The wind smelled of smoke even before it all started. Seungho stood by the window, looking at Seoul—a city of lights and haze, where every shadow could be a crosshair. A map, marked with a marker, lay on the table. Red lines—escape routes. Blue—dead zones.
Do-jun sat on the sofa, pulling on gloves. His movements were focused, without trembling, without words. Only his gaze—sharp, lively, no longer boyish.
— Are you sure you have to go yourself? — he asked, without lifting his head.
— Sure — Seungho replied. — If I don't go, he'll make the next move.
— And if he's already made it?
For a second—a pause. Seungho smiled faintly, like a man tired of his own unwavering resolve.
— Then we'll have to play by his rules. But finish it—by mine.
They gathered in three. Oh-hwa, with a bandage on her neck and a radio in her hand. Kim—the only one left of the old security, with a face already accustomed to the smell of blood. Their route passed through the old industrial quarter—a place where no one lived, only the wind howled in rusted pipes.
— This is the last chance — Oh-hwa said. — If we don't intercept the documents today, we won't even have time to prove we're alive later.
Seungho nodded. — We're not going for them. We're going for ourselves.
The firefight began without a signal. First—a flash near the warehouse, then—a burst of fire at the car. Oh-hwa shouted something, but the words drowned in the roar. Seungho fired back, at random, targeting the movement.
Do-jun didn't lag behind—his breath was ragged, his eyes squinting from the dust and smoke. He acted by instinct: step, cover, throw, fire. Kim fell first—a bullet hit his shoulder, then his chest. It happened in a second, without drama, without a scream.
Oh-hwa pulled him, but the ground beneath their feet shuddered. A cracking sound, as if the air itself was tearing. And suddenly—a dull crash: the overhead structure came down.
— SEUNGHO! — Do-jun lunged forward.
Yun was pinned by metal debris. He struggled to breathe; blood was flowing from his temple, from under his sleeve. The smoke was so thick that every breath burned.
Do-jun rushed to him, pushed away a piece of the beam—his hands trembled, but not from fear, from fury.
— Don't you dare… — he gasped, grasping Seungho under his arms. — Don't you dare close your eyes, do you hear me?
— Go — Yun groaned. — The roof is falling.
— Shut up — Do-jun braced his shoulder, tensing his whole body. — I said shut up.
He heard nothing but the beating of blood in his ears. Debris crashed nearby; sparks rained from the ceiling. And suddenly—through the roar of the fire—a short cry, a gasp, and then everything went silent.
⋆⋆⋆
When they got out, the city greeted them with sirens and red lights. Do-jun held him by the shoulders, not letting go. Ambulances flashed somewhere in the background, but he didn't call anyone. He just held Seungho close, feeling the pulse under his fingers—weak, but alive.
— It's… it's okay — he whispered. — You're with me, do you hear? It's over.
Yun opened his eyes, managed a difficult smile.
— Didn't think… you could drag me.
— Shut up. One more word—and I'll throw you back in.
Their laughter was hoarse, tearful, but alive.
Later—in the apartment, smelling of medicine and fresh linen. Seungho lay on the sofa, his chest bandaged. Do-jun sat beside him, stroking his hair. Quietly, slowly.
— I thought you would die — he said.
— I thought so too. But then I remembered you wouldn't forgive me.
Do-jun chuckled, ran his fingers over his lips, then his cheek.
— I don't forgive you. I just love you.
He leaned in, kissed him—cautiously, as if afraid the pain would make him crumble. The kiss was quiet, almost weightless, but warm, like life returning to the body.
— Rest — he whispered. — It's over.
— No — Seungho replied. — Not yet.
And then the phone rang. Do-jun flinched, picked up the receiver. On the screen—a message from the investigator:
"Park detained. On his phone—a voice message. 'You don't understand, brother. We should have been together against him.'"
Seungho closed his eyes.
— So, he was with him after all.
— Yes — Do-jun replied. — But now they both lost.
He placed his palm on his chest—where his heart was beating.
— And we didn't.
The rain started tapping on the glass again. Everything returned to the sound with which the day began. Only now, this rain wasn't an alarm. It was a cleansing.