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Jung Gi-Soo’s currently on his third soju at the closest pocha to headquarters, and will soon be ready for another. Night life in Seoul is particularly thriving tonight. The air is warm and thick with excitement, and the stars are twinkling bright.
There’s a lot to celebrate, after all.
The Jeju raid— although what originally appeared to be another devastating tragedy, and quite possibly the end of humankind altogether, miraculously ended in a huge success for Korea. Jung Gi-Soo raises his bottle in the air to show respect to the single person responsible for saving their lives, regardless of the fact that he’s nowhere in sight. It’s just as well. Gods don’t need to be present to be praised.
“Thank fuck for Hunter Sung,” he says loudly, slightly leaning to the left.
Around him, other co-workers cheer and raise their own glasses in a similar fashion. It’ll be back to business as usual tomorrow, but tonight, the Hunter’s Association is going to happily drink themselves into a stupor.
“You should be careful, Jung Gi-Soo,” the man sitting to his left says, a gentle hand at his elbow to steady him, “You’re about to fall off your seat.”
“Ahh,” Gi-Soo slaps his hand down on the counter— The act causing his soju to slosh in the glass gripped tightly by the other, “Chief Woo-nim. It’s alright if I fall, because that means I’m still alive, right? Besides, you should be celebrating too. Let me buy you a drink.”
“No, thank you,” Chief Woo responds neutrally, “I’m not much of a drinker.”
Jung Gi-Soo doesn’t believe that for a second. After imagining everything the Chief Inspector of the Monitoring Division has seen during his career, surely he’s used to having a drink or two after work? If not for the trauma, then for the damn stress and long hours?
“You can afford low wits tonight, Chief-nim. There’s nothing to worry about now. Korea is saved!” He yells across the bar. Another round of celebratory cries meets his ringing ears.
Chief Woo, of course, says nothing more after that, but does dip his head in what Gi-Soo decides is camaraderie.
A moment later, a loud ringing interrupts anything else his drunk brain might decide to blurt out, and Chief-nim digs a phone out of his pocket.
“Ah, excuse me, I have to take this,” he says, standing smoothly with the grace of a trained hunter. Sometimes Gi-Soo forgets how strong he is. A higher A-rank is nothing to joke about, but somehow Chief never makes them feel like they have to keep their guard up around him. He’s always approachable at the office— a ‘door open policy’ kind of man, and treats everyone who steps inside it the same. Besides Hunter Sung, Chief is definitely someone Gi-Soo would follow to the end of the world— which at this point, could be approaching faster than they know.
But that’s not something to worry about now, because the end of the world won’t be tonight.
“Hurry back, Chief-nim, I’ll miss you!” Gi-Soo yells after him, laughing at the raised brow he gets in return. He brings the long-necked bottle up to his lips, frowning after finding it empty. Then he looks down at himself and notices the rather large wet spot on one of his thighs, seeping through his pants.
“Fuck,” he mutters, then laughs. How much of a privilege is it to fuss over spilled soju, when a few hours ago he wasn’t sure if he’d make it through the night?
“Another round of soju!” He orders at the counter, a bright smile on his face when all of his co-workers— no, his friends— join him. Everyone is high on the adrenaline after the raid, and it’s fucking addicting. No wonder some hunters look so crazed sometimes after closing a gate.
“Damn, is Chief-nim still working?” one of his buddies asks from the right. Han Jaehyuk? He’s pretty sure, although the alcohol is definitely kicking in, sending him right past a mild buzz to straight-up plastered.
“Does he ever take a break?” Han Jaehyuk asks to no one specific.
“I doubt it. He hasn’t taken a day off since I started working at KHA, and that was five years ago,” someone says beside Han Jaehyuk.
“I don’t know how he does it. I’d probably off myself,” Han Jaehyuk responds.
“I’m about to off myself if we keep talking about work,” another person complains, someone whose name Gi-Soo can’t recall anymore.
A few chuckles are passed around before the drinking continues, and the subject dissolves into further tomfoolery. Gi-Soo thinks he hears some kind of bet going on about licking something off the ground and ‘what are the odds?’ Eh. In the wake of surviving the impossible, that’s not even that bad.
After thanking the bartender for his fourth soju, Gi-Soo takes a healthy sip from his glass.
Good shit.
Anyway, it’s not fair for Chief-nim to feel like he can’t properly celebrate. Everyone should be able to relax while off the clock. Tonight of all nights should be the most obvious excuse to kick it back for a bit. (Did he not get the memo that everyone almost just fucking died??)
Hell, now that he’s thinking about it, he can’t remember the last time Chief-nim took a day off work either.
“Hey, you still have to pay for that,” the man at the counter tells him.
