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Chapter Text

Hwang In-ho took a slow sip of his coffee, the bitterness grounding him as he stared at the paperwork in his hands. The neon glow of the Seoul skyline cast long shadows across his desk, but he was too drained to appreciate the view. The day had dragged on endlessly, and the mountain of case files in front of him felt just as endless. He let out a quiet sigh, sinking back into his chair.

Before he could force himself to refocus, a soft knock broke the silence.

“Come in,” he called, already sounding as exhausted as he felt.

The door swung open, revealing Kang No-Eul. Sharp, efficient, and relentless, she was one of the few people In-ho trusted at work. Though her cheerful demeanor wasn’t exactly his style, he couldn’t deny her reliability.

“No-Eul-ssi,” he greeted, his tone flat.

She smiled knowingly. “Detective Hwang, I’ll handle it from here. You need rest.”

In-ho frowned, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he grabbed his coat and bag, sparing one last glance at the stacks of unfinished reports. He was still debating whether he should stay when No-Eul spoke again.

“Detective.” Her voice was firm but kind. “Don’t burn yourself out.”

For once, In-ho didn’t have a comeback. He simply nodded, stepping out of the office and into the cool Seoul night.

The city pulsed around him—bright lights, honking taxis, and the distant chatter of people heading home. Yet all he craved was silence. He slipped into his car, letting its warmth engulf him before starting the drive back to his apartment.

By the time he reached his building, exhaustion had fully settled into his bones. He took the elevator up, the soft ding signaling his floor. As he unlocked his apartment, the familiar scent of incense and the low glow of his minimalist space welcomed him.

Finally. Peace.

He tossed his bag onto the marble counter, kicked off his shoes, and collapsed onto the couch. The quiet hum of the refrigerator, the soft ticking of the wall clock—these were the sounds of home.

Then—

CRASH!
The sudden noise shattered the silence.

In-ho’s eyes snapped open, his entire body tensing. A second later, he heard a voice—muffled and clearly struggling.

“No, no, wait—ah—damn it.”

He groaned. Of course.

Dragging himself up, he opened the door just in time to witness a disaster in progress.

A man—tall but lanky, buried under a pile of half-open moving boxes—was sprawled on the floor in the hallway. His oversized red hoodie was slipping off one shoulder, and his dark hair stuck up in odd directions like he’d just rolled out of bed.

The man scrambled to sit up, shoving a box off his lap before looking up.

“Oh. Hi.” He blinked at In-ho, looking thoroughly embarrassed. “I was moving in. Obviously.” He gestured vaguely at the mess around him. “It didn’t go well.”

In-ho stared, unimpressed. “Clearly.”

Gi-hun shifted, brushing dust off his hoodie. “These boxes are heavier than I thought. And I wasn’t looking where I was going, and then—” He motioned at the disaster surrounding him.

In-ho sighed, arms crossed. “You’re disturbing the entire building.”

Gi-hun winced. “Right. I’ll clean this up.” He grabbed the nearest box, nearly dropping it again in his rush. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make a scene.”

In-ho just kept staring.
After a moment, Gi-hun cleared his throat, shifting on his feet. “I’m Seong Gi-hun. Apartment 456. We’re neighbors!”

In-ho said nothing at first, just watching as Gi-hun fidgeted under his gaze. Finally, he spoke. “Hwang In-ho.” His tone was clipped, his expression unreadable.

Gi-hun nodded quickly, shifting the box in his hands. “Nice to meet you.” He hesitated, then awkwardly stuck out his hand, clearly second-guessing himself even as he did it.

In-ho didn’t move.
Gi-hun let his hand linger for a second before slowly lowering it. “Right. Anyway—don’t worry, I won’t be noisy.”

In-ho just gave him a pointed look before turning back toward his apartment.

Gi-hun, still flustered, scrambled to add, “And if you ever need anything!—”
Click.

In-ho shut the door without another word.

Silence returned.
For a moment, In-ho just stood there, staring at the wood like he could block out the whole encounter from his memory. Then, with a long, slow sigh, he ran a hand down his face.

But this was just the start of it.

____________
A few days later….
3:07 AM.
The first thing In-ho registered was a loud clatter. He cracked one eye open, glaring at the ceiling. Then came the clang of metal against metal. A pot? A lid?

He exhaled sharply through his nose. Ignore it.
Another bang.

Then a sharp sizzle, followed by a muffled yelp
.
His eye twitched.

What the hell was going on?

He turned onto his side, willing himself back to sleep.

CRASH.

In-ho sat up immediately.

His patience was hanging by a thread. It was three in the goddamn morning. Who in their right mind was cooking at this hour?

Then, before he could storm over and put an end to it, there was a knock at his door.

A hesitant, uneven knock.

He stared.

Another knock.

“In-ho-ssi?”

His jaw clenched.

A pause.

Then, more timidly—

“I, uh… I need eggs.”

In-ho stood up immediately.

His steps were heavy as he stomped to the door and yanked it open.

Gi-hun stood there, wide-eyed and sheepish, a streak of gochujang smeared across his cheek. His pajama pants were loose, his hair stuck up like a mess, and he clutched a spatula like he’d just fought for his life.

The smell of kimchi jjigae and something burnt drifted from his apartment.

“I—uh—” Gi-hun chuckled nervously, glancing at the disaster behind him. “I was making jjigae, but I kinda… miscalculated? And I need eggs for the gyeran-jjim, and—”

SLAM.
In-ho shut the door in his face.

He wondered how he’d even get an ounce of sleep with this man living next door.
—

1:30 pm
Friday; Seoul Korea
Present day

In-ho’s days were normally busy, so for him to be so unoccupied felt weird. No-eul and Dae-ho were taking care of everything for him at the office today so he was sure he had nothing to worry about.He had to meet with his brother Jun-ho to pick up his daughter, she had been staying with him while In-ho was out working.

In-ho stepped into the coffee shop, the warmth inside a stark contrast to the biting cold outside. His mind had been preoccupied all day with work, but now, there was something he couldn’t ignore his daughter, Hae-jin

Hae-jin was only 9 years old, he didn’t want her to grow up like he did, her father barley in her life having to take care of herself.

He spotted his brother, Hwang Jun-ho, sitting at a corner table, absently scrolling through his phone while a small, stuffed bear sat in the seat next to him. Jun-ho had been looking after Hae-jin for the past few weeks, a responsibility In-ho had begrudgingly accepted, given his demanding job.

In-ho walked over, his footsteps purposeful but slow. He didn’t want to admit it, but there was a part of him that felt guilty for not being around more for his daughter. He gave a small, sharp nod of acknowledgment to Jun-ho, who looked up from his phone with a faint smile.

“About time,” Jun-ho teased, his voice light but knowing. He motioned to the seat across from him. “Sit down. Hae-jin’s waiting for you.”

In-ho sat down, glancing briefly at the bear before his eyes settled on his brother. Jun-ho always had a way of cutting through his cold demeanor, but In-ho couldn’t help but be irritated by the reminder of how much he had to rely on others to take care of things.

“How is she?” In-ho asked, trying to sound casual.

Jun-ho leaned back in his chair, a subtle grin tugging at his lips. “She’s good. In fact, I think she’s doing better with all the attention you’re not giving her.” He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. “She talks about you all the time, In-ho. She misses you.”

The words stung more than In-ho cared to admit. Of course, she missed him. Hae-jin was his daughter, his responsibility. Yet here he was, too wrapped up in his job to be there when it mattered most.

“Where is she?” In-ho asked, ignoring the lump that had formed in his throat.

Jun-ho gestured to the far end of the coffee shop, where Hae-jin was sitting, coloring in a book with her head down, completely unaware of her father’s gaze.

In-ho’s heart tugged. She was still so small, so innocent, and he had been too busy to even notice how much time had passed since he last spent time with her. He stood up, making his way toward her, his footsteps almost tentative. As he approached, he watched as Hae-jin carefully drew a picture, humming quietly to herself.

When she finally looked up and saw him, her eyes lit up, a smile stretching across her face. “Appa!” she exclaimed, her voice so pure it almost broke In-ho’s resolve. She immediately ran up to him, her small arms wrapping around his waist.

In-ho stood still for a moment, allowing himself to feel the warmth of her embrace. She smelled like strawberries, like the scent of home, something he’d been too distracted to even remember. He gently placed his hand on her head, ruffling her hair.

“Hey, Hae-jin,” he said softly, his voice rough.

“I made you a picture, Appa!” She pulled back and held up the drawing, her little face beaming with pride. “It’s us. See?”

In-ho’s eyes softened as he took the picture from her, glancing at the crayon-drawn figures of a man and a little girl holding hands. Her little version of them.

“It’s beautiful,” In-ho said, his voice unexpectedly thick with emotion.

“Do you like it?” she asked eagerly, eyes wide with anticipation.

“I do,” In-ho replied, his heart squeezing. “I like it very much.”

He crouched down to her level, trying to ignore the sudden lump in his throat. Why was it so hard to be this vulnerable around her?

She giggled and hugged him tightly again. “I missed you.”

In-ho froze, for a brief moment not knowing how to respond. He hadn’t expected such simplicity to break through his carefully guarded walls. He cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure.

“I missed you too, Hae-jin,” he finally said, his voice low, almost too quiet for anyone to hear.

Jun-ho, watching from a distance, simply smiled knowingly. He knew In-ho was doing his best. But even he had to admit—being around Hae-jin softened his brother in ways nothing else could.

“Take her out, In-ho,” Jun-ho said, his voice warm but still carrying that underlying edge. “You owe her that much.”

In-ho nodded, carefully taking Hae-jin’s hand. As they left the coffee shop, he felt a strange sense of peace, despite the weight of his responsibilities.

—

“So how’s school, Hae-jin?” In-ho asked, his grip firm but gentle on her small hand. The streets were alive with the sounds of vendors calling out their specials, the scent of roasted chestnuts and sweet pastries lingering in the air.

Hae-jin, however, didn’t seem to hear him. Her gaze darted around, her head tilting from side to side as if she were searching for something.

“Hae-jin?” In-ho repeated, giving her hand a slight squeeze.

Her head snapped up to look at him, her face suddenly bright with excitement. “Appa! Look!”

Before he could react, she tugged on his arm with surprising strength, dragging him toward a small stall lit up by colorful lights. A man stood behind the counter, spinning a large stick in circles as fluffy pink cotton candy formed around it. The machine hummed softly, the air thick with the scent of sugar.

“I want one!” Hae-jin announced, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

In-ho sighed, glancing down at her eager face. “You just had hot chocolate at the café,” he pointed out, but his voice lacked its usual strictness.

“But I need this too,” she countered, tilting her head dramatically. “Please, Appa?”

Before he could respond, the vendor—an older man with a kind smile—spoke up. “She’s got good taste. Every kid loves cotton candy.”

In-ho exhaled through his nose, already reaching into his coat pocket for his wallet. “Fine.”

Hae-jin cheered, her grin stretching ear to ear as she clung to his side. As the vendor handed her the oversized, pastel-pink treat, she took it with both hands, her eyes shining with excitement.

“Thank you, Appa!” she chirped, tearing off a piece and popping it into her mouth.

In-ho watched her, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He wasn’t sure if it was the sweetness of the moment or the way she looked up at him with pure happiness, but something in his chest loosened.

“Here,” she suddenly said, holding up a fluffy piece toward him. “You have to try it too.”

He hesitated. “I don’t eat stuff like that.”
Hae-jin pouted. “Just one bite.”

With a long-suffering sigh, In-ho finally leaned down, letting her press the soft candy to his lips. The sugar melted instantly, sweet and airy on his tongue.

“There! Now we’re sharing,” she declared proudly, taking another bite for herself.

In-ho shook his head, but he didn’t let go of her hand as they walked down the street, her laughter blending into the hum of the bustling city.

As they continued strolling through the lively streets, Hae-jin happily munching on her cotton candy, her eyes suddenly widened with excitement. She tugged on In-ho’s hand again, nearly making him stumble.

“Appa! Look! Face painting!” she gasped, pointing toward a small stand where a young woman was expertly painting a butterfly on a child’s cheek. The stall was adorned with a board showcasing different designs—tigers, flowers, superheroes, and even tiny stars.

In-ho followed her gaze and immediately shook his head. “No.”

Hae-jin pouted. “But why not?”

“I’m not getting my face painted,” he said firmly, already steering her away.

“But I want to!” she whined, her grip tightening around his fingers.

“You can,” he relented, sighing. “But I’m not.”

Hae-jin’s eyes gleamed mischievously. “What if we match?”

“No.”

“Please?” She turned to him with her best pleading expression, her lower lip jutting out slightly, her eyes round and hopeful.

In-ho exhaled sharply, his resolve weakening. He could say no to a lot of things—but somehow, saying no to Hae-jin when she looked at him like that felt impossible.

“One small one,” he muttered, rubbing his temple. “Nothing big.”

Hae-jin squealed in delight, dragging him toward the stall. “We’ll get matching ones!”

The artist, a friendly-looking woman, laughed softly as Hae-jin excitedly pointed at the design she wanted—a small, glittery blue star.

“And for you?” The artist turned to In-ho, who was already regretting every decision that led him here.

“Same thing,” he muttered, earning a giggle from his daughter.

As the artist carefully painted the tiny star on Hae-jin’s cheek, she beamed up at In-ho shooting him a cheesy smile.

