7: (CALM BEFORE STORM)

The city stretched before Seungbae in dull, lifeless grays.

He sat in his car, hands still gripping the wheel, knuckles bruised and stiff. The pain in his side throbbed, a constant reminder of how close he'd come—how easily everything had slipped through his fingers.

Bum was gone.

And he had left with him.

Seungbae had replayed it in his head a hundred times. The way Bum looked at him. The way his fingers tightened around Sangwoo's jacket. The way he had chosen.

It wasn't shock anymore.

It wasn't even anger.

It was just exhaustion.

Seungbae exhaled slowly.

The wound on his side wasn't deep, but it needed stitches. He needed to get it cleaned, get it patched up.

But he didn't move.

Didn't start the engine.

Didn't do anything.

Because all he could hear—looping over and over in his skull—

Was Bum's voice.

"I'm sorry, Detective."

—

It was nearly dawn when Seungbae finally drove home.

His apartment was the same as he had left it—dim, quiet, suffocatingly small.

He kicked off his shoes, pulled his bloodied jacket off, and collapsed onto the couch.

The wound throbbed. He didn't care.

The room was silent.

For the first time in days, there were no calls. No laughter crackling through his phone speaker. No static teasing him like a thread he could never pull.

It was just… nothing.

Seungbae should feel relief.

He had spent months waiting for this to be over.

And yet—

His fingers twitched. His body was stiff. His mind wouldn't shut the fuck up.

Sangwoo had Bum.

And that meant—

This wasn't over.

Not until Seungbae saw a body.

Not until he ended it himself.

—

Two weeks passed.

No calls. No sightings. No strange videos surfacing like ghosts from the past.

It was like Sangwoo—whoever he was—had vanished.

And with him, Bum.

Seungbae went to work. Filed reports. Attended briefings. Pretended that the sick feeling in his gut wasn't getting worse every day.

He had called in a missing person report for Bum. Nobody cared.

"Probably just ran off," they had said.

"He's done it before."

Seungbae's patience had snapped.

But there was nothing to do.

No leads. No traces.

Just silence.

—

It was late when Seungbae got home.

The apartment was dark when he stepped inside, the weight of the day pressing heavy against his spine.

He didn't turn the lights on.

Just shut the door.

Locked it.

Let out a slow breath and ran a hand down his face.

For the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to think:

"Maybe it's over."

Maybe Sangwoo had gotten bored.

Maybe he had taken Bum and disappeared into the shadows for good.

Maybe, just maybe—

Seungbae could finally let it go.

—

The floor creaked behind him.

Too close.

His breath stopped.

His muscles locked.

Someone was in the room.

—

Seungbae moved on instinct.

Turned fast.

Gun out.

Finger on the trigger.

And in the dim light—

He saw him.

Bum.

Standing in the middle of his apartment.

Pale.

Still.

Eyes wide—too wide.

And then—

Seungbae noticed his hands.

Shaking.

Covered in something dark.

Something that dripped slowly onto the floor.

Seungbae's stomach twisted.

"Bum," he said, voice steady, low.

Bum didn't move.

Didn't blink.

His breath was shallow.

His lips trembled.

Then—

He whispered.

Broken.

Lost.

"He won't wake up."

And Seungbae—

Staring at the blood on Bum's hands—

Realized:

Sangwoo might actually be dead this time.

ー

Silence choked the room.

Seungbae didn't lower his gun.

His pulse hammered, his breath slow and measured—calm only because he forced it to be.

Bum stood there, drenched in shadows and something far worse.

Something thick and red and wet.

"He won't wake up."

Bum's voice was a whisper, fragile and lost, like if Seungbae breathed too hard, he'd shatter.

His fingers trembled at his sides, slick with blood that dripped onto the floor in slow, steady taps.

Seungbae's eyes flicked down.

Bare feet.

No shoes.

No coat.

Just a thin, oversized sweater—not his own.

And the blood—too much of it.

It wasn't just on his hands.

It had seeped into the fabric, soaked through.

But he wasn't hurt.

Which meant—

Seungbae took a slow, measured step forward.

"Bum."

No reaction.

Not even a flinch.

Like he hadn't even heard him.

Like he was somewhere else.

Another step.

Careful.

Cautious.

Because this was wrong.

Bum should be terrified. Crying. Panicking.

Instead—

His gaze was empty.

Like he wasn't even inside his own body.

Seungbae inhaled through his nose.

He kept his gun raised—because whatever had happened, he wasn't going to be stupid about it.

"Where is he?"

Bum blinked.

Slow.

Like the words had to sink in through layers of static in his skull.

Then—

He turned.

No hesitation.

