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I

Seungkwan traverses the wooden floor of his office, his loafers kicking up dust in his wake. Notebooks and binders lay open on his desk, a long-dried highlighter sitting uncapped on his keyboard as a reminder of how quickly he’d fled the office two weeks prior. He flops into his rolling chair and tosses the highlighter across the room towards the trash can. The endorphin rush he feels when he sinks the shot reminds him of the high he’s been riding since Friday when his client received her verdict from the judge. 

The overhead lights flick on above him. Seungkwan flinches and looks towards the door. Chan is there in his irritatingly pressed suit, a smile on his face too-big for Monday morning. 

“Hey boss,” Chan beams, “Heard Ms. Kim won the divorce settlement.” 

Seungkwan turns his desk lamp on, and then Mingyu’s desk lamp beside him. He stands as Chan makes his way to his own workstation, opening blinds on his way to the light switch. Seungkwan flips off the fluorescents before addressing his coworker. 

“Of course she did,” Seungkwan responds. 

“Yeah, I guess the photos Mingyu snagged were pretty damning,” Chan agrees. 

“I will never understand why straight men decide to pick up a drug habit during a divorce. It makes it too easy for us,” Seungkwan says. 

“To be fair, I don’t think most women hire a PI when marriage gets tough,” Chan says. 

Seungkwan returns to his desk and presses the power button on his desktop, a chorus of dull ringing sounding through the room as Chan does the same with his computer. 

“All the rich ones do,” Seungkwan says. 

Chan hums and goes quiet, presumably immersing himself in his work. Seungkwan reaches instinctively for his Americano, realizing too late that he has not yet purchased one. He sighs and opens his email. He forwards a few potential clients to Chan and Mingyu. Words begin to blur together as he sifts through his inbox. He slaps his cheeks lightly a few times. It is less effective than he hoped. 

“I need caffeine,” Seungkwan announces. 

“Perfect timing, me too,” Mingyu’s voice sounds from the entryway. 

For a moment, Seungkwan imagines that Mingyu has stopped at the cafe at the end of the block and resolved all of his early-morning difficulties. Appraising him, Seungkwan instead finds that Mingyu was merely requesting for Seungkwan to add his coffee order on his daily cafe run. Seungkwan sighs and rolls his eyes, more for show than out of any true annoyance. 

“Fine, but I’m not adding cream today. We could smell you the entire trial,” Seungkwan teases.

Mingyu goes beet red. 

“That’s not true! Chan, that’s not true, right?” Mingyu whines. 

“I don’t know, man, I think I’d opt for oat milk if I were you,” Chan grins. 

“Guys, I was sitting next to her hot brother the entire time. How could you not tell me?” Mingyu complains. 

“Mingyu, he’s married. And, like sixty,” Chan laughs. 

Seungkwan walks out on their bickering. It isn’t yet so late in autumn that he finds it necessary to bring his coat along, though it is markedly more chilly four flights down from the office. There is a new worker at his regular cafe, a bright young girl that Seungkwan would pin as a highschooler if it weren’t eight-thirty on a Monday. She brews his Americano too weakly, but her smile makes amends for the inconvenience. Seungkwan laments the end of his last client’s court trial. Four flights is only easy on the way down. 

He returns to his computer damp from sweat under his button-up. The discomfort distracts him momentarily from the pained silence that has fallen across his coworkers. The stillness of the room strikes him on his third email. He looks between Chan and Mingyu and finds them staring at him. 

“What?” Seungkwan asks. 

Chan’s eyes go wide and he nods emphatically at Mingyu. Mingyu’s large fingers strum against his desk. 

“Seriously, what? Did we get a bad review?” Seungkwan says more insistently. 

“Soonyoung left a message,” Chan blurts out. 

He all but slaps his hand over his mouth after his outburst. 

“ Dude ,” Mingyu chastises. 

Seungkwan’s stomach lurches. Soonyoung’s goddamn name sits like poison in his veins. Seungkwan forces himself to laugh it off. Six months is too long to feel pain about an ex. He gives the same line to his clients– two months of self-pity is healing, three is for the drama, and four is hurting no one but yourself. Soonyoung only serves to remind him that he cannot even follow his own advice. 

“Hey, I told you both I’m fine,” Seungkwan lies through a smile. 

“Right,” Mingyu says. 

“Come on, what’d he say?” Seungkwan asks. 

Soonyoung has not spoken to him since The Incident. Seungkwan is empathetic as to why. Seungkwan deals in the business of vengeance. He has ten years under his belt as a PI specializing in divorce. He knows how to make the aftershock of a breakup linger in his favor. 

“You had a parking ticket mailed to his house. It must have been sent there before you changed your address,” Chan chimes in. 

Seungkwan had not realized that he’d wanted it to be a personal call until the hope was taken away from him. He feels his aura cloud with disappointment. 

“Sure. Yeah, I’ll call him back,” Seungkwan says. 

“I can do it for you,” Mingyu offers. 

“No. It’s my responsibility,” Seungkwan says. 

The day drags on. Seungkwan finishes his coffee and clears his inbox. Meetings with new clients are scheduled. Ms. Park calls to thank them again for their hard work collecting evidence for her divorce hearing and double-checks their payment information. Seungkwan reviews their monthly budget and approves the lens Mingyu requested for his camera. 

Seungkwan buys kimbap across the street before hopping on the subway home. He waves hello to the security guard in the lobby of his apartment complex and rides the elevator eleven stories to his one bedroom. When he flicks the lights on, no one greets him. He uses Netflix for company as he eats his dinner before considering his phone. 

