Chapter Text
It is a cheery morning, sometime mid-September, when Mingyu sees blood for the first time.
Well, maybe not the first time he sees blood in general. He has cut his knees before, running around on his clumsy little legs at the shabby playground opposite of his childhood home. His nose has bled when he jumped face first in the community pool, after a dare from a friend he can’t remember the face of anymore. He has unfortunately seen his mother’s pad in the trash bin of the bathroom, which he thought was the most horrifying thing of all, back then.
When Mingyu saw blood before, he was used to smiling. A dumb, sheepish smile. He made the other kids laugh when he fell over, forever unsteady on his too-large limbs. He won Pokémon cards after the lifeguard cleaned up his messed-up nose. And he joked around with his mother, telling her how gross it was, not knowing any better. An easy relationship, back then.
He went to his mom usually, to get patched up and laugh with her. Because that was all that blood was to him, evidence of a silly, often funny, accident.
For this, he can’t go to his mom.
“Time of death is around 4AM,” he hears from the person kneeling in front of him, way closer to the scene than Mingyu has the balls to go. Way more comfortable, too. “Not really when the clubs close, but when everyone has settled in the bottom of a bottle.”
“So, busy area, empty streets,” the chief says, his arms folded impressively tight over his chest. At least he’s looking though, he’s not trying to avert his eyes. Like always, Mingyu does his best to follow the man’s lead.
The body is not in one piece. Mingyu knew this already, because there is another cluster of officers around a different sheet, a few steps away. This one in front of him is the upper half though, necessary for identification. Necessary, to see the terror frozen in empty eyes, to see bruises around the neck that were hopefully enough to be fatal. Weird thing to be wishing on a Saturday morning, that a person was choked to death.
The other alternatives are not as… pleasant, to think about. There really is too much blood in a person’s body. Knee scrapes, nose bleeds and period accessories don’t do the amount justice.
“Broken nails, she struggled,” the forensic guy still kneeling down says. “Chunks of hair missing too. Can’t know the cause of death yet, there’s too much blood.” And entrails. Nobody ever mentions how many organs a person has until they spill out of them.
“Would it have anything to do with the lower half of her body being detached?” the chief says, dryness his coping mechanism.
“Hopefully not,” the forensic guy gives him a slight smile. “But if it’s like the last one…”
“Hopefully not,” the chief repeats. “It’s too early to have to issue a serial killer hunt. Haven’t even had coffee yet.”
Maybe there will come a time that Mingyu too will be able to play brave in front of a mutilated corpse. For now though, all he can do is look. He looks at all the things neither detectives nor forensic experts have pointed out yet, at least not in his earshot. He looks at soft curls falling over delicate shoulders, probably having taken time and effort to style so nicely. Some of them are ruined, stained with blood, but some of them remained intact to the very end. He notices the make-up, heavy, so it can be visible from below the stage. A dancer then, an artist. Her teeth are yellowing, so maybe she wasn’t one of the fortunate ones. Maybe she was poor, trying to make ends meets. A struggling, beautiful artist.
If nobody else will do it, Mingyu will appreciate the life this woman lived, brief as it was. She can’t be older than 20.
And now she’s cut in half, thrown in the back alley of a strip club that’s only complaint will probably be that police investigations are dissuading customers from entering.
“Not gonna lie, at first glance it looks similar to the last one,” the forensic guy finally stands up. “Not the cutting-in-half part, obviously, but the violence. The type of victim. It’s only been two weeks since the last one. To me, it looks like someone is experimenting here. Getting better at it.”
The chief sighs, deep and inevitable. “I’m not taking your word until I’ve seen the lab reports.”
“Have I ever been wrong, Seungcheol?”
Mingyu’s been in this precinct long enough to know that no, Lee Jihoon doesn’t tend to be wrong. And the chief knows it too.
He makes eye contact with Mingyu, and Mingyu instinctively stands a bit straighter. “Sir,” he says.
“What do you think of it?” the chief asks.
“I wasn’t in the scene for the last one, sir.”
“Jihoon is right, it was the same. Woman, prostitute, probably working somewhere in this hell hole of a neighborhood. Extremely violent. Jack the Ripper level of violent.”
Mingyu looks at the current woman lying in a pool of her own blood. “Jack the Ripper was a serial killer.”
Which means, that it’s not going to stop at two.
“But,” Mingyu perks up, “we don’t live in Victorian London. We have forensics and cameras and all the technology to catch the demon this time. I believe it’s only a matter of time, sir.”
The chief nods. “You’re going to be in the front lines, I hope you know it.”
Mingyu bows his head. A spark of excitement lights itself inside him, a hound sniffing out an opportunity. Chief Seungcheol trusts him, likes him even, but he doesn’t play favorites. If Mingyu is assigned to this case, it will be because he has demonstrated enough skill and competence. This is a chance to prove himself, to do good. This is the reason he wanted to be a police officer.
It’s bizarre, how the gruesome death below his feet loses the spotlight to a fire of determination. Funny how it took killing a person’s dreams to kickstart Mingyu’s own.
“It’d be my honor.”
~~~
The forensic report supports what everyone has started to suspect; there’s a serial killer in the red-light district. Technically, it can’t be classified as a serial-case yet, but the signs are there. No one is blind. A sergeant sighs when the news is announced, loud and performative. From the cold look in his eyes, Mingyu can tell that he’s been here before. Sitting in a briefing room, discussing a future murder he likely won’t be able to prevent.
Five long rows of uncomfortable chairs make up the briefing room. The AC is working overtime to keep so many bodies cool. There’s a mic to the stand next to Chief Seungcheol, but he doesn’t use it. Everyone is quiet enough to listen.
“We couldn’t identify a particular gender or age of the perpetrator, but there are enough similarities between the two cases. The strangling of the neck, the use of multiple knifes. Different edges, different tools to sculpt their statues of horror. Deep knowledge of the lack of surveillance infrastructure of the area. The red-light district is a tricky place to investigate, I’m sure you’re all aware of it.”
“Not our fault they keep breaking the cameras we try to put up,” someone grumbles, and they’re not wrong. The most ancient profession, and it still has to be carried out in the darkness.
“Other than that, they’ve made sure to sterilize the crime scenes. No sexual assault, surprisingly enough. No known motive. As you can tell, we’re going in a bit blind. We need to try and collect more information before we get another body.”
Mingyu can tell who’s been part of a violent murder case like this before with only a glance. Excitement and tiredness are two very different emotions, and only one of them belongs to rookies thinking of their career first, and their duty second.
Mingyu’s not excited that people are dying. He’s not a rookie, but he’s not tired either. Determination still burns three days after the murder, an unshakable sense of duty that has carried him this far. He doesn’t think he’ll be a hero, but he is fully prepared to prevent any other blood from being spilled without laughter to follow it. Whatever it takes.
Chief Seungcheol smiles when their eyes meet. A sad smile, even though Mingyu can’t figure out why.
