Chapter Text
The wound was deep; Jihoon knew he didn’t have much time before he would pass out from the blood loss alone, if the pain didn’t do the trick before that. The bastard hadn’t missed his damn shot, didn’t go down without a fight either, and despite him being modified, a superhuman as they pleased to call him (hiding the ugly, ugly truth behind pretty words was what they did best), he was still one, a human.
And he was dying like one right this moment, too.
God, he was pitiful, panting and painting the street walls red with his blood as he went limping around the dark district. It was a little past three in the morning, probably, and the bustling city was uncomfortably quiet. Most had fled to the other side of the city at the threat of danger, leaving him alone with the rats and stray dogs scrapping for diner. None stopped for him.
He guessed that was how it had meant to end, anyway – him, alone, bleeding out in a street, unbeknownst to all. Nobody would even care; they’d most likely replace him with someone stronger, braver, and younger, always younger. He would feel sorry for them if he wasn’t already throwing himself the biggest pity fest.
He had no friends or family who would even miss him, his human him.
What a sad fucking life he had lived, he thought as he slumped on a trash bin, heaving heavily. He grasped for his mask and tore what was left of it from his face, as if that could help him breathe. His eyes couldn’t make sense of anything in the darkness of the street, which, for someone who could see in the dark, was pretty fucking terrifying. There was no moon, no stars even, just the dark, cold night, unforgiving and so lonely.
He was dying at the sweet, terrible age of 24. Sounded like a tragic story, usually, but could anything be really tragic if no one even knew about it? If there was nobody to tell the story, there wasn’t even a death to begin with.
Jihoon had closed his eyes - although he could not recall having done so -when he heard a sound to his left. A dog, he thought, thinking of him as his next delicious meal. Fucking superb.
Opening his eyes, he found, was impossible. He could barely move a finger. He barely gathered enough strength to open his mouth and utter a weak, sad:
“Go away. M’not dead yet.”
The movement stopped and Jihoon thought he was safe from the rabid dog for at least a few more minutes, perhaps until death finally closed its clammy fingers on his heart.
He was wrong, though. Peace did not come, nor did death.
“I sure hope you’re not,” said a voice, quite humorously.
It sounded distorted and weak, far yet so very close. Jihoon thought he was just hallucinating it. That was it, he had reached the point of no return. The loneliness was weighing so heavily on him that he was hallucinating himself a buddy who’d hold his hand until the end.
There was a touch on his cheek, soft and delicate, but warm, oh so warm. The warmth seemed to spread to his body, flowed in his blood, down to even his bones. It felt nice, incredible, healing.
“Seems like I am right on time,” the voice said again, clearer this time. It was a sweet sound, a marvellous song to his tired bones, and Jihoon wanted nothing but to let himself go, whether it was to the claw of sleep or of death.
“Sleep, my poor boy, and I am sorry; This will not be your last night on earth, I fear.”
And so Jihoon slept.
He does not remember ever sleeping so well, not ever since they took him, not ever since they made him the Soldier. He had no dreams, no nightmares either. He only felt warmth, no pain, not even for one moment.
He felt at peace.
He would have loved to stay there forever, but he could not, he knew it.
Someone was waiting for him, called for him, pulled at him.
His life wasn’t over yet, after all, the bittersweet truth he would have loved to ignore.
The light was blinding, and Jihoon could not bear it; neither could his body, apparently. The headache that came suddenly was just as blinding as it was head-splitting. Nausea overcame him, and when he tried to sit up so he wouldn’t throw up all over himself, the nausea quickly became the least of his problems.
The pain was like nothing he had ever felt before, and, boy, had he been in pain before. He would have screamed had his breath not been knocked out of him.
He must have passed out for a bit, because when he came to himself again, the room was much darker and there was someone moving around by his side.
“I had not expected you back so quickly,” they said, sounding a little bewildered but still like they were having a great day.
The headache was still awful, but it was a little more bearable as, once he opened his eyes again, the room wasn’t flooded with light. It took his eyes a bit to get used to seeing again, and his brain a bit more to make sense of what he was seeing.
Broad shoulders was his first thought, before he even got to the room itself. The man – he thought it was a man, at least – was tall, with dark hair, his back turned to him as he fiddled around with what looked like plants. The room wasn’t very big, but that could have to do with how cramped it was. It seemed every single space was occupied, from the floor to the ceiling, and not by cute, small and practical furniture, no. Every piece of furniture was huge, mostly ugly, and oddly mismatched, not to mention filled to the brim with books, weird artefacts, funky decoration, and stuffs Jihoon had never ever seen before in his life. And he had seen some weird shit.
