Archive of Our Own ^beta

Session #1

“You can’t smoke that in here.” Jihoon blurts out, panicking briefly, at how well that’s going to go down.

It’s not his job to lay down the law in here, but this is his office, and the smoke alarm is right above their heads, and he’ll be responsible for the chaos that will no doubt ensue once it goes off.

Seungcheol does nothing at first but stare at him. Like maybe he’s thinking about demonstrating what happens to people who try and order him around. Then with a flick of a wrist, he makes the lighter disappear from view, removes the cigarette from his mouth and tucks it behind his ear.

“Sorry doc, guess I’m still getting used to the novelty of having cigarettes again. Supermax was a whole different world when it came to rules. I couldn’t even smoke in the exercise cage.”

Now it’s Jihoon’s turn to stare.

He doesn’t tend to judge a book by its cover, but he was bracing himself for a fight there, not a capitulation, and Seungcheol’s easy acceptance has caught him wrong-footed. Then again, a man like Choi Seungcheol hardly needs to rely on verbal intimidation to get his way.

Even in that comical shade of fluorescent orange, the man is the very definition of intimidating; big in that menacing way some men get when their strength is earned not from the bench press, but rather through the labour that comes with a life of always having to watch your back.

One would imagine five years in a Supermax facility would have softened him a little, but he still fills out his jumpsuit with considerable definition, all bulky shoulders and big arms, hands marked up front and back by a bunch of old scars and gaudy tattoos.

It’s very textbook thuggish. Except, well... for the eyes.

His eyes are actually quite lovely.

Shaking the thought away, Jihoon segues, as carefully as he can.

“Did you ever consider using that as an opportunity to quit? Smoking, that is.”

Seungcheol cocks his head, a bored, indulgent look on his face.

“I’m serving time Doc. A lot of time. I think I could be forgiven for latching on to a few vices to keep me sane. It’s not like there’s anything else to do in here.”

Jihoon plays into relaxed, even shrugs some, though his body is still wound tight as a spring set to hop.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” He tries conversationally, then goes on to list the various facilities and recreational activities on hand, as well as the in house and distance learning classes available to all prisoners at Sulwoo correctional.   

It isn’t exactly what he thought they'd talk about, if he'd had any expectations at all. But it is their first session, and he’d been handed Seungcheol’s file with only a day’s notice. So small talk it will have to be.

“Oh, and there’s an art class every Wednesday. That could be of interest to you.”

Seungcheol's been very good at affecting disinterest so far, appearing bored, but his attention snaps back to Jihoon immediately at that comment.

"Art?” he says slowly, lines forming between his brows. Not quite wary, but not quite welcoming the topic, either. “That’s an...unusual suggestion. What makes you think I’d enjoy something like that?”

Jihoon resists the urge to fidget, but he feels his spine unconsciously straightening, the way it does when he’s feeling cornered and should like to appear anything but.

“Well, it’s just a hunch at this point, but I heard you were banned from loaning books at Supermax because you kept defacing them with doodles. And when I was watching you through the observation window earlier, I saw you folding one of the pamphlets into a neat little shape. It’s not much, and I could be wrong, but to me it suggests a restrained creative streak—an urge to create something out of nothing.”

For a moment Seungcheol looks at him with the kind of level gaze, twitching jaw and flaring nostrils that make Jihoon wonder if he is about to be on the receiving end of a punch, for reasons he can’t begin to fathom. It soon passes though, with the crack of a smile, a slow to form indecent thing that has no business looking as charming as it does.

“You’re a perceptive little fella, aren’t ya. Suppose you have to be, to be good at what you do.” He drawls, scanning Jihoon slowly from head to toe.

Whatever he sees, it doesn’t show in his steady gaze, but Jihoon definitely has all of his attention.

Rattled, Jihoon looks down at his empty notepad. There is very little that throws him off his centre, but something about the man makes him feel strange and untethered from himself; makes his skin prickle and his pulse throb in the hollow of his throat, but not necessarily in the opposite direction of those gaudy tattoos.

In the marked silence after, Jihoon struggles to think of another way to pick the conversation up. He has a list of open-ended questions he usually likes to start with, to get the ball rolling again, but he’s got this awful feeling they’re just going to be met with hostile silence. He doesn’t usually subscribe to the Good Will Hunting methodology of waiting it out, but if a prisoner doesn’t want to talk, he won’t make him.

Can’t—is probably the more accurate word, because he wasn’t born yesterday, he watches the news, he knows; nobody can make Choi Seungcheol do anything he doesn’t—

“Hey Doc, wanna hear a joke?”

Jihoon blinks, then narrows his eyes, honing in on the man sitting across from him, the expectant look on his face, not sure he’d heard that correctly.

“Uhm, sure?”

Seungcheol clears his throat and sprawls more loosely in his chair, the relaxing set of his shoulders prompting Jihoon to do the same.

“So this guy walks into a physiatrist’s office and asks, ‘so how does this work? Do I just lie on this couch?’. The psychiatrist responds, ‘actually, it works much better if you tell the truth.’”

In the face of this completely unexpected turn of events, churning insides, and deep appreciation for a good psychiatry joke, Jihoon begins to giggle. Giggle in a way he hasn’t in months, warmth rumbling up from his belly. He puts his hand over his mouth, horrified, and finds this just makes him want to laugh more.

Seungcheol stares at him through all of this with a look of complete bafflement, like he’s surprised the joke landed as well as it did. It just makes everything that much funnier.

“You know, I can’t tell if you’re laughing with me or at me, but I guess it doesn’t matter cause you got the sweetest little laugh Doc. You should bottle that shit and sell it.” He finally says, and there is something in his voice that makes Jihoon’s breath catch, his desire to keep laughing draining away once he catches a look at the other man’s face.

Seungcheol’s watching him now —carefully, he would say, if he was the sort of man who did anything carefully.

Jihoon swallows, ignoring the weird feeling in his stomach.

“I was laughing with you Seungcheol. It’s a good joke; I hadn’t heard it before.”

Seungcheol takes a considering pause, then his  mouth goes crooked, his dimples popping as he starts to grin.

“So, uhm, when is this art class happening?”

That evening Jihoon meets up with Sehun for pre-dinner drinks at some real dive, the hole-in-the-wall near the precinct frequented almost exclusively by cops. Even the owner is a former detective himself, and he holds Sehun up at the bar for a good forty minutes after they arrive, just to reminisce and shoot the shit.

All the tables are taken by the time he decides to serve someone else, so they end up crammed into a booth near the back with some of Sehun’s work colleagues. Sehun is sitting right next to him, but more or less ignoring him in favour of more shop talk.

Jihoon has lost the thread of conversation somewhere along the line, and he honestly doesn't mind. He’s discreetly checking his phone under the table to gauge just how close they are to losing their dinner reservation, when Sehun elbows him to draw him back into the conversation.

“Jihoon? He’s a psychiatrist down at Sulwoo correctional.” Sehun is telling someone sitting across from them.

Jihoon looks up at the other detective, catches the clench of his jaw before he takes a gulp of his pint.

“Little late for that, ain’t it? How could those guys possibly benefit from seeing a shrink after they’ve been convicted?”

Jihoon toys with the idea of playing on the evident chip on the man’s shoulder, but finds he has already opened his mouth to offer a more diplomatic explanation.

“Everyone stands to benefit from it actually. The goal in rehabilitation therapy is the reinforcement of social adjustment rather than punishment. We try to expand on a prisoner’s interior liberty by reducing alienation and offering safe ways to express themselves, which should hopefully reverse the pathogenic effects of a lengthy prison term. Locking someone up and stripping away their freedoms rarely corrects the behaviours that put them there in the first place. It’s necessary to provide them with the means to reflect and improve and change.”

That goes down about as well as he expected. Someone scoffs, there are a few rumblings of discontent around the table, before someone pipes in with, “Christ, I hope my taxes aren’t paying for this shit.”

Jihoon presses his lips together and presses his hands to his thighs. This black and white view of the crime and punishment is part of the reason he opted out of forensic psychiatry. It’s so bleak.

Sehun holds up his hands before he can offer a rebuttal.

“Go easy on him, guys. He can’t help it if he’s got a real rose-tinted view of the world. Remember, he hasn’t seen half the shit we’ve seen.”

“That’s not true, I’ve seen a lot.” Jihoon wades in, disbelief making his voice go higher. “I have access to the same court documents any jury does. I’m not blind to the fact that many of the people I counsel are dangerous and have done terrible things, I just don’t feel they should all be written off for serving time. Take my patient today for instance; on paper, he’s incredibly intimidating, he’ll probably never be eligible for parole, and yet he spent most of the session trying to make me laugh because he could tell I was nervous. There’s something very human about that, something that should be nurtured. If we dehumanise him because of his past, all that’s left is the violence.”

It’s not the right audience for this kind of discussion; cops especially, do not like to have their neat little world view challenged. Jihoon knows that already, he’s been dating one for close to four years, so it doesn’t bother him when everyone slowly disengages from the conversation without another word and turn their attentions to something else.

He nurses the remaining sip at the bottom of his glass and lets his gaze wander back to the crowd until Sehun leans in, taps him on the shoulder.

“Wait, so who was this guy to make you nervous? Was he a serial killer?”

Jihoon offers up a placid smile, considering the glass in front of him.

“No, he was just a really big guy with a rap sheet a mile long. That’s all.”

He doesn’t say more than that, and not just because of patient confidentiality. He knows Sehun’s worked some gang-related cases before, when he was part of the organised crime unit, investigating hits tied to the Busan Kings or Daegu Mafia or something. He’d spoken at length about it over coffee and bagels one morning, ranted about how the defence lawyer kept him in the dock for two hours, poking holes in his circumstantial evidence. A year of surveillance ended in a mistrial, and he’s still bitter about it.

The last thing he needs to know is the new client Jihoon has on his books. It would chew him up to no end to know a major cog in the organised crime machine will be sitting across from his boyfriend once a week for the foreseeable future, and Jihoon is professionally bound not to say a word.

Session #3

“I didn’t have any food, any water and it was very cold, very cold. I thought, I thought if I could save just one, but... he was so heavy.”

“Okay, I’m gonna stop you there.” Jihoon says, or rather, huffs as he snaps his notebook shut and levels Seungcheol with a tired look. “If you don’t want to answer my questions, just say so. There are a hundred other topics we can discuss. But when you make things up, let me assure you it’s a waste of your time, not mine.”

Seungcheol stares at him guilelessly, the very picture of innocence.

“What? You wanted to know about my traumatic childhood, so I’m telling you.”

“But that isn’t your traumatic childhood story Seungcheol. It’s Clarice Starling’s traumatic childhood story from The silence of the lambs.”

Seungcheol drops the offended act to throw his head back and laugh.

He laughs long and hard enough that Jihoon’s brain switches itself off for a moment, because there’s predictable reactions and unpredictable reactions, and then there’s whatever this is—reactions on a scale that defy understanding,

By the time his brain reboots, Seungcheol’s wiping at his eyes and settling down into a quiet chuckle.

“I’m sorry, sorry. I shouldn’t tease you, but oh man, you should have seen yourself doc. Scribbling away in your little note pad, eating up every word. You actually thought I was laying out my soul, didn’t you? I actually had you going there for a minute.”

Jihoon eyes him balefully for a moment, then purses his mouth and looks away.

He loves that movie. He’s watched it a hundred times, though clearly that’s only half as many times as Seungcheol has if the man was able to quote an entire pivotal scene word for word.

“Do you enjoy watching movies Seungcheol?” He asks, deciding they might as well explore than man’s interests of he can’t get him to open up about his childhood.

Seungcheol shrugs, a careless shift of shoulders.

“When I get the time, sure. That one’s been playing on repeat in the rec room this week. I only ended up watching it cause I heard it had a cool prison escape scene.”

Jihoon raises his eyebrows, adding to the partially amused expression forming on his face.

“And why would that be of any interest to you? Were you looking for inspiration?”

Seungcheol smiles, his eyes crinkled and his lips spreading wide over his teeth.

“Well, not to incriminate myself, but as you may know, my lawyer’s are appealing my sentence. I figured it couldn’t hurt to keep my options open, in case things don’t go my way.” He shrugs, fans his fingers out in indecisive gesture. “Not sure I’d try for anything that theatrical though. Disembowelling a cop and swapping clothes with another to send a swat team on a merry chase is kinda wild. That cannibal guy’s written to be really fucking smart, but let’s face it, none of that shit would actually work in real life.”

Jihoon can feel his mouth tipping up into a faint smile without his permission.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” His mouth says that without his permission, too. “It is a highly elaborate rouse, yes, but the principles and planning used relied heavily on the human element. Lecter’s escape hinged on the fact that even the most well-trained individuals behave rashly in chaotic situations. He cluttered his desk with paintings so the guard had no choice but to place the tray of food closer than he should have, he waited until the feds were busy looking for Buffalo Bill, employed gore to misdirect them and most importantly, he correctly gauged that the guards watching over him were far more complacent than the orderlies in the asylum. They underestimated him because he was behaving himself, and it allowed him to manipulate the situation to his advantage. Those circumstances could easily be replicated in a real life scenario.”

Seungcheol cocks an eyebrow and inclines his head towards him.

“So what you’re saying is, I should chew some guy’s face off and wear it as my own to escape?”

Jihoon rolls his eyes and says, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“No. Please don’t do that.”

You can’t always play it safe in Psychiatry.

You can establish rapport, you can build a routine for how each session plays out, but if you let fear stop you from asking the tough questions, you risk reducing what makes a man tick to a column of neatly ruled checkboxes.

Seungcheol by his very nature cannot be pinned down on paper.

He’s not a sociopath. He’s not a loner. He’s not unbalanced or self-deluding. He doesn’t demonstrate any suicidal ideation, and despite what his criminal record says, violence isn’t his default reaction. In short, he doesn’t fall into any of the categories of psychologically vulnerable inmate that warrants a weekly sit down with a psychiatrist. He’s just a crime boss with a very good lawyer, whose notoriety makes everyone around him a little twitchy. Their sessions are merely a court-imposed condition of his transfer, and as such, he treats them like a little vacation from the mundanity of incarceration.

It makes him both easy to talk to and so difficult to study.

Any tried and tested questioning techniques Jihoon tries to employ in their sessions fails because unlike his other weekly patients, the man isn’t interested in playing mind games.  

With serial killers at least, there’s a certain degree of ego to parry with. There’s a lot of pride there—pride in the kill and pride in getting away with it— pride that transforms into delusions of grandeur once they’re caught. So many of them are so far up their own asses they really believe the world has stopped outside when they’re no longer part of it. They relish every opportunity to talk about themselves. ‘Big Time’ criminals like Seungcheol on the other hand, have usually been in and out of prison so often throughout the years, they have first-hand experience that life goes on without them. It’s rare for one of them to see a life sentence as a reward for their efforts; they see it as the punishment it was intended, so as bitter and resentful as they may be, their experience in prison tends to be more grounded in reality.

They don’t live in their own egocentric universe; they don’t want to talk in circles—most of them don’t want see a shrink at all—and they certainly don’t crave attention. They just want a slice of normalcy, and in Seungcheol’s case, to talk about random inconsequential shit that doesn’t remind him he’s on his sixth year of a 20-year sentence.

At least, that’s what Jihoon’s surmised from the four sessions they’ve had so far, and the information he’s gleamed from Seungcheol’s file, from his interactions with the other staff, support that theory.

Outside their sessions, the man lives very much in the present. He’s sociable and engaging, with a sense of humour that appeals to both the prisoners and the guards. He looks after himself; never misses a meal or shower time, or an opportunity to use the recreation yard, and though he must know there’s very little chance he’ll be pardoned early for good behaviour, he actually behaves himself.

Well...

For the most part.

Prisoners tend to respond best to outsized personalities, and Seungcheol’s already established himself top of the pecking order by virtue of his transfer from Supermax. In short, he has the luxury of not having to throw his weight around to prove himself. When that’s not enough for some inmates though, he certainly doesn’t shy away from driving the point home, usually with his fists.

He rarely gets reprimanded for it though, because he’s smart enough to orchestrate just enough plausible deniability to get away with it, and if he does get caught, he has this uncanny ability of making everyone think it was done for the greater good.

As the Warden once aptly put it—he’s a charming son of a bitch when he wants to be. And Jihoon, despite his better instincts, is not immune to that charm.

“You’re disappointed with me Doc, I know you are. But if you just hear me out, I think you’ll see why what I did was completely justified.”

Jihoon takes stock of the man’s body language—the open, entreating spread of his hands, the carefully curated expression of ‘who? Me?’ on his face—and determines he’s going to be fed one hell of a yarn here. Enough to knit a sweater. Nevertheless, he leans back in his seat, crosses his legs and adopts his 'I’m listening' face.

“There’s never a good reason to beat up your cellmate, Seungcheol. You might have convinced the Warden you were acting in self-defence, but I don’t buy it. I’m ready to hear what you have to say about it however, as I will need to include it in my report.”

Seungcheol rubs a hand over his mouth, then sighs and casts a glance toward the ceiling.

“I don’t know what the politically correct way of saying this is, but basically the guy is nuts. He’s a fucking psychopath. And look, I warned the guards that I’d do something if they didn’t move me to another cell, but they said it was out of their hands, so I don’t think it’s fair I should face the consequences for following through.”

Jihoon is quiet for a few minutes. Instead of saying, yeah you might have a point there, and redirecting the conversation to safer waters, he says, “How about you tell me what he did he do to provoke you.”

Seungcheol throws his hands up.

“What didn’t he do? Ever since I arrived, he’s been hovering over my shoulder, touching my stuff and just being flat out weird. One night I woke up to him standing in the middle of the cell, buck ass naked. Another time, I caught him writing cryptic stuff on the walls with his own shit.”

Jihoon grimaces in distaste, prompting Seungcheol to point and nod emphatically.

“Yeah, exactly. Gross to hear, right? Well, it’s even grosser to live with. I reached my tipping point the other night when he wouldn’t let me sleep. He started whispering at me after lockdown, talking about the stuff he’s done, and how he had a higher purpose that we mere mortals couldn’t possibly conceive. I tried to be polite about it—I told him, hey, shut the fuck up you fucking weirdo, I just want to sleep—but he just kept gassing away, cackling like a maniac, so I whacked him.”

“You must have whacked him pretty hard, and repeatedly. He’s scheduled to remain in the ICU for another two weeks.” Jihoon murmurs under his breath, careful to withhold his admiration.

A mean grin crests across Seungcheol’s face; he heard it just fine.

“Yeah, well—let’s see him try and write out his shitty manifesto with two broken hands.”

Jihoon purses his lips, because the alternative would be to crack a smile, and he cannot professionally, under any circumstances, justify any positive reinforcement here.

“Well, it seems your wishes have been granted. The warden tells me you’ll be assigned a new cellmate this week. I hope you’ll demonstrate more patience with him.”

