i sang in your dream last night

But there’s a tingle, right at the shell of your ear. Like someone is breathing over your shoulder. It sends shivers down your spine, makes your skin tingle, and sometimes, when you’re tired enough, you think you can feel a warm exhale right over the bounding pulse in your neck.

The feeling of having eyes on you is unnerving. Like you’re being analysed, broken down, exposed. It settles like a chill in your weary bones. You can sense it even when you lay down at night, wrapped tight inside your blanket against the cold air around you. But it lingers, still strikes ice in your veins. When you close your eyes and curl your fists in the soft fleece, you pray that the feeling will go away by morning. You’re wrong every time.

Your house starts to smell like a dog. You don’t own pets. No one in your building does, they are not allowed. So you know this smell can’t be explained away, especially not when it is accompanied by a low, reverberating growl, one that goes away the second you mute your television and listen for it. The one that even haunts your dreams when you finally manage a few fitful hours of sleep.

Any normal person would think they are going crazy. But you know better.

There’s a small, shoddy looking store downtown, just a few blocks from the train line, and you pass by it every day on the way to and from work. It’s a hole in the wall, barely noticeable, but you recognise some of the stuff in the windows. Hell, you had used some of it a decade ago yourself, so you know it’s hoodoo. You walk in with little to no hope, not even a plan, but when you walk out, there’s a tiny inkling of it curling in your chest, your purse heavy with the weight of a small sack of black powder.

Goofer dust. It’s supposed to keep hellhounds away.

When you get home, you’re careful with it. You measure it out. Even such a small quantity of it cost you a lot, but it’s not like money means much to you now. Not when you have a mere two weeks left to live anyway. You scatter the greyish black powder cautiously on all your window sills. You line the doors with it, any other opening you can find in your bedroom. When you are finally done, you take a deep breath and listen.

No growling. No wet breathing on your ear. All is silent.

Something in your chest uncoils. You close your eyes and let out a shaky breath of relief. For the first time in weeks, you feel like you’re really, truly alone. As you climb under the sheets, weary to the bone, you know you can finally get good sleep. Good enough to let you do more than just barely function. You haven’t believed in the gods for a long time, but you thank them tonight, just before you sink into unconsciousness.

………………………………

The sunlight actually feels nice on your body when you wake up the next day.

You stretch and groan with satisfaction, limbs feeling like liquid. You almost don’t want to get up at all, happy with how loose your muscles feel. You squeeze your eyes tightly shut before finally opening them. When you take in the sight before you, all your relaxation melts away, hot iron striking your nerves.

You scream.

He doesn’t even flinch, the man sitting on your window sill. He is fiddling with something, and you recognise it as the coin pouch you keep in your desk drawer. He doesn’t look at you, focused on unzipping and zipping the small pouch. You scramble to sit up, pulling the blanket closer around you for some false sense of security.

“Nice touch with the goofer dust.” He says, lips pulled into a pout. “Kept me away for a few hours.”

Fear curls in your heart, rises up until it is knotting your throat. You stare at him, unable to speak. He tuts and stretches his left leg out in front of him, scowling at it.

“I don’t much like my human form. But you forced my hand. I’m a little irritated now.”

Things start to click in your head a little, more sense rushing into your head as your sleep is effectively banished and replaced by this fear.

“You’re a hellhound.”

He hums, standing up and tossing the coin pouch carelessly. It lands on the floor a few feet away. He brushes off his back. Some goofer dust on the window sill is scattered, broken.

“I have to say, I’m thoroughly unimpressed.” He comments, looking around your room, hands stuffed in the pockets of his baggy jeans. His shirt hangs off him loosely as well. He looks cozy, not intimidating at all. You don’t buy it, of course. You know from experience. The demon you made a deal with ten years ago looked like a little ball of sunshine too.

“Where is the big house? The fancy car? The unending fortune?” He keeps talking. He scrunches his nose a little in disgust. “This place is a dump.”

You sigh tiredly, still feeling a little on edge. You don’t move from your place, not even the slightest shift. You know he’s not here to take your soul, not just yet. You have a couple more weeks. Surprisingly, the folks down in hell are super rigid about their contracts.

“I didn’t sell my soul for money.”

“What for, then?”

“My mom’s life.”

That gets his attention. He looks at you, finally, almond eyes half lidded and bored. But he watches you closely for a few seconds, finally scoffing.

“Fool.”

You don’t take it personally. You don’t expect a demon dog to understand why you did what you did. It didn’t matter. Your mother is still alive, healthy and happy, currently on vacation. She will come back in a few weeks and find you dead. She will mourn and move on, live a long and disease-free life, not stained by the horrific reality of Huntington’s disease.