He tried to speak, then, after his little room tour that did not help him feel better or distract him from the throbbing pain, but all that came out with a pitiful croak. He should have expected it, since his mouth and throat feel like he just had a good, delicious, dry ass mouthful of sand.
The sound at least gets the man to turn around.
Now, if the pain wasn’t so fucking excruciating, Jihoon might have thought he was just hallucinating the whole thing for real.
The guy looked like what Jihoon thought an angel would look like if those did exist. He had easily one of the prettiest faces he had ever seen, be it on a screen or in real life, and a very unreal quality to it. It didn’t look fake, not by any means, but there wasn’t anything very realistic about it either. He had a long nose, a very strong, straight and pretty one – if a nose could be described as so – which could barely distract you from his eyes. They shone brightly even in the dark, and Jihoon couldn’t quite make out their colours. He could swear they were a deep brown one second, but the next he was convinced they were green instead. They were shaped like almonds, giving him a rather soft look that contrasted with the sharp angles of his face. A small smile curled a corner of his lips, which made him look rather mischievous. Long dark bangs covered up a good part of his forehead, giving away soft expressive brows.
He was beautiful, anyone with two good eyes could tell, but that wasn’t just it.
He could not find words to describe the feeling the boy gave him, something akin to fear and deep admiration at the same time. He felt as if, perhaps, he shouldn’t even be allowed to be in the same room as that man. He felt unworthy, yet comfortable at the same time.
Before he could decide whether he wanted to throw himself at his feet or run, the man was right beside him, a cup with a straw in hand.
“You might want to have a bit of this. You must be parched.”
He could not see the liquid from the cup, nor could he smell it, so he just assumed it was water. He should have felt scared, maybe, taking something from a stranger, but if the man had wanted him dead, he could have just left him to die in the alley instead of going through the trouble of trying to save him. So he drank.
It was not water.
The strange mixture could have been gross, as it seemed like a mix of plants and whatever the hell that guy had put in it, but it was surprisingly… Good. Before he knew it, he was just sipping at an empty cup, and he wanted more .
The man took it away, though, and before Jihoon could beg for more, he grinned at him.
“Oh, I know, my friend, you want more”, he said, sounding amused yet saddened, “but that is more than enough.”
Something in his tone and his smile told Jihoon he definitely had more than enough, and so his body begrudgingly complied. The man murmured a slight and peachy “good” before turning around again.
Jihoon found the liquid had done a great job, as the next time he opened his mouth, he found his voice easily.
“Who are you?” he bluntly asked, as any sane person would.
Apparently, it had been an expected question, because the man did not show any sign of surprise at all. For a long second here, Jihoon thought he hadn’t heard him at all with all his fiddling.
“You can call me Jun,” was what he answered. A queer answer if Jihoon had ever heard one.
A quiet “What does that even mean?” escaped his lips before he could think better of it.
Thankfully, that doesn’t seem to anger the so called “Jun” at all. Instead, he let out a quiet, sweet laugh, taking a look over his shoulder at the injured boy.
“It means what it means, young hero; there is no need for you to torture yourself over my name.”
He said that in a way that clearly meant his name did not matter at all, which was kind of off-putting, but then again, what wasn’t about this man?
Jihoon felt too tired to fight for a name, or to pick up on the odd nickname he’s been given.
“I’m Jihoon,” he helpfully supplied instead. The pain had subsided – most likely from the delicious drink – and he was slowly getting sleepy now, relaxing into the very, very soft pillow and mattress.
Jun gave him another look, a hint of a smile in his eyes.
“I am aware of who you are,” he said, and then nothing more.
Nothing made sense, but Jihoon just accepted it. There was a soft sound in the background, he noticed now, like a melody, one that seems awfully familiar, but was too faint for him to get a good grasp on. There was a sweet odour in the air, a hint of vanilla and a mix of flowers that should do nothing for his headache, and yet…
He felt himself slipping under, lured in by the softness of the bed, the sweet music, the sweet odour, a feeling of safety taking over his tired body. He tried to blink it away, but then Jun’s beautiful face was in front of him. Like hypnotised by his ever-changing eyes, he closed his, knowing he’ll have sweet dreams about them.
Then there was this touch on his cheek, again. Like it had before, the warmth spread through his body like wildfire, and soon he was a floating cloud in a warm summer afternoon.
“Sleep well, sweet boy,” Jun whispered as Jihoon completely blacked out once again.