Seungcheol bobs his head, mouth cutting into a wide, toothy grin.

“Yeah, yeah I know. Mingyu. We kinda already met, in the prison yard. We get along pretty well actually; I think we should be a good match.”

Jihoon uncrosses his legs and begins to sit up, then reconsiders; there’s no cause to evidence his piqued interest. It’s just that Kim Mingyu is a big guy, and Seungcheol’s a big guy too, and two big guys sharing a cell can lead to a lot of head butting.

“That’s good. I’m pleased you’re so positive about it.”

His surprise must show in his face, because Seungcheol chuckles to himself.

“Yeah. You know, he sorta reminds me of myself, when I was younger “

Now Jihoon does sit forward, bracing his elbows against his knees.

“Oh? In what way?”

Seungcheol’s face slips into something almost kind.

“He’s still innocent. He still thinks the world is his oyster—” He says, then he grits his teeth and shakes his head, like there is a story there he has no interest in remembering let alone sharing. “You know, he asked me the other day, what is it I do when the guards bring me up here for my session, cause I guess it’s confidential and not a lot of people know. I told him I come up here to join the warden’s weekly poker game, and he actually believed me. When the guards came to collect me earlier, we passed by his cell and he was like hey, do you want my rabbit’s foot for good luck?” His eyes crinkle a little as he laughs ruefully, “You should have seen the look on the guards’ faces. They were so confused.”

Jihoon does not even try to disguise his smile.

On the last Friday in September, Jihoon is summoned by the courts to give expert testimony for Seungcheol’s appeal process.

He hasn’t been handpicked by Seungcheol’s lawyer, funnily enough, nor the DA’s office, but by the judges themselves, who want the opinion of a neutral third party with nothing to gain, so it’s not like any court appearance he’s had before.

They only ask him to help clarify statements from his reports. There’s no aggressive cross-examination. No battle of wits. Not even an opposing psychiatrist to contend with, so it’s a bit of an anti-climax, all things considered. He doesn’t know why they summoned him to give oral evidence in the first place; this could have easily been done over email, but whatever. It gets him out of the office for the day.  

During the adjournment for lunch, he doesn’t see much point in actually leaving, because it took almost an hour to get through courthouse security. Multiple check points, repetitive paperwork, so he heads to the courthouse canteen to grab a coffee and a snack.

He’s looking through the selection of subpar sandwiches, when someone clears their throat tactfully, and he turns to see Kim Soobin, an old classmate from college who went down the forensic psychiatry route.

“Lee Jihoon, as I live and breathe. What are you doing in my neck of the woods? Don’t tell me you’re considering a new career trajectory?” He says, through a baring of teeth that can only charitably be called a smile.

“No, no, just here to give third-party expert testimony for a sentencing appeal.” Jihoon says, twitching back a smile. “I’m still working at Sulwoo, and it suits me just fine.”

Soobin's eyes widen a bit.

“Sentencing appeal? This wouldn’t happen to be for a crime boss with a penchant for knee capping his competitors, would it?”

Jihoon smiles tightly, and replies in a long-suffering tone, “C’mon man, you know I can’t talk about it.”

Soobin quickly backtracks, raising his hands in a diplomatic gesture.

“Right, yes, sorry. I’ve been working with the police for too long. They’ve different rules about this sort of thing. But hey, look who I’m talking to, you already knew that. You and Kim Sehun are still an item, right? Bet he’s always trying to pick your brain when he’s got a tough case on his hands.”

They don’t talk for long, and Jihoon is careful not to mention the interaction to Sehun, in case it gives him any ideas. He doesn’t even get to tell him he’d been in court at all because the next time they’re together, Sehun spends the entirety of dinner discussing the grizzly details of a case he’s working on and turning his stomach inside out.

Jihoon gets up to do the dishes while he’s still talking away, just to give himself a little break from the conversation.

He had always intended to build his life around something other than his work. But that’s difficult when you’re dating a cop, a detective no less, because those guys eat, sleep and breathe their most recent case, and it forces you to do the same because God forbid you have a normal conversation about, well, anything else.

“I bumped into Kim Soobin at the courthouse today—” Sehun says suddenly, then leaves it hanging in the air like a mocking threat.

Jihoon's body stills against the sink. He lets his hands float on top of the dirty dishwater. He doesn’t need Sehun to say the rest. He doesn’t need him to. He knows. He knows exactly what he is going to say next.

Sehun comes out with it anyway.

“He said he’d seen you there just recently, giving expert testimony on a sentencing appeal? Imagine my surprise when he said it was for Choi Seungcheol’s appeal.” He laughs, not an ounce of humour there at all. “How come you never told me he was a client of yours?”

Jihoon grabs a tea towel to dry his hands, rolling down his sleeves as he turns at last.

“Because I’m not allowed to disclose that kind of information Sehun, you know that. And I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to create a conflict of interest.”

Sehun snorts, waves his mostly empty beer bottle by the neck as he speaks.

“Why should it? I’m not working in the organised crime unit anymore.”

He doesn’t sound angry, but rather kind of incredulous, like out of jurisdiction, out of mind is his philosophy in life.

It isn’t.

“But you work closely with people who do, who have a vested interest in seeing him behind bars for the rest of his life. I was trying to avoid a situation where they might feel tempted to approach me for information I am duty bound to keep confidential.”

Sehun rolls his eyes and shoots him a look that all but screams, here we go again.

“Look, the guys down there are professionals. They’d know not to, and even if they did, so what? It’s not like anything you could have told them would actually change anything. The case they built against Choi is solid. His appeal is going to fall through.”

“Well, you’d know more about it than I would,” says Jihoon, swallowing every other conflicting and confusing thought his mind conjures up at this information.

He doesn’t know why his stomach just bottomed out, but he does everything he can to stop that despair from showing on his face.

An interminable pause stretches between them that Jihoon has no interest in interrupting. He begins to turn back towards the sink full of dishes when Sehun speaks up again, apathy underpinning each word.

“I actually feel sorry for you, you know. Having to work closely with a guy like that. I worry what kind of effect he’s having on you.”

“W-what do you mean?” Jihoon says in a choked rush, feeling his cheeks getting warmer.

Thankfully Sehun wasn’t looking at him, but down at his half-empty beer.

“It’s just, guys like that—they’re rotten to the fucking core. You’ll put in all this work, and it won’t make a bit of difference. I’m sorry to say it, but you won’t. You can’t unscramble a scrambled egg.”

He talks like there is no real question about any of it, and relief at having misjudged the direction of the conversation is swiftly replaced by a bone-deep irritation that Sehun could even think he had the right to say a thing like that.

Of course, that’s his first and only argument. He’s always had a dim view of Jihoon’s work—likening the rehabilitation of prisoners to the futility of arranging deckchairs on the Titanic. If it was up to him, therapy would only be accessible to the privileged few who can afford to keep Jihoon in designer cashmere sweaters, working from an office in a big old high-rise, all glass and steel with a lobby that makes you feel important just by entering it. Never mind how insulting that was to Jihoon and the work he was trying to do. Never mind that Jihoon had explained all his reasons over breakfast once, with diminishing patience, while Sehun sighed and rolled his eyes and sniped back, ‘Well excuse me for wanting you to reach your potential’.

Jihoon says now what he said to him then, “We’ll agree to disagree.”

Sehun doesn’t stay the night.

Session #8

“Choon-hee tells me you’ve finally joined her art class.” Jihoon ventures during one of their sessions, affecting a fine line between curiosity and indifference.

Almost immediately, Seungcheol’s whole demeanour nosedives. He’d been his usual affable self only a moment ago, smiling and gesticulating wildly, but now he’s crossing arms and rolling his jaw, like he’s about to hack up a big wad of spit.

“Is something wrong?” Jihoon says, placidly watching his face.

“No, I’m just preparing myself for the psycho-analysis bullshit you’re about to dish out.”

Jihoon eyebrows lift skyward.

“Excuse me?”

Seungcheol waves his hand impatiently.

“I knew this was gonna happen. I knew as soon as I went to that art class, it was gonna say something about me. Now you’re gonna tell me some shit about how you psychoanalyzed my painting of a banana, and were able to tell I wet the bed till I was twelve or some shit. Well, don’t bother Doc, I’m not interested. Save it for some other intellectual bore.”

Jihoon regards him as icily as he can without giving away just how offended he is. He tries out a number of responses in his head, but feels none of them really convey quite how pissed off he is. After a while he nods, skips about twenty percent of the expected conversation, and says, “I haven’t seen the painting actually. Choon-hee had you painting bananas?”

Seungcheol blows out an aggravated breath, relaxing some of the tension in his frame.

“It was a mixed class. She was assessing my skill level. I could either paint what I was feeling at that moment, which what the fuck does that even mean? Or I could try and capture what was in front of me. It was a bowl of fruit, so I painted the banana.”

Jihoon steeples his fingers under his mouth in a deliberately thoughtful expression.

“Interesting.”

A brief and breathless laugh slips from Seungcheol’s lips. He leans back, throws an arm behind the couch.  

“Go on then. I can tell you’re dying to tell me. What does that say about me?”

Jihoon tilts his head considerately.

“That you like bananas. Possibly the colour yellow.”

“Uh, wow. Okay. I’m sure glad I’m not paying for this therapy—”

“Or perhaps that you’re a man who is afraid to express his true emotions, and needs to latch on to something concrete, something everyone else can already see, so that nobody is tempted to look any deeper and see how complex and vulnerable you really are.”

There’s a small indent between Seungcheol’s eyebrows, a subtle twist to his mouth, like he can’t decide between feeling annoyed or entertained by the brief character dissection.

“I also painted a giant penis, with thick curly pubes. What do you suppose that says?” he adds, seemingly determined to undermine this moment of vulnerability.

Jihoon tsks quietly and crosses his legs.

“Oh, I think using juvenile humour as a defensive mechanism says a lot about a person. It’s often a way to keep other people at an arms distance, so the ego has a moment to regroup and camouflage its own insecurities. In your case, the size of your penis could be your insecurity.”

About ten different emotions flash across Seungcheol’s face before he settles on an amalgamation of perplexed and mulish.

“Okay, what the hell man? Who put a quarter in you?”

Jihoon lifts one eyebrow, and says, with entirely affected innocence.

“What do you mean?” He tilts his head for maximum effect. “You don’t like my psycho-analysis bullshit? Maybe you’re right, maybe I should save it for the other intellectual bores.”

Seungcheol looks distinctly uncomfortable as he turns all the force of his displeasure on him. He watches him with more concentration for a moment, more confused scrutiny, then blinks, like something has just occurred to him.

“Have I...did I offend you Doc? Is that it?” He chokes out a laugh, “Oh shit, I did. I upset you earlier, with that comment?”

Jihoon looks down at his notepad, his lips pressed tight together.

“Well, listen, I’m sorry Doc. I didn’t mean you to take it literally. I don’t actually think you’re boring. It’s the opposite in fact. I think you’re really fun to talk to. I really look forward to our sessions.”

Jihoon feels his face growing hot, feels the blush reach his ears, and knows it’s obvious for anyone to see because he can see Seungcheol’s quiet grin spreading across his face out of the corner of his eye.

“No need to exaggerate Seungcheol. Apology excepted.” He murmurs, fiddling with the creased corner of his notepad.

Seungcheol barks out a surprised laugh.

“I’m not exaggerating. I hardly said two words to the fusty asshole of a shrink they got me talking to at Supermax, and I think if you looked at my file, you’d know that’s true. You though—I really like talking to you. You’re honestly the highlight of my week.”

There’s warmth behind his voice instead of just amusement, and it surprises Jihoon (except for how it doesn’t) that meeting his eye makes something clench low in his gut.

Session #10

His next session with Seungcheol is pushed back, after a fight breaks out in the canteen, and the Warden initiates a lockdown until they can get everything under control. It’s not until six hours after the fact that Jihoon finds out Seungcheol was involved.

He’d launched himself at another inmate, seemingly without provocation, and needed three guards and several whacks to the face to subdue him. He’ll spend a week in solitary and have his privileges revoked as punishment, but Jihoon manages to impress on the warden the importance of continuing their sessions as normal.

At the next scheduled session, Seungcheol looks mostly the same as when he saw him last, except for how his face looks like it met the business end of a guard’s baton. He’s got a black eye, a healing scab on the bridge of his nose, and a swollen cheekbone. It doesn’t stop him from grinning wide and wicked once the guards step outside and Jihoon takes his usual seat.

“Doc, sorry about missing our session last week. But I see you’ve changed up your hairstyle. Very chic. You really suit that feathered out fringe.”

It is a new hairstyle, in fact, and it cost Jihoon an arm and a leg. He’s very pleased someone took the time to notice, but he’s not about to let a bit of flattery distract him. He nods towards Seungcheol—his face, the swollen cheekbone, in particular.

“And I see you’ve got a new collection of injuries that don’t suit you at all. It actually pains me to look at you.”

Seungcheol shrugs, very cavalier, and waves him off.

“Nah, it’s nothing.”

“I’m afraid it’s not nothing.” Jihoon says, exasperated. He’s feeling oddly let down, and more than a little irritated at himself for it. “We almost didn’t have our session today because of your recent behaviour. I just managed to convince the warden that denying you counselling as well as your usual privileges wouldn’t do anyone any favours.”

Seungcheol looks away, jaw set, his good humour waning.

“Yeah, I know, and I appreciate it doc. I know I don’t make for a fascinating case study, but I do enjoy our little chats. Ain’t many guys in D-Block I can have an intelligent conversation with; the smartest ones tend to be a little, you know—” He nods his head to the side, waves his hands as if to say unstable.

Jihoon takes a little sip of his water to disguise the amused twist of his mouth.

“Do you want to tell me why you attacked Chul-moo?”

Seungcheol rubs a hand across his face, then flinches as he inadvertently prods his bruised cheek.

“It wasn’t unprovoked, okay? Just between me and you, I was sticking up for Mingyu.”

Jihoon frowns as he makes a note of that.

“Can Mingyu not look out for himself? I mean, he’s not exactly lacking in the size department. He’s bigger than most of the inmates here.”

Seungcheol fixes him with a hard look. There is some real steel there, like he doesn’t appreciate having to explain why he’s taken his giant golden retriever of a cellmate under his protection, and Jihoon inexplicably feels very nearly proud of him for it.

“Look, just cause he’s a big guy, doesn’t mean he can competently kick ass. Gyu’s a softie at heart. If I didn’t stick up for him now and again, someone might be tempted to take advantage.”

Jihoon tips his head, ceding the point without having to explicitly say so.

“So what exactly did Chul-moo do? Because the guards were fuzzy on the details.”

Seungcheol takes a deep breath, and says in a very, very quiet voice, “He smashed Gyu's cupcake.” 

Jihoon’s not entirely sure he actually heard that right, or if he’s to take it literally, so he whispers, “Is that prison slang for something?”

Seungcheol’s smiling at him now, like he’s read his mind and the awful possibilities flashing through it.

“No Doc, it literally means just that. You see, it was Mingyu’s birthday last week, and he was allowed a package from his mom. There was a cupcake inside, all nicely decorated with his name and all, and Gyu brought it to the canteen to show some of the guys. Well, that dick head Chul-moo snatched it off him and stamped on it, right in front of everyone. In front of me, and I can’t let that shit slide.”

Jihoon frowns; that puts a spin on things he hasn’t considered before.

“Well, that’s not nice of him, obviously. But surely you can see why smashing his head into the wall and knocking out five if his teeth would be considered an excessive response.”

“Sure. Now I do.” Seungcheol says, with sudden, blunt honesty. “But hindsight’s 20/20. At the time, I was too pissed off to think straight, and I had Gyu looking all sad and shit. Do you know what that’s like? How hard it is to think straight when someone gives you the huge, sad, puppy dog eyes?”

Yes, I do—Jihoon does not say—you’re giving them to me right now.

“In the future, perhaps you should remove yourself from the situation until you have control over your actions. Why didn’t you employ those breathing exercises we discussed?”

“I did, I did all the relaxation exercises, and they really helped.” Seungcheol says. When Jihoon pointedly glances down at his notes, at the medical report that suggests otherwise, he rolls his eyes.

“He’s still alive, ain’t he? Once upon a time I would have done a lot worse.”

Session #13

“Wait—” Jihoon sits up, interrupting Seungcheol mid-story when he realises the crude bandage on the man’s arm is not just spotted with blood. “Is that a real tattoo?”

Seungcheol gives him a dry look and says, in the driest voice imaginable, “No Doc. It’s just a transfer one they were giving away free inside the cereal box. I called first dibs, and the guards gave me a damp towel so I could stick it on. It’s Hello Kitty.”

Jihoon gives that the eye roll it so richly deserves.

“Alright, smart ass. Mind telling me how you got that done in here? I’m pretty sure your good behaviour privileges don’t extend to having sit downs with the resident tattoo artist.”

Dark eyes drop to the bandage covering his forearm, then rise to meet Jihoon’s again, filled with mild apprehension.

He’s not going to tell me, Jihoon realises with a twang of disappointment, and he supposes that’s fair. A tattoo gun would be considered contraband, and the fact that anyone managed to smuggle in the parts to assemble one would be of great interest to the Warden. Patient confidentiality aside, Jihoon would probably be expected to disclose such information in the interests of security. Seungcheol knows this, that’s why he can’t—

“Wen Junhui in C-Block does them in exchange for stuff.” Seungcheol says, easy as anything, derailing Jihoon’s entire thought process.

It takes him a moment to recover, to fix an expression on his face that isn’t totally bowled over by surprise.

“Oh. I see.” He weathers his lower lip, wondering if he should pursue this line of conversation, or fall back to something that’s less likely to land them both in hot water. “That’s... interesting. So he tattoos guys in exchange for cigarettes or something?”

Seungcheol nods jovially. “Smokes, snacks, favours. He’s been doing it for years apparently, but I only found out on account of Mingyu. He’d been going on about getting one done, saving up his cigarettes to pay for it, and I just figured someone was pulling his leg—but then the other day, I walk into our cell, and he’s laid out on the bunk with some guy sketching the word THUG on his forehead in capital letters.”

“Oh god.” Jihoon grimaces.

“My thoughts exactly.” Seungcheol says, exasperation colouring his words in almost an amused tone. “Fucking moron is up for parole in four months, and he was about to make himself complete unemployable cause he wanted to look tough. Thank fuck they actually hadn’t started yet; it was just a guideline sketched in biro. So anyway, after I slapped some sense into both of them, I thought—hey, maybe it’s time I got a new one. Commemorate my stint. I had some sketches I’d been working on in art class, and I figured some of them are good enough to be immortalised in flesh.”

At this, he unzips the front of his jumpsuit and pulls up the hem of his undershirt to show off another piece, stretching along his right flank. Jihoon gets a brief glimpse of dragon scales, inked in black and red and white, before his eyes decide to stray over to the well-muscled chest on display.

