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inkandtension · 13 days ago

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Psychopaths prefer freckles [part-2, final]

A older,(about 30)!reader x 26,(crushing on you since long)! Felix

A two shot, part two will be coming soon[in prob next 2 days].

Plot, plot with romance, final part, Long?

warning: murder,violence, sort of love at first sight, kind of broken parent-child relationship, and humor.

the final part!

Part-1

It started a day after Mimiko.

The sensation: Being followed.

You’d feel it on the way to the car, on the elevator’s closing doors, or walking into your building’s bathroom, reflexively checking under the stall even though it was empty. There was no one. But something coiled in your spine still tensed.

You were being followed. Or maybe not.

But maybe.

When Chan’s assistant told you to come to his office, you just closed your file, stood up, nodded once at Seungmin—who blinked rapidly like he wanted to say good luck—and went.

Bang Chan’s office was colder than the rest of HQ. Minimalistic. The kind of place where emotions came to die politely.

He was staring at a document when you entered, posture casual but his hands death-gripping a pen.

“You called?” you asked.

He looked up, smiling.

“Yeah. Just a regular follow-up. Have a seat.”

You didn’t. Just leaned against the doorframe.

“I’m fine.”

Chan tapped his pen once. “That’s not what I asked.”

You tilted your head.

Silence.

He smiled again, more tense this time.

“…Are you sleeping alright?”

“No.”

“Appetite?”

“...”

“You… okay with what happened?”

You blinked once.

“Which part? the murder or the uploading?”

Chan chuckled. You didn’t.

He closed the folder and set it aside. “The meetup date’s been revealed, hasn’t it?”

“30th. six days from now.”

His fingers tapped out a rhythm on the armrest. “You’re sure you’re still good to go?”

“I haven’t bled out yet, so yeah.”

You turned.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Bang. They’ll expect tailing. Stalking. Bugs. Maybe even team formations around me or anyone who goes. So no, no one else should come. Just me.”

And you left.

Outside, the mood in HQ was sticky. Like wet cotton. Everyone was tense.

Yeji leaned against the vending machine, sending a meaningful glance toward Hyunjin. He just raised his eyebrows and chewed on his straw. Seungmin stood at the end of the hallway, shuffling files, eyes flicking between the team and your back.

Somebody should talk to her.

Not me. She’ll bite.

Hyunjin, she likes you.

Bro, she almost killed me once because my phone rang during a meeting.

Eventually, they gave up trying to send a soldier into your warpath.

You? You sat at your desk, feet up, coat still on, scrolling your phone with the most dead-eyed, battered-soul expression imaginable.

Your thumb moved like it had lost hope years ago.

Yeji peeked over her monitor, wide-eyed.

"You're on nyxnet?"

You didn’t even look up. “Can’t upload a murder video and die single. That’s just lame.”

Hyunjin’s voice from a distance “You scare me”

You look at him

“I mean—I love that for you.”

You locked your phone and stared blankly at the wall.

Seungmin, though, steps forward.

“I want to come with you on D-Day.”

You raise a brow. “What?”

“I mean it. I don’t trust anyone else to cover your back.”

You study him for a moment. You sigh, shake your head, dig through your folder and hand him a form.

“Your niece’s annual function is on the 30th, right?”

He blinks. “Yeah…”

“Then go.”

You decide that your father needs to go.

Not in the way you’ve sent others off, of course. One that keeps him alive and breathing and far away from this.

Far away from you.

You hear the clatter of a spoon before you see him.

He’s hunched on the floor mat, watching the TV at a volume high enough to wake the next flat. Rice bowl balanced on one knee, the news anchor’s monotone droning into the leftover soup. You wordlessly lower yourself beside him. He glances sideways like you’re a raccoon that wandered too close.

“You sat.”

You blink. “Is that a problem?”

“No” he says, suspicious.

You sit for a moment. Your dad stabs at his food like it personally wronged him, mouth chewing mid-scowl. The news flashes a grainy image from the forest. BREAKING NEWS: TREKKER DISCOVERS BRUTALLY MUTILATED BODY—SECOND THIS MONTH INVESTIGATIONS UNDERWAY

You lift your bowl and sip quietly.

Your dad, of course, must comment. That’s the man’s life mission.

“Tch. What’s happened to people these days?” he mutters, stuffing rice in. “No morals. Just chopping people like onions.”

You hum.

He continues, undeterred. “It’s the phones. And those apps. Tinder, Instabook—whatever. That’s why people are like this.”

You clench your spoon just slightly.

“They said the body was hanging upside down. Who does that? Looks like beef in a butcher’s shop. Must be some fellow with a loose screw—”

“If the upbringing goes wrong” you say quietly, your voice cutting clean through his, “then humans do turn out like that.”

He gives you another side-eye.

You don’t look at him. You just swirl your soup, eyes fixed on the steam.

“I—I was joking! Obviously! Just wanted to lighten the mood, heh.”

You say nothing. Just chew calmly.

He chews, then points at the screen. “See this? This is why I say you need to get married. Settle down. Normal people don’t have time to kill others—they're too tired from fighting with their wives!”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s your take?”

“It’s true!” he declares. “You know how your mother is. You’d rather hang yourself than another person if you had to live with her for twenty-four hours.”

A pause.

You reach for the remote, mute the TV, and turn to face him fully.

“I think you should move in with her.”

He almost drops dead on the spot.

“What?!”

“Stay with her for a few months. Rebuild the bond. Like you said—married people are too tired to kill.”

He stares, stunned. “You’re joking. You’ve never even liked seeing us in the same room!”

You shrug. “Maybe you’ll tire each other out and leave me alone.”

He squints suspiciously. “Are you... planning something?”

“Always” you say.

He groans, wiping his forehead. “Your mother will murder me in my sleep. I’ll wake up with curry in my ears and a slipper lodged in my throat.”

“That’s assault, not murder” you correct.

“Same difference!”

You finish eating and rise. He watches you like you might flip the mat with him on it.

“I’ll tell her you're coming Friday” you say, already halfway to your room.

“No! Wait! At least let me die naturally!” he shouts after you. “I can change! I can improve! Let me live with you!!!”

You slam your door shut with a satisfied smirk.

Inside, your room is dim.

You toss your phone on the bed, then sigh. The screen lights up.

You hadn’t checked Felix’s chat in a while.

lix

hey sorry 😭 things have been hectic, i had to go back to my academy for alumini event the moment work was done promise i’ll make time after the event is done don’t forget me alright??

That was... four days ago, before you killed Mimiko.

You scroll up. The last few conversations were brief. Short replies. Nothing deep. You didn’t respond to that one.

You didn’t want to lie.

You didn’t want to pull him in, either.

So you left him on read.

You lock your phone.

