Seungbae finds the trapdoor in the closet, hastily buried under toppled boxes. He can hear Sangwoo screaming, angry and feral, and though his words are muffled by the walls as he is dragged from the house, the sound is almost enough to send shivers down his spine. It seems that the pleasant mask the man had worn when he answered the front door has finally been abandoned.

One of the other officers walks into the room, his face pale and sweat shining on his forehead. Seungbae knows that this man has never encountered a case like this before. None of the younger officers have, since the suburbs are usually quiet and uneventful.

The young man licks his lips, and when he speaks, his voice is scratchy. He sounds like he may be sick.

"He said...well, there is almost certainly someone else in this house," he announces.

Seungbae looks back to the trapdoor and the padlock catches his eye. He squares his shoulders and orders the man to bring him the bolt cutters, immediately. The man runs to follow his order, despite technically being his superior officer.

By the time he returns and shoves the tool into his hands, Seungbae's heart is hammering in his ears, too loud to hear anything anyone says to him. His hands shake as he holds the bolt cutters, and the snap of the lock seems to echo all around him. He braces himself, and pulls the door up.

The thin shaft of light reveals stairs, leading down to a black basement. He raises a hand, gesturing for silence, and takes the first step into the darkness, giving his eyes a second to adjust to the change in lighting. He hears breathing, shaky and fast. It's the sound of someone trying to muffle their terror.

He isn't sure what to expect as he descends the stairs, weapon and flashlight held firmly in hand. He sweeps the bright light across the basement, taking in the cement walls, the bare pipes, and the dark stains. Despite the tension that is building in his chest, the beam of light never wavers.

He freezes as the light lands on a figure hunched in the corner. Even curled into a ball, shoulders trembling, eyes squeezed shut, and both hands covering his mouth, Seungbae can recognize the boy from the video. He feels his heart lurch and his stomach twist into knots. He raises a hand and motions to the officers behind him to stay back and stay ready. Approaching slowly, he kneels before the boy and does his best to appear nonthreatening.

"My name is Yang Seungbae. I'm a police officer," he says, softly. The boy flinches at the sound of his voice but Seungbae continues, keeping his voice gentle and calm despite the horror and fury that is slowly building inside his chest. "I'm not going to hurt you. You're safe now."

Slowly, a pair of dark eyes lifts to look at him. There are dark circles beneath them, like this boy hasn't had a good night's sleep in months. Bandages wrap around his neck, and there is blood dribbling from a scrape above one eye, the skin around it already beginning to show signs of bruising. It looks fresh, like his head has been slammed into a wall in the last few moments.

"He won't…" the boy begins, voice barely a whisper. Seungbae has to lean closer to hear him. "Sangwoo. He's going to…."

He trails off when Seungbae shakes his head. The boy stares at him, and there is a light slowly returning to his eyes, like he is only now beginning to grasp what the police being here – in this house, in this basement, right in front of him – might mean.

"Oh Sangwoo is in custody. You're safe," he says. He tries to recall what he had learned in the academy on how to calm victims, how to keep them grounded in reality. "Do you know your name?"

Tears well in those dark eyes. The boy nods slowly, his face still clouded with shock, like he can't quite bring himself to believe that any of this is real. Still, Seungbae likes to think he sees the beginnings of hope and relief shimmering in those eyes.

"Yoon Bum," he says, soft as a sigh. "My name is Yoon Bum."

Seungbae knows he should ask more questions; how old he is, if he knows how long he's been here, how this happened. But with Bum staring up at him with those shadowed, haunted eyes, in the oppressive darkness of this room, he can't bring himself to ask him to relive any of that. Not yet.

"Let's get you out of here," he says, trying to make the forced stretch of his lips resemble a gentle smile. "Can you walk?"

The boy bows his head, too-long hair falling to cover his eyes. He shakes his head slowly, looking ashamed as he shifts his position to reveal skirt-clad legs. He hears a quiet murmur behind him, the agitated buzzing of the watching officers, disgust and pity and horror all wrapped up in one.

It is not the skirt that makes rage boil up again in Seungbae's throat, but the bandages wrapped like frivolous decorations around bruised, misshapen legs.

That explains why he had been crawling, that day his attempted escape was caught on the black box in Sangwoo's car.

"Are you alright with me carrying you up the stairs?" he asks, tamping down his rage. Bum looks at him for a second, hesitating. His dark eyes move slowly over Seungbae's frame and then flicker towards the other officers waiting behind him. Then, almost fearfully, they focus on the light that is shining from the tiny trapdoor, a beacon through the darkness. He nods.

Carefully, like he is handling fine china, Seungbae gathers him up in his arms. He is all too aware of each flinch and cringe and of the sharp intake of breath, a gasp of pain that escapes Bum's lips despite how careful Seungbae is trying to be. He wonders what sorts of wounds are hidden under the clothes that drape too-big across the boy's small frame.

The handful of officers part as he passes by. Two follow close behind him as he starts up the stairs. The others spread out through the basement, flashlights searching. A light is found, and the bare bulb bursts into life, illuminating the space.

