Coffee in hand. Emails checked. Your morning routine was complete, except for the rare blinking light on your desk phone. You didn’t even know how to access your messages, you’d never done it before, people just sent emails nowadays. It took you a solid five minutes before you managed to figure it out.

“Miss Kang, this is Kwon Junsoo, from Card Services. I wanted to call personally to offer my apologies again about your many card malfunctions. Your access to level 6 room 613 has been corrected, and your card should be working again. Please let me know immediately if it does not, and we shall see about issuing you a new set with your new classifications to avoid future similar problems.”

Kwon Junsoo, he was the guy who fixed your card access a few days ago.

But you hadn’t had any recent card malfunctions.

What was he doing reissuing your access to Chen’s room?

Unless… was someone else… trying to get access to Chen?”

You dropped everything, taking the stairs two at a time. Thankfully your card still worked and hadn’t been disconnected. You barged right into Chen’s room without pausing in the observation room which would probably have been more professional.

He looked almost sheepish, as he sat on his bed. His hand moved to pull his sleeve down over his wrist but you had already seen the damage. “What happened to you?” You asked, grabbing his hand and pulling his sleeve up. His arm was littered with bruises and cuts, there was more black and blue than there was actual skin colour. As you looked at him for an answer, you saw the bruises fading back into his hairline, the messy cuts along his cheekbones, and you could imagine the rest of him was in the same state.

He grinned, his whole face wincing with the effort.  

“Some prissy came to see me, might’ve given her a show.”

You groaned, needing no more description than ‘some prissy ’. You dropped his hand, but didn’t sit down. You felt like you’d be leaving soon to do damage control. “What kind of show?”

“The biggest brightest moon she’s ever seen.”

Chen did not moon Sora….

“Is anything damaged?” You asked, eyeing the way his breathing seemed shallower than usual.

He shrugged, “I’ve had worse.”

“Ok, you sit tight, I’m going to go fix this.” You marched out of the room and head straight for the first floor, checking all of your phones recorded calls and emails on the way. There was nothing recent to or from Card Services.

The same two bumbling idiots were at the desk again, but they had a lot more to say than they did last time.

“Yeah, you sent us really intense messages last night about your clearance being revoked again, so we issued you a temporary pass to your interrogation room because you said you really needed it, you sent your friend to pick it up for you. We have all your emails right here.”

You demanded to see the screen, and they showed it to you easily, as if thrilled to catch you in such a bad mood, excited that you were in a bad situation, gleeful to get back at you for the way you’d gotten them yelled at before. Damn it. These emails were sent from your account, but they were no longer in your sent folder on your phone. She must have deleted them.

You didn’t know where Sora’s office was, but you knew Xiumin was on the seventh floor with Baekhyun. Yoona hadn’t swiped her card to use the elevator, just to access the room, so you’d be able to go up to the floor to find Sora, at least.

You saw her just as she was going through a door, and it was a run to catch it. She’d already gone in the interrogation room, but you didn’t have time for her to wait to be finished. She’d not given any thought to you last night, why should you give her any decency?

You opened the door, standing in the entryway to the holding room, startling the both of them. It was the first time you’d seen Xiumin and wow, he was not doing well. He looked in a lot worse condition than Chen, more tired, more yellow bruises from days past, a sallowness around his cheeks. Was she depriving him of food as well?

Sora looked furious at the intrusion, but you knew she wouldn’t dare say anything in front of Xiumin.

“Could I speak to you for a moment?” You asked her, feigning calm and professionalism.

“I’m actually in the middle of something right now.” She said through gritted teeth.

Xiumin laughed, “oh I don’t mind, go ahead!”

“It really can’t wait.” You said, not looking away. She could tell that you weren’t about to leave anytime soon, and got up to stalk into the observation room with you.

 “That was so unprofessional.” She said.

“Unprofessional? You want to talk to me about unprofessional?” You said, “You have no authority to hack into my emails and pretend to be me. You have no authority to do anything for Chen, and certainly no authority to send him for discipline!”

“Did I? I don’t remember that.”

“Who do you think you are? You had no right to do any-”

“And I didn’t do anything.”