You lie down, stare at the ceiling. From the living room, your father starts a loud phone call, probably already crying to your aunt about being "sent to the battlefield" that is his wife.

You smile to yourself, bitter amusement in your chest.

[Nyxnet Notification]: Your video has reached 1,000 saves. Congratulations. Welcome to the elite tier. New folders unlocked.

The nyxnet homepage flickers in dull resolution on your screen. Your video—your video—is right at the top, above rows and rows of snuff edits and murder fancams, captioned with a font that reads:

"Efficient. Elegant. Real." Pinned by the admin.

There's a like button. There’s a comment section.

A post down below says: "New drop: virgin transport – Korea branch expanding." The accompanying image is just a warehouse. But the comments under it are what churn your stomach.

Then there’s a folder titled "Child Play" —empty. But not for long, probably.

You grimace from disgust, thumb scrolling through the feed like you're checking the weather, because that’s all this has become now. Rot in high definition.

The community is disgusting—and alive.

People have profiles on this site. Avatars. Statuses. Some post daily logs of what they wish to do. Some post domestic violence. Some review each other’s videos like it’s an award show. All of these people killed two, to get a membership, and most continue so.

And under your pinned video?

user5891: “she didn’t even flinch. look at the wrist flick. pro-level.” user2129: “dope setup. camera angle fire.” admin: [⭐ pinned your post] “a clean kill. precise. efficient. she's going places.”

You stare at that last line longer than you should.

Three days to go.

You step back into the office as if you hadn’t just spent the past few days murdering people upside-down in the woods. As if your video wasn’t currently pinned on a secret psychopath network. As if you weren’t being watched by both psychotic strangers and the man who technically signs your paychecks.

“Morning,” Hyunjin says, holding a pen in his mouth, fingers flying over the table-sized blueprint on the wall. It’s smeared with notes, circles, underlines, red arrows—chaos disguised as planning.

Yeji gives you a tight nod from the whiteboard. She’s mid-sentence, “—so we keep the cameras off until she’s out of sight. No drone. Too risky.”

You nod and drop your bag, taking your usual seat at the edge of the table.

Seungmin doesn’t look at you. He’s sulking.

He’s been sulking since the moment you insisted he take the day off for his niece’s school dance recital.

He taps his pen aggressively on his clipboard, muttering, “Hope her classmates appreciate my sacrifice.”

Hyunjin snorts, finally taking the pen out of his mouth. “We’ll send you the whole kill montage with violin music if that helps.”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, Minnie.”

You stretch your neck and glance at the board. The mission name—handwritten in messy black marker by Hyunjin himself—sits proudly at the top like a title card in a b-grade action film:

Operation: Whopp-the-bitch-ass-bastards.

No one’s changed it. No one dares.

“That’s official now?” you ask.

Yeji sighs. “Unfortunately.”

“Whole system’s falling apart,” Seungmin mutters.

You let them banter while your eyes scan the mission outline: you’ll drive out before sundown, in the camouflaged car, location confirmed, meet point documented, route vetted three times. And then you’re on your own—until you aren’t.

“That car’s sick, though” Hyunjin pipes in, flipping to a picture. “Pitch black. No lights, not even a brake light. Looks like the Batmobile if Bruce Wayne lived in a basement.”

“No reflective panels either,” Yeji adds. “And tinted deeper than my patience.”

“I tested it last night,” Seungmin mumbles. “Couldn’t even find the gear in the dark.”

They quiet down when Chan walks in. His expression is unreadable. Crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up, folder in hand. The man looks like he hasn’t slept in three days.

You can relate.

“I just finished the final brief with Command,” he says, placing the file on the table with a thud. “Here’s the plan.”

Everyone straightens slightly.

“You’ll tail her until she reaches the compound. Stay out of range. Once she confirms the site, signals go live. We’ll have SWAT on standby and aerial if needed.”

You nod.

“And I won’t be there” Chan adds.

You raise an eyebrow.

“I’ll be at Command HQ with the higher-ups. Someone has to monitor the quadrant while she’s inside.”

Hyunjin frowns. “You’re not coming at all?”

Chan’s jaw ticks. “One of the higher-ups bailed. Didn’t even glance at the files. Said he had ‘prior commitments.’ Which probably means he’s golfing or getting Botox.”

You remain quiet.

Chan turns to you. “Since I won’t be there, I’m assigning someone else to ride along with the team and relay back to me.”

You blink slowly. “Who?”

“A recruit” Chan replies, carefully vague. “Someone new to this division. Been here a few years, works mostly behind the curtain. Not part of your regular rotation.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. That’s too much emphasis on ‘not your rotation’ for it to be casual.

Hyunjin leans forward. “What’s their clearance?”

“Enough” Chan says simply. “They’ll send hourly updates and stay in the car. They are not to interfere. That’s clear.”

Your head tilts, reading him. His words are tight. Clipped. Controlled.

He doesn’t trust you.

The silence stretches for a second too long.

Yeji’s eyes flick to yours. Seungmin shifts in his chair.

You smile faintly. “Fine.”

Chan watches you for a moment. “Good.”

He closes the file, then pauses. Looks at you a little longer than necessary.

D-DAY.

You arrive at the station in a dark hoodie and jeans, your face clean of expression, your posture unreadable. The duffel slung over your shoulder carries half a decade of training, several tracking devices, a phone with an encrypted uplink, a tranquilizer, two knives, a first aid kit.

Hyunjin is already waiting at the far platform, dragging a small suitcase with cartoon stickers and a pout on his lips. “Could’ve made this mission a flight. What are we, peasants?”

Yeji checks her watch. “Too obvious. Too traceable. Trains are quieter.”

You nod. The plan has shifted, and it’s not your favorite.

Originally, the target had promised to send a car to pick you up from your state—anonymously, discreetly. But the new message said: come to one of the border state-whose name you dont remember-, and they’ll find you. An unsettling shift, but unavoidable.

So now the plan was: all of you take the train. You disembark. They’ll “collect” you. Yeji and Hyunjin, along with the new recruit, will tail you using the blackout car, which had already been shipped ahead. You wouldn’t see them after the train. Just earpieces, and faith.

Chan appears like a ghost behind you—clipboard in hand, sharp in black.

“I’ll take it from here,” he says.

Behind him...

No.

Your lungs hesitate.

Blonde hair. Innocent, kind face. That too-perfect smile dulled now into guilt. Hands in pockets. Not looking at you fully.

Felix.

You don't flinch. You blink once, lips parting slightly in the faintest mockery of surprise.

“This is Felix Lee” Chan says, like this isn’t a twist of a knife. “New recruit. Joined us a few years ago. Works mostly in forensic patterning and cyber. Honest. Reliable.”

Honest.

Reliable.

