A mangled mess of metal, wood and limbs. A gnarled branch spearing through broken glass and dented plates. Wood chips and glass shards sprayed outwards in an arcing explosion. At the epicenter of it all were two bodies, thinning breaths slowing as thick, copper fluid trickled past their pale skin. A thin layer of skin was stretched tight over the bulging mass of broken bone threatening to break through as the arm of one lay at an awkward angle. The butterfly breaths were wisps in the air, ethereal wishes and promises whispered into the wet, sodden air despite their futility, despite knowing how each word made the wavering line between life and death so much clearer. Because that was exactly what they were, two butterflies pinned in place between glass cases trapping them in.

And the boy in white robes saw it all, saw the writhing of both bodies as the water continued to pummel them, slipping away swirling crimson. He saw the hands clasped tight, the slight slackening of pressure as one began to slip. And he saw the fervent movements of pale lips in the cold, praying for a guardian to save the other, to please save him by some luck.

Slow, steady wing beats counted each moment pulling the restless spirits away from the pale bodies leeched of blood and warmth. The boy in the white robes laughed sharp, short at the irony of the situation. He was left with no choice but to choose, to choose between the two even as he heard silent cries rip through his thoughts, heard the desperation in the pleas as they begged for the other to live.

But he made his choice, amidst the rising din within his canned head and the sudden rip at his side with the knowledge that it was done, the deed was done, done, done.

For even as the ambulance pulled in and the paramedics rushed to extricate the bodies onto stretchers, the flicker of conscience snuffed in a single pair of eyes as two words left trembling lips with finality.

‘Save ge.’

~*~

Sehun

The elder seated beside him dipped a quill into the ink pot to his side, swift elegant scribbled across the parched yellow of the paper. He remained propped against the wall, looking over the elder’s shoulder at the rolling columns of names and dates disinterestedly. Not a word passed between the two but he basked in the silence, fingers tapping a languid pattern against the wall. He supposed there was some solace to be had in the silence stretching across them, of the awkwardness serving as a chasm amidst the planes of quiet monotony.

Even so, his fingers reached to scratch at the back of his neck, fidgeting as it returned to his side.  A laugh broke his thoughts, a sudden acceptance of how much he detested the stillness, of how it grew stifling before long. Within minutes, his feigned indifference slipped past and silently, he slipped a scroll out from the shelf to his right, his fingers reaching for the thick waxed paper almost intuitively. The ribbon tying the scroll bound was a simple cross knot, coming undone in a single pull but he hesitated, fingers stilling on the parting ends of the parchment.

“Sehun, looking at the name day in day out isn’t going to erase it from the list.”

The elder still hadn’t lifted his head bent over paper and Sehun regarded the mop of messy brown from the side with something akin to guilt. He shook his head, timid words inching their way through his lips.

“No, I need to see it. Minseok hyung please open the scroll.”

A sigh, a tap of the quill against paper and the scroll unfurled. Instinctively, Sehun’s eyes found the single line of interest.

Ziyang. 8^th March 2002.

He felt the gradual ache intensify with familiarity in his chest, clamor out the air left in his lungs. And with finality he sealed the scroll shut, using its sharpened tip to tear a single line across his forearm oozing thin gold before returning it to the shelf. Looking up, he saw Minseok look at him through crinkling brows and tight lips. He made no response to move forward, to stem the leak, only looked on with concern.

He’s probably seen enough of this. Of me.

Sehun, smiled, wry quirk of his lips as he left the room, parting words brief. He would be back again the next day, he always was.

“For memory’s sake hyung, for memory’s sake.”

---

He found himself along a narrow back alley, punctuated by rusted iron grilles held together by iron chains falling apart. A heady scent of damp mildew mixed with the acrid burn of smoke rushed past the back of his throat as he took in a lungful.

The people here must have lost all sense of smell.

A clatter and a bucket of something green and runny slopped down onto the cracked pavement, startling him momentarily yet he stood still, barely giving a second glance in that direction. Only when he heard the clatter of thudding steps against metal did he look up, idle legs falling into motion towards the exit of the alley.

From there, his path was monotonous, in step with an unspoken routine. His feet would lead him down 5^th avenue, his steps snaking along the network of alleys and back lanes. Occasionally, he would chance upon a haggard figure cramped by a ragtag construction of cardboard boxes. He would bend forward, breath brushing past the ears of the figure and oftentimes the image of bleak, monochrome black laced with cold would flare before his vision, yet through the blurred superimposition, he would notice the loosening of the unnamed individual’s shoulders and the even breathing that accompanied it.

There were too many of such cases to remember, a different face and a different image each day.

Across the third avenue, his steps would come to a standstill beneath the rafters of the hairdresser, back rested against the rough brick walls. Peeking from the edges of the wall, a few sparse words would be exchanged with a similar silhouette in wait by the slip-off. Today, he was greeted by anxious eyes and fidgeting fingers.

“Sehun, I…”

“Good morning to you too. And I know. Gossip travels around up in the clouds faster than it does here. I’ll be ok Jongin. It hasn’t turned that bad, you know that. See, no scars.” At this, he stretched his arms forward, revealing smooth skin. He attempted at a smile, though the slowly sinking deadweight in his chest seemed determined to tug the edges of his lips resolutely down regardless. The news had travelled too far, too fast for it to be just another warning, a light mention of words. But if the other seemed unconvinced, he didn’t show it.

“I suppose you’re right. But if anything turns up, promise to tell me alright? It’s not healthy for either party to continue this way and it might be best to leave it to someone else. I could help.” Jongin fixed him with a hard look, free hand clamped onto Sehun’s shoulder. For a moment, Sehun squirmed, felt the rush of heat against his collar as he fought to avoid the gaze being sent his way. In a compromise, the lopsided smile returned to his lips, a ready answer spilling forward.

“Of course I will. I’m responsible and you know that. But enough about me, you should be going now. The dead can’t wait to get their hands on you.” With a light push, he sent the other into the receding shadows while he remained still, eyes fixed on the shuttered glass doors of a small bookstore opposite. Once a figure in black had greeted a dimpled individual within and exited, he took the cue and set off for the main road once more towards a lone cul-de-sac along an unmarked turnoff, slipping past the muted shadows and slowly lightening skies to the bakery nestled at the end of the cul-de-sac.

