You're not out for very long. 

It's a gods-blasted shame, too, because as soon as you wake up, it comes rushing back in a stifling tidal wave of no and don't and I can't remember and please –

"Yah."

A voice.

"Yah, are you alright?"

Do I look alright, you imbecile?

A voice, and a warm breath that washes over your face, clearing away the spikes of freezing cold like the first soft breeze of spring after a harsh winter.

You try to open your eyes, but your vision remains very, very black.

Okay. If you fail once, try, try again.

Your throat tenses, relaxes, tenses again, chokes on something, and then you finally manage a throaty rasp.

"I'm alright."

He/she/it laughs. It's deep-throated, like warm milk and honey and everything sweet in between, but something about it – another something that you can't quite place your finger on – sounds essentially dorky; like Chanyeol's dumb smile, or Baekhyun's hyperactive puppy tendencies.

"You wouldn't admit you're in pain, even if the knife was still sticking out of your stomach," he mutters. "So what's happening out there?"

You start to shake your head, but quickly reconsider as a spike of pain impales the back of your skull. A shocked hiss leaks out from between your clenched teeth as something cold and wet brushes against your forehead. The palms of your hands scrabble against the concrete – concrete? – floor as you drag yourself backwards, jagged pieces of debris catching onto your sweat-slicked palms. "Don't touch me," you hiss. The comfortingly solid wall pushes against the hunched curve of your spine.  Your fingers brush against something sharp – a shard of broken glass. It's smooth, and strangely comforting in your palm. You clutch it, letting it carve red smiles into your palm, trying to calm the rapid hammering of your heart against your ribcage. "Where am I?"

There's no answer; just light, relaxed breathing. You don't know why you expected anything at all, but then your breath hitches in your throat as the sound of Chanyeol's voice reaches your ears, slightly muffled, as if from through a thin wall.

"There wasn't any girl with us," protests Chanyeol. "They're drunk. They don't know what they're talking about."

Your body seizes up in recognition as the harsh, grating growl of the pack leader floats into existence. "Bull! She was with you! She was the one who did this to us, officer! Where are you hiding her?! Bring her here on her knees, or –"

His sentence ends in an odd strangled grunt, and then another voice is talking. This one sounds distinctly... greasy. It's wrong in the worst sense of the word. Quiet, but not gentle. Somehow, it reminds you of the pale-pink blooms that bloom so freely in the Fields of Asphodel. Serpentine, you think immediately. "Not another word, convict. You've had your chance." Another choked retch, accompanied by the dull sound of metal against something soft. You hands begin to shake. "Now tell me, young man –"

"Chanyeol," interjects Baekhyun loudly. You inhale sharply, driving another dagger of dread into your lungs. Baekhyun continues, this time a little louder, "His name is Chanyeol. And he asked you to stop hurting them already." Pause. "Officer-hyung."

There's silence. Silence, you know, is neither good nor bad. You've always quite liked the sound of nothingness layered on nothingness, especially when you were working in the living world; it was always like the first breath of fresh air after a lifetime suspended underwater. When people stopped talking, the silence started. The yammering stopped too. The first time you'd worked in the living world, you'd thought that there was far too much yammering, and far too little happening. Humans, you'd thought, always use too many words. 

In that sense, silence was good.

But the following silence that drips under the door and at your feet is hollow, and suffocatingly empty. Then the snake-man talks again, and this time, you can hear the subtle lisping; a sudden soundlessness. "Right. Chanyeol. Chanyeol, how old are you?"

An uneasy pause follows after the man's question. "Twenty-two."

"Are these boys your friends?"

"Yes. They're my hyungs. We went to the same high-school."

The skittering scratching of a pencil on paper. "I see. I apologise for our use of violence. It was necessary to get them to talk. You understand, don't you?"

You bite down on your tongue, hard enough to draw blood.

He's lying, and you hate it. You can practically smell the lie. It's so obvious; obvious in the thin wisps of sickening pleasure twining its way around his words.

Before you can catch Chanyeol's response, your roommate exhales heavily, and then you feel him sit down opposite you. You scoot backwards and clench your fists in defence, but all he whispers is, "You're still at the store. I don't know who you are, but Minseok-hyung said to keep you in here until it was over." You hear him clear his throat. "And I intend to do that, otherwise he's going to murder me. Does it hurt anywhere?"

