Chapter Text
The hospital smelled like antiseptic and stale coffee. It felt cold too, moreover it was past midnight.
Kang Taejoo had always hated hospitals. Too white. Too quiet. Too much waiting.
Tonight, he hated this one more than most. Dried blood still stained the cuff of his shirt. Not his.
That fact sat heavier than it should have.
His sister had finally fallen asleep in one hospital room, two corridors down, wrapped in a thick warm hospital blanket after fighting between conscious and not, the outcome from the failed attack. Sunyoung had clung to his sleeve until exhaustion took over, asking the same question over and over.
Is he going to die?
Taejoo never answered.
Because he didn’t know. Because saying *I don’t know* out loud felt too much like surrender.
The nurse approached softly, her shoes barely making a sound against the polished floor. She was clearly tired for the night shift.
“Detective Kang.”
Taejoo looked up immediately.
“He’s awake,” she said with flat tone. “But only briefly.”
He was already standing before she finished the sentence.
Cha Siyoung looked wrong in a hospital bed. Weakness didn’t suit him.
The man who walked into interrogation rooms like he owned them, who weaponized silence and sharp smiles, who acted as though consequences belonged exclusively to other people, he looked disturbingly human beneath fluorescent light.
His hair was messy. His face pale. A bandage disappeared beneath the collar of his hospital gown, and the IV in his arm made something ugly twist in Taejoo’s chest.
Siyoung turned his head at the sound of the door opening. Even groggy, even half-drugged, his gaze found Taejoo immediately.
His lips curved. “You look terrible.”
Taejoo exhaled sharply through his nose. “Still talking? Shame.”
Siyoung’s smile widened by a fraction “Concerned?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
Taejoo stayed near the foot of the bed, far enough to pretend distance mattered.
Siyoung watched him in silence for a moment, then asked, quieter this time, “Sunyoung?”
“Alive.” A pause. “Shaken.”
Something in Siyoung’s expression shifted, brief, genuine relief flickering across his face before vanishing.
Taejoo hated that he noticed.
“Why?”
The word came out before he could stop it.
Siyoung blinked slowly. “Why what?”
“Don’t do that.”
“That clears up absolutely nothing.” Taejoo stepped closer. “Why did you do it?”
Siyoung studied him, then gave the answer Taejoo expected. “For the case.”
Taejoo laughed. A short, ugly sound.
“Bullshit.”
One eyebrow lifted. Even stabbed and sedated, the bastard still had the audacity.
“For justice, then?” Taejoo asked bitterly. “Is that better?”
“Taejoo—”
“No.”
The name on Siyoung’s lips hit differently. Familiar. Too familiar.
Taejoo shoved both hands into his coat pockets, trying to keep them still.
“You nearly died.”
“Yes,” Siyoung said dryly. “I was present for that.”
Something snapped.
Taejoo moved to the bedside so quickly the metal rail rattled under his grip.
“Why?” The word came out harsher than intended.
Siyoung’s expression shifted.
“Because she’s your sister.” The answer came too fast.
Too neat.
Too easy.
Taejoo leaned in, jaw tight. “Don’t lie to me.”
Silence stretched between them.
“If it were just that,” Taejoo said, his voice dropping lower, quieter, more dangerous, “you would’ve sent another officer.”
Siyoung said nothing.
That silence said enough.
And suddenly, Taejoo was seventeen again.
Sitting in a warm, expensive study with bookshelves taller than him. Watching Cha Siyoung pretend not to care about grammar corrections. Pocketing pieces of castella wrapped clumsily in napkins to bring home to Sunyoung.
Back when things had almost been simple.
Back before fists.
Back before betrayal.
Back before the boy who wanted his friendship decided hatred was easier.
“You don’t get to do this,” Taejoo said.
Siyoung frowned faintly. “Do what?”
“Act like this changes anything.” The answer came softly.
“Doesn’t it?”
Taejoo recoiled as though struck.
No arrogance.
No sarcasm.
Just sincerity.
Which somehow felt crueler.
Then Siyoung said, “You prayed.”
Taejoo froze.
“…what?”
“I heard you.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“You begged.”
“Stop talking.”
“You were crying.”
“Cha Siyoung.”
