#beegywrites

[biaswreckersinc]

here’s a snippet of a police detective au that’s been bouncing around in my head.

It had been snowing for a week straight, or at least thats what it felt like as you huddled under the awning bordering the smoking area outside the police department. You flicked the lighter a couple of times, the flame sparking around the metallic rim but never really lighting. You furrowed your eyebrows, a little crease forming between.

“Need a light?” You bring your gaze upwards, through dark lashes, still attempting to click the lighter against the wind of the passing storm. A hand nudges yours out of the way, clicking a bright red lighter easily and lighting the end of the cigarette.

“Thanks.” You mumble, stepping back from the man, and taking a long pull from your cigarette.

“Boss was looking for you.” The man replies, not moving from his spot. “Something about a package arriving, addressed to you.” He takes a cigarette from behind a pierced ear, placing it between his lips as he raises his lighter up, catching the end easily with the flame.

“He say who it was from?” The information catches your attention. You hadn’t been on the boss’s radar in years, something that made your job a lot harder. Instead of answering, Mingi shifts uncomfortably, the subtle scrunch of his nose telling you he wishes he had kept quiet.

“Come on, Mingi, spit it out.”

Mingi shuffles the toe of his leather boots in the snow, putting the cigarette back to his lips and taking a long pull. The smoke blows behind him in the wind as he exhales.

“Boss said it might be from him.”

You feel your pulse pickup, and uncomfortable shiver in your bones, feeling eyes on you from the courtyard to your left. Your eyes dart instinctively into that direction, finding nothing there but your own paranoia.

“Do you think it is?” You ask, eyes darting to meet Mingi’s across from you. You see him tense, broad shoulders hunching down against the cold. He tilts his head to the side, dropping the spent cigarette to the ground and crushing it with his shoes. You aren’t sure what you want to hear from him, there’s fear, first and foremost, but something else burning in your chest.

Excitement.

“I mean, it’s possible.” He shrugs, not meeting your eyes again, “He didn’t finish his games last time.” There’s hesitation behind the way Mingi speaks to you, as if one wrong word and you might break. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his long coat, his eyes finally meeting yours.

Any feedback would be amazing, I don’t know what I really want to do with it. I just sort of word vomited.