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Deep down, Seungmin knows what happened under Ebonhelm Bridge.
The gnarled truth is still the truth, no matter how despicable or uncanny. Seungmin knows this to be fact; the remaining wisps of his innocence fled long ago alongside his first murder case, of which was not so much a murder as it was a plethora of other crimes that resulted in a mutilated corpse. Seungmin's ability to have faith in others has long since faded to nothingness.
Regardless, the case he's been slaving over for the last few months has pushed upon him a renewed sense of loathing.
It was raining when they discovered the body. Not the big droplets that sting with each pierce against your bare skin, rather the fine rain that doesn't seem worthy of an umbrella until you're already soaked to the bone. It cast a blanket of mist over the whole town. Seungmin doesn't often ponder the effects of pathetic fallacy as each day on the job is equally as dire, no matter the weather conditions. However, on that particular day, it did seem to boost the sombreness of the scene.
He was already a few days dead. A pallid colour, rigor mortis in full effect. Had the rain not been present, perhaps the body would have decomposed before discovery, but the call was delivered by a terrified woman who merely sought shelter in the wrong location. If Seungmin had assumed a role in the major investigations team for nothing more than money, then he would wish that was the case; for the body to have decomposed, for his features to have twisted beyond the point of recognition. Alas, Seungmin is committed to his job for the best interest of his people, so he feels no regret.
Seungmin has seen a lot of last words in his time. Words seared into limbs, faces, just above the heart. Words denoting goodbyes, prayers, begs of forgiveness or pleads of innocence. Each and every letter is vivid proof of a life once lived. A thinking, breathing life, stolen for someone's sick fascination.
The words they found on the body were far more harrowing than any Seungmin had come across before.
When he approached the body- of whom Seungmin later found was Lee Felix, merely 22 years of age- he lifted a sleeve to find Felix's last breath was used to utter 'I love you'.
The sentence triggered a response within Seungmin that he hadn't experienced since his very first murder case. His stomach churned violently, and he barely made it to the bushes before emptying the contents of his stomach. A throb cut painfully through his chest.
Murder is a funny thing. Unpredictable, unfathomable. As much as Seungmin would like to believe the minds of such heinous humans aren't all there, he knows the opposite is often the case. Those that commit unspeakable acts at the cost of lives are clever; they possess wit and a desire to be challenged, an unquenchable thirst for control. He who sits on a throne of bones can only crown himself.
As per usual, Seungmin couldn't have predicted his case. Felix was murdered by someone who had him tied like a ribbon, wound so tightly around their finger that he didn't so much as fray in the face of death. Someone who decided Felix's heart wasn't enough, and they had to take his life along with it.
Back then, Seungmin vowed to solve it. He vowed to dedicate himself to the case, to do everything in his power to bring justice to Felix's poor, misguided soul.
Now, he somewhat regrets his vow. Because- deep down- he knows what happened beneath Ebonhelm bridge. He knew as soon as he pulled the blue hair from the crinkled lapels of Felix's coat. But Seungmin discarded it, because perhaps it simply fell from him. Perhaps he's wrong.
"Hey, baby. How was work?"
Seungmin toes off his shoes with a heavy sigh, the kind that reflects an ache anchored to your very bones.
"Exhausting," He replies truthfully. Seungmin is exhausted; a persistent pain has become ingrained within him, stiffening his joints and weakening his reflexes. He's burnt out. As if he's trapped in an hourglass, Seungmin trudges through mountains of sand until he can go no further- until the case reaches yet another dead end. He doesn't acknowledge that he can see through the glass.
"I'll make you tea, love," Minho presses a fleeting kiss to Seungmin's cheek, over an old scar that will forever dimple his flesh.
"I'd love that,"
He retreats to the kitchen counter and watches Minho work. His nimble fingers fulfill the task with such care, he's almost distracted from the slight line of dirt embedded beneath Minho's fingernails, the skin around them rubbed raw as if Minho had been scrubbing and scratching. But Seungmin is trained to pay attention, so he doesn't miss it.
Minho's phone is on the counter, discarded as an afterthought. It vibrates, sending a jarring tingle up Seungmin’s arms. He doesn't glance at the offending notification. Not because he trusts Minho, but because he knows he won't like what he sees.
"Enjoy,"
Minho settles the tea on a coaster and pockets his phone.
"Thanks, baby," Seungmin kisses him this time. A gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. He ensures it lasts, as if to seal a promise behind closed lips.
Minho smiles sweetly after. The action causes him to tilt his head, and Seungmin tries not to notice how the light casts a halo behind him and enhances the vibrancy of the blue in his hair.
"I love you," Seungmin says, because he does. Because Minho has him wound tight around his little finger, just like a ribbon.