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catskilt
eunhyuk/donghae
r, 2702 words, au
years before they chased each other down expressways, hyukjae committed a nefarious felony on donghae.
written in the same verse as run mad as often as you choose, but do not faint, which is basically eunhae playing at cops and gangsters and having an illegally good time.
of all the gin joints in all the world
Years back, way before they were straddling the boundaries of the law and chasing each other down expressways, even before Donghae discovered what Hyukjae’s email address was, something nefarious had happened between the two of them. And contrary to logic, that nefarious something had been committed not by Donghae, the one with all the rebellious ideas, but by Hyukjae, and that had probably been the reason why they hadn’t parted amicably as high school fuckbuddies – or lovers? – but had, instead, wound up on a cat-and-mouse chase all over the country.
Not that Donghae was a mouse, by any means, nor was Hyukjae a really intimidating cat, but the fact remained that that one night, approximately five years ago, the last thing on Donghae’s mind had been to acquire a cop as his best friend. He’d been smoking on a club’s balcony with some of his gangster friends, all pushing twenty-one years old and cocksure of their positions in the world – though, as Donghae reflects now with some mournfulness, if they had been so cocksure of their own importance, they would have ended up as cops, not gangsters. But he hadn’t been quite so wise nor insightful back then, and so there he was, smoking with a few tough-looking guys, staring down anyone who dared to give them more than a second look.
And then he finished his cigarette and decided to go back into the club. For many, many months after that he wondered what would have happened if he had chosen to, say, smoke another cigarette, or go to another club, or just hang around outside for ten more minutes; but he hadn’t. He’d gone in, and the song being played was his favourite club song, it really was. He could never restrain himself when DJs played this particular song; and so he went out on the floor, and was dancing with a couple of girls, and then a couple of guys, and basically having a really good time when two hands slipped around his hips and he thought, hell no, you fucker, you don’t do that to me.
Except that when he turned around to give that guy his best gangster-stare – and it had worked on previous occasions, really – all his threatening actions were brought to an abrupt halt by his heart bumping hard in his chest. He would try to find a better descriptor, something involving fancier words and less clichéd phrases, but there was honestly no other better description – his heart simply bumped hard in his chest. And possibly stopped dispensing oxygen to the rest of his body, though he knew that was scientifically impossible; then again anything was possible when you were staring into the face of your high school fuckbuddy in a crowded club and he had his hands on your hips and you were stupidly, stupidly allowing those hands to remain there.
Then again, he had been more than a fuckbuddy – much, much more than that, even if Donghae had forgotten what the world called those people who slept with each other because they were in love.
“Hello, Donghae,” said the bastard, who’d given him that punch in the face the last day of high school and Donghae never, ever forgot it, not even an inch of it, he was still able to see the hand coming towards his face in slow-mo; “doesn’t seem like you remember who I am.”
“Were you the guy who punched me on the last day of high school?” Donghae asked. “The same guy who used to dance on the rooftop? Also, the same guy who swore never to enter a club or drink or smoke or do any of those things that he punched me for doing?”
“Well.” The bastard looks thoughtful for a moment. “Yes, pretty much.”
And then Donghae kind of sagged against him, partly because his heartbeat was very erratic and partly because he hadn’t anticipated how happy he was to see Hyukjae again. Because, despite not having thought much of him over the past year – which was a definite improvement over the previous four years of pining – Hyukjae still had the strange power over him to make him feel absolutely vulnerable, and obedient, and willing to give up all his illegal activities to sit in an office ten hours a day doing legitimate work, and other legitimate, society-friendly things, like adopting a baby from Africa maybe.
“Let’s go outside,” Hyukjae said. “It’s too noisy in here to talk properly.”
Like the whipped person he was, Donghae did follow him out to the balcony. His fellow gang members were still standing there with their inexhaustible cigarettes and gangster talk, and he was suddenly panicked that one of them might call out to him and reveal themselves to Hyukjae’s critical eye as Donghae’s New Friends, but none of them did. Hyukjae didn’t spare them a glance either. He merely chose the farthest corner from them and settled there, resting his elbows on the railings. Donghae shuffled to a stop before him and then it felt like the old days when they were both legitimate and Hyukjae had leaned on the school railings just like that, smiling at him with gums, and Donghae had wanted to kiss him in front of everyone.
“You look good,” Hyukjae said.
“What are you doing in a club, Hyuk?”