In-ho grumbled under his breath but didn’t pull away as the brush touched his skin.

Once it was done, Hae-jin pulled out her phone, holding it up to take a selfie. She grinned as she pressed her cheek against his, showing off their matching stars.

“You look so cool, Appa,” she teased.

In-ho rolled his eyes but let her take the picture anyway. “I guess I do.”

Hae-jin giggled then took In-ho’s hand into her own.
—

8:30 pm

After a long day of walking, eating, and chasing after Hae-jin, they finally made it back to the apartment. The little girl clutched a plastic bag filled with toys and candy, her energy still buzzing despite how much they had run around.

The moment they stepped into the lobby, Hae-jin took off, her small sneakers squeaking against the polished floor as she spun in circles, admiring the high ceilings and decorative lights. The receptionist gave her a wary glance, clearly unsure whether to be amused or concerned.

In-ho, dragging a tired hand down his face, threw the woman a quick, apologetic look before gripping Hae-jin’s wrist mid-spin. “Alright, let’s not make a scene,” he muttered, steering her toward the elevator.

The moment the doors slid open with a soft ding, Hae-jin bounced inside, rocking on her heels as she waited for In-ho to unlock the apartment door.

As soon as they stepped inside, she gasped dramatically, her eyes wide as she took in the space.

“Appa, your new place is so cool!” she declared, twirling around before making a beeline further inside.

“Hae-jin, slow down—”

Too late. In her excitement, her plastic bag slipped off her arm, the contents spilling across the floor—colorful candies bouncing across the hardwood while small trinkets and toys rolled under the furniture.

With a sigh, In-ho crouched down, picking up the scattered sweets. He could already hear her tiny footsteps pattering across the apartment as she explored, oblivious to the mess she’d just made.

As he reached for the last piece of candy, a voice from behind made him freeze.

“In-ho-ssi?”

A voice he recognized immediately.

Soft, familiar—yet always carrying that infuriatingly amused edge.

Seong Gi-hun.

In-ho’s jaw tightened.

In-ho exhaled slowly before standing up, straightening his posture as he turned to face the tall man.

Seong Gi-hun stood in the doorway of his own apartment, leaning lazily against the frame with his arms crossed, his usual smirk tugging at his lips. His eyes flicked from In-ho’s face to the mess on the floor, then back up again, as if trying to piece together the chaos.

But then, something shifted in his expression. His brows furrowed slightly, his smirk faltering just for a second before amusement flickered back in full force.

“What the hell is on your face?” Gi-hun blurted out before stifling a laugh.

In-ho frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Gi-hun didn’t bother answering—he just pointed.

Confused, In-ho reached up, his fingers brushing against his cheek. That’s when he remembered.

The damn face paint.

His daughter had talked him into it while they were out, her bright eyes and pleading voice breaking down his defenses before he could even think to refuse. She had picked out a simple design, a small blue star painted just beneath his right cheekbone, and, at the time, it hadn’t seemed like a big deal. He had barely thought about it since.

Now, standing under Gi-hun’s scrutiny, it felt like the most ridiculous thing in the world.

“You—” Gi-hun couldn’t hold it in any longer, doubling over slightly as laughter spilled from his lips. “You look—pfft—adorable.”

In-ho’s eye twitched. “Could you be any more aggravating?”

Gi-hun wiped at his eyes, still grinning. “No, seriously. I never thought I’d see the terrifying Hwang In-ho walking around with a cute little star on his face.” He snickered.

Before Gi-hun could fire back with another jab, a blur of energy came bounding into the hallway.

“Appa!” Hae-jin skidded to a stop next to him, barely noticing Gi-hun at first as she grabbed her father’s sleeve. “Can I have ice cream?”

“No, Hae-jin, you’ve had enough sweets already today,” In-ho responded, trying to gently steer the little girl into the apartment before Gi-hun could get another remark out.

Then, Hae-jin’s gaze met Gi-hun’s. “Appa, who’s that?” she asked, pointing to Gi-hun.

In-ho shot a quick, warning glance at Gi-hun before crouching down to Hae-jin’s level, attempting to steer her attention away from the unwanted guest. “He’s my neighbor, sweetheart. He—”

“I’m Seong Gi-hun. I live next door. Nice to meet you.” Gi-hun cut in, his voice light and friendly, as though nothing was off at all. He gave her a little wave, his expression warm.

Hae-jin looked him over, her big eyes curious, then glanced up at her father for confirmation. In-ho barely held back a groan.

“Appa,” she said, looking between the two men. “He seems nice. Can we keep him?”

In-ho’s face instantly soured. “No,” he said flatly, his voice a little too sharp for the casual tone Gi-hun seemed to expect.

Gi-hun grinned, undeterred. “Aish, come on. Don’t be like that. I just wanted to say hi. What’s the harm in being friendly, huh?”

In-ho’s patience was wearing thin, and Gi-hun’s relentless cheer wasn’t helping matters. “I don’t need your brand of ‘friendly,’” In-ho muttered, straightening up. His eyes narrowed slightly, the edges of his patience fraying.

Hae-jin, blissfully unaware of the tension between the two men, tugged at In-ho’s sleeve again, her eyes full of innocent hope. “Please, Appa? Ice cream?”

In-ho sighed, already exhausted. “I said no, Hae-jin,” he repeated, his tone softer now, but still firm. He wasn’t about to give in just because Gi-hun was standing there, acting like he was her best friend already.

But Hae-jin wasn’t one to be easily swayed. She planted her feet stubbornly on the ground, looking up at In-ho with those big, pleading eyes that were impossible to resist. “Appa, please!”

In-ho’s gaze flicked to Gi-hun, who was watching the scene with an amused smirk, like he was waiting for some kind of theatrical showdown.

“One scoop.” In-ho approved receiving a giggle from his daughter as she scurried inside.

He met Gi-huns gaze receiving a cute wave from the man. In-ho just squinted his eyes and before Gi-hun knew it In-ho had slammed the door.

When In-ho turned back around to meet Hae-jin’s gaze she was already stuffing her face with what seemed like more than just one scoop of ice cream.

In-ho just let out a sigh of exhaustion then slumping down on the couch.

This was gonna be a long weekend.

Chapter Text

11:35 am

Saturday

In-ho groaned groggily, rubbing his tired eyes as he slowly blinked awake. The dim glow of the living room lamp cast a soft light over the space, illuminating the small figure curled up beside him. Hae-jin was nestled against his arm, her tiny fingers still clutching onto the fabric of his shirt. 

Her face was peaceful, her breathing slow and even, despite the sugar rush she’d had yesterday. He had expected her to be bouncing off the walls all night, yet somehow, she had drifted off before him.

With practiced care, he shifted slightly, peeling her fingers away from his sleeve as he carefully sat up. He lingered for a moment, watching to make sure she didn’t stir before quietly rising to his feet. 

Moving with soft, measured steps, he made his way toward the bathroom, rubbing the lingering sleep from his face. The cool tile under his feet was a stark contrast to the warmth of the couch, and as he flicked on the light, he exhaled deeply, ready to begin his daily routine.

A few minutes later, Hae-jin shuffled into the bathroom, her small face still marked by the remnants of sleep. She rubbed her eyes with tiny fists, her movements sluggish and slow as she yawned, barely awake.

“Appa?” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

“Yes, Hae-jin?” In-ho replied, his eyes focused on his reflection as he fluffed his hair.

“I’m hungry,” she said, lingering by the door, still half asleep.

“Alright. I’ll start breakfast once I’m done,” In-ho responded, finishing up and then crouching down to her level. He met her soft, sleepy eyes with a hint of warmth but remained mostly neutral.

Hae-jin blinked up at him, then asked hopefully, “Can we have chocolate for breakfast, Appa?”

In-ho’s gaze softened for a brief moment before he scratched the back of his head. “No, Hae-jin. Not for breakfast,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “You can have some later on.”

She pouted slightly, but he didn’t react to it. Instead, he gave her a nod, standing back up. “Wait in the kitchen,” he said, his tone still practical.

Hae-jin stumbled off into the kitchen her footsteps small and stuby.

—

In-ho walked into the kitchen, the faint sound of the TV playing from the living room reaching his ears. He could see Hae-jin sitting on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, eyes focused intently on the screen. It wasn’t uncommon for her to zone out like that, especially when she was still half-awake.

He quickly moved to the counter, gathering ingredients for a simple breakfast. Eggs, some leftover vegetables, and a few slices of bread. Nothing fancy, but it would be enough. He wasn’t a chef, but he could make a meal to keep them both fed.

The sound of Hae-jin’s small footsteps reached his ears, followed by the familiar, soft voice calling out from the living room. “Appa, is breakfast ready yet?”

In-ho sighed lightly as he cracked an egg into the pan. “It’s almost done. Go ahead and sit at the table, Hae-jin.”

Moments later, the soft patter of her feet on the tile echoed in the kitchen, and Hae-jin wandered over, her tired eyes still struggling to fully wake up. She climbed up onto one of the kitchen chairs, swinging her legs as she sat.

In-ho worked in silence for a moment, the only sounds being the sizzling of the eggs and the soft hum of the kitchen fan. He glanced over at Hae-jin.

As the eggs finished cooking, he plated them quickly and added a few slices of toast on the side. “Here,” he said, placing the plate in front of her. “Eat up.”

Hae-jin blinked at the plate, her little face lighting up at the sight of the food. She smiled brightly and immediately dug in, her sleepy demeanor forgotten for the moment as she devoured her meal with quiet satisfaction.

In-ho stood by the counter, watching her for a moment before sitting across from her. Despite his usual reserved nature, a soft smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“So, what would you like to do today?” he asked, breaking the silence.

Hae-jin swallowed a bite before responding, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “I want to go to the park, Appa!” she exclaimed, her small hands making excited gestures in the air. “Can we? Please?”

In-ho paused, considering it. The park wasn’t far, and seeing her so enthusiastic made him soften. “Alright,” he said after a beat, “We’ll go after breakfast and get ready.”

Hae-jin clapped her hands in delight. “Yay! Thanks, Appa!”

In-ho’s gaze softened as he watched her. “Eat your food first, Hae-jin,” he said, his usual firmness tempered with a hint of gentleness. “Then we can go.”

Hae-jin quickly finished the rest of her breakfast, her small hands clumsily scooping up the last few bites. As she did, In-ho stood up to rinse his plate. The kitchen was calm, the only sounds being the soft clinking of dishes and Hae-jin’s excited chatter about the park.

“I want to swing really high today, Appa! And maybe see the cats, too. I always see them playing by the bushes,” she said, her voice filled with childlike wonder. Her eyes sparkled as she described the little cats that roamed around the park, her imagination running wild.

In-ho smiled softly at her words, though his mind wandered for a brief moment. It was mornings like this that made him forget, just for a moment, how chaotic and demanding everything else in his life could be. Here, with Hae-jin, he didn’t have to be the cold, calculating man who dealt with criminals and the harsh realities of his job. He could just be a father—trying his best to do right by his daughter.

He glanced at her as she excitedly talked about the swings, her hands animated as she mimicked the motion. His heart tightened slightly, a warmth blooming in his chest. It was moments like these, when she was so full of life and happiness, that reminded him of the beauty of fatherhood—the simple, joyful moments that made everything else fade into the background.

“Alright,” he said, his voice a bit softer, “We’ll go soon. Let’s get you dressed and ready.”

Hae-jin beamed up at him, her energy contagious, as she scurried into the bathroom with her bag.

               _______________

11:35 am

A cool breeze brushed against In-ho’s face as he held Hae-jin’s hand. As soon as her eyes met the bright red slide, she lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Appa, come on!” Hae-jin squealed, tugging on his hand as she dragged him toward the park entrance.

In-ho just followed along, letting the little girl pull him forward. There was no real fight left in him when it came to Hae-jin’s energy—she always seemed to pull him along, no matter how much he tried to stay composed.

The park was empty despite an old woman sitting with her dog on a far off bench.

Before he knew it, Hae-jin had him seated next to her on the swing. “Okay, Appa, let’s see who can go the highest!” she announced excitedly, her voice full of challenge.

In-ho blinked at the swing before glancing at her. A small part of him wanted to resist, to remind her that he wasn’t exactly a kid anymore, but that part of him was quickly drowned out by the pure joy on her face. She was waiting for him, looking up at him with a grin that was impossible to ignore.

“Alright, fine,” In-ho muttered, his usual cold tone softening around the edges. He gave a small push to get his swing moving, letting the momentum carry him higher. Hae-jin followed suit, her small legs pumping back and forth with determination.

In-ho felt the cool breeze whip through his hair, a slight sense of calm settling over him as he pushed himself higher, matching Hae-jin’s pace. It wasn’t long before they were both swinging in unison, the sound of their laughter blending with the rush of the wind.

Hae-jin squealed with delight, looking over at him. “I’m gonna win, Appa!” she teased, her feet kicking out with each swing, pushing herself just a little higher.

In-ho chuckled, a rare and genuine sound. “We’ll see,” he replied, pushing himself even higher, just enough to keep up with her. For a moment, everything else faded away—the work, the stress, the nagging thoughts—and it was just him and Hae-jin, enjoying the simple joy of the moment..

Hae-jin finally slowed her swing, the challenge over for the moment as she turned to look at In-ho. “Appa, I want to go down the slide now! Can you catch me?”

