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Waking up is the last thing that Kim Ga-on wants to do. There's a throbbing behind his eyes, firmly squinted shut, and he's pretty sure whatever sticky wetness is sluggishly crawling from his temple across his cheek and then down his nose is not sweat.
Eventually, he does have to come up from the black numbness of being unconscious offered to him.
When Ga-on allows his eyelids to flutter open, he regrets it immediately, groaning softly in pain. The room he's in is blessedly dark, but now he has to face reality. He's tied to a chair, each arm restrained by cords. His jacket, having been removed, allows them to dig uncomfortably into his skin. His legs are also secured, the rope material chafing his ankles as he tests their looseness. When Ga-on lifts his head from where his chin was touching his chest, he has to fight down a wave of nausea that follows, vision swimming.
Ga-on takes three deep breaths to steady himself before looking around the small space. With the dim light, he can identify it as a storage room, maybe even a warehouse. There are two high windows, and the floor and walls appear to be cement. However, Ga-on can't see anyone else with him from his limited range.
The man thinks back, searching through still hazy memories for an explanation of why he's in this current situation, but all that comes is fog before a sharp stab in his head jerks the timeline of events into focus.
Ga-on had gotten a text that had shot ice into his veins.
There was an image attachment and a set of numbers.
The photo was of a man's back. The person was dressed in a pristine suit, sitting hunched over papers in a dark office, a red dot firmly between his shoulder blades.
It was Yo-han's back, of that Ga-on had been positive. He'd seen the man throwing on the dove gray suit jacket that morning, lifting a brow when Ga-on had come in to grab a necktie as if asking for the younger's approval.
The numbers had only taken Ga-on a moment to figure out. Coordinates. The expectation for him to arrive was not one Ga-on needed elaboration on. The message's unsaid threat was enough.
Perhaps against his better judgment, Ga-on had left the Kang mansion without informing any of the occupants where he was planning on going. But the mounting danger was enough to keep him silent.
He'd arrived at the coordinates, cautious but determined to find out why someone would threaten Yo-han to get him to come out, when the sound of running steps grabbed his attention from behind. As Ga-on turned to confront this sudden attacker, he caught a blunt object to the side of the head. Before his knees even hit the ground, he was out.
Now, still struggling to look around and catalog his surroundings, recalling any specific details or what that person had looked like, though he's sure he'd seen them full-on before he'd been knocked unconscious, is impossible. Ga-on wishes, at the very least, that he was able to grip his head as another thrum of pain makes him wince harshly, curling as best he can back into himself. It's frustrating but not the most pressing matter, he supposes. He's utterly vulnerable to a peril he's woefully unprepared to handle.
After the brief episode passes and Ga-on can aim his focus again, he suddenly realizes, clear and sharp, that he's not alone. He can feel the heavy stare that's analyzing him, eyes on the back of his head, serious in their attention. He wonders if this is fun for the mysterious abductor, seeing him struggle and shift against his bonds, trying to get a grip on his current predicament.
Minutes tick by, and evidently, the waiting game no longer holds the same appeal.
Ga-on hears the click of heels against stone, and immediately he tenses. The steps are careful, lazy almost, unbothered as they get closer and closer from where he can't see. The touch of a hand on his neck makes him jerk, and he wishes he could have held the reaction. He's vulnerable enough as it is. If he could control himself more, he could at least bluff himself to safety if needed.
The laugh his reaction earns him makes Ga-on's skin crawl as Jung Sun-ah slithers into view. He isn't surprised that it's her, which must read on his face because Sun-ah pouts comically down at him as her fingers trail from his shoulder to under his chin, forcefully tipping his head back, so he's properly looking up at her. It sends another burn through his brain, but he manages to swallow down any sound threatening to spill out.
"Associate judge Kim should be more careful, going to strange places by himself," her words are honey-sweet but laced with thinly veiled intimidation. It makes his stomach roll.
Ga-on can't believe that he believed her to be innocent, a victim of circumstance at one point. Now, after so much, he knows the truth. A victim, maybe, but a mastermind all the same. He doesn't give her the satisfaction of responding to her quip, getting straight to the point.
"Why?" The word is sluggish and weighty on his tongue.
Ga-on didn't think this was like her, taking such a big step, something risky. But then it dawns on him. His brain is finally starting to catch up. She's not planning on killing him; he's mostly sure of that. His current circumstances are a threat or a test of some kind. It doesn't exactly fill him with the hope of leaving this place unscathed (his head is still pulsing with pain), but it does let him know that he likely isn't in immediate danger.
Hopefully.
It doesn't stop him from feeling even more stupid, though. Sun-ah would have never killed Yo-han. At least not like that, a bullet to the back. Much too impersonal for her. She lets go of his face and steps back, crossing her arms over her chest, frowning at him.
Sun-ah doesn't speak for a moment, studying him as he's sure she'd done when he'd been unable to gaze back.
"I wanted to see how fast you would come running," her expression slips into something boarding manic and gleeful; it sets Ga-on's teeth on edge as she leans back in, placing her hands on his arms and pressing close to his face. Ga-on gets himself as far as he can from her approaching body but has little room to escape. "I wanted to test a theory."
