Archive of Our Own

Mornings at the 1-0-1 usually go like this:

“Park Jihoon coming up on the right, avoiding all the obstacles, he shoots, he scores,” Jihoon yells as he makes his way through Daehwi’s chair and Daehwi’s pile of books and Daehwi’s old case files, all strategically placed in a zig-zag pattern so Jihoon can run straight through them to score the ball (his ass) into the goal (his chair). He checks his watch. It isn’t 8 o’clock yet. “With time to spare!”

“You should really watch basketball if you’re gonna reference it every single day,” Jinyoung says from where he’s sitting at his desk. Jihoon would throw his apple at Jinyoung’s head, but it’s the only thing he has for breakfast, so.

“I keep telling you that I’m talking about football, you little—”

“Throw your apple at him,” Seongwoo calls. “Throw the apple.” Now he’s pumping his fist. “Throw the apple.” Now everyone in the room is backing him up. “Throw the apple! Throw the apple! Throw the—”

Jinyoung slams the case file down on his desk. “I solved it!” Everyone cheers, and Jihoon hadn’t even thrown the apple. Stupid mob mentality.

Daehwi peers over his desk to read the file upside down. “Is that about the string of B&E’s in Apgujeong?” Jinyoung nods. “I thought we closed that three days ago.”

“Yeah, but there was another B&E yesterday, same M.O., so I took another look,” Jinyoung says, handing the file over for Daehwi to look at. “We thought it was the maid’s company, but it’s not.”

“Let me guess,” Jihoon interjects. “It’s the nanny.”

“No, shut up.”

“You shut up—”

#

This particular morning at the 1-0-1 is going like this:

Seongwoo checks his watch again, to make sure he isn’t just seeing things. “It’s 7:58 a.m.”

“What’s going on?” Jihoon asks, taking a bite of his every-day apple as he walks out of the precinct elevator. “Am I late?”

“No, but for the first time in probably her entire career, Captain’s about to be,” Jinyoung says, from where he’s sitting on top of his case files on his desk, his feet pushing his chair around. Jihoon wonders if the files even provide any noticeable comfort. “Any guesses?”

“She saw how many arrests I had last month and fainted from sheer joy,” Daehwi suggests. Seongwoo smacks the back of his head with a file. “What? It’s the most plausible explanation!”

“I think it’s more plausible for her to have woken up suddenly aging backwards,” Jihoon tells him.

“It definitely has something to do with her commute,” Seongwoo says, loud enough to drown the rest of them out. “Subway was busy?”

“Captain drives,” Jinyoung says. “I almost hit her in the parking garage once, remember?”

“Why do you look so proud every time you tell us about that?” Daehwi crumples up a piece of paper and takes aim, shooting it into an arc so that it lands in Jihoon’s own trash bin, roughly six meters away. “Look at that,” he says, arms spread. “Nothing but net.” He high-fives Seongwoo, who Jihoon immediately labels as traitor in his head. Jihoon doesn’t need him anyway.

“See, that’s how you make a basketball reference,” Jinyoung says.

“Football, I make football references—”

“It’s 8,” Seongwoo interrupts, checking his watch again. “She’s late, for the first time in the history of Kwon Boa’s career, she’s late—”

The elevator dings, and the doors open to reveal their captain, who, as usual, looks immaculately put together.

“You four, my office,” she says in lieu of a greeting, as Jinyoung hops off his desk just for all the files he was sitting on to fall on the floor around his feet. Daehwi tries to stifle his laugh, but knocks over a pile of unfinished paperwork with his elbow instead. Seongwoo is raising his chair so it’s an appropriate height for his desk, when it sinks down to the lowest possible setting. Jihoon takes a bite out of his apple and spits out the seeds into his trash. Boa sighs, like she’s been to hell and back just from watching them. “Now.”

#

“Absolutely not,” Jihoon says, pointedly ignoring the way Jinyoung and Daehwi are fawning over the pictures in the file. “No. No way. You can’t make me.”

“No one’s making you do anything,” Boa says, reclining in her chair slightly. Daehwi lets out a little shriek when he sees Jihoon at age 10 at his first competition. “But the 7-6 could really use your help.”

“Um, who cares about the 7-6?” Jihoon reaches over and tears the file out of Jinyoung’s hands. “Literally no one. No one cares about the 7-6.”

“The 7-6 is one of the biggest precincts in Busan,” Seongwoo says from where he’s lying down on the couch. His feet are up on Boa’s coffee table, and she says nothing, Jihoon observes furiously. “They’re the only ones who even came close to getting a bust on the Seven Stars the last ten years.”

“But did they get a bust?” The room is silent. “That’s what I thought.” Jihoon opens the file, flipping through his old pictures. One of them is of him in the worst costume of his entire skating career, from a regional competition when he was fourteen. “How did you even get this? I’m pretty sure I’ve managed to destroy all evidence that it ever took place.”

“We have our sources,” Boa says. Jihoon glares at her until she gets that he’s not buying it. “Okay fine. I personally called your mother and asked her for it.”

“What— you called my mom—”

“So if Jihoon agrees to go through with it, what will the rest of us be doing?” Daehwi asks, looking so excited that it’s admittedly difficult for Jihoon to keep being so offended.

“The 7-6 had some suggestions, but it’s open for discussion to all of you,” Boa says.

Jihoon flips through the file. “It says here that I would be operating under the cover of planning to return to competition. They think the skate shop connected to the ice rink is a front for money laundering, and they need someone to visit the building a lot without coming off as suspicious.”

“Do they think it’s connected to the Seven Stars at all?” Seongwoo asks.

“I hope not,” Jihoon says, at the same time Daehwi and Jinyoung say, “I hope so.”

“We’re actually going to die if it’s connected to the Seven Stars,” Jihoon points out. He looks down at the file again. “One person is going to visit the rink a lot with me under the cover of being my personal physical therapist for a fake injury I’m afflicted with. And the other two will be our handlers.”

“I guess we could have the fake therapist rent a pair of skates to be on the ice with Jihoon and then bug the skates before returning them,” Daehwi suggests.

Jinyoung frowns at Jihoon. “Why are you so freaked that it might be connected to the Seven Stars?” he asks, obviously suspicious. “You were the one who burst into the last raid we did together before the count ended and yelled for everyone to eat lead before opening fire.”

“There was that time you hung upside down from a bar to snipe a bunch of unfriendlies in that warehouse,” Daehwi adds.

“And the time you did a backflip and shot two guys straight in the chest while you were literally suspended mid air,” Seongwoo says.

“I keep telling you that the last one didn’t happen.” Jihoon sighs. “And Jinyoung, that was during a training simulation with paintball guns, so it doesn’t count. The only real situation was Daehwi’s, and that was only because I slipped and fell.”

Jinyoung scratches his nose. “Why did you yell for everyone to eat lead then?”

There’s a pause, broken by Seongwoo’s, “Lead paint?”, which seems to satisfy Jinyoung. Jihoon hates them.

“Why did the 7-6 even ask for us?” Jihoon asks. “How did they even know that there was a detective here who used to skate?”

“I suggested it,” Boa says. “I met their captain at a event last week and mentioned to him that there was a two-time national champion working in the 1-0-1.”

“Wow, Jihoonie-hyung didn’t even have to bring it up himself,” Jinyoung says.

“I never brag about my skating career,” Jihoon protests. Something still doesn’t sound right. “So the captain of 7-6 just happened to give you the details to an ongoing investigation?”

“I may have known about the case beforehand,” Boa concedes.

Seongwoo lifts his head off the couch. “How?”

Daehwi holds up a hand. “Wait, let me guess.” When Boa gives him a nod, he says, “Is it because you want us out of the building for the next few days?”

“Why?” Seongwoo asks, affronted. “We’re this precinct’s official F4!”

“There is no such thing as an official F4,” Boa says, rifling through the papers stacked on her desk. All the closed cases from the past three days. Jihoon catches a glimpse of the file of the pickpocket he’d picked up on his way to lunch the day before.

“It’s because cyber crimes are finally moving out downstairs,” Daehwi guesses.

“Yes,” Boa says, and Daehwi whoops, accidentally kicking one of the chairs into Boa’s desk, rattling everything on it. She gives Daehwi a long look before adding, “Robberies are taking over the space, so it’s going to be hectic around here. The 8-9 agreed to help out with our caseload in the event that you four will be down in Busan for this case.”

Jihoon looks down. The case file is very heavy in his hands, both metaphorically and also because of the sheer volume of photos in it. “If I say yes—” Jinyoung and Daehwi cheer, knocking a framed photo of a dog and a young child off Boa’s desk, among other things. “If, if I say yes, then I want Seongwoo-hyung to be the fake therapist.”

“Wait, I want to be the fake doctor,” Jinyoung complains. “Come on, we’re best friends—”

Daehwi drops the photo he’d been picking up. “What? We’ve been together since KNPU and I’m not your best friend?”

Jinyoung very gently picks up one of Daehwi’s hands with both of his own. “I’m sorry Daehwi, but the only special connection we have is how eerily accurate I can throw donut holes and you can catch them.”

“Heartbreaking,” Seongwoo says, bored and still on the couch, as Daehwi seems to actually be fighting back tears. “Anyway, didn’t you retire because of an injury Jihoon? Did you have a physical therapist to help with that?”

Jihoon’s throat is so dry that it hurts when he tries to swallow. “No, I didn’t. When one of the hyungs I know was injured he had a therapist so I could bring him in to talk to you.”

“You skate on your days off, right?” Jinyoung asks, as Daehwi very quietly cleans up the mess he made of the Captain’s desk. “How out of shape can you be?”

Jihoon isn't actually out of shape, he can still land all of his triples, but that’s not why he doesn’t want the case. “I’m gonna go to Mokdong,” he says, handing the file to Seongwoo on his way to the door. “Be back in an hour.”

//

When Jihoon gets to Mokdong, it’s set up for short track, and Jisung is at the edge of the rink, arms slung over the top of the boards as he’s leaning on them. His skates are on, though, and he’s in his training gear. He’s talking to one of the newer skaters, who’s fastening his helmet on under his chin.

“Why aren’t you at Taereung?” Jihoon asks, and Jisung turns around, expression brightening when he sees who it is. “I thought you started training for next season.”

“Taereung’s overrun by figure today,” Jisung says, looking back out to where the skaters are lining up. “They’re the ones who just moved up to junior level. Jaehwan’s over there trying to teach one of them how to tie his skates.”

Jihoon snorts. “How to tie his skates?”

“You’d be surprised,” Jisung says darkly, and Jihoon laughs, leaning on the boards next to him. Junior level was the peak era of all of them had squabbling over who got to use the rinks at Taereung at what times, Sungwoon and Jihoon against Jisung and Jaehwan, the others taking sides. The losers usually ended up taking a train back to Mokdong. “What are you doing here anyway? Don’t you have work?”

“I’m actually looking for Sungwoon-hyung.” On the ice, Jaehwan blows the whistle and the five skaters take off, bending their knees and reaching an arm out as they turn the corners. Jaehwan yells something at one of them, Jihoon can’t make out the words in the echo of the rink. “Is he here?”

“Locker room, maybe,” Jisung says. Two of the skaters collide, and one of them hits the boards. Jihoon watches both of them get back up, gingerly shaking off the ice shavings and making sure the other is alright. “He was coaching up until half an hour ago.”

“Thanks hyung,” Jihoon calls, touching two fingers above his brow in farewell as he makes his way to the lockers. There’s gear strewn everywhere on the benches when he gets there, but only one occupant.

Sungwoon is closing his locker when he sees Jihoon. “What are you doing here?” he asks, but he looks pleased, sitting down on one of the benches. Jihoon takes the other one. “What, there isn’t enough crime in Seoul to keep you at your desk?”

“Ha ha very funny, hyung.” Jihoon says. “How’s retirement and coaching going?”

“Good, I guess,” Sungwoon says, rubbing his elbow over the sleeve of his shirt. “I’m only coaching kids for now.”

“Kids like actual kids? Or kids like Jisung-hyung’s junior level skaters?”

Sungwoon laughs. “Actual kids. I don’t think I’m going to be coaching anyone junior level and up for a while.” He zips up his bag. “And I’m still young enough to be skating in shows.”

“I bought tickets for the one in next month! Is it here or at the Gymnastic Arena?”

“Gymnastics,” Sungwoon says. “Are you sure you have time for it? No big cases coming up soon?”

Jihoon winces. “I said I was sorry about missing the last one like fifty times, hyung.” He’d been on a week-long stakeout with Seongwoo building a case, and they’d spent the entire time placing bets about their coworkers. Jihoon’s personal favorite had been that Daehwi will be the last to get married, and his best man wouldn’t be either Jihoon or Seongwoo because their friendship was doomed to suffer once Daehwi took the sergeant's exam and ended up their boss.

“I’m kidding,” Sungwoon says, reaching over to flick Jihoon on the forehead. “I’m glad you got tickets, I think the show’s going to be really great.”

“I actually need your help to make it to your show,” Jihoon says. When Sungwoon looks surprised but doesn’t comment, he explains, “I need you to do a consult. Do you have time the next couple days to come into the precinct to talk to my partner?”

“Tomorrow afternoon would be okay.” Jihoon doesn’t know if the response fills him with regret or relief about taking the case. “Am I allowed to ask what the case is about?”

Jihoon taps his fingers on his knee. “I can’t tell you all the details, but it’s down in Busan.” He pauses. “At Dongrae.”

“Dongrae?” Sungwoon frowns, confused. Then he sees the expression Jihoon is making and puts two and two together. “Oh. Oh. So he still— You haven’t heard— Woojin still skates there?”

Jihoon leans back, resting his head on the wall of lockers. “Have you heard anything about him changing coaches?”

Sungwoon shakes his head. “Last I heard in December, he’s still with Lee Seokhoon.” Jihoon doesn’t respond. “So you haven’t talked to him, in what, nine—”

“Nine years,” Jihoon finishes. “Yeah, I never texted him back and didn’t save his number when I got a new phone.” He almost laughs, if he could. The humidity of the locker room is making his hair stick to his face, and he’s suddenly more uncomfortable breathing than he had been even five minutes before. “Pathetic, isn’t it?”

“Jihoon, don’t do this—”

“No, it’s fine,” Jihoon says, getting up, the weight on his chest growing heavier by the second. “I need to head back, but let me know when you’re coming in tomorrow so I can come save you from the receptionist, okay?”

“Okay,” Sungwoon responds, clearly uncertain on whether he should let Jihoon go or not, but before he can say anything else, Jihoon ducks out of the locker room. On the ice, Jisung and Jaehwan and helping one of the junior skaters correct his form, and before they notice that Jihoon’s watching, he leaves.

//

“It looks like it’s going well,” Jinyoung says skeptically, peering through the window into the briefing room, where Sungwoon is currently teaching Seongwoo how to convincingly pull off the cover of physical therapist. Jihoon watches from next to him. “I mean, I don’t know what therapists do, but that looks about right.”

From his desk, Daehwi crumples up a piece of paper and throws it at Jinyoung. It hits the back of his head, falling to the floor with a soft thump. “Get back to work, we have two more cases to close before we leave for Busan.”

“If you need any help, let me know,” Jihoon says, throwing him a wink. “Because I just closed the last of my cases.” He gestures to the holding cell, where his latest perp is taking a nap while waiting to get picked up.

“You are my least favorite friend,” Daehwi snaps, but he’s not even looking in their direction. Jinyoung goes back to his desk to take another look at his case file, but Jihoon stays where he is, watching Sungwoon trying to show Seongwoo how to stretch out the muscles of the foot.

Eventually he goes in to join them. “You can practice on me now,” Jihoon says brightly, sitting down on the floor with his legs outstretched.

“Awesome,” Seongwoo says flatly. He puts his hands on Jihoon’s ankles. “Quiz me on our cover while I’m doing this.”

“Okay. Where did you go to medical school?”

“K University,” Seongwoo says. “I graduated three years ago, and now I’m a resident at B Hospital in the Physical Therapy department. I specialize in sport-related injuries and rehabilitation, and frequently do visits to my patients so they can receive care while continuing with an appropriate intensity of training.”

“How did I become your patient?”

“The attending is a friend of your former coach, and recommended me to conduct your rehabilitation after you suffered from a cracked tarsal bone in your right foot, an injury that is related to overtraining.”

“Ow, ow—” Seongwoo lets go of Jihoon like he’s burning hot. Jihoon pulls his knees to his chest, wrapping his own hands around his ankles. “Feet aren’t supposed to bend like that, hyung.” Sungwoon stifles a laugh behind his hand.

“Sorry, I just got really excited that I remembered what the injury was,” Seongwoo says sheepishly, but he knows Jihoon isn’t actually mad. He turns to Sungwoon. “How did that look?”

“Convincing enough,” Sungwoon decides. “Anything else you need me for?”

“I think that’s it,” Jihoon says. “And the cover is that it’s almost healed, so it probably won’t be too suspicious if Seongwoo-hyung doesn’t do much.” Seongwoo promptly trips over his own feet and tumbles into a table. “It’s probably for the best that he doesn’t do much,” Jihoon tells Sungwoon, who doesn’t bother hiding the fact that he’s laughing this time. “Thanks, hyung, you were really helpful.”

#

Jihoon had been planning to update the other three on details about the Busan case after Sungwoon left, but Daehwi and Jinyoung take an extra hour to pick up the perps from Daehwi’s last case.

“What do you think is taking them so long?” Seongwoo asks, as he’s picking all the ingredients he doesn’t like out of his sandwich. The air conditioner in the break room is the best in the precinct, and Jihoon enjoys taking over the room whenever he can. “Maybe Jinyoung got shot.”

“One of these days that’s actually going to happen and it’s not going to be funny to joke about it anymore,” Jihoon says, sadly. “But they were going to get someone for the armed robbery in Cheongdam, so they called for backup. No one’s getting shot, probably.”

“Probably,” Seongwoo repeats. At the exact same moment, the elevator doors open, and Jinyoung bursts out of it, arms spread.

“I have returned!” he announces, as Daehwi leads a string of handcuffed perps into the holding cell.

“No one cares,” Seongwoo calls across the room, which Jinyoung ignores. “And you’re not done yet, Daehwi still has to finish the paperwork.”

As soon as Daehwi finishes all the necessary forms, Jihoon sits them all down in the briefing room, closing the blinds. “Updates for the Busan money laundering case,” he says. Jinyoung idly taps his pen on the table, spinning it in his fingers. “I didn’t mention this before, because I wasn’t sure if I was going to take the case.”

“Mention what?” Daehwi asks.

Jihoon closes the case file on the stand in front of him, evens out his breathing so his line of sight stays clear. “I actually know someone who trains at Dongrae Skating Club.” Even Jinyoung sits up at this. “Park Woojin, the bronze medalist at the last Olympics. We used to see each other a lot at competitions until I retired, but I haven’t seen or talked to him since.”

