It’s as though Changmin has disappeared from the face of the Earth. No matter where Jaejoong looks, he’s not there, not by Jaejoong’s locker waiting for him to hurry up and pack his bag to go home, not in the library reading up on obscure math theorems, not in the cafeteria explaining to his friends what they did wrong in their latest tests. Everyone he asks shrugs and says he might have gone home early and every time Jaejoong acknowledges that as the most likely possibility, but deep down he highly doubts it—Changmin’s never gone home without him before without at least telling him so.

“Jaejoong!” A feminine voice behind him calls out, and Jaejoong snaps out of his train of thought and schools his features into a smiling mask before turning to face Yoona, wondering for the umpteenth time why Changmin has a thing for girls that smell like a French brothel (or is it vice versa?). “Yes?”

“I was looking for Changmin…did you see him? He promised to go for dinner with me. She pouts in what Jaejoong guesses is supposed to be in a cute way, but really, it only makes Jaejoong feel like gagging. He turns away. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know where he is,” he sighs. A soft, pampered hand lands on his arm, and he stiffens, knowing from experience what’s coming next. “I’ve already eaten,” he says tightly.

“Then walk with me?” She pleads prettily. “I live in the Ookliam district…it’s winter so it’ll get dark fast and walking back when it’s dark is scary…”

Jaejoong wants to say no, politely decline and carry on searching for Changmin, but he finds that he can’t. Being around Yoona may feel like walking around a perfume factory, but overall, Yoona isn’t a bad girl.

And besides, Jaejoong knows what it feels like to be alone.

Fishing out his phone, he rapidly punches in Changmin’s number and holds the phone to his ear. Like the rest of his thirty-one phone calls, it goes into Changmin’s voicemail.

“I’m taking your girlfriend of the day home,” he says briefly before ending the call. Then he turns back to Yoona. “Lead the way.”

-{}-

Misty breaths emerge from Jaejoong’s mouth like tiny fumes of white smoke as he trudges down the dimly-lit street, not for the first time wondering to himself what on earth had possessed Yoona’s parents to make them choose to live in the roughest district in the country. Even though nothing happened while he was with Yoona and they got home safely enough, now that he’s alone he can feel the sense of isolation Yoona’s presence kept at bay creeping over him like a cold whisper. Changmin would love it, he’d always loved the night more than the average person, frequently sitting out on the porch and staring off into the darkness long after everyone else in the house has gone to bed. For Jaejoong…darkness merely serves to remind him of the man in the dark cloak ten years ago, his father’s blood staining a single finger crimson.

Professor Yunho’s finger.

Why did you kill my father?

Jaejoong isn’t sure if he’ll ever know the answer to that question.

Something flashes by him, and Jaejoong stands rooted to the spot in horror as the vague shape comes to a halt in front of him, a moving shadow staying just out of the reach of the feeble light emitted from the lamps.

“Why is a Singer running around alone?” A smoky voice asks, the words lilting and conversational.

Singer?                                        

Jaejoong his lips nervously, backing away slowly. Even though the shape doesn’t move, Jaejoong doesn’t feel like he’s getting any further away, much like the time he was eight and tried to run away from the moon. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No Keeper?” A chuckle follows, and the sound, ringing out eerily, sends fear clawing at Jaejoong, threatening to tear him down.

A young man that looks only a few years older than Jaejoong steps out into the light, the silk of his business suit shimmering softly in the light like a river. He doesn't look like a gangster, but Jaejoong instinctively fears him all the same. Against the bone-white of his angelic face, his irises are a brilliant, vivid red, like glowing beacons of fire trapped in his eyes.

Jaejoong doesn’t think twice before turning to run.

“Useless,” the man hisses, his voice by Jaejoong’s ear. Two pinpricks of pain pierce the base of Jaejoong’s neck, and the feeling of molten fire pouring through those points and into his veins is so great that Jaejoong can’t even scream, a faint gasp the only thing leaving his throat. His knees weaken, and he crumples to the ground like a house of cards after a strong breeze’s passed through, whimpering softly without even really comprehending the single word spilling out of his mouth over and over again like a desperate prayer.

“Yunho…Yunho…”

Beyond the pain, Jaejoong can barely pay any attention to his surroundings, but something in him senses the air shifting somehow, and then the man in the business suit is ripped off him, taking with him thin, bloody strips of Jaejoong’s neck. There’s someone else now; Jaejoong can feel it, but his entire body is melting away, dissolving into a puddle and he can’t find the strength to turn and see what’s going on.

“Mine,” the newcomer hisses, and though Jaejoong doesn’t know why, he loves the possessiveness of the familiar yet unfamiliar voice, like that of a childhood friend who resurfaces in your life after a couple of years.

“I see no mark of your Bond,” the man in the business suit retorts, laughter lacing his words, as if he finds the whole scene nothing more than a big joke. “Stray chickens belong to all wolves.”

“I mean it. Go.”

“Make me.”

The newcomer snarls, the feral sound echoing in the night. At the back of his mind, Jaejoong wonders why no one in the houses lining the narrow street can hear anything; it all seems so loud and piercing in his head. “Get lost, Yoochun!”

There’s a ripping sound, an inhuman, earthly howl, and then…silence.

Jaejoong feels his limp body being lifted in strong arms, face against a warm chest. Suddenly his body doesn’t burn so much anymore, the fire in the parts of him in contact with the stranger’s body dying almost immediately. He tries to tilt his head to look at the face of the person carrying him, but he’s still too weak, head only managing to turn a few degrees before falling back limply into its original position.

“Rest,” the person says, the word almost sung, like the first note to a lullaby. “You’ll feel better…I promise.”

“Stay with me,” Jaejoong begs, standard thoughts like asking the person to call for help of alert the people sleeping in the nearby houses flying out of his brain. Though he’s not completely sure if he knows this person, he finds himself unwilling to leave the man’s arms and let him disappear as suddenly as he came. The arms cocooning him are oddly comforting, and in them he feels protected, wanted…loved.

Don’t let me go.

“Please…stay.” His voice breaks at the last word.

A gentle hand cupping his face is the only answer he gets, and Jaejoong stays awake only long enough to register the soft kiss on his forehead before giving in to sleep.

“Always,” the man whispers, even though Jaejoong can’t hear him. “Always have, always will.”