You nod. The pain is more tolerable now. "It's not too serious," you murmur. Then you finish computing his question, and your hand flies to your waist. The same dull, throbbing pain in your neck flares into life beneath your skin as you slide your fingers gingerly across your waist. "I'm hurt?"

He shuffles closer, and then that same chilly dampness presses against your waist. You tense your shoulders, and then release a sigh of gratitude as the cold begins to nullify the pain. "You're hurt," he affirms. "On your arm, and your leg, and your face, and... well, everywhere, actually," the voice explains, slightly defeated. You breathe out through your nose and rock your head back, letting it bump against the wall. "The only problem is your eyes. They won't open, right? Are they –"

"They're fine," you interrupt tiredly. You decide, promptly, that chatterboxes are definitely not your type of people. "The light kind of... hurts," you admit. "It's too bright." It's true; the muddy darkness is starting to subside, giving way to a glaring redness that presses in on your lids. Your head begins to pound, sweat slicking your forehead. You squeeze your eyelids tighter. "I should be fine," you mumble weakly, one hand holding the wet towel to your skin. "Leave me alone."

A snort reaches your ears, and then the blazing light is overcast by your faceless companion's shadow. "Like hell I would," he snaps, and then there's a hand on your forehead, tucking your damp bangs behind your ear. The sensation of his freezing skin against yours disappears in the split second it takes for him to jump backwards in shock. "," he curses. You try to raise your hand to brush him off, but your body refuses to cooperate, like a puppet cut from its strings. "Okay. That's a fever. Um. Can you open your eyes for me?"

For you? You nod your head yes, and proceed to fail miserably. "Not possible," you breath. It feels like your skull is compressing itself, squeezing your brain dry like a pair of hands wringing a soaked towel. A pang of dull agony escapes your lips in a gasp as he threads an arm beneath your knees, supporting your back with the other. "Don't touch me," you mumble. He lifts you off the ground. Your brain is floating in a vat of thick, insipid liquid, soggy and disappointingly unresponsive. "Let me go. I'm sweaty."

He pointedly ignores you, laying you down on the floor ever so gently, like he's scared you're going to snap in half. It sure feels that way as he sits down next to your ear. "Shut your mouth," he orders, snatching the towel from your taloned fist. You catch the hushed lapping sound of water, and then the waterlogged rag is dabbing softly at your eyelids, coaxing them open. "Normal people don't sweat like pigs, so shut up and let me clean you up. Disgusting animal." His tone is harsh. You don't dare to answer back as the swelling starts to abate.

"Sorry."

The towel stops moving for a moment, as if in consideration. "For what?"

You grab his hand and push him away, squeezing his fingers in gratitude before letting go. An uneasy twinge of guilt tugs at your stomach as you reply, doubtfully, "You're helping a girl whose name you don't even know."

"A girl whose name I don't know yet."

Yet. Your mouth twitches up in an uncertain smile.

"You could have just left me there, you know."

"I know."

"Then why didn't you?"

The answer comes quickly, and without a shred of hesitation. "I don't have any reason not to, do I?" he asks, flicking drops of lukewarm water onto your bare arm.

I don't have any reason not to, do I?

Humans.

Then he adds, "I also don't want you to die, because Kyungsoo-hyung would probably impale me with his toes if I left you there." He chuckles at his own ill-humoured joke – hee-hee-hee, in a voice that definitely does not sound normal, laughing like that – and lifts the cloth off your eyes, hands shaking with mirth. "They're looking a lot better," he observes curiously, covering up his spasmodic giggles with a business-like cough. "Stay here."

Does it look like I'll be going anywhere, nitwit? But you don't say that as he ties something around your eyes. Your semi-numb fingers shoot up to explore the material – it's thin, somewhat papery, and smells of an interesting mixture of laundry detergent and dirt. "This better not be what I think it is."

"A bandanna," he explains, panting a little. "You were complaining about the light before, right?" His footsteps move away from you, and you find yourself following the sound of his shoes against the rubble-strewn concrete. A hand clamps down on the junction between your neck and your shoulder, steering you into empty space.

"We should play hide and seek," he says suddenly, grip tightening. "You can be it."

You turn your head in the direction of his voice. "No way," you refuse, as flatly as you can. "Are you crazy?" How old is this person? Five?

