You are dour, people say.

Quiet and gloomy, with a no-nonsense attitude that speaks highly of your sense of humor - or, more precisely, lack thereof.

You shrug off their comments and go your own way.

You have work to do.

But it's not that you're unfriendly, per se.

Merely that your patience is paper-thin, at certain instances. At certain people.

You like being alone, and for a good reason:

No one can tell you what to do.

Your profession takes most of your life.

The paperwork needed for each criminal case you're handling is immense, and you tend to them without question.

And yet, despite your dedication, they all tell you when they first meet you: you must be in the wrong line of work.

A detective can't be as "pretty" as you, they say. You're better off being a model or an actor, they say.

What a bunch of nonsense, you think.

The fact that you're the farthest thing one can resemble a police is something you use to your advantage. You can seem nonthreatening until the suspect is within your reach. Then you pounce.

Your accomplishments speak about how well-suited you are to your job. All the criminals you've caught testified at how you managed to fool them - until it's too late.

You'e good at acting awkward and foolish, they say.

Man, maybe you should have been an actor after all.

It's not fair to say you are a loner; a man without any hobbies. Oh no.

Sometimes, you draw. Sometimes you cook.

Oh, and you watch dramas in your spare time.

A lot.

They pull you in, incite your imagination like no other. You like anticipating what will happen next - whether the daughter will know who her real mother is, or if the alien will choose to leave his human lover behind, or when will the poor maid overcome her trials.

You don't tell anyone this tidbit about yourself.

It's not like anyone asks, anyway.

But if they did, you'll tell them it all started late one night. After a long shift at work, you turn on the television, waiting for the white noise to lull you to sleep.

You're flicking through channels without any particular show in mind, when suddenly your world tilts off its axis, never to regain balance ever again.

The actress you chanced upon is, quite simply, the loveliest woman you've ever seen - and that's not even an exaggeration.

You find yourself watching the drama she's in. Soon you're searching for the show's name, and, more precisely hers, and you feel absurdly glad once you find them.

She's been starring in dramas for a few years, and why is it that you only saw her now?

You don't miss a single episode of her drama. Concurrently, you search for - and watch - her earlier shows. And when her latest drama's season ended you, absurdly enough, anxiously await word on what her next project will be.

Once it's announced, you know that of course you'll be watching that as well.

...And they said you don't have a hobby.

One day, you come to work only to find the atmosphere quite odd.

You soon find out why.

Your superior gathers your group and announces that his brother, a TV director, is looking for a consultant from the police station. His show will delve into the dangers of undercover work, and he'll need a real detective to give them some tips on how to make things more realistic.

The hair at your nape stand at rapt attention when he mentioned the drama's name.

Even before your superior asks who among your group is interested, your hand is already up in the air. I'll do it.

The silence engulfing your group is palpable, at that moment.

Lee Hyuk, do you even know what you're getting into?

You shrug and tell your boss yes, but you'll appreciate getting more information on what you should prepare. Yes, you know the show. Yes, you're up to date with the latest episodes - they're saved in your phone. Does anyone want to see? You can even share them if they like, though they'd need to have a big enough memory card with them-

You feel mildly insulted at the incredulous looks you get from everyone.

What, can't a guy watch dramas in his phone nowadays?

You show up at the shooting location the day after you've been given clearance.

It's a cold, cold morning, and you realize belatedly the leather jacket you're wearing isn't at all adequate for the weather.

You would have thought to bring warmer clothes - if only you were thinking straight, earlier that day. Simply put, you weren't.

You're nervous, oddly enough. And because of that you grabbed the first thing you saw before going out the door, never thinking too far ahead.

You're still nervous now, because there's a probable chance that you're going to see her in person.


And, well, how can you prepare for something like that?

A car honks behind you. Irritated, you look at the driver-

-and your mind blissfully blanks out.

You look cold. Do you want to come inside for a moment?

You know that smile. It's the smile that haunts your dreams sometimes. And it's aimed at you, now.


Hello? She waves a hand to get your attention, and you blink in response.


You feel her eyes on you, and you think it'll be in your best interest to act cool, collected - before you say something that'll make you seem like a fool.

She asks you several questions, but you find yourself unable to answer each one. Your focus is on keeping still and not making any unnecessary actions that might scare her away.

She sighs, loud and clear, and gets out of the car, but not before telling you that you can stay inside for however long you like. really are an idiot, you tell yourself silently, as you finally find the courage to look at her as she leaves.

From the confines of her car you observe her actions. She chats with her coworkers, laughs with them, and the gazes of those she interacts with are nothing short of worshipful.

And you think she really does live up to her screen name, as she spreads light and warmth wherever she goes.

You look farther ahead, and see that her leading man is straightening himself, as though mentally preparing for the moment she comes to him.

(you really hate that guy. he's had too many kissing scenes with her.)

And, well, you just have to act.


The next thing you know, you're grabbing her hand and handcuffing her and-

(oh god what are you even doing)

At her affronted look you respond by saying the spiel police are authorized to say. Didn't she ask you this, in the car?

Oh, she's only asking you to show her how to arrest people, not to actually handcuff her? And the criminal is over there?


And of course you tell her that she looks more like a criminal than that other woman did.

...This is really a fine day to be you, isn't it?

She asks you another question, and being the idiot that you are, you tell her the first thing that comes to your mind.

If she looks affronted before, she's close to homicidal by now.

How dare you. What makes you think I'm a criminal?

And then her tone shifts to something close to playful:

Did I steal your heart, or something?

