probably no fucking body will read this but writing just to keep track of what i’m doing. recent days i’ve been super depressed and honestly lost temporarily lost all motivation to draw anything. if i come back to making fanarts (which i hope i will because i do love doing it no matter how shitty they turn out) i will probably move everything form this sideblog (why did i even decide to make a sideblog just to post ts? idk) to my main where im still active as a kind of lurker-not-so-lurker in the sg fandom
probably no fucking body will read this but writing just to keep track of what i’m doing. recent days i’ve been super depressed and honestly lost temporarily lost all motivation to draw anything. if i come back to making fanarts (which i hope i will because i do love doing it no matter how shitty they turn out) i will probably move everything form this sideblog (why did i even decide to make a sideblog just to post ts? idk) to my main where im still active as a kind of lurker-not-so-lurker in the sg fandom
After the island blows up, In-ho and Officer both go into hiding. Soon enough, they start to seek connection and comfort from each other.
My gift for @eerieaart for the @sgcupidgames2026 event. Hope you like it!
Rating: Explicit
Paring: Inficer
Words: 6,440
Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79537541
“Status update?”
“Out of 458 remaining soldiers, 421 have been confirmed at secure locations. The remaining 27 have until tomorrow 6 pm to get back and report. Tracking and pursuit personnel are on standby, in case they don’t.”
“Good, remember to do it quietly.”
“Of course.”
“I see you’re at your Eunpyeong-gu location. Apartment 503?”
The line goes silent. Every soldier has a tracker implanted. But this location isn’t listed on the Officer’s file, so the other man likely didn’t expect him to know the exact apartment number.
“That’s correct.”
“It’s an urban area. Do not leave your residence unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“I understand. It’s not my first time in hiding.” The snark in his tone is soft enough to be denied if confronted, but undoubtedly there. A subtle way to show he’s displeased with how exposed he felt earlier.
“Report to me again tomorrow after 6 pm.”
“Yes, sir.”
In-ho puts down the receiver. He’s likely the only person with a landline in this entire neighborhood. What can he say? Modern technology and security are almost always antonyms.
The two bedroom apartment is dimly lit in the evening. The light is a warm shade of yellow, but it doesn’t make the place feel less empty. When he set up this safe house, it was simply a logical choice to have more space than he needed. No different from having an extra weapon, an extra plan, an extra passport or two. The extra room almost became useful when he first brought Jun-hee’s baby out of the island. He even allowed himself to briefly imagine it. He could turn the spare room into a nursery. He could do this. Who else would be better suited to protect her? Well, anyone else, really. He was the kind of person that she should never cross paths with. She should be protected not by him, but from him.
He’s sure Jun-ho will be a good father to her. His brother is a good person, always been one.
*
“Only two soldiers failed to confirm by 6 pm. Both were tracked down. Worker 91 experienced technical difficulties but was at his secure location on file. Soldier 22 attempted to flee, and was apprehended."
“Where?”
The Officer tells him a set of coordinates. He writes them down.
“I assume there were no traces.”
“No, of course not.”
“Ok, keep track of everyone. Update me every week at this time, but contact me immediately if any situation arises.”
“Yes sir. Anything else?”
“No. You be careful too.” He ends the call, not sure why he said that. It’s not like the other man needs the reminder.
*
Time passes, both faster and slower, somehow. The entire concept of time gets blurrier when he has no set routine and no interaction with anyone. He has a lot to do, of course. As long as the police don't rest, he can’t either. It’s been three months and the island’s explosion is still all over the news, and he doesn’t see that changing anytime soon. But he doesn’t have a set schedule like normal people, which means he can work, eat and sleep whenever he wants.
This supposedly freedom could be insidious, as he quickly found out a month in. Day and night stopped mattering to him, and consequently, neither did eating and sleeping. So he set some basic rules to keep himself functioning. For example, every week he needs to eat at least 20 times, sleep 55 hours and work out 4 times. One week is an easy timeframe to keep track of, because of the brief weekly call he has with the Officer.
