Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Despite its intimidating name, the Incheon Violent Crimes Department wasn’t nearly as exciting as it sounded. Bang Chan was accustomed to the routine, which consisted of reports, calls that didn’t always result in actual cases, and more reports.

So, when he arrived on an ordinary Thursday, he expected nothing more than paperwork and his two colleagues, who bickered like cats and mice. However, what he found as soon as he stepped out of the elevator already indicated that his day wouldn’t follow the monotonous path he had anticipated.

“Oh, Hyung! You’re so screwed!”

Chan blinked at the young man standing before him, who stared with wide eyes from behind the round lenses of his glasses that, as usual, were slipping down to the tip of his nose. He pushed the frames up awkwardly with his forearm, since both his hands were occupied with two coffee cups and a briefcase precariously tucked under his arm.

Chan smiled at the younger man. “Good morning to you, too, Seungmin-ah.”

“Good morning, Hyung,” he replied with fake cordiality, his smile widening. “You’re late.”

“I was at Taehwowan.”

The smile on Seungmin's face softened almost imperceptibly, and in silence, he offered him one of the cups, which Chan accepted. He didn't like coffee, but he had learned in just one year that displays of amiability were rare coming from Seungmin and should be appreciated.

“How’s Minho-hyung?”

“A pain in the ass as always, but recovering.” He took a few sips of the coffee — the hot, strong liquid sliding down his throat, waking him up as he walked toward the unit’s entrance with the rookie at his side. “So, what kind of trouble am I in?”

Seungmin was a genuine and intelligent kid. Tall, even taller than Chan. He always wore closed-collar shirts and suspenders, running back and forth with papers in hand, which made him look younger than he was allowed to in a place like that. But he was perceptive and determined. Like any rookie, he had a peculiar taste for action that the job didn’t always provide, and judging by the excitement and sparkle in his eyes at that moment, Chan knew he’d better brace himself for whatever chaos was coming.

“Okay, hear me out: earlier, some hooded guy showed up saying he needed to talk to the boss here. Mr. Park took him to his office and they stayed there for over an hour,” Seungmin said, sipping his coffee and stepping aside to let an officer pass. “Then, guess who called?”

“Is this going to lead us somewhere?” Chan asked, unimpressed, glancing fondly at the rookie’s exasperated face.

“The Major!” Seungmin hissed in an exaggerated whisper, stopping just a few steps from the railings of the wide entrance, where Chan had a clear view of the half dozen officers working calmly that morning. Nothing out of the ordinary, except for Mr. Park, sitting in his glass-walled office between Divisions 1 and 2. He looked as tense as a string about to snap, eyes unfocused on the computer screen before him. It was not a common sight for the middle-aged captain, and that alone was enough to make Bang Chan uneasy. "Can you believe it? I've been here one year and I've never even seen the Major's face. But as soon as the strange hooded guy steps in here, he calls, wanting to speak urgently with Mr. Park?"

Chan took a deep breath, turning his gaze back to Seungmin’s face, restless with curiosity. “And where do I fit into this?”

“After transferring the call to the office, Mr. Park came out all stressed, asking about you,” he replied, hugging the brown folder against his chest and taking another long sip of his coffee. “And the hooded guy’s still in the interrogation room.”

If Chan were a naive intern like Seungmin, he might have been excited about the change of pace. But he hadn’t been a rookie for years, and the past few days had already been chaotic enough for him to wish for trouble right now. Unfortunately, problems came uninvited.

“Oh, Chan, you’re here! The Captain’s waiting for you.” Changbin approached, glancing sideways at Seungmin, who dropped his smile into a scowl. “Hey, where’s my coffee, brat?”

Changbin had been the unit’s Second Lieutenant for as long as Chan had worked there. Despite being shorter than most of the officers in the precinct, he had a strong build and sharp features that gave off an intimidating aura when he wasn’t smiling. Seungmin was the only one with less than three years at the police station — a mere intern, actually — who not only wasn't intimidated by Changbin's facade but also went so far as to disrespect him.

Seungmin smiled against the rim of the disposable cup in his hand.

"At the coffee shop."

"You little..."

Cat and mouse.

Chan thought with mild exasperation, handing his nearly untouched cup of coffee to Changbin, who looked ready to smack the giggling intern. Ignoring the confrontation unfolding between the Lieutenant and Seungmin, Chan headed for his superior’s office and knocked on the door. The firm reply came quickly:

“Come in.”

The well-aged face of the Captain showed no reaction upon seeing him enter. He just gestured vaguely for Chan to sit wherever he wanted. Chan sat down, the tension in his body rising as the silence settled. The stillness was disturbed only by the muffled sound of noontime voices beyond the closed door, the precinct operating at its usual steady pace as Park's office seemed like a particularly frozen point in the middle of it all.

Over the years, Chan had been alone with Mr. Park on a few occasions. Only once had it ended with shouting and a formal reprimand, and in recent days, he had barely left the station, buried in reports and an investigation stalled against his will. There was no reason for this meeting, and even less reason for its tense atmosphere, yet Mr. Park was looking at him with something close to apprehension.

