A young boy lay on his mattress, pyjamas on and lights turned off. It was bedtime in his new home- only the soft snores of children disturbed the silence, and the darkness was enough to lull one off to dreamland. That was where this boy in pyjamas was expected to be. But contrary to what one might believe, he wasn't sleeping. He  couldn't sleep. He was too cold.

The boy shivered. His name was Sungjong and right now, he was lying on his left side, curled up in a vulnerable fetal position. Sungjong hugged his pillow close to himself in an effort to warm up. About half an hour earlier, a few of the older boys had barged in, claiming they needed to 'borrow' his blanket for the night. They'd pulled it off of his body with a single yank, sending him threatening looks if he so much as dared to protest.

Squeezing his eyes shut, the child waited for the night to pass by. He supposed he couldn't blame them for what they had done. After all, it was wintertime, and the house always seemed to be cold now. There simply wasn't enough money to keep the heaters on throughout the night. The matron didn't have enough to buy thicker covers, either. So really, it made sense that they had taken his blanket for warmth, but... Why him? Why was it always Sungjong who got picked on like this? He was new, sure, but that didn't mean anything. New kids came in all the time, but they didn't get bullied. Only Sungjong.

It just wasn't fair.

Sungjong shivered violently again. He considered using his jacket for cover, but then remembered it was lying in the laundry basket. Darn it. The boy hugged his pillow tighter. Guess his only choice was to endure the cold for the night.

At that moment, the door creaked open. Sungjong stiffened where he was. He thought wildly, 'Oh, no- they're back! What do I do? What if they take more of my stuff? I can't say anything if they do. And if I try to wake Miss up, they'll bully me even more-'

A rustle of fabric interrupted his panicked thoughts.

"Here," a low voice said. A wool blanket was thrown over his form, protecting him from the cold. Sungjong instinctively grabbed onto it. It was scratchy and smelled a bit like mothballs, but he didn't care. At least it was warm. "Use this. Ignore the smell. It was the biggest one I could find."

Sungjong cracked his eyes open. Standing in front of him was a familiar figure, hair disheveled and pale skin illuminating in the dark.

"Myungsoo?" he called softly.

The older boy half-smiled.

"Sorry it took so long," he answered. "I didn't know they took your blanket until I heard them laughing just now. Those idiots forgot we have extras in the towel closet." Myungsoo shook his head in disgust, then glanced down at his friend.

"You can sleep now," he told Sungjong. "We'll get your blanket back later, okay? Don't worry. And you shouldn't be so scared of those guys, you know. That'll only make them pick on you more."

Sungjong slowly nodded. "Thank y-" he began to say, but Myungsoo was starting to leave the room. His words died on his lips as he watched his friend go, slipping through the door like liquified silver.

When his friend had disappeared from sight, the small boy allowed his eyes to close shut.

"Thank you, Myungsoo," he whispered in the dark.

--------

Cold. That was Sungjong's first thought as he stepped out of his car. It was too cold.  The weather was simply too chilling for a November's day- the wind was blowing about and the sky was dark and dreary, promising of a heavy storm later on. Shivering, the man tightened the scarf around his neck before closing the door.

"I should have worn a warmer jacket," he mumbled under his breath. Sighing, he glanced up at the desolate sky for a second, then went over to where Myungsoo was standing.

The ravenet made neither noise nor movement as his companion approached him. Instead, he continued to stare at the house in front of them. There was no expression on his face at all, nothing to hint as to what he was thinking. His normally dark eyes seemed ten times blacker than before. The colour made them appear shadowed, and, well... Distant.

Almost like he wasn't really there.

Sungjong hesitated. In a worried fashion, he knit his brows together and swept his gaze over Myungsoo's still figure. His friend had been acting queer ever since the morning, when they'd left their homes together for their trip. Silent, out of sorts, and strangely moody, he refused to respond to Sungjong's attempts at cheerful conversation. Instead, he had stared straight on ahead, arms crossed and mouth twisted in a little frown.

The younger male cleared his throat.

"Myungsoo?"

No response. Sungjong waited a moment before trying again, this time louder and more confident.

"Myungsoo?"

His friend jerked his head back. "What- I- Oh, Sungjong." He relaxed a tiny bit. "Sorry, I wasn't listening. What were you saying again?"

Sungjong stared at him. "Nothing. I wasn't saying anything. I... It's just..." Again, he paused in his words, trying to find the right thing to say without sounding like a completely insensitive jerk.