“I’m not officially assigning this case yet, but we can’t sit on our asses either,” the chief continues addressing the room. “We’re dispatching undercover officers to the major clubs around the district to keep an eye on things. Report suspicious movement, protect people if necessary. For starters, we need a deeper feeling of the going-ons of the district. I’m stressing the undercover part, because it’s too early for our serial killer to know that we’re collecting information.”
A few men exchange looks, smirks forming on their faces. They think it’s going to be easy, pleasurable, going to strip clubs every night as part of the job.
…Well, it sure is not going to be the hardest job on the table.
“Any volunteers?” the chief asks, and Mingyu raises his arm along with a handful other colleagues.
Whatever it takes.
~~~
“How do we know that it’s not simply gang violence?” Mingyu asks, staying late at Chief Seungcheol’s office.
The others have left shortly after receiving the details of their duties and their new identities. There’s seven of them, Mingyu counted, all familiar faces. He can consider Seokmin his friend, they’ve been together since their academy days, and now they’re both going part-time undercover. Mingyu can’t say that he’s not proud.
“I like the use of the word simply,” the chief says, organizing folders on his computer. Seven new ones, one for each of their findings. “It implies that there is a level of sophistication to gang violence.”
“Isn’t there?”
Chief Seungcheol shoots him a look. His office is cluttered, but not too cluttered. Messy, but not dirty. There is a lit candle on his desk that’s not in risk of burning anything, but the wax still drips down on some documents. A lived in office, fitting for someone who practically lives here. If Mingyu came in here one day and saw the couch at the back replaced with a bed, he wouldn’t be surprised.
“I mean,” Mingyu fidgets on his seat. “What if it’s not the work of one person, but it is tied with larger-scale criminal activity? That’s not entirely in our jurisdiction, is it?”
“Gangs always leave identification marks behind, as a power play,” the chief replies. “They don’t care, the important ones know we can’t catch them so easily. Out of our jurisdiction, as you said.”
Maybe Mingyu should have left with Seokmin earlier. Perhaps they could have gotten a drink together and discuss the recent development of their career, it’s been a while since they’ve hung out. He knows why he stayed though. Why he picks to spend as much time with Chief Seungcheol as he can, over and over again.
It’s the bitterness in his voice when he says out of our jurisdiction. In a world where police officers have gone comfortable with their steady income, it’s rare to find someone who actually cares. Even rarer to have the skills to back it up.
If one asked Mingyu what his career goal was, he’d simply point at the man in front of him with pride. Maybe it’s a little silly to have an idol at his age, when most are looking how to make a greater income, but Chief Seungcheol is not… comfortable. He could retire a chief and it’d make for a good life, but no. There’s always more to do, more people to help. A higher rank means more important cases, means more power to pursue powerful enemies. That’s the chief’s goal. Justice.
It's all Mingyu has ever wanted too. To help people, however he can. To be thanked for his service, to provide a sense of safety. If he shoulders the burden in place of someone weaker, then his life is worthwhile, isn’t it? It means something, to be alive.
So he stays late, goes over more details of the case with his chief. Anything he can do to help.
“It was your first time seeing a murder like this, right? How are you handling the sight?” the chief asks, briefly glancing at him. “Did you get any nightmares?”
“Not really,” Mingyu says. “They’re probably there, somewhere, but as long as there is something to do about it, I focus on that.”
Focus on the laughter of his friends, not his knee hurting after the blood. Focus on his new Pokémon cards, not how he can’t breathe right for a few days after the blood. Focus on escaping his mother’s playful slaps, not how scary it is to not know why there is blood. To not know the world around him.
“Hm, you’ve started early.”
“What?”
“You’ve started early,” Chief Seungcheol repeats. “Compartmentalizing. Shoving unwanted images away. It’s a good trick to have in this profession, until it becomes a breaking point.”
Focus on the positive, until it becomes strength.
“I won’t break, sir,” Mingyu says with the conviction of a child who has already been taught this lesson.
“No, you won’t,” the chief smiles sadly at him again. He can’t tell why. “You’re a strong person, Mingyu. I’m glad to have you on board for this case too.”
Mingyu smiles back. It’s a good day, when the person you admire compliments you. It makes all the effort worth it. It makes the sun rise a bit easier the next day, uncertainty replaced with confidence. Mingyu is confident. He falls asleep confident and wakes up energized, ready to face the challenges of this new endeavor.
But first, there’s a club to visit.
~~~
Mingyu doesn’t consciously try to look cool while on jobs like this, it just comes naturally with the profession. He’s not in uniform of course, that’d defeat the purpose of “undercover”, which means he’s in a suit. Plain gray, nothing fancy, but his shoes are polished. His hair is combed back and he’s got a pair of extra dark sunglasses to combat the September sun.
Okay, maybe he tries to look cool a little bit.
It’s strange being in the red-light district under the scrutiny of the sun. It’s very much like one of those liminal places, like a closed-up cafeteria, or a school in the evening. Lifeless, dead, the wind blowing unobtrusively over dry weeds on the ground.
And trash. Quite a bit of it. Empty bottles mostly broken, used condoms, torn clothes, cigarettes galore. Mingyu wonders if it’s always like this, just invisible under the neon lights. But then he sees an old cleaning lady, slowly swiping the streets, and he understands.
This is a house party. The streets are the living room, the clubs the bedrooms. Every night it gets trashed, every morning it gets cleaned, only to repeat over and over again, forever. Cleanliness only needs to be a façade.
The houses here are on the wrong side of poor, crumbling paint and walled off windows. Absolutely no sound escapes them. In fact, there is no sound at all anywhere, not in the district that wakes at night.
It’s 10AM, practically the crack of dawn on a place like this. Mingyu has an appointment with the manager of the club he’ll be investigating, to inform him of the operation and get shown around a little bit.
Mingyu’s heard of Phryne’s House before, but he’s never been. It’s one of the big ones, the more pretentious ones, with little balcony tables overlooking the main street. Phryne’s House, as if an ancient lady of the night would ever find herself at a place like this.
Mingyu knocks on the large wooden door, big like a theater one. Preparing people for the performance that must be the inside. At this time, the curtains have fallen. Mingyu waits so long for signs of life on the other side of the door, that he’s starting to think there are none.
He has an appointment though, and club managers don’t mess with the police if they know what’s good for them. The man that opens is gruff from lack of sleep, messy hair hidden below a cap.
“Good morning. Hanjeong-gu police,” Mingyu flashes his badge. “I believe we have an appointment, mister Park?”
The man rubs one eye. “Yeah. Morning.” He pushes the door further open. “You did not tell me what it was about on the phone. If you want the dancers’ papers, then I’ll have you know I keep them all neat and updated, nothing shady-”
“Oh, no, nothing of the like, you’re not in trouble,” Mingyu flashes him a smile that is too bright for the hall of the club. From the little rays of sun that manage to hit the checkered floor, Mingyu sees dust dancing around him. “If we could speak privately, I’d be much obliged.”
Mister Park grunts and motions him up a set of creaky stairs, tucked away neatly on the edge of the hall room. They lead up to the second floor, where a large corridor spans for most of its length. Rooms are left and right, doors open and cleaning ladies silently changing pink sheets. Mingyu tries not to look for soils.