Hyukjae grinned for a moment, and his gums showed just like they used to. Donghae didn’t know why he was so fascinated by them – it wasn’t as though he really thought that Hyukjae would actually carry out his constant vows to go for cosmetic surgery. But his gums were showing, and Donghae was entranced, and possibly a little in love, because maybe he was still in the habit of thinking Hyukjae the most perfect person to grace this earth.
“People change, you know, Donghae. Actually, you should know.”
Donghae punched him for that. Only not very hard, and on the chest, not the face – he wasn’t vindictive like that – but he did it because it had to be done. Hyukjae lost his breath, blinked, and then laughed, and yes, Donghae was more than a little in love.
“I haven’t changed,” he said. “All this…” he gestured to his very nice clubbing outfit which he’d bought with the money he acquired from the last smuggling project, “is just for show.”
“Ah, yes,” Hyukjae said blandly. “All that irritating ‘just for appearances’ stuff. Well, as I was about to say, I have changed rather substantially – even if you haven’t – and I’m not altogether sure if the change wasn’t attributed to you very pleasantly thinking that that gang you were involved in was more emotionally fulfilling than me…”
“Do you want another punch?” Donghae asked. “Because I can oblige, you know. I won’t get thrown out of this club.”
“Oh yeah?” and Donghae almost missed the way Hyukjae’s eyes flickered at that. Almost, but not quite.
“Yeah,” he said, a little arrogantly. “Even if I beat you to a pulp, you’ll be the one to get thrown out, not me.”
“You’ve gone places, haven’t you?” Hyukjae said, but the mocking tone was gone from his voice; he sounded sombre, a little sad, actually. “No, I don’t want a punch. I did want to party, but I’m not in the mood anymore, which is annoying. Maybe we can go somewhere else to do our catching up instead. That is, unless you have other business to attend to.”
Donghae almost said no, because Hyukjae was being a douche, and it was so unlike the memories that he had of him that he wanted to say no just to get this strange man out of his sight and preserve those lovely memories of adolescence, but something in the way Hyukjae was looking at him made him say yes. They exited the club in silence and walked past the other bars and clubs spilling loud music onto the streets until they reached a little 24-hour café that had people worn out from partying and alcohol gathered around tables for their caffeine and sugar fix at three a.m. They ordered their drinks – Donghae had time to note that Hyukjae still liked his coffee full of froth and cream – and then sat down at a tiny table that, in retrospect, would have looked kind of silly between two guys.
“Are you still living in Seoul?” Hyukjae asked.
“I sort of shuttle between Seoul and Incheon,” Donghae said. “Wherever business takes me. How about you? Just out of college?”
Hyukjae nodded briefly.
“You were always the lucky one,” said Donghae. “The one with the parents.”
“What I meant to say before you jumped to conclusions was that I dropped out of college,” Hyukjae said. “Didn’t make it past my second year, in fact.”
Donghae was so shocked that for a long moment all he did was stare at Hyukjae with his mouth very unfashionably open. “You dropped out? Why?”
Hyukjae shrugged. “Didn’t see the point of all that learning. Anyway, I joined a – company. Been there for about ten months now.”
“What do you do?”
“Field work. Miscellaneous stuff. The thing is, Donghae, things were all kind of weird when we left high school and you went off with that gang, and changed your phone number…”
“I did…do that,” Donghae admitted, a little sheepishly.
“I went to your house, you know. But your brother said you weren’t living there anymore.”
“What did you go to my house for? You practically told me to get out of your life. No, actually, you did say it: ‘Get out of my life, Lee Donghae.’ No room for my own interpretation.”
Hyukjae shrugged, and watched a barista concocting a green tea something.
“So what are we really doing here?” Donghae challenged. “There isn’t anything that you want to say to me, and you’re avoiding my questions, so this is kind of awkward, to be honest.”
“True,” Hyukjae said. “It would probably have been better to leave it as it was – just high school kids playing around. Now, whenever you think of me, all you’ll think of is this incredibly awkward night – and that my clothes are from some brandless store while you’re wearing Armani – won’t you?”
“Possibly.”
“Sorry.” Hyukjae stood up. “You can go back to your club now.”
He began walking towards the exit, but there was something about the set of his shoulders that reminded Donghae, suddenly, of that one time when they’d quarreled over something very significant at that time – not that he remembered what it was now – and Hyukjae had walked away like that, shoulders all sort of hunched and defeated looking, and later Donghae had learned that he should have run after Hyukjae and hugged him, or something, and saved themselves two weeks of awkwardness. So he did just that. Without thinking, as though his body had shut down his brain and mobilized itself with the quick warning to not do anything to stop me, this is called instinct and it’s for your own good.
