Jake doesn't have the slightest clue how long he's down for. He doesn't think he's ever woken up, actually.

He feels light, weightless as he drifts in and out of consciousness.

Whenever Jake opens his eyes (or thinks he does), he takes in pure whites and pale greys. Maybe those are the walls, or maybe this is how heaven prefers its interior to look. Jake wouldn't know. He might not even be alive.

Sometimes Jake takes notice of the roof – or what seems to be the roof – blurred with deep indents and symbols that shimmer.

Then there are the touches. Jake doesn't know where they came from. But he feels them, faint and fleeting, all over his limbs and especially on the left side of his chest.

And while Jake would rather not have strange hands on him, he can't deny how peaceful it becomes whenever they're there. Like he's floating on clouds, almost. 

Jake has plenty of worries, ones that concern his whereabouts and how everyone, including Sunoo, is taking whatever happened to him, but it's easier to ignore here.

Jake got hit by a vehicle, he's definitely sure. And it was gruesome enough that it left him incapacitated and bloody. Jake will never be able to forget the blood.

Sometimes, he's back there again, motionless while he chokes and struggles to breathe, sputtering with no chance of escape. Then he'd panic, convulse, screaming to be let out, and then those hands would be back, quickly soothing his deepest fears. Quickly soothing his pain.

When Jake opens his eyes the next time, the roof is clearer. It's still absurdly indented, curving into a point in the middle, and the gleaming gap in between reminds Jake of the stars littering the sky at night.

Something hot pricks Jake's eyes right then. They're tears, one soon rolling down his cheek.

Jake wants to wipe it off, but when lifting his arm feels like the hardest task in the universe, it quickly dawns on him that something is very wrong.

Jake examines the area, relieved that he can still move his head. It's alarming, however, because while the place looks like a basic room with its plain dresser and sparse furniture, he doesn't know where he is, and he can't move.

Fuck, Jake thinks, panicked. I need to get out of here.

He tries to use his legs, but can only wiggle his toes against the bed frame. He looks down at himself, spotting a white gown with tiny cartoon wings etched onto the flimsy fabric. Fortunately, he isn't naked under it.

Then Jake notices something that renders him speechless. The left side of his chest glows through the gown, as if a very bright flashlight is flickering in there. It sparkles, vivid gold, not too different from the glittery light radiating from the ceiling. Jake believes he has to be dreaming until another tear streams down his cheek, distracting him.

He goes to wipe it once more, but his immobility catches him off-guard yet again. What the fuck is happening?

The light from his chest dazzles like the sun, and more tears gush out, to his shock.

Jake wants to get out of here and pinch himself in case he's imagining things. For all he knows, he could already be dead, although that isn't a thought he wants to entertain at the moment.

Jake guesses his anxiety must be evident, or he must've been making quite a lot of noise despite being unable to move most of his body, because footsteps enter the room right then. They're nothing like the ones Jake heard that night, which settles his wild pulse yet unnerves him.

Three guys appear before him, two of them looking around his age while the one in the center seems a bit older with the way he carries himself, as well as the ivory strand that clashes with the rest of his golden blond hair. He's also wearing this form-fitted black leather uniform, while the other two are dressed like what Jake would pull on after arriving home from boring college classes.

They all smile at him, and embarrassment nips at Jake's core because he's still crying, and he has no idea why.

The guy at the right, dark haired with kind eyes, ambles his way over. His palm is soft against Jake's skin, and he smells like laundry detergent and peaches. He's also really fucking strong, Jake quickly realizes, because the guy has him upright in seconds, his back pressed against the pillow for comfort.

"How are you?" the blond man in the middle asks.

"He's crying, and his body is finally evolving," the dark haired guy next to Jake grins, patting Jake's shoulder. Jake is annoyed by his actions, but there isn't really anything he can do about it right now. "He's healing."

"It's fascinating. It's only been two weeks, yet he's evolving rather rapidly," the last guy comments, awed. The expression relaxes his stern, chiseled features.

Two weeks?

Jake's speeding thoughts are cut off when the stranger steps closer to observe him, feeling very much like a lab experiment being picked and prodded at.

"Sunghoon, Jongseong, please," the blond man in uniform says. "You're going to scare him. Sunghoon, let go of his shoulder."

The one called Sunghoon does this, sticking beside the one known as Jongseong. Jake breathing evens out a little bit.

"But Soobin, I was just trying to comfort him," Sunghoon says with a pout.

