Chapter Text
i. albert
The gravel crunches under his heel as he makes the trek towards the Lee household, the gate left ajar as always that it merely requires the slightest application of force to open.
Han Joowon strides in, losing confidence in each step. By his tenth (he’s counted), he’s standing next to where there used to be a statue of a fallen angel, now occupied by a gnome carved out of marble.
It smiles rather menacingly, as if in mockery. Like it can tell how he’s contemplating if he should go back to his car or not.
He tears his eyes away from it, taking a deep breath and climbing the steps up the porch, and when he’s casting a shadow against the frosted glass of Lee Dongsik’s front door, he does something he’s never done before.
Han Joowon presses the doorbell.
He’s holding his breath when there’s a shuffle of movement from the other side—he has prepared for the worst and somehow convinced himself that Dongsik might not be here. But since he is, Joowon finds himself steeling, fists clenching inside the pockets of his coat.
When the door swings open, Dongsik’s surprise is in the form of a blink. Followed by another.
Dongsik takes a good look at him, from head to foot and back up, then abruptly whips his head towards the direction of the doorbell. A small smile is already resting on the corner of his mouth.
Joowon is overcome with the temptation to kiss it, and the enormity of his desire as well as its ferocity nearly overwhelm him. A year later and nothing’s changed. All Lee Dongsik has to do is breathe and Joowon is attuned to him, so responsive like Dongsik is some virtuoso and he’s simply a waiting, abandoned instrument.
“What’s this?” Dongsik asks, voice rich with unbridled amusement. “Inspector Han Joowon, ringing my doorbell? Finally?”
“Were you waiting for me to do that?” Joowon asks back. They haven’t seen each other since the late Chief’s death anniversary, and it’s been two full weeks since then.
“A part of me is surprised that you finally figured out that this house has a doorbell,” Dongsik says, turning that delighted smile towards him. Joowon is defenseless against it; he missed its warmth. “You used to break and enter via the basement.”
Joowon’s nose scrunches; he’s not fond of the memory. But Dongsik obviously is, because he laughs at Joowon’s expression.
“I may have missed you doing that, if I’m being honest,” Dongsik adds, and there’s a glint in his eyes that Joowon decides to latch onto.
“And are you?” Joowon asks. His heart may have ceased beating; he can’t quite tell. “Being honest, I mean.”
“That depends,” Dongsik answers vaguely, opening the door wider. Unexpectedly, he bows in front of Joowon, in greeting and in exaggerated politeness. “It’s been a while, Inspector Han. What brings you to Manyang?”
To you, Joowon wants to say, to correct him. But he sees the way Dongsik looks at him when he straightens, like all the friendliness and familiarity Dongsik exhibited earlier has scattered back inside him, tucked away and replaced by a civility that Joowon doesn’t understand and wants to do away with.
He supposes it was too much to expect that Dongsik will always treat him in that particularly flirty manner that he has long been accustomed to. This Dongsik seems to have caught himself in time, and instead of falling back into old habits and dropping playful comments, he smiles at Joowon and waits for answers.
Joowon needed the time away to forgive himself, to accept that Manyang will forever have a hold on him and he’s not just Han Kihwan’s son atoning for sins he never committed. But the time he spent away from here also created this distance between himself and Dongsik that he has no idea how to fix.
In his periphery, he catches the gnome’s annoying grin.
“Your statue is horrifying,” he finds himself saying before he can help it. He winces as soon as the words are out; they come off scathingly rude for no reason at all.
Joowon wants to do things right. This time. He had plans. He’s made plans! He drove here and rang the doorbell like any normal person would’ve—should’ve, a long time ago. But he’s here to make amends, to correct mistakes, and possibly, selfishly, do the one thing he’s never managed to do before.
But one casual comment from Dongsik implying that he was missed and he’s in shambles, his thoughts muddled.
Dongsik is laughing now, in quiet huffs that cause his shoulders to tremble and for lines to appear surrounding his eyes. Whatever momentary panic Joowon fell into has dissipated when Dongsik meets his eyes.
“That’s Albert,” Dongsik says.
“Albert,” Joowon repeats, deadpan, the English name rolling smoothly on his tongue.
“Albert,” Dongsik echoes with a nod, ending in another laugh. He’s a siren in Joowon’s eyes and ears.
“Who named him?” Joowon asks. Albert and his exasperating, cheeky grin and his little jaunty hat painted red. At Dongsik’s expression, Joowon already knows the answer, so he tries another: “When did you name him? And why name him that?”
“Just now,” Dongsik says. “And because you’re making that expression.” Dongsik points at him, his smile broadening as Joowon sighs.
“I’m not here for the gnome,” Joowon tells him. Here’s Lee Dongsik, lighter in his footsteps and more generous with his smiles, and he thinks that Joowon came all this way to be introduced to a stupid garden gnome.
“He has a name,” Dongsik says, just to be infuriating.
Joowon missed him.
He sighs, hiding his smile by lowering his head.
“Have you had dinner?” he asks instead, lifting his face just in time to see Dongsik blink in surprise.
Dongsik recovers in the next second, hand clutching his heart. The disbelieving laugh that he lets out doesn’t deter Joowon. If anything, it makes him bolder.
“Gosh, Inspector Han,” Dongsik drawls, his coy smile not reaching his eyes. “Aren’t you moving too fast? I haven’t seen you in two weeks and suddenly you’re here, calling Albert ugly before asking me out. Shouldn’t you have texted first?”
