He buries his face into that soft sweater, on top of the steady fake heartbeats. The embrace is as suffocating as the familiar smell, his only refuge from the raging storm outside.
my piece for the @squidbang event! inspired by "Homecoming" by @datoutou3373 💖 always a pleasure working with her! this story makes me so emotional it's not funny.. so I tried my best portraying the deep sadness it made me feel into this piece! please read the fic if you haven't!
The training room is closed to other soldiers. They do this about three times a week, just the two of them sparring with each other. At first, In-ho simply didn’t have other options. Sparring comfortably would require him not to wear his mask, so he couldn’t do it with other soldiers. But over the past year, he’s come to enjoy this activity a lot more than he expected.
Based on their track records, his chance of winning is almost exactly 50%, which frustrates him to no end but at the same time, he can’t ask for a better form of stimulation. Because they are evenly matched in both combat skills and strategy, he has to engage both his body and mind in those fights. And he expects nothing less from a sparring partner.
He knows he’s about to lose this one when the other man pins him down with an arm on his neck. It’s often difficult to predict the outcome with such a close fight, but that changes when he’s fought the same person dozens of times. He understands his own strengths and weaknesses against the Officer; the fact that he’s faster but the other man is stronger. Therefore he knows it’s almost impossible to get out of the chokehold when the Officer’s on top of him. He doesn’t give up immediately, and still puts up his best fight to maneuver out of the situation. But soon his vision starts to go dark, and he makes the smart decision to tap out.
The pressure on his airway disappears, and he inhales sharply. His vision clears up at once, revealing the smug face inches away.
“So?” The Officer smiles at him from above, their bodies still tightly pressed against each other.
“So what? You won this round.” He feels the thick layer of sweat on his body seeping through the tanktop, sticking to the other man’s wet t-shirt, their scents melting into one. The fight is over but neither of them has moved. He will never ask why because there’s no need to. Humans are not made to sustain themselves with no physical contact at all. Only he knows how hard he’s tried to fight it, but certain urges are called instinct for a reason — people long for it, even when it’s laced with pain.
“I did.” The Officer shifts his weight a little but still doesn’t let go.
His heart beats against another warm chest. Once, twice, three times. And now it’s passed the usual amount of time they allow themselves to linger. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
He hates how clever that is, perfectly deflecting the question while being technically true. There’s a tingling sensation on his skin, a rush of warmth on his cheeks. “Ok, get off then.”
“You’re sure? We still have time.”
The weight on him shifts, heavier on his waist and legs and lighter on his chest. He immediately takes a deep breath, and instantly regrets it when he hears how loud it is.
“Time for what?” Ultimately, both of them know the answer, so it’s less of a question, more like a test to see if the other man dares to say it out loud.
The Officer’s eyes glint with a newfound excitement, the tease in his smirk growing into something undeniable. “How about we play a game? Just you and I.”
In-ho watches the other man’s face slowly lower down and move to his side. Suddenly all sensations around his body are concentrated on this one spot on his neck. He feels the hot breath tickling his nerves, a thin layer of moisture making the hairs on his skin stand up.
“Red light means stop. Green light means keep going.” The Officer lightly nudges his collarbone with the tip of his nose. “You call the shots.”
In-ho doesn’t speak, although he knows he should say ‘red light’ now, or better just order the Officer to stop. Don’t even entertain his game. Nothing good will come of it. Yet he stays silent. His mouth slightly parts when a kiss lands on his neck. The lips are soft and slightly dry, a little harsh against the vulnerable spot right above his artery. Then there’s the tip of a tongue, skillfully tracing the shape of the pulsating vein. He closes his eyes and sighs.
He hears a chuckle right on his earlobe. “Green light?”
“…Yeah.”
“Yeah what?”
He grits his teeth. “Green light.”
“Yes, sir.”
The kisses tenderly travel down to his collarbone, leaving a trail of fresh red marks. He briefly wonders if the Frontman uniform’s collar is high enough to cover everything, and then his mind is pulled sharply back to the present by an intense wave of pleasure on his left nipple.