Seungbae pauses for only a second, glancing back with a sort of morbid curiosity that he can't seem to tamp down. He takes in the bloodstains that no amount of scrubbing or bleach could remove from the porous concrete, and the array of glinting metals that have been arranged neatly on shelves and in toolboxes against the far wall. A length of chains, manacles attached to the end, are coiled near a thin, dirty mattress. There is a pulley system rigged up in the center of the room, and he feels himself tremble as he sees the noose that hangs from it.

He wonders what Sangwoo was planning to do with the boy he now holds in his arms, who does not shake or cry as he looks down at the eerie display. Bum's dark eyes are tired and empty. He wonders how long, exactly, he was here. He wonders if he has been locked here since that day Seungbae had glimpsed him standing on the front porch.

His curiosity burns (What were you doing that day? Were you a captive even then? Why didn't I follow my instincts and stop you, stop Sangwoo, sooner?) but he does not speak. He just shuffles his hold to pull the boy tighter against his chest and continues up the stairs.

Bum blinks as they emerge into the light, but he does not look around. Seungbae isn't surprised that he is familiar with this room. He remembers seeing that bandaged foot in the doorway, and he knows that this boy has been in the bedroom, at the very least.

He has to hold back another burst of cold fury when he imagines why that might be, exactly.

As they enter into the hallway, heading resolutely towards the front door and out of this hellhole, the boy in his arms goes stiff. He walks faster.

"Wait," he hears, soft and uncertain. "Sangwoo—"

"Is not in the house," Seungbae interrupts, trying to sound soothing. The words come out just a little bit sharper than he had meant them to be, the anger that is directed everywhere but the trembling form in his arms finding its way into his voice. He curses himself as the shaking gets worse, and he walks a little faster.

"STOP!"

Suddenly, Bum's fists are beating against his chest, desperate and strong despite his deceptively small frame. He twists and claws, pushing against Seungbae's chest so suddenly and so harshly that he loses his grip and the boy goes crashing to the ground.

"Shit, are you okay!?" His voice is shaking, horror at what he has done and confusion to why the boy is acting like this swirling through his head, making him almost nauseous.

Bum crawls across the floor, fast in a way that speaks of experience with moving like this. With the sun shining in from the open door, illuminating the sickly paleness of his skin and the starch contrast of his overgrown black hair, the blood and bruises marring his face, and his eyes like glittering black pits staring up from a form that is so twisted it barely seems human, the boy looks like something from a horror movie. He is a vengeful spirit, a wraith of a being that was once human and whole, a creature formed from the bad feelings that hang in the air of this farce of a home. He is the guilt and horror and fury that fills Seungbae's body given human form.

Bum is shaking, eyes wide and wild as he stares up at the officers that rushed to fill the hallway at the sound of a body hitting the hardwood floor. Seungbae moves slowly as he crouches once again in front of Bum, drawing his attention.

"Hey, it's okay. You're safe now, remember?" he says, not yet daring to reach out and touch, uncertain if that kind of comfort is what is needed right now.

"The line."

The words are so soft, he almost doesn't hear them. He nods slightly, silent encouragement to continue. The boy takes a shaky, shallow breath. Seungbae can see his pulse as it thrums in his throat.

"I can't cross the line," he says, head turning in slow, jilting movements to look at the base of the stairs that are only steps away. "Sangwoo will...if I cross the line without his permission, he'll…."

He stops, breathing picking up. He hides his face in his knees, which are drawn up to his chest. The bandages are beginning to unwind from around his legs and feet, and the soft light of the sun illuminates the sickly hue of them, the bruises layered upon bruises, and the gut-churning jut of bone that has healed at an angle is should not have ever been at.

Seungbae feels the guilt well up, stronger than before. The what if's and should have's are dancing in his head as his mind conjures up every instance and moment that he could have done something differently, and of the ways he could have ended this boy's suffering so much sooner. How he could have possibly stopped it before it ever began.

He opens his mouth, hollow comfort on his lips and unspoken apologies bitter on his tongue, but Bum speaks first.

"I know," he gasps between shallow breaths, voice muffled. "I know that he's not here, I know that it's not real."

"You're safe," Seungbae repeats, like if he says it enough, he might be believed. Bum nods, black hair catching on the rough, threadbare fabric of the skirt he wears.

"Just give me a minute," he says.

His breaths are gradually growing slower, steadier. His shaking does not stop, but it abates, if only slightly. Minutes pass and the people that had come pouring into the hallways begin to trickle out, their gazes trained on the two shadowed figures crouched on the floor of the bright hallway until they disappear from their line of sight.

Seungbae is well aware of his own flaws. He knows that he is dangerously impulsive and stubborn to a fault, and that he trusts his instincts over his mind too often. But...well, those exact traits are the only reason he is sitting here now, in front of this terrified and hurt boy who is about to take his first moves towards true freedom in who-knows how long. He can afford to be patient and kind in this moment, for this person who has been suffering for so long.

