a touch of sin

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/10236242.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Category: M/M
Fandom: | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Relationship: Jeon Jungkook/Park Jimin
Character: Park Jimin (BTS), Jeon Jungkook, Jung Hoseok | J-Hope, Kim
Namjoon | Rap Monster
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Crime Scenes, Supernatural Elements,
Shamanism, Rituals, Canon-Typical Violence, Slow Build, Pining, Non-
Linear Narrative, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Night Terrors,
Recreational Drug Use, Beach Sex, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Breathplay,
Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Investigations, Blood and Gore, Minor
Character Death, Graphic Description of Corpses, Accidental
Voyeurism
Collections: Jikook_Gems, best of the best, PinkRubix, 2nd Read Later
Stats: Published: 2017-03-13 Completed: 2017-03-18 Chapters: 10/10 Words:
102459

a touch of sin
by pettey

Summary

After his transfer to a quiet seaside town, Jeongguk was prepared to face a year of
uneventful CID work, but found himself dealing with a series of strange murders instead.

Notes

literally written cos of this & this

note: jjk’s memories don't necessarily match his account to Hani The Journalist
 The Swamp Kid
Chapter Notes

junghope partners #malebonding

jjk's past ptsd stuff
blood and gore for crime scene stuff
namjoonster & kimtae cameos

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The tape recorder was one of those old portable things, something Olympus, vaguely 90s. This
Jeon Jeongguk had already made a quip about it, but it kind of tickled her, so that wasn’t much of a
deal.

Slotting the tiny cassette inside, Heeyeon clicked the lid shut. Her notebook, thick from the dried
rainwater, still laid in her lap. It was opened on the last page of Jung Hoseok’s interview, and the
ink had gone all sully.

The sound of the door sliding snapped her attention back. She glanced at the sea, then to the patio
table—kind of dirty and more than a little disgusting—where Jeongguk was depositing the tea set.

Jeongguk finally sat across from her, fishing out a crumpled cigarette pack.

“So, whatcha wanna know?” Already decided to skip the formalities. Chewing on the filter, tilting
his head, “You mind?”

Heeyeon said she didn’t and curled her numb fingers around the small ceramic cup. “Well,
everything, I guess.”

“Didn’t hyung tell you enough?”

“From his side, at least. He also told me that his everything was hardly anything when it came to
your own past. Or Park Jimin.”

She was pleased to see that the name got some kind of rise out of him, even if it was just the new
funny way he moved his eyebrows.

“What you need Park Jimin’s side for?”

“He was... what was it—special consultant?”

“Sorta.”

Well that rate of word per minute was sure going to speed up her case.

“Holistic medicine, was it?” Heeyeon saw him nod. “Well, you must know how every account is
important. Accounts, timeline. I’m kind of collecting these, sorting it out, for now. And Inspector
Jung said you know Park Jimin best.”

“Maybe.” He looked away. “Can’t believe he spilled you the names. That’s classified, y’know.”
“Your Superintendent wanted the Hwang case swept well under, right?”

“You’ve got your ways, huh?”

“Inspector Jung— Hoseok is easy to talk to.”

Heeyeon raised the cup to her numb face, and it quickly flushed from the scented warmth.
Jeongguk chewed on his lips, maybe picking words.

He huffed. “Why not go ask Park Jimin yourself then, if you’re so good at finding people?”

She smiled. “Oh, don’t worry, I will. Perspectives, right? But right now I need yours.” He
shrugged. That made her feel funny. “Funny thing. Hoseok was sure you’d tell me to fuck off.”

Jeongguk laughed more openly now, which Heeyeon thought was weirdly pure-looking.

But then it was true, Jeongguk kind of had done that, told her to fuck off at first. Not in words, of
course, but with this chary as shit attitude.

Jeongguk had refused to even let her in. Still kept up with his formal courtesy, all that awfully
polite speech and guilty face. Even a little shy at that.

No hostility, that was Jeon Jeongguk. Sort of on-the-surface type of quiet guy. But Heeyeon said
what Hoseok had advised her to say.

“You hemorrhoid sucking fuck,” she said—no, quoted—word-for-word.

She was completely unsure, but the wary expression on Jeongguk’s face shifted to surprise.

He let her in.

The condo was a small and tragic mess, like your typical guy cave but with an odd soft touch she’d
normally seen in old people’s houses. Plain wood, all bored down to beige and straight lines, with
huge windows overlooking the calm sea.

“Did you walk here?” Jeongguk asked, frowning at her soaked clothes.

She’d worn her best for the interview with Hoseok where she’d ended up spending the night, just
because the talk had dragged for too long. Morning after, it’d taken about two hours to commute
from Gwangju to the island where she had to switch buses in Geoje city and then get to this little
mud lake of a seaside shit-town.

It’d been raining, but Heeyeon had walked from the bus stop all the way to the coast.

“Kinda,” she said, shrugging.

Heeyeon was draped in the clothes he’d offered earlier; white shirt, four times the size, and
ridiculously colored shorts. She stared at this nonsense in the reflective fridge door, wanting to take
a picture for the fun of it, but Jeongguk was asking her something.

Asked why exactly was she in need of his account.

Heeyeon smoothed down the cotton of the shirt, and said, “I think you could help me. And maybe
I can help you. Tell your story and all. I’m doing a book.”

“My story is kinda crazy, Heeyeon-ssi.”

Hoseok had mentioned something about Jeongguk never giving any interviews, and Heeyeon
couldn’t help but wonder…

“Scared of people thinking you’re nuts?”

Jeongguk laughed, “I just know it’s best not to talk about things you can’t talk about.”

“Sure. You already let me in, though. And I’m, like, the best listener.”

And the curious thing about this, the Hwang case hadn’t even been hot, not for long anyway,
because it’d just been one of those under-the-rug things that got nipped in the bud one day after the
actual crime scene canvass, and then upped to the third clearance level for no noses to poke about
it.

Hoseok was one of those few who’d worked the case and was still willing to talk something, aside
from dry facts that’d been pressed on everyone involved by the higher ups. And even though
Heeyeon had managed to dig a dirty patch of this shit up, and even if she’d manage to get the story
out of Jeongguk, it would be useless for publishing.

Still, she needed it.

“It was kinda your face that did it, Inspector. Me coming here.”

“What face?”

“Local news footage.”

“That’s not in public access anymore.”

Heeyeon shrugged, assuming a carefully blank face.

“How’d you find any of it?”

“Listen, Inspector...”

“Jeongguk.”

Now, this was good. Leveled down formality was a good thing. “I’m not here for some cheap
scoop. I just need my book.” She smiled. “So please, Jeongguk, if you can. It’s... for me. Could be
for you too.”

And on the veranda now, sipping her piss-poor tea, Heeyeon was waiting for Jeongguk to speak.

He didn’t start right away. Just stared at the recorder, possibly figuring out how to go about it. His
cigarette was burning out. Finally, he made a sound. “So what do I do?”
“Maybe start at the beginning.” She searched for better words, seeing his confusion. “Say, when
you came to the island.”

“It was kinda blurry.”

“Okay,” she said, patient, “did you meet Hoseok and Park Jimin your first day?”

“No. Jimin-hyung was later. At the Hwang scene.”

Heeyeon hummed, tapping at the page with her pen. “What was your first impression of him?”

Jeongguk chuckled. “I didn’t like him.”

“Hoseok said you’re close friends.”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk rubbed at his nose, “we all are.”

“So, the Hwang crime scene?”

“What about it?”

She sighed heavily. “Just tell me how it came about.”

Jeongguk thought for a minute.

“The neighbor called it in. But in a place like that… that whole thing was kinda unbelievable. I’d
gotten used to the countryside by then, you know, how slow it was, tight-knit… petty theft,
grandmas fighting at the fishmarket. Getting cats off trees, whatever. And then boom. Outta
nowhere.”

Heeyeon checked with the dates in her notebook, though she didn’t need to. It gave off a more
important look, sort of.

“So that was November 2014, right?”

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ

Jeongguk woke to the phone call bursting through the silence of the house.

Grating, the sound, how grating it was. He groaned, letting it ring. Listened in. Rain shotgunning
the roof and hitting the paved path in the overgrown garden.

He hadn’t slept long, he learned, checking with the screen before taking the call. Sure thing it was
Hoseok, because it could only be Hoseok, be it six in the morning or Jeongguk’s upcoming funeral.

“Jeonggukkie,” Hoseok said, “I’d say rise and shine but—yeah, you gotta move, like, right now.”

Hoseok always called him by name, but even through the morning daze Jeongguk could sense he
sounded a little agitated, uneven. And he was saying something, but Jeongguk could only pick up
on that fat homicide word.

“South side. Got a real massacre there, buddy. I’ll be at yours in fifteen.”
The line clicked off, and Jeongguk dropped the cell on his stomach with a soft slap. He blinked,
tried to rub the crust out of his bleary eyes. A set of quick stretches, and he was ready to fast-speed
through the morning routine.

He still couldn’t get used to old floorboards that creaked under his bare feet.

In the bathroom, all was awash with dark shades of blue. The lights here were still dead and the
bulbs in need of change, but he’d been a little shit on his promises to Mrs. Kim. The truth was, his
landlady was just happy to have him around and didn’t nag much.

Softly slapping his cheeks with cold water, he tried to concentrate on the murder at hand instead of
that shadow in the corner of his eye.

It was there, Jeongguk knew. In the periphery.

A human shape was always shimmering there, something he had taken here with him, and then it’d
taken some months to get Hoseok all chill with the freaky program. Hoseok still worried, of
course, every time Jeongguk’s eyes went a little hazy with seeing shapes.

And today the shapes were shifting in the mirror out of his focus, the shadows filling his ears with
the soft rustle of unseen clothes.

Article 250, he thought. Article 250, Jeon Jeongguk, someone did a real tight murder over here, so
count your air, listen to good old Doctor Choi, and wash your stupid face.

In the kitchen he attempted to draw barrel water for coffee but ended up making a right mess out of
it, dropping the ladle and knocking off pots and almost losing his balance.

“Sit down," the voice raspy, a little choked off.

Jeongguk spun around, only to see Mrs. Kim in the doorway.

She waved him over to the floor cushion and went about coffee preparations.

“What’s the sudden fuss?”

“Ah, something happened.” He hesitated, checking with his phone again. “Hyung’s gonna be here
in ten.”

“That’s plenty of time.”

She checked the hotplate and turned on the radio. One of those old war songs again, the voices in
them faded with time and creeping inside his brain in this very dead and haunting way.

“Someone died,” she said. It wasn’t a question at all. “Good.”

“What?”

“Good that Hoseok's got you now. Two big city boys know better, isn’t that right?”

“I’m not sure.” He accepted a steaming cup she was holding up in front of his face, but
immediately burned his tongue on the first sip. “Thank you.”

“You have to be careful. So who is it?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Don’t you have the address?”

“I’m not good with names yet,” he said, then actually woke enough to realize what she’d been
asking. “Ah, ahjumma, we can’t disclose this sort of stuff anyway.”

She didn’t reply, busy with scooping grains into her earthenware jar, for the household altar. Her
movements suddenly seemed so amplified, each sound so heavy inside Jeongguk’s pounding head.

“Jeongguk, you talk in your sleep. Doesn’t sound very well. You don’t sound good at all.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

She hummed, picked up a tuft of herbs. “No need for that. But something in your dreams must be
troubling you.”

“I’m fine, ahjumma.”

“Now-now, why the lies? Why the lies.”

“I’m not…”

But he was lying, only a brush of it, but he was.

“You move around my house like a shadow,” she said, startling him. She'd never sounded like that.
“But then it’s something that you also see. Isn’t that right?”

Maybe it was the morning, but she hardly made any sense in her creaking speech and body.

“What—whatchu mean?”

After digging a candle into the bowl of grains, she shifted on her knees to lean into Jeongguk, as if
she was about to share a secret. Her tired plump face with paper-thin skin seemed a little gray in
this light, and her hand on Jeongguk’s knee felt like a withered veiny leaf.

“You walk around, but I don’t see life in you. Jeongguk, my boy, the only things I see are very
nasty.”

“I—what?”

What the fuck, he wanted to ask instead, what the hell you on, little lady?

“You need a shaman to look at you. I know good people. A nice mudang in the east village too.
We can arrange a ritual.”

“I don’t think, um, a ritual would help.”

“You a Christian? Buddhist?”

Weird how in all five months they still hadn’t talked about that.

“No. I’m just kinda not into that whole… thing.”

Her gaze suddenly felt piercing, sending a shiver right through him. To the bones. “You think you
know better of the world than our ancestors?”

Jeongguk cleared his throat. “I just think… there’s a reason for the past to be the past.”
“You’re all about science then?”

“I don’t know. But we got better chances at getting somewhere with stuff like that.”

“How so?”

“That kinda process… it’s very like my job. It’s about what we don’t know, right? We only move
forward by admitting the doubt, you know. Facts change—and it’s about that doubt and new
conclusions. Unlike… a lot of things…” Jeongguk made a vague gesture. “That’s all I think.”

“You don’t sound that convicted when you cry in your sleep.”

A loud thud echoed in the hallway, startling him. Then again. This booming sound of metal against
the floor.

His head snapped up, eyes on the doorway obscured in the morning darkness. A beat of silence,
then a soft patter. Could it be feet? Mrs. Kim had no children. She had nobody. Just the rain then?

Jeongguk turned back to a new look on Mrs. Kim’s kind face. Her jaundiced eyes, pale and cloudy
with age, peered at him from beneath the neat dyed bangs. Jeongguk felt a chill run down his arms.
He realized the music had long drifted into hissing static.

The silence stretched between them, but it was muffled, ears full of cotton, and his skin had turned
hot.

The shrill car horn ripped through the air, making Jeongguk jolt.

Her hand fell from his knee. She was smiling, all traces of gray in her face gone now, which made
Jeongguk think he’d started imagining ill things where there were none. Doctor Choi mentioned a
pattern of that sort, how it was really common for his condition.

“Jeongguk, would you please deposit your ass in the goddamn vehicle!”

Sounded a lot like a very pissed off and sleep-deprived Jung Hoseok he knew and cherished.

The short run from the house to the road completely soaked Jeongguk through, even with his
pathetic attempts of improvising an umbrella out of his messenger bag. He plopped into the
passenger seat, shaking his head like some wet dog, and rubbed at his face with force.

“Lookin’ like shit,” Hoseok noted, giving him a side glance. “Something happen?”

“Not really. Ahjumma creeped me the fuck out. Said some weird shit.”

“Like what?”

He tried telling him exactly like what, but Hoseok wasn’t that into it.

“Said I cry in my sleep too,” Jeongguk said. “Her music is a fucking horror show. Who listens to
that? And the house always reeks of fucking cabbage, it’s driving me nuts.”

“You can move, dude.”

“No, I mean, she’s great actually. It’s just this morning…”

Instead of digging more into that, Hoseok simply drove, though not in a fashion that could be
called fast. It was more of crawl, to avoid crashing in the rain, but something in Jeongguk began to
stir up, something rotten and anxious.

“Could you be any slower?” he said, huffing.

Squinting through the blur of water cascading over the windshield. The squeeze of wipers was
growing to be extremely grating.

“Calm down,” Hoseok said cooly. “Them bodies ain’t going anywhere.”

“Bodies?”

“Yeah,” Hoseok pulled the winker, “it’s a family.”

The street was almost entirely stripped of its pavement, and the rain flooded it into one giant mud
lake. Tin-roofed shacks lined the narrow road with old household junk piling up under low-slung
powerlines.

Rusty fridges and washing machines, tires and bubble-like TV sets. Jeongguk couldn’t count the
number of bicycles or plastic basins. Almost every house had tiny lightbulbs stringing under the
eaves.

When they reached the end of the empty street, Jeongguk realized that the entirety of the
neighbourhood formed some kind of a buzzing human hive around the crime scene, before the
front yard of the last house on the right. A van with the local TV channel logo was parked on the
other side. Two guys there, looking annoyed by the rain.

Hoseok didn’t bother with any parking grace and slid past the crowd, deliberately speeding up
before he pulled to a stop near a side fence.

“You’re an asshole,” Jeongguk chuckled.

A dozen spectators, now mud-stained, glared at the car.

“Got no business gawking at someone’s tragedy, ya know?”

“Oh, cut the bullshit,” Jeongguk shook his head as they made their way through the crowd.

Officer Kwak was urging the people to make way in his rain-soaked uniform, and then lifted the
tape for them. White fabric made his flabby body painfully visible.

“Thanks, Byungkyu.” Hoseok nodded when they stepped into the yard. “Interviewed the neighbors
yet?” Kwak said that he didn’t. “Okay, who's our PR?”

Kwak only shrugged. The whole situation was really poking at Hoseok’s generous patience.

“Alright, get Kang and Bae, question the neighbors. And this time, write it down properly, you get
me? Good.”

Jeongguk looked around, making a face at the puddle lakes leading to the house. There was a rope
strung at the gate with some kind of orange powder sprinkled under it. Could be ritual stuff, he
guessed to himself.
A dog kennel at the far fenced wall, a broken drum nearby. There was a small shed and it had
another rope above its open door where a young cop was spewing his guts out with his hand
clutched on the rusty handle. Jeongguk recognized him as one of the patrol boys who were
supposed to be interviewing the neighbors by now.

“Compromising the fucking scene,” Jeongguk scrunched up his nose. “Why’s nobody wearing
gloves, fuck’s sake.”

“Give ’em a break. It’s their first time.”

They skirted around the puddles that Jeongguk thought looked like some toxic waste more than
anything, all red and shit, but it sure thing wasn’t. All throughout the small yard, murky pools of
congealed blood nestled in the small mud slopes, as if somebody had been dragged around this
filthy swamp.

There was a dark trail on the wood of the porch and veranda, the red marks disappearing into the
darkness of the entrance. Another rope just like the two he’d already seen, more orange substance
under it. Hoseok got a better look at the orange stuff on the dry wood, saying it was probably clay.

Tiny lightbulbs under the eaves here, unlit, shaking in the mild wind. There was a red washbowl
under the veranda, and the rain pattered at its plastic bottom, but Jeongguk felt it banging inside his
skull instead.

Kim Taehyung, the forensic guy, was chilling rather well with cigarette clamped between his fat
lips, his stained gloves hanging out of his uniform windbreaker’s pocket. He nodded a greeting at
Hoseok and took his sweet time before finally talking.

“Pretty juicy down there,” he said, tone a little amused. “Toe-cutter, thumb-buster, like. A real
movie star.”

Now, that guy was just some intern doing his post-grad in their stinky shithole, but the prick had
requested it specifically, so Jeongguk wasn't that guilty about having to shit on him on the regular,
and Taehyung always started it first anyway.

Today Taehyung looked very happy. Jeongguk wondered if maybe it was that exciting for him,
finally getting himself elbow-deep in proper work.

“You’re a marvel, Taehyung,” Hoseok said.

“ID?” Jeongguk asked. Both Hoseok and Taehyung turned to stare at him in a way that would
suggest him being a complete fucking idiot. “What?”

“It’s Hwang Yisam’s house. He’s got that bakery downtown,” Hoseok provided. “Anyone touched
anything?”

“Kwak was the first to respond,” Taehyung said, nodding. His voice had this thick smugness to it,
the very sound pissing Jeongguk off.

“He didn't tell us shit. Who's the PR?”

“The neighbor,” Taehyung was checking with his phone, “Choi Kwangho, right. Reported a
disturbance. Y’know, it was a pretty routine follow-up, like. Loud voices, screaming, sound of a
fight. So dispatch gets Kwak on that, he shows up, goes standard procedure 'cos the gate’s
unlocked, the door’s opened... so get this, he turns on the lights, turns off the lights — pukes the
whole place up.”
“Poor fucker,” Hoseok provided. “I take it you haven’t processed anything?”

“Actually…” Taehyung appeared to be almost guilty. “I have. Victims only! Not the shed though,
just the house. ” He pointed at his evidence bag and the camera.

“Oh, come on, Taehyungie,” Hoseok groaned but still managed to sound like some lenient kind
uncle. “You frigid little dick, you know it's no protocol, not until—”

“But Kwak was already here, and he’s an official!”

Hoseok rubbed his face, “Did you move the bodies? Anything?”

“Calm down. Only did visual evidence.”

“Okay, fuck. So what’s the situation?”

“The women are in the house. Hwang and the kid are in the shed.”

“Okay. Where’s Dalsu-ssi?”

“Nobody can reach him.”

“What do you mean nobody can—” Hoseok was getting a little pink, like he was nearing some new
form of combustion.

Go Dalsu was the only pathologist they had, and he worked Okpo but was supposed to be on every
special call duty, and Jeongguk could see that Hoseok was looking really done with the morning.
Looking kind of dead, decomposition in the first stage.

Hoseok yelled at the patrol officer near the shed, waving him over, and put a hand on his tense
shoulder. The poor kid looked green in the face.

“Get someone working the coroner’s office, okay? Get me Go Dalsu. Get him the fuck over here.”

The kid nodded frantically and sprinted away, to the patrol car in the street. He was pressing his
uniform hat to his head to keep it from falling.

Hoseok watched his awkward retreat with a sour face. “We’re like babies over here, fuck’s sake.
Already gone tits up…” He sighed. “Gonna be a paperwork nightmare. What am I supposed to tell
Song?”

“Don’t be a grump.” Taehyung shrugged. “Who gives a fuck. They gonna send a bunch of
metropolitan dickshits to take over this anyway, you know this.”

Hoseok sighed louder. “C’mon, walk us through it. Smoke later.”

“Walking through isn’t my job.”

“You saying Kwak should do it? Look at him, c’mon.”

All three of them turned around to look at the crowd where Kwak was attempting to make
everyone scatter, including the news crew. And as if on cue, he slipped and landed in the mud with
a rich slap.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, gimme a sec,” Taehyung said.

He heeled the cigarette right on the porch—and, like, what the fuck?—and took a flashlight out of
his bag.

As soon as they entered, Jeongguk was hit with a smell so stagnant and strong, it dropped like
something heavy and slimy at the pit of his stomach. He held it in, trying to pick on the details.
Sweat and blood came first, then the sour whiff of vomit and ripe fruit.

Flashlight beams cut through, catching glimpses of their surroundings and finally making up a
picture. The house was small, only one room that combined a bedroom, living room, and kitchen.
In the limited light there was, he could see a mess consistent with struggle.

“Well, no forced entry, that’s true,” Hoseok muttered. “What a mess though. Anything stolen?”

“Haven’t checked. Didn’t wanna disrupt the scene more.” Taehyung directed the light to the
kitchen table. “The mother.”

“Name’s Soyeon,” Hoseok said, turning to Jeongguk.

“Her rigor’s weird, but I’d say she’s been dead for at least five hours,” Taehyung continued.
“Gonna know more after the M.E. preliminary.”

Hoseok crouched, putting on the gloves. The woman lay on her side, curved into a fetal position.
Knees drawn to her chest, shorts revealing that her legs were littered with claw marks, and her
hands clasped almost in prayer in front of her pale face.

Hoseok leaned back, finding support on his palm. “Can we get some fuckin’ light in here?”

“Hyung, we can’t do that.”

Hoseok only clicked his tongue. “Everything’s already fucked as far as the books are concerned,
might as well avoid going blind in this shithole.”

Soon the room was filled with dull light of the single ceiling lamp. Its glow painted the woman’s
skin a sickly yellow, only her arms and neck still remained this grossly stark red.

Hoseok reached to slowly examine the body, her injured feet and dirty clothes, rigid fingers with
most nails missing, then her short coarse hair. It was sticky with blood.

“Her clothes,” Hoseok began, “she must’ve been working. Not outside though, too cold for that.
Probably did laundry, went to the porch to dump the water, saw the attacker, dropped the bowl and
ran—”

He glanced at the line of blood trailing from the porch.

“—but they got her before she could get inside. She tried to crawl away. Went far though. Whoever
it was, they couldn’t have been that heavy. But her nails…”

Hoseok turned her clasped palms slightly, showing the meat of her fingers. He pointed the light
under the table where a couple of wide floorboards had been scratched beyond repair.

“There they are.”

Long, messy lines were carved into the wood, and Jeongguk leaned in to find nails sticking to the
surface. Pink polish, ragged cut. Some of them had pieces of flesh glued to their uneven edges.

“Wonder what could’ve been so horrifying,” Hoseok said. He tried to unclasp her hands but it was
no use.

“Some tight-ass rigor,” Jeongguk muttered, walking around her. “Hyung, check the laceration.”

Hoseok peered down at her forearms, one gloved finger tracing a wide gash. He counted a few on
each arm, all almost black under the layer of gore.

“The bone's visible,” he said. “Not a knife, any cutter really… the edge is too messy. Something
blunt but sharp enough to tear skin and muscle. I don’t think it’s any—”

He motioned for Jeongguk to give him more light.

“—it looks like teeth.”

“An animal?”

“Dunno. Her neck, though, look. The shape, the distance between the marks… too small for any
dog. Too neat for a dog.”

“What’re you saying?”

“I’m saying it looks like human teeth, Jeongguk.”

The words almost made him drop the flashlight. He bent down for a better look, where the smell of
blood and vomit was stronger.

It was rather confusing, what Jeongguk saw. It seemed as if she had a bloody turtle neck drawn up
to her jaw; a good chunk of her flesh was ripped out, not big enough for a dog’s work for sure, but
it was clearly a bite.

“Kim Taehyung-ssi,” Jeongguk handed Taehyung his flashlight, “could you help me out? I’ll only
need a moment.”

With enough light on her body now, Jeongguk could sketch with ease. He crouched, pulling out his
art journal, and got to quickly outlining her features. The pencil needed sharpening but he was done
rather quickly, making sure to give the neck and arms more details.

He could sense Hoseok’s heavy gaze on his skin but chose to ignore it in favor of finishing the
drawing. It looked good enough for later use, so he gave it one final assessment and flipped the
journal shut, pressing it under his arm.

Then something twitched in the periphery. Jeongguk gulped, unsure if he should look. More
movement, then Hoseok gasping at his side.

Her face, it was her face. Her lips were moving. Hoseok jolted in place, watching in horror as her
mouth began to move.

“What the—?” Jeongguk jumped to his feet and took a step back.

Her mouth dropped open, only to let out a wet rat. Its fur was slimy with gristle.

Hoseok suddenly began to giggle, “Gave me a heart attack.”

“Isn't it too early for them?” Jeongguk sounded shaken even to his own ears.

He looked down again and saw Hoseok grinning at him. “Jeonggukkie, you afraid of ghosts? Or
maybe talking corpses? You look a bit pale.”

“Hyung, shut up,” he groaned. “You’re the one who’s almost crying.”

“Whatever you say,” Hoseok teased and moved slowly through the kitchen. “Their household altar
is intact. Odd.”

Jeongguk traced his way to the bed, looking over the surroundings first, not really noticing any
signs of a fight at this side of the room.

“Looks like the struggle was limited to the kitchen,” he offered, “but couldn't have been the
mother…”

The body was splayed on the covers, in a way that could make it appear almost relaxed, as if she’d
been sleeping when the attacker got to her, as if she were sleeping still.

Jeongguk coughed and tugged his gloves on with difficulty. “So what about her?”

“Shin Hojeong,” Taehyung said. “Hubbie's mother. Man, was she a funny little hag.”

The old woman had a hanbok on, the blouse shirt white and the skirt patterned in forest greens. The
fabric was completely soaked through with blood above the ribbon. He still could see it was
expensive, though.

“They had some family thing… she wouldn’t have worn something so fancy otherwise.” He turned
her head slightly to the side for a better look. “Multiple puncture wounds on the neck.” He counted
twenty-one. “Looks deep. Clear overkill. She’s like a skimmer, fuck…” Looking closer, he saw the
wounds were messy. “Wasn’t precise though. Spur of the moment thing?”

"What you thinking?" Hoseok asked from his place at the bookcase. He was studying the shelves.

Taehyung popped a gum into his mouth, grinning at Jeongguk.

Jeongguk gritted his teeth. “Hyung,” he told Hoseok, “I don’t wanna jump the gun, but it’s like…
it’s spontaneous and intense, yeah, but I wouldn’t call it… personal? Or passionate.”

“I coulda told you that,” said Taehyung, still grinning. “She bled out pretty quick. Was too
paralyzed to move probably. Not exactly quantum physics.”

“I’m just doing my job, okay?” Jeongguk resisted the urge to punch him. “Not my fault you can’t
follow the guidelines. Maybe it’s how you lot do it on the farm—”

“Listen, you little city dickface—”

“Guys, a little more on the professional side maybe?” Hoseok piped up. “Leave your mighty
stallion ball-sizing for after hours.”

Hoseok looked annoyed for a moment before resuming his search.

“All jewelry’s in place. And the stash. But over here,” he pointed at the pool of congealed blood
under the bookcase, “it looks like someone’s been bleeding for a while. Sitting up… propped
against the bottom shelf. Then the pattern changes, see?” Jeongguk’s eyes followed the red pattern
that led to the door. “Take a wild guess where that leads.”

The shed, Jeongguk thought, and returned his attention to the grandmother.
“No other visible marks here.” He carefully tugged each sleeve to her elbows. “No defensive
wounds. Can’t really say if—wait—”

He reached over her body where something glistened on the floor.

“—a knitting needle.”

Taehyung snorted at that, patting his camera, “Already there, sunshine. Like I said, doesn’t take a
genius.”

“Let’s wait for the autopsy,” Hoseok reminded patiently. “One thing is clear, though. The path of
the struggle? Wasn’t either of them. And Soyeon was the first one attacked, probably.”

“Hyung, I don’t see much of a struggle here either. Bedding's wrinkled, pillow's knocked off, that’s
it. She wasn’t moved.”

“Think she was asleep when it happened?”

“If it was some occasion, she coulda had a little too much, passed out. Woke up too late to even
move properly or put up a fight.”

“Could be, yeah. Any hearing aid?”

There was none on her body but after a quick search Jeongguk procured the device from under the
bed.

“Must’ve fallen from the bedside table,” he said. “Explains why she didn’t wake up from the
screams then.”

“How’d you miss that?” Hoseok raised his eyebrows at Taehyung. The other looked like he was
ready to defend himself very loudly. “Okay, take it easy. It happens. Just dust it up, do the trace, do
your thing.”

“Can’t wait to deal with these fucks from Busan lab.”

“Not like you’ve got the equipment here,” Jeongguk snorted.

“I can centrifuge it in a fuckin’ bucket with a bunch of pebbles, I don’t care.”

“Don’t be a grump,” Hoseok said, patting him on the shoulder. Clicked his fingers and Jeongguk,
pointing outside. “Guk. The shed.”

The small tin-roofed shed was dim and smelled not unlike the house.

Beneath the bare lightbulb right in the middle, a man of great size lay on his stomach with one arm
extended before him, something clutched tight in his rigid hand, and another pressed under his own
weight.

No apparent wounds—at least in this position Jeongguk couldn’t see any damage—but the dark
puddle must’ve come from somewhere. Abdominal stuff, Jeongguk guessed, figuring the other
hand was used to stop the bleeding.
“Guts,” he muttered, “he sure had 'em.”

“He’s dressed up too,” Hoseok commented, sitting on his haunches. “Well, that looks like some
new brand of terror.”

Jeongguk bent down to shine at the man’s face and could only stare wordlessly.

It had turned an odd shade of pale blue, while his eyes were bulging, and his mouth frozen in a
horrible shape. Jeongguk straightened and shook his head to get rid of the pressure that’d been
building up in his hot temples. Suddenly it turned him completely cold instead.

He focused on the surroundings.

The shed’s furnishing was limited, just a few racks with tools, a small table with a stack of dirty
dishes, and another household altar with freshly refilled bowls. Jeongguk moved to the corner and
saw that thin floor matting had been rolled out over a vast sheet of plastic.

Dirty sheets on the mat, no pillow, but there were restraints coiled in a heap, this kind of brownish
leather with buckles, looked like that stuff they used in hospitals on delirious patients who refused
treatment.

A stained quilt was heaped on the shining plastic, in a pool of fresh blood. Flipping the quilt aside,
Jeongguk found a body of a girl, pale neck and bright hanbok coated with blood.

It took a moment to settle in, but once it had, he felt a painful jolt of his stomach.

The face was a greenish-yellow tinge, distorted and pained and somehow reminding him of an
animal. Her night-blind eyes stared back blankly. There was yellow crust at the corners of her
puffy inflamed eyelids, and her slack mouth was dirty with blood and tinged with dried foam.
Stuck in her teeth, soggy bits of... something. Her throat had been slit, from ear to ear, and this
thick, dark blood still oozed from it. It looked like tar. It also didn’t make any sense.

“Was she found like this?” Jeongguk checked the lining of the quilt. “Looks like she was covered
recently.”

“Probably one of ours.”

“Listen, the blood, and her skin, it’s almost… it looks like she died minutes ago. How’s that
possible?”

“Don’t ask me. Wait for the autopsy.”

Jeongguk focused on the skirt’s muddy hem, then on her left arm that was obscured by the rich
fabric. Thinking it was too late to care for any scene preservation at this point, he twitched the silk
to the side and found her small palm open and bloody. A carving knife, something to use for raw
fish, glinted in the pool beside her.

“Betting on his wounds coming up consistent with the knife,” Hoseok pointed. He took in the girl’s
face. “I’ve seen a face like that before.”

“What, in a zombie flick?”

“In rabies patients.” Hoseok peered down at her. “That’s exactly like it.”

“They would’ve taken her to a hospital.”

“That shit means quick nasty death once the symptoms present. No point for hospitals unless
you’re planning tranqing them to death.”

“So they let her die at home?”

“Well, it’s about a week of horrible pain and extreme aggression. Delirium. Brain inflammation…
she was probably kept here. And then something obviously happened.”

Grim silence stretched between them. Eventually Hoseok seemed to grow tired of feeling morbid.
He cursed.

“Where’s the goddamn pathologist?” He glanced at the girl one more time and turned toward the
exit. “Jeongguk, we’re done here.”

“I’ll only take a sec.” Jeongguk crouched beside her with his journal and pencil ready. “Be right
there.”

“Her name is Hwang Minam,” said Hoseok for some reason.

Fighting back familiar nausea, Jeongguk began to draw Hwang Minam’s lifeless face.

It had stopped raining and now was humid and damp. Shivering in his thin jacket, Jeongguk
followed Hoseok throughout the yard as they checked the perimeter for anything helpful.

The findings included another drum, a thick rusty knife, bowls of rice cakes made soggy with rain,
a tangle of ribbons resting on the fresh mound of dirt as if dropped on accident.

“So weird,” Hoseok mumbled. “All of this. Doesn't add up. Even Hwang Yisam.”

“What about him?”

“In his fist,” Hoseok leaned over the well to look inside, “he had a hank of hair. It was long.
Ripped bloody…”

The well was dried up.

“…Minam’s hair.”

The mud made it impossible to trace anyone’s footsteps or determine much at all. This rain turned
the scene into one leaking mess. Jeongguk looked at the laundry lines with fish pinned to them for
drying, their tails moving in the wind.

“Whatever they celebrated, they did it outside,” Hoseok said. He pointed at the dirt pile. “Why
would they dig at night?”

“To stay in shape?” Jeongguk said, feeling a little like fun.

“Not everyone’s like you, Jeongguk,” Hoseok chuckled. “That’s just useless. Let’s go.”

“Should we request Okpo for canvass?”

“Wide as possible. But this… doesn’t feel like some typical whacko job. Feels like that to you?”

“A bit, yeah.”

Jeongguk shrugged. Hoseok looked rather displeased with him.

They trudged through the mud to the gates where the crowd was still leering. The news crew—a
scrawny sick-looking dude with his camera buddy—were already rushing in their direction.

“Inspector,” the scrawny one jumped on them as soon as they made exit, “Inspector, can you tell us
what happened? What have you found on the scene? Is it cult-oriented? Could it be a blood cult, a
message? What do you think it means for our community?”

“No comment.” Hoseok spared him no glance. “You should know better than be poking my dick,
Jihoon. Now shoo.”

Jeongguk didn’t ask what that was about, but Hoseok was still muttering how this chrome-loving
no-gooder had only been bugging up the space and getting glassed.

They dropped the gloves in the backseat, but Hoseok wasn’t in any rush. He was on the radio with
dispatch, leaning over the open driver’s door. Saying something about the goddamn fucking
pathologist, Jeongguk heard.

“Print and hold,” Hoseok said into the receiver.

Hold, Jeongguk thought. Hold is what he’d been lacking.

Jeongguk looked around. He could take in the picture better now. Everything so dimly gray, greedy
folk swarming around in the crisp dismal air. Not many people see someone’s throat being sliced
open, certainly not their neighbor’s.

Then he heard something.

A voice.

Like a click in his head, a switch.

All sounds faded, and the pressure on his temples increased.

Some unseen force urged him to look up, search for something, and when he found it, he saw it
was a man.

The man stood right across from the crime scene, in front of an abandoned food stall.

He was young, clean-shaven, and sort of out of place. His skin glowed with raindrops even in this
light. His hair was dry, but his thin shirt of coarse linen was completely soaked. It was sticking to
his broad chest, weighed down by the heavy bundle of necklaces. His eyes, covered by long inky
strands, seemed to stare right through Jeongguk.

Then the eyes found focus.

Jeongguk almost swayed in place from this tangible wave of heat that surged through him as their
eyes met, properly. Nothing seemed to move in the guy’s body.

New sound in Jeongguk’s head, like a whisper of leaves or voices. It formed some old song right at
the center of things, and the world was frozen. A terrible sense of unease held him in place where
he stood, shivering in the sudden lack of sound, and staring back.

The guy slowly reached to touch his lips, wordless, then covered his mouth. He didn’t seem to
blink. The freeze lasted several seconds, then the guy dropped his hand, and all sound and color
rushed back in, an assault on Jeongguk’s senses.

Jeongguk gasped, turning away.

“What’s up?” Hoseok’s voice was calming. He’d just signed off. “You okay there?”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk looked over his shoulder. “Who’s that guy?”

“Who? That?” Hoseok smiled. “Jimin?”

“Look suspicious to you? Kinda sketchy.”

“Who? Jimin?” Hoseok barked a laugh at that. Jeongguk felt his cheeks heat up. “You’re funny.
That’s just Jimin.”

“Yes, I get that, but what does he do? Why is here there? Being all…sketchy.”

“It might’ve escaped your attention, but the whole town is here.” Hoseok finally dropped into his
seat and started the car. “Jimin’s just Jimin. He’s harmless. Come on.”

Jeongguk still felt a bit hesitant, even through the prickle of embarrassment.

He looked over again, catching the sight of Jimin’s retreating back. There was something big under
the shirt’s near transparent fabric, something spilling, a dark pattern or an image. Jeongguk realized
it was some kind of tattoo.

Not a lot of harmless folks with things of this sort in any big city, Jeongguk thought, and slid into
the car’s relative warmth. But then again, this was no city.

“Where to?” he sighed.

“Get with our preliminary paper bulk done. M.E. is gonna take another century. And if it’s gonna
be the most venerable ass of Doctor Go Dalsu, expect the report next year.”

“Can we drop for some bulgogi first? I’m dying.”

“Nothing gets to that stomach of yours, does it?”

As they drove slowly along the shore, passing half-empty hotels and private marinas, Jeongguk
began to feel there was an edge to this whole thing that neither of them could quite grasp.

Maybe it was something else, but the mark on that Jimin guy’s back, so stark against the rain-slick
skin, wouldn’t leave his mind.

“Pretty juicy down there,” said Hoseok, his face a glowing red blot in the corridor's neon lights.
“Toe-cutter.”
Toe-cutter…

Jeongguk blinked. The hallway was covered with bodies, brilliant shards of glass, blood, and the
hard lines of all things around him began to shimmer.

Hoseok was leaning on the wall next to a door, the only room with a closed door in the entire
place, and he was chewing on a leaf of mint. Was it mint? Something strongly herbal.

“C’mon, kid. We almost got it.”

It was then that Jeongguk looked down and found his hand curled around a firearm. It was police
issued standard with its safety off. He looked at Hoseok again, but that glowing face was altered,
became the face of Park Jimin.

Jeongguk knew it was a dream.

He’d had a few of those with Park Jimin hanging about. This time Jimin looked different, more
alive than when Jeongguk first saw him, at the scene and last night, in another dream.

“That’s ’cos I am,” Jimin smiled. His brilliant black hair was shining.

Jeongguk swallowed, checked his gun again before facing the door. There was no number. “You
sure Quik is there?”

“Quik is there,” Jimin said. “Quik is there.”

The voice seemed to come from inside Jeongguk’s own head. He’d never heard Jimin speak, so
why was he so sure this, here, was the real voice?

Jimin shifted, knocked on the door two times. “Are you there?”

The door slowly creaked open, and Jeongguk was stepping inside, into the blue dimness of the
room that appeared to be the inside of the shed.

The shed with the girl, Hwang Minam, and her gutless father. But this time there was no girl lying
in the corner, no father bloating in the middle. But right under the bare lightbulb, in the pool of
congealed blood, stood a boy.

The boy from home, the boy with dead eyes. He was unmoving, silent.

Until he opened his mouth to say: “Long time no see.”

And as the room blurred, the door swung shut behind Jeongguk, and everything faded into
darkness. Jimin’s song, more like a distant whisper, filled his ears until he felt himself go deaf.

Jeongguk woke to the poor light of the room, heaving, cold in his head. He was drenched with
sweat. His lungs hurt. Blinking rapidly, he tried to calm down.

It was just his room, and Mrs. Kim was snoring behind the wall, and everything was sharp and
real.

“Long time no see.” He exhaled. “Just leave me alone.”

He really needed some fucking tranquilizers.

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ
“So why did you exactly get Park Jimin to help you out?”

Jeongguk didn’t answer. He’d been quietly zoning out after his retelling of that messy crime scene
trudge.

Thing was, whenever Heeyeon would ask for more Park Jimin details, and very persistently, he
would just clamp up. Only had mentioned having seen him at the crime scene, and then kept
evading.

That line of questioning seemed to hit a wall with him. Heeyeon had to get more off the surface
then, dig a little at the background.

“Say, Jeongguk. Tell me when you first met Hoseok.”

A shy smile showed on his nervous face. “What did hyung tell you about me exactly?”

Heeyeon chuckled and fiddled with the recorder.

Hoseok had joked about her pretentious taste for microcassettes before actually telling her about
the Hwang case. She’d asked him to talk about his lost partner, because she’d had troubles finding
this Jeon Jeongguk, and Hoseok had said not to worry and that he’d give her the juice.

Hoseok had also had a red cat, a really cartoon-like thing with stripes and whiskers. He’d called the
cat names a lot but scratched under its ear whenever the fluffy thing crawled into his lap.

He’d kept doing that while finally diving into the Jeon Jeongguk subject, almost as if he’d itched
for something to do with his hands.

“What was Jeon Jeongguk like?” she’d asked.

“Kinda quiet, a little edgy,” Hoseok had shrugged. “Got to know him real good only by the time
the Hwang murders came about. We’d been partners for, what, five months, but the kid was still
kinda closed off, you know, like—

He’d hissed at the cat biting his finger.

“—vague, spooked maybe? Only other officer was Kwak, never been too bright, so he’d give the
kid a real passive aggressive hell after the transfer. Nobody really told us why a coast talent would
get dumped in some shithole backwater township, you know?”

And telling this to Jeongguk now, Heeyeon felt some new shiver rise up her arms. Could’ve been
Jeongguk’s expression…

It opened up, finally, to show a very wistful thing, and it was making her more and more curious.

“Shithole…” Jeongguk murmured, flicking the ash onto the table. Heeyeon pushed a tea plate
towards him. He looked at it. Said, “Shithole?”

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ
Geoje-do was hardly that, more of an uptight tourist sin-cradle than a shithole.

In Geoje city it was plain, and Okpo was wet and loud, oily and loose from the Daewoo hub
dealings and nasty pleasures for foreigners.

Okpo was that, but their township, a little down south, was a swamp.

Slow, rural, uneventful.

Annual murder numbers for the entire Gyeongnam usually drifted between thirty and eighty-
something cases, and the island’s share of that was a precise zero. Accidents, sure, but homicide
wasn’t their kind of juice.

They transferred Jeongguk in early June. They’d gotten the paperwork done in about a day and
shipped him off the next morning. He hadn’t seen it coming. The last he’d expected from his
superiors was to be this cheap.

His first day, just a little after noon, he’d met the Superintendent—an old messy-looking dude
named Song Pansu—and now was sorting out his new desk.

The tiny township station was a green-tinted room with three desks, the chief’s office—which
Chief Song came to check on once a month from Okpo—basement archive room with its contents
still waiting to be digitized, and a holding cell.

Pale checkered floors, the main entrance a glass wall. It didn’t look much of a station.

His new super, Senior Inspector Jung Hoseok, was a pretty chill South Jeolla guy. Thin but lanky,
sort of subtly collected, with an open face. He gave off a slight coffee-and-smokes smell. His
wrinkled dress shirt with rolled up sleeves and bright tie reminded Jeongguk of messy detectives in
tacky crime flicks. He imagined Hoseok giving chase through rooftops and shipyards, shooting
mid-fall, smoking in the rainy night, the whole thing.

“So you get here okay?” Hoseok suddenly asked, probably to loosen him up a bit. Jeongguk
nodded with a faint smile. “You don’t talk much, do you? That’s okay. The job’s not about
yapping, right?”

Nodding again, Jeongguk licked his dried lips. “It was kinda hot.”

“It’s not hot in Busan?”

“Not like this.”

“Did you get the ferry?”

“The bus.”

It had been a morning ride.

Because he’d had family connections, there had been little fuss to worry about.

Because there’d been little fuss to worry about, he found himself still in one very functioning piece
standing at the Okpo bus station’s crowded platform. Strong tourist sweat and stale oil had clouded
there, thick and suffocating in the early morning heat. So bad for his acute sense of smell.

Jeongguk remembered riding a rickety bus.

Road slicing through the hill slopes, the wheezing sub-tropics, the reek of internal combustion. It
felt sticky to be in his skin and soaked shirt. The woman beside him had been pressing close in her
sleep. It’d been a few days since he last slept, but his blistered mind made it hard to be sure. But
because it’d been so long for him, the sight of that woman turned him impossibly sad.

He let her sleep and watched the steep scenery with a focus of a sweat-boiled junkie halfway
through his withdrawal. From the back seats he could hear low cracking of some retro radio
station. Something his mother liked, he thought, and closed his eyes to cut off the blinding sun.

The darkness brought back nausea on every curve of the road. He managed not to puke his guts out
until the arrival.

The sun-washed bus station looked in need of a paint job. He studied its cracked glass, unbothered
by the weird looks this old lady was shooting him.

Instead of taking a cab, he walked to the coast, eyes squinted against the sun.

At the intersection, right before the beach, there was a roadkill in the middle of the road, lying all
blotched red. It was stewing in the hot noon air.

Hoseok was perched on Jeongguk’s desk. Something about it screamed habit. Hoseok’s gaze was
expectant, and Jeongguk felt the need to actually make an effort or something.

“The bus was a little crazy,” Jeongguk said.

It made Hoseok smile for some reason, but that only made Jeongguk breathe easier. Looking past
Hoseok, he met a very disdainful glare.

The other guy was piling up his soggy layers of fat behind his littered desk while stuffing his face
with some mayo jumble. No lunch box with home-made cakes, or noodle container. That and his
uneven layer of stubble made Jeongguk think he must’ve lived alone.

The glare began to unnerve Jeongguk, so he looked away, down at his fidgety hands. Hoseok
must’ve noticed.

“Knock it off, Kwak,” Hoseok said and got to his feet. He flicked the guy’s head, then gave
Jeongguk another appraising look. “Welcome to the swamp, kid.”

After that, life fell into a simple pattern. They spent mornings on trite misdemeanor calls, most of
them foreign tourists forgetting to recall where they were and why it wasn’t really that swell to act
like a trip of pigs.

Vandalism, petty theft, sloppy burglary jobs… the most exciting things one could get there, and
that juice happened only once every two weeks.

They spent other mornings neck-deep in tedious paperwork or some other bureaucratic mess.
Jeongguk often watched Hoseok try to reason with loud old ladies that came down to the station
and stirred shit up out of senile boredom.

A week passed, then another, a month.

They had lunch together, just him and Hoseok, at that one beach-point ramen stall with its plastic
counter scraped all intricate. In the afternoons, Jeongguk often took Hoseok’s offer to have a lazy
walk, or catch a movie at the small theatre. Sometimes they went for a beer at beachfront street
joints. They rarely went swimming.

Soon Jeongguk learned that life barely moved in this town, as if trapped in a single boiling point of
fuck-all. And while Hoseok was movement in the flesh, Jeongguk himself would rather keep his
eyes shut and learn how to disappear completely.

Every night Jeongguk stared at the ceiling of his room from the lumpy floor matting. Here it was
painfully hot. His breathing and the quiet snores of Mrs. Kim were drowned by the rattle of an old
fan next to his head.

The room, a small box with low ceilings, was in an old but neat house with screen doors and floor
drafts. Summer nights held too much natural noise in a place like this, and too much moonlight
turned floorboards a dark blue and made his sheets glow.

Every night, that summer smell of his own sticky body and warm breeze and humid thickets
cooling in the darkness, were somehow unbearable.

And every night Jeongguk could always hear him. The boy’s voice trying to knock inside his head.
Small feet pattering behind the sliding door of his room.

Whenever the footsteps stopped at his door, he closed his eyes and tried to even out his breathing.
Doctor Choi, his old therapist at BMPA, taught him the right patterns. She made him find a special
chant for his anxiety, something to recite aloud when he felt like choking.

And every night, as Jeongguk counted and whispered a chant, the socked feet would shuffle behind
the door, and the harsh breathing that wasn’t his would fill his room.

To cut off the sounds of small feet and small lungs, Jeongguk finally remembered to stuff his ears
with music. His phone was low on memory, so it ended up being the same playlist of odd nine
songs looping every night.

In the mornings, Jeongguk washed his face with products because he’d always liked to smell nice
and also to not…be a fucking pig. When he shaved, he noticed how with each morning his face
turned thinner, under the uneven tan.

He had breakfast with Mrs. Kim in the tiny kitchen on a mildly uncomfortable floor cushion. He
soon learned that she was happy enough to talk for both of them. Often she mentioned some old
friend or other, in need of Jeongguk’s help with small household things, the kind of stuff the police
wouldn’t normally have to do.

Jeongguk always took a note and passed it to Hoseok later.

“Backwater job,” Hoseok often said to that. “You know how it is.”

Hoseok looked very beautiful, Jeongguk thought, with warm eyes and glowing skin.

It was sort of like a one-man fashion show, the entire summer, with Hoseok at the top of the food
chain. Hoseok had different ideas of what casual style meant sometimes. But Jeongguk kind of
liked it, and more like — he fucking loved it. His favorite look was definitely the lemon and blue.

The lemon was Hoseok’s favorite shirt, this acid-yellow, and printed with tiny cars, in full color, all
different kinds. And for that he wore unusually oversized shorts—some real intense tropicana
cabana—rubber sandals, sometimes with socks. His curls looked fried from the sun and his legs
were very brown.

Hoseok often wore a pair of round mirrored glasses that reminded Jeongguk of coins. He fixed the
shades with this dainty little gesture, and Jeongguk always stared at his long pretty fingers.
Weighty plastic watch went around Hoseok’s wrist on a strap of imitation leather. He had a simple
chain around his neck, and Jeongguk wondered if it was a token, because Hoseok rarely went
without it.

They cruised down the shoreline curve in Hoseok’s Honda, from village to village under their
jurisdiction, to deal with countryside trifles.

Hoseok listened to a lot of marginal shit, a mix of obscure hip-hop, something between electro
house and music for fucking. Hoseok didn’t smoke in the car, knowing Jeongguk couldn’t handle
the reek.

“So healthy,” Hoseok nodded in approval. Said he was like that too, a few years back. “Bet you run
every morning, too.”

“Only in my sleep.”

Running in his sleep was a thing he suppressed with under-the-counter tranqs.

He spent half of his pay on that shit because his old prescription was no use anymore, and he’d
skipped on finding a local therapist. To avoid every gutter dog knowing and ratting on him, or
maybe to get a kick out of his own guilt.

Jeongguk bought shirts he thought weren’t all touristy-looking, more like something the locals
wore, and bundled himself in shapeless hoodies when the weather started bitching. He always had
his heavy boots on, even with all the heat and humidity, which confused the inner mother out of
Mrs. Kim and the other (more obvious) mother in Hoseok.

“You should get some douchebag shades to tone off the look,” Hoseok said one day, pointing at
his boots.
Jeongguk got himself a pair of douchebag shades to tone off the look, and also do a great job of
concealing his bloodshot eyes.

Mrs. Kim didn’t like his eyes one bit.

“Get yourself something for that, my boy,” she kept nagging. “No nasty pills. I know someone
who can help, you know.”

She said that the guy lived quite far, in a house by the kudzu roots, near a mountain stream.
Jeongguk thought she was a little crazy. Her house was soaked in the stench of boiled cabbage. It
was always on the hot plate or the little gas stove, boiling for the soup or other nasty things.

The smell started to piss him off. It clung to his clothes too, stinking, thick, and he thought he
would surely go crazy too.

At some point in early September, Jeongguk realized that Hoseok had already managed to build
history for the two of them.

They worked Chuseok together, all three days, but had shorter hours, and it finally started to make
sense why Hoseok had invited him to stay over for the main thing. Jeongguk still asked him why.

“We’re both kinda rootless here,” Hoseok explained, “might as well stick together.”

Hoseok lived in the oldest part of their largely one-storied township, in a quiet block that still
echoed with nearby downtown tourist noise.

His place was one of those scanty flat-roofed bungalows, the typical seaside deal, just like the rest
of the street, but a single glassy commercial building loomed over the road and made it all sharp
and luminous.

Jeongguk looked around, feeling the sand in the evening breeze. He froze.

There was a boy on the other side of the street. His eyes looked dead. Jeongguk couldn’t look away
from the vision.

“The sky’s too clear,” Jeongguk muttered. To the boy or himself. Something his grandmother said
wasn’t a good sign on Chuseok.

Inside it was cramped and very dull. It smelled of incense. One room, small kitchen, a bathroom.
Bare walls but plenty of potted plants and a neat veranda.

Hoseok stood there in his ridiculous bathrobe with a dragon print, jokingly apologizing for
skipping on chuseokbim, but Jeongguk was staring at his damp chest.

Hoseok nodded at the plastic bag in his hand. “Are you bearing gifts?”

Jeongguk told him that Mrs. Kim had been worried they couldn’t do it all proper, so she’d packed
some taro soup and skewers. “Said we wouldn’t bother with good food.”

“And how correct she was,” Hoseok began unloading the containers on the table, “’cos I only
managed to get some songpyeon. Our old lady Kang was kind enough to send it this morning.
Probably soggy by now.”

They went through their dinner slowly. After their first bottle (something Hoseok called “the
wimpy booze” or “flaccid sauce”), Jeongguk finally scraped for courage to give his obvious
holiday gift.

“Spam,” Hoseok beamed, shaking the gift package, “points to you, little genius.”

“Figured you weren’t really a swanky guy.”

“I’m the junk-chic, yeah,” he nodded, “and more of a skincare crap guy. Which, by the way, is
what you’re getting.” He laughed at the surprise on Jeongguk’s face. “I see your shiny little face,
kid. Every damn day. I smell your dirty beauty secrets.”

“You’re looking that hard, huh?”

Jeongguk let himself look. At Hoseok’s hands setting the gift on the table, at his long neck, sharp
collarbones, his sweet pout. It felt, if only a little, like falling into some new kind of sharing.

“Thank you,” Jeongguk said.

There was a hot coil in his throat. He couldn’t really explain why it was getting to him so much.
Kind of hurt, this real affection.

“Don’t go crying on me, boy.” Hoseok watched Jeongguk’s face carefully. Sighed, “My-my. Who
knew a brat like you could.”

As they shared a post-dinner drink outside, Hoseok asked him of his family and told a bit about his
home, too.

Didn’t say why exactly he’d ended up in this swamp, so far from Gwangju that was sure way better
for rotting your life away. Mentioned no wife or girlfriend and kept fiddling with the token chain.

Maybe it was the drink making his tongue all flabby and kicking Jeongguk to go for it, but he
found himself asking: “Is this special?”

Hoseok raised his eyebrows, fingers still twirling the chain. He was now wearing a thin blue
sweater that outlined his lithe build. Jeongguk always stared at Hoseok’s chest or thighs, and now
his pretty neck.

“The chain,” Jeongguk explained.

“Oh.” Hoseok dropped it. Hesitated. “Yeah. From someone special.”

“Did—did something happen?”

“Well, pretty basic stuff. We loved each other and all that. Then we stopped. I’m not sure I can,
like, elaborate much.”
Jeongguk rubbed his nose, suddenly feeling on the edge of some big warm secret.

“Why?”

“Because”—Hoseok curled his mouth in a very cute way—"listen, no offense, but I don’t know
much about your tolerance margins.”

Jeongguk swallowed nervously, because Hoseok was studying his every move. Then Hoseok was
leaning in slowly, as if checking with Jeongguk’s discomfort, but Jeongguk didn’t mind at all.

Hoseok’s careful fingers brushed Jeongguk’s nape. He said, voice low, “Do you get me?”

Watching Hoseok’s face, so close now, Jeongguk could feel himself getting it, that warm and big
secret, just like Hoseok’s hand that was splayed over Jeongguk's thigh.

“I get you,” Jeongguk whispered. “I’m also—I just have this—I don’t wanna—”

“Easy,” Hoseok soothed. “Take a breath.”

Jeongguk did. “I’d rather nobody knew about…” A pause. “Me.”

He licked his lips but could almost taste Hoseok’s cheek instead. There was that pout of his, so
close to Jeongguk’s own mouth.

Jeongguk wanted to shape his thoughts into something coherent, a calm explanation, but it was
hard to go about, to arrange his empty desires that were born out of simple boredom and loneliness.

“Jeonggukkie,” Hoseok chuckled, pulling away, “you think anyone knows about me? How would I
still have this job?”

“I, uh. Of course not, but just I feel this— I can't.”

“Calm down, I’m not attracted to you,” Hoseok said. “I think you look good. You look like you
think I look good, too. No need for stress, feel me?”

Jeongguk nodded and shifted back.

“Jeongguk… my guess is, you feel lonely and you wanna fuck. Not me, particularly, just any good-
looking dude. But I would be way easier. Now that your suspicions are confirmed. That sound
right?”

“Maybe.”

“That’s okay,” Hoseok smiled. “But let’s not fuck. That shit complicates the job, usually. You okay
with that?”

He was okay with that. “I’m okay with that.”

“What are the odds, huh?”

Hoseok patted Jeongguk’s cheek and leaned in to press a kiss to it.

They watched dark blue September sky for a while.

“No clouds,” Hoseok hummed. “They say it’s for troubled times ahead.”
 ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ

“You think it meant something, the thing about the clouds?”

“No.”

There was another bout of silence, like Jeongguk had been far away again. Heeyeon checked her
Hoseok notes.

“He mentioned something about bonding over ex-girlfriends. Did you?”

“Did we bond? Yeah, sure. He was my only friend back then.”

“And Park Jimin?” More stubborn silence. “Gimme something. Like, what he looks like. Was he
different then? What kinda car he drove then. Where he worked. Where he works now, at least.”

“He was a nurse.”

And he said that, but Heeyeon was still a little wary.

“How did you get him consulting?”

Silence again. Heeyeon sighed, weighing her options. “Tell me why your Superintendent wanted
the Hwang case killed.”

“Didn’t hyung tell you?”

“I’m talking to you right now.”

Jeongguk chewed on his lips, and she knew he’d given in.

“Well, turned out Soyeon, the wife, was the Chief’s sister. He had too much plunder in bribes to let
that info leak.”

Years before, she’d been kicked off the family register, Jeongguk said, and nobody even knew
Chief Song had siblings.

Something had happened that got Soyeon disowned, and it didn’t matter at all, not where their case
was concerned. But back then, she’d changed her name and moved to one of the small islands, only
to return years later, expecting and with a husband.

And the Chief couldn’t care less about her being butchered, along with her entire family, but he
was on real sharp edge about some yellow press sniffer diggin their relations up, because the Chief
hadn’t spent years in Busan, licking metropolitan ass, to climb where he’d climbed, and get it all
ruined by some dead chick who wasn’t his family anymore.

“Burying it was no problem, he told us to shut our traps and let him handle the whole thing. Not
hard, ’cos he had all the gold connections, but that kinda shit’s gotta be done quiet. And Kim
Namjoon didn’t help with that.”

“Your,” she flipped the page, another thing for show, “Seoul specialist? Must’ve messed the plans
to stay quiet on this one.”
“Not really. Just stalled. But it wasn’t like the Chief had any choice until he could find someone to
pin the thing on. When he did, he got Namjoon's super dragging him back by the dick, Seoul-
wards.”

“Okay, but then who sent Namjoon?”

“He volunteered. He’s an eager brain guy.”

“Were you irked about it at all?”

That made Jeongguk laugh for some reason. He said, “I’ve got a way with people.”

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ

The SMPA volunteer turned out to be a very polite guy called Kim Namjoon who fit most capital
dude types Jeongguk had had the chance to encounter.

Kim Namjoon was nice and a little posh. He wore a fancy red scarf tied in a way that screamed
refined asshole, and had a pair of fake glasses.

They’d been notified about him, and Jeongguk had to admit he shared Chief Song’s displeasure for
the whole thing, but for completely different reasons.

Still, Jeongguk remained pleasant, because Jeongguk was a nice guy, and they let Kim Namjoon
examine the bodies and have a really long pretentious talk with Taehyung that made Jeongguk
want to drive a stack of ice-picks in his own fucking ear.

But still, they showed Kim Namjoon to the scene, trying not to breathe down his neck, in a way of
defying the country cop stereotype, and then briefed him on whatever he hadn’t already learned in
Seoul.

“Lay it all on me,” Hoseok told Kim Namjoon, probably meaning some tight metro-city wisdom.

“I, uh,” Kim Namjoon stuttered. “Well, um, very impersonal… despite the violence.”

Hoseok waved for him to continue, nodding in encouragement.

“Difference in the methods of killing would normally suggest”—Namjoon suddenly took a pause
to sneeze, very loudly—“multiple attackers, but that’s highly unlikely. I’d say, um, victims of
opportunity?”

Hoseok kept twirling his hand, as if to say go on, go on, go on.

“But that said, there’s no evidence of an intruder. If the killer was one of the family members, and
by that I mean Hwang Minam, since bits of flesh found in her mouth most likely came from her
mother's neck, then… the detachment seen in the act itself could mean it was some form of
psychotic break. Or, as you rightfully supposed, rabies virus… but we still need to get a more
thorough testing for that…”

He trailed off, scratching at his cheek.

Hoseok made that clicking sound at the back of his throat and slapped Jeongguk on the chest.

“Look at that,” Hoseok said. “Killed it. Sent home toasting. Savagely barreled.”

Jeongguk saw Kim Namjoon smile bashfully.

After one long week, they had a shaky timeline and a bunch of loose ends with inconclusive results
from Busan lab.

The idea was, Hwang Minam had been unlucky enough on some trip to get rabies, and all had been
chill until the thing presented and she’d been declared possessed by her ancient-minded family. But
during the expelling ritual, shit had gone awry, somehow letting her escape, and the rest had been
history.

They still had to wait for a couple of results from some buddy of Namjoon’s, but Hoseok had this
strange premonition that Chief Song would put a lid on it all anyway.

“He’s just acting weird,” Hoseok explained, “like he knows some shit and just needs our full scope
to fuck it over better.”

“You thinking conspiracies now?”

“No, it’s something small. Something personal? Telling ya, he’s gonna nip it.”

“I’ll sleep on it,” Jeongguk promised.

Every night Jeongguk went home where Mrs. Kim waited, kind-hearted and sad, and that thing
about her was the only comfort.

He failed to get any proper sleep, dreaming in gory fragments of Park Jimin, rabid kids, and the
boy from home whose dead eyes made Jeongguk feel horribly sick. Like, turning him chalk-white
in the face and blue in the chest.

And still, Jeongguk kept seeing the real Park Jimin all over town, who only seemed to hang around
the elderly and offering help and smiling wordlessly. Jeongguk never heard him speak and
wondered if the real voice matched the one from his dreams.

In the dreams, it was so clear and mellow, it could put you in a trance, make you follow whatever it
says, and you’d be the happier for that; and other times so low and slow, sweet molasses to drag
you down.

And every anxiety-ridden morning, Mrs. Kim made Jeongguk some stinky herbal brew, saying
how she’d learned it from one of their shamans, saying that Jeongguk should see him as soon as
possible.

“He’s really good at what he does,” she insisted. “Been helping us out for ages. Headed my
husband’s funeral ritual as well. He’s a good boy, can heal you right up.”

“You know I don’t follow these kinda things, ahjumma,” Jeongguk said.
Doing that made him guilty, so he thanked her, always.

Until one morning she took his palm, squeezed it really tight, and said, “You don’t look that good,
my boy.”

And over and over again.

“You don’t look good at all. Let Park Jiminie look at you.”

He refused to sleep after that.

Once the results came in, Hoseok stopped picking on Jeongguk’s bratty comments.

Hoseok himself had left a comment or two slip about them being a bunch of toddlers finger-
painting, or how Jeongguk should stop fixating on the “sketchy” Jimin guy.

Which Jeongguk still refused to do, even though he’d agreed with most parts of their collective
theory. Didn’t mean he wasn’t still a bit annoyed about all of this.

And when it was time to brief Chief Song, Jeongguk tried to illustrate it all very dramatically,
sitting there next to Namjoon and throwing Hoseok daggers.

Hoseok refused to take the bait. He often did, said they had to keep their family shit in private. And
so he didn’t take it now, and only went on with the briefing.

“Finally, the bite mould,” Hoseok said, pointing at the photo on the board, “that we took of
Soyeon’s neck, matched Minam’s dental prints. DNA in her mouth came up a match to Soyeon.
Combined with the fingerprints on the needle, the knife, no evidence of an intruder or—”

“Which isn’t conclusive, ’cos the fuckin’ rain destroyed all trace evidence,” Jeongguk couldn’t
help butting in.

“—combined with the prints on the needle, the knife, no evidence of an intruder, we’re fairly
certain,” at that Hoseok gave Jeongguk a stern look, “she’s the sole killer. Doctor Go confirmed
that the damage to her central nervous system and most of her symptoms are consistent with rabies
virus. Which is, well, you know, pretty uncommon in the vaccination zone, but doesn’t mean it
wasn’t impossible for her to get infected.”