In-ho nodded, slowing his own swing. “Go, I’ll catch you.”

She jumped off the swing before he even had a chance to stand up, running toward the slide with a burst of energy that only a child could muster. In-ho stood up and followed her at a steady pace, making sure to stay close as she climbed up the stairs to the top.

As Hae-jin prepared to go down, she looked back at him, her face full of excitement. “Appa, watch!”

In-ho watched, standing firm at the bottom, his eyes trained on her. When she came down the slide, his heart raced just a little as he stretched out his arms to catch her. He did, just as she laughed and squealed with glee, the sound ringing in his ears.

“Gotcha,” In-ho said, scooping Hae-jin into his arms before setting her back down on the ground.

Hae-jin beamed, clapping her hands in excitement. “Again, Appa! Again!”

“Aish, give me a second,” In-ho huffed, catching his breath. But the moment he looked up, Hae-jin was already darting toward the seesaw. This girl was a workout.

With a resigned sigh, In-ho took off after her, keeping a steady pace, his eyes never leaving her small, energetic figure.

             ____________________

12:12 pm

Gi-hun strolled down the bustling streets, the crisp autumn breeze brushing against his face. His hair, slightly tousled, bounced with each step.

Today, he was meeting Sang-woo to discuss his new job—a job that came with an unexpected twist. His old friend was now his administrator, and from the way Sang-woo had smirked during their last conversation, he had no plans of going easy on him.

The restaurant was close by, so Gi-hun had opted to walk, letting the city’s busy hum accompany his thoughts. The air had a chill to it. As he neared the restaurant, he spotted Sang-woo already seated at a table near the window, scrolling through his phone with that same unreadable expression he always wore.

The sight of him—so put together, so different from the reckless boy Gi-hun once knew—stirred something uneasy in his chest. It wasn’t jealousy, but a strange, unfamiliar feeling, like he didn’t fully recognize the person sitting across from him. They’d grown up together, but somewhere along the way, they’d diverged.

Gi-hun stepped inside, the warmth of the restaurant immediately replacing the chill from outside. The scent of grilled meat and spices filled the air, making his stomach grumble. He hadn’t eaten yet, so the familiar, comforting aromas made him realize just how hungry he was.

Sang-woo looked up as Gi-hun approached, setting his phone down with a sigh. “You’re late.”

Gi-hun scoffed, sliding into the seat across from him. “By, what, two minutes?”

“Three,” Sang-woo corrected, raising an eyebrow. “You’re already slacking.”

Gi-hun rolled his eyes. “Didn’t realize taking this job meant signing up for a lecture every time I breathe.”

Sang-woo ignored the remark, waving over the server instead. The server promptly filled their water glasses, and Sang-woo wasted no time getting to the point.

“You start Monday,” he said, tapping his fingers against the table. “Night shifts, at least for now.”

Gi-hun sighed, setting his menu down and trying not to sound too disappointed. “Of course. Throw the new guy straight into the deep end.”

Sang-woo shrugged nonchalantly. “Seniority matters. You’ll work your way up.”

Gi-hun scoffed. “Yeah, because nothing says ‘fair’ like making the guy with the least experience handle patients at two in the morning.”

“You’ll be fine,” Sang-woo replied with a smirk, clearly unimpressed. “Unless you suddenly forgot how to take vitals.”

Gi-hun smirked right back, leaning back in his chair. “Oh, don’t worry, I remember. But I also remember that sleep is a crucial part of maintaining good health. Maybe you should take that into account when making my schedule.”

Sang-woo exhaled sharply, not even bothering to hide his annoyance. “You wanted this job, didn’t you?”

Gi-hun leaned back, his tone calmer. “I did. Just didn’t realize I signed up for hazing.”

Sang-woo shook his head, flipping open the menu as if the conversation was already over. “No hazing, just reality. You do your job, prove yourself, and we’ll talk about better shifts later.”

Gi-hun sighed and picked up his menu again. “Alright, alright. I’ll play by the rules. But if I fall asleep standing up in the middle of a patient’s room, I’m blaming you.”

Sang-woo smirked, unfazed. “If you do, I’ll personally write you up.”

Gi-hun rolled his eyes. “Figures.”

As they placed their orders, Sang-woo set his menu aside and leaned back in his seat, his gaze turning toward Gi-hun.

“So,” he began, crossing his arms, “how’s life treating you?”

Gi-hun let out a quiet chuckle, letting the question settle in for a moment as he ran his hand through his hair. Sang-woo raised an eyebrow. 

Gi-hun shrugged lightly, his tone more matter-of-fact than jovial. “Honestly, my life’s pretty good. I haven’t spoken to Ga-yeong in a while—her mother’s probably still withholding her from me.”

Sang-woo’s expression softened for a moment. “Aish,” he muttered, sipping his water.

“Well, I heard you moved. How’s that going?” Sang-woo asked, crossing his arms more comfortably.

Gi-hun exhaled, giving a small, almost wistful smile. “It’s fine. I’ve got a pretty nice place. The rent’s decent. Oh, but I’ve got this neighbor. He’s… rough around the edges. But I think he’s soft somewhere in there.”

Sang-woo hummed in response, his eyes lingering on the window for a moment, as if he was waiting for Gi-hun to elaborate.

There was a brief silence before Gi-hun cleared his throat and shifted the subject. “Anyway, what about you? Everything going okay?”

Sang-woo rubbed the back of his neck, looking tired, his usual sharp edge duller than usual. “Same old. Budget cuts, staff shortages, and now, I’ve got you to deal with.”

Gi-hun smirked. “Ah, so I’m the cherry on top, huh?”

Sang-woo snorted, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “More like the headache I didn’t ask for.”

Gi-hun chuckled, shaking his head.

               _______________

1:10 pm

After what felt like forever In-ho slipped onto the bench. Hae-jin was just a ball full of energy. Running around the park like all she eats is sugar. Which she did. And then soon enough she was climbing onto a rock. 

“Hae-jin, be careful!” In-ho called, his voice firm but laced with worry. He pushed himself up from the bench, already making his way toward her

Just as he thought she might finally slow down, she set her sights on a large rock near the playground. Without hesitation, she climbed up, gripping onto the rough edges as she hoisted herself to the top.

“Appa, look!” Hae-jin beamed, standing triumphantly on the rock. “I’m okay!—”

But before she could finish, her foot slipped.

A startled yelp left her lips as she lost her balance.

In-ho’s stomach dropped. His steps quickened, his breath hitching as he reached for her—but he was just a second too late

Hae-jin hit the ground with a soft thud, landing on her hands and knees. A sharp cry escaped her as she sat back, clutching one knee.

In-ho dropped to his own knees beside her, his hands hovering for a moment before gently reaching for her leg. A fresh scrape marred her small knee, blood beginning to well up at the surface.

“Hae-jin, it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice softer now, trying to soothe her. “Look at Appa.”

Hae-jin sniffled, her lower lip trembling as she wiped at her tear-streaked cheeks with the sleeve of her jacket. Her nose had turned a light pink from the cold air, her tears, and the rush of emotions all at once.

“It hurts,” she whimpered, her voice small.

“I know, sweetheart,” In-ho said gently, brushing her hair out of her face. “But you’re strong, aren’t you? Let me see so I can help.”

Hae-jin’s face scrunched up as she clutched onto In-ho’s coat, her voice wobbling with dramatics. “Appa,” she whined, “I think—I think I’m dying.”

In-ho’s eyes softened at the sight of her, but he kept his voice steady. “You’re not dying, Hae-jin,” he said, gently wiping at her scraped knee. “You’re strong okay?”

“But it hurts, Appa!” Hae-jin wailed, sniffing dramatically. She rubbed her knee, like she was going to die from the pain at any second. “What if I can’t play anymore? What if I can’t… can’t run?!”

In-ho just sighed and searched if he had a handkerchief in his pockets somewhere.

 —

Gi-hun had finished dining with Sang-woo. As they both exited the restaurant they parted ways shooting each other a wave before walking off.

He had strolled down the sidewalk, maybe a few blocks down. As if on que he heard distanced a whine had caught his attention he looked over and spotted inho crouched down on one knee and Hae-jin sprawled out next to him. 

His eyes widened, and his smile faded as he jogged over. “In-ho-ssi!” he called, concern creeping into his voice. “What happened?”

In-ho glanced up at him. “She fell,” he said, trying to keep things calm.

Hae-jin’s lip trembled, and she let out a dramatic sob, making sure everyone could hear it. “I fell! It’s gonna hurt forever, and I won’t be able to walk again, and I’ll never be able to climb or run or play ever again!”

Gi-hun blinked, as he crouched down beside them. “Really? This little scrape?” He gave her knee a quick look, nodding slightly. “Okay, maybe a little worse than I thought…”

“I told you!” Hae-jin sniffled, her voice cracking. “It’s really bad!” She exaggerated again, her eyes already glassy from tear.

 “Ah, It’s ok. Don’t worry. We’ll clean it up. In-ho-ssi, do you have anything to take care of it?”

“In-ho shook his head. “No, I don’t.” He wasn’t really familiar with the whole ‘kids getting hurt’ situation. Jun-ho had never been injured as a child, so it never occurred to him to be prepared.”

“Well, I’ve got some disinfectant and bandages in my apartment.” Gi-hun said, giving him a grin. “Let’s get her cleaned up before she convinces herself she’s going to pass out from the pain.”

Hae-jin looked up at In-ho with wide, tear-filled eyes. “Appa, I don’t think I can walk… Please carry me…”

In-ho sighed, his stern expression softening. When she sniffled again and clung to him more tightly, he relented with a long exhale.  “Let’s go.”

Gi-hun smirked as In-ho carefully scooped her up into his arms. “Aw,”

In-ho rolled his eyes, adjusting his grip on Hae-jin as her head rested on her shoulders. Gi-hun held his hands up, still grinning. 

And with that, In-ho carried Hae-jin, her little voice still making sad, sniffly noises as they made their way to the apartment.

          _____________________

Gi-hun had unlocked his door. He then pointed to the couch so In-ho could lay Hae-jin down there and sat himself down. 

After In-ho did so Gi-hun went to the bathroom grabbing a kit filled with wipes and bandages.

Hae-jin’s tears had dried up though she still winced when she would move. “It’s ok Hae-jin.” In-ho comforted rubbing her other  knee as he looked towards the door to see Gi-hun coming back out.

Gi-hun walked back into the room, holding a small first aid kit. He carefully set it down on the coffee table before sitting down next to the couch, giving Hae-jin a reassuring smile.

“Alright, let’s take a look at that knee,” he said gently, not wanting to make her feel any worse than she already did.

Hae-jin shifted slightly, still holding her hurt leg close to her chest as she winced. “Do you have to wipe it?” she asked, her voice a little whiny, though her tears had stopped.

In-ho gave her knee a gentle rub, his gaze soft. “Yes, Hae-jin. It’s just to make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

Hae-jin pouted, but In-ho’s calm demeanor seemed to reassure her. She looked up at him and nodded, her lips quivering just slightly. “Okay…”

Gi-hun opened the first aid kit, pulling out a wipe and then looking up at In-ho. “Hold her knee still for me, just to make it easier.”

In-ho nodded, adjusting his hold so Hae-jin’s leg was steady, but he was careful not to make her feel trapped. His touch was gentle as he held her knee in place.

Hae-jin’s eyes flickered between Gi-hun and In-ho, her face scrunched up slightly. “Is it going to hurt?”

Gi-hun gave her a teasing smile. “Maybe just a little, but it’ll be all better afterward. Promise.”

She let out a soft, dramatic sigh. “I guess that’s okay.”

Gi-hun smiled as he cleaned the scrape, his movements slow and deliberate to avoid causing her too much discomfort. Hae-jin winced a little hissing at the pain, but was brave enough not to cry out.

“There we go,” Gi-hun said once he finished cleaning it. “Now for the bandage.”

Gi-hun smiled as he pulled out a cute, brightly colored bandage with a smiley face on it. “Here you go, Hae-jin. This one’s extra special.”

Hae-jin’s eyes lit up as she saw the smiley face sticker. “It’s so cute!” she exclaimed, her earlier distress completely forgotten. She let Gi-hun place it over her scrape, her mood lifting as the smiley face seemed to work magic on her.

“There,” Gi-hun said, giving her a gentle pat on the head. “All better now. No more dying from a little scrape.”

Hae-jin giggled, pressing her hand to the bandage. “It feels better already. Look, Appa! It has a smiley face!”

In-ho’s lips curled into a rare smile as he glanced at the bandage. “Well, if it makes you feel better.”

Hae-jin looked up at him, her eyes bright. “It does, Appa! Look, it’s like the sticker is smiling at me!” In-ho chuckled softly, his usual stoic expression softening. 

Gi-hun sat back, watching the two of them. It was moments like these—simple, unspoken moments—that made everything feel a little lighter. “You know, I think that smiley face is the real healer here,” he teased, making Hae-jin laugh even more.

Hae-jin grinned widely, her earlier theatrics forgotten. “It worked!” She ran around the couch more joyfully than ever despite her little breakdown.

“Thank you, Mr…” Hae-jin started, her brow furrowing as she scrambled for the right words. Gi-hun gasped dramatically, holding his hand up to his heart. “Seong! You forgot already? I’m hurt now,” he teased, his tone playful.

