Archive of Our Own ^beta

When us people with authority make the wrong decision, it’s not ourselves that we hurt, but others.

Chin sprinted across the field, fast as the wind and just as invisible against the snow covering the ground like a thick blanket. She jumped, twisted like a ballerina, and caught the orange frisbee mid-air. Snow flew up as she landed and for a moment it froze in space, a fine mist surrounding the dog like a fantasy filter.

Then she started running back and kicking up more snow in her haste to show off how efficient she was at bringing back runaway objects.

Juwon smiled widely when she got close and dropped on one knee to pet the Husky energetically, dusting her off from the snow rather redundantly. She dropped the frisbee by his feet and barked happily, tail wagging like a fast-paced metronome. She kept jumping and raising her front paws as if to climb onto his shoulders, shovelling a ridiculous amount of snow onto him in the process, but Juwon couldn’t care less – he was bundled head to toe in polyester ski-type clothes and while each of his movements produced those horrible plasticky sounds he could roll around in knee-thick snow and not get cold or wet, so it was very much worth the trade-off.

Chin was having the time of her life – every winter she regarded snow with the same enthusiasm as if she’d encountered it for the first time. And Gangwon-do had plenty of snow in the colder months – perfect for a Husky.

The dog’s happiness was contagious – Juwon couldn’t suppress a laugh at how intently she stared at him when he picked up the orange frisbee and threw it again. She was off like a bullet, more flying than running across the field, becoming smaller and nearly blending into the white landscape. Juwon looked after her, breathed out air which came out as visible fog, and nearly jumped up and down from all the excitement – Chin’s enthusiasm was just that transmittable, like a virus.

“Smile for the camera, Han Juwon,” came from off to the side and Juwon’s head whipped in the direction of the voice.

Dongsik was just lowering his phone to look at the picture he’d taken with it. He smiled down at it.

“Aigoo, you never smile, do you?” he tsked and shook his head in fake annoyance.

Juwon scoffed and turned back in the direction of the dog which was much more deserving of his attention. She was coming back already.

He wasn’t actually angry, of course.

Chin reached him in one big leap – she jumped right into his chest as if she expected him to hold her like she was still a little puppy (she never did lose her affinity for being carried around). Predictably, her weight combined with her speed created a power of impact which sent them both straight down. Juwon laughed – the snow was so soft that it felt like falling into a bed rather on cold frozen earth. Chin did manage to nearly knock the air out of him, weighing twenty kilograms like she did, but he was prepared after years of experience with how she got and the little stunt was just enjoyable. Falling down and knowing it would be fine – freedom in the most fundamental sense. Nothing could shake his joy, no cloud could shade the sun – no power in the Universe could get the white dog on top of him to stop jumping up and down in circles around him.

He was certainly glad that he was more interesting that a frisbee – as soon as the entirety of him was within reach of her, Chin abandoned the toy and settled for playing with him. She didn’t even give him ample time to catch his breath, but that was alright. Juwon play-wrestled her with enthusiasm, rolling around in the snow until he really lost his breath and surrendered on his back. Exhilarated, the Husky licked his face in victory and seemed to enjoy watching him squirm and be too tired to really fight her off. His only regret was not feeling her fur under his palms through the gloves he was wearing.

“Come on, princess, grant poor Han Juwon his peace,” Dongsik chuckled as he gently guided Chin away from the younger man.

Juwon threw him a thankful look, but his partner was too busy being attacked by an affectionate white canine. Dongsik, however, was too dignified (thought with sarcasm) to roll around in the snow and was instead just sitting and even using an old rope to play tug. Very clever of him. He seemed to be exercising appropriately, pitched against an enemy as strong and determined as Chin – there was a lot of huffing and puffing (like a tea kettle left on the stove for too long) involved in their little struggle.

Juwon stretched his arms above his head, feeling way too lazy to actually stand up when he was comfortable. He turned slightly to observe his partner and Chin – his laughter and her excited barking filled his ears and he smiled. Their surroundings were so peaceful, the small field otherwise surrounded by forests completely empty on a cold Thursday morning mid-December. The mountains were quiet, slumbering, and the energy of their little group carried through the unoccupied space freely.

Juwon did not want to move a single muscle. He closed his eyes, breathed in the chilly air, and relaxed. He kept listening, aware of his surroundings, and a small smile curled the corners of his lips.

Then he suffered unforgivable betrayal – a snowball hit him right in the face.

He jumped immediately from the shock – bad move, because some of the snow slipped from his face down his neck into his clothes. He hissed and whipped his head again, glare murderous.

Dongsik was laughing so hard he had to lean over and rest his hands on his knees for balance – what a bastard. Chin, the second traitor, was running circles around him and wagging her tail with too much joy.

“Lee Dongsik-ssi!” Juwon protested as he got up to a sitting position, hellbent on revenge. “Are you a child?”

“Ah, Inspector Han,” Dongsik tsked mockingly, that mischievous spark in his eyes twinkling almost threateningly. “You never learned how to have fun.”

He put his hands in his pockets cockily and that was his downfall – the snowball hit him right in the chest, with nothing to pose as barrier between the two.

It was a hastily made one so it nearly collapsed way before reaching its target, but that was part of the strategy – with Dongsik positively distracted Juwon could get up and arm himself appropriately. His partner wasn’t slow with the reaction, however, and the next snowball missed.

“You sneaky punk!” Dongsik laughed.

“Have you no shame, Lee Dongsik? You started this,” Juwon deadpanned, moulding another snowball in his hands.

“Ah,” Dongsik nodded thoughtfully, then his face split into that mad grin that had driven Juwon nearly to insanity when they had first met. “So you want war,” he concluded, and that declaration was enough.

Chin had no clear favourites – she constantly ran from one to the other as the fight progressed, trying her best to participate by kicking up snow their way. That usually resulted in a short laugh pause before either Juwon or Dongsik felt the pull of revenge too strongly and broke the uneasy truce by launching another shot which would restart the hostilities.

They were in an open field surrounded by trees – no place to hide, so it was a matter of speed, agility, and wit. In knee-deep snow the first two were hard to fully utilise, and in the third category the two adversaries were fairly evenly matched.

So of course there could be no clear victory. And Juwon was getting kind of tired (or rather, annoyed that he wasn’t clearly winning), so he decided on swift direct action to end the conflict.

Dongsik’s face was priceless as he watched his partner physically charge at him and then actually tackle him to the ground. Needless to say, he wasn’t expecting that.

Juwon, however, had no plan for what to do when he and his partner were on the ground, surrounded on all sides by a bed of white and an excited dog barking somewhere quite nearby. So he was quite easy to overpower, standing above his partner and gripping his shoulders – Dongsik rolled them in the snow (lots of curses and laughter involved) until he was free and could shuffle away to sit by his partner. He couldn’t resist smacking some show in his face.

Juwon hissed and shook his head, not unlike a dog, then sat up as well, breathing heavily. He and Dongsik looked quite alike after their little stunt – faces red but happy, clothes askew from all the rolling they did, covered in snow. Breathing hard and exhaling little clouds of mist. Smiling at each other stupidly.

Chin broke their little staring contest by squeezing between them (there wasn’t that much room, but she was determined) and kicking up more snow with her tail. Dongsik beamed at her and petted her to brush some of the snow off of her back.

“I do know how to have fun,” Juwon declared victoriously. He had taken his hat off and was shaking it in the air to dust off the snow.

Dongsik chuckled.

“That you do, Inspector Han,” he admitted. The evidence of them having fun were distinguishable all over the field, brush strokes on a white canvas. Some of them appropriately dog-shaped.

Juwon stood up and stuffed his hat in his pocket. He offered his hand to his partner.

Dongsik threw him a look as if to say that he was perfectly able to stand up on his own but took it anyway. Juwon helped him up but didn’t let go – he stepped close enough to press their shoulders together and used his other hand to brush the snow off of his partner’s back.

Chin had quieted, finally slightly exhausted, and was sitting in front of them, her blue eyes large and knowing. Dongsik smirked at her. She barked as if to say she got the message.

Once he was done Juwon let go of his partner, but lingered close to him, close enough to maintain a point of contact at their shoulders, looking out into the field. He wasn’t sad exactly, simply thoughtful, lost in his own head.

Dongsik looked out as well, as if trying to see the world through his partner’s eyes.

“Not a lot of snow in England,” he remarked casually. “Or Seoul.”

Juwon winced and hid it by turning slightly to the side.

“Yes,” he agreed drily. He didn’t point out that even if there had been snow every winter in the United Kingdom, he hadn’t had friends to play with. Not back then. Nor later.

But he didn’t waste time thinking of the past – didn’t want to, when he had a present filled with happiness to focus on instead.

Besides, he knew Dongsik wasn’t cruel – he wasn’t saying such things just to get to him. So he patiently waited for the real reason – allowed himself to turn back towards his partner, to let his posture be open. Side by side they were, together in an empty cold world.

“Guess it’s good luck you came back,” was Dongsik’s sweet addition. He looked at his partner with a smug smile.

Juwon scoffed, but the normally annoyed gesture was filled with fondness. As if to reflect that, Chin barked. The two men smiled at her with nearly identical smiles.

Dongsik’s hand found its way onto his partner’s shoulder – the action was natural, habitual. Juwon still smiled at him every time it happened, even when he wasn’t surprised.

“I’ve been lucky in some things,” the younger man agreed.

The older gave him a sweetly melancholic look before patting his shoulder.

“Ah, it’s nearly time for lunch,” he spoke up, started turning towards the direction they’d arrived from. “Even the princess will be hungry soon.”

Juwon consulted his phone, after fishing it out from where it was buried deep under his jacket. Indeed, the day had progressed quite rapidly – they’d spent over five hours out there playing with Chin. No wonder the dog was finally looking somewhat tired – sometimes Juwon thought she was a nuclear reactor given her energy output.

He started after his partner. The car wasn’t that far away.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Juwon had shovelled Dongsik’s driveway and the path from his gate to his porch clean of snow before they’d gone out with Chin and because it hadn’t snowed again since then it was still clear when their little group made it back to Inje-eup. The weather forecast threatened with new snowfall later in the day, however. In Dongsik’s book that was good, because the sun had started to melt it and he had two very snow-excited creatures around to keep entertained with it.

Not that Han Juwon would ever admit to being excited by something so trivial, but a man had only to look at him at the right moment to tell. Nailing the right moment, that was the tricky part, but Dongsik was an expert.

He started making tea while Juwon took all of their snow clothes to do his thing with them. Dongsik didn’t ask – in his mind that was none of his business. Kind of like what his partner did with their muddy uniforms after they’d climbed a mountain or traversed a reed field looking for lost elderly – Juwon took them and returned them clean by the power of some magic privy only to him.

Chin had retreated to her bed in Dongsik’s bedroom. The truest achievement of them all - exhausting the little princess. He smiled to himself with pride.

Juwon returned just as the tea was ready. He was carrying plastic containers with leftovers from his house.

“I don’t feel like cooking,” he provided as a way of explanation.

Dongsik certainly wasn’t complaining – he was hungry.

Around the middle of their meal Chin trotted up into the kitchen – apparently hunger was a strong enough incentive for her to leave her soft bed. Dongsik had already prepared her food and she attacked it with vigour.

The meal was going mostly in silence, cosy in the warm house. At one point Juwon stretched his legs under the table and one of them ended up pressed against the side of one of Dongsik’s legs. His partner’s knees were probably feeling stiff after being folded under his chair for a while and the changed position was probably doing him some good. Dongsik decided he didn’t mind – Juwon wasn’t showing any aversion to touch either, so he let it be.

After lunch Chin returned to sleeping – she obviously had her priorities straight. The two men let her be while they washed the dishes. When that was done Juwon turned to his partner:

“Will you help me with something?”

Dongsik looked at him only slightly wary – it was unusual for Juwon to want to do anything which required help on their day off (mostly because he only wanted help for work and the point of a day off was not working, something which even the younger inspector understood). His face wasn’t one of a man about to sit down on his one free day of the week and grind over cold cases (and Dongsik was familiar with that face because he’d worked for years to ensure that he would never have to see it again), so the older man decided to chance it.

“Okay …” he allowed and followed his partner to the living room, where Juwon asked to borrow his laptop.

That was yet another warning bell, because what could he need help with on that thing? Dongsik’s help at that.

If it was work related Dongsik would honestly take a broom and chase his partner with it back to his own house because the morning had gone so well and ruining the rest of the day would be a crime in his eyes. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case.

It was a crossword.

An honest to god, New York Times monthly special cryptic crossword, in English, which Juwon wanted Dongsik’s help to solve. As if he could actually help. As if he was the one who had spent a considerable amount of time in England of all places.

Those were some of the funniest two hours Dongsik had ever had.

“It’s a reference to ‘Lord of the Flies’,” Juwon kept explaining, trying to keep his face stone-cold but grinning instead. The laptop was shaking in his hands because his whole body trembled with contained laughter. “The pigs that the boys kept trying to …”

“And why exactly should it be a pig?” Dongsik rebuked him, deadset on being contrary. Honestly speaking, he did not understand how the clue was related to any book at all, but that was apparently what cryptic crosswords were all about (in Juwon’s words). It was just funny discussing seemingly meaningless sentences turn up with even more meaningless words to fill the blank spots on the screen.

“It could be a reference to ‘1984’,” he continued stubbornly. His poker face was a lot better than his partner’s. “There’s a goat there, and it’s also a stand-in for a person.”

“But it’s just for a moment,” Juwon protested – he silently passed the laptop to Dongsik to lean back in the sofa and laugh some more. He laughed silently, and pressed the back of one hand to his mouth to hide it – an old habit. Dongsik smiled fondly as he watched his partner, not really interested in the crossword at all.

