lock me up (in your heart) - [1/?]
title: lock me up (in your heart) - [1/?]
genre: romance, angst, detective and serial killer au
warnings: not for the weak stomached, slight gore, eventual frick frack
description: studies show that patients who receive heart transplants experience a change in personality and Do Kyungsoo has a serial killer's heart
a/n: this will be a drabble-ish fic, i hope you enjoy this trainwreck
The office of Seoul’s Criminal Investigative Department sits in the very heart of Gangnam, a deceivingly sparkling twenty-storey building of steel and glass in the middle of a bustling metropolitan where economy is booming and the streets are littered with men clad in suits and teenagers in a splash of comically mismatched fashion.
On good days, every one sits back on leather chairs and sips some hot coffee fresh from the cafes around the area, whiling away time through surfing social media or gossiping as they wait for the next ‘big case’ or so their superintendent, Junmyeon calls it.
On bad days, everything is in a flurry of rushed phone calls and inquiries, decoding messages and contacting experts on stolen artifacts, the effects of lobotomy on three weeks’ time of dead flesh and what not. Layers of BB cream are applied on darkening eye bags and uniforms are creased or crumpled from sleeping in the office, trying to solve ‘the big case’. The morgue is full of lifeless bodies for slicing and examination, the scent of the dead noxious and unpleasant.
Today is a bad day, but not for Kim Jongin.
Jongin closes his car’s door with a bang as he tries to balance a phone sandwiched between his ear and shoulder, his suitcase, a burger and a cup of coffee in his hands. A frown mars his face, and his voice is somber, tone low as he walks towards their headquarters and gives the receptionist, Soojung, a look of acknowledgement.
“Alright, I’ll be there.” He says, cutting off the phone call and struggling to put the contraption in his pocket without spilling his coffee.
Something like a mix of excitement and adrenaline settles over his stomach, a jittery feeling making the hair on his nape stand on end. He’s been assigned to another case, and nothing makes him feel more alive than solving crimes.
The elevator arrives with a loud ding and Chanyeol greets him with a knowing grin as soon as he steps out, arms crossed over his chest.
“You’re late.” The taller says, and Jongin huffs, internally mourning over his-now-cold burger. He supposes he’ll have to forego breakfast today, because the look on Junmyeon’s face past the clear glass window of his office is anything but pleased. “Junmyeon’s going to fry you if you keep this up.”
“He won’t.” Jongin retorts, biting back a smug grin as they walk into his brother’s office. “Sorry.” He says without a trace of remorse. “Traffic’s getting worse.” He places his suitcase on the worn couch that’s been passed down from superintendent to superintendent, sipping his coffee and wincing when he realizes that it too, has gone cold.
Junmyeon shoots him a nasty glare before sighing in resignation. “You would think, that as my brother, you’d have some sense to show up to work on time.” He says through gritted teeth, watching Jongin and Chanyeol sink on the couch cushions, long limbs sprawled carelessly.
His younger brother really hasn’t changed.
“Exactly why I’m always late. Superintendent’s brother privileges.” Jongin tops it off with an obnoxious wink before he places his empty cup on the coffee table and twines long knobby fingers together. “Now, for the case?”
“You’ve seen the papers.” Junmyeon sighs for the umpteenth time that day, putting off the lecture Jongin deserves and throwing the two a bunch of folders. “Seoul’s prime serial killer D.O strikes again. I swear, if we don’t solve this soon, the people will have the entire police force’s asses.”
Jongin flips through the thick folder in his hands with an impressed look. He’s heard of the man. D.O. A serial killer so elusive that he’s eluded capture for three whole years. Jongin can already imagine some dark entity laughing his ass off as he watched the police trip over themselves trying to catch him. Psycho.
“And why are they giving us this case?” he asks, switching folders with Chanyeol and eyes scanning some more of the photographs of the gory murders their killer has executed.
Junmyeon shrugs. “I think they’ve given up.” He says, but the look they share speaks volumes. They’ve been given the job, because what seems to be imminent failure also means that they will have to take the blame. Jongin supposes that it’s clever, even though they are, by no means, incompetent.
“Jesus…” Chanyeol whispers beside him. “Three burnt victims? I think I’m going to be sick.” He says, clutching a photograph in his hand with a disgusted expression.
Jongin takes the photograph and from his partner and raises an eyebrow at Junmyeon. “Any leads?”
The elder extracts another folder from his drawer, the paper fresh and crisp beneath his fingers. Junmyeon flips it open with a placid demeanor and hands Jongin a photograph, clearing his throat in what Jongin recognizes is a giveaway that he’s about to tell them a story. He leans back to listen, face rapt with attention that he so rarely bestowed on the elder. Besides, he’s always found it funny, how his brother lays it out for them like he’s just talking about the weather instead of a bloody murder, voice stern and hardened by years of handling the most morbid of cases.
