no chance. (chapter two)
inside: fishes, monkeys, a bone-chilling investigation and inappropriate touching.
prologue, one
Lee Donghae, twenty-six, wakes up to the beautiful sound of his colleague, Lee Hyukjae (twenty-seven) squealing like a headless chicken in the Interrogation Room.
He seems to remember his boss telling him proudly just last week about the newly installed soundproof walls and reaches out to grab a notepad to scribble carelessly - Lee Hyukjae vs Soundproof Walls; LHJ 1 / SW 0. Lying down discreetly underneath a table, he gets ready to return to the heavenly sanctuaries of sleep overcome him when he hears a sharp rap against the table, prompting him to trudge up to meet no one else but his boss.
The first thing he thinks as he sees his boss, The Chief of Police, towering over him and spitting out flames? Simple; he knows he will either spend his last day on Earth today; or he’s been given a case to be in charge of. And the way the Chief walks towards him tells him that it’s something serious; a murder case.
And then he feels the familiar heavy file in his hands, his blood running cold as he looks down to read the heading, ‘CASE FILE 66: R’. The story has been all over the media lately; this R has been killing various male students at locations in and around Seoul; on the Seoul University grounds, near clubbing areas and most recently at the Seoul Olympic Park where an eighteen-year-old jogger was found stabbed on a bridge. His signature is to leave an engraved R in blood on the victim’s heart, to be discovered by the press in the morning. It’s almost like a deadly game of cat-and-mouse, the cat purposely leaving marks on his mouse only to disappear when the mouse is found.
“I - I -” Donghae is stunned; why would the Chief assign this case to a junior officer? Yes, he’s known in the office as the guy everyone wants to be around, Mr. Popular, but that doesn’t warrant being handed over a major case. And no, he can’t handle it alone; now which officer has the Chief assigned to co-lead?
As if the Chief is thinking in parallel, he clears his throat to get Donghae’s attention. “You will be leading this case along with Officer Lee Hyukjae,” he announces. And Donghae notices Hyukjae’s silhouette in the door, groaning inwardly. Hyukjae is, simply put, the bumbling, awkward guy who tries to befriend everyone but no-one wants to befriend. The complete opposite of Donghae, in fact - Hyukjae is bubbly and optimistic, whereas Donghae is reserved and finds fault in everything.
“Yes, Chief? I heard you called me, is there anything, anything at all I can do for you?” It’s dialogues like these that sicken Donghae to the core and he sighs, turning his attention back to the file. And that’s when Hyukjae notices Donghae and the file, almost squealing as he exclaims, “I’m working with you? That’s awesome!” before quieting down from the fiery glare Donghae shoots him.
“Well, I’ll leave you,” the Chief murmurs, almost chuckling at Donghae’s expression. He pats Donghae on the shoulder once, as if to say ‘you’ll make it through’ before leaving. He doesn’t catch Donghae’s pleading, desperate glance as he leaves the office. Sighing in defeat, the junior officer turns around slowly and is greeted by the sight of his co-lead sitting blankly on top of the case files as smiling like there’s no tomorrow.
He knew he should have worn his lucky boxers.
---
Donghae, after calming down with numerous cups of espresso, finally walks to the small couch in the corner of his office and gestures wordlessly for his colleague to stop cowering and bring the files so that when they fail the case, at least they won’t be a complete failure. Moreover, Donghae has no legitimate reason to hate on the other - just because Hyukjae is kind of desperate for friends, cowardly and has no dignity at all; no, that wasn’t a reason to hate at all.
“Why don’t you read out the details, Officer Hyukjae?” he asks, trying hard to keep his face neutral and to keep the hatred out of his voice.
“Just Hyukjae,” his colleague smiles. “Wasting time saying ‘officer’ on a murder case isn’t the way to start!”
“Yes, yes, Hyukjae,” Donghae mutters irritably. “Just read it out.”
“Okay.” The lighter-haired man’s grin sends itchy irritation through Donghae. “Well, we’ve tried to investigate this case on four previous counts, but all officers previously put in charge have abruptly resigned.” That’s not news for Donghae; he was acquainted with quite a few of the men who seemed to disappear just days after the file was handed to them.
“All seven victims up to date have been repeatedly stabbed, and - “
“Where?”
“Oh, all around Seoul!”
Donghae mutters an expletive under his breath. “No, I mean where on the body.”
