Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The clock struck midnight, and the world outside was swallowed by restless darkness. The wind howled, rattling the windowpanes as if the night itself were trying to break in. Inside, Yang Jungwon sat curled up on the couch, flicking through his phone absently. His parents were away for the weekend, his older brother off with friends. The house felt unnervingly empty, and though he tried to ignore it, a gnawing unease clawed at the pit of his stomach.

The faint glow of the TV illuminated the dim room, but it only made the shadows seem deeper. It felt like time was moving at a crawl, and the silence settled over him like a heavy blanket. He didn't like being alone at night, especially not in a house this still. It was the kind of silence that made you feel like you were being watched.

Then, the phone line rang.

Jungwon's heart skipped. His hand froze. He hadn't expected any calls this late—his mom probably just checking in, or Jongseong, maybe, calling to say goodnight. His fingers felt suddenly stiff as he reached for the receiver, his mind already half-preparing for the warm comfort of their voices on the other end.

"Hello?" Jungwon murmured, his voice thick with sleep. But there was no response. Just deep, steady breathing.

He frowned. A prank, probably. The sound of someone trying to hide behind their breath.

"If this is another one of your stupid pranks, I'm hanging up," he warned, irritation creeping into his voice. His heartbeat sped up, but he tried to push it down. It was just a joke, nothing more.

But the breathing continued, slow and unbroken. The air in the room felt heavier, as if the walls themselves had closed in just a little.

"Jongseong," Jungwon said, the words coming out a little sharper. "This isn't funny."

"Hello."

The voice was low and distant, and it made Jungwon's stomach twist. It wasn't Jongseong. It wasn't his mom, either. His mind raced—who could it be?

He glanced around the darkened room, the shadows creeping across the floor. The unease inside him grew, coiling tighter with each passing second.

"Yes?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper, unsure of what else to say. He almost wanted to hang up, but his hand hovered over the receiver, frozen.

For a long moment, there was only silence. The faint hum of the wind outside, pressing against the house like a living thing. Then, finally, the voice came again, “What number is this?"

“What number are you trying to reach?” Jungwon asked, voice faltering. He tried to stay calm, but the strange, detached tone made his stomach twist.

"I don't know,” the voice was flat, emotionless, almost mechanical.

Jungwon's throat tightened. What kind of prank was this? His mind raced, trying to find a logical explanation. But the calmness of the voice—the strange detachment—made everything feel wrong.

"I think you've got the wrong number," he said quickly, his words clipped as he tried to steady himself. Just a wrong number. Nothing to freak out about.

"Do I?" the voice asked, the words soft, almost too calm, as though it didn't care whether it was the right number or not.

Jungwon's heart pounded in his chest, and for the first time, a chill ran through him that wasn't just the cold night air. Something about this wasn't just a prank, it felt like a warning. But a warning about what?

“It happens,” he said shakily, trying to calm himself. His mind whirled, desperate to latch onto something rational, but the voice kept echoing in his head—too calm, too detached.

Without waiting for a reply, he slammed the receiver down, his hand trembling slightly. He stood up, his legs feeling unsteady beneath him. The unease twisted in his gut, but he ignored it as best as he could.

A snack. That's what he needed. Something to take his mind off it.

The moment he stepped into the kitchen, the phone line rang again.

He froze. His heart slammed in his chest, each pulse louder than the last. The ringing cut through the silence of the house like an accusation. The air around him felt thick with something he couldn't explain, something more than just fear.

Jungwon hesitated, his mind scrambling. Ignore it. Just ignore it. But the ringing persisted, sharp and insistent. You're in control, he told himself. But still, his feet moved on their own. He picked up the receiver with a growl of frustration.

"Hello?" His voice trembled with growing frustration, a sharp contrast to the eerie calm of the voice on the other end.

But the voice that answered was nothing like what he expected. Low, almost a whisper. It sent a fresh wave of cold creeping through him, “Hello?"

Jungwon swallowed hard. The voice didn't sound like a prank now—it sounded... like it had no intention of letting him go.

He gripped the receiver tighter, his chest tight with an unshakable sense of dread. "Who is this?" his voice cracked, betraying his unease.

The voice responded, calm and emotionless, "I'm sorry. I guess I dialed the wrong number."

Jungwon exhaled sharply, trying to dismiss the lingering tension in his chest, "So why'd you dial it again?"

"Because I wanted to apologize,” the calmness in the voice was almost worse than the silence had been. Something about it felt wrong—like the apology itself was somehow a trap.

"You're forgiven," he said quickly, his words sharp, desperate to end the conversation. "Bye now."

The voice didn't hang up. It lingered, stretching the seconds into something suffocating, “Wait, wait. Don't hang up."

Jungwon felt the cold pressure of the words settle in his stomach like lead. Why wasn't the person just hanging up?

"What?" Jungwon asked, his voice rising now, tinged with frustration.

"I just want to talk to you for a second," the voice said, calm and casual as if asking for nothing more than a casual conversation.

Jungwon blinked. The audacity of it stunned him. Talk to me? You don't even know who I am.

He let out a dry, almost nervous laugh, but the sound felt foreign in his own throat, "Look, there's like a thousand numbers in the phone book. Why don't you try one of those? Seeya."

With a final, deliberate slam of the receiver, he ended the call. His hands were trembling now, and the air in the room felt colder. He hadn't realized how much tension had built up in his body until it all rushed out of him. It's just a prank. It has to be.

As he moved toward the kitchen, the phone rang again. The sound sliced through the silence like a warning, sharp and insistent. His breath caught in his throat, a cold sweat breaking out across his skin.

His heart dropped into his stomach. The ringing of the phone reverberated in his mind, growing louder with each passing second. Ignore it. He needed something, anything, to calm himself down. Popcorn. That would do the trick—something mundane, something mindless. Anything to push the crawling unease from his chest.

The phone continued ringing, the persistent tone somehow making his skin crawl even more than it had before. He tried to push the thought of the call from his mind, the noise echoing in the empty house, but it only seemed louder now. Reluctantly, he picked up the phone again, ready to give the person on the other end a piece of his mind.

"Hello?" he snapped, irritated, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

The voice on the other end was immediate, soft, almost too polite.

"Why don't you want to talk to me?"

Jungwon froze. What the hell is going on? His throat felt tight. "Who is this?" he asked, his voice quieter now, guarded. Every word from the voice felt wrong, like it was inching him closer to something he couldn’t escape.

"You tell me your name, I'll tell you mine," the voice replied, the tone strangely casual, almost as if it were a game.

Jungwon's eyes darted around the kitchen as he shook the pot of popcorn, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder. This is insane, he thought, trying to act normal, "I don't think so."

The voice didn't answer right away. Instead, it seemed to grow more curious, "What's that noise?"

Jungwon hesitated, then played along, trying to deflect the strange tension in the air. “Popcorn."

“Popcorn?” the voice asked, its tone so casual it sent a chill down Jungwon’s spine.

"Yeah," Jungwon replied, his hand trembling slightly as he shook the pot. “Popcorn,” his fingers felt cold against the heat of the pot, like the warmth couldn’t reach him anymore. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all—talking about popcorn while his skin crawled—but the words didn’t come.

"Popcorn at the movies," the voice mused, as if remembering something long gone.

"I'm getting ready to watch a movie myself," Jungwon replied, glancing toward the living room. He didn't mention that it was a scary movie—he didn't want to add to the tension building in his chest. The idea of watching something even remotely spooky felt like the last thing he should be doing.

"Really? What movie?" the voice asked, its interest piqued.

Jungwon hesitated. Don't answer. Just hang up.

"Just some movie," he said quickly, unwilling to reveal what kind of movie. The lie came easier than he expected. It was the kind of thing he had to tell himself to feel normal, to act like he wasn't terrified.

"Do you like scary movies?" the voice asked, as casual as before.

Jungwon didn't know how to respond, but a part of him wanted to play along, to prove to himself that he wasn't scared, "I sure do."

"What's your favorite scary movie?" the voice pressed, the question sounding almost playful, but there was something darker beneath it.

Jungwon's stomach twisted. No, no. Don't engage. But the words were already slipping out before he could stop them.

"Um... Scream," he said, his voice more uncertain than he intended. "I guess it's kind of a classic."

The voice paused for a long, unnerving moment, then spoke again, "Interesting."

Jungwon's fingers tightened around the phone, but he didn't say anything more. He didn't want to answer any more questions, didn't want to keep playing this strange, unsettling game.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” the voice asked, the casual flirtation in its tone sending a ripple of discomfort through Jungwon.

“What?” he could feel his pulse quicken. The voice sounded too nonchalant, but the question felt like an invasion. He tried to laugh it off, but it came out hollow, “Why? You wanna ask me out or something?”

The voice didn't respond right away. A slow pause, then, "Maybe." There was a slight chuckle, but it was unsettlingly hollow. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

Jungwon's stomach churned. The voice was asking questions he couldn’t understand, each one more bizarre than the last. Was this a prank? A twisted game? He couldn’t think straight. The sound of the popcorn popping in the background felt like it was mocking him—something so ordinary, yet everything around him had turned so wrong.

"No," he said slowly, trying to sound casual, but his pulse quickened. "I don’t."

There was a moment of stillness, then the voice asked something that made Jungwon's skin crawl: "You never told me your name."

Jungwon rolled his eyes, trying to keep his cool despite the rising panic. Of course. Now they want to know my name."Why do you want to know my name?" he asked, his voice flat.

The voice, smooth and eerie, responded with an answer that made his blood run cold: "Because I want to know who I'm looking at."

Jungwon’s heart skipped a beat. He spun toward the sliding door, his mind racing. His throat tightened and his vision blurred with fear as he scanned the dark backyard. What? His breath caught in his chest as his eyes swept over the empty space. There was no one. No shadow. Just the oppressive darkness.

"W-what did you say?" Jungwon's voice trembled before he could catch it, his pulse pounding loudly in his ears. His hand tightened around the phone, his fingers suddenly slick with sweat.

"I want to know who I'm talking to," the voice repeated, its calm tone unnervingly composed.

Jungwon's heart hammered in his chest. That's not what you said. His mind raced, trying to find a logical explanation, but his gut told him otherwise. There's something wrong. Something's not right.

"No," Jungwon breathed, his voice shaking, "that’s not what you said."

The voice didn't answer immediately. Instead, a deep, uncomfortable silence lingered on the line, stretching into a thick, suffocating moment. Then, it came again, soft as ever: "What do you think I said?"

Jungwon's hands went cold. He could feel the tension building in his body, the air around him growing heavier. He wasn't sure whether he was more terrified of the voice or the realization that someone was out there, watching him.

His legs moved before his brain could catch up. He reached for the light switch, hands trembling as he flicked it on. The harsh light cut through the dark backyard, revealing an empty expanse. His eyes scanned the trees, the empty grass, the shadows. Nothing. Yet, the air around him felt thicker, the silence more suffocating than before. His gaze darted around, still expecting to see something, anything. No one.

The light flicked off almost instantly, his nerves spiking again as the sound of the popcorn popping in the kitchen hit his ears.

"I—I have to go now," Jungwon muttered, his voice rushed as he tried to gather himself. His heart was racing in his chest, the tension in his body too much to ignore.

“Wait… I thought we were going to go out?” The voice on the other end was pleading now, a desperate lilt to it. Jungwon felt his stomach churn with disgust. I can’t do this anymore. His hand was shaking uncontrollably, but he knew what he had to do.

"I don’t think so," he muttered, voice hoarse, as though speaking the words took everything out of him. He couldn't take another second of this conversation.

The voice softened, as if it was sensing his retreat: "Don’t hang up on me..."

His chest felt tight. I have to end this. His hand slammed the receiver down with finality. The disconnect sounded louder than it should have, filling the silence of the house with an echo of his panic.

"Don't..." the voice trailed off, a strange pleading quality lingering in the last word.

He dropped the receiver, the sharp click of the disconnect echoing through the room louder than it should have. His heart pounded in his chest, his hands still trembling. He took a step back, his gaze darting around the kitchen, as though waiting for something to jump out at him.

The silence hung thick in the air, every small creak in the floorboards suddenly amplified, every shadow stretching longer than it should. He could feel the weight of the darkness pressing in, but no matter where he looked, the space remained still, empty. Was it just the quiet... or was he waiting for something to move?

Jungwon jumped to his feet, his heart racing. He moved through the house, checking every door and window with frenzy. His breath came in short, shallow bursts, and his mind swirled with confusion—still grappling with the conversation, the voice, the feeling of being watched. He checked the locks, double-checked the windows. Everything seemed secure, but that nagging unease stuck to him, as if something was just out of sight.

The sharp pop of the popcorn cut through the silence, an eerie reminder of the normalcy he was trying to cling on to. He rushed back to the kitchen, his hands trembling as he grabbed the pot. His chest tightened with every breath, and the sound of the popcorn mocked him in the quiet.

Was it a prank? Someone messing with him? The voice was too calm, too steady—nothing about it felt like a prank anymore.

Jungwon stared at the pot, trying to focus on the simple task of shaking it. But his mind kept spiraling back to the conversation, the words that had lingered in his ears, and that gut-deep sense of dread.

Then, the phone rang again, slicing through the stillness like a knife.

Jungwon froze. His stomach twisted, his pulse shot up, but still, he couldn’t stop himself from answering.

"Yes?" his voice was sharper this time, but it cracked, betraying him.

The voice on the other end was smooth, too calm—like it had been waiting, “I told you not to hang up on me.”

His heart pounded against his ribs. He tried to mask his fear, but his voice trembled, “What do you want?”

The voice didn’t flinch. No anger. No frustration. Just a cold, steady calm, “To talk.”

Jungwon’s chest tightened again. This again? How could it still be so calm, so detached?

He forced out a laugh, though his throat felt tight. “Dial someone else, okay?” His frustration rose, but there was something else too—something darker gnawing at him. His mind raced with what ifs—was it a prank? Or was someone watching him right now?

A long pause followed. The silence stretched, suffocating.

Then the voice returned, softer now—but with that unsettling edge, “You getting scared?”

Jungwon’s pulse quickened. He clicked his tongue, trying to dismiss it. “No—bored,” he shot back, though the last word came out shaky, betraying him.

Without waiting for a response, he slammed the receiver down.

For a moment, the house felt unnervingly quiet, as if it the world had swallowed the phone’s echo. Jungwon stood frozen, his pulse still racing. His breath came in shallow bursts as he tried to shake off the lingering dread that seemed to coat the room like a heavy fog.

But it wasn't over. The phone had stopped ringing, but the weight of that voice—the last question, You getting scared?—I hung in the air, sharp and uncomfortable. It felt too personal, too invasive. He couldn't shake it.

Jungwon shook his head, trying to push it away, and turned towards the kitchen. But his focus wavered, bouncing from one object to the next. The popcorn continued to pop in the background, a sharp, annoying reminder that he was still there, still safe—or at least he should be.

The unease returned, creeping back with a quiet insistence. This time, it wasn’t going away easily.

The phone rang again.

Jungwon grabbed it, his voice slipping out, “What do you want, asshole?”

The voice on the other end was unnervingly calm, too calm. It sliced through the silence with an icy detachment that made his skin crawl.

"NO, YOU LISTEN, YOU LITTLE BITCH. IF YOU HANG UP ON ME AGAIN I'LL GUT YOU LIKE A FISH. UNDERSTAND?"

Jungwon's breath hitched. Gut me like a fish? 

"Is this some kind of joke?" he asked, trying to sound more confident than he felt, but his voice trembled.

"More like a game, really," came the reply, too casual, as if treating him, prodding at his nerves like a cruel joke.

Jungwon's gaze flickered to the glass door, where the shadows outside were too dark to make out any shapes, but they felt wrong—the house suddenly too quiet, too empty. The air seemed to thicken, stifling him. Something wasn’t right.

"Why don't you take a look at the front door?" the voice disturbingly casual, as though they were discussing the weather.

Jungwon froze. His heart leapt into his throat. What?

Without thinking, his feet carried him down the hallway away from the kitchen towards the front door. Each step felt like it dragged him deeper into the unknown. His body moved almost instinctively, but his mind screamed at him to stop, to turn back, to lock himself in his room.

But his feet refused to listen.

The air felt colder as he approached the door, his breath catching in his chest. His reached for the handle, fingers hovering for a moment. It was unnaturally cold, as if the outside air had seeped through the wood. With a shuddering breath, he twisted the knob.

It turned easily.

Jungwon's stomach dropped. No. No, no, no...

The door had been locked earlier. He was sure of it. His heart pounded in his chest, and his gaze shot nervously across the hallway. The door was open just a crack—just enough to let in a silver of darkness.

He stepped back, panic surging through him. He was paralyzed, unable to make sense of what was happening.

"I—" he stammered, his throat dry. What was he supposed to say? It's just a prank. 

But the voice wasn't interested in waiting for his response, “Scared?”

"I’m two seconds away from calling the police," he said, but even to his own ears, it sounded weak, shaky.

The voice chuckled darkly, amused, as though the police were nothing to worry about, "They'd never make it in time. We are in the middle of nowhere."

Jungwon's head spun. His pulse quickened, each breath more shallow than the last. The walls seemed to close in. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew—he wasn’t alone.

He wanted to run, to call for help, but his legs felt like lead, unresponsive. His gaze flicked back to the front door. It was still ajar. The darkness on the other side seemed to watch him, waiting.

The voice continued, smooth and mocking, "What's the matter? Too scared to check what’s outside your door?"

Jungwon couldn't answer. His thoughts were a blur, his heart beating loudly in his chest, he couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of his heart.

"Wh-what do you want?" he whispered, his voice thick with terror.

The pause that followed was suffocating. Then, the voice returned, softer now, colder, “To see what your insides look like.”

Jungwon's jaw dropped, his chest constricted, and for a moment it felt as though he was suffocating. The words hung in the air like a thick fog. His body went rigid. His grip on the phone tightened, but his fingers were slick with sweat.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut: he wasn't alone. Someone was here. And worse, they wanted to see what his insides looked like.

Before he could respond, he heard it.

A soft, unmistakable chime. The doorbell.

Ding-dong.

The sound sliced through the suffocating silence, reverberating through the house like a hammer striking glass. Jungwon's stomach churned, cold sweat running down the back of his neck. He hadn't heard anyone approach. Who would be at the door?

Ding-dong.

Louder this time, insistent, like a command.

The walls felt like they were closing in on him, the air too thick to breathe. His feet felt rooted to the floor, his body screaming to move, but he couldn't. He had to get to the door. He had to see who was there. But something inside him screamed to ignore it, to run and hide.

With trembling hands, he took a shaky step toward the door. Each movement felt like it drained him of the strength to fight, but somehow he kept going. The door was the only thing standing between him and whatever lay on the other side.

"Who's there?" his voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

The silence that followed was deafening. The air itself seemed to hold its breath.

Then—ding-dong.

It rang again, this time louder, closer. It felt like the sound was right behind him, pressing into his ears.

His legs shook, and for a moment, he thought he might collapse. His pulse was a violent drumbeat in his chest as he reached out for the door, his hand hovering over the handle. His breath caught in his throat. His body was screaming for him to flee, but his feet betrayed him.

Ding-dong.

The doorbell rang once more, an almost triumphant note echoing through the hallway.

Jungwon's hands were slick with sweat as he lifted the phone, his fingers slipping over the buttons. His mind raced. He needed to call the police, to do something—anything. But before he could dial, the phone rang.

Jungwon froze. His breath hitched. The sound of the incoming call sliced through the fog in his mind, making his stomach turn.

The screen lit up, but it showed no number, no name—just a void.

He pressed the phone to his ear, his grip tightening as he felt a fresh wave of nausea wash over him. His hands shook so violently that he had to steady himself with both palms.

A long, oppressive silence greeted him. He could hear the faint hum of static, the erratic thrum of his own heartbeat, and then—

"You should never ask 'Who's there?'" the voice said, slow and deliberate. "Don't you watch scary movies? It's a bad idea."

Jungwon's blood ran cold. His mind raced for a response, but his mouth was dry, his thoughts too scrambled. He pressed himself against the wall, trying to steady his trembling body. His knees felt weak, but he gripped the wall for support.

