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The next day is a Saturday, thank fuck. Normally Nan-gam would come in anyways with a case like this. But after the near-miss with Kang in the parking lot, Yong-jae standing stoically between suspect and car, as Nan-gam frantically rounded up a police escort. Well. The chief had "suggested" he take the full weekend, to "rest his nerves".
The patronization would rankle. But he can use it as an excuse. His gut is pulling him to where he needs to be. And if he's not on the clock, and his suspect isn't under any kind of surveillance, well. Who is he to pass up that kind of opportunity?
Lee Tang works a night shift. Unless it's a school day, there's no way in fuck he wakes up before noon.
Hence why Nan-gam is here banging on his door at eight A.M.
It takes the little asshole six minutes to answer his door. Nan-gam times it. His fist is stinging, but the pain's worth it to disrupt Tang's peace. He's in pitiful condition– pale and squinting, his eyes heavy-bagged. His boyish haircut is even messier than normal, and his skin is greasy. Nan-gam catches a whiff of sour sweat. Wonders how long it's been since he showered.
When Nan-gam steps into his space, close enough their shoetips touch, Tang takes a reflexive step back. Loses balance, wobbles, and staggers back a few feet further. Once they're both firmly indoors, Nan-gam shuts the door and sets the deadbolt.
Tang looks irritated, and scared. His mouth set in resignation. He doesn't talk.
Nan-gam surveys the studio around them, careful not to take his eyes off Tang. A bachelor pad would be putting it lightly. Half-full garbage bags and stacks of unfolded laundry line the walls. The tiny sink is full of unwashed dishes. The walls are bare. No real attempt at aesthetic decoration at all (not that Nan-gam can throw stones) but a landscape painting leant up against one stained wall. Even the bed is bare but for a fitted sheet. He tsks. "This place is a pigsty."
Tang bites his tongue. After all, it's true.
Nan-gam's eyes catch and focus on the extension cord knotted around a pull-up bar. Tang sees him see it. His shoulders edge up even further towards his ears.
"Your mom never taught you how to clean up after yourself?" Nan-gam asks critically. Half hoping for an outburst.
Tang just blinks at him. Even with his palpable nerves, he looks exhausted -- his eyes close for a half-second at a time. He's exerting effort to pry them back open.
"Stopped when I left home. I guess."
He isn't going to babble nervously, then. One of his irritating traits. Nan-gam will have to push.
He walks over to the pull-up bar, rests one hand on the cross-piece.
"What's this for?"
"Doing pull-ups." Quiet, cautious; almost totally affectless. Nan-gam tsks.
"You're a tight-lipped little bastard, you know that?"
He flicks the end of the cord at Tang, who flinches; even though it's at least a foot too short to reach him.
"This for you? Or an unlucky acquaintance?"
"No."
"What, then? Just a decoration?" Tang looks down. "It was for me. I couldn't do it, though."
"Why? Feeling guilty about something?"
Tang fidgets. "No. I don't know." His eyes have flicked away again; Nan-gam's hitting close to home. Good.
Silence drags out between them. Nan-gam lets it, even though he knows Lee Tang well enough by this point to know he won't crack first.
"If you're not gonna use it, you should take it down." Tang nods; Nan-gam frowns. "Before I leave. Don't push your luck."
No movement. Nan-gam steps sideways, away from the equipment. "I don't have all day, kid."
Tang trudges over like a man going to the guillotine. He fumbles with the cord, staring intently as he tries to unpick the knots. He doesn't have the air of someone wasting time on purpose. Instead, he just seems really genuinely shit with knots.
Jang Nan-gam is not a patient man. He gives Tang five minutes (timed to the second on his wristwatch) before elbowing him aside. Pulls his pocketknife out, and slices through the cord. He bundles it up haphazardly, shoves it inside one of many garbage bags, and ties it shut. Strides back over to Tang and pushes the bag into his hands.
"You're welcome."
Tang doesn't rise to the bait, which is fine. By this point Nan-gam doesn't expect a thank you.
"Why are you here?" he asks finally. His eyes stay firmly on the garbage bag.
"You didn't show for your legal appointment yesterday. Call it a welfare check."
"They send homicide for that?" An unmistakable attitude to the words, if not the tone. "What do you want."
Nan-gam fishes his pack out of his pants pocket. "Make another appointment. Down at the precinct. Put on your big boy pants and patch things up with your boss. And throw out your fucking trash. You're too old to be living like this."
"What's-" Tang starts, before cutting himself off. The catch, if Nan-gam had to guess. Maybe your angle. Both good questions he has absolutely no reason to answer honestly. Tang knows as much, or he wouldn't have cut himself off. He might be slow, but he's shrewd enough not to waste his breath on words that won't benefit him. Which is irritating on a professional level, but still, Nan-gam can't help but recognize the game.
"Why are you helping me?"
Nan-gam pops in a new piece of gum. "If you are what I think you are. I'd be angry if you die before the law can punish you for your crimes."
Tang nods faintly. He thinks to himself for a long moment. When Nangam has just about given up on a response, he says, "Mister. You're honest. You mess with people; but you don't lie. I guess, I'm happy it's you. If it has to be somebody."
Still characteristically laconic; but it might be the most words Nan-gam's heard out of him in one go.
"It's me, who?"
"Um. Investigating me."
Nan-gam works the gum in his mouth, blows a half-hearted bubble, to give himself a moment to process that. He pops it with his teeth, and Tang startles at the sudden sound. Maybe Nan-gam's a sadist. There's something real satisfying about getting Lee Tang jumpy and uncomfortable.
"We'll both be happier if there's nothing to investigate. Hm?"
Tang barely responds. He tries not to read into it.