Hyukjae looks quizzically at his colleague, late realization dawning on his face like a light being switched on in a sleeping man’s bedroom. “Oh,” he begins, “The file doesn’t mention it but I’m looking at the pictures now and... they vary.”
“Just tell me.”
“Okay, okay,” Hyukjae holds his palms up defensively. “Right shoulder, right hip, right leg... shall I continue?” Donghae nods, exasperated. “Centre of neck, left shoulder, stomach.”
“There’s no connection, then,” Donghae muses, trying to visualize the stab wounds in his mind, all of them on Hyukjae’s body. And then he can’t stop thinking about what Hyukjae would look like naked as he visualizes the wounds, until his colleague’s voice thankfully shakes him out of his reverie.
“Donghae, Donghae!” His colleague sounds like an immature child, with his eagerness and optimism, looking for a happy ending in every beginning. Determined to keep his composure, Donghae gestures for him to speak.
“I think I see the connection.”
It takes all of Donghae’s self-control not to laugh derisively at what seems to be a ludicrous proclamation.
“The connection is that all these attacks were on the body, not the face!”
Instead, he reduces what should have been a haughty laugh into a simple facepalm as he stares blankly at Hyukjae.This cannot be real; how did the police force ever hire such a bumbling idiot? More importantly, Donghae thinks, why is he still here? He’s jolted back to his senses by laughter coming from his colleague, who is now doubled over on his chair clutching his stomach.
“You - you honestly thought I was serious?” Hyukjae manages. “Oh god, pranking is the best!” He quiets down slightly. “But seriously, yeah, there were no facial disfigurations. The targets are all very beautiful -”
“I’m sorry, what?” The remark shocks Donghae; he’s never heard a man speak about another man like that; that is, if Hyukjae really is a man.
“Oh, not to me, of course!” Hyukjae’s laugh now seems forced, defensive, and Donghae decides to spare them both the exasperation and confusion and continue on with the already confusing case. “I’m just saying that they look a lot more feminine than regular men. So if R had a thing for these ‘pretty men’,” Hyukjae puts air quotations around the phrase, “then R wouldn’t want to mar the face he developed attraction to in the first place.”
For once, Hyukjae’s explanations actually make sense and Donghae finds himself subconsciously nodding in assent and approval before remembering that he’s supposed to detest that man with a passion.
“Oh, there’s more!” Hyukjae exclaims, springing up and almost dancing around the room, an action that makes Donghae remember his loathing for the man in the first place.
“Would you please sit down,.” he mutters, through gritted teeth, flipping through the seemingly redundant reports written by previous officers before their resignations; all starting at the beginning and drawing no conclusions. (‘We have identified that the killer is human, …)
“Oh, yes, yes,” Hyukjae says, regaining his composure and settling back down. “Well, I’m going to have to draw it out, is there any paper here?”
Interested this time in his colleague’s findings, Donghae sits up a little straighter, slumping back down when he realizes that the printer is all out of paper. Hyukjae seems to have noticed the same and turns to Donghae desperately. “Um...” he mutters, and Donghae is surprised at how reserved Hyukjae seems to be now. “Um... well, could I have your body for one minute?”
Donghae freezes at the atrocity of the request; not only is it taboo, but he hardly knows the man. Before he can protest, he feels Hyukjae’s breath on his face and instinctively steps back, though that only brings his colleague closer.
“It’s just that, you see, the assault spots were here, here, here and...” Hyukjae trails off, touching various spots on Donghae’s body like a policeman strip-searching a suspect. And the strangest part about it is that Donghae doesn’t actually mind the light touches that leave little spots of heat pulsating all over his body.
“And you see, because of this one victim with the stab on the right hip -” Hyukjae begins. He moves his hand, which has now touched Donghae’s broad chest, legs and more, towards Donghae’s hip but it accidentally brushes against the - by now - unmistakeably hard bulge between his legs. Donghae almost yelps and runs away, but Hyukjae doesn’t seem to notice (an enormous feat) and continues on to place his hand on Donghae’s hip.
“This creates an R shape,” Hyukjae says, pausing for effect - failing miserably in his excitement and continuing hurriedly on. “There’s just one point missing, somewhere around the left knee... and that would complete the R!” Hyukjae steps back, face flushed. “So?”
Donghae is still astounded by Hyukjae’s hidden display of intelligence, and the little spots of heat still reverberating through him. “So,” he begins, still in a daze and stepping further away, “I think we might have uncovered a genius in you!” Hyukjae smiles, and that genuine smile seems to warm something in Donghae (on top of the little problem he had). “You’ve worked hard today,” he mutters, trying desperately to keep up his cold, effortless facade, “so do you want to go out for a coffee?”
