anger he was using as fuel, wouldn't do you any good to get caught here.

'You're used to it, I get it,' he continues, 'but you don't know how long that'll last. And I, for one, do not want to clock in to the news you've been found sneaking around — or worse, kissing victims. The bell saved you today, but you don't know if it'll ring the next time. What if someone else walks in on you?'

It's not safe, he concludes, then - waits, for Doyoung to reply, for him to share his state of mind — for him to carry on, and perhaps give him the greenlight, a trust similar to the one he gave to Jaehyun long ago, something that he usually shares with none.

And it's a lot, actually: it's a decision that asks for time, given to Doyoung when he has none — handed to him on the night's smallest silver platter, in-between a fit of anger and loss of adrenaline, at a time that should be oblivion for him. It's a lot, and yet not at all — too much, soaked in not enough — Doyoung fails to untangle his thoughts from Yuta's words, his own mind from his - and sighs.

'That's not something to which I can reply lightly,' he says — catches himself before he accidentally confesses he's scared, and instead doubles down on his doubts. 'I don't know if I can trust you. What if I say no?'

Yuta shrugs, smiles — softly, completely different from the sight Doyoung was given earlier as he promised to get him fired.

'You'll be sneaking around on your own. I won't change my locks, because this is your duty, but I won't be able to help if someone notices the spare key never turned back after the former expert's departure. I mean,' he laughs, 'I will be, and let's be fair, I'll probably try saving your ass, but you'll definitely have to stick to the walls like you probably did tonight. Which might not be so bad to you, but once again: you're not as safe as you think you are.'

Doyoung frowns, registering his words — he keeps them for himself, and decides to move on.

'And trust? How do I know I can trust you?'

It's not like you have a track record I can blindly put faith in, he says — and Yuta catches him off-guard by laughing again, uncrossing his arms and resting them on his desk, by each side of his hips.

'That's kinda the catch, isn't it?' A pause, a sigh on his part. 'My argument would have been that this is me extending a hand as a professional, but I believe I ruined that specific trust earlier when I… made a fool out of myself. A loud one, at that. Guess it all rests on you taking a leap of faith.'

If anything, he says, straightening himself up, if anything…

'You saying yes or no, trusting me or not, doesn't change much on my side. More, less trips to the office, yeah. Perhaps a few extra hours of sleep. But that's where it ends. If you fear me snitching on you, or publically exposing you… well, that isn't happening. At all. So rest assured on that one.'

Secret's safe with me, he chuckles, and these words travel quickly, quicker than any other to Doyoung's mind — they swat him, gently, brutally, as if he were asleep, and leave him wide awake, with burning cheeks and shame pooling in his stomach (the nauseating feeling of being found out, and much less discreet than he thought he was — the reminder that Yuta is smart, and that there's a possibility he very well knows).

'I,' Doyoung starts — but the shame cuts into his vocal chords, and leaves him speechless — fatigue hits him in a wave, fresh but clingy, and makes everything a blur, even if only for a short moment.

I don't know, he murmurs, admits — and he locks eyes with Yuta, blinks in incomprehension — he rubs his face, and sits back down, picks up his can of probably lukewarm chocolate now, toys with it.

'It's not something to which I can reply lightly,' he repeats — and muffles with his free hand, as it comes to cover his face. 'It's not a simple matter.'

At all, he adds, in a whisper — and he massages his forehead, briefly — realises he must look miserable, fragile, and drops his hand, takes a swig of his drink.

(Definitely lukewarm.)

'Well, consider it, then, alright? You've got time to think it over, the ability to change your mind after giving me an answer. I'm offering this deal, as a professional from another — but it's not to be sealed in any professional way. Just… consider it, okay? The door is wide open. And you have the key, if it's ever locked.'

Yuta allows himself a chuckle, pride in a joke at which Doyoung would glare if he had the energy and hadn't been discovered kissing a victim many minutes ago — but as it is, tired and exposed, he only ignores it, and nods, to the globality of Yuta's words, his offer.

'I'll consider, alright,' he says, finally — drinking up what remains of his lukewarm chocolate, and gripping the can tightly, as his only support — mulling everything over, and staring at the floor, as he waits for Yuta to continue, to add things to his deal, or justify it even more.

But Yuta doesn't: he remains quiet, and does not say, do anything — he stands there right by his side, until eventually, Doyoung looks up, and it's an embarrassed gaze that he meets.

'Well,' Yuta eventually, tentatively says, 'Let's clock out, then? Unless…'

He trails off, suddenly seems embarrassed to not know where to go — leaves Doyoung more than glad to deny wanting to say more, and accepting the hand he holds out to him in a heartbeat.

(It's soft. Almost as big as his. It lets go of him quickly, but its touch — lingers, like a kiss.)

(Doyoung brushes off the thought, throws his can into the bin by the door.)