At the very end of the hallway, the man pushes a door open and Mingyu steps into his office. Cluttered, too cluttered. Messy and dirty. Lived in, by someone who has never known home.
“Have a seat, officer,” the man says, taking his own. “So, this is about the murders.”
It’s not even a question. Mingyu appreciates a sharp man. He carefully takes his glasses off, tucks them in a chest pocket.
“Partly,” he nods. “I’m not in a position to explain everything, but I’d like to inform you that I’ll be going undercover in your establishment as a customer for the foreseeable future.”
“Undercover? Here?” the man arches an eyebrow. “We’re not breaking the law in any way, what are you hoping to find?”
“It’s for protection, mostly. My department has your best intentions in mind, trust me. I won’t disturb your business in any way, I just needed to inform you of my presence.”
“Why?” the man’s eyes narrow.
Mingyu smiles again, hoping it has the intended effect, which is reassurance. Showing he can be dependable. “Because this is a private business and the law requires me to inform you. It goes without saying, you can’t tell anyone. There will be penalties for purposefully damaging an investigative operation.”
Mister Park sighs. He rubs his eyes again, muttering something about it being too early for all of this. Mingyu doesn’t share the sentiment; he has been up for hours already, preparing everything with a jittery energy.
“I have some papers to sign, if that’s okay,” Mingyu continues with a friendly tone.
“Not like I have a choice, officer…” Mister Park grumbles and reaches for a pen in his drawer.
Mingyu gets him to sign easily enough, deflecting most of his questions. The less civilians get entangled in cases, the better, that’s the general rule. Hopefully, those papers will ensure this man’s silence.
“When will you be starting?” the man asks.
“Tonight. No time to waste, I’m afraid.”
Mister Park hums, pursing his lips in thought. “I have to warn you mister Kim,” he says, letting his pen fall on his desk. “The workers here are not dumb. They’ve had their fair share of experiences with your lot. They’ll probably sniff you out in the first two hours.”
“Don’t worry about that, I’m a professional,” Mingyu smiles at him again, putting his glasses back on. Pristine, like his suit, like himself. “Now that I have your silence, would you mind showing me around a bit?”
Mister Park gives him an once-over, something illogical like doubt on his gaze. Something awfully close to condescension. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”
~~~
“Go over it once more,” Minghao’s voice filters in Mingyu’s apartment, static-y as he is on speakerphone.
“Give me a moment,” Mingyu speaks towards his phone, resting precariously at the edge of his living room table. “And please decide on the tie already.”
He leans down to straighten his sock, as it got twisted around the ankle. It’s always been an issue for him, getting ready for a night out. Everybody says he takes entirely too long, always ending up late. Some wouldn’t think straightening a sock is important, but some don’t even fix their hair before going out. Mingyu has standards.
“Alright, no tie,” Minghao drawls. “I’m not changing my mind again.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, it’s a strip club. No matter how much it would complement the outfit, you can’t look too formal.”
“It’s a fancy strip club,” Mingyu mutters.
“How fancy can it be if it’s in the red-light district? Now go over your story again.”
Mingyu sighs. He stands up, grabs the belt he threw over the back of a chair before.
“I’m Lee Yoohan. I got moved to the Hanjeong-gu branch of my company recently. I’m a news editor,” Mingyu says with practiced ease. “My life is tame and repetitive, so clubs are my only way of feeling alive. I value them a lot. I have no idea of the clubs here, I just wandered into one that looked promising.”
“With a face like that, why don’t you get a girlfriend?” Minghao asks.
“Too much effort. Wouldn’t be any cheaper, anyway,” Mingyu fastens his belt around his waist.
“That sounds like an excuse. What, are you not straight?”
Mingyu snorts. That took a different turn than expected. “I am straight.”
A small pause. “Really?” Minghao breaks character to ask. “At a place where men perform? Is that part of an identity they gave you at the station?”
“No, but I’m sticking with it,” Mingyu walks over to the mirror. “The best lies are the ones shrouded by truth, right? Plus, Phryne’s House is unisex. All genders perform, as long as they do it well. It’ll make it more believable that I just wandered in randomly and I didn’t know the place beforehand.”
“And the excuse of why you keep returning?”
“I can say I found a dancer I liked or whatever. They won’t ask me that, come on, they want my money,” Mingyu starts folding one of his sleeves up his forearm. Without the tie, just a plain white shirt and his suit’s bottoms will do just fine. Tonight, his style is carefully not-put-together. “They won’t ask if I’m straight either, by the way.”
“Better be prepared for it, in any case,” Mingyu hums. “You never know when you have to lie.”
Mingyu says nothing at that. He fixes his other sleeve like the first one, flexes his forearms a bit. A loose tie would not look out of place, in his opinion. But Minghao is better at these things than him, that’s decade-old knowledge.
“So, will you be taking anyone home?” Minghao continues the questioning, helping Mingyu slowly start slipping into his character.
“No, I’m content just to watch. I’m not a very proactive person in life. I’d rather spend my money seeing people dance.”
“Then why don’t you sit more at the front? Surely the view is better.”
Mingyu opens his mouth to reply, and then closes it again. Huh. “I actually didn’t think about that,” he tells Minghao. “What do you think I should say?”
“Your character seems shy, you don’t want the dancers to see you,” Minghao replies easily, always ready to improvise. Always having a convincing answer for anything. It’s a skill, making his words a statement at an instant’s notice, a skill that has put him where he is right now.
“Right,” Mingyu carefully picks at a strand of his hair. “Does being shy make for a valid excuse in court too?”
Minghao snorts. “I’ll make sure to try it.”
“Oh, I’m sure Mister Lim would love that,” Mingyu averts his gaze from the mirror to look at his phone. “His favorite student, resorting to the fragile emotional state course of action.”
“Mister Lim would believe I’d pull it off,” Minghao says. “He sends his regards, by the way. I mentioned to him that we’re friends and we keep in touch.”
Mister Lim, their old law professor. Back at the academy, it didn’t feel like he remembered any of his students’ names. He remembered Minghao’s though, probably because it is foreign. He remembered it so well in fact, that he ended up taking Minghao as an apprentice after they concluded their education.
“I’m not your friend. Lee Yoohan doesn’t make friends easily,” Mingyu says.
“Ouch. We’ve made this guy such a loser, I’m a little bit sorry for him,” Minghao chuckles, the crunching sound of chips getting eaten following his words. “I suppose it doesn’t matter, when he looks like Kim Mingyu.”
“A guy that goes to strip clubs every night should be a bit of a loser,” Mingyu grabs his phone. “I’m ready.”
“Really? On time? What type of character development is this?” Minghao feigns surprise, and Mingyu regrets that he lives so far away from him now. He can’t smack him anymore when he’s being annoying.
“This is work Minghao, of course I’m on time,” Mingyu rolls his eyes. “I live and breathe work, I’m always punctual, this is why the clubs are the only way to let loose.”
