Chapter Text
Detective Sergeant Kim was known for his unorthodox methods.
"Alright, everyone out!" He stalked into the stale smelling living room, cane in hand and limp in full effect.
There was a quiet scuffle as the people– mostly the ladies from the forensic team– slowly filed out the door, some of them throwing disapproving glances at the second figure– a teenage boy– who'd followed Sergeant Kim into the crime scene.
The boy walked with his head down, face hidden behind ruffles of dark, untidy hair and hands tucked in the pockets of his black bomber jacket.
"He's just a kid ," they whispered, " why does Kim Seonsaengnim bring him to a murder scene?"
"Some say the boy's his protégé…"
"…dresses like a delinquent though..."
But no one dared question him up front, because Detective Sergeant Kim's unorthodox methods always worked.
The room was cluttered but looked like it had been well lived in. It could even be described as cozy, if not for the chalk outline on the floor of the body that had been cleared earlier that morning, and the pools of dark, crimson blood that decorated the carpets.
Once everyone else had left the room, the Sergeant turned, cane held to his chest and one hand on the back of the couch for support. "The victim is Park Yu Jun, 27 years old, she worked at the-"
"Spare me the details, chief." The boy stepped carelessly over the blood stains and ran a dark gloved hand through his disheveled hair, making it untidier still. "Let's just get this over with."
Sergeant Kim sighed and retrieved a brown envelope from his pocket and opened it over the dining table, about a dozen photographs spilled out. "These are our suspects as of now." The boy leaned over to take a look.
"And some of what we think was used by the victim and her attacker during the struggle," the Sergeant moved to the other side of the table where an assortment of objects, few of them in ziplock bags, were arranged in rows.
The boy took a deep breath and pulled off one of his gloves. Sergeant Kim stepped aside to allow him more space at the table. Carefully with his gloved hand, the boy extracted the objects from the bags, placed them on the palm of his ungloved hand and closed his eyes for a few seconds. He repeated this action with every item on the table. A broken pencil, a hairbrush, a broken piece of furniture, until he'd gone through them all at least once.
"All of these belonged to the victim. Level of possession is medium to low so they're not giving me anything substantial, except– maybe the hairbrush." The boy picked the hairbrush and held it in his palm again, "this was knocked off a tea table when the victim fell to the floor." He looked back at the Sergeant, "it sounds like a lovers' quarrel."
Sergeant Kim gave a pleased nod," can you see who did it?"
The boy looked annoyed, "I cannot see someone who does not own the objects. None of these belonged to the attacker, I only see the victim. But I'm guessing the attacker's a man based on the pronouns she used."
"Did she use a name?" The Sergeant asked eagerly.
The boy shook his head, "she called him 'darling', could be a lover."
"Strange. We asked around and everyone who knew her was convinced she was single."
The boy frowned at the table, biting his lower lip, and then blew a lock of hair out of the way. "I'm going to take a look around."
The Sergeant followed him as he walked across the room, looking for anything fallen or out of place. Occasionally he'd stop to pick something up and place it on his palm, shake his head, put it back down and move on. After a solid ten minutes of fruitless searching, the boy pushed the couch aside and pulled out a tattered old book.
"Hmm, okay. The possession is dual here. Strong. I think she borrowed this from her attacker." He opened his eyes with the first hint of a smile on his handsome face, "I can see him. She threw this at his face."
"Yeah? Do you recognize him from the pictures?"
The boy shook his head, "I think– I think we crossed him on the way here. The security guard."
Sergeant Kim sprang into action. He pulled out his radio, "the security at the gate, bring him in for questioning."
The boy slipped his glove back on, "well, I'll be leaving first chief, since my work is done."
"Hold on, Jungkook."
The boy turned, eyebrows raised.
"You're graduating soon."
"That I am."
"What are your plans for college? I mean, you have a gift, the police force could use–"
"Chief, tell me, has there been any progress on eomma's case?" The boy stared with cold, hard eyes.
Sergeant Kim stiffened, "Jungkookah, that case hit a dead end three years ago, you know this. I promised that you'd be the first to know if we had any leads."
The boy nodded, smiling, "You've done nothing with that promise except use it to make me work for you. All due respect chief, I think I've been used enough. Once I'm eighteen, I'm getting the hell out of here." He brought two fingers up in a salute and walked out the door.