(He shoves his hands in his pockets, and waits for Yuta, watches as he rummages in his desk.) (It would be better to leave with him than sneak back out, after all.)

'That's the reason you walked in on me?' he asks, as Yuta pulls out a book from under a pile of files — and Yuta tucks it against his chest, holds it like it is his firstborn child — he strides up to him, pulling his keys out of his pocket, and nods.

'A little less serious than a case to kiss awake, I'll admit. But I just got back from a door opening, and I need to know if Soyeon gets married in the present timeline, and if yes, to whom. For comfort.'

He trails behind Doyoung and shuts the lights, the door behind the both of them — he ignores the questionable look Doyoung sends his way, and instead locks the door. 

(He reminds Doyoung of a carefree colleague, and the trust he once slid towards him (to never be taken back). A Jaehyun eager to get secretary Lee's number, and hellish lunches filled with insecurity before Jaehyun revealed he was not going to tell anything, promise — a dimpled smile given to him, as Jaehyun locked the door to his side of the morgue, handed the spare key to him — and sealed a fair exchange of trusts.)

'Say,' Doyoung says as they head to the elevator, in silence if not for the sound of their footsteps and the panicked rhythm of his heart, 'You're… really keeping this for yourself, aren't you? Jaemin and… my special involvement, in cases…'

Yuta chuckles, and glances at Doyoung, as he presses the button to the lift.

'Yes, I am. I told you, didn't I? Secret's safe with me.'

He lets Doyoung step into the lift, orders the machine to transport them to the lobby once he's by side — he leans back against the silver, but still poor imitation of a handrail placed at arm level - and makes Doyoung doubt.

'Really?' Doyoung murmurs, gaze fixated on the mirror before him — a thin and cracked strip below his eye-level, something that allows no reflection beyond his chest and arms.

A sigh echoes, bounces off every wall around them — the lift wakes up, and starts going up.

'Do you want me to blackmail you, Kim Dongyoung?'

Yuta turns to him, an odd mix of frustration and amusement shaping his features into an unfamiliar portrait; inquisitive eyes and brows outbalanced by a lopsided smile, a spark in the eyes that outweigh the birthing frown — Doyoung feels heat creep up his cheeks, and crosses his arms.

'No. Not at all, no. Definitely not.'

'Are you sure? I could arrange for some free time, if you want. Schedule a time devoted to sending you anonymous letters and threatening packages. Spice it up with pictures of Jaemin, Na on your desk from time to time.'

'That is very pre-2010,' Doyoung deadpans — and straightens himself up, as the lift comes to a stop and unravels its outside.

'Suit yourself. I'll be a candid poison-phone-messages writer, then. I'll look up expensive restaurants I've meant to try out since I arrived. Text you the address. Let you pay the bill. That's great, you know. I've been meaning to go to the ABC since officer Huang recommended it to me.'

Yuta steps out of the lift, invites Doyoung to follow him — he unknowingly basks in the sharp, cold light of the west corridor as he waits, and looks barely human, very inhuman — he looks as far as one can from a terrifying blackmailer, and instead very much like a spirit of mischief. 

'What do you say?' he laughs, making a grand gesture towards the end of the corridor, leading to the parking lot — and Doyoung rolls his eyes, exits the lift without sparing him a single glance.

'I say that you're mocking me. And I do not appreciate that.'

'The opposite would have left me disappointed,' Yuta chirps — and he jogs up to him when he steps forward, falls into step with him easily. He shoves his free hand into his pocket, and looks around as if he were a tourist in a museum, rather than an expert temporarily leaving home; as if he were newly arrived, absurd and naive, rather than a clever man knowing exactly what surrounds him. He looks, acts innocent — is just like how he is during autopsies, visits; when subordinates flutter around him and he gives them advice, listens to them like they hold a key to the mysteries hidden in the body he's dissecting — when an officer, out of line in this specific field, makes a blurry but pertinent reflexion, and suddenly the world, the sight before and under his eyes seems clearer.

He acts, just like himself, just like always — he lives, and exists, just like he has been doing since he entered Doyoung's life - nonchalant and unbothered, pleased with himself and his impact on the world — alive in a way even Jaehyun wasn't, and that trips, throws Doyoung off balance.

'None would believe me anyway,' he finally says, murmurs as they approach the exit lobby — and he stops in his tracks, after beeping the door open — he straightens himself up, and holds his right hand up, pinky finger offered to Doyoung.

'What am I supposed to say? I caught officer Kim Dongyoung kissing a victim back to life? Please believe me, I saw it with my own two eyes?' A laugh, as if Yuta found the situation hilarious, rather than mildly threatening — not worth a call to the National Intelligence Service, or even an animated discussion over dinner. 'Seal the deal, if that appeases your mind. I say the truth when I tell you this night is safe with me, and I mean it.'