“So what if it’s just a moment?” he insisted, put the laptop on the coffee table for the moment. “Is a moment too short? Moments make seconds and seconds make minutes and before you know it, you’ve got years.”

Actual moisture glistened in Juwon’s eyes and he turned his head away, perhaps to hide an all too not-Inspector-Han grin. Still so stubbornly shy, after so many years.

“What did you always say, Inspector Lee? Many a little makes a mickle?” Juwon sagged against the back of the sofa with the air of a person who was far too amused to spend energy keeping himself upright. It brought Dongsik pride to know he’d been the cause.

“Absolutely!” he mustered all of the seriousness he had in him, which was laughably little.

Juwon laughed, this time openly, and reached a hand towards Dongsik’s shoulder to steady himself. Through that point of contact every little shiver which shook him transferred to Dongsik as well and he joined in gladly, although with more restraint. He was feeling sentimental, for whatever reason. Maybe it was the morning out with Chin, but he thought about how carefree his partner looked – how at peace. The awareness that this was a truly precious moment – precious because it was rare and precious because those never lasted long – was all too heavy.

Thing was, Dongsik knew loss – knew it intimately, like a lover, its cruel clutches that held so gently. Loss was predictable, and it was consistent. He loved his sister – and he lost her. He cherished his community – and they shunned him. He looked up to his chief despite everything, shared a closeness with him which alleviated some of the suffocating weight on his chest – and he lost him too. The girl who was like his daughter, who was infuriating at times but so dear to him – he lost her. His best friend lied to him, kept him in the dark for so long that in the end their friendship didn’t even feel real – Dongsik had lost Park Jeongje too. He was all too aware that the potential loss of his partner was not so far-fetched: Han Juwon was young, hard-working, driven. He could be away at any moment, chasing his dreams, his happiness. The crushing reality was that the life here, in Inje-eup with Dongsik, no matter how good it seemed at the moment, no matter how fulfilling, was just a placeholder for something better. Something freer. Juwon was being dragged down, down into the depths with Dongsik, ruined like him, because of gilt. But that guilt would one day disappear (Dongsik had sworn on it, to himself, on the day he agreed to come work with Juwon in Gangwon-do) and he would jump, fast like Chin in the snowfield, determined towards his true place, wherever that was.

All the more precious a moment was, all the more fragile it lied, ready to be shattered like glass by the unyielding wills of fate.

“Lee Dongsik?” Juwon’s hand on his shoulder squeezed a bit harder, and brought Dongsik out of his thoughts.

His partner was peering up at him, still hunched over from laughing, but his face was devoid of any mirth – he looked worried instead, lips quivering slightly, his large eyes searching and vulnerable. There was a look of honest, open desperation on his face, like he was praying that whatever was happening wasn’t too bad.

“What is it?” he asked now that he knew he had his partner’s attention, looking straight at him and pulled taught like a string, ready to snap in whatever direction Dongsik indicated the trouble was in. Without any hesitation he put another hand on Dongsik, this time on his elbow, and stood up a little so they were on an even level, never once looking away from him, the air of concern never faltering.

Goodness, but he looked so real, so … there. Under his genuine gaze Dongsik warmed on the inside, an ice cube dropped on the floor and kicked under the fridge to thaw. All of his worries, which had been so freezing and had seized his heart so easily, were blown away by strong wind, and he remembered that life was all about living in the moment and not wasting time thinking about some nebulous tragic future.

The smile he gifted his partner was wide, happy, and sincere. He relaxed, put a hand on Juwon’s shoulder in return, met his eyes bravely.

“Everything is fine,” he said and he meant it. Juwon looked confused, because he could tell it was the truth, which clashed with the truth from a couple of moments ago. “I was just thinking.”

“About what?” his partner snapped, sounding offended on his behalf that bad thoughts could sneak into his head – and on their day off no less.

That endeared Dongsik and he laughed fondly.

“Nothing important, Juwon-ah,” he squeezed his partner’s shoulder comfortingly and Juwon finally let go of him, convinced. The last dregs of suspicion and concern were washed away from his eyes when he saw that Dongsik’s maintained smile was completely genuine. He kept close, however, a bit closer than they had been before, legs and shoulders faintly brushing together.

“Let’s go back to that …” Dongsik leaned forward to pick his laptop up again.

“Cryptic crossword,” Juwon reminded him.

“Yeah, that,” he agreed. He hadn’t actually forgotten, but the mere concept of a crossword based on obscure references and in-depth knowledge of stupid quirks of the English language was absurd to him.

Still, it was an extraordinarily fun activity, because Juwon was there to explain all the weird classical literature puns and he did it in a way more fitting to a comedian, with his weird dry sense of humour which Dongsik found similar to his own. Anyone else leaning over his shoulder to look at the screen and point out entries like a smartass would have been unbearable, but not Juwon. Not with his laughter so close to Dongsik’s ear, and his casual touches, completely relaxed and natural (and his insistence that this stupid crossword was truly a monthly special, therefore someone had to bash their head in every month making one of these for the nerds of the world). Not with his thick in-home trousers and knitted sweater, some of the most casual wear Dongsik had ever seen him in.

Not with Juwon being so real.

They didn’t get too far into the crossword because Chin emerged from Dongsik’s bedroom, refreshed from her nap and having digested for a little while – that meant it was time for a walk.

Juwon went into his room (technically it was Dongsik’s guest bedroom, but he had long ago signed it off to his partner) to change. Chin was impatient and stared at his closed door disapprovingly.

Dongsik smiled at her.

“Aigoo, princess, have a little patience,” he scratched her between the ears – she suddenly didn’t look so angry.

“See? It’s not so bad,” Dongsik grinned at her and offered her his hand – she diligently gave him her paw, a little trick Juwon had trained her to do (along with some others). She always got a serious expression when she did it, almost like a human. Dongsik shook her paw all business-like. “Good girl.”

Chin barked her agreement.

Dongsik continued petting her while they waited for Juwon.

“He really is something else, isn’t he?” he contemplated, thoughts back to a few minutes ago when all it had taken to pull him away from a mental space he really did not want to be in had been his partner. “Our Han Juwon.”

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

They walked Chin several times per day – it wasn’t a problem, because there were two of them and therefore the workload was easier to share. When Juwon was walking her after meals, a walk which was meant to be shorter, he had a favourite route across the small town. It was basically a rectangle starting from his and Dongsik’s street, continuing towards the station but making an opposite turn, rounding back, and coming back up towards his end of the street. In a light jog it took seven minutes to complete one round and he usually did five or six with Chin.

With Dongsik Juwon preferred to walk, not because he doubted his partner’s abilities to keep up a light jog for thirty minutes, but rather because he wanted to maintain conversation. Their talk was always sparce, the conversation seemingly ending out of nowhere and picking back up minutes later like nothing had happened – they were just synched. Juwon liked it that way, they understood each other like that.

Inje-eup was terribly quiet in the middle of the workday in December – not only was there snow on the sidewalks and in front of the houses, but also the streets were iced and vehicles had to be driven extra carefully. Needless to say, it was cold. In a word, no one wanted to be outside.

Chin, deprived of her usual run with Juwon, was compensating by running circles around the two men, excitedly sniffing around their feet, then rushing over to the nearest interesting object, inspecting it thoroughly, then returning back for another few circles around them. They didn’t keep her on a lead during her walks – there was no need, with how friendly she was and how little people they usually encountered. And Juwon had trained her well enough that she would return by his side at a whistle, and sit when told to sit.

At one intersection Juwon noticed that Dongsik had been keeping his hands in his pockets the entire walk this far.

“Did you take gloves?” he asked in his direct manner which people often found rude, but it was just his way of being efficient.

“What? Are you my mother now?” Dongsik smirked at him, the insufferable, infuriating man.

“Perhaps stop acting like you need a mother,” Juwon snapped back.

He angrily slipped off his own gloves under his partner’s sceptical eye.

“Here,” he held them out to Dongsik, practically pushed them into him since the two of them were walking extremely close to each other.

Dongsik had the gall to scoff at him.

“Aigoo, I’m not so old that I’ll die from a bit of cold,” he pointed out, always trying to shift the conversation.

It might have worked several years ago, but definitely not now.

Instead of letting himself be deterred, Juwon took matters into his own hands – quite literally. He simply pulled one of Dongsik’s hands out of the corresponding pocket, fully intending to wrestle a glove onto it if he had to – he was not above such pettiness.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to prove his determination – Dongsik pulled his hand free and threw Juwon a really mean look, truly scandalized, but he did accept the gloves this time. With the appropriate amount of annoyed murmurs, of course.

Juwon grinned – victory felt sweet.

And the lining on his coat’s pockets was warmer anyway.

“Don’t look so smug, you punk,” Dongsik hissed, but only after a second he saw the humour in the situation, the ridiculousness, and smiled to himself.

His smiles were contagious.

They did two more rounds before Juwon took his hands out of his pockets and rubbed them together vigorously. It didn’t really make him feel warmer, but the illusion was nice. And it gave him something to focus on – the trouble with days off was that he needed activities to fill them, otherwise he’d go mad. Some people were stir-crazy, but he was stir-crazy level 1000 and above. That must have been evident to his partner, who’d spent most of his early afternoon solving a cryptic crossword of all things. Juwon didn’t really like crosswords, and the cryptic ones were especially ridiculous.

But well, even cryptic crosswords could be fun with the right company.

He was jolted out of his musings (he was not zoning out and he would deny such an accusation vigorously) by two warm hands coming to clasp around his own. With anyone else, Juwon’s first instinct would have been to flinch away, but instead his breath was stolen from him as the only two hands he would ever have touching him carefully warmed his cold fingers. There was so much attention in the way Dongsik held his hands in his own, his thumbs rubbing circles on his partner’s outer palms – Juwon was entirely too unprepared to be at the receiving end of all that focus and he could only stare, mesmerised. Quite touched as well, for his gloves were nowhere in sight – they were warm on the inside, lined with a thick, soft fabric, but the outside was waterproof and quite cold.

If it was odd that they weren’t exchanging words, Juwon didn’t notice – he didn’t have the breath to speak either way. As if afraid to break the spell, he dared not move, but that in and of itself was confirmation that he wanted the contact to continue – he was no small defenceless animal and if he wanted to be free he could have made it happen. But he didn’t – he wanted the opposite, but couldn’t quite voice it. So he stood in the middle, and trusted his partner to know what he meant by it.

And damn him, but Dongsik knew. It was like he always knew, had always known, ever since the beginning. And at the times when he hadn’t known he’d made some accurate guesses and had definitely seemed like he had known the deal. Almost uncanny. It suited him so well.

“Now we’ll both be cold,” Juwon’s mouth said without any input from his brain, unable to even blink, staring at Dongsik’s face.

He nearly jumped when his partner finally raised his head and their eyes met, but something in that gaze reassured him and he stayed where he was, calm in the serene afternoon.

Dongsik smiled.

“Let us be cold,” he replied nonchalantly. “A little cold never hurt anybody.”

With a final little squeeze to his partner’s hands and a smile that could melt glaciers, he continued down the path, meeting the excited Chin halfway and crouching down to pet her. Juwon couldn’t find it in himself to take a single step to follow, something all to heavy twisting in his chest.

Then Dongsik was turning his head to look at him and he forgot where he was.

“Are you coming, Han Juwon?”

Juwon blinked, swallowed dry air. He shook his head like Chin did after a bath to dry off. Deep breaths, one after the other. He forced his legs to move.

His partner very casually knocked their shoulders together when Juwon returned to his side.

“Let’s head back, okay?”

“Okay.”

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Juwon took on the difficult task of giving Chin a bath to grant his partner a chance at a nap. Not that Dongsik was all that tired or even in need of a nap – it was just a luxury, so to speak, a day-off special treat. At times Juwon partook as well – there was an energy to it, he contemplated while he was very carefully blow drying the Husky – napping on one’s day off. It felt like something normal people did. Free people.

He found Dongsik on the sofa in his living room, because of course – the man had a perfectly comfortable bed but just had to opt for the sofa. Juwon thought some very colourful curses at his infuriating partner (making no actual noises because he wouldn’t disturb his partner’s sleep on their day off for the world unless there was a fire, and even then he’d thoroughly consider whether the fire was all that serious as to warrant such an extreme reaction) even as he picked up the blanket that Dongsik had haphazardly thrown over himself and adjusted it.

His hands lied on his partner’s shoulders for a moment, allowing the time for Juwon to take the sight in, the peacefulness. He double-checked that he’d tucked the blanket all the way around Dongsik’s back then stood up.

Chin pattered over from Dongsik’s room – for such a large dog she could be incredibly quiet and had a sense of when to be. She looked at Juwon with her intelligent blue eyes, as if to tell him that she had the situation covered.

He nodded to her, completely seriously, as if the Husky could understand this weird little pact he’d just made with her, and headed for the front door.

Despite Dongsik’s house feeling like a home to him (and not even a second home, just his home, plain and simple), he did have some comforts in his own house which his partner lacked. Such as a fine selection of wine, a particular bottle of which would go well with the meat he was planning to cook for dinner. So he went over to fetch it.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Dongsik was not much for wine, had never been, but Juwon had rubbed off on him at some point.

After waking up to his partner already cooking in his kitchen like he owned the place, Dongsik had helped set the table and then stayed away, as per the other man’s request.

“You just can’t cook Western dishes, Lee Dongsik,” Juwon had explained to him with the certainty of an expert.

“I’ve been cooking since before you were born, you punk,” Dongsik had returned, and it had only been a small lie, off by a few years at most.

“And you’re a very slow learner,” Juwon had concluded and effectively won.

