When a string of brutal murders rocks the city, Detective Y/N is assigned to the investigation alongside her longtime partner, Detective Jeong Yunho. Their first victim seems like an ordinary homicide-until a disturbing pattern begins to emerge. Every victim had a reputation for cruelty, leaving behind a trail of people who quietly admit the world may be better off without them.
WARNINGS: angst, implied serial murder, graphic description of victims' wounds, mentions of verbal abuse and harassment, fem detective!reader x forensic scientist!mingi dating (tiny skinship), investigation team!ot8eez
pt 1 pt 2
————
Wednesday mornings always felt louder.
Phones rang before the coffee finished brewing.
Detectives hurried through the bullpen balancing case files beneath one arm and breakfast beneath the other.
Someone had already started arguing with the copy machine.
Normal.
You smiled to yourself.
Somehow.
That made the building feel alive.
The forensic lab was considerably quieter.
Yeosang sat beneath the bright glow of his workstation, reviewing enlarged photographs from Riverside Park while Mingi organized evidence logs from the previous evening.
The printer beside them spat out another report.
“…I hate paperwork.”
Yeosang didn’t look up.
“I know.”
“It reproduces.”
“That’s not how paperwork works.”
“It feels like it.”
A knock sounded against the open laboratory door and both men looked up. Yunho stood there holding two coffees.
“Bribery.”
Mingi smiled.
“You know us well.”
“I’ve learned.”
He walked inside, handing one cup to each of them. Yeosang accepted his with a small nod.
“…Thank you.”
“You look like you’ve been here since dawn.”
“I have.”
“I figured.”
The three stood talking for a few minutes. Wooyoung nearly getting thrown out of another press conference. San accidentally using legal terminology during lunch and confusing an entire table of detectives. The coffee downstairs somehow tasting worse than usual.
Eventually Yunho glanced toward the hallway.
“Mingi.”
“Hm?”
“Walk with me?”
Yeosang raised one eyebrow.
“You stole him yesterday too.”
“I’ll bring him back.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
The hallway was nearly empty.
Morning sunlight streamed through the long windows overlooking the parking lot. Yunho walked quietly beside him for several moments.
“I’ve been thinking.”
“That’s concerning.”
“It usually is.”
Mingi smiled. “What about?”
“The victims.”
His smile faded slightly.
“…Yeah.”
Yunho rested one hand against the railing overlooking the lobby below.
“They weren’t random.”
“No.”
“They were selected.”
Mingi nodded.
“We’re pretty confident about that.”
Another pause.
Then Yunho quietly asked, “…Do you think people can change?”
Mingi looked over.
“…That’s an unexpectedly philosophical question.”
“I know. I’m asking anyway.”
Mingi leaned beside him.
“I think some people do.”
“Some?”
“Not everyone.”
“What about bullies?”
Mingi frowned thoughtfully.
“I’ve seen both. Some grow up. Some don’t.”
Yunho looked down toward the lobby.
“And if they don’t?”
Mingi folded his arms.
“…Then hopefully they face consequences.”
“What kind?”
“The kind that the situation calls for.”
Yunho nodded.
“…Right.”
Mingi found himself studying Yunho now in curiosity. Yunho wasn’t looking at him anymore. His attention remained fixed on nothing in particular. Finally, Mingi asked,
“…Why?”
Yunho blinked.
“Hm?”
“Why are you asking me?”
Yunho smiled again. The familiar smile returned so naturally that, for a second, Mingi wondered if he’d imagined the previous expression.
“I was just thinking about the case. Mark Ellis. Darren Collins. They made a lot of people’s lives miserable.”
“They did.”
“I guess…” He shrugged lightly. “…it makes me wonder how many chances people deserve.”
Mingi considered that.
“…More than one.”
“You think so?”
“I do.”
“Even if they never apologize.”
Mingi’s answer came almost immediately.
“…An apology isn’t what makes someone change.”
Yunho looked at him.
“What does?”
“They decide to. You can’t force it. You definitely can’t kill it into them.”
The words left Mingi’s mouth almost absentmindedly. Yunho hesitated for a full two seconds then laughed.
“…Fair point.”
The conversation moved on except for Mingi. As they walked back toward the lab, something quietly tugged at the back of his mind.
Not the words.
The pause.
Yunho never hesitated, especially not in conversation.
It was strange.
By the time they reached the lab doors, he’d nearly talked himself out of noticing it at all. People got distracted. People zoned out. People had bad mornings. It wasn’t evidence but it was definitely…
Odd.
Before he could think about it any further, an alarm sounded throughout the bullpen upstairs, not loud but enough to turn heads. A detective hurried toward Hongjoong’s office carrying a freshly printed dispatch.
“Captain.”
Hongjoong looked up immediately.
“What is it?”
The detective’s face answered before his mouth did.
“…Possible homicide.”
Every conversation stopped.
Hongjoong stood.
“Location.”
“An abandoned warehouse near the freight yards.”
“Who found them?”
“Private security making morning rounds.”
Hongjoong grabbed his jacket.
“Major Crimes—move.”
Chairs rolled backward. Coffee cups were abandoned. Folders snapped shut. Within seconds, the bullpen transformed from routine office chatter into controlled urgency. Downstairs, the lab doors burst open. A patrol officer appeared slightly out of breath.
“Yeosang. Mingi. We’ve got another one.”
Neither man needed to ask what “another one” meant. Mingi was already reaching for his field kit as Yeosang grabbed fresh gloves from a cabinet. The officer hesitated.
“…Captain says to bring everything.”
Yeosang looked up.
“Everything?”
“He said…”
The officer swallowed.
“…This one’s different.”
Twenty minutes later…
Police vehicles surrounded an aging brick warehouse on the edge of the industrial district. Red and blue lights reflected across rain-soaked pavement. Yellow tape stretched nearly the length of the building. Reporters were already gathering beyond the barricades. Wooyoung stood among them, notebook in hand, his expression noticeably more serious than usual.
Hongjoong ducked beneath the tape first. You and Yunho followed close behind.
The warehouse smelled of rust and oil. The victim lay several yards inside, face turned toward the ceiling. One glance at the scene made your stomach churn, not because of the violence but because of what surrounded the body.
Photographs.
Dozens of them scattered across the concrete floor. Every single one depicted a different person.
Children.
Teenagers.
Adults.
Some crying. Some visibly frightened. Some taken from school yearbooks. Some printed from social media. Some looked decades old.
You crouched carefully, avoiding the evidence markers.
“…What are these?”
No one answered.
Yeosang slowly picked up one photograph using forceps. He looked at the back but it was blank. Mingi examined another and his expression slowly changed.
“…Captain.”
Hongjoong stepped closer.
“What?”
Mingi looked up.
“This isn’t random.” He held the photograph out. “The people in these pictures…”
He glanced around at the dozens still covering the floor.
“…I don’t think they’re victims.”
Silence.
“What do you think they are?” Hongjoong asked. Mingi’s voice was quieter now.
“…I think…” — he looked back at the photograph in his gloved hand — “…they’re survivors.”
The warehouse fell silent.
No one realized it yet.
But the killer had just changed the rules of the game.
—
The newsroom never truly slept.
Even at two in the morning, monitors glowed across the open office, keyboards clacked steadily, and the police scanner murmured from somewhere in the background.
Wooyoung sat alone.
Three empty coffee cups crowded one corner of his desk. A legal pad covered in names occupied the other. His phone rang and he answered immediately.
“Jung Wooyoung.” A pause. “Hi, Mrs. Carter.”
Another pause.
“Yes. I know it’s been years.” His pen hovered over the paper. “…You do?”
His expression changed.
“…Would you mind repeating that?” He wrote quickly. “I appreciate it. No, I won’t print your name. I promise.”
He hung up, crossed out another question and circled a different one.
The warehouse photographs were spread across his desk.
Fifteen faces.
Some smiling in school portraits.
Some taken from employee identification cards.
One appeared to have been cropped from a family photograph.
No names.
No dates.
Just people.
People who mattered.
He looked at the nearest photograph.
“…Who are you?”
He didn’t call the police.
He called the people who remembered.
Former guidance counselors.
Retired principals.
Pastors.
Youth coaches.
Neighbors.
One conversation led to another.
Another to another.
A librarian recognized one face.
A retired secretary recognized another.
An old football coach remembered a nickname.
Each answer unlocked another door.
By sunrise…
Wooyoung’s notebook was nearly full.
He leaned back in his chair, rubbing tired eyes.
Fifteen photographs.
Thirteen names.
Two still unknown.
Not perfect.
Good enough.
Not yet.
He wasn’t finished.
The public library opened at eight and he was already waiting when the doors unlocked. The archivist smiled knowingly.
“Back again?”
“I need yearbooks.”
“Which school?”
“All of them.”
“…You’re serious,” she said with a laugh.
“I usually am.”
Hours disappeared beneath stacks of aging yearbooks and archived newspapers.
Graduation photographs.
Honor rolls.
Sports teams.
Club rosters.
Obituaries.
Tiny community articles nobody had read in years.
He wasn’t looking for victims.
He was looking for connections.
Patterns.
Stories.
By midmorning, he found one.
A newspaper clipping from nearly twelve years earlier.
LOCAL STUDENT TRANSFERS FOLLOWING HARASSMENT INVESTIGATION
No names.
Just initials.
He underlined it anyway.
Then another.
A youth soccer article mentioning disciplinary action against a coach.
Another note. Another line. Another connection. The same names kept appearing. Different towns. Different years. The same handful of people leaving destruction behind them.
Wooyoung slowly lowered the article.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Nearly every photograph belonged to someone who had once filed—or attempted to file—a complaint. Some official. Some informal. Many abandoned. Not because they were false but because nobody believed them.
He quietly closed the folder.
For the first time since this investigation began, the murders stopped looking random.
The newsroom was almost silent when he returned. His editor looked up from across the room.
“You look terrible.”
“I know.”
“You find something?”
Wooyoung didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he walked to his desk, opened his laptop, created a fresh document and across the top, he typed:
CONFIDENTIAL
Preliminary Cross-Reference of Warehouse Photograph Subjects
His editor frowned.
“…You’re giving it to the police?”
“Yes.”
“You could publish first.”
Wooyoung looked up.
“If I publish this now… someone else dies.”
The editor slowly nodded.
“…Fair enough.”
Forty-three minutes later the report was finished.
Each identified photograph now included: full names, approximate ages, known connection to the victim, publicly documented complaints, witnesses willing to speak, source reliability and outstanding questions
Professional.
Objective.
Thorough.
He printed seven copies.
Slid them neatly into a folder and closed it.
The following morning, the bullpen buzzed with its usual energy. Detectives hurried between desks, phones rang and coffee disappeared at alarming speeds. Hongjoong had barely stepped out of his office when the front desk officer spoke.
“Captain.”
He looked up.
“You’re going to want this.”
Hongjoong frowned.
“What is it?”
The officer pointed toward the lobby where Wooyoung stood quietly near the reception desk. Notepad and camera absent and no grin, only a dark messenger bag hanging from one shoulder. Hongjoong immediately sighed.
“…What now?”
Wooyoung walked over.
“I need five minutes.”
“I have three.”
“This’ll take two.”
Hongjoong narrowed his eyes.
“…Fine.”
The conference room slowly filled. You and Yunho entered first. San and Jongho followed shortly after. Yeosang arrived carrying a tablet. Mingi slipped into the last empty chair beside him. Everyone looked mildly confused.
Why had Hongjoong called another meeting?
Wooyoung walked in. Several eyebrows lifted. Y/N blinked.
“…You’re presenting?”
“I am.”
Hongjoong folded his arms near the whiteboard.
“I haven’t read it yet.”
“You’ll want to.”
“I hope so.”
Wooyoung set a thick folder in front of Hongjoong. Then another before you and Yunho, San and Jongho, then Yeosang and Mingi.
The room grew noticeably quieter when Hongjoong opened the first page, his eyes moving steadily across it. He flipped to the next. Then the next. Then another. His expression slowly changed.
“…You identified thirteen.”
Wooyoung nodded once. “Confirmed.”
Hongjoong looked up.
“…How?”
“I started calling people.”
“…Who?”
“Everyone. I didn’t stop until the stories matched.”
No one spoke.
Hongjoong turned another page.
Source citations. Interview summaries. Archived records. Cross-referenced timelines. Even notes separating confirmed facts from unverified claims. Everything clearly labeled and meticulously organized. Yeosang quietly turned a page.
“This is… exceptionally thorough.”
Jongho looked impressed.
“You flagged anything that would be inadmissible in court.”
Wooyoung simply replied,
“It matters.”
Hongjoong closed the folder and for a long moment, he just looked at Wooyoung. Then, in a voice so matter-of-fact that it somehow carried even more weight, he said,
“…Excellent work.”
Every head in the room turned toward Hongjoong. Wooyoung blinked.
“…That’s it?”
Hongjoong raised an eyebrow.
“What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know.”
“A parade?”
“No. Maybe a slightly bigger compliment.”
The corner of Hongjoong’s mouth twitched despite himself.
“You’ll survive.”
A few quiet chuckles rippled around the room, but they faded almost immediately as Hongjoong looked back down at the report. His tone sharpened.
“Everyone.”
The room straightened.
“We have names,” — he tapped the folder once — “… and now we have a direction.”
As everyone opened their copies in earnest, one sentence near the middle of Wooyoung’s report caught Mingi’s eye:
Multiple interviewees independently stated that, after reporting the abuse, they were approached months or years later by an unidentified man who listened to their account but never identified himself. Descriptions vary too widely to conclude the individual was the same person. Further investigation recommended.
Mingi frowned for the briefest moment.
Not because it pointed to anyone.
It didn’t.
But because it was… unusual.
He quietly underlined the sentence with his pen.
Just in case.
—
The bullpen had finally begun to quiet.
Most of the morning briefing had dissolved into smaller assignments.
San and Jongho disappeared toward the courthouse with fresh subpoenas.
Wooyoung had already left to follow another lead from one of the identified photographs.
Yeosang and Mingi returned to the lab with another box of evidence from the warehouse.
Hongjoong remained buried beneath enough paperwork to qualify as a structural support beam.
Which left you.
And Yunho.
Stacks of interview summaries covered the conference table. You rubbed tired eyes before highlighting another sentence.
“…This is the fifth one.”
Yunho looked up from his own notes.
“What is?”
“They all describe the victims the same way.”
He nodded.
“Cruel. Unpredictable.Everyone was scared of them.”
You sighed.
“It almost makes me angry.”
Yunho quietly closed his notebook.
“Why?”
“Because… every interview ends the same. They reported it. No one listened.” You leaned back in your chair. “I keep thinking… what if someone had?”
Yunho didn’t answer immediately. Instead he studied the case board mounted across the room. Finally—
“Can I ask you something?”
You looked over.
“When have you ever waited for permission?”
He smiled.
“…Fair.”
He folded his arms.
“If someone wanted revenge…” He spoke slowly. “Not for themselves. For someone they loved.”
You nodded.
“Okay.”
“Who comes to mind?”
“What do you mean?” you asked with a frown.
“I mean…” He rested his elbows on the table. “…Who do you know that would do absolutely anything to protect you?”
The question caught you off guard. You barely had to think.
“Mingi.”
The answer came naturally. Yunho’s expression softened.
“I figured.”
You smiled to yourself. “He’d try.”
“He’d definitely try.”
You laughed quietly.
“Although… he’d cry after stepping on a snail.”
Yunho laughed.
“That’s probably true.”
“He apologizes to spiders before putting them outside.”
“I’ve seen it.”
“He accidentally watered one of his plants twice because he said the leaves looked sad.”
“I’ve also seen that.”
You shook your head affectionately.
“He’s hopeless.”
“No.” Yunho smiled. “…He’s kind.”
The room settled into a comfortable silence. You tapped your pen lightly against the table.
“I know he’d protect me.”
You looked down at the case file.
“But… he also believes people deserve second chances. He’d never…” You trailed off.
Yunho nodded.
“I know. I wasn’t asking because I think he’d do this.”
“I know.”
“I was thinking about motive.”
You hummed thoughtfully.
“Someone who loves the survivor.”
“Exactly.”
Hongjoong suddenly appeared in the doorway.
“Yunho.”
He looked up.
“Yeah?”
“I need the witness statements from yesterday.”
“I left them at my desk.”
“Well… go get them?”
“I’m on it.”
Yunho stood, gathering his notebook. He looked toward you.
“Don’t work too hard.”
“You know that’s impossible.”
“I had to try.”
He disappeared into the office.
You followed a minute later.
The office bustled with familiar activity. You walked toward Yunho’s desk intending to borrow a stapler. He wasn’t there yet, probably still talking to Hongjoong.
You waited, absentmindedly glancing around his workspace. It was unsurprisingly neat.
A coffee mug. A small cactus that looked like it had survived entirely out of determination. Several neatly stacked files. Then your eyes landed on a photograph tucked into the corner of the bulletin board. You smiled instantly.
“No way…”
You reached up carefully, touching the edge of the frame. The picture had faded slightly with age.
Two detectives fresh out of the academy, hair slightly too neat, standing in front of the precinct with ridiculous smiles on your faces. You laughed quietly.
“I haven’t seen this in forever.”
Behind you, a familiar voice answered.
“I always liked that one.”
You turned.
Yunho walked back toward his desk carrying the witness statements Hongjoong had requested.
“You still have it?”
He looked at the photograph.
“…Yeah. I guess I do.”
You smiled.
“I remember this.”
“Our first day.”
“You kept complaining your shoes hurt.”
“They did.”
“They were two sizes too small.”
“I was trying to look professional.”
“You were limping.”
“I was professionally limping.”
He laughed. “I remember.”
You gently straightened the slightly crooked photograph.
“I should ask whoever took this if they still have the original.”
Yunho watched your hand for just a fraction longer than necessary then smiled.
“…This one’s enough.”
You looked back at the picture.
“I still can’t believe how nervous we were.”
“You hid it better.”
“I didn’t.”
“You threw your notebook into a fountain.”
“…I did do that.”
“You cried.”
“I was overwhelmed.”
“I know.”
You smiled sheepishly.
“You bought me coffee.”
“I did.”
“And told me nobody knew what they were doing.”
“I wasn’t lying.”
“You weren’t.”
For a moment the two of you simply looked at the old photograph, a reminder of younger versions of yourselves.
Before promotions.
Before impossible cases.
Before this investigation.
It was comforting until Hongjoong’s voice echoed across the bullpen.
“Yunho!”
Yunho looked up.
“Coming!”
He grabbed the witness statements from his desk. As he turned to leave, he glanced once more at the photograph for a heartbeat.
Then he looked away.
“I’ll be back.”
“Take your time.”
You smiled, already reaching for the stapler you’d originally come to borrow.
You never noticed the way his fingertips had briefly rested against the corner of the photograph before he walked away.
When a string of brutal murders rocks the city, Detective Y/N is assigned to the investigation alongside her longtime partner, Detective Jeong Yunho. Their first victim seems like an ordinary homicide—until a disturbing pattern begins to emerge. Every victim had a reputation for cruelty, leaving behind a trail of people who quietly admit the world may be better off without them.
WARNINGS: angst, implied serial murder, graphic description of victims’ wounds, mentions of verbal abuse and harassment, fem detective!reader x forensic scientist!mingi dating (tiny skinship), investigation team!ot8eez
pt 1 pt 3
————
The forensic laboratory was quieter than the rest of the precinct.
The constant buzz of fluorescent lights mixed with the rhythmic hum of ventilation systems, broken only by the occasional beep of a machine or the rustle of paperwork.
Evidence processing wasn’t exciting.
It was patient.
Every mistake could compromise a case. Every overlooked detail could let someone walk free. Yeosang carefully lifted another evidence envelope from the transport container.
“Item seven.”
Mingi glanced up from his computer.
“Fiber sample?”