“Oh, right, sorry,” Gi-Soo slurs a bit, hands fumbling in his jacket pocket. After paying, he manages to shove his wallet back in his pocket (after the second try), and his knuckles brush up against something cold. He takes it out, and finds an intricately decorated glass vial filled with a translucent liquid. Gi-Soo’s eyes light up with recognition.
That’s right. He’d confiscated it right before the raid, and hadn’t completed the report yet, quickly forgotten in his jacket pocket. He’d been following a new lead on a potion untraceable by mana. A B-rank was selling them on the black market when he’d been brought to the KHA for questioning. Gi-Soo was first to intercept.
What did the guy say it was? Some kind of new drug on the street? Oh! Gi-Soo snaps his fingers after a long moment of silence, earning an odd look from the bartender.
The guy said something extremely cryptic like, “you’ll never feel anything like it.”
Jung Gi-Soo smiles.
Chief-nim never has fun, and he’s in possession of a mysterious potion that’s (probably) guaranteed to be fun. He can help Chief have the best night ever, and simultaneously rid himself of the evidence so he doesn’t have to write up a full report tomorrow.
Two birds, one stone, as they say.
And it’s a basic fact that people have the best ideas ever while drinking. So there’s definitely not going to be any consequences after pouring the contents into the extra tumbler glass he waves the bartender down for.
Gi-Soo stoppers the vial after the pour, and discreetly pockets it again. Then he takes another long sip of his soju to smother the lingering guilt of deceiving Chief-nim.
It settles pleasantly in his stomach. Ah. There’s nothing to worry about.
This plan is foolproof for sure.
“Chairman, is everything alright?” Jinchul asks, pressing a finger lightly against the ear not covered by the phone.
A loud cheer rises in the crowd behind him, and Jinchul strains to hear the Chairman’s response.
“Of course, I was just calling to check on you,” he answers.
After having interpreted that as “No one’s doing anything stupid, right?” Jinchul replies cordially, “Everyone is accounted for, and having a good time, sir.”
“Good,” the Chairman’s voice rings out to him, “Hunter Sung?”
“Not here, sir. I’m sure he’s inclined to avoid the crowd right now.”
“Yes, I think you’re right. Let me know if he does show up. I’d like to meet with him again soon,” the Chairman says.
“Of course, sir.”
The Chairman ends the call. Jinchul slips his phone back in his pocket.
At the sound of more whooping laughter, Jinchul turns to walk back to his seat with a beleaguered sigh. Hunter Sung isn’t the only person inclined to avoid the boisterous crowds lining the streets of Seoul, but as Chief he’s obligated to show face and ensure the safety of his team. At the very least, Jung Gi-Soo is right, and he shouldn’t have to worry about too much criminal activity tonight. It’s a good thing to have so many people out wanting to celebrate.
“Welcome back, Chief-nim, is everything alright?” Jung Gi-Soo asks with a small wave. This time he’s leaning back towards the right, having twisted his back around to greet him.
Jinchul is bemused by the younger man, and it’s a nice change to see him so…carefree. A pang of envy hollows out his chest. Moments like this reveal the real reason why he doesn’t go out much, unable to relate to the lighthearted disposition most people like Gi-Soo carry. Jinchul’s exhaustion weighs heavy, and his mind is inevitably wandering to other things that aren’t so celebratory like funerals and property damage— both of which are things that require money, paperwork, and emotional sensitivity.
“Yes, the Chairman just wanted to check in,” Jinchul responds before taking his seat next to Jung Gi-Soo.
“That’s really nice of the Chairman,” Gi-Soo says, swaying back over to Jin-Chul’s side, “he’s the best.”
“I agree.” Jinchul eyes the growing crowd, mentally checking off employees as he sees them. The Chairman’s phone call had been right on the heels of such a traumatic event, and he wants to make sure nothing goes awry tonight.
“Chief-nim?” Jung Gi-Soo asks, drawing his attention.
“Yes, Jung Gi-Soo?”
“Please give me the honor of accepting this drink,” he says, pushing a glass tumbler his way across the counter.
Jinchul is already putting up a hand to stop him, “Thank you, Jung Gi-Soo, but I—”
“You do so much for us, Chief-nim,” Gi-Soo’s now turned to face him fully, tears forming in the corners of his eyes, “I wish we could do more for you. Please take it.”
Good Lord, Gi-Soo is apparently an emotional drunk. Jinchul awkwardly pats his shoulder, hoping that it brings the younger man a small comfort— especially since it looks like he’s tempted to reach in for a hug.
“That’s not necessary—”
“PLEASE, Chief-nim,” Jung Gi-Soo begs, taking hold of Jinchul’s sleeve. Heat creeps up the back of his neck as passerbys stare in their direction. Then Jung Gi-Soo stares at him with those puppy dog eyes, and Jinchul’s resolve cracks.
In the end, Gi-Soo’s a good employee just trying to show his appreciation, even if his way of showing it is unorthodox. Not to mention unprofessional (not that this outing had great prospects from the start).