He moans loudly and grabs the other man’s hair, yanking the head up from his chest.
“What, you said green light.” The Officer palms his sweaty abdomen under the tanktop and squeezes his chest, a calloused thumb brushing over the wet nipple.
His body arches up to meet the pressure, yearning for more despite his mind telling him the opposite. A hand tentatively reaches between his legs, pressing on the bulge.
His eyes snap open. The weight of reality suddenly crashes down upon him. He grabs the Officer’s wrist firmly. “We shouldn’t.”
“Why?” The Officer gently massages his sensitive parts.
“Stop. Hey!” He pushes against the other man with serious conviction this time. Their eyes meet, and he’s face to face with his own desire. He hardens his resolve. “Red light.”
The Officer stays still, neither following his command nor resisting. He starts counting in his head. He’ll allow five seconds before he attacks.
“Alright, your choice.” The other man sighs around the four second mark.
In-ho watches him get up and quickly gather his things from the floor, a clear resignation in his demeanor. Then he hears the door open and close again, leaving him alone in this large enclosed area.
*
His body refuses to calm down. Even after he gets back to his own quarter, his chest is heaving and his heart races against his ribcage. He leaves a trail of dirty clothes on the floor and steps straight into the shower. He seizes up instinctively as cold water hits the muscles on his back. A chill shoots up from his spine, sending waves of shivers through his entire body.
He looks down. As expected, his desire has shrunken back to normal. It’s simple biology. He allows himself to slowly relax, turning the water to a comfortable temperature. He shampoos his hair half distracted. Warm water mixed with bubbles runs down along his body. But today his skin is strangely perceptive. The smooth sensation feels like thousands of soft fingertips tantalizing his nerves, impossible to ignore.
He looks around pointlessly — of course no one is here because he’s the only one with access to this floor, except Oh Il-nam and the VIPs. But he’ll literally shoot himself in the head if any of them comes into his shower.
Inhaling deeply, he savors the fullness in his lungs, the inevitable suffocation that comes with excess. His left hand reaches down and wraps around himself, already getting hard again. Water plus leftover shampoo aren’t enough to function as lube, but he likes the slightly rough touch. Pain is a form of stimulation too, and it’s been too long since he’s known pleasure without it. He rubs himself back and forth, forehead against the cool ceramic while warm water continues to pour down his back.
In-ho lets his eyes close, and his mind wanders seamlessly into the room downstairs. What is the Officer doing now? He left the training room several minutes earlier, so he should be out of the shower already. Unless he’s doing the same thing.
The thought sends a joint through his body. His fully aroused member jumps in his hand. But no, he doesn’t think the other man would like to take care of this type of business in the shower. He doesn’t know why. It’s just a very strong feeling. The Officer will rush through the shower because it merely serves the function of cleansing. Afterwards, he’ll lie in bed naked and enjoy everything properly.
He’ll use body lotion as lube. A generous amount on his large palm, slowly rubbed along his fully hardened length, coating the dark red flesh in a thick layer of white. His legs are apart, maybe knees slightly pushed up. A half bottle of whiskey on his nightstand and an open box of cigarettes next to it. And his face… what would he look like in bliss? Eyes half lidded without focus, lips parted as scandalous sounds escape from them. Will they sound deep and raw like his usual tone, or softer in this special occasion?
In-ho hears a long groan and only then realizes it’s his own. His rhythm is becoming sloppy, his right hand balling into a fist against the wall. He can feel himself growing agitated but the final release will not come. He makes himself return to his imagination, like hitting the resume button on a paused adult movie. The scene is as voluptuous as earlier, but instead of arousal, he’s consumed in shame. What kind of commander does this? Fantasizing about a soldier for his selfish gratification. He can get out of the shower and go downstairs right now, and the Officer will make all this come true. But that possibility doesn’t entice him.
It terrifies him.