Nothing noteworthy happens during those calls, since the soldiers have been obedient and cautious for the most part. That makes sense. They don’t want to be caught either. Occasionally there are situations where someone is more active than usual, often due to family responsibilities like visiting a sick grandparent or taking care of children. It’s surreal to think about them taking off the pink jumpsuit once and for all, getting back to their normal lives like nothing happened.
“What do you do all day?”
“What?” He frowns, not sure where the question comes from.
“It’s been a bit uneventful, isn’t it?” The Officer sounds indifferent as usual. “Staying inside all the time, I got bored of scrolling real fast.”
“Then deal with it! You know the safety protocol,” he snaps, not in the mood to hear any complaints even if that wasn’t the other man’s intention.
“I am dealing with it. You have my tracker too. Did you see me leave my location?” The anger in his voice only surfaces for a fleeting moment, before being masked again behind a perfectly professional tone. “Never mind, I’ll report to you at the same time next week.”
“Reading helps,” he hurries to say something before the other man could hang up, grasping at the slight possibility of having a conversation. He’ll have plenty of time to regret it later.
The Officer speaks again after only a brief silence. “Yeah? What book are you reading?”
He looks at his bookshelf filled with philosophy and art history. “They’re boring.”
“What? Why are you reading boring books?”
“No, not like…” He chuckles and almost startles himself. When was the last time he did that? “They’re not boring to me.”
“Well, try me. I got a feeling that they aren’t nearly as boring as 20 year olds’ TikTok videos.”
He spends the next ten minutes talking about Impressionism and how it was connected to the rise of industrialization and individualism. The other man doesn’t interrupt him, nor does he ask questions, only gives a brief affirmation once in a while to show he’s still listening.
“It’s not boring,” the Officer finally comments after he finishes. “But yeah, I wouldn’t casually bring that up in a normal conversation.”
“Shut up. You forget yourself.”
“Alright, sir. I’ll call you next week.”
*
“I also started a book this week. Not about Impressionism, sorry,” the Officer tells him with an amused tone. “Broken Summer. A mystery or thriller, I’m not sure.”
“What is it about?”
“There’s this super successful, famous artist. One morning he wakes up and finds his wife missing. Then everything goes to shit, basically.”
In-ho can’t hold back a laugh. “That sounds awful.”
“Not at all! I can’t put it down. Or maybe I just crave some old fashioned entertainment.”
He quickly googles the book. “Well, seems like it was one of the best thrillers in 2022. So maybe you’re onto something.”
The silence on the other end feels palpable. When the Officer speaks again, there’s an uncharacteristic hesitation in his voice. “Do you want to read it too, maybe? Might be nice to take a break from your philosophy studies.”
“You mean read it together?” He feels his face flushing as soon as the words come out of his mouth. The simple question carries an unmistakable intimacy that he didn't anticipate.
“Kind of? Unless you have anything better to do.”
“There’s only so much anyone can do without leaving the apartment.”
“Right? Even in prison you get to talk to other prisoners!”
He thinks about all the people he sent to prison years ago. “I doubt you’d want to talk to them.”
“But they’d want to talk to me, and you, for that matter!” The other man sounds truly excited about this scenario that he probably has forgotten it’s a real possibility. “Can you imagine? We’d be superstars!”
“No, we won’t.” He firmly shuts it down before this strange train of thought can go further. “Everyone will hate us so much that we’ll likely spend the rest of our lives in solitary confinement.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. Believe it or not, most criminals have a very strong sense of justice.” Sometimes much stronger than normal people outside of prison.
“Oh well, that just gave me hope for humanity again.”
The sarcasm comes off naturally. Others might try to be witty at times, but the Officer’s cynicism has long become a part of his being. That was one of the things that captured In-ho’s attention several years ago. There were quite a few capable managers on the island, all from military or police backgrounds. But choosing a second in command wasn’t only about abilities. It had to be someone he could understand, and trust, at least to a certain extent. And the Officer was exactly that — easy to understand.
In-ho remembers reading his file, all but four pages. Parents died young, no siblings, joined the North Korean military at 17 and served for 14 years, until he defected by killing at least six of his comrades. Then a series of crimes in this country across the span of three years and a half, caught twice but never convicted, before he was recruited to the game as a soldier. No wife or children, not even long term romantic relationships.
