Chapter 1: You're single - to me
Chapter Text
«Oh San, you’re not even remotely ready for this idiot. All he does is... provoke. He’s annoying and looks at you like he's ready to pounce! You still have time to run away.»
The police officer next to him kept gesturing wildly with his arms while talking about the new arrival in the prison.
Apparently, Seonghwa had reached a point dangerously close to a mental breakdown.
San, on the other hand, could understand him.
Having to look five days a week after adults who acted like children, or preferred to use plastic cutlery from the lunch alley to threaten people, had to be stressful. Even for a saint.
But the description of the platinum blond for the detainee didn’t faze him — by now, he had seen every kind of criminal.
He had defended and prosecuted people who had committed all sorts of horrors; his cases ranged from simple grocery store theft to murder, torture, disappearances.
So this subject would just be a grain of rice in a paddy field.
He continued listening silently to Seonghwa’s endless complaints while stealing glances at his own reflection in the station’s office windows — he had a thing about always looking impeccable: his hair was combed back and held in place with gel, glasses resting elegantly on his nose, a neatly tied tie, a wrinkle-free white shirt — he ironed often at home — grey silk trousers of high quality and leather shoes of the finest make.
He didn’t care much about actual beauty — his concern was finding no flaws.
«San..? San, are you listening to me?»
Seonghwa snapped his fingers in front of his face a couple of times to regain his attention after seeing him stare at his reflection for a few seconds too long.
To apologize for the distraction, he cleared his throat and awkwardly adjusted his tie with one hand, while holding the leather-covered notebook in the other, ready to take notes on his new case.
«Forget Mr. Serious and Perfection, we’re here. Good luck.»
Before leaving, the blond gave him a pat on the shoulder, then disappeared like a ghost into the endless hallway of the police station.
Two guards took his place, positioning themselves to the right and left of the door.
San glanced at both of them, and without comment, placed his hand on the doorknob and pressed down confidently.
He avoided looking immediately at the person he was going to deal with; instead, he turned to close the door and closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath.
He cursed himself every time for choosing that job: an introverted, semi-asocial guy like him was better off shut inside a house all day drinking wine, maybe with a cat for company.
«Oh my god, finally I get to see my lawyer. I thought they’d send an old bald guy with a tie and wrinkles on his forehead. But this... this is a pleasant upgrade.» The voice came from behind him, unmistakably male.
It had to be the detainee Seonghwa had complained about the whole way from the station entrance to that room.
Those words alone were enough to make San understand the reason behind the complaints.
He chose not to respond to avoid wasting more time and focused instead on the reason he was there; his face returning to its usual serious, impenetrable expression.
When he finally turned around to face what he assumed would be a living hell, he saw a young man, seemingly around his own age: long black hair reaching just above his shoulders, a mole under his left eye, and a mocking smile on his lips.
He was wearing the prison uniform, wrists cuffed to the table, seated directly across from San.
San studied him silently for a moment, then, without saying anything yet, stepped closer to his chair: nudged it slightly back with his foot and sat down in a composed movement.
He placed his leather notebook and pen on the table, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to the elbows, and adjusted his glasses with his index finger.
Now he was ready to begin.
Even though, he had to admit, he felt far too observed.
Every single move of his felt like it was under a microscope.
But in reality, it was just that guy's eyes.
«Jung Wooyoung, right?»
He opened the notebook, flipped past all the already scribbled pages, and stopped on a blank one.
He waited before writing the name, still lacking confirmation.
«Correct. And who are you? No wait — don’t tell me, let me guess. Your name is ‘The Sexiest Lawyer in the World,’ right?»
The boy mimed air quotes with his cuffed fingers as he threw out the embarrassing nickname, then tilted his head slightly and gave San a once-over from head to toe.
Unfortunately for him, San wasn’t someone who yielded to that kind of nonsense.
In fact, he didn’t yield to any kind of provocation; he had always been a rational, composed, serious person.
He didn’t like losing his temper, so he preserved his mental peace by remaining completely impassive.
He loosely gripped the pen between his fingers and quickly scribbled the detainee’s name on the blank page. As soon as he lifted his eyes from the notebook, he locked them onto Wooyoung.
«I'm Choi San. Just a regular lawyer like all the others.»
«San... oh, San, have you come to save me, my Prince?»
The sound of the cuffs echoed throughout the room as wooyoung lifted his hands under his chin to prop up his head.
San shot him a cold glare, clenching his jaw.
Maybe, just maybe, he now understood what Seonghwa had meant with all his warnings.
«I'm here to do my job. And you will need to cooperate.»
He spoke firmly, leaning forward to grab a folder from the table.
He opened it without yet reading the contents carefully — he just wanted a sense of how much work had already been done on the case before he arrived.
Meanwhile, he felt Wooyoung’s eyes on him like bullets trying to pierce his skin.
But it was, of course, a completely useless gesture.
«I see you’re not wearing any rings.»
The raven-haired boy remarked.
San didn’t even bother to lift his gaze from the documents to reply.
«Is that important to you?»
«Of course, it means you’re single.»
A chuckle, a smirk, escaped the other’s lips.
Only then did San lift his eyes from those still-warm sheets of paper.
He narrowed his eyes slightly, then closed the folder and placed it back on the table.
«That’s irrelevant to your case.»
He shot back, hoping not to receive another answer that would drag the topic further.
Otherwise, he would have to push the guy into a corner and force him to get serious.
«Sure, sure. But you know, curiosity is human instinct. Especially when you’re locked in a cell twenty-three hours a day. You cling to anything. Like your lawyer’s pretty eyes.»
That answer made San mentally slam his head against the wall.
Meanwhile, Wooyoung looked at him as if it were all just a game.
But he ignored him — he tapped a finger on the now-closed file a couple of times.
«Have you read the charges?»
He moved on to the first serious topic of that meeting, while picking up his pen again and beginning to write everything he was saying out loud.
«Murder, with the aggravating factor of premeditation. Use of an unauthorized bladed weapon, blackmail, unlawful acquisition of private information. For now, those are your charges.»
«Wow. Did I really do all that? And here I thought I was just a journalist with a truth fetish.»
Wooyoung rolled his eyes, laughing.
A rather odd reaction, San noted to himself.
But it was still far too early to judge the whole — still incomplete — picture.
Once he finished writing, he pulled out a sheet of paper carefully folded between the notebook’s pages.
He slid it in front of the boy’s hands, leaving the pen next to it.
«You’ll sign here to authorize my defense. After that, we can talk about the details of the case.»
Wooyoung leaned forward.
The chains clinked as he grabbed the pen — he brought the ink to the paper but froze mid-air, hesitating a moment before signing.
He gave San one last look, then set the pen down on the table.
«You sound like a man who doesn’t let himself be seduced easily, San. And your shirt is perfectly ironed. But even the whitest shirt can get stained, you know?»
He commented, playfully tapping his fingers on the sheet.
San shook his head slightly at those absurd words.
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the chair, staring at the raven-haired man with disinterest.
«Do you want to be defended, or would you rather flirt with anyone who listens to you? Because with the second option, you won’t get very far — I doubt anyone listens to you willingly.»
He tried to corner him with words, trying to avoid as much as possible any response, any way for Wooyoung to slip in unwanted jokes or remarks.
Yet, it seemed impossible, because from the smile that formed on Wooyoung’s face, it was certain he had a response ready.
«Such a forked tongue, lawyer. I hope it comes out in front of the court when it’s time to defend me.»
With those words, the raven-haired man finally took the pen in hand and decided to sign, sliding the document back into the lawyer’s hands.
But he kept the pen.
San didn’t say anything about it—he had plenty of other things to deal with, and they’d take the pen from him as soon as the meeting was over.