The way that she says it… Ga-on knows whatever theory it was; she has the answer now. He doesn't know if that's a good thing as, when another beat passes of her staring him down, she also comes to that same conclusion. Her nails dig into Ga-on's arms even though her face is softly smiling.
"You love him too, don't you?"
Her words swim around Ga-on's brain, and it takes him a moment to decipher what exactly she's saying. He wishes it raised the alarm or surprise. Still, Ga-on has to admit that the realization of who Sun-ah is talking about and exactly how she's determined this as truth is less like puzzle pieces snapping together. More of a sheet being pulled away from in front of Ga-on's eyes, only to reveal Kang Yo-han, sitting at his desk, feet in his ostentatious slippers kicked up, hair soft over his forehead as he reads.
Ga-on does his best not to let it show; his agreement with her statement. But Sun-ah is not stupid, and his lack of denial only seems to spur her forward. He'd be surprised if his arms aren't bleeding from how her talons dig in deeper at this point.
He also isn't surprised that she'd said: "as well." Ga-on can't help but wonder, are her feeling toward the Chief love? Or is it misplaced kinship wrapped in obsession? It's undoubtedly not mornings spent arguing over who gets the last piece of omelet with an unruly teenager or nights lounging together, pouring over law documents. Ga-on also doesn't think it's running into an obvious trap with a threat hanging directly overhead just because the alternative means something far worse than anything that could happen to oneself.
Ga-on tries to keep his expression neutral, but there's something there; he's positive. Sun-ah, for once, lets that anger she's feeling flash across her face, and she leans even further forward, grabbing a fistful of Ga-on's hair before wrenching his skull back, his neck digging into the chair.
Ga-on hisses at the pain.
"I wonder what that look in your eye is supposed to mean? Could you be under the delusion that the younger master-" Whatever Sun-ah is saying cuts off as a crash comes from behind her, somewhere directly outside the building.
In the next moment, behind Ga-on, a hand shoots out and wraps around the middle of Sun-ah's forearm, shocking her grip on Ga-on's hair lax enough that the sudden figure, cloaked in black, can rip her away from Ga-on's space.
When the new arrival comes into view, Ga-on knows immediately by the silhouette that it's Kang Yo-han, dressed in his black joggers and black hoodie, dressed for a fight.
Sun-ah's face shifts between surprised, amused, and then it is completely enraged. It's enough to make Ga-on's brain go soupy trying to catch all the different moments as the flick one after another, but he's coherent enough that he can tell immediately what's going on in her head.
Sun-ah had expected Ga-on to come running, had even been hoping for it. Still, she hadn't anticipated that with the situation reversed, Kang Yo-han would come running as well, after Ga-on no less, and, just maybe, that means something similar to what Ga-on's reaction had.
Immediately Ga-on goes limp, relaxed even, in the chair. Yo-han is here now. He's safe.
Yo-han offers Ga-on a cursory glance over his shoulder just to ensure he hasn't missed some terrible injury that requires his immediate attention before he rounds back on Sun-ah. The woman has schooled her expression, and when she opens her mouth to speak, it's clear Yo-han is at the edge of his patience. He twists the arm caught in his hand, and while Sun-ah doesn't cry out in pain like it's so clear she wants to, her mouth does click shut.
He pulls her close, jerking her against his chest so that he can whisper against the shell of Sun-ah's ear, unable to be heard by Ga-on, who, now that he's in the process of being rescued is hardly focused enough to listen anyway.
"I tolerate so much from you, Ms. Jung… but touch what's mine again," he squeezes her arm harshly while his face remains flat as stone, "and I assure you, my tolerance is not what you will find waiting for you." He releases the woman from his grip and steps away, returning to where Ga-on is still secured, head lulling as he repeatedly lists in and out of consciousness.
Yo-han's touch on his arm has him attempting to straighten up at least.
"Chief-" Yo-han's eyes, sharp and commanding, makes Ga-on's tongue stall in his mouth.
"Save your energy," Ga-on's brain, hazing over, exhaustion clouding, can still fill in the blank, the "you'll need it for when I thoroughly tear you to shreds for being an idiot once we get home."
Yo-han produces a knife from his hoodie and carefully slices away at the ropes keeping Ga-on in place, and it's only the solid arm wrapping around his shoulder and hoisting him up keeps Ga-on from slumping over, suddenly so weak.
As they stumble (Yo-han barely managing to keep them upright) out of the building, Ga-on has a sudden fear, this all feels too easy, this escape, and when he tips his head up to murmur the words against Yo-han's collarbone, the older man just tucks his head in, further against his neck.
"K is taking care of it. Just… shut up and go to sleep."
Ga-on is then, despite the brusque words, carefully deposited into one of Yo-han's large black SUVs. The younger is sure that he's got a concussion and that sleeping is the last thing he should do, but he heeds Yo-han's demand and allows for sleep to come up and claim him, knowing he's in for a scolding and whatever might come from this encounter and the implications of it when he wakes again.