Hae-jin giggled, a sound that lightened the mood. She quickly stood up and wrapped her arms around Gi-hun’s waist for a tight hug, her little hands barely reaching around him. Gi-hun smiled and gave her a gentle pat on the back, his expression warm.

“You’re welcome, Hae-jin,” Gi-hun said softly, his tone fond as he looked down at her.

Hae-jin pulled away and looked up at her father with wide, pleading eyes. “Appa, can we go get some ice cream now?” she asked, her voice sweet and innocent.

In-ho raised an eyebrow at her request, but his face softened. “Yes, we can. Stand by the door and wait for me, okay?” he said, his voice gentle. Hae-jin nodded enthusiastically and quickly stumbled over to the door, her little feet excited to get going.

In-ho turned toward Gi-hun, his face still holding a slight hint of hesitation. He gave a small nod, the words seeming to cost him more than usual. “Thank you,” he said, his voice almost too soft, as though the words were hard to let out.

“Oh? Never thought I’d hear those words from you,” Gi-hun said with a teasing smirk, leaning against the doorframe as he eyed In-ho, waiting for a response.

In-ho’s gaze remained firm, his expression as stoic as ever. “You talk too much, Mr. Seong,” he said flatly, his tone unwavering.

Gi-hun let out a chuckle. “Well, you should talk more,” he said, his tone light and teasing.

In-ho didn’t say anything back. He just pressed his lips into a thin line and raised an eyebrow.

Gi-hun smirked, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Alright, alright, I get it,” he said with a shrug. “I’ll try to talk less, If you try to talk more.

In-ho’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his expression remained unchanged. “I don’t make deals, Mr. Seong,” he replied, his voice as firm as ever.

Gi-hun chuckled again, clearly enjoying the challenge. “No deals? Well, I’m not asking for one. Just a little more conversation,” he teased, his voice light but with a hint of warmth.

In-ho exhaled sharply, clearly uninterested in playing along, but there was a small flicker in his gaze—something unspoken, perhaps curiosity or a reluctant acceptance.

 He turned toward the door, then paused, his hand on the handle. “You’re less annoying when you’re quiet.”

Gi-hun blinked, surprised by the unexpected admission. “Well, thank you, I think?”

With that, In-ho gave a slight nod and, without saying another word, stepped out the door, leaving Gi-hun with another smirk tugging at his lips.

As the door clicked shut, Gi-hun whispered to himself with a laugh, “Well ok.”

Chapter Text

Monday 6:35

Monday arrived faster than In-ho expected.

The alarm blared in his ear, dragging him out of sleep with its sharp, relentless beeping. With a groan, he blindly reached out, smacking the snooze button. For the first time, he considered closing his eyes again, but the awareness of responsibility forced him upright. He pushed the blankets off, slid his feet into his slippers, and trudged to the bathroom.

Cold water splashed against his face as he leaned over the sink, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. His sleep schedule was consistent, but taking the weekend off had thrown it off track. He blinked at his reflection—dark circles, slightly disheveled hair. With a sigh, he reached for his phone.

A string of unread messages from Jun-ho lit up the screen.

Jun-ho: Hae-jin has to be at school by 7:30 and picked up by 3:00

Jun-ho: And sign her permission slip for her field trip!!

Jun-ho: And don’t forget to pack her a sandwich

Jun-ho: She only likes cheese on it for some reason?

Jun-ho: And she likes her sandwiches cut diagonally

In-ho exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. Aish. Jun-ho knew Hae-jin’s preferences better than he did. That’s what happens when you leave your kid with your younger brother for almost two months.

In-ho: Okay.

Setting his phone aside, he pulled on his uniform, smoothing out the wrinkles before running a hand through his hair. A quick glance at the clock—6:50 AM.

He had forty minutes to get Hae-jin ready.

Moving through the apartment with quiet but purposeful steps, he headed for the living room, where he found her curled up on the couch. Her small body was tucked into a loose ball, her face buried in a pillow. She didn’t look comfortable—he needed to get her room set up.

Kneeling beside her, he gently shook her shoulder. “Hae-jin, time to wake up.”

She stirred, letting out a small, sleepy groan as she rubbed her eyes with her tiny fists. Her gaze met his, still clouded with drowsiness.

“Why, Appa?” she mumbled, her voice hoarse from sleep.

“Because Appa has to take you to school,” he reminded her, scooping her up effortlessly.

Her head rested against his shoulder as he carried her to the bathroom, where she begrudgingly reached for her toothbrush. While she sluggishly brushed her teeth, In-ho rifled through her bag, pulling out a pink shirt with a cat on it and a pair of jeans. He placed them neatly beside her before stepping into the kitchen to prepare her lunch.

Bread and cheese—simple enough. He quickly assembled the sandwich, making sure to cut it diagonally, just as Jun-ho had instructed. After sealing it in a plastic container, he slipped it into her school bag along with a juice box.

Right on cue, Hae-jin emerged from the bathroom, struggling to pull her shirt over her head. “Appa, help…” she muttered, her voice muffled by fabric.

Right. She couldn’t quite put her clothes correctly yet. In-ho moved toward her, tugging the shirt down until her sleepy face reappeared. “There. Better?”

She nodded, still half-asleep, and he crouched down to slip her tiny boots onto her feet. Double-checking her backpack, he made sure everything was in place—lunch, permission slip, an extra sweater in case it got cold.

Satisfied, he straightened up. “Alright, let’s go.”

Hae-jin’s little arms wrapped around his neck as he picked her up, her backpack snug against her back. As they stepped outside, the door clicked shut behind them, the cool morning air brushing against their faces.

——

Gi-hun’s morning was anything but bright. He sat slouched at the small kitchen table, wrapped in a worn-out robe, his fingers loosely gripping a half-empty cup of lukewarm coffee. His eyes, heavy with exhaustion, stared blankly at the dark liquid, as if willing it to magically restore his energy. The air in his apartment was still, filled only with the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional drip of a leaky faucet.

Starting tonight, his entire routine was about to be turned upside down. He had been assigned the dreaded night shift—11:00 p.m. to 5:00 a.m.—a schedule that felt like a cruel joke. Gi-hun had always been a morning person, someone who thrived in the daylight hours. The thought of working through the dead of night made his stomach twist with unease. And the fact that Sang-woo was the one who had given him this shift only made it worse. Had his old friend forgotten what kind of person he was?

Gi-hun had stayed up all night trying to adjust to his new schedule, hoping that powering through would help, but it didn’t. He was still wide awake, and the exhaustion was obvious. Dark circles hung under his eyes, and his wrinkles were more prominent than usual. His face looked pale, as if he hadn’t rested in days, and his hair was a bird’s nest—completely unkempt. He sighed as he stared at himself in the mirror, realizing that adjusting to the night shift wasn’t going to be easy.

Letting out a long, weary sigh, Gi-hun leaned back in his chair, rubbing his face with one hand. He knew he should be sleeping right now, preparing his body for the grueling hours ahead, but no matter how hard he tried, sleep wouldn’t come. His mind refused to shut off, racing with thoughts of how miserable this was going to be.

Then, a reckless idea formed in his head. If sleep wasn’t an option, maybe he could fight exhaustion in another way. His tired gaze shifted toward the coffee pot sitting on the counter, still half full from earlier. If he downed at least ten cups of coffee right off the bat, surely that would keep him awake for the entire shift… right?

It wasn’t the smartest plan, but at this point, Gi-hun was desperate.

So, Gi-hun—being Gi-hun—pushed himself up from the chair with a groggy sigh and shuffled over to the coffee pot. His movements were sluggish, his robe hanging off one shoulder as he grabbed the pot with one hand and a large mug with the other. He didn’t bother measuring or pacing himself. No, if he was going to do this, he was going all in.

Tilting the pot, he poured an almost absurd amount of coffee into his oversized mug, filling it dangerously close to the brim. The rich, bitter aroma filled the air, but Gi-hun barely noticed—his only focus was getting as much caffeine into his system as possible.

He took a cautious sip, then a larger gulp, ignoring the burning sensation as the scalding liquid hit his tongue.

After chugging half the mug in one go, Gi-hun trudged back to the living room and slouched onto the couch with a heavy sigh. His body practically melted into the cushions, his head tilting back as he stared at the ceiling, already regretting his life choices.

The coffee had yet to kick in, and exhaustion still clung to him like a weight he couldn’t shake. He knew he should keep drinking, should force himself to stay upright and alert, but instead, he just sat there, his fingers loosely wrapped around the warm mug, eyes threatening to close.

Gi-hun let out a long, tired sigh, rubbing at his eyes as he sat slouched on the couch, his half-empty mug of coffee still clutched in his hands. The caffeine wasn’t working fast enough. He had hoped that downing so much so quickly would snap him into wakefulness, but all it had done was leave a bitter taste in his mouth and an uncomfortable warmth spreading through his chest. His limbs still felt heavy, his head still foggy with exhaustion.

He tilted his head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling as he mumbled, “How the hell am I gonna survive this shift…” His voice was hoarse, sluggish, like it took effort just to get the words out.

The silence of his apartment wasn’t helping. The only sounds were the occasional creaks of the old building, the hum of the refrigerator, and the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. It was the kind of stillness that made staying awake even harder. Dangerous. If he closed his eyes now, he wasn’t opening them again until morning.

With a groggy sigh, he forced himself upright, deciding he needed another cup. If he kept drinking, eventually, the caffeine had to kick in.

Dragging himself toward the kitchen, Gi-hun reached for the coffee pot, already anticipating the comforting splash of liquid into his mug. Except… nothing came out.

He blinked. Tilted the pot a little more.

Still nothing.

“…Aish.” His groggy brain took a second to catch up before it finally clicked—he had finished the entire damn pot.

Gi-hun exhaled sharply, pressing a hand against his forehead. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

This was bad. This was very bad. He needed more. Right now.

His first instinct was to make another pot, but then he glanced at the time and groaned. No time. If he brewed another batch, it would take too long to kick in before his shift started. He needed something fast. Something strong.

And then the thought hit him—the café

There was one a few streets over, still open this late. If he went now, he could stock up before his shift, get something stronger, something fresher

Decision made.

Gi-hun shuffled toward his bedroom, dragging his feet like a zombie. He ran a hand through his hair, but gave up halfway. Whatever mess was going on up there would just have to stay.

Snatching his wallet off the counter, he shoved on his shoes, barely bothering to lace them properly, before heading out the door, and with that, he was off—half-asleep, barely functioning, but determined to caffeinate himself into oblivion before his shift began.

—————————-

7:25 am

In-ho pulled into the busy parking lot, the low hum of car engines and distant chatter filling the air. The morning rush was in full swing—parents hurriedly guiding their children toward the school entrance, exchanging brief words with teachers before rushing off to start their own days.

In the back seat, Hae-jin sat quietly, absentmindedly tugging at the strings on her backpack. Unlike her usual bright and chatty self, she barely made a sound, her energy noticeably subdued.

As soon as the car rolled to a stop, In-ho unbuckled his seatbelt, stepped out, and walked around to her side. Pulling open the door, he crouched slightly, his sharp eyes studying her for a moment before he reached for her small hand. His grip was firm but careful, a silent reassurance as he led her toward the school entrance.

Other parents walked beside them, chatting with their kids, offering last-minute reminders or simply squeezing their little hands before letting go. The school hallways were lively, filled with the sound of children’s voices, teachers greeting students warmly, and the occasional rustle of papers as they collected permission slips from backpacks.

But In-ho wasn’t in a rush to leave just yet. He slowed his steps, glancing down at his daughter. Something was off.

When they reached her classroom, he crouched down in front of her, leveling his gaze with hers. Hae-jin kept her eyes down, her lips pressed into a small, stubborn pout.

“What’s with that face, Hae-jin?” His voice was calm but firm, one hand resting on her small shoulder.

She met his gaze for the briefest moment before turning her head away, refusing to answer.

In-ho let out a quiet sigh, his patience stretching thin but his concern outweighing his frustration. “Come on, Hae-jin,” he pressed gently, his brows furrowing slightly. Still, she remained silent.

He exhaled, glancing away for a moment, then back at her. He wasn’t the best at this, at getting her to open up with soft words alone. So, after a brief pause, he decided to take another approach.

“I’ll give you a candy bar if you tell me.”

That got her attention. Her pout didn’t completely disappear, but her eyes flickered with the slightest bit of interest. She hesitated, then let out a small huff.

“Okay…” she muttered.

“I don’t want you to leave again, Appa.”

For a second, In-ho said nothing.

The weight of her words settled between them, far heavier than such a simple sentence should have been. She wasn’t just talking about him leaving for work. She meant something deeper, something that made his chest tighten just a little.

His expression remained composed, but his voice was softer when he spoke. “I’m not going anywhere, Hae-jin.” His tone was steady, unwavering. “I will never leave you. I promise, okay?”

Hae-jin looked up at him then, searching his face as if testing the weight of his words. She must have found what she was looking for, because after a moment, she gave a small nod.

In-ho exhaled, standing up straight. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Hae-jin let out a quiet “Okay.” Her voice was small, but no longer as heavy as before.

She hesitated for just a moment before finally stepping toward the classroom. But before disappearing inside, she glanced back at him once more. This time, her pout had softened into something much closer to a smile.

In-ho watched until she was safely inside, then turned on his heel and walked away, his usual cool composure slipping back into place. But for the rest of the morning, his mind lingered on the small hand that had clung to his just moments ago—and the promise he knew he could never break.