"I know you're only trying to help, Sunghoon, but the Healing Orbit works best at night. And you're not strong enough yet to channel it right after combat," Soobin responds, slightly amused, and Jake goes back to wondering if he's dreaming or somehow just stepped into an alternate reality.

"What... what's going on?" Jake asks, and Sunghoon and Jay stop talking. Soobin just nods like he'd expected this.

"Who are you people?" Jake continues, even when his throat hurts like shit. Considering he's apparently spent two weeks in this place – wherever this place is – he's in desperate need of some water.

Jake startles when Soobin does a sweeping motion with his hand, a tray of fruit and water popping out of thin air on the bedside table.

Soobin chuckles, dimples appearing, but it's gentle, the furthest thing from meanspirited. "Sorry for its abrupt appearance. Slowing down my Halo is still something I need to work on, especially after combat. You can talk, that's good. That means you're well on your way to evolving fully. I'm Choi Soobin, by the way. And these guys here are Park Sunghoon and Park Jongseong, like I'd previously introduced."

"What's up?" Jongseong greets, holding out his hand before swiping it behind his head after realizing Jake's arms are still paralyzed. He tugs on his hoodie strings, looking down. "Shit, sorry."

Jake doesn't know what to say at first, so he just nods. "...It's okay. I'm... Sim Jaeyun, or Jake."

Jake knows he should probably be more cautious about sharing his full name with a bunch of strangers, but if they were going to injure or harm him in any way, they would've done so already.

Jake warily eyes the food tray when Sunghoon settles on the chair before him, grabbing the small knife on it.

Sunghoon offers another dimpled smile, too friendly as he begins to cut one of the apples. Jake can't help but stare, unnerved at how swiftly Sunghoon separates the fruit. Jake can never trust himself around a knife that sharp, but it seems Sunghoon has had a lot of experience.

Jake goes rigid when Jongseong grabs a chair of his own, before scooting closer to give him some water.

"It's not gonna bite," Jongseong says, a cheeky glint in his curved eyes that reminds Jake very much of Sunoo. A lump hardens in his throat. "Maybe."

Sunghoon clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "Jongseong, stop it."

"You can't tell me anything. We all know you love my goofy side," Jongseong laughs, jabbing Sunghoon's rib. He does it so gently that Jake briefly wonders if there's more to their relationship. It doesn't matter, however, not when he doesn't care.

"Stop moving so much, Jongseong," Sunghoon chastises. His grip on the knife borders on threatening, and this has Jake on edge. "You're gonna spill water all over."

"Have you seen me in combat? I'm the most graceful Demon Fighter in all of the dominion. Well, after Soobin, of course."

"Demon Fighter?" Jake nearly chokes on his spit.

"Don't mind these two," Soobin interjects. Jake is still reeling with shock while Soobin leans in and wipes his cheeks dry, his touch as gentle as a loving parent’s. It brings Jake back to slow, simple summers spent back in Australia at his mother's side, a delicious, savoury scent wafting past the doorway as his father promptly alerted them from the kitchen that the food was ready.

Jake blinks, and the memory rapidly dissipates. He meets Soobin's warm eyes, and doesn't retaliate when the guy lets him sip the water instead of Jongseong.

When Jake's parched throat is adequately quenched, it becomes easier to speak. "What did you guys mean by ' Demon Fighter'?"

Jake isn't one to speak his mind a lot, but he figures the change of environment and the fact that he barely knows these people to him make him a little braver.

Jongseong and Sunghoon exchange glances with each other, and then with Soobin. Their actions heighten Jake's anxiety, and he just wants someone to answer him already.

Eventually, Sunghoon breaks the silence.

"...We get rid of evil beings, or demons, if you will," he says. "We stop them from inflicting harm on humans, basically."

"Inflicting harm in what way?" Jake asks, although he really isn't looking forward to the answer.

"Nightmares, possessions," Jongseong tells him, lacking the zeal he previously had. "...Death."

Jake doesn't know what to say, stunned.

"We get to do this because we're nearly immune to their sirens," Soobin adds, brows furrowed while he watches Jake. "Because we can see them. And each other."

"I... I can see you," Jake whispers, the lump in his throat asphyxiating him. It's worse now because he's basically trapped inside his body, basically trapped here.

"Yes, you can," Soobin nods, his expression solemn and apologetic. "You died that night two weeks ago, Jake. But we revived you. And in turn, you get to bridge the gap between the dead and the living."