Work Text:
Jungkook loves coming to the night market.
The multiple different vendors–food and clothing and musicians and art–it’s enough to make Jungkook’s head spin in the best of ways. The constant, ebbing flow of people is comforting, at night; the atmosphere is more relaxed, a little more communal than during the day. The sharp, sleek lines of Seoul’s architecture juxtaposed with the ease and handmade feel of the stalls is a constant source of inspiration for Jungkook. And, he loves being able to photograph people in a natural setting. People just being people.
At this point, photography is a part of him, ever since Jungkook’s hyung gifted him a camera for his fifteenth birthday. He’d taken photography classes in college, trying to learn and absorb as much information about composition, exposure, focal length, shutter speed–anything and everything he could. It was tough at times, having lost a little of the glamor and awe after his fifth-straight assignment on Brenizer Method, but Jungkook stuck through it, and he’s thankful he did. It’s gotten him a job at an advertising firm, and he likes having the chance to go out and refresh his eye.
Jungkook also just really likes the lamb skewers at ahjussi Chun’s stall.
It’s a Friday, the night market in full swing–college students getting ready for their night out, business men catching a bite to eat after a long day at work, families introducing their children to the different vendors. Grinning, Jungkook snaps a quick shot of a foreigner trying beondegi for the first time, the man gagging after a moment. It’s a fun little scene, the foreigner’s friends and even the vendor laughing at his expression; Jungkook lets his eyes slide through the crowd, snapping a few more shots here and there.
It’s a sudden feeling, the feeling of being watched–Jungkook can feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He glances around, uneasiness sticking to his stomach. He almost misses it–a woman, standing on the other side of the street. She’s staring at him, her head tilted to one side. Really, it shouldn’t be as uncomfortable as it is, but Jungkook can’t help how he feels; suddenly, he’s hit with the thought–is this how others feel when he takes their photograph?
The woman is young, probably just entering college; she’s wearing a small bag slung over one shoulder, a loose sundress, and sandals. Her hair is long, reaching down her back, and she’s a fairly average height. But there’s something about her that makes Jungkook apprehensive. She smiles, a slow little thing; her head tilts a little more, a bit too far to be comfortable. Jungkook glances around, trying to see if she really is looking at him and not someone else; everyone around him busy, their attention on each other and the vendors.
Turning back towards the woman, Jungkook frowns, watching as she continues to stand there, unblinking. And he can tell she’s not blinking–her eyes are locked on his face. Her eyes follow him as he shifts from side to side, her smile still in place. Grimacing, Jungkook starts to move down the sidewalk–he’s had enough, for tonight. He hurries down the street, weaving through the crowds. Rounding the corner, he gets stuck behind a street performer’s audience, the people around him cheering loudly. He glances behind him, letting out a breath–she’s not there anymore.
He turns back around, posture relaxing as he takes in the performer–it’s a dancer, the man’s movements fluid and impressive. Jungkook thinks of taking a picture, hands on his camera already. Just as he lifts the camera, the crowd shifts, and he sees her–she’s closer, her posture and expression exactly the same. A wave of annoyance washes over Jungkook–he shifts his attention from the dancer to the woman, raising the camera up to his eye. He snaps a quick photo of the woman, taking a step forward to confront her.
A line of people cross between them suddenly, the woman hidden from his gaze; after a moment, the people clear.
The woman is not there.
Head whipping around, Jungkook searches the crowd, his unease growing. A large scowl on his face, he starts to head home, the atmosphere of the night market tainted by his experience. He tightens his grip around his camera, hurrying towards the subway station. He gets on, a lingering sense of unease clinging to Jungkook like a second skin. He ends up near home a few minutes later, hurrying up the steps to the street. He walks towards his apartment, keeping his eyes firmly in front of him–he doesn’t want to know if the woman is following him.
He gets home a little past ten, foot tapping impatiently as he enters the pin for his apartment. He lets out a loud sigh as soon as he’s inside, sagging a bit against the door; he locks it after a moment, carefully pulling his camera from around his neck and placing it on his kitchen table. Slumping into a chair, Jungkook pulls his computer towards him, pulling the USB cord for his camera from his bag.
He connects them, tapping a finger on the tabletop as it loads. A minute later, he’s transferring the files to his desktop, watching the progress bar. Once they’ve finished transferring, Jungkook is quick to look through them; he gives them all a cursory glance until the final one, the one of the woman.
Except.
It’s the same woman, but not. Her dress, her bag–they’re the same. But her, herself…her hair is clumped and matted with something, the shade of brown tinged dark at the ends. Her skin is incredibly pale, unnaturally so, and her eyes are flat. Her smile is a twisted grimace, her face frozen in pain. And there’s what is very clearly blood scattered over her body. Jungkook feels a ripple of fear run down his spine, eyes wide as he looks at the photograph.
“What the hell…” Jungkook whispers, voice unsteady.
He cycles through his photographs once more, eyes blinking rapidly. The photo does not change. The woman stares back at him. Slamming his laptop shut, Jungkook pushes away from the kitchen table, moving unsteadily towards the sink. He fumbles for a glass, filling it with water. His throat is working rapidly, a wave of nausea passing over him. He takes a sip, trying to calm himself.
It’s quiet in his apartment, meaning Jungkook has nothing to distract himself with–his thoughts swirl around the woman, how she looked on the street, and how she was in the photograph. He puts the glass down, bracing himself on the counter. He dips his head, breathing heavily through his nose as his mind runs through a million questions.
A loud bang thunders against his door, Jungkook’s head whipping up. He stares at the door, heart beating wildly in his chest; the bang echoes again a few moments later; another, a moment after that, and another until there’s a steady pounding on the door. The wood shakes in place, Jungkook paralyzed with fear; he can only stare at the door as it wobbles under the pressure, the banging steady and constant until. It cuts out just as suddenly as it starts, the silence unnatural and terrifying.