And it was by the tempered French windows that he would remain seated, unmoving till the sun sunk behind the squat shop houses, pale in the fading light. A light chuckle escaped his lips as he watched the lean figure in black from the bookshop jostle the wooden frame of the door shut, the irony of the situation biting beneath his skin. Because as the hooded figure pulled his jacket closer against the descending chill, Sehun picked up his pace once more in the shadows of the figure, just as he had that entire day and the multiple ones before, picking up the jagged shards the boy dropped along the way. Yet he knew the boy was unaware of the hushed wing beats echoing his footsteps, the trail cleared away.

He could only wonder of the number of cuts that would no doubt line his palms at the very end, each shard of glass carefully collected within cupped hands.

Little do you know,

How I’m hurting while you fall asleep

Little do you know,

I’m still haunted by the memories

Little do you know,

I’m trying to pick myself up piece by piece

Little do you know,

I need a little more time.

***

Pale yellow lamplight glowed around tense features drilled in granite slackening, lips curled at the edges in content. Sehun took in the oddly content features with a slight smile.

It’s been a while since I’ve seen you smile, hasn’t it?

Gently, his slender fingers reached forward to smooth the sleeping boy’s raven black hair before trailing down his back in an attempt to soothe. Those fingers ghosted over bare arms, marble cold, attempting to rub in some warmth once more. Yet his hands stalled partway, ridges of scarred skin running like clear currents and roads beneath them.

‘Sorry, I’m so sorry.’

He hadn’t realized the words had been made audible till the figure before him stirred and he found himself being squinted at through red rimmed eyes sunken in puffy bags, tendrils of sleep still clinging close.

‘Sehun-ah you’re still here? No, no that’s no surprise, you’re always here. Stay a while longer ok? Keep away the nightmares. Thanks Sehunnie.’

Sehun smiled, nodding as he lifted a snow, white wing from behind. Feather tips rustling, the curled figure nestled into the cocoon of white even as each muscle running beneath the leathery skin of his wings remained taut, unmoving in wait.

‘Sleep well Zitao.’

But the face poking up from beneath the covers fixed him with an imploring gaze, teeth running over his bottom lip in thought.

‘Don’t look at me like that. The puppy face won’t work. Go to sleep would you?’

‘Don’t wanna. Can’t anyways. Tell me a story.’ At the back of his mind, the image of a child, eyes younger with a brighter sheen alit from within, surfaced. He wanted to see those eyes again, not the fissures that lay beneath the glassy surface.

I’ll . Just this once.

‘No.’

A pitiful whine came in response. ‘You’re my guardian angel. Do your job and grant me a wish.’

Sehun smirked, arms crossed across his legs.

‘You’re such a demanding mortal. But fine, just one story.’ He watched, amusement tingeing his thoughts as the mop of raven black sunk deeper into the pillows beneath the white sheets.

‘There was once a boy with puffy eye bags that couldn’t fall asleep. So he stared at the stars until he got bored to death and fell into a dreamless sleep. The end.’

‘Yah that’s not fair! That’s not even a proper story!’

‘Sorry, it’s all I know.’ Zitao pouted, a tiny hmph of indignation let loose as he turned away from Sehun.

‘I’m not going to speak to you anymore. Goodnight.’

Sehun waited silently, gaze shifting to the glass panes and the crumbling brick and mortar beyond. It wasn’t long before the forced silence from the curled up figure before him innocently gave way to quiet even breathing, the steady rise and fall marking the seconds passing by.

He can be such a little kid sometimes.

But even as he willed the hands of the clock to speed up, he knew the silence was temporary, brittle ice over a swift current. Because soon enough, he noticed Zitao’s tightly clenched fists tugging at the sheets, lips twisted into a grimace. A sudden flare blinded his vision, eyes tearing as the scent of damp rain and copper overpowered his senses, a blinding jumble of twisted metal caging him in. Then came the pain, a slow burn across his sides, from beneath his skin. Arms jerking forward, he fished the small cloth from within his pockets and hastily shoved it between his teeth. It was to dampen the screams threatening to break loose, clawing at his insides.

Just a while longer, keep quiet for a little more.

Through the waves of rolling nausea washing over him, he noticed the blistering of skin red and raw as it split open across his forearm before fading away once more, scabbing over to leave behind a throbbing pain beneath the skin. And he found his lips twisting into a tilted smile, wishing pointlessly that the story of the puffy eyed boy had been more than just that, a simple story. One dreamless night, just one night without the pain.

But that was why these things remain stories don’t they? A bunch of words strung together.

It was because they were simply make-belief.

***

Through tinted glass panes, red crosses etched in the middle, a boy in white robes looked upon two bodies laid out on white sheets, their pallor strangely similar to the clean pressed white and sterile walls enclosing them. A woman stood before them, a small white cloth clenched over her features as they crumbled and dissolved into the tears running down red rimmed eyes. Yet not a sound escaped her lips, her shoulders shaking with the effort, lest she wake up her children who had slipped into such a still, dreamless sleep.

‘…I’m sorry but only one can survive. The vitals are in a critical point… complications since they’re conjoined…”

The boy in white could have listened in on the words that were tumbling forth from the man in uniform, detached blue but why eavesdrop when he already knew the outcome, when he had decided upon it.

Yet out of some erse need for confirmation, he caught the tail end of the words, the conclusion of one of many confessions here.

‘…his heart is failing… can’t support both bodies…irreversible necrosis has already occurred… save at least one… the only way. I am truly sorry.’

The boy noticed how the condolences slipped past the man’s tongue like water yet had once been trapped gelid out of heartfelt remorse. Any pool of emotions were now trapped stagnant beneath scars hardened over and scabbed. The boy might have once pitied the man yet he was just one more of many.

One of many left with no option but to choose.

~*~

Underneath it all

I’m held captive by the hole inside

I’ve been holding back

Out of fear that you might change your mind

Little do you know,

I need a little more time

***

‘How was your day?’ Sehun’s head tilted to the side, back comfortably rested against the empty wall in the cramped living room. A resounding thud and clunk of a heavy bag against the table announced the arrival of a lanky figure, features indistinct beneath the hooded clothes. Zitao shrugged off the jacket, not a hitch in his movements to indicate surprise. Sehun noted this thoughtfully and mused over when Zitao had crossed the point when Sehun’s presence had become a given. His eyes followed the quiet steps dragged over the tiled floor and into the kitchen, a thump as the refrigerator was opened and a pack of cold milk successfully acquired. Glass of milk in hand, Zitao slumped against the couch, pulling the pillow off the side close to him before finally choosing to respond.