He grabbed the signed sheet and quickly slipped it into his notebook, but took it back out as soon as he noticed a detail next to Wooyoung’s signature: he had drawn a heart.
He put a hand to his forehead and slowly rubbed it, sighing.
"I can’t wait to get home."
«You have dangerous eyes, lawyer. Do you know that? Eyes that make me want to confess things I didn’t do.»
Words whispered, an unexpected confession from the defendant.
Those words almost made San’s lips curl up, but not because he was pleased to hear them, but because of how truly idiotic the guy was.
He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get him out, and it was the first time in his years of work that this happened.
«You’d better tell the truth right away and listen to what I say.»
«Tell the truth… hmm, I’m not sure. But listen to you? Right away. You have a voice that’s too attractive not to listen to everything you say.»
That was the latest flirtatious remark from Wooyoung with an erotic undertone.
It had probably only been fifteen minutes, and he’d made at least one joke per minute.
As much as San swore he’d worked with every type of criminal or innocent person, this guy was definitely a case he had never encountered.
Sure, he’d received various flirtations from colleagues, free invitations to parties from important people for ulterior motives, even requests to go out with people he had managed to get released.
But a defendant flirting so directly from the first moment? This was definitely new, and he’d add it to the list of things he’d never want to relive.
«We don’t have much time to talk now, but we’ll have three more meetings before the trial starts. I’ll look for solid evidence, but you’ll have to tell me everything you’ve done and know, verbally. Okay?»
«Oh, I can’t wait to see you again, my prince. I’ll talk so much that you’ll get a headache. And I recommend working tirelessly so you’ll be forced to think about me all day!»
Before either could say anything else, a guard opened the door with little care, slamming it against the wall, and entered the room.
«Time’s up. Jung, it’s time to go back to the cool and big suite your cell is.»
He announced, walking over to the prisoner to remove the handcuffs attached to the table and put a regular pair of handcuffs on him, the kind that even police officers used.
As soon as Wooyoung stood up from the chair, San did the same; he grabbed his notebook and the folder with the documents, looking up when he heard the other guy complaining to the guard.
«But it’s just a pen! What could I possibly do with it?!»
«Jung, we’re not going to a playground. You don’t have the right to receive or bring anything. Give it to me.»
«How boring. Silly me, i just wanted to draw a bit on the white and sad wall of my cell.»
He continued to complain, reluctantly handing over the pen to the guard who then firmly grabbed his arm and escorted him out.
San watched the scene with amusement, "karma," he thought.
Once he collected all his things, he tucked the chair under the table and left the room, immediately encountering an old friend as soon as he stepped outside.
Not much had changed since the last time he saw him: his hair was a faded brown, the usual elegant style for his clothes—he wore a black turtleneck, jeans, and a silver necklace around his neck—and he was still taller than him. Just like he always had been.
«Well, well, look who it is, San!»
Exclaimed the friend, who immediately stopped to greet him with a big smile.
San gave a slight bow to greet him in turn—rather than smiling wide.
And also because it was to show respect.
«Hi Yunho, it’s been a while. I see you haven’t changed much since the last time I saw you.»
«I’ll take that as a compliment, means I haven’t aged. I must say, though, you have. Almost didn’t recognize you! So, what’s up? Anything new?»
The taller one tried to start a conversation—but both, deep down, knew it wouldn’t last long.
They didn’t have time, and besides, they had too much to catch up on.
«Nothing much. Same old boring life, people to defend or accuse. What about you? Why are you here?»
He asked, squeezing Wooyoung’s file under his arm, trying to find a way to escape the situation with his gaze.
He wasn’t in the mood to talk. Was he ever though?
«I’m here because I lost my documents like an idiot… they fell into the manhole. Anyway, I’d better go now, I need to head to the registry office. Oh, let’s try to go out for a meal sometime, okay? It’s been a while since we did.»
With that last statement, Yunho walked away while making the phone gesture with his hand, signaling San to call him one of these days.
Too bad he didn’t know that he’d have to work day and night because of another idiot who didn’t take his freedom seriously.
After the encounter, San decided to speed up and leave the police station as quickly as possible to avoid running into anyone else he knew; he even ignored Seonghwa calling him from the hallway.
He had exhausted his social batteries in just fifteen minutes because of Wooyoung.
Usually, his sociability—meaning, simply being more tolerant of human intentions—lasted almost three hours a day, often in the morning, but that day, he hadn’t lasted even half an hour.
And it was only going to get worse now that he’d have to follow that guy on a daily basis.
He got a headache just thinking about hearing more jokes, more flirting, with every answer he would get to his questions.
But he would brush it all off, as he always did, and not let it bother him.
Once he got home, after a completely silent car ride, he threw the keys into the tray above a shelf by the entrance, took off his shoes, and immediately ran to the kitchen.
He placed the notebook and the folder with Wooyoung’s documents on the island in the middle of the room, then opened a cupboard next to the sink and took out a bottle of wine: Barolo Monprivato Mascarello e Figlio, 2013.
It was a fine Italian wine; he had bought it a few months ago when he took a trip to the country during the holidays.
He carefully pulled it out of the carved wooden box and set the bottle on the kitchen windowsill—opened a drawer, took out the corkscrew, and wasted no time in uncorking the bottle.
Of course, he didn’t drink it straight from the bottle—he wasn’t at that level of alcoholism yet—but in a glass goblet, with his initials engraved in silver on it.
Being a lawyer was terrible for his personality, but definitely not for his wallet.
He could have the refined and high-level life he’d always aspired to, so he really couldn’t complain too much.
After the first two sips of the red liquid, which immediately warmed his throat, he sat down at one of the chairs around the table and took the folder and notebook back into his hands.
"Let’s see how much trouble you’ve gotten yourself into, Jung Wooyoung."
Chapter 2: Same day as the other day
Notes:
Hello, I'm updating so fast because I Just wanted to clear something for those who don't know how much I update my stories etc! - I tend to update every 10/15 days, with chapters long 3/4k words each :-)
Also, thank you for the attention this story got in just one day, I really didn't expect it 🥹🫶
As always, sorry for the errors ! And happy Easter to those who celebrate!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The electronic clock on the oven read 03:15 a.m., the LED light illuminating the island as if it were an interrogation table was brighter than usual.
Obviously, it was just his impression – the light didn’t change from one day to the next.
At most it could burn out, break, but becoming more or less bright than it was originally was just a mental concept.
In reality, for San almost everything was a mental concept.
Cold? Heat? Tiredness? Sleep? Those were just a few basic examples.
Human beings had always had the tendency not to unlock their full potential because of the mental limits they imposed on themselves, which made them weaker compared to all other living species.
That was one of the reasons San used not to interact with too many people.
Of course, he had always encountered opposing opinions regarding that way of thinking, he had received responses like: «Don’t you limit yourself?», «If we limit ourselves, it’s to preserve our health», «You’re crazy».
But he didn’t care in the slightest, he had always gone against the grain with his questionable perspectives on the world.
While scrolling through files on his PC using the mouse wheel with his index finger, with the other hand he swirled the red wine inside the glass.
It was a slow, precise, and almost elegant movement.
He had learned, after years of tasting all kinds of wine daily, that applying centrifugal force to that drink made it even better, warmer, more suffocating.
His eyes, meanwhile, roamed incessantly over the monitor, trying to find any kind of relevant information among a mass of letters, words, and sentences that seemed endless – he had worked all evening and had only discovered secondary details.
File name: Jung Wooyoung
Age: 25
Place of birth: Goyang
Date of birth: 11/26/1999
Occupation: journalist, at <The Korea Times>
Charges: premeditated murder, use of a bladed weapon, acquisition of private information
Interrogations conducted: 7
Convictions: 1
Estimated dangerousness: medium-high
He would have liked to add his opinion about that guy – but it was still too raw to be longer than two lines.