—
—
Jeon Jungkook had finally run out of fucks to give. There was nothing left for him here, no one.
He knew he'd have to leave this town soon, leave this world too. He was beginning to get impatient about it.
The pager in his pocket started to beep. He ignored it.
Soon, but not yet.
He climbed the dirty steps to his father's apartment. There was music issuing from behind one of the walls, the bass shaking the very ground.
Dad was out of town. Jungwoo must have taken this opportunity to invite his piece-of-shit friends over. Jungkook grimaced, he didn't want to deal with this right now.
He gritted his teeth and entered the flat.
Out of all his senses, his ears suffered the most. The music was loud enough to vibrate his entire torso. The place was rank with the smell of alcohol and tobacco. It wasn't even dark yet.
"Oppa, I've been looking for you!" a squeaky voice cut through the music. The source of said voice– a short girl wearing a very glittery tank top– was bouncing like an excited puppy and waving at him.
"Go home Yoona," Jungkook grunted.
Things worth noting about Yoona: she lived across the street, was five foot one, had thick bushy blue hair and a big fat crush on Jungkook.
She tilted her head with a slight pout (all very strategic, and very effective. Jungkook was not above admitting that she was cute.) "Dance with me and I'll go home."
"Go home, Yoona." Jungkook repeated, but this time he couldn't fight his smile. He almost considered indulging her. They were not friends (friends, ha), but Yoona was the only person here who didn't want to punch his lights out. Maybe the reason he never fully pushed her away.
He turned to walk further into the house, not waiting for Yoona's response.
Down the hallway, he threw open his bedroom door, grabbed his backpack, walkman and all the cash he'd managed to save that summer and ran back out.
Jungkook made one last stop, his father's- thankfully empty- study. He pulled open the second drawer of the dresser and grabbed a key from under a journal.
When he stepped out, Jungwoo— Jungkook’s half brother, was standing there with crossed arms. He was younger than Jungkook by about six months, but nearly a head taller and twice as wide.
"What were you doing in there?"
"None of your business." Jungkook looked hard into his step-brother's eyes.
Jungwoo eyed his backpack with suspicion, "you stealing shit from us now?"
Jungkook scoffed, this was coming from saint Jungwoo who beat up kids in alleyways.
"Where are you going?"
"To visit a friend."
"What friend? You don't got any."
Jungkook raised a brow, "You don't know me."
"Oh yeah?" Jungwoo inched closer, squaring his shoulders, "You're a freak. That's all there is to know. Want to see what happens when I tell everyone else about it? About how you are one of them ?" His eyes glinted venomously.
Seemed like Jungwoo still had some growing up to do.
Jungkook leaned in slowly, their faces merely an inch apart and his lips pulled up in a crooked smile, mirthless, "do it, and I'll make sure every last one of you is sent to prison for willfully harboring me."
Jungwoo was about to counter but Jungkook held up one finger, "I'm not the same little kid you used to push around anymore, big guy. I've got friends in high places who owe me a shit ton. Give me one good reason and I'll make your life miserable for a long, long time."
As he pushed through the stinking, crowded living room on his way out, the look on Jungwoo's face played back in his head. Beneath the anger and resentment, Jungkook had seen fear. And it didn't make him feel good at all.
They've always feared me, he thought bitterly.
This was why he had to leave. This was why he could never return.
Out of the apartment, down the stairs, into the parking lot, Jungkook found his uncle's old motorcycle in a dusty corner amidst other junk. It'd been lying there unused since his uncle had gone off to war. Unbeknownst to everyone else, Jungkook had been fixing and tinkering around with it in his spare time these past few months.
He mounted the motorcycle and hit the ignition. It roared to a start. "Fuck yeah!" He kissed his gloved fingers and pointed them upwards, sending a quiet thank you to his uncle in heaven (Or hell. He didn't know the man.) and rode off to the exit.
---
Jeon Jungkook was born just as the last world war ended. It was around the time when mutants had started to flee into hiding.
The subsequent years saw the Homo Sapien Superior subspecies shrink nearly into extinction. In fact, the world governments saw to it that this was the case. People with the X-gene were forced to undergo sterilization and other procedures to inhibit their powers. Those who didn't comply were imprisoned, experimented on, and in some cases, killed. It was an extermination.
