The winds of Chicago

Chapter 2

As regular as clockwork, Jeongguk comes back from dreamland before his backup alarm, even though he got home late last night.
He loves being ahead of the game.
He loves waking up when some are just falling asleep. When the sky is dark, the city silent.

Well, Chicago never truly sleeps, but the Loop is much more quiet at 4:30 a.m.

At this hour, his automatic reflexes are acting in his place. Shirtless despite the biting cold of October, he goes to the bathroom, leaving it ten minutes after, emptied and refreshed. A thin towel around his waist, he traverses the living room, bare-feet on the dark marble, before entering his walk-in wardrobe. A few warm lights let see several rows of clothes and shelves. There are suits on the left, shoes in front of him, shirts on the right, and different kinds of ties on the wall. Everything seems pretty similar, but each piece is unique. The biggest common traits are the dark tones and the price—but Jeongguk can easily afford it. He owns some colorful items too, but has always preferred darkness.
Elegance and sobriety, nothing else.

However, his morning outfit isn't quite the same. Who would train in a suit?
As usual at this time of the day, he goes at the back of the room and opens the door leading to another closet, a smaller one. Then, a quick look later, he chooses a hoodie and a tracksuit. Classic.

After that, his routine continues. He takes a light breakfast while listening to a podcast, brushes his teeth, checks all the rooms, puts his Nike, takes his bag and closes the door three times—just to be sure.
Only then, he is ready to go.

__________________

"Again!"

No choice if the coach says so.
Panting after all those rounds of sled pushes followed by pull-ups, Jeongguk docilely goes back to the heavy sled. Although his aching muscles beg him to stop, he doesn't care. The pain wouldn't stop him in the middle of a fight or a pursuit, so why now?
He carries on, dripping with sweat but driven by the loud music resonating in the gym.

"Good," the trainer finally admits while Jeongguk achieves his last pull-up. "Five minutes break and we're going in the ring."

Jeongguk nods as he removes the cap of his bottle, eager to fight even though he has been doing this for years.
Boxing is an addiction. He cannot live without and wouldn't even imagine it. This sport helps him whenever his job overwhelms his mind—and Lord know it happens all the time. But sometimes...

"Alright, put on your gloves son."

He nods again, ready to take them out his bag, but then sees a notification displayed on his phone.

I need you. Come as quickly as possible.

He knits his brows. That early?
Another text, a location.
He is about to ask why when the coach rushes him.

"Gloves on, now."

"Sorry I can't," Jeongguk manages to say, his eyes still riveted upon the screen.

"You can't my ass! In the ring, faster than that."

"For real," Jeongguk assures as he gathers his things, "it's an emergency."

"At 5:30 a.m.?"

"You know how it is, Joe," he sighs. "I'll make it up to you later."

The trainer finally accepts, before telling, "Be careful, son."

Sometimes his job must come before everything.

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"Alright,' Jeongguk thinks out loud as he turns the key in the ignition, the engine coming to life with an impressive melody. Then, a second melody takes over from it: his favorite synthwave playlist, to drive at night or when Chicago is still dark, just a bit brighten up by colorful lights.

So he drives, tapping the wheel because of the anxiety flowing through his neurons. He is not used to this feeling, but the situation isn't quite regular—yes, often seeing dead bodies isn't either but, sadly, it has become a habit. His help is often requested, but never in this way.

After about fifteen minutes, Jeongguk arrives in a well-known neighborhood—not because he loves this area, but because of the amount of time he spends in it.
Damn it. If this is what he's thinking...

Doubtful, he parks near the sidewalk, cuts the engine and gets out the vehicle, the door closing with an echo.

"That was quick," remarks a voice emerging from the darkness, before the silhouette appears.

"What the hell?" Jeongguk asks as he walks toward the man. "You don't look like someone who needs help, to be honest." Annoyed by the pointless anxiety he has felt on the road, the detective's ton is pretty sharp.

"I couldn't say the whole truth, but I do need you."

"Seokjin," Jeongguk begins. "Explanations, now."
He shouldn't talk to a superior like that, right? Well, damn it. Seokjin isn't the sergeant of his team.

"I think this case will interest you. Come."

"This case? Which one? Why calling me and not your brilliant detective, uh?"

Seokjin takes a brief inhalation and Jeongguk immediately guesses. The sergeant always betrays himself like this.

"No, please no," the detective says, tense. "Tell me you didn't do that."

He won't tell it, because he did it. Jeongguk knows it, but still. Why? For a case? It never happens usually, so why now? A special case, uh? Bullshit.
A part of him is curious about this, but the other assumes it's a complete trap.

"So which case?" Jeongguk resumes. "There's no one here."

"They are a bit further away."

"So I'm your secret weapon, uh?"

"A secret maybe, but not a weapon."

"Seokjin," Jeongguk scolds him. "Wrong time for that."

"Just come."

"To see your other secret?" He shakes his head. "Not gonna happen."

"Jeongguk," the sergeant grabs the younger's shoulders. "It's a murder, and not a common one. So come, before I kick your ass."
In other circumstances, the detective would have resisted a little bit more, but a murder? A strange one, apparently? He's in.

"Let's go," Jeongguk surrenders.

They both leave, walking in the empty neighborhood, when a third silhouette comes across them.

"You're here!"

Taehyung seems relieved for a second, before noticing Jeongguk.
Then, his traits harden, and anyone would fear for his life in front of him at this moment.

"Oh, fuck you Seokjin."

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Bye bye