—what if i'm not
the only one?

OCTOBER 1:
KIM NAMJOON

==

"well, i'm just saying—don't you think it's a good idea to actually finish an investigation before jumping to another? isn't that what the detective force is supposed to do?"

the sitting of the two shrugs his shoulders and takes a long, deep sip of his coffee. "yeah, but people here are dumbasses. they only care about media attention."

"should you really be saying that here? these...'dumbasses' are all around you."

kim namjoon smooths his crinkling shirt with a weary hand, eyes squinting against the documents in his fingers he somehow managed to retrieve from the messy file cabinets in the staff room. "it's not like they can hear me. and besides, they already hate me enough to ignore."

jung hoseok—a bubbly, orange-haired coffee boy with a sharp tongue and drumming fingers—bites his lip, looking around with an irreversible expression of anxiety. "i wouldn't go as far as to say that—"

"listen, man, don't you have coffee to be giving or something?" namjoon doesn't mean to snap, but he's beginning to grow irritated. it isn't hoseok's fault, of course; the office itself is callous in its investigations, not to mention deadass rude to him, and it's caused his mood to falter bit by bit every day.

(he's only had the job for a few months since graduating college; it isn't exactly what he expected investigation to be.)

namjoon's ulterior aspiration, ever since childhood, was—is—to be a kickass detective solving world-class crimes, saving lives—the such. watching animated cartoons and james bond movies as a child only fueled this; he certainly had the intelligence to make his dream possible.

it is why he persisted so severely through college, and it's how he managed to graduate at the top of his class. finally, for once, it seemed things were going in his direction. he was offered a substantial job even without attending grad school.

what is he doing now, though? covering stories about goddamn celebrity jewelry theft scandals.

hoseok's face falls the slightest, a crestfallen look in his eyes, but he manages a meager smile. "right—right! i, um, sorry for bothering you dude, i just, like, y'know—need any more coffee, or...?"

after an elongated pause of silence, namjoon rubs his eyes with the calloused pads of his thumb and index finger and shakes his head. when he looks up again, hoseok is gone. his coffee cup is, too.

namjoon sighs once more.

==

"what the fuck even are you, huh? shouldn't you be in college or whatever? how old are you, twelve?"

"twenty-two," namjoon dismissively mumbles with a distracted hand, eyebrows furrowed in retaliation to the annoying voices of his coworkers. the dickhead trying to pick a fight with him is really getting on his nerves. namjoon had just gotten to an extremely crucial detail in the secret, under-desk investigation he had been privately holding, and damn if he was on a roll.

the dickhead coworker shoves a palm into namjoon's chest and grins cockily. "hey, listen, jackass. don't go thinking that you're great and whatever just 'cause you're younger than everyone here, alright? we could wipe your ass with our paychecks."

"never said you couldn't."

"so you got a tongue, do you?" dickhead snarls. he makes an attempt to grab the papers in namjoon's nimble fingers, but the latter is quicker. "what are you even doing? is that even what boss told you to work on?"

"why wouldn't it be?" namjoon defensively snaps back. he refrains from swallowing and averts his eyes to dickhead's red tie. if anyone finds out about the copies he made of highly confidential investigation files, he'd be in deep shit—especially with practically the whole crime department already against him. he'd be fired in two seconds.

namjoon pulls the documents closer to his chest and narrows his eyes. dickhead begins to speak, but a loud and—in a unanimous opinion throughout the department—annoying voice interrupts him to it.

"ah! sorry 'bout the wait, the coffee machine was spazzing out on me." hoseok grins his million-watt smile and places a white cup in dickhead's hands, continuing with, "whoo! never knew being a coffee boy could be this much work, huh? man, you guys have it good. funny how i'm only as old as namjoon and i'm just an intern, yeah? i mean—"

dickhead sighs in aggravation and turns around, hips practically swaying in superiority as he leaves, and namjoon rakes his sweaty fingers through locks of bleached hair. letting out a breath he doesn't realize he'd been holding, namjoon turns to hoseok with one eyebrow cocked.

"what?" hoseok shrugs. "the guy looked one second away from beating the shit out of you. it was only natural i'd intervene."

namjoon can't help but feel incredulous. "honestly, look at us. what a dynamic duo." he cracks a lopsided smile, lighthearted even from dickhead's confrontation. "no wonder i have such a bad reputation!"

"ah, don't act like you're the superior one here. i saved you from a bad argument, didn't i?" hoseok grins and points his thumbs to his chest. "there are perks that come with adhd, y'know."

"mhm, sure." namjoon pauses, turning to face his desk as he sorts the thick papers in his hands. "honestly, i'm not even sure what to think of you, hoseok. for all i know, you could be a spy sent from my boss to check up on me and see if i'm doing anything suspicious."

"which you totally are," hoseok points out.

"exactly! who am i supposed to trust in this department? damn, it's like inception or something."

hoseok laughs, and it sounds squeaky and childish and a little irritating, but namjoon doesn't really care much. (he could use a friend, after all; the department gets lonely after practically everyone shuns you.) "relax, namjoon, i'm not here to rat you out. i don't even know what you're investigating."

"it's something that should have been completed a long time ago."

"huh, look at that. now you're acting like the superhero."

namjoon laughs. but even so, he holds the documents to his chest and looks forward to face his laptop screen. "alright, coffee boy. don't you need to be delivering cappuccinos or something?"

"aw, fuck you, kim."

namjoon simply grins. he closes his mouth momentarily but quickly adds, "but, just for good measure and shit. i'd win a fight against that guy, right?"

hoseok winks. "mhm, how would i know? i'm just a coffee boy."

==

somehow he finds himself wearily shuffling through lost manila files in the staff room at three a.m., the lights a melodramatic yellow that threaten to burst from the pressure namjoon has put on them for two hours now. his eyebrows crease together in confusion, and he wets his lips.

his attention is, obviously, fixated on the file he's been investigating for a while now—two, three months?—, and he reads the newspaper article he found stuffed at the bottom of the cabinet with tired eyes.

"KIM TAEHYUNG: MURDERED IN OWN HOME"

it's the same bullshit he's read thousands of times prior, giving no detail as to how or why the kid, kim taehyung, had been killed so gruesomely. there are the same articulate facts, of course: like how taehyung was seventeen when he died, how he was found with a knife in his abdomen, how his father committed suicide shortly after his son's death (he realizes that this newspaper article is a little newer than the rest after reading that section).

the details are horrific of course, and namjoon can't deny that he's winced several times before from reading extensive entries about taehyung's injuries post-death. he surely isn't a softy when it comes to explicit imagery, but one man can only withstand so much before cracking.

(namjoon assumes this to be logic; in reality, he's actually a bit grateful that he isn't a stoic, monotone creep like some of the people in the crime department.)

he flicks his finger down the musty newspaper page and furrows his brows, squinting to the small letters. there's something about this newspaper that's different than those he's read before. it's severely detailed—much more so than any article about the case.

he's about to begin reading the second column when the window suddenly bursts open.

namjoon darts up, eyes wide, and relaxes once realizing the wind was culprit. "goddammit," he mutters. pressing the document to the desk with a paperweight, he walks to the window and closes the frames shut, locking them with a final click.

he sighs wearily, trudging back to the desk with sagging shoulders. and then he stops.

because the newspaper on the old desk is no longer there, and the paperweight has been cut to pieces.

==

hi it's me the disgrace
ha first technical chapter n it sucks !!!
im hoping it gets better but we neVeR know w me