Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

All Jisung could hear was the sound of his own heavy breathing. Blood dripped onto the ground beneath him as he limped slowly across the forest floor. Jisung let out a pained groan as he clutched his bleeding side, crimson staining his fingers. 

How did it come to this?

He was fighting for his life, bleeding heavily as he tried to find his way through the dense thicket of the forest. The rustles and shadows made him feel uneasy, making his heart race with panic when he was already trying so hard to keep himself calm. 

He had separated from him . Jisung didn’t even know if he was still alive. 

What if the killer had gotten to him first? 

No .

He couldn’t let himself think that way. 

The searing pain from his wound shot through him so suddenly, he couldn’t find the strength to hold himself up anymore. Jisung crumpled to the ground, gasping as he tried to catch his breath, his arms trembling as he struggled to push himself up.

Is this what it felt like to die? The thought clawed at the back of his mind, but he shoved it aside. His friends – his family – they needed him. Giving up wasn’t an option. 

“Jisung!” 

Jisung barely heard it at first. He tried to move, but his body wouldn’t let him. The voice called out his name again, muffled and distant, as if it was coming from underwater. Stay awake, he thought. But his eyelids felt like lead. His head slumped against the ground, his fingers weakly digging into the dirt. 

“Jisung!”

The voice was louder now, panicked and desperate, cutting through the haze clouding his mind. He tried to respond, to call out, but his throat was dry, and his lips barely moved.

A shadow fell over him, and for a fleeting moment, hope flickered in his chest. Maybe he was saved. Maybe it was him .

But as the figure crouched down, Jisung’s heart froze.

The metallic gleam of a knife reflected the dim moonlight filtering through the trees. A rough hand gripped his chin, forcing him to look up.

And then he saw it.

The smile. Cold, cruel, and laced with malice.

“Found you,” the killer whispered.

Chapter Text

The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the bedroom. Jisung stirred, a sigh escaping his lips. His gaze shifted to the man beside him. 

Lee Minho. 

The love of his life. 

Jisung had met Minho ten years ago when he was sixteen. They had been friends until they started dating during college. They had gotten married about four years ago, and they had never been happier. Now at twenty-six, Jisung had everything he ever dreamed of. 

Jisung couldn't help but be captivated by the beauty of his husband. He admired the peaceful expression that adorned Minho's features. Gently, Jisung brushed a few strands of hair away from Minho's forehead. 

Minho stirred at the touch. The first thing he saw was Jisung's warm gaze, and a small, lazy smile spread across his face.

"Good morning," Jisung whispered, unable to hide his smile. 

"Morning," Minho replied, his voice still laced with sleep. He shifted closer to Jisung and leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss on his forehead. Jisung traced a delicate pattern along Minho's arms. The two were so close that their noses touched, and Jisung felt his breath catch in his throat. Without hesitation, he closed the distance between their lips. Minho's tender hands found their way into Jisung's hair, pulling him closer. Jisung's heart raced as he melted into the kiss, savoring the sweet taste of Minho's lips. 

Minho was his everything. He was the one who knew Jisung better than anyone else. He was his safe space. 

"God, I love you, Minho," Jisung breathed as they pulled away, resting their foreheads against each other. 

Minho's hands moved to brush the younger's hair out of his eyes. 

"And I love you, Ji." 

They leaned in to kiss again but were stopped by the sound of soft babbling.

Jisung grinned and gently pushed Minho away. 

"Go get your son." 

Minho scoffed playfully and got up, walking to the crib on the opposite side of the bed. 

"Dada!" 

Jisung couldn't help but chuckle at the excitement in their son's adorable voice. 

"Good morning, Dowon," Minho cooed softly. 

Jisung sat up, his heart swelling with warmth as Minho lifted Dowon from the crib, making rocket sounds. The little boy saw Jisung and immediately reached out for him. 

"Papa!"

"Up you go, little one!"  

Dowon giggled as he was placed on the bed and immediately stumbled into Jisung's waiting arms. 

"Hello, my Dowonie," Jisung beamed, pressing a kiss against his son's forehead. 

Dowon was the light of Minho and Jisung's life. They had both always wanted to be parents, so they did everything they could to make their dream a reality. They had adopted him when he was a month old, and it had been the best decision they had ever made. The one-year-old brought so much happiness to Minho and Jisung, and they loved him unconditionally. 

Minho gently squeezed Jisung's on the shoulder as he sat back down on the bed. With Dowon nestled between them, they spent some more time playing with him. Laughter echoed in the room as Minho playfully tickled Dowon, prompting delighted squeals from their son.

"Alright, my little star," Jisung said, easing Dowon onto his lap. "Papa's going to go brush his teeth. Then we'll get you dressed so we can go see Uncle Hyunjin and Uncle Felix." 

Dowon squealed again at the mention of seeing his uncles. Minho took Dowon from Jisung's arms so Jisung could get ready. 

Jisung smiled at the sight of Minho and Dowon. He headed to the bathroom to freshen up. As he looked at himself in the mirror, he couldn't believe how grateful he was to have Minho and Dowon in his life.

After brushing his teeth, Jisung returned to the bedroom, finding Minho and Dowon peek-a-boo. He searched for some clothes from his and Minho's shared walk-in closet. He pulled on a pair of black jeans and a white T-shirt. He slipped on a blue denim jacket and glanced at himself in the mirror, making sure he looked presentable. He ran his hands through his dark hair, realizing how long it was getting. Maybe it was time for him to grow his hair out a little. He grinned to himself, remembering how Minho had mentioned that Jisung looked good with his hair long. He looked down at his hand at his silver wedding ring and decided to add a thin silver chain to complete his look. 

Satisfied, Jisung rejoined Minho and Dowon in the bedroom. The two were busy playing with colorful building blocks, creating a mini fortress on the bed. Dowon's laughter filled the room as Minho pretended to be a giant, playfully knocking down the tower. 

"I brushed his teeth and got him dressed while you got changed," Minho said, fully dressed for work. He had his glasses on and wore a gray suit with a white dress shirt underneath and a black tie.

Jisung never knew how Minho did it, how he always managed to have everything under control. He truly appreciated the effort Minho put into taking care of their son.

"Thanks, Minho. I need to grab some things from my office. I'll be out in a bit.

Minho nodded and scooped Dowon into his arms as the little boy continued repeating "Papa" over and over. "Come on, Dowon. Papa has to get ready for work." 

Jisung went to his office to grab his work bag and made sure that he had everything he needed. 

ID badge. Case files. Laptop.

He had his handcuffs and his lucky pocket knife tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket.

Once he was sure he had everything, he went to the living room. Dowon was on the floor on his playmat, occupied by his toys, eating a piece of bread. Minho was in the kitchen.

As Jisung sat down, Minho placed a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him. "Breakfast is served, detective."

Jisung chuckled. "You spoil me, Min."

"Well, you deserve it," Minho replied. He reached over the table to give Jisung's hand a reassuring squeeze. "And don't forget your coffee." He nodded towards the thermos on the table.

"Thanks, love."

Jisung loved these small moments he had with Minho. Sometimes, he felt like he was lacking as a partner and as a parent because his work demanded a lot of his attention. Being a detective was different compared to Minho, who was a literature professor at University of Seoul. Minho could finish his work during school hours. Jisung spent most of his work and personal time solving cases. Jisung worried that he wasn't spending enough time with Dowon or Minho, but Minho always assured him that he was doing more than enough.

As Jisung finished eating, he glanced at the clock, realizing he needed to leave now if he didn't want to be late for work. 

His team leader was going to have his head if he was late again. 

"I need to get going," Jisung said, standing up from the table. Dowon noticed and tottered over to him, clinging to Jisung's leg. 

"Papa, go?"

Jisung smiled down at his son. "Yes, little one, Papa and Daddy have to go to work. Let's get your shoes on." 

Dowon's small hand gripped Jisung's fingers tightly as Jisung led him to the front door and helped him put on his shoes. Jisung slipped on his black combat boots. 

"I'll call you if I'm coming home late." 

Minho nodded, a soft smile forming on his lips. Minho crouched down to Dowon's eye level, ruffling the boy's hair. "Be good for your uncles, okay? Daddy will pick you up later." Dowon nodded, smiling brightly. Minho chuckled and placed a soft kiss on Dowon's forehead. "That's my boy." 

He gently pulled Jisung by the waist and captured his lips in a brief kiss. Jisung smiled against Minho's lips, savoring the sweet moment before reluctantly pulling away. 

"I love you," Minho murmured, caressing Jisung's cheek. "Be careful at work, okay?"

"Always." 

Jisung and Dowon left the house, walking hand in hand to the car. Jisung opened the back door, helping Dowon into his car seat. 

"Uncle Hyunjin and Uncle Felix are going to have so much fun with you today, Dowon," Jisung said with a playful grin, fastening the seatbelt and giving Dowon's nose a gentle boop.

Dowon giggled, his eyes sparkling with excitement. 

Jisung closed the car door and walked around to the driver's side. As he settled into the driver's seat, he stole a glance at his son in the rearview mirror. Dowon was in his car seat, waving at Minho, who stood by the front door waving back at his son. Minho caught Jisung staring at him and met his gaze with a smirk. 

"Take a picture!" he called out. "It'll last longer!" 

Jisung couldn't help but chuckle at Minho's playful comment. He started the car and pulled out of the driveway. Dowon's soft cooing filled the car as they drove towards Hyunjin and Felix's house. As they arrived, Jisung could hear Dowon babbling louder at the familiar sight of his uncles' house. 

Jisung unbuckled him from his car seat and lifted him out, setting him down on his hip as he walked Dowon to the front door. 

The door swung open before Jisung could even knock, revealing Hyunjin and Felix.

"Hey, Jisung! Hey there, buddy!" Hyunjin exclaimed. Jisung handed Dowon to Hyunjin and gave Dowon's backpack to Felix. Dowon waved to Jisung as Hyunjin took him into the house. 

"Papa, bye!" 

Felix stayed outside with Jisung for a moment.

"Thanks again," Jisung said gratefully. "I don't know what we would do without you guys."

Felix smiled. "You don't have to thank us every time you drop Dowon off, Ji. We love you guys, and we love Dowon."

"I have to run, but I'll see you around at the station?" 

"Definitely. I'll see you later!" 

Jisung headed back to the car and started driving to the station. As he started getting closer, he started thinking about everything he needed to do. He had so many reports he had to complete. The radio played a soft melody, offering a temporary distraction from thinking about the amount of work he had to do. 

As he parked his car in the precinct lot, he took a deep breath, mentally preparing for the day ahead. He grabbed his bag and got out of the car. 

With its familiar blend of rustling paperwork, ringing phones, and hurried footsteps, the station felt comforting and chaotic. The station buzzed with activity as fellow detectives and officers moved about.

Jisung made his way to his desk, cluttered with case files and notes. He placed his coffee thermos on his desk and turned on his laptop, greeted by emails demanding his attention. 

As Jisung sipped his coffee, his partner, Changbin, gasped dramatically. "You're not late? I'm surprised, Detective Han." 

Jisung scoffed as he tried to suppress his smile. Changbin liked to give Jisung a hard time as his senior, but he meant well. They were only a year apart, so they were close with each other. 

"Well, miracles do happen, hyung. Don't get used to it."

Changbin grinned and continued looking through his files. 

Jisung suddenly noticed that his team leader was nowhere to be seen. 

“Where’s Chan hyung?” 

Changbin shrugged. “I think he’s in a meeting with the captain with the other team leaders.”

Jisung glanced at the whiteboard covered in colored writing, each color representing different ongoing investigations and activities between the homicide teams. 

In red writing, he read: Han Jisung, 10:15 AM, interview with Kim Jiho.

Fuck.

He had completely forgotten about the interview. He glanced at his watch. It was 9:30 now.

Jisung quickly reached for his files and notes about Kim Jiho and glanced over them. This interview could make or break their current ongoing investigation. 

For the last two months, Homicide Team 3 had been overwhelmed because of one person. The X-Man. This wasn't Jisung's first time dealing with a serial killer, but it was definitely a case that stumped him. 

The X-Man's first victim had been an old man, who had been found in his truck. His second victim had been a woman in her mid-thirties, found in an alleyway by a convenience store. His third victim been a forty-year-old man who was found dead in a nearby park, sitting on a park bench.

And his most recent victim, Kim Jiho, had survived.

All they had about the killer was an MO. The X-Man stalked his victims before kidnapping and torturing them. After a while, he would stab his victims repeatedly to put them out of their misery and mark their dominant wrist with an X with some sort of flame, like a lighter or a cigarette. What was disturbing was that the X-Man arranged the bodies to look natural, doing some sort of action as if they were still alive. The first victim had a book in his hands. The second one had her phone in her hands and earphones on. The third one had a cigarette in his mouth. All of these items were personal objects of the victims, which sent shivers down Jisung's spine. 

They had no evidence pointing them to a perpetrator. Whoever the killer was familiar with the police routine and did everything by the book to prevent any DNA from being left on the bodies. He also had a general understanding of the human body, targeting only the major pain points when he was torturing his victims.

"Jisung hyung!"

"What's up, Jeongin?"

Jeongin was the youngest member of Homicide Team 3. He was an excellent profiler despite his youthful appearance. His observation skills and understanding of human behavior earned him the entire team's respect. 

Jeongin's eyes, usually playful, were sharp and focused. 

"I finished the behavioral analysis for the X-Man case," Jeongin said, passing a thick file to Jisung. "I analyzed everything we have so far, and I went through the details of each victim."

Jisung nodded, flipping through the file. "This is good news. It means we're making progress. Good job, Jeongin."

"The X-Man is organized. He spends a lot of time picking out his victims. The way he takes his time when torturing his victims and the way he arranges the crime scenes shows a high level of sadism as if he's trying to create some sort of image. There's a strong possibility that he's leaving these scenes as messages."

And Jisung knew exactly what kind of message the killer was trying to give. 

I'm doing this because I can, and I won't stop unless you catch me first. 

"Any idea about the mark he's leaving on the victims' wrists?" Changbin asked. 

"It's definitely a signature. He wants us to see that it's his work. He doesn't want anyone else taking the credit for his crimes. Marking his victims also makes him feel like he's in control."

Jisung knew that they had to catch this killer as soon as possible. A killer with an ego like the X-Man's wouldn't lead to anything good. He stood up from his seat, his files in hand. 

"We can use this to predict his next move. Have Seungmin analyze the locations of where the bodies were found. Maybe there's some sort of connection that we're not seeing."

Jeongin nodded and returned to his desk. 

Jisung leaned back in his seat, twirling a pen in his fingers. There was a bad feeling settling in his stomach. There was something about this case that just seemed off. The killer had already killed three victims successfully. Why did he let Kim Jiho live? 

The only reason Jisung could think of was that the killer was trying to play some sort of twisted game. 

Changbin glanced over at his partner. 

"You okay, Jisung?" 

"Yeah. Just thinking about how we're gonna catch this bastard," he said with a sigh. "I better get to the hospital. The sooner I finish this interview, the better. Hopefully, we'll get some information out of Kim Jiho." 

Changbin patted Jisung on the back. 

"Don't stress too much. We'll figure it out." 

Jisung gave Changbin a firm nod, and he grabbed his bag. As he made his way out of the station, his mind was solely focused on the upcoming interview with Kim Jiho. The hospital was just a short drive away, but every moment felt like an eternity. He had to act smart when asking questions. If he said the wrong thing, he could accidentally trigger the victim, which was the last thing he wanted to do.

Jisung found it hard to believe that just an hour ago, most of his worries were getting Dowon dressed and ready for the day. 

He loved working as a detective. It had been his dream job since he was thirteen. He loved the thrill and the rush it gave him, the sense of justice he felt when he completed a case. But sometimes, he tended to get into his cases too deeply. When that did happen, Minho did his best to help Jisung completely destress. Jisung didn't know what he would do without Minho. 

God, all he wanted right now was to be back in bed and in Minho's arms. 

Jisung shook his head to regain his focus. He had a serial killer to catch and a witness to interview. 

As soon as he parked his car in the hospital lot, he took a few moments to collect himself, adjusting his jacket and running a hand through his hair. He looked through his back to look at the files one more time. 

Kim Jiho. Male. Age 21. Student at University of Seoul. 

Jisung's hand instinctively reached for the ID badge that hung around his neck, and he held it for a moment, glancing at his name and photo before releasing it and opening the car door. 

The hospital's sterile scent enveloped him as he made his way to the entrance. The automatic doors slid open, and he stepped into the quiet intensity of the hospital. With a warm smile, Jisung approached the front desk and greeted the nurse.

"My name is Detective Han. I'm here to see Kim Jiho."

The nurse checked her records and nodded. "Right this way, Detective. Room 325." 

Jisung followed her down the hallway, his mind swarming with thoughts about the interview and the investigation. As they reached Kim Jiho's room, he took a deep breath, hoping that Jiho's statement could lead them closer to capturing the X-Man.

Chapter Text

3 DAYS AGO

Jisung found himself reading the same thing over and over again as he looked through his share of the files of the X-Man case. The station was empty except for Homicide Team 3. They gathered around their shared workspace, attempting to give their undivided attention to their respective tasks. Jisung and Changbin looked through their evidence and crime scene photos. Jeongin and Chan examined the case files, trying to build a profile for the killer. Seungmin looked through each of the victims' backgrounds, trying to see if there was a connection between them. It was late, close to two in the morning, and the team was exhausted. But they were determined to catch the X-Man. 

A series of sudden knocks at the door shattered the concentration surrounding the team. Startled, the detectives glanced at the door suspiciously. It was much too late for anyone to be visiting the police station.

Chan approached the door cautiously, his hand instinctively reaching for the gun in his pocket. The others exchanged wary glances, uncertainty flickering in their eyes. Chan unlocked the station doors and stepped back, his weapon ready. 

Neither of the detectives were prepared to see a young man stumbling through the doors, and they watched as he collapsed onto the ground. 

The young man couldn't have been more than twenty years old. His clothes were bloodstained, and he had cuts on his face. His eyes were filled with panic and fear as he tried to catch his breath. 

"D-Detective Han Jisung," the man gasped. "I-I need to s-speak with Detective Han." 

Jisung got up from his chair and approached the young man. 

"I'm Detective Han," he said, kneeling down to the man's eye level, keeping his voice soft. 

The young man immediately reached for Jisung, wrapping his arms tightly around the detective. He held onto him as if his life depended on it. 

"He told me to come to you." The man's voice was shaking. "H-He tried to kill me." 

"Who? Who did this to you?"

But it was too late. 

The young man's eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he went limp in Jisung's arms. 

Jisung immediately checked the young man's pockets, trying to look for any sort of identification. He found a wallet and tossed it to Changbin, who caught it with ease and started looking through it. He proceeded to check the man for injuries. 

As Jisung's gaze fell upon the young man's wrist, he couldn't help but notice a burn mark in the shape of an X. The mark was a vibrant red, meaning it was recent, causing Jisung to freeze.

"The X-Man."

His voice came out hoarse. 

"I found a student ID!" Changbin exclaimed. He handed the wallet to Seungmin. "His name is Kim Jiho."

Seungmin glanced over the ID. "Attends the University of Seoul. He hasn't been reported missing, so this could have happened in the last seven to eight hours."

Jisung came to his senses as he reached to brush his hair out of his eyes but realized his hand was stained red. He looked back down to see crimson seeping through Jiho's shirt. 

"Get the first aid kit!" he shouted.

Jeongin ran to do as Jisung said. 

Jisung lifted Jiho's shirt to examine the wound. It looked deep, clearly done by a knife. Jisung turned Jiho onto his side, placing his hand against the wound and applying pressure to it. Blood started to leak through Jisung's fingers. 

He could hear Chan on the phone with emergency services. 

"We need an ambulance to the station now. Detective Han is working to stabilize the victim."

Jisung quickly realized his hands wouldn't be enough to stop the bleeding, and Jeongin hadn't returned with the first aid kit. Jisung had to act fast. He quickly pulled his shirt over his head and pressed it tightly around the man's injury, using it as a makeshift bandage. His heart was racing, but he tried to stay calm. He kept applying pressure to the wound, focusing on slowing the bleeding. 

Jisung's hands were steady despite the adrenaline rushing through his veins and the storm going through his mind. 

Jisung couldn't let him be another victim, not if he could help it. 

"Come on, Jiho," he murmured. "Stay with me."

Changbin supported Jiho's head, making sure his head was tilted back properly to prevent his airway from being blocked. He placed his hand by Jiho's neck. His breathing was shallow, but there was still a faint pulse. 

Jeongin rushed back into the room and kneeled beside Jisung as he opened the first aid kit. 

Jisung peeled back the blood-soaked fabric to check on Jiho's wound. The bleeding seemed to have stopped. He removed the shirt to let Jeongin take over. 

Jeongin cleaned the wound as best as he could before applying fresh gauze and securing it tightly to prevent any further bleeding. 

The metallic tang of blood lingered in the air as Jisung stepped back, breathing heavily. Blood stained his hands and forearms, and beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. The distant wail of sirens grew louder. Jisung took a moment to collect himself, his mind racing with questions that demanded answers. So many thoughts were going through Jisung's mind. 

Why would the X-Man instruct Jiho to come to him? 

Why had the X-Man let Jiho live? 

"I've done what I can for now," Jeongin said. He looked over to Chan, who had just gotten off the phone. "How much longer until the ambulance is here, hyung?"

"It'll be a few more minutes." Chan nodded towards Jiho. "How is he?" 

"He's stable, thanks to Jisung hyung. All I can say is that he'll definitely need stitches." 

All they could do now was wait for the ambulance. 

Jisung felt something being placed over his bare shoulders and turned to see that Changbin had placed a jacket over him. The older gently squeezed his shoulder, assuring him that everything was going to be okay. 

After what seemed like ages, the station doors swung open, revealing the ambulance's flashing lights outside.

Jisung felt a huge weight lift off him as the paramedics placed Jiho onto a stretcher and into the ambulance. He started to breathe a little easier as the flashing lights faded. 

Without a word, he headed straight for the bathroom. Jisung closed the door behind him and felt his legs buckling underneath him. He stumbled forward, catching himself on the bathroom sink, leaving bloody fingerprints on the porcelain surface. He could feel the exhaustion settling in, every muscle in his body aching. He let Changbin's jacket fall onto the floor as he turned on the faucet and began to wash the blood off his hands, the water turning a sickly shade of pink as the blood washed away. His hands trembled slightly, the adrenaline leaving his body as quickly as it had come. 

"Hey." 

Jisung turned to see Changbin stepping into the bathroom. He responded with a small "hey" of his own. 

"Are you okay?" Changbin's voice was filled with concern. 

Jisung ran a wet hand through his disheveled hair, the long strands falling back into his eyes. 

Changbin fought the impulse to reach out, to push the hair away. 

Jisung looked at his still trembling hands and took a deep breath. 

 "You know, hyung, that was the first time I've done something like that."

"First time?" Changbin echoed, not entirely understanding what the younger meant. 

Jisung nodded. 

"We've dealt with so many cases, but being there in the moment, fighting to save someone's life... it's different. I had no idea what I was doing. I was so scared of doing something wrong." 

Changbin could see the vulnerability in Jisung's eyes, a side of him he rarely revealed. 

"You did it though. You saved Jiho back there."

 As Jisung let out another heavy sigh and continued scrubbing the blood off his skin, Changbin's eyes caught sight of something he had never seen before – tattoos decorating Jisung's body. He only had three, but they all were intricate designs that seemed to tell their own story. 

There was a water dragon on the side of his ribs, a phrase underneath his collarbone, and a graphic of a volcano on his upper back. 

"You have tattoos?" Changbin asked, genuinely surprised.

"Yeah. I got them a long time ago." 

As Changbin observed the inked designs on Jisung's body, his eyes shifted back to the sink, where Jisung was rinsing the blood off his wedding ring. 

For the last three years, his feelings for Jisung were kept locked away. Changbin knew Jisung was committed to Minho and to his family. He had seen the love and affection in Jisung's eyes whenever he spoke about his husband and their son. The reminders never stopped hurting. 

"You really are something, Han Jisung."

Jisung scoffed, but Changbin meant it.

"I'm serious, Jisung. You underestimate yourself. You saved a life tonight." 

Jisung glanced at Changbin, an exhausted smile forming on his lips. 

"Thanks, hyung." 

Jisung picked up Changbin's jacket off the floor and handed it to the older, but Changbin shook his head.

"Keep it for now."

Jisung put on Changbin's jacket and zipped it up, feeling like he had finally pulled himself back together. Taking a deep breath, he composed himself and went back out to face the rest of his team. 

PRESENT

Chills went down Jisung's spine as he stepped into the room. The room was silent except for the hum of medical equipment and the soft beeping from the heart monitor. 

"Kim Jiho?" Jisung asked softly. "I'm Detective Han. Do you remember me?" 

Jiho's face was pale. He had bandages underneath his eye and another on his cheek. Other bandages peeked out under his hospital gown, and some were wrapped around his arms. Jisung tried not to stare at the bandage around Jiho's left wrist, knowing exactly what was underneath.

"How could I not?" Jiho mustered weakly. "You saved my life." 

The last time Jisung had seen Jiho, Jisung had been fighting to keep him alive. Jisung could practically feel the stickiness of blood on his hands again. Still, he pushed the thought away, trying to remain professional. Jisung sat down across from Jiho, grabbing his notepad from his bag. 

"Don't hesitate to let me know if you feel uncomfortable."

Jisung looked up to meet Jiho's gaze. He wanted him to understand that Jisung wanted him to feel safe. 

"Just tell me whatever you can remember. Let's start from the beginning."

"I was coming home from my class. My apartment is off campus, but it's close by so I walked home like always. Class ended around 8PM." 

"Did you notice anything strange that day? Anyone following you, or a face you kept seeing throughout the day?" 

Jiho shook his head. 

"So you said you started walking home around 8PM." 

Jiho nodded weakly, wincing as he shifted in his hospital bed. 

"I remember someone hitting me on the head and dragging me into a car in front of the main gate." 

"Did you see the model of the car or the color of it?" 

Jiho shook his head again.

"What else do you remember, Jiho?" Jisung asked, keeping his voice gentle. 

"Not much," Jiho admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I think I passed out. When I woke up, I was in a dark room. There was someone standing in front of me, a man. He didn't say anything. He just kept hurting me, over and over again, with his knife. I c-couldn't see his face. He was wearing a mask, a white mask that covered his entire face."

A tear rolled down his cheek.

Jisung waited for a moment to let Jiho calm himself before speaking again.

"Do you need to take a break, Jiho? We can come back to this later."

"N-No! I want to do this," the boy insisted.

Jisung could sense the anxiousness in Jiho's voice. 

"Take your time, Jiho."

Jiho took a few deep breaths before nodding again, signaling for Jisung to continue. 

"At the station the other night, you said the X-Man told you to come to me. What can you tell me about that?"

"A-After he stabbed me, he used a lighter to mark me." Jiho briefly looked over at his bandaged wrist before looking back at Jisung. "It felt like my whole body was on fire. Everything hurt so much. I thought I was dying. He told me I had to find you if I wanted to live."

Jisung still didn't understand why the X-Man singled him out in the first place. 

Jisung narrowed his eyes in thought. He couldn't understand the message behind X-Man's decision to spare Jiho's life. It made the case more complicated than he thought. 

"I'm sorry, Detective, but I can't remember anything else."

Jisung nodded understandingly. "It's okay, Jiho. You've been through a lot, and you did really well. Thank you."

Jisung got up from his seat and started to gather his things. "If you remember anything else or need to talk to me, here's my card." He tapped the piece of paper he left on Jiho's bedside table. "You just focus on resting and getting better." 

Offering the boy a reassuring smile, Jisung left the room. Jisung couldn't help but feel frustrated. He was no closer to finding the X-Man. He'd have to keep digging, starting with looking at the security footage from the night of Jiho's kidnapping. He sat in his car and pulled out his phone to text Changbin, letting him know he would be heading to the university. He then asked Seungmin to get him a search warrant so they could look through security footage. 

Jisung took a moment to collect his thoughts before he started driving towards the university. 

It was around 11, so Minho would be in his office by now. Jisung knew he only had classes in the morning and in the evening, leaving his office open for his students during the afternoon. 

A small smile formed on his lips as he thought about his husband. Minho always managed to make everything better.

Jisung made his way into the parking lot of the university and went straight to the literature department. He knew the campus like the back of his hand, having visited Minho several times. He hadn't visited in a while. He had been preoccupied with the X-Man case. The familiar hallway brought Jisung a sense of comfort, and he walked up to Minho's office and knocked on the door. 

"Come in." 

Jisung opened the door to find Minho on his laptop, looking through the rough drafts of his students' papers. Minho looked up and smiled when he saw Jisung. Without a word, he stood up and held out his arms. Jisung closed the door behind him and immediately went to him, burying his face into the older's shoulder. 

"Hey, love," Minho crooned, running a hand through Jisung's hair. Jisung's hands were wrapped around his husband's waist. 

Minho suddenly pulled away to meet Jisung's gaze, his loving expression shifting to concern. 

"What's going on, Ji?" 

Jisung knew the weight of the X-Man case was taking a toll on him, but he didn't want to worry Minho. 

"Nothing. I just missed you," Jisung said softly.

Minho cupped Jisung's face, his thumb gently caressing the younger's cheek. 

"You know you can talk to me about anything, right?" 

"Yeah, I know." Jisung rested his chin on the older's shoulder. "I just need a second to forget about work. I wanted to be with you." 

Minho placed a soft kiss against Jisung's forehead. "I'm here for you, Jisung. Whatever you need." 

Minho's lips brushed softly against Jisung's, his hand still gently carding through the younger’s hair. They stayed that way in each other's arms for a while until there was a sudden knock on the door, and they broke apart. 

"Who is it?" Minho's tone was polite, but Jisung could tell the older was slightly annoyed. 

The door cracked open, and Changbin peeked through the doorway. 

"Am I interrupting something?" 

The faint smirk on his face was hard to miss. Jisung felt his cheeks heat up, but he kept his hold on Minho's waist as he tried to keep his face from getting any redder. 

"What are you doing here, hyung?" 

"I thought I'd join you to look through the campus footage," Changbin replied. "You could use an extra set of eyes. I also have the search warrant." He showed Jisung the folder in his hand. "I spoke to the dean already, so we should be good to go."

Jisung sighed, leaning his forehead against Minho's chest. 

"I'd better get to work," he murmured. Minho chuckled softly. 

"Go ahead, Ji. I'll see you at home."  

Jisung pressed a quick kiss to Minho's lips before he and Changbin left Minho's office, closing the door behind them.

"How did it go with Jiho?" Changbin asked as they started walking towards the security office. 

"He couldn't remember much, but he mentioned that he was kidnapped while he was still on campus. It happened in front of the main gate, but there should be cameras there. The kidnapper was wearing a white mask."

"He's confident," Changbin noted. 

"Cocky," Jisung corrected. "Why else would he have kidnapped Jiho in a place that's surrounded by cameras?" 

"But if there are so many cameras, how did no one notice he went missing?" Changbin asked. 

