He was running. Climbing. Stumbling, wrestling, fighting. Crawling.

 

Crawling. He was crawling, on dirt, on sharp rocks, on bent metals, on flooded floor. Water mixed with slimy mud, blood mixed with oily fluid, and a sticky, draggy, clingy mixture, all of which he could not identify, crept under his feet and stuck into his fingernails like some kinds of living creature. A scary one. One that blended in the darkness, one that dragged people down and one that swallowed everything and everyone, regardless of how they struggled to get out of it. Just like them. Like all the blood he was tripping over, like cold faces beneath those roaring stones, which was still howling even now, cracking, deadly and ruthlessly burying every path he took and turned it into a swamp of breathless horror. He heard his heart stomped onto his ribs, his blood thumped in a horrified rhythm. He was scared of this dead darkness. He was so, so scared.

He did not want to die.

Everything around was falling apart. Everything included himself. He did not want to die, not here, not like this, when he felt so weak and scared and helpless and terribly scared again, scared of a sudden death from above, scared of an entire life waiting to die, scared of how this path would never meet an end, and scared of not being able to escape this depth. Scared of death, but even more scared of life itself. He did not want to die, leaving his life to conclude its own like the last part of a horror novel. He did not want to die when he still had something he craved for. He did not want to die when there was still something he should find, something he yearned, something to hold dear.

"Mark."

 

So he continued. Crawling, fighting, wrestling, struggling, stumbling. And crawling and fighting and struggling and stumbling again and again. Climbing one bloody centimeter after another, one throaty breath at a time. And shoving, and leaving, and running away, away, away.

He simply did not want to die when he had yet to live, for once.

 

 

 

"Mark, Markie. Hey."

 

Jackson shook the older's shoulder gently, worried. His wings had been trembling for quite some times now, slightly but still visibly enough for Jackson to notice even in his sleep. Mark's eyes were still tightly shut, and from what Jackson could see through the weak reddish light of an early morning, tiny sweat drops beaded his friend's forehead just a little above his deep frowning eyebrows. It was cold - Mark's skin felt cold too. The tremble became more evident to him when his hand brushed through Mark's damp hair, fingertips wiped away a thin layer of sweat. It was cold.

At that, Mark suddenly flinched. His eyes snapped open with an immense force, while his body jerked away. Jackson blinked.
 

"Hey, I'm not that ugly am I?" He smirked. His hand moved from Mark's face to instead rest on the older's forearm, fingers tracing up and down as if to soothe away some tenseness that was straining those muscles. It worked. "Markie, Mark-hyung, Markeu, ge? Say, how am I, am I not handsome? Now don't be mean to your best friend, Markie-pooh."
 

"You're annoying." Mark replied with an exhale and a straight face, though his voice showed no sign of annoyance. Just a little hoarse from a long tiring night when sleep was hard to find in the midst of a fierce thunderstorm, threatening to tear apart their shelter. "Stop calling me by so many names."

 

Three days straight had it been rampaging nonstop around this area, three days straight had Mark stayed awake. Not the worst they had been faced so far since their departure from Mount Labbie (Jackson named), and the hospital they took refuge in did not seem to give in without a fight either, but somehow the older of them still saw the need to be on guard. The older, and the stronger, more capable when it came to escaping monstrous scenarios, yes. Jackson hated to admit it, but he had barely been able to keep his own life with those two human hands of his, left alone being of so much help when Mark was the one who can take both of them up and fly to safety. Mark's wings were strong. Ridiculously strong, inhumanly strong considering how slender their owner was, which once made Jackson's jaw drop as he saw Mark lift up a whole chunk of century-old oak tree, just by sheer strength drawn from his wings' pulling force. No wonder he was their favorite flying boy back then. Now that Jackson had already been familiar with the older's name, his memory also became more clear with each time he heard the same name being mentioned in the past. Quite a lot, actually.