So he just sighed heavily to empty his lungs and clear his mind for a moment; was it possible that no one had put videos or photos of any kind?
Maybe, someone had moved them to another file?
He set the now half-empty wine glass down next to the computer and focused exclusively on all the folders on the USB drive: one was named J. Wooyoung 30045, another was the general file on the case, and another contained more detailed reports about the crimes committed by his client.
The one with incriminating and non-incriminating evidence was missing.
«Where the hell did those idiots move it?»
He asked that question aloud, knowing he wouldn’t get an answer – or at least he was convinced he wouldn’t. Otherwise, he would’ve had to worry. – and he continued searching among the words, links, documents.
Until he found one that required a password.
San looked at the screen suspiciously, why on earth would a document need a password? The USB stick already required one to view the contents, so why add an additional one?
He avoided asking himself more questions, – he would ask Seonghwa in a few hours, when he would go to the police station for another interview with Wooyoung – and started thinking about what password they might have used.
He tried Wooyoung’s date of birth, the station’s Wi-Fi password, the case number; every reasonable combination he could think of, he tried.
But nothing, it seemed he wasn’t going to find that damn password.
He jotted down that detail in his notebook, suspicious but not too much.
Then he looked up from the paper to check the time, and seeing the clock read 04:00 convinced him to go to bed.
He turned off the computer without much hesitation – after removing the USB stick – and left it on the table, along with his notebook which now had a few more scribbles and Wooyoung’s paper file.
He grabbed the wine glass and brought it with him to the bedroom: he placed it on the nightstand next to the bed, near the lamp that emitted a warmer light than the one in the kitchen.
He loosened his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and lastly took off his pants; he left all his clothes neatly folded on the desk chair – at the moment he was too lazy and thoughtful to put them on hangers – and sat down on the bed, which had tightly pulled sheets and pillows arranged with manic precision.
He rested his bare back against the headboard – receiving a cold shock down his spine at the contact – and looked at his own reflection in the mirror in front of him; it was one of those mirrors that served as a closet door, so it was also quite large.
Despite its size, it was immaculate, free of smudges or fingerprints – this because he took the cleanliness of his home very seriously, especially the mirrors.
He looked at himself for a few minutes, while tapping with his fingers on the mattress the melody of “Crawling” by Linkin Park.
A band specialized in alternative rock, nu metal, and similar genres.
San had a particular connection with their music; maybe because he had grown up with it, maybe because he had never tried to expand his musical knowledge beyond them and a few other artists he could tolerate.
As soon as he stopped looking at himself, he also stopped replaying the song in his head – he took off his glasses, wrapped them in their cloth to keep them clean, and then carefully placed them on the nightstand as well.
He leaned slightly to reach the switch on the lamp and once it was off, he lay down completely, resting his head on the pillow but without undoing the sheets. He wouldn’t have time to make the bed once he woke up, might as well not mess it up.
The alarm he had set went off precisely at a quarter past seven in the morning, when the sun was still low and some people were returning home after their night shifts at work.
And with the sound of the alarm, his usual routine began—the same one he’d followed for years, never once changed.
At the first ring he immediately opened his eyes and got up to turn it off, not caring about the cold contact of the floor under his feet—because it only served to jolt his brain fully awake.
He rubbed his index and thumb against his eyes, then blinked them open. He stretched his arms above his head and once satisfied with that feeling, went straight to open the wardrobe, from which he took another white shirt—this time with a small embroidery of his initials on the cuffs—black pants, and a jacket that completed the outfit.
He didn’t take long to get dressed—he actually spent more time buttoning up the shirt because he found it relaxing, so he always set aside five minutes just to do that, in the silence of his room.
Once dressed, he picked up the tie he had left on the desk the night before; he laid it across his shoulders, waiting to tie it after breakfast.
A breakfast that consisted of finishing the last few drops of wine in the glass on his nightstand and two vanilla cookies from a strange brand he had found at the supermarket. He couldn’t pronounce the name since it was a foreign brand, but it didn’t matter—they were good, so he’d keep buying them and telling everyone he ate “vanilla cookies.”
After tossing back the usual two cookies, he put the bag back into the cupboard next to the fridge; then tied his tie with ease—it was practically part of his muscle memory by now—and then headed to the bathroom, where he gave himself ten minutes of care.
He washed his face with cold water and strawberry soap, applied a moisturizer his mother had recommended, brushed his teeth with his usual sharp mint toothpaste and finally rinsed his mouth with mouthwash. He dried his face by patting it with a towel, and once done, moved on to combing his hair.
He used a fine-toothed comb, to straighten out the hair that still had some gel left from the day before. Because of too many thoughts and the ungodly hour that made it impossible to stay awake any longer, he had completely skipped his nightly bathroom routine. For that reason, he felt rather grimy, but he had promised himself that once he got home, he would properly wash from head to toe.
As soon as he felt presentable enough to face another day of work, he returned to his room to grab his glasses and phone, then headed to the kitchen, where he had left his notebook, computer, and case documents.
But the moment he picked everything up to put them in his briefcase, his phone vibrated; a notification. He rolled his eyes—who could possibly be texting him at 7:40 in the morning?
He ignored the notification for the moment and went to the entrance, where his black leather briefcase was on a shelf beneath the table. He picked it up, opened it, and carefully placed everything he was holding inside.
Meanwhile, his phone wouldn’t stop vibrating. Notification after notification continued to disturb the quiet of his home.
«What the hell is this?»
He muttered irritably to himself, walking back into the kitchen with determined steps to check who was being so insistent in trying to reach him.
He mentally slapped himself as soon as he saw he had been added to a group chat.
It was called “the emperors of chaos.”
Seonghwa had created it, and inside were Yunho, some guy named Hongjoong, and finally him.
Apparently, they had nothing better to do than texting.
But San did—so he ignored the messages and put the chat on silent.
Only with peace restored was he able to finish getting ready by putting on his shoes and leaving the house, his briefcase held tightly in his long, elegant fingers.
He got into his Mercedes, [Benz AMG GT 63 Coupé] matte black, placed the briefcase on the passenger seat, and once he pressed the start button, the magic of that car began.
The first thing he did before setting off, though, was turn off the radio: he was tired of hearing the same songs, whether Korean or foreign. He far preferred silence. With that detail settled, he left without further delay, heading toward the police station where a long day of work awaited him.
As soon as he managed to find parking—which felt like spending an eternity in one of hell’s circles—he tried to move as quickly as possible to reach the station entrance. He grabbed his briefcase, locked the car with a simple click of the key, and with brisk steps, arrived in front of the two huge automatic glass doors at the entrance.
He stopped in front of them, body tense and jaw clenched. He was waiting for Seonghwa to arrive as well, so he could ask him about the password he couldn’t find the night before.
And wouldn’t you know it—speak of the devil and he shall appear.
The officer arrived about a minute later, side by side with another agent that San, personally, had no idea who was. He was short, maybe even shorter than him, had hair dyed a nearly electric blue, and was staring at the platinum blonde boy without ever taking his eyes off him. They seemed very close—close to the point of disgusting San, almost.
But he kept that thought to himself, because he forced a small smile to greet them both as soon as they noticed him.
«San, we were just talking about you! Why do you read the messages without replying?! You know that's rude, right?»
With far too much energy for it to be merely eight in the morning, Seonghwa scolded him about the group chat—he already had a pout on his lips, cheeks slightly puffed because of it.
The lawyer looked at him with an expression somewhere between “are you serious?” and confusion.
«Sorry, but I think you added the wrong person. I’m not a fan of chaos and, judging by the name of the group, I’m definitely out of place.»
«We added you just to help you loosen up! And by the way, nice to meet you, I'm Hongjoong! The... best friend of Seonghwa.»