You don’t regret your choice.

You stand up on shaky legs. The hellhound watches you. You walk to your bathroom but keep the door open. The water feels cool on your fingers. You splash your face with it.

“Where’s Jeonghan?” You ask.

“Busy.”

“So you’re taking his place?”

He scoffs, looking irritated. “I’m not taking his place. This is my work. He makes the deals. I collect.”

You hum, patting your face dry. Your movements feel robotic. “But it’s not time to collect.”

He shakes his head. “Not yet. The goofer dust pissed me off. I wanted to tell you to get rid of it.”

You clench your teeth. “Then can you back off a little? The incessant breathing and growling is really annoying.”

Your words catch him off guard, because he raises a thick eyebrow and steps closer to you. You gulp and try not to step back, but you can feel how your knees are wobbling.

“You’ve got some nerve, human.” He spits. “You’re the one who sold your soul. You’re the one who is earmarked for hell. This is the consequence. Deal with it.”

You jerk your head in a nod, swallowing tightly. He moves away, walking to your bedroom door. He kicks at the line of goofer dust there, breaking it. You feel that familiar fear come back, the one you have lived with for weeks now. You feel weary, exhausted. You can’t do this again. You bite your lip hard, contemplating over the idea that’s forming in your head.

“Do you make deals?”

The man scowls and looks back at you. “Not really.”

You shift a little. “I will give you my soul one week early if you stay away until the actual second you have to take it.”

He looks so flabbergasted by your sentence that he doubles back around, watching you incredulously.

“You want to cut your remaining lifespan in half because you’re that scared?”

You clench your fists. “You want the deal or not?”

His face smooths. For a good few seconds, silence stretches over both of you. He watches you closely, like he’s trying to figure you out. You feel a bit intimidated under the weight of his stare, but you try not to flinch. He tuts.

“No can do. I need to shadow you closely or I can’t reap your soul.”

You sigh in defeat, nodding tiredly. He keeps watching you.

“I can follow you in human form.”

You blink up at him, considering it. He’s still very scary, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling of having a huge, wolf-sized invisible black dog breathing down your neck. You hesitate.

“Ten days instead of the remaining fourteen?”

He snorts. “Still bargaining until the very end. Ballsy. Fine, ten days.”

You nod slowly, he disappears through your bedroom door. Minutes later, you can hear your television running. You let out a long breath.

This is what your life has come to.

…………………………..

His name is Seungcheol, and he has been a hellhound for longer than he can remember.

It’s been a few centuries, at least. He remembers collecting souls in medieval times. A farmer who wished for fortune and ended up ruling over his country as their king, a down on his luck merchant who sold his soul for enough wealth to last generations. That’s what the theme always is, according to him. Most people sell their souls for money or fame. Some sell their souls for love. A prominent politician’s daughter forced to marry a stranger, only to sell her soul for ten peaceful years with the man she really loves. Or two lovers across enemy lines, selling their souls for a way to live together undisturbed until it’s time to collect.

“Love and money.” He mumbles as he watches you eat breakfast over the kitchen counter. “It’s always that. Almost always.”

He watches you. “You’re in the love category, I guess. Except I don’t think the price you paid is fair for the reason.”

“She’s my mother.” You reply, staring at the cereal that’s quickly getting soggy. “If I didn’t make that deal, she would die.”

“And she will die anyway.” His eyes feel so heavy on you, like he’s scrutinising your choices. “A few years from now.”

“But she’s lived a full life.” You sigh. “Free of disease. I know people who have died with Huntington’s. It’s agonising. I couldn’t bear to see her go through that.”

“And what do you think she’s going to feel when she finds you torn to shreds in your apartment, blood all over the walls?”

You grit your teeth. You try not to think about that. Truthfully, you didn’t think of any of that when you made the deal. You were barely sixteen. All you wanted was for your mother to be okay. Everything else was secondary. You stand up and place your bowl in the sink, turning away from Seungcheol’s unnerving stare.

“I need to get ready for work.”

“That’s another thing,” he pipes up, swinging around on his stool, “why the hell are you still going to work when you’re going to die in ten days?”

You walk into your bedroom and he follows you, leaning against the doorway.

“I don’t know what else to do.”

He huffs. “You’re so depressing it’s pissing me off.”

You walk into the bathroom and close the door behind you. Truthfully, he’s not wrong. For the last year, you’ve been acutely aware that your time is short, and people with that belief either go all out or they retract into their shells completely. Unfortunately for you, you fell into the latter category. These days, you felt like you were just going through the motions, counting down the days until you would be dragged to hell.

When you come back out of the bathroom, Seungcheol is sprawled on your bed, your laptop on his stomach, and your credit card in his left hand.