“Mm.”
Yeosang scanned the barcode before placing the sealed envelope on a stainless steel table.
“Recovered approximately two meters from the victim.”
Mingi typed the information into the evidence log.
“Chain of custody confirmed.”
“Confirmed.”
Neither spoke for several minutes.
Gloves snapped into place. Photographs were taken from multiple angles before the seal was broken. The blue fiber was barely visible against the white examination paper.
Yeosang adjusted the microscope.
“Definitely synthetic.”
“Polyester?”
“Looks that way.”
Mingi leaned over.
“We’ll compare it against the victim’s clothing first. If it doesn’t match we widen the search.”
Yeosang nodded.
Evidence had a habit of speaking eventually.
Across the room, another technician delivered the victim’s clothing in individually sealed bags. Mingi accepted them with a quiet thank you.
“The rain didn’t do us any favors.”
“No.”
Yeosang sighed.
“But it could’ve been worse.”
“It usually is.”
That earned the smallest smile.
Mingi carefully unfolded the victim’s jacket across fresh examination paper.
“Visible tears.” He photographed them. “Blood saturation consistent with scene.” Another photograph. “No obvious transfer stains.” Another.
“Interesting.”
Yeosang looked over.
“What?”
“The pocket.”
“What about it?”
“It was turned inside out.”
Yeosang walked around the table.
“Hm.”
“It was.”
“But the wallet was still there.”
“So…”
“Someone searched him without stealing anything.”
Mingi nodded.
“Or… they wanted us to think someone searched him.”
Yeosang considered it.
“I’ll note both possibilities.”
A soft vibration echoed across the metal table and Mingi looked down. His phone screen lit up.
Y/N: Have you eaten yet?
He couldn’t help smiling. Yeosang noticed immediately.
“Well there it is.”
“What?”
“That look.”
“What look?”
“The one you get every time she texts.”
“I don’t—”
“You do.”
Mingi unlocked his phone anyway. Another message appeared before he could answer.
Y/N: Don’t lie either. I know you forget when you’re busy.
A quiet laugh escaped him and without thinking, he typed back.
Mingi: Says the detective who called half a granola bar breakfast.
Three little dots appeared almost instantly.
Y/N: Wooyoung told you didn’t he
Mingi: He was deeply concerned for your wellbeing.
Y/N: Traitor.
Mingi: Eat food.
Y/N: Only if you do.
He smiled again.
Mingi: Deal
He slipped the phone back into his pocket. Yeosang was still looking at him.
“…What?”
“You smiled.”
“I smiled.”
“Twice.”
“…Is that illegal?”
“No.” Yeosang picked up another evidence bag. “It’s just nice.”
Mingi chuckled softly.
“I’ll let her know you approve.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it.”
“I observed it.”
“You sound like an incident report.”
“I write a lot of them.”
Silence settled comfortably between them.
It wasn’t awkward, it never had been. The two had worked together long enough that conversation came and went naturally. Eventually, Yeosang spoke without looking up.
“You know…”
“Hm?”
“I think Yunho likes her.”
Mingi continued labeling evidence.
“I know.”
Yeosang blinked.
“…You know?”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re…” He gestured vaguely. “…Okay?”
Mingi looked genuinely confused.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Yeosang set the evidence bag down.
“I don’t know. Some people would be.”
Mingi shrugged lightly.
“Having feelings isn’t a crime.”
“No.”
“Acting on them when someone’s in a relationship would be disrespectful.”
Yeosang nodded once.
“And Yunho hasn’t.”
“Exactly.”
Mingi sealed another evidence envelope.
“He’s always respected us. He’s never crossed a line. He treats me well. He treats her well. So…”
Another shrug.
“I trust him.”
Yeosang watched him for a moment.
“…You’re surprisingly secure.”
Mingi smiled faintly.
“I don’t have a reason not to be.” He reached for another piece of evidence. “She chooses me. And that’s enough.”
Yeosang found himself smiling.
“…That’s healthy.”
“I try.” After another moment, Mingi added with a grin, “Besides… if Yunho wanted to compete with me…”
Yeosang raised an eyebrow.
“…He’d lose.”
“Oh?”
Mingi’s grin softened into something almost boyish.
“She likes when I make her hot chocolate.”
Yeosang stared at him for exactly three seconds.
“…That’s your winning strategy?”
“It works.”
“Does it?”
“I’ve seen it work.”
“…Fair enough.”
The two returned to their work. Evidence bags. Photographs. Measurements. Or how ordinary the moment felt, two forensic scientists talking about lunch.
—
By the following afternoon, the precinct had settled into an uncomfortable rhythm.
Coffee.
Paperwork.
Interviews.
Reports.
The murder board grew more crowded by the hour, yet somehow yielded fewer answers than before.
Darren Collins’ photograph remained at the center.
Around it stretched a web of names.
Coworkers.
Neighbors.
Former girlfriends.
Managers.
Employees.
Each connected by thin lines of dry-erase marker that all led back to one frustrating conclusion.
Motive: Unknown.
You stood in front of the board with your notebook tucked beneath one arm.
“Three harassment complaints.” You circled one name. “Two neighborhood disputes.” Another circle. “One assault accusation that never made it to court.”
Yunho leaned against the edge of Hongjoong’s desk.
“He wasn’t exactly living a quiet life.”
“No.”
You uncapped another marker.
“But everyone hated him for different reasons.”
“Meaning?”
“If we’re looking for one suspect…” You drew another line. “…we’re looking for someone whose reason outweighs everyone else’s.”
Hongjoong looked up from a stack of reports.
“Good. But don’t lock yourself into one theory.”
“I know.”
“People surprise you.”
“They do.” He paused. “Usually in the worst ways.”
Across the bullpen, San and Jongho had claimed a small conference table. Case law books sat open beside untouched cups of coffee. Jongho flipped another page.
“If this becomes multiple homicide…”
“We’re already planning for that?” San asked with a groan.
“We should.”
“I hate that you’re probably right.”
Wooyoung wandered through the bullpen carrying two camera lenses and absolutely no urgency whatsoever. He stopped beside your desk.
“Question.”
You looked up.
“That’s dangerous.”
“I know.” He leaned against the divider. “If someone hypothetically had a source…”
Hongjoong looked over immediately.
“No.”
“I didn’t finish.”
“No.”
“They’re very reliable.”
“No.”
“They have snacks.”
Hongjoong didn’t even glance up this time.
“Especially no.”
Wooyoung sighed dramatically.
“You never let me have fun.”
“This is a homicide investigation.”
“I know. Can I at least keep the snacks?”
“…Yes.”
“Fantastic.”
He disappeared toward the break room before anyone could change their mind.
Downstairs, the forensic laboratory remained just as methodical as the night before.
Yeosang reviewed autopsy photographs beneath a bright examination lamp while Mingi compared fiber samples against the victim’s clothing under a microscope.
Nothing.
The synthetic fiber matched the victim’s own jacket. No foreign hairs. No usable DNA. No hidden surprise waiting to save the investigation. Mingi leaned back with a quiet sigh.
“I hate clean crime scenes.”
Yeosang continued typing.
“They usually aren’t. They just feel that way until they don’t.”
Mingi nodded.
Evidence rewarded patience.
Back upstairs, the afternoon briefing lasted less than ten minutes.
Hongjoong capped his marker.
“We’ve got nothing tying anyone directly to Darren.”
No one argued.
“We continue interviews. You two—” He pointed toward you and Yunho. “Finish the employer list.”
You nodded.
“Got it.”
“The rest of us keep pushing reports.” He looked around the room. “We’re missing something.”
Silence answered him because everyone knew he was right. They just didn’t know what.
You and Yunho had barely reached your desks when the phone rang. Nobody paid attention at first. Calls came in constantly.
Missing persons.
Noise complaints.
Traffic collisions.
Another detective answered.
“Major Crimes.” A pause. His expression changed and you noticed immediately. He straightened in his chair.
“…Yes.” Another pause. “I understand.”
He slowly lowered the receiver. The bullpen had grown noticeably quieter.
“Captain.”
Hongjoong looked up.
“What is it?”
The detective swallowed.
“We’ve got another homicide.”
Every conversation stopped. The only sound came from the fluorescent lights overhead. Hongjoong stood.
“Location?”
“Riverside Park.”
“Estimated time?”
“Within the last hour.”
Yunho closed his eyes with quiet annoyance.
“I literally just clocked in. Why can’t we just have one normal day…” he muttered.
Hongjoong looked around the room.
“Let’s move.”
Nobody hesitated. Chairs rolled backward. Jackets disappeared from hooks. Evidence kits were grabbed without a word. The familiar rhythm returned but the drive felt different this time. Neither of you reached for the radio or joked about traffic.
Yunho kept one hand on the steering wheel while the city blurred past the windows. You watched pedestrians continue their afternoons as if nothing had changed. Somewhere among them a murderer had killed again.
—
The park was already crawling with patrol officers.
Children’s laughter echoed faintly from the opposite side of the river where the playground remained open, blissfully unaware of the police tape stretched around a wooded walking trail.
News vans had begun arriving.
Wooyoung’s station among them.
Hongjoong ducked beneath the tape first.
“Keep the media back.”
An officer nodded.
“Yes, Captain.”
You followed close behind.
The victim lay several yards off the paved path beneath a cluster of oak trees. A white sheet covered everything except one outstretched hand. Yeosang was already photographing the surrounding area. Mingi stood several feet away speaking quietly with another technician before noticing you arrive.
He offered a small wave.
You returned it automatically, letting yourself smile despite the situation. Mingi jerked his chin in the direction of the crime scene and your attention shifted back toward the body. Hongjoong looked toward the medical examiner.
“You ready?”
The examiner nodded.
Slowly, the sheet was folded back and time stopped. Your breath caught.
No. It couldn’t—
Your eyes fixed on the face.
Older.
More wrinkles but unmistakable.
“…Y/N?”
You didn’t answer. Yunho stepped closer. His voice remained calm.
“…Do you know him?”
The question took a moment to register. You swallowed.
“…Yeah.”
Nobody spoke. Hongjoong looked between the two of you.
“Who is he?”
Your eyes never left the body.
“…His name is Mark Ellis.” The name tasted bitter. “He…”
Your voice felt strangely distant.
“…He was two grades above me. We went to the same high school.”
Hongjoong’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly.
“You knew him well?”
A humorless laugh escaped.
“…Unfortunately.”
Yunho watched you carefully.
“What happened?”
You folded your arms tighter across yourself.
“He liked picking people who wouldn’t fight back.”
Nobody interrupted.
“He’d corner people. Make comments. Take their things.” Your jaw tightened. “…Sometimes he’d lock me in the janitor’s closet before class.”
Mingi had gone completely still.
“He thought it was funny.” The words came easier now. “I missed exams because of him. Teachers never believed me.”
Your gaze remained fixed on the ground.
“I stopped eating lunch in the cafeteria so I wouldn’t run into him.”
The air around the crime scene seemed heavier somehow. Hongjoong finally spoke, gentler than usual.
“Gang Unit can take this one if you’d rather step away.”
You looked at him.
“No.”
“You don’t have to prove anything.”
“I’m not.” A slow breath. “I’m okay.”
It wasn’t entirely true but it was enough. Hongjoong studied you for another second before nodding. You saw the hesitation.
“Alright.” Then he looked toward Yeosang and Mingi. “Process everything. Same priority as the first.”
“Understood,” Yeosang replied.
Mingi didn’t answer immediately. He was still looking at you.
Not the body.
You.
His expression wasn’t angry.
He was quietly heartbroken like he’d just learned about a chapter of your life you’d never found the words to tell him. He wanted to walk over, hug you and ask why you’d carried that memory alone for so long. Instead, he stayed where he was.
Professional.
There would be time later.
Yunho remained beside you. His eyes drifted back to the victim. Then, softly, he asked,
“…Did he ever apologize?”
You blinked. The question caught you off guard.
“…No.” A small pause. “I don’t think he even remembered my name.”
Yunho looked down at the body for a long moment before giving a single, almost imperceptible nod.
“…I figured.”
Then he slipped on a pair of gloves and stepped toward the crime scene.
You followed.
Neither of you noticed the look that briefly crossed Mingi’s face.
Not suspicion.
Not yet.
Just the uneasy feeling that something about that reply had been strangely specific.
—
The elevator doors slid open onto the sixth floor with a quiet chime.
Unlike Major Crimes downstairs, this floor was almost unnervingly quiet.
The District Attorney’s Office had emptied hours ago, leaving only a handful of lights glowing behind closed office doors. San balanced two cardboard drink carriers in one hand while nudging his office door open with his shoulder.
“I’m back.”
Jongho didn’t look up.
“You were gone twelve minutes.”
“I got lost.”
“The coffee shop is downstairs.”
“I got more lost.”
“…That sounds less accurate.”
San grinned, setting one cup beside Jongho’s laptop.
“There. Peace offering.”
Jongho accepted it with a quiet nod.
“Thank you.”
Stacks of legal files covered nearly every available surface. Search warrants. Subpoenas. Witness affidavits. None of them had anything to do with Darren Collins.
Yet.
Jongho finally closed one folder and looked across the desk.
“The captain called.”
“I figured.”
“He wants us ready.”
San sank into the chair opposite him.
“For?”
Jongho’s answer came without hesitation.
“A serial homicide investigation.”
San stared into his coffee.
“…Already?”
“He said not officially. But if there’s another victim… we’ll need warrants immediately.”
Witness protection. Search authorizations. Phone records. Bank records. Digital subpoenas. The paperwork behind a murder investigation was staggering. Most people never saw it. San rubbed one hand across his face.
“I hate cases like this.”
Jongho glanced up.
“Why?”
“Because they’re never clean.”
“No.”
“They’re never just…” — he searched for the words — “good people and bad people.”
“No.”
“They’re just… people.”
Jongho nodded once.
“Exactly.”
San reached for the preliminary victim file Hongjoong had sent over. He skimmed the harassment complaints, workplace reports and neighbor statements. He frowned.
“This man…” He turned another page. “…was awful.”
“So it seems.”
“He made employees cry.”
Another page.
“He threatened neighbors.”
Another.
“He intimidated his ex girlfriend.” He closed the file. “…I’m struggling.”
Jongho looked over his glasses.
“With?”
“The law says every victim deserves justice.”
“Yes.”
“But emotionally…” He sighed. “I’m not surprised someone hated him.”
Jongho leaned back.
“There is a difference.”
“I know.”
“Understanding why someone was killed… isn’t the same as believing they deserved it.”
San nodded slowly.
“I know. But juries don’t always separate those ideas.”
A knock interrupted them. One of the assistant prosecutors stepped inside.
“Sorry. The media’s calling. Again.”
San smiled weakly.
“What do they want now?”
“They’re asking if the city believes the murders are connected.”
Jongho answered before San could.
“We don’t speculate.”
“I told them that. They didn’t like the answer.”
“They never do.”
The office fell quiet again after she left. Outside, reporters continued gathering and building stories before anyone actually had one.
San looked toward the television mounted in the corner. The local news had already picked up the second homicide.
Crime scene footage filled the screen — yellow tape, police cars and detectives moving through the park. Wooyoung appeared briefly in the corner of the frame, microphone in hand.
“…Authorities have not confirmed whether today’s homicide is connected to the killing of Darren Collins late Tuesday evening.”
The footage shifted for a second.
You appeared beneath the crime scene tape, head lowered, notebook in hand and gone almost immediately. San frowned.
“…She looks exhausted.”
Jongho glanced at the screen. “She probably is. They all are.”
Several seconds passed then San quietly asked, “Do you know what bothers me?”
“What?”
“If these murders are connected… the killer picked two people.”
Jongho nodded.
“They weren’t random.”
“No. They chose. And somehow…”
San stared at the victim photographs displayed beside one another on the television.
“…they chose two men with histories of hurting other people.”
Jongho finally closed his laptop.
“I’ve been thinking about that too.”
San looked over.
“It worries me.”
“Why?”
“Because if someone genuinely believes they’re making the world better…” He swallowed. “…they’ll never think they’re doing anything wrong.”
Neither of them spoke after that. The thought sat heavily between them. It wasn’t proof. It wasn’t even a theory.
A possibility neither of them liked.
The office phone rang and Jongho answered.
“Choi & Choi Legal.”
A pause then his posture straightened.
“I understand.” Another pause. “We’ll be downstairs.”
He hung up and San stood.
“What happened?”
Jongho looked toward him.
“Captain wants everyone in Major Crimes… now.”
When they arrived downstairs, the atmosphere had changed. No casual conversations. No teasing. No Wooyoung wandering around with snacks. Every detective in the bullpen stood around the murder board. Two photographs now occupied the center.
Darren Collins.
Mark Ellis.
Hongjoong drew a line between them.
Then wrote a single word above both names.
HISTORY
No one needed him to explain.
The room was silent.
Finally, Hongjoong spoke.
“Both victims have documented histories of harassment.” He looked around the room. “Both targeted vulnerable people. And…”
He set the marker down.
“Our second victim was personally known to Detective Y/N.”
Nobody said the thought forming in the back of everyone’s mind. Not because they hadn’t had it because they hoped they were wrong.
The board looked almost ordinary.
Just two photographs, a handful of notes and a few red lines.
But somewhere in the city, someone had chosen these names and everyone in the room began wondering whether those choices had been made for a reason.
—
The city looked deceptively ordinary.
Morning traffic crawled through downtown intersections. Cyclists weaved between cars. A woman hurried across the street balancing a coffee in one hand and her phone in the other.
Life continued.
It always did.
Even after murder.
Yellow crime scene tape still surrounded a section of Riverside Park. Most of the forensic tents had already been packed away, leaving only evidence markers that hadn’t yet been collected and a handful of uniformed officers keeping pedestrians at a distance. You ducked beneath the tape, notebook tucked beneath your arm.
Yunho fell into step beside you as the familiar gravel path crunched beneath your shoes.
“Think we’ll get lucky today?” you asked.
Yunho glanced toward the tree line.
“I don’t believe in luck.”
You smiled.
“I forgot.”
“I believe in patient.”
“That sounds less inspiring.”
“It usually works better.”
A quiet laugh escaped you. Hongjoong was already standing near the command vehicle, a steaming paper cup in one hand while reading through another stack of statements. He looked up as the two of you approached.
“Morning.”
“Barely,” you answered.
“You’ve looked worse.”
“I appreciate… whatever that was supposed to be.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“I figured.”
Yunho accepted a folder from Hongjoong.
“Witnesses?”
Hongjoong nodded.
“Two officers canvassed the neighborhood before sunrise.” He pointed toward a nearby patrol car. “They found three people worth talking to.”
“Three?”
“One heard something. One saw someone. The third…” Hongjoong closed the folder. “…I’m not sure yet.”
You frowned.
“Not sure?”
“He keeps insisting he remembers something. But every time he explains it…” Hongjoong sighed. “…it changes.”
The first interview only took ten minutes.
Mr. Bennett looked to be somewhere in his late seventies, a golden retriever sitting faithfully at his feet while he answered your questions.
“I walk Charlie every morning.”
The dog wagged his tail at the sound of his name.
“What time yesterday?”
“Little after six.”
You jotted it down.
“Did you see anyone?”
“No.”
“Hear anything?”
The older man frowned.
“…Someone yelled.”
“What did they say?”
He closed his eyes.
“I couldn’t make it all out.”
“Take your time.”
“There was…” A pause. “‘Please.’”
You looked up.
“You’re sure?”
“As sure as I can be.”
“Anything else?”
He shook his head.
“Then… nothing. No footsteps or anything.”
Charlie nudged your hand with his nose and you smiled automatically, scratching behind one fluffy ear before standing.
“Thank you for your time.” Back outside, you flipped to a clean page.
“‘Please.’? Why would they say that instead of calling for help?”
Yunho nodded thoughtfully.
