Haunted.

His breathing comes in short ragged gasps, his body coated over with a thin sheen of perspiration.

“Heechul?” He faintly perceives his own name, being called in a partially-familiar voice - gentle, hesitant, with the tiniest of quivers inside. “Are you okay?”

He blinks his eyes open, and they’re uncomfortably met by a mixture of familiar darkness and small rays of sunlight against plain white walls.

No longer is he standing under the war of fire between gods and goddesses, no longer does he hear the cries of people falling to their deaths, no longer is he in that backyard watching as everything he ever knew burned to ash before his trembling pupils.

“I’m fine.” He sits up, wincing at the pain jabbing at his the spot between his shoulders.

“You were crying,” Jungsoo says quietly, “In your sleep.”

His fingers move up instinctively, the pale smoothness of his cheek. It’s wet, a little.

“Oh.”

He eyes the man in front of him. “While I was unconscious, you could have run away.”

The unasked question lingers heavily on the air.

“Because even if I return, no one will be there waiting for me,” Jungsoo says simply. “At least this way, I can enjoy your company.”

I’m not the one you should be associated to, lingers heavily on his lips, but he doesn’t know what stops him from saying it now.

“Oh.”

“What happened?” Jungsoo blurts out, all of a sudden, awkwardness and curiosity flashing over his expression all at once. “You were cut. Did you fight?”

The memories of his dream are fresh, haunting in his mind. The million thorns stab ruthlessly at his heart, he feels as if the flames were at his skin in this moment.

Demon.

The word implants itself too-firmly into his mind, and he can feel his nails digging into his palm. “Yeah,” he says curtly, “I fought.”

The thoughts that he thought banished begin to filter through his mind again, an endless tug-of-war between assassination and the value of life, a never-ending seesaw between humanity and demonkind - he clamps down firmly on his contemplations, fixes his eyes on the wall where the clock ticks patiently.

Countdown.

He’s reminded of his objective, his mindset transforming, sending jolts through him as he’s reminded once more that the only life he knows now is of an assassin’s.

“Do you wish, sometimes, that you knew of a better life, aside from the one that you’re living now?” Jungsoo says, causing Heechul to freeze; for a brief moment of uncertainty there, he would have been willing to believe that Jungsoo could read his mind.

“Because,” Jungsoo continues softly, “If I had the chance, I would, you know? I always wanted a normal life away from shelter, the chance to make many friends and maybe have find love. But here I am now, no family, no friends, no love.” He smiles a little. “I don’t know a lot about your life, but…”

“I had them.”

Heechul doesn’t know what drives him to speak. He doesn’t know what makes his voice quiet, unharsh.

“I had them,” he repeats, and watches as Jungsoo goes silent and watches, “I had a life, family, friends, and I loved before.”

He pauses, the words lingering on his tongue, him refusing to let them leave.

But I gave everything up.

“What happened?” Jungsoo presses.

“I turned into a demon,” he responds calmly, observing as Jungsoo jolts a little at the bluntness, “My family is dead, my friends are gone, my love has long left.”

He hesitates.

“Enough questions,” he murmurs, “Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

He doesn’t respond.

“I’m just curious,” Jungsoo speaks again, “What you were like before you became an assassin.”

He keeps his eyes firmly trained on the wall, refusing to show outward emotion.

Happy.

Free.

Unbroken.

Innocent.

“Are you going to kill me today?”

His hand reaches out, clasping around empty air.

Where’s my dagger?

He feels lost without it.

He kind of hates the way his life revolves around it.

“No.” His eyes watch the seconds hand tick by. “Another day.”

He doesn’t know why he feels so weary, the tiredness dragging at his soul. “Let’s go. Your acquaintance requested for a meeting.”

Jungsoo feels his heart jumping to his throat as Heechul gets off his bed and walks to the living room, grabbing his dagger off the floor. “An acquaintance?” Donghae? “Was he the one you fought with?”

“Maybe.” Heechul doesn’t offer him any more words as he pulls his shoes on and exits the house, waiting with an impatient flicker in his eyes as Jungsoo scrambles after. “Hurry.”

He follows obediently, turning down winding streets and crossing unfamiliar street signs, walking past rows of busy stores and lighted houses, until the populated areas disappeared far from his sight.

“Jungsoo.”

The first thing he registers is his own name.

And then it hits him - the warm, deep voice, the familiar masculine smell.

He whirls around, and he sees the face of a friend he thought once long faded. He’s more muscled than before, a few scars marking the lower half of his skin, including a fresh new one; he’s outfitted in dark