He was right, Jisung realized. It didn't make sense. 

Changbin knocked on the door of the security office. The guard opened the door, confused. The detectives showed him their ID badges. 

"I'm Detective Seo. This is Detective Han. We're here to review security footage from three nights ago." 

Changbin handed the guard the search warrant. The guard glanced at the warrant and nodded.

"Go ahead."

They entered the room to see it filled with screens displaying different areas of the campus. Changbin navigated through the system to access the footage from the night Jiho was kidnapped. 

"Tuesday night around 8PM..."

Jisung reached into his bag to retrieve Jiho's file to briefly glance at the boy's schedule. "His class was statistics, so he was coming out around the math building around that time. It would take around eight minutes to walk to the main gate."

Changbin played the footage of the main gate on screen, showing some students wandering or leaving campus while most of it was empty.

The timestamp hit 8:10PM, and the detectives watched as Jiho stepped through the gates.

"There he is!"

Jisung leaned forward, not wanting to miss a single moment as he watched intently. Suddenly, the screen went black. 

"What the hell?" 

Confused, the older quickly worked on rewinding the security tape. Again, the footage went out at 8:12PM. 

"Oh my god," Jisung breathed.

Someone had tampered with the cameras. 

Chapter Text

So many possibilities were going through Jisung's mind, and he had no idea which one could be right.

"Check the other cameras facing the main gate," Jisung suggested, trying not to think the worst.

Unfortunately, his gut feeling was right. Changbin checked all the other angles. The feed was cut off at the exact same time on all of the cameras. The footage had been cut out for two minutes, giving the X-Man enough time to make his move if he had already been waiting for Jiho. At 8:14PM, the feed turned back on as if nothing had happened. Only now, Jiho was nowhere to be found.

"Why would he go through all this trouble?" Jisung murmured to himself, his eyes flickering to each camera.

They had either narrowed their suspect down to someone who worked or lived on campus, or their suspect broke into the security office to erase their tracks.

"Minho told me before that all the professors and staff have a master key for emergencies," Jisung suddenly remembered. "What if the X-Man has access to one of those keys?"

"If he does, that can explain how he got in here undetected," Changbin pointed out.

The culprit could be any of the hundreds of faculty or staff members.

The two sat for a moment, trying to think.

Suddenly, Jisung had an idea.

There was nothing else they could do, but they did have a computer analyst on their team. Seungmin was a genius when it came to computers. Maybe he could restore the tapes somehow. The two detectives made eye contact, knowing they were both thinking the same thing. They quickly gathered the flash drives and made their way back to the station.

They went straight to Seungmin, who was working on something on his desktop with Jeongin.

The two youngest members of the team looked up.

"Um... I didn't do it," Jeongin said, sitting up quickly.

"Wait, what did you do?" Changbin cut in.

"I said I didn't do anything, hyung," Jeongin whined.

"Okay, fine, what didn't you do?"

"I didn't hide your case notes from you."

Jeongin had a playful smirk on his lips, and he seemed unapologetically shameless.

Typical of the team's maknae.

"Yang Jeongin! That was you? I thought I was losing my mind! I spent at least an hour-"

Jisung rolled his eyes and squeezed past the older as Changbin and Jeongin continued bickering and handed Seungmin the flash drives.

"We looked through the security footage from the university. Two minutes are missing on all the angles facing the main gate."

"All of the angles?" Seungmin's eyes widened, sifting through the bag of flash drives.

"They're all gone."

"Shit," the younger breathed. He took each flash drive out of the bag individually, laying each out by number. "Have you told Chan hyung yet?"

Jisung shook his head. "I haven't even seen him yet today."

Seungmin glanced over his shoulder briefly before focusing back on the flash drives. "Well, now's your chance."

Jisung turned to see Chan approaching them, reading and flipping through a file.

"Hyung!"

Recognizing Jisung's voice, Chan looked up from the file. His eyes brightened upon seeing the younger.

"Jisung! How did the interview go?"

"I didn't get much from Jiho," Jisung admitted. "His memory was foggy, but I gave him my card and told him to call if he remembered anything."

Chan's eyes softened in understanding. "It's better than nothing. His condition was pretty bad the other night. It's a miracle he remembered anything."

Jisung nodded in agreement.

He thought about the burned X he had seen on Jiho's wrist, and a shiver went down his spine.

Jiho had been very close to dying.

He could have died.

Chan glanced around, his gaze landing on the flash drives in Seungmin's hands. "What's going on with those?"

Jisung came back to his senses, clearing his throat.

"Changbin hyung and I stopped by the university. Two minutes are missing on all of the cameras facing the main gate. We brought the tapes here. We thought Seungmin might be able to restore them."

Chan's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "All of them? That's unusual."

Seungmin nodded and quickly got to work, plugging the first flash drive into his computer. The team gathered around him, watching as he worked.

Suddenly feeling scrutinized by gazes, Seungmin rolled his eyes when he noticed four pairs of eyes staring at him over his shoulder.

"Please, spare me the audience," he said dryly.

The team chuckled at Seungmin's remark, realizing they had been unintentionally crowding him.

"Sorry, Seungmin." Jisung couldn't wipe the smile off his face as he stepped back to give the computer analyst some space.

Changbin quickly grabbed Jisung and Jeongin by the wrists.

"Hyung!" Jeongin whined, trying to free himself from Changbin's grip.

"You two need to see this for yourselves!" he insisted.

Changbin quickly dragged the other two towards his cluttered desk, where files were spread out messily. Chan followed curiously.

Jisung, Jeongin, and Chan froze, staring at the chaos of papers and documents scattered across Changbin's desk.

"It looks like a crime scene," Jeongin deadpanned.

Jisung couldn't help but stifle a laugh as Chan shook his head in disbelief, both of them trying their best to hide their amusement.

Changbin shot Jeongin a mock glare before shaking his head. "Funny. Very funny. But seriously, there's a method to my madness, I swear."

"Hyung, do you have a system for all this?" Jisung asked, brushing his fingers along the files with mild amusement.

Changbin chuckled as he navigated through the mess with ease. "It's organized chaos. I know where everything is... most of the time."

Chan grabbed a file and started flipping through it.

"This is the report from the first incident we had with the X-Man, right?"

Changbin nodded.

"Choi Manseok, age 71. Found at Hangang Park on a bench with a burned book in his hands," Chan read.

He opened the file. Jisung tried not to shudder despite having seen the crime scene himself and seeing the photos multiple times.

He had known Mr. Choi. He had gone to Hangang Park so many times with Minho and Dowon.

Choi Manseok had just been an innocent, kind old man with a gentle smile who went to Hangang Park every day and read fairytales and folklore to the children.

Jisung remembered how shocked he had been when he had recognized Mr. Choi’s corpse when he had been called to the scene that day.

Jisung remembered crying in Minho’s arms when he returned home that night.

Mr. Choi had been found that early morning with a burned book in his hands.

The book was still being examined to see if anything could be recovered.

There was just something so unnerving about the way the X-Man positioned his dead victims as if they were still alive.

His thoughts drifted back to Jiho.

The X-Man had specifically told Jiho to find him. It didn't make any sense.

Unless…

Was the X-Man targeting him?

Sure, as a detective, he had made some enemies through the years – his smart mouth didn't help – but anyone who wanted to hurt him was either in prison or dead.

Jisung pushed away the unsettling thought. It was unlikely that the X-Man was specifically targeting him. But the possibility lingered in the back of his mind.

Taking a deep breath, Jisung shook off the unsettling thoughts clouding his mind.

He needed to focus.

His attention turned to Changbin, who was rifling through another stack of files on his desk, muttering to himself as he searched for something specific.

"Hyung, what are you looking for?" Jisung asked curiously.

Changbin paused, his eyes scanning the files before him. "I'm trying to find any connections between the victims, any patterns that might give us a lead."

Jeongin leaned in closer, his curiosity piqued. "Do you think there's a pattern, hyung? Like, a specific type of person the X-Man targets?"

Changbin shrugged, his expression thoughtful. "It's hard to say at this point. All of the victims couldn't be more different from each other. But we've seen all of his work. There's a reason, some sort of meaning, behind everything. There has to be something."

Seungmin's mind raced as he sifted through the memories of his earlier analysis with Jeongin. Suddenly, a realization dawned on him, and he snapped his fingers.

"Wait a minute," Seungmin interjected, his voice cutting through the conversation. "I remember something from earlier today."

The rest of the team turned their attention to Seungmin.

"When Innie and I were analyzing the locations where the bodies were found," Seungmin explained, "we found something weird."

"Weird?" Chan repeated. "What do you mean?"

Jeongin's eyes widened as he recalled their earlier discussion. "That's right! We didn't see a pattern, but we did see that the locations forming a curve on the map."

Seungmin nodded. "Exactly.”

Jisung's mind raced as he processed this new information. "So, the X-Man isn't just choosing random locations. He's deliberately selecting places within a specific area."

Jeongin nodded in agreement. "It's like he's drawing a boundary, marking his territory."

Jeongin pulled a map out from his desk drawer and placed it down so the others could see.

The team leaned in closer, examining the map.

"This is where each victim was found," Jeongin explained, pointing to various locations and circling them with a blue marker. "As you can see, they're all scattered around, but if you connect the dots..."

Jeongin connected the circles with a line, forming a rough curve on the map.

Hangang Park, Itaewon, Salgoji Bridge, University of Seoul…

Jisung's eyes traced over the curve Jeongin had made.

All of the murders and Jiho’s attack took place in Seoul, he thought. If the curve is the start of a circle, does that mean the killer is going to keep going until the circle is complete?

Jisung’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted when his phone started ringing with loud, off-key piano music, scaring the shit out of him and his teammates.

“Hyung, what the hell?” Jeongin shot him a judgemental glare.

“Han Jisung! I didn’t know you were into piano!” Changbin teased.

Jisung rolled his eyes at his teammates, feeling his face flush with embarrassment.

“Minho probably let Dowon play with my ringtones again,” he muttered, but of course, no one was listening.

He turned away from his team to look at the caller ID. It was the hospital. He picked up and put the phone to his ear, deciding to take the call outside.

“Detective Han speaking.”

“Detective.”

It was Jiho.

“Jiho, what can I do for you?”

“You said to call you if I remembered anything. I forgot about it until now because… well, you know.”

Jisung hummed in understanding.

“What did you remember, Jiho?”

“The X-Man let me go because I answered a riddle.”

“A riddle?”

__

3 DAYS AGO

Jiho awoke with a pained groan. He blinked rapidly, struggling to clear his blurry vision. His head was pounding so hard it felt like nails were being driven into his skull. Grimacing, he attempted to lift his hand to his head, only to realize that his arms were bound tightly to the chair he was sitting on.

Suddenly overwhelmed with panic, he frantically looked around. He was in a rundown shack, its walls adorned with peeling paint and cobwebs. The only source of light filtered through a small window that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years, casting eerie shadows across the room that made Jiho’s stomach turn. His heart was pounding as he strained against his restraints, but they held fast, the ropes cutting into his wrists painfully.

“Help! Someone, help me! Please!” he screamed.

There was no response. All he could hear was his own ragged breathing.

The musty scent of damp wood and mildew filled his nose, followed by the sound of creaking floorboards echoing through the dimly lit space. Someone was here. He could feel it. Jiho squinted his eyes, trying to make out whatever was in front of him. He could see a shadow pacing, as if deep in thought.

“Sir! Please, sir, can you help me?”

The figure suddenly froze in place, and Jiho could hear the floorboards creaking again as the shadow turned to face him.

“S-Sir?”

“Kim Jiho. Junior at the University of Seoul. Journalism major,” the figure spoke. Their voice was deep, obviously distorted.

Jiho’s blood went cold at the shadow’s words.

Who the hell was this person?

“W-Who are you? What do you want from me?”

The figure walked closer, revealing a tall figure with a hat over his eyes and a mask covering his face.

“Mr. Kim, I’m going to give you three chances. Three. I’m going to give you a riddle and you have to answer. It’s that simple.”

Jiho’s breath hitched as he saw the gleam of a knife twirling in the shadow’s hand.

“A-A r-riddle?”

God, why couldn’t he stop stuttering?

“Here it is, Mr. Kim. What has hands but cannot clap?”

What the hell?

Jiho thought for a moment, his mind racing.

“Animals!” he exclaimed, desperation lacing his voice.

His response was met with a shake of the figure’s head, followed by a sharp pain as the shadow’s blade pressed against his cheek and cut into the skin, drawing a thin line of blood. Jiho cried out in pain, his mind reeling as he realized just how much danger he was in.

“Wrong. Try again,” the figure demanded.

Jiho’s thoughts was spinning with panic, his mind consumed by the very real possibility that he was giong to die.

"I-I don't... I don't..." he choked on his words. His voice drowned out by the deafening thud of his own heartbeat.

“Oh, Jiho. You’re better than this,” the figure taunted, tracing the blade along Jiho’s jawline.

Jiho shook his head, letting out a sob. Tears prickled his eyes.

“I don’t know!” he screamed. “I don’t fucking know, just let me go!”

The figure lifted Jiho’s chin with black leather gloves, clicking his tongue.

“Tick tock, tick tock,” he warned.

Tick tock.

Hands that can’t clap.

Time.

“C-Clock! I-It’s a c-clock!”

Jiho was trembling, trying so hard to keep himself from panicking. The shadow let go of Jiho’s face, letting the young man slump forward in his chair.

“Very good, Mr. Kim. And time is something you don’t have very much of, I’m afraid.”

Before Jiho could comprehend the full weight of the figure’s words, the figure lunged forward, the blade gleaming in the dim light. The knife was plunged into Jiho's side and Jiho screamed in pain, his scream echoing through the shack. Gasping in pain, Jiho didn’t register the figure’s next move until he felt the burning heat against his skin. A guttural cry tore from Jiho's throat as the flame seared his skin. All he could do was watch as the figure hold onto his wrist, his grip so strong, it was painful. Jiho watched as the flames left behind a bright red mark in the shape of an X.

Tears streamed down his face as he writhed in pain.

“I answered your goddamn riddle!” Jiho screamed. “What the hell do you want from me?”

“I want you to send a message.”

The figure suddenly cut through Jiho’s restraints, freeing him from the chair. Jiho tried to stand, his legs weak and shaking, and he went sprawling onto the ground, sobbing. The figure kneeled down beside him, his breath hot against Jiho’s ear.

“If you want to live, I suggest you go find Detective Han Jisung,” he hissed, his voice sending shivers down Jiho’s spine.

Ignoring the searing pain in his side and his throbbing wrist, Jiho scrambled onto his feet and stumbled out of the shack.

Run.

Escape.

Survive.

Clutching his stab wound, Jiho ran, his lungs burning as he ran to find the one person who could save him.

__

PRESENT

As the last of Minho’s students left the lecture hall, Minho took his time leaving. He made his way down the familiar hallways of the university, the clicking of his shoes against the polished floor echoing in the empty halls. He took a deep breath as he pushed open the door to his office, inhaling the familiar scent of his books and coffee. He gathered his things, stuffing papers and books into his bag with practiced efficiency.

He reached for his phone, his fingers tapping out a quick message to Jisung.

Hey love, I just remembered I have a faculty meeting with the other professors in my department tonight.

I won’t be able to pick up Dowonie.

He knew Jisung wouldn’t respond right away. He barely touched his phone while he was at work. Especially now, when there was a serial killer on the loose.

Minho set his phone down and allowed himself a moment of satisfaction.

He pulled out a folder out of his bag. It was at least two fingers thick. He always brought it with him, whether he was at home or at work, always keeping it safely locked in a drawer if he wasn’t looking through it. He opened it and started to flip through it.

Choi Manseok. Kang Jiyeon. Park Junho. Kim Jiho… Yu Haneul.

His next victim.

Hanuel was a student of one of his colleagues’ students. Minho had found out about her because she had put in an application to be Minho’s TA.

Yu Hanuel. Age 20. Communications major.

His mind was already racing ahead, thoughts of his next victim consuming his every waking moment.

He glanced at her student photo. She was a pretty little thing, with dark brown hair cut into a bob and big, round doe eyes. Minho could already feel the excitement starting to course through him. The anticipation of the hunt, the rush of adrenaline as he closed in on his prey—it was intoxicating.

It was a feeling he craved more than anything else.

He heard a soft ding, indicating he had received a text. He glanced at his phone, a smirk forming on his lips when he saw it was from Jisung.

Don’t worry, sweetheart.

I might head home early tonight anyway.

We’re not making much progress.

I love you <3

For the last ten years, he had been playing Jisung like a puppet on strings, using him as the perfect alibi.

Tonight would be no different.

Tonight, he would be adding another victim to his to-do list. 

Chapter Text

She wouldn’t stop struggling.

The youngest of Minho’s victims, but also the one who put up the most fight. But Minho wouldn’t let go, keeping his forearm pressed against her neck. Haneul kept thrashing, kicking, and trying to scream past the gloved hand clamped over her mouth. Her nails dug into his arms, clawing to break free.

“Shh,” Minho murmured softly, as if he was putting her to sleep like an infant. “Just let go, darling. It’ll all be over much quicker if you stop fighting me.”

It wasn’t until Minho heard a sickening crack that he finally let go, Haneul’s limp body collapsing onto the ground. Minho kneeled down beside the body, brushing her hair out of her face. He pressed a soft kiss on the girl’s forehead, gently stroking her cheek before moving along with his routine.

Carefully, he double-checked for any signs of life, his fingers pressing against her neck. A twisted smile spread across his face as he realized Yu Haneul was truly gone.

He hummed to himself as he positioned Haneul’s body to sit up against the alleyway. His gaze lingered on her hand, he frowned when he saw the blood underneath her fingernails. He glanced at his own arms, where angry red scratches marred his skin.

Despite all of his planning, he hadn’t expected Haneul to put up such a fight. It intrigued him, but it also frustrated him. Minho retrieved a clean cloth from his pocket and began to wipe the bloodstains from Haneul’s fingertips. His movements were unhurried and precise, as if he was tidying up a messy room. Each swipe of the cloth brought a sense of calmness, a return to the sense of order that he craved. When he was finished, he examined Haneul’s hands one more time before taking out a knife and cutting off her fingertips.

Minho carefully gathered Haneul’s severed fingertips, tucking them away in a small pouch. He would dispose of them later. He couldn’t risk keeping any trophies, especially when he had a curious one-year-old who would put anything and everything he found in his mouth.

Finally, he pulled out a lighter and put it against Haneul’s left wrist, searing an X into her skin. It relaxed him, watching the flame flicker and listening to it sizzle softly against her skin.

“There we go, darling,” Minho soothed once he was done, smoothing down Haneul’s hair. “Nice and clean.”

He rose to his feet, making sure his hat and face mask were secure before he stepped out of the alleyway.

Jisung would be waiting for him. He always did whenever he said he had a late meeting.

Han Jisung.

Sweet, unsuspecting, gullible Jisung.

Minho relished in the game of cat and mouse that he had been playing with the detective for years. The same detective was still oblivious to the truth, the detective who was so close yet so far from uncovering the identity of the X-Man.

And Minho planned to keep it that way.

__

God, Jisung’s head was killing him.

He was exhausted. This case was draining him and he knew it. When he had picked up Dowon from Hyunjin and Felix’s, he did his best not to let his fatigue show. Now, Dowon was fast asleep in his and Minho’s room, and Jisung was in his office, trying to wrap his head around the X-Man case.He had spent hours at the station trying to figure out why the X-Man had asked Jiho to answer a riddle. It got him thinking. Had the X-Man asked the other victims for riddles? They would never know because all of the other victims were dead.

Did the riddles have to do with anything at all?

Jisung thought back to when he had visited Jiho in the hospital, when he had read through Jiho’s files. He had no defensive wounds, just like all the other victims. That meant the X-Man had to have killed his victims while they were unconscious. None of the other victims had any signs or marks from being restrained.

Jiho had been the only victim who had been restrained. But why?

“Goddamnit,” he groaned, resting his head in his hands, his elbows on his desk.

Jisung rubbed his temples, trying to soothe the throbbing pain in his head.

Nothing was making sense, and it frustrated him.

He heard the door creak open, and he looked up to see Minho standing in the doorway.

Minho's gaze met Jisung's weary eyes, and without a word, he stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind him. Minho crossed the room and moved the swivel chair Jisung was sitting in so that it faced away from the desk. He settled into Jisung’s lap, pressing a soft kiss on Jisung’s forehead.

“How was your day?” Minho asked softly, brushing a strand of hair away from Jisung’s eyes.

“It could have been better,” he admitted, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

After all these years, Minho could read Jisung like a book. He could see how tense the younger man was. Minho's fingers traced soothing circles along the nape of Jisung's neck, coaxing the younger man to relax. Eventually, Jisung went limp in Minho’s arms. He buried his face in the crook of Minho’s neck, breathing in his husband’s familiar, comforting scent.

“Better?”

Jisung nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Much better," he murmured.

Feeling the tension slowly draining away from Jisung's body, Minho gently lifted his chin, encouraging him to meet his gaze. Minho leaned in and captured Jisung’s lips in a gentle kiss. Moving his lips lower, Minho peppered kisses along Jisung’s jawline, eliciting a soft sigh from his husband’s lips.

“Is this a bad time?” he murmured, his hands sneaking underneath Jisung’s shirt, tracing gentle circles on Jisung’s waist. His fingers brushed against the water dragon tattoo on the side of Jisung’s ribs.

Jisung shook his head. Minho could see the faint blush tinting Jisung’s cheeks. Jisung’s arms tightened ever so slightly around Minho’s waist.

“Never a bad time for you.”

With a soft chuckle, Minho's lips found their way back to Jisung's.

All of Jisung’s worries and stress from the day faded away, replaced by the overwhelming, the aching need to be as close to Minho as humanly possible. Minho gently tapped Jisung’s jaw twice and Jisung parted his lips, allowing Minho's tongue to slip inside his mouth. Jisung's hands found their way to Minho's hair, tangling in the soft strands as he pulled him closer. With a soft groan, Minho shifted in Jisung's lap, straddling him as Minho rocked his hips against Jisung’s. Jisung let out a gasp, his arms instinctively wrapping around Minho's neck.

“I missed you,” Minho whispered against Jisung’s lips.

"I missed you too," Jisung murmured between kisses, sneaking his own hands underneath Minho’s shirt and tracing patterns along the older’s back.

With practiced ease, Minho removed Jisung's jacket, tossing it aside, fumbling to grab the hem of Jisung’s shirt and pull it up and over Jisung’s head. He trailed kisses along the tattoo underneath Jisung’s collarbone, sucking and nipping gently at the skin, taking in the soft gasps falling from Jisung’s mouth. Minho pulled back to admire the hickey forming on Jisung’s collarbone, his finger brushing over the fresh mark, tracing over the elegant lettering of Jisung’s tattoo.

"Mine," he whispered.

“Yours,” Jisung breathed.

Minho leaned down to the sensitive spot underneath Jisung’s jaw, kissing hard against his skin.

Jisung’s response was a low, needy whimper as he tilted his head back to give Minho more access.

"Shh, love," Minho whispered, his voice barely audible as he gazed into Jisung's eyes, looking at his husband with a mixture of desire and amusement. "We don't want to wake Dowon, do we?"

Jisung shook his head frantically. His fingers curled against Minho's back, holding onto him tightly as he tried to contain the sounds threatening to spill from his lips.

With a playful glint in his eyes, Minho leaned in closer, his lips barely brushing against Jisung's ear. "I want you so badly right now."

Jisung's breath hitched at Minho's words, a shiver running down his spine as he felt Minho's warm breath against his skin. His heart pounded in his chest, the need for Minho overwhelming every other thought in his mind.

“Then take me.”

Minho’s lips curled into a mischievous grin and he scooped Jisung into his arms, earning a surprised squeak from his husband.

“Min! What are you–”

Minho cut him off with a gentle shush.

“Trust me, Ji.”

He carried Jisung out of the office and into the living room. He settled Jisung down onto the couch, admiring the younger man’s flushed face, tracing his finger along his swollen lips. Jisung’s wide, doe eyes followed Minho’s every move.

Minho's touch sent shivers of pleasure coursing through Jisung's veins, his fingers moving lower, tracing a path down Jisung's sides, lingering over the curve of his hips before finally coming to rest at the waistband of his pants. Minho undid Jisung's belt, slowly inching Jisung's pants down his legs until they pooled at his ankles, leaving him bare and exposed before Minho's hungry gaze. Minho kneeled onto the ground, spreading Jisung’s legs open before he leaned down to pepper soft kisses along Jisung's inner thighs, sucking and licking at the tender skin until Jisung was squirming beneath him. Minho chuckled as he watched Jisung bite down on his lower lip, struggling to stay quiet.

“Look at you,” Minho crooned. “Such a needy little thing, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Jisung's breath came out in ragged gasps. His fingers clenched and unclenched against the fabric of the couch, desperately needing something, anything, to hold onto.

“F-Fuck, Minho,” he gasped. “Please…”

Minho looked up at him with lust-filled eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. "Please what, baby?" he purred.

Jisung swallowed hard, his breath coming out in shallow pants as he struggled to form coherent words.

“Don’t be a tease,” he managed to choke out.

Minho couldn’t help but grin as he leaned forward to press a soft kiss on the head of Jisung’s sensitive cock, eliciting a sharp gasp from his husband. He looked up again and saw just how ruined Han Jisung was. His head lolled against the couch as he needily grabbed at the couch cushions. He was biting down hard on his lip, whimpering, his eyes practically rolling to the back of his head.

All of Jisung’s restraint shattered and his breath hitched when he felt Minho’s warm mouth around his cock. His back arched off the couch, unable to contain the moan that escaped his lips, the sound echoing softly in the room. Minho sucked and licked, his tongue teasingly slow.

"Minho, please..." Jisung begged, his voice strained.

Minho hummed in response, the vibrations sending shivers down Jisung's spine. He sucked harder, his fingers digging into Jisung’s thighs, listening to every desperate gasp and whimper that fell from Jisung's lips.

He knew the louder Jisung got, the closer he was.

With a low chuckle, Minho released Jisung's cock with a wet pop. A satisfied smirk played on his lips as he licked his own lips clean, savoring the taste of Jisung on his tongue as he watched his husband try to catch his breath, his face still flushed, and his cock leaking and still achingly hard.

“You’re evil, Lee Minho-”

Minho cut him off as he crawled up Jisung’s body, pressing lazy kisses along his flushed skin until he reached his lips, capturing them in a tender, lingering kiss.

“Fine,” he whispered against Jisung’s lips, brushing the younger man’s sweat-damp hair out of his face. “I’ll give you what you want, Ji.”

With a swift motion, Minho pulled off his suit jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. Jisung couldn't help but trace his fingers lightly along Minho's chest, feeling the warmth of his skin, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath his touch. Minho rolled them over so that Jisung was straddling his hips, giving him full control. Jisung wasted no time in taking advantage of his position, his hands roaming eagerly over Minho's chest, tracing the lines of his muscles. He leaned down to kiss Minho, his hands wandering lower, trailing down Minho's abdomen.

“God, Jisung,” Minho breathed.

Jisung's hands found their way to the hem of Minho's pants, undoing the button and zipper before slipping them down his legs. He wrapped his hand around Minho's length, stroking him slowly, watching the way Minho's hips bucked against his touch, seeking more friction.

“Whose the needy one now?” Jisung teased.

Minho's eyes darkened with desire as he met Jisung's gaze, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Oh, you're going to pay for that, Han Jisung.”

Jisung gasped when he felt his husband’s hands tracing gentle circles in his inner thighs.

“Side table, bottom drawer,” he whispered into Jisung’s ear.

Jisung leaned over to reach for the side table, his fingers fumbling with the drawer until he found what he was looking for. He grabbed the bottle of lube hidden in the very back of the drawer and handed it to Minho.

Minho flipped open the cap, squirting a generous amount of the slick substance onto his fingers. Jisung’s eyes fluttered shut as he felt Minho’s fingers teasingly ghost over his entrance. He rocked his hips against Minho’s hand, wanting more.

Minho didn’t keep him waiting long. He pressed one slick finger inside Jisung, the feeling causing Jisung to bite down hard on his lip to stifle a moan. Minho’s movements were slow, gently stretching Jisung open. As Minho added a second finger, Jisung couldn’t help the soft whimper that escaped his lips.

Just as Jisung thought he couldn’t take it anymore, Minho’s fingers found that sweet spot inside him.

“Minho!” he gasped. “Fuck, Minho.”

He could hear Minho’s throaty chuckle as he withdrew his fingers.

“Dowon’s asleep, Jisungie,” he reminded, sliding his other hand down Jisung’s bare back. “Be a good boy for me, darling.”

Jisung started nodding so fast, he thought his neck was going to break.

“I’ll be good, Min. I’ll be good, I’ll be quiet, please–”

Minho silenced Jisung with a kiss, his lips hot and demanding against Jiusng’s. They broke apart and Minho placed another kiss on Jisung’s cheek before pressing the head of his cock against Jisung’s entrance. Jisung’s breath caught in his throat as he felt Minho’s cock sliding inside him, stretching him in the most delicious way. He wrapped his legs around Minho’s waist, pulling him closer, deeper.

“God, you feel so good,” Minho groaned, his forehead resting against Jisung’s as he bottomed out.

Jisung’s nails dug into Minho’s shoulders and he buried his face in Minho’s neck, sucking sloppily at his throat, doing everything he could to suppress his moans. As Minho began to move, slow and steady at first, Jisung’s vision blurred and his mind went blank. Minho knew just how to angle his hips, just how to brush against that spot inside Jisung. And with each thrust, Minho whispered sweet nothings into Jisung's ear.

“I love you.”

“You’re so beautiful.”

“ You’re my everything .”

In that moment, there was no X-Man, no worries or doubts. There was only Minho.

Minho. Minho. Minho.

Minho’s name fell from Jisung’s lips like a fervent prayer.

As their pace quickened, their movements became more urgent, more desperate. Jisung’s muffled moans mingled with Minho’s grunts of pleasure.

Minho gently lifted Jisung’s head to press a tender kiss to Jisung’s lips, his hand reaching between them to stroke Jisung’s neglected cock. A broken whimper fell from Jisung’s lips.

Jisung's body felt like it was on fire, every nerve tingling as Minho's skilled hands worked their magic. He could feel the coil of tension tightening in the pit of his stomach, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps. Minho's movements became more frantic, his thrusts growing harder and faster.

The room was filled with the sound of their ragged breaths, the creaking of the couch, and the soft slap of skin against skin.

“Minho, I’m close,” Jisung gasped.

“Me too, Ji,” Minho murmured, his own voice strained with the effort of holding back.

The heat, the friction, Minho’s touch, it was all too much and not enough at the same time for Jisung. Minho’s hand moved faster, his strokes matching the rhythm of his thrusts.

Jisung’s body tensed, and with a choked cry, he came, spilling hot and wet over Minho's hand and their stomachs.

“Fuck, Jisung,” Minho groaned, his voice hoarse.