Doyoung considers the pale finger, the childish offer — he finds it extremely stupid, and completely naive as proof that Yuta is telling the truth. Yet - it is on par with Yuta, typical of him — it seems to fit him, in all his loyal glory, and, even if tilted, even if thrown off his axis — Doyoung believes he sees stability in it, believes he sees something intangible, yet real. He gives the little finger a look, something he hopes conveys his disdain very well — and locks his own with it, seals the 'deal' with a squeeze of it.

'Promise,' he says, locking eyes with Yuta — and Yuta nods - laughs.

'Cross my heart and hope to find myself on my own table, in my own fridge, in my own office. Cross my heart and hope to die, and to be brought back only to claim disloyalty killed me.'

He laughs, as he unlocks his finger from Doyoung's, and he steps into the lobby, holds the door open for Doyoung — he unlocks the door to the parking lot, and turns back to face his companion of the night, his partner up until now — he asks him if he's parked outside, far away from the center, like all good spies do, and Doyoung sighs as he replies that, yes, indeed, he is .

'This is where our path splits into separate ones, then,' Yuta concludes — and he - lingers, even after Doyoung repeats that yes, indeed, it does — he remains there, standing by the door, and looks at him as if this exchange mattered, as if they were more than a mistimed encounter, poorly matched coworkers — a curse and curiosity, brought together by a mocking universe.

(The same one that killed Gaston, the same one that allowed Doyoung to bring him back to life — the one that must think all of this is incredibly funny, and makes Doyoung regret many, many, many things.)

'Good night, then,' Doyoung eventually greets — and he presses the button by the door leading to the street, takes the ten seconds of opening it offers to open it and heads out -

Until Yuta calls his name, and strides up to him — until he stands outside, and Yuta inside, and the night seems to give him a million shades his office, his job, his comfort zone won't.

(The wind, strong tonight, plays with his hair even from here — the streetlights give his skin a peculiar, bewitching glow, and make his lips a cold, almost silvery shade of pink — the room behind him seems to swallow him whole, and yet he seems to stand on top of it, on top of everything — like he decided to be there, and everything that happened tonight was his choice, rather than… the world's.)

(Doyoung tilts his head to the side.)

'Yes?'

'If you or your team find anything new… ring me, alright? Or anyone else. I'll- the institute will be sure to back you up.'

Justice must be served, Yuta adds, quietly — and he looks Doyoung in the eyes, seems to trust in his own words.

(He seems to be sincere, and like he always is (always seems to be) when he gets a new body to examine: a man with a lot on his shoulders, yet ready to carry it all if it means allowing this weight to reach the truth — a man who believes in the great balance of justice, and who will do anything to see its verdict to the end. For better, for worse — for what is right, and true — for what is needed for victims to receive the rest they deserve, and to never be bothered again, honoured in the worst time of their lives.)

(He reminds Doyoung of Jaehyun, and yet not at all: Jaehyun was kinder, and a quiet type of rage, a calm kind of tenacity — Yuta backs up his loud barks with bites, and intends to let everyone know what he believes in, intends to shout it from the rooftops until someone silences him. He does not offer a hand, or even comfort: he is honest from the beginning, and never ceases being direct.)

(He believes, Doyoung thinks, in justice and what it brings — believes that crimes are to be punished, and will not allow anything else.)

(An honourable man, dangerous in this field, just as much of a dog as others.)

Doyoung offers his hand, for him to take — he nods when Yuta shakes it, then shoves it in his pocket, the promise sealed in his fist.

'I will. And we will.'

You can count on us, he says, and he bows, slightly — he meets eyes with Yuta, and thinks that, just this time — just like often, when they have to collaborate on cases — they can have a fair, even if brief, exchange of trust.

'I'll count on you for tonight,' he murmurs — and he steps back, away from Yuta — he bids him goodnight, in a quiet quiet quiet voice, and turns around, hopes for the best to unfold behind his back.

Good night, he hears once he's a few metres away — by the second streetlight, where the moon awaits additional steps to peek out — from which Yuta looks more like a human than anything else, and nothing like Jaehyun ever seemed to be — someone Doyoung is unwilling to let in, and yet unbothered by it, unbothered by who he is.

'You can count on me, too.'

If only for tonight, Yuta adds, grinning widely — and he winks, in the familiar, annoying manner he does when it's daylight and someone gets something right in his office.

Not at all different from what Doyoung is used to (and yet).

'Good night,' Doyoung repeats, and he turns around, meets the moon before getting the chance to spin back - he disappears, back into the darkness he came from, and, clinging to the poor key that was once handed to him with full trust, he wonders - if eventually, he may not need it anymore.

(Sitting in his car, mulling on everything — considering facts, and weighing pros and cons — he decides that he does not know. He looks at his forehead, the mark Yuta's book left on it, and rubs his face, clears it of the thoughts clinging to its features.

He'll see if it marks. He'll see what to do.

He'll see if Yuta can be trusted in the long run, or not.)

(For now… Perhaps he'll lend him a chance.)