Clearing his throat, he looks down at his notes without really seeing them.

“Very cool. I like it. When are you going to the obligatory chain of barbed wire around your bicep and the anchor that says Mother?”

Seungcheol gives him a very sharp smile as he fixes his clothes back into place, firmly in on the joke.

“Who says I already haven’t? I got them both before I got sentenced, right next to my infinity symbol with the words live, laugh, love.”

Jihoon can barely contain his huge snort of messy laughter. Even with his face buried in the crook of his elbow, it sounds loud and atrociously juvenile to his ears. He would have felt self-conscious about it normally, but Seungcheol watches him quietly, his eyes as kind and soft as ever.

“What about you, Doc? You got any tats?”

“Oh no, no, not for me.” Jihoon demurs, before realising it was perhaps too strong a reaction. “Not that I’m against the idea, mind you; I’ve thought about getting one a few times, but someone always manages to talk me out of it. Most recently it was my partner—it’s a deal breaker for him, apparently.”

Seungcheol’s expression pinches ever so slightly, and Jihoon has a second to panic, to mentally kick himself at letting that little detail slip, before Seungcheol says, “Seriously? You’re telling me your boyfriend would end your relationship if you got a tattoo? That’s fucking weird. Sorry, I... It’s none of my business—I just figure a deal breaker should be something huge, like substance misuse, or infidelity. Not whether someone has a little ink on their body. Does he tell you how you should dress too?”

Jihoon gives his response more thought that it warrants, because Sehun has actually, on occasion, dictated how he should dress when they’re going out together. It’s never been a complete outfit change, but he’ll insist Jihoon change something to “tone it down”. It used to really rub Jihoon the wrong way, but he kept telling himself relationships required compromise.

He shakes his head sharply, jarring his thoughts out of their frustrated circling to finally offer up an answer.

“I suppose you could say he’s kinda traditional.”

Seungcheol lifts a disbelieving eyebrow, grinning cynically.

“Traditional and gay? Pretty sure those don’t go hand in hand. Sounds like he needs to pick a struggle, and you need to level up in the boyfriend department.”

Jihoon catches the tip of his tongue between his teeth before he can be tempted to respond. He needs to get them off this topic, and fast.

“Speaking of tattoos, I went through somewhat of an emo phase when I was younger, and I used to have these wearable tattoo sleeves that I would wear under my Jack Skellington t-shirts. It’s so embarrassing to think back on now, but at the time I thought it was the best thing ever.”

It must be painfully obvious what he’s trying to do, but Seungcheol has the good grace to go along with it. Scratching at his cheek, he chuckles, the sound of it low and rumbling.

“Yeah, I can picture you actually. You with a side swipe fringe and knee-high converse, making fishy faces at the camera you’re holding way above your head.”

Despite it being the last thing he had intended to do, Jihoon leans forward and says, or rather blurts out excitedly, somewhat against his will, “Oh my god, did you have an emo phase too?”

Seungcheol flashes a quick grin then slowly shakes his head, still amused.

“No, I was already an adult when teenage gloom became all the rage. And thank fuck for that. I would never have survived the racket if I made skinny black jeans and My Chemical Romance my whole personality. But uhh, my younger brother kinda fell into that crowd for a while, and as any good big brother would, I drove him and his friends to all the concerts and bought him more black eyeliner when our dad confiscated it.”

The hairs on the back of Jihoon’s neck stand up and he tries to think of how to phrase his next question without being rude, or giving away the fact that his curiosity is more than intellectual.

“I’m surprised he hasn’t come to visit you yet. I expected you’d both be keen to re-establish communication now that you’ve been transferred and have visitation rights again, but he’s never been to Sulwoo, has he?”

Seungcheol shrugs.

“He’s busy running things now, and it’s a long drive to make for ten minutes of supervised conversation. He writes to me though. That’s how we stay in touch.”

Jihoon knows this to be a lie, and can’t help the quick, knowing twist that comes to his mouth. Knows Seungcheol sees it when he lifts his chin in defiance.

“What? What are you smiling about?”

“You don’t write to him Seungcheol, I know you don’t.” Jihoon says, surprising himself with his own bluntness. “He writes to you, and you refuse to accept the letters. The guards told me about it.”

Seungcheol makes a soft, scoffing sound in the back of his throat.

“Those little rats. I should have known they’d rat me out. Why can’t they just keep their noses out of it.”

“Cause they’re prison guards? It’s their job not to.” Jihoon laughs, but Seungcheol’s wound up too tight to enjoy the irony.

He jiggles his leg, runs his hand through his hair roughly.

“Look, if you gotta know, I don’t want him coming here. This, the racket, that was never his world. He was never like me or dad, or anyone else in the family for that matter. He’s smart, destined for better things, you know.”

Jihoon does, in fact, know. Or at least, he’s read enough articles with headings like Choi Hansol: the apple does fall far from the tree—to surmise the man has no love for the crime racket. He’s a businessman, a philanthropist even, remoulding the family image through legitimate and legal practices. There’s still a lot of dirty money lining his pockets of course—Seungcheol had bank accounts and safe deposits in places the government had no jurisdiction over— but Hansol’s never been a person of interest like his brother was. Seungcheol had somehow managed to shield him from that, and when he went down, so did the Choi criminal Empire.

“I don’t want him visiting me,” Seungcheol says after a good while. After the quiet has started to creep in between them. “I don’t want to exert any kind of influence that might damage what he’s been building. He needs to do his own thing, keep me out of it.”

He says it like it has zero consequence for him, like five years without a single visit from his only remaining family member hasn’t fucked him up. But Jihoon supposes that is Seungcheol to a tee: all bluster and hidden heart.

“I appreciate you still have a way to go in your sentence Seungcheol, but I think it’s important for men in your situation to have a connection with the outside world.”

“I do. I have you.” Seungcheol says, easy as you please.

Inexplicably, Jihoon’s pulse races, and he has to work at his casual tone, clearing his throat against the hot lump of something like fierce delight forming there.

“I mean... a reason to keep grounded, something that makes you strive to regain your freedom and keep it. For a lot of guys, it’s family. Others it’s a romantic interest. What is your motivation?”

Seungcheol shrugs a little and looks down at his hands, a distant and self-satisfied smile barely cracking his mouth.

“Can’t say.”

It’s too few words and too little inflection. Jihoon cannot for the life of him tell if he’s refusing to answer, or rather that he honestly does not know.

Jihoon decides to drop into the art class during a rare free spell one week. Just to see how it works, how security manages the logistics of ferrying and supervising the inmates. And yes, maybe he’s a little curious which of his patients are attending and how they’re progressing, but he’s just going to be a passive observer. No note taking.

It’s a decently spacious room, and much like the group therapy sessions he runs, the inmates are well spaced out to provide the guards with a clear line of sight and allow the art teacher plenty of room to move about.  

Some of the inmates are naturally suspicious of his presence and reluctant to share their work, no doubt assuming, as Seungcheol once did, that anything they put to paper would be a gateway into their psyche. But there are a few keen to show off what they’re working on, and some who are downright proud.

“It’s a Maserati Alfieri.”

“Wow. And you did all this freehand?”

“Well, Cheol helped sketch it for me, cause he’s better at vigilizing stuff from memory. But I painted it myself. It’s my favourite car.”

“Very good, Mingyu. Keep it up.”

He doesn’t intend to stay long, he doesn’t want to step on any toes, but then Choon-hee accosts him as he’s heading for the door, “You can’t leave before you see my star pupil!” and then manhandles him over to where Seungcheol is set up. Seungcheol who is currently looking very much like he wants the ground to split open and swallow him whole.

“Lady, you gotta stop calling me that. It’s damaging my reputation. They’re calling me Seungcheolio Divinchi in the rec yard.”

Choon-hee ignores him, not the least bit concerned that she’s damaging his ‘street cred.’

“He’s so talented Jihoon. When he applies himself, when he’s not posturing and trying to defend his alpha male status, his skill is phenomenal. Even the art forger who used to take this class a few years back pales in comparison. And he got done for forging a Rembrandt.”

There’s a strange look on Seungcheol’s face through all of this, but more so when Jihoon steps around the easel to get a look at his canvas. The only thing he can think to call it is embarrassment, a real rarity when it came to Seungcheol, and he doesn’t know how to react to it. It’s like he’s getting a glimpse of something he was never supposed to see, too tender and raw.

“If you think that’s good, wait till you see his sketchbook.” Choon-hee is saying, motioning for him to follow her across the room.

At this, Seungcheol shoots up out of his seat, startling the guards and every inmate in a five-meter radius. He doesn’t make a move, but his eyes have gone fearfully wide, like he’s been caught out at something awful.

“No, no. No sketchbook. He’s not allowed to look at that, it’s private. Lady, you swore to me you wouldn’t show anyone my sketches. If you go back on your word now, I swear to fucking God imma go back to sketching dicks.” He says, an entertaining mixture of panic and self-consciousness raising the colour in his cheeks.

Choon-hee looks about to plead with him, then sighs and holds her hands up in the air comically dramatic, as if to say oh well, I tried.

Jihoon doesn’t try his luck either. Way he figures it, a guy’s entitled to some privacy. Even in here.

Sehun whistles as he steps into the room and gives him a slow once over.

“Am I missing something? What’s the occasion?”

Jihoon stops fidgeting with an erring lock of hair to give his outfit a cursory glance.

“That art exhibition at the Leeum, Jeonghan and Jisoo invited me. Figured I need to dress up a little, to look like I belong. They’re taking me to La Yeon for dinner after.”

In the mirror he can see Sehun shift uneasily behind him. His face goes tight and serious, his arms crossing over his chest.

“Wow, that’s generous of them. Shame they couldn’t extend the invitation to your boyfriend.”

Jihoon drops his arms to blink dumbly at his reflection, at a loss for words. It’s always been easy for Sehun to slide from good humour to chilly gravity; even with all his experience, Jihoon’s never quite been able to keep up.

“Why are you acting like this is new information? They surprised me with the tickets for my birthday. I told you about it.”

“Uh, no, you didn’t.” Sehun says, mouth set in a bitter line.

Gaping, Jihoon turns slowly to face him, every movement slow and careful.

“Yes, did. I swear I did.” He reaches for his phone on the bedside table, thumbs it open, “I...I even messaged you the other day asking what I should wear. You even replied back.” He pauses to pull up his messages, scrolls back a few days, “You said—sorry, kinda busy right now, how about nachos for dinner?”

About a dozen emotions dance across Sehun’s face, the last of which appears to be quiet realisation, and he must know it, because he stubbornly looks away.

“Messaging someone isn’t the same as telling them Jihoon. And you know I’m not good about reading every text you send me. You need to tell me your plans if I’m to really remember them.”

Jihoon drops to sit on the edge of the bed, ruining the neat press of his freshly ironed shirt. This really isn’t the fun start to the evening he was hoping for.

“Well, I’m pretty sure I told you too. And even if I didn’t, I don’t really get why you’re so offended about it. I mean, what was I supposed to say? Thanks for the gift, guys, but can you get my boyfriend a ticket too?”

“Yeah, why not? It’s not like they’re hurting for money.” Sehun shoots back with a sour expression.

Jihoon stiffens. “You didn’t even want to go when I suggested we check it out for ourselves last month,” he says, his voice quiet as stone, calm and inarguable. “And you don’t even really get along with Hannie and Shua. They’ve invited you to things before, and you always opt out cause you don’t vibe with them.”

A flinch telegraphs through Sehun’s body like a gunshot, and he shoots a hand out to point at him.

“Hey, I tried to be friendly with them—they’re the ones who made it awkward after that whole fucking BBQ incident. And that’s not even the point, the point is you excluded me from your plans. Didn’t you stop to think that maybe I’d want to celebrate your birthday with you?”

Jihoon lifts his shoulders in a slow, defensive shrug, keeps them there, around his ears. His stomach feels small and uncomfortably tight.

“But we are going to celebrate together. My birthday’s not until Thursday. Tonight, it’s just a dinner with friends. I intend for us to celebrate my birthday officially next weekend.”

“Right, yeah. Whatever.” Sehun says, refusing to be mollified. In fact, his already stark face grows even bleaker as he turns and leaves the room.

When much later, he finally answers Jihoon’s string of anxious text messages, it’s only to say ‘Stop messaging me. I’m fine. Enjoy your night.’

Needless to say, Jihoon doesn’t.

It’s not the type of therapy you read about, or even see on TV. In fact, Jihoon is hard-pressed to say there’s anything clinical about their sessions at all. It’s more like a formal version of pillow talk.

Unlike his other patients, Seungcheol gets his own little folder in his mind because Jihoon’s coming to know him like one would a friend, know him in such a personal, intimate way, there’s little else he can do but catalogue him—his likes and dislikes, his habits, his tells. His propensity for bullshitting makes it difficult to include a lot of what he says in his reports, but it can’t be so easily dismissed either, so Jihoon neatly separates it in his mind relevant/irrelevant and mulls over the latter when the fancy takes him.

For instance, he knows that Seungcheol can drink almost anyone under the table, but just thinking about red wine makes him sick, and that goes back to one night in boarding school when he drank a bottle on an empty stomach and vomited pink all night. He knows that he has this habit of catching a few minutes of some documentary on TV and then passing off whatever bizarrely misappropriated information he’s gleamed in those few minutes as Gospel. Which is almost as endearing as his habit of slipping movie quotes into a story he’s telling, just to see if Jihoon picks up on it.

He always does.

(Except for that one time he didn’t.)

“As a wise man once said, you gotta get busy living or get busy dying.”

“Hey, I love that song.”

“What? It’s not a song.”

“Yeah, it is. It’s a Fallout Boy song. Get busy living or get busy dying?”

“No. What? No—no, that’s a line from The Shawshank Redemption.”

“Oh. Okay, I’ve never actually seen that one.”

“What?”

“I’ve been meaning to. I hear it’s good, I just haven’t gotten around to it yet. It’s kinda long.”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe this shit. You haven’t seen The Shawshank Redemption? It’s like one of the best movies ever made!"

“I saw a parody of it once. Does that count?”

“Christ on a bike! Guards!”

“It’s just a movie Seungcheol. Stop overreacting—”

“Guards! Come take me back to my cell please. I can’t with him right now.”

It’s not all fun and games.

Seungcheol recounts warm memories and difficult ones too, the moments that shaped him as a young man. He tells him about his first pet, his first serious girlfriend, the first time he shot a man, the first time he did it with intent. One session he tells him of the day he realised his father wasn’t just a business man with scary looking friends. The disappointment he’d felt when he realised he’d made the debate team, choir and orchestra not because he was any good, but because the teachers were too afraid to say no to him.

There is a pained nostalgia in those stories, a strange gravitas he attempts to belie with humour, but it’s there.

Over time, Jihoon finds himself doing the same with him; he’s honest and open right back in a way he doesn’t like to analyse.

He tells Seungcheol things he has absolutely no business knowing, naked truths he hasn’t even told Sehun. About his deadbeat father, his emotionally absent mother, what it was like living with grandparents who clearly didn’t appreciate spending their golden years raising a teenager—the sort of things no one ever asks him about but that he carries with him all the same. He’d never felt the need to crack his chest open and actually talk about any of it, but somehow Seungcheol gets it out of him.

It’s self-disclosure at its finest. The cardinal sin of psychiatry.

Seungcheol never calls him out on it though, never throws it back in his face and calls him unprofessional. He treats it like they’re just a couple guys, sharing deep shit over a couple beers. He doesn’t even ask that obvious questions – this why you became a psychiatrist? That question with the foregone conclusion.

“Knock, knock,” Choon-hee says when she stops by his office on her way out. “Just thought I’d swing by to wish you Merry Christmas and a safe trip.  Got some real weather coming, they say. Just in time for the long weekend, too.”

Jihoon smiles over his shoulder at her. “Just my luck, huh? A white Christmas just as I’m about to head out on a six-hour car drive to visit the in-laws.”

Choon-hee blinks, looking thrown for a moment. She leans heavy against the edge of the desk, her arms crossed over her chest and a bemused smile threatening.

“I had no idea you were married.”

“Oh no, I’m not.” Jihoon rushes to clarify. “I just call them that. My boyfriend’s parents, I mean. Cause, you know, we’re as close to married as we’re ever going to get.”

Choon-hee studies him silently for a drawn-out moment, something bright and critical in her eye, but not unkind.

“This is probably against the rules, but I’ve got an early Christmas present for you.” She finally says as she slides a thickly padded envelope over the surface of the desk.

She does so quickly, like she just wants it done before she can change her mind. It has Jihoon eyeing the envelope anxiously, weirdly afraid to open it.

They don’t know each other that well, and yet she’s bought him a Christmas present. Which could mean nothing—he really hopes it means nothing— or she’s hitting on him and he’s going to make their working relationship incredibly awkward when he reiterates the whole gay thing.

“Wow, thank you. I feel bad though, I didn’t get you anything.” He mumbles, peeling back the seam of the envelope a little.

Choon-hee looks like she wants to laugh.

“Oh, on no sorry, you’ve got it all wrong. It’s not actually from me.” She pauses, chewing her lower lip anxiously. Jihoon looks at her, confused and borderline alarmed, until she leans in to whisper, “On second thought, you should probably keep it for later, for when you get home. It might raise a few eyebrows around here.”

That just throws him for a other loop, but he carefully pockets the envelope and awkwardly accepts a hug when she offers it.

It's already snowing by the time he gets home, the sky gone that dark twilight blue fading fast into a deeper black. He ditches his bag by the front door while he toes off his boots, grey slush spilling from the soles of them onto the hardwood floor, melting quickly. The envelope he leaves on the breakfast bar, where Sehun’s waiting for him, already dressed and ready to go, a wrapped Christmas present at his elbow.

Jihoon rushes to assure him, “Sorry, traffic was a nightmare. But I’m already packed. I just need to jump in the shower and change real quick—”

“Yeah, so about that.” Sehun drawls, getting to his feet. It stops Jihoon short.

“Look Hoonie, I’m really sorry, but I just got of the phone with my mom, and I think she’s getting cold feet.”

Jihoon lets his gaze go flat, rather than let his snide internal monologue show through. Cold feet? On the 23^rd of December, when plans have been set since the summer? That’s fucking convenient timing.

Perhaps if he weren’t so tired he would have been angrier. As it is, he only begins methodically unknotting his tie with weary fingers.

“How come?”

Sehun gives him a lame shrug and a grim sort of half-smile.

“Well, it seems my aunt’s changed her plans, so she’s going to be there now, and so is her husband and as you know he is very traditional. My mom just doesn’t feel comfortable having that conversation with them, you know. She just wants a drama free Christmas, and after all that drama she had with the landscaper, I can’t deny her that.”

Oh lord, Jihoon thinks, holding onto his composure by his teeth.