"Are you okay?" he finally settled on. "You've been acting weird all day. Are you sick? Is it stress from the case? If you're tired, you could have said so. I wouldn't have minded waiting to come here next week..." His voice trailed off when his companion abruptly turned to his direction.

Myungsoo returned his gaze without saying a single world. Perhaps it was due to the lack of sunlight or the pale pallor of his skin, but the bags underneath his eyes seemed more pronounced than before. Sungjong was thinking about how exhausted he looked when the man suddenly turned around, going back to staring at the house.

"Yeah. I'm fine. I'm not getting sick or anything. I just have something on my mind... Trust me, Sungjong. I'm okay." For a brief second, he closed his eyes shut. Then as quickly as the pause had come, Myungsoo spoke up once more.

"And don't lie to me. You would  have minded, I know that. If we hadn't come today, you'd be feeling really upset and angry with me."

The younger agent opened his mouth to protest (though with what denial, he didn't know. His friend was right- he wouldn't have been able to wait another day, actually. Today was just too important to him). Myungsoo, however, interrupted his train of thought by nodding his head at the house.

"Look, Sungjong. It's wearing down now."

Deciding to drop the argument, the brunet pursed his lips and followed Myungsoo's line of vision. His eyes rested on the house his friend was observing. It was a large building, painted white and surrounded by a picket fence.  But as nice and fairytale-like as it sounded, the older agent's comment of wearing down  had to be an understatement. The paint was chipped and peeling severely, and Sungjong could see places where bricks were missing. The windows had no panes in them, too. It looked as if somebody- maybe a juvenile teenager- had smashed them to pieces for fun. He remembered how clean and pleasant the house had looked before... How, during his first day, he'd hesitated for only a few seconds before entering... And just like that, memories of his childhood came rushing back to his head.

'I'm cold...'

Silently, almost unnoticeably, as if Sungjong himself were not aware of it, his hands tightened into hard, tightly clenched fists.

Myungsoo continued, oblivious to the change in Sungjong's demeanor. "It's been seven years since we left this place. More than seven years, actually. It doesn't feel like it's been that long, does it?"

Sungjong forced himself to relax. "Maybe that's the way you feel. I don't know about myself. I don't really think about it. But," he coughed, trying to rid of the slight bitter note in his voice, "I think we were the lucky ones. We actually managed to leave in time. Just a few days after we left, the whole orphanage shut down. The matron was crying about it and everything."

"I remember." Myungsoo closed his eyes again. "There wasn't enough financial support to keep it running, so the government aborted it. The kids who weren't of age were sent to another orphanage- somewhere in Daegu, I think- and the matron went to live with her son. She sent us another letter, by the way. Said she'd like to see how much we've grown and that we should visit her one day."

He opened his eyes and glanced at the wrecked building. "It was nice," he said in a lower tone. "I mean, if you think about the reason why we'd been sent here in the first place, I shouldn't be saying something like that. But in all honesty... I really liked it here. It felt like home."

A silence fell upon the two men. As they continued to look at the remains of what had been their old homestead, the wind blew high above them. It rushed below the clouds and through the treetops, causing leaves to move in a frenzied and unpredictable dance.

Myungsoo was the first to speak. "We'd better get going," he said. With slow, steady movements, he began to walk back towards the car. "There'll be a storm in the evening, and we still have to visit the cemetery."

The younger man gave no answer. He carried on staring at the old house. It was as if he hadn't even heard his friend leave.

"It was nice. I mean, if you think about the reason why we'd been sent here in the first place, I shouldn't be saying something like that. But in all honesty... I really liked it here. It felt like home."

Sungjong dug his nails into his palms. It hurt, but the pain helped clear his head. It kept the memories from flashing in his mind. It stopped him from protesting, throwing fists, yelling until his throat was hoarse, or even grabbing Myungsoo by the collar and demanding to know how in Christ's name he liked  it so much.

"It was like hell to me," Sungjong said quietly.

------------

About an hour later, Myungsoo found himself sitting on the ground. It was still cold, but he didn't mind. He would be going home soon anyway. Before him were two matching gravestones. They were a bit dusty and had the smallest of cracks forming around the edges. Not a surprise, as they were more than two decades old. Both of them were inscribed with writing and black-and-white photographs, pictures of a solemn-looking man and woman. Pictures of people Myungsoo both knew and thought of as strangers.