Joowon has noticed three important things because while he’s had his fair share of stupidity when Dongsik is involved, he’s not totally hopeless and he remembers everything Dongsik has ever said:
- Dongsik has counted the days too. Two weeks.
- Dongsik knows he’s being asked out to dinner.
- Dongsik is telling him what to do, how to do it right.
Wordlessly, Joowon pulls out his phone, types a quick message that he sends to Dongsik’s number.
Joowon watches, a little mesmerized as the mirth on Dongsik’s face is replaced by barely concealed embarrassment, his eyes widening when his phone pings with a message and he reads what it says.
I’m in Manyang, Joowon’s text reads. Do you want to have dinner?
Dongsik’s incredulous chuckle makes half of his body double over, and he’s wiping the corner of his eye when he straightens back.
“What am I going to do with you?” Dongsik asks, his tone akin to that time he asked Joowon to arrest him. All that history between them and Joowon wants the future as well.
Say yes, Joowon thinks, but finds himself not brave enough to say it. Not yet. He’s never handled rejection before; it was always the other party doing the pursuing and being subsequently turned down. He doesn’t know what to do if Dongsik says no.
So he says the opposite, helplessly honest.
“Don’t say no,” he mutters, hoping it’s lost to the evening wind and Dongsik won’t hear it, his heartbeat accompanying each syllable.
Dongsik is peering at him, head tilted as he studies Joowon’s face. Joowon feels himself react, warmth traveling from the back of his ears down to his neck.
“Where?” Dongsik asks quietly, like this is a secret they share.
“There’s this place in Seoul,” Joowon tries, blinking when he realizes he sounds too hopeful, too open. Dongsik hasn’t even agreed yet. “But if you don’t want that, then—”
Dongsik is nodding, effectively silencing him. “Seoul,” he repeats. Then he gestures to himself: to his ripped jeans, faded shirt, and the rather worn jacket thrown over it. “Am I dressed appropriately for it? I’m underprepared, you see.”
“You’re fine,” Joowon says immediately, looking away when Dongsik smiles gently, softly.
“This is why you should text,” Dongsik says. “What if I wasn’t here?”
“I did text,” Joowon counters.
Dongsik opens his mouth, but the retort Joowon has expected doesn’t come. Instead he laughs, undeniably delighted as he nods. “All right. I guess you did. Lead the way, Inspector Han.”
Joowon looks at him like he’s not real; Dongsik is saying yes. Not explicitly, but he’s agreed, and now Joowon’s stomach is in knots and he wonders if it’s too forward if he tries to hold Dongsik’s hand tonight.
Maybe it is. His hands clench inside his pockets as he reins in the temptation to reach out.
Still, Joowon can’t help himself. Just to confirm, he tries, “You—”
Dongsik doesn’t let him finish. “Even if you’re mean to Albert.”
“He’s hideous,” Joowon reiterates, descending from the porch and trying not to be too happy at the sound of Dongsik following him.
“You’ll change your mind about him eventually,” Dongsik says with a certainty that Joowon has no idea what’s the source of, but finds himself believing already.
Five dinners and one lunch later, Albert is the only spectator present when Joowon finally gathers the courage to reach for Dongsik’s hand.
Albert is still ugly in Joowon’s eyes, but Joowon no longer has the urge to replace him with something else. Like Dongsik and everything in this house and this yard, Albert feels like home.
——
ii. writer
By the seventh date, Joowon has catalogued and memorized the subtle changes in Dongsik’s mannerisms and tendencies that only happened in the year they hadn’t seen each other.
Dongsik still hikes to Mount Simju, but he no longer carries a pack of uncooked noodles with him. Joowon’s glad to know this; he’s never been in favor of Dongsik and his unhealthful eating habits.
Ordinary citizen Lee Dongsik possesses a green thumb, something he says he inherited from his mother. He had plans to continue the family business before his twin disappeared, and now that the past is behind him, he’s picking up gardening again.
He shows Joowon his garden patch, the entwining vines that wrapped around the ropes of the swing attached to the hollow tree in the front yard. Dongsik sits on it, rocking back and forth with his heels when he says something that makes Joowon stop.
“You shouldn’t do this.” The words are carried by the wind, and all implications of it leave an unpleasant taste in Joowon’s mouth that’s not attributed to the spiciness of the stew that they shared earlier.
“Do what?” he asks, hoping it doesn’t mean what he thinks it means.
Dongsik has gathered enough momentum that the swing moves on its own. “This,” he says, gesturing between them. “Spending time with an old man like me. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
There’s an insistent pressure in Joowon’s ribcage that threatens to suffocate him, and he barrels past it by breathing through his nose. “Is that why you think I’m doing this? Out of guilt? Of pity?”
He can’t look at Dongsik. It’s hard to reconcile what he’s hearing from Dongsik’s mouth to the man from earlier, the one who smiled at his stories about Gangwon and his colleagues there.
They had such a lovely time tonight. Was it all in Joowon’s mind?
He backtracks, contemplating. Has he misjudged this after all? Had Dongsik been seeing it like this all this time, mistaking Joowon’s interest for atonement?
Distantly, Joowon realizes that he’s hurting. It feels foreign that he’s experiencing pain that’s no longer attributed to Han Kihwan and his machinations. As if Joowon has finally severed that rotting tether that binds him to the family name.