All of a sudden his mind shifts, just when he’s about to give up and turn off the water. The entire scene goes dark like he just remotely turned off the light in the Officer’s room. When it comes back on, it’s much dimmer. Not in a bad way like a low quality movie, but more intimate, like a secret he stumbles upon rather than a pornographic setup. It’s the inside of a limo: leather seats, bottles of expensive champagne and the golden piggy bank. It should be his limo now, but not in this scene. His hands are tied up behind his back and his body feels boneless.
“Player 132.”
He snaps to look towards his left. A pink soldier wearing a square mask is leaning casually on the other side.
“It’s you.” The truth is he doesn’t know who’s behind the mask besides a number. “Number 7.”
“Yes. Don’t you miss me? It’s been a while.”
Number 7 closes their distance. He struggles to move away but none of his muscles work under whatever drug they gave him earlier.
“Don’t run.” The soldier holds his chin up. “I’m giving you what you want.”
“Wha…”
He doesn’t finish the question, because the next second, a gloved hand reaches between his legs and grabs him roughly. He screams out in pain, both his body and mind frozen in shock. The soldier chuckles, a familiar sound but he can’t think as the other man relentlessly gropes him. He throws his head back and desperately tries to twist his hands free, the rope leaving rings of red marks on his wrist.
“Stop fighting and enjoy it.”
The irrefutable command sends his body over the edge. His heart skips a beat, his back arches, his vision going blank along with the vivid imagination. His throat makes an awkward, primal sound as he spills hot fluid all over the shower wall.
The water is still warm, but all he feels is a bone deep chill.
*
A week later, In-ho stands over 456 players in the control room. After the first game, the light will go out for more than half of them.
“Preparations are ready.”
He looks at the Officer. “Begin.”
The other man gives him a polite nod and pushes a button on the panel. The broadcast starts to explain rules to the players. Same recording every year. He can recite the whole thing without missing a word. He turns to leave, and as he walks past the Officer, he extends a hand and lightly brushes against the other man’s arm. It lasts less than a second, the touch barely there at all. Other people in the room surely won’t notice with their eyes fixed on the screen. But the Officer never needed anything more than a mere hint.
He watches the game on his couch over a glass of whiskey as usual. Five minutes later, he receives a request to enter the top floor.
The Officer takes off his mask as soon as the elevator door opens, not bothering to hide the smug look on his face. “So? Green light this time?”
“Green light, and do not ask me again.”
Because reality can never be as volatile as his imaginations.
I really love Chapter 2 of 'Far From Over' (though I enjoy all your other fics as well). I was quite surprised to see the author’s summary describe it as a 'bonus smut chapter,' because it’s such an excellent and beautiful masterpiece that goes far beyond being just a bonus or simple smut.I’m also really enjoying the fic you’re currently writing. Thank you for always creating such wonderful stories.
Aww thank you so much! I really enjoyed writing that one because they just stayed messy and complicated forever. No resolution in the end lol. And glad to know you enjoy my other stories too. Thank you for your support💕
Over the next few days, In-ho quickly realized the host didn’t bring him to New York because they had a lot to discuss about this year’s game. Rather, he could fit into the other man’s busy schedule — when there were 15 minutes between meetings, after lunch or before dinner, they would briefly talk about the game.
“I’m sure you’re already on it, but the security breaches need to be fixed. Please show me the changes after you’re done.”
“I was thinking, we should have some games that are more common in other cultures? The Squid Game last year was great, but no one knew the rules except us.”
“Oh, about the…naked human installations, let’s change that to something classier, at least for my table.”
The requests were all very direct and rational. He typed them out with no hesitation or pushback. He could easily imagine the other man speaking in the same manner at a fancy conference room filled with the same VIPs wearing suit and tie. They’d be talking about numbers and strategy, all professional and civil. Decent.
In his free time, he visited museums and galleries in New York City, one of the plans he made with her a lifetime ago. The Met was his first destination, of course. He could spend the whole week there and still not have enough time for every piece. Art, like everything else, followed the same secular rules. So much of it was stored in this one building, where a resident of the greatest city could visit anytime, to appreciate art and history blossomed in other parts of the world.
