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morticai · 1 month ago

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EPISODE 1: The Vanishing

pairing — exes to lovers Jungkook x you the following story is explicit, 18+ MDNI — smut, angst, dark romance, missing person, sensitive themes. so discretion is advised. 3,430 words

“Someone is always watching. The trick is figuring out when they stopped being a friend.”

Rosefield, Washington. September 14th. 9:46 PM.

It started with rain. Not a storm. Not thunder or lightning. Just the kind of soft, steady rainfall that tapped against the window like it knew you were alone. Like it wanted in.

The fog had crept in hours ago, crawling between trees and rooftops, thickening the air until everything outside looked blurred and distant. Your apartment sat on the third floor, tucked above a row of shuttered antique stores and a bakery that always smelled better than it tasted. Tonight, the world felt muted. As if someone had turned the volume down on reality.

You sat hunched over your coffee table, half-drunk tea gone cold beside you. The only light came from a small lamp in the corner and the record player spinning something strange. Something instrumental and slow and a little off-key. The kind of music that settled in your bones without permission.

The journal in your lap was older than anything in the museum you worked for. Bound in cracking leather. Ink fading like breath. You weren’t supposed to have it. But no one had to know.

Then your phone buzzed. Sharp. Jarring.

You ignored it.

Buzz. Again. A little louder this time. You paused, fingers tightening on the page you were turning.

Buzz. A third. And this time, your chest tightened before your eyes even moved.

You picked it up. Three texts. All from Rosie.

rosie posie 5min Do you remember what happened that night? rosie posie 2min They know. I’m sorry. rosie posie 2min Don’t trust anyone. Not even them.

The blood left your face so fast it made you cold. You stared at the screen, trying to understand what you were looking at. The words looked simple. But they weren’t. They felt sharp. Like they’d been cut into your phone. Like they’d been waiting to be read.

You read them again. And again. Slower each time.

There was a stillness inside you that hadn’t existed seconds ago. Something familiar. The kind of instinct that woke animals before an earthquake. That made your breath go shallow. That told you you were already too late.

You stood, moved to the window. Pulled the curtain back with fingers that didn’t feel like yours.

The street below was slick with rain. Streetlights blurred halos in the mist. The pines swayed gently beyond the last row of houses like they were keeping secrets.

Your own reflection stared back from the glass. Pale. Wide-eyed. Not blinking.

Downtown, a single flickering neon sign cut through the fog. The Hollow Pine. The O always out. Jimin’s bar. You didn’t need to check the time. He’d be closing up soon. Probably texting you within the hour, asking the same question he always did.

Company or closure?

But tonight, you didn’t want either.

You just wanted Rosie to answer her phone.

The next morning

Roseanne Park was officially declared missing at 8:22 AM.

You were still awake when it happened. You hadn’t slept. The messages kept flashing behind your eyelids every time you blinked. The sound of her name made your hands ache.

By 9:05, her face was on every phone screen, every neighborhood chat, every Facebook thread where people pretended they cared more than they did.

By 10:30, someone posted her yearbook photo on Reddit. Captioned:

“Would you miss her?”

You sat on your couch. The same place you’d been all night. Your tea was still cold. Still untouched. A new record had started spinning and you didn’t know when you’d flipped it.

Your fingers hovered above your screen. Waiting. Dreading.

Jennie called first.

“She texted me too,” she said. Her voice was sharp, too fast. Defensive. “What did it say?” There was a pause. Just long enough to hear her swallow. “Just... her being dramatic.”

No.

No, it wasn’t.

Because you had known Rosie since you were twelve. Rosie wasn’t dramatic. Rosie was silence. Precision. The kind of person who spoke with intention or not at all.

Jennie sounded tired. But it wasn’t exhaustion. It was panic in disguise. And beneath that, something else. Something fraying. Guilt?

You wanted to push. But the words stayed stuck in your throat.

A message lit up from Jisoo.

sooya 10min Meet me by the greenhouse. Bring the others. We need to talk.

You replied. You didn’t ask what it was about. You already knew.

Lisa never responded. But later, on her private story, she posted something that made your stomach twist. A photo.

Rosie’s shadow. Long and warped on a cracked wall. Below it, a match caught mid-light. The flame was small. But it was rising.

You sent her a message anyway.

you @ lalalisa 24min Did she come to see you?

Nothing. No reply. Not even a read receipt.

It felt like everything was starting to peel at the edges. Like the town was shifting beneath your feet. And no one else was noticing.

You left the apartment just before noon. Needed air. Or movement. Or something other than silence.

The town looked like it had been painted in gray. The plaza was mostly empty, rain puddling in every crack between the cobblestones. Your boots hit the ground hard. Each step louder than the last.

You passed Taehyung’s art gallery. The front windows were fogged over, light barely shining through a single gap in the blinds. The door was locked. No sign of movement inside.

Jennie once said it was the only place she felt safe.

But she hadn’t set foot inside since June.

Outside the entrance, leaned gently against the wall like it had been waiting there, was a white umbrella.

