Chapter Text
Hyeonjoon wakes up to the smell of coffee. For a moment, he thinks that he is still in the office, waking up at his desk after too many hours at his job. Nana or Minyoung has placed a steaming mug beside him, and when he opens his eyes, there will be another stack of papers alongside it. But when his gaze focuses on his surroundings, he is not in the comfort of the NCI office. The room he is in is dimly lit and dingy, with the look of some kind of abandoned warehouse or broken-down factory. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the air, alerting Hyeonjoon that he is not alone.
He tries to stand up but the immediate stab of pain through his wrists stops him. His arms and legs are bound beneath him to an old chair in a mess of knotted rope and duct tape. There is no room for him to wriggle free, and as he struggles, the chair tips dangerously from side to side. Hyeonjoon grits his teeth and jerks at his bonds anyway, ignoring the way that his skin is being rubbed raw by his attempts.
Footsteps behind him make him stiffen and fall still, his head dropping in a false semblance of sleep. The soft, familiar chuckle of the person approaching him sends a chill down Hyeonjoon's spine. "I see you finally woke up," the Reaper says as he steps into Hyeonjoon's line of sight. "Watching you regain your bearings was rather, mmm, amusing."
Hyeonjoon glares up at the man in front of him, his eyes defiant. The Reaper, Kim Yeongcheol, leers over him in the low-light. A smile dances across Yeongcheol's face as he takes in Hyeonjoon's barely restrained anger. "People with eyes like yours are my favorite1," Yeongcheol begins as he reaches into the pocket of his jacket, "Your eyes are so full of rage! You and your team try to deny that you're like me, but we're exactly the same."
"We're nothing like you!" Hyeonjoon snarls. He knows that the Reaper is baiting him, knows that Kihyung would place a warning hand on his shoulder and urge him to be patient and wait. But Kihyung is not there. The team leader is probably still trying to track down where the Reaper took Hyeonjoon, and all he can do is wait for either the team to arrive or for the Reaper to grow bored with him. He tugs at his bound wrists once again, wishing that he had his gun or baton in hand and feeling uncomfortable under the Reaper's piercing gaze.
Yeongcheol clicks his tongue softly in disagreement and points the object that he retrieved from his pocket at Hyeonjoon's face. He recognizes the red-and-white stripes as a candy cane and thinks back to the young child whose clue had alerted the team about the Reaper's distinct peppermint scent. He bites back the words rising in his throat and watches as Yeongcheol delicately unwraps the candy and walks away, out of Hyeonjoon's sight. The sound of flowing liquid and the clink of tableware briefly fill the room before Yeongcheol reappears, holding a white mug full of steaming coffee and stirring it with the peppermint candy. A smile creeps across Yeongcheol's face as a knowing look darkens his eyes.
"You know," the Reaper leans in close to Hyeonjoon, close enough for the coffee to make his face grow clammy from the heat, "Kang Kihyung isn't going to save you. Instead of just admitting that he and I are the same, he would rather keep his pride and watch you and the entire team fall, one by one." The Reaper smirks, swirling the candy cane in his coffee faster as he watches Hyeonjoon's face contort in barely disguised anger. He stands back up, reveling in the height that he has over the restrained Hyeonjoon. "After all," Yeongcheol continues, "isn't that what got his wife killed, hmm? Kang Kihyung's arrogance wouldn't let him make a deal with me, and because of that, his dear wife paid the price."
Hyeonjoon surges forward with a wordless shout of rage, throwing his weight against the unevenly balanced chair to make it tip forward and into the Reaper. Yeongcheol lets out a giddy laugh, dancing sideways on light feet. He darts behind Hyeonjoon's falling chair and grabs it with one hand, stopping Hyeonjoon's fall only centimeters from the dirty floor. Hot coffee splashes from the Reaper's sudden movements, leaving small, dark puddles reminiscent of old blood.
