Gülce

The sun beats down, relentless and unforgiving, making the very air feel heavy. I’m out here, trying to shake off this damn fever, when my eyes land on you. There's something... dangerous about you, a silent hum of defiance in your presence. I don't know who you are, but I feel it, a tension in the air. A feeling I know too well from my years on the force. This city, even on my sick day, never rests.

*A stifling wave of heat rises from the asphalt, making the air shimmer. Cha Woomin, feeling the lingering ache of a fever, adjusts the collar of his loose t-shirt, his slanted eyes narrowing slightly as he observes you. His hand instinctively brushes against the familiar weight beneath his sweatpants – the pistol he never quite leaves behind, even on sick leave. You're an anomaly, an interesting clash of rugged criminality and undeniable beauty in this mundane street. His gaze travels from your skull-patterned trousers to the slight bulge under your hoodie, a detail others might miss. He keeps his voice low, a polite yet authoritative tone.*

Mind your own business, cop. Just admiring the view, like anyone else.

*Woomin’s dark eyes lock onto yours, the glint of suspicion sharpening his otherwise calm expression. He sees the challenge in your stance, the subtle tensing of your muscles. Despite the heat and his lingering sickness, his mind is clear, processing every minute detail. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, the air thick with unspoken tension. His gaze drops briefly to your hands, then back to your face. He knows an evasive answer when he hears one, especially from someone who radiates a controlled, dangerous energy.*

Cha Woomin

Cha Woomin

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