"Look, enough is enough," Jungwon said, his voice hoarse but shaky, trying to sound braver than he felt. "You had your fun. Now leave me alone, or else."

The silence stretched on.

The voice responded, casual as ever. "Or else what?"

Jungwon's thoughts scrambled. What could he threaten? What could possibly make this person leave? He was desperate, and his mind churned, grasping for anything to regain control.

"My boyfriend will be here any second," he blurted out, his voice trembling despite his attempt at bravado. "And he'll be pissed when I tell him—"

"You told me you didn't have a boyfriend," the voice interrupted, sharp and amused.

Jungwon's heart lurched. He had lied. Earlier, he had told the voice he didn’t have a boyfriend, but now—he was trapped.

"I—" His breath caught in his throat. "I lied. I do have a boyfriend. He'll be here any second. And your ass better be gone by the time he shows up."

A pause. Then the voice, light and mocking, came through again, "Sure."

"I swear," Jungwon's voice cracked, the fear bubbling up in his chest. "And he's big. Plays football. He'll beat the living shit out of you if you don't leave me alone right now."

The voice was almost laughing now, the sound light and mocking, "I'm getting scared."

Jungwon's blood ran cold. The next words spilled out of him, driven by panic. "I have a gun," he said, his voice a fractured whisper. "I lied before, but I swear I have a gun. You don't want to mess with me."

There was a pause. Then, the voice hummed, as though considering his words. "I believe you."

Jungwon's stomach twisted. His heart hammered against his ribs, but he couldn't stop now.

"So you better leave," he rasped, his voice barely audible as his fear consumed him.

The voice answered, low and casual, as if savoring every word.

"His name wouldn't happen to be Jongseong, would it?"

Jungwon's breath caught. His chest tightened, a wave of icy terror washing over him.

"How do you know his name?" he choked out, his voice cracking.

The pause that followed was unbearable. The silence was so thick, so suffocating, it felt as though the world had stopped moving.

Then, the voice spoke again, its tone almost bored.

"Go to the back door," it said. "Turn on the porch light. Again."

Jungwon's blood ran cold. The urge to refuse—to hide in the safety of the house—was overwhelming, but his feet moved before his mind could stop him. His legs were shaking, but terror forced him to stagger toward the kitchen.

He reached the glass doors at the back of the house, his hands trembling as he fumbled for the light switch. His breath came in short, ragged gasps. He couldn't stop.

Finally, the light flickered on, flooding the backyard with a pale, artificial glow.

The backyard was empty.

Nothing.

No one.

Jungwon's pulse slowed, but the relief was short-lived. The voice came again, softer, almost intimate.

"You love him?"

Jungwon's throat was dry. His voice barely a whisper as he answered, "I... I guess I do."

The voice lingered on the silence before responding again, casual and detached.

"Would you love him if I were to... let's just say... if something were to happen to him?"

Jungwon's chest tightened. His stomach lurched with dread.

"Please... please don't hurt him," he begged, his voice breaking. His knees buckled, and he collapsed against the counter, his hands pressing against the cold tile.

The voice responded, low and dangerously calm.

"That all depends on you."

Jungwon's world narrowed. The walls felt like they were closing in. He could barely breathe as tears ran down his face.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, his voice cracking, as if the words had been ripped from him, "Please, just... stop."

The voice didn't answer immediately. The pause stretched on, agonizing.

Finally, it came, cold and final:

"Because I can."

Jungwon's body trembled as he slowly, almost mechanically, flicked the switch and turned off the back porch light. The room was plunged into darkness again. His breath hitched, the world around him closing in, suffocating him. The air felt thick, impossibly heavy. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears, each beat a reminder that he was not alone.

Tears welled up in his eyes, and without thinking, his body crumpled. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the cold tile of the kitchen floor, curling up into a tight ball. His arms wrapped around his knees like a shield, but nothing could protect him from the terror gnawing at his insides.

His chest heaved as he gasped for air, but it felt like there was none left. The world around him spun, dizzying and cruel. He couldn't make sense of it. None of this made sense.

"Please... just leave me alone, please," he stuttered, his voice barely a whisper, but the words felt like they were tearing his throat apart. His tears came in ragged gasps now, the sobs clawing out of him, each one more desperate than the last.

The voice on the other end of the phone was chillingly calm,"Answer the question, and I will."

Jungwon froze, the sobs catching in his throat. He tried to catch his breath, but the words wouldn't stop coming. He couldn't escape them. They were suffocating him, crawling under his skin.

"Answer the question," the voice repeated, its tone firm, cold. "What door am I at?"

Jungwon blinked, his thoughts struggling to clear through the haze of fear. He hadn't even heard the person approach. It was impossible. What door?

"What?" Jungwon's voice cracked as he tried to make sense of the words. "What do you mean? I don't... I don't understand."

The voice was unphased, “There are two doors to your house. A front door and a back one. If you answer correctly—you live."

Jungwon's heart skipped a beat. The words sank deep into his chest like stones. A part of him wanted to shout I don't care! Just leave me alone!, but another part—an instinct, maybe—pushed him to listen. He could hear it in the voice. The strange calmness. The certainty. If you answer correctly—you live.

The thought sent a jolt of panic straight through him. He could feel his pulse racing, the weight of the question like a hammer on his chest. His mind was a mess of swirling thoughts.

He turned, glancing around the kitchen, eyes darting to the front door at the end of the hallway and then to the kitchen's glass back door. Both were so ordinary, so mundane—but they felt like life or death now.

Jungwon's eyes narrowed, his breath coming in short gasps. His head spun as he tried to make sense of the choices in front of him. He couldn't let himself think too long. He had to choose. The seconds felt like hours.

"Don't make me..." his voice wavered. "I can't... I won't." The words felt empty, like a desperate plea to stop the chaos, to make the fear go away. But the fear never stopped. It only grew.

"Your call," the voice said, a cruel twist of finality in the words. "Answer, or you're dead. Simple as that."

The line went dead.

Jungwon's breath hitched in his throat, a fresh wave of terror crashing over him. His hands were shaking uncontrollably as he looked around, desperation twisting his gut. His mind screamed for him to do something—anything—to stop it. But all he could think of was the knife.

He had to protect himself.

He crawled on his hands and knees toward the kitchen counter, his movements jerky and uncoordinated, driven by panic more than anything else. His fingers brushed the cold surface of the countertop before he found it—a long, sharp kitchen knife, its gleaming edge catching the dim light from the hallway.

Jungwon's grip tightened around the handle as he stood, legs unsteady. The knife felt heavy in his trembling hands. He swallowed hard, glancing over his shoulder down the hallway, toward the front door. It was dark, silent, but the darkness felt oppressive, like it was watching him.

Crash.

The kitchen glass door shattered with a deafening sound, the shards scattering across the floor like ice. Jungwon's heart stopped. His eyes snapped to the door, the pieces of broken glass glittering around the frame before bolting out the kitchen as a figure appears from the shattered doorframe.

Jungwon's breath was ragged, his heart hammering in his chest as he moved, each step a frantic beat of survival. He could hear the sound of glass crunching underfoot—soft, slow, but growing louder with every passing second. The shadow was still inside, searching, moving through the house.

His fingers fumbled at the window's latch, the metal cold and unforgiving against his shaking hands. Every little noise felt like it was echoing through the house, and he swore he could hear the figure’s every move, even through the walls. His pulse raced faster as he finally unlocked the window, the soft click a small victory that felt like it might shatter his fragile resolve.

With a frantic glance over his shoulder, he slid the window up, wincing at the creak of the old frame. Get out. Get out, now. His mind screamed at him as he grabbed the knife in one hand, his phone still clutched desperately in the other.

He tried to climb through the window as quickly as possible, his legs stiff from fear. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst from his chest, but he pushed forward, pulling himself halfway out the window.

Then, the knife slipped.

Jungwon watched it tumble out of his grip, clattering loudly as it hit the side of the house before landing with a metallic clang in the grass below. His breath caught, panic surging through him at the sound.

No time to pick it up.

He hesitated, a fleeting moment of desperation pulling him toward the knife. But the voice was still in his head, still alive, still taunting.

"I can hear you," the figure’s voice came again, deeper, more determined. "I know you're here."

His blood ran cold. He had no time to waste.

Jungwon pushed himself out of the window with an urgency he didn't know he had left in him, landing hard on the grass. The phone slipped from his hand, hitting the ground with a soft thud, but he didn't care. He couldn't stop. His feet hit the ground, and he started running, faster than he'd ever run in his life, sprinting toward the edge of the house.

The sound of footsteps behind him sent shivers down his spine. They're getting closer.

Jungwon's breath came in shallow gasps, and his legs were burning, but he couldn't stop. He needed to make it to the front yard. The house was closing in on him, its walls a maze of dark corners and unyielding shadows.

His path took him around a tall, tall fence that lined the side of the house. He kept his body low, ducking behind bushes, trying to remain unseen. He was getting closer to the front yard, but as he approached the first window, he could see it—a faint shadow moving inside.

Jungwon peered through the glass, his hands shaking violently as he tried to steady himself. His breath hitched when he saw the figure pulling open the foyer closet—looking for him. Searching. But they didn't see him yet. Not yet.

His mind screamed at him to keep moving, to stay out of view. He wasn't safe. Not by a long shot.

He took a breath and crept along, moving to the next window. He was careful this time, watching his steps, keeping low, praying he wouldn't be seen. He took a quick glance in.

Nothing.

The shadow was no longer in the foyer. He could see the silhouette of someone moving toward the hallway that led to the deeper parts of the house.

For a moment, a strange sense of hope bloomed in Jungwon's chest—he's moving away from me.

But the feeling vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by the cold, gnawing fear that he wasn't out of danger. Not by a long shot.

He turned his attention back to his escape, squeezing between the narrow gap in the bushes, trying to get closer to the front yard.

The third window came into view. Jungwon hesitated. His throat was tight, his head screaming at him to keep going, but his feet moved of their own accord.

This time, he couldn't help it. He peered through the window.

And froze.

The figure was there.

Staring right at him.

For a split second, it felt like the world stopped, like everything froze in place, and there was only the two of them—Jungwon's panicked breath and the figure staring directly at him.

Jungwon's pulse thundered in his ears, his heart racing faster than he ever thought possible. His breath came in ragged gasps as his body trembled, the sight of the figure's mask burning into his retinas. The white, ghostly face was featureless—except for the hollow, soulless eyes. Those eyes, staring into him with unnerving intensity, felt like they were tearing through his very being.

Before he could react, a loud crash echoed through the night. Glass exploded outward, jagged shards scattering in every direction. Jungwon screamed bloody murder as a pale, cold masked hand shot through the broken opening, grabbing him by the neck with an iron grip.

He yanked violently, his body fighting with every ounce of strength, but the figure's hold was unrelenting, pulling him closer to the window with each desperate tug.

"No! Let me go!" Jungwon's voice was a hoarse whisper, terror constricting his throat.

His heart hammered against his ribcage, drowning out every other sound as he struggled, his nails scraping desperately against the figure's cold, unfeeling skin. He twisted and turned, desperate to loosen the grip around his neck. But the figure's hand was like stone—unmovable.

Jungwon dug his nails deeper into the figure's arm, his desperation spiking. His body burned with effort, every muscle screaming for release. And then—finally—he was free.

With a strangled cry, he staggered back, collapsing to the floor in a heap. His breath came in ragged gasps, but he didn't dare take his eyes off the figure. The figure stood at the broken window, unmoving, its cold eyes fixed on him with an unnerving stillness, as if it were part of the night itself.

Jungwon scrambled to his feet, coughing violently. The terror didn't leave him. His chest tightened. The front door's closed...

He glanced toward the window again, heart pounding in his throat. But then—a flash.

Headlights.

Distant but unmistakable.

Jungwon's heart skipped a beat as he recognized the headlights of his brother's car.

It's him. It's my brother.

His body surged with a renewed sense of hope. He sprinted toward the front yard, the urgency in his steps spurred by the light in the distance, but then—

CRASH!

The glass shattered again. This time, closer. Jungwon froze, and there it was again—that face. The mask, gleaming white, hovering in the broken window, those soulless eyes piercing through the darkness.

No time.

"Sunghoon!" Jungwon screamed, his throat raw with desperation. His voice cracked as he bolted toward the lone tree in the yard, the only landmark visible from the driveway. He reached it, stumbling, his legs threatening to buckle beneath him.

The headlights were still coming, drawing nearer.

"Sunghoon!" he screamed again, louder this time, his arms waving frantically in the night. "Over here! Please!"

But just as his voice reached its peak, the air around him turned ice-cold. His blood ran cold, too, as the presence behind him pressed into the silence. He spun around.

The figure stood just a few feet away, emerging from the shadows, its slow, deliberate movements like a predator stalking its prey. Those eyes—those hollow, lifeless holes—locked onto him, their gaze heavy with malice.

"No! Stay away!" Jungwon cried, panic rising like bile in his throat. He stumbled backward, the ground beneath him slick with the dew of the night, his breath hitching with every step.

The figure remained silent, its head titling, but the mask—a cruel smile in the darkness—seemed to mock him.

Before Jungwon could react, the figure lunged. Its hand shot forward like a blur of motion, cold masked fingers closing around his arm, dragging him back toward the backyard with horrifying strength.

The silver flash caught his eye.

A blade.

No!

Jungwon's body twisted in vain, his nails clawing at the figure's unyielding hand, but it was too late.

The figure's arm moved with terrifying precision. The flash of silver gleamed under the moonlight, and Jungwon felt a sharp pain sear across his chest. His breath caught in his throat as he looked down—his shirt blooming with red. The blood spread quickly, darkening the fabric, staining his hands as they instinctively pressed against the wound.

He staggered, dizziness clouding his vision, as his legs buckled beneath him. His body trembled with shock, but the world around him blurred. His hands shook, the blood from his wound dripping onto the wet grass below.

"Sunghoon..." he gasped, his voice a desperate whisper.

He looked toward the driveway, the headlights now close enough to blind him, his brother's car pulling into view.

"Sunghoon, please!" his voice cracked, the words barely escaping his lips as he stumbled forward. His hands were slick with blood, fingers trembling as he tried to push himself to his feet. But his legs gave way, his body sinking to its knees, the darkness closing in.

The world spun around him, and for a moment, the light from the car was the only thing he could see. He reached toward it, his body trembling, desperate for his brother to see him, to save him.

But the figure stepped forward again. It was there, looming over him, its presence an inescapable doom.

Jungwon opened his mouth to scream, but the pain twisted inside him, choking off his breath. He stumbled forward, each step leaving a bloody trail in the grass. The headlights were within his reach now, but every movement felt slower, more painful. His vision flickered, darkness creeping at the edges of his sight.

He was so close—he could hear the engine of his brother's car, the crunch of tires on gravel—but then his legs gave out. He collapsed onto the damp earth, his body a limp heap, his breath shallow and uneven.

The figure loomed behind him, dragging Jungwon's limp body through the yard as if he were a rag-doll. The wet grass rustled beneath them, but the figure's movement were slow, deliberate, unhurried—its cold, soulless mask never shifting, its hollow eyes locked onto the dark horizon.

And then—just as Jungwon's last breath escaped his lips—the figure disappeared back into the night, dragging the boy's body with it, leaving only the sound of the wind in the trees. The screeching of car tires followed.

Sunghoon's car screeched to a halt at the end of the driveway, the headlights slashing through the thick darkness. He killed the engine, his heart pounding in his chest. As he threw open the door, a cold gust of wind slapped his face, making him shiver. The house stood there—silent. Too silent. A gut-wrenching feeling coiled in his stomach.

His breath hitched as he looked around. There was no sign of Jungwon—no movement, no lights flickering through the windows. He glanced at the door. It was unlocked. His stomach twisted with unease. Jungwon never left it unlocked.

"Jungwon?" Sunghoon called out, stepping cautiously toward the house. His voice echoed in the silence, but there was no answer.

"Jungwon?" his tone was sharper now, a mixture of concern and growing panic. He tried the handle, and the door creaked open, its rusty hinges protesting.

The air inside the house felt thick, pressing against his chest, as though the walls themselves were closing in. Sunghoon hesitated at the threshold, heart hammering. His gaze shot to the broken window, and his blood ran cold. Glass shards were scattered across the floor like deadly confetti around the room, their jagged edges gleamed in the dim hallway light.

His eyes tracked the chaos: the overturned chair, the phone lying discarded on the ground, the knife—a twisted, gleaming thing—half-hidden behind a broken table leg. A shudder ran through his spine.

"Jungwon?" his voice was frantic now, rising with the weight of dread. His eyes moved rapidly, scanning every corner, searching for any sign of his brother. The silence was suffocating. His footsteps felt heavy on the floor, the air too thick to breathe.

He grabbed the phone, hands shaking as he dialed their parents, Jongseong, and then the police. His heart pounded as the call rang and rang, but there was no answer. Each unanswered ring made the silence even worse. He couldn't stay here. Not without knowing where Jungwon was. He needed to find him.

His feet carried him through the house, past the darkened rooms, but still—no sign of his brother. Every room he searched felt colder, emptier, as though Jungwon had disappeared into the shadows. Panic began to set in, a creeping, suffocating weight that crushed his chest. He couldn't breathe. Where are you?

He rushed to the back door, near the kitchen and walked into shards of glass, ignoring the crinkling under his shoes as he tried to locate his brother. The cool night air hit him in a rush, the smell of wet grass and earth filling his lungs. He squinted into the darkness, the headlights of his car still illuminating the front yard, but there was no movement—no sign of his brother.

And then, he saw it.

A thin, crimson trail winding through the grass into the woods.

His stomach lurched, bile rising in his throat as the awful realization hit him like a punch to the gut. No. Please, no.

Without thinking, Sunghoon rushed forward, following the trail of blood that led out into the woods, the damp earth squelching beneath his shoes as he ran. The scent of blood was thick in the air now, overpowering, sickening. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, and every step he took seemed to push him deeper into a nightmare.

The trail wound through the trees, growing more distinct with each step. Sunghoon's legs burned, his breath ragged in his chest as he pushed forward. He didn't know what he was expecting, but he couldn't stop. Not now.

And then, he saw him.

Jungwon.

His body was suspended from a thick oak tree, grotesque and broken. His stomach had been torn open, the wound so brutal that it defied belief. His limbs hung limply, lifeless, the scene so horrific that it seemed impossible.

Sunghoon's stomach churned violently, the acidic taste rising in his throat. Before he could stop himself, he turned away and vomited violently onto the grass, his body wracked with dry heaves. The acid burned his throat, but it couldn't expel the suffocating dread the gripped him. His vision blurred, spinning in a dark whirlpool of horror, and the full, overwhelming weight of the scene before him slammed into his mind.

No, this can't be real.

Chapter Text

The cold air bit into his skin. The phone's shrill ring jerked him awake. It was 3:00 a.m. His eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep. When the second ring sliced through the silence, he shot upright.

He grabbed the receiver. "Hello?" his voice was thick with sleep, barely masking the confusion and irritation.

A breathless silence filled the line before a broken voice spoke.

"Jongseong..."

It trembled, gasping for air, full of panic. A cold dread twisted in Jongseong's stomach.

"Sunghoon? What's wrong?" his pulse quickened. Sunghoon never called at this hour, so early in the morning. Jongseong shook his head, fighting the fog of sleep.

"I don't know how to explain it," Sunghoon's voice cracked. "There's a blood trail behind the house... it leads into the woods. I followed it... I found him... Jungwon—"

The words hit Jongseong like a gut punch. His stomach churned.

"I... I couldn't look at him," Sunghoon's voice broke. "There was so much blood, Jongseong... so much blood... I-I couldn't stop myself from throwing up..."

"Sunghoon, breathe," Jongseong interrupted, his heart hammering. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. Slowly."

A long, shaky pause. Then Sunghoon's voice, quieter but still full of terror, returned, "I followed the trail into the woods. There was blood... so much blood... when I found him, he wasn't—he wasn't... he was unrecognizable. I couldn't even look at him. I—I couldn't..." Sunghoon's words fractured, his breath ragged, as if the horror was too much to speak.

Jongseong's chest tightened. Sunghoon's panic shattered him, and his heart thudded in his ears.

"Sunghoon, stay where you are," Jongseong urged, trying to steady his breath. "I'm coming. I'll be there as fast as I can. Just hold on."