His prize had been shooing Dongsik away from the kitchen in order to finish chopping up vegetables in peace. The fact that he had been forbidden from assisting in even a task as simple as that hadn’t hurt nearly as much as it should have when Dongsik considered it as a gesture – a sign of goodwill from his partner who insisted that he rest.

Dongsik, of course, was keen on pointing out that Juwon needed to rest too, but he realised that his younger partner still struggled with existing without a task. He had to be introduced to living in small doses, and compromises had to be made. With patience and perseverance, Dongsik was getting him there, little by little. There was no rush, he kept reminding himself, and sometimes he almost believed it.

They had already done so much, after all – Juwon was capable of spending a whole day without checking his emails, with his phone completely silent, with no case files anywhere around him, without a single conversation about work. Dongsik napped, and allowed someone else to clean his living space, and he sometimes played the guitar, when the mood struck him. A couple of years prior none of this wouldn’t have been possible.

Naturally, the constant care for Chin was the firmest structure of their days – whether workdays of free days, she had to be walked and she had to be fed and she had to be played with, therefore the entire core of their routine was built around those inalienable tasks.

For example, they ate dinner after Chin had already finished so by the time she was ready for a walk, they’d just be done with their food as well.

“We should have built a showman,” Dongsik lamented over the dinner table. He swirled the red wine in his glass dramatically, like movie characters did, and for some reason that amused him greatly. Snowmen were also something movie characters did.

As if to prove that point, Juwon scoffed.

“And stuck a carrot in its head?” he mocked in a deadpan tone, his specialty.

“Of course,” Dongsik doubled down. “And put a tophat on it too.”

Juwon scoffed again, this time with more mirth.

“Would have made for a nice picture,” he mused.

“Maybe next time.”

“Sure,” Juwon’s tone suggested that no, this wouldn’t happen next time, but he was entertaining the idea for some possible nebulous future.

That was quite enough for Dongsik, who grinned at the mental image. Taking pictures of Juwon was hard enough on a normal day – getting him to pose next to a snowman would be the challenge of a lifetime. Dongsik would accept it, if it would mean one more winter with his partner.

He used the old reliable “my house, I do the dishes” argument to get Juwon out of the kitchen. It only worked partially, because while his partner didn’t help, he did hover around to scrutinise Dongsik’s work. It was a clever tactic to frustrate him and get him to make a mistake, such as saying something stupid like ‘If you think I can’t do this properly, why don’t you do it yourself?’ Which would, of course, play right into his partner’s hand, so Dongsik had to keep his tongue behind his teeth, to Juwon’s infinite disappointment.

Dongsik returned his partner’s gloves for the after-dinner walk. For some reason Juwon chose not to wear them.

The air was refreshing, hinting towards snow – the clouds above them suggested that the forecast might not have been wrong about that. Their exhales came out as white mist which reflected the weak light of the streetlamps (the ones which worked, that was). In the twilight of late evening in December Inje-eup was clouded in mysterious darkness – every small house was a gothic castle, every carefully maintained garden an inhospitable jungle, every turn in the road a twist in a maze, every pile of snow on the sidewalk a steep hill. Like in children’s fairy tales, the night masked reality and transformed it into a realm of infinite possibility.

They walked slower than usual, savouring the time, the pavement under their feet, the view of the hills beyond the small town, the moon just barely shining behind the clouds.

Dongsik took his phone out and snapped a quick (terrible due to the light and his haste) photo of Juwon.

His partner threw him one really unimpressed look. It made Dongsik feel so incredibly smug.

“Ah, don’t look at me like that, Inspector Han,” he grinned his Cheshire grin and knocked their shoulders together.

Juwon scoffed at him, but his annoyance quickly morphed into one of his quiet, barely-there smiles.

It had been odd to Dongsik to learn that this was the type of contact Juwon preferred (at least when he wasn’t the one initiating the touch) – knocked shoulders. It made sense, in a way – quick, slight thing without any skin-to-skin contact which, while requiring some closeness, could feel really impersonal or even aggressive. For better or worse, his partner could easily rationalise those – the edgy, threatening gestures. He understood those and accepted them far more willingly than something more familiar, more intimate, more sincere. It was just how he was, and Dongsik was neither his judge nor his therapist – he took things in stride and things sorted themselves out.

There was progress afterwards, of course. Dongsik didn’t really dwell on that, except at times when the casualness with which his partner touched him was really jarring. The stark contrast with the Han Juwon of six years prior just begged to be acknowledged, but there was no need, and there were some metaphorical bears that even Dongsik didn’t want to poke. Knowing his partner, Juwon might just regress to his usual restricted self if he ever brought it up just to spite him.

Uncaring that he wasn’t wearing gloves, Dongsik scooped up a handful of snow and started moulding it into a ball – the heat of his hands melted the snow slightly and made it stickier.

Juwon was watching him with clear disapproval but chose not to intervene. Perhaps he was curious.

There wasn’t a particular purpose behind the action – Dongsik just wanted to do something with his hands. He wasn’t fidgety, quite the opposite – he was melancholic. That type of day, it turned out to be. He was quite nicely fed, his stomach filled with Juwon’s excellent food, and his excellent wine, and he was generously subjected to his partner’s excellent company, yet some moods were just too persistent.

Juwon got like that as well, sometimes. Every person did, really.

“You know,” his partner began, startling Dongsik out of his thoughts. “You haven’t played me any of your terrible music recently,” he turned to him with one of his stone-cold expressions, more of a challenge that an attempt at comfort, and it was exactly what Dongsik needed at that moment.

“Inspector Han, you make it sound like you’re beginning to like it,” he teased, all too smug, like a metaphorical cat who caught a metaphorical canary. He looked at his partner with raised eyebrows and a smile.

Juwon scoffed.

“You have an interesting interpretation of the word ‘terrible’, Inspector Lee.”

“What can I say, I’m an interpretation visionary. You, on the other hand, are plain boring.”

Juwon, of course, rolled his eyes.

Dongsik threw the snowball at Chin – she jumped and caught it in the air, but it sadly broke in two between her teeth. She looked disappointed for a second, brought down by this terrible betrayal, but after a moment something in a puddle nearby got her attention and she ran over to sniff it.

Distractedly, Dongsik rubbed his hands together. His fingers had gone red, not numb yet but hurting, however he refused to really acknowledge it, preferring to focus on Chin instead. With the backdrop of the dark asphalt, she was a ghost, a mysterious blue-eyed spirit carrying an omen.

As interested as she was with random objects and how ridiculously excited she could get at basic things, that omen could only be a good one – no one would take a bad omen from her seriously.

“Our girl is quite beautiful – isn’t she, Han Juwon?” Dongsik smirked, melancholic in his own way, hiding behind subtle, mirthless humour. He refused to look back at his partner.

In the next five seconds, two things happened which surprised him greatly.

First, Juwon didn’t deny that Chin was as much his as she was Dongsik’s, even purely out of principle, or for the inside joke.

“Yes,” he simply agreed instead. “She is.”

Second, as he said it, Dongsik felt striking warmth seep into his fingers and when he looked down he nearly blinked as Juwon gently cradled his hands. The poor man was nearly always cold and the tips of his fingers were freezing even after a hot bath, but he gave the heat of his palms freely, pressing Dongsik’s fingers between them. Unlike his partner, who was trying to look at the Husky and appear nonchalant, Juwon was giving this task his full attention, his face one of complete, stony concentration. That one very hard Inspector Han expression that could make computers start working again after breaking due to sheer intimidation.

As if the intensity of his gaze could warm Dongsik’s fingers further.

It certainly felt like it did.

“Aigoo, we’re affectionate today, aren’t we?” Dongsik teased, mainly out of habit, but also to put up a shield – wearing a smile would prevent the hurt from showing on his face when he inevitably lost this so precious contact.

He was pushing for it, after all – Juwon’s tolerance of provocation was quite low. But his partner was full of surprises that evening – instead of arguing or separating them as a form of punishment for being pushed, he actually took a step forward. Closer to Dongsik, close enough that if they angled their stances a little bit their shoulders would brush. Close enough that he could raise their clasped hands and easily bring them to his chest – something which Dongsik allowed mostly because he was stunted.

“Yes,” Juwon admitted, his voice a little chocked. He was trying, always trying so hard to be open, even when it was uncomfortable, even when it was physically evident that it hurt him.

Dongsik cherished that openness, but always chose to hide behind his humour when it was his turn to show good will. He was a coward like that, and for some reason his partner was never mad at him – if anything, Juwon only tried harder, even if he wasn’t receiving the same treatment in return.

Juwon’s fingers were gently rubbing against his own in uncoordinated but soothing in their sincerity motions, the fabric of his coat rough under Dongsik’s hands. He looked with serious eyes, determined eyes. He worried too much.

Dongsik sighed, bowed his head where his expression wouldn’t be seen. He was smiling, a sad thing that was also, paradoxically, filled with contentment. He was pleased, he truly was, yet at the same time he longed to take a step forward, to breach what little distance remained between him and his partner, to lay his head on a welcoming shoulder and breathe the cold air some more, but he knew such an invasion wouldn’t be welcome. He couldn’t get too bold with Juwon’s personal space – the major gestures had to come from the other side.

This was one of them – Juwon was already doing what he was willing to do, so Dongsik wouldn’t push it. And why would he? It would only ruin a nice moment.

They were still in the middle of the street, and Chin had gotten all the entertainment she could out of the nearby puddles and was getting restless, so the moment was short. The two inspectors shoved their hands in their pockets and continued walking.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

80s Korean softrock wasn’t all that bad, Juwon was learning (gradually). He could definitely stand it after another glass of wine, lounging on the sofa in Dongsik’s living room with the man himself next to him, looking at photos.

Photos that Dongsik had taken during the day, most of them (of course) of Chin. Her playing in the snow, her chasing the orange frisbee, her jumping around, her sleeping in her bed. Juwon looked at those and laughed, because the Husky had the funniest expressions – she looked like a confused buffoon whenever her head was turned towards the camera.

Dongsik also laughed as he swiped past every photo. He was only drinking water, which sat well with Juwon – he had the wine to himself. Not that he was an irresponsible drinker, as he was on duty the next day and was measuring himself appropriately. But there was something in the atmosphere, in the soft light in the room provided only by two standing lamps in the corners and not the overhead lights, in the blanket on which Chin usually lied (it was white so her hairs wouldn’t stand out too much), now carefully folded with the fur-covered side inwards and resting on the other end of the sofa, in the coffee table on which mug rings were just barely visible (the coasters Juwon had bought Dongsik nearly three years ago were all shoved in a kitchen drawer and forgotten). A feel of calmness, of serenity bordering on perfection, hung in the air, in the snow falling quietly outside, in the lack of any sort of nightlife sounds in this small town, in the quiet hum of the washing machine (because Dongsik had to do his laundry at the most ridiculous of times). Even the music swayed gently in the rhythm of the night.

And then came the other photos.

First one was of Juwon in the middle of throwing the orange frisbee – his hand was all blurry from the motion, the frisbee itself was no more than an orange stain, and Chin was at his feet, already jumping forward to start the chase even though he hadn’t even thrown it yet. He was looking ahead, not realising Dongsik was taking a photo, and even though his face was also blurred from the motion, the excitement was palpable. Juwon of the past had definitely had a fun time.

Juwon of the present scoffed. He had a reputation to maintain.

“Bad camera work, Lee Dongsik,” he commented and leaned into the backrest of the sofa.

It was a weird type of protest – this position put him further back so he could no longer peek above his partner’s shoulder and look at the photos with him. The opposite wall, however, was all his to gaze at, and he pretended it was the most interesting thing in the world, swirling the wine in his glass, a philosopher mid-contemplation.

“You didn’t give me much to work with, you ungrateful punk,” Dongsik threw him a mean look. That was true both in this particular case and in general – Juwon made it hard to take pictures of him. “Insufferable brat.”

Juwon smiled at him, only slightly smug – mostly just fond, an unusually vulnerable expression which he could afford in this situation. With the light so soft and the house empty, the entire town sleeping, no action felt like it carried consequences – he could stare at his partner as if he’d hung the stars all he wanted and they wouldn’t have to acknowledge it in the morning. Only under such conditions did Juwon ever indulge himself, but with Dongsik it was easy to get those moments – his partner was never one to chase him out of his house after dinner, or refuse him a quiet glass of wine on the sofa, or demand words and explanations.

Besides, Juwon wasn’t an idiot, nor was he blind – he was perfectly aware Dongsik had a way of looking at him too, when the circumstances were ideal for it. Like he lit up the universe. But only when it was safe to do so. Therefore he returned the favour of pretending to forget about it in the morning.

Sometimes he truly did forget, when work was stressful and memories threatened to swallow him whole or he felt chocked up by guilt, but he always remembered quickly as soon as Dongsik looked at him like that again.

“Honestly, kids these days,” Dongsik lamented, shook his head like an old high-school teacher and leaned back into the sofa as well.

Juwon laughed incredulously.

“You’re thirteen years older than me,” he pointed out, scandalised.

“And you need to learn to respect your elders,” his partner insisted, as if that put him on the same moral standing as God, and swiped his phone to the next picture. He turned the device towards his partner.

Juwon shook his head disappointedly before taking a look – it was a picture of him, down on one knee in the snow, petting what at first glance appeared to be a pile of snow but was actually Chin. He was smiling in the photo, trying to take the orange frisbee from her to throw it again.

Purely out of principle, Juwon scoffed, with the brattiest inflection he could muster, even though his eyes had watered a little. Dongsik took pictures of him often, always outside of work hours, and Juwon was always stunted at the moments he chose – seemingly random, entirely un-pretty snaps of life that no one would think that much about. Yet his partner had decided they were significant enough to take up space on his phone (because that sentimental bastard never deleted photos), that something so mundane as playing with their dog had to be captured and kept close to his person at all times.