He was definitely taking his time.

‘You know. The same old. Nothing new.’ Yet Sehun noted the way the corner of the pillow was being mercilessly twisted around Zitao’s fingers into a strained knot.

‘You don’t seem surprised that there’s an angel in your house. Does that count as new?’

‘No, you’ve always been here. Nothing new.’ But his reply is tart, a few words spared over the extensive thoughts probably hurtling around like pin balls in his mind. Then Sehun’s eyes cast over the slight scuffing of mud against trainers, connecting the dots between the faint smell of lavender lacing the smell of smoke from the corridor beyond and the slight trembling of Zitao’s lips.

‘You were there again weren’t you? I should have gone, why didn’t you tell me you were going there?’ He heard resigned concern resonate against the syllables but the imperceptible touch of guilt that was twisting like the spoils of the milk clutched in Zitao’s hands remained on his tongue. Already, a name was ringing in his ears, childish peals of laughter echoing in his head. He felt the itch, the beginning of a burn across his arm as a small ripple of contractions set off in his chest.

‘I needed to visit him. Face the facts. See to it that he was still a pile of ashes.’

The contractions were getting stronger, the dull ache travelling up his chest and down his throat intensifying. He heard the words being said yet they reached his ears through a current of water, muffled and indistinct as the sounds blurred together.

‘He’s everywhere Sehun. I see him in the mirror everyday, see him in the shop windows and the puddles. He’s right there, in front of my eyes offering our stupid stick of ice cream up, always the bigger end for me. I trip and fall in the middle of wushu practice because I can’t feel the weight at my side, can’t feel balanced. I look up to see myself but all I see is him, I see him in me and he’s not there anymore. He’s not holding onto me. It hurts Sehun, it hurts.’

 He finds himself shaking, shudders travelling up his spine even as his palms find the wall beside him, leaning into it for support. His legs buckle just slightly as images scroll past in a blur in his mind; of two identical boys with raven black hair with their arms slung around each other as they strolled through narrow alleyways, a single stick of ice cream passed between sticky fingers and wide smiles. He feels the bile rising, only vaguely realizing that the bouts had started, that he was seeing Zitao’s thoughts as he did each night. But this wasn’t supposed to happen, the thoughts weren’t supposed to seep through the bond when the mortal was still fully conscious.

Then came the sudden flare of hazy lights, a sudden wrench of a steering wheel and the deafening crunch of crumpling metal.

He barely noticed that Zitao had turned away from him, that he didn’t know how he was doubling forward as a flare of white spread through his sight. The visions had changed once more, of spotless expanses of grey, of a boy staggering forward from clean sheets, his hands reaching to the side where they ran over ridges of grafted tissue where there had once been bone and flesh now severed. Disjointed, feral screams rippled over the white, shuddering as the boy’s hands ran over and over the marred flesh no longer complete. And as though through a vacuum, the flaring white muted and dimmed to grey, the din in his head falling strangely silent.

Slowly, his head lifted, finding that through the disconcerted spinning in his mind, he was still very much standing, still upright and reasonably composed. The only noticeable difference was the heaving of his chest and slight waver in his arms as the itch beneath his skin eased up momentarily. A pair of coal black eyes, glinting beneath the light was looking beyond him now, lips fiercely held straight. Sehun, between slow counts of three and the gentle ease of his breath, followed the stilted movements of the figure in black across the tiled floors and towards the small outcropping to his side before coming to a stop beside him.

Leaning against the metal railings, the words were almost lost between the ringing in Sehun’s ears.

‘How can I forget Ziyang when I’m my own living reminder of him?’

Sehun hardly flinched as Zitao rested his arm across his shoulders, leaning in to rest his weight against his side, joined at the hip as he had been. Briefly, he glanced at the coal eyes shot through with burning red beneath the glossy surface refracting the meager light from behind. The glance was returned almost apologetically, teeth worrying his pale bottom lip needlessly.

‘Please?’

And Sehun awkwardly slung his arm across the taller male as well, the image of two raven haired boys standing close, arms slung across each other dancing across his vision. The itch across the arm lying idle at his side twitched, the steady burn and rip of skin lancing pain across his arm. Yet he felt the dam across Zitao’s vision hold still, only cracking ever so slightly along the edges.

Zitao’s grip tightened across his shoulders, setting off goose bumps across his skin and the odd lurch in his chest despite the burn along his skin and the heat rushing across it. For a second, he forgot the weight of bone and muscle extending from his back, a slight tremor running through the wing as he stretched it around them. Something heavier eclipsed the pain, the need to stay silent. It was the wrenching of something he couldn’t quite place being ripped apart, closing over his throat and filling out his lungs as he looked over to the steadfast gaze of the boy beside him holding still.

Because Oh Sehun was afraid, afraid of the unsteady beat within his chest and of seeing charcoal black eyes once more, cold and unseeing.

***

‘Stop it! Leave it ge!’ Two tiny identical figures were crouched against the broken shingles and aluminum propped up along the snaking path. Wet, sticky snot was running down the nose of one, eyes red rimmed in plea and lips quivering as he remained hidden behind the other. Yet even as he tugged on the latter’s tiny bunched fingers, a single  pair of smoldering charcoal black eyes stared unwavering, up, up and into gauzy eyes veiled beneath alcohol, red vessels spiking through.

‘Leave us alone!’

Crack!

The heaving silhouette before the two staggered forward, rearing back as a guttural cry shook the cramped space and the whip was brought down hard against the raised arms of one of the two. A singular cry followed after yet the tiny ball of rags and limbs remained unmoving, feet shuffling against the gravel in wait.

‘You don’t speak back to your father, bastards! You ruined me, ruined me!’

Crack!

The large mass veered to the right, cloth handle gripped in his hand and along with him moved the gathering shadows, black tongues flickering to shroud him once more.

‘I don’t take orders from drunkards!’

Crack!

Red welts blossomed over pale skin, thinly stretched over the arm of the boy and it shook with the effort to stay up, trembling against the shadows crawling up the wall, slinking past the shuttered doors.

Thunk!