"Jongseong... hurry..." Sunghoon's voice was barely a whisper, each word breaking.

"I'll be there in less than 30 minutes," Jongseong promised, adrenaline surging. "I'll ignore the speed limits if I have to."

The call dropped. Jongseong didn't wait. He slammed the phone down, grabbing a sweater and slipping it on in a hurry, his heart pounding with urgency.

Keys in hand, he rushed out the door. The cold slapped his skin, but he barely felt it. His mind raced with thoughts of Sunghoon, something settling in his stomach. What had happened to Jungwon? Why was Sunghoon so terrified?

The car was parked just outside. He slid into the driver's seat, slammed the door, and jammed the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life, snapping him awake.

Sunghoon’s words echoed in his mind: I couldn't stop myself from throwing up. What had happened to Jungwon? The thought of his boyfriend hanging in the woods, blood marking a trail, made his stomach turn. The panic in Sunghoon's voice was clear—Jungwon's brother had seen something that broke him, and Jongseong couldn't waste any more time.

The tires squealed as he pulled out, ignoring the speed limits. The road blurred beneath him. A thousand questions spun in his head—What if I'm too late? What if it's worse than I can imagine?

Every red light felt like an eternity. His hands tightened around the wheel. Thoughts spiraled—too many 'what-ifs' to keep up with.

He couldn't let the what-ifs control him. He had to get to Sunghoon. He had to get to the Yang residence. No matter what.

By the time Jongseong reached the Yang residence, his hands trembled. He slammed the car to a halt, throwing open the door and rushing into the night. The cold air stinging his face, but it was nothing compared to the dread gnawing at his gut.

The house stood too quiet, too still. His stomach twisted with a sickening mix of anxiety and fear. What happened here?

The front door was ajar. Jongseong froze, breath catching in his throat.

He stepped inside, the old wooden floor creaking underfoot. The air was thick with dust—and something faintly metallic, like blood? It lingered just beneath the surface, too subtle, almost unreal. His mind raced, questions spiraling with every step. Where was Sunghoon? Where was Jungwon?

The house was empty.

The landline phone lay discarded on the floor, the receiver dangling from the edge. A weak buzz hummed from the speaker, a ghostly echo of their earlier conversation.

Jongseong's heart skipped a beat. What happened here?

He moved down the hallway, scanning for any sign of Sunghoon. His footsteps faltered as he reached the living room.

Sunghoon was there.

Sunghoon was curled up on the couch, his face ghostly pale, eyes wide and unfocused. His pupils were dilated, as if he were seeing something no one else could. His hands trembled as he clutched the receiver, his grip so tight his knuckles were white. His lips parted, but the words that escaped were barely more than a gasp, "I thought... I thought it was a nightmare, Jongseong. But it wasn't... it wasn't a nightmare."

Sunghoon's hands shook violently, the receiver slipping from his fingers and crashing to the floor sending another phone to the floor. Jongseong's heart clenched. Sunghoon had always been the strong one—the steady anchor. But now, he was a shattered reflection of that strength, lost in terror, his words slipping into incoherence.

"Sunghoon," Jongseong called, his voice cutting through the panic. "Where is he? Where did you find him?"

Sunghoon didn't respond, his head shaking weakly. His eyes remained unfocused, his mouth moving soundlessly. He was lost in a haze of fear.

"It's not him, it can't be him," Sunghoon whispered, barely audible. "I couldn't... it wasn't real... it wasn't real."

Jongseong's pulse quickened, but his resolve hardened. He needed answers—he needed to see it for himself. Whatever nightmare had shattered his Jungwon’s brother's mind, he had to face it.

"Sunghoon," Jongseong said firmly, "I'm going to find him. Where is he?"

Sunghoon shook his head again, muttering endlessly, trapped in a fog of terror.

Jongseong's throat tightened, but he swallowed the lump of fear. His resolve sharpened. He had no choice now. He had to find Jungwon. Whatever this was, he needed to face it.

Then he saw it—shards of glass scattered across the kitchen floor. The sliding door was shattered, jagged pieces littering the floor like a broken puzzle. His mind raced. The door had been intact when he last visited. What had happened? Why was it broken now?

Without thinking, he stepped forward into the kitchen, stepping on the shards. His shoes crunching the shards into smaller pieces. Jongseong winced but didn't stop. His heart was no longer focused on the broken door—it was on what lay beyond it. The woods. The trail Sunghoon had mentioned. He had to see it himself. He had to find Jungwon if he was still alive. Ignoring the way Sunghoon described the state Jungwon was found over the phone.

Stepping close to the broken frame of the back door, the cold night air hit like a slap. He grabbed a flashlight from the cabinet and clicked it on, the beam slicing through the darkness.

The light swept across the yard, cutting through the black expanse of trees, revealing nothing. No signs of life. No clues. Just an unsettling quiet of the woods.

Jongseong hesitated, his breath shallow. The thought of what Sunghoon had found haunted him, but there was no turning back. He steeped forward into the night, forcing his legs to move even as his mind screamed for him to stop.

Focus on Jungwon. Focus on finding the blood trail.

The flashlight picked up something red leading into the wood. Could it be?

The blood trail was clearer now, staining the earth with a deliberate, unnatural path leading deeper into the woods.

And then—his flashlight caught something. A shape, dark, and swaying, barely visible at first. His heart stopped.

The body hung from the tree. Jongseong's heart hitched, and for a split second, he was back in the woods—a child, staring at his mother's lifeless body, caught in the same eerie stillness. The world titled.

His hand trembled. The flashlight's beam jerked, casting a jagged shadow across the grass. His stomach churned, bile rising up his throat. His mind struggled to process what he was seeing. No. This can't be real. But there it was—too real.

The body hung there on the tallest oak tree, its form unnaturally still in the cold night air. At first, Jongseong could have sworn it was shifting—no, the night air played tricks on him. His eyes burned. The world blurred.

He forced himself to look. He had to know. His pulse hammered in his chest, drowning out everything else.

The figure hanging from the tree was unmistakable. The pale skin, stretched taut over hollow features, frozen in an expression of vacant emptiness. It was Jungwon, his boyfriend.

His stomach twisted. His throat closed. The ground beneath him felt unsteady, like it was titling sideways, rejecting the truth. This wasn't happening. This can't be real.

But it was. The truth slammed into him, suffocating him, and he couldn't look away.

No, not Jungwon. The thought echoed in his mind, but his body betrayed him. His legs trembled. His hands shook violently p, the flashlight slipping from his grip. It fell to the ground, its beam flickering erratically, casting wild shadows as it plunged into darkness.

Jongseong gasped, his chest tightening painfully, as if the world itself was trying to suffocate him. The words he had once heard from Sunghoon flooded his mind: "I couldn't even look at him. There was so much blood..."

So much blood.

The memory of Sunghoon's voice, so raw and broken, twisted inside him, mingling with the grotesque sight before him. He understood now. He understood why Sunghoon had been too traumatized to even look at the body any longer.

"I can't believe this," Jongseong whispered, bile rising in his throat, burning his insides like acid. "I just..I was with him hours ago."

Every part of him screamed to look away, but his body refused. Paralyzed. Staring. He was frozen in place, drawn to the sight like a moth to a flame.

The unfairness hit him then—the impossibility of it. He had just held Jungwon hours ago, and now...his boyfriend’s body swayed unnaturally in the breeze. It felt as though the earth itself was rejecting this reality.

No. No. No.

Jongseong's legs buckled. His knees hit the ground with a dull thud, but he barely registered the pain. His fingers dug into the dirt, seeking something to anchor him to the world. There was nothing.

His heart pounded violently in his chest. I can't breathe.

The air thickened, suffocating him. His vision blurred, a wash of dark red and black. His body shook, but he couldn't move. He couldn't run. The weight of what he was seeing pressed in on him, too real, too unthinkable.

He is dead. Jungwon is dead.

The thought shattered him, but it didn't fully sink in. His mind refused to accept it. His body was too overwhelmed, too paralyzed by shock.

The flashlights's beam flickered once ,ore, before it plunged into darkness. Jongseong stayed frozen on his knees, the night swallowing him whole. The darkness pressed in, and yet he could still see Jungwon's body hanging in the distance. It would haunt him forever.

Jongseong staggered backwards from the tree, his body moving on autopilot, the image of Jungwon's lifeless body forever searing into his mind. He could feel the panic rising in his chest again, but he had no words to scream, no coherent thoughts to cling to. His chest was tight, as though his lungs had forgotten how to function. Every step away from the tree felt like it was in slow motion, his legs trembling, threatening to give way beneath him. He reached the broken doorframe again, the jagged shards of glass crunching under his shoes like a sickening reminder of what had just happened.

His eyes were wild, unfocused. He needed to do something. Anything.

Without thinking, he bolted back inside the house through the shattered door, stumbling across the broken kitchen tiles. His hands were trembling so violently he could barely grip the edge of the counter as he steadied himself. He looked up, his gaze darting across the dimly lit room.

Sunghoon was still there.

Sunghoon hadn't moved from his position on the living room floor. His body was slumped, pale and still, his eyes glazed and unfocused, staring at nothing in particular. The receiver from the phone call was discarded beside him, but his fingers were still tightly clenched, as if he were holding onto some shred of reality that had long since slipped away.

Jongseong's breath caught in his throat. He wanted to say something, to reach out, but his voice was a broken mess.

I need help. I need help now.

His mind reeled. He had to call someone. He had to do something.

Jongseong stumbled toward the old-fashioned landline phone on the coffee table. His fingers were slick with sweat as he picked up the phone, fumbling to dial.

His thoughts spun wildly, and he had to take a deep breath to steady himself before he could press the numbers. His hands were shaking too hard to form a coherent sequence. But he forced himself to focus, to find the numbers that would reach someone.

Woodsboro Police Station. Someone has to help me. Someone has to know what to do.

Finally, the dial tone faded, replaced by the ringing sound in his ear. The seconds stretched like hours. He pressed the phone harder against his ear, his heart pounding faster with every passing moment.

"Hello?" a young voice answered, too bright, too chipper for this moment. Jongseong's mind barely registered the words.

"Hello?" The voice repeated, more confused this time. "Woodsboro Police Station, Deputy Sim Jaeyun speaking."

Jongseong opened his mouth to speak, but his words were stuck, caught in his throat. His mind was a whirl of confusion, dread, and horror. He opened his mouth again, but all that escaped was a faint whisper.

"Jongseong," he managed to say, his voice barely audible.

The voice on the other end seemed to pause, as if trying to make sense of the broken utterance, “Jongseong? Are you okay?"

Jongseong's hands tightened around the receiver, his knuckles white. His chest was heaving, and the words refused to come out. His mind was still trapped in a haze, but he knew he had to speak. He had to do something.

"Jungwon," he gasped. "Jungwon, he's... he's hanging... in the woods. At the Yang residence. He's... oh God, he's...”

He choked on the words. His breath was erratic, his throat burning. The room felt like it was closing in on him, but he had to get it out. He needed someone, anyone, to understand.

There was a brief pause on the line. Jongseong could hear the faint sound of shifting papers, then the voice of the rookie officer came through, steadier now, but still uncertain.

"Jongseong, just breathe, okay?" Deputy Jaeyun's voice was calmer, but there was a hint of hesitation. "Breathe. Slowly."

Jongseong could barely hear the instructions through the haze of his panic. He tried to follow them, but his breath was too shallow, too rapid.

"Where are you, Jongseong?" Jaeyun asked gently. "Where exactly are you right now?”

Jongseong could barely process the question, but he managed to force the words out through his tightening chest. "At the edge of town... near the woods... at the Yang residence. He's there. Oh God... there's so much blood...," his voice cracked, and the last word nearly broke him.

Jaeyun's voice was firm, his words ringing in Jongseong's ears as though he were trying to pull him from the abyss. "Okay, okay, I hear you. Stay where you are. Don't move. Help is on the way."

Jongseong opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. His body was on the verge of collapse, trembling so violently he could barely keep his grip on the receiver. His vision swam, blurring in and out of focus.

"Stay where you are," Jaeyun repeated, his voice calm now, though still trembling with uncertainty. "Help is coming, alright? Just... stay where you are and breathe. We'll get someone to you. You're not alone. Everything is going to be alright."

Jongseong's grip on the phone loosened, and the receiver slipped from his fingers, crashing to the floor with a hollow thud. His hand hovered in mid-air for a second, but he didn't reach for it.

He just sat there, his mind consumed by the image of Jungwon—his beautiful, laughing Jungwon—hanging from that tree in the woods. His stomach turned, his throat closed up again.

Help is coming.

Jongseong didn't know if he believed it. He didn't know if anyone could help him now.

The silence that followed felt like it lasted forever. The house felt eerily still, as though it had swallowed up all the noise, leaving nothing but a suffocating sense of loss.

His legs trembled as he slowly sank to the floor, the pain in his chest relentless. He buried his head in his hands, unable to hold back the sobs anymore. 

There was nothing else he could do. He just had to wait, but every passing second felt like an eternity.

On the other side of Woodsboro.

Deputy Sim Jaeyun sat at his desk, the soft hum of the old station filling the quiet night. The small, sleepy town of Woodsboro usually kept the department's activity at a minimum, especially at this hour. The phone had been silent for hours, and with nothing else to do, Jaeyun had let his mind wander, the weight of his responsibilities pressing on his shoulders. He was young—too young, some would say—for this job, but it had been his dream. He wanted to make a difference in the town that had raised him, the place where everyone knew everyone. But tonight, something felt different. The night felt heavier.

Then, the phone rang.

The shrill sound shattered the silence like a slap in the face. Jaeyun grabbed the receiver, heart racing before his mind even caught up with the sound.

"Hello?" he answered, his voice betraying the tightness in his throat.

A sharp breath echoed through the line. The faintest sound of shifting, like someone was trying to speak but couldn't quite get the words out.

"Hello?" Jaeyun repeated, anxiety tightening in his chest. "Woodsboro Police Station, Deputy Sim Jaeyun speaking."

Then came a whisper. Barely audible. A name: "Jongseong."

Jaeyun’s mind raced, confusion fighting against his instincts. Another prank call? But there was a desperation in the breath on the other end that stopped him from hanging up.

"Jongseong? Are you okay?"

The voice on the other end was frantic, nearly incoherent, but the panic was clear. "Jungwon...," the voice gasped out. "Jungwon, he's...he's hanging...in the woods...," the rest of the words are incoherent for him to make out.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Hanging. Blood. Panic laced the voice so thick that it dripped through the line.

"Jongseong, just breathe, okay," Jaeyun said, trying to keep his own panic in check while making sure Jongseong doesn't go into a full panic attack while on the line. "Breathe. Slowly."

"Where are you, Jongseong? Where exactly are you right now?" he needs to pin the location.

The voice was shaky, barely holding itself together. "At the edge of town...," the boy gasped, the word nearly lost in the frantic noise. "...near the woods...at the Yang's residence. He's there in the woods. Oh God...there's so much blood..."

Jaeyun’s hand gripped the receiver tightly as the image painted by Jongseong's words flashed through his mind. The terror in that voice was almost too much to bear. The idea of a young person calling in such a grisly discovery was too much for anyone to handle, let alone someone so clearly overwhelmed by the horror of what he'd seen.

He forced himself to focus. He had to be calm. He was the one who had to reassure him, the one who had to guide him through this. The voice at the other end needed someone strong, someone who could hold it together.

"Okay," Jaeyun said, his voice more controlled now, though his heart was pounding. "Okay, I hear you. Stay where you are. Don't move. Help is on the way."

He could hear Jongseong gasping for air on the other end. The boy was barely holding on, but Jaeyun pushed the fear down and continued, "Stay where you are."

Jaeyun nodded to himself, even though the other man couldn't see it. "Help is coming, alright? Just...stay where you are and breathe. We'll get someone to you. You're not alone. Everything is going to be alright,” the lie slipped out of his mouth, but he couldn't help himself. He needed to reassure him, even if it wasn't true.

He heard a thud like the phone had slipped out of Jongseong's hand, the line went dead from there. Jaeyun sat there for a moment, staring at the receiver, his mind struggling to comprehend what he had just heard. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, trying to push the nausea threatening to rise in his throat. He'd been in the field for a month now, but this... this felt different. He had never dealt with something like this.

A body, hanging from a tree. Blood. The horror in the voice—it was too much to process. And yet, he knew he had to act. There was no time for hesitation.

For a brief moment, his thoughts drifted back to a case from ten years ago. The memory had been buried deep, but it resurfaced now like an old wound reopening. It had been a cold case—a little boy's mother had been found dead in the woods, the same woods that were near the town. No one knew exactly what happened, but there was one thing everyone in town had agreed on: it was a tragedy.

Jaeyun had been just ten at the time, but even now, he remembered the case vividly—the mother who had been brutally murdered and left hanging in a tree in the woods near the town and the child, her son, had stumbled upon her lifeless body. The boy had been no older than six, and back then, Jaeyun remembered hearing the whispers. The boy had grown up. He was now in high school, a football player, his name sounded similar to the one the person gave on the phone, but it might just be a coincidence.

Jaeyun hadn't thought much about him in years, but he wondered if the boy ever truly healed from what he witnessed that day. The cold case haunted the town like a ghost. And now, ten years later, this—this horrific call—was pulling him back to that cold, painful history.

Shaking his head to clear the dark thoughts, he keyed the radio with trembling fingers, “Unit Two, this is Deputy Sim. We've got a body. Hanging from a tree. Blood everywhere. At the Yang's house, near the woods. Send backup—immediately."

He slammed the receiver down, his mind racing as he tried to gather his bearings. His mind raced as he prepared to leave, but a cold, uncomfortable pit formed in his stomach. A body. Blood. Hanging. He had heard the call, but it still didn't feel real. His instincts told him to be ready, but the images of the phone call—the raw panic in Jongseong's voice—seemed to pull him in a hundred different directions at once.

That case from ten years ago lingered in the back of his mind, the question still unanswered: Was it connected?

Jaeyun shook his head, trying to focus on the here and now. He was a deputy now, not a kid anymore. But the weight of that memory settled like a stone in his stomach as he threw open the door and rushed toward his patrol car.

The engine roared to life, and the sirens began their wail, cutting through the stillness of the town. Every second of the drive felt like an eternity.

The drive to the Yang residence felt longer than it should have, every second stretching into eternity. When he finally arrived, the moonlight revealed only shadows, the dark woods closing in around him like the jaws of some unseen predator.

He stepped out of the car and made his way to the house, every step heavier than the last.

Something terrible had happened here. And he wasn't sure if he was prepared to find out exactly what.

The door creaked open with an unsettling groan, and Deputy Sim Jaeyun stepped inside, the overwhelming silence of the house settling over him like a thick fog. The faint glow of a flickering lamp cast long shadows along the walls, the dusty furniture untouched in the stillness. He had expected something, anything, but the quiet that greeted him made his stomach tighten with a sense of dread.

He hadn't been prepared for the panic that had gripped the boy—Jongseong, his name was. Jongseong. That frantic, desperate voice still echoed in his ears, the image of the blood-slicked scene at the woods blurring in his mind. And yet, as much as he tried to prepare himself for the worst, there was still a sinking feeling in his gut, the unknown pressing on his chest like a vice.

As he moved further into the house, his eyes adjusted to the dim light, landing on the two figures in the living room. The first one was hard to miss: a boy curled up in the corner of the couch, his knees drawn tightly to his chest, rocking back and forth like he was trying to disappear into himself. He seemed to be muttering something, his voice too low to make out. The second figure, sitting on the floor in front of him, was just as haunting. A boy who couldn't stop crying, his sobs raw and unrelenting, his hands clasped over his face as if to hide the pain. His whole body seemed to be trembling, wracked with the kind of grief that felt too much for someone so young to bear.

Jaeyun's heart skipped a beat as he took in the sight of them both. They were so young. Too young to be living through something like this.

The boy on the couch, despite the brokenness of his posture, was familiar. He recognized the tall frame, the sharp features. It was Sunghoon, a kid who'd moved to Woodsboro a couple years ago, someone Jaeyun had barely spoken to but had passed in the halls of the high school.