But there was more to the truth than that. Jungkook and the pager in his pocket both knew that mutants were far from extinct. They lived and grew and thrived, just out of sight.
Unlike most mutants, Jungkook's 'powers' were invisible. Which meant that he could safely grow up among regular humans and use his powers openly without detection. And so, despite it all, he'd had a relatively normal childhood with his mother, from whom he'd inherited his powers. They lived in a little one bedroom apartment in the city where she taught dance to little children.
His mother was beautiful, funny and also his favorite person in the world. She taught him how to control his powers, how to hide them and how to be strong and not take shit from anyone. She was Jungkook's entire world, until she went missing.
She simply left for work one morning and never returned.
Jungkook's life descended into madness. Police stations, weeping relatives and hollow nights spent staring at bedroom ceilings, more than a fifteen year old could handle.
At fifteen, Jungkook was sent to live with his father in the next city. A man who had split from his mother when she was still pregnant with Jungkook.
Needless to say, his new life was less than pleasant. His step brother made sure of that.
At around that time, he became acquainted with Sergeant Kim, who oversaw his mother's case. He visited the station almost daily in the hopes that they found something. Anything.
The Sergeant must have felt sorry for him. He never pushed Jungkook away, and instead took him along for investigations. Jungkook was thankful because it gave him something to do other than just lying in bed mourning.
Somewhere along the way, the Sergeant realized that Jungkook's strange little mannerisms– the way he kept his hands covered at all times, the way he seemed to know more than he probably should– were signs that he was a mutant. The day he confronted Jungkook about it was probably the scariest day of his life. Jungkook was sure he'd be taken into custody and have procedures performed on him or some shit. But the Sergeant promised to keep it a secret.
Jungkook had been so relieved at the time. So grateful. But now he saw clearly that the Sergeant was only after his own gain.
He'd call Jungkook a "little detective", show him cases “for fun” and ask him what his opinions were, that's how it started. He'd call Jungkook in "to discuss your mother's case" and then segway into "another interesting case I'm working on". Jungkook found it fun back then, playing detective. He still did. He'd always dreamed of using his powers for good like this. It gave him a sense of accomplishment. It didn't occur to him that the Sergeant was making him do all the work and then taking all the credit.
It didn't occur to him back then that the minute Sergeant Kim learned of his little secret, his mother's case had been dropped.
There were no new leads for the last three years because nobody cared enough to waste time on a missing mutant woman.
Jungkook hit the throttle extra hard, sending him down the near empty countryside road at a breakneck speed. The wind howled in his ears and his eyes burned in the late winter chill, but his heart remained calm and steady in his chest.
He'd done his best these last three years. He'd studied hard, kept his head down and obeyed his father. He'd been a good little errand boy for his fellow mutants. All the while he waited and hoped and prayed that his mother would come back to him, against all odds, safe and sound.
Maybe it was time he grew the fuck up and accepted a few harsh realities.
1. The most important person in his life was probably gone for good.
2. No one gave a shit about it.
Except maybe one person.
He was going to see her now.
---
Jungkook's journey took him over a rocky river, through a lush green valley, past a graveyard of fighter planes and a couple abandoned towns, until he was hit with the smell of sea salt and the horizon dissolved into a deep blue-grey under a heavy, rumbling sky.
Jungkook breathed in deep and took the next exit into the small fishing village his mother grew up in.
Past the little shops and the town marketplace, past the local shrine that stood facing the sea, and up a winding stone path, stood a withering old hanok. Its stone base was thick with moss and patches of its rooftop were missing.
Jungkook rode up to the wine covered front gates and dismounted the motorcycle. He gave himself a stretch to loosen up his thighs and back, and walked in.
"Jungkookah?" A woman in track pants and a padded jacket hobbled out of the wooden front doors, her back hunched with age.
"Halmeonie, I've come to visit." Jungkook reached out and hugged her. She was so short, he had to bend to get to her level.
She patted his back affectionately and pulled back to hold him at arm's length, "why did you come all this way when you have graduation in a week? Halmeonie was planning to visit your school."
"No way, you were planning to come?" Jungkook grinned, "ah, I don't think I'm attending it myself."