“We could have detectives from the 7-6 brief him on the case so he doesn’t blow your cover,” Seongwoo suggests. “We won’t be starting the op for another two or three days anyway.”

“No, I don’t think that’s necessary,” Jihoon says quickly. “We’re not exactly friends, I think it would be weird.”

“If he really doesn’t know what you’re up to, it might help your cover, actually,” Daehwi points out. “It’ll be more believable that Jihoon’s a real figure skater if there’s another skater there who knows him from when he competed.”

Jihoon nods. “I asked cyber crimes earlier to look for any public announcement of me becoming a police officer and there was nothing, not even anything by KNPU, so it’s fine to use my real name, too. If anyone thinks I’m suspicious and looks me up, they’ll just see competition results from years ago.”

“I’m really going to miss cyber crimes,” Jinyoung says, pillowing his chin with a palm. “They always threw the best Halloween parties.”

“You only say that because every time we brought a perp in on Halloween, that entire floor finished whatever drink was in their hand, and it was almost always soju,” Daehwi says. “It’s been terrible.”

“You mean amazing,” Jinyoung corrects absentmindedly, turning back to Jihoon. “Do we know the detectives in charge of the case at the 7-6? They’re meeting to brief us when we get to Busan tomorrow, right?”

“Two detectives,” Jihoon says, opening the file again. “Hwang Minhyun and Kang… Daniel? Daniel. Apparently they’ve been suspicious about this skate shop for months but it kept getting pushed to the side because they didn’t want to risk blowing the whole thing by trying to engage without solid evidence. And they couldn’t build a case.”

Jinyoung goes back to fiddling with his pen. No one says anything until Daehwi breaks the silence with, “I can’t believe you used to compete with Park Woojin. Isn’t he like, a good skater?”

“He’s the same age as me,” Jihoon says defensively. “We would see each other at Nationals every year, and he moved up to the senior circuit the same season I did.”

“Yeah, but like, he’s good,” Seongwoo emphasizes. “We didn’t even know you skated until that time Captain took us skating as a team bonding activity instead of simulated training and you wiped the ice with Daehwi’s ass. Literally.”

“I hate my job,” Daehwi mutters. Jihoon smiles. It’s a good memory. “We should have done simulated training, it would’ve been much more helpful.”

“Oh, but that’s where I have to disagree,” Jinyoung says, smiling so angelically he must be up to no good. “I consider that team bonding activity to be the one where I truly became able to trust you as a partner.”

“We were beat cops together,” Daehwi says, putting a hand over the left side of his chest and assuming a wounded expression. “I’m offended.”

“Now you’re going to be our handlers together,” Jihoon reminds them. “And I’m going to wear an earpiece at some points so get it together before Seongwoo-hyung and I go undercover.”

“Yes, sir,” they chorus, and Jihoon flips through the pictures of his skating years in the case one more time, and he doesn’t do it for luck.

//

“Did we really have to drive all the way down here?” Jinyoung complains, tripping over a foot that’s asleep as he’s tumbling out of the beat up minivan Seongwoo refuses to trade in. He claims that it has its own ways of being useful, like for when four of them need to drive to Busan with all their protective gear and firearms and in this case, Jihoon’s skates. “I haven’t felt my legs the last three hours.”

“You were sleeping for the last three hours,” Seongwoo reminds him, hoisting a particularly heavy bag over his shoulder. “Come on, we need to check in before the 7-6 guys get here.”

They’d drawn for roommates the night before, and Jinyoung had made the fateful choice, picking up the folded piece of paper with Jihoon’s name on it. But as they find out, it doesn’t really matter, because of course they have adjoining rooms.

“Let’s keep the door open! It’ll be like a big sleepover.” Jinyoung says.

“When I become your boss, the first thing I’m going to do is fire you,” is Daehwi’s mild response.

Jinyoung obviously has a retort ready, but Jihoon taps a nail on his watch. “We’re late, they said they were going to send a car at two and it’s two-thirteen.”

In the lobby, there’s two uniformed officers waiting for them. It’s a ten minute drive to the 7-6, which is a newer building than the 1-0-1, but Jihoon thinks he prefers his own precinct’s building.

Until he sees the computers.

“These are newer computers than cyber crimes had downstairs,” Jihoon hisses, stealing looks at the technology surrounding the receptionist. “My work computer isn’t even capable of updating anymore.”

“Keep it in your pants, Jihoon,” Seongwoo says, but he’s laughing, and Jihoon scowls, adjusting the grip he has on his duffle. “Did you bring everything?”

“You have the case file, and I brought my skates so the tech department can try out the bugs in case we go with Daehwi’s bug idea,” Jihoon says. “I think it’d be okay for my skate guards to be bugged too, I can accidentally lose them somewhere in the shop or leave them on when my blades need sharpening.”

He’s about to add that he even remembered to bring a lock for the locker room, when there’s a body draping itself over Seongwoo’s shoulders, and his immediate reflex, even though they’re inside a precinct, is to bend the stranger’s arm behind his back and yell, “Police!”

“Should’ve expected that,” the stranger mutters, wincing when Seongwoo redoubles his grip. “Dude, it’s me! Minhyun, we were the same year at KNPU?”

“Minhyun… This is the Hwang Minhyun on our case?” Seongwoo laughs, letting him go. “Man, good to see you! I didn’t even know you were in Busan, last I heard you were a beat cop in Suwon. When’d you get down here?”

“Couple years ago, my sister was getting married and I just decided to move back,” Minhyun says. He raises a hand at the rest of them. “Nice to meet you guys.” He turns towards Jihoon. “I’m guessing you’re Park Jihoon?”

“Please don’t say that you’ve seen the pictures of my old costumes,” Jihoon whispers under his breath.

“The pictures of you in your skating costumes were really cute,” Minhyun says, not missing a beat. Jihoon sighs, but Jinyoung seems to take an immediate liking to him. “Come on, Daniel’s waiting in the briefing room.”

The 7-6’s briefing room is smaller than the 1-0-1’s, but there aren’t many of them, so it isn’t a tight fit. Daniel has a powerpoint pulled up, and the slide on screen is of the podium of Jihoon’s first of two nationals wins at the senior level, Woojin to his right with the silver medal around his neck.

“We didn’t bring in any of the Dongrae staff or skaters for briefing because Jihoon didn’t deem it necessary,” Daniel says, after he introduces himself. “Jihoon, did you bring your skating gear?”

“I already gave everything to Minki,” Minhyun interjects. “He should be done by the time this briefing is over.” He turns to Jihoon and says, “Minki’s the best around here at this kind of stuff, so don’t worry. Your gear is in good hands.”

“I hope so, because I didn’t bring any extra states,” Jihoon says wryly.

“Why wouldn’t you bring your extra skates?” Jinyoung asks, wrinkling his nose. “Isn’t that irresponsible?”

“Skates need to be broken in, asshole,” Jihoon mutters, and Seongwoo very quietly puts a hand over Jinyoung’s mouth.

“He has no filter,” Seongwoo explains. Jinyoung says something that only comes out muffled.

“So, the briefing?” Daehwi asks, because Daniel and Minhyun are looking at them like they’ve never seen detectives before.

“Yes, the briefing,” Daniel says, turning to look at the projected screen. “So you know the basics, Dongrae Skate Shop, possible money laundering, no proof, we can’t go in without evidence in case this is connected to something bigger.”

“Are there any civilians working there?” Jihoon asks.

“Just one, as far as we know,” Daniel says, going to the next slide. “Kim Eunyoung, she’s a student around here and works part time. She started just two months ago so we’re pretty sure she’s not affiliated with what’s actually going on.

“We don’t have enough information on the rest of the staff to tell who’s a civilian and who’s affiliated, but there seems to be more workers in the back of the store actually doing skate shop related stuff.”

“Like sharpening blades?” Jihoon asks. When Daniel nods, he says, “After your guy shows me how to bug my gear I can definitely send skates in for sharpening so we can find out more.”

“We were also thinking about Seongwoo-hyung borrowing a pair of rentals and bugging them before giving them back,” Daehwi adds. “Like, under the guise of joining Jihoonie-hyung on the ice to make sure his injury isn’t affecting his skating.”

“What are the specifics of the cover?” Jinyoung asks, after Seongwoo frees him. “Why exactly is Jihoon-hyung all the way down here in Busan when he could be working with one of the doctors at Taerun?”

“It’s Taereung,” Jihoon corrects, to which Jinyoung waves a hand dismissively. “I could say I needed the fresh sea air to clear my head.”

“It’s not that refreshing though,” Daniel says.

“I’m from the smoke-polluted city,” Jihoon says flatly. “Even air from a fan is refreshing to me.”

“It sounds plausible,” Minhyun says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.

Seongwoo has his laptop out, his nails clicking on the keys. “Park Woojin said something similar during his interview after the World Cup last month, when he elected not to train at Taereung over the summer.”

“Figure skating doesn’t have a world cup,” Jihoon says, but no one is listening. “And Woojin’s always hated training at Taereung.”

“How do you know that?” Daniel asks.

“They’re friends,” Jinyoung says at the same time Jihoon says, “We’re acquaintances.”

Minhyun laughs. “That’s so cold, Jihoon.”

The projector stops projecting. “Hang on,” Daniel says, “Daehwi sent me something yesterday he wanted to present during the briefing.”

“What?” This can’t be good. Jihoon is about to chew Daehwi out when the projector shows a new presentation. It says, How to Talk to Park Woojin. “What the hell.”

“It’s going to helpful,” Daehwi insists, wheeling the whiteboard over and uncapping a marker. “We’re going to be making a Yes list and a No list.”

“What about a Hell No list?” Jinyoung asks. Daehwi hums in agreement, writing that down.

“How awkward do you all think I am?” Jihoon asks, and no one responds.

“First thing on the Yes list is figure skating,” Daehwi says, sounding ridiculously proud of himself as he writes it down. “Any objections?”

“I object,” Jihoon says, offended. “I know how to talk to a human being, you don’t need to make this list.”

“First thing on the No list is anything police related,” Daehwi says loudly, to drown Jihoon out.

“I know how to keep a cover,” Jihoon mutters, but conceding reluctantly, because he know there’s no stopping Daehwi when he gets like this.

This continues until Jinyoung is taking a nap where he’s sitting upright. Which he can do in a remarkably short amount of time, but it’s around the same time that Daehwi writes love life in the Yes list.

“I’m not going to talk to someone I haven’t seen or heard from in nine years about his love life,” Jihoon protests. “Put that on the Hell No list. He’s just going to be training while we carry out this op. I’m probably not even going to be talking to him at all because he’ll be so busy.”

“Park Woojin trains 36 hours a week during the off season, and he said in an interview last summer that he takes one day off a week,” Seongwoo says, still on his laptop.

“How are you doing this?” Jinyoung asks, incredulous.

“Something called ISU Results,” Seongwoo says cheerfully. “I found Jihoon’s old profile, too.”

“Please never open your mouth again,” Jihoon tells him. Daehwi writes both have hair under the Yes list. “I’m not going to talk about hair with Woojin.”

“That’s what you say now,” Daehwi says, sounding so sure that Jihoon contemplates shaving his head. But that would probably have the opposite effect, because Woojin would definitely say something if Jihoon was bald the first time they saw each other in nine years.

“We’ve set up some cameras within the ice rink and surrounding area already, so we’ll get the handlers laptops with everything they need before you all leave today,” Daniel says, once Daehwi finishes his lists.

“So tomorrow at 9, Seongwoo-hyung and I are going to Dongrae,” Jihoon confirms. Daniel nods, and then Minki comes in, Jihoon’s duffle slung over his shoulder. After he shows Jihoon how to bug his gear so it won’t be detectable, Minhyun shows him and Seongwoo out first.

“Daniel isn’t done setting up all the bugs we prepped with them,” Minhyun explains. He offers a smile and says brightly, “Best of luck,” but Jihoon is sure that it isn’t because of the op that he’s already feeling the way he had his first time on the international circuit. The first time he’d gone up against Woojin in a competition and felt like the field was on level ground.

//

“Testing,” Daehwi says, thirty decibels too loud. Jihoon winces, regretting letting Daehwi argue his way into anything Jihoon is also involved in. “Jihoonie-hyung, can you hear me?”

“The penguins in Antarctica can hear you,” Seongwoo says from the driver’s seat. Daehwi can’t hear him, so Jihoon has to repeat it for him. “Ask him why he’s testing out the earpieces now when we checked them last night.”

“Hyung wants to know why you’re testing out the earpieces now when we checked them last night.”

“Just in case,” Daehwi whines. “Does he have his glasses?”

“Don’t remind him of the glasses,” Jihoon whispers, but Seongwoo is already checking himself out in the mirror.

“Tell him we can see that he’s checking himself out,” Jinyoung says faintly from the background.

“They can see you checking yourself out,” Jihoon says.

“I don’t care,” Seongwoo replies idly, fixing the way his bangs are lying on his forehead.

“He doesn’t care,” Jihoon says.

“Well, tell him that—”

“I can’t live like this anymore,” Jihoon says loudly, taking the earpiece out. Into the microphone, he says, “I hope you two turned on the bug in Seongwoo-hyung’s glasses because we’re going in.”

“Do you have your skates?” Daehwi shouts, so loudly that Jihoon can hear him crystal clear even though the earpiece isn’t actually in his ear. He shudders. “Jihoon-hyung do you have your skates?”

“I have them and the ones that we’re getting sharpened,” Jihoon says, before turning the microphone and earpiece off and stuffing them in one of the outer pockets of his duffel bag. “I already have a headache.”

“Look at how good these glasses look on me,” Seongwoo says, clearly not paying attention.

“You know you’re not allowed to keep them,” Jihoon tells him. “They’re bugged and have a camera.”

“Take a picture of me,” Seongwoo says. Jihoon stares at him. “Maybe I’ll buy a pair that looks exactly like this after we close this case.”

Jihoon snaps a picture. “You mean, if the Seven Stars don’t kill us and our entire families.”

“Exactly,” Seongwoo says, much too cheerfully. “Come on, I made your skate sharpening appointment for 9:15 and it’s almost 9.”

“If it was actually my skates that were getting sharpened and the guy screwed my blades up, this entire op would be over,” Jihoon remarks, as they’re heading towards the building. “I didn’t even think about that before now.”

Seongwoo laughs, but really he’s just trying to look at his reflection in the windows. “Hopefully someone running the front will say something that gives us enough reason for a bust before that then.”

#

At the welcome desk that doubles as the register for the skate shop, there’s a girl who Jihoon recognizes from Daniel’s briefing.

“How may I help you?” Eunyoung asks.

“I have a blade sharpening appointment for 9:15,” Jihoon says, unzipping his duffled and taking out the skates he’d gotten from Jinyoung, skate guards on. “Park Jihoon.”

“Okay, it’ll take about half an hour. Do you have your membership card with you today?” Jihoon takes out the card Daehwi had given him that morning and hands it to her so she can scan it. “Perfect, thank you very much.”

“Thank you,” Jihoon says. When they’re far enough away and in the locker rooms, Jihoon takes out the microphone and earpiece. “Did you turn on the bug in the skate guards?” he asks.

There’s a little static in his earpiece before he hears Jinyoung say, “I’m getting the feed.”

“Okay, keep us updated,” Jihoon says before turning both back off. To Seongwoo, he asks, “Ready to be a doctor?”

“Just because I’m massaging your foot doesn’t make me your bitch.” In Jihoon’s head, he can just hear Jinyoung and Daehwi making fun of him about this for the next twenty years. “Did you remember your lock?”

“I did,” Jihoon says defensively. He’d put on appropriate clothes that morning, so he sticks his entire bag in a locker before locking it. “Let’s go warm up.”

The warm up area is small, but Jihoon reasons that it probably isn’t a concern, because there aren’t that many competitive skaters training here. It’s actually probably just Woojin. Even before he went to train at Ice Castle, he was one of the only competitive skaters that insisted on spending most of his year at his home rink instead of Taereung.

Jihoon spends the next forty-five minutes stretching and warming up, Seongwoo alternating between watching and helping, the way Sungwoon had shown him a couple days prior.

“Skates should be ready by now, right?” Seongwoo says, checking his watch, as Jihoon stares at the ceiling from where he is on the ground. “You alive?”

“Leave me alone,” Jihoon groans, but picks himself up. “I’ll go pick them up.”

“You don’t even have your wallet on you,” Seongwoo points out.

Jihoon swings his arms, rolling his neck around to ease out the stiffness. He puts on the gloves he uses for practicing so he won’t get any more fingerprints on the skate boots. “Daehwi said that Minki-hyung told him that they’d charge the membership, I think.”

As it turns out, Daehwi is right, because Eunyoung simply gives the skates back to him before going back to the textbook she’s reading.

“I’ll leave after like half an hour?” Seongwoo suggests, as Jihoon laces up his actual skates by the rink. The ones that had been sharpened are in an evidence bag stowed away in Seongwoo’s duffle bag of ‘doctor supplies’. Which consists of two strawberry yogurt granola bars and a stethoscope that doesn’t actually work. “Shouldn’t be too suspicious then.”

“Sounds good,” Jihoon says, taking the guards off and putting them on the bench next to his shoes. There are a couple younger skaters on the ice, but no Woojin. “Can’t believe there are so little people here. Mokdong is such a disaster compared to this.”

On the ice, two small girls collide and both immediately start crying. One of them is bleeding from a small cut on her cheek, most likely from a chip in the ice.

“Actually I’m going to leave now,” Seongwoo says, slowly backing away. “Before someone asks me to do real doctor work.”

“Coward,” Jihoon calls after him, but he’s laughing.

The ice feels good under him, and he does a couple dozen laps around the edge of the rink, avoiding all the skaters who are practicing their spins. After about thirty, most of the younger skaters leave as Jihoon looks around, bewildered at the sudden exodus.

“A lot of them do off-ice conditioning together in the afternoon on Saturdays,” someone says behind him. Jihoon turns towards the voice. “That’s why they all lef— Holy shit.”

Woojin trips over his pick and stumbles a couple steps before Jihoon reflexively reaches out to steady him. Woojin looks mostly the same, the way he drags his skates when he’s not paying attention and his love for ratty graphic t-shirts is the same. His hair isn’t done up and is still his natural color, but Jihoon feels like he’s looking at a stranger.

Woojin must feel the same. When Jihoon drops his arm, he stops where he is, so Jihoon does too. “What are you… doing here?”

“I, uh, I skate here, actually.” Jihoon shoves his gloved hands in the pockets of his sweats. “Membership and all.”

“Oh.” Woojin looks like he can’t decide what to say next. Jihoon himself can’t decide whether he should be treating Woojin like an old friend or a stranger. He thinks that they have and haven’t changed in the past nine years, and maybe the way Woojin doesn’t talk around people he’s uncomfortable with hasn’t changed. “Since when?”

Jihoon smiles slightly. “Since today.”

