Today is a Tuesday morning just like any other, and yet it’s a Tuesday completely different from all the others because Kim Minseok is not known to be this cheerful on Tuesday mornings and especially not when he’s at work.

No, this seemingly normal Tuesday morning is in fact unlike any other. Kim Minseok knows this, but he tries hard to ignore this fact as he nudges the door open with two cardboard cups of coffee in his hand.

“Two piping hot Americanos, one with a shot of hazelnut – that’s mine – and one with two shots of caramel – that’s yours.” He grimaces as a blast of cold air hits him – they have to keep their working environment cold for reasons he understands perfectly but won’t hesitate to whine about simply because he’s never been good friends with the cold.

Luhan laughs at Minseok when he sees him. “You’re all wrapped up like a dumpling!”

Most of Minseok’s face is hidden by his scarf and ridiculous bobble hat, but what’s visible slowly turns scarlet as he sputters half-hearted excuses about why he can’t stand the cold, and Luhan just smiles.

“Come on, baozi, let’s go get you a hot coffee – my treat today!”

The fingers wrapped around the coffee cups tighten ever so slightly before Minseok places them onto the table. “Drink fast,” he advises. “The coffee won’t stay hot for long in this temperature, and you know you have to drink your coffee hot or the caramel’s going to taste even more revolting than usual.”

Luhan pouts at Minseok. “You’re always picking on my coffee… That’s mean, baozi.” Despite how hurt he sounds, the flicker of amusement in his eyes gives him away. Minseok smirks.

“You’ll get over it, baby.” he coos, and laughs when Luhan swipes his coffee from him.

Luhan takes a gulp of Minseok’s coffee and pulls a face. “I really don’t get your taste, baozi – with only a shot of hazelnut, what’s there to taste?”

“The taste of the coffee instead of whatever artificial sweetener I choose to put into it, maybe.” Minseok retorts. Luhan shrugs.

“Whatever your crap taste in caffeine, at least I can say that you have decent taste in men.” He teases with a wink.

His smile wavers for a second before he firmly pushes it back into place. He has work to do, on this Tuesday morning so seemingly like all the others.

“We’ve got to get to work, don’t we?” he whispers. “Luhan?”

This isn’t real. None of this is real, and yet the little voice in the back of his head tells him that this is indeed reality instead of some sick dream he’s half-convinced he’s in. He fights to pull himself together as he stares at the body lying on the surgical steel table before him – he knows it too well.

Voices from everyone else are fading in and out as though he’s listening to them from underwater – he vaguely hears someone talking about a mark on the corpse’s torso that could tie in to some serial killer case the homicide department’s working, and registers some murmurs of agreement. None of that matters, he wants to scream. How could anyone care about that at a time like this?

Senior officer Kim Joonmyeon is a strict man by nature, but his voice is unexpectedly gentle as he leads Minseok from the room. “I’m sorry.”

Minseok doesn’t trust himself to speak, barely managing something resembling a nod. Joonmyeon continues: “I know this is extremely difficult for you to accept, Minseok – you were colleagues and partners, and we all know you loved each other. You’re the best forensic pathologist we’ve got, Minseok, and in a regular case I would ask you to assist in the investigation, but you and I know this isn’t a regular case and that’s why I need to ask you now: Do you want to step down from this investigation?”

Even before Joonmyeon finishes his sentence Minseok is shaking his head. “I’ll do it, sir,” he croaks out. “I have to, for him. He’d want that.” Joonmyeon nods then, clapping a hand to his shoulder and promising a listening ear should he need anyone, and then Minseok is standing alone outside the room and it takes a while before he realises that he’s a sobbing shaking mess, shoulders heaving with each breath he pulls in as he cries.

He’s never been a pretty crier – that’s always been Luhan. He was never the force’s best either – that was always him and Luhan working together because together they were a formidable duo, wringing secrets from the dead.

But now Luhan is lying cold and motionless and dead on the table like all the countless bodies before him did too, when they had worked together as a team to assist their colleagues, determining the manner of death for each body that had been handed to them.

“I’m sorry, Luhan.” Even as Minseok pulls the plastic sheet off the corpse of the man he knows and loves – even as he gazes at eyes that will never open again, at hands that will never swipe his coffee again, at lips that will never kiss him again or pull up into that smirk he will never see again, his vision blurs and a wet warmness coats his cheeks.

“I’m sorry, baozi.”