______________________

9:45 am

In-ho strode into the office, the sharp click of his polished shoes echoing against the sleek floors. His uniform was crisp, but as he walked, he tugged at the sleeves, smoothing out any creases. With a habitual motion, he ran a hand through his dark hair, fixing it back into place before exhaling quietly.

The office was already buzzing with activity—phones ringing, papers shuffling, the low hum of conversations as officers and detectives moved about their morning routines. In-ho, however, remained indifferent to the noise around him. His focus was on getting to his desk.

As he stepped into his office, he immediately noticed the neat stacks of paperwork left for him. His name was scrawled in familiar handwriting on a sticky note stuck to the top—No-eul’s. Thanks to her efficiency, he was down to only two remaining cases. Today would be easy.

Settling into his chair, he picked up the first file, flipping through the thin pages with practiced ease. His sharp eyes scanned over the limited information written inside. A minor theft case—quick and straightforward.

The second case was a bit more complex, dealing with a potential fraud investigation, but nothing too difficult for him to handle.

Just as he was about to grab a pen, the door to his office creaked open slightly.

“Detective, you finally made it.”

He didn’t need to look up to recognize the voice—Kang Dae-ho, one of his subordinates and long-time coworker.

In-ho sighed, setting the file down. “You say that as if I ever come in late.”

Dae-ho leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “No, but you do come in looking like you missed a few hours of sleep.” His gaze flickered toward the case files. “How’s it going with those other cases?”

In-ho nodded, tapping the papers. “No-eul’s cleared out most of them. Just these two left.”

Dae-ho let out an impressed whistle. “She’s efficient. You sure she’s not after your job?”

In-ho gave him a pointed look, unimpressed. “She can have it if she wants it.”

Dae-ho chuckled before straightening up. “Well, before you bury yourself in that paperwork, the chief wants to see you. Something about a high-priority case.”

That caught In-ho’s attention. He arched an eyebrow. “A high-priority case? What’s the situation?”

Dae-ho shrugged. “Didn’t get the details. Just that he wants you on it.”

In-ho exhaled sharply, pushing the file aside. “Of course he does.” Without another word, he stood, adjusting the cuffs of his uniform before heading toward the chief’s office.

In-ho made his way through the station, his pace brisk and purposeful. Chief Jang rarely called him in for cases unless they were particularly important, which meant whatever this was, it wasn’t going to be as simple as a theft or fraud.

As he reached the chief’s office, he gave a brief knock before stepping inside. The room was cluttered, papers scattered across the desk, a half-empty cup of coffee sitting precariously on a stack of files. Chief Jang Byung-ho, a man in his late fifties with graying hair and a perpetual scowl, barely glanced up from the report in his hands.

“In-ho,” Jang Byung-ho greeted gruffly, gesturing for him to take a seat.

“I hear you have something for me,” In-ho said, remaining standing.

The chief sighed, rubbing his temple before pushing a file toward him. “Missing person case. A young girl, around twelve years old. Disappeared last night from a café in Mapo District.”

In-ho’s fingers tightened slightly around the folder as he opened it. Inside was a photo of a little girl with pigtails and a bright smile. Beneath it was a brief summary—her name, age, last known whereabouts.

“She was with her mother,” Chief Jang continued, leaning back in his chair. “They were at the café for about an hour. The mother stepped away for a few minutes to take a phone call outside. When she came back, the girl was gone. No sign of a struggle, no security footage of her leaving.”

In-ho frowned, flipping through the pages. “No footage?”

The chief shook his head. “Café’s cameras were conveniently down for maintenance last night. The surrounding street cameras only show the mother stepping outside, but nothing on the girl.”

That was never a good sign. If the cameras were down, either it was a coincidence—or someone planned it.

“Any witnesses?”

“A few customers, but no one saw anything suspicious. No-eul ssi is already questioning the staff.” The chief’s gaze sharpened. “I want you on this too, In-ho. You’re the best we have.”

In-ho exhaled, his jaw tightening. Missing person cases, especially involving children, were always delicate. Time was their greatest enemy—the longer the girl was missing, the slimmer the chances of finding her unharmed.

He shut the file with a quiet snap. “I’ll handle it.”

Chief Jang nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Good. Check in with No-eul at the café. And In-ho—” He hesitated for a second before continuing, “We need to find this girl.”

In-ho didn’t need to be told twice. Without another word, he turned on his heel and left the office, the file clutched tightly in his hand.

His quiet morning was officially over.

————————————

The café was still lively, the hum of conversation blending with the faint hiss of steaming milk and the rhythmic tapping of keyboards. Despite the quiet investigation taking place, the warm, inviting atmosphere remained undisturbed—except for one man in the corner who looked like he had just barely survived the apocalypse.

Seong Gi-hun, slouched in his chair, was the definition of exhaustion. His robe—yes, a damn robe—was loosely draped over his frame, the sash barely holding it together. His hair was a mess, sticking out at odd angles as if he had fought his pillow and lost. His red-rimmed eyes blinked slowly, his expression lost somewhere between delirium and caffeine overdose.

The table in front of him was a graveyard of empty coffee cups, and despite the absurd amount he had already consumed, he was still sluggishly stirring yet another one, his movements slow and aimless

Hwang In-ho, on the other hand, had an actual job to do. He had come here for one reason to investigate the disappearance of a young girl. His focus should have been entirely on that, yet somehow, Gi-hun’s ridiculous presence had derailed him.

“In-ho-ya.”

The half-dead voice pulled In-ho’s attention back. Gi-hun was staring at him, eyes glassy and unfocused, a lopsided grin twitching at his lips

.

“Didn’t know you liked cafés,” Gi-hun muttered, raising his cup.

In-ho stared at him, unamused. “What the hell are you wearing?”

Gi-hun blinked slowly, looking down at himself as if just now remembering his current state of dress. He tugged at the fabric of his robe, his eyebrows raising slightly.

“…Oh. Yeah.” He yawned, then looking down at his current outfit.

In-ho pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why are you even here?”

Gi-hun let out a dry chuckle, resting his cheek against his palm. “Got stuck with a night shift. Ran out of coffee.” Gi-hun then held up the now empty coffee cup in example. “You know, I'm supposed to be sleep.”

“And instead of fixing that, you decided to drink yourself into a caffeine-induced heart attack?”

Gi-hun hummed, swirling his coffee lazily. “Yeah, well, it’s either this or hallucinate my entire shift. Thought I’d see how far I could push my limits.”

“You look like a corpse.”

Gi-hun gave him a sleepy grin. “Then at least I match how I feel inside now.”

Before In-ho could respond, a sharp voice cut through the café.

“In-ho-ssi! If you’re done mingling over there, I’d like some help with these fingerprints!”

In-ho exhaled sharply, glancing toward No-eul, who was standing near the counter, arms crossed, looking very unimpressed.

Gi-hun smirked, watching as In-ho’s jaw tensed slightly. “Sounds like you’re slacking on the job, Detective Hwang.”

In-ho shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

Gi-hun waved lazily.

In-ho turned on his heel, his patience officially depleted. He had a missing girl to find, a case to solve, and—for the sake of his sanity—he needed to pretend Gi-hun wasn’t sitting there looking like an insomniac in a bathrobe.

____________________

In-ho continued to work through the investigation. Gi-hun had left a while ago which took some distraction off of In-ho’s shoulders.

His thoughts drifted back to the investigation.Details, his mind was consumed by the case—until, suddenly, a sharp thought cut through the fog of concentration.

Hae-jin.

His gaze snapped up to the clock on the wall. 3:35 p.m. He was supposed to pick her up from school at 3:00. The realization hit him like a freight train, his pulse quickening as panic began to creep in. He was running late.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, pushing the files aside and standing abruptly from the table. His chair scraped harshly against the floor, a sound that felt louder than it was, matching the anxiety now racing through his chest.

No-eul, still hunched over the case files, glanced up at the sudden motion, brow furrowing slightly. “Everything alright, In-ho ssi?”

Without a second thought, In-ho shot her a quick, tight look. “I have to go.” His voice was sharp, not fully registering the words he was speaking, but he didn’t stop to explain.

No-eul met his gaze briefly, reading the urgency in his eyes. She gave a short nod, understanding. Her attention was already back on the papers, her eyes scanning the evidence in front of her. In-ho didn’t wait for further words.

His hand was already on the door handle as he exited the room. He moved quickly, almost too quickly, as if every second counted. The cool air of the office hit him as he stepped outside, and he could feel the rush of adrenaline making his movements sharper.

Without wasting any time, he made his way to his car. The engine roared to life as he twisted the key in the ignition, slamming the gearshift into drive. His foot pressed firmly on the gas pedal as the car sped through the streets of Seoul, weaving in and out of traffic, the minutes ticking by faster than he could catch them.

_________________

The drive to the school was relatively quick.

As he pulled up to the school, to his relief he saw a crowd of parents, but his eyes were immediately drawn to her—Hae-jin, standing by the school entrance, her small backpack bouncing with every step. When she caught sight of him, her face broke into a bright smile, and she waved enthusiastically.

Hae-jin bounced over to her dad as soon as she saw him, her small arms wrapping around him in a tight hug. “Appa!” she cheered, her voice light and full of energy. Her eyes sparkled with happiness as she looked up at him, her face beaming.

“You came for me!” she exclaimed, still hugging him as if she hadn’t seen him in forever, even though it had only been a few hours since school let out.

In-ho couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Despite the exhaustion from his day, her enthusiasm was contagious, and it made everything else seem a little less draining. “Of course I did,” he replied, ruffling her hair. “How was school?”

“Good!” Hae-jin said, pulling away from him just a little to show him her drawing. “I made a picture of the stars. It’s for you!” She held up the crumpled paper proudly, her excitement obvious.

In-ho bent down to look at the drawing, nodding appreciatively. “It’s beautiful, Hae-jin,” he said, his voice soft. “I’ll keep it in my office.”

Hae-jin grinned, proud of her work. “Yay!” she cheered, looking up at him with wide, happy eyes.

Hae-jin’s grin widened at his praise, her face glowing with pride. “I’m glad you like it, Appa!” She bounced on her feet, eager to tell him more. “And we played a new game at recess! Red light Green light, I was the best, I won every time!”

In-ho chuckled, amused by her boundless energy. He scooped her up into his arms, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the light of her joy. “The best, huh? You’re a superstar then.” He hugged her close before setting her down gently.

Hae-jin’s hand found his, her small fingers wrapping around his larger ones. She tugged him toward the school gates. “Let’s go home, Appa. I’m hungry!”

“Alright,” In-ho said with a smile barley tugging at his lips, his heart warming as they walked back ti the car together. His thoughts shifted back to the case, but at that moment, all that mattered was the light in his daughter’s eyes and the simple joy of being with her.

__________________

Gi-hun trudged into the hospital, the sharp hum of fluorescent lights overhead almost mocking his exhaustion. It was already 10:55 p.m., and his night shift was just beginning. He had barely managed to pull himself together, his blue scrubs hanging loosely on his tired frame. His hair, still rumpled and out of place, framed his face in messy strands, and dark bags sat under his eyes. He could feel the weight of exhaustion dragging at him, but he had no choice but to power through.

The hospital was quiet, the bustle of the day replaced by the soft, sterile hum of a late-night atmosphere. As he walked through the halls, the employees who had been working earlier were now leaving, their conversations trailing off as they headed out.

Gi-hun made his way toward Sang-woo’s office. He knew he had to receive his first patient of the night, a responsibility he couldn’t afford to slack on. He knocked lightly before stepping inside.

Sang-woo looked up, his eyes narrowing at Gi-hun’s disheveled appearance. “Gi-hun, you look like you haven’t slept all day,” he said with a half-smirk.

Gi-hun gave a tired shrug, dragging a hand over his face. “You’re not wrong.”

“You need to rest,” Sang-woo muttered, but his tone was laced with mild concern. “You can’t run on empty.”

Gi-hun offered a faint smile. “I’ll be fine. Who’s my first patient?”

Sang-woo glanced down at his paperwork. “Mr. Choi, late admit, post-op. He’s still in recovery but has been complaining about pain. Vitals are stable, though. Just monitor his IV, make sure he’s comfortable.”

“Got it,” Gi-hun replied, already reaching for the patient’s chart. He could already feel the pressure of the long night pressing on him, but there was no turning back now. He needed to focus.

Sang-woo gave him a final look. “Room 305. Be careful with him—he’s been a bit difficult with the staff.”

Gi-hun cruised down the hallway looking for the exact room number and he then stopped with a jolt. 305

Gi-hun opened the door to Room 305, stepping inside with a quiet, steady breath. Mr. Choi was lying in bed, his face pale, brows furrowed, and a grimace on his lips. The man was older—probably in his late eighties—and there was an air of weariness that made him seem even older. He gave Gi-hun a cursory glance before turning his gaze back to the ceiling, clearly not interested in small talk.

“Mr. Choi?” Gi-hun said, keeping his tone polite but firm. “I’m Seong Gi-hun, and I’ll be your nurse tonight.”

Mr. Choi barely acknowledged him, a low grunt escaping his lips as he shifted in the bed, clearly uncomfortable. “Well, you’re here now,” he muttered, voice rough from the strain. “Just get on with it.”