And he was looking at him like that again.

In a fit of emotionality, Juwon put his glass on the table, because it gave him an excuse to turn his head away from Dongsik, to hide the moisture in his eyes.

Dongsik turned his phone to himself again and smiled, a private, sincere smile that shone like the sun. Like a moth to a flame, Juwon shifted, leaned towards him to look as well. Dongsik didn’t commend, but he was holding the device so it was visible to both of them.

The next picture was the one that Dongsik had called out to him for: “Smile for the camera, Han Juwon”, he’d said, and gotten an alarmed, slightly dumbstruck expression instead. He was right, Juwon never smiled.

He took his wine glass back from the table. When he leaned back he shifted just that bit, and it was enough to put him flush against Dongsik, shoulders to hips, and he laid his head on his partner’s shoulder shamelessly.

He could feel each of Dongsik’s breaths echo inside his own ribcage, feel muscles shift in the arm which he used to swipe on his phone. He felt the vibrations when his partner chuckled breathily.

“We’re really affectionate today,” he pointed out teasingly.

In response, Juwon simply adjusted his head to be more comfortable on Dongsik’s shoulder, bringing him even closer to his partner.

“Yes,” he agreed simply. It wasn’t like he was the only one getting a bit bolder with personal space on this ordinary December day – the memory of Dongsik’s hands on his own was still fresh on his skin, tingly like a song waiting to be sung. And the circumstances allowed for a little indulgence.

And indulge Dongsik did – without much of a fuss he snaked his arm around the back of the sofa and then down just enough to drape across Juwon’s back. Fingers clasped around his shoulder and he closed his eyes, breathed in. The warm weight was comforting, welcome after a draining day. The fact that it pushed him against his partner was a nice bonus. Juwon took a sip of wine, savoured the taste in his mouth, swallowed. Fingers rubbed circles into his shoulder absentmindedly. Were he a less proud man, he would purr, but he had working self-preservation instincts and arming his partner with such strong teasing material was just suicide.

“I guess we are,” Dongsik contemplated, his voice thoughtful but hiding just a little sorrow underneath. Juwon decided not to ask about that – he wouldn’t receive an answer either way.

He silently passed his glass to his partner, who returned it to the table with as little movement as possible. His hair shone in the dim light, Juwon noted, and allowed himself several seconds to sit with that notion before he moved on to other things.

Giving up the glass turned out to be a mistake, because he had nothing to do with his hands and the temptation to touch Dongsik somehow was just too strong. Thankfully, Juwon was stronger and resisted.

“Go ahead,” Dongsik shook his phone slightly – having only one hand to hold it meant that he struggled to switch between the photos, which Juwon gladly did because it gave him something to do. He had to slightly lean on his partner’s chest to do it, but neither of them seemed to mind it, so Juwon simply stayed there.

He could hear Dongsik’s heartbeat – unsurprisingly, his was matching. Their breathing had synchronised as well. Juwon had read about that – physical proximity would do that to two people. It felt pleasant all the same.

The next picture was of him lying in the snow, eyes closed – he remembered this moment, remembered how he’d listened to his partner playing with Chin, how he’d felt like the only man in the universe with a show to keep him company. It was right before Dongsik had thrown a snowball right in his face, the bastard.

Somehow, Juwon didn’t have it in him to be angry – instead he smiled, just barely, nothing more than a curl of his lips. He swiped the screen again and the photo changed.

Half an hour later Dongsik was leaning way too heavily onto his partner, the hand holding the phone – lax. It wasn’t the first time he’d fall asleep like this, and Juwon was careful as he took the device and turned it off, set it on the coffee table.

He was quite sleepy as well, but he at least had the presence of mind to think ahead – he ran the back of his hand over his partner’s pockets, lightly, just to see if there was an object there which could be uncomfortable if slept on. He found a wallet which he put on the coffee table as well. His own joined it there.

He very carefully dislodged Dongsik from himself – his partner was completely boneless in his sleep and it was easy to set him on the sofa. Juwon kneeled in front of him and untied his shoes, slipped them off. He lifted his partner’s legs onto the sofa as well.

He tiptoed quietly over to the corner to turn off the lamps. Took the few steps to get into the hallway and peek into Dongsik’s room – the door was open as it always was, because Chin’s bed was in there and she needed to be able to exit and enter as she pleased. As expected, she was there, already sound asleep, curled up in a ball. Juwon mentally wished her sweet dreams.

All this done, Juwon suppressed a yawn. His bedroom was just three steps away, across the hallway from Dongsik’s. He turned away from the door and returned to the living room. In the dark, only the vague outline of furniture was visible – that and muscle memory was more than enough for him to find his way to the sofa again.

He sat down in front of his partner – Dongsik didn’t take all that much space. He had the habit of pressing himself as further back into the sofa as he could, perhaps left over from when he slept on a much narrower couch.

This one could accommodate two people who didn’t mind being a bit close to each other.

Juwon took one of the cushions (he’d gifted these to Dongsik just like the coasters – the difference being that at least these were getting used), but had to suppress another yawn before he could do anything with it. He laid it on the sofa by his partner’s head and then very carefully, holding his breath, got both of his hands under Dongik’s head and lifted it as gently as he could. Hair tickled his fingers as the soft locks spilled between them.

His partner didn’t even stir as he was lowered onto the cushion. Juwon released his breath and then immediately yawned again. He was good at doing it soundlessly.

Finally, he could take off his shoes.

The thought that they were both wearing day clothes, hadn’t washed their teeth nor showered before finding themselves in this situation did occur to Juwon, but was gone in an instant, smoke up in the clouds thanks to persistent desensitization. He lied down on the sofa, facing away from his partner, and shuffled backwards until he was comfortable. The cushion was large enough to accommodate both of them. Behind him, Dongsik stirred a little, but didn’t wake up. He did press a little into Juwon’s back, though.

If you push me off I’m never doing this again, Juwon thought spitefully, meaner than usual because he was tired. In reality, his partner had never pushed him off the sofa, and the two had spent many a night in this exact (or a very similar) configuration, on this sofa or on Juwon’s. It was another one of those never-mentioned-again indulgences.

As if sensing the bitter thought through some form of sleep telepathy, Dongsik’s arm came around Juwon’s waist, loosely, but it was enough to assure him that his partner wouldn’t get territorial and banish him to the floor in the middle of the night. Juwon relaxed and shuffled backwards just a bit until he had the exact amount of contact between himself and his partner that he preferred. He wasn’t quite flush with him, but could feel his warmth all over his back. He put a hand over the one that was draped over him, loosely tangled their fingers.

Then he closed his eyes, listened to his and Dongsik’s matching breathing, and soon fell asleep.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Dongsik woke up around half past three in the morning with the terrible need to piss.

His clear path to the bathroom was blocked – in that first weird second Dongsik was perplexed by that fact. The absolutely stupid thought that his sofa had at some point in the night been pushed against a wall flickered through his absolutely stupid brain for an all too stupid second.

Then he noticed that the wall was wearing a knitted sweater and was breathing in synch with him and that the wall was in fact Juwon.

Fondness overwhelmed Dongsik enough to forget the bathroom for a second. His partner, sleeping on the sofa next to him, still in his clothes but on a cushion, without shoes. Not even trying to hide that they hadn’t simply fallen asleep sometime after dinner (something which had happened at times, completely incidentally – it did lead to terrible back pain, though). It was … thoughtful. It was caring.

They wouldn’t talk about it, of course, because they never did, but it was still nice of him.

Dongsik carried out a set of complicated manoeuvres to get off the sofa. From there to the bathroom was smooth sailing.

On the way back, Dongsik paused at the door – he leaned against the doorframe and allowed himself another small indulgence – watching. From his position he couldn’t actually see anything, only the back of the sofa, but even that brought on a wave of sentimentality in him.

He remembered the first time he and Juwon had shared a bed together – it had been for a case all the way in Busan, where they’d stayed in a hotel. On the first night there had been a mix up with their rooms and another guest so they had had to share a single room.

He had felt awkward and, naturally, had hid it with humour – he’d taunted his partner that they were a married couple and had been met with unimpressed silence. It had done nothing to soothe his nerves, at least until Juwon had started quipping back, calling him a child and a nuisance.

Then there had been the problem of the single bed – Juwon had admitted, quite reluctantly, that he ‘got affectionate in his sleep’. He had looked just about ready to offer to migrate somewhere else from the embarrassment, so of course Dongsik had had to come to his rescue. He had done so by stealing his chance at being the awkward one – immediately after settling in next to one another he’d turned and thrown an arm across his partner’s chest.

It brought a smile to his face thinking back at that night. Juwon had scorned at him, frowned in his petulant way, but done nothing to chase him away. So he had become bolder, and had chanced to move a bit closer, to the point where he could lay his head on his partner’s shoulder.

Juwon, to his surprise, hadn’t minded that either, safe in the knowledge that the sheets were freshly washed and that the two of them had taken showers before bed – he’s put a hand between his shoulder blades and that had been that. No great shift in the world, no reality-shattering impact. They’d simply fallen asleep (not before his partner had complained that he got hair in his face, though).

The next day the problem with the accommodations had been sorted and they had had separate rooms for the duration of their stay.

A lot had changed since then – Dongsik had bought a really nice sofa, for one.

He stifled a yawn and remembered that it was early, that he was still tired. He walked over, saw his and Juwon’s wallets and phones on the coffee table. He smiled – how thoughtful.

His partner had shuffled backwards in his sleep, until his back had hit the back of the sofa. Dongsik allowed a fond look to overtake his face. Poor Juwon had probably gotten cold – there was no blanket after all, and that man was always cold.

Dongik walked over to the other couch – it had a blanket draped over the back from the last time Dongsik had taken a nap in it. He took his time very quietly laying it on his partner. Almost immediately Juwon relaxed into it, his sleep once again peaceful.

There was nothing else to do but lay back down – Dongsik stifled another yawn once his head was on the cushion. There was movement behind him, subtle – even in his sleep Juwon was quite proper, considerate. As he came closer his breath tickled the back of his partner’s neck. A shoulder brushed against a shoulder. A leg against a leg.

Within minutes Dongsik was asleep again.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Juwon woke up naturally at 5:50 each morning – he had no idea why it couldn’t just be 6 o’clock but his body was stubborn like that. It had the added benefit that whenever he and his partner happened to fall asleep in each other’s vicinity, he was always the first one awake and could sneak away to prevent any awkwardness.

Like today – he woke up with an arm around Dongsik’s waist, which would have been awkward if his partner knew (the teasing material alone would have been devastating). As it were, he just got up from the sofa and snuck out after tucking a blanket over his partner.

Breakfast was a simple matter – cook it, wait for Dongsik to show up, eat it.

Then there was work, because their days off rarely came in pairs. But that was alright. Juwon lived safe with the knowledge that the work he did was important.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

It was a bright and wonderful December day – Seongsu practically waltzed into the Inje-eup substation, feeling like his feet were lighter than air. He loved the cold season – there was ice fishing, there was playing in the snow with his kids and there was ice fishing. This time of year generally left him quite happy with the world he lived in and few things could spoil his mood.

And because he was a giving person and a responsible Chief, Seongsu had taken on the personal mission of bringing some winter joy to the person in his vicinity who Seongsu thought could use it the most – and that was one of his subordinates, Inspector Han.

Inspector Han was perhaps his most diligent and hard-working officer – day in and day out he climbed mountains chasing after people with dementia or people with disabilities, or searched clubs and pubs around local towns and all the way into Chuncheon to look for rebellious teens, he sneaked into drug user dens and asked around homeless camps for people who maybe didn’t even want to be found. Thankless work, most of it, but the officer seemed hellbent on doing it, which was only admirable. A hint of altruism hiding behind an unfazed façade.

Of course, Inspector Han didn’t do all of that alone, rather joined by his partner, Inspector Lee, and that was the problem. Because, Seongsu had seen from their all too professional interactions in the substation, the two men didn’t exactly like each other or enjoyed working together. It wouldn’t be all that much of an exaggeration to say that they were cold, or at least Inspector Han was. He rarely looked at his partner, rarely spoke to him outside of an active case. Even his body language around the other inspector was rigid and uncomfortable.

Now, Seongsu knew that Inspector Han wasn’t a cruel or antisocial person, if a bit introverted. So the only conclusion was that his partner made him uncomfortable. And maybe the reason for that lied in the past. Not much was known about events surrounding the once-Deputy-Commissioner Han Kihwan, Inspector Han’s father, but what was known was that Inspector Lee had been involved with the whole ordeal (and gotten himself convicted over his involvement and had spent a whole year in prison). Once again, not much had been shared even within police circles back then, but it was a reasonable assumption to presume that some aspect of this shared history was the source of Inspector Han’s discomfort.

Seongsu wasn’t blaming Inspector Lee, of course. The man was a saint, a sweet and thoughtful guy whom everyone loved. Had the circumstances been different, perhaps even Inspector Han with his heart of ice would have been friends with him. But life often had other plans.

Now, the actual problem was that Inspector Han and Inspector Lee were the only two officers working in the unofficial Missing Persons unit in the substation. It was a small operation, albeit an effective one. It was all basically volunteer work, and Seongsu encouraged it as Chief of the substation because he saw how it benefited the community, even if they were a bit short on the patrol officers when two of theirs were otherwise engaged all day long. So he wanted the work to continue and he knew that Inspector Han also wanted to continue working.

And, in his great effort to spread positive attitudes, Seongsu came up with a plan.

When Inspector Han came in to work one fine December Friday, the Chief immediately called him into his office, intending to start work on a bright note with good news.

The man sat stiffly in the chair in front of Seongsu’s desk, his back ramrod straight, hands on his knees – exemplary in every way. Seongsu smiled friendlily at him and received a nod in response.