If he were a professor or therapist, he would shake his head at this unfortunate case of how negative environments affected people’s development, how someone could have had a normal, healthy life but was robbed of that opportunity. But he did not care for potentials and saw things as they were, so the truth was glaringly obvious.
There is only one way for this man’s life to turn out, and he is exactly how he’s supposed to be.
And the Officer knew that too, and that was the most beautiful part. There was never any self pity, complaints or even anger, at least nothing noticeable. Only a cold, unapologetic acceptance of himself, his circumstances and the world as a whole. And that clarity was more valuable than anything else.
*
He has Broken Summer delivered the next day, and proceeds to read over 100 pages in one go. The Officer really wasn’t lying. It’s hard to put it down when there’s a new reveal or twist every ten minutes. He supposes it’s a nice way to spend his time, more relaxing than reading his usual books. He can simply let his brain rest and be passively led by the author, following those planned stimulations. He doesn’t need to think at all; all he has to do is wait and see. He can’t remember the last time he did that.
“So? Did you finish?” The Officer doesn’t wait to ask him, not even bothering to say hello first.
“Yeah, I really liked it. You picked a good one.”
“You did? I was expecting a more spectacular ending, honestly.”
“What do you mean?” He likes the ending just fine.
“You know, it turned out to be an accident. I was hoping for a grand murder reveal or something.”
He snorts, “Haven’t you had enough murders?”
“True, I’m biased.” In-ho can visualize the other man shrugging a bit disappointedly. “Still, you don’t find the ending a bit underwhelming?”
He could have brushed it off and ended the conversation right there, keeping it surface leveled. Instead, he takes a silent deep breath and starts talking. “Not really. I actually like how they focused on his own denial to face reality for decades, and the consequences from that. I think that’s way more interesting than the accident itself.”
There is a long pause. Somehow he can tell it’s a thoughtful one and not an awkward one. “Ok, I can see that. Glad you liked it.”
He should end the conversation here. There’s nothing else to talk about. “So I get to pick the book this time?”
“Is it going to be art history?”
“What, think you can’t understand it?”
“Hey, that was uncalled for!” The other man laughs loudly. “Alright, let’s see what pretentious stuff you’re reading.”
He looks over to his bookshelf. It’s not that he really doubts the other man’s intelligence, but most of them would be dull to anyone who doesn’t usually read this type of book. His eyes land on one: something closer to psychology than philosophy. When he first read it, he thought it was more “fun” than his other books, in the traditional sense.
“The Happiness Hypothesis.”
“That sounds…cheesy.”
“I know. He should have picked a better title.”
“Alright, let’s see about that.”
The Officer doesn’t bring up the book during their call next week, nor the week after that. He is a little disappointed, not by the lack of reaction but more about the absence of a direct answer. He could have just said he didn’t like it at all. Still, they talk about random things like the movies they watched recently, or even the new grocery items they got delivered.
“Have you tried wild pine mushrooms? It’s bland as hell. I have no idea why they cost so much.”
“Maybe you don’t know how to cook it,” he teases. “But yeah, these things are marketing scams. It’s just food.”
“Is there anything expensive that’s not a marketing scam?”
“Land, probably. There’s only a fixed amount.”
“I’m not gonna buy some land to try it out.”
Winter turns to Spring. He’s turned off the heating in his apartment for about two weeks now. And based on his experience, he’ll get another three weeks of this perfect temperature at most, before he needs to turn on the AC.
“I finished the book,” the Officer brings it up casually one day, when he’s almost forgotten about it entirely.
“You did?”
“Yeah, why are you surprised?”
“Because it’s been over a month?”
“I didn’t promise to read it within a certain timeframe, did I?”
He shifts into a more comfortable position in bed. He moved the phone from his desk to the nightstand a while ago, accepting the fact that these phone calls were rarely about business anymore. “Ok, so? What do you think?”