“If that’s accurate, the victim knew the attacker.”
“Or recognized them.”
“Maybe.”
You looked toward the woods.
“He was pleading.”
The thought lingered.
The second witness sat on a nearby bench wrapped in a university sweatshirt, nervously twisting the sleeve around her fingers. She looked exhausted.
“I’ve never talked to police before.”
You offered a reassuring smile.
“That’s okay. We’re just going to ask a few questions. If you don’t remember something… don’t feel the need to guess.”
She nodded quickly.
“Okay.”
Yunho sat on the opposite end of the bench, keeping his voice gentle.
“Can you tell us your name?”
“Emma.”
“You said you were jogging yesterday morning?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
She swallowed.
“I heard… I don’t know. A noise? I thought someone dropped something heavy so I looked.” Her eyes drifted toward the trees. “I saw someone running.”
Your pen immediately touched paper.
“Can you describe them?”
“I wish I could.”
“Anything helps.”
“They were…” — she frowned —“…Tall.”
Yunho nodded encouragingly.
“Male?”
“I think. Maybe.”
“What about their face?”
“I never saw it.”
“Hair?”
“They had a hood.”
You scribbled another note.
“What about clothing?”
Emma shut her eyes and for several long seconds, she said nothing. The only sounds came from birds somewhere overhead.
“They wore a dark jacket.”
You nodded.
“Anything else?”
She bit her lip nervously.
“There was…” She looked embarrassed. “This is going to sound ridiculous.”
“It won’t,” you assured her.
“I noticed…” — she hesitated again — “…their shirt.”
You blinked.
“The shirt?”
“The collar.”
Yunho tilted his head.
“A dress shirt?”
Her eyes opened.
“Yeah. Exactly.”
You glanced down at your notes.
“Anything unusual about it?”
“No. I just remember…” She laughed nervously. “…it looked really crisp. Like they came from work or they were on their way to work. I couldn’t tell.”
Hongjoong, who had quietly wandered over halfway through the interview, made a small note of his own.
Office worker. Business attire. Maybe. Maybe not.
“…Actually.”
Everyone looked up as she pointed hesitantly toward Yunho.
“…Kind of…”
She immediately looked mortified.
“Oh my gosh I’m sorry. I don’t mean—” She gestured wildly. “I just mean… your shirt collar.”
Yunho glanced down at himself: white button-down, dark tie, dark jacket. A fairly standard outfit for detectives assigned to interviews. He smiled politely.
“They’re pretty common.”
Emma nodded so quickly her ponytail bounced.
“I know, I know. I’m probably remembering wrong.”
“It happens.”
You closed your notebook with a reassuring smile.
“You’ve already helped more than you realize.”
Relief washed over her face.
“Thank you.”
As the young woman walked away, Hongjoong looked toward Yunho.
“You handled that well.”
Yunho shrugged.
“She was nervous.”
“You didn’t seem bothered.”
“Why would I be?”
Hongjoong gave a small hum.
“Fair point.”
The third witness proved far more difficult. Mr. Alvarez stood outside his apartment overlooking the park, rubbing one tired hand over his face.
“I’ve told three officers already.”
“I know,” you said patiently.
“But sometimes details come back.”
“I didn’t see the murder” he said with a sigh.
“What did you see?”
“A man.”
“Doing what?”
“Standing.”
You frowned.
“Where?”
He pointed toward the walking trail. “There.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know. A minute? Maybe two.”
“What made you notice him?”
Mr. Alvarez shrugged. “He wasn’t moving.”
You exchanged a quick glance with Yunho.
“Can you describe him?”
“He had one of those…” Mr. Alvarez motioned vaguely around his own neck. “…nice coats. Business coat.”
“A trench coat?” you suggested.
“No, it was a bit shorter than that.”
Yunho quietly asked, “A pea coat?”
The man’s eyes lit up.
“Yeah. That’s what it’s called.”
You wrote it down. “What happened after that?”
“I looked away but when I looked back… he was gone.”
“And then?”
“Five minutes later… the police showed up.”
The walk back toward the command vehicle was quiet. You flipped through your notes.
“Three witnesses. No face. No vehicle. No license plate. No name.”
Yunho nodded in confirmation.
“But…” — you looked up — “they’re consistent.”
He gave a small smile.
“Now you’re thinking like a detective.”
As you reached Hongjoong, his phone rang and he answered immediately.
“Captain Kim Hongjoong.” A pause. “…Already?”
His expression sharpened.
“Send it over.”
He ended the call and looked toward the two of you.
“Yeosang.”
“What about him?”
“They’ve found something.”
You and Yunho exchanged another glance.
Finally.
A real lead.
—
The forensic laboratory was unusually busy.
Evidence carts rolled between workstations.
Printers hummed steadily.
Someone across the room carefully photographed fibers beneath a high-powered microscope while another technician cataloged recovered clothing into long-term storage. The entire department moved with quiet precision.
Nobody rushed because rushing contaminated evidence.
Yeosang carefully adjusted the comparison microscope. One photograph filled the left eyepiece and another filled the right. He leaned closer.
“…Interesting.”
Across the room, Mingi looked up from his computer.
“What?”
Yeosang didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he reached for another photograph from Riverside Park. The impression was faint, almost invisible beneath damp soil. Most people would’ve walked past it without noticing.
Fortunately, most people weren’t forensic scientists.
“You mind coming over?”
Mingi wheeled his chair beside the microscope.
“What’ve you got?”
Yeosang stepped aside.
“Tell me what you see.”
Mingi looked through the lenses. For several moments he couldn’t see anything. Then he paused.
“…Wait.” His eyebrows drew together. “There’s a repeating lug pattern.”
“Mm.”
“The spacing’s… odd.”
“Keep going.”
Mingi reached for a ruler lying nearby. He measured the enlarged photograph against the scale marker.
“…That’s not hiking footwear.”
“No.”
“Construction?”
“I checked. Didn’t match.”
Mingi looked again: deep heel, angular outer lugs, distinctive forefoot pattern.nHe frowned.
“…I’ve seen this before.”
Yeosang gave a small nod.
“So have I.”
The two began pulling reference binders from one of the shelving units. Commercial work boots. Industrial safety footwear. Outdoor brands.
Nothing.
Page after page, brand after brand all without a match the suddenly Yeosang stopped.
“…Here.”
He slid a department procurement catalog across the table. Mingi leaned over and his eyes skimmed the page then froze.
“…No way.”
Printed across the top—
Standard Tactical Duty Footwear
Beneath it sat several approved models issued to police departments, corrections officers, private security companies and some military units.
Mingi compared the tread.
“…It’s close.”
“Very.”
“Not identical.”
“No.”
“But close enough to narrow categories.”
Yeosang quietly wrote another note.
Consistent with tactical or duty-style footwear.
Not conclusive but definitely consistent. Mingi leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.
“So… or suspect may have occupational footwear. Or surplus, civilian tactical boots or someone who could’ve just bought them online.”
Yeosang nodded.
“Exactly. We don’t eliminate possibilities, we prioritize them.”
Several minutes later, Hongjoong arrived. He barely had time to remove his jacket before Yeosang slid the report across the table. Hongjoong read silently. “What confidence level?”
Yeosang answered honestly.
“Moderate. Not enough for identification but enough to redirect.”
Hongjoong looked toward Mingi.
“You agree?”
“I do. There are limitations. The rain degraded the impression, but…”
He tapped the photograph.
“…I’d be surprised if this came from a running shoe.”
“It’s something.” Hongjoong smiled faintly. “For the first time since this investigation started… we’re eliminating people.”
He left with the report tucked beneath his arm and the lab fell quiet again. Mingi watched him disappear through the doors.
“…Think it’ll help?”
“It should.” Yeosang removed his gloves. “It gives them direction. I just hope it’s the right one.”
The afternoon slowly melted into evening.
Autopsy reports, blood pattern documentation, fiber comparisons, photo logs. Every completed task disappeared into the growing case file but still no weapon, fingerprints or DNA.
Only patience.
By the time Mingi finally checked the clock—
7:42 p.m.
He groaned quietly. “I forgot.”
Yeosang looked over.
“What?”
“Dinner.”
“You made a deal.”
“I know.”
He reached for his phone. Three unread messages waited.
Mingi laughed under his breath. Yeosang didn’t even bother looking up.
“You forgot.”
“…Yeah.”
“You told her to eat.”
“I know.”
“And then you forgot.”
“…Yeah.”
Yeosang finally smiled.
“That’s unfortunate.”
Mingi quickly typed back.
Mingi: …maybe.
Three dots appeared almost instantly.
Y/N: Song Mingi.
Mingi: In my defense
Y/N: No.
Mingi: I was going to.
Y/N: LIAR DETECTED
He laughed loud enough that another technician looked over. Yeosang quietly continued labeling evidence.
“I assume you’re being arrested.”
“I might be.”
“For negligence against yourself.”
Another message arrived.
Y/N: Meet me outside in fifteen?
His smile softened immediately.
Mingi: Always.
Yeosang noticed.
“…You’re leaving.”
“Eventually.”
“You’ll actually eat now.”
“I’ve been instructed to.”
“Good.”
Mingi slipped his phone back into his pocket before beginning the familiar routine of cleaning his station.
Every instrument returned to its place. Every sample logged. Every report saved.bOnly once everything was finished did he remove his gloves. He glanced once more toward the investigation board mounted on the far wall of the lab.
Two victims.
Hundreds of questions.
One useful clue.
It wasn’t much but it was more than they had yesterday. For the first time, it felt like the investigation had finally taken its first real step forward.
Meanwhile, two floors above, Hongjoong stood in front of the murder board with the new report in hand.
A fresh note joined the growing collection beneath the victims’ photographs.
Possible occupational footwear.
He stared at it for a long moment before quietly saying to himself,
“…Keep making mistakes.”
The words weren’t directed at anyone in the room. They were for the killer. Because every murderer—no matter how careful—eventually left something behind.
—
The precinct doors sighed open behind you and the familiar scent of coffee and copier toner disappeared into the cool evening air. You rolled one shoulder, wincing as the stiffness settled in.
“That’s going to hurt tomorrow.”
“You say that every day.”
You looked over. Mingi stood halfway across the parking lot balancing two evidence archive boxes that were stacked high enough to completely hide the lower half of his face.
“…Need a hand?”
“I can manage.”
“You can’t see.”
“I can mostly manage.”
You laughed, already walking toward him and without asking, you lifted the top box from his arms.
“There.”
“I had that.”
“You literally walked into a parking block.”
“…That was on purpose.”
“It looked painful.”
“It was.”
The two of you loaded the archive boxes into the trunk of his car. As Mingi shut it you paused.
“Hold still.”
He blinked.
“What?”
“You’ve got something.”
He instinctively rubbed his cheek.
“Did I miss a fingerprint?”
“No.”
You reached up, gently brushing a streak of pale fingerprint powder from just beneath his jaw.
“There.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“How long was that there?”
You tilted your head.
“Judging by how much there was… probably all afternoon.”
“Yeosang didn’t tell me.”
“He definitely would’ve noticed.”
“…He let me walk around like that?”
“He probably wanted to see how long it’d take.”
Mingi groaned.
“I’m transferring labs.”
“You’ll miss him.”
“…I will.”
The drive home was comfortably quiet. The radio hummed softly beneath the sound of passing traffic. About halfway there, you glanced toward him.
“When’s the last time you stretched?”
Mingi looked over briefly.
“…What?”
“You’ve been sitting over a microscope for eleven hours.”
“My back’s fine.”
“You’ve rolled your shoulders four times since we left.”
“…Have I?”
“And you’ve rubbed your wrist twice.”
He stared for a second.
“…You’re scary.”
“I’m observant.”
“You notice everything.”
“It’s literally my job.”
“…Fair.”
You reached into the center console.
“I got these last week.”
He glanced down as you placed a small packet of adhesive heat patches in his hand. His smile softened. “You remembered.”
“You always say your wrists don’t hurt.”
“They don’t.”
“They do.”
“They’re just…” He searched for the right word. “…Annoying.”
“They’re annoying because they hurt.”
“…Technicality.”
You nudged his shoulder. “Wear one before bed.”
“Yes, detective.”
“I’ll be checking.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
By the time you reached your apartment…
The sky had darkened completely.
The moment the front door clicked shut behind you, both of you let out the same exhausted sigh. You looked at each other and laughed.
“Rough day?”
“You too?”
“Unfortunately.”
Mingi instinctively turned toward the kitchen but you caught the sleeve of his hoodie before he could take more than two steps.
“No.”
He looked back.
“…No?”
“You cooked yesterday.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I know.” You smiled. “But tonight I want to.”
He studied you for a second then slowly nodded.
“…Okay but I’m chopping vegetables.”
“You nearly cut your thumb yesterday.”
“I was distracted.”
“You were cutting a carrot.”
“It was a very emotional carrot.”
You burst into laughter.
“I’ll supervise.”
“Accepted.”
Twenty minutes later the kitchen looked like controlled chaos. Vegetables covered one side of the counter. Sauce simmered gently on the stove. Mingi stood exactly where he’d promised, cutting mushrooms under your very watchful supervision.
“You know…”
He glanced over.
“You’re smiling.”
“I am.”
“What’re you thinking about?”
You stirred the sauce absentmindedly.
“…You.”
The knife stopped moving.
“Oh.”
You looked over just in time to catch the corners of his mouth trying—and failing—to stay neutral.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The smile.”
“I’m not smiling.”
“You are.”
“It might be happening a little.”
“It definitely is.”
You walked over, reaching up to straighten his slightly crooked collar.
“You missed a button.”
“I did?”
“Mhm.”
Your fingers quickly fixed it. Then smoothed the fabric flat against his shoulder.
“There.”
His expression softened. “…Thank you.”
You shrugged.
“You take care of me all the time.”
“So?”
“So…” You rested your hand briefly against his chest. “…I like taking care of you too.”
Then Mingi quietly admitted,“…You’re really good at it.”
Dinner ended with both of you laughing over a pan that had somehow boiled over despite neither of you remembering it being anywhere near full.
“You distracted me.”
“I was literally setting the table.”
“You did it affectionately.”
“I’ll apologize for loving you next time.”
“You better.”
Later, the dishes had been washed. The television played quietly in the background, neither of you paying much attention. You found Mingi standing on the balcony watering the absurd number of plants he’d accumulated over the past year.
“You named another one.”
Without turning around, he answered,
“His name is Gerald.”
“…That’s basil.”
“Gerald is trying his best.”
You walked outside, wrapping your arms loosely around his waist.
“You know…” he rested one hand over yours. “I think Gerald likes you more.”
“You bring him sunlight and water.”
“He still likes you more.”
“You also sing to him.”
“…He grows better.”
You laughed into the back of his shoulder.
“I can’t prove you wrong.”
“Exactly.”
A while later, the apartment lights dimmed as the two of you changed into comfortable clothes before climbing into bed.
You were already half buried beneath the blankets when Mingi walked out of the bathroom, absentmindedly sticking one of the heat patches onto his wrist.
You smiled.
“I noticed.”
“You always do.”
He climbed into bed beside you as you reached over to switch off the bedside lamp. Darkness settled comfortably around the room and for a long moment, neither of you said anything. Your hand found his beneath the blanket and his fingers immediately intertwined with yours.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
A soft vibration broke the quiet and Mingi let out a small huff.
“Who texts this late?”
You peeked at the clock.
11:47 p.m.
“…Probably Yeosang.”
“He’d email.”
“…True.”
Mingi reached for his phone on the nightstand. The screen illuminated the room just enough for him to read the name.
Yunho.
He tilted his head in confusion.
“Everything okay?”
“I don’t know.”
He opened the message and there was only one line.
You still awake?
Mingi typed back before thinking too much about it.
Yeah. What’s up?
The typing indicator appeared almost immediately then disappeared and returned again. Finally a second message arrived.
Just wanted to ask you something tomorrow.
Don’t mention it at work yet.
Mingi blinked.
“…That’s mysterious.”
You looked over sleepily.
“What is?”
He set the phone back on the nightstand.
“Yunho. He wants to ask me something tomorrow.”
You yawned.
“About the case?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Hm…” You snuggled a little closer beneath the blanket. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“…Probably.”
Mingi turned the screen face down.
The apartment settled into silence. On the nightstand, the phone remained dark, the last message still glowing faintly in his memory.
Don’t mention it at work yet.
It sounded harmless.
Almost casual.
Almost.
————
Part 3 will be out soon! Also my aunt has an emotional support golden retriever named Charlie so I had no choice but to add him to the fic he’s so fricking cute😭🤍
When a string of brutal murders rocks the city, Detective Y/N is assigned to the investigation alongside her longtime partner, Detective Jeong Yunho. Their first victim seems like an ordinary homicide—until a disturbing pattern begins to emerge. Every victim had a reputation for cruelty, leaving behind a trail of people who quietly admit the world may be better off without them.
WARNINGS: angst, implied serial murder, graphic description of victims’ wounds, mentions of verbal abuse and harassment, fem detective!reader x forensic scientist!mingi dating (tiny skinship), investigation team!ot8eez
pt 2 pt 3
————
Blue and red lights painted the rain-slick pavement in flashes of color, reflecting across puddles that stretched the length of the alleyway.
Yellow crime scene tape fluttered in the cold wind.
Police officers crowded the entrance, keeping curious bystanders behind the perimeter while photographers documented every inch of the scene before anything could be moved.
You ducked beneath the tape, flashing your badge without breaking stride.
“Detectives.” An officer stepped aside immediately. “Captain’s waiting.”
Beside you, Yunho adjusted the collar of his jacket against the night air.
“Looks like the media got here before we did.”
“No surprise there.”
You glanced toward the growing crowd gathered behind barricades. Phones were already recording.
Another homicide.
Another headline.
Hongjoong stood near the center of the alley with a clipboard tucked beneath one arm, speaking quietly with a patrol officer. Even from several feet away, he carried the unmistakable authority that kept an entire precinct running.
He noticed the two of you immediately.
“Took you long enough.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“It’s eleven-thirty.”
“You still took too long.”
Yunho laughed under his breath. Hongjoong handed over a thin folder.
“Male. Forty-six.”
You skimmed the first page while walking.
“Name?”
“Darren Collins.”
“No identification issues?”
“Wallet was still on him.”
You frowned.
“So robbery’s unlikely.”
Hongjoong nodded once.
“Nothing taken.”
The three of you stopped just outside the inner crime scene. A body lay motionless against the brick wall. Rain had begun to wash diluted streaks of blood toward the nearest drain.
You crouched carefully outside the evidence markers.
The victim’s shirt had been cut open by paramedics after confirming there was nothing they could do. Several stab wounds. One appeared significantly deeper than the others.
You didn’t reach toward him.
“Defensive wounds?”
Hongjoong answered before anyone else could.
“Looks that way.”
You studied the victim’s hands. Small lacerations crossed his fingers and palms.
“He fought back.”
“Briefly.”
Yunho had already shifted his attention elsewhere. His eyes moved across the alley. Dumpster. Fire escape. Broken bottle. Fresh footprints disappearing into the rain.
He had always been frighteningly observant.
“What’ve we got for entry and exit?”
Hongjoong gestured toward the opposite end.
“Patrol found partial shoe impressions before the rain got worse.”
“I’ll take a look.”
Yunho headed that direction without another word.
You watched him disappear around an evidence marker before turning your attention elsewhere.
A familiar voice drifted across the alley.
“I already told him that.”
You looked toward the sidewalk.
Seonghwa stood wrapped in a gray blanket despite insisting he wasn’t cold.
His hands remained buried in the fabric as another officer asked him a question.
He looked exhausted.
The moment he noticed you approaching, relief softened his expression.
“…Please tell me they’re almost done asking.”
You smiled faintly.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
The officer stepped away after receiving a nod from Hongjoong. You stopped beside Seonghwa.