“Inspector Han, you know I appreciate what you do,” he opened warmly.

“Yes, sir,” Inspector Han’s voice was completely indecipherable.

“And I know this work means a lot to you – you practically started the division!” Seongsu allowed himself a moment to reminisce about that moment, nearly eight years ago now, when Inspector Han had joined his substation.

No answer, not that Seongsu was expecting one – in fact, he was quite used to Inspector Han’s silence. Like a robot, he only talked when it was necessary.

“And because the work is important, I’m thinking of expanding the unofficial Missing Persons Unit,” the Chief explained. “I know you could use the help, so we’re implementing a rotation on people-searching duty starting next year.”

Inspector Han blinked.

“The help would be welcome,” was his verdict. Laconic as always.

“And the best part is,” Seongsu very nearly winked at his subordinate but retained that small shred of professionalism. “That we can switch your partner!”

Inspector Han shifted in his seat, but his icy eyes remained glued on his Chief.

“What?” he demanded evenly.

“Ah, I knew you’d be excited,” Seongsu nodded with a happy smile. “We can pair you up with someone else, Inspector Lee as well. Or he could stay at the station. It would be good to always have someone to answer your phone, right? Can’t be missing calls when it’s people at stake.”

For the first time since Seongsu had known him, Inspector Han seemed at a loss for words.

“Chief Kim …” he opened reluctantly.

“Ahh, you don’t have to answer straight away,” Seongsu waved a dismissive hand and threw his subordinate a conspiratorial look. “Think about it. Tell me who you’d like to transfer as your partner when you’ve decided.”

“Chief Kim,” once again. “May I ask what prompted this … offer?”

The hesitation at the last word was palpable.

“Well,” Seongsu leaned back into his chair. “You and Inspector Lee aren’t exactly a match, aren’t you?” he asked, just a tad condescendingly. He hoped it came across as more of a senior’s wisdom than arrogance. “Wouldn’t it be best if you had a new partner?”

He gave Inspector Han a very pointed look at that, his best ‘I am on your side’ pointed look which was meant to be encouraging. The other man just stared at him, unblinking. He was gripping the armrest of his chair, knuckles nearly white.

Is he so impatient to leave? Seongsu wondered. He must really want to think about this in private.

“Go on now,” he dismissed the inspector with a wave. “You’re still on duty, Inspector Han. Come to me when you’re ready.”

“… yes, sir,” came the slightly less stony than usual answer.

Then Inspector Han was gone.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Juwon was being weird.

Dongsik noticed, even though his partner was trying his hardest to hide it.

He was jittery, for one – Dongsik had never seen that from him, but Juwon was tapping his foot under the desk at irregular intervals, until he really submerged into a task and seemingly forgot about it – that is, he forgot about it until starting up again without even realising. He also kept throwing glances, more often than usual, and he always averted his eyes whenever Dongsik looked back at him.

Frankly, it was unnerving.

And it was a first too – every other ‘awkward’ patch in their relationship had been different – Juwon would be angry at him, or irritated, sometimes he’d be defensive to hide his own anxiousness or insecurity, but he’d never be nervous like this, never this avoidant. Dongsik didn’t know how to handle it, and his inexperience led to indecision – he spent most of the day thinking about it instead of actually doing anything, which might have been a mistake.

Juwon didn’t talk about things – he never had, and it was up to Dongsik to breach the hard topics. That was how their dynamic went and they both realised it. But the older man was too, in this case, completely stumped as to what to do, how to approach, how to learn what was wrong. Just that morning the two had had a lovely breakfast and everything had been okay, what could have happened in a short hour afterwards?

It wasn’t work – Juwon would have told him about any development in their cases. Then it must have been personal. Dongsik’s first instinct was that his partner must have received a nasty phone call or a text message (and yes, he did think it might have had to do with Han Kihwan), but he thought (or rather hoped) that Juwon would have told him about that as well.

So what was it?

Basically, Dongsik spent their entire lunch thinking about how to ask what was wrong, while his partner sat in the chair opposite of him looking like he was being burned alive but refusing to ask for assistance.

He knows he can tell me anything, right? Dongsik wondered. He ought to know that by now.

Sadly, nothing came from his partner.

What followed were a few tense, strenuous hours of their usual work – social media and CCTV footage, the occasional phone call, but it just wasn’t working. It wasn’t working because there was a wrench in the machine, a hiccup in their usually perfect sync. It was frustrating Dongsik, but what frustrated him more was his own inaction, his own utterly constipated response. Yet he could do nothing, because he trusted his partner to come to him on his own terms at his own time.

Waiting was exhausting.

He was glad when a call came in around 7 pm about a teen who hadn’t come home from a little outing with his friends. A bit too early to be reporting lost teens, but apparently it had been a sleepover and the child had promised to be at home at noon, so the father who called it in was quite worried. The family lived in one of the commuter towns by Chuncheon, where the sleepover had also been located. Therefore, the clubs, bars, discos, and gaming dens in the big city were the most likely place to find a partying juvenile.

It was probably terrible of him to think so, but Dongsik was glad for the distraction, for the excuse to move a little, get away from the atmosphere at the substation. Perhaps, he hoped rather desperately, some activity would do him and Juwon some good, help them come to their senses. Or one of them, at least, because their thing really couldn’t function with both of them so out of it.

To Dongsik, even walking felt wrong – his legs were two metal pipes bent the wrong way as he was making his way to the car. He was driving.

In late December, the sky was already pitch black at 7 pm. The streetlights, sparce as they were, illuminated Juwon’s profile as he was sitting, back ramrod straight, in the passenger seat. His quiet fidgeting had died out and instead he was heavily frowning, a tormented look in his eyes. Dongsik wanted to reach out, badly. He practically ached with the need to be by his partner’s side, to soothe him.

He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckled turned white and bit his tongue.

Light reflected off their side mirrors on the highway. The car was dead silent – still, they said nothing.

Until Juwon muttered, in a voice that was so small, so wounded and vulnerable, that Dongsik felt it like a blow:

“Lee Dongsik-ssi.”

Just those words – yet they had Dongsik snapping his head towards his partner, tense to the core. Moisture glistened in Juwon’s eyes, he was clenching his jaw. Stared straight ahead.

Dongsik pulled over without a second thought. He turned towards his partner as much as he could in the limited space. There was so much he wanted to say, as if there were magic words which could fix even the damage of which he was not aware.

Juwon beat him to it.

“Lee Dongsik …” so stubbornly he was still looking straight ahead, light reflecting off of his teary eyes. “Have you filed a complaint against me?”

Dongsik gaped, outrage flaring up in him so violently he physically jerked back. Anger flooded his insides, a defence against the hurt that accusation had wrecked upon him. No, it wasn’t even an accusation – it was a desperate plea for honesty. If one looked close enough, for mercy. Like Juwon was begging to be let down gently, under all his pride and the decency he was clinging to.

“What are you on about?” Dongsik spluttered, offense making him cruel.

He wanted to grip his partner by the shoulders and shake some sense into him for even daring to think such a thing. Did he not know Dongsik at all? Was the trust in him so fragile?

“Lee Dongsik …” Juwon had to pause his sentence because his breath caught in his throat.

With a chill running down his spine Dongsik realised that his partner was sobbing.

“Chief Kim,” he attempted again, not waiting for a reaction – perhaps even afraid of the one he would get. “Chief Kim offered to assign me another partner.”

Juwon finally looked at Dongsik at that and Dongsik nearly regretted it. How was he supposed to deal with that expression of hurt which tore his very soul apart?

“So I’ll ask again,” his partner concluded, now utterly defeated, voice breathy and low between sobs. “Did you file a complaint against me? Did you ask for a new partner?”

In that moment, Dongsik didn’t know how to respond. Mostly, he was hurt – hurt that his partner would think so little of him, would even consider that he would go behind his back and ask for a new partner like a coward, like he didn’t value their partnership at all. It hurt to think that this is what Juwon saw him as.

But at the same time, he understood how hurt Juwon was at this as well – saw it in the redness of his eyes, considered it retrospectively in all of the fidgeting throughout the day. His partner needed him – blame could be left for later (preferably never).

So Dongsik swallowed and mentally told himself to man up before reaching out to place a hand on Juwon’s shoulder.

“Of course I didn’t,” he went with the truth because it was the simplest solution.

Juwon shook under him, his body raked with a sob.

“Of course I didn’t,” Dongsik repeated, leaned forward until he could see the tiny streetlights reflected in his partner’s eyes.

Juwon was looking at him, at least. He wasn’t running away.

Dongsik only had to pull a little bit for the last of his partner’s reservations to melt away – Juwon pushed forward until he could bury his head into his partner’s shoulder before another sob shook him. A hand came to grip the back of Dongsik’s shirt and he allowed it, welcomed it as it brought him closer to Juwon.

They were in uniform, in a car, trapped by seatbelts – it was uncomfortable and a bit awkward, the night dead silent with sobs ringing embarrassingly. Dongsik moved his own hand to embrace the other man, palm splayed between his shoulder blades. His other arm he had to use to brace for balance, Juwon as well, but that was alright. It was alright.

Juwon always cried weirdly – he made noises, he sobbed wetly and his breath caught until he was gasping, he shook all over, but almost no tears left him. No snot. Even in suffering he was incredibly clean, even though it sounded like his lungs were trying to drown him. Dongsik could do nothing but hold him through it – words felt inappropriate.

At one point he started rubbing his back, small motions up and down, slow and heavy, like his soul was feeling.

It felt like it took forever for the car to be silent again. Juwon didn’t move for several long moments afterwards, then he leaned back. There was almost no trace of anything wrong on his face, safe for his reddened eyes. He might not have been crying for all it showed on his features.

Dongsik started the car again - it felt better to have the distraction of driving, the excuse of not really seeing each other. Knowing another person was overwhelming, and he wasn’t afraid to admit that he was a coward who did not want to subject himself to such things too regularly.

“So,” he opened, trying to lighten the mood. “If you were offered a new partner, wouldn’t it be you who filed the complaint?”

Juwon huffed out an exasperated air of breath and didn’t deign the comment with a response. It still did its job - from the corner of his eye, Dongsik could see his partner relaxing in his seat. Marginally, but enough.

“Didn’t Chief Kim talk to you?” finally, Juwon spoke.

“No,” Dongsik replied calmly because it was the truth.

“He said he wants to expand the Missing Persons Unit. Introduce a rotation schedule with the rest of the officers at the substation,” his partner laid down like he was delivering a report, curt and even.

“We could use the help,” the older officer offered just as evenly.

“And he said I could pick a new partner,” Juwon finished his report. “Didn’t ask if I wanted one.”

“Do you?” Dongsik teased.

“Lee Dongsik-ssi,” the hiss held a warning which finally dissolved all the remaining tension in the car. Dongsik laughed.

“Maybe I should wait to be offered a new partner as well,” he joked lightly. “It’s discrimination if I don’t, right?”

He received another scoff, barely audible but clearly amused. That was good. Really good. They were doing alright.

They’d just exited the highway to enter Chuncheon when the substation called them - the teen had come home alright, slightly hungover but perfectly fine. They could return home.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Juwon was feeling drained.

That was it - a day of his nerves being wracked with worry and shame and guilt and suspicion culminated, rather anticlimactically, in him dropping face-first onto the nearest soft flat surface available in his house, which happened to be one of the living room sofas.

He was mad at himself for distrusting Dongsik, mad at Chief Kim for suggesting such an absurd thing, mad at Dongsik for being so bloody graceful about it because then Juwon truly only had himself to blame.

Firmly planting his face in a pillow, he reminisced on the fact that he’d truly spent the entire day, to borrow an English expression he’d learned in boarding school, “scared shitless” that his partner was secretly planning to abandon him, that he didn’t even stop to think if Lee Dongsik would ever do such a thing. In hindsight it seemed obvious that he wouldn’t, not under duress, not with a gun to his head, not ever, especially not after all they’d been through together. It was blatantly obvious, and yet the ten-odd hours of nervous jittering would beg to differ.

Juwon was a fool, and that was that. Did it really take one weird offer from his superior for him to question six blissful years of effective, cooperative, damn devoted partnership? He wasn’t that insecure - nor was he that distrustful of Lee Dongsik. He honestly couldn’t determine what had gotten into him to react like that - maybe it was Chief Kim’s utter confidence that he’d want a new partner, like it was a constant of the universe. Somehow, a part of him had reached the conclusion that the only reason his Chief would think so would be if Dongsik himself had told him that the both of them wanted to be separated.

Stupid, stupid conclusion from his stupid, stupid brain.

He should really have been thinking about dinner. About apologising. About screwing his head on straight because really, that whole performance had been embarrassing. Oh, and he should definitely have been thinking about Chin and getting her walked before dinner.

He was thinking about none of that. His head was full of only two things - exhaustion and relief.

He barely noticed that he hadn’t even turned the lights on before collapsing on his sofa. Truly embarrassing.

Juwon’s little stewing-in-his-misery-in-the-dark session lasted all of ten minutes. That was how long it took for Dongsik to walk to the substation to grab Chin and then back.

“Aigoo, have you developed night vision all of a sudden, Inspector Han,” he complained as he fumbled for the light switch.

Even irritated, the sound of his voice did something to Juwon, something to remind him that they were far from over. That, even though he’d offended his partner with his unfounded suspicions, he was being given another chance.

Chin didn’t need the light to pad over to his sofa and nose at his face. Juwon stood up straight before she could get any ideas about licking. He loved that dog. He also had boundaries.

Dongsik finally found the switch and light returned to Juwon’s life and living room.

“Still in uniform,” his partner tsked disapprovingly.

Juwon scoffed.

“So are you,” he pointed out stubbornly.

Dongsik looked down at himself like the blue police uniform surprised him.