Hoseok paused, chancing a glance at the Chief. Nothing.

“So we think the actual transmission of the virus happened somewhere between three weeks and
four months before the murder. The host was most likely a stray dog. The family either wasn’t
aware of the incident, or didn’t think a dog bite was a big deal.”

“We’re not sure when or where it happened,” Namjoon piped up, “since nobody seems to recall
them taking a vacation or going anywhere past Okpo.”

“They could be lying,” Jeongguk shrugged.

“Why would they?” Chief Song seemed genuinely confused. “Inspector Jeon, is it maybe common,
where you come from, to disrespect your superiors?”

He apologized, feeling embarrassed, but mostly annoyed.

Namjoon carried on, “The long incubation period could explain why the parents were so confused
at how sudden Minam’s change had been. Her violent behavior must’ve been a true horror show….
increasing anxiety and paranoia, hallucinations, delirium, especially for a child her age…”

“Also explains why the job is so intense and sloppy,” Hoseok said.

“No plan, no motive either,” Namjoon nodded, “and not ritualistic, not in that sense. Came from
some base need. And normally I’d call for a triggered psychosis, but well. The virus inflamed her
brain. Ate her whole.”

After that, Jeongguk couldn’t help himself. “Except Doctor Go based his diagnosis on partially
consistent symptoms. And the test results were inconclusive. There wasn’t a single bite mark on
her body, dog or else—”

“It’s enough to come in contact with the host’s saliva,” Namjoon said. “Mucous membrane, you
know.”

“You always talk like that?” Hoseok asked in wonder. He looked all chummy and chill, obviously
trying to save Jeongguk’s ass.

Namjoon smiled shyly—which Jeongguk had to admit was pretty cute—and continued, “A cute
puppy comes a child’s way, especially a child who’s used to close contact with animals, and she
kisses it no problem.”

“That’s all cool,” Jeongguk said, careful, “but we checked with the MOHW, and they claim the
last vaccination campaign eliminated the virus across the islands entirely.”

“Jeon,” the Chief warned, “you’re grasping.”

Hoseok gave him an apologetic look before taking away again.

“In addition, all neighbors who agreed to talk to us are saying that, about a week before the
murder, the family had been acting odd. Distracted, nervous, rarely came out when normally
they’d been pretty sociable. Next door neigbor,” Hoseok glanced at his last notes, embarrassed,
“Park Hyunseo, said that she hadn’t seen Minam the entire week. Said she’d been worried, went to
check on her, but the grandmother wouldn’t let her in.”

Hoseok went back to the board, sticking a new picture to it. It was a photo of the shed matting
soaked in the dark pool, and it made Jeongguk’s stomach churn. He’d been used to these work
things, so it was most confusing.

Jeongguk had to close his eyes against the sharp flash.

An afterimage of something, it kept blinking in and out. Minams’s face, he realized.

Then the swimming colors behind his eyelids burst in a flare, the face of the boy with dead eyes, so
close to him now, then someone's heavy hand on his neck, pressing in. Jimin’s face coming into
focus, soft lips touching his ear, saying, Long time no see.

“Jeongguk,” the voice snapped him back to the light.

He exhaled. The rain was pouring over the glass wall of their station.

“Jeongguk,” Hoseok repeated, sofer now. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he rubbed his bloodshot eyes, “where were we?”

While Hoseok didn’t look that convinced, he turned back to the board to explain the leather
restraints they’d found in the shed.

The parents decided to keep her there, safe and tied up, after she’d started presenting first signs of
violent behavior, and they kept her like that until they could arrange an expelling ritual.

Namjoon tapped at his lips in thought. “Many rituals involve water… and rabies often cause
hydrophobia, so Minam would’ve probably been in agony if they made her drink it, or washed her
in some way. Would look pretty convincing as well, if we’re talking evil spirits.

“But we still don’t know which ritual they were performing. The props are rather unusual. Not
something I’ve seen. We think maybe the grandmother tried to do it herself.”

Hoseok nodded. “We couldn’t get any mudang to cooperate. Canvassed the villages, but every pro
just clamped up.”

Jeongguk huffed, “That’s because they know one of them did it.”

“Jeon over there believes there was an outsider.”

“Why?” The Chief tilted his head in curiosity.

“There always has to be a real officiant," Jeongguk said quietly. "Doesn’t matter that everyone we
talked to denied any contact. ”

“What does it matter?” Chief Song sounded irritated now.

“Well, if there was someone else, they’re a vital witness,” Namjoon hummed, “so why wouldn’t
they come forward?”

Hoseok made a face. “Dunno, maybe it’s ’cos it would turn them, an adult who fled the scene, into
a suspect against the ‘oh yeah, this child butchered her whole family?’”

“I don’t know…”

“Namjoon-ssi, you don’t know small towns. They’re full of this sense of old. The fucking
countryside cares as much for evidence as they care for staying out of people’s business.”

Namjoon frowned. “That person is still innocent.”

“Dunno about that,” Jeongguk mumbled. “They could’ve reasoned with the folks, you know?
Could’ve taken Minam to the hospital to die peacefully.”

“You think it’s better die tied up in the hospital than at home?”

Jeongguk pushed himself to sit a little straighter. He avoided looking at Namjoon directly, still
unsure if he could handle the way that guy stared.

“Better die knowing it was a lethal virus that fried up your brain, and that it was too late, and stop
torturing her with… superstition. Nobody would’ve been hurt.” Jeongguk paused. “Whoever it was
with them, they’re responsible for the deaths.”

“How so?”

“She was probably untied for the ritual. So they’re more than just a witness.”

“Is it about Jimin again?” Hoseok looked exasperated.

Jeongguk groaned. Namjoon looked between them, confused. “Who?”

Dropping one of the files, Hoseok perched atop his table. “Park Jimin. He’s literally nobody. I
mean, he’s somebody but he’s a literal mother Teresa type, you know? Does community service,
part-time caretaker.”

“How’s that?”

“You know, washes up all old folks who can’t afford a real nurse. Volunteers for whatever charity
shit.”

Namjoon gave it a thought. “If he’s a quiet type, lives alone, that could be it.”

“It’s not it. Take Jeongguk. The kid talks two times a year. I live alone too. People around here
manage to share everything while keeping to themselves.”

All of them lapsed into silence.

After a long tense moment, Chief Song finally drew the line.

“Okay,” he said. “Good job.” And then, to Hoseok, “In my office.”

Hoseok stood there, confused, then followed him inside.

Jeongguk and Namjoon shared a look but had no choice except to wait in silence. And Jeongguk
really tried, honestly he tried very hard to pick up on any words, but the conversation was just too
hushed, and he only got himself a headache.

When they finally emerged, Hoseok looked a bit on the paler side.

“Keep me posted,” the Chief said, “and good job.”

He smiled and gave Hoseok’s shoulder two heavy pats on his way out.

“Good job,” Hoseok echoed.

Later, after a good barrel of beer, the good kind of trashy, Jeongguk managed to fish it all out of
him.

And sucking on a can of that local garbage water, Hoseok told him that Song wanted the case to be
very much gone, and that he told Hoseok to ease off, and also how he was pretty fucking direct
about threatening Hoseok’s career.

“If I see any of that in your report, Jung,” Song’s exact words had been, “next thing you’re writing
up is your letter of resignation.”
Hoseok hadn’t written any of that, naturally enough.

But the thing was, they just couldn’t tune in on it.

They didn’t test their luck much, but decided to at least be done with these loose ends.

“If ain’t for justice and all that good shiz,” Hoseok said, “then for safer sleep.”

Jeongguk got them into following the shaman witness theory, but before that Namjoon wanted to
work on the neighbors again, dig for any place Minam could’ve gone and done her over with the
rabies.

Namjoon wasn’t aware of the Chief Song Issue in the first place, not that he couldn’t tell there was
one, Jeongguk thought, feeling Namjoon’s extremely calculating gaze with the back of his head.

And even though the urge to sock someone in the face, preferably Namjoon or Taehyung, rose
exponentially as the days followed, Jeongguk had to admit to some certain truths.

Like Kim Namjoon proving to be actually useful and adding a whole lot of gloss to their crosstown
ordeal.

This Kim Namjoon picked up on Jeongguk’s jittery habits that tended to slow his reactions often
enough to be noticed, though people rarely did, but Namjoon managed to see that. He did see that
but took it the (completely) wrong way. Jeongguk felt it was often the case with Namjoon’s
goodies of wisdom.

Namjoon suggested to hydrate and clean his room and take long walks like Jeongguk was some
kind of amateur with vitamin deficiency. Which was exactly what Namjoon said was part of the
problem.

“Vitamin deficiency, my ass,” Jeongguk huffed.

They were waiting for Namjoon to finish talking to all half-witnesses they’d already questioned,
and three times, actually.

“Get more sun, kid,” Jeongguk said. “My ass.”

“He’s just being nice,” Hoseok defended, tapping at the wheel. “You got a point, though. Only I
can call you that.”

“Vitamin deficiency.”

“Be grateful he doesn’t know about you seeing shit. Actually, be grateful I didn’t get your ass on
sick leave? Like, actually, can I get some of that grateful stuff? Actually?”

“Thanks.”

“Easy there,” Hoseok flicked him on the temple, “don’t break anything vital on that scrotum-
scorching sarcasm.”
Time passed at the alarming speed of a snail, the rest of it in silence. And it was starting to drive
Jeongguk kind of crazy. It was all that buzz…

He felt trapped in his body, going in tremors, burning in sleep-lack. And just when his brain went
into amber alert, Namjoon emerged from the last house on their list. He looked annoyingly happy
as he approached the car.

“So guess what,” was the first thing Namjoon said as he splayed in the backseat, “guess what,
guys.”

Jeongguk closed his eyes.

“Guys. Guess what, you guys.”

“What?” Hoseok said, and that friendly tone of his was so tense it made Jeongguk snort.

“That nice lady there knows the grandma’s childhood friend. And the grandma’s childhood friend,
the lady claims, mentioned something about a trip to—” He checked with his shiny notepad.
Moleskine. What a prick. “Jisim island.”

“That’s not far,” Hoseok said. “Tourist trashcan, low on the population, could explain the higher
risk of infection.”

“My thoughts precisely. And MOHW could’ve skipped on vaccination in small areas, no?”

“Doubt it,” Jeongguk said. “No way.”

Hoseok shot Namjoon a look, frowning. “How’d you get it out of her? She never mentioned it
before.”

“Well, her body language. And then there’s the cadence of her voice, linguistic choices. Once you
get a clear pattern, it’s easy to fill in the bits you see missing.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon nodded, “bend their resolve with certain… mental bribes, you know? And once
you push, getting them to talk is a piece of cake.”

Oh boy, Jeongguk thought. He could swear he was breaking some sort of blinking speed record, so
hard he tried to keep the eyeroll at bay.

“That’s tight,” Hoseok provided.

With one thing now clear, they decided to call it a day and drop Namjoon off at the guesthouse
he’d been staying at. Heart of downtown, of course.

They watched Namjoon through the windscreen, him stretching in front of the hood and waving
goodbye. Not a wave, really, but this airy flick of wrist.

“Vitamin deficiency,” Hoseok suddenly scoffed, “what a dickhole.”

“Aw, hyung, come on. He’s just being nice.”

Hoseok laughed. “He’s all right,” he said.

“Yeah, he is. I like him.”

 “You sure got a funny way of showing it sometimes,” Hoseok said.

They kept to their own thoughts the entire way to Mrs. Kim’s house, not really alive enough for
any banter, but then Hoseok pulled in front of the gates, cleared his throat, that sign of him trying
for caution, and said: “So I’m talking to Jimin tomorrow.”

What a way to wake him up. Jeongguk hoped his face looked casual, because that was very
important for some reason.

“At the station?” he asked.

“Nah, the dude’s got a schedule and shit. We’ll grab something to eat.”

“You sure it’s not a date?”

“Do I looked underfucked to you?”

Hoseok was softly teasing, and Jeongguk was grateful to have that tiny breather for himself. He
gave Hoseok a seriously contemplative once over.

“Hard to tell with people your age.”

Hoseok clicked his tongue. “Entire country full of straight rookies to take under my wing, and I get
you.”

“C’mon. What would you even do with a heterosexual?”

Chapter End Notes

tbh this chap n the rest were done mostly to Zaba album cos what else ever,
 Cruising for the Meth Head
Chapter Notes

nightmares! mild detecting!

tw: Confusion
loose #ust

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Jimin’s alibi checked out with three people, not that Jeongguk hadn’t expected that.

Strange thing, Hoseok had told him, that Jimin himself never commented on any of this.

“He looked, like, completely fuckin’ zen when we talked,” Hoseok had said.

“You sure you were thorough?”

“I’m sure, brat. I’m the fucking master thorough-er. Jimin’s just… quiet with strangers? Not shy
exactly, but you know. Careful, polite? Like he’s learning you. Didn’t say much but was so calm I
got this feeling of… having a conversation with a priest or, like, medicated pacifist.”

“Well, that… doesn’t fit our type at all.”

“Yeah. Like life isn’t something that bothers him that much, you know?”

And now, running on two hours of sleep, Jeongguk resorted to wallowing in a small shabby diner
that was partially a meat shop. Across from him sat the owner’s son, a thin and wrinkled man,
although he couldn’t be older than forty.

He sat his bony ass across from Jeongguk and wouldn’t stop blabbering. Gossip, rumors, petty
neighbor complaints, whatever the local fauna usually needed to thrive. He must’ve thought
Jeongguk was as amicable and involved as Hoseok.

Which Jeongguk wasn’t.

“But she said that Minseok The Shrimp Guy told her that his old fishing buddy told him that
Hwang was just the beginning of our curse.”

“Is that right?” Jeongguk hummed.

He was stirring the coffee grind at the bottom of his plastic cup, like he were hoping to find
something there. An exit out of this conversation perhaps.

“Yes, yes. These bad vibrations, officer, y’know?”

The door chimed. Jeongguk turned in his plastic chair to check the counter. It was then that the
familiar wave came. This wash of sound, a chilly current over his face.

Because there stood Jimin, in a thin white shirt and a shine to his skin that got little to do with the
light tubes.
It was the jewelry, Jeongguk reasoned, because Jimin carried a ton or two of old silver on his
person at all times. His ears seemed pierced at random, perhaps a dozen times each, all kind of
uneven, and the earrings varied in design and weight. Some of them just pegs, Jeongguk saw, but
thought that the oddest thing was this shiny chain strewn through the shell of his right ear, from
the lobe to the top, sort of snaking about.

Normally Jeongguk found this sort of show attractive, but now he was unsure what to feel. He took
in massive rings, a weighty bundle of most unusual necklaces, thick bands covering skin from
wrists and about halfway to the crook of his elbows.

All of it jingled when Jimin took off his backpack to procure a clump of plastic bags.

Pink fluorescent tubes were fixed above the display to give dry pieces of meat a better color,
illuminating Jimin’s face. It was calm, deeply exhausted, with mild bruising on one cheek. Even
from his place in the corner, Jeongguk could see Jimin’s bloodshot eyes.

“Anything else with the usual?” the owner asked.

Jimin shook his head, smiling. The owner disappeared in the back, saying he’d add onto that some
extra liver, all on the house.

“Excuse me,” Jeongguk muttered, loud enough for his dinner buddy to hear.

A moment later he was at the counter, staring at his own reflection in the thick glass of the display.
Raw meat smelled the way raw meat usually did, but there was something else. A new scent,
something bittersweet but pleasant, maybe some citrus thing he’d had no idea about.

His reflection stared back at him, then his gaze shifted to Jimin. Blurred lines of his sharp face,
pale pinks shimmering on his skin. Looking closer, Jeongguk saw something darker on Jimin’s
neck. Fingerprints, deeply settled in blues and barely obscured by the chains.

“Park Jimin-ssi," he said. "It is Park Jimin, right?”

Jimin was silent. Stood there, bearlike, shoulders sloping slightly under some invisible weight.

The owner shuffled back with a slimy stack of brown liver. As he sorted other bits of reddish meat
between the bags, Jeongguk tried to squeeze some casual talk out of himself. Something quick, a
starter, preferably on the suave side.

Jimin’s hands rested on the counter as he waited.

“Here you go, Jiminie,” said the owner, passing the bags, and stared at the bills offered to him.
“Don’t be silly with that now. Old girl can’t stop thanking you. Gonna be grateful to the grave, all
of us.”

Jimin smiled, bowing. Bag handles stretched under the weight, and white plastic dripped with red
on the floor. Jeongguk stared at the dirty checkered pattern, the small pools gathering on the tiles.
Fluorescent blots glistened there, reflecting the dead ceiling fan—

—and why wasn’t Jimin moving?

Jeongguk scanned the room. The owner was gone. The owner’s son had fallen asleep at the table.
The table fan rattled on.

He turned around, back to the silver in Jimin’s ears. Jimin who still wasn’t paying attention.
“Been running into you often lately, huh?” Jeongguk asked and held his breath.

Jimin adjusted the straps in his hands. Still not looking his way. “Just say what you want to say,
Inspector Jeon.”

He could’ve learned his name anywhere, Jeongguk reasoned. But the voice was not unlike the one
in his dreams, in fact it was identical, down to the little hush at the center of that sound.

Jeongguk had this strong sense of unease. It was the first time he heard Jimin speak but the
moment itself felt kind of old. He hesitated, more unsure now.

“If you say so. What’s your connection to Hwang Yisam?”

“None.”

“Why were you at his house on the morning of the murder?”

“Everyone was there,” and then Jimin was looking at him, “but you’ve got something to say.”

“My experience tells me you gotta be involved in some way.”

“How bold.” Jimin tilted his head, his earrings glinting, and something else in his eyes too. “But
it’s not like you got much experience to go by, is it?”

Jeongguk swallowed.

Jimin rustled with the bags again, hummed. “Transferred right after your promotion, is that right?”

The words were calm but still stirred up a swarm of questions in him. Jeongguk let his irritation
win. “I’ve had my time on patrol to know plenty.”

“What do you think you know?”

“That you’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Then why not just tell me what you know? I know you know something.”

Jimin was smiling small now, as if quietly pleased. “Come on then,” he turned around and headed
for the exit, “walk with me.”

Dumbfounded, Jeongguk followed, careful to avoid slipping on blood.

They walked in silence along the empty harbor road. There’d been something bothering him about
the way Jimin looked, and finally he understood why. Jimin’s feet were bare.

Around ten degrees now, Jeongguk figured, inhaling the clear air. Only difference in late
November was in the way all smells grew sharper.

“Where’s your car?” he asked. His tone was too careful.

“I walk.”

“You walk,” Jeongguk halted, staring at Jimin’s slowly retreating back. “Is your place far?”

“On the mountain.”

That could only be the biggest hill, that old mountain, at the foot of which this town—once a tiny
fishing village—was founded. Jeongguk looked up, eyeing the lush green thing in the distance.

“Jimin-ssi.”

There was no answer.

“Park Jimin-ssi,” he reached for the car keys, “will you hold up? I’ll give you a lift.”

“Better hurry then,” Jimin smiled over his shoulder, “and catch up.”

Old Honda was coughing up bad on the steep climb to the mountain. It’d taken half an hour to
leave the township and crawl through the mild serpentine around the foot and up, toward the thick
growth.

It was nearing noon, but Jeongguk could make out very little in the dark forest depths. Jimin was
watching the beat dirt of the road until they reached a place of no sun.

“Just ask me, Inspector. You’re getting all red from dying to,” Jimin said, eyes fixed on the forest.

“Why were you there?”

“They asked for help.”

The family? Soyeon and Hojeong? Hwang Yisam?

“You heard them?” Jeongguk glanced sideways. There was a nod. “Why didn’t you interfere?”

“You misunderstand. They asked for my help.”

“What’s that mean?”

Jimin gave him a long look. “When they were dead, you see.”

That made Jeongguk’s eyebrows rise very high.

“That time I was useless though,” Jimin said. “But they still won’t let go.” He pointed at an old
wooden structure at the side of the road. Looked like a small shed, a stack of stones by its side.
“Turn right. After the shrine.”

Jeongguk did, rolling onto a barely visible path, so overgrown he failed to notice it on the forest
floor. It led through the dripping greens to a small clearing with a tile-roofed hanok in the middle.

It wasn’t big in size, the outer building narrow and simple with a wooden porch running alongside
the whole perimeter, but Jeongguk guessed there should be inner courtyard and some kind of
garden there.
But well, it was just that, the hanok and a stone path leading to a pool of water by the white rocks.
A small waterfall there, cascading into the clear face.

As he rolled up the car to a stop at the front, he noticed a red cat sleeping on the veranda. Its ears
pricked up, probably recognizing Jimin’s voice as he was saying his thanks for the ride.

“What happened to your neck?” Jeongguk finally asked. He kept the engine running.

“I told you. They can't let go just yet.”

It was clear Jimin held no reservations talking about elusive shit like this. Jeongguk shifted in his
seat.

“Why?”

“They want their killer caught.”

“The killer is dead,” Jeongguk said.

“If you believe that,” Jimin opened the door, “then why are you here?”

Jeongguk had nothing to say. He reached under the wheel to pop the trunk open, and followed
Jimin’s movements through the side mirror.

After grabbing the meat from the trunk, Jimin jumped on the porch with ease and disposed the
bags on the small bench at the wall. He then crouched at the edge, petting the cat, and stared at
Jeongguk through the windscreen. There was that heavy gaze again that made Jeongguk chilly with
nerves.

Jeongguk knew he was a coward for not pressing further. Jimin was friendly enough, but maybe a
little creepy, yeah, and he smiled a lot for a stranger. And Jeongguk just missed on that opportunity
because he’d always been so brazen with courage, but a coward when it mattered.

He rolled down the side window. “Don’t you think we’re past this folk horror nonsense? Why
were you there?”

Jimin settled down, propping his chin on one knee. “I told you. But you’re used to lying, aren’t
you? All of you.”

White lies were kind of necessary, Jeongguk thought, but kept it to himself.

Jimin continued, “Can’t be all that bad, you think. Keeping people safe, making them feel better.
Only white lies, right?” He scratched under the cat’s ear. “And then the bad lies seem normal to
you too.”

“So you don’t lie?”

“I don’t. Not anymore.”

“Then what do you say to people who need to hear it?”

“I prefer to stay quiet.” He stood up, flipping his hair. “So you take it or leave it. ’Cos last time I
checked, you can’t arrest people for being weird.”

Jeongguk held his gaze for as long as he could, eventually giving up.
“See you around,” he said.

“Sure,” Jimin smiled.

Anxious to be gone, Jeongguk checked the road through the rear windscreen as he backed up, then
faced forward again. Jimin’s eyes were still fixed on him.

There was something strange about the air inside the car, as if it dropped a few degrees.

Jimin tilted his head, lifted his arms, his bracelets sliding down, and then opened his palms. He
held them before his chest, and his lips moved in a whisper. His eyes never left the car. Jeongguk
swallowed, realizing the look wasn’t directed at him.

His lungs began to hurt from the stale air he'd been holding in. A rustle of clothes somewhere
behind him. Hands squeaking on imitation leather of the seat.

Then his ears popped.

With a cold surge of heart, Jeongguk chanced a glance at the rearview mirror and saw dark eyes
reflected at him from the backseat. The boy with dead eyes was lividly pale and stared right
through him. No sound was reaching Jeongguk at all, as if he’d somehow dropped to the bottom of
the sea.

It drove him nuts, the boy being silent. Always silent, never blinking.

Something cold slithered through him, settled in his stomach. Jeongguk closed his eyes, tight, as he
gripped the wheel and muttered the chant.

“You’re okay,” he whispered then, “it’s not real.”

It was never real, Doctor Choi had assured him, said that hallucinations often felt too vivid and
tangible for people with his type of trauma.

“You’re okay,” he repeated and opened his eyes.

Jimin stood motionless. He was still looking at whatever was behind Jeongguk.

Whatever wasn't, came a thought, it wasn't. Nothing was there.

Fighting the sick feeling, Jeongguk turned to check the backseat.

Nothing.

He backtracked all the way to the main road. Even though his vision was swimming in the
sickening motion of the car, he glanced at the house before making a turn. His eyes found Jimin’s
still form. The guy was watching him.

As he drove down the winding road, his sense of foreboding grew into one big suffocating cloud.

Check the mirrors, he thought, and did so. Check your pulse. Pay attention. Check the mirror.

Your eyes, Jeon Jeongguk, are someone's. As crazy as you are.

The sense of doing something important survived only for about a week.

“Okay, kitties,” said Hoseok one morning, having just talked to the Chief, “we gotta cap it.”

Both Jeongguk and Namjoon stared at him in confusion.

“Expect a call from your superior,” Hoseok turned to Namjoon, “’cos you’re going home.”

“Wait, what?”

“I’m sorry, bro, okay? Don’t fight it. You get the call”—his thumb pointed at the glass door—“you
get out of this shithole. Stay friends with your career.”

“Not all’s about career.”

Hoseok’s eyes narrowed. “So you sweated for all those sexy degrees to be kicked off the force over
some homespun dirty cop hustle?”

Namjoon had nothing to say to that.

“Meantime, do whatever. But, you know, don’t fight it when it comes, okay?”

Namjoon reluctantly agreed.

That week Jeongguk slept every night, only seeing old home in his dreams, and his brother
sometimes. Hazy scenes often came with the familiar smell of oil they’d inhaled plenty as kids.

Sure thing there was relief in this, him interluding hard on the nightmares, but something about it
didn’t sit right with him. Because it all calmed down after his talk with Jimin. And he wasn’t up to
whatever problems that fact was gonna bring.

At least Mrs. Kim looked rather pleased every morning, with her greasy breakfasts and dosirak to
go. She really was determined to get to play at being Jeongguk’s mother, however long that would
last.

Later in the week, Hoseok had delivered more news, this tortured kind of acceptance on his tired
face, saying how the Chief had already begun pulling strings to get some poor small fry fuck
convicted for this.

“What’s the point of that?” Jeongguk asked, surprised.

“Should anyone with that clearance level come poking. They see this shit, some horror
slaughterhouse with zero leads or suspects, and it’s pending like a cherry on top, you think that’s
gonna fly? He just needs the case to be closed for good. And someone convicted.”

“Who?”
“Some meth head, who cares.”

There was logic in that, Jeongguk knew, but still it all rubbed kind of sullen on him.

“Why aren’t we doing that?” Jeongguk asked. “Cruising for the meth head?”

“You got that face.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re into pure shit. Can’t make a kid like that cruise for no meth heads.”

“What pure shit?”

“Makoto Shinkai,” Hoseok had a very annoying grin going now, “superhero flicks. Pre-teen
manhwa. Missionary porn.”

Cursing his good manners, which he believed he still possessed, Jeongguk flipped Hoseok gently
off.

“Relax,” Hoseok said, giving him a pat on the head. “We ain't cruising ’cos you are untouchable.”

They never explicitly talked about the reasons of Jeongguk’s transfer, and whatever connections
his family had in the force, because Hoseok knew it pressed him like nothing else did.

“Whoever that guy will be, he’s going for life,” Hoseok said. “Maybe even the noose.”

“Maybe even the noose,” Jeongguk echoed.

Hoseok sighed. Then he sauntered to the coffee machine and got to making some shitty espresso.
“How’s your beach vandalism thing?” he asked absently.

“It’s going.”

“Any leads?”

“Vandals.”

That made Hoseok laugh, which was a good thing, an extremely pretty thing that could always
brighten their gloomy mood.

Hoseok finished with the coffee and handed him the mug. He favored the corner of Jeongguk’s
table more than his chair. There was something on his mind now, as he was perched on the
tabletop, his fingers thrumming on the ceramic.

“We had no time to do this right,” he said.

“There was no way to do it right,” Jeongguk shrugged. “Not in this fuckin’ place.”

The shitty grin suddenly made a comeback on Hoseok’s tired face. He leaned closer, whispered,
“You know what I hear?” Jeongguk raised his eyebrows. “That you’ve been following Jimin
around.”

How sticky was it exactly, in this swamp?

Jeongguk frowned, opting to gulp his coffee and burning his entire palate. All energy was sent to
school his features into a mask of something cool. Like chic vacancy. As he attempted that,
refusing to answer, Hoseok was casually laughing his ass off.

Then, a little more serious, “Are you pestering him? You’re bothering him, aren’t you? Being a
little cockhead again?”

“I’m not being—” He couldn’t explain it to himself either. “I was just curious, okay?”

“About what?”

“About everything. ’Cos of what you’d said.”

“Oh my,” Hoseok gasped, pressing a hand to his chest, “do my eyes deceive me? Inspector Jeon
dipping his big boy toes into the supple unknown?”

“Shut up.” Jeongguk took another gulp, rolling the liquid around his mouth, and swallowed.
“Where did he come from anyway? He sounds so weird.”

“I don’t really know?” Hoseok looked pensive for a moment. “Nobody really knows.”

“How come?”

“Well. Guess nobody cared to ask.”

There was no guilt in the words. It was only a tiny thing, but it pressed heavy on Jeongguk’s chest.

“Point is, if you wanna bother him, please just do it outside of the Hwang Minam context.” He cut
in before Jeongguk could follow up with some snarky remark. “I don’t care we’re pending on that,
okay? Chief’s gonna end you.”

He paused.

“And don’t pester civilians.”

Jeongguk sighed, nodding. All this sketchy stuff only made his job that much more tedious. How
many weekends of gripping vandal roof-top chases awaited him?

Hoseok finally remembered he had his own table where he needed to finish typing up another
report. Something about indecent exposure at the community concert hall. When Jeongguk asked
what the hell that was about, Hoseok only laughed into his coffee.

“Cock-n-ball,” he said. “Real mixed media installation.”

The keyboard was loud, one of the dingy things that came with the office about a decade ago, but
Jeongguk always found the sound comforting.

“Hey, Jeongguk,” Hoseok suddenly stopped. “You sleeping okay?”

“Kinda,” he smiled. “Don’t worry.”

Sleep wouldn’t come.

When it did, only on the shallow edge, it brought ragged bits of memory, visions of something he
didn’t remember doing. Jeongguk woke repeatedly, and heard the clatter of dishes, Mrs. Kim
gushing on the phone, the gas truck rumbling down the street. Small feet, a child’s, pattering down
the hall.

He kept blinking in and out of the slow subliminal, each time catching fragments.

A blood-slick hallway where he’d slip and drop.

A hotel room that morphed into a shed, and right in the middle stood Soyeon, Minam’s mother,
with her neck chewed to shreds and blood dripping from the raw cuts on her forearms. She lifted
them, as if professing something, and stared right at him.

Her open mouth moved, but no sound came out, and dark tar oozed from her throat with each word.
Jeongguk tried listening in, but heard nothing, then he focused on her lips. You’re not looking, he
read.

“But we found her,” he said. “It’s your girl.”

You’re not looking.

More blood poured out of her throat, and she covered her eyes.

Jeongguk turned around and sensed it there. In the corner, a shadow. Something dark, hidden,
slipping between his fingers, as if he'd been holding wriggling fish.

A brilliant white flash blinded him, then all became dark.

He woke, dripping with sweat, and sat up. Fucking count, he thought, in and out, until his breath
evened out.

He looked up. Dark eyes stared back at him.

The boy. The boy with dead eyes. The boy with dead eyes was crouching at the foot of his mat.
Silent.

Fucking count. One, two, three—

The boy moved, so sharp it was impossible to follow. Pale knees on the blanket. One small palm in
the air, hitting the mat. Then the other, placed farther up. Jeongguk’s heart skipped a beat.

Slowly, the boy crawled to him.

Clutching the blanket, Jeongguk tried to wake up again. He couldn’t. He couldn’t because—

From the kitchen, Mrs. Kim called him for breakfast.

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ

“You don’t want to talk about it?”

Jeongguk looked up from the ashtray tea plate, meeting Heeyeon’s eyes across the table. He
probably didn't realize he'd stopped talking. And she felt that he'd also been putting her on.
“What did you and Park Jimin talk about on the mountain?”

She could see he tried his best to not look guilty, but failed horribly.

“Jeongguk. You’ve been lying to me, haven’t you?”

“I’ve never really told this to anyone.”

She suddenly stood, putting her notebook down, and extended her palm. “Let’s take a walk.”

They didn’t go far, only a short distance into the sandy shore, through the mist and the murmur of
the surf.

“What were you seeing just now? You remembered something.”

“First time I saw him work.”

“He wasn't a nurse, was he?”

“No. He wasn’t.”

Heeyeon watched wet sand give under her feet. It reminded her of unprocessed sugar. “So what
was the memory?”

“His healing song.”

“What’s that?”

“The flower shop owner… her son had gotten something. Some really crazy-looking sick thing.
Nobody knew what it was. The mother hired Jimin for a ritual. He wore all of his silver. Never
wore ritual garb, you know, like a shaman’s gotta do. No shoes either. He never wore shoes.”

“So why were you there?”

“To question him.”

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ

Somewhere along the coastline, he turned onto the gravel shoulder and rolled out into a dirt flat of
the town’s outskirts. The address Mrs. Kim had given him took him a while to find, and Hoseok’s
GPS was no help at all.

“Decided to try it out?” Mrs. Kim had asked after his request for Jimin’s number.

“It’s for the case,” he’d said. “We need his expertise.”

He said that, knowing it wasn’t really why he’d needed it, because he still hadn’t told Hoseok
about their possible shaman consultant. It wasn’t clear to him either, why he’d been keeping it to
himself.

He’d called Jimin to agree on a lunch back in town, but there he was now, parking in the dirt near a
pine grove from across the house, and waiting. Feeling a little silly, and nervous to the point of
irritation. Pale sun was a blot behind the mist of gray clouds which irritated him even more.
By the time faint voices reached his parking spot, Jeongguk had finished two quick pencil
sketches. One of the sketches was Jimin but looked nothing like the Jimin he was seeing now on
the porch.

Jimin was saying his goodbyes to an old couple who seemed moments away from kissing his feet.
Bare again, Jeongguk noted, fiddling with a cigarette pack in his jacket. Hoseok must’ve left it
there by mistake.

The measured way of Jimin’s walk both annoyed and fascinated him. As if the guy was moving
through water, or maybe just stoned.

“Who walks that fuckin’ slow,” Jeongguk muttered under his breath.

Jimin didn’t look like he was speeding up any time soon. He sort of floated to the car, not very
fazed by all the glaring, and stopped at the driver’s door. Jeongguk gave it another minute just to
test his patience. When that didn’t work, Jeongguk braced himself and rolled down the window.

“Inspector,” Jimin nodded.

“Sorry to bother you on the job,” he said, immediately regretting the ugly tone of his words, “but
I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

“Thought we talked lunch in the myeon.” Jimin paused. “Ah, you just happened to be in the
neighborhood, right?”

His eyes were smiling, and it suddenly felt heavy in Jeongguk’s throat. He let out a cough, “Might
as well give you a lift.”

“I gotta do something first.”

“That’s fine.” Jeongguk motioned for him to get in. “Where to?”

It was a lighthouse on the east side, nestled high on the cliff, its peeling paint a near match to the
white stone under. At the foot there was an array of abandoned staff buildings looking rotten as
they creaked in the wind.

Their drive had been silent until they reached the cliff, and Jimin asked him to stop before one of
the old houses and wait for him if he still cared enough to do so.

The steep path crunched under their feet as they climbed to the rust-bitten structure.

“Keep away from the wind,” Jimin waved at the north side of the lighthouse as he moved towards
the cliff edge on his own.

Even from his safe place, Jeongguk could see the bits of dirty rock shaking dangerously under
Jimin’s feet as he extended his arms towards the sea.

Something was clutched in his hands. Then it spun and twisted and caught fire even in the strong
wind, burning right in Jimin’s hands, and Jeongguk realized it was ritual paper. Cheap plastic
lighter glinted in Jimin’s hand.
Jimin pocketed the lighter and reached down his backpack, procuring a necklace. It looked new, a
bad homemade thing, and he slipped it onto his neck to rest with the others. The wind carried
Jimin’s voice, and even though it was faint, Jeongguk found himself lost in the song.

Jimin’s notes were high and pure, cutting through the wind, carrying something about that ill
flower shop boy, carrying for the sea or whatever the hell these things were about. Then the voice
dipped low and got almost lost in the air current, but Jeongguk still somehow felt it. As if it was
probing at his brain. It made him feel so hot and then freezing, all at once.

Jeongguk shivered, gasping. He realized it was very close to being aroused. Which was…

“Fucking great, just amazing,” he muttered, wishing for Hoseok’s flowery input.

Jimin approached carefully, as if testing Jeongguk’s intentions. His cheeks and ears bloomed pink
from the cold.

“Why did you bother coming up?” he leaned in to talk over the wind.

Shivering again, Jeongguk chose not to answer.

Jimin studied him for a moment. “Ah, you thought I’d bail.”

Jeongguk shrugged. “I’ve given you reasons before.”

“You’re funny.” Jimin smiled. “I’m here to be useful. Let’s go.”

Jimin led them back to the car. His thin pullover flapped as he went, and his weighty necklaces
clanked softly. The stripes of his shirt began to make Jeongguk dizzy.

Hoseok’s car was an amazing tin of junk, drab on the surface and motley inside, but Jeongguk
already was used to its flashy trash vibe.

One of the things he still found hard to get accustomed to was the wheel. It was padded in animal
print, a soft velour. Kind of neat, though, he thought, rubbing his cold palms on the plush.

“You gonna explain why you called?” Jimin sounded less formal now. It was better this way.

“So here’s the thing,” Jeongguk began as he opened the folder to hand the photos to Jimin, “we
can’t get any local mudang to talk. Our Seoul guy can’t get his office to do anything right now.
And like, we thought about it, you know, ’cos it’s no normal altar offering or positioning for a
ritual. At least anything we know of. Care to help?”

“I’m guessing the only reason I’m consulting you here instead of the station,” Jimin muttered, “is
so you can save yourself from embarrassment.”

It was a nasty pang to his ego, but Jeongguk was more than chill now, to his own surprise. Jimin
slowly examined the crime scene photos.

“Nothing unusual about the altars, Inspector. Maybe you’re just not as educated on the subject you
thought you were.”

Jeongguk groaned. “Can we, like, not do this?”

“You asked me for my professional opinion,” Jimin chuckled. “But don’t feel too bad. You’d be
surprised how much things changed with time. You wouldn’t find any of that in books. And no
serious new age pro would tell you either. Most things you see in the country or on TV are just for
the surface.”

“So what you saying is, all these new real ways of superstition is not an easy knowledge. Some
kinda elite club, if you ask me.”

“You’re not very delicate, are you?” Jimin shook his head. Something must’ve caught his
attention. “Here. This dirt. Could be part of the mock funeral. They didn’t finish properly… or
maybe it’s just this one. Look for freshly dug ground.”

“The rain dicked everything up.”

“I’m sure you can figure it out. Should be three graves, but only one full. They’re usually small.”

“What’s there?”

“Most probably chickens. With an effigy. If you’re lucky, some personal belongings too.”

“If they did hire a shaman, there could be prints, right?” He turned to see Jimin nod. It didn’t sit
right with him still. “Ah, who cares. They’re probably not in the index.”

“You’ll still have something.”

“Any ideas what the ritual could be about?”

“Healing,” Jimin paused, “obviously. The knife, though, is something else. It’s used in too many
rites for expelling spirits. Too hard to tell the nature of the spirit just from this.”

Jeongguk nodded, fiddling with the key chain. The metal clang seemed to remind Jimin of
something. He smiled, “Am I free to go?”

“Sure you don’t want a ride? They promised rain after noon.”

“I’m okay. Rain makes silver sing.”

The jewelry, Jeongguk realized, watching his silver-laden arms move. Jimin’s hands arranged the
photos back into a perfect stack, and each band made only the faintest of sounds, but together they
came in a tingling stream, not unlike the wind chimes. Or bells, Jeongguk realized.

“Are all these trinkets relevant?” he asked instead. “Or just for the show?”

Jimin’s face fell. “It’s important.”

“To make you look more authentic or something?”

“You think it makes you look smart, Inspector? Making fun of things you don’t understand?”

Jeongguk cleared his throat. “Only if these things don't go with the freedom of others.”

“Have I done any of that?”

Jeongguk shook his head. He felt a little red in the face.

“Have I been bad to you in particular?”

Jeongguk was heating up. Reaching to play with the plush of the wheel now, not looking anywhere
near that open face.

“You look like maybe you’re ashamed,” Jimin said softly. “Means you have conscience.”

“Maybe too much of that.”

Something brushed Jeongguk’s single earring, Jimin’s fingers, and that faint touch stirred a right
storm inside of him.

Jimin spoke quietly, “Objects hold meaning in difficult times.”

Jeongguk looked at Jimin’s hands that stopped touching and were now resting in his lap. If that
were true...

“Does that mean you’ve had lots of those? Difficult times.”

“I’m not carrying for myself. One piece,” Jimin rubbed at the band on his left hand, “for one soul.”

“You’re a walking cemetery then.”

“Not all of them are dead.” Jimin fell silent for a long time, in the muffled sound of waves. He
opened the door, bowed his head, “Take care, Inspector. Wouldn’t wanna carry for you too.”

And then he was walking away from the car, towards the town, with his bare feet soft on the dark
road.

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ

“I assume it’s when you went to Hoseok?”

They were now in the kitchen for some refills. Jeongguk offered her some beer, but Heeyeon
politely refused, saying to check in with her once he was ready for some hard stuff.

He was avoiding the question, though. Stirring instant soup with more intensity than needed.

“It’s been three minutes,” she said.

“I’m very thorough.”

“Jeongguk. You didn’t go with the new information to your partner, did you?” He was silent but it
was answer enough. “Why?”

They moved to the table for a quick snack and she almost forgot to grab the recorder off the
counter. Jeongguk was blowing softly on his first spoonful.

“Were you still suspicious?” she tried.

“No.” He swallowed, wincing. “This kinda shrimp in instant shit always gets me.” A heavy
moment then. “Jiminie-hyung makes decent one, though. I mean, proper stuff.”

“Where’d you try it?”

“At his house.”

“Did you go there often? After that talk?”

He nodded.

“Even before telling Hoseok?”

“I dunno why. Don’t ask me, honestly, I don’t know. It was this crazy kinda pull, I dunno. I was
curious as hell. At first.”

“At first.”

“He made me a little nervous. But not really. I realized it was just something like…” He was
searching for words. “I’d forgotten that feeling by then, you know? Like...”

“Something safe?”

“Maybe.”

She hummed, spooning up a tiny shriveled shrimp. “Okay, so you were curious. And so you went
back to learn more. How’d Jimin react?”

“Ah, he was chill.” Her laugh made him look up. He was smiling shyly, “What?”

“Nothing, just the way you paint him.”

“What, like it’s bad?”

“No. Okay, so he was chill.”

“Well, maybe a little surprised. He was out doing some business at the nursing home.”

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ

He’d texted Jimin in the morning, asking if it would be fine for him to drop by the mountain, but
Jimin had had some duty at the nursing home, apparently, to which Jeongguk had only said that
he’d be chill to pick him up.

And waiting in the nursing home’s garden now, Jeongguk tried not to think too hard about his
reasons. In the middle of the garden was a murky pond that filled the evening air with the smell of
swamp. He was waiting by the car with a styrofoam cup warming up his hand. Shitty station coffee
was his weakness.

The 7th of December was predictably snowless, despite it being Daeseol, but considerably warmer
than in Busan. Although it was close to the sunset, the garden was not yet dark. There was always
this dim kind of glow to the air in winter, out in the sub-tropics, which hurt his eyes a whole lot.

As Jeongguk sipped his coffee, Jimin finally emerged from the old building and made his way to
the car. He was barefoot and underdressed, ringing that silver chime of his as usual.

“Hello, Inspector.”
Jimin seemed tired. With long hair pushed back, thin pullover almost translucent on his skin and
sleeves rolled up, he seemed impossibly tired. He was smiling.

“What’s up,” Jeongguk replied, immediately regretting it. What's the fucking up, Jeon Jeongguk?
“Uh, aren’t you cold?”

Still smiling, Jimin slid the backpack off his shoulders and turned just slightly to expose the back
of his neck. Only a tiny swirl of his back tattoo was visible under the chains, the ink curling around
a bump. Fourth vertebra, Jeongguk remembered, for no reason.

“Touch it,” Jimin said. Jeongguk made a face. “Oh, don’t get shy on me now, Inspector.”

Jeongguk reached out reluctantly, pressing his fingertips to the ink. It almost burned him.
Something so hot under the skin, yielding to his touch but hard inside, and he felt it tense when he
slid his entire palm down the neckline.

And it was hot too, almost scalding. It made Jeongguk’s own skin prickle. Wrapped in this tight
pullover, a dirty white, Jimin’s body made Jeongguk’s skin tingle all over, and he didn't need it one
bit. Just like the song back there by the lighthouse.

That shit right here was dangerous; the needs of his deprived body and all that superficial business.
He imagined the ways his skin would feel against Jimin’s, slick and hot, burning hot—

—it better not fucking creep its way into his dreams.

Jeongguk dropped his hand.

Jimin’s knowing smile made him a little paranoid. These tricks were easy to pull off, Jeongguk
knew, all this tradition and charlatan sorcery. The dude couldn’t be real.

“So no,” Jimin said, “not cold.”

“Get some coffee in you. You look like you need it.”

Jimin circled the hood. “The sun’s gonna be setting. Wanna see something pretty?” Jeongguk
shrugged, sipped his coffee. That made Jimin smile wider. “Don’t trust me?”

There was a challenge in Jimin’s tone, and Jeongguk felt abrupt tension. It was coming from him
only, so he tried to shake it off. After getting into the car, he turned on the radio and tuned it to a
local station.

“You got any preference?” he asked Jimin who was tugging on his neckline. Must be too hot for
him. Jeongguk adjusted the air conditioner. “All right?”

“One day I’ll just have to be naked all the time,” he chuckled. “I like it fast.”

“What?” Jeongguk’s face grew hot.

“Music. I like dance music.”

“Oh,” he exhaled.

He searched for something that would fit the description, eventually settling on something vaguely
electropop.

“That working?”
Jimin nodded and pulled a water bottle out of his bag. He lips wrapped tight around the neck as he
drank. Jeongguk tried very hard not to stare at his throat.

They were passing the town on their way to the opposite side of the bay. Past the diners and private
piers, past new apartment buildings that stood like brilliant white monuments in the dark-green
mountain slopes. Low clouds pressing down on the winding shoreline road.

“Nice one,” Jimin said.

He meant the song on the radio. It sounded like one of those glitchy things mostly suited for street
dance and cage grinding and whatnot. Jeongguk shot him a quick look. Jimin’s skin was shining
with sweat in the blue hour.

“You still hot?” he asked.

“Can’t really breathe.”

“Maybe you got sick?”

“No, it’s the mountain.”

“What?” Jeongguk glanced sideways. “You know what, let’s just open the windows.”

He rolled down his first, then dropped the speed to lean over Jimin and do his. Surely Jimin could
do it himself, he thought, spinning the handle. It hit him hard, the pleasant scent of Jimin’s
overheated body, even beneath all the sweat. He inhaled before straightening in his seat again.

“Sorry,” he said, speeding up.

“You’ve got this weird thing,” Jimin suddenly said. “In your energy.”

“What?”

“You know, the energy, it feeds off the stuff around you, then feeds the ones next to you, the
people who can’t get a grip on that other kinda world.”

“Your world? The spiritual shit?”

“The very one,” Jimin laughed, wiping at his face. “More like the nature world, though. And
you’ve got a lot of that energy. Makes you susceptible to, you know, all the spiritual shit. More
than others.”

“Whatever you say,” Jeongguk shrugged.

He tried not to think how his nightmares had bled into his gray and heavy reality. Doctor Choi had
always been patient with his panic about that particular symptom. Prescribed him shit, no problem.
Some mild stuff for hallucinations. Hallucinations, nothing more. Nothing more.

“I saw him, you know,” Jimin suddenly said. Jeongguk could feel those eyes on his skin. They
kind of burned too. “The boy.”

“What?”
“He’s not always with you. But he was at the Hwang house. The time you drove me home too. Not
now, though.”

“That so?”

This whole conversation began to turn Jeongguk another shade of anxious. Not even the bad kind,
but this buzzing-under-his-skin kind. As if he wanted Jimin to be right, wanted him to be the real
deal.

“Seems like I got a spell on you.” Jimin was playing idly with his necklaces. Some had silver bells
that jingled softly. “I mean, today, ’cos he’s not with you. What is it about today?”

“I don’t think it works like that,” Jeongguk said. “I mean, that wouldn’t work on someone who
doesn’t believe in these things.”

“And yet, here you are again. Suddenly wanna be my friend, huh?”

“Can we not talk?” Jeongguk cleared his throat. “Like, for now.”

“Well, it was you who asked to meet me. But sure. Let's reflect silently.”

Jeongguk wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, first the right, then the left, then finally breathed in
the fresh air. The smell of warm, damp asphalt flooded the car. The smell of evening.

The harbor was beautiful at dusk, just as Jimin had promised. With only a few boats docked there,
it was narrow, curling inwards and ringed with mountains.

They’d followed a steep road that stretched up from the beachfront and led to a more secluded part
of the quay. It was this entirely gray concrete cliff that protruded just slightly between two
breakwaters.

There they sat atop Honda’s warm hood, munching on deep-fried fish cakes they’d gotten at the
stall on the hilltop, and squinting in the biting wind. The waves were mild but not dangerous, and
the rock of surf reached them as if from a deep well.

“So whatcha think?” Jimin asked, pushing his cake around the plastic plate.

“About what?”

“All of this.”

“Looks okay,” he lied.

The sun was just sinking in the sea. A huge red fruit, it disappeared behind the misty layer that
hung above the horizon. They watched it for a while, the mountains behind them reducing to dark
giants that loomed over their backs.

It kind of started unsettling Jeongguk. They were alone, the lights of the harbor few, and the surf
was getting louder.

“What do you want from me, Inspector?”

Jimin’s voice was quiet. And for the first time there was something vulnerable in the sound.
Glancing at him, only briefly, Jeongguk tried to think of a good reply. What exactly did he want?
And putting aside all that lewd itching…

“I really don’t know. I wish I did. It’s actually really fucking annoying.”

“Not hard to get you all bristling, huh? Very dude of you.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled. “I mean. Sorry.”

“So hard-ass,” Jimin said, amused. “D’you know what’s special about this place today?”

Jeongguk looked around, making a show of it, maybe to hear Jimin laugh. Jimin did laugh, all
pretty and light.

“Once the thin red line appears,” Jimin pointed at the horizon, “we get closer to that world. One of
them, anyway. It lives just next to ours. And by ‘we’ I mean you.”

“And you?”

Jimin tried explaining how he was always sort of close to it, existing not exactly in-between but
along those lines.

“It’s like always being touched by the nature of things,” he said.

“What kinda…” Jeongguk trailed off, trying not to be rude.

“Just take a look.”

Jeongguk sighed, putting his paper plate on the hood, and took in the purling white caps far below.

“Don’t see nothin’,” he said.

“That's fine. Gimme your hand.”

Jeongguk gave in, feeling his hand being clasped firmly in Jimin’s hot one. It was held in Jimin’s
lap, then lower, until it slipped between his thighs. Jeongguk could feel the hard muscle with the
side of his palm, and Jimin’s thigh radiated heat through the thin layer of his jeans.

“Now look.”

The harbor was turning blood red in the dying light. Jeongguk narrowed his eyes, trying to see
whatever it was Jimin had been babbling about.

“I don’t…”

He realized that Jimin was actually singing in a low voice, a little husky. And as he sang, the roll of
the waves disappeared. All sound faded but for Jimin’s song.

Jeongguk closed his eyes to focus on the words that seemed horribly familiar. Nothing he’d heard
before but he knew, he definitely knew this sound. When Jeongguk opened his eyes, he couldn’t
help but gasp.

Out there in the sea, something huge was emerging.

A blue whale, he realized, a blue fucking whale in the South-fucking-Sea. A giant gleaming
creature breaching the surface. Its enormous body glowed faintly which was, frankly, ridiculous.
He hadn’t ever heard of fluorescent whales.

It released a spray of water, puffing as it breathed out.

Jeongguk was mesmerized. “It's a fuckin' whale.”

“A whaling ship passed here. Early eighteen nineties? Dunno. But they lost the cargo in the storm.
Whale meat.”

Was Jimin seeing it too? How could that possibly—

“You’re not saying it’s…”

“Yeah, it is.”

The whale submerged again. Then, after a few seconds, it was leaping above the surface, its
enormous body flashing in the last rays of the sun. It fell with a deafening splash, as if Jeongguk
was right there next to it, listening in. Then all went quiet as the red light faded to dark purple. The
water was calm.

“What the fuck?” Jeongguk asked.

Jimin was still holding his hand that was now clammy all over. This confusion wasn’t good for
him at all.

“What’re you thinking?” Jimin tried to catch his eye.

“That I’ve never hallucinated animals before.”

“You do that a lot, huh? Hallucinate.”

“It’s, uh, PTSD stuff.”

Jimin hummed, his thumb caressing the skin of Jeongguk’s hand. “What’re you seeing now?”

There were lights in the middle of the sea. Like fire flowers blooming.

“Looks like fireworks,” Jeongguk muttered. “Like the sea’s on fire.”

“Makes you sad, doesn’t it?”

Could Jimin be seeing it too?

Stupid, Jeongguk thought, shaking his head, stupid, stupid.

Jimin let go of his hand. Instead of pulling away, Jeongguk felt his palm press to the soft flesh of
Jimin’s inner thigh. He resisted touching any more of it but let his fingers dig slightly in. It was hot
and meaty and made him swallow hard. Then Jimin was shifting on the hood, which wasn't that big
a motion, but it pushed Jeongguk’s fingers to spread open, and he was now getting himself a full
feeling of that softness at the very top of the thigh.

“I like the sea in winter,” he suddenly said, breathing out. “Reminds me of where I used to live.”

“You homesick?”
“I don’t have one to be sick for.”

They waited for the last light to go out. The night breeze carried salt. Jimin crossed his legs,
trapping his hand.

“You figured out why you think you need me?” Jimin asked again.

What a strange way to put it. The words made Jeongguk all the more aware of Jimin’s heat. He
finally pulled away from the hold. Flexed his fingers.

“I think I’m curious. A little pissed off.”

“About?”

“That my mind trusts you so much. That thing is crazy, you know?” It was good to talk about it so
freely. “It’s weird, but you make the sickness go away.”

“You still see things.”

“Not that sickness,” he said. “But also, you know, we need a specialist on the case.”

It was only half-true, since the case was over with.

“You’re using me.” Jimin smiled, kind, and Jeongguk knew he was used to that. Used to people
handling him this way.

“I’d say I’m sorry,” Jeongguk jumped off the hood, “but I’m not exactly there yet.”

“That’s cool.”

Jimin got down to throw their plates into the bin by one of the benches, while Jeongguk started the
car. When Jimin joined him and got to rolling up the window, Jeongguk felt a little guilty.

Because it was then that Jimin said: “I’m usually not hurting until I start giving a shit.”

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ

They moved to the veranda again where the summer air felt wet but pleasant. Heeyeon was
thinking the whale thing over.

“So you didn’t believe him?”

“Not right then,” Jeongguk said. He was smoking again. “But I knew I was halfway there. Sure
thing I was ready to. It’s just, I’ve always been a bit…”

He couldn’t find words.

She tried carefully, “Stubborn?”

“That. And kinda embarrassed of my own shit. Goes to everything, actually, when it comes to
admitting things.”

She nodded. “So you went to Hoseok after that, right?”

“Yeah, well. The case was over anyway.”

“Did you feel okay about having lied to your partner?”

“I didn’t have to lie, okay? He never asked. He got Namjoon to deal with on most days. That’s
some heavy duty shit, you know?”

“And you?”

“I just kinda followed the flow.”

“So how’d Hoseok take it?”

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ

“I’m sorry, when were you gonna mention this?” Hoseok appeared to be only mildly furious.

Hands on hips showed a certain degree of danger, but he wasn’t pacing or tapping his foot.
Jeongguk knew to get properly scared only when Hoseok was silent.

Jeongguk fidgeted with his journal. “Dunno, never? Why would you listen to me about Jimin
anyway?”

“Because we needed a specialist and you decided to keep it to yourself. I don't get it, I don’t get
why you…” Then it must've clicked. “Jeongguk, being embarrassed for believing these things is
not enough reason to keep relevant information from me.”

“Doesn’t mean I think it’s real. Hyung, what’s it matter now anyway?”

“It matters ’cos instead of sweating my ass to get those other folks talking, I could’ve just
questioned him.”

“Well, you did.”

“Well, I didn’t know he was one of the town’s shaman buddies, did I? It’s kinda tricky talking to
that guy when you don’t know what you gotta be asking him.”

“He’s got a point,” Namjoon pointed directly at Hoseok’s head with a pen.

“Thank you, Namjoon-ssi.”

For a long moment, Hoseok kept to his quiet thinking while pacing around the room. Eventually he
stopped in front of them, rubbing at his chin, and sighed. “I can’t believe I didn’t know any of
this.”

“I don’t think a lot of people know, hyung.”

“It’s just funny. Guess we never really care to look past our own shit.”

Jeongguk thought really hard back to his conversations with Jimin, and realized he’d forgotten
about hypothetical chickens that were supposedly buried in the yard of the Hwang house.

“So…” Jeongguk shifted uncomfortably. “What are we doing about the chickens?”
“You know we can’t.”

“We should check it out,” Namjoon piped up.

“Namjoon-ssi…”

Before Hoseok could delve into his completely sound reasons any harder, Namjoon assured him
it’d be fine, they’d just check this one thing and be out, they’d just check this one thing and be done
with it.

Eventually Hoseok nodded, “I’ll have a talk with Jimin.”

Something was evidently not right with Jeongguk’s face, because Hoseok was staring at him with a
little nasty smile.

“What, you don’t trust me?”

“I trust you,” Jeongguk said. “It’s just, he already told me all he knew.”

“That’s great, but I’m talking about getting him to cooperate with us long term here.”

“Well, you see. He might not agree to, like, consult the department.”

“And why is that?”

He wasn’t sure exactly of that feeling. Sensing these things about Jimin made him wary and
confused, even a little creeped out, but he was sure there was something important.

“How about we just go get the fucking chickens,” Namjoon broke the silence and grabbed his
jacket.

In the little garden behind the house, under a camellia tree, was where they found the fucking
chickens. Hadn’t taken long to dig the place up, with two patrol kids doing all the shovelling, but in
the end it didn’t matter much.

The straw effigy was tattered and the chickens carried a smell so foul one of the cops had to make
a puke run. No personal items, just ritual paper and some millet. Jeongguk asked Namjoon to get
the little paper strips, noticing there was writing of some sort, and when Namjoon pinched one
latex glove to pick it up and pass it on, Jeongguk could see that the ink was actually a series of
intricate symbols. And so familiar, somehow, a thing he definitely had seen around Jimin.

“Those are no divination circles,” Namjoon offered.

“Put it there, please.”

Namjoon placed it on a dirt stone in front of him while Jeongguk reached for the journal.

“Artiste,” Namjoon teased.

He turned back to the grave to start snapping pictures with his phone.

“Well,” Namjoon eventually said, looking over rotten chicken corpses with a sense of admiration,
“at least we’ll be less embarrassed.”

Jeongguk paid him no mind while already sketching the scene. He knew most people stopped
giving a shit about his weird urges to put it all down like that. His chickens turned out a little
messy, rotting on his pages in shaky lines. His hands moved with tremor.

They walked through the entire scene after he’d finished, looking over and over the things that had
given them nothing on the first searches. Nothing helpful this time either.

In the car, Jeongguk pulled out his phone to text Jimin.

“Ask him about the millet while at it,” Namjoon said.

“Oh, please don’t start.”

“Not so formal without Jung around, are we?”

Namjoon had this really confusing way of smiling. Innocent and appealing, dimples and all, but it
felt like some variety show routine.

“This Park Jimin guy,” Namjoon said, tapping on the window, “can he check out the site?”

“He said there’s too little for him to go on.”

“Please, there’s plenty to go on. Like, to get the plain mechanics of the ritual.”

“He said not the stuff he needs.”

“Maybe you should learn how to interview people better.”

“I’m fine.”

“Then learn how to interrogate better.” There was that teacher tone again. “Play on their guilt, you
know. Everyone’s guilty of something.”

“How so?”

“Everyone’s got something wrong with them.”

“How about you?”

“Sure I do. I tend to dig too deep.”

“Aren’t you one tortured intellectual,” Jeongguk scoffed, starting the car. “How’s the view up
there on your high horse?”

“Laugh all you want. Telling you, Jeon, everyone wants some deeper meaning to the shitty drag of
their existence. And you, my friend, are a tool for opening that up. Look at people, really look, and
pick at their weaknesses. Works like magic ’cos everyone needs some important narrative for
them. And manipulation like that can break cases.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“You are one, too.”

Namjoon had a point. And another thing about it, this Namjoon was a very decent person who was
in over his head with people, and he was hardly realizing it.

“Try it out, Jeon. You need to shake Park Jimin up real good to get you somewhere. Not for this
case, but yourself. Work him up. Make him useful.”

“I’ll make sure to do that while waterboarding him.”

Namjoon didn’t look like appreciating the joke much. Or any joke he got in the next two days from
Jeongguk and Hoseok, really, until Namjoon’s superior finally called to grill his ass and kick him
on the bus home.

They decided to drive Namjoon all the way to Okpo station, a pair of generous country hick cops
they were, but Hoseok got them stopping at every boba place on the way, never actually buying
anything, until Jeongguk rammed his own forehead in the side window and kind of exploded in his
seat.

“What do you even want in it?” Jeongguk was not yelling.

Hoseok looked at him for a long, tense moment, and then said, very seriously, “Jackfruit.”

And it was at the actual bus station where he managed to finally locate the (by now golden)
jackfruit in his boba, which came in the largest cup possible, and he was clasping it tight in his
hand, and chilling against the driver’s door as he watched Jeongguk try to squeeze out his awkward
goodbyes to Namjoon.

“Thanks for the chickens,” Jeongguk said.

“No problem.”

“You gonna put it in your book?”

Namjoon frowned. “What book?”

“That self-help book you’re writing.”

To his surprise, Namjoon actually laughed. “I might, actually. ’Cos I hate them.”

Hoseok slurped his tea, loud. Hummed, with a mouthful of tapioca, and said, “I got a title for you.”

Namjoon raised his eyebrows, adjusting his bag over his shoulder.

“Depressing Cocks of Wisdom,” Hoseok nodded, “Are Sure to Ruin Your Day.”

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ

“You didn’t like him much, did you?”

Jeongguk being so worked up was a little funny, but Heeyeon tried not to laugh. Or laugh that
much anyway.

“It’s not that. The opposite, actually…” He paused. “I was just tired. Sick of people thinking they
know me. He was nice, I kinda admired him, to be honest. And he believed he meant well. Like
when he gave advice, to anyone. He believed it was something groundbreaking.”
“It wasn’t?”

“I could’ve read self-help books myself if I wanted to. I didn’t.”

Heeyeon reached for her glass to take one deep gulp. Not the hard shit she’d wanted, but makgeolli
Jeongguk had bought when they’d decided to go on a short break earlier. It tasted cheap, but she
wasn’t picky.

“Did you end up following his advice? With Jimin?”

“No.”

“But you kept going to him. Why? The case was closed.”

“I don’t know. At first it helped my headache. Then it just… he made it soothing. Everything
around him feels… feels like that. And I needed that. I needed some fucking rest.”

Something about it seemed fishy, kind of not what Jeongguk—who was so scared to tell people of
his real reasons—would do.

“You told him it was for the case, didn’t you?” The silence told her enough. She frowned, “Wasn’t
he wary of you suddenly believing him?”

“No, ’cos it wasn’t like that.”

“Tell me how it was.”

“It’s just...” He licked his lips. “People go to different places to take the edge off. Therapy,
shooting range, weekend hiking trips, spa whorehouse nights, whatever. It was just my place for a
while.”

“Going to the house, pretending you didn’t have a choice?”

“Kinda. It was embarrassing, ’cos he knew I wasn’t sleeping well. Like, right away.”

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ

Jeongguk called before noon.

He took the case folder, his journal, and spent about two hours begging Hoseok to let him borrow
Honda for the night. And of course Hoseok gave in, even though he’d worn his parental
displeasure look the entire time.

Jimin didn’t ask anything about the visit.

While Jimin wasn’t doing that but flipping through the case files instead, Jeongguk could take a
look at the main house.

It was elevated, had three rooms and a numaru, but he realized the other hanok parts were actually
connected, so the entire structure formed a sort of square with inner courtyard in the middle. He
could feel the age in the entire thing, but the rooms had a more modern look, a lot of pop art and
plants on top that century-old styling. He figured Jimin had been touching up on that plenty.
After his short self-tour, he realized the floors were evenly warm. Must’ve been some lower level
there for ondol.

“You have a furnace or something?” he asked.

“Used to.”

And that was it.

Down on the floor now, watching Jimin read. A pair of thick frames with square lenses on Jimin’s
face, kind of clashing with his usual look. Jeongguk found it comforting for some reason, just
sitting there and watching Jimin do this thing and look like that.

Jimin had been going through the files for an hour now, which was turning to be a bit annoying,
but Jeongguk thought maybe he wanted to be thorough. Maybe he was doing his Thing while at it,
Jeongguk wouldn’t know.

It was becoming hard to concentrate. Jeongguk kept pinching himself each time he felt himself
dozing off. Jimin watched him intently now, having abandoned the folder, and then suddenly rose.

“Why don’t you take a nap, huh?” he said, soft.

“But we gotta do this.”

“Well, I gotta do some gardening and feed the fish. How about that. I’ll get the bed ready.”

And soon Jeongguk was laid on the living room’s floor, tucked in like he was some kid, and ready
to finally sleep. He watched Jimin get his tools in a bag and throw some other household stuff in a
huge basket, and finally leave.

And it was strange, one of the strangest things, really, how silent it was. It had Jeongguk bad, at
first. This strange lull in the main house. Like, how it managed to retain that in the loud clash of
forest noise beyond thin walls.

Maybe time passed, maybe it didn’t, but Jeongguk still was wide awake.

All of a sudden he itched to walk, talk, do something. Still life bothered him. He threw off the
blanket and got up.

The koi pond was in the inner courtyard.

By the time Jeongguk shuffled to stand on one of the rocks, Jimin had finished telling his ass off
for not listening to people who knew better.

“I can’t sleep alone,” Jeongguk blurted. “I mean, alone in the house. Can you?”