The feeling of Jisung clenching around him was enough to send Minho spiraling into his own orgasm. With a few more hard thrusts, he buried himself deep inside Jisung, his cock pulsing as he filled his husband with his release. He buried his face in Jisung’s neck, his breath coming out in hot, ragged pants against Jisung’s skin.

They stayed like that for a moment, their breathing heavy and their hearts pounding. Minho pressed gentle kisses to Jisung's temple, his hand smoothing over the volcano tattoo on Jisung’s back in soothing circles.

Jisung's body was still shaking, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Minho kissed the corner of Jisung's mouth, his touch reassuring. He slowly pulled out, earning a soft whimper from Jisung. Minho reached for his discarded shirt, using it to clean them both up before tossing it aside once more.

"Are you okay, love?" Minho's voice was soft, filled with genuine concern as he gazed into Jisung's eyes.

Jisung nodded, a tired but content smile spreading across his lips. "Yeah, I'm okay. Better than okay," he murmured, his fingers tracing idle patterns on Minho's chest.

Minho pulled Jisung into a gentle embrace, cradling him against his chest. They lay there in silence for a while, simply enjoying the comfort of each other's presence. The weight of the world outside their living room seemed to melt away, leaving just the two of them, wrapped up in their own little bubble.

Eventually, Minho shifted, pressing a kiss to Jisung's forehead before carefully lifting him off the couch. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up," he whispered.

He carried Jisung into the bathroom and set Jisung down on the edge of the sink before turning on the shower, adjusting the water temperature to make sure it was warm for his husband. Jisung practically slumped back into Minho’s arms as the older man guided Jisung into the shower, his legs too shaky to walk properly.

The warm water felt so nice on his heated skin, washing away the sweat and grime of the day.

Once they were both clean, Minho turned off the water, helped Jisung out of the shower, and dried them off. He scooped Jisung into his arms again before carrying him into their bedroom, careful not to wake Dowon who was sleeping soundly in his crib. He helped Jisung slip into a comfortable hoodie and a pair of loose boxers. Minho pulled on a pair of sweatpants before crawling into bed beside Jisung, pulling the younger man close until Jisung’s back pressed against Minho’s chest.

Jisung let out a soft sigh, nuzzling closer to Minho's warmth. Minho pressed a gentle kiss to the back of Jisung's neck, his arms wrapping protectively around him.

"Sleep now, my love," Minho whispered. "I'll be right here."

Jisung nodded sleepily, his breathing already evening out.

As Jisung drifted off to sleep, Minho remained awake. He watched the rise and fall of Jisung’s chest, listened to the gentle rhythm of his breathing, and for a moment, he allowed himself to feel a twinge of something close to affection.

But it was gone as soon as it came.

As Minho lay there, watching Jisung sleep peacefully in his arms, he couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. He had played his part well, comforting Jisung, easing his worries, and satisfying his desires. To the outside world, they looked like the perfect couple, but only Minho knew the truth.

Deep down, beneath the facade of love and tenderness, lurked the calculating mind of the X-Man. Minho felt no guilt for his actions, no remorse for the lives he had taken. For him, it was all part of the game, a game he refused to lose.

As he gazed at Jisung's sleeping form, a cold smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He knew that Jisung trusted him, believed in their love. And Minho savored that trust, using it to his advantage, manipulating Jisung's emotions for his own gain. And as he drifted off to sleep, his mind already calculating his next move, Minho knew that the game was far from over.

Chapter Text

Jisung’s loud, off-key piano ringtone broke the silence of the early morning, startling him awake. He swore under his breath, fumbling to silence the device. The last thing he wanted was to wake up Minho and Dowon. But it was too late – he could hear Dowon whimpering and fussing as he stirred awake in his crib.

Jisung sat up, pushing the covers aside, and swung his feet off the bed before answering his phone.

“Han,” he mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep.

“It’s Chan.”

Chan?

Jisung quickly checked the time. 3:57 AM. He had barely gotten four hours of sleep.

“Give me a minute, hyung.”

Jisung saw Minho groggily getting up and met his gaze.

“Sorry,” Jisung mouthed. Minho gave him a small smile and shook his head before going to soothe Dowon. Jisung got up and walked out of the room, not wanting to disturb his family anymore. He closed the door behind him and headed to the living room.

“Okay, what’s up, hyung?” he yawned.

Jisung heard Chan sigh tiredly. “A body was found. It’s the X-Man.”

That woke Jisung up right away.

“Shit. Where?”

“In an alleyway in the Songpa District.”

Jisung’s mind was already racing.

“I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“See you soon.”

Jisung hung up and sighed, running a hand through his hair.

He went back into the bedroom and saw Minho sitting on the bed, Dowon now settling back to sleep in his arms. He went over to his husband and sat back down on the bed, wrapping his arms around the older man. Minho leaned into his touch.

“Everything okay?” Minho whispered, still gently stroking Dowon’s back.

“No,” Jisung mumbled, resting his chin on Minho’s shoulder. For a moment, he wished he could stay there forever.

For a moment, he wished he didn’t have to leave.

Jisung leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on Dowon’s forehead, brushing the baby’s soft hair away from his face. “Bye, my sweet boy. Papa will see you later,” he whispered, even though he knew Dowon couldn’t hear him.

He turned to face Minho, and they shared a sweet, soft kiss. “I’ll see you later, love.”

Minho cupped Jisung’s face, brushing his thumb across the younger man’s cheek.

“Stay safe, Ji.”

He pressed a kiss against Jisung’s temple before letting him go.

Jisung got up from the bed and left to get ready.

He went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face, trying to shake off the lingering exhaustion. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, and he could see the shadows underneath.

His eyes landed on the love bites Minho had left on his neck and collarbone the night before and felt his face flush. He would have to make sure he covered them up so his team wouldn’t give him a hard time about it later.

After brushing his teeth, he grabbed a pair of jeans and a black turtleneck from the closet, quickly changing out of the hoodie he had worn to sleep. He made sure to grab his badge and gun from the drawer in the kitchen he always kept locked, attaching them to his belt. He paused for a moment at the door, looking back towards the bedroom where Minho and Dowon slept. Minho was lying back down on the bed with Dowon asleep beside him, with a protective arm around their son. The sight warmed Jisung’s heart and he turned to leave, slipping on a coat before he locked the door behind him.

By the time he got into his car, he couldn’t stop thinking.

This is unlike the X-Man’s usual MO. Five victims in two months, the most recent victim being the only survivor. It’s only been four days since Jiho was kidnapped. Why is the X-Man killing again so soon?

There had to be some sort of stressor…

Something must have kept him from killing Jiho, and that same something had to be the reason he killed his fifth victim so soon.

Unless the X-Man was doing it deliberately, to screw with the police.

Why did the X-Man spare Kim Jiho’s life?

It was the same question he had asked himself over and over for the last few days.

God, this is driving me crazy, he thought.

Jisung turned the key in the ignition, and the engine roared to life. As he drove through the deserted streets, his mind wouldn’t turn off about the case. The X-Man had always been methodical, almost ritualistic in his approach. Why the sudden change?

He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, trying to piece together the puzzle. The Songpa District wasn't too far, but the drive felt longer with the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him.

He arrived at the alleyway in the Songpa District, the scene already blocked off with police tape. Flashing lights from patrol cars illuminated the area, and officers were milling about, their expressions grim. Jisung parked his car and quickly made his way to the scene, flashing his badge to the officer at the scene. "Detective Han," he said. “Seoul Police Department.” The officer nodded, lifting the tape to let him through.

Chan was already there, standing with Changbin and Jeongin, along with the forensics team. His team leader looked up as Jisung approached, giving him a brief nod.

“What do we have?” Jisung asked.

Jeongin gestured to the covered body lying a few feet away. “The body was found by a garbage collector. The victim is Yu Haneul. She’s twenty years old and attends the University of Seoul. Cause of death appears to be strangulation, but there are signs of a struggle.”

Jisung snapped on a pair of latex gloves and crouched down next to the body, lifting the edge of the tarp to take a closer look. He could see the strangulation marks around her neck. They were fresh. He lifted the tarp higher and saw the self-defense wounds she had. He could also see the stark X burn on her left wrist. What stuck out the most to him was that her fingertips were gone.

“Mutilation isn’t the X-Man’s style,” Jisung said out loud.

The bastard’s getting sloppy, he thought.

“Poor girl,” Changbin said, kneeling down beside him. “She’s so young, and she died fighting for her life.

Jisung lowered the tarp to cover Haneul again.

“Do her parents know yet?”

Changbin shook his head. “We just found her bag with her student ID and identified her before you got here.”

Jisung looked around the scene, taking in the details. The alleyway was dimly lit, a perfect place to kill someone – isolated and quiet. He noted the position of the body, how Haneul had been posed to sit up against the alley wall, just like the X-Man’s previous victims.

"Any witnesses?" Jisung asked, turning back to Jeongin.

Jeongin shook his head. "Not yet. Seungmin hyung’s already at the station pulling the footage.”

Chan spoke up, his voice serious. "Jisung, this isn't just about the X-Man's change in MO. Yu Haneul was a student, just like Kim Jiho."

Jisung clenched his jaw. "I know." The connection wasn't lost on him. Two young people, both students, targeted within a short span of time. It couldn't be a coincidence.

Changbin knew his partner like the back of his hand. He could see the wheels turning in Jisung’s mind.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, Ji?”

Jisung rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension. "It just doesn't make sense. The X-Man has always been so precise, so specific. Why the sudden deviation? Why take Jiho and then spare him, only to kill Haneul days later?"

"Maybe," Chan began, "Jiho was supposed to be a message, and Haneul was the real target."

Changbin frowned. "A message for who, though? And what kind of message requires sparing one life and taking another?"

What if the X-Man really is targeting me? Jisung thought. What if sparing Jiho was a message for me?

All the anxiousness he had the day before when the thought first popped into his head returned almost immediately. Jisung could feel a cold shiver run down his spine as he reconsidered the possibility. He had pushed the thought away before, but with Haneul's murder following so closely after Jiho's abduction, it seemed more than just coincidental.

"Jisung,” Chan's voice interrupted his thoughts, “you with us?”

"Yeah," Jisung replied, his voice steadier than he felt. He took a deep breath, trying to push aside his unsettling thoughts. “Yeah, I’m here.”

Chan’s gaze seemed to linger on him a little longer than necessary before returning to the task at hand.

“Alright,” Chan began. “On Haneul’s file, it says her mother lives about twenty minutes away in Anyang. Changbin, Jisung, I’m going to have you go to her mother’s residence. I’ll stay here with Jeongin until forensics is done. We’ll meet back up at the station as soon as possible.”

Changbin nodded in acknowledgment while Jisung remained silent. He couldn't shake off the feeling that there was something off about this particular murder. It was a deep feeling rooted in the pit of his stomach that he couldn’t shake off. Changbin tapped him on the shoulder.

“Come on, let’s go. The sooner we get to Mrs. Yu, the sooner we can head back.”

Jisung nodded, his actions almost mechanical. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go, hyung.”

The two detectives quickly decided to go in Jisung’s car so Jeongin, who had been at the station and gotten a ride with Chan, would drive Changbin’s car back to the station. The silence between them was comfortable, reflective of the last five years they had spent as partners. They had been through so much but always had each other’s backs.

Changbin looked over for a moment, watching Jisung focus on the road. There was something off. He could feel it.

“Sung-ah,” Changbin began, his voice gentle. “You seemed distracted back there.”

“Yeah, hyung. I’m fine. Just tired, I didn’t get much sleep.”

Changbin pursed his lips and tried to press harder. He knew how much Jisung tended to bottle up his emotions. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Jisung gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles turning white. He glanced at Changbin, considering the question. It wasn't that he didn't trust his partner. In fact, Changbin was one of the few people he did trust. But talking about his fears, especially the nagging feeling that the X-Man might be targeting him, felt like admitting a weakness he wasn't ready to expose.

"It's just the case," Jisung finally said, his voice tight. "The X-Man's change in MO just has me on edge. I can't help but feel like we're missing something.”

Changbin's heart ached as he listened to Jisung's strained voice. He knew Jisung was under a lot of pressure, but he also knew that his feelings for Jisung made things more complicated. He cared deeply for his partner, more than just as a friend or a colleague. He had watched Jisung fall in love with Minho, get married, and adopt Dowon, all while keeping his own feelings hidden.

But now, seeing Jisung so stressed and vulnerable, those buried emotions threatened to surface.

"Yeah, I get it," Changbin said softly. "This case is messing with all of us." He paused, searching for the right words. "But you know I'm here for you, right? Whatever you need, Ji, I'm here."

Jisung glanced over at Changbin, a small, tired smile playing on his lips. "I know, hyung. Thanks."

The rest of the drive to Mrs. Yu's residence was quiet, both men lost in their thoughts. Changbin kept stealing glances at Jisung, feeling a mix of protectiveness and longing. He wished he could do more to ease Jisung's burden, but he knew he couldn’t.

Jisung had a husband, a child, a family.

It wasn’t Changbin’s place to interfere with that, no matter how much he cared for Jisung. He had always respected their relationship and supported Jisung from the sidelines. But moments like these, where Jisung seemed so vulnerable, made it hard to keep his feelings in check.

Eventually, they pulled up a small but well-kept house in a quiet neighborhood. The lights were still off inside, as to be expected, since it was barely six in the morning. Jisung hesitated for a moment. Even after five years on the job, he hated delivering bad news, especially to families. Changbin gave Jisung a reassuring pat on the shoulder before they both got out of the car and made their way to the front door. Jisung rang the doorbell, the sound echoing in the silence of the early morning. The two detectives heard shuffling from inside the house and watched as the lights turned on. The door opened to reveal a tired-looking woman in her fifties. Mrs. Yu looked like she had just woken up. Her eyes were bleary with sleep, her hair disheveled, and a robe was loosely tied around her.

“Mrs. Yu?” Jisung asked softly.

The woman nodded, her eyes darting between the two detectives. “Yes? Can I help you?”

Jisung took a step forward and inhaled sharply before speaking. “I’m Detective Han. This is my partner, Detective Seo. We’re with the Seoul Police Department. May we come in?”

Mrs. Yu's face paled, and she stepped aside to let them in. They followed her into a small living room, where she motioned for them to sit. She sat across from them, wringing her hands nervously.

Changbin took a deep breath before speaking. “We’re here to speak to you about your daughter, Haneul. She was found dead early this morning.”

For a moment, Mrs. Yu’s face was blank until it twisted with grief, and she let out a heart-wrenching sob.

Jisung felt his chest tighten at the sound of Mrs. Yu’s cry. He had seen this reaction countless times, but it never got any easier. He let Changbin handle the rest of the talking, knowing his partner had a gentler touch when it came to delivering such devastating news.

“We’re deeply sorry for your loss, Mrs. Yu,” Changbin said softly. “We’re doing everything we can to find out who did this to Haneul.”

Mrs. Yu’s shoulders shook with sobs as she struggled to compose herself. “Haneul… my baby… she was such a good girl. Why would anyone hurt her?”

Jisung’s heart ached for the grieving mother. “We believe it may be connected to other recent cases,” he explained gently. “We’re doing our best to find the person responsible.”

Mrs. Yu nodded, her tear-filled eyes searching theirs for answers. “Was she in pain?”

Jisung hesitated, not wanting to cause her more distress, but also knowing he needed to be honest. “There were signs of a struggle,” he admitted. “But she fought back. She was strong.”

Mrs. Yu’s sobs grew quieter, and she took a shaky breath. Her lips trembled into a weak smile.

“That’s my girl… that’s my Haneul…”

Jisung felt a lump form in his throat. God, he couldn’t even begin to imagine the pain he would feel if anything happened to Minho or Dowon…

Changbin reached into his pocket and pulled out his card. “Mrs. Yu, here’s my contact information. If you need anything or remember anything that might help us, please don’t hesitate to call.”

Mrs. Yu took the card with shaking hands, nodding gratefully. “Thank you, detectives.”

“We’ll keep you updated on the investigation,” Jisung assured her softly. “Please take care of yourself.”

As they left Mrs. Yu’s house, Jisung's mind was still racing with thoughts about the case. The X-Man’s sudden change in MO was disturbing, and he knew they needed to find a breakthrough soon. He quickly pushed his thoughts away and focused his attention back on the road.

Changbin broke the silence. "What are you thinking, Ji?"

Jisung sighed, rubbing his temple. "I'm thinking about the connection between Jiho and Haneul. There has to be something we're missing. Why target two students so close together?"

"Maybe they knew each other?" Changbin suggested.

Jisung nodded. "It's possible. We need to look into their backgrounds, see if there's any overlap. Friends, classes, anything."

Jisung drove in silence for a moment, letting his thoughts sink in. There had to be a connection between Jiho and Haneul, something they hadn't seen yet.

"I'll start pulling their records once we're back at the station," Jisung said. "Maybe there's a common link we missed."

Changbin nodded, glancing out the window at the passing buildings. "We'll find it, Ji. We just need to keep digging."

The ride back to the station was quiet, both men lost in their thoughts. As they pulled into the station parking lot, the early morning sun slowly rising, Jisung felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. He was running on adrenaline, and he knew he needed to stay focused.

Inside the station, the atmosphere was tense. Jisung and Changbin made their way to their desks, where Seungmin was already waiting for them. Jeongin was sitting beside him, looking through Haneul’s file.

"Any luck with the footage?" Jisung asked as he sat down. Changbin sat down beside him, still carefully watching the younger detective.

Seungmin shook his head. "Not much. The cameras in the alleyway where Haneul was found were either tampered with or malfunctioning. We have some partial footage, but it's grainy and doesn't show much."

Jisung sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Of course. The X-Man is always one step ahead."

Jisung glanced at the clock on the wall, realizing how it had only been a few hours since he had been woken up by Chan’s phone call. It had only been a few hours since he had been in bed with Minho, with Dowon sleeping soundly in his crib.

Jisung shook off the thought, refocusing his attention on the case. He had a job to do, and he couldn’t afford any distractions.

"Alright," he said, leaning forward. "Let's start with what we have. Jeongin, go through Jiho and Haneul's backgrounds. See if there's any overlap—friends, classes, activities. Anything that connects them."

Jeongin nodded, his fingers already moving over the keyboard. "Got it, hyung."

Jisung turned to Seungmin. "Can you enhance the footage? Even if it's grainy, we might get something useful."

Seungmin nodded, determination in his eyes. "I'll get on it."

As Jeongin and Seungmin worked, Jisung leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. He could feel Changbin's eyes on him, concerned but silent.

"Ji," Changbin began quietly, "we'll figure this out. The X-Man's slip-up might be an opportunity for us to catch him.”

Jisung nodded, but the unease in his gut remained. There was something about this case, that he couldn’t shake off.

“It’s strange.” Seungmin suddenly spoke up. “The X-Man left the CCTV footage of the alleyway but he tampered with the cameras outside the university when Jiho was kidnapped.”

“He’s hiding something. There’s something that happened that night,” said Jeongin. “Some he doesn’t want us to know about.”

“What do you mean, Innie?” Changbin asked.

“The X-Man is getting more confident, to the point he’s starting to feel invincible. He’s starting to have some sort of god complex. He may have been sloppy with Haneul’s murder, but he’s evolving. His initial patterns suggested a meticulous planner, someone who thrives on control. But now he’s experimenting. Testing our limits to see just how far we’ll go to catch him.”

Chan reached over and ruffled Jeongin’s hair. “Good work, Jeongin.”

Jeongin pretended to scowl at Chan's praise, but a small, satisfied smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Don't get used to it, hyung," he muttered, turning his attention back to the screen.

Chan chuckled softly and glanced at Jisung and Changbin. "Innie’s right, though. The X-Man seems to be evolving. We need to stay one step ahead."

Jisung nodded, his mind racing with the implications. "If he's becoming more confident, he might slip up again. We just have to be ready."

Changbin leaned forward, his expression serious. "But how are we going to predict what he'll do next? He's already broken his own patterns."

Jisung considered Jeongin's words, his mind racing through possibilities. Why would the X-Man tamper with some cameras and not others? Was he hiding his identity, or was there something more specific he didn't want the police to see?

He’s toying with us, Jisung thought.

The next few hours passed in a blur of looking through reports and statements from the victims’ families and finding dead ends. Jisung's exhaustion slowly became harder to ignore.

"Hey," Chan said, breaking Jisung out of his trance. He had been mindlessly staring at a pile of files for the last half hour. "Take a break. You've been at this nonstop."

Jisung shook his head. "Can't. We have no idea when the X-Man is going to kill again."

"Jisung, you're no good to anyone if you burn out. Just ten minutes, okay? Get some coffee, stretch your legs. You need to clear your head."

Jisung wanted to protest, but he knew Chan was right. Reluctantly, he pushed himself away from his desk, feeling the stiffness in his muscles from hours of sitting.

"Alright, ten minutes," he conceded. "But no more."

Chan gave him a small smile. "That's all I ask."

Jisung walked to the break room, grabbed a disposable cup of coffee, and leaned against the counter. His mind wandered back to Minho and Dowon. He pulled out his phone, debating whether to send a message. Minho was probably still asleep, and he didn't want to wake him. Instead, he opened his photo gallery and scrolled through pictures of his family. Seeing Minho's smile and Dowon's chubby cheeks brought a sense of calm he desperately needed.

He had to stay strong.

For his family.

For the sake of his own sanity. 

Chapter Text

Jisung leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples in an attempt to fight off the headache that had been building for the last few hours. His eyes were heavy, and his mind felt sluggish. Chan and Changbin exchanged a glance, both detectives aware of the toll this case was taking on Jisung.

"Hey, Jisung," Chan said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Why don't you take a breather?” 

Jisung looked up from his stack of files, dark circles evident under his eyes. "I can't, hyung. There’s still so much to do."

Changbin chimed in, his tone firm but caring. "We’ve got it covered for now. You need to take care of yourself too, you know."

“And as your team leader, it’s an order,” Chan added. “Go get some rest, Jisung.”

Jisung hesitated, looking between his partner and team leader, and then back at the mountain of files on his desk. With a heavy sigh, he relented. “Alright, alright. I’ll go.”

Jisung stood up and grabbed his coat, draping it over his shoulders. The weariness in his movements didn’t go unnoticed by Chan and Changbin, who shared another worried glance. The cool afternoon breeze felt refreshing as Jisung stepped outside the station. 

He needed this break. He knew it, his team knew it. But it was just so hard to shut his mind off, especially when it came to dealing with a case like the X-Man.The killer was starting to get under his skin. He made the quick decision to visit Hyunjin and Felix. Jisung couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. It had been too long since he’d properly spent time with his best friends, even though he saw them almost every other day because they watched Dowon while he and Minho were at work. 

Jisung pulled up on the driveway of Hyunjin and Felix’s house, letting out a deep breath before getting out of the car. He knocked on the door, and it swung open almost immediately. Hyunjin stood there with a warm smile.

"Hey, stranger," he greeted, pulling Jisung into a hug.

Felix appeared from the kitchen, his eyes lighting up at the sight of Jisung. "Jisung! It's always good to see you," Felix said, wiping his hands on a dish towel before joining in on the hug.

"Hey, guys," Jisung said, his voice a mix of relief and exhaustion. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Not at all," Hyunjin replied, leading Jisung into the living room. "We were just making some tea. Join us?"

Jisung nodded, a small smile forming on his lips. "Tea sounds perfect."

They settled into the living room, the familiar warmth and comfort of his friends' home helping Jisung to relax. Felix handed him a cup of tea, and he took a grateful sip, feeling the tension in his shoulders begin to ease.

"So, how have you been?" Hyunjin asked, sitting down next to Jisung. "We haven't had a chance to really catch up lately."

Jisung sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's been tough. The X-Man case is taking up all my time and energy. I feel like I'm drowning."

Felix frowned, concern evident in his eyes. "We’ve been following the case on the news. It sounds like a nightmare."

"It is," Jisung admitted. "But there are too many lives are at stake for me to stop now."

Hyunjin placed a reassuring hand on Jisung's arm. "We know you'll get through this, Jisung. You always do."

"Thanks, Hyunjin," Jisung said, giving him a tired smile. "I just wish I could switch off my brain for a while."

Felix leaned forward, his expression serious. "You know we're here for you, right? Anytime you need to talk or just get away from it all, we're just a call away."

"I know," Jisung replied. "And I appreciate it more than you guys know."

They spent the next hour reminiscing about their school days, sharing stories and laughter that Jisung desperately needed. It felt good to talk about something other than the case, remembering the simpler times when their biggest worry was passing exams. 

Hyunjin leaned back, chuckling at a memory from years ago. "Remember that time we got caught sneaking into the library after hours? We thought we were so slick."

Jisung laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah, and we ended up getting locked in until the janitor found us the next morning. We were so scared."

Felix grinned. "I still can't believe you managed to convince the dean it was all part of a study group project."

Jisung shrugged, a hint of pride in his voice. "What can I say? I had a way with words even back then."

Their conversation provided a much-needed distraction for Jisung. He made a mental note to himself to make sure to spend more time with Hyunjin and Felix more often, especially once this case was over. He glanced at his phone to check the time and noticed it was already 6 PM.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had properly spent some quality time with his son, and the thought stung. If he left now, he would be able to spend some time with his family before Dowon went to bed. 

"I should probably get going," Jisung said reluctantly. "I want to see Dowon before he goes to bed.” 

"Of course," Hyunjin said. "Take care of yourself, alright?”

"Don't be a stranger," Felix added, giving Jisung another hug.

"I won't," Jisung promised. "Thanks, guys."

He left Hyunjin and Felix's house feeling lighter than he had in weeks. The drive home was quiet, giving him some time to think about what Chan and Changbin had told him earlier. He knew they were right – he needed to take care of himself if he was going to be any good to anyone else. 

As Jisung pulled into the driveway of his own home, a sense of warmth washed over him. He saw the lights on inside. He unlocked the door and saw Minho sitting on the couch with Dowon, who was busy playing with a set of colorful blocks. Dowon’s eyes lit up the moment he saw Jisung.

"Papa!" Dowon screamed. The little boy abandoned his blocks and ran as fast as his tiny legs could carry him, practically colliding with Jisung’s legs in a tight hug.

Jisung chuckled, scooping Dowon up into his arms. "Hey there, my little star. Did you have a good day with Daddy?"

Minho approached the two of them, a wide smile spreading across his face. "Hey, you. You're home early."

"For once," Jisung replied, leaning in to kiss Minho. "I missed you both."

Minho returned the kiss, his hands snaking around Jisung’s waist to pull him closer. "We missed you too." When they broke apart, Minho rested his forehead against Jisung’s. They stood there like that for a moment before Jisung set Dowon back on the ground. The little boy returned to his colorful blocks, giggling. 

Minho wrapped his arms around Jisung from behind, resting his chin on Jisung’s shoulder. “You look exhausted, love.”

Jisung leaned into Minho’s embrace, closing his eyes. 

“I am. But being with you and Dowon makes it all worth it.”

Minho kissed the side of Jisung’s neck, sending a shiver down his spine. “How about you go wash up?”

“Sounds perfect,” Jisung murmured, reluctantly pulling away from Minho’s warmth. “I won’t be long.”

Minho smiled and gave him a gentle push toward the bathroom. Jisung made his way down the hall, listening to the sound of Dowon’s giggles and Minho’s soft humming. He quickly washed his face and changed into more comfortable clothes, his weariness starting to lift as he tried to settle down for the rest of the night. He met his reflection in the mirror for a moment.

Had it really only been this morning when Chan had woken him up? It felt like a lifetime ago. 

Jisung left the bathroom and went back to the living room, turning his attention back to Dowon. The boy was now focused intently on his blocks, determined to build the tallest tower he could manage. Jisung knelt beside him, gently guiding his little hands as he helped stack the blocks.

Dowon’s face lit up with a big smile, his eyes sparkling. “Papa, look!” he exclaimed, pointing at his creation.

Jisung leaned in to give Dowon a kiss on the cheek. “Look at that tower you’re building, Dowonie,” he said. “It’s getting so high!”

After a few more minutes of block stacking, Jisung noticed that Dowon’s eyelids were starting to droop. The little boy had clearly been running around all day and it was obvious that he was ready for bed.

“Hey, buddy,” Jisung said softly, gently picking up Dowon and cradling him in his arms. “You getting sleepy there?” 

Dowon yawned and snuggled deeper into Jisung’s arms, his tiny fingers gripping Jisung’s shirt. 

Jisung felt a rush of warmth fill his chest. 

He gently carried his son to the bedroom and carefully laid Dowon in his crib, tucking him in with a blanket. Jisung watched as Dowon drifted off to sleep in his crib, his tiny hand clutching the edge of his blanket. 

Once he was sure Dowon was fast asleep, Jisung quietly left the room, closing the door behind him. He made his way to the kitchen where Minho was doing the dishes. Minho looked up from the sink to meet his husband’s gaze. “Dowon asleep?” He turned off the sink and dried his hands on a towel.

“Yeah, he’s out like a light,” Jisung replied, leaning against the counter. “He fell asleep pretty quickly, so I think he was ready for a good sleep.”

Minho smiled, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around Jisung’s waist. “I’m glad you had a chance to spend some time with him. It’s been a minute.”

“Yeah, it has,” Jisung agreed, resting his head against Minho’s shoulder.

Minho kissed the top of Jisung’s head, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on his husband’s back. “You deserve to get some rest, love.” 

For a moment, Jisung allowed himself to relax in Minho’s arms, letting the stress of the day melt away. He could feel the tension in his shoulders slowly easing up, the weight of the case momentarily.

Minho pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at Jisung with a soft smile. "How about we have a quiet evening? Just the two of us," he suggested, his voice low and soothing.

Jisung couldn’t help but smile back and nod. 

Minho gently guided Jisung from the kitchen to living room, where they settled onto the couch. Jisung could already feel the day’s chaos slipping away like a distant memory. They sat in comfortable silence until Minho shifted on the couch, his eyes meeting Jisung's. 

"How are you holding up?"

Jisung sighed. “Honestly? It's been really tough. The X-Man case is... consuming. It's all I think about.”

Minho took Jisung's hand in his. "I know it's hard, but you need to take care of yourself too. You can't pour from an empty cup."

Jisung gave him a small smile, squeezing his hand. "I know. Chan and Changbin made me take a break today, and I went to see Hyunjin and Felix. It helped a lot."

Minho's face brightened. "I'm glad to hear that. They always know how to cheer you up."

"They do," Jisung agreed. "I realized I need to spend more time with them—and with you and Dowon. This case is important, but so are you guys."

Minho's eyes softened. “We'll always be here for you. Just promise me you'll try to take it easier."

"I promise," Jisung said. "I'll try.”

Minho leaned over to plant a gentle kiss on Jisung's forehead. "That’s all I ask, darling.”

Jisung’s eyes were slowly growing heavy as he rested his head against his husband’s shoulder. He exhaled deeply as Minho began to gently run his fingers through Jisung’s hair. 

"You’re exhausted," he whispered. "Why don't you close your eyes for a bit?"