“You alright?”
“I’ve been better.” His laugh was small. “I was just…walking home.”
“What time?”
“Around ten-forty.” He rubbed his forehead. “I heard shouting.”
“You came into the alley?”
He nodded once.
“I thought two people were fighting.”
“What happened next?”
“I turned the corner…” His eyes unfocused for only a second. “…and he was already on the ground.”
“The victim?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you see anyone?”
“I…” He shook his head. “No.”
“You sure?”
“I saw…” He frowned. “I don’t know.”
“What?”
“There was someone running.”
“Can you describe them?”
“Not really.” He looked frustrated with himself. “It was dark.”
“Height?”
“…Tall. A little over six feet.”
“Build?”
“…Average? I couldn’t really tell because he was wearing bulky clothes.” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“I should remember more.”
“Trauma doesn’t usually make memories clearer.”
His shoulders loosened at that.
“I remember… the killer stopped.”
You raise an eyebrow.
“Stopped?”
“They’d already started running.”
“…Then they just…” — he demonstrated with a small motion — “…paused.”
“For how long?”
“Maybe two seconds.”
“And then?”
“They started running again.”
“Why do you think they stopped?”
“I don’t know.” Seonghwa looked back toward the alley. “…It almost looked like…” He frowned again. “…they were looking at him.”
“The victim?”
“Yeah.”
“How?”
“I…” Another pause. “They didn’t look angry.”
“What did they look like?”
“…Disappointed.”
The word lingered between you.
Disappointed.
It was an odd choice, one you’d write down later.
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
“I hope it helps.”
“So do I.”
Across the alley, two members of the forensic unit had already begun their examination.
Yeosang knelt beside an evidence marker with a camera slung around his neck, carefully photographing a series of blood droplets before placing numbered markers beside each one.
A few feet away, Mingi was crouched near the victim, fresh gloves pulled snug over his hands as he examined the angle of one of the wounds without disturbing the body.
“You seeing what I’m seeing?” Yeosang asked without looking up.
Mingi leaned slightly closer.
“Possibly. Single-edged blade.”
“Looks like it.”
“Consistent depth.”
“Mostly.”
“No obvious hesitation marks,” Yeosang said as he snapped another photograph.
“I noticed,” Mingi said with a small nod. You approached just as Yeosang sealed a small fiber into an evidence envelope.
“Anything?”
Yeosang looked up first.
“Too early.”
Mingi gestured carefully toward the victim’s torso.
“Most of the wounds are clustered.”
You crouched nearby, staying clear of the marked area.
“What does that tell you?”
“It could suggest the attacker stayed in control during the assault,” Mingi explained. “The wounds aren’t scattered randomly.”
Yeosang continued, “If this were a chaotic struggle, we’d often expect wider variation in wound placement. These are… comparatively focused.”
You nodded.
“So maybe the attack escalated quickly.”
“Maybe.” Mingi didn’t sound convinced. “There are also defensive injuries.”
Mingi stood, removing one glove carefully before the other.
“But they were careful.”
Yunho finally returned from the far end of the alley, wiping damp hair away from his forehead.
“The shoe impressions are almost gone.”
“Anything recoverable?”
“Possibly partial tread.”
Yeosang gave a small nod.
“We’ll cast what’s left.”
Yunho looked toward the covered body then back to you.
“What’re you thinking?”
You glanced once more at the victim. The untouched wallet. The focused wounds. The lack of obvious theft. Seonghwa’s description.
Disappointed.
“I don’t think this was random.”
Hongjoong folded his arms.
“Neither do I.”
Silence settled over the alley.
Rain tapped softly against umbrellas and forensic tents as another officer approached Hongjoong with a folder in hand.
“Captain.”
Hongjoong opened it and his expression shifted almost imperceptibly.
“What?”
He looked up.
“Patrol talked to some people who knew the victim.”
“And?”
Hongjoong closed the folder.
“…Apparently…” He paused. “…he wasn’t exactly well-liked.”
“How so?” you asked.
“He had a history of harassment complaints.”
Nobody spoke.
Hongjoong continued.
“Former coworkers. Neighbors. An ex-girlfriend. He’d made plenty of enemies.”
You looked back toward the body. For a moment, all you heard was the rain. One victim. Countless people who had reason to hate him. Somewhere out there…
Someone had decided hatred was enough.
And none of you had the faintest idea that this was only the first name on a much longer list.
—
The precinct never truly slept.
Even after midnight, phones rang somewhere down the hall, keyboards clicked in uneven rhythms, and exhausted detectives wandered between desks with coffee cups that had long since gone cold.
The elevator doors slid open.
You stepped out first, shrugging off your damp jacket before draping it over the back of your chair.
The bullpen buzzed with quiet conversation.
Some detectives looked up briefly before returning to their own cases.
Just another homicide.
Just another long night.
“…You look soaked.”
You turned.
Mingi was already halfway through peeling off the disposable sleeve protectors he’d worn at the scene. His tie had disappeared somewhere between the alley and the precinct, and his dark hair was still damp from the rain.
“I feel soaked.”
“I figured.”
Without another word, he disappeared toward the break room.
You frowned after him.
“…Where’s he going?”
Yunho glanced over from his own desk.
“I’m guessing coffee.”
“He doesn’t even drink coffee.”
“He’ll probably bring you one anyway.”
Almost on cue, Mingi returned carrying two cups.
One coffee.
One hot chocolate.
He set the coffee on your desk with the casual ease of someone who’d done it hundreds of times.
“You forgot your umbrella… again.”
You smiled sheepishly.
“I did.”
“I know.”
He leaned down just enough to press a quick kiss against your forehead before straightening again.
“I’ll see you at the briefing.”
“Thanks.”
He offered Yunho a polite nod on his way past.
“Detective.”
“Morning.”
“It’s one in the morning.”
“…Close enough.”
Mingi laughed quietly before disappearing down the hallway. Yunho watched him go for a second before looking back at you.
“He remembers things for you.”
You picked up the warm cup.
“He says I have enough to remember already.”
“…He’s right.”
You smiled without thinking. Neither of you noticed Hongjoong walking past until—
“Briefing room.”
No one argued.
The whiteboard already held a blown-up photograph of the alley. Victim information had been pinned beneath it. Names. Times. Evidence recovered. Still painfully sparse.
Hongjoong stood at the front of the room, marker already in hand. The rest of the team filtered in one by one.
Yeosang arrived carrying a folder thick with preliminary reports. Mingi followed several steps behind with a tablet tucked beneath one arm. Seonghwa had changed into dry clothes sometime after giving his statement, though fatigue still lingered beneath his eyes.
A few minutes later, the conference room door opened again.
“Please tell me somebody has good news.”
Wooyoung.
A camera hung around his neck despite technically being off the clock.
Hongjoong sighed immediately.
“How did you get in here?”
“I walked.”
“You shouldn’t be in here.”
“I brought breakfast.”
He lifted an entire paper bag triumphantly.
Hongjoong pinched the bridge of his nose.
“…Fine.”
Wooyoung grinned.
“I knew you’d say that.”
“You did not.”
“No… but I hoped.”
Several tired smiles spread around the room despite themselves. Hongjoong pointed toward the far corner.
“Sit.”
“I love being included.”
“You aren’t.”
“I’ll sit quietly.”
“You won’t.”
“…Probably not.”
Even Seonghwa laughed at that. The tension eased, if only slightly. Hongjoong uncapped his marker.
“Let’s start.”
The room settled immediately.
“Victim: Darren Collins.”
He wrote the name across the board.
“Forty-six. No known connection to organized crime. No robbery. No obvious financial motive.”
He underlined the final point.
“What do we know?”
Yeosang opened his folder. “Preliminary observations only.”
Hongjoong nodded.
“Go ahead.”
“The victim sustained multiple stab wounds. No definitive cause of death until autopsy. However…” He glanced toward Mingi.
“The wound to the upper chest appears most significant,” Mingi continued seamlessly.
“Based on scene observations alone, it likely caused rapid blood loss.” He looked around the room. “I want to stress that’s an observation. Not a conclusion. We’ll know more after examination.”
Hongjoong nodded once.
“What else?”
Yeosang flipped another page.
“Minimal trace evidence. Rain complicated recovery. Partial footwear impressions. Several fibers and a handful of latent prints. Most appear consistent with the victim.”
Yunho leaned back in his chair.
“So our weather’s working against us.”
“Unfortunately.”
Hongjoong wrote another note.
“No murder weapon. No eyewitness identification.” He looked toward Seonghwa. “Anything you’d like to add?”
Every eye shifted toward him.
Seonghwa hesitated.
“…I keep thinking about that pause.”
“The suspect?”
He nodded.
“I know it sounds strange.”
“No,” you said quietly. “It doesn’t.”
He looked relieved.
“They stopped for a second. They looked back. Not to see if someone was chasing them…it felt…”
He searched for the word again.
“…Intentional.”
Hongjoong wrote it down anyway. Every observation mattered, even the most unusual ones.
“So,” Wooyoung said from the corner. “Can I ask something?”
Hongjoong gave him a look.
“You were being quiet.”
“I know. I’m growing.”
“No.”
“…Fair.” Wooyoung leaned forward. “If it wasn’t robbery…why kill him?”
Silence settled over the room.
It was the obvious question and nobody had an answer. A knock sounded against the conference room door.
San stepped inside first, still wearing the suit he’d spent all day in. Jongho followed close behind carrying two legal pads. Hongjoong looked mildly surprised.
“You got here fast.”
“We were still downtown.” San pulled out a chair. “We heard about the homicide.”
Jongho nodded.
“If this becomes serial the prosecution will want documentation from the beginning.”
Hongjoong gestured toward the empty seats.
“Good thinking.”
The lawyers settled in quietly. Unlike Wooyoung who had already started eating one of the breakfast sandwiches he’d brought. Hongjoong looked over.
“Really?”
“What? It’s four in the morning somewhere.”
“That’s not how time works.”
“I don’t think that’s the issue here,” Jongho muttered. A few quiet chuckles circled the room. Even Hongjoong’s expression softened for half a second before returning to business.
“Detectives.” Hongjoong looked directly at you and Yunho. “I want victimology.”
You nodded.
“We’ll start with family. Friends. Coworkers. Anyone with motive.”
Yunho added, “And anyone who had reason to hate him.”
“Exactly.” Hongjoong looked toward the forensic team. “I want every report expedited.”
Yeosang answered first.
“We’ll prioritize the autopsy findings.”
Mingi nodded.
“I’ll start processing trace evidence as soon as everything arrives.”
“Good.” Hongjoong capped the marker. “Nobody assumes this is isolated.”
The room fell silent.
“You investigate this as if another body is already waiting.”
No one protested.
Because everyone in that room knew exactly what he meant. Sometimes the first victim wasn’t the hardest part of a murder investigation. Sometimes the hardest part was realizing there would be a second.
The conference room emptied in stages.
Folders disappeared beneath arms, coffee cups were gathered from the table, chairs scraped softly against the floor as everyone drifted back toward their respective departments.
Within minutes, only the crime scene photographs remained pinned to the whiteboard.
Darren Collins stared back from the victim photograph.
Forty-six.
Dead less than six hours and somehow, still the biggest mystery in the building.
You settled into your desk, flipping open the thin victim file Hongjoong had handed you earlier.
Not much.
Driver’s license, employment history, traffic citations, a handful of harassment complaints but no convictions. Yunho dropped into the chair across from your desk and set another folder between the two of you.
“I asked Records to pull everything they’ve got.”
You looked at the stack.
“…Everything?”
“They’re still printing.”
You smiled.
“I forget you know everyone.”
“I know the people who make my job easier.”
“You bribed them.”
“I bought donuts.”
“…Bribed them.”
He shrugged.
“They seemed happy.”
A soft laugh escaped before you caught yourself.
For a moment, the weight of the night lifted.
An hour later, your desk had disappeared beneath paper. Employment records. Civil complaints. Archived police reports. Neighborhood disputes.
Yunho leaned back, rubbing one hand over his face.
“This guy collected enemies.”
“No kidding.” You highlighted another line. “He had three workplace harassment complaints. Different jobs. Different years. But the same pattern.”
Not enough to explain murder but more than enough to explain resentment.
A knock sounded against your desk. Wooyoung leaned over the divider with a grin.
“I come bearing caffeine.”
“I already have one.”
“I noticed.” He set another cup down anyway. “This one’s better.”
“How many coffees have you had tonight?” Yunho asked, looking up. Wooyoung considered it.
“…Do energy drinks count?”
“You concern me.”
“I concern my doctor too.”
You laughed.
“Any reason you’re actually here?”
His expression softened. “I did some digging.”
Hongjoong had already warned him to stay out of the investigation.
That had never stopped Wooyoung before.
He slid a folded newspaper clipping across the desk.
“Darren made local news a few years back.”
You unfolded it.
A small article about a former employee accusing him of creating a hostile work environment. No charges or lawsuit. The story had disappeared within days.
“Huh.”
“I remembered seeing it.” Wooyoung rubbed the back of his neck. “Thought it might help.”
“It does.”
He smiled.
“Cool.” Then he glanced toward Yunho. “Mingi keeping her from forgetting to eat?”
Yunho didn’t even look up from the file.
“He’s trying.”
“I ate.”
Wooyoung and Yunho looked at you simultaneously. You sighed.
“…I had half a granola bar.”
Neither of them looked impressed. Wooyoung reached into his bag.
“I anticipated this.”
He placed a wrapped sandwich on your desk.
“You two are impossible.”
“No,” Wooyoung corrected. “You’re impossible.”
He wandered away before you could argue.
By sunrise, the first interview list was complete. Former coworkers. Neighbors. An ex-wife. Three previous employers. Hongjoong stopped beside your desk.
“You ready?”
You grabbed your notebook.
“As I’ll ever be.”
Yunho stood beside you.
“I’ll drive.”
“You always drive.”
“You navigate.”
“I can drive.”
“You get distracted.”
“I do not.”
He gave you a look.
“You once missed our exit because you saw a golden retriever.”
“…He was wearing rain boots.”
“I remember.”
“You smiled.”
“I did.”
Hongjoong cleared his throat. “Children.”
You both looked over.
“We’re detectives.”
Hongjoong gestured toward the elevator.
“Go detect.”
The morning air felt cooler than expected.
Clouds still covered the sky, though the rain had finally stopped. You climbed into the passenger seat while Yunho started the engine. For several minutes, neither of you said a word.
The city slowly woke around you. Street vendors rolled carts onto sidewalks as traffic thickened. People headed to work completely unaware that someone had been murdered only hours earlier. You finally broke the silence.
“What do you think?”
Yunho kept his eyes on the road.
“I think whoever did this knew him.”
“You don’t think it was random.”
“No.”
“What makes you say that?”
He thought for a moment.
“The wounds. The wallet. The lack of hesitation. It feels…” He searched for the right word. “…Personal.”
You nodded.
“I was thinking the same.”
Another few seconds passed then Yunho spoke again.
“When someone spends years hurting people…” He paused. “Eventually someone hurts back.”
You looked over.
“Maybe. But murder’s a pretty extreme response.”
“It is.”
His expression didn’t change.
“I’m just saying…” He turned onto the next street. “…people don’t exist in isolation. The way we treat others matters.”
You watched buildings pass outside your window.
“I guess.” Then you smiled faintly. “You always get philosophical before eight in the morning?”
“No. Only when I’m tired.”
“Which is always.”
“…Fair.”
The first interview took place at a small accounting office.
Darren Collins’ former supervisor greeted you with visible relief.
“You caught whoever did it?”
You exchanged a glance with Yunho.
“Not yet.”
“Oh.”
Disappointment flickered across his face.
“We’re hoping you can help.”
The man nodded.
“Of course.”
You opened your notebook.
“When was the last time you spoke to Mr. Collins?”
“About six months ago.”
“And your relationship?”
The supervisor let out a long sigh.
“I’m not supposed to speak poorly about the dead…” He folded his hands together.“…but Darren wasn’t an easy man.”
“In what way?”
“He enjoyed making people uncomfortable.”
“Specific examples?”
“He’d single people out. Embarrass them in meetings. Talk down to new hires. If someone looked nervous…” The man shook his head “…they became his favorite target.”
You wrote every word. Yunho remained silent. Then he asked his first question—not about Darren—about someone else.
“Was there anyone he seemed to target repeatedly?”
The supervisor frowned.
“…Actually… There was one girl.”
Your pen stopped moving.
“Do you remember her name?”
The man snapped his fingers.
“I don’t remember. But she was young. Quiet. Worked here maybe… eight years ago? He was awful to her.”
You looked up.
“What happened?”
“He’d criticize her in front of everyone. She cried once. He laughed.”
Silence settled over the room.
The supervisor looked genuinely ashamed.
“I should’ve stopped it.”
“You reported it?” you asked.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I was new at the time. And a coward.”
No one spoke for a moment. Then Yunho asked, almost gently—
“What happened to her?”
The man stared at the table.
“I don’t know. I think she quit.”
Yunho gave a small nod.
“…I hope she’s doing better now.”
The interview continued.
But your eyes lingered on that single line in your notebook.
Young. Quiet. Public humiliation.
Another person Darren had hurt.
Another life he had touched without a second thought. Beside you, Yunho calmly closed his notebook. His expression was blank but the only thing anyone would remember about that interview was how compassionate he had been.
—
Alright everyone let me know in the replies if you’d like me to continue with a second part! It may take a bit longer because I’m just starting to write this series — my previous series I had already written and finished before I started posting — so please be patient!
(Also I know a lot about forensic science because I just earned my bachelor’s degree😭)
The emergency rule has existed for years: if one of them calls, everyone goes.
It's mostly been used for harmless emergencies.
Until Mingi is the one calling.
And suddenly, seven people realize they've spent years learning how to rescue each other from the world-but never noticed that the loudest person among them had quietly been learning how to disappear.
WARNINGS: dead dove do not eat, idol!ot8eez, description of attempted su1c1de (not carried out), a bunch of heavy angst, emotional hurt/comfort, panic, emotional distress, search for a missing person, angst with a happy ending, implied sensory overload, non graphic mental health themes, found family, protective ot8eez
MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING PLEASE READ: In this final part, there is a description of a su1c1de attempt that is not carried out and is met with love and comfort from friends/family. This story does not encourage depression/suicidal tendencies and is purely a fictional scenario for the plot of this fic. Take care as you read this🤍
pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5
————
The first rooftop was empty.
It overlooked a narrow street lined with rehearsal studios, the glow from vending machines painting pale rectangles across the pavement below.
“Mingi?”
Hongjoong’s voice disappeared into the wind.
Nothing answered.
The second rooftop wasn’t much different.
A few old air-conditioning units hummed quietly. A forgotten folding chair sat near the edge. San checked behind every structure anyway. Wooyoung called Mingi’s name until his own voice started sounding unfamiliar.
Nothing.
The third building required climbing two flights of exterior stairs.
Everyone was breathing harder now.
Not because of the stairs.
Because every empty rooftop felt like losing him all over again.
“…Next.”
Hongjoong’s voice remained steady.
Barely.
One rooftop became four.
Four became six.
Time stopped making sense.
The city stretched endlessly around them, every building looking just similar enough to give them hope before taking it away again.
Jongho studied the map.
“We’ve cleared everything within three blocks.”
Hongjoong looked up at the skyline.
“There are more. There are always more.”
Nobody complained.
Nobody suggested stopping. They simply kept climbing.
By the eighth rooftop, conversation had disappeared completely and their footsteps did all the talking. The wind grew stronger the higher they climbed, carrying distant laughter from people leaving restaurants, music from somewhere below and the soft rumble of traffic.
Life continuing.
Yeosang reached the rooftop door first this time and he pushed it open slowly. The metal hinges groaned as everyone instinctively held their breath.
Empty.
Again.
Wooyoung let out a frustrated laugh.