“I think it just lays out what most people are afraid to admit.” He hears the other man blow a puff of smoke. “The elephant rider metaphor, you know. How people feel about things first, and then try to rationalize it and find a reason.”
“Sounds like you don’t agree.”
“It’s not about agreeing or not. There’s no need to do that if I’m honest with myself.”
He’s always respected that, admired it, even. The kind of candidness that deep down, he wishes he has.
“But I don’t agree with the conclusion,” the Officer continues. “He thinks people will be happier if their rational thoughts are in tune with their emotions. I don’t think that’s true.”
“Why not? You just said you’re like that.”
“Because most people need some kind of illusion to be happy, I think, even with themselves.” In-ho hears a bottle open, and then the familiar sound of liquor flowing into a glass. “And that’s not weak or anything, just normal. I’m not normal.”
He snorts, “you make it sound like a good thing.”
“It can be. The author would agree! Self awareness, right?”
He gets off bed and takes a bottle of whiskey from his own liquor shelf. “I have a feeling that you’re seriously misrepresenting what he wrote.”
“That’s what books are for. Individual interpretations.”
“Fine. What’s the next book then?”
“There was this one about WWII I saw the other day. Hang on, give me a minute.”
*
Every week on Friday at 6:30 pm. It has become a habit, a ritual. The only thing that keeps him sane for the past seven months. It’s the middle of July. He makes himself a watermelon soju at 6:20, brings it to the nightstand and settles comfortably in bed. The phone rings exactly 10 minutes after.
“There is a situation. A soldier was arrested two days ago for drunk driving.”
He feels the smile get wiped off his face. “Which one? How much does the police know?”
“Number 34. It doesn’t seem related at all. He was drunk driving and hit a pole. No injuries besides some stitches on himself. They gave him a big fine, suspended his license and let him go.”
He sighs deeply and runs a hand down his face. “Fuck. Why are people so stupid?”
“I know, right? Just call an Uber! Now he’s in the system.”
“But that’s the only thing he’s in the system for.”
“Yes, so nothing to worry about at the moment. I’ll keep a close eye on him.” The Officer changes to a familiar casual tone, something he didn’t even know existed a couple of months ago. “I just wanted to lead with that, so I don’t ruin your mood later.”
He takes another sip of watermelon soju. The sweetness travels down from his tongue and melts into his chest. “So, do you still want to talk about the book?”
“Fuck no! It was the worst book we’ve read! I’m never touching romance again.”
He almost choked on the soju. “Hey, you picked it.”
“I thought I’d try something new, never again.”
“Come on, it’s not that bad.”
“Not bad? The whole book could have been ten pages! There are zero reasons for them to drag it out. They have no real obstacles or whatever!”
“Oh well, you need to give the author some grace. Most people don’t face real obstacles like escaping from North Korea.”
The Officer goes quiet. He quickly catches himself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“No I get it, don’t worry.” The other man dismisses it, but In-ho doesn’t miss the vague tension in his voice. “But that’s why this genre isn’t for us. Our threshold is too high.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” He takes the obvious hint to change the topic. “Let me see, how about something totally different this time? You like fantasy? The one with elves and everything.”
“Sure, just not something as long as Lord of the Rings.”
*
The air starts to lose heat by early September. He turns off AC and keeps a window open for most of the day, something he wasn’t comfortable with when he first arrived at this safe house. Police have been looking into the case for almost a year now. They’re still trying, but he can tell the hype is fading. The media has other headlines to chase, and the government won’t spend endless money and resources on a project that yields no results.
The game starts in about two months, and he should already be on the island around this time of the year. Except he isn’t, and will never be again as far as he knows. At first there were talks about finding another location after the heat dies down, but the VIPs lost interest soon after. There were other games in other countries that would gladly offer them an invitation. There was nothing irreplaceable about the Korean game.
He was relieved, more so than he thought he’d be. No more fake pleasantries with these people, no more annual reconstruction projects on a vulnerable structure. No more masks and killings. He thinks about Gi-hun’s eyes across the screen, the sorrowful acceptance. His unfinished last words and the purest form of life he saved. The girl is doing well under Jun-ho’s care, much bigger now. Soon enough she’ll take her first step.
