Pairing: EJ (Detective) × K (Prime Suspect)
Genre: Crime | Slow-burn | Psychological tension | Enemies-to-lovers-but-maybe-still-enemies
Themes: Truth vs loyalty, obsession vs trust, knowing too much—and not enough

🕯️ Premise:

There's been a string of heists in the city. Clean. Quiet. Surgical.

Every trail leads to one name:

K—unaffiliated, unbothered, too charming for his own good.

He's never been caught. Never charged. Just always there, right at the edge of something.

Detective EJ has had enough of that.

"You're not clever, K. You're just lucky."
"And you're obsessed," K replies, smiling. "Is that in the report?"

🔎 The Interrogation Room

It's cold. White walls. One table. Two chairs. A mirror with too many eyes behind it.

EJ sits across from K. His file is thick. His tone is flat.

"You were at the scene. Again."

"I'm always at scenes. I have a very curious soul."

"You know you're not untouchable."

"Then touch me."

EJ doesn't react. K leans forward, eyes bright.

"The real question, detective, is... what are you actually trying to catch? Me, or your own shadow?"

EJ exhales slowly.
K always does this. Always plays just close enough to the truth to make it personal.

And the worst part?

It is personal.

💥 Flashback: The Case That Started It All

Two years ago. A missing painting. A rooftop chase.

EJ almost had him—fingertips grazing K's coat before he slipped over the ledge and vanished into the night.

K left behind a single calling card:
A page from The Picture of Dorian Gray.
Highlighted: "The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it."

EJ kept it in his wallet.

He doesn't know why.

🕶️ Present: Cat and Mouse and Almost

They meet again. A gala this time. K dressed in black silk and false innocence.

"Looking for me?"
"Always."

Dancing around questions. Around each other.

Until EJ corners him in the alley behind the building.

"You're going to slip up."
"Maybe I already did. The day I let you catch my name."

EJ's gun stays holstered.
K's smirk never wavers.

They're too close.

And yet—neither moves.

💔 The Twist: The Real Culprit

It's not K.

Not this time.

He was at the scene to stop it. But now the real criminal is gone, and EJ's built his whole career around chasing the wrong person.

"So what now?" K asks. "Do I get an apology?"

"No," EJ says. "You get a warning."

"For what?"

"For making me care."

EJ lets him walk away. Just this once.

And in his pocket, another calling card:

"One day, you'll chase me for the right reasons."

—K

Setting: Off the grid—foreign city, neutral ground, old ghosts
Genre: Slow-burn conclusion | emotional tension | everything unsaid, finally said
Theme: You can chase the truth, or you can choose someone. But not both.

✈️ ACT I: EJ Disappears

EJ resigns. Quietly. No scandal. No note.

Just leaves behind his badge and the photo from the Dorian Gray case.

No one knows where he's gone—
Except maybe one person.

Because in an unmarked envelope, mailed to a post office box no one else knows exists, is a note:

"If you were ever telling the truth... meet me."

Signed: E.

🌆 ACT II: A Rooftop in a City Without Names

K is there.

Of course he is.

Leaning against the railing, the skyline behind him, lit in haze and silver.

He doesn't look surprised when EJ steps into view. He just says:

"Took you long enough."

EJ: "I needed to stop chasing what I couldn't catch."

K: "So what are you here for now?"

Silence.

EJ: "Answers. Yours. Mine. Both."

K: "Even if it breaks everything you believed in?"

EJ nods.

"Especially then."

🧨 ACT III: The Rule

They talk. For hours. About every near-miss. Every lie. Every almost.

K admits he's clean now. Mostly.
He's not the villain anymore—just someone who learned how to be invisible to everyone but one man.

"You were the only person who ever made me feel seen. Even when you hated me."

EJ (quiet): "I never hated you."

K laughs. Bitter.

"Then why'd you chase me like you did?"

"Because I couldn't stop."

K steps closer.

So close their breath tangles. Like every unsaid word is pushing between them now.

K: "You were the only rule I didn't break."

EJ: "And you were the only one I wanted to."

💥 ACT IV: The Confrontation

There's a knock on the door.

Someone followed EJ. From the department? From K's past?

Doesn't matter.

They only have seconds.

"You should run," EJ says.

K: "So should you."

But neither of them moves.

Instead—EJ grabs K by the collar and kisses him like a confession. Like a siren. Like the one thing he swore he'd never allow himself.

"If this ends," he whispers, "I want it ending with you in my arms. Not my crosshairs."

The rooftop stays empty after that night.

Some say they fled.
Some say one of them was arrested.

But rumor has it—somewhere out there—

A former detective and a reformed thief run a secondhand bookstore with no cameras.

And the sign on the door simply reads:

"Closed for questioning."

📚 Post-Epilogue: Chapter One, No Case Number

Setting: A dusty little bookstore tucked between forgotten streets. No name on the sign. No register ding. Just the sound of pages turning and two people learning how to stay.

☕ Morning Routine, 9:04 AM

K is up first, barefoot, hoodie half-on, hair defying gravity.

He makes coffee like it's an investigation: exact ratios, suspicious of decaf, muttering about bean origin like it's a background check.

EJ stumbles in ten minutes later with one sock missing and sleep still on his face.

"You opened early?"
"Someone called. Said they were returning Murder on the Orient Express. I said if they spoil the ending I'll spoil their tea."

EJ sips from the mug K hands him.
It's too hot. It burns a little. He likes it that way.

♟️ Afternoon, 2:16 PM — The Chess War

They keep a chessboard behind the front desk. No timer. Just tension.

EJ plays slow and methodical.
K plays chaotic and cocky.

Every time EJ checkmates him, he just smirks and says:

"You fell for the long con."

"You're in checkmate, K."
"Exactly. That's how I wanted it to end."

The board resets. So does the grin.

📖 Quiet Evenings, 6:43 PM

K reads aloud sometimes.

Old poetry. Crime novels with terrible dialogue.
EJ listens with his eyes closed and his hand resting on K's knee.

The door stays unlocked, but no one really comes in after six.

It's just them.
Them and the smell of old paper.
Them and the safety of silence that doesn't need explaining.

💋 Midnight, 12:01 AM — The Kiss That Solves Nothing

Sometimes, they argue about books. Or pasta shapes. Or whether or not EJ really did let K go on purpose that one time.

K always wins—verbally.
EJ wins—physically.

"You kiss like you're still interrogating me," K murmurs once, breathless.

"Maybe I am," EJ replies. "Still haven't gotten a straight answer out of you in five years."

"And yet..."
He kisses him again.
"You keep asking."

💬 Final Line:

There are no badges here. No warrants.
Just books, warmth, and the quiet truth that they chose each other.

No more running.
No more chasing.

Just two men who finally stopped writing reports—
and started writing home.