“I hate rooftops.”
Hongjoong looked toward the next building. Then he frowned.
“…Wait.”
His voice was barely above a whisper.
No one moved.
Hongjoong wasn’t looking at their rooftop anymore.
He was looking beyond it.
“…Does anyone else…” He didn’t finish. The others followed his gaze. At first, they saw nothing, just shadows and ventilation units and a low concrete wall.
Then something shifted so small it could’ve been mistaken for the wind. Yunho took one step forward.
“…Hyung.”
No one answered.
They all kept staring. The movement came again. A shoulder slowly leaning forward then settling back.
Not a shadow.
Not a trick of the light.
Someone.
San’s heartbeat slammed against his ribs.
“…Please…” He whispered it without realizing. The figure remained completely still afterward. Just sitting near the edge but still too far away to call safely. Wooyoung squinted.
“…Is that…”
Yeosang’s voice was almost inaudible.
“…One person.”
Jongho nodded.
“Correct height.” Another pause. “…Build matches.”
Nobody wanted to say his name.
Because if they were wrong…they weren’t sure they could survive another disappointment.
Then the wind shifted. The person lifted one hand, not waving, simply brushing hair away from their face. Moonlight caught silver rings.
Tiny flashes of light.
One.
Two.
Three.
Yunho inhaled sharply.
“…That’s him.”
Seven hearts seemed to stop beating at once.
They had found him and the relief hit so suddenly it almost hurt. San actually laughed once, a broken and breathless sound. Wooyoung covered his mouth with both hands. Seonghwa closed his eyes.
Only for a second.
As if thanking the universe for letting them reach this moment.
Then the relief vanished almost as quickly as it came because he was still so far away. Between them and Mingi stood another building.
A narrow service alley, locked rooftop access, fire escapes and dead ends.
Distance.
Hongjoong was already moving toward the rooftop door.
“No shouting.”
Everyone looked at him.
“If that’s really Mingi…” He glanced back toward the figure. “…and we startle him…”
He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. Every single one of them remembered the apartment. The spotless counters. The folded blanket. The call that lasted six seconds. Nobody was willing to risk watching him disappear for a final time.
Hongjoong reached for the door handle.
His voice was calm.
“…From here on…” He looked at all six of them. “We go slowly.”
—
The final rooftop door opened with the softest metallic creak.
No one rushed through it.
Hongjoong stepped out first then stopped. The others naturally followed his lead.
Nobody spoke.
The rooftop stretched out before them, washed in pale moonlight. The city glowed below like another universe, all neon signs and distant headlights.
And near the edge—Mingi sat exactly where they’d seen him from across the district. Knees drawn close, arms folded loosely over them. His hood stirred gently in the wind and he didn’t turn around. Whether he hadn’t heard them…or had heard them long before they opened the door…none of them knew.
For several seconds, no one moved.
They had spent hours searching and now that they were here, they were afraid to take the wrong step.
“…Mingi,” Hongjoong said quietly.
No response.
Not rejection.
Just stillness.
Hongjoong didn’t call again. He simply stayed where he was.
“We found you.”
The words floated across the rooftop without relief forced into them, just a simple truth. Another long silence. Then—without looking back—Mingi’s voice finally reached them.
“…I know.”
It was barely louder than the wind. San’s eyes filled immediately.
He was here.
He was answering.
He was still here.
Hongjoong let another few seconds pass.
“…Can we come a little closer?”
Mingi didn’t answer.
Instead his shoulders lifted in the smallest shrug. It wasn’t permission spoken aloud but it wasn’t refusal either. Hongjoong understood.
He took one careful step then another, making sure to leave several feet between them. The others mirrored him without discussing it. They simply made the distance smaller, still letting him keep the city in front of him.
For a while, the eight of them simply listened to the wind. Finally, Mingi spoke.
“…You weren’t supposed to find me.” His voice cracked on the last word. Yunho answered first, a tiny, watery laugh escaping him.
“…You called us.”
Nothing.
“The rule, remember?” Wooyoung sniffled. “You literally spent years proving you’d always come.”
San smiled through tears.
“…Did you really think we weren’t going to do the same thing?”
Mingi lowered his head.
“I…”
The word disappeared and he tried again.
“I didn’t…” His breathing became uneven. “I didn’t know who else to call.”
Hongjoong’s expression softened.
“So you called me.”
A nod.
“I just…” Mingi swallowed hard. “…I needed…”
He couldn’t finish. The sentence dissolved into silence. Nobody finished it for him. Nobody guessed. Nobody filled the space.
After nearly a minute, Seonghwa spoke. His voice was so gentle it barely disturbed the quiet.
“…You don’t have to explain.”
Mingi’s shoulders trembled.
“I made everyone worry.”
“You did,” Seonghwa admitted softly. “But that’s not what matters right now.”
Another shaky breath.
“I disappeared.”
“You did.”
“And…” His voice broke completely. “…I’m sorry.”
The apology echoed across the rooftop as if he’d been carrying it alone for a long time. Hongjoong slowly shook his head.
“Mingi.”
He waited until Mingi finally turned his head just enough that they could see part of his face.
“We’re not here because we’re angry.”
Yunho nodded immediately.
“We’re here because we love you.”
Wooyoung wiped at his eyes. “You disappearing scared us.” A tiny smile appeared through his tears. “…But you know what would’ve scared me more?”
Mingi looked at him.
“Not getting the chance to come.”
Silence settled again. San couldn’t hold back anymore. Very slowly—carefully—he took one more step.
“Mingi…” He held one hand out. “…Can I sit with you?”
Mingi stared at his hand for what felt like forever. His eyes were red and exhausted.
He looked down and gave the smallest nod. San didn’t hug or grab him. He simply sat beside him, leaving enough room that their shoulders weren’t touching. The others followed one by one.
Yunho settled onto the concrete on Mingi’s other side. Then Seonghwa. Then Wooyoung. Then Yeosang. Then Jongho. Finally Hongjoong sat directly across from him.
Eight people.
One quiet circle beneath the night sky.
No one spoke. No one had to. Several minutes passed before Mingi quietly admitted,
“…I forgot what it felt like…” His voice was almost lost to the wind. “…to not be alone.”
Yunho looked at him.
“You never were.”
Mingi laughed and it lasted barely a second before it turned into a sob. His head dropped into his hands.
“I know.”
His shoulders finally shook.
“I know…”
Years of holding himself together unraveled all at once.
Without hesitation, San leaned against him first. Not wrapping him up. Just enough that Mingi could feel another person beside him. A second later, Yunho rested a hand between his shoulder blades. Then Seonghwa. Then Wooyoung. Then everyone else.
They simply stayed as long as he needed.
Mingi looked at the seven of them and smiled faintly. After a long moment, he stood, turning to look outward at the city below.
“Ready to head home, Mings?” Wooyoung asked softly.
“I’m sorry again,” Mingi answered. “I didn’t mean to make a scene.”
He took another step, this time mere inches away from the edge.
“You don’t have to apologize,” Seonghwa said shakily. “Just please come back.”
“Mingi, please—”
“Wait—”
“We love you—”
“I know.”
Mingi’s voice cut through the overlapping pleas.
“I love you guys too, really. Thank you.”
He lifted his foot slightly, enough to make him wobble off balance.
“NO—”
Jongho doesn’t remember when he started running, just that one second he was standing still, the next he was gripping Mingi’s hood and yanking him backward from the edge.
“No,” he whispered as he hugged him, more to himself than Mingi. “Hyung, please stay…”
Mingi didn’t fight aggressively but did make an effort to scramble back to the edge.
“I.. I can’t—” Mingi’s voice shook. “There’s no—no reason—”
And then he finally broke.
Not into collapse.
Into release.
Quiet crying first.
Then fuller.
The kind he hadn’t been able to let happen on his own, hands grazing fabric like it was the only stable thing left. No one told him to calm down or told him it was okay like a reassurance script.
“…You don’t have to carry it alone like that,” Wooyoung whispered, barely audible.
Mingi didn’t answer but he leaned in slightly. Hongjoong’s voice came low, almost imperceptible:
“…We’re here.”
Not as reassurance.
As fact.
And for the first time since the call—there was no distance left between intention and contact.
—
Hongjoong stops assuming “he’ll be fine.”
As the leader, he always trusted Mingi’s independence because Mingi smiled, joked around, and usually bounced back.
Now, if Mingi quietly lingers after practice instead of leaving immediately, Hongjoong doesn’t ask,
“Is something wrong?”
He just casually says,
“I’m grabbing coffee.”
If Mingi follows, that’s enough. No conversation required.
Yunho notices the tiny changes before everyone else now. If Mingi gets unusually quiet, starts rubbing the back of his neck or stares out windows longer than normal…
Yunho gently redirects the day.
“Wanna go for a drive?”
Not because he thinks Mingi is falling apart. Because sometimes movement helps. Sometimes quiet roads help. Sometimes your best friend doesn’t need solutions.
Just shotgun company.
Seonghwa becomes quietly protective in ways Mingi barely notices.
He starts making slightly bigger portions of dinner then acts confused when Mingi thanks him.
“What?”
“I always cook this much.”
A complete lie.
Everyone else notices. Nobody exposes him. If practice runs late, Seonghwa automatically asks,
“Did you eat?”
Not because Mingi forgets every day but he remembers the days he does.
Wooyoung still teases him.
He refuses to stop because he knows stopping would make Mingi feel like something permanently changed.
But he watches.
If Mingi laughs—real laughter—Wooyoung relaxes. If Mingi fake laughs, Wooyoung somehow knows.
Then suddenly he’s dragging everyone into some ridiculous game. Not because the joke was funny but because he refuses to let Mingi disappear into his own head for too long.
Jongho never mentions the rooftop again.
Not once.
Instead he starts quietly sitting beside Mingi. Reading, listening to music, waiting backstage, practicing vocals. Sometimes neither of them speaks for twenty minutes. It becomes normal because Jongho learned that silence isn’t always loneliness.
Sometimes silence is companionship.
San becomes the most physically affectionate.
Not dramatically, he’s only checking. A hand on Mingi’s shoulder leaning against him during interviews, random hugs, throwing an arm around him while they’re walking. Almost every single time, Mingi leans back now.
Just slightly.
Enough for San to know;
“Okay. You’re here.”
Yeosang starts asking the strangest questions.
Not, “How are you?”
Instead—
“Do you want inside quiet or outside quiet today?”
The first time he asks, Mingi tilts his head in confusion.
“…What?”
Yeosang shrugs.
“If we’re hanging out. We can stay inside. Or we can go somewhere. I figured they’re different.”
Mingi stares at him for a second.
“…Outside.”
Yeosang nods.
“Okay.”
No follow-up. No analysis. Just a walk.
Two months later, nothing bad has happened. Practice ends and everyone is packing up when Mingi suddenly says—
“…I’m going to the roof for a little while.”
Silence.
A few months ago, that sentence would’ve terrified them. Now… Hongjoong looks up.
“Okay.”
“Want snacks?” Seonghwa asks.
“…Yeah.”
“I’ll bring some.”
Yunho grabs two hoodies because it gets colder after sunset. Wooyoung complains dramatically about all the stairs. San is already carrying drinks. Jongho silently picks up a portable speaker. Yeosang remembers a blanket.
Nobody says,
“We’re coming because we’re worried.”
They just…
go.
Twenty minutes later, they’re all sitting on the rooftop, eight friends watching the city lights, talking about absolutely nothing, arguing over music, watching airplanes blink across the sky.
Sometimes nobody speaks for several minutes. Nobody feels obligated to. Mingi looks around at them then out at the skyline.
The same skyline that had once felt like the only place quiet enough to escape.
Now… the rooftop still feels quiet but it doesn’t feel lonely anymore.
He smiles.
A real one.
The kind that doesn’t ask permission before appearing.
Hongjoong catches it from the corner of his eye but doesn’t point it out. He just smiles to himself. because he knows some victories don’t need to be celebrated out loud. Sometimes…
they’re just meant to be witnessed.
————
I know this part was especially devastating but I still hope you guys ended up enjoying it as a whole🤍
The emergency rule has existed for years: if one of them calls, everyone goes.
It's mostly been used for harmless emergencies.
Until Mingi is the one calling.
And suddenly, seven people realize they've spent years learning how to rescue each other from the world-but never noticed that the loudest person among them had quietly been learning how to disappear.
WARNINGS: idol!ot8eez, a bunch of heavy angst, emotional hurt/comfort, panic, emotional distress, search for a missing person, implied sensory overload, non graphic mental health themes, found family, protective ot8eez
MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING: please please please take care of your mental health along with your physical health. It's the most important part of your wellbeing. Take care as you read this🤍
pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 6
————
San doesn’t really process the call in a clean way.
It hits him first as emotion.
Then as memory.
Then as movement.
All at once.
His phone rang while he was still in bed.
He almost didn’t answer.
Because for half a second, his brain assumed it was just another normal night where nothing important was happening.
Then he saw the name.
Leader-nim
And something in his chest felt hollowed out before he even picked up.
“…Hyung?”
“I just got a call from Mingi.”
San blinked once, still half asleep. “…Okay?”
A soft laugh tried to form but didn’t make it.
“So…?”
Then Hongjoong’s voice changed.
“I think something’s wrong.”
That line alone changed the temperature of the room. San sat up so fast his head started to spin.
“Wrong how?”
“He called me.”
“…Yeah?”
“He didn’t say anything.”
San frowned slightly.
“Maybe—he butt-dialed?”
There was silence before he said, “He said ‘Hyung.’”
San stopped moving. That wasn’t a detail you dismissed. Not with Mingi—not ever.
“And then he hung up.”
The words didn’t fully land at first. San’s hand tightened around the phone.
“…He called you first?”
“Yes.”
San nodded slowly like he was trying to make it make sense by force.
“…Did he try anyone else?”
“No.”
“…Not even Yunho?”
“No.”
That’s when it started to crack.
“…That’s weird,” he said softly because if he said it louder, it would become real.
“I called him back.”
“…And?”
“No answer.”
His feet were on the floor now, eyes still unfocused.
“…Maybe his phone—”
“I’ve tried six times.”
That stopped him—not because it was dramatic—because of repetition which means Mingi was sure that he wanted to go through with the call. San slowly stood as if his body was catching up to something his mind already understood.
“…Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“…Did he sound like he was in pain?”
“I don’t know.”
“…Was someone with him?”
“I don’t know.”
Every answer chipped away at something. San pressed the phone closer to his ear.
“…Hyung.”
His voice changed slightly, less sleepy, more fear trying not to show itself yet.
“…Say it again.”
“Mingi called me.”
San exhaled sharply as something washed over him. Not a thought, a feeling.
He remembered his last hug with Mingi.
A few days ago in a passing moment in the hallway, San had grabbed him instinctively for a quick hug.
Mingi had hugged back. Of course he did.
But it had been… lighter. Shorter and almost absent-minded. San hadn’t thought anything of it because Mingi was always moving, joking, going somewhere. San had laughed.
“Busy guy these days, huh?”
Mingi had smiled. “…Yeah.”
Suddeny, San’s breath caught.
Because now that memory replayed differently, not normal, as distance. He was already moving before he realized it: jacket, shoes, keys, phone, everything happening out of order.
“Hyung— I’m going to his place.”
“Yunho and I are already on the way there.”
“Good.”
“I’m checking riverside.”
“Seonghwa—studio—”
“I don’t care I’m going.”
“Traffic— I’m stuck—”
San didn’t hear the rest, he just ended the call and then he ran—not metaphorically—actually ran.
Because San’s brain doesn’t organize fear: it amplifies it.
Every memory came at once in impact.
Mingi laughing too hard during practice. Mingi sitting slightly apart during dinner. Mingi saying “I’m fine” without looking up. Mingi hugging him just a second shorter than usual. Mingi smiling a little too quickly. Mingi always still there but somehow… less there.
His breathing got uneven not from exhaustion but from realization trying to break through denial all at once.
“…He didn’t call me.”
The words came out without permission. That’s what hurt. Not that Mingi called someone else. But that he didn’t call the person he always joked with. The person he always leaned on physically. The one who was always there.
San slowed for half a second.
Then shook his head violently as he got into his car.
“No.”
He said it out loud and he could cancel reality.
“No, no, no—”
Because his brain was still trying to protect him, creating imaginary explanations. Maybe Mingi didn’t want to worry him. Maybe he thought San was busy. Maybe—
But none of it held.
Not against six seconds.
Not against Hyung.
His phone buzzed the moment he started the engine. He picked it up and almost dropped it.
Wooyoung: On the way
Yunho: Still nothing
Jongho: Converge near river path
Seonghwa: I’m 10 min away
San stared at the screen without slowing down.
Then typed one thing:
I’m not stopping until I find him
Send.
Shortly after, San got a message from Hongjoong.
Meet us at his apartment.
San’s devotion doesn’t look like planning.
It looks like refusal.
Refusal to imagine a version of the world where he arrives too late. Refusal to slow down. Refusal to accept silence as final. And as he drove, one thought finally cut through everything else.
If Mingi called… he was already past asking for comfort. He was asking for someone to come before he disappeared completely.
—
San’s tires squealed as he pulled into the parking lot.
He barely remembered putting the car in park. The engine was still ticking when he threw the door open.
“Mingi?”
The word left him before he even reached the building.
Seven flights up.
He didn’t wait for the elevator. By the third flight his lungs burned. He kept running. The apartment door was already open and light spilled into the hallway. San bursted inside.
“…Hyung?”
No one looked up. Hongjoong. Yunho. Seonghwa. Yeosang. Wooyoung. Jongho. Six expressions all carrying the exact same thing: no answers.
San looked around instinctively. The couch, kitchen, hallway, bedroom door, bathroom as if somehow everyone else had simply… missed him.
“…Where is he?”
No one answered because no one knew. His eyes drifted across the apartment then stopped.
“…Why is it so clean?”
The question came out before he meant to ask it. Yunho looked toward the kitchen.
“He cleaned.”
“So?” San frowned.
Yunho swallowed.
“…He only cleans like this when he’s overwhelmed… really overwhelmed.”
San looked around again. The folded blanket. The empty counters. The dishes already put away. Everything looked finished. His heart cramped painfully in hi chest.
“…He was here.”
Jongho nodded.
“Recently.”
San walked slowly toward the kitchen.
His fingertips brushed lightly against the counter, freezing cold and spotless. He opened the refrigerator without thinking it was full, organized, everything in neat rows. He closed it again.
“…I hate this.”
No one responded. Because everyone did. Wooyoung suddenly laughed once but it wasn’t amusement, just disbelief escaping.
“…Do you remember when he said cleaning helped him think?”
Another memory surfaced.
“Mingi?” San had stared into the living room. “What are you doing?”
Mingi looked up from the floor, mini vacuum in hand.
“…Cleaning.”
“It’s eleven at night.”
“…Yeah.”
“…You’re vacuuming.”
“…Yeah.”
San had laughed.
“Who are you trying to impress?”
Mingi grinned.
“No one.” Then after a tiny pause, “…My brain was loud.”
At the time, they’d all laughed. Now… no one did. The apartment fell quiet again. Hongjoong finally broke it.
“I think we were looking in the wrong places.” Everyone looked at him. “He wasn’t trying to get somewhere.”
A pause.
“…He was trying to get away from noise.”
Yeosang slowly lifted his head.
“…The rooftops.”
Hongjoong nodded.
“The music district.”
For a second, nobody moved. The realization settled over all seven of them at once. San was the first to grab his keys again.
“We’re wasting time.”
Hongjoong held up a hand. “Wait.”
San looked at him, breathing hard.
“We know the area.” Hongjoong’s voice stayed calm. “We don’t know the building.”
Jongho was already opening a map.
“The district has over twenty accessible rooftops.” He zoomed in. “Some need staff access. Some have outer stairs. Some connect to buildings nearby.”