Jinchul eyes the drink suspiciously, then lets go of a tired sigh.
“One drink,” he relents.
“YES, okay. Thank you, Chief-nim,” Jung Gi-Soo brightens, nudging the glass a little closer.
Jinchul takes the glass and raises it to his lips, hiding a near grimace, then throws it back before he can change his mind. The liquid burns his throat the entire way down. A hint of something fiery lingers at the back of his tongue, and he can’t hold back his slight cough after swallowing.
“Wh—” he coughs once more, politely into his sleeve, “What was that, Jung Gi-Soo?”
But his question is drowned out by the exuberant cheers of the Association once seeing that Jung Gi-Soo actually managed to convince (beg) their Chief to take a shot.
“Chief, Chief, Chief!” The rest of his employees chant behind him.
Jinchul releases another, deeper sigh.
“I love you, Chief-nim!” Jung Gi-Soo sobs a moment later.
…
“I think it’s time for you to go home and get some rest, Jung Gi-Soo.”
After wrangling the rest of his employees, Jinchul transfers Jung Gi-Soo over to their care for the time being, and pays for their rides home. He passes the time listening to their rambling dissolve into utter nonsense, but can’t find himself to be even a little irate. They deserve this.
When Jung Gi-Soo’s safely buckled in the backseat, waving goodbye with tears running down his face, Jinchul begins to feel strangely cold.
He suppresses a shiver, chalking it up to the late hour, and decides it’s time for him to go home as well. Then a wave of dizziness hits him when he stands to his full height, and Jinchul presses a hand to his temple. What was in that shot?
When he feels a sensation of ice prickling up his back and across his limbs like needles, he realizes that something is very wrong, and he needs to leave now.
He halfway stumbles out into the street. No one bats an eye as he leaves. Most of the people here are drunk, so why would he be an exception?
By the time he makes it to the next street over, every nerve in his body feels like it’s lit on fire. Jinchul hunches over with a gasp from the sudden, strong desire to feel someone else’s skin brushing against his.
The world around him blurs while his body hones onto it like a tracking device. Every moment spent not being touched feels like he might burn up entirely. He chokes from the pain, and stumbles onto his knees— barely registering the grit from the asphalt digging into his pants. A desperate urging rises inside of him. If only someone could touch him, he’d be okay. He could survive this. He wouldn’t be on fire anymore.
He’s losing control, and it terrifies him.
“Hey man,” a voice behind him growls followed by a flare of mana in warning, “Give us your fucking money. Now.”
It’s a small irony that Jinchul was just agreeing that tonight would be safer than most. In hindsight, it makes sense that others would want to take advantage of the distraction that the celebration provides.
However, any lingering thoughts on that are quickly overpowered by the debilitating need for human warmth rising in his chest. Jinchul turns his head to find three younger male hunters staring down at him. Even in his current state, he can see that two of them are C-rank. The clear leader in the middle, much taller and bigger, is a B-rank.
Jinchul shouldn’t have a problem handling a situation like this. Except, when he tries to stand, it feels like fucking torture, and his body is screaming at him to curl in on itself in an attempt to escape whatever is happening to it.
He stumbles in his attempt to rise on his feet while holding out a placating hand. He can still convince these men that it’s not too late to do the right thing. He just needs a minute to gather his thoughts.
One of the C-ranks laughs. “Stupid drunk.”
“This isn’t even fun, we can just reach into his pocket and take it ourselves,” the other C-rank complains.
"We can still have a little fun,” the B-rank replies, nodding his head to his counterpart.
In the next moment, Jinchul doubles over from a punch to the gut. He groans, vision spinning. Then a hand tangles itself into his hair (relief), and yanks his head back, baring his throat.
“He’s pretty far gone, boss,” the first C-rank above him says, so close to pressing up against his back, “We should go find someone else.”
Words feel too heavy in his mouth. Please, don’t, he finds himself wanting to say. They can ease this burning need. The hand grazing against his scalp isn’t enough. He needs more.
“Tch, fine, just grab his wallet,” the B-rank says, watching lazily as Jinchul slumps back to the ground. He closes his eyes, muscles straining in agony.
“No,” he manages to gasp out. The others laugh, while the C-rank bends over to reach into his jacket. Jinchul does his best to lean into the man, chasing short-lived relief when fingers slightly brush against his hand.
“Oh shit, this guy works for KHA,” the C-rank says, panic filling his voice as he flips through his identification cards.
“Fuck, we gotta—”
“What the fuck—”
A shadow looms over them all, a monstrous glower, before that shape begins to contort– smoky tendrils flying wildly.
An aura like no other sweeps into the darkened street, and Jinchul manages to raise his eyes in time to see Hunter Sung Jinwoo slam the closest C-rank face first into concrete. Only a few seconds later, and the other two are taken out just as viciously.
