As much as I might want to, I can't rid myself of the growing suspicion that Seokjin is involved. Never in a million years would I have imagined it, even though I'd been more than certain that someone on the force was likely involved. I'd hoped, I suppose, that it was any number of the faceless employees. But if I'm right...

Well, I hope that I am wrong.

I toss and turn, unable to fall asleep no matter how tired I am. My brain all but screams in frustration. Why? Why didn't I see it before? And just how am I supposed to set about proving my hunch? It's ludicrous to even imagine Seokjin as the kind of man that would murder another human being, and every bone in my body rebels against the very idea. But the connection is right there, I need only look to see it.

After a few hours of this, I grow weary. Rising from the couch I grab my wallet, and my coat, before donning my shoes and grabbing my umbrella. I have a bad habit of not taking items out of my pockets, and my phone clips audibly against the lighter in my coat pocket. Cursing a storm, I pull my cell from my pocket, only to discover that my suspicions were correct. I've somehow put a crack in my screen just from putting on my jacket.

Needing a drink more now than ever, I step from my front door carefully, and twist the key in the lock with a thoughtful frown. Suddenly, I wonder if Jessie is having as hard a time sleeping as I am. Somehow, it feels as if maybe I should tell her about my suspicions. Though I doubt she's even awake. As I head into the elevator, a quick glance at my phone's screen tells me that it is nearly one in the morning.

Nevertheless, Jessie and I seem to have crossed the line into partnership, and so it is with nimble fingertips that I type out a quick message for her. She can view it when she awakens, I figure, maybe by then I'll have my thoughts in better order.

The shape of my grief as I await the nighttime bus is jagged, harsh and heavy to take. I really can't believe it, my mind is absolutely reeling. Sometimes I wonder what my father might have done in this situation, or what the protagonist in one of our favorite detective movies might do. The rest of the time lately, however, I just want to lose myself in a few shots of whisky, or maybe a nice bourbon.

I watch as the city passes me by, enthralled by the breath of life that the city carries, even at night. I remember how often Nari's parents talked about their country. Seoul in particular. I wonder if they're even still alive; after Nari and Areum's deaths, they'd cut all contact with me. Not hard to do, considering that they live in South Korea. They hadn't liked me on principle. I wasn't asian enough for them, my heritage diluted by my American upbringing. Of course, I suspect that the majority of their disapproval probably stemmed from the fact that I was not a doctor, or a lawyer, but a measly beat cop when Nari and I met.

And yet... I wonder if their city, the city of Nari's birth, shines as brilliantly as Seattle does.

Nari had loved Seattle. Almost as much as I did, if not more. I was born and raised here, but for her I think it always held a sort of exotic allure. Sometimes, I felt as though she wasn't really comfortable here, never truly at home.

I almost fail to notice it, when the bus finally comes to a stop. Luckily, my stop is a mandatory one, and I am spared enough time to exit after the new arrivals board. The city air is crisp, and I gather my jacket just a little tighter. It isn't raining right now, though I'm sure that will change any minute now. A fine mist hangs in the air, and those tiny droplets of frigid water seep right into my bones upon contact with my skin.

In bold letters, the sign for the local bar shines brightly through the mist. This lounge is a cozy little place, one of the best if you're looking to drown your sorrows in peace and quiet.

I stroll in, and find myself a seat near the back of the bar. From here, I can study everyone. And of course, this suits me just fine. People watching is an old habit of mine, and one that I find cathartic in an odd sort of way. As I dip down into the vintage leather booth nestled within the back corner, and tuck myself away from the world, I begin to feel just a little bit more sane. I pull the ashtray situated in the very middle of the table a little closer, and reach into my pockets for my cigarettes. Belatedly, I realize that I'm nearly out. So, as I light up my very last cigarette, I make a mental note to grab another pack on my way home.

"What can I get for you?"

A young girl stands before me, twenty-one, if I had to hazard a rough guess. Considering the fact that she serves alcohol, she'd have to be at least that; even if her youthful appearance, and playfully styled pigtails, suggest otherwise. She wears, what I assume to be her school's badge, pinned proudly to her apron. And her gaze is the unfazed nonchalance afforded by late nights studying, and the stress of both college and work. College must be rough nowadays, I suppose.