It’s liberating yet crushing at the same time.
“I’ve forgiven you a long time ago,” Dongsik says, and there’s that soft smile again, reassuring and so tender that Joowon aches. He doesn’t want it. “So you don’t have to keep doing this. Visiting me, having meals with me. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. No need to burden yourself with a deadweight like me.”
The sharp sting in his chest makes the corner of his eyes water, and Joowon looks away to blink the tears back. He feels like drowning. He curls one hand into a fist and presses it against his heart.
“You told me once,” he begins, each word passing between clenched teeth, “that I shouldn’t do anything to be sorry for, ever again. This isn’t me being sorry for anything.”
“Then what is it?” Dongsik asks, not quite looking at him. Joowon wishes that he would, then perhaps he’ll see. “Pity?” Dongsik laughs then, unamused and short. “There’s no need for that. I’ll be fine.”
Joowon shuts his eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath. Was he not forward enough? He’s held Dongsik’s hand more than once already, has shared small, meaningful smiles with him countless times. Was Dongsik merely indulging him?
Has Joowon been wrong all this time? Did he presume too much once more?
“Do you still see his face when you look at me?” Joowon finds himself asking despite dreading the answer. If this is how it’s always been for Dongsik, then he’s right; Joowon shouldn’t do any of this anymore.
Dongsik deserves his peace without a single reminder of how Han Kihwan destroyed his family and the lives of the people who were dear to him. If Joowon is that remaining link to something Dongsik wishes to leave behind, then he’ll go.
Joowon hasn’t felt like this before: this overwhelming desire to do things right for someone that he doesn’t mind becoming unhappy if it means that they won’t be.
This, he supposes, is only fitting. He’s asked for too much and Dongsik has already entertained him enough times. To wish for more is a selfishness that he can no longer allow himself to display.
Joowon faces him, committing Dongsik’s face to memory. This might be the last time he’ll get to see it and he wants to remember as much as he can. He’ll miss him. Inevitably.
I don’t want you to like me, he said to Dongsik once, when he was younger and knew nothing.
I’ll decide whom to like or not, was what Dongsik had said then.
“Is it that impossible for us?” Joowon asks. He can change his personality, his penchant for cleanliness and tolerance for social interactions and occasional skin contact, but he can never do away with being tied to Han Kihwan.
His father may remain in prison for a lifetime but he’ll always be the one hurdle that stands in Joowon’s way.
Dongsik says nothing, so Joowon continues, “If it is, then say yes. Say yes and I’ll go. If it’s too much to see me, then tell me. I’ll stay away for good. I’ll leave you alone.”
Somehow, he remembers that time Dongsik asked him to do just that, back when they were hidden away in a dark, dank basement. He remembers his response to it, days later outside Manyang Substation, his promise that he’d never disappear.
This time, Joowon can promise the opposite. At Dongsik’s word, he’ll keep his distance and put Manyang behind him and let Dongsik live his life in tranquility.
He hears Dongsik stand and Joowon closes his eyes, bracing himself. Dongsik walks past him, his footsteps coming to a halt somewhere behind Joowon, and Joowon thinks that perhaps, he’s presumed too much once again.
Dongsik has had enough people disappear from him. Perhaps this time, he wants to be the one to send Joowon away.
“No,” Dongsik says, as if he’s heard all of Joowon’s thoughts, his fears, his uncertainties. “No, it’s not.”
Before Joowon can process those words, he feels arms around him, holding him tight as he fights back a hitching sob from his throat, Dongsik holding him close from behind.
“I’m sorry,” Dongsik says. Joowon can feel his breath against his nape. “I’ve hurt you, haven’t I?”
If Joowon is crying, he pays no mind to it. One of his hands finds Dongsik’s own, joined together around his middle and keeping him grounded.
“Was I not clear enough?” Joowon asks, and he senses Dongsik shake his head behind him, his forehead resting against Joowon’s shoulder. “We’ve had seven dates.”
“Ten,” Dongsik says, causing Joowon to freeze in his hold. He seems to have noticed, because he adds, “Didn’t you count that time when we were in Busan? Or that time I visited your posh apartment in Seoul for the first time?”
“You didn’t touch the food back then,” Joowon reminds him.
“So did you, with the pufferfish soup,” Dongsik says, arms tightening fractionally around him. Joowon wishes he’ll never let go. “Eleven, if we’re counting that time Chief Nam took us out for a meal.”
“Eleven and you still think I’m here because I feel guilty?” Joowon asks, demands. He’s an impatient person by nature, and he wants to know if Dongsik is merely holding him to calm him down.
“It’s been a while for me,” Dongsik confesses, his breath tickling the side of Joowon’s neck. “I’ve never had time for anything like this before.”
“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Joowon tells him against his better judgment. There’s only so much research he can do before he loses his resolve. “I’ve never—”
Felt like this for anyone, he doesn’t say, his grip around Dongsik’s wrists hardening.
“I’m sorry,” Dongsik says again, chin hooking against Joowon’s shoulder. He’s close enough that if Joowon turns his head just right, Joowon can do something he’s only dared to dream of before. “I put you through so much. Again.”
“You’re not deadweight to me,” Joowon says, because he needs Dongsik to know this. “You’re not holding me back. I’m here because I want to be here.”
He understands now why Dongsik held him like this; the words are easier to find when they don’t have to look at one another.
