˗ˏˋ ꒰ have you seen my daughter? ꒱ ˎˊ˗
⟢ what is a mother to do—when her daughter has gone missing?
pairing any riize member x fem. reader word count 1.5k content warning kidnapping, missing person, financial issues mentioned, open ending
“excuse me—have you seen my daughter?!”
your mother stops and tugs at a boy’s sleeve, her fingers curling tightly around the fabric as she’s afraid that he might disregard her like the others—thinking she’s crazy, with her messed up hair, tired face, and… raggedy old-fashioned outfit.
he startles, blinking down at her, and for a moment, she thinks he might ignore her like the rest. instead, he removes his earbuds.
the city is like that—indifferent, moving at a pace too fast for a mother’s grief.
she fumbles in her bag when she realises that he’s staying, panicking—trying not to waste too much of the young boy’s time and attention—pulling out a creased photograph. it’s a not-so-formal picture of you. a picture you took when you had to apply for your university’s application. it’s not really recent nor is it old, maybe a year or two younger. your hair was shorter then, eyes clearer, brighter smile. excited to be studying in the city.
the way your mother’s fingers shake as she holds it up makes it seem fragile, like the image itself might go missing too if she doesn’t hold it onto her dear life.
“please,” she says, her voice wavering. “this is my daughter—yn, she’s been missing for days and she was last seen near here,” your mother continues, pointing at the place you were last seen—a japanese restaurant just tucked between the alley.
“she was wearing, uh—” she swallows her panic, “a white blouse, a blue skirt, and, and she has a pink scarf wrapped around her neck. she—she has a birthmark here, just under her jaw.” your mother tilts her head up and taps her finger at where you have your birthmark. she gives more major details—your hair colour, eyes colour, specific features that you have.
“have you seen her?”
the boy looks at your picture—then at your mother. there’s something unreadable flickering across his face. a flicker of recognition? pity? amusement? but it smooths over so quickly, she thinks she must have imagined it.
“is she around this height?” he asks, moving his hand midair, just below his shoulder.
your mother’s eyes flicker to the gesture, her breath hitching as she nods eagerly. “yes! about that tall—maybe a little shorter if she wasn’t wearing heels!” there’s a desperation in her voice, something fragile and clinging.
the boy hums, tilting his head as if trying to recall something just out of his reach. his gaze flickers back to the photograph. then, he reaches out his hand. “can i see it?”
your mother hesitates, her fingers tightening around the edges of the picture.
it’s a mother’s instinct—a mother’s reluctance to let go of her daughter on a piece of paper even for a moment. but she exhales, shakily, and places it in his waiting palm.
he takes it carefully, as if he’s handling something delicate. his thumb brushes over the image, over your cheek, your hair like he’s tucking it, pressing his thumb faintly on your lips on the creased paper before smoothing over the fine lines of your face. his eyes linger, he tugs on his bottom lip—suppressing a smile.
“yeah…” he murmurs, almost to himself. he glances up to your mother. “she does look familiar.”
your mother’s breath catches—she swears she could’ve passed out right there and then. “you’ve seen her?”
he nods, slow and deliberate. his brows knitting together in careful thought. “i think so. a few nights ago. near that bus stop.” he says, pointing at a bus stop. your mother immediately follows his index, looking at the worn out, obviously unmaintained bus stop. the cctv hangs on its last wire, broken.
his eyes remain on her.
your mother turns to look at him, gasping. “the station? was she alone? was she okay? did you talk to her?”
he hesitates, just for a second before pursing his lips and offering her a small, almost apologetic smile. “ah… i don’t really know. it was dark. but i remember the pink scarf, and blue skirt. she’s a cute girl, right…?” he asks, arching an eyebrow as he looks down to your mother.
he studies the way her lips part slightly, her eyes widen at the mention of the odd comment. yeah, you’ve been told you’re adorable before…
stuttering, she nods. “yes—yes… she is.” she barely hears herself over the pounding in her ears. she taps on the photograph he’s holding. “you really saw her?”