“How do we know it’s D.O this time again?” Chanyeol asks as soon as Junmyeon finishes, eyebrows furrowed and face morphed in that rare expression he gets only when things are this serious. Most of the time, his mouth is stretched out in a smile too wide for his face, eyes constantly moving like a nervous tic, fingers always playing with something.
With his face this calm, it’s almost believable that he’s Korea’s brightest IT agent and decoder, as well as the second best hitman, next to Jongin.
“That is where you come in.” Junmyeon gives them a wan smile as he hands them another photograph. Jongin narrows his eyes.
The message on the wall in the picture looks like it’d been taken straight out of an abandoned building, crudely spray-painted red on stained white walls like some prologue to a scene from a horror move. Jongin gulps despite himself, hair standing on end as he reads the message.
HIS TIME WAS UP
“He left that message, along with a code. We think he might be surrendering, but then again, serial killers have always been tricky bastards.” Junmyeon passes Chanyeol a paper of symbols both detectives have never come across. Jongin knows just from watching his partner’s face scrunch in confusion that it might take a while before he decodes it. He’s seen Chanyeol crack something at short notice and under pressure.
“All right. And the victim from last night’s murder?”
Junmyeon gives him a smile void of humor. “Waiting for you to give him a visit at the morgue, brother.”
*
In his three years as a detective, Chanyeol never hated anything as much as he hated visiting the morgue. The place was dank and cold, too dark and quiet, like a dungeon, and the hollow echo of doors and metal against metal sounded too much like the souls of the dying, crying for help.
“Hey zombie boy.” Jongin greets Sehun when they arrive and Chanyeol grins.
Sehun is bent over someone’s corpse, cutting a part of its head open with precision and utmost care. Chanyeol used to get chills seeing the younger treat corpses like…like they were his treasure, but now he’s used to it. When Sehun straightens up, his face looks white as a sheet, even more so with the dim lights painting his skin a pallid color. It’s not that he’s nervous, it’s just that he’s really fucking pale, and Chanyeol thinks that Sehun might as well be a zombie, as Jongin always calls him.
Sehun gives both him and Jongin a cross look, but he can only hold it for so long, breaking into a smile anyway. Chanyeol thinks that it’s just right, since Sehun’s job rarely permitted him to see his only friends.
“How’s he?” Jongin asks, patting the corpse’s shoulder like it was some live pet. Chanyeol makes a face in the background.
“I think your observational skills have gone down the drain Jongin. As you can see here, he’s dead.” Sehun’s tone drips with sarcasm, fetching them some medical gloves and adjusting the lights as they begin examining the body. Chanyeol has to steel himself before he moves closer, stomach churning as Sehun prods some flesh open.
He’s going to be sick.
There’s a cavity at the center of it all, a gaping hole of burnt muscle and charred flesh that seems to speak to him. The scent is repugnant too and Chanyeol backs away a little. He’s always had a weak stomach.
Jongin hums. “Interesting, two shots smack dab in the center of the forehead and three at the chest area, just like the last victim. Gun used?” he asks, fetching a scalpel and prodding some more. The wet sound it makes turns Chanyeol a light shade of green.
“A silencer pistol. One of those exclusive Soviet guns. Clearly, our killer knows his shit.” Sehun answers matter of factly, bending over the corpse and pointing at the open wound that Chanyeol can’t stand to even look at. “Close range, from the angle of the bullet retracted I’d say our victim was kneeling and D.O was standing. Also, he shows signs of struggle and asphyxiation from the medical examination.”
Jongin raises an eyebrow at this and proceeds to fetch the magnifying glass he keeps in his pocket at all times, one eye shut as he examines the corpse’s neck area. He grins. “Did his last victim show signs of a struggle too?”
Sehun shakes his head, giving Jongin a curious look. Jongin and Junmyeon had both been his childhood friends, but he always thought that the former was something else entirely. He was too otherworldly, like watching a fireball set ablaze everything in its path towards its destination.
And there was nothing like watching Kim Jongin crack a case, eyes looking almost deranged with excitement.
Sehun would have considered Jongin a sociopath, had it not been for the fact that he himself actually enjoyed the company of dead bodies over live people, and found joy and contentment in prodding their insides, educating himself further on human anatomy through the usage of another human.
“He’s wearing a uniform.” Chanyeol points out and Jongin rolls his eyes.
“Excellent skills of deduction, do you want a trophy, ‘Yeol?”
Chanyeol closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Three fucking years and he’s still not used to the younger’s sharp wit (and extensively, sharp tongue). Sometimes, or maybe most of the time, Kim Jongin was a fucking prick. “I meant he’s a student from the same high school.”
Jongin gives him a smirk and Chanyeol rolls his eyes because he knows what it means.