 

Then again, however strong a mutant like Mark was, one could not survive so many stressful days without resting. When the storm outside quieted down a bit and all cracking sounds ceased, Jackson, being the wonderful friend he always was, dragged Mark down on a patient bed with him, this time with a real mattress beneath, and forced the older to get some sleep. Jackson had to promise to wake Mark up if the situation changed or if something ever happened (or perhaps one second before they got crushed by a sudden collapse of their ceiling, seriously), and that they would take turn to sleep until their strength regained. But then Jackson had never been able to wake a sleeping Mark up. Neither could he stay awake for so long even if he really wanted to, because the bed was so inviting, the quietness was so alluring, and Mark Tuan's wings were the warmest blanket ever. He felt bad for falling asleep like that, but luckily Mark still slept longer than he did and more luckily, Mark looked better now.

 

"Then by what name do you call me? We've been together for ages and I haven't heard you call me for once! That's so not right, you should have all kinds of silly nickname for your friend."

 

Mark gave him a very, very skeptical look. "For mostly a month," He corrected, "and what's with Markie-pooh?"

 

"Can't you see you're just fluffy like him?"
 

"Err... no?"

 

A of lightning struck through the sky, and Jackson broke into laughter. Intense light flashed into their shelter where they curled up like a real fluffy ball, the light itself gave Jackson a better look at Mark's halfheartedly confused face. Jackson loved it and he loved teasing it, as he instinctively knew Mark was playing along with him somehow, leaving the deafening thunder all forgotten.

 

"But I love him so that's it you're Markie-pooh. And don't draw a red herring across the trail and change the subject, you still haven't answered any of my questions." Jackson talked in an accused voice, brows furrowed. Actually he should be used to it by now, considering how rarely Mark replied him at first, but then again Jackson Wang was never the type of giving up so easily. So after endless efforts now he was used to a different Mark: a Mark who answered him with a hint of cockiness, who can catch his jokes and who can add his own into their small conversations. Jackson was happy, especially when Mark gave up with a wide merry smile, momentarily full of joy and heartiness.

 

"Is it necessary? I ain't gonna talk to an ant anyways so there's only you."

 

"See? I've just confessed to you and you can't even give me a name. How mean."       

 

"Cheesy dude." Mark let out a teasing laugh, apparently did not think Winnie the Pooh was a good way to confess. "Don't you have a name already?"

 

"What's my name? Hey don't tell me you don't know, we've been friend for so long so long so-"

 

"Jackson." Mark interrupted him. His voice returned to a soft, laid-back tone, one that easily blended into a peaceful night with bed time stories and soft pillows. "Jackson. I know your name. You're Jackson."

 

"... Oh."

 

"Surprise?"

 

"Kind of." Jackson replied thoughtfully. Mark's quiet but solid voice repeating his name was something Jackson had not been used to, and in some way Jackson's voice also became that honest. "Oh, right. I told you once."

 

"Idiot."

 

Mark shrugged his wings a bit, eyes slowly drifted close. There was some sorts of cascading noise from the rain outside, splashing around silently, pouring endlessly letting two boys inside know that the storm had finally stopped. A safe path wasn't really ensured, but some true sleeps were not that much to ask for anymore. "I've heard your name before too," Mark said in a sleepy voice, halfway into reverie, "In the lab."

 

"Oh? How was I?"

 

"An idiot, they said."

 

"They're just being mean, don't believe them."

 

"I even saw you sometimes."

 

"Then?"

 

"Still an idiot."

 

Jackson hummed. "You're mean too."

 

"I am."

 

 

...

