One year, eighteen days, and a one way plane ticket. That was what had just been exchanged for a human soul.

   That insubstantial substance that all humans possess, but rarely contemplate for more than a few minutes at a time, was signed away for a mere raindrop’s worth of time, with no more than just a few seconds of thought put into the decision.

   ‘Humans are so peculiar’ Jungkook mused as he studied the haggard man before him. The man appeared, at least outwardly, to be calm as he carefully read over the contract papers in front of him. Jungkook found this odd; most of his “clients” were an emotional wreck at this stage of the process.

   Apparently some humans are quite attached to their souls; they seem to have difficulty signing them away.

   Jungkook had never understood why.

   “And this Section 97A? What do you mean by ‘Failure to relinquish all ties to the soul in question at the agreed time will result in one of several consequences’? What are the consequences?”

   The sound of the man’s voice, which echoed sharply throughout the pitch black room, brought Jungkook out of his own thoughts and back to the room that existed in the confusing smudge of space between layers of time itself. The room was simultaneously intimate and infinite, the obsidian glass walls seeming to shift position depending on the angle at which you looked at them. The only things filling the space inside being one mahogany desk, one black lacquer lamp, one two-hundred page contract, two leather office chairs, and two drastically different bodies.

   The first body went by the name Thomas Galloway, his large frame curled in on itself as he concentrated on reading through his contract diligently. His brown eyes scanned every damning word with careful consideration. Another rarity. Most clients didn’t bother with the fine print of the exchange. His coarse brown hair was flecked with gray and fell past his ears; his heart beat steadily, but harshly, the only physical sign of the anxiety he was experiencing.

   The second body went by the name Jungkook Jeon. Though, his clients, more often than not, knew him as Mr. Kook or simply ‘Him’. He possessed a deceptively young face with a sharp, angular jaw and large brown eyes that were almost always narrowed in suspicion or contemplation. His long frame was lean and muscular; he wore a crisp black suit and had carefully styled hair the color of inky midnight. His long fingers were clasped and rested lightly upon the tabletop before him; his expression was neutral aside from his gracefully arched brow, leaving his emotions impossible to read with just a glance alone.

   “Human souls are peculiar, fickle things. For some unknowable reason they seem to become quite attached to the sacks of flesh that contain them; sometimes when collection day comes they refuse to part from their owners. In such cases, more force can be required. This usually results in... experts being called in to...coax...the souls away from their owners.” Jungkook’s voice was low and honey smooth, the sound meant to soothe and persuade his often uneasy clients. “Truthfully the experience is rarely pleasant and is not recommended.”

   “And how would one avoid such a situation if it’s the soul that remains attached even though the body has given it away?”

   Again Jungkook was mildly surprised by the man before him. He really was intelligent. He caught on fast.

   For a human.

   “Souls form attachment to emotion and sentiment. If a human is fully committed to giving away their soul then no problematic attachments will form. It only occurs when humans change their mind and try to hold onto their souls for ‘just a bit longer’” Jungkook explained patiently.

   The man seemed to toy with this idea in his head. His lips parted as if to speak, but the words never came. He just nodded to himself.

   The man resumed his reading. Jungkook resumed his thinking.

   The man, Jungkook had already let his name slip from his memory and was in the process of trying to recall it, was without question one of the more interesting clients to sit in the ancient leather chair across from him in quite some time. However, he was far from being the most interesting to have ever sat before Jungkook in this room over the many, many years that he had held this odd occupation of his.

   Several hours passed in that fashion; the man combing through mountains of words and Jungkook running through the memories of all the human faces that had looked back at him over the same mahogany desk over the years. Until, finally, Thomas Galloway sat up straight for a moment, released a weary sigh, and sank back into the plush leather cushion that would have swallowed a smaller man.

   “And?” Jungkook questioned after a moment, his signature raised brow making a reappearance, “Did you find everything to your liking?”

  The man didn’t respond, didn’t move, didn’t blink. He did nothing but stare at Jungkook, his painfully human brown eyes filled with some emotion that the young demon watching him failed to comprehend.

   “Nothing is to my liking.” Thomas’ voice was soft, even Jungkook’s ears, which were better than most, had to strain in order to catch the soft syllables leaving his client’s mouth. “But, then again, I’m dead. Nothing is really supposed to be to my liking, is it?” The question was one that didn’t require an answer so Jungkook didn’t provide one. Thomas drew more air into his lungs than was necessary and then exhaled. “The ideas behind it are effed beyond imagine, but, strictly speaking, you really aren’t screwing me over.”

   “So you’ll sign?” Jungkook already knew the answer, but he asked it anyway. Of course he would sign. None of them ever made it to this point of the process and then rejected the offer.

   “I’ll sign.” Thomas’ voice was gruff, filled with a strong emotion that was, again, outside the comprehension of the young demon.

   “Fantastic!” Jungkook replied with empty enthusiasm as he reached into his pocket to retrieve his pen, though he froze mid-reach when his client spoke again.

   “I’ll sign, but I have one question before I do. If you don’t answer it to my satisfaction then I will move on without signing.”

   Jungkook held his frozen posture for a moment before drawing his hand back and clasping it with the other atop the desk once again while leaning forward slightly, waiting.

   “And what is your question, my dear Mr... Thomas?”

   The man hesitated. He was positive that the answer to his question would be interesting, but he wondered if he truly wanted to know how such a young, good looking kid got mixed up in such a ty line of work. He studied Jungkook’s impassive face and sighed, rubbing his hands over his eyes in an attempt to erase himself from reality. When he opened his eyes and saw that he was still confined in the black room with the moving walls, he made up his mind.

   “Before I sign...I want to know...how did you come to be...like this?” He gestured to Jungkook’s entire body, from his spotless dress shoes, to his impeccable suit, to his hair that looked as if it had been created to sweep artfully over his forehead. “How did you get mixed up in this , kid?”

   Jungkook’s external expression was unchanged at the question, but internally he was surprised. It wasn’t the first time he had been asked such a question, but he hadn’t expected this particular question from this particular client.

   Jungkook had never before answered the question when it left the lips of his clients; not only did he not particularly enjoy sharing information regarding his past, but sharing such tales was forbidden in every way. However, Jungkook was feeling oddly...generous wasn’t the correct word, but he felt some compulsion rise, from somewhere in the dark depths of himself that he didn’t want to think about, telling him to answer the question.

   So, Jungkook leaned back into his own chair, raised his head to study the nonexistent ceiling that disappeared into fathomless darkness above, and answered the question.

   “Well, it’s a rather long story, Mr. Thomas. Though, I suppose that since you’re here with me you have nothing but time to spare.” An almost imperceptible sigh escaped his parted lips, “Lucky for you I’m in a nostalgic mood. If you’d like, I could start from the beginning.”

   Thomas nodded and watched the much younger man carefully, he hadn’t expected such an easy acceptance.

   “Very well. Then, Mr. Thomas, we begin our story in the year 1918...”