“You asked God not to let me die.”
“Shut up.” The words came too fast, too sharp.
Siyoung tilted his head slightly despite the obvious pain.
Interesting.
As if Taejoo’s unraveling fascinated him.
Taejoo grabbed the front of Siyoung’s hospital gown before he could think better of it. The movement made Siyoung suck in a breath, his face tightening in pain.
Good.
Maybe that made Taejoo cruel.
Maybe he didn’t care.
“Don’t,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Don’t what?”
“Pretend you understand what that meant.”
Siyoung looked up at him, infuriatingly calm. “You wanted me alive.”
“I wanted answers.”
“Liar.”
The word landed gently. That somehow hurt worse.
Taejoo released him immediately, stepping back.
“I should arrest you.”
“For what?”
“Being insufferable.”
A weak laugh escaped Siyoung, followed by a wince that twisted something unpleasant in Taejoo’s stomach.
“Careful,” Taejoo muttered automatically.
Silence.
Siyoung’s mouth curved slowly.
“…there you are.”
Taejoo narrowed his eyes. “Don’t.”
“My tutor.”
“I said don’t.”
“The one who stole my castella.”
Taejoo went still.
“No, I didn’t—”
“You wrapped them terribly.”
His face burned.
“…I was seventeen.”
“You always took the strawberry ones.”
“Why do you even remember that?”
The question slipped out before he could stop it.
Siyoung held his gaze. “Because I remember everything about you.”
The room fell silent.
The words weren’t loud.
That made them worse.
Taejoo laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“That medication is stronger than I thought.”
“I hated you.”
Taejoo’s expression hardened instantly.
“Congratulations.”
“Because I thought you lied.”
“I know why.”
“No,” Siyoung said sharply. “You know what happened. That’s not the same.”
Taejoo said nothing.
Siyoung swallowed, his voice quieter now.
“I thought you’d chosen that over me.”
“Over—”
“My father. That life. Whatever mess he created.” His jaw tightened. “I thought you lied every time you sat in my house. Every time you looked me in the eye.”
Taejoo stared.
“And instead of asking?” he said quietly. “You beat me.”
The words landed heavier than shouting ever could.
For the first time, Siyoung looked away.
Good.
He should.
“You think nearly dying fixes that?” Taejoo asked.
“No.”
Honest.
Immediate.
That caught him off guard.
“Then what do you want?”
Siyoung looked back at him.
And Taejoo immediately regretted asking.
Because that gaze was far too direct.
Far too raw.
“I hated you,” Siyoung said slowly, “because I had already chosen you.”
Taejoo’s throat tightened.
“As a friend?” he asked, cruelly.
Defensively.
Siyoung held his stare.
“Do you really believe that?”
No.
That was the problem.
“No,” Taejoo whispered before he could stop himself.
Siyoung’s expression changed, something dangerously close to satisfaction flickering there.
Damn him.
“This is insane.”
“Probably.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet,” Siyoung murmured, voice rough with exhaustion, “you stayed.”
Taejoo should leave.
He should walk out.
He should remember every bruise, every cruel word, every nightmare that still dragged him backward.
Instead, he stood there. Breathing too hard. Feeling seventeen and thirty at the same time.
A soft knock interrupted them as a nurse stepped inside to check the IV.
The spell broke instantly.
Taejoo stepped away.
“Get some rest.”
“Come back tomorrow.”
Not a request.
A command.
Even half-dead, still insufferable.
Taejoo scoffed. “You almost die and still think you can order people around.”
“Will you?”
Taejoo didn’t answer.
As he reached the door, Siyoung spoke again.
“The suspect.”
Taejoo stopped.
Slowly turned.
Siyoung looked exhausted now, the medication clearly dragging him under. But his eyes stayed fixed on Taejoo.
“Next time,” he murmured, “if you’re going to pray for me…”
Taejoo glared.
“…do it louder.”
Taejoo flipped him off and walked out.
His ears burned all the way down the corridor.
Behind him, Cha Siyoung smiled faintly to himself before sleep dragged him under.
Because some things refused to die.
Hatred.
Obsession.
Old wounds.
And apparently—
Kang Taejoo’s inability to leave him behind.