Soonyoung’s contact sits in the blocked callers section of his phone under the name Not Even If You’re Drunk. It pains him to hit the call button, but it would pain him even more if his sister’s car was towed because he was too much of a coward to call his ex boyfriend. 

“Oh, hey! Uh, hey. I kind of thought you’d have Mingyu call me back?” Soonyoung answers on the third ring. 

Seungkwan coughs. He is irritated that Soonyoung is surprised to hear from him, as if Soonyoung was not the one to call him out of the blue. 

“We’re adults, Soonyoung. I’m sure I can manage picking up my mail,” Seungkwan says, voice monotone. 

“I mean, it’s nice to hear from you,” Soonyoung says. 

Seungkwan doubts that the statement is true. He made well sure that his name would not be one that Soonyoung could look back on positively. 

“When can I come pick up the ticket, Soonyoung?” Seungkwan asks. 

“Oh, whenever you want! Any day this week,” Soonyoung tells him. 

“Not Thursday,” A second voice sounds from Soonyoung’s end of the call. 

Joshua. Seungkwan’s stomach turns sour. Joshua’s voice doesn’t fill him with jealousy like it used to. Seungkwan does not immediately imagine all the places Joshua now is where Seungkwan used to be– Soonyoung’s shower, his bed, his kitchen. Joshua’s voice does not make him happy, though. It fills him with rage. It reminds him of Soonyoung’s betrayal. Seungkwan feels utterly disrespected. 

“How about Wednesday?” Seungkwan offers. 

“Ah, yeah. Yeah, Wednesday works,” Soonyoung says before tacking on a quick, “Sorry.” 

“I’ll stop by after work. Call my office if something changes,” Seungkwan says.

He hangs up. It takes all his energy not to chuck his phone across the room. Fucking Soonyoung. 

II

It rains on Thursday. Seungkwan watches a middle-aged man slip on the stairs of his subway station and opts to walk uncharacteristically slowly to avoid the same fate. He misses the rapid train, and then his connection, and is the last one to trudge into the office. The bottom of his pants are drenched in spite of his umbrella. He finds Mingyu in the restroom with a hair dryer plugged into the wall, managing the damage done to his own slacks by the weather. 

“Please let me borrow that after you,” Seungkwan asks. 

“Were you just gonna use the hand dryer?” Mingyu chuckles. 

Seungkwan grunts and takes a seat on the counter, balanced precariously in between the two sinks. He pops his boots off with the balls of his toes and allows his feet to dangle. Mingyu takes pity on his sorry state and begins drying the ankles of Seungkwan’s pants for him. 

“So,” Mingyu begins, too loud over the blowing air, “You went to Soonyoung’s last night?” 

“We met at our cafe. The cafe in his neighborhood,” Seungkwan corrects himself. 

Technically, they met outside the cafe. Seungkwan had spotted his old barista and had been too embarrassed to confront him. What would he say to the man? That he desperately misses his coffee? That he hasn’t ordered a caramel macchiato since Soonyoung dumped him? That he is morbidly curious about Joshua’s order? Seungkwan leaned against the concrete of the building to wait for Soonyoung rather than face a familiar stranger with far too intimate knowledge of his breakup. 

“How was it?” Mingyu asks. 

He turns off the hair dryer. He is still crouched on the ground by Seungkwan’s pants, clearly unfinished with his work but paused for easier conversation. Seungkwan wiggles his toes. 

“I shouldn’t have tried to talk to him,” Seungkwan says. 

Mingyu winces. 

“Oh, babe, what did you say?” Mingyu asks.

Seungkwan is filled with shame. Mingyu only uses terms of endearment with him when he has embarrassed himself. 

“You know I’m over him, right? Like, it isn’t about wanting to be with him. I just wanted to know why I wasn’t good enough,” Seungkwan says. 

“I keep telling you to get a therapist,” Mingyu says.

“Yeah, well, he said that, too. And then he made it very fucking clear that me not getting a therapist is a part of why I wasn’t good enough,” Seungkwan says. 

Mingyu places his hand on top of Seungkwan’s on the sink. He is too strong to wiggle away from. He is going to force Seungkwan to face the words he’s spoken out loud. 

“Hey, what have we talked about?” Mingyu asks. 

Seungkwan rolls his eyes in lieu of an answer. 

“Seungkwan,” Mingyu insists. 

“God, fine. Soonyoung and I being incompatible doesn’t mean I’m not good enough. His desire for me doesn’t define my worth, etcetera etcetera,” Seungkwan says. 

“Good,” Mingyu smiles. 

“You know he got a new job?” Seungkwan says.

It spills out of him like liquid, an angry bubble that has been begging to burst since the night before. 

“Now? Now he finally gets a new job?” Mingyu says, disbelief written all over his face. 

“ Apparently I was putting too much pressure on him. Apparently Joshua doing fuck all to help him apply for jobs was more useful than me, I don’t know, completely writing his resume for him and editing all his cover letters and finding like seven people I know willing to get him positions at their companies,” Seungkwan says. 

Seungkwan’s romantic inclinations towards Soonyoung have long faded but his anger lingers. Being left for someone else is a wound that is difficult not to hold onto. 

“He said that? And you didn’t kill him? I would have killed him,” Mingyu says. 

“I always tell our divorcees that we aren’t in the business of hitmen, but he makes me want to reconsider,” Seungkwan says. 

Mingyu shakes his head and turns the hair dryer back on. He turns it back off just to add, “You know, I’m glad you told his mom that he was using her credit card. I thought it was petty when you did it, but fuck him. I’m glad she cut him off.” 

The dryer cuts on again. Seungkwan leans his head against the mirror and allows Mingyu to attend to the hems of his pants. His irritability melts as the rain evaporates. Soonyoung is an asshole, but he isn’t a part of Seungkwan’s life anymore. 

