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There’s a certain level of coincidence to all events, some may call it the butterfly effect. Inho himself had no clue that walking Junho to the doors of the precinct on a whim would result in seeing Gihun for the first time. A slight glance of a man in a raggedy oversized top, a cream blazer and battered cap looking stressed on the phone, pacing on the path at the base of the stairs. He’d said goodbye to his brother and gone back to his office, the stranger gone from his mind as quickly as he categorised him into ‘civilian, non-threat.’
Of course that changed when he left that night, rain bouncing and striking the world outside in iced bursts and found the man sitting down at the top of the stairs. Soaked to the bone and huffing on a cigarette the man made quite the pathetic figure. He also makes quite the curious figure given the hours spent outside and Inho corrected his behaviour accordingly, moving his umbrella from over himself to shield the stranger and waited until that innocuous act was noticed.
It took a few beats but soon enough he sees the man do a double take and move to glance up at him. Round faced, hair still surprisingly fluffy despite how rain sodden it is and a truly miserable expression. His eyes are wide, dark and glistening slightly, unshed tears perhaps? It’s an admittedly bad habit of Inho’s to try and dissect what is going on with someone based on cursory looks and assumptions. His hamartia, the fatal flaw of a detective who clawed his way up the ranks earlier through practice of hypervigilance.
“Are you alright sir?” He asks, head cocking to the side slightly as he gives the man’s outfit a more thorough once over, the material of most of it seems to be linen - good for summer wear, thin. Not suited for the torrential downpour in the intermediary months between the bitter wisps of winter and early hints at spring. “Not to assume but most don’t enjoy sitting outside a precinct in this weather,” He says, taking a half step down and leaning over slightly. It is rather cold out, even under his thicker coat and suit, and Inho can feel his hair starting to escape the grip of the gel he puts on every morning.
The man huffs, taking a long drag as his shoulders slump, “Buy me a bottle of soju and I might tell you,” and Inho can feel his lips quirk in a heavily amused smile, unusual for him even in his best moods. Certainly not the norm after a long day filing reports and dead ends on recent minor cases.
With a long swooping motion, drawing his jacket firmly under his legs, Inho sits down. Thankfully they both fit under the umbrella, and he’s more than happy to tease, “I don’t have a bottle on me now but we can walk a bit down to see if a local bar has one.”
The stranger openly gapes at him, he does suppose they make quite the strange pair, a detective in a full suit and a straggly alley cat of a man whose soaked to the bone sat outside in the rain together. People are like thread and figuring them out in like unpicking a bit of sewing, usually by now the string is neatly spooled again and understanding has been achieved; however, the man next to him is proving to be quite the stubborn knot, little to no information to be gleaned from him. Crinkles at the corner of his eyes and smile lines contrast how they've gone puffy and red-rimmed with his face set into a truly miserable pout around the cigarette. Inho can feel his fingers twitch, a certain itch in his throat.
Whatever, that is not of importance right now; although, what is of importance is the slightest furrow of the man's brow, the barest indication of a wrinkle between them, and the most minute squint. It's exciting trying to figure out what emotion is in those eyes, suspicion maybe? Hesitancy? Apprehension? Or just plain curiosity? It's not a normal day when someone you don't know sits and offers a bottle of soju. Albeit, it's not a normal day when someone spends at least five hours outside of the precinct looking like a sodden, downtrodden animal.
“Ah, where are my manners?” He corrects, glancing upwards for a split second and seeing a timid amusement flit across his stranger's face, “ I'm Inho, Hwang Inho.”
He offers a hand and is pleasantly surprised when it's taken and shook. Firm, slightly calloused and untrimmed but bitten nails. A physical worker maybe? Someone who deals with nerves frequently.
“Seong Gihun,” comes the response, the voice softer now, less bitter. Perhaps being forced to interact with someone longer than a snide comment has pruned his anger?
“So,” Inho asks, finally letting go of Gihun’s hand after cataloguing a faded scar near the base of his thumb, “about that bottle?” A strange eagerness coats his tone, fitting strangely like an old jacket now too tight around the shoulders.
Gihun stares at him for a moment longer, eyes unblinking as if they’re trying to figure him out, his next move but not figuring it out. Inho can’t really bring himself to look away either, but that’s another thread to chase on a different day. Mild suspicion fails to hide in his tone as Gihun says, “Alright,” shuffling slightly til their knees bump, “What bar?"
Blinking, Inho recommends the first one that comes to mind, he hasn’t frequented bars since the period after his wife died. Gihun looks mildly put out before asking, “Are you sure you're a local?”