Jimin was crouching by the pond, sorting through a basket full of some fish stuff, a thing looking
like a hoover, some devices cased in plastic. Looked like he’d been cleaning the water.

“Not like I got a choice,” Jimin replied.

“Why not?” Jeongguk asked as he watched Jimin feed the fish. Jimin wasn’t rushing with an
answer. “Have you always lived here? The island, I mean.”

Jimin shrugged. “I live here. That’s all that matters.”

“Your past matters.”

“You think so?”

Jimin submerged one of the plastic box things in the pond, but then it slowly floated up. He was
cursing under his breath; something about the shitloads he gotta spend to keep this useless thing
from freezing.

“Kinda shapes who you are,” Jeongguk said.

“Sure. If you’re like that.”

“Like what?”

“Someone who’s bound by time and its order.”

Jeongguk groaned. “Can you just answer like a normal person?”

“What’s with you today, Inspector?”

Done with the pond, Jimin picked up the basket with his bath items and headed to the pool by the
waterfall. Jeongguk followed, not knowing if he really should. They passed through a narrow gap
between two sections of the house, and Jeongguk lifted his arms and traced the wood of the
elevated porch on each side as they went.

“Nothing,” he said. “Just curious. It’s just, sometimes you talk like a normal person.” Like some
loose-lipped streeter boy. “And then you get all weird.”

“Weird how?”

“Like, talk all weird.”

Jeongguk came to a halt a few steps before reaching the pool, because Jimin had put the basket on
one of the flatter rocks, and began undressing. Like it was a chill thing to do, but then again maybe
it was, to him.

“The house belonged to my grandfather,” Jimin said, folding his clothes on the rock, “he’d built it
himself.”

“What about your parents?” Jeongguk asked.

“What about yours?”

Jimin faced him, completely naked save for the jewelry, and combed through his hair. He kept
messing with it as he waited for a reply, eventually leaving it in peace to let long strands frame his
face in soft waves.

Jeongguk had to look away, a little guilty. If only Jimin knew about Jeongguk’s thing of being into
all of that manly and dude, this probably would have been going differently. Not as chill and
shameless, he supposed.

“In Busan,” Jeongguk said.

He heard Jimin taking the jewelry off and then moving through the pool until the sound of the
falling water changed in pitch. Jimin really was showering like that. Something slick then, and
Jeongguk knew he was soaping himself up.

“You didn't take the time off for seongmyo,” Jimin said. “That’s heavy. Didn’t wanna see them?”

“It’s complicated.”

“You did something.” It wasn’t a question.

“That’s why I’m here. I better stay here.”

The silence, filled only with splashing of water, made him give in. He turned to look.

Jimin stood there, welcoming the cold stream with his flushed skin and breathing heavy under that
freezing spray. His tattoo was exposed. The water only reached his knees.

“You’re evading,” Jeongguk said. He better not be pouting. “Your family?”

“I can’t lie, Inspector,” Jimin had to lean out of the water to tell him that, “so please don’t make me
talk about this.”

Jeongguk let on, knowing he had no real right for demanding any of that. His eyes kept straying to
the image on Jimin’s broad back. Jimin’s muscles rippled under his inked skin as he washed his
hair next to the stream, and Jeongguk’s eyes followed the drops sliding down his neck, his back,
the round flesh of his ass. Jeongguk snapped his eyes back to the tattoo. A design unlike anything
he’d ever seen. All fluid and swirly and intricate, sure, but not a tacky thing or anything simple
either.

Later he was too shy to ask about it and only mumbled something else.

Something like: “How come you’re not cold?”

They were kneeling on the floor of the main room with his work journal open to reveal its morbid
drawings.

Jimin smiled, looking soft and pink in his loose bathrobe. “I’m a little cold. But only here.” He
traced the lines on the pages, then Jeongguk’s palm, and said, “These are good.”

Jeongguk gulped, drawing back his hand. “What do you mean — only here?”

“It gets really hot when I leave the mountain. The farther, the hotter.”

That was hardly believable, but Jeongguk bit his tongue. He didn’t risk touching Jimin again.
“Don’t you get lonely?”

“I see a lot of people.”

“For work. They don’t know you.”

Jimin shook his head, looking sad now.

“You can work somewhere else,” Jeongguk offered, realizing he’d dropped formal speech and
quickly correcting himself.

Jimin smiled at his actually being polite. He reached to flip through the journal again. “Do you like
your job?”

“Not exactly,” he said. “It’s not that I’m best at it.”

Not being best at something wasn’t the easiest thing to admit, even to himself, but there he was all
quietly willing and juicing his doubts to a pulp.

“But I’m good enough,” Jeongguk added. “I just need to do this one right. I just need to get it
right.”

Then Jimin found the right page. The drawing of the ritual paper from the grave. He was silent for
a while, studying the pencil lines.

“Why did you call?” he asked, looking at his bare hands now. He still hadn’t put his jewelry back
on.

Jeongguk blinked owlishly which made him feel very stupid. “Looked like yours,” he said.
“Figured you should know.”

“You suddenly got the guts to believe me?”

“Well, no. But you know this stuff either way.”

“Sure,” Jimin smiled.

He stood up, only to kneel beside Jeongguk and untie his robe, letting the fabric slide down the
slope of his back. “You can take a picture.”

Jeongguk hesitated, suddenly feeling hot in his head. It looked darker and more detailed than he
remembered from just moments ago.

“It’s okay,” Jimin said, looking straight ahead. “You can touch it.”

Jeongguk reached out tentatively. His fingertips barely grazed the skin, but he could see a shiver
running through Jimin’s body.

“How’s that?” Jimin asked.

“What?”

“What’s my body temperature really like, you know, relatively. Like, I’m a little cold. But how’s it
for you?”

Jeongguk opened his journal on a new page and got to drawing. “It’s warm,” he finally said. “Like
you’ve got mild fever or something. That’s normal. Normal person things.”

“Never really met a normal person,” Jimin said.

“Bullshit.”

“No, I mean. Nobody’s as cruel as them. So I dunno how that should be called normal.”

“Jimin-ssi,” Jeongguk said, trying to focus on the drawing, “let’s reflect silently.”

The sketch came out rather decent, which Jimin didn’t hesitate telling him while leaning over the
journal and radiating that mild fever heat. Then Jimin sat back, rubbing at his neck, and it was such
a shy gesture, it kind of froze the train of whatever thought Jeongguk had going on. Jimin kept his
hand loose around his own throat, swallowing.

He said, very quietly, “It’s a really lonely place.”

He was answering the earlier question, Jeongguk realized. Something was telling Jeongguk that
Jimin wasn’t talking about the house or the mountain.

Jimin pushed to his feet but didn’t move. His robe fell open, and he reached to tie it around himself
again. “You look like shit, you know? You need to sleep.”

“I can’t. I need…” Jeongguk sighed. “Something. I’m out of drugs.”

“Well, while you're out of them,” Jimin smiled, "we can try the brew first." He headed for the
kitchen.

When he reached the doorway, Jeongguk tore off a loose thread on his shirt, took a breath for
courage, and asked: “How do you handle that? The lonely place.”

“Well, there’s always one lonelier.”

Rainy silver light filtered through a narrow window.

Water tapping on the glass. Soft paws on the wood, then grating of claws.

Jimin appeared with a pot of his weird herbal brew and said something to the cat. Jeongguk didn’t
recognize the dialect.

The cat’s name was Kkachi and she was one lazy little thing, in Jimin’s fond words, the little tiger
who only knew how to gorge herself and not do a damn thing about the mice.

“This should help,” Jimin sat before the folding table and filled a clay cup. “If it won’t, we’re
gonna try something else. Now drink.” He handed the cup to Jeongguk, into his graphite-stained
palms. “Try to remember the details, if you dream anything.”

This time, sleep was coming easily.

Jeongguk curled under the soft duvet, deep in the warmth and full of that brew. Jimin remained by
his side, humming under his breath.

“Can you—” Jeongguk stopped, calming the nerves.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just, my mother used to touch my face, you know, like, all soft. It helped.”

“You want me to try?”

Jeongguk shrugged. “Whatever,” he said and closed his eyes.

He didn’t expect anything at all, but then there were careful fingers touching just below his ear,
and he squirmed a little. Jimin caressed along his earshell, eventually holding his pierced lobe
between thumb and forefinger. And that was it, Jeongguk thought, relaxing, that was the right
fucking button right there.

Jimin softly rubbed it like that, little downward motions, until Jeongguk felt like he was thawing
out. And then there was Jimin’s clear voice, crooning like something of the waves, filling
Jeongguk’s head with warm clouds and settling on his skin all thick.

Jeongguk felt the impossible calm swallow his anxiety for the first time in months.

He wanted to tell Jimin how good he felt, or ask about the song. He wanted to say how lonely he’d
been since he’d come on the island, but he couldn’t.

He still dreamt poorly, of the boy and the empty hallways. Ringing silence and vacuum.

He woke to the warm orange light, the salt lamp Jimin had put on the floor to study the files.
Jeongguk stirred with a groan, shifting Jimin’s attention.

“How was it, Inspector?”

“Bad. Better than usual.”

“Have you seen him?”

Jeongguk sat up, rubbing at his eyes. “Yes. I always do.”

Jimin said nothing to that. He went to the kitchen wordlessly, leaving Jeongguk to himself. Bare
feet on polished wood, the splashing of water, the wind chimes outside. Jeongguk reached for the
neck to take his pulse.

Borderline tachycardic. How odd. His neck was slick with sweat.

Soon Jimin was back with a wash basin. He knelt, wriggled a piece of velveteen cloth in the liquid
that was too thick to be water, and there was this odd shine to it, too.

“Can I?” Jimin asked first.

Jeongguk nodded. Jimin moved to softly daub at Jeongguk’s hot face.

And the touch of it was so tender Jeongguk kind of stopped breathing. It was like the fabric coaxed
some new level of sensitivity to his skin. He was close to moaning from each swipe, delicate and
silky. He almost did moan, but he suppressed it, shivering.

Whatever the liquid was, a little oily but refreshing, it was neither warm nor cold. Nothing
Jeongguk had felt on his skin before.

“What is it?”

“It’s gonna help with the dream fever,” Jimin only said, wiping at his neck. His other hand lay
gently on Jeongguk’s nape.

“I’m fine with the dreams. I’m fine with the hallucinations, you know. But he won’t talk.” Only
that one time, a single sentence, and then nothing. He sighed, suddenly feeling his eyes sting.
“Why won’t he fucking talk?”

“They can’t talk. Not outside the dreams.” Jimin was calm. He reached for the hem of Jeongguk’s
shirt, asking him to take it off. “That okay?”

Jeongguk nodded, ignoring the low simmer in his gut.

“Take it off and lie down.”

He did as asked, watching the ceiling. It was kind of unbearable, the anticipation.

“Why do you mean they can’t talk?”

“Ghosts can’t talk,” Jimin said simply. His hands were slow and warm as he washed Jeongguk’s
tense body. “Relax. It’s for your muscles too.”

And Jeongguk desperately tried to, but this low buzz had settled under his skin and gained in heat
with each press of firm palms on his body. He remembered how hot Jimin’s hand had felt, clasped
in his, and how strong Jimin’s thighs had been.

“You’re so tense,” Jimin murmured, swiping the cloth across his lower belly. It tingled. The heat
that came with it wasn’t at all helping Jeongguk with keeping it down. “You must’ve been
exhausted. All this time…”

Jeongguk cleared his throat. “But they can talk to you. Can’t they?”

“Not exactly,” Jimin said and asked him to turn over. His touch sent shivers in its wake, from the
nape and down all smooth along the spine. “I sense what they mean, what they feel. I gotta let
them in for them to talk.”

“Like, in your body?”

“That’s right. They can use my voice then.” It came with little effort for him to flip Jeongguk over,
and study his face, then push Jeongguk’s hair back. “Listen, Inspector. Why are you here?”

Jeongguk sucked on his lips. He was kind of losing it, floating away and off. Like a balloon full of
hot air. His breath came out in sharp bursts. Jimin’s hands were playing with his hair.

“You’re being kind of a dick,” Jimin said with a smile. Touched his temples in a light caress. “I
can’t figure if you finally trust me or it’s all part of the whole cops pulling their pig tricks.”

It was pins and needles, Jimin’s gentle hands on his neck, then his cheek. Jimin’s thumb caught on
his bottom lip. “Didn’t Soyeon tell you to keep looking?”

In the dream, she’d said that, but she was mute. How would he know?

There were chills running down Jeongguk’s spine. He could only stare at Jimin in the muted fear
that washed over him. Eyes wide, heart loud against his chest again. His head was spinning.

“Are you scared, Inspector?”

“A little.”

“Of me?”

“No,” he sat up, shaking off Jimin’s hands. “Of something I don’t get.”
 “That’s fine,” Jimin stood to clean up. “That’s what people fear the most. Not knowing.”

Jeongguk rubbed eyes. “But I need to know.”

“Well, you can’t.”

“Can’t you do something? About the dreams. About him.”

That had Jimin freezing in his tracks. He turned around, basin in hands, and seemed to be reading
Jeongguk. “I can’t speak for him when you don’t believe me.”

“That’s fine. Do something about the dreams, at least. Can’t you?”

And it was down to this little desperate sound, but Jeongguk was too tired to feel any shame in that.

“Do you believe whatever I do will help?” Jimin said.

A beat. “Yes.”

“And you’re willing to do whatever is asked of you?”

“Yes.”

Jimin stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to sense a lie. Even if Jeongguk was lying, he
himself wasn’t aware of it. The air filled with some new form of tension.

Then it snapped, and Jimin left for the kitchen. More dish clatter, this time less soothing for
Jeongguk.

And he thought that was it, that he’d managed to end something new and fragile between them.
But then Jimin was in the doorway, wiping his hands on a towel, and looking over Jeongguk’s
shirtless form.

“How’re you with the cold?” At his very confused look, Jimin elaborated. “Cold water. We’ll have
to be outside. You’ll have to be naked.”

“Right now?”

“No. But we can try a thing. On winter solstice.”

“That’s,” he paused, counting, “in a week.”

“Better if you take the day off.”

“I can’t do that. Not for…” He bit his tongue.

“If you want my help, you’ll find a way.” Jimin never looked so serious before. But then he smiled
again, warming up. “Let’s hope no shit luck gets you in the meantime.”

Chapter End Notes

like i said
 Tigers’ Wedding Day
Chapter Notes

accidental voyeurism
implied past homophobia
(ritual) blindfolds
sex dreams (vague-ish sandy anal switchin)
more #ust

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The call came in the early morning when the sun had yet to crawl out.

Two dead bodies in the west village, one of the smaller places that had no foreigners.

“An old couple,” Hoseok said, and Jeongguk heard him fumble for his notes. “Jaeil and Ahsung…
Jaeil’s family name is Yang. Retired. But Ahsung, she got no records of a job at all.”

And there were more things on top of that. Hoseok was saying something about the panic at the
Food Fair, and the dead sei whale—or did he say finback whale—somewhere on the West Beach,
and how it all had to go down in one night and screw his good fortune two years ahead of time.

As Mrs. Kim fussed over extra coffee, Jeongguk kept remembering that documentary he’d seen
about performance orca whales in captivity who tended to go mad when confined, or depressed
when separated, and who died very quickly. He was pretty sure their whale had nothing to do with
that and was probably something climate-related, like Daewoo hub related, and then realized he’d
been thinking about beached whales instead of the dead bodies at the village.

And as he and Hoseok approached the crime scene, he imagined Jimin would’ve advised him to
fuck it and bolt, because it seemed like his newly found ill fate followed him here and infected
everyone around.

They followed the local guard through empty gray neighborhood. The streets were so narrow that
they’d had to park the car farther up the road.

“Really shakin’ us all up, y’know,” the local guard lamented, heaving in the thick fog as he went.
“And so close to Christmas, too.”

To winter solstice as well, Jeongguk thought, and said it out loud for some reason, earning a weird
look from Hoseok. In this low morning haze, Jeongguk could finally see that Hoseok looked like
he’d been acing his own insomniac olympics.

The guard, however, seemed a little out of it, not really hearing any questions, and bubbling about
all at once from the nerves. His head shook slightly at every word in a way that reminded Jeongguk
of those bobble head dogs they put on dashboards.

The village was pretty clean and well-kept. That said, it looked like a tiny hive ready to topple in
on itself. Three levels to it, and the upper stories were kind of glued up with things that seemed cut
out from some other buildings. There wasn’t a matching piece anywhere you looked.
And it looked like it hadn’t been planned at all. As if it had just grown, each level kind of slapped
on the other, one house patched to the next, until the streets formed this manifold of stuff wrapped
in cobwebs of powerlines.

Made it hard to imagine that any privacy could exist here.

Soon the guard turned into a tiny side street, one of very few, and slotted himself edgewise while
beaconing them to follow. They squeezed through the pipe-like alley into a small inner square of a
boarding house. It seemed to be the only way to get to it, because Jeongguk could see no other
exits.

The veranda steps were obscured by rows of laundry strung above the dirt of the courtyard.
Jeongguk looked up the building’s shallow well, then at the slopes of the tiled roof. Fat drops of
rain water clung to the eaves and powerlines.

The guard led them through these little laundry vines without really minding how wet fabric
slapped him in the face.

“So, they lived here since the wedding?” Hoseok tried questioning again as he parted wet clothes
to follow. “Married long?”

“Forty years just last week. The whole village was at the main square to celebrate.”

“Who found them?”

“Ahyoung,” he said and fell silent. Then, looking back at a very expectant Hoseok, he explained,
“Ahsung’s sister. She always comes in early. She’s got a cow farm, you see.” He began stuttering
horribly. “Always brings fresh milk and cheese for them first. Poor ahjumma's devastated. We
couldn’t calm her down.”

They’d reached the right door, it looked like, because the guard was shuffling about and sweating
even more.

“We’ll need to tape it off,” Hoseok said distractedly. “Taehyung better not complain this time or
his ass is gonna get oiled for the whale dissection.”

“That’s not his expertise,” Jeongguk said, suddenly finding some humor in the whole situation.
“But he’s gonna complain, don’t you doubt it.”

“Well, then it better be less than his usual four hours.” Hoseok looked around. “Gotta get Okpo to
spare what they can for this.” Then he smiled reassuringly at the guard. “Ready?”

They dived into the cramped darkness of the room.

It was a narrow kitchen, little more than a closet, with a rusty fridge slotted inside a peeled counter.
There was an old brass sink, a hot plate, and an iron kettle. Frayed drapes on the small window, an
old radio screwed to the wall. A bead curtain over the doorway that led to the second room.

Everything was neat, lived-in but natural, no sign of forced entry or struggle. Nothing out of the
ordinary.

The floor table across from the window had a tea set served out. The couple sat face to face, their
backs hunched and hands folded in their laps. Like two old mirrors blurred with time and each
other.
Large wall clock illuminated their features with dull fluorescence, and Jeongguk could see this
creepy calm in the pallor of their faces.

Their eyes were missing. Blood had oozed from the hollow sockets and dried in unnaturally neat
patterns.

The guard was turned away, looking at the window. Hoseok stared for a beat, hands on hips, then
clicked his tongue.

“Well that’s sure something,” he said. Then, “You cocksucking, hemorrhoid sucking fuck.”

“Hyung,” Jeongguk shook his head. Then, to the guard, “Have you interviewed the residents yet?”

“Yeah, I asked around first thing.” He said he’d asked the owner to gather them in the dining room
while they waited for the police. “Nobody seen nothing, heard nothing.”

“The neighbors?”

“Figured that’s your thing.”

“A torture like that couldn’t just go unheard.” Jeongguk bent down to take in the details. The eyes
were plucked out neatly, as if removed with a tool that left no trace. Not any instrument he knew.
“Shit, even if they were silenced.”

“What can I say, Jeonggukkie,” Hoseok crouched in front of the husband, “not a lot of
commonplace things coming our way lately.”

Hoseok avoided moving anything, simply observed. “How did he manage to keep them positioned
like that? The pain alone…”

Then Hoseok turned to Ahsung. “The extraction looks so clean. Almost surgical but. Look weird to
you?”

“Yeah, like they were just kinda…” Jeongguk paused. “Poof and gone.”

“That’s a medical term,” Hoseok said to the guard, craning his head to give him a wink. The guard
looked kind of green. That made Hoseok’s mouth all twisted like he was holding back. He turned
to the bodies. “Apart from the face, I see no blood. Like none, literally.”

“Means he did it elsewhere?”

“Have you checked the other room?”

“Sure,” the guard sounded as if he were about to be sick. “Everything’s just… normal.”

Hoseok nodded. “Normal,” he muttered. “But if he did it somewhere else, it doesn’t make sense.
He couldn’t have moved them if nobody saw anything. Unless they’re lying.”

“Nobody’s lying,” the guard huffed.

Hoseok spared him any lectures on that, a thing that came easy to him but impossible to Jeongguk.

“Okay, sure, nobody’s lying, so means it was done here, with lots of equipment.” He cursed. “We
need COD before flexing into that direction.”

Jeongguk turned to the guard, “Did the residents see anyone visiting during the day, the morning
before that? Anyone they knew?”

“You think someone in the village could’ve done it?” He looked almost offended. “Bullshit.”

“So is that a yes?”

The guard was starting at the couple now. Maybe still taking in the crazy. “No. Nobody was
there.”

“Guk,” Hoseok waved him over, “here. You seen anything like it?”

Even in the poor light, Jeongguk could see the mark Hoseok was pointing at, on the back of
Ahsung’s shoulder exposed by the open cut of the shirt. It was more of a burn than a bruise, but the
peculiar styling reminded him of Jimin’s tattoo again.

“No,” Jeongguk whispered, “I haven’t.”

He opened his journal and began drawing.

By the time they’d done half the street on the door knocking duty, Jeongguk knew it wouldn’t get
them anywhere, because it rarely did, and especially in a community like that where everyone had
century-old tradition to polish each other’s bones in secret.

The last three houses proved to be especially torturous, with two owners just mumbling that they
didn’t see anything and slamming the doors immediately after, and the last lady being so old she
shook by just simply standing upright—

—and she also spoke two words a minute.

Hoseok looked worried for her. “Maybe you could let us in, so you could—”

She cut him off, saying she’d been fine figuring out things for herself, thank you very much, and
continued with her snail-paced account.

Hoseok still politely listened, notepad in hand, though he wasn’t putting any of it down. Jeongguk
looked over and saw Taehyung with little pink shades and a little nasty grin, heading for his
forensic truck and shining with this smugness of a lucked out death row jailbird.

And Taehyung did look like a bird a lot of times; when single strands would fluff up his glossy
hair, and his long nose would go all red in the cold. Little red beak under heavy eyebrows, this long
neck he’d stick in everyone’s meaty business. Meticulous little vulture.

“Good luck,” Taehyung was shouting now, with that weird voice of his. “I hear rotten whale meat
is especially good this time of year.”

Jeongguk felt his face ache from the huge smile he was pulling, so wide it showed his teeth, and
his right hand was slowly raised to flip out the middle finger. Taehyung stuck his tongue out, really
far out actually, then threw his kit and camera in the trunk and drove off with a dramatic mud
shower in his wake.

This morning was taking them all back to daycare. Jeongguk whipped out his phone to check the
texts. Mostly work-related, a couple from Busan lab, one from his mother. Skipping past that one,
he froze.

A message from Jimin that simply said: everything ok?

As he blinked at the screen, somebody beside him said: “Black water.”

The old lady, he realized, looking up. Hoseok had stopped zoning out as well.

“What?” Hoseok said.

“Black water,” she creaked.

“What’s that?”

“That’s what I said.”

“I heard you. But what do you mean?”

“Ahsung is a nice girl,” she said, nodding, this glazed look to her eyes that made it clear she was
reminiscing. “Ahsungie is a real nice girl. She talks to anyone. Very gifted, so very gifted.”

Hoseok was nodding too, patient as ever.

“She isn’t feeling well, I think. She always catches some cold this time of year. But yesterday made
me real worried.”

“Why?”

“Black water.”

“What do you mean?” Hoseok squeezed his eyes, hard.

“That’s all Ahsungie said to me last night. Her voice was all bad, poor child, maybe it’s the
bronchitis again. I went to fetch some syrup, but when I came back, she was gone. I’m not the
fastest girl around, you see?”

For a moment, Jeongguk caught himself smiling, thinking how this relict lady was actually kind of
adorable.

“That’s all she said?” Hoseok asked.

“That’s all she said.” Then the lady covered her mouth. “Did something happen? Is that why
you’re here, doctor?”

They exchanged looks. Hoseok cleared his throat.

“Not at all. Just a cold, like you said. Very observant of you.” Hoseok smiled. “Nothing to worry
about.”

The drive to the beach was mostly quiet.

Jeongguk’s sense of unease was back, by now almost comfortable. The troubled sea was a burst of
white, a shower of exploding waves that could almost reach the car.

“You think it could be connected to the Hwang case?” he suddenly asked, eyes on the waves.

“There’s literally nothing in common.” Hoseok paused. “Wait the fuck up. You still think it wasn’t
rabies? Come on.”

“No, it’s not that.”

“Then what?”

“I’m not—I’m not sure. I can’t explain.”

“Don’t tell me Jimin got you all wrapped in his tales. Jeongguk, how could it possibly be related?
Even if that, the M.O. wouldn’t make any sense.” He had a point. “Try to get some sleep tonight,
okay?”

Easier said than done, Hoseok was aware, but Jeongguk knew he couldn’t help his worry. Hoseok
tended to rile himself up whenever he felt helpless. Jeongguk really hoped he’d stop taking it so
hard for something that wasn’t his problem.

“Let’s just sort out this whaling, hyung.”

“The whaling, the Feasting, the snowballing, but then I’m dropping you off at ahjumma’s, and
you’re getting right on it, okay?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, watching Hoseok light a cigarette, “I will.”

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ

“Did you?”

There’d been a short shower again, but it had seized before dusk. Heeyeon thought it was calming,
but it seemed to get Jeongguk all scatterbrained.

“What?” he asked.

“Did you sleep that night?”

“Well, I tried.” He rubbed at his neck. “You ever smelled rotten whale meat?” She said she hadn’t.
“It’s a real nasty rank. Mind-clogging. And kinda,” he hesitated, “very human too.”

“What?”

“You know. Stinks like dead people. With a hint of shrimp.”

He was smiling now, going for another cigarette.

“So what did you do?” Heeyeon asked.

There was that look again which she couldn’t exactly pinpoint. Not shame or shyness, something
on the edge and in between.
“Did you call Jimin?”

“No. I just went there.”

“You walked?”

Jeongguk snorted. “I took a cab. They only ever agreed going as far as the myeon limit sign. I
walked from there.”

“A reckless kind of night walk, don’t you think?”

“Not really.” He shrugged. “But it was useless anyway.”

“Why?”

“He was busy.”

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ

The rain shower was considerably less noticeable once Jeongguk passed the shrine and dived into
the woods.

Solid streams had been crashing down on the mountain road, but here heavy boughs seemed to
suck up most of the water. There was a flash of lightning, and the thunder followed just before he
reached the clearing.

A car was parked in his usual place. Coal black Hyundai, new tires, from one of the latest lines. It
was a rental. These things were easy to find on every turn, especially in the tourist-packed areas.

Jeongguk was moving now, avoiding the deeper mud lakes. His clothes grew heavy and were
sticking like second skin.

It was a bad idea all along, but he’d come all the way and was cold and miserable, so he decided to
suck it up. He spat on the ground before climbing on the veranda. The soles of his boots smeared
the damp wood with muck. He didn’t see Kkachi outside, quite naturally, and noticed that the
lights were mostly out.

Jeongguk struggled with taking off the shoes before coming inside.

And it was warm, even in the hallway. It soon made him feel like he’d been dipped into a steam
bath. He could see this reddish glow as he moved towards the main room, and hear music, louder
than the beat of his own heart.

It was a song he knew well, actually, but already remembered that Jimin didn’t like it much.
Booming bassline and this polished synth over it, with more sleaze in the singer's voice than there
was in the lyrics. Jeongguk could barely focus, it was that loud, as he slowly approached the main
room. The sliding door was open.

The empty room was dim, paper walls vibrating with the deep treble. Sharp stripe of red light was
cutting the room in half. It was coming from the kitchen.

When he reached the door, not risking to look just yet, it all hit him in the chest. The cloud of
absolute damp, this strong steamy smell of sex. The sound of Jimin’s jewelry was faint but easy to
recognize. Somebody else, a woman by the pitch of her moan, laughed.

Jeongguk was soaking wet, from the rain and now the clothes, and the impossible heat of the
house.

Jeongguk gulped and peeked inside.

The source of light was this thin tube above the counter which he’d never seen switched on before.
What the fuck was wrong with him?

He stood there for a second, hearing skin slapping against skin, and then he just allowed himself to
look.

And right then was where he saw them, Jimin and the girl, under the red light. Not how he’d
imagined his night going, creeping on a kitchen counter bang.

She was young, maybe early twenties, and a Seoul girl, the sound of it ringing in the few words
she’d been gasping out. Both still dressed, with the exception of her legs that were bare and
wrapped around Jimin’s waist, they moved fast and breathed heavy in the thick air. The glass
cupboard doors above her were fogged up solid and running with drops.

She pushed off the countertop with her palms and fell into Jimin, her hair following the motion like
a beautiful shiny shroud. Her arms came locking around his shoulders, one hand fisting Jimin’s
damp hair. Then she let out a squeak, and Jeongguk heard the wet dull sound of a hard thrust, so
lewd it left him just as breathless as her.

It was then that she flicked hair out of her face and opened her eyes. So lazy, that look, hazed over,
but she saw Jeongguk clearly. Maybe she was a nasty pervert not unlike Jeongguk, because as soon
as their eyes met, she upped her volume and pulled on Jimin’s hair, asking to go faster.

Jeongguk cursed under his breath.

He closed his eyes and tried very hard to avoid thinking about his horrible hard on. As he opened
his eyes, feeling it press tight in his pants, he saw Jimin peeling the black denim of his own jeans
down his ass and just about to mid-thigh. Jimin’s palms set against the counter for leverage as he
pressed deep inside of her, gaining that speed back, and she quickly stopped making any noise at
all, only trying not to choke on breath when Jimin gave all in, jabbing in and out, barely
withdrawing.

The silver bands kept ringing and ringing, while Jeongguk was hard and positively decaying on the
spot.

What the fuck are you doing, Jeongguk thought, but he stood there, boiling in his skin and the
desperate need to get off.

It was the idea, he knew, the pretty lights of it, on the silver and Jimin’s skin, the slick shine to it.
The wet, warm cloud of slapping sound and these low grunts Jimin was making whenever the girl
tugged on his hair.

Jeongguk felt his own neck drip with sweat, as he remembered.

Jeongguk had sort of had this girlfriend back in Busan, early Academy years, before he realized
why exactly they hadn’t been clicking sexually.

Her name was Sooah, and she was from the country, and her father had a boat in the same marina
as Jeongguk’s father, out of the boroughs. Jeongguk was in his second year at the Academy when
they started going out, and during breaks she took him to the boat without her father knowing.

She was studying fashion of some sort, design or marketing or whatever it was, so she would take
weeks worth of clothes in travel bags for their weekends. They’d go out on the boat which she
could do, having learned from her father, and they’d lounge under the sun in still waters, and fuck
fast and sloppy but with little dedication.

She’d tell him it used to be just her and her brother before, sneaking out to drive the thing around
without permission. And when Jeongguk met the brother, it kind of all started creeping up on him.
Slow at first, like he thought he’d just been a little crazy, having the hots for a dude.

Eventually it caught up with him, the suppressed longing and all that cock enlightenment.
Jeongguk took the Dick Talk to his brother after horrible long months of doubts and riling himself
up. His family were the old-fashioned kind, much like the lot he’d grown up around, but his
brother tried his best not to look disappointed. Had these huge guilty eyes as he mumbled
something about loving Jeongguk no matter what, but they never lit up for Jeongguk since.

It was kind of coming at him, around the third year, with the sexcapades decreasing in numbers and
not him or Sooah appearing to be bothered by it. They both deserved better, he knew, but couldn’t
get it back then.

They still drove around in her brother’s car at night, because she was still waiting to get her license,
and Jeongguk was still waiting for special driving courses at the Academy.

Sometimes they watched the lights on ships, and later got in a little passive bang in the back seat,
but Sooah said it just wasn’t the same anymore, maybe it was the weather or the spark’d been
gone, and Jeongguk agreed.

It was just they were both in that swamp and alone and there wasn’t much else to do.

One night they were freaking around the neighborhood, and this song came on, some singer Sooah
said had recently come out. Jeongguk drove that time, so his nerves got all out in the open because
of the car’s jerky motion.

“Jeongguk-ah,” Sooah said, because he didn’t like to be called any other way by the people he was
seeing, or fucking, or was fond of, “why do you wanna be a policeman?”

“It was an accident,” he said. “I like strong type jobs.”

“Manly stuff, huh?” Sooah smiled. “You know what they say about that?”

“About what?

“Guys with lotsa testosterone who compensate a lot. Just a bit over the tip.”

Jeongguk pretended not to get on.

“That’s not really nice, is it?” he said instead. “Stereotypes.”

“It isn’t. Any guy can feel that way or other, big dude or not.”
Sooah rolled down the window, because she loved the oily smell in the air for some reason. Busan
at night smelled like a sewer.

“Any no-ass greaseball can have taste for dick,” she said.

“Then why did you—?”

“Jeongguk. You think we’re friends?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“You really mean it, don’t you?” she asked. “That’s why I know.”

“What?”

“I think all these old farts saying how men and women can’t be friends is, like, a giant stinkin’ pile
of bull. You’d wanna be friends with someone you’d wanna marry, wouldn’t you?"

“Sure,” he said. “I guess.”

“So, that’s how I know. That we can only be friends. Get what I’m sayin’?”

“Yes,” Jeongguk said, feeling lighter. “Thanks.”

They broke up soon after that with little hassle, so limpid and friendly and uneventful, it kind of
mirrored their sex life. Jeongguk agreed with her it was all very funny.

And here Jeongguk was now, in this room, skin sticky and sensitive from his inappropriate arousal.

The thought kept pulsing in his brain, to just get out and stop acting like a deprived nasty dick.
That was bad, so bad for everyone involved.

He saw the stutter in the harsh movement of Jimin’s hips, and soon it slowed down to something
very languid, kind of sensual and wet, but it meant Jeongguk had to go right now, with his cock
throbbing in his pants and palms clammy.

His temples dripped with sweat when he crossed the room. Kkachi was stretching her striped body
by the speakers and looking at him.

Cats didn’t judge, Jeongguk convinced himself, cats didn’t have feelings. Cats were soulless little
fucks with very tiny brains that didn’t hold any judgement. But Kkachi there still managed to look
extremely judgemental. Sat there, purring in the waves coming from the speakers, and judged.

“Fuck off,” Jeongguk hissed, “you watch him all the time.”

She lifted her paw and licked at the fur.

“Filthy, you are,” Jeongguk said, pointing at her, and then realized he was talking to a cat next to a
room where Jimin was now zipping up by the sound of it.

The girl had a pleasant voice, he noted, hearing them chatter. But Jimin didn’t chatter. Did he?
Kkachi perked up, and Jeongguk knew he had to immediately go.

Out on the porch, the cool of wind felt more welcome than ever. The rain had subsided to a drizzle
for which he was thankful, putting on his boots. The lights went out. Then the one in the hallway
came to life.

Jeongguk heard his own joints creak with tension. He was leaning forward, working the laces and
almost getting his fingers tied together. He was the police, for fuck’s sake, what was he doing?
What was with the panic and the heat? Nevermind his boner, since it sure would help with the
insomnia aches.

By the time he crossed to the mountain road, his mind had calmed down. The shrine was the only
structure out here, besides Jimin’s house, so Jeongguk just stood next to it, thinking how ridiculous
this night had turned out.

And just like that time he and Sooah had found their breakup hilarious, he was laughing himself
silly now, huddling in his thin jacket. It was useless in the night wind.

The sound of engine cut through the calm. He turned only to be blinded by the beam of headlights.
The car rolled onto the main road with little difficulty, but stopped halfway down the slope.

The driver’s door opened, and the girl stuck her head out. She was laughing as she shouted:
“C’mon, mister, I don’t have all night.”

He blinked. Then shrugged and walked down toward the car.

The funny thing was, she turned out to be extremely accommodating. Saw his soggy clothes, pale
miserable face, and took him to this nice joint where they served all night and had all the hot shit in
the world.

They didn’t talk much. She said she didn’t do names, which meant she hadn’t known Jimin’s
either.

She watched him gulp the drink down in one go, then another, and by the third she’d ordered her
own as well. The galbitang here was a thing of real magic, Jeongguk thought, slurping it up at the
speed of something biting him in the ass.

“Why didn’t you just stay?” she asked at some point.

Jeongguk shrugged. “I wasn’t really planning on coming anyway. Should’ve texted first.”

“You a friend of his?”

“I work with him.”

“You a tour guide too?”

“What?” He looked up. Didn’t Jimin say he couldn’t lie? “He told you that?”

“No. Just figured. He was talking about all that history stuff to some couple at Daemyung.”

They’d met there, Jeongguk learned, and hit it off rather quickly. When Jeongguk asked how in the
hell she hadn’t been creeped out by Jimin living in the dark woods, she just said she’d had the gut
feeling for the guys who weren’t murderers.

“Or maybe I’m just a crazy bitch who’ll get chopped up the next time she pulls this kinda shit,” she
said, laughing, and Jeongguk tensed in his seat.

She said she’d been looking for that kind of fling anyway, since she could never get a proper leave
on better months, like September, so she’d made her mission to do the most in the two weeks of
winter holiday.

“Speaking of,” she smiled, a pretty and seductive thing that would’ve worked on him most
probably in any other straighter life, “how are you feeling about making your night less shitty?”

Jeongguk only stared at her. Reached for the sugar spoon to stir the ice in his glass.

“C’mon, you liked it. I saw you were into it.” After seeing his hesitation, she frowned. “Oh, you
got a girlfriend?”

“No, I don’t. You’re right, I, uh, was into something,” he choked out, feeling a whole lot of surreal
just talking about it with a stranger. “Yeah. I can’t though.”

That seemed to make her a little self-conscious, and Jeongguk rushed to apologize, saying
something about how attractive she was and how he would be down any other time, and how
grateful he was for the lift and super chill convo, and her being so polite about some random
creeper dude catching her in the act.

“Relax, I got you,” she smiled. Tilted her chin slightly, looking curious. “So what, you gonna sit
there all swollen?”

He shrugged.

“Gotta say, I don’t see a lot of dudes here pussyfooting around a pussy.”

“Glad to be so special.”

“Makes me think,” she slurped her cocktail. “What’re you pussyfooting around?”

So many things, Jeongguk thought, including his job, and suicide whales, and dead people coming
to his room at night. And then these other things that had to do with all that wet and sexy.

He was lucky she hadn’t taken him for a dangerous creep, and just metaphorically kicked him in
the balls on their way out, saying: “Your friend’s dynamite in the sack, by the way. Great ass.”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk said, watching her climb inside the car, “I’ll make sure to tell him.”

She drove off, leaving him to stand on the early morning sidewalk. Someone would have a lot to
say about this particular look he was sporting now, walking towards Hoseok’s house. How he’d
gone and slept as promised, above all.

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ

Man, Heeyeon was going to get her a good sleep after this. A long, deep sleep. She was going to do
that tomorrow, but now she had to focus on Jeongguk spacing out again, hard.
“What do you mean ‘busy’?” she asked. “Was he in the middle of a ritual?”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk nodded. “He was.”

“And you just left?”

“Better not to disturb the rite, you know? I knew at least that well enough. I was gonna see him on
the solstice anyway.”

“Okay, but what was the deal with the eyes? The dead couple?”

“Nobody knew.”

“Why are you smiling?”

“’Cos it pissed Taehyung off a whole lot.”

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ

It was eleven-thirty before they finally had to contact Busan lab, and then only because Chief
Song, who Jeongguk knew was just about near his boiling point, said that the BMPA chief, a
friend of both his and Jeongguk’s father, was going to get the investigation transferred if they
couldn’t keep up with the level anymore.

Which was true, about them being below the level, particularly with Jeongguk kicking greaseballs
instead of trying to work, like he was tweaked out himself or something.

But Hoseok had told the Chief he understood. And that he of course would be hurrying his ass up,
and oiling Taehyung’s, to make sure they deal with these goddamn eyeballs as soon as BMPA got
back to them with the opinion of their specialists.

The entire call with one of those specialists, Hoseok’s face was turning soggier by the second.
Eventually he thanked the guy, cut the line, and pushed at the table with his foot. The office chair
rolled back and hit the wall, and Hoseok just sat like that, brooding.

“What he say?” Taehyung tried timidly.

“Fuck all. ‘Consistent with occultism’ and ‘ritualistic practice hinting at satanism,’ my ass. I coulda
told you it ain’t no cult job. Or a nut-job job. None of those jobs.”

“That’s it?”

“He e-mailed his report.”

“Well, are you gonna look at it?”

“No, Taehyung, I’m gonna sit right there in my chair and become one with the wall. You fuckin’
look at it.”

To their surprise, and to Taehyung’s own, Taehyung actually did. Frowned through the entirety of
the report as he scrolled through it, bending over Hoseok’s table, at which Jeongguk tried really
hard not to laugh. He wiggled his eyebrows at Hoseok, and got a huge flying bird flipped into his
face.
“Naw,” said Taehyung, “he’s an idiot.”

The opinion of the specialist guy was that he didn’t actually care enough to properly look at the
whole background of the case in the first place.

“They don’t wanna help us until they get the investigation transferred.” Hoseok spinned in his
chair, kicking Taehyung’s butt in the process. “’Cos what’s the point of squandering the smarts.”

Jeongguk let out a pained groan. “So what’re we gonna do?”

“The chief gave us till Christmas. And that don’t mean whipping up your reports on his desk by the
Eve, no matter how cracked and hot.”

“That’s just crazy.”

“You know what’s crazy?” Taehyung was already half-way towards the exit. “Me still talking to
you.”

“Where are you going?”

“Work.”

“You don’t got any.”

At that he shot Hoseok finger guns. Kept at it until his back hit the glass door, and then he was out.
They stared at his attempts to get his moped to start, for a minute or so, then it became really
boring. Once Taehyung finally got the engine coughing, and disappeared in the cloud of diesel
smoke, Jeongguk could start thinking again.

“So what are we gonna do, for real?” he asked.

“Well, we flap our cocks around till Christmas without getting any, and they’re taking it from us.
With balls as a bonus. Only mine, though.”

Because Jeongguk wasn’t to be grilled. Ever the golden kid on after class detention. Hoseok didn’t
say that, but Jeongguk felt the sting either way. Little flyblown was his gold, is all.

“I don’t like that,” Jeongguk said.

“Yeah, I’d rather keep onto my sac.”

“So where do we go from here? You don’t think it’s a cult thing.”

“Doesn’t smell like eyeball-eating cannibal cult to me. Call it instinct.”

“Hyung, you think I should—”

Jeongguk swallowed. Hoseok raised his eyebrows.

“—should ask a specialist?”

“You mean Jimin.”

Jeongguk nodded.

“It’s not like any practice I’ve seen, Jeongguk.”

“Well, he’ll confirm it then.”

“Fine. Only pictures though. Don’t need to be making every crime scene into a civilian party.”

And it should’ve given Jeongguk at least that much of relief, but he felt only the nerves acting up.
He’d be going there for the solstice night. His stomach twisted in knots.

“Didn’t expect you to stay the night.”

It was the first thing Mrs. Kim said, and Jeongguk bit his lip. He was guilty, and felt worse.

“Don’t think I can sleep either way.”

“Are you hungry, my boy?”

“No, thank you.” He attempted smiling.

“Any plans for Sunday?”

“Need to work on something with a friend. Gonna stay at his on Monday too.”

“You made a friend.”

That would’ve sounded like a shitty joke any other time, but she was actually happy. Jeongguk felt
himself smiling, a little shy, as he shrugged. She went to her room, and he could hear her
rummaging through drawers for something. Soon she came back with a piece of inked ritual paper.

“Put this inside your pillowcase,” she said.

“What’s this?”

“Makes my dreams weaker.”

But well—

—the thing wasn’t working with him, apparently.

Because the new dreams had this unnerving crisp quality to their images, so vivid and physical.
And it was the victims again, it was always the victims.

Hwang Yisam staring right through him, while his rough hands dug into the slimy innards spilling
from his slashed belly. There was a terrible squelch every time he tried pushing his guts inside.

Then there was Soeyon, his tattered wife, sitting on a floor mat and opening her mouth for no
sound to come out. The flesh of her neck had been ripped out, gnawed upon, and it seemed to
bubble with pus.

Ahsung, the woman with no eyes, appeared for the first time. She had a lighter in her hand which
she kept flicking until she could get it working. She turned up the flame and held it to her shoulder.
The same place her mark had been.

Nothing was moving on her face as she did it, letting the skin roast. Jeongguk sensed it then, so
vividly, the smell of scorched tissue. The skin of her shoulder was red, bubbling up, then it melted
like wax and began dripping. It was one thick, horribly scorched goo. The woman’s lips split into a
smile.

It had Jeongguk waking instantly. He lay there, soaked in sweat inside his cold dark room, with
fear clawing up his lungs. It was chilly still, the heater had been acting up for a few days, and he
still had to follow up on his promise to Mrs. Kim of looking at it.

He sat up, pushed the damp bangs from his face and looked up.

Across from him stood a girl.

Jeongguk covered his mouth in fright: Hwang Minam had holes in place of her eyes. Her throat had
been slit so deeply it looked like her head might fall off, just like he remembered. This long, ugly
slash opened up for more dark liquid to ooze out, black as coal. The skin of her face was a crusty
and festering mess, as if a loose rotting mask had replaced it.

She extended her arms, like a drowning person would towards a life ring, and Jeongguk choked on
his own breath.

He passed out. A few restless hours dragged him into Sunday.

The clay cup was all ornate, clearly some polished relic, but used for beer this morning, because
Jimin couldn’t resist classing up the mundane. Jeongguk felt his head throb. He drank the last of
his Hike from the pretty cup and put it back next to the floor mat.

The room and its light came all fuzzy now. Kkachi slipped into his lap and splayed over the sheet
covering him. He wanted to scold her, but settled for scratching behind her ear. She had little white
brushes on the tips. Jimin was making a fuss around the kitchen.

Jeongguk had showed up in the morning, with these huge eyebags and some stuff for the night.
He’d bought some cheap cat food without thinking. He’d showed up five minutes after nine, and
maybe that was why Jimin had looked at him funny.

Jimin had showed him to the bathroom, gave time to reflect in the sinking tub, and then stuffed him
full of some fish broth and beer, for a better nap.

Afterwards, Jeongguk had lounged in his floor bed in the main room and watched Jimin water the
plants. So many of them, like tiny inner tropics. Jimin had said that the solstice point would be
precisely at eight-o-three the next morning, so they would have to start at around five, while it was
still dark. And no detective crap till then, he’d reminded, very Hoseok-like.

And now, with his belly full of beer, Jeongguk was getting anxious again. The clang of dishes
stopped.

“You want another beer?”

Jimin was in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed over bare chest. His hair was getting really long, a
silky black thing that he had to flip over and over to be able to actually see shit. That kind of turned
up on the volume of his movement, however small.

Normally it would’ve been annoying, but all these things about Jimin were turning Jeongguk rather
malleable.

“No, thanks,” Jeongguk said.

“It’ll knock you out.”

“I know, but beer is kinda…”

It wasn’t the beer, it was that Jimin just stood there, shirtless and kind of airy, something aloof
about it. He leaned one shoulder against the frame, one hand coming to scratch at his unshaven
face.

Subtle shift of muscle under the skin. Little blues of bruising on his neck. Jeongguk tried not to see
the red light of that dizzy night he’d walked in on him in the kitchen. Thinking that kind of crap
added to his daydreams of skin, painting them all neon-like and humid.

Supple things he’d touch roughly, fucking into it, and then feel small, heavy hands closing around
his throat, thumbs pressing under his jaw. Jeongguk would let those hands choke all this junk out of
him, filthy air and icky ache. And he’d lie down, dripping all sticky, letting Jimin pump his veins
with all this woozy golden shit.

This Sunday he was so on. Couldn't focus. Going from nightmare sweat to daydreams of fucking
on the floor.

“Kinda makes my head go all fizzy,” he said, snapping out of it. “Like your brain turns to barley
belch.”

“Help me with the weeds, then. It’s for tonight.”

Jeongguk followed him into the kitchen. It was clean and bright, had walls colored like baby
sprouts. A lot of crockery, all earthenware stacks, and ziplocked herbs stacked inside the glass
cupboards.

Jimin was getting milk from the fridge. He wore a pair of those really loose sweatpants, the kind
that were held in place by pure magic, and took away the whole dick obscurity in a really rude
fashion. Jeongguk had seen him naked but never full frontal and personal, so it was all a little
annoying. Jimin’s tattoo looked darker today, and maybe even bigger. Little vines curling to his
upper arms; creepy shit.

“Psychotic balls,” Jeongguk muttered.

“What?”

“My doc. She said I’m seeing shit ’cos my thing shares some common stuff with a lot of
psychoses.”

“Some stuff?”

“Seeing shit. Hearing shit.” He watched Jimin drink milk straight from the bottle. “Paranoia.”
Jimin opened one of the cupboards and took out ziplocks with weeds, dried berries, some black
goop. He put a large earthenware bowl on the counter and started carefully filling it with berries, a
handful of each kind, then squeezed the goop on top and stirred without crushing.

“Put up your hands.”

Jeongguk held up his open palms. Jimin traced the lines there, missing the shiver that ran through
Jeongguk, but it wasn’t chilly at all. Jimin’s touch made his blood thicker, it seemed.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing at the herbal bowl.

“For the ritual.”

“What’s it do?”

“It burns. The smoke gets you going.”

“You sure you’re not a dealer?”

That made Jimin laugh, a little raspy and tired. He was arranging the weeds in Jeongguk’s palm,
blade to blade, one neat row over the next, saying that it needed that kind of touch.

Then he held his right wrist to his mouth and bit into the thick cotton-thread bracelet he had there.
Neatly ripped one crimson thread out, just that single one, and used it to tie the bundle of weeds.
He put the thing in the bowl and closed it with a brass lid. It rung, once, like a little gong.

“Couldn’t do it yourself?”

“I like your hands,” Jimin shrugged. “And you were going crazy back there.”

Jeongguk was silent for a while, watching Jimin prepare the meal for Kkachi. The freezer unit in
the ancient bubble-shaped fridge turned out to be full of meat. How much exactly did she consume
on the regular? How come the floor was intact from her walking?

It’d gotten so warm here, Jeongguk realized, palming at his chest and feeling the heat of his skin
even through the shirt. His toes curled on the wooden floor. Why was it so hot there? And then he
shivered. His stomach flipped.

He cleared his throat. “What now?”

“What porn do you like?”

What? “What?”

“Wanking helps real great.”

“With what?”

“With sleep. And also that,” Jimin said, eyes still on the cooking, but one finger pointing at
Jeongguk’s crotch.

Well, that was just great. Fucking great. A boner the size of a lighthouse, medium but beaconing
real bright.

“Don’t worry,” Jimin said. “Happens a lot with this herb.”

Didn’t happen to you, Jeongguk thought. “Where did you say the beer was?”

Jimin giggled but dropped the spatula to get him a bottle from the fridge.

“Nice dreams,” he said, handing Jeongguk the bottle and two sleeping pills.

When Jeongguk woke, the night was deep, and some synth-filled music crooned softly. Jimin sat
across from him, back propped against the wall.

“Got your hours?”

“Yeah. Time is it?”

“Four-fifty.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Not a rush,” Jimin shrugged.

“You sleep at all?”

“Yeah.” Jimin looked down at his lap, and only then Jeongguk saw his art journal was laid open
there. “Sorry for that. You’re really good.”

“Thanks. Found anything new?”

“No, just opened it. But that’s later.”

Jimin got up and went to gather all the props he needed. With his basket full, he came up to the mat
again, smiling down at Jeongguk. Faint line of rainbow light on his face, diffracted through one of
his diamond earrings by the bare lightbulb. Jimin moved his head only slightly, and the light
shifted in tiny color ripples.

Looked cool as shit, Jeongguk thought, smiling.

“What?” Jimin asked.

“You’re funny.”

“Why?”

“All in rainbows.”

“Why funny?”

Jeongguk shrugged, said he didn’t know. The truth was, he never knew how to come about the sap
that pretty and soft things made him feel.

“Get yourself warmed up,” Jimin said. “Stretch if you have to. We’re up in half an hour.”

“You going?”
“Gotta get ready. I’ll wait by the pool. Don’t put the shoes on.”

It was still dark when they finally started, but Jeongguk could smell the morning. That dewy
weight in blues all around.

He was knee-deep in freezing water, bare and shivering, waiting for Jimin’s instructions. The pond
was lined with props in some way of order. Candles and bowls with grains as well as the oily
substance Jimin had used to wash him that one time. A sheet of ritual paper was wrapped around
the bundle of weeds.

And as Jeongguk waited, he found himself hoping, if only a little, to luck out and drown instead.

Jimin stepped into water and connected his palms together. He rubbed them, the way he usually did
for rituals, reminding Jeongguk to breathe. The jewelry shook with a brilliant sound.

“Is it gonna be bad?” Jeongguk asked. He’d already asked a dozen times before.

“This ritual is bad,” Jimin said and went to get the blindfold, “but it’ll calm you down.”

Calm him down…

In Jimin’s words, Jeongguk would remember nothing of whatever vision might come to him during
the ritual.

“You know what they called a night like this, back in the day?”

“Night like what?” Jeongguk asked. His teeth chattered.

“When winter solstice's cold.”

“What?”

“Tigers’ wedding day.” Jimin was back, standing collected. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like my balls are gonna fall off.”

“Of course.” Shaking his head now, smiling. “Concentrate on me.”

He looked up at Jimin who was standing there with his pants rolled up and silver glinting in the
dark daybreak, looked and drank him in.

The numbness had begun to spread through Jeongguk in a piercing burn. Then nothing but Jimin’s
smiling face in his vision. Soft words of encouragement that barely reached his ears. The waterfall
was too loud.

Black fabric was pressed over his eyes. He felt the knot being tied at the back of his head and
getting tangled in his wet hair.

“Breathe,” Jimin told him, guiding him towards the cascading water. “Kneel here. Keep your head
down. Stay still.”
Jeongguk followed the words. His back shuddered under the cold waterfall. To his surprise, it
wasn’t strong at all. If not for the cold, it would’ve been pleasant. He tried to even his breathing,
shifting his knees on the slippery moss of rock.

Somewhere at the water’s edge, he began falling. Slipping deep, down to another space.

Stay still, he was told.

Breathe, the voice kept telling him, years away.

“Listen to my voice and feel the water, and pretty soon they’ll be gone.”

And sinking low, low, that much lower.

“The dead won’t touch you anymore. You’ll stop waking up to that hatchet. They’ll forget you.
They’ll be gone, so far away. Far, far away. They won’t touch you anymore.”

Jimin’s hand touched his neck. It remained there like a hot coal on ice. “You will be blank. You
will be good.”

Jeongguk sat there, breathing in the smell of wet ground and dewy leaves, the bittersweet thing that
was Jimin. A moment passed, and Jeongguk realized he’d stopped feeling the cold or anything else
besides the touch of water.

“The water is softer here,” said Jimin. He ran his palms down Jeongguk’s back. “If you kneel like
that and let it hit your skin, right there, the drops catch on the back of your ears, and it can sound
like a rainy night somewhere far away. Like in a tent in a mild storm, or sharing an umbrella.”

You’re funny, Jeongguk thought. He heard himself say it, but that was far away too.

The touch disappeared, leaving Jeongguk suspended in the dark, almost drifting in complete
vacuum.

Jimin began singing. The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once, filling his ears and
lungs, not unlike water itself.

“Like you yourself are a shelter,” Jimin went on, carrying a soft melody, “but then you’re also
someplace else, deeper. A stranger, someone not of this world. Listen...”

Jeongguk held his breath.

“Listen,” said Jimin.

Listen.

Jeongguk lay on wet sand that shone chalk-like, and felt Jimin’s soft lips on his neck, trailing
down, down, until hot tongue was lapping at his chest.

Jeongguk turned his head to the side, took in the moonlit harbor. Saw the mountains surrounding
the beach, the lights blinking in the sea—the ships maybe—and the brightly glowing town on the
horizon.
Jeongguk sighed, content. He felt a little sore, with the lubricant still sticky on his ass, and inside,
and then some on his fingers. And his cock was wet with it too, with Jimin sliding up and down his
length now. Jeongguk moaned and bucked up, tried to reach for him, but his arms were too lazy for
now.

Jimin’s face, so sharp and glowing, came into view.

And then Jimin was touching him, hot palms on his neck and chest, touching him while bouncing
on his cock, fast and sloppy, clamping around him tight. Jeongguk stopped breathing for a while.

Hands coming to Jimin’s sides, fingers pressing hard on the smooth damp skin, Jeongguk shifted
his hips, thrusting up harder, coaxing these tiny breathy mewls out of him. He held Jimin close so
he could work his cock inside just so, rocking into him wet and slow, making sure Jimin felt all of
him on every stroke.

“You ready?” Jimin said, breathing hard.

“Yeah,” Jeongguk said, kind of knowing what he meant without actually knowing. “Yes. Go on.”

Suddenly Jimin’s hips stopped moving, and he slipped off with a groan. Shifted between
Jeongguk’s legs, stroking himself roughly until there was precum beading at the head, and
Jeongguk wanted to sort of… taste it and swallow him whole, and do that for the rest of this sweet
doze.

But then Jimin was bending low and kissing the tip of Jeongguk’s cock, giving it a few gentle
licks, then looking up, lips shiny with spit and precum. And Jeongguk pushed him to swallow deep,
thursted into Jimin’s warm, wet mouth, his thighs jiggling a little with the movement; he felt nails
dig into his buttocks, hands spreading him wide. He heard Jimin choke, throat closing up all hot,
and Jeongguk was tippig over and filling that mouth up with cum, pulling at Jimin’s hair, driving
his cock deeper.

He rode it out, blinked lazy to see Jimin was swallowing most of it.

Soaked, Jeongguk splayed flat on the sand. Jimin’s tongue lapped him all up and travelled down,
prodding at his still wet entrance, and Jeongguk caught him by the hair again and pulled closer,
urged to lick in deeper. Jimin’s fingers were slippery with cum when he slid them behind his
tongue. It burned faint but good, making Jeongguk arch up on the sand. He stroked himself idly, a
bit sensitive, as Jimin finger fucked him like he’d done it so many times he knew what exactly
Jeongguk liked. Jeongguk found himself liking it deeply and loudly, clenching around the hot
tongue filling him.

“You close?” Jeongguk asked. Pushed down on Jimin’s hot mouth. Realized how stupid it was to
ask right then.

Jimin pulled away. “Real close.”

“Finish in me,” he sighed, surprised by the shake in his voice.

He winced when two fingers caught on his rim as they were drawn out, and then Jimin grabbed
him by the ankles to pull his legs open.

Body heat, his own, had turned Jeongguk into something melted, down to the bones.

Jimin hovered over him, dripping wet and a little crazy-eyed. Then pushed inside in one slick and
hard thrust, added a little roll with it to make it louder, filling him up. It shook Jeongguk to the
core, giving him shakes all over, and he whined from the stinging fullness of it, the oversensitivity
that'd sparkled him up.

Like this was it, the good end of it; feeling full and sore and very dirty.

Jimin felt molten against him and inside of him, just breathing and fucking into that end. Jeongguk
felt how all of Jimin was heating up with every push and pull. The pace was fast, a brutal loud
thing that punched all breath out of him, made him hiccup with every hard thrust.

“Do it, c’mon,” Jeongguk breathed out. “Hyung likes me all soft and begging, huh?”

Jimin was laughing. His hips slapped with bruising force against Jeongguk’s ass, and he didn’t
seem to mind the way Jeongguk was ripping at his hair.

Soon Jimin slowed down, finding leverage, only to slam back in deep, choking a gasp out of
Jeongguk, making him tug so much harder. There was sweetness in it, in the ache of their bodies on
the shitty sand, their minds fucked out and swimming in the strong smell of sweat and seawater.

Feeling wonderfully raw all over, Jeongguk was biting down every sound. He stiffened only
slightly when Jimin's hips snapped, harsh, chasing the first waves of orgasm, and then Jimin buried
himself deep, all of him stilling, and shuddered hard. And Jeongguk sighed, content, and clenched
to feel it better, the pulsing cock inside of him and hot cum filling him up.

Jimin shifted, the movement drawing a whine out of Jeongguk, and moved his hips slow, in a
pretty, languid roll as he was riding out that wave. It was what Jimin felt, Jeongguk thought,
whenever Jeongguk fucked him nice and slow till every drag stung against oversensitivity.

This was exactly that now, because Jeongguk was floating, choking on the sting and pleasure,
every sensation narrowed down to the still hard length gliding inside of him. Jeongguk was full of
thick release that made each stroke so loud and obscene, in every slap of it.

When Jimin drew out, slow and careful, he dipped his fingers to replace his cock. His thumb
stroking the rim, Jimin rubbed the sticky cum inside Jeongguk’s raw hole, small motions to get
Jeongguk whining. And when Jeongguk did, whining a little needy, Jimin pulled out and wiped his
hand on the sand.

“Wanna,” Jeongguk groaned, “wanna do that too.”

“You’re beat.” Jimin didn’t sound that opposed, holding Jeongguk by one knee for support.

“You’re hard again.”

Jimin pushed his hair back. “Hyung hasn’t got a single drop of jizz left, boy.”

“You’re gonna cum.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.” He licked his lips. “What, think you gonna cry?”

Jimin crawled up to sit on his chest.

“You are,” he said, holding him by the jaw.

He rubbed himself like that for a moment, ass on Jeongguk’s chest, then searched for a better
position. With his knees digging in the sand, Jimin rocked on top, biting his lips when Jeongguk
took a full grip of his ass, both hands feeling him up and kneading at the flesh, spreading him.

Jimin’s back was a pretty curve as he urged him on, arching into it. Bending his neck to give his
soaked mane a shake, then spitting into his own palm and rubbing over his hole. And when
Jeongguk slid a finger inside of him, Jimin moaned loud and hoarse, and fell into that breathy
sound as Jeongguk pumped in and out slowly, letting him lead the motion. Jimin did, he moved
just so, pushing up and coming down hard, clenching and sucking Jeongguk’s fingers up; sucking
breath through his teeth whenever Jeongguk hit home.

“Hurts?”

“Feel too much,” Jimin said. “It’s good.”

He swayed his hips to lead Jeongguk’s thrusts, urging him to let it all out, and Jeongguk groaned
from the feeling, the feeling of Jimin all tight and wonderful. And it would’ve been that, but Jimin
talked a lot of stupid shit as he went like this.

“You’re soft inside,” Jimin said, “feels real nice after having dick in my mouth.”

“Hyung, come on,” he whined.

“Always so whiny when we fuck. Shiny needy thing.”

“Hyung makes me whiny. Fucks me so well.”

“Remember when you cried?”

“Fuck you,” Jeongguk said, driving his fingers deep.

Jimin gasped. “Like a baby,” he said, pushing down.

“You felt good. Your tongue.”

“That’s right,” Jimin crooned. He stopped moving, suddenly wrapped in tremors. Then he toppled
over, sticking himself to Jeongguk. Whispered, “Could eat you up. Could eat you all day.”

And as Jeongguk’s fingers slipped out and wrapped around his cock, giving only a few tight
strokes, Jimin came with a pained but content sort of sound. Wasn't that much this time, but
Jeongguk still felt hot spurts hitting his chest, wetting his neck and jaw.

“Long time no see,” said Jimin, and laughed.

He wiggled lower, propping himself up in the sand, and leaned over Jeongguk. Looked at him for
ages. Then dipped down to lick up Jeongguk’s cum-stained skin.

“Where have you been?” Jeongguk asked. “Asshole. Been looking everywhere for you.”

“Silly.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re still so stupid.”

They fell silent, their minds to the surf.

“You staying?”
And Jimin smiled wordlessly, but reached out to cover Jeongguk’s mouth with his warm palm.
Jimin kept the touch light, pressing the index finger of his other hand to his lips, as if to say, Be
quiet.

And suddenly, just as his lungs threatened to burst, everything was collapsing.

A tidal wave, enormous, came crashing down over the beach and the town out there and all the
dead children. It swallowed everything.

Jeongguk choked up. He blacked out.

All was dark, terrifying. Come back to me, some distant voice said. Jimin’s. Come back to me.
Surely that was okay to stay?

Jeongguk felt the tension snap. He was laughing, gasping, then almost crying, until the singing
faded.

He opened his eyes to see the darkness of his blindfold. It came off, revealing pale dawn and clear
water. Jimin on the pool’s bank. Stones, black as coal, in the crystalline morning. Strong smell of
burning sage.

“What do you feel?”

Jeongguk jolted and gasped. “Are you here?”

“I’m here,” Jimin said.

Jimin wasn’t touching him yet. Jeongguk felt his body begin to shake uncontrollably, waves of
heat racking through him as he struggled to catch his breath. It sounded wrecked and broken to his
ears.

“You’re full of bad air. Get it out.”

Jeongguk did. Pushed it out, heaving. He could still feel the burning imprint on his lips, the stretch
inside of him, the taste of something bitter and salty...

For one long, cold moment he was disoriented, and then he realized he couldn’t remember
anything that had happened. There, in the dark, in his vision. Then he realized Jimin had guided
him out of the water and was wrapping him in a towel, pulling him in.

Jeongguk inhaled. His cold nose pressed in the crook of Jimin’s hot neck.

“You’re okay,” Jimin whispered, “whatever you saw, in that dream, you’ll keep it now. You won’t
remember, but it’ll keep them away. Away from your dreams.” Jeongguk whimpered, feeling
horribly tired. “You’re okay now.”

And as Jeongguk lay on the floor of Jimin’s quiet house, covered with thin dry blankets and feeling
the slight weight of a compress on his neck, he knew there was no way back now. Jimin was
touching his neck to take the pulse and saying something about hypothermia basics before
disappearing in the kitchen.
“So you’re about real medicine too,” Jeongguk wanted to shout, but it came out raspy and weak.

Jimin returned with a bowl full of something warm.

“Drink this first. Drugs later. Don’t move too much.”