“i did talk to her,” he hums, rubbing the back of his neck. his voice casual and effortless.“she asked to borrow my phone to call someone… then, she asked if i could drop her off somewhere,”
your mother stills. the air around her seems to thin. “she—she asked you to drop her off? where—?” she can hear her own heartbeat drumming in her ears.
he nods. “yeah… she looked so nervous. she kept looking around like someone was following her.” his lips press together for a moment, then he glances at your photograph again, feigning thoughtfulness. “but she was so polite. really soft-spoken. really soft,”
your mother’s finger twitches, she’s about to take back the picture from his hand when he lets out a soft hum, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head like he’s recalling what happened that night. her hand falls down to her side.
“did she say where she was going?”
the boy exhales, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “no,” he shakes his head, looking at her with pity in his eyes. “she just asked me if i could take her back to her friend’s house.”
her throat tightens. “why didn’t you drop her off at the police station?”
for the second time, something flickers across his face. it’s quick—almost imperceptible. a crack in the kindness, but it’s gone before she can confirm it.
he lets out a small chuckle, almost embarrassed. “i asked her the same thing,” his thumb caresses your cheek in the photograph absentmindedly. your mother doesn’t notice it. “she was in panic and said she didn’t want to go there. said she was scared.”
your mother’s stomach twists. her breathing uneven but she tries to keep it under radar. he notices. “scared? scared like what—like how?”
“mmhm,” his voice dips, quieter like he’s letting her in on something secret. “she told me she got into some trouble—financially. people were looking for her. i thought maybe it was, like a… loan shark thing.” he glances at your mother, watching, waiting.
her breath catches, and she’s quick to deny. “no, that’s not—” she stops herself, pressing a hand to her chest. the words feel wrong, so foreign, you would have told her—you would have told her if you’re short on money. you wouldn’t—no, you really wouldn’t borrow someone else’s.
yes, your family is poor—your siblings don’t even have the privilege to pursue education but—
the boy tilts his head slightly, humming thoughtfully. “that’s what she told me,” he murmurs, almost apologetically. “this girl… yeah—she seemed really on edge. she kept looking over at my car’s door handle and the side mirrors.”
“what?”
he shifts his weight like he doesn’t quite know how to put it in words. “i don’t know, she acted so weird that night,” he continues, sighing. “even i was having a hard time figuring her out. her hands kept twitching and every time i slowed down at a red light, she looked like she was going to jump out of the car.”
something cold crawls up your mother’s spine.
“she… she wanted to get out?”
his lips press together before shrugging slightly. “ i guess so…” his lips curve into an almost regretful smile. “she asked me to drop her off by the street but there was nothing, no houses, no stations… so i insisted that i drop her off at her friend’s house.”
your mother sways slightly on her feet. her head feels light. her breathing—heavy and uneven like she’s going to hyperventilate and break down at any moment if she doesn’t know what happened to her daughter.
“why did you…?” her voice barely makes it past her lips.
“it didn’t feel right to leave her in the middle of nowhere,” he looks down at her. his eyes narrow, emotionless. “i told her it wasn’t safe. she cried, then went quiet for a long time after that.”
a lump forms in your mother’s throat. she thinks she’s going to puke in the middle of the street.
you cried? oh lord, what happened to you?
he sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck. “then i dropped her off at her friend’s house. ‘s all.”
her hands tremble as she clutches her bag tighter. “where—? where is her friend’s house?”
his fingers drum against his hips, licking his lips to wet them, he then gestures down the street with his index. his smile doesn’t falter, it deepens just slightly that it seems thoughtful.
“it’s not that far,” he says, voice warm and kind. he looks down at your mother with the smile he had on when he studies your picture. “i can take you there, if you’d like.”
despite the cold sinking deep into her bones, despite the sick feeling curling in her gut, despite her mother’s instinct yelling and warning her no—she nods.
because what else can she do?
with practiced ease, he folds the photograph between his fingers, slipping it into the back pocket of his jeans. she doesn’t notice it.
oh, you’ll love this.
💌 sorry for not being able to be as active & post a proper fic :"( hopefully u guys enjoy these scraps for the time being...🪽