“Pack your bags. We’re going to Italy.”

You gawk at him. “What?”

“I just bought your one way ticket. Trust me, it’ll hurt less when I claw your insides out with some authentic wine in your veins.”

You continue to stare at him. He levels you with a hard look. Your shoulders sag. Is there even a point in fighting? What are you going to fight for anyway? The chance to rot in bed until you die? In every sense of the word, this sounds more appealing than whatever your plan was. So you just nod, feeling numb.

“Okay.”

When Seungcheol grins, you notice that a dimple cuts right through his cheek. It makes him look almost human.

…………………………………

Even the air feels different.

You don’t know if it’s just your fucked up state of mind, or if it really is different, but somehow it feels less dreary than what you are used to. When you land, you’re a little jittery with nerves. You’ve never traveled alone, but you suppose this is a good time to have some firsts. Something you can look back on in your very last moments. You haven’t even stepped off the plane and you already know that this will be better than whatever plan you had for your final days.

Seungcheol is there at the airport when you land. It’s disconcerting, but you’re jealous that demons don’t have to suffer through long travel times. He’s looking at you with that same hard, contemptuous look he always does, but you’re learning not to be scared at the very sight of him now.

“Where to first?” He asks, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans.

“The hotel.” You reply dryly. “I’m so tired. I need to sleep.”

“You can sleep when you’re dead.”

The irony of the statement is not lost on you, and you wonder if he did that on purpose. Getting a cab is easy enough, and you do go to the hotel because you still have to dump your luggage somewhere. Seungcheol complains about it, saying belongings are a hassle that he thankfully doesn’t have to deal with. He complains about the commute to the heart of Rome as well, saying cars are restricting. You don’t understand why he has to sit with you through it, when he can just teleport or whatever, and you voice the thought.

“I told you, I need to shadow you.”

“You weren’t on the plane.” You mumble. He huffs in annoyance.

“You have a lot of snark for someone talking to the thing that will kill her.”

He has a point, so you just keep your mouth shut.

Life moves slower here, less urgent. Winding cobblestone paths and the bluest skies you have ever seen. The air smells just slightly of citrus, not the unpleasant kind, and the sun feels warm but not very hot on your skin. It’s like a perfect balance of the elements. The shops are tiny and packed with goods, so many souvenirs that you’re almost overwhelmed. Everyone you meet is welcoming, and the man who serves you gelato wishes you a good day. A small, barely there gesture, but somehow, in your last days of life, everything feels magnified ten times more than usual.

Seungcheol is barely interested and uncharacteristically quiet. He follows you everywhere, fiddles with whatever he finds curious. Amusingly, he even sniffs a few things, and you’re reminded heavily of a dog. Which he is, technically. He doesn’t talk to you unless it’s to scoff at something you’re doing, but he’s strangely good company. You’ve been alone for a while now, cutting off friends and colleagues hoping that no one grieves you when you die. You’ve become used to not having anyone around, but Seungcheol’s presence isn’t overwhelming, despite the fact that he is a demon dog. He’s just….. there. You’re not completely alone, but you’re not bothered by him either. Again, it’s a good balance.

When you want to take a cab to a winery you looked up nearby, he scrunches his face.

“I hate cars.”

“Well, I can’t exactly fly there, so unfortunately I have to take a car.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re insufferable and pathetic.”

He catches you off guard when he grabs your arm tightly, but before you can protest, the ground beneath you lurches and your world tilts. Your voice dies in your throat, chest squeezing tightly with nausea. Your body goes rigid, and you feel your feet float for a brief second and then slam again on the ground, this time earth instead of cobblestone. You blink furiously, and things finally stop swimming in your vision. You eye the board outside the winery building.

“Holy shit.” You whisper. Seungcheol releases your arm and you dip forward as your head still spins. Desperately, you clench his bicep.

“Give me a second.” You scowl up at his floaty face. He huffs.

“You’re so weak.”

Regardless, he doesn’t move as you take a few breaths, hoping your nausea will pass. As efficient as teleporting is, the queasy feeling that comes with it is almost too much. Seungcheol eyes you, then looks up at the winery.

“Come on. You need to get drunk.”

The wine you’re served tastes nothing like what you’re used to, the cheap bottom shelf one that you sometimes drink with your dinner at home. Every glass has something different, and as your host talks you through the different rules of wine tasting, as well as the many notes and flavors there are, you’re more focused on the drinking than anything else. This amuses Seungcheol, who is naturally completely unaffected by the alcohol. A couple of hours later, you’re buzzed, more than a little tipsy as you exit the winery. You’re holding Seungcheol’s arm tightly so you don’t fall, and you’re shocked he hasn’t pushed you off him yet.