That was how he ended up with his arms around his high school fuckbuddy – lover, was that the name? – at three something a.m., half a decade between now and the last time they’d seen each other, whispering in his ear, “I’m sorry, Hyukjae, I didn’t mean to be a douche. Can we put all that behind us? Let’s just go back to my apartment and have sex, I really want to do it with you again, and you can have the pleasure of taking off these Armani things.”
Hyukjae stood very still, and Donghae was afraid that he would say no, so he kept a firm hold on him until Hyukjae sighed and said, “That sounds like a good idea.”
“Okay,” said Donghae, and experienced such a loosening in his chest that it was no wonder why he went back to Hyukjae, and back again, and then back again, and still back again…but that’s another story, and he’s on this one, and in this one they go back to his apartment and have sex.
… …
It was as good as he remembered – better still, even, perhaps due to the long absence. He’d done it with several people since high school, of course; some of them had been good, some very good, but none quite like this. He hadn’t really slept enough with any of them to be as familiar with their bodies as he was with Hyukjae – and it was gratifying to find that the mole he remembered was still in its correct position on Hyukjae’s neck – and when they climaxed, headily, giddily, he held on with arms and legs until they were ready to fuck again.
He was to remember in the coming days, as he lay between Hyukjae’s legs and thrust into him, stroking the smooth expanse of Hyukjae’s back and kissing the nape of his neck, the sharp curve of his jaw, the shell of his ear, that it was impossible for anyone to look as desirable as Hyukjae did in those minutes of lovemaking. That it was a high chance that if Hyukjae was to ask him now – and this ‘now’ stretched between right now till the end of the night, or maybe even till tomorrow, and the day after, if Hyukjae chose to stick around – to give up his gang activities and live a normal, boring life with him, he would agree to.
Except that Hyukjae didn’t ask, probably because he thought there wasn’t any point in asking, so they came without any questions or promises and tumbled together into the sheets, tired and breathless.
And Donghae said, “That was worth us running into each other and having that god-awful talk in the café.”
“Mmm,” said Hyukjae, giving Donghae’s still tumescent cock an appreciative squeeze, which made Donghae squirm and make a distressed sound in his throat. Hyukjae laughed, and they kissed, full on the mouths, lingering, sweet, the kiss that they’d custom-made back in high school for themselves.
Then they fell asleep, and that was that.
… …
Only, when Donghae woke up the next morning, Hyukjae was very predictably gone – and, not so predictably, so was the money he kept in the top drawer of his dresser. He wouldn’t have discovered the loss so quickly but for the note that Hyukjae left for him, three bright green post-its that Donghae thought was a blatant attempt at mockery until he realized that the only paper available in his house was the bright green post-it pad.
I thought you were some kind of big-time gangster…why do you only have 270,000 won?
Anyway, it isn’t stealing – if you recall, you borrowed 300,000 won from me in high school & you didn’t return it. So by right you still owe me 30,000 won. I haven’t even calculated the interest.
P.S. BTW, I’m a cop. Plainclothes cop, to be exact. I’ll leave it to your imagination why I was at your club last night. Suffices to say that I don’t club, I do hunt down gang activities, and I knew that club belonged to your gang.
Life is good, and getting better.
Was pretty good enough last night, though. Haven’t lost your touch. Or rather, your hips haven’t lost their touch.
See you soon, preferably in an interrogation room.
And it was that note – not the sex, not the awkward coffee talk, and not the revival of lovely adolescent memories, but that note, that set Donghae off on his collision course with the Korean police force. Or, to be precise, one particular employee in the Korean police force.
It’s not like he regrets it. Things have turned out pretty interesting over the years. He still keeps that note in his wallet.
He doesn’t show it to anyone, though, because it would be just a little embarrassing to confess that even though he was always the one with the big rebellious plans and the I’m-gonna-smoke-and-fight-and-act-like-I-don’t-care-how-you-feel attitude, it had been Hyukjae who’d thrown the first sucker punch. Literally and metaphorically.
He respects Hyukjae for that, really. And he might be a little in love. Just because it’s hard to get out of the habit of thinking that Hyukjae’s the most brilliantly perfect cop on this earth.