Woojin’s brow furrows. “What, you just up and moved to Busan and started skating here... today?”

“Well it sounds ridiculous when you say it like that,” Jihoon sniffs. “Technically I still skate for Mokdong but my doctor thought it would be good for me to get away from Seoul for a bit.”

Woojin makes to come closer when he stops himself. “Your doctor? What’s wrong?”

“My foot,” Jihoon says, reflexively shifting his weight from his right side. “Cracked a bone a couple months ago and I’m still recovering from it. My doctor thought it would be helpful if I got out of the city and actually breathed, you know, good air.”

“Your doctor stole my motto,” Woojin says, his words stiff, but his mouth crooks into a smile. He’s always had a hard time keeping a straight face. “Why were you training so hard anyway? Are you coming back to competition or something?”

He says it like he’s making a joke, but his eyes are narrowed. Like he’s accusing Jihoon of something he hasn’t forgiven him for.

“Yeah,” Jihoon says, quickly to get it over with. “Yeah, I want to come back to competition.”

For a second, he doesn’t know what to expect from Woojin, but then Woojin laughs, the same big laugh that expands beyond the space they’re in, and slings an arm around Jihoon’s neck. “Man, that’s great! Are you trying to be back by the Grand Prix circuit? Or by nationals? Because we have three slots for Worlds this season, it would be so dope if we both went, right? Between you and me, we could probably get another three slots for the Olympics and Worlds for the season after that! How are your jumps these days? How’s your quad toe? Other quads? Are you still with your old coach? Who’s your choreographer this season? Because Jiyoung-noona would love to choreograph for you, she still sometimes talks about how you never asked her.”

“I—” Jihoon doesn’t know how to respond, but then he blurts out, “Are you taller than me?”

“What?” Woojin looks at Jihoon, putting a hand at the top of his head and trying to measure the difference between them. “I guess?”

“Should’ve let you fall," Jihoon says acidly, taking off across the rink but with his back turned so he’s facing Woojin. The way Woojin chases after him on the ice, for a moment it’s like he had never left.

//

“The lab finished processing those skates Seongwoo brought in,” Minhyun says, as Jihoon almost flips himself out of his chair while trying to move closer to the table. They’re in the briefing room again. “Daniel got the results a couple hours ago.”

Jinyoung taps his nails on the coffee mug in his hand. “Anything?”

Minhyun pulls up two mugshots. “Two hits, but these IDs only go back three or four years in the system. It’s like they just appeared out of thin air. They’re only in the system at all because I guess they’re employed by the city and not a private company.”

Daehwi frowns. “Any violations since then?”

“Nothing,” Daniel says. “Not even a parking ticket.”

“So those probably aren’t even their real names,” Jihoon says. “Pretty safe to assume that they’re affiliated with whoever’s running the front then.”

“Did you run background on the girl working the register?” Seongwoo asks. “Kim Eunyoung?”

“A while ago, yeah,” Minhyun shrugs. “She got warned for disorderly behavior at a concert but never arrested. And a speeding ticket that she paid on time.”

“Maybe Seongwoo-hyung could flirt with her a bit so he can be at the register in case there’s something going down,” Daehwi suggests. “I don’t think she’s involved but maybe we could get a glimpse on what the backroom employees are doing.”

“Disorderly behavior at a concert is college girl behavior, not behavior of a member of the Seven Stars,” Jinyoung agrees.

“Stop saying this is affiliated with the Seven Stars, I really don’t know why you have a death wish.” Jihoon leans back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head. Regular practice is more exertion than his body is used to, and his back is sore. “But maybe you’ll finally get shot?”

“You want to get shot?” Minhyun asks him.

“We have a bet going,” Seongwoo explains. “This past new year, Jihoon and I bet that Jinyoung is going to get shot on the job before the end of the year, and Daehwi and Jinyoung bet that he won’t.”

“So just to clarify, this bet only covers Jinyoung getting shot when he’s on the job?” Daniel asks. “And if he got shot when he was off-duty it wouldn’t count?”

“Why do you think he’s going to get shot when he’s off-duty?” Daehwi asks, bemused.

“I already know I look like someone who has an extremely secretive personal life and shady hobbies,” Jinyoung says, blowing on his coffee so it cools faster. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“Jinyoung, you are the most boring person I’ve ever met my entire life,” Jihoon says. “You once invited me over during FIFA season on a game day and I thought we were gonna watch football and like, bond, but then you said you wanted to try out your new massage chairs.”

“Chairs? As in multiple massage chairs?” Minhyun looks excited. “How many massage chairs?”

Seongwoo looks at Minhyun, then Jinyoung. “Oh my god. Are you two of the same breed?”

“I missed the Korea vs. Germany game that we won,” Jihoon complains, as Seongwoo continues to look between the two people in horror. “We could’ve watched the game in the massage chairs but someone didn’t have cable!”

“Just two,” Jinyoung says, pointedly ignoring the rest of them. “There was a sale and I just couldn’t resist.”

“He’s also the worst at managing his financials,” Seongwoo says.

“He never does his own taxes!” Daehwi adds. “I do them every year for him!”

“You ask to do them,” Jihoon reminds him. “I distinctly remember you going to up every single person who works on our floor and asking if they needed help filing their taxes.”

“Can you file mine?” Daniel asks, interest lighting up his eyes. “I never know if I’m doing them right.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are but I’d love to help you!” Daehwi exclaims. Jihoon sighs, putting his head down on the table. “Here, I can give you my number and you can call or text me when it’s tax season!”

“Taking this case was a mistake,” Jihoon says, to no one.

“Anyway, Daniel and I will each tail the two employees from the backroom the next couple days to see if they lead us to anything,” Minhyun says, having successfully gotten the massage chair store information from Jinyoung. “Any updates from you, Jihoon?”

“Everything’s normal the rest of the rink,” Jihoon says. “Nothing out of the ordinary from what I’ve seen.”

“Are you going back today?” Seongwoo asks. “I was thinking we could do the rent and bug skates plan soon.”

“It’s probably better if we wait for Woojin’s day off to do that,” Jihoon says. “Otherwise you might seem suspicious. I think he should be off either tomorrow or the day after, I’ll let you know.”

“Okay,” Seongwoo says, getting up and downing the rest of his coffee. “Let’s go, I’ll drop you off.”

//

“Are you sticking with Jaeseung-hyung for your choreographer for the season?” Woojin asks, after Jihoon’s done his usual fifty laps around the rink for warm-up.

Jihoon laughs, kneeling to retie the laces on one of his boots. “Jiyoung-noona still hasn’t let it go?”

“She was here this morning!” Woojin checks his own boot for any lingering ice shavings. “We’re trying to decide on my program music for the season and one of the finalists is Nessun Dorma.”

Jihoon straightens up, tapping his pick against the ice to make sure the boot is on securely. “My short program music from my last season.”

“Yeah.” Woojin puts his hands on the boards, pushing off so he glides backwards. “It reminded her of you.”

Jihoon laughs. “Man, I don’t know what Jaeseung-hyung and I were thinking, I was definitely not mature enough to be skating to Nessun Dorma or any of Turandot at that age.”

“You also crammed all of the Four Seasons into your free skate music that year,” Woojin reminds him.

Jihoon wrinkles his nose. “I really don’t want to hear that from someone who skated to Romeo and Juliet three seasons in a row.”

“Hey, Romeo and Juliet is such beautiful music, their story is so tragic, don’t tell me you don’t agree—”

“Yeah, maybe, but three seasons?” Jihoon whistles. Woojin is almost on the other side of the rink, so Jihoon has to go catch up. “That was rough to watch.”

Woojin had been skating too, but he stops, so suddenly Jihoon almost crashes into him.

“Jesus— you good?” Jihoon asks, confused. Woojin’s hoodie is missing the strings, and the hood lies limp against his back. The entire thing is too big for him, he has to push the sleeves up so they don’t cover his hands.

“Yeah,” Woojin breathes, supporting himself with his hands on his knees. He looks up. “You followed my skating?”

Jihoon blinks. “Of course I did,” he says, as if nothing had ever changed. Because really, some things haven’t. “Every season.”

“Oh,” Woojin says, quietly. Then, “Which one was your favorite?”

Jihoon contemplates. “The Yiruma medley free skate, the Narnia soundtrack free skate, and the Chopin Nocturne short program,” he says. “Oh, and the exhibition program you did to Eminem.”

“That was because I lost a dare, please don’t ever remind me again that it happened.” Woojin has his eyes closed, and Jihoon can’t help but laugh. “It still haunts me at night.”

“You know, because they got rid of that rule about vocals in program music, you could technically do your short program to like, Illionaire Gang, and no one could say anything about it.”

“Seokhoon-hyung and Jiyoung-noona would have my head,” Woojin says murderously. “You know they would!”

Jihoon laughs again, the sound echoing off the walls of the rink. “What other music were you thinking about?”

“Why, what else do you have in mind?”

Jihoon shrugs. “I think you’d be good to basically any Zimmer soundtrack. Like Pirates of the Caribbean, Inception, maybe Interstellar? Pirates would be a good short program.”

“You should do it then,” Woojin says, and smiles. “Your programs to OSTs were always good. Star Wars was great.”

“God, I thought I was so cool back then.” Jihoon cringes just thinking about it. “Wasn’t my ending pose me slashing with my non-existent lightsaber?”

“It was cool,” Woojin insists. “That program got you a banana milk commercial, remember? The one where you slash the banana milk container open?”

“I try to forget every year,” Jihoon tells him morosely. “My brother sends it to everyone in our family and his contact list every year on my birthday, it’s terrible.”

“You could try reporting the video,” Woojin suggests.

“I tried, but after it got taken down a couple times my brother started sending the mp4 file directly through email.”

Woojin laughs. They’ve done a couple laps now, keeping the pace slow. “You know it still runs sometimes, right?”

Jihoon almost trips. “What?”

“Yeah, I saw it on the television when I went to the corner mart the other day to get a sandwich.” Woojin looks over at him. “You didn’t know?”

Jihoon glares at him. “Is this the face of someone who knew?”

“It is,” Woojin says very seriously. Jihoon makes a face at him, scraping his pick against the ice as he turns around. “It’s a good commercial!”

“Very funny,” Jihoon says. “Why are you still here, anyway? I thought you did your on-ice training in the mornings.”

“Why, are you trying to get rid of me?” But he’s laughing, from where he is half a rink away from Jihoon. Because it’s just the two of them on the ice, every sound of their blades slices singular and clean across the air.

From this distance, he looks like he always had, the way Jihoon had always chosen to remember him, and not like a stranger at all.

“I’m fitting in a couple more hours in today because I’m going up to Seoul tomorrow,” Woojin is saying. “And I don’t think I’m going to get much ice time at Taereung when I’m not strapped to the pole.”

“You’re going to Taereung tomorrow?” Jihoon asks, his blade catching on the ice during a crossover.

Woojin nods. “Seokhoon-hyung went up today because that’s where his wife is right now and I need off-ice time on the harness with him. For, you know, quad practice.”

Jihoon hasn’t practices mid-air rotations on any kind of harness since the time Sungwoon wanted to learn how to use one as a coach. And even that had been months ago now. “Practicing a new one?”

“It’s time,” Woojin says solemnly, making Jihoon laugh. “Actually though. I took the quad loop out a couple seasons ago because it was messing up my ankle. But I’m finally healed and can land it more than half the times I attempt it so I want it for this coming season.”

Jihoon’s only experience with the quad loop was the one time Sungwoon dared him to try, and Jihoon had sustained a mild concussion as a result. Sungwoon had felt so bad about it that he’d paid the cab fare on the way to the hospital and cried in front of the nurses. Jihoon remembers. He has pictures. “Impressive.”

“What about you?” Woojin asks. “Quad salchow still going strong?”

“Asking for training details to a potential competitor?” Jihoon asks, pulling on a contemplative expression. “Is this how you treat all of the skaters you compete with?”

“Shut up, asshole.” Jihoon ducks and narrowly avoids the glove Woojin throws at him. “Is this what you’re like now?”

Jihoon picks up the glove, attempting to fit it over his own, already gloved hand. Predictably, it doesn’t fit. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He doesn’t mean for it to be a loaded question, but Woojin abruptly closes his mouth, like he’s afraid to say what he’s thinking. Which isn’t like Woojin at all, but Jihoon also doesn’t know if this is the way he wants Woojin to ask about why anything had ever changed. Why they were in this position to begin with.

It would probably be too much for him to ask Woojin to understand something Jihoon doesn’t completely get about himself.

He holds out the glove. “Here.”

Woojin takes it. “I should head out, don’t want to overtrain,” he says, after worrying his bottom lip between his teeth momentarily.

When he briefly meets Jihoon’s eyes, he looks at him like he’s the only thing standing between himself and the rink’s exit. Like if maybe Jihoon hadn’t been too scared then there wasn’t anything either of them couldn’t say to each other.

//

It takes an entire day and a half, but Seongwoo is eventually successfully in wooing Eunyoung.

“You convinced her to let you rent a pair of skates during non-public hours,” Jihoon says, as Seongwoo gleefully laces them up. “I don’t think that constitutes wooing.”

“That’s what you think, you young, immature butterfly,” Seongwoo says cheerfully. He’s laced up his skates all wrong. Jihoon sighs, resolving himself to a kneeled position in front of Seongwoo so he can fix them. “See, you’re the one who’s my bitch.”

“I hope you fall on your face,” Jihoon tells him sincerely. “Do you have the bug?”

“In my bag.” Seongwoo pats the side pocket. “Daehwi triple checked to make sure I wasn’t forgetting it.”

So that’s what Daehwi had been yelling about that morning. Jihoon had tried to plug his ears up with water while in the shower so he wouldn’t have to listen to the nagging.

“Imagine if Daehwi was the fake doctor,” Jihoon muses. “How terrible would that have been?”

“We’d have probably canceled the op already,” Seongwoo says, and Jihoon sincerely hopes that the bug isn’t on yet. “Daehwi tripped over the skate guards of a little girl and tried to sue both the family and the skating club for neglect.”

“Daehwi tried to clean up the benches when everyone was on the ice and mixed everyone’s stuff up and got banned from the building,” Jihoon suggests.

“Daehwi climbed the roof to see if there was an entrance so he could clean the ceili— Fuck, ow.” He holds up his finger, which is pricked and bleeding. “What the hell?”

“What did you do?” Jihoon asks, examining the cut quickly before digging through his duffel for his emergency first aid kit, courtesy of Daehwi. He’d literally looked away for ten seconds. “Did Daehwi put a curse on you?”

“Daehwi can’t hear us, I don’t think,” Seongwoo says, but he sounds uncertain. “I touched the spiky part at the front of the skate.”

Jihoon is extremely tempted to physically facepalm to match what he’s doing mentally. “Why would you do that? It’s so obviously sharp, like obviously you’re not supposed to touch it.”

“I couldn’t resist,” Seongwoo wails, even though the cut has collectively amassed approximately one measly drop of blood. “I wanted to see if it was actually sharp.”

“It’s sharpened to multiple points! How could you not realize that it was going to cut you!” Jihoon wraps the finger in a bandaid. “Don’t touch the blades, hyung.”

“Now that you said that, I just want to rub my hand all over it.”

Jihoon zips up his jacket. “Whatever, hyung. Slice open your palm, I don’t care.”

“Hey, I’m a doctor, show me some respect—”

“I’m going,” Jihoon says loudly. “And I really do hope that you fall flat on your face. Like with my entire heart. I’m going to take a video and it’s going to go viral, just watch.”

“I am a doctor—”

“I should’ve picked Jinyoung to be my doctor,” Jihoon says, which is sufficient in shutting Seongwoo up, complete with a horrified look on his face. “Finally, some peace and quiet.”

Seongwoo sulks until they’ve made their way over to the rink. Jihoon puts his skate guards on a bench, waiting for Seongwoo to gingerly step out onto the ice.

“And you’re sure I’m not going to die?” Seongwoo asks, for the millionth time. His blade slips and he instinctively presses himself flat against the boards. “I’m going to die.”

“Yeah, just keep doing that, it’s not like people are staring,” Jihoon deadpans. “Come on, you’ll be fine. You’ve been skating before, remember? The time I wiped the ice with Daehwi’s ass?”

Seongwoo smiles. “That was a good day.”

Slowly, Jihoon coaxes Seongwoo towards the center of the rink, where there are some younger skating club members practicing their spins.

“Stand here and pretend to watch me skate to see if my right foot and ankle look okay,” Jihoon says under his breath.

“I know how to be a doctor,” Seongwoo breathes back, so Jihoon decides to just leave him there to fend for himself.

There aren’t that many people even though it’s a weekend day, but the younger skaters around prevent Jihoon from skating particularly fast. This allows for Seongwoo to eventually catch up, his skates dragging because he’s afraid to bend his knees too far.

“That’s really not good for your joints,” Jihoon remarks, as Seongwoo reinforces his grip on Jihoon’s arm. At this point, he’s basically being pulled along. “You’ll get hurt if you don’t be careful.”

“You’re a piece of shit,” Seongwoo throws back candidly.

Someone nearby gives them a dirty look. “You’re a terrible influence,” Jihoon says, as one of the kids asks her parents, What’s a piece of shit?

Seongwoo does indeed end up falling on his face, and while Jihoon regrettably does not get a video, he does later describe the event in full detail to the very eager pair of Daehwi and Jinyoung.

//

Jihoon is in the locker room preparing to text Seongwoo or Daehwi to convince them to pick him up, when Woojin walks in.

He isn’t in his training clothes, and Jihoon hasn’t seen him dressed casually probably ever after he lost all the baby fat in his cheeks, so he doesn’t even recognize who it is at first.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Woojin says, amused. “Did you really forget what I looked like after three days?”

Jihoon would laugh, but he’s too tired from practice. “Go easy on me, I just did really intense edge jumps practice.”

Woojin frowns, coming to sit next to him on the bench. “You look really pale.” When Jihoon doesn’t respond, he asks, “Are you eating all right?”

To be honest, they’ve been surviving on a diet of take-out and whatever Daniel doesn’t burn in his kitchen, which usually isn’t much other than boiled eggs and instant noodles.

But Jihoon can’t tell him that, so he says instead, “Why, are you worried about me?”

Woojin looks like he’s holding himself back from smacking him. And yet he’s laughing when he says, “I came here to apologize and you’re ruining it.”

Jihoon fiddles with the laces on his sneakers. “Apologize? For what?”

“For blowing you off like that before I left for Taereung,” Woojin says. He pauses, his hand clenched into a fist on top of his knee. Even though Jihoon has a hard time doing it, he meets Woojin’s eyes when he’s talking. “We’re not kids anymore. I just think that we can talk about things now, not avoid them.”

Jihoon makes himself swallow. “That’s fair.”

