MARCH 27
5:32 PM

'PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR FROM PANJIN DISTRICT MISSING'

it's a torn, ragged newspaper article. the tips of the flimsy paper look like they've been plucked mindlessly, and the sheer blur of the text from old coffee stains seems to grow indistinctively as taehyung clutches the paper in his calloused hand.

the article about the missing detective only seems to occupy a tiny, unnoticable space in a disregarded page. there's a picture of park jimin—small, but enough to make up his features—and a brief three-paragraph description about his disappearance. taehyung isn't surprised—single disappearances are often disregarded unless there's a large mass of them in a similar span of time, or if it ends up in cold murder.

they're at namjoon's office. he suggested it would be safer to talk somewhere else.

"but i saw him," taehyung says, "i've never even met this guy in my entire life—but i saw him. he even talked to me."

"that's what i don't understand," namjoon says. "his case is cold. all our leads led to a dead-end—no evidence, no traces, no nothing. it was like he ceased to exist."

"and now this," seokjin says.

"out of all the things he could've possibly done," namjoon says, eyes shifting toward taehyung like an implication. "what's the correlation?"

"look, i'm creeped," taehyung says. "like i'm literally getting chills right now. this guy knows where i live, knows about this case, probably knows a shit ton of my life for some reason and i don't even know what he wants from me. money? barely have any of that—i'm literally living paycheck to paycheck. barely above minimum wage. murder? robbery? mistaken identity? what—"

"jimin's not that kind of person," seokjin interrupts. "he was the best in our department."

"are you sure you hadn't seen him before?" namjoon asks. "ever?"

"not until today, no."

namjoon averts his gaze toward seokjin, and they give eachother a look.

"seokjin and i, we're gonna have to step out for a bit," namjoon says briefly. "we're gonna contact the station to re-open his case. i'm sorry, this situation... it's kind of a big deal. it won't take long."

taehyung doesn't say anything. he's fazed. it's not everyday some guy who's been missing for more than two years shows up at your doorstep posing as your private investigator. the situation is just awfully overwhelming and he can't say he's not upset considering the entire thing was weird as fuck. park jimin is weird as fuck. the situation was unsettling—it was fucking creepy. the detectives refuse to tell him anything specifically crucial about park jimin either, so he's not particularly sure whether he should be alarmed or not. is he a runaway? did he get kidnapped?

musty newspaper articles rely on vaguely shallow details. all taehyung knows is his name.

he's just nauseatingly exhausted to think at the moment.

taehyung looks around the room. it's dimly lit, heavily relying on the sconces near faded world map tapestries.

there's boxes under kim namjoon's desk.

taehyung leans down, eyes fixed on the carton boxes lined haphazardly under the hardwood desk. they lack any obvious principle of proper arrangement, but taeyhung's eye catches one with a label: PARK JIMIN CASE.

taehyung slides it toward him—the box is heavy. he flicks the top carton open.

taehyung grimaces. there's a lot in the box—manila files, full heavy-duty binders, labeled folders, stray clips and pins. it's like a big, messy storage in there. the files are barely organized at all, just looks like they've been stuffed hastily inside the carton.

there's one thing that taehyung catches almost immediately: newspapers.

taehyung feels nosy (after all he's literally looking at private investigation files from a person he's met barely an hour ago—way to go, taehyung) but he's got a gut feeling. it's his pure, utter gut feeling, and taehyung's not one to ignore it.

he snatches one from the box, and they're crosswords—weekly crosswords.

"wait."

it dawned on him.

"newspapers," taehyung whispers, eyes widening. "the crosswords in the newspapers."

"i'm really sorry about that—" the door opens. namjoon's eyes widen when he sees taehyung. "mr. kim, what are you doing?"

"the newspapers," taehyung starts, rising from his seat. he lifts the flimsy paper. "jeongguk and park jimin have one thing in common—it's this. the newspapers—the crosswords!"

"what are you talking about?" namjoon asks, gaping.

"before jeongguk went missing, he was obsessed with the crosswords," taehyung explains rashly, walking toward him. "he was saying how they were trying to say something, like—like some kind of message or something!he said something about how the newspapers were related to the accident and everyone thought he was crazy—"

"the newspapers?"

"yes, and jimin, he was too, right?" taehyung asks, "the same as jeongguk?"

"yes, but—"

"mr.kim," seokjin coughs. "i think it's best if you leave for now."

"but, it's right here," taehyung persists. "the answer might be here. this is the correlation you were looking for."

"mr. kim," namjoon starts, face falling. taehyung knows that face. "jimin was unwell. he started skipping his meds around that time—"

"that's what they said about jeongguk," taehyung counters. "they said he was crazy, and now look—"

"mr. kim," seokjin interrupts. "please."

taehyung looks at him, and then at namjoon. it's tense. he lowers the flimsy paper, calloused palms unclenching at his sides.

"fine."

-

if there's one thing that taehyung failed to check, it's the most awfully obvious yet vital clue. it was right there.

maybe the reason why he's never bothered to go over any of it was because there was a part of him that never really fully believed jeongguk. the awful lot of pressure and stray, trivial influence coming from everyone else drove him away from the most crucial thing.

the crosswords.

H, taehyung hurriedly scribbles on a sheet, eyes frantically shifting from each line. E, another term spells out.

his lamp is giving out. that cheap little shit, he thinks. his eyes attempt to adjust to the scarce, scant light. just a little more, please.

it's a pattern. it's different every week—the pattern changes. this one's from the second week of novermber 2017: take out the third letter of every other second term across.

L, another one. taehyung scribbles frantically. how many more are there? he's focused, heart pounding rapidly as the sound of the clock ticks—and ticks—

P.

HELP.

-
oh shit
i start online school on monday and im not having it cos i hate school with a burning passion 😭😭😭 like PLEASE MAKE IT STOP
but anyways how r u guys tell me about ur day !