So he sits quietly, listening as the labored breathing evens out and watching as the terrified trembling finally stops altogether. Another moment passes, no one daring to break the silence that has fallen. Then, with a deep breath, dark eyes raise to meet Seungbae's own, holding his gaze. They are different than the bewildered, scared ones he had seen before. Though the terror still lurks beneath, dark and uncertain, there is determination shining in them.

"I want to walk across the line," he says, and his voice has become so much more than a whisper.

Seungbae hesitates, not looking down at Bum's mangled legs only because those dark eyes won't relinquish their hold on him. He finds himself unable to say no, the simple words catching in his throat under that shining gaze. So he nods and stands, leaning down to help Bum to his feet. None of the observing officers move to stop them, too captivated by this moment, or perhaps understanding how important it is.

Bum winces, teeth gritting at the pain of putting any weight on his legs, but he takes a shaky step forward. The choked noise of someone biting back sobs makes Seungbae wince, but he does not stop the boy; somehow, he can feel just how badly he needs to do this. It is an act of defiance as much as it is of freedom, and Seungbae cannot take that away from him.

He moves behind him, though, hands outstretched and ready to catch at the first sign of a fall. He can see the way Bum's ankles turn inwards at awkward, unnatural angles, and the way his legs are trembling from the weight of his own tiny frame.

He stops just before the invisible line, hands pressed tight against the wall, nails digging into the plaster. He is leaning against it to take some of the weight from his legs. Seungbae stops, too, waiting to see what he will do. The light frames him, turning him into sharp shadows and gentle outlines.

In that instance, Seungbae can understand what people mean when they speak of the duality of mankind. The boy standing at the foot of the stairs, outlined in light, is soft and harsh, contrasting colors, unwavering bravery and blind terror all rolled into one.

Bum's shoulders shake as he takes a deep breath, and his shadow is stretched long and distorted, covering Seungbae and devouring him whole. He can feel his own breath catch as Bum inches further forward, bare toes barely brushing the invisible line. His heart is in his throat as the line is crossed, and there is suddenly no wall left to offer support.

A second passes, the earth standing still and waiting for something that Seungbae does not think he will ever be able to properly name. His own hands are shaking ever-so-slightly, barely-there tremors that would make it impossible for him to hold his gun. Watching this boy step towards the light fills him with a kind of anxiety that he has never felt before, even when facing down danger.

Then, Bum turns back to look at him. There are tears spilling down his cheeks, sparkling in the golden sunlight. The blood is drying on his face. His smile is the brightest thing that Seungbae has ever seen.

The tension drains from him in an instant. His shoulders relax, and he smiles back, honest and true. The boy's lips part, and Seungbae has the feeling that he is going to say something that would change everything. He waits, breath caught in his throat, eyes wide.

Bum collapses before he can make a single sound, and Seungbae rushes forward to support him. His arm is tight around the boy's waist, pressing him against his side. He can count the rib that press like knives into his side.

"Come on," he murmurs, moving carefully forward, supporting almost all of the boy's meager weight. There are still tears streaming from those dark eyes, but the smile is still stretched wide across his lips. He looks more alive than anyone Seungbae has ever seen, more alive than the face that stares back at him from the mirror every day. "Let's get you out of here."

The boy nods, eager. They pass through the doorway into the fresh, open air. There are squad cars parked in front of the house and down the block. Bum goes still, looking around with open-faced amazement, like this is the first time he's ever seen the world and it is more beautiful than he had ever imagined. Still, there is fear on his face as his eyes flicker across the squad cars, searching for a familiar face staring back at them through tinted glass.

He slumps in relief (and maybe something else, something darker) when he does not see Sangwoo. There is a beat of silence. Then a sniffle. Then the boy is sobbing, loud and unabashedly, his face turned to the blue sky as he wails.

Seungbae lowers him so he can sit on the porch, and he rests beside him, legs barely brushing in a reminder that he is not alone.

That he is safe, at last.

Hello, everyone! I hope you enjoyed my first attempt at a Stalking Killing fic. I got really into it three days ago, read all the translated chapters in one go, and then busted this baby out in one night with a little bit of editing today before posting. As such, if there are any errors or mistakes, feel free to let me know! I couldn't find a Killing Stalking listing to put it under, so if there is one, let me know.

Now, a few notes. In this fic, Bum is referred to (at least mentally) as "the boy." I know he's a grown man, but if you take into account what little experience Seungbae has with him, he does look rather child-like. He's small, if the size comparisons between him and Sangwoo are accurate and not just stylistic choices by the author. Plus, in the video that Seungbae saw, Sangwoo picked him up and carried him like one would a child, as well. So I feel like that's going to have some sort of subconscious effect on how he views Bum.

Second, I'll be the first to say that I have no knowledge of how things like this would be handled in the real world. All I know is what I pick up from crime shows, so if you do have any real-world knowledge of these sorts of things, please feel free to lay 'em on me.

Last of all, have no idea if I want to continue this or leave it as a one-shot. I love to explore how main character are viewed by outsiders, so if anyone wants to see more or if I just get inspiration to write more, the "complete" status might change.

Thank you for reading, and if you want to leave a comment, I'd love to know what you think!