Their idol

phone rang

Back at home, Min-jeong hunched forward as she paced four-step laps between the kitchen and the sofa, her arms crossed tight over her chest like she was holding herself together.

She wore a faded beige knit cardigan over a wrinkled white cotton blouse and navy slacks that hung a little loose at the waist, paired with worn-out house slippers with the heel crushed down.

Her hair was cut straight at the chin, black with gray threading through at the temples, messy from too many anxious passes of her hand.

There was no makeup on her face, just pale skin, red-rimmed glassy eyes that she blinked fast to keep from spilling over, and deep lines around her mouth pulled down in a quiet, constant frown. Every time she passed her daughter’s open bedroom door she clenched her jaw and looked away, moving quietly, wearing the floor down instead of making a sound.

The clock on the wall said 2:17 AM. It had said 2:17 AM for the last hour.

Min-jeong’s slippers whispered against the floor as she paced the length of the livin room. Kitchen to sofa. Sofa to kitchen. Four steps, turn, four steps back.

The house was too quiet. No TV, no Dae-hyun’s late-night cough from the bedroom, no Amy humming off-key in the shower. Just the hum of the fridge and the sound of her own breathing getting faster.

She stopped at the window and pulled the curtain back an inch.

The street outside was empty. No police car. No taxi pulling up with a sleepy, guilty daughter stumbling out.

“Where are you?” she whispered. Not to the street. To the apartment. To the air.

Her phone sat on the table, screen up, like a silent witness. 47 missed calls. All from her. All to Amy. All going straight to voicemail.

She picked it up, opened the chat, typed “Gong-ju, please just text me you’re okay,” then placed the phone back on the table.

She walked past Amy’s room. The door had been open for 72 hours.

The bed was made. The desk was clean. The wall held photos of Jae-min.

Min-jeong’s throat tightened. She didn’t want to see it either. He was the reason her daughter was gone. _Silly obsession._

Back to the kitchen. She turned the stove on, then off. No point. No one would eat.

She pressed her forehead against the cool tile of the counter and closed her eyes.

“Come home,” she said. It came out as a rasp. “Please. Just come home, Mommy’s worried, Amy.”

The clock ticked to 2:18 AM. Nothing.

That was what was freaking her out now.

The phone vibrated against the table like it had a pulse of its own.

Min-jeong grabbed it before the second ring finished.

“_Amy?_”

No answer.

Only breathing. Heavy, ragged, wet. Like someone was running and couldn’t get air. Like someone had their throat squeezed and was fighting for every gasp.

Her blood went cold.

“Amy? Baby, talk to me! Where are you?”

The breathing hitched. A choked sound slipped through—not words, just air forced through something it shouldn’t be. It sounded like a hand tightening around a neck.

Min-jeong shot to her feet, the chair scraping loud against the floor.

“AMY! Are you okay? Say something!”

The breathing stopped.

Not slowing. Just gone.

The line went dead