It feels like cheating, to simply get away with all he’s done. He’s always known that there’s no justice in the world, but never saw himself as someone who would benefit from it. He believed he’d work for the game until he’s unable to anymore, or until the VIPs get tired of him for some reason. Then he’d exit the world cleanly with a bullet in the head, if he was lucky.
He never thought there would be an end to it. Now there is, and he has no idea what to do with himself.
*
He steps on a boat, a small white sailboat, almost transparent. He tightens his coat under the chilly sea breeze, watching the familiar black stone appear on the thin line where sky meets the sea. He steps onto the hard, wet rock. But there’s no building in sight, no soldiers standing by. He takes out his radio but there is no signal.
Where is everyone?
He walks towards the facility’s general direction based on his memory, which is blurry for some reason. And suddenly everything appears, four walls shooting up from the ground around him, trapping him in a concrete cell. He turns around, and the Officer is right there in his black jumpsuit and square mask, only that he’s out of the cage across a small window.
“What’s going on here?”
“I don’t know, sir. You should ask yourself.”
“What?”
“Seems like you don’t want to leave.”
“What are you doing? Let me out!”
“I can’t.”
He reaches for his gun but it’s disappeared too from his belt. When he looks up again, he’s staring directly into a barrel.
“Goodbye, In-ho.”
*
He gasps awake, clutching the blanket to his chest. The clock says 6 am in the morning. Autumn air is gently lifting up the thin curtains. He must have left the window open last night. He throws off the blanket and practically jumps out of bed, breading straight to the half finished bottle of liquor on the dining table. He remembers now, about last night: drinking alone, and falling asleep without eating anything.
He pours another generous glass, which he knows is a terrible idea. At least he should have a glass of water first but he can’t be bothered to care at the moment. The whiskey is smooth. That’s how he likes it. The taste is strong but it doesn’t burn his throat immediately, the heat slowly building up as it hits his empty stomach. A wave of dizziness hits him. He closes his eyes, opens them again, and then walks to the phone on his nightstand, before he can lose this brief yet foolish courage.
*
The Officer picks up after three rings.
“What happened?” He clearly sounds like he just woke up, but there’s an urgent seriousness in his voice, thinking this must be an emergency.
But it’s not, and that’s the problem.
“Are you okay? Say something.”
“Yeah, I just…got the time wrong, sorry.” That must be the worst excuse ever.
“What?” There’s some shuffling notices on the other end. “Today’s Wednesday, right? You got the time and date wrong?”
“Forget it.”
“Wait!” The other man shouts as he’s about to hang up, and against his best judgement, he picks the receiver back up. “Look, we don’t have to call at the usual time, ok? It’s not like there’s a rule we need to follow.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, if you want to talk now, let’s talk now.” There’s a softness in his voice that feels out of place. “Or if not, we can call another time, anytime you want.”
There’s a sourness rising in his throat, and just for one brief moment, he gives in to the weakness spreading from his chest. “Why?”
“Because we want to, and there’s nothing to stop us.”
That’s the truth, isn’t it? There is nothing that stops them from changing the calls to a different time, or having them more frequently. With how things are going, it likely won’t even be a problem for them to start leaving the apartment occasionally. This should have been the end of the tunnel. Bright light, open space, normalcy.
“It’s ok. We can keep it on Friday.”
“In-ho…”
“No, really, I was…” Suddenly he realizes that was the first and only time the Officer called him by his name. Except just now, in his dream. “I should probably go back to sleep anyway.”
He hears a long, frustrated sigh. “Ok, if you insist. But I’ll call you on Friday, ok? Normal time.”
“Yeah, talk then.”
He puts down the receiver. His muscles instantly soften all around his body. He remembers this feeling well, when a crisis situation turns out to be a false alarm. Maybe he just wants to know someone would pick up.
He has two glasses of water, closes the window, pulls up the blanket and closes his eyes again.
The phone rings on Friday at 6:30, not one minute early or late. They talk about some random things that don’t matter. Neither of them mention the newest book they read, or the incident two days ago.