 

 

 

The next morning came with a series of soft thuds that was constantly bumping around their shelter. Mark was the first one to hear those sounds: his vacant look that resulted from an early morning call immediately came into focus as the older looked up, his head turned towards the rusty door. He became terribly silent for awhile, blank face and fixed gaze, before standing up from where he was packing band-aids, gauzes, and medical necessities for their departure. Jackson hadn't picked up the strange sounds yet, though, he heard the younger's rummage on the other side of the room, throwing stuffs on the floor to find anything that was still edible. Finding food and water supply had always been their top priorities from the day they left their previous life of being completely provided for, and since processed food were decaying quickly, the task had become more and more difficult. This roadside hospital they ran into three days ago, though proved to be reliable enough to withstand such fearful thunderstorm, seemed to be abandoned for quite some time now. A year or two, at least. Those medicines Mark had found here were mostly out of date, so he didn't expect Jackson to have his lucks on scavenging much food here either. But then Jackson was Jackson, always so absorbed in any task given to him that sometimes Mark found it hard to bring his courage up and distract the younger. Sure there would be exceptions - a lot actually, considering the way their world rolled - but not for now, when Mark thought the situation was totally in his capacity to handle.

 

So Mark took his steps towards the door. His footsteps were almost inaudible despite some vague cracking sounds, resulted from the degraded parquet floor and spread through his veins like venom. Behind him, Jackson's rampaging noises were still echoing as loud as ever, comments thrown here and there, leaving Mark no wonder why that idiot couldn't notice any other sounds around him. At least Mark was thankful for that, for now, as he suddenly did not like too much silence.

There was a valid reason behind his tension over something so small but not the possibly approaching storm, as he and Jackson both felt the necessity to move to some safer place. Storms and such were deadly but then up until now it had been, like, their daily life. Always on the move, constantly running and hiding and seeking hideouts, where disastrous deaths would not find them so easily at the hand of mother nature. They've been used to it, especially Jackson: in one month he had trained himself, his senses and his nerve to the point of a weather forecast machine, by which he could inform Mark this morning that their peaceful vacation here was about to be cut short by a stronger storm, cyclone probably included. Maybe someday he can even tell how much time they've left till the Earth truly broke down.

 

That skill was not gifted - Mark did not take it for granted either. It was formed, trained and polished in all those endless day of trying to survive, to keep each other alive and to be always off help. Mark did not know why the younger was obsessed by the idea of making himself useful, but it did, indeed, make their journey become easier. However, no matter how sensitive Jackson was to the changes in atmosphere, he would not be able to pick up the changes of something he had no experience with. That brought Mark to where he was leading now, with both his thrill and his nervousness. Something neither Mark nor Jackson had experienced, since the day they entered this world together.

 

Something. Some living things.

 

Those sounds became more apparent the closer Mark paid attention to it, the farther he stepped out of their storage room. There was only a beam of light following him into the dark hall; even though morning was already passing by, it was still dark inside their closed receptionist hall. All of the hospital's windows had been barricaded before to enhance the building's endurance, which left him no choice but to get a glance at whatever outside through the main entrance. A thick, rusty steel door. Strong enough to stand against destructive impacts caused by the last whirlwind, but not tight enough to prevent the heavy rain afterwards from leaking in and soak the whole floor for good. Mark frowned when his shoes splashed the pool of stagnant water, but processed through anyways. Water was pounding. Pounding, gurgling, and wavering, under his footsteps. Sounds of droplets occasionally splattered on the pool below, brought in a sense of humidity that crept itself into the hall's silence.

Before he could reach to the door knob, however, his wrist suddenly got caught in a tight grip. A familiar voice followed.

"What're you doing?"

Jackson. Of course, it had to be Jackson with his questioning look, this time seemed to be more intense. Mark let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, his body tension followed suit. Only by then did the older notice that Jackson's noisy searching sounds, since when Mark didn't know, had been absent. He followed Mark out.

 

"Why are you here?"

 

"Why you ask? I'm the one who should be asking!" Jackson look utterly displeased and thoroughly unbelievable. Exaggerated as ever, though his serious look was still preserved. Darkness surrounded leaving only a shade of light on his cheekbone, making his eyes even more serious. "Didn't we agree that we would not walk out on our own? You should at least notify me."

 

Or rather, concerned. His eyes color, though also brown, was not as dark as Mark's. It was light-shaded, and it was clear.