“With you,” he adds quietly, in a whisper that he’s certain Dongsik and no one else has heard.
The night breeze hits them like a reprieve, a soothing salve that calms Joowon’s nerves and compels him to breathe unhurriedly. He remains in Dongsik’s arms and basks in its warmth as it cages and protects him.
“Don’t go,” Dongsik says eventually, when their breathing is in sync with one another and Joowon has started treating Dongsik’s touch as an extension of his own.
“I won’t disappear,” Joowon affirms for the second time, and when he feels Dongsik’s unmistakable grin, he adds, keeping his tone light despite the memory lingering in his mind, “I’ll never disappear.”
Dongsik chuckles behind him, sweet and carefree. “You’re sure about this?”
Joowon looks down at their entwined hands over his middle. He doesn’t want anyone else. He thinks he never will, but Dongsik will gloat if he admits that out loud.
So instead he says, “You’re not old. Stop saying that.”
“I’m forty-two,” Dongsik reminds him. “I always thought I’ll never see you again after Chief Nam’s death anniversary. That the next time I’ll hear from you, you’re getting married to someone beautiful and well-off.”
He really thought Joowon could stay away? He’s not as clever as he made Joowon believe.
“You should be a writer,” Joowon tells him impassively. “Some imagination you have.”
Dongsik laughs, fanning his cheek and his earlobe. “Pretty flower like you choosing an old man like me. What will everyone say?”
Joowon ponders on the question and the faces of Yoo Jaeyi, the Oh siblings, their former colleagues from Manyang Substation and Munju flash in his mind.
“‘Finally,’” he answers, knowing it to be true. He angles his head to the side, just enough for his temple to rest against Dongsik’s own.
Dongsik’s smile can be heard more than seen in this proximity, and Joowon finds that he prefers it like this.
For a while, Dongsik says nothing, keeping him in his arms, the two of them familiarizing themselves with one another. All that dancing and skittering around each other in the past, only for them to discover that this is the best way they fit together.
“Finally,” Dongsik echoes eventually, and Joowon allows himself to smile.
——
iii. people
Han Joowon wouldn’t call himself sheltered; he simply was uninterested in pursuing a romantic relationship with anyone before. That disinterest is coming back to bite him in the ass, because now that he and Dongsik figured things out, he doesn’t know what’s next.
He knows it’s expected for him to text Dongsik when he’s in Gangwon, to tell him how he’s doing. He does that, sometimes adding a selfie at Dongsik’s insistence, one in which he doesn’t smile but still receives a laughing emoji or a heart sticker for. It never fails to bring a smile to his face after, something that his partner at work has commented on more than once.
Joowon also knows that it’s expected for them to share some physical intimacy, but he’s aware that he’s not quite ready for that yet. He will have to research on what to do and what not to do, because asking Hyuk for advice is out of the question.
Hyuk doesn’t even know that he and Dongsik are together. To Joowon’s knowledge, Dongsik hasn’t told anyone in Manyang either. This is fairly new, and they somehow share the unspoken agreement that they want everything to be private for now.
But unlike Dongsik who’s had casual flings, Joowon has nothing to go by. He’s never kissed anyone before. Never wanted to, until he met Dongsik and felt like shutting his smartass mouth from talking, which took some time to wrap his head around a year or so ago.
Desire made itself scarce to Joowon in the past, only to hit him relentlessly now that he’s acknowledged himself capable of feeling it. But he knows he can’t be hasty if he wants to do things right, and the first step is always the most difficult.
Still, if he managed to drive to Manyang before to ask Dongsik out to dinner, he supposes he can do this as well. Even if Albert’s mocking smile is ever present as Joowon makes his way to Dongsik’s house once more.
They’re on Dongsik's couch watching a sitcom when Joowon gathers enough courage to speak. Dongsik is a few centimeters away to his left, the sleeve of his shirt touching Joowon’s and tickling his arm with each movement.
Dongsik, he finds, can be quite restless. He sits still when he’s absorbed in what he’s watching, but when his mind is elsewhere, he shifts in place, in subtle movements that Joowon notices only because his attention is on Dongsik alone.
“I’ve never kissed anybody before,” he confesses, eyes glued to the TV where a youthful actress cries in exaggeration.
He hears Dongsik hum, the steady bouncing of his good leg ceasing. “Is that what you’ve been thinking of all this time?”
Joowon doesn’t respond to that, pointedly keeping his gaze away from Dongsik. He may have thought about it since Dongsik held him in the front yard, may have imagined it since Dongsik pulled him away from the reeds as the wind howled against his ears.
Not that he’ll ever admit that, but his silence should be quite telling enough.
“Do you want to try it?” Dongsik asks then, leaning comfortably against the couch, throwing an arm over the backrest. “Kissing, I mean.” His fingers are so close to the tip of Joowon’s shoulder—present but not touching.
Like he’s respecting Joowon’s personal space, his need for distance.
Joowon wants him to know that this is unnecessary. He only minds it when it’s with other people. With Dongsik, he craves contact, perpetually touch-starved.
Joowon licks his lips, trying his best to sound nonchalant. He’s likely failing. Dongsik disarms him so easily; it only takes a few words. “Yes. I…heard that it feels great.”
“Heard?” Dongsik echoes, a touch curious. “From whom?”