They never fought back in the day when they shared the ice more often than not, mostly because they spent their free time talking about everything but skating if they hadn't just finished a competition. Jihoon was obsessed with the K-League and cop shows early on, and all Woojin wanted to talk about was movies when he wasn’t playing some game on his phone.

The last time Jihoon had called Woojin his best friend and meant it, they were both fresh out of the junior circuit. Jihoon had been almost a head taller than Woojin and always on the podium above him. It was around this time that Woojin did the interview that went viral when he won the Olympic bronze years later, where his voice cracked while he was answering a question and he’d started crying so hard the interview had to be stopped.

The last memory makes Jihoon smile, which immediately triggers Woojin’s suspicion.

“What are you so happy about,” he asks warily. “Was it something I said?”

“No, no.” Jihoon covers his mouth with his hand. When he lowers it, he says, “Remember that interview your voice cracked?”

“We made a blood pact to never bring that up ever again, even when it was just the two of us,” Woojin says immediately, holding out his palm so Jihoon can see it. “Look at this scar. This is the scar from the blood pact! Where’s your scar?”

“That scar is not from the blood pact, you did that by yourself while looking in the bathroom mirror while I watched. And you used the blood from your broken nail.”

“You are my least favorite friend,” Woojin sniffs. “Why would you even bring that up? The great citizens of this country need to move on.”

“But it’s such an iconic moment during the formative years of South Korea’s ice prince,” Jihoon says, and uses his duffle bag to shield himself from Woojin’s wrath.

“I hate you,” Woojin says. “I was gonna buy you lunch but now you’re paying.”

“What— No! You make so much from your endorsements, that’s not fair!”

“Says the lead of the most famous banana milk commercial in the history of flavored milk commercials,” Woojin throws back. “I’m not so successful that I can justify treating such a superstar.” His tone is sarcastic, and Jihoon already has a protest ready for him, but the way he looks over his shoulder as he’s leaving makes Jihoon want to stay even longer than he might be welcome.

#

“You promised me lunch,” Jihoon complains. He hadn’t known where they were heading until Woojin pulled into the parking lot of an apartment complex. And now he’s sitting in Woojin’s kitchen while Woojin looks through the pockets of all the jackets in his living room. “And you can’t find your wallet?”

“It’s probably at the rink,” Woojin says, strangely calm for someone who has just lost their wallet. “It usually is when I lose it.”

“So you drove all the way here without your license,” Jihoon asks to confirm. Woojin nods. The inner cop within Jihoon threatens to break loose. “What if you got pulled over?”

“It actually happened once and I had to play the Olympics medalist card,” Woojin says, and Jihoon can’t tell if he’s proud or regretful about it.

“Did it work?”

Woojin runs a hand through his hair. “The officer recognized me and asked for an autograph and told me to watch how fast I was going in the future. So yeah, it worked.”

“You are too lame to be giving out autographs like that,” Jihoon laments. The world must really be coming to an end. “I can’t believe a cop really let you off the hook when you broke the law.”

“You need to watch more movies where the bad guy is the main character,” Woojin says. “Have you watched Friend? A Bittersweet Life? I think I have the Fast and Furious series with subtitles somewhere—” He shuffles around a pile of papers on his kitchen table, some of which fall into Jihoon’s lap. “Oh shit, sorry.”

Jihoon picks up a notebook. “Is this your training notebook?”

Woojin pauses long enough to flip through it. “Yeah, but from like four years ago. Damn, I’ve been looking for this for forever.”

Jihoon can hear Daehwi having a heart attack in the distance just from sensing the mess that is Park Woojin’s apartment. “You need help.”

“Oh look, my other notebooks.” Woojin uncovers a stack under what seems to be a torn section of a windbreaker. He holds up the one with Pikachu on the cover, his very first notebook that they’d bought in a pack of two to take down notes about their training progress. “Remember this one?”

Jihoon can’t help but laugh. “I really thought I would never see that thing again. We thought we were so cool buying this, I honestly can’t remember why.”

“It was cool then and it’s still cool now,” Woojin declares, handing it to Jihoon so he can look at it. “Remember how jealous Sungwoon-hyung was that we had matching notebooks?”

Jihoon winces. “God, don’t remind me. He was insufferable for at least a month afterwards, and I had to deal with him on my own because you went back down to Busan.”

Woojin shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you, Taereung sucks.”

“Literally the only person who thinks that is you,” Jihoon tells him, flipping through a couple pages. “Wait, look at this.” It’s a photo of them at their very first national competition, in front of Mokdong. “Look at your costume.”

“Look at your costume,” Woojin throws back. “Did they charge you extra for the sequins to be covering the entirety of your sleeves?”

“I regret bringing this up now,” Jihoon says, flipping to the next page. Under Woojin’s messy scrawl noting everything he had done in practice, there’s a smiley face drawn in bright green pen. “Was this me?”

“Who else would write on my personal property?” Woojin asks, looking through another one of his old notebooks. “Remember when we were second and third at the Asian Games in Sapporo?”

“Yeah, why?”

Woojin holds open his notebook so Jihoon can see. “I totally forgot Guanlin was crying when we took pictures.” Guanlin’s eyes are puffy and red, and it’s obvious he’s crying like it’s obvious that both Jihoon and Woojin are trying not to laugh on either side of him. “Look how ugly he looks.”

“God, I remember how I literally stopped being mad about losing to him on the spot when he started crying because he was so ugly,” Jihoon reminisces. “Have you talked to him recently?”

“He wasn’t at Worlds last month because of his ankle, so not recently,” Woojin says. He looks back down at the picture. “Wasn’t this your last competition?”

Jihoon pauses, finger poised to turn the page before he closes the notebook. “Yeah, my knee gave out like a week after I got back from Japan.”

Woojin holds up the notebook again. On the back of the page with the podium photo, written in big words are, Let’s go to the Olympics!. Jihoon remembers how they’d taken turns writing each character when they got back to the hotel after the medal ceremony. They’d already switched gears into preparing for that year’s Worlds, and Woojin had been so excited that they were going to Finland.

Except Jihoon blew out his knee not one month before the competition, and his performance at the Asian Games had ended up serving as his retirement.

“Sungwoon-hyung was so sad that you weren’t at the Olympics with us after we worked so hard to get three entries,” Woojin says, closing the notebook. “He was really hoping you’d be there.”

At what would’ve been Jihoon’s first Olympics, Sungwoon had been in fourth place after the short program, and was predicted to finish third or higher. But he’d screwed up his foot during the free skate and ended up in fifteenth overall.

“I didn’t know what to say to him after the program,” Woojin is saying.

Jihoon puts the notebook in his hands back on the table. “I don’t think there is anything anyone could’ve said to him.”

“No,” Woojin disagrees. “You would’ve known what to say. You— You always knew what to say after a bad performance.”

Jihoon tilts his head up. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” When Woojin doesn’t respond, he adds, “Why haven’t you just asked me yet?”

“Asked you what?”

Jihoon doesn’t know what kind of expression his face is making, but he thinks it might be the same as the one Woojin is wearing, the lines drawn tight and unwelcoming. “You know what.”

Woojin bites his bottom lip. “Maybe I think I’m better off not knowing.” 

“That—” Jihoon disagrees, but he thinks Woojin only thinks so because he never expected to be in this situation again. He waits for Woojin to meet his eyes before he says, “I left competition. I never meant to leave you.”

Woojin looks like he’s going to cry but he laughs instead. “Well, you did, and didn’t even have the guts to tell me yourself, so—”

“I know that was shitty of me,” Jihoon interrupts. “Look, I just—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Woojin cuts in. “Jihoon, it’s been nine years. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“But it does matter,” Jihoon maintains. “It matters to me—”

“It doesn’t matter to me,” Woojin yells, and Jihoon reflexively flinches back. He regrets it instantly when he sees the way Woojin’s eyes widen, how he draws his body back away from where Jihoon is sitting.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” Woojin repeats, at a normal volume this time. “So you don’t have to explain yourself.”

Jihoon looks down at his knees. “I’m trying to apologize right now, if you would just let me.”

“You—” Woojin breaks off before he abruptly turns around to leave the kitchen.

“Woojin—”

“I need some air,” Woojin grits out, back still turned as he pushes opens the sliding door to the balcony. Jihoon waits about half a minute before following him out.

“Am I allowed to join you?” he asks, when he’s standing in the door frame.

Woojin sighs, his arms draped over the railing. “Does it really matter if I say no?” 

“No.” Jihoon goes to rest his arms on the top of the wall next to him. There’s a slight breeze that cards through his hair, and for a moment he wonders if Woojin would even have this apartment if Jihoon had never left.

“You’re so unfair,” Woojin says, ending Jihoon’s train of thought. “You can’t just show up one day after all that time and expect things to be the same.”

Jihoon feels terrible for something that he doesn’t think he fully understands. “I didn’t mean to come off like that.”

Woojin is looking up, but Jihoon can’t follow his line of sight. “I could’ve been there for you.”

“What?”

“When you were injured, I could’ve been there for you,” Woojin says, and at the slant the sun catches the side of his face, Jihoon can barely recognize him. “It just sucks that you didn’t let me do that. I thought we were friends.”

“We are friends.”

“I thought you were my best friend,” Woojin amends. “I cried when I was announced to be on the Olympics team at Nationals, and everyone thought it was because I was happy to be selected, but it wasn’t. It was because you weren’t there with me.”

“We’re singles skaters,” Jihoon says. “It’s not like we would’ve been on the ice together.”

Woojin glares at him. “You were always there for me when I was struggling, and you couldn’t let me do that same thing for you.”

A stone settles uncomfortably in the pit of Jihoon’s stomach. “I’m sorry.”

Woojin looks away. “Don’t say that, it makes me feel selfish.”

“If you were selfish, you would get a new apartment for yourself. Your view is terrible,” Jihoon says, because the balcony faces an alley and the only thing really in sight are some abandoned trash bins.

For a second, Jihoon thinks that he’s said the wrong thing and is too afraid to look over. But then he sees out of the corner of his eye Woojin ducking his head slightly to hide the fact that he’s laughing.

“What?” Jihoon asks, trying to mask the waver in his voice. “It’s true.”

Woojin’s hand comes up to cup Jihoon’s cheek, the small calluses on his hands roughening against his skin until he turns his face. “Look at me, then.”

Jihoon’s bad idea synapse starts firing at an unprecedented rate, but he stays where he is. Before he can come up with an answer, Woojin leans in, presses his mouth against Jihoon’s, and Jihoon doesn’t know if he can definitively say that it’s surprise that keeps him still.

Jihoon tentatively brings his hand up to rest above Woojin’s elbow just to steady himself, but it makes Woojin make a noise at the back of his throat, pushing Jihoon back into the railing before he comes to his senses. Instinctively, he knocks Woojin’s hand away, trying to press as far away from him into the wall behind him as possible.

“Shit— Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, it was my fault,” Woojin interrupts. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I— It’s okay.” Jihoon chews on the inside of his cheek. “Sorry I hit you.”

Woojin cracks a smile. “Sorry I kissed you.”

“What— No, don’t be sorry, I just.” Jihoon digs his nails into the palm of his hand. If anyone back at the precinct finds out about this, Jihoon is completely sure he’s going to get taken off the case and ruin everything they’ve done up to this point. It takes him a moment, but he reminds himself why he’s in Busan in skates in the first place. “I’m not ready for this. Or... anything.”

“You should never be sorry about that,” Woojin says, and his voice is softer now. He isn’t looking at Jihoon anymore but he might as well be, with the way his body is angled. “But don’t think this means you’re off the hook for lunch.”

“What?”

“You owe me lunch,” Woojin says, like he hadn’t just kissed Jihoon. “Remember? I lost my wallet?”

“I— Okay.”

“So you’ll pay?”

Jihoon pauses. “Yes, that is what I just agreed to, I think.”

Woojin smiles, for real this time. “Okay, great. My wallet’s in the glove compartment of my car but you are so kind to treat me to lunch!” He goes back inside, leaving Jihoon staring blankly after him. “Don’t forget to put your slippers back on, Jihoon,” he says over his shoulder.

Jihoon stays staring after him for a full minute. “Was this your plan all along?” he calls, but predictably, Woojin doesn’t grace him with a response. Instead, there’s a small laugh from somewhere in the kitchen area, but Jihoon goes after him anyway, the way he had never learned how.

//

“I said I was sorry like, a million times,” Jihoon sighs, trying to calm the fire from where he’s sitting. They’re in the 7-6’s briefing room again, but Minhyun and Daniel haven’t arrived yet. “I texted you where I was.”

“That could’ve been anyone,” Daehwi says, pointing at the projector where the security tape of Woojin and Jihoon leaving the rink is playing. “What if he was kidnapping you? Do you really want that badly for Jinyoung-hyung to get shot?”

“Woojin is not affiliated with the front or the Seven Stars,” Jihoon says, but it’s like talking to a wall. “Even if he was, I’d probably escape before any of you realized I was gone.”

“We should lay down some ground rules for the bet about Jinyoung getting shot,” Seongwoo remarks from where he is on top of a table. “Like, no getting kidnapped on purpose to call for a rescue mission.”

“Woojin didn’t kidnap me, I went with him by choice,” Jihoon says, as if there was someone still listening to him. He points at the projected video. “Look at how we’re walking side-by-side, I’m obviously going of my own free will.”

“He could’ve threatened you,” Jinyoung says, obviously bored and only paying half the attention he should be. On the video, Woojin says something that makes Jihoon laugh.

“Yeah, I look terrified,” Jihoon deadpans. “Look, Daehwi, I’m sorry I didn’t call you. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

The apology makes Daehwi soften marginally. “Just don’t forget you’re undercover,” he concedes. “And we need you to keep building the case.”

“He’s also very glad that you were not in harm’s way,” Seongwoo tells Jihoon. “He’s just incapable of saying those words to your face.”

Jihoon laughs. “I’m aware.”

“Lying is a sin,” Daehwi sputters.

“What are we talking about?” Minhyun asks, as he comes into the room with Daniel right behind him.

“Nothing,” they chorus.

Daniel looks like he’s going to say something, but visibly changes his mind before he regrets it. “So, anything new?”

“Yes,” Jinyoung says, getting up so he can stand at the front. “We got something on the bug that Seongwoo-hyung put in the rental skates.” He plays a file on his laptop. Jihoon is expecting, if anything, words, but there is just a garbled mess.

After the file stops playing, there’s a pause. Minhyun breaks it with a, “What?”

“Yeah, the audio is shit because the bug must be kind of far away from them,” Jinyoung says. “But Minki-hyung and I went through it together and we finally deciphered some stuff. Something about Wednesday and Sunday and a suitcase and being late.”

“I got photos of the guy I was tailing with a suitcase,” Daniel says helpfully. “At least there’s definitely a suitcase involved.”

“Let’s just assume for now that the suitcase is for money,” Minhyun says. “Maybe something’s going down on Wednesday or Sunday?”

“Could be both,” Daehwi suggests. “Or maybe it was supposed to go down on Wednesday but they’re late so it’s gonna be Sunday instead.”

“Hopefully Sunday, the rink is mostly empty on Sundays,” Jihoon says.

“When’s the rink open to the public on Sundays?” Jinyoung asks.

“In the morning,” Seongwoo answers. “Like 8 or 9 to 1 in the afternoon.”

“After that it’s members only but most of the kids take Sunday off. It’s usually just Woojin and me,” Jihoon says. “That would be ideal.”

“Or not, because Park Woojin is a member of the Seven Stars,” Jinyoung says, sounding so sure of himself.

“When you get shot, I’m not even going to feel bad for you,” Jihoon throws back mildly.

“Well that just makes it sound like you’re planning something,” Seongwoo laughs. “Just let me know when so I don’t miss it.”

“Anyway,” Daehwi says, like the three of them aren’t there, “it seems pretty safe to say that we should be on the lookout for suspicious behavior this week.”

“Can Minki-hyung put a camera on a baseball cap or something for me?” Jihoon asks. “I can go buy a pair of new gloves or something this week and try to get something.”

“I can also rent out a pair of skates and try to get something on my glasses,” Seongwoo says. “Anyone else feel like skating this week?” Daehwi’s hand immediately shoots up. “Not you.”

“But why not,” Daehwi whines. “I’m excellent at being undercover!”

“We could ask Minki to go with Jinyoung,” Minhyun proposes. “Because it’d be kind of weird if Jinyoung went by himself, I think.”

“Yeah, recreational skating’s more of a social thing,” Jihoon agrees. He turns to Jinyoung. “You and Minki-hyung could go on Wednesday during public hours, and then Seongwoo hyung could stop by the desk and say hi to the front desk girl afterwards.”

“What do you want to do about Sunday?” Daniel asks, nails clicking on his laptop keyboard as he takes notes.

Seongwoo says, “I’ll rent a pair during early public hours on Sunday, and Daehwi can come afterwards and join me nearer to noon and pose as my friend or something. That way we can get a visual on the back room multiple times.” Daehwi immediately perks up when he hears that he’s being included. “And in the afternoon Jihoon can go buy his gloves. If that’s okay with you, Jihoon.”

Jihoon nods. “That sounds good to me.”

“I’ll keep an ear on the feed,” Jinyoung says. “Hopefully there won’t be a big change in plans but if Minki-hyung and I get anything I’ll let you all know immediately.”

“I can take over when you’re at the rink on Wednesday,” Daehwi offers.

“Okay, then Daniel and I will be a couple blocks away on both days,” Minhyun says. “You won’t be packing when you go in the rink so don’t be too reckless.”

“Jinyoung is always reckless,” Jihoon stage whispers to him. “There’s no use trying to tell him not to be.”

“I am not—”

“Yes you are,” Daehwi interrupts. “I had to start keeping a list, and when you get married I’m going to read it out loud during my toast.”

“I’m just going to pretend you never said that,” Jinyoung says, but before he can say anything else, Seongwoo puts a hand over his mouth and guides him out of the briefing room. Daehwi goes next, and Jihoon waits for Minhyun and Daniel to leave before he follows suit.

//

Seongwoo is almost done with his act as Jihoon’s doctor when Woojin comes in, uncharacteristically late.

“Hi,” Woojin says, and for a second Jihoon thinks he’s talking to him, but then Woojin holds out a hand to Seongwoo. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Park Woojin.”

“Ong Seongwoo,” Seongwoo says, taking the hand to shake it. “I’m Jihoon’s physical therapist.”

“Yeah, I heard about the foot,” Woojin says. “The timing of it is so unfortunate.”

“What?” Jihoon says.

“It’s almost healed now, and he hasn’t been complaining about any pain recently,” Seongwoo says. “He’s been doing jump practice like normal with no repercussions.”

“Why are you two talking about me like I’m not here,” Jihoon says.

“That’s good to hear,” Woojin says. He pulls a sympathetic face. “He complains a lot, doesn’t he?”

“He really does,” Seongwoo replies solemnly. “When the attending first told me he was going to be my client, I didn’t know what to expect. It wasn’t a great surprise.”

