26; Apology

‘So what made you join the force?’

The question was a terrifying one Officer Park Jimin never imagined he’d be asked. Especially not on a lively Friday evening, sitting in a bar, drinking cranberry juice instead of something more exotic, trying not to convince himself that the attractive woman sitting across from him was here most likely against her own will and not because she was his date.

Well, how did he manage to land himself in such a position?

It all began with… the sensation of cold water against hot skin that never felt as good as it did then. A groan followed the loud slap of water; wet hands shimmering over the silvery faucet as three fingers curled around the tap, subsequently closing it.

A drunken patron entered on wobbly legs; his shoulder colliding with the door that swung open to the men’s bathroom. Head heavy but vision sharp and acute with a little too much cognac, he noticed the lone presence within at the long line of mirrors.

Focusing on the form, he noted a man that stood over one of the three gleaming white sinks; his form toned and healthy, discernible from underneath the thin ivory of his shirt. The fabric stretched and pressed against every muscled plane of his back; thin, shadowy lines forming behind each crinkle under the bright white light of the restroom.

Well, not that it was impressive even to the drunkard then. Any man could pull that off in a white shirt if he was skinny enough, the jelly-legged man snickered, as he stalked past the individual in question. However, the thought was short-lived. The ivory shirt looked up; hands – albeit on the chubby side – moving from the bottom of his sculpted chin, over his full cheeks, and combing through his rusty bangs to reveal a water-glossed portrait of attraction.

In fact, the man behind him – despite his intoxicated state – did a double-take, staring with wide eyes while mentally correcting himself that perhaps it wasn't after all possible for just anyone to pull off whatever he just did. The pulls and tugs of his white shirt weren't simply a deceiving ploy to his physicality. Apart from the trickling water down his face and damp crimson hairline, there was also a wet patch at the front of his shirt; hidden beneath the thin line of his tie; but managed to expose a small portion of his impressive physicality. In fact, the damp area was smeared with something incredibly pale red on further inspection.

With a face and body like that, he certainly didn't fit the criteria for your general office worker, however his simple attire betrayed the thought. Maybe he was a model?  A male didn't sound all that shabby either for a second considering he was in a bar restroom, in possession of incredibly fine features, and what appeared to be lipstick smeared on his shirt. Yet the moment this most scandalous thought came to mind, the man hadn't realized he'd nabbed the attention of the presence in question.

The redhead turned; chin hovering over a broad shoulder as he returned his hands to the edge of the sink on either side, leaning forward.

'Evening,' he started; a confident gleam in his eye as he did so.

Overwhelmed by the magnitude of his good looks, husky voice, and confident approach, the older man responded with a nod of the head, quickly disappearing into an empty cubicle without further ado.

Eyebrows furrowed in the slightest at the odd encounter with an equally odd drunken patron at the bar, Jimin returned to his reflection. He stared at himself with an anxiety he never imagined possible. Not even the time he'd been thrown back into high school was as intense as this, and unconsciously, the officer's grasp tightened on the sink.

'It's not a date...,' he mumbled to himself; plump lips curling beneath his teeth and reappearing again with more colour than before.

'It's not a date, Park Jimin. Calm down. Whew.'

Little did the drunkard know, confidence was anything but what Officer Park felt at that point. What was meant to be a casual outing he suggested turned out to be one of the most stressful events in the officer’s life. And awkwardly tugging the front of his damp, ruined shirt under the heat of the drying machine mounted on the wall, he recalled the events leading to his current, most nerve-racking predicament.

‘You know what? Let’s go.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

The pair were staring intently at the large board in front of them; the pliable surface decorated with colourful thumbtacks pinned to small photographs, excerpts from their briefings, and other written plans of action on sticky notes. Not to mention the trail of bright orange wool that ran along almost every colourful dot in a series of complex webs leading from Kim Jongin, Moon Jihye, Byun Baekhyun, his father, and the headmaster of Melon High.

