Phoenix 

November 27th 1992

Assassin

Heat; that's what he felt. Burning; that's what he smelled. The air around him was growing alarmingly hot making his skin prick and burst with sweat. The breaths he took were obscured with the dust of smoke; his eyes flew open and all he saw was bright colours of reds and oranges, his heart was thumping hard but the image soon evaporated, leaving him with the familiar looking world of black and blurry figures.  He sat up looking around, everything spinning together with no clear shape. Tilting his head up to the black sky he sighed; there seemed to be stars however few it may be but to him they looked like bleeding white spots.

It's been 3 years. 3 years since that event; since the orphanage burned down and he ran away only to grow up living the life as a street rat. He remembered hearing everything on the news when he would stumble into cafes and shops, trying to casually cover it up and tinker with his luck on the adults to see if anyone was nice enough to spare him some food; they weren't. He was very thin, he could feel it whenever he brushed his hands over his body but the hunger pains have since dulled out to the point where he doesn't know if the movement in his stomach is him in need of food or his organs collapsing. The news would talk about the orphanage, how no one survived and the remains of the kids and house mother were found in the ashes; it would always cause an ache in his head trying to remember and only dreams would occur but only ever in the exact same scenario. 

That was when he was 7.

Since then 3 birthdays have passed with him just picking through trash cans for something decent and moving from place to place in search of a stable space to stay but ultimately getting run out by owners or the rare nice civilians who let him stay a night when something suddenly goes missing. He felt the wisps of his over grown fluff of matted hair brush against the nape of his neck, the locks felt stiff and unwashed. He got up wobbling still disoriented from the dream, he looked around barely making out the dusty pavement of the sidewalk; he'd been sleeping next to a blob that resembled a bench. People were walking around and he was thankful he couldn't see their faces, he could only imagine the scorn, pity and disgust they held. A strong wind blew and the flimsy shirt that he has been wearing since he stole it and pair of pants from someones backyard after the ones from his younger days had gotten small, lifted up and the cool breeze brushed against his stomach and exposed arms; it was getting colder. The changing of fall to winter was always hard on him but each year he's managed to find a nook or cranny to hunker in. 

Suddenly something bumped into him and he goes falling to the ground, dirt kicking up into his face. "Stupid homeless kid, go die" he heard someone say harshly. He didn't get up right away just tucked his head into the crook of his elbow a sigh leaving his lips, he was getting weaker and didn't know how much longer he could handle this all; that stranger didn't seem so far off. 

He felt another presence from where he lay, his hair enveloping his face and brushing his forearm like a dry, scratchy blanket. He looked up only to of course see nothing but a blurry figure. He saw the smudgy being just standing there with an aura of stubbornness and mockery rolling off of him. "Get up" he heard the person say, their voice sounding very young but firm; a kid like him? He does what the stranger says, subconsciously obedient. He feels a small hand slide between his palm and he's surprised, they're touching me? They don't think I have a disease? He squints knowing that wouldn't help focus the world around him. The stranger pulled him along and he could only follow not sure what was happening,

"Hungry?" the stranger asked and at the mention of eating his stomach does the familiar gurgling, he nods even though he's not sure about the sudden situation. They were soon entering a well lit place and the light burns his world. He staggers back ripping his hand from the stranger he covers his face, the dream from moments ago burning bright behind his eyes, the heat feeling real against his skin even if he knew there were no flames. "What the hell? What is wrong with you?!" he heard the stranger ask, concern not exactly mixing with their words. His breathing was still shallow as he felt the small hands pry his own from his face. 

"Stop, people are staring. Are you a psycho or something?" the stranger exclaimed, he really didn't know. "Whatever, just calm down. You look like a scared idiot who saw a ghost", maybe he was. 

They sat at a table in the far back by the window, he was greedily gobbling up everything in front of him, not sure exactly what was what. They all tasted like heaven and he couldn't get enough. He his fingers probably unattractively but he couldn't bring himself to care. He heard a low huff before he felt something soft being ripped from his hands before running against his face. "You do realize you were about to eat a napkin right? What are you, blind? Or just dumb?" the strangers voice wasn't gruff and firm like before but light and low; there was still and inkling of mockery hidden behind his words, though. From what he's gathered they were shorter than him, younger too, probably; while they were walking he felt the brush of hair just below his shoulder. 

He said nothing and the soft paper left his face, he looked across from him. "I'm Kyungsoo but around the neighbourhood people know me as D.O" the stranger offered. He stared, making out the black top of his head and seeing their small frame; everything looked like a bleeding water painting. The way the stranger spoke felt complex to his ears and not kid like at all even though he was using regular everyday words; his tone, the way he said every syllable had him felling kind of unnerved and somewhat ashamed. "What is yours?" he tilted his head at the question "what?" his voice was soft and raw in his ears; he rarely uses it, having no one to speak to but when he does it never sounds like it belongs to him.