"Don't be silly, you cannot miss your own ceremony. Graduating highschool is a big deal for a young man." She dusted his shoulders and beckoned him to the house, "come in, you must be hungry. I'll see what I can put together for you."
Jungkook followed her in, his heart warmer than it'd been in a while.
---
The old hanok on top of the hill was a time capsule. It's interiors reverberated with echoes of laughter and love and grief and loss. Each object that decorated the house, every piece of furniture, had been passed down through bloodline from owner to owner, and had so much to say. The memories swirled up like rising dust at Jungkook's every touch.
This place never failed to overwhelm him. It was where he first discovered his powers at age twelve. His mother had been so overjoyed, she'd held his hands and danced around the house while his grandmother looked on with the widest smile on her face. They'd later celebrated the occasion with fish stew and seaweed soup. It was the happiest Jungkook had remembered feeling. Even though everything seemed scary and out of control, there had been people to guide him through it.
His mutation was not extravagant like the ones the fables spoke about— people who sprouted wings or read minds or caused pain with just a look.
No, Jungkook's ability was a little harder to explain.
There was a truth about the world that not many were privy to: All objects once owned, retained a memory of their masters. A record of it’s lifetime through the eyes of those who owned it.
Jungkook’s mutation allowed him to access these memories and view them through touch. There were a few catches though. Older memories were harder to extract, so were the memories of the previous owners. The stronger the bond between the object and the owner, the clearer the memories. And lastly, it was monumentally easier to view the memories of an object small enough to fit in the palm of his hand.
On paper it didn’t sound dramatic or as dangerous as some of the mutant horror stories that were popular among commonfolk, but Jungkook was exceedingly good at what he did. His inner eye had grown to become more potent than even his mother's was in her prime.
All Jungkook wanted to do with his abilities was to use it for good.
But people mistook kindness for weakness far too easily. He'd been used and spent like currency and thrown to the curb one too many times, sometimes by his own people.
The pager in his pocket was beeping again. He ignored it.
Once he'd washed up, Jungkook stepped out onto the creaky wooden porch that lined the central courtyard of the house and followed the smell of hot food into the kitchen.
"Halmeonie, you don't have to cook anything–" he stopped talking as soon as he made sense of what he was seeing, stunned.
Every surface of the kitchen was covered with food. Meat, fruits, soju, soup– this was enough to feed an entire family. Jungkook walked through the doorway that led into the living area and found his grandma crouching in front of a low table, setting bowls of rice in front of paper screens and– Jungkook gasped, finally understanding.
His mother went missing exactly three years ago today.
"Is this for eomma?" He asked, heart thundering and throat tight.
Jungkook's grandma slowly pushed against the table and stood up with some effort, she looked so much older without the smile on her face. "We all have our own ways of coping, I hope you understand."
Jungkook didn't move, his eyes trained on the offerings and the threads of incense smoke that drifted lazily upwards. A younger, more stubborn part of him wanted to yell, flip the table, make a scene. There was no need to perform a memorial service. His mother was missing, not dead. They didn't know for sure, there was no proof.
But the more jaded, overwhelmingly exhausted part of him knew the cost of holding on to such hope. It ate you from within until you crumbled.
Jungkook was so close to crumbling.
"You've been so strong, Jungkookah. You've done so much." She laid a hand on his cheek, "but I'm just a tired old lady. Will you allow me this solace of believing that she is at peace?"
Jungkook looked away, swallowing his tears with his hands closed in fists. He had to be strong, at least for her sake.
After all, he would never know what it must've been like for his grandmother to lose a daughter. He didn't want to know.
"I understand Halmeonie. Let me help you."
And so together, they set up the Jesa table with all the food his grandmother had prepared. And then under her instructions, Jungkook offered up each of the dishes with ceremonial bows while his grandmother chanted prayers and followed suit.
Dinner was a quiet but scrumptious affair. Halmeonie was visibly cheerful, even though she tried to contain it. Jungkook, on the other hand, was lost in thought. If he had any hope that a memorial ceremony would give him a hint of peace, it was quashed that day.
He was on edge all evening. The overpowering feeling that he was missing something was stronger than it had ever been in the last three years. Sleep was replaced with restlessness that night. He tossed and turned until he couldn't take it anymore. He jumped out of bed, lit a kerosene lamp and wandered out of his room.