“Alright Yoohan, I get it. Jeez, what a boring guy.”
“If the dancers don’t see me, they can’t call me boring. I’ll just stay in my corner at the bar,” Mingyu lowers his voice a bit. Yoohan probably wouldn’t be as loud as him. It’s a niche little detail to keep in mind.
“People won’t want to talk to you. You look like a creep.”
“No I don’t. Maybe I would if I wore a tie.”
Minghao laughs.
Mingyu slips his wallet to his pocket. He doesn’t take a jacket with him, it’s already too hot in his apartment with the AC on. He doesn’t even want to imagine how it will be at the club.
“I’m hanging up now. You’re keeping me away from my much-needed night out,” Mingyu says, turning off the speakerphone and putting his phone to his ear. “Thanks, Minghao.”
“Have fun. Be careful. Do your job,” Minghao says, and then Mingyu’s left to himself. He puts on his shoes, locks the door behind him, but makes sure to leave a small light inside. He’s bumped on one too many corners when he returns home drunk, the light is a safety measure. Even if he’s not getting drunk tonight, the routine is the same. Like he’s really only going for a fun night out.
When he steps outside, it’s him versus the humid summer night. Him versus the need for information, the clock ticking down until the next body.
Him, versus a serial killer.
~~~
Now, this is more like it.
That’s what Mingyu thinks when he gets out of his car, parked somewhere away enough from the main road. The transition from normal neighborhoods to the red-light district is abrupt. On one side, life is settled for the night, closed shutters and dim street lights. On the other, life is blooming, like daisies on a summer field. White and yellow petals in the form of too-short dresses and neon signs, old enough to shoot electricity sparkles in the black background of the sky. Red lanterns of pollen glowing above every door, marking the spot for any interested bees. Green leaves undoubtedly getting distributed around, even though Mingyu’s not supposed to know about that.
He marches slowly through the district, refamiliarizing himself with it. It’s so different than it was in the morning, with every club door thrown wide open, hordes of pretty people trying to lure customers in. Dark alleys are not empty right now, not when it’s not even midnight. Women are sticking together close when they’re not accompanied by men, bouquets of fresh flowers.
Mingyu can’t help but wonder, which daisy out of all of them is going to get picked next.
One of the things he needs to learn is how much these people know of the murders. They’re supposed to be classified, kept out of the news and the public’s awareness. This is not just the public though. The people here, all the men shouting and catcalling, the women applying eyeliner without even a mirror, they are the blood and the bones of this district. You would expect a gardener to be aware of what is going on in their garden.
Mingyu pauses here and there to look around, like he is dazed. Yoohan is a tourist still, bright-eyed and easily impressed.
And what’s more impressive than the two-storey, tables-on-balconies, named-after-a-historical-figure Phryne’s House? The large doors look even more imposing when they are open, especially with the large bouncers standing guard on each side. Bulky men with sunglasses, the dark lenses probably making their job harder.
So pretentious.
Mingyu plasters a smile on his face and walks over to them, a hand deep in his pocket to show that he has money. That it’d be smart to let him through.
“Stop,” one of the men raises his arm when Mingyu comes close enough. “ID?”
“Do I look younger than 18, gentlemen?” Mingyu asks, amused.
“You look like somewhere who’s never been here before,” the man replies. “ID.”
Now, Mingyu could show his badge and just be done with it. It’s in his wallet, easy to pull out if things get tough.
Where’s the challenge in that though, huh?
“Did I hear correct?” he leans a bit closer to the bouncer that was speaking to him. “Is this the place where girls show their tits if they like you enough?”
“Ha,” the man smirks, looking back at his coworker. “Now who was the one who spread that rumor, huh?”
The other shrugs. “Someone dumb enough to attract outsiders during these times.”
“Hm. Are you an outsider, sir?” the first man returns his attention to Mingyu. “What, a tourist? An important man on a business trip? What is it?”
“You could call me an explorer?” Mingyu blinks, with all the guilt of someone important that needs to hide in a strip club for a few hours.
The bouncer snorts. “Then you’re in the right place, alright. You wouldn’t be the first one that came for the tits and left using the back door.”
Mingyu wants to smile and say that he’s aware, that it won’t make any difference for a straight person. Yoohan, though, has no idea that this club is unisex.
“Stop saying that to all the newbies,” the other guy sighs. “Just let the dude in.”
Without another word, the first man steps aside. “Watch your wallet, newbie. Dicks are no more honest than tits.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Mingyu nods at the man as he walks ahead.
Phryne’s House, such a majestic name. Mingyu remembers the history of this ancient Greek prostitute from the law classes he took at the academy. She was prosecuted once, blamed for disrespecting the gods. At the court though, her line of defense was merely to take her clothes off, show her naked body to the judges.
Someone as beautiful, as ethereal, surely must be favored by the gods. They let her go, unknowingly cementing her name down the history, long after their own was forgotten. Mingyu suggested Minghao do the same with some of his clients. It was back when they lived close enough to be in smacking distance.
Mingyu supposes he walks inside as a judge tonight. He’s here to take note of how this beast of a theater works, find how the law is getting broken. Prosecute and protect alike.
Yoohan though, he just blinks around him at the people-filled hall, companies of friends hanging around or eyeing the upstairs. There’s only a black curtain separating them from the real club, the velvet couches and the bright-lit stages. Yoohan gulps down, and pulls the curtain to the unknown.
~~~
Dim lights make everything look cleaner. They trick the eyes into thinking they can see everything, and therefore putting them at ease when they can’t find stains. Complete darkness though, that’s far more suspicious.
“Can I get a… Kraken?” Mingyu pretends to squint at the catalogue scribbled in chalk above the bar.
The barman snorts. “Forgot your glasses at home, corporate boy?”
Mingyu blinks at the man. “No,” he says, barely audible. “You just have no lights.”
“Your complaints to the manager,” the man waves at him dismissively, nails painted black. He pours him only half a glass of the rum, doesn’t add ice. Doesn’t even ask if Mingyu wanted ice.
Mingyu has to remind himself that he’s not homophobic. And it wouldn’t make anyone’s lives easier if Yoohan is, either.
Mingyu accepts his glass with a shy smile, but he doesn’t tip the barman when he pays. The other definitely notices, judging from the twitch of a perfectly plucked eyebrow, but it’s not like the man cares. Not when there are about ten more people vying for his attention.
“Seungkwannie, is the Kraken the one with the caramel in it?” a middle-aged woman in a very tight dress leans over the bar to ask.
“You bet it is!” the barman winks at her.
“Would you recommend it for someone with my… palate?” she enunciates the last word, dark purple lipstick making her teeth look extra white.
Before the barman can reply, a waitress comes and slips a piece of paper over the counter. She has her hair in twin fishtails, a skirt so short that it might as well not exist. It would be an uncomfortable attire to work in, in any place other than this one.
“Urgent,” she says, and the barman quickly apologizes to the customer. Mingyu has to blink again at how easily the woman forgives his unprofessionalism when he blows her a kiss.