*
Time goes on, and he hasn’t had another dream. They still have their weekly phone calls, but they don’t talk about books anymore. The conversations are filled with meaningless small talk, or not even that sometimes, when the air is filled with nothing but their long breaths. There’s a unique intimacy to it, how the pressure slowly builds to an inevitable explosion with every week passing by.
The streets are starting to look festive as the end of the year approaches. First Christmas, and then immediately New Year. He hears more commotion from his neighbors, more visitors and more laughter. There’s a Christmas tree in a small square not far from his apartment building. When he looks out the window, he sees young couples and friends line up to take pictures in front of it.
The party on New Year’s Eve is loud, and the fireworks are louder. He never celebrated it this way. Even when she was alive, they’d just have a nice home cooked dinner, sometimes together with Jun-ho, their mom and her parents. They weren’t the type to party all night and kiss in public. Their love was deep and private, so once she was gone, there was no one left to witness.
Not long after the Christmas and New Year decorations are taken down, the ones for Valentine’s Day start to appear. All pink ribbons, roses and teddy bears. He wonders if girls these days actually like those things, or they’re simply conditioned to see them as romantic symbols. Her favorite flower was purple peony. He remembers going to three different shops to find them the first Valentine’s Day they spent together. She felt terrible and apologized for the trouble when she found out. But all he felt was lucky that he had found someone truly special.
“So what did you dream about that night?” The Officer asks him with an eerily casual tone on February 7th. “Come on now, it’s been long enough.”
Long enough since he had the dream, or since they started to have these calls? Or even earlier, when they were on the island still? How long has he trusted him?
“It was the island. Empty, dark, how you’d imagine it after it blew up. The building was gone and no one was there, and then…” His voice sounds faraway, like the dream version of himself is the one talking. “Then there was you.”
“Me? Just me?”
“Yeah, and then I woke up.” Of course he won’t say anything about the part where the other man shot him.
“Oh well, that doesn’t sound bad at all!”
“It’s not.” Even with the gun and the concert cell, it wasn’t nearly as bad as everything that actually happened on the island.
“It’s nice, if you really think about it.” The Officer’s voice goes deeper, with a smoothly seductive tone. “Just you and me having an island all to ourselves?”
Deep down, he knows where this is going. He’s known since he made that call at 6 am. There was no professional excuse for that, no matter how hard he tried to find one. Yet here they are, months after, and it’s not him who ends up pressing the button to blow up the island again in his own dreams. And he hates himself a little for that.
“I’d prefer somewhere more tropical though, with a nice beach,” the Officer continues. It cannot get more obvious than this.
His heart crashes into his ribcage. Once, twice, faster and faster as heat slowly dissipates from his skin in a thin layer of moist. “Yeah? What would we do there, on the beach?”
There’s a beat of silence. It doesn’t feel like doubt, but determination. “Why don’t you come and find out?”
He can’t help but laugh. “What, to a beach?”
“Hm, maybe later.” It sounds like the Officer is seriously considering it. “But how about you just come over next week?”
“Same time next week?” It’s a coincidence that their weekly call happens to fall on a Friday. But it’ll be a decision to keep it on next Friday, knowing it’s February 14th.
“Yeah, Friday.” The confirmation sounds so casual, like it was silly for him to even ask. “But instead of a call, we meet up in person.”
He grasps the receiver tightly, stopping it from slipping away from his sweaty palm.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
*
In-ho changes his clothes twice. It sounds embarrassing, but he’s sort of lost the touch of getting dressed to go outside. Thankfully he’s not a woman who also has to worry about hair and makeup. At first he picked out a nice grey three-piece, but immediately realized how ridiculous it was when he looked in the mirror. That was definitely the one wrong color. So now he’s wearing white, ivory to be more precise. A polo sweater with a matching casual suit jacket.
He knows he should bring something, but can’t think of anything that’s both legal and appropriate, besides alcohol. He briefly wonders if he should choose wine for the occasion. Then he thinks about the purple peonies, and grabs the bottle of Scotch. Shoving the keys into his coat pocket, he steps out of the door, for the first time in a year and two months.
