"Haven?"

I was standing, or maybe I was sitting, in a white room, entirely white, too white, far too white.

"Haven?" a voice was calling, soft yet menacing.

"Go away," I mumbled, "I'm not ready yet."

"Haven? Haven? Oh, Haven!"

"NO!"

I sat up, yelling and crying, staring at the face of a bewildered Hwoarang. I was lying in a room on a single bed, draped lightly in a blanket which I had now tossed onto the floor. It was a classically messy bedroom, but the occupant had obviously made a futile effort to tidy up.

"Haven? It's alright, you're safe,"

And then he was sitting beside me, holding me, his hands tightening around my shoulders as I wept, as though trying to squeeze the pain out of me.

Tears gushed from my eyes as I held onto him. What I crying about , I wasn't sure; maybe for my father, dying simply because I had been cursed with a gene; maybe for Jin, for his family at having to suffer from the hands of demons; maybe for myself, that I couldn't be normal, not ever, no way.

"Why me?" I mumbled into his shirt, "Why me?"

He didn't answer, just held me until I had calmed down. A thin line of sunshine was filtering through the shaded windows; it was dawn. I had slept all through the last afternoon, streamed through the night, and was now beginning my second day in Japan.

So far, I really didn't like the landscape here.

"Today, is an important day," Hwoarang said suddenly, standing up and grinning, broadly.

"Why?" I asked, suspiciously.

"Because," he took my hand, yanked me off of the bed, "Today you learn Japanese delicacy!"

I frowned – huh?

"Baek has some minor issues to sort through before we can take down the Mishima's. For now, we show you the good sides of Japan. And don't say there aren't any! I'm not originally from here, but I love it all the same,"

"You're not from here?" I said, surprised, pulling on a pair of shorts and polo shirt than he offered out to me.

I barely registered the shame in stripping in from of a boy having been through so much shit already, but he was courteous enough to fold a hand over his eyes, his cheeks going a ruddy red.

"No, I'm from South Korea,"

"Ah," I said, as if that explained anything.

He led me back into the area filled with sofas, which I assumed was to act as the living room, to see the pig-tailed girl and the caramel-skinned sitting lazily on one, playing poker.

The caramel-skinned girl was losing.

"Hi!" the pig-tailed girl smiled at me, "I'm Ling, by the way. This is Christie. Good sleep?"

"Yeah, yeah thanks,"

Without realising, I instinctively clutched a handful of Hwoarang's shirt, as though he could somehow protect me by just existing.

I was growing fond of him, I noted.

Bad, bad Haven.

I didn't want to hurt him, and I knew I was gathering enough power to do so. But he was so lovely, and so bright, and so happy that I wanted him.

Near me, all over me, in me.

"Where are you going?" Christie asked, eyes narrowing as Hwoarang handed me a pair of tennis shoes that had seen far better days.

"Market. Tonight is Hwoarang's Sushi Bonanza!"

A weird, palpable silence fell over all of us.

I looked at each individual in the face, trying to decipher why there was so much tension in such a seemingly harmless exclamation.

"You-you haven't made sushi since..." Ling trailed off, looking both sad and thoughtful.

"Since what?" I prompted, unaware at how thin the ice I was travelling on was.

Hwoarang swallowed, hard, and I felt him tense from behind me.

"Since Julia died," he finished, trying for a smile and failing terribly.

Ling brushed away stray tears, and even Christie looked forlorn.

"Who was Julia?" I asked, as gently as I could manage.

"She was my girlfriend, Haven. She was...beautiful," he said wistfully.

A dagger struck my heart like lightning would a tree. Beautiful. Julia was beautiful? My head hurt now, thousands of locusts feasting on it, making sure I hurt.

How stupid was I to assume Hwoarang was giving his heart to me!

I felt myself flush, embarrassed at my own arrogance. Hwoarang, interested in me? Of course not. He had Julia, who was beautiful.

Beautiful Julia.

Julia, Julia, Julia.

A hot flash suddenly perforated my vision; the window to my left shattered, throwing shards of glass here and there. I ducked, but Hwoarang was not so lucky – a piece slashed him right across the cheek, knocking him clean out of his reminiscent stupor.

"Holy shit!" Ling got up, observing the now broken window, "What the hell happened?"

"I-I-I," I began, then realised it was meant as a rhetoric and fell quiet.

No-one had noticed yet, but my hands were glowing, bright white lights trickling all over my palms. And then I knew: I had shattered the window. I had done that. I worked myself up into a temper, and SMASH! Goodbye window. And I was supposed to be the angel. I couldn't imagine what Jin did when fury ate him alive.

"Red, you better clean yourself up," Christie said monotonously, handing Hwoarang a towel to swipe at the blood weeping down his cheek.

I just stared at him, blankly. I had done that, had cut his cheek. An angel, hurting someone innocent. Just because I was jealous.

I kept staring, even as Ling cleared away the glass, and as Christie found a bandage, and as Baek walked in, querying as to what exactly had gone on in here.

"The strangest thing..."Ling had begun.

Then I could take no more.