“I can’t feel my feet.” You giggle. “I need more wine.”

“That’s the last thing you need.” He shoots back. “What you need to do is lie down.”

“Okay, dad.” You stick your tongue out at him. He gives you a withering look.

“If I teleport you like this, you’re going to throw up all over me, aren’t you?”

You grin. “That would be so funny.”

“I’ll kill you right now.”

You giggle as he drags you forward. Before you know it, he’s ducking you inside a cab, grumbling in irritation as he slides in beside you. Up close, he smells like the earth, and not like a dog at all, not like that smell you would have in your apartment all the time before. Maybe his human form is different. His leg bounces, like he’s restless, and it reminds you of a wagging tail. Before you can think, you lean your cheek against his shoulder. Shockingly, he doesn’t pull away.

“Will it really be better to die here than at home?” You mumble, watching his leg as it shakes.

“Based on the fact that I’ve seen you smile and laugh today for the first time in weeks, I’m gonna say yes.”

You hum, closing your eyes when they start feeling too heavy. Maybe he’s right. Maybe you really do need to make the best of what you have. Whether it’s here or in your drab living room, death is coming for you. Hell, death is sitting right beside you, letting you lean on its shoulder. Either way, your fate is sealed. So you can either sit in your apartment and go to your boring desk job, or you can eat gelato and drink wine in the winding streets of a country you’ve never been to before, a hound from hell by your side.

The latter sounds more appealing, surprisingly enough.

……………………………

You have a hangover the next day, and you want to bury yourself in the cold ground.

Seungcheol is puttering around your hotel room way too early for your taste, but then he tells you that it’s nearly noon. You eye the ceiling, eyes bleary with sleep.

“Can you cure hangovers?”

He snorts. “I’m a demon.”

You roll over to the side table to see a bottle of water there, chilled. You turn to look at Seungcheol, who is now sticking his head out of the second storey window. His shoulders are too broad to do it properly, and he curses under his breath a little. You can’t help the amusement that curls your lips upward. During times like this, you can often forget that he is the pure embodiment of evil, corruption and hatred. In fact, he feels more human than anything.

“What are we doing today?” You ask, sitting up and grabbing the bottle. He shuts the window a little too loud. You wince.

“Sightseeing.”

“You don’t look like the sightseeing type.” You comment. He flops down on the mattress on his stomach, brown hair a mess around his head.

“This is your trip, dumbass. We’re doing this for you.”

It’s a little heartwarming, despite the colorful insult. And considerate in a way you didn’t think demons were capable of. You bite the inside of your bottom lip as you watch him.

“Why are you doing this?” You finally ask.

Seungcheol pops one eye open to look at you, raising an eyebrow in question, so you elaborate.

“You could’ve easily just let me simmer in my apartment. Counted down the days. Then collected my soul when it was time. But you brought me here instead. Why?”

He scoffs and turns, lying on his back instead, eyes shut. This close, you notice how rosy his cheeks are, matching his lips. You wonder briefly if demons get to choose how they look when they take on a human form. Did he purposefully make himself look so attractive? You shake your head. What are these thoughts?

“I would rather shadow you in Italy than whatever drab, pathetic existence you were living back at home.”

You purse your lips. “That’s very insulting. Can’t you be a little nice?”

“That wasn’t part of our deal, woman.”

“It also wasn’t part of our deal that you help my drunk ass get back here. Or leave water for when I wake up. So why are you being selectively nice?”

He sits up abruptly and leans closer to you, hand reaching up to grip your jaw tightly. You stiffen a little as he glares at you, leaning close. His eyes are almond brown, but you can see flecks of gold in them. They look more mystical than they do scary.

“You talk too much. Shut up, or I will cut your tongue out.”

You blink. “No, you won’t. That’s not part of our deal either.” You managed to say from puckered lips.

He sneers. “Maybe you were better when you were drowning in depression and self loathing.”

When he lets go, you can’t help the grin that stretches across your face.

…………………………………

Today is even more tiring than yesterday, since you’re on your feet for most of it. But you don’t mind at all. You’re buzzing with energy somehow, and breaking the ice with Seungcheol really helped. He engages more with you now, endless banter and insults that don’t sting at all. You are sure it’s just part of who he is. There’s no such thing as a nice demon, so it isn’t like you expected anything different. But Seungcheol is really all bark and no bite, so you let his words roll off you easily. He’s too big of a convenience in every other sense of the word. Since you’ve gotten the hang of teleporting, everything has become so much easier. You let yourself really enjoy what you’re doing, taking in the sights and nearly inhaling the food. There’s something warm curling in your limbs, like a pleasant buzz just under your skin.

You can’t remember the last time you felt anything other than complete, overpowering loneliness.