“What are you implying by that?” He asks, leaning in slightly. He keeps noticing interesting things, like the beginnings of a peach fuzz on his upper lip and a healed over piercing on both of his ears. It’s the innocuous things, the tiniest of minute details that he seems to keep noticing, eyes tripping over themselves to find a new feature to turn over in his mind.
“Everyone knows that my buddy Jungbae’s place is better than that,” It’s amusing seeing how haughty Gihun gets near immediately, arms crossing as he draws himself up and back slightly before leaning back under the umbrella the minute he remembers how harsh the rain is.
After a prolonged hum, Inho decides to provoke the man more with, “Are you sure you aren’t just advertising?”
—
After that lengthy rant they get moving, Inho standing first and trying his best not to send a downpour onto his companion - who is much taller than him. That is unexpected. It’s not often Inho finds himself close enough to someone that he has to actively crane his neck up to meet their eyes; recently, it's only been Junho that makes him look up, the usual bratty younger sibling move.
Gihun takes a long drag of his cigarette, looking at Inho out of the corner of his eye before offering it, saying, “You keep looking at it.” Quite atypical that he’s the one getting read, smoking’s always been a bad habit, one he promised to quit the moment Junho went through his first anti-smoking PSA. It never really stuck but he’d been doing alright recently - and if it was because his brother roots through his pockets and bags to see if he has any that's between him and the security footage of the precinct.
He takes the offered item, taking a quick drag, before passing it back and chalking the tingle in his lips up to the nicotine. He’s savouring the relief of finally scratching that itch, nothing else.
—-
When he finally follows Gihun into the establishment he notices a few key things. One, it's relatively quiet, although, it can be argued that it's due to it being a Thursday night. Two, the bartender perks up upon seeing Gihun, an easy grin that crinkles his whole face upwards. Moreover, a few sat around the bar looking up with half smiles, slight waves and murmured greetings. Well liked or notorious? That is the question surrounding his thoughts towards his companion.
Inho himself is not a subtle man, in action and behaviour yes but in form he’s noticeable. From the remarkable if not confusing similarity to a certain actor - of that he’s very aware, thank you Junho - to his build. He’s not short by any means but he’s not overly tall but he’s stocky with broad shoulders and a build defined by strict training. All this is why it’s no surprise that a few of Gihun’s compatriots at the bar do a double take, registering how he looks fast, taking in his face before looking away with a distinctive aura of recognition. As always it's amusing to see how those on the edge of the law react.
He simply follows Gihun, the low yellow light softening the tension on his frame. It’s rather clear now why Gihun insisted they come here, it isn’t because it's “the place to be” but for the inherent comfort of being A. at a place he knows and B. surrounded by people he knows. Silly how he overlooked that, he’s supposed to be the current up'n comer of the police. Maybe he’s off his game, crazy what… cigarettes, can do to a person’s thought process.
They sit together, Gihun leaning forward on his elbows and waving the bartender over. This is when he learns the bartender is also the, “Owner of this fine establishment Gihun told me about,” who he offers a hand to as he speaks, “I’m Inho, Hwang Inho, pleasure to meet you.”
Jungbae has a firm handshake, the same calluses that indicate a similar blue-collar background as Gihun, probably where they made their acquaintance, and he still has that big smile as he nods and pokes fun at Gihun, noting how, “This guy is always collecting the most random groups of people, just as he befriends the strays,” Jungbae straightens for half a second, passing a patron their ordered drinks, “Now you one of his strays? Either way, what can I get you?”
“Two bottles of soju please,” He responds, ignoring the stray comment, if anything Gihun is the stray here. A loose end Inho finds himself picking at relentlessly. “We made a little deal on information exchange.”
There are sudden heated darted looks between the two men. Interesting. Before Gihun, loudly, and rather melodramatically, mopes about how “You’ll never guess what she’s gone and done now!”
“You’ve got him started on that?” Jungbae says with a grimace towards Inho, “You’ll need more than two bottles to survive that, this guy once you get him started he goes on and on and on.”
“Hey,” Gihun pouts, “I'm going through something you have to be nice to me.”
“I’ve already given you your fill of free drinks this week.” It’s like watching a tennis match, years of friendship emphasised in their bickering. It’s these little interactions that reveal so much.
“Alas I'm the one paying for him so more free drinks for one Gihun,” Inho says with a little grin as he slides one of the bottles passed to him over to the man of the hour. “Now, what about what had you outside the precinct for so long?”