Hyukjae stops in his tracks, the scribble of a furious pen against paper ceasing to a halt. “Seriously? You actually mean that?” he whispers. And it is then that Donghae is reminded of the unwanted nobody that Hyukjae is to the rest of the office, then that he wants to get to know Hyukjae even more. “Yeah,” he says. “Now let’s go before we both turn into old men!” He pulls Hyukjae up and in those mere seconds of touching hands, Donghae feels something stir inside of him before pushing it back down - he isn’t supposed to think these things.
And as Donghae pulls the door open, tossing the file carelessly onto the coffee table, he knows that maybe this case won’t be the worst after all.
***
Ryeowook isn’t normally one for talking on the phone. The only reason that landline exists in his loft apartment is for his mother to be able to screech at him every other week and the librarian to call up about all the overdue fines. Sometimes the music faculty calls him to invite him to play at a recital but he’s such a recluse on campus that he doubts many even notice him in the first place. He’s always been the type to offer polite conversation only when required.
This time, however, he leaves his playing to make one phone call. He hardly knows the man he’s about to call, yet he knows that he has to be assertive and demanding. That man breached his privacy, and he wants it back.
Each sound as he pushes down a number on the landline seems like an alarm bell, but Ryeowook continues anyway. And then comes the endless sea of the tinny connecting tone, a sound so dull and so emotionless that Ryeowook can’t bear it for more than a few seconds.
Luckily the receiver is quick to answer and Ryeowook takes a deep breath before trying to make his voice sound as deep as possible, enunciating three words into his phone, “Don’t you dare.”
Nervous at his recipient’s reaction, he clicks the line dead, instantly cursing himself for doing so and being such an airhead. Nevermind now; he’s late for class. Gathering up a mismatched bundle of manuscripts from various pieces he’s composed, he crams them into the gaping ring binder that sits above his piano in order to stop the house help from accidentally incinerating them when she comes over.
He doesn’t remember that he has a mandatory mathematics class next, that all arts majors have to do in order to maintain their well-rounded profiles. Ryeowook loathes math, but they won’t let him graduate without passing at least half the class; Ryeowook’s record is already at forty percent and in order to get that to at least fifty he needs to attend every class from now on.
And then, taking a deep breath and readying himself for the outside world and blinding daylight, Ryeowook steps once more out of the door, down the staircase and into the light that blinds him.
***
Kyuhyun’s late.
It’s like everything decides to stop functioning the minute he steps outside the door into the mornings he hates. The shuttle bus to the university didn’t come, even after he waited for half an hour, and no taxi seems ready to take him, all of them waiting for the more expensive advanced bookings. The road whizzes by in a blur of colour and then grey, the harsh sunlight dancing from building to building, each time amplified on the glass.
He quickens his steps as he passes a row of apartment blocks and curses as he walks straight into a red-headed man tiptoeing down from the stairs, his phone clattering to the floor. And then he finds himself falling, falling, falling - straight onto the stranger.
“Oh, my, I’m so sorry,” the stranger mutters, his face rapidly reddening, “I must’ve tripped or something -”
But before the stranger can apologise further, Kyuhyun is off, picking up the square of flip-open plastic from the ground and heading hurriedly towards the university, clutching his bags tightly against him to prevent any further falls; thank goodness that stranger didn’t see the tremors of heat and excitement that rushed through Kyuhyun after the fall.
***
Donghae freezes. The line clicks dead, cold and tense, the small mobile still pressed against Donghae’s ear. His colleague notices, glances up from his strawberry mocha and asks, “Angry girlfriend?”
Donghae smiles, with as much courage as he can muster up after the threat. “I don’t have a girlfriend,” he says.
“Oh. You look the type, though,” Hyukjae replies, patting his shoulder rather affectionately. “So what was the problem?”
Donghae takes a deep breath. “We just got blackmailed. By R.”
-
So... to all our glorious KyuWook shippers who we love and adore... this chapter may be a bit of a disappointment. But we couldn't resist showing off our other OTP and we're very sorry! We swear, the next chapter is going to be very KyuWooky; we swear, and we don't swear often. And to apologise, we created a little angsty Yesung/Ryeowook/Kyuhyun ficlet for all of you; it should be the post right after this one (and it was totally not inspired by icyblueangel, heheh.