When you insist you want to climb all the many, many stairs up the Leaning Tower, Seungcheol looks particularly annoyed. He insists you can just teleport, but you refuse.

“That’s not part of the experience!” You say, gearing up for the walk. He doesn’t say anything but looks ticked off. It only amuses you more.

Despite his lack of willingness, he takes the stairs with you. You want to question him, ask him why he’s so hellbent on being so closely attached to your side, but having him there is comforting, so you don’t. You’ve become so used to having him around, even if it’s only been two days. But then again, two days feel like two years when you have only ten days left to live.

Around two-thirds of the way up, you tap out, legs shaking. Seungcheol takes sweet pleasure in saying ‘I told you so’ over and over. Other tourists trudge past you as you lean against the wall, trying to catch your breath. You hold your arms out to your demon companion.

“Carry me?”

He makes a face filled with disgust. “Hell no.”

“It’ll take twice as long if I try getting up there myself.”

The bribe works, and Seungcheol groans before turning around. You grin and wrap yourself around his back. His hands are swelteringly hot on your bare thighs as he grips you tight, trudging up the final length of stairs to the top.

The view is breathtaking.

It’s still afternoon, but the sun isn’t harsh on your skin. It feels invigorating almost. There’s people mingling around you, taking pictures of the view and of each other, but you have no need for those. This memory will last for only a few days. Then, you won’t be here any longer. So it won’t matter. So you look, and you look, and you look. Even when you walk down the steps, back outside, taking in the view of this large piece of architecture, you look with wide eyes, hungry eyes, trying to etch it into your brain.

When you turn your head to the side, you realise Seungcheol is looking at you. When you meet his eyes, he doesn’t look away. Instead, he steps closer, wrapping a hand around your arm carefully.

“Come on.” He says softly. “Next stop.”

You end up at a pier.

You don’t know exactly where you are. Frankly, you don’t care. The sun is slowly setting, and it hits the waves in beautiful hues of golden and auburn. You lean against the railing, taking it a long breath. The smell of sea salt invades your lungs. The wind is stronger here. It rushes over you and Seungcheol, messing up your hair and your clothes. He squints to prevent his hair from pricking at his eyes, fluttering around his head, all over the place. You don’t resist the urge to reach up and run a hand through it, confirming what you have been wondering all along. It’s silky smooth and soft under your fingers. Seungcheol gives you a questioning look.

“I still don’t know why you brought me here.” You say, barely audible over the crashing waves. But he seems to hear you just fine. “But I’m grateful for it. Even though I’m sure that doesn’t mean much to you.”

“It doesn’t. I have no use for gratefulness.”

You hum, still running a hand through his hair. Absentmindedly, you scratch at his scalp a bit. His head jerks, leaning into your touch. You grin.

“You really act like a dog.”

“I am a dog.”

You scratch again. His eyelids flutter.

“Dumbass.” He adds, almost as an afterthought. You can’t help your laugh. When Seungcheol smiles, that same dimple makes an appearance again, the one that makes him look human.

You stand on the pier until your feet are numb with cold. Then, you let Seungcheol whisk you away again, to another place, just as beautiful as the last. You don’t feel strange at all putting so much trust in a demon of all things. Because right now, he doesn’t feel like one. He just feels like…. a companion.

“Seungcheol,” you mumble the next morning, sitting at a tiny table outside a café with a croissant and some espresso. He hums, showing you that he’s listening, but his eyes are wandering around the street.

“Do you remember the time you were human?”

He obviously isn’t expecting that, and he gives you a weird look. “No. That was centuries ago. Also, how do you even know demons used to be humans once?”

You shrug. “I read up on a lot of demon related stuff after my deal.”

You eye him closely, he goes back to watching people. “So you don’t remember at all?”

His lips purse. “Not really. I remember I was really poor. And I remember I made a deal. I remember the hellhound who came to get my soul. Got to know him really well later on in hell. His name’s Mingyu. Great guy.”

You wonder what his definition of ‘great’ is, especially when referring to someone who ripped him to shreds.

“Do you think I’ll become a demon too?”

He laughs. “Hell no.”

You frown. “Why not?”

“You just won’t. I was an asshole even as a human. Becoming a demon was very much in the cards for me. You’re not cut out for that shit.”

“Because I’m not an asshole?”

He hesitates. “It’s your soul. It’s….. too pure. There needs to be something there, you know? Some evil that can be worked on, made to fester and grow. But even your demon deal was selfless, for someone else rather than a personal desire. Souls like that, they can’t be corrupted. They can only be tortured.”

You shiver a little at his words. At the thought of eternal torture. Seungcheol watches you, his face free of its usual contempt. It’s smooth, and you can’t figure out what he’s thinking. He shakes his head, lip curling down a little.