He helped Jeongguk prop himself up and brought the bowl to his lips.

“Go slowly now,” he said, and Jeongguk felt warm milk fill his dry mouth. “Slower.”

Later, in a haze of near sleep, he watched Jimin undress.

“We gotta warm you up slowly. Don’t fall asleep just yet,” Jimin said and slipped under the
blankets to hold him close.

At the first touch Jeongguk jerked violently.

“Easy,” Jimin soothed, “it’s nothing. This is nothing.”

Pressing tight, skin to skin, he kept singing something in a low murmur. Then he stopped. “Sure
thing I’m all about science and shit, Inspector. These things work just fine together. Co-existence,
you know?”

Jeongguk smiled despite himself, listening to the woods wake and the morning rain rapping on the
roof. Jeongguk could feel his earlobe pinched between Jimin’s fingers, now a habitual thing for
them. Jimin was tugging it gently down.

Jeongguk felt his entire being re-warm.

He slept till noon and woke to another song. Jimin was sorting through the files, squinting through
his glasses, and petting the cat as he sang.

“Any ideas?”

Jimin was startled by his raspy voice. Smiled, a little distracted. “You wanna hear my tales now?
Jack move.”

“But I do.” He turned on his side, squishing his cheek against his palm. “If it’s one of those…
spirits. Do you have any idea about it?”

Jimin hummed. “I’m sure it’s a young one. Less than a hundred years. The woman’s mark,” he
tapped at the burnt lining on Ahsung’s shoulder, “is something a shaman would have. She’s not
one, as far as I know. Not hereditary at least. Maybe she’d had a possession, was initiated, but
never registered.”

He hesitated. “Which kind are you?”

Jimin was chewing on his lips now, something Jeongguk already knew was a sign of him hating
the conversation.

Jimin ignored the question. “The mark was erased ’cos it was wading off the spirit.”
“Who’d do that?”

“She did.”

“No burns on her hands.”

“Lighter with a good flame wouldn’t leave any.”

“You saying the spirit made her do it?”

“The mark is a stamp, you know. Burns them real good. Burned that spirit too. So it burned back.”

Burned her skin until it could get inside of her, Jeongguk thought, not really caring he had these
thoughts all natural now, like it was chill.

“It sounds bad,” he said.

“It is bad. Lost. It’s got anger and nothing else.”

“Then I was a real asshole,” Jeongguk said. Jimin looked at him curiously. “It’s nothing like you.”

There was something to Jimin’s expression, confused and maybe displeased. It stopped Jeongguk
from pushing further.

He coughed. “What about the husband?”

“Like your forensic guy says. Total cleanout. Same as her.”

He jolted. “That prick wrote that in a report?”

Whatever issues Jeongguk had with Taehyung, he didn’t remember him using those words.

“No.” Jimin laughed. “Easy there. Got you real red.”

“He’s annoying.”

“Who would’ve thought you’re not a people person.”

Jeongguk scowled. “So what about the eyeballs?”

“Eyeballs, eyeballs,” Jimin muttered. “That they saw something, or even didn’t see. Chose not to
pay attention. Or,” he flipped the folder shut, “it means nothing at all.”

“Well that’s just great. A sadistic spirit.”

“They’re all coming from somewhere. Like most terrible, unattractive people, they have their
reasons.”

“You really think it’s the same thing that killed Hwang Minam’s family?

There was a nod.

“But there’s no connection at all.”

Jimin took the glasses off, rubbed at his forehead. He seemed a little gray, lifeless. Only then it hit
Jeongguk that Jimin must’ve exhausted himself too, back at the pool.
 “Have you looked through the news footage, from the Hwang scene?” Jimin said.

“Of course.”

“Look again. And bring me something from the couple’s apartment.”

“I can’t take the evidence out.”

“Sure you can, Inspector,” Jimin rose to his feet, kind of unsteady, and put on his jacket. “After all,
you’re not supposed to take this case home either.”

Jeongguk watched him dress in silence. “It’s Jeongguk,” he finally said, studying Jimin’s feet.

“Good,” Jimin laughed. “I got a call for a healing. Dunno how long it’s gonna take. You can stay.”

Jeongguk blinked. “What?”

“Stay.”

He waved and walked out, barefoot.

Chapter End Notes

ari died for this

 Trip Enough by Daylight
Chapter Notes

#domesticshit
recreational drug use (+fake deep grass talks)
The Pinening
more #ust, still loose

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Tuesday morning, day after the solstice, he drove Jimin to his first port of call.

Jeongguk couldn’t help sneaking glances at the passenger seat on the way, because it seemed that
Jimin was finally starting to get into the whole warm clothes concept. At least on the warmer side,
if a baggy sweatshirt over Jimin’s usual flimsy layer was that.

Looked a bit odd with all his charm bundles shimmering over it, but still in this kind of snazzy
way, for which Hoseok probably had a name, because Hoseok had a name for everything, and this
getup would fly with him just fine, along the lines of something like “that’s some real uptown
chichi game, sprout,” or whatever other raving shit Hoseok managed to pluck out of his
randomizer brain.

Jimin, though, was also—and finally—wearing a hat that Jeongguk knew was fashionable a decade
ago. That wasn’t the only old thing about him, though.

Because the possibly prehistoric mobile phone Jimin used was the main subject of Jeongguk’s
jokes the entire drive.

It was one of those smaller bricks that had grating default ringtones and shitty monochrome
screens, and which best game was probably Snake II. Still, Jimin used the thing all the time, typing
something out, whenever he wasn’t busy with singing off-key to bad tropical house or taking more
work calls.

“They always call so early?” Jeongguk asked. “The… clients?”

“Some just wanna talk.”

“So you’re a shrink too, then.”

“Kinda.”

“A shrink for softcore nuts.”

“Well, softcore nuts wanna talk too. About whatever bugs their spirit, you know?

Nutty spirit, Jeongguk thought, and giggled dumbly.

"Last week I had this old couple," Jimin said, smiling, "wanted me to show them stuff outside of
Daemyung. Real softies, but lotsa sadness to them.”
Jeongguk swallowed. “Why not hire a guide?”

“The history wasn’t the point. They just needed my presence.”

“Your vibes and shit.”

“My vibes and shit,” Jimin confirmed, very seriously.

“How many you got for this week?”

“Only three.”

“What about January?”

“That’ll depend.”

That made Jeongguk laugh for some reason. “You know those minor celebs they book to sing on
shitty shows? Their trash-event schedule’s still tight as hell. Like, still gotta book in advance.”

Before Jimin could get offended or maybe the opposite, his brick of a phone piped up. Jeongguk
tried not to listen in on the conversation, but something in the voice on the other end…

“Mrs. Kim?” he whispered.

Jimin nodded, still listening to her. Then said something about red chili and cotton seeds, some
flowery stuff or else, and reminded her to hide her shoes before he clicked off.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing much. Wanted some advice for Seol.”

Jimin sniffed, taking off his glasses and slipping them into the backpack side pocket, and frowned
at the screen. His thumbs were tense on the keyboard. Being genuinely curious, Jeongguk
attempted a low-key snoop at the phone.

It was Snake. Jimin was actually playing it, and with serious dedication.

“Hyung,” said Jeongguk, tasting it all warm and a little shaky on his tongue, “you do know there’s
been a certain technological advancement in that area?”

“Mind your millennial business,” Jimin huffed. “Snake’s where it’s at.”

“Mind your own millennial business with your jungle… trap… house stuff. Why are you so into it
anyway?”

“What, you’d rather I blasted golden oldies in the car? Can you handle that? Can you really?”

“Let's bet on it. You choose your real music style of passion, and I'll try to endure till we get
there.”

“You're on.”

Jeongguk went for it, Jeongguk tried, and Jeongguk could not.
The news footage proved to be a tough thing to get his hands on.

With the Hwang case now classified, all immediate public traces of it had been erased. What
digital evidence there was on their own servers had been gotten rid of, the rest of it sealed under
that wild clearance level.

Jeongguk didn’t know what those big guys were thinking, or which ones, really, but he knew the
public got no problem just tuning into the next best thing.

Bullying the footage out of that local TV channel people was his last resort.

At the tiny regional office nobody knew anything though, and they eyed him like he had some
crazy trigger-happy look going for him. And then there was this small lady, maybe mid-thirties,
who looked meek enough to get worked on. She was in the corner, pretending not to exist just a bit
too hard, so eventually Jeongguk got her to walk with him.

They rounded the building which was a right piece of provincial garbage, and at the corner store
Jeongguk bought them some coffee. He wasn’t sure what else could be appropriate with…people.
In general.

Soon enough she was talking to him all fine, after ten minutes or so of waxing prep talk, and she
was talking good things.

Like this Jihoon guy, whom Jeongguk actually remembered from the Hwang scene looking all gray
on the comedowns, and how this Jihoon guy definitely had something saved from the Hwang case
digital bleach out.

And Jihoon was currently on leave because of some medical situation or other; the situation, she
said, was that he liked white people crystal. Jeongguk wasn’t about to tell her that white people
crystal was the worst cut mess on their market, but instead managed to learn about the guy’s
favorite joints on the coast.

“Can I just ask… How do you know all this?”

“We, uh,” she waved her hands vaguely, “used to go out.”

“You and him?”

“He’s nice. Young,” she said. “We had fun. Nobody else wanted me.”

That didn't sit right with Jeongguk, but he figured it wasn't his place. “And you’re ratting him out
to me.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“He needs help. Maybe after you shake him up, he’s gonna…”

Her lips were a thin line, maybe because she wasn’t believing it either.
He found Jihoon at the third place on her list out of dozen. She'd also said that her ex would often
be down for anything in the mornings around those holes.

It was at those half-decent downtown joints for foreigners in dire need of homegrown kush. Humid
and dank, dim even in the morning hours.

The bartender gave Jeongguk a nod but didn’t speak. Jihoon was easy to spot in the scarce morning
crowd of oddly preppy white dudes. Jeongguk walked up to his table, aiming for suave, and
decided to just sort of hover for better effect.

Intimidating tactics, right? Right. He was having it.

When Jihoon finally looked up from his laptop, Jeongguk placed his right hand on the back of the
futon, right behind the guy’s sweaty neck. Gross but effective. Trying to look very blank and
maybe scary, Jeongguk channelled his best Hoseok for the possible upcoming diss. The guy met
his eyes and hunched, probably recognizing him.

“Mind if I sit?”

The guy didn’t.

Easing on the battered futon across from him, Jeongguk tried to find the right words. There was a
tall glass of bright red liquid, with paper umbrella and sour cherry on top and everything.

“What’s that you’re drinking?”

The guy fidgeted with the straw.

“C’mon, don’t be shy. What’s getting your rocks off?”

“Shirley Temple,” he mumbled.

“Shirley Temple,” Jeongguk echoed.

And nothing more. For long, torturous five minutes. The guy was growing smaller with every
second of Jeongguk’s deliberate silence. Jeongguk tried to conjure up that thing for his eyes, the
dead thing Jimin used to do with his face that made him look very creepy and a whole lot more
scary. And while Jimin did it naturally, Jeongguk had to sweat his gentle soul-sweat for that kind
of display.

Works like creeper’s magic, Jeongguk thought, seeing the guy breaking a real sweat. Then the
fidgeting started, all that irritating scratching and the nervous swallowing.

Jeongguk fell back against the futon and spread his legs under the table.

“I’m kinda busy as it is, Jihoon-ssi, so let’s make it quick,” he said, voice blank. “The video your
guys shot at the Hwang scene. I need it.”

“Can’t do. It’s gone.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is.”
The guy was visibly pouring now. Jeongguk wasn’t even doing anything yet to press on him. But if
those were the vibes he was gonna get, Jeongguk prefered not to get his balls stomped on for
longer than usual.

With a sharp move, Jeongguk flipped the laptop lid shut and shoved the thing hard. It hit the wall
with a loud thump. Jihoon jerked at the motion, wide-eyed.

“Listen, I got this thing,” Jeongguk leaned his elbows on the sticky table. Beaconed the guy to
come closer. “Something right up your alley.”

The guy gulped.

“Jihoon-ssi, you know where you are?”

He didn’t answer. Probably knew not to verbally incriminate himself.

“Plenty of business from the South traffic ends up here. Raw shit, real uncut stuff. Best X from the
best Ulsan brothers. Of whom you’re a frequent customer.”

And it hit, a nail on the guy’s head, who stopped breathing right that moment. Got that pleading
look to his whole blotchy face.

“And you know what nice tweakers like you are good for, Jihoon-ssi?”

He shook his head.

“Well, it’s a real good job. Heard about that boarding house down west?” A nod. “That one is very
tricky. Very brutal, too. We got all we need but one thing.”

He was lying so blatantly, thinking how upset Jimin would have been with him right now. A
ridiculous thing to fear. Jeongguk stopped that thought.

Jeongguk forced out a small smile. “You know what it needs?”

Jihoon was scratching at the back of his neck, taken by tremors.

“That thing really needs a suspect, Jihoon-ssi.”

The guy’s eyes were on the verge of popping.

“Not only that. But to go down on all charges.”

All purple in the face now, Jihoon stuttered as he spoke, “You can’t do that.”

“Oh, I can. What do you think happened with the Hwang case?”

“I thought…”

“You thought what?”

“That it wasn’t just us, our office, ’cos they said it was, like, the tax thing? Corporate investigation
and all? For the whole channel.”

“Who said?”

And apparently the local office was made to give up the original footage and erase all copies even
before they could’ve aired it. But Jihoon, being a trash of weak moral fiber, had kept a thing for
himself. He was saying that with a tone of someone ready to shit it hard. He was also eyeing his
laptop.

Jeongguk reached out towards it, pressed one finger to its metal side and shoved it to the middle of
the table. It slid with a grating squeak, metal on polished plastic. The guy didn’t move, so
Jeongguk pushed the laptop to the table’s edge, towards him, and tried to look up at his face.

“You wanna have a job?”

“Yes.”

“How about life in a clink? Wanna have that?”

“No.”

“Then show me.”

There was a thing about Hoseok that other people didn’t work with quite well.

Which was, it was impossible trying to convince him to do something that he knew was a waste of
time and ass power—a thing worse than midnight dogging, he’d say—and yet Jeongguk almost
always managed to tire him out by whining.

That was his thing, Hoseok told him, to be an annoying little piece of daycare ass. And Jeongguk
was good at it this time too, convincing Hoseok to check out the newly recovered Hwang video.

“It’s her,” Jeongguk said.

On the screen, a blow-up image of Ahsung, the eyeless woman.

She wasn’t facing the camera, instead she appeared to be talking to someone. Someone who clearly
wasn’t there. Even with the shit-poor quality of the digital zoom, the thick layer of dirt coating her
arms was evident. Reached up her elbows, just below the rolled-up sleeves. Like she’d been
digging or had some business in the mud.

“We should’ve seen it before. Hyung, she’s the shaman.”

“She isn’t.”

“Well, I think she is.”

“Even if she is,” Hoseok walked back to his table, “it’s too late now.”

“But it’s something. Isn’t it?”

“I dunno, Jeonggukkie. And it doesn’t matter. If the Chief sees you anywhere near the case again,
no daddy of yours is gonna save you this time.”

“But if it is something. If we dig more. We could take it to DPO.”

“Are you mad? They don’t need stirring shit with the metro. Imagine what that could do to the
tourist sector.” Hoseok sopped the pacing; turned, pointed at Jeongguk’s chest. “You get rid of the
laptop, got me?”

“Done.”

“And do some real work, Jeongguk. Please.”

“So you believe me now?” Jeongguk started carefully. Hoseok asked him what he meant. “That it
wasn’t Minam.”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry…” He did look like it. “It’s just some old lady with dirty hands, Guk.”

“Who’s also dead.”

“She’s gonna be out of our hair by tomorrow night.”

Jeongguk nodded.

“What’re you thinking, boy?” Hoseok poked his shoulder. Scoffed at his silence. “It’s about Jimin,
right?” He made a face when Jeongguk nodded reluctantly. “Don’t touch the Hwang case.”

“I won’t.”

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

Before ditching the laptop at the hub’s scrap processing yard, Jeongguk printed out a few blown-up
screenshots and slipped them inside his journal. He desperately believed in Hoseok’s power of
mercy, in case hyung ever found out. In case Jeongguk got himself in real trouble.

It was scarily easy to slip in and out of the evidence room, completely unnoticed, with a stolen item
in his bag.

This, Jeongguk thought, qualified as doing something stupid.

He’d gotten the woman’s necklace on Jimin’s request and was trying to appear the least sketchy in
the face as possible around the station.

Later that day, he laid out all of it before Jimin on the floor of the main room. Barely sparing the
picture a glance, Jimin went directly for the necklace.

Jeongguk gaped. “Do you know how many shitholes I had to trudge for this?”

“You got real dedication,” Jimin said absently.

“No, like. You knew she was there. You were there. And you made me suffer.”

“Jeongguk,” he said seriously, “it wasn’t me who needed final convincing.”

While Jeongguk mulled over the words, Jimin weighed the necklace in his hand. Clutched to his
chest with a strained whisper, then moved to start with his preparations.
“If it is what I think it is,” Jimin said once he was ready, “then it’s sure a weird thing. Not very
common for these parts.”

Jeongguk watched him soak the delicate chain in boiling water while inking something intricate on
yellow ritual paper.

This form of divination, Jimin told him, needed top marks for conduct. Like picking the date
carefully, closer to a full moon. But they had to rely on luck this time, so he went through with the
spell anyway.

This time it wasn’t anything flashy, so Jeongguk got bored rather quickly. He watched the mirrored
light on Jimin’s skin instead. Water ripples reflected on his neck and jaw. His hair was pushed back
and secured by a bronze band. Looked really old, like another lost relic. Something a person would
wear for a spring festival a century ago.

“That’s a pretty thing,” Jeongguk said.

Jimin didn’t seem to hear as he studied something in the water, then the ink patterns again.
Jeongguk crawled over to him, leaning his head on Jimin’s arm.

“What’s up?” Jeongguk mumbled.

“Like I said. Needs top marks for conduct. Or one being super anal in general.”

“But you’re gonna get something, right? How’s that working only for you?”

“I got a special pass for this shit,” Jimin said. “Like…”

“VIP channeling.”

Jimin smiled. “Yeah, whatever.”

“Why’s that?”

“Perks of the job.”

Jimin only said his job was special, but it drew up that look to his face again, the dead kind of
blankness. Only thing that still creeped Jeongguk out. And being wholly creeped out, Jeongguk
decided not to prod any further.

The ritual dragged well into the night, by which point Jeongguk had managed to nap out a new
record.

“What can I say,” Jimin spoke up eventually, “fuck me.” Jeongguk kind of clenched all over at
that, but Jimin continued, “She was a possessed shaman. I wasn’t aware of her at all. Most
strange.”

Jeongguk thought it over carefully. That meant she could’ve been the bystander of the Hwang
murders, which pissed Jeongguk off a lot, the fact that they hadn’t been allowed to get on with the
investigation.

“I wonder,” Jeongguk said.

Jimin looked at him.

“Why didn’t they hire you to do it?”

“They didn’t like me much. Plenty of us to choose from anyway.”

“Look where that got them,” Jeongguk snorted, “without your VIP skills.”

When the light dimmed, Jimin was cleaning away the props.

His bare feet made the softest of sounds as he went, drowned out by the charm rattle, and Jeongguk
found himself listening a little too hard.

Jimin’s body made music, he thought, embarrassed, and tried to figure out why these moans were
echoing in his head. Sounded like Jimin’s voice, sweet and thick with arousal. Mewling just so, as
if he was catching breath. His own body grew hot from a ghost sensation. First around his neck,
then his cock, someone slipping up and down, sucking him in…

“Fuck,” Jeongguk muttered. “Not now, you wanker.”

He reached for the blanket and drew it up to his neck, covering his shameful schoolboy semi, and
just in time. Jimin brought him milk. It was that fancy kind that Jimin didn’t drink.

“What’s this?”

“You said you liked banana stuff. Do you?”

Jeongguk took the bottle and sat up, careful not to drop the blanket. He drank deep. It was sweet
but tasted like melted ice.

“So what’s our next step?” he asked, surprising even himself.

Jimin frowned. “Our?”

“Yeah, like, we gotta do at least something. We’re off the case tomorrow.”

“You don’t do shit. You move on. Not like you got a choice.”

“Yeah, but doesn’t mean we can’t solve it. Fuck the police.”

Jimin smiled, reaching out to maybe pet him, but seemed to decide against it. “Gonna get in
trouble.”

“Already have.” He fell down heavily, splaying on the mat. “Anyway, we gotta go to the boarding
house. I can see you’re onto something.”

Jimin had a new expression to his face. Something odd, like a lost little animal. Spooked, that was
the word.

“We?”

“We. You and me.”

Jimin’s frown deepened.

“What’s wrong with that?” Jeongguk asked, confused.

“Me.”

Jeongguk propped himself up, startled by his words. “Hyung, but it’s important.”

“I’m not allowed on the scene.”

“Bet my ass it hasn’t stopped you before.”

The silence, Jeongguk knew, was a way of Jimin’s talking without lying.

“Hyung, don’t you wanna know?” Jimin said that he didn’t. Jeongguk tried again, “Not curious?”
No again. “What about, like, justice and shit?”

“Don’t,” Jimin said, his voice heavy. “It’s hard to know what that shit is.”

“Pretty simple to me. Doesn’t everyone deserve it?

“You don't know.”

“I like to think I do.”

There was new anger to Jimin in that moment, and it was almost bubbling at the back of his throat
as he spoke. “Not when you’re neck-deep in this—perverse human waste, and they want and want
and talk and never stop talking, and what they say tastes like vomit, and they just let you—”

Jimin stopped.

“Just. Please don’t.”

Jeongguk turned on his stomach, made sure his eyes got all big and shiny. Said, “I won't, but… just
help me then. Just me.”

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ

“Did he?”

Heeyeon was studying him while he kept biting at his nails nervously. Blue evening light made
Jeongguk look a lot younger.

“Yes.”

“What did he find?”

“Pollock.”

“Where?”

“Outside the village.”

Jeongguk told her about how the thing was rotting in the dirt past the last intersection, by the road
that ended in a dead end just before the woods. Mumbled something about the deep insanity of the
thing; like it was crazy how much Jimin was allowing him, even then, giving in to all of
Jeongguk’s whims.
“Didn’t appreciate my pollock joke, though,” Jeongguk added. “Which was actually working on,
like, so many levels.”

“Abstract expressionism with a dripping penis? That one?”

“See, you know this.”

“It’s not a very good joke,” Heeyeon said, but they were both smiling at this point.

“Yeah, I know. He didn’t laugh either.”

There was a hush after that, in the sound of the surf and Jeongguk’s sudden space-out.

“Y’know, it was bleak as fuck that morning,” he said. “And so blue. Kinda like now.”

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ

They’d gone that same night to the village, and arrived around five.

Jimin had been silent the entire ride while playing Snake with this visceral energy, which was the
way he seemed to handle his stress. The radio had played some ballad trot and the phone’s green
light had made Jimin all sickly-looking.

“Sometimes you don’t look like a living person,” Jeongguk had said, immediately kicking himself
for it.

But they were walking to the boarding house now, in the eerie, wet silence of the rusty streets, and
the dawn was impossibly and deeply blue. It made Jimin glow like all that tarnished silver he
wore.

There was no laundry this time in the well of the courtyard, only the real well in the middle that
Jeongguk hadn’t noticed the first time.

Jimin went there first. Two buckets full with water, looking black in this hour. He circled the well,
tracing the old rock with his fingertips, then crouched to pick at the mud. Jeongguk grimaced at the
squelch.

“Yellow soil,” Jimin said. “She put a taboo rope here.”

“There was laundry…”

“Doesn’t matter now.”

Inside the taped off apartment they found flowers.

Jeongguk groaned. “Police line, my ass.”

Looking over the kitchen only briefly, Jimin headed for the actual room.

It was a tiny place, so cramped but still stuffed with old furniture and so much junk, it’d make one
think they were in a hoarder’s home. Jeongguk remembered it from the first visit, but in this
darkness it looked that much unsettling.
“Here,” Jimin said.

The wall behind the bookcase had a hole in it. A neat square opening just above the plinth. Jimin
had managed to fumble for a switch or a thing like that to get it open. Inside there was a shrine of
some sort, different from the ones Jeongguk had seen before.

“How did you—?”

“I used to see it all the time. A lot of mansin hid their shrines like that.”

“Why?”

“Otherwise they’d get shunned. Especially when they were only little girls. For being possessed.
Then for embracing it.” Jimin didn’t touch the shrine but studied the images and props left there.

Jeongguk itched to draw the scene. It felt inexplicably old.

“So what’s it for?”

“For the deity that possessed her,” Jimin said.

Said that officiants like her needed to maintain this sort of thing. And with this now, he knew what
kind of thing she’d been doing, so he led Jeongguk out of the room and the house, back to the
chilly street.

“Where are we going?”

“The crossroad,” Jimin said, “near the forest.”

Jeongguk went for the car, but Jimin already set out on foot. His pants had been rolled up to the
knees, showing the dried mud that caked his feet and ankles.

The pollock had been wrapped in a shirt and thrown to rot in the dead end road, in the swamp of old
rain. Jimin crouched in the dirt and used a stick to turn the fish around, careful to avoid touching
maggots.

“It’s bugeo. Probably been lying here since,” he said, and went about examining the rest of the
scene.

It took a while to get used to the smell of this particular offering, but Jeongguk had to take pictures
and then also scratch at his compulsion to draw it. He did all of that while talking a lot of shit,
hearing Jimin laugh at him quietly.

Strangely enough, there were no taboo ropes where there normally should have been. But then
Jimin was saying something about how Ahsung most probably had been of the new Northern
practices.

“The shirt’s probably hers,” Jimin said, waving at the pollock.

He pulled a plastic bag out of his backpack and rustled with it really loudly while flapping it open.
Then he squelched his way to Jeongguk.
“Bag it up,” he said, smiling. “I might need it.”

“What rate we talking?”

“Rate?”

“Number of—”

Jimin waited, amused.

“—shirt-necessitated events per unit time?”

Jimin laughed. “Might need it. Might not.”

“You do it.”

“I’m helping you as it is,” he said, a little irritated, but he was still smiling.

And there was nothing to smile about, Jeongguk thought, groaning at the sight of the maggot-
ridden fabric. Using the stick Jimin had had before, he struggled with unwrapping the shirt from
the fish, dropping it twice, then tried to hook under the collar to sort of push it down the bag along
with the mud and his own appetite.

“Aren’t you strong-and-manly police types supposed to be chill with it,” Jimin teased. “Seeing the
death, the horror on the job. The human condition. The real shit.”

“Hyung, another word and I’m slapping it in your face.”

“The horror,” Jimin whispered dramatically, “the horror.”

“Not joking.”

On their way back to the car, Jimin explained that the shirt was a substitute for the usual paper
with personal details, and that the pollock acted as a sort of proxy, not unlike the chickens in the
Hwang grave.

Jeongguk held the bag at the arm’s length as he walked. In the gathering light, the transparent pink
of the plastic showed everything, the mud and the clay, and the shirt crawling with tiny living
things. The dead boy came to his mind as he watched the maggots.

Their last day on the case was on the Christmas Eve, which wasn't Christmas-y at all, and instead it
felt dull and agitating at the same time. One of the loudest days for the force in the city, but so
damn boring in their dried up swamp.

Jeongguk attempted to rub morning crust from the corners of his eyes that still felt all glued up,
because Hoseok was by his table, smiling small and placing a box before him. Looked tiny and
like it’d been wrapped at a souvenir shop. Jeongguk held it to his ear, rattled it softly but heard
nothing.

“Kwak’s off today,” said Hoseok. “Told to give it to you.”

“That’s crazy,” Jeongguk snorted. “He hates me.”

“You hate him too.”

“I don’t. I just…” He had to contemplate for a while. “That’s all I have. I just don’t hate him”

“That’s the problem. He just wants to be liked.” When Jeongguk wondered why that might be,
because it sure confused him very much, Hoseok only shrugged. Said, “He’s one of those,
Jeonggukkie.” Patted his shoulder. “People who wanna be liked by everyone.”

A problem with those poor fucks, Jeongguk thought as he opened the gift, was that they could only
try to appeal to each and everyone, but that type of unholy grovelling led to a terrible lack of
personality.

The box was made of blue cheap carton and had a bundle of yeot candy.

“He didn’t,” Hoseok gasped in mock-horror.

“Not sure telling me to eat yeot is the best way to be tight bros.”

They fell silent and just stared at it. Jeongguk thought he was the only one bursting not to laugh,
but then Hoseok made this strangled sound at the back of his throat and covered his mouth,
squeezing his eyes tight. Jeongguk gave in first, and it tipped Hoseok over till they were both
laughing into some minor tears.

“What a prick,” Jeongguk finally choked out.

“Ya gonna eat it?”

“What, he didn’t give you some?”

Hoseok flicked him on the temple. “I’m the good one. You’re the bad one.”

Jeongguk slapped off his hand the way he’d wave off a fly. “Why’re we blue-balling? We got the
deadline. In like,” he checked with the wall clock, “eight hours.”

Hoseok only shook his head. Then he pushed the box forward.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Eat your yeot.”

“How rude.”

“Said with love,” Hoseok nodded and went to his desk.

“With love. You’re telling me to fuck off with love.”

“I’m just so good that way.”

Hoseok was right, of course he was, because the deadline didn’t matter anymore. The Chief had to
have their final report on the eyeless Yang thing by five, and that was all.
Even if it did matter, Jeongguk couldn’t get it to crack anyway. It was a dead end run from the
start.

No trace evidence, not even some minor under-toe grease they’d normally overlook in base shit.
No witnesses either, nothing unusual around the time of murder.

Tox screens had come clean, and both victims were in perfect health for their age. Not only Doctor
Go, but this real crusty old guy that had been sent from Tongyeong upon Hoseok’s request couldn’t
decide anything conclusive on the cause of death.

And if it was one of the victims who’d done it in the first place, there was zero evidence of that.
No clear motive unless one decided to take that stretch towards cannibal cult shenanigans which
nobody was doing. Like, not even Taehyung with his mainland buddies who were useless on the
whole eyeball deal.

“How about we focus on the deviations, not the elements,” Jeongguk proposed, ten in the morning,
watching Hoseok slave over a heap of tourist misconduct reports. “The method is, what? Very
detailed, takes deliberation.”

Nothing from Hoseok still. The typing only seemed to increase in speed.

“Right,” Jeongguk said. “So it’s special. But not personal. It’s like he needs to do it. So that means
there will be others.”

Faxing something now. Why did they still use that thing? Hacking prevention or what?

“So I agree with you,” Jeongguk continued talking to the wall, “the no-motive aside, it’s nothing
like the Hwang case. But the ideation…”

Hoseok twirled a stapler in his hands, studying paper stacks lined on his desk.

“Hyung, c’mon, help me out here,” Jeongguk whined.

He did it quite often actually, the whining. It wasn't surprising to those few who’d gotten to know
him.

Hoseok had once told him he was the most unlikely candidate for this job. Brazen muscle pig’s
attitude and general mountain-like frame aside, all of his real presence—the innocent and wide-
eyed little type—was kind of working against him.

“Jeongguk,” Hoseok said, firm. Still not looking up. “It’s done with. Over. Donnertown. Can’t do
shit about it. Don’t even think of it as ours anymore.”

“But it’s right there.”

“Not anymore. I know you’re pissed. I am too. But that’s all there is.” He paused with the stapling
and finally looked at Jeongguk. “Don’t you got other shit to do?”

He did.

“That Nanjing pensioner?”

The very one.

Some guy from Nanjing who’d been staying at the Daedong guesthouse reported a break-in, but it
was just all the mayhem with nothing stolen, all that usual deal.
And by the time Jeongguk got back, skin hot from the verbal shit he’d had to take for the whole
force, Hoseok was busy hoovering up little gingerbread things their archive super had baked
herself. Hoseok topped it with rice cakes and polished all of that with disgusting near-beer.

Kwak should be here, Jeongguk thought, to witness his idea of sex in all its glory.

“What?” Hoseok asked.

Probably because Jeongguk looked like he would’ve found himself more cheer on death row.
Probably the nasty looks he’d been giving Hoseok all morning.

“It’s not even beer.”

“I wanna feel like holiday,” Hoseok huffed. “But I’m on the job. But I’m also a good cop. Between
us, I’m the good.”

“And I’m the bad?”

“You’re the weird.”

Jeongguk heard himself laughing, and it felt genuine. Hoseok tried to swallow another cake before
speaking again.

“Speaking of which,” he muffled, “wanna watch it tonight?”

Jeongguk froze. “Tonight?”

Hoseok raised his eyebrows. “You’re not staying for Christmas?”

The truth was, he hadn’t even thought about it. All this gory mess, and trying to not out his law-
breaking ass to Hoseok...

“I haven’t thought about it.” He picked at his shirt, thinking about Jimin’s paper house. “I’d love
to.”

“But?”

Hoseok looked expectant. Jeongguk felt himself squirm under the gaze.

“I’ve got this thing.”

“A thing.”

“Hyung,” Jeongguk started, but came up blank. What was there to say?

“Jeonggukkie, I’m not mad. Just worried. You’re all…” He made a vague gesture. “Woozy.”

That was what Jimin had said.

“Does it mean I don’t get a present?” Hoseok suddenly asked.

“Oh, I’m—”

Jeongguk straightened and looked around for some reason, as if a present would just manifest itself
like that.

“—I’m sorry. I forgot…”

“That’s fine, bro. I’ll just give yours to someone else.”

Jeongguk squinted. “Who?”

“I got other friends. But you,” he spun in his chair, once, “probably don’t have a present for the
thing tonight either?”

“You aren’t eating,” Jeongguk said, after he’d finished with his second japchae bowl.

He’d arrived soon after his shift with no decent explanation for it. Though he remembered to call
Jimin this time, not really keen on catching another eyeful of... wank-bank material.

Jimin hadn’t asked to give reasons, never did, only asked to get him some lollipops. He also
insisted Jeongguk just vent and eat.

The kitchen was soaking neon-red, clouded with warmth, and Jimin was glinting with all his
tarnished tokens. He wore some old band T-shirt and underwear and nothing else, sitting cross-
legged in a way that made him look like some precious temple totem. He looked visibly drained
too.

“My stomach isn’t ready for it,” Jimin replied. “I’ll eat tomorrow.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Happens after divinations.”

Jeongguk frowned. “You felt like that on the solstice too?”

“Yeah. But milk helps a lot.”

Jimin was unwrapping one of the lollipops, a cream and strawberry.

“Sorry,” Jeongguk said, awkward.

“It’s okay. Got you better, didn’t I? Sorry about the nightmares though.”

Jeongguk nodded, dragging one metal chopstick along the bowl’s edge. During the dinner, he’d
told Jimin everything there was about the case, and the Chief’s purple meaty face, and Kwak
Byungkyu telling him to eat shit with his gift.

It was a little new still, but talking like that cleared up the air in his lungs. He talked about the
nightmares crawling back slowly, just bit by bit on the edges of his eerie dreams, but he wasn’t
angry or sad, because Jimin had told him it might happen. After all, the trick was to get rid of
daylight ghosts.

Jeongguk watched Jimin tap the pink candy at his pouty mouth. Then Jimin licked at it for good
measure and rolled it on his bottom lip till it was wet and sticky. He sucked on both lips, pursed
them again, and kept on tapping. It made a faint sound, a wet little pop, pop, pop.

Sighing, Jeongguk looked away.

“Dunno what to do with myself now,” he said. “Like, the job’s back to where it was before.”

Listless drag of no cases where you go without a single thing happening to you days on end.

“Weird, isn’t it?” he said, watching Jimin jiggle his leg up and down, meat of his thigh shaking
from the motion. “These bad things happen and get you all fucked up, but then you get hooked.
Can’t live without that kinda pressure. Almost like pleasure…”

Jimin gave him a long look. “It’s the rush,” he said, “that bravery gives you. The high of being
important.”

And Jeongguk knew it was true. This job was like that. The high and the anticipation of a bad thing
happening... made it feel like a good thing. Wasn’t unlike winning a big high-brow competition,
the more pretentious the sport the better. Wasn't unlike a lot of things. Like a prelude to a rough
fuck.

He told Jimin that, wondering why he'd gone and made himself look like the rest of them.
Jeongguk was just like the rest of them, wasn't he?

“Dopamine,” Jimin told him. “It’s not the thing itself that gets you high. It's the anticipation of the
thing. Like, when you want it, this whatever thing, shocking or terrible…” He rolled the lollipop
over his lips again. “Happiness or pleasure. It’s all in the moment before. Dopamine’s like any
drug.”

Jimin put the lollipop down.

“And you know what’s funny,” he was standing to clean up the counter, “you get off way better if
you know what it’s gonna be and how it’s gonna end. Not when you tug on your dick, not when
you fuck in tight, but when you wait for it. Knowing that you’re gonna do it. Knowing how it ends,
and it ends with you getting full of the hot happy.”

Jimin had finished with the dishes and pushed himself to sit atop the counter. One knee drawn to
his chin, he dangled his free leg idly.

“You’ve got a favorite movie that makes you happy, don’t you?” he said.

Jeongguk told him that of course he had, to which Jimin said that the real high is in the knowing it
all. When you knew every bar of it, however fucked up or soggy-sweet, your favorite thing got you
down to the bones.

“Yeah,” Jeongguk said, thinking of all his favorite things, “it does.”

Jimin was off the counter now and rummaging through a drawer.

“So, like, better watch all shit with spoilers?” Jeongguk said.

“Well, it’s fine if you like to be shocked. But scientifically, yeah, better do that. Gets you off real
nice.”

“That’s tight,” Jeongguk decided.

Jimin said that yes, tight was exactly right. “The pursuit is the real rush, sure, but only when you
know the plot.”

“Then I’ve been blue-balled by the job since, like, forever,” Jeongguk muttered. “Guess I need a
new job.”

Jimin was lighting a tiny silver pipe with a match, probably having left the lighter in another room.
At first Jeongguk didn’t register what was happening, but as soon as the smell fully hit him, he
perked up. All bird-like, squinting at the smokey rolls.

“Chill,” Jimin said, voice thick with holding in the smoke, “it’s only Sally-D.”

Jeongguk recognized the smell, kind of mediocre, the way Salvia was, but still watched him take a
few tokes and blink rapidly on the hit. And it was quick on the hit, barely half a minute, and it
kinda got your time all screwy, little bit of Sally-D, but it was usually done in pretty fast. Five to
fifteen minutes, and you got all down and clear after half an hour or so.

Jimin smoked the way he moved, slow and measured, as if he knew that the simplest motions of
his held this weird power, one that could get you all balmy and loose.

“Why am I only seeing this now?” Jeongguk asked, his voice amused and a little petulant.

“’Cos I chew, normally,” Jimin said, blinking slowly in the haze. “Quid holds longer.”

He didn’t offer Jeongguk any, because that was what Jimin did, apparently, knew what people
thought and what people would do.

Like he really looked at people, had a real strong sense of them. Jeongguk wanted to tell him that,
tell him all of that while watching him take the last hit. Tell him he had a real heavy thing about
seeing people.

And Jeongguk wanted to get better at being good with people who were good, so it was only right
to say something nice. But none of it would get out, because he felt exactly like the whole thing,
balmy and loose, and his throat was tight while his stomach swooped.

Jeongguk thought about Jimin’s words, knowing that he wasn’t about spoilers, but this Jimin he
was seeing... was allowed to see on this unhurt Christmas Eve, made him want to really know his
plot.

Jimin’s plump shiny lips wrapped around the pipe, lungs working, and it puffed out his well-
defined chest on the holding of breath. Then he shaped his lips into a cute and squished O, and
released the smoke in neat white circles.

Jeongguk felt his heart swing. And he had to say something, but his icky leery mind made him hate
telling things.

“Show off,” Jeongguk huffed. “Gross.”

“Got you entertained, didn’t I?” he said, his eyes shining.

“How’d you do that?”

“What—what's that?”

“Look at someone and know what they think.”

“I don’t know what they think.”

“Bullshit.”
“It’s the how. How they think,” Jimin said after he’d cleaned out the pipe and put it back in the
drawer. “You do that when you’re honest with what’s in your head.”

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ

“So we’re not talking conscious decisions here?” Heeyeon was halfway through her second bowl of
instant soup.

“What do you mean?”

“You kept going back to him because it helped you sleep. That’s kind of conditional.”

“It was a choice. I just didn’t know what I was doing.”

“Trying to help those people. Yourself, too.”

Jeongguk didn’t look like he agreed much. “I just… snapped. Felt like some kinda junkie, going
there. But not bad at all.”

“Well, I guess being cared for does that to you.”

Jeongguk went on, talking about the vibes and the smell of that house, of Jimin himself, and how
Jeongguk himself had been a screwed up anxious mess, but then, weirdly, in those moments he’d
never felt calmer.

“Hyung just has that kinda effect on people…”

“You still go there?”

Jeongguk didn’t answer.

“Okay,” Heeyeon said. “If you had to describe him in a few words, what would that be?”

And it was surprising, to say the least, that Jeongguk didn’t take too long to think about it, the way
he’d been doing before. He swallowed a glassful of his now mixed drink and fell back in his chair.

"I’d say that… Sometimes when you talk to him, he’s, like, really young. But the next moment, it
feels like he’s ancient. Way ahead of you. And you can never kinda catch him be just one thing.”

“Why’s that, do you know?”

“He’s just on a different frequency, you know?"

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ

Two weeks in a row, Jeongguk found himself at a new and very weird job of being Jimin’s driver,
on the low-key. Mostly staying at his place to save him the driving around.

But sometimes he’d still sleep at Mrs. Kim’s or Hoseok’s and that would mean getting up at the
godless-fuck o'clock, like four or something, and drag himself to the foot of the mountain where
Jimin would be waiting all chill and cheerful.

Jeongguk would take him to the first house before getting to his own shift, and then he’d pick
Jimin up at whatever rural hole of the evening, and they’d get straight to the mountain with lungful
of shittalk to excange. Or maybe cruise down the shore. Or maybe get some grease to snack on at
the touristy hilltop place.

It was a weird thing to do and be, but Jeongguk had gotten used to the wheel’s cheetah plush and
Jimin tuning into the morning chart to sing along softly.

A few times after his shift, Jeongguk got lost in the side streets, those low-key vacation blocks with
late night joints dizzy with neon, and he was cruising, waiting, irritated...

...because Jimin was there, and each night Jimin looked completely glazed over.

And it was that obvious glaze of post-fuck afterglow buzz, the one that made Jeongguk a little
queasy, because the shine coating Jimin looked and dripped and smelled like an orgy, but mostly
Jimin. A tired and doped out but strongly confident Jimin, who liked to sprawl in the seat with legs
spread wide, and smoke Sally-D rollies because he couldn’t chew on it just yet, after tongue-
fucking a hoard.

None of which Jimin told him, because Jimin barely spoke of himself and the things he was or did,
but Jeongguk could see the red of his swollen lips and the clumsy drawl of his words because his
tongue just wasn’t up for it.

And after days like that, the upholstery had soaked in all of that smoke and tasty sex-rank, and
Jeongguk was worried about that only for a minute. But the car wasn’t his, of which Jimin often
reminded him during lunch, whenever Jeongguk chose something greasy and drippy to eat, and he
was one messy eater.

Not that Hoseok minded him "expropriating the vehicle," because Hoseok had been driving his
station cruiser for years, long before Jeongguk’s transfer, and said his old baby Honda needed to be
taken out now and then. Maybe he was treating this like a case of coming-of-age present, like that
thing going on in middle class families that had half a dozen of rides for each kid’s graduation
ceremony.

That quiet generosity was one of Hoseok’s weirder habits, and it made Jeongguk feel guilty only a
little, because the bigger chunk of his guilt was for something else. That guilt was for missing out
on Hoseok more and more.

So that was a good reason to spend New Year’s together, him and Hoseok. And they surely did
that, they did it just all right.

It was a scene out of some rural drama, the New Year’s.

A real drama, with both of them boozing up so fast before the midnight count, and then boozing up
harder after the count, so hard one might’ve thought they’d been channelling skills for running
track next year at Rio. And then they were watching the fireworks out at sea, while someone down
the street blasted poppy shit that Hoseok called Best Hits of Tae Jinah CD3.
First hour of the year found them trashing Hoseok’s living room as they attempted a disco dance
battle, which led to a smart change of plan — hitting the club quarter in Okpo. The cab ride
amounted to some crazy fair, but they were in the buzz and ready to destroy any dancefloor ever,
and vomit up every cubicle in town probably.

There were more fireworks and crowds, so many pretty foreign boys that made Jeongguk attempt
and fail basic English, after which Hoseok dragged him away, talking about how crazy he’d been
by pulling that shit in a straight hole. Hoseok was dragging him through chilly and dank streets to
some other joint. And that joint seemed years away, but when they reached it, Jeongguk saw it
wasn’t as lit or bright, was placed all obscure-like, but everyone who needed to know of it knew
exactly where it was.

And it was hot, down there. It was a real sauna, and crowded.

Somebody pressed against Jeongguk, back to his chest, as soon as he was out to dance. There were
arms reaching back, fingers threading through his hair. It was a slow grind that turned him soaking
wet, breathless, but he held the guy by the hips and kissed his neck, feeling the guy’s ass rub
against his crotch, then let himself be led away and down the dark stairs, to the restroom.

Somebody else was there, kissing by the door. The guy was flinging it open, and in the dim red
light there, Jeongguk saw it wasn’t a kiss but an extremely wet blowjob. It all blurred, the man
giving head in the hallway, the surprisingly clean tile of the restroom, Jeongguk pressing the guy
against the wall in a hard grind and feeling tongue all over his sweaty neck.

It was a quick sloppy fuck that left half a residue, a lot of dried spit on his hands, slick latex on his
aching dick, and then the nail tracks on his arms from the guy reaching back as Jeongguk drilled
him into the wall from behind. A little embarrassing how quick he came, but the guy didn’t seem
to mind, only teased him like hell for missing the bin when he threw out the condom.

Jeongguk didn’t remember kissing, but when he climbed up the steps, his fingers found a slick on
his lips, and on the first taste he knew it was blood.

He went over to the bar and found an empty space at the end. Fished for his phone in the pocket to
get a hold of Hoseok, but found some bills instead and slapped them on the counter.

“Shirley Temple,” Jeongguk said, and didn’t know what the fuck was wrong with him.

It took some waiting but he couldn’t care less. He was woozy as hell and kind of loose; balmy and
loose, that was the thing, but much worse without Jimin in it.

The drink was put in front of him. A bright red blotch that pulsed in his blurry vision. Orange
halves sinking to the bottom. He closed his eyes and drank the most of it at a go. As he put the
glass down, looking before him, someone said, “You a diver?”

He looked over and saw this thin blotchy thing with little girly mouth and eyes blown to black.

“What?” Jeongguk said.

“I said, you a diver? I am.”

“Cool.”

“You down?”

“For what?”
The girly-mouth reached inside his pocket and held up a slip of carton. “The juice,” he said.
“Wanna ride?”

“Listen, uh,” Jeongguk swallowed, “you don’t wanna do that.”

“Why’s that? ’Cos you a cop?”

Jeongguk only stared at him.

“You lot are easy to spot. Easy on the eye. Little piggies.” The girly-mouth leaned into him, and
Jeongguk caught a whiff of perfume, sugary sweet. “I’m always down, on juice and lemon, office
cock, cop cock, whatever cock, pace is the trick. You?”

“I trip enough by daylight,” Jeongguk said.

The guy was studying him for a long time in the damp surrounding them. Then he slipped out his
tongue to touch one tiny carton square with the tip and take it in his mouth.

“Your friend’s outside,” he said and hummed. “Delicious. Tasted good.”

“He better not be on your shit.”

“Dude’s a born diver.”

Jeongguk closed his eyes. “Shit.”

“Off his nut. Seeing monster movies.”

Jeongguk took off quick, kissing corners as he went on his jelly legs, but he was out in the wet
street and gathering light.

Seeing Hoseok on the sidewalk. Hunched and fuzzy at the edges, like blotting ink. Nobody else
was paying much attention.

Jeongguk forced Hoseok to his feet and wiped at his pale sweaty face that glowed with that
fragmented kind of high. Vacant smile and non-existent eye movement. The trip wasn’t a bad one,
at least, so Jeongguk just talked to him in safe and short words that wouldn’t screw him up mid-
way.

It was white with frost by the time they got back to the house, as messy as they left it, and Best Hits
of Tae Jinah CD3 still blasted down the street, echoing through early morning air.

There was a warm bath which Jeongguk faintly registered drawing. He watched Hoseok sink his
steamed body in the hot water that smelled of peach, and sat by the tub till the first signs of Hoseok
coming down.

Which was about an hour in, and it made Hoseok go soft and pruney, but Jeongguk wondered
about what the hell this juice was that Hoseok had taken, because it lasted only about four hours.

“Tell ya what, Guk,” Hoseok said after he’d got out to curl on the bed, still bare naked, “gotta be
more sensitive to local culture.”

Jeongguk didn’t know what it was that made him lose his shit in the moment, but he did, and so did
Hoseok, and they laughed until Hoseok exhausted his leftover acid burn.

“Got you,” Jeongguk said. “Gotta be sensitive.”

“Funny and sensitive. No dick jokes.”

“Don’t think I can manage.”

“A couple of ass jokes’s fine. Helps highlight the, uh, refined intellectual nature.”

“Okay,” Jeongguk said, smiling.

“Only a couple though.”

“Got you.”

He left him to sleep it off in peace.

Honda still smelled of all things Jimin. Jeongguk realized that some habit took him to the mountain
only by the time he’d crossed to the clearing. He staggered into the kitchen and immediately
plastered himself against the wall. It felt cool under his back.

Jimin was cleaning, looking like he’d been up for a while and a bit on the worn down side, just as
the hoodie he was wearing with its hood up. It flattened his black bangs all across his face. The
strands covering his eyes moved when he blinked.

“Shit,” Jimin said, and probably meant Jeongguk’s general facial area.

He approached slowly, taking in the state of over-drunk. Took Jeongguk’s numb face in his palms.

“Right, buddy,” he said.

“Hyung,” Jeongguk whined, “I wanna shower.”

Jimin let him take a bath, one so long it turned his entire brain pruney, just like Hoseok had been,
and fed him some weedy broth afterwards. He insisted Jeongguk have two whole liters of honey
water and a handful of pills.

And later, huddled under heaps of blankets, Jeongguk noticed the smell around Jimin, the blood
and the smoke. Jimin’s hood was down now, showing the sheen of sweat on his bruised neck and
burns under his jaw.

Jimin was telling him something and not looking happy, but his clammy hands were a soothing
weight on Jeongguk’s temples. Then Jimin caressed his neck, touched his pierced earlobe. Sang
him to sleep.

That night seemed to get Jeongguk in the spine, because he saw monster movies, all of the ones
Hoseok should’ve hallucinated and didn’t, but it was rushing into Jeongguk’s dreams in images
from days ago.

The dead boy followed him from one dream to the next, never speaking or touching, but Jeongguk
was deafened by it all the same.

A week after New Year’s, Jeongguk just couldn’t snap out of it.

“Jeon-ssi, don’t take this the wrong way, but you got like downstairs troubles or something?” said
Taehyung, who was there by accident, and then he was out before Jeongguk could reply.

“Fuck off,” said Jeongguk to the glass door.

A week after New Year’s, and he still was dreamwalking with the dead boy. All that underbelly of
his sick mind was kind of slowly killing him.

Sometimes he didn’t dream, when Jimin sat by the mat to watch over him and knead his earlobe in
that way. And that way Jeongguk didn’t get stuck. Just slept where it was dark. But it was rare.
When he worked on the call, it felt harder. There was no way of riding it well, so he spaced out
most of time.

He went to spend Monday night on the mountain.

It was easy to come up with a reason for that, something on the lighter side, more so than saying he
was eager to escape rotting corpses that had infested his dreams. He’d told Jimin the cabbage
stench of ahjumma Kim’s house was getting on his nerves.

“Another hour in that place and I’ll be spitting my guts out,” he’d said. It hadn't been a lie, so it had
worked.

Sleeping in this cluttered yet clean house put Jeongguk at peace.

He woke to the loud meowing. Kkachi seemed restless from hunger or maybe because her owner
had been gone for so long.

Jimin was running late, Monday and all, so the urge in Jeongguk to get his itching hands some
work considerably peaked.

He looked at his drawings. Kkachi, asleep again, was a warm weight against his thigh. She slept
for as long as he flipped through his journal. He looked, really looked at the faint pencil lines of the
distorted faces. Looked and decided that if he kept going like that, there was no chance of him
surviving the winter.

Soon Kkachi woke and began pestering him again.

Right, he thought, hungry things needed care.

He filled her bowl with the oatmeal porridge Jimin had taught him how to cook right using pork,
and watched the cat swallow up that whole little mountain. It bored him almost immediately.

He washed his face and set off to water the plants. Sometimes it felt like sleeping in a greenhouse.
Maybe it kind of was. Maybe that was the real reason behind his own sense of wellness whenever
he decided to stay here. Like he’d swallowed a little sun.

Jeongguk wandered through the rooms, picking on the details he liked the best. He liked the clear
order of things under the level of mess. Plenty of books and weird wicker tokens that lined badly
screwed on shelves. No pictures. He never asked Jimin why.

He’d learned most of the place weeks ago, except for Jimin’s room in the other wing. That was off
limits. He’d never seen past its sliding door, only the faint red lantern glow that illuminated the
paper screen at night.

He stared at that screen now and felt hesitant. Shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The
floorboards never creaked. He thought how strange that was, going into Jimin’s room.

And Jeongguk couldn’t decide what possessed him to do it. But he already was inside, staring at
the small shrine in the corner as he shuffled in place. Staring for a tense minute or two. Then
kneeling before the dresser at the foot of the floor mat. Going through the drawers slowly, with the
quiet care of a guilty child doing something he wasn't supposed to.

Winter clothes, all soft cotton, some insane number of jeans, a bunch of hats which Jimin rarely
wore. Thin summer pieces that, by the looks of them, surely made Jimin’s skin very visible. A
whole lot of brand underwear but no socks.

A tangle of old phone chargers, the type he remembered came with cells even older than the one
Jimin had now.

Small shoebox filled with music tapes. All of them were labeled with flowery handwriting.
Jeongguk recognized only half of the artists.

A dead tamagotchi made him pause. He snorted, shaking his head, and opened another drawer.

Hemp ties and ropes, blindfolds, condoms, a huge bowl of jewelry. He knew the ropes were for the
expelling rituals, but he hadn’t seen Jimin wear any of those necklaces. It took him a moment to
move on, with his attention being glued to the mostly empty condom pack.

Next, two full drawers of books and manhwa volumes. Huge stack of notebooks. The pages looked
yellowed with time. More yellow paper rolled in scrolls and tied in several bundles. To the side, a
set of ink brushes in an expensive case and an inkstone.

He tried going through the notes but Jimin’s handwriting, intricate and smudged in the thick ink
brush, made it hard to decipher.

There weren’t any mirrors. In fact, there wasn’t a single mirror in the house, as he came to think of
it, not even in the bathroom. He remembered seeing Jimin use a tiny round mirror made out of
brass for shaving and even doing his eyebrows, all that stuff.

The shrine, though, was arranged neatly. The small bowls of offerings looked freshly filled. Two
tiny sticks of burnt incense were poking out from the grain bowl.

There were tigers, he realized, images of tigers everywhere. Carved into the wood and inked into
the old paper. Under the shrine he found another notebook. New by the state of it.

Jeongguk opened it on the last page with writing. No ink brush this time, just simple blue ball-pen.

“Don’t mind the blood,” he read. “Forget about it.”

Jeongguk flipped the notebook shut. Then he saw it — a small tape recorder. He picked it up,
turning it over, and hit rewind for a few seconds. Pressed play. Held his breath.

“Forget about it,” said the voice, crackling through tiny speakers, “forget it. You’ll have too many
pasts if you don’t.”

The voice was Jimin’s, no doubt about it, but somehow it sounded nothing like him. Far, far away.
“There’s no future for you anymore. There’s no time for you,” it kept on crooning, “keep
watching. Watch them die, why don't you?”

Deep and rasping, close to that voice Jimin would often get after sleep, it seemed to hiss right
through Jeongguk’s very being.

“Don’t mind the blood,” said the un-Jimin, “it’s yours but there’s no more coming.”

Jeongguk felt minute hairs on his neck stand.

“It's yours. Don't you choke.”

The sound came a little muffled, as if something had filled Jimin's throat. Jeongguk tried
swallowing, but his mouth had gone dry.

“You died a thousand times,” Jimin’s voice turned somehow layered, its own voiceover, “you’re
nobody anymore. You’re nothing.” There was a pause. “How can someone live an empty life?”

Another pause. Then came a whisper so pained, it made Jeongguk’s teeth ache.

“How can someone live a life full of nothing?”

Jeongguk exhaled, cool in his sudden sweat. He cut the tape with a click. The silence seemed
deafening now.

“You shouldn’t have done it,” the voice was calm but appeared loud in the hush.

Jeongguk jumped in place, dropping the recorder, and turned to face Jimin who was standing in the
doorway with his fingers tapping idly on the paper screen. Wide-eyed, Jeongguk felt something hot
rise to his throat. He couldn’t decide what it was.

“I can taste your fear,” Jimin marvelled. He smiled, soft. “Relax. All I’m saying is, you should’ve
asked. I would’ve let you.”

“I’m sorry,” he croaked. “I just—I was curious. I wanna know you.”

“You do know me.”

Jeongguk considered it. “Why were you talking to yourself? On the tape?”

Jimin moved towards the shrine, not making a single noise, and knelt beside him. He tucked the
recorder under the mat. “Something stopped you before. You know, from poking your nose around.
You feeling okay?”

He wasn’t.

The case and the boy in the dreams, this shitty feeling of being lost like he’d only felt years ago, as
a child. His restless energy that got worse when he drove to that part of town to pick Jimin up.
Jimin who was slick with the sex damp and bitten to reds.

And those times Jimin had sat back while no one drove, all ruffled and aloof but acting like some
abstinent chilled-out monk from the local temple, or someone who’d just got out of a puppet-show
gig at an orphanage or something. And that made Jeongguk’s guilt boil up, because Jimin The
Mountain Dude needing to fuck someone now and then wasn’t an invitation to touch.

“I’m seeing them all the time now,” Jeongguk said. “The victims. Guess I’m angry at this whole
thing.”

“Do they talk?”

Jeongguk had to think about it. There were no words in the dreams, but he sensed the unsaid
somehow.

“They don’t.”

“Then they’re not nightmares. They’re there. For you.”

Ghosts can’t talk.

A sharp pang pierced his temple, and only then Jeongguk realized that he’d been violently shaking
his head. He had to force himself to stop. But he still shook, got this full-body tremor, and he didn’t
know why. It made him shake so much harder. He closed his eyes, rubbing at them with the heels
of his unsteady palms.

“I’m so tired,” he said. It sounded angry and a little resigned.

“Jeongguk, why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

He opened his eyes to stare at their thighs slightly touching. “I was sure it was nothing. Guess I
want this solved so hard that it kinda…”

He felt his throat clamp up. Out of nowhere came this tight feeling, suffocating him, heating his
insides.

“I don’t know what to do, hyung. It just got me today. Got me, you know? My journal, I just was
looking, right, and it got me so hard, like all the violence of it, it tastes so bad like my tongue’s all
in that black grease, you know, from their mouths, when they bled out and it got me, right, like—”

The lights dimmed, and Jeongguk felt his lungs shrinking.

“That thing hates so much, right, it’s so bad, how can it swallow all those people? But it did, and I
couldn’t do anything, I couldn’t.”

His fingers had gone numb, but they were still there, clutching at his own arms.

“They’re gone, hyung, and there’s nothing there. I look at the shit you do or see, but I still don’t
know. I know that we die and nothing comes after. Your body rots. You never were. And that’s all
fine, that’s whatever, carbon and shit, little copies, but,” he inhaled, “they’re dead, and nobody
cares, but I should, I should’ve looked better. I should’ve looked. I don’t know what to do.”

Jeongguk swallowed around the knot in his throat.

“I don’t know what to do.”

It was silent for a while. Wet sounds of the evening forest were sipping through. Jeongguk felt his
chest constrict. He was rocking in place, he realized, and couldn’t see through the white static in
his dizzy vision.

“Hey now,” Jimin said, but it sounded like a song, “hey now, baby. It’s not your fault. Nothing’s
your fault.”

“But it is, I’ve done so much—so many bad things. Bad things, hyung...”
 He was heaving now, covering his face.

“Come here,” Jimin said softly. He let Jeongguk fall into his embrace. “I’ll tell you what we can
do. You want this thing caught, right?”

He nodded. Jimin’s scent was calming. Citrus and salt, something of the sea. His skin would sure
taste of saltwater, should Jeongguk have the guts to lick it.

“Then we make the ghosts talk.”

“How?”

“Through me.”

Chapter End Notes

its not the jihoon u think it is, whichever of them

what was happenin on new years basically
 Black Coal, Thin Ice
Chapter Notes

light bondage for ritual purposes (#science)

intense! ghost talk (blood, tears)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Mrs. Kim looked one heartbreak from ecstatic.

She was kneeling by the sliding door, ushering them inside, saying something about Jeongguk
needing to hide the shoes. Something about glowing nocturnal ghosts, and how they’d steal every
pair and get him all sorts of bad luck.

That morning, when Jeongguk told her they’d needed a rite to be arranged in her house, she’d
agreed without even listening to the rest. And then she offered so many things at once that his head
had begun buzzing, but he’d said they would only need his room and for her to hold on the backup.

“Come now, come now,” she was saying now, showing them to the kitchen. “Have some tea. You
look wrecked, honey.”

The single lightbulb drowned the kitchen in more shadows than light. It was dim and peeling blue,
setting Jeongguk’s teeth on edge. He’d almost forgotten how much it reeked of cabbage. So he sat
there, nursing a headache, and let Jimin do the talking.

Jimin’s back was disturbingly straight as he knelt at the table.

Jimin was playing with his hair—a thing Jeongguk knew was a sign of this nervous and bashful
streak Jimin would sometimes fall into—before finally sipping too sweet tea. Jimin used both
hands to drink, and listened attentively. He was a good listener. And that was to say, nothing like
Jeongguk had seen.

When Jeongguk listened, he’d blink, smile vacantly, sometimes he’d munch on something and nod,
then fiddle with his sleeves, whatever, all of it only to translate to whoever’s listening that he was
somehow still there.

Now, he barely registered what Jimin and Mrs. Kim had been talking about, because his mind was
drifting to what was about to come.

Jeongguk turned his head to take in the way Jimin looked in this place, in this light. Sharp profile,
skin glimmering gold. Then Jeongguk glanced down. Their thighs were touching. Jimin’s right
hand dropped from the cup, down to Jeongguk’s thigh, and crept its way to his knee to stop his leg
from jittering.

Eventually Jimin put the cup down, clearing his throat. “I’ll need you to leave the house for the
entire process, is that okay? Good. You’ll know it’s over when you see the lantern go out. But
don’t come back—don’t even cross the street—until the rooster crows.”

“Once?” she asked, bright-eyed.

“Once. When it does, get the water from the well. Use it for any medicine you’ll need. Jeongguk
will need your help. I won’t be in any condition for that. Is that okay?”

Jimin talked to her like she wasn’t completely off her nut, and she seemed so eager about the whole
situation, finally letting herself be important again, at least for a little while. All of it tugged at
Jeongguk’s guilt like it used to whenever his own grandmother had felt timely sad.

“There’s a pine rope I’ll need you to put on your gate. I'll give you yellow soil as well. You know
how to sprinkle it, right? Good. And I’ll have to use your grains. It’s part of the house.”

When they were down to getting little things ready, like azalea oil or some other balsamic thing,
Jeongguk excused himself to prepare his room.

It was just as he’d left it this morning: messy and stuffy, freezing.

He removed the bedding and rolled up the sleeping mat, spreading a straw one in the middle
instead, like Jimin had instructed him. Then he put a neatly folded hanbok that belonged to Hwang
Minam at the edge of the mat. The hanbok was still painted with blood.

He placed a few pieces of white paper shaped like a tiny human, a girl, on top. Jimin had made
those earlier out of mulberry paper, saying how important this thing was to any sort of ghost talk.

The door slid open, piercing the blue darkness with a yellow beam, and then closed behind him.

“You look nervous,” Jimin said, dropping his bag by the door. “It’ll be fine. Could be scary, yeah,
but it’ll be fine.” He tried to put comfort in every sound.

“I’m just tired,” Jeongguk smiled. You make me nervous, he wanted to say, but so calm too. “And
waiting for something like that, it’s just…different.”

Of course he was scared. So many things could go wrong. And what scared him the most: Jimin
wouldn’t remember any of it, because he could only let the ghost in, to use his body, but he
wouldn’t recall a single thing about it.

But Jeongguk still chose to go for it, and it was too late to back out anyway.

He watched Jimin prepare their little space for the rite: the hourglass drum, bowls with grains and
rice dumplings, a pouch with herbs and dried berries, two lengths of rope, a pot of some essential
brew that’d been made earlier, and the tape recorder.

Jeongguk had wondered before why they couldn’t just use a phone or something more modern, but
Jimin had said that the words were a physical thing, so they had to leave something physical
behind, an imprint, like they would on a magnetic tape.

Watching Jimin’s hands work and jingle with silver made Jeongguk almost pacific.

That and then the ritual paper rustling while being wrapped around the stack of herbs, and the tiny
peal of berries ringing against the brass bowl. One time Jimin had tried explaining a lot about some
herbology phases and foxglove and datura, but Jeongguk had stopped caring about that or getting
smoked out by hallucinogens.

“Fuck, I’m shitting,” Jeongguk mumbled. Maybe to make Jimin laugh.

Jimin did, then rattled a match box next to his ear. “Now, remember, talk to her as if you would to
a new friend. Don’t try to interrogate.”
“I know.”

They’d practiced a little before. The deal had been for Jeongguk to get used to keeping track of
words in that state, a kind of lucid dreaming that made time all waxen and screwy.

“Dreaming real” was what Jimin called it. He’d burned his whatever dope to help Jeongguk slip
into that in-between, the dreaming real thing, and that state felt… gripping and smooth, and it was
sort of wrapping around his mind, wrapping with this mute force from his dreams.

“I know,” Jeongguk said. “Be friendly and calm. Don’t tell her she’s dead. Fuck, it’s like I’m
gearing up for a job interview.”