"I'll have a whisky, neat." I murmur, relieved that the girl is quick to dismiss herself once she has my order.

And so I sit, and watch the other patron's as I wait for my drink to arrive.

The glass in my hand feels near weightless as the whisky's effects begin to kick in. I'm feeling a nice, pleasant warmth in my bones. So much so, that even the drizzling rain outside seems hazy and warm.

Nari loved the rain. I can't remember how often I would find her, standing at the window with a cup of coffee in hand, and staring out through the rivulets of rain that would cling and climb their way across the pane. Maybe it's because of her, but for me the rain is often both a source of immense pain, and gentle comfort.

"Imagine meeting you here."

The voice that suddenly fills my ear surprises me so badly, that the hand holding the tumbler filled with whisky jerks, and I accidentally toss the whole damn glass.

"Yikes!" Jessie laughs. "Don't have a heart attack! How much have you had to drink anyway?"

The skin around the bridge of her nose crinkles adorably when she laughs, I realize. And those emerald irises of hers seem so much brighter when she isn't crying. Suddenly, I feel as if she's quite possibly the most beautiful thing I have seen in such a long, long time. I know how badly she must be hurting, and yet she smiles at me as if I don't know exactly what she is going through. A surge of something akin to affection rises within me, and I indicate silently towards the seat just before me.

She scoots into the booth, and waves an arm in the direction of the bar.

The girl from before arrives quickly, efficiently. But she is still every bit as curt and straight-faced as she had been before. I watch with a surprisingly heated gaze as Jessie orders a mai tai; Jessie would be a mai tai kind of girl. Mind fuzzy, I wonder for a moment what is coming over me, but I am quickly distracted from this by the way she bites awkwardly at her bottom lip.

"Drowning the sorrows?" She questions, almost morbidly cheerful in appearance.

I nod.

"What about you?"

My voice is far more hoarse than I'd anticipated, and for a moment I swear that I see her shiver slightly.

The humidity in the air has her hair in a frizzy state, and in this low light, the fly-aways frame her face like a halo, especially given the color of her hair. The pale, silvery grey of her hair, like moonlight, compliments her equally pale and porcelain skin against all odds. It makes her look a little bit like a ghost, I think, but it really suits her.

"I couldn't sleep, " she admits, tucking a stray hair behind her ear and into her messy bun with deft fingers. The frames of her glasses shift slightly as she runs her finger beneath to gather that hair, "I thought I'd come get a drink or two, maybe then I'd be able to just flat pass out."

"Do you have nightmares?"

My question catches her off guard, it seems, and for a moment she sits utterly still. I see that same light in her eyes that I so often find in my own; fingers on the sink, with water streaking down my face in icy rivulets. How many times have I found myself clutching the counter with enough force to cause myself splinters while staring into those very eyes?

It's the nightmares.

People mention a lot of things in regards to loss. The majority of it feels little better than weak platitudes and empty condolences. They mention how much it hurts, and tell you that it's supposed to fade with time; losing a loved one. But they never mention the nightmares.

No. Never the nightmares.

They come in the dark of night, somewhere between the time in which the wheels in your head are still turning, and the time that you find yourself started awake by the whispers of something too heartbreakingly real. Sometimes, they are so bittersweet that I wake up with tears of fitful longing upon my face, even still. But most of the time I awaken panicked and confused.

"Yeah. But I've had nightmares ever since I was a kid." She admits softly.

That smile is gone, but what is left is so earnest, and so real, that I am touched.

"See that guy?"

I point to one of the men seated all by himself directly at the bar. Everyone around him chatters mindlessly, but he stirs aimlessly at his drink and stares listlessly at the bottom of the glass.

"The one with the mopey look on his face?" Jessie slurs.

"Yeah. That one. His wife left him recently, and he's probably got a kid who's really sick."

She gazes at me with astonishment, and I find myself grinning a bit beneath the weight of the whisky. It'd be pointless to lie; I preen beneath her wonderment quite nicely.