Right.

You give a nod. Like your stomach doesn’t feel like it’s being scraped raw with a fork.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am” Felix says quietly, voice soft.

He’s looking at you like he knows.

And of course. Of course Chan would send someone to watch you. Of course he’s been suspicious from day one. Of course Felix, with his charm and eyes and that convenient academy schedule, had been watching you all along. Maybe even reporting. Maybe always lying.

Maybe he never liked you.

You nod at Chan, dead calm. “He’ll follow protocol?”

“Down to the last line.”

Hyunjin, oblivious, waves at Felix. “Yo! You’re the new guy? Sweet. Do you have driving anxiety?”

Felix glances at him. “No.”

“Aw, too bad. Was hoping for some drama on the curves.”

Yeji sighs. “Stop talking.”

You exhale, watching the train approach in the distance. The tracks vibrate.

You turn to the group, all business. “We go in with no contact after the station. Hyunjin, Yeji—you follow thirty minutes behind. Maintain stealth. If they change plans, I’ll signal using codes”

They nod.

Chan claps his hands once. “You’ll receive updates through Felix. He’ll be on channel three.”

Of course he will.

You adjust your backpack. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Everyone starts walking. As you’re about to step onto the train, a voice behind you says, soft—

“Y/N?”

You pause.

“Sorry. Ma’am.”

You keep walking.

Your seat is far from his—intentionally. They were booked with logic, not comfort. Scattered across the coach so no two agents were seated together.

You slide into your seat, spine straight, eyes locked on the window. Outside the platform moves like a slow, crawling insect.

You watch people go on with their lives, all while your brain flashes the pinned video of Mimiko on Nyxnet.

You look up.

Felix.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” he asks, barely above a whisper.

“No.”

He flinches. “Just—just a minute, please.”

You turn your head to him fully this time. “No. Are you stupid?”

He freezes.

“This carriage has cameras. Every move is monitored. You think you talking to me right now isn’t being logged?”

His lips part. He tries to say something—probably an apology. Probably some lie soaked in softness.

You cut him off. “Get back to your seat. This might ruin the entire plan.”

His throat moves as he swallows.

“Get lost. That’s an order.”

He blinks. Just once. Then nods, slowly, and walks back down the aisle, head down, silent.

You exhale, the burn rising behind your eyes. But you don't blink.

You sit up straighter. You will not let this become personal. Not now. Not with Felix Lee.

hours away from a slaughter.

The cold night wind whips against your face as you stand between the compartments, the open train doors letting in slices of dark landscape and speed. The rhythmic clattering of the wheels on the track feels like an angry lullaby—too fast to calm, too loud to forget. You’re supposed to be inside, keeping your head down, blending in.

But breathing felt like choking back there.

So here you are, standing by the edge, one hand loosely hooked around the bar, the other in your coat pocket, feeling the ache of your shoulder from the Mimiko kill still tugging at your nerves.

You close your eyes.

A footstep.

You open your eyes immediately.

He’s there again.

Felix.

You turn on instinct to step back into the train, but suddenly—

Your collar jerks back, his hand clenched tightly into the fabric, dragging you and pinning you.

“Talk to me,” he hisses, his voice nothing like the soft guilt he wore earlier. “Or I’ll push you out.”

You stare at him.

He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.

But there's a flicker of something real in his eyes.

Desperation.

You raise your hands a little. “Fine” you mutter. “I’ll talk.”

His grip loosens immediately.

You fix your coat with a scowl, stepping beside him at the open door. Wind slashes past again. Neither of you says anything. For a long time, it’s just the train and the sound of everything moving forward. Too fast to step back.

“I get it” you finally say, quietly. “You were put on me by Chan. You tailed me. You reported to him. That was your job.”

He doesn't say anything.

“You said you were busy because of your ‘academy’—I didn’t realize it was police academy.”

You chuckle without humor.

“Guess I was too blinded by how nice you were. Good job. I would've bought it too, if I didn’t know how to profile liars.”

He turns his face toward you slightly, his hair wind-tossed and golden under the fluorescent flashes.

“That’s your version,” he says calmly. “please hear mine?”

You don’t answer. But you don’t stop him either.

So he speaks.

“I saw you for the first time six years ago” he begins, voice softer. “I was twenty.”

You glance at him sideways. He’s not smiling.

“I was out with my sister. We were just walking. Laughing, you know? It was one of those rare nights when the weather’s too good to stay indoors.”

“She was walking ahead of me. And then this guy—some absolute trash on a bike—spanked her while passing. She froze.”

He exhales hard. The memory still seems to sting.

“And I—” his jaw clenches, “I was stunned. I felt so useless. So fucking helpless.”

You stay quiet.

“I was about to run after him, but you were already there. You stepped out of nowhere, badge in one hand, yelling for him to stop. You forced him off the bike, beat the living shit out of him, with a baseball bat”

Your eyes flicker.

“I didn’t even know what to say. You didn't wait for anyone to thank you. You didn’t even ask who we were. You just cuffed him, told the local unit to pick him up, and left.”

You dont quite remember it.

Felix leans on the door rail now, both hands gripping the cold metal.

“I decided that day. I wanted to be like you. I wanted to protect people like that. I joined police training a few months after. Transferred divisions twice just to get here. I don't know if you remember, you also came to my academy as a guest instructor once....”

The sun was brutal that day. Not enough to burn, but enough to stick your shirt to your back and make the metal of the gun barrels too hot to hold for too long.

You stood near the firing range, dressed in black jeans and a shirt, sunglasses perched at the edge of your nose. Behind you, half the academy was lined up, each student stiff and silent, clenching their training rifles like nervous babies.

You were invited that day as a guest instructor—only for the advanced batch. Rumor had it the Division chief had personally called in a favor.

And someone had warned them, she doesn't smile, don't try anything funny, and for the love of God, don't mess up your first shot.

Felix was nervous, but he wasn’t the only one.

He stood near his best friend Jeongin, both trying to remain expressionless, but stealing glances at you whenever you lifted your hand or walked past.

You started the session by calling out names, one by one.

Jeongin was second in line. When he approached the target line and took the gun in hand, he tried to remember every instruction they'd been given. But he missed. By a long shot.

And you sighed.

Loudly.

"You think this is a water gun, rookie?" you said, your voice sharp, unimpressed. "You think perps stop running just because you wish they’d get scared?"

Jeongin blinked rapidly. "No, ma’am."

You rolled your eyes, took the gun from his hand without a word, and turned to him. “Hold still.”

Felix watched like it was a scene in slow motion.

You stepped behind Jeongin, adjusted his shoulder, then placed your hand on his hand, guiding the grip. "Thumb aligned. Elbow loose. Trust your stance."

You didn’t yell that time.