Gi-hun, despite the flutter of nerves in his chest, nodded and moved to check the chart. “How are you feeling? Any pain or discomfort?”

“Pain,” Mr. Choi snapped, his tone sharp. “What do you think? Surgery doesn’t exactly feel like a vacation.”

Gi-hun swallowed hard, trying not to take the bitterness in Mr. Choi’s voice personally. “I’ll check your IV and vitals, and we’ll get you more medication for that.”

Mr. Choi didn’t respond, but he shifted uncomfortably in his bed, clearly irritated by the intrusion. Gi-hun took a breath and carefully adjusted the IV line, keeping his movements slow and precise. His hands were a bit unsteady from the exhaustion weighing him down, but he tried to steady them as best as he could.

“You’re poking me too much,” Mr. Choi grumbled, not looking at Gi-hun. “What’s the point of all this? Shouldn’t be so much trouble just to get a little rest.”

Gi-hun paused for a moment, taking a breath before continuing. “I’ll be quick, Mr. Choi, just a few more checks.”

He checked the IV, then took Mr. Choi’s blood pressure, the cuff squeezing around his arm as Gi-hun did the procedure. Every movement felt like it was dragging on longer than it should, and he could sense Mr. Choi’s impatience growing.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” Mr. Choi grumbled. “You taking your sweet time or you actually going to help me?”

Gi-hun kept his voice steady. “Vitals are fine, Mr. Choi. I’ll get the pain medication adjusted for you now.”

He moved swiftly, administering the medication and adjusting the IV drip. Despite his exhaustion, Gi-hun kept his focus, knowing that one wrong move could make things worse.

“There,” Gi-hun said, stepping back. “The medication should help with the pain. I’ll check back in a little while to make sure it’s working.”

Mr. Choi gave him a half-hearted glance. “Yeah sure.”

Gi-hun nodded, giving a polite bow of his head. “I’ll check in soon.”

As he stepped out of the room, he let out a quiet sigh, relieved to have made it through the encounter. Mr. Choi had been tough to deal with—old, grumpy, and not exactly welcoming—but Gi-hun was determined to keep his composure. He wasn’t sure what had caused Mr. Choi’s attitude, but he had to remind himself not to take it personally.

Gi-hun made his way into the cafeteria, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle deeper with each step. He had just about managed to finish his first round of checking in on patients, and now all he wanted was a quick break and something to perk him up. The thought of coffee was the only thing keeping him going.

As he stepped inside, he spotted a man sitting at a table by himself, nursing a large cup of coffee. The man looked to be in his late 30s, with a relaxed posture and a friendly air about him. He was dressed in the same blue scrubs as Gi-hun, though his were more neatly put together, and his hair was perfectly styled.

Noticing Gi-hun entering, the man looked up and gave him a friendly smile, lifting his cup in a small greeting.

“Hey, rough shift?” the man asked, his voice warm and easygoing.

Gi-hun hesitated for a moment, surprised at the stranger’s approachable tone. “Yeah, it’s my first night shift.

The man chuckled, nodding knowingly. “I can imagine. First nights can be a lot. Name’s Jung-bae,” he introduced himself, holding out a hand.

“Seong Gi-hun,” Gi-hun replied, shaking his hand and then glancing at the coffee machine. “Mind if I grab a cup? I could definitely use one.”

“Go ahead,” Jung-bae said with a grin, motioning to the counter. “Can’t make it through the night without caffeine, right?”

Gi-hun nodded in agreement, walking over to get his coffee. He quickly fixed himself a cup and returned to the table, sitting across from Jung-bae.

“First shift, huh?” Jung-bae said as he sipped his coffee. “You’ll get the hang of it. It can be a little overwhelming at first, but once you find your rhythm, it’s not so bad.”

Gi-hun gave a tired smile, though he was still feeling the exhaustion pulling at him. “I hope so. It’s just… a lot to process, you know? I’m not used to all the chaos.”

Jung-bae leaned back in his chair, considering Gi-hun’s words. “Yeah, the first night can feel like you’re drowning. But it’s also one of the most rewarding shifts when you get it right. You learn how to keep calm and how to help people. That’s what matters.”

Gi-hun appreciated the reassurance. His nerves had been high all night, but there was something comforting about speaking with someone who had been through it before.

“How long have you been here?” Gi-hun asked, genuinely curious.

“A few years now,” Jung-bae replied. “Been on the night shift the whole time. It’s… its own world, really. Quiet and different from the daytime chaos, but you get used to it.”

Gi-hun let out a small, tired laugh. “I’m definitely still trying to get used to it.”

“Don’t worry,” Jung-bae said, a smirk playing on his lips. “You’ll figure it out soon enough. Just take it one step at a time. And if you need a hand or want someone to vent to, I’m always around.”

Gi-hun nodded gratefully. It wasn’t much, but it felt good to hear someone say that. He’d been so wrapped up in his own nerves, he hadn’t realized how much he needed the camaraderie of the staff.

“Thanks, Jung-bae ssi. That means a lot,” Gi-hun said, finally feeling some of the tension ease off his shoulders.

Jung-bae gave a small nod, his smile wide and genuine. “No problem.”

As they chatted for a little while longer, Gi-hun felt the last of his nerves start to settle. The exhaustion hadn’t gone away, but the night didn’t seem quite as overwhelming anymore.

___________________

5:30 am

Gi-hun’s shift had finally come to an end. His body screamed in exhaustion, but he still had to gather his things and head home. Jung-bae had already left, leaving Gi-hun to drag himself through the last of his workday.

By the time he reached his apartment, the weight of his fatigue felt unbearable. He barely had the energy to unlock the door. Instead of heading straight to his room, he slumped down against the wall of the hallway, his legs giving way beneath him. A loud thump echoed through the empty space as his head collided with the wall in an ungraceful, exhausted slump.

With a deep sigh, Gi-hun dragged a hand down his face, feeling every muscle in his body ache. His thoughts began to cloud over with exhaustion, and for a moment, he just wanted to disappear into sleep. But before he could drift away, a soft click of the door behind him caught his attention.

He turned slowly, blinking in surprise, to find Hwang In-ho standing in the doorway, his sharp gaze immediately locking onto Gi-hun.

“In-ho yah,” Gi-hun mumbled weakly, his voice hoarse from the fatigue. Despite how drained he felt, he managed a tired wave, his hand barely lifting off his lap.

“You still look like hell,” In-ho remarked, his voice as cold as ever, earning a strange, confused look from Gi-hun.

“Aish, so harsh as always, In-ho-ssi,” Gi-hun muttered, a dry chuckle escaping his lips. He leaned back slightly against the wall, doing his best to shrug off the weight of exhaustion.

In-ho merely hummed in response, his gaze focused on the floor in front of them, as if trying to ignore the fact that Gi-hun was, in fact, practically collapsing right before his eyes.

Without warning, In-ho slid down next to him, his movements smooth and deliberate. He rested his arms on his knees, posture stiff but oddly casual at the same time.

Gi-hun blinked at the sudden change in proximity. His lips parted as he gathered the energy to speak again. “How’s Hae-jin’s little injury?” His voice cracked slightly, betraying just how tired he was, but he tried to mask it with forced cheer.

In-ho glanced at him for a brief moment before responding, a hint of something almost smug in his tone. “It’s like it never happened.” A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, a fleeting expression that Gi-hun caught in his peripheral vision.

Gi-hun’s eyes widened, and despite the fatigue dragging at him, he couldn’t hold back his excitement. “Ah! In-ho-ssi, was that a smile?” he exclaimed, his voice suddenly more lively. It was as though a wave of energy had swept over him, the exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the face of something far rarer—In-ho showing even a hint of softness.

Gi-hun’s gaze remained fixed on In-ho’s profile, waiting for a response, the silence between them thick with unspoken things.

In-ho raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, but Gi-hun’s persistent stare seemed to make him crack. With a resigned sigh, he finally turned to meet Gi-hun’s eager eyes. He rolled his own in exasperation. “And now you’re back,” he muttered.

Gi-hun grinned, feeling the playful edge of their exchange bring back his spark. “I told you I was gonna get some type of conversation,” he said, giving a small shrug. His hand ran through his messy hair, trying to smooth it down, though it didn’t quite work. It only made him look even more disheveled, but at least he didn’t feel as weighed down anymore.

In-ho simply watched him, the corner of his mouth twitching as though he was debating whether to say something more. But for now, he said nothing, and the moment hung between them—unspoken, but oddly warm.

Gi-hun slowly pushed himself to his feet, exhaustion weighing him down. In-ho, noticing, stepped closer. “You need to get some rest,” he said, his voice firm but with a hint of concern.

Gi-hun smiled weakly. “I know..”

In-ho raised an eyebrow, his tone softening. “If you want to avoid collapsing here, I suggest you listen.”

Gi-hun chuckled, leaning against the wall. “You’re always so bossy,” he teased, but let In-ho guide him toward his room.

At the door, In-ho placed a hand on his shoulder. “If you’d just rest I wouldn’t have to be bossy.”

Gi-hun nodded, surprised by the warmth in In-ho’s voice. “Thanks you, In-ho-ssi.”

In-ho gave a brief nod before turning on the heel of his slippers departing to his own room.

Gi-hun stepped into his room, his body heavy with exhaustion but oddly comforted by In-ho’s care. The door clicked softly behind him, and the house seemed to fall into a quiet, almost soothing stillness. The weight of the day, of everything that had happened, hung in the air, but there was a sense of calm, a quiet reassurance that made the world feel momentarily gentle.

He didn’t bother changing into bedclothes—he was too tired to even think. Instead, he collapsed onto the couch, the soft cushions welcoming him as his body sank into the comfort. The familiar warmth of the room wrapped around him, the low light casting soft shadows, making everything feel safe and secure.

His eyes fluttered shut, his mind too tired to focus on anything but the gentle pull of sleep. He didn’t fight it. The exhaustion took over, and before he could even fully relax, he was drifting off, the weight of the world momentarily forgotten.

The steady rhythm of his breathing matched the peaceful stillness of the house, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Gi-hun allowed himself to simply rest, his body fully surrendering to the comfort around him

Chapter Text

Tuesday

4:30 pm

The rain poured relentlessly, drumming against In-ho’s umbrella as he trudged through the near-flooded streets. A cold gust of wind swept past, sending a shiver down his spine despite the thick coat wrapped around him. He tucked his chin deeper into the warmth of his collar, cursing the storm under his breath.

The schools had shut down for the day—too dangerous for children to commute in this downpour. But for In-ho, duty didn’t pause for bad weather.

Arriving at the station, In-ho stepped inside, his shoes squelching against the tiled floor as he shook off his umbrella on the nearby mat. The usually bustling space felt eerily quiet. Many officers had opted to stay home, leaving only a skeleton crew behind. A few colleagues glanced his way, offering faint nods or lazy waves before returning to their work, the storm outside dulling even the usual chatter.

The dim lighting inside did little to shake the gloom of the weather, and the air smelled faintly of damp fabric and cheap coffee. In-ho made his way toward his office, running a hand through his damp hair before pushing open the door.

No-eul was already inside. She stood by her desk, shifting through a file of papers, her bag slung over one shoulder as if she had just arrived—or was about to leave.

In-ho frowned. Something felt off.

“No-eul-ssi,” he said, slipping off his coat and draping it over the chair. “What’s going on?”

She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the folder. Then, with a deep breath, she met his gaze, her expression unreadable, lips pressing into a thin line.

“They’ve put someone else on the case.”

In-ho stared at No-eul, his brows knitting together. His grip on the back of his chair tightened, the leather cool under his fingers.

“What do you mean?” His voice was calm, but there was a sharpness beneath it.

No-eul sighed, tucking the folder under her arm. “Exactly what it sounds like.”

In-ho’s jaw tightened. While the leads were few, he and No-eul had been making progress. Why were they bringing in someone new?

“Who?” he demanded.

No-eul didn’t answer right away. Instead, she lifted her chin toward the door, her expression unreadable.

“You’ll see.”

Before In-ho could press her further, the sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway. The door swung open, and a woman stepped inside.

She was tall and poised, carrying herself with quiet confidence. Her dark brown hair was neatly tied back, and raindrops still clung to the shoulders of her coat. In one hand, she held a manila folder; in the other, a steaming cup of coffee. She looked more like she was arriving from an important meeting than stepping in from a storm.

Her sharp gaze landed on In-ho, assessing him with the same intensity he often used when sizing up suspects. Then, without hesitation, she stepped forward and extended a hand.

“Detective Hwang In-ho, I assume?” Her voice was smooth and professional.

In-ho glanced at No-eul, who simply raised a brow as if to say, Told you so.

He exhaled through his nose before clasping the woman’s hand in a firm shake. “That’s me.”

A small, knowing smile crossed her lips. “Detective Seo Ha-young. I’ve heard a lot about you.” She said.

In-ho exhaled sharply through his nose, unimpressed. He didn’t ask what she had heard, nor did he particularly care. Instead, he simply sighed and remained where he stood.

Ha-young raised an eyebrow at his silence but said nothing. With a practiced ease, she set her bag and a manila folder down on the brown desk near In-ho’s chair, her movements deliberate and unhurried.

No-eul, who had been standing nearby, glanced between the two before turning on her heel and stepping out of the room, leaving behind an awkward silence.