The traffic is bad. Actually “bad” would be an understatement. It’s not every year that Valentine’s Day coincides with Friday night. Other people stuck in traffic are getting impatient, but he’s strangely calm as he watches pairs of young couples strolling the street, carrying flowers, gift bags and teddy bears. A man holds his girlfriend tighter as wind blows up her white scarf. She presses her smaller body against him and they’re laughing. And all of a sudden, the world starts to make sense again.
The door of Apartment 503 seems ordinary. Of course it is — there is no reason for the door of a safe house to stand out. He was just expecting something special, a sign that tells him he’s made the right choice, the final confirmation that he shouldn’t turn around and leave.
The door opens on its own, before he could knock.
He takes a step back instinctively, his brain going completely blank at the sight of the person standing right there. Not a voice across the landline, right in front of him, in flesh.
“Well…hello?”
He blinks, struggling to get his voice out. “How did you know I was here?”
Now the Officer looks equally stunned. “Because of the camera? Do you not have one at your place?”
“Right, of course.” He steps in and walks past the other man, not sure how to continue this conversation without feeling like an idiot.
“You’re right on time. I thought it’d take longer with traffic.” The door closes and locks behind them. “I’ve been hearing the cars honking outside since 5.”
He can only smile, desperately trying to find the ease they used to have during those calls, when he barely needed to think for them to chat for an hour.
The Officer takes a hold of the bottle in his hand, and looks at the label approvingly. “You still remember.”
He said something else after that, but In-ho didn’t really hear it because their fingers lightly brushed as the other man took the bottle from him just now. The fleeting touch barely lasts a second, yet that’s all it takes to break a dam in his brain, flooding his body with years worth of happy chemicals, instantly engulfing him in paralyzing pleasure.
Warm, real, human. His vision gets blurry for a second and he blinks it away, focusing on the nice buttoned shirt the Officer is wearing. But all he cares about is the vast skin underneath, with a beating heart.
He lunges forward and crashes their lips together.
*
For a few seconds, the other man is completely still. Not kissing back, not pushing him away, still holding that bottle of Scotch. He grunts frustratedly and presses their bodies harder against each other, reaching under the Officer’s shirt to touch the lean muscles on his back.
“Whoa, hang on!” The Officer pushes him away just enough to speak. Their faces still inches apart, and there’s a delighted amazement glistening in his large eyes. “You…are you sure you want to start with this?"
“No, it started a long time ago.” Like growing a new pair of eyes, suddenly everything falls into perspective. He thinks about that dream again. It’s not betrayal that he’s scared of, but the destiny of dying alone in a cage built by himself.
He brings their lips back together, and this time the other man kisses him back with equal passion. A pair of strong arms embrace him, locking him into a warm cage with the scent of whiskey that he never wants to get out of. He hasn’t kissed anyone in a decade, and has long forgotten where teeth end and tongue begins, everything melting into one soft, wet spot to drown in.
Inhaling deeply through his nose, he shrugs off his coat, and then the well-pressed ivory jacket, craving more skin contact. The Officer takes hold of his waist and pushes him backwards. They stumble through a long hallway and then make a left turn. The floor changes from ceramic tile to wood. The back of his knees hit the bed, and he lets himself fall into the soft mattress.
The other man lays on top of him, still not breaking the kiss while unbuckles his belt with one hand. In-ho moans into his mouth, kicking off his pants and struggles to take off the sweater at the same time, unwilling to break any physical contact. There’s still too much clothes. His bare torso is pressed against the Officer’s shirt, the slippery, silky sensation tickling his skin. He reaches for the buttons but his fingers can’t get them open. Annoyed, he grabs the soft fabric and tears it in half.
“Fucking hell…” The Officer whispers in awe. A hand reaches behind his head, and gently pulls him backwards, exposing the side of his neck. He closes his eyes, expecting a kiss or bite but nothing comes. He looks up at the other man, confused and impatient.
There’s an alluring darkness in the Officer’s eyes, a desire so strong that it materializes into danger. “Were you always like this?”