“Felix,” he said at last. “That’s the name of the young man who is here to file a missing person’s report that will be under your responsibility.”

Chan blinked, searching for a sign of a mistake on the stern face of the man in front of him. “Sir… missing person reports aren’t our jurisdiction.”

“I know.”

Chan pressed his lips together, feeling stupid for not understanding the situation, which made no sense at all. Even if the Violent Crimes Unit made exceptions to take on a missing person case for some exceptional reason, why would he be the one responsible? He already had an ongoing investigation, and his partner was on leave — a new case shouldn’t have been a possibility.

Except… and the thought stifled his confusion into caution.

As if reading his thoughts, the Captain gave Chan a file. He accepted it warily and opened it. A single glance was enough for Chan to understand the dossier’s subject. After all, it had reverberated across the city over the past week on every media channel.

“The Mayor Byeon case,” he said, raising his confused eyes to his superior. “I know about it. What does his death have to do with this?”

Park nodded and leaned in just enough to rest his thin, trembling finger on the photo attached to the case file. Chan studied the poor-quality, zoomed-in image, clearly from a security camera.

He had seen the footage on the news: a young man with disheveled dark hair, unfocused eyes, and a bloody mouth stumbling out of the emergency stairs of the five-star hotel LaRose.

The prime suspect in the violent murder of Mayor Byeon.

Still wanted.

“This is Felix.”

Chan looked at Park so quickly he felt dizzy, his narrowed eyes fixed intently on the Captain, who leaned back in his chair with an expression so resolute there was no room to doubt how serious he was.

“He killed the mayor.”

“He’s the suspect,” Park corrected, “yes.”

“There’s footage, fingerprints at the scene and on the murder weapon.” He felt the folder crinkle as his fist clenched, his fingers crumpling the paper. “He's a wanted murderer and should be in jail, not sitting in a room like a victim.”

The Captain didn't flinch at Chan’s outburst. He knew him well enough to understand that, despite his generally warm demeanor, it was criminals that brought out the worst in him.

“Right now, he’s only that. A victim searching for his missing friend.”

Chan opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His severe, incredulous gaze no longer concealed any respect for his superior. After five years serving under Park’s supposedly admirable and noble command, Chan felt as if he were seeing him for the first time. And his impression, at that moment, was nauseating.

“Someone on the inside is protecting him, right?” Chan hissed through clenched teeth, unable to hide the sharp disappointment in his voice. “It must be someone high up, the Major?”

"Stop digging or you might end up opening your own grave," Park warned through gritted teeth. "This is not a discussion, Bang Chan, it's an order."

Chan returned the hard look and clenched his fists, forcing his rough voice into controlled volume.

“Sorry, sir. Someone up there may be protecting a scum like him, but what makes you think I won’t walk out that door and throw him in a cell for the rest of his life as he deserves?”

"Because to you, innocent lives are more important than the law itself," Park replied, casting a pointed glance at the young man who ground his teeth in displeasure at where the conversation was heading. “This is much bigger than a murder suspect, Chan. Felix needs to find someone and is willing to give us information in exchange. Names of people in Incheon we wouldn’t even imagine. People like Mayor Byeon himself… People from Moonlight.”

Chan froze, his rigid expression dissolving into shock.

“How…?”

“I understand you hate this situation.” Park’s voice softened and his familiar look of concealed concern returned. “But you are the only person we can trust with this case. For obvious reasons, you’ll need to be discreet and help him as you would help any acquaintance of a missing person. In return, he’s willing to share everything he knows, and that’s a lot, Bang Chan. A lot.”

Chan leaned back silently in his chair, feeling Mr. Park’s patient gaze on him, waiting for an answer. Every cell in his body resisted; there was an almost painful discomfort just beneath his skin that he felt more often than he'd liked because of his line of work. And he hated it. He hated it so much that the mere thought of striking a deal with a criminal made a wave of nausea roll through him and the bitter taste in his mouth deepen.

“If this is true…” he pondered, raising his eyes to seek answers in the Captain’s face. “Giving us those names would put a target on his back. It’s a death sentence. Why would he do that?”

The Captain’s expression didn’t change, suggesting the question had already crossed his mind. He seemed to know more than he let on.

“The person he’s looking for must be more important to him than the risk.”

A murderer risking himself for someone else?

Chan clenched his fists.

Definitely not.

✗✗✗✗

Minho would swallow every joke about Chan’s lack of impartiality toward criminals if he saw him enter that interrogation room with the most neutral expression possible, despite the boiling anger under his skin.

He looked up the moment Chan closed the door behind him.

Chan blinked, taking in the face beneath the black hood. He studied the delicate features with bewilderment: big eyes, button nose, plump lips and cheeks covered in freckles that stood out in the white light of the small room. It had been only minutes since Chan had seen the photo, but face-to-face, he somehow looked different.

Maybe it was the hair, now blonde and longer, the strands falling over his indifferent eyes; or maybe it was the absence of blood on his relaxed, pink mouth. Except for the clothes similar to the footage — an oversized dark hoodie, ripped black pants and heavy boots with patterned socks with E.T. heads sticking out their tongues — it was hard to immediately recognize him as the murder suspect who had brought the city to a standstill.

