𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐎𝐀𝐓 | 𝙨𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙜𝙤𝙟𝙤 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢! 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐍𝐎𝐖 | 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐌𝐀 𝐕𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐋 𝐏𝐓 𝟑

.⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

SHIBUYA, TOKYO 2006

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

THE FLUORESCENT HUM and soft chatter escort you down the studio's hallway, your thumb pressing the tiny buttons of your flip phone, the screen's pale glow casting light on your focused face.

"[name]," a voice calls out.

you glance over your shoulder, a curtain of black hair flashes into view.

it's just a glimpse before everything fades to darkness, as if all the light in the world is suddenly snuffed out.

a scream shatters the stillness, tearing through the corridor, vibrating off the walls. your body meets the ground with a thud, the impact stealing the breath from your lungs. the cold floor presses against your cheek, the scent of polished concrete and the distant aroma of craft services' coffee fills your nostrils.

'what happened?'

confusion mingles with the fading ring in your ears, as hushed voices and hurried footsteps converge around you. the world, once vibrant and buzzing, now feels distant, muffled—as if you're underwater, reaching for the surface.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋˚˚୨🦢୧⋆｡⊹˚. ♡ྀི

the sterile white of the hospital room seems to close in, the beeping of machines a constant reminder of the fragility of safety. you sit on the edge of the bed, the paper cover crinkling beneath you, a stark contrast to the softness of your own clothes. the air is tinged with the scent of antiseptic, clean yet somehow invasive.

the detective's words pull you back to that moment, the memory sharp and disconcerting.

"you sensed someone behind you and looked back," he says, and you nod, the image of the glint of metal flashing in your mind's eye like a warning signal.

he leans forward, the fabric of his suit whispering against itself, a subtle sound in the quiet room.

"are you sure that's the only thing you can remember?" he asks, his eyes searching yours for any flicker of recollection.

his colleague, a softer presence, taps his shoulder and squats down, his movements deliberate, bringing himself to your level. "[surname]-san, any kind of small detail would help us," he implores with a gentle urgency.

"don't you remember anything about the assailant?" his question hangs in the air.

"is this going to be broadcasted?" you ask, "i won't have to do interviews on this, right?"

"we can't be too certain [surname]-san," he replies, his voice steady but not unkind.

"oh."

"it'll help if you can give us more information," he encourages.

you look down, your hands betraying your nervousness as they twist together, "i can only remember him having black hair—but, the studio is supposed to have strict security," you admit, the words tumbling out with a mix of confusion and fear.

"but, recently i've been feeling like i'm being stalked."

as you remember the retreating glint of a camera—and those two girls who only reaffirmed that you could spot a camera on you from anywhere.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋˚˚୨🦢୧⋆｡⊹˚. ♡ྀི

the detectives' departure is a quiet affair, their silhouettes receding into the sterile white of the hospital corridor, leaving behind only the scent of solemnity and the faintest echo of their presence. the door clicks shut, a soft punctuation to the conversation that hung heavy in the air.