“Right, yeah. That’s a perfectly good reason to change plans on us last minute. A cowboy contractor she hired does a shitty job gravelling the drive and her son’s boyfriend is no longer welcome to visit. That makes perfect sense.”

Sehun falls still, his face screwed up. He shakes his head.

“Do you even want to be there? Christmas with my family isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, trust me.”

“Yes, Sehun, I wanted to be there.” Jihoon says, irritation bleeding through. Sehun is once again deliberately missing the point. “We’ve been together for three years, and I haven’t met your family once. I hate to say it, but that’s kind of a red flag. Your sister has a new partner practically every other month, and the door’s always open for them. I think it’s fair that that bothers me. I’m amazed it doesn’t bother you.”

The statement hits Sehun with a jolt; his jaw tightens as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“I come from a traditional family Jihoon; it’s going to take them time to get used to this. If I push them to accept you, it’s not gonna do either of us any favours.”

Jihoon steps back and turns away, pacing the length of the room.

“So what's the plan now?” He asks, rubbing a hand over the opposite arm in a half-unconscious, self-soothing gesture. “What are we doing if not visiting your parents?”

“Well, I think I should probably still show my face—for mom’s sake. But I was thinking you could join Jisoo and Jeonghan at their place in Je-ju. I’m sure they’d be happy to accommodate you last minute. Why don’t you give them a call and see what they say, while I start looking at flights for you.” Sehun says, like he’s just throwing it out there, like the idea just came to him.

And there it is: the drop of the other fucking shoe.

Jihoon exhales, stifling the start of a bitter laugh. So that’s what this is about. Tit for tat. Payback for the little disagreement they had on Jihoon’s birthday. Sehun must have been silently simmering over it this whole time, just waiting for an opportunity to return the favour—as though not getting invited out for dinner by Jihoon’s friends is the same as rescinding Christmas plans made months in advance the day they’re supposed to leave.

“It’s fine, I can book it myself. You better get on the road before the bad weather hits.” Jihoon tells him, heading down the corridor.

He locks himself in the bathroom and immediately turns the shower on, to drown out any sounds from outside. As predicted, Sehun follows him down and raises his voice after he tries the door and realises that’s all he’s getting, that’s the end of the conversation and he’s not going to goad Jihoon into a fight.

“Jihoon, c’mon. Don’t be like this. Don’t make a big deal out of everything. I’m not the asshole here, you just think I am because you can’t put yourself in my shoes. I just can’t distance myself from my family because they don’t approve of my choices. It’s not that fucking easy.”

Jihoon does his best to tune him out, steps under the spray and starts to shampoo his hair. Eventually he hears him leave, slamming the front door behind him, but not before he hears something thud against the living room wall.

When he steps out of the bathroom a good time later, the apartment is quiet, cold. Still, he ventures back down to the kitchen in just a towel to assess the damage. He doesn’t notice anything amiss at first, then he notes the wrapped Christmas present he’d spotted earlier is now on the floor, the box all dented on one side.

It rattles as he picks it up carries it over to the kitchen counter, so he doesn’t bother opening it, doesn’t want to get upset by setting eyes on whatever gift Sehun saw fit to buy him and break. Instead, he reaches for the envelope Choon-hee gave him and carefully tears it open to retrieve what appears to be a thick piece of A4 card from inside.

One edge is perforated, like it’s been torn from a book, and etched on the back in fine charcoal, is Seungcheol’s signature and a hastily scribbled note.

“The lonveliest boy in the world,” Jihoon reads aloud, then turns it over in his hands.

Session #16

“Look, I get he’s a genuinely loveable guy, but that doesn’t mean we just give him a blanket pass. If it was just one bad choice, okay, but they made four—four John Wick movies, and each one was riddled with plot holes and bad fighting choreography. And why do the Russian gangsters speak in heavily accented English with the other Russian gangsters? Wouldn’t it make more sense if they just communicated in, you know, Russian?”

“Valid point, but I think we’re getting a little off track.” Jihoon says, trying, for the third time, to wrangle the conversation back under his control.

But as with most group counselling sessions, there’s too many voices in the room, too many opinions.

As the conversation devolves into loud arguing, he casts a helpless look around the room. His gaze inadvertently lands on Seungcheol, the only one yet to throw his towel into the ring— not it seems because he can’t get a word in edgewise, but because he’s clearly bored out of his mind.

A startled ripple passes through his body language when he notices Jihoon watching him, and he grins back mid yawn, instantly reading the situation and ready to jump in with both feet.

“Enough,” He says, or rather almost barks, just as the shouting has reached a cacophonous crescendo.

The seven other inmates immediately stop arguing and straighten up in their seats, each as attentive as a butcher’s dog. When Seungcheol covertly jerks his head for Jihoon to continue, Jihoon is sure to flash him a little smile of gratitude before turning back to his notes.

“Okay, so I believe we were discussing revenge, and why it doesn’t offer closure.”

The rest of the session goes much more smoothly, but Jihoon’s honestly relieved when the buzzer sounds and it comes time to wrap things up. He feels a little out of his element leading a group discussion; there’s a trick to it that, as an introvert, he’s never quite grasped.

As the inmates begin to file out of the room, he stands to fetch a pen that rolled off his clipboard earlier, only for Seungcheol to reach it first. The soft, amused expression on Seungcheol’s face as he offers it up makes Jihoon excruciatingly conscious of the guards at his back and the cameras overhead, the stupid blush suffusing his cheeks. And God only knows what his own face is doing when his attempt to pull the pen from Seungcheol’s grip is met with firm resistance.

“Are these group sessions going to be a permanent fixture Doc?” Seungcheol asks, holding on to the pen just long enough to make Jihoon pout at him. “Cause I’m not gonna lie, they’re really testing my patience. I wasn’t feeling anywhere close to angry when I came in here, but now I feel like committing acts of random violence. I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure that defeats the purpose of therapy.”

Jihoon gives a sheepish smile as he clips the pen onto his lanyard.

“I appreciate we’ve had a bit of a rough start, but I think this style of open discussion can be really beneficial.” He replies, instead of directly answering the question. “In theory, group therapy is considered more effective in managing social dysfunction. It offers a good sounding board, and gives participants an opportunity to learn from other people’s experiences and struggles.”

‘’Yeah, in theory. In practice, it’s making me want to carve my toothbrush into a shiv.” Seungcheol points out, with just enough huffy petulance to tell Jihoon he’s not actually serious.

He turns to head out with the last of the inmates, then pauses, runs a hand over the back of his head, shifting his weight as though he wants to pace. His smile and voice take on a tired edge.

“So, the private sessions? Are they off the table permanently?”

Jihoon shrugs carelessly, for lack of anything better to say. If there’s one truth he’s not comfortable sharing with Seungcheol, it’s this one—that he’s the reason he decided to give group sessions a try in the first place. That the painting Choon-hee “gifted” him indicates the line of professionalism has blurred a little, and it’s necessary to establish some distance between them. For both their sakes, but mostly Jihoon’s, because he actually kept the picture, even though he shouldn’t have, and he spends an unhealthy amount of time looking at it, thinking— is that how I really look? Is that how he sees me?

There’s no way to discuss any of that without making things weird, but he’s saved from having to come up with a convincing lie when the buzzer sounds again and suddenly the gate to the room slides shut.

Startling, Jihoon glances around the room, now quiet and empty but for the two of them. He’s pretty sure that’s not supposed to happen—he’s pretty sure the guards aren’t supposed to lock the gate and leave while Seungcheol’s still in the room. There are cameras in every corner, sure, but a key part of the prison’s security measures is that outside the cell block, a guard should never be more than six feet away from an unrestrained prisoner.

He exchanges a quick, fraught look with Seungcheol, who is naturally more amused than worried by this protocol breach. 

“Huh. I guess the guards must have forgotten to do a headcount.” He chuckles, scratching at the back of his head. His eyes track to the gate on the opposite side of the room, then back to Jihoon, and he gives him a rueful, resigned half-smile, squaring his shoulders. “Feel free to hit a button or something, or you know, whatever it is you gotta do to sound the alarm.”

Jihoon cuts his gaze across to the nearest pillar with a red panic button. It would be the work of five seconds to step over there and smack it, but that would likely put the whole facility on lockdown, and some poor idiot will end up losing their job over a stupid oversight. Besides, it’s not like he’s feeling threatened right now.

He probably should be afraid to find himself in a room with this man, with no one in earshot and nothing to stop the guy from lashing out, but strangely, he’s not.

“I’ll just give it a moment—one of the guards is bound to notice you missing soon enough.”

Seungcheol nods and stuff his hands into his pockets. After an idle moment, he seems to realise how close they’re standing, the way he’s kind of looming over Jihoon without meaning to, and takes a deliberate step back, dropping down to sit in the nearest chair.

It prompts Jihoon to follow suit, even though there’s really no chance of him looming over anyone. Sitting across from Seungcheol is just familiar territory.

Quiet fills the room for a breath as they reassess each other, then Seungcheol asks, lifting his eyebrows, “So...Did you have a nice Christmas?”

“Yes, I did, thank you for asking.” Jihoon says, fiddling with his lanyard. “I had to change my plans last minute, but it worked out very well in the end. I got to spend it with some friends I don’t get to see that much anymore. It, uhm, it was nice to catch up.”

“That’s great.” Seungcheol says, sincerely, likes he’s genuinely invested in the conversation. “What about presents? You been a good boy this year?”

Jihoon blinks at him slowly, then again, working overtime to reign in the instinctive jolt of startlement that shoots through.

“A few.” He admits, then stalls there, unwilling to elaborate. “W-what about you?”

Seungcheol grins at him, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling up with the force of his smile.

“What did I get for Christmas? Hmm, let’s see... not a lot I’m afraid. Despite my suggestions, the warden did not dress up like Saint Nick and set up a grotto in the rec yard to hand out pardons. But hey—there’s always next year.”

Jihoon ducks his head, flushing a little at his own stupidity.

“Right, of course. I’m so sorry, I have no idea why I asked you that.”

“Cause you’re polite and friendly and I make you nervous.” Seungcheol shoots back, reading him as effortlessly as ever. He rubs at the back of his neck, smile fading a little, “You know I’m not trying to, right?”

Jihoon makes an aborted gesture, lost between a nod and emphatic shake of his head.

“Yes, I...you don’t make me nervous Seungcheol. Quite the opposite in fact, I feel very relaxed around you.”

Seungcheol aims a raised eyebrow his way.

“Yeah? Okay, good. I’m glad to hear it. So when are we going back to private sessions?"

Jihoon feels a helpless smile pull at his cheeks. God, he missed the challenge of this give-and-take over the last few weeks, that spark and depth to their interactions. Seungcheol’s not the same when he’s got an audience. Jihoon is going to have to put some more thought into that; whether indulging himself is worth comprising his professionalism.

Any further conversation is interrupted by the sound of frantic footsteps and jingling keys moving quickly down the corridor, and they both turn towards the door. A moment later, the guards from earlier skid into view, red faced and panting, distress plain on their faces.

“About fucking time.” Seungcheol calls out to them, standing tall and sure of himself once more. “Wait till the warden hears about this. You guys are gonna be in so much trouble.”

He barks out a laugh at their fumbling attempts to unlock the door, but approaches them when beckoned and allows himself to cuffed and ushered away.

One guard hangs back to apologise, with such heavy-handed remorse you’d think he’d accidentally locked Jihoon in a cage with a man-eating lion.

“I’m so sorry Doctor Lee. I...I don’t know how it happened. Of all the people to leave behind unsupervised, eh? Good thing you’re a professional and knew to keep your cool.”

Jihoon waves off his misplaced concern and finishes packing up his things. There’s no point fighting Seungcheol’s corner, it will only serve to have the wrong kind of attention directed his way. When it comes time to arrange his appointments for next week however, he crosses out the group session and schedules Seungcheol in for a private session instead.

You can’t always play it safe.

That is what he tells himself.

Session #19

He takes a week off at the beginning of February—not for any specific purpose, just to make a dent on the annual leave he’s been accumulating, maybe run some errands while there are no other demands on his time. His first day back is mostly unremarkable, just a mountain of paperwork and lukewarm coffee. He doesn’t even register what day it is until he’s sitting across from Seungcheol and his infuriating boyish grin.

“Got anything special planned?”

“For what?”

Seungcheol frowns. “For Valentine’s day?”

Jihoon adopts a thoughtful look to disguise from the fact that he’s been taken completely by surprise. How could he have forgotten what day it was? Then again, is it really that surprising?

Things with Sehun have been tentative and shaky since Christmas, not improved by the fact that a recent invitation to his cousin’s wedding did not include a plus one, and Jihoon didn’t see the appeal in driving three hours just to sit and wait around in a hotel room while Sehun nursed a hangover. Jihoon has since tried to sync up their days off so they can spend some actual quality time together, but it’s been mostly a one-way effort on his part.

Not that they’ve ever done much on Valentine’s anyway. The closest they’ve gotten to celebrating was exchanging apartment keys—or at least, Jihoon gave up his spare key and Sehun promised to get his cut and never did.

“No, no plans. I don’t really celebrate Valentine’s. It’s just another day for me.” Jihoon manages stiltedly.

A frown creases Seungcheol’s face. He jiggles his leg, restless for a moment.

“Huh. Didn’t you say you had a boyfriend? You break up or something?”

Jihoon shrugs and glances away with a little laugh.

“I do. We just...we’re not that kinda couple.”

Seungcheol is quiet for a beat, and then does that thing where he smiles, but also grimaces.

“What? You’re not romantic with each other?”

Despite himself, Jihoon makes a noise, something mildly defensive. “We’re romantic. There’s...there is romance. We just don’t feel the need to blow things out of proportion on a single day in the year. It’s healthier, at least, we feel it’s heathier if you spread out the gifts and romantic gestures throughout the year. It keeps things more interesting that way.”

It’s a weak parry and they both can recognize it as such. Seungcheol narrows his eyes at him all the same.

“Can’t you have both?”

Jihoon fidgets uncomfortably in his seat, then recognises he’s doing it and forces himself to stop.

“Yes, I suppose. It really depends on the couple in question, and their relationship. Grand romantic gestures aren’t for everyone.”

Seungcheol nods slowly, both his face and his voice going wistful.

“Well, I’m definitely a big gestures guy. Valentines Day used to be my second favourite holiday, after Halloween. Sexy lingerie, expensive jewellery, surprise exotic vacations—that was my style. I’d always go big, then try to outdo myself each year, even though I was never with the same person.”

“Really? Why’s that?” Jihoon asks, reaching for his notepad, happy to get the session finally back on track.

Seungcheol spends the rest of the session telling him about all the many ways he’d whisked one lover or other off their feet with some wildly romantic overture, including a completely unnecessary recounting of an orgy he’d accidentally instigated.

It’s not a conversation that allows Jihoon to peel back any layers, as obscene and detailed as it is, but it is enough to make a man wonder what Seungcheol might have been like in his twenties, back when he’d first hit the Seoul dating scene as the newly crowned King of Crime. A decade younger, he would have been cockier, cruder, and charismatic as hell. Prison life has worn the sharp edges down quite a bit, but considering how handsome he still is today, Jihoon imagines that combination must have been dangerously appealing back then. Impossible to turn down.

It leaves him feeling a little warm under his collar, gets him thinking after, gets his mind buzzing around a few ideas. It’s a little wistful of him perhaps, but he rings Sehun on the drive home anyway, just to throw it out there.

Should they do something tonight? It’s too late to bag a reservation anywhere decent, but he could swing by the grocery store, buy a nice bottle of wine and some groceries, cook them dinner. A cosy night in, just the two of them.

The drawn-out silence on the other end has him second guessing the whole stupid idea long before Sehun sighs and says, “I’m already in bed Jihoon. I got an early start tomorrow.”

Session #25

You can learn plenty about a patient if you spend enough time with them, even the ones who don’t want to be there, who prefer to sit in silence because they have some misconception that it’s your time they’re wasting.

Going on three years at Sulwoo correctional, Jihoon liked to think he knew his regulars the same way a meteorologist might know the weather: he recognizes the patterns, can forecast what might come, predict their moods and what exactly he has to say to keep things on an even keel. But just like the weather, every now and again he finds himself devastatingly caught unawares.

Today was one of those instances. A close call.

He’s still shaking, still trying to pinpoint what exactly he said to set the guy off, but it hardly matters. Kim Chang-wook has always been a live wire; it’s very likely he woke up this morning with the express intention of attacking someone, purely for shits and giggles.

It was just Jihoon’s dumb luck that they had a session arranged today that put them in close proximity.  

Jihoon’s just finished buttoning his shirt all the way up when Dr Jeon comes barging into the bathroom.

“How we doing? You okay? You need a drink? I can get you something strong. I got a bottle of whiskey in my desk drawer. Yes, I know it’s against the rules, but I think this counts as an exceptional circumstance.”

Jihoon offers up a droll smile and looks down at his hands.

He had been trying to play it somewhat cool that an inmate just lunged across the room mid-session to strangle him, but Wonwoo's reacting way more dramatic than the man who wasn’t attacked has any right to.

“I’m fine Dr Jeon, thank you. I just needed a minute, but I’m good now.”

The man stops pacing to study him sidelong for a moment.

“No need to put on a brave face with me Jihoon, it’s normal to be shaken after such an incident. As close calls go, that was too close for my liking. I’d like you to reconsider having guard supervision during your sessions.”

“I’m certainly not dying to get in a room with Chang-wook again, and in his case, I think supervision is the only way forward, but I don’t see why that should be the case with the other inmates.” Jihoon says, still looking at his own hands. “They didn’t break the rules. They always stick to their side of the room and respect my space. Having a guard sitting in on their sessions will fracture the trust I’ve built with them, and likely destroy any progress we’ve made.”

“Then perhaps we can just tighten security measures for the high-risk category inmates you see.” Wonwoo offers.

Jihoon feels his brow furrow with apprehension.

He gets where the man is coming from; like any health professional Wonwoo is sharp and observant, but he also has the bad habit of letting those same traits skew towards a guilt-seeking scepticism and suspicion.

“I don’t feel that’s necessary. I only have one other regular patient that is considered high risk, and it’s Seungcheol. He’s perfectly harmless.”

“Seungcheol? As in Choi Seungcheol?” Wonwoo says, with enough dismay Jihoon is compelled to look at him.

He takes in the comical, horrified shape of the man’s mouth, and holds his incredulous gaze until he can’t stand it anymore, and looks down again.

“Perhaps harmless wasn’t the right word...”

“It most certainly was not.” Wonwoo sputters indignantly, “I’ve always valued your ability to build rapport with your patients, Jihoon, but please, I implore you—don’t forget where you’re working. You should never underestimate that man.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind Jihoon knows he has a point, it’s just hard to agree when he’s seen no evidence of it.