Jisung wanted to protest, to say he wasn’t that tired, but his body betrayed him. He felt his eyelids grow heavier, the exhaustion he had been fighting all day finally catching up to him. "Just for a minute," he mumbled, his words slurred with sleep.

Minho smiled softly, pressing a kiss to Jisung’s temple. "Just for a minute," he echoed, though he knew Jisung would likely fall asleep right there in his arms. And that was okay. Minho was more than happy to hold him, to give him the peace he so desperately needed.

At least, that was how Minho knew he should feel.

He had to keep up his act, keep pretending to be like the perfect husband.

He continued to stroke Jisung's hair, but it felt mechanical now, as if his fingers were moving on autopilot. Minho leaned back slightly, still holding Jisung close, but his mind was miles away. 

Look at him. 

So vulnerable, so easily deceived. 

He replayed the last few hours in his head—the way Jisung had come home, the way his exhaustion had melted away in Minho's embrace. It was all too perfect, too easy. He had carefully orchestrated this moment, using Jisung's weaknesses to his advantage.

He thinks I’m his loving husband. He thinks I’m here to support him. Little does he know, I’m the reason for his suffering. Every sleepless night, every ounce of stress he’s been feeling – it’s all thanks to me . 

And he has no idea. 

He had watched Jisung slowly tearing himself apart, bit by bit, watched him crumble under the pressure of the X-Man case. His exhaustion and frustration only made it easier for Minho to control him.

Minho’s hand drifted up to Jisung’s cheek, tracing his thumb along Jisung’s jawline. His lips curled into a faint, cruel smile. 

Minho leaned down, his lips pressing a cold kiss against Jisung’s temple as he listened to his husband’s steady breathing. 

He still had too much to do, too much at stake to get caught now. But for now, he could keep playing his game, making sure Jisung would never know that his reality was nothing more than a carefully crafted lie.

__

Jisung fumbled with his keys as he approached the front door, his tired mind too preoccupied with the case he couldn't seem to crack. 

Two months. 

It had been two months since the killings started, and he was still stuck on square one. They had no evidence, only a profile of the X-Man. 

Jisung let out a frustrated sigh as he finally managed to unlock the door and pushed it open. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, careful not to wake up Minho or Dowon. The house was eerily silent, making him feel on edge. 

Something in his gut told him that something was terribly wrong. 

Jisung’s senses were on high alert as he slipped off his shoes and walked quietly through the dimly lit hallway. 

“Minho?” he whispered. 

No response.

“Minho?” he called out a little louder. 

He knew Minho and Dowon were supposed to be sleeping, but the unsettling feeling in his gut was growing stronger with every step. 

As he reached the living room, Jisung's breath caught in his throat and his heart dropped. 

Minho was tied to a chair in the middle of the room, a gag in his mouth, and a fresh cut on his forehead, blood trickling down the side of his face. He struggled against his restraints, his eyes wide with fear. 

“Good evening, Detective Han.”

Jisung spun around as a figure stepped out of the shadows, cradling Dowon in his arms. The baby was peacefully sleeping, unaware of the nightmare unfolding around him. 

Jisung's knees nearly buckled. This stranger, this intruder could only be one person. 

The X-Man wore a dark, hooded mask that completely hid his face, but Jisung could see his eyes. 

Cold, piercing, as if he was looking straight into his soul. 

Jisung’s heart pounded wildly as he took in the scene, tears welling up in his eyes. 

“Please.” The detective’s voice was shaky. “Let them go. They have nothing to do with this.”

The X-Man chuckled, the sound sending shivers up Jisung’s spine. “Begging already? How disappointing.” He pulled a gun from his waistband and toyed with it as he took a step closer towards Jisung. “Your family have everything to do with this. I’ve been watching you, Jisung. Seeing how hard you fight to keep them safe. It’s almost touching.”

“I-I’ll do anything. Just… don’t hurt them.”

The X-Man cut him off with a hum, contemplating Jisung’s words. “ Anything , you say?”

“Yes, please, keep my family out of this.” Jisung’s voice was desperate. Broken. 

The X-Man’s smile widened. “Begging suits you, Detective. But you’ve made this very inconvenient for me. And unfortunately, I’m not one for compromises.” 

Minho's muffled protests grew more frantic, his eyes pleading for Jisung to do something, anything .

But before Jisung could react, the X-Man raised his gun and aimed it at Minho. Jisung’s breath hitched as time seemed to slow down, his scream dying in his throat.

The gunshot echoed through the room, a spray of blood splattering against the wall as Minho’s head snapped back. His body slumped forward, blood spilling down his face from the single bullet hole in his forehead.

No.

No, no, no, no . 

Minho.

Jisung collasped onto his knees, his ears ringing as Dowon’s cries filled the room. He felt as if he was frozen in place, unable to move or scream.

The X-Man turned his gun towards Jisung, his finger on the trigger.

“Goodbye, Detective.”

The gun fired.

__

Jisung’s eyes snapped open as he sat upright on the couch, his body drenched in sweat, his heart racing. His chest heaved and his body shook uncontrollably as tears blurred his vision. 

He couldn’t breathe . 

Minho stirred awake beside him and immediately noticed his husband in distress. He reached out to pull the younger man into his arms, trying to soothe him. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re safe, Ji. It was just a dream.”

Tears slipped down Jisung's cheeks as he shook his head, burying his face against Minho's chest. He couldn't shake the vision of his husband – bleeding, lifeless – from his mind.

“Breathe with me, okay, baby? Just breathe.”

Jisung tried to match Minho's slow, steady breaths, still overwhelmed with panic.

“I… I saw you… You were… He shot you, Min. And Dowon…”

“Shh, shh,” Minho murmured softly, rubbing gentle circles on Jisung’s back. “I’m right here, Ji. Dowon’s safe. We’re all safe.”

Minho didn't let go of him until a few minutes later, as Jisung stopped shaking and his breathing began to steady.

It was just a dream , Jisung thought. Just a nightmare. 

He was okay. He was at home with his family, with Minho. Minho was fine. Dowon was fine. 

I’m fine. I’m safe. 

“Come on,” Minho said softly, helping Jisung out of bed. “Let’s get some tea. It’ll help calm you down.”

They moved quietly to the kitchen, and Jisung sat down, watching as Minho filled a kettle with water and set it down on the stove. As the water heated, Minho began to prepare a cup of tea, chamomile, Jisung’s favorite. When the tea was ready, Minho placed the cup in front of Jisung, his eyes filled with concern.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Minho asked gently.

Jisung shook his head, forcing a smile as he took a sip of his tea. "No, it’s nothing. It was just a nightmare, Minho. I’ll be fine."

Minho frowned but didn’t press further. He knew very well that the nightmare hadn’t been just nothing, but he also knew how stubborn Jisung could be – especially when it came to separating his work from his personal life.

“Alright,” he said quietly, sitting beside him. “Just know I’m here if you need to talk.”

Jisung reached out, taking Minho’s hand in his. “I know. Thank you.” 

Jisung set the mug down and pulled closer, holding him tightly, needing to feel the reassurance of his presence. After a moment, he pulled back just enough to cup Minho’s face in his hands and pressed a tender kiss to his lips. 

"I love you. I love you so much, I don't know what I'd do without you, Min."

Minho gently cupped Jisung's face, brushing away the last of his tearstains, his touch reassuring. "You'll never have to find out, Ji," he murmured before kissing him back.

Jisung melted into the kiss, finding comfort in Minho's presence.

Minho was real, Jisung told himself. Minho was alive, and he was safe.

When they finally pulled apart, Minho took Jisung's hand. "Come on, let's get you back to bed, love."

Jisung nodded, feeling a bit more grounded as they returned to their bedroom. He settled back into bed with Minho, feeling safe enough to close his eyes again with his husband’s arms around him. Jisung slowly drifted back to sleep, knowing that, for now, they were both okay. That their family was okay.

That for now, in this small corner of their world, everything was just right.

Chapter Text

Jisung sat at his desk, his eyes fixed on the files scattered before him, but his mind was a tangled mess of lingering images from the nightmare he couldn’t get out of his head. He flipped through the pages mechanically, trying to drown out the X-Man’s voice in his head. 

“Begging suits you, Detective.” 

He shivered, his grip tightening on the pen in his hand. The nightmare had felt so real, so vivid. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to shake it off and focus on the papers before him, but the unease lingered.

The station door creaked open, and Jisung looked up to see Changbin walking in. The older detective approached Jisung’s desk, eyes scanning the scattered documents before landing on Jisung himself.

“Hey, Sung. You’re here early.” 

Jisung forced a smile. “Yeah, just wanted to get a head start on things.”

Changbin wasn’t convinced. He could see the subtle tension in Jisung’s shoulders, the slight tremor in his hands. Something was off. “You okay? You seem... distracted.”

“I’m fine,” Jisung replied quickly, too quickly. He avoided Changbin’s gaze, instead pretending to be preoccupied with a document that he had already read multiple times. “Just had a rough night.” 

Changbin hesitated, his instincts telling him to press further, but he held back, reminding himself that it wasn’t his place to push, though the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

It took every ounce of willpower not to close the distance between them, to cradle Jisung’s face in his hands and press his lips to his forehead, cheek, mouth—anything to erase that haunted look in his eyes.

The way Jisung's dark eyes looked up at him, filled with a mix of vulnerability and determination, tugged at something deep inside him. 

But he knew better. He couldn’t. He had no right. 

He couldn’t cross that line, no matter how much he wanted to.

The last thing he needed was to cross a line he knew he shouldn't even be considering. 

But Jisung was so… captivating . He had graduated early, top of his class. He was young, handsome, maybe a little naive when he had first stepped into the station on his first day five years ago. But it was the way he presented himself that first day that caught Changbin’s eye. 

Changbin could recall exactly the way the then twenty-two year old rookie had bowed, at ninety degrees, politely greeting everyone he saw. Humble and genuine, his big, innocent doe eyes practically shining with excitement. 

Stop . Don’t.

He belongs to someone else. He is not yours. 

“If you say so,” he said, leaning against the edge of Jisung’s desk. “But I’m here if you need to talk.”

Jisung nodded, finally meeting Changbin’s eyes. “Thanks, Bin hyung.”

Changbin wanted to say more, to tell Jisung that he didn't have to carry the weight alone, but the words got caught in his throat.

“I need to check up some evidence files. I’ll be back in a bit.” 

Changbin pushed off the edge of Jisung’s desk, forcing himself to move before he did something he knew he would regret. He lingered for a moment longer than necessary, his eyes lingering on Jisung’s face, examining the slight furrow in his brow that hadn’t relaxed since he had walked in. He didn’t want to leave him like this, but he knew he had to.

Jisung gave him a small smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll be fine, hyung. Promise.”

Changbin nodded, even though the pit in his stomach twisted tighter. He hated seeing Jisung like this—closed off, burdened. Especially knowing how hard Jisung fought to keep those walls up, even around the people who cared most about him. But this was beyond Changbin’s control. He wasn’t the one Jisung would turn to, not like that. And that reality hurt more than he’d ever admit.

He made his way down the hall to the evidence room, each step weighed down by the internal battle waging in his mind. Once inside, he leaned against one of the metal shelves, rubbing his temples as the conflicting emotions churned inside him.

“He belongs to someone else,” he muttered under his breath, as if repeating it enough times would make it easier.

But it didn’t.

Meanwhile, still at his desk, Jisung exhaled shakily. He felt both relieved and guilty at the same time. Changbin was sharp—too sharp. Jisung didn’t want to worry him, or anyone, really. Not Minho, not Chan, and especially not Changbin, who had always been a little too perceptive for his own good, especially as Jisung’s partner. 

Jisung couldn't afford to let anyone in on what was going on in his head—not now. Not when the case was this close to finally cracking open. The X-Man had already delivered his message, and the last thing Jisung needed was to risk the lives of the people he cared about. His nightmare had been a wake-up call of just how real that danger was.

He squeezed his eyes shut, gripping the pen tightly in his hand again. The memory of Minho tied to that chair, Dowon in the X-Man’s arms, haunted him. Even though it had just been a dream, it had felt too real. And if he didn’t catch this guy soon… what if the next time wasn’t a dream?

Jisung forced himself to breathe, the tension in his chest loosening just slightly as he flipped open the file he’d been pretending to study. But as he stared at the familiar details of the X-Man’s victims, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something.

Something important.

His phone buzzed on the desk, pulling him out of his thoughts. He glanced down, seeing Minho’s name flash across the screen.

How’s work going?

Jisung’s heart clenched. He hadn’t told Minho about the nightmare. He couldn’t. Not yet. Not when he still wasn’t sure how to stop the X-Man. He typed back a quick reply.

Hectic. I might be home late. 

The reply was instant.

You okay?

Jisung hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard. He knew Minho could tell when something was off, but what could he say? That he was scared? That he wasn’t sure if he could protect the people he loved?

He swallowed hard and typed the safest lie he could think of.

Yeah, just tired.

Another buzz. This time, Minho’s message was shorter, but Jisung could almost hear his voice in the words.

Don’t overwork yourself.

Jisung smiled, just for a moment. Leave it to Minho to worry, even when Jisung was doing his best to hide how much he was struggling. He locked his phone and set it down on the desk, returning to the files with a renewed sense of determination.

Focus, Han Jisung. You have to figure this out.

Because if he didn’t, his nightmare could become a reality. And that was a possibility Jisung couldn’t live with. 

He took another deep breath, trying to compose himself as he tried to read through his files again. 

Only two college students out of five victims, who had previous been adults ranging from their thirties to their seventies. 

Jisung thought back to the map Jeongin had drawn out a few days ago and turned to look at the bulletin board where it was pinned. 

Why did the map even matter? Was there any correlation at all to the different locations where the victim’s bodies had been killed? What if it was all just a red herring? 

Jisung let out an exasperated sigh as he dropped his files back onto the desk. 

If the X-Man was speeding up his patterns, the next potential murder or attack could happen at any moment. Yet, Jisung couldn't shake the confusion nagging at him. Why had the X-Man suddenly deviated from his established routine?

The bastard is fucking with us , Jisung thought. 

They didn’t have much time. The public would erupt in outrage the moment the media reported that a second college student had been attacked—and this time, killed—within just a few days of each other.

Jisung's fingers drummed anxiously on the edge of his desk, his thoughts swirling with frustration. The case was rapidly spiraling out of control, and he was no closer to figuring out the X-Man's next move. The weight of it pressed on his chest, suffocating in its intensity. His eyes darted back to the files, tracing over the names again and again as if they'd reveal some hidden truth if he stared long enough.

Kim Jiho. Yu Haneul.

A third-year journalism major.

A second-year communications major.

Why them? Why now?

The lack of blood at the crime scenes had always been unsettling. Every victim had been meticulously staged, but almost none of them had died where they were found, everyone except for Haneul. That meant the X-Man had a location he used—somewhere remote, hidden, and secure. Somewhere only he knew.

"Come on, think," Jisung muttered under his breath, massaging his temples as he replayed the details of each victim over in his mind. There had to be something he'd missed. What was the connection?

The university.

“Ji?”

A faint voice startled him from his thoughts. Changbin was standing in the doorway, holding a box of files. He moved to set it on his desk before turning to look back at Jisung. 

"You're twisting your ring, Sung.”

Jisung hadn’t even realized his fingers were fidgeting with his wedding band until Changbin pointed it out. He immediately dropped his hand to his lap.

“I’m just trying to piece it all together,” Jisung said, voice quieter than he intended. “We have so much information, but there’s nothing connecting it all.”

The air was suddenly so still between the two of them, so still that it made Jisung uncomfortable. He stood up from his desk, clearing his throat to try and break the uncomfortable silence. 

“I should go interview Haneul’s roommate.” 

Changbin’s expression hardened, his brows furrowing together. “Are you sure that’s a good idea right now? You don’t look—”

“I’ll be fine.” Jisung cut him off more sharply than he intended. He felt a pang of guilt at the sudden edge in his voice, but he couldn’t afford to be vulnerable right now. 

“Jisung,” Changbin said, his voice gentle but firm. “You don’t have to put on a brave face for me. I know you. Let me come with you, yeah?” 

Jisung hesitated. He wanted to be stubborn and argue, but he relented. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have someone there with him. 

“Yeah… okay,” Jisung said softly, trying to mask the relief in his voice. 

Changbin gave him a small nod, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He could see Jisung’s walls cracking, even if just a little. 

"I’ll drive us."

Jisung didn't argue, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair before following Changbin toward the door. 

By the time they arrived to campus, the late morning sun hung high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the bustling university grounds. Students rushed by, some on their own, some in groups, laughter and chatter filling the air, but Jisung felt detached from it all. He could feel the energy around him, but it felt distant… as if he were viewing it all through a glass wall.

The front desk attendant greeted them as they entered the apartment building, but Jisung could barely pay attention to the small talk. His mind raced, replaying the details of Haneul's murder. The feeling of unease that had twisted his stomach was still there, gnawing at him, but he pushed it down.

“Can I help you?” the attendant asked, her voice breaking through his thoughts.

The two detectives flashed their badges. “We’re here to see Kang Jiwon, please,” Jisung said, trying to keep his voice steady. 

The attendant nodded and looked at a clipboard. “Room 404. Fourth floor, to the right.”

Jisung glanced at Changbin before they made their way up the stairs. With each step, a sense of dread crept in, the fear that they might uncover something terrible—or worse, nothing at all.

“Ready?” Changbin asked as they reached the door. His hand rested on the doorknob, but he hesitated, searching Jisung's face for any sign of uncertainty.

“Yeah, let’s just do it.”

They knocked on the door, and after a moment, it creaked open to reveal a girl who couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun, and she had dark circles under her puffy, red eyes.

“Kang Jiwon?” Jisung asked, hoping to see some flicker of recognition in her expression.

“Yeah, that’s me,” she said, her voice slightly shaky as she shifted nervously. “You’re… you’re from the police, right?”

“We’re here to ask you some questions about Haneul,” Jisung replied gently, trying to ease her tension. “Do you mind if we come in?”

Jiwon hesitated for a moment before nodding, stepping aside to let them enter the small, cluttered apartment. It was a cozy space, filled with half-eaten takeout containers and a stack of books piled haphazardly on the coffee table.

“Sorry for the mess,” Jiwon said. “I haven’t been in the mood to clean up since…” Her voice broke, followed by a soft sniffle.

“Thank you for speaking with us,” Jisung began, trying to keep his tone as comforting as possible. “I’m Detective Han, and this is my partner, Detective Seo. We’re investigating the recent murder of your roommate, Yu Haneul.”

At the mention of Haneul’s name, Jiwon’s face crumpled, and she pressed a hand to her mouth, suppressing a sob. “I still can’t believe she’s gone,” she murmured, tears spilling down her cheeks as she sat down on the couch. 

Changbin and Jisung sat across from her, waiting for her to compose herself. They watched as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand before Changbin began to speak.

“We understand that the two of you met this year?” 

Jiwon nodded. “Our majors are different, so we met when we signed the apartment lease in the summer.” 

Changbin leaned forward, his forearms resting on his legs, his hands clasped together. 

“What can you tell us about Haneul?” 

Jiwon began to nervously chew on her bottom lip. “We hung out a lot because we lived together. She had her schedule, I had mine. She was always so nice and so considerate.” She paused, taking a shaky breath. It’s just… weird thinking she’s gone now.”

“Do you know where she had gone or what she was doing two nights ago?” Jisung asked.

“She was at work, at a cafe not too far from campus. She left around maybe 2:15 because her shift didn’t start until 3. She usually ends around 11, and I would say she gets home by midnight or one. Usually, I’m still awake when she gets back. She’d text me when she was on her way, but that night… I didn’t get anything. I thought she was just busy, maybe staying later than usual.”

Haneul had gone to work, but she never made it home , Jisung realized. He continued jotting down notes as Jiwon spoke, his pen scratching against the notepad in his hand. There were still so many missing pieces to this puzzle. If Haneul had left work as usual, how had the X-Man gotten to her? Why had there been no sign of struggle, no cries for help reported?

He exchanged a brief glance with Changbin, who seemed equally perplexed. Changbin shifted slightly in his seat, leaning forward with a soft but urgent tone.

"Jiwon, did Haneul ever mention anyone following her? Or any strange encounters recently?" Jisung asked.

Jiwon shook her head. "No… not that I can remember. I mean, we talked about school and work mostly, but she never mentioned feeling like she was being watched or anything like that. If something was wrong, she would've told me… I think." Her voice cracked again, and she wrapped her arms around herself tightly, as if trying to keep from falling apart.

Jisung felt his chest tighten with frustration. Nothing was lining up. If Haneul hadn’t been targeted beforehand, was this just a crime of opportunity? Or was the X-Man's method changing entirely?

Jisung tapped his pen against the notepad, a growing sense of urgency filling him. His mind began to wander… it still didn’t make sense why the X-Man would spare Jiho only to kill Haneul days later. 

What if it had to do with the riddles ? The riddle that the X-Man had Jiho answer? 

The goddamn riddle theory that had been plaguing Jisung for the last few days. 

Riddles were a type of poetry, and poetry was a type of literature. 

Literature, poetry, stories… 

His thoughts flickered to Minho, but he quickly pushed the idea of asking his literature professor of a husband away, the nightmare from last night still too fresh in his mind. He couldn’t risk Minho getting involved, no matter how tempting it was to ask for his help.

Jisung stood up, slipping the notepad back into his coat pocket. Changbin followed his lead. “Thank you, Jiwon. This has been really helpful.”

Jiwon gave a weak nod, her eyes still red-rimmed with tears. "I just hope you catch whoever did this," she whispered. "She didn’t deserve to die like that."

As Jisung and Changbin left the apartment, the weight of the case seemed to press down even harder on Jisung's chest. The more they learned, the less it made sense. The X-Man’s change in tactics, the sudden targeting of students, and the cryptic riddles all felt like pieces from entirely different puzzles. Yet, Jisung couldn’t shake the feeling that they were somehow connected.

He glanced at Changbin. Jisung knew his partner was just as frustrated, but Changbin had a way of hiding it beneath a mask of calm. A mask Jisung sometimes envied.

“We’ll figure this out,” Changbin said quietly as they reached the car. His voice was steady, but Jisung could sense the unspoken worry beneath it. He nodded, though he wasn’t entirely sure he believed it.

They didn’t need to speak to know the gravity of what lay ahead. They were getting closer to uncovering the X-Man’s next move, but the ticking clock in their heads reminded them—time was running out.

And if they didn’t solve this soon, someone else would die.

Chapter Text

“Alright… thank you. Yes, you as well.”

Jisung hung up the phone and turned to his partner, shaking his head. Changbin huffed out a sigh and crossed another name off the list they had complied.

It had been a few hours since Jisung and Changbin had gone to question Jiwon. They stopped by Jiwon’s workplace to question her manager and co-workers, but ended up coming up empty-handed. Since then, they had returned to the station, calling up almost every security company within a ten mile radius from the crime scene where Haneul’s body was found with no luck. 

Jisung slumped back in his chair, rubbing his temples. "That's the fifth company with no record of any suspicious activity around that time. Either we’re missing something, or the X-Man covered his tracks way too well."

Changbin tossed his pen on the desk, the clatter breaking the silence in the room. “Or both.” He leaned back, folding his arms. “We’ve been at this for weeks, and we’ve got nothing. No footage, no witnesses, and no solid leads. Our only shot is Jiho, but the poor kid barely remembers a thing.” 

Jisung's eyes narrowed at the mention of Jiho. "He's terrified, Changbin. He barely got through a sentence without shaking when I interviewed him at the hospital. It's no wonder his memory is hazy."

Changbin ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "I know, but we don't have much time. The longer we wait, the colder this case gets. The X-Man's probably already planning his next move, and we can't afford another victim."

Jisung let out a heavy sigh, pushing his chair back slightly to stretch his legs. The tension in his body was mounting, and his mind was spinning with dead ends. 

"Ji," Changbin said, his tone softening as he watched his partner struggle with the weight of the case. "We’re doing everything we can. You know that, right?"

Jisung leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "I get that, but it feels like we’re just going in circles. Every lead we chase ends up as a dead end." He glanced at the list of names, the inked scribbles blurring together in his mind. "What if the X-Man tries to go after Jiho again and finish the job?”

“He’s safe in the hospital,” Changbin assured. “There’s security and cameras. There’s no way the X-Man will be able to get near him without anyone knowing.” 

Changbin’s reassurance didn’t settle Jisung’s nerves. The image of Jiho’s haunted eyes kept flashing in his mind. He drummed his fingers on the desk. 

“There’s always a way, Bin. The X-Man’s been two steps ahead of us this whole time,” Jisung muttered. “He’s not just careful—he’s calculated. Every move he makes is precise like he’s thought it all out beforehand.”

Changbin frowned, tilting his head thoughtfully. “You’re right. And if he’s this calculated, then maybe we need to stop thinking like cops and start thinking like him.”

Jisung raised an eyebrow. “What, get inside his head? That’s easier said than done. This guy’s methodical, and he leaves no trace. We’d be chasing shadows.”

“Maybe,” Changbin admitted, “but he’s got motives, just like anyone else. He wants something out of all this.” He picked up the list of names again, eyes scanning the crossed-out ones thoughtfully. “There’s gotta be something tying all of the victims together. 

“Motive…” Jisung echoed. 

Changbin was right. There had to be something the X-Man was getting out of committing murders… something besides pure sadism. Right?

Jisung reached into the drawer of his desk and pulled out all of the files they had on the case – everything . Crime scene photos, forensic reports, victim backgrounds. He placed them all on his desk with a heavy thud.

“Let’s look over everything again,” Jisung said. 

“Alright then.” Changbin grabbed half of the stack of files. “Let’s get to work.”

Jisung rifled through the case files, his fingers brushing over each page as he scanned for anything he might have missed. His mind was spinning with possibilities, replaying every detail they knew about the X-Man, and he kept coming back to the idea that there had to be a pattern — a deeper link they hadn’t seen yet.

“Alright, so we’ve got Yu Haneul… fingers cut off at the scene. That’s beyond gruesome – it’s a message,” Jisung muttered. “But what the hell is it supposed to mean?”

Changbin looked up, raising an eyebrow. "If I knew, we'd be at the bar by now." He closed the file in his hand with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "All we know is that the killer went out of his way to cut off Haneul's fingers when he never did it to any of the other victims. It’s brutal, yeah, but it feels… theatrical.”

Jisung rubbed his temples, the frustration mounting. “It’s ritualistic, alright. But there’s something else. I don’t know – something nagging me about the fingers. It’s like it’s supposed to point us somewhere.” He fell silent, letting his mind dig through possible meanings. After a few moments, he straightened in his chair, his mind wandering as he processed Changbin’s words. “Theatrical…”

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the cluttered whiteboard covered in different colored ink and frantically scrawled notes. The names of the victims stared back at him, almost tauntingly. 

Yu Haneul… Kang Jiyeon… Park Junho… Kim Jiho… Choi Manseok.

Jisung’s head hurt, trying to put the pieces together. Why would someone go through this much trouble? Was there some twisted message in the way the victims were chosen – or even in the ways they were killed?

Jisung grabbed his laptop and pulled up a search page. His fingers practically flew across the keyboard, each keystroke filled with urgency as he typed a string of keywords – "cut fingers symbolism." The screen lit up with a flood of news articles about past cases, ancient myths, urban legends, and odd rituals. He skimmed through them, one by one, his eyes scanning each line with a faint hope that something, anything , might stand out and make sense of what he was searching for.

He froze as a title caught his eye, a chill running up his spine. 

The Girl with No Hands - Grimms' Fairy Tales.

Jisung’s eyes widened, and he felt a strange chill of recognition as he read through the story. The girl’s hands were cut off because of her father’s foolish bargain…

He glanced up, his heart pounding in his chest. “Hyung, I think I found something.” He turned over his laptop for Changbin to read. 

Changbin squinted at the screen. “The Girl with No Hands? You think this has something to do with Haneul?”

"Yeah. Look – Haneul’s fingers were cut off, but the wounds weren't just random. The X-Man was precise, almost like he wanted to make a statement. And now I’m thinking maybe he’s drawing inspiration from old fairytales.”

Changbin stared at the screen, mouth open in shock. “Are you serious? This sick bastard is taking his murder techniques from children's stories?”

Jisung shook his head. “These aren’t just children’s stories, Changbin. Grimms’ tales are dark, twisted. They were warnings . They weren’t meant to make kids happy – they were supposed to scare them.”

A heavy silence settled between them as the implication sank in. Changbin looked down at the files scattered on the desk. “So… if he’s using fairytales as inspiration, what’s the connection between Haneul and these other victims? Do they all fit some story?”

Jisung pulled another file toward him. “Let's check. What if… what if each victim represents a different story?”

He flipped through Kang Jiyeon’s case file, scanning the details they’d gathered on her. His eyes skimmed over the alleyway where her body had been found, with a pair of earphones and her phone. He remembered that there had been a song on her phone – a piano piece that had been the last thing she had been listening to. Jiyeon had been a musician… poor, but music was the love of her life. 

A thought clicked in his mind, and he turned back to his laptop, typing furiously as he typed in Grimms’ fairy tales and music . “The Wonderful Musician,” he breathed out. “Another Grimm story.”  The fragments were slowly piecing together in his mind. “It’s about a penniless man who lures animals to follow him by playing music. Jiyeon grew up in poverty, but her one passion was music.”

Changbin’s eyebrows furrowed. “You're onto something here, Ji. But what about Park Junho?”

Jisung pulled Junho’s file into the stack and read the details, his gaze hardening as he focused. Junho had been left in a public park, his body left on a park bench. He had been positioned as if he was still alive with a cigarette in his mouth. But the bench Junho had been placed on had been underneath a tree. A juniper tree. 

“There’s a fairytale called The Juniper Tree. In the story, a child is killed by his stepmother and buried under a juniper tree. This ends up destroying the stepmother’s life because her stepson comes back as a bird and kills her.”

“Fuck,” Changbin muttered, gripping the edge of the desk. “That’s… dark.”

Jisung nodded, feeling the uneasiness settle in his gut as the pattern became clearer. “This guy isn’t just killing randomly. He’s crafting these murders to fit the stories. Each victim is a character in one of these damn fairytales.”

“But why?” Changbin asked, voice edged with frustration. “Why go to all this trouble? There’s got to be some kind of deeper meaning, right? Something connecting these people, or else he wouldn’t be targeting them.”

Jisung rubbed his temples, feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him. There was still Kim Jiho. The only survivor, the one anchor they had in this seemingly endless sea. 

What role did he play in the X-Man’s master plan?

Jisung’s eyes flicked over to Choi Manseok’s file, his fingers tracing the forensic report. Mr. Choi… the first victim. 

He recalled something about a partially restored text, with fragments barely legible that had been found at the scene. Jisung quickly began searching through his files.

Where is it, where is it, where is it? 

The papers scattered across his desk fluttered onto the floor as Changbin began watching Jisung carefully. He didn’t question it. He just stayed silent and observed, watching Jisung’s mind work, powering through to try and make sense of their shitshow of a case.

Jisung exhaled sharply as he finally found what he was looking for. 

There. 