 

"It was... nothing. I thought I'd just go check a bit and come back right after." Mark diverted his gaze. Was that him imagining or did Jackson really grow up five centimeters within a night and was standing above him now? Then Mark remembered, right, he was one step below on the steep vestibule. He felt stupid. "Didn't think you would notice soon enough."

 

"Hey I'm not that senseless. You're being dead silent man, than I saw you walked out through the corner of my eyes." He complained. "Luckily I did, or else I would totally be freak out if I just casually look back and realize you've disappeared since God-know when. I would have a heart attack you know, Markie!"

 

"Okay, okay, I got it." Mark raised a hand to stop Jackson's non-stopping mouth, which made him laugh along in the process of their silent wrestle. "I'm sorry."

 

"Accepted. Back to my first question. What're you doing here anyways?"

 

Oh, right. Mark told himself. Jackson's sudden appearance had Mark to forget about the strange noises for a moment, so he lifted his focus outside again. "I think I've heard something." Mark said, and then at that moment he heard it again. He looked up to gesture Jackson to come closer. "Like animals."

 

"Animals? You mean living animals?"

 

Mark had to suppress a laugh at that childlike face Jackson was making. It was only half faking that Jackson became an overexcited puppy with the idea of living animals. Jackson had never seen one before, anyways. "Yes. Or if you think dead ones can still make noises." Mark replied. Dead creatures could not make noises, that was experienced and confirmed throughout their journey up until now. Even Mark cannot be sure if the sound he heard was really from some kind of animals running around, as he only had his childhood memories to rely on in that matter. Memories of the time when not every single body they can found, was dead. "Now stay back."

 

"No." Jackson refused almost instantly, making Mark taken aback by how firm his statement was. "I'll open the door."

 

"What?"

 

"Just let me."

 

And with that, Mark was pushed back by a determined Jackson, as the younger stepped down to take his place in front of the door. From behind his back Jackson could tell how puzzled Mark looked, but he also knew that Mark would not protest any further. He just couldn't let Mark handle everything by himself, again.

 

The rusty door screeched under Jackson's forceful hand, before it slowly slid open. He was met by a particularly strong blast of wind rushing through his whole body, as well as a rich rancid stench of dirty drains, the kind of stench that made people's nose unconsciously cringe. And light, red sunlight, dyed in layers and layers of dense, thick mist. Like a pool of sprayed blood floating in the air.

 

It was hard for Jackson to see anything outside at first, but the red mist got cleared faster as soon as he opened the door. Then he saw what Mark had mentioned. Living animals.

A pair of puppies - for the first time in Jackson's life. Small and white, and looking so soft like two fluffy cotton balls, so soft he could actually pillow his head and freely take a nap - like he always did with Mark's wings. Right, like Mark's wings. That's how comfy those two looked.

The puppy pair looked up. Something clicked in Jackson. His logic.

"Mark."

Jackson had always been said to nurture a weird kind of logic, sometimes even sounded stupid since it was so far off the norms. Or was it called instinct now? When things changed completely, turned upside down in a mere second. Jackson listened to it anyways. The fact that Mark's wings were never just comfy, and there was only one Mark.

 

Hidden under all the white fluffy fur, there were things in those puppies' eyes that made him uncomfortable. He did not like being stared.

"I think we should..."

"They're hungry."

He startled when Mark's voice came up behind him, a gentle push fell on his left shoulder. Before he could look back, he saw Mark walk pass him and into the opening in front. A glance at the older's face told him that Mark was somewhat mesmerized, totally captured as the older fixed his eyes to the front, and for the following minutes Jackson wondered if Mark blinked at all. He looked possessed. A mix of fondness, kind-looking and something like longing took over his gesture, like the way he sat down on his heels beside those little things, a hand held out towards them, letting them snugger into his palm and his fingers. The scene stirred something inside Jackson. Something restless.

 

He had never seen Mark dropped his guard like this, never.