“I just meant I’ve never had any trouble from him, and I don’t want to single him out for special measures when he hasn’t done anything to deserve it. It’s important that I keep my office a judgement free, confidential environment when I can.”

Wonwoo processes this silently, expression stoic. Finally, he gives him a wary, watchful nod.

“The decision will ultimately lie with the warden, but if he asks for my opinion, I won’t disagree with your assessment of the situation.”

Additional restraint measures, is what the Warden finally decides on, which is a fair compromise all things considered. He also strongly suggests Jihoon cancel his remaining sessions for the day and head home, but they manage to reach a compromise on that too, seeing as Jihoon only has one more appointment, and he has an entire weekend to wind down.

Jihoon spends the rest of his afternoon in a state of muted inner turmoil, wondering how he could have de-escalated the situation and kicking himself for missing the obvious signs the session was going south. By the time Seungcheol’s brought up for his appointment, he’s second guessing his entire fucking career, pretty sure by the time he gets home tonight he’ll have handed in his notice.

“What’s with the cuffs doc? What I do?” Seungcheol grunts the moment he steps inside the room.

Jihoon tries to mute the worry unfolding in him as he shuts the door and moves over to his side of the room.

“You haven’t done anything, Seungcheol, it’s merely a new security measure the warden insisted we include if we’re to continue to have these sessions unsupervised. I’m afraid it’s out of my hands.”

Seungcheol tugs at his restraints, looking more than a little peeved off, like he wants to finish the job Chang-wook started, but as Jihoon settles into his usual seat, something else crosses his face. Something that looks like genuine concern, and that, Jihoon thinks, is unexpected.

He stops fiddling with the cuffs to lean forward, to catch Jihoon’s eye and frown not so much at him as through him.

“Something happened.” he says after a beat, and it’s not even question.

Jihoon blinks at him, and then he sort of waves him off, breathes heavy when he says, “How about we pick up where we left last week? Hmm?  If I recall, you were telling me a story about a fishing trip with your father.”

But for once, Seungcheol’s not interested in taking the bait.

“What happened? Was there like...a security breach or something? Holy shit, there was, wasn’t there. Someone got physical with you. That’s why you got your collar buttoned all the way to the top. Someone...Jesus, did someone choke you?”

Jihoon doodles nonsensically on his notepad, trying to make it look as if he’s writing something, rather than what he is actually doing, which is suffering from a small internal meltdown and a mounting sense of horrified helplessness.

“The fishing trip Seungcheol? Let’s go back to that if you please—” he says at last.

Seungcheol does not seem set on backing down, having worked up to this question. He quite visibly clenches his jaw.

“Who was it? Was it Chang-wook? That why he got thrown in the hole earlier?” he asks, voice quiet, edged with steel.

“The fishing trip—”

“Just tell me who it was.” Seungcheol huffs, carefully shifting to test the limits of his chains. “I’m gonna find out one way or other, you might as well tell me now.”

Jihoon can feel his temper, an uncharacteristic slow build when it has come to Seungcheol, finally crest.

“No. We’re not talking about that. We’re talking about the fishing trip.” he starts to say, but the words go soft on him. They break in the middle. “I’m fine, okay,” he tries to say, but his bottom lip begins to tremble.

Mortified, he turns his face away from Seungcheol’s quietly worried one, holds his hand over his face, and the sob that escapes his throat, muffled slightly behind his hand, is still too loud in the empty room.

Seungcheol doesn’t pressure him to say anything more. He doesn’t mention it again the rest of the session, not at first. He just lets him cry quietly behind his hand, let’s him pull himself together again, then rattles away about why the Dark Knight Rises is actually the superior movie in the Batman trilogy.

When the guards come to collect him an hour later, he finally meets Jihoon’s gaze with sober intent and says, “Put it out of your head Doc. Just have yourself a nice weekend, yeah?”

Jihoon can’t get a handle on his face.

He’s still looking at him the way he always looks, indulgent, a little amused—but it’s darker than that somehow, heavy with a promise Jihoon doesn’t yet have the key to decipher.

He has to tell Sehun about the attack, because there’s no way of hiding the ring of bruises blooming around his neck, and of course he loses his shit.

He paces across the living room rug for a good forty minutes, lecturing Jihoon about his job, the unnecessary risk, because he warned him, didn’t he? He warned him something like this would happen. What more reason does he need to take up conventional psychiatry? It’s safer and it pays better too. He only stops when he sees how worked up Jihoon is getting, gives him a well-needed hug.

When they retire for the night, Jihoon doesn’t sleep. He’s still on edge, his mind still running a mile a minute.

He used to love the idea of laying beside his boyfriend in bed, both of them approaching sleep, and he’d tuck his body alongside his and devise their future, one rambling plan at a time until he got drowsy. But Sehun’s always managed to drift off the second his head hits the pillow, so more often than not, it’s Jihoon and his thoughts till the wee hours of the night.

The last thing he wants to do tonight is think, but he can’t turn his brain off, can’t stop repeating the events of the day in his head. So he reaches for his phone on the nightstand, eyeballs the alarm clock (1:03 AM), and works through his emails.

The last two to land in his inbox are schedule changes for the next week, and they make him sit up, pulse thumping painfully in his neck, along his bruises as he reads them.

Session with Kim Chang-wook cancelled until further notice. Note: Inmate transferred to Max. Security hospital for emergency treatment.

Session with Choi Seungcheol pushed back to Friday next week. Note: Inmate in segregation till 13th, following strangulation of another inmate in rec yard.

At the deli, he ends up queueing behind a slightly familiar face. Someone he knows he’s been introduced before, but he can’t quite place where. It’s not until they’re standing off to the side, waiting for their respective sandwich orders, that it clicks.

It’s an old cop buddy of Sehun’s, Jin-Ho something or other. They’d met briefly at the Christmas party, and once again at a bar, but the guy had been transferred to another department soon after so they never really got to speak much.

Jihoon considers just not saying anything, but Sehun’s always telling him about how his work colleagues think he’s an uppity cold fish, so he decides to go out of his comfort zone and initiate a conversation.

It goes something like this:

“Hello Jin-Ho. How’ve you been? It’s Jihoon? Kim Sehun’s boyfriend.”

“Right. Yeah. Hi.”

“You got transferred recently, right? To traffic? How’s that working out for you?”

“Seriously? Go fuck yourself.”

Jihoon doesn’t wait around for his order, he’s so mortified by the exchange, he just gets the hell out of there.

Sehun laughs when he tells him about it later, over the phone.

“Of course he reacted badly, he thought you were taking the piss. What, you think he just transferred out of homicide to traffic by choice? He was forced out after internal affairs concluded their investigation.”

Jihoon’s mind boggles briefly at the explanation.

“What investigation? What did he do?”

A brief pause follows and with it comes the click of a turn signal.

“He didn’t do anything; he was the one making the accusations. He reported his partner for planting evidence on a case they’d been working on, which had IA breathing down everyone’s necks for a few months. A stunt like that is not gonna make you popular in the bullpen. He was transferred cause nobody wanted to work with him.”

Jihoon turns that explanation over in mute horror, struggling to digest the casual—no big deal—way Sehun’s laid it all out.

“So the accusations he made had no merit to them?”

An exhale crackles over the line.

“I don’t really know; internal affairs don’t share that information with everyone. But his partner and another senior detective were forced into early retirement, so read into that what you will. Point is, he reported his own partner. You can’t be doing that shit and expect to just be welcomed back into the fold.”

Jihoon scoffs outrageously.

“But if his partner was indeed planting evidence, does that even matter?"

Sehun voice shifts from distracted annoyance to flat-out irritation.

“Look, I don’t expect you to understand, but police work is nothing like what you see on TV. Okay? It’s not enough for you to have fingerprints and DNA, you need probable cause and a motive and witnesses to build a case, and that’s even before you have to stand up in a courtroom and get grilled by the defence. It’s not easy to pin a crime on the wrong person—so if during the course of an investigation the lead detective decided to tamper with the evidence they had, it’s only because they know who’s responsible, and they want to avoid a mistrial by strengthening their case. In a lot of cases, the end justifies the means.”

Jihoon is sure as hell glad they’re not having this conversation in person; he’s not sure he can disguise the queasy swirl of dismay in his stomach.

He’s always had a deep appreciation for the police work involved in building a case and putting someone behind bars. But hearing the lengths some detectives will go to wrap things up, the blind justification of such tactics, leaves a bitter taste on the back of his tongue.

Session #33

“I see you’ve been hitting the gym again. Really bulking up. What motivated that?” Jihoon ventures to ask at the start of a session. He looks up in time to see Seungcheol shrug.

“I realised I was getting a little pudgy around the middle, pants weren’t as loose as I’d like. And in a place like this, you gotta stay in shape. Especially with some of these new fish they got coming in. Eat or be eaten, you know.”

Jihoon offers a soft noise of confusion. 

“I’m not sure I do. Are you saying you feel intimidated?” he asks, when Seungcheol doesn’t give him anything more.

Seungcheol sighs dramatically.

“Intimidated is a strong word Doc, let’s just say I’d prefer to keep people on their toes,” He says, but somewhat reluctantly, as though any response other than no, of fucking course not, is a concession he would rather not have to make.

Jihoon thinks he knows who specifically he is referring to. The two new transfers; one big, bruiser of a skinhead in for grand theft auto, and a twitchy looking serial arsonist with tattoos covering every inch of his body. They’d proven to be too difficult to manage in the medium security facility they’d originally been placed in, and they’re already making a name for themselves at Sulwoo.

“Those guys have a lot of trouble coming their way if they don’t wise the fuck up.” Seungcheol says, as though he’s read Jihoon’s mind and knows they’re on the same page. “You know what those idiots did? Oh man, listen to this—they came over to my side of the rec yard and started doing reps on the exercise bars.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that what the exercise bars are for?” Jihoon questions, more sarcastically than he’d intended.

“Yeah, but it’s my side of the yard.” Seungcheol grouses good-naturedly. “Choi territory. Everyone knows that. Everyone knows you gotta ask my permission to use those fucking bars. You can’t just waltz over and work out whenever you feel like it. But these guys, they had no respect, and when Mingyu went over there and told them to watch it, they’re trespassing on Choi Seungcheol’s territory, you know what they said?”

“What?”

“Who the fuck is Choi Seungcheol?”

Jihoon’s mouth twitches into a reluctant smile.

“The audacity.”

“I know, right? I mean, I haven’t been locked up that long, and yeah, okay, Hansol’s been working overtime in my absence, taking the business legit and whatnot, but I was public enemy number one for years. That should still count for something in here.”

Jihoon scrunches his face up.

“Hey, quick question. Are you on steroids?”

“Uh, no, I don’t mess with that shit.” Seungcheol huffs, then, eyebrows raising fractionally, “Wait, oh shit, do I look like I do? Cause that is not the look I was going for.”

Jihoon waves a dismissive hand.

“I’m just trying to understand what turns a nice, easy going, level-headed guy into serious, hulking thug over what is essentially the adult version of the monkey bars.”

To his surprise and bewilderment, he sees Seungcheol's face light up a little, although he doesn’t go so far as smiling.

“You think I’m a nice guy?”

“Uhm, yeah?” Jihoon says, his face burning.

He regrets it almost immediately. He has no idea how men like Seungcheol categorise ‘nice’ – for all he knows, he’s just called the guy a motherfucking cocksucker.

But Seungcheol’s smiling now, a little lopsidedly.

“I....I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that. Even my mom, god rest her soul, thought I was the devil incarnate, and she loved me.” He glances to the side, gaze lost in memory as he continues. “Not sure I have what it takes to make everyone else think otherwise. Not sure I want to, either. In here, I may be King shit of turd island—but I’m still King. I don’t know how to be anybody else.”

Jihoon bites his lip as he takes that in, surprised by that raw honesty; taken aback by the unusual vulnerability Seungcheol is showing. He'd seen the man with his guard down before, but not to the extent of explaining himself to Jihoon.

“I can appreciate it’s hard to accept when one’s glory days are over, as inglorious as they might have been, but when you get out of here, there’ll be a whole generation of people who won’t know who you are. A man might take an opportunity like that to reinvent himself. Start afresh.”

The dopey smile dissolves as Seungcheol fixes him with a plaintive glare.

“You mean in fifteen fucking years, when I’m eligible for parole? Great. Better start planning my release party, start working on my CV. Former crime boss for hire with a decade of murder and mayhem under their belt. See below for references, oh wait, never mind, they’re all dead.”

Jihoon holds up his hands.

“Wow, okay. Curb the snark for a sec. Believe it or not, there’s plenty of work out there for former inmates. There are programs available to help you settle back into civilian life and find work. One of the recent releases works security in a mall, and another landed a full time job with Uber.”

The look Seungcheol gives him is a comical mixture of mirth and despair.

“Let’s be serious for a second Doc. Would you get in a taxi with me?”

Jihoon opens his mouth to answer, then takes a moment to picture it. Someone booking a taxi on the app, getting the notification 'Choi Seungcheol is on his way’ and promptly shitting their pants, frantically trying to cancel the trip with shaky hands. It’s an image that inspires laughter, and so he does, though he is quick to muffle it behind a carefully placed hand.

Seungcheol looks insulted, huffing and rolling his shoulders, until Jihoon pulls himself together enough to say, “Yes, I would get in a taxi with you, Seungcheol. Of course I would, because like many people out there, I believe in second chances, I believe criminals can be reformed. I wouldn’t be here doing this job, talking to you right now, if I didn’t think you were capable of changing the behaviours that landed you here in the first place. As far as I’m concerned, you’re already a very different person than the man that walked in here all those months ago.”

That throws Seungcheol off enough that he simmers down again, settling back in his chair as he goes quiet, considerate. He searches Jihoon’s face for a moment, all the resigned emotion that had settled in him over the course of their conversation breaking up a little in the face of Jihoon’s determined optimism.

“Where do you see yourself in a year’s time?” He finally murmurs, lashes sweeping down across his cheeks.

Jihoon shrugs at the question, at first, more intrigued by the nervous way Seungcheol asks the question—like puppy waiting for a treat—than the question itself.

“That depends on what you mean. If you mean career wise, I’m not the type to plan that far ahead. If you mean in my personal life—”

“I mean all of it—” Seungcheol interrupts, hesitant, then changes it up, a determined light in his eyes. “What do you want out of life? Are you happy with where you are right now, or have you got a pipe dream you’re working towards that’s keeping you here?”

Jihoon blinks once, twice. He doesn’t know where this is going, but he’s compelled to find out.

“Nothing is keeping me here except for the fact that I enjoy my work, and there are few facilities that need a resident psychiatrist.” He offers haltingly. “But I...I do have other life goals I’m working towards, like buying a house and writing a book, going on a long exotic vacation.”

“Right, okay—” Seungcheol says, nodding along.

He looks like he is about to say something else, but whatever it was dies in his throat, and with it, the conversation.

They’ve never been very adventurous when it comes to sex. Even in the early days of their relationship, when they were both eagerly anticipating the moment a date got hot and heavy, they usually just fucked on a bed, in the dark, missionary style. Sex just got more efficient when the passion inevitably cooled down, when they both realised the height difference between them was never going to work in their favour unless Sehun got more physical about it, and he wasn’t that kind of guy. Even during sex, the guy liked his space, would roll off immediately after he finished and jump straight into the shower because the sweaty aftermath gave him the ick.

Jihoon got used to it. Learnt to expect nothing different. So he could be forgiven for feeling a little unnerved when Sehun corners him in the shower one evening, starts running soapy hands over his thighs and hips.

“Uhm, hi.” Jihoon mumbles, blinking through water-logged lashes, disorientated still. “This is a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight. How—how was your day?”

“Shit awful. Turn around, would ya.” Sehun mumbles, hands catching around his waist. His voice is slurring and faint, his eyes not tracking, bloodshot.

Jihoon feels himself begin to frown with misgiving, but turns a little to accommodate him.

“How much have you had to drink?”

Sehun breathes hard through the steam, turning him more insistently now.

“Don’t start with that shit. I’m in a good mood right now, for once try not to ruin it.”

A wave of nausea breaks over Jihoon. Turning to face the wall, he swallows it back and presses his head against the tile, tries to zone out, tries to imagine he’s more into it, that Sehun’s not drunk off his face and annoyed and only coming to him as an afterthought.

Somewhere along the way, he starts to imagine it’s not Sehun at all. He doesn’t know why, but it’s more comforting to imagine it’s some nameless, faceless guy working him open with barely slick, too rough fingers. Then suddenly he’s not faceless anymore, it’s not just anyone—it’s...it’s Seungcheol, standing behind him, lining his prick up, and Jihoon makes this terrible keening, falling noise against the damp tiles.

The sudden vividness of the image hits like a punch to the gut. He isn’t supposed to want this, not with Seungcheol of all people. But he wants it to be Seungcheol is the thing, wants so badly he’s suddenly dizzy with it, and the very fact he’s turned on, that he wants any of that, is what snaps him out of it.

Sanity returns with a rush, and he bucks Sehun off and bolts out of the shower, deeply unnerved, and he should be, shouldn’t he? He’s more at ease picturing a convicted criminal fucking him than his own boyfriend. He should be freaking the fuck out.

Sehun follows him out after a few minutes, furious and spitting mad, leaving puddles on the wooden floor as he huffs, “What the hell man? This is not the time to be a fucking cock tease. We doing this or not?”

Jihoon’s busy pulling a dressing gown on, can’t see his face, but he can hear his whiny, breathless exasperation, can easily conjure the facial expression to match.

“Not. Sorry, I’m just...I’m not in the mood.”

Sehun’s expression changes. Darkens. His body goes slack and his arms fall limp at his sides. He’s pouting as he pulls his clothes, or as close to a pout as that thin-lipped mouth is capable of.

“This is why nobody’s ever wanted you, you know, because you’re a frigid little bitch. I don’t know why I still fucking try,” Is the only thing he says before he storms out, slamming every door in the apartment behind him.

It’s a cheap parting shot, and he knows it—he’s always known exactly what to say to make Jihoon curl up into a ball and cry. This time though, Jihoon barely registers the barb at all, still too stunned to dwell on anything but the image of Seungcheol’s face in his mind’s eye.

It has been literal years since he’s had an erotic daydream involving someone he actually knows, and he’s pretty sure those adolescent fantasies never got his motor running quite this hot.

Session #35

Jihoon spends the next a few days in a private state of turmoil, second guessing everything he says and does, suspecting that anyone who so much as looks at him knows he had a brief sexual fantasy involving a patient. It’s a continuous side effect of dabbling too long in the human psyche—you begin to think everyone is as interested in interpreting behaviour changes subtle mannerisms as you are.

Nothing ever comes of it of course, but it still wreaks havoc on his equilibrium, leaving him moody and distracted, paranoia hounding him. He spills coffee on his notes, gets a ticket for running a red light, and spends a lot of time standing in elevators wondering why they’re not moving, before realising he hasn’t pressed any buttons.