So, I couldn't resist adding more to this verse.
catskilteunhyuk/donghae
r, 2702 words, au
years before they chased each other down expressways, hyukjae committed a nefarious felony on donghae.
written in the same verse as run mad as often as you choose, but do not faint, which is basically eunhae playing at cops and gangsters and having an illegally good time.
Years back, way before they were straddling the boundaries of the law and chasing each other down expressways, even before Donghae discovered what Hyukjae’s email address was, something nefarious had happened between the two of them. And contrary to logic, that nefarious something had been committed not by Donghae, the one with all the rebellious ideas, but by Hyukjae, and that had probably been the reason why they hadn’t parted amicably as high school fuckbuddies – or lovers? – but had, instead, wound up on a cat-and-mouse chase all over the country.
Not that Donghae was a mouse, by any means, nor was Hyukjae a really intimidating cat, but the fact remained that that one night, approximately five years ago, the last thing on Donghae’s mind had been to acquire a cop as his best friend. He’d been smoking on a club’s balcony with some of his gangster friends, all pushing twenty-one years old and cocksure of their positions in the world – though, as Donghae reflects now with some mournfulness, if they had been so cocksure of their own importance, they would have ended up as cops, not gangsters. But he hadn’t been quite so wise nor insightful back then, and so there he was, smoking with a few tough-looking guys, staring down anyone who dared to give them more than a second look.
And then he finished his cigarette and decided to go back into the club. For many, many months after that he wondered what would have happened if he had chosen to, say, smoke another cigarette, or go to another club, or just hang around outside for ten more minutes; but he hadn’t. He’d gone in, and the song being played was his favourite club song, it really was. He could never restrain himself when DJs played this particular song; and so he went out on the floor, and was dancing with a couple of girls, and then a couple of guys, and basically having a really good time when two hands slipped around his hips and he thought, hell no, you fucker, you don’t do that to me.
Except that when he turned around to give that guy his best gangster-stare – and it had worked on previous occasions, really – all his threatening actions were brought to an abrupt halt by his heart bumping hard in his chest. He would try to find a better descriptor, something involving fancier words and less clichéd phrases, but there was honestly no other better description – his heart simply bumped hard in his chest. And possibly stopped dispensing oxygen to the rest of his body, though he knew that was scientifically impossible; then again anything was possible when you were staring into the face of your high school fuckbuddy in a crowded club and he had his hands on your hips and you were stupidly, stupidly allowing those hands to remain there.
Then again, he had been more than a fuckbuddy – much, much more than that, even if Donghae had forgotten what the world called those people who slept with each other because they were in love.
“Hello, Donghae,” said the bastard, who’d given him that punch in the face the last day of high school and Donghae never, ever forgot it, not even an inch of it, he was still able to see the hand coming towards his face in slow-mo; “doesn’t seem like you remember who I am.”
“Were you the guy who punched me on the last day of high school?” Donghae asked. “The same guy who used to dance on the rooftop? Also, the same guy who swore never to enter a club or drink or smoke or do any of those things that he punched me for doing?”
“Well.” The bastard looks thoughtful for a moment. “Yes, pretty much.”
And then Donghae kind of sagged against him, partly because his heartbeat was very erratic and partly because he hadn’t anticipated how happy he was to see Hyukjae again. Because, despite not having thought much of him over the past year – which was a definite improvement over the previous four years of pining – Hyukjae still had the strange power over him to make him feel absolutely vulnerable, and obedient, and willing to give up all his illegal activities to sit in an office ten hours a day doing legitimate work, and other legitimate, society-friendly things, like adopting a baby from Africa maybe.
“Let’s go outside,” Hyukjae said. “It’s too noisy in here to talk properly.”
Like the whipped person he was, Donghae did follow him out to the balcony. His fellow gang members were still standing there with their inexhaustible cigarettes and gangster talk, and he was suddenly panicked that one of them might call out to him and reveal themselves to Hyukjae’s critical eye as Donghae’s New Friends, but none of them did. Hyukjae didn’t spare them a glance either. He merely chose the farthest corner from them and settled there, resting his elbows on the railings. Donghae shuffled to a stop before him and then it felt like the old days when they were both legitimate and Hyukjae had leaned on the school railings just like that, smiling at him with gums, and Donghae had wanted to kiss him in front of everyone.
“You look good,” Hyukjae said.
“What are you doing in a club, Hyuk?”
