Chapter Text
The lights dim.
"My next target," fourteen of the screens echo at once, a slow-pinging pulse oscillating to match the voice modulator, "will be," the signal scrambles, white noise dispersing into a taunting, "Jung Yunho."
The monitors fade to black.
A single pink dot distends into a crude heart, frequency swelling over high-pitched escalating chatter. The screens shatter into a rebuilding mosaic: a candid shot of Yunho, face pixelated, badge legible, two animated arrows stabbing through his chest, captioned: mine.
The lights flicker back on.
"...so," Section Chief starts cautiously, mouth twitching, "...did the Bambi Bandit just say the next thing he's gonna steal will be..." the entire precinct, crammed into the debriefing room, turns to stare at Yunho, "your heart."
Three detectives hastily avert their eyes.
A suspicious amount of coughing fills the room.
Mortified, Yunho palms the desk and rises.
"Chief," he argues passionately, "all of my data suggests this is definitely some kind of copycat—" he squares his shoulders, absolutely certain, because—modesty aside—Yunho's the expert on this particular profile, "—this just isn't his usual M.O.—"
"Well, actually—" one of the analysts pipes up innocently, shuffling through a thick printout, "the electronic signatures match."
"...maybe he's trying to throw us off track," Yunho insists defensively but slowly sinks back into his seat, face ablaze.
"No, no—this is good," Section Chief points out with a contemplative nod, clicking his pen. "It means he'll try and approach you," he tips back in his swivel chair and scratches at his stubble, adding a conspiratorial, "at which point we'll finally get him in custody."
Yunho exhales, defeated.
"In the meantime," Section Chief says and slaps Yunho's back, "go meet your new partner."
*
"Him," Section Chief says.
"What," Yunho blinks, staring at a tall kid clumsily inspecting Section Chief's desk, all bright eyes and baby curls and gangly limbs.
"Shim Changmin," Section Chief says, less patiently, and shoves at Yunho's back. "Your new partner."
"...you mean, my new partner's..." Yunho starts with apprehension as Changmin awkwardly tugs his jacket aside to adjust a loose holster, "...son?"
Startled, Changmin looks up.
"No, um, I'm actually twenty-ei—eeh," he drops his gun and scrambles to catch it. It clatters to the floor, safety cocking. "Oh."
Hurriedly, Section Chief disappears, clearing his throat with an uncomfortable side-eye.
Deeply concerned, Yunho squats next to Changmin, gathering the spilled mess and searching Changmin's shiny face. "...are you here for training."
"Ah, no, I," Changmin explains nervously, "they sent me to help," he fumbles, badge peeling off his belt and plonking onto Yunho's shoe, "...protect... you..."
Yunho stares for a long moment.
"...I'll drive."
*
"So how much did they tell you," Yunho asks at the third red right.
Changmin fusses over a pair of brand-new handcuffs, dark turtleneck bunching over his chin.
"About—" he starts with a muffled yelp, accidentally snapping one cuff around his wrist, and panics trying to hide it, "—about the case?"
Yunho steps on the gas, miserable. "...yes, about the case."
"Well," Changmin begins semi-professionally, still struggling with the handcuff dangling from his wrist, "for unknown reasons," he rattles off with diligent care, "you're being targeted by a renowned international criminal—"
"A narcissistic thief," Yunho corrects pointedly, careening down a narrow back street.
"Eh," Changmin shrugs, clutching at the dashboard as the car tilts, knuckles white, "he doesn't sound like a narcissist." He ducks his head, bangs bouncing. "From. From what I've. From what I've read."
Yunho glances over, one hand on the steering wheel.
"I've been profiling him for a year," he offers kindly because—from experience—high-strung rookies like these need to be handled with kid gloves or Yunho's day will, once again, end with resignation letters and light vomiting. "Someone with his abilities should be out there helping people, not harming them."
The handcuff slips off.
"Well," Changmin returns guardedly, not meeting his eyes, "why do you think he's doing what he's... been accused of doing. Allegedly doing."