Jinchul sees South Korea’s newest S-rank begin to walk his way over, and doesn’t have a second to ponder how the hell he got here, when his vision blurs from more pain.
“Chief Woo, are you alright?” Hunter Sung asks, keen eyes scanning his body for an injury he can treat.
“Hunter Sung—” Jinchul’s voice cuts off with a gasp as a stronger wave of longing rushes through him, flaying open more nerves and lighting all of his limbs on fire. It’s as if he’s being ripped apart at the seams. He struggles to get a grip on something, attempting to reclaim his propriety— especially in front of someone who certainly deserves the highest respect.
Hunter Sung’s eyes narrow, and in the next second he has the B-rank pinned against the wall by his throat with one hand. The B-rank groans awake when Jinwoo slams his head back.
“What did you do to him?” Hunter Sung asks the B-Rank, eerily calm, although the promise of violence drips in every word.
“We didn’t do anything!” The guy chokes as Hunter Sung’s hand squeezes tighter, “I swear! We found him this way!”
Another warning growl turns the man into a whimpering mess, and when Sung Jinwoo seems convinced the B-rank’s telling the truth, he tosses him into the next building like a sack of potatoes. The leader lands in a heap of concrete, unconscious.
Jinchul attempts to rise again and fails, collapsing onto near shaking arms. The burning pain is relentless.
“Easy, Chief.” Strong arms envelop him, bringing with them sweet, sweet relief. Jinchul swallows a sob as Hunter Sung’s hold seeps into his skin like a calming balm, soothing his overshot nerves.
After losing feeling in his arms, Jinchul collapses forward, his face finding resistance in the crook of Hunter Sung’s neck. The effect of touching bare skin is immediate. It’s everything he never knew he needed until now. It’s warm and safe and heaven.
“Chief Woo?” Hunter Sung leans his head back while gently pushing Jinchul away to get a better look at his face.
Jinchul can’t help it. He lets out a small whine from the loss of his touch, and Hunter Sung’s eyes widen at the sound.
“Don’t leave,” Jinchul rasps out, mortified by the inability to keep the desperation from spilling into his voice. Before he can stop himself, his hands fist themselves in Hunter Sung’s jacket.
Sung Jinwoo blinks, while his face remains impassive and impossible to read. Somewhere through the haze, Jinchul’s aware of what he must look like. So out of control, and after so much effort establishing great rapport. Pathetic. It makes him try to reel it all back in again, at a loss when his efforts are repaid by another flare of pain shooting up his spine.
“I won’t,” Hunter Sung responds, clipped, and all business, “What’s wrong?”
“I—” Jinchul exhales sharply at the stab of needle-like pain crawling up his legs, “I’m not sure.”
Hunter Sung looks around them, then over his shoulder, before his eyes settle back onto his face. Those big, blue piercing orbs bore into his. Jinchul fights down another whine.
Gentle fingers run through Jinchul’s hair to support the back of his neck, and it feels like finally being able to take a breath. “Here, drink this,” Hunter Sung tells him.
Jinchul jerks back and shakes his head, even as Hunter Sung’s fingers tighten around his neck, holding him in place. “No,” he manages to choke out.
By now he’s almost certain the shot he took earlier was laced with something. The last thing his drug-addled mind wants is to drink something else. All it wants, needs, is for Hunter Sung to keep his hand right where it is.
“What did you have to drink?” Hunter Sung asks, the vial still clutched lightly in his hand.
The question reminds Jinchul that he’d casually mentioned to Hunter Sung earlier after the Jeju debriefing that he planned on taking the team out for drinks.
Jinchul shakes his head, trying to clear his mind, as his thoughts sink into something foggier. He tries to refocus on Hunter Sung’s touch around the back of his neck— the single spot on his body that’s not aching or on fire.
“Chief,” Hunter Sung’s fingers move along his neck to tilt Jinchul’s head back to meet his eyes, “Look at me. Did someone drug you?”
Jinchul’s head lolls slightly as his vision goes dark, the effort of keeping it up too great— even with Hunter Sung supporting it. Electricity is skating across his skin, and his body’s reaching the capacity to endure it.
Above him, Hunter Sung tilts his head back a little more. “This should help.”
The tip of the vial is held against his lips. Despite the desire to back away from it, there’s also a warring need to draw closer, if only to stay within the hunter’s reach.
Hunter Sung delicately forces him still. In his current state, it doesn’t take much effort at all. The red, syrupy liquid fills his mouth, and Jinchul can do nothing else but choke it down. The after taste isn’t unpleasant, but it settles in the pit of his stomach like a heavy weight, clashing with whatever substance he must’ve ingested earlier.
A minute passes, and Hunter Sung slowly lets go of his neck. “Do you feel any better?” he asks.