The blue-haired guy glanced at the other agent for approval, who simply smiled at him in a different, ambiguous way.
San looked at them suspiciously; he didn’t believe for a second that they were just friends after that statement from the new guy, but he wouldn’t ask any more questions about it.
He had other, more important questions.
«Nice to meet you, I’m San. Seonghwa’s friend, if I can call myself that. I appreciate your attempt to “loosen me up,” but I assure you that I’m perfectly happy as I am. Don’t waste your efforts.»
With those words, he left no room for that conversation to continue, already getting annoyed so early in the morning.
In fact, all three of them stayed silent and entered the police station, avoiding even looking at each other.
Only when Hongjoong said goodbye to Seonghwa to head in the opposite direction of the station did they finally speak again.
San saw the blonde become tense, uneasy.
It was evident from his body language and how he was avoiding San’s gaze, something that had never happened before.
«Everything okay? You seem weird.»
He commented, walking alongside the officer – checking himself in the glass reflections as usual.
«Uh? Oh, yeah. Everything’s fine.»
Seonghwa dismissed it; perfect, he didn’t want to talk.
San didn’t like when things didn’t add up. He needed order, control.
But he wouldn’t force him to confess anything.
He wasn’t one of his clients, so he didn’t have to apply the same rules.
He let the conversation fall and eventually fade completely, though his question about the password still burned intensely in his thoughts.
«Hwa, I have a question.»
«San, listen, I-»
«It’s not about you and the guy with the blue hair – it’s about the flash drive with Wooyoung’s case.»
He cut him off mid-sentence, stopping in the middle of the hallway to tell him the real reason for the question.
The expression Seonghwa made when San stopped him from finishing his sentence was Oscar-worthy: eyes wide open, almost scared but at the same time relieved that he didn’t have to admit such a big truth, lips slightly parted.
San looked at him as his body relaxed, no longer tense like a wire about to snap, before seeing him walk over with furrowed brows, confused.
«Wooyoung’s case? You’re the lawyer, not me, you should be asking him, not me.»
«No, it’s not that. You need a password to view files on the flash drive, and no one told me what it is. I tried a few combinations but nothing. Do you know anything about it?»
«Uhm... no, to be honest. Something like this has never happened before. Usually, flash drives have a single password as soon as you insert them into a computer. Maybe they have sensitive content? You should ask the person in charge of the case, Park Jihyo. She handles all the paperwork before it gets to you lawyers.»
Despite that theory about sensitive content, San wouldn’t take it at face value.
He’d seen photos of people without limbs, gutted, dead after hours, days, months, or years of torture, and so on.
There was no way it could get worse.
But he’d follow Seonghwa’s advice and ask Jihyo.
She did a kind of sorting along with her team.
They created files with the forensic department, the autopsy team, and who knows how many others, regarding the cases – then distributed them to the different teams they were assigned to.
So, if anyone had set that password, it had to be someone inside Jihyo’s team.
«Mh, okay. I’ll try to talk to her as soon as I finish the interview with Wooyoung, which is coming up soon. I could also use a coffee now that I think about it, need all the energy I can get to face him.»
The last part sounded more like a reminder to himself: he could still make it to the vending machine and grab one of those overly watered-down, sugary coffees that he still loved.
But the blonde’s laugh made him change his mind.
What was so funny?
«Sorry to tell you, but the vending machine’s broken. You’ll have to face him without coffee. And as always, before we part: good luck!»
With that awful last-minute news, San was left alone in the middle of the hallway, in front of the room where the interview with the idiot would take place.
He adjusted his glasses on his nose and sighed through his nostrils; as he had said, it was going to be a long and difficult day.
He lowered the door handle and made his way into the room, heading straight to his chair – as usual, opposite his client – and, once comfortable, placed his briefcase on the table and took off his jacket to hang it on the backrest.
To his surprise, Wooyoung hadn’t arrived yet, so he had some good time in silence to arrange the documents from the day before and the new notes he’d taken during the night – not that there were many.
He quickly reread them, feeling trapped by what he had written because, fuck, it was really little.
He’d make a note to drink more during this case, because apparently, he needed to focus a lot more than he thought.
«My brave prince, finally we meet again, seems like an eternity’s passed!»
A voice, his voice, filled the room as soon as the door made a “click” sound, signaling it had closed.
San muttered a simple «good morning to you too,» without lifting his head from his notes, ignoring the noise Wooyoung was making on purpose with his handcuffs, banging them against the table to get his attention.
The only time he managed to get what he wanted was when he started rubbing his foot against the lawyer’s leg.
San looked at him coldly; he also took the opportunity to check what condition he had shown up in.
The usual uniform, handcuffs, slightly more disheveled hair.
Aside from that, not much seemed different.
But his desire to annoy San, that had definitely gotten worse.
«Stop it, before I ask them to cuff your feet as well.»
«Kinky.»
«So, Wooyoung. I need you to give me more information about yourself, to start.»
He immediately dove into the important conversation, not making the same mistake as the day before.
He rummaged through his bag to find a pen and, as soon as he succeeded, pressed the button to make the tip come out so he could start writing.
The raven-haired man, in the meantime, watched him almost curiously but also with a challenging look.
«Should I do it as if we’re on a first date?» He asked, laughing.
But as much as it truly mattered to San, any method that made him talk was fine.
Even that.
«Yes, exactly. Tell me about yourself.»
He urged, looking him straight in the eyes, making Wooyoung believe he was actually paying attention to the stupid idea.
Wooyoung smirked, moistening his lips with his tongue before starting to speak.
«My name’s Jung Wooyoung, I’m 25 years old, and I’m a journalist. I graduated from Södertörn University at twenty and have been working at <The Korea Times> for about four years. I have no criminal record, but apparently, someone framed me, making me look like a serial killer when I’m actually afraid of flipping an omelette in hot oil.»
As soon as the guy finished that introduction, he clicked his tongue and painted a proud expression on his face, while the lawyer, on the other side, stopped writing as soon as he heard “I’ve been framed.”
«Stop, go back. You said you were framed. How do you think that happened? And also, was it done by someone you know?»
He asked seriously, gripping the pen, waiting for a serious answer.
Which, of course, didn’t come – stupid him for hoping.
«How would I know? All I know is I didn’t kill anyone, and whoever did it, they framed me to avoid getting caught.»
«You’re a lost cause. You should take your chance to get free more seriously.»
«If I did that, I wouldn’t be able to have this fun with you.»
San didn’t dare respond with what he really thought, which was something like “do you hear yourself when you talk?” because he knew that would only trigger more inappropriate responses.
So he simply tapped the pen against the table for a few seconds and returned to focusing on work.
«You said you don’t know who could have done it or how it happened. Do you at least have an idea of the reason behind it? I can give you some examples if you can’t think of anything.»
He continued with the questions, wanting to gather more information about Wooyoung’s life and piece together a part of that huge puzzle.
All he needed was even just a first hypothesis to feel more relaxed.
«I don’t know. The only thing that comes to mind is that I... no, I got nothing.»
«Speak.»
He insisted, with an authoritative tone, his eyes fixed on the raven-haired one.
«I like it when you give orders, do it more often, it’s sexy. Anyway, I was saying: the only thing that comes to mind is that I found something I shouldn’t have.»
The guy quickly explained after that obscene comment, which San obviously chose to ignore.
He explained quickly after that obscene comment, which San obviously brushed off without a second thought.
He jotted down that first starting point: a potential lead to dig into in search of evidence.
He would definitely need to go to Wooyoung’s workplace and ask for camera footage, all the published work, and his drafts, and have his colleagues questioned too.
It wasn’t much, but it was still something to begin with — the real problem was that they had very little time.
The trial would begin in two weeks, and their next meeting was scheduled in six days.
He only had one more chance to talk to Wooyoung, and they’d have to use it to organize what he should and shouldn't say in front of the court.