 

As if feeling Jackson's anxiety, the older looked up to him with a happy look in his eyes, and a too-bright smile on his face. He teasingly spoke up.

 

"Don't be so awkward. You're just nervous, come here and be friendly."

Jackson frowned: was Mark the one who just spoke to him about friendliness? It made Jackson almost jump into his mouth and remind the older how rudely he treated him when they first met. Stupid Mark. He was transforming into a puppy in terms of his looks and even his brain, Jackson was sure of that when he saw Mark playing around with those puppies by his fingers. Couldn't he see all the strangeness? Or was it really Jackson who acted strange?

 

No, definitely not. Jackson was always strange and everyone knew that, but this was even stranger. Even though Jackson did not know puppies, but he sure knew what was right and what was wrong, what was considered normal in this reality they lived. "Normal" was like how their daily life passed. "Normal" was all the destruction they saw, all the dust and shattered pieces where they had to find some ways to put together just fine, to live on, and "normal" lied in their constant exhaustion. Jackson still had his nightmares sometimes and so did Mark, though he didn't know what the other saw in those unsettled nights they cuddled together. That was normal and that was their reality. But this peaceful scene of a normal life... it did not seem real.

 

"Ah! Be gentle now."

 

He saw a nostalgic feel flashed through Mark's eyes and at the same time, he knew what was wrong with it. One second Jackson saw Mark his bleeding finger, and the second after that he saw himself rushing to Mark's side and pulling the older straight up. Another second for Mark's alarmed eyes to meet Jackson's, for the other to trust his instinct, and the next thing Jackson saw was red. There was a loud BANG when Mark's wings suddenly soared forward and blocked all his view in a shielding position, along with a ferocious strike which aimed right up their faces. In a mere second his wings swept, smoothly and fiercely in a downward curve that threw their attacker straight to the ground, stumbling and crawling and snorting, barking out saliva with its eyes furiously red. The scene presented behind Mark's wings made both of them stare in horror: bones stuck out from its tiny body, twisted and struggled to form a larger body with fangs and claws and blood that could be seen in any horror movies possible. His instinct was correct. It was abnormal to bring the past "normal" into present.

 

It was abnormal for Mark to let down his guard too, but Jackson would not talk about it at the moment. Or rather, neither of them had a real chance to say anything except...

 

"RUN!"

 

Well said.

 

They did not have time to close the door, nor did Mark get enough space to actually take both of them up and fly to safety (Jackson hoped that those "puppies" were not gained the ability to fly around too). Mark needed wider space for his wings to spread. So there it came a wonderful idea to run into the cramped, self-contained hospital. Damn. It's not like they had a better choice. The two "puppies" had recovered themselves to their feet and sprinted toward them with their maddened speed, forcing both of them to step back into the hospital. Jackson cursed himself for not bringing along the bat he had found three days ago: in almost a month of their athlete journey, this was the first time they had encountered an attack from living creatures. A horde of them. From what Jackson could hear when they leaped up the stairs, there were at least a dozen of something alike crashing in this area, and towards the hospital.

 

"Jackson, left!"

 

Jackson dodged, almost topped over the stairs' wooden rail, making a way for Mark to land a direct hit at the first (so-called) crazy puppy with a flying bench. He spent a precious second to admire how Mark called his name out loud, at the same time catching Mark's hand which was holding out for him, and jumped to the next storey with that. As soon as his feet landed on the floor he began to run again as both of them speeded up to the only open window in this entire building, only stopped to snatch their bags off the floor. The two puppies had been joined with their friends and now hot on their heels, noises of barking and grunting echoed thoroughly in the building. But these would soon be cut off as long as the two of them can reach that window. Now that earth was cracking apart, the sky had become their safe haven in many occasions.

 

They only needed to jump.

 

"Jump first!"

 

"Right!"

 

He only needed to jump, and release all of his foothold. This fifth storey's height without any obstacles was perfect for Mark to make a soaring flight. Yet at that very moment when Jackson faced the open sky all by his own, his body stopped. He was hesitant, unconsciously hesitant to drop himself into the air.

