𝗥𝗲𝗱 | JJk ✔️

02| Something Else

It's cooler outside once you begin to stroll through the dimly lit sidewalk.

The evening breeze laces through your black curls as you pass by another street light that arduously flickers under the mild darkness that surrounds you.

At this hour, a walk through your city isn't really the safest. So you keek over your shoulder occasionally, physically prepared to pounce like a cat over the imaginary stalker you're convinced is striding behind.

Sometimes, you think it's your delusional nature that makes life so much harder. If your nose hadn't been stuck into those fictional books and T.V shows, then this little journey to your interview wouldn't be so complicated.

Another gust of cool breeze whisks around you, yet this time, the chills that drive down your body isn't entirely because of the wind.

You feel as though you're being watched.

For God's sake, Y/N, stop being such a wimp.

Regardless, you push yourself into a brisk jog, feeling your skin prickle from the paranoia of being watched. At first, you aren't too concerned, but when you hear a faint creak of gravel chomping behind, fear escalates through your guts immediately. And when you increase your pace, the shuffling of feet behind do so as well.

A teenage boy in a uniform crosses the road across from you while there's bright orange earbud plugged in his ears. So if you scream, it is liable to be muffled by whatever he's listening to.

So screaming isn't an option. Besides, you're not sure how much volume you can get out. The only thing that could help is your father's self-defense techniques you learned ever since you were little. And of course the classic: sprinting like you're escorted by a bunch of pea-brained zombies.

Currently, the street is empty, totally devoid of any (helpful) humans that are reachable. And with your interview around the corner, you don't think much before forcing your legs into a run.

You speed through the boulevard, your hair whipping across your face, falling right back in your line of sight by another gust each time you tuck it away hastily. Curiously, you turn your head slightly to get a glimpse of the person striding behind.

Your heart springs in your chest when you take in his hooded figure with a nasty smirk flitted over his lips.

Well, you think sarcastically, at least it's not a dementor.

The rhythmic thumping of the person's shoes soon fades into thin air, and your peripheral vision stops displaying the hooded figure escorting you. Confused, you bring your legs to slow down to a halt, whirling on your heels to take in the desolate streets of Seoul.

The heck? Were you hallucinating?

The sidewalk behind is currently devoid—with no hints of the dementor-like figure you believe was hovering behind. You turn to the right then, taking in the lady with a baby scroller who just made it through the doors of a Bazar about two blocks down the road.

Panic grips your heart when a massive hand abruptly muffles your mouth, making you whimper from his arm twisting your body in pain. "Shh, don't worry pretty thing," cooes a voice with a sickening cord of affection. "Just hand over the file and we won't hurt ya, alright?"

The man lets out a yelp once you twist his arm before pushing yourself off of his body. With a desperate lunge, you force your legs to sprint, but a hand sneaks under your top, a feeling of nausea eroding the pits of your stomach.

"Ah careful pipsqueak," another voice comes around, "Being feisty will get you killed. So just hand it over, yeah?"

"Hell no," you spit out and a repulsive chuckle leaves the man's mouth, the sound giving you shrills.