“You should check out Christ Crowned with Thorns,” the driver Matteo told him on their way to the museum. “It’s a Renaissance painting by Antonello da Messina, a Sicilian!”
The pride in his voice was unmistakable. “Is that where you’re from?”
“Si, I still go back every year.”
“When did you come to America?”
“Oh, I was born and raised here in the city. Third generation. My grandpa came to the country in his 20s.”
A very typical American story. “Oh yeah? What did he do?”
“Well, he washed dishes in a restaurant, and opened his own after five years!”
“That’s impressive. Does your family still own the restaurant?”
“My family does, but I don’t.” Matteo waved dismissively. “I had other pursuits, you could say.”
“Was that how you started working for Mr. Seong?”
“Pretty much. It was almost 15 years ago.”
In-ho was about to take this opportunity to pry a bit more. A driver would know everything that happened on the backseat, from phone calls to sex, but that was also why they were often discreet people. It didn’t matter regardless, because after the next light, they pulled up in front of the museum.
*
And there was the other thing, which he was certain would never happen again, but already happened twice more.
He threw his head back and moaned, desperately trying to pull the head between his legs away.
“Stop! I’m…” The rest of the sentence turned into a scream as his tip touched the tight ring of muscles. He came violently into the other manna throat.
“Fuck, I’m sorry.” He tried to catch his breath, his back all wet against the soft couch cushions.
“Don’t be. I wanted it.” The host climbed up and gave him a deep kiss filled with his own scent. A hand gently held his chin, thumb brushing his lips. “Your turn.”
*
Today is their last day in New York. The host is flying back home to L.A. tomorrow, and then he can use the jet to fly back to Korea. He declined politely at first, but the other man insisted.
“No reason to have the jet sit around,” the host said casually.
But because this is their last day in the city, the host wants to make it count. They’ve been to enough Michelin restaurants and exclusive cocktail bars. The other night he watched Phantom of the Opera from the second row. So tonight, apparently they’re doing something different. A more authentic New York experience, according to the host.
They have an early dinner at a small restaurant in Little Italy. A smiley middle aged man leads them to a table at a quiet corner, and brings them a bottle of red wine. A gift for Matteo’s friends.
“Is this his family’s restaurant?”
“Matteo’s? No, he’s a good friend of the owner.” The waiter takes out a small notepad and a pen. “Can I get you anything to start with?”
Almost every entree is under $25, cheaper than some appetizers from those fancy restaurants they went to. In-ho orders seafood pasta, and the other man gets a Margherita.
“This is good.” The host sips the free wine. “They shouldn’t have though. I’m the last person who needs free stuff.”
“We can leave a good tip.”
“Of course.” The other man answers a bit absentmindedly, but In-ho doesn’t doubt his sincerity. He does have a habit of leaving generous tips to waitstaff.
“I’ve wanted to ask you something.” The host puts his arms on the table and lowers his voice. “The name on your passport, that’s not real, right?”
It’s not, but now he’s thinking about when and how the other man saw his passport. It has stayed in his room’s bedside drawer since he arrived. Did the host go through this stuff when he wasn’t there? Or was it the last time they had sex?
“The border control officer. He met us privately at the airport when we landed, remember?” The host quickly explains, “he checked both of our passports, and well, I couldn’t help but peek at yours.”
“It’s alright.” He smiles, silently chiding himself for his paranoia. “Yeah, it’s not my real name.”
“I thought so, because your last name was… I mean it’s not impossible, but it’d be hell of a coincidence.”
Realization washes over him. Oh Young-il, the same last name as Oh Il-nam. Of course this is what it’s about.
“I’m happy to change it. It’ll take some time, but I can start working on it as soon as I’m back home. Sorry, I understand it must be…”
“Oh no! You’re taking this the wrong way.” The host puts up a hand with an apologetic expression. “Don’t change it, please. I don’t know much about that but I bet it’s not an easy process.”
The confusion must have been clear on his face, as the host breaks out into an amused laugh. “Relax, I’m just trying to ask for your real name.”