“People,” Joowon says dismissively, with a wave of his hand. He’s not going to admit that he’s read that somewhere, that he has no one to talk about relationships with because he’s still learning how to be a better colleague to everyone in Gangwon.
“But if you don’t want to,” he begins, already feeling his confidence falter, “it’s fine. We don’t have to.”
He feels Dongsik’s hand settle on his knee, squeezing once. “Joowon-ah,” Dongsik says, patient and affectionate, “you don’t have to force yourself.”
Joowon turns to him with a retort ready, but Dongsik squeezes his knee again as he continues, “We can take it slow. Until you’re ready. I can just hold your hand in the meantime; you’re fine with that.”
His gaze falls to Dongsik’s mouth, to his full, pinkish lips. “Do you think I’m not ready for it? Why would I bring it up if I wasn’t?”
“Maybe you are,” Dongsik acknowledges with a nod, “but I’m not.” At Joowon’s pause, he looks apologetic. “I had kimchi earlier. At Jaeyi’s. Soju too. You don’t want that in your mouth.”
So not tonight, then. Joowon tells himself that he’s fine with this, consoles himself with the fact that Dongsik’s refusal is not a permanent no.
He tears his eyes away from Dongsik and focuses back on the TV. If he sounds a little dejected, he supposes it can’t be helped. “I’m okay with this,” he says, reaching for Dongsik and entwining their fingers together, letting their joined hands rest on his lap. “I’ll tell you if I wasn’t.”
“I’ll always ask,” Dongsik says, in reassurance. Then he rests his head against Joowon’s shoulder, adjusting until he’s got his cheek right on the edge of Joowon’s clavicle. “Is this all right?”
Joowon finds that he likes the weight, the warmth that Dongsik radiates when he’s this close.
“Yes,” he says, pressing closer. “It’s all right.”
They don’t kiss, but Joowon can wait.
——
iv. seatbelt
Waiting, naturally, isn’t his strongest suit.
Implying that he does have wishes to be physically intimate with Dongsik has dispelled whatever worries he may have had over Dongsik misinterpreting his lack of action. Joowon is simply inexperienced, but it doesn’t mean that he has no desire to try. He finds that he wants to, if Dongsik will let him.
Which brings him to the current problem: Dongsik won’t let him.
Joowon has tried; they’ve met up for breakfasts together before Joowon has to leave for Gangwon, and each time he tries to lean in and steal a kiss for himself, Dongsik turns away just in time, collecting the dishes and straying too far.
All with a sly, knowing smile on his face.
It drives Joowon insane. It’s reminiscent of all the times Dongsik has taunted him, played with him while saying half-truths that he didn’t dare elaborate. He smiles like he’s enjoying the sight of Joowon chasing after him, like he misses their old days.
Perhaps he does. It’s one explanation for all the casual avoidance Dongsik is doing. Joowon is certain it’s not done out of malice; Dongsik always looks at his mouth before he moves out of reach. He, as always, just likes seeing Joowon struggle.
So Joowon ceases. The next time they share a meal together, he keeps his distance, his touches fleeting when Dongsik hands him the salt. Now that he’s aware of the rules, he shows Dongsik that he can play along.
The old Han Joowon would likely brag about winning. He’s not that Joowon anymore, but he still wishes to last for as long as he can. Let Dongsik see what he’s depriving himself of, what he has within reach if only he’d take it.
If Dongsik notices his retaliation, he makes no indication of it. At least not verbally. It takes some time, but eventually, Joowon notices how Dongsik leans against him when he serves the dishes, even when they’re at the butcher shop and everyone’s seated around them.
Dongsik would lean in from behind, face resting so close to Joowon’s that if they turn their heads at the same time, Joowon will finally know how kissing Dongsik feels like. He directs his most disarming grin at Joowon whenever he can, hand brushing against Joowon’s thigh from under the table.
All these things compel Joowon to reach for one of the shot glasses, gesturing for Oh Jihoon to pour him a round of soju by lifting the glass.
There’s a series of surprised gasps from the table, the loudest one coming from Hwang Gwangyoung. Joowon ignores them as Jihoon pours him one, but before he can down the shot, Dongsik’s fingers swipe the glass away from him.
“He’s driving,” Dongsik says to Jihoon. “Why are you giving him any?”
“He asked,” Jihoon reasons with a slight laugh. At the look Dongsik gives him, he relents. “Fine, hyung. Sorry.”
“I can call for a taxi,” Joowon says. His eyes follow the glass Dongsik took from him, silently lamenting that Dongsik placed it on the part of the table that he can’t reach.
“I don’t allow overnight parking,” Yoo Jaeyi says, smiling deceptively saccharine when Joowon turns to her. “So no drinks for you, Han Joowon-ssi.”
She’s always on Dongsik’s side. Sometimes, Joowon envies her unrivaled ability to understand Dongsik’s actions.
Joowon takes a breath, then another. He stands up.
“I need some air,” he says, excusing himself as he heads outside.
The laughter and the conversations from inside the shop are muffled when the doors are shut, allowing Joowon to calm his racing mind. He now sheds sympathy for his former self, the one who always reached for a fistful of Dongsik’s collar when things became too much.
Dongsik, he realizes, will always have that effect on him. He doesn’t want that to change.
He hears the doors slide open and expects Dongsik to step beside him, so he’s a little surprised when it’s Oh Jihwa who bumps her shoulder against his.