"I don't know," Yunho admits, honest, then tries to lighten the mood with a cavalier, "but as Bambi, I'm guessing he's probably out there avenging his father's death or something."
"Mother's death," Changmin corrects smoothly, tone combative. "Bambi's mother died in the movie."
"...right," Yunho concedes apologetically and barrels into a private underground parking garage, nicking a ramp.
"Besides," Changmin lectures shakily, turning around to watch the ticket dispenser clang out an alarm, "he's not really harming people."
Yunho spies an empty spot between two convertibles and goes for it. "Stealing is wrong."
"Robin Hood stole to give to the poor," Changmin counters, eyes widening as one of the convertibles loses a mirror, tone turning soft, curious, "was that wrong."
Yunho pauses.
"Does Bambi give to the poor," he asks finally, setting the brake.
"That's irrelevant," Changmin snaps then jerks with dismay, caught on his seat belt, eyes brimming with unshed rookie tears. "Ah, Yunho-ssi, I think I broke it..."
"Hyung is fine," Yunho offers and easily reaches over to unbuckle him.
Changmin doesn't dodge, only gives a tiny impish grin, mouth curled as though his tail is wagging, and offers a pleased, smug,
"Hyung."
*
"Hyung," Changmin asks in the elevator, "you're not curious why he picked you."
Yunho blinks innocently, playing with the buttons. "What."
"You're not..." Changmin tries again, obviously forced smile masking his exasperation, "I mean. Hyung. Why single you out when he's always only, uh. Taken, no. Just. You aren't curious," he ventures, sounding like a mess, "why he wants to, um, steal you."
Yunho laughs, instinctively draping a brotherly arm around Changmin's shoulder. "He doesn't."
"Well," Changmin hedges, "...there were hearts and... mine..."
"Look," Yunho explains patiently, patting Changmin's shoulder as the elevator pings, "our records of his activities go back seven years," he tugs him into a dark corridor, temple pressed to Changmin's in a friendly sunbae gesture, "but the only time he almost got caught was last year—when they assigned me to the case."
Briefly, Changmin's lips seem to curl wickedly but it must be the shadows.
"So you think he's not serious," he asks with a quick furtive glance, squished beneath Yunho's arm, fingers curling around Yunho's wrist, prying him off.
"I think I pissed him off," Yunho allows and tries not to ruffle Changmin's hair as they round the corner.
"And do you like pissing him off," Changmin asks quietly, "hyung."
"Yeah," Yunho says with a shameless grin and lifts his hand to knock.
*
"...another new partner, Yunho-ssi..." the witness greets, face scrunched up.
Sheepish, Yunho bows and takes off his shoes.
"Ah," he sugarcoats a little because his last one hung in there for a record two months, "it's just... bad luck."
The witness gives him a sympathetic once-over, then addresses Changmin with a more optimistic, "Is Yunho-ssi training you?"
"No, I'm here to protect him," Changmin boasts with a bright nervous smile and knocks over a vase.
*
"Like last time," the witness says over tea, restlessly wringing out a napkin, hands folded across her lap, "he only took the newest artifact from our private collection."
Yunho scribbles the information down onto his notepad and examines the glass cupboards. "What kind of artifact."
"...I'm not at liberty to say yet," the witness sidesteps, looking uncomfortable. "But needless to say, it was, by our definition, priceless."
*
Yunho hums, suspicious. "It's unusual for him to return to the scene of the crime."
Absentmindedly, Changmin nods.
"And she's hiding something," Yunho says, leaning his chin against his knuckles and steering the car around a detour.
"Probably," Changmin agrees, scrolling down his phone.
"Well," Yunho yawns and glances at his watch, "we're officially in overtime, so where should I drop you off."
Changmin looks up from his phone, baffled. "Hyung. Didn't you read the memo."
Yunho's not a fan of memos.
"Uh..." Changmin explains, somehow excessively flustered and fidgety, "you're under... twenty-four-hour protection..."
Yunho tries not to swerve into oncoming traffic. "What."
Changmin hides a smile.
"They sent me," he says at last, no longer resembling a neurotic puppy, "to stay with you."