Here lies Kim Seungwook, a great man and subject of the Lord. A loving father, faithful husband, and dutiful son. May he forever rest in peace...

'Loving father?'  Myungsoo had to stop himself from snorting. Just because he wasn't very fond of his parents didn't mean he had to be disrespectful.

The dark-haired man tried again. He looked behind him to make sure Sungjong wasn't within earshot- he saw his friend was at the far end of the row, kneeling in front of his own parents' graves- and turned forwards once more. He gazed at the onyx stones for a moment before clearing his throat. It was safe to say he had no idea what the heck he was doing.

"Hello, Mother and Father." His greeting sounded funny to his ears. Perhaps a touch too formal? "How are you doing? It's been a while. I hope this year has treated you well." He gave a traditional bow to the graves, trying to show his respect.

After a silent moment of remembrance, he pulled himself back upright. He glanced at the memorial stones again. As he did, an awkward, "I-don't-know-what-to-talk-about" sort of feeling came over him. It troubled Myungsoo greatly. What was there to do? What was there to say? He had barely known these people even when they'd been alive.

"So..." The agent readjusted his position. "I... I guess I'm okay. Everything's fine with me. Well, not entirely fine. There's a pretty tough case at work to figure out. We're all going crazy trying to catch the killer. And besides that, there's..." He bit his tongue when he realized what he'd been about to say out loud.

"And besides that, there's this new guy at work who's annoying the hell out of me. First he treats me like an idiot, then we start becoming friends, and now he's acting like we've never even met! What's up with that, huh?"

Myungsoo exhaled a deep breath. A new wave of frustration washed over him, mixed with fatigue and weariness. It was like that day in the elevator all over again. He was tired, had been through a restless night, and was plagued by thoughts of a certain bipolar newcomer. In fact, he'd been so exhausted, he hadn't been able to converse with Sungjong all day, let alone even mention what was bothering him. Myungsoo felt bad, but there wasn't anything he could do. This wasn't something he wanted to speak to other people about.

The agent let out another sigh.

"Lee Sungyeol, you'll be the death of me," he mumbled. For what felt like the fiftieth time in the day, he closed his eyes and tried to catch a moment of rest.

It bothered him, it really did. It bothered Myungsoo so much that he hadn't been able to sleep at all the night before. Instead, he'd thought about his new partner and the sudden change in his attitude. As Woohyun would say, what the ?  Why had Sungyeol been so cold yesterday? What had made him shut himself up so abruptly? There obviously had to be something  disturbing the auburn-haired rookie. People didn't go from being civilized to cold and distant for no reason.

Maybe he should try talking to him again. Perhaps he could try finding the newcomer at work tomorrow and have a chat... But the more Myungsoo thought about it, the more he suspected it wouldn't work. If what Yongguk had said the other day was true, then Sungyeol wouldn't give in so easily. He had spent a long time alone, after all, and being alone meant building up defenses. It would take more than a simple discussion to break down the walls around his heart.

Feeling a headache coming on, Myungsoo tiredly ran a hand through his hair. Before, he had been somewhat looking forward to his and Sungjong's day out. Now all he wanted to do was go home and sleep.

'Guess I'd better wrap this up and head back to the car. Sungjong will kill me if he finds out I only talked about work.'  Myungsoo looked back at the gravestones. He sat there in silence for a moment, trying to sort out his feelings and find the right thing to say.

"Alright. Let me try again. Sorry, Mom and Dad. I'm not really good at talking about this stuff..." Briefly, he glanced over his shoulder to where Sungjong was. His friend was still kneeling down, head bent and hands clasped together. "If you were still here, you'd probably wish you had someone like Sungjong as a son. I know you would have liked him. He's a good guy.

"I'm having a lot of trouble right now, to be honest. It's hard knowing what to say, especially when you're speaking to people you barely know. I'm sorry. I wish I could blame it on my memory. I was only a kid, you know, when that bus hit your car..." As he spoke these words, Myungsoo was surprised to feel an odd sense of pity. For what reason, he didn't know. Maybe it was pity for himself and his parents. Pity for the family who would never be together. "But I can't put the blame on a bad memory. That awkwardness came from the three of us.