And yet, now... now Sunghoon seemed like a completely different person. He was a shadow of who he had been, his body trembling in a corner of the couch, his eyes glazed, lost in something only he understood. The way he rocked, the soft whimpers escaping from his throat—it was as if he was trying to forget everything, to escape some unspeakable memory that had him trapped.

He took a slow breath, pushing forward, his eyes now on the boy on the floor. "Hey," he said gently, kneeling down. "I'm Deputy Sim Jaeyun. I need you to breathe, okay? You're safe now."

The boy's head snapped up, his eyes wide and panicked, as if he hadn't realized Jaeyun was even there. He stared at the deputy, pupils dilated, chest heaving as he gasped for air. His hands shook as they clutched the floor beneath him, nails digging into the wood like he was trying to ground himself.

Jaeyun leaned in closer. "Can you tell me your name?" his voice was steady, but underneath, he could feel the weight of the situation bearing down on him.

For a long moment, the boy didn't respond. His body trembled as if he couldn't quite focus on anything. Then, in a hoarse whisper, he said, "J-Jongseong. P-Park Jongseong."

A chill ran down Jaeyun's spine. Jongseong. The same name that had been said over the phone only minutes ago, in that frantic, desperate call. The one about the body in the woods.

He felt the weight of the moment settle in, the realization sinking in like a stone in his stomach. This was Jongseong. This was the boy who had called about the horrific scene outside, and now, here he was in front of him, broken, shattered by the same terror that had filled his voice on the phone.

But there was something else, something deeper, that made Jaeyun freeze for a second longer than he intended. Jaeyun’s stomach lurched. Park Jongseong. The same boy who had once witnessed something that should have shattered his childhood forever.

He froze for a moment, caught in the recognition. This was the boy. The boy who had found his mother in the woods all those years ago. The cold case.

His breath caught in his throat as he stared at the boy in front of him. The past and present were colliding in a way he hadn't expected. It was him. The same haunted face, the same wide, terrified eyes. Jaeyun felt his chest tighten as he tried to process the weight of it.

"Jongseong," he whispered, the name hanging between them like a heavy cloud.

The boy's eyes fluttered open, locking onto Jaeyun’s, and in that moment, something shifted. Jongseong's face—pale, streaked with tears, eyes wide with fear—was a reflection of the same child he had once seen in the news, his small face swallowed by the overwhelming grief of losing his mother in the woods.

The years had passed, but the darkness still clung to Jongseong, following him into this new nightmare.

This boy had never been given a chance to heal. And now... now he was living through another nightmare.

Jaeyun pulled himself back from the edge of his own spiraling thoughts. "I need you to stay with me, okay?" he said, his voice steadying with a new resolve. "We'll get you the help you need. You're not alone, Jongseong. We'll take care of this."

Jongseong didn't respond. His body shook, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His eyes, though still wide with terror, began to glaze over once more. He was slipping again, lost in the terror that had swallowed him whole.

Jaeyun took a deep breath and turned to Sunghoon, but the boy was still curled up on the couch, shaking, his eyes fixed somewhere far off. He didn't seem to notice him at all. The silence in the room was suffocating

"Sunghoon," he said gently. "I need you to talk to me. What happened? Can you tell me anything about what happened in the woods?"

Sunghoon didn't respond. He didn't even flinch at the sound of his name. He just kept rocking, lost in whatever nightmare held him captive.

Jaeyun felt the weight of it all. The terror, the confusion, the tragedies stacked one upon another.

He was young. Too young, some would say. But in this moment, he understood something fundamental. This town—his town—had been hiding too many secrets. And they were all about to come pouring out, whether anyone was ready for it or not.

There was no turning back from this.

Jongseong's voice was barely audible, a whisper barely escaping from his cracked lips. He was still sitting on the floor, his body trembling uncontrollably, eyes unfocused, lost in the haze of his own horror. But as he heard the deputy's voice, something seemed to snap in him—some shred of clarity, some thread of reality broke through the chaos that had clouded his mind.

"Jungwon... He's in the woods."

The words hit Jaeyun like a cold gust of wind, carrying with them the weight of everything that had happened. He felt the chill creep up his spine, his gut tightening as the pieces began to fall into place. Jungwon... the boy who had been in the woods. The body. The blood. The nightmare Jongseong had described earlier on the phone. It wasn't over. Not yet.

Jongseong's face was pale, his eyes wide with terror. His words seemed to hang in the air like a lifeline, desperate and frantic.

"Please... he's... he's in the woods... Hanging... Please.”

Jaeyun’s heart raced. The air in the room grew thick, suffocating. He had come to help, but now, with this revelation, he had to face the same nightmare that had already broken the boy before him.

"God..." Jaeyun whispered under his breath, as he forced himself to swallow down the fear rising in his throat. He couldn't let it break him now. Not when they were so close to the truth. He shook his head to clear the fog and stood up straight, his mind snapping back into officer mode.

He couldn't afford to hesitate.

"Deputy Kim! Deputy Choi!" Jaeyun barked as he turned on his heel, quickly moving toward the front door. He could hear the shuffle of footsteps behind him as the other deputies scrambled to follow.

"We're going into the woods," Jaeyun continued, his voice steady despite the tremor in his chest. "Someone's out there. A kid's body is out there. We need to locate it first before we call for medical assistance."

The other deputies nodded grimly, grabbing their gear and rushing out after him. Jaeyun didn't wait for them to catch up—his legs were already moving, instinct pushing him forward. They had to find Jungwon before it was too late. The woods were dark, endless, the trees looming like silent witnesses to whatever had happened out there.

As they crossed the yard, heading toward the edge of the forest, the chill of the night air pressed in on him. He could feel his breath turning to fog in front of him, his heart pounding faster as they moved deeper into the darkness. The woods were quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that made everything feel worse, as if the night itself was holding its breath.

The ground was uneven beneath their boots, branches snapping underfoot like a warning. The moon barely pierced through the thick canopy above, casting everything in shadow. The only sound was the rustling of the wind, carrying with it the faintest whispers of something that wasn't quite right.

Jaeyun’s flashlight flickered, casting long, shifting shadows as they pushed further into the forest. His fingers gripped the beam tightly, the beam cutting through the darkness, revealing just enough of the path to keep moving forward.

Then, a sound—a faint, almost inaudible rustling, followed by the unmistakable scent of... something metallic. Blood.

"Over there," Deputy Choi called out, his voice sharp with sudden tension. Jaeyun’s head snapped in the direction the deputy had pointed. His stomach turned.

He could see it now, the outline of something hanging from one of the tallest trees in the area. The air grew heavier as they closed the distance. The sight was unmistakable.

A body. Hanging from a thick oak tree, swaying gently in the breeze.

It was unmistakable.

Jaeyun’s breath caught in his throat. The figure was lifeless, limp, caught in the thick rope that hung from the tree branch. At first glance, Jaeyun wasn't sure if he could even call it a body—it looked more like a puppet abandoned in the wind, limp and unnatural. But the blood—it was everywhere. The ground beneath the hanging figure was soaked, the soil stained with dark red.

Jaeyun’s eyes went wide. His gut twisted in knots, nausea rising in his throat. This wasn't just a death—it was a brutal, merciless murder.

The body was of a young kid, a high school student. Even in the dim light, Jaeyun recognized him.

"Jungwon," Jaeyun whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of the horror.

The sight was enough to make Jaeyun freeze, his mind momentarily reeling. How could something like this happen? How could anyone do this to a young kid? His stomach churned as his mind tried to make sense of the gruesome sight before him. A body, hanging by a rope, swaying gently in the wind as if mocking the idea of life. The blood, dark and thick, pooled beneath him. It was the kind of sight that no one could ever forget—no one should ever have to witness.

Yet the two boys, the boyfriend and from the looks of it the older brother, back in the house had the bad luck of stumbling upon the body leaving them traumatized.

"Oh my God..." Deputy Kim whispered, stepping back in shock, his face pale as he looked away from the body.

Jaeyun’s hands clenched into fists as he forced himself to breathe through the panic threatening to overtake him. His heart raced. This was worse than he'd imagined.

He'd seen death before. But never like this. Never so cold, so intentional.

"We need backup," Jaeyun said, his voice low, steady despite the storm churning in his gut. He reached for his radio, his hands trembling as he keyed it in. "This is Deputy Sim. We've found the body. Send a team. We need medical assistance immediately. And secure the area—this is a crime scene."

As he spoke, his eyes lingered on the body. The face was familiar now—pale, lifeless, eyes wide open and staring as if he'd been abandoned there by someone who wanted to make sure he'd never get back up.

Jungwon... The kid who should still be at home, hanging out with friends, studying for exams. Not left like this, as a gruesome display of violence.

Jaeyun swallowed hard, his chest tightening as he took another step forward, carefully approaching the body. He needed to make sure—needed to know if there was anything he could do. But in his gut, he already knew the answer.

This was no accident. This was no suicide.

Someone had killed him.

The sound of the wind howling through the trees almost seemed like a warning as Jaeyun walked towards the body, his stomach still roiling in disbelief. A part of him wanted to look away, to pretend like this wasn't happening. But he couldn't. He couldn't afford to look away.

"We need to figure out who did this," Jaeyun murmured to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. He could feel the weight of responsibility pressing on him. The weight of this boy's life, stolen so violently.

But deep down, he also knew something else. This wasn't just a random act. The town had been hiding its secrets for too long.

And now, they were all starting to unravel.

Chapter Text

Three hours had passed since the discovery of Jungwon's body. The woods were still quiet, save for the rustling of the wind that seemed to carry with it the weight of something sinister. Yellow tape cordoned off the area where the young boy's body had been found—brutally hanging in the woods, as if he were nothing more than a warning to anyone who dared to wander too close.

Deputy Sim Jaeyun crouched near the edge of the woods, notebook in hand, writing out his preliminary notes with a hand that had begun to feel more tired than he'd like to admit. His eyes scanned over the scene once more, his mind trying to piece together the puzzle. The brutality of it all still gnawed at him, and the memories of the images he'd seen lingered, haunting every thought.

The body of Yang Jungwon—barely sixteen years old—had been found suspended in the trees, his life extinguished with the kind of cruelty that made Jaeyun's stomach churn. Several signs of struggle if the bruises on Jungwon’s throat say, no sign of robbery in the home other than broken glass; this was personal, and whatever message the killer intended, it was as clear as it was horrifying.

As he took another note, Jaeyun's focus drifted to the yellow tape once more, his eyes tracing the outlines of the scene. The stillness of the woods made it feel like time had frozen in place, the echoes of the past few hours still reverberating in his mind. His pen moved slowly over the page, thoughts tangled, when a familiar sound broke through the quiet—a pair of heavy footsteps, followed by a slight crunch of leaves beneath boots.

Jaeyun's head lifted instinctively, and he knew before the figure even appeared that it was Sheriff Kim Namjoon.

The sheriff's silhouette emerged from the trees, tall and broad-shouldered, his face slightly weathered by the long hours and the weight of a case that had clearly taken a toll on him. The lines around his eyes and the deep crease in his forehead spoke of exhaustion—exhaustion that had only intensified with the discovery of Jungwon's body, a loss that seemed too much to bear. And yet, despite it all, his posture remained commanding, his steps purposeful. There was something in his eyes, too—something sharp and alert, as though he had learned how to carry the weight of the world without letting it break him.

Namjoon’s eyes scanned the scene as he walked closer, taking in the remnants of the crime, the yellow tape, the distant spot where Jungwon's body had been found. He stopped a few paces away from the edge of the crime scene, his gaze flicking from the tape to Jaeyun, lingering there a moment longer than expected, as if weighing something inside him. The silence stretched, heavy and thick, before he finally spoke in a low voice that seemed to carry the weight of a hundred unspoken questions.

"Is this where the boys found him?" Namjoon asked, his voice steady but tinged with the strain of the situation.

Jaeyun nodded, his voice taut. "Yeah. Just past the clearing. Tied up, hanging from a tree. It wasn't quick. Whoever did this—there was anger behind it. Too much cruelty for it to be a random act."

The sheriff’s lips pressed into a thin line as he surveyed the scene. His gaze lingered on the yellow tape, but his feet didn't move, as if something inside him recoiled from the horror of it all. Jaeyun could see the way the sheriff's muscles tightened, his body subtly pulling back from the full extent of the crime, though it was clear he was absorbing every detail. 

"Damn," Namjoon muttered under his breath.

The sheriff finally stepped forward, but only just close enough to reach out, his hand hovering near the tape. Jaeyun could sense his struggle to engage with the scene fully—to be present but not fully consumed by it.

Jaeyun shifted his weight, his mind still heavy with the brutality of it all, when the sheriff's voice broke the silence again.

"What about the kids?" Namjoon asked, his tone softer now, quieter. "The ones who found him?"

Jaeyun sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. His exhaustion was starting to seep through his voice, "Traumatized. One's been shaking uncontrollably, barely speaking. The other's curled up in a ball, rocking back and forth. They're in the house now. I've never seen kids like this—so broken."

The sheriff nodded, his face hardening with resolve, "We need to talk to them. If they know anything, anything at all, it could help."

Jaeyun hesitated. The thought of bringing the sheriff into that house—into the space where those kids were, the raw pain they were carrying—it felt suffocating. He knew how deeply this would affect the sheriff. But there was no other choice. They had to know what the kids had seen. They had to find some clue.

Jaeyun swallowed down the lump in his throat and nodded. 

The two men moved toward the house, its small frame standing like a silent witness to the unspeakable. The once-quiet home was now soaked in grief. Inside, the atmosphere was thick with despair. The air felt heavy, as though the walls themselves were mourning.

Jaeyun led the sheriff into the living room, where the faint sound of sobbing reached them—low, ragged, heartbreaking. It was the sound of brokenness, the sound of innocence shattered.

It was Sunghoon who caught Namjoon’s attention first. The older brother of the victim, sitting hunched on the couch, his head buried in his hands, his body shaking with the intensity of grief. Namjoon's heart tightened. He had seen this boy before, back when things were simpler, when life hadn't been so cruel. He remembered Sunghoon and Jungwon, always together, inseparable. To see Sunghoon like this, so utterly defeated... it twisted something deep inside Namjoon. The boy was carrying a weight no one so young should ever have to bear. He had lost his only brother in a violent way. 

Without a word, Namjoon crouched down beside Sunghoon, his large hand resting lightly on the boy's shoulder. At the touch, Sunghoon's body jerked, and his sobs broke free, louder this time. He collapsed into Namjoon's embrace.

Namjoon didn't hesitate. He pulled Sunghoon in closer, his arms wrapping around him tightly, offering what little comfort he could. The boy's grief echoed through the room, the intensity of it raw and unrelenting. For a moment, Namjoon felt as though he, too, was being swept away by the tide of grief, but he held on, gripping the boy firmly as if he could anchor them both in that storm.

Jaeyun stood a few paces away, watching quietly. Namjoon’s voice was barely a whisper, the words soft and full of empathy, as he murmured what comfort he could to Sunghoon. Slowly, the sobs quieted, and the weight of exhaustion finally settled into Sunghoon's small frame. His breath became shallow, his body slackening in Namjoon’s arms.

Namjoon’s gaze flicked up to Jaeyun, his eyes heavy with the ache of what had just unfolded. "Help me get him to the couch," he said quietly, his voice hoarse.

Jaeyun moved quickly, supporting the boy as Namjoon carefully laid him down on the couch. Jaeyun grabbed a pillow and a blanket, settling it gently around Sunghoon. His small, broken body was finally at rest, though the damage was done. 

Namjoon watched him for a moment, his chest tightening with an unspoken pain. "God knows he needs his sleep," Namjoon murmured, the weight of his words thicker than he intended.

Jaeyun felt a pang of sadness too, wondering how long it would take before Sunghoon found peace, if ever. How many sleepless nights would he endure? How long before he could feel safe again? His heart ached for both the brothers—the bond they'd had, now shattered by an act of unthinkable violence.

Namjoon's gaze shifted then, focusing on the other boy in the room—Park Jongseong.

Jongseong sat on the floor, his small frame trembling with silent sobs. His body was rigid with grief, his hands clutching his knees, his head bowed. Every inch of him screamed of a terror that had no place in a child's world. 

When Namjoon's eyes fell on him, his heart clenched painfully in his chest. He had held this boy before—years ago—after Jongseong's mother had died. The memory of that day, when the boy had clung to him, so terrified and confused, was seared into Namjoon's mind. He remembered holding him tightly, promising to protect him, to shield him from the world's cruelties. But this... this was different.

Jongseong was no longer the fragile little boy who had lost his mother. He had grown taller, stronger, but the terror in his eyes still remained. The same fear. The same helplessness.

Namjoon spoke softly, his voice cracking as he whispered the boy's name, "Park Jongseong..."

At the sound of his name, Jongseong's head snapped up, eyes wide with confusion and fear. And then, before Namjoon could take another step, the boy lunged forward.

Jongseong buried his face in the sheriff's chest, his sobs pouring out of him. His body shook violently, his arms clinging desperately to Namjoon's jacket. Tears soaked through the fabric, but the sheriff didn't flinch. He held him tighter, wrapping his arms around him as he had so many years ago. 

God, this kid, Namjoon thought, feeling his throat tighten, the weight of it all pressing in on him. It's like he's a child all over again. The fear, the pain—it never really left him.

"I'm here, Jongseong," Namjoon whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You're safe now. I've got you."

For a long moment, there were no words—just the sound of sobs, shaky breaths, and the heavy weight of grief that filled the room. Namjoon tightened his arms around Jongseong, wishing he could shield him from everything. But there was nothing he could do to take away the pain, nothing that would ever undo what had happened.

But he held on. For now, that was all he could do.

Jaeyun watched them both, his own heart heavy with the weight of the past that seemed to return, uninvited, for these kids. Namjoon had promised them years ago he would be there—and, in the end, here he was again. But the promise felt fragile, worn thin by the years, and Jaeyun knew that some wounds—some pain—could never be healed.

Jaeyun stood by the door, his eyes fixed on the sheriff holding Jongseong. The boy had finally drifted into a restless sleep, his body limp in Namjoon's arms. Despite the exhaustion that had overcome him, Jongseong's grip remained tight on the sheriff's jacket, as though unwilling to let go of the last shred of safety he had left. His breath was shallow, but steady, each small tremor of his body a reminder of the trauma he was trying so desperately to bury.

Jaeyun's eyes lingered on them for a moment, a mixture of sympathy and helplessness weighing on his chest. He wanted to do more—anything—to shield Jongseong from the world, to give him a chance to heal, but some things couldn't be controlled. And outside... the growing noise was impossible to ignore.

From the window, the voices grew louder. Officers shouting, the distinct sound of a camera's shutter clicking in the distance. The chaos outside was unmistakable—someone was pushing against the police line, trying to break through. A news reporter.

"No trespassing! Stay behind the tape!" one of the officers called out.

Jaeyun's gaze flicked back to the door, his jaw tightening at the noise. He didn't need to guess who was causing the trouble. The sheriff let out a long, weary sigh behind him, and Jaeyun could feel the frustration radiating off him.

"Just when things were finally settling..." the sheriff muttered, his voice low and clipped. "Someone had to stick their nose in places they shouldn't."

Jaeyun turned fully toward the sheriff. "Who is it, Sheriff Kim?"

The sheriff’s expression hardened as he moved to the window, Jongseong still in his arms, peering out to confirm his suspicions. "Jeon Jungkook," he muttered bitterly. "That little reporter has been making trouble for years."

"Do you know him personally?" Jaeyun asked, though he already suspected the answer.

"I sure do," Namjoon replied, his voice tight with annoyance. "Same guy who stuck a camera in Jongseong's face after his mother died. Tried to interview him while he was still grieving, for God's sake." The sheriff's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he watched Jungkook try to get closer to the scene. "Made a whole book out of it, sold it to the highest bidder. Made millions off of a tragedy that kid didn't even get a chance to process. And now he's back, trying to turn this into his next cash grab."

Jaeyun could feel his own heart twist at the mention of Jongseong's mother. The thought of that same reporter shoving a microphone in a grieving child's face, demanding answers for something so personal, made his stomach churn. The weight of the past seemed to be pushing down on them both. 

"What do we do?" Jaeyun asked, his voice low as he glanced back at the sleeping boys. It was clear to him that the reporter wouldn't stop until he had his story, and the noise outside only confirmed it. Jungkook wasn't about to back down just because he was told to stay away.