Jimin laughed fondly. “Once you’ve learned enough, what do you need to do?”

“Blow out the lantern.”

“That’s right. If I have to force her out, I might pass out. Don’t try touching me. Just wait for Mrs.
Kim.”

“I can’t believe we’re depending on a fucking rooster for this,” he huffed.

“We’re depending on you, mostly.”

And that was exactly what bothered him. He’d go crazy if he fucked up. Off his nut. Monster
movies…

“It’s scary.”

That was a hard thing to admit, for Jeongguk in particular, so he shied away from Jimin’s eyes.
Then careful fingers tapped at his chin, twice.

“Do you trust me?” Jimin tried to catch his eye.

“Yes.”

“And yourself?”

Jimin knew well enough that he didn’t, so why ask?

“I’m asking so you can see the way I see you. Look at my face.”

Jeongguk did.

Jimin had one his earnest expressions, completely open and showing something raw and old. Softer
in his boyish features. There’d been a thought kicking about Jeongguk’s head for a while, but…

“You see?” Jimin asked.

“I see.”

He cleared his throat, waiting for Jimin to place the lantern and the knife between them. The knife
had a long bending blade and intricately decorated handle, an old thing Jimin said belonged to
someone long gone.

Once the lantern was lit, Jimin moved to where Jeongguk was sitting, and sat between his spread
legs. Jeongguk’s skin had to be washed, but only his arms and feet and face.
Jimin did so carefully with a soft cloth soaked in oily liquid from one of the brass bowls, and his
touch and warmth sent shivers down Jeongguk’s spine, and made his shirt stick to his tense body.

The cloth wiped at his temples, his neck, both of his arms that were covered in gooseflesh by now,
and finally his feet.

“Okay?” Jimin whispered, hand caressing one of his ankles.

Jeongguk nodded and moved into a kneeling position, then extended his arms with his wrists
pressed together, waiting to be tied up. The ties were meant to keep Jeongguk from hurting himself,
and that could often happen in those toxic clouds when you got trapped in the blur between raw
subconscious and something else. And he’d rather keep himself from hurting Jimin, too.

“Press your palms together,” Jimin instructed. “Your wrist bones should touch.”

He traced the skin of Jeongguk’s wrists, a feather touch that felt incredibly heavy, before looping
the rope and tying firmly. Rough fibers pressed into his skin in a way that made Jeongguk think of
vines.

Somehow he felt completely safe, like he’d never felt before.

“You’re such a muscle pig,” Jimin chuckled, checking the knot. “Gotta make it tighter.”

Jeongguk felt gentle fingers run down his legs, from below his knees where his pants had been
rolled up, and down his calves, but there was no real pressure to the touch, it was only proding and
tingling, making him that more sensitive.

He forced his muscles to relax, his heart to stop its silly swing.

Jimin was coiling the rope. The ankles took a while to work on, with Jimin trying to make it as
comfortable as possible and checking in so often it was getting ridiculous.

“Just do, like, the cuffs. Like in a hogtie,” Jeongguk said, coughing awkwardly.

“Heels,” Jimin said.

Jeongguk blinked a second, then felt Jimin place his feet apart but press the heels together. And
then Jimin was wrapping the rope, and it dragged against the skin in a nice, rough way, and that
tingle got Jeongguk suddenly very calm. Got his breath evened out, and his heart much, much
lighter.

Jimin patted where he’d tied and kept his hand over that knot a moment. Jeongguk looked over his
shoulder to see that the rope winded thick, wrapped just above his ankles and looped in the middle
and into a knot. It burned a little, and he felt its roughness under him when he eased down to sit on
his heels.

“Talk to me,” Jimin said, finally returning to his place. Maybe a few steps between them, but it
suddenly felt like a world apart.

Jimin rubbed his palms together the way he did, one of those things he had to do at all times. Jimin
looked golden in this low lantern light, Jeongguk thought, and almost went all red from this
misplaced longing.

“I’m ready,” Jeongguk said. Swallowed. “Are you?”

Jimin smiled, looking fond again. His hair had already dampened and now lay lank against his
temples. It covered his eyes, showing only the soft glint through the black stands.

He lowered a burning match into the herbal bowl, and the tuft went off in quick flames with a soft
rustle. While it was burning down to pretty ambers, Jimin poured the brew into a tiny tea bowl, a
forest green, and brought it to Jeongguk’s lips. The taste was sharp and somehow fungal. Jeongguk
swallowed it all.

The room was slowly filling with thick clouds. Strong bitter smell filled him up, seeping his bones.
He felt so lazy then, so mellow in the hazy shroud surrounding them.

Jimin picked the knife and slid it under the tiny human of mulberry paper. It balanced on the tip of
the blade. Satisfied, he set it on top of the hanbok again, along with the knife, then he placed the
drum on the floor and draped his arm over it, his fingers slowly tapping over the horsehide. Oddly
enough, he wasn’t using a beating stick. Then again, Jimin never wore the garb either.

When Jeongguk’s eyes grew so puffy he could barely keep them open, Jimin started with the low
pitch drumming.

“Talk to her.”

The scriptures were to be read like a song.

Jimin sang with his eyes closed as he fell deeply under, hollowing himself out for the ghost.

But Jeongguk had to stay focused the entire time, he knew, so he tugged on his ropes for a sobering
sting. He kept watching with his mind drifting, slipping into a fog, as it was led by Jimin’s thick,
slightly ringing voice.

Then the song dropped to something slow and quiet that resonated in Jeongguk’s chest and clouded
up inside his skull. It coated his skin like the oil had before. Like being in a warm pool.

He blinked sleepily and inhaled more of the thick smoke, thinking how odd it was that the
measured rhythm of the drum seemed so far away now. Jeongguk’s vision crawled with blurred
shapes, and all other smells and colors faded. And the air, so thick now, it was swelling with
humid heat, like a cloud before the storm, ready to burst.

Jeongguk began sinking to the bottom of the sea.

When his feet reached its floor, he exhaled, and saw that the room narrowed down to the circle of
lantern light.

Jimin had abandoned the drum. He was sitting painfully straight, looking through him with blank
eyes. Jeongguk felt invisible.

“Hello,” Jeongguk tried. It came out flat. Ears full of cotton. “Hello.”

“Hello,” Jimin said. His voice was now timid, small. A child’s.

“Long time no see.” His own voice sounded as if coming from a distance. “Remember when we
last talked?”
They’d been in the shed, and she’d been dead when Jeongguk stared at her slit throat that looked
like a second mouth, gaping.

“You liked my skirt.”

“That’s right,” Jeongguk smiled. At least he hoped he was smiling. “It’s a pretty hanbok.”

“I can’t find it anywhere,” said Jimin. A grumpy girl was pouting with his lips. “Makes me sad.”

“Don’t be sad. I found it for you.” Jeongguk pointed at the hanbok that looked almost black in this
light.

Jimin reached out to trace the lines of folded fabric. It was made rough by the dried blood. “It’s
ruined now,” he whined, petulant. “Grandma worked really hard to make it.”

“Where’s your grandma now?”

“In the dark place.” More quiet now, quietly scared. “I don’t like it.”

“Why do you stay there?”

“It says we can’t go. It says we’ll have to spend our calamities there. And the years between. And
then again.”

The years between, he thought, and also how odd it was to hear Jimin sound so lost.

“Does it say if maybe you can leave?”

Jimin shook his head. Then he picked a rice dumpling from the small plate. Licked at it, put it
back. “No. It says we can’t because of the one who died at sea.”

There it was, Jeongguk knew, and tried to focus. Seemed impossible at first, but he managed to
grasp for some words.

“Who is that?”

Jimin suddenly cowered. “He is scary. But grandma says he’s just very sad. He calls me Minam
moppet.”

“Does she know why he’s sad?”

“No. But she says he’s also very angry.” Jimin folded himself with each word, trying to appear
smaller. Jeongguk asked what she meant. That made Jimin curl in tighter. “Angry about dying like
he did. Says he won’t stop being angry.”

“Does she know his name?”

Something about that line made Jimin jolt and then fold into himself completely. He shook his
head. His body, too. He was trembling like a leaf.

“Minam, do you like the dark place?” Jimin shook his head. “Do you want to leave that place?
With your family?” A nod. “Then you need to tell me his name.”

Jimin shook his head so violently it sent all his jewelry rattling. “I don’t know his name,” he
whispered, squirming. “Don’t ask me.”
“Minam, this is very important. I see that you know. Please, tell me his name.”

His hands pressing tight to his face, Jimin kept shivering and whining low in his throat. It was such
an awful sound, a child made hurt. Suddenly there was a pull inside of Jeongguk, to hurt it too.
Hurt this child horribly, and he didn’t know where this thing had even come from. He jerked to do
that, but the ties kept him safe.

“Tell me his name, Minam,” he gritted. “Tell me.”

Jimin was curled into a ball, rocking in place. “He will do bad things to us, so many bad things.”

“He won’t if you tell me his name.”

“No,” he yelled, and then again, and again, until it hitched and merged into one loud chant.

“Minam, let me help you. Let me help you.”

“Don’t ask me, don’t ask me, don’t—”

His voice was painfully high, desperate. He chanted on and on, and kept hitting the floor with
every word, the thump of it like a frantic heartbeat before it flatlines.

Jeongguk felt that violent urge again—not his, it wasn't his, it wasn't his—and the urge jostled him
whole, saying you gotta hurt, you gotta hurt it, every breathing thing. Jeongguk tensed when he
saw blood on Jimin’s fists. It smeared thinly each time Jimin hit the wood.

“Stop it,” Jeongguk breathed out. “Stop it.”

Jimin let out a shriek as his body shook. He rolled onto his back and covered his face.

“Minam, I won’t let him hurt you again.”

Everything stilled. Jimin held his breath.

His bloody palms moved slowly down, just to reveal his terrified eyes. They started right at
Jeongguk, not showing much white, but they weren’t seeing him at all. Jeongguk leaned a little
forward to see better through the clouds.

Neither of them spoke, both frozen. Jeongguk thought this was it.

Then Jimin gave a violent start, as though something had goosed him. He blinked very slowly, then
opened his mouth to let out a horrible gurgling sound. The sound of someone who could’ve been
drowning. His hands closed around his throat, clutching tight, desperate to keep the blood from
pouring.

Jeongguk knew what it was, he knew and didn't want to see it one bit. This horrible echo of
whatever Hwang Minam had felt in her dying moments.

“Minam?” Jeongguk tried again.

Again. That was it. He’d slipped on that one word. Forced her to see her own death.

It started getting to him, the burning stench of the thornapple, it was getting to him, getting him
sick. Or maybe it was the image of Jimin gasping and choking on the ghost blood, the single flare
of panic in his eyes; the eyes of Hwang Minam, so wide and rabid and also very empty.
Jeongguk felt sick. It made his stomach hurt so badly, bringing sour taste to his mouth. Few things
turned your memories to poison like the eyes of a dying child did.

Jeongguk felt sick. He couldn’t cover his mouth while he watched Jimin slump on the floor. All
that glimmering silver made him like something from an old painting, the ones Jeongguk had seen
in deity shrines.

It seemed to go on for so long, Jimin writhing like that on the floor, moaning in pain and clutching
at his hair. His skin was damp with sweat. His body racked with spasms and his arms fell,
twitching at his sides, until he finally became very still.

Jeongguk couldn’t move at all, for a while.

It was torture to keep his eyes open, and his focus was slipping. He heard his own ragged
breathing while he tried to decide what to do.

“There isn’t more coming,” he whispered. “Hyung, it’s not your blood. There’s no blood.”

Jimin remained motionless. His chest wasn’t moving. Why wasn’t it moving?

And sure Jeongguk remembered Jimin saying that dreaming real carried no harm, but that it felt
real. What you dreamt, you got. Even if it was getting your throat slit open. Even if it was getting
your lungs full of blood.

Jeongguk let out a sob. He knew all of it, but his own lungs were still hurting.

“Come back. Hyung, come back.”

And then he was feeling it, the numbness at the base of his spine, and how it was crawling up to
his neck and raiding his thoughts.

When he felt just about ready to throw up, Jimin openes his eyes. They were all pupil, staring right
at him. Unblinking.

“Minam moppet,” Jimin said, and this voice was smarmy and oily, “has been a very bad girl.”

Jeongguk simply stared, waiting. Watched Jimin sit up in a crouch, a little hunched and with his
arms draped over his knees so that his short fingers wiggled idly in the air. Some snake-like thing
to his eye now. Completely un-Jimin.

And it hooked Jeongguk, hooked him for later swallowing.

“Why a sucker like you needs my name?” Jimin titled his head.

“Who are you?”

“What’s it to you, little man?”

Jimin’s eyes shimmered just like his voice, like pools of dark oil. He wasn’t blinking at all.

“You’re hurting a lot of people,” Jeongguk tried to sound firm. It sort of came out well.

Jimin hummed, studying the lantern light patterns on the floor. He propped his cheek with his
palm. Shifted a little to the side, as though he were bored.

“You people,” he drawled in a stilted dialect, “with your urges. This violence isn’t mine. It goes
decades back.”

Not one blink still. His mouth had a cruel turn to it.

“It was your fault, yours and those lardy American pigs. They shrieked like pigs, too, when you cut
them up. Did you know?”

Jeongguk gulped.

He didn't know what was really happening, but those words kind of burst before his eyes and made
him see an image, a vision, but it wasn’t a place he’d ever been to. It was something from that
thing inside Jimin, that thing had a memory and a past. And it was, Jeongguk saw, a large
windowless space, something that reminded of a military base or another blocked complex. He
could almost smell it, the chemical clouds and dirty human bodies. It made the back of his throat
itch. The clouds, the blood-wet concrete, and a mix of foreign words.

He gave himself a shake. “I didn’t. I don’t know anything.”

“That’s right. Only good enough for puffing up your chest, all you sellout namhan pricks.”

“And you’re better?”

“In war, nobody is good,” Jimin said. “But nobody deserves to die away from home.”

It was the straw Jeongguk needed, and he desperately wanted to not fuck it all up.

He took a breath, curling his tied hands into fists in his lap. “And where’s your home?”

Jimin only looked at him. It was vile, how much that look had over Jeongguk, it had him over
good. He couldn’t turn away or even close his swollen eyes. He choked on his breath trying to look
away.

So haunting, the silence, bringing the tremors back. Jeongguk could almost feel his bones rattle as
Jimin dropped to his knees, eyes never leaving his, and leaned into his space.

The light couldn’t reach Jimin’s face like that, and his eyes were entirely swallowed by black.
Heavy hand came to rest on Jeongguk’s nape. Fingers threading through his damp hair, then
forming a fist and yanking him forward.

Jeongguk yelled, almost toppling over.

“You’re rotten,” Jimin hissed. “You wanna know of my home?”

Jeongguk nodded frantically in the painful hold, and it stung bad, so fucking bad, but the ghost
wouldn't let go. The thing in Jimin was not letting go, but instead it studied Jeongguk's face. A
hard, piercing gaze that made Jeongguk feel transparent.

“Nah,” Jimin drawled, “you wanna get rid of me. Just like all your people did before you. But you
don’t belong anywhere either, little man.”

Jeongguk felt his lungs give out. It was suffocating, like he was breathing rust.

“You’re just a little mongrel. Wandering around, taking it for granted, never finding a place to call
home. How could you ever understand?”

The grasp on his hair grew stronger until it turned his scalp numb. Everything burned, like there
was fire inside him and around him, like it was swallowing him whole, skin and all. He gritted his
teeth and shook his head.

“That’s not true,” he gasped out. “You’re in my home.”

“This stinky house isn’t your home.”

It wasn’t.

It wasn’t the house at all.

Jeongguk couldn’t say the right words, but it was the only thought spinning in his mind now. That
made Jimin pause. His hold slackened, if only a little, while he was considering the words.

Then he laughed, short and raspy. There was a smile playing on his lips now, so unsettling and
smug, nothing Jeongguk had ever seen on Jimin’s face.

“Poor little puppy,” Jimin laughed, “you found yourself a new bright toy. This boy of yours,” he
was positively leering, “is a goner. Don’t you know how this ends for soft bright things?”

Jeongguk was past talking now. He was too hot and sore, with brain pulsing like a bruise.

Jimin licked his lips, pointing at his own chest. “Little tiger cubs like him get slaughtered before
they can turn white. But this one was never gonna get there. No white fur for him.” Pulling at
Jeongguk’s hair again, pulling him close. “He’s been hanging about for so long his time’s all dreg
by now. But you didn’t know, did you?”

Jeongguk shook his head. There was something deeply cruel about that voice. And still Jeongguk
somehow knew, maybe feeling it too, that it had been born in a very sad place.

“How long you think he’s been here?” Jimin carried on. Jeongguk kept silent to the thing’s
annoyance. Jimin clicked his tongue. “You can’t help a creature like this.”

“I’m trying.”

“Can you understand this kinda living? Living for so long you lose all taste in your mouth? You
see the world bend out of color and shape. You see little puppies wither up and die.” Jimin pressed
his forefinger to Jeongguk’s cheek, traced down his jaw. The touch was sticky with Jimin’s blood.
“Puppies like you.”

Jeongguk felt their foreheads touch. Jimin’s skin was impossibly hot against his own feverish body.

“Time goes by so slow when there’s no end to it. You forget who you are. You can swallow all the
vices in town, in the whole world, you can love and hurt and fuck, but nothing helps.”

And Jeongguk wanted to stop him from talking, wanted to make him shut his mouth, but the thing
in Jimin held him down, rough.

“You’re alone and used up by so many who’re just passing through. Gets you tasteless. Turns you
into a thing. Usable, convenient. You’re in every crappy joke, ’cos you’re the punchline. You ever
felt that kind of bad, little man?”

Jeongguk felt his eyelids itch in the smoke. The pain surged throughout, numbing every little bit of
him.

“This cub of yours did,” Jimin said. "Did feel all of that. And this cub of yours is gonna go. I’m
gonna do this,” he clicked his fingers sharply, “and he’s gonna go. But you don’t have a whole
eternity to look for him, do you?”

“You won’t,” Jeongguk sounded so weak now.

Not only his voice, but all sound was fading, even the drum of his heartbeat. He tried reaching with
his tied hands to grab at Jimin’s necklaces, his damp collar and hair, but nothing worked of it. The
body wouldn’t listen.

The thing was smiling again, “But you see, he’s got a future now. You really think he didn’t know
what it meant for him? You really think he’ll pass out on a chance like that?”

“Like what?”

“To be free of you people.”

Nothing was making sense anymore. But the thing reached the end of it, saying: “Freedom is better
than you. Silly boy.”

“Stop,” Jeongguk almost growled. “Shut your mouth.”

“Just you wait,” Jimin whispered, lips brushing his ear, “you’re gonna be all alone again very
soon.”

Jeongguk couldn’t move. The urge to hurt was so strong, it burned beneath his skin, but this was
Jimin, this was just Jimin beyond all that tinsel. Soft and bright and old.

And Jimin’s lips were wet and hot against his jaw. The thing was mocking him.

It said, barely a whisper to his ear, “You wanna taste him, I can see that.”

They were suspended like that, open mouths barely touching, until Jeongguk grasped for the last
strength left in his body and pushed them apart.

Jimin hit the floor with a loud thump and didn’t move again, seemingly unconscious.

“Hyung,” Jeongguk rasped out. There was only silence. “Hyung, you’re okay.”

More silence. Jeongguk tried calming himself. “Hyung, you just rest now. You’re resting now,
right? You do that. I’m here.”

Sagging on the floor, Jeongguk realized his mouth was bleeding. He must’ve bitten himself. The
blood tasted like nothing, because there was no taste anymore, no smell or color, but the weight
was still cold in his stomach.

He perked up when Jimin let out a long breath.

“It’s gone,” Jeongguk muttered.

Then he felt it creeping in, inside of him.

Something picking at his brain. A force he couldn’t see. So cold and thick, filling his veins and
gripping him by the back of the head. It was talking to him so smoothly, in a soft whisper. Like a
patient parent or good teacher would.

His muscles felt frozen, useless. There should be a cure to this, Jeongguk thought, and kept calm.
Until some alien urge bounced around his head, telling him to move. This alien need, so hot and
forceful, was turning him violent at his core. His mind wasn’t his, and he could only watch
benignly as this something, invading his body, forced him forward, to grab for the knife somehow
and go very far and gut any living thing he’d see.

The knife was right there, glinting in the candlelight. His hands itched for it. But then his hands
could kill without it, too.

And the urge was so strong, the urge was overwhelming. To scratch someone open, rip at their
flesh, and tear and crush the life out of it. Jeongguk tried not to look at Jimin’s neck. The thing
inside him squirmed like a little worm, and he felt it dig deeper into his brain, trying to get its way.

An image flashed in his mind, pale blots of lifeless faces in pools of gooey red. And it was all of
them, his family and Academy friends, and Jung Hoseok with Park Jimin, all of them smiling with
those second mouths of their slit throats.

“Get fucked,” Jeongguk choked out.

He was losing his balance, finally, and thought that was it, that was gonna be it, but then he
managed to do something, get this chant out of him that helped him get a hold of his slipping
control. It was a chant which he didn’t remember knowing, but it helped, at least it seemed to. It
was helping.

Jeongguk kept with the chant the way Jimin would to make it all swim and swell and okay. He
kept at it until he felt the alien thing in his head expand and press at his skull. Then the thing burst,
letting out a wail only he could hear. The scream resonated through his entire body and eventually
died.

Jeongguk exhaled. There was static in his bones.

It hurt his chest badly, to breathe, and the pressure was coming down from all sides, and then the
shakes were back, stronger than before and gripping his limbs tight.

He kept put. His clothes were drenched. Everything smelled like bitter smoke and sweat, and he
realized he’d been crying.

Through the mist in his eyes, Jeongguk saw the lantern turn a bright red. There was a distant hiss,
coming from beneath it all—

—the recorder. Tape rolling. Jimin’s breathing.

And then the darkness was closing in, his vision tunneling and crawling with spots. Jeongguk bent
all the way down and emptied his lungs into the lantern.

The light flickered before going out.

Jeongguk woke to the afterimage of the red lantern, but the room was light. Retinal flares.

The color of the paper screen hinted at late morning. There were no screams now, only the croon of
the kitchen radio and someone’s calm breathing.
It took a moment to find focus and get his head cleared, and when he sat up, he saw the room had
been cleaned and aired. It smelled fresh, of winter and medicine. He found bottled water right next
to his mat and got a good gulp of it. Paused, drank all of it down.

To his left, right by the screen, slept Jimin. He lay on his back under a thick layer of blankets with
the top half of his face obscured by a compress. Jeongguk resisted the urge to touch him, touch him
just a little, just to make sure he was there. Alive and solid.

Jeongguk sat there, staring at his extended hand with a bandage wrapped across his palm. Must’ve
cut himself after all. He vaguely remembered the brass bowls ring when he was falling that night.

The dishes singing now. Mrs. Kim in the kitchen.

He had to get something more than water for his scorched mouth. Dressing up wasn’t the easiest
task with his entire body being one giant point of ache. He skipped the bathroom and headed
directly for the kitchen where he found a chirpy Mrs. Kim toiling over a huge pot. Smelled like red
bean porridge.

“You look much better,” she said, not looking up. “Honey water’s on the table. I used the water
from the well, you know.”

She looked proud of doing everything right, and Jeongguk felt this gross softness in him grow and
grow and fill his chest, so he took her free hand between his palms and squeezed tight. She seemed
so tiny and precious now, looking up at him with a smile of a honeyed grandmother. Jeongguk
immediately backed down, head hung low in shame of this kind of behavior with someone who
wasn’t family.

She was beaming, though, so Jeongguk stopped worrying.

He settled on his old cushion and slowly sipped the drink. Soon enough a bowl of deep-red, almost
brown patjuk was placed before him. There was a tiny raw egg cooking on the steaming hot
surface.

“Get your tummy full. I’ll make you better in no time.”

“What about hyung?”

She averted her eyes. “Ah, he’s not so bad. He talked in delirium. I thought I heard him cry.” She
smiled nervously. “But it’s all good now.”

Jeongguk ate in silence, thinking how this whole thing felt not unlike a really bad hangover. Like
this deep ache in the joints, and loud pounding in his head that made his skull feel a few sizes
smaller. And then there was the constant irritation inside his dried out tract, too. But the stomach
was all right, though.

He had to ask Jimin what the hell was in that brew. The thought made him pause with his spoon
poised above the bowl.

They’d have to go through the recording together soon. Last night’s memories were now like tinted
glass, shattered, and he could only pick at fragments and wonder if any piece of it were true or just
a distorted fantasy.

The tape had him talking so many shameful things. He remembered how earnest he’d been.
Something about home. About loneliness and war. Something about wanting to taste Jimin.
“My boy,” said Mrs. Kim, startling him, “you need more grease for those nasty burns.”

Jeongguk stared at her. She was saying something about aloe and grease she’d rubbed on his skin
when he was asleep, but how the treatment should be consistent. Looking at his red soup again,
Jeongguk realized what she’d been on about. Ligature on the wrists. The rope had burned deep
ugly lines into the skin there. No normal rope would do that, not this way, and Jeongguk figured it
was something to do with the ghost.

“Did Jimin say anything?” he asked. “In delirium?”

“Black water.”

He frowned. Checked his wrists again. “What?”

“‘Black water,’ that’s all he said.”

She fell silent, her eyes fixed on the translucent green in her cup.

“‘Black water, pull me down.’”

Jimin was waiting on the veranda, out in the back.

In Jeongguk’s old sweatpants and BMPA hoodie, he sat cross-legged on a sleeping mat and seemed
indifferent to the cold.

It was pushing to just ten degrees above zero, and Jimin stared at the pink skin of his hands that
clutched the tape recorder in his lap. He nodded wordlessly when Jeongguk sat next to him with a
mumbled greeting.

It’d taken another day for Jimin to wake up and regain some sort of awareness. They’d stuffed him
with medicine first, and Jeongguk had tended to the burns on Jimin’s neck, and then fed him plenty
until Jimin had to scurry off and spew it all out. He apologized to Mrs. Kim for hours, quiet and
ashamed, and she looked the way Jeongguk imagined old ladies of her soft kind looked at their
siblings.

“We got some lighter food for you,” Jeongguk was saying now, carefully studying Jimin’s
impassive face. “You gotta have something before we do the tape.”

“Tea’s fine,” Jimin said, tone noncommittal. He was watching whatever there was out in the sea,
something Jeongguk couldn’t see from here. “The waves are dark today.”

Beyond that garden and the walls, he said, a rough day on the water.

And sure enough Jeongguk couldn’t see it, but somehow he knew Jimin felt and saw it all as if all
nature siphoned through him. That thing had talked about something like that. Jeongguk found
himself wondering about Jimin’s age, the place—

“Are you okay?” Jimin asked, eyes still far away.

“Hyung,” he felt annoyed, “you’re… what do I need to do?”

“Do?” Jimin looked at him.

“To help you.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“The thing,” he hesitated, “the thing. He, it was a man. He said…”

A minute passed. Then Jimin smiled, “Bring me coffee or tea. And we’ll do the tape.”

There it was again, his talking without lying.

“Hyung splits me in the head,” Jeongguk told him and went to get the tea.

He had to suppress his inner stubborn cop he’d normally let loose when he had to shake the words
out of unwilling people. Something he’d done too often when he’d been wearing that academy
hoodie that was showing Jimin’s collarbones now. Same pink skin, but no sign of the chill.

Jimin’s neck looked better now. But the damaged skin, a peeling pink layer, was rough under
Jeongguk’s fingertips when he reached out to trace the prints. Jimin had burned it with his own
hands.

“It’s gonna heal fine,” Jimin said. He pushed Jeongguk’s hand away, taking it in his own. Traced
over Jeongguk’s wrist. “I’m sorry for what he did to you.”

“Don’t bother. He looked lost to me.”

Jimin looked at their clasped hands. Raised them to his lips. A soft press of a smile to Jeongguk’s
burnt wrist.

“Get some clothes,” he said. “You’re shaking.”

The tape turned out to be a burst of white noise. Not all of it, but a good and very important chunk.
And anyway, Jeongguk wasn’t the right person to judge how much of the ritual had been lost,
having been completely off his balls at the time.

That night had been a fog, but he remembered the... confession, the one that’d been licked out of
him. He’d been nervous to see Jimin’s reaction to it, but the white noise swallowed that confession
too.

It didn’t matter now.

They spent an hour with the tape, playing, deciphering, rewinding.

“Anything like that happen to you before? Your old recordings?” Jeongguk eventually asked.

“No,” Jimin said and rewound again. “Takin’ my bread’n’butter.”

What an odd thing for him to say, Jeongguk thought, smiling. Because it sounded like Busan in
Jimin’s drawl. Someone once told Jeongguk that people who got habitual together often started
talking alike.
“Seems like we only got your conversation with Minam,” Jimin sighed. Then patted Jeongguk on
the knee. “You did good. You sound good.”

“I spooked her. Made her die. I sent her through her own death again.” Sent you there, too, he
wanted to say, but knew it was a stupid thing to do.

“You did good,” Jimin reached for his hand and squeezed it once. “Don’t beat yourself up. I didn’t
feel a thing.”

Another hour, more of the same. Too much noise on the tape, but every rewind was making the
few words there had been before a little cleaner.

Jeongguk watched Jimin jot it down in his little notebook while rewinding again and again. The
hiss of the tape was now a stream of background noise to Jeongguk. He was kind of distracted, and
Jimin’s red ears and the red tip of his nose were a pretty point of focus. His thoughts drifted in odd
directions.

Like where, for instance, was Jimin born? What exactly led him to this moment, and how he’d
managed to not go completely mad. Maybe he was mad, a little.

Jimin seemed ordinary a lot of times, but then Jimin would be in the middle of his forest clearing,
running weird kind of faces by himself, and Jeongguk would fall deeper into this person and keep
phasing in and out, feeling something final or precious.

Fear and longing. The base need to simply be with Jimin. To learn what had made this guy,
whoever he was, however long he’d been.

“What’s this?” Jimin muttered, hitting stop. Rewinding. Playing back. “Do you hear it?”

Jeongguk leaned closer to the recorder, trying to hear through the muffled static. There was clearly
someone whispering.

“It’s tonal,” Jeongguk said. “You get any of this?”

“A little.”

“That word. Isn’t that water?”

“Red dragonflies,” Jimin said and wrote it in hanzi.

They stopped the tape when the whisper was cut by another burst of noise, and Jeongguk looked at
four more lines Jimin had written. He couldn’t read it. “How’s that relevant? Play again.”

Jimin did. This time the whispering was different. The words were different. Korean but nothing
regional.

Black water, it hissed, pulled me down. And I drank it, I drank an ocean.

Jimin wrote it down. Then replayed again.

This time it whispered: I’d done great evil, and it’d gotten easier to do.
They shared a look. Like piecing back a mirror, Jeongguk thought.

Much later, after countless rewinds, they were staring at a page full of blue ink. Jimin’s writing had
been messy in his rush.

Jimin read out the first lines in accented Mandarin. It sounded simple but to Jeongguk it was a right
mouthful. Jimin took some time to mull over it.

Then, in Korean: “Red dragonflies—gently dragonflies stop. On the rocks, gently, dragonflies
stop. On the water gently they stop. In the wind gently they stop.”

“What is it?”

“A song.”

“A lullaby?”

“A rhyme. For a child...”

Jimin cleared his throat and started reading the rest.

He did it in a strange voice, a little raspy from disuse.

“Black water pulled me down. And I drank it, I drank an ocean. I’d done great evil, done for years,
and it’d gotten easier to do.”

The words made Jimin’s voice resonate with something new. Low and deeply tired.

“But they were no different, they were murderers too. They took us in and fed us dirt, but we
weren’t dogs, we were different kinda animals. We’d chew whole bones, and we’d gnaw on burnt
flesh. Lotta crazed fellas were with me, lotta violence in the barracks. They made pigs bleed often,
those little whiny American pigs.”

He read the lines like an actor would read a new script for the first time.

In this remote voice, as if it were coming through a wall.

“Every night I heard Zhang sing to his daughter, a little baby still, somewhere there behind the
Blue Mountains. Zhang sang every night, but I couldn’t understand a thing. Something about water
and wind. He prayed a whole lot. He got only silence. Silence was all we got. Silence was my stew.
I was falling apart like steamed fish. I was getting violent.”

Jimin had to take a shaky breath.

“I was getting violent. Every one of us was. The barracks were filling with it, it was swelling in the
air, and I knew we’d break free.

"But when that cloud burst, I was out at sea. All war trash who could navigate waters was used to
work that boat.

“Zhang by my side, we heard the captain receive orders from the land command. We were to be
neutralized. And they did, they done us good. Bodies so close, packed like sardines in a tin box,
and so hot, shit, how hot it was. Like breathing coals.

“Our lungs parboiled. I felt mine turn to soot. In the dark, I watched others suffocating by my side.
I couldn’t see in the dark, but I did. I did see. I felt death with my skin. Desperation soaks you
through when you feel your body die.”

At that point of the story, Jimin lowered his voice to a whisper. It set off shivers on Jeongguk’s
skin.

“Zhang held me as he went down. He sang and sang, that little song about water and wind. He
spewed on the floor, and all I could see was blood and black kinda slime. He spewed till it blocked
his throat. I lay in sweat and soot and heard their last moans of pain die, and Zhang…

"Zhang made no other sound. There was darkness. I’d liked the hold of it years before. But it’d
been so long. So long.

“And when I came to, I heard an axe. It wasn’t chopping any wood. It met bone. I saw the deck
black as coal, and the sky cold as ice. The blade on a rusty handle, in the captain’s hands. It
swooshed in the thick air. The captain axed each corpse only once. I lay with others under the dull
sky. It was a thin film of milk. I realized it was the fog.

“My turn came. But he hovered, he looked me in the eye, and I couldn’t speak. Can you see my
eyes? I wanted to scream. My lungs had turned to ashes. My throat was numb, but I knew the gas
had burned it to shreds. He looked me in the eyes. His were clouded, gone. Like the fog at sea.
Mine were half the size. He looked for a long time. I felt visible for the first time in months. Can
you see my eyes?”

Jeongguk knew the rest but still clutched the duvet in his lap.

“He moved on. Walked to the next body. Was that it? Was that it? Would they let me go? Would
they let me go home?”

Jimin paused. Licked his lips.

He read the last sentence: “Black water pulled me down.”

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ

“So,” Heeyeon said, “you finally had a proper lead.”

“Depends how you look at it. All the leads before were proper. Until a meth head closed the
Hwang case.”

Distant boom of fireworks across the bay. Somewhere beyond the rocks, the night sky went in
flashes. Heeyeon watched it change color for a while.

“So what’d you think about that ghost?”

“Obviously a soldier. The shit he’d said on the tape, it got us thinking yook-i-o. But we didn’t have
his name, nobody’s name, actually, just that Zhang guy, and with that kinda info you won’t get far
in the archives. The whole thing was obscure as fuck.”
“But?”

“Mass execution wasn’t. That,” he took out a cigarette, tapped it on the patio table, “was a war
crime.”

“That’s not an easy thing to go digging up.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Impossible to dig up, even.”

“It was. Jimin-hyung said to quit before even trying.”

“But you did try?”

Jeongguk shrugged, making that vague sound of whatever. “Wasted my time.”

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ

On his days off, even in winter, Hoseok was always down to his underwear at home. It was like
that with him, just living in his skin, whatever the weather. Jeongguk used to think most dudes
were like that, but Hoseok had showed him some other level of embracing own bare-assed chill.

And now there Hoseok was on his tattered couch, un-bare and bundled up to his neck.

Jeongguk was still waiting for a reply.

He’d avalanched his investigation progress—rather heavily edited—just moments earlier, and was
beginning to feel really unnerved in the silence. From his place behind the kitchen island, he could
see Hoseok trying—and really trying—to not be an asshole.

“How do you expect me to sell this?” Hoseok finally said. He didn’t sound like anything. Maybe a
little baffled. “War crime shit like that is either top tier sealed military, or don’t got paper trail at
all. And to get Song send an official request? On vague-ass grounds? Even if you had all the
evidence in the world, it’d take, like, half a year to be processed down at JCS.”

He kept playing with the threads at the waistband of his old sweatpants. It seemed like his mind
had strayed far from here.

“Even if the Chief wasn’t gonna kill you for just mentioning the thing, he’d never approve the
request.” Hoseok looked out the window at the rain-wet veranda. “Ah, I’m sorry, Jeonggukkie.”

Shrill ringing cut through their sticky silence. Hoseok’s phone.

Hoseok discarded the comforter and leaned over the arm of the couch to palm at the floor where
the phone was vibrating insistently. With the thing in hand, he fell back against the cushions and
just stared at this screen without a single blink, going full-on corpse until the call was cut.

He thumbed at the screen and threw the device to the other side of the couch. Sighed, rubbed his
face. It was a little sunken, but not from lack of sleep at all.

“You okay?” Jeongguk asked, looking at his exposed collarbones. The skin of his neck was gently
bruised.
“All’s fine.”

Jeongguk looked around, really looked.

The sink was full. Bin overflowing, coffee stains on the counter. This sour smell mixed with
smoke, lingering. Shoes strewn carelessly. Toppled dragon tree messing up the light linoleum with
dirt.

Hoseok was the cleanest person he knew. Hoseok also had proper claw marks running down his
shoulders. It wasn't just that the smell was sour, it was sex-reek.

Jeongguk widened his eyes. “Have you met someone?”

“Kinda.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Doubt it.”

Something in his otherwise lifeless voice drew Jeongguk in. Hoseok truly did look beat. His mouth
showed that ugly fraction of sad, the total blue funk. Then there were his long fingers running idle
patterns under his jaw, a thing he’d always do without much thinking. There was no token chain
around Hoseok’s neck.

“No way,” Jeongguk said, stunned. “You didn’t—that asshole.”

“Jeongguk.”

“I can’t believe that asshole had the balls to just—”

He was somehow too upset to form words.

“—what a literal fucking—”

Hoseok put up his hands. “Listen, it’s fine. I’m fine. It’s chill. I’m glad it’s finally over.”

Finally over, Jeongguk thought.

Finally over, Jeon Jeongguk, you dried up dense cockhead. All this time his hyung had been in need
of closure, maybe to talk or for someone to see and care for all this heartache jive. All this time,
and Jeongguk failed, the dried up cockhead he was.

And now he had to handle this well.

“And what, hyung, you thought a sad and hard wall fuck would be, like, the perfect juicy coda?”

Well, wow. That was his communication skill. But a lot of times it worked with Hoseok, and often
only with him.

Hoseok got to his feet, shooting Jeongguk a disappointed glare. “Don’t you lecture me on
relationships, buddy.”

Jeongguk was sure his ears burned red. “Sorry.”

He picked at the edge of the island just to avoid looking at Hoseok. The mustard-yellow surface
had more stains on it. He scraped at the dried up spot in curiosity. “Oh no,” he gasped. Stared at
his hand. “Hyung, you didn’t.”

Hoseok sauntered up to stand on the other side of the island. He looked a little pleased now,
scratching at his chest through his thin shirt while he eyed the stains. “Yeah, I kinda did. Kinda
was always his thing. Called it the cum-plum. Get it, ’cos—”

“I get it,” Jeongguk wanted to say, but yelled instead in a very high-pitched voice.

His face morphed into a grimace, not from the cum-plums but his marginally shitty tolerance of sex
talk. He walked to the sink and barely worked sticking his palm between the tap and the tower of
dirty plates. Wiping his hands on the towel afterwards, he gave it all another thought.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“About cum-plums? Well, you see, my boy, it’s kinda—”

“Not about—” He groaned. “C’mon, hyung.”

Hoseok huffed. He took a long gulp from a water bottle and rinsed his mouth.

“You were running around chasing monster movies. If that's what kids call it these days.”
Something in Jeongguk’s shocked face appeared to amuse him endlessly. He laughed. “What?
Thought I didn't know you and Jimin were fucking around the mountain top?”

“We weren’t. We’re—friends.”

“Good,” Hoseok nodded. “Friends are very important.”

With that he slid the veranda door open and padded out, barefoot. Cursing under his breath,
Jeongguk went to fetch some socks.

He filled the pot for the coffee, watching the water through the level indicator coming to a boil,
and then mixed up two cups of instant. The synthetic smell always irritated his nose. He shoved the
socks in his jacket pocket and walked out to the veranda.

Hoseok was at the rail with a cigarette pack in hand. He was turning it over absently. Jeongguk
insisted he wore the socks and his jacket too, and shoved the cup into his hands.

“How cute,” Hoseok mused, “normally it’s me who mothers you.”

“Well, sometimes mothers get sad.”

He saw Hoseok smile, eyes on the street and hands curled around the warm ceramic. “I know what
you’re thinking,” Hoseok said. “But they say if you can’t get over it, you can always get through
it.”

“I see you got through it with some battle wounds.”

“Prick’s always been a biter,” Hoseok muttered. “Got himself such pink mouth, real small too,
which would be cheery, but he got that attitude of, like, being real intimate with his own ejaculate.
Like it was some white gold shit.”

Hoseok chewed on the filter. He looked more irritated by the second.

“And that was a metaphor, by the way. Like he was convinced every shitty little thought that
crossed his head had to be voiced, you know? ’Cos he was so goddamn important. Had a hard life
and all, which sure meant it was chill to be a total dick. ’Cos he was the shit. Genius with
opinions.”

“So it was about respect?”

It took Hoseok three attempts to light the cigarette. When he did, he took a long, tasty drag of it.

“He respected me enough. But I wasn’t gonna try for someone who just refused to stop being an
edgy asshole. I mean, doesn’t that shit die out at, like, nineteen or whatever?” He scraped at one of
his cuticles, nails as manicured as ever. “Tell ya what. All that edgy folk ain't so tough with a
mouthful of dick, that’s for sure.”

“Please,” Jeongguk laughed.

It was the first time Hoseok was so rude and unapologetic around him. Not bad, because Hoseok
deserved to be a lot more than just rude with his lifetime of tolerating everyone’s ego traffic.

“Hyung, are you really okay?

“I am. Just need some time for that replevin.”

They talked for a long time, which Jeongguk counted in the smokes Hoseok had been having. Five
and a half. All it took for Hoseok to settle back into his caring and observant role.

And when he did, he patted Jeongguk’s shoulder, saying: “I’m sorry, Jeongguk. I know this dead
end shit is driving you mad. But we gotta let it go. You gotta let it go.”

“It’s just,” he held it for a second, “unfair.”

“Life means getting through unfair choices. You survive that — you’re good.”

And Hoseok had gone through more than just that. He sometimes mentioned that pain in passing,
but prefered not to disperse any of his bygone and filthy-sweet pus.

Jeongguk took a deep breath. “How did you end it?”

“Just said what I needed to say.”

“It’s really not a thing most people can do.”

“Honesty is scary and painful. But it's the only way to get done with old wounds. Don’t be keeping
them around. These things, people, are toxic.”

That made a lot of sense, but Jeongguk wasn’t sure he was capable of that type of bravery.

“Y’know, he didn’t come here for me,” Hoseok said, and it sounded like boredom. “You’ll meet
his kind a lot. Truly self-centered people who believe they’re not.”

“He called you just now, right?”

“Won’t call again. When an ego like that takes a hit...”

Jeongguk saw him scratch at his chest absently. “You gave up your token.”

“Away with the words. You should do that too,” Hoseok said.
 “What?”

“Say what you need to say.”

He thought about all the ways he could be saying all this gentle shit to Jimin, and… well, fuck that.

“I can’t. I dunno.”

Hoseok nodded, still deep in thought. “Maybe it’s for the best.” He took another sip of the garbage
mix and winced. “It’s not like you’re gonna be here for long, is it?”

“It’s not like you can know.”

Or why Jeongguk was there in the first place. Maybe it was the wrong thing to say, because
Hoseok was putting his cup on the table and turning to face him. What a serious face that was.

“Listen, doesn’t matter what you did. I get that the big boss is pals with your daddy, that’s why
you’re still not grilled meat. I get that. But that’s also why you’ll be going back soon enough. They
keep boys like you under the table only for a year or so.”

Hoseok saw right through him, as always, because the summer would come, and Jeongguk would
have to go back.

“Though,” Jeongguk began and couldn’t finish it.

“Though?”

“Do I really wanna go, though.”

Hoseok scoffed. “Sure you do. Look at you. You little city fuck. You’ll wither up and die in this
shithole.”

Wither up and die. Puppies like you. Words that made his stomach ache.

“Right,” Hoseok said, like an underline, “let’s get my place less dump-looking. It’s like, who even
am I, you know?”

Chapter End Notes

im leavin u with this for now, whoever read this

 Ants in the Water
Chapter Notes

intense ghost talk (tears, frozen balls)

poetic frottage, hair pulling
brief drooly blowies
explicit, kinda

See the end of the chapter for more notes

It was Lunar New Year’s night, a Thursday, when Jeongguk decided to swing by and have a quiet
moment away from the cabbage house, but mostly to see if Jimin was recovering all right.

“I’m feeling better, calm down,” Jimin said as Jeongguk followed him into the kitchen. “Are you?”

“Like a peach.”

It’d been ages since their talk with the choking girl and a soldier’s ghost—a blur of a fever night
back in January—but it had shaken Jimin just a little too much at the core, and Jeongguk could still
see it all too well; how Jimin was slower to react now, little space-outs here and there, or how his
patience was running thin.

Jeongguk settled on the floor and stared at the scratched table surface.

Faded blues of those cheap folding tables reminded him of his grandmother’s apartment. Her place
was for ants, he’d always thought, but she’d told him something about how ants made rafts in the
water, from their own bodies that is, and it was just them sticking together to float along and
survive together like that.

He still wasn't sure how any of that related to her apartment being a tiny shithole.

“And how’s Inspector Jung?”

After that first try, Jeongguk had been nagging poor Hoseok with the obscure soldier thing every
day, even on Hoseok's birthday, which they'd spent very far away from any clubbing, because they
hadn't been exactly ready for another sweaty fest of spit-roasting and acid burn.

“Hoseok’s…” Jeongguk pursed his lips. “In a tumult.”

“A tumult,” Jimin let out a snort, a really cute one, and put a small bowl of tteokguk before
Jeongguk. “Tumult or not, he can’t help us, so would you please stop fucking pestering him.”

There that new temper was, but Jeongguk hardly minded. “You told me already.”

“Yeah, you know, just like I told you last week. And another before that. You know, just as I said
you shouldn’t have bothered him in the first place with this shit.”

“Ah, shut up,” he grumbled. He could feel a glare burning holes through his face. “Hyung.”

“Will you eat it already? I really need you to get that one year, like, now. Get older, c’mon.”
Jimin had already finished his portion, and even though he sounded kind of done, he was smiling
with some new type of softness.

Jeongguk groaned into his spoonful. “Done.”

“Good boy,” Jimin joked, picking at his nails. “You were saying?”

“I was saying.” What was he ever? Ah, the ghost talk. “So what now?”

“We’ll have to question everyone.”

“You can poke at the neighbors all you want, they don’t know anything.”

“I was talking about Hwang Minam’s parents. And the others.”

“Hyung,” Jeongguk almost dropped his spoon, “can you handle so many? How many tries will that
take?”

“Some.”

“You’re…” Jeongguk remembered the shadowed face Jimin had after the possession, the blood
coating his hands. “You weren’t that well. And you had two.”

“That was a textbook rite on a normal day. There’s another way.”

“Another way,” he studied the murky soup surface, “not textbook. Which means it’s dangerous.”

“No. Just means not many know of it.”

“’Cos it’s dangerous.”

“’Cos I’m very special,” Jimin made a show of flipping his hair, that self-mocking thing he did
sometimes, but Jeongguk only stared.

He rushed to swallow half a bowl in one go and ended up burning his tongue. He winced. “So what
is it?”

“Well, first of all,” Jimin smiled, “it’s dangerous.”

Jeongguk scowled.

Kkachi pawed her way into Jeongguk’s lap to maybe make him chill off a bit. Palm squashing his
cheek, Jimin seemed to enjoy this quiet moment of being silly.

Petting the cat, Jeongguk took in that serene expression. It looked genuine, and Jeongguk wished
Jimin could just… do that more often. He wished Jimin could just stop lying.

But thinking like that, Jeongguk wondered if Jimin was still capable of caring—and caring for real,
not just some template motions—caring or being a real person by this point at all. But Jeongguk
wasn’t the one to tell Jimin what to do anyway.

Jimin’s face turned serious again. He was playing idly with his thick wristbands, not meeting
Jeongguk’s eye at first.

“Last thing I want is to put you in danger,” he finally said. “And this thing will.”
He’d kinda been in danger even back in Busan for plenty other reasons, Jeongguk wanted to say,
but decided not to try his luck with Jimin’s shaky moods.

“I don’t care,” he said instead.

“I do,” Jimin looked at him. It was like something snapping. “I care. If anything…” He swallowed,
hard. “It’s not easy to carry that kind of guilt. Be the reason of someone hurting.”

“I know.” Felt like led on his tongue. “But I really can’t, I really can’t go on like this anymore. I
need to know.”

“Why?”

“I just do.”

“And that’s it?”

Jeongguk bit his lip. “And then we catch him.”

Jimin scoffed. “Told you, we can’t catch him without his name. And even if we get the name,
catching him can never be a permanent thing if…”

“What?”

“If he is what I think he is.”

“What’s that?”

“Gaekgwi," Jimin drawled out the first vowel, to maybe show his displeasure. "Wayfarer ghost.”

“Are they different?”

“They die differently. Suicide, murder, drowning.” Jimin paused. “They’re ghosts by death away
from home.”

That soldier, Jeongguk realized, was a lot of those things. Choked by that black water, by the hands
of his own people.

Jimin carried on, saying how these wandering spirits were not living or dead, caught between the
worlds, and infected all things of life they managed to stick to, spreading illness with their
grievance and burning people from inside.

And then that they could never go away or find peace, or really be trapped in any way other ghosts
could normally be.

“They just are,” Jimin said.

“Guess they’re lonely as hell, huh?”

“Not really. They don’t really remember these kinda feelings, the need for them, you know? And
when you’re like that, how else would you go about existing? When you wanna see that you still
are?”

Those poor lost things, as he explained, attached themselves to a living body or house, not often
even invading, but sure enough they could be repelled or chased away.
And well, their ghost was nothing like that, a very bizarre and angry spirit. He was lucky to end up
on land after all the years of wandering at sea, that tiny bit of water where he’d died.

“So we can’t do anything about him?”

“No. It’s hard to do a thing about something I’ve no idea about. No name, no home, no purpose…”
There was something like a promise in Jimin’s voice, if only the slightest hint of it.

“But?”

“But with a name I might think of something. Dunno what yet. But if you really need me to, I
might.”

Jeongguk reached out across the table, gingerly taking Jimin’s warm hand. The rings were cold
against his skin. Jimin’s silver was always so burning cold.

“That’s a new one,” Jeongguk suddenly said, thumbing at the new ring.

This one’s silver band was so dirty it almost looked black, with an unpolished stone of dull blue.

“Yeah. Someone died,” Jimin said. “I went there this morning.”

Thing was, Jeongguk still had trouble wrapping his head around all of this, the charms and old
jewelry, how it all had to do with the town people attaching their dead to him like that, how the
mountain was making Jimin go painfully hot whenever he got away, and the voice…

But if Jimin could carry rotten things like that, he could get the soldier’s name too, couldn’t he?
Shake it out of the dead victims, one by one until someone would finally spill. And then figure out
what to do with that angry violent soul, and do it, and maybe then Jeongguk would drop the fear
and the nightmares, and help Jimin too.

Help him after all of this, after all of this was done. Help him before Jeongguk would have to go
back to Busan.

Jimin could do this, Jimin could. He could.

“He didn’t tell you his name that night,” Jimin said, pulling away. Said that the victims would
probably not know it either.

Or wouldn’t say, Jeongguk thought, afraid of what might come for them in the dark place.

“Smells like a fat chance,” Jeongguk agreed. “So when do we do this?”

“Great full moon.”

So fifteen days from Seol, which meant it would fall somewhere on the first week of March.
Somewhere, because Jeongguk wasn’t up for real counting right then. “What else?”

“Nothing. Just us and some dopey amplifiers. A place in the sea with lotsa sacred energy. It’s
just…”

Jimin glanced at him warily.

“What?”

“It’s just, the water is freezing at night.”

Jeongguk let that sink in. How would that be, exactly, staying in the water the entire rite, in and
under.

“How long’s that gonna take?”

“Depends how they decide to communicate with me.”

“And what’s my part?”

“You’re—”

Jimin unwrapped a lollipop, something purple this time, and sucked on it as he looked for words.
Jeongguk scratched at his cheek absently, looking away.

“—a conductor. Sort of.”

“How come?”

“They’re attached to you. They’ve all been to your head, you see. Your mind’s guests.”

“I’ll have to, uh… dream real again?”

“Just a bit.”

The first full moon was also the day of the ghosts, Jimin was saying as he stood to do something
about the dishes.

“Under the water you’ll open up and let them out,” he said. “And I’ll let them in. And this time I
can remember it. But please… think about it. Think well, okay?”

There was a good reason to Jimin’s reservations, Jeongguk could see it, but there was no way he
could let this thing go.

It took another long hour for him to think it all over while he meandered through the house. He
could hear Jimin singing in his room.

“Okay,” he said, coming to Jimin’s door. “But we’re taking the car. We gotta sleep there, right?”

No way he would be able to drive after that exposure to the cold, and hallucinogens, and Jimin
turning all sick and inside out.

“We’ll take the car.” Jimin nodded. “And something for the fever.”

“And a portable heater. No, an electric blanket.”

“You can’t do that kinda heating,” Jimin smiled at him, “with hypothermia. Could stop your
heart.”

“I know.” Jeongguk scowled. “Just the car then.”

Jeongguk parked Honda on the cliff above the beach.

He opened the trunk to unpack the first aid kit, just in case, and get blankets ready. After folding
down the back seats into a bunk, he rolled a mat over it to make up for the rough upholstery.

It wasn’t supposed to be a long ritual, but they’d be feeling its time in the cold water for sure.
Jeongguk glanced around. It was bright, but the waves under the rocky slope shone with dark blues,
looking almost black in the clear March air.

He cringed at the lone figure down on the beach who was dipping his feet in dark waters. Jimin
had gone first to get himself ready with his own brew, having said something about also giving his
energy for Jeongguk’s trippy mash he’d made.

It had to be fresh, he’d explained, the shroom gruel. “They gotta hold the warmth of my hands
under your tongue,” he’d said. Jeongguk had called him gross.

After fetching a blanket and some water, Jeongguk went down. The wind was rising the closer he
moved to the water.

Under all the white, there was a stripe of gray sand. Its own shine was dull but reminded Jeongguk
of dirty snow. The tide combed the sand into a sheet that made it look like no person had stepped
foot there before.

Jimin was standing in the middle down the beach line, the white sea foam lapping at his ankles. He
was naked and still, and his dark skin and the ink on his back were glowing. It was hard to avoid
staring.

Jeongguk dropped the blanket on the sand, drank a good half of his water, and began undressing.

“Fuck,” he said as soon as his skin was fully exposed to the night. Folding in on himself, shoulders
hunched, he tucked his fingers under his arms for warmth. “Fuckin’ hell.”

He walked slowly into the sea. His teeth started chattering.

“Little bit more,” Jimin said.

They took another step together, and another, until the water was reaching their knees. Shoulders
touching, they waited five minutes to midnight.

Jimin finished warming the plastic cup in his hands. He’d shed all his silver, and Jeongguk thought
he could glow all by himself, just in his skin. Jeongguk thought a lot of things while getting used to
being so bare, and soon his body was accustomed to the numbing water.

“Well, that’s not so bad,” he laughed. It came out nervous. “You done?”

“Yeah.” Jimin turned to him, placing a hand on his chest. The touch burned right through
Jeongguk’s skin. “Open up.”

Jimin’s eyes were entirely black, little shiny pools that sent warmth through Jeongguk.

Fuck, Jeongguk thought, shit’s got me good.

He opened his mouth, and Jimin’s careful fingers pressed on his bottom lip, sliding the softened
shroom mash under his tongue.

“Let it melt. Dissolve, sorta. Swallow only then. It’s light. Only good enough to give you a better,
well, connection.”
Jeongguk licked at the fingers that still rested on his lip, sucking just a little, and almost mewled at
the gasp that earned him. Jimin pulled away. He sipped from the cup, watching the moon. The
strong line of his neck was basked in shadows and light, and Jeongguk forced himself to stop
thinking like this, just for fucking once.

“Done,” he announced, his tongue prodding around for any leftovers.

“Good. Give it ten.”

“Only ten?”

“Ten’s enough for this one.”

It was the longest ten minutes in his life. Chilly, horrible silence.

“Okay,” Jimin said, “now lie down.”

After crumpling the cup, Jimin threw the little plastic ball over to the beach. It hit the water bottle
by the blanket.

Slowly, as he shook in his tension, Jeongguk lay onto the soft sand of the shallows. He splayed out
with his legs outstretched, hissing at every bit of his body being submerged, and then propped
himself up on his elbows. The sand barely gave under him, undertow almost non-existent. The
water reached to just below his nipples, and he was trying very hard not to rub himself for warmth.

“You’re doing good,” Jimin was reassuring, his voice like a melody. “Breathe now, while you
can.”

With that Jimin planted his feet firmly in the sand and straddled Jeongguk's hips. And it knocked
all breath out of Jeongguk, having that weight—somehow so warm even now—settle on his lower
belly and making all so much blurrier with tension.

Jimin didn’t move at first and simply stared, maybe also doing that special breathing thing of his.
His chest was rising slowly. The moon outlined him sharply, like some thick white brush, and his
skin was smooth and dark. Breeze caught in his messy hair.

“That’s it,” Jimin said.

Only then Jeongguk realized he’d also calmed his breathing just right. He had to focus on himself,
but he couldn’t keep his eyes off Jimin who was concentrating on washing the skin of Jeongguk’s
neck. Scooping water in his palms as he balanced on top, then pouring it on the dry parts of skin.
Under Jeongguk’s jaw, down his neck and chest, caressing it in slow motions.

There was a rhythm to it, like some low commotion.

“Jeongguk,” he called once he was done. “You have to hold me. I’m not the best swimmer.”

“It’s, like, knee-deep. How’re you not a swimmer in this town?”

“Well, you know,” Jimin smiled, that cute and childlike kind, so out of place, “I’ve lived in the
mountains forever.”

Shifting his weight to one arm, he reached to hold Jimin’s thigh. It was strained under his touch.
He palmed up to Jimin’s side, feeling the warmth of his skin, the subtle shift of muscle. Jeongguk’s
insides were swinging. His heart, too.
He let his fingertips run over Jimin’s ribcage. Soft, he thought, breathing heavy. He clenched his
jaw in the cold. There was a nasty scraping sound resonating in his skull. His own teeth, he
realized.

“Jeongguk,” Jimin chuckled, guiding the stray hand just below his ribs for better support, “right
here. With both hands, even when I hold you down. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Don’t let me go.”

Once he got a proper grip on Jimin’s body, Jeongguk let himself be pushed down. Jimin’s strong
thighs pressed against his hips, and his ass moved lower. Jeongguk let his nails dig into Jimin’s
warm sides, knowing he’d be leaving that skin red, but now it hardly mattered. Now Jimin’s skin
seemed to absorb the moonlight, sort of like a mirror for the white flickers on the sea surface.

There was a hitch of fear in Jeongguk’s breath when only his face remained above the level. The
water burned along the edge.

“Easy,” Jimin soothed, one hand supporting his neck. “Breathe out and go under. Breathe it all out
like when you’re dead.”

And Jeongguk was falling, his heart sinking in that split fear, so he moved one hand to hold onto
Jimin’s shoulder. It slid down from shoulder to chest where Jimin held it, pressing tight over his
heart. It thumped calmly, the sound of it somehow... big.

“It won’t be long. But it’s gonna feel like forever. Try not to panic. I’m here. Okay?”

Jeongguk nodded with a shaky breath.

“Like when you’re dead,” Jimin said and pushed.

The last thing Jeongguk saw before going down was the light dim in Jimin’s eyes.

The water surface wasn’t the color of silver like it would’ve been in daytime.

Jeongguk felt immediately claustrophobic in the cold darkness. Jimin’s blurry form was in his line
of vision, but he soon had to close his eyes to escape the horrible sting of salt.

Pinned to the bottom by Jimin’s hot weight, he let himself sink deep into another kind of darkness.
His nails dug deep into the flesh of Jimin’s sides, somewhere far from here, up above. How was he
so hot?

Dimly, Jeongguk registered a pair of hands closing around his throat. That was the first ghost
forcing itself out of his dream, he knew, but wanted to scream. A hot wave surged through him, as
if he really were some kind of conductor, and he felt himself twitch all over.

“Mister,” came a distant whisper.

Jeongguk squeezed his eyelids tighter.

“Mister. What happened?”

Needles prickled his skin until all that was cold flipped, spreading liquid fever through him. He
spasmed, seeing fireworks paint his eyelids, and he could swear he felt the subtle sound of his eye
movements.

Then the weight above him shifted, from his belly all the way down to his groin, and he tensed up,
sliding against Jimin’s backside, slipping, slipping—

Jeongguk felt that Jimin was leaning closer, pressing hands to Jeongguk’s numb temples.

Don’t let me go, Jimin had said.

Right, he thought, trying to focus on something.

On his numbing mind or physical body, now so distant.

Sure it was very physical, his riled up body was enough of a proof, even in the freezing water, but
the surface seemed years away, and that was where his hands held Jimin, and where Jimin swayed
on top of him, probably exhausting all of himself up in that dream.

He sure hoped Jimin was getting some answers.

It’d only been seconds, he knew. But like Jimin had said, it did feel like hours.

So much that he started cramping all over, and even more so when he heard someone scream, far
away above the surface.

Lungs so empty and burning now, Jeongguk thought more and more of the bad ways it could end.
His awareness narrowed down to a tiny dot, and he couldn’t feel much in the water anymore, only
his constricted chest and loud pulse.

“Mister.”

That voice again. It grew closer, so close he was sure he could feel lips brush his ear.

“What happened?”

He gave up. He looked. A pair of dark eyes stared down at him. The dead boy’s pale face appeared
almost green in the water.

“Mister,” he said, but his mouth wasn’t moving.

It echoed in Jeongguk’s mind. Like a hiss of static.

“You deserve this,” the voice whispered again. “You deserve this.”

Jeongguk couldn’t move. It was the salt, the salt was stinging and making all a blur. Another
second, and the boy’s face was right next to his, their foreheads touching.

“I hope,” the static filled his ears again, “that you choke.”
The boy’s mouth opened in a silent scream. The water bubbled up as if it were coming to a boil.

Jeongguk closed his eyes, his heart pounding. It was deafening. He felt muffled, his head and his
throat; he was choking.

A cry came from the surface. A cry so deeply pained, it seemed so familiar...

He jolted.

Something slippery under his palms then, and he knew it was him letting go of Jimin. More
convulsions racked his body, but he wasn’t really there for it. His mouth went slack, and cold water
came rushing in. His eyelids snapped open, but he could feel no more sting.

All was fading as Jeongguk drifted in and out. Then the weight was pressing on him, like
something lifeless; his arms moved by their own accord, wrapping around Jimin’s prone body.

With one last surge, he pushed to the surface.

It was blinding.

The night was white now, seemed that way at least, in his dimmed vision. He could pass out any
second. But the weight felt dead in his arms while he coughed up water for what seemed like
hours. When he could finally breathe, the ice around him came crashing down.

Jimin was breathing shallowly in his embrace.

“Hyung,” Jeongguk croaked. “We’re fine. Look at us.” He laughed, patting Jimin softly on the
cheek.

There was no sign of Jimin being conscious anymore. Jeongguk adjusted the weight in his lap,
trying to arrange their limbs. Jimin’s head lolled to the side, his neck craning dangerously.

There was this new exhaustion hitting Jeongguk, all of him from head to toe. His limbs had turned
to jelly from the trip and the cold, which made it hard to hold Jimin up. It was too early to try for
the shore like this.

Shifting forward, he gave new support to Jimin’s back with his arm, other hand coming to hold him
by the back of his neck. All of this made Jeongguk feel very fragile. Jimin’s chest was barely
moving.

“Hyung, I can’t get us out like that. You gotta come back first.”

Nothing. Jimin’s pulse was faint, and saltwater dewed his eyelashes.

“Why am I always doing all the job, huh? All you do is sleep. Lazy hyung.” His voice came out
raspy and he tried to calm himself down.

Nothing happened. Nothing was happening.

Jeongguk closed his eyes. Inside of his lungs it felt so raw. He almost gave in to the cold. It
wouldn’t be that bad, he thought, to just lie down for a moment. Would it? Just for a second. The
boy was probably gone now. Even if he weren’t, he’d let Jeongguk choke, just like it had to be
done. He deserved it.

“You’re joking,” he muttered to himself.

That was stupid. No way the boy was still waiting.

But a second wouldn’t harm anyone, would it? It had been so warm down there…

Jeongguk read somewhere, maybe even when he’d crammed for one of the medical exams at the
Academy, that human brain wired you up into feeling too hot when the body reached a certain
point of cooling. They often found stiff bodies of lost mountaineers in a half-naked state.

A moan snapped him out of it.

Jeongguk watched, hazy-eyed, as Jimin slowly came back. It looked like a lightbulb coming to life.
Shiny drops on his skin glimmering, his dark eyes clearing up. Jimin coughed violently, jerked in
the embrace, eventually coming into it.

“There’s another one,” Jimin whispered. His voice was completely fucked. Jeongguk thought he’d
heard someone scream while he was underwater. “Another one, on an island.”

“Who?” Jeongguk held him closer. Held him so close, not breathing. Shivering now. One palm
wiping at the water on Jimin’s cheek. “Who, c’mon, who?”

Jimin couldn’t focus at all. Still a little delirious, he kept swaying his head from side to side, breath
coming out ragged. “He killed someone before this. A fisherman. On the island. Jisim-do.”

Jisim… something Namjoon mentioned that time, but that fact, too, had died in the muzzle.

“A fisherman?”

“That’s where Minam…” Jimin’s body shuddered from a violent coughing fit. “Where she caught
the ghost. By the shack…”

“Good. That’s good. Do you know his name?”

“No.”

“What about the ghost?”

Something blank in Jimin’s eyes again, like he was spacing out. Jeongguk shook him in his arms.
“C’mon. The name. The ghost’s name.”

“No,” Jimin trembled.

He was finally sitting upright, his hands steady, and blinking like he was present.