Ha-young, unfazed, adjusted the strands of dark hair that had slipped from her neatly tied bun, letting them frame her face just right. “So,” she said, her voice even, “What are we working with?”

In-ho scoffed, shifting his stance as he crossed his arms over his chest. His posture was rigid, the weight of his scrutiny evident in the way he looked at her.

“Chief Jang could let you walk in here, but he couldn’t bother giving you a file on the case?” His tone was edged with irritation, his words a pointed challenge.

That caught Ha-young’s attention. She paused mid-motion, her fingers lightly tapping the edge of the desk as she studied him. Her expression remained unreadable, but there was something calculating in the way her gaze held his.

Then, unexpectedly, she chuckled. The sound was soft, amused—but not mocking.

“Interesting,” she murmured, shaking her head slightly. 

“Relax, Detective Hwang,” she said, tapping the manila folder she had placed on the desk. “I have the file. I just want to hear your take on it first.”

In-ho remained standing near the door, arms crossed. He wasn’t fond of people waltzing into his workspace and acting like they owned the place—especially not when they were thrown onto his case after only two days.

“I don’t see the point of repeating what you should’ve already read,” he replied flatly.

Ha-young leaned back in the chair, tilting her head slightly as she studied him. “Fair enough.”

And with that there was silence. 

Ha-young was now focused on the files typing into the nearby computer.

And In-ho was drowned out by his own thoughts.

                   __________________

5:55 PM

Gi-hun plopped down onto the couch, finally taking a moment to relax. It was his first day off and he was destined to make it count. His food was in one hand, and his coffee, after several attempts at finding the perfect temperature, was warm enough to sip. He brought the mug to his lips, but before he could take a drink, a knock on the door startled him.

The loud banging made him jump, causing the hot coffee to spill over his pants. Instantly, he felt the burn on his tongue as the scalding liquid splashed onto him.

“Dammit!” Gi-hun cursed under his breath, quickly grabbing some paper towels, but the stain wouldn’t come out—it only smeared, making his pants look even worse.

Groaning in frustration, he stomped toward the door, barely containing his annoyance.

“What?!” he called out, opening the door, to Sang-woo’s confused face standing there. Holding a bag of take out.

“Who pissed in your coffee, Gi-hun-ah?” Sang-woo remarked, arching a brow at Gi-hun’s clearly startled expression.

Gi-hun let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging as he stepped aside to let Sang-woo in. “Gosh, Sang-woo.”

Without hesitation, Sang-woo strode inside, his sharp gaze sweeping across the dimly lit apartment. His lips pressed together in mild disapproval at the state of the place—unwashed dishes in the sink, a stack of unopened mail on the counter, and a general air of neglect. Shaking his head, he made his way to the kitchen and settled onto a chair, setting down the plastic bag of food he had brought.

“You don’t need to keep bringing me food,” Gi-hun muttered as he trudged into the kitchen, already unboxing the takeout. “You’re acting like I’m gonna starve myself.”

Sang-woo snorted, reaching into the six-pack he had brought and pulling out a bottle of soju. “Clearly, you need it. You’d die from caffeine overdose if it wasn’t for me.” His tone was laced with dry amusement as he twisted the cap off the bottle.

Gi-hun merely scoffed, shaking his head as he dug into the meal. He wouldn’t admit it, but the warm food was a welcome change from his usual diet of instant coffee and convenience store snacks.

“And, you also can’t cook.” 

“Well that makes me feel alot better.” Gi-hun spoke sarcastically.

Sang-woo took a slow sip of soju, his fingers tapping lightly against the bottle. He sat in contemplative silence, his gaze fixed somewhere on the table, lost in thought. Gi-hun didn’t pay much attention at first, too busy shoveling food into his mouth, but when Sang-woo cleared his throat, something about the weight of it made him pause.

“Hey,” Sang-woo finally said, his voice low and measured. “Can I ask you something?”

Gi-hun barely looked up, still chewing. He waved a hand lazily in acknowledgment. “Mm?”

Sang-woo hesitated, rolling the bottle between his palms. Then, as if forcing the words out, he muttered, “How do you know if someone likes you?”

Gi-hun’s chewing slowed. His brows inched together as he set his chopsticks down, eyeing Sang-woo with something between amusement and disbelief.

“Wait..are you asking me for advice?”

Sang-woo’s jaw tightened. “Forget it.” He reached for his soju, but Gi-hun was faster, swiping the bottle away before he could take another sip.

“No, no, hold on.” Gi-hun straightened, looking Sang-woo up and down like he was seeing him for the first time. “You—the guy who’s always too busy, too practical, too damn calculating—are suddenly wondering if someone likes you?” He let out a short, incredulous laugh. “What, did hell freeze over?”

“Gi-hun.” Sang-woo’s voice carried a warning edge, but his ears were turning red.

Gi-hun pressed a hand to his chest. “I mean, I’m honored to be the one you’re asking. Really.”

“Shut up.”

“I won’t,” Gi-hun shot back, leaning forward. “So? Who is it?” His eyes widened, the corners of his lips twitching. “It’s not that barista from the café, is it?”

Sang-woo sighed sharply, rubbing his temples. “Can you not act like a twelve-year-old?”

Gi-hun bit back a grin, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll be serious.” He folded his arms, settling in. “What makes you think this person likes you?”

Sang-woo took a breath, choosing his words carefully. “They… do things for me. Things they don’t do for others.”

Gi-hun’s expression turned thoughtful. “Like what?”

“They bring me things. Check up on me. Make sure I’m ok after i told them im fine.”

A beat of silence stretched between them.

Gi-hun’s smirk faltered. He glanced at the takeout containers, the soju bottle, the way Sang-woo always made sure he had something decent to eat when he couldn’t be bothered to cook for himself.

Then, the realization hit, and Gi-hun let out a low, incredulous chuckle.

“Oh, shit.”

Sang-woo narrowed his eyes. “What?”

Gi-hun wiped a hand down his face, trying to hold back his laughter. “You just described what you do for me.” He gestured at the food in front of him. “Are you in love with me, Sang-woo?”

Sang-woo’s scowl deepened, his grip tightening around his soju glass. “I’m leaving.”

“No, no! I’m kidding!” Gi-hun reached out, grabbing his wrist before he could stand. His grip was firm, but his voice had lost its teasing edge. “Look, if this person is doing all that for you, then yeah… they probably like you. Or at the very least, they care about you.”

Sang-woo exhaled through his nose, his posture stiff. “…That’s what I thought.” His voice was quieter now, more hesitant. 

Gi-hun studied him, something serious settling behind his eyes. After a moment, he asked, “Do you like them back?”

Sang-woo’s fingers tightened around his glass. He didn’t answer right away. For a long moment, he just sat there, staring at the table. Then, finally, in a voice barely above a mutter, he admitted,

“…Yeah.”

Gi-hun let out a slow whistle, shaking his head. “Wow.” He leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“Oh, I absolutely will.” Gi-hun smirked, but his tone had softened. He nudged Sang-woo’s arm. “Listen, I get it. You’re overthinking this, running every possibility through your damn brain like it’s a business negotiation. But if you like them, and they clearly like you, maybe stop thinking so hard and just… do something about it.”

Sang-woo exhaled, his fingers tapping against the glass again. “…Maybe.”

Soon the silence stretched again only the sound of the faint tv in the background filtered everything in the apartment then Sang-woo exhaled, rolling the soju bottle between his fingers. “…It’s Ali.”

Gi-hun blinked. His chopsticks froze mid-air, a piece of meat halfway to his mouth. Slowly, he set it down, staring at Sang-woo like he had just spoken in another language.

“Ali?”

Sang-woo’s expression remained unreadable, but the slight stiffness in his posture gave him away. “Yes. Ali.”

Gi-hun squinted. “Ali… the one that works in SCN?”

Sang-woo let out a slow, measured breath. “Yes. That Ali.”

Gi-hun leaned back, letting out a short laugh. “Wow.” He shook his head, clearly trying to process. “If it were anyone else, I’d be telling you to be careful. But Ali? That changes everything.”

Sang-woo gave him a sharp look. “How?”

Gi-hun scoffed. “Because Ali isn’t just nice—he’s practically a saint! The guy spends all day taking care of kids, and he still has the patience to deal with you?” He shook his head, letting out a low whistle. “That alone should tell you something.”

Sang-woo looked away, his grip tightening around the bottle. “That’s the problem. He’s too nice. I don’t know if he treats me differently or if he’s just like that with everyone.”

Gi-hun hummed in thought, tilting his head. “Well… you’re not exactly the easiest person to be around.”

Sang-woo shot him a glare. “And?”

Gi-hun coughed lightly, waving off the tension in the air. “Listen,I know you’re a tough guy to deal with sometimes.” He grinned, but his tone softened. “But that’s exactly why Ali’s treating you differently. He sees past all that tough exterior. The guy’s got patience, something you don’t see often, and he’s not bothered by your… well, your gruffness.”

Sang-woo had just tilted his head in purse confusion.

“Okay how about you start off small.”

Sang-woo frowned, looking unconvinced. “Small? Like what?”

Gi-hun gave a casual shrug. “Well, maybe just ask Ali how his day is going. Nothing too intense. Maybe bring him a coffee or something. It’s a little gesture, but it shows you’re thinking of him. You don’t need to turn it into something huge, just something thoughtful.”

Sang-woo let out a quiet sigh, clearly trying to make sense of it all. “And you think that’ll make a difference?”

Gi-hun nodded, his expression serious now. “Yeah, I do. Ali’s a good guy—he’s probably not used to people doing those little things for him. If he’s used to giving all the time, he’ll notice when you give something back. It’ll show you care, without all the pressure.”

Sang-woo shifted in his seat, looking down at his hands, his mind working through the idea. “A coffee. That’s it?”

Gi-hun’s smile softened, almost reassuring. “It’s simple, but that’s the point. It’s not about doing something big; it’s about showing you’re paying attention to him. Small things add up, you know?”

Sang-woo looked pensive for a moment, then let out a small breath. “Okay. I’ll try it.”

Gi-hun nodded, his tone encouraging. “That’s all I’m asking. No need to overthink it. Just be genuine, and everything else will follow.” He gave him a small, approving smile. “You’ll do fine.”

                   ____________________

7:35 pm

In-ho was exhausted. His eyes burned from staring at his computer screen for too long, and the steady click-click of Ha-young’s pen only made his headache worse. She was clearly stuck on whatever piece of information she was researching, just as he was.

He had spent hours combing through records. Useless details that did nothing to push the case forward.

He exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his temple. The clock on the wall ticked mockingly, reminding him how little progress had been made. They were chasing a ghost, and the longer this dragged on, the colder the trail became.

Ha-young let out a slow, controlled breath, setting her pen down with a quiet clack. “This isn’t getting us anywhere,” she said, her tone sharp with frustration. “We have a timeline, records, and a list of places she’s been, but none of it tells us where she went after leaving that café. We need something concrete.”

In-ho didn’t respond immediately. His fingers tapped idly against the desk as he stared at the scattered documents. She was right—birthdays, school records, past addresses—none of it mattered unless it led them to Mi-seon’s whereabouts.

“There’s something we’re missing,” he muttered, flipping through a file again. His tired eyes scanned every line, searching for any overlooked detail. “People don’t just vanish. Someone saw her. Someone knows something.”

Ha-young exhaled sharply, glancing at the evidence board where Mi-seon’s school photo was pinned beside a timeline of her last known movements. “What about security footage from the café? Did we get access to it yet?”

“Lee Min-seok is handling that,” In-ho said, rubbing his temple. “The café owner’s being difficult—claiming privacy policies prevent them from handing it over.”

Ha-young scoffed, irritation flashing in her eyes. “Privacy policies? A twelve-year-old girl is missing, and they’re worried about policies?” She shook her head, her tone biting. “We can’t waste time playing nice with business owners who don’t want to cooperate.”

In-ho clenched his jaw. He hated dealing with people like that, but it wasn’t anything new. Some cared more about avoiding police involvement than actually helping an investigation.

“I’ll have Min-seok push harder,” he muttered, 

Ha-young crossed her arms, her frustration evident but controlled. “Do you think she ran away?”

In-ho paused. Runaway cases weren’t uncommon—kids left home all the time. But this one didn’t feel right.

“No,” he said firmly. “If she planned to leave, there’d be signs—money withdrawals, packed belongings, messages to friends. We have nothing like that.” He drummed his fingers against the desk, thinking through the possibilities. “Someone took her.”

Ha-young pressed her lips into a thin line, nodding once.

In-ho slouched against his chair, exhaling a long, tired sigh. The weight of the day settled over him like a thick fog, and he rolled his shoulders before raising his arms above his head in a slow, deliberate stretch. His muscles ached from hours of tension, and a quiet groan slipped past his lips.

“Tired?” Ha-young asked without looking up, her attention fixed on the stack of paperwork in front of her.

In-ho didn’t bother with a verbal response, merely humming in acknowledgment.

“This is just the start for me,” she continued, her gaze flicking toward the clock ticking steadily on the wall. “I usually don’t leave the office until midnight.”

“Tragic,” In-ho muttered dryly, the sarcasm evident in his voice. He slouched lower Into his chair staring at the clock as If time could skip ahead. 

                   _________________

Friday 

 7:15 pm

Days flew by, and exhaustion weighed heavily on In-ho. Late nights at the office had become routine, leaving him drained. More often than not, he had to call Jun-ho to pick up Hae-jin and look after her, a fact that only added to his frustration. It was all too much—work, responsibility, and the gnawing feeling that they were getting nowhere with the case.