I let out a desperate yelp, and fled from the warehouse.

I couldn't be an angel. I was too evil. I had smashed that window and hurt Hwoarang just because my envy had destroyed my heart. I was a terrible person and I deserved whatever Jin had planned for me.

I ran into a marketplace, perhaps the one Hwoarang was going to escort me to. It reeked of fish and broken dreams, but I scoured the place anyway. Maybe I could get a job here, save some money and get a flight back to England? It might take a while, and it wasn't as though I had much to return to, but maybe one of my English friends would take pity on me, let me stay in their garage until I went to university?

I was just starting to get used to that idea, was beginning to query as best as I could – language barriers were shitheads – when I realised: no passport.

No passport, no oyster card, no NHS, no family, no love life, no nothing.

I bet Julia never had these problems.

"Then again, Julia was not an angel."

I gasped, whipped around so quickly my neck gave a painful twinge down my spine.

I would know that voice anywhere – dreams, nightmares, marketplaces.

Jin Mishima.

"Stay away from me," I said automatically.

With my newly-founded knowledge, it were as though a big red light now surrounded his entire body, warning me of his presence, his existence near me.

I surveyed the area, and saw a Christian cross hanging off of a rotting stool to my right. I grabbed it, and held it up against him.

"Back off!" I yelled, my voice pitching incredibly high.

He gave a soft chuckle. He lifted his perfectly sculpted hand, and swiped the cross from my fingertips, throwing it to the side in the process.

"I'm warning you!" I hissed, as he advanced on me with cold, suggestive steps, "I know what you are! And I know what I am! Now, unless you want this to get ugly, I advise-"

"Advise what?" he murmured, his lips close to my ear now, his breath encircling me.

"I...I..."

He really was a neutraliser. I felt at peace, just being near him. No pressure, no worries, just a happy Haven, a sweet Haven, the English Haven that had friends and was on the cross country team and could bench press more than a girl like her should be able to.

I was attracted to him, but not in the way that I was to Hwoarang. I was attracted to Jin by sheer brute force, an ugly compulsion to be near him. Hwoarang was more...real.

Whatever Jin and I were sharing now was fake, and I knew it. It was all just genetics and prophesies, no real substance there at all.

I gave an inwards sigh, and jerked my knee upwards, catching him right in the crotch.

He gasped in pain, and I took advantage of his momentary distraction – I tore through the marketplace, careful to throw baskets of oranges and pears in his way to obstruct him.

Hey, watching all of those Chinese cop dramas was good for something.

I came to a block of flats, black and ominous before me. I could feel Jin closing in on me, so I yanked down the ladder that was partially obscured by a garbage can and began to climb.

My fear of heights had no room to breathe in comparison to my fear of having to be near Jin. What would he do to me...I shuddered just thinking about it.

And still I climbed, up and up and up.

Everything became the size of a pin now, tiny and insignificant whilst I was here, hands touching this dirty, unkempt ladder, trying to thrust myself high enough to escape Jin and his evil desires.

It did not, however, occur to me that Jin too could climb this ladder.

He was only a few rungs below me now, his eyes pure white with fury.

I gulped, and swung myself over the last rung, landing on the roof in one impressive glide.

He mimicked me, and now we stood face to face, as we had in the marketplace. Only now we were two hundred feet in the air, and I was tired.

My lungs screamed at me, trying desperately to replenish the oxygen debt, and I began to cry.

All I seemed to be doing lately was cry, but I believed myself to be entitled to these rare moments of expression, considering the week I was having.

"Now what, Haven? What's the next move for the angel?" Jin asked, in mock sympathy.

I bit my lip, out of plays, and closed my eyes.

Fly. Haven, you can fly. Jump off this roof and fly, goddamit. He's closing in on you.

"But I can't," I thought, "I can't fly!"

Yes you can. Remember? Remember that time, when you were nine?

Suddenly, I did remember.

It was a month or two after my ninth birthday, and I was playing in the treehouse my Dad had built me. It was coming to the end of summer now, and English weather meant that it would last no longer: this was to be its last day before it was taken down. My dad had called for me to be careful, but I had ignored him. Moments after I had ignored his last plea to be more careful, I fell from the great height of the oak tree. What happened next I could hardly recall, except I remembered a flash of light, similar to the one before the window had shattered at the warehouse, and then I was on my feet, looking up into the wide eyes of my father.

I had flown.

"Well? Now what?" Jin asked again.

And to his sheer disbelief, I grinned at him.

"Go to hell, you piece of shit," I beamed, before taking a running leap off of the roof.

I spread my body apart like a frog, thinking back to that day in the treehouse, thinking about Hwoarang, about dad, about Julia...

I was falling.

SHIT. SHIT. SHIT.

I wasn't flying at all, I was tearing through the sky like a cannonball.

Holy SHIT.

I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the painful death that was to shortly follow.

And then I heard it.

A flapping noise.

Like...something unfolding.

And low and behold, two long, pure white wings sprouted from my back, hissing at me in annoyance for having broken their slumber for so long.

I could fly.

Goddamit, I was flying.