“You piss me off.”

You snort, turning back to your coffee. “I know. You’ve told me many, many times.”

“It’s so much fun ripping into some evil soul, torturing them in hell for eternity, knowing they had it coming. What pleasure am I gonna get from ripping into you?”

You laugh bitterly. “I doubt that matters. Won’t you just be glad you have a soul to torture?”

He doesn’t reply. You can see him actively bite back his words. You wonder what he is holding back. He just huffs and shakes his head, as if you’re a lost cause he doesn’t want to waste time arguing with. And maybe you are.

The mood doesn’t remain grim for long, because before you know it, your spirits are lifted again as you walk down the streets and wander the shops. It’s easy for you to banish your earlier conversation from your mind and focus more on living in the moment. But it seems that it weighs on Seungcheol, because he’s quieter than before. Despite the heavy activity of the day, when you get back to your hotel room, ready to sleep, he’s still lost in his thoughts a little.

“Can demons feel?”

He looks up from where he’s perched on the windowsill, a strange habit he has, scowling at you. “Feel what?”

You shrug. “Anything.”

He purses his lips. “Of course we do. Just not the same way humans do.”

You undo the clip in your hair and shake it out a little bit, contemplating. He still looks like he’s distracted.

“Can I ask you a question?”

He rolls his eyes. “You’ve been annoying me for days. Why ask permission now?”

You walk closer to the window, peering outside. You don’t know why he likes sitting by it so much.

“Do you think I deserve to go to hell?”

Seungcheol barks out a laugh at that, chopped and bitter. “Of course you don’t.”

You blink, a little surprised by the quickness of his answer. “Really?”

When he looks at you, it’s with his usual heated glare. “You’re dumber than I thought if you really believe for even a second that your soul should be in hell.”

You don’t know why, but his words warm something in your lungs. You have never talked to anyone about this except the tiny voice in your head, and you had accepted that you belonged in hell because you sold your soul. But Seungcheol is from hell. He is everything that hell presents itself to be. Demonic, corrupt, the collector and torturer of souls. And even he thinks you shouldn’t be there. Even he thinks you should live another existence.

He’s still looking at you. And maybe it’s the connection you feel to him that pushes you forward, making you press your lips to his.

Seungcheol lurches back, his head hitting the glass behind him. He looks at you incredulously.

“What the hell are you doing?”

You blink once, twice, before shaking your head. “I don’t know.”

His eyes dart between yours, eyebrows pulled together in a heavy frown. Thick, uncomfortable silence stretches over the two of you, and then it is broken in a quick second when he leans towards you, devouring your lips once more.

His grip is rough, enough to jolt you slightly. His presence is overwhelming, squeezing your sides until you gasp, which makes him tilt his head and deepen the kiss, hot tongue sliding into your mouth. He stands from the window sill, making your head tilt upward more. Your hands find purchase on his chest, fisting his T-shirt. You tug him closer, try to match his force when you kiss him back, and he groans in approval, a sound from deep in his chest that makes something zip down your torso, settling like a weight in your lower stomach.

“I’m gonna ask you this once,” he pulls back only enough to speak, his lips still brushing over yours, “you really wanna do this?”

You nod frantically. “Please.”

It’s all he needs. His hands find the backs of your thighs and he picks you up again, walking you to the bed and tossing you down on it. You try to catch your bearings as your world tilts, but he is on you instantly, nipping at your jaw and then down your neck. He is quick to discard your clothes, shucking his own off immediately afterwards. You scramble to meet his movements.

“Slow down.” You finally say. Seungcheol bites on your bare shoulder a little.

“I don’t do slow.”

You grip his arm tightly, pushing on his chest a little. “Please, Seungcheol.”

He pauses, pulling back enough to look you in the eye. His eyes run over your face. This close, his cheeks are even more flushed, lips swollen from your previous kisses. He sighs.

“Fine.”

You lean up to kiss him, slower this time, deeper. He tries to match your pace, moving his lips more languidly. Whenever he pushes harder, you grip his hair tight, tugging him back a little. The air charges more, dense with sensual tension that lingers over your undulating bodies. You can feel his cock heavy at the crease of your right thigh, but you’re so focused on his lips, the plush fullness of them, how they seem to envelope every part of your senses. You sigh and arch into him. His hand slides under your back and he pulls you flush against him. You run the fingers of your other hand down his back, feeling the strain of the muscles under his skin.

“You’re testing my patience.” He mumbles, but his voice is slow and lazy now instead of the usual punchy and irritated. You hum, running your tongue over his. He groans.

“Let me savor this.”