The whip slipped, clattering against the ground as the lumbering figure turned sharply, unfocused eyes leading him towards pitch black and swirling wisps in the night air. And as the figure retreated, a boy in white robes emerged from the corner, creases running between his brows as his lithe arms extended to gather the two bundles of whimpering, curled up rags. A single wing was lifted from behind and brought forward, for all the boy had to offer at that moment was an embrace and a touch to lift the smoky traces of black coloring their souls.

***

Wind whipped and ballooned white robes, rushing in to nip at bare skin left to the cold. They marked grooves against the scalp as they ran between bleached blonde strands that were dancing to the tug of the air. If one were to look closer though, they would notice the rise and curve of feathers buffeted against the night, each strand ruffled by the wind greedy to grab and wrench away whatever remained.

But for Sehun, he barely felt the numbing cold surrounding him, barely noticed the chill spiking up from the asphalt laid beneath him. Unmoving, his eyes turned down to look into his cupped palms.

Tinged bruised purple and crimson, shattered.

If there had been a point when he had been aware of why he was up at the rooftop, clutching broken shards of glass to his heart, it had passed long since. For now, Sehun was only aware of the glass resting in his palms, the glass he had smashed against the ground, the glass that had once been whole and fitted into the folds of his robes.

Yes, that was right. It had been a double hourglass.

And now the pain shot through his arms once more, liquid fire pumping through in place of ichor as his skin bubbled and broke; a ghastly green. The shards spilled forth as he raised his palms to cradle his head and even so, his teeth sunk into his thin bottom lip, splitting it into two. The skin had already begun to weave across the damaged flesh, sealing pus and burnt veins yet nothing took away the pain, nothing.

The pain only served as reminder to Oh Sehun how the quiet boy with the steely gaze was probably tossing and turning, mind haunted by the blare of horns and the scent of lavender once more. Through his swimming vision, he saw the twisted bodies, hands clenched together.

He should have known that removing one meant that the other would wither as well, a vine with its roots cut off. He should have accepted his mistake instead of falling for how his heart betrayed him uncomfortably each time, tripping at the sight of crinkling half moon eyes and thin lips curling upwards.

The feel of something heavy pressed against his chest broke his thoughts and as he drew it out from within, he felt something sticky and wet run down his cheeks and collect at his chin. Because cradled in his hands was the double hourglass once more, soft, silent sand trickling down only one of the two while the other remained still and lifeless.

***

‘Hurry up Ziyang! This way!’

Tiny fingers closed around an identically tiny fist as two short silhouettes ran past narrow cemented paths, ducking beneath the staggered jutting of rafters and clotheslines overhead. Their tiny footsteps were soundless against the backdrop of silence and an eclipsing darkness, of sound and light.

‘Do you know where you’re going? Taozi this isn’t a good idea…’

‘Don’t worry ge. It’s just a while more.’

The clenched fist was given a slight squeeze in reassurance as they fumbled, catching over stray shingles and broken glass. Their gait was unsteady, little choice but to stay side by side, bound by the thick cord of flesh running between them.

Under flickering streetlamps and telephone poles slanting precariously, the two figures came to a panting stop before a nondescript white van, marked only by a small label in black at the side.

‘Hua-ng Ba-ke-ry. Taozi…’

‘Sh… I can’t have you getting beat up like this.’

Reaching forward, the small boy wiped away the wet tears swilling at the edges of the other’s eyes, flesh tender and tinged the shade of a fresh bruise as his small fingers came away streaked with soot. Reaching into his pocket, he drew out something glinting under the meager moonlight.

A door was hastily swung open, two silhouettes bundling in one after the other as they fit themselves into the tiny gloved compartment. The turn of keys and the sudden pool of light in the unlit street went unnoticed as the van pulled away from the street side, slowly picking speed as it entered the main roads, joining the stilted trickle of late-night traffic.

Partway, a steady drizzle began and the van veered slightly, the unsteady hands of the driver becoming apparent. Yet it wasn’t pulled aside, not given a second glance by the few other flickering eyes passing by.

So it was too late when the tiny figures crouched over the steering wheel noticed the blaring lights before them, too late by the time the panic set in and the wheel was wrenched to the right.

All that was heard amidst the steady downpour was the muffled crunch of metal, two crumpled bodies broken beneath the shattered glass.

***

‘Sehun you can’t go on like this. You need to cut the tie.’

He looked up, eyes blankly regarding the almond eyes looking at him visibly shaken, marked creases running between them. He rolled the words over his mind once more, running through the meaning of each one.

Cut… the… tie?

No, no he couldn’t do that. Cutting the tie meant quitting. Cutting the tie meant giving up on his role.

‘Sehun, are you even listening? Normally, angels are given a five year recuperation period should they lose their mortal prematurely. You didn’t even have that because your case was special. The strain is breaking you.’

Breaking him? No, he could still last, at least long enough to patch up the torn shreds.

‘Sehun, I’m not saying this as an elder, listen to me as a friend. Zitao wasn’t supposed to be able to see you, his thoughts aren’t supposed to travel over while he’s still awake. You aren’t even supposed to look after two souls at the same time. Whether or not you ask for this on your own, you’ll be called back soon. You need to let go before that.’

It was something in the finality of the elder angel before him, the confirmation of the irregular rhythm in his chest that had his tongue coming undone from where it had been stuck fast to the roof of his mouth, working through the sand filling his mouth as his thoughts became audible, echoing lightly in the small chamber.

‘Minseok hyung, I can’t. I need to set some things straight first. And like you said everything about my case is abnormal. Who knows? Maybe my contract had been drawn up differently as well. Might have given me more time than usual.’

A resigned smile lightly tugged at the edge of his lips, the surety of his words rebounding in his mind. He knew the falseness tingeing them no matter how many layers of maybes or ‘might’s he added to cover it over with. He knew the current calm in his mind was short lived because words and hopes voiced out were only worth that much.

On cue, a sudden flare shattered the brittle ice forming over his thought. A deluge of raw anguish swamped his systems, blocking out everything else as a screen of white pulled over his vision. It was starting again, the splitting skin and brutal pain spiking through his nerves. He felt himself stagger, arms thrown forward to catch himself against anything till the pain subsided or at least dulled.

Somehow, amidst the melee of sound being orchestrated in his mind and rising to a crescendo, he heard words and syllables being directed his way.

‘Oh god, it’s starting again isn’t it?’