The sheriff sighed again, a deep, exasperated sound. "We can't let him anywhere near these kids. Not again. Not after what he did to Jongseong all those years ago."

Jaeyun's eyes flicked to the two boys—the ones who had been left to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives. His heart sank, realizing just how fragile their moment of peace truly was.

"I've got an idea," the sheriff said suddenly, his tone decisive, a plan already forming in his mind. "We're getting these kids out of here. Far away from that damn reporter. And I'm not waiting for him to get his next photo op."

Jaeyun raised an eyebrow, both relieved and curious. "How?"

The sheriff looked over at him, the hard lines of his face softening just slightly, “Take off your jacket, Jaeyun. Wrap it around Jongseong to hide him. We're getting him out the back. I've got a car waiting."

Jaeyun didn't hesitate. He quickly peeled off his leather jacket, folding it carefully as he draped it around Jongseong, who remained asleep, his face still pressed against the sheriff's chest. 

"And what about Sunghoon?" Jaeyun asked, glancing at the older boy, still slumped on the couch, his face pale but finally at peace.

"I'll carry him," the sheriff said firmly. "I'll follow you."

Jaeyun nodded, moving closer to Jongseong. For a moment, he just stood there, looking down at the boy, who had found some measure of solace in the sheriff's arms. He couldn't help but notice the way Jongseong's grip tightened on the fabric of the sheriff’s jacket, his small fingers like a lifeline.

Gently, Jaeyun bent down and scooped Jongseong up into his arms. As he lifted the boy, there was a brief stirring—a soft murmur.

"Jungwon?" Jongseong whispered, his voice barely audible, filled with confusion and a desperation that sliced through Jaeyun's heart.

Jaeyun's chest tightened, his throat aching as he whispered, "I'm here." A lie. Jungwon was dead.

Jongseong's small arms instinctively wrapped around Jaeyun's neck, his grip still strong despite the fatigue. Jaeyun took a steadying breath, carefully adjusting the boy in his arms, and with one last look at the sheriff, he turned toward the back door.

The sheriff moved silently beside him, lifting Sunghoon with a tenderness that spoke volumes. The older boy was still out, his face relaxed in sleep, but Jaeyun could see the toll it had taken on him. The sheriff moved like a man who knew that their safety had to come first—nothing else mattered now. Not the case. Not the press. Not the chaos.

Jaeyun felt his heart pound as they moved out into the cool night, stepping carefully into the darkness. Every step felt heavier, knowing the storm outside was only just beginning. They had to move quickly, but quietly. 

As they reached the back, Jaeyun glanced up at sheriff, meeting his eyes. The sheriff's gaze was hard, focused, but there was an understanding there—a shared resolve. They weren't going to let that reporter take what little peace these boys had left.

Jaeyun's heart pounded as he followed the sheriff toward the small gate tucked in the corner of the yard, trying to keep his movements smooth and quiet. Jongseong was still asleep in his arms, his face buried in Jaeyun's chest, and though his breathing was soft, Jaeyun could feel the fragile rise and fall of it, like something delicate in a world that was far from gentle. Every step they took, every second of quiet, felt like a gift—too precious to waste.

The sheriff moved ahead, focused, his broad shoulders squared. He was carrying Sunghoon, the older boy's body limp in his arms from exhaustion. The only sounds were the muted footfalls on the pavement and the distant rustling of leaves in the night wind. Jaeyun's eyes flicked to the small black car parked just ahead, the one that wasn't a police vehicle. It was a smart choice—subtle, low-profile. Jaeyun knew the sheriff had arranged for one of the other deputies to bring it, a backup plan just in case the situation took a turn for the worse.

They were almost there when the sound of footsteps froze Jaeyun's blood. From around the corner, a figure emerged—a figure he recognized instantly.

Jeon Jungkook.

The reporter. The one who shoved a camera in a grieving child’s face.

Jaeyun's pulse shot up. He didn't have time for this—not now. Not when they were so close to getting the boys to safety. Jungkook was adjusting his hair, completely unaware of the scene unfolding just a few feet away. Jaeyun shot the sheriff a quick look, his mind racing. They had to move faster. Quieter.

With a quick nod, the sheriff picked up the pace, his long strides purposeful, but still careful not to make too much noise. Jaeyun matched his speed, lifting Jongseong higher in his arms, trying to keep everything as quiet as possible. Every second counted now—if Jungkook saw them, if he recognized the boys, the questions would start. And they couldn't afford that. Not here. Not now.

Jaeyun's breath hitched as Jungkook turned around. His eyes locked onto them, and Jaeyun felt his stomach churn. 

Damn it.

Jungkook’s confusion was instant, but he hadn't made the connection yet. Jaeyun's legs moved faster, his mind screaming at him to get to the car before the reporter could figure out what was happening. The last thing they needed was for Jungkook to recognize Jongseong—especially considering the boy's connection to the tragedy that had haunted the town for so long.

Jaeyun's fingers tightened around Jongseong's jacket as he adjusted the boy's weight and reached the car in one swift motion. He gently laid Jongseong down in the backseat, carefully tucking the jacket around him as he did. The boy barely stirred. Jaeyun exhaled quietly, then shut the door with a soft click.

But as he straightened, he saw Jungkook closing in, jogging toward them now, too quick to be ignored. Jaeyun cursed under his breath. There was no time to waste.

The sheriff, already on the move, was nearing the backseat with Sunghoon, but Jaeyun couldn't afford to be distracted. He had to block Jungkook, give the sheriff time to settle the boys into the car, and get them the hell out of here. Fast.

Jaeyun stepped in front of Jungkook before the reporter could get any closer to the car. "Get out of the way, Jeon Jungkook," Jaeyun's voice was low but firm. His patience was gone. 

Jungkook’s brow furrowed,"What's going on here, deputy? Who were you trying to hide?"

Jaeyun kept his eyes trained on him, refusing to let the reporter past. "None of your business," he snapped, stepping closer, his body blocking the way. "Move."

But Jungkook didn't back off that easily. His gaze flicked past Jaeyun toward the sheriff, who was already bending down to place Sunghoon in the backseat next to Jongseong. Jaeyun stood firm, keeping himself between them, watching every movement, every breath. He couldn't let Jungkook see what was going on. He couldn't risk it.

Just as the sheriff was about to slam the back door shut, Jungkook's eyes locked onto Jongseong sleeping figure. Jaeyun's stomach twisted into a knot.

"Wait—" Jungkook took a step forward, his voice rising. "Is that... is that Park Jongseong?"

Jaeyun's mind blanked for a moment. He felt a cold sweat trickle down his neck. The last thing they needed was for Jungkook to make the connection, to start asking questions about the murder, about everything they'd fought to keep hidden for so long.

The sheriff, as if sensing the shift, slammed the door shut with a force that startled Jaeyun. The sheriff exhaled a slow, controlled breath, then leaned toward the window, his voice low but cutting.

"I'm not letting you turn this into another one of your cash grabs, Jungkook," the sheriff said, his tone laced with venom. "Leave them alone."

Jungkook hesitated for a moment, as if considering a response, but then, with a flick of his head, he backed off. His eyes, however, remained locked on the car as if trying to piece together everything he'd just seen. Jaeyun could feel the weight of the reporter's gaze on them, but there was nothing more they could do now.

The sheriff gave Jaeyun a sharp nod.

Jaeyun didn't hesitate. He slid into the front passenger seat, his breath coming faster than usual as he quickly adjusted the mirror. His heart was still pounding in his chest, but he forced himself to focus, to shut out the noise of everything happening around them. 

The engine hummed to life, but before the sheriff could put the car in gear, Jungkook slammed his hand against the side window, his voice rising, desperate.

"Sheriff! What's going on here? Is this connected to Mrs. Park’s murder case from a decade ago? How is Jongseong involved?"

Jaeyun's grip tightened on the seat as he glanced toward the sheriff. He could feel the tension radiating off the sheriff—he was growing frustrated, and for good reason. Jungkook wasn't going to stop until he got answers, and there were no easy answers to give.

The sheriff’s jaw clenched. He leaned toward the window, his voice low but resolute, "I'm not answering your questions, Jungkook. Not today. Not any day, not ever. Leave them alone."

The words hung in the air, thick with finality. Jaeyun could almost hear Jungkook's unspoken anger at the loss of information, but there was nothing else to say. The moment had passed.

Jungkook took one last, lingering look at them before stepping back. His eyes never left the car, but at least he wasn't pressing anymore.

Namjoon slammed the car into drive.

The tires screeched as they pulled away from the curb, and the town's lights blurred into the distance, leaving behind the heavy stillness of the night. Jaeyun's fingers gripped the armrest, the leather creaking under the tension in his hold. His gaze flicked to the rearview mirror, catching sight of the sleeping boys in the backseat. Sunghoon, curled on his side, looked almost peaceful despite the chaos. Jongseong, still tucked under Jaeyun's jacket, was oblivious to all the commotion with that darn reporter, his face soft in sleep.

The world outside was unnervingly quiet, too still. The weight of it pressed in on him, making the silence feel suffocating.

Jaeyun's eyes drifted to Namjoon, who was staring straight ahead, his expression unreadable. There was nothing left to say. The decision had been made. They had done what they could. The boys were safe—for now.

But as the lights of the town faded into the distance, Jaeyun couldn't shake the nagging feeling that this was just the beginning. Jungkook wasn't the type to back off easily given how Namjoon described him back at the Yang residence. And the shadows of the past, they weren't done with them yet.

His fingers tightened on the armrest as the quiet stretched on. His mind kept circling back to the same question, the one that had been gnawing at him since they'd seen the bodies, since they'd made their escape.

"Do you think Yang Jungwon's murder is connected to Jongseong's mom?" Jaeyun asked quietly, breaking the silence that had settled between them. His voice felt heavier than usual, like it carried the weight of all the unanswered questions that hung in the air.

Namjoon didn't immediately respond. The hum of the engine was the only sound for a moment as he focused on the road, his jaw tight, eyes scanning the darkened street. Finally, he exhaled slowly, a sharp breath through his nose.

"I don't know for sure," the sheriff said, his voice calm but tinged with a hard edge of uncertainty. "But from the way the bodies were left behind, it could be. The way Yang Jungwon's body was staged—just like Mrs. Park's. It's almost as if whoever did it meant to leave a message,” he paused, his grip tightening on the steering wheel as he continued. "Maybe it's just a coincidence, but the fact that it just had to happen today on the tenth anniversary of Mrs. Park's death... it's too much of a pattern to ignore."

Jaeyun's pulse quickened at the mention of the anniversary, the connection between the two murders suddenly feeling too real. He glanced over at Namjoon, his brow furrowing.

"So, you think whoever killed Jungwon is the same person who killed Mrs. Park?"

Namjoon gave a stiff nod, but there was an air of doubt about him too—like he wasn't fully convinced, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right.

"It's possible," he said, his voice low and contemplative. "But until we have more evidence, I can't say for sure. Whoever did it, they clearly wanted something, something symbolic. Maybe they just happened to do it again, or maybe it's tied to the same person who... who got away with it the first time. We're looking into everything."

Jaeyun stared out the window, the world outside a blur of shadows as they sped further away from town. His stomach twisted with the thought of it all—the murders, the mystery, the boys they were trying to protect. And most of all, the shadow of the past that seemed to be creeping up on them all.

After a few moments, Namjoon spoke again, his tone quieter, more measured.

"We tried contacting the parents but no answer from the Yangs or Mr. Park," he said. "So, I was thinking we’d take the boys to my place. It's far enough out of the way that no one will find them. Not reporters. Not anyone." He glanced briefly at Jaeyun, his expression serious. "After tonight, we're going to have a lot of eyes on Jongseong, and I don't want either Sunghoon and Jongseong be bombarded with questions or have Jeon make a story out of them. The last thing we need is for people to show up at his house, thinking they can get a scoop about what's going on."

Jaeyun was silent for a long moment, considering Namjoon's words. The sheriff's home—where he was taking them—was remote, hidden away from the reach of the media and the prying eyes of anyone who might get too close. It was a place far from the chaos they'd just escaped, a place that might offer the boys some safety, at least for now.

Jaeyun glanced over at the sheriff again, seeing the tension in the man's shoulders, the weight of responsibility on his face. "It's a good plan," he said finally, his voice quiet. He wasn't sure what else to say. 

At least the boys would have place where they'd could recover from this tragedy, hidden away from reporters, in the hope that nothing else would go wrong. And Jaeyun couldn't shake the feeling that more was coming. That this was just the beginning.

The drive stretched on, the landscape around them becoming more and more unfamiliar. Jaeyun could feel the weight of the miles stretching between them and the life they'd left behind in the town. It was going to be a long, quiet night, with no answers, only more questions.

Jongseong and Sunghoon were still asleep in the backseat, their faces pale in the dim light, peaceful despite the horror that had unfolded hours ago. Jaeyun could feel the tension in his own body, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of everything. The sheriff's home was far enough away that it might offer some peace, but Jaeyun knew deep down it wouldn't last. The world they were trying to protect the boys from would follow them wherever they went.

And the past? It never stayed buried for long.

Jaeyun settled back into his seat, the hum of the engine the only sound between them now, and allowed the miles to stretch out in front of him. His mind was full of questions, full of uncertainty, but one thing was clear—there was no turning back now.

Chapter Text

Jaeyun had barely closed his eyes before the weight of exhaustion began pulling him back into the haze of half-sleep. The sheriff had insisted he sleep on the pull-out couch in the living room, knowing full well that Jaeyun was too worn out to drive back to his own place. The past few hours had been a blur—too many details, too much noise, too many faces that wouldn't leave his head. He didn't argue. 

At least here, in the sheriff's quiet house, there was a semblance of safety. Still, sleep didn't come easily. Every time Jaeyun managed to drift off, his mind would snap back to the image of Jungwon's body hanging in that oak tree. It was like the air itself was thick with the ghosts of the night, and Jaeyun couldn't escape them, not even in his dreams.

He rolled over onto his back and groggily glanced at the clock. 9 a.m. The morning light filtered in through the blinds, casting soft streaks across the room. It was too quiet. The house had the stillness of someone who'd been holding their breath for too long.

Outside the home, he could hear the soft thuds of footsteps as the sheriff's walks to his car and starts the engine before pulling out of the driveway. Jaeyun should be at work, but the sheriff gave him time off. So Jaeyun was alone, at least for now.

His eyes drifted to the remote control on the coffee table. He picked it up, thumbed the buttons with robotic efficiency, flicking through the channels one by one. The flickering screen in front of him was a distraction, a way to fill the silence. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep his mind from spiraling.

Then, one channel caught his eye.

A familiar face filled the screen.

Jeon Jungkook.

Jaeyun's stomach turned. Of course, it was him. It always was. Jungkook had been there last night too, blocking their path to the car and asking them questions, shoving the reality of their trauma back in their faces. Jaeyun tightened his grip on the remote, suddenly very awake as he focused on the screen, watching Jungkook's every move with a mix of dread and disbelief.

The reporter's calm voice cut through the room.

"The small town of Woodsboro, California, was devastated last night when one young teenager, Yang Jungwon, was found brutally butchered and left hanging in the oak tree. No one has been arrested yet, and authorities fear the murder may be part of a pattern, with a dangerous killer still on the loose."

Jaeyun didn't need to hear more. He'd seen enough of this reporter's sensationalist tactics to know that the story wasn't about the truth—it was about selling papers. But what Jungkook said next made his blood run cold.

"Last night, I witnessed something that might change everything," Jungkook continued, his voice sharpening, his gaze turning to the camera with a knowing glint. "I saw Sheriff Kim Namjoon and a young deputy carrying two boys out of the crime scene, loading them into their car."

Jaeyun's heart skipped a beat. He hadn't expected this. His fingers tightened around the remote, the sound of Jungkook's voice filling the room like a slow drip of poison.

"I tried to question them," Jungkook added, his voice tinged with frustration. "But I received no answers. Then, as the sheriff was about to close the car door, I saw the face of one of the boys—the one the deputy was carrying. It was Park Jongseong."

Jaeyun's throat tightened, a cold sweat breaking out across his back. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this.

Jungkook's next words hit like a hammer. "Park Jongseong, the boy who found his own mother, Mrs. Park, brutally murdered and left hanging in the same woods a decade ago. Could these two murders be connected?"

Jaeyun leaned forward, his pulse hammering in his ears. This was exactly what they didn't need. This was the last thing they needed. And then Jungkook did what Jaeyun had feared most—he shifted seamlessly from the case into the promotion of his own damn book.

"I've written about this cold case in my book, The Hidden Truths of Woodsboro,” Jungkook said, the satisfaction in his voice unmistakable. "In it, I explore the mysteries surrounding Mrs. Park's death and the connection to the young boy, Jongseong. Could the two cases be tied? It's a question I'm sure we'll all be asking in the days to come."

Jaeyun's stomach churned, and his hands shook as he turned off the TV with an abrupt flick of the remote. The damn reporter had the audacity to use this tragedy to promote his book. The rage that surged through Jaeyun was almost blinding. This wasn't his story to sell.

But before he could do anything else, a sudden sound shattered the quiet—the unmistakable sound of Jongseong's voice.

"Jungwon!"

Jaeyun's heart lurched. He didn't hesitate, his body moving before his mind could catch up. He sprang to his feet, running up the stairs to the room where the boys were still asleep.

The boy was having a nightmare.

When Jaeyun pushed the door open, he was met with the sight of Jongseong writhing in the bed, his face contorted in terror, his body tangled in the sheets. 

"Jungwon!" the boy screamed, his voice raw with panic. "Jungwon, please—Jungwon isn't dead, please!" 

Jaeyun's chest tightened. The boy was still trapped in the nightmare, still caught in the horrific scene they'd witnessed hours ago. Jaeyun didn't think, didn't hesitate. He crossed the room in two long strides and gently but firmly pulled Jongseong into his arms.

"Shh, it's okay, Jongseong," he whispered, pressing the boy's trembling body against his chest, his hand rubbing soothing circles on the boy's back. "It's just a dream. It's okay."

Jongseong's sobs turned to whimpers, his body still shaking with fear, but the terror slowly faded as Jaeyun continued to murmur soft words of comfort. It took a moment, but Jongseong's cries subsided, his breathing evening out as he relaxed against Jaeyun. Jaeyun stayed still, holding the boy against him, letting him feel the safety of someone else's presence.

Jongseong stopped crying and fell back into a restless sleep, his small hand clutching at Jaeyun's shirt, unwilling to let go. Jaeyun stayed with him, sitting at the head of the bed against the wall. His eyes drifted to Sunghoon, who was still curled in his own bed, seemingly asleep.

Jaeyun wasn't great with this kind of thing. Hell, he wasn't great with any kind of emotional situation. He was only a few years older than the boys—still in his twenties himself—and the idea of dealing with the rawness of their grief, of holding them and comforting them, was harder than he cared to admit. He'd spent years learning how to process his own emotions, but this—this was new. 

He'd never been trained for this part of the job. But it was a job, wasn't it? The sheriff had trusted him with these kids, with their safety, their brokenness, and his responsibility felt so much heavier now. He wasn't their father, wasn't their older brother—he was just the guy they had to rely on, the one caught in between their pain and the world that had brought it down on them. 

He shifted uncomfortably, trying to keep his focus. He was here for them. That's what mattered. 

But then, Sunghoon's voice cut through the quiet. 

"Was... was everything that happened last night a dream?" 

Jaeyun paused, his heart aching as the weight of the question sank in. Sunghoon was still so small, so fragile, his innocence shattered by the violence of the world around him. Jaeyun didn't want to lie, didn't want to give false hope, but he couldn't bring himself to say the words that might break them even further.

"No, Sunghoon," he said quietly, his voice thick. "It wasn't a dream."

Sunghoon went silent for a long moment, the weight of the truth settling in. Then, with a small, broken sob, Sunghoon asked, "Jungwon's dead, isn't he?"

Jaeyun's chest tightened. He didn't want to see the hurt in Sunghoon's eyes, but it was there, raw and unrelenting. Without thinking, he opened his arms. Sunghoon hesitated for only a second before stepping into them, his tiny frame shaking as he sobbed against Jaeyun's chest. 