Urgent apparently means there is a group of rich kids in here tonight, and they must be catered to immediately. Mingyu tries to search for them with his eyes, but it’s too damn dark. There’s probably too many stains to hide. Not one of the patron’s faces is visible below the stage. Which, he supposes, it’s on purpose. Anonymity is a valuable thing around here.
Anonymous patrons, anonymous money, anonymous entertainment. The only thing that’s not shrouded in darkness is the stage. From bright white spotlights, to colorful strobes and lasers, the light work up there is very carefully thought out.
The girl currently dancing is not half bad, either.
“Hey,” Mingyu calls over to the barman. “What’s this dancer’s name?”
“Shahwa,” is the swift reply.
Mingyu nods, doesn’t say anything else. He stays tucked in his seat, eyes locked to the stage for now. He sips his drink, keeping tabs at what the servers say to the barman, and all the other patrons sitting at the bar. The only words exchanged are about work and flirting, which aren’t exactly separated in a place like this. Mingyu lets his eyes travel over that Shahwa girl’s body, her dark hair, her chest. It’s what he’s supposed to be here for, after all.
When her song finishes, she blows them all a kiss, skin glittering with sweat, and she takes her leave. She is replaced by a tall guy, with leather boots up to his knees and slicked back hair.
“Ah,” Mingyu says, pointedly averting his eyes. It’s loud enough to catch the barman’s attention.
“What is it newbie?” the guy leans towards him, a shit-eating grin on his face. “You were looking at Shahwa so carefully before, is he not your type?”
“I didn’t realize…” Mingyu says, only for the man to burst out laughing.
“Yeah, right, heard that one before. Go on, don’t be scared, look!” the barman urges him.
Annoyed, Mingyu looks. This was his chance to properly survey his surroundings without looking suspicious. Now, he has to spend a few more seconds looking at the guy up the stage, until the barman gets distracted again.
Mingyu sees him pulling a chair from backstage, setting it up by the pole. Easy, practiced movement. Mingyu can’t say he’s ever seen a man dance before. The closest he has experienced is a few drag shows Minghao took him to, which weren’t bad at all. Heavy make up, intricate dresses and incredible voices, that’s what Mingyu remembers from them.
They were nothing like this. The music starts, and Mingyu finds that the guy up the stage is not effeminate at all. He’s not playing a character, at least not so obviously. His face is kept relaxed, coy even, while he begins his routine. Hands run over his body, his thighs slowly spreading on that chair of his.
Mingyu glances at the barman, finds him occupied. And he promptly takes his eyes off the stage.
“So he’s really not your type?” another patron elbows Mingyu playfully. His hair is thinning at the top of his head. His glasses make his eyes too big.
“Not really, no,” Mingyu gives him a shaky smile. “Too male for me, I’m afraid.”
“Did you wander in here by accident?” the man chuckles. “Phryne’s House does not discriminate.”
“I see that,” Mingyu nods awkwardly. “Um, so is he… you know, your type?”
The man looks over the stage, nods approvingly at something the dancer does. “No, not really. He’s good, but he’s for the women. Have you seen Ren?”
Mingyu shakes his head.
“You wouldn’t be able to tell he had a dick unless you spoke to him. Now, that’s my type,” the man chuckles.
“Do you talk to them?” Mingyu’s eyebrows raise high up his forehead. “I mean… you can?”
“Of course you can, man. You can get real close and personal, if you know what I mean. Are the clubs not like that, where you’re from?”
“Not all of them,” Mingyu twirls his drink in his hand. He hasn’t taken more than a sip. No point getting drunk at work. “I’m glad I moved here, if that’s the case.”
“Cheers to that,” the man raises his own empty drink. “What’s your name?”
“Yoohan,” Mingyu replies. He doesn’t clink their glasses together. Yoohan is not that friendly. “So, if one wanted to, how would they be able to… talk to the dancers?”
“Already thinking of paying the big cash?” the bartender appears out of nowhere, snatching the man’s empty cup away. “Aren’t you in a hurry, handsome.”
Mingyu tries not to glare at him.
“Straight and in a rush, oh you must not be popular with the ladies,” the barman chuckles, sleeveless shoulders shaking from laughter.
“Don’t tease him, Seungkwan,” Mingyu’s new friend throws an arm over his shoulders. “He’ll find his way.”
“Right. I’m sure he will,” this Seungkwan guy looks at Mingyu from head to toe, eyes sparkling in mischief. “Especially with asking all these questions. You can’t possibly be drunk with just a sip of a Kraken, right sir?”
Mingyu does not appreciate the scrutiny. Nor the attention to detail. He takes a gulp of his drink, as if to prove a point. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t mean to offend you, I’m just a little lost.”
“I bet you are.”
And with that, the barman leaves. Mingyu can’t watch him for long without appearing suspicious, but he does see him taking out his phone and texting someone.
The balding guy’s phone rings. A female name appears, along with a wedding photo.
“Shit,” the man exclaims and promptly gets off his seat. “Well, it was nice to meet you, even if I never see you around again,” he says, and before Mingyu can even think to reply, he’s dashing out the club.
If Mingyu’s brief friend was a cheating husband, at least he was a helpful cheating husband. If anyone knows what’s happening in the red-light district, it would be the dancers. And apparently, there is a way to speak to them without arousing suspicion.
He glances at the stage again, where a blonde woman has taken over on the pole. Her long white robe is almost transparent under the stage lights, leaving nothing to the imagination. White, in a place so dark that it feels like it will smudge you if you look too hard. Mingyu doesn’t have to try too hard to pretend to be mesmerized.
“Seungkwan,” someone calls behind Mingyu’s shoulder. “Get me a sangria.”
Mingyu would have found a more subtle way to turn around and look. He would, if it were not for the other patrons around him breaking out in murmurs about the newcomer. Being subtle in such a scenario would only be more suspicious.
So Mingyu isn’t subtle. He turns around, just as the man climbs on the empty stool next to him.
Knee-high leather boots. Slicked back hair. Significantly looser shirt than it was fifteen minutes ago.
“Here. Do consider paying for it, occasionally,” the barman places a big glass with a dark liquid in front of the dancer.
“I can pay for Wonwoo,” that middle-aged woman from before pipes up, not missing a chance. Her purple lipstick is still horrible.
The dancer smiles at her. “I’d be much obliged.”
He is wearing lipstick too, Mingyu notices. He is wearing a whole lot of make up actually, none of which was visible before, with all the lights of him. It still doesn’t make him look effeminate whatsoever.
“Drink up, everyone!” the dancer claps, bare arms flexing. “Let’s all enjoy Chaeri’s performance together!”
Mingyu glances at the woman up the stage, and then at the few people around the bar ordering fresh drinks. Huh. Now things make a bit more sense. The man is still working.
The dancer spins his stool around, letting his back rest against the counter to watch the performance better. And it is a broad back, even beneath fabric. Kind of him, to let people pretend they are not noticed as they stare. His legs are crossed, comfortable, like he’s done this a hundred times.
