A pinky finger is held out.

“You really will?” a hint of hesitation, of fear, flickers across two eyes.

“Of course!”

Another pinky embraces the first, and with a shake, the promise is sealed.

As his fear fades, he looks up, and breaks into a grin at the sight of the other’s face. A smile brighter than the sun isn’t just a pretty string of words, he now knows.

They stay beaming at each other in pleasant warmth, fingers still locked.

And the prospect of angels existing doesn’t sound that strange to him anymore.

°°°

“Why didn’t you bring him earlier?”

Scrutinizing eyes raise from a clipboard to look at two adults, a woman, hands clenched in her lap, quivering, and a man, biting his lip, head turned to the side. The woman speaks.

“We didn’t know…figured it was just a childhood game—“

“Did you perhaps think he would grow out of it?” the clipboard is placed on a table, and the white clad figure leans back against it, face stern.

The woman looks down at the statement, it was true. All kids play pretend during playtime, but with age grow tired of it, opting for more interesting games. As such, they never thought they would be in this position. Discussing with a professional the possibility of a family member—their young son—sitting meekly in the waiting room right now, being insane.

“It’ll be for the best to start full-time treatment—“

“He’s not even twelve!”

“All the more reason to start this sooner” the words bring silence, the man sits back down from his outburst.

The doctor lets the silence rest for a while before gathering up papers in a folder and holding it out.

“Read this later to familiarize yourself with the condition” the man takes the folder, and the doctor turns around, still talking.

“I’ll schedule another appointment in a week. Bring…him with you. We’ll introduce the basis of the treatment plan then, and after that, he’ll undergo a full rehabilitation in the hospital until he’s better.”

The man and the woman get up, thanking the doctor, and walk out the door, still processing what they were told.

A small child instantly looks up, eyes bright and smile wide, running up to them.

“Hey sweetie,” the woman envelopes him in her arms, “we’re going to have to come back here later, okay?”

The smile on the child’s face drops for a moment, but the man’s hand ruffling his hair brings it back up.

With one hand gripping the man’s hand, and the other gripping the woman’s, he happily skips back home.

A week later, they’re in the same place, two solemn expressions and a confused frown.

A white-clad figure the child doesn’t know, but the adults have grown familiar with, calls them, all three of them, into the room. Inside, there’s two more people—one in another white coat, and one dressed smartly in a suit. Both have overly wide smiles that make the boy hide behind his parents’ legs.

They sit him down and tell him that he’ll have to listen carefully, darling.

The person in a suit is his psychiatrist, someone he should tell all his secrets to and believe the words of no matter what. The other white coat is his personal doctor, who will monitor him and keep track of his progress on becoming normal.

He should be good to them and try to be their friend, because they are the ones who will take care of him for the next few weeks, months, maybe even years.

Soon, he will be moved to a hospital unit that specializes in treating disorders like the one he has. A disorder is something bad, so what they’re doing is good. So he should be good too, and do whatever they say so he gets better faster and can go home.

When it’s time to part, his parents hug him until his tears turn into hiccups, and stay with him in his new, clean room for the rest of visitor hours, leaving only when the doctor ushers them out. He starts to sob softly again, but they say it’s alright and promise to visit every day. They’re all a family, so they’ll never leave him alone. They’ll go through this together.

First they do, staying true to their words, bringing with them snacks and laughter and warm hugs. And he’s able to smile, because it’s not hard to when he has so much love, and everything is easy with the support. He sees his parents everyday, and he always waves them goodbye sweetly, knowing that he’ll definitely see them tomorrow.

Then, he only sees them every other week, and they visit for a mere hour before leaving.

Before long, they stop visiting altogether.

°°°

Today is a really, really good day.

He can barely control his excitement when he bounces out of his bed to start the morning. The bland hospital food tastes delicious, and the prison-like walls of it look more like a high class diner’s.

He gets along with the other patients, and focuses extra hard when he meets his psychiatrist. He doesn’t fidget when his doctor goes through the daily check-up, and he tries to not panic or twitch when the syringes are brought out. He tries to be as good as possible today, because he wants to be praised during visiting hours.

He hasn’t seen his parents for many months, but that doesn’t matter, because they’re surely coming today. He knows because today is the most important day in the whole year, and they would never miss it, ever.

It’s his birthday.