Hyukjae grinned for a moment, and his gums showed just like they used to. Donghae didn’t know why he was so fascinated by them – it wasn’t as though he really thought that Hyukjae would actually carry out his constant vows to go for cosmetic surgery. But his gums were showing, and Donghae was entranced, and possibly a little in love, because maybe he was still in the habit of thinking Hyukjae the most perfect person to grace this earth.
“People change, you know, Donghae. Actually, you should know.”
Donghae punched him for that. Only not very hard, and on the chest, not the face – he wasn’t vindictive like that – but he did it because it had to be done. Hyukjae lost his breath, blinked, and then laughed, and yes, Donghae was more than a little in love.
“I haven’t changed,” he said. “All this…” he gestured to his very nice clubbing outfit which he’d bought with the money he acquired from the last smuggling project, “is just for show.”
“Ah, yes,” Hyukjae said blandly. “All that irritating ‘just for appearances’ stuff. Well, as I was about to say, I have changed rather substantially – even if you haven’t – and I’m not altogether sure if the change wasn’t attributed to you very pleasantly thinking that that gang you were involved in was more emotionally fulfilling than me…”
“Do you want another punch?” Donghae asked. “Because I can oblige, you know. I won’t get thrown out of this club.”
“Oh yeah?” and Donghae almost missed the way Hyukjae’s eyes flickered at that. Almost, but not quite.
“Yeah,” he said, a little arrogantly. “Even if I beat you to a pulp, you’ll be the one to get thrown out, not me.”
“You’ve gone places, haven’t you?” Hyukjae said, but the mocking tone was gone from his voice; he sounded sombre, a little sad, actually. “No, I don’t want a punch. I did want to party, but I’m not in the mood anymore, which is annoying. Maybe we can go somewhere else to do our catching up instead. That is, unless you have other business to attend to.”
Donghae almost said no, because Hyukjae was being a douche, and it was so unlike the memories that he had of him that he wanted to say no just to get this strange man out of his sight and preserve those lovely memories of adolescence, but something in the way Hyukjae was looking at him made him say yes. They exited the club in silence and walked past the other bars and clubs spilling loud music onto the streets until they reached a little 24-hour café that had people worn out from partying and alcohol gathered around tables for their caffeine and sugar fix at three a.m. They ordered their drinks – Donghae had time to note that Hyukjae still liked his coffee full of froth and cream – and then sat down at a tiny table that, in retrospect, would have looked kind of silly between two guys.
“Are you still living in Seoul?” Hyukjae asked.
“I sort of shuttle between Seoul and Incheon,” Donghae said. “Wherever business takes me. How about you? Just out of college?”
Hyukjae nodded briefly.
“You were always the lucky one,” said Donghae. “The one with the parents.”
“What I meant to say before you jumped to conclusions was that I dropped out of college,” Hyukjae said. “Didn’t make it past my second year, in fact.”
Donghae was so shocked that for a long moment all he did was stare at Hyukjae with his mouth very unfashionably open. “You dropped out? Why?”
Hyukjae shrugged. “Didn’t see the point of all that learning. Anyway, I joined a – company. Been there for about ten months now.”
“What do you do?”
“Field work. Miscellaneous stuff. The thing is, Donghae, things were all kind of weird when we left high school and you went off with that gang, and changed your phone number…”
“I did…do that,” Donghae admitted, a little sheepishly.
“I went to your house, you know. But your brother said you weren’t living there anymore.”
“What did you go to my house for? You practically told me to get out of your life. No, actually, you did say it: ‘Get out of my life, Lee Donghae.’ No room for my own interpretation.”
Hyukjae shrugged, and watched a barista concocting a green tea something.
“So what are we really doing here?” Donghae challenged. “There isn’t anything that you want to say to me, and you’re avoiding my questions, so this is kind of awkward, to be honest.”
“True,” Hyukjae said. “It would probably have been better to leave it as it was – just high school kids playing around. Now, whenever you think of me, all you’ll think of is this incredibly awkward night – and that my clothes are from some brandless store while you’re wearing Armani – won’t you?”
“Possibly.”
“Sorry.” Hyukjae stood up. “You can go back to your club now.”
He began walking towards the exit, but there was something about the set of his shoulders that reminded Donghae, suddenly, of that one time when they’d quarreled over something very significant at that time – not that he remembered what it was now – and Hyukjae had walked away like that, shoulders all sort of hunched and defeated looking, and later Donghae had learned that he should have run after Hyukjae and hugged him, or something, and saved themselves two weeks of awkwardness. So he did just that. Without thinking, as though his body had shut down his brain and mobilized itself with the quick warning to not do anything to stop me, this is called instinct and it’s for your own good.