“I’d offer to buy you another drink if I’d seen you taking even a sip when prompted,” the dancer says, and Mingyu doesn’t startle. Yoohan does.
“Me?” he asks.
The dancer tilts his head in his direction. “That’s a Kraken, right? Is it too sweet for you?”
So much for not getting attention to himself. Mingyu internally curses, but maybe a hushed conversation with a dancer is more common around here than he thinks. No need for alarm yet.
“It’s fine,” he says, hoping to end it here. “Thank you.”
The man takes a sip of his wine, eyes raking over Mingyu’s face. “I’ll offer again. I’ll buy you a drink if you take a sip now.”
“Why would you do that? Shouldn’t you be getting me to buy it on my own?” Mingyu can’t help but ask.
The dancer gives him a half-smile, eyes glinting even under the darkness around them. It’s probably the eyeshadow, making his gaze more intense than it should be.
“You’re a fresh face,” the man offers. “Someone should take care of you.”
“Aren’t we supposed to be enjoying the performance?” Mingyu mutters.
“Oh, I’m enjoying a performance, alright,” the guy’s smile becomes slyer.
Maybe it was fortunate Minghao made him discuss Yoohan’s sexuality beforehand. Otherwise, Mingyu would be scrambling right now, pretending to be interested. Flirting back, even though it would have been out of character.
“I’m sorry, you have the wrong actor,” he shifts in his seat.
“Really?” the man’s eyebrows raise. “I’m afraid that’s what a good actor would say.”
Mingyu’s afraid that he’s not being clear enough. “A good actor, or simply an honest person.”
He doesn’t miss the way the dancer uncrosses and crosses his legs again, this time so he can lean closer to Mingyu. His attention falls back on the stage, as the white dressed dancer begins her second song. She must be one of the veterans, with the way people cheer for her. Mingyu follows the other’s lead, averting his eyes from their conversation.
“You have to forgive me, I don’t meet a lot of honest people in here,” the man offers his hand. “I’m Wonwoo.”
Mingyu has no choice but to take it. “Yoohan,” he says simply.
“They say the more honest a man is, the more attractive others find him,” the dancer, Wonwoo, continues, taking a sip of his wine. “Would you agree?”
“I suppose,” Mingyu replies. “If you find men attractive, that is.”
“Would you consider yourself attractive?”
Mingyu can’t help but look at him again. The stage can’t hold his attention for long. The other doesn’t give any indication that he notices, his profile the epitome of composed, if a little amused, his eyes following the stage lights around. He’s handsome, of course. Beautiful, in a conventional way. With different make up and clothes, Mingyu can easily picture his advertisements hanging from billboards downtown.
And he asked a pretty damning question.
“Are you asking me if I think myself honest?” he clarifies.
“Am I?” Wonwoo hums.
If Mingyu says yes, he plays into admitting he finds men attractive. If he says no, he admits to dishonesty. Both are answers that could easily prolong this conversation. Both are Wonwoo making his point.
Both are Mingyu breaking out of character.
“Would it be easier if you let me buy you a drink?” Wonwoo glances at him, a knowing smile on his face.
Mingyu sighs. “I suppose.”
Mingyu has to keep feigning indifference as the other gets him a drink. He didn’t think keeping his eyes on a beautiful woman, dancing in such an alluring way up the stage would be the difficult part of this night, but here he is. He doesn’t hear what Wonwoo orders him, he doesn’t ask when it’s pressed into his hand.
“You better drink this one,” Wonwoo winks at him, and Mingyu looks away. He doesn’t remain hidden for long though, because Wonwoo’s fingers find his chin and they yank his face back around. “Be a good actor for me, yes?”
Mingyu’s stomach swoops down for a moment. The next, Wonwoo lets him go, turning in his stool to watch the ending of the performance. He takes a big gulp of his sangria, throat bobbing as he swallows.
Mingyu subtly places a hand on his cheek, away from the other’s eyesight. It’s warm. Fuck, he’s blushing. Now that he has his own stains to hide, he’s thankful it’s so dark in here.
He flexes his shoulders, trying to shake himself out of it. He’s a professional. He’s on a mission. A damn stripper is not going to jeopardize that. He determinedly takes a sip of his new drink, just to prove a point, and he immediately winces at the taste.
The bastard couldn’t have gotten him anything more bitter.
“Wonwoo, time for rounds,” the barman calls behind them, his phone gripped in his hand once more.
Wonwoo finishes his wine in one go, and Mingyu can’t help the way his eyes fall on him again. It’s even more annoying that their gazes meet, Wonwoo smirking behind his glass. He makes sure to keep eye contact as he cleans his lips with his thumb, and then as he shoves it in his mouth.
“I’ll make sure to tell Chaeri how attentively you were watching her,” Wonwoo says, before he slips off his stool and disappears further inside the club.
Even for someone with such an electric presence, it’s impossible for Mingyu to follow him with his eyes for long. He does stare at him, annoyingly enough, for as long as it takes for his body to become indistinguishable among the many others. Mingyu wonders if he’s going to sit with the rich kids he heard about before. He wonders if he’s going to try to fish someone out for extra cash.
And then he remembers that he doesn’t care. He only cares to keep this man, and everyone else in here alive. He cares as far as not wanting to see him cut in half is some alleyway, or strung up on a lamppost from his loose skin, or whatever the hell the monster they’re hunting is going to try next. Him, and the white-clad dancer, and the annoying barman, and anyone else who has entrusted his division with this case.
“Excuse me,” he calls the barman over.
“Yeees?” the man raises an expectant eyebrow at him.
“I’m sorry, I can’t drink that,” he hands over the drink Wonwoo bought him. “If you see Wonwoo again, tell him I apologize.”
The barman snorts. “Too strong? That’s a common mistake he makes.”
“He didn’t look like the type to make mistakes,” Mingyu grumbles, but the other is trained to hear quiet voices in a loud room.
“I’ll make sure to take your complaints to him next time he walks by,” the barman says, in a tone that says he’s absolutely not going to do that.
“Do the dancers stay long after their routine has ended?” Mingyu asks, feigning innocent curiosity.
“And you ask because?”
A beat of silence. “I don’t want to run into him again,” Mingyu says, hoping he has learned something from Minghao after all these years. Hoping his last-minute thoughts sound a bit like statements too.
“Right. I’ll make sure to tell that to him too,” the barman gives him a once over before he leaves him to serve someone else. Phone in hand again. Texting someone, again.
Mingyu soon starts recognizing faces coming and going from the bar, the waiters mostly. After a couple of hours, he thinks he can confidently tell the staff apart from the patrons. He recognizes a few dancers mingling with the crowd too, sharing drinks and laughs and flirty gestures. It relaxes him further to know that Wonwoo’s presence was nothing out of the ordinary. He was probably fishing for customers, same as anyone else.
Mingyu’s Kraken has gotten entirely too warm after all this time. He still sips it from time to time, keeping up the appearances. Apart from the barman, nobody else seems to take notice of his presence. It’s just like every other night on the red-light district, with everyone getting progressively drunker and drunker, until they spill out on the streets or pass out on a pink-sheeted bed.