He felt two arms, considerably shorter than his own, reach forward to catch him around the neck, slowly guiding him against narrow shoulders. He let the distance of several trips walking in and out of the area, of words sparsely exchanged and the paper wall he was afraid to look over crumble and fall away. Gradually he eased himself, the choke hold of dormant memories stirred up once more being released. A small hand was running itself over his back, again and again soothingly, no words spoken or explanations asked for. For that he was thankful and through the pathetic sobs rising up his chest, he held onto the words that left his lips with more conviction than he felt within.

‘I can’t give in yet, hyung. I just need a little more time.’

***

Silent strides were taken across the smooth wood floor, the trailing of white feather tips against the ground. Unfurled in the boy’s hands was parchment, scrawled over with sprawling symbols, illegible beneath the lights glaring down.

The boy supposed it was expected. He had known it would come.

But as his eyes scanned through the clear message once, twice, thrice, he felt something missing, a single missing star in a constellation or maybe breaking open into the empty husk of an oyster. It felt of… nothing and everything at once.

If that alarmed the boy, it couldn’t be discerned from his marble features, chiseled and cold yet there was a wavering in those hazel eyes as they drifted down to his arms, fingers running over smooth, flawless skin. And slowly, the haze spread over his vision, refracting and breaking the light as thin, wet streaks of something so human and foreign ran down his alabaster pale cheeks, stretched gaunt beneath the light. He hated this, hated that he felt no scars, no broken and melted skin, damaged beyond repair.

For now, all he had left as memories were never-ending short bursts of temporary pain.

~*~

Zitao

I’ll wait, I’ll wait

I’ll love you like you’ve never felt the pain, I’ll wait

I promise you don’t have to be afraid, I’ll wait

The love you see right here stays so lay your head on me

***

He held onto the metal handle firmly, fingers wrapping around the greasy metal before he jostled his way past the creak of the grilled door falling into disrepair. The rooftop was a barren mess of cigarette butts tossed away and broken beer bottles, smashed against the cracked cement in a rage of intoxication by the dozens of faceless staggering figures roaming the block. The thick stench of fermenting liquid spilt all over the ground triggered flashes of light, confusing amidst the thick black of that night.

No, no he shouldn’t dwell on it. That’s not why he came here for.

The subject of his search was as expected seated precariously by the edge of the parapet which would have had Zitao rushing forward in worry had it not been for the massive, rippling structure obstructing the person in question from view almost completely. A small spot of bleached blonde hair was visible from amidst the stark white plumage, a slash of color against the sky.

‘It’s the roof tonight is it? Might as well, I needed some fresh air.’

He wasn’t sure when it had become normal to come home to be greeted by a slightly glowing countenance, to open the front door and have a pair of feathered appendages be the first thing in his vision or even to find the oddly worried gaze of hazel eyes whenever he awoke to wet cheeks and harsh breaths in the middle of the night. The pale figure had begun to appear before him a little past his childhood, the scent of warm cinnamon accompanying the vague imprints and time stamps pegged to his mind. It was always at night, just as the shadows grew longer and the leering masses of black pressed in. It struck Zitao then, that he had never really asked the quiet figure about where he was from or why he insisted only on appearing at night.

It was strange, but not quite as odd as you would expect it to be. These things slipped his mind.

But whether or not he was aware of the specific point in time when this had become a normalcy, he still found himself slipping quietly beside the unmoving figure, his legs dangling freely over the edge as they were held suspended a good 20 feet off the ground.

‘Did you know that we adopted a stray puppy at the bakery today? Poor thing was freezing off in the cold and we couldn’t just leave it there. The customers loved her! She was running all over the place, wouldn’t keep still. I accidentally fed her chocolate though. Apparently it’s toxic. I’ll definitely be more careful next time. Did I tell you we named her Junggu? I can’t wait…’

Gradually the eagerness in his voice fell away, leaving a hollow space carved in between those ears and Zitao’s own thin lips. He slowly became aware of the silences that met the end of each sentence, a period marking its end that he seemed to be dragging out into a comma as he continued. His brows furrowed, head turning to his side as he regarded the razor features held still, indifferent. He felt his lips slowly shaping into a pout as he tugged at the thin cotton hanging off the other’s shoulders.

‘Hey, are you alright? Is something the matter?’

The words were unspoken but he saw the letters run across his eyes, the subtle changes in those unfocused brown orbs which were staring ahead blankly.

‘Sehun-ah…?’

There was a spark there, tongue darting forward to wet lips that were barely parched. Zitao heard words being toned yet the boy had yet to regard him, eyes carefully averted.

“I’ve been called back. I’ll need to leave soon.”

‘What, why? Are you needed for something? How long till you’ll be back?’ He could have kept on with the questions, the never ending list of things to know but he knew the answers before he received auditory confirmation, saw it in the slight tightening of fists against the parapet.

‘I won’t be coming back.’

The thin wavering gaze of the boy was held veiled behind a curtain of blond hair, hiding subdued black orbs. Zitao shook his head, the cork coming undone on bottled images of a figure by his side held close by the same silhouette rimmed by a white glow. The confusing flashes that had previously perforated his mind sharpened, solidifying into a reeling mass lurching away from them, leaving him huddling beside a warm presence holding him close, soothing away the sting flaring across his skin. He felt his breath shortening, not understanding the ballooning of his lungs and the sealing off of his windpipe.

He couldn’t leave. Couldn’t leave him as well.

Zitao turned, head clearing as he directed a sharp gaze to his side even if he was aware that it wouldn’t be returned.

‘No, you’re hiding something isn’t there? You’ve stayed this long so why now?’ The head of blond dipped further towards the ground, flinching slightly in response.

‘Did something happen?’ He reached forward tentatively, picking the clenched fingers of the angel in his own, fingers rubbing soothing circles over the ridges of bone beneath skin.

So cold. It was never this cold before.

For some moments, their thoughts were held in a tight line running across them, unspoken words running loops that entangled their words together into an inseparable knot with no beginning or end in sight. Zitao’s lips straightened; the wide bubbling smile that he had been fighting to contain now fizzling beneath the silence that was draped over.

If tension were a palpable, physical entity, it would take the form of a thin nylon string wrapped around the throat.

The string was only cut when the angel’s head bobbed up, lips widening into a curve that had his eyes sinking slightly into his cheeks. Yet the tiny lines running by the edges of his eyes that Zitao had committed to memory were nowhere in sight, hidden beneath layers of thick veils that try as he might, couldn’t lift.

