𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗖𝗞𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗦 ʸᵒᵒⁿ ᵈᵒⁿᵍʲᵘ

xx. Routine Interruptions.

"Dinner," he repeats dryly. "As in... with the whole group?"

"Yeah." Jonghyeon nods. "You, me, Ji Hana, Dongju, Minji. Maybe it'll feel like we're something more than bones wrapped in burnout. A reset. Just for a night."

Ko leans back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. "You sure that's a good idea?"

Jonghyeon's smile tilts lopsided, knowingly. "Ji Hana and Minji might not exactly hold hands across the table, but they'll survive."

Ko's gaze sharpens. "Survive is a strong word."

Across the station, Minji walks by—headphones tucked into her ears, an evidence bag tucked under one arm. Her pace is brisk, her lips pressed into that familiar unreadable line. A ghost of worry flickers across Jonghyeon's face as he watches her disappear down the hallway.

"She's been carrying the weight of that trafficking lead by herself," he says softly. "And Dongju hasn't been the same since they got closer. Ji Hana's tension is like walking into a wall."

Ko studies him.

"You care too much," he says after a beat.

"Better than not caring at all," Jonghyeon replies. "Besides... maybe a good meal will shake the shadows off. Or at least show them we still know how to smile."

Ko considers this. Slowly, he nods. "Set it up."

Jonghyeon grins, standing up and stretching out the tension in his spine. "I'll pick the place. Nothing fancy. Somewhere with soju and decent kimchi stew."

"And if it blows up in your face?" Ko raises a brow.

Jonghyeon tosses the empty coffee cup into the bin without looking.

"Then I'll pay for dessert."

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗖𝗞𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗦
Dinner Plans & Distractions.
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

The sun had already dipped past the line of apartment rooftops by the time Dongju and Minji pulled up near the abandoned row of industrial buildings. The sky was bruised with dusk—smoky purples and dull blues—and the streets were nearly empty, save for a stray cat darting between a stack of broken crates.

Minji stepped out of the car first, her boots clicking quietly on the cracked pavement. The cold nipped at her knuckles. Dongju followed, tugging his coat tighter around himself as he scanned the alleyway ahead. Their breaths bloomed in the air like fog.

"Anonymous tip said it was in the old auto garage," Minji murmured, pointing toward a rusted structure at the end of the alley, its windows caked in soot and grime. A crooked sign above the entrance still read "24-Hour Repairs." The irony wasn't lost on either of them.

They moved silently, professionally—like shadows stitched into the scenery. Dongju held a flashlight low, the beam sweeping across discarded cans, shards of glass, and torn tarps that fluttered in the wind like ghost limbs. Minji trailed behind, her hand hovering near her holster.

Inside, the garage was deathly still.

The air was damp and smelled faintly of engine oil and mildew. Spiderwebs clung to the corners like old memories, and water dripped rhythmically from somewhere unseen, ticking like a metronome.

Minji stepped over a fallen tire rim and crouched beside a pile of half-burned documents. She flipped through the ashes, fingers steady, until a scorched corner of a wallet caught her attention. "Dongju," she called softly, holding it up.