Woojin laughs. “I bet.”

Jihoon looks between the two of them. “Have you two met?”

“We met just now,” Seongwoo says. “Come on, Jihoon, keep up.”

“Yeah, Jihoon, keep up,” Woojin echoes.

“I’m leaving,” Jihoon announces, standing up with his bag over his shoulder. “I hope I never see either of you again.”

“He has no respect for his doctor, either,” Seongwoo whispers to Woojin. “It’s like he’s ungrateful for my help.”

“You should up your hourly rate,” Woojin suggests, still in an undertone. “Maybe he’d have more respect if the dent in his pocket was bigger.”

Seongwoo sighs. “Sadly I’m paid by the hospital, not by Jihoon directly. Otherwise I would’ve done that already.”

“Goodbye,” Jihoon says, tripping on his own two feet as he’s trying to leave the warm-up area. “I’m calling the hospital and telling them you’re fired.”

“Okay,” Seongwoo says, waving cheerily. “I hope your physical therapy experience with me has had a positive influence on your overall health!”

Ironic, because Jihoon can feel his blood pressure rising with every word Seongwoo says.

“I’ll come with you, Jihoon,” Woojin says.

Jihoon tilts his head. “Don’t you need to warm up?”

“I already did,” Woojin says. “I just got back from a run.” Upon closer inspection, he actually is dressed for running, complete with the headband and all. Jihoon can hear Daehwi’s voice in his head reprimanding him for not noticing something like that when he makes his living as a detective.

“I actually have something to show you,” Woojin says, once Seongwoo has left. They’re on a bench next to the rink, and Jihoon pauses, his fingers in the middle of doing his laces up. “Look what I found last night.”

“Do I really want to see?” Jihoon asks warily. “What is it?”

Woojin hands him a tattered envelope. When Jihoon opens it, he sees that it’s old photos from their first few national competitions together. Jihoon hadn’t been a particularly tall kid, but it had been before Woojin had grown at all, so he looks almost a head taller on level ground. In every photo, it’s Jihoon with the gold and Woojin with the silver.

“Where did you even find this?” Jihoon asks, rifling through. Thankfully, the costume from the regional competition when he was 14 seems to be missing. He quietly holds a moment of thanks that his family lived in Seoul and not Busan.

Woojin tightens the laces on his skate boot. “Under the mess on my coffee table,” he says. “I wonder how long those have been there.”

Standing on the edge of the rink with the very tip of his blades touching the ice, Jihoon says, “Probably every since you moved in and tornado hit your apartment and only your apartment.”

“Hey, my apartment isn’t that bad—”

“Sorry I can’t hear you,” Jihoon says, already halfway across the rink. Woojin laughs, still doing up his laces. After a quick lap of cutting corners, Jihoon comes back to the end of the rink that Woojin is at, draping his arms over the closed door. “Give me those pictures again, I want to look at how short you used to be.”

“You’ve lost your picture rights,” Woojin declares, looking at them himself. “God, look at how bad your hair used to be.”

“My hair? What about yours?” Jihoon demands, indignant. “Look at that, it’s like someone took a pair of safety scissors and just started hacking at it.”

Woojin quickly puts the picture at the bottom of the stack. “Yeah, that’s not what happened at all.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Look at this one—”

Jihoon narrows his eyes. “I’m pretty sure you told me that you got gum stuck in it and your mom had to cut it out. I felt bad for you!”

“I did get gum stuck in my hair!” Woojin insists. “Middle school was a tough time for me, you knew that.”

“Middle school was not a tough time for you,” Jihoon says. “I saw the Naver article with all the old pictures of you sleeping in class throughout the years.”

Woojin slowly puts the photos down and buries his face in his hands. “That Naver article ruined my life.”

Jihoon can't hide his surprise. “Really? Not the one of your posing with flowers in your hair over the years?”

Woojin looks up long enough to shoot him a glare. “Why are you trying to induce the first ever death by embarrassment?”

“There’s also the one you were participating in that dance off thing,” Jihoon says. “I always forget you used to want to be a b-boy.”

“Who said I ever stopped?” Woojin says, but then he accidentally drops the pictures all over the floor, so Jihoon knows that Woojin is still a disaster on dry ground. “Damn it.”

“Yeah, you should quit skating immediately and pursue that b-boy dream,” Jihoon says, taking on a completely serious tone, and Woojin whacks him with the photos he just picked up.

“Get over here and help me,” Woojin grumbles, and Jihoon dutifully does. “Have you thought about your program music for next season yet?”

Jihoon hasn’t, because he isn’t going to have programs next season, but he says, “I’m thinking about reusing some music with different choreography.”

Woojin laughs. “Jiyoung-noona hates re-choreographing, whenever I want to do it she makes me do it myself. All she does is check it when I’m done to make sure it’s good enough for competition.”

“I didn’t know you choreographed some of your competition programs,” Jihoon says. He’d known that many of Woojin’s exhibition programs had been self-choreographed, because he apparently lost bets to skate to Eminem. “Since when?”

“I mean, every time I did Romeo and Juliet and had to change some things I did it myself,” Woojin says. “But the first program I actually choreographed myself from start to finish was the Adagio for Strings short program.”

Jihoon remembers that program. “Didn’t you set a world record with that one at your second Olympics?”

Woojin winces. “Yeah, but then I screwed up my free skate and ended up third.”

“Oh,” Jihoon says. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to remind you.”

“It’s okay,” Woojin says, waving it away. “I’ve mostly come to terms with it. It was a while ago anyway.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Jihoon says, before he can stop myself. “I know how much you wanted to win.”

Woojin makes a sound like he’s going to laugh. “How?”

Jihoon is affronted. “You— We were best friends! I saw you cry at Taereung!”

“You’re the one who told me that everyone cries at Taereung and it’s a rite of passage in becoming an athlete who represents the nation.”

It’s true, Jihoon had said that in an attempt to get Woojin to stop crying because all the speed skaters had been staring and Jihoon had been trying to save Woojin’s sorry ass. Trust him to remember something like that to his own advantage. “You know what I mean.”

Woojin sighs, tucking the last of the photos back in the envelope. “Yeah, I do.” He turns the envelope over and over again in his hands. “People always say that bronze medal winners are happier than silver medal winners. But when they put it around my neck at the medal ceremony, all I wanted to do was take it off and give it back.” He puts the envelope down on the bench next to him. “If I hadn’t fallen apart like that then I could’ve won the gold.”

Jihoon remembers after Woojin’s free skate how much the media had focused on the world record setting short program and how every interview he was asked about it, Woojin’s smile would falter more and more until he wasn’t smiling at all at any reporter. “Don’t torture yourself like that.”

Woojin doesn’t look up, so Jihoon can only guess what his face looks like. “Too late.”

The regret strikes Jihoon so suddenly that for a moment he doesn’t realize that he’s crying. After Sungwoon’s injury in the free skate, Jihoon had given him a couple days after he returned to the country to deal with it himself before showing up at his door. He guesses now that there hadn’t been anyone to do the same for Woojin. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey— Don’t cry, it’s not your fault.” Woojin stands up, coming to wipe the tears off Jihoon’s face. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” Woojin drops his hand from where it is, but Jihoon catches it before it can fall back to his side. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that by yourself.”

“What are you— What are you saying?”

Reflexively, Jihoon tightens the grip he has on on Woojin’s hand. Back when they spent their best moments together on the podium, they’d go back to Taereung together and spend a better part of their night crammed in one bed going over their performances, element by element. They’d fall asleep watching pixelated videos of their skating and Jihoon would wake up alone, because Woojin always got up in the middle of the night to go back to his bed.

On the underside of Woojin’s arm, there’s a circular bruise that’s the size of Jihoon’s own thumb. He wonders if it hurts, if it would hurt if Jihoon pressed into it. Woojin was always getting bruises, every time he fell on the ice he would bruise, and every time he fell off the ice he would bruise even more. Jihoon got so tired of looking at Woojin’s black and blue arms and legs that he went by himself to the corner mart to pick up a gel to ease the stiffness. Woojin hated it when people touched him, so at first he insisted on applying the gel himself. It was only when he injured his back and couldn’t properly stretch that he asked Jihoon do it.

The way Woojin is looking at him now, the open vulnerability of his face makes it feel like he is the one who’s been unfair all this time. Jihoon makes himself let go of his hand, because if he doesn’t now, he doesn’t know what he’ll do next.

He doesn’t think he wants to find out.

“I just meant that I’m here now,” Jihoon hears himself say. “I know that doesn’t change anything, but—”

“No,” Woojin interrupts. He’s smiling slightly, despite everything. As he’s passing by Jihoon, he puts a hand on his shoulder, facing the ice as he always has. “It changes everything.”

//

“I have to say, this is the best quality camera feed we’ve had,” Daehwi says into the microphone. Jinyoung moves the baseball cap on his head on purpose so the video will be shaky. Daehwi immediately makes a sound of protest, which makes Jinyoung laugh.

“You are terrible,” Jihoon says into his own microphone from beside Daehwi, stifling a yawn. They’re at the 7-6, Daehwi working with the camera feed while Jihoon keeps an eye on what the rental skates’ bug. “This is why you were not the fake doctor.”

“Jinyoung, stop touching your earpiece,” Minki says, who sounds like he really regrets agreeing to accompany Jinyoung to the rink. “We’re still in the locker room.”

“Yeah Jinyoung, stop touching your earpiece,” Jihoon echoes. On the bug feed, he can faintly hear Eunyoung renting out a pair of skates. “Have you two seen anything?”

“Jinyoung has fallen on his ass approximately twenty times,” Minki reports.

Daehwi looks like he’s going to die, that’s how hard he has to try not to laugh. “We saw that too.”

“I hate this hat.” Jinyoung gripes. “It makes my ears look big.”

“Please never open your mouth again,” Daehwi replies. He’s about to say something else when the bug’s feed on Jihoon’s screen suddenly goes blank. “Wait, what just happened.”

“Shit.” Jihoon refreshes the program with no luck. “I think we’ve been found.”

“What’s going on?” Minki asks.

“Bug went dead,” Daehwi says, already texting Minhyun and Daniel. “Maybe don’t bug those skates, if we’ve been found they’re definitely going to be on the lookout for stuff like that.”

“Should we get out now?” Jinyoung asks.

“No, wait a bit,” Jihoon says. “If you show up immediately after they found the bug, it might be suspicious. Go back on the ice for like half an hour and pretend like nothing’s wrong.”

“It could’ve been that the battery died,” Minki points out. “They don’t last forever.”

“Maybe,” Daehwi says, but he sounds unsure. “Go skate, we’ll touch base with everyone and get back to you.”

“I thought they were supposed to last at least a couple weeks,” Jihoon says, taking off his microphone. “Where’s Seongwoo-hyung?”

“He’s with Minhyun-hyung,” Daehwi answers. “He just texted me, they saw the two backroom employees arguing about something behind the building so it looks like they found the bug. They’re coming back now.”

“Did Minki-hyung drive there?” Jihoon asks. “Should they take a cab back?”

“Probably safer if they go back to Minki-hyung’s apartment for a bit,” Daehwi says. “But we can talk to hyungs about it before we decide anything.” He takes off his own microphone. “How the hell did they find it?”

Jihoon restarts the program again, but the feed is still dead. “Maybe it got loose or something when someone rented them? How many times have they been rented?”

“Not often,” Daehwi says. “Seongwoo-hyung has really big feet.”

“What about my feet?” Seongwoo asks, as he’s coming in. “Did the feed come back up?”

“I wish,” Jihoon says. “Why were you with Minhyun-hyung?”

“Daniel had to go see his family,” Minhyun says. “He’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Is everything okay?” Daehwi asks, momentarily distracted.

“What? Yeah, he’s fine, his cousin had a baby and he went to go and convince her to name the kid after him,” Minhyun says. “That’s his definition of a family emergency.” He bends down to get a better look at Jihoon’s screen, which still shows the history of what the bug had transmitted but nothing new. “Damn, I really didn’t think they were going to find the bug.”

“Should we have them stay at the rink for a little longer and then take a cab back to Minki-hyung’s apartment?” Jihoon asks. “What if they’re followed?”

Daehwi’s phone buzzes with a text. He picks it up and reads, “Not to freak anybody out, but the two backroom employees just walked by the rink with two other guys who look just as sketchy.”

“Yeah, I see them,” Seongwoo says, who had tilted the computer screen with Jinyoung’s video feed so he could see better. He takes a couple screenshots. “I’ll go run these through facial rec.”

While Jihoon’s looking at the live security camera feeds, his phone also buzzes with a text. When he looks at it, he sees that it’s Woojin, who wants to know if he’s down to be one of the first to see his programs for the new season. “Should I try to keep Woojin away from the rink as much as possible until we make a bust?”

“Probably a good idea to try,” Minhyun says, his eyes not moving from where they’re fixed on his laptop screen. “Have you been monitoring all the camera feeds from within Dongrae?”

“Yeah, and there was nothing until just now,” Jihoon says. “All the ones that looked like security cameras they were smart enough to avoid getting their face caught. But the ones that you had installed they didn’t recognize as cameras.”

That makes Minhyun look up. “Anything good?”

Jihoon pulls up a few shots. “Just one side of their faces, but I think Seongwoo-hyung got at least a bit of the other side. I’ll go bring these to him.” He plugs in one of Daniel’s flash drives in the computer and moves the photos over. “Anything else you want me to tell Seongwoo-hyung?”

Minhyun rubs his eyes. “Wasn’t today supposed to be your half-day off, Jihoon?”

“Maybe? Don’t worry about it, I can stay.”

“I’m going to call Daniel to come in,” Minhyun says, ignoring him. “After you bring that to Seongwoo, go take a nap or something. You look dead on your feet.”

“No, I can stay—”

“Shut up, hyung,” Daehwi interrupts. “You’re going to fall asleep while watching the cameras if you stay.”

It’s probably true, so Jihoon concedes. “Okay, I’ll go bring these to Seongwoo-hyung then.”

On his way, Jihoon texts back, When? Aren’t you in Seoul?

Getting back tonight, Woojin texts. I was thinking tomorrow morning? Or the day after tomorrow? What works for you?

It would probably be too suspicious if Woojin wasn’t at the rink at all until they could make a bust, but tomorrow seems to risky. So Jihoon texts him, I can’t tomorrow :( my doctor told me to rest another day because I rolled an ankle in practice yesterday.

He’s about to add another text when Woojin shoots back with a, Are you okay????????

Jihoon tries not to laugh. Woojin only texts back that quickly when he’s actually panicked. I’m okay, but I just have to rest one more day. If you have time we should go to the beach!! You promised me.

I promised? Woojin asks.

Every time you went home to Busan after training at Taereung for a while, you said you would take me to the beach, Jihoon reminds him. Did you forget?

I can’t believe you remember something like that, Woojin texts back. Okay, let’s go.

So that means you forgot, Jihoon texts.

Ha ha, Woojin texts crisply. Don’t push your luck or I might change my mind.

Jihoon sends a series of happy emojis before putting his phone back in his pocket. He sees Seongwoo at a computer, waiting for the facial recognition program to come up with matches.

“Why is this so far away from Minhyun-hyung’s desk?” Jihoon asks, putting down the flashdrive on the table next to Seongwoo’s hand.

“It’s literally an elevator ride to get here,” Seongwoo says, raising an eyebrow. “What is this?”

“A present,” Jihoon sing-songs. “Some screenshots of the two guys who were with the backroom employees.”

“Bless you.” Seongwoo does looks really happy as he pauses the facial recognition program to upload the photos Jihoon just brought him. “Is Minhyun calling Daniel in so you can go home?”

“Only because he and Daehwi both think I look like shit,” Jihoon says reluctantly. “Do I really look that bad?”

“Yes,” Seongwoo says, without looking up. He starts the program, which immediately starts going through all the photos in the system to look for a match. “Go take a nap, I’ll bring you dinner.”

“Ugh, I love you.” Jihoon throws himself down in the chair next to him. “By the way, I rolled my ankle a couple days ago and that’s why I’m not allowed to skate until the day after tomorrow.”

“What?”

“I was trying to keep Woojin away from the rink for a little longer so I said I rolled my ankle,” Jihoon explains. “I’m going to the beach with him tomorrow instead of the rink.”

“Oh, okay,” Seongwoo says. “There’s an ankle wrap in one of my bags, you can wear it tomorrow.”

“Thanks hyung, you’re the best.” Jihoon would blow a kiss, but the computer beeps with a match. “Oh wow, that was fast.”

“Thanks to you,” Seongwoo says, transferring the file to Daniel’s flash drive. “Come on, let’s go show the other two.”

When they get back, Daehwi is talking to Jinyoung over the microphone, and Minhyun is still on his laptop.

“I hope you have good news,” Minhyun says, nails clicking on the keys. “Daniel’s on his way, he’ll be here soon.”

“If you count that we got a hit with facial rec as good news, then we have it,” Seongwoo says, and laughs when Minhyun feigns death. He plugs the flash drive into the computer Jihoon had been using. “I haven’t gotten a good look at it yet.”

“Take a cab to Minki-hyung’s house and make sure you’re not being followed,” Daehwi is saying. “We’ll keep an eye on your video feed to make sure everything’s okay.” Jihoon can’t hear what Jinyoung says in reply, but it must not be anything too snarky, because Daehwi takes his microphone out soon after. “So there was a match?”

“Two matches,” Seongwoo says, as he pulls up the file. After a quick scan, he adds, “Looks like these two IDs also only go back a couple years.”

“Definitely sketchy,” Jihoon agrees. Then he looks again. “Wait, that guy totally looks familiar.”

“Which one?” Minhyun asks. “What do you mean he looks familiar?”

Jihoon turns to Daehwi, who looks equally torn. “Doesn’t that guy look familiar?” Daehwi nods. “Why does he look familiar?”

“From an old case you two worked?” Minhyun suggests. “Seongwoo, does he look familiar to you?”

“No,” Seongwoo says. “But I transferred into the 1-0-1 after I made detective and they’ve been with the precinct since they were uniformed.” 

“Do you think Jinyoung might know?” Jihoon asks Daehwi. “I don’t think he’s from a case we worked before, we haven’t been detectives long enough for that.”

Daehwi opens his mouth, but then Daniel bursts through the door, arms stretched overhead in celebration. “They’re naming my nephew after me!”

“What— They are?” Minhyun looks perplexed. “How did you convince them to do that?”

Daniel takes a deep breath. “Well, first I said that—”

“Okay, back to this,” Minhyun interrupts. “You can tell us later.”

Daniel deflates fractionally, but leans over to look at the computer screen. “What does that guy have to do with our case?”

Everyone turns to look at him. “You know him?” Seongwoo asks.

Daniel crosses his arms over his chest. “Are you insinuating that I spend my free time fraternizing with possible criminals?”

“You are so annoying,” Minhyun answers.