Mingyu’s ears ring a bit from the loud music, but he knows he better get used to it. He’ll need to find a better reason that the barman’s insufferable charms, but he’s going to be a regular here. He leans his head on his hand, gazing at the stage where a couple is performing together, a man and a woman. That’s a benefit of a unisex club, he supposes.
“Still haven’t moved?”
Mingyu sighs discreetly. He really didn’t want to hear that voice again. He wonders if everyone’s like this, or if he simply had the misfortune to attract the attention of a particularly persistent fisherman.
“You said to enjoy the performance. I’m enjoying the performance,” Mingyu says, as the dancer with the knee-high boots and the slicked back hair finds his place by his side again. It’s easier this time. The crowd has thinned. There are more empty seats at the bar now, but Wonwoo doesn’t take one.
“That’s exactly what you’re doing,” Wonwoo says, a weird tone in his voice. He comes to stand right up to Mingyu, body so close that Mingyu can smell his cologne. He stiffens.
For a second, the white stage lights spin, dousing the entire room in their brightness. Just for a second, just for the people to cheer at the amazing light work. A flash of light, revealing spilled drinks and broken glass, people making out in the corners. Burning evidence that nothing can remain hidden forever.
“What are you doing?” Mingyu asks, when Wonwoo starts giving subtle glances around him, taking note of the eyes on them. And then he steps even closer, past all the lines of personal space.
Mingyu fights the instinct to flinch away. With their bodies all but touching, Wonwoo leans in and whispers in his ear.
“Are you supposed to be undercover, officer?”
Silence.
For a second, Mingyu doesn’t understand. He didn’t do anything wrong. He was subtle. He kept in character. How in the world-
He must be bluffing. There’s no way a mere stripper would hit the nail spot on. No way, when Mingyu has been professionally trained for this. If this is a bluff though, Mingyu’s taking entirely too long to answer, to make a baffled sound and confuse this random stripper with his innocence.
Wonwoo cups his cheek. “People are noticing,” he says quietly. “I know how to throw people off. Play along.”
The stage light spins again. Under its ephemeral, incriminating spotlight, Wonwoo brings their lips together.
And then darkness douses them once again.
Mingyu has two options. Pull away, or kiss him back.
His first instinct is to pull away, less because he never intended to kiss a man in this life and more because there may still be a way to save the situation. If he kisses back, he’s admitting to every way he has been dishonest today. He’s admitting to losing at his own game, while still painfully clueless as to how he lost.
If he doesn’t kiss Wonwoo back though and it’s not a bluff, his cover is ruined. His chance at this case is ruined, maybe his entire career too. He can’t be known as the officer who failed at his first night undercover. The chief will be disappointed, Mingyu’s family even more so. Nameless, disfigured victims will stare down at him forever, knowing he could have helped them. Knowing he could have caught their killer, if only his cover was never exposed that first night.
So, Mingyu puts his hand on the back of this devious strangers’ neck, and opens his damn mouth.
For the first few seconds Mingyu almost doesn’t register it, that he’s engaging someone in a kiss. His heart is beating too loud, the split-second decision ringing loud in his ears. He’s still not safe, not by any means. But at the same time, he’s kissing a man who has made a profession out of it.
Wonwoo’s hand slides from his cheek to his hair, angling his head a bit backwards. His other hand finds Mingyu’s neck, warm and firm over his speeding pulse. When Mingyu’s lips part in acceptance, he doesn’t miss the chance to lick into his mouth, play with his tongue. He slides his lips over Mingyu’s again and again, making it hard to focus on anything else. He nips at his lower lip, sucking it into his own mouth, all slow and sensual and definitely making a show out of it.
Mingyu exhales a stuttered exhale, his hands dropping to the other’s waist. Making a show out of it, that’s what he should be doing too. Being a good fucking actor.
He pulls the dancer closer by the loops of his pants, opening his legs and inviting him between them. He groans when Wonwoo tugs at his hair, he uses tongue too. Wonwoo’s jaw is much sharper than Mingyu is used to, but his taste is not off putting. Irritating, maybe, because he smirks right between their lips, and because Mingyu’s kissing him, he can taste his triumph.
A smirk, because Mingyu just all but confirmed his suspicions. Wonwoo went fishing for sardines and he got himself a grouper. And now, Mingyu’s not the only one in control of his story anymore. His secret is their secret to keep.
“Good job,” Wonwoo mutters when they break apart, his face still so damn close. “Now give me money in a visible way.”
Mingyu curses under his tongue, but he still fumbles for his wallet. He hands Wonwoo the first note he catches, no idea what amount it is. Wonwoo doesn’t look at it either as he pockets it, pressing another brief kiss to Mingyu’s lips.
“Come on,” he grabs his hand and pulls him off his bar stool, towards the mess that is the rest of the club.
Mingyu has no choice but to follow. Wonwoo maneuvers them expertly through drunken bodies, until they reach a far wall with three closed velvety doors, keys hanging from each their doorknobs. Wonwoo takes the key of one an opens it, gesturing at Mingyu to go inside.
It’s like stepping in another world, especially when Wonwoo slides in behind him and locks the door to the outside. The soundproofing of these rooms must be the most expensive investment that has been made to this place. The only thing Mingyu can feel from the loud music outside is a faint beat.
The darkness in here is not as absolute as the outside either. While there is no ceiling light, the bottoms of the walls are lined with neon stripes, glowing a soft pink at the moment.
Wonwoo walks towards a red leather couch, staged strategically on the very center of the room. It has space for two people, and it has the perfect view of a pole, stretching from ground to ceiling. Wonwoo sits on that couch like he owns it, arm thrown over its back.
“I’d offer you a drink,” he motions towards a mini bar at the far corner of the room, “but you didn’t even finish my last one.”
Mingyu looks at the ceiling, surveying the room for any possible threats. Large speakers and an iPad make for the last of the furniture in this room, leaving most of the wooden floor empty.
“There aren’t any cameras or mics in here,” Wonwoo tells him. “These are called the private rooms for a reason.”
“Are you certain about that?” Mingyu frowns at that iPad.
“Yes. You’re not the only man with secrets around here. I recon outing some of the people I’ve danced for in here would make a bigger scandal then a mere police officer.”
Mingyu grits his teeth. “I’m undercover,” he says. “You are interrupting a far larger operation than you think you do. There are penalties for that.”
“I’m not interrupting anything,” Wonwoo raises his hands up, as if in surrender. “I helped you, didn’t I? I just want to talk.”
Mingyu sighs. He paces up and down the room for a bit, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Where did everything go to shit?
“How did you figure it out?” he asks.
Wonwoo shrugs. “Seungkwan did.”
Mingyu stares at him.
“The barman,” Wonwoo elaborates. “To be fair, most of us would if we had time to observe you. First time anybody sees you in this district, you don’t move an inch from the bar, you ask all these questions and you don’t drink? You’re either a closeted rich boy or a cop. And you claimed you were straight.”