"How do you know that?" She asks, amazed.

"He keeps fiddling with the ring on his finger, a ring that sits suspiciously on the finger indicative of marriage. There's a little blue bus on his keychain, likely Tayo from the popular South Korean children's show: Tayo the Little Bus. But he's stuffed the keys carelessly in his pocket, as if he doesn't want to look at him. He also looks incredibly exhausted, and emotionally drained."

I admit that I feel just the tiniest bit smug as her eyes widen; she is impressed.

"That's really incredible!" She exclaims. "No wonder you became a P.I..."

Suddenly, her face falls. She looks so downcast, and it came on so quickly that I am utterly confused.

"That's great..." she smiles wryly. "You're good at something that's really cool."

I can't seem to figure out what she is thinking. The mood has changed so drastically, and for once I am actually speechless. Something about this situation stirs something deep within me; in a lot of ways, I see myself in Jessie. For a moment, this sort of possession takes over me. I cannot claim to know why, but for the life of me all I want to do is take those lips between my own, and erase her will to cry.

Maybe, my fuzzy brain reasons, if I can get her to let it all out...

Well, maybe it isn't all about her.

Leaning forth, I beckon for her to scoot over. Reluctantly, almost, she slides upon the seat and travels full circle before coming to a stop just beside me. Her movements are sloppy, overexaggerated by the alcohol. My own coordination is clearly affected too, for I smash my lips to hers. And without any preamble.

She makes this delicious little squawk, as if startled, and I greedily devour it without remorse. It's been such a long time since I touched anyone, and the petal-soft feel of her lips upon mine somehow feels like heaven. Had I been this lonely?

Her fingertips against my chest feel electric, as if she herself were a live-wire. The touch sizzles against my flesh, despite the layers of cloth between us. Against all odds, I feel a stirring within my pants. It feels as if I've been starving, for a very long time, and before me is a sudden feast.

Jessie stiffens, for a moment, as my fingertips brush against one very pebbled nipple. But the groan that spills from her lips is encouraging, so I grasp the back of her neck with a firm hand and pull her even closer. The rest of the world just fades away. I forget that we are seated within a public establishment, or that Jessie is technically my client. Even though I know that there will be plenty reason to regret this come morning, I am filled with the desire to take her home, and fill her up.

How long has it been since I desired someone? Too long, really. I feel like a fumbling teenager again, out of control and with an awkward hard on. But everywhere she touches, my skin burns with need, and I am unable to suppress a groan of my own as I pull away for air.

"My place?" I mouth breathlessly, placing my lips against her collarbone.

"Yes please, " she moans.

The bus route has honestly never felt so long before.

It becomes increasingly difficult to keep my hands to myself; she keeps gazing at me with appreciative eyes. Eyes that are filled with a passionate kind of fire that makes me preen just a little on the inside. It isn't my first time being so openly ogled, and normally it doesn't do much for me. But the knowledge that someone I desire, desires me back?

It's heady, and fills me with a sense of masculine pride.

We both stumble a bit, and lean against each other as we climb the stairs to the lobby. Not for the first time, I am grateful for the elevator. I barely have any strength left in my legs, especially when the tips of Jessie's fingers squeeze softly at the flesh of my inner thigh.

The touch sends images through my mind; Jessie, down on her knees as she takes my cock into her mouth, fingertips sinking into the fleshiest parts of my thighs as he works my dick. A sudden shiver trails it's cold fingers down my spine, and I lick my lips hungrily. Why does everything take so much longer when you're desperate?

I unlock my front door with trembling fingers, nearly dropping my keys at least twice. She's pressed herself to my back so tightly that I can feel the swell of her chest against my back.

Shit.

Why does that turn me on so much?

We stumble inside, each of us more than a little tipsy. I eye the futon, and zero in with single minded determination. Jessie, for her part, seems satisfied with allowing me to take the lead. She follows me willingly to the couch, and offers no resistance when I all but push her down upon it.

"Whoa big guy, " she chuckles huskily, "someone wants it bad..."