“You all right?” she asks.
Joowon gives her a polite nod. “I’m fine. I just needed some time.”
“Yeah,” she says, like she knows something. “That idiot Dongsik.”
Joowon stills then, keeping his expression guarded. Oh Jihwa seems to have noticed, giving him a sideways glance that speaks volumes. Joowon remembers the time he accused Dongsik of being interested in her and how she took it.
You should move in together, she said once.
“He’s always been stupid,” Oh Jihwa tells him suddenly, amusement in her features. “So it’s always been about finding someone who can either keep him in line or be stupid with him. I don’t know which is worse, really.”
Joowon has no idea which one he is in her statement. Surely not the latter? He prides himself with being an intellectual, capable officer.
“Don’t let him keep getting away with it,” Oh Jihwa says, fist delivering a light punch to his arm. “You’re too young to have gray hair because of Lee Dongsik.”
She doesn’t wait for his response, heading back inside the shop but leaving the door ajar, like she knew that he’ll follow.
Joowon does, and eventually the night grows late that everybody heads home, with Dongsik walking him to his car.
“Can you give me a ride?” Dongsik asks, despite always preferring to walk in all the other times. “It’s not out of your way.”
Even if it is, Joowon will still drive him to wherever he needs to go. But he doesn’t say that, instead unlocks the doors and nods for Dongsik to hop in.
They spend the drive in silence, and when Joowon has the car parked right next to Dongsik’s gate, he unlocks the doors.
“Don’t eat anything instant at this hour,” Joowon reminds him, all too aware of his tendencies. Someday, Joowon plans to throw out the packs of instant noodles that Dongsik keeps a stock of. “Or smoke; both are equally bad for you.”
“You’re not even going to wish me a good night?” Dongsik asks, the corner of his mouth upturned in a smirk.
“Good night,” Joowon says flatly.
Dongsik’s grin broadens, hand pausing on the door handle. Joowon hears the seatbelt unbuckle and checks the inbuilt clock.
If there’s no traffic, he’ll be back in Seoul in less than an hour. A reasonable time, he supposes. He can still finish some paperwork before he heads to bed.
He catches a sliver of movement in his periphery, rendering him immobile. There are fingers on the side of his jaw, turning his face to the right, and Dongsik is leaning in.
The first touch of his lips against Joowon’s has Joowon’s breath hitching; all thoughts of Seoul rapidly evaporating into nothing. On instinct, he presses back, overeager, trying to meet Dongsik halfway and finding that he can’t.
He subsequently discovers that he likes it better when Dongsik’s smile is right against his lips. Dongsik leaves soft, teasing kisses as he says, “Seatbelt.”
Joowon unbuckles his hastily, his other hand finding Dongsik’s nape and pulling him close. He tries to kiss back, to feel more of that inviting mouth that tastes too much like the meat from the butcher shop with no hint of alcohol or smoke, and finds himself reeling.
Dongsik has planned this. How long has he thought of kissing Joowon tonight? Did he think of it throughout dinner, hence all the teasing, all those lingering points of contact between them?
“Slow down,” Dongsik husks when he pulls back, palm flat on Joowon’s chest serving as a buffer. “Remember to breathe. Don’t rush. Like so.”
Joowon has done research on how to do this properly. He’s read techniques, even a step-by-step guide! But all the tips lie forgotten in favor of what Dongsik is saying, at him telling Joowon what to do.
Joowon obeys. He follows Dongsik’s lead, mimics his short pecks and lingers on Dongsik’s bottom lip, using his grip on Dongsik’s neck as leverage. He lets Dongsik guide him until it becomes too much and he feels incredibly warm.
He reaches up, cupping Dongsik’s face in both hands, twisting his trunk so he can kiss him better, deeper.
Doing so has his elbow bumping against something, and he jolts when he hears the wipers activate. Dongsik breaks the kiss, laughing against his cheek as Joowon hurriedly turns it off.
He must be blushing.
Dongsik drops a sweet, maddening kiss to his cheek. When he speaks, his voice is deep, in a pitch that Joowon rarely hears him use.
“Good night, Inspector Han.”
Then he moves to leave, and Joowon reacts on instinct: hand curling around Dongsik’s wrist, effectively stopping him.
He doesn’t know what to say. But he feels deprived, and even in the darkness, he can see Dongsik’s mouth glisten as Dongsik licks his lips.
His want must’ve been so palpable that Dongsik can tell.
“You have work tomorrow,” Dongsik says. Contrary to what everyone may think, he’s always been the more responsible one. “I can’t invite you inside.” He laughs. “Not that you ever needed an invitation before.”
Joowon must be pouting, because in the next moment, Dongsik is sighing like he’s helpless and Joowon’s got him, despite the truth being the other way around.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Dongsik promises, thumb stroking Joowon’s lips. Reflexively, Joowon chases after it, pressing one last kiss to the fingertip as he finally lets Dongsik go. “Text me when you get back?”
Joowon manages a nod before Dongsik climbs off the passenger side. Joowon can’t stop looking at him—he was kissing that man just a while ago inside this car.
He thinks his former self would either be jealous or proud of him.
“I will,” he finally says, and Dongsik shuts the door, whistling some unknown tune as he enters the gate.
Joowon waits until Dongsik is standing under the porch light before he lets out a disbelieving, amused chuckle as he leans back and refastens his seatbelt.
