Breathing in pulse.

                 He paused, to remember the last time she had caught him smoking a cigarette. That was about a month ago, perhaps, and he was sitting in his room by the open window having a quick before he saw her coming in. He’d had moved to pour himself another cup of coffee and there she was standing in the doorway, quiet and rather grim, staring at him with those awful eyes, possibly a little black dot of fury blazing in the center of each. He had promised her to quit, but the lingering satisfaction only lead him to miss the way it burn down his nostrils and filled his hollow lungs. There was something missing as he tried to lit his first cigarette of the day. “I can’t bring myself to stop. It’s.. kinda hard.” He simply answered, through thick resistance and stubbornness.

            It was like any other night, minus the familiar aroma of steamed milk and coffee beans as he’d continued finishing his work for today. Zahir looked up at the watch and rolled his shoulder due to tensing of muscles he had to endure for the past three hours. He strutted his way after; mind already itching to find his way home. Friday, and it was his turn to close the shop, busy hands wiping off the steam wands with a hot cloth, trying to remove any milk that had be scorched onto the wand. He took his time without any sign of hurry from the way his movements remain in rhythm. Later on, when he was about to turn off the espresso machine, he heard the sound of the door swung open and almost within seconds he found a familiar face standing right before him. “Hani..?” He asks, confusion reeling in with brows knitted together.

             It doesn’t surprise him that he would find the said girl wandering on her own, bundled up in layers of clothing with half of her face dipped under the mask. He had received a text from Jiho, she needed him and it was more than likely he ended up showing up at their usual spot near the Han River. He even bought some stuff from the convenience store; two cans of coke, a gum and three triangular kimbaps, knowing she’d probably feeling hungry. They did this a couple of times and by far, he’d stuck with a damp shirt by the end of the night. Despite he had been summoned by the league to finish another task, he stood right behind her, waiting and watching until she turn around and spot him. Being with her somehow ease him, making him feel more human than just a cold-blooded killing machine. So he let out a small puff of breath, one hand in his pocket, gazing at her from behind.

                  He was struggling to keep himself awake and the fact that his head throbbed leading him to grunt under his breath. He had ruined their friendship and it wasn’t the first time he did it. He wanted to scream until his lungs were reduced to ashes and his throat was sore. But no sound came out. It was as though he’d lost his voice as he'd lost his breath. The recollection of their fight was a blur, a giant mess of clouded curses and disappointment on repeat. He always knew, whatever form of relationships that occurred in his life seem to leave nothing but bitter taste on his tongue. Daehyun always tried to keep him uplift, he was the only one that understood him despite he barely knew the man behind the mask of Park Zahir. He thought about it, whether it was a good decision or not; showing up in front of his doorstep. He had avoided him for quite a while and he wanted to fix what he broke in the first place. He rang the bell, hoping that instead of other people answering the door, he could meet him face to face.

                 It was sometime after midnight and at the said time, he sat at a lumpy couch inside one of his friend’s apartment. He stared into the bottom of the empty beer bottle before him, too busy drowning in his own demons before he kicked himself back to reality. He quietly stood up and made his way to the fridge, grabbing another ice cold beer. Alcohol didn’t solve anything but it didn’t make anything worse. The quiet snores that the other erupted was the only sound he could hear beside a weak air conditioning. Joon was asleep, head on the table which covered in nothing but drafts papers. It must be tough being a writer, he thought while he took a quick swig and set himself back onto he couch.  He sat in the darkness, running through memories as he held his breath for a moment. But then, he heard a small rustle, finding the other finally stirred awake.

            He was running his hand through his hair, legs crossed as he waited for the other. They were supposed to meet at the tiny bunsik restaurant near his apartment but the younger was still absent. Despite their different status—Holden was the one inviting him. Too absorbed at the TV show that was playing above the kitchen to notice the vibration in his pocket. A few minutes passed and he blindly reached for his phone only to found two missed calls from the younger. A hand holding the device securely with the wrapping of his fingers around it, his gaze only dropped onto the wooden table as he listened to the dial tone before finally hearing the familiar voice on the other line. “Sorry, I just got here — table three beside the window. Are you close?”

              He stared at the set of cold weapons that he had. It was Sunday and he wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place. Just 72 hours ago he was on a run, hunting lycans who had killed for at least more than 10 people that week. His left arm splintered and throbbed, he could barely move it and yet here he was battered and bruised but eager nonetheless. With a photograph that showed a man ​lying prone on the ​pavement and a ​puddle of ​blood around his ​head in hand, he was determined to get to the bottom of this. “I was thinking about.. checking this out, I wonder if they’re all related..” He muttered under his breath, obviously forgotten that the other wasn’t aware of what he had encountered  while he lost in his own head, noticing it would be too much of a coincidence to be a coincidence if they happen at the same week. “This is, getting.. interesting.”

 "So—where are you again exactly?"

self-proclaimed antihero who's living a double life. R/F.