With a growl, I kneel between her thighs, and bend down to capture her lips once more.

Finally.

The sensation of her lips against mine, and her fingertips in my hair, is almost more than I can take. I grind myself against her, revelling in the way she mewls beneath me.

"Seems like you want it pretty bad yourself, " I murmur against her lips.

"Just shut up and fuck me already, " she keens, back arching as I deliver a particularly violent thrust.

My pants have become too tight, but the friction of her jean clad core against my swollen cock feels so heavenly; my brain nearly short circuits. My fingers are clumsy beneath the hem of her shirt; all it takes is one shallow moan rising from her throat and her blouse is destroyed. Normally, I would apologize profusely, but as I pull back I spy the hungry, lustful gaze in her eyes. And instead of an apology, what pours out of my mouth is a low and needy growl.

Frenzied, we strip each other. It is not smooth, but rather filled with awkward fumbling and the occasional tearing of clothes. My heart pounds fitfully in my chest when she finally lays bare before me; all I can think about is burying my cock to the hilt in that sweet little piece of heaven. The overly analytical voice in my head, the one I can never quite turn off, warns me that this is a bad idea. I'm in trouble, it tells me.

And I have to agree.

It's a terrible idea. But fuck if I don't need this.

I can tell that this isn't her first time, as she quickly locks her legs around my waist, and begins to rub herself against me like a bitch in heat. At the feel of her silken walls gripping my cock as it sinks into her cunt, I grunt. Her body is much smaller than mine, petite against my taller, and more muscular form. Yet, her cunt fits my swollen length like a glove.

"Fuck-don't move!" I cry out, voice hoarse.

It's been so long since for me, that I'm legitimately afraid I might cum at a moment's notice. The alcohol in our system has the skin between us heard, and slick with sweat. The apartment air upon my back feels bracingly frigid in comparison.

"Does it feel good Namjoon?"

She looks at me with half-hooded eyes.

"Isn't it tight?"

With a groan I bend myself over her, and begin to thrust in earnest. I don't employ any grand technique; it's all I can do to keep sloppily thrusting. My strokes are rough, animalistic. I am filled with the mindless desire to cum. The slick velvet of hers grips me so tightly, and is so wet and warm that it feels like my dick is legitimately melting. My own moans join hers in the air, followed by the occasional sound of a grunt.

"So fucking tight, " I admit shakily. "You make me feel so good baby... You wanna cum for me? You're squeezing me so tightly."

The sound that rises from her lips is not affirmation, but rather a series of keening moans.

"Fuck! Joonie, yes!"

I use every last ounce of willpower that I have left to pump frantically away at her dripping cunt. I'm so close, I can feel it in the way that my balls tingle, the way they ache, and feel heavy with the need for release. Opening my mouth to warn her, I cry out euphorically.

She is cumming on my cock.

Jessie writhes, back arching away from futon, and arms wrapped tightly around my neck. This time, my brain really does short circuit, and I feel a wave of desire as my orgasm takes over me. I grunt, and snarl, as I pound furiously into her pulsing cunt. And then, my entire body stiffens; my cock thrust so far inside of her that I can feel the entrance to her womb kissing the tip, and I cum.

My seed pours from me as my hips stutter, and twitch. I hadn't meant to cum inside, but between how amazing it had felt, and her legs locked about my waist, it'd been unavoidable.

At this point, my brain is going into post orgasmic bliss mode. All nonessential functions cease, and my eyelids become heavy as I droop. I fall onto the futon beside her and, uncaring of our nudity, I pull Jessie's equally drowsy form against my chest. There is a moment in which I wonder upon how strange it is that she fits the little spoon position so well, despite how much shorter than me she is. The swell of her ass rests against my now flaccid dick, and her head is tucked into the space just before my arm meets my shoulder.

I pull at the blanket haphazardly strewn upon the back of the couch, and cover the two of us the best I can without ruining this amazing embrace. I'd forgotten how nice it was, not sleeping alone, and I'm too tired, too pleasantly drunk on sex (among other things) to give my actions much thought.

But I'm definitely going to have a hard on in the morning.