Jinchul weakly pushes at Hunter Sung’s chest for space, promptly doubles over, and vomits on the ground between them. Hunter Sung curses low, then watches him closely for any further reactions.
“Ah, I apologize—” While attempting to withhold another whimper, Jinchul manages to shake his head again, longing for Hunter Sung’s hand to come back, and hating himself for it. It’s an anchor in the midst of a violent sea, and without it he can’t breathe.
A tremor seizes his body, and he plummets forward again, on a trajectory towards his puddle of vomit. Before he can fall completely, Hunter Sung steadies him with a hand on his shoulder. When he places the back of his other hand to Jinchul’s forehead, he's ashamed because it feels so good.
“You’re freezing,” Hunter Sung says, astonishment bleeding into his tone.
The demands of Jinchul’s body instinctively urge him to tuck his face back into the crook of Hunter Sung’s neck. Not even the feeling of his nerves burning over an open flame can make him act on it this time. If he wants to maintain even a fraction of his decorum, he’ll have to continue to endure whatever is happening to him.
Yet, with each passing second he’s losing more of his grip on reality, and so he reclaims his hold on Hunter Sung’s jacket, desperate for purchase.
“Chief Woo,” Hunter Sung’s hand goes to his other shoulder, now supporting most of his upper body weight, “What do you need?”
Jinchul does his best to contain a shiver, however he can tell that Hunter Sung still feels the slight wavering in his shoulders.
He looks down at the ground, vaguely noticing a thin layer of frost beginning to crawl up one hand.
“I’m alright, Hunter Sung—” Another lightning strike of pain chases down his back to his toes, and black splotches fill his vision like splatter paint. He amends his earlier statement, “Forgive me. I think…I need to lie down.”
Against his wishes, and although Hunter Sung is still holding him upright, his head hangs limply between them— hands slipping from their grasp on his jacket.
“Hold on, Chief, I’ve got you,” Jinchul vaguely hears Hunter Sung murmur into his ear. He feels one arm slide around his upper back, and the other behind his knees. Then he’s being lifted up in Hunter Sung’s arms. Jinchul doesn’t even have the energy— or awareness— left to protest.
A warm breeze ruffles their hair, and Jinchul shudders from it— mind-numbingly cold. His fingers are stiff, knuckles stark white, and they burn as they lay limply in his lap.
“Kaisel,” Hunter Sung orders. A dark shadow appears, growing to an ominous size, until taking the shape of a domineering wyvern. Jinchul remembers this one.
His last thought before he passes out completely is that one was a real pain in the ass at the office for an entire week.
.
Jinchul doesn’t lose consciousness so much as ebb in and out, somewhere in between. Not quite drowning, yet unable to break through the surface for air. Unable to form full thoughts, but also aware that he’s slowly freezing to death.
When he’s able to open his eyes again, his limbs are stiff, and the pain is still tingling across every inch of his body. His fingers flex. One of his arms is dangling helplessly. A flash of color in his peripheral vision— A bright light being turned on, and he squeezes his eyes shut. Then someone, a feminine voice, is murmuring soft and low close to him.
“Oppa, who is that? What’s going on?”
Jinchul’s eyes open again to the sight of an ivory wall.
“Jinah, can you please get me some blankets? As many as you can find,” Hunter Sung murmurs, voice strangely close to Jinchul’s ear. It doesn’t help with the pain, but it’s nice.
“Yes!” Jinah rushes off somewhere beyond Jinchul’s line of vision, while Hunter Sung steadily makes his way further inside a house and down the hallway.
“Hunter Sung…” Jinchul trails, a broken whisper, as another shiver wreaks havoc on his body, leaving more needle-like prickles along his skin.
“Chief Woo,” Hunter Sung tightens his hold around him, “You’re freezing to death. We need to get your body temperature back up.”
Yes. That sounds like a good idea.
When Jinchul tries to lift his head, the muscles in his neck fail, and it falls back, just as he falls back into the clutches of a yawning cold darkness. Slowly drowning.
He’s not sure how long he stays underneath the ice this time.
Minutes or hours?
It doesn’t matter when the pain is constant. Like rushing waves. One after another. Each one rising to new heights while the ringing in his ears grows louder.
“Time to get warm and cozy, Chief,” Hunter Sung’s voice disrupts the dissonance, lightly teasing somewhere above him.
Jinchul manages to open his eyes again, finding that he’s sitting nearly sideways on a bed, still unable to hold himself up. Hunter Sung’s hand is keeping him from falling. The steady weight is welcome on his…unclothed shoulder.
Goosebumps rise along his skin while he discovers the reason he’s so much colder.
He’s naked.
Well, no, not completely, just stripped down to his underwear. He can feel the fabric as he shifts, aggravating the nerves underneath. Jinchul’s gaze lands on his thigh, eyes tracing along the snowflakes etched into his skin, currently inching higher.