“No. Nobody knew. I shook them good, I shook them. I promise. Nobody knew. They just don’t
know. I’m sorry.” Jimin’s words were a jumble, for the first time. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,
Jeonggukkie.”

Where did all that hurt come from, Jeongguk wondered, with his head still in the fog. “Tell me
you’ve got something,” he begged. “Please.”

“I saw that place. The barracks... it looked like spring.”

“And? Hyung, get it together.”

“Later. Let’s do this later. I’ll remember.”

Jimin leaned in, breathing deep of Jeongguk’s cold salty neck, hands curled around his biceps to a
point of pain. There it was, Jimin coming back. His hold was strong, grounding. He exhaled, and to
Jeongguk it felt like hot clouds lowering down.

“I saw him. I saw him underwater,” Jeongguk whispered. “Fuck, I’m cold.”

The cold was getting to his head, but Jimin’s warm mouth was on his neck. Jimin was breathing
him in.

“You were there for so long,” Jimin panted, one hand coming to grab Jeongguk by the hair. “I’m
sorry. I’m so sorry, Jeonggukkie.”

Jeongguk could only shake his head, suddenly overwhelmed. Then a noise, so odd and guttural,
was bubbling up his throat. Jimin was whispering something in his ear, maybe to soothe.

“Let’s move. Let’s go. Can you get up?” he asked, holding Jeongguk’s cold face between his
palms. Jeongguk nodded dumbly. Then shrugged. Jimin pushed himself to his feet. “Let’s get you
up.”

They rose, feeling unsteady on sand, and stood there for a while, knee-deep in the cold sea.

“It’s, like, twelve degrees.”

Chattering teeth again.

“What?” Jimin seemed distracted, glancing at the moon while leading Jeongguk to the shore.

“The water. I checked, you know.”

“You checked the water.”

“Yeah, you know there’s this thing called the internet.” Well, he sure seemed all right now, with
his mind still tripping.

“Save your breath,” Jimin slapped him weakly on the chest.

They trudged through weak undertow until the damp sand was under Jeongguk’s knees.

“No, Jeongguk, get up,” Jimin tugged on his hand. “The car is better. C’mon, it’s right there.”

“My legs are dead,” he marveled. The tremors grew more violent.

He tried standing but ended up on his haunches. Crouching like that on the cold sand, his arms
wrapped tight around his knees, he shook. Harsh breathing filled his ears, his own, and it was
louder than the calm sea.

Jimin was gone, he thought, convinced he might end up in a void all alone, right there. He peeked
from behind his arms, taking in the black waves to his left, then the hills on the other side which
slopes were their own kind of sea. Deeply green in the crisp night.

He looked ahead, where the beach was curving outward. Sharp white stones at the edge. Jeongguk
stayed like that until the sea of hills became obscured by the mist rolling towards the water and
over the rustling surf.

“Jeonggukkie.”

Wind rising. Sand stinging his face. He pressed his forehead to his knees and took deep breaths.
All was icy cold inside of him. The sound of someone sobbing reached his burning ears. It was his
own voice.

“I wish I could shake this off,” Jeongguk said, choking. It was him crying.

“What?”

“This guilt. This crazy feeling of being watched.”

“You did good. You’re a good person.”

“Fuck. It won’t go,” he sobbed. “Fuck.”

The guilt will suck you down to the bone, someone told him once.

“Jeonggukkie,” a voice so quiet, and something warm on his cheek, “evil isn’t in your core.”

At one point he realized it was Jimin, because there was a blanket draped over his shoulders, and
body heat so near, with that smell of sweet and sour.

Jimin had come back.

Jeongguk stared at the sand. He felt the warmth creep in through the fabric, from two hot points of
Jimin’s hands on his shoulder blades. Maybe it was the fading trip, but now the sand was a lustrous
white. Jeongguk stared at the sand. His throat ached from crying.

“Jun-ah,” he mumbled to his knees, “Jun-ah…”

It was growing light, now, and when he opened his eyes, it was with an awareness of being close to
something sober. Suddenly a voice drifted near. Jimin was holding him, chin hooked over his
shoulder, singing a song without words or tune.

They rocked together for what seemed a very long time, until Jeongguk stopped shaking.

“Come now,” Jimin whispered, pulling him up.

One arm still wrapped around Jeongguk, he led them up the rocky path. It was hard to keep up on
legs that were made of wood. Soon he was eased down on the car's temporary bunk.

“Hey,” Jimin said, soft, “hey…”

A cup was pressed to Jeongguk’s lips. Hot metal edge, a thermos cup.

“Drink,” Jimin urged. “Come on, baby. Drink it up.”

Jeongguk swallowed down the liquid, tasting some herbal thing. No doubt holistic as hell.

“Lie down. Let’s warm you up.”

The mat was soft under him. The blankets like a warm cocoon. Jimin’s fingers brushed his cheek.

The door was swung shut. The warmth of another body pressed to his side, and all of that felt
incredibly familiar. Jimin’s hand lay heavy on the side of his neck. A thigh sliding between his
own, pressing to his groin to re-warm him gradually.

“Just gimme a damn heater,” Jeongguk bit out. “Something.”

“Only ambient heat,” Jimin reminded sleepily.

Jimin’s eyes were closed and his cheek was pressed to Jeongguk’s chest. He was softly blowing on
the skin there. It was the opposite of help, but Jeongguk savored the other kind of shivers Jimin’s
breath gave him, even like this, even now. Jeongguk turned his head slightly, making this vague
humming sound for Jimin to do the thing, and Jimin reached for his earlobe wordlessly. Tugging
down, slow and firm, tugging and tugging—

“Weirdo,” Jimin muttered.

Each minute grew clearer. At some point Jeongguk heard that the radio was on. It played this low
tune, something jazzy and slow, a little tacky like all 90s. Which surprised him, since he’d never
listened to that before.

“Thought you were only into those shitty dance songs,” Jeongguk mumbled.

“Be quiet. I like a lot of bad things.”

Jeongguk closed his eyes.

Time drifted slowly as his body returned to its natural temperature. He fell asleep on the last hour
of the trip.

And that was it. No dreams or bad things. He slept, feeling completely safe.

Until he woke to a gull crying, right above the car’s roof.

Slowly coming to, he felt warm inside and out. Lips were pressing to his neck. Jimin breathed like
he was already awake.

“You taste like salt,” Jimin said and moved away. “Sorry.”

The sky was a dull morning silver. Busan. Like the sky of Busan. Icy cauldron of its harbor.
Jeongguk watched Jimin, still bare naked, climb over him to the front where he turned up the
heater.

And mornings were bad, especially after so much stress, after a lot of that specific kind of contact.
Mornings were bad because Jeongguk was…he felt so fired up, so hot and needy, like it was about
to swallow him up.

He breathed deep. There was so much longing for anything to happen—anything at all to break
their still morning. This tension in him was growing so solid, covering him like a damp sheet.

Behind him, the radio volume was cranked up.

Jimin was back, poking him in the side and forcing the thermos in his hands.
He sat up only to drink the hot thing, whatever it was, soon falling flat on his back again.

“Lazy,” Jimin rasped. His eyes were narrowed, like those of a sun-bathing cat. He pointed at the
covers. “Can I?”

Jeongguk nodded, lifting the blankets. He could probably tilt himself back into a couple more
hours of sleep. Of drifting. Something. They could mull over the new information later.

“How many did you talk to?” he said instead.

There were fingers running through his hair. His strands were coarse from the salt. His own hand
was on Jimin’s side, caressing it, cold fingertips to soft, warm skin.

“All of them.”

“That’s too many.”

Jimin hummed. “You fed me.” Jeongguk asked him what he meant. “Your energy was enough.
More than enough.”

“It’s that strong?”

“It’s a lot. You’ve got so much.”

That was a thing, he thought, him being so riled up... so yeah, clearly he had too much.

Jeongguk felt shy again. “I felt it, I think. It’s…”

“I know.”

Jimin knew. Jimin knew it had turned him on like he was some kind of depraved diver. Coming
out there, snatching nasty things for a sloppy self-toss at night or something.

Well, he wasn’t like that, not really like that, but it was turning him on now — Jimin knowing.
And he hoped his nagging little need would subside, if only they could sleep and then drive home
and go back to all of that, whatever.

But Jimin’s thigh brushed over his groin, and he gasped when it touched his hot skin. He was
straining again. He was so hard it made him ache.

“Sorry,” Jeongguk rushed out, “I’m—ah, sorry.”

Jimin traced light fingertips over Jeongguk’s neck and jaw, up to his mouth. Thumbed at his lips
gently, then pulled the bottom one down. Jeongguk opened up with a soft sigh, sucking the finger
in, and why was he always acting first, and thinking—and not even thinking?

“You don't look sorry,” Jimin whispered, his other hand skimming across Jeongguk’s chest and
hard stomach, pushing a little at the muscle for a feeling, then skirting just above his coarse pubic
hair. “Look like you'd rather jump me. You were like that the last time too.”

Jeongguk couldn’t speak just yet, with the thumb rubbing at his tongue. It was too good, so good
that he felt his throat vibrate from his own pleasured humming.

Fuck.

When Jimin slipped the thumb out, a trickle of drool followed it. Jeongguk felt it drip from the
corner of his mouth. He wiped at it with the back of his hand and let out a shuddering breath.

“I was?” he asked.

“You were. Every time. Don't worry, popping one is a common reaction.”

The shame was fading now, replaced by something so much worse. This solid heat was clotting
him up, and Jeongguk felt his skin become very sensitive, lighting up at every little point where
Jimin touched him.

“I’m sorry,” Jeongguk said. “It’s just so much.”

“What is?”

“I just—” He closed his eyes. “Fuck, I want you so much. I’m sorry.”

“What do you need right now?”

“Isn’t that obvious?”

“I’m asking,” Jimin scraped lightly across one of his nipples, “to see how aware you are. So how
exactly?”

“Aware. Why’re you—”

And then he saw it, this very subtle hitch to Jimin’s sure motions, but it was there.

“Hyung,” he rasped, feeling guilty, “we don’t gotta fuck.”

Jimin’s lips were soft against his chest. He licked at one of his nipples, once, very kitten-like. Then
said, “It’s always so— people, they’re off their nut when they fuck around with me. They talk
sugar, and they say sometimes very nice things, but they look and see only meat.”

Jeongguk wasn’t sure what to say. Jeongguk wasn’t exactly… Jeongguk had too many of those
dreams, to just bend him over and fuck into that. And Jimin saying that was—sobering, maybe.

Jimin propped himself up, hovering over him. Studying his no doubt pink and open face.

And Jimin looked like nothing, like he hadn't said anything at all, just then. No more of that
seriousness, only heaps of tired and slow lust coming off of him in waves.

“Want me to jack you off, Inspector?”

“Fuck— son of a cunt—” Jeongguk laughed, so on edge now. “You didn’t— you didn’t just call
me that.”

“You’re mouthy.”

“I'm good at that, yeah.”

Jeongguk tried for sass but choked half-sentence, with Jimin reaching down and cupping his
erection, squeezing only slightly.

“So?”

Jimin was going to jack him off.

Jimin was going to do that, and was that really a thing, a thing that was happening? Jeongguk was
losing it a little, his body so tense now, almost painfully strained. Jimin’s grip turned firm at the
base of his cock, and Jeongguk thought he might just breeze through it, but Jimin let go to run his
open hand along the shaft, unhurried and lazy, up to the already flushed head and then down again,
even slower, to eventually cup his balls.

And was that shit heavy, Jeongguk thought, groaning when the hand squeezed around him. It got
him choking on air.

“Yeah,” Jeongguk breathed. “Yes. Anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything. Please.”

Jimin giggled, a really bright—and sudden—tinkle of a sound, then moved to slowly lie on top of
him. It was breathtaking to watch and feel, Jimin settling smoothly and beginning his slow glide in
the gathering heat. And Jimin had aligned himself nicely with the help of his hand, Jeongguk could
feel how nice it was exactly, in the dry slide of Jimin’s hard length against his own. Jeongguk felt
the overwhelming drag of it and couldn’t figure out what to do with his hands.

“Shit,” Jimin grunted, pausing to spit in his hand.

He reached back down to wet Jeongguk’s cock with a few rough and fast strokes, making Jeongguk
arch into it, a little startled but mostly needy, arching with his entire body. Jimin was slicking his
own length with spit, and then leaning over on his palms again, pressing down with all of his
weight.

Jimin gave it a few slow rolls, his body so molten and precise, and Jeongguk was already angling
his hips to feel the hot slide of Jimin’s dick against his, feel it skin to skin.

It was getting hard to breathe. Jeongguk bucked up to meet the languid thrusts while his hands
smoothed over Jimin’s back, feeling for the rippling muscle, for the tattoo that felt scalding, then
took a full grip of his ass with nails digging hard into the supple flesh. Jimin grunted into his ear,
and Jeongguk suddenly started laughing, breathless.

“I thought you were like those, what, abstinent fucks, you know, all them spiritual dudes,”
Jeongguk gritted out, both hands moving up to clutch at Jimin’s damp hair, “but then I heard you
once, fucking in the kitchen.”

“Yeah. I heard you come in.”

Jeongguk closed his eyes, shuddering at the thought. Then whispered, “Saw you too.”

“You looked at me weird after that. Like something bad. I thought…”

“Of course not.” Jeongguk laughed, pulling at Jimin’s hair. Harsh, to get his mouth to do
something. To bite. “Hyung must’ve fucked half the town.”

“I used to go out plenty,” Jimin mouthed down his jaw hotly, “but it’s not always good to me.”

“And before, fuck— you’re so heavy— before, you were that bored?”

He could see the angle was painful for Jimin, with his hair in Jeongguk’s fist.
“Out of my mind. Fucking pretty tourists didn’t help much. Drilling ass gets real boring,” Jimin
said, and started laughing for no apparent reason. “Got decades of it.”

“It was weird to realize.”

“What?”

“You were…” He stuttered. Jimin bit the skin of his throat, took his Adam’s apple in his mouth.
“Too serene sometimes.”

“But?”

“But when you weren’t, you never talked about it.”

And with that he grabbed harder at the hair, tugging and tugging—

Jimin curled his hand around Jeongguk’s throat but didn’t press. Only growled, “Let go.”

Jeongguk did, he did let go, moaning high. His arms fell to his sides limply.

Jimin watched him with eyes so pretty and gleaming, as he rolled his hips down hard. He fell into a
rhythm more rough, sighing at that, the slick friction of their bodies coaxing out these high and
pleasant sounds from his bright mouth.

Jeongguk was grunting, feeling himself begin to drip all over. Sweat was running down temples
and neck, his lower back, and the precum already beading at the swollen head of his cock—so
soon, and he was already leaking from the easiest touch.

“You’re so wet,” Jimin smiled, halting for a moment to get a hold of Jeongguk’s dick and give it a
few hard tugs. “It’s cute.”

Jimin thumbed at the head, smearing the precum around the crown in soft pressing circles. Fuck,
Jeongguk thought. And that was the last thought for a long time.

Jeongguk jolted with his hands curling around Jimin’s biceps, nails digging in hard. Jimin felt so
full and big in his grip, and Jeongguk grabbed for him harder, kneading at his arms and ass and
barely skimming over his thick upper thighs. It was giving in prettily under his touch, but Jeongguk
couldn’t reach that far, and Jimin pushed him down again, forearm to chest, and jerked him off
tightly. So tight and unhurried, to get him slicker, get him lazy and squirming.

“Gimme,” Jeongguk rasped.

Jimin swiped broad at Jeongguk’s cock before holding up his hand to Jeongguk’s eager mouth.
Watched him lap at the fingers while trying to get into a faster rhythm for their grind.

“Okay?” Jimin slid another finger in his warm mouth.

Jeongguk hummed around the digits. He was thrusting up to spur Jimin on while he swallowed
diligently, soon feeling himself beginning to drool. Jimin pulled out his fingers and wiped the mess
he’d made of Jeongguk’s mouth, then sucked them into his own, cheeks hollowing.

As he worked them in like that, letting spit coat his fingers and his fat lips, Jeongguk could only rut
underneath him and feel it all boiling down in his gut. Jimin released his fingers, all sticky and
shining, to reach between their sweaty bodies and tug on Jeongguk’s cock again, jerking the
foreskin idly. Teasing, maybe, but Jeongguk felt the flushed head of his dick press into Jimin’s
toned stomach, smearing it messy and slick.

He felt his cock twitch, the tip slipping against Jimin’s smooth body and painting it all glossy, and
it kind of made Jeongguk want to just rub himself like that until he could spill all over that pretty,
pretty skin.

“Hyung,” his was voice tight, “touch me.”

And Jimin was smiling, kind of nasty too, all shining and his hair plastered to the sides of his
shining face. Jeongguk went for it again, clutching at the black strands as he felt himself getting
closer.

“Touch me,” Jeongguk said, tugging at the hair on the back of his head.

His hand was forced down, next to his face. Jimin held his wrist only for a second, soon threading
their fingers together.

“Will you fuckin’ touch my dick—”

“Spit,” Jimin said, palm placed close to Jeongguk’s lips. Jeongguk turned his head to the side do
just that. “You’re a marvel.”

“Shut up.”

Jimin gave himself more space, his hand wrapped tight around Jeongguk’s aching dick, getting
him off wetly and eagerly. It took a whole lot of concentration for Jeongguk to focus on the face
above him.

Jimin’s features were soft in the subtle glow. Pretty skin, a little greasy, and pink spit-slick lips. His
strong neck was strained, his chest coated in their sweat.

“Fuck,” Jeongguk moaned. “You’re really hot.”

“You are.”

Jimin was smiling so silly now, like he’d never allowed himself before. More than that, Jeongguk
had never seen him be so open, and that thought alone made his strings ache in a new kind of pull.

“You’re showing,” Jeongguk breathed, shaking his hand free to cup Jimin’s face. “Hyung, you’re
so pretty. Fuck.”

“Don’t do this,” Jimin said, a little strained, and let himself fall flat on his chest. He nosed at
Jeongguk’s neck. “Don’t do this.”

“Okay.”

“You feeling good?”

“Very much.”

“I’ll blow you.”

“No.”

Jeongguk felt his hands travel down Jimin’s damp back, over the white-hot ink that got him hissing
in pleasure, but made Jimin laugh again.
“Weirdo,” Jimin said.

Jeongguk let one palm fall down, to stroke over Jimin’s tailbone. His fingers slipped along the
crease of Jimin’s ass, barely pushing in between the cheeks and rubbing gently over his entrance,
but something in Jimin’s breathing had changed.

“Ah, you’re—” Jimin couldn’t let it out for some reason. “Should’ve known.”

Jeongguk moved his palms back to Jimin’s tense shoulders. “What?”

“You’re one of those,” he laughed.

“Who—?

“Who take me—who like me only like that. Taking it so well and be that.”

“What?”

“A little plaything.”

“No,” Jeongguk moved his hands to the back of Jimin’s head again. Holding gently now. “No, I
like this enough.”

“You’d say.”

“No. You’re—”

Jeongguk couldn’t begin to describe how much he wanted to feel all of that power, that heavy but
safe energy Jimin always carried, and filled every room with it and himself. Jeongguk wanted to
feel it used on him.

“—hyung, you’re so much. You can do anything. Anything.”

“Am I—” Jimin’s face was buried in his shoulder. “I’m really enough like that?”

“Yes. It’s good. It’s good.”

Something set off a shiver through Jimin’s body, Jeongguk could feel it, and let him move away to
the bunk, to lie by his side. He didn’t dare touch Jimin just yet, not until it would be okay.

But then Jimin reached back, between Jeongguk’s thighs, and circled his cock with thumb and
forefinger, stroking it smooth and lazy. Barely there at first, to get the tingles going again. And did
those tingles go, Jeongguk thought, spreading his legs. Jimin tightened the hold, his fingers rough
and hot as they rubbed along the shaft and over the slick head.

And it was okay like that, Jimin lying on the side and stroking Jeongguk languid and slow,
fingering lightly at the foreskin and at the swell of his balls, tugging and pulling and watching
Jeongguk up close, watching his blissed out and little pissed off sweaty face.

“Don’t draw it out,” Jeongguk pleaded. “I don’t care. Just make me cum.”

“You’re soft when you’re like that.”

His voice was of that singing quality again, pretty and breathy, but then Jeongguk felt soft lips
brush his ear, once, twice, then press to the shell.
And the breath was so hot, it fogged him right up. So heavy but measured, and so horrible for
Jeongguk’s sensitive body. It wasn’t big but felt too much, because Jimin was dragging his soft
bottom lip along the earshell, and Jeongguk could feel how it got trapped under its own fullness on
the way up, then popped back out.

And then a moan so sultry and rich, but coming so sudden that it made Jeongguk jerk, pulled at his
tendons. Another moan fell from Jimin’s mouth freely, this time quiet and thick. Then again, and
again, these wanton moans filling his ear and making him twitch in Jimin’s firm hand.

Jeongguk thrusted into his fist while Jimin moaned quietly, as though it were a private show. And
that was the wonderfully gross thing about it, Jeongguk learned soon enough, that Jimin loved to
juice people out with his voice.

“You’re a dick,” Jeongguk choked out. “Hyung, please.”

Jimin was sighing now, so fucking obscene, it turned Jeongguk into something melted. Jeongguk
was dripping sweat and listening in.

“All warm now,” Jimin drawled. And then whined, a little desperate, right into Jeongguk’s ear.

“Fuck,” Jeongguk jerked. “Do something.”

“What’s that?”

“Please—”

“Needy,” Jimin moaned.

And he moved his hand roughly while gasping and whining, fast and labored to match the pace of
his hand. Jimin let the tip of his tongue trace the ear, until Jeongguk started messing up the rhythm,
the movement of his hips stuttering.

“Fuck, c’mon,” Jeongguk groaned. “Whatever, do whatever, just—”

“Easy, baby,” Jimin said, and let out a long moan too, “I got you.”

Jeongguk let his hips fall down on the soft mat.

It was hard to think he’d been shuddering earlier. He lay prone, now shuddering in a very good
way under Jimin’s touch, feeling the pressure grow thick and heavy and his balls tighten. Jimin’s
teeth dug into his earlobe, while his free hand went skimming up Jeongguk’s neck.

Fingers combing through his tangled hair, then clutching tight. Jimin gave it a pull. And it stung in
the best way, Jeongguk sort of twisted away to feel it better. It made his body tense up, all of him
pulsing in pleasure-pain, and grow even hotter.

Jeongguk let his own hand fall to the back of Jimin’s neck, just to hold onto something as he was
jerking up and reaching the edge.

“There you are,” Jimin whispered. “Hold it in for me, just for a bit.” Licked along Jeongguk's
earshell again, humming. "Do you want my mouth now?"

Jeongguk groaned, nodding, and welcomed Jimin between his spread legs. He planted his feet
firmly on the mat and pushed himself up on his elbows to watch.

Fingertips touching under his bent knee, a palm smoothing over his belly. Jimin tracing his lips
over the foreskin and mouthing lazily down the length of his cock. Jimin swiping his tongue to
gather the wetness at the leaking tip.

“Hyung.” He tried reaching down, tugged at Jimin’s messy hair for a second, but gave up rather
quick. “Fuck. Please.”

Jimin looked him in the eye and made the softest possible spitting sound, his lips pursed slightly,
to let saliva pool on the head of Jeongguk’s cock. A single silver line burst between Jimin’s lips.

“How’d you wanna cum?”

And it kind of…took Jeongguk by surprise, to say the least, so he just stared with his mind blank.

“Wanna cum on my face?” Jimin asked and planted a kiss, then another, along the underside.

“Okay,” Jeongguk said, and felt a little stupid.

“Okay.”

And with that Jimin dragged his bottom lip over the crown, rubbing in the precum and spit, then
took the head into his warm mouth and sucked. Softly, like on one of those pink lollipops. It was…
Jeongguk couldn’t really think, that was how it was, and he arched up, watching Jimin lick
broadly, from the base to the tip where he tongued deep at the slit.

And that was all it took, just Jimin’s lips wrapped tight around his pulsing length, and Jimin
sinking down deep until his nose was buried in the small hairs and his throat was clasping tight. He
was bobbing his head up and down with a wet slapping noise, so lewd and loud, Jeongguk kind of
stopped breathing.

Drool began to pool in Jimin’s mouth, Jeongguk could see it spill when Jimin was off his dick, but
then Jimin was gripping the shaft tight before opening wide and tapping the shining tip to the flat
of his tongue. It made quiet little popping sounds, and Jeongguk felt himself dripping right on his
tongue, until Jimin tightened his grip on the shaft, twitching the foreskin, and went to lap at all of
the slick. Humming, Jimin sucked on his lips for a taste.

But then here, finally, this was it, Jimin’s shiny mouth falling open to trace just under the head of
Jeongguk’s cock, lips pressing to the sensitive flesh, and Jeongguk was twitching from the puffs of
hot breath, twitching throughout and squirming at the warm palm around his ballsac, Jimin’s hand
tightening and relaxing the hold, and Jeongguk was coming hard, eyes squeezed shut and unable to
look at any of it anymore.

Kind of blinding, Jeongguk thought, the darkness. The relief and the heat were subsiding as Jimin
stroked him through it slow, fisting the hot length firmly and reaching with his other hand to finger
at the slit until Jeongguk whined, tired and oversensitive.

When Jeongguk opened his eyes, Jimin was wiping at the cum on his face and licking it from his
hand. Some had gotten in his hair.

“Hyung, c’mere,” Jeongguk waved over, lazy, “I wanna taste.”

Jimin crawled all the way up and then spread beside him. He did so carefully, shifting his weight
to one elbow. He wasn’t leaning down just yet, but appeared to be taking all of Jeongguk in.

“What?”
“You’re funny,” Jimin said, kind of absent. Like he wasn’t here anymore.

“Hyung’s got a nice mouth.”

“You looked like you needed it. All stressed.”

“C’mere,” Jeongguk said again.

When Jimin did, Jeongguk was ready to eat him all up, and he slipped his tongue to lap at Jimin’s
chin and cheek, scooping the cum into his own mouth. It felt ridiculous, to be doing this now, but
he worked through swallowing it all like it was this most important thing, to get Jimin clean. Well,
cleaner.

Something hot pressed to his thigh, and he flexed to get Jimin rubbing against him. Jimin’s neck
tasted of saltwater and sweat and that obscure citrus thing.

“You’re a nasty guy,” Jimin mumbled when his cheek was given one last lick. “How’s that?”

“Haven’t you seen all the perversion there’s to see?”

“Well, maybe not all of it. But plenty of bad things.”

Jimin was sitting up. A little farther now, to avoid their touching. Arms draped across his knees, he
stared at Jeongguk with intent. Nothing Jeongguk could really get right this moment.

And if he was being honest, he couldn’t get it at all. He cleared his throat. “Hyung, did you—?”
He waved in the general direction of Jimin’s dick.

Jimin only blinked at him, surprised, like he’d never heard anyone ask that wild shit before. He
looked down at Jeongguk’s thigh.

Right, Jeongguk thought, realizing, and wiped at the cum there. Stupid.

"Relax. I wanted you too," Jimin said, quiet. "You did well. Tasted different in my head, though."

They lapsed into a long silence. Jeongguk stared through the rear windscreen at the sky, a brighter
silver now, while taping at his chest absently.

“Home?” he asked.

Jimin didn’t answer. Something seemed to be on his mind, because the silence was…

“Was I enough?” Jimin asked.

“What?” Jeongguk whipped his head to the side, confused.

Jimin was staring at his feet, already out of it. He messed up his hair and climbed to the front seat
where he turned up the radio and began tugging on his clothes.

Jeongguk reached for the blanket to cover himself. He felt his insides sink, something empty
forming there instead.

The sun wasn’t coming out today, he could see by the gray sheet that spread evenly across the sky.
The top of the green mountain showed itself like a curly mop at the corner of the window.

Was I enough?
And how Jimin had said that…like a product review, like that was still part of his job, one of the
tools. Like maybe he had to be filling up some quota, something, just ticking off another sad and
shitty and desperate human, whatever—going through the motions.

Like maybe trying to convince himself he could still feel, and always lying, always, and how long
had it been for him, exactly, and had Jeongguk ever really needed this, really, ever—

Fuck, Jeongguk thought, whatever, whatever.

He covered his eyes. Fear struck back, cold and sobering. Unlike anything…

He looked over at Jimin who seemed on the verge of passing out.

What the fuck was Jeongguk’s problem? Off his nut, that was what he was, and clumsy and
greedy. Grabbing first, thinking next. You could’ve done something so bad, Jeon Jeongguk, you
no-gooder.

But now, what more was there left to do? Jeongguk had taken it, just like that. And if Jimin hadn't
said that one thing at the beginning, Jeongguk would've, fuck, Jeongguk would've fucked him, no
reservations. And that had him faltering, had him feeling sick.

There was nothing more to ask.

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ

“Jeongguk?”

He was playing with the lighter on the table, not meeting Heeyeon’s eyes. The night appeared
almost white in the light of the full moon.

“Where was I?” he asked.

“In the water. The ritual?” She tapped her pen at the page. ‘I hope that you choke,’ the page said.
“Jimin told you about Jisim-do. The dead fisherman?”

“Yeah. Getting Hoseokkie-hyung to play the ball was some other kinda trick, to be honest. Imagine
trying to explain where the fuck a hunch like that was coming from.”

“He mentioned something about kids off their nut, yeah,” she smiled. Then added quickly, “I’m
joking.”

Pushing the ashtray tea plate around the table, Jeongguk spaced out again. He kneaded at his
earlobe, hard, and Heeyeon wondered if it was one of those habits that soothed the nerves.

“Did Jimin learn the victim’s name?”

“Nah. Just that he’d had a blue boat.” He chuckled. “And a red hat.”

I hope that you choke still stared right in her face. She flipped the page.

“Hoseok was kinda vague about it in his account, but he mentioned you… not really being
yourself, on Jisim-do?”
“Maybe,” he shrugged. “Spring’s like that. Geomagnetic shit, beriberi, you know? Ever took a
local ferryboat? Reeks of rotten shrimp, for some reason.”

Heeyeon leaned over the arm of her chair and cupped her cheek. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Nah,” she said. “There’s something missing. After the ritual. You napped some, then what?”

“He told me everything he remembered. Wasn’t much, but it was something.” He seemed reluctant
again. “That place, the soldier’s prison. Jimin saw more of it, said ’cos of some kinda… how he
put it… memory residue in the victims or something.”

“And what about that place?”

“He thought it was the camp.”

“Wait, the camp?”

“Yeah. The very one. So we figured I had to try checking the archives. Just try my luck.”

“You’re still not saying what happened that morning.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I’ll tell you when it doesn’t.” It came out a little harsh, so Heeyeon tried for one of her soft
expressions. “Something happened on the drive back?”

Jeongguk was taking out another cigarette. Flicking the lighter, once, then putting it down.
Munching on the filter. He took the smoke from his lips and sighed, “It was a bad ritual. So it
made a bad morning.”

“And how was it bad?”

“I did something, when we woke up. And it, like, fucked with my head. Guess too much of the
ghostly at once.”

“What was that?”

“Doesn’t matter. But…”

She waited patiently.

“I drove him back. And then I did something again. Wasn’t anyone’s fault, I don’t think.”

“What was it then?”

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ

It was bleak outside. Gray and green, no bleeding of colors.

Jeongguk drove to the mountain in silence. Nothing inside of him was feeling like fine at all, and
radio shows were never good in the morning. The air was still full of static from his tension. It felt
like he’d snap any second.
He made a point of not parking in his usual place in the clearing.

It could’ve been the residue of his tripping, or just him finally getting the full impact of what
exactly had happened, but Jeongguk was feeling like shit, and feeling ugly about it, because it was
fear and this bad, bad thing growing in him.

His body was resenting every second of what he’d done. He couldn’t explain it, but suddenly
Jimin’s face was making him very mad.

Jimin shot him a curious look, tried to reach for his hand that had refused to let go of the wheel.
Jimin was confused only for a second, it seemed, because then he just let him be.

It was hard for Jeongguk to handle the true thing about him, but that thing had always been there.
That true thing about Jimin, his benign heart and sickening altruism.

And maybe once it was something Jimin wanted to do, a real thing, but now he no longer had a
choice to pull back. He had to take care, the best of care, of all the shit that people dragged him
through.

And how can a person like that find trust and be trusted, or be a person at all?

“Not coming in?” Jimin asked casually.

Fuck, Jeongguk thought, clamping up. Don’t you dare give in.

“Gotta get home,” he said. “Lotsa work tomorrow.”

"You don't work Saturday."

He kept silent.

“Jeongguk. What’s wrong?”

“I’m just tired.”

Jimin was clearly not convinced.

But it wasn’t a lie, Jeongguk was exhausted with the night and Jimin’s convenience, and his own
ways of being a scared tender prick. And he was that. A scared and tender prick who was ready to
take off.

Then there was work tomorrow, like convincing Hoseok to listen to his off-the-balls reasoning that
they absolutely had to grid Jisim-do, because what if there were dead fishermen in red hats lying
around, because if there were, him and Hoseok had to be good about it, really careful and do it
right this time.

“You were okay,” Jimin said. “You looked pleased. You were fine.”

Pleased. Fuck.

“Well, now I’m not.”

The sound of it came out really ugly, and Jeongguk winced at himself.

“Then don’t be a bitch, Jeon Jeongguk, and just come in and get some sleep.”
Jimin had this infuriating expression on his mild face, this caring and benevolent type of shit that
was impossible to handle right then.

“You’re a liar,” Jeongguk said.

“What?”

“How else would you be able to live the way you do? It’s a shitty living. At some point you gotta
lie.”

“Jeongguk, that’s—”

“Maybe that’s all you do now? Lie and lie…I would’ve. Like, it’s only good protection.”

“Please stop.”

“Everyone would go mad, having to do this. It’s like, we know fuck all about you. And you just
give us all this shit. Never drying up. Nobody can do that and still feel.”

“I’m not lying. I’m your friend.”

Shut up, just shut up. Jeongguk hated this, himself and the fear, and Jimin who gave it all just
because he had to. Gave it all to Jeongguk just because—

“I’m not lying,” Jimin repeated.

“Shut up.”

“I’m not fucking—”

Jimin swallowed whatever was supposed to come next, and turned away.

It was creeping Jeongguk out. The entire thing, his feelings for someone who had long gone
immune to being used or loved, who hadn’t understood any of that, or needed it.

“I care,” Jimin said. “You really are my friend.”

Jeongguk couldn’t keep up anymore. Why was he here, in this junk of a car, with this guy he knew
nothing about, but wanted to keep.

“You don’t have a choice,” Jeongguk said, gritting his teeth. “You’re stuck here. No better than
that dead thing.”

It felt awful to know what he was doing now. Jimin kept quiet for a while with his eyes on the
porch.

“I’m not gonna force anything out of you. But don’t…” Jimin licked his lips. “Just don’t leave it
like that.”

“’Course not. We’ve still got a job to finish.”

Jimin closed his eyes. It looked like something sore, whatever he might have been dealing with in
that moment.

“I thought you weren’t so…” Jimin sighed. “I thought you understood.” It sounded hollow.
 “I don’t think I did.”

“That’s okay. There wasn’t anyone before. Not gonna be anyone after.”

“I don’t think anyone could understand you.”

“Yeah.”

“And, like, whatever. Why do we have to, whenever we find a freaky thing? Why do people
always have to understand?”

“Yeah.”

Jeongguk wasn’t sure he could carry on with this. It was cracking at his skull.

“Get some sleep,” Jimin said.

He was smiling now, as if nothing had happened, or wasn’t happening. That kind of was the whole
point Jeongguk was making.

Jeongguk nodded. Said, “I’ll call you.”

And there was that. Jimin combed through his hair. Then looked at Jeongguk again with this
blankly kind face, and said goodbye. The door was shut carefully, no furious slamming, no nerves,
which was worse, so much worse than all those little impulsive moments of bad temper Jimin had
shown in the past.

It doesn’t mean a thing for whatever bigger picture, Jeongguk told himself on the drive home.
Doesn’t mean a thing.

Chapter End Notes

yeah i kno, broden

 Directions to See a Ghost
Chapter Notes

detective detects
minor bloody-gory stuff happens
it always rains

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The Coast Guard couldn’t get them a boat on time. Jisim-do was right there, a short drive away,
down to the next bay, and yet they couldn’t get them a goddamn boat on time.

Hoseok’s assessment was a strong one.

“Can you fuckin’ believe this leaking stock of ballsac juice,” he said, and took the cruiser’s keys
before picking up his jacket. “Let’s hit the ferry then.”

Hoseok was special like that.

The ferry station didn’t have much of a line in the morning, and Hoseok was saying something
about March not being the best month for tourism.

They’d left the cruiser at one of the paid parking spots, and were now cutting ahead of the line for
some tickets with their credentials ready. Jeongguk felt a dozen smouldering stares point at his
back. One of Jeongguk’s favorite—and at the same time most loathsome—parts of the job, was
being able to do a lot of nasty things with impunity.

They made the short journey east through the restless sea. All of it was painfully provincial, the
smell of shrimp and oil fumes, the people on the deck and squeaky plastic-covered seats.

The island sprawled on the horizon like a tiny sluggish animal.

“So what’d the local guard say?” Jeongguk asked, because Hoseok had yet to tell about his
morning call with some Jisim-do dude.

They’d checked for fishermen with permits earlier in the week, figuring they’d have to pull up the
names from every myeon on their part of the coast, because the guy could’ve been registered
literally anywhere on the coastline.

And the ritual had given them a thing of use after all, if only this one mildly helpful detail: Jimin
had said that the Red Hat guy couldn’t have been younger than forty.

“Like that’s gonna narrow it down,” Hoseok had commented, but Jeongguk hadn’t been in the
mood to take him up on it.

They’d added that to narrow down the search, and had soon gotten a list, a short one: only four
blue fishing boats owned by men over forty; two of them had turned out to be alive and well, but it
wasn’t all that relevant anyway, because the Red Hat guy could’ve been working illegally.

But then Hoseok had contacted some local private security firm, on Jisim-do, to check if they’d
known anything about the other two boat owners, and as it had turned out, one of the owners—
someone called Lee Hakyun—apparently had unregistered property somewhere around the East
Beach on Jisim-do.

And now Hoseok was struggling to smoke in the strong wind, blinking in the sea spatter, and
saying, “Well, he said this Lee Hakyun stays in that shack of his a lot. Goes to the market, juices
off tourists in the season, like, doing the whole water-tour-guide thing for half the price. Doesn’t
have any friends really. Or family.”

“Well, makes sense. The place is small, he’d feel less lonely…or something.”

“Thing is,” Hoseok said, “the guard dude hadn’t seen Hakyun for months. And the KCG can't
locate his boat.”

“That’s good then, right? For us.”

“Not exactly. He said that some market folks say that Hakyun had planned to move for ages.
Figured he finally did.”

“And nobody’s checked on him?”

“Why would they? He was there on and off, the boat was gone too. So who cares.”

The sea foamed in the ferry’s wake, showering them in cold spray even at this distance. Jeongguk
always loved watching the wake patterns. It narrowed your vision to just that foaming trail and
made you only slightly dizzy.

He felt like that now, but not in a good way at all. The morning him and Jimin parted wouldn’t
leave his head. “I’ll call you,” he’d said, and that had been it, and Jeongguk hadn’t called him since
then. Four days, was it? Maybe five...

“Jeongguk?”

The voice dragged him back to the present. He looked around. The ferry was docking.

“All right?” Hoseok asked with a frown.

He nodded and followed him off the deck.

They were met by a small crowd of tourists taking pictures of the surrounding cliffs, and the tiny
dock itself was this bare structure, a solid sort of concrete block protruding in the sea. Nothing
protected it from the wind.

“Well that’s just so completely and utterly tight,” Hoseok summed up.

They needed some help with directions, and this rosy-cheeked security guard by the pier was
happy to be of assistance, explaining how to get to the east coast on this tiny rock of an island.
Take the main road, turn here, ask the locals. Hoseok thanked him and asked about Lee Hakyun,
standard procedure.

But then the guard had this glaze fall over his round face.

“Weird,” he said, “ain’t seen him in a while…ain’t been payin’ attention much…that ain’t right...”

“You two talk a lot?”

“No. I’m buckin’ up for him, sometimes. Fishin’ for clients. I see lotta folk flow through, plenty of
’em can’t afford no fancy stuff. So I get ’em for his tours. He ain’t no pro but do the job okay. He
been thinkin’ about sellin’ it, though. Move someplace…fresh start or somethin’.” He gave Hoseok
a worried look. “Wait, somethin’ happen?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out. Don’t worry just yet.” Hoseok smiled at him for better effect
and looked around. “Where do we get a cab?”

The guard laughed. “On ya feet. Can walk this whole island in two hours.”

There was only one road leading from the port, and it was pretty straightforward. On the way they
encountered mostly tourists in bright windbreakers who marveled at the tall ferns lining the steep
road.

Soon they had to turn at one of the side roads, to this narrow street of mostly private property,
where it was completely deserted. They took a guess at directions, but their pick led them into a
dead end.

But then Hoseok took a step towards this overgrown garden, saying he saw something. And there
they found an old man working on a broken birdhouse. Somehow he had this venerable wise dude
look about him, like yeah, that birdman could sure be helpful.

Hoseok asked whether there was a good way to get to the East Beach, and the birdman smiled
without looking up from his work, and said that they better go back to the main road and cut right
through the camellia field, and at the end of it would be a path leading to the beach.

“You boys are lucky,” he said, “camellia blooms best in March.”

And they discovered that it was pretty impressive, the camellia field, all lush with crimson in the
dull morning, but then the beach itself wasn’t much — a patch of dirty sand with a dilapidated
shack and a shed at the far end of it. And all was so overgrown, it made Jeongguk think how this
place could be literal hell when the bugs flew out in warmer season.

“Real horsefly paradise,” Hoseok said.

The shack was poorly-thatched, its wooden floors thickly layered with sand. No sign of life inside,
just scarcely furnished room with a lot of fishing equipment: empty cans and rods, fishing nets,
oxygen tanks, stuff you might see on a boat. Everything emitted a foul smell, kind of rotting in its
rust, and under a folding table they saw crabs scattering.

Hoseok went around examining all this mess, while Jeongguk just stood there and questioned all
his recent choices in life.

“Oh well,” he heard Hoseok say, “well yeah. Fuck.”

“Found something?”

“Come take a look at this shit.”

With a horrible sense of unease, Jeongguk followed.

Behind the rusty fridge that smelled of rot, there lay Lee Hakyun, in his red hat that had turned
brown, almost a match to the fridge, and he lay very obviously dead and kind of worse on the
whole smell front.

One hand was splayed over his throat, the other still clutched the knife. And this guy was huge,
real fucking massive, which baffled Jeongguk to no end. How the hell did this guy manage a boat
with that rack clearance…

But he must’ve been even bigger in life, because he was long past any fermentation and in dry
decay by now, to the hollows on his face and most parts of his body, and Jeongguk thought, for
some reason, how there was a certain hypnotic quality to the sagging layer of skin.

“Another suicidal,” Hoseok hummed.

“What a coincidence,” Jeongguk said sourly. “If he’s the first, then it’s at least been, what, five
months for him.”

“Looks like it.”

“Smells like it too.”

“How about you check the shed?” Hoseok pulled out his phone. “I'll call it in.”

Jeongguk nodded, happy to skip on dealing with decomposing carcasses this morning. While
Hoseok set on taking phone pictures of the body and the scene, Jeongguk picked his way towards
the shed.

There was glass on the gray sand, and through the single broken window he could peek inside the
shed and find the same state of desolation. Walking in, he was met with thick layer of dust, spider
web and human junk, all soaked in strong seaweed smell.

In the middle of this towering pile of household trash, there was a broken generator. He fumbled
for the phone to use the flashlight and paused for a second, staring at the screen.

A few texts from the department, some from same year Academy buddies, mostly from Yugyeom
who was back in Busan again.

Missed calls from Jimin, about a dozen. Even though he’d never been good at replying to messages
and taking calls, it still wasn’t the same.

He pointed the light at the generator and surrounding area, finding nothing of interest at all. When
he shifted the beam to the other corner, he caught a flash of something, one single hot coal in the
dark. Moving.

He heard his breath hitch, body going cold.

Then a shadow shot across the room, soundlessly, and he could barely hold onto himself.

It reached the light. Its fur was mangy and dull, both ears gone, one eye swollen shut.

A fucking cat.

“Scared me, you little prick,” Jeongguk breathed and crouched next to it.

It was a stray by the looks of it, but weirdly not scared of coming close. As he sat looking at it, a
hinge creaked loudly behind him, and he nearly fell into the dust. The cat jolted and ran off,
disappearing through the broken window.

Turning around with a start, Jeongguk saw the door flapping open in the wind.

“Idiot,” he muttered.

The dirt sucked at the soles of their shoes as they walked back.

After his annoying jump scare in the shed, Jeongguk had walked the length of the beach but found
nothing except for soggy seaweed and some trashed booze bottles.

Hoseok had managed to get some Okpo guys to get down there and process the place, because
Taehyung had been a little bitch on the phone, and Hoseok hadn’t been in the mood to threaten him
with any write-ups, but then Hoseok was also a really soft guy.

They walked in silence for a while. Jeongguk was dragging the dirt-caked soles of his boots with
this loud grating sound until Hoseok slapped him on the chest and told him to quit it. Jeongguk
pouted, but listened.

“So what’re you thinking?” he asked.

“Honestly, Guk,” Hoseok seemed reluctant, “if I didn’t know you weren’t off your nut…”

“Just tell me.”

“It doesn’t…apart from the M.O? Doesn’t look connected at all. I mean, I bet half my asscheek the
M.E. is gonna rule suicide.”

“Yeah.” Jeongguk nodded. “Just kinda weird that Minam just happened to be there with her mother
a month before her death. Probably taking a boat tour…”

“I wanna believe this. Promise, I do. But the Chief will kill you if you waltz in there, talking about
stirring something you should’ve erased from your brain long ago. And we can’t really shape all of
it into anything DPO might even consider.”

It was obvious, had been from the start, and still Jeongguk felt incredibly disappointed. He
couldn’t decide about the main source of it exactly.

“Is everything okay with you?” Hoseok asked when they waited for the ferry.

They decided it was time to quit being dicks about cutting in line when there was no rush for it.
People ahead of them were uselessly huddling in their thin jackets, desperate to find warmth in the
wind. It was stinging with salt in this open space, and Jeongguk could smell seaweed and oil and
wet concrete. It reminded him of the old home more and more.

“I’m fine. Why?”

“Call me crazy but you look like a mangy little creature. You were, like, glowing before.”

“Was I?”
“It was sickening. I know that kinda look. But I also know this kinda look.”

“Everything’s good.”

“Just,” Hoseok rubbed at the plastic ticket in his hand, “don’t put me on.”

That was the last thing Jeongguk wanted to do and hear. He found that he could barely handle that
resigned tone of Hoseok’s voice, however small the sound, so he swayed into it. Hoseok’s hip met
his, and there was a cold hand on his nape now, rubbing softly at the exposed skin.

“Let’s just forget about this, okay? You’re going in summer anyway.”

“Okay,” Jeongguk said.

“Ain’t buying.”

Hoseok’s nails gently scraped the skin on the back of Jeongguk’s neck. Jimin had a beauty spot in
that place.

“Promise me, Jeongguk, that as soon as we’re back to the swamp, you’re gonna forget it. Promise
me.”

“I am, I am, but…”

Hoseok groaned.

“Hyung, I gotta go somewhere first,” Jeongguk ducked his head, trying to escape the touch. “It’s
gonna kill me if I don’t. It’s just one last thing.”

Hoseok tried to meet his eye. When Jeongguk proved to be stubborn, he gave up.

“Just one, huh?”

“The last ever. Promise.”

Hoseok sighed, “Be careful.”

Jeongguk wasn’t too sure about this whole archive thing, and less sure about what there was to find
in the local Division building in Geoje city.

He went the day after the Jisim-do trip without telling where he was headed exactly, not to Hoseok
whose car he was driving, or Mrs. Kim who had been sick all morning.

And she worried him being like that, so he didn’t need her to worry for him.

She’d been fine but gotten bad overnight, and Jeongguk spent early hours helping to ease her
migraine and horrible stomach cramps. Her body was burning up but she complained about feeling
chilly and mumbled over and over to call Jimin so he could take a look at her.

“It’s some kinda virus, ahjumma,” Jeongguk had said, calling a doctor.
It was an old man, the doctor, tight-lipped and sallow, and he examined her with a bored face and
prescribed some shit for the cold, some ACV ointment, broad-spectrum antibiotics. She refused to
take them at first, but eventually Jeongguk managed to get her to swallow the pills and waited till
she finally fell asleep.

He still hadn’t called Jimin at all, and it kind of bled into a new itch under his skin.

And it still itched now, on his drive. The road was slick with yesterday shower, turning the whole
trip considerably more irritating. It only turned worse in the Geoje Division building, because there
was literally nothing to see there, and he soon learned why, talking to the grumpy lady at the
reception desk.

Apparently, and obviously, old archives had been in another building, because most of them
weren’t digitized and probably never would be.

“You gotta have a pass for most rooms,” she said, frowning at him from behind her thick lenses.
“You got a pass?”

“I got a pass,” he said.

He didn’t have a pass. But he already had a plan, though all of it relied on pure luck.

And of course, the archive building happened to be on the other side of town. It was a bulk of
concrete with peeled sides, far less groomed than the main building.

Inside it was deserted, only a bored reception girl dicking on some phone app at her desk, and
Jeongguk gave her one look and then gave himself a short pep talk to go on with his mission.

Which was to kind of slither past regulations by putting on an asshole show.

He’d never been able to do that before, but now the time was pressing harder than ever, and
coupled with his being done with own shit and this soggy island, he juiced that gross asshole act
until the poor reception girl gave him the pass.

It was about throwing a big city dude tantrum and threatening to get their asses on the line for any
potential kicking, and all this ended up being extremely convincing, which Jeongguk had Hoseok
and his art of subtle diss to thank for.

And now Jeongguk was actually in on it, going through the towering cases full of dusty folders. It
was hurting his head, hurting it badly. The cold room reminded him of an old hangar, and its
hollow silence pressed on his nerves.

He found the year span he needed at the back wall stand. The top shelf was lined with boxes, each
marked with year and month. He dragged the step ladder to the stand, wincing at the grating sound
that cut through the quiet.

Boxes for the spring of 1952 were in the second row, covered by a layer of dust so thick he thought
they couldn’t have been touched since they were put there.

Jimin didn’t have the exact date or even month for the boat incident, but he’d witnessed parts of it
through the eyes of the victims, that night under the moon, and was sure it’d been spring.
“Try May, or maybe early June,” he’d whispered in the car, on the morning after they’d cleaned
up, “it looked green enough.”

Jeongguk closed his eyes. Hands clutching at the rough edges of the May box, he balanced on the
top step thinking of Jimin’s hands on his body as they rocked that morning.

“I’ve got a hunch,” Jimin had said with his thumb tracing his own plump lips. He seemed to like
feeling people this way, but couldn’t touch Jeongguk again that morning. “The soldier. He could
navigate. And he was a prisoner. But not from around here. It could’ve been the uprising at the
76th.”

Down on the floor, Jeongguk carefully laid out the contents of May and June. There wasn’t any
table or more appropriate surface, so Jeongguk settled on his knees to flip through the files and
crumpled photos. Reports on local action on land, some irrelevant bureaucratic hassle.

By the third hour, the ache started to spread through his back and neck, locking his muscles tight.
He did a few stretches Jimin had taught him, and it brought the subtle sensation, a memory, of
fingertips running down his neck, then rubbing on his earlobe.

Jimin’s breath under his ear.

Jeongguk shook his shoulders to get rid of it.

May’s folder for the concentration camp had plenty on the Compound 62 incident which resulted
in change of the camp's command, and then Compound 76 riot, but most of the machine typed
pages were filled with black marker pen. All readable parts were something he already knew, all of
it general stuff available to the public. Which wasn’t any help if he couldn’t find any goddamn
boats.

Jeongguk groaned but paged through in search for any names or dates. No mentions of any boats or
ships owned by the camp staff, nothing. He wrote down the names he could find and flipped
through the photos.

The supervising staff was American military and mostly small fry, but he saw a few pictures of this
Francis Dodd guy, the brigade general assigned to the camp after the incident at the 62d, and who
remained in charge until the uprising at the 76th.

The whole thing was a little crazy, because the general went to the 76th to see through that whole
commotion with Communist POW leaders, but obviously the entire thing went to shit.

Jeongguk flipped through the transcripts, the interviews with the U.S. staff after the riot, the later
dispersal of prisoners to smaller camps on the island… all the stuff about chemical weapons and
American tank battalion offense in early June, the 10th, which in the end effectively neutralized the
uprising, but Jeongguk didn’t really need any of that.

Just as he was about to give up, he noticed something in this one crumpled photo with mostly
Korean soldiers. It was hard to tell where they were, but it looked like it could be a deck. The light
was right even in the black-and-white picture, the obvious puddles.

Even though the crew were in Army uniform, not the Navy, the four guys crouching in front of the
soldiers had these kind of telling overalls. Looked like those gray things war prisoners wore when
used for labor.

On the back of the photo he found only the names of the crew and the date.
1952.06.01

The uprising was still on. Was that a fishing boat? They must’ve been away for some time.

Jimin told him that a lot of fishing boats had been in traffic of handling chemical weapons. Not
exactly smuggling, but something to do with the UN ban and domestic waters.

He wrote down the names of the crew and slid the photo inside his journal. There was no way any
of them could still be alive.

The reception girl looked at him in this tired and very done way, but ran all seven names he’d
gotten off the photo with no complaints. In that moment, Jeongguk thought how he really was
trying his already ill luck.

It took a while, but eventually she announced that four out of seven were honorably discharged
between 1954 and 1972, while the other three had no digital trail.

He asked whether anyone with the records was still alive and lived on the island. Her long nails
scraped over the keyboard, and for some reason Jeongguk found the sound comforting.

“Corporal Jang Donggun,” she said. “No date of death, no funeral expenses taken from the veteran
fund.”

“What about an address?”

“The last one was registered in 2008.”

“Means he could live on the moon for all it matters.”

“Trust me, Inspector,” she passed him the printed page, “guys like that tend to stay in one place.
Keeps the memory fresh.”

“Why would they need that?”

“You know,” she smiled, “the war was the only time they felt important.”

It was kind of rough around that part of the island, with the Daewoo hub in the area which meant
groomed neighborhoods but a lot of fuss for both petty crime and tourist flow.

It was getting blue by the time Jeongguk reached the village where the Corporal supposedly lived.
He stopped at what looked like the main square, already dimly illuminated.

Next to the discount store, there were two vending machines, a single bicycle, and a tramp sleeping
on the carton of shipping boxes used for fruit. Jeongguk felt cold just looking at his thin rags.

Inside the store it was warm and smelled of dairy, very much like real nasty cows, and sweet fruit
that’d gone bad through the day. Lazy flies buzzed above the fruit halves that lay seeping under
poor halogen lights. He tried not to make a face as he squeezed past the fish stand where old
shrimp was going soggy and putrid.

The lady behind the counter didn’t make a move to get up or even look up. Some stressful
elimination show had all of her attention. She had a small flat fan in her hand, but it did very little
to help the grease that’d gathered on her meaty neck and round face in this place with zero
ventilation.

Jeongguk cleared his throat and fished for the map and print-out in his jacket pocket. Flattened
them on the counter next to his credentials. Before he could even speak, she’d put her hand up in
the air as a polite sign for shut the fuck up and gimme a sec.

He did all of that, too tired to pull any of his authority out.

When the ad break rolled in, she finally glanced at the map.

“Do you know if this man lives there?” Jeongguk pointed at the picture in the print-out.

She stared at it. Chewed on her lips. All of her was so slow, she reminded him of a lizard.

“Sure does,” she finally boomed. That was what it felt like, as if she had a brass tube for lungs.
“Don’t see how he can help the police. Grandpa’s senile.”

“That’s all right. Could you maybe draw the directions? His street isn’t on the map.”

“That whole street was resettled coupla years back. Them corporate fellas were needing space for
some kinda storage park or something…the land was cheaper or I dunno…who knows their
tackle…but they covered all expenses, so there’s a nice thing.”

Jeongguk rubbed at the bridge of his nose, waiting.

“You gotta head to the dock. There’s a new block, only three buildings, won’t miss it. Five
stories.”

“And, by any chance, do you know which building?”

“Ask at the paper kiosk. They close late.”

The directions were easy to follow, but driving stressed him out because everything stressed him
out today, and had been for a week.

Jeongguk checked the phone, but there were no new calls from Jimin. At times like these, he
wondered if smoking actually helped.

On his way he passed poorly lit vendors and small bars that seemed out of use for the season; and
across from it, the sea was flickering with lights, from ships and docks and whatever else, but he
sensed it clouding the car with oil fumes.

The block was easy to find in the otherwise one-storied village. Those apartment buildings were a
little shanty and looked strangled by the power cables.
At night it smelled like salt and oil and camellia.

When Jeongguk showed the Corporal’s picture at the newspaper kiosk, he thought he’d have to at
least buy something for that, but the clerk gave him the building number without much fuss.

“Last floor,” the clerk said, “though you’d have to knock around. Sorry.”

There were no elevators, so Jeongguk found himself struggling up the cracked concrete steps and
cursing the mouldy air in these flights.

On the last floor, he was met with three doors and no numbers. Finding the right place would be a
bitch at this hour. He stood there, gearing up for any upcoming provincial bullshit.

Suddenly, the middle door creaked open to the length of the chain, and a wary face showed itself in
the gap. A tiny old woman in a silk robe.

“Who’re you?”

How friendly, Jeongguk thought, and whipped out his credentials.

“Sorry to bother you so late, but which one’s Jang Donggun?”

She blinked. Then coughed. “Green door,” she said, and slammed hers shut.

“Charming,” he muttered and pressed the doorbell.

He waited in silence, and it was getting him even more fidgety. The pipes croaked and moaned
behind the walls of plaster.

Then a muffled voice came from behind the door: “Who is it?”

Jeongguk licked his lips before talking, “Inspector Jeon Jeongguk with the GPPA. Sorry to bother
you so late. We’re following up on a lead into the Irun homicide case, and we believe you can be a
great help.”

Nothing for a while.

“Jang Donggun-ssi?” he tried.

The door opened, no chain on this one, and a hunched sickly man was looking up at him. His face,
grooved with wrinkles, had this paper-thin skin that was sagging deep as if it could be weighing a
ton.

“That’s me.” His voice was raspy. He eyed Jeongguk’s credentials. “How can I help you?”

“I know this is all very sudden, but we would really appreciate your help as someone with
extensive military experience and great war history.”

That archive girl was right. Jang Donggun was so pleased with the attention he didn’t even bother
asking why the police needed him for this kind of expertise all of a sudden, and at this hour.

“Of course, of course, come in,” he ushered Jeongguk inside, “anything, anything. Doubt I’m of
any use to the police, though.”

“Trust me, you’re very important,” Jeongguk said.

The apartment, much like its owner, gave off a slightly antiseptic smell. It mixed with that
particular scent Jeongguk knew only old people had. That was to say, not really peachy.

He wasn’t offered any tea or even a seat, but he didn’t really burn with any need for either, so he
just watched Jang Donggun lower himself in the living room armchair with difficulty and reach for
the remote to mute some recent baseball game re-run.

“So,” the man looked at him eagerly, “what can I help you with?

“Do you recall the time of your service at the Geoje POW camp?”

“Yes…I got my discharge in ’53.”

Jeongguk decided it was best not to beat around the bush. He crossed his arms, “In 1952, you
served on a boat. Your crew made certain deliveries for the camp.”

The man visibly blanched. “You’re confusing me with someone else,” he said in a weak voice. “I
was infantry.”

“Compound 62 at the camp,” Jeongguk nodded, “but there was also a boat, and that boat had
banned substances, and it also had illegal labor going on its deck, and you had your orders.”

And then Jang Donggun looked like he’d reached some verge, the verge of either having a heart-
attack or kicking Jeongguk out. Clutching at the arms of his chair, he looked so desperate and sad,
too spooked to move a muscle, and Jeongguk instantly felt bad.

“Donggun-ssi, I’m not military police,” he assured. “I’m not here to judge you for your war
crimes.”

“Aren’t you?”

“That’s a silly thought, don’t you think?” Jeongguk smiled. “And why would a PPA officer come
in the middle of the night to make a veteran suffer?

The man swallowed.

“Donggun-ssi, I just need to talk. I need to know what happened on that boat. I promise nobody
else will know. People’s lives are at stake, innocent people, and you can help us save them.”

Putting it like that, Jeongguk hoped he’d finally learned to sound trustworthy and reassuring
enough to get him into places. Jang Donggun contemplated in nervous silence. Then he nodded.

“What do you need to know?”

Jeongguk had to gather his thoughts, so he walked to the other side of the room to study the
shelves.

“Your captain got the order to execute the prisoners you had on the boat. When was that?”

“10th of June.”
So the same day of the tank battalion offense...

“Orders are orders,” Jang Donggun added, “I imagine a man like you can understand that.”

“I used to,” Jeongguk shrugged. “Was it some kinda nerve agent?”

“Never bothered to learn what the hell was that thing. But it wasn’t any mustard gas. New general
wanted to stock it after the Compound 62 incident.”

“Why use a thing like that? That day, on the prisoners.”

“The captain figured it was less messy…”

“So you got them into a fish tank.”

He shrugged. “It was empty anyway.”

“The boat was registered?”

“Sure. Never had a single fish on it, though. Not once.”

“So you gassed them,” Jeongguk continued, “and then you hatched them up.”

“No,” the man whipped his head so fast his neck cracked, “no we didn’t. How did you even—?”

“You used an axe, didn’t you?”

“Open wounds,” he defended. “It’d attract fish for sure. Captain didn’t wanna risk the bodies
washing up.”

“Not like it would’ve mattered, huh? They were from the other side.”

“I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Try me.”

Jang Donggun puffed up his chest, frowning. He boiled like that for whole five minutes and then
finally exploded.

“Young people these days,” he huffed, “like little leeches. Talking back to elders, gorging
themselves with all this crap, not having a bit of respect left. Forgetting the honest people who
helped building this country.”

Jeongguk sighed. He realized he had a headache.

“I’m sorry you had to do the things you did. I’m sorry you were forgotten.” He paused. “I’m sorry
you had to learn to kill for your country and then watch how it…rotted in poverty, for decades. But
do you really think it’s…”

Jeongguk stopped himself from arguing. He felt a little dirty, because he wasn’t that rude and
impulsive brat with people four times his age, even though not every old person was a vessel of
wisdom or avoided becoming an ignorant asshole, but even with that, he still tried to not go too far
off track.

“Donggun-ssi, it doesn’t really matter. I apologize.”

“That’s quite fine.”

It clearly wasn’t, but Jeongguk was learning how not to react to anyone's passive aggressive
bullshit. He looked at the glass cases full of tea sets and garbage from ’88 Olympics, and those
ugly ceramic figurines that were really popular in the last century.

“I’m here because there was a man on your boat,” he finally said, turning to face the chair. “He
was the only survivor. And your captain spared him for some reason. And then you drowned him.”

“How do you know that?” Jang Donggun jerked in his seat, like some sick bird. “Did Junshik tell
you? Keechung?”

“You’re the only one I knew could help me.”

Which was a blatant lie, but a thing Jeongguk knew would work just fine with a guy like this.

“Why me?”

“You were eighteen. A thing like that and at that age…” Jeongguk came closer and crouched in
front of the chair. “It never leaves you. Maybe even shapes you.”

For a long while, the only sound in the room was coming from the muted TV. It was almost
inaudible, that low noise CRT made, like something he imagined dogs could hear at full volume.

“That man...” Jang Donggun said. “Never gonna forget his eyes. How he been looking at the
captain. Like he was trying to get him to feel.”

“What did you do to him?”

“Captain said—” He stopped himself for a moment. “Me and Jungshik, we had to…we had to tie
him up. And then tie him to this Hunan fella, and throw them overboard, and we did. He watched
us the whole time, you know. We were tying them up, and he watched us the whole time. That
look…”

He kept silent for maybe a minute.

“Much later I realized what it was, you know, in his eyes.”

“What?”

“When you get the hope, this hope that grows…”

That hope grows, and it would be growing and growing, Jang Donggun said, and when there’d be a
lot, it’d have this light, one that lit you all up, and your eyes showed it too. And then when it died,
when it was dying, that thing wasn’t dim. It was like seeing the life end in one second.

“Like a switch, all light’s out, all at once,” he finished.

Then he took a deep breath, and it wheezed through his old body.

“When we dropped the pair of them, my face was all numb. All of me was. For a long time… but
he was in my dream that night. Those same eyes. Completely black.”

“Did he say anything to you?” Jeongguk asked. “In the dream?”

“No. Just looked at me. Like I was crazy. Like I was evil.”
Jeongguk gulped. He fumbled for the stolen photo in his journal and handed the picture over.

“Is he in it?”

The man held it closer to his face. His eyes were very dry behind the thick round lenses of his
glasses. His wrinkled hands looked chewed-up. They were shaking. Then his eyes got all hazy, and
Jeongguk knew their ghost was in it.

“Far left.” A shaky nod. “That’s him.”

Jeongguk looked at the photo again. The ghost was young and rather handsome, with a straight
nose and strong brow, his jaw sharp.

“Now this is very important,” Jeongguk said quietly. “What was his name?”

Jang Donggun closed his eyes.

The rain hit on the drive back.

And along with it, this new brand of exhaustion hit him, and he thought about a hot bath and a dry
bed. The wind whipped water against the glass.

Each time Jeongguk saw some poor stray idiot struggle against the gale on the side of the road, he
thought about his cold room in Mrs. Kim’s house, then remembered the warmth that had
surrounded him in Jimin’s place.

Like Jeongguk was physically homesick for him.

Fucking hell, he thought, be doing that to a person.

By the time he rolled into his quiet street, all the lights had gone out, and the dogs were quiet.
After barely making it through the garden on his dead legs, he plopped down on the veranda,
wincing as he hit the hard wood.

Jeongguk watched the rain pour off the eaves until all of the night’s sounds mixed into one blanket
of noise. He needed a shower.

As he walked down the hallway, trying to be as quiet as possible and not wake Mrs. Kim, he
wondered how the fuck, exactly, he could possibly have managed to get that old man talking. Or
the girl at the archive, or another one at the main office.

He was full of strange things, it seemed, and maybe this was why Jimin knew more of his…

Whatever.

Before he could even get to his room for some clean clothes, something caught his eye.