More time passes just like this, kissing Seungcheol fluidly and taking your time as you map his body. He occupies himself like that too, large hands traveling down your skin. He pinches on your left nipple, making you twitch a little. It makes him grin against your mouth, and he does it over and over, brushing lightly over it, pinching, even tugging a little. You clench around nothing, slowly feeling that same impatience that has been plaguing him. He shifts his body enough that his cock rests right at your core. When he grinds down, his shaft drags over your clit. You moan and arch, finally breaking away from your kiss.

He’s already trailing his tongue over the column of your throat, nipping slightly right over your pulse point. For a brief second, you are reminded of who he is, or more accurately, what he is. He could rip you limb from limb right now, end it all in one instant, but instead, he’s mouthing at the dip between your collarbones, his fingers prodding over your weeping entrance.

“You’re so wet already. Don’t think you even need my fingers.”

Your hips buck and mouth drops open when he sinks two into you immediately, middle and ring finger, down to the knuckle. He pulls away so he can look at your face.

“But I’m gonna give them to you anyway.”

He curls them right away, searching for that one spot that will make you crumble. He finds it so quickly that you wonder if he just knows where it is. You clench hard around him and cry out, one hand curling into his hair while the other fists the sheets under you. He sets a fast pace from the get go, and this time you don’t stop him. The pleasure is too good, you wouldn’t dare torture yourself by dragging it out.

He fingers you like he has a point to prove, quick and harsh movements that make your body jolt and jerk. He hits all the right parts with all the right pressures. There’s no learning curve with him, and you wonder if demons are just better at this because lust is technically a sin. You don’t have it in you to think about it further, because your brain is scrambled when your orgasm hurtles into you at lightning speed, knocking all the air out of you as you moan and cry through it. He doesn’t slow down even a little bit, not until you’re reaching down to grip his wrist tightly, forcing him to stop. You watch him through teary eyes. He smirks at you.

“Now that is a sight.”

He pulls his fingers out of you, drenched in your juices, running down the back of his hand. He doesn’t let them drip, licking a fat stripe up his hand and then popping his fingers in his mouth. You flush as you watch him, biting your bottom lip hard. When he’s done, he leans down to connect your lips again, and you taste yourself on him. It’s so dirty, but it makes you wind up like a coil, wanting more and more. Seungcheol settles between your thighs again, grinding down on the wet mess. This time, he doesn’t wait, lining himself up quickly until his sinking all the way inside you in one smooth motion.

Your jaw goes slack when his pelvis meets yours, pushed in to the base. He growls, an animalistic sound that shows how much this is affecting him. He pulls back just enough to jerk forward again, enough to jolt you upwards on the bed a little. You gasp, unable to prepare yourself before he sets a hurried pace, thrusting in and out of you steadily.

The temperature in the room rises, the air charged. In the dim lights, Seungcheol’s pale skin gleams, slightly shiny from the thin layer of sweat forming. His arms bulge, muscles shifting as he holds his weight up and off you, using them as leverage to piston his hips into yours. His hair hangs over his face, but through the thick brown strands you can see his eyes, fiery as they run over your trembling, writhing form under him. Every thrust punches out a moan from you, choppy but constant. When the weight of his stare becomes too much, you close your eyes, savoring this feeling, probably the last time you will experience pleasure like this. But you don’t feel sad, or regretful. It hits you like a finality, like this is what it all culminated to. His cock feels too good to let anything negative form in your mind. In fact, he effectively banishes all other notions in your head, until all you can think of is how good he feels, how tingly waves are running down your body and collecting in the pit of your lower stomach, gathering and snowballing into your next orgasm.

“I’m gonna cum.” You choke out. A hand comes up and grabs your jaw, tilting your face up.

“Open your eyes. Look at me.”

You do, because no part of your brain can say no to him right now. The brown of his irises is darkened, cloudy, hazy, and you can see the pleasure swirl around his dilated pupils. He’s close too. He’s going to come with you.

He paints your insides white the same second you clench hard around him and hurtle headfirst into your climax. You gasp and choke on the air in your lungs, nails digging into his shoulders. He leans down, face burying in your neck as he groans, body twitching and shuddering over you. His warm breath hits your skin as he catches his breath, still buried deep inside you and not moving.

“Hey,” you say finally, voice a little raspy from overuse, “when you take me to hell, will you stay with me?”

He doesn’t reply, but you can see his hand tighten on the sheets next to your head, fisting them in his fingers. When he finally pulls away, his face is the softest you have ever seen it being, devoid of his snark and the hard, asshole exterior. If you didn’t already know what he was, you would never guess he was a demon dog.

“I wish I didn’t have to take you.”

You crack a smile at that, reaching a hand up to run through his hair. It’s so silky soft under your skin. His eyelids flutter at the feeling.