"Ahh, you're really starting to piss me off," Yeongcheol growls. The teasing lightness is gone from his voice, replaced with something as cold and sharp as his knives. "You just made me spill good coffee. I even hand-grinded it myself!" He leans down over Hyeonjoon's shoulder, ignoring Hyeonjoon's curses and attempts to headbutt him. "But I suppose I can still find a use for it."
Hyeonjoon's blood goes cold, a stark opposite to the scalding liquid that suddenly drips onto his right hand. He squirms, trying to twist away, but the Reaper has a firm hold on the chair. Hyeonjoon bites his tongue hard enough to draw blood, anything to keep silent and deny the Reaper the chance to see him in pain. The hot pain washing across his palm and fingers is nothing compared to when the Reaper loses the remainder of his patience and dumps the last half of the mug onto Hyeonjoon's raw wrist.
Hyeonjoon's cry of agony echoes around the room. He can feel his sensitive flesh blistering from the coffee, and his arm spasms in an attempt to get away from the burning sensation. Hyeonjoon's legs desperately thrash against his bonds in a futile effort to break free. His struggling manages to knock the mug from the Reaper's hand, and the ceramic shatters on the floor beside the chair. Something warm trickles down his cheek, and he blinks furiously, ducking his head down so that his tears are hidden in the dim light. If the Reaper sees how easily Hyeonjoon is brought to tears, it would cut him even deeper than the Reaper's knives. He has to keep this vulnerability to himself, has to curl the best he can around his remaining dignity and suffer in silence.
Distracted by his attempts to conceal his face, Hyeonjoon barely notices Yeongcheol moving behind him until he hears the man crunch the fallen candy cane beneath his shoes. The Reaper tilts the old chair dangerously to the left and Hyeonjoon inhales sharply as the concrete looms at the edges of his blurry vision. The Reaper's laugh is dangerously soft as he harshly rights the chair until it is balanced once more. Hyeonjoon gasps in pain as the sudden shifts in direction forces his burnt wrist to rub against the rope, causing the rough fibers to chafe deeper into his flesh. His mouth is filled with the taste of blood from biting his own tongue and cheeks, but it feels like nothing but a mild discomfort compared to the agony coursing through the rest of his body.
The Reaper crouches down and leans close to Hyeonjoon. His eyes dart across the younger man's face and immediately focus on the dampness still clinging to his cheeks. Yeongcheol's lips curve up in an uncanny smile as he lifts his hand toward Hyeonjoon's face. Hyeonjoon flinches, leaning backward despite his pain until the chair creaks in protest. In a flash, Yeongcheol's other hand shoots out and tightly latches onto the detective's shoulder. The Reaper's nails dig into Hyeonjoon's skin as he carefully, almost gently, reaches forward and catches one of Hyeonjoon's tears on his finger. He stares at it for a moment in a mixture of fascination and contempt before flinging it away. "Giving in already? How pathetic. Tsk, Kang Kihyung would never cry over you like this." Yeongcheol moves his grip from Hyeonjoon's shoulder to the back of his neck, forcing Hyeonjoon to meet his piercing gaze.
Hyeonjoon tenses his jaw, eyes narrowing as he stares into the Reaper's eyes. "You disgust me," he hisses out. The words irritate his bitten tongue, and, without thinking of the consequences, he spits the blood and saliva in the Reaper's face. Yeongcheol reels backward in surprise, yanking Hyeonjoon forward by his neck. The Reaper quickly catches himself with his free hand and surges to his feet, releasing his grip on Hyeonjoon's neck and leaving deep indents in the soft skin.
Before Hyeonjoon can say anything else, the Reaper descends on him. The Reaper backhands him roughly before raising his leg and kicking Hyeonjoon hard in the shoulder. The chair topples backward on its unsteady legs, taking Hyeonjoon with it. His head cracks against the hard concrete and everything begins to grow dim and muted, as if Hyeonjoon is slowly sinking into the ocean's embrace. The last thing Hyeonjoon sees is the Reaper standing over him, blood smeared across his cheek as he approaches him with a knife twirling between his fingers.