«What were you working on before you got arrested?»
He asked as the last question before ending the meeting. He had gathered enough, and from what little he knew about Wooyoung, there was no way he’d get much more out of him anyway.
Besides, he also had to visit Jihyo, try to escape Seonghwa who would inevitably ask him to have lunch together, go to the crime scene to see it with his own eyes, and deal with all his personal matters too.
«It had to do with politicians and corruption. I didn’t get the scoop, but I was really, really close.»
And with that sentence, Wooyoung made San mutter a quiet “bingo.”
He usually said it when he had already visualized more or less how things had gone down.
And in this case, it was all too easy to imagine.
Notes:
Can't wait to give u guys updates 🫡 just wait s bit 👁️🔍
Chapter 3: R&B and Friends
Notes:
Kind of rushed chapter cause I had to update 🥹🫶
How y'all doing tho? I saw the teasers for something new on the ateez account 👀 check them out!!
As always, sorry for errors!! I will re-read this in the morning since it's 1am here for me 🥹🫳
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
San left the room with few pieces of information, but they were more than enough to give him a starting lead; besides, he wanted to avoid spending too much time in Wooyoung's company — before reaching the point of total exasperation due to his comments.
After placing his notebook and the case file inside his briefcase, he gripped its handle and went off to look around the station for Park Jihyo.
She was the person responsible for the files, for everything that happened to case archives before they reached the hands of lawyers and associates.
He walked quickly and with purpose down the corridors, following the signs hanging from the ceiling marked “Team A.”
It only took him three minutes and twenty-seven seconds to reach Atrium A, which spread out into several offices belonging to the team members.
He glanced around, searching for his target, Jihyo, without even knowing what she looked like.
He had spoken to her multiple times, far more than he could count on two hands, and yet his brain erased the faces of anyone he didn’t consider important in his life.
It wasn’t a new thing for him—it was something he’d done since childhood, more as a way to build barriers with the world than because of actual memory problems.
He adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose and tried to focus on the names next to the office doors — all of which had large windows allowing visibility inside and out.
Unfortunately for him, he had never had good eyesight — in fact, he had always needed glasses or contact lenses just to see things or people even a few meters away.
And also unfortunately, the silence surrounding him since he had left the interrogation room was interrupted by someone tapping his shoulder three times to get his attention.
From the corner of his eye, he noticed the fingers had flashy nails, so he immediately assumed it was a woman, a police officer, probably needing information.
Indeed, his intuition was right: as soon as he turned around, he was faced with a girl slightly shorter than him, with bangs and long black hair, a blue and black uniform, and many stapled papers in her hands.
«Hey, sorry to bother you. But, um, I think you forgot these.»
The girl extended the papers toward the lawyer, holding them with trembling hands and an anxious smile on her face.
San furrowed his brows and looked closely at the papers.
«I think you’ve got the wrong person. I’m pretty sure I didn’t forget anything — that never happens.»
He stated, lifting his gaze to meet the officer’s eyes.
As soon as their eyes met, she immediately dropped her gaze to the marble floor, then timidly nodded her head.
«Oh, sorry, maybe you’re right. I’m Sooyoung, by the way.»
«San. Do you work in this department, Sooyoung?»
He wasted no time asking about the papers or the whole interaction: he had other things on his mind, and if she could help him, he would gladly accept a hand in finding Jihyo.
The officer nodded again, whispering a soft “yes” while still trembling slightly and avoiding eye contact.
San analyzed her through those small gestures: she was shy, probably new, and didn’t have any strong connections in the station.
She wasn’t greeting anyone, and the earbuds hanging from her neck looked like her only company.
It was rare for officers to walk around the Central alone; they usually went in pairs or groups, if only to keep each other company or chat about the latest updates on TV during dinner the night before.
«Could you tell me where Park Jihyo is? I need to speak with her — I’d be grateful if you could help.»
He said, stepping back slightly to give more space to Sooyoung, who seemed like her brain had completely shut down — as if she couldn’t manage multiple things at once.
The conversation, the eye contact, the mistaken identity, the embarrassment.
But San noticed her discomfort — also because she made it more than obvious without realizing it.
Before responding, the girl lifted her gaze from the floor, looked to her right, then raised her arm to point at an office door.
«She’s in there… she was talking to someone a moment ago.»
«Thanks. If you’re having trouble finding who the papers belong to, ask Seonghwa from Team C. He knows everyone.»
He tried to thank and help the clearly struggling girl, forcing a gentler tone than his usual cold and distant voice.
As much as he didn’t want to show too many emotions to the world, he thought this was a time to appear more human.
Whenever he ran into people so anxious and shy — two traits visible to anyone — he tried not to make the situation worse by acting like a total ice wall.
And in fact, after changing his tone, he noticed the agent tremble less and even give a slightly more relaxed smile.
Before leaving, she gave a small bow and whispered,
«Thank you. Goodbye.»
Then disappeared down the hallways of the station toward Area C.
San waited until the girl was out of his sight before heading toward the door she had pointed out.
He adjusted the collar of his shirt, the knot of his tie, and checked that he looked impeccable as always.
Then, with confidence and resolve, he knocked on the gray door, which had a small glass window through which the figures of two women chatting could be seen.
One of them opened the door, smiling warmly once her full figure came into view.
She scanned San from head to toe — a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by him, but which he chose not to comment on, though it made him visibly uncomfortable.
«Choi San, right? The lawyer everyone’s talking about in the hallways.»
The woman gestured for him to enter, closing the door once he stepped in.
«They’re talking about me. Why?»
The question came out spontaneously, his curiosity plain as he raised an eyebrow and looked at the two officers.
The two exchanged glances and giggled.
Was it some kind of inside joke he wasn’t in on?
And yet he was sure Seonghwa told him everything.
Really, everything. Too much, in fact.
He was the living definition of “too much information.”
«I think it’s pretty obvious why people talk about you... but I don’t think you came here to talk about that, did you?»
The other woman, who had been silent until then, spoke.
San managed to catch a glimpse of the badge on her chest: Park Jihyo.
That was her — he’d found her.
She was of medium height, bronze-skinned, with large, alert eyes and her hair tied back in a ponytail.
She wore red lipstick and had a small butterfly tattoo on her wrist; a ring on her left ring finger. She was married.
Once he finished noting the tiny details of the department head — whom he had seen many times yet always forgot what she looked like — he cleared his throat to ask about the password.
«Exactly, I’m not here to talk about me. Rather.»
He opened his briefcase and rummaged through his things until he managed to grab the flash drive he had received the day before.
He displayed it in the palm of his hand for the two officers.
«You came here to talk about a flash drive?»
Asked Jihyo, carefully taking it and reading the tag attached to it indicating the name of the case.<Jung Wooyoung.>
«Oh, you’re the poor guy stuck dealing with that one… I feel sorry for you. Are you here to hand off the case to someone else? You know how long this trial is, right?»
The woman continued.
San shook his head, closed the briefcase, and slipped the USB from the officer’s hand.
He didn’t trust anyone that much — not yet.
«No, not at all. I’m here because someone put a password on the photo, video, and audio files in the drive. No one informed me what it is, but more importantly, no one told me it was even there to begin with.»
He explained bluntly, narrowing his eyes with suspicion; there was something — no, there had to be something or someone — who didn’t want him to see everything on it.
And if what Wooyoung had said was true — that he had been working on a political corruption case — it was someone who had been further corrupted to ensure the truth, or even clues leading to it, wouldn’t come out.
Jihyo put a confused pout on her face, then exchanged a glance with her colleague, who shrugged.
«It's the first time something like this has happened to us, it's strange. Usually, USBs aren't encrypted like this — We should ask whoever programmed it before handing it over to you.»