“How can you just lie? He saw you, you talked to him!”

“Well even if someone did that, I’d be on their side because it’s about time you gave that rude brat a beating.”

“Beating them does nothing! How can you be so cruel to send them down for not cooperating?”

“They’re criminals, of course they’re not cooperating.”

“That doesn’t mean they deserve beating, they’re still people!”

Sora shrugged, a smug little grin on her stupid face. “Are you done? I have work to get back to.”

“I’m going to get you back for this.” You seethed, seeing red in the corner of your vision at her smug little smile. You left the room and she went back to her interrogation, neither of you noticing that the door to the holding room had been cracked open the whole time, the boy inside listening with a raised brow and a grin.

=====

                Your next stop was on the fourth floor, at Mr. Im’s office.

                “Well I don’t see how there’s been any harm done.” He said, sitting behind his desk while you explained the situation to him.

                “No harm done? No– what? How can you say that?” How could he sit back and let Sora walk all over you like that! Weren’t there laws? Maybe you’d know if you’d actually listened during the workplace harassment meeting. You’d be damned if you ever admitted that to Ms. Ahn though.

                “You still hadn’t sent Chen downstairs, if this hadn’t been taken to hand I would have sent him down myself soon.” He said it so evenly, as if it was actually reasonable.

                “Why?” You asked, exasperated with the obsession this department had with discipline, “Beating a person never gets answers, especially not trustworthy ones.”

He looks down at you over his glasses, “these are the methods we use because they have been proven to work. If you aren’t willing to comply with them then we will have to re-evaluate your usefulness on this team.”

You frown, holding back all retorts what was balling up inside you. But you stood up, “understood, sir.”

“Also, I’ve been informed by the higher-ups that in light of recent events, our possession of them within the DOI has been restricted to fourteen days, keep this in mind when you are deciding your interrogation tactics.”

His words were said delicately, like icing on some fancy cake, but the meaning was clear. Hurt him or lose your job.

Threat taken.

=====

                “Alright, clothes off.”

                He smirked, “I knew it. I knew you couldn’t resist this much gorgeousness.”

                You didn’t crack a smile, “the cut on your face is still a mess, so I assume the rest of you is the same and I’m not letting you sit here like this waiting for infection. Clothes off.”

                He looked at you, lips curled like it was some kind of joke, but still began working at the buttons on his collar.

                “Are you wearing anything under that?” You asked warily.

                He grinned. “Nope.”

                You sighed, taking off your cardigan and passing it to him. “Cover yourself with this.”

                “Not interested in the goodies?”

                “Not even close.”

                He chuckled, but covered himself with your jacket while he slid the jumpsuit down past his legs and sat on the bed.

                You stomach fell as you looked at him, what had they done to him? He had welts all over his ribcage, bruises spilling over his shoulders, dark circles around his wrists and ankles…

                “Did they restrain you?” You asked, horrified.

                He cocked his head, “Don’t you know what they do?”

                “No! I would never have sent you down! Just be quiet, I’m angry enough already.”

                You sat down next to him, the disinfectant pads beside you. Carefully, you started with his wrist, dabbing at the wounds. Surprisingly, he stayed silent, his slow breathing was the only noticeable movement on his part. You went inch by inch, cleaning practically his whole arm before you got up to the darkness oh his shoulder.

                Strangely, this was calming you down. It was methodical, easy, it didn’t require thought. You just had to focus on the next cut, the next bruise, the curve of his collarbone, the line of his jaw.

                Again, you were struck at how good looking he was. You’d noticed it when you first saw his file, but you’d been frustrated and run off your feet since then. This quiet time where you could let your life catch up to you, you could realise just how gorgeous he was. When you got to the cut on his cheekbone you let your hand slip, and run across the unbroken skin there. His cheekbones were real, was it sad to say you were a tad jealous?

                And the jut of his collarbones…

                No, your focus was shifting too much. Get the job done and get out.

                And get your cardigan back. And wash it. Thoroughly.

                You moved down to his abdomen, and you could feel the muscles tensing underneath.