“My wife is divorcing me,” Yikes. Well. That explains the tan line on his ring finger. He ignores that part of him that perks up, the little whisper of ‘so he’s single?’ It’s irrelevant and a rather inappropriate thought and one that he banishes quickly. “You don’t seem all that surprised,” Gihun says, eyes narrowed.
“It’s part of my job to appear unflappable,” Inho explains, head tilting as he elaborates, “To be direct, I didn’t realise you were married at all, so that revelation was a surprise.” Truly he wishes he could say he’s sorry for their marital issues, unfortunately, that quiet part of himself is still there.
“Ah,” Gihun blinks, before taking a long swallow of his drink and beginning his grand rant, “It’s because she’s started having an emotional affair with someone she met at work, some business guy.” With a scowl and a bitter tone Gihun adds, “She wants to take my daughter too. Full Custody.”
“No wonder you spent all that time in the rain.” Inho responds, he can feel how his eyes have stretched wide and his eyebrows have reached upwards. He didn’t intend to be funny, Gihun laughs anyways.
“You’re an asshole,” Gihun says, his amusement seemingly fueled by resentment at his situation.
“I’m a cop,” He responds, blunt.
“True,” Gihun acquiesces.
—-
“I’m not convinced,” Gihun says, words slightly slurred over his bottle of soju - Inho lost count of what one it is, unusual for him but today is full of new experiences, such as their current argument - “surrealism? It’s just wacky lines.”
“You don’t get it,” Inho sniffs, outrage diluted by the cozy atmosphere the two of them had fostered, “Both surrealism and expressionism depict the true human experience, they separate their art from reality to get to the real core of emotion and life without the restrictions of physical perception.”
“Are you just reciting what a book says about those genres?” Gihun asks, leaning closer into their little bubble, “The way you talk is very similar to a dictionary.”
“It’s subjective.”
“That’s not a response.”
“Yes it is,” He grumbles into his bottle.
—-
“He’s a sweetheart!” The other man defends, hand pressed to his chest.
Staring in disbelief, Inho repeats, “That cat definitely has rabies.”
“He’s very polite,” Gihun reaffirms, “Just because he hissed when I offered him water.”
“How is that polite? Hissing is objectively impolite,” Inho argues, gesturing in tight motions in stark contrast to the overt dramatics of Gihun.
“He’s ginger, he doesn't understand that!”
—-
“So my brother keeps trying to investigate my love life,” Inho elaborates, “He found tags from flowers in my apartment and concluded I had a girlfriend and began gossiping about.” Trying his best to channel all of the eldest sibling frustration he can, Inho says, deadpan, “Mother’s day had been three days before.”
“Really?” Gihun snorts, “Didn’t you say your brother is supposed to be a detective? How’d he go and forget that?”
“I’ve no idea,” Inho says, running a hand through his hair and trying not to huff in annoyance when it falls down in front of his face, “But if he keeps trying to disgrace the Hwang name I’ll have to ask for my kidney back. He should still have the receipt”
He’d chosen the wrong moment for that comment, Gihun had just been taking a sip of his drink. The resulting coughing fit was rather amusing.
—-
“Oh no,” Inho can feel a smile tugging at his lips, an inappropriate reaction to the story being told.
“Oh yes,” Gihun nods empathetically, “This man has just decapitated two of his fingers and I’m trying to find something to stop the blood but all I can find is this singular bandaid.”
“You didn’t” He says.
“I did,” Gihun confirms, hiding his mouth behind his hand for a second, “What else could I do? Pass him a grease rag?”
—-
“It's a good song!” Gihun defends, arms crossed.
“If you insist on putting it on the jukebox one more time I will break it,” Inho threatens, by all means if it had been only played once or twice before he would be in agreement with the other man. Given this was the fifth time, he’s out of appreciation for the guitar, no matter how much its praises are sung by Gihun.
—-
Come the end of the night Inho is more than a little tipsy and Gihun himself is approaching the wrong side of drunk. They stand outside together, under that same umbrella as earlier whilst he tries to flag down a taxi to get the man home safe. His curiosity is satiated for now, the knot unpicked. Unfortunately he wants to keep unravelling this thread, giving Gihun his number and the promise of a future call. He can’t really keep pulling now due to the fog of alcohol messing with how he thinks.
He pays for Gihun’s tab, watching the other man slip into the cab with an almost forlorn pit in his chest. Strange. Maybe it's the isolation of his job finally catching up to him. Either way, Seong Gihun is quite the fascinating man, and he’s going to continue to investigate to his heart’s content.
For now he needs to flag his own taxi down. There’s always another day.