“Oh.” An air bubble gets trapped in his throat. He doesn’t know what to say.
“It’s only fair. I suppose you already know mine?”
He swallows the bubble down. There’s no need to deny it. “Yes, Mr. Seong Gi-hun.”
“Let’s drop the formality and just call me by my name. I think we’re familiar enough now.” There’s a suggestive playfulness in his enunciation. “And what about you? Mr. Stranger?”
“Hwang In-ho.” His own name sounds weird. No one has called him that in years.
The host — Gi-hun, he corrects himself — silently repeats it. In-ho feels his heartrate pick up as the other man’s lips make out the shape of his name.
“Huh, I like that. It fits you.”
The waiter brings their food. He exhales audibly, grateful for the well timed distraction.
“Come on, try it! Matteo is never wrong about Italian food, I’m telling you.”
He watches Gi-hun pick up a slice of pizza with his hand, oil dripping down messily on the plate. He looks so different from the refined rich man In-ho’s starting to know over the past few days, and the worst part is he doesn’t know which version is an act.
He tries a mouthful of his black seafood pasta. A mixture of rich flavors explode on his tongue, juicy clam soaked in thick tomato sauce, a flawless savory experience.
“Matteo was right. This is great.”
“Yup, I told you.” Gi-hun wipes his hands on a thin napkin and reaches into his pocket. “Before I forget, here, I got you something.”
It’s a plain black velvet box, no label and no packaging, quite fitting for this modest restaurant they’re at. But he knows for certain whatever’s inside will be extremely valuable, whether in terms of money, or something more scarce.
“Well, are you gonna open it?”
“You didn’t have to.” He takes the box over and feels the smooth surface with his fingertips.
Gi-hun gives him a long, thoughtful look. “We can do things that we don’t need or have to, In-ho.”
A wave of heated dizziness rushes to his head, blurring his vision for a brief moment. He isn’t sure if it’s from the other man saying his name for the first time, or the weight of that sentence. He looks down and opens the box, because that’s much easier than responding to what Gi-hun just said, or even thinking about it.
It’s a Rolex watch. He knows very little about watches, but this one looks like a minimalist work of art with its black dial and steel case. It doesn’t look like the most extravagant watch out there, but honestly he’s not sure.
“It’s an Explorer. This model can pretty much handle anything: heat, water, altitude. It’s also readable at night. I figured it’s more of your style compared to something with a golden dial and embedded diamonds.”
The mental image of that makes him snort. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“You like it then?”
“I do.” He holds it between his fingers, feeling the steel slowly turn warm against his skin. “Really, thank you.”
“Great, I’m finally doing something right.”
“You shouldn’t say that.” In-ho closes the box carefully and looks up at Gi-hun. A sincere affection fills his stomach. “You’ve made the trip incredible.”
“Then I can only hope it ends on a high note!” Gi-hun wipes his hands and month clean, and asks their waiter for the check. “There’s this small bar around here. The line’s usually over two hours long, but I bribed the owner.”
Gi-hun gives him a wink and hands his Amex card to the waiter. “It’s a very special place, not one of those tourist traps.”
“Special how?”
“They don’t have a menu. You just tell the bartender what you’re in the mood for, and they make you a surprise cocktail.”
He thinks about his usual drink order: whiskey on rock, or a whiskey sour when he feels like a cocktail. In a place like that, it would be a waste of the bartenders’ talent and passion. Maybe he’ll try something new tonight for once, like one of those sweet and flowery drinks she loved, and he used to jokingly make fun of.
“I told Matteo to go home earlier. It’s Saturday and I don’t want him to spend the whole night with us.”
“Of course. Do you want me to call an uber?”
“No need, it’s just a 10 minute walk.”
*
They head East through narrow streets, passing by countless restaurants and bars filled by large groups of drunk young people.
“Is this a safe area?”
“I mean, it’s New York.” Gi-hun shrugs. “But I’d say so. It’s a busy area with lots of nightlife.”