‘Of course I’m not. This is my job Zitao. I got relocated. You don’t have control over the things you’re tasked with. Besides, we’re missing out on a really pretty night. The stars are bright tonight aren’t they?’

The angel’s head tipped back, the brief exchange of glances broken as quickly as the fragile bridge had been built to leave the yawning river of thoughts too rapid for Zitao to hold onto rushing past. But it had been enough, enough to catch a glimpse of the opposing bank, scarred and fissured land hidden beneath a thick fog obscuring vision.

Zitao’s brows creased, a non-committal nod sent to no one in particular. His eyes trailed over the stars once more, winking in and out of existence against the endless black.

‘Yeah, they are.’

This time, when soft feathers brushed against his arms, trailing the scars along the skin, his breath didn’t hitch nor miss a beat. He was only left with a caving emptiness in his throat as he looked above at the pinpricks of light. There was a reason why the stars were so bright that night, gems embedded in navy velvet.

His eyes briefly ran over the dark silhouettes of oblongs jutting into the clear air, stretching towards the edges of his vision.

A power outage, that’s what they said it was.

All he knew was that the stars were so much brighter against the night simply because of the pitch black pressing in, threatening to engulf them completely.

***

The robed figure in white sent a cursory glance towards the parchment laid before him. The curling edges of black across the yellowed paper didn’t need to be processed any further, he had memorized the contents by heart.

In his hands, the quill was resting lightly above the paper, sharp tip dipped in black. With a start, he noticed the quivering of the feather tip, the slight tremble of his fingers as they hovered above the parchment.

A single drop of ink dripped, the black quickly seeping to accentuate the veined fibers running across the sheet.

It was one word, a singular representation of acceptance yet he couldn’t bring himself to cross the distance between the quill tip and the paper, couldn’t still the shuddering in his chest that reverberated through his bones and twitching muscles.

Because try as he might, the mirage of callused hands innocently cupping his own betrayed his vision and his ears had begun to pick up gentle laughter that hadn’t been there in the empty room before. It was replaced by the heightened staccato rhythm of his heartbeat but by then he knew, lips contorting in denial.

He hadn’t thought it possible but despite the feathers projecting from behind him, he had failed to still his descent, failed to catch himself before the hurtling fall.

***

It was the same as every other night before, beneath furtive glances and an easy, shallow banter that flowed between them like rivulets over narrow indents in soil.

But Zitao noticed something different about the way the angel had drawn himself up that night, hunched behind knees pressed close against himself. His eyes darted, skittish as though meeting Zitao’s own would hurt him physically. The steady flutter of the occasional breeze running through thin feathers was absent, shoulders held taut within the stale air.

The words stilled on Zitao’s tongue, words repeated too many times for him to have kept track of. Wasn’t there any other way…? But he couldn’t ask, it was understood. Asking only tightened the knot against his throat, tightened the choking loss of breath. Asking only made the refusal harder to accept.

The grimace echoed the twisting in his ribs. No, not now. You can’t bring him up now.

So despite the words pinned against his tongue, Zitao kept quiet, eyes listlessly trailing the cracks against the wall. It was with some effort that he veered his thoughts away from the recurring images in his mind, that one face that had imprinted itself against the backdrop of his vision and abandoned the constriction in his throat.

‘Sehun-ah, I’m scared. It’s… It’s dark. Could you… like before?’

He was aware of the inadequacy of his words, the semi-formed thoughts barely comprehensible even to his own ears. But as a pair of hooded hazel eyes finally turned towards him, he recognized a flicker of comprehension and the resigned smile and nod that followed.

‘I can’t say no can I? You’re still so demanding.’

If Zitao noticed the dull, apathetic sheen in Sehun’s eyes, he didn’t comment. He couldn’t think about the inevitable possibility that he would come to wake up in the middle of the night, to flares of light and sound that were so, so loud that sleep was impossible instead of soft words and a dependable presence. He should only be thinking about the warm blanket encasing him now, lanky arms wrapped around his middle.

‘You know, there was a time when you fit in my arms like a pillow. Now you’re just an awkward gangly mess.’

Zitao snorted, folding in on himself, curling into the sturdy form behind him. Yes, yes there had been a time when he had fit into the space between Sehun’s chin and bent legs but then there had been someone beside him. A tight fit but they were complete then, snug.

The sudden thought of metal keys slipped off the front door entered his mind, the blurred images of alleys rushing past.

‘Stop squirming around. The bed’s tiny Taozi.’

The words breathed against his ears set off echoes of empty confirmations, consolations he knew he hadn’t been able to keep up spoken to eyes that eerily reflected himself back.

I shouldn’t have.

‘Eh Taozi, don’t miss me too much after I leave alright. You’re getting one of the best around. He’ll look after you just like a little brother. Yifan, yeah that’s his name.’

I don’t need another brother.

The flimsy Polaroids strung up in his mind were tugged off in a whirlwind, a relapse of moments in time that had been held up far, far away and out of sight. He felt the burn across his side, the sting of skin bitten by harsh leather and the pressure against his palms where once tiny fingers had pressed close. At some point in time, he noticed a constant presence in his shadows, a small ring of light in the dark forms that followed him, skin kissed by soft feathers in place of leather.

He could already see the snapshots that were to follow, small halo of light absent as the pitch black shadows hugged him close wherever he went.

Involuntarily, the edges of his eyes prickled with the burn of needles pricking his pupils, blurring and thinning out his vision. The salt settled on his tongue as it slipped past his lips between sharp intakes of breath when he felt thin fingers reaching up to wipe his cheeks, tracing circles against the skin.

“Sh… Hey, you look really ugly when you cry, you know that?”

Zitao turned almost hesitantly to where the words had been whispered into the chill air, punctuated by the broken quirk of Sehun’s lips as his eyes remained dulled, dark. He let himself be coaxed, steady palms running over his side in languid, reassuring cycles as you would a crying child.

That’s what he was once more, a little kid to be quieted and looked after.

Eventually Sehun’s hands stilled, draped over Zitao as his body arced around him protectively. In the still night air, it was hard to ignore how his arm was unnaturally cold, sending shivers down Zitao where he could feel the weight against the scar at his side through the cotton. It was hard to keep away the thudding in his chest, the way his eyes refused to close because of the name caught between his teeth. It was hard to keep away the frustration seeping through because why, why couldn’t Sehun see?