“You get any good photos last night?” Seungkwan asks, desperate to be focused on a topic separate from his failing personal life. 

“Oh, yeah. I was out till like three tailing the guy. I was going to come in late to catch up on sleep, but I was antsy to show you guys the pictures I got,” Mingyu says. 

Seungkwan smiles. He may not be great at relationships, but by god he and his team are good at their jobs. 

III

The rain doesn’t let up over the weekend. Seungkwan takes a cab to the office on Monday morning, eager to arrive completely dry. His morning appointment appears not to have thought ahead quite so well. The man shows up drenched, his umbrella turned inside out. Mingyu assists the client with the minor wind-induced malfunction while Seungkwan appraises their newest customer. 

Men are not their typical source of revenue. They market themselves most effectively to women scorned. Korea is not well known for its feminism, but Seungkwan and his team have learned every law and loophole that can help a woman out of a toxic marriage with money to spare. It helps their investigative work, to know the legal end. 

The man seeking their services today must be a heartbreaker. The wetness of his jet-black ensemble and the way his long hair is plastered to the sides of his head hardly detracts from how utterly attractive he is. If the guy looks this good rain-soaked with an inverted umbrella, Seungkwan can hardly imagine the damage he could do dry. It leaves Seungkwan suspicious. 

“Sorry about the rain today,” Seungkwan says as he leads the client into their small meeting room, “I can heat up water for tea, if you’d like.” 

“Yes, I’d love that,” the client smiles, lips tight. 

“I’m Boo Seungkwan, private investigator. I’ll be handing your case, if we find this to be a good match after learning a bit more about each other,” Seungkwan explains.

He flips the electric tea kettle on and settles in a leather chair. His legal pad and notebook are on the table beside him, set out by Mingyu earlier in the morning. He motions towards a small box filled with miscellaneous tea packets. His client chooses one of the most expensive brands of green.

“I know you shared some details of the case with my associate over email, but I always like to hear from my clients what I’ll be looking for and why,” Seungkwan says. 

There is a brief pause in the room. The client shifts in his chair and his wet clothes make an uncomfortable squelching sound against the leather. 

“Sure, of course. I’m Xu Minghao. I want you to find something on my ex that will make them suffer,” Minghao says. 

Seungkwan’s ears perk up. Minghao has gone well out of his way to exclude pronouns when discussing the party he wants investigated. 

“That’s awfully general. Tell me more about your ex,” Seungkwan says. 

It is unlike him to be terse with clients. He is more familiar playing the comedian or the gentle shoulder to cry on. Seungkwan gets the sense that Minghao would not like either of those personas, not with his sharp lines and focused stare. 

“Yoon Jeonghan. He works for a hedge fund. We lived together for five years. Nine months ago, I learned he had been sleeping around the entire relationship,” Minghao says. 

This is much better than a man angry at his ex wife for having the gall to leave him for a better man. Seungkwan has not yet had the opportunity to investigate on behalf of a queer relationship. His fingertips buzz. 

“You aren’t Korean, are you? Were you two married abroad?” Seungkwan asks. 

“No. I’m Chinese, and he’s Korean,” Minghao says. 

“That complicates financial compensation. Obviously you won’t be owed alimony,” Seungkwan explains. 

“If I could get alimony, I wouldn’t be here,” Minghao says. 

“Right. Which leads me back to my question– what are you looking for out of this? Money? Revenge? I will tell you upfront that I won’t out someone to their family or workplace, but I’m prepared to cross most other lines as long as it is within the scope of the law,” Seungkwan explains. 

Minghao shakes his head vehemently, his lips tight. 

“I would never ask you to do that,” Minghao says.

“Good. Okay. What would you ask me to do then?” Seungkwan asks. 

Minghao’s right hand begins to tap against his thigh. He breaks eye contact and drops his head. Seungkwan can hear the man take three deep breaths before collecting himself. 

“I don’t know. I’ve tried to let it go. It’s just… killing me that this isn’t killing him. I want him to feel what I felt. God, I want him to feel anything ,” Minghao says. 

Soonyoung’s face flashes across Seungkwan’s mind unbidden. Soonyoung had cried when he’d broken up with Seungkwan. He had expressed desperate guilt about cheating. It was difficult for Seungkwan to be thankful for that display of emotion at the time. Shame had felt the bare minimum that Soonyoung owed him for his infidelity. Seungkwan can’t imagine the gut wrenching agony of breaking up with a long term partner who feels little but apathy. 

“That’s awful, Minghao. Of course you’d expect him to feel something after nine years,” Seungkwan says. 

“Thank you.” 

Minghao is difficult to read. He’s broken composure only once, and zipped himself back up so quickly. Seungkwan does not know what his client is thinking. It irritates him and intrigues him. 

“Do you have any leads for us? Avenues where you think we should begin our work? Illegal activity, mistakes at work, things like that,” Seungkwan says. 

“He’s a liar and a cheat, but he’s good . I don’t have anything on him. I know he’s done something at work, though. He kept his work so private while we were together. I’ve always been suspicious about it,” Minghao says. 

“Okay. Great. We’ll get started with his work. I have to ask– are we aiming for a legal case? Do you want him prosecuted? Fired?” Seungkwan asks. 

Putting a cheater behind bars for unrelated crimes is one of Chan’s specialties. Seungkwan knows that his coworker would appreciate another opportunity to ruin someone unethically non-monogamous. 

“Oh, god. No. No, that’s horrible. I just… I think I’d like his car. He loves his fucking car. I don’t even have a driver’s license. It’d kill him,” Minghao smiles. 

Seungkwan smiles back. This is his favorite type of case. Petty revenge. Light blackmail. Something that teases just slightly past the edge of legality.