“I’ll be fine. You turned out okay, right?”

He barks out a laugh. “Sure.”

He pulls out and falls to your side, wrapping you in his arms tightly. You relax into him, closing your eyes. You think about your words, wondering.

Who exactly are you placating here? Him or yourself?

You don’t know why the days pass so quickly, despite being so packed with activity. The great part about having Seungcheol around means you don’t have to worry about commuting, and you end up seeing a lot of places and sights which would otherwise be impossible. Things are different now. He looks at you different, touches you gentler, more lingering. Every night, he lays you down under him, taking you slow and deliberate, and then quick and rough. You’ve experienced more pleasure now than in the last ten years combined. When he intertwines his fingers with yours and cums deep inside you, his grip tightens to the point that you can’t feel your hands anymore. You don’t mind. In fact, you welcome the intensity of it.

You count the days down every hour almost, from seven, to six, to five, dwindling one by one until midnight strikes on your last day.

You’re sitting on the cobblestone pathway outside your hotel, watching Seungcheol, who is leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the tiny street. He doesn’t look back at you.

“I’m hoping you don’t kill me as ruthlessly as you usually would.” You joke.

He doesn’t reply, doesn’t meet your eyes. You wonder if this is difficult for him. If he can even feel a conflicting emotion like this. Is he even capable? His behavior over the last week would tell you that yes, he is. But you’re not sure. You can never be sure.

“We’ll do it tomorrow.” He finally says.

You blink. “Tomorrow? But my time is up.”

He scoffs and straightens, pushing off the wall. “You want one last good breakfast or not?”

His voice is sharp and leaves no room to argue. Plus, the thought of a nice, warm espresso cup and flaky croissants stops you. If he is offering, who are you to decline?

So you don’t argue. In fact, you don’t say a word, not even when he says the next day that you should see the sunset on the pier one last time, or have a nice bowl of authentic warm pasta, or some good wine, or a walk down the winding country lanes. With every passing day, Seungcheol gets more intense, more on edge. The air feels is thick with anticipation, like everything in your surroundings is holding its breath. One day bleeds into the next, then the next, and the next. His hold on your hand is tight every second, like he’s worried you will drift away. He kisses you in the middle of the street, urgent, desperate, and when he crowds you against a stone wall in a darkened alley, you don’t stop him. You relish in it, in how fast your heart beats when he looks at you with so much heat, so much passion, when he drives his cock hard and rough into you, groans into your hair and breathes you in like you’re the only thing he wants to smell. Your chest squeezes, your stomach blooms with something you don’t recognise.

What is this feeling?

But it’s momentary, as all good things are, because when you get back to your hotel, a week after the clock stopped ticking, and see a darkened shadow perched on the window sill, you know your time is up.

“You’re usually so meticulous with timings, Seungcheol.” Jeonghan’s voice is as dark and buttery as it was ten years ago. He looks even scarier now, gaunt, cheeks sunken in to highlight his jaw, hair brushing over his face and obstructing it a bit. Behind you, Seungcheol stiffens, but his hand finds your hip, holding you tight.

Jeonghan’s eyes follow the motion and he chuckles, as if he understands perfectly.

“You owe me a soul.” He continues, but it feels more teasing now.

“I will get you one.” Seungcheol replies.

“You owe me this soul.” His eyes turn to you. You swallow hard. Seungcheol’s grip on you only strengthens.

“Not this one.”

“Oh?” Jeonghan moves then, straightening. You feel a tug, stepping back as Seungcheol winds around to stand in front of you. You can barely see the intrigue curling in Jeonghan’s eyes over Seungcheol’s shoulder. This all looks like it’s deeply amusing to him.

“I haven’t let you down once. In centuries.” Seungcheol says, his voice deepens with a tone you don't recognise. “Jeonghan, do this for me.”

Silence stretches over the room for a few seconds, the only sound being the wind swooping in from the open window. You shiver a little, wanting to curl closer to Seungcheol’s broad back, but too afraid to even move. Finally, Jeonghan speaks.

“I’ll talk to some people.”

You can visibly see Seungcheol relax. You don’t dare try to think of what this means to you. You don’t dare hope, but the implication seems quite clear. Seungcheol reaches a hand back and grips yours, intertwining your fingers and squeezing tightly. There is a finality in his action, and the air it seemed like your surroundings had been holding is released in a long whoosh. You are reeling, and before you know it, tears prick your eyes

You startle when Jeonghan meets your stare, but his smirk is riddled with amusement and humor. Your blood is warming more and more. Your lips struggle to hold back a smile. He finally speaks up.

“So how do you feel about having a pet dog for the rest of your life?”