No explanation.

Just walked.

Right past Seungbae, right through the dark, and toward the small hallway leading to the bedroom.

His bare feet were silent.

Seungbae followed.

—

The air was thick.

Suffocating.

The smell hit him first.

Metallic. Sharp.

Blood.

A lot of it.

Seungbae's fingers tightened around his gun.

Bum stopped at the doorway.

Didn't step inside.

Didn't look.

Just stood there.

Waiting.

Seungbae braced himself.

Then—

He stepped in.

—

The bed was soaked.

Sheets stained dark.

The walls—splattered.

A body on the floor.

Half-covered in shadows.

Face turned away.

Unmoving.

Seungbae's breath stayed steady.

Too steady.

Because he had seen this before.

Had been in this exact moment before.

A room like this.

A crime scene like this.

A dead man like this.

He swallowed.

Bum hadn't moved from the door.

His voice came small.

"I didn't mean to."

Seungbae looked at him.

Bum still wasn't crying.

His arms were limp, his body barely holding itself together.

He wasn't panicking.

Not like someone who had just killed.

Not like someone who had just won.

He looked—

Empty.

Seungbae exhaled through his nose.

He turned back to the body.

Stepped closer.

Gun raised.

Even if the answer was right there—

He had to be sure.

—

The body wasn't moving.

Not breathing.

The blood had pooled, glistening in the dim light.

A knife—Bum's knife—was still lodged deep into the chest.

Seungbae crouched.

Slow.

Pressed his fingers against the man's throat.

Nothing.

No pulse.

No movement.

No heat.

Dead.

Really, truly—

Dead.

Seungbae stared.

Then—

His eyes drifted up.

To the man's face.

And his breath stopped.

Because—

This wasn't Sangwoo.

—

Seungbae's stomach dropped.

His body went ice cold.

Bum had killed someone.

But it wasn't him.

Wasn't Sangwoo.

Wasn't the monster that had played them like puppets for weeks.

This was a stranger.

A nobody.

And that meant Sangwoo was still out there.

Still breathing.

Still watching.

—

Seungbae stood.

His gun felt heavy in his grip.

His mind raced, every instinct in his body telling him run.

Get out. Get out. Get out.

Because this wasn't right.

Because this was planned.

Because Bum had been left here on purpose.

Because Sangwoo had—

Click.

The sound was soft.

A door unlocking.

Behind him.

Seungbae's veins turned to ice.

He turned—

And froze.

A shadow stood in the doorway.

Tall. Relaxed.

A cigarette burning softly between two fingers.

And that smile.

Slow. Lazy.

Like he had been here the whole time.

Like he had been waiting.

"Hey, Detective."

The cigarette burned.

The smile widened.

And Oh Sangwoo?

Oh Sangwoo was alive.

ー

Detective Yang Seungbae just wanted a damn coffee.

It had been a long night—one filled with dead ends, cryptic messages, and the growing weight of something he refused to call dread pressing against his ribs. His mind was wired, his nerves shot, and all he needed was a cheap, scalding-hot cup of caffeine to keep himself from spiraling.

But of course, the universe had other plans.

Because as soon as he stepped into the dimly lit GS25, the automatic doors sliding shut behind him, someone whistled.

Low. Amused. Mocking.

Seungbae didn't even have to look to know it was directed at him. His patience—already razor-thin—snapped.

With a slow exhale, he turned.

And there he was.

Kang Hyunwoo.

Leaning against the counter, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, a lazy smirk curving his lips. His dark hair was tousled in that effortlessly smug way, and his eyes—sharp, foxlike—glinted with a kind of mischief that made Seungbae's fingers twitch toward his badge out of pure reflex.

"Well, well," Hyunwoo drawled, tilting his head. "Look what the cat dragged in. Or should I say—stumbled in?"

Seungbae's jaw clenched.

He knew that voice.

He knew that damn smirk.

And suddenly, the memory hit—cold pavement, metal crunching, the flash of a license plate before everything went black.

"You," Seungbae bit out.

Hyunwoo's grin widened. "Me."

And just like that, Seungbae's headache got ten times worse.

—

The first time they met, Seungbae had been lying on the street, dazed as hell, watching the bastard's car door swing open.

Hyunwoo had walked over, hands in his pockets, peering down at him with that same infuriating smirk.

"Whoa there, Detective. You good?"

Seungbae had barely managed to sit up before Hyunwoo had crouched right in front of him, elbows on his knees, looking entirely too entertained.

"Didn't take you for the type to go flying into traffic," he had said, voice laced with humor. "Gotta say, though—not your best look."

Seungbae had stared at him, vision swimming, pulse hammering with pure fury.