The fantasy itself keeps coming back to him, blindsiding him at the most inappropriate moments. The location and finer details change depending on where he is at the time, but it always features the same cast of characters, always Seungcheol and those fucking eyes of his, that smug smile. It’s as though letting himself think about it even once has swung the door of possibility open in his subconscious, and no amount of telling himself what a giant idiot he is will wedge it closed again.

After a few days, he stops shoving the fantasy away and tries to disassemble it, pokes at it like a bruise, just in case there’s some other way it can be interpreted that doesn’t leave him feeling like a total weirdo. All that serves to do is turn him on, again, at the most inappropriate times.

When his next session with Seungcheol rolls up, he spends most of it with his eyes fixed intently on his notepad, doodling, purely out of self-preservation.

Not that it does him any good.

With the man out of his direct line of sight, his mind is more than happy to fill in the blanks, using the now familiar intonations of his voice to picture how he might look at any moment. The indolent sprawl of his thighs, the casual way he throws a hand round the back of the couch when he gets really into talking about something. Every one of his smiles—the sharp, the soft, the indecent, the grimly wry, yet still warm—Jihoon can picture easily from the lilt of his voice alone, and it has a low heat settling in his gut.

“Am I boring you doc?”

Jihoon feels his chest go tight as he lifts his gaze and finds Seungcheol watching him patiently, waiting. He clears his throat gruffly and struggles a moment to drag his thoughts back into some semblance of order.

“No, of course not.”

Seungcheol lifts one eyebrow. Sardonic, more than a little dirty.

“You sure? Cause you zoned out there for a minute. Had me worried.”

Jihoon ignores the pull low in his gut, and reaches for his glass of water, takes a sip.

“I wasn’t zoned out, I was just...listening very closely. Making mental notes. It’s such a complex topic, I needed to take a step back to process it all.”

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything for a beat, even as his jaw twitches and his lips quirk upward.

“Oh yeah, my mother’s secret recipe for honey cookies is that deep, huh?”

Jihoon opens his mouth, then hesitates, then darts a sheepish look at the book on his lap. That explains the tiny cookies he’s drawn over his notes.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. I haven’t been getting much sleep at night, and it’s left me a little distracted—but that’s no excuse, of course. I’m just—I’m sorry Seungcheol. I should have respected your time and rescheduled.”

Seungcheol’s brows furrow considerately as he leans closer.

“What are you losing sleep over?”

Jihoon shrugs, a self-deprecating expression on his face.

“Oh, the usual hum drum of civilian life. Nothing worth airing out loud. It will resolve itself in the end I expect.”

He tries to make it sound as flippant as he wants to believe himself to be, but he knows he fails by the worry blossoming on Seungcheol’s face.

“I dunno Doc, you seem pretty put together most days. Got your head screwed on straight better than most. Something must really be bothering you to lose focus like that.” He leans closer, close as he can without lifting his butt of the seat entirely and triggering the pressure alarm. “You should tell me about it. It might help to get it off your chest anyway.”

Jihoon pretends to consider that offer, knowing full well that is the absolute last thing he should do.

Instead, he ends up telling Seungcheol about some fictional argument he had with Sehun—how it’s made him reconsider their relationship, but that would mean tossing four years of commitment down the drain, and that’s tough to come to terms with. It’s an easy lie to tell, in the sense that it’s not really a lie at all—he’s had all these thoughts before, he realises half-way through the story—he’s just never had the opportunity to voice them out loud to anyone. His own private revelation gives the story a believable edge at any rate, so Seungcheol buys it.

He’s quiet for a moment, nodding, then his mouth quirks up slightly, something filthy spreading over his face.

“There’s someone else, isn’t there.”

Jihoon straightens up, focus sharpening abruptly. He unsure what he’s looking for and unsure what his own reaction is.

“Uh, no.”

Seungcheol’s mouth falters a little, before stretching into a wider grin that only increases the intensity of his gaze.

“Yeah, there is. I can see it in your face. You’ve got your heart set on someone else. That’s why you’re having doubts now.”

Jihoon exhales, resists the urge to fidget

“No, it’s not—"

“Hey, I’m not judging you man, I think you should go for it. Go get that dick. A good-looking guy like you deserves the best dick out there. Hell, if I was on a night out, and saw you sitting across the bar—” He trails off, adding fuel to the fire with a raised eyebrow and an up-and-down glance. “I’d do about anything to take you home.”

Jihoon scoffs quietly and makes a big show of rolling his eyes extravagantly, but the sincere warmth in the other man’s voice lodges in his chest like an ember regardless, upsetting his carefully constructed equilibrium again.

“Thank you, that is incredibly flattering, but—"

“Or you could get some ass.” Seungcheol adds, with a wry acknowledging glance, “I wasn’t trying to imply you could only get dick. You could totally get ass too. Just cause you’re a tiny man doesn’t mean your merchandise is—”

“Okay, we’re veering wildly off topic now—"

“Some guys like being dominated by smaller dudes, and that’s cool; each to their own I say,” Seungcheol goes on, the two of them having separate conversations aimed at the other. “Anyway, all I’m saying is. Get some dick, get some ass. Who cares. Just get out there and get the man you want.”

Uneasiness shudders through him at the spiral of possibilities that immediately spring to mind, but he waves them off with a firm shake of his head.

“Okay, that’s enough of that now. Let’s move on shall we—"

Seungcheol lets the subject drop with a smirk and allows himself to be herded onto a new topic of conversation, though it hardly matters anymore. Jihoon spends the rest of their session feeling too hot and as tense as if someone had run an electric current through his whole body.

That weekend Sehun suggests they go out for dinner somewhere, which immediately sets alarms blaring in Jihoon’s mind.

It could be nothing, but Sehun has been skirting around him since the shower episode, screening his calls and replying to every fifth message, as though keeping his distance would solve their problems, and to go from that to ‘lets go somewhere nice. You can pick’ is enough to give even the most secure person emotional whiplash.

Jihoon suggests they try out a trendy dining spot in Gangnam he’d heard great things about, but they wind up forsaking it in favour of their usual Mom and pop spot because Sehun completely fails to make a reservation despite saying he would, and his ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’ mentality is more stubborn than Jihoon’s desire to try something new.

They don’t really talk much. For once, Jihoon is too focused on his food to keep the conversation going, but he does catch Sehun looking at him strangely every now and then, like he wants to say something but doesn’t quite know how to broach the subject.

Finally, Jihoon decides it’s high time he bites the bullet.

“It’s alright, I know what you’re going to say. I’ve been trying to say it myself for a long time now. This isn’t working out for me either.”

He doesn’t know what to expect, but he’s surprised by the brief look of abject betrayal on Sehun’s face that, for mere seconds, he does nothing to disguise.

“That isn’t what I was going to say.” Sehun finally says, dabbing gravely at his mouth. He sits back a little in his seat, setting down his fork to appraise him thoroughly. He keeps his paper napkin fisted in his hand. “I was actually gonna ask if we should consider moving in together, cause my rent is going up, and I expect so will yours, but if we move in together, we could start saving up for a down payment on a house. But you obviously thought I brought you out for a nice dinner to break up with you.”

At this Jihoon downs the remaining coke in his glass, just as a way to distance himself. He’ll need something much stronger to erase the sheer awkwardness of the moment, but under that he’s not feeling anything close to guilt. More like relief, at having headed off disaster.

They continue to eat in silence for a bit, until Jihoon checks an incoming message on his phone. Sehun’s sharp gaze follows his typing fingers, before jerking back up to his face.

“Is there someone else?” He asks, tone carefully even and weighted with furious hurt.

Taken aback a little, Jihoon almost laughs out loud. He sets his phone down with a sneer.

“No. You know that’s not the kind of guy I am.”

“Then why do I feel like you’ve been acting different these last few months, like you’ve emotionally checked out?” Sehun says, his eyes narrowed, his mouth twisted in a repressed smirk.

Pushing his plate away, Jihoon links his fingers atop the table and gives himself a moment to answer.

He likes to think he has a decent enough way with words, of putting his thoughts into a form someone else could digest and understand. But he’s not sure how to whittle these feelings down into a manageable simplicity that will let them part ways as friends. How do you tell someone you’ve been with for four years that they make you feel numb? That you prefer it when they have to work late and can’t come over? That you’ve felt more love and care and warmth sitting across from a convicted crime lord than you ever have in their arms.

The truth is, even before Seungcheol was ever in the picture, he’d long felt a tide of inevitability when it came to this relationship, and here it is, finally come to shore right there over dinner.

Coldness settles in behind his eyes when he lifts his head to meet Sehun’s gaze again, and he knows Sehun can see that. It’s probably why he doesn’t bother to argue when Jihoon finally answers, “Because you never checked in.”

If Jihoon were a different person and knew how to observe himself and not just the patterns of others, he might have recognised he was getting attached. As it stands, he remains oblivious to how far he’s strayed from that delicate tightrope of professionalism until it’s too late. Until he’s literally sprinting down the corridor towards the infirmary, his heart in his throat.

The nurse on night duty yelps as he bursts through the door, then pierces him with a squirrely look.

“That was quick. I only just messaged you like five minutes ago. I thought you’d gone home.”

Jihoon doesn’t even bother to tell her he hasn’t had a chance to read her message, that he was on his way home when one of the guards at the sign-out desk who told him Seungcheol had been found unconscious in the shower, in a pool of his own blood. He just brushes past her, only pausing long enough to study the clipboard on the wall to determine where Seungcheol’s being kept.

Surprisingly, there isn’t a guard standing watch outside the door to his room. Instead, Seungcheol’s left hand has been cuffed to the metal bedframe—a security measure that would have given the Warden a conniption, if he’d still been in the building to see it. Not that Seungcheol’s currently in a state to take advantage of the lax in protocol.

Jihoon’s never seen him so pale.

Perching on the side of the bed, he takes a moment to just look at him, trace his familiar features with his eyes, then the somewhat less familiar contours of his bared torso, ending on the white gaze taped across his right side. He desperately wants to reach out and trail his finger along his stubbled jaw, just to confirm to himself there’d still a strong, steady pulse there, there’s still warmth under that washed out skin. It takes him a minute to summon the courage, but just as he’s reaching a hand over, Seungcheol’s eyes snap open and latch onto his.

“Oh, hey, it’s you. For a minute there, I thought you were the warden coming to kick me out. Then I thought to myself, wait—why the hell would the Warden sit on the edge of my bed and stare lovingly into my face?”

Jihoon blinks at him, his airway briefly cut off.

“I was not staring lovingly into your face.”

Seungcheol gives him a crooked smile.

“No? Alright then, my mistake. I was certainly feeling very cherished for a minute there, guess it was just the blood loss messing with my head.”

Jihoon swats him with the back of his hand, then apologizes profusely when Seungcheol fakes a pained yelp, then at last brings a hand up to massage his right temple. Trust Seungcheol to make light of the situation. He should probably ask his questions before the guy starts cracking jokes.

“Who was it?”

“Huh?”

“Who attacked you? Did you get a look at them?”

“Who said I was attacked?” Seungcheol blinks at him, prompting Jihoon to blink back.

“The guards? The guards who found you? They said you were stabbed and left to bleed out on the shower room floor.”

“Oh right. Yeah,” Seungcheol says, the pained lines at the corner of his eyes conveying more than his tone does. “No, I didn’t see who it was. They must have taken me by surprise.”

A frown gathers between Jihoon’s brows.

“Well, do you know anyone who would want to attack you?”

Seungcheol makes a face, nonplussed.

“Is that a genuine question? You know that list is endless, right? We’ll be here all day if I have to name everyone.”

“I mean inside Sulwoo. An inmate with a grudge perhaps, or someone you’ve ‘beefed’ with recently. Maybe someone’s been making threats towards you, and you didn’t take them seriously.”

Seungcheol’s reaction to that is a scornful snort.

“The answer is D. All of the above.”

“C’mon Seungcheol, you must have some idea who did this.” Jihoon gasps in dismay, voice harsh with the effort to keep quiet.

Seungcheol stares at him, expression torn—then turns his head.

“No, I really don’t. Since Mingyu made parole, I’ve had a lot of guys trying dumb shit, thinking I’d lost my bodyguard. I’ve spent the last two weeks dodging fists and putting people back in their place.”

That honestly hadn’t occurred to Jihoon. He blows out a breath, letting the rush of turbulent emotion fade as more distressing thoughts form around the revelation.

“Then I think you should provide the warden with a list of their names, so he can investigate each one of them and see who’s responsible for this.”

Seungcheol’s disgruntled grimace conveys his opinion of that idea even before he cocks his head and says, “Uhm, no.”

“Why not?”

Seungcheol’s frown deepens as he searches Jihoon's face with stormy eyes.

“Because this is prison, Jihoon, because as the old saying goes, snitches get stitches. That’s not just some made up movie bullshit, by the way. It’s a life lesson in here. Snitches do, in fact, get stitches. It’s kinda self-explanatory when you think about it. Besides, I’ve already cooperated with the authorities before, during my plea bargain, and look what that got me. Twenty fucking years.”

Jihoon lifts a placating hand.

“That is not remotely the same as what’s happening now. You won’t get in trouble with anyone for identifying who attacked you.”

Seungcheol’s jaw works, a war going on behind his eyes. Jihoon waits to hear something pivotal—a name, some identifying mark he’d spotted before he lost consciousness. But when Seungcheol opens his mouth, all he says is, “Just drop it, okay. I wasn’t attacked.”

Jihoon heaves a sigh, frustrated and dissatisfied with the answer. He stands to leave, to allow Seungcheol some alone time with his thoughts, but that’s clearly the last thing the man wants because he pushes himself upright, too fast to account for newly stitched wound on his stomach.

“Fuck—” he gasps, collapsing back against the bed, winded and grimacing.  

Jihoon doesn’t think twice now, about moving to his side. Doesn’t even hesitate when he takes hold of his hand to pry open his tightly clenched fist.

“Are you okay? Shall I fetch the nurse?”

There is a moment of stillness before Seungcheol responds, before his hand falls open to grab tightly at his, fingers fitting overlarge around Jihoon’s own. It takes him a moment longer to crack open his eyes, but he’s smiling as soon as he does, bleary eyed and dopey and sweet.

“Nah, it’s okay. Just moved a little too fast. It’ll pass in a sec. Just...stay with me a while longer. If you can spare the time. Please?”

Something catches in Jihoon’s throat, something that battles with the voice of self-preservation in his mind warning him of the consequences of being seen like this. He casts a quick glance over his shoulder; he’s already beyond pressed his luck in more ways than one, but no one else is in this part of the infirmary. They’re still alone, if only for a little while longer.

“Okay.” He whispers, giving Seungcheol’s hand a gentle squeeze.

Smiling more softly now, Seungcheol squeezes back, and lets his eyes flutter shut.

The warmth of his hand in Jihoon’s is new but familiar as well, something he’s felt indirectly and peripherally since he’s known him, now a physical presence to anchor him.

It has no business feeling as good as it does.

It has been a spectacularly long time since Jihoon has done anything as normal as go out clubbing. He thought those days were long behind him, but Seungkwan and Jisoo, and by extension Hannie, had kind of strong armed him into the idea one weekend, insisting he needed to get back out there, even if was just for a night of casual fun.

‘We’re not saying you need to hook up with someone tonight—but you could at least let a guy buy you a drink. A little flirting that goes nowhere will do so much for your confidence.’

They take him to the club nearest to his apartment, a trendy place frequented by single professionals and recent twenty-something graduates new to the city. It’s not a complete disaster, even though he doesn’t recognise a single song playing, and as such, refuses to dance; even though he drinks like he has work in the morning, hardly enough to loosen up, never mind actually strike up a conversation with a stranger. There are still things to enjoy, like getting ready without someone making snide comments about his outfit, or sitting at the bar with a guy secure enough about his sexuality to order a cocktail. To let him order one.

When someone finally offers to buy him a drink—some guy Seungkwan had pointed out to him earlier, that’s been eyeing him openly from across the room— he lets him down quickly with a “sorry, I’m waiting for someone” and carefully does not analyse the impulse.

Seungkwan hits him with an admonishing eyebrow as he slides back into stool.

“Are you waiting for someone? Or did you just say that to get rid of him? Cause I couldn’t help but notice that you keep looking around the room and towards the exit, like you’re expecting someone you know to walk in.”

Jihoon gives that all the consideration it is due instead of dismissing it outright. It’s possible he had been scanning the crowd subconsciously, on the lookout for something familiar.

It doesn’t mean anything.

Nothing he has to admit out loud at any rate.

"That guy wasn’t my type, and I didn’t want to lead him on.” He replies, deflecting with a self-conscious shrug.

“Fair enough,” Seungkwan replies mildly, then tilts his head inquisitively, not convinced in the slightest. “What is your type though?”

Jihoon quickly excuses himself to go to the bathroom, a laughably transparent evasion Seungkwan’s too kind to call him out on. That felt a little like a test with no right answer, but the only one he could think of in that moment has got his stomach in knots.

Session #46

Jihoon startles as he checks the clock on the wall.

“Oh damn, is that the time?”

Their sessions always seem to go by fast, but today especially, he’s completely lost track of time. He gets to his feet as Seungcheol does, following behind him towards the door.

“We’ll pick this back up next week.”

It’s something he says pretty much at the end of all their sessions, but today Seungcheol’s mouth twists in a rueful grin and he laughs, scratching at the underside of his chin with cuffed wrists.  

“Right. Yeah... next week.”

It’s all wrong; the nervous dart of his eyes, the hunch of his shoulders, the hesitant drawl in his voice. Jihoon stares at him warily, feeling like he’s missed something crucial.

‘I’m sorry, have you got somewhere else you need to be?’ he’s itching to say, possibly sarcastically. But before he can, Seungcheol pivots to face him, blocking the door.

“Hey Doc, before I go, can I...will you do something for me real quick?”

Jihoon blinks, a little thrown off by the gravity in his tone.

“Uhm, okay?”

Seungcheol shuffles forward a few inches, one corner of his mouth drawn into his usual easy smile, and ducks his head to whisper, “Give me a kiss, would ya?”

For a second, Jihoon feels like he’s in freefall. He inhales a shocked gulp of air. His knees wobble, and he has to swallow twice before he can speak, and even then, all he can say is, “Nya?”

Seungcheol takes this as an invitation to continue, his voice still pitched unnaturally quiet.

“It’s just that...life’s short, you know? Who knows what will happen tomorrow. I figure a guy with my life expectancy needs to shoot his shot when the opportunity presents itself, or I’ll regret it forever. I can’t exactly make out with you like I’d want, so yeah, just a little peck on the lips. I’ll settle for that. And I promise I won’t slip you any tongue, unless—is that something you’d consider?”

After refraining from swallowing his own tongue, Jihoon pulls in a shaky breath and says, “Is this some kind of joke? Are you messing with me?”