He isn’t worried about himself, but he’s painfully aware that one of the richest people in the city is casually walking on a crowded street without security. And yes, the richness is obvious even without luxury logos or a flashy sports car. He learned about that back in the policy academy. Two types of pedestrians are most likely to be targeted by criminals: those who are visibly anxious, and those who are careless. And a rich person almost always falls under the second category.
“Here, it’s on the other side.”
They walk into a small park, dimly lit by a few street lamps. There are homeless people lying on the benches, passed out from alcohol or drugs. If they were in Seoul, this park would be exactly where the players are recruited. Many people are scared of the homeless population, which is understandable especially for women. Sometimes desperate people take up extreme measures to survive. He knows that too well himself.
But in reality, most of them are harmless. If anything, they’re more likely to be the victims than criminals. Unfortunately, that’s also why an area filled with homeless people is often a breeding ground for crimes. Drugs, stealing, robbery and even homicide, when you’re vulnerable, people will line up to take advantage of you.
As if on cue, a tall figure steps in front of them, blocking their way. He knows what’s about to happen before it actually happens. But that half a second isn’t enough to come up with a plan, not even for him.
“Give me your wallets, quick!” The man speaks in a hushed voice, his face covered by a black scarf but there’s no hesitation behind his voice. A gun is in his right hand, pressed tightly against his torso next to the pocket. A passerby from a few meters away might not notice anything, but they are staring straight at the barrow.
“Whoa, ok! Yeah, here, take it.” Gi-hun quickly pulls out his wallet and hands it to the man. “Keep calm, alright? No one has to get hurt.”
“Your watch too, now!”
Gi-hun complies again, slipping the expensive watch off his wrist. The robber grabs it and then turns to him. “What’re you standing there for? Yours too!”
He slowly takes out his wallet and holds it out half way, masking it as fear. As expected, the impatient robber takes the bait and takes a step up to grab it, closing their distance. And that is all he needs. In-ho drops his wallet and grabs the other man’s wrist, twisting the gun away from them. The robber yells out in pain and lets go of the gun, which falls effortlessly into his hand. In-ho kicks him hard in the stomach, sending him stumbling backwards. The robber falls on the ground gracelessly. In-ho spins the gun around and points it at his head.
“Wait! I’m sorry! Shit, don’t shoot me I’m sorry!”
“It’s not worth it!” Gi-hun tugs at his sleeve. “Please, don’t shoot him.”
“Give it back.”
“Yeah! Yeah here…” The robber turns his pockets inside out. A bunch of stuff fall out, way more than what he just took from Gi-hun.
“Take them! All yours!” He scrambles off with his pockets still inside out. A homeless man on a nearby bench is sitting up halfway to look at the commotion. And of course, only now he hears siren blasting.
“Drop your weapon!” A police officer steps out of the car and aims at him. “Drop the gun and get on the ground!”
“What? No! You got it all wrong. He was…”
“Sir, stay back! Show me your hands and don’t move!”
In-ho sighs and slowly sets the gun on the ground, raising his hands and lets the police handcuff him. They’re reading him his rights like these Hollywood movies. Around them, people are gathering and filming as the police put him in the backseat. Amid the chaos, he hears Gi-hun’s voice. “Listen to me, don’t say anything, ok? I’ll fix this!”
Then the car door shuts.
*
The booking process in the US turns out to be very similar to the Korean one. They take his belongings, picture and fingerprints. He doesn’t have an ID on him, so he writes down his fake name so the police know how to spell Young-il.
“You’re a tourist?”
“Yeah.”
“From where?”
“Korea.”
“But you don’t have your passport on you.”
“No, I left it in the hotel. I didn’t really anticipate going to jail tonight.”
“Yeah I get that. Which hotel are you staying at?”
“Look, I was told not to talk.”
“Sure, that’s your right.” The officer shrugs and locks the cell. He truly doesn’t seem to give a shit. “You might be here for a while though. It’s Saturday, and the next transfer is scheduled on Monday morning.”
“I guess Monday morning it is.”