«Do you know who that is?»
The lawyer asked immediately, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.
«Of course! Kang Yeosang, office A24. First hallway on the left, last door on the right.»
The woman explained, stepping toward the door, placing her hand on the handle and lowering it.
«Eunsol will accompany you. Yeosang is a bit... complicated. Get straight to the point with him and avoid talking too much.»
Jihyo made sure to add
San nodded to show he understood her “advice” — as if he didn't already hate talking and preferred to keep things brief by nature.
He left the office following the other officer, apparently named Eunsol, walking with the USB clenched in one hand and his suitcase in the other.
The woman next to him kept glancing his way, lips slightly parted — she seemed unsure whether to speak. But in the end, she did.
As always: San's misfortune.
«You... by any chance are free to go out some-»
«No.»
He said at once, cutting off Eunsol’s sentence before she could even finish it, before she could ask for his number or who knows what else.
The woman’s face immediately dropped, a small defeated pout forming on her lips, followed by a heavy sigh.
She seemed to be fishing for pity, for a shred of attention, but she had completely picked the wrong person to ask.
They walked the rest of the hallway in silence, keeping at least a meter and a half between them.
Only when they reached the door marked “A24” did they glance at each other and give a quick nod in farewell, without exchanging a word.
«I should’ve just told her I like men. Maybe she’d spread that around and they’d all stay away from me. A dream.»
He muttered to himself, slightly annoyed, before raising the hand clutching the USB in a fist to knock.
He waited about fifteen seconds before hearing the automatic click of the door unlocking.
Behind it, a guy: about his height, reddish curly hair, a red “stain” under his right eye, and sharp eyes.
With some extensions, he could’ve cosplayed as Erza Scarlet from Fairy Tail.
«And you are?»
The redhead asked bluntly, chewing gum that smelled like strawberry — was he a fan of red and everything red-colored, or was it just San’s impression?
He didn’t ask.
«Choi San, attorney. I’m here because from what I’ve been told, you’re the one who programmed the USB for my case, but there's a password no one seems to know.»
He explained to the officer, showing him the black USB drive with a tag that had Wooyoung’s name written on it.
As soon as the redhead read that name, his eyes lit up.
«Oh, yeah, Wooyoung. The code was set by the judge's request, I just followed orders.»
«But the first court hearing hasn’t even happened yet. How did they already give orders?»
San gripped the USB again, then opened his leather briefcase and placed it among all the documents — which were alphabetically ordered and numerically labeled.
Yeosang, the officer, just shrugged at the remark.
The confused expression he wore was enough to convince the lawyer that he genuinely didn't know more than he was letting on.
But he did know the password.
«I’ll investigate this further, but in the meantime I still need you to give me the password. Would you be willing to?»
He tried to pose the question gently, putting on a mask to appear more convincing.
«Absolutely. Honestly, I found the whole thing odd myself, I was just waiting for someone to notice. The password is 270325.»
The officer confessed as if it were nothing.
It seemed too easy, and yet San had no valid or concrete reason to doubt the guy.
Sure, Jihyo had told him Yeosang was “complicated,” but how could he believe her when it had been this easy to get information from him?
San kept his doubts to himself, as usual, and memorized the code — he’d write it down once he got back to the car.
«Thank you, you’ve been very helpful, Yeosang.»
He thanked him coldly, though with a hint of genuine appreciation.
«How do you know my name?»
Mr. Erza Scarlet asked, surprised, eyes wide and mouth no longer chewing.
The lawyer sighed, though not as heavily as usual — it was more a sigh of disbelief.
«You have it written on your badge. And your superior told me before I came here.»
His inspection at the station ended with that last sentence, as he didn’t give the redhead time to respond — he simply turned and began walking toward the exit.
Although, he had to admit, before leaving, he noticed Sooyoung — the girl with the files — looking rather dazed, hands clutching her chest as they trembled and her breath short.
It was as if she felt completely out of place, and in a way, San could understand that.
So he jotted a reminder to keep a closer eye on her — next to it, he scribbled down the code Yeosang had given him.
He left the pen and post-it on the car’s dashboard, started the engine, then gripped the steering wheel with both hands, deciding to head to his usual spot to continue investigating that damn case that seemed to have problems from the start.
The place was a bar that played R&B music, served mostly warm drinks like tea, and offered both sweet pastries and savory dishes from Myanmar.
Why Myanmar specifically?
Even San had no idea, considering everyone who worked there had been born and raised in South Korea — but he had to admit, eating something different than the usual ramen or dakgalbi was refreshing.
He entered the place holding his briefcase, while the post-it and pen in his other hand seemed to compete over who would fall first.
He sat at his usual table in the most remote corner of the room, where no one ever passed by or sat — since there were no good angles for social media photos.
He opened his briefcase, pulled out the USB and laptop, placed them on the wooden table, and without wasting any more time, inserted the USB into the port.
Meanwhile, “Ivy” by Frank Ocean played in the background, overpowering even the chatter of other bar patrons.
Or maybe it was just that San ignored anything that didn’t personally interest him.
If Seonghwa had been there, for example, he’d have been all ears, listening to other people’s life stories, problems, experiences, and so on — just to retell them later.
If Yunho had been there — assuming he was still the Yunho San had always known — he would’ve been humming along to the lyrics.
«Good morning, San. Are you staying for lunch today?»
A female voice managed to draw his eyes up from the loading screen of his laptop: it was Seulgi’s voice.
He came to the place so often that he’d learned all the staff’s names and even memorized their shifts.
«Morning. I think I will today, I’ve got a lot to work on.»
He replied, hearing Seulgi chuckle beside him.
She pulled out her notepad and jotted down his usual order: iced sparkling water, Myanmar curry, and finally a hot berry tea.
Definitely a questionable mix, but strangely pleasant.
«You’re always working... you should find someone to unwind with once in a while. Even going out with friends helps.»
Murmured the waitress once she finished writing on her notepad, leaving a slip of paper on the table next to the computer.
San looked at it curiously, then glanced at what Seulgi had written: a phone number, a smiling face, and a note that said “Yunho changed his number, said to give you the new one.”
«He must be really desperate if he’s so eager to talk to me.»
He commented aloud with a hint of irony, then turned his attention back to the USB.
As soon as it opened, he immediately went to the page asking for the code: he stared at the empty boxes for a moment, the words “insert code” above them.
He pressed the number keys on the keyboard hesitantly.
270325.
The boxes disappeared from the monitor, replaced by a loading symbol, with “correct password” written in green below it.
Immediately after seeing that, his body relaxed: it was like lifting a weight off his chest.
The loading page disappeared a few seconds later; in its place appeared several folders containing files of all kinds.
Photos, videos, audio recordings.
He opened the first one that caught his attention, named <Media_error404>.
He clicked repeatedly on the mouse button as if he could make the computer open the folder faster; and once the image thumbnails began to appear, he examined them one by one.
There were a total of 150 photographs.
Photographs depicting various notes from Wooyoung’s notebook, printed versions of some of his articles, his office, his home.
Both places were kept in a state more akin to disorder than organization.
Meanwhile, his notebook was full of scribbled drawings of people, with various notes underneath such as physical features, personality traits, and private information — links to corrupt political figures, illicitly earned money, and so on.
One even had what looked like blood on its hands.
“He just had to be an artist too..” he thought.
But aside from the drawings, there were no names. No figure had an assigned name.
Only one did, but it was a surname: Park.
And although it was still a clue, the unfortunate thing was that there were far too many Parks to count.
But if he had to narrow it down only to political figures or something similar, the field to work on became much smaller and manageable.
Or, he could simply print the photographs and bring them to Wooyoung, asking him for the names of all the men and women drawn.
He spent about an hour looking over every single photo.
He wrote down every detail he considered important in his notebook, even tried to replicate Wooyoung’s doodles.