“I’ll get you the car. Excited to be doing business with you, Minghao,” Seungkwan says. 

When they shake on it, Minghao’s hand is cold. Goosebumps prickle up Seungkwan’s arm. 

IV

“You know, it’s cruel to make me sip on a high ball all night. I don’t care what the kids are saying, these are gross,” Seungkwan complains into Mingyu’s ear. 

“What?” Mingyu shouts over the music. 

Seungkwan waves his hand and rolls his eyes, a silent “nevermind” that Mingyu understands well enough. Seungkwan has followed targets to bars dozens of times. The trouble with queer clients, he is learning, is that it doesn’t matter how rich they are, they will still frequent the most dark, disgusting clubs imaginable. He and Mingyu have spent far too much of their time over the past two weekends tailing Yoon Jeonghan across Jongno-gu. 

They have found little incriminating evidence against him, certainly nothing blackmail-worthy, but Seungkwan is confident that Minghao is far too blindly trusting if Jeonghan was doing any of this with men over the course of their nine year relationship. Tonight, Jeonghan has his arm around an older man with dark stubble and, judging by their alcohol choices, deep pockets. 

Mingyu leans across their table and shouts, “Smoke?” 

The chill of autumn is a relief once they are past the entrance door. Seungkwan shifts in his jeans as Mingyu lights up. Smoking isn’t an activity that either of them prefer, but it is a useful social tool when they are gathering intel. 

“Jesus, are these coffee flavored?” Seungkwan asks Mingyu, holding his cigarette in front of him in disgust. 

“What? You like coffee. They’re nice,” Mingyu brushes him off. 

Their banter is cut short. Jeonghan emerges from the bar and, for the first time since they’ve been tailing him, waltzes their way. He smells like expensive cologne and whiskey. Seungkwan worries that their flavored cigarettes will not impress. 

“Either of you have a light?” he asks. 

Mingyu reacts first. He reaches into the pocket of his duster and hands his customized Zippo to Jeonghan. Their fingers brush and Jeonghan takes it. Electricity buzzes through the air. Mingyu shyly avoids Jeonghan’s gaze and Jeonghan smirks around his cigarette. 

Mingyu is good for more than just photographic evidence. 

“You two a couple?” Jeonghan asks. 

“Oh, no. I’m desperate after a breakup, and Mingyu is gracious enough to tag along with me while I try to get over it,” Seungkwan says. 

“Hey, you aren’t desperate. And I’m single, too. It’s a win-win,” Mingyu says. 

It is a dance they do well. Sad-Seungkwan makes Mingyu appear kind, empathetic. Men are more likely to talk to Mingyu knowing that he’s a good guy. All Seungkwan needs to do now is-

“Glad to hear you’re single. I’d like to take you home,” Jeonghan says. 

It is direct. Seungkwan is glad not to be on the receiving end of it. Mingyu is brave. He laughs something cute, smoke coming out of him like music notes. 

“You mind if I stay out with Jeonghan for one more drink? I’ll call you when I’m somewhere safe,” Mingyu asks Seungkwan. 

“ Please call. You know I worry,” Seungkwan says. 

And then he is off. 

Mingyu won’t fuck Jeonghan. That would be manipulative, deceitful, unforgivable. Mingyu will talk to him all night, milk information out of him, gain access to his apartment and, if they’re lucky, his computer.

Seungkwan slinks off and leaves Mingyu to his work. He has to jog to make the last train home. The Two is predictably busy, drunk people swaying as they look at their phones. Seungkwan has a long ride ahead of him. He makes his way through train cars in hopes of finding a seat. 

Instead, there is Minghao. 

Minghao is insufferable on a train. He has absolutely no technology on him- no phone, no earbuds, no laptop. Instead he is nose-deep in a book that appears to be written in Mandarin. Seungkwan does not typically approach clients in public places. He only remembers this policy after he’s tapped Minghao on the shoulder. 

“Hm? Oh. You live off the Two?” Minghao asks. 

“Yes,” Seungkwan answers. 

He’s approached a client just to say ‘yes’. Good. Great. 

“You’re reading,” Seungkwan comments.

It is even more inane than just saying ‘yes’. 

“Yes,” Minghao says.

He makes the word sound smart. 

“I was going to call you in the morning. One of my guys is doing some research tonight. I’m hoping we get some leverage out of it,” Seungkwan says. 

“That’s nice, but you didn’t have to hunt me down on a train to tell me,” Minghao says. 

Seungkwan blushes. 

“No, I just– I just thought I’d say hi. Since I saw you,” Seungkwan says. 

Minghao’s toughness slips away into giggling too-loud for public transportation. An old man coughs in their direction. Seungkwan’s blush deepens. Minghao smiles, unaffected. 

“It’s nice to see you outside of the office. Were you out in Hongdae?” Minghao asks. 

“God, no. Never. Jongno,” Seungkwan says. 

“Hm. Jeonghan spent a lot of time in Jongno,” Minghao says. 

“Yeah, exactly.”

Minghao giggles again. It makes Seungkwan feel giddy. 

“You’re really working so late on a Saturday?” Minghao asks. 

“I mean, yeah. That’s the job,” Seungkwan says. 

“I don’t feel like I’m paying you enough for this,” Minghao says. 

Strictly speaking, Minghao is not paying him enough. Minghao is hardly paying him anything at all. The business isn’t suffering for it. The usual clientele are filthy rich by the time Seungkwan has done his work. Even if the business did suffer for it, Seungkwan doesn’t imagine that he could turn down working a case for a gay man whose partner had cheated. Infidelity sits too close to home. 

“Pro bono work is an important part of my business model,” Seungkwan offers. 