“I really can’t remember why he seems familiar,” Daehwi says. “Like, why is he so familiar to us and not Seongwoo-hyung?”

“He’s that guy who escaped from custody right before his trial,” Daniel says, matter-of-fact. “Up in Seoul, there was this huge drug bust maybe ten, fifteen years ago and they had like seven guys in custody and this dude somehow got away even though there were armed guards at every possible entrance. He hasn’t resurfaced since.”

“Wait,” Jihoon says. “Wait, Daehwi. Isn’t this one of the cases that Captain made us review when we joined the precinct when we were beat cops? The one she was part of right when she first made detective?”

“Oh my god,” Daehwi says, awed. “I can’t believe I’m going to be the Captain’s favorite detective once we get this guy.”

“I literally cannot believe those are the first words out of your mouth,” Jihoon says. "I call not being the one to tell Jinyoung that this has nothing to do with the Seven Stars." He would keep going, but the video feed from Jinyoung’s hat shows that they’re leaving the locker room. “Can you turn the volume up on that?”

“— and he still won’t let me grill the meat,” Jinyoung is saying. “Like you set a table on fire once and you’re banned for life.”

“He set a table on fire once?” Minhyun asks, bewildered.

“Please don’t ask him to tell you that story,” Jihoon warns. “It’s a trap.”

“We’d like to return these skates,” Minki says, long-suffering, as he and Jinyoung set down their rentals on the counter.

As they’re talking, there’s a glimpse of one of the newly facial recognition matched men in the back room.

“I’ll go back and try to get a clean screenshot of that,” Daehwi says, making a note to himself on a pad.

“Have a nice day,” Eunyoung is saying.

On their way out, the one who Daniel pointed out as the escaped convict walks through the front doors, so blatant that Jihoon almost wants to laugh. He’s on the phone, and Minki says, “Wait, I have to tie my shoe.” He kneels down, and when Jinyoung looks down momentarily, they can see that Minki unties his laces before tying them back up.

The man passes by Jinyoung while on the phone, and right before Jihoon starts praying that he says something informative, he hisses, “Sunday is your last chance,” in hushed tones before hanging up.

Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to think either Jinyoung or Minki are a threat, because he doesn’t give them a second look before going on his way.

Daehwi waits until they’re in a cab and on their way to Minki’s apartment before muting the feed.

“Shit,” Daniel says. “So it seems like it was supposed to go down today but there must have been a delay.”

“I’m just confused on why that guy is at Dongrae at all if the backroom guys found a bug,” Daehwi says.

“Maybe they didn’t tell him?” Jihoon suggests. “That could be what they were arguing about behind the building.”

“Yeah, Dongrae could be his base of operations, and he came to make the deal but they didn’t show,” Minhyun says. “That sounds plausible.”

“Let’s hope that’s right, then,” Daniel says. He points at the screen. “They got to Minki-hyung’s.”

“I’ll call and update them,” Daehwi says, standing up to leave the room.

“Go take a nap, Jihoon,” Minhyun says, running a hand through his hair. “We’ll wrap this up today and we can hold a briefing before Sunday to bring you up to speed.”

“Do you need a ride back?” Seongwoo asks.

“No, I’ll take a cab,” Jihoon says. “Thanks hyungs. I’m gonna go pass out now.”

“The ankle wrap is in my bag next to the window,” Seongwoo calls after him when he’s already in the elevator. Somehow, Jihoon manages to wave in acknowledgement before the doors close, hitting the button for the main floor.

//

“You didn’t have to take a cab here,” Woojin says, amused, when Jihoon shows up at his door with his hair still damp at eight thirty in the morning. “I could have picked you up.”

That is precisely why Jihoon had taken a cab there, so Woojin couldn’t pick him up, but he says, “That’s okay, I don’t want to make you drive more than you have to.”

“I’m not ready yet, because I sleep in on my days off like a normal human being,” Woojin says, opening to door wider so Jihoon can come in. He kicks his shoes off, and the ankle wrap rubs against his skin. “I thought you hated getting up early.”

Jihoon does hate getting up early, but Captain has a strict policy on punctuality, and he always trains better in the morning, so his body has been adjusted. “I don’t have a permanent place in Busan and my hotel bed isn’t that comfortable,” he offers as an explanation. He looks around the kitchen and living room. “You cleaned?”

Woojin laughs, “Why are you so surprised? You were always the messy one.” He pours another cup of coffee, offering it to Jihoon. “Are you looking for a place right now?”

He isn’t, because hopefully this case will wrap up in the next few days, but he says, “Yeah, hopefully somewhere close to the rink so I can run there and back.”

“Wow, so you’re into running now,” Woojin observes, sitting down at the kitchen table. Jihoon does the same. “I thought you hated it.”

“I’ve forced myself to start liking it,” Jihoon says. “You used to hate it too!”

“I honestly still hate it,” Woojin confesses. Jihoon takes a tentative sip of the coffee, but it still burns his tongue anyway. “When I trained at Ice Castle, everyone would go on runs together in the morning and those were the worst years of my life.”

“But you stayed there for so long,” Jihoon says, cracking a smile. “Must’ve been a good environment.”

“It was pretty good,” Woojin admits. “Even after I stopped working with my coach I thought about staying there, but then it closed.”

“So you came back here to work with Seokhoon-hyung?” Jihoon asks.

Woojin nods. When he swallows the last of his coffee, he makes a face before getting up. “I’ll go get dressed, you can make yourself comfortable.”

“I mean, I’m just going to go through your old notebooks and look at pictures,” Jihoon says, shrugging.

“I never doubted that,” Woojin calls from down the hall.

Woojin’s mother was always a big fan of taking photos, and once his sister was old enough, she was too, so there isn’t a shortage of photos in Woojin’s notebooks. Jihoon remembers how Woojin would always be taping the photos in his notebook after competitions, and even used some to evaluate his positions in spins and jumps.

There’s also so many photos of them when they were younger posing with their medals and bouquets. Jihoon didn’t like smiling for the camera, so their mothers would always bring him candy to look forward to, because he wasn’t allowed to have candy at any other time.

On one of the pages, which Jihoon guesses is from soon after Woojin’s first Olympics, he’d written in big letters, I will win the gold. Jihoon passes his hand over the words, a slight pang in his chest. They always said that they would work hard to become the top two skaters fighting for the gold, and Jihoon hadn’t kept that promise.

“Ready?” Woojin asks, pulling a thin sweater over his t-shirt.

Jihoon closes the notebook, putting it back on the kitchen table. “I didn’t finish the coffee,” he says, belatedly realizing it.

“It’s okay, I’ll take it,” Woojin says, holding a hand out. Jihoon give him the mug. “Sorry, I should’ve offered something with it, I usually drink it black.”

“And I admire you for that,” Jihoon says, drawing a smile out of him. “How far away are we going?”

“Just about twenty minutes,” Woojin says. “I was assuming you didn’t want to be gone too long.”

“Yeah, that’s perfect,” Jihoon says. “Thanks.”

Woojin dumps the rest of the coffee in the sink, setting the mug on the counter next to it. “For what?”

“Just, you know,” Jihoon pauses. “For being a friend?”

“Hm,” Woojin says.

“Hey, I’m trying to be nice!” Jihoon almost stubs his toe while trying to get his wrapped foot back into his shoe. “Appreciate me!”

“I do appreciate you,” Woojin says with a straight face. He glances down. “How’s your ankle doing?”

“I didn’t have any pain this morning but I wanted to wear it just in case,” Jihoon says. “So I wouldn’t accidentally screw it up again.”

“That does sound like you,” Woojin says, getting ready to duck in case Jihoon throws his shoe at him.

But Jihoon doesn’t. Then it would take him longer to get his shoes on and the wrap already makes it difficult.

When they’re in the car, Woojin doesn’t check for any directions before putting the gear shift in drive. “How often do you go to the beach?” Jihoon asks, genuinely interested. He knew Woojin had always liked going, but they’d never had the opportunity to go together.

“I usually go at night,” Woojin says, adjusting his hands on the steering wheel. “Just to clear my head when I need to.” He turns the radio on, turning the volume down so it won't be drowning them out. “There shouldn’t be a lot of people because it’s a weekday.”

“What’s so great about the beach at night?” Jihoon changes the station until he finds one that’s bearable. “Do you not like going during the day?”

“I don’t mind going during the day, but at night it’s completely empty,” Woojin says. “I actually don’t know if it’s allowed for me to be there at night but no one’s ever there to tell me otherwise so I’ve never gotten kicked out.”

Jihoon laughs. “Would you try using your Olympic medalist card to try and get out of that?”

“I literally used that once,” Woojin protests, “it’s not like it’s my go-to excuse.” He pauses, changing lanes. “But yeah, I think it’d be worth a shot.”

“I can’t believe I considered you a law-abiding citizen of this country,” Jihoon says solemnly. The station they’re on starts playing a new song, one that they used to have in the playlist that played whenever they were practicing on the ice.

“This takes me back,” Woojin says, mirroring Jihoon’s train of thought. “Remember how we always got in trouble for walking around without our skate guards on?”

“I’m pretty sure my arms are still sore from all the punishments we had to do,” Jihoon says, only half-joking. “Why did we even do that?”

“We thought we were so cool,” Woojin recalls, the corners of his mouth quirking up. “Your skate guards were so ugly, I thought about throwing them away like every day.”

“What— Why?”

“Jihoon, they were bright orange and actually the most hideous thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life,” Woojin says. “And I’ve seen that costume you impulse wore at that one regional competition when we were fourteen.”

“You never saw that costume in person,” Jihoon accuses. “For all you know, the pictures could have been photoshopped.”

“No, I saw it in person,” Woojin says, laughing when Jihoon turns to look at him, horrified. “Your mom brought it to Nationals that year before she realized that you were going back to the costume you wore before. I was there early and saw it right before she went back to get the right one.”

“I feel so betrayed,” Jihoon moans, putting his head on the dashboard. Immediately after, they go over a pothole, and Jihoon hits his forehead. “Shit, that hurt.”

“You require so much fussing over,” Woojin says under his breath. At a normal volume, he asks, “Are you okay?”

“I can hear everything you say, you’re right next to me,” Jihoon says while pressing a hand over the red mark. “How many brain cells do you think I just lost?”

“Too many, probably,” Woojin says. But Jihoon knows that he doesn’t mean any harm, so he settles down and hums along to what’s playing on the radio. Woojin doesn’t join him, but Jihoon does catch him tapping his finger on the wheel along to the beat of the song.

“Could you b-boy to this song?” Jihoon asks, when there’s a ballad playing.

“Most definitely,” Woojin says, pulling in a parking space. “Not.”

Jihoon opens the door, already smelling the salt in the air. “That was a really quick drive.”

“I told you, twenty minutes.” Woojin opens the door to the back seat of his car, looking around until he finds his sunglasses.

“It’s not even sunny,” Jihoon points out, even as Woojin slides them on his face. It actually isn’t; it’s cloudy and overcast, but Jihoon is grateful for that because he’s forgotten sunblock.

“But it’s the beach,” Woojin replies, like that explains everything. He pulls out two folding beach chairs out from his trunk, handing one to Jihoon. “It’s a requirement for me to wear these.”

“Yeah, I bet you wear those when you come here at night,” Jihoon says. Woojin takes off his shoes, holding the sandals in his hand while his feet sink down into his sand. Jihoon keeps his sneakers on, hoping they won’t get too dirty.

“I don’t,” Woojin says defensively, but Jihoon can tell that he totally does.

About twenty meters out from the water, they set up their chairs. The beach is, as predicted, mostly empty, with only some people who look as out of place there as Jihoon does.

“So you just come here to relax?” Jihoon asks, gingerly positioning himself in the chair in a way that’s remotely comfortable. “How?”

Woojin laughs, obviously more at ease than Jihoon. “I don’t know, just being here feels good. At night I usually take walks.” Jihoon can already feel the sand forming a layer on top of his skin. “Why, do you want to leave?”

“No, no,” Jihoon says hastily. “I just haven’t been to the beach in so long.”

“You’re such a city boy,” Woojin says, wrinkling his nose and pushing his sunglasses higher. “I bet you’ve never been to a fish market either.”

“I’ve seen it on TV,” Jihoon supplies. “If that counts.”

Woojin lowers his sunglasses to give Jihoon a look. “It doesn’t,” he says. “And wow, I’ve always really wanted to do that.”

“Do what?” Jihoon asks, feigning ignorance. He laughs when Woojin ignores him. “So you’ve decided on your program music for next season?”

“Not the free skate yet,” Woojin says, tilting his head back. “And we’re still working on the short program. The only one that I know for sure I want to do is my exhibition.” He looks over. “That’s the one I wanted to show you.”

“I’m definitely going to be around tomorrow,” Jihoon says. “If you still wanted to.”

“I think you’ll like it,” Woojin says, looking back out and up at the sky. “It’s a good one.”

“See, now if it’s not as impactful as your Eminem program, I’ll just be disappointed,” Jihoon says, closing his eyes as there’s a slight gust of wind.

“We’ll see about that,” Woojin says. “Have you made any decisions about your music?”

“Maybe I’ll revive the Star Wars short program,” Jihoon says. When Woojin laughs, he says, “I’m kidding, I’m not sure yet. I haven’t had an opportunity to sit down with my coach and talk about it because I’m down here.” He opens his eyes. “I think I just really needed a break from Mokdong.”

“Was something wrong?”

Jihoon shifts so that he’s on the center of the chair and not the side like he was. “No, nothing was wrong, but I’ve been skating there since I retired, and I just needed a change of scenery.” He thinks about watching Jisung and Jaehwan and Sungwoon coming back from the Olympics and trying to figure out how he felt about it because he already knew that he didn’t feel regret. “It just felt like everything was always the same, and I didn’t want to feel like that anymore.”

He isn’t looking over, so he doesn’t know what Woojin looks like when he asks, “Why not?”

“Because things changed,” Jihoon says, a tone lower. “Even if I didn’t want them to.”

Woojin doesn’t answer, for so long that Jihoon starts to think that he might have fallen asleep. Then he hears, “Jihoon?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you quit competing?”

Jihoon would laugh, but he can’t bring himself to anymore. The lump in his throat is back, making it harder to swallow. He didn’t think about all the texts Woojin sent him, first asking how his injury was, tapering off in frequency until the first news article was published about how the two-time national champion was retiring before his time. “Now you’re asking?”

Woojin does laugh, but it’s so forced that Jihoon has to stop himself from flinching. “Are you going to answer?”

Jihoon wonders if he’d spent the last nine years preparing, this conversation would be easier. If he looked in the mirror every day and spent the time to tell himself that one day he'd be having this conversation with his best friend, the one who had kept him grounded while he was in the air, the one who was always waiting at the side of the rink no matter what happened. 

Probably not. “It didn’t make me happy anymore,” he says, tentatively.

“What didn’t?”

“Skating,” Jihoon says. “Competing. I don’t know, everything. Everyone around me was getting so excited that Olympic season was coming up, but all I could think about was how much I didn’t want to do it anymore.” He digs his nails into his palms when he swallows. “I thought it would make me happy to win at Nationals but it never did.”

“I didn’t know that.” Jihoon is sure Woojin is looking at him now, but he doesn’t meet his gaze. “You could’ve told me, I would’ve understood.”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” Jihoon says. “And that’s okay, I know you love what you do.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I just didn’t feel the same and I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“There wasn’t anything about skating that made you want to stay?” Woojin asks.

“I didn’t stop skating,” Jihoon says. “I stopped competing.”

“You could’ve told me that too,” Woojin says, and he sounds like he’s struggling not to accuse Jihoon. “I know you’re sorry but— it still makes me sad that you couldn’t tell me.”

Jihoon thinks that he’s rather Woojin put all the blame on him. At least if he did that, he would feel like the guilt all bundled up inside him was valid. “I think I needed time to come to terms with it by myself,” he says slowly, and tries very hard not to think about how he’s never had this conversation with anyone. Not his parents, his coach, or even Sungwoon. “I never felt like I deserved any of it.”

“But you worked so hard,” Woojin bursts out. “At Taereung you would train so hard the coaches would make you stop, and some days I would have to force you off the ice so you wouldn’t overwork yourself.”

“I always wanted to skate with you,” Jihoon says quietly. “It was the most fun I had while I was still competing. I never wanted anything to change from that.”

“It was fun because you won.”

“No— Woojin, don’t be ridiculous.” Jihoon does look over now, and sees that Woojin has taken off his sunglasses. They’re discarded on the sand next to him. “It was fun because it was you.”

Woojin’s face doesn’t change, but Jihoon sees that his throat is working, hands clenched into fists. “I still don’t get it. I want to, but I don't.”

“Sometimes I don’t either,” Jihoon confesses. “It’s just the way things were back then.”

“Then why are you back?” Woojin demands, his voice raised a fraction before he lowers it again. “Why now?”

Not for the first time, Jihoon feels bad for insisting that Woojin not be briefed on the case before he went undercover. He hadn’t thought about how much time they’d be spending together, and while he thought they would talk, he didn’t actually think that he’d be having this conversation. He'd never prepared for it, not even once. 

He says, “I guess I wasn’t as done as I thought I was with competition.”

Woojin rolls off his chair into the sand, hitting the ground with a soft thump.

“What the—”

“Tell me why,” Woojin says, from where he’s laying on his side. “Why doesn’t it feel like you’re really coming back?”

“Why do you say that?”

A bit of sun peeks out, and Woojin puts a hand up to shield his eyes instead of putting his sunglasses back on. “I know you, Jihoon. I know you’re not telling me something.”

“I was a kid when I retired,” Jihoon says, trying to stop his voice from shaking. “Just because I didn’t want to compete then doesn’t mean I couldn’t come back for it and want it again.”

“Come down here,” Woojin says, instead of answering. “The sun is behind you and it’s blinding.”

Jihoon doesn’t think he can handle rolling off like Woojin had, so he gets up off the chair before laying down on his back in the sand. “Why do you think I’m lying to you?”

“I don’t think you’re lying to me,” Woojin says. Jihoon turns to his side so they’re facing each other. “You know you can tell me everything.”

“I know,” Jihoon says. “I am telling you everything.” The lie almost catches in his teeth, but it slips through, leaving Jihoon with the bad aftertaste of it. 

Woojin cracks a smile. “So you’re telling me that after nine years away, you want to come out of retirement and skate on competitive ice again?”

“At least I know you’ve been listening.” Jihoon shifts, feeling the grains of sand imprinting on his arm. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing’s wrong with that,” Woojin says. “I just think—" He pauses, looking everywhere there is to look except Jihoon until he can't stop himself anymore. "Sometimes, wanting something too badly is too scary. So we force ourselves not to want it.”

The way he’s looking at him now, Jihoon overwhelmingly wants to kiss him then. So he sits up, looking out at the part of the land that meets the sea, and wonders how there could be something that even someone like Park Woojin could be too scared to want.