You whispered it.

You were calm. Focused.

And then—bang. Dead center.

Jeongin looked like he was about to faint.

“Better” you muttered, handing the gun back and patting Jeongin once on the back before calling, “Next.”

Felix stepped up. He fired. He hit the mark. Decent grouping. All logical.

You didn’t say anything.

You just nodded and moved on.

No correction. No praise. No touch.

And somehow, that bothered him more.

You didn’t speak to him that entire session.

But Felix didn’t forget. Not the sigh. Not the whisper. Not the way you touched Jeongin’s hand to correct him and never even looked at Felix twice.

After you left, Jeongin was walking around like he’d just been knighted.

Felix?

He waited until Jeongin went to the canteen and then switched their rifles.

“Hey,” Jeongin frowned when he got back. “Where’s my—wait, this isn’t mine.”

“Sure it is,” Felix said, far too fast. “You must’ve mistaken it.”

“No, mine had a scratch here near the—wait.”

Felix stared ahead, pretending he hadn’t heard.

Jeongin squinted. “You’re sick, dude.”

“Shut up and do your drills.”

“Pervert.”

“Say it again and I’ll leave your wet laundry outside.”

Jeongin mumbled a curse and walked away, and Felix quietly looked down at the rifle—at the faint fingerprint smudges near the barrel. He stared at them like they were sacred marks.

Later that evening, Jeongin was still pissed about the switch. He complained to the other boys in the dorm.

Felix didn’t care.

That was the first night he dreamt about you.

Not as an instructor.

But as something else.

Not something soft or sweet—he didn’t dare. You were someone he wanted to be like, yes. But more than that… you were someone he wanted to be seen by.

And all he got was a nod.

You were supposed to be there for three days. But the Chief liked your methods—especially the way you made three cadets cry and two of them vow to switch careers—so your stay was extended another week.

And Felix?

He celebrated.

Outwardly.

he absolutely threw his blanket in the air the moment he got back to his room. Jeongin groaned from the bunk above. “You are so weird for this woman. You’re going to make us fail psych eval.”

Felix, starry-eyed and immune to mockery, whispered, “Shut up. She’s so cool.”

You didn’t just train them. You transformed the atmosphere.

In the mornings, you taught mounted protocol to the female cadets—firm but not cold. Felix would pass the stables just to watch you help one of the girls with her footing, steadying the horse, explaining in that clipped tone of yours: “Confidence in the body transfers to confidence in the animal. Don’t hold it like a bomb. Sit like you own the world.”

At noon, you took the guys out to the hilly part of the field, where you taught them about old-school radio protocols and manual decryption of frequency-based comms. You handed out dusty walkie-talkies, some barely functioning, and showed them how to recalibrate them.

“Repeat after me,” you said, clicking your own device. “This is unit zero-zero-seven, requesting open channel. Do you copy?”

Felix copied every syllable. And every twitch of your brow.

He also started writing down your phrases in his notebook. His handwriting—already neat—became clinical. Exactly how you’d like it, he thought.

And yes.

At night, after lights out, Felix would scroll through police forums and enter vague searches into Google:

“Superintendent Y/N busan married?”

“Superintendent Y/N police gun choice? Glock 19? Beretta?”

One evening, you were making the rounds to check on their documentation logs. Felix was on a system in the corner of the IT lab. He didn’t hear your boots. Not until it was too late.

He saw your reflection in the dark screen. Swung around like a possessed crab and slammed the browser shut.

You arched a brow.

“Where’s your program log?”

“I—I—uhh…was just—”

You leaned over, typed a quick shortcut to open the recent task list. Nothing but Google searches. You stared at it.

Then stared at him.

Your gaze dropped to his name badge. “Felix, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re supposed to be running Java compilation tests.”

“...Yes, ma’am.”

You stepped back. “Get out. Run 20 laps around the ground.”

Felix jumped up, saluted by instinct, and scrambled out.

The next morning, physical training resumed. You were walking through rows of cadets—your hands behind your back, sunglasses perched low on your nose, boots crunching over dry dirt. The sun made the black of your shirt glow against your spine. Most of the other male cadets—useless hormonal idiots—tried to sneak a look at you when you turned.

Felix saw it. He hated it.

So the next time you stopped to explain the formation routine—using both arms to demonstrate arm syncs during combat response—he walked directly behind you, subtly blocking everyone else’s view of your back.

“What are you doing?” Jeongin whispered, three ranks to his right.

Felix just squinted ahead and whispered, “Security.”

When you spun to check their alignment, your shoulder passed near his. Felix didn’t breathe.

He just looked from above your shoulder, pretending to be incredibly focused on the grid layout you were sketching in the mud with a booted toe.

You ordered a running drill next. “Fifteen rows. Each five cadets. Synchronized runs. Ten laps.”

They groaned.

“I don’t care if you cry,” you said, striding in front of them like a shadow of wrath. “Run. All of you. If even one person is off-beat, everyone adds another lap.”

As they started running, Felix kept turning his head back every now and then—not to check the beat.

To make sure you were watching.

And you were. Sunglasses hiding your eyes. Clipboard under your arm.

Unmoving. Like a sentry.

He ran harder.

And Jeongin muttered under his breath, “You’ve got issues.”

Felix grinned mid-lap. “Yeah. Big ones.”

A week after you left the Busan Police Academy, life returned to normal.

Almost.

There was a strange void in the atmosphere. Like someone had turned the volume down on adrenaline. You weren’t even loud—but your silence had weight. Now, the air felt…lighter.

Felix hated it.

But what he loved—what made him literally sprint to the admin office the moment word spread—was the arrival of the Performance Report from your evaluation week.

Printed. Stamped. Signed by the Chief. Passed down with reverence like a prophecy.

Felix waited in line. Impatiently. Jeongin stood beside him, yawning.

“I swear to God if you run and lick the board again, I’m leaving you here.”

“I just wanna check something,” Felix muttered, practically vibrating.

Then the papers were up. Pinned to the glass like sacred scrolls.

He shoved past someone, ignoring the "Oi, manners!" and squinted—

"Overall Performance—Tactical & Technical (Week 2)" Instructor: Superintendent Y/N

First line. First name.

Cadet: Lee Felix. Evaluation: Tactical Improv. Fast Recovery. Clear Morals. Potential Under Pressure. Precise Shooting. Calm Decision Making. High Emotional Control. Final Note: “Exceptional application of all training parameters. He’ll make a good officer.”

REMARKS: RECOMMENDED FOR FAST TRACK CLEARANCE.

“…OH. MY. GOD” Felix whisper-screamed, clutching the wall for balance.

His jaw dropped. He turned back to Jeongin who just stared, baffled.

“YOU? Exceptional?” Jeongin sputtered. “You literally tripped on your own baton two days ago.”