There’s a soft knock outside of what he presumes is Hunter Sung’s bedroom. “I have the blankets, Oppa.”
Hunter Sung helps him slide underneath the covers. There’s a painful wave spasming up his back, and he has to pause as it passes. Hunter Sung is patient, allowing him to brace his weight on his arm. Another moment, and he’s surrounded by the heavy comforter, leaning into soft pillows.
Hunter Sung walks over to open the door, “Thank you, Jinah,” he replies with a warm pat on her head.
“Is he going to be okay?” she asks, voice trembling.
“Yeah,” a brotherly affection seeps into his voice, “I’ll be out in a second. Can you grab mom?”
“Of course.”
Jinah leaves, and Hunter Sung shuts the door. It doesn’t make a sound, and Jinchul can hardly see the top of his head from the pile of blankets in his arms.
“As you can see, my sister is an overachiever,” Hunter Sung says, unsurprisingly calm.
Jinchul attempts a reply, but the words are caught in his throat, breath hitching as another spike of pain jolts up his body.
Hunter Sung crosses the rest of the room, and starts piling on and tucking in blankets. There’s at least five, and a very fluffy and purple flowery one on top that has to be Jinah’s.
After appearing satisfied with his handiwork, Hunter Sung turns back to him a moment, “I’ll be right back,” he says, then ducks out of the room before Jinchul can protest.
Ashamed, he feels the loss of Hunter Sung’s presence deeply. The blankets are nice, but they feel more like a bandaid than anything else, and they’re unable to abate the bone deep freezing ache. His shivering heightens. The bedsheet clings to his oversensitized skin, and he wraps his arms around his legs underneath the covers. It doesn’t help.
Jinchul burrows further into the blankets, repressing another whimper. His next few breaths come out short, bordering on panic. It’s all he can do to focus on the next moment, get through the next wave of pain, and hold himself tightly.
Inky dots line his vision, and he’s close to losing consciousness again.
Then the bed dips, and before Jinchul opens his eyes, Hunter Sung is sliding underneath the sheets to join him.
There’s a hand at his elbow, “God, you’re fucking freezing,” and then he’s being pulled in between legs, and pressed into a warm, naked chest.
Jinchul shakes into it as a sob reverberates through his body. There’s skin and heat everywhere, and he clings to it as much as he can. He greedily presses his feet against one of Hunter Sung’s calves, who sucks in a breathy inhale.
Oh, God. He’s throwing himself at the hunter like— like— he can’t even finish the thought. What’s wrong with him?
“My a-apologies,” Jinchul mumbles, teeth slightly chattering. He starts to move his feet somewhere else, but Hunter Sung entangles his free leg with his, trapping him.
“Don’t apologize,” Hunter Sung says, resting his chin on top of Jinchul’s head to reinforce his hold. Then he starts to rub up and down Jinchul’s arms with his hands, “You’re colder than an ice elf,” he jokes.
Delirium starts kicking in. Pain and pleasure fight for dominance inside of his body. Reality blurs.
Ice elves?
“Ice elves are w-warm blooded,” Jinchul replies.
His voice sounds so far away to his own ears.
That earns him a soft chuckle.
“You’re right,” Hunter Sung admits, his breath tickling his cheek. Needle-like pain jolts across it. The sensation of Hunter Sung’s thumb grazing over his shoulder blade chases it away. “How do you know that?” he asks, voice tinged with amusement.
“I read—” he stutters through a spike of pain in his ribs, “the reports.”
Jinchul can feel his glassy eyes flutter as he fails against another shiver. Hunter Sung’s heat is permeating into his body, chasing away the pain. Arms sweep over tender skin, finding new places to lend their warmth.
Another chuckle, this time more earnest. Hunter Sung’s chest rumbles, and Jinchul moves with it. “So dutiful. You’d think the Association would take better care of its Chief.”
Jinchul tries to shake his head, but it’s still tucked underneath Hunter Sung’s chin.
“My fault,” he says.
“No,” Hunter Sung responds immediately, “I don’t know exactly what happened yet, but I know it’s not your fault."
Jinchul sighs. The more warmth that floods his body, the heavier his eyelids feel. He listens to Hunter Sung’s heartbeat, a steady drum, under his ear. Slow and strong, lolling him to sleep. It tempts him to close his eyes, but he fights it, not exactly knowing why.
A hand weaves itself into his hair, and starts to play with a few strands. Jinchul breathes out again, this time more softly, and Hunter Sung pauses.
Exhaustion tugs him down, down, down.
“You can go to sleep. I’ve got you, Chief,” Hunter Sung murmurs. Delicate fingers resume their task.
Jinchul’s eyes flutter shut.
He loses the battle to stay awake against the rhythmic pace of Hunter Sung’s hand running through his hair.
.