//

“As promised,” Woojin says, as he sets up the speakers in the rink. “My exhibition program.”

“I still kind of hope it’s Eminem,” Jihoon tells him, leaning against the boards. “Or did you take my suggestion about Illionaire Gang? That would totally be a hit—”

“You’re literally raining on my parade right now, Jihoon,” Woojin says, effectively shutting him up. “Okay, here we go.”

Jihoon waits, as Woojin positions himself in the middle of the rink. He must have added time at the beginning of the track, or some kind of delay, because there’s a good five seconds after he’s ready that the music starts.

He recognizes the music immediately, which makes him break out into a smile. For better or for worse, it isn’t Eminem or Illionaire Gang, but Nessun Dorma.

Halfway through the program, he realizes that it’s the exact same track that he had skated to his last competitive year. Woojin’s even kept the choreography, and while he’s artistically far more advanced than Jihoon had been at seventeen, he somehow pulls off the choreography meant for a far immature skater.

When Woojin hits the ending pose, Jihoon jumps up and down, imitating the sound of a crowd cheering, running around as best he can in his skates.

“Stop that, you’re so embarrassing,” Woojin says, but he looks pleased. “Did I do okay?”

“How did you even do that?” Jihoon asks him, because that’s the only thing he can say right now. “Where did you get the music?”

“I saw Jaeseung-hyung at Taereung after we talked about program music, and I just asked him about your Nessun Dorma music. He said he was okay with me using as an exhibition, and I figured I would show you before asking if you were okay with it too,” Woojin says. “So… are you?”

“What— Of course I am, that was so much better than anything I skated back then.” Jihoon smiles. “The music really suits you.”

“Do you remember the choreography?” Woojin asks. “So you can compare me to the original?”

Jihoon winces. “Oh, I don’t think this is going to be pretty.”

“So you’ll do it?” Woojin immediately goes over to restart the track. “Ready?”

As it turns out, Jihoon doesn’t remember all of it, but he remembers most of the step sequence, and Woojin laughs and joins him towards the end for the final spin.

“We’d be such a great pairs team,” Woojin says, after the track ends. “I’d be down for a throw quad loop.”

“Yeah, no thanks, I don’t want another concussion,” Jihoon says, but he’s still smiling. “I can’t believe you’re using this as your exhibition, that makes me so happy.”

Woojin doesn’t respond immediately, so Jihoon turns to see if something is wrong. But Woojin hugs him instead, so suddenly that Jihoon almost slips and falls. Woojin keeps him on his feet, and whether it’s on purpose or not, he doesn’t know.

“I’m glad you feel that way,” Woojin says after he lets Jihoon go. “I always thought this program was one of the greats.”

“It’s really not,” Jihoon says.

“No, it is,” Woojin insists. “Like some compositions, once they’ve been performed by a skater who has so much presence and skill, no one should ever use any version of that piece ever again.” He shrugs. “I mean, obviously, it happens, but Nessun Dorma’s been on my list of music I can never skate to since you came out with this program.”

“You keep a list?”

“Yeah, of music that’s already been immortalized in the skating world,” Woojin says. “It’s just my opinion, but it’s stuff like, Danse Macabre, Liebestraum, Notte stellata. And stuff that’s overused like, Scheherazade.”

“I will honestly laugh if you ever end up using Scheherazade,” Jihoon says. “I’m gonna write that down, let me just get my phone—”

“You’re ridiculous,” Woojin says, as the next track starts playing. It’s Jihoon’s Star Wars program music, which stops him where he is.

“How much did you ask Jaeseung-hyung for?” Jihoon asks, wondering how scared he should be.

“You’ll find out,” Woojin says, and takes off across the ice before Jihoon can catch him.

//

“Is my ankle officially healed?” Jihoon asks, presenting the ankle wrap to Seongwoo with both hands. “Have I graduated from this?”

“You two are so weird,” Jinyoung says, yawning into his coffee. “Where’s Daehwi?”

“You have graduated,” Seongwoo says gravely. “And I don’t know, I thought you were supposed to keep track of him.”

“He went to go show Minki-hyung something,” Jihoon says. “Did you guys not hear him say, I’m going to go show Minki-hyung something, see you in the briefing room?”

“Well, obviously we didn’t,” Jinyoung sniffs. Jihoon takes a bite out of the apple Minhyun had left in the refrigerator for him. “Why are we always the first ones here?”

“Because Seongwoo-hyung has to be early to everything,” Jihoon says, after he swallows. “He’s always the first one to get to work in the morning for no reason. Even when the weather is shit he’s there early.”

“Sorry we’re late,” Daniel says as he and Minhyun walk in. “Apparently the entire building beat us here and there was barely any parking.”

“I saw Daehwi with Minki, he’ll be here in a bit,” Minhyun says, putting his bag down. “First, Jinyoung, thanks for your help with the bust last night.”

“There was a bust last night?” Jihoon asks. He’d been sleeping after training all day. “Since when are we allowed to go along on busts?”

“I mean, Daehwi and I got to help out on a case or two,” Jinyoung says. “Just not you because you’re undercover.”

“I got to be the one to do the countdown before they kicked in the door,” Seongwoo tells him very proudly. “Best countdown ever.”

“Jinyoung almost got shot last night,” Daniel says. “I thought that might be of your interest.”

“So close,” Seongwoo whispers to Jihoon.

“You’re not going to win this bet,” Jinyoung says, stretching, as Daehwi walks in. “If I haven’t gotten shot by now then I’m never getting shot.”

“That’s probably what every single person who’s been shot says right before they get shot,” Jihoon says. “Now you’re just playing yourself.”

“So... the briefing?” Daehwi asks.

“Yes, we need to catch Jihoon up on things,” Daniel says, opening his laptop. “So with everything we got from facial rec and the file your captain sent over, we can probably assume the money laundering front is for drug money. The suspect in question escaped from custody fourteen years ago and hasn’t surfaced until now.”

“We can also assume that the two backroom employees that we’ve been tailing actually work for him, and that there was supposed to be deal going down this past Wednesday when Jinyoung and Minki were at the rink,” Minhyun says. “But it didn’t, and now it’s going down tomorrow, Sunday.”

“We couldn’t get another bug in the shop, so we don’t know if there have been any new developments, but there definitely hasn’t been any money brought in since Wednesday,” Daniel says. “Because the suspect was at Dongrae around noon, we’re going to assume that he will be there tomorrow at around the same time,” Daniel says.

Jihoon frowns. “I know it’s more convenient for us, but why are these deals going down in broad daylight?”

“Maybe so they can dissuade busts because of all the people around?” Seongwoo suggests. “More options for hostages.”

“Yeah, that’s always fun,” Daehwi says, tone flat. “Also maybe it’ll be easy to create commotion and confuse any cops who tried to make a bust if there are a lot of people in the building.”

“I would still do it at night if I were him,” Jihoon says, propping his chin up with an arm. “Pros definitely outweigh the cons.”

“I totally agree, but this guy has somehow avoided everyone’s radar for fourteen years after he went off the grid,” Daniel says. “So he must be doing something to throw police off.”

“We’re also banking on the backroom guys to not tell the suspect about the bug in the skate,” Minhyun says. “So we’re gonna modify our plan for safety. Minki is going to stay here and monitor all the feeds and video, and Daehwi and Seongwoo will go in together around 11:00. Hopefully nothing will go down before noon because they’ll stay there until that time and then leave and take the long route to drive to where Daniel, Jinyoung, and I are a couple blocks away. Jihoon will go in around 12:30 and buy the gloves.” He turns to Jihoon. “Try to stall a little while you’re at the front desk. Minki has baseball caps with cameras in them for both you and Daehwi.”

“So I won’t be packing when I go in, right?” Jihoon asks. “If something goes down and they pull out guns should I just pretend to not know anything?”

“I think it would be okay for him to take a vest and his gun,” Daniel says. “You lock your locker, right?”

“I lock it,” Jihoon confirms. “What kind of car are you driving there?”

“We have a moving truck that we routinely get repainted for undercover things,” Minhyun says. “It’s currently outwardly a van that delivers fish and other seafood to supermarkets.”

“And we have backup in case we need it, right?” Jinyoung asks. “You know, in case someone other than me gets shot.”

“No one is getting shot,” Daniel says, and he sounds like he’s ready for this case to be closed. “And even if we do, we have our vests.”

“What should I do once I get there?” Jihoon asks. “If there’s nothing suspicious going on?”

“Hopefully the timing won’t be that shitty, but then do your normal warm-up routine so you won’t seem suspicious,” Minhyun says. “You’ll have an earpiece so you’ll be able to hear what we’re saying but I don’t think we can get a mic on you without it being visible.”

“It’s probably less weird if I just text you if I see something that you didn’t catch,” Jihoon says. “So we can plan on that.”

“Do you know if Woojin is planning on being at the rink tomorrow?” Seongwoo asks. “Most of the other members probably won’t so it’s mostly him we’re worried about getting caught in the crossfire.”

“He was feeling kind of under the weather today so he’s probably going to take tomorrow off too,” Jihoon says. “I can try to come up with something to keep him away from the rink tomorrow when we’re there.”

“Sounds good,” Daniel says. He closes his laptop. “Anything else?”

“I can stay here with Minki-hyung until I have to go buy my gloves,” Jihoon offers. “And go to the apartment complex two blocks down from the precinct to take a cab to the rink.”

“Perfect,” Minhyun says. “Don’t forget to put your badge in your bag with your gun and vest, you’re going to want that in case something goes sideways and we have to answer to authorities ranked higher than us.”

Just the idea itself makes him recoil. “Hopefully that isn’t a concern tomorrow,” Jihoon says, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll go get my cap from Minki-hyung now, if we’re done.”

“I’ll come with you,” Daehwi says, and Jihoon tosses his unfinished coffee in the trash on his way out of the briefing room.

//

Jihoon spends the hour and a half at the precinct fiddling with the gear that Minki got him. The caps hadn’t been ready after the briefing, so Seongwoo had driven both him and Daehwi to the precinct so they could pick everything up. Jihoon had stayed to help Minki out while Seongwoo and Daehwi were at the rink.

“I don’t care what Jinyoung says, this hat looks so good on me,” Jihoon says checking himself out with the front-view camera on his phone. “I should start wearing baseball caps more.”

“Sometimes I confuse you for Jinyoung,” Minki says from where he’s trying to arrange all of the feeds he’s getting so that it fits on one screen. So far, he is unsuccessful.

Jihoon stops what he’s doing, slowly lowering his phone. “I think that’s the worst thing anyone has ever said to me,” he says. He watches Minki mess with the size of all the windows. “I hope you never get it to all fit.”

Minki checks his watch. “Isn’t it time for you to go?”

Through the video from Seongwoo’s glasses, Jihoon can see that they’re in the locker room, taking off their rentals and preparing to return them. “I can’t believe you’re trying to get rid of me like this.”

Minki checks his watch again. “Would you look at the time. Noon already.”

“Fine,” Jihoon huffs, standing up, fitting in an earpiece. He puts a small microphone on his vest before putting it in his bag, just in case he needs it later.

“Good luck,” Minki calls after Jihoon’s retreating back. When he’s in the elevator, he turns and waves. “Text me if you need help.”

#

Jihoon has the cab drop him off at a corner mart across the street from where Daniel had parked. When he’s sure the driver is far enough away, he crosses the road and climbs into the back of the truck, where Jinyoung and Minhyun are already geared up.

“Where are Seongwoo-hyung and Daehwi?” Jihoon asks, giving Jinyoung the cap so he can check for any problems with it. “I thought they’d be here by now.”

As soon as the words are out of Jihoon’s mouth, the back of the truck opens, and Daehwi climbs in first, followed by Seongwoo.

Daehwi makes a face. “Ugh, I thought I’d get used to your outfit by now, but I was wrong.”

Jihoon looks down. “I’m literally wearing track pants and a t-shirt,” he says. “I don’t understand you.”

Minhyun pours water from his bottle onto a headband and gives it to Jihoon. “For you,” he says. “A present.”

“Gee, thanks, hyung.” Jihoon takes it, putting it on like a bracelet.

“Here, let me see that,” Seongwoo says, holding his hand out for the water bottle. When Minhyun gives it to him, Seongwoo pours the water into his own hand and flicks it at Jihoon.

“What the—” Jihoon sputters. “Hyung!”

“Now you actually look like you went on a run,” Daehwi says, putting on his vest. “Spray him some more.”

“I hope you fail the sergeant’s exam,” Jihoon tells him, earning himself a glare. “Like, with my entire heart—”

“Ooh, be careful Daehwi,” Seongwoo says, going through his bag. “The last time he hoped something with his entire heart, I fell on my face at the rink.”

Jihoon checks the time to see that it’s twenty past. “I think I’m just gonna go,” he says, as Jinyoung gives him back the cap. “I have my earpiece in already.” Daehwi moves towards Jinyoung and the microphone. “Don’t even think about it.” Daehwi shrinks back reluctantly. 

He picks up his bag, feeling the exterior to make sure his vest and gun are in there. “Let me know if you get something on the camera, and I’ll try to stall as much as possible.”

“Good luck, hyung,” Jinyoung calls, microphone already in place. The rest of them echo his words as Jihoon hops out of the back of the truck, holding his duffel with both arms.

“Have fun carrying that to the rink,” Daehwi says, still sulking about the sargeant’s exam comment. “Don’t throw out your back.”

“He’s thrown out his back?” Jihoon hears Minhyun ask.

Even fainter, he hears Jinyoung reply, “Not yet he hasn’t.”

It takes him about five minutes to get to the entrance of the rink, during which time Jinyoung guides him through the earpiece to adjusting his hat so it’s at a good angle.

“I’ll let you know if I see something you don’t,” Jinyoung says, and Jihoon would nod, but he knows that would just result in a shaky video.

As always Eunyoung is at the front desk, reading a book. She barely glances up when she sees that it’s Jihoon, and only starts paying attention to him when he’s right in front of her.

“How may I help you?” she asks.

Jihoon is about to open his mouth, but then in the back, a door opens and their main suspect walks in.

“Stall,” Jinyoung says immediately. “Buy your gloves as slow as possible.”

“I ripped my gloves the other day,” Jihoon says. “I was wondering if you had any I could look at?”

“Yeah, of course,” she says, getting up. “Do you have a color preference?” One of the backroom employees also walks in, and while he's wearing a jacket, it flutters enough that Jihoon can catch the glint of metal tucked underneath.

“Anything is fine,” Jihoon calls back. She brings back a brightly colored assortment of gloves. “Okay, maybe not.” He looks through the pile. “Do you have dark blue?” he asks, buying for time.

“We just ran out of those, unfortunately,” she says. “They should be in about next week, if you wanted to wait.”

“We already called for backup,” he hears Jinyoung say. “But we can’t move until we have visual on some kind of transfer. Ask her about Seongwoo-hyung.”

“My doctor told me that you two have been hitting it off,” Jihoon says, while still looking at the gloves. “He totally asked me to ask you what you think of him.”

“Who?”

“The guy who wears the glasses,” Jihoon says. “He’s my physical therapist.”

“Oh, the one who wanted to rent the skates during non-public hours,” Eunyoung recalls. “I let him because he said that it was his job to keep an eye on you.”

Despite everything, Jihoon can hear Jinyoung trying to stifle a laugh. He’s probably the same.

“Let him down easy, won’t you?” Jihoon asks, and there’s another person who walks in. Jihoon doesn’t look, because he doesn’t want to risk making eye contact, but he can hear Jinyoung saying something to the others. “You said the dark blue ones will be in next week, right?”

“Yes, would you like to wait?”

“We got visual on the suitcase with a new player,” Jinyoung says. “Go put your vest on in case they try to go through inside, we’ll have all the exits manned.”

“No, no, it’s okay.” Jihoon says, picking up the black pair. They look exactly like the ones he has stowed in his bag. “I’ll take these.”

“Okay,” she says, and rings him up.

After paying and declining her offer to bag them, Jihoon makes his way to the locker room, checked to make sure that it’s empty before setting down his bag and taking out his vest. As he’s strapping it on, though, the door opens, and Jihoon almost reaches for his gun before he sees that it’s Woojin.

“Jesus, you scared me,” Jihoon says, taking a deep breath. “What are you doing here? I thought you were sick.”

“And yet you didn’t bring me any soup,” Woojin says, smiling slightly. “I just came to get my wallet, I left it in my locker.”

“Do you consciously do that?” Jihoon asks, genuinely curious. Woojin looks like he’s going to answer him, too, when he actually turns to look at Jihoon.

“What are you wearing?” he asks, taking a step closer. “What is that, some kind of a vest?”

“Yes, it’s a vest,” Jihoon says flatly. “Good job, have you read a fashion magazine before? Your knowledge baffles me.”

Woojin laughs, but immediately breaks off when there are shouts from within the building. Jihoon guesses that they’re from the front desk.

“What the hell was that?” Woojin asks, frozen to where he is. There are a couple gunshots. “Are those guns?”

“Stay here,” Jihoon says. “Woojin, go hide in one of the stalls and don’t come out until I get you.”

“What?”

In the earpiece, Jinyoung instructs, “You need to go out now, they need you. Get Eunyoung out of there before she gets hurt.”

"Copy that." Jihoon puts on his eyeguard before pulling out his gun, checking to make sure it’s loaded. “Woojin, promise me you won’t come out the locker room until I come back for you.”

“Jihoon, if this is your idea of a sick joke—”

“It’s not,” Jihoon interrupts, “I’m serious, go hide right now.”

“Jihoon-hyung,” Jinyoung says sharply. “We have eyes on three of the suspects and the new player but not the main suspect.”

“Shit, shit.” Jihoon cocks his gun. “Woojin, promise me." Woojin nods, eyes wide. "Okay, be my eyes, Jinyoung.”

“Wow, your microphone is terrible,” Jinyoung says. “Go out of the locker room and back to where the front desk is. Slowly.”

Jihoon does, checking each room in the hall. “All clear.”

When he gets back out to the front desk, he sees Eunyoung crouched on the floor with her hands over her head. “Hey.” Eunyoung starts, terrified. “Hey, are you okay?”

“You told me you were a figure skater,” Eunyoung says, confused, voice shaking. “I looked you up, you were a national champion—”

“Shh, you’re okay,” Jihoon says. He doesn’t see any injuries other than small cuts on her arms, probably from broken glass. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“Daehwi is coming,” Jinyoung says, so Jihoon waits for him and leaves Eunyoung in his care.

“Am I connected to anyone else other than you?” Jihoon asks.

“No, just me,” Jinyoung says. “I can barely hear you, where did you put your mic?”

“Uh,” Jihoon says. “Somewhere on my vest, I don’t know.” He can faintly hear their backup outside. “Can Minki-hyung get a visual on our guy?”

He can hear Jinyoung typing. “He’s been keeping an eye on them and he hasn’t seen anything. I think you can go get Woojin now. I’m sending Minhyun-hyung and Seongwoo-hyung in with you.”