The door to Mrs. Kim’s room was open. Not slid slightly to get in some fresh air, but fully opened.
He listened closely for any noise, but the only things he could hear were his breathing and the
cascading water outside.
“Ahjumma?” Jeongguk whispered from the hallway.

His soft footsteps echoed in the dead house as he walked to her door.

Inside her room it was dark, so he fumbled for the switch, and the light caught in her dyed hair, a
stark black over early gray, making it look like some kind of bird lay there in the bleached sheets.

“Ahjumma?” he tried again.

Then again, louder. No response. She was deeply asleep.

Ready to turn back, Jeongguk suddenly noticed there was something strange about her. The rain
pattered heavily over the tin roof, the neighbor’s dog started howling out its throat, but that was all
he heard.

No sound of any breathing coming from her at all, and after a moment he realized the white sheet
that covered her to just above the waist wasn’t moving.

The cold rushed to his face, and his stomach jolted and was sinking, sinking, along with all of him,
down to the ground.

Taking a deep breath for courage, Jeongguk went over to slightly shake her by the shoulder. His
eyes widened when his hand met what felt like wood.

Startled, he jerked away. Took a step back. This couldn’t be real. Surely she was alive. Of course
she was.

He leaned down again and touched her leg, then her arm.

Just as stiff. She was obviously dead.

Gently holding her by the shoulder, he managed to turn her on her back.

She’d bled from the mouth, it looked like, painting her a dark crimson from jaw to chest. Her night
gown had been soaked and turned into a stiff shell from the dried blood crust. The sheet was clean.

With trembling fingers, Jeongguk checked her pulse and came up with nothing. He thought to open
her eyes. He pulled the eyelids gently, but they turned to be too stiff, so he had to give it more
force. Eventually they slid open to reveal hollow sockets, bloodless and entirely black, staring like
nothing at him.

Jeongguk began to shake.

“Shit,” his voice seemed to echo from a very far place, “shit, you fuck—”

She couldn’t be. She couldn’t.

“—she didn’t do anything.”

It couldn’t be real. Just another nightmare coming back without him knowing.

But she was all too real, lying there in her crust and staring at him with the black of her empty
sockets, saying, this is on you, my boy, this is on you, Jeon Jeongguk, I was bound to bleed to get
you, get you right in the spine.

“She didn’t do anything,” he whispered.

Maybe she did, but it hardly mattered. It was for him, this show, and it was getting him in the spine
just fine.

He had to not be here, he realized, with sudden heat surging through him. He left the room,
knowing he should be calling it in, then calling the coroner’s office, then Hoseok, anyone, all of
them.

Jeongguk fumbled for his phone, almost dropping it twice, then pausing. Still that dozen of ignored
calls from Jimin. How he needed it now, to go there and be carefully hidden from all of this rot that
got to his gut and still didn't seem real.

Once Jeongguk was outside, he realized how tired he was, how much he wanted to sleep.

And then he managed to switch into this other feeling, the feeling of nothing at all, and that was
the only way he’d be able to call Hoseok.

He dialed and gripped the phone so hard his fingers started to cramp.

And when Hoseok picked up, after the third ring, Jeongguk only said: “She’s dead.”

Only that at first, and then he started explaining, and thought he managed to explain all rather well,
stumbling over his words a few times.

He talked through the fog of his own mind until he heard his voice break. Hoseok urged him to
breathe, and the way he talked was calm and even, the way they’d been trained to act with victims
and their family.

And Hoseok also said not to leave the scene until the coroner arrived, and he himself would kick
Kwak into giving him a ride.

“Huh,” Jeongguk mumbled, “what’s with the cruiser?”

“In Okpo for—doesn’t matter. Are you breathing?”

“I think so,” he said.

“How’s your pulse?” Jeongguk said he didn’t know. “Take it. I’ll time you.”

Jeongguk did, two fingers to the neck, counting until Hoseok told him to stop.

“Thirty-four…” Jeongguk muttered, then multiplied. “Hundred and twenty...ish.”

Hoseok was probably replying, and Jeongguk was saying something back, or maybe just nodding
into space to himself, but at some point he heard his own teeth chattering.

“Jeonggukkie,” the voice was quiet, careful, “where are you now?”

“Outside. The weather’s shit. Why?”

“You sound cold. I’ll be there soon. Stay put.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

His tongue felt heavy and huge all of a sudden, which made it impossible to speak.

She was dead, Jeongguk thought then. That tiny lady who’d dreamed to be a mother so much, even
for a year, even for some poorly-fitted kid, was dead.

“She’s dead.”

Hoseok didn’t reply and let it sink in. Let him speak while Kwak was rushing to the house through
rain-slick roads.

Jeongguk had to wait another ten minutes, and then the car was coming to a screeching halt behind
the gates. The line went dead.

Kwak must’ve stayed in the car, because Hoseok was approaching him alone. Worried face, steady
step, that working Jung Hoseok. Who didn’t offer a hug or any form of physical contact aside from
a firm hand on Jeongguk’s shoulder.

It was good, Jeongguk knew, it was the right thing to do for now.

They stood there for what felt like hours while waiting for the coroner. Hoseok tried to smoke in
the rain the entire time. Jeongguk itched to fish for one but remained silent. He also didn’t know
why the fuck they were standing in the rain, but didn’t care.

Time felt as if it were melting before his very eyes, the same way Mrs. Kim’s body looked melted
in her brightly white bedding.

“She bled out. I think,” Jeongguk said, watching his breath cloud in the night air. Hoseok didn’t
ask. “Her eyes are gone.”

The coroner’s truck rumbled in the driveway. Jeongguk hadn’t seen this guy before. Middle-aged
and well-dressed, he was followed by two assistants. He was sleepy but very polite in his greeting,
heading inside without wasting more time.

Jeongguk felt his strength bleed out of him, from head to toe, dripping bit by bit onto the cold
ground. Some people die like that, he thought, by the drop. Was she one of them?

The coroner emerged soon enough. The other two carried the body bag hastily as if itching to be
done with it as fast as possible. The sound of drops hitting the black plastic reminded Jeongguk of
being in a tent in the storm. Or walking with an umbrella.

The preliminary was, as expected, exsanguination.

“She’s been dead for about seven-eight hours,” the guy drawled. Definitely had been woken up on
the shift.

More stuff about her temperature and lividity on her shoulders and anterior torso, something about
no visible damage that could’ve caused bleeding of that nature.

“What about the eyes?” Hoseok asked.

“Honestly? Clean removal like that? Never seen anything like it outside surgery. But in those
conditions?” He huffed, shaking his head. “And not a single fracture to the orbit. If I didn’t know
better, I’d say there was no surgical intervention at all. Kinda fascinating, really.”

Hoseok gave him a look which Jeongguk thought wasn’t necessary. Because it was, it was truly
and morbidly fascinating.

“Should I—” His voice cracked. “Should I ride with you?”

“No point. I’ll only start in the morning, when the super checks in.”

With that he walked away, peeling his gloves as he went. Jeongguk watched the light flicker to life
in the street, heard the engine cough once, then the truck rambled away.

Only then the cold began settling in. He so desperately needed to sleep.

Jeongguk watched Kwak tape off the scene. The poor guy looked like a sleepy bear with a limp.

But the poor guy still had a home to go back to, even if nobody waited for him in a still warm bed;
he still had that bed where he could forget himself, happily and immediately, until the morning.

“Where do I even go now?” Jeongguk asked nobody in particular. Most obvious answer was a
guest house or Hoseok’s place.

“Huh?” Hoseok looked up from his phone. He was texting someone from Okpo station. “Please.
I’ll get the couch ready.”

That memory of warmth from before made Jeongguk pause.

“That’s fine,” he said. “Don’t worry. I’ll figure something.”

“Jeongguk, c’mon—”

“I’ll stay with Jimin.”

Hoseok looked at him.

There was something especially heavy about the silences Hoseok chose to make at times. As if
letting your own words slap you in the face. Forcing you to see through your own shit right on the
spot.

“I’m sure,” Jeongguk added, or replied to that silence. “It’s just… I dunno.”

“I get it.”

That was good, Jeongguk thought, that was great, because it was late and cold and the night here
smelled of swamp somehow, way worse than the place he’d been to earlier this evening.

“Jeongguk,” Hoseok finally touched his arm firmly, properly. “I’m sorry.”

“She was someone,” he mumbled. “Someone, you know. Someone so lonely. Fuck, she was
completely alone.”

He heard Hoseok attempt to soothe him, and it kind of worked, because Hoseok’s voice dipped to
that low and raspy sound that made him warm all over.

“Go but go slowly, okay?”

Hoseok waited for Jeongguk to acknowledge at least some of his words. When Jeongguk didn’t, he
sighed that sigh of complete stress.

“You’re not okay to drive, Guk.”

“I’m okay,” he replied. For some reason he attempted a smile. “I’ll call you in the morning. Sorry
you gotta fuck around Kwak’s car.”
Hoseok could see what Jeongguk was doing, of course he could, but he was kind enough to follow.

He smiled back, saying, “It smells like his fingers, you know? Like warm spit. Like I’m kinda
scared to touch anything ’cos it’s like every surface is covered in this finger grease. I expected it to
be orange, too. You know, from the powder? All the crisps...”

Their footsteps made little sound as they walked to the car.

“Poor hyung. Your poor neat-freak soul.”

“Part of it died, bro. It’s very much half-deceased. But I feel like I’ve emerged from it a stronger
person. So don’t worry about any of that,” Hoseok said, touching his shoulder again. “Get some
sleep, okay? Try not to drink too much.”

“I won’t. I don’t wanna drink. I just want some fucking peace.”

“We had it, remember? Before it all. But…”

Hoseok trailed off, maybe to avoid making the moment any heavier. But Jeongguk knew. He
agreed with it, too. Because when they had peace, he was bored with it.

It was something straight off his grandmother’s soap, Jeongguk thought, climbing out of the car
and into the heavy rain.

Jimin was already waiting on the porch in nothing but underwear and one of his long gauzy shirts.
Jeongguk had texted on his way, but Jimin must’ve heard the car climbing the muddy mountain
road.

And now Jeongguk stood there, cold rain whipping his face in the strong wind, and feeling numb
throughout. Stood there by the car and was too scared to approach.

Jimin waited another silent minute, then went down into the mud, his bare feet not making a
splash, and moved up slowly. His hands wiped at Jeongguk’s face, pushing hair out of his puffy
eyes. Fingers touching his temples, threading through his wet strands. Eyes so mild but worried.
Like he felt it too, all the exhaustion Jeongguk was carrying.

There was a moment of being suspended in the dark, just like that time underwater, but Jeongguk
let himself fall into Jimin’s arms. His cold nose touched Jimin’s exposed neck. It was still warm,
even in the rain. He could feel his breath sending shivers through Jimin.

Jeongguk’s back was hunched under the weight of the world, it seemed, but he knew he’d barely
scraped the surface. Jimin caressed his hair, his neck, while the other hand dipped under his shirt to
press at the small of his back. The touch was a hot imprint that forced a sob out of him.

“Let’s get you inside,” Jimin whispered into his ear.

He felt himself nod and shiver again. Jimin led him carefully to the door, saying not to fuss about
the rainwater they’d be getting into the house.

Jimin never mentioned being ditched for days.

Not when he helped Jeongguk undress before the bath, or when helping him get toweled up once
he was clean, or when he watched Jeongguk get changed into dry clothes. Not when he made him
drink a potful of some new magic brew.

“What’s this?” Jeongguk asked about the drink, maybe for the first time.

“Dungkulcha,” Jimin said. “They call it the indigo plant. Or immortality herb.”

“Does it really do that?”

Jimin laughed, then covered his mouth in embarrassment. He never liked showing his smile like
that.

“I don’t know with you,” Jeongguk defended.

“It knocks down the blood pressure, is what it does,” Jimin said. “And calms your heart. Takes
about twenty minutes. Tell me when you feel it.”

“I’m feeling it.”

Jimin let him settle in the blanket bundle on the floor and knelt on the other side of the room to
turn on a salt lamp.

“How are you feeling?”

Jeongguk closed his eyes. The voice always made him warm. Flooding him.

“Better.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Huh?”

“That Kim Soonmi is dead.”

Jeongguk found there was nothing to say. He flipped on his back to stare at the ceiling. There was a
new crack in the corner, behind the spider web. Jimin had always refused to kill spiders, said it
would bring bad luck.

“I know his name,” Jeongguk said.

Jimin looked at him, wide-eyed, his mouth parted in surprise.

“Oh Woojin.”

Jeongguk had to be more coherent than that. He cleared his throat.

“Oh Woojin was from the North, somewhere in Nampo. Oh Woojin was a teacher. At a village
school. Taught Korean. Worked on a fishing boat in summer. Socialist to the bone.”

Holding his palm to his eyes, Jeongguk studied the lines there.
“Oh Woojin fought for Chosun. Never saw it become the People’s Republic he’d dreamed living
in. Rotted away at the bottom of the South Sea. Until a boat passed his resting place and brought
him to land. And that’s all there is to Oh Woojin now.”

Rain still lashed the roof, drowning out most of the forest noise. Jimin let him drift for a while in
the sound, then got up to bring water from the kitchen.

Jeongguk thought himself very stupid in that moment.

On his way back, Jimin halted in the doorway, and just stood there, illuminated by the warm
orange glow, very broad and familiar and solid, like some other small world. Jeongguk hated
thoughts like that.

“So,” Jimin said, “what do you want me to do?”

“What?”

“About Oh Woojin. You still want me to catch him?”

But he couldn’t be caught, could he? Jimin had told him that.

“You said it was hardly possible.”

“Yeah. But there is a way.”

“See,” Jeongguk laughed, no trace of humor, “you are a liar.”

Jimin said nothing to that.

Jeongguk cleared his throat. “So what’s that another way? One of your VIP club things nobody
knows?”

“Partially.” Jimin moved towards the lamp. For a long time, he stared at the candle nestled inside.
“I can keep him trapped, sort of.”

“How?” Jeongguk frowned. Then it hit him, rolling chills over his re-warmed body. “Hyung, you
said—you said nothing can trap him. You said that.”

“No object can. But you can trap him in a living body.”

Jeongguk exhaled. “You wanna do that? Can you even handle that?” Rubbing hard at his tired
eyes, Jeongguk sat up. “What if your control slips? You can hurt people.”

“It won’t slip. Trapping isn’t possession.”

Jeongguk stared at him.

“If I’m a scrap box,” Jimin said, weirdly monotonous, “then Oh Woojin’s just one dead gizmo.
Only thing is, once the carrier dies, the ghost’s free to dick about again.”

Jeongguk made a face.

“Hyung, what’s the point?”

“Well, you see.” Jimin looked at him. His face was a mask in the dark. “Someone needs to pay for
this.”
“What are you talking about?”

“Justice, Jeongguk. That thing you’re supposed to be working for? He’s gonna keep killing. And
his victims won't find rest, ever. And, you know, there’s an innocent person waiting to be
convicted for something they didn’t do.”

“So how’s catching him gonna change that?”

“I’ll confess.”

All sound suddenly faded. The rain was a muffled ringing somewhere far away.

“Hyung, you can’t do that.”

“He needs to go. You know he’s gotta go.”

“Let someone else do it. Someone, another shaman, you know plenty. Just—”

Fuck. It was just that.

“—fuck. No.”

Jimin chuckled, a very dark sound. “And you’ll be okay with that? Sending an innocent person to
prison.”

“You’re innocent.”

Shaking his head, Jimin turned away. It was a rare thing to see in Jimin, this barely contained
anger. A quiet and intimidating thing.

And thinking about it, Jeongguk realized there was plenty of circumstantial evidence to get Jimin
convicted, especially if it came with a full confession. The details only the killer would know,
because Jimin had seen it through the eyes of the dead. And the Chief…

…the Chief was likely to bite into that. Chew well on that opportunity, because Jimin looked way
better—and far more intelligent—for the scale of these murders than that poor meth head fuck.

Jimin stared at the candlelight as he forced his temper to stay on the low. And then he forced the
words out, only a whisper, “Who else can hold him in but me?”

So much had avalanched in one gray day, it was beginning to feel like a great flood coming to
swallow Jeongguk whole.

It took a while until the words could settle in. His morning seemed a lifetime away.

“Why are you doing this to me now?” Jeongguk said.

“I'm sorry.”

“How can you say this now?”

“You know there’s little choice.”

“I’m not gonna help.”

“Don’t be a dick.”
That actually made Jeongguk laugh.

“I can catch him alone, Jeongguk. I was doing fine on this job without anyone’s help.”

That hurt for reasons Jeongguk couldn’t exactly see through.

“They’re gonna send you for the noose,” Jeongguk said, throwing the blankets away. “You know
they will. You know it.” Jimin still wouldn’t look his way.

“You know the last time they executed someone?” Jimin’s tone was that of a teacher testing a
student.

“Ninety-seven.”

“Was it sanctioned?”

“No.”

“Do they still follow the moratorium?”

“Yes.”

“So what does that mean?”

Jeongguk groaned, clutching at his hair. Pulled at it slightly, then harder and harder, until his scalp
began to turn very numb.

Jimin couldn’t die anyway. Could be hurt, for sure. Hurt and crippled— but it was just for life. Just
for life, just for life—

And what would happen to Jimin there, once they saw him not changing one bit? And would he be
burning, away from the mountain, the entire time?

Bullshit if Jimin hadn’t thought of that.

“You’ve got a plan,” Jeongguk said. “You’re doing it ’cos you know something.”

Jimin didn’t say anything.

“Shit,” Jeongguk said, a little out of breath, “shit, you’re such a fucking liar.”

“Don’t pretend you needed me beyond—” Jimin bit into his lip, looking angry.

Beyond sating the boredom, beyond having a plaything — Jeongguk wasn’t sure what was on
Jimin’s mind.

“Don’t pretend,” Jimin said, firm. “I’m alone like I’ve always been.”

And Jeongguk was silent, because he could only vaguely understand, for now.

But it began nagging at him again, this thing Jimin was doing, all that self-sacrificial bullshit of
someone who surely didn’t even care, couldn’t care. How would that be possible? If Jeongguk
were in his place, he'd have lost the ability to feel by that point.

Jeongguk took a deep breath. “If you do this. If you… if you do this. I’m not gonna”—another
breath—“look at you. I can’t look at you. I won’t. I can’t.”
 Jimin nodded.

How was he always so goddamn understanding, Jeongguk thought and started boiling. So irritating
in this shitty acceptance, this infuriating fucking zen—even at his most anxious.

Jeongguk scoffed. “I’m not gonna look at you again. I won’t ever see your face again.”

Jimin let it stew between them.

Eventually he walked to the mat but didn’t kneel. But he was looking, staring down at Jeongguk
and reaching out, giving him one open hand. Jeongguk eyed it but took it in his. It was hard to see
in the dark which expression exactly Jimin was wearing, though Jeongguk didn’t need to.

Jimin’s voice was quiet and thick when he spoke.

“You’ll hate me,” Jimin said, with an audible shake to it. “Means you cared—cared enough for
that. And that’s enough for me.”

It was obvious now that his eyes were closed.

“That’s enough for me,” he whispered. “Not a lot of people did.”

Then he bent down just enough to let their clasped hands reach his lips. He placed a soft peck to
Jeongguk’s palm, the same way he would kiss Jeongguk’s head whenever he couldn’t help his
innate tenderness. Like a compulsion.

Jeongguk had called him a fucking liar.

Jimin let go. Turning away, he said, “Nobody else did.”

Chapter End Notes

POW camp business was a v real thing, and the boat business is ofc fake
that exact vibe am i right
 All Gray and Shit
Chapter Notes

sob story exchange

#catharthing hard
some gore and minor character death

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Kim Soonmi had distant relatives in Tongyeong.

Her great-aunt’s son from the second marriage, or third, or maybe one of the other aunt’s sons—
Jeongguk hardly cared. Point was, some guy called Jaeho was in her will, a thing she’d drawn
years ago apparently, and the house with all her valuables were to be passed to him.

It’d taken maybe two days to find him through provincial records and then local police PSA.
They’d needed him for the funeral, to cover expenses and deal with the property.

And that whole thing was what Hoseok had to deal with, sweating with all the calls and
arrangements, and also dealing with the Red Hat guy's boat the KCG had found by the northern
coast, but predictably there had been nothing of use on it. Jeongguk was left to petty cases.
Mindless and repetitive things always helped him whenever he had to stop caring.

“You’ll have to say something, you know?” Jimin told him one day before the funeral.

“I don’t gotta do shit,” he said. “I just want it to stop.”

Jeongguk had gotten all of his shit over to Jimin’s house the morning after Mrs. Kim’s death, later
realizing he hadn’t even asked for permission. Jimin just let him in, pretending not to see all of that
gloomy deflecting Jeongguk was doing.

Every night he’d been sleeping at Jimin’s and leaving for work early, and in the evening he chose
not to talk to Jimin much, but he still listened, and he felt something ugly growing and ready to
burst.

He hadn’t touched Jimin at all either, and Jimin could take a hint that he wasn’t welcome that way,
which made Jeongguk feel different types of good and bad.

“It’ll stop, one day,” Jimin replied calmly, and that pissed Jeongguk off. “But tomorrow you need
to talk.”

Jeongguk spent all night thinking about it, about whatever words he could possibly say. Tried
remembering the sharpest moments with her, but all was kind of a blur.

Though one evening, way back in October, he’d spent hours in the kitchen to help Mrs. Kim sort
something for the stew. It was Gaecheonjeol, and he could hear distant fireworks booming
somewhere over Okpo.

They’d been listening to some urban station, and this really tacky rap track came on, this
thundercock capital-based thing about being the real deal, and the money for all the bitches, and all
the rest of that.

Mrs. Kim hadn’t ever heard any of that blunt stuff before, only some fuzzy talent show stages, and
Jeongguk thought she’d go all indignant from her old-school bone, but she almost choked from
laughing.

She kept muttering out lines from the verses all week, giggling to herself, because she just couldn’t
believe some barely-out-of-school salad kids were puffing up with all the bitches and all the rest of
it.

A week before her death, when Jeongguk was over at her place for once, she made him swallow a
can of peaches—her own conservation, saying all that stuff about immortality fruits— and asked
why he wanted to be in the police at all.

That type of talk always made Jeongguk a little weird, because his reasons felt silly to him,
sometimes. And it only meant she thought it was silly as well, just as those salad kids from Seoul
with all their bling and all those bitches.

The uncomfortable part about it was, him being the police was majorly an accident, the fact of
which he’d only ever shared with Sooah.

Maybe not exactly that, but the truth was, as a child he changed his dream profession every other
week, like many kids tended to do, but his were always so power-oriented and aimed for that brittle
kind of real manly dude thing. It had to happen to all boys in places like his, and to him especially,
because his brother was in the military and his father had always been of stale convictions.

And so he’d gone through all those phases of martial arts and wanting to be a fireman and whatnot,
and then he kind of lucked out in his teens to be so good at mindless force they’d recommended
him for the Academy. Nothing he was that proud of today, because those bland non-qualities didn’t
mean much of anything.

So Jeongguk skipped out on all the real reasons, telling Mrs. Kim he’d just kinda felt like helping
people in whatever way he was best applicable.

And she just looked at him then, knife in hand because she’d peeling an onion for some side dish
or other, and let out this surprised humming sound.

“My boy,” she said, “you really were like that?”

“Dunno,” he said, “just something to think about.”

“But that’s so silly. People hate the police. Nobody trusts them. How can you help us like that?”

“I learned that my first semester,” Jeongguk laughed with her. “But you see, you don’t have much
choice, do you? When you’re really in trouble, you just gotta talk to us.”

They didn’t bring it up again.

And now, five in the morning, Jeongguk was seeing that memory, not having slept at all, and
hearing Jimin get ready for walking to his first morning village call.

Jeongguk wasn’t going to drive him.

Jimin stopped on his way out, one hand gripped on the sliding door. He’d put more silver on for
some reason, and rolled up his black jeans to the ankles. His bare feet were lightly bruised.

“You know what you gonna say?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

Jimin studied him for a long time.

“You know, it’s really simple,” Jimin said, voice somehow unfamiliar. “You gotta remember to
tell the people important to you that they, well, are.”

“I’m bad at saying these things. I just… I show it. At least I… I’d like to think that I do. I try to
show it.”

“Sometimes they really need to hear it.”

“She’s dead.”

“Yeah, she is. But you’ve got other people. You ever told Hoseok that he’s important?”

Irritated with the morning light, Jeongguk covered his eyes. Heard the bracelets chime like Jimin
was touching his long hair the way he did whenever nervous.

“Showing is okay,” Jimin continued, “but sometimes people need the words. That they’re
important to you. That you respect them.”

And the funny thing about it, Jeongguk didn’t even have to ask to get what exactly Jimin was on
about.

“When you go back home,” Jimin said, “try doing that. Or you might miss your chance.”

It was a dry morning for once, sort of perfect for the funeral.

The entire neighborhood seemed to realize that as well, Jeongguk thought, as he looked over the
gathering in the open pavilion outside of the crematorium. People lined all available benches.
Everyone was quiet with all their sniffling or idle ogling — depending on their reasons to see Kim
Soonmi go.

Jeongguk didn’t talk, but listened to the Jaeho guy power through his words all stilted and
awkward, and then to the three of Kim Soonmi’s friends cry through their speeches. They were
those nice neighbor ladies he’d often heard visiting, but one of them couldn’t even finish talking
and had to be comforted by her daughter.
When they were bringing the ashes out, Jeongguk thought he could see that the Jaeho guy was
shimmering with something. Like there was a shadow over him. Following him. Something not
entirely of this place.

But then again, Jeongguk was seeing shit that wasn’t there all the time.

It was decided that Kim Soonmi’s ashes would go to Tongyeong instead of being scattered in her
garden.

And still it bugged Jeongguk, because after three days of his mourning, he had been given only a
week to deal with her case, though Hoseok had been doing most of the work. And Chief Song
hadn’t been that interested in the whole eye thing, or any motives, or much else. Chief Song had
pushed for closing it as suicide and clearing the body for burial, and there had been that.

The whole thing was really irritating, because it only proved that Jimin’s idea was valid.

“Fucker,” Jimin said, staring at the blot of ink. He’d knocked down the stone. Jeongguk thought it
was in the little tremors in his hands.

Same tremors were there when he held the beer can too. Jimin hated beer but was drinking it out of
the can, had been all evening. He’d offered one to share, but Jeongguk had waved it away.

They’d been in the numaru, where Jimin had had him seated to help with some props. And
Jeongguk had been guilty enough, just as Jimin, so of course Jeongguk had helped with folding
these little pieces of inked yellow paper and mixing up some herbal medicinals while listening to
Jimin sing under his breath. Jimin had done so quietly, as if too shy to show his voice now.

“That’s it, then?” Jeongguk asked when he was done.

Jimin nodded, still staring at the spilled ink.

Jeongguk didn’t move. There was a string in the air, he could somehow sense it tightening and
vibrating between them. He kept in place and waited for it to snap.

Jimin put down his ink brush and forced out a breath so full and pained, it kind of cracked at
Jeongguk like a slap in the face.

“There’s something,” Jimin said. “Something you gotta let me do.”

“What’s that?”

“That ghost of yours. The boy.”

“He’s only in my dreams now.”

“Well, sure, ’cos he’s your ghost. And he doesn’t talk, does he? No. He’s gonna torture you unless
you decide.”

“Decide what?”

“If you gonna get yourself some courage and talk to him.”
And Jeongguk knew what that meant, but a request like that only pissed him off. In the way they
were now...

“You wanna let him in and do the talking, is that right? Well, too bad.”

“Jeongguk, just tell me what happened to you.”

“Why should I? You sure never did.”

"Talking helps. If you don’t want me dealing with your ghost, that’s fine. But you have to talk.”

“I’m not talking to you,” Jeongguk was standing now, ready to leave and maybe regret it for a long
time.

“Please.”

The sound of it was desperate and kept to a whisper. It was like glue, a very certain kind.

He just stood there, Jimin at his feet with this look in his tired eyes and one palm extended as if to
ask Jeongguk to sit the hell down, and just get it over with, maybe even let Jimin do his job later.

“Let me help you, Jeongguk. Just let me fucking help you.”

Jeongguk didn’t take the hand, but took a step back to his place on the floor.

“I’ll talk if you talk first.”

And it was ringing like some child’s whim, but Jeongguk didn’t care. He couldn’t care anymore
for how he sounded, not this time, not when he simply wanted Jimin to let go as well.

“You don’t want my history,” Jimin said. “I don’t wanna know it anymore.”

“It’s either you talking, or me going, right now.”

Jimin rubbed at the crease of his brow and shook his head. Whenever he did small motions like
that, his body sang, and Jeongguk was reminded of temple totems, again and again.

“Okay,” Jimin said. “What do you wanna know?”

That got Jeongguk going down to the floor all too eager, but he didn’t mind for it as he crossed his
legs and faced Jimin.

“Dunno,” he said dumbly. The only thing he knew was about the house, that it was built by Jimin’s
grandfather. “How old are you?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, you must have some idea.”

“I’m twenty-five. But it’s been a while.”

“A while.”

“I used to count, yeah. At some point I forgot to keep counting? Sometime after…what was the—
the byeong-in yangyo.”

Wasn’t that 1866? Ish? It had to be, he’d been okay with dates back in school.
Jeongguk frowned. “So, you don’t remember the year you were born?”

“I don’t. It was before the new calendar. I can’t remember now.”

“How long before?”

“Some years, fuck, I dunno. A hundred? I’m not sure.”

Jeongguk tried to think about it. That’d make the entire span what, around two hundred, two
hundred and twenty? He asked Jimin why he was taking it this way, not even a little bit interested
in counting his own years.

“I don’t really care,” Jimin said. “Doesn’t matter, does it?”

“I’m just—you don’t get it. I mean, meeting someone like that. Like, you gotta see yourself
through someone else to get it.”

“Works with regular people too, though. Don’t you think?”

Jeongguk shrugged, trying to decide what he wanted to know first. “What’s the first thing you
remember?”

It took maybe a minute of Jimin just tracing the dried ink on the the ritual paper, but he did reply.

“I was maybe five or so. I was out with my grandmother.”

“What was she like?”

“Serious. A little crazy.” Jimin smiled only for a moment. “She was mansin. People in the village
hired her for all sorts of things.”

Jimin said she’d been teaching him about whatever it was she’d been doing since he was tiny, but
that day she took him with her to watch her officiate. It was his first time seeing something other
than the mountain.

“First time I was allowed. Not my brother, though. He wasn’t gonna be allowed for a while.”

“Why?”

“Because of my mother.”

Before Jimin was born, his mother went to the village sorceress for a fortune telling, as you
normally would with a baby on the way, but she figured it was better to ask for a stranger’s
divination and not someone from her family.

The sorceress used her coins and sticks and spells, then frowned a whole lot and told Jimin’s
mother that should a child—a boy—from her house ever go swimming in the sea, she would never
see him again.

“Mother never let me near it,” Jimin said, smiling. “She never let me out of the house. I knew she
was scared. She was trying to care. And when Jihyun was born, she didn’t know what to do. A
child from her house…”
Jimin was saying how this was it, for him and his brother, to always be confined to this house and
the mountain, and wonder about the ways of the people who lived down there. If the kids in the
village spoke different child language and had some other games, better games, for the normal kind
of people.

“I only knew this place. The pines and this creek. We had a dog…”

Jeongguk looked around the numaru and thought that this place was probably where all of them
had gathered once, in summers.

Jimin had put the beer can down and was offering him a sip again. Jeongguk declined, suddenly
ashamed. It was so sad now, Jimin’s face. Nothing Jeongguk had seen before.

“So you’ve never been...anywhere?” Jeongguk asked.

“I’ve seen it through people.”

“Not the same.”

“No.”

Jeongguk remembered that night on the beach, Jimin asking to be held. “You really can’t swim?”

“I can, I’m just shit at it.”

“So…” Jeongguk breathed in. “So what happened to you?”

Jimin took another sip of the beer. Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then reached for
the heap of his necklaces and fished one out, holding it up. It was black with time, and the pendant
was a bundle of tiny bells.

“My grandmother’s. I got it the day my time stopped.”

Jeongguk asked him what he'd meant exactly, and Jimin took another long gulp before saying
anything.

“Kids are stupid little fucks,” he said. “And we were, sure, but it was… we just had to try it at least
once.”

Jimin was sixteen, and his grandmother took them to the village to see the new marketplace. It was
dusk by the time they were ready to go back. The shoreline road basked in shadows, and she
couldn’t see that well, and that was all it was, Jimin and Jihyun taking one look at the sea down
there, then at one another, and bolting.

“I didn't know water could sting, or dry your skin like that. There was so much salt… Jihyun got
lost in the waves. I tried, I really did. It wasn’t even that deep, but I couldn’t do it, couldn’t do a
fucking thing.”

Jimin was playing with his rings now, deep in thought.

“They say childhood ends, and really ends, when you realize what death is, for the first time. And I
mean really feel it. The dread of it. Realize that there’s this end, and it’s the end of you. What’s it
like to not exist at all? You know, heavy shit for a preschooler. And when you get it through you,
that’s when you die a little too. As a child, kinda...

“But Jihyun… I found him so pale. Dragged him to the sand… And fuck, was he heavy. Like he’d
soaked up the entire sea. People who die like that weigh a ton, but it only seems that way if you’ve
never carried a dead person before.

“Then grandmother was there, crying and chanting and shaking all of her bells. And she saw me
crying too, maybe saw that I knew it all in that moment, like, all at once. Like, that I’d do anything.
Anything at all.

“She didn’t have to say much even. Just told me where to find the steamer. I’ve never run so fast.
Never, like I did that day. Didn’t stop once until I reached the house. It was hard to carry the stuff
by myself so far, but I did, to the mountain’s heart. Closer to the top, you know, closer to the sky.
She taught me well, my grandmother.”

That evening Jimin had set it all up really fast, the rice with the candle, the steamer and the water.
He rushed through the prayer and burned the paper, bowing down with his head to the cold
ground, his palms flat in the dirt, shaking while he waited.

And when he began to think that all of it was no good, he felt the first touch, the cool brush of the
mountain spirit to his being.

And mountain gods couldn’t speak the human way, but felt you just fine, and you felt them one
word at a time, because that kind of energy wasn’t something a human could handle, not all at
once.

“It worked,” Jimin said. “He listened.”

Jeongguk finally reached for the can and drank half of it in one go.

“The deal was, he’d share a life. And it was a top-heavy deal, but Jihyun was alive, and that was
all. All that mattered.”

“And what about you?”

“Well, he gave me time. I had till my next samjae cycle. The middle one.” He paused. “Took about
nine years.”

“And then?”

“I was twenty-five when it happened.”

“Do you remember…” Jeongguk was unsure again. He licked his dry lips. “What it feels like?”

Jimin did remember.

Jimin said that when a god passed through you, it felt like drowning on land, sort of. The spirit just
surged through him, once, and was gone.

“And that was it, he was gone, and I felt it all stop. This shift when you feel all time at once… it’s
unlike anything.”

Jeongguk patiently waited for Jimin to gather it all back together.

“And I was just a person, you know, who suddenly had all these duties. Watching over the village,
over every little house that called for the mountain god, but got me instead. He’d made me the
guardian, made me carry his mark on my back, but I was no god or spirit, but that was the job, to
do whatever he’d done forever, and do it forever instead, but I was just a person—”
He clicked his tongue, suddenly angry with himself.

“I had to tend to people as a person, and that wasn’t the kind of care they prayed for. But nobody
could know. Nobody would’ve believed, even back then.”

What would that be like for his brother, Jeongguk wondered. To see it like that…

“What did your brother think of it?”

“He learned too late. When he was aging past me. Freaky to see your dongsaeng grow old while
your reflection remains the same.”

Jeongguk thought he’d rather not hear that, the reason why Jimin didn’t have a single mirror in the
house.

Jeongguk would rather not know that it still came from a very bad place of Jimin seeing himself.

“Was he mad?”

“No. He was good like that.” Jimin smiled, remembering. “But I watched them all die. But then he,
he was the only one to see it with me. His wife and daughter… they’d gone years before him.
Smallpox, lotsa people pegged out that year. And I sat with him all night after he’d told me that it
would be it for him.”

“He knew he was dying?”

“They say old people just know when it’s all real and coming at ya. But Jihyun, he was…” Jimin
tapped at the tin side of the can. “That night I asked him what it felt like, you know? Dying.”

And his brother told him that he barely remembered, it’d been that long ago.

But he also said that drowning the way he did hurt like something he had no words for. Said he’d
felt his lungs burn with it all his life, like he’d always carried that death with him.

“But I just needed to know. ‘Jihyunie, what’s it like? What is your body when you die?’” Jimin’s
tone softened at that, like he was mocking his own voice from back then. “And he said, ‘It takes
you away very gently. Like you jump into some invisible stream, and it carries you away.’”

Jimin drank the last of his beer. There was more to his face now, somehow.

“You know, living like that, one thing you kinda end up getting carved into you… this feeling, that
people gutting each other for base crap never stops, ever. Like, whatever the reason. Imperial
Expansion or brand key chains, who gives a shit.

“And it gets you sick, Jeongguk, you’re so sick just watching these pointless guts recycle over and
over, and all you can do is hold in the vomit. Your waking hours just warp into one puke-
swallowing event, and it’s a dead end. The stuff… you saw it too.”

Jeongguk tried to imagine being trapped in one of those ugly scenes from the job. The scenes he’d
seen humans mix up, those proverbial babies microwaved by their crackhead parents, and what it
would be like to end up stuck in that shit forever.

“It looks like it’s moving, you know, people and the time,” Jimin carried on. “But when you look
at the top, just see it from out there, it’s a fucking circle, it’s just that. And you all just roll around
in the same gutter, spewing the same shit, over and over.”

Jimin said how he’d watched the village become a town, and watched mountains change, but he’d
still had to juice himself out for every local trash, because that was his job.

“It wasn’t hard at first. I’d been that with my family…” He tugged on his hair, once, hissing. “But
fuck. Fuck, you lose your place so fast. What you are, you know. In that kinda…long-term
exposure…decade after decade of this relentless misery, us in this fucking sewer in outer space.”

And then Jimin said that sure thing he had love for people and the need to help, and sure thing he
loved dumb pleasures, loved drinking sick and fucking the frenzy out, but there was no end to the
way everyone took him as a thing.

A thing of two purposes: be pretty and be used.

And it sure was his fault for doing that to himself, he added, and that he’d stopped spewing out his
guts every time he saw someone elbow-deep in spunk and gristle.

“New age, though. That was when the perverts took a real shine to me. Some new level, ya know?”

Jeongguk scoffed. “You saying there weren’t any pervs before?”

“I’m saying that slapping this,” Jimin pointed at his chest, “piece of meat on back alley walls, face
smashed into retch and jizz, and then getting off on it was suddenly all chill and shipshape. All I
could amount for.”

Jeongguk swallowed, feeling uneasy.

“Would you get off on it?” Jimin smiled, but there was no humor in it. A lot of hurt, though. “You
agree with them, don’t you? Wanna make it the most normal thing, right?”

It was a raw and awful sound, and Jeongguk couldn’t listen to it.

Jimin’s voice reached some new kind of edge then. “Love seeing me pumped full of it. Wanna see
me choke on it, the little boy toy thing. That was all you saw, didn’t you? The moment you stopped
fearing me. That was all you wanted me to be, didn’t you?”

“Stop it,” Jeongguk hissed. “Stop.”

He saw that Jimin closed his eyes and was taking slow, measured breaths. His broad chest was
rising and falling under his flimsy shirt, a real hypnotic thing. Jeongguk looked away.

“Sorry,” Jimin said. “I still can’t get used to it.”

“To what?”

“Being a person to someone.” He paused. “Am I still, though? To you?”

Jeongguk couldn’t find an answer right away, and that was answer enough. But for some reason
Jimin giggled at that, like a child, and looked like one in that moment too. It was gone the next
second.

“Yeah, well, anyway,” Jimin smiled differently now, “the 90s were all glitter and fucking, and I
kinda miss it a little. Sunshine policy, little spring. And then, you know, came another shitfall.
Water-shit down.”
Quips like that always made Jeongguk laugh, so he did so without really intending to. He still
couldn’t look Jimin in the eye and only watched the thick wristbands jingle with the movement of
Jimin’s hands. Some slid down to his elbows, and Jimin had to shake it all back.

“That time I thought…that was it,” Jimin said, twirling one of his rings. “Like, that was it for me, I
couldn’t go on anymore. But, you know. I couldn’t leave.”

A minute, then another.

But it seemed like Jimin was done.

Jeongguk shifted in place, coughing. “Then why do you wanna spend the rest of your life in
prison?”

“I can’t leave unless I have evil in me.”

And that was the thing. For Jimin there wasn’t any tragedy in that, but instead it was like gripping
for freedom. Having this foreign evil inside, and do a whole lot of self-sacrificial bullshit, and then
there would be a way of getting out of here.

And Jeongguk was the one that led him to it.

He smiled, “Hyung was using me too.”

Jimin was shaking his head but smiling all the same. “Now your turn.”

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ

“You smiled.”

Jeongguk snapped his head at that, now staring at her. Heeyeon thought that it really was like
seeing a rabbit in the headlights, in this bright moonlight.

“I dunno why, it’s just…haven’t seen these memories in forever. Feels weird, like…”

“Sore?”

“No. Like—like I don’t wanna wear them down.”

She could see the point in that. Like having to give up your favorite things after they’d been
laundered down to mesh.

“What he said to you, about…all that. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I’m bad at, like, impromptu reflexion. That’s what Hoseokkie-hyung always said anyway.”

“But, I mean. What’d you feel?”

“It was—I thought...”

Heeyeon turned the glass in her hand, watching the light flicker off the surface. Jeongguk was a
really loud thinker.
“Not until later, I didn’t think that, but I was just scared shitless. Of, like, not being sure of what to
say right away.”

“Angry?”

“No. I couldn’t stand him talking like that. About meat and toys and—” He took a second,
scratching at his nose. “It just kinda hit me. Would you wanna be that person?”

“That person?”

“Someone that hears shit like that—hears pain like that—and...” He cut off so abruptly, as if
suddenly slapped by his own words.

“You felt guilty,” she realized. She frowned. “Why?”

“Words like that…” Sucking on his teeth. “Most wicked kinda pain.”

Jeongguk opened another pack of smokes and offered her again. Then seemed to remember and
flashed her a bashful smile. He pointed at the bottle on their table, giving a hitch with his shoulder.

“Hyung had this huge cupboard full of trashy liquor. I had to raid it for courage.”

“What’d you get?”

He huffed through his nose, amused. “Cranberry vodka.”

“Well, that’s some garbage.”

“Guess that was our thing. Junk with class.”

“So,” she supposed, “you got really wasted that night.”

“I did. Slept like a baby.”

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ

“So, c’mon,” Jimin said, “give up your ghost.”

They’d lain out on the inner courtyard porch to talk in the chill and watch the glowing pond.

When Jeongguk asked him why it glowed, because he’d always watched it do that but never gone
to check for real, Jimin said he’d had LED lights installed there, to get his darkness a tad bit
prettier.

Jimin liked pretty things, and he was saying that, but then took one look at Jeongguk and stopped
himself.

And Jeongguk, well, he was kind of—more than a little—boozed up and that was why he was
ditching the blanket.

“His name was Jun,” he said.

“You say it a lot in your sleep.”

“I know.” Jeongguk sighed. “In the dreams, it’s almost always at the hotel.”

“What happened at the hotel?”

“Remember when we met,” Jeongguk suddenly said, “you knew I’d been transferred fresh from
promotion.”

“It’s a small place.”

“No, you knew it wasn’t, like, a transfer. That it was, like a…”

“Detention?”

“Yeah. High school shit.” He paused. “How’d you know that?”

“Your ghost made me, well, sense things. The things you were feeling. Guilt and that. They do that
sometimes.” Because they couldn’t talk, and Jeongguk learned that well. “They do that sometimes,
and I can pick my guesses.”

“Like some X-men shit,” he muttered, taking a gulp from the bottle.

“Like some X-men shit,” Jimin said, and reached for the bottleneck. “C’mon, give it up.”

“Get your own booze.”

“It is my booze. Gimme the ghost.”

Jeongguk sighed and handed over the bottle. “You heard of Black Milk connection?”

“You were on that one?”

“My first real case.”

Jeon Jeongguk was in his second year of rotation work after he’d graduated the Academy when his
Superintendent (a good old fat friend of his well-off father) deemed it enough for the show and
finally gave him the promotion.

Jeongguk was twenty-four years old, a shy trigger-happy rookie, and had been assigned to this
heavy-ass drug trafficking case that the 1st Investigation Division had to assist for Narcotics at the
2d, because it was just that vast, all of it, the body-count and softcore torture.

At the time of his assignment, the Black Milk drag was already nearing its juicy violent climax,
and it was clear the SI just wanted Jeongguk to have a high-profile arrest under his newbie belt for
later leverage.

Jeongguk just did what these big people told him, because he was the golden kid, had been born
and made into that, so he had to pay back by having this leash on him at all times.

Jeongguk had barely two days to really see the full scale of the thing.

Black Milk went too many years back, and every little thing they did was a slasher show, but
apparently Seoul and Busan cells were the last to still remain active, which wasn’t going to last that
long anyway.

It’d taken months for the 2d to sniff out the local leader, this real rank guy called Quik, whose real
name Jeongguk didn’t bother remembering, and who had been badgered good and had to drop
under with all his leftover milkies, country-wise.

But that was it, Jeongguk didn’t really have to know it, or care, or even work for it. All he had to do
was get on the tactical assault for the hotel, the seedy gutter-town place that the toasty undercover
guys had dug up after eighteen months of tunneling X.

D-day and they clocked in all right, two teams, dozen each, sliding according to the scheme all
smooth and butter-like.

It was one of those bulky buildings from the 80s with poor lighting and shaky elevators decked
with dyed plywood. They’d gone in through fire exits and cleaned out floors from five to eight, that
was out of ten, while the late backup flooded from the lobby.

And it was going nice, until something went off on the top floor and sent a shockwave through him
where he stood one floor below, alone. That was half the second team up there…

His team leader was down at the third, requesting backup, and Jeongguk was the only one that
close to the top. He hadn’t waited for the two guys from his unit, and went up and in.

And he sort of had this feeling.

The corridor was dark and clouded with smoke. Only two fluorescent tubes flickering at the
entrance and in the middle, still hanging off the ceiling by some miracle.

In this dim haze, Jeongguk could see that the cheap red carpeting was laid evenly with soaked
bodies. Six SWAT guys and maybe ten milkies. Some oozing thick blackish-red goo, others torn
inside out with icky bone stumps sticking out, greasy with this numble slime.

Nobody moved, except for this one milkie guy, or what looked like a guy, who was still twitching
near the knocked down plant. It was a withered dragon-tree in a heavy brass pot, and for some
reason Jeongguk would remember that detail very well.

Stains didn’t soil the wallpaper much, this old-fashioned patterned thing done in burgundy and
white. Someone wailed in the depth, right there beyond the haze, and Jeongguk was on it.

And he sort of had this feeling…

Tubes cracked with sparks above him as he slowly went in, his handgun ready for clearing, and he
tried very hard not to tumble over one of the corpses. He almost did tumble, too, when he reached
the middle where the impact from the explosion had been the strongest; almost slipped on this
puddled pile of ground meat when his combat shoe kind of landed wrong on the soggy top.

“Fucker,” Jeongguk said, snapping back to attention quick, but it was still empty. “Fuck.”
The wailing again. He was almost there, the second door from far exit, on the left. His breathing
was all fucked up but he still went in. Muscles twitching and heart beating out a good hundred-and-
thirty.

The inside was in splinters. Cheap furniture and glass, the coils of drapes and shattered lamps. It
was so dim, he could only see about five steps ahead, and that was enough to see the Quik guy with
someone, the one who’d been wailing.

Jeongguk had him at gunpoint and…

…and the dude had this girl in a headlock, knife peeling the skin under her cheekbone.

She didn’t look more than twenty and was wailing and running with it, the sweat and blood all over
her shaking body, but she couldn’t do anything at all. Standing like that on her toes in the grip and
probably paralyzed by that excruciating pain.

“Drop the knife,” that was his voice, Jeongguk heard it resonate, as he pointed his gun at the Quik
guy’s head. “I said, drop the fucking knife.”

The guy turned to him, taking the girl along. He had these crazed eyes of some rabid animal. No
foam at the mouth, but he was out of it, out of it with spit-dripping rage.

"Or what?"

"You know what, asshole. Or I'm gonna have to shoot."

“You think I give a shit?” he said, laughing a little. On the hysterical side. His voice was raspy
from the smoke. “Fuck you and your boy toys, I ain’t letting this bitch outta here alive.”

“Nobody’s getting out alive if you don’t drop the knife, put your hands up and out, and step the
fuck back.”

Jeongguk wasn’t sure how his muscles still hadn’t given out on him, because he was cramping all
over. Had been since coming in. His voice wasn’t shaking, so that was good. All was good.

“Drop it.”

“Y’know what I’m gonna do,” the Quik guy said, “I’m gonna cut this rat up. ’Cos that’s what you
do to rats. And you ain’t getting me do shit.”

“C’mon, think about it,” Jeongguk was itching with sweat, “it’s over. You’re only gonna fuck it up
for yourself.”

“Ah, shit, man, if you think I’m gonna just give my living ass to you. I ain’t going back, man.
Shoot me, whatever. Do it, whatever, the bitch is still gonna buy it.” He pressed two fingers to her
throat, under her jaw. “Aren’t you, baby?”

She whimpered, as if trying to say something. Nothing Jeongguk could really get. The words were
muffled by her pained sobs.

“C’mon, she didn’t have a choice.” Jeongguk didn’t know who she was. The guy’s lover, but
which one? “Let her go.”

It was then that Jeongguk heard the shouts booming in the stairwell, the backup finally filtering
towards the floor, but… part of it was not good at all.
Spooked, Quik pressed the blade to her carotid. He didn’t push, but then she jerked in his hold and
let out a horrible wail of fear. With her arm extended towards something in the room, she
screamed.

“Fuck,” Jeongguk said.

The blood poured.

And it hadn’t been intended, he could see the distress on Quik’s face, but the girl fell to her knees,
one hand clutching at her throat to keep the blood from gushing out which still waterfalled heavily,
painting her neck and chest, streaming between her rigid fingers.

She was reaching for something with her other hand, palm up and trembling.

“Drop the fucking knife,” Jeongguk barked, finally advancing, “step away from her. Hands where I
can see them.”

Quik looked at him with wide eyes. He was shaking his head, his lips moving in a mumble. He
held his hands in surrender. Asking Jeongguk for something…

The girl was splayed on the floor, still gurgling. Jeongguk was by her feet now, but his eyes never
left the guy. She was a goner, but no way he was getting the prick whip a gun out of his ass and
shoot it up for the get go.

Where was the fucking back up?

Loud bang sounded.

Then again, to his left, and louder as it moved closer.

Jeongguk swung around, blinking away the tears in the heavy smoke. He sensed danger.
Something surged forward, sharp, moving right at him, and he pulled the trigger. Three times, one
missing.

Quik cried out behind his back.

Jeongguk took a step into the smoke. He felt something grab his shoulder, Quik’s rigid hands, but
then the door slammed against the wall, and the room was instantly filled with noise. The unit was
cuffing Quik and clearing out, but the guy—he was yelling like he’d been gutted, rawing out his
throat.

“What did you do?” And he was sobbing. “Why’d you bring him here? The fuck you bring him
here for, bitch?”

Jeongguk inhaled. His throat clamped up from the smoke.

“What did you do, boy?” the guy was near howling, in the corridor now.

What did you do, my boy, what did you do, was that awful sound, and Jeongguk was still unmoving
with his gun pointed at the floor.

The boy lay on his back, his legs and arms like sticks. Blood began to pool under him. It was
soaking the carpet.

“Jeon?”
The team leader, grabbing him by the arm. Iron hold around his bicep.

“Jeon, you’re out of here.”

“No,” Jeongguk mumbled. Blinked. His lungs burned from all the fumes. “No.”

“Not a request.”

The boy he’d shot was blinking slowly. Jeongguk wanted to get closer, but couldn’t. It was the
leader’s hold and his wooden legs. The boy was blinking slowly, and Jeongguk couldn’t move or
see. He could barely see…

…but he saw small hands that were pressing to a small belly, over the white shirt, and how useless
that was. The shirt was drenched with red, soaked from the entry points in the chest and lower
abdomen.

Jeongguk kept blinking.

Then the boy whimpered, once, his eyes growing wide, and coughed up blood. It dribbled from the
corner of his mouth. He was choking on it.

“Move,” the leader again, “move, Jeon.”

Move, Jeongguk thought, and backed up.

Out of the smoke and away from the choking boy.

Down the corridor through a fog.

Wide steps, descending.

Lobby with tile and decking a bullet-torn mess.

Someone else was leading him now, to the outside air. Crisp and wonderful.

The warmth of the cruiser. He was in the front, thinking he should be back there, behind the
partition grill. He watched the road lights blur.

“Where’re we going?” he said. It wasn’t the way to the station.

He turned to the driver and finally saw that it was Yugyeom.

“Your uncle’s. His orders.”

“Why?”

“Listen,” Yugyeom sighed, rubbing at his face, “you don’t fuck with children.”

That was a stupid thing to say, Jeongguk thought with one half of his still functioning brain.
Anyone would get from twenty-five to life for this, cop or not.

“I’m not getting out of this, am I?”

“Oh, buddy.” Yugyeom was laughing. “You are. And wherever they send you, you’re gonna be out
of it.”

“How’s that…”
“Kooks,” Yugyeom said, a little gentler, “while you’re golden, you’re gonna be immune to trouble.
Normal people trouble. Don’t you doubt it.”

They stopped at a traffic light. Yugyeom looked at him then, appearing a little nervous.

And then Yugyeom really freaked all of a sudden, got really worried down to his frown.

And even in that weird state, Yugyeom made sure Jeongguk was listening when he said, “So stay
golden.”

Jeongguk couldn’t focus on anything but those words until he was standing before his uncle hours
later.

His uncle was calm, saying something about Deputy Director, or was it the one for the Internal
Inspection sector, and about the 1st Division in Seoul going all in on the rest of the cell, and while
they did that, Jeongguk had to go in the ditch, because Jeongguk could fuck it all up with his child
manslaughter improv.

“They’d wanna leak the dead kid to the press,” the uncle was saying, “and they can. And while
we're gonna try really hard to not let it happen, your ass is gonna find a swamp for yourself, boy,
and lay yourself there till your father tells you otherwise. And he’s not really what you call pleased
right now. My advice is to skip on that visit before you go.”

“Before…”

“You get down here tomorrow. I’ll have your papers ready.”

“How” —he blinked rapidly— “it was all so quick, how’re you…”

“You gotta stop talking.”

Then suddenly Jeongguk saw it all. This end of his: to be standing there sodden with grime and
sweat, his lungs scorched and eyes teary to the ache, and knowing he’d be doing everything they
say.

“It’s nothing serious,” his uncle said, “just a transfer. One year and you’re out. Don’t even have to
change your name. See?” He patted Jeongguk on the shoulder, smiling thinly. “Got you all good.
Geoje is only two hours away.”

Nothing serious, Jeongguk thought, you don’t even have to change your name. Nothing serious.

He saw the boy’s eyes. Blinking slow, slow, slower. Stay golden.

All was silent for a while, by the pond. Jimin was studying his flushed face.

And then suddenly Jeongguk was trying to explain to Jimin what it had been like when the boy
called Jun haunted his every step in and out of consciousness, and Jeongguk said it was sort of like
that thing at the end of that Kim Jeewon movie with creepily pale kids who’d been chasing some
fucking catharsis…
…in that way where they weren’t so much as scary as they were horribly sad and made you bleed
with guilt even if you hadn’t done shit.

But Jeongguk did.

“Well,” Jeongguk said, feeling clumsy, “that’s all there is to it.”

Maybe he meant himself as well. He’d never managed to find much depth in his person. Maybe
that was normal.

“What’re you thinking?” Jimin’s voice was a low murmur.

“Just how we all…how we all think that our pain is really unique. But it isn’t.”

“It isn’t,” Jimin echoed.

“Still wanna help me?”

“I do. You?”

Jeongguk shrugged. Nodded.

He rose and followed Jimin inside, not for more cranberry junk but to sleep. And he fell asleep
almost instantly, thinking how strange it was of him to be going around Jimin in circles like that.
Mind was a sticky thing.

They talked to the boy two days later.

The abandoned hotel stood at the end of a small bay’s arc. Desolate and bleak, the bay was
supposed to be a resort, decades ago. The hotel's sea-side walls were missing, and all rooms had
been constantly assaulted by ocean winds.

“They kinda planned for this huge government resort type of thing,” Jimin had explained, “before
the Sixth Republic. But, you know. They’d run out of cash before the shit even hit.”

These half-finished projects, all windowless concrete giants, often had been the government
commissions in the 70s and couldn't be finished in time before the budget went dry. Many of them
were still tucked in secluded places like this throughout the country.

Jimin had chosen the place for some better channeling, whatever that was.

“It’s gonna work like his token,” he’d said, “and you just fill it with your memory. And I’ll be the
mirror.”

They’d chosen a top-floor room with a view of the deserted beach, a long rocky stretch lined with
black bulks of breakwaters that cut through the surf. Breaking waves so loud here, each one a
detonation.

The room’s bloated linoleum stuck to the soles of his boots as Jeongguk walked to the edge. He
watched the waves break so far below, remembering…
Jeongguk remembered that when you stood at the end of a breakwater, in colder months, and when
the waves were high but safe enough, the water burst in sparks and prickled your numb face,
bringing sensitivity back to it grain by grain—only for a brief moment—and the air was so rich
with ozone it made your lungs feel crisp and your head spin—and with something so crystal clear,
too, that you wanted to stay in that transparency forever.

But it made you sick, it always made you sick.

All the good things made you sick if you held onto them for too long.

“Shit,” he said, taking in the view. “Shit’s pretty.”

He looked down, to the cliff that was this hollow concrete animal. Past the fence, a cluster of sharp
white rocks, enormous and permeated with little clumps of juniper. Beyond those, a high concrete
wall stretching as far as he could see to either side, cutting the hotel from the pebbled beach.

“All’s set,” Jimin said.

Jeongguk turned around.

Inside the room it was cold and empty, and the bare walls were only lined with strings of human-
shaped paper figures that Jimin had made earlier. By the door, one taboo rope and a stripe of
yellow soil that’d become familiar by now.

“You’re not tying me this time,” Jeongguk wondered.

“It’s a different thing. And either way, you’re not gonna hurt him.”

“You sure?”

“What, you wanna be tied up?” Jimin’s eyes had gone all sparkly, this shithead type of mirth.

“Let’s just do it,” Jeongguk grumbled.

It smelled of wet concrete and rotten wood, but beneath it all there was this nice kind of cloud, all
these scents Jimin had carried here. Faintly herbal and flowery and cool. Props for the ritual and
the scent of Jimin’s own clean body. Something peachy…

And when they started, Jeongguk smelled it stronger.

They were standing this time, Jimin facing the sea with his paper spells out, Jeongguk with his
back to the open wall. He felt the cold breeze through his flimsy shirt, the fabric sticking to his
skin like cool glue.

“Remember how you should talk,” Jimin reminded.

“Yeah, yeah, like we’re friends and just chilling.”

“Look at my face. And don’t try touching me. Okay?”

Won’t be hard, Jeongguk thought, a little bitter with himself.

“Hyung, just get on with it.”

“Shut it now.”
Jimin stood before him, so brightly composed, and read out the spell.

He held it to eye-level with his right hand and his left poised just under the paper, ready to flick on
the lighter. When he did, the paper caught fire in a flurry and went out in a whiff despite the wind
from the sea.

After Jimin had burned the paper, he moved his left hand to the side, closer to Jeongguk’s ear, and
let the wind scatter the ashes from his open palm.

Jeongguk had swallowed a bowl of another brew earlier, and now was feeling the familiar thick
sensation in his throat. Like sticky fingers pushing their way down, into his stomach.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Jimin said, closing his, “and imagine that day well.”

Then he started his song, from some deep old place in his chest, and Jeongguk was immediately
lulled by it. Slow and smooth voice, real molasses, and the strong crashing of waves.

The melody sank deep into his bones. Like gravity, pulling him down.

Instead of using any instrument, Jimin was playing with the silver on his body. Right arm
stretching slowly upwards, the left moving down, and all of it was so fluid and smooth, it could
hardly be natural, but his bracelets were ringing with every sharp twist of wrists.

For a moment, all this noise made Jeongguk think of loaded jailbirds, real heavy hitters, chain-
clanking their way to the pen. And Jimin’s was the mountain, or maybe this entire town.

But there was something enormous about him, Jeongguk thought, as if trying to get free. Not just
now, but all the time, really.

Jimin shuddered. His head to the side, hair flying. Curly and messy. His body was racked by some
powerful and invisible wave, like he’d been zapped. Slowly, he straightened and became very still.

His eyes snapped open, startling Jeongguk. All black again, and so flat in the lacklustre morning.

Jeongguk expected a child, something he’d seen when Minam moulded herself within Jimin, but
not this. Not fucking this. This looked morbid and hollow and…

This blank hefty shit was creeping him out. Jimin regarded him with utmost gravity.

“Hello,” Jeongguk said.

Nothing moved in Jimin, not a single muscle.

“I, uh…we’ve been seeing each other a lot, huh?”

Still not sound. The wind moved his inky hair.

“We always meet at the hotel, right? But you never talk.” Jeongguk licked his lips. He was heating
up with nerves. “I’ve tried talking to you, but you never do. Don’t you wanna talk?”

This time Jimin tilted his head, and the chained earring strewn through his right shell made a
sound.

“It’s just, I’ve never heard your voice, and I want to. We spend so much time together. You can tell
me anything. And I’ll tell you something too. I can tell you whatever you want.”
Jimin put his head straight again.

“What do you wanna know?” Jeongguk started to sweat. “Just please tell me.”

It began to grow in him, the noise in his head, this hiss that got louder and louder in the deafening
surf and Jimin’s silence. Jeongguk felt his heartbeat pick up, a loud thud against the ribs.

“Please,” Jeongguk reached out, but Jimin took a step back.

Just one. Jeongguk moved forward, and Jimin backed away again.

“What do you want? Just tell me, and I’ll do it. Just say something. Please, one word.”

It was then that Jeongguk felt it, the paralysis; his body was taken by tremors and his vision
tunneled in. In the charged air of this place or the fear…

It felt like any dream he’d had. Somebody pushing him into the smoke, and he had a weapon in
hand, different each time. Somebody pushing him into the thick cloud to kill. Somebody planting
murder in his mind, and his body yearning for it, getting heavy and slow.

And now he was losing his mind, so fast he was sure he’d faint. His mouth and nose and even
lungs weren’t a part of him anymore, and he wanted to close his eyes, but remembered Jimin’s
words.

“Please,” Jeongguk whispered.

The convulsions came next, trapping air in his lungs, and he twitched until his knees were giving
out. He didn’t feel the fall with his numb body. Hunching from the pain, he searched for more
words, anything, and looked up at Jimin who just stood there and watched him blankly.

“I’ll do anything. I’ll do anything,” Jeongguk pleaded, “just tell me what you want.”

Another cramp shot through him. It sort of froze in a knot between his shoulder blades, coiling and
coiling and heating up, and he fell to his hands.

Palms on the sticky floor. He felt bile rising to his throat.

“Please.”

All air rushed out of his burning lungs. Jeongguk stared at the dirty floor, its ugly washed out
pattern. He’d never felt his body grow so tense before. Every muscle was taut and pulled so tight,
he really thought all of him might snap.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out.

He was heaving. Hard and dry, his throat tight, and eyes so hot and wide, he was heaving and
feeling so fucked up in this wicked spot, this impassive silence.

“I’m sorry.”

Still no reply.

And Jeongguk let himself talk. He let it run out of him, all jumbled and useless.

It was sort of like listening to white noise. His mind tuned it out, his own shaky watery voice, but
his mind was tuning it out the way it did with other people, sometimes. He knew what he was
saying, or rather blabbering, he knew what he was asking for, but he didn’t hear any of it.

He pushed up to sit on his heels, but it was all white noise in his ears.

Jimin watched him buzz like that on the floor. Eyes unblinking. It pushed Jeongguk forward.

He shuffled on his knees towards Jimin but this time didn’t try touching. Just stilled like that,
looking up into the blank eyes. Something flashed there, in those eyes, and it stung so bad, like his
body would rip at the middle.

Jeongguk started choking on nothing. His throat just suddenly felt so full, as if something bubbled
over, over and up to his mouth. It cut all air, and he made this gurgling sound but didn’t stop trying
at words. Then his throat clamped up. He felt it so vividly, himself choking on blood.

“What did you do?” Jimin asked. His voice was impossibly soft.

Jeongguk tried to force the words out, but blood was sploshing inside of his mouth.

He clutched at his throat, pushing, pushing, trying to get out something, just any word, really.
Please let me do it, he thought, please listen to me.

“Can’t you talk?”

Jeongguk shook his head.

“You’re choking? Is that you choking?”

Jeongguk let his hands fall to the floor again, but he strained his neck to keep their eye contact.

“You’re joking, mister,” said Jimin, giggling.

By now Jeongguk was dripping with sweat and trembling all over. His arms and thighs were
twitching in his soaked sticky clothes. No sound was coming from him anymore, and he just
balanced there with his body weighed down by the black eyes of the dead child.

Jeongguk shook his head again with all power he could muster. The violent motion turned his
vision black. That and no air, there was still no air in his lungs at all. He thought he would pass
out. There was something sticky and cool on his cheeks. His skin was filmed with sweat.

When Jeongguk felt tears begin to stream down his numb face, Jimin took a step closer.

And Jeongguk had to push himself up, make his hands do something. That effort drained the last of
it, whatever strength he had left, but he pushed to his knees and reached out to fist Jimin’s shirt. He
tugged on it, hard, until their bodies touched.

The shirt was rough and cool against his forehead. Jeongguk shook like that, feeling the
consciousness slip away from him and the darkness closing in, but then something hot brushed his
neck. A hand on his nape.

Then the air rushed in. First breath burned so horribly, he felt new tears form in his eyes. It itched,
his eyes and throat and inside his chest, but he was breathing. Each deep inhale made him dizzier.

Dizzy, dizzy…

“Jun-ah,” he croaked, “Jun-ah.”

Face pressed to Jimin’s stomach, he sobbed.

