𝗧𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘀𝗶𝘁 | ateez

01.

01.
could this be a misprint?

—

For the past three years, Kang Yeosang had never experienced an unknown morning.

It was always cloudy, accompanied by cold breezes or faint drizzles which casted a silver haze over the already grey-scaled city. Lifeless towers of metal and dull panes would reflect the little light then, throwing it over lines of fleeting flivvers with rusty motors that scratched uncomfortably at your eardrums. Brick walls were practically washed clean of their vibrant paint and once glorious appearances became distant memories.

One look and anyone could tell the city was to the point of disrepair, from the constantly appearing cracks on the pavement to its shadow-like inhabitants.

Though, no one seemed to care about the broken state of things — they simply let days peel away in rinse and wash routines of 'shuffling from place to place with glum looks and dragging feet'. Yet, despite their miserable state, the morning mist would somehow grace everything and make it hum contently in an otherwise emotionless world. Yeosang noticed it everyday, how the vapor would lace his round cheeks and his bouncing brown hair; how it clung like heavily applied foundation or the hand of a desperate lover.

The mist always acted like this around everyone and everything, helplessly grasping and begging in nonexistent whispers 'not to let go!' It was especially touchy with windows — even if the pane was wiped moments before, it would immediately become fogged again. Yeosang found this fact annoying as he often swirled doodles and words on the glass in his shared office; though, he was grateful for the instant erase too.

If you could somehow reveal every word and doodle that particular window received, the detective's office would be overlapping — overflowing even — with mindless scribbles and concerning messages alike.

It was the diary of Yeosang and two other unfortunate men — unfortunate, as they all weren't really officers. They didn't mind the uneventful days though, as doing nothing for hours — except occasionally meeting with clients, conducting personal investigations and so on — was rewarded with a hefty paycheck.

But to Yeosang, that money could never compensate for countless days wasted in the office. It was just another reminder that he hadn't accomplished his dream and was simply doing what every other human was already doing: living, but not really living.

Since he was little, all his wishes and prayers were about someday being in their shoes — those of a polished policeman, that is. Yeosang loved every aspect of their job from hunting bad guys to participating in high speed car cases. And at the end of the day, he'd imagine coming home to a warm cup of coffee and reflect on that day's good deeds.