“So I am,” he concluded intelligently.

As he dropped heavily onto the sofa Juwon finally caught onto the fact that Dongsik was also tired. Suddenly he felt guilty for only thinking about himself. He began standing up, but one particular look from his partner stopped him.

“Han Juwon,” Dongsik began seriously, not deathly seriously like he could be sometimes, but seriously enough to indicate that he meant business. “Are we alright?”

A startled laugh escaped Juwon’s lips in the form of a breath. That sounded almost like an apology (or rather, like what passed as an apology between the two of them). He grinned disbelievingly. Here his partner was, asking him that as if there was more than one possible answer, as if he had something to apologise for instead of the other way around.

“Of course we are,” he returned, and it was a promise, and an apology in turn.

They were, weren’t they? Whatever Chief Kim was thinking, it was his thing and his alone. The two of them had nothing to do with it, and that was something Juwon would tolerate. Turmoil in the outside world was fine - turmoil in his partnership was not.

Besides, a part of him which sounded suspiciously like Dongsik was whispering in his head - they’d had enough hurt between the two of them. No use piling even more on top.

“Good,” Dongsik nodded thoughtfully. He seemed settled, like some worry of his had been put to rest. Juwon felt much the same way.

“Good,” he nodded, and the small smile curling just the corner of his partner’s lips was everything to him.

He finally stood up, feeling lighter and also eager to steer them right back into normalcy, into the security and comfort of their routine, as quickly as he could.

“Hungry, Lee Dongsik-ssi?” he called over his shoulder as he headed for the kitchen.

“I could eat. So long as it’s not one of your absurd Western dishes!”

Juwon smiled to himself, quietly and privately, and opened his fridge.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

By the time dinner was eaten and Chin was walked and put to bed, the incident was pretty much forgotten. Neither of the two men were too prone on getting hung up on the past these days, not after they’d nearly sacrificed their souls to put it to rest. They were free, and freedom meant sharing a sofa, one of them overlooking case files, the other solving a sudoku, with the TV running mindlessly in the background.

Dongsik contemplated saying something to his partner about working past twenty-three o’clock, but it seemed redundant. Especially after their day. He would give Juwon whatever comforts and controls his partner needed to restore his equilibrium.

Besides, the rustle of the papers he was examining was really nice. Nearly hypnotic, soothing beyond measure. Dongsik could just about feel his eyes begin … to … close.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Dongsik was aware that his partner woke up at 5:50 each morning. Like clockwork. What he was fairly certain Juwon didn’t know was that Dongsik himself sometimes (and only sometimes) woke up before that. His body was different in this regard - he woke up when he was sufficiently rested, and that could be ten o’clock, could be three. Admittedly, more often ten than not - he was a man of age after all. Not as old as Juwon sometimes mocked him for being, but not eager to pull off all-nighters either.

At two and a half in the morning, it seemed his partner was of different inclinations.

Dongsik groaned softly as he stretched on the sofa - he was alone on it, and someone had been nice enough to throw a blanket over him and provide him with a pillow - not a cushion, an actual pillow from the guest bedroom. That someone was presently situated in a couch, still examining his files by the light of a reading lamp above his head.

“Han Juwon,” Dongsik complained about the state of the world in general and nothing in particular.

A pair of unimpressed eyes bore into him, conveying perfectly without a single word that their owner was not in the mood to tolerate bullshit. That was great - a Juwon who could be irritated with him was a Juwon who wasn’t bothered by internal anguish.

“You’ll get cross-eyed at that rate,” Dongsik chastised him sagely as he stood up. The blanket bunched up around his legs and fell to the floor. It took one look from Juwon for Dongsik to pick it up and meticulously fold it, to his partner’s clear approval expressed in the form of him returning to his work instead of closely scrutinizing the other man’s every move.

That was fine. Dongsik made himself some tea and presented some to Juwon, who’d resolutely declared he didn’t want any. Prick.

“Well then, good night,” Dongsik excused himself to the guest bedroom. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Juwon’s sofa, but he absolutely did not like the still working reading lamp.

Juwon barely hummed something which might have been a confirmation. Dongsik shook his head with a fond smile - only his workaholic partner. Only his.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

The next two workdays were uneventful. Seeing as it was the weekend Chief Kim showed up only rarely, usually leaving in charge whoever officer not from the Missing Persons Unit happened to be in the station and not out with the patrol car at this particular moment. It meant that Juwon didn’t have to suffer through his smug ‘did you think about it?’ inquiries too often. Although ‘too often’ had a stretchy definition.

Each time it happened they were in in private - by the coffee maker (where Juwon had been holding two mugs with the intention of bringing one to his partner by their adjourned desks), in the locker room (where Juwon was hanging up his partner’s uniform in the other man’s locker after picking it up from the dry cleaner’s), by the backdoor (just as Juwon was returning from walking his partner’s dog), all outside of Dongsik’s earshot. Each time he’d politely requested more time to think, barely holding in the flippant attitude of pure irritation with his Chief. He knew Kim Seongsu meant well, and he was trying to be a better person than the spoilt brat he’d been several years ago, and part of those efforts was not snapping at his superior who clearly thought he was doing him a favour.

It was just very annoying to happen when he would be doing something like finishing Dongsik’s paperwork for him because his partner had gone home earlier than usual with a headache. Comments such as the sincerely concerned ‘Oh, Inspector Han, you do so much already. We could easily make sure you only write your own reports’ were grating on his nerves when he was mentally running through a list of migraine remedies he could easily get a hold of in their small town.

Each time it happened Juwon shared the news with his partner for two reasons: to vent his frustration and because he abhorred the idea of not telling him again like during that first day. He direly did not want a repetition of that fiasco, or the emotional mess that’d come with it.

“And he still hasn’t offered me to ditch you,” Dongsik tsked at that last one with clear amusement, once Juwon had met him at his house and shared the latest offer while preparing dinner (and banning Dongsik from his own kitchen with the migraine as an excuse). “The inequality.”

Juwon smiled to himself - it was relieving to finally be laughing about this with his partner instead of worrying about the ramifications for their team’s future. When they could laugh about it, truly laugh about it, then it was forgiven.

Juwon did not like the ever-growing list of sins he never managed to truly repent for. His partner’s forgiveness felt undeserved for all the things Juwon still put him through, for all the memories soured or tainted or brought to the surface at the mere sight of his face, of his name.

But he wasn’t blind (a fact which he had to remind himself with growing frequency after Chief Kim began his little ‘mission’), nor an idiot (most of the time anyway), and he knew why his partner always forgave him. Most probably for the same reason Juwon always did - he just did not want to carry on without him.

As far as reasons went, Juwon couldn’t think of a better one to forgive.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

It finally happened on the next Tuesday - Chief Kim drew Dongsik aside once he and his partner returned from a strenuous search for a lost elderly man (resulting in both of them shivering and wet from the snow) to give him the same proposition.

“I know, Inspector Lee, that Inspector Han can be a lot,” the Chief began sympathetically, and rather sweetly. “Why, the man doesn’t even smile!”

Dongsik wanted to protest that Juwon did indeed smile, just not unless he had a reason to. Adding that he took it as a bit of a challenge to be a reason for his smiles as often as possible was going a bit too far, but he would have said it. Perhaps. Not that he was given the chance.

“What would you say if I offered you to switch partners? We see, Inspector Lee, what the Missing Persons Unit has done for the community. Your efforts are not going unnoticed! So, starting with the new year, we’ll try to rotate more staff into your team, to ease the load a bit,” Chief Kim continued enthusiastically, clearly very proud of his idea. “That way you could have a new partner. Anyone you want.”

Dongsik was very nearly giggling at this point, equal parts delirious from the toll of the search for the elderly man and pure amusement at this situation. It wasn’t merely ridiculous, it was utterly absurd, in the theatre sort of way. A cosmic comedy that, nevertheless, he felt more like merciless hacks with a dull axe methodically chopping his head off. What else was there to do but laugh and hope it went away? He contained his reaction, of course, and answered mildly:

“May I think about this some more, Chief Kim Seongsu?”

“Oh, but of course, of course,” his Chief shushed him generously with an affectionate pat to his shoulder. “There’s time still. You and Inspector Han could discuss it.”

“Could we?” Dongsik smirked knowingly, the only demonstration to his amusement he would allow himself.

“Naturally! If the both of you should need new partners that is something that must be spoken about in length.”

“Of course,” Dongsik nodded. The motion renewed the ache in his sore neck and he brought his hand up to rub at it.

“Oh, but you must be exhausted, Inspector Lee!” Chief Kim remarked once he saw the movement and practically pushed Dongsik towards the locker room. “Go! Go now. There will be time for this later, now go home to your warm bed.”

Dongsik was planning on doing just that, only in his thoughts was his second bed, the one in Juwon’s house. His partner was waiting for him in front of the station, Chin in tow. Dongik had promised to cook.

After dinner was eaten Dongsik shared his news.

“I finally received my invitation to ditch you,” he explained just as Juwon finished putting the last of the dishes away.

His partner hissed something in annoyance and went around tidying Dongsik’s kitchen as if it was his place to do so. It was amusing to watch him rearrange the napkin packets in the cupboard.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Juwon finally announced with a sort of dramatic finality that was a sure sign he’d had just about enough of it.

He walked over to the living room, or rather stomped all over Dongsik’s floor as if he had a vendetta against it, his strides determined but mind far away as he paced around the furniture with no particular rhyme or reason.

“Of all the things …” he began, then broke off in frustration.

Dongsik watched his partner’s behaviour with a curious tilt of his head. A bit to the left from his sofa, Chin was doing the same, lying down with her head raised to observe the clearly agitated human. The two shared a glance that was downright conspiratorial for a canine.

“I mean …” another broken attempt. Juwon finally decided to make a point of sitting down to show just how much this wasn’t at all affecting him.

He flopped down onto the sofa next to Dongsik, a move much more aggressive than his usual grace which had his partner raising an eyebrow at him questioningly. Juwon was a bit too exasperated to notice. He turned and let himself fall onto his back on the sofa with the clear intention of stretching his legs (a choice which seemed very tempting after their afternoon excursion with the elderly man), but with Dongsik occupying a section of the sofa the move proved impossible and Juwon had to bend his legs at the knees (or drape them over the armrest, something he would never do, not least of which because Chin was liable to run off with one of his temptingly dangling slippers).

Dongsik decided to take pity on him in his frustration and scooted over as much as he could, but Juwon was tall, goddamnit, and that did basically nothing.

Well, drastic times called for drastic measures, so Dongsik did something that was actually not at all drastic and simply pulled one of the sofa cushions onto his legs.

Juwon was too busy seething in his frustration to truly register it as he accepted the subtle invitation to stretch out.

“Where did this even come from?” he finally voiced some of his ire.

Dongsik was considerate and kept his arms splayed over the back of the sofa, but he couldn’t help but chuckle at the confusion his partner was exuding.

“You’re a punk, that’s where it came from,” he told his partner, looking down at him fondly.

Juwon, rightfully, was incensed at that offense.

“Lee Dongsik-ssi,” he began very threateningly, which of course meant that it was time to interrupt him.

“You know what Chief Kim told me today?” he challenged, mischief on his mind. “He said ‘ah, that Inspector Han never even smiles’!”

He laughed while Juwon was staring at him blankly.

“I do …” he tried to explain himself the same way he’d talk over case facts to untangle the puzzle. So it was time to interrupt him again.

“Chief Kim thinks you’re a bad partner,” Dongsik revealed gleefully. Oh, the teasing potential of this material.

“I am not!” came the outraged protest that had Juwon sitting up halfway before he decided in wasn’t worth it and fell back down onto the cushion. He did cross his arms, however.

“Of course you aren’t,” Dongsik agreed seriously but with amusement still leaking into his voice.

“This is ridiculous,” his partner repeated with far more accusation in his voice this time around. “Lee Dongsik-ssi, we’re basically a couple!”

Dongsik stared in utter bewilderment for several seconds, and then he cracked up. He bent over from laughing, a move which forced Juwon to quickly leap out of the way and sit on the sofa properly to avoid their heads knocking together. He was, naturally, scowling the entire time as if he could make steel melt with his eyes.

It wasn’t that the statement was so ludicrous, or even so far-fetched, no, it was the delivery that had the other man completely losing it. There was Juwon, lying on a pillow in his lap, angry at their Chief for daring to deign him a bad partner, and countering it by throwing the word ‘couple’ around. It was frankly hilarious.

“What?” Juwon demanded. Dongsik just kept on laughing. “What?”

He was met with more laugher, although it was beginning to die out to small chuckles as Dongsik’s stomach began to hurt.

“It’s true,” Juwon insisted, although some of the heat had left him for thoughtfulness. “We very nearly live together. We have a dog.”

“Oh, so she’s our dog now?”

“I walk her, feed her, bathe her and take her to the vet,” Juwon was not amused. “Yes, she’s our dog.”

As if to prove the point Chin decided to pick this moment to hop onto the sofa between them for pets. Both men obliged her readily. Dongsik, however, was not done feeling mischievous.

“So that’s what makes a couple? Living together with a dog?” he grinned at his partner deviously.

“You have other theories?” Juwon huffed an exasperated breath at him.

“Love, Juwon,” the other man pointed out, but it wasn’t nearly as teasing as he intended. In fact, his voice came out slightly pained to match the sudden catch in his chest. “Couples take love.”

The younger man took some time to consider this while very diligently scratching the white Husky behind her ears.

“Then I guess we’re seventy percent a couple,” he shrugged eventually.

Oh, but did that hurt. Like a physical blow, a literal stake through the heart. Dongsik didn’t flinch because he had the poker face of the century, but he certainly had the impulse to.