“I—SHE—READ MY HEART.”

“Read your WHAT?”

Felix was grinning so hard it hurt. He stared at your writing again. The clean lines. The underline under “good officer.”

Others around him were confused too. Some frowned at his name.

“Wait, Felix? Wasn’t he…like, fine? Like average-fine?”

“He literally couldn’t load his own gun last month?”

“Did he bribe her? Did he cry?”

Felix didn’t hear any of it. He was staring at the word "exceptional" like it was engraved on his soul.

“Jeongin,” he whispered.

“…What.”

“I’m gonna frame this.”

“You’re gonna jail yourself in love.”

“Worth it.”

Felix folded the corner of the sheet like it was the edge of a love letter. That was the first time he believed—fully—that you might have noticed him.

That you might’ve seen something in him.

And that? That was the very beginning of all his madness.

“That was years before I even knew Chan” he says quietly. “I didn’t get close to you because he asked me to, in fact my job was to just check if you're doing okay as there might be threats from outside as your name and face is in that website. I was supposed to just stay far and not make contact but....”

You stare at him.

He doesn’t look back.

“I got to talk to you that way, met you even.....” he says, voice barely audible over the wind.

“I got.....greedy?” He looks at you slowly, as if checking how you'd react.

You let of a small laugh.

Was this good?

"So?" you asked without looking at him, voice low but unmistakably dry. "What did you do then?"

Felix exhaled, head tilting back briefly, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’d expected the question but still needed a second to answer. He looked at you, golden hair a mess from dozing off earlier, collar slightly crumpled. You refused to fix it. Let him look human. Guilty.

"I got greedy," he said, softly. No excuses, no embellishments. Just the truth.

You hid your smile by biting down on your lip and turning your head, your eyes rolling with exaggerated disinterest. "Figures," you muttered, pushing off the wall with a sharp pivot. “Get back to your seat. You’re attracting flies.”

He blinked. "Wait. I don’t even get a kiss?"

You didn’t pause. “No.”

“Seriously? That was a confession!”

You sighed, turned halfway, and leaned in with one hand in your coat pocket. He stilled.

A quick peck on his cheek. Firm. Clean. Like a transaction.

“There,” you said flatly. “Now walk.”

His lips parted like he wanted to argue but was too dazed to bother. He followed you with a quiet grin, steps matching yours lazily down the corridor until you both returned to your seats.

Just before slipping into the coach compartment, you paused. Pressed your palm lightly to the windowpane, squinting through the smudge of fingerprints and dusk-tinted scenery.

You watched the signs blur past.

“Three more hours,” you murmured.

Felix leaned in beside you, shoulder brushing yours. “To the station?”

You nodded once.

Suddenly, behind you, one of the passengers — a man slumped across a row of seats in his own world — shifted with a sharp snort, jerking violently in his sleep.

Felix flinched so hard, his hand flew to your arm and he instinctively hugged you.

You didn’t react.

You turned your face slowly to him, raising an unimpressed brow.

He backed off sheepishly, mumbling, “I thought he was—”

You raised a finger to your lips, motioning for silence. Then, exaggeratedly, you pretended to draw a pistol from your coat, aimed with two fingers toward the snoring man, and whispered, “Bang.”

Your hand recoiled with the imaginary shot, followed by a soft, dry mutter:

“Here you go.”

Felix broke into a soft chuckle. “My hero.”

You turned to leave again, ready to retreat to the quiet corner you'd claimed before, but then you felt him gently hold your elbow. You stilled.

“What now?” you asked without looking back.

He grins, and from his coat pocket, he pulls out a tiny imaginary box. Opens it with a flair. Mimes taking out a ring.

Then he goes to get down on one knee—

You grabbed him by the shoulder mid-motion.

“Don’t....” you said, firm but calm. “Be greedy.”

He blinked up at you.

“We’ll see later” you added, voice gentler this time.

Felix was already smiling as he stood back up, slipping the box shut with a soft snap and sliding it into his pocket.

You watched him walk away first, half-glowing with smugness, half-dizzy from the moment. He sat down without another word, shaking his head to himself.

You stared for a second longer, exhaled slowly, then turned on your heel and walked back to your seat with your arms still crossed.

No need to say more.

Not now.

You weren't going anywhere for the next three hours. And he knew better than to waste a second.

The train lurches and slows, mechanical screeches filling the air as the station approaches. Your fingers scroll over your phone screen, barely blinking. Messages line up in your inbox—some unimportant, some routine—but one from Seungmin catches your eye.

Seungmin: Noted.

That’s it.

Just one word. No emojis. No dot. No anything.

Typical Seungmin. You stare at the message for a long second, thumb hovering, then lock the screen without replying.

He knew what it meant. And so did you.

The station’s just outside the window now—dusty, old signage, lazy afternoon sun cutting long shadows across the platform. You know they’re not going to let you carry anything except yourself. Protocol, they said. Risk, they said. She’s the bait, they didn’t say, but you could hear it between every unspoken breath. You grab your duffle bag, packed with barely enough for a weekend and a hell of a lot of sarcasm, and hold it out behind you.

“Hold this” you mutter.

Felix—quiet, composed—takes it without a word. His hands graze yours for a moment too long, but you pretend not to notice. You step forward.

The train stops.

With a hiss, the doors part. The warm air outside hits your face instantly, humid and grimy like an unfamiliar tongue licking up your spine.

You step down.

One black boot, then the other.

Your eyes scan the crowd like you were born doing this. A boy selling tea. A girl with headphones and glitter socks. A man coughing with his whole chest. A stray dog limping between human legs.

And then—

“Y/N?”

You turn.

The man before you is tall, bald, looks like he shaves his head with a vengeance and probably works for someone who wears slippers with a cigar. Button-down shirt, dusty shoes. No smile.

“Yes?” you reply, short.

He nods. “Come.”

No introduction. No ID. No pleasantries.

You follow.

You don’t look behind you, but you know. You know Yeji and Hyunjin have already locked onto you with their eyes. That they’re at a distance—calculating, quietly moving, adjusting to the crowd like the ghosts they’ve trained to be. Somewhere behind them, Felix blends into the press of people. You don’t have to check. You just know.

The man leads you down a staircase, muttering something into a walkie-talkie hidden under his coat.

You followed the man through a cracked alley next to the station—quiet, too quiet, like the sound had been vacuumed out of the world. That sharp sixth sense you’d honed for years was screaming, your neck tingling as the shadows deepened and the street lights flickered above like they knew something you didn’t.

A black car sat parked at the alley’s end.

He opened the rear door. “Inside.”

No explanation. No name. No chance to make eye contact with anyone tailing you. You slid in.

Dark upholstery. Smelled new. Too new.