An image of a partially restored photo.

Jisung could make out a young girl resting her head on a deer with an angel standing behind them with outstretched wings. 

He typed the photo's description into a search page, and his breath hitched when he saw the results that popped up. 

Grimms’ Fairy Tales.

“Holy shit,” Jisung muttered. “Mr. Choi was the first victim. He was killed with a burned copy of Grimms’ Fairy Tales in his car. He’s supposed to be the narrator.”

Changbin’s jaw dropped. “The narrator…? You mean… the X-Man’s framing all these murders like a goddamn story?”

Jisung nodded, his hands shaking slightly as he closed the file. “It makes sense. He killed Mr. Choi first to take his place – the X-Man is playing a role. And if we don’t catch him soon, he’s going to keep going… until he’s written the whole goddamn book.” 

Changbin let out a low curse, his fists clenched. “We’re dealing with someone who sees himself as more than a killer… maybe even a god. He’s an author, a narrator in his own sick story.” 

It made sense. Each murder, every detail – it was all part of a twisted reenactment of Grimms’ Fairy Tales.

There were over two hundred stories in the book, Jisung realized suddenly. 

“He’s not going to stop. Not until we catch him… or until every story has its victim.”

__

Minho sat at Jisung’s desk, rummaging through his husband’s file cabinets and drawers, hunting for every bit of information Jisung had on the X-Man case. Dowon was taking a nap and Jisung wouldn’t be home until later tonight, which gave him plenty of time to see just how much his dear husband knew. 

Was he finally starting to connect the dots? Or was he still stumped, still stuck on square one like he had been for the last few months? 

He carefully sifted through the papers, flipping through notes and printed reports with practiced precision. It was mostly routine detective stuff, the usual lists of questions and follow-ups. But as he flipped through page after page, his fingers paused when he noticed a rough sketch of a diagram Jisung must have scrawled in haste. It was an attempt to draw connections, a map of victims, timelines, locations, and possible motives. His lips pressed together as he noticed just how close Jisung was getting. Not close enough, but close enough to make Minho wary.

He muttered under his breath. “You’re getting too damn good at this, Ji.”

Jisung was beginning to understand the pattern. Minho let out a quiet, tense sigh. Despite how close they were, how tangled up they were, Jisung’s mind remained sharp. A lesser detective might have missed the subtleties Minho had laid out. But not Jisung.

Minho leaned back in the office chair, contemplating his next move. His dark eyes flicked over Jisung’s papers again, weighing what he could tweak, alter, bury in plain sight. Because if Jisung kept on like this, it wouldn’t be long before he figured it out. And that was something Minho couldn't afford.

Minho had a plan for Jisung, and it was all about timing — keeping his dear, unsuspecting husband right where he wanted him until the moment was right. And Jisung? Jisung would never see it coming.

Not if Minho had anything to say about it. 

He took a few pages towards the back of the stack and folded them into his pocket. He would get rid of them later. He knew if he took the ones towards the back, Jisung would be less likely to notice they were gone. Minho knew Jisung’s habits well. By the time his husband dragged himself through the door, weary from a long shift at the precinct, he’d barely have the energy to double-check his files. Jisung trusted him – loved him. Minho’s lips curled in satisfaction at the thought. Love was the blindfold keeping Jisung from seeing the real picture, the one that lay in the details Minho had carefully hidden, twisted, and fabricated. Minho almost chuckled at the word.  

Love.  

Love made people foolish. 

Vulnerable .

Minho paused as he heard a faint sound coming from the bedroom room. He could hear more soft shuffling sounds. 

Dowon. 

He left Jisung’s office, his steps softening as he approached Dowon’s crib. Dowon was fussing, Minho could tell. The boy was still curled up under his blanket, his eyes screwed shut, his brow furrowed in discomfort. Something was clearly bothering him. He leaned down, gently stroking his hand along his son’s cheek.

“Dowonie,” he murmured softly. “What’s going on, honey? Are you hurting?” 

Now that Minho thought about it, Dowon’s cheeks did look flushed. He pressed a hand against the side of Dowon’s face. It felt warm to the touch. Dowon let out a pitiful whimper as he stirred slightly. 

“Oh, you poor thing. Are you sick?” 

Dowon’s eyes flickered open, unfocused at first as he slowly woke up. He whimpered again, this time letting out something that sounded like a sob as he reached for Minho, his eyes teary. Minho scooped the baby up in his arms, softly shushing him as Dowon settled, burying his face in the crook of Minho’s neck. For a moment, Minho felt something faint, a nearly unfamiliar tug in his chest – something that almost resembled tenderness. Almost.

Minho had always known how to make people need him. To make them feel like they couldn’t live without him. And it gave him a sense of control – a sense of satisfaction that ran deeper than anything else he’d ever known. 

As Dowon whimpered again, Minho stroked his back, humming softly in an attempt to soothe him. His fingers traced the baby’s spine slowly, rhythmically, just as he had when he first held him as a newborn. There was a certain comfort in this routine, a familiarity in the way Dowon instinctively sought him out for comfort.

But then, Minho noticed it—the subtle gnawing motion. Dowon’s tiny fist, clenched tight, was shoved into his mouth, and his little gums were visibly swollen. Teething.

His expression softened ever so slightly as he adjusted his grip on Dowon, cradling him in a more comfortable position. "You’re teething, huh?" Minho murmured, his voice low and soothing, though his eyes were cold. He didn’t truly care about Dowon’s discomfort, at least that was what he told himself, but it didn’t hurt to ease the boy’s pain just enough to keep him quiet for a while longer.

He reached over to the small drawer by Dowon’s crib and pulled out a teething ring. The boy’s tiny hands instinctively grasped at it, and Minho placed it in his mouth, watching as Dowon began gnawing on it, as the baby seemed to let out a soft sigh of relief. 

This was what Minho liked – the way people, no matter how small, depended on him. Jisung, Dowon… they were all his to control. To shape. It gave him a sense of power that nothing else could.

He gently rocked the baby back to sleep, watching as Dowon’s eyes fluttered closed, his tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Minho’s lips curled into a faint smile. Not because he loved Dowon, but because the child needed him. Just like Jisung. 

And in the end, that was all that mattered.

Carefully, he lowered Dowon back into his crib, making sure the blanket was tucked around him just right. For a moment, he lingered, watching the baby sleep, his thoughts turning back to Jisung. To the case. The game Minho was playing with his husband. 

He pressed a soft kiss to Dowon’s forehead before he went back to Jisung’s office. He sat down at his husband’s chair and began to make alterations on Jisung’s files. A slight change to a date here, a blacked-out word there. Nothing too drastic. Just enough to slow Jisung down, to keep him confused in a web of half-truths and misleads while Minho stayed two steps ahead.

When will you figure it out, Han Jisung? And when you do… will you still look at me the same way? Or will you finally see me for who I really am?

Chapter Text

SIXTEEN YEARS AGO

Minho shivered as he pulled his jacket tighter around himself. It was pitch black outside, the ground was still iced over and there was still snow on the trees. But he would suck it up and keep his head held up high.

He had been doing this for the last year – taking himself to and from school, walking through the snow, the heat. He only had five more years until he was eighteen. Until he could pack up and leave for good. But until then… he would keep pushing.

He doubted his parents would care if he left now, they barely even remembered that he existed, but what boarding house or apartment complex would rent to a thirteen-year-old? He couldn’t even work until he was fifteen and as of now, he didn’t have a penny to his name. He had no siblings, no other family. He was stuck – trapped.

For the last year, he had been living with the shells of his parents. They were so addicted, so high on drugs, that they were practically incoherent all of the time. He couldn’t trust them, that he knew, couldn’t depend on them. And if he couldn’t trust or depend on his own parents, the very people who had brought him into this cruel world, he couldn’t depend on anyone else either.

Minho’s breath came out in visible clouds, the cold biting at his skin, but it barely registered. He was numb in ways the frost could never touch, his mind far colder than the temperature around him. The harsh winds tore at his jacket, but all he could focus on was the ticking clock in his mind. Five years. Five long years until he could escape. Until he could stop pretending to care. Until he could finally be free of this.

His steps were heavy, the snow crunching beneath his boots, a sharp reminder of how alone he was. He hated the silence. The absence of anyone to talk to, anyone to lean on. He was the ghost in his own life, watching the world go on around him with detached amusement. They would never understand him. No one could.

He could already feel the walls closing in on him, his parents’ neglect – no, their absence – forcing him to grow up quicker than anyone should. The love he had once hoped for, the warmth he had wished would fill the empty spaces in his chest, had long since evaporated. What was the point in trusting anyone? People were weak. People needed others. And that made them vulnerable. He didn’t have that luxury.

The streets were deserted, just as they had been the last few months. No one to see the dark glint in his eyes, or the twitch of a smile that threatened to form every time his mind wandered to the things he had considered, things no one would dare admit out loud. He imagined, sometimes, what it would be like to watch his parents as they begged for his forgiveness, as they crawled to him on hands and knees. He wondered if they’d even recognize him now. The kid they had raised into a quiet, obedient mess of scars, only to have him turn into someone they couldn’t control.

His hands clenched into fists. Pathetic. They thought he was weak, thought they could break him with their indifference and drugs. But they didn’t know what he was becoming. They didn’t realize the monster they were fostering, the beast inside him that would one day take control. A kid who had nothing to lose was dangerous. Minho knew that. He was that kid.

He stopped walking for a moment, letting the cold bite at him, welcoming the sharp sting. A shiver ran down his spine, but it wasn’t from the cold. It was a rush of something darker, more thrilling, something that made his pulse quicken in ways he couldn’t explain. He liked it.

The thoughts swirled in his mind like smoke, curling and twisting into something ugly. He could feel it building within him, this need for control, the desire to make them all pay. He wasn’t going to wait five years to leave. Maybe it would happen sooner. Maybe the world wouldn’t survive the next five years, but he would. And when it all fell apart, he would be the one standing on top, untouched, untouchable.

He turned the corner, the familiar house in front of him. The house that should have been a home, a place of warmth, of safety. Instead, it was just another cage, a prison that kept him trapped, shackled to his past. But he wasn’t that scared, unsure boy who still wanted his parents to notice him anymore. No, now he just wanted them to suffer.

He pushed open the door, the usual creak echoing through the house. Inside, the smell of stale smoke and alcohol assaulted his senses, but he barely reacted. This was his life. This was what he had been born into. It was only a matter of time before he stopped pretending it didn’t affect him.

Minho stood in the doorway for a moment, watching them. His mother lay slumped on the couch, a needle dangling loosely from her arm, her eyes barely open. His father was passed out on the kitchen table, a half-empty bottle of whiskey still clutched in his hand. It looked like he was going to drop it at any second. They both looked so pathetic.

A sick, twisted part of him felt a sense of satisfaction. This was what they had chosen for themselves. This was their reward for abandoning him, for never bothering to care.

His eyes narrowed as he walked past them, heading straight for his room. He didn’t have to do anything right now. But he would get stronger, he would get closer. And when the time came, when he finally had the power to take control, no one would be able to stop him.

__

PRESENT

Jisung’s phone rang, the shrill sound cutting through the quiet hum of the office, and he stirred, blinking himself awake, having fallen asleep at his desk. His head had been resting on a pile of scattered case files. For a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was, and his brain struggled to catch up with the present. The soft murmur of conversation in the background let him know he wasn’t alone.

Seungmin and Jeongin were seated nearby, focused on their assigned tasks. Changbin looked up from the stack of folders he had been sifting through. They all knew how hard Jisung had been pushing himself lately, and none of them had the heart to wake him when he finally let himself crash.

Groggily, Jisung straightened up and reached for his phone, rubbing his eyes as he squinted at the screen. An unknown number. He cleared his throat before he answered.

“Han.”

“Detective?”

It was Jiho.

“Jiho! It’s good to hear from you,” Jisung’s voice instantly softened. It had been days since he had heard from the young man. He had been meaning to visit him at the hospital, but it kept slipping from his mind.

Too much going on, not enough time to deal with it all.

“I-I remembered something from that night… with the X-Man.”

The young man’s voice was hesitant, shaky almost, and Jisung could sense the weight behind his words. Jiho had been shaken up since that night with the X-Man and he had every right to be afraid, but this – this felt different.

“What is it, Jiho?”

The line crackled slightly before Jiho spoke again, his voice faint, as if he were still struggling to process what he had remembered.

“I remember… when I woke up, I was in some sort of shed in the woods.” Jiho’s words sent a ripple through Jisung’s chest, his pulse quickening.

“Thank you, Jiho. I’ll make sure to stop by and see you one of these days.”

Jiho let out a quiet goodbye before hanging up.

“Hyung,” Jisung said, turning to face Changbin. The older detective glanced up from his folders. Jisung tried to hide the smile in his voice. “We got something. Jiho recalls waking up in a shed. In the woods.”

It wasn’t a lead by any means, but it was something. They finally had a direction in where to start looking.

“Jiho couldn’t have survived long if he was somewhere far,” Jeongin said, almost thoughtfully. “Don’t you remember the extent of his wound?”

“A penetrating stab wound, about a half an inch deep, below the left side of his body,” Seungmin recited.

“He was still bleeding when he got to the station, he practically collapsed once he got inside,” Changbin remarked.

Jisung bit down on his lower lip, trying hard to think back to that night. There could have been some little details he might not have noticed then, something he might have remembered now.

Jiho could have been running on adrenaline, but he lost so much blood. How did he  not  bleed out in the woods?

“Seungmin, look within a five mile radius for any forests, national parks, or anything similar. I’ll talk to Chan hyung about getting some teams together to look for the shed once we find something more solid.”

“Sure,” Seungmin immediately got up and went to his desktop. “Anything specific you want me to look for, Ji?”

“Not yet. I just need some names. It’ll give us a good start at some locations to look at.”

And another step closer to catching the X-Man.

Jisung exhaled shakily.

Maybe soon, he would finally be able to sleep without waking up in cold sweat in the middle of the night and his frazzled mind would finally have a chance to turn off.

__

About two hours later, Seungmin – being the technical genius he was – had compiled a list of multiple woodlands within a five mile radius of Seoul, with one name in particular highlighted in bright yellow.

Yongmasan Mountain.

Changbin tapped on the name with his pen.

“What’s up with one, Seungmin?”

Seungmin hesitated. “It feels… off. It doesn’t make sense, it’s about a two and a half hour walk from Seoul and it’s almost seven miles away. Jiho’s condition doesn’t match the likelihood of traveling that far alone, especially with the amount of blood he lost.”

Jisung leaned forward, his brow furrowed. “But you’re saying something about it still feels worth investigating?”

Seungmin nodded. “Exactly. The timing doesn’t add up, but if the X-Man took Jiho there, he might’ve used a vehicle to transport him, which could explain the distance.”

Changbin frowned, his fingers drumming on the table. “If that’s the case, then the X-Man could’ve left evidence behind—a tire track, discarded supplies, maybe even blood traces if Jiho escaped from there.”

Jisung stood, pacing the room. “If Yongmasan is even remotely connected, we need to move fast. Changbin hyung and I will talk to Chan hyung and get him to approve a stakeout. We’ll see if we can find the shed Jiho was talking about before we get any more manpower involved.”

Jisung turned to Seungmin and Jeongin. “You two keep digging. Update me the second you get something.”

“Got it,” Seungmin replied, already typing rapidly on his keyboard. Jeongin already had his back turned towards the whiteboard with everything they had on the X-Man.

As Jisung and Changbin left the room, the weight of the case pressed down on Jisung’s shoulders. The hallway leading to Chan’s office was quiet, but his mind was anything but. Jiho’s shaky voice echoed in his ears, and the image of a bloodied shed in the middle of the woods burned in his imagination.

“Do you think we’re finally onto something?” Changbin asked, breaking the silence as they approached Chan’s door.

“I don’t know,” Jisung admitted. “But it feels like the first real lead we’ve had in weeks. If Yongmasan has any connection to the X-Man, it’s worth the risk.”

Changbin hummed in agreement before knocking on the door.

“Come in,” Chan’s voice called from the other side.

The two detectives stepped inside, the faint sound of the police scanner buzzing in the background. Chan sat at his desk, his attention split between his computer and the files spread out before him.

“Hyung,” Jisung began, his tone urgent. “We have something.”

Chan’s gaze snapped up, sharp and focused. “What is it?”

“We’ve got a lead,” Changbin started. “Kim Jiho called and remembered waking up in a shed in the woods. Seungmin pinpointed potential locations within a five-mile radius and there was one location that stood out – Yongmasan Mountain.”

“Yongmasan?” Chan interjected. “That’s farther than I’d expect given Jiho’s condition when he came to the station.”

“That’s what we were all thinking,” Jisung agreed. “But we think the X-Man could have transported him by vehicle, which would explain the distance. It’s a long shot, but it’s worth checking out.”

Chan leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples as he processed the information. “You’re suggesting a stakeout?”

Jisung nodded. “We want to sweep the area for any signs of activity – old or new. If there’s still any trace of the X-Man from around the time of Jiho’s kidnapping, we can’t afford to miss it. Changbin hyung and I can head out tonight.”

Chan tapped his fingers against the desk, his jaw tight. “If you’re wrong, we could be wasting valuable time. Yongmasan is a big area. It’s also isolated, and if this is where the X-Man has his hideout, he’ll be prepared, maybe even waiting for any cops to show up. Are you sure the two of you can handle it without reinforcements?”

“We won’t take any unnecessary risks,” Jisung assured him. “We’ll just gather some intel and get out.”

“This is the best lead we’ve had, hyung. We can’t ignore it. This could be our best chance to finally track down the X-Man”

Chan stared at Jisung for a moment, and at Changbin, before nodding slowly. “Alright. I’ll authorize it, but if anything, anything, feels off, you pull back immediately. Understood?”

Relief washed over Jisung as he inclined his head. “Thank you, hyung. We’ll be careful.”

Chan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You two are my best detectives. Just make sure this doesn’t get you killed.”

As Changbin continued discussing the details of the case with Chan, Jisung quietly excused himself and stepped into the station’s quiet hallway, his phone in hand. He scrolled to Minho’s name and hesitated for a moment, thumb hovering over the call button. He hated lying to Minho, but he knew how much Minho worried about him, especially when he went out into the field. He pressed the button and brought the phone to his ear.

It rang twice before Minho’s voice answered, calm but slightly distracted. “Hey, Ji. What’s up?”

Jisung exhaled slowly, forcing a casual tone. “Hey, love. Listen, I… I won’t be home tonight. Something came up at the station.”

Minho was quiet for a moment before responding, his voice soft and calm but with a hint of concern. “Everything okay?”

Jisung rubbed the back of his neck, guilt already creeping into his tone.

“Yeah, it’s just… work stuff. It’s… you know how it is. A lot of loose ends to tie up,” Jisung lied, hating the way the words felt on his tongue. “Could you pick up Dowon from Hyunjin and Felix’s tonight?

There was another pause, long enough that Jisung wondered if Minho had caught the hesitation in his voice. “I can’t,” Minho finally said, his tone apologetic. “I’m swamped, too. Grading papers and making lesson plans. But don’t worry about Dowon – Hyunjin and Felix are always happy to take him for the night. And Dowon loves spending time with them. He’ll be fine.”

Jisung frowned but quickly masked it. “Are you sure? I could try to work something out here.”

“It’s fine, darling,” Minho said, a touch of reassurance slipping into his voice. “Focus on your work. I’ll take care of it.”

Jisung’s chest tightened, but he forced himself to sound casual. “Okay. Thanks, Min. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“You always say that,” Minho teased lightly, but there was no real bite to his words. “Just be safe, okay?”

“Always,” Jisung replied. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Minho said, and the call ended.

Jisung stared at the phone in his hand, a knot tightening in his chest. He hated how easy the lie had rolled off his tongue. Shaking off the guilt, he pocketed his phone and headed back to Changbin. They had work to do.

__

Minho set his phone down on his shelf, staring at it for a moment as a faint smile tugged at his lips. Jisung was lying. He didn’t know why, but he could always tell. The slight hesitation in his voice, the overly casual tone. Minho had spent years learning Jisung’s mannerisms, his tells. But that was fine. He wasn’t upset. In fact, he found it almost amusing.

“You’re not the only one who can lie, Ji,” Minho murmured to himself.

He walked to his desk, his movements calm and deliberate, and sat down. The annotated copy of Grimms’ Fairy Tales lay open, the pages worn from years of handling. He ran his fingers over the margins, where notes in his precise handwriting filled every blank space. Ideas. Observations. Plans.

Minho leaned back in his chair, letting his mind wander. He wasn’t angry at Jisung for lying. If anything, it made things more… interesting. Jisung had never been one to keep a secret. Minho was very good at keeping secrets.

He picked up a pen and tapped it against the book’s spine, flipping to a story he had marked earlier. The Twelve Dancing Princesses. A tale about deception, hidden truths, and unspoken desires. How fitting.

“Decisions, decisions,” Minho muttered, his voice taking on a sing-song quality. “What shall we do next?”

His eyes scanned the page, his mind already working through the possibilities. He didn’t have a target yet, but that was part of the thrill. The anticipation. The hunt. He liked to take his time, to savor the process.

Minho reached for the small clock on his desk, a vintage piece with a soft, rhythmic tick. He wound it slowly, the sound filling the quiet room.

Tick tock… tick tock…

The rhythm soothed him, grounding him as he considered his next move. He needed something special this time. Something that would leave an impression. The X-Man wasn’t just a name – it was a persona, a shadow that danced on the edges of society’s consciousness. And Minho took pride in his work.

He flipped through the book again, stopping at another tale. The Robber Bridegroom. Dark, twisted, a story of betrayal and blood. He chuckled softly to himself.

“Maybe this one,” he mused. “Or maybe something else entirely.”

Minho’s smile widened as he leaned back in his chair, his mind spinning with possibilities. The night stretched out before him, full of promise and potential. He wasn’t in a rush. The best stories took time to leave a long lasting impression, and Minho was nothing if not patient.

As he stared at the clock, the ticking seemed to grow louder, echoing in his ears like a countdown. To what, he didn’t know. But he would figure it out. He always did.

Chapter Text

The hum of the car engine filled the silence as Jisung and Changbin drove through the dimly lit streets of Seoul. The tension in the air was palpable, a max of adrenaline and nervous anticipation as they neared Yongmasan. The city lights were beginning to fade, swallowed by the looming shadows of the approaching forest.

“You sure about this?” Changbin asked, breaking the quiet. His voice was low, and there was an edge of uncertainty. 

Jisung glanced at him from the passenger seat, the faint glow of his phone lighting his face. His fingers moved rapidly across the screen, scrolling through maps and making notes. His eyes flickered between the path ahead and his phone. He had been doing this for awhile now – analyzing every angle, preparing for every possible scenario.

“Do we really have a choice? It’s the best lead we’ve gotten in months. If the X-Man’s trail takes us here, we have to follow it.”

Changbin exhaled sharply through his nose, his usual confident demeanor laced with unease. “Yeah, I know. Just feels like a bad horror movie setup, that’s all.” He shot a glance at the rearview mirror, as though expecting something to follow them.

Jisung smirked, the small action a brief distraction from the mounting tension. “Don’t jinx it,” he muttered, tapping his screen to save the map. He leaned back, adjusting his jacket as he surveyed their darkened surroundings. The road ahead stretched out like an endless, winding snake. “We’re prepared, right? Snacks, flashlights, weapons…”

“Flashlights, yes. Snacks… are you kidding me?” Changbin rolled his eyes, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “This isn’t a camping trip.”

Jisung chuckled under his breath. “Hey, if we’re gonna be up all night, I’m not doing it on an empty stomach. Plus, you’re cranky when you’re hungry, hyung.”

“Fair point,” Changbin conceded with a reluctant smile, though his grip on the wheel remained tense.

The road narrowed as they approached the woods, trees casting long, eerie shadows across the path. The headlights of Changbin’s car illuminated only a few meters ahead, revealing a winding trail that seemed to stretch endlessly. 

“Here we go,” Jisung said, his voice quieter now as the oppressive stillness of the forest took hold. 

As the car crept deeper into the woods, the trail became increasingly rugged. Branches clawed at the windows, and the tires struggled against uneven terrain. Finally, Changbin brought the car to a halt. 

“Looks like this is as far as we go,” he said, killing the engine. 

Jisung glanced out the window, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. The towering trees loomed over them, their leaves rustling faintly in the breeze. “Guess we’ll be going the rest of the way on foot.” 

Changbin shook his head. “ I’ll be going the rest of the way on foot. You’re gonna stay here in the car.” 

Jisung’s eyes narrowed at Changbin’s words, a spark of defiance and stubbornness flaring in his chest. “No. Absolutely not.” His voice was sharp, the unease in his gut bubbling to the surface. I’m not staying here while you go off to handle this alone. We’re in this together, remember?”  

Changbin shot him a pointed look, his jaw tightening as he met Jisung’s gaze. “You know the deal. One of us has to stay behind in case anything goes wrong. I’m the senior here, so I’m going in. You stay in the car, Jisung.” 

Jisung scoffed, a sarcastic laugh escaping him as he leaned back in the passenger seat. “Senior? Really? We’re partners. That’s not how this works.” His voice grew sharper. “What if something happens to you out there? What am I supposed to do? Wait here like a backup?”

For a moment, Changbin’s eyes softened, but the firmness in his tone remained. “It’s not about being a backup. It’s about being smart.” He let out a deep breath, his shoulders sagging slightly as if the weight of the decision was pressing down on him. “We don’t know what we’re walking into. Someone has to be ready if things go bad.”

Jisung’s jaw tightened. He was a little pissed that Changbin was treating him like some rookie, but it wasn’t like Changbin was wrong – they did need someone to stay in the car, ready to move in case things went sideways.

“Fine,” Jisung relented, his voice quieter now. “But I’m not staying here for long. You hear me? If you’re not back in an hour, I’m coming after you.”

Changbin gave him a hard, almost resigned look. “I know you can handle yourself. But this is just precautionary.” He paused for a moment, his gaze flickering to the trees outside, as though weighing the danger that lay ahead. “Someone has to be ready if things go sideways.”

Jisung chewed on his bottom lip, torn between the urge to argue further and the harsh reality of the situation. He knew Changbin had a point. His mind raced, the possibilities of what could go wrong flashing through his head. Despite himself, he felt a deep sense of unease. They were walking into the unknown.

“Just… stay safe, alright?” 

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Changbin’s mouth. “Deal,” he said, giving Jisung a small pat on the shoulder before grabbing his gear from the backseat. 

Jisung watched as Changbin exited the car, the door slamming shut with a finality that sent a shiver down his spine. The beam of Changbin’s flashlight swept across the landscape, illuminating the twisted roots and moss-covered rocks that dotted the forest floor. The soft crunch of his footsteps on the gravel echoed in the stillness, and Jisung watched as his figure disappeared into the darkness, swallowed by the woods.

A heavy silence settled in the car, and Jisung stared into the dark expanse of trees ahead. He gripped the seat, his fingers digging into the leather as his mind raced. Every rustle of leaves, every distant snap of a twig, set his nerves on edge. He couldn’t help but feel that they were being watched.

Jisung exhaled slowly, trying to calm the rush of thoughts in his head. He just had to trust that Changbin would be alright. That he would be back soon.

__

The moon hung low over the dense woods, its pale light filtering through the towering trees, casting jagged shadows on the ground. Jisung shifted his weight against the car, the chill in the air creeping through his jacket and settling deep in his bones. The woods were eerily quiet, the only sound cutting through the silence of the night being the sound of the trees blowing in the wind and the faint static crackle from his radio. It was the kind of silence that didn’t feel natural – too heavy, too deliberate.

His breaths came out in wispy puffs as he tapped at the roof of the car with his finger, the cold almost biting at his skin. The world around him was quiet, blanketed by the stillness of the night, but his mind was anything but.

Jisung leaned back against the car, staring up at the overcast sky as if the clouds could somehow absorb the heaviness that weighed on his chest. His thoughts drifted back to earlier that day -- to the phone call. Minho hadn't even suspected his lie. 

The guilt clawed at him now, merciless and unrelenting. He hardly ever lied to Minho. Minho, who could read him better than anyone, who always seemed to know when something was wrong. The thought of Minho's sharp eyes narrowing in suspicion or -- worse -- his voice hardening in hurt, made Jisung feel like the lowest person alive.

He exhaled shakily, his breath visible in the frigid air, and rubbed his hands together for warmth. "It’s for his sake," he muttered under his breath, as if saying it aloud might make it feel less like a betrayal. He tried to believe it -- tried to tell himself that this secret, this lie, was for Minho's own good. But the excuses felt hollow, even to him.

His eyes darted toward the path where Changbin had disappeared minutes ago. He didn’t like this. Something was off, though he couldn’t pinpoint what. Maybe it was the way the fog curled unnaturally around the trees, or the oppressive darkness that seemed to swallow everything beyond the car’s headlights. 

“Keep me updated, hyung,” Jisung muttered into the radio, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t wanna be filling out your paperwork in the morning if you end up dead in a ditch.”

The response came through a moment later, punctuated by a low grunt. “ Relax . I’ll be back before you miss me.”

Jisung huffed, a dry, humorless laugh escaping his lips. “Not funny.” He clicked the radio off, his fingers lingering on the button.

He didn’t feel any better. If anything, the knot in his chest only tightened. Changbin was capable – more than capable – but that didn’t mean Jisung trusted the situation. He strained to hear anything beyond the static-filled silence, but all he could make out was the faint rustle of leaves and the low moan of the wind threading through the branches. He kept his gaze on the dark trail ahead, his mind ticking through the possibilities as he waited for Changbin to reappear. Minutes passed, and the tension began to coil tighter, each second dragging as if it were hours. 

Calm down, Han Jisung. It’s just your nerves.

But it wasn’t just his nerves. He’d learned to trust his gut long ago, and right now, every instinct he had was screaming that something was wrong.

He shifted his weight, glancing nervously into the dense forest. Maybe it was the thick fog slowly creeping through the trees or the cold bite of the wind against his skin, but a deep unease settled in his chest. The wind picked up, sending a chill down his spine. He rubbed his arms, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling, but it wouldn't go away.

Then he heard it -- a faint crunch of leaves somewhere behind him.

 Jisung froze. His breath hitched, his pulse quickening as he strained to pinpoint the source of the sound. It was faint, almost indistinguishable from the natural sounds of the woods, but it was there. His heart skipped a beat and his muscles tensed as his hand instinctively moved toward the holster at his hip.

“Bin hyung?” he called out softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

No response. 

His fingers curled around the grip of his gun, the weight reassuring in his hand. “Hyung, this isn’t funny,” he said again, louder this time. His voice cracked with uncertainty.

Another crunch, closer this time.

The hairs on the back of Jisung’s neck stood on end, his pulse quickening. He twisted around, eyes wide, scanning the area. The fog moved like smoke, swirling around his feet and obscuring his vision. His eyes darted frantically between the trees, searching for movement, for anything to explain the sound.

The next noise came suddenly -- a sharp snap, like a branch breaking underfoot.