He sits down on the uncomfortable narrow bench. Luckily this holding cell is empty. He’d hate to spend time with people who committed petty crimes on a weekend night out. He doesn’t doubt Gi-hun is working on getting him out. From a purely practical perspective, it serves everyone’s best interest to not have him involved in the American criminal justice system. But a system can only move so fast on a Saturday night, even with a fancy lawyer. All things considered, he might actually spend another day here.
Everything aside, it’s utterly comical that this is what ends up getting him arrested.
“Which of you is in charge here?” He looks outside the cell. A tall middled aged White man walks in waving a sheet of paper. The cheap police station light fails to dim his slick grey suit.
“Who are you?”
“I’m an attorney, and here is a signed order from a judge.” The lawyer looks in his direction. “For this gentleman’s immediate release.”
The police officer takes the sheet of paper and quickly reads it. “That’s unusually fast, but it looks legit.”
“Of course it’s legit! It’s bad enough that a foreign tourist got robbed at gun point in our country, and you guys threw him in jail for self defense!”
“Oh come on, we didn’t know it was self defense! He was the only one with a gun when we got there.”
“Well, good thing there were multiple witnesses on the scene who saw what happened before.” He adjusts his suit jacket, although it’s perfectly wrinkleless. “Not that it matters, we have a judge’s order right here. You are legally required to release him.”
“Works for me, less paperwork. I just need to see his ID.”
“Of course, right here.”
In-ho watches him take out his passport and hands it over. He wonders if the lawyer also knows it’s fake. The police officer goes back to his desk and starts typing, likely checking his immigration record, where it’ll show he entered the country from a private airport seven days ago. Nothing suspicious will show up under Oh Young-il. It’s a completely clean identity.
“Ok, everything checks out.” The Officer hands his passport back to the lawyer and takes out a string of keys. “Apologies for the inconvenience, Mr. Oh. We were just trying to do our job.”
“Certainly, and you’ve done more than enough tonight,” the lawyer responds before he can. “Come on, sir. Let’s get out of here.”
*
Gi-hun jogs towards them as soon as they walk out of the precinct. “Oh my god, are you ok? How did it go?”
“It all went well,” the lawyer speaks again. “There was no reason to make the arrest, as I’ve assured you.”
“Thank you, Connor.” Gi-hun places a hand on his shoulder sincerely. “And sorry for bothering you on a Saturday.”
“Please, you know I’m always happy to help.” The lawyer then turns to him. “And I hope this didn’t completely ruin your trip, sir. I promise we have a lot of pleasant people here in the city besides criminals and the NYPD.”
He smiles politely. “Of course, and I’m very grateful for your help.”
Matteo opens the backseat door. Gi-hun gets in first and invites him to follow. The lawyer gives them a final goodbye before walking to his own car. As much as In-ho truly appreciates his help, he’s glad that they’re not sharing a ride.
“So much for ending the trip on a high note, right?” Gi-hun turns to him as soon as the car starts moving.
He chuckles. “Well, I suppose that depends on how you define a high note.”
“I don’t know, but I’d say not going to jail.”
“It was a unique experience for sure.”
“But really, you’re ok, right?” Gi-hun changes to a more serious tone. “You’re not hurt or anything?”
“No, I’m totally fine. Don’t worry.”
“Ok, good. Because if you got hurt because of me, I…”
“It wasn’t because of you. How would you have known we’d be robbed?” In-ho touches his arm, and then hesitates briefly before pulling away. “But please, do not walk outside at night without a bodyguard ever again.”
“That was my fault,” Matteo suddenly jumps in, “but for the record, I did advise against it multiple times.”
“You’re the bodyguard.” Everything suddenly falls into the right place. It’s not unusual for a bodyguard to be the primary driver at the same time. He wonders how he didn’t think of that earlier.
“Yeah, and I’m definitely not leaving you alone again, sir. No matter how much you insist.”
Gi-hun uncrosses his legs and laughs. “Trust me, I won’t be asking again either.”