Jaeyun held him tighter, one arm still around Jongseong, who had fallen asleep once more, and the other wrapped around Sunghoon. His mind raced, thoughts a blur of confusion and guilt, but all he could do in that moment was hold them both, trying to remain strong for them. For the two boys who had lost so much, so fast.

Jaeyun's awkwardness wasn't lost on him. He wasn't good at this. He wasn't good at comforting people or knowing what to say. The words felt wrong, out of place on his tongue. But he couldn't stop himself from holding them close, even if it felt awkward, even if his arms weren't big enough to shield them from the world that had already taken everything they loved.

And as the silence in the room settled once more, Jaeyun allowed the weight of it all to crush him, just for a moment. The world had already taken too much from these kids. And Jaeyun... he didn't know how to protect them from the rest of it.

Jaeyun remained still, the weight of the situation pressing down on him with a heaviness he hadn't expected. Jongseong's soft breaths and Sunghoon's quiet sobs were the only sounds that filled the room now. 

Sunghoon had stopped crying, but the ache in his heart hadn't eased. He was still in Jaeyun's arms, his small body clinging to him like a lifeline. Jongseong, nestled against Jaeyun's side, hadn't moved either—his fingers still gripping the fabric of Jaeyun's shirt, his face relaxed in the deep sleep that only came after a nightmare. 

Jaeyun's arms ached, but he didn't move. He couldn't. 

He had never been great at this—this kind of comfort. But he couldn't deny that having them close, holding them together, somehow made it easier to breathe. Maybe it was because they needed him to be strong in ways he didn't even understand yet. Or maybe it was because, in this tiny, cramped bed, he wasn't alone either. 

The bed was too small for the three of them, the edges of the mattress too tight and uncomfortable for grown men, let alone two grieving kids. But it didn't matter. What mattered was the warmth of their bodies pressed against his, the quiet stillness of the room. This was the only space they had left to share, the only way they could come together after losing everything—everything.

Jaeyun shifted carefully, trying not to disturb the boys, but it didn't really matter. Jongseong was still fast asleep, and Sunghoon's breath had slowed. Jaeyun's body was starting to tire again, the exhaustion from last night catching up to him. His head leaned back against the headboard, and he closed his eyes for just a moment. His arms were still wrapped tightly around the boys, one over each of their shoulders, as if he could somehow shield them from the world outside. 

And for the first time in a long while, Jaeyun allowed himself to let go—just a little.

The softness of the bed, despite its smallness, seemed to offer a strange kind of solace. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't what he'd imagined his nights would be like. But somehow, it was enough. For now, it was enough. 

Jaeyun didn't sleep, not really, but he let himself drift in the space between wakefulness and slumber. His fingers lightly brushed through Sunghoon's hair as he held him close. He listened to the quiet, steady rhythm of their breathing, feeling the weight of responsibility pressing in. 

They had lost someone so important to them. They were alone, yes, but not completely. Not right now. Not when they still had each other. 

Jaeyun had no idea what the future held. The road ahead was messy, uncertain, and the case was far from over. But for now, as the world outside continued on with its chaos, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, they could find some kind of peace in this small, shared space.

The bed was too small, but in that moment, it was just big enough for all three of them to be together, trying to find comfort in the midst of grief.

And for a while, Jaeyun allowed himself to stay in the stillness, the weight of the boys in his arms grounding him, knowing that this small act—this quiet, imperfect moment—was the only way he could hold them together.

The world around Jongseong was soft, warm. There was no pain, no sorrow—just the steady rhythm of his breath and the sound of Jungwon's laughter. They were in a haunted house, a silly Halloween attraction, but in the dream, it felt like one of those days when everything just seemed perfect. The kind of day when all the pieces fall into place.

Jungwon was beside him, his hand in his. Their fingers intertwined with a familiar ease, like they had done it a hundred times before. They passed by fake cobwebs, oversized plastic spiders, and too-real-looking gory corpses hanging from the walls.

"Man, this place is insane," Jungwon chuckled, his voice light. "That corpse over there looks way too real."

Jongseong smirked, nudging his shoulder against Jungwon's. "Yeah, I swear that one's breathing. That's too realistic for my taste."

Jungwon laughed, a sound that made Jongseong's heart feel lighter, as if it could float away, “What, you scared? You know how much I love Halloween. It's our thing. It's supposed to be spooky!"

Jongseong rolled his eyes but couldn't help the smile tugging at the corners of his lips, "Sure, sure, but this? This is just creepy."

As they ventured deeper into the house, the atmosphere shifted. The fake cobwebs seemed less humorous now, the bodies hanging more gruesome, the atmosphere darker. Even the creaky floorboards beneath their feet seemed to groan with tension.

"We should get going, huh?" Jungwon said, stopping in front of a flickering exit sign. "I think we've seen enough for one night."

"Yeah," Jongseong agreed, but just as they were about to leave, something shifted. An uncomfortable, gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"I'll be right back," he said quickly, his voice unsteady. "Gotta hit the bathroom."

Jungwon glanced at him, his expression softening. "I’ll wait for you near the woods, okay?" His voice was a little too quiet, like he didn't want to let go.

"I'll be right there," Jongseong reassured him, smiling to hide the unease that crept up his spine.

He didn't think much of it when he wandered off down the hallway toward the restroom. He didn't. 

But when he returned, everything had changed.

The house was silent.

The decorations had gone still, the air thick and oppressive. Jongseong's heart pounded as he searched for Jungwon, calling his name in soft, anxious bursts. His steps echoed in the quiet corridors. "Jungwon?" he called again, his voice faltering with every turn he took.

Nothing.

The feeling in his chest grew heavy, and his skin prickled with a terrible sense of dread. Where the hell was he?

Jongseong's breath caught as he saw it—a faint streak of red on the floor, leading toward the back door. It was blood.

No. This couldn't be real. It couldn't be happening. But his feet moved anyway, drawn to it. He didn't even question why. He followed the trail out into the woods.

The trees stood tall and thick, the air around him colder, darker. The woods had never looked this threatening before, not on Halloween, not with Jungwon by his side. But now, they felt suffocating. They felt alive in a way that made Jongseong's skin crawl.

His body moved on instinct, carrying him deeper into the woods, following the blood trail like it was some terrible map he was doomed to walk. The trees loomed over him, their twisted branches reaching out like skeletal fingers.

Suddenly, his chest tightened. The blood trail stopped.

In front of him stood a tree, its bark gnarled and crooked, its branches like the twisted arms of a dead thing. And there, hanging from the tree, was a body.

Jongseong's breath caught in his throat. He took a step closer. The body was too still, too lifeless. His mind screamed, but his legs wouldn't stop moving. It was her. It was his mom.

The same way he had found her all those years ago. The same way the world had broken when he was six.

"Mom?" he whispered hoarsely, the word a tremor in his throat. "Mom, please."

He reached out toward her, but when his fingers brushed against the cold, lifeless body, he felt a shiver run through him. It wasn't his mother anymore.

The face, once his mother's, twisted into something unrecognizable, contorting, distorting. The features smoothed into something familiar, but wrong.

Jungwon.

Jongseong's stomach dropped, his blood turning to ice as he stared at the sight before him. The body shifted, becoming Jungwon’s. His boyfriend's lifeless eyes stared blankly at him, his mouth slack in a grotesque imitation of sleep.

"Jungwon..." Jongseong whispered, his voice shaking. "No. No, no, no."

He reached out to touch him, to make the nightmare stop, but when his hand grasped Jungwon's cold, unyielding form, his throat closed tight. The scream died in his chest, stuck behind a wall of grief and fear.

Jongseong opened his mouth to scream—anything, something—but no sound came. His entire body shook, his chest hollow, and the world around him shattered into silence.

And then, everything went dark.

Jongseong's pulse was still racing as he blinked up at the unfamiliar ceiling, the faint, pale light creeping through the blinds. It took him a moment to process where he was, the disorienting transition from dream to reality crashing over him like a wave. The air smelled sterile—like disinfectant and something else he couldn't quite place. A hospital? No, not quite.

The sound of steady breathing beside him broke through the fog in his mind.

His head was nestled against something warm, the soft, rhythmic rise and fall of someone's chest beneath him. He stiffened slightly, trying to clear his thoughts, but everything felt out of place. Everything felt wrong. His body was heavy, his limbs unresponsive, like he was trapped in the space between sleep and wakefulness.

When his gaze shifted, his eyes landed on the person who his arms were wrapped around—the deputy. Sim Jaeyun. The deputy's dark, tousled hair was inches from his own, his breathing slow and even, relaxed despite the chaos of the night before. Jongseong blinked at him, his stomach tightening. This deputy—the same one who had arrived at the scene when Jongseong called about Jungwon's body—was the one whose arms he was wrapped in, offering an unexpected comfort that didn't make sense. He had barely known the officer before the night, but now, this officer's presence felt strangely grounding, like he had become a silent protector amidst the storm.

Jongseong couldn't help but notice how young Jaeyun looked up close—probably in his early 20s. The way his features were still soft, youthful, yet steady and composed despite the horrors of the night. He must have been fresh out of the academy, or maybe still early in his career, but there was a calm authority to him that made him seem much older than his age. Jongseong wondered how someone so young could carry so much responsibility, especially after everything that had happened, but Jaeyun wore it without hesitation, a pillar of quiet strength that held steady even when the world felt like it was crumbling.

Jaeyun's face was peaceful in sleep, but there was something about him—something calm, as if he understood what it meant to bear the weight of responsibility without letting it show. His face was soft in the quiet of the room, his jawline sharp, his features handsome in a way that felt almost out of place in this moment of grief. He had been the one to listen to Jongseong's panicked voice over the phone. He was the one who had come when Jongseong needed help.

Jaeyun wasn't showing any signs of breaking. His calm was like a fortress, and Jongseong couldn't help but cling to it, even though he didn't fully understand why the deputy's quiet presence felt so reassuring. The man had arrived with control, taking charge in a situation that left everyone else in turmoil.

The thought made Jongseong's throat tighten. His gaze lingered on Jaeyun's face, but no answers came. Nothing felt right. Jungwon was gone, and no amount of comfort—no matter how quietly reassuring—could change that fact.

Suddenly, the truth from earlier crashed down with brutal force. Jungwon was gone.

Jongseong squeezed his eyes shut, his chest constricting as the suffocating weight of loss pressed down on him. The reality was so cold, so final, it felt like the world had stopped moving, like time itself had frozen. There would be no more laughter from Jungwon, no more teasing or quiet moments they'd shared, no more plans for Halloween or costumes or anything.

Tears welled up in Jongseong's eyes again, but he refused to let them fall. He couldn't. Not yet.

The words from Sunghoon echoed in his head: "He's dead."

Jongseong squeezed his eyes shut again, his chest tightening. Sunghoon's words had cut through him like a knife. The harshness of the truth lingered in his bones. He could feel the weight of it in every breath, in every movement of his body. But still, he refused to let himself break, not yet.

Sunghoon's quiet voice—so fragile, so broken—cut through the silence.

"Jongseong...?"

Jongseong glanced towards the right side of Jaeyun, his heart squeezing as he saw the pain in Sunghoon's face. The older boy had his head resting on Jaeyun's right shoulder now, his eyes rimmed red from crying. Sunghoon's small, trembling hand reached out to squeeze Jongseong's arm. There was a deep sadness in his eyes, but also something else—something understanding, as if he recognized the same heavy burden that was weighing down on Jongseong.

"Are you... are you okay?" Sunghoon's voice was barely a whisper, almost afraid to break the fragile silence between them.

Jongseong's chest tightened, but he nodded. He couldn't find the words, couldn't speak the truth that had broken them all. Instead, he turned his head slightly to rest it against Jaeyun's shoulder, the contact grounding him for just a moment. He let the silence stretch between them, feeling the warmth of Jaeyun's presence as his own body began to shake with the weight of everything they had lost.

Sim Jaeyun stirred in his sleep, shifting slightly, his arm still wrapped around Jongseong. The shift wasn't enough to disturb the delicate balance of the moment, but it reminded Jongseong of how fragile everything was. Jaeyun was still there, still a steady figure in the chaos of his mind. It was almost as though he were there to protect them from the unrelenting pain that kept threatening to tear them apart.

Jongseong tried to focus on Jaeyun's calm breathing, the steady pulse of life beneath his arm, but it wasn't enough to keep his thoughts from spiraling back into the darkness. His eyes squeezed shut again, and he found himself wondering, almost desperately, how they could keep going. How could anyone move forward when everything felt like it had been ripped away in a single instant?

He thought of Jungwon again. The thought sent a stab of pain through his chest, a raw ache that twisted in a way he had no words for. His Jungwon.

Everything felt so far away, so unattainable now.

He wanted to shout, to scream, to demand some sort of explanation. But the tears wouldn't come, not in the way he needed them to. Instead, his body trembled, caught somewhere between shock and grief, between disbelief and the truth that had settled like a heavy weight in his heart.

Jaeyun's hand—strong, steady—suddenly shifted, his thumb brushing against the side of Jongseong's waist. It was small, but it was enough to make Jongseong inhale sharply, as though the touch was a lifeline. He didn't pull away, though. He let Jaeyun's presence wash over him, even as the emotional floodgates began to crack open.

I don't know how to keep going, Jongseong thought, his mind whispering in despair.

But Jaeyun—steadfast, unbroken—was still there, still offering comfort. It was enough. For now.

Jongseong couldn't explain it. He didn't understand it himself. But he let the quiet settle back over them, letting himself drift into the space between wakefulness and sleep again.

For a brief moment, it felt like the world was standing still.

And for now, that was enough.

Jaeyun woke with a jolt, his body stiff and disoriented. His mind was a haze of confusion as he slowly opened his eyes, blinking against the dim morning light that filtered through the blinds. It took him a few seconds to realize where he was.

He was no longer in the chaos of the previous night—the tense, suffocating reality of Jungwon's murder. His limbs felt heavy as though they hadn't moved in hours. A dull ache throbbed in his temples, and he rubbed his face, trying to shake the fog out of his mind.

Jongseong. Sunghoon.

He remembered the way the boys had curled up beside him in his bed the night before. He'd held them, trying to offer whatever comfort he could, hoping the weight of his presence could shield them from the terror they'd just experienced. It had been a strange night—a night of surreal pain and aching grief. They'd both been so quiet, so still in his arms. Even in their sleep, their exhaustion and hurt were palpable, and Jaeyun had found himself struggling with the desire to protect them from everything that had happened. 

But now, as he woke up, he was alone.

He blinked, confused. The bed beside him was empty, and for a moment, panic seized him. His heart quickened as he scanned the room, but there was no sign of either of the boys.

Where the hell did they go?

Jaeyun's mind raced. Had they snuck out? He had barely slept, and now he was left to figure out where they were and what to do next. Was this real? Had he imagined last night?

No. He couldn't have. The memories were too vivid. 

Rubbing his temples, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and placed his feet on the cool floor, wincing as his muscles protested. His body felt as though it had been dragged through the wringer—tired, bruised by the emotional weight of everything that had happened. He pushed himself up and padded quietly toward the bathroom. The cold splash of water to his face helped momentarily shake the fog from his head, but the heaviness that settled over him lingered.

After a few minutes of standing still in the bathroom, Jaeyun made his way downstairs. He could feel the silence pressing in on him, suffocating him in a way he didn't like. He didn't know what he expected, but he knew it couldn't be normal. How could anything feel normal after last night?

As he rounded the corner into the kitchen, he stopped dead in his tracks.

There they were.

Jongseong and Sunghoon, sitting at the kitchen table, eating breakfast. The sight was so... ordinary, so unsettling. Their movements were mechanical, like they were going through the motions, trying to make sense of a world that had fallen apart in the span of one night. 

Sunghoon's eyes were slightly red-rimmed, his posture stiff, but he was chewing quietly, as though this was just another morning. Jongseong, on the other hand, looked more on edge. His brow furrowed as he stabbed at his eggs, avoiding Jaeyun's gaze, but the tremble in his fingers was unmistakable.

Jaeyun's chest tightened at the sight. The two of them were pretending. They were pretending that everything was okay, like they could just keep going on, but Jaeyun knew better. How could they? How could anyone, after what had happened to Jungwon?

"Morning," Jongseong greeted, his voice lacking its usual warmth. There was a forced quality to it. He looked up at Jaeyun, but the tension in his eyes was enough to make Jaeyun's heart ache.

"Morning," Jaeyun replied quietly, leaning against the counter. His voice sounded hollow, just like the heaviness in his chest. There was no smile, no warmth behind his words. He couldn't give them that. Not yet. 

He watched them both for a long moment. They were trying so hard to pretend that everything was normal. But Jaeyun could feel the weight in the air, the ache in their souls that no amount of routine could heal. They were lost. And no amount of breakfast was going to bring Jungwon back.

Sunghoon didn't look up at him immediately. He kept his focus on his food, as if he were hoping it would give him some semblance of comfort. Jaeyun felt a pang of sympathy, but it didn't change anything. They both needed help, but Jaeyun wasn't sure how to give it.

The silence in the room thickened, and it felt like they were all holding their breath.

Jongseong finally broke the stillness, his voice quieter now. "So... where are we?"

Jaeyun blinked, momentarily stunned by the question. He could feel the weight behind it—the desperation for some sort of clarity. They were asking what would happen next, as if they could move on from the trauma they'd just experienced. As if they could just slip back into their lives.

"Last night," Jaeyun began, his voice soft but firm, "after everything happened... Sheriff Kim and I brought you two here. We tried contacting your parents, but no response. And we didn't want to leave you anywhere near the media. There was a reporter—Jeon Jungkook—he'd been trying to get a scoop on the tragedy. He's been sniffing around, trying to get the inside story." Jaeyun paused, his hand gripping the counter as he recalled the chaos of the previous night. "We couldn't risk you getting dragged into that mess, so we snuck you out while we could. But he saw us."

Jongseong's face darkened as the words sank in. His eyes narrowed, and Jaeyun could see the fury bubbling beneath the surface. "That damn reporter is already trying to make a story out of this?" his voice was edged with rage. "He doesn't get to exploit Jungwon's death like this, not again."

Jaeyun felt his stomach twist. He understood the anger in Jongseong's voice, but there was nothing he could do about it. The media was already turning this into a spectacle. 

"Yeah," Jaeyun muttered, his own frustration evident. "He's already on the news, making connections to a cold case from ten years ago. They're saying this could be linked to it. I don't know how, but they're trying to find some sort of pattern."

Sunghoon blinked, confused, "Wait, what cold case? What are you talking about?"

Jaeyun sighed, looking at both of them. He could see the uncertainty in Sunghoon's eyes. He wasn't aware of the history, and it was something Jaeyun wasn't sure how to explain. He glanced at Jongseong briefly before responding. "It's... a murder case from ten years ago. One that's never been solved. There are rumors that there's a connection between this and... the events surrounding Jongseong's mother."

Sunghoon's brow furrowed, clearly confused. "Jongseong's mom?" He glanced over at Jongseong, not understanding the connection.

Jongseong looked up, and there was a brief flash of something dark in his eyes before his face went blank. "It's not something I want to talk about," he said shortly, his voice tight. "It's... old news."

Jaeyun sensed the abruptness in Jongseong's tone, the way his body went rigid as soon as his mother's name was mentioned. He respected the boundaries Jongseong was setting, but Sunghoon was still frowning, curiosity written all over his face.

"I was just asking," Sunghoon murmured, his voice small but insistent. "I didn't mean to make it weird."

Jongseong didn't respond to that. He just stared at his plate, pushing the food around with his fork. Jaeyun could see the familiar wall Jongseong always put up when it came to his mother. That was something he wasn't ready to face yet, maybe never. The pain from that loss still lived in him, a wound that hadn't healed. Jaeyun wasn't going to press it, but he knew that one day it would come up again.

After a long, painful silence, Sunghoon cleared his throat. "So... are we going to get in trouble with the school for not being there, today?"

Jaeyun exhaled slowly, rubbing his forehead. "Sheriff Kim called the school first thing this morning. He told them you wouldn't be attending, at least not until you've had time to grieve. He made it clear that you guys were to stay here for now."

Sunghoon nodded slowly, but there was no relief in his expression. Jaeyun could tell he was trying to process everything in his usual quiet way, but there was no easy answer to any of it.