This asshole had crashed into him.

And now he was making jokes?

Seungbae had opened his mouth—to curse, to snap, to arrest the bastard on the spot—but Hyunwoo had only stood, stretched, and flicked something toward him.

His business card.

"Tell you what, Detective," Hyunwoo had mused. "Next time, I'll buy you a drink instead of running you over."

And then—he had walked away.

Just like that.

Leaving Seungbae seething on the pavement, the card burning a hole in his palm.

—

And now, months later, the bastard was standing in front of him again—acting like they were old friends catching up.

Seungbae exhaled sharply. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Hyunwoo blinked, mock innocence all over his face. "Buying beer. Obviously."

Seungbae glanced at the counter. Sure enough, a six-pack sat there, next to a pack of cigarettes and a bag of shrimp chips.

Hyunwoo followed his gaze and grinned. "What? Not a seafood guy?"

Seungbae ignored him, moving toward the coffee machine.

He didn't have the time or patience for this.

But of course—Hyunwoo wasn't done.

Because in the next second, he was right beside him, leaning in just enough to be annoying.

"You look tired, Detective," he murmured, voice low, almost teasing. "Long night?"

Seungbae kept his focus on the coffee cup in his hand. "Not your business."

Hyunwoo let out a hum, tilting his head. "C'mon. You get hit by a car, wake up in an alley, and now you're out at ungodly hours—something's up."

Seungbae's grip on the coffee cup tightened.

He didn't like how Hyunwoo was watching him.

Like he knew something. Like he was reading between the lines.

And worse—like he enjoyed it.

"Bet I could guess," Hyunwoo continued, voice dipping into something almost mockingly thoughtful. "Murder case? Corruption scandal? Ooooh—secret love affair?"

Seungbae nearly crushed the cup.

He turned sharply, scowling. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?"

Hyunwoo grinned. "Nope."

Seungbae's eye twitched.

This was not happening.

Not now. Not tonight.

Not when he was already stretched too thin, his mind tangled in the mess of ghosts, whispers, and the creeping feeling that he was being hunted.

And yet—here was this bastard, teasing him like it was a game.

Like Seungbae wasn't one wrong move away from snapping.

—

Hyunwoo finally took a step back, lifting his hands in mock surrender.

"Alright, alright," he said, grabbing his beer and tossing some bills onto the counter. "I'll stop messing with you."

A beat.

Then, with a smirk—

"For now."

Seungbae glared.

But Hyunwoo was already heading for the exit, shouldering the door open with ease.

For a brief moment, Seungbae thought that was the end of it.

That the bastard would just walk out, disappear back into whatever mess he crawled out of.

But then—

Hyunwoo paused.

Turned.

And with a knowing, almost too-casual look, he said—

"Oh. And Detective?"

Seungbae braced himself.

Hyunwoo's smirk widened.

"You should be careful."

Seungbae frowned. "Of what?"

Hyunwoo exhaled, gaze sharp, amused—but something else, too.

Something almost… serious.

"Of whatever the hell is keeping you up at night," he said simply.

And then—he was gone.

Leaving Seungbae standing there, coffee cup in hand, pulse pounding in his ears.

And for the first time that night—

The exhaustion he had been holding at bay caught up to him all at once.

Because Hyunwoo had been teasing.

Laughing. Smirking. Acting like he was just here to be a pain in the ass.

But in that last moment—his eyes had been sharp.

Like he knew something.

Like he had seen something.

Like he wasn't just messing around.

And that?

That was almost worse than the jokes.

ー

Kang Hyunwoo never considered himself an unlucky guy.

Sure, he'd been in his fair share of stupid situations—like that time he crashed into some fragile-looking dude (who screamed like he'd seen a ghost) and then got interrogated by a detective with way too much intensity.

But that was just bad timing. Not bad luck. Right?

That's what he told himself when he stepped into the convenience store that night, just wanting a drink before heading home.

The place was quiet. Fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead. A half-asleep cashier scrolled through his phone at the counter, barely looking up. Just another dull, uneventful night.

At least, it was.

Until he spotted a familiar face by the drink section.

Detective Yang Seungbae.

Hyunwoo paused mid-step, a slow grin creeping onto his face. Well, well. This just got interesting.

Seungbae, looking as stiff as ever, was staring hard at a row of bottled coffee, like he was debating whether caffeine could solve all his problems. (Spoiler: It couldn't.)

Hyunwoo casually strolled up beside him, grabbed a can of beer, and popped it down onto the shelf next to Seungbae's choice.

"Rough day, Detective?" he asked, his voice dripping with amusement.

Seungbae didn't even glance at him. "What do you want?"

