The rain did not subside, turning the street into a sheer mirror. Car headlights reflected in the puddles, the neon sign of the diner trembled, spreading across the wet asphalt. Inside, behind the fogged-up windows, someone was noisily eating noodles, laughter and the clatter of chopsticks mixing with the steam. Outside, however, it was cold and damp. Do-yoon lit a cigarette, cupping the flame of the lighter with his hand, taking a drag and exhaling the smoke into the rain. He greedily inhaled the bitter taste, as if he could hide in it.
— Didn't think you smoked, - a familiar voice spoke behind him.
Do-yoon flinched, turning around. Seungho stood a few steps away, his coat soaked, his hair plastered to his temples, but his gaze was firm, as if the rain had nothing to do with him.
— You're here again... - Do-yoon stopped, abruptly extinguishing the cigarette on the wall. - Were you following me? — I was, - Seungho replied calmly, stepping closer. - So what? — So it's not normal, - Do-yoon said coldly. - I'm not your property for you to shadow me. — Property? - the corner of Seungho's lip twitched into a smirk. - Funny. You say that with such conviction, as if you believe it yourself.
Do-yoon clenched his fists.
— I'm serious. Everything between us is over. — Over? - Seungho stepped closer, and now his shadow blocked the light from the diner. - What exactly is over? Your investigation? Or what keeps you sleepless at night? Or maybe your inability to meet my eyes when I'm near? — You don't understand... - his voice broke. — I understand more than you think, - Seungho interrupted quietly, almost softly. - You are alone, Do-yoon. You chose to be. But you will lose alone. — That's my problem, - Do-yoon insisted stubbornly. - My job. — Your job will kill you, - Seungho shot back. - That's precisely what I understand.
A silence hung between them, broken only by the rain. For a few seconds, they just stared at each other. And then Seungho suddenly grabbed his collar and pulled him closer, kissing him harshly, abruptly, so that his teeth scraped Do-yoon's lip. Do-yoon tried to pull away, his palms pushing against Seungho's chest, but his body trembled, betrayed him, and he responded. The bitterness of blood, the taste of the cigarette, the cold rain on his cheeks—everything blended into one flash. They pulled apart, both breathing heavily.
— You... you're sick, - Do-yoon breathed out, not daring to look up. — Perhaps, - Seungho sneered, - but it seems you're infected with the same thing.
Do-yoon turned away, ready to leave, but Seungho spoke again—without pressure now, in a low, warm voice:
— Get in the car with me. — No. — Just talk, - he stepped closer, and now there was no command in his voice, only exhaustion. - I don't want to hash this out on empty streets in the rain. I certainly don't want our conversation muffled by someone's laughter and noodle steam. I want you to hear me. Calmly.
Do-yoon was silent, gazing into the rain.
— If you leave now, - Seungho continued, - we both lose. You—because you'll be alone in this war. I—because I won't be able to protect you even when you want it most.
These words cut deeper than any shout. There was no pressure in them, only truth. And that made it even harder to breathe. Seungho reached out a hand, but didn't touch him. He just waited. Do-yoon exhaled heavily, as if releasing all his stubborn protest.
— Fine. Just talk.
Seungho nodded and, with a gentle movement, guided him toward the car parked by the curb. The door opened softly, and the headlights caught the wet asphalt. Do-yoon got in first. Seungho walked around and settled behind the wheel. The rain continued to pour, but now it felt as if they were hidden from it in the cramped silence of the cabin.