They could both still picture her face, although under completely opposite circumstances. They still saw the way her eyebrows knitted together with horror, and lips agape but no sound coming out, for the fear had blocked off her vocal cords. The images replayed themselves, each and every one revoltingly vivid, making their mark as a dark and inseparable piece of their intertwined pasts, and a prologue of their entangled futures.  

He was always the one to come up with the crazy, exhilarating ideas.

By the age of seventeen, he had climbed up the tallest tree in the city, the autumn breeze sifting through his blonde locks, and brushing past his cheeks. He remembers the intoxicating feeling of adrenaline coursing through his veins, and memorized the extraordinary view that came from the price of hoisting himself 20 feet into the air.

“Kim Namjoon, if you break your neck, I swear, I won’t be there to sweep up after your body for you!” she shouted up into the tree, and her voice was carried away by the wind, fading off into barely a whisper before it even reached his ears.

“What?” He screamed back, craning his neck to try to detect her words, which lost their way in the rhythm of the breeze rustling through fiery leaves.

“Leave him be, Haejin-ah, it’s not our fault if he falls,” Jungkook smirked, and tilted his gaze upwards, squinting at the sunlight that had escaped through the luscious leaves of the giant oak. “He’ll be okay, it’s probably his seventh time climbing this anyways.”

“He always does this,” she ran her slender fingers through her hair in frustration, and stomped away scowling. She seemed to be angry by the way her silhouette disappeared into the sunset so hastily, but Namjoon knew that she was simply luring him to come down, before he could injure himself, with her petite frame and the light, unintentional sway of her hips.

And while Namjoon was the one to get them trouble, whether it was convincing the trio to explore a newly discovered tunnel a couple blocks off the main street, or to watch his back to as he sneaked into the small candy store at midnight to later walk out with a pocketful of chocolate bars he didn’t pay for, Jungkook was always the one to help them unravel themselves from the tangles of catastrophe. He looked for escape routes behind the two’s back the afternoon before they planned to go exploring those dangerous locations, and he was always at the front, leading the way out, before anyone can grow suspicious of their little schemes.

The two boys balanced each other out perfectly, one being a little too strong headed, too stubborn, too rash, and the other a little overly conscious, careful, and attentive.

Yet there was someone else in the trio who seemed to defy and destroy all laws of balance amongst the group, though her presence was so necessary that sometimes when she was absent, Namjoon and Jungkook will feel as if they have lost their way, staring at each other blankly until the silence had gotten uncomfortable. They were close, all right, in fact they were almost like brothers, but without Haejin, it was as if they were two lanterns itching to be and light each other’s way, and there was no hand to give them that very necessary push.

Their friendship was natural, for all of them had known each other since they were in diapers, and lived merely a couple houses away. They did everything together, celebrated every Christmas and New Years together, raced up and down the empty streets in the middle of the night together, and spent the most beautiful moments in life together. Although, Namjoon and Haejin were a slightly different story, a story filled with beat skipping hearts, flushed cheeks, and passion. It was as if they were meant to be, and the way her hand slid so snugly and comfortably into his, or the way his arm pieced together with the crook of her waist flawlessly were the best evidences of this. Jungkook would often tease the couple when they were a little too close in public, or when Namjoon would sneak a small peck on her forehead, but there was no jealousy, for he was absolutely thankful for them, and because he only viewed Haejin as a girl dearer than a sister.

The bond the three shared was firm and resilient, and the identical scar they all had on their left knee from Namjoon’s attempt to pull them up to the school roof only to have the ceiling give out underneath was one of the many beacons and milestones that fastened their unbreakable relationship even more securely.

Until the evening that anonymous stranger, adorn in all black, limped down the barren street and into their lives, shattering everything — the trio, the bond, the memories — all into a million pieces, and forever sealing their fates as one heart wrenching tragedy.

There was nothing Namjoon and Jungkook regretted more about that night than not seeing the predator’s face properly. But they couldn’t possibly be to blame, as he covered it carefully with a mask the same shade as the pitch-black skies above them, and moved so surprisingly fast, even with his dragging leg, to snatch Haejin from the middle of the walking group, that it was highly unlikely for either of them to catch a glimpse of his features. A thick coat disguised nearly every each of his skin, safe for a patch on his left wrist. A messy, black tattoo peaked out from beneath the sleeves, making a stark contrast against its sickly pale background, but neither Namjoon nor Jungkook could tell exactly what it was, for the quickly increasing distance between them and the culprit made it difficult to decipher the pattern clearly.

It had happened so suddenly. One moment ago the three were chattering excitedly about how their teacher embarrassed himself in front of the entire class, and Haejin tilted her head back, eyes closed with laughter, safely sandwiched between the two boys. Yet in the next moment, she had disappeared.