“What?” He doesn’t understand the question, his mind still foggy from the sheer want. Lips, skin, everything.
“How many years have I missed, having you like this?”
The Officer leans down again and starts kissing his neck, leaving bite marks on his collarbone, and chest, licking his nipple. He sucks in a shaky breath, thrusting up his hips, desperate for more.
“Settle down,” the Officer chuckles against his stomach. “Have a little patience.”
In-ho grabs a hold of his shoulders, and with a clean move, flips him over. “No, I’ve waited long enough.”
Everything becomes a blur after that. It feels like he’s forgotten how to touch another human, and his body is solely running on primal instincts. There is no technique, no skillful teases or romantic intimacy, only sloppy movements to seek any stimulation that his body’s starved of. He feels like a teenager grinding against someone for the first time in their life, and the friction itself is enough to set his mind on fire. Except he didn’t actually do this as a teenager. He’s doing it now, blessed with life again from an endless fountain of pleasure, his soul reborn from the ultimate ecstasy.
He lays there panting, everywhere on his body stained with hot fluid. Hand, chest, stomach, between his thighs. He’s long gotten used to exhaustion, but it’s been years since he’s felt such utter depletion inside and out.
“Holy fuck, that was not what I planned.” The Officer hands him a tissue. Something has changed in his tone: a friendly mockery that’s only unmasked now.
He wipes himself, and it’s clear that one tissue isn’t enough. “What did you plan then?”
The Officer shrugs. “You’ll need to find out next time.”
The corners of his mouth curve up at the casual mention of a next time, the promise that there’s more. “I’ll need to use the bathroom. Do you want a towel?”
“Sure.”
He goes to the bathroom and quickly cleans himself. Looking into the mirror, his skin is marked with fresh little bruises, and he has no idea how he even got half of them. He avoids his gaze, heat slowly rising to his neck and face. He quickly finishes wetting the towel and walks back into the bedroom.
“Here.” He tosses the towel to the other man and gets back in bed, already thirty for skin contact again. He presses their bodies together, relishing the warm softness.
The Officer can’t hold back a laugh. “You’re a cuddler too?”
“You have a problem with it?”
“Not at all.” The other man pulls him in, finding a comfortable angle for both of their heads to rest.
They stay like that for a long time, quietly listening to each other’s breathing and heartbeats. And it all comes back now. The books they’ve read, stacked neatly on a wooden shelf against the wall. The long scar on the other man’s chest that he’s touched before when they sparred. The natural ease they felt with each other’s presence, even when it was just a voice over the phone.
He doesn’t want to leave this bed, this apartment ever again.
“Stay for the night.”
“What?” For a moment he thought he said something out loud earlier.
“If you want to, I mean.” The Officer brushes a strand of his hair away. “I can give you something to wear tonight, and we can figure out the rest tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
He feels a kiss on his forehead, with more gentleness that he didn’t know either of them was capable of.
“Do you want to eat something? You didn’t even see the dinner I prepared.”
“You made it yourself?”
“Yeah, but now I’ll need to heat everything up again.”
“Did you use wild pine mushrooms?”
“Oh, shut up.”
They share another kiss, so natural like they’ve done it a thousand times. And maybe they have. Who says they couldn’t have shared a thousand kisses just now? If not, they will soon. After everything, now they have all the time in the world.
here is my @sgcupidgames2026 piece for @jam-blam using the prompts ‘inhun on a valentines date’ and a minor ‘naked gihun wrapped up in pink bow’ 🎀 i reallyyyyy tried my best hope it’s good enough :)
and a version without the thought bubble (i added it just to complete more than one prompt)
this is my first time ever taking part in a fandom exchange i’m so nervous actually 😭
okay here’s a little value study of inho being pathetic just to keep this account alive (i did it with a black and white filter over my screen but i chose the teal just for fun)
this is not even a fanart really so i’m not even tagging it as one
but! i’ve been cooking and already made two fanarts for events in february and im kinda proud of them <3
more things will come. also i will make an introductory post soon. just writing this to make a promise to myself i will