Jisung twisted around, his heart hammering in his chest, his gun half-drawn. But before he could react further, a cloth was suddenly clamped over his mouth, yanking him backward. 

His radio clattered to the ground as the sharp, sickly-sweet scent of chloroform filled his nose, burning his lungs. Jisung’s eyes widened, panic surging as he kicked back wildly, his heels scraping against the ground. He clawed at the hand holding the cloth. His vision blurred, his strength slipping fast as his body went limp and he collapsed against his attacker. 

“Shh…”

The voice was clearly distorted, but it was cold and cruel all the same. It sent a chill down Jisung’s spine, and it sounded faintly familiar.

“You’ve been such a persistent little nuisance, haven’t you, Detective Han?” 

Jisung weakly turned his head to face his attacker. Their entire face was hidden behind a pristine white mask, smooth and emotionless, with no hint of the eyes that should have been there.

The mask. The same damn mask that had haunted him in his dreams. 

He could barely focus as a sickening realization clawed its way to the surface of his mind.

It was him .

The X-Man.

This wasn’t a nightmare. It wasn’t a hallucination. It was real. Very, very real. And it terrified him.

He tried to twist away, but his body felt sluggish. The grip around him tightened, and the low voice whispered in his ear once again. 

“You’re always so determined, aren’t you, Detective?” the X-Man hissed, his voice dripping with mockery. “It makes it all the more fun when you think you’re in control.” He chuckled lowly, his grip tightening on Jisung’s body. 

Then, the cold edge of a blade touched Jisung’s throat.

“I should thank you, really. You’ve made this far too easy. You were always a thorn in my side. But now… now you get to learn what happens when you don’t know when to stop.” 

Jisung’s heart pounded in his chest. He felt the tip of the knife press harder, and then a sharp sting cut across his skin. A thin, burning line of blood trickled down his neck, warm against the night’s cold. The pain was enough to snap him back to his senses, and his fight-or-flight instinct kicked in.

Fight. Survive.

He thrashed against the X-Man’s hold, but his limbs were heavy, clumsy from the drugs. The knife left his throat, and for a moment, Jisung thought he might have a chance to break free. 

But then, pain exploded in his side. The blade punctured just below his ribs, searing and hot as it pierced his skin. Jisung let out a choked cry, the sound muffled by the cloth still clamped over his mouth. His vision flickered, white spots dancing at the edges. His knees buckled, but the X-Man held him upright, twisting the blade just enough to make him cry again out into the X-Man’s gloved palm. 

“I could end you right here, right now,” the X-Man whispered, twisting the knife again just slightly before pulling it back out. Jisung let out a pained gasp that caused the X-Man to chuckle. “Maybe you should have stayed in the car after all.” 

Jisung’s mind screamed for him to fight back, to do anything, but his body betrayed him. His vision blurred, darkness creeping in from the corners, and his limbs felt like lead. He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t stay awake. His body was shutting down.

He couldn’t die here, not like this. 

The world around him felt far too distant -- fuzzy and out of reach. His thoughts were racing, too fast, too disjointed.

Changbin. Where was Changbin?

In a desperate act, Jisung forced his hand to move, reaching for the inside pocket of his jacket. His fingers brushed against cold steel – the familiar shape of his pocket knife. His grip was weak, so weak, but he held onto it with every last ounce of strength, even as the blade cut into his hand. He fumbled, his vision blurring even more, but he didn’t care. This was his last chance.

His fingers closed around the handle and with a strength he didn’t know he had left, he twisted his body and drove the blade into the X-Man’s shoulder.

The X-Man let out a grunt of pain, staggering back, his grip loosening for a split second as he clutched at his now-bleeding shoulder. 

Jisung's body gave way and he collapsed forward onto the ground. He could hear the pained hiss as the X-Man ripped the knife out of his shoulder. It fell beside Jisung and he could see the blade now stained with blood. His vision refocused, and the edges of his awareness sharpened, though his body still felt sluggish, like it wasn’t fully responding to his commands. His hands shook as he tried to push himself up, his fingers digging into dirt beneath him.

All he could hear was the distant thudding of his own heartbeat.

“Jisung!”

Changbin’s voice echoed through the woods, distant, but growing louder and more frantic. 

Think, Jisung. Think fast.

Jisung’s free hand scrambled at the ground for something – anything – that could help him fight back. His bloodied fingers brushed against something hard and jagged. 

A rock.

Without thinking, Jisung gripped it, pain lancing through his side, and swung it toward X-Man's knee. 

The hit was a blur, but the crack of contact sent a shock of adrenaline through Jisung’s veins.

“ Fucking hell !” 

The X-Man's hand shot out and grabbed Jisung by the hair, yanking his head back sharply.

Jisung’s breath came in shallow gasps as he tried to move, tried to break free, but his limbs were like stone. The blood from his side and neck stained his clothes, his body growing colder, heavier.

He could see his gun in the X-Man’s hand -- when had the X-Man grabbed it from him? 

“You should have stayed out of my way, Detective.” The X-Man’s distorted voice was shaky, no longer calm or controlled. “But now, you’ve got what’s coming.”

The gun slammed into the side of Jisung’s head with a sickening crack. Pain exploded across his skull, blurring his vision, and the world tilted dangerously to the side. 

The cold earth was a dull sensation beneath him. His face pressed against the dirt, the world spinning, his head pulsing with sharp, rhythmic pain. His own blood mixed with the mud beneath him, but he couldn’t find the strength to care. His eyes fluttered open, but all he saw was darkness.He couldn’t hold on any longer. The world was spinning now, darkness creeping in from the edges. Jisung knew he was close to blacking out. 

The world was fading as he lay in a pool of his own blood, his vision darkening. He heard footsteps now, distant, but growing louder. His name was being called. 

Was that Changbin? Was he coming for him? 

His mind couldn’t quite focus. The last thing he saw before everything went black was the faint outline of a shadow -- a figure, blurred and indistinct, rushing towards him.

Chapter Text

“Jisung!” Changbin’s voice cut through the darkness, filled with panic. He rushed through the trees, falling to his knees beside the younger detective. His flashlight shook in his trembling hand, casting uneven light across Jisung’s crumpled body near the car. He could see the bloodstains on Jisung's jacket, the dark crimson spreading out from his side and neck. He had a nasty cut on the side of his temple that was already beginning to swell. Changbin cursed under his breath, hands trembling as he reached out to examine his partner’s wounds, trying to keep his fear in check.

“Come on, Jisung,” he muttered, voice shaking. “Stay with me, okay? You’re gonna be fine.”

He carefully pulled Jisung’s jacket aside, revealing the stab wound on his side. The bleeding wasn’t gushing, but it was steady, too steady for comfort. He applied pressure with his hands, hissing through clenched teeth at the warmth of Jisung’s blood. He needed to stop the bleeding, keep him stable. But they were in the middle of the woods, miles from the nearest town or hospital. Too far.

His hands fumbled to pull off his own jacket as he bunched it up, pressing it against Jisung’s side to try and stem the bleeding. He pressed harder on the wound and froze as he felt the warmth of Jisung’s blood seeping through the jacket. There was too much blood.

“Damn it,” Changbin growled, glancing around desperately. His breath quickened as his eyes darted around, but they were alone, surrounded by endless trees. The sound of distant footsteps—Changbin couldn’t tell if they were real or imagined—made his skin prickle with fear. Think, Changbin, think.

“Jisung, wake up,” he begged, leaning over his partner’s face, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper. Jisung’s expression was still pale and slack, an unsettling contrast to his usually lively face.

“Come on, Sung. You’ve got too much to live for. Minho needs his husband. Dowon… Dowon needs his papa.” Changbin’s voice cracked, and he let out a shaky breath, trying to keep it together. Jisung’s face remained still, his breathing ragged.

Changbin’s pulse raced as he grabbed Jisung’s wrist, searching for a pulse. It was there, but faint. His chest tightened as he scanned the scene, his sharp eyes landing on the crumpled cloth discarded on the ground beside Jisung.

Chloroform.

"Shit," he whispered, realization dawning. Jisung hadn’t just been attacked – he’d been drugged. This wasn’t random. This had been planned.

Changbin quickly grabbed his phone, dialing Chan’s as his heart raced.

The moment the captain picked up on the other end, Changbin didn’t even give him a moment to speak.

“Hyung, we’re in the woods, off the old highway… J-Ji’s been stabbed, drugged with chloroform… please, send someone,” Changbin said, the words spilling out in a rush. “We need help, now.”

“Bin.” The older man’s voice was calm, but he knew Chan was panicking internally just as much as Changbin was externally. “I need you to take a breath for me. How bad is he?”

Changbin forced himself to obey, forcing a few sharp exhales out before he spoke again.

“His wounds aren’t deep, but he’s bleeding out.”

Chan cursed under his breath. “Okay. Listen to me. Keep pressure on the wound. I’ve got Seungmin tracking your location – help is coming. Just hold on.”

Changbin nodded, even though Chan couldn’t see him. “I know, I know,” he muttered, his voice tight. His fingers dug into Jisung’s side, pressing harder against the makeshift bandage as the younger detective let out a faint groan.

Changbin’s heart jumped. “Ji?” His voice softened. “Hey, come on, talk to me.”

Jisung’s eyelids fluttered slightly, but he didn’t fully wake. His lips parted, and a weak, pained sound escaped. Changbin swallowed hard, his grip on Jisung tightening. “He made a sound, Chan. He’s still with me.”

“Good,” Chan said. “I’m sending backup and an ambulance. Stay on the line with me, okay?”

Before Changbin could respond, a crunch of leaves sounded in the distance. His entire body went rigid.

No, no,  no . Focus, Seo Changbin.

Changbin held his breath, his grip tightening on Jisung as his eyes darted toward the sound. The faint rustling of leaves and the unmistakable snap of a twig sent a chill racing down his spine. Someone was out there.

"Chan hyung," he whispered urgently, shifting slightly to shield Jisung’s body with his own. "I think someone’s here."

There was a beat of silence before Chan responded sharply. "Stay quiet. Don’t move unless you have to.”

“Yes, sir.”

As soon as Changbin hung up, he shifted his attention back to Jisung, his hands trembling as he pressed down harder on the stab wound. He glanced at Jisung’s face again, hoping for any sign of life—a flicker of movement, a groan, anything – but Jisung didn’t stir.

Changbin swallowed, his heart pounding in his ears. He could barely see through the thick darkness of the woods, the weak beam of his flashlight illuminating only a small patch of dirt and fallen leaves. Every shadow seemed to shift, every tree a potential hiding place for whoever had done this to Jisung.

Another crunch.

Changbin’s hand moved instinctively to the gun holstered at his hip.

“Who’s there?” he called out.

The forest seemed to hold its breath, and for a moment, Changbin thought he might have imagined it. But then – a shadow shifted between the trees. Someone was definitely there, watching. Waiting.

Changbin’s grip tightened on his gun, his finger hovering near the trigger. He didn’t dare move too quickly. Whoever was out there had the advantage of the dark, and he wasn’t about to make himself an easy target. His flashlight beam trembled as he shifted slightly, angling himself more protectively over Jisung’s unconscious body.

Changbin held his breath, willing his hands to steady around the grip of his gun. His heart was pounding so hard he swore it would give them away. His breath came fast, fogging in the cold night air.

Then –

A blur of movement. A figure lunging from the darkness.

Changbin reacted on instinct. He fired. The shot rang through the trees, a deafening crack that sent birds screeching into the sky. Changbin’s ears were ringing. The figure dodged at the last second, the bullet lodging into a tree with a sickening thunk. Before Changbin could fire again, the figure slammed into him from the side, dazing him.

He hit the ground hard, his chest slamming into the dirt and leaves. His gun was knocked from his grasp, landing somewhere in the underbrush. A knee pressed against his back, holding him down. A gloved hand grabbed at his wrist, pinning it behind his back as his other hand dug into the dirt, struggling to get free.

The scent of sweat and leather filled Changbin’s nose, along with something more metallic – blood. His own, Jisung’s, or his attacker’s, he wasn’t sure.

No. He wasn’t going down like this.

With a snarl, Changbin twisted, his muscles straining as he yanked his wrist free and shoved the attacker off. The moment of freedom gave him just enough time to scramble backward, reaching for his weapon.

A boot crashed into his ribs, knocking the wind from his lungs. Changbin choked on air, his body curling inward as pain flared through his torso. His fingers brushed against the handle of his gun, but the attacker was already looming over him again.

A bloodstained knife glinted in the sliver of moonlight breaking through the forest canopy.

Shit.

He barely had time to roll before the blade swung downward, cutting through the air where his throat had been seconds earlier.

He could hear it—a sharp, whistling swish as it sliced through empty space.

Changbin kicked out blindly, his boot connecting with something solid—a shin. His attacker stumbled, cursing under their breath, but they recovered too fast.

The knife came again, a vicious downward strike aimed straight at his chest. Changbin barely caught the assailant’s wrist, straining to keep the blade at bay. A chill went down his spine as he finally met his attacker’s gaze—only there were no eyes to meet. The figure wore a white mask, smooth and emotionless, devoid of any hint of humanity. His muscles screamed from the effort, but the edge inched closer.

Jisung. He had to get back to Jisung.

A growl tore from his throat as he twisted violently to the side. The momentum sent both of them crashing into the dirt, rolling over leaves and twigs, snapping branches beneath them. The forest was a blur of motion, the scent of damp earth and pine filling Changbin’s nose as he fought to get the upper hand.

His knee slammed into the attacker’s gut. A choked grunt. The grip on the knife loosened just enough. Changbin wrenched the blade free, flipping it in his grip, and drove it forward.

A sharp gasp. A wet, gurgling cough.

The attacker reeled back, clutching their side where the knife had sunk in.

Changbin panted, his vision swimming, but he didn’t waste time. He scrambled toward his gun, grabbing it with shaking hands and whipping around to aim–

But the attacker was gone. A rustling of branches, retreating footsteps swallowed by the night.

Fucking  coward.

Changbin let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, adrenaline still making his limbs tremble. He staggered to his feet, gasping for breath, his body screaming in protest. His ribs ached, his fingers trembled, and his lungs burned from the exertion. His ears still rang from the earlier gunshot, making every rustle of the trees feel distant, surreal.

He turned immediately, his chest tightening when his gaze landed on Jisung’s still form.

Suddenly, he heard a soft sound. A pained whimper.

Changbin’s head snapped back toward his partner, his heart lurching in his chest. The younger detective still hadn’t moved.

“Jisung,” he rasped, crawling back to his partner’s side. His hands were trembling as he checked the makeshift bandage, now soaked through with blood. Jisung was still frighteningly pale, his breathing shallow.

“Come on, Sungie,” Changbin muttered, brushing damp hair away from Jisung’s forehead. “Hold on for me. Help is coming.”

The distant sound of sirens finally cut through the night air.

Relief flooded him so fast it almost made him dizzy.

Help was coming.

Jisung was going to make it.

He had to.

“Come on, you stubborn bastard,” Changbin whispered, his voice raw with emotion. “I need you to fight. You always fight. You can’t leave Minho. You can’t leave Dowon. They need you. I need you.”

He knew the words probably weren’t reaching Jisung in his unconscious state, but he couldn’t stop himself. His heart ached as he stared down at his partner—his friend. He’d always admired Jisung, always respected him, but there had been that line Changbin refused to cross. Jisung was married, happily married, and a father. Changbin had buried his feelings deep, never letting them surface. But now… now, in this desperate moment, with Jisung lying so still, those feelings clawed their way to the surface.

Changbin’s hands shook as he tried to stop the bleeding, but he could feel the panic setting in. His mind raced, images of Jisung’s life flashing before his eyes – his bright smile, his infectious laugh, the way he talked about Minho and Dowon with so much love in his eyes. His family.

“Minho needs his husband,” Changbin whispered again, more to himself this time. “Dowon needs his papa.”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead against Jisung’s, squeezing his eyes shut as the weight of his emotions crashed over him. He didn’t care if it was wrong or selfish in this moment—he was terrified of losing him.

“Jisung, please,” he choked out, his breath shaky. “Please, don’t leave me.”

On impulse, as tears blurred his vision, Changbin pressed a soft kiss to Jisung’s forehead, a gesture full of all the feelings he’d kept locked away for so long. He didn’t know why he did it. Maybe it was desperation, maybe it was fear, or maybe it was because he couldn’t stand the thought of Jisung slipping away without ever knowing how much he meant to him.

“I’m begging you,” he whispered. “Hold on. For me, for Minho, for Dowon. Please.”

But Jisung didn’t respond. His body remained limp, his breathing shallow, his pulse weak beneath Changbin’s fingers. The silence of the woods felt suffocating, every second stretching into eternity as Changbin fought to keep him alive.

“Help’s coming,” Changbin said, though it felt like a lie. He glanced around at the dark trees, knowing how far they were from the nearest town, knowing how slim the chances were that help would get here in time. His hands tightened around Jisung’s wound, trying to keep the blood from flowing too fast.

"Just hold on a little longer, okay? You're not allowed to give up yet."

The only sound was Jisung’s ragged breathing, and the faint rustling of the wind in the trees. Time was slipping away, and Changbin could feel it, the seconds ticking down like a countdown he couldn’t stop.

“Please…”

__

Minho panted as he leaned against a tree trunk, the cold bite of the night air mingling with the sting of his woods. Blood seeped slowly from the gashes. His shoulder ached where Jisung had driven the knife in, and the stab to his side from Changbin felt worse, its searing pain a reminder of his own recklessness. His breathing was ragged, each inhale sharp as though the air itself was trying to escape him.

He had made a mistake. He’d gotten too cocky. In the heat of the moment, he had assumed he could control the situation – he was the X-Man, after all. Untouchable. The killer who always managed to slip away, always one step ahead. He had thought he could outsmart them. But now, all that remained was pain and regret. His arrogance had cost him.

You thought you could control it. You thought you could control everything.

His hand shook as he pulled it away from the wound in his side, blood coating his hand. He stared at it for a moment, transfixed by the vivid red of it. The sight of it, the way it dripped in small, steady rivulets, felt almost unreal. His own blood.

He instinctively moved his hand back to his side, pressing harder against the gaping wound. He hissed in pain, but the sting only sharpened his focus. His head swam, dizziness threatening to pull him under, but he fought it back. He had made a mistake. One mistake, and he paid for it.

But there was no time for regret. He straightened, the muscles in his body protesting every movement. The blood loss was too much, but he ignored it, just like he ignored everything else. There was nothing he couldn’t survive. He wasn’t done. The X-Man didn’t lose. He adapted.

“No,” he muttered under his breath, the words barely audible in the stillness of the woods, “not yet. Not today.”

His hand gripped the hilt of the knife buried in his side, his fingers numb from the cold and the loss of blood. He could feel his vision narrowing, his pulse hammering in his ears, but he pushed through. He hesitated for only a moment, but that was all it took. A flash of Jisung’s face crossed his mind – his soft, troubled eyes, his gentle smile that always seemed to put Minho at ease. He pushed the thought away.

You don’t love him, he reminded himself.

The thought of Jisung, the warmth of his touch, the way he always looked at Minho as if he held the key to his heart, made him falter for just a second. But Minho shoved it down. He couldn’t afford distractions. He couldn’t let weakness rule him now.

His mind churned with the lies he had told himself to stay focused.

Jisung didn’t matter now.

With a low growl of determination, Minho pulled the knife free. The pain was unbearable, but it ignited something deep within him, something primal, something violent. Something savage. He felt his body tremble with the effort of keeping control. He could feel the hot blood spilling down his side, soaking into his clothes, but he welcomed the discomfort. It reminded him that he was alive. It reminded him that he still had time.

He had always been a survivor.

His fingers tightened around the knife, the metal slick with both his husband and his own blood, his grip becoming white-knuckled. He could barely see straight, but his focus was clear.

Something inside him hardened. The anger rose once again, this time mixed with something darker – something more dangerous. The fury burned in his chest, hot and blistering. This rage, this fury—it felt like a storm inside him, just waiting to explode. This pain, this humiliation, this defeat – it was all part of the game.

They think they’ve won? They thought they had put the X-Man down?

Minho’s vision sharpened, the edges of the world growing clearer as he straightened. He could feel his pulse in his temples, each beat an undeniable promise of retaliation.

Minho’s lips curled into a bitter, vicious smirk. No. They had no idea who they were dealing with. They were too blind, too naive.

This is just the beginning.

He took a shaky step forward, the world tilting as he moved, but the fire in his chest pushed him forward. He staggered forward, the weight of his body dragging him down with each step, but he didn’t stop. There was a fire in him now, a fire that would burn through everything in its path. His enemies had made a grave mistake. They had underestimated him.

Every drop of blood that left his body only fueled the inferno inside him. He wasn’t going to let them take this from him.

He wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

The world swirled around him, dizzying and chaotic, but he fought it back, pushing his way through the fog in his mind. He was the X-Man. He didn’t lose. He couldn’t.

This was just the first round.

His gaze hardened, and he clenched his jaw, ready to face whatever came next. The blood on his skin, the pain, the humiliation – they didn’t matter. What mattered was the endgame. And he would be the one to win it.

Chapter Text

Jisung was sixteen years old when he fell in love.

It wasn’t an instant realization, not a love-at-first-sight kind of thing. But he remembers the exact moment he saw Minho for the first time, the moment something in him shifted without him even realizing it.

It had been after school, the sun casting golden hues across the pavement as he made his way to a small, hidden corner behind the gym where the stray cats liked to gather. He had been visiting them for weeks now. He would bring them snacks, just some little bits of fish or chicken he’d saved from his lunch, sometimes a pouch of wet food if he had some money to spare. It was his little routine, his quiet escape from the chaos of his life as a high school student. Jisung liked talking to the cats when no one else was around. They never judged him, never made fun of the way he would sometimes stutter when he got nervous, and they never expected him to be someone he wasn’t.

That day, however, he wasn’t alone.

There was a boy crouched down near the cats, as they rubbed against his legs and meowed softly. His uniform was neat despite the relaxed posture, dark hair falling slightly over his forehead. The boy turned slightly, revealing a face that Jisung recognized immediately.

Lee Minho.

Jisung had seen him before, of course. Everyone knew Lee Minho. He was the “it” senior. He was handsome, intelligent, effortlessly cool. The kind of guy that even teachers liked. He wasn’t loud or flashy like some of the other popular kids, but there was an easy confidence to him, something almost untouchable. People often whispered about him in the hallways, half in admiration, half in awe.

Jisung had always thought Minho was a little intimidating.

But watching him sit there, utterly relaxed as he let a tiny calico kitten paw at his shoelaces, Jisung felt something shift in his chest.

“You like cats?” Jisung blurted out before he could stop himself.

Minho looked up, startled, but when he saw Jisung, his expression softened into something amused. “I like animals in general, but yeah,” he said, scratching behind the ear of a fluffy black cat. “Cats especially.”

Jisung swallowed, suddenly aware of how dry his mouth was. Up close, Minho was even more striking. He had sharp eyes, full lips, and a jawline that could probably cut glass. But it was his gentle touch with the cats, the way he treated them like they were something precious, that really got to Jisung.

Jisung had barely known Minho beyond seeing him in the halls, but in that moment, something shifted inside him.

Minho looked up, eyes meeting Jisung’s, and for a brief second, neither of them spoke. Then, Minho gave him a small nod, as if acknowledging his presence but not intruding. He went back to feeding the kitten, letting Jisung decide whether he wanted to leave or stay.

Jisung stayed.

“Did you bring food for them too?” Minho asked after a few moments of silence, gesturing to the brown paper sack in Jisung’s hand.

Jisung nodded, stepping closer. “Yeah… I usually do.”

Minho hummed in approval. “Good. They like you.”

Jisung watched as Minho gently scratched behind the kitten’s ear, a soft chuckle escaping when it purred loudly. Jisung had never really thought about Minho before – not in any serious way – but now, seeing him like this, something about him felt … kind. Genuine.

At first, it was just the cats.

It became part of their unspoken routine as they continued to meet at that quiet spot behind the gym every few days. Sometimes they brought food, sometimes just themselves, sitting side by side in comfortable silence as the cats weaved around their legs or curled up in their laps.

They started to run into each other in the hallways, sometimes exchanging shy smiles or a soft “hey,” that would make Jisung’s heart skip a beat. And it didn’t stop there. Occasionally, Minho would wait for Jisung outside his class before they went behind the gym, where the stray cats would be waiting patiently.

One morning, Minho was waiting for him by the stairwell before the first class of the day. His hair was still damp from a rushed shower, and he was carrying two cans of iced coffee.

“Rooftop?” he asked casually, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Jisung blinked. “Now?”

“Yeah. Come on, the bell doesn’t ring for another twenty minutes.” He held out one one of the cans in his hand. “You mentioned that you liked your coffee on the sweet side, so I got you a vanilla flavored one.”

Jisung flushed, took the coffee with a shy “thank you,” and followed the older boy up the stairwell.

From that day on, the rooftop became theirs too.

They started meeting there before the first bell, drinking their coffees – Jisung would always have a vanilla flavored one, while Minho had his iced Americano – and lean against the railing while the sun was still waking up and the air was still cool. Some mornings, they barely spoke, the quiet between them speaking more than words could. Other times, they talked about everything – music, dreams, their latest exams. Sometimes Minho would bring his headphones and they’d listen to a song or two. Jisung began to notice how Minho tilted the left earbud towards him like it was a habit, how he never commented when Jisung’s fingers seemed to linger too long on the cord.

It wasn’t long before school wasn’t enough.

One afternoon, after feeding the cats, Minho hesitated before speaking, which was unlike him. “Hey… you doing anything after this?”

Jisung shook his head, heart thumping a little too hard in his chest. “No. Why?”

“There’s this cafe near the bus station. It’s quiet. Good for studying.” Minho tilted his head, almost shyly. “Wanna come with me?”

Jisung didn’t trust his voice enough to speak properly, so he just nodded quickly.

The cafe was small and cozy, with soft lighting and old jazz playing in the background. They picked a corner table by the window, and Minho pulled out a thick math textbook with a dramatic groan as he pretended to let his head fall against the table. “Midterms are going to kill me.”

“You get good grades though,” Jisung said, surprised.

“Barely. I just make it look easy.” Minho smirked and lifted his head up as he nudged Jisung’s foot under the table. “You’re smart too, though. You’re always in the top ten students of your grade.”

Jisung felt his face heat up again and quickly moved to grab a book from his bag.

They ended up spending hours there, working through problems and laughing over their terrible doodles in the margins of their notebooks. Jisung caught himself staring sometimes – at the way Minho tapped his pencil when he was thinking, the way he scrunched his nose when confused. He hoped Minho didn’t notice, but sometimes it felt like he did. Like when Minho would meet his eyes for a second too long, or when he smiled in that quiet, knowing way that made Jisung’s pulse race.

After that, cafe study sessions became regular. Sometimes Minho would text first, a simple “cafe?” and Jisung would be out the door to the small space behind the gym before he could second-guess himself. He liked Minho, and the time he spent with Minho, but… was Jisung overthinking it? Maybe Minho was just being... well, Minho. Maybe it was just the two of them hanging out as two good friends, nothing more. But then again, how was he supposed to ignore the way his heart skipped when Minho laughed, like it was meant just for him?

__

Minho graduated on a cloudy day in February. The ceremony was long and full of polite applause, flower bouquets, and camera flashes. Jisung stood near the edge of the school courtyard with his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, feeling both too big and too small in that moment. Minho looked different in the black graduation robe… older, somehow, more distant, like someone already halfway out the door.

After the group photos and congratulations, Jisung found him near the gym, where it had all started. The cats were gone for the season, scattered to warm hiding places, but the spot still felt like theirs.

“You made it,” Minho said, smiling, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Of course I did,” Jisung mumbled. “You think I’d miss your big dramatic send-off?”

Minho laughed, soft and fond. “Didn’t know I rated that high.”

“You do.” Jisung said before he could stop himself. “You got into Sejong, after all. It’s a really good school.”

Something in Minho’s gaze shifted, just briefly, but he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he reached out and gently flicked the edge of Jisung’s scarf. “Make sure you wear this when it gets colder. You catch colds like crazy.”

Jisung nodded, throat tight. “You’ll text me when you get to Seoul, right?”

Minho nodded. “Of course.”

Then, after a pause, his voice turned a little more serious. “But promise me something?”

Jisung looked up. “Okay.”

“Don’t focus too much on me, yeah? You still have so much ahead of you. Do me a favor and step out of that little box of yours every so often. Meet people. Try stupid things. Make mistakes. Just… don’t wait for me like I’m something to hold onto.”

Jisung bit the inside of his cheek. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re already leaving.”

“I know.” Minho’s voice was barely above a whisper. “But I need to go. And you need to stay. For now.”

Jisung was quiet for a long time. Then, quietly, like he was admitting something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to say, he spoke before he could overthink it any longer.

“Hyung… promise you won’t disappear on me?”

Minho hesitated. For just a heartbeat too long. But then he reached out and gently put a hand on Jisung’s shoulder, giving the younger boy a soft smile.

“I promise.”

__

Their worlds separated after that, but not completely.

There were messages, late-night voice notes, silly photos of cats Minho spotted on campus or random things that reminded him of Jisung – a new song he thought he’d like, a snapshot of a coffee can with “vanilla” scrawled across the label.

Jisung would reply instantly at first, eager, heart racing every time Minho’s name lit up his phone. But as the weeks turned to months, the gaps between replies stretched. Minho got busier, flooded with university work, part-time jobs, new people. Sometimes it took days to hear back. Sometimes a single message would go unanswered altogether.

Still, he kept texting. Not constantly, not pathetically. Just enough to let Minho know he was still there.

Minho never stopped responding completely. And somehow, that was enough.

Jisung threw himself into school. He studied hard, harder than ever, driven not just by ambition but by a quiet, stubborn hope that he couldn’t quite name. Minho’s words stayed with him like a ghost.

“Step out of that little box.”

So he went to a couple parties, hated them, but stayed long enough to say he’d tried. He even went on a date once—with a girl from his class who liked cats and strawberry milk. She was kind. He smiled. But the whole time, he kept thinking about iced vanilla coffee and soft jazz in a corner booth.

One afternoon, while browsing the library shelves, Jisung stumbled upon a worn book tucked away in the back. The title caught his attention.

"Psychology & Crime.”

He flipped it open on a whim, and before he knew it, hours had passed. The book drew him in, not just with its analysis of criminal behavior but with the way it made him think about people… their motives, their choices, the things that led them down dark paths.

It wasn’t just a book anymore. It was an invitation to explore something deeper. He spent late nights on online forums, reading through discussions about cold cases, watching documentaries, and analyzing evidence in ways that felt more instinctive than academic, fascinated by the way others thought through evidence and motives. The more he learned, the more he felt like he was piecing together a puzzle he’d always been drawn to, but hadn’t known how to approach.

It wasn’t just a passing interest anymore. It felt like something he was meant to do, something that clicked in a way nothing else had. Every new book, every new case, only pulled him deeper into a world that felt more like home with each page.

So, he took a chance and applied to one of the most prestigious universities in Korea – Yonsei University.