And the more time he spent with his head bowed over the paper, the more he lost track of time, so much so that he didn’t even realize it was lunchtime — at least, for him it was.
Exactly noon.
«Here it is as usual: curry, sparkling water, and hot tea. I hope it helps you.. work better..? Okay, forget that last part, I just hope you like it. Don’t overdo it.»
Seulgi placed a tray with the mentioned items on the table, but didn’t leave.
She dragged the chair back across the floor, then sat right in front of San.
She crossed her arms on the wooden table and looked at him like an older sister watching her younger brother drown in the adult world.
«You don’t need to worry about me. You know how I am.»
«San.»
«Seulgi, don’t start again.»
«I know.. but I’m just saying maybe you should stop, you know, putting up walls with everyone, you get it? You can’t face everything on your own, sooner or later you’ll need someone to vent to. Don’t you think?»
The girl spoke in a soft but worried tone.
She had known San for a long time, having been around that place for over six years, and she had never seen him in a version of himself that wasn’t serious.
Never seen him think about anything other than work or what wine to down before bed.
The lawyer looked up to meet her eyes, then rested his hands on his legs and tapped his fingers on them.
«I don’t like people and besides, I’ve always done everything alone. I don’t see why I should suddenly change my mind or perspective about my future life as a hermit.»
«You’re unbelievable. Let’s change the subject, I give up. Anything interesting at work? An intriguing case or something like that?»
«I can’t say anything yet, it’s just starting. But, I can say that the deputy won’t stop chatting and making shameless comments about me.»
«Well, I don’t know if you’ve looked in the mirror San.. anyway. How do you react?»
«What kind of question is that. Of course I react badly.»
«So uptight. You could be having an intriguing and “illegal” love story and here you are sulking.»
«First of all, I’m professional. Second, he’s not my type. Too energetic.»
«Opposites attract, my dear.»
A disgusted expression.
That’s what Seulgi got as a response to that whole conversation.
Notes:
We'll have more woo and San interaction later 🫶 this is just the start
Chapter 4: Lollipop
Notes:
Hey guys it's been a while :')) i had such a difficult month tbh, but I had also good moments too 🥹 I honestly just didn't have the time or inspiration to write, so I didn't update.
Hope this (more short than usual) update will be good 💃🏻 (English is a scam, cause wdym in my language this was 3,200 words but in eng are just 2,700?? Hello??)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
«You have so many people chasing after you and you don’t care about any of them. I envy you. I wish someone were interested in me too.»
Seulgi pouted subtly, resting her chin on the palm of her hand.
Her nails were quite long, painted red with black designs—except for the middle and ring fingers, those had shorter nails.
San had a pretty good idea why. Knowing the kind of woman she was, there was nothing to be shocked about.
Sex or masturbation wasn’t taboo.
Or rather—it often became taboo for himself, but when it came to other people’s lives, it didn’t bother him in the slightest.
«You’ll find someone. You’re pretty. Even if I don’t get why people are so eager to have someone by their side. Being alone isn’t so bad.»
«Oh my God. Was that a compliment? Choi San said I’m pretty. And anyway, it’s a totally understandable desire, knowing there’s someone who loves you unconditionally... not everyone has sex with wine like you.»
Her tone turned more playful, with a dazzling smile that showed her sharp canines—almost like a vampire’s.
San, on the other hand, shook his head and rolled his eyes, ignoring the topic for a moment. He had no intention of wasting more time chatting when he had work to do.
Seulgi seemed to notice his reaction. She stood up and, before going back to serve other tables, gave him a light—almost imperceptible—pat on the shoulder.
«Win this one too.»
She whispered, then ran off with arms open toward another colleague who had just arrived for her shift.
Once she left, he turned his attention back to his laptop and the notebook with his notes.
He needed to stop by a copy shop to print some of the photos from the USB stick—it would definitely be easier to ask Wooyoung directly who those people were and where he’d gotten that information, rather than figuring it out on his own.
He saved the photos he needed in a folder on the desktop, then shut down the computer and slipped it into his bag.
He still had to eat what he’d ordered—wasting food wasn’t his style.
He glanced at the watch on his wrist, an Apple Watch: it was exactly 13:10.
He set a five-minute timer, then started eating his curry and sipping his berry tea, leaving only the reddish liquid at the bottom—usually that was the part of the tea with the most sugar, and he hated it.
He left the bottle of sparkling water unopened and placed it in the bag with the rest of his things.
As soon as the alarm went off, he stood up from the chair and took off his jacket, folding it carefully over his forearm to avoid creases, then grabbed his briefcase and walked with unusual calm toward the counter, where a guy about his age was waiting.
Maybe a bit older.
He’d never seen him before, he must’ve been new.
«Hello, table?»
The guy asked from behind the register without even looking up from the receipts in his hands.
«Eight.»
He replied simply, then watched the guy shift his gaze from the slips of paper to him.
They locked eyes in silence for a few seconds: San observed him as he did with everyone, memorizing his face for the next time he came by.
The guy, meanwhile, gave him a faint smile.
«That’ll be 23,500₩. Card or cash?»
«Cash.»
He bent slightly to set the briefcase on the ground and reached into his jacket pocket for his wallet—he pulled out a yellow bill, the 50,000₩ one.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the cashier’s face turn annoyed; he even heard him sigh.
When they acted like that, it usually meant they didn’t have change.
He handed the bill over but stopped the guy before he could look for change.
«Keep it.»
«But sir—»
«Juyeon, don’t bother with Attorney Choi, he always does that! Thanks and have a nice day!»
Seulgi’s intervention settled the situation, which ended with a simple “Goodbye” from the mysterious Juyeon and a nod from San, who picked his suitcase up off the floor.
The drive to the copy shop was short and quiet, like all his drives, and yet something… louder seemed to be approaching.
Printing legal documents in a public place wasn’t advisable—nobody did it—but San had built a strange relationship of trust with the guy who worked there. He’d figured out that the guy didn’t care about law or “gossip” (as his mother called it).
He just did his job and chatted occasionally with regular clients.
Except with San—he’d made it clear he didn’t like to talk much.
The little bell above the door rang as he walked in. The shop smelled of stationery and printed paper—and of “Chanel Bleu de Chanel,” which belonged to Mingi.
«Hey San, how many copies do you need today?»
The guy popped out from the storage room behind the counter. He’d changed his hair color.
Now it was short and bright pink. Not long ago, it had been blond.
San stepped up to the counter and placed his briefcase on top, opening it to take out his laptop.
«About 47. I can’t give you a USB, you’ll have to use my computer directly.»
He explained straightforwardly as he booted it up.
«Don’t worry, I won’t peek at your dirty Google searches. Be right back.»
Mingi took the laptop and headed into the storage room, where the printer was, letting technology do its job.
Meanwhile, San waited at the counter, adjusting the sleeves of his shirt and his collar.
That strange feeling from before he entered hadn’t quite gone away.
And his gut rarely got it wrong.
Maybe he was getting too caught up in this new case—the first truly interesting one after a series of less important or less complex ones.
Then, a sound. The bells above the door rang again. Footsteps echoed on the shop’s wooden floor.
«Seems like you and I are destined to meet only when I’m in a rush, huh?»
That sentence was followed by a soft laugh, a playful smirk.
San closed his eyes and took a deep breath, silently congratulating himself for once again sensing the arrival of a storm.
None other than Yunho.
«What are you doing here?»
He asked, still obsessively fixing the buttons on his shirt.
Yunho lowered his gaze and smiled, almost shyly, then let out a sigh.
«I’m here for…»
At that moment, Mingi returned from the storage room with the copies in his hands, stapled neatly together.
«Him.»
The taller man finished the sentence.
«Oh, are you talking about me?»