“Okay,” Jihoon says, checking to make sure the coast is clear before going back. “I can’t believe he literally showed up a minute before shots started getting fired.”

“Truly a friend of yours,” Jinyoung says, amused.

When Jihoon gets back to the locker room, his bag is untouched and everything is how he left it. Except once he rounds the corner to where the stalls are, Woojin’s there, but they’re got company.

“Fuck,” Jihoon says, grateful that he still had his gun up. “I forgot there aren’t any cameras in here.”

“Talk,” Jinyoung says immediately. “Keep talking and stall him. Get his back to the locker room door so the hyungs can get in there are surround him.”

“Let him go,” Jihoon says, because their guy has Woojin in a chokehold and a gun to his head. “No one needs to get shot here.”

“Back up,” the perp says, voice calm. “You’re in my way.”

“Let him go,” Jihoon repeats, slowly backing up, trying to get them in a position that will leave the door in his blind side. “We have all your associates in custody, there’s nowhere you can go.”

“Seongwoo-hyung is outside the door,” Jinyoung says. “Try to get him closer.”

Jihoon swallows around the thickness in his throat, adjusting his grip on his gun. He tries not to look at what Woojin looks like now. He should never have been here in the first place. It's Jihoon's fault that he ever felt any danger at all. “Let him go, and no one needs to get hurt.”

“Put your gun down,” the perp says. “Put it down and kick it over.”

“Make some noise so the hyungs can get inside,” Jinyoung instructs.

“You put your gun down,” Jihoon says, raising his voice slightly, hoping the other will do the same. “My men have this building surrounded, there’s nothing you can do.”

“Put your gun down—

“You put your gun down!” Jihoon yells, and sees Seongwoo and Minhyun slip inside the locker room. “You’re surrounded, put your gun down and kick it over before you get hurt.”

“You talk big for a little kid,” the perp says, as Seongwoo and Minhyun both push closer. “Little you and your little gun.”

“Wow, you are an asshole,” Seongwoo observes, obviously startling him. He looks around, panic finding its way onto his face for the first time that day. “You and Jihoon are literally the same height.”

“Back up,” the perp says, now pointing the gun in succession at the three of them. His movements are much wilder now. “I’m serious, I’m gonna shoot.”

“Do it,” Minhyun says, and in that moment of oversight, Jihoon flips the safety on his gun and throws it into a locker to make a big noise. When the perp looks away from Minhyun in shock, hand gripping his gun loosely, Jihoon charges forward, intending to kick him into the wall of lockers behind him.

He doesn’t expect the perp to be collected enough to shoot, but he somehow does. Jihoon thinks he sees the bullet hit his own arm more than he feels it, because he still lands a solid kick in the chest that send the guy flying back, Seongwoo moving to the side and watching him sail through the air.

“That was some movie level shit,” Seongwoo says, kicking the gun out of the perp’s reach and securing his arms behind him. Minhyun comes over, already pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket.

But Woojin makes it to him first, his hands finding their way onto Jihoon’s face. Jihoon doesn’t even realize how warm he’d been until he feels how cold Woojin’s hands are, palms pressed into his cheeks before he slides them down to curl at the base of his neck.

“Why are you so cold?” Jihoon asks. “Are you okay?”

“Am I oka— You just got shot!” Woojin looks like he can’t decide whether he’s grateful or frustrated. “Are you kidding me?”

“Sorry, Jihoon,” Minhyun says, tying the handkerchief around his arm to help with the bleeding. “I really didn’t think he was going to shoot.”

“No, I don’t blame you,” Jihoon says. “I honestly didn’t think he was going to either.” He can start to feel the pain in his arm now, a full-on screaming in his nerves. “I feel like we should’ve been way more scared.”

“I’m literally right here,” the perp says.

“Shut the fuck up,” Seongwoo tells him before pulling him to his feet by his wrists. “Imagine Captain’s face when she sees this guy handcuffed.”

“I smell a pay raise.” Jihoon grins before the pain overtakes him again. “Okay, take me to a doctor now, this hurts like hell.” He touches his ear to find that his earpiece had fallen out. “Can someone get into contact with Jinyoung?”

“Let’s get you outside,” Minhyun says. “Jinyoung already called an ambulance, he called one before Seongwoo and I even got in here, I think.”

Jihoon sniffs. “I don’t know why he has no faith in me, we took him down!” 

“You literally got shot,” Minhyun says. “Look at your damn arm.”

“I really want to shrug right now to make it seem like this is all no big deal, but it honestly hurts like a bitch. I’ve already forgotten what not feeling pain is like.” Jihoon grimaces. “Woojin, you should get checked out too, they need to make sure you’re okay.”

“I can’t believe you right now,” Woojin says, and he sounds pissed off. To Minhyun, he asks, “Has he always been like this?”

“I don’t actually know, but I’m guessing yes,” Minhyun says. He pauses. “Jinyoung says that yes, Jihoon has always been like this.”

When they get outside, the ambulance technicians immediately come for him. “Where’s the bullet?” one of them asks, already in a flurry of motion.

“It’s just a flesh wound,” Jihoon says. “Hey, is everything okay with that guy over there?” He nudges his chin towards where Woojin is sitting, getting his vitals taken by another technician.

“Please hold still,” she says, like she’s trying not to roll her eyes. “The more you move, the longer this is gonna take.”

So Jihoon sits very still while they're dressing his arm. "I can't believe I got shot before Jinyoung did," he complains to anyone who will stay still long enough to pretend to listen. "I feel like we lose the bet just because I got shot." 

"I'm going to pretend you didn't just tell me that," the technician says. She finishes wrapping the last bandage around the injury, fitting the arm into a sling. 

“See? I’m brand new,” Jihoon says, gesturing to the sling that’s draped across his torso. “It doesn’t even look that bad.” He looks around. “Where did Woojin go?”

“One of our officers took him home,” Daniel says, back from making sure all the civilians had made it out safely. “No civilian injuries or deaths, we did good.”

“He went home?” Jihoon asks. “Is he okay?”

“Maybe you should leave him alone,” Daehwi suggests, coming back from putting Eunyoung in the back of an officer’s car to be taken home. “He’s been through a lot today.”

“I’ve been through a lot today,” Jihoon exclaims. He gestures to his sling. “I got shot.”

“Yeah, you're going to need to go see a doctor,” the technician says from behind him. “You’re really pale and I’m pretty sure you lost a lot more blood than you think.”

“I’ll come with,” Seongwoo says cheerfully, putting Jihoon’s good arm around his shoulders to support him.

“We’re going to go back to the precinct to clean this mess up,” Minhyun says, hanging up the phone. “Call if you need anything.”

“Wait,” Jihoon complains, even though he’s starting to get lightheaded. “Where did you say Woojin went?”

“Hospital,” say both the technician and Seongwoo, and Jihoon would ask if Woojin was at the hospital or if they were going to the hospital, but everything goes black before he has a chance.

//

An hour before they’re supposed to leave for Seoul, Jihoon excuses himself, flagging down a cab right in front of the precinct. After he rattles off Woojin’s address to the driver, he reflexively adjusts the sling so it isn’t too loose.

He’d spent a day in the hospital to recuperate from the blood loss, so he hadn’t been in the precinct when Woojin had come in to give a statement on what had happened. They had footage from the body cameras Seongwoo and Minhyun had been wearing, but the video from Jihoon’s cap had been too unsteady to use.

“He was really composed,” Seongwoo had said while they were eating the takeout he’d snuck in for lunch. “Eunyoung, not so much.”

“Are we taking the guy up to Seoul with us?” Jihoon had asked, clumsily stabbing a piece of chicken with a fork. He had never thought about how uncoordinated his left hand was until then.

“With us? In my van? No way,” Seongwoo had scoffed. “Captain’s having an armed party escort him up to Seoul in some scary-ass truck.”

Absentmindedly, Jihoon pays the cab driver, climbing out of the car and looking up at Woojin’s building. Subconsciously, his feet take him to the front door, hand posed for a knock. Before he can bring himself to do it, though, the door flies open, and Woojin almost runs straight into him.

“Shit, sorry— Jihoon?” Woojin looks surprised, but for the life of him Jihoon can’t figure out why. “What are you doing here?”

“Where were you going?” Jihoon asks, more reflex than anything else.

“I— Come in, come sit down.” Woojin stands back and aside and waits for Jihoon to take off his shoes. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Jihoon says, sitting down in the chair he always takes at the kitchen table. “How have you been?”

Woojin laughs, and Jihoon wonders if he could ever tell when it was forced and when it was real, or if he'd been lying to himself the whole time. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Sorry I didn’t check in earlier,” Jihoon says, fingers fidgeting within the sling. “I was out for a while.”

“I visited you.” Woojin smiles. “But you were sleeping and I didn’t want to disturb you when you looked so peaceful.”

“No, you should have,” Jihoon insists. “I was worried about you.”

Woojin is still smiling, but he’s looking down at his knees now. “So you’re a cop.”

“Yes, I am indeed a very proud graduate of the KNPU,” Jihoon says wryly. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“For what to happen?” Woojin asks, his hands balled into fists. Jihoon reaches over with an arm, gently prying them open so his nails aren’t digging into his palms. He runs a finger over the indents in the skin there, so light he almost doesn’t feel it.

“Don’t do that,” Jihoon says. “Look, your hands look so angry now for no reason.” He makes to withdraw, and while Woojin follows the movement, he doesn’t stop him. “I didn’t mean for us to spend so much time together,” he says, once Woojin doesn’t make another comment. “I thought this would be a quick undercover assignment, but it wasn’t. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” Woojin says, and it takes all the strength Jihoon has within him to not kiss him. “I knew you weren’t telling me something, I was the one stupid enough to think that you’d come back, after all this time.” He brings his hand up to his eyes, and it’s then that Jihoon sees that he’s crying. “When are you leaving?”

“Don’t cry,” Jihoon says. “Don’t be sad—”

“I’m not sad,” Woojin cuts in. His eyes are bloodshot, which makes Jihoon wonder if this is the first time he'd cried because of this. “Just— frustrated, I think. Angry that I let myself hope that things would go back to the way they were.” He looks up. “I should’ve known better than that.”

Jihoon feels terrible, more terrible than he had been feeling, which was already pretty terrible. He thinks that the expression on Woojin's face now might be the worst of all that he's ever seen. “Woojin, I—”

“No, don’t,” Woojin interrupts. “Just—” He breaks off, rubbing the tears off his face as if that would stem the flow. Jihoon wants so badly to touch his face, to put his hand on the curve of his jaw, so he does. Woojin lets him, leans into it even, the bend of his body as natural as breathing, and he lets Jihoon kiss him too, his lips soft and pliant and yielding.

Woojin stops first, and the way his face is arranged reflects so many things: sad, hurt, regretful… These are things that Jihoon feels too, mirrored in Woojin’s eyes, the way he leans into him, the column of his throat working to swallow.

After a moment where Jihoon can feel Woojin’s pulse evening out, Woojin says, “You’re unfair.”

Jihoon cracks a smile. “You’ve told me that before.”

“I can’t stop thinking about how maybe you’ve run out of chances.”

“Have I?” Jihoon asks.

Woojin has his eyes squeezed shut, his hand on Jihoon’s shoulder bracing himself. “Yes. No? I don’t know.” He stands up, going over to where his Team Korea jacket is hanging on the wall. “I don’t know what I want.”

“You mean you don’t know if I’m what you want,” Jihoon says.

Woojin glares at him. “Don’t put words in my mouth,” he says, too tired to properly snap at him. “You… For one entire second I really thought we were going to compete together again. And then the next second you’re wearing a bulletproof vest and there’s a guy holding a gun to my head and you get shot because I was in the way.” He presses his palm against his forehead. “I need time, Jihoon. I don’t even know how to start thinking about this.”

“Okay,” Jihoon says slowly. “Do you want me to say that I can give you that?”

Woojin is about to respond when Jihoon’s phone goes off, and the ringtone he assigned Daehwi months ago when they were at drunk karaoke blasts through Woojin’s apartment.

“I take it you’re going back to Seoul now?” Woojin asks. He’s straightened up already, composed himself. “Good luck on the drive.”

“Thanks,” Jihoon says, and takes it as a cue for him to leave, but when he looks back, Woojin looks like he had the last time Jihoon said goodbye to him and didn’t know that goodbye meant farewell. What Jihoon means is: he looks like he had to last time he’d believed in Jihoon, the last time they’d stood side by side and understood what it meant to blindly trust.

— epilogue —

Mornings at the 1-0-1 usually go like this:

“Park Jihoon coming up on the right, avoiding all the obstacles, he shoots, he scores,” Jihoon yells as he makes his way through the elaborate course that he and Jinyoung have been working on for the past hour. Daehwi is at his desk pointedly ignoring the carnage around him, and Seongwoo is cleaning out all the trash that had accumulated at his desk over the week.

“Just because all your cases are closed doesn’t mean you can literally do whatever you want,” Daehwi huffs.

“We’re all done with our cases,” Seongwoo informs him, as he’s trying to decide whether the muffin from two days ago is worth saving. “It’s just you.”

“Should we clean this up before Captain gets back?” Jinyoung asks, hopping daintily over the row of model trains. “What time does the court adjourn?”

“Probably never,” Jihoon sighs. “After all that work we put into catching this guy, they’re taking forever to rule on him.”

“I mean, it also took Minki-hyung and his team forever to dig up everything on him they could press charges for because he’s had so many aliases,” Daehwi says. “It’s not really the court’s fault.”

Jihoon balls up a piece of paper the best he can with one hand and throws it into Daehwi’s trash bin. “Finish your cases, slowpoke.” He checks his watch that Seongwoo had fastened to his wrist earlier. “I’m going to go on my break now.”

“Yes, because it’s not like you haven’t been on a break all morning,” Daehwi grumbles. “You totally deserve a break.”

“This break is unpaid,” Jihoon reminds him. “Be back soon, I’m going to Mokdong to tell Sungwoon-hyung thank you for his help.”

“You should tell him that we want to organize a group skating session soon,” Seongwoo pipes up. “I’ve been getting really good.”

“I refuse,” Daehwi says from where his eyes are glued to the paperwork in front of him. Jihoon watches the elevator doors close, as sure as how Daehwi's threats will continue to stay unoriginal. “I swear, if we go skating again as a team bonding activity, I’m—” 

#

When Jihoon gets to Mokdong, there isn’t anyone on the ice. Which is strange, because Jihoon is pretty sure Sungwoon holds private lessons during this time. He finds himself wandering around anyway, hoping to find at least one person who’s familiar.

“Excuse me,” someone says from behind him. “The rink is closed to the public right now.”

“I’m just looking for Ha Sungwoon, he usually coaches here at this time— Holy shit.” Jihoon gapes at the stranger, who is actually Woojin, and the rink hadn’t been empty. Woojin had just been sitting on the ice like he does whenever he wants to take a break and is too tired to actually get himself to a bench. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I mean, I don’t know if you heard, but these guys shot up my skating club and it subsequently was closed to the public because it was a crime scene, and then my coach told me that he was moving to Seoul, so I kind of had to follow him here,” Woojin says. “That hotel life is so rough, I don’t know how you did it.”

“And you couldn’t drop me a line when you got up here?” Jihoon protests. “I could’ve at least helped you find a place to sleep.”

“I would feel bad, but I can’t,” Woojin tells him. “I really just don’t have it in me to feel bad for not telling you.”

“Harsh,” Jihoon decides. “But fair. I deserved that.” He looks at how clear each blade mark is on the ice despite the fact that they’re overlapping. Woojin must have been practicing for a while. “Why here? I know you hate Taereung, but this rink gets pretty crowded.”

“I don’t hate Taereung,” Woojin says. Jihoon looks up, frowning. “I know everyone thinks I do, but I don’t.” He leans against the boards, still on the ice. “I never said I hated it when we trained there together.”

Jihoon rests his good arm one board away from him. “I just figured you didn’t want to tell me you hated it because I liked it there so much.”

“I said I hated it because I didn’t like how I couldn’t concentrate and there were too many other athletes there,” Woojin says. “Because I couldn’t say that I hated it because it reminded me of you.”

Jihoon doesn’t know how to respond. He follows where Woojin is looking, out on the center of the rink where the ice is all scratched up from a spin, but doesn't think he understands.

“I never felt like there was any rink I belonged at,” Woojin continues. “I left Taereung because it was too hard for me to skate there without you. So I went all the way to Lake Arrowhead because Ice Castle should have been far enough away that you wouldn’t matter to me anymore.” He breaks in a small smile then, but it’s too nostalgic and loaded to be happy. “But then Ice Castle closed down and I thought Dongrae could be my home base again because that’s where I learned to skate.” Woojin shrugs. “And I guess it was for a while, but then you came back and before I could try to skate there without you it closed down too.”

He turns around to look at Jihoon, then. “I didn’t think I was ready to go back to Taereung full-time,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” Jihoon says, for the lack of something better to say.

“There’s no reason for you to be sorry.” Woojin swings the board open so he can get off the ice. “I just thought that this was your home for so long that maybe it could for a little while be mine too.” He reaches across, puts his hand over Jihoon’s, his touch feather-light. His other hand runs down the length of Jihoon’s upper arm until he meets the sling. “I spent all this time thinking that you left skating when you never did. You never left.”

The way Woojin has always opened up to him has never changed, and Jihoon doesn’t think Woojin will ever stop letting him take advantage of that, will ever really find it in him to seal off the part of him that Jihoon has owned since they were young enough to dream and old enough to believe. Jihoon wonders if Woojin had ever stopped waiting for him, if Woojin had ever planned to wait for him at all.

Maybe this time Jihoon could be the one to want to learn how to find his way back to Woojin, first to third, the starting line to home if time permitted.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Jihoon says, glancing down at his arm. “I should’ve been more careful.”

“Shut up before I make you,” Woojin warns. “Don’t think this means I’m not still mad about everything.”

“That’s okay.”

“I’m serious Jihoon.” Woojin looks behind him at the ice before his eyes find Jihoon again. “If you ever pull any shit on par to that ever again, I promise you, I will personally make your life a living hell.”

“No, I believe you,” Jihoon says, but nothing could hide the way he can’t stop smiling.

“What are you so happy about,” Woojin mutters, but his expression has already softened. When he’s wearing his skates and Jihoon isn’t, he’s almost a head taller. “Stop smiling.”

“I don’t think I can,” Jihoon says, letting Woojin wrap his arms around him. “No seriously, I can’t.”

“I believe you,” Woojin echoes, and mirrors the smile. Jihoon’s tired, wrung-out sponge of a heart squeezes even harder than he ever knew it could, and thinks if he could condense all of the winters they’ve spent apart it would feel less like falling and more the onset of flight. Like if those days were forgotten then it all would be for reason, the penultimate frost, wishes most silent to sky made sun to light.

//