It had been over four hours of relentless digging at their information, but what was most notable about the occasion was the fact that it was their last night on the case. And their last opportunity to make a breakthrough with it. Ever since the dismissal of school, the two had rendezvoused at the precinct; their evening routines taking place within the police station, and revolving around their tireless work. So much so, that for the past four hours, the concept of taking a break was reduced to that of the refilling of coffee in their mugs.

Jimin needed to get out. And so did Kyungja, whose condition looked dangerous with her puffy eyes, furrowed eyebrows, and strained posture that he noted grew more worrying as they worked.

‘Come on. We’re going out,’ he appealed, rounding his shoulders in exhaustion as he tore his eyes away from the board to hold eye contact with her.

‘Besides, you owe me, right?’

He never imagined he’d play that particular card right then and there, yet Kyungja’s immovable determination and strict schedules proved gruelling. Any more reading and fact-finding through the mountain of documents they had, and Jimin was positive his brain would explode. Hence, the return of the favour she mentioned to him not long ago seemed like the only thing sufficient enough to encourage them taking a break.

However, Kyungja frowned in response. ‘Park, now is not the time. We only have roughly eighteen hours to establish a suspect.’

‘And that’s not going to happen in eighteen hours.’

The woman remained silent; eyes fixed intently on Jimin who only sighed in thought of the countless ripostes most likely swimming in her mind in retaliation.

‘Look. Let’s be honest with ourselves: this thing is a bust. Eighteen hours? Who are we kidding? That means we’ll have to work through all this information we’ve already worked through with no sleep at all, and I don’t see how that’s going to be productive.’

Jimin paused for a moment to note his partner’s reaction. He expected her to ready a retort to his words and prove him wrong somehow with her logic, yet all she preserved was silence, much to his surprise. In fact, she actually looked as if she were listening to his words with some measure of forethought. And noting her attentiveness, the officer continued with a hopeful shrug.

‘If anything, instead of being miserable zombies here, I say we go out with a bang.’

Oh, and what a bang it was, alright.

To his shock, Kyungja had accepted his proposal, albeit with some degree of hesitance. However, she couldn’t deny that her partner had a valid point. There was no use applying themselves to the redundant information they’d been sitting with for the past week instead of what they needed to be hard evidence to take action, and the exhaustion was certain to take a considerable toll on them both at some point.

Hence, why Officers Park and Woon were currently at the bar together on a Friday night.

Exiting the restroom looking slightly more rejuvenated thanks to cooling himself off with some water and tending to his stained shirt, the redhead returned to his table. Jimin battling with himself all the way between uncertain strides whether or not this classified as a date, and if it did, if he messed up already.

‘… Shirt?’

‘Huh?’ Jimin questioned from under his lashes after returning to his respective chair across from her; eyes wide and lips parted.

Kyungja set her tall glass of cranberry juice down. Eyes tearing away from the foolish crowd of young adults flailing around the blaring jukebox as if partaking in some ancient ritual at the far corner, she turned to face her partner.

‘Your shirt,’ she repeated over the noise. ‘How is it?’

Somehow, questions sounded incredibly foreign whenever they came from Kyungja. Nevertheless, Jimin made himself comfortable in his chair again; a hand reaching for his own glass of red juice on the cramped table.

‘Oh,’ he replied sheepishly, pinching the slightly wet area for effect as he did so. ‘I think it’s ruined.’

Living up to the notorious hustle and bustle of a weekend evening, the bar was packed. A generous number of young adults crowded the otherwise slow, easy-going territory of elderly men or office workers that sought out an escape from their troubles. Without a doubt, there was bound to be trouble brewing perhaps later on in the evening with the troublesome combination of youth and alcoholic concoctions, but for the moment, things were relatively merry and everyone seemingly minded their own business.

Staring at a baseball game on replay on the overhead CRT – despite it sounding as if it were on mute with the sheer n