 

That was when Mark crashed onto his back, and they both tumbled out of the window. Their flow disrupted for a good second before Mark could regain his balance mid-air and catch Jackson's hand. But then that second was enough for the twisted beings to catch up and, apparently fearless of falling to their death, jump onto Mark's back, its fangs sunk into his left wing.

 

"Aaah!"

 

He heard Mark groaned in pain, crumbled, strength losing from his grip, and then they both fell. From almost 30 meters towards the Earth, like there was a whole mountain weighing them down, bringing the flying boy back to the law of gravity, and to an inevitable death. Jackson had no time to think about anything, he just followed his instinct, tightened his grip on Mark's wrist and pulled him closer, so that Jackson himself could get a better position. He could feel the older was struggling. Mark was always struggling, and there was always so few things Jackson could do to help.

 

Just when they were about to crash, Mark was finally able to wrestle the being on his back down, gather himself, and take off with a strong flap as Jackson stomped his feet on the beast to get rid of it for good. Wind whirled under his flap, feathers flowed, then Jackson saw the sky again.

 

 

...

 

 

"Stop, Mark. We've got far enough."

 

"We need to get into the city."

 

"For God's sake you're bleeding like crazy Mark! Just land anywhere!"

 

Jackson yelled furiously. For the past ten minutes Mark had flown with frenzied efforts and breathless flaps that were so different from his usually calm and precise flying style; also for the past ten minutes Jackson had felt like explode. He could not struggle or do something extreme because it would hurt Mark more than he had already been. Hanging onto the older's waist like that made it impossible for Jackson to have a look at Mark's wounds, but due to the amount of blood drops splashing onto his arms and his face endlessly, then those wounds must be quite severe.

 

Finally, Mark's stubbornness gave in to his pain: his wings stopped moving, and he let the two of them drive down through thick layers of midst. At first Jackson thought that Mark had lost consciousness, but then when he wrapped his arms around Mark's chest, he could felt the slender body flinched a little bit, and then Mark's other hand found itself on Jackson's back too. Red fog surrounded the city below, too thick for either of them to see anything, but somehow Mark still managed to find a reasonable place for them, and incline his wings a little. It was most probably an apartment on the top floor of some skyscraper. At the exact moment when they went through an open window, Mark folded his wings, turning it into a shield for both of them that cushioned their not-so-gentle landing. They landed with a loud thud, a bone-piercing pain in their back, a long sliding, and finally a collision at the end of the room to stop their track. The impact hit Jackson hard, since he was the one on that side, but he could care less about it. His head was clouded by too many thoughts for him to actually feel anything.

 

Except for one.

 

"Mark!"

 

Jackson jumped up right after that, only to see that his hand and Mark's hand were still linked. The older lay beside him with his wings spread helplessly, blood soaked his entire back. Fortunately he could still respond when Jackson called for him, even making effort to drag himself up to a sitting position. Jackson held him down.

 

"Withdraw your wings, Mark." he spoke, one hand reached out to feel the older's trembling wings. The room was slightly dark, Jackson could not see clearly the extend of Mark's wounds, but he still tried. "You're bleeding."

 

Stupid Jackson, saying such stupid things. Jackson cursed.

 

"I... can't. Once injured, I can't withdraw it until it heals." Mark said casually. His voice returned to a calming, deep tone, and he lifted his head up a bit to meet Jackson's eyes. Mark seemed composed, almost indifferent to his wounds. Jackson hated it. "Don't worry. It'll take only four or five days until it can be used again. We can just move to the ground floor, should be safe enough."

 

"That's not it! I..."

 

Suddenly he stopped. Both of them stopped. Even in his infuriating state just now, Jackson could hear a loud noise of something dropped on the floor, and a soft yell followed. Surely not Mark - as Mark did not think so either. There was a third one in this room.

 

.

---

 

"He annoyed me sometimes, but he's funny."

 

.

Guess who? :3