"I thought I saw him when we ran around the corner of the building," Taemin rubbed a hand against his forehead. "But as soon as we reached the subway exit I knew he’d as good as disappeared into thin air." He slumped deeper into his chair. "Ah … I didn’t even get a good look or we could’ve called in a sketch artist."

They ran a race against time— chasing after the inhumanly crafty murderer. And every corner they turned in this ridiculously long-winded chase, they found another crime scene waiting for them like a gift; too late, too bloody late.

He hid in plain sight, he crept right before their eyes, he was someone they could never suspect. And he took advantage of this fact. As Jinki sat in the cafe and his eye rested for an equal interval on each person around him, he would never notice the bloody knuckles from punching the victim into submission; or the cut lips from the one time he was punched back.

As Taemin sipped from his cup, he would never find out about the bruised knee from running from the law, or the quickly stitched up bullet wound. He would never catch what was flaunting itself right in front of him. They were both too tired from running in dizzying circles, driving like dogs after their own tails.

At least they knew it was a he from the few times they’d managed to land a tiny scratch on the surface. If that was any consolation.

"It could be anyone," the younger hummed, today’s special performers in the cafe singing a beautifully written ballad in the background of their discussion— something their perpetrator was sure to be listening into if his recent threatening notes and evasive tactics were anything to go by. They couldn’t do anything about it, really. They’d just have to bait themselves.

Jinki rubbed a hand over his face, exhaustion rolling off of him in strong waves. “So what do you suggest? Giving up is not an option, you know?”

"Sometimes…" Taemin started, finger tracing a circle round the rim of his cup. "We have to accept defeat. There’s no other choice here… He’s had us running in circles for twenty weeks, and all we’ve managed to figure out is he’s a man," he chuckled at that. "And from some of those hazy pictures we got delivered yesterday we’re not even sure about that anymore."

"The law…" the elder began, looking lost as to how he should continue his argument. "You can’t just… I mean, we’re supposed to— ah, , I need more coffee." He raised his hand in the air to order some. A waiter came over and bowed low to receive his order.

"Yeah, you do," Taemin agreed, nodding once the waiter was gone. "But what we both need is a break. We can’t keep going on like this. It’s… it’s too much."

The singer on stage went into a guitar solo, and the two detectives turned their attention to him, as if it had been grabbed away from them. Snatched into a tight fist that strummed and picked strings as easily as picking flowers. They let their guard fall further down for this, allowing themselves a couple of smiles, swaying to the music and tapping their feet in time to it.

"He’s good," Jinki approved, grinning to his partner. He often suggested the other music, being called something of a musical genius around the station what with his humming and soft singing in the washrooms.

"Yeah."

They clapped when the song ended. Louder than anyone else in the room, enthusiasm bubbling from them like it hadn’t in many weeks of grueling work. And the appreciation got a bowed head, a tipped hat in response. The detectives hooted and requested an encore but the band waved saying they were going to take a break.

"Sir, your coffee," the waiter returned, then turned to Taemin. "And sir, a special drink for you. Compliments of our band tonight."

"Oh?" he said. "Well, why doesn’t he join us? Tell him we’d love to have some company on this dull table~"

Several minutes of waiting and a few sips of their drinks later, the guitarist reappeared before them, dragging a chair to their table and waving a greeting. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourselves tonight. We don’t usually get a big audience on weekdays, so this is—” he gestured to the two of them. “—encouraging.”

"I’m Kibum, by the way," the musician offered a handshake. Taemin accepted followed by Jinki. They introduced themselves but the latter paused a second before letting go.

"Oh, your knuckles… they’re all scratched. What happened?" he asked with concern.

"Ah this…" Kibum held his hand up as if admiring his nails. "Yeah I get really aggressive while playing rock ballads, heh~" he chuckled. "Kinda missed a few chords here and there. I guess I was too drunk… So what brings you to this downmarket part of town? You look like you guys work in some posh office."

"Ahaha, no, we’re just passing by," Taemin explained. "Ah I like your lip piercing," he pointed. "Must’ve been painful eh?"

"Yeah I still have the scar."

"So do you work here full-time or—?"

Kibum shook his head. “This was just a gig for two weeks. We’re a traveling band. We go from suburb to suburb trying to define our sound. Sometimes we do really rowdy underground clubs and… well. There’ve been some incidents, I’ll say that much.”

"Yeah I noticed you have something that looks a lot like a bullet wound," Jinki pointed. "Over there near your collarbone." He hissed when it was uncovered for him to see clearly. "Wow, that looks really bad. Gotta have a story behind that sort of thing…"

"Uhm… it’s actually from an iron rod." The detectives groaned in unison. "Yeah, the owner of one of those clubs tried to drive us out with this… thick metal rod and. Yeah." Kibum shrugged. "I got accidentally stabbed."

"You are really prone to injury, aren’t you?” Taemin joked and they all laughed.

"Well," Kibum clapped his hands and got up to leave. "It’s been really nice talking to you guys, I’m glad I could lift up your spirits tonight if only by a little bit." He stowed his chair back under its original table. "I should make a move," he pointed a thumb backstage. "We’ll be on again in an hour or so. If you guys stick around we could go for a drink!"

"Yeah," Jinki nodded. "Sure."

"We definitely should," Taemin agreed.

Kibum held up a hand and walked away. He continued walking through the backstage room, crossing the kitchen and storage area, exiting out to the back of the building. As he reached the dumpsters there he pulled out a lighter, pack of cigarettes from his pocket and took a long, satisfying drag.

"Time to resume the hunt, Detectives Lee," he smirked as a woman drunkenly staggered into his view.