The conclusion was so apparent, so crystal clear but they stilled on his tongue, words crippling and falling back down against his throat.

‘Sehun-ah couldn’t you…’

His words were cut short by the tightening of arms against his centre and a curling of the body beside him. A head of something soft rubbed against the nape of his neck, a soft hiss of pain snaking its way into the tepid air.

‘Taozi, I don’t want to leave. I just need more time. I’m sorry, so sorry. I couldn’t save…’

It took a moment for Zitao to turn himself around, another to notice Sehun’s pale lips contorted in pain as the words slurred and spilt past. Finally, his eyes landed on the rapid rip and tear of skin, golden liquid pooling before draining once more and the skin stitched over.

What, what was happening?

‘Sehun. Sehun. You’re bleeding. Oh my god, you’re bleeding. Why are you bleeding?’

His whispers were frantic, but the sight of the liquid seeping had his vision spinning, lungs refusing to take in the air he needed. He didn’t move, holding his place out of fear that he might somehow make it worse. He wasn’t seeing this. He wasn’t.

‘It hurts Taozi. Every time you hurt, I hurt and it hurts so much. I’m sorry, sorry.’

The words were being mumbled incoherently now, lilting towards delirium out of pain. Zitao stilled, rolling each word in his mind even as his eyes refused to leave the sight of alabaster skin blistering red raw before it blackened as though burned from within. It didn’t help that he was lost, hands locked helplessly before him, unaware of what to do. He only let Sehun hold him closer, clutching him in earnest desperation.

‘Sending me away because…pain… but no… I just need more time, more time.’

Zitao hardly grasped the partial words, syllables hanging loose.

‘Can’t leave… Need to make it right.’

His words trailed off in time with the slowly easing breaths echoing in Zitao’s ears as he saw the broken skin mend, tender flesh a pale white bleached of color in comparison. The wing held above him lowered, muscles slackening as the tension visibly drained from Sehun’s countenance. It was only then that Zitao allowed himself to breathe, realizing too late, as a bitter aftertaste lacing his tongue, what those dull hazel eyes had meant.

They were stars that had shone too brightly to shed the little light there was beneath the pitch black of the night. They were the stars so oblivious to the dark pressing in, stubbornly burning even though the fight was futile. They were the stars that had burned through, finally snuffed out by the night.

***

Through the haze of tear drops falling from the sky, wetting the soil and sinking beneath the layers of the earth’s skin, a single robed silhouette moved through. His steps were deliberate, unhesitant despite the whiplash winds tearing at skin yet few knew the calls whispered into his ears by the thieving winds. Thin laughter echoed, carried by the drifting currents, vines wrapping his bent body and the figure turned sharply to gaze behind him.

No, he must move forward. He couldn’t let the doubt fester and root itself.

Yet each drop of water striking and plowing the land reflected crinkling eyes sinking into puffy skin and the half moon curve of contented smiles. Each leaf picked up and tossed by the passing gale carried innocent laughter and quiet whines for attention. Each sting of prickling thorns and discarded glass underfoot marked the hollow chill of the lack of warmth from a curled mass against him.

As though from a mirage, he made out raven black before him, the cocky quirk of pale lips chapped and the cold, ebony eyes raised in question.

“Leaving so soon?”

And the robed figure raised a single arm, reaching forward almost desperately before thin fingers passed through a curtain of water and each clear drop carried away the mirage in a diffuse mist. They closed tight; palm holding nothing but cool liquid that slipped though and the arm was dropped once more. The footsteps resumed, the figure’s unrelenting path through the pure water determined to wash away traces of soot staining his skin.

~*~

Little do you know

I know you’re hurt while I am sound asleep

Little do you know

All my mistakes are slowly drowning me

Little do you know

I’m trying to make things better piece by piece

‘Cuz little do you know I

I love you till the sun dies

~*~

“Oh Sehun!”

The slight nimble fingers, wispy tendrils unseen, grabbed at the words as soon as they left his mouth. The words were pocketed, the little warmth emanating from his hunched figure ripped away. The gusts cackled at his loss, howling as they made away with his hoarse voice and flickering hope. Zitao’s only response was to curl further into the folds of his jacket, eyes thinning into slits as he peered through the drawn curtains gushing from above. For miles stretched an expanse of billowing grey, shifting masses ambling by, a maze with no ending or exit.

Yet through the roiling mass, he made out a lump of grey melding and infusing into the dull around them. Two large projections extended from the figure, feathers tinged with grey as the woven mass of muscle, bone and feathers rose and fell to the beat of the figure’s steps. In the dusty light seeping through the clouds, the tips dragging and collecting dust seemed slumped, defeated and utterly broken.

“Oh Sehun, stop!”

The figure stilled momentarily, seconds sufficient for Zitao to quicken his pace, breaking out in a run to come to a halt before him. The drops of rain collecting at the tips of his jet black bangs falling forward, like grains of sand down an hourglass marking the seconds. Through the steady stream he made out the tight lines of muscle beneath white feathers held taut.

“Zitao you shouldn’t be here.”

The words were muffled, interspersed silence filled in by the deafening beat of rain adding to the din of thoughts in his head. He watched the slight tick in the angel’s fingers refusing to remain still and betraying the need to bolt, a cornered animal forced to choose.

“I can and I will. You’re not leaving, I’ve lost enough Sehun, enough…”

“That’s exactly it. Ziyang isn’t here, isn’t with you is he?’

Zitao flinched but he held still, gaze challenging the glint of hardened steel in Sehun’s eyes.

‘Do you want to know why he left?’

The words felt like sandpaper grating against his parched tongue even as he said them. ‘It was an accident. I was stupid. I shouldn’t have tried to leave.’

I shouldn’t have promised him, shouldn’t have been so reckless.

Sehun’s words didn’t stop, rolling off his tongue in time with the clenching of his fists. His eyes remained downcast as each word left him, thin daggers thrown out into the murky soil.

‘I made him leave. I chose to give you life over him when I was supposed to protect both of you! I was so damn selfish, I just thought maybe, you’d suffered enough and I let you live. I should have known shouldn’t I? This isn’t mercy. It’s torture.”

The sharp features of Oh Sehun now regarded him, the words barked out into the air, snipping through Zitao’s words. One look into the hazel eyes and only hardened amber looked back, glossy yet reflecting nothing, a pit never-ending. His lips mouthed words once more, decibels rising as he fought to be heard, to remain above the waves of sound crashing down on them from the rain.