"I don't think we were ever a real family," he said softly. "I spent more time alone than I did with you. And on the rare times we managed to be together, I had no idea how to act or what to say to you two. Don't get me wrong; I'm not angry or anything. It was okay. I was fine with it. I resented you a little, sure, but I didn't hate you for it. Because deep down, I think I knew you loved me. You never really showed it, but you cared for me. I'm grateful for that. So... Thank you."

Myungsoo faltered. He had no idea what to say next. What came after the "I-know-you-loved-me/ Here's-my-appreciation" part? He was spared the trouble, however, when a quiet voice spoke up behind him.

"Do you feel better?"

It was Sungjong. Myungsoo hadn't even noticed when his friend had walked up to him- it must have been sometime during his heartfelt and rather embarrassing speech.

Myungsoo cleared his throat. "What do you mean, do I feel better?"

The lithe man plopped down on the grass beside him. "You've been acting strange all day," he answered. "I was getting worried. I didn't think it was because you were up the whole night, but I didn't want to push it. Figured you'd say when you wanted to."

"Yeah, thanks for that." Myungsoo avoided talking about Sungyeol. He nodded his head at his parents' graves. "I guess I feel a little better. I'm still looking forward to going home and getting more sleep, though."

"You can sleep in the car. I don't mind driving."

"Thanks." Feeling a yawn coming on, Myungsoo tried to stifle it the best he could. The effects of staying awake throughout the night were finally catching up to him. "Hey, how'd it go with your parents?"

"Fine." There was a funny note in Sungjong's voice. As Myungsoo looked towards his friend, he realized Sungjong wasn't even looking at him. He was staring at the gravestone on his other side. "I spoke about the usual, you know. Wondered how things would be if they were still here... And there was something else..."

"Yeah?"

Sungjong was still avoiding his eyes. "This year, I talked about something different. I mentioned how I'm always hiding my true feelings about stuff, and that I'll never be truly happy if I don't take a chance. I told them how tired I am of waiting. I made a promise, too, that I'd do it when the time is right. I think they'd be glad to know I'm finally doing something about this."

"Okay." Myungsoo glanced quizzically at his friend. "And what exactly is the promise you made-" He got cut off when Sungjong suddenly turned around, grabbed him by the collar, and closed the distance between their lips.

Myungsoo widened his eyes. Sungjong. Kiss. Sungjong was kissing him.  His first instinct was to pull away, to put more comfortable distance between the two of them. But when he tried to move back on his journey for personal space, Sungjong simply kissed him harder. His grip on the older male's jacket tightened. It was as though he was determined to get his feelings across to Myungsoo, no matter what kind of response- be it a rejection or acceptance- he'd receive afterwards.

'Not even caring if I answer, only making sure he goes through with it...'  Myungsoo thought dazedly. 'Was this the promise you were talking about, Sungjong? Exactly how long have you been hiding these feelings of yours?'

A minute passed- or had it been five? Ten? Maybe even an hour? Myungsoo didn't know. He was still feeling stunned and quite taken aback- before Sungjong finally ended the kiss. He released his hold on Myungsoo's shirt and quickly stood up. All the while, he still did not make any eye contact whatsoever.

"Sorry. That was just something I had to do."

Myungsoo stayed where he was. "I..." he began, not knowing what he could say. It was like greeting his deceased parents all over again. Completely at a loss for words, he had no clue as to how he should proceed next. He had never been in a situation such as this before... What should he do? Where were Yongguk and his damn pearls of wisdom when he needed them?

The agent slowly raised his head. He wasn't even sure how he should face his friend. "Sungjong... I..."

At that moment, Myungsoo stopped himself short. He caught sight of something behind his companion that made him cut his words off completely. It knocked the breath right out of his chest, caused the words on his lips to die and fizz out as easily as they had been formed (Myungsoo would realize later how much more of an effect seeing that  had on him than the kiss).

It was a man. Tall, pale, and dressed in a simple black coat, he was standing at the far end of the cemetery. He fit in rather well with the dark and disturbing atmosphere. In fact, the man was standing so still and with such an indifferent look on his face, one could easily mistake him for a statue. And Myungsoo almost did. It was only the familiarity of the man's features, his physique, and the auburn-coloured hair that kept him from doing so.

'Sungyeol?'

[A/N]  Yay, an update. Wish I could sound more excited, but I'm not satisfied with this chapter. I think I might edit it later when I have the time (poor Sungjong... You guys probably want to kick me ;;-;;)