They pull up by the hotel and go to the penthouse. Most of his luggage has already been packed, so he only needs another 10 minutes to get ready for the airport. Matteo takes his suitcase, and he notices that’s the only suitcase they’re bringing down.
He turns to Gi-hun. “Is your luggage already in the car?”
“Oh no, I’m staying for one more night. Something came up.”
“I see.” He doesn’t know if the slight disappointment comes from the other man not leaving together with him, or not inviting him to also stay one more night. “In that case, thank you for everything, especially for getting me out of jail so fast.”
“I should thank you for getting my stuff back.” Gi-hun takes a step forward, closing their distance enough to be suggestive, but not so much to make it awkward for Matteo, who’s still here. “I don’t care about the wallet, but this watch was my father’s, so you know, it’s good that I still have it.”
In-ho glances at the other man’s lips, and then quickly looks back up. “It’s only fair. You gave me a watch first.”
“Wear it the next time we meet?”
“When’s that?”
“Whenever, soon.”
He feels himself smile. “Sure.”
*
The young man shows up two minutes late. Matteo drops his cigarette and steps on it against a wet leaf.
“You didn’t tell me I was gonna rob some Kung Fu master!” The man speaks in a flamboyant manner. “Who are these men? What kinda job was that?”
“Doesn’t matter. You had one job and you didn’t do it.”
“The fuck do you mean? I did what you said, man. Got my ass kicked too! Now where’s my money?”
“I said no bullets.”
“And I did that!”
“Bullshit!” Matteo grabs his collar and backs him against the wall. The young man tries to fight back at first, overly confident in his youth, too inexperienced to know the true value of discipline and integrity. “You left one in the chamber. Otherwise why were you so scared, hm?”
Matteo watches his eyes turn wide. Under the moonlight, he really looks more boy than man.
“I had to! Look man, I don’t know who you are or what the job’s for. I had to look out for myself!”
“And that cost you half of the pay.” He takes out five one-hundred-dollar bills and puts them neatly into the boy’s pocket. “A word of advice, pick a different profession while you still can. That bullet didn’t end you tonight, but next time? You might not be so lucky.”
*
He arrives at the West Village townhouse around 11 pm. It’s a short drive, but it feels long tonight after everything. Connor comes downstairs just as he walks in. The lawyer gives him a polite smile and tells him to have a good night.
“You too, sir,” he says. He doubts Connor even knows his name. Of course an expensive lawyer doesn’t care about his rich client’s driver. And that’s exactly how he wants it to be.
Matteo holds the door open for Connor and closes it after he leaves. Then he takes off his shoes and walks upstairs. Mr. Seong is sitting by the fireplace. An open bottle of soju and a small flash drive sit on the coffee table.
“Do you have it?”
“Yes, all ten fingerprints.” Mr. Seong takes the flash drive, turning it between his fingers. “Connor also made sure they deleted everything in the police station.”
“Good, then this is the only copy.”
“Did you handle the robber?”
“Yeah, I paid him off.” He doesn't mention the bullet left in the chamber. There’s no reason to. “I’m glad it worked out, sir. But he spent a week in the hotel. There were safer ways to collect his prints.”
Mr. Seong pours another glass of soju. “I know. But you said nothing compares to the quality of professional equipment, right?”
“Correct.”
“I have to find out who he is. And I know he won’t tell me if I simply ask.” He smirks. “Plus, it was nice seeing him in action.”
“Of course. It makes sense for you to be cautious.” Matteo isn’t sure where the doubt is coming from. This is far from his boss’ first scheme, and everything considered, it’s a harmless one. “It takes one to know one. He is a dangerous man.”
Mr. Seong lets out an airy laugh. “And we’re not?”
He can’t help but smile too. “I guess there are different types of danger.”
“Go home and have some rest, Matteo. It must have been a long day for you too.”
“Yes. Good night, sir.”
He walks downstairs, puts his shoes back on and gently closes the door behind him. 45 minutes away uptown, he has a wife and two daughters waiting for him at home. A world more modest, but undoubtedly his.