“Maybe I should ask heaven that next time shouldn’t I? How the hell am I supposed to protect both lives when you give me only one bloody life to impart? Can’t heaven do the stupid math? I killed him, Zitao, I killed him and abandoned you.”

His breathing quickened, eyes widening as the flashes of light returned, the crunch of metal, of soft, staggering whispers in his ears. And through it all, he remembered that momentary childishness, stupid bravado that they could escape, leave the raving shadows behind. A key pilfered from the shop at the corner of the street, two thin bodies huddled close as they bundled into cushioned front seats, himself whispering words of confidence that they would make it through, they would drive away and never come back. Stupid, stupid, so stupid.

No, no, no you didn’t kill him.

“You don’t need an angel who can’t even hold you up. What’s the point? What’s the bloody point?”

The point is that he didn’t die because of you, that leaving me isn’t going to pick apart the broken shards woven into your skin or mine.

The point is that each step you take will only let the glass sink deeper, let it soak the ichor running through your veins.

The point is that I’m the mistake, I screwed up and I let him down.

He only saw the waterlogged feathers before him, soaked through and utterly useless. He was the deadweight, the trailing debris holding down a spirit pining to leave the earth for good and broken wings trembling to be set free once more, unburdened.

Yet the words remained chalked out in his head, spinning in circles and running over his tongue, lips still and unmoving. He only heard foreign words in a familiar voice shafting through the air roughly, stilted sentences tumbling from the slumped figure before him.

“I am pathetic excuse for an angel, aren’t I? No emotions, distended from the world. Ha bloody ha. We can’t even help ourselves, do nothing but watch our mortals suffer and cry out in pain, watch and console with nothing but words. We can’t even get hurt. What’s the point of a bloody angel here?”

No, no, no.

He saw the mirage break, the fissures running through the hardened hazel. A fractured image of pleading ebony eyes looked back at him, a familiar bent image in black exuding shadows from within, shadows trapped from narrow alleys and late nights looking into unfocused eyes. It was a surprise that the figure in black wasn’t drenched in shadows, dark forms crawling up his pale skin. Even so, to Zitao, it was unsurprising for there had been a glowing halo of white, an alcove within a velvet embrace and a comforting dark to keep them away, his saber to slash away the creeping black.

“You want to know the point? The point is, that for ten whole years, you made sure there wouldn’t be one other discarded trash bag with the remains of the two of us rotting by some unmarked road waiting to be picked up by the garbage truck after one whole month. That’s the point, Oh Sehun and I can’t make it clearer.”

And one by one, Zitao unpegged the images hanging from clotheslines across his thoughts, letting them be into the raging winds that ripped at the images and tossed them carelessly. He felt the paper cuts at the edge of his vision, stinging drops of salt tethering at a precipice he peered over. He saw broken limbs once more, the trail of red across tarmac and the never-ending maze. He heard each stunted breath, ragged as the air struggled to enter.

Across from him, Sehun doubled over, face contorting in a spike of pain.

Audibly, his eyes widened, his mistake painting itself clear a moment too late.

Thin lines began to sizzle over skin, draining it of color as the ichor bled through, molten gold liquid oozing and rolling off onto the ground. It was a ghastly patchwork of mending skin sealing close blistering scars as others, tinged green, broken open far too wide, ichor escaping before it could be woven shut. A thud and a squelch as Sehun dropped forward, muscles rippling beneath the bound mass of feathers attached by thick cords to his back, quivering as he curled up even further. Through it all, Zitao finally made out the cry escaping the angel’s lips against his consent, unbidden.

“Taozi, Taozi it hurts. Make it go away. Taozi it hurts so much. It hurts.”

So he knelt down and wrapped his arms around grey plumage and heaving shoulders, cradling Sehun’s head against his shoulder. Amidst the pain casting a haze over his eyes, Sehun’s lips contorted into a grimace, a flicker of disappointment flashing across.

“Damn it, you weren’t supposed to see this. I’m sorry but…”

His words were cut short by a scream, head flinging back and body jerking against Zitao’s grip as a particularly nasty scar split open along the length of his forearm.

“Sh… It’s my turn to return the favor. I’m right here. We’ll fix this, we just need time.”

Another spasm and Sehun’s grip on Zitao’s arms tightened; a desperate hold to not be drowned out by the cloud of pain once more.

“Taozi. Taozi. Taozi, don’t leave.”

And it was all he could do to hold Sehun, thinking of the long nights where the guardian kept a single wing raised, not a sound to be heard through the pain and the nightmares, how he should be counting the stars that this one in particular was burning inside out to shed light for him and only him. Against his wet skin, he hardly felt the tears as they fell, each drop of crystal, a memory shattering against the ground to release the moments lost and unaccounted for.

“I’m sorry and I won’t, I promise, I won’t. I… I’ll make sure my tears won’t ever get your wings wet again.”

***

The boy in pure white robes set down the quill resting between his thumb and index finger, an ivory scroll rolled out before him. His brows scrunched together, drawing close in obvious confusion in an attempt to make sense of the sentences scrawled onto the parchment. The exile of a single guardian angel was painted in illustrious detail across the pages yet a few had gone amiss and unexplained under the sharp scrutiny of the hazel eyes now looking over them. Though the angel in question had failed to fulfill his duty, the strain of the bond had been eased, scars healed over by the gentle press of fingers against them and arms wrapped around each other in familiar support.

Why then had he still been lifted, returned to heaven’s gates?

It didn’t make sense, it simply didn’t.

The boy returned the quill to its rightful place by the inkpot, scroll tucked away among the folds of his robe. A strange ache returned over his chest, a missing weight of cool glass against skin. In nervous contemplation, he began to chew his lips in an almost adolescent manner. The recurrent phantom sensations were worrying at best and the faster they disappeared the better.

As his sight passed over the door to the corridor, a similar figure rushed past, the imprint of ebony feathers and raven black hair against pure white robes trailing like a ghost before his eyes. His vision narrowed further into a squint, the almost haunting sensation of recognition fleeting amongst his haphazard thoughts. Who had that been?

Though the answer refused to present itself, the boy felt a sudden pressure against his sides and the slight squeeze of lanky arms wrapping him in an embrace.

~*~

‘Cause little do you know

I love you till the sun dies