Yeosang stepped beside him.
“…He likes open views.”
Jongho nodded.
“So we eliminate anything blocked by taller buildings.”
Seonghwa leaned over the phone.
“He also avoids places with people. But likes somewhere he can hear music.”
“Not loudly. Just enough,” Yunho added quietly.
Jongho’s fingers moved across the map, removing locations one by one.
“Street performers, practice studios, late-night cafés…”
San watched them for the first time since the phone call and he wasn’t running. He was waiting. Wooyoung looked toward the window.
“…He could be sitting alone right now.”
Nobody answered.
Because every one of them had pictured exactly that.
Hongjoong took one slow breath and looked around the apartment, the people gathered inside it, the space Mingi had left behind.
“…Nobody searches alone anymore.”
Every head lifted.
“If someone thinks they found something…” He looked each of them in the eye.
“…Call first. No heroes. No shortcuts. We stay connected.”
Seven quiet nods.
San glanced once more around the apartment. He noticed the mug drying beside the sink. The chair tucked neatly under the table. The blanket folded with impossible precision. It looked like a showroom.
Which made Mingi’s absence feel even louder.
Hongjoong slipped his phone back into his pocket.
“Let’s go.”
One by one they filed out into the hallway.
The apartment lights remained on behind them. None of them thought to switch them off. Some part of each of them quietly hoped—that when they came back, Mingi would already be home, complaining that they’d all overreacted.
It was an impossible hope.
But none of them were ready to let it go.
The seven of them descended the stairs together. Outside, the night air wrapped around them again. The city stretched ahead—thousands of lights, hundreds of rooftops, endless possibilities. Somewhere out there… Mingi was waiting.
—
Yeosang didn’t panic when he got the call
Not because he wasn’t afraid.
Because fear had always made him quieter.
His phone remained against his ear for several seconds after Hongjoong stopped speaking. The line had already gone silent, but Yeosang hadn’t moved.
His mind had.
It was already sorting out the facts. Mingi had called Hongjoong. He’d said one word.
Hyung.
Then the call had ended.
Six return calls.
No answer.
No messages.
Nothing.
None of it fit together.
Which meant something else did.
He just hadn’t found it yet.
His phone buzzed again.
Captain: Meet us at Mingi’s apartment.
Yeosang grabbed his keys.
The drive felt strangely quiet, not because the roads were empty but because his thoughts had drowned everything else out. He replayed the call exactly as Hongjoong described it.
Not looking for what had happened.
Looking for what didn’t belong.
Mingi hadn’t called Yunho. His best friend. He hadn’t called San. He hadn’t called Seonghwa. He hadn’t even tried to reach him again. Instead, one word. One person. One decision. There had been purpose in it but Yeosang just couldn’t see it yet.
The apartment door was already open when he arrived. A few voices drifted faintly into the hallway asking questions without answers. He stepped inside and the room felt… paused.
Everyone was there.
Hongjoong stood near the kitchen, still holding his phone. Yunho hadn’t moved far from the living room window. Seonghwa leaned against the counter with folded arms, staring at nothing. Wooyoung paced in short, restless lines across the floor. No one looked up immediately. San bursts into the apartment exactly one minute after Yeosang.
They were all looking for Mingi in places they already knew he wasn’t.
Yeosang let his eyes drift slowly around the apartment.
The blanket on the couch had been folded neatly. The kitchen counters were spotless. No dishes. No clothes left on chairs. No notebooks lying open. Nothing waiting to be finished later. He frowned almost imperceptibly.
“…He planned before he left.”
The room went still. Hongjoong looked over.
“What?”
Yeosang didn’t answer immediately.
He walked toward the dining table instead, running his eyes over every surface without touching anything.
“The apartment isn’t just clean.” He looked back at them. “It’s complete.”
Silence settled between them.
Yunho’s gaze followed his. “…That’s what felt wrong.”
“There are no loose ends,” Yeosang said with a nod. Jongho stood slowly.
“What makes you think that matters?”
Yeosang looked toward the kitchen as his thoughts drifted backward.
Months ago, practice had ended late for the millionth time. Most of the staff had already gone home. Yeosang had returned to the rehearsal room after realizing he’d forgotten his phone in the corner. The lights were still on. Mingi was there alone, kneeling beside a pile of microphone cables carefully wrapping each one.
“…Why are you still here?”
Mingi glanced up.
“Oh.” A small smile. “…Someone has to put these away.”
“The staff will.”
“I know.”
“So why are you doing it?”
Mingi looked back down at the cables. His hands never stopped moving.
“…If I leave them…” He looped another cable neatly into place. “I’ll think about them all night.”
Yeosang had laughed quietly.
“…You’re strange.”
“I’ve heard that.”
They finished together, turned off the lights and went home. It hadn’t meant anything… until now. Yeosang returned to the present with a slow breath.
“He closes loops.”
Everyone watched him.
“When something feels unfinished…” He searched for the right words. “…He can’t let it go.”
His eyes moved toward the folded blanket again.
“The apartment wasn’t cleaned because it was dirty. It was cleaned because he needed everything settled.”
No one argued. Because suddenly it made sense.
Hongjoong’s phone vibrated, he checked it, searched the screen, found nothing useful and slipped it back into his pocket.
“…We’re heading to the music district.”
No one questioned the decision.
They simply moved.
The drive passed in silence. Headlights swept across empty intersections. Storefronts stood dark behind glass. The city had finally begun to sleep but none of them could.
When they reached the music district, seven car doors opened almost at the same time. The night air carried the distant sound of traffic and the faint rhythm of music leaking from somewhere blocks away.
No one spoke immediately but they all looked up. Buildings. Fire escapes. Rooftops stretching across the skyline.
Yeosang followed the lines of the city with his eyes. One building connected to another. One rooftop overlooked the next.
His gaze kept moving.
Not searching, eliminating. Too crowded, too exposed, too brightly lit, too claustrophobic. His eyes narrowed slightly and Hongjoong noticed.
“What are you thinking?”
Yeosang didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he looked higher toward the rooftops disappearing into the night.
“…We’ve been asking the wrong question.”
Six pairs of eyes turned toward him.
“We keep asking where Mingi would go. But Mingi doesn’t choose places.”
He looked around at the district.
“He chooses what those places feel like.”
Jongho understood first. “…Low stimulation.”
Yeosang nodded.
“Distance.”
“…Somewhere the city still sounds alive,” Yunho said.
“So it doesn’t feel lonely,” Seonghwa finished.
Yeosang’s eyes softened. “…Exactly.” He looked back toward the rooftops. “He isn’t hiding. He’s trying to breathe.”
The group fell silent again not because they had an answer but because the search had changed again.
They weren’t looking for a building anymore.
They were trying to understand what kind of place would make Mingi feel safe enough to stay.
Somewhere above them, the wind slipped between rooftops, carrying with it the distant echo of music from the streets below. Hongjoong followed Yeosang’s gaze then slowly nodded.
“…Let’s start looking up.”
And together, the seven of them stepped deeper into the music district, unaware that they were finally walking in the right direction.
————
Part 6 is coming up next and will be the final chapter so please stay tuned! (This one was barely proofread compared to the others so if there are some misspellings please forgive me😭)
The emergency rule has existed for years: if one of them calls, everyone goes.
It's mostly been used for harmless emergencies.
Until Mingi is the one calling.
And suddenly, seven people realize they've spent years learning how to rescue each other from the world-but never noticed that the loudest person among them had quietly been learning how to disappear.
WARNINGS: idol!ot8eez, a bunch of heavy angst, emotional hurt/comfort, panic, emotional distress, search for a missing person, implied sensory overload, non graphic mental health themes, found family, protective ot8eez
MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING: please please please take care of your mental health along with your physical health. It's the most important part of your wellbeing. Take care as you read this🤍
pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 5 pt 6
————
Wooyoung was halfway through a voice memo to a friend about something ridiculous that had happened backstage once when his phone rang.
He didn’t even look at the screen at first.
“…If this is Jongho again I swear—”
He picked up.
“Hello?”
Silence.
The kind that feels like someone is there… but not speaking. His brows furrowed.
“Hello?”
“I just got a call from Mingi,” Hongjoong said, voice low.
Wooyoung blinked.
“…Okay? So?”
There was a pause on the other end and that pause changed everything.
“I think something’s wrong.”
Wooyoung let out a small laugh. Not because it was funny but because his brain reached for the easiest explanation first.
“Mingi? No, he’s probably just— I don’t know, messing around or something.”
Nothing.
“…Hyung, did he say anything?”
“He said ‘Hyung.’”
Wooyoung nodded slowly.
“Right.”
“And then he hung up.”
The air shifted. Wooyoung sat up a little.
“…Okay, but—did you call him back?”
“Yes.”
“Text?”
“Yes.”
“…And?”
“No answer.”
Wooyoung scoffed softly like he wasn’t fully convinced. “Maybe his phone died.”
That silence again.
Wooyoung swallowed.
“…You’re overthinking it,” he said quickly like if he said it fast enough, it would become true. “Mingi doesn’t just—call and hang up. That’s not him.”
“I know.”
“So maybe he—”
“Wooyoung,” Hongjoong’s voice cut through gently but firmly. “I need you to listen.”
Wooyoung’s expression shifted slightly.
“…Okay.”
“He called me.”
Wooyoung nodded.
“…Yeah.”
“He didn’t call anyone else.”
“…Okay.”
“He just said my name.”
Wooyoung opened his mouth then immediately closed it. Because something about that finally landed wrong.
“…Why would he call you first?”
Hongjoong didn’t answer immediately.
That was the answer.
Wooyoung stood up.
“…I’m going to his place.”
“Yunho and I are already headed there.”
“Good.”
“I’ll check studios.”
“Okay.”
He grabbed his jacket, still talking, still trying to keep it normal.
“…This is probably nothing, right? Like—he probably just—lost his phone or—”
He was already moving toward the door.
“I mean, he’s Mingi. He’s dramatic sometimes, he probably just—”
A pause.
His hand stopped on the door handle.
“…Right?”
Silence again.
That silence finally did it.
Not the call.
The silence.
Wooyoung’s voice dropped.
“…Hyung… please say something.”
Hongjoong didn’t.
Because there was nothing to soothe anymore.
Wooyoung opened the door and the cold air hit him so fast it didn’t feel real. He started walking before he even realized he had stepped outside.
Then jogging.
And that’s when his brain did what it always did when things didn’t make sense: he thought of “Mingi being Mingi”.
A laugh.
Bright.
Too loud in a quiet room.
Two weeks earlier in the company kitchen, Wooyoung had been making ramen aggressively (as usual) while Mingi sat on the counter swinging his legs.
“Woo, you ever think about how noodles are just—tiny ropes?”
“…No.”
“You should.”
“I’m not thinking about noodle philosophy at 2 AM.”
“Wow” Mingi gasped.
“Wow what?”
“You’re so closed-minded.”
Wooyoung pointed a chopstick at him.
“You’re eating my ramen.”
“I’m supporting your art.”
“That’s not art.”
“It is to me.”
Mingi laughed so hard he nearly slipped off the counter.
That laugh, full and unfiltered.
Familiar.
Wooyoung remembered thinking—
He’s loud today.
Nothing else because that was just Mingi.
Right?
Wooyoung blinked back into the present. His footsteps were faster, because that memory didn’t feel like a joke as if it were something he should’ve compared to now.
And “now” was way too quiet for his liking.
His phone buzzed.
Yunho: Nothing at his apartment
Hongjoong: Still no response
Wooyoung stared at the messages.
Then typed:
I’m going to the river paths near the dorms
Deleted it.
Typed again:
I think I know where he might go when he’s overwhelmed
Paused.
Because suddenly he wasn’t guessing. He was remembering. Not one moment—many.
Mingi sitting too long on the balcony at night. Mingi walking ahead on long roads without talking. Mingi getting quiet when things got too loud. Mingi saying:
“I just need air.”
Wooyoung had always thought it meant break.
Now it sounded like… escape.
He broke into a run—not metaphorically.
Literally.
Phone clenched in his hand, breath uneven, jacket half-on.
For the first time since the call, he wasn’t trying to convince himself it was fine. He was trying to reach Mingi before the story finished without them.
He skidded slightly as he turned a corner, nearly dropped his phone, caught it and kept running. Because one thought finally replaced all the others:
If Mingi called Hongjoong… then he didn’t have time to choose comfort. He just chose the first name that meant “someone will come.”
His phone buzzed. Yunho this time.
Meet us at his apartment.
And Wooyoung ran harder.
—
Jongho had been halfway through stretching when his phone lit up on the floor beside him.
He glanced down first and didn’t move, only stared at it for half a second too long.
Hongjoong
He picked it up immediately.
“…Hyung?”
There was no greeting on the other end. Only—
“I just got a call from Mingi.”
Jongho’s hand paused mid-motion.
“…What?”
It wasn’t in disbelief—more like he was processing the words in real time. Hongjoong repeated it.
“He called me.”
“…Did he say anything?”
Silence.
“…Just ‘Hyung.’”
Jongho slowly straightened. That detail mattered more than the fact of the call itself.
“…And then?”
“He hung up.”
Jongho stood fully now.
“…Did you reach him again?”
“No.”
“…Location?”
“No answer.”
“…Tracking?”
“Nothing.”
Jongho was already walking—not rushing yet—shifting into motion.
“…I’m getting my keys.”
“Where are you going?”
“His apartment first. I’ll take the back roads.”
“Jongho—”
“I know.”
His voice was calm. That was always how people knew it was serious.
“I know what this is.”
He ended the call before Hongjoong could respond. He didn’t panic in steps like the others.
He structured.
That was his instinct.
If something broke, he didn’t go insane. He mapped it, reduced variables, moved.
He grabbed his car keys, phone, shoes, and locked the door without thinking. Engine started. Navigation was already open before he even pulled out.
Anything that kept him from thinking of the possibility that something had already went very, very wrong.
But even as he drove, his mind was working faster than the road because the pattern didn’t make sense.
Not yet.
So he started eliminating possibilities.
Mingi lost his phone?
No. He called.
Mingi pranking?
No, not Hongjoong. Not like that. Not six seconds.
Mingi drunk?
Jongho’s grip tightened slightly on the wheel.
Unlikely but not impossible.
Still, wrong tone. Wrong silence. Wrong sequence. Then the detail that kept repeating in his head:
“He just said ‘Hyung.’”
Nothing else. Like he needed someone to confirm he existed long enough to make the call. Jongho exhaled slowly.
“…Hyung didn’t sound like himself.”
He said it out loud to no one like saying it made it more real. And then his brain did what it always did when things didn’t align.
It reached for data.
Patterns.
Behavior.
Mingi pushing too hard through choreography. Jongho noticing first.
“Stop.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re off by half a beat.”
“I said I’m fine,” he snapped.
He wasn’t. He was sweating more. Smiling less. Still finishing everything but much slower than usual.
Mingi sitting on the floor tying his shoes but taking longer than normal—not struggling— delayed.
Jongho walked past.
“You tired?”
Mingi looked up and laughed immediately.
“Always,” he said, fast enough to end the conversation rather than a response.
Hongjoong talking.
Mingi nodding but not really responding, only absorbing like sound was passing through him instead of landing.
Jongho had noticed but hadn’t flagged it.
Because Mingi still showed up and functioned.
Jongho’s jaw tightened slightly.
“…He was compensating.”
The realization came out like a calculation, not emotion. He picked up his phone at a red light, opened the group chat and typed:
Check all usual locations he goes when overwhelmed. Not random searching. Pattern-based.
Paused.
Deleted “Not random searching.”
Resent.
Check rooftops near his apartment, river path behind rehearsal building.
Send.
We need visual coverage, not repeated calls. Calling will drain battery and time.
Send.
A message came back instantly from Wooyoung:
I don’t care I’m still calling him
Jongho didn’t reply because he understood that. Emotion overrides logic, completely normal but his mind stayed on one thing.
Six seconds.
Why six seconds?
Not just because it was short but because it was enough.
Enough to confirm intent, not enough to communicate need. That meant—Jongho’s fingers trembled slightly—
“…He couldn’t bring himself to stay on the line.”
Not didn’t want to.
Couldn’t.
His car turned sharply onto a quieter road to get to Mingi’s apartment. No traffic now, only empty lanes and distant lights. The city felt too big and spread out like he was trying to find one voice in static.
Then he remembered.
Two nights before, Jongho was finishing reps at the gym late at night with Mingi sitting on the bench beside him.
He never touched the weights, just sat near him.
“Why are you still here?”
Mingi shrugs.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
Jongho wipes sweat from his forehead.
“You’re not training.”
“I know… I just like the sound I guess.”
Jongho looks over.
“What sound?”
“The weights. That rhythm. It makes things feel… organized.”
At the time, Jongho had nodded. Now it didn’t feel like appreciation. It felt like grounding—like someone holding onto structure because they were losing it elsewhere.
Jongho’s breath slowed.
“…He’s been trying to stabilize himself.”
Jongho stared at the messages and added:
And stop assuming worst-case scenarios. Assume shutdown first. Not collapse.
Then he softened.
We find him faster if we think like him.
Send.
Because that was the difference with Jongho.
He wasn’t trying to feel less.
He was trying to arrive faster.
But even as he wrote it… his mind betrayed him with one quiet thought:
What if this was the last time he’d see Mingi?
Jongho exhaled slowly.
For the first time since the call— his grip on logic tightened not because it calmed him… but because it was the only thing keeping him moving.
————
Anyways this was rough I promise we’re almost done expect a Part 5!🤍
The emergency rule has existed for years: if one of them calls, everyone goes.
It's mostly been used for harmless emergencies.
Until Mingi is the one calling.
And suddenly, seven people realize they've spent years learning how to rescue each other from the world-but never noticed that the loudest person among them had quietly been learning how to disappear.
WARNINGS: idol!ot8eez, a bunch of heavy angst, emotional hurt/comfort, panic, emotional distress, search for a missing person, implied sensory overload, non graphic mental health themes, found family, protective ot8eez
MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING: please please please take care of your mental health along with your physical health. It's the most important part of your wellbeing. Take care as you read this🤍
pt 1 pt2 pt 4 pt 5 pt 6
————
Seonghwa didn’t realize he’d been waiting for his phone to ring.
Not consciously.
Just…
habit.
The kind that forms after years of living with seven other people.
Silence had never really existed between them.
Someone was always calling.
Someone always needed something.
Someone always wanted to share a joke they forgot to tell five minutes earlier.
So when his phone lit up on the bedside table, he reached for it before he was even fully awake.
Hongjoong.
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Hey.”
At first there was no answer, only steady breathing as if Hongjoong was trying very hard not to let their voice shake. Seonghwa sat up immediately.
“Joong?”
“I just got a call from Mingi.”
Everything inside him stopped.
“…What?”
Hongjoong swallowed.
“Mingi called me.”
Seonghwa frowned.
“…Okay…”
No.
That wasn’t right.
His own response sounded wrong the moment it left his mouth.
“He didn’t really say anything,” Hongjoong continued quietly.
The knot in Seonghwa’s stomach coiled tighter.
“…What do you mean?”
“He just said…” A pause. “‘Hyung.’”
Silence.
“And then he hung up.”
Seonghwa was already standing.
“…Did you call him back?”
“Six times.”
“…Text him?”
“Yes.”
“…Is he answering?”
“No.”
Each answer came quicker than the last. Seonghwa grabbed the first shirt he found draped over a chair.
“…Where are you?”
“Driving.”
“Good.”
He pulled the shirt over his head without noticing it was inside out.
“I’ll check the studio.”
“Hwa—”
“No.”
The word escaped before he meant for it to. He closed his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was softer.
“Yunho knows his apartment better than I do. I’ll check anywhere he’d stay late.”
Hongjoong was quiet for a second.
“…Okay.”
The call ended.