(you're not being obvious... are you? shitohshit)

In an attempt to detract the conversation from that angle, you tell her straight that she looks like the hostess of a gambling den.

In context, your observation makes sense. In your defense, you have handled cases where the hostess was usually the most beautiful member of a criminal group. So you mean it as some sort of compliment, when you say it like that.

You don't tell her this fact, however, so of course you end up infuriating her even more.

It's a wonder she hasn't thrown you out of the set.

But your fears are soon validated when she calls out to the director, complaining that you had been rude to her.

Why yes, yes you were.

Once the director explains your presence in the set, you try to rectify the situation by telling her your name and where you're from, and offering your hand to her.

Because you're cool like that.

And, well, because it really won't look good for you to get fired from this job. That you volunteered for.

She stares at you, and for a wild moment you think she won't shake your hand. really blew this one, didn't you?

Until she does, and it's the longest handshake you've given anyone.

Her hand, you realize, is so soft. And warm, despite the temperature. You don't want to let go, but you do, and it's the hardest thing you've done that day.

The director tells you two to work well together before leaving. You stare at her impassively, to make it seem like it's the last thing on this earth you want to do.

(because you're cool like that.)

She inches her chin up, and surprises you by asking, out of the blue, for your business card. I want to check the place out.

It's not a restaurant, you tell her, frowning.

And she says, I want to know if you really are who you say you are. Is Lee Hyuk your real name? Are you truly a detective? Maybe you're just pretending to be one. Do you know how already many tried doing it, just to get near me?

At first you think she's being conceited, and you scoff at her accusations. Yet when she wiggles her fingers towards you, you find yourself reaching for your wallet, like you're compelled at a molecular level to do as she says. Happy, now?

She looks inordinately pleased when she receives your card. I'll call you. But if you don't answer my calls, I'll kill you. Okay?

...That's not something you should say to a detective, you say, summoning every inch and fiber of the Grim Reaper in you.

But she merely smiles at you, and even blows you a kiss. Arrest me, then.

Your conversations go like this:

Has anyone ever told you you're too handsome to be a detective?

...maybe. Can we go back to-

It's your hair, you see. Look how naturally curly it is? Some people need to have work done with their hair to make it look like this.

I'll appreciate it if you let go of my hair. Now, let's talk about CCTVs-

And your lips! How did you even get a perfect cupid's bow lips like that? And it's so red. Like... it's begging to be kissed. One of these days I might just lose my mind and actually give in to the urge.


Admit it. You had surgery, didn't you. No one on this earth is born looking as good as you do!

I'm a detective. I don't need surgeries to look good.

Yeah, you just need to breathe to look handsome. You know, you should just become a commercial model. You can sell me anything, anytime. Or! Maybe you should be an actor like me. I can make you a leading man in no time. What do you say?

I say let's go back to discussing CCTVs. There's this-

But, hmm, if you become an actor, they'll probably pair you with other actresses, and that's not good. I'd rather you be my leading man. What do you say?

You say nothing, of course. How do you even respond to that?

You go back to work one day, and suddenly everyone is your friend.

How is she? Is she as beautiful, up close? Do you get to hang out with her? I bet she smells good, doesn't she?

Man if I were in your shoes I would have swept her off her feet and kissed her real, real slow, and then I'll start to undress her-

The last comment has you looking at your coworker like he's scum beneath your feet.

Talk like that again and I'll have you executed.

Your other conversations go like this:

So. Single? Married? Widower?

What do you think?

I'll say it's almost impossible for you not to be married, but then I don't see any ring on your finger. Maybe you just don't like wearing it?

I'm not married.

What, are all the women you've met blind?

What about you, then? What about all the men you've met?

Me, married? Don't be silly. My career would be ruined! Besides, I'm still waiting for my king.

...your king.

Yes. A king who will sweep me off my feet?

You still believe in that kind of thing?

My fortuneteller told me I was a queen in one of my previous lives. Isn't it right for me to wait for my king?

And what if your king doesn't come for you in this life?

Oh, I don't know. I can always settle for a handsome detective.

She's smiling when she tells you this, and your heart feels so close to bursting it's almost painful.

You don't know if she's teasing you, but a part of you wonders:

What if...?

Your contract with the director soon ends, and you don't know how to feel.

You walk up to her, your steps slow, measured, intending to say your goodbye.

But as always she surprises you; she meets you halfway.

She gives you a signed picture, and behind it - her phone number.

There's also a very visible kiss mark underneath it.

I look forward to receiving your calls, detective.

And if you don't call me, I'll kill you.

You fight the urge to smile at her teasing. Didn't I tell you it's not a proper thing to say to a detective?

She winks at you and says, feel free to arrest me then.

After you ask me out for coffee.

So you do, being that you're compelled at a molecular level to do as she says.

So you ask her out, again and again and again and-

You're staring at her picture when someone sits close to you.

She's pretty, he says casually, as though you've been friends for years. Is she your lover?

I want her to be, you answer honestly. And then you look at the person you're speaking to and demand: who are you?

He smiles.

Sometimes, your conversations with her go like this:

If I hold your hand, are you going to kill me?

I'm going to kill you if you don't.

So you reach for her, and she comes to you in grace, in beauty, and you feel light, inside.

(this is love, isn't it?

then again, you've known for quite some time now: it is.)

I liked you first, is your confession.

You stole my heart, is hers.

You come to her, and do the one thing you've always wanted to do:

-kiss her, in front of everyone.

And she is so soft. Warm.

And smiling, when you're done.

Does this mean this is our first day together?

And she pulls you in, without waiting for your response.

It's not like you both need it, anyway.

(this is love, after all.)