Twin moons bled from the sky, their tears dripping into the sea to paint the eyes that they looked down at in pity; a mocking goodbye for a drowning man. Unlike the usual victims of this cliff, he did not thrash, nor did he crave the breath that left his lungs as bloodstained water replaced it.

He did not crave the pity of the blood red moons, in fact, it was revolting. It was an unnatural, disgusting thing, those moons. 

Something wrong, that brought pain and misfortune. Something like him. 

"Suffer…like me..!" 

The whispering words wormed through his numbed mind, just as the hands that gripped his throat, arms, and legs, tightened, clawing him under the thrashing waves. It was cold, those fingers that dug into his skin, searing their despair and hatred into his bones. It was painful, the cacophony of voices that buzzed within his mind. 

But he couldn't muster up the energy to fight back, to disagree with their attempts to connect, to share their pain. 

Hajoon had wanted this, to share his pain, to listen, to be listened to. 

So he closed his eyes, the weeping moons vanishing above the waves as he vanished beneath. 

It was a sweet release. But it tasted bitter. 

A figure watched the waves from atop the cliff, watching the stain of red ripple, spread, then fade into the incomprehensible vastness that was the ocean. The encircled bay looked nearly isolated, cut off from the freedom beyond the towering masses of metal behemoths, of freighters and battleships that flickered with light and drowned out the stars. 

The man who watched on, his eyes were closed to that sight. He watched, but his eyes never opened. It was a young face, an unsettlingly calm face, that didn’t so much as blink as the wind and sea reveled in its violence. 

His coat billowed, as did his hair, when the winds surged. But his expression remained unimpressed, unbothered. In that moment, winged creatures who nested the nearby rooftops leap from their ledges. Chirps of delight, squawks of indignation, and the flutter of wings that soared even during the witching hour; it was a familiar thing, but unnatural all the same. 

His fingers tapped on the silver embellished handle of his cane, then he stepped onto the cliff's edge. One foot left the ground, then threatened to tip forward onto where the cliff ended, and the sea began. A smile stretched on his lips as he stepped forward, but did not fall to a watery doom. 

"So I take it you're done now, old friend?" He spoke to the sea breeze, which was cold and volatile as it kept him aloft in midair, then pushed him back to solid ground with an indignant shove. 

He stumbled back, then fell over, but didn't bother to stand again; watching that very wind warp and twirl into a figure of mist, fog, and ocean spray. It took many forms, before shifting to one that irked the man in front of it the most.

"We…are not friends, Doctor." It spoke in a voice long gone to time, the voice of a friend long dead. 

"...What a voice to use to say something like that." The Doctor's eyebrows furrowed, then his expression fell back to a mask of nonchalance as he leaned on his cane to stand in front of the ghost from the past. 

"You are a cruel being, Nakdong."

"I am only what drowned in me…there's so much filth now." Nakdong looked towards the ships, then across the river, where a city shone in its brilliance while its smog and muck pumped into the surrounding waters and slums.

"You, are worse than that filth, so do not speak of my cruelty, Doctor." Nakdong leaned down to whisper in his ear, keeping that voice and face for a moment longer to revel in how it fractured the Doctor's calm façade. 

"...Unlike you, my cruelty is precise." A mocking chuckle came from the Doctor, as he gestured to the rocks below, and the waves that left life, a victim who still drew breath. 

Air tasted bitter when Hajoon coughed onto the jagged rocks beneath him, his eyes bleary as he scrambled up and over the cliff's edge. His fingers were raw and bloodied, his body cold and shaking as he struggled to stand. 

It was so cold that he didn't feel it when his body made impact with the ground moments later.

"When did you get so sloppy, Nakki?" The Doctor laughed to himself, unbothered by the raged winds that set his hair into a frenzy. 

"He died. I felt it. I am not sloppy." 

"Oh? Interesting, if so. But I do still question your competence!" He glanced towards the man curled up by his feet, watching their figure shudder and their life flicker like a sputtering flame. 

"Hm, our undying friend here is one reason to visit again, but that was not the reason for my visit tonight." He said, all the while he watched that flame cling to life. There was something there, something that shouldn't be. But one would not call a drowned rat dangerous.

"Nakdong, you should get ready, an opportunity to rule this cursed place is coming, soon."

"What? Why?" The winds responded in a blend of voices that didn't belong to it, an almost repulsive sound. 

"Hm, I wonder." The Doctor murmured as he knelt down, pressing a hand down over the shuddering flame, and the heart that it belonged to. His eyebrows furrowed as he felt a heartbeat thrum through his fingers and up his arm, a strong, sporadic thing, which was followed by something weaker. Beat by beat, it became clear that two fought for dominance, one who sent a sting of pain through the fingers that dared to mock it with help, and another that clung to the warmth but was too fickle to hold on. The result of that war was a weak flame. Like any other flame, all it needed was a little bit of fuel. 

"What are you–? Why are you saving it?" 

"He could be useful. Nakki, what's his name?" 

"...? A name? I think it was…Haju?" 

A wheeze of breath came from the doctor whose hands worked to perform CPR, his shoulders shaking as he laughed at a joke that no one made. 

"Did you just sneeze, Nakki? I didn't know you could..!" 

"What? That was the name. You asked for it-"

The wind was interrupted by the Doctor's laugh, which brought it to a stunned silence. No one laughed with him, but the coughing breath of the man beneath him was good enough of a reaction to him. 

"Our dear Nakdong is a bit incompetent, you see, can’t even relay a simple name to me." He leaned down, watching a face that he could not see. "So? What's your name?" 

The response he received was a string of sporadic coughs that stained his sleeves red as he took his hands away from the heart that began to pump that blood in earnest. Because the groaning man seemed too busy coughing up salt water to answer him, he simply repeated the question. 

"Your name, what is it?"

"Ghk..? Ha..?" The drowned voice rasped out. 

"Haaa...juuu?" The Doctor sounded out the syllables for the man, but to no avail.

"Haju what?" He repeated.

"...Hah? What?" The drowned man grunted, his face scrunching up as he squinted at the black haired man that hovered over him. Through bleary vision, he saw a wind tousled mess of hair, like seaweed had wrapped itself on the man's head. 

"Is your name Haju or not?" That seaweed face seemed to warp as his vision swam, but he managed to rasp out an answer before he passed out.

"It's…Hajoon, damni–"

"Oh. Well, it's nice to meet you, Hajoon." 

"Are you done?" The wind parroted back an echo of his own words as the doctor stood and walked away from Hajoon's limp body. 

"Yes. So good night, Nakdong. I won't wish you luck, but I do expect the favour repaid, soon." He smiled, then walked away from the incorporeal figure who stood by that cliff, always. He waved as he went, but the ghost of the River Nakdong did not wave back.