The same kind Rosie used to carry.

Your eyes locked on it for too long. But your feet didn’t stop.

You just kept walking.

At 3:33 PM your buzzer rang once. Then again.

You didn’t ask who it was. You suspected he would show soon or later.

Detective Kim Namjoon stood in the hallway, rain still caught in the cuffs of his jacket. His hair was damp. His face was unreadable. It always was now.

He used to laugh when he saw you. Joke. Steal your fries. Now, he just watched you the way people do when they’re waiting for you to give yourself away.

“Rosie messaged you, didn’t she?” “Yes.” “Do you still have them?” “...No.”

The lie came easier than it should have. Too fast. Too clean.

Namjoon’s jaw flexed. His eyes didn’t move.

“We need your help, _____. Before this turns into something else.”

You didn’t ask what something else meant. You already knew.

And it was already too late.

· · · · · · · · · ·

You told yourself you weren’t going to do it.

But by nightfall, you were standing in front of Rosie’s building.

The rain had stopped. But the air was still wet. Still thick. The kind of night that made everything feel close. Too close.

Your fingers didn’t hesitate when they found the spare key in your coat pocket. She’d never asked for it back.

Inside, it was quiet. Not empty. Just hollow.

Rosie had always kept her space clean. Neat. But this was surgical. Not a mug out of place. Not a drawer left cracked. No coat hung by the door. It felt like someone had cleaned her out of her own life.

The windows were open just a little. Letting in the chill. Letting the room breathe, like she always said. Her scent still clung to the air. Mint. Cedar. Something sharp beneath it. Like smoke, maybe. Or the edge of something breaking.

You walked straight to her desk. Sat down slowly. Like you were sitting in someone else’s memory.

Her journal was waiting.

You opened it with fingers that didn’t feel like yours.

The last page stopped your heart.

He said I should’ve stayed quiet. But I can’t live like this. If anything happens to me, it’s because I finally spoke.

You didn’t get to read it again.

Because that’s when you heard the sound.

A creak. Old floorboard. Back of the room.

You froze. The kind of stillness that’s deeper than fear.

“Still snooping through other people’s shit, huh?”

His voice.

You closed your eyes. Just for a second.

Of course it was him.

You turned, slow, like if you did it fast, you’d wake up from something.

Jungkook was standing just inside the doorway. Rainwater dripping from the ends of his hair, soaking the collar of his hoodie. His hands at his sides. Tense.

Every part of you tensed. Not from fear. From memory. From the kind of past you tried to drink away and bury in someone else’s arms.

His eyes met yours. No warmth. Just weight.

Then they dropped. To the journal. To your hand. To the fact that you were here.

“I didn’t do it,” he said.

You held his gaze.

“I didn’t say you did.” “But you’re thinking it.”

His eyes flicked to your mouth. Then back up.

The room got smaller.

You stepped back an inch. Just enough to breathe.

You thought of Jimin. His stupid jokes. His hands. The way he never made you feel like you were walking into a fire.

Jungkook? He was the fire.

He stepped forward. Each step louder than it should’ve been. Like the room wanted you to hear him coming.

He stopped right in front of you.

Close enough that you could smell him. Woodsmoke. Rain. And something that had always made you forget what safety felt like.

His hand lifted. He hesitated. Then his fingers brushed your jaw, barely there, like he didn’t mean to. Like it hurt to touch you.

“Why are you really here, _____?” “To find out what happened to Rosie.” “Bullshit.”

He reached into his coat. Pulled out a folded piece of paper. Creased. Familiar.

Rosie’s.

He held it between you. Didn’t let go.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said. “Neither should you.”

His voice dropped lower. Eyes dragging over every part of you like he was memorizing what he’d already burned into memory.

“But you came anyway.”

You didn’t move.

You didn’t want to.

When he let go of the note, it was like the room exhaled.

You looked down.

Run. Before you end up like me.

When you looked up again, he was already gone. Leaving you with wet footprints and a feeling you thought you’d buried a long time ago.

You walked home.

Didn’t remember the walk.

Just the cold. Just the flickering streetlights.

You passed Lisa’s tattoo studio. Lights off. Curtains drawn.

But behind the glass, a single candle burned low. Almost out.

On the door, taped crooked and wet, was Rosie’s missing poster.

Someone had taken a marker. A thick one.

Drawn a red X straight through her face.

Your breath left your lungs all at once. You reached for the door before you even realized your hand was moving. But it was locked. No one was inside.

You didn’t realize you were crying until you heard a familiar voice through your earbuds.

The radio show, Hoseok's. The one you never meant to listen to but always did.

“Tonight’s air tastes wrong, Rosefield. A girl is missing. But someone called us. No name. Just fear. She said someone was watching.” “She hung up when I asked if she was alone.”

The static buzzed in your ears like insects.

You turned.

The woods behind you moved.

Not the wind.

Not a deer.

Movement. Watching.

You couldn’t see it.

But it could see you.

For the first time since Rosie disappeared, you were certain of one thing.

You weren’t alone.

And someone wanted you to feel that.