Chan wasn't the only one observing. He noticed with discomfort the suspect’s dark eyes lazily scanning his body, lingering without discretion on his face and holding his stare.

“You must be Detective Bang Chan.”

Chan’s neutrality was shattered, replaced by a severe look as he registered how relaxed the criminal was. Sitting with his feet propped on the metal table as if he weren’t wanted by an entire city and featured in nationwide news. Yet because Chan had control, he kept his fists in check as he sat down before the devil with an angelic face.

“Take your feet off the table before I break them,” Chan warned, slamming the blank form down on the table, meeting the criminal’s gaze. Felix raised his eyebrows at him.

"Is that supposed to make me scared or horny, Detective?" Felix asked, taking Chan’s piercing look as an answer and lifting his hands in surrender, placing his feet on the floor with a half-insolent smile. “Are all detectives this boring or were you just born that way?”

Chan took a deep breath.

"I'm not here to entertain you. Now let's get this over with before I arrest you, how about that?" he asked through clenched teeth, forcing his fingers to unball to reach for the black pen on the table. “I need information about your… accomplice.”

It was as if a light went out. Suddenly, the smile on Felix's face vanished, his dark gaze sharpened. A chill crawled up Chan’s neck against his will.

“My Facilitator,” he corrected, his voice deep and startling, echoing across the small room and making the air heavier.

Chan was unimpressed. Ignoring the correction and the tangible tension, he proceeded. “How long has your accomplice been missing?”

Silence settled for a brief moment. Lifting his eyes from the blank sheet within reach, Chan held the piercing stare of the criminal in front of him. His arms were crossed over his chest, eyebrows furrowed, a few strands of blond hair falling over his left eye, his lips pressed into a thin line. Then he exhaled through his teeth, his face settling into indifference.

"Two days."

Two days were a short time. Long enough to be classified as a disappearance, but too short for a person wanted by the police to be so worried as to ask them for help.

Chan tapped the pen against the paper and looked with subtle incredulity at the criminal across the table.

“What’s his name?”

“Han.”

“Han?” Chan repeated, leaning back in exasperation. “Is that even a real name?”

Felix shrugged. Chan felt a headache setting in at his temple. “How old is he?”

"He's always on my ass about honorifics, so maybe three or four years older than me?" Felix replied uncertainly, glancing distractedly at the wide window with closed blinds behind Chan, who looked at the criminal as if he were one of the aliens on his socks.

“What does he look like?”

“I’ve never seen his face.”

Chan squeezed the pen between his fingers; the cheap plastic creaked between his whitened knuckles. “You…”

His jaw was so tight that air barely escaped between his teeth.

“You’re telling me that you, a wanted murderer,” Chan pointed the pen towards his chest, restraining the impulse to stab him with it, “want me,” and pointed to himself, “a detective in the Violent Crimes Department, to help you find your missing accomplice whom you don’t even know?”

Felix blinked innocently.

“Of course I know him. He’s been my Facilitator for years.”

“And you can’t tell me his real name, age, or appearance, and let me guess: you don’t even know where he lives.”

The bastard scratched the back of his neck, averting his gaze from Chan's furious stare.

“Well, when you put it like this, it sounds absurd…”

“It sounds that way because it is!” Chan huffed, throwing the pen on the metal table. "Do you even know if he's missing? Maybe he just ran away before you got caught."

There was an abrupt shift in the room and Chan watched closely as the criminal’s fingers clenched against the thick fabric of his gloves. His fierce eyes fixed on Chan with palpable determination and aggression.

“Han would never do that.” His deep voice rolled like thunder, fierce and violent. “He needs help, I know that.”

Chan exhaled, crossing his arms and regarding the criminal before him with distrust and disbelief.

It was as if he were facing the perfect personification of an enigma. Though he knew from experience that looks were meaningless, he couldn’t shake the image of innocence on the criminal's young face. The dark circles between his blank eyes and his almond-shaped freckles were the sort of features that stirred protection and concern, not revulsion toward an unscrupulous criminal.

And perhaps that was the most disturbing part.

Because deep down, Chan knew this man had committed a horrific crime just days before. Innocence and fragility coexisted next to monstrosity and fury.

It was in moments of familiarity like this that Chan felt sick because of his job.

“Give me one reason not to handcuff you right now and throw you in a cell to rot like the trash you are.”

“I’ll give you more than one, Detective,” Felix said sharply. “I’ll give you the names of the biggest criminals in this city. All you have to do is help me find Han.”

Including names related to the Moonlight club case…

Chan felt no pride at what he was about to do; he felt disgusted. But Park was right. He would always put lives above everything else, and for now, his focus was on finishing the investigation he had started so he could make things right. He hated, down to his bones, that he was facing a murderer.

He would never forgive himself for helping him, but it was a price he was willing to pay to protect other people’s lives. To save those girls.

To save Lee Minho.

“Is your name on the list?”

And, staking Detective Bang Chan’s life on the bargain that would change everything, Felix declared, “You’ll be the one to decide in the end, Detective.”