“I’d be insulted if I weren’t so grateful,” Minghao says, “I feel guilty, though. Let me take you out for a drink to make up for your ruined Saturday.” 

For years, Seungkwan’s favorite Saturdays had been spent in Soonyoung’s apartment cuddled up on the couch with a bag of chips between them. Those intimate weekends are long behind him, lost somewhere in the time where he began to resent Soonyoung and Soonyoung began to sleep around. Minghao’s offer sounds like a genuinely nice alternative to lonely nights or overworking.

“Okay. You know anywhere good?” Seungkwan asks. 

“I just moved to Seongsu. I know it isn’t nearby, but there are some bars I’ve been meaning to try,” Minghao says. 

“Oh, wow. I live in Seongsu. Moved there after I went through my own bad breakup,” Seungkwan smiles. 

“Hm. What a coincidence.” 

Minghao takes Seungkwan to a wine bar. The aesthetics aren’t impressive compared to some of Seongsu’s better-known drinking establishments, but the servers know the menu and the food is to die for. Seungkwan can’t help but feel a maturity sitting across the table from Minghao that he has yearned for. 

“I like the oak in this one,” Seungkwan comments on his second glass of wine. 

He swirls it around in his glass for effect. Minghao smiles coyly. 

“That one is supposed to have floral notes,” he says. 

Seungkwan puts the glass back on the table and rolls his eyes. 

“Okay, fine, I’m not a sommelier,” Seungkwan says. 

“Good. It would be awfully disappointing to find out my PI spends most of his time chasing down bottles of wine,” Minghao jokes. 

Seungkwan finds Minghao’s smile enchanting. Intimidating, but enchanting. A few glasses of wine in, Seungkwan is able to admit to himself that the two usually go hand in hand in his mind. 

“Okay, okay, listen. I’ve heard all about your ex, but I don’t know anything about you,” Seungkwan changes the subject. 

“Is this also a part of your pro bono services? Pretending to care about me?” Minghao asks. 

Seungkwan frowns. 

“What? No. Of course not. Listen-”

“I’m listening.”

“ Listen ,” Seungkwan chuckles at the teasing, “What happened to you sucks. I’ve been through it. But I know you’re more than some guy who got cheated on.” 

Minghao crosses his arms. His wrist peeks out from beneath a flowing sweater sleeve. The bones of his arms are sharp and delicate. Seungkwan wants to run his fingers across Minghao’s skin, to find out if he feels as soft as he looks. It is a terribly inappropriate way to feel about a client. 

“Fine,” Minghao says. It startles Seungkwan from his ill-timed yearning as Minghao continues, “I’m an artist. Historically I’m a painter, but I’ve been getting into fashion photography recently. I still can’t decide if it’s because I like it or because I have a few connections in the industry and appreciate an actual paycheck.” 

“What kind of painting do you do?” Seungkwan asks. 

“Most recently, abstract portraiture. In college I studied Shan Shui. It never sells, but when I’m painting just for me… something about the style makes me feel calm,” Minghao says.

The Mandarin words roll out of his mouth like water. 

“Is that… landscape?” Seungkwan clarifies. 

“Oh. You know traditional Chinese painting?” Minghao asks. 

“No, no. I took Mandarin for a few years. Back when I was toying around with the idea of law school,” Seungkwan says. 

“Law school? You’ve been keeping things from me,” Minghao teases. 

There is a shine to his eyes when he smiles. The expression makes Minghao look as if he is enjoying himself. Seungkwan likes to be enjoyed. 

“I didn’t follow through with it. Being a PI is much more exciting than law school,” Seungkwan says. 

“You really like this work?” Minghao asks.

“I get to meet interesting people. I own my business, and we do well, so I only take on clients that I like. It feels nice to fuck over the bad guy,” Seungkwan says. 

“Hm. Does that mean you like me?” Minghao asks, faux-innocent lilt in his voice. 

Seungkwan’s cheeks light up in flames. He takes a drink of water, hoping to distract from the inevitably pink hue of his skin. The conversation is racing dangerously close to flirtation. Seungkwan is inebriated enough to admit Minghao’s outlandish beauty. Prettiness is something that Seungkwan can manage. He’s gay in Seoul. He’s surrounded by untouchable pretty men every day. Minghao is interesting , though. An artist. A vaguely petty artist. 

Seungkwan should not have agreed to drinks. 

“I’m not- I don’t- I chose to work on your case because I know what it’s like to be cheated on, okay?” Seungkwan says. 

Minghao loses his smile. The mirth in his eyes is replaced with a pool of empathy. 

“God, I’m sorry. When?” Minghao asks. 

His hand finds its way across the table to lay atop Seungkwan’s. Seungkwan’s heart flutters. 

“Awhile ago. He broke up with me last winter.” Seungkwan says. 

Minghao winces. 

“What?” Seungkwan asks. 

“He broke up with you?” Minghao says. 

“The same night he told me he’d been cheating on me,” Seungkwan says. 

“It’s fucked that he didn’t give you the satisfaction of dumping him. That’s really all that kept me going the first few weeks,” Minghao says. 

“He did me a favor. I never would have dumped him. I would have wasted the rest of my life trying to make him love me again,” Seungkwan admits. 

“You loved him enough to forgive him for cheating?” Minghao says. 

“God, no. But I hate failing more than I hated him,” Seungkwan says. 

When Seungkwan talks like this in front of Mingyu and Chan, his friends become sad. They give him pep talks and lecture him on mantras. Minghao laughs. He’s been laughing all night. Seungkwan is growing to love the sound. 

“That’s so fucked up,” Minghao says through giggles.

“How helpful of you,” Seungkwan rolls his eyes. 