He clicked his pen absentmindedly, the rhythmic sound filling the otherwise silent room. His tired eyes skimmed over the documents glowing on his computer screen, but the words blurred together in his fatigue. The reports were nothing but recycled information—redundant, frustratingly inconclusive.

With a sigh, In-ho leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple before moving the cursor to close the current file. 

As the next window loaded, In-ho’s focus wavered. The case files no longer held his attention—his mind was elsewhere. His thoughts drifted to something, or rather someone, entirely unrelated to his work.

Seong Gi-hun.

It had been days since they last spoke. The last time In-ho saw him was when he had helped Gi-hun to his room after his shift. The man had been utterly drained, barely able to keep himself upright. In-ho hadn’t thought much of it at the time—just another exhausted worker pushing himself too hard. But now, for some reason, the memory lingered.

He could still recall the way he placed his hand on Gi-huns shoulder, too tired to protest as In-ho half-carried him inside. The warmth of his skin, the weight of him—it was all strangely vivid. Gi-hun, usually so talkative and annoyingly upbeat, had been quiet that night. His exhaustion had stripped away his usual energy, leaving him looking vulnerable in a way that unsettled In-ho.

Had he been eating properly? Sleeping enough? In-ho scoffed, annoyed at himself for even wondering. Gi-hun was a grown man—he could take care of himself.

Probably.

In-ho sat back in his chair, fingers tapping against his desk. He had work to do. Things far more important than some man who had nothing to do with him.

But his thoughts refused to stay where they belonged.

Because the truth was, he didn’t know if Gi-hun was fine.

And for some reason, that bothered him.

With a quiet sigh, he clicked on a tab that read “Records and Information”, fingers hesitating for only a second before typing in the name: Seong Gi-hun.

The results popped up immediately.

A familiar, stupidly cheerful photo stared back at him—Gi-hun with that same lopsided grin, giving a thumbs-up like he had no worries in the world. In-ho exhaled sharply, something tightening in his chest. His eyes drifted to the information beside the image.

Name. Date of birth. Age. Phone number.

He lingered there.

In-ho sat at his desk, staring at his phone. The screen was dark, his reflection barely visible in the glass. His fingers hovered over it, tense, unsure. He could call. It would take nothing—just a press of a button, a few rings, and Gi-hun’s voice on the other end.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. His jaw clenched. His body was wound tight, restless, like he was fighting something invisible. It wasn’t like him to hesitate. It wasn’t like him to care.

And yet, here he was, wondering if Gi-hun was still feeling like hell, wondering if he had eaten, if he had slept, if he was still trying to mask exhaustion with that damn forced laughter of his.

In-ho groaned, dragging his hands across his face. 

                    ________________

9:00 PM

On his way home, In-ho stopped by a small restaurant, ordering food— for two. He hesitated for a moment before placing the bills onto the counter, pressing his lips into a firm line. Why he had gotten extra, he wasn’t entirely sure. At least, that’s what he told himself.

With the warm takeout bags in hand, he strolled back to his car, his mind elsewhere as he drove through the dimly lit streets.

_____

When he arrived at his apartment building, In-ho gave the receptionist a curt nod, receiving a lazy smile in return. The lobby was quiet at this hour, just the faint hum of the elevator filling the space. As soon as the doors slid open, he stepped inside, the soft chime marking his floor.

He walked down the hall, stopping at apartment 456.

Taking a sharp breath, In-ho lifted his fist and knocked.

There was a rustling sound from the other side, followed by Gi-hun’s familiar voice.

“Coming!”

He sounded awake—lively, even. The kind of energy In-ho remembered from their first meeting.

A few seconds later, the door creaked open, revealing Gi-hun’s tall figure. His dark hair was slightly tousled, but one neat strand had fallen between his eyes. The loose-fitting scrubs he wore hung from his lean frame, the fabric shifting as he leaned against the door.

In-ho had never seen Gi-hun look so—Well put together. 

Gi-hun blinked, then tilted his head slightly, his lips curling in an amused smile. “In-ho?”

In-ho met his gaze, forcing himself to hold steady even as he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck.

“I brought you food,” he muttered, shifting the bag in his hands.

“I see that.” Gi-hun’s lips curled slightly as he raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking between In-ho and the bag in his hands. 

In-ho, ever the composed one, said nothing. Instead, he extended the takeout bag toward Gi-hun, his fingers tightening briefly around the handles before letting go. His posture was stiff, his expression unreadable, but there was something almost hesitant in the way he held out the food—like he wasn’t sure why he had even brought it in the first place.

Gi-hun eyed him for a moment longer before reaching out, his fingers brushing against In-ho’s as he took the bag. The touch was fleeting, insignificant even, but it sent a small jolt through the space between them.

“Would you like to come in?”

In-ho hesitated for a moment, inhaling slowly before giving a short nod. “Sure.”

Gi-hun stepped aside, making room for him to enter.

As In-ho stepped inside, he took in the apartment’s dim lighting and the warmth that lingered in the air. The space was modest but inviting, a stark contrast to his own cold. A faint scent of laundry detergent and something uniquely Gi-hun clung to the air—a mix of warmth and familiarity.

The soft glow of a nearby lamp cast gentle shadows against the walls, and a blanket was draped haphazardly over the couch, evidence that Gi-hun had likely been lounging there before In-ho arrived. The atmosphere was lived-in, comfortable, and strangely… welcoming.

Gi-hun carried the takeout bag toward the small dining table near the kitchen, placing it down before pulling out two sets of chopsticks and napkins. In-ho followed, taking a seat across from him with his usual stiff posture, his fingers idly smoothing out a crease in the tablecloth.

The food’s aroma filled the room as Gi-hun unpacked the containers, setting them between them. He glanced up at In-ho, his eyes twinkling with something teasing yet knowing.

“So, you were worried about me?” he asked, his voice light but laced with curiosity.

In-ho, who had just reached for his chopsticks, froze for a fraction of a second. His grip tightened before he inhaled sharply, as if debating whether to even entertain the question. He exhaled through his nose, then finally looked up, meeting Gi-hun’s gaze with an unreadable expression.

“No.” he said, his voice quieter than before.

Gi-hun’s breath hitched a little. Then his eyes examined In-ho closer. His hands lingered on his face and his foot tapped absentmindedly against the floor.

Gi-hun hummed, the sound amused but not entirely convinced. He picked up a piece of beef and popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he observed In-ho. The detective’s usual stoic expression was firmly in place, but there was something else there—something flickering behind his sharp eyes, like a man caught in a lie but too stubborn to admit it.

“Mm.” Gi-hun swallowed, tapping his chopsticks against the edge of the container. “So, you just happened to show up at my door with food?”

In-ho didn’t flinch, but his jaw tensed, his fingers tightening around his chopsticks. “You looked half-dead the last time I saw you.”

Gi-hun huffed out a quiet laugh. “Oh, so you are worried.”

In-ho scoffed, a sharp exhale through his nose as he picked up a piece of food with unnecessary precision. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he muttered, popping it into his mouth with an air of indifference.

Gi-hun grinned, resting his elbow on the table as he propped his chin in his hand. “I don’t have to. You’re doing all the work for me.”

In-ho clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes as he stabbed at his food with more force than necessary. “You’re insufferable.”

Gi-hun chuckled, taking another bite, chewing leisurely. “And yet, here you are. Sitting in my apartment. eating with me. I must be very insufferable Mr. Hwang.” 

In-ho scowled, but the intensity of it softened as time passed, and they fell into an unexpectedly comfortable rhythm of conversation. One topic led to another—old movies, the best food in the city, and a hilarious story about Gi-hun almost being kicked out of a jjimjilbang for snoring too loudly.

In-ho’s shoulders relaxed without him realizing it.

Before either of them knew it, nearly an hour had passed.

Gi-hun stretched, letting out a soft groan as he rubbed his neck, then glanced at the clock. His eyes widened slightly. “Damn it. My shift starts in half an hour.” He quickly grabbed his coat from the back of the couch.

In-ho leaned back, arms crossed, watching him. “You sure you’re gonna be there in time?”

Gi-hun shrugged as he slipped his arms into the sleeves. “I’ll make it. The last bus should be here soon, and if not, I’ll just walk the rest of the way—”

In-ho exhaled sharply, then stood. “I’ll drive you.”

Gi-hun froze, his coat only halfway on. He blinked at In-ho as if he hadn’t heard him right. “Huh?”

In-ho scowled, his voice low and firm. “I said I’ll drive you. Or would you rather run there in the cold?”

“I’ll go with option one.”

___

The cool, warm air filtered through the interior of In-ho’s car, mingling with the faint hum of a daily talk show playing softly on the radio. Gi-hun gazed out the window, his elbow resting on the armrest, the rhythm of the car’s movement easing him into a quiet, contemplative silence.

The city lights blurred as they passed, casting fleeting reflections across the glass. Gi-hun’s gaze followed the shifting shadows outside, lost in thought, while the radio host’s voice faded into the background. The car’s engine hummed steadily, the only real sound between them, a silence that somehow felt less uncomfortable than expected.

In-ho’s gaze flickered over to Gi-hun, his eyes narrowing slightly as he noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor. The quiet, contemplative look on Gi-hun’s face seemed to deepen the further they drove, as though he was carrying a weight only he could feel.

“You seem miserable now that you have to go to work,” In-ho said, his voice flat but laced with an underlying curiosity. He couldn’t quite place why the observation had slipped out, but there it was, hanging in the air between them.

Gi-hun blinked, startled by the sudden comment, before he let out a small, dry laugh. He didn’t immediately respond, but after a moment, he shrugged lightly, his eyes still fixed on the passing lights.

“My job isn’t really anything to be excited about,” Gi-hun said. He shifted slightly in his seat, the weight of his words lingering in the air. “It’s just one patient after another. Or maybe even the same person again that I have to take care of. It’s all just— a draining routine.”

In-ho nodded in understanding, pressing his lips into a thin line. The steady hum of the car engine filled the silence between them as the city lights flickered past the windshield.

“Maybe try to think of any good things at your workplace,” In-ho said, his voice even but contemplative. “Are there any things that cheer you up or make you feel better?” His eyes remained fixed on the road ahead, his fingers tapping a slow, rhythmic pattern against the steering wheel.

Gi-hun almost gave himself whiplash with how fast he turned to look at In-ho, his brows raised in disbelief.

“I never thought Hwang In-ho, of all people, would be giving me advice on how to feel better,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. A crooked grin tugged at his lips as he leaned back in his seat, studying In-ho’s profile as if searching for signs that this was some sort of elaborate joke.

In-ho exhaled softly, his grip tightening on the steering wheel for a brief moment before he relaxed his hands again. The neon lights from the storefronts they passed cast fleeting colors across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the furrow of his brow.

“I’m not completely heartless, you know,” In-ho finally muttered, his voice calm but edged with something Gi-hun couldn’t quite place.

Gi-hun chuckled, shaking his head. “Well I never said you were Inho-yah. It’s just, you don’t exactly strike me as the ‘Cheer someone up’  type.”

“I’m not.”

“Exactly my point.” Gi-hun stretched out his legs, letting out a dramatic sigh. “But hey, if you’re asking, I guess there are some good things at work. My friend Jung-bae, for one. He’s a pain sometimes, but at least he makes things entertaining.” 

“Well then maybe focus on speaking with Jung-bae when you can.”

Gi-hun hummed, tilting his head in consideration. “Yeah… I guess that wouldn’t be so bad. He always has something to complain about, keeps things interesting. A few days ago, he went on a whole rant about the vending machine stealing his money. You’d think the guy lost his life savings.”

In-ho made a noncommittal sound, his fingers still tapping lightly against the steering wheel. The city lights flickered across the windshield as they drove in silence for a moment, the hum of the engine filling the space between them.

“You look drained already,” In-ho remarked, glancing at Gi-hun out of the corner of his eye.

Gi-hun let out a dramatic sigh, stretching his arms out before letting them fall back into his lap. “Drained" is an understatement, my friend. I think I might just pass out on the receptionist’s desk the second I walk in, which is why coffee is my best friend at this rate.”

In-ho didn’t answer right away. Instead, he flicked on the turn signal as they neared the hospital. “You work long hours, deal with a lot of stress. It’s normal to feel burnt out.”

Gi-hun turned his head, looking at him with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Wow, you almost sound like you care, Inho-ssi. Should I be touched?”

In-ho scoffed. “Don’t push it.”

The car rolled to a slow stop in front of the hospital entrance. The headlights illuminated the quiet sidewalk, the glass doors reflecting their glow.

“Well, thank you for the ride,” Gi-hun said, unbuckling his seatbelt. “And the advice. I’ll try my best to be less of a wreck at work.” He flashed a lopsided grin. “No promises.”

In-ho simply nodded, his expression unreadable. “You’re already late.”

Gi-hun groaned dramatically as he opened the door. “Ugh, don’t remind me.” He stepped out, stretching his arms above his head before turning back with a cheerful wave. “See you, Inho-ssi! Don’t miss me too much!”

In-ho didn’t respond, but as Gi-hun walked toward the hospital doors, he caught a glimpse of him in the rearview mirror—watching him, just for a second, before the car pulled away into the city streets.