The door slammed behind you.

Three more cars. You spotted them just before the first one pulled ahead. Sleek. Silent. One in front, two behind. No lights. No plates. No sound but the faint crunch of gravel beneath their tires.

You didn’t even have time to memorize their make.

A cover drops over your head.

Black.

Tight.

Smells like gasoline and plastic and fear.

“Fuck” you think, just like that, quiet, unsaid, the syllable burning against the roof of your mouth. Your jaw clenches. Your molars grind.

Because you know what this is.

You were being diverted.

You're computing.

The route turns. And you could feel yourself being shifted to another vehicle. They were being careful to mislead any stalkers to a different location.

You count minutes like heartbeats. Seven. Ten. Thirteen. Then the car slows.

When it stops, no one speaks.

You hear boots crunch against wet dirt.

A hand grabs your arm, not gently.

You’re yanked out of the car.

cold wind punches into your neck beneath the hood, sharp and raw, and somewhere far off, you hear a dog barking. A door opens. Not the car—a building. Rusty hinges. The faint reek of stale piss and iron—a warehouse, maybe, or an abandoned storage shed.

You're marched inside. Five steps. Turn. Fifteen steps. Another turn.

Then—finally—the hood is pulled off.

Harsh yellow lights buzz overhead.

Cement floor. Steel walls. Mould-blackened corners.

And five others.

They don’t speak. They don’t move. Their faces are blurred in half-shadow, but their stillness is wrong. Militant. Controlled. Like they’re....part of the police?

Weird feeling.

The others had been dragged in too—three of them. One girl, two boys, you did not get to look at their faces.

There was a pat-down check up.

And then came him.

The door banged open and in walked a guy wearing the loudest pair of military-print sweatpants you’d ever seen. Oversized hoodie, undercut hair, face way too relaxed for the situation.

He clapped once. “Uh-uh. They’re one of us, dumbasses. What’s with the welcome-home-captivity vibe?”

The guards exchanged looks, then slowly stepped away. One of them grunted in annoyance, clearly disliking being told off by someone in joggers.

You raised a brow.

The guy’s gaze fell on you.

And his eyes lit up.

“Woo!” he let out, finger-gunning directly at your face. “It’s herrrrr.”

You instinctively tilted your chin, studying him, but he’d already walked over, casual, cocky, like he was escorting a date instead of an infiltrating undercover officer who may or may not snap his neck.

“I’m Seonghwa” he chirped. “You and those three are this year’s newest members. Congrats.”

You didn’t respond. Your jaw ticked, even as you followed the subtle pressure of his guiding hand. He was grinning, like this was a summer camp and not…whatever the hell this cult-for-criminals was.

“I’ll personally escort you to your room” he offered, like it was a kindness, though you clocked the glint in his eyes—curious, amused, impressed. “Feast’s happening soon. A gift follows.”

“A gift?” you asked, bland.

“You’ll see” he winked.

The hallway was long and windowless. Concrete walls painted black, lit by string lights and low lanterns that cast flickering shadows. San led you to a sleek door and handed you a brass key. Inside—more refined than you expected.

White walls. A plush chair. Carpet that felt clean beneath your boots. A long mirror.

Clothes?

You reached for the material slowly, checking the tags, the seams, even the lining.

The outfit, a tailored suit. White. Form-fitting. Sharp at the shoulders, cinched at the waist.

It didn’t look like you.

When you stepped out of the room, the noise hit you like static—laughs, chatter, the clinking of glasses.

The dining hall was massive. Lanterns swung from iron hooks above, and a long wooden table ran the center of the room. Candles dripped wax down into skull-shaped holders. Meat, bread, wine, and unidentifiable dishes lined the table like a royal offering.

“Aha! See her—THE STAR!” someone shouted.

You turned to see a boy lean over the table, two glasses in hand, dark hair swept back with reckless effort.

The room burst into cheers. Whooping. Applause.

You walked in, straight-backed, eyes cutting through the crowd, your white suit glowing under the firelight.

You took your seat. And they poured your wine.

You looked around at the dress code and understanding. the new ones wear white suits, old ones whatever the like.

The meat was raw.

It wasn’t served raw, but it might as well have been. You chewed it like paper, swallowed it like glass, and placed your fork down after exactly three bites. Your wine glass remained untouched, and your gaze drifted over the sea of flickering faces.

They were still laughing.

Still drinking.

Still chanting your name every once in a while. You. The star.

Across the table, seonghwa was nodding along to something a girl whispered in his ear. Something about his face still nagged at you. A familiarity… something about the edges. You kept your face unreadable, watching him casually toss grapes into his mouth.

“Yah, someone’s lookin’ fancy,” came a voice from your side.

You turned, and the chair next to you scraped back.

White suit. New guy like you. Smirk as wide as the knife you’d just mentally counted under the feast table.

Han Jisung.

You blinked once.

He blinked back. “Y/N, right? I remember you.”

You didn’t answer.

He leaned in, casually elbowing your plate, and grinned, “No dance?”

“No” you said smoothly. “I’m taken.”

Jisung raised his eyebrows. “Really? You don’t want…”—he waved a hand down his own body—“this?”

You chuckled to blend in, shaking your head. He snorted, shrugged like he was used to rejections, and reached for the wine.

But you didn’t miss the way he looked at you. He’d recognized you, sure.

Because ten minutes later, everything changed.

The feast was cut short. seonghwa stood on a crate and whistled through his fingers.

“Rookies” he announced. “Follow me. The rest of you—bring your asses.”

The crowd moved like smoke—about 60 of them, you estimated. Most were dressed casually—loose shirts, boots, and smirks sharp enough to gut.

You were ushered to a large open chamber—grimy, ancient, something between a stadium and an execution yard. At the center was a ring, and behind it—cages.

Your stomach turned.

You spotted them instantly. The hostages.

And among them—

Hyunjin.

Blood on his temple, chained at the wrists. A child next to him—a girl, lips trembling. They were locked up, faces pale, eyes flicking between the crowds.

Fuck.

seonghwa walked back from a quiet conversation with a bald man in a sleeveless vest.

He clapped again.

“So!” he grinned. “Turns out, a few rats were sniffin’ around. Cops. We caught some in the mislead locations.”

He turned slowly to look at you all.

His voice dropped, low and venomous. “Which means… one of our precious rookies here is a little pig.”

“Now…” San motioned to the ring. “Let’s find out who. Shall we?”

And just like that, you were shoved.

You staggered into the ring, boots skidding against the sand-stained stone floor.

A box clattered open in the corner.

Knives. Eight of them.

seonghwa threw his hands up. “Kill the others. Survive. Make me proud.”

The crowd roared.