Sorry again, but we hope this didn't disappoint too much!
prologue, one
Lee Donghae, twenty-six, wakes up to the beautiful sound of his colleague, Lee Hyukjae (twenty-seven) squealing like a headless chicken in the Interrogation Room.
He seems to remember his boss telling him proudly just last week about the newly installed soundproof walls and reaches out to grab a notepad to scribble carelessly - Lee Hyukjae vs Soundproof Walls; LHJ 1 / SW 0. Lying down discreetly underneath a table, he gets ready to return to the heavenly sanctuaries of sleep overcome him when he hears a sharp rap against the table, prompting him to trudge up to meet no one else but his boss.
The first thing he thinks as he sees his boss, The Chief of Police, towering over him and spitting out flames? Simple; he knows he will either spend his last day on Earth today; or he’s been given a case to be in charge of. And the way the Chief walks towards him tells him that it’s something serious; a murder case.
And then he feels the familiar heavy file in his hands, his blood running cold as he looks down to read the heading, ‘CASE FILE 66: R’. The story has been all over the media lately; this R has been killing various male students at locations in and around Seoul; on the Seoul University grounds, near clubbing areas and most recently at the Seoul Olympic Park where an eighteen-year-old jogger was found stabbed on a bridge. His signature is to leave an engraved R in blood on the victim’s heart, to be discovered by the press in the morning. It’s almost like a deadly game of cat-and-mouse, the cat purposely leaving marks on his mouse only to disappear when the mouse is found.
“I - I -” Donghae is stunned; why would the Chief assign this case to a junior officer? Yes, he’s known in the office as the guy everyone wants to be around, Mr. Popular, but that doesn’t warrant being handed over a major case. And no, he can’t handle it alone; now which officer has the Chief assigned to co-lead?
As if the Chief is thinking in parallel, he clears his throat to get Donghae’s attention. “You will be leading this case along with Officer Lee Hyukjae,” he announces. And Donghae notices Hyukjae’s silhouette in the door, groaning inwardly. Hyukjae is, simply put, the bumbling, awkward guy who tries to befriend everyone but no-one wants to befriend. The complete opposite of Donghae, in fact - Hyukjae is bubbly and optimistic, whereas Donghae is reserved and finds fault in everything.
“Yes, Chief? I heard you called me, is there anything, anything at all I can do for you?” It’s dialogues like these that sicken Donghae to the core and he sighs, turning his attention back to the file. And that’s when Hyukjae notices Donghae and the file, almost squealing as he exclaims, “I’m working with you? That’s awesome!” before quieting down from the fiery glare Donghae shoots him.
“Well, I’ll leave you,” the Chief murmurs, almost chuckling at Donghae’s expression. He pats Donghae on the shoulder once, as if to say ‘you’ll make it through’ before leaving. He doesn’t catch Donghae’s pleading, desperate glance as he leaves the office. Sighing in defeat, the junior officer turns around slowly and is greeted by the sight of his co-lead sitting blankly on top of the case files as smiling like there’s no tomorrow.
He knew he should have worn his lucky boxers.
---
Donghae, after calming down with numerous cups of espresso, finally walks to the small couch in the corner of his office and gestures wordlessly for his colleague to stop cowering and bring the files so that when they fail the case, at least they won’t be a complete failure. Moreover, Donghae has no legitimate reason to hate on the other - just because Hyukjae is kind of desperate for friends, cowardly and has no dignity at all; no, that wasn’t a reason to hate at all.
“Why don’t you read out the details, Officer Hyukjae?” he asks, trying hard to keep his face neutral and to keep the hatred out of his voice.
“Just Hyukjae,” his colleague smiles. “Wasting time saying ‘officer’ on a murder case isn’t the way to start!”
“Yes, yes, Hyukjae,” Donghae mutters irritably. “Just read it out.”
“Okay.” The lighter-haired man’s grin sends itchy irritation through Donghae. “Well, we’ve tried to investigate this case on four previous counts, but all officers previously put in charge have abruptly resigned.” That’s not news for Donghae; he was acquainted with quite a few of the men who seemed to disappear just days after the file was handed to them.
“All seven victims up to date have been repeatedly stabbed, and - “
“Where?”
“Oh, all around Seoul!”
Donghae mutters an expletive under his breath. “No, I mean where on the body.”
Hyukjae looks quizzically at his colleague, late realization dawning on his face like a light being switched on in a sleeping man’s bedroom. “Oh,” he begins, “The file doesn’t mention it but I’m looking at the pictures now and... they vary.”