And then, he waited.

The weeks that followed were a blur of classes, study sessions, and a quiet anxiety that Jisung tried to ignore. When he wasn’t studying, he was messaging Minho, keeping their friendship alive through sporadic updates and late-night conversations. He kept himself busy, trying not to think about the email that would come, but the nerves never quite went away.

Then, one night, as the autumn chill crept into his room and the sounds of the city outside faded into a soft hum, an email notification flashed on his phone. It was from Yonsei University.

Jisung’s heart skipped a beat.

He opened it with trembling hands, eyes scanning the lines quickly until they stopped at the words: Congratulations, you have been accepted to Yonsei University.

For a long moment, he just stared at the screen, the reality sinking in slowly. He had done it. He had made it.

The first thing he did was call Minho.

It was past midnight, and the call rang longer than usual before it picked up.

“Jisung?” Minho’s voice was groggy. “Everything okay?”

“I got in,” Jisung said breathlessly. “Yonsei. I got accepted.”

There was silence for a beat…then, suddenly, laughter. Warm and real.

“You did it, kid.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m proud of you.”

And just like that, the months apart melted for a second. Jisung leaned back on his bed, phone pressed to his ear, eyes stinging.

“You’re the first person I told.”

“I’m honored,” Minho murmured. “Really.”

They didn’t say I missed you, but it was there, in the quiet between sentences, in the sound of a deep sigh from the other end of the line. Jisung didn’t ask when they’d see each other again. And Minho didn’t offer.

But when they hung up that night, Minho sent a photo. It was one of the cats from behind the gym. The black one that practically looked like a fluffball.

Look who I found. Still remembers you, I think.

Jisung smiled into his pillow.

__

Time flew by quickly. Jisung graduated, and eventually, he was moving into the campus dorms. University life at Yonsei was a blur. Jisung met new people, got lost more times than he could count, and struggled with classes that made him question if he really belonged there. But he kept going. He joined a tutoring group on a whim. He’d always liked helping people understand things. Started staying up late preparing notes and explanations. Even led a review session on campus once during a rainy spring week before midterms, his hands shaking, heart pounding, but grinning like a fool when the small group thanked him afterward.

Minho didn’t come. Of course he wouldn’t, he had his own life at Sejong. But that night, he reached out.

A friend at Yonsei mentioned some tutor who saved their stats grade. I guessed it was you. You sound like you're doing well.

Jisung stared at his phone, heart quietly thudding. Then he answered.

I am.

__

They saw each other again eventually. Nearly a year into Jisung’s university life.

It was a cold afternoon in October, and Jisung was walking through the streets near Hongdae when he spotted a familiar figure outside a bookstore.

Leather jacket. Hands in pockets. That same old smile.

“Hyung?”

Minho turned, and for a second, they just stared at each other.

Then Minho smiled, slow and warm, like the sun coming out from behind clouds.

“Hey,” he said. “You grew up.”

Jisung blinked, caught off guard. “So did you.”

They ended up in a quiet ramen shop, sitting across from each other like no time had passed, and yet, everything had changed. They were older now. Sharper around the edges, maybe. But the feeling between them hadn’t faded.

It had only grown deeper. Quieter. Stronger.

When Minho reached across the table to steal a piece of fish cake from Jisung’s bowl, their fingers brushed. Jisung didn’t pull away.

Neither did Minho.

And for the first time, it didn’t feel like something delicate they had to tiptoe around.

It felt like something they could finally begin.

__

They started small.

A few texts after their ramen catch-up. Then another chance meeting, this time planned, at a small café halfway between Yonsei and Sejong. It wasn’t anything grand. Minho had sent a simple, “Got time this weekend? Coffee?” and Jisung had said yes before he even finished reading the message.

That weekend, they sat in a tucked-away corner of a second-floor café in Sinchon, their drinks warming their hands while the chill of autumn wind crept in through a cracked window. They talked easily, as if no time had passed since they had been in high school. The gap of time didn’t seem to matter. It just made everything they said feel more real.

“You still drink those vanilla things?” Minho teased, glancing at Jisung’s cup with a small smirk.

Jisung grinned, unashamed. “I could never drink bitter coffee.”

The banter was familiar, but it held something new now. A different kind of charge. And when Minho offered him a bite of his scone, Jisung didn’t hesitate, didn’t think twice about leaning in close, their hands brushing again.

They began meeting regularly after that.

Sometimes in coffee shops with low music and dim lights. Sometimes on campus, Minho would swing by Yonsei when he had a long break between classes, or Jisung would hop a train to Sejong for no real reason other than to sit beside Minho in the library. They’d go over lecture notes together, though half the time ended up laughing at random videos on Minho’s phone or doodling stupid things in each other’s notebooks.

More often than not, they ended up talking like they always did.

About school, about their futures, about things they didn’t always say out loud to anyone else.

“You ever think about grad school?” Jisung asked once, his cheek pressed to the cool wooden surface of the study table as Minho scribbled notes beside him.

“I do want to go,” Minho replied, not looking up. “But I’m not in a rush. I like where I am right now.”

Jisung hummed, eyes drifting over the curve of Minho’s jaw, the soft way his lips moved when he spoke.

“Me too,” he said quietly.

One chilly Friday evening, they met halfway between their universities, at a street market tucked between buildings. The air was cold, their breath visible in puffs as they laughed over spicy tteokbokki and soju.

Afterward, they walked for a while. No real destination, just side by side under the glow of street lamps, steps falling into rhythm.

Jisung liked this.

The quiet that was comfortable, the company of someone who knew him, not just the version he showed the world, but the one underneath. He liked the way their shoulders would brush occasionally, and neither of them would move away.

They stopped at a small bench near the edge of a park, the kind with an old, flickering lamp overhead and the scent of roasted chestnuts drifting from a nearby cart. Minho sat first, stretching his legs out with a soft sigh, and Jisung followed, their thighs touching in the kind of way that made his heart skip but his body stay still.

“Cold?” Minho asked, glancing over.

Jisung shook his head, but Minho was already tugging his scarf loose and looping it around them both. It was warm and smelled faintly of cedar and whatever cologne Minho always wore, something sharp and clean.

They sat like that for a while, scarf shared, breaths visible in the cold night air.

And Jisung thought, not for the first time.

Maybe this is becoming something.

But he didn’t say it. Not yet.

Instead, he leaned a little closer, just enough for Minho to feel it. And when Minho didn’t pull away, only tilted his head so their temples touched, Jisung smiled to himself, soft and quiet.

He really liked Minho.

__

A year later, Jisung stood in the middle of the small, sunlit apartment, the light filtering softly through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow over the neat, sparse furniture. Boxes were stacked against the walls, half-unpacked. The scent of fresh paint mingled with the faint aroma of Minho’s cologne lingering in the air.

Minho was in the kitchen, humming quietly as he put the kettle on, the clinking of cups and soft steps on the wooden floor grounding the space with a comforting rhythm.

“Hey,” Minho said without turning, “You hungry? I can make instant noodles.”

Jisung smiled, heart swelling with something he couldn’t quite name. “Sounds perfect.”

It had taken a while for this to happen, the move-in, the shared space, the subtle negotiation of lives once separate but now slowly intertwining. When Minho first offered, it had felt like a casual thing.

“Hey, I found this place that’s not far from either of our campuses, want to move in together?”

But the moment Jisung said yes, he felt a surge of relief, excitement, and a pinch of nervousness.

Living together meant no more distance between them. It meant sharing morning coffees, the occasional teasing when one was running late, and the small, almost subtle ways their lives meshed.

Like the way Minho’s sneakers lined up neatly by the door, while Jisung’s were always a bit scattered.

“Do you want me to help with the boxes?” Minho asked, finally coming into the living room, wiping his hands on a towel.

Jisung nodded, grabbing a book from the top of one box. “I think I’ve got most of the clothes. But the rest—”

Minho took the box gently from Jisung’s hands and set it down. “Let’s start with the kitchen stuff. I want to make sure we have enough bowls.”

They settled into the apartment like two puzzle pieces that had always been meant to fit.

Life together, at first, was full of small, everyday discoveries, like how Jisung would hum under his breath while doing the dishes, or how Minho had this oddly precise way of folding laundry that Jisung never quite understood but always admired. They had their share of petty arguments. About the cluttered bathroom counter or whose turn it was to take out the trash. But none of it ever really stuck. The disagreements passed quickly.

More often than not, they ended in laughter.

Some evenings, they cooked dinner together with Minho mostly taking charge while Jisung helped when he could, handing over chopped vegetables and singing along to the playlist Minho always insisted on putting on. They had a habit of dancing in the kitchen while the rice cooker hummed, Jisung barefoot and swaying off-beat, Minho shaking his head in mock-disgust, only to join in moments later.

They didn’t talk about feelings. Not directly. But everything they didn’t say seemed to exist in the space between them.

On the nights when one of them came home exhausted, drained from exams or the weight of a long day, they found comfort in the simple routines they had built.

A reheated meal, a shared blanket on the couch, quiet music playing in the background as they watched a movie neither of them were really paying attention to.

Minho had a way of noticing when Jisung was retreating into himself. He never pushed. Just brought him a cup of vanilla coffee and sat beside him, quietly anchoring him back to the present.

Jisung, in turn, learned when Minho needed to talk but didn’t want to ask for it. Those nights, he’d start a conversation about something random, a new case he was reading about, a weird dream he had, until Minho eventually opened up.

Their closeness became seamless. Natural.

Everyone around them noticed, of course.

“You two are basically married,” Jisung’s tutoring partner muttered once, after Minho showed up to one of their sessions carrying the lunch Jisung had forgotten at home.

Minho just raised an eyebrow. “He forgets everything.”

But later that night, as they sat side-by-side on their balcony, Jisung thought about the comment.

They weren’t dating.

They never kissed.

But sometimes, when Minho handed him a cup of coffee with that half-smile, when their hands brushed during late-night grocery runs, when Minho hummed a song under his breath while standing in the kitchen in an oversized hoodie that very much used to be Jisung’s…

It felt like they could be.

That unspoken question, the one that had always hovered in the silence, began to feel heavier.

It wasn’t until winter rolled around again that Jisung let the question fall from his lips.

It was late. The city outside was covered in a blanket of snow, windows fogged with condensation. Jisung had spent the day organizing his class notes and doing laundry while Minho had been holed up in the corner of the living room, headphones on, focused on a presentation he was making.

Now, they were both curled up under the same fleece blanket on the couch, a movie playing softly in the background. Jisung couldn’t have said what the film was about if his life depended on it.

He glanced over.

Minho’s face was cast in soft blue light, his features relaxed, long lashes casting shadows beneath his eyes. He looked peaceful.

And something in Jisung’s chest ached.

He didn’t want to wait anymore.

“Hyung?”

Minho blinked, turned to look at him. “Yeah?”

Jisung hesitated. The words felt heavy in his mouth. His throat was suddenly dry.

“I… I like you.”

Minho didn’t react at first. He just stared. Long enough that Jisung almost backtracked, almost laughed it off, almost ran into his room and slammed the door behind him.

But then Minho blinked, slowly. “I know.”

Jisung’s breath caught. “You… do?”

Minho nodded once, a quiet sort of calm in his expression. “Yeah.”

Jisung waited. When nothing followed, he frowned, heart thudding. “And?”

Minho exhaled, then reached out and gently touched Jisung’s knee under the blanket. “And I like you too, idiot.”

Jisung stared at him, unsure if he heard him right. “Wait, really?”

Minho laughed softly, leaning a little closer. “Did you really think I’d be living with you, bringing you vanilla coffee every morning, memorizing your class schedule, making you soup when you’re sick for fun?”

“Yes?” Jisung said, though it sounded more like a question.

Minho smiled, eyes fond. “No. Not just for fun.”

A beat passed. Then another.

“Oh,” Jisung whispered, voice barely above a breath. “Okay.”

Minho leaned forward, closer this time, his hand still resting on Jisung’s knee. “So, can I kiss you now?”

Jisung nodded before his brain could catch up. “Yeah.”

And when their lips met, soft, shy, warm, it felt like every slow, quiet moment between them had been leading to this.

When they pulled apart, Minho rested his forehead against Jisung’s.

“Took you long enough,” he murmured.

Jisung laughed, eyes closed, heart pounding. “Shut up.”

__

Dating didn’t feel that different at first.

Maybe because they’d already built the foundation, shared mug cups, the arguments over dishes, the way Minho hummed to the songs Jisung played while in the kitchen. But there were new things too. Kisses pressed to cheeks in the morning. Hands held on walks when they got home from classes. Soft words spoken under the covers when neither of them could sleep.

They learned to say “I love you” in a hundred different ways.

“I made your favorite for dinner.”

“Don’t forget your scarf, it’s freezing.”

“Come to bed, it’s past three.”

Sometimes, they said the words aloud. Usually late at night, when the city was quiet, and they were curled up under the blanket with nowhere to be but next to each other.

One evening, a little more than a year after they’d started dating, Jisung was standing in front of the mirror, combing through his hair before leaving for his entrance exam for the police department. Minho walked up behind him, wrapped his arms around his waist, and rested his chin on Jisung’s shoulder.

“You nervous?” Minho asked.

Jisung shrugged. “A little.”

“You’ll be amazing.”

Jisung turned, facing him. “You meeting me after?”

Minho grinned. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Jisung reached up and kissed him, soft and slow. “Love you.”

Minho leaned in again, lips brushing against his temple. “Love you more.”

And in that moment, under the hum of the bathroom light, with toothpaste still on the counter and Minho’s socked feet half-stepping on his own, Jisung thought…

This.

This was what he’d been waiting for.

Not the perfect love story.

But it was theirs.

And it was enough. More than enough.

Always had been.

He knew there would be more mornings like this. Quiet, simple, but the kind of simple that meant everything. More meals shared between laughter and sleepy yawns, more small arguments over nothing that ended with soft apologies and gentle kisses.

There would be hard days, too. Long shifts. Missed calls. Worry that sat too heavy on the chest. But this, this love built on routines and whispered I love yous, would be the thing they returned to.

Their home, even when the world outside didn’t make sense.

Jisung met Minho’s eyes in the mirror again, and for the first time that morning, he smiled. Minho pressed a kiss on the top of his head.

“Let’s get cheesecake after,” he said. “My treat.”

Jisung laughed, already pulling him in for another kiss. “Sounds perfect to me.”

And just like that, they would stick together through it all.

Just like they always did. 

Chapter Text

The world returned in blurry fragments.

First, there was the steady beeping. The sound was distant and persistent, like an alarm anchoring him to reality. Then came the sterile scent of antiseptic, sharp and clean, burning his nose. His body felt heavy, numb, and in pain all at once. The dull ache in his side pulsed with each heartbeat, while his skull throbbed beneath the bandage on his temple.

Jisung stirred, eyes fluttering open against the harsh fluorescence overhead. His throat was dry, raw, like he’d swallowed broken glass. Every breath felt too loud, too hard. The first thing he saw was white. The ceiling tiles, the corner of a pale curtain swaying slightly. Then a shape moved beside him, slow and careful.

“Ji?”

Minho.

His husband’s head was tilted forward, elbow on the bed, cheek resting on his hand. He wasn’t asleep, just staring down at Jisung with a look of worry and fear that Jisung wasn’t used to seeing in him.

His eyes were red. Swollen. Like he’d been crying recently.

“Hey, baby,” Minho said, voice hoarse. “You’re awake.”

“Minho…” Jisung rasped, his voice almost nonexistent.

Minho was already reaching for the cup of water beside the bed, one hand gently guiding Jisung’s head up just enough to sip.

“Slow,” Minho murmured, his voice shaking despite the gentleness. “Don’t push yourself.”

Jisung took a sip, then another. His body protested, but that he was alive. That Minho was real.

“How long was I out?” Jisung asked.

Minho’s hand slid into his gently, careful not to touch the IV taped to the back of Jisung’s wrist. “You were out for three days,” he murmured. “They… they almost lost you. Twice.”

That explained the rawness in Jisung’s throat. Intubated. He’d been on a ventilator at some point.

“You were stabbed,” Minho continued, his voice shaky. “Under your ribs, just missed your liver by a few centimeters. And your neck…God, Jisung. You’re lucky it was barely even a laceration.”

“How… how did I get here?”

Minho hesitated.

“Changbin found you,” he said finally. “In the woods. He’d been trying to reach you and when you didn’t respond, he went looking. You were unconscious. when he got there. It took emergency services almost an hour to get out there,” Minho went on. “About forty-five minutes before they even reached the road near the site. Changbin kept pressure on the wound the whole time. He saved your life. He said that you coded once in the ER. They transfused two units of blood and had to flush the drugs out of you. Chloroform, they said.”

Jisung winced, suddenly feeling everything Minho was describing. The deep, burning pain in his right side, the dull throb in his neck, the pressure in his head. His body felt like it had been pieced back together like broken porcelain.

“You had a minor concussion. The swelling’s gone down, but they’re monitoring it,” Minho added, his voice quieter now. “They weren’t sure you’d wake up since you got hit so hard. But you did.”

Jisung let the silence settle for a moment. He could feel the weight of everything pressing down on them. His injuries, the guilt of lying to Minho, his encounter with the X-Man.

Minho’s hand tightened on his.

“You lied to me,” he said, voice low and raw. Not angry. Hurt. Somehow, that was even worse. “You said you were staying late at the station. You didn’t say anything about checking out a lead. Do you know how it felt when Chan called and told me that you were in the hospital? How it felt because I didn’t know you had gone on a stakeout in the woods a half hour away until he told me?”

Jisung looked away, shame burning hotter than the pain in his side. “I didn’t want to drag you into it.”

Minho gently cupped his jaw, not forcing, just holding his face.

“Jisung.”

Jisung turned to meet his husband’s gaze.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Minho said quietly. “Right now, I’m just thankful you’re alive.”

Jisung nodded, eyes stinging. The pain was still there, sharp, jagged, but Minho’s touch softened the edges. He leaned into the warmth of his husband’s palm like it was the only thing tethering him to the present.

Minho stayed close, his fingers lingering against Jisung’s skin like he was afraid to let go, as if Jisung might slip away again the moment he blinked.

The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It was heavy with all the words left unsaid. All the fear, all the hurt, all the relief.

A knock at the door broke the moment.

Chan stepped inside, dressed in jeans and a faded leather jacket, the hospital ID that said visitor around his neck, along with his badge. His usually sharp eyes softened when they met Jisung’s.

“Hey,” he said, almost sheepishly, like he didn’t want to intrude.

“Hey,” Jisung responded weakly.

Chan crossed the room in a few strides, his expression a mix of relief and exhaustion. “You scared the hell out of us.”

Jisung managed a faint, apologetic smile. “Yeah… sorry about that.”

Minho stepped back, letting Chan approach. The two exchanged a look. Silent, loaded with everything they weren’t saying in front of Jisung.

“How much do you remember?” Chan asked carefully.

Jisung’s chest tightened.

“Not a lot,” he admitted.

Chan sighed, running a hand down his face. “You and Changbin shouldn’t have separated.”

“I know.”

The three men were silent, Minho gently rubbed the back of Jisung’s tense neck.

“I think he knew we were coming,” Jisung murmured. “Like he was waiting for Bin to leave.”

Chan’s eyes narrowed. “Then it was a trap.”

Jisung nodded faintly. “And we walked straight into it.”

Minho stood abruptly, the chair scraping back against the floor. “You didn’t walk into it. You were hunting him, Ji. Doing your job. But from now on, you don’t do it alone.”

“Minho–”

“No,” Minho said, firmer now. “You don’t go chasing ghosts in the woods by yourself. You don’t keep me in the dark.” His voice broke a little bit. “What if I lose you?”

Jisung was too tired to argue, and somewhere deep inside, he knew Minho was right.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again.

Minho exhaled and sat again, brushing damp hair back from Jisung’s forehead. “You’re okay, love.”

Jisung swallowed, throat still raw. The reassurance helped, but another name surfaced in his mind, heavier than the rest.

Chan took a step forward before he glanced toward Minho.

“I’ll need a few minutes alone with him,” he said gently.

Minho hesitated, clearly reluctant, but Jisung gave a small nod. “I’ll be okay,” he said.

Minho gave his hand one last squeeze before slipping out through the curtain.

Once they were alone, Chan pulled the stool Minho had been sitting on closer.

“Where’s Changbin hyung?” Jisung asked, shifting slightly. Pain lanced through his ribs, but he pressed on. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” Chan said carefully, but Jisung could hear the but hanging in the air. “Physically, at least. He refused to leave your side until the doctors made him.”

Jisung’s brows knit together, his throat tightening. “He was with me?”

“Yeah,” Chan said quietly. “The whole time. In the ambulance, through the ER. He didn’t let go of your hand until they took you into surgery.” Chan’s voice was softer now, “He blamed himself. Said if he hadn’t stepped away, you wouldn’t have been alone long enough for the X-Man to get to you.”

Jisung’s heart sank. He could almost hear Changbin’s voice, laced with guilt, replaying everything over and over in his head, punishing himself for something that wasn’t his fault.

“Where is he now?” Jisung asked, shifting again despite the pain.

Chan hesitated. “He went home to rest. I made him. But he’ll be back. You know how he is.”

Jisung nodded, the movement barely perceptible. He did know. Changbin carried his teammates’ pain like it was his own. Sometimes more than his own.

The room fell quiet again, the beeping of the monitor the only sound for a moment. Then Chan cleared his throat.

“There’s something else,” he said. “If the X-Man knew that you and Changbin were up in Yongmasan when no one but our team knew, then he might know more about our investigation than we realized.”

Jisung’s breath hitched. “Then he’s planning something.”

“Yeah,” Chan muttered. “And he’s getting bolder.”

Jisung swallowed thickly. His memories were jumbled. Flashes of trees, a distorted voice hissing in his ear, the glint of a blade. The overwhelming scent of chloroform. A gloved hand pressed tightly against his mouth. A faceless, emotionless mask.

“He knew my name,” Jisung said, almost to himself. “He called me Detective Han. Not just ‘cop.’ Not just ‘detective.’ He knew who I was.”

Chan looked at him sharply. “You’re sure?”

Jisung nodded.

“Then he’s watching us. Watching you,” Chan added. “That’s personal, Ji.”

And suddenly, the hospital room didn’t feel as safe anymore.

__

Minho walked numbly down the sterile hallway, past nurses and orderlies who gave him quick, sympathetic glances. They saw a husband holding it together. They didn’t see the blood still dried beneath his fingernails. They couldn’t see the satisfaction of the job well done, the pleasure in his restraint.

He pushed into the nearest single-use bathroom and locked the door behind him. He leaned against the sink, breathing hard, his reflection staring back at him from the mirror – pale, his eyes were bloodshot and puffy from the crying act he had put on for the last few days. He looked like a man unraveling. He was.

The mirror didn’t lie.

He looked like someone who hadn’t slept in three days. He was someone who hadn’t slept in three days. Not really.

Not since he’d stabbed his own husband in the woods. But the blood had dried, the adrenaline had worn off, and there was no more thrill in the thought of it.

The porcelain was cold under his fingers, grounding. The buzzing fluorescents above made everything too sharp. But he didn’t mind. This sharpness was welcome. It kept him from slipping, from losing his grip on the narrative.

He hadn’t expected it to be this hard. Not this part. The clean-up. The quiet aftermath. He’d thought he could walk away, but the physical toll was a reminder of how much had been left unfinished, how messy it all still was. The blood, the cuts, the reminders that there was always something else to manage. Always something he hadn’t planned for.

His heart was beating too damn fast, as if in defiance of everything he had tried to bury beneath the layers of control. The longer he stood here, the more his mind rebelled, threatening to slip out of his grasp like a fleeting dream. Slowly, he shrugged off his coat. Beneath the soft fabric, the sleeve of his shirt was soaked near the shoulder, a deep rust-colored stain hidden beneath his layers. He tugged it up carefully, biting back a hiss.

The sharp scent of iron lingered in the air, mixing with the sterile smell of the hospital. It had been so easy to forget about it, while he sat beside Jisung, playing the worried husband. How quickly his mind had tricked him into thinking he could go on like this forever. But it never worked that way.

The bandage underneath had been soaked through. He slowly peeled the bandage away, examining the damage that had been done now that some time had passed. The wound was shallow but deep enough to leave its mark – a scar he couldn't ignore. The cut wasn’t deep, but it was enough to have left a steady trail of blood that night, enough to make him lightheaded as he’d dragged himself from the scene. He’d managed to clean it the night it happened in their bathroom while Dowon was at Felix and Hyunjin’s house and Jisung lay unconscious in the ER. Minho's vision swam as he pressed harder on the wound. He had thought he could will away the dizziness, but it clawed at him, insistent. It was just a small inconvenience, really. Just another detail to manage.

Another thing to clean and cover up.

Minho gritted his teeth as he lifted his shirt next, revealing the bandage wrapped around his ribs, blood leaking through it in small blotches.

The stab wound in his side throbbed in time with his heartbeat, lower down near his ribs. Minho undid the gauze he had wrapped around it and pressed the clean corner of a paper towel against it, gritting his teeth at the sting. He couldn’t risk going to a clinic, couldn’t risk anything that might unravel what little control he had left. So he’d patched himself up as best he could, hidden the pain beneath layers of fabric, hidden the truth beneath layers of lies. Pain was just another tool to manage, another symptom of his meticulous planning.

But even as he applied pressure to the wound, Minho couldn’t ignore the gnawing feeling in the back of his mind. The wound was just one part of it. There was more. More of him to hide. His thoughts, his intentions, his true nature. It would be so easy for Jisung to see, if he looked just a little harder. If he remembered just a little bit more.

He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. It was a lesson, this moment, he reminded himself. The chaos, the risk – it was all part of the game.

Jisung’s voice echoed in his mind.

“How long was I out?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t want to drag you into it.”

Minho nearly laughed, bitter and low. Drag him into it? Jisung had no idea he was already in the center of it all, tangled so deep that Minho no longer knew where the mask ended and he began. It was amusing, really. To think of Jisung as the one trapped. The one who didn’t see it yet.

Jisung was playing his part too, in a way. The willing pawn who trusted him completely. Who couldn’t even fathom the truth, because Minho had made sure of that. It had all been so easy. Until now. Now, there was a risk because he had been too cocky.

Jisung could eventually begin to see through the cracks in Minho’s perfect illusion. And that couldn’t happen.

Not yet.

Not ever.

Minho exhaled shakily and turned the tap, letting cold water run over his hands, rinsing away the blood that had seeped through his bandage. It swirled pink down the drain.

Stupid. He'd gotten cocky. Too confident that night, too sure that his mask would hold, that Jisung and Changbin wouldn’t get close enough to fight back.

It wasn’t anything personal, of course. Just a necessary step. If he had to fix a problem, he’d do it efficiently.

Fix the problem.

That’s all this was.

The stab wounds. The blood. It was just another task to check off. The hospital, Jisung, the aftermath – all just pieces of a larger plan that had to be executed perfectly. He’d made it this far, hadn’t he? He had to keep it together. He had to stay ahead of them all.

He leaned against the sink, gaze locked on his reflection. The X-Man’s mask might be tucked away, hidden safe, but the monster underneath was staring back at him. The monster? It was him. He was the one holding everything together. He always had been.

For a second, the face in the mirror wasn’t his. It was the mask’s. Blank. Cold. And then it was him again – forcing himself to smile, as if nothing had changed.

The more he stared at his own reflection, the more he began to wonder… when did it all stop being a game? When had he crossed the line from playing the role to becoming it?

He tore off another paper towel, pressing it hard against his side again, watching the red spread across the thin material. He needed to stop the bleeding, at least enough to get through the next few hours. Enough to get back to Jisung’s bedside, to sit there like the worried husband he was supposed to be. The role was so easy to play. So comfortable.

Minho’s head bowed, a low chuckle slipping out, humorless and dark. What would Jisung say if he knew? If he saw him now, half-crippled by wounds, hiding in a hospital bathroom trying to clean up the mess? It was a laughable thought. Jisung would never know. Not while Minho could maintain control.

Not while he was still the one in charge.

He stared at himself in the mirror again, at the dark eyes, at the man looking back at him. A man who had held his husband in his arms just minutes ago, soothed him with gentle words, while hiding the fact that he was the very monster Jisung had barely escaped.

The very monster Jisung was still hunting.

The X-Man.

Minho flushed down the blood soaked paper towels, then washed his hands and carefully secured the gauze once more before smoothing his shirt back down. He ran a hand through his hair, and dabbed the sweat from his face.

Another mask, another layer, another role to play. He straightened his coat, checked his sleeves to be sure no fresh blood showed through. His hands trembled, just a little, so he clenched them into fists until the tremor stilled. Weakness was unacceptable. Control was everything.

He wasn’t weak. He was strong. He was the one with the power to decide what happened next. The only one who could control this.

There was still work to do.

Jisung was alive, but for how long? How long before he came too close, asked too many questions, looked too hard at the man he thought he knew? How long before Minho’s perfect, careful world cracked under the weight of the lies? He’d been here before. Too many times, and yet, it was always the same – he was untouchable.

The questions were inevitable. He could hear them coming, echoing in the back of his mind, growing louder. The cracks would show. They always did. But he’d be ready. He always was.

If Jisung remembered too much too fast…

If Changbin started asking the right questions…

If Chan began to pay too close attention…

If Minho couldn’t stay ahead of the trail he’d laid…

There would be no escaping the truth being unraveled. 

Chapter Text

The first thing Jisung thought when his husband came back into his hospital room was that Minho, despite looking handsome as ever, looked… hollow.

He was quiet, and after giving Jisung a tight-lipped smile, he went straight to the window. For a moment, Jisung let him be. Until Minho began staring out the glass for a touch too long.

“Minho,” he called softly.

Minho turned to meet Jisung’s gaze. He didn’t say a word.

“You alright, love?”

Minho blinked, as if pulled from somewhere distant, then offered another smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Jisung didn’t buy it. He knew Minho too well, and knew the difference between fine and fine. It was in the way he held his shoulders too straight, the way his jaw was clenched tighter than it should have been.

Minho crossed the room slowly and sank into the chair beside Jisung’s bed, his movements just a touch too controlled. Not stiff exactly, but deliberate – like someone walking through a minefield and trying not to trigger anything buried.

Jisung watched him for a moment, silent.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, voice rasping through the rawness in his throat. “You look like you haven’t slept.”

Minho let out a soft exhale. “You almost died, Ji. Forgive me if I didn’t get my beauty rest.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Minho’s gaze flicked up to his husband, his eyes sharp but clearly exhausted. He reached out and carefully took Jisung’s hand again, thumb brushing across the back of it like muscle memory. So familiar. So practiced.

“I was worried sick about you,” he said quietly. “I thought–” His voice caught for half a second before he covered it with another breath. “I thought you weren’t going to wake up.”

Jisung squeezed his fingers, trying to offer something real in return. “I’m here. I’m still here.”

Minho nodded, swallowing hard, then leaned forward and pressed his forehead lightly to Jisung’s hand. Jisung could feel the tension rolling off of him in waves – not just worry. Something deeper. Something jagged beneath the surface. But what could he say? Of course Minho was shaken. Of course he was exhausted. He’d been sitting vigil for three days, probably blaming himself, but also angry at Jisung for lying.