But then again, he was happy with what he had. Seventy percent sounded downright neat. He would have honestly settled for less. And, no matter how serious his partner always was, it was a special skill to learn when not to take Juwon seriously.

“Why, that’s so generous,” Dongsik snickered instead of showing the ache in his soul. “Only giving love thirty percent.”

Juwon threw him an unimpressed look over Chin’s head.

“Eighty percent,” he declared just to be contrary.

And that was honestly enough.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

It all escalated five days later.

Juwon was happy to return to his and his partner’s earlier routine - they took care of each other and Chin and didn’t think much about their Chief’s inexplicable behaviour. December was trudging on, cold and white and absolutely perfect for a young Husky who was dying to get her exercise every day. There simply wasn’t time to even entertain ridiculous thoughts such as switching partners.

So of course Chief Kim had to pull Juwon aside just as the man was about to leave the substation (at an unusually early time for him, but he’d pulled ridiculous overtime throughout the week and Dongsik would get mad at him if he didn’t take it easy for an evening, and Juwon wasn’t willing to deal with his partner’s passive aggressive displays of irritation). He was courteous about it, one had to admit - he invited Juwon in for tea and everything. And Dongsik was conveniently out with one of the other officers from the substation to help clear an elderly woman’s garden from a fallen tree. The stage was perfect.

“Have you given my proposal some thought, Inspector Han?” the Chief opened once tea was served in two white mugs. Juwon didn’t touch his.

“I do believe the Missing Persons Unit would benefit from more personnel,” the younger man said diplomatically, if a little stiffly.

“Ah, but maybe it’s time you and Inspector Lee discussed it?” Chief Kim replied easily. “The new year’s knocking on the door, as they say.”

Now, neither Juwon nor Dongsik were particularly good at communication. It was one of their things - they operated under the shared understanding that they would never outright say whatever it was they wanted to say to each other. It was easier that way, it was bearable to be like that. And this behaviour was not limited to their interactions with each other, not by a long shot. All this to say, Juwon could, were he a different man, say clearly and certainly that he did not want a new partner and neither did Inspector Lee, but what actually came out of his mouth was:

“What brought this on?”

Chief Kim blinked at him like a dear in headlights, caught not exactly in a lie but in an uncomfortable situation to say the least.

“Why, Inspector Han - you know what.”

Juwon was proud, and he wasn’t blind. He knew Chief Kim took him as cold, as all people tended to see him, but he refused to demean himself to support his elder’s views of him. Pride wasn’t the same as heartlessness and Juwon was determined to, if he was to tolerate them, at least make people admit their opinions of him.

Because it wasn’t polite, calling someone heartless, even if it was thought. The least Juwon’s pride deserved was to have people pay in embarrassment for assuming things that wounded it.

“Why are we talking about this?” he continued asking just to be contrary. Perhaps it was a bit too bratty of him to take his frustration out on sweet Chief Kim who was doing his best, but in his defence, Chief Kim was the main reason for his frustration, so it felt at least a bit justified.

“Inspector Han, no need to get aggressive,” the older man chastised him and at any other point Juwon would have felt either outraged or ashamed at such a remark, but at that moment he was simply tired.

“I apologise,” he replied diplomatically. “Please answer my question.”

“Inspector Han!” Chief Kim sounded very nearly scandalized. “That man arrested you on national television!”

In all seriousness, Juwon had completely forgotten about that little web they’d spun. A distraction, a trap, a means to an end. Another point of contention between the two of them, another promise broken, another prideful, egotistical push.

Another thing of the past that was rarely thought about.

“Why should I care about that?” he asked his elder, trying to keep his voice level but sounding annoyed all the same.

Chief Kim didn’t know a thing - worse, he didn’t understand what he did know, and from bitter, prolonged experience Juwon knew how devastating that could be, what kind of damage it could cause. Just like him, Kim Seongsu didn’t know any better and was forcing destiny’s hand.

He was looking at his subordinate like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing and eyes wide and stunned as he tried to process that statement, to come up with an answer.

Juwon was so tired.

“I have to go,” he announced without any preamble and stood up.

“But Inspector Han!” the Chief’s protest followed him to the door.

He didn’t bother answering, nor saying goodbye.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

“Do I really look like such a bad partner?” were the first words to come out of Juwon’s mouth as he entered Dongsik’s house, before he’d even taken his shoes off at the door.

Amused, Dongsik lifted an eyebrow at him.

“Hello to you too, you punk,” he waved cheekily.

It was impressive how his partner managed to put his muddy people-tracking boots on the shoe rack without even looking at it because he was busy glaring at Dongsik. True talent.

“Am I?” he demanded.

Dongsik could see that his partner was truly worked up about it, so it was time to be serious, if only for a second.

“No, you’re not,” he admitted sincerely, and then, because the second was over, he added. “You’re stubborn, and cryptic, and frustrating, and terrible to be around at times, but you’re not a bad partner.”

Juwon accepted the attack on his person with barely an eyeroll, clearly finding other things more important.

“But do I look like one?” he pressed as he stepped further into the room.

Dongsik shrugged.

“Who am I to know how others see you?” he complained brashly about the responsibility put on him by his partner. “To me you’re just an insufferable punk.”

He said it fondly, with just a hint of his notorious charm, and while it had Juwon huffing out irritated puffs of air, he was clearly pleased by the admission.

“Yet you still spend all your time with me,” he pointed out smartly.

“Don’t go getting brazen with me now,” Dongsik replied, completely scandalized.

“Desperate, wouldn’t you say?” Juwon remarked as if he hadn’t heard the previous line.

The other man was truly getting his ego wounded at that point and he decided to make it known.

“Says the man in my house after work,” he pointed out mercilessly. “Han Juwon, you could have been married by now. Had kids. Yet you’re here, petting my dog. Don’t you have other friends?”

Both of them knew that he didn’t. At times, Dongsik wondered whether he even had any of his friends left, separated as they were by circumstances, time, and distance. He missed them, just not the pain those familiar faces and familiar streets and familiar houses still stabbed into his heart.

But that was teasing, not serious talk, and he could se sarcastic without invoking tragic memories.

“So don’t go throwing the first stone,” he concluded sagely. “You’re still here.”

Juwon threw him a look which was hard to decipher - part of it was definitely challenge, that almost twinkling look in his eyes that he got when he felt thrilled by a game, a puzzle, a test of his wits; another part was unmistakably fondness, not as soft as some might believe such an emotion to be, but open and tender; and then there was the mystery element, the small part which even Dongsik, a tried and tested Juwon-interpreter, could not quite read. It was a bold emotion, fierce even, but it betrayed a vulnerability not often seen on his partner’s face.

Watching it was almost itching, its intensity uncomfortable, and Dongsik felt the need to twitch under its scrutiny. Years later, and only one man could make him feel that way.

Juwon smiled softly and shook his head fondly. He made a show of languidly circling the sofa and sitting down, slowly, right next to his partner.

“Yes,” he admitted easily. “I am.”

There really was no answer to that, was there? Not with the warmth with which Juwon had said it, not with the unrelenting attention he was bestowing. There were no jokes, no sarcasm or provocations to fall back on, and Dongsik was stunned. All of his defences were rendered useless, just like that, with a look and a word, and not because he’d lost the ability to be cheeky and annoying, no - because he didn’t want to be. For the first time in years, decades even, he wanted to return the offered warmth.

Wasn’t quite brave enough to do it, but maybe it time. If given the chance.

It was a new feeling, this resolution, but Dongsik discovered that he liked that version of himself - the not-coward.

Chin was a lot more excited to see Juwon that her human counterpart, as she immediately trotted over to his side to demand pets. The man obliged her, the complicated expression leaving his face for his usual concentration when it came to Chin, as if by giving the complex action of petting her anything less than his full attention he would mess it up. If one was feeling charitable, they’d say this was a perfect example of canine loyalty to their human best friends, or genuine concern. Dongsik had a bit more experience with their adorable but spoiled princess, and knew it was time for a walk.

Juwon clearly wasn’t fooled either because after thirty seconds of enthusiastically rubbing her head he was putting on his clean I-will-be-climbing-no-mountains-looking-for-lost-elderly boots. Dongsik joined him after putting on his coat.

They went their usual route - through the town and towards one of the popular, easy hiking trails. Chin liked it because of the squirrel population, which were especially active in winter trying to track down their forgotten food storages. The Husky had never actually managed to catch one of the sneaky rodents, but she was giving it her all every time anyway.

It was invigorating watching her run around, smelling everything and jumping over roots and stones in their path. Listening to her sharp breaths, her excited barks, the soft thumping of her feet in the shallow snow. Combined with the natural quiet of the evening, the landscape lent itself to walking slowly, enjoying the fresh air through hats and scarves.

They paused halfway along the track to watch the sunset over Inje-eup. From their position on top of a hill they could see the entire town bathed in fading golden light, the sky pink turning to blue as the sun dipped beneath the horizon. The snow glistened like diamonds as dusk slowly bled into night.

The two men watched their breaths form little clouds in front of their faces. Far off the last remaining dregs of vaguely light sky were surrendering to the onsetting stars.

Dongsik released a sigh of contentment and turned to look at his partner. He didn’t know whether they’d stopped like that or if it had happened while they were watching the sunset, but Juwon’s shoulder brushed into his with every breath the man took. His scarf was hanging low, because he cared more about fashion than about practicality, and the ends of his hair were sneaking out from under his hat, but he didn’t look dishevelled. He never did.

Dongsik would hesitate to call him beautiful - those weren’t terms he dealt with when it came to people. Chin, perhaps, he’d call beautiful. The sunset was beautiful. His partner was just Han Juwon. He was brilliant, and irritating, and passionate, and affectionate if caught in the right mood. Maybe he was beautiful, but Dongsik wouldn’t call him that. Perhaps a small, very small part of him would think it, looking at his set features, unreadable as always in the dark.

He was caught staring, of course, and presented with a very unimpressed look.

“Have I got something on my face?” Juwon deadpanned, knowing fully well he was pristine as always.

“Only attitude,” Dongsik scoffed and casually patted his partner’s shoulder.

His hand remained there afterwards, but neither of them commented on it. Dongsik decided to think of it as an indulgence, one of those they humoured each other about. It was simple, it was natural.

A lot of what they had nowadays was natural. It hadn’t been so at the beginning, when they’d fought each other over the smallest things, when they’d understood nothing of one another. As much as it was tiring to understand another person, Dongsik couldn’t deny the benefits - these moments after the sunset, those days off playing with Chin. He didn’t take them for granted, and he never forgot to pause and appreciate them.

“Lee Dongsik,” Juwon opened with that serious voice of his, bringing his partner back into the present.

“Hm?” Dongsik hummed to indicate he was listening.

“I think we are a couple,” his partner declared seriously, pretty much in that same tone he’d sometimes used to accuse Dongsik of murder (or other crimes). Partly a challenge, partly a command, and just a tiny bit a plea.

Dongsik’s first impulse was to laugh - that was how he handled things, how he hid when something affected him. He used his laughter as a weapon and a distraction, and it served him well from years of practice.

But Juwon wouldn’t fall for that, and Dongsik wouldn’t want him to. So instead he simply smiled, something to match the odd serenity he was feeling. He wished for more light, for the sun to be still in the sky to see better, but the twilight had its own advantages. He couldn’t see, but he couldn’t be seen in return.

Only that wasn’t true - Juwon saw him. Somehow, all throughout it, Juwon had seen him.

“You’ve given that some thought,” he pointed out evenly, because the other option was for his voice to be hesitating.

“I have,” his partner confirmed with a nod. “And it is true.”

“Ah, so you get to decide that?” Dongsik teased, lightly jabbed Juwon in the side with his elbow.

His partner shoved him in return, lightly, before returning to the conversation like nothing had happened.

“We basically live together. And we have a dog,” he pointed out philosophically.

“I think you’re forgetting something,” Dongsik returned mostly teasingly, but some bitterness sneaked into his tone.

To his infinite surprise, Juwon’s gloved hand caught his without hesitation.

“No, I’m not,” his partner declared in that standoffish voice, sounding just like a brat as he turned to watch their small town again, each house lit up with the nightly routine of hundreds of lives.

Dongsik chuckled and squeezed the hand in his.

“Cheeky punk,” he accused fondly.

“Deranged madman,” he received in much the same vein.

With the sun gone it was getting cold fast, and Dongsik knew they’d be heading back soon. A part of him didn’t want this moment to end, the moment where everything was real and at the same time it wasn’t, but the bigger, wiser part of him knew it wouldn’t end - it would stretch on, because that was how they lived, Juwon and him. His partner and him.

He was stopped from heading down by a light tug on his arm to keep him in place. Juwon was looking at him as he asked:

“You still want to be my partner, right?”

Dongsik gave him his best mischievous smile.

“I think I’ll tolerate you some more,” he allowed cheekily.

Juwon huffed in response but didn’t comment. He whistled for Chin and led the way down the trail. His hand never left Dongsik’s.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

“Maybe we should just tell him.”

The brilliant idea came from Dongsik after dinner, about two shots of soju too many. Juwon stared at him as if he’d grown a second head, and quite deservedly too. This just wasn’t something normal people did.

“You mean …” he treaded carefully, subtly looking his partner over for signs of illness.

“Tell Chief Kim Seongsu that we don’t want new partners,” Dongsik clarified like it was a reasonable thing to do.

Juwon blinked. This was more serious than he’d initially assumed. He went through a concussion checklist in his mind.

“What, no opinion?” his partner turned to glance at him, all clumsy limbs from the alcohol, almost like a teenager. “You’re usually a vocal punk.”

Juwon ignored him very pointedly, because not even drunk Dongsik had a right to insult his pride with no consequences. He went into the kitchen to stall, poured himself a glass of water, drank it, then filled another one for his partner.