No doctor congratulates him or mentions it, but that’s okay, because his parents are going to make it up to him in loads. Birthdays have always been a great celebration, with parties and presents and confetti everywhere. They probably can’t host a party in the hospital, but it’ll be just as fun with the three of them!

When the treatments end and he’s allowed to go, he practically runs back to his room.

There’s no one there—he feels a bit let down. But he perks back up because visitor hours just barely started, and there’s still a whole six hours left.

He sits on the edge of his bed, energy barely contained, anticipating his parents’ arrival. He thinks back to previous birthdays with huge stuffed animals, remote controllable cars, LEGO towers, and robots. Last year, they bought him a new soccer ball, but he wasn’t able to use it a lot because he had to stay in the hospital.

Wondering what he’ll get this year is driving him crazy—will it be the newest version of his favorite game or that dance mat he’s been asking for since forever? He can’t wait, and resists the urge to roll around on the floor in excitement because that’s not what normal people do, and he wants to be as good as he can today.

He stays in his room, patiently waiting, even refusing to go to dinner because he’s afraid he’ll miss them coming, scared that if they don’t see him there, they’ll leave.

The afternoon turns into evening, and the evening turns into night.

Visitor’s hours are over, and they didn’t come.

He still waits though, thinking that maybe they’re really busy, and that they’ll call him a little later.

He stays up when the lights in the hospital are turned off and it’s sleeping time, keeping himself awake because they’ll call, and he can’t be asleep when they do.

He is still full of hope when the last second of the day ticks by and a new day begins. And he doesn’t understand. Doesn’t understand at all, because they promised him that they’d always be there for birthdays, because they were always so important, because he misses them, terribly.

This time, no one is there to hug him when he starts sobbing, and the sobs turn into tears instantly.

He abandons the trust he put into his mother and his father, and locks it deep inside himself. He builds up protective walls during the night, and hardens himself so he’s not hurt like this again.

He decides to fly away.

°°°

Donghae wakes up to a white ceiling, short of breathe.

Splashes of water on his face don’t help even it out, but he doesn’t ask a nurse for assistance when he exits the bathroom. Slow steps to the canteen leave him thinking that maybe the doctors were right in making him stay in the hospital, that there were long term effects to the crash and he should seek medical attention, but then a glimpse of blue sky cures him. He decides to not dwell on it.

Donghae walks closer spotting Eunhyuk by the window, sketchpad on lap. He calls out, but the other is too busy scrawling to hear the good morning.

Pencil is brought down on the paper in thick, wide , scribbling furiously, erratic scritch-scratches shredding the air. The sketchbook is a fragile little thing, barely keeping itself from ripping apart at every lashed out mark.

The artist’s face is concealed— advertently curtained by a platinum fringe.

Donghae looks over Eunhyuk’s shoulder and his eyes widen.

The entire page is black with graphite.

“Eunhyuk?”

The boy freezes, then jumps up without a moment’s notice, whipping around to leave. He flips the sketchpad closed, dark page smudging against a drawing of delicate wings.

Donghae stays put, staring intently through the platinum cloak at shifting eyes. The blonde is unaffected, merely side-stepping, still hidden behind his hair, and briskly walking past.

He doesn’t appear for the rest of the day.

°°°

The next morning starts the same way.

Donghae is left gasping for air, assuring a nurse passing by that he was just choking on his own spit.

He escapes before she comes back in to check on him.

The long wallpapered hallways make his head spin, wondering if he should go up to the roof, but the feeling is again alleviated, this time by sight of a curled up figure with an unmistakable head of hair.

He’s perched on a bench, head tucked in, arms around his knees, forlorn.

Eunhyuk lets Donghae come closer and doesn’t avoid the brunette’s gaze.

Concern-filled eyes coax out an answer.

“They want to clip my wings” Eunhyuk says, and Donghae understands immediately. The hospital decided on early treatment.

After more probing, he’s able to mark tomorrow as the starting date.

A/N: Rewrote the entire first two chapters so they're more suitable to read. I changed some details here and there too, but the plot stayed the same, so there's no need to reread it if you don't feel like it~

@Delusional : Sorry for being such a slow writer ><,  I'll have to speed up if I want to meet the deadline though, so two chapters are on the way~ :D Hope you enjoy this update :]