One of the other girls smirked at you, cracking her neck and sliding off her suit coat. She cracked her knuckles, sauntered toward you, all slow confidence.

You slid the knife up straight into her neck. One twist. One silence.

The cheers deafened.

You stood, blood now splattered across your white suit, breathing steady. Your knife glinted under the flames.

Jisung turned from another kill, wiping sweat from his forehead. He looked at you—saw the blood, the body, the ice in your eyes.

He whistled low. “Damn.”

You stepped forward, but not before turning to Hyunjin’s cage, where his head was rising, eyes squinting, recognizing you.

Shit.

Jisung rolled his shoulders. Looking hesitant if he should come at you.

You tilted your head, finger pointing from your chest down your blood-soaked front. “You don’t want this?”

He laughed. Loud. Giddy.

He was fast—faster than you expected—but predictable. His footwork left openings. You dropped low, swiped at his legs. He dodged, rolled.

You anticipated the roll. You knew the pattern.

And with a silent curse, you slammed your boot into his stomach, dragging him across the dirt, and sliced his kneecaps.

His hands shot to your waist, clawing for balance. That’s when he felt it.

The gun.

He froze.

And you saw it. Recognition bloom.

“You…” he rasped, bleeding through his teeth. “You’re the…”

Your fingers moved fast. Pulled the gun. Shoved it into his own coat pocket, slow and precise, just as his blood started to pool beneath him.

“You’re going down a dangerous path” he whispered, staring at you.

You leaned down, brushed his hair from his eyes.

“I’ve heard that,” you whispered, “since the day I took this job.”

Then—stab. Right to the throat.

He didn’t move again.

The crowd lost it.

Clapping. Screaming. A storm of adrenaline.

seonghwa leapt down from the platform, pacing toward you like a wolf. He whistled. “woahhhh, you’re strong.”

You didn’t respond.

He came closer, grinning. “But what if I say… you’re that strong because you’re a cop?”

You froze.

Then—another voice.

“Hey! This guy’s got a gun!”

All heads turned. The corpse.

seonghwa marched over, shoved Jisung’s coat open, yanked the weapon.

“Huh” he muttered. “So Jisung… was the rat.”

He walked back to you, patted your shoulder like a proud father.

“Well done, princess. You’re the only one left now.”

He turned toward the cages.

“Do the honors” he said.

Hyunjin’s door creaked open.

He stumbled forward, lip bleeding, wrists red and raw.

Your eyes met.

seonghwa leaned in. “Kill him.”

You looked at Hyunjin.

Then at seonghwa.

Your hand twitched at your side. But your eyes—your eyes didn’t blink.

Not yet.

Hyunjin stood unsteady in front of you, his knees weak, his mouth trembling. That look again. The one that said he knew you. Believed you.

And then seonghwa clapped again, too close, too loud.

“Wait, wait” he grinned, turning to the others. “Let’s not waste him just yet.”

He pointed at Hyunjin, who flinched.

“Extract info first” seonghwa said. “Maybe he knows where the other pigs are squealing.”

You gave a single nod. “Ten minutes.”

seonghwa smirked, tilting his head. “Mmm. Just ten?”

“That’s all I need,” you said, and turned toward Hyunjin.

He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, crack.

Your foot swept behind his knee, dropping him.

Then, before he even processed the fall, your hands grazed his shoulders and—pop.

Hyunjin let out a scream that could’ve scraped stone.

Your eyes flicked to him just once. “Sorry.”

He groaned, collapsing forward onto his good shoulder. Still conscious. Still breathing. Still not screaming anymore. That, you were grateful for.

seonghwa whistled low. “Wooooahhhh.”

He burst into a laugh.

“Where the fuck did you learn that?” he said, his hands on his knees, eyes bright like a child at a circus. “Shit, I’m so glad you’re here.”

He turned to the others, gesturing. “Come on, we’ll go sweep the rest of the sites, maybe those other cops are still hanging around.”

Then, over his shoulder as he walked away: “You take care of this one, sweetheart.”

And they left.

Gone. Laughter echoing off the walls.

The moment they were out of sight, you moved.

“Get up” you muttered, grabbing Hyunjin under his good arm.

He hissed but didn’t resist. You held him steady, dragging his weight as you moved fast—through the side of the ring, behind the ropes, toward the cages.

You were unlocking them one by one when the third opened.

A little girl launched forward into Hyunjin’s arms.

she sobbed, and he barely caught her with his good arm.

“Shhh” you whispered, “we need to go.”

The last cage clicked open—and he froze.

Outside, engine.

A black car rolled quietly into the shadows.

The back door creaked, and a familiar voice drawled, “You took your time.”

Hyunjin blinked, confused. “Seungmin?”

Seungmin, lounging in the driver’s seat, raised an eyebrow. “Hi.”

Hyunjin squinted. “How… how are you here?”

Seungmin scoffed. “You think she gave me a real leave? I’ve been watching since the train. she had a tracker in her mouth and put it somewhere in the building.”

Hyunjin blinked. “That’s… creative.”

“Get in before your shoulder falls off.” Seungmin snapped, unlocking the back doors.

Hyunjin and the girl climbed in as you shut the car doors beside you, checking each lock. Your body was already burning, lungs heavy with adrenaline and leftover blood.

Seungmin stared at you through the rearview mirror. “You can’t go back in. Not now. Felix and Yeji will finish this.”

You clenched your jaw. “There are more inside—”

“I know” he said. “These are orders from Chan, he's uh—angry. This part is over for you.”

Behind you, as the engine started again, the burning compound disappeared into the black of the night.

The gunfire lit up the night. You send a message through your talkie.

mislead location#2

Felix ducked behind the sandbags, jaw clenched, ears ringing. The smell of metal, mud, and gunpowder clawed at his lungs. Beside him, Yeji reloaded.

Something was wrong.

Felix’s eyes darted to the horizon, where backup should have been. Nothing. His hand flew to his walkie.

“Unit Four to Base,” he barked. “Come in. We need support. Repeat, we—”

Nothing.

Static.

Just white, empty nothing.

Felix frowned. “Yeji, are you getting through?”

She shook her head. “They’re jamming us or something. I don’t know how, but—”

Then suddenly—crack—a shot rang too close.

Felix turned, just in time to see Yeji fall to the ground—hit, but not bleeding. No blood. Not yet. Her weapon gone.

Three men surrounded her, and in seconds, they had her pinned.

“Shit!” he yelled, scrambling up—but a warning shot knocked him back. He hit the ground hard, eyes wide, breath stolen.

His walkie buzzed again.

Still static.

His pulse was deafening. His hands shook.

He remembered—

“There are ten thousand channels on standard-issue police walkies,” you said coolly, pacing. “And yet, if you don’t know how to switch frequencies, you’ll die trying to call your partner for help.”