It was never silent in the Hanok on top of the hill. The house creaked and whispered at all times of the day. If nothing else, the distant crowing of seagulls along with the deep, everlasting rumble of the sea was omnipotent.
Jungkook's feet carried him through moonlit corridors until he was face to face with an all too familiar door.
He'd stood in front of this door countless times in the last three years. Always reaching out, never opening.
A part of him was afraid of his own feelings. Was he ready to face this? Would he ever be ready?
Jungkook's hand shook as he placed it on the door. He knew deep down that part of the reason he'd come here was because he needed closure, even if he didn't have any answers.
This was his last ditch effort to find it.
Jungkook slid the door open and was greeted with a whiff of fine dust. He stepped in, bringing the golden glow of the lamp with him.
His mother's old room looked almost exactly like he'd remembered it.
The old wooden cabinet with her snow globe collection was right there, the collage of little Jungkook's drawings on the wall just above it. The study desk where he did his holiday homework, feet swinging off the too big chair, it was all still there. He could almost see the memories swirling with the golden dust in the very air of the room, palpable.
A room full of objects owned by his mother was both tempting and terrifying at the same time. Jungkook felt a tingle in his fingers, but kept his gloves on as he inspected the place.
He turned on the spot once with the lamp held high in his hand, and the light caught something on the dresser.
Jungkook's heart stopped beating for a good second.
It was a locket. A bronze, water drop shaped locket, lying innocently on top of the dresser. Jungkook stumbled up to it and held it up to the light with frantic, shaking fingers.
He clicked the button on its side and it popped open, revealing an intricate weaving of bronze gears. There was no mistaking it, this was his mother's locket.
As far as Jungkook knew, there was no other locket like this in existence. Jungkook's great grandfather had found it in a shipwreck and gifted it to his great grandmother. It had been a family heirloom ever since.
The locket was not just a regular old ornament. When the little gear at its side was wound, it would play music. Jungkook had yet to hear a more haunting tune. Unlike most music boxes that sang with a series of high pitched metallic clicks, the locket's song started with a low, reverberating note that vibrated any surface it was placed on. Jungkook remembered resting the locket on his chest and letting the music flow through him. The song was unknown to him, but the tune sounded unbearably sad. It always gave him a sense of longing that he didn't understand. There was something mystical about it too. Jungkook swore that if he listened carefully enough, he could hear the ocean between the metallic notes.
But all of that was beside the point. This locket couldn't— in any possible way— be here in this house. His mother wore it at all times. She almost never took it off.
In fact, she was wearing it the day she went missing.
There was no mistaking it. He'd filed the missing person's report himself. Green blouse, blue skirt, bronze locket, mole below the lip— how could he ever forget?
"How did it get here?" He asked the empty room out loud, as if expecting someone to walk out and give him an explanation.
There one way to get the answers he wanted. He knew what he had to do. But the very thought of doing it made his feet unsteady.
He carefully placed the lamp and the locket on the dresser and slipped off his gloves.
All he wanted was a glimpse of his lost mother. He cradled the locket in between both his hands, pressed it against his skin and braced himself for whatever horrors the locket might have to show him.
A memory pushed itself out of the locket, clearer than anything he could have hoped for, but the face reflected in it was not of his mother.
It was a wide eyed, gaunt face of a boy around his age. He seemed to be crouched in a corner, holding the locket in between his hands much like Jungkook was right now, and speaking to it in urgent whispers.
"Jeon Jungkook, Jeon Jungkook, Jeon Jungkook–" his voice was hoarse and barely audible, but there was no mistaking it. This boy that he had never seen in his life was chanting his name with a sort of desperation that terrified Jungkook.
"Jeon Jungkook, please come find me–" his body rocked backward and forward as he spoke, "I knew your mother– I– I know where she– how she–" he looked up at something Jungkook couldn't see and visibly shuddered, "oh god, my name is Park Jimin, please god please come find me."
The locket wouldn't give him anything after that.
Jungkook's legs gave away and he landed on the floor on all fours. He felt the world spiral around him, that same maddening feeling that he was missing something threatened to overwhelm him.
Who was this boy?
What did he know about Jungkook's mother?
How old were these memories?
---
TO BE CONTINUED
Here's the entire playlist for this fic if anyone's interested: The Cliffside Ocean