He doubts he’ll find sleep tonight.
——
v. seventeen
Kissing, Joowon discovers, requires a lot of practice. A lot of observation too, because Dongsik is rendered nonverbal whenever they do it and Joowon has to rely on his reactions, the changes in his breathing pattern to know how he’s feeling.
Eventually, Joowon comes to the conclusion that he’s not very good at it. He’s hasty; he’s always been impatient. After their first kiss in the car, Joowon has been seizing opportunities to kiss Dongsik more, and in all the times they’ve done it, Dongsik always had to pull back and tell him to slow down.
Joowon is trying his best. He’s always giving his best, especially in this. But his best is still inadequate at times, and he blames his inexperience. If only he wasn’t so standoffish and every bit of a snob before, then he’d be giving Dongsik a rather good time.
Instead, Dongsik is saddled with an excited, willing, but mediocre partner. Joowon tries not to let his disappointment in himself show; this is something he has to deal with on his own.
Or, like old times, something Kwon Hyuk feels like mentioning the next time they hang out together in a bar in Seoul and Joowon’s downing another glass of Scotch.
“Something’s up with you,” Hyuk says, ever sharp and hyperaware. Being Joowon’s live-in tutor has given him years of experience, and sometimes, Joowon hates how perceptive he can be. “It can’t be work-related, though.”
“How do you know that?” Joowon asks, not sparing him a glance.
“Because you haven’t called me for favors as of late,” Hyuk says. “When you still worked in Manyang, you called me almost every week.”
“Work’s fine,” is how Joowon acknowledges that Hyuk’s been right. He hates it when Hyuk is right; he becomes even more insufferable.
“Tell hyung what’s going on,” Hyuk says, gentle and overbearing. He’s no longer obligated to do any of this, and Joowon is still unlearning the perception that Hyuk is doing this because he wants something and not because he cares.
Han Kihwan taught him that, when he was younger and more impressionable and knew very little. That everything is an exchange, and if someone did something nice for him, it meant that they expected something in return.
Joowon lived twenty-seven years of his life believing this to be true. It’s only now that he’s beginning to see things differently: that perhaps, the world is not as black-and-white as his father once implied.
Han Kihwan never saw his own son as someone genuinely deserving of concern and love. Han Kihwan forced this perception into his own son to teach him to expect the worst in people, because Han Kihwan saw himself as someone better than all the rest.
His logic is severely flawed, but the damage has been done. Joowon is steadily working past all these preformed prejudices in his mind, and he’s long realized that he’s been treating Hyuk like shit because he never saw Hyuk’s concern for him as something sincere.
So the knee-jerk irritation that he feels is something he ignores. He considers Hyuk’s offer, taking a sip of the Scotch.
“What was it like?” he asks, not looking at Hyuk. “Moving in to tutor me when I was fresh from England?” Before Hyuk can reply, he adds pointedly, “Be honest.”
Kwon Hyuk looks contemplative only for a moment. “Tough.”
He doesn’t elaborate.
Joowon can recall how snooty and haughty he’d been. He must’ve been more than a handful. “I remember speaking to you in English all the time because I wanted you to lose your job within the first week. I thought the language barrier would accomplish that. I’d say it was more than tough.”
“You were sixteen,” Hyuk says. “Other people did worse when they were sixteen.”
“Seventeen,” Joowon corrects. “I was mean to you, wasn’t I.”
Hyuk is silent for a moment, and Joowon swirls the now empty glass in his hand.
“You’re trying to distract me from what’s truly going on with you,” Hyuk says, leaning in conspiratorially. “You don’t keep in touch, and when I said I’m a little worried, you bring up how awful you’ve been at sixteen.”
“Seventeen,” Joowon says. Dongsik’s habit is rubbing off on him.
“What’s going on?” Hyuk asks, eyes narrowing. “Are you seeing someone? Is this a relationship problem? Trouble in paradise?”
Joowon can no longer see his former tutor sitting beside him. Instead he sees the prosecutor, relentless in his rapid-fire questioning. Joowon wonders what it would’ve been like had he followed Hyuk’s footsteps instead and became a prosecutor as well.
He wouldn’t have met Dongsik. Or been to Manyang.
“You’re not as hard to read as you think, Joowon-ah,” Hyuk says. “So there’s someone. What’s wrong?”
Nothing is wrong with Dongsik, Joowon thinks. Dongsik is perfect and patient and overly kind, and Joowon’s lucky to have him. Everything that’s wrong is Joowon.
He tells Hyuk as much. “I’m what’s wrong.”
Hyuk appears thoughtful, lips curled in concentration. “Did you fight recently? Did they ask for you two to break up?”
“No,” Joowon says immediately, forcefully. At the look Hyuk gives him, he sighs. “Nothing like that.”
“You like this person,” Hyuk says, knocking Joowon off-guard. “I’ve never seen you so defensive before.” He leans back on his seat, shaking his head while smiling. “It’s finally happened: Han Joowon likes someone. You used to be so disgusted at the mere sight of couples on TV.”
“You were watching dramas involving cheating husbands and vengeful wives in your free time when you were tutoring me,” Joowon points out, ruthless. Hyuk no longer looks so smug. “Of course I was disgusted.”
“We’re not talking about me,” Hyuk says dismissively. “There’s someone you like. You’re probably dating them already.” At Joowon’s frown for him, he shrugs. “You keep checking your phone and tomorrow is your day-off. Might as well text them if you’re going to be like that for the rest of the night.”