Namjoon turned his gaze towards the middle, unaware of her absence and expecting to see her warm twinkling eyes, but was only met with Jungkook’s own confused expression, staring straight back at him. The two of them turned around sharply, scanning the silent street, which was now vacant and unlit from the late hours, until their eyes spotted a dark, running figure heading towards a shiny, black SUV by the corner of the block. Haejin was tucked under his arms, voice muffled by his filthy hands, and her eyes watered with fear.  They immediately chased after her fading shadow, tracing their route from the desperate yet frustratingly soft screams of help.

But the other man was too quick. It seemed that before they could even blink, or slow down to catch their hitched breaths, both the receding figures had disappeared into the vehicle and blended in with the darkness as it drove away. Namjoon and Jungkook looked around exasperatedly, looking for any sign of help, any sign of hope. Nothing. She was gone.

“What do you mean you can’t do anything about it?!” Namjoon barked furiously at the officer, who was leaned back in his chair, feet propped upon his desk, and was staring at his nails, a slightly bored expression masking his rotund features.

“You heard me, kid. The case is closed. If you want change, you better fly up to Sacramento yourself and take it to court again. Even then,” the officer scanned the two teenagers with a judgmental glare using his beady eyes, “I doubt they’ll open up the case again.”

Jungkook stood quietly behind his fuming companion, staring at the insulting, single word printed clearly in the “Causes of Death” category on the case files. The word was scowling up at him with the same distaste he must have had on his own face.For something written on a document that was supposed to only tell facts, he though coldly, it sure is as far as it can be from the actual truth.

Suicide, it said. Suicide.

When they discovered her body, which was reported by a frightened young man, in the old, unused tunnel, the word indeed seemed convincing. Her body hung lifelessly from the ceiling of the disclosed space, face purple with the lack of blood circulation due to the constriction of the thick rope around her pale neck. A slit had appeared on her left palm, and the pocketknife that created the wound lied on the crimson floor below her, although the blood had dried from time. The maroon, dying message found on the crumbling walls had long since engraved itself into Namjoon and Jungkook’s hearts: “I’m leaving. Don’t come after me.”

Upon discovering her dead, the officials tested the blood the walls. Results proved that it matched hers, Type O, 5.0 million red blood cells/mcL, 6500 white blood cells/mcL, and 300,000 platelets/mcL. The murderer was cunning and evil, making sure that no signs of another human being was left behind, no footsteps, no fingerprints. All medical professionals, policing forces, and investigation officers were induced to believe that she had done this to herself, that it was a suicide, although Namjoon and Jungkook knew that it was not what happened. Only they were aware of the truth. They argued against the officials, trying exasperatedly to reiterate the scenes of the abduction to the uninterested adults, only to have the memories stab at them again. They tried to explain the appearance of the culprit, but the details were still unclear to them too. And what could two seventeen year olds do before a bunch of stubborn, authoritative adults? Who would listen to their testimonies when all the evidences proved otherwise, especially under the circumstances that the kidnapping and murder were committed outside the sights of the few lingering security cameras in the area?    

The case was closed in merely six months after they found Haejin’s body, for the officials said that it was a simple conclusion to make, supported by numerous proofs and examinations. It was stowed away as a suicide.

Namjoon left that very night, having been through every available negative emotion a lone human could endure in a single morning — fury, anxiety, bitterness, grief. There was no message left behind, and no one knew where he went, not even Jungkook. And as he wandered around the borders of the city, unsure of where to go next, Namjoon swore to himself that he would avenge her, no matter what methods it required. Jungkook made the same oath to Haejin’s resting body a couple weeks later, his hands resting reassuringly on the cold, still marble in which her name was carved. Although, these two polar opposite boys would take two completely different routes to achieve that common goal. That ambition which will reunite them five years later to have fate taunt and torture them one more time.

-Five Years Later-

“Sir? Detective? A new printout of the recent case is ready for you”

Jungkook glanced up at the new rookie in the office, then looked down again. Nodding absentmindedly, he vaguely pointed a finger at the right side of his wide, mahogany desk. He heard the young man’s footsteps shuffle near then out of the room nervously, and the door click shut behind him.

He reached for the thick manila folder that had just presented itself on his work station, and leafed through, heart sinking with disappointment when he noticed once again that it wasn’t Haejin’s predator, the undiscovered man he was still desperate to find after five years. Each time a new case was assigned to him, he secretly wished and pleaded to whatever supreme being was watching over him that it would be the man he hated with a burning passion on the cover of the case files. But every time he would be let down, and he grew more hopeless with each case, though he never gave up searching. 

Absorbing the gathered information in the folder as he flipped through the thin pages, Jungkook’s head pounded in pain and frustration as he saw the same type of crime he had been investigating for the past two years, ever since he started to work at this office. It was, of course, executed by the same culprit with the same blank square where their headshot was supposed to be, accompanied by the same nearly empty profile. He didn’t even know the criminal’s real name, nor gender, because the only category filled out was the “Alias”. That was all he was given to refer to as he struggled to track this anonymous criminal and solve the case — same two letters he had been staring at for the past two years:

RM.

.