“Just tell me.”
“Okay, okay,” Hyukjae holds his palms up defensively. “Right shoulder, right hip, right leg... shall I continue?” Donghae nods, exasperated. “Centre of neck, left shoulder, stomach.”
“There’s no connection, then,” Donghae muses, trying to visualize the stab wounds in his mind, all of them on Hyukjae’s body. And then he can’t stop thinking about what Hyukjae would look like naked as he visualizes the wounds, until his colleague’s voice thankfully shakes him out of his reverie.
“Donghae, Donghae!” His colleague sounds like an immature child, with his eagerness and optimism, looking for a happy ending in every beginning. Determined to keep his composure, Donghae gestures for him to speak.
“I think I see the connection.”
It takes all of Donghae’s self-control not to laugh derisively at what seems to be a ludicrous proclamation.
“The connection is that all these attacks were on the body, not the face!”
Instead, he reduces what should have been a haughty laugh into a simple facepalm as he stares blankly at Hyukjae.This cannot be real; how did the police force ever hire such a bumbling idiot? More importantly, Donghae thinks, why is he still here? He’s jolted back to his senses by laughter coming from his colleague, who is now doubled over on his chair clutching his stomach.
“You - you honestly thought I was serious?” Hyukjae manages. “Oh god, pranking is the best!” He quiets down slightly. “But seriously, yeah, there were no facial disfigurations. The targets are all very beautiful -”
“I’m sorry, what?” The remark shocks Donghae; he’s never heard a man speak about another man like that; that is, if Hyukjae really is a man.
“Oh, not to me, of course!” Hyukjae’s laugh now seems forced, defensive, and Donghae decides to spare them both the exasperation and confusion and continue on with the already confusing case. “I’m just saying that they look a lot more feminine than regular men. So if R had a thing for these ‘pretty men’,” Hyukjae puts air quotations around the phrase, “then R wouldn’t want to mar the face he developed attraction to in the first place.”
For once, Hyukjae’s explanations actually make sense and Donghae finds himself subconsciously nodding in assent and approval before remembering that he’s supposed to detest that man with a passion.
“Oh, there’s more!” Hyukjae exclaims, springing up and almost dancing around the room, an action that makes Donghae remember his loathing for the man in the first place.
“Would you please sit down,.” he mutters, through gritted teeth, flipping through the seemingly redundant reports written by previous officers before their resignations; all starting at the beginning and drawing no conclusions. (‘We have identified that the killer is human, …)
“Oh, yes, yes,” Hyukjae says, regaining his composure and settling back down. “Well, I’m going to have to draw it out, is there any paper here?”
Interested this time in his colleague’s findings, Donghae sits up a little straighter, slumping back down when he realizes that the printer is all out of paper. Hyukjae seems to have noticed the same and turns to Donghae desperately. “Um...” he mutters, and Donghae is surprised at how reserved Hyukjae seems to be now. “Um... well, could I have your body for one minute?”
Donghae freezes at the atrocity of the request; not only is it taboo, but he hardly knows the man. Before he can protest, he feels Hyukjae’s breath on his face and instinctively steps back, though that only brings his colleague closer.
“It’s just that, you see, the assault spots were here, here, here and...” Hyukjae trails off, touching various spots on Donghae’s body like a policeman strip-searching a suspect. And the strangest part about it is that Donghae doesn’t actually mind the light touches that leave little spots of heat pulsating all over his body.
“And you see, because of this one victim with the stab on the right hip -” Hyukjae begins. He moves his hand, which has now touched Donghae’s broad chest, legs and more, towards Donghae’s hip but it accidentally brushes against the - by now - unmistakeably hard bulge between his legs. Donghae almost yelps and runs away, but Hyukjae doesn’t seem to notice (an enormous feat) and continues on to place his hand on Donghae’s hip.
“This creates an R shape,” Hyukjae says, pausing for effect - failing miserably in his excitement and continuing hurriedly on. “There’s just one point missing, somewhere around the left knee... and that would complete the R!” Hyukjae steps back, face flushed. “So?”
Donghae is still astounded by Hyukjae’s hidden display of intelligence, and the little spots of heat still reverberating through him. “So,” he begins, still in a daze and stepping further away, “I think we might have uncovered a genius in you!” Hyukjae smiles, and that genuine smile seems to warm something in Donghae (on top of the little problem he had). “You’ve worked hard today,” he mutters, trying desperately to keep up his cold, effortless facade, “so do you want to go out for a coffee?”