He sighs in defeat. "Probably," he joins. He releases his grip. "Can we play later, then?" His voice is whiny. You hope he's not pouting.

You bite down on your lip, smothering the half-smirk teasing your mouth, and answer, "You're being too friendly. I'm a stranger, remember?"

"It's nice to meet you too," he replies easily. "You can try opening your eyes now. Don't be too surprised at my ugly mug."

Slowly, slowly, your eyelids flutter open.

And then all you can think is, Not another one.

Because the only beings this perfect that could possibly exist in the living realm were devils.

But at the same time, there's something slightly odd about him. Perhaps it's the way he's standing – or rather, sitting, with his legs crossed and his hands in his lap, like an elementary school child. Perhaps it's the way his mouth is small, and pink, and perpetually curved upwards in a crooked smile. Perhaps it's the way his ears protrude out of the sides of his head like the ears of an oversized monkey. Perhaps it's the way he doesn't blink quite frequently enough, bringing a sparkling film of moisture to the surfaces of his eyes. Perhaps it's the way he's smiling this queer half-nervous rectangular smile at you, that makes you think – that makes you know – that he's not one of them.

The longest of all the eternities you've ever experienced passes in the time it takes for a teasing twinkle to flash in the centre of his pupils. "Yah, stranger," he says. The voice that comes out of his mouth betrays the childlike softness of his face.

You blink incomprehendingly. His teeth aren't completely straight, but they're very white. Do all demons have perfect teeth, too?

"Staring is rude."

You visibly shake yourself as your brain fights to snap itself from its trance. A wry little smirk has replaced the beaming smile on the boy's face. It's getting hard to breathe. Any attempt at articulating a response is promptly washed away as he holds his hand out.

"The bandanna."

Your chest leaps off your skeleton as you jump back into gear, dropping the tattered cloth into his palm. He looks like he's about to explode with laughter.

Dammit. What the hell is wrong with me?

Your eyes dip briefly to your feet as you swallow around the lump in your throat. Snaking around the legs of the chair, you notice distantly, are several bundles of tattered sailor's rope.

Your eyes wander to his wrists, and your breath hitches in thinly-veiled shock.

They're swollen, and red with welts.

Really, all we did was tie him to a chair.

The neurons fire.

"I know who you are," you gasp. "You –"

He tilts his head to the side, and then a spark of realisation illuminates the chocolatey browns of his irises.

"Right. I haven't introduced myself. I forget to do that a lot."

He breathes in, the words waiting to spring from his tongue, and you have the overpowering urge to cover your ears. No, no, no, no –

"Kim Chayeon," drawls another voice.

Not your companions', but still awfully familiar, and at the moment, extremely welcome.

You look up in surprise. "Kyungsoo," you smile poisonously at the boy, who sneers back at you. The slab of plywood hiding the entrance to the chamber has been thrown to the side. Outside, the store is strangely quiet. "It's a pleasure to see you again."

Suho's hand pushes Kyungsoo backwards, much to the shorter boy's chagrin. "Ignore him, Chaeyeon-ah," he apologises. "It's his own way of saying he's worried."

Kyungsoo's mouth drops open in outrage, and you're bracing yourself for the incoming backlash of swear words, but then Baekhyun and Chanyeol push to the front.

Baekhyun smiles widely – I knew I'd seen that rectangle smile somewhere before – and squeals, "Chaeyeon! Man, you wouldn't believe what Chanyeol did –"

Then his eyes land on your companion, and the words that come out of Baekhyun's mouth next make you wish that his sentence had never ended.

"Oh. So you and Taehyungie are already acquainted?"

annyeong~ i hope you've all been well and everything's just going right for you because seriously you're all awesome and adorable and cheyeaahhh

made a new cover because the old one was bad and it looked too much like RFTU's cover (⁄ ⁄>⁄ ▽ ⁄<⁄ ⁄)

i am highly confused as to what is hapPENING WITH WINGS LIKE HELLO THOSE HIGH NOTES AND RAPMON'S QUALITY ENGRISH LOL

"The two rellams of dei and nide..."

Putting aside all that, seriously the cinematography in these short films is breathtaking... who the hell is directing these and why hasn't he/she gotten a raise yet ლ(ಠ_ಠ ლ)

And as always, thankyou so much for reading!~ Stick around, the plot's only getting thicker from here (*≧ω≦*)

- Yukarin