“Which is why I’m going undercover and you are going to solve that code, Park Chanyeol.”
ii
genre: romance, angst, detective and serial killer au
warnings: not for the weak stomached, slight gore, eventual frick frack
description: studies show that patients who receive heart transplants experience a change in personality and Do Kyungsoo has a serial killer's heart
a/n: this will be a drabble-ish fic, i hope you enjoy this trainwreck
The office of Seoul’s Criminal Investigative Department sits in the very heart of Gangnam, a deceivingly sparkling twenty-storey building of steel and glass in the middle of a bustling metropolitan where economy is booming and the streets are littered with men clad in suits and teenagers in a splash of comically mismatched fashion.
On good days, every one sits back on leather chairs and sips some hot coffee fresh from the cafes around the area, whiling away time through surfing social media or gossiping as they wait for the next ‘big case’ or so their superintendent, Junmyeon calls it.
On bad days, everything is in a flurry of rushed phone calls and inquiries, decoding messages and contacting experts on stolen artifacts, the effects of lobotomy on three weeks’ time of dead flesh and what not. Layers of BB cream are applied on darkening eye bags and uniforms are creased or crumpled from sleeping in the office, trying to solve ‘the big case’. The morgue is full of lifeless bodies for slicing and examination, the scent of the dead noxious and unpleasant.
Today is a bad day, but not for Kim Jongin.
Jongin closes his car’s door with a bang as he tries to balance a phone sandwiched between his ear and shoulder, his suitcase, a burger and a cup of coffee in his hands. A frown mars his face, and his voice is somber, tone low as he walks towards their headquarters and gives the receptionist, Soojung, a look of acknowledgement.
“Alright, I’ll be there.” He says, cutting off the phone call and struggling to put the contraption in his pocket without spilling his coffee.
Something like a mix of excitement and adrenaline settles over his stomach, a jittery feeling making the hair on his nape stand on end. He’s been assigned to another case, and nothing makes him feel more alive than solving crimes.
The elevator arrives with a loud ding and Chanyeol greets him with a knowing grin as soon as he steps out, arms crossed over his chest.
“You’re late.” The taller says, and Jongin huffs, internally mourning over his-now-cold burger. He supposes he’ll have to forego breakfast today, because the look on Junmyeon’s face past the clear glass window of his office is anything but pleased. “Junmyeon’s going to fry you if you keep this up.”
“He won’t.” Jongin retorts, biting back a smug grin as they walk into his brother’s office. “Sorry.” He says without a trace of remorse. “Traffic’s getting worse.” He places his suitcase on the worn couch that’s been passed down from superintendent to superintendent, sipping his coffee and wincing when he realizes that it too, has gone cold.
Junmyeon shoots him a nasty glare before sighing in resignation. “You would think, that as my brother, you’d have some sense to show up to work on time.” He says through gritted teeth, watching Jongin and Chanyeol sink on the couch cushions, long limbs sprawled carelessly.
His younger brother really hasn’t changed.
“Exactly why I’m always late. Superintendent’s brother privileges.” Jongin tops it off with an obnoxious wink before he places his empty cup on the coffee table and twines long knobby fingers together. “Now, for the case?”
“You’ve seen the papers.” Junmyeon sighs for the umpteenth time that day, putting off the lecture Jongin deserves and throwing the two a bunch of folders. “Seoul’s prime serial killer D.O strikes again. I swear, if we don’t solve this soon, the people will have the entire police force’s asses.”
Jongin flips through the thick folder in his hands with an impressed look. He’s heard of the man. D.O. A serial killer so elusive that he’s eluded capture for three whole years. Jongin can already imagine some dark entity laughing his ass off as he watched the police trip over themselves trying to catch him. Psycho.
“And why are they giving us this case?” he asks, switching folders with Chanyeol and eyes scanning some more of the photographs of the gory murders their killer has executed.
Junmyeon shrugs. “I think they’ve given up.” He says, but the look they share speaks volumes. They’ve been given the job, because what seems to be imminent failure also means that they will have to take the blame. Jongin supposes that it’s clever, even though they are, by no means, incompetent.
“Jesus…” Chanyeol whispers beside him. “Three burnt victims? I think I’m going to be sick.” He says, clutching a photograph in his hand with a disgusted expression.
Jongin takes the photograph and from his partner and raises an eyebrow at Junmyeon. “Any leads?”
The elder extracts another folder from his drawer, the paper fresh and crisp beneath his fingers. Junmyeon flips it open with a placid demeanor and hands Jongin a photograph, clearing his throat in what Jongin recognizes is a giveaway that he’s about to tell them a story. He leans back to listen, face rapt with attention that he so rarely bestowed on the elder. Besides, he’s always found it funny, how his brother lays it out for them like he’s just talking about the weather instead of a bloody murder, voice stern and hardened by years of handling the most morbid of cases.
