Except for the quiet drone of the television, the motel room was silent. Faint morning light streamed in through the window, shining into Chaeyoung’s eyes in a way that would have irritated her on any other day, but her attention this morning was dedicated wholly to the tiny television in front of the bed, as was Jongdae’s.

“Suspected kidnapper Kim Jongdae and his victim, Im Chaeyoung, have still not been found,” the television buzzed. “Authorities say Kim is likely armed and extremely dangerous. Please contact the number below if you see or hear anything suspicious.”

“I can’t believe this,” Jongdae said weakly, lowering his head into his hands. “Me. Why is it always me? First I get hauled off into all this hostage business I’m not even involved in, and now I’m being accused of kidnapping my fellow kidnappee?”

Chaeyoung stared at the screen, similarly taken aback. “What… This story has been broadcasting for days now. We’ve only been here for a couple hours, so the manhunt must have started even before we escaped.”

“This is terrible. We’re lucky the motel owner didn’t recognize us; we must have been so tired and dirty-looking that he didn’t associate me with the kidnapper on TV.”

“He didn’t seem like the type to be keeping up with the news all too diligently,” Chaeyoung pointed out, cringing at the thought of the owner and his lewd comments. “I don’t think he would have recognized us even if we were clean.”

“Yeah.” Jongdae sighed. “God, this is a mess.”

“Maybe we ought to go to the nearest police station and just explain the situation,” she said, trying to think through the situation logically. “It would be pretty clear you didn’t kidnap me if I come with you and tell the police everything.”

“We can’t.”

“What? Why not?”

“We can’t,” Jongdae repeated, looking up miserably, “because Joonmyun says we can’t.”

“Joonmyun?” Thoroughly confused, Chaeyoung scrunched up her forehead. “What does Joonmyun have to do with this? When did you talk to him? Where is he?”

“He left a message on my cell phone saying that someone at the police station has it out for me. It was a really brief, confusing message, but I know my brother’s voice, and he was really worried when he left it.”

“Wait, stop.” Chaeyoung felt like she hadn’t woken up properly yet, her head was so hazy. “When did he call? And since when do you have your cell phone?”

Jongdae shrugged. “Kidnappers left it in the medicine bag in the trailer by accident, I guess. It only had enough battery left for me to listen to the message once before it died. I was going to tell you about it, but you didn't exactly seem to be in a reasonable state of mind to discuss it until now.”

“And where was I when you found the phone?”

“In the trailer trying to ignore my existence.” He scoffed. “You must have been pretty good at it if you didn’t notice me digging around the medicine bag for so long.”

“I thought you were just looking through the medicine, not finding a cell phone!” Chaeyoung took a deep breath. “Alright, never mind. Did Joonmyun say who it is at the police station you can’t trust? Is it just one police station in particular or multiple? Is there a way around this?”

“I don’t know.” Fishing the phone out of his pocket, Jongdae tossed it across the bed at her. “If we can find a charger, we can listen to the message again. But from what I remember, all Joonmyun said was not to go to the police no matter what, because someone there is trying to frame me.”

“Well, this should be simple enough then. Which police officers have you offended?”

Jongdae paused, thinking, and counted silently, raising his fingers one by one.

“Oh, you’re joking! You can’t possibly have angered that many policemen!” Eyes wide in horror, Chaeyoung watched as Jongdae ran out of fingers to count with and moved on to his toes. “Oh never mind! So you can’t go to the police, then. Maybe I can instead. I’ll tell them that you’re innocent! They’ll have to believe me!”

He shook his head. “Chaeyoung, you didn’t hear how desperate my brother sounded. I don’t think we can risk it. It sounds like something’s seriously wrong with the police to make Joonmyun distrust them so much.”

They lapsed into silence. The television played a yogurt commercial, and they both watched colorful dancing cows flash across the screen. The cheerful jingle sounded like it was mocking them, so Chaeyoung reached out and changed the channel, only for Jongdae's name to pop up on screen again.

“Wow, we’ve hit it big,” Jongdae said hollowly, both hands over his face. “National news, huh?”

Not knowing how to comfort him, Chaeyoung sighed and reached to turn off the television. Yet just before she pressed the power button, a new image flashed across the screen, giving her pause. “Jongdae, is… is that you on the screen right now?”

Startled, Jongdae looked between his fingers at the screen, which had just changed to a photo of the suspected kidnapper, and felt his jaw drop. “Oh hell no.”

“That is, isn’t it? That is definitely you!” Feeling rather hysterical, Chaeyoung tried to suppress the urge to point at Jongdae and laugh. On the screen was a photo of a much younger Jongdae wearing thick square glasses, his eyes bleary and only half open, hair sticking up in tufts, chubby cheeks and all. Actually, it rather looked like Jongdae had been sleeping a minute before the photo was taken -- if she squinted, Chaeyoung could just make out the telltale red marks of pillow creases on his face -- and was that a feather boa wrapped around his neck?

“No, no, no!” Jongdae’s voice was high, squeaky, and the poor comedian sounded like he was going to burst into tears any second. “The first time I see myself appear on national television, and it’s looking like this? Unacceptable!”

Chaeyoung was very tempted to point out he should probably be more concerned about being a wanted criminal than about having an embarrassing photo as his mugshot, but the look of abject horror on the comedian’s face shut her up.

“Where did they even get this photo? It’s got to be at least five years old.” His voice rose further in pitch and volume, calling to Chaeyoung’s mind a very distressed tornado siren. “And I -- those glasses -- that haircut -- what was I thinking -- ugh!”

She couldn’t help it. She knew it was irrational and childish and silly, especially in the middle