kidnapper's protection | seongjoong

16

Wooyoung flopped onto his bed, legs sprawled across the edge as his phone lay heavy in his hand. For the umpteenth time, he scrolled through his texts with Seonghwa. Still nothing. No replies. Just the same last message sitting there like a brick in his gut:

_starhwa_
meeting you tomorrow after class
don't forget to bring those chips btw!

It had been two days. Two entire days of silence. No calls. No posts on his socials. No message explaining that he needed space, like he'd usually send when things with his parents got rough.

Something was off.

The thought gnawed at Wooyoung's mind, eating away at every excuse he tried to conjure: Maybe Seonghwa's phone died. Maybe he's just resting. Maybe...but the more Wooyoung thought about it, the less any of it made sense. He knew Seonghwa better than anyone. His friend didn't just disappear—not like this.

Wooyoung sat up abruptly, running both hands through his hair in frustration. He hated feeling helpless, hated that awful sense of dread creeping in. Throwing his phone onto the bed, he muttered, "What the hell are you doing, hyung?"

The room felt suffocating, even though the windows were wide open. No matter what he did, Seonghwa's absence clung to him like a shadow. His mind was running a marathon of worst-case scenarios: What if something happened? What if he got kidnapped? What if he...No. He wasn't going to think like that. Not yet.

With a frustrated huff, Wooyoung yanked on his jacket and grabbed his bag. Sitting around wasn't going to do him any good. Maybe fresh air will clear my head. Or maybe he just needed a distraction from the sinking feeling in his chest. Either way, he wasn't staying here.

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The evening sky was painted in streaks of deep purple, blue, and black, like a canvas smeared with the last light of day. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of fallen leaves and a hint of something damp—autumn at its peak.

Wooyoung made his way through the park, kicking stray pebbles along the path. The city around him buzzed with life: the hum of distant conversations, the soft rustling of trees, and the occasional bark from someone walking their dog. But none of it reached him—not really. His thoughts were with Seonghwa, lost somewhere between worry and irritation. Where the hell are you, Hwa?

He tugged out his phone again, hoping—praying—for a notification. But the screen stared back at him, blank as ever. Nothing.

His feet carried him further into the park, deeper into the quiet. The only sound was the soft crunch of gravel beneath his sneakers.

He glanced at his phone one more time, chewing on his bottom lip. It was hopeless. No amount of refreshing their chat was going to change anything. Maybe tomorrow he'll text, Wooyoung told himself. Maybe he's fine.

But as much as he tried to believe it, the pit in his stomach only grew heavier.

Wooyoung was so lost in thought he didn't notice someone approaching until a familiar voice cut through the quiet evening.

"Wooyoung?"

He blinked, looking up, and his heart gave an unintentional flutter. There stood San, leaning casually against a lamppost. His dark hair was slightly messy, falling just right over his forehead, and the corner of his mouth curled into a small, knowing smirk.

"Got a lot on your mind?" San asked, tilting his head slightly as his eyes flicked down to the phone in Wooyoung's hand.

For a moment, Wooyoung was stunned, caught off guard by San's effortless charm. The guy always had this way of making everything else feel irrelevant, like the world narrowed down to just the two of them. It was annoying—and intoxicating.

"Yeah..." Wooyoung mumbled, quickly stuffing his phone into his pocket. "Something like that."

San raised an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Do you wanna rant? Or do you need a distraction?"

Wooyoung tried not to smile, but it was impossible. "A distraction sounds nice."

"Good," San said, straightening up. "Because I wasn't going to let you say no. C'mon."

Before Wooyoung could argue, San grabbed his wrist and tugged him along the path. It was a simple touch, but Wooyoung felt the warmth spread up his arm, leaving his heart racing in ways he wasn't ready to admit.

San led him through the park, pointing out random things to keep the mood light. "Look at that bench. Doesn't it look like it's judging us?"

Wooyoung laughed, the tension in his chest easing just a little. "Probably thinks we're not sitting properly."

They wandered aimlessly, their steps unhurried, as if they had all the time in the world. And for a while, Wooyoung managed to forget about his worries.

San was good at that—making him forget. Whether it was the way he cracked jokes without trying too hard, or the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, San had this effortless charm that Wooyoung found himself drawn to.

"So," San said after a while, glancing sideways at Wooyoung, "you gonna tell me what's really bothering you, or do I have to guess?"

Wooyoung sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's Seonghwa. He's...been gone for two days. No texts, no calls. I have this bad feeling about it."

San frowned, his playful demeanor shifting to something more serious. "That's not like him, is it?"

"No," Wooyoung muttered. "It's not."

San was quiet for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. "You think he's okay?"

"I don't know." The words felt heavy on Wooyoung's tongue, like admitting them made the worry more real. "I just...I need to find him."

San stopped walking, turning to face Wooyoung fully. "We'll find him," he said, his voice steady and reassuring. "Whatever's going on, you won't have to deal with it alone."

Wooyoung blinked, surprised by the sincerity in San's words. For a moment, the weight on his chest felt just a little lighter.

"Thanks," Wooyoung whispered, his voice barely audible over the breeze.

San smiled, and for the first time that night, Wooyoung felt a flicker of hope.

They continued walking, the city lights flickering in the distance. But even as the night stretched on and San's presence kept him grounded, the gnawing fear in Wooyoung's chest remained.

Because no matter how hard he tried to distract himself, one thought refused to leave him:

Where the hell are you, Seonghwa?

And deep down, Wooyoung knew—whatever had happened, it was only the beginning.