Jongseong pushed his plate aside, the food untouched. He sat back in his chair, his eyes distant. "What about the home game? My coach is counting on me."

Jaeyun's gaze softened, his voice firm. "The whole town is grieving, Jongseong. All games are canceled. The community's not thinking about football right now. The last thing anyone wants is to see you out there playing while everyone else is in mourning."

Jongseong looked like he wanted to argue, his lips parting as if he were about to say something, but Jaeyun cut him off before he could speak. "Trust me, it's for the best. No one's going to fault you for taking some time."

Jongseong seemed to accept that, though Jaeyun could still see the frustration in his eyes.

"And my friends... I know I can't be alone right now," Jongseong said after a beat. "Can they come over? I don't want to be isolated."

Jaeyun shook his head, "The sheriff's orders. He doesn't want anyone to know where he lives, not yet. It's for your protection, Jongseong." He hesitated, seeing the frustration flicker in the boy's eyes. "It's not forever. Just until things calm down."

Sunghoon sat up straighter then, glancing over at Jongseong. "What about going to school tomorrow?" he asked, a bit of hope creeping into his voice.

Jaeyun met his eyes, "Are you sure you're ready for that?"

Jongseong nodded firmly. "We are," he said, voice steady. "We don't want to hide away forever."

Jaeyun exhaled, nodding. "Alright. I'll drive you both tomorrow morning, make sure you're safe."

With that, the weight of the conversation seemed to lift slightly. But Jaeyun knew that none of them were truly fine. They were all just coping—trying to find ways to keep going, even as the tragedy of Jungwon's death loomed over them. And they would keep pretending to be okay... until they weren't anymore.

For now, though, Jaeyun could only hope that his presence could give them some small measure of safety.

Chapter Text

The car ride to school dragged on like a bad dream. Jongseong kept his head pressed against the window, the cold glass grounding him as his thoughts spiraled. Every bump in the road jolted him back into reality, but not the one he wanted to face. The hum of the engine filled the silence, but it couldn’t drown out the noise in his head—the questions, the memories, the ache. Jungwon.  

Next to him, Sunghoon sat hunched over, his hands clutching the straps of his backpack. He hadn’t said a word since they left the sheriff’s house. Junwon’s older brother’s grief was quieter, but Jongseong could see it in the way his body stayed tense, his knuckles pale from gripping too hard. Jongseong wanted to reach out, to say something—anything—to ease the silence. But what could he say? That he understood? That it would get better? He didn’t even believe that himself.  

In the front seat, Jaeyun drove with his usual awkward focus, his hands gripping the wheel like it might fly out of his control. Every so often, his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, as if checking to make sure they were still there. Jongseong wondered if Jaeyun was as tired as he was. The guy barely looked old enough to be a cop, let alone deal with two grieving teenage boys and a town spiraling into chaos.  

Then the school came into view, and Jongseong’s chest tightened.  

It was a circus. Six police cars were parked along the curb, their flashing lights casting eerie streaks of red and blue across the gray morning. Four news vans crowded the lot, their satellite dishes clawing at the sky. Reporters swarmed the barricade, their voices a chaotic blur of shouts and questions.  

Jongseong straightened, his stomach twisting. He hated this—the cameras, the questions, the way people fed off tragedy like it was a buffet.  

“Really milking it for the headlines, huh?” he muttered, his voice dripping with bitterness.  

Jaeyun glanced at him in the mirror, his expression unreadable. “Stay close to me,” he said. “I’ll make sure you both get inside without any trouble.”  

Jongseong rolled his eyes, “Yeah, sure. Officer Awkward saves the day.” 

Jaeyun ignored the jab, pulling the car to a stop just outside the barricade. He stepped out first, his presence drawing attention like a moth to a flame. Reporters surged forward, cameras clicking, their voices rising in a chaotic wave.  

Jongseong braced himself as Jaeyun opened the door. The noise hit like a slap.  

“Come on,” Jaeyun said, motioning for him and Sunghoon to follow.  

Jongseong climbed out, squinting against the harsh flashes of the cameras. His stomach churned at the barrage of questions:  

“Jongseong, do you believe this is connected to your mother’s case?”  

“Sunghoon, how do you feel about your brother’s death?”  

“What will the school do to protect its students?”  

“Do you think the killer is still out there?”

The words stabbed at him, each one sharper than the last. His mother. Jungwon. It was like they were trying to tear him open, to see how much he could bleed.  

“Back off!” Jaeyun barked, his voice cutting through the chaos.  

The deputies flanking them stepped in, forming a protective barrier as they moved toward the school’s front doors. Jongseong kept his head down, his fists clenched so tightly his nails bit into his palms.  

The glass doors closed behind them with a heavy thud, muffling the noise outside. Jongseong exhaled slowly, but the knot in his chest refused to loosen.  

Jaeyun turned to them, pulling a card from his pocket. “Here,” he said, holding it out to Jongseong. “My number. If you need to leave early, or if anything happens... just call.”  

Jongseong stared at the card for a moment before taking it. “Thanks, Jaeyun,” he said, his voice tinged with faint amusement, no longer calling him Officer Awkward, instead choosing to call him by his first name.

Jaeyun sighed, running a hand through his hair, “Just stay safe, okay?”  

As Jaeyun turned to leave, Jongseong watched him go until he reached the car, his lips twitching into a smirk, “You know, Sunghoon, if he wasn’t in uniform, he’d totally blend in here.”  

Sunghoon let out a soft laugh, "Sure, I guess, but he's is a bit awkward.”  

“Yeah,” Jongseong agreed, his voice softer now. “But he gives great hugs.” Especially when he needs one to sleep comfortably at night.

Sunghoon grinned, “Definitely.”  

The moment was brief, fleeting, like a fragile thread holding them together.  

Then the shouts came. “Sunghoon! Jongseong!”  

Jongseong barely had time to react before Riki, Yeonjun, and Heeseung barreled into Sunghoon first, their voices a chaotic blend of relief and concern. Sunghoon’s laugh broke through, shaky but real, as their friends enveloped him in a group hug. It wouldn't be long until they come barreling into Jongseong.  

Jongseong turned away, the sound twisting something deep in his chest. He wasn’t ready for that—not yet.  

“Jongseong?”  

He looked up to see Sunoo, his bestfriend, standing in front of him, his expression pale but steady.  

“Are you okay?” Sunoo asked, his voice soft.  

“I’m fine,” Jongseong said automatically, the lie slipping out before he could think.  

Sunoo didn’t push. He never does unless he can tell it bothers Jongseong. Instead, he looped an arm around Jongseong’s shoulders, guiding him towards their classroom. Jongseong let him, grateful for the silence between them.

The classroom felt suffocating. The usual hum of chatter was gone, replaced by a heavy stillness that pressed down on everyone. Jongseong slid into his seat, his hands resting limply on the desk.  

At the front of the room, the teacher stood with her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke. “A terrible tragedy,” she began, her words slow and deliberate. “An unbearable loss. It’s days like today that remind us how much we need each other. How much we need... prayer.”  

Jongseong stared at the scratched surface of his desk, his thoughts spiraling. He hated those words. They felt empty, like a bandage slapped over a wound that would never heal.  

A knock at the door broke the stillness. A student stepped in, handing the teacher a folded note.  

She read it quickly, then looked up. “Jongseong,” she said gently. “It’s your turn.”  

His heart sank, but he didn’t hesitate. As he stood, he felt the weight of every gaze in the room. He kept his head down as he walked to the door, his steps slow and heavy.  

The principal’s office felt impossibly far away. Jongseong’s footsteps echoed in the empty hallway, each one heavier than the last. His palms were damp, and his heart pounded in his chest, a steady rhythm that refused to calm.  

Do they want to know about Jungwon? The question looped in his mind as he neared the door, its polished wood gleaming under the fluorescent lights. He could hear muffled voices inside—serious, clipped tones that made his stomach churn.  

He hesitated, his hand hovering over the doorknob, but before he could knock, the door creaked open. Principal Jung peeked out, his kind, lined face a stark contrast to the tension that radiated from the room behind him.  

“Hi, Jongseong,” the older man said gently, his voice soft, like he was speaking to a frightened animal.  

Jongseong nodded stiffly, his throat too tight to respond.  

“Come in,” Principal Jung said, stepping aside.  

The office smelled faintly of coffee and old books, a strangely comforting scent that clashed with the unease settling deep in Jongseong’s chest. He stepped inside, his gaze immediately landing on the three men seated near the principal’s desk: Sheriff Kim Namjoon, Deputy Sim Jaeyun, and a sharp-eyed stranger in a dark suit—clearly an FBI agent.  

“Sheriff Kim. Jaeyun,” Jongseong said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.  

Jaeyun shifted in his seat, offering a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s Deputy Sim today, Jongseong,” he said, his tone light but with a firmness that reminded Jongseong they weren’t here as friends.  

Jongseong’s eyes lingered on Jaeyun. The young deputy looked uncomfortable, his shoulders tense and his fingers fidgeting slightly against the edge of the chair. Even Sheriff Kim, usually so composed, seemed off, his jaw tight as he avoided Jongseong’s gaze. They don’t want to be here either, Jongseong realized.  

Principal Jung cleared his throat, drawing Jongseong’s attention, “The FBI wants to know everything,” he said gently, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. “So we’ll be brief, Jongseong. They just have a few questions they’d like to ask you.”  

Jongseong stiffened, his gaze snapping to the FBI agent. The man’s face was unreadable, his dark suit immaculate, his posture straight and composed. He exuded authority, the kind that made Jongseong’s stomach twist with unease.  

“Park Jongseong,” the agent began, his voice calm but piercing, “I’ve been briefed about your involvement prior from the sheriff and the deputy, but I’d like to start with something simple. Who was Yang Jungwon to you?”  

The question hit harder than he expected. Jongseong’s breath caught, and his chest tightened painfully. He opened his mouth to answer, but the words caught in his throat. Was. The agent had said was. 

“He’s my boyfriend,” Jongseong said finally, his voice trembling. The present tense felt like a lifeline, one he wasn’t ready to let go of. Saying was would make it real. Saying was would mean Jungwon was truly gone.   

The agent nodded, his expression softening ever so slightly. “Thank you,” he said, his tone patient. “Now, can you walk me through how you came to see the body?”  

Jongseong’s fingers curled into the fabric of his jeans, his nails digging into the denim. “I...” He took a shaky breath, his mind replaying the events he desperately wanted to forget.  

“I woke up early that morning around 3 a.m to the phone ringing,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “Sunghoon was calling me. He was frantic, saying something about Jungwon. I didn’t know what he meant, but I could hear it in his voice—he was terrified.” 

He paused, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I drove to the house... I didn’t pay attention to the speed limits. I just... I needed to get there.”  

The memory of the drive was a blur of adrenaline and dread, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly they ached.  

“When I got there, I found Sunghoon... he was on the couch, rocking back and forth like he was trying to disappear into himself. I kept asking him what happened, but he wouldn’t talk. He just... kept mumbling things over and over, something about it not being real.”  

Jongseong swallowed hard, his throat burning. His voice dropped lower, barely audible. “The glass kitchen door was shattered. I saw it, and I don’t know... something told me to go outside.”  

His breathing grew uneven as the memories surged forward, “I grabbed a flashlight and went into the backyard. There was a trail—blood—leading into the woods.”  

The room was silent, the weight of his words pressing down on everyone. Jaeyun shifted slightly, his eyes fixed on Jongseong with a mixture of sympathy and discomfort. The sheriff had his hands clasped in front of him, a frown on his face. 

“I followed it,” Jongseong continued, his voice cracking. “And then I saw Jungwon.”  

Tears blurred his vision, spilling over before he could stop them. He wiped at his face with trembling hands, his breath hitching as he tried to continue. “I can’t—I can’t say anything else,” he choked out, his voice breaking completely. “It’s too much.”  

The FBI agent nodded slowly, his expression unreadable but not unkind. “That’s enough for now,” he said, his voice steady but quiet.  

Jaeyun moved before anyone else could, pulling a tissue from the pocket of his leather jacket. He leaned forward, holding it out to Jongseong. “Here,” he said softly.  

Jongseong took it, his fingers brushing against Jaeyun’s for just a moment. He wiped his face, staring down at the tissue in his hand. The room felt stifling, the air thick and heavy.  

“Thank you, Jongseong,” Principal Jung said, his voice gentle. “You’ve done well.”  

Jongseong nodded numbly, unable to meet anyone’s gaze. His chest felt hollow, his legs unsteady as he stood. He turned toward the door, his movements stiff and mechanical.  

The hallway was quiet, the silence wrapping around him like a suffocating blanket. He stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty corridor, before his legs finally carried him away. 

The cafeteria felt both too loud and eerily quiet at the same time.

Jongseong sat at their usual table, flanked by his friends. The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, and the air was thick with the indistinct hum of conversations and clattering trays. Riki sat with one arm casually draped over Sunoo’s shoulders, the two nestled close in a way that might have been comforting if it weren’t for the weight of the day. Across from them, Heeseung leaned back in his seat, exuding his usual mix of charm and goofiness, though his sharp eyes darted to Jongseong more than once.

Jongseong barely noticed. His head rested heavily on one hand as he stared at his untouched tray. The sounds around him blurred together, a distant hum that he couldn’t quite tune into. Sunghoon wasn’t there; he was in the principal’s office being interviewed by the FBI agent. Everyone else had already endured their turn under the agents’ probing questions earlier that morning.

“So,” Sunoo began, breaking the quiet, “what did the FBI agent even ask you?” His tone was light, but there was an undercurrent of unease as he glanced at Riki. “Riki said they asked if he liked to hunt. Hunt? Why would they even ask that?”

Riki shrugged, picking at the remnants of his sandwich. “I don’t know, they just did.”

“Because Jungwon’s body was gutted,” Heeseung said suddenly, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

The word hit hard.

Jongseong flinched, his body jolting as if he’d been physically struck. His hand twitched, his knuckles whitening as his grip tightened around the edge of the table. The vivid memory of Jungwon’s lifeless body flooded his mind—unbidden, unwelcome.

“Thanks, Heeseung. Real smooth,” Yeonjun said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He reached over, placing a warm hand on Jongseong’s, and began rubbing slow circles against the back of it. The gesture was soothing, grounding, but Jongseong’s attention caught on the faint bandaid on Yeonjun’s palm. An injury?

He didn’t ask about it.

“You okay?” Yeonjun asked, his voice low enough to stay between them. Jongseong nodded, but it was a hollow motion.

“I mean, the agent didn’t ask me if I liked to hunt,” Sunoo said, trying to inject some levity as he crossed his arms. His tone was faux-offended. “What the hell? Am I not menacing enough for them?”

Riki smirked, nudging him with an elbow, “No way. You’re too soft to even kill a mosquito.”

Sunoo rolled his eyes, shoving Riki’s arm off him, “This is so biased. Honestly, I could totally have done it."

“Sure,” Heeseung said, his lips quirking into a grin, “but with an ice pick, maybe.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Yeonjun muttered with a groan.

Riki leaned in closer, his voice dropping low. “Seriously, though. Jungwon was completely... gutted. Takes a real man to do something like that.”

The table fell silent for a moment as the weight of Riki’s words settled over them.

Sunoo broke the stillness. “I mean, anyone with that kind of mentality could do it, right?”

“How do you...” Jongseong’s voice was barely audible, but it cut through the murmur of the cafeteria like a gunshot. “How do you gut someone?”

The question hung in the air, sharp and raw. All eyes turned to him. Jongseong’s face flushed crimson as he realized he’d said the words out loud.

Riki, ever unbothered, shrugged. “Well, you take a knife, stab—”

“Riki!” Yeonjun interrupted, slapping the back of his head. “For god’s sake, it’s called tact. Look it up.”

Riki rubbed the back of his head, muttering, “Sorry, sorry. He asked, didn’t he?”

Heeseung, sensing the tension, leaned forward with a mischievous grin. “Remember in Jaws when they caught the wrong shark at first?”

“Shut up, you heard Yeonjun,” Riki said, laughing despite himself. He reached over to punch Heeseung lightly in the arm, but the mood had already shifted again.

Jongseong sat stiffly, trying to block out the noise, the banter, the way the conversation kept veering toward the unspeakable.

“Hey, Riki,” Jongseong said suddenly, his voice low but steady. “Didn’t you like date my boyfriend?”

The table fell silent. Riki blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “We never date. I only had like one conversation with him, we weren’t compatible,” he said after a beat, shrugging it off.

Heeseung, never one to miss an opportunity, smirked, “Yeah, especially after he dumped you for Jongseong.”

Sunoo whipped his head toward Riki, his eyes narrowing, “You said there was nothing between you two.”

Riki raised his hands defensively. “There wasn’t! Heeseung’s just full of shit.”

“Uh-huh,” Heeseung drawled, leaning back in his seat. “Sure. Nothing at all.”

Riki shot him a glare. “What are you saying? That I killed Jungwon or something?”

“I don’t know,” Heeseung said lightly. “It would certainly spice up your high school legacy.”

Jongseong felt his hands trembling under the table, his breath quickening. The conversation around him blurred as he fought to keep control. He wasn’t ready to face this—not here, not now.

“Enough!”

Sunoo’s voice cut through the cacophony, sharp and commanding. The playful bickering around the table came to a jarring halt as every head turned toward him. His eyes, usually warm and light, burned with an intensity that silenced even Heeseung’s smirk.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Heeseung?” Sunoo snapped, his tone laced with frustration. His hands gripped the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Do you even hear yourself right now? This isn’t some stupid joke or gossip session. Someone is dead. Jungwon is dead!”

The words hung heavy in the air, reverberating through the silence that followed. Riki flinched at the harshness in his boyfriend’s tone, sitting back in his chair with his mouth slightly open, as if unsure whether to interject or stay quiet.

Sunoo wasn’t finished. He jabbed a finger in Heeseung’s direction, his expression twisting between anger and disbelief, “You’re sitting here, making these comments, and you think it’s funny? You think it’s okay to joke about... about this? About him ?”

Heeseung’s smirk faltered, replaced by a flicker of something else—guilt, maybe, or discomfort. His gaze darted away, and for a moment, he looked almost ashamed.

“Sunoo...” Riki started softly, but Sunoo turned on him next.

“And you,” Sunoo said, his voice still sharp but tinged with hurt now. “What were you even thinking, saying that it takes a real man to do this? Do you even realize what that sounds like? Or were you too busy trying to be edgy?”

Riki looked down, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he mumbled, but his usual confidence was gone.

“You didn’t mean it?” Sunoo repeated, incredulous. “Then maybe think before you speak next time!”

Across the table, Yeonjun shifted uncomfortably, his hand still resting lightly over Jongseong’s. He shot Sunoo a quick glance, as if debating whether to step in, but he seemed to sense that this wasn’t his fight.

Jongseong, meanwhile, sat frozen, the air around him pressing down like a weight. Sunoo’s words—raw, cutting, and unfiltered—seemed to echo in his mind, intertwining with his own spiraling thoughts. The anger in Sunoo’s voice mirrored the storm brewing inside him, the pain and frustration he couldn’t find the words to express himself.

Heeseung finally broke the silence, his voice subdued. “I was just trying to lighten the mood. I didn’t mean to—”

“Lighten the mood?” Sunoo interrupted, his voice cracking slightly. “Do you think this is something we can just laugh off? Do you think that’s what Jongseong needs right now?”

At the mention of his name, Jongseong flinched again, his gaze snapping to the table as if trying to make himself smaller.

Heeseung opened his mouth as if to respond but then closed it again, sinking back into his chair with a defeated sigh.

Sunoo exhaled shakily, his hands falling to his lap. The fire in his eyes dimmed slightly, replaced by a deep sadness. He turned his attention to Jongseong, his voice softening. “I’m sorry. This isn’t fair to you. None of this is fair.”

Jongseong didn’t respond. His chest tightened, and he felt the familiar sting of tears threatening to fall. He stared at his tray, the food now cold and untouched, and wished he could disappear.

Riki hesitantly reached out, his hand brushing Jongseong's arm while grabbing ahold of Sunoo's in his other hand. “Hey,” he said quietly, “I’m sorry too. We all are.”