                “Hurts bad?”

                He grunted, and immediately you were imagining him curled on the ground, booted feet kicking him, blood spurting from his lips. Your anger returned tenfold.

                But you kept your hands gentle and soft as you dabbed at his damaged skin, over his abs, round to his lats, wiping the congealed blood and scabs from the dips of his spine.

                “Wish I could give you a bandage for this.” You murmured as you cleaned a dangerous cut on his thigh. But it was too dangerous, you wouldn’t just be kicked off the case you’d lose your job, you’d be barred from any agency for the rest of your career. What you were doing already was risky enough.

                You appreciated he wasn’t saying anything, making it easier for you to keep going, you could pretend it wasn’t him. Pretend you were just helping some random person, not a criminal you were supposed to be hurting. You pulled back, looking over him with a critical eye again, seeing if you’d missed anything.

                “How are you feeling?” You asked, looking at him.

                He met your eyes. You were closer to him than you’d ever been, sat next to each other on his bed, him fully unclothed except for your cardigan preserving his modesty.

                “Better.” He said, “You didn’t have to do that, you’re probably risking your job.”

                You hesitated, “I don’t know what you’ve done, but you deserve more than this.”

                “I’ve never killed anyone, if that makes you feel better.” He grinned.

                You grinned back. “Thanks, that helps.”

                “Now, not that I don’t love being …”

                You passed him the jumpsuit quickly, turning your back with blushing cheeks as he laughed at you.

                “Last chance, sure you don’t want a peak at the goodies?”

                “Get dressed!”

                “Only joking, you can peek whenever you want.”

                “Chen!”

=====

                Yun-Hee: Night out?

Can’t, sorry :(

Hei-Ran: Why not! You need some stress relief!

Just need a quiet night in

Another time 😊

Laying on your couch, you scooped a spoon of ice cream into your mouth.

It was just a little tub, one of those ones that you pay too much for but is just for circumstances where you really need it. And boy, did you need it. 

What did you know about Chen?

He’d never killed anyone.

He could handle a beating.

He was stubborn.

He was a musician, a piano player.

He had great mental control.

He had a sense of humour.

He seemed to be a decent guy, crimes beside.

He was loyal.

He liked hot chocolate.

He grew up in a happy home.

He also hated Sora, so he was a good judge of character.

…. None of this was useful. You imagined yourself going into the meeting and standing to announce that Chen played the piano, you’d be a laughing stock. And if Mr. Im had been telling the truth, and you had been cut down to a 2-week interrogation window, then you only had 6 days left….

And as you thought more about him, thoughts pulled at the edges of your memory, thoughts of the hard expanse of his chest, the pale scar over his heart that was no doubt a death-defying tale, the ribbon of muscle on his arms, the tendons on the back of his palm…

You had been too caught up with rage and conflict back in the holding room, but now it was hitting how close you’d been to his body, and how mature he’d been with the whole thing. Despite his comments, you hadn’t even considered that he would try anything, already you’d felt safe in the room with him, safer with him than with any of your research team.

You sighed, eating another spoonful.

All of the information you’d gathered was useless. You still didn’t know his real age, his real name, who he worked for, what he’d done, what he’d been doing the night he was arrested. Nothing.

But how do you get someone to give you information that they don’t want to give? Beating Chen had no impact, not that you ever thought it would. In those circumstances, people were more likely to lie just to give you an answer than to give you a truthful one. You could never trust an answer given under duress. The trick was to earn their trust and let them tell you, but with only 6 days left….

You got up, hooking your recorder up to the speakers again.

“Would you please join me at your table?”

The whistle.

“Aren’t I lucky?”

You drifted into your kitchen, pulling ingredients out of your fridge and cupboards.

“There’s a pretty girl keeping me locked up so she can do naughty things to me. Think you can do something about that?”

You preheated the oven, piled ingredients in a frying pan.

You generally listened to music when you cooked (or attempted to cook), but this time you were listening to Chen. Scouring his words for anything you may have missed, anything you’d overlooked. Hearing his words, listening to subtext under the husk of his voice, the depth of his laughter.

Just listening.