Seungcheol’s expression at that is—complicated; but he laughs lowly in reply.

“I can appreciate why you’d think that, but I’m not joking. I really want to kiss you, Jihoon. I want to do a lot more than kiss actually, but I’m trying to set realistic goals here.”

“Seungcheol—" Jihoon begins, then has to throw a hand out to steady himself against the back of a chair. “Are you...Have you lost your mind?”

Seungcheol doesn’t so much as blink.

“I don’t know man, aren’t you the expert? You tell me why I can’t stop thinking about you. I would honestly love to know.”

Jihoon stares at him a moment, swallowing hard, then forces himself to take a couple of steps back, torn between the personal thrill and a stomach-turning thread of sudden panic he tells himself is professional concern.

“I’m not going to kiss you Seungcheol. I... I can’t. You know I can’t. I don’t know what you’re playing at, but this isn’t a game to me—this kind of stunt could ruin my career, my life.”

A brief frown dips down over Seungcheol’s face that is just as quickly gone, replaced by a strange smile that doesn’t fit on his face.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I would ruin your life.” He says, the casual tone to his voice completely forced.

Jihoon blinks at him, opens his mouth to say that is a very loose reiteration of what he actually said—but then there’s a buzz at the door, the guard shouldering his way in, and he has no choice but to clam right up.

“Take care of yourself Doc.” Seungcheol call out over his shoulder, flashing him a smile as he’s led out.

Alone again, Jihoon collapses back in his seat, not entirely certain what exactly just transpired between them. There’s a bittersweet quality to the entire exchange, one he isn’t sure how to interpret.

He has no reason to stay late. Not really. He can review case files and type up reports at home—that’s one of the perks of the job—but the promise of a quiet evening in his empty apartment, dinner and wine for one, his own voice echoing back to him, seems distinctly unappealing today. So he grabs a coffee from the vending machine, boots up his laptop and spreads out his notes across his office desk, and works like he’s on a deadline.

By the time he’s halfway through his to-do list, he’s heavy-lidded, running on fumes, which is why he decides to curl up on the couch in his office and pull his coat over his shoulders. Why also his situational awareness is shot to shit when he wakes up a nebulous number of hours later, to a stiflingly warm, dark room.

After a few seconds of blind terror, he gets a grip on himself, takes few slow, deep breaths, and considers his situation.

It’s probably after lights out. That’s all. That’s why it’s so quiet and dark. The guards don’t have a reason to patrol the medical wing when the staff have gone home for the night. They probably don’t even know he’s still here.

Moving groggily, he stands and stumbles blindly over to flip the lights on, but no flickering fluorescents accompany the empty click. He reaches for his cell next, but although it’s been plugged in, it doesn’t seem to have charged at all. He tries the landline and the panic alarm under his desk as a last resort, but they’re dead too, which at least confirms the power to the entire building is out and the backup generator has, for some inexplicable reason, not kicked in yet.

He’s still trying to figure out how that could have happened, when the sound of someone moving outside in the corridor catches his attention. It’s muffled and hard to make out, but present.

With disquiet coiling low in his stomach, he steps outside and begins to feel his way down the corridor, towards the source of the sound. At the door to the day-surgery room he can see hear someone shoving things around, can see the beam of a flashlight swinging back and forth. The emergency exit light is flickering wildly, making it impossible to see who’s moving about beyond shadow and silhouette—but then there’s a bitten off curse, and he recognises that voice.

“Seungcheol?”

Jihoon brings a hand up over his eyes as a torch is shone directly in his face for a moment. Then the beam is lowered, and Seungcheol's familiar gruff, amused voice sounds out in the darkened office.

“Doc, hey. Uhm, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I stayed late to finish some paperwork that was due.” Jihoon murmurs, then thinks—wait a fucking second. He crosses his arms over his chest and gives Seungcheol his best approximation of a stern look. “I think the more pertinent question is what are you doing here?”

Seungcheol makes some sort of gesture towards himself, too difficult to see clearly in the dark.

“Oh, you know. Just patching myself up before I bleed out.”

Jihoon rushes closer without thinking about it, taking in the sink full of filthy swabs and bandages, the blood splattered all over the floor with a dull sort of coherence.

He feels he should have questions about this—first and foremost, how the hell did Seungcheol get out of the cell block—but adrenaline has taken over, and he’s got tunnel vision on the bloody gauze Seungcheol’s holding against his arm.

“Christ—” He mutters, undoing his shirt cuffs and methodically rolling his sleeves up to mid forearm.

Seungcheol's orange jumpsuit has more or less stuck to his skin where the blood is oozing out, but with a wad of cotton balls and a little water, he is able to pry it gently from the skin to get a better look at what he’s working with. It is, in his nauseous estimation, a knife wound, and a pretty deep one from the looks of it. It is also evidently a defensive wound, based on its location on the underside of his forearm.

“Set that flashlight upright on the table. I’m gonna need some light to work.” Jihoon says, ducking down to fetch the suture kit from a nearby cabinet.

He yelps as a hand shoots out to grab onto his shoulder.

“You don’t have to help me. I don’t want you to get in trouble.” Seungcheol tells him, looking honestly conflicted. 

“Oh, shut up.” Jihoon huffs, the words out before he really registers them. He almost slaps his hand over his own mouth when he hears them in his ears. Only the suture kit in his hands stops him.

“You need stitches Seungcheol, and you need them now. I can’t get in trouble for tending to an injured man. It’s my damn job.”

Seungcheol pulls his hand away, nodding, and offers his arm up with a grateful smile that is quite liberally shot through with pain.

Jihoon gets to work—wiping down the entry wound, drawing and injecting a small dose of aesthetic, before taking up the needle and thread. He moves as quickly as he can, pulling the needle through, cinching the wound closed. Seungcheol watches him carefully all the while, and Jihoon does his best to ignore him. He doesn’t know why he’s finding it hard to look at him. It’s like looking at him would somehow reveal everything he's been thinking since their last session. That there can be distance achieved so long as he keeps his eyes on his work and doesn’t look at him.

That's no longer an option once he closes off the final stitch and ties the thread. He has no choice but to face Seungcheol again after he sets the needle aside and wipes his arm over with alcohol. 

“Who did this to you?” He asks, so quietly his voice is swallowed up by the gloom.

Seungcheol hears him though, he knows this, even though he doesn’t respond. Jihoon catches the tic at the corner of his jaw as he inspects his work. His mouth is set like he’s grinding teeth.

“What’s happening out there?” Jihoon tries again, a different tact. “Who else is out of their cell?”

Seungcheol glances away, out to a dark corner of the room, indistinguishable outside the range of the flashlight. Jihoon watches the lift and the subsequent fall, the slump of his shoulders as he breathes in deeply.

“Everyone.” 

“Everyone?”

Seungcheol looks down at his hands, the blood still tacky on his fingers.

“Everyone in D Block. Except the guards that were patrolling—we locked them in one of the cells. They’re unharmed.”

Jihoon shakes his head fretfully, at once intensely aware of the fragility of the situation.

“I really hope you’re not involved in this Seungcheol. You’re going to get yourself in a lot of trouble if you take part in a riot. More trouble.”

Seungcheol doesn’t respond, not in words. He makes a derisive noise in the back of his throat.

“I’m being serious!” Jihoon snaps at him. “If you had any hand in this, any hand at all, they’re going to transfer you back to a supermax facility. Is that what you want?”

“Are you worried about me Doc? You gonna miss me?” Seungcheol says, snidely, with the edge of a smile. He holds his hand over his heart dramatically. “I’m touched. Truly. Imma miss you too.” At Jihoon’s pinched expression, he sighs, sarcasm sobering, “Don’t worry about it, okay. I know what I’m doing.”

Abruptly, the audacious shape of what he is planning becomes clear, and Jihoon feels something slacken in his jaw as awareness settles over him.

“Oh my god, are you planning to break out?”

Seungcheol looks at him with wide yeah-no-shit eyes.

Quiet descends, only it’s not quiet at all, Jihoon realises. This entire time they’ve been talking, there has been a commotion growing outside the medical wing. Now men are yelling and banging about, voices growing loud and urgent.

“Time you got outta here,” Seungcheol says, taking hold of the flashlight again.

As though to punctuate his statement, there is a loud boom from elsewhere in the building. Jihoon clings to the desk as the shockwave makes the room shudder for a moment, but Seungcheol isn’t even phased. He grabs Jihoon by the elbow and wheels him out into the hall.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jihoon asks, voice low.

Seungcheol ignores him in favour of dragging him down the hall and into an adjoining office. As Jihoon watches, he shoves the desk against the far wall and climbs atop it to reach the vent overhead. He pries it open and jerks his head.

“C’mon, get up here.”

Something almost like a manic laugh bubbles up out of Jihoon's throat.

“If you think I’m climbing in there, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“This is the only safe way out of the building.” Seungcheol says, pointing the flashlight beam across the ceiling, where the vent feeds into the next room. "Don’t take any turns and it will take you right to the back of the building. You can reach the emergency point easily from there.”

When Jihoon doesn’t say anything, when he doesn’t move, he snarls impatiently and clambers down again. His shoes squeak against the linoleum as he steps towards him.

“Listen to me—” He begins, his voice laced tight with authority.

But Jihoon can’t hear a word. The backup generator is humming to life now, lights kicking in, and in the flickering blue glow he can see just how much blood is on Seungcheol’s jumpsuit.

It’s too much, more blood than a grown man can afford to lose. It’s soaked the front of his undershirt, leaking down from his hairline and smearing along his cheek. Jihoon thinks about reaching out to smudge it away, but he can’t move. The sense of a cliff’s edge falling away behind his heels tugs at his gut with vertigo.

“This isn’t just your blood, is it?”

Rough hands grab a hold of his shoulders, and it’s only then that he realises he’s shaking.

“We don’t have much time. This place is going to be swarming with guards, and I doubt those guys outside are going to march back into their cells quietly. Some of them have had their first taste of freedom in years, and they’ll be desperate to prolong it any way they can. They’ll probably try and take you hostage—and when that leads nowhere, they might even hurt you. You don’t want that Jihoon, and I sure as hell don’t want that, so do us both a favour and get in the fucking vent.”

With that, he shoves Jihoon towards the vent and takes a step back, guarding the door, to keep Jihoon from leaving or to keep others from entering, it's hard to say. Under the shrill sound of the siren, Jihoon can hear fighting downstairs grow more heated, and he can’t tell if it’s the inmate’s wreaking havoc, or if it’s the riot guards fighting their way through. Either way, Seungcheol will be walking into a warzone with a target painted on his back.

“What about you?” He says, hearing a bit of desperation skew into his voice. “Why don’t you come with me and hide in the vent? It will be safer than staying behind and getting swept up in this mess. I’ll... I’ll explain everything to the guards.”

Seungcheol shakes his head slowly.

“I can’t, Jihoon. I—I can’t. This is all part of my plan, alright. Trains already left the goddamn station. I have to see this through.”

Jihoon makes an aborted attempt to take hold of his hand. There is some prickling aftershock in his flat, hollow stomach which tells him it would be a bad idea to make contact at this moment. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to let go.

“Please Seungcheol, please don’t do this. You’re going to get yourself killed.” He says quietly, tearfully, almost choking on his words.

Seungcheol's mouth slides into a quick slash of a grin. He reaches up and cups Jihoon’s cheek in his hand for a moment, looking into his face, and Jihoon stands as blinded by his gaze as if it were a searchlight picking him out.

“You’re lovelier than you have any right to be. I think, had I met you before I ended up in here, I would have been a different man. In another life, maybe.”

Jihoon doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with that. It’s like being handed a live grenade. A beating heart. It’s the single most romantic thing a man has ever said to him.

Outside the medical wing, another small explosion can be heard. Without prior agreement beyond the forced and the physical, Seungcheol spins him around and hoists him up into the open mouth of the vent.

“Crawl right to the end, no turns,” he repeats, shoving him in.

Jihoon can only do as he’s told, no space to manoeuvre himself in any other direction but forward. He can’t even manage to look over his shoulder, though he desperately wants one last glimpse of the man calling out to him, “It will be okay, you’ll be okay. Just keep moving.”

The vent takes him through three offices and the staff break room, away from the din of blaring sirens and shouts of panic. It all happens in a handful of minutes, but it feels as though he’s been crawling for hours.

He feels lightheaded as he climbs out of the vent near the back of the building, sick with adrenaline. His hands are shaking and his knees ache, but he manages to make it to the emergency point at the employee parking lot just as the first responders arrive on the scene.  

It’s only when he’s sitting in the back of an ambulance, a foil blanket tucked around his shoulders that he has a moment to look up at the prison again.

It’s on fire.

D-Block is on fire.

It’s a little after 3am when Jihoon finally makes it back to his apartment. He had to remain on site until someone took his statement, until Sulwoo correctional personnel could verify his identity, and someone was available to take him home—because his car keys and his wallet were still inside the building, and the fire was still raging.

He was expecting to toss and turn till the morning after a night like that, but the adrenaline dump from the last few hours leave him drained, and it’s ten minutes at most before unconsciousness steals him, and separates him from any worries that might have engulfed his mind.

He awakes twelve hours later to the sound of his landline ringing and a bunch of texts clogging up his chat—two from Jisoo, two from Hannie, and the rest from various colleagues, asking if he’s okay, saying that they heard what happened, and that they just had to make sure it wasn’t him.

Confusion prompts him to turn on the TV and flip to the news channel, and there on the breaking news segment is the Warden, giving a statement to KBS1.

“At 11.23 last night, a fire broke out in one of our cell blocks following an attempted break out. As firefighters worked hard to contain the blaze, we were able to secure the facility and evacuate staff and prisoners. Unfortunately, we are unable to account for two prisoners who made drastic attempts to evade capture and were subsequently still in the affected building when it collapsed.”

Jihoon’s stomach violently flip-flops inside his body, sick and empty. He mutes the television to spare himself the further details, but that doesn’t stop him from seeing the breaking news update running across the bottom of the screen. Kim Chang-wook and Choi Seungcheol confirmed as fatalities in Sulwoo Correctional fire.

That’s when he starts to cry.

At first he tries to keep quiet, presses his face into the pillows to contain his howl, but then realizes — what does it matter. There’s nobody hear to hear him. So he cries and he cries until his eyes ache as much as his chest does, until he throat is strained and his voice is hoarse, until he can almost believe that pain he feels is Seungcheol. And so long as he feels that, Seungcheol is still alive and here with him.

More information trickles down throughout the next few days.

The investigation into the riot is still ongoing; the damage caused by the fire was so extensive it’ll probably take a few weeks before they can determine how the breakout happen, months before they release an official statement, but Jihoon hears enough through internal prison channels to confirm one thing: forensics recovered enough evidence from the bodies for DNA analysis, and they’re a match for Kim Chang-wook and Choi Seungcheol.”

He’s forced to bottle up his grief for a few hours when a police officer, who looks in desperate need of another cup of coffee and probably a week of sleep, arrives at his door to ask if he can come down to the station to give his account of events. Jihoon agrees, easy as anything despite the pain settling in around his chest.

In the statement he gives he tells the police about staying late, falling asleep, waking up to chaos. He tells them about finding Seungcheol in the medical room and patching him up, because there’s got to be forensic evidence of that and nobody can take issue with him tending to a wounded man. He does skip over certain details of their conversation they had after though— “I’m sorry, I can’t recall what we discussed. Shock had set in at that point,”—and sticks to recounting his movements; getting into the vent and crawling out.

He doesn’t tell them about anything else. 

He doesn’t mention that Seungcheol had been acting strangely earlier that day, that he’s asked him for what was essentially a goodbye kiss, because he clearly knew what was about to happen. Had clearly had a hand in planning it.

He doesn’t tell them that he’d strongly considered giving in. That he regretted not doing so ever since, because at least that way he would have that sweet moment to cling to, a bright spark to override the memory of Seungcheol bleeding and in pain and telling him, maybe, in another life...

There’s no place for a confession like that, least of all with the police, but maybe even more so with himself.

Taking the elevator down after, he bumps into Sehun. No surprises there, this is his territory. What is surprising, is that he looks like total shit; a waxiness to his complexion that emphasizes the gauntness of his features.

Good, Jihoon thinks spitefully, though to be fair, he assumes he looks no better.

“How have you been?” Sehun asks, mouth firm, lips thin. He doesn’t give Jihoon a chance to answer, “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t call, just... with how things ended between us, I wanted to give you space, but I heard about what happened and I don’t think you should be alone right now. Maybe I should come over for a few days? Keep you company.”

Jihoon eyes him blankly, tired, down to the very marrow of himself.

He thinks about telling Sehun to stuff his pity and his belated concern. That he doesn’t want to hear Sehun bring up the subject of his job one more time or he’ll punch him in the face. That he’s actually grieving right now, and it’s all too much for him. That he’s never felt more alone than when he’s in his company.

There is no kind or subtle or understanding way to make any of those points known, so he just smiles and shakes his head and says, “No, I’ll be okay. Now that you mention it though, I’m going to need my spare key back.”

The funeral is held on a Thursday.

Jihoon attends alone and lingers near the back, out of sight and hopefully out of mind of the crowd of armed men in black suits, guarding the heads of every crime family in the country and who’s who of Seoul’s seedy underbelly.

He hoped this would be the first step in healing and putting everything behind him, but it turns out to be anything but.

He can’t put his finger on what is so different about this funeral. He’s attended scores of them over the years, and they always felt highly charged and emotional, sure, but this one feels like a meeting at some country club. Dry eyes all round, even amongst Seungcheol’s direct family.

The only difference he can derive is that Seungcheol was out of everyone’s collective conscious when he died; just another footnote in the crime statistics, and he doesn’t know why out of everything it’s this that upsets him, but it does. It upsets him real bad.

He ends up lingering near the grave long after everyone leaves, allows himself to shed a few quiet tears. He’s so absorbed in the moment, he doesn’t notice he has company until someone’s elbow brushes against his, and he turns his head to see Choi Hansol.

He’s turned to face the coffin, but he’s watching Jihoon from the corner of his eye, probably wondering who the hell this is and why he’s so bereft.

Jihoon tries to summon some meaningful words of condolence, fish for a few clichés from the depths of his grief, but he’s not sure he can keep his voice steady, and the last thing he needs is to make himself memorable.

“We haven’t met before, have we? How’d you know my brother?” Hansol asks suddenly, voice too loud and cheerful for a cemetery plot.

Jihoon wraps his arms tighter around himself and doesn’t answer for a good while. Isn’t even sure that he should. Then he thinks about Seungcheol again, how this is the closest he’ll ever be to his warmth again, and tears spike intently behind his lashes.

“He...he was my patient. At Sulwoo correctional.”

Amusement shifts Hansol’s face into something interesting though hardly friendly.