Hyukjae stops in his tracks, the scribble of a furious pen against paper ceasing to a halt. “Seriously? You actually mean that?” he whispers. And it is then that Donghae is reminded of the unwanted nobody that Hyukjae is to the rest of the office, then that he wants to get to know Hyukjae even more. “Yeah,” he says. “Now let’s go before we both turn into old men!” He pulls Hyukjae up and in those mere seconds of touching hands, Donghae feels something stir inside of him before pushing it back down - he isn’t supposed to think these things.
And as Donghae pulls the door open, tossing the file carelessly onto the coffee table, he knows that maybe this case won’t be the worst after all.
***
Ryeowook isn’t normally one for talking on the phone. The only reason that landline exists in his loft apartment is for his mother to be able to screech at him every other week and the librarian to call up about all the overdue fines. Sometimes the music faculty calls him to invite him to play at a recital but he’s such a recluse on campus that he doubts many even notice him in the first place. He’s always been the type to offer polite conversation only when required.
This time, however, he leaves his playing to make one phone call. He hardly knows the man he’s about to call, yet he knows that he has to be assertive and demanding. That man breached his privacy, and he wants it back.
Each sound as he pushes down a number on the landline seems like an alarm bell, but Ryeowook continues anyway. And then comes the endless sea of the tinny connecting tone, a sound so dull and so emotionless that Ryeowook can’t bear it for more than a few seconds.
Luckily the receiver is quick to answer and Ryeowook takes a deep breath before trying to make his voice sound as deep as possible, enunciating three words into his phone, “Don’t you dare.”
Nervous at his recipient’s reaction, he clicks the line dead, instantly cursing himself for doing so and being such an airhead. Nevermind now; he’s late for class. Gathering up a mismatched bundle of manuscripts from various pieces he’s composed, he crams them into the gaping ring binder that sits above his piano in order to stop the house help from accidentally incinerating them when she comes over.
He doesn’t remember that he has a mandatory mathematics class next, that all arts majors have to do in order to maintain their well-rounded profiles. Ryeowook loathes math, but they won’t let him graduate without passing at least half the class; Ryeowook’s record is already at forty percent and in order to get that to at least fifty he needs to attend every class from now on.
And then, taking a deep breath and readying himself for the outside world and blinding daylight, Ryeowook steps once more out of the door, down the staircase and into the light that blinds him.
***
Kyuhyun’s late.
It’s like everything decides to stop functioning the minute he steps outside the door into the mornings he hates. The shuttle bus to the university didn’t come, even after he waited for half an hour, and no taxi seems ready to take him, all of them waiting for the more expensive advanced bookings. The road whizzes by in a blur of colour and then grey, the harsh sunlight dancing from building to building, each time amplified on the glass.
He quickens his steps as he passes a row of apartment blocks and curses as he walks straight into a red-headed man tiptoeing down from the stairs, his phone clattering to the floor. And then he finds himself falling, falling, falling - straight onto the stranger.
“Oh, my, I’m so sorry,” the stranger mutters, his face rapidly reddening, “I must’ve tripped or something -”
But before the stranger can apologise further, Kyuhyun is off, picking up the square of flip-open plastic from the ground and heading hurriedly towards the university, clutching his bags tightly against him to prevent any further falls; thank goodness that stranger didn’t see the tremors of heat and excitement that rushed through Kyuhyun after the fall.
***
Donghae freezes. The line clicks dead, cold and tense, the small mobile still pressed against Donghae’s ear. His colleague notices, glances up from his strawberry mocha and asks, “Angry girlfriend?”
Donghae smiles, with as much courage as he can muster up after the threat. “I don’t have a girlfriend,” he says.
“Oh. You look the type, though,” Hyukjae replies, patting his shoulder rather affectionately. “So what was the problem?”
Donghae takes a deep breath. “We just got blackmailed. By R.”
-
So... to all our glorious KyuWook shippers who we love and adore... this chapter may be a bit of a disappointment. But we couldn't resist showing off our other OTP and we're very sorry! We swear, the next chapter is going to be very KyuWooky; we swear, and we don't swear often. And to apologise, we created a little angsty Yesung/Ryeowook/Kyuhyun ficlet for all of you; it should be the post right after this one (and it was totally not inspired by icyblueangel, heheh.
Sorry again, but we hope this didn't disappoint too much!