Minghao squeezes Seungkwan’s fingers and finally takes back his own hand to bring a sip of wine to his lips. Seungkwan watches as Minghao’s Adam's apple bobs in his throat. He finds himself unbelievably smitten. 

V

“I couldn’t find anything and I think he’s onto me. Also, he invited me to his place next weekend. Also I think I’m in love with him,” Mingyu says in a rush. 

Seungkwan has only just walked through the door to the office. It isn’t yet eight-thirty in the morning. 

“You didn’t fuck him, did you?” Seungkwan asks. 

He has to consider damage control, legally. 

“I’m not an idiot,” Mingyu says, “And I’m not attracted to him.” 

“But you’re in love with him,” Seungkwan reflects. 

“He’s got this… charm, okay? But I also want to fight him. It’s hard to explain,” Mingyu says.

He sounds exasperated, slumped over his desk. Seungkwan presses his eyes shut and takes a deep breath. Jeonghan must be a top. Mingyu is always flustered in the presence of a genuine top. 

“Really nothing that we could use against him?” Seungkwan asks. 

“Nothing. I even looked through his phone while he was in the bathroom. I like, swear he left it unlocked on purpose,” Mingyu says. 

Shit. A target catching on doesn’t make their job impossible, but it certainly complicates their work. Seungkwan stalks over to Mingyu’s computer and types in the name of Jeonghan’s company. If they can’t get anything from Jeonghan or his devices, they might be able to get something from a coworker. Seungkwan begins jotting down names and numbers. Mingyu stops hovering and makes his way to the door, taking Seungkwan’s coffee order as he goes. It only dawns on Seungkwan after Mingyu has left that he’s co-opted his friend’s desk. 

VI

There is knock on Seungkwan’s front door Saturday evening. His friends would not dare to show up unannounced. As Seungkwan pulls on pants, he fantasizes that it is Soonyoung come to grovel. The fantasy is not a new one, though it has changed shape. Tonight Seungkwan imagines himself recording a video of Soonyoung on his knees in tears and sharing it as widely on social media as he can. It would make an embarrassing TikTok, he thinks. It would make a beautiful, final, “fuck you.” 

Soonyoung is not the man he finds on the opposite side of his door. Instead, there is Minghao. He is dressed more casually than Seungkwan has seen him before, a paint-stained hoodie engulfing him. 

“I remembered your address from walking you home the night we drank,” Minghao says as if it is an explanation. 

“I don’t remember giving you my apartment number,” Seungkwan frowns. 

“Yeah, well, your security guard is pretty easy to get information out of,” Minghao says. 

He lets himself into the apartment, walking right past Seungkwan to place his sneakers next to Seungkwan’s line of shoes. 

“Wow, this is a pretty nice place,” Minghao comments. 

Seungkwan blinks away his stupor and trails after his intruder. He mentally reviews his list of chores– dishes are done, counters are wiped down, floor is mopped. His bathroom isn’t pristine, but certainly Minghao won’t spend extended time in there? 

“Do you want… water? Beer?” Seungkwan asks. 

He feels bewildered. No one has ever duped him into hosting before. Seungkwan is out of his depth and utterly enamored. 

“Wine would be great,” Mingaho tells him, as if he is at a bar and not the home of a man he hardly knows. 

“Right,” Seungkwan says.

He heads into the kitchen, determined to materialize a bottle of wine. He finds an un-popped bottle of champagne deep in his cabinets, a gift from Soonyoung’s mother from his last birthday. Now is as good a time as any to open it. He uncorks the bottle and pours two servings in the nicest glasses he can find. 

“Oh, sparkling. What did I do to deserve this?” Minghao asks. 

He has a smile on his face that Seungkan can only describe as mysterious. Seungkwan remains confused. 

“I always serve champagne to clients who show up on my doorstep unannounced,” Seungkwan quips.

He hopes his tone is teasing. Too-often he receives feedback that he is painfully sarcastic. Minghao smiles at him though, that beautiful curl of two delicate lips that Seungkwan is growing fond of. 

“Right, I guess I should tell you why I’m here,” Minghao says. 

There is almost an embarrassment to his tone. Almost, but not quite. Minghao makes his social faux-pas look fashionable.  

“And here I was thinking you just enjoyed my company,” Seungkwan teases. 

Minghao laughs and slips a folded piece of paper across Seungkwan’s coffee table. 

“Contact information for the man Jeonghan dated seriously before me. They were together most of their twenties. I… always got the sense that they had something together that Jeonghan and I just didn’t. Maybe he’ll have some insight that I don’t that could help you with the case,” Minghao says.

Seungkwan picks up the paper and unfolds it slowly. Hong Joshua, +82 010- Seungkwan stops reading. Of course. Of course in a city of nearly ten million people, it is Hong goddamn Joshua that Seungkwan must call. 

“You look distraught,” Minghao says.

Distraught rolls off his tongue funny, as if it is a word he does not use often. Seungkwan uses it often. He finds himself often distraught. 

“My ex cheated on me with Joshua,” Seungkwan admits. 

It is an inappropriate disclosure for a PI to share with a client. Then again, this entire night is a bit inappropriate. He’s only following Minghao’s lead. 

Minghao who is still smiling, whose laughter spills out into his living room more bubbly than the champagne in their glasses. Seungkwan laughs too. He can’t help it. 

VII 

“Hey, uh, Seungkwan. I thought we, you know. I thought we talked about not… talking?” 

These are the first words out of Soonyoung’s mouth when he answers Seungkwan’s cold call from the office Monday morning. Seungkwan’s rage boils anew. 

“This isn’t about us,” Seungkwan says. 