Mingi’s question went unanswered, because silence and disbelief took over completely.
Yunho shoved his hands into his pockets, offering a faint smile to the fluorescent-haired boy.
San froze with his fingers still on the buttons, his eyelids slowly closing.
«Uh, hello? You guys there? San, I’ve got your copies…»
Mingi waved the still-warm pages in the air, bringing the lawyer back to earth as he processed what he’d just understood from his friend’s simple words.
He took the documents and placed them in his briefcase without a word.
His lips curved slightly downward, forming a reverse smile.
He never smiled, but in a situation like that, it came naturally.
Yunho—the famous guy who couldn’t stand homosexuality back in high school—now apparently had a boyfriend who, perhaps by fate, was the same guy who printed San’s documents every week.
«Thanks, Mingi. As for you, I’ll call you back. Seulgi gave me your number.»
After that meeting, time started passing rather quickly.
The days went by far too fast; alternating between relentless rain and blazing sun, silence and constant noise.
San did nothing but go back and forth between home and his office, where he examined what he had uncovered alongside Irene, his trusted legal consultant who had been working with him ever since he started as a private attorney.
She was sharp and well-educated, never mixed private life with work, and most importantly, didn’t speak unless necessary.
The perfect colleague for someone like San.
Over time, though, they had learned to carve out moments for coffee together, small talks about weekend plans, but never anything too personal.
The only time they had a serious conversation was at Irene’s place, both far too drunk after who-knows-how-many bottles of wine and soju.
They even ended up under the sheets together, but both agreed never to speak of it or bring it up again—it was just a mistake.
Roughly a week after the last meeting with Wooyoung, the day for the next one finally arrived.
San left home knowing full well it was going to be yet another session with someone who had no filters, but at least this time, he had something concrete to discuss.
He arrived at the hallway where the door to the interview room was located, checking the time on his watch screen. 09:01.
Still nine minutes to go, which meant he’d have to stand there waiting.
He stood still, adjusting his tie, glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, the belt tight around his waist.
That day, he’d even decided to take a bolder step and wear two rings: one silver on his left index finger, and another silver one on his right ring finger.
Since the wait quickly turned too boring, he leaned his back against the wall and clutched the handle of his black briefcase, tapping his foot to count the passing seconds. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8...
But he was interrupted almost immediately, as if someone had read his mind and knew he was trying to entertain himself.
Even though his idea of entertainment only required his own presence and effort—not other people.
«There’s my favorite lawyer! Ready for today, San?»
Seonghwa’s enthusiasm was impossible to miss—his crescent-shaped smile, his arms waving in the air, those strange bruises on his neck.
San gave him a pointed look, silently willing him to calm down, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek out of irritation. He was drawing way too much attention to them.
«I'm definitely ready for work, not nearly enough to deal with you.»
He stated plainly, watching the officer scoff and cross his arms in front of his chest—as if that would somehow make him look more intimidating.
To San, he just looked like a puppy still needing its mom for protection.
«Now that I see you, something came to mind. You've met Sooyoung, right?»
The blond broke the silence, sparking a flicker of curiosity in San with that question. He responded with a simple nod.
«Good. So... she struggles with people. If you ever see her again, please don’t act the way you usually do, okay? Maybe try smiling a bit.»
«I noticed that struggle myself, there’s no need for you to—»
«Lawyer, he’s here.»
Another officer interrupted the brief exchange, announcing the last thing San wanted to hear that day.
Or any other day of the week, really.
But unfortunately, he had to face that boy who looked like he had devil horns on his head and a pitchfork in hand.
«We’ll talk later, your best buddy's waiting for you!»
Seonghwa waved him off with obvious teasing as he turned toward the interview room.
Just before entering, San barely managed to glance back at the officer and mutter an almost inaudible:
«Fuck you.»
The first curse he’d uttered in months—and not even during an argument or at a particularly idiotic colleague.
Now he’d wasted his “swear pass” for the next three months.
When the little scene in the hallway ended and he stepped into the dull, camera-filled room, he immediately felt Wooyoung’s eyes on him.
This time, his hair was tied back in a small ponytail, a lollipop between his lips, and blood under his fingernails.
He’d done something.
«Good morning, Wooyoung.»
He greeted him out of politeness, settling into the chair across from him as usual and dropping the briefcase onto the table—where only the boy’s cuffed hands rested.
«To you, lawyer. You look better than usual today—had a relaxing week?»
The boy started testing his patience right away, crossing his legs and leaning forward with his chest out.
Now San could also glimpse a thin gold chain necklace with a pendant dangling midair.
«Not at all. I’ve been working on your case and feel more drained than usual, so try to cooperate.»
San made that perfectly clear, pulling out the file containing all the photocopies Mingi had prepared the week before, followed by his notebook with notes taken from the USB file.
Wooyoung, meanwhile, began eating the lollipop, pulling it from his lips with loud and obscene “pop” sounds while trying to catch San’s gaze with his own.
«Who gave you that candy? You’re irritating. Also, you’re not allowed to eat during an official meeting.»
«I stole it from the car on the way here. I think it belonged to that blonde cop, but she left it on the seat—and I couldn’t just let it sit there, right?»
San shook his head to push away the irritation already building within the first few seconds of the meeting.
He began laying out the photos in front of Wooyoung—who seemed particularly interested in his hands.
So much so, he bit his lower lip while spinning the lollipop stick between his fingers. Disgusting.
But San didn’t comment. That would just give him another excuse for some inappropriate conversation.
«These sketches, notes, numbers. Where did you get them and who are they connected to? I need as much as possible to help you, Jung.»
He gestured vaguely at each photo, using the sternest voice he could muster, hoping for at least a sliver of cooperation.
That didn’t seem to come right away: Wooyoung laughed, then put the candy back in his mouth—but didn’t suck on it, just let it sit there.
«Those are all the bastards I was working on before I ended up here. Politicians, law enforcement, and—surprise—lawyers and judges. I couldn’t find anything on more than half of them. I see you only printed the ones with descriptions underneath. Smart man, Lawyer.»
He muttered, picking up the photocopy that showed the drawing of a man with bloody hands—or whatever that red mess was supposed to be.
San let him, waiting for him to continue talking, to give more useful information.
In the meantime, he took the chance to observe him more closely:
There wasn’t just blood under his nails—there were marks on his neck that looked like a handprint, red wrists—clearly not just from the handcuffs, since they didn’t wear them inside the prison—and a slightly split lower lip.
He looked like he’d been in a fight, or found someone to let loose with, sexually.
Either way, San wasn’t going to ask.
It wasn’t his business—and he didn’t care.
«That’s Cho Young Soo. He’s part of the Justice Party, supports the well-known 'social democracy.' I’m sure you know what that is, right?»
«Yes. Social democracy promotes socialism, social justice, and democracy. Those are its pillars. But I don’t see why someone from such a party would be involved in what you were looking into, Jung. So enlighten me.»
San stood up from his chair, leaning forward with both hands on the table, dangerously close to Wooyoung—just inches from his face.
The sound of his rings clacking against the cold metal surface sent a chill down the boy’s spine, who grinned challengingly the moment their eyes locked.
«Talk without the candy. I can’t write in the record that I didn’t understand a word because you were too busy acting like a child.» He murmured almost like a whisper, pulling the candy out of his mouth.
A thin string of saliva broke — the whole thing came across as a filthy gesture.
Wooyoung seemed to have enjoyed the moment far too much, while San was on the verge of throwing up at the thought, as he placed the candy on the table.
«Now that you've told me from this position, I'll listen to everything, lawyer. Do I look good from below? I usually get compliments.»
«You're disgusting.»
«Shh. Get ready, I have so much to tell you. This way I also get more time to memorize your face and dream about you tonight.»
Notes:
Wooyoung be freaking too much