Seonghwa didn’t remember putting on his shoes or locking his apartment door. He only remembered fumbling his keys twice before finally getting them into the ignition and starting the engine. He didn’t move.
Not yet.
His hands rested on the steering wheel.
His thoughts were already racing ahead.
Mingi hadn’t called Yunho.
He hadn’t called him.
He hadn’t called the person he laughed with most.
He had called…
Hongjoong.
The leader.
Structure.
Responsibility.
Not comfort.
Function.
As if somewhere inside his exhausted mind he hadn’t been choosing who he wanted.
He’d been choosing who should know.
Seonghwa’s chest cramped.
“…How long…” The words barely reached the empty car. “…How long have you been carrying this?”
The answer didn’t come.
Three weeks earlier—
The apartment kitchen smelled faintly of garlic and sesame oil.
Seonghwa stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up as warm water ran over the dishes. Behind him, Mingi leaned against the counter, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. Just another afternoon. Without looking up, Seonghwa asked,
“…You haven’t eaten since practice.”
“Hm?”
“Mingi.”
A tiny smile.
“Oh.” He glanced toward the stove. “I’ll eat later.”
Seonghwa dried his hands.
“You said that at lunch.”
“I know.”
“So?”
“Hyung… I’m not a child,” Mingi laughed softly.
“I know.”
Seonghwa picked up a plate anyway, filling it. He walked over and placed it into Mingi’s hands.
“Then prove it.”
Mingi accepted it with a sheepish grin.
“…Okay.”
Seonghwa smiled.
“There.”
He turned toward the hallway but then felt the need to stop. Something felt unfinished.
He looked back and Mingi was exactly where he’d left him. Still standing, plate balanced in one hand, fork in the other. Looking down but not eating. Just… looking.
“…Mingi?”
Mingi looked up immediately.
“Hm?”
Seonghwa hesitated. The question almost came.
Are you alright?
Instead he smiled gently.
“…Don’t let it get cold.”
“I won’t.”
Satisfied, Seonghwa continued down the hallway. He heard nothing behind him. Now, that memory burned itself into his brain.
“…You never sat down.”
The realization settled over him with unbearable weight.
“…You were trying.”
A horn sounded behind him. The traffic light had turned green. He hadn’t noticed. The city moved around him but his thoughts refused to.
Another memory surfaced.
One week earlier, late enough that everyone else had already gone to bed. The kitchen light was off and only the glow from the hallway reached the room. Seonghwa padded toward the refrigerator for a glass of water.
Then stopped.
Mingi was sitting on the floor, back resting against the cabinets. One knee drawn up. His phone sat loosely in his hand and the screen had already gone dark.
“…You’re still awake?”
Mingi looked up slowly and smiled. His familiar, easy smile.
“…Couldn’t sleep.”
Seonghwa leaned against the counter.
“…Want tea?”
Mingi shook his head.
“No.”
“…Hot chocolate?”
Another small smile.
“…No.”
Seonghwa was quiet for a moment.
Then—
“…Can I sit with you?”
Mingi blinked.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.” A tiny shrug. “…But I can.”
For a second—Mingi just looked at him then gave the smallest nod.
“…Okay.”
Seonghwa sat beside him on the kitchen floor.
Neither of them spoke.
The refrigerator hummed softly. Somewhere outside, rain tapped against the windows. Minutes passed comfortably. Finally, Seonghwa asked, “…Long day?”
Mingi let out a quiet breath.
“…I think I’m just tired.”
Seonghwa smiled.
“…Then let’s both be tired.”
Mingi chuckled softly. The sound barely filled the room.
Ten minutes later, Seonghwa stood, stretching.
“…I’m heading to bed.”
Mingi nodded.
“…Okay.”
Seonghwa took a few steps toward the hallway but something made him glance back.
Mingi hadn’t moved.
Still sitting on the floor holding the dark phone. Still staring at nothing in particular.
For the briefest moment—every instinct told Seonghwa to go back. To sit down again. To ask another question. Instead, he smiled.
“…Don’t stay up too late.”
“I won’t.”
Seonghwa nodded, trusted him, and walked away. Now—driving through the sleeping city—his vision blurred with tears.
“…You weren’t resting.” His voice cracked. “…You were stuck.”
His phone buzzed against the center console. A message from Hongjoong.
At the apartment. He’s not here.
Seonghwa’s heart dropped. Before he could respond, another message appeared.
Apartment’s spotless. Yunho thinks he stress-cleaned before he left.
He stared at the screen.
Spotless.
Of course it was.
Mingi cleaned when his thoughts became too loud.
Not because he liked cleaning.
Because it gave his hands something to do while his mind tried to catch up.
Seonghwa closed his eyes for one dangerous second at the next red light.
“…You were asking for help.”
Not with words.
With skipped meals.
Sleepless nights.
Half-finished conversations.
Smiles that ended just a little too soon.
He had seen every one of them.
And each time he had accepted the answer Mingi gave him.
Another memory surfaced without warning.
About a month ago.
Practice had ended early, the members laughing about something Wooyoung had done. Mingi wandered over, not saying anything. He just wrapped his arms around Seonghwa in a quick hug. Seonghwa raised a brow.
“What’s this for?”
Mingi shrugged. “…Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Just felt like it.”
Seonghwa smiled and hugged him back for a moment. Then he let go.
“You’re getting sentimental.”
“…Maybe,” Mingi said with a laugh.
And then he walked away.
Driving now, Seonghwa felt his throat begin to dry up. Because he suddenly remembered something that hadn’t mattered then.
Mingi…
hadn’t wanted to let go first.
There had been the smallest hesitation, a fraction of a second like he’d been deciding whether to stay there just a little longer.
Seonghwa had smiled, patted his back and stepped away.
He’d thought nothing of it.
Now…
it hurt.
“…Why…” His voice broke into the quiet car. “…Why didn’t I hug you longer?”
A heavy and unforgiving silence answered him.
His phone rang.
Hongjoong.
He answered before the first ring finished. Neither of them spoke for a second. Then Seonghwa whispered,
“…When we find him…I’m not asking him if he’s okay anymore.”
The words came quietly.
“…I’m staying until he believes he doesn’t have to tell me that he is.”
On the other end of the line, Hongjoong let out a slow breath. Then, with the same quiet agreement, he said,
“…Come to the music district.”
Seonghwa didn’t ask why.
He simply turned the wheel and drove.
Toward the place where, without any of them realizing it yet, seven lives were about to change forever.
—
The music district was almost empty.
Past midnight, the streets had quieted into something unrecognizable. Neon signs still glowed above closed cafés. Streetlights reflected off rain-dark pavement. Somewhere in the distance, someone was packing away equipment from a small outdoor stage.
Life continued.
Seonghwa pulled into the parking lot harder than he intended and before the car had fully stopped, he was out.
The cool night air hit him immediately.
Hongjoong was standing near the sidewalk with his phone in one hand, the other pressed against his hip. He looked like he’d been thinking so hard his body had forgotten how to rest.
Yunho stood a few feet away almost unnaturally still.
His eyes kept scanning every rooftop, every alley, every passing silhouette like if he looked away for even a second, he’d miss him.
Wooyoung paced back and forth, fast enough that San finally reached out and caught his sleeve.
“You’re making yourself dizzy.”
“I’m already dizzy.”
Wooyoung didn’t even sound sarcastic.
Just tired.
Scared.
Jongho crouched on the curb with his phone with Maps open, pins scattered across the screen. He looked up as Seonghwa approached.
“…You’re here.”
Seonghwa nodded once.
“…Anything?”
Jongho’s silence answered first.
“…Nothing confirmed.”
Yeosang was leaning against his car with his arms folded tightly not because he was cold. Because if he unfolded them—his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
San looked exhausted as if he’d already cried once in the privacy of his own car and had simply run out of tears. The moment he saw Seonghwa, he stood.
“…Did you…”
He couldn’t finish the sentence. Seonghwa shook his head.
“…No.”
San looked at the ground.
Nobody spoke for several seconds.
The city filled the silence instead. A passing train. Distant traffic. The buzz of a flickering sign.
Hongjoong finally looked around at all of them.
“…Okay.”
Leader.
He had to be even if his voice sounded tired.
“We stop guessing.”
Everyone looked up.
“We only work with things we know.”
He held up his phone.
“Mingi called. He said ‘Hyung.’ He hung up. He hasn’t answered since.”
He glanced toward Yunho.
“Apartment was empty.”
Yunho nodded.
“…Spotless.” The word felt wrong in his mouth.
Several heads lifted.
Seonghwa quietly added, “He stress-cleans.”
Yunho looked over immediately.
“You knew too?”
Seonghwa nodded once.
“I’ve seen him do it before.”
Neither of them said the part that hurt.
I didn’t understand why.
Jongho looked between them.
“Anything else unusual?”
Yunho thought for a moment.
“…His headphones.”
“What about them?” Wooyoung asked.
“They were put away.”
San blinked.
“…So?”
Yunho looked at him.
“…Mingi doesn’t put his headphones away.”
That simple sentence settled over the group. Because they all knew it was true. Music wasn’t something Mingi used. It followed him.
Always.
“…He cleaned.” Yeosang spoke for the first time. “Put everything in its place.”
His gaze drifted toward the skyline.
“…Almost like he didn’t want anyone to have to do it later.”
Nobody answered. Because nobody wanted to say where that thought led. Wooyoung shook his head immediately.
“No.” His voice cracked.
Hongjoong looked at him.
“Wooyoung—”
“He called.”
Wooyoung’s breathing sped up.
“He called and he asked for help.” His eyes filled. “People who give up don’t usually ask for help.”
Silence.
“He called.” Almost like he was reminding himself. “That has to mean something.”
“It does.”
Everyone turned.
Jongho had stood, phone still in his hand.
“It means he wanted someone to know.” He looked around the circle. “…We don’t know anything beyond that.”
A pause.
“So don’t let your mind decide the rest.”
Seonghwa watched the others carefully. San rubbing his thumb against his sleeve over and over. Wooyoung trying—and failing—to stay still. Yunho staring into the distance like he could will Mingi into existence. Hongjoong carrying the impossible weight of leading when the person they were looking for had chosen him in his most vulnerable moment.
Seven people.
All frightened differently.
Without really thinking about it, Seonghwa stepped toward Wooyoung first, enough for their shoulders to touch. Then he reached back and lightly squeezed San’s wrist. A silent “I’m here”.
It was instinct. The same instinct that made him straighten blankets or refill water glasses.
He couldn’t fix this.
But he could keep the others from falling apart while they searched.
Hongjoong’s phone vibrated and every head snapped toward it. He looked down immediately.
Not Mingi.
Their manager sent the next comeback schedule. He scoffed lightly and turned off his phone without a second thought. Then Yeosang suddenly looked up.
“…Wait.”
Everyone turned.
“I think…”
His eyes narrowed toward the buildings surrounding the district and he frowned.
“…Didn’t Mingi say once… that when life gets loud…”
The sentence hung unfinished. Yunho’s head lifted immediately.
“…He goes somewhere high.”
Hongjoong looked toward the rooftops surrounding them. Every building, fire escape, and access door. His pulse quickened.
He remembered Mingi saying it months ago after a long day of promotions.
“Sometimes I sit on rooftops because life gets loud. Feels like I can disappear peacefully.”
At the time, they’d laughed. Wooyoung had complained he’d fall asleep and catch pneumonia. Mingi had laughed too.
Now no one laughed.
“Oh my gosh…” Wooyoung whispered, covering his mouth. “Why did I make fun of him?”
Hongjoong slowly turned, taking in the maze of buildings around the music district. His eyes traced one rooftop… then another… then another. And quietly, almost to himself, he said,
The emergency rule has existed for years: if one of them calls, everyone goes.
It's mostly been used for harmless emergencies.
Until Mingi is the one calling.
And suddenly, seven people realize they've spent years learning how to rescue each other from the world-but never noticed that the loudest person among them had quietly been learning how to disappear.
WARNINGS: idol!ot8eez, a bunch of heavy angst, emotional hurt/comfort, panic, emotional distress, search for a missing person, implied sensory overload, non graphic mental health themes, found family, protective ot8eez
MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING: please please please take care of your mental health along with your physical health. It's the most important part of your wellbeing. Take care as you read this🤍
pt 1 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5 pt 6
———
Yunho had fallen asleep with the television on.
Some late-night variety show played quietly in the background while his phone rested face-down on the coffee table.
He’d planned to answer a few messages.
Maybe clean the kitchen.
Instead…
Somewhere around midnight…
Sleep won.
His phone vibrated.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
He groaned into the couch cushion without opening his eyes.
“…Who…”
He reached blindly across the table until his fingers found the phone.
The screen lit up.
Hongjoongie
Yunho smiled automatically.
“…What’s he working on now?”
He answered immediately.
“Hyung?”
Nothing. Just breathing.
Fast.
Not panicked.
Controlled.
Too controlled.
Yunho sat up.
“…Hyung?”
Hongjoong finally spoke.
“I just got a call from Mingi.”
Yunho frowned.
“…Okay?”
“He called me.”
“…Yeah?”
Hongjoong swallowed.
“…He didn’t say anything.”
Yunho’s smile faded.
“What do you mean?”
“He just…”
A pause.
“…He said ‘Hyung.’”
Silence.
“And then he hung up.”
Yunho blinked.
“…That’s weird.”
“I called back.”
“…?”
“No answer.”
“…Maybe his phone—”
“I’ve called six times.”
Silence.
“I texted.”
“…”
“Nothing.”
Yunho stood so quickly the blanket slid onto the floor.
“…Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“…Did he tell you?”
“No.”
“…Did he sound hurt?”
“I don’t know.”
“…Was someone with him?”
“I don’t know.”
Every answer…
“I don’t know.”
Until there was only one question left.
“…Why didn’t he call me?”
The words escaped before Yunho could stop them. He wasn’t offended. He sounded…
Lost.
Hongjoong understood immediately.
“I don’t think he chose me.”
Yunho frowned.
“What?”
“I think…”
Hongjoong looked down at the call log again.
“…I think he pressed my name because I’m the leader. Not because he wanted me specifically.”
Yunho stared at the wall.
Mingi hadn’t been thinking as a best friend: he’d been acting like someone who could barely think at all.
“I’ll check his apartment.”
Yunho was already pulling on his shoes.
“I’m on my way.”
He ended the call before either of them could say goodbye. The apartment was suddenly too quiet.
Yunho grabbed his keys, wallet, jacket, dropped his keys and grabbed them again. His hands felt clumsy. His thoughts…
Even worse.
Because they wouldn’t stop trying to explain it. Maybe Mingi’s battery died. Maybe he dropped his phone. Maybe he pocket-dialed. Maybe—
“No.”
He stopped himself halfway to the door. If it had been anyone else, sure. But Mingi? Mingi hated making people worry. He’d apologize for calling if he just wanted company. He’d laugh before asking for help. He’d say,
“Sorry, I know you’re busy…”
Even when nobody had suggested he was.
So if he’d called… something had pushed him past every instinct he had.
And that terrified Yunho.
He started the car but the engine barely had time to settle before he pulled onto the road.
Red light.
Of course.
He checked his phone.
Nothing.
His thumb hovered over Mingi’s contact.
Call.
Voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
“…Come on.”
Again.
Nothing.
The memory came not because he wanted it to — his brain was desperately searching for an answer.
—
Two months ago, Yunho had sent Mingi a playlist of forty-three songs, a little tradition they’d accidentally started years ago.
Every month, one playlist each with zero explanation. Just,
“Listen when you have time.”
Usually Mingi responded within an hour. Sometimes with voice notes. Sometimes with essays about one lyric. Sometimes with,
“Track seven made me cry.”
This month… nothing.
Three days later Yunho finally texted.
So…?
Mingi replied almost immediately.
OH NO
I FORGOT
Yunho laughed.
Liar. You never forget music.
A minute passed.
Been listening to old stuff lately.
I’ll make one this weekend. Promise.
Yunho smiled.
No rush.
He meant it. Life got busy. Schedules happened. Another month passed. Then another.
No playlist ever came.
One afternoon, while they were driving back from practice, Yunho nudged him with his elbow.
“So… my playlist?”
Mingi looked out the window.
“…Still working on it.”
“Three months?”
“It’ll be worth the wait.”
Yunho laughed.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Mingi smiled too, enough to satisfy the conversation, then he turned back toward the window. At the time, Yunho had assumed Mingi simply hadn’t found the time.
Now, speeding through the city with his phone sitting silent beside him, another thought slipped in.
What if…
He hadn’t been listening to music anymore?
Not really.
Not the way he used to.
Not the way they always had together.
He couldn’t remember the last song Mingi had excitedly sent him. He couldn’t remember the last time Mingi had said,
“You have to hear this part.”
For anyone else, that would’ve meant nothing.
For Mingi?
Music was how he processed the world. It was how he celebrated. How he grieved. How he breathed. If he’d stopped sharing it…
How had Yunho convinced himself nothing had changed?
His phone remained silent.
The road stretched endlessly ahead.
For the first time since they’d met as teenagers, Yunho wasn’t driving toward Mingi because they’d made plans. He was driving because his best friend had asked for help… and then disappeared.
—
Every traffic light felt longer.
Every passing car slower.
Every second another opportunity for his thoughts to wander somewhere they shouldn’t.
The playlist.
The missed conversations.
The little things.
Yunho gripped the steering wheel harder.
“…Come on.”
His voice sounded strange inside the empty car, as if he were trying to convince himself.
Another red light.
He hit the brake harder than he intended. His phone remained on the passenger seat. It was dark but he looked at it anyway. No missed calls. No messages. No location update from Hongjoong.
Nothing.
The silence was becoming unbearable.
Without thinking, he pressed Mingi’s contact again.
Voicemail.
“…Hey.” He hadn’t planned to leave one, the words simply came. “I’m… uh…”
He laughed once and it sounded more exhausted than he expected.
“I’m driving to your place. You don’t even have to answer.”
Yunho hesitated for a second too long, long enough to upset himself.
“Just… just be there when I get there, okay?”
Silence. He closed his eyes for a second.
“…I’m hanging up now.”
He did.
The voicemail felt painfully inadequate.
Green light.
The cars behind him immediately honked but he barely noticed.
His mind kept reaching backwards — not for happy memories — for evidence. Proof that this hadn’t appeared overnight. Because if it hadn’t…
Then maybe he should have seen it.
Another memory surfaced, small enough that he’d forgotten it completely.
About five months earlier, practice had ended close to midnight.
Everyone had left in groups: managers, staff, backup dancers and the members.
Yunho had forgotten his headphones in the studio. When he came back inside he found Mingi sitting alone in the practice room, lights off except for one dim strip near the mirrors. Music wasn’t playing.
Which was unusual enough to make him stop.
“Mingi?”
Mingi looked up immediately.
“Oh.”
“You heading home?”
“…In a minute.”
Yunho walked over. “You’ve been sitting here in the dark?”
“…Just cooling down,” Mingi said with a smile.
“From practice?”
“…Something like that.”
Yunho had laughed.
“Come on, I’ll drive.”
There had been the tiniest hesitation — barely noticeable.
“Okay.”
The drive home had been unusually quiet.
Yunho had talked about a movie he’d watched, ordering food, a new choreography idea. Mingi answered every question, laughed at every joke and joined every conversation.
Nothing felt wrong.
Until they stopped at a red light.
Yunho glanced sideways. Mingi was looking out the window but simultaneously not seeing anything at all. He was looking through the traffic and buildings and night lights.
“…You good?”
Mingi smiled just a second too slow.
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“I’m just tired.”
“…Fair.”
The light turned green.
The conversation moved on.
So had Yunho.
Now—his grip tightened painfully around the steering wheel.
He remembered something else. Normally, whenever Yunho drove, Mingi messed with the radio.
Constantly skipping songs, changing playlists, complaining dramatically about Yunho’s taste.