That was how he ended up with his arms around his high school fuckbuddy – lover, was that the name? – at three something a.m., half a decade between now and the last time they’d seen each other, whispering in his ear, “I’m sorry, Hyukjae, I didn’t mean to be a douche. Can we put all that behind us? Let’s just go back to my apartment and have sex, I really want to do it with you again, and you can have the pleasure of taking off these Armani things.”
Hyukjae stood very still, and Donghae was afraid that he would say no, so he kept a firm hold on him until Hyukjae sighed and said, “That sounds like a good idea.”
“Okay,” said Donghae, and experienced such a loosening in his chest that it was no wonder why he went back to Hyukjae, and back again, and then back again, and still back again…but that’s another story, and he’s on this one, and in this one they go back to his apartment and have sex.
… …
It was as good as he remembered – better still, even, perhaps due to the long absence. He’d done it with several people since high school, of course; some of them had been good, some very good, but none quite like this. He hadn’t really slept enough with any of them to be as familiar with their bodies as he was with Hyukjae – and it was gratifying to find that the mole he remembered was still in its correct position on Hyukjae’s neck – and when they climaxed, headily, giddily, he held on with arms and legs until they were ready to fuck again.
He was to remember in the coming days, as he lay between Hyukjae’s legs and thrust into him, stroking the smooth expanse of Hyukjae’s back and kissing the nape of his neck, the sharp curve of his jaw, the shell of his ear, that it was impossible for anyone to look as desirable as Hyukjae did in those minutes of lovemaking. That it was a high chance that if Hyukjae was to ask him now – and this ‘now’ stretched between right now till the end of the night, or maybe even till tomorrow, and the day after, if Hyukjae chose to stick around – to give up his gang activities and live a normal, boring life with him, he would agree to.
Except that Hyukjae didn’t ask, probably because he thought there wasn’t any point in asking, so they came without any questions or promises and tumbled together into the sheets, tired and breathless.
And Donghae said, “That was worth us running into each other and having that god-awful talk in the café.”
“Mmm,” said Hyukjae, giving Donghae’s still tumescent cock an appreciative squeeze, which made Donghae squirm and make a distressed sound in his throat. Hyukjae laughed, and they kissed, full on the mouths, lingering, sweet, the kiss that they’d custom-made back in high school for themselves.
Then they fell asleep, and that was that.
… …
Only, when Donghae woke up the next morning, Hyukjae was very predictably gone – and, not so predictably, so was the money he kept in the top drawer of his dresser. He wouldn’t have discovered the loss so quickly but for the note that Hyukjae left for him, three bright green post-its that Donghae thought was a blatant attempt at mockery until he realized that the only paper available in his house was the bright green post-it pad.
I thought you were some kind of big-time gangster…why do you only have 270,000 won?
Anyway, it isn’t stealing – if you recall, you borrowed 300,000 won from me in high school & you didn’t return it. So by right you still owe me 30,000 won. I haven’t even calculated the interest.
P.S. BTW, I’m a cop. Plainclothes cop, to be exact. I’ll leave it to your imagination why I was at your club last night. Suffices to say that I don’t club, I do hunt down gang activities, and I knew that club belonged to your gang.
Life is good, and getting better.
Was pretty good enough last night, though. Haven’t lost your touch. Or rather, your hips haven’t lost their touch.
See you soon, preferably in an interrogation room.
And it was that note – not the sex, not the awkward coffee talk, and not the revival of lovely adolescent memories, but that note, that set Donghae off on his collision course with the Korean police force. Or, to be precise, one particular employee in the Korean police force.
It’s not like he regrets it. Things have turned out pretty interesting over the years. He still keeps that note in his wallet.
He doesn’t show it to anyone, though, because it would be just a little embarrassing to confess that even though he was always the one with the big rebellious plans and the I’m-gonna-smoke-and-fight-and-act-like-I-don’t-care-how-you-feel attitude, it had been Hyukjae who’d thrown the first sucker punch. Literally and metaphorically.
He respects Hyukjae for that, really. And he might be a little in love. Just because it’s hard to get out of the habit of thinking that Hyukjae’s the most brilliantly perfect cop on this earth.
So, I couldn't resist adding more to this verse.
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