The first thing Jinchul notices when he wakes is the synonymous dull ache in every limb, accompanied by a blooming headache.
He swallows, finding his throat to be sore and parched, and resists a groan. Then he notices the pleasant weight at his back, warm and safe.
Everything from last night comes flooding back like a bad dream, and Jinchul’s eyes fly open, tensing every muscle.
It’s a terrible idea. He hurts. It’s worse than when he had his awakening, where enough mana to give him his A-rank status slammed into him all at once.
Then Jin-Chul tenses even more when he feels another heavy weight, in the form of Hunter Sung’s arm wrapped around his waist. That arm tucks him closer, into his warmth, and oh. That feels good.
“Go back to sleep,” Hunter Sung prompts him, his voice low and rough, “You’ve only slept for a few hours.”
Jinchul stills. Opens his mouth. Shuts it. Licks his lips, and then opens it again. “You’ve been awake this entire time?” he asks, wincing at the croak in his voice.
“Mm,” Hunter Sung affirms lazily, and drops his head onto Jinchul’s shoulder, “I wanted to make sure you kept breathing.”
Jinchul’s breath momentarily catches in his throat, then he clears it, and twists his body. Hunter Sung allows it, lifting both his head and arm to give Jinchul room to turn. He finds a sleepy S-rank hunter languidly staring back at him with one eye open. Underneath the blankets, Hunter Sung re-entangles their legs, and rests a hand on Jinchul’s hip, over the waistband of his boxers.
“Ah,” Jinchul clears his throat again, definitely feeling heat creeping up his neck because bed head Hunter Sung is…more overwhelming than he could have imagined, “Thank you, Hunter Sung, for your help last night. You didn’t have to stay up for me.”
“Jinwoo.”
“Pardon?”
Hunter Sung releases an exhale that suspiciously sounds like an amused snort, “I think we’ve established a first name basis now, don’t you think?”
Jinchul’s cheeks flare with warmth (warmth), reminded of the night’s events. “Ah, right,” he swallows, “Thank you…Jinwoo.”
A slow smile forms on Jinwoo’s face. If Jinchul’s interpreting it right, he almost looks…pleased.
“Do you remember what happened?” Jinwoo asks next.
“Most of it,” Jinchul begins slowly, thinking, “I think something was in the shot I took.”
The open eye that Jinwoo has trained on him flares bright with mana a fraction of a second, then dims. “I was concerned when my health potion didn’t work. How are you feeling now?”
Jinchul pauses as he remembers Hunter Sung forcing some kind of sweet liquid down his throat. He’d seen something similar happen when reviewing some of the footage on Jeju island. It makes sense he’d try that before anything else.
“Everything aches,” Jinchul admits.
“What exactly happened?” Hunter Sung pries for more. Jinchul assumes he’s curious about what could possibly be resistant to his potions. It’s a pragmatic line of questioning. If they can figure out what it is and where it came from, it'll be better for everyone in the long run.
“I had to step away for a phone call from the Chairman, and when I came back, Jung Gi-Soo wanted to share a drink,” he trails as Jinwoo levels him with a raised brow.
“I have a hard time believing you let him bully you into taking that shot,” he says.
Jinchul grimaces. “He was so…despondant when I declined the first time.”
A smirk twitches at the corner of Jinwoo’s mouth. Jinchul pointedly ignores it.
“After that, I helped Jung Gi-Soo and a few others into a cab and…” Jinchul inhales slowly before continuing, breath hitching when Jinwoo’s thumb brushes circles over his hipbone, comforting him.
It’s even more difficult to focus. Jinchul’s pretty sure Jinwoo’s not even fully aware of what he’s doing. The gesture feels more absentminded than anything else.
Jinchul parries on after a barely concealed shudder. “Shortly after that I started to feel…cold and dizzy. I thought it was just late and I needed sleep, so I decided to walk home and well, I didn’t get very far.”
Jinwoo’s brows furrow slightly. “You were freezing when I found you. So those lower ranks didn’t…?”
“No,” Jinchul confirms, “They just thought I was drunk, and an easy target to rob.”
“But you weren’t drunk.” The hand on his hip travels up and over his side, palm spreading over his lower back.
God, it feels amazing. So much better than he remembers anyone else touching him.
…maybe whatever he ingested is still working its way through his system.
“No. I felt like I was ice cold and on fire at the same time. I couldn't think straight, and there wasn’t anything in the world that could help except—”
Emotions are physically building in Jinchul’s throat, and he attempts to swallow them back. He would’ve eventually begged…Jinwoo… to touch him, and if he had stayed conscious long enough he would’ve done anything to ease that need. It was like he was empty and lost without it.
The even more frightening fact is that it didn’t even have to be Jinwoo. Any of those hunters could’ve gotten an idea of what was going on, and he would’ve been helpless. He almost shudders to think about how that could’ve ended.