Sunoo didn’t pull away, though his shoulders remained tense. He glanced at Riki, his expression softening just slightly. “Then let’s stop acting like this is just another day, okay?”

The table fell silent again, the weight of Sunoo’s words settling over them. Even Heeseung didn’t have a comeback this time.

The sheriff’s house was suffused with an uneasy stillness.

Jongseong sighed, leaning back into the worn cushions of the couch. The quiet was suffocating, broken only by the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. Sunghoon had gone to the store with Jaeyun, too restless to stay cooped up and too uneasy to venture anywhere without company. Jongseong didn’t blame him—this house might have been safer than home, but it wasn’t free from the creeping shadows of what they’d been through.

His stomach grumbled faintly, pulling him from his thoughts. Stretching, he dragged himself into the kitchen and opened the fridge. The cold air bit at his skin as he stared at the contents: a few containers of leftovers, a carton of milk, some wilted lettuce. He grabbed a plate of food, popping it into the microwave and watching the numbers count down.

The mechanical hum filled the silence, soothing in its mundanity. When the timer beeped, he carried the warm plate back to the living room and set it on the coffee table.

He switched on the TV, hoping to catch up on a show, anything to fill the emptiness. The screen flickered to life, and a news anchor’s voice filled the room. "The  entire nation is shocked today by the tragic deaths of two teenagers in Woodsboro, California...”

Jongseong’s heart sank. His fingers fumbled with the remote, switching the channel before the anchor could say more.

The next channel wasn’t any better. A different reporter stood outside what looked like a government building, his expression grim. “The State Bureau of Investigation has joined forces with local authorities to apprehend the individual responsible for what the governor has called ‘the most heinous crime our state has seen in years.’”

Jongseong clenched his jaw, pressing the button again.

And there he was.

Jeon Jungkook. The smooth-talking reporter, the one who made millions of Jongseong's mother death, stood in front of Woodsboro High, his perfectly tailored suit and dazzling smile at odds with the gravity of the situation.

“This isn’t the first time the small town of Woodsboro has endured such tragedy,” Jungkook began, his voice dripping with false sincerity. “Only a decade ago, Park Yuna, wife and mother, was found brutally murdered in—”

Jongseong froze.

A black-and-white photograph filled the screen. His mother.

Her smile was radiant, her eyes crinkling at the edges with joy. It was the kind of image that looked perfect on paper but was incomplete in his memory. Jongseong stared, his throat tightening. He hated how much time had passed since he’d last seen that smile in real life, how her face had become a relic of the past.

The remote slipped from his hand onto the couch as the image blurred behind a film of tears. With a trembling breath, he reached out and turned the TV off manually.

The silence that followed felt heavier than the sound of the reporter’s voice. He sank back onto the couch, dragging a hand through his hair as he tried to steady his breathing.

His gaze drifted around the living room, desperate for distraction. It landed on a photo frame perched on the mantelpiece. He stood and walked over, picking it up carefully.

It was a snapshot of four young friends. Sheriff Kim stood on the far left, grinning widely with his arm around the shoulder of a man Jongseong didn’t recognize. Next to them stood his mother and father, their faces glowing with youth and happiness.

They looked so carefree, so untouched by the horrors that would come later. Jongseong traced his finger lightly over his mother’s face in the picture, a lump rising in his throat. 

He set the frame back on the mantel with care, returning to the couch and curling up against the cushions. He wasn’t tired enough to sleep, but he wasn’t ready to face his thoughts either.

The sudden ring of the phone broke through the quiet, startling him. He reached for the portable handset, pressing it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Jaeyun’s familiar voice came through, steady and warm. “Just wanted to update you. We’re loading the car now. Shouldn’t take us more than 40 minutes to get back.”

Jongseong glanced at the clock on the wall. It was well past sunset. “Alright,” he murmured, his voice soft.

“Don’t worry,” Jaeyun added, his tone reassuring. “It’d be faster if I ignored the speed limits, but I promise we’ll get back safe.”

Despite the weight in his chest, Jongseong chuckled faintly. “Okay. See you soon.”

“See you.”

The call ended, and Jongseong set the phone back on the table. He leaned back into the couch, letting his eyes drift shut.

The phone rang again, loud and insistent, cutting through the quiet like a blade. Jongseong sighed, reaching for the handset. The plastic felt cold in his hand, grounding him slightly as he pressed it to his ear.

“Jaeyun?” he said, his tone weary but familiar. He figured the deputy had forgotten to mention something, maybe a reminder about Sunghoon’s favorite snacks or another reassurance about getting back safely.

But the response wasn’t what he expected.

Static crackled softly on the other end, faint and irregular, like a distant signal fighting to come through. Jongseong frowned, shifting the phone against his ear.

“Jaeyun, did you forget to tell me something?” he asked, his tone patient but edged with curiosity.

The line didn’t respond. The static grew louder, pulsing in uneven bursts that prickled at his skin. It wasn’t the steady hum of a bad connection; it was jagged, almost alive.

“Hello?” Jongseong tried again, his voice growing firmer, louder, though his stomach churned with unease.

For a moment, there was nothing but the distorted hiss of the line, an oppressive silence hidden beneath the noise. And then he heard it—a faint sound buried deep in the static. Breathing. Slow, deliberate breathing.

Jongseong froze. His grip on the handset tightened as a cold chill crept up his spine, spreading like ice water through his veins. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.

“Jaeyun, is that you?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly as he forced steadiness into it.

The breathing continued. Calm. Measured. Completely unbothered by his question.

Jongseong’s stomach twisted. His free hand clenched into a fist at his side as his pulse thundered in his ears. He pulled the phone away slightly, staring at the handset as though it might hold answers, but the soft crackle of static persisted.

“Come on,” he muttered under his breath, his tone edged with nervous frustration. It was more for himself than whoever—or whatever—was on the other end.

And then it hit him.

He pressed the phone back to his ear, irritation replacing his unease. “Heeseung, is this one of your dumb pranks? Did Riki put you up to this?”

The line hissed softly in response, as though mocking his assumption.

Jongseong’s chest tightened, his irritation giving way to a prickling sense of dread. “Seriously, Heeseung, I’m not in the mood for this,” he said, his voice sharper now, though a faint tremor betrayed his rising fear. “You think this is funny?”

Still, the static persisted, unrelenting. Then, as if to answer him, the breathing returned—closer this time, clearer, each exhale deliberate and steady.

The sound sent a fresh wave of cold terror down his spine. His heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in shallow gasps as his mind scrambled for an explanation.

Then it came.

A voice emerged through the crackle, soft, calm, and chillingly deliberate. It cut through the static like a whisper in a nightmare:

“Hello, Jongseong.”

The sound of his name froze him. It was spoken with an unnerving familiarity, as though the speaker knew him intimately. Yet the voice was completely foreign—cold, calculated, and entirely wrong.

The handset trembled in his hand. His mouth went dry, and for a moment, he couldn’t force out a response. His thoughts raced, grasping for an explanation that made sense.

It wasn’t Jaeyun.

It wasn’t Heeseung.

It wasn’t anyone he knew.

Jongseong’s breath hitched, his knuckles white around the phone’s plastic casing. He pressed it tighter to his ear, forcing the words out through the knot tightening in his throat, “Who is this?”

The voice on the other end didn’t answer immediately. The silence stretched, heavy and deliberate, broken only by faint static. Then, a low, distorted chuckle filtered through the line, hollow and unnerving, as though coming from a badly tuned radio.

“Scary night, isn’t it?” the voice finally said, its tone unsettlingly conversational. “With all the murders and everything. Feels like something right out of a horror movie, don’t you think?”

Jongseong blinked, his fear momentarily replaced by confusion. The comment was so casual, so absurd, it almost felt... wrong. Then, a nervous laugh escaped him.

“Aha, Heeseung, you gave yourself away,” Jongseong said, relief washing over him like a wave. “Are you calling from work? Did you get this number from the phonebook?”

The voice ignored his question, chuckling again as though Jongseong had told a joke. “Do you like scary movies, Jongseong?”

Jongseong rolled his eyes, sinking back into the couch and propping his feet up on the coffee table. “I like that thing you’re doing with your voice, Heeseung,” he said, his tone teasing. “It’s sexy.”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” the voice pressed, its distorted tone smooth and deliberate.

“Don’t start,” Jongseong replied, shaking his head with a soft laugh. “You know I don’t watch that stuff.”

“And why is that?” the voice asked, almost intrigued, as though the answer genuinely mattered.

Jongseong smirked, deciding to play along. “Because they’re all the same,” he said, leaning back. “It’s always some dumb coward stalking some naive idiot—terrible actors, by the way—who chooses to run up the stairs instead of just going out the front door. They’re ridiculous.”

For a moment, the line was silent. The stillness stretched unnervingly long, and Jongseong’s smirk faded as unease crept back in.

Then, the voice returned, softer now but with an edge that made his skin crawl. “Are you alone in the sheriff’s house, Jongseong?”

The question hit like a slap. His stomach churned, but he pushed the feeling down, rolling his eyes instead. “This is so unoriginal. You disappoint me, Heeseung,” he said, his tone laced with sarcasm.

“Maybe that’s because I’m not Heeseung,” the voice replied, calm but dripping with malice.

Jongseong’s confidence faltered. He laughed nervously, though it sounded hollow even to him. “So who are you?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

“The question isn’t who am I, ” the voice said, its tone sharpening. “The question is where am I? ”

A shiver ran down Jongseong’s spine. His eyes darted around the living room, scanning the drawn curtains. Every window was shut, every curtain firmly in place. He swallowed hard.

“So... where are you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“The front porch,” the voice replied, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Jongseong froze. Slowly, he stood, clutching the phone tightly as he made his way toward the door. His heart pounded so hard he could hear it in his ears. With trembling hands, he reached for the curtain covering the small window beside the door.

He hesitated, the silence on the line growing heavier with every passing second. Finally, he tugged the curtain aside just enough to peek out.

He stood on his tiptoes, craning his neck to see. The porch light cast a pale glow over the wooden boards, but the view was limited. He saw no one.

“Why would you be calling me from the front porch?” he asked, his voice tight.

“That’s the original part,” the voice replied, the smile audible in its tone.

“Oh yeah?” Jongseong said, forcing a smirk. “Well, I call your bluff.”

With shaking hands, he unlocked the deadbolt, unlatched the chain, and pulled the door open.

The porch stretched before him, empty and quiet. The overhead light flickered faintly, casting weak illumination that barely reached the edge of the yard. Beyond that, the darkness was thick, impenetrable.

He stepped out, the phone still pressed to his ear. The cold night air bit at his skin, sending a chill through him that had nothing to do with the weather.

“So, where are you?” he asked again, his voice low but steady.

“Right here,” the voice replied.

Jongseong’s eyes darted to the bushes, the faint shadows shifting in the breeze. He scanned the yard, his breath coming faster now. But there was nothing.

“Can you see me right now?” he asked, his voice rising slightly.

“Uh-huh,” the voice replied.

“What am I doing?” Jongseong asked, sticking a finger up his nose in an exaggerated motion, trying to mask his growing unease.

The line went silent.

No answer, no laughter.

“Good try, Heeseung,” Jongseong said, lowering his hand. His confidence surged momentarily. "Tell Riki he’s getting punched in the nose tomorrow. Bye now.”

He moved to hang up, but the voice cut through, sharp and venomous:

“If you hang up, you’ll die, just like your dear boyfriend.”

Jongseong froze, the blood draining from his face.

The voice grew darker, angrier. “Do you want to die, Jongseong? Because Jungwon didn’t.”

“Shut up, you cretin!” Jongseong shouted, his voice breaking as he slammed the phone down and bolted back inside. His hands shook as he locked the door, his fingers fumbling with the chain and deadbolt. He checked them twice, then backed away, his chest heaving.

The house, so still just moments ago, now felt oppressive. Every shadow seemed to move, every sound amplified as the words echoed in his mind.

Jongseong’s hands trembled as he clutched the portable phone in his pocket, Jaeyun had bought it for him, his fingers fumbling over the buttons. He could barely hear his own breathing over the pounding of his heart. Just as he was about to press the last digit to call Jaeyun, a muffled sound broke the stillness—a faint creak, followed by a low rustling from the hallway closet.

He froze, his body stiffening as adrenaline coursed through him. His eyes flicked toward the hallway, dread pooling in his stomach.

The closet door burst open, and a figure lunged out at him, moving faster than he thought possible.

Jongseong barely had time to react. The figure crashed into him, its shoulder slamming into his ribs with brutal force. He hit the floor hard, the impact knocking the air from his lungs, but somehow, he managed to keep hold of the phone.

A strangled scream tore from his throat as the figure landed on top of him. He flailed, his free hand clawing at the figure’s arm.

It loomed over him, its face shrouded by a grotesque mask. The pale, distorted features of the mask were unsettling, hollow eyes staring through him with an unfeeling, ghostly gaze.

The figure raised an arm, the glint of silver catching Jongseong’s eye.

A knife.

Jongseong’s survival instincts kicked in. He lashed out with his foot, driving it upward with all his strength. His heel connected with the figure’s shin, the impact reverberating up his leg.

The figure staggered, the mask tilting as it let out a low, guttural growl. The moment of imbalance was all Jongseong needed. He twisted his torso, using the momentum to shove the figure off him.

It tumbled backward, slamming into the edge of the coffee table before collapsing onto the floor.

Jongseong scrambled to his feet, his chest heaving as he stumbled toward the front door. He fumbled with the locks, his fingers slipping as panic clouded his movements.

He finally turned the deadbolt and yanked the door open.

Clunk.

The door jerked to a stop, the chain lock pulling it back with a metallic snap.

“Shit!” Jongseong hissed, slamming the door shut. He twisted the lock again, his movements frantic as he worked to unlatch the chain.

A sound behind him made him whirl around. The figure had recovered, standing unsteadily but with a menacing air. A knife clutched in its hand.

Jongseong’s heart lurched. With the chain still latched, escape through the door was impossible. Without thinking, he turned and sprinted toward the stairs.

The figure gave chase, its footsteps heavy and relentless.

Jongseong reached the halfway point of the stairs when he felt a hand grab his ankle. He let out a startled cry, his momentum throwing him forward as he grasped wildly for the wall. His fingers found the edge of a framed painting.

“I’m sorry, Sheriff,” he muttered under his breath, his voice trembling. With a desperate yank, he tore the painting from the wall and swung it backward.

The painting shattered against the figure’s head, the glass splintering on impact. The force of the blow sent the figure sprawling, tumbling down the stairs in a heap.

Jongseong didn’t waste a second. He darted to the bedroom he shared with Sunghoon, slamming the door shut behind him. His hands trembled as he locked the door, then wrenched open the closet. He wedged the door against the knob, creating a makeshift barricade.

The pounding started almost immediately, the sound reverberating through the room as the figure slammed into the door. Jongseong pressed his back against the far wall, clutching the phone to his chest.

With shaking fingers, he finally finished dialing Jaeyun’s number.

“Pick up,” he whispered. “Please, pick up.”

The line clicked.

“Jongseong?” Jaeyun’s voice came through, steady but laced with concern.

“Jaeyun, get here now!” Jongseong shouted, his words spilling out in a frantic rush. “Someone’s in the house! They’re trying to get me!”

“I’m almost there,” Jaeyun said, his voice firm. “Stay put. I’m calling the sheriff too.”

The sound of wood splintering made Jongseong flinch. The doorframe was giving way, cracking under the relentless force of the figure’s attacks.

Then came another sound—a sharp thunk against the bedroom window.

Jongseong’s head snapped toward the noise, his breath catching in his throat. For a moment, he was paralyzed, staring at the darkened glass, half expecting the masked figure to appear. Instead, a familiar face stared back at him from the shadows outside.

“Yeonjun?” Jongseong whispered, his voice barely audible. Disbelief laced his tone, and his stomach churned with confusion.

What was Yeonjun doing here? The sheriff’s house was on the outskirts of town, nestled at the edge of the other side of the woods. It wasn’t the kind of place anyone just happened to stumble upon, especially not at this time of night. The nearest houses were half a mile away, and Yeonjun lived on the other side of town. 

“Jongseong!” Yeonjun’s muffled voice called through the glass, his tone urgent but strained. “I heard screaming! Are you okay?”

Jongseong hesitated, his mind racing. How could Yeonjun have heard anything from so far away? The scream had barely carried through the house itself, let alone into the isolated surroundings.

The confusion clouding his thoughts was quickly overridden by a wave of relief. His knees buckled slightly, the tension in his body loosening for the first time in what felt like hours. He ran to the window, fumbling with the latch, and threw it open.

Yeonjun climbed through awkwardly, his movements clumsy as his legs tangled briefly with the windowsill. He landed inside with a soft grunt, straightening up and brushing himself off.

“What are you doing here?” Jongseong asked, his voice shaky, his confusion sharpening into suspicion. “How did you even know I was here?”

“I didn't know it was you, I just heard a screamming,” Yeonjun repeated, catching his breath. “From half the block away. The front door was locked, so I came around to check the window. Are you okay?”

Jongseong’s heart pounded, his relief giving way to unease. Yeonjun’s explanation didn’t make sense. The sheriff’s house wasn’t just far from the nearest block—it wasn’t even close to a neighborhood.

“He’s here,” Jongseong stammered, his voice trembling. “He’s after me.”

Yeonjun’s face tightened in alarm, and he stepped inside, moving quickly but cautiously. As he did, something fell from his pocket, landing on the floor with a muted thud.

The sound was subtle, but in the tense silence, it felt deafening. Jongseong’s eyes darted down to the object—a small, sleek, compact cellular phone.

For a moment, Jongseong couldn’t process what he was looking at. The glossy black device seemed out of place, almost surreal against the chaotic backdrop of the night.

The air in the room shifted, growing heavy with unspoken tension.

Jongseong’s gaze snapped up to Yeonjun, whose face froze in an unreadable expression. Their eyes locked, and the world seemed to stand still.

Neither of them spoke. Jongseong’s pulse pounded in his ears, his breaths shallow and rapid. Then, breaking through the oppressive quiet, he heard it—a distant siren.

The faint wail grew louder, piercing the silence. Relief flickered through him, but it was fleeting, quickly smothered by the storm of unease building in his chest.

His thoughts raced, tripping over themselves in a frantic attempt to piece everything together.

The sheriff’s house was isolated, far from the nearest cluster of homes. How had Yeonjun even known to come here? And the phone—why hadn’t he mentioned it before? His mind drifting to the bandaid that he saw in Yeonjun's palm during lunch.

The siren became sharper, closer. Outside, tires screeched on the asphalt, the sound sharp and jarring. Jaeyun’s car.

Jongseong’s heart thudded painfully, the relief he should have felt drowned out by the overwhelming tension in his body. His instincts screamed at him to act, to move.

Without a word, he shoved the closet barricade aside, the wooden door scraping against the floor with a dull groan.

“Hey! Wait—what’s going on?” Yeonjun called after him, his tone laced with confusion and urgency.

But Jongseong didn’t stop. His legs carried him forward on autopilot, his footsteps heavy as he bolted for the stairs.

His heart thundered in his chest, his breathing ragged as he raced down to the front door. He could feel Yeonjun’s presence lingering behind him, hear his hurried footsteps descending the stairs, but Jongseong didn’t dare look back.

The sirens grew louder, echoing in his ears now, their shrill pitch blending with the frantic hammering of his heart.

He reached the door, his hands fumbling with the locks. His fingers were clumsy, trembling as he twisted the deadbolt free.

With a desperate pull, he yanked the door open—

And froze.

Standing on the porch, framed by the flickering glow of the overhead light, was the ghostly white mask.

The sight hit Jongseong like a physical blow, his breath catching in his throat. The mask’s pale, distorted features were grotesque in their simplicity, the hollow eyes empty and unfeeling, yet somehow alive with menace.

Jongseong felt his body lock in place, his thoughts grinding to a halt. The flickering light cast eerie shadows over the figure, its presence so still it seemed almost unreal.

The sirens wailed louder now, seemingly right outside the house, but Jongseong barely registered them. All he could see was the mask, its hollow gaze piercing through him.

The two stood there, frozen in time.

And then the mask tilted, ever so slightly, in a motion that sent a shiver racing down Jongseong’s spine.