“Was he texting you?” Mingyu asks, his frown deeper than it had been the entire night. “That Seungkwan guy, I saw him texting someone, was that you? Or do I have anyone else to worry about?”
“Oh, you noticed that? Good job, officer,” Wonwoo smirks at him again, all condescending now. “It was me. I have experience with the police, he wanted me to check you out.”
“You have experience with the police?”
Wonwoo huffs amusedly. “I mean, I might get some later, if you play your cards right.”
Mingyu grits his teeth. Flirting aside, he’s rapidly coming to realize that this is not going to be easy. To strike a deal you need to know your opponent, and he has a feeling he’s yet to hear an honest word from this man.
“Now, tell me what’s up,” Wonwoo sits a bit straighter. “What does the police want from Phryne’s House?”
“I obviously can’t tell you that,” Mingyu mutters.
“I can help you. I already have, haven’t I?”
Mingyu’s head hurts. He’s tired of pacing the room like an angry duck. The couch is for two, so he makes Wonwoo scoot over and joins him. He needs to be delicate here.
“I appreciate your offer,” he says carefully. “But the best you can do to help is keep your silence on the matter. That’s your duty as a citizen.”
A beat of silence.
“You don’t get it, do you?” Wonwoo says. “People are already suspicious of you. You’re going to need me to put a word in if you want to keep coming back.”
“That’s not for you to worry about,” Mingyu insists. “I’m a professional, I’ll handle it. You can trust me.”
“Are you sure about that?” Wonwoo purses his lips.
“I am,” Mingyu says, a flicker of hope inside him. Maybe it won’t need to go further if the other turns out to be reasonable. “Thank you for your concern,” Mingyu tries to give him a smile, to cement the conviction that it’s okay. That he’s dependable, that he can take care of everything by himself.
Wonwoo throws his head back and sighs. Five, six seconds pass, and when he lifts his head again, there’s hardness in his expression.
“Let me put it another way then,” he says, voice cutting. “If you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’m telling everyone and ruining your large operation.”
Perhaps it would be better if the music from outside wasn’t filtered so well. Now, the loud thump Mingyu feels inside him, he doesn’t know if it’s from the bass or his own heart.
“There are penal-”
“Not if I sell the information to the right people.”
Mingyu shuts his mouth. He knew it. Fucking hell, he knew it.
“That’s illegal,” he tries once more. “You’ll be going against the law.”
Wonwoo shrugs. “Alright.”
And what can Mingyu say to that? What can Mingyu do, arrest him? For a crime he hasn’t committed yet? He can’t. He can’t do a damn thing, not to a person who doesn’t care about doing the right thing. Powerlessness like he’s never felt before surges inside him when he can’t find another thing to say.
“I’m putting on a time limit,” Wonwoo continues, like throwing another ace on the table. “You have fifteen minutes to explain everything before I start making phone calls.”
And now Mingyu’s definitely fucked, because whatever he does, it’s going to be his own choice. No time for advice or permission from his superiors. This whole decision and its consequences will be on him. He can’t be the reason everything fails, he just can’t.
Mingyu slams his fist to the couch. He doesn’t have a choice here at all.
“Fine,” he hisses, cornered like an animal. Panicked like one, too. “Alright, I’ll tell you. But you have to swear you won’t speak a word of this to anyone, you hear me?”
Wonwoo shifts, lets his arm drop from the back of the couch. He sat like that on purpose, Mingyu realizes. Exuding power, before Mingyu realized he even possessed power like this.
“Look, I really mean no harm,” Wonwoo says now, voice a bit softer than before. “I’m really not against you and your large operation, I promise. I just want to get involved.”
“Why in the world would you want to get involved?” Mingyu doesn’t spare him a glance.
“This is about the murders, right?” Wonwoo places a hand on his knee. Mingyu stiffens. “I can help. Maybe more than you think I can.”
Mingyu doesn’t say anything. Wonwoo squeezes his knee.
“I want to help. It’s my friends that are in danger, you know? I need to know I’m doing everything I can to protect them.”
Now Mingyu looks at him, his still flawless make up, his still unbuttoned shirt. Some of his hair is starting to fall in front of his eyes, the only sign that he is not pristine, not a carefully put together fantasy. Not inhuman.
“The police is doing what it can,” he says. “If you have information-”
“I’m going to give it to you,” Wonwoo nods. “I know you can issue NDAs that get civilians involved in cases. I’ll sign one for you, so you don’t need to worry about me speaking.”
Mingyu’s whole faces scrunches. It’s never good when civilians are aware of those damn papers. It’s never good to involve them, beyond getting testimonies out of them. That’s what senior officers always say, and Mingyu’s starting to see why.
“And I’ll help you in here too. I can tell everyone that you’re not a cop, I checked. They’ll trust me,” Wonwoo continues. Back to being helpful, back to being reasonable. Mingyu has the vaguest sense of getting good-cop-bad-copped here.
When left with no choice though, and not taking the trust issues into consideration, maybe he can admit that having someone on the inside would be helpful. Especially someone as sharp as this dancer seems to be.
“…And when I keep returning every night?” Mingyu turns his frown to him. “What are you gonna tell them?”
Wonwoo’s smile returns, easy and seductive. “I can tell them you really liked what happened here tonight, that you’ll want a repeat. Won’t be far from the truth.”
Mingyu clicks his tongue. This is along the lines of what he was thinking himself. The cover was always going to be that he liked one dancer, kept returning for them. He just didn’t expect…
“I really don’t swing that way,” he mutters, just in case it wasn’t clear. “That’s not just part of the character.”
“Well congrats then, your character’s getting an upgrade. Yoohan has a secret now,” Wonwoo grabs his chin again, bringing their faces close. “Better get used to kissing men.”
Mingyu’s lips part on their own, fully expecting another kiss. It’d be the least invasive thing this man did to him tonight. Wonwoo just chuckles though and lets him go. He stretches his arms as Mingyu stares at the ground, uncertain if he made the right call. If he wants someone like this dancer on his side.
He’s supposed to be enjoying what’s happening in here, anyway. Without a word, he starts messing up his hair, ruffling up his shirt a bit. Pinching his cheeks so they redden. A good actor keeps up appearances. Wonwoo watches him silently, his own fingers toying with the rest of the buttons of his shirt. Not that there are many left.
“Alright, I better get going,” Mingyu says, getting up to leave. “I’ll look into the papers and tell you tomorrow how we will-”
A hand stops him. A strong grip on his forearm, stronger than Mingyu expected out of a dancer. He looks back at Wonwoo with a furrowed brow.
“I’m not giving your money back,” Wonwoo says, lightning in his eyes. A whole storm of it, whips of electricity ready to strike out. Mingyu’s throat suddenly feels tight.
The strong hand finds his shoulder and pushes him down, back on the couch. His knees buckle. After everything, this is what finally makes Mingyu lose his words.
Wonwoo leaves him sitting there, heart hammering in his ears, as he walks to the iPad. His steps are slow and purposeful. The song he picks out, even more so.
When he turns to look at Mingyu there’s something predatory in his eyes.
Mingyu swallows.