“You’re a saint,” he received once he carried it over, a statement which could be answered with nothing other than a scoff.

He settled back next to Dongsik on the couch, waiting for his partner to finish his water.

“You’re right,” the man in question decided all on his own, a sentiment which, in Juwon’s humble opinion, was simply applicable to every situation. “It’s a bad idea.”

Perhaps drunk Dongsik had his benefits - he was much more agreeable than his sober counterpart, for one. Although Juwon wasn’t all that certain he preferred the former over the latter.

“We should write him an email,” came the next brilliant idea. “Watch him put on his reading glasses to try and read it.”

“Mock people and you suffer what you mocked them for,” Juwon chastised softly, evolving from concerned to amused as he watched his partner.

“I’ll need reading glasses anyway,” Dongsik waved him off with an elaborate hand gesture which very nearly smacked Juwon in the face - only his quick reflexes saved him.

“Old man,” he deadpanned, knowing that those joked usually landed with his partner.

“Oh, but I am,” Dongsik sighed nearly pitifully. He sank into the back of the couch like it was quicksand. “I need to retire. I’m too old for this.”

“Go somewhere south,” Juwon teased him with an even tone. “Lay on the beach all day.”

“It better be warmer,” his partner sounded like he was challenging a higher power. Then the fight went out of him and he went boneless again. “I don’t want to.”

“Why not?” Juwon frowned.

“Cause you’ll be here,” Dongsik pointed out like his partner was stupid for asking such a question.

“Will I now?” the younger man challenged, annoyance sneaking into his tone.

“You’re too young to retire, you punk,” his partner slurred.

Juwon could point out that he was rich enough not to have to work at all - he could retire whenever he chose. But he was feeling generous.

“So are you,” he pointed out instead.

“Ah, but how many years can I stall Chief Kim before he picks a new partner for me?”

Juwon very nearly laughed into his sleeve at his partner’s drunken woes. He somehow managed to school his features into a neutral face and kept his voice level as he continued.

“Alright - so we retire somewhere south. Then what - you fish all day?”

“And you can solve your bloody crosswords,” Dongsik tried to jab him in the side, but his aim was way off and Juwon merely leaned out of his reach.

“I don’t like crosswords,” he pointed out just to be contrary.

“I know that,” his partner complained. “Normal people don’t.”

Since when have we been normal? Juwon nearly asked, but held his tongue.

“You think Chin will like the beach?” he asked instead.

As one, the two men turned towards the door behind which their princess was sleeping. It was left open, of course, and they could just about catch a glimpse of her back paw sticking outside of the dog bed.

“Huskies like cold, don’t they?” Dongsik pointed out miserably. “She’ll probably hate it.”

“We could stay here,” Juwon offered, quite entertained by that point.

“You’ll stay here with her,” his partner corrected him with that particular wise tilt of the drunk. “Cause you can’t retire yet.”

“You’re not going without me,” Juwon stated easily.

“Ah, you’re right,” Dongsik sighed again, deep and tortured. It was quite amusing to watch. “I can’t. We’re a couple, right?”

Juwon took his empty glass to carry back to the kitchen, or maybe simply to refill it - he hadn’t decided yet.

“Yes,” he agreed simply.

“Good,” his partner nodded sagely. “I like that.”

“So do I,” Juwon smirked and walked the short distance to the kitchen sink.

By the time he was back, his partner had fallen asleep on the couch. With a fond shake of his head, Juwon checked his pockets and then set him lying down, with the refilled glass of water resting on the coffee table.

Almost as an afterthought, he ran his fingers through Dongsik’s hair - he didn’t even stir, but his locks were soft, spilling fluidly like ink over Juwon’s palm. He smiled against his will.

“I really like that,” he admitted to his sleeping partner, then walked over to the couch to work in silence.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

In the end, Dongsik’s crazy idea wasn’t so crazy after all.

It took several additional days of Chief Kim’s subtle hints to consider his offers for the two men to decide that they’d had quite enough. It was actually a discussion over lunch.

“Suggestions?” Juwon asked tensely, staring at a bowl of rice like it had personally offended him.

Of course he considered preambles such as ‘We should do something about this’ or ‘This is what I want to discuss’ useless, no, proper communication was dropping a non-sequitur and expecting your partner to immediately understand.

The fact that Dongsik immediately understood bore no significance to the fact that his partner had no conversation manners.

For his part, Dongsik hummed and looked down at the eating Husky next to him thoughtfully. Getting rid of annoyances their preferred way (passive aggressiveness or aggressive cheerfulness respectfully) wouldn’t really work on their Chief. For two reasons: firstly, because Chief Kim Seongsu had the patience of a saint and would never give up if he thought he was helping, bless his heart; and secondly, because no one could beat Chief Kim at passive aggressiveness or aggressive cheerfulness, as much as it pained Dongsik to admit defeat in this respect (Juwon would not doubt cling to his title, but his partner knew in a competition he’d ultimately lose because he had something Chief Kim did not, namely an abnormally large sense of pride).

Now, Dongsik didn’t really remember everything he’d said in his vaguely tipsy tirade a couple of days ago, but he did remember the brilliant idea his drunk counterpart had come up with. He knew, of course, that it was absolutely stupid, but they were in an absolutely stupid situation.

“We tell him no,” he shrugged.

Juwon’s eyes immediately bore into him with the intensity of the sun.

“Tell him what exactly?” he demanded with the beginnings of anger sneaking into his tone.

“Aigoo, didn’t know you were so bothered by this,” Dongsik sighed. “We go and say ‘Ah, Chief Kim, you offer is very thoughtful, but we’re happy with our current partners’.”

Juwon scoffed like Dongsik knew he would.

“This is humiliating,” he pointed out.

“More humiliating than evading him at the coffee station every day?” his partner returned.

Air blew out of the younger man’s nostrils in frustration. He set his spoon down.

“Alright,” he gave in, but it sounded more like a challenge - like he was humouring Dongsik just to watch his plan fail and then gloat about it. “But we do it quietly and discreetly.”

Dongsik grinned - when had they ever done things any other way?

The next morning they arrived together, Chin in tow, and immediately ambushed their Chief in front of his office.

“May we have a word?” Dongsik asked charmingly while Juwon was busy scowling.

“Why, of course, Inspector Lee,” Chief Kim practically cooed paternally at him as he invited them into his office. “Tea?”

“Yes please,” Dongsik replied at the same time as his partner uttered a:

“No, thank you.”

Juwon then glared at him while Dongsik simply shrugged with an easy smile on his face. Chief Kim, naturally, decided to only consider the answer which satisfied him and busied himself with the kettle. Behind his turned back, a true war of glares was taking place, leaving no clear winner, but it did release some of the pent-up frustration in the two men.

“Now then - what did you want to talk about?” their Chief asked as he finally returned to them with a tea tray, clearly all too aware of what the reason for the visit was and gleefully expecting his plan to go off without a hitch.

“We’ve discussed your proposal,” Dongsik opened diplomatically while his partner was busy scowling at the teacups. No doubt they did not at all pass his hygiene standards.

“And?” Chief Kim prompted with a wide smile.

“We’d appreciate receiving more human resources when needed,” Juwon stepped in, perhaps tired of being a passive side of the conversation.

“The rotation principle could be a great help,” Dongsik added. “But we do not need new partners.”

Chief Kim paused where he was stirring his tea.

“Why not?” he asked, a bit like a confused child, glancing from one to the other like their decision was unfathomable.

“Inspector Han and I work well together,” Dongsik pointed out simply.

“We have the experience necessary to be the core of the Missing Persons Unit,” his partner agreed.

“Experience can be gained,” their Chief attempted to salvage his plan, not maliciously, but with true concern for their comfort.

It was sad to see his efforts to misguided, but Dongsik couldn’t find it in himself to be mad at Kim Seongsu. Their Chief was a good man, a kind man, who always catered to the needs of his subordinates - every officer in the substation occupied his attention and he cared for them like they were his children. He could be a bit pushy with his suggestions, and certainly couldn’t take a hint, but it came from a good place. Sometimes, with other officers, his relentless pursuit of solutions to small problems led to trust and even produced good results. It was impossible to think ill of him for that - perhaps the way to deal with this quirk was to just shut it down resolutely.

“I like having Inspector Han as my partner,” Dongsik spoke up, uncharacteristically openly. It seemed like a good conclusion - he would give a truth to satisfy Chief Kim and get this whole ordeal over with without uncomfortably revealing too much of himself. “We’re a good match.”

There he threw a glance at his partner, who was staring right back at him with disbelief. Completely warranted, because the last thing those two usually did was speak things plainly. In a way, Dongsik was making a sacrifice, changing his ways for the greater good, aka to save them the trouble of prolonging the discussion. Really, the punk should have been thanking him instead of looking so shocked.

“Is that so …” Chief Kim muttered, and something flashed in his eyes, perhaps the recognition that maybe he had been interpreting the situation wrongly.

At least he wasn’t so stuck in his ways as to ignore what was being clearly stated to him. Perhaps there was hope after all.

“I do also prefer working with Inspector Lee,” Juwon interjected again, finally getting with the program.

That seemed to finally cement it in their Chief’s mind that extreme personnel changes to the substation wouldn’t be necessary. He even had the good graces to look embarrassed, no doubt at remembering his insistence (some could even call it nagging) at the two Inspectors under his command to separate from one another. Truly, it was impossible to feel angry at him.

“Well … it is settled then?” he quickly tried to save grace. “We’ll allocate available officers to the Unit when needed starting from the new year. If that’s all …?”

They could certainly grill him a bit more - they’d earned the right to humiliation. But Dongsik was feeling generous, and he flashed the Chief a charming grin instead of one of cruelty. Besides, he was doing everything he could to save him and his partner the need to prolong this embarrassing discussion.

“I believe it is,” he nodded and stood up. “Thank you for the tea.”

He bowed, saw Juwon nod curtly next to him - they were sent on their way by their Chief’s relieved look.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

“At least it’s done,” Juwon allowed, which was the closest he was willing to get to admitting that his partner’s insane idea had actually worked.

He received a cheeky grin in response from across their joined desks. It was annoying, but, truth be told, Juwon was willing to suffer the humiliation in exchange for seeing it on his partner’s face.

“You know, Han Juwon, one day you might even become an optimist,” Dongsik teased as if he himself wasn’t a raging pessimist. The hypocrisy.

Hypocrisy could only be answered one way - Juwon scoffed.

He opened some files on his ancient desktop computer (although, to be fair, it only crashed about twelve times per week, could be worse) and engrossed himself in his work. It took him twenty whole minutes to notice his partner staring at him with an unreadable, kind of faraway expression.

“What?” he frowned, glancing quickly through the substation for anything amiss. There was nothing - Chin was calmly lying by Dongsik’s feet, the only other person in sight was Officer Choi Sujin, who was manning the phone (supposedly) and playing a game on her phone from the boredom.

It was a frankly idyllic December day, if one was prone to such dramatics.

“You did the math very quickly,” his partner answered calmly.

“Huh?” Juwon leaned forward, as if hearing him better would explain his strange behaviour.

“Twenty percent - you decided to add them very timely,” Dongsik tilted his head. “What made you do it?”

Juwon rolled his eyes - of all the things, of course his partner would get hung up on the stupid joke the two had pulled. He wasn’t surprised - although this was definitely partially teasing, his partner was actually curious. Insecure, perhaps, would be a better word. Insecure in such a way that it was vital to realise what had “convinced” Juwon to put his twenty percent into the equation.

Typically for them, he’d got it all backwards.

To correct the misunderstanding, Juwon stared seriously into his partner’s eyes, with as grave an expression as he could muster.

“Your twenty percent,” he clarified meaningfully.

He watched as realisation dawned on Dongsik’s face - the dumbfounded gape, the clearing of his forehead of wrinkles as his eyes opened wide. He’d seen the look before, he’d see it again. Disinterested in continuing the discussion, Juwon returned to his work.

There was time for sappiness later. For now, he’d done all he’d wanted - informed his partner that Juwon’s twenty percent had never been in question.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

“Does that mean you weren’t sure about my twenty percent?” Dongsik asked, the question just popping into his head late in the evening.

They were out walking Chin through town after dinner, bundled up in pretty much their warmest clothes because December was not playing around. It was testament to the cold how long it had taken Dongsik to process his partner’s statements (and only to the cold. No way was it a testament to how smitten Dongsik was, no sir - he had dignity, and admitting to that type of humiliating teasing material was just asking for trouble).

Juwon seemed, at that point, all too annoyed by this discussion. He gave his partner a glare and a long-suffering look.

“Were you? About mine?” he demanded in a sort of ‘gotcha’ tone to imply this conversation was over.

“Of course,” Dongsik admitted easily to gain the advantage - of all verbal weapons, honesty was the most disarming. “So how did you decide to add them?”

Frustrated, his partner threw him an offended look, to which Dongsik answered with curiosity and, worse, patience. There truly was nowhere to run.

“I … thought about it,” Juwon finally admitted, looking embarrassingly close to flustered as he evaded eye-contact.

“Thought about it,” Dongsik repeated, thoroughly unimpressed.

“I looked at the facts …”

“What facts?”

Suddenly Juwon was much more annoyed at being interrupted than at being interrogated, a win which Dongsik took smugly, his partner none the wiser.

“And I concluded based on our interactions that my feelings ought to be replicated.”

“Ought to be,” Dongik prompted with a wide grin. “You gambled, didn’t you?”

Juwon pressed his lips in a thin line and shook his head, eyes resolutely pointed at Chin.

“Yes,” the admission was a strained thing, perhaps knowing it was prime bullying material. “But I was right!”

Dongsik shook his head fondly. He stepped just that bit closer to his partner.

“That you were.”