"Your name, idiot. What is your name" the stranger berated him. He hunkers back into the seat his sharp shoulder blades hitting the object, his brow creases as he stares at the table trying to mold images together. "I don't know" he replies finally, a hint of disappointment in his voice. He thinks he sees the male shiver in front of him but he doesn't know why. His name? Did he have one? He couldn't remember.

A scoff sounds from across the table "how do you not know your own name? Have you lost your memory? Or is it just that bad a name?". He lifts his head and looks around, the bright light making his world even more disorienting. A thought comes to him, how did a kid have money to pay for all this food? "You are a weird guy" the stranger says. There was a beat of silence before the stranger talked again, "what happened to your face? It looks bad". Without warning a shot of pain hits his head and he bends into himself holding his temple tightly.

"Ah. Are you alright?" he nods quickly the pain soon subsiding, He straightened. "Why are you doing this?" he asked the stranger who sat there "why feed me and talk to me?".

The blurry figure shifted, "well, it was kind of my fault you got bombed in to" they say "he couldn't handle a few words of constructive criticism to the cue cards he was reciting. Plus I do not like to leave loose ends; to anybody". He said nothing, not really understanding as he saw the stranger push up two shoulders. His stomach felt tight from the eating and it took him a while to realize it was because he was full; it's been so long since he's felt as such and he didn't know when he'd ever get to feel it again, he was thankful to the stranger. 

"What do you look like?" he asked. They didn't say anything for a few seconds, they were silent for a bit; not moving before suddenly something shot up abruptly and waved in front of him; a hand, "are you really blind? Why are you asking that, you were looking at me the whole time. Well except for when you were demolishing the food" the stranger says in a low tone. He shakes his head "No. You're like a messy blur; please tell me, I want to know".

"Why?" they ask firmly. He shrugs, "I don't know I just want to. For once I want to see someone else, even if it's just in my head". The sound of a chair scrapes against the floor and the stranger stands up across from him, "There seems to be a lot you do not know about yourself, Mr. Nobody" he comes around to where he sat, and leans down to his level holding something between them. "Take it" The stranger says,

"I will not tell you what I look like but if you ever want a name or an identity, come find me. I could make one for you, or" the stranger leaned in closer "steal one" he pulled back and pats his shoulder before turning around and leaving. He watches the door to the cafe close and looked down at the less than readable object harbouring black etches. 

 Winter came with a force and he still had nowhere to go or bundle down in. Snow was seeping into the damaged soles of his stolen beat up shoes. He shivered in the thin shirt and thin pants, his hands blurring blue in the haze of his world. He never did seek out the stranger, mostly because what was written wasn't visible and the other being because he didn't want an identity, he didn't feel like he deserved to be any one. He was him even though he didn't know who he was. A cold drop interrupts his arm and he looks up, white dots fell. The night enhanced their arrival like they were royalty but to him they were the promise of death. His knees shook making him wobble even more. His teeth chattered with noisily as he swiveled around a corner, looking into a white covered alley way. He walked further in before his knees finally buckled and gave out near a dumpster, he groaned at his violently shivering bones; leaning against the dumpster he curled in on himself, sitting on a pile of dirty snow. Was this it for him? He hugged himself. As time passed his eyes grew heavy and he leaned his head against the dumpster.

He suddenly heard grunting noises and his eyes lazily look forward only now noticing another conjoined alleyway. He squinted, the falling snow making the blurry haze even more obstructed. He could only make out flashes of colour coming toward him, he didn't have the strength to be scared or alert; he kept still, shivering going unnoticed as his eyes grew more heavy. Will he ever meet his parents? He thinks out of nowhere, Wherever they had gone would he ever get to see them and ask why they threw him away? Were they living? Was he? Or has he already been gone since 3 years ago walking around with nowhere to go, or anyone to go back to. 

More grunts and noise sounded, like metal against metal. His eyes were still trained forward as snow piled around him and the cold bit harshly at everything inch of his body. The colours were moving fast back and forth; turning around as if dancing. Just then a burst of bright red against the white painted his blurry world; lots of red, it looked wrong and didn't fit. He felt his chest rise and fall shallowly as one of the blurry dark colours fall into the red and white, the remaining dark blur stood still. They then turn coming closer and closer towards him as his arms no longer had strength to circle around him. They slumped to his side, awkwardly. He lifted his head slowly as the tall dark blur stood in front of him; he was tall. 

"Did, you see all that, kid?" there voice was gruff and muffled. He shook his head slowly, "not very well" he puffed out "a lot of red, too much red" he shakes his head more; mind delirious and wavering. He was dying, he felt it; he didn't want it. "Who are you? Why are you painting my world red?"

The dark blur stood still and firm. "I'm nobody" the stranger said low and smooth. 

He let a cold, cracked smile come to his lips as his breath wavered, "just like me".