“How do we know it’s D.O this time again?” Chanyeol asks as soon as Junmyeon finishes, eyebrows furrowed and face morphed in that rare expression he gets only when things are this serious. Most of the time, his mouth is stretched out in a smile too wide for his face, eyes constantly moving like a nervous tic, fingers always playing with something.
With his face this calm, it’s almost believable that he’s Korea’s brightest IT agent and decoder, as well as the second best hitman, next to Jongin.
“That is where you come in.” Junmyeon gives them a wan smile as he hands them another photograph. Jongin narrows his eyes.
The message on the wall in the picture looks like it’d been taken straight out of an abandoned building, crudely spray-painted red on stained white walls like some prologue to a scene from a horror move. Jongin gulps despite himself, hair standing on end as he reads the message.
HIS TIME WAS UP
“He left that message, along with a code. We think he might be surrendering, but then again, serial killers have always been tricky bastards.” Junmyeon passes Chanyeol a paper of symbols both detectives have never come across. Jongin knows just from watching his partner’s face scrunch in confusion that it might take a while before he decodes it. He’s seen Chanyeol crack something at short notice and under pressure.
“All right. And the victim from last night’s murder?”
Junmyeon gives him a smile void of humor. “Waiting for you to give him a visit at the morgue, brother.”
*
In his three years as a detective, Chanyeol never hated anything as much as he hated visiting the morgue. The place was dank and cold, too dark and quiet, like a dungeon, and the hollow echo of doors and metal against metal sounded too much like the souls of the dying, crying for help.
“Hey zombie boy.” Jongin greets Sehun when they arrive and Chanyeol grins.
Sehun is bent over someone’s corpse, cutting a part of its head open with precision and utmost care. Chanyeol used to get chills seeing the younger treat corpses like…like they were his treasure, but now he’s used to it. When Sehun straightens up, his face looks white as a sheet, even more so with the dim lights painting his skin a pallid color. It’s not that he’s nervous, it’s just that he’s really fucking pale, and Chanyeol thinks that Sehun might as well be a zombie, as Jongin always calls him.
Sehun gives both him and Jongin a cross look, but he can only hold it for so long, breaking into a smile anyway. Chanyeol thinks that it’s just right, since Sehun’s job rarely permitted him to see his only friends.
“How’s he?” Jongin asks, patting the corpse’s shoulder like it was some live pet. Chanyeol makes a face in the background.
“I think your observational skills have gone down the drain Jongin. As you can see here, he’s dead.” Sehun’s tone drips with sarcasm, fetching them some medical gloves and adjusting the lights as they begin examining the body. Chanyeol has to steel himself before he moves closer, stomach churning as Sehun prods some flesh open.
He’s going to be sick.
There’s a cavity at the center of it all, a gaping hole of burnt muscle and charred flesh that seems to speak to him. The scent is repugnant too and Chanyeol backs away a little. He’s always had a weak stomach.
Jongin hums. “Interesting, two shots smack dab in the center of the forehead and three at the chest area, just like the last victim. Gun used?” he asks, fetching a scalpel and prodding some more. The wet sound it makes turns Chanyeol a light shade of green.
“A silencer pistol. One of those exclusive Soviet guns. Clearly, our killer knows his shit.” Sehun answers matter of factly, bending over the corpse and pointing at the open wound that Chanyeol can’t stand to even look at. “Close range, from the angle of the bullet retracted I’d say our victim was kneeling and D.O was standing. Also, he shows signs of struggle and asphyxiation from the medical examination.”
Jongin raises an eyebrow at this and proceeds to fetch the magnifying glass he keeps in his pocket at all times, one eye shut as he examines the corpse’s neck area. He grins. “Did his last victim show signs of a struggle too?”
Sehun shakes his head, giving Jongin a curious look. Jongin and Junmyeon had both been his childhood friends, but he always thought that the former was something else entirely. He was too otherworldly, like watching a fireball set ablaze everything in its path towards its destination.
And there was nothing like watching Kim Jongin crack a case, eyes looking almost deranged with excitement.
Sehun would have considered Jongin a sociopath, had it not been for the fact that he himself actually enjoyed the company of dead bodies over live people, and found joy and contentment in prodding their insides, educating himself further on human anatomy through the usage of another human.
“He’s wearing a uniform.” Chanyeol points out and Jongin rolls his eyes.
“Excellent skills of deduction, do you want a trophy, ‘Yeol?”
Chanyeol closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Three fucking years and he’s still not used to the younger’s sharp wit (and extensively, sharp tongue). Sometimes, or maybe most of the time, Kim Jongin was a fucking prick. “I meant he’s a student from the same high school.”
Jongin gives him a smirk and Chanyeol rolls his eyes because he knows what it means.
“Which is why I’m going undercover and you are going to solve that code, Park Chanyeol.”
ii