“Is your dad okay?” Soonyoung asks.

His voice is filled with genuine concern. Seungkwan’s father is not in the best of health, but Seungkwan would no longer put Soonyoung on the short list of people who need to know about the wellness of his family members. 

“This is about a client,” Seungkwan says. 

“Uh… okay,” Soonyoung says. 

“I have a tip that… that Joshua might have some information I can use. Nothing that involves either of you. I was hoping to get his number,” Seungkwan requests. 

It feels disgusting to ask. 

“This is really for work?” Soonyoung questions. 

“I’m not the untrustworthy one here, Soonyoung.” 

“You’re- you fucking- god, fine. I’ll text you his number. Please don’t call again. Even for work,” Soonyoung says. 

The line goes dead. Seungkwan is relieved. He would not have known how to say goodbye. 

VIII 

Joshua looks poised and pristine as ever sitting in his crisp white shirt with his shiny brown dress shoes. Seungkwan has been wearing the same pair of dark gray jeans for three days. He does not mention it to Joshua as he joins him at the cafe of Joshua’s choosing. The coffee shop suits Joshua, clean and minimalist. Seungkwan would have preferred the place in his new neighborhood that is filled with flowers and the hum of the Ajumma who opened the business with her daughter ten years back. 

“Thank you for meeting with me,” Seungkwan says. 

Joshua smiles at him as if there is no history between them. 

“I’ve always found your job interesting. I’m kind of excited to be a part of it,” Joshua tells him.

Seungkwan bites back a bitter comment about what it had felt like for him the last time Joshua had been interested in an aspect of Seungkwan’s life. 

“I have intel that you used to date my current target. He’s been difficult to crack. I’m hoping you might have some insight for me,” Seungkwan says.

Joshua’s smile faulters. 

“Who is he?” Joshua asks. 

“Yoon Jeonghan,” Seungkwan supplies. 

“Fuck,” the curse comes out in English. Joshua inhales through his nose and continues, “What’s he done? Has he hurt someone?” 

“He cheated,” Seungkwan says.

The word sits heavy between them. Joshua closes his eyes and opens them again after a pause. 

“How badly are you trying to fuck him over? I won’t help you put him in prison,” Joshua says. 

“My client doesn’t want him in any real trouble,” Seungkwan says. 

“What, just, money?” Joshua asks. 

“And his car,” Seungkwan says. 

Joshua gazes at him so distastefully. Seungkwan feels small. 

“Whatever. I’m sure he can afford it. Just, threaten him with Choi Seungcheol. Tell him you know what they did together,” Joshua says. 

“A name pairs better with a story,” Seungkwan says. 

He wants more details. Information is power. 

Joshua shakes his head.

“You take things too far, Seungkwan. I don’t trust you with the story. The name will be enough,” Joshua declines. 

Seungkwan finds it absurd that he is being made out to be the untrustworthy one.

“Thanks for the information. I’ll let you take care of the bill,” Seungkwan says.

He does not look back as he leaves the cafe. 

IX

Jeonghan’s office is nothing like Seungkwan had imagined. There are shelves full of completed lego sets and figurines. It reminds Seungkwan of Chan’s house. Both spaces make him feel vague discomfort. He finds himself wishing for the professional minimalism he had anticipated.

“So I am being threatened by Mingyu’s friend. Wonderful. Please, have a seat,” Jeonghan greets him. 

Jeonghan’s tone is difficult to read. Seungkwan wonders if Jeonghan had the legos set up to be off-putting to Seungkwan, specifically. He seems like the type of man to have the money and cruelty to pull a feat like that off. 

“I don’t remember any threats in my phone call,” Seungkwan beams. 

Jeonghan licks his lips and smiles. 

“But there is a threat, right? You aren’t a journalist, Boo Seungkwan. You’re a private detective. Let’s cut to the chase- who wants what from me?” Jeonghan asks. 

Seungkwan learns two things- one, Yoon Jeonghan is terrifying. Two, Yoon Jeonghan finds Seungkwan to be enough of a threat to put in his research. Joshua’s intel must be substantial. 

“You really don’t want to take a guess?” Seungkwan asks. 

“Oh, okay, I like you!” Jeonghan laughs, “Fine, okay, if we’re playing, I’ll ask you something, too. Does Mingyu work for you, or is he oblivious to this whole mess?” 

“What do you think?” Seungkwan smiles. 

Jeonghan splays his hands wide across his desk, chest open. It looks half like he’s bracing himself and half like a power stance. Seungkwan doesn’t know what to make of the body language. Maybe the confusion is Jeonghan’s intention. 

“Well, I’d like to think that professionalism is the reason he won’t sleep with me. Him genuinely not being into me would be a hit to my confidence,” Jeonghan says. 

Seungkwan blushes. He was not intending for this meeting to become explicit. 

“Well,” Jeonghan continues, “It seems like you aren’t here to blackmail me into sex or dating. You’re bright red. Does fucking embarrass you that much?” 

“I like to keep business and pleasure separate,” Seungkwan says. 

It comes out of his mouth with little confidence. Jeonghan laughs. 

“Okay, let me cut you a break. Obviously I don’t want my business with Seungcheol getting out. Tell me your demands, let’s cut a deal,” Jeonghan says. 

The solution comes too easily. Seungkwan suspects a catch. 

“Your car,” Seungkwan says, regardless. If this dead can be easy, he would prefer for it to be. 

“My… car?” 

Jeonghan looks perplexed, and then devastated. 

“Oh, god. Minghao sent you,” Jeonghan says. 

“That reaction tells me that you know damn well you owe him more than a car,” Seungkwan says. 

“We never explicitly agreed to monogamy,” Jeonghan says. 