Jeongin had yawned.

“You think criminals stay on default? Grow a brain, rookie.”

“That’s why you don’t depend on one frequency. You scan. You switch. You memorize backdoors.”

His fingers moved on muscle memory.

He clicked open the comm interface, rewired the signal band. His eyes scanned the list of side frequencies you had drilled into their heads. you even made them write it a fifty times, he wrote a hundred times.

Channel 54A. Internal reroute. Backup pulse transmission.

He locked in.

And then—

click. A voice. Her voice.

“I’m safe, Felix. Hyunjin is with me. Go in. Get the hostages.”

His throat closed for a second.

He barely managed a whisper. “Yeji…”

He sprang to his feet.

As he ran, he saw her burst free. She’d dislocated her own thumb to slide out of the cuffs. She ducked behind a truck and waved. Felix veered toward her—but she caught his arm before he could move further.

“Wait.”

He paused.

Someone stepped out.

Not just some gang leader. No. Felix’s eyes widened.

He knew that face.

That voice. That smugness.

“Wait,” Felix whispered. “Isn’t that…?”

Seonghwa.

His cheif at the police academy. The same one who always claimed he was too busy to support field ops. Who never signed approvals. Who smiled a bit too much when paperwork got ‘lost.’

Felix’s heart turned to ice. “Holy shit.”

Yeji, panting, still pressing a hand to her ribs, looked at him. “What?”

Felix’s mouth moved before his mind could catch up.

He fumbled for his comm. “Mr. Bang—Mr.Bang, confirm. this man is out higher up, yes?”

“...He is” Chan’s voice snapped. “Get me visuals, now.”

The station lights buzzed quietly.

Seonghwa, now in chains, sat in the steel interrogation room, one hand bouncing in frustration on the metal table. His face had twisted into a scowl, his composure long gone.

Across from him, Hyunjin sat in a sling, arm casted, lip split. His breathing shallow, but rage boiling in his eyes.

Next to him, Felix leaned back in the chair, arms crossed, quiet. Watching.

Hyunjin snarled first. “You talk about freedom.”

Hyunjin slammed his hand on the table, making the cuffs rattle. “You had children in cages! And you called that freedom?!”

He stood up suddenly, searching the room—like he’d forgotten something.

Felix narrowed his eyes. “What are you looking for?”

Hyunjin hissed. “Her bat.”

Felix blinked. “You mean Y/N’s—”

Hyunjin didn’t respond.

Seonghwa finally spoke, coldly. “How the hell did you catch me?”

Felix leaned forward, voice calm.

“We had someone on the inside.”

Seonghwa laughed. “Oh yeah? Who? Which of your precious cops is mad enough to kill to get in?”

Felix glanced at Hyunjin, then back at Seonghwa.

“We have a psychopath” Hyunjin said softly. “But lucky for us… she’s on our side.”

Seonghwa's smile faltered.

Felix stood.

“So maybe you should be grateful you’re in this room.”

Hyunjin turned, pushing open the door.

“Because if she was here—” he added without turning back, “—you wouldn’t have a throat left to ask questions with.”

The door shut behind them.

And in the distance—sirens rose with the dawn.

The story swept across the country like wildfire.

“Undercover Operation Exposes Human Trafficking Ring”

“Superindent police officer, Takes down international drug network”

“Police Chief Implicated in Multi-State Corruption Scandal”

your photo circulated on news channels, all grainy from a raid bodycam, half your face in focus, smudged with blood, your shoulder bruised, and that unwavering stare that made headlines label you everything from hero to machine.

You weren’t watching the news when it aired.

You were at the precinct locker room, still in that spare uniform someone had tossed to you, hair damp from the cold shower, eyes blank from the post-mission haze. Your ribs ached. Your shoulder was still out of place until Chan helped you shove it back in earlier. And your knuckles were still swollen from… you weren’t even sure who anymore.

Felix had come in and silently sat beside you.

He didn’t say anything. Neither did you.

For a moment, you just sat there, bruised and breathing.

In the background, someone switched the TV volume up. The press was going insane.

They talked about you like you were fiction.

Some called you reckless.

Some called you a martyr.

Some wondered how deep the corruption really went.

Some wanted to give you a medal.

Felix stood at the doorway, silent. You didn’t need to talk about what happened. You both had the blood to prove it.

Back to office.

Seungmin raises his brows at you over the cubicle divider. He doesn’t say anything, but you can see the way he tilts his head toward your monitor—then subtly toward the security feed on the corner screen.

You alright? it means.

You give a half-nod. Stop looking at me like that, it means back.

Hyunjin, further down the hallway, gives a short two-finger wave before going back to reviewing a set of crime scene photos with Yeji. You catch her glancing toward you, then giving Hyunjin a pointed look.

They’re whispering. You don’t need to hear them to know what they’re saying.

There she goes. Still showing up. Still working. Tainted, but here. Still cold. Still breathing.

Your identity—once just your name and credentials—now feels like a headline someone read once and forgot the facts of. Just the shape of it. Just the outline of guilt and suspicion.

You grimace.

A blink later, you’re back at your desk. The world is gray, dim through the half-light of surveillance screens and filtered windows.

But your phone buzzes.

Lix :

u look like u wanna stab someone want me to fake faint in the hallway so u can smile at something?

Your lips twitch.

You :

tempting. though watching you faint would give me anxiety not joy.

Lix :

then what would give you joy?

You stare at that message longer than you should. There’s a small part of you that wants to say you. But you don’t. You haven’t. Not yet.

So instead, you type:

You :

if you wore that stupid bomber jacket again the one that makes you look like a golden retriever attending a fashion show that might help

There’s a pause.

Lix:

first of all. rude. second of all. i’m wearing it right now. check cam 8

You open the feed. Sure enough—cam 8, warehouse corridor. Felix walks by, hands in his pockets, hair pulled back, win.

He is wearing it.

You let out a low breath, shoulders unclenching just slightly.

He knows what he’s doing.

You:

i still hate you

Lix :

liar you love me when i bring snacks

You :

you’re safe because you bring snacks and maybe because you don’t look at me like i’m broken

Lix :

bc you’re not i know what broken looks like it’s not you

You blink. The words sit heavily in your chest, warm and unwelcome, like a hand on a wound you’ve kept stitched shut.

You want to say thank you, but that feels too soft. Too much like a crack in the armor.

So instead you reply:

You :

stop flirting or i’ll actually smile and ruin my brand

Your shoulder hurts less

#skz #stray kids #skz imagines #skz x reader #fics #skz scenarios #skz x you #skz fanfic #skz stay #bang chan #han jisung #lee know #hyunjin #felix #felix x reader #this was way better in my head #wtf #okay #sorry but i hope you like it

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