“You’ve listened to this one three times.”
“It’s a good song.”
“It’s becoming a bad song.”
That night, the radio had played uninterrupted for thirty-seven minutes.
Mingi never reached for it once.
Yunho felt sick.
The absence of something so normal hadn’t registered until now.
How many moments like that had there been? How many pieces of Mingi had disappeared one at a time… while everyone adjusted so gradually that it felt normal?
His phone buzzed and he grabbed it instantly.
Hongjoong.
At his apartment. Lights off. His car is here. No answer.
Yunho’s heart lurched. He typed with one hand at the next stoplight.
2 minutes. Don’t leave.
The reply came almost immediately.
Not going anywhere.
Yunho accelerated the moment the light changed.
The apartment building finally came into view.
Hongjoong’s car was already parked outside and its hazard lights blinked softly in the darkness.
Waiting, just like its owner.
Yunho pulled in so quickly his tires chirped against the pavement. He barely remembered turning the engine off. The door was already open before the car had fully settled.
Hongjoong was standing near the entrance, phone in one hand, scanning every passing streetlight as if Mingi might simply appear if he looked long enough.
Their eyes met but neither of them spoke.
They didn’t need to.
Because both of them were thinking the same thing.
Please let him be inside.
And together, they hurried toward the apartment door, carrying with them the terrible hope that this entire night could still have an ordinary explanation.
—
The lock clicked and for some reason, that sound felt louder than it should have. Hongjoong pushed the door open first.
“Mingi?”
The apartment answered with silence.
Not the comfortable kind. Not the kind where someone was asleep in another room or wearing headphones.
Just—
nothing.
Yunho stepped inside behind him.
“Mingi?”
Again.
Nothing.
For a second, Yunho almost relaxed because everything looked normal.
The lights were off. The shoes were by the door. The couch had a blanket neatly folded and placed over one side.
Normal.
Normal.
Normal.
Then Yunho stopped walking. Hongjoong noticed immediately.
“What?”
Yunho didn’t answer. He was staring at the kitchen. The counters were empty. Not mostly empty.
Empty.
No random coffee cup. No snack wrappers. No forgotten takeout container. No ingredients left out from some half-finished cooking idea. The sink was spotless. The living room table had nothing on it. The blankets were folded. The pillows were arranged.
Yunho slowly turned his head.
“…No.”
Hongjoong looked around.
“What?”
Yunho slowly walked further inside as if moving too quickly would make the realization worse.
“Mingi doesn’t clean like this.”
Hongjoong frowned.
“What do you mean?”
Yunho looked at the apartment again, this time as evidence.
“He cleans when he’s stressed.”
Silence.
Hongjoong’s expression changed immediately. Because suddenly—the spotless apartment wasn’t comforting. It was a warning. Yunho swallowed.
“Not like normal cleaning.” He stepped toward the kitchen counter. “He doesn’t wake up and decide, ‘Oh, I should organize my apartment.’”
A pause.
“He cleans when he needs something to control.”
Hongjoong looked toward the perfectly arranged shelves. Yunho continued quietly.
“Before concerts. Before evaluations. Before something important.” His voice got softer. “He’ll clean the same counter three times.”
A memory surfaced. Mingi sitting on the kitchen floor at two in the morning.
Cleaning.
Again.
“Dude.”
Yunho had laughed sleepily from the doorway.
“What are you doing?”
Mingi had looked up.
“Oh.” Like he hadn’t realized how strange it looked. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“You’re cleaning at two in the morning?”
Mingi shrugged. “Everything felt messy.”
At the time, Yunho had smiled.
“You’re so dramatic.”
Mingi had laughed.
“Maybe.”
Maybe.
Yunho closed his eyes briefly.
It wasn’t about the apartment.
It never was.
When Mingi cleaned like this, he wasn’t fixing the room. He was trying to make something stop feeling out of place.
“Hongjoong.” His voice was quieter. “He knew.”
Hongjoong looked at him.
“Knew what?”
Yunho looked toward the bedroom. The untouched space. The absence.
“That something was wrong.”
The words settled heavily. Because if Mingi had cleaned… this wasn’t a random bad night.
This had been building.
Hongjoong walked further into the apartment.
“Mingi?”
Nothing.
He checked the bedroom.
Empty.
Bathroom.
Empty.
Closet.
Nothing.
Yunho stayed frozen in the living room because another detail had started bothering him. The apartment wasn’t just clean.
It was prepared.
No laundry. No dishes. No unfinished projects. No signs of tomorrow. Like someone had looked around and thought:
I need everything taken care of.
“Hongjoong.”
Something about his voice made Hongjoong stop immediately. Yunho pointed toward the counter.
“Look.”
Hongjoong followed his gaze.
Mingi’s phone charger unplugged. His closed laptop. His headphones sitting neatly beside it.
Yunho stared.
Because Mingi never left his headphones like that.
Never.
They were always somewhere: on the couch, in his bag, around his neck. Music followed Mingi everywhere.
But tonight, everything that connected him to the world had been carefully put away. Hongjoong slowly exhaled.
“…He didn’t leave in a rush.”
Yunho shook his head.
“No. He left after deciding.”
Hongjoong immediately pulled out his phone, calling.
One ring. Two. Three.
Voicemail.
Yunho stared at the empty apartment — the perfectly clean kitchen, the folded blanket, the silent speakers — and suddenly the memory of the missing playlists hurt even more.
Maybe Mingi hadn’t stopped sharing music because he was busy; he stopped because he had started keeping everything inside.
“…How long?” Yunho whispered.
Hongjoong looked at him.
“How long was he trying to handle this by himself?”
Neither of them had an answer which was the moment the fear became real. Not because Mingi wasn’t there.
But because every tiny thing he had left behind was proof that he had been struggling quietly.
Hongjoong stepped toward the door.
“Call the others.”
Yunho nodded.
But before he did— he looked back one more time. At the apartment that looked completely fine and peaceful. And somehow… that was the most terrifying part. Because Mingi had always been good at making things look okay.
Even when they weren’t.
————
Okay here’s part 2! I already wrote the whole fic I’m just separating it into specific parts (also Tumblr has word limits😭)
The emergency rule has existed for years: if one of them calls, everyone goes.
It’s mostly been used for harmless emergencies.
Until Mingi is the one calling.
And suddenly, seven people realize they’ve spent years learning how to rescue each other from the world—but never noticed that the loudest person among them had quietly been learning how to disappear.
WARNINGS: idol!ot8eez, a bunch of heavy angst, emotional hurt/comfort, panic, emotional distress, search for a missing person, implied sensory overload, non graphic mental health themes, found family, protective ot8eez
MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING: please please please take care of your mental health along with your physical health. It’s the most important part of your wellbeing. Take care as you read this🤍
pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5 pt 6
———
The rule was created three weeks before San got on the wrong train.
Hongjoong looked up from his laptop.
“I have an announcement.”
Nobody reacted.
“…Guys.”
Still nothing.
He sighed.
“I said I have an announcement.”
Eight seconds later, Mingi looked up first.
“Oh. Sorry.”
Then everyone else slowly followed. Hongjoong pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Thank you.”
“What is it?” Yunho asked.
Hongjoong closed his laptop. His expression was calmer than usual. Less leader, more… Hongjoong.
“We’re getting older.”
Wooyoung frowned.
“…Is this about taxes?”
“No.”
“Thank God.”
“It’s about us.”
That got everyone’s attention. Hongjoong looked around the room.
Schedules had become busier. Some nights they barely saw each other before collapsing into bed. Managers. Flights. Recording sessions. Photoshoots. Interviews.
Everyone always assumed there would be another chance to talk tomorrow.
But tomorrow wasn’t promised to anyone.
“So.”
He rested his elbows on his knees.
“We’re making one rule.”
Jongho sighed dramatically.
“Here comes the meeting.”
“I don’t hold that many meetings.”
“You called this one.”
“…Fair.”
A few quiet chuckles rippled through the room. Then Hongjoong continued.
“If one of us calls…” His voice softened “…everyone answers.”
The room became still.
“No matter where you are. No matter what time it is. If you can answer…”
He looked at each of them.
“…Answer.”
No explanations.
No exceptions.
“If they need something, we show up.”
San nodded almost immediately.
“Okay.”
Yeosang shrugged.
“Seems simple enough.”
“What if it’s something stupid?” Wooyoung asked.
Hongjoong smiled.
“Then we’ll make fun of you afterward.”
Laughter broke the seriousness.
“But we still answer. Always.”
One by one, the members nodded.
“Deal.”
“Deal.”
“Yeah.”
“Works for me.”
Then Mingi raised a hand.
“So…”
Seven pairs of eyes turned toward him.
“…What if I call because I forgot where I parked?”
Wooyoung threw a pillow at him.
“You don’t even drive half the time.”
“I know.”
Mingi grinned.
“I was testing the rule.”
Three weeks later… Hongjoong’s phone rang. He answered before the second ring.
“…Hello?”
“…Hyung.”
San sounded embarrassed.
“…Can someone pick me up?”
“Where are you?”
“I… um…” A long pause. “I got on the wrong train.”
Hongjoong closed his eyes.
“…How?”
“I don’t actually know.”
“…Send your location.”
“I already did.”
“I’ll be there.”
By the time Hongjoong pulled into the station parking lot, seven familiar figures were already standing outside. San blinked.
“…Why are all of you here?”
Wooyoung pointed.
“Because you called.”
Yunho held up his phone.
“Rule.”
Seonghwa carried an extra coffee. Yeosang had apparently stopped by a convenience store and bought snacks. Jongho looked mildly annoyed to have made the trip but he was there.
Hongjoong stared at them all.
“I only asked one person to come.”
“No,” Mingi said. “You answered.”
He smiled that wide, unmistakable smile of his.
“So the rest of us figured we’d answer too.”
Hongjoong laughed, shaking his head.
“You guys are ridiculous.”
“We know.”
It became a tradition after that.
Wooyoung locked himself out of his apartment. Someone came. Yunho got a flat tire. Someone came. Jongho needed help carrying equipment. Someone came. Yeosang missed the last bus. Someone came. Hongjoong got stuck in the studio until three in the morning. Someone brought food.
Sometimes all seven showed up.
Sometimes only two.
But there was one thing nobody ever talked about because it happened so naturally. Every single time…
Mingi was already there or was the first one to arrive.
No matter how far away he was. No matter how busy he claimed to be. No matter the weather. If one of the members called, Mingi came.
Without fail.
It became such a certainty that nobody even thanked him anymore. They just smiled and said,
“I knew you’d beat us here.”
And he always laughed.
“Well…” He’d rub the back of his neck. “You called.”
As though that explained everything.
As though there had never been another possible outcome.
—
The city never really slept.
It simply changed shifts.
By midnight, the rush-hour traffic had dissolved into scattered headlights drifting through rain-slick streets. Convenience stores glowed like little islands against the darkness. Somewhere below, a train rattled past, its sound swallowed by the night before it could travel very far.
Hongjoong barely noticed any of it.
His studio had no windows.
Only the pale glow of computer monitors illuminated the room as another version of the same chorus played through the speakers.
He frowned.
“No…”
Click.
Another take.
“No.”
Delete.
The digital clock in the corner of his screen quietly changed.
1:48 AM
He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes.
“I need coffee…”
Before he could stand, his phone vibrated against the desk. The sound echoed strangely in the otherwise silent studio. He glanced down without thinking.
MINGI
For a second…
He actually smiled.
“What’s he doing awake?” He answered. “Hey.”
Silence.
Not unusual.
Sometimes Mingi forgot he’d actually pressed call. Hongjoong waited.
“…Mingi?”
A soft sound reached him.
Not words.
Just…
Breathing.
Uneven.
As though Mingi had walked a long distance.
Hongjoong sat up.
“…Where are you?”
Nothing.
“Mingi.”
Another inhale.
This one shakier.
Then—
“…Hyung.”
Just one word barely louder than a whisper.
Hongjoong had heard Mingi laugh until he cried. He’d heard him scream lyrics into microphones. He’d heard him rap in front of thousands of people. He’d heard him cry before. But he had never, not once, heard him sound… small.
“Mingi?”
The chair scraped loudly across the floor as Hongjoong stood.
“Talk to me.”
Silence.
“I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”
Another shaky breath.
It sounded like Mingi was trying to speak. Like the words existed but wouldn’t come out. Hongjoong’s heartbeat picked up.
“Mingi.”
His voice softened immediately.
“You don’t have to explain everything. Just tell me where you are.”
Nothing.
“You can do that, right?”
The line crackled faintly. Hongjoong frowned.
“…Mingi?”
Then—
A tiny exhale as though simply hearing someone’s voice had been enough. The soft sound of traffic echoed somewhere behind him.
And then the call ended.
Hongjoong stared at the screen.
Call Ended.
Five seconds.
Maybe six.
That was all.
“No.”
He pressed Call immediately.
The phone rang.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Voicemail.
He frowned harder.
Again.
Voicemail.
Again.
Straight to voicemail.
His stomach dropped.
“…No.”
His fingers were already moving before his brain caught up.
Where are you?
Send.
Call me back.
Send.
Mingi.
Send.
Nothing.
Read receipts never appeared.
Hongjoong grabbed his keys so quickly they clattered onto the floor. His hands were shaking. He was halfway to the studio door before something stopped him.
Not physically.
Mentally.
A memory.
“If one of us calls…everyone answers.”
Hongjoong stopped in the hallway. His breathing suddenly felt too loud.
The rule.
It had always been a promise but never an emergency procedure.
Until now.
He opened the group chat and his thumb hovered over the keyboard. How do you even type something like this? How do you tell seven people that the one person who never asks for help…
Just asked?
He didn’t.
He hit the call button instead.
Maybe Mingi’s best friend would know.
Yunho answered immediately.
“…Hyung?”
“I just got a call from Mingi.”
“So?”
Hongjoong swallowed.
“…He didn’t say anything.”
“…What?”
“He just…” Hongjoong struggled to explain. “He said ‘Hyung.’ And then he hung up.”
“…Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“…Did you call him back?”
“He isn’t answering.”
Yunho didn’t respond.
Not because he didn’t know what to say but because he already understood. Hongjoong heard a car door slam.
“I’m leaving.”
The line disconnected.
Hongjoong called Seonghwa next. He answered on the first ring.
“Everything okay?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“Mingi called.”
“…Is he hurt?”
“I don’t know.”
“…Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“…Did he say anything?”
“He said…” Hongjoong closed his eyes. “…‘Hyung.’”
The sound of keys being grabbed erupted next to the phone speaker.
“I’m on my way.”
Click.
San.
Wooyoung.
Yeosang.
Jongho.
Every single conversation was almost identical. Not one of them asked,
“Are you sure it’s serious?”
Not one of them laughed. Not one of them suggested Mingi had butt-dialed. Because they all knew the same thing.
Mingi didn’t call. If Mingi called…
Something had already gone very, very wrong.
Hongjoong stood alone in the studio parking lot as the cool night air hit his face. His phone remained stubbornly silent in his hand. He looked down at the last incoming call in his history.
Incoming
Mingi
00:06
Six seconds.
Six seconds had somehow managed to terrify seven grown men. His phone buzzed with a message from Wooyoung.
Leaving now.
Another from Yunho.
Checking his apartment first.
Another from Seonghwa.
I’ll check his studio.
Then San.
I’m calling hospitals just in case.
One by one, little message bubbles filled the chat. Because months ago, in a noisy room, they’d made a promise. If one of us calls…
Everyone answers.
And tonight, the one who had always been first to arrive was nowhere to be found.
—
The red light turned green.
Nobody moved.
Hongjoong gripped the steering wheel harder.
A horn blared somewhere behind him. Another answered. The line of cars in front of him crawled forward barely half a car length before stopping again.
“…Come on.”
His voice disappeared into the empty car. The navigation screen recalculated.
24 minutes.
Twenty-four.
He’d made this drive in twelve before. Another notification appeared.
Heavy congestion due to event traffic.
Of course.
Tonight of all nights.
He hit the steering wheel just enough for frustration to leave somewhere besides his chest. His phone sat in the cupholder beside him.
Dark.
Silent.
He picked it up again. He didn’t know why. He already knew what he’d see.
Incoming Call
Mingi
00:06
Hongjoong stared at the numbers.
Six seconds.
He tried to remember them.
The first ring and his smile.
“What’s he doing awake?”
The silence. The breathing.
“…Hyung.”
Click.
Six seconds.
Surely… surely it had been longer. He checked again.
Still six.
His thumb hovered over Mingi’s contact.
Call.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
Again.
Nothing.
Hongjoong let the phone fall back into the cupholder.
“…Please.”
The word left before he even realized he’d spoken. The cars lurched forward another few feet and stopped again.
He exhaled sharply through his nose.
His eyes drifted toward the empty passenger seat. Mingi liked riding with him. Not because they talked. Ironically…
Because they didn’t have to.
—
Three months earlier.
The studio speakers hummed quietly.
Hongjoong sat cross-legged on the floor, notebook balanced against one knee.
Pages filled with scratched-out lyrics surrounded him.
Across the room, Mingi sat on the couch with his hood up, notebook open, pen moving.
Or…
Trying to.
Hongjoong didn’t think much of it.
Creative slumps happened, especially after tours and promotions. He finished another verse before finally looking up.
“You got anything?”
Mingi looked down at his notebook.
“…Not really.”
“No worries.” Hongjoong smiled. “It’ll come. It always does.”
Mingi nodded.
“Yeah.”
Silence settled comfortably between them again. Another twenty minutes passed until Hongjoong stretched.
“I’m grabbing coffee. You want one?”
Mingi looked up almost like he’d forgotten someone else was in the room.
“Oh…Sure.”
“The usual?”
“Please.”
Hongjoong disappeared down the hall but when he came back, nothing had changed. The coffee he’d set beside Mingi had gone untouched. The notebook remained open. The pen still rested in his hand.
But the page was different.
Not because it had more words: every single line had been crossed out.
Entire paragraphs. Black ink layered over black ink until the paper had nearly torn. Hongjoong blinked.
“…Rough day?”
Mingi looked at the notebook.
“Oh.” A sheepish laugh. “I guess I’m being dramatic.”
Hongjoong chuckled.
“Happens.”
He picked up the notebook before Mingi could close it. The first sentence was still barely readable beneath the scribbles.
I don’t know if—
The rest disappeared beneath thick black lines. Hongjoong handed it back without reading further.
“When it’s not working…” He shrugged. “…Don’t force it. You’ve got tomorrow.”
Mingi smiled.
“…Yeah. I’ve got tomorrow.”
Hongjoong stood.
“Come on. We’ve been here too long.”
Mingi nodded.
“Okay.”
Neither of them thought about it again.
—
The car behind Hongjoong honked aggressively.
The light had turned green again and he pressed the gas. His stomach twisted.
“You’ve got tomorrow.”
The memory landed differently now. Not because of what Mingi had said but what he hadn’t.
He could picture that notebook as clearly as if it were sitting in the passenger seat beside him.
Every page was crossed out—it wasn’t unfinished. He erased it as if every thought deserved to disappear before anyone else could see it.
At the time, Hongjoong had smiled. Creative blocks happened. Everyone hit walls. He’d had them himself. He’d told Mingi not to force it. To come back tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
The word suddenly felt cruel.
His grip tightened around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned pale.
“…How long?” he whispered it into the silence. “How long have you been trying to tell me something?”
No answer.
Only another red light. Another line of unmoving cars. Another glance at the phone.
00:06
For the first time in years… the leader who always had a plan had absolutely no idea where to go.
————
OKAY WELCOME TO PART ONE OF MY FIRST FIC (starting off strong with a full series😭) let me know if this is something you want to read more of. if so expect the other members pov next!
theartofmadeline
baratheonpilled
vaporwave
izzy806
titsay
snowghoul
discoholicmusic