“I’m not a judge, Mr. Yoon. I’m just here to get what my client is paying me for,” Seungkwan says. 

“I would have just given him the car if he wanted it,” Jeonghan says. 

“I don’t think the car is what feels healing about this experience,” Seungkwan says. 

“Did he- did he know about Seungcheol?” Jeonghan says. 

“Joshua,” Seungkwan says.

He admits it not because he has to, but because he wants Jeonghan to get the sense that multiple past partners have enough to complain about as to make them spill their guts to a PI. 

“You got Joshua to talk?” Jeonghan says, eyes wide. 

“I’m good at what I do,” Seungkwan says, “Or you’re bad at what you do. Can never be sure.”

No need for Jeonghan to know that Seungkwan’s business with Joshua was extremely personal. Certainly no need for Jeonghan to know the sparsity of detail that Seungkwan possesses. 

“I’ll give him the fucking car. Will that make him feel like he’s won?” Jeonghan asks. 

His face is red, his jaw clenched. Seungkwan reads it as irritation. 

“Have your office send the transfer documents to my office,” Seungkwan agrees. 

“No, that was a genuine question. Will that make him feel like he’s won? Despite whatever he and, apparently, Joshua have told you, I do care about him. If I can do something to take away his pain I’d like to do so,” Jeonghan says. 

“An apology can go a long way. Sometimes, a person just wants to feel like they aren’t crazy,” Seungkwan suggests. 

Jeonghan nods, “I’ll take it under consideration. Either way, expect the paperwork for the car by Monday along with a Seungcheol-related NDA.” 

Seungkwan extends his right hand and Jeonghan meets him for a firm, clammy shake. 

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Seungkwan says. 

X

Seungkwan slips out of his snow boots in the hall outside his office, balancing his tray of three coffees in his left hand. Chan takes the drinks from him with a grin on his face when Seungkwan opens the door. Seungkwan shakes snow from his coat and hangs it on the coat rack.

“I don’t trust the look on your face,” Seungkwan says. 

“Someone’s in the meeting room for you,” Chan tells him. 

“Jesus. Let me put my office shoes on,” Seungkwan sighs. 

They have been busy the past month. Holidays are rife with marital disputes. The business keeps their pockets full but is simultaneously exhausting. Seungkwan feels underprepared and certainly under-rested to take on a new client this week. 

His stomach lurches when he opens the door to their meeting room. Minghao is there, snow melting in his long hair. The first thought in Seungkwan’s mind is that he probably looks beautiful with ice freezing on his eyelashes.

“Please don’t tell me you’re already in need of our services again, Minghao. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice…” Seungkwan jokes.

It is a mean introduction both for a client and for a man that Seungkwan is terribly enamored by. Seungkwan feels embarrassed already. He desperately wishes he had combed his hair before walking into the room. 

“I wanted to file a complaint, actually,” Minghao says. 

His face is still. Seungkwan sits across from him, a new fear tearing through his gut. 

“Oh. Right, of course. I’m- please, let me know if we did something wrong. We will do our best to be accountable,” Seungkwan says.

He does not find it difficult to identify roughly one dozen reasons why Minghao might file a complaint against them. Seungkwan had the man in his home drinking champagne. Seungkwan had also spoken wildly out of turn with Jeonghan. It is their policy not to ask for a cent more than their clients request, but he had disregarded the rule in favor of attempting to solicit an apology from the man who had broken Minghao’s heart. Honestly, Minghao should be filing him with a lawsuit. 

“It’s against you, actually,” Minghao says.

Of course it is. 

“Of course. If you’d feel more comfortable, I can have you file with Mingyu or Chan,” Seungkwan offers. 

“No, I’d like you to hear,” Minghao tells him. 

“Please, whenever you’re ready,” Seungkwan says. 

Minghao’s smirk is Seungkwan’s first clue that the complaint is not serious. His second is the flirtatious way that Mingaho leans across the meeting table to lock eyes with him. 

“You see, I thought we had established a certain rapport outside the typical Private Investigator-Client relationship. I understand wanting to maintain professionalism during our work together, but I was expecting a phone call after I paid you,” Minghao says. 

His voice drips like honey. Seungkwan’s heart beats fast. 

“I didn’t know if you’d want me to call. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Seungkwan says. 

“I did want you to call. Did you want to call?” Minghao asks. 

“I wanted to call,” Seungkwan admits. 

“Great. I’m going to leave now. I expect that accountability you were talking about before,” Minghao says. 

Minghao’s face remains still right up to the point where he begins to giggle. He stifles his laughter with the sleeve of his coat and exits the meeting room, Seungkwan left in his wake. Seungkwan hardly waits three seconds before picking up his phone and pressing Call on Minghao’s contact. Embarrassingly, Seungkwan can hear Minghao pick up from the opposite side of the meeting room door before he hears him over the receiver. 

“Hello?” Minghao answers. 

“I want to take you on a date this Saturday,” Seungkwan says. 

“Somewhere nice, I hope. I hear you get paid pretty well,” Minghao says. 

“Somewhere really nice. And, um, let me pick you up at your house. We should take your car,” Seungkwan says. 

“Boo Seungkwan, are you trying to get me to make out with you in the Mercedes you blackmailed from my ex boyfriend?” Minghao asks. 

Laughter- Chan and Mingyu’s- rings out from the office. Seungkwan really should have waited for Minghao to make it all the way outside before he had called. 

“I guess. Yeah. That is what I want,” Seungkwan says in spite of the increasing heat on his cheeks. 

“Hot. Okay. I’ll see you Saturday,” Minghao tells him and hangs up. 

Seungkwan places his phone in his pocket and reclines in his seat. One day, this job is going to be the death of him.