𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗖𝗞𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗦 ʸᵒᵒⁿ ᵈᵒⁿᵍʲᵘ

xx. Routine Interruptions.

She gasped and sat up violently in bed, hair clinging to her forehead, lungs dragging in air like she'd been drowning. Her heart thudded in her ears. Her eyes darted around the dark room—Dongju's apartment. His messy bookshelf, the hoodie still on her body, the glass of water beside her.

No steam. No shower. No Dongju. Just a dream.

Just a very vivid dream.

"Holy sh—" she clapped a hand over her face and exhaled shakily, staring at the ceiling as she processed what her mind had just conjured. Her body was still warm, and that frustrated her more than anything.

What was that?

Minji flung off the comforter, only to freeze when she felt something shift beside her.

Dongju.

He was sleeping beside her, arm slung across the gap between them, hand resting inches from her waist.

Minji's brain short-circuited.

She launched up, fast—too fast—and accidentally smacked his face in the process.

"AH—ow!" Dongju sat bolt upright, blinking in confusion as he rubbed his cheek. "What the hell—?"

"Sorry!" she barked, retreating like she'd been shot. "I—I was—bad dream."

He blinked at her, hair tousled, eyes puffy with sleep.

Minji bolted for the bathroom and shut the door before he could ask anything else, leaning against it as her face burned with a shade of crimson she hadn't felt in years.

She splashed cold water on her cheeks and stared at her reflection.

"It's fine," she whispered. "It's just a dream. People have dreams like that. Normal. Totally normal. Absolutely not a sign of anything."

But as she stood there, cheeks flushed, heartbeat loud in her ears, she couldn't shake the image of him in the shower. Couldn't stop wondering why it felt so real.

And worse—why does a small part of her wished it had been.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗖𝗞𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗦
Weird Dreams.
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Late afternoon settles over the precinct like a sigh.

Through the wide station windows, the golden light of Seoul's setting sun filters in, casting long shadows across the tiled floors and paper-stacked desks. There's a hush in the air—not silence, but something gentler. A moment between heartbeats. The kind that feels like the calm before something starts unraveling again.

Jonghyeon leans lazily against the edge of Ko Mansik's desk, the dark navy collar of his jacket unzipped, exposing the sweat-kissed edge of a white undershirt. He twirls the rim of his half-finished coffee cup between his fingers, watching the liquid settle and swirl. His voice is soft but deliberate when he finally speaks.

"Feels like we've been living in this place," he says, his eyes on the desk, not the man behind it. "Like... breathing in printer fumes and vending machine snacks instead of air."

Ko Mansik doesn't look up. He's been combing through surveillance reports with a furrow in his brow so deep it might become permanent. "Welcome to law enforcement," he mutters, flipping another page with a tired finger.

Jonghyeon exhales through his nose and rubs the back of his neck. "I was thinking we could do something. Not a lot. Just dinner. Something human."

Now Ko looks at him.