Hyunwoo smirked. Predictable.

"Nothing much. Just funny running into you again. Thought cops like you were too busy playing hero to stop for a convenience store coffee." He tilted his head. "Or is this your big stakeout? Waiting for a criminal mastermind to show up and buy ramen?"

Seungbae finally turned to glare at him, and damn—those were some tired eyes. The guy looked like he hadn't slept in days.

"Go bother someone else," Seungbae muttered, grabbing a black coffee and heading toward the counter.

Hyunwoo, of course, followed.

"Aw, don't be like that. I think we got off on the wrong foot last time." He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice like they were co-conspirators. "You know, when you were trying really hard to make me feel guilty about hitting that guy?"

Seungbae's jaw clenched.

Bingo.

Hyunwoo laughed, leaning against the counter as the detective paid for his drink. "Relax. He lived, didn't he? No harm done."

Seungbae turned his head just slightly, eyes narrowing. Ah, there it is. That sharp, assessing look. Like he was trying to decide if Hyunwoo was just annoying or a real problem.

"Do you always run your mouth this much?" Seungbae asked dryly.

Hyunwoo shrugged. "Only when I'm entertained."

Seungbae exhaled sharply, taking his coffee and heading toward the exit.

Hyunwoo, still grinning, grabbed his beer and paid, then—because he wasn't done having fun yet—followed him outside.

"You know," he mused, falling into step beside the detective, "you really shouldn't let stress eat you alive. What if you start going gray? I bet that'd ruin the whole 'intense cop' vibe."

Seungbae ignored him.

Hyunwoo stuffed a hand into his pocket, cracking open his beer with the other. "So? You gonna tell me what's got you all wound up, or do I have to guess?"

Silence.

Hyunwoo took a slow sip. "Lemme see… You look even more pissed off than last time, so I'm guessing things aren't going well. What is it? The guy you're after playing hard to get?"

Seungbae's steps halted.

Hyunwoo stopped too, raising a brow.

A moment passed.

Then Seungbae turned to him, eyes colder than before. Calculating.

"Why do you care?"

Hyunwoo's smirk faltered—just for a second. Damn. He hit something.

"Relax," he said smoothly. "Just making conversation."

Seungbae didn't look convinced. He tilted his head, as if fitting pieces together in his mind.

Hyunwoo could practically hear the gears turning.

And for some reason, that sent the tiniest chill down his spine.

…Maybe poking the bear wasn't the best idea.

But before he could defuse the tension, Seungbae took a slow step forward.

"You're too curious for someone uninvolved," he said quietly. "You sure you're just making conversation?"

Hyunwoo frowned. "What, you think I know something?"

"Do you?"

The question was casual. But the way Seungbae's eyes bored into him made it feel like a trap.

For the first time since they'd met, Hyunwoo wasn't grinning.

"I hit a guy with my bike. That's it," he said flatly. "You're the one who made a big deal out of it."

Seungbae didn't respond right away.

Then, finally—he backed off.

"Tch." He clicked his tongue, turning away.

"Waste of time."

And just like that, he started walking again, leaving Hyunwoo standing there.

For some reason, Hyunwoo let out a slow breath.

He really didn't like the way Seungbae looked at him just now.

Like he was a puzzle that needed solving.

Like he wasn't just some random guy.

…Whatever.

Hyunwoo shook it off and took another sip of his beer.

Not his problem.

Or at least, that's what he thought.

Until Seungbae stopped abruptly at his car—phone buzzing in his hand.

The detective pulled it out, glanced at the screen—

And froze.

Hyunwoo didn't mean to pry, but the reaction was so sharp, so unnatural, that he instinctively took a step closer.

"Yo." He waved a hand. "You good?"

Seungbae didn't answer.

Didn't move.

Just stared at his phone.

Hyunwoo frowned. "Dude—"

And then, just as he reached out—

BZZZT.

The streetlights above flickered.

Hyunwoo's stomach dropped.

The air changed.

Something felt… off.

Very off.

Seungbae's hand clenched around his phone.

Then—slowly, without looking at Hyunwoo—he turned the screen toward him.

And Hyunwoo's blood ran cold.

Because there, on the phone—

Was a photo.

A live photo.

Of them.

Standing right here.

Taken seconds ago.

From behind them.

Hyunwoo's breath hitched. His pulse pounded.

He whipped around—nothing.

No one was there.

Just an empty street.

A silence so thick it pressed against his ears.

Seungbae exhaled slowly. And for the first time that night, his voice wasn't irritated.

It was deadly serious.

"You still think this isn't your problem?"

Hyunwoo swallowed hard.

Shit.

This just got real.