Dongsik is currently playing billiards with Oh Jihwa and Yoo Jaeyi in that newly opened establishment in Munju. Joowon knows because Dongsik sent him a photo. He’s still waiting for the subsequent one.
Not so subtly waiting, as it appears, because Hyuk noticed.
“You said you’re what’s wrong,” Hyuk continues. “Are you two not on the same page with what you want?”
If he was sober, Joowon would’ve rebuffed Hyuk’s concerns and claimed that he was fine. But he’s had enough drinks for his usual reservations to disappear.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Joowon confesses in a small voice that makes him feel like he’s seventeen again, back in Korea for the first time in almost ten years. “I don’t…have enough experience in this.”
Hyuk is quiet for the next few moments. Then, in what must be his most brotherly tone, he says, “Joowon-ah, you like this person, right?”
Joowon levels him with a look.
“And you know what you want to do with them,” Hyuk continues patiently. “You do know what to do. You’re just not that confident.”
“I’m not very good at these things,” Joowon says.
“We all start somewhere,” Hyuk tells him. “I used to not know a lick of English until some rich brat spoke to me in full, articulated sentences for seven hours that I decided I could still learn another language. By the end of that first week, I knew basic subject-verb agreement and enough money was wired into my account to last me for a month and a half.”
“Are you bragging that you won against a teenager?” Joowon asks.
“I’m saying I wasn’t good at English. I’m still not good at it. But I did keep my job at your place and here we are,” Hyuk says, spreading his palms for effect.
“That was a job,” Joowon says. “This is—”
“Something personal,” Hyuk finishes for him. “Something that obviously matters so much to you that you actually talked about it with me. It’s okay to not know things. If this person likes being with you as much as you do with them, then they’re fine with you as you are.” Hyuk raises both eyebrows at him. “You do have a healthy communication with this person, right?”
I’ll always ask, Dongsik said.
“Yes,” Joowon says, knowing it to be true. If he’s doing something wrong, he can trust that Dongsik will tell him.
“Then take whatever they say for what it is and don’t think too much about what they don’t,” Hyuk says, patting him on the back. “And if you want to try something, let them know. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Let them know. Let him know.
“Hyung,” Joowon says, and he waits until he’s got Hyuk looking at him before he adds in heavily accented English: “Thank you.”
Hyuk turns away with an affronted noise, grumbling about rich boys showing off, just as Joowon grabs his phone to send a quick text to Dongsik.
Can I stay over? I’ve got tomorrow off.
They’ve had breakfasts together but never slept together in one place. Joowon wants to change that now, and as soon as his phone pings with a message of Sure, he’s booking himself a taxi to Manyang.
Later, in Manyang, when Dongsik’s handing him a recently laundered blanket, he says what’s on his somewhat tipsy mind.
“I want to sleep with you.”
Dongsik gives him a look, considering him. “Not like this, you don’t,” he says, gesturing between them. Joowon’s in a pair of pajamas that Dongsik bought for him, and the fact that he’s been prepared for Joowon eventually asking to sleep over is something that Joowon is a little too affected by.
Hence his unfiltered thoughts turning into words.
Dongsik is wearing a loose, white shirt on top of his boxers. Joowon’s been trying his best not to look at his thighs.
“I don’t—” he huffs, a little frustrated. Perhaps he shouldn’t have drunk as much. “I don’t mean it like that. Well, not like that for now. What I meant is just…sleeping. Next to you. In the same bed.”
“I haven’t changed my sheets,” Dongsik says, looking at him and gauging his reaction.
Joowon will perhaps have some regrets come morning, but right now, he wants to fall into a bed that smells exactly like Dongsik. He wants to have Dongsik nearby, for his fingers to brush against Dongsik’s skin when the night turns too cold and the blanket’s not warm enough.
He doesn’t have enough mental faculties to articulate all of these, though. All he can manage is “I don’t mind,” that sounds childishly persistent even to his own ears.
Dongsik doesn’t say another word. Instead he reaches for Joowon’s empty hand and tugs him to the bedroom, guiding him to the right side of the bed because he apparently always sleeps on the left side.
They have the lights off when Joowon wills himself to speak again, the silhouette of Dongsik’s back merely inches away.
“Can I hold you?”
The last time he was able to, he’d done it out of desires to comfort Dongsik as the acute sense of loss and grief crippled them both, the scent of the sea cloaking them. There’s no loved one being taken away this time, but Joowon wants to let Dongsik know that he’s here.
“Go ahead,” Dongsik says in the darkness, in a voice that indicates that he’s been awake the entire time, perhaps watching out for any indications that Joowon might be uncomfortable.
But he isn’t. He’s trying not to smile as he wraps an arm around Dongsik’s middle, each inhale now accompanied by Dongsik’s scent given their proximity.
This close, he can just whisper, and Dongsik will hear him.
“Good night,” Joowon says, feeling his eyelids grow heavier with each passing second. He can already feel the tendrils of sleep claiming him.
If Dongsik returns the words, he’s already drifting that he can no longer tell.
In the morning, Han Joowon wakes to all the sheets kicked at the foot of the bed, some of Dongsik’s hair in his mouth, their legs jumbled together, and Dongsik drooling on his chest as he sleeps open-mouthed.
With a little maneuvering, it’s not so bad.