And for whatever reason, whatever doubt in Heeseung's mind, he turns back around. 

The boy in front of him that should either be dead or becoming a Remnant, is currently shifting uncomfortably on the ground.

The blood that was previously pouring out unceremoniously onto the pristine floor was beginning to still before stopping almost entirely.

"Are you still alive down there, Sunghoon?" Heeseung finally asks after staring for a few minutes.

The boy just groans and tries rolling over, "I am definitely feeling this in my guts right now."

"What can I say, I stab to kill." Heeseung says bluntly, walking over to him and picking him up which elicits a cry of protest.

"That fucking hurts, put me down!" Sunghoon tries sounding mad but it comes out more weak than intended.

"Would you rather die on the concrete floor or in a nice bed?" He growls, which shuts the other up and he carries him with little more complaint to the back door of the building.

He seems to take a glance in both directions as if to see if anyone was watching, then takes the two of them through a small hole in the wall to a small underground clearing with streams of sunlight pouring in through the overhang.

A wave of nostalgia hits him instantly.

He could recognize the mint green planks from anywhere, and the sheets gliding ever so slightly over the windows and doors from the faint breeze hit him like a wave.

Heeseung can almost see the recognition in his eyes as he opens the door and brings him inside.

The kitchen is as full with clutter as ever, and there are some unwashed mugs sitting on the counter beside the sink.

Neither of them say a word as they traverse the familiar path to the bedroom upstairs. But the thing that surprises Sunghoon is the clutter everywhere in the bedroom.

There are books strewn across the floor and bookshelves. Papers, trinkets, and likely old memorabilia scattered on the dresser, and something is covered in a large sheet in the corner of the room.

It was odd to be able to see out the windows for the first time, but it was an unremarkable view as all he could see was the cave walls and the rays of sunlight.

"It looks like you've been here before." Heeseung finally comments after he puts Sunghoon down on the bed.

"I have." He says tiredly, taking in all the details and feeling the fabric under his bloodied fingers.

"Did I come to you in your dreams?" He asks, leaving the side of the bed

Sunghoon winces in pain, "Yes. It's been two years now."

Heeseung hums, pulling the sheet off of the easel that had been previously covered. Under it is a portrait splashed in colors and Sunghoon can almost make out his face in the strokes.

"I think this is you." Heeseung says bluntly, "I woke up to this one day almost a year ago and I assume I drew it in my sleep."

Sunghoon admires the painting, barely processing that the blood was slowly starting to trickle out of the wound again.

"Why didn't you leave me to die?" He asks after he finishes inspecting the art.

"You knew my name. No one knows my name outside of the council. Call me intrigued. You've also become a Remnant, you know." Heeseung says.

"Have I? It doesn't feel like it." He admits tiredly, eyes starting to close instinctively

Heeseung grabs the mirror from the corner of his room and puts it in front of him. Though his vision has become blurry, Sunghoon can see the vibrant red of his irises— a shade that almost matches the color of his blood spilling out onto the bed.

"I assumed that most rich people, especially those from the Destined Utopia would become monsters. Not you, though."

"A funny thing about Remnants, Sunghoon." Heeseung continues, picking at the blood under his fingernails, "You either turn to a monster under the pressure, or you internalize your anger and helplessness as your own fault and you become a Remnant."

He stretches, "We were watching you. Your first friend turned almost immediately, as was your second friend about to. We thought that all the pretentious crewmates of the Destined Utopia would become monsters upon their first initiation. We were wrong.."

"It's about blood, Sunghoon. But it's also about will, experience. Put someone in a life threatening situation and they either crack under the pressure or grow past it. That's how you create Remnants. The rich often blamed their problems on others, which is why none of them survived outside the Destined Utopia. The people with little aspirations in life also tended to live."

Heeseung sits at the end of the bed inspecting the room while occasionally glancing at the dying boy on his bed, "The fact that you can sit here and talk to me like a normal person after I stabbed you in the torso is admirable. You don't even blame me for stabbing you and giving you the Syndrome. Is there a reason for that?"

Sunghoon doesn't respond, choosing instead to listen to the uncharacteristically talkative boy speak.

"Sometimes I would wake up with scribbles in my journal. I think the old me, the me before I became a Remnant, would write them for me. Sometimes they'd mention a Sunghoon, sometimes it appeared to be helpless rambles of emotions I can no longer feel..." He trails off.

"When I heard of your arrival I was intrigued, of course. Dare I say Sunghoon is a rare name, so it must have been you. It's odd, though. You say we've been talking for two years, have we not? What are we, then?"

Sunghoon hesitates.

There are many things he could say, a second chance. But does he deserve it?

"We were friends." He says as evenly as possible, avoiding his eyes.

"I see. My notes say something different, though." He responds just as similar, staring at the ceiling.

Sunghoon perks up a bit and then immediately cringes inwardly at the pain.

He knows he doesn't have much time so he decides to ask, "So if I'm a Remnant, what ability do you think I have?"

"I think you know. I also think you know what you have to do with it next."

"Time control... is a pretentious thing. I can't even stop myself from bleeding. What's to make you think I can do anything bigger than that?" Sunghoon sighs, feeling exhausted from both the blood loss and extensive use of an ability he has no practice or experience with.

Not like he's doing it himself, it's doing that automatically.

"You know, Sunghoon. I said I would be honest. I think we've done this before, and we'll do it again, and again until we get it right." Heeseung says pointedly, head turning to look over at him, "I don't think we were meant to be here at all. You can have a second start, try to make things right."

"I don't think it works like that." Sunghoon argues, finding his hand resting on the bed.

Heeseung doesn't attempt to move. Sunghoon can feel a scab on his palm.

"You don't know until you try, and your time here is running out." Heeseung reminds him, and Sunghoon sighs.

They say nothing for a few minutes, and Sunghoon begins to feel very tired.

"Can you tell me you love me?" He asks out of the blue, a little bewildered that he's actually considering what Heeseung has suggested.

"I'm not the person you fell in love with." Heeseung says apprehensively, glancing over as if he was crazy.

"Well I'm the person you fell in love with."

They fall into silence once again, Sunghoon's head throbbing and numbness starting to tingle at the end of his limbs.

"I love you." Heeseung finally says, and even though he knows it's not his Heeseung who tells him this, it's alright because he knows he would mean it if it was him.

"Thank you."

They share silence again— comfortable this time— and Sunghoon stops controlling the flow from his wound, a new stream of blood now gushing out of the wound.

"I'll see you soon." He says weakly, giving him a smile he knows he can't reciprocate.

"Make that a promise." Heeseung responds, squeezing his hand lightly.

Sunghoon resurfaces in the Destined Utopia. He meets Jungwon at the door as he cries and tells him that his father has been shot.

However this time he did not feel the same raw grief as he did the first, or any time that came before that. In the back of his mind he knew he was destined to be there, not here. Destined to fulfill what was coming in the future, and what could have been prevented in the past.

He remembers a sad smile on an unrecognizable face, and he tells himself that this time it will be different. This time he will change his fate, and the fate of the others who were disturbed in his wake.