God, what had he been thinking? Going into a stakeout without telling his own husband? And then coming out practically half-dead? Guilt washed over him for what felt like the hundredth time since he had woken up. Jisung felt as if his heart was being squeezed like a damn stress ball.

“Did you go home?” Jisung asked quietly. “At all?”

Minho shook his head, lips brushing his skin. “No. I couldn’t. Not while you were still out.”

Jisung frowned, feeling a fresh pang of guilt. “You should’ve slept. You could’ve—”

“I couldn’t, Ji.” Minho’s head lifted slowly, voice getting tighter, eyes locking with Jisung’s. “You don’t get it. I couldn’t leave you. You–” He broke off again, looking away, then forced the words out. “You’re everything to me. You and Dowon are my whole world. If you’d… if you’d died out there, and I wasn’t there when you woke up, I couldn’t have–” His voice cracked again.

Jisung couldn’t tell if it was the painkillers dulling his instincts or the lingering fog in his brain, but a part of him – the part that had always been able to read Minho like a book – hesitated.

Jisung shifted slightly on the bed, ignoring the sharp pull in his ribs. The silence between them pressed down heavier than before. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words jammed in his throat.

He studied Minho’s face. The dark shadows beneath his eyes. The tension in his brow that never quite eased. And the way his fingers never stopped moving – brushing over Jisung’s knuckles like he needed the contact to stay grounded.

Jisung watched him for a long moment, before shifting again – this time not to speak, but just to let their hands settle together, showing that the two of them were still connected. That he was still here.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he whispered.

Minho didn’t respond, not at first. His jaw worked, like there were words trying to claw their way out, but nothing came. Finally, he said, “I know. But you did.”

They stayed like that for a while. The sterile beeping of monitors, the low hum of machines, the sound of breathing were the only soundtrack in the dimmed room. The window cast a pale blue light over them, dusk creeping along the edge of the skyline. Another day slipping past.

And then there were soft footsteps.

Jisung turned slightly.

There was a tiny figure with his hair sticking up and wide eyes as he toddled carefully beside Hyunjin, who was holding his hand. Felix followed behind with a gentle smile, one hand on the little boy’s back for support.

Dowon made a delighted noise as soon as he saw Jisung. “Papa!”

The ache in Jisung’s chest changed – not pain this time, not exactly. Something fuller. Warmer.

Minho stood immediately, crossing the room to scoop their son into his arms before the toddler could try to scramble onto the bed. “Gentle,” he warned softly, kissing Dowon’s cheek. “Papa is a little bit hurt, okay?”

Jisung opened his arms. “Come here, baby.”

Minho carefully lowered Dowon onto the bed beside him, tucking pillows around to keep him from falling. The moment their son curled up against Jisung’s side, Jisung wanted to cry.

“Miss Papa,” Dowon whispered.

“I missed you too, Dowonie,” Jisung responded softly, kissing the top of his head. “So, so much.”

Felix, leaning against the far wall, gave a soft nod, his usual sparkle muted but present. “He’s been asking for you every morning. Got mad at Minho once for not letting him ‘go see Papa.’”

“That true?” Jisung looked down at Dowon, who nodded into his father’s chest.

“Dada say ‘no,’” Dowon confirmed with a little pout.

Jisung chuckled, then winced slightly. Minho was back at his side in a heartbeat, hand on his shoulder. “Easy.”

“I’m fine,” Jisung replied with a weak smile. “Just... don’t make me laugh too hard, okay?”

Hyunjin gave a mock salute. “Noted. Humor will now be dialed down to mildly amusing.”

The next few days passed in slow waves. Pain meds, nurse check-ins, quick visits from his homicide team. Seungmin brought files, pretending to grumble about doing Jisung’s paperwork, but he stayed longer than needed. Jeongin brought sweets for Dowon that Minho pretended not to notice. Chan tried to keep things light, avoiding the topic of the attack, especially with Minho and Dowon around, though Jisung didn’t blame him.

Changbin still never stopped by. Jisung couldn’t help but wonder if it was guilt. Did he blame himself for the way the stakeout had gone wrong? Was he frustrated over the killer slipping away? Or maybe he was just avoiding Jisung altogether – no texts, no calls, not even a voicemail. Whatever the reason, the silence from Changbin felt cold and confusing,

Jisung was only supposed to be in the hospital for a few days. Medically, he was stable three days after he had first woken up – battered ribs, a mild stab wound that hurt like hell, blood loss. Nothing his body couldn’t recover from. But no one wanted to take chances. Not when someone had tried to kill him. Not when that someone was still out there, their identity unknown, their agenda unfinished.

By the end of the week, his release papers were finally ready, and his body was still sore but mending. He stood on his own, slowly, leaning on Minho more out of habit than necessity. The hallway outside his room felt surreal after so many days of isolation, of soft voices and dimmed lights and the weight of waiting.

“You ready?” Minho asked softly.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Jisung tried to keep his voice light, but it still wavered slightly.

After only a few days of not walking around, he felt weak. Small. But the change of clothes Minho had brought him – a pair of soft, worn-out sweats and one of Minho's loose flannels – helped him feel a bit more normal. He never wanted to wear another hospital gown again.

As they made their way to Minho's car, Jisung sank into the passenger seat with a grateful sigh, the soft fabric of Minho's flannel feeling like a warm embrace on his skin. He leaned his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes and letting out a contented sigh. Minho chuckled softly.

"God, I'm so glad to be out of there," Jisung breathed. “I don't think I could stand another second in that hospital."

Minho smiled warmly at him, his eyes filled with affection as he reached out to gently squeeze Jisung’s hand and bring up to his lips, pressing a kiss on Jisung’s knuckles. "I know, sweetheart. But you're out now, and that's all that matters."

The car ride back to their shared apartment was quiet, the hum of the engine the only sound as Minho navigated the dark streets. Jisung looked thoroughly wrung out but was still trying to project his usual energy.

He’d gotten into scuffles in the past with suspects before, especially when they ran, but he’d gotten nothing more than a few bruises and scratches. That night in the forest, with the knife under his chin, as he faded into unconsciousness… that was the first time he ever thought he wouldn’t make it out alive.

Despite the silence in the car being filled with the low hum of the radio, Jisung felt that something was off. Not exactly wrong, just… uncomfortable. He turned away from the window he’d been staring out of for the last ten minutes or so and caught Minho looking away from him.

“You don’t have to keep looking at me like that,” Jisung said. He gave Minho a weak smirk. “I’m fine. Seriously.”

Minho didn’t respond immediately, his jaw clenched as he gripped the steering wheel tighter.

“Minho?” Jisung’s voice softened, his hand reaching out to touch Minho’s arm.

“You’re not fine,” Minho said finally. He caught the flicker of surprise on Jisung’s face and exhaled hard, forcing himself to relax. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Jisung. Not after what you’ve been through. What we’ve been through.”

Jisung opened his mouth to argue, but Minho shot him a warning look. “Don’t. Please. Just… wait until we’re home.”

Jisung shut his mouth, frustration simmering low in his chest. The silence between them was thick, heavy, filled with all the words Jisung didn’t want to hear and Minho wasn’t ready to say. Every glance from the corner of his eye only made it worse. Minho’s jaw was set tight, his hands still gripping the wheel like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

Once they got inside their house – empty because Dowon was staying with Hyunjin and Felix for another day or two so Jisung could get settled – Minho guided Jisung straight to the couch. His touch was gentle despite the tension radiating off him, and Jisung let himself be fussed over, knowing it was pointless to argue with Minho when he was in a mood.

“Sit. Don’t move,” Minho instructed, disappearing into the kitchen.

“I’m just a little roughed up, you know,” Jisung called after him.

“That’s not exactly reassuring,” Minho snapped from the hallway, reappearing with a glass of water. He placed it on the table and then knelt in front of Jisung, his dark eyes scanning him carefully. “You could’ve died,” Minho muttered, more to himself than to Jisung, as he lightly traced a thumb over the bandage on Jisung’s neck.

“Could’ve,” Jisung emphasized, leaning into Minho’s touch with a tired but playful grin. “But I didn’t.”

Minho got him a look, clearly unimpressed. “Don’t joke about it, Sung. If you did, what would I say to Dowon?”

Jisung’s grin faltered slightly, and he sighed. “Okay, okay. You’re right, I’m sorry. But seriously, I’m fine. I’m not fragile, you know.”

“You look like you didn’t even fight back,” Minho said, his voice strained.

Jisung felt his heart pinch.

“I did try–”

“Not hard enough, apparently,” Minho cut him off. “Changbin barely got to you on time. You never told me anything about the stakeout. Why?”

Jisung had never seen Minho so angry and scared at the same time.

His voice wasn’t loud, but his words hit with more force than if he’d shouted. Jisung blinked, stunned silent for a second, then opened his mouth and closed it again, unsure where to even start.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” Jisung said finally, voice barely above a whisper.

Minho laughed, dry and humorless. “Well, that worked out great, didn’t it?”

“If I’d screamed or fought harder, the X-Man would have killed me! I thought if I just stayed calm, Changbin would come back in time!”

“That was a shit plan,” Minho growled, his tone sharper than he intended.

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?” Jisung snapped, folding his arms over his chest. “I’m here, alive, because I knew Changbin would come for me!”

“Damn it, Jisung, you–” Minho started, but Jisung kept talking, his words tumbling out in a frantic, breathless rush.

“I didn’t want to make you worry more than you already do. I know you hate it when I do anything potentially dangerous, but I can’t just–”

“Jisung.”

“ – stop doing my job, and yeah, maybe I should have fought harder, but –”

“Jisung.”

“ – at the time, it felt like the best option, and I –”

“Jisung.”

Minho’s voice cut through the air like a whip, and before Jisung could say another word, Minho grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him forward, crashing their lips together in a heated, desperate kiss.

Jisung’s eyes widened in shock, his protests dying instantly as Minho’s lips moved against his with possessive intensity. It wasn’t just a kiss – it was a claim. A reassurance, an outlet for all the fear and frustration Minho had been bottling up.

Jisung’s heart hammered wildly against his ribs, each beat echoing the chaos swarming inside him. His breath hitched, caught somewhere between shock and tenderness. The weight of his fear – the lingering cold of the forest, the dull ache in his ribs, the weight of everything unsaid – all softened under the fierce warmth of Minho’s lips.

For a brief, suspended moment, the world narrowed to just the taste and heat of Minho’s kiss, the grounding, steady pressure of his hands. Confusion tangled with relief, a mix that left him dizzy yet achingly grateful.

All the frustration he’d been holding back – the guilt, the stubbornness, the urge to keep pushing forward alone – melted away like frost under the sun, replaced by a quiet surrender. His fingers gripped tighter into Minho’s shirt, not wanting to let go, craving the safety and certainty Minho offered without words.

When Minho finally pulled back, Jisung was breathless, his cheeks flushed and his eyes dazed.

“Shut up,” Minho said, his voice rough but he meant what he said with affection. “Just... shut up for once.”

Jisung blinked, still trying to catch his breath. “Okay,” he managed weakly.

But Minho wasn’t done. His hands slid up to cup Jisung’s face, and he kissed him again, slower this time but no less intense. Jisung melted under his touch, his body going pliant as he leaned into the kiss, his hands clutching at Minho’s shirt for support.

Minho’s lips trailed down to Jisung’s jaw, then to his throat, where he pressed a series of hot, open-mouthed kisses. Jisung let out a soft gasp as Minho’s teeth grazed his skin, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Mine,” Minho whispered against his skin. “You’re mine, Han Jisung. No one touches you like that and gets away with it.”

Jisung’s breath hitched, his heart racing as Minho’s lips moved lower, leaving a trail of hickeys along his collarbone and chest.

“Minho…”.

“I don’t think I could’ve handled losing you,” Minho admitted, his hands sliding down to grip Jisung’s hips firmly. “I don’t care how confident you are, Jisung. I’m never letting anything like that happen again.”

Jisung swallowed hard, his fingers still tangled in Minho’s shirt. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Minho pulled back just enough to meet Jisung’s gaze, his eyes softening. “You don’t have to be sorry. Just... let me take care of you, okay?”

Jisung nodded, his lips curving into a small smile. “Okay.”

Minho’s gaze lingered on the bandage on Jisung’s neck again and pressed a gentle kiss to it.

“Mine,” he said softly again, the word carrying a promise as much as a declaration.

And Jisung, despite his usual stubbornness, couldn’t help but melt. “Yours,” he whispered back, his voice filled with unshakable trust.

Minho stayed kneeling in front of him for a long moment, his hands now resting lightly on Jisung’s thighs as if he was trying to anchor himself to the present. The tension that had thrummed between them since they left the hospital finally softened into something lighter.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Minho said finally. “I’m here. Always.”

Jisung swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I know,” he whispered. “I just… I’m… I don’t know.. What happened out there in the woods scared me, but I’m also terrified of what comes next.”

Minho’s eyes darkened with fierce protectiveness. “Then I’ll be there. Every step. You won’t face it alone.”

A smile tugged at Jisung’s lips. “You’re the strongest one here, you know.”

Minho shook his head, a soft laugh escaping. “No. You are. You went through hell and came out standing. I’m just lucky to be here with you.”

Jisung’s gaze dropped to their intertwined hands. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not,” Minho said firmly, tilting Jisung’s chin up so their eyes met again. “You’re my husband. I’m not going anywhere. No matter how hard it gets.”

Jisung let out a shaky breath and leaned forward, resting his forehead against Minho’s. They stayed like that for a moment longer, wrapped in the quiet strength of each other’s presence.

Outside, the city lights flickered on, casting gentle patterns through the window. Somewhere, far away, life kept moving. But here, in this small room filled with whispered promises and steady heartbeats, they had found something unbreakable.

Minho shifted, standing slowly but still holding Jisung’s hand. “Come on. Let’s get you in an actual bed. You need your rest.”

Jisung nodded, feeling the warmth of Minho’s touch chase away some of the cold fear clinging to him. As Minho helped him up, steady and sure, Jisung realized that they weren’t just surviving this nightmare.

They were facing it. Together.

And that made all the difference.

Chapter Text

It had officially been a full week since Jisung had been discharged from the hospital.

Today would be the first time he’d stepped outside since.

Changbin was supposed to pick him up any minute now to drive him to the station, while Minho was out doing some errands. The thought twisted something in Jisung’s chest. Officially, the trip was for his statement about the stakeout incident – but there was also the mandatory psych evaluation looming ahead, part of the recovery plan his doctor had laid out. Jisung hated the idea of being off the case for two months. Every day away from the field made his skin crawl. But Chan and the police captain had put their foot down.

Rest, heal, don’t argue.

Minho had taken leave from work to stay home with him, keeping a careful eye on him. Dowon came by often, but for now, he was staying with Hyunjin and Felix. The arrangement was meant to give Jisung space to rest without worrying about chasing after a toddler – though he missed his son so badly his chest ached every time he thought of it.

The sound of tires crunching over gravel drifted up through his window, and Jisung’s stomach lurched before his brain caught up.

Changbin.

He hadn’t seen him since the stakeout.

For a second, Jisung lingered at the door, hand hovering over the knob. His bag strap cut into his palm from how tightly he gripped it. He tried to will the knot in his chest to loosen, but the effort only made it twist tighter. Eventually, he forced himself out, each step feeling heavier than it should have.

Changbin was already leaning against his car, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets. His expression was unreadable, but there was something guarded in the way his shoulders tensed when he spotted Jisung.

“You ready?” Changbin asked, his voice clipped.

Jisung nodded once, wordless, and climbed into the passenger seat. The seatbelt clicked much too loud in the silence.

The car eased away from the curb, and the city slipped by in fragments through the window – storefronts, bus stops, people moving about in the crisp morning air. Jisung felt all of it like static, distant, meaningless. His thoughts weren’t here. They were back when the X-Man had grabbed him, when he had been drugged, the sounds that still jolted him awake in the middle of the night.

He pressed his palm against his knee, trying to anchor himself in the present. The steady hum of the engine filled the silence, but it only made the air feel thicker.

He risked a glance at Changbin. His senior’s hands were fixed on the wheel at ten and two, his knuckles pale from the pressure. His jaw worked every now and then, as though chewing on words he never let out.

Changbin hadn’t visited him. Not once. Not a call, not a text. Just silence.

The thought burned, but Jisung swallowed it down. He wasn’t sure if it was anger or disappointment sitting in his chest, heavy and unrelenting. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Maybe he was just too tired to untangle it.

The drive stretched on that way. Awkward. Suffocating. Jisung tried to focus on the rhythm of passing traffic lights, on the blurred reflection of himself in the window, but every flicker of memory dragged him back to that night – how it felt being in those woods, how the pain came rushing in after.

By the time the station lot came into view, he was so lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed the car slowing to a stop. His heart kicked hard when Changbin finally spoke.

“Jisung.”

Changbin’s voice was low, sounding almost rough. Jisung blinked and turned, pulled out of his spiral.

Changbin didn’t look at him right away. His grip on the wheel stayed firm, knuckles flexing, jaw clenched.

“I should’ve called,” he said at last, voice quieter now. “Or come by. I know that. But I didn’t. I just–” He exhaled sharply, eyes dropping to the dash. “I had a lot on my mind. About that night.”

Jisung said nothing, but the words dug deep, stirring a hundred half-buried feelings.

Finally, Changbin turned to meet his gaze, and guilt sat heavy in his expression. “You’re my partner. My friend. I should’ve known better. I never should have left you alone.”

For a long moment, Jisung just stared at him. His mouth felt dry, but his chest was tight with too many words trying to claw their way out at once. He wanted to say you should have, wanted to say I needed you, wanted to say nothing at all.

Instead, what came out was a quiet, sarcastic laugh. “You think saying that makes it better?”

Changbin flinched, just barely, but enough for Jisung to notice.

Jisung looked away, back at the windshield where the station loomed ahead. “You didn’t call. You didn’t visit. I spent a week in that hospital bed. And the only person who didn’t show up was you.” His voice cracked, sharp with an edge he hadn’t meant to show.

Changbin’s grip loosened on the steering wheel. He turned slightly, as if to reach out, but stopped halfway, fingers curling back into his lap. “I know. And I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t change it,” Jisung muttered. He pressed his palm against his thigh, trying to keep his voice steady. “You’re my partner, right? You’re supposed to have my back. That’s what you just said. So where were you when I needed you?”

The words hung in the air, heavy and raw. Jisung could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, could see the flicker of hurt on Changbin’s face, but he couldn’t take it back.

Changbin swallowed hard. “You’re right. I should’ve been there. I thought… I thought giving you space would help. That you didn’t want me around after what happened. But that was me being a coward.”

Jisung turned his head, finally meeting his gaze again. The anger in his chest twisted with something softer, something messier – because even in his frustration, he could see how much Changbin meant it. And that only made it harder.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Just two people sitting in the stale air of a car, the weight of that night between them like a shadow they couldn’t shake.

Then Jisung exhaled slowly and unbuckled his seatbelt. “We should go in. They’re waiting.”

Changbin nodded, the movement almost stiff, and got out of the car. He lingered slightly by the hood when Jisung limped out of the car, but the younger man waved him off.

“I’m fine,” he insisted. He wasn’t – not really. His body still ached in certain places, often feeling like a rock he was constantly dragging around.

As they walked inside the station, with Changbin still slowly following behind, Jisung knew that he was being watched. He paid no attention, and kept his eyes forward. The station lights seemed brighter than usual, shining down so hard that Jisung’s head began to ache.

The station smelled faintly of burnt coffee and printer ink, which wasn’t unusual. Jisung had always thought of it as background noise, just something so normal it faded into nothing. But today, it was almost too much. Too sharp.

A conversation hushed as he passed. A chair squeaked, followed by the sound of someone clearing their throat too quickly. Jisung didn’t have to look to know what they were thinking. The rumors about the stakeout gone wrong… they all traveled faster than the official reports ever could.

He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the stares. He didn’t want their pity. He didn’t want their curiosity. All he wanted was to get this over with and go home.

“Hyung! How are you feeling?”

The familiar voice pulled him out of his thoughts. Jeongin stood up from his desk the moment he saw the detective, his usual wide grin in place.

Jeongin, ever the sharp eyed, didn’t fail to notice Jisung’s limp, the way he would clutch his side every so often.

“I won’t be running anytime soon, but I’ll be alright.”

Jeongin’s grin softened a little at the reply, but he nodded firmly, as if that was enough. “It’s good to see you back on your feet, hyung. We all missed you around here.”

Jisung’s chest tightened, but he managed a small smile. “Thanks, Jeongin.”

Before he could take another step, a voice called from the next row of desks.

“Don’t worry, hyung. I’ll keep your desk warm for you.”

Seungmin leaned casually against the edge of Jisung’s workspace, arms crossed, expression unreadable except for the faintest curve of his lips. His tone was light, teasing, but his gaze lingered on Jisung longer than usual – as though cataloging the exhaustion written in the lines of his face.

Jisung snorted softly, grateful for the familiar rhythm of banter. “If I find even one paper out of order when I come back, you’re dead.”

Seungmin raised a brow, unbothered. “Guess you’ll just have to come back quick to check.”

It was comforting, in a strange way. The station might have felt hostile under everyone else’s stares, but here were two constants – Jeongin’s warmth, Seungmin’s dry humor. For the first time that morning, something in Jisung’s chest eased.

Then another voice cut across the bullpen.

“Jisung.”

Jisung turned to face Chan. His captain was holding some files under his arms, including the X-Man file from Jisung’s own desk. The older man looked the most serious he had ever been, even when Jisung was bedridden in the hospital. He tilted his head towards his office, Jisung wordlessly stood up and slowly stumbled into Chan’s office. Chan helped him settle into a seat, not missing the way Jisung stiffened, jerking slightly in pain when he moved a certain way.

“How’ve you been?” Chan asked softly, sitting down in his own chair across Jisung once the detective was settled. The older man handed him a bottle of water.

“I’ve been better,” Jisung admitted, immediately moving to take a sip out of the bottle. Jisung didn’t need to say anything more. Chan knew, he knew how Jisung felt, about the ambush, about the fact that the serial killer they had been hunting down for months had been so close to one of their own.

The X-Man could have killed him.

Why didn’t he?

Was it because of the game of cat and mouse they were playing?

The chase? The thrill?

“Let’s start from the beginning,” Chan encouraged.

“I was on a stakeout. With Bin hyung. We were in the forest by Yongsangam mountain.”

“And why were you in that forest?”

Jisung forced himself to stay calm. Chan was only asking him these questions as procedure, he reminded himself.

It’s just procedure. That’s all, nothing more.

“The evidence that we had pointed us in that direction. We know that the X-Man’s lair, if he has one, is somewhere far away enough from the city that no one would stumble on it, but also close enough to the city for easy transportation for his victims.”

“Do you know where you were in the forest?” Chan asked.

Jisung shook his head. “No. It was far enough where Bin hyung had to get out of the car and keep looking on foot. I stayed in the car.”

“And then what happened?”

Jisung nervously took another sip of water.

“We were talking on our radios. Then all of a sudden, Bin hyung’s radio cut out. I got out of the car to try and call out to him. Then I was grabbed. The X-Man chloroformed me. I tried to fight back. I managed to stab him in the shoulder with my knife. And then he hit me on the head with my gun.”

“Did you see any identifying features? Anything at all?”

“No. He wore a mask. A white, faceless mask, like the ones you’d see at a theater.”

“If you could hear his voice again, do you think you would be able to recognize it?”

Jisung hesitated, the question hanging in the air longer than it should have.

His throat felt tight. He swirled the water bottle between his palms, realizing belatedly that it was now empty.

Chan frowned when he noticed. The younger detective hadn’t just been sipping between questions. He’d drained the entire bottle without realizing it, every swallow sharp and fast, like he was trying to wash down words that refused to leave his throat. Chan quietly stood, retrieved another bottle from the small fridge in the corner of the office, and set it on the desk without a word. He didn’t miss the way Jisung’s hand trembled as he reached for it.

“Take your time,” Chan said softly. “We’re not rushing this.”

But Jisung’s mind wasn’t in the office anymore. His fingers tightened on the plastic until it crackled, the sound too close to the crunch of leaves under boots in the dark forest. He blinked hard, but the office light overhead seemed to flicker, too bright, too white. His breath hitched.

“I–” Jisung started, but the word caught in his throat.

The water bottle slipped from his grasp and rolled across the desk.

“Jisung?” Chan’s voice was low, urgent now.

But Jisung didn’t hear him. His body lurched forward, chair scraping back against the floor, hands clawing at the desk as his vision tunneled. The air wasn’t reaching him. He gasped, ragged and shallow, his body shaking as if the chloroformed cloth was pressed over his mouth again. His knees buckled before he could stop them, collapsing halfway to the ground.

“You’ve been such a persistent little nuisance, haven’t you, Detective Han?”

“Maybe you should have stayed in the car after all.”

“...now… now you get to learn what happens when you don’t know when to stop.”

“Stop… stop!” Jisung screamed, clutching his hands over his ears, his eyes squeezing shut.

His chest heaved as he gasped, vision blurring. His heart was a frantic drumbeat, hammering in his throat, in his temples, in every vein until it felt like his whole body was on the brink of shattering apart. His nails scraped against the floor as though clawing for stability, but all he felt was the cold slickness of panic clamping down harder. His lungs refused to work, each breath shallow, ragged, too fast to be real oxygen.

The office melted away. He was back in the woods, the stench of chloroform burning his nose, his arms pinned,the knife slightly digging into his throat as it was held under his chin. He could hear the leaves crunching under boots again, the cruel, mocking voice curling around him like smoke. His legs wouldn’t move. His body wouldn’t respond. The world shrank to nothing but the suffocating weight pressing down on him.

Somewhere far away, someone was speaking. A voice, sharp at first, then softer, insistent. “Jisung! Hey! Look at me.” Hands grabbed his shoulders, steady and grounding, pulling him out of the spiral. His head jerked, eyes snapping open wide and unfocused, until he finally caught sight of Changbin crouched in front of him.

When did he get here? How long has he been here?

“Breathe with me,” Changbin said, his own chest rising and falling deliberately, exaggeratedly slow. He held Jisung’s gaze as though trying to anchor him there, in this moment, away from the nightmare clawing its way up his throat. “In… and out. That’s it.”

Jisung’s body shook, his hands trembling so hard they ached, but some part of him clung to the sound of Changbin’s voice. He tried – his lungs still fought him, every inhale catching like glass in his ribs – but God, he tried. His breath stuttered, uneven, but little by little, it began to sync with the steady rhythm Changbin guided him through.

In. Out. In. Out.

The white edges of his vision softened, the sounds of the forest peeling away until all he could hear was his own ragged breathing and the low, the steady of Changbin’s reassurance as the older man kneeled in front of him.

Changbin’s hand pressed lightly against Jisung’s shoulder, steadying him when his knees wobbled again. “That’s it, Jisung. Just keep breathing with me.”

Jisung could feel tears pricking the corner of his eyes as he continued to shakily catch his breath.

“Call Minho,” Changbin said softly to Chan. He then gently put both hands on Jisung’s shoulder. “Okay, Sung. I’m gonna move you a little, alright?” Changbin’s voice was low, steady in the way that made Jisung want to believe him. He eased his hand against Jisung’s side, lifting his shirt just enough to check. “I need to make sure your stitches didn’t pop.”

Jisung nodded, a jerky, exhausted motion. His body still felt like it was vibrating from the inside out. Changbin’s hands were careful, tracing the edge of the bandage, as if he was afraid that he would make it worse just by touching it.

“You’re fine,” he murmured, after a beat. “Still closed. Nothing tore.”

Jisung let out a shaky breath. His heart hadn’t caught up yet. It still thundered like he was running. His throat burned. “I’m sorry,” he rasped.

Changbin looked up. “Don’t. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Across the room, Chan was already on the phone. Jisung could hear bits of Chan’s side of the conversation.

“Minho? It’s Chan. Yeah. He… had a bit of a panic attack. He’s okay. Just shaken.”

A pause. The faint sound of Minho’s voice leaking through the phone.

“No, no, don’t drive like that. Just come down to the station.”

The phone clicked off.

The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful. It was thick, humming, the kind that made every sound too sharp. The air conditioner was buzzing, there was the soft squeak of Chan’s chair when he sat back down.

Jisung pressed the heel of his hand against his chest, trying to count his breaths. In, out. Changbin stayed beside him, still crouched.

“You did good, Jisung,” Changbin said quietly.

It should’ve been comforting, but something about the words made Jisung’s throat tighten. He nodded anyway, unable to speak.

Minutes went by. Jisung’s breathing eventually evened out, though every inhale still scraped like gravel against his throat. He focused on small things. The ridges on the desk’s edge, the scuffed floor tiles, the faint hum of computers in the bullpen beyond the glass. Anything but the echo of his own voice screaming stop.

Then there were rapid footsteps.

The office door opened with a sharp click.

“Jisung!”

Minho’s voice cut through the fog in Jisung’s head like a blade and he weakly jerked his head up to meet his husband’s gaze.

Minho was already kneeling before Jisung could react any further, hands bracing either side of his face, eyes wide and shining with worry.
“What happened? Are you okay? Did you–”

“I’m fine,” Jisung whispered. His voice was weak.

Minho shook his head, pressing a hand over Jisung’s where it still trembled against his chest. “No, you’re not,” he said softly. “But you will be.”

Jisung’s shoulders sagged. The familiar steadiness in Minho’s touch anchored him more than anything else had all morning. He leaned into it without thinking, the air around them quieting for the first time in what felt like forever.

Over his shoulder, Changbin had gone still. His hand was half-raised, as if he’d been about to steady Jisung again, but he let it fall back to his side.

It wasn’t his place. Not anymore, now that Minho was here.

He stepped back, giving them space, his jaw tight.

For a moment, the only sound Jisung could hear was Minho’s voice murmuring reassurances.

“You’re okay.”

“I got you, love.”

“You’re safe.”

It pulled him back to the present, inch by inch.

Then something flickered at the corner of his eye. A glint, small and sharp, the reflection of light off metal on Chan’s desk. His letter opener.

Jisung’s breath caught. The world narrowed again, but not from panic this time. From recognition.

He reached out suddenly, fingers catching on Changbin’s sleeve. His grip was weak but desperate.

“Hyung, wait.”

Changbin turned instantly. “What’s wrong?”

Jisung’s eyes were glassy, unfocused. His voice came in short, ragged bursts.

“The knife,” he whispered. “My knife… The one I–” His words tripped over themselves, his breathing quickening again. “I stabbed him with it. I–I always had it on me. But when they found me… a-at the hospital, it wasn’t there. It was gone.”

The words seemed to hollow out the room.

Chan’s head snapped up. Minho’s fingers tightened protectively on Jisung’s shoulder. Changbin just stared, realization dawning slow and grim.

Jisung’s hand slid from Changbin's sleeve, trembling. “He has it,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “The X-Man. He has my knife.”