“I’m sorry—listen, god, listen—I’m so sorry. Forgive me, please forgive me.”

The back of Jimin’s shirt made a ripping sound where Jeongguk was clutching at it. He tugged and
tugged, pulling Jimin in, and he chanted, chanted mute, chanted forever—and had it been forever?
Warm hand was still on his nape, a heavy weight.

“Mister,” Jimin said. “You deserved this pain, mister.”

Jeongguk nodded frantically, saying that yes, he did, he did deserve more pain than that, than what
had been given, he deserved something so terrible instead, and asked to stop sparing him, and make
him pay for all he’d ever done.

Babbling and rubbing his wet face on Jimin’s shirt until his lungs gave out.

“Mister,” fingers pressed hard to the back of his head, “you deserved this pain. But it wasn’t your
fault.”

He tried to say that no, say that it was, it was his fault, but his voice wouldn’t work, so he just
clutched on tight. Tighter.

“You’ve done enough,” said the boy. “I’m sorry too.”

Closing his eyes, Jeongguk listened to the noise in his head. There was none, only the waves far
below. Wind singing in the hollows of the hotel.

“Let go,” the boy said, “let go.”

Jeongguk exhaled.

Jimin held him by the nape, now caressing it softly, his other hand coming to play with his hair,
then rub at his earlobe. Jeongguk knew it was the real Jimin now, his Jimin. He breathed in the
scent. Faintly musty, something peachy…

A cool puff of wind caressed over his skin, and it all became very clear inside of him. Cool in his
sweat, his mind like glass. He could finally breathe clean.

“You just let me go,” said Jimin, and it was his own voice.

Jeongguk felt his heart beating steadily, and thought it all felt like bliss. The sea gave the chill
back, but this new warmth gathered between them now.

Now Jimin was tugging him closer, cradling his head and carding his fingers through Jeongguk’s
messy curls. Jimin wasn’t saying anything, but he was himself.

Jeongguk felt it in his touch and his body, belly so warm under his cheek. His arms tightening
around Jimin’s body, Jeongguk rubbed his nose into the solid warmth and breathed in, deep.

“It’s over now,” Jimin said. His hands were gentle, so much that it made Jeongguk want to cry
again.

“Fuck it.” His shoulders began to heave.

“You are good,” Jimin crooned, “you are good.”

 And as Jeongguk let it all out, crying until he no longer could, Jimin stroked his hair and watched
the sea. Said that the boy, Jun, couldn’t pass over because it was Jeongguk who’d been holding
him back. Said that underneath all that anger, the boy had wanted Jeongguk to forgive himself.
And saying that, Jimin laughed, incredulous. Like he was baffled by a ghost like that.

“Kinda crazy, really,” Jimin said, casual.

Jeongguk chuckled. Wasn't a big sound, but he could hear that his voice was fucked.

“There’s a boat,” Jimin said, for no reason. “Probably crab fishing.”

“Oh,” Jeongguk whispered in his shirt. “Is it time already? For crabs.”

“I think it is.”

“Don’t like them much. Kinda stinky.”

“Only when you cook them. And your ass never cooked.”

“What’s it look like?”

“The boat? It’s—”

“The sea.”

Jimin took a moment.

“It’s kinda…” His hand pushed the hair from Jeongguk’s damp forehead. “Kinda all gray and shit.”

Chapter End Notes

onto a softer cathartening

 Be Comfortable, Creature
Chapter Notes

the climaxing (in all senses)

#cheese
breathplay
post-angst with Hobi The Wise
some slurs

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“You know,” Hoseok said, pausing before his first sip at morning coffee, “you trying to be
inconspicuous is like the First Chairman testing nukes. Why were you getting the forms ready?
Something I should know?”

Jeongguk shuffled with the papers on his table. “You’ll know when it happens.”

“I like to know what kinda shit to expect before it comes down. So what is it?”

“It’s complicated.”

“No. It’s simple. Tell me.”

Hoseok put the cup down on the desk, over the statement Jeongguk took this morning, staining all
over that fire-caused-by-negligence sob story.

Jeongguk looked at the stain forming. “Jimin’s gonna confess.”

There it went. A tight crazy secret, done and gone. His chest became very light.

“Right. To what?”

“Eight murders.”

Hoseok didn’t seem that fazed. “Right,” he said. “Then what?”

“Then he’s doing DC till his trial is up.”

“Then what?”

“Life at the correctional or, you know, death row at the correctional. Life either way.”

Hoseok nodded, like he was getting with the program, but he was studying him.

“Question,” Hoseok said. “Not even asking why he’s doing it, but how’re they gonna build the
case? He’s got good circumstantial but… other evidence, accounts. We don’t got the level
clearance.”

“I don’t care. Confession like that? I know they’re gonna push for judgement without trial. And if
they don’t, I’m gonna have to testify. Same as you. And I also know you’re gonna have to write
him up in the first place and pack him for the pen.”
“Uh-huh. Maybe I am. Maybe not. But the Chief’s gonna love him better than the meth head, that’s
for sure. And you’re chill with this anyway, huh?”

Jeongguk shrugged. The hitch in his shoulder caught Hoseok’s attention, same way it always did,
because Hoseok was really wild on hard massage spa nights.

“You’re trying to do this thing,” Hoseok said, “where you don’t want me thinking you’re off your
nut. You don’t need to be doing that. I don’t care. I’m not gonna change shit either way. So do
what you gotta do later, but tell me all you can now.”

Jeongguk took the cup, sipped some, burned his mouth.

“Dead people”—he said—“talking. Ghost traps. Some drugs. Some fucking. Immortal mountain
guardians.” He tapped at the tabletop. “About covers it.”

“Okay. What’re you gonna do after?”

“What, the shift?”

“Jimin’s trial, if there’s gonna be one.”

“That shit’s gonna take forever. I’m going home in July.”

“And before that?”

“His place. Kkachi’s gotta eat.”

“Who?”

“The cat. She’s real dumb.”

Hoseok sighed. “If anything, you still got a place to go. I’ll keep the couch clean. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Hoseok was quiet for a moment. He played with the pen idly, twirling it on the tabletop.

“There’s kinda two ways you can go about it,” he said. “A dickhole kind, that’s when you drop the
whole deal to save your ass from burning. Which you’ll most likely gonna be regretting when he
goes, and that’s the out-of-reach kind, and only then it’ll hit ya. But you’ll get by…

“…and then the other kind, that’s when you let all that's raw and honest do the thing. How you and
I started. Got the job done and didn’t bullshit each other. And we got by.”

Jeongguk avoided any eye contact, knowing that Hoseok could get his hard-boiled rationale under
anyone’s skin.

“But when you’re gonna be choosing between these kinds of behaviors,” Hoseok tapped on the
wood to get Jeongguk’s attention, like a teacher would, “you think real hard about a thing. You do
the jack move to skirt the pain, dunno, to get by. And you’ll get by, okay? But what happens in
between? What happens when he’s out there? Alone or dead, and you couldn’t spare him one
word?”

“He’s not really normal. He doesn’t feel shit like that.”

“That’s gotta hurt.”

Jeongguk wasn’t sure if Hoseok meant him, or Jimin hearing him say that.

“Hyung, it’s a done deal. I can’t—”

He let out a shaky breath.

“—I’m not gonna be able to look at him.”

“Okay,” Hoseok said. “But you’ll just be fucking yourself over.”

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ

Heeyeon wondered what time it was, looking at the first light of dawn. She didn’t want to touch
the phone just yet.

Jeongguk had been talking for hours, and there hadn’t even been the need for her to ask anything.
No leading questions, or poking, none of that. Jeongguk had just talked, and he talked like it was
the first time he allowed himself.

And now Jeongguk was coming back from the house with a coffee pot. He refilled their cups and
went for a habitual cigarette.

“Did you do it?” she asked.

“What?”

“Ghost trap. Did it work?”

“It did.”

“How did you do it?”

“At dusk. He said it had to be like the repelling in reverse, sort of."

She took a note of that. "And where was it?

Jeongguk tapped at his lips with his thumb, the cigarette still clamped between his fingers. "Thing
is, when you expel gaekgwi from someone’s body, you gotta do it in their house. To summon it,
you gotta do it in the house. To set a trap, you gotta do it in the house.”

“Wait, but the ghost—Woojin—wasn’t in your body.”

It came to her as a surprise, that saying stuff of this sort had stopped feeling silly.

“He was attached to me. From the very beginning, you see. I mean, the moment I got to the Hwang
crime scene.” He bit on his lip in thought. “Possession is rare. Spirits control you in other ways.”

“I know that.”

“Everyone knows that. From granny’s folk tales.” He smiled, tracing the edge of the cup. “But they
attach themselves to you like that. Some get you real sick. Some get you going mental. But it was
good that…that Woojin was on me.”
“Why?”

“’Cos it’s very easy to trap them like that.”

Heeyeon nodded, thinking over his words from earlier. “You say you had to do it in your house.
Jimin’s?”

“That wasn’t my house. Sure it felt like home, but…” He twisted the lighter between his fingers.
“Without him it was just a house. Not mine.”

“So how do you solve something like that?”

“You figure out what home is, in a moment. Don’t gotta be a house. Any place really…”

“Like a person.”

“Like that.”

“And how did you tell him about yours?”

“I didn’t. He knew. ’Course he knew. Didn’t tell me at first, ’cos he wasn’t sure.”

“Why?”

“The way I acted,” Jeongguk said, smiling. “You know, he used to see right through my shit. But
by the end…he was too scared, I guess.”

Jeongguk flicked the lighter on and off. Heeyeon figured him restless from the memory.

He played with fire for a long time, saying how sure enough Jimin was supposed to be the trap to
contain Woojin, like those lamp genies or a thing like that, but then Jimin was the home too, which
made it all kind of funny that they’d be skipping the usual hassle of having to lure the ghost into a
literal house.

And the horrible thing about it, Jeongguk said, was that being the vessel to this ghost wouldn’t
even affect Jimin. In that sense of him, his person.

He’d be himself still, each day and forever, but with this thing sealed somewhere deep, so that it
would make him a carrier of evil too.

And Jimin was all that, but his own life force was the mountain. It was in the mountain's heart,
Jeongguk said, looking like he was embarrassed talking shit of this sort.

“So we did it there, closer to the top. And the rest was easy.”

“Tell me the rest, then.”

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ

They set up in another clearing.

Forest growth was just as thick even near the top, and kind of hot for some reason, making
Jeongguk drip with sweat instantly.
Jimin had prepared the whole thing, this huge mat in the middle and folding table with all the props
next to it. Taboo rope strung from the closest trees and over that little place so that it formed a kind
of square above it. Yellow soil under those lines with ritual paper, the usual stuff.

Jeongguk, having carried this shitty ache of finality with him to the top, had sat there all brooding,
a little spaced out.

“Concentrate, will you?” Jimin muttered.

Jeongguk couldn’t see any bugs yet but he heard them just fine, like this white noise rising back
there, in the thick damp woods. No birdcalls at all, which was weird for this time of year. Yet a lot
of animal rustle somewhere, maybe snakes and some soft-pawed things.

Jeongguk tilted his head up. The waning light still filtered through high canopies, painting all
greens into sort of dirty blues.

“Look,” Jimin pointed somewhere behind him, “it’s here.”

Jeongguk swung around to see a bird, the only one in the clearing.

It was perched on a mossy tree stump, pecking at its peaty wood.

Any rite like that needed a bird crowing—it was usually a rooster in the village—to be a sort of call
for the ghost being sealed inside the trap. Jimin had told him not to worry because they’d have a
bird no problem, any place they would’ve chosen to officiate this. Any bird the mountain would
spare.

“How do you know it’s the one?”

“Fairy pitta. They’re really rare. Been dying out for decades.”

The bird was small and all puffy, kind of cute. Its wings were a palette of bright blue-greens.

“Don’t really care for birds,” Jeongguk said absently. “Never knew how to tell them apart.”

“You don’t gotta.” Jimin smiled. “Just count when it calls. Gotta be three times before we’re done.
Ready?”

“No.”

“Too bad.”

Jimin, his silver and tired eyes shining, knelt across and rubbed his hands in wordless prayer. He
wore these really battered gray sweatpants and one of his gauzy shirt things that showed his tan
skin, all of it glistening with ritual oil. In this place he actually looked cold for once.

Jimin lit the red lantern, and the light spread around them in a shimmering circle. It gave new glow
to his oiled skin. He kept pushing his hair back, a little nervous, which wasn’t helping Jeongguk at
all.

“Now, stay calm. He’s not gonna hurt you. Gonna be like a snap of fingers. Nothing been easier.”

Jimin had said it all before countless times, but that was a thing about him, that he never got tired
of repeating himself as long as it helped Jeongguk feel better.

“Just careful with that knife,” Jeongguk said, only joking.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Jimin seemed deeply offended, and it looked a little funny, “just don’t
move. No matter what. Even if you itch like hell.”

“I’m already itching.”

Jimin ignored him as he carried on, “When he leaves you, it’s gonna be hot. Just for a second.” He
took the blindfold and put it across his lap. “The cold hits, you don’t cover yourself till you see me
take off the blindfold. Also, when I kill the lantern—”

“I got it, I got it, please can we just…”

“What’s the backup plan?”

“Use the water on you.”

“And?”

“Drink it.”

“Good. Your eyes all right?”

Jeongguk nodded and watched him tie the blindfold, tight, catching some of his hair in his eyes. On
his feet now, Jimin reached for the table to get the knife, that old pretty ritual thing he’d used
before. It seemed like he had no trouble moving fine like that, with his sight obscured.

“Take the calabash,” Jimin said, and Jeongguk got the deep bowl and placed it on his lap. Jimin
pointed the tip of the knife at him. “Not a sound from you. Stay still.”

Jimin began with the spell, and it was a long one, which he’d talked about before, but now
Jeongguk truly witnessed the drag of it himself. Jimin went with it half-singing and doing that slow
dance of his chiming arms with the knife in hand.

Eventually Jimin made the first lunge, one step towards Jeongguk to swing the knife around his
head. It sort of flew over Jeongguk with a swoosh, and he felt his stray curls shake from the whiff
of air. All tensed inside of him, but it was fine, it was okay.

Jimin did it clean. Chanting still, louder now. Then another swing of the knife, broader this time.
Jeongguk tried very hard not to squirm. Last one came soon enough, only slightly brushing his right
temple.

He exhaled.

Then Jimin was standing over him, reaching for his hair. One palm on the crown of his head,
fingers picking one lock of hair. Jimin cut it with a sharp and quick motion. Then another one, and
another. He put all three locks in the calabash bowl in Jeongguk’s lap.

“Spit,” Jimin reminded.

Jeongguk did so three times, then put it away, feeling a little dizzy in the rising heat. Jimin blew
out the lantern, and all was sinking into shadow.

Jeongguk could still see rather well, but he mostly heard Jimin shuffle on something coarse; it was
his bare feet rubbing on salt, a little patch of it he’d spilled earlier. Jimin had said he could use that
or red beans, and choosing the salt came off as a little odd to Jeongguk, but he hadn’t been in a
place to give input.
Singing fading, feet coming to a stop. A sharp intake of air.

At first Jeongguk didn’t even know that anything was happening.

It was just this weird thing, maybe the fever growing in him so fast it gave him more of that crazy,
but hours later, or only seconds, or literal years—

—it surged through him like some new sense of time, and he was suddenly feeling good.

He felt so good and light, it was insane, it screwed with him big right then. But he felt like
laughing. Like he could float from this new lightness of being.

The shaking stopped. The heat wave hit. The time rushed back in.

“Shit,” Jimin said, falling to his knees, “there he is.”

It all happened fast, like a paper figurine snapping in half, when Jimin folded himself on the mat.
Forehead to the ground, knife still clutched tight in hand, he let out a horrible yell.

Jeongguk knew how painful it must’ve felt for Jimin, the flash of ague-like fever, the cramps
throughout his entire body and the ache that filled his head, splitting his very skull. It sounded
painful too.

And it was hard to watch, but Jeongguk couldn’t do a thing about it. He only had to wait.

Jimin groaned when his body was taken by violent shakes. He whined in pain, low, like he was
really close to fainting. And fuck, it hurt to see, it hurt a whole lot, and Jeongguk found himself
reaching for the water bowl. Maybe it was the panic invading his mind, but he didn’t care
anymore.

Cold water soaked Jimin’s form, and there was steam rising from his skin. His tattoo was stark
under the wet fabric. The shakes lasted for a while, the cries growing louder, rawer.

Jeongguk had to physically restrain himself from touching.

Then the first call sounded, that fairy pitta bird somewhere up there.

One, Jeongguk counted.

Two.

But then all noise stopped, and Jimin’s muscles seemed to relax. Sitting up, he didn’t sway a bit.

Three.

“Got him,” Jimin said, reaching for the knot on the back of his head, “got him.”

Jimin threw the knife over his back. Took off the blindfold.

“Hyung, you okay?”

A flurry of blinks. “Yeah, no,” smiling, “I’m feeling kinda fucked.” He rubbed at his face. “Check
where the knife points.”

Jeongguk got to his wobbly legs and did just that. Sitting back across from Jimin, he said, “Points
at you.”
Jimin nodded. “Got him.”

Jeongguk felt, and maybe even looked, a little embarrassed. But then Jimin laughed, this pretty low
sound, and it was one of Jeongguk’s favorite because it was so rough and a little on edge. However
raw, but Jimin still laughed and Jeongguk laughed with him.

“Fuck,” Jimin groaned and fell back. “Like being run over by a truck. I guess.”

“You ever tried?”

“Living forever doesn’t mean you got a free pass to shit on your body. I only got one.”

Which will be far away very soon, Jeongguk thought, feeling his own shakes creeping back. He
reached for the blanket to finally cover himself. Glanced at Jimin’s completely soaked shirt, his
wet hair.

He went down to lie by his side without thinking of it much.

“Whatcha doin’?” Jimin mumbled. He was still dizzy, it seemed.

“Ambient heat,” Jeongguk said.

Swinging one leg over Jimin’s hips, pulling him in. Jimin didn’t protest. He sort of melted in the
embrace and wrapped one arm around Jeongguk, his fingers coming to caress his neck.

And being like that, so tired and soft inside, Jeongguk couldn’t help but drape himself over Jimin’s
entire shaking wet body.

“You gonna crush me,” Jimin said, voice strangled.

“To a pulp.”

“Sicko.”

Jeongguk hummed, nosing at his temple.

“Gukkie,” Jimin said, and it was the first ever sound of that name, “you feeling okay?”

“You’re cold. It’s weird.”

“I don’t feel it. Don’t worry.”

“Well, I do. But shit’s like that with you, isn’t it? I’m the only one who feels in this fucking
scenario.”

All sound stopped at once. At first confusing him, so eerie, but then Jeongguk realized it was just
Jimin who’d held his breath. Jeongguk waited for a long time, getting more worried with each
second.

Just breathe, he thought.

I’m sorry. Just say something.

“I love you, you know,” Jimin said.

Jeongguk felt his own time stop. He froze, suddenly giddy. His breathing turned shallow. Body
growing cold, eyelids shut tight.

“Can you even feel things like that?” he said. Cursed. “I mean. In that way, like… don’t we all
look very small to you?”

“I’m a person too.”

Jeongguk tried swallowing. Something was blocking his throat. And before he could spew any
more stupid shit, Jimin spoke again.

“But maybe it’s not exactly the same, you’re right. Doesn’t mean it’s not real or that much
different. Just…it’s like a whole bunch of things at once.”

“How does it work?”

Jimin thought for a moment. His rings were burning against Jeongguk’s neck where his palm lay
idle.

“I kinda feel things on the scale, like, the scale of…all around us? He made me a bitch of nature,
you know?” It kind of tickled Jeongguk, so he giggled. “Like I see everyone inside this whole
thing. Human vegetation or something. With the sewer sea and trashy beaches and the hills and all
that stuff.”

“How’s that?”

“It’s—so hard to explain. Imagine it like...” He paused. “I feel you breathe. But then I feel the air
around you, like, on your skin. That really lowkey kinda current? Just touching your skin. The
sound of it. The surf down there is mostly like your heart, ’specially when you get all angry and
bratty. And when it beats like crazy, well, it’s something else.”

Jeongguk felt his head spinning. So much of the weird to take in, and the lot of it didn’t make
much sense.

“So maybe it is a little different,” Jimin said and chuckled.

“So you say you…love me like all that other stuff. All creatures and shit. Like a monk or
something.”

“No. Being nature’s bitch is tight, but it isn’t that.” Jimin laughed at himself. His clasp on
Jeongguk’s neck grew heavier. “I meant—I love you like I’ve never…”

It sounded suspiciously like some shame in his stilted breath, Jeongguk thought, and waited.

“I’ve never felt like that before, loving something. It’s so big and, like, from head to toe. Like a
mountain. Fuck.” He paused. “Yeah, I love you like that.”

Like a mountain, Jeongguk echoed, and thought that it still didn’t make much sense, but he felt so
calm. Like he was okay with it for this short moment.

He reached out to push away wet strands clinging to Jimin’s forehead.

“Hyung,” he said. “Wanna do something about it?”

“Yeah?”

“Touch me.”
He felt Jimin shiver from the words.

“You’re something,” Jimin said. “Not sure I can be—”

“Hyung. It’ll be enough. Promise.”

“You—”

“I’m sure. Your hands are good.”

I’d shoot it just from looking at you probably, Jeongguk thought, and let his hips grind the weight
out.

“Ah,” Jimin sighed. “That was quick.”

And it sure was, Jeongguk thought, rubbing out the new throb of his hard-on.

It was growing real, heavy and hot and a little aching in the pants. Jimin gasped at the feeling,
reached for Jeongguk’s thigh to hike it up higher on his body and let Jeongguk fall into some sort
of mindless rutting. All of his silver bands and charms burned coals in Jeongguk’s skin, but it was
the pleasant kind of melt.

“You a grower,” Jimin said for some reason. “C’mon, work how you need it to.”

“Down your throat,” Jeongguk said, a little embarrassed. “Hyung looks really pretty with a
mouthful.”

“Bet you’d do too.”

“I will.”

Jeongguk snaked one arm down Jimin’s body, hand pulling at the bundle of jewelry, then lower,
smoothing over his taut stomach and slipping under the shirt’s hem to touch skin. It was hot, even
under soggy fabric, so perfectly hot and soft. It was lighting up with gooseflesh under his rough
hands, and he could feel the muscle shift in all pretty places he touched.

“Wanna bite you,” Jeongguk said, and kind of got all stiff, not knowing how that shit came about.
“Ah, hyung.”

And there was that for a bit, just him petting and scraping softly, drawing Jimin to arch into it.

“Shut up,” Jimin laughed, “shut that little mouth.”

And Jeongguk did and sighed, content from how pliant Jimin was, how he himself was pliant under
Jimin’s still careful hands, and with that caress of skin to skin, Jeongguk let his head tilt just so,
exposing his neck.

“Hyung, can you…” He swallowed. Showed more of his throat. “Please.”

Jimin was licking his lips and blinking slowly.

“Hyung.”

“I’ll give a bit,” Jimin said. “I’ll give a bit. Wanna see you do okay.”

The grip gradually tightened. Jeongguk keened, feeling shivers run through him. Fingertips pressed
to his neck, burning as they brushed under his ear.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Why?”

Because fuck, Jeongguk thought, be doing that to a person.

Because he felt the last chance in this, to be doing a thing for Jimin, a fair thing, and with love.

“I want you,” Jeongguk only said.

“I mean, why now?”

“I always want you.”

“Fucker,” Jimin said, laughing. Breathless. “Be doing it like this…”

“That’s me,” Jeongguk said, a murmur. “Sad sappy sucker.”

Said something else, more gentle shameful things into the skin of Jimin’s neck, biting in hard, just
below the chains. Pulling at at the skin with this teeth, tasting water and bittersweet oil, until he felt
the much needed tug on his hair.

This fist at the back of his head, grabbing well. Grabbing good. Jeongguk groaned, canting his
hips.

Jimin was gripping under his knee to hold his leg a little higher, push it real close. It felt good, so
much that it got Jeongguk panting. It felt good to have his throbbing dick going like that, rubbing
out sloppy but kind of incredible, with Jimin’s nails digging at the flesh on the back of his thigh,
stinging even through the fabric. And it was even better to feel the increasing weight around his
throat. Jimin’s wristbands dented his skin lightly, but that kind of faint burn would still imprint nice
and pink.

Soon Jeongguk was thrusting, these drowsy rolls of hips, feeling the delicious pressure on the drag
of his cock against Jimin’s hard side. And he was whining low, whining needy when Jimin used
both hands to push just right at his throat, gentle on the blood flow, but still making him fall deep
and spin in his head.

More, Jeongguk wanted to say, but couldn’t, so he angled his hips better, asking to be touched
there, anywhere really, until he maybe could spill in Jimin’s hand, or in his mouth or over the
smooth skin of his back. Jimin’s ink would look so nice painted like that, in cum mixed with sweat
and ritual oil.

“You’re soaking,” Jimin said, breathy, “wet enough to fuck my thighs. Bet you’d want that, huh?”

Jeongguk felt his hips stutter, the words shooting right to his cock, and then there were silver-laden
hands on his throat pressing skilled and rough but so cautious, kicking him somewhere up high, to
that fuzzy bliss of giddy and lightheaded.

Jeongguk was all that, and dripping from the dazzle too, because Jimin knew how not to hurt but
still was cutting all that oxygen from his blood.

“Head swimming?” Jimin asked, easing off.

Jeongguk tried sneaking a hand down his own pants, but their space was too tight, so he went for
Jimin’s hair, missing it at first and brushing his cheek, which sent off something in a flutter inside
of him.

“Ah, fuck,” that sound again coming from Jimin’s mouth, “lemme feel you, go on.”

Jimin gasped all low and melodic, pulling him in again. Jeongguk groaned in his chest as he rolled
his hips, forceful and rough, easing the ache in his straining cock.

“Do me good,” Jimin moaned, “do me well.”

Jeongguk jerked in the hold. It knocked the last breath out of him, the perfect space to fuck into,
just between them with his cock trapped and leaking, and then the pressure was growing and
tightening in the swell of his balls. And all of that was kind of aching, but Jimin was getting off on
it to, whispering dirty pretty things as he held him firm and safe.

And nearing his release, Jeongguk asked for the last bit of pressure to his throat with a brush of
fingers to Jimin’s arm.

“Ah, you’re so hot,” Jimin whispered, “so big and good for me.”

Jeongguk groaned, eyes squeezing shut. He was so close it hurt, and it hurt good.

“You gonna cum?”

He made some sort of noise. Moved his hips again, but this time in a painfully slow grind to drag
his length with real feeling, to make Jimin feel it hot and nice as well.

“Cum, baby, c’mon,” Jimin moaned for him, voice sultry and thick, “like you’d do on me. Like
you’d do on my face. That right?” Jeongguk made a noise again that vibrated in his chest, and
pushed harder into Jimin. “Lick it off my skin. You’d wanna, right? You’d wanna coat me good.”

Jeongguk began trembling, too sensitive from hanging on this edge.

“I’d let you do that,” Jimin went on, “but you’d wanna taste it too, right? You’ve dreamed of me
fucking you on that counter, haven’t you? Yeah, you did. Sucking it up, soaking me all in. You’d
be a crier, Jeonggukkie. You’d look pretty like that.”

This slow and suffocating wave rolled over him, and Jeongguk couldn’t think at all, not anymore.
His skin ran with drops of sweat, and there was more precum pooling at the swollen head of his
cock, soaking his layers.

“Stay good for me, baby,” Jimin whispered, soft, “I’ll count to three.” He did and then leveled his
hands, pressing in gradually to cut all oxygen.

And Jimin did so carefully, somehow sensing the edge of it. Dug his fingers in, slow at the points,
enough to give the good amount of high. Jeongguk felt his heartbeat trapped under those fingers,
felt himself tighten all over, his cock twitching. His eyes rolled in that glaze, and his mind was
sinking.

Then the hands began easing away, letting off the arteries, the flow, and soon it hit all of him,
blood rushing back to the head to wash over the oxygen-lack. It hit with the bliss and fireworks till
he was spilling and whining broken and weak.

“You’re good,” Jimin moaned, “you’re good.”

Jeongguk shuddered, still euphoric, and shoved his thigh hard to hold Jimin down, trap him in
good. He felt the cum make a mess of his underwear, sticky and hot.

“Fuck,” he rasped.

“Okay?”

“Dead.”

Jimin giggled, petting Jeongguk gently. Caressed the one little sore place on his neck, then brushed
wet hair from his sweaty face.

“How’s that for doing?”

“Hyung’s got a filthy mouth.”

“You should know. You had your dick in it.”

Jeongguk whined again, flipping onto his back. “Lemme suck you off,” he said, voice hoarse.

Jimin grunted at that, a little done for but mostly needy. His hand was digging hard into the line of
his clothed dick, then slipping below the waistband. He stroked himself fast and sloppy, hips
rolling with it, and Jeongguk couldn’t look away with his mouth suddenly dry. He imagined
Jimin’s rings were rough and cool to the skin, imagined the silver dig into it for this swell sort of
sting.

“I’m okay,” Jimin gasped, fucking into his grip, “gimme your hand.”

Jeongguk moved closer, slipping one hand down to cover Jimin’s and glide over the slick length of
his cock.

“That’s it,” Jimin grunted, “hold it there.”

Jeongguk halted, fingers curling around the base, and waited for more. Jimin twisted his wrist,
bands jingling, and stroked messy and fast-paced until all of him tensed and drew his back into a
pretty arch.

His chains slid in one heap to the side, exposing him. Jeongguk felt hot cum drip down his own
hand, still wrapped loosely around Jimin. He moaned at the feeling and used his free hand to roll
up Jimin’s shirt to the nipples, and he just stared at them, wanting to taste, but only brushing over
them softly.

Jimin swayed his messy head. Said, “Have a taste.”

“Shit, hyung,” Jeongguk gasped, flattening his hand and dragging it up Jimin’s still hard shaft,
“you’re unreal.”

And he dived down, a little awkward, to put his mouth over one of the nipples and bite, hard. He
heard Jimin hum deep, felt it vibrate in his mouth too, and slipped out his tongue to flick over the
hard nub, while his hand was still wrapped around the base of Jimin’s cock, and he felt it twitch in
his rough palm.

“You’re cute,” Jimin giggled suddenly, “very cute.”

Jeongguk laughed against his chest, then licked a few wet, fat stripes over each nipple, feeling
himself drool all over Jimin's skin and then lapping at the little pools. He was whining low at that,
until Jimin tugged him off by the hair.

“Rub it in if ya wanna, whatever,” Jimin panted as he reached to stroke himself lazily, hips in the
air, “whatever.”

Jeongguk let his hand slide through ropes of cum, coating his fingers, and then rub it over the hot
skin of Jimin’s now relaxed stomach. He watched it for a while, then dropped his mouth to lap it
all up. Jimin lay like that, mewling softly under his wet tongue, until Jeongguk was done and lying
next to him, letting their breathing even out.

“Was it okay?” Jimin said, quiet.

His bare chest rose and fell slowly, and Jeongguk grasped for his shirt to cover him. Was it okay?
This again. Jeongguk sighed. He pulled away.

“Hyung, I’m a real sucker, you know? A real tongue guy. I’d do your dick right.”

Jimin chuckled. Then started laughing, the raw sound Jeongguk wanted to hear. Jeongguk savored
it, inhaling all of him too. Jimin’s neck was warm.

“Can you—?” he croaked, pointing vaguely at his head.

Fingers in his hair again, then dropping to his ear to rub at the lobe the way Jeongguk loved, firm
and quick, and down, down, down.

“You’re gonna make someone real happy,” Jimin suddenly said. “If they can tolerate your ass long
enough.”

Jeongguk looked up. Beyond the thick canopy dome, the night sky was low and chalked over with
wayward clouds. Same stars, a moon half-cooked.

“Wanna sleep,” Jeongguk mumbled. “Can we go?”

“Sure. You can take my room.”

“And you?”

“I’ll be packing.”

Like hell he’d be packing…

They packed here first though, not caring much for the finesse of the stuffing. It bloated the
backpacks all bulk-like, and wasn't that good for the balance when they trudged over moss-grown
path.

“You hungry?” Jimin asked halfway down. “I can get something brewing…”

Jeongguk was silent the entire way back.

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ

“You wanna share?”

Heeyeon watched Jeongguk give a start, blinking at her in confusion.

“You had that look again.”

“What look?” he frowned. “Share…Where was I?”

“It was hard to see Jimin in pain during the ritual,” she said. “You were saying.”

He nodded but didn’t rush to elaborate, just watched one lazy fly crawl across the table.

“Jeongguk,” Heeyeon sighed, “did it work?”

“It did.”

“And Jimin?”

“He was fine. Himself.”

“What happened after?”

“We went back to the house, got some shut-eye. He had to pack.” She asked him what he meant by
that. “Ah, he called it that. Can’t really pack shit to prison, can you? He meant, like, start making
arrangements.”

“Such as?”

“Leaving the house on me. All that paperwork. Kkachi…”

“How come he’d had proper paperwork?”

Jeongguk scoffed, shaking his head. Said Jimin had been lazing around plenty of officials with
dirty secrets, and doing that long enough to pile up a paper fort. And the real deal, too, with the
insurance number all proper, some stuff about self-employment and taxes and some fake
orphanage shit.

“You still own the house?”

“Sold it. Not really a breeze having property like that.” She asked what kind he was talking about
exactly. He scrunched up his nose, saying, “The kind that a convict got you. Hard to maintain. And
too deep in the rural shithole to rent it. Who’d need that for a holiday?”

“Hippies…”

“Anyone else?”

“White hippies?”

Jeongguk laughed, this time a little high pitched. It cracked, and he fell silent.

“So he was packing,” Heeyeon said. “And then?”

“Got his pre-trial detention at Ulsan DC, no problem. Should’ve known it’d be that easy.”

“And what did you do?”

“Went back to work.”

“And then?”

“Then I went home.”

“What about the trial?”

“Ah, you see,” he chuckled darkly, “he did the whole thing. Confession, written and on tape…
some Okpo clown ran the interrogation, was real smug about it…like, what's there to be smug
about, know what I mean? All you were doing is fucking pressing the buttons on the recorder.”

Jeongguk rubbed at his neck with force, annoyed.

“He signed everything. Refused a lawyer. They got acceptance of charges on all accounts. And
that’s usually enough to render judgement without trial.”

That was more common than Heeyeon would have liked to admit, but the fact still blanked all
words in her head for a moment. She started another line on the notebook page.

“Article 250…” She tapped her pen. “What was the verdict?”

“Death sentence. No appeal.”

“How long was he in pre-trial?”

“Like, two weeks.”

“And after the…no-trial?”

“Transfer to Ulsan correctional.”

That kind of distance could take three to five hours, she thought, depending where in the province
you would be coming from.

“That’s far,” she said.

“Hardly. Hoseokkie-hyung thought they’d ship him off to Jinju.”

She weighed it all in. Something about the edge to his voice.

“You didn’t visit him. In jail. Did you?”

“No,” he said. Then shot her a guilty look. “Once.”

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ

“I don’t fucking get it,” Jeongguk said, getting a slab of raw meat out of the freezer and smacking it
on the counter. “Why can’t she just up the dose.”

He was at Hoseok’s for Sunday dinner, a regular event of theirs, because he also had been living
with Hoseok ever since the...

He was making dinner and talking shit about his new therapist whom he called regularly to get just
something more out of her, on the heavy side, to cap his dizzy daylight visions.
“’Cos you don’t do the talking,” Hoseok said. He was munching on tiny pickles he’d been fishing
out of the jar all evening. “And when you don’t do the talking, you don’t get the drugging.”

Jeongguk shrugged.

“Guk, if you got your ass to Ulsan maybe once—”

“Don’t start.”

“Then you don’t get to start either.”

Jeongguk sighed. Then mumbled for some reason, “At least I don’t fucking dream anymore.”

“Not sure if that’s good.” Hoseok stood up and headed to veranda for a smoke. “Don’t burn it this
time. Or you’ll be sharing Kkachi’s dinner.”

He’d gotten Kkachi over to Hoseok’s when Jimin was still in pre-trial in Ulsan. Said he couldn’t
stomach being in that house anymore, and that dragging his ass all the way up there to feed some
whiny animal hadn’t been his idea of a good time.

Hoseok liked her well enough. He was like that with many creatures, aiming to get them all
comfortable and adored and cared for. Jeongguk was maybe one of those.

After Jeongguk had shoved the pork in the oven to roast, hoping he wouldn’t fuck up this sacred
recipe of Hoseok’s kitchen-wizard grandma, he followed Hoseok to the veranda. They smoked in
silence for a while. Hoseok had long stopped grilling him for picking up the habit. Said he’d hated
skirting too close to hypocrisy.

“You drive okay?” Jeongguk asked.

“Yeah, took the Geoga. Cuts about four hours. Cool stuff.”

Jeongguk shifted on his feet, afraid to ask anything else.

“Telling ya,” Hoseok said, “just go see him.”

“And tell him what?”

“Who cares? Not the point.”

“Then what’s the point?”

Hoseok groaned. Fingertips to his left eye, rubbing away.

“Jeongguk, I can’t be the only human link for him. I can’t drive there every week.”

Hoseok still did.

Hoseok drove every week on his day off, bringing little tasty things that were allowed for passing,
and the words from himself but no one else. Most families Jimin had tended to weren’t that
bothered of his moving away; the case was tight, with the real nature of it not being disclosed to
anyone below third clearance level, let alone the general public.

“Well, then don’t,” Jeongguk said. “Then don’t.”

“You’re…”
Hoseok tended to avoid talking about it so directly. Always careful, so careful to do it only in
passing.

After work they’d bitch about more work and their new forensic transfer—saying how now they
kind of missed Taehyung—and do the whole delicious beer-and-grill thing, but Hoseok would let a
Jimin quip slip now and then. Maybe he could see Jeongguk was just too stubborn to ask.

And now Hoseok was looking for words, to make it all seem okay.

“He’s working in the kitchen unit now,” Hoseok said. “Likes it there better than the crafts.”

Jeongguk was playing with his rings. He sometimes wore a few, from the pile of silver Jimin had
left.

“They got a new buddy. Says he’s nice.”

“Half of them are on death row.” Jeongguk scoffed. “Nice…”

“You think Jimin’s not nice?”

“He’s… It’s different.”

“It is. And it answers your question.”

Jeongguk blinked.

Hoseok said, firm, “Here’s your point.”

There’d only ever been three times in his life that Jeongguk could really call lucky. Like, the good
lucky. Aching lucky, the one that was happening in a bad place, but still it was the good lucky.

One was the day he’d graduated the Academy, golden, and his father had told him he was proud of
him, and his father was.

One was when he thought he’d fallen in love for real, first year on the job with his patrol partner,
and maybe he did. The dude hadn’t known, but Jeongguk felt good anyway, because it was the first
time he was sure of something. Who he was, shit like that. Like it was okay to feel euphoric for a
bit, for anyone ever, even in this way.

And then there was tonight, when Hoseok sat him on the bed and let him melt into the hug. Didn’t
say a single thing while finishing his shitty beer.

He laid Jeongguk down. Went to trash the beer can. Came back to a blank gaze in Jeongguk’s wide
eyes. Jeongguk was curled in a ball, wrinkling up the covers.

“Oh, come on,” Hoseok said under his breath.

He lay down in the middle, pulling Jeongguk up, stroking his dirty hair. Cheek pressed to Hoseok’s
belly, Jeongguk let himself breathe.

Something giving a light ripping sound in his clenched hands, and Jeongguk realized he was
ruining Hoseok’s favorite shirt. He tried to apologize, but his throat wouldn’t work. And Hoseok
didn’t mind, he never minded.

But this time he said, “You know, I dressed up for you that day. Your first day?” He chuckled at
himself.

Jeongguk remembered that hideous dress shirt, wrinkled and poorly fit, and the acid tie…

“I never wear shit like that, regulations or not. That time I just… wanted to, dunno, look normal,
first impression and all. Authority and shit…”

“You woulda impressed me anyway,” Jeongguk finally said.

“Even in a garbage bag?”

“Even in a garbage bag,” he said, with this deadpan reverence, to make Hoseok laugh.

And laughing, Hoseok sounded like embarrassment and maybe fondness. His fingers felt calming
in Jeongguk’s messy hair.

“You remind me of some woodland creature,” Hoseok said, a little amused.

“What kind?”

“Dunno. Nocturnal, harmless.”

“Why?”

“I wanna say something deep, but,” he laughed, “it’s mostly, you know.”

“What?”

“Your huge-ass glassy eyes.”

“Hyung,” he said, smiling. “Fuck.”

“Your hair’s like that too. Glowing fuzzy ruffian.”

Jeongguk realized there were tears in his eyes. He took a deep breath.

“Does he ask about me?”

“No,” Hoseok said. Oh, Jeongguk thought. “Talks about you, though. Some shit about a
mountain.”

“That thing loves him a whole lot.”

“I don’t get it,” Hoseok said. His hands in Jeongguk’s hair again. “That’s the problem.”

“What?”

“It, me, you.” Fingers tilting his chin. Jeongguk craned his neck to meet Hoseok’s tired eyes. “Go
see him. Before it’s too late.”

“There’s not gonna be any too late.”

“Sure about that?”

“They don’t fuck with moratorium. The wait’s gonna take years.”

“Years. Waiting for the swing.”

“Probably forever.”

“Probably.”

Jeongguk got it, all right. It was getting to him.

Even though Jimin had seemed to know what he’d been doing back then, Jeongguk couldn’t stop
the frantic thought that was choking him now. Like yeah, Jimin was in there, waiting for the
swing. Forever.

And it broke something in Jeongguk, a moment after.

“Fucker,” he gasped. “Fuck it.”

He shook, already heaving. Something ripped out of his chest, a wail. He was wailing low in his
throat. Like that animal Hoseok was talking about, harmless, glassy-eyed. He felt Hoseok’s hands
on his neck, felt Hoseok’s stupid acid-lemon shirt soaked under his cheek, all his stupid tears and
drool.

“Come on now,” Hoseok soothed, arms wrapped around him again, “come on now.”

Once Jeongguk had dried out and calmed down, he nosed under Hoseok’s navel, like he’d done
with Jimin, for comfort. He tried making Hoseok do that thing with his earlobe, to rub this way and
that, though none of it felt right.

And still all of that made Jeongguk feel really lucky. Done for, aching, but comfortable, and very
lucky.

Jeongguk came to see him on the 23rd of June, just after lunch, having woken up at around six in
the morning for this.

And he’d taken the long drive, all four hours, hating each second of sunlight on the way.

The facility was in a grim flatland outside Ulsan, a vast thing of concrete blocks with heavy-
looking barbed perimeter. It was giving him the creeps, though he’d seen plenty of prisons.

Soon he was let into a small concrete box of a room divided down the middle by a partition. It was
steel, with a glass screen at the top half. On either side of the screen there was a metal chair.

“You’ve got twenty minutes,” the guard reminded him. “My advice, Inspector… don’t fuck with
this one. Get what you wanna get and don’t let him pull any of his jumbo on you.”

Whatever that meant, Jeongguk thought.

When the door behind him slammed shut, he could breathe better. Then he took his seat and stared
at the concrete plain beyond the glass. Little holes in the screen made for speaking reminded him
of a fish tank for some reason.
The longer Jeongguk waited, the harder it became to concentrate. Any second now that steel door
could be opened and he’d have to face all his raw shit at once. He stared at his lap where his hands
were clasped in a numbing lock. His heart was pounding, his palms sweaty, and his throat had gone
all dry.

Jeongguk closed his eyes, counting breaths, his whole body a pulse point.

All the words he could say, all those he’d written down earlier this morning…what could he
possibly say? How are you, hyung?

How’re you? Hey, how are you? You look good. You look good, you asshole.

How’re you?

Hyung, I’m sorry. I’m thinking about you. I’m sorry. I think about you all the time. How’re you
there? I think about you all the time. All the time.

Jeongguk tried to get a hold of his racing mind, but then the door swung open with a grating creak.
The room filled with familiar scent.

He saw Jimin on the opposite side of the screen, and that was…kind of incredible. The last image
to take away with him, after all; a lean young man in drab gray overalls, those familiar bearlike
shoulders hunching only slightly, but now from the added bulk of muscle.

There were canvas shoes on Jimin’s feet, no socks, and Jeongguk wondered if he’d set out a riot
before they made him wear that. No jewelry, naturally, only the cuffs around his wrists. Rough
gray uniform near bursting from the way Jimin held himself, as if trying to appear smaller, but
doing exactly the opposite.

And that was it. Jimin looked—quieter, bigger. Different.

He walked the same, but somehow with more gravity to it. Maybe it was the new bulk, maybe
Jeongguk just hadn’t seen him in three months.

Sitting in front of him now. Face a little vacant. Their eyes met, and Jeongguk felt it get to him
with a soft shock.

Jimin’s hair was only slightly shorter, probably having grown out since he’d gotten the prison
regulation haircut. Soft locks fell across his forehead, strands catching on his eyelashes. The eyes
peering out below were like melted glass. The face was smoothed into something waxen, not a
living thing.

It was creeping Jeongguk out.

But then Jimin smiled. Barely there, lips curling at the corners, but it hit heavier than any other
expression possibly could. Jeongguk felt all air rush out of him. It felt like relief. Jimin was smiling
small, looking himself. Quieter, bigger, entirely bare.

“I thought you wouldn’t come.”

Jimin’s voice was a little rough. Same sweet sound underneath, but like it just had to be buried.

“Thought so too,” Jeongguk said, mouth dry.

What was he going to say? How are you…

“You look good,” Jimin said.

Jeongguk nodded slightly. His hands began to fidget. In his lap, then to his left earlobe. It wasn’t
always a conscious thing. Jimin noticed the motion.

“Doesn’t work when you do it, huh?” he asked, gentle.

“Drives me nuts.”

“Found anyone to do that for you?”

Jeongguk was at a loss of what to do at first. But Jimin’s eyes wouldn’t tell him anything.

“No. Wouldn’t help either.”

He said that and watched Jimin close his eyes in bliss. Small, quiet. Like this made him real, his
hands special. Something. Tilting his head to the side, eyes still shut, Jimin breathed in deep.

“You reek of the city. You moved back?”

“Nah. Next month. Just had to spend some time downtown.” He made a face. “Ulsan’s an oily
shithole.”

“Cute,” Jimin laughed, looking a little like the old thing. He wasn’t saying anything else.

Jeongguk itched to go. Get out of this box and never come back. But even more — to stay, reach
there, and touch. Jimin’s sharper face and soft hair, still messy but a bad kind.

“They cut your stupid mane.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Looks good too.” Jeongguk licked his lips. “You look…”

“Like shit?”

“Nah," he tried for casual. "Too much. You look too much.” He paused. “Aren’t you all hot?”

“Not really. I mean, not like before.”

“What, the mountain doesn’t love you anymore?”

“No, it’s just letting go.”

Jeongguk had learned to skip on those questions with Jimin, like the fuck does it even mean? Or,
you gone and hurt your head? Because it’d gotten so easy to understand these silly things, and to
kind of love them, and care a whole fucking lot—

“Hey, Jeongguk. Why’d you change your mind?”

Fuck.

Jeongguk wasn’t sure at all, so he averted his eyes. He was silent for a long time, but it seemed like
Jimin wasn’t going to talk either, unless Jeongguk came up with a reason.

Jeongguk counted seconds. He stopped when it was amounting to five minutes.

“How’s Woojin?” he asked, looking up again.

It startled not only him but Jimin too, who had his eyebrows raised high and mouth slightly parted.
Lips so cracked now, Jeongguk noticed, kind of pale.

Then Jimin went back to blank. His cuffs made little sound when he held up his hands slowly, to
his chest, where he pressed his open palms. Jeongguk stared at the ink of his prison number on the
white tag, the new roughness of his hands. There wasn’t much of the pretty anymore.

“Safe,” Jimin said, smiling.

“And you?”

“Alive.”

And in this place, it hardly could be Jimin’s real wish.

“How’s Kkachi?” Jimin asked suddenly.

“She’s with Hoseokkie-hyung now. He’s better at that sorta thing.”

“That so?”

“Hyung, I’m”—he had to wet his lips—“I’m gonna sell the house.”

“Okay.”

And the ease of that made Jeongguk frown. “That’s it?”

“It’s your house.”

It wasn’t. That place was carved out, and its inside was staring at him right now.

“Jeongguk,” and now the old and familiar voice, making him lean in closer, “how are you doing?”

Jeongguk blinked. “I never know. But it’s fine now. I mean, now I’m used to it.”

They fell silent. Jeongguk studied Jimin’s face, his bruised neck, his chest, big, expanding and
falling.

“Got any new tats?” Jeongguk said.

“Nah. Gotta get some rep for that.”

Jimin was joking, and Jeongguk didn’t particularly feel like laughing, but he felt himself bubbling
with it anyway. And Jimin’s face changed. It went all light with the old life in his eyes, all those
fond lines that got Jeongguk hurting all over.

“Jeonggukkie,” Jimin whispered, “I’m gonna go soon.”

“What?” Jeongguk glanced at the guard behind Jimin’s back. “What do you mean?”

“He’ll let me go soon.”

When was soon? What was soon exactly for the mountain god and Jimin and—

“Why hasn’t he already?” Jeongguk asked.

“’Cos I had to see you.”

Jeongguk fell back in his chair, dumbfounded. “Fuck you.”

“Yeah, fuck you too,” Jimin said. “Don’t let me go like that. Please?”

Jimin’s eyes had gotten all misty, pleading. Jeongguk couldn’t stand it. He nodded, rubbing at his
face, hard.

“Park, you got five.”

The guard. Jimin didn’t reply and moved closer to the glass.

“You’re gonna have to move on after this, you know that?”

Jeongguk wanted to say that he already had, but that wouldn’t fool anyone, because he’d been
stuck so deep it got him sick to the bone.

“Dunno about that,” he said. “You know what I’ve seen? I’ve seen these dreams, like. Not dreams,
’cos I haven’t been dreaming in forever. But these memories, visions, sorta? Maybe it’s from that
time on the solstice…whatever, but I know it’s not just in my head. And it’s not something I’ve
done, ever. But you’re there.

“It’s some kinda beach, looked like that one down south, even the full moon. And listen, listen—I
know it’s not just something. It’s a thing, a real thing. Dunno what it means, but seeing it now, I
know, I just know it’s gonna be a bitch getting you out of me. My head, anything.

“Shit’s gonna raw me to the bone, but I’m not sure I can let go. I think I won’t. I don’t think it can
happen.”

Jimin had his eyes closed again, listening.

“You’re my friend, you asshole,” Jeongguk whispered, getting tight in the chest.

Jimin opened his eyes. He sighed, “Sad sappy sucker.”

You are, Jeongguk thought. And this time he told him that.

“Hey, Jeonggukkie,” Jimin said, “thank you.”

“For what?”

“You got me out. You know why nobody else did?”

Jeongguk did know how it had come to be, every bit of it. He nodded.

Jimin leaned in, nose almost touching the glass.

“Hey, Jeonggukkie,” he whispered, too low for the guard to hear, “got a thing for you.”

His eyes were sparkling. Curious, Jeongguk shifted to the edge of his seat.

And Jimin, he put two fingers of his right hand together and raised them to his lips, only a soft kiss,
then placed them on the glass. Jeongguk wanted to laugh or call him more of those habitual nasty
names, but instead he reached to touch it, thinking he could feel Jimin’s skin like that, even
through glass.
“Park, time’s up.”

When Jimin didn’t make any sign of getting up, the guard moved. He was walking, barking orders,
and Jimin wasn’t moving, only seeing their fingers touching and not touching.

“Park, get your faggot ass up.”

Jimin was still looking at him, eyes not blinking, like he was taking Jeongguk in.

“Did I fucking stutter? Park, you dripping for a week in solitary?”

Jimin got up reluctantly, fingertips still on the glass. With the guard’s rough grip on his arm, Jimin
was led to the door. He looked over his shoulder only once. He was smiling.

Jeongguk remained frozen for a long moment, paying no mind to any sound around him, if there
was any at all.

Then a loud clank of the metal door behind him. Another guard coming to let him out.

Jeongguk fell back in the chair. Held the hand he’d had on the glass to his mouth, grease and all,
and let his lips touch the fingertips.

ˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍˍ

The tide was out.

Heeyeon squinted in the sun, annoyed how it always seemed so cutting in summers, even in the
morning.

But something in Jeongguk’s story was taking her on. Little bits were missing, of things she
couldn’t figure out, but she could sense all too well the hollow spaces he’d left.

“Did he really go?” she said.

“The same night.”

“How’d you know?”

“I was called in for questioning.”

“Why?”

“He just disappeared. They thought I had something to do with it.”

“What did you tell them?”

“That I was just checking a new lead on the old case with him. They dropped it soon…his
cellmates hadn’t seen anything. Nothing on surveillance. It’s like he never existed.” The words
made her feel a little uneasy. “They couldn’t exactly figure how to go about it. Put out this vague
APW for him, you know, couldn’t specify who he was or what he’d done, but well. He was in the
air.”

“Do you think he just…vanished?”

“Who the fuck knows now.”

“Jeongguk…”

“I can’t really be thinking like that anymore,” he said, shaking his head. “I forget more these days.
Sometimes I just get these moments in the middle. Sometimes I wonder if any of that was even
real.”

“What do you mean?”

“If maybe he was the one. If he killed all those people. And I was too fucked over with Black Milk
to see. It’s easy to manipulate the truth, you know, when psychosis is already half-cooked.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“I don’t. Just wonder sometimes.”

“Hoseok wouldn’t have done those things if you were just sheeped by a maniac.”

“I know. It’s just…” He laughed, a sharp ring to it. “It’s just—I miss him so much.”

Heeyeon couldn’t figure out a thing about that emotion, but decided not to poke at it. “He was
something like a best friend, wasn’t he?”

“He was.”

When the first runners started patterning along the beach, Heeyeon thought she should be
wrapping up.

“So you moved back to Busan?”

“For about a year. Tried to stay busy. Didn’t work.”

“Why?”

“That’s the thing you need to get with this job. You get out when you can or you burn out. And
even if you, like, limp it straight to retirement, you get out already toasted and hit the grave in ten
years.”

“Why do you think Hoseok is still working?”

“He’s just… a good guy. Got so much in him for justice, like, pathological.”

"And you what—you're doing just fine working at a titty bar, here? Like you're not hungry to get
back into all that city action?"

"I'm good. Love me some titties."

Who doesn't, Heeyeon thought, but then that was it, that was all Jeongguk had said. And she knew
it was the last chance to take him up on it.

“Jeongguk. Your story…”

“Think I’m off my nut?” He didn’t look that offended.

“No, that’s not it. It’s just you’ve been omitting. I look at this now and…there’s a lot missing.”

“I told you everything important.”

“Why won’t you look at me then?”

When Jeongguk did, his eyes dull with guilt, she could finally name it. Whatever it was that she’d
felt missing.

“You were in love with him.”

He didn’t answer, only stared at his fingers that he kept rubbing together.

She glanced around. “Why’d you move back?”

“Weather’s nice.”

“No, it’s not.” It was hard to work with that stubborn silence now, but she pushed on. “Jeongguk,
have you found him?”

“I haven’t.”

“You did.”

“I haven’t,” he said, but it came as a shout. “Fuck.”

His voice had been loud, a little angry. He deflated, apologizing.

“You tried looking, though. You must’ve found something.” When he shook his head, resigned,
Heeyeon could only scoff. “Clearly you haven’t been looking for real. You can find anything if
you really want to.”

They were silent again, only the sound of the surf and cries of gulls.

Jeongguk regarded her for a minute. Leaned in. “Tell me,” he said, “have you seen the barefoot
god?”

“What?”

“Have you?”

“No, I don’t think…”

“How can I possibly find him?”

Have you seen the barefoot god, she thought. This poor guy right there—he was so fucking lost.

Heeyeon worked her shoulders straight and closed the notebook. “Jeongguk, you know what
actually happened?”

He seemed confused by the question, his eyebrows furrowed.

Heeyeon looked him straight in the eyes. “You changed one ghost for another. And what you
really need,” she reached for the recorder to stop the tape, “is closure.”
 When the noon was high, Heeyeon helped him clean up their night mess.

Any other case, it would’ve looked like the aftermath of some small but carnal time of fun, but
theirs only smelled of this sad, real sad shit. Jeongguk was lost in his head for longer than he’d
been all night.

This thing here meant that Jeongguk was her last stop of the field research before finally starting
the book.

And Heeyeon would have to butcher up the names, the places and dates and motives, because
serving time wasn’t in her plans, but she knew she would be doing this for sure, doing the story and
selling it like a morbid cure that could maybe get people closure.

She changed into her clothes and packed her things in silence. Then she put on her shoes by the
door and fixed her hair.

Jeongguk stood silent, leaning on the wall across from her.

It’d been a long time coming, but Heeyeon could finally ask the right question.

“Jeongguk. What the fuck are you really doing here?”

“I’m just…”

Jeongguk was looking back to the veranda now.

“…waiting.”

Chapter End Notes

that there mood for ur ending

 CODA
Chapter Notes

cheese 2.0

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The timer he’d set on the rice steamer was crying. The rice cake for the greeting had to be
something simple, like maybe baekseolgi, so he did exactly that.

“Jeon Jeongguk, you’re the only person I know who can burn the fucking water,” he mumbled to
himself, the words that belonged to Jimin once.

“What’s that?” Hoseok asked, his voice a little muffled through the receiver.

“Nothing,” Jeongguk said.

“What’re you even doing? You been listening to me at all?”

“Ah, hyung, I’m sorry, I’m kinda…”

Jeongguk put the phone to his other ear, but couldn’t really think of what to say. Hoseok was
humming.

“You sound funny,” he said.

“Do I?”

“Yeah, like you—” Hoseok cursed at someone there, probably Kkachi the cat. “Magpie is being
nasty again.”

“She’s a nasty cat.”

“Listen, what the fuck are you up to?”

Jeongguk hesitated. “Just seeing to this thing.”

“Anything to do with…” Hoseok trailed off.

Jeongguk coughed around a laugh. “A little,” he admitted.

Hoseok groaned. “Oh, Guk, how many times…”

“Until I get my junk brain to calm down. About the lot of it. Until then.”

“You ever thought of what you’d do if it worked?”

And well, Hoseok asked that, but Jeongguk knew he was just humoring him. Him and that junk
brain of his.

“I have,” Jeongguk replied. “Living with a fugitive would be fun. I guess.”

He heard Hoseok make that tired laughing sound, but nothing else.

“You think I’m crazy.”

“Maybe,” Hoseok said.

“Hyung, don’t worry. I think it’s my last try. How would I even harbor a fugitive? We’d have to
skip it to, like, East Thailand or something…”

“Hey, listen, no,” Hoseok suddenly said, firm. “Do whatever. You know? Do whatever, Jeongguk.
Your thing, Thailand, like, do whatever. Just keep above the surface. Got me?”

“I got you.”

“Call me tomorrow.”

“You still on a night shift?”

“No.” Hoseok paused. “And I’d pick Rayong if I were you.”

“What?”

“The province. You know, East Thailand. Great reviews.”

“Are you on fucking Naver—”

“Call me,” Hoseok said and clicked off.

Jeongguk stared at the screen, smiling silly.

And then remembered about his steamer literally yelling at him.

He turned off the heat and opened the lid, then slowly tugged on the cloth to take the cake out.
While it was cooling off, he finished packing clothes—not for himself—and the rest of the props in
his backpack.

A few bowls, small pouch with uncooked rice, bottle of clear well water, yellow paper with spells
he’d gotten from a local mudang.

A nice and quiet lady, she was. He always went to her for all his props and things. She never asked
him much, unlike the rest of them who’d refused to help him before he found her (because “it’s
useless and ill to do it by yourself, boy”), and gave him some props and the spell and new
instructions, even helped him pick out the date.

September Equinox was on the 23rd this year, and she’d said it would be perfect and warm enough
as well.

It would be perfect, he thought so too. Saturday he was off work, but his manager at the bar
would’ve lent him a free day anyway, and his online classes were starting only next Monday. And
more than that, it was about his last memory too, the twenty-third of June at the Ulsan correctional.
It didn’t mean anything, but it felt kind of right.

Though his shitty beachside bungalow didn’t exactly count as a good place to get this whole thing
going, so it had to be done in that lagoon secluded by the hills, right under the mountain.

After he’d packed everything, he went down the curve of beach, toward the mountain itself. Shoes
in hand, and bare feet sinking in the firm damp sand above the line of surf, Jeongguk could feel the
day was exactly right.

Like it was the perfect air and temperature and light, it was all of that. Like he was completely
alone, even with the harbor blinking its lights from across the bay.

He picked a spot right under the mountain, its side curving smoothly towards the beach. Looking
around, he dropped the backpack on the sand. Then he rolled out a small straw mat, an old thing in
washed out crimsons.

Two bowls before it, to the lush mountain slope, and an old earthenware steamer with the rice cake
he’d made. He didn’t have to re-warm it or anything, it was mostly to sort of…recreate the
traditional steps, as the nice lady had put it.

He poured well water into the smaller bowl and filled the other with the rice, nestling the candle in
the middle and lighting it with a match. With that done, he knelt on the mat and waited.

It wasn’t quiet, but felt like it. Like old static.

There was the smell of drying seaweed, the faint lapping of waves on the sandy shore.

Jeongguk looked back at the sea and saw the enormous sun sink down in the haze. At the first
bleeding of purple on the horizon, he turned back to the mountain and began.

He rubbed his hands first, bowing to the offerings before him. Sat back, taking a deep breath. Then
he took the paper and read it out. His words were a little clumsy, though he didn’t stumble.

He held the spell to the candle flame and watched the paper turn to ashes. Pretty ambers, like the
color of the sun he’d just seen dying.

And it made him feel warm. Jeongguk felt that, sort of a little steamy. He rubbed his fingers
together, savoring the slight tingle from being licked by fire.

And then he finally bowed down in full, his arms extended outward and hands together, left over
right. His forehead touched the side of his palm and then the sand. It was damp, still cooling from
the day.

And he waited, he waited for a long time.

All around him melded into one wash of sound. Crying of gulls, lazy waves, the distant clatter in
the harbor. Wind catching in the mountain forest.

He could fall asleep like that, he thought, but his body was so tense, frozen.

He wasn’t sure how long it’d been, him folded and waiting.

Dusk was changing into night. Air seemed to drop a few good degrees, and it was more than chilly
now.

His mind was blank, and his body started cramping.

Stop. Breathe. Heart pounding. Listen.

Nothing.

No need to get mad, or disappointed, he thought, he knew this would go like that. Nothing would
happen, they’d all told him every time, and sure thing he’d known.

Every time, he knew.

But he remained like that for another twenty minutes. He didn’t count, but that was what it took for
the daylight to die completely.

When a gust of wind blew sand up his face, he exhaled and pushed to sit back.

He opened his eyes to see the mountain, a dark giant in the night, looming over him. It looked like
it could just topple over and slide down and crush him. It felt like that could happen any second
now.

Jeongguk rubbed at his face, wiping away the sand and pushing his messy hair back. He blew out
the candle and got to his feet. While undressing, he tried not to think at all. Keep it blank, keep it
real. He folded his clothes, but it was hardly with care. Put them on the mat, turned around.

And focused on the stretch of the dark-blue water. He walked to the edge, slow like he was forcing
himself through air. Gentle waves, sucking at his ankles.

He kept walking until water reached his waist. It felt funny, like being cut in half, between the
chilly sea and warmer air. It was sobering.

The surface glistened with poor light of the growing moon. He thought how nice it would be to lie
and sleep in that algae bed.

And the air was so bittersweet, it tasted just like that grody drink Jimin used to make. Hot green tea
flavored with salt. Jeongguk breathed it all in and imagined like he was drinking that gross brew.

I’ve done enough, Jeongguk thought, I’ve done okay.

Now he could only take a dip in the chilly water and go home.

But he had to get over it first. He had to get over it.

So Jeongguk stood still, mind blank, and waited—until he could slip into that nice sense of calm.
Got him breathing deep and measured.

And when he did that, all time seemed to stop. Everything was turning so clear. His body, the
distant harbor lights, the sea and the person in his mind.

He stretched his arms out to the sides, touching water. Letting his fingertips glide over the surface.
Skimming the sea got those tingles going, and he shivered and peered down, trying to see the
bottom.

Black water.

It didn’t glow, because he wasn’t moving. Jimin had told him once, that any ocean’s
bioluminescent glow was brighter in polluted water.

Jeongguk shut his eyes, feeling the breeze rising. It smelled like salt and floating weeds. It caressed
his face, and it felt so nice on his heated cheeks. His skin, cooled by the wind, covered with
gooseflesh.
 Jeongguk stopped drawing on water and dipped his fingers under.

He counted to twenty.

And then something clicked in his head. Like a switch, making all sound fade. It echoed in his
temples with dull pressure.

Twenty-one.

That wave again, the heat washing over his body.

Twenty-two.

Soft rustling sound in his ears. Not a whisper, but like he was hearing someone breathe.

Twenty-three.

He exhaled. Opened his eyes, all wide and blinking at the black sea before him.

Shivers running down his spine, from someone’s gaze, back there. Behind him.

Jeongguk felt his heart skip a beat, but only that. It was so odd, but he felt impossibly calm. He
turned his head to the side, then looked over his shoulder, to where he’d left the bowls.

Jeongguk felt his chest constrict. Only a bit, only from the warmth. Rising on the thermals…

And there was nothing on Jeongguk’s face, but then he felt it, the faintest look of surprise forming
there. And then Jeongguk felt a smile, just at the corners of his mouth.

Jeongguk didn’t speak.

Jeongguk didn’t speak, only tried to see through black bangs that covered the pair of eyes, those
familiar eyes of most peculiar warmth.

Jeongguk waited, for something, a sound—anything.

And when the sound came, it got him weak at the knees. Because the voice hadn’t changed at all,
the same smooth reassuring thing, a little raspy, just as he remembered the last time he heard it,
three years ago.

Kinda like molasses, that thing, Jeongguk thought, smiling small.

Shit’s still a lot like molasses.

And it had words, those molasses.

“Long time no see,” the voice was saying.

And yeah, Jeongguk thought, three years could be a long time. But now it was real, the words and
this moment.

And something, he thought, so deeply earned.

Chapter End Notes

 get some Credits for that
biggest thanks to ari, pam, pho, nikki

endless biggest thank u to smileforjimin for this amazing trailer and to Sapphiamur for
another amazing trailer

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