He’s never felt so vulnerable.
“Human warmth?” Jinwoo guesses for him.
Jinchul nods, then swallows again, eyes sliding shut against the onslaught of memories.
“That sounds agonizing,” Jinwoo says softly.
“It was,” Jinchul admits, falling silent.
The reality of his situation begins to settle in. He’s definitely in Jinwoo’s house, in his bed. He’d inadvertently met his sister, and is now cuddling? with him.
And Jinwoo stayed awake to make sure he didn’t die in his sleep. He’s inconvenienced this man long enough, and he doesn’t even want to begin thinking about how inappropriate this is.
Jinchul starts to extricate himself from Jinwoo’s hold, even as a ghost-like pain whispers over his skin from the loss of it. “You’ve done too much for me, Jinwoo, I should go.”
Jinwoo opens his other eye this time. “Are you fully recovered, then?” he asks.
Jinchul’s positive Jinwoo can clearly see that he lifts himself on still shaky limbs. Chilled air surrounds his upper body when blankets fall around his waist, threatening to seep back into his skin.
“I’ll be fine—” his words are cut off when Jinwoo’s arms re-envelop his waist, and pull him back down in the bed.
“Stubborn man,” Jinwoo says gravelly in his ear as he throws multiple blankets back over their bodies, “We still have hours left on the timer. This is my favorite side quest I’ve gotten, you know.”
Jinchul reels back with that statement, “Wait, what—?”
“Hush,” Jinwoo says, tucking Jinchul further into his chest. His heat radiates along his back, inviting Jinchul to relax in his hold. After a few minutes, he does.
“I don’t have anything to do today besides my workout, and I can do that later. I was planning on resting most of the day, anyway,” Jinwoo tells him, a warm breath against his neck.
Jinchul sighs, something that sounds like it’s part contentment and anxiety. His mind races as it becomes more lucid, and it strays back to the raid and the families of all the deceased— All of which he still had to meet with. The details of Hunter Min Byung-Gyu’s funeral still needed to be fleshed out. And instead of heading into the office, which he doesn’t think he can make it at this point anyway, he’s cuddle trapped in the arms of South Korea’s savior.
“Your heart’s pounding,” Hunter Sung murmurs into his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Jinchul apologizes, gingerly lowering a hand to rest on the arm curled around him, “I’ve got a lot on my mind, I suppose.”
“You work too much.”
“Yeah, probably,” Jinchul lets go of another sigh, then a smirk forms on his mouth. Even though Jinwoo can’t see it, he’ll be able to hear it, “Although there’s a certain S-Rank hunter who’s a beacon for trouble, so I keep ending up with heaps of paperwork.”
“Is that so?” Jinwoo huffs, thoroughly amused, and tightens the hold around Jinchul’s waist, “He’ll have to keep you in mind the next time he steps inside of a gate.”
“I’d be surprised to ever be on his mind at all.”
Jinchul blinks. When he opens his eyes, he’s on his back, pressed against the mattress. Jinwoo is hovering above him and straddling his legs. His arms are on either side of his head, and the sheets are fixed around them both like a shrouded cape.
“I can assure you, Jinchul, that you’re on his mind more often than you think.”
Another, different, kind of need curls in his lower abdomen at the admission. It licks at his skin, prompting him to shift his hips ever so slightly. Another few inches and he could—
The sheer exhaustion in his body halts that line of thinking.
Still, when Jinwoo leans down, and his lips ghost over his mouth, Jinchul’s next breath is caught in his throat.
“I am?” Jinchul asks, whispering against Jinwoo’s lips.
Jinwoo smiles. It’s barely there, but it’s simmering with heat and something more that Jinchul’s sure is reflected in his own eyes.
“You are,” he replies, before reluctantly pulling away.
Jinchul lets go of a sharp breath, and goes pliantly when Jinwoo lays back down— pulling Jinchul into his chest once and for all.
“Let’s go back to sleep,” Jinwoo repeats, this time inviting himself to join.
As if Jinchul can go back to sleep after that.
And yet, Jinwoo relaxes his hold around his waist, his heartbeat slows, and Jinchul finds himself wanting to burrow into his inviting warmth again.
Okay, maybe he can for a little bit.
So when he does fall asleep again in Jinwoo’s arms, he doesn’t worry about what happens next. It doesn’t matter— Not when the first person you hoped would come save you actually shows up.
And Sung Jinwoo always shows up.
.
(A few hours prior)
Jinwoo stares blankly at the system’s screen.
A new quest? Huh. He’d thought there’d be some kind of cooldown period after defeating Jeju and adding Beru to his shadow army.
Find Chief Inspector Woo Jinchul and cuddle him until he recovers. If you fail, he will freeze to death. The countdown will begin at first touch.
[Cuddle Time Remaining: 12:00:00]
…
What the fuck?