“Ohh, so you were his shrink. That certainly puts a spin on things.” He leans in a little, lowers his voice. “Respectable looking guy like yourself, he must have made quite the impression for you to be crying over his grave. Really opened up to you, huh? That’s cute.”

Jihoon opens his mouth to speak, to say please, I just came to pay my respects. I don’t want any trouble, but Hansol beats him to it, delivering the traditional manful gesture of sympathy, the invasive and awkward pat on the shoulder.

“I better get going, but thanks for coming Doc. I’m sure it would have meant a lot to him.”

He departs with his two guards in tow, leaving Jihoon sanding there, wondering how he manages to be so unaffected.

Three days gallop past without pause.

Jihoon’s not getting much sleep, not eating enough either. Worse still, with the investigation still ongoing, only essential staff are allowed back on the premises, so he’s been forced to work from home until further notice. It’s gives him too much idle time to keep company with his miseries and worst thoughts, try as he might to keep them away.

He’s taken to working from his local library most days, so he can enjoy a change of scenery and being around other people without having to actually socialise. It’s the same reason he’s started doing his grocery shopping at night. Why he’s later than usual getting home. Why he’s a little bit distracted juggling a grocery bag and his keys as he steps through the door, and doesn’t spot the man sitting at his dining room table until he’s half-way into the apartment.

“Thank fuck. I was sure I had the right place—but then I started thinking, oh shit, what if I haven’t and someone else walks in, and sees me sitting here in the dark? How the hell do I stop them from freaking out and calling the police?” Seungcheol says, laughing a little as he pushes the chair back and gets to his feet.  

Jihoon feels his grocery bag slide out of numb, nerveless fingers and hit the floor, hears the eggs crack, but that’s a problem for another time. He’s having a real hard time taking his eyes off Seungcheol, now that he’s here and alive and in front of him.

He seems to dominate the space, tall and huge in that dark wool coat. A smudged silhouette in shadow that slowly takes shape as he steps closer, like a painting come to life.

“I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in,” Seungcheol says to him, looking around the apartment uncertainly. “I just didn’t think it would be a good idea to loiter outside, you know?”

“Yeah,” Jihoon says, pulling the single word long and flat, tight.

They stand there in tense silence for a beat— Jihoon with a grocery bag at his feet, Seungcheol with his hands jammed into his coat pocket, the only sound the loud, almost ominous ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall.

Jihoon doesn’t know what to say to him, he’s so utterly thrown. And it’s not because he’s struggling to wrap his head around how the man managed to fake his death so spectacularly. That fact doesn’t even register, as impressive as it is. It’s just that his presence here feels too much, too intimate, too something Jihoon is terribly afraid of broaching.

A fidgety, anxious energy trips up his spine and down his arms as they stand there, making him desperate to touch and be touched in turn. It’s such a bizarre urge—to want to lean into Seungcheol, to simply grab him by the wrist and confirm it’s really him. He can admit now he’d been thinking about it a lot—about Seungcheol, his hands. He can remember what they felt, strong and firm, first when he grabbed him by the elbow in the clinic, and then second, when he hoisted him up into the vent. He shouldn’t want that again. He shouldn’t want Seungcheol to put his hands on him at all, but he does.

“What...what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be sunning yourself on the banks of Lake Como or something?” he finally says, bending down to gather his groceries.

A head of cabbage rolls out of his reach and Seungcheol stoops down to pick it up, stays crouched there, fondling the cabbage between his hands thoughtfully.

“Yeah, Lake Como doesn’t sound too bad actually. Do you like Italy?”

Jihoon shrugs, corralling the rest of his groceries back into the bag, not without a bit of clumsy effort.

“I’ve never been, but I hear it’s a beautiful country. Lots to see and do, and the food can’t be beat. And it’s a good distance away, so there’s little chance of anyone recognizing you.”

Seungcheol mulls it over for a moment, straightening up once Jihoon does.

“Okay then, Italy it is. That’s where I’ll take you first.”

The grocery bag falls to the floor again, the remaining eggs cracking and dribbling out. Jihoon leaves it where it lands to stagger over to the kitchen. Hands flat to the granite top, he leans heavily against the counter, hyperventilating a little.

“You...you’re crazy. You’ve lost your fucking mind.” he mumbles, more muted than he would have liked.

Seungcheol moves to stand behind him. Jihoon doesn’t have to turn around to check; even in his socks, each footfall behind him is audible, exaggerated. He could be stealthier, but he wants Jihoon to know. He doesn’t want to spook him.

“Maybe. I mean, it takes a lot of planning to fake your death. A lot of hard work. Especially from inside a prison. Some might say it’s impossible even, but I managed it. I gotta be a little fucking deranged to risk it all by showing my face here, but when I heard you were at my funeral, all teary eyed and sad, I know I’d be the biggest asshole in the world if I just left. So I figured I’d swing by, say hey, shoot my shot one last time.”

Jihoon lets out a harsh, shuddering breath and turns to look at him. Goosebumps rise on his flesh to see him so close; he’d forgotten how much bigger he is in every way.

“Breaking into my apartment and waiting in the dark? What if I had brought someone with me? What is I screamed the fucking building down and called the police?”

Seungcheol’s answering smile is tight, but every other tell to his body language is patient, placating.

“Worth the risk.”

Jihoon rubs the heels of his palms against his eyes hard enough to make his vision sparkle and fuzz.

“You—” His voice breaks, and he has to clear his throat, try again. “That’s the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard. You’re an actual idiot.”

That earns him a low chuckle, “Yeah, but romantic as hell though, right? Admit it, you’re feeling pretty swept off your feet right now.”

A pause stretches between them, awkward and tense and yet heated with potential. Jihoon’s face feels over-warm, irritation prickling over him.

“And what if I say no? You gonna take me out of the picture? Am I a loose end now?”

It’s the wrong thing to say, clearly. Seungcheol gives a sudden, startled laugh, then paces away for a moment, shaking his head. The look on his face when he turns back is one Jihoon knows well; it’s the same look he adopts when he hears something just so flat-out wrong, he can’t even begin to marshal an explanation as to just how wrong it is.

“Not gonna lie Jihoon, that fucking stings,” he says slowly. “Do you actually think I’m capable of that? Do you really believe I’d do something like that, to you?” He asks, voice cracking like he’s on the verge of a wild laugh.

Jihoon flushes, anxiety spiking at the challenge.

“No, I...I don’t know! How am I supposed to know how this goes? All I know is I’ve seen you now, I’m one of the few people who knows you’re actually alive. If you let me live, I could report you—ruin your great escape plan.”

Seungcheol pauses, looking both baffled and offended, but when he speaks his voice is carefully detached, free of judgment.

“I don’t think you will, but like I said, it’s worth the risk.”

Jihoon curls his hands into fists and rests them on his hips, that anxious feeling inside him supplemented by overwhelming and complete frustration.

“Don’t act like you know what I’m capable of Seungcheol. You might not think I have it in me, but I do. I’ll report you the second you give me a chance.”

Seungcheol cracks a smile, throws out a hand towards the phone hanging on the kitchen wall.

“Go ahead. By all means. Here, I’ll even dial the number for you. How about that?”

He grabs hold of the phone, manages to punch in the first two digits before Jihoon snatches it from him and holds it tight against his chest.

The mood in the small kitchen teeters on a knife’s edge, suspended for a long moment between a fight—and something else entirely.

“Why are you really here, Seungcheol? What do you want from me?” Jihoon asks again, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper.

Something fierce flashes through Seungcheol’s expression in response, and he steps forward, pressing into Jihoon’s personal space. The eight inches of height and several pounds of muscle he has on Jihoon are enough to trigger anyone’s flight instincts, but he’s nothing but tender as he cups his hand under Jihoon’s chin, holding his gaze as his thumb comes to rest against his pulse point.

He looks Jihoon lingeringly up and down, mouth curving into a more appreciative grin as he whispers, “I think I’ll have that kiss now.”

Jihoon looks at his mouth, the soft amused shape of it, and maybe it’s the temptation to call his bluff, or maybe it’s the need to assure himself this is not just a figment of his imagination, or maybe it’s the knowledge that he’d regretted refusing once already, but he’s feeling reckless.

“Alright. But just a little one—”

He’s still talking when Seungcheol ducks his head down to capture his mouth, still cradling the phone, but he’s kissing back before he lets it slide from his fingers, before he frees his hands to grab at Seungcheol’s shoulders, dig in to that bulk of muscle and flesh and bone.

It’s nothing like a first kiss should be; it’s hungry and desperate right from the get go, all too quickly sliding into the realm of the deep and filthy lightning fast. Seungcheol kisses him like he’s on a deadline—all hands and messy desperation, sloppy mouths and teeth briefly joining lips and tongue— like he’s expecting a SWAT team to break down the door at any moment to cart him away forever. Jihoon doesn’t know where his own desperation stems from, but he’s leaning into it eagerly, his centre of gravity destroyed, the sounds he’s making against and into Seungcheol’s mouth, wanting and thick.

By the time they break apart, Jihoon’s breathing hard and considerably dishevelled, clothing askew and hair mussed to hell and back. His mouth feels used and bruised, wet lips buzzing from the memory of teeth. His only consolation is Seungcheol looks much the same, though he seems to recover faster.

“Not gonna lie. Been wanting to do that since you laughed at my god-awful joke.” He says hoarsely, then tightens his hold on Jihoon’s hips to drag him in closer, until the evidence of his arousal presses hot and hard against Jihoon’s own.

Jihoon stares up at him, eyes gone glassy and wild, still piecing his equilibrium back together. It takes him a moment to register those words.

“But...but it wasn’t an awful joke. I loved that joke. I’ve told it to so many of my colleagues, and they all laugh.”

Seungcheol groans and buries his face in the crook of his neck, making a sorrowful noise against Jihoon’s throat that passes for a laugh, more or less.

Warm hands beckon Jihoon back into another kiss before he can analyse the moment, and he finds himself helpless to resist. Seungcheol tastes of whiskey and peppermint gum, of heat and wonder, and endless possibility. Jihoon feels as though he’s been struck by lightning; as though he wants to bare his throat to the man and go down on his knees in front of him, something he’s never even close to felt with another person.

It’s not too long before he finds himself being guided back towards the couch, trying to clumsily offer assistance to the hands stripping him out of his clothes with masterful efficiency. Fantasies, he thinks, are all well and good, but they can never prepare you for reality. Not for the feel of Seungcheol’s mouth streaking kisses down his chest, the heat of his body as he presses him unerringly into couch. His hands are rough and demanding on Jihoon’s body, positioning him exactly how he pleases, the scrape of gun calluses over bared skin going straight to Jihoon’s dick.

He knew he was fucked months ago, but he hadn’t known just how fucked until right this moment, when Seungcheol spits generously onto his palm to slick his cock up and his first instinct is to roll onto his hands and knees and stick his ass in the air.

He hears Seungcheol chuckle and kick off his pants, get in close behind him, feels him fondle his ass and spread his cheeks apart with his thumbs. When he spits there too, right onto his twitching hole, it takes everything Jihoon has not to just come then and there.

“Like that, don’t you.” Seungcheol says in an amused, low purr, leaning over him, boxing him in. With one hand propping him up, the fingers of the other delve between Jihoon's cheeks, smearing spit around his rim and into him, “I knew you would. I knew from the moment we met you needed to unwind. You used to sit there all prim and pretty in those sweater vests and ties, but I could tell you wanted it filthy. You just needed to get railed.”

Jihoon’s cock twitches, flush with blood as desire flutters hot and deep in his gut. He takes a shuddery breath and starts rocking back against the fingers moving inside him, hoping that will be answer enough.

Seungcheol fucks him over the back of the couch the first time, the shiny leather creaking under their shared weight. He punches the air out of Jihoon’s lungs with each thrust, grips him too tight by the hips, leaving bruises in his wake, and Jihoon loves every second of it.

The spit isn’t nearly enough, but his body still opens, still pushes back, against Seungcheol, demanding more. The aching stretch, the satisfying fullness—it’s nothing like he’s ever experienced before, and Seungcheol’s going that hard, the deep with each thrust, brushing against a part of him too raw and too real, he is left shaking, cock slapping wetly against his lower abdomen, as hopelessly turned on as the rest of him.

He comes before Seungcheol does, with not so much as a hand on his prick. His entire body shakes violently with it, and he can hear himself, hear the sounds he is making, high and thready and foreign to him, even though his mouth is muffled against the couch cushions. 

Seungcheol pulls out only long enough to flip him over and prod tenderly at his used hole, then he’s hoisting Jihoon into his arms and up off the couch, carrying him carefully down the hall with his cock still slotted and jostling inside him.

“Don’t you dare pass out on me Doc, we are nowhere near finished. That was just a warm up.”

The bed, when they finally reach it, is noisy, almost comically so. The springs protest under them, squeaking and whining, and Jihoon can’t remember it ever sounding like that before. He’s never been fucked so good it made the bed creak.

Seungcheol wants to do it face to face this time, for some unfathomable reason, and Jihoon honestly doesn’t have the wherewithal to feel self-conscious about it. He’s lost track of time, lost track of himself, remade into something senseless and slutty and stupid by the delicious drag of Seungcheol’s cock inside him.

Seungcheol chants the same two words – good boy – over and over again as he rocks into him and fists his cock, and it would have been a crass thing to say if the look on his face wasn’t so damn soft.

It’s hard be looked at like that, with such open affection, such reverence, so Jihoon doesn’t let himself look back. He keeps his mouth pressed open to Seungcheol’s throat, his shoulder, to the skin just under the hinge of his jaw, chasing the salt of sweat, the hint of cologne.

When the blunt head of Seungcheol’s cock finds his sweet spot, he bites down, breaking skin, and Seungcheol groans and jerks against him, starts driving into him, hard.

“Don’t go shy on me now. C’mon baby, look at me.” Seungcheol says, gravel-thick, with a little bit of that goading that is second nature for him, but an undertow of desperation as well.

Jihoon obliges him, just briefly. Looks up at him through flickering lashes, his vision swimming, and is rewarded with one of Seungcheol’s charismatic smiles, the ones he has no defence against.

“Yeah, that’s it.” Seungcheol says, voice smudging into a heartfelt groan. “You’re beautiful... You’re fucking perfect is what you are....Worth every second I spent in there....Worth twenty years if I had to.”

Jihoon whines and shakes his head, overwhelmed by the fondness in his voice, the near reverence, the sensations only heightened with Seungcheol’s eyes trained on him.

Two, three, four thrusts later, Seungcheol comes snarling unintelligibly against Jihoon’s neck, with Jihoon's legs wrapped tight and sweaty around his waist. Body still trembling, he reaches a hand down between them, thumbs at Jihoon's cum-slick hole, until Jihoon starts clenching around him, scrabbling at his shoulders.

“Cheol! Ah-Cheol, please!” He gasps, eyes widening and breath hitching.

When Jihoon comes again, there’s no hope of muffling it this time. He tosses his head back and screams, Seungcheol’s tireless grin hovering over him, never ceasing, even as Jihoon’s come hits his chest and the underside of his chin.

“Aren’t you gonna tell me to put it out?” Seungcheol asks, his voice warm and amused, his mouth hot where it’s pressed against the sweat-slick curve of Jihoon's shoulder.

Pushing up onto an elbow, Jihoon plucks the cigarette from his lax grip and takes a slow drag before handing it back, lets that be enough of an answer.

In truth, he had thought about snapping at Seungcheol to put it out, thought about shoving him out of bed so he could go smoke out on the balcony, so he wouldn’t stink up the room. Then he thought about the warm dip in the mattress at his side, how the smell of smoke and cologne would linger on his sheets, and how wet his thighs felt, how he could feel Seungcheol’s come leaking out of him, and he didn’t want to change a thing about that moment. So he didn’t.

He collapses back against the bed, feeling fucked out and pleasantly used, that gnawing hunger inside himself finally slaked. The police could come in here at any moment and cart him away in handcuffs, and he honestly wouldn’t bat an eye. That’s how happy he is right now.

“Don’t you at least wanna know how I faked my death?” Seungcheol asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

He sounds like he means the question to be deep and serious, but sprawled on his side, head propped on a bent elbow while he stares down the length of Jihoon’s naked body, he looks nearly as blissed out as Jihoon feels.

“No, I already got it figured out.” Jihoon replies, affecting a bored tone. “It wasn’t all that complicated actually. Kinda amateurish if I’m being honest. I’m surprised everyone’s falling for it.”

Seungcheol guffaws so hard he ends up laughing and coughing at the same time, tears springing up in his eyes.

“Wow, okay. That is not fair. I don’t think you really appreciate just how complex that plan was. If anyone figures out the ins and outs of it, I bet you they’ll be tempted to turn it into a three-part film franchise or something.”

Jihoon huffs an amused breath as he replies, “Yeah, only if it’s staring Nicholas Cage.”

Seungcheol scoffs outrageously, blowing out another plume of smoke, then says in a tone of voice that sounds almost approving, “That is easily the most offensive thing anyone has ever said to me. Are you always this spicy after sex?”

Jihoon giggles into the bend of his arm, then stifles a yawn and stretches out to drag a pillow under his head.

Watching him through heavy lidded eyes, Seungcheol leans back towards the nightstand to tap off the ash in the dregs of a cold cup of coffee. When he settles back again, he throws an arm around Jihoon’s waist and uses it as leverage to gather him closer. Jihoon rolls with it, his body folding neatly against Seungcheol’s, his cheek coming to rest on his shoulder.

He’s still not sure if he’s allowed to touch freely, where he should put his hands, but then Seungcheol’s nosing at his temple and chuckling at his awkwardness, the sound rich and low and sparking a shiver of desire down his spine, and he just stops thinking and lets himself reach out, trailing curious fingers up and down his firm chest.

“Listen,” Seungcheol tells him after a few minutes, the tip of his dying cigarette trailing smoke through the air. “I hate to ruin the afterglow, but there’s a car waiting for me outside. They expect me to leave the country tonight.”

Jihoon feels himself start to tense up, but Seungcheol’s already shushing him, dragging his knuckles soothingly up and down his spine.

“Just hear me out, okay. I have to leave—Hansol’s in charge now, and it’s too risky for me to hang around here and ruin what he’s built. But I wasn’t jerking your chain earlier.” He puts his hand on the back of Jihoon’s neck, drawing little circles with his thumb. “If you’re interested, if you think you can see yourself leaving all this behind—”

He leaves the thought hanging there, abrupt and cut-off to take another drag off the cigarette.

Jihoon shifts to see him better, study whatever’s happening on his face, but his expression is lost in an exhale of smoke and so Jihoon closes his eyes, waits.

He shivers when Seungcheol’s mouth closes over his earlobe, shivers again when he whispers against his cheek, “I promise I’ll spend the rest of my life making it worth your while.”

Jihoon breathes in deep, lets the cigarette smoke fill his lungs.

“Okay.”

Fin.