Chapter 3: It Takes Two to Tango

“I see.”

Were her first words after Jongdae ended his, sparse on the details, retelling of this morning’s events. He reduced his entire predicament to a result of a sudden flight of rebellion against his family. Apparently it wasn’t as convincing as he thought it would be — even when taking his personality into account — as she continued to stare on at him with a hue of suspicion clouding her eyes.

Entertaining other thoughts in the hopes he’d think of something to bend her more towards the cause of helping him, he remembered something he’d wish he didn’t. His motorcycle’s well-being crossed his mind. His leg no longer pulsating with each breath he took as he focused his energy on protesting upwards. “Rose!”

Physically alarmed by his sudden proclamation, his attacker followed his gaze upwards, squinting to catch sight of what he had. “Rose?” she questioned hastily.

“My motorcycle,” Jongdae whimpered, that hole high above him never seemed as far as it did now.

Her shoulders slouched in indifference. “Anything left up there after sundown belongs to the scavengers.” Sighing deeply as her eyes scanned over his helpless body, skin pale beneath the smudges and smears of dirt, she added, “Besides, I shot you. Shouldn’t you be more worried about that?”

Her straightforward comment had Jongdae sitting straight up, eyes narrowed in distaste. “It’s already happened, so there’s no point in worrying about it. What I’m more worried about is how you expect me to get back home like this.”

Cradling his leg to his chest, he whispered a quiet “and it’s all your fault” to throw in just a pinch more guilt to the punch. It landed, a direct hit, as she growled out in frustration. He knew it now, as he locked eyes with her again, that he’d caught her. The emotion that now swirled across the vast, deep browns of her eyes had shown up right on time: pity.

She bit down on his bait, the word “family” always and forever working wonders, as she began to draw lines in the sand between them. Her mind working so fast he could practically hear the gears turning, she said, “Taking to the surface to walk back to the Haven would take too long.”

“Walk?” Jongdae gasped as though he’d never heard a more horrible suggestion in his life. As though she’d just proposed they hunt down and kill tiny puppies merely for the sake of collecting their once adorable husks. He earned a meaningful glare for his exaggerated astonishment.

“You’ll take to the Underground. Getting transportation to Clockwork City should be easy enough. From there it’s just an elevator ride on up into the Haven.”

“Clockwork City?” Jongdae repeated, unsure of whether or not she’d just made it up. It unnerved him to think she didn’t. To think everything she’d prattled on about up until this point, spouting words he didn’t know like “White Coat” left and right, was real. Exactly how much did he not know about the world he lived in?

His mind wondered, as it had the habit of doing, until he heard her next words of, “First, you go,” and before she could finish, he stopped her.

“Hey, wait!” he let go of his wound and reached out for her hand that traced arrows into the sand. Laying skin on skin. Hot to the touch. “Why does it sound like you’re giving me directions?”

She smacked his hand harshly, making him retract backwards. “Because I am.”

Jongdae breathed out in disbelief. “You shot me! Take responsibility!”

“You’re a White Coat,” she responded. Taking up that word like her Coat of Arms once more. Making it sound as though it justified every single one of her crimes against him up until this point — and if asked to list them out, Jongdae would be scribbling into the sand until the sun came up the next morning.

“I thought we already established I’m not!” he yelled. Panic filling to the brim. Choking him as he attempted to breathe in a throat full of grainy air.

“Then are you also able to prove to me you haven’t been eyeing my gun since you’ve regained consciousness?”

Jongdae froze, regaining feeling in his leg all at once. Just in time to feel the chill that ran up his spine. The beads of sweat that slid down his temple. His twitching fingers that would spasm whenever her holster, buckled against her waist, came into view. When he locked shaking eyes with her again, he saw something he’d never expected: pity.

Cleaning her hands of his blood on tattered pants, she knowingly bit down onto his pathetic bait. “I’ll help you as far as Clockwork City. After that you’re on your own, White Coat.”