For Jackson, everything was his first time. Everything that belonged to the outer world.

 

"They're dead."

 

"Yeah."

 

He remembered taking his hand off the girl's neck, remember the blanket again being pulled over her small shoulders. The girl looked like she was sleeping on that fairy bed of hers, crowded with velvet pillows and teddy bears, a story book placed neatly beside her head. Her arms folded around her hugging pillow, her blond, curly hair caressed the cartoon-patterned fabric, her little figure cuddled under the blanket that Jackson had just pulled up for her. It looked like she was only sleeping, so soundly sleeping - Jackson thought so too when he entered her bedroom, cozy and neatly decorated with toys, stuffs for baby girl, and lots of things that lay in a calm silence. Lots of care, too. But he knew well enough to understand that no one could be sleeping that peacefully in a house full of death, like nothing had ever happened, like her parents weren't laying on the ground in where they might probably have been preparing their breakfast, like she would wake up from her princess sleep and join them for a bright new day. No, that wouldn't be. Jackson knew it even before he touched the girl's cold skin, even with the house completely intact and nothing seemed disorder. But she was dead. They were, all, dead.

 

"Let's go."

 

He remembered Mark's voice sounded quiet, even quieter than the older normally was. It was the kind of quietness he had heard on their first day meeting each other, somehow, through that long distance from Jackson's crumbled Earth to Mark's blasting sky, through that flaming space, through his esthetic red wings. Jackson did not remember what they had said, but he remembered repeating the sentence again and again. In his subconsciousness, in times when their hands touched, and when he felt Mark's warm beside him.

 

"Don't die."

 

Mark was the first person he met in this world. With time passed and miles of travelling went on, Jackson started to wonder whether Mark would be his last, too. It shouldn't be the case. At least, Yugyeom should be fine. Mark's little brother should be fine and living somewhere, maybe not this dead land they were walking on, but... somewhere.

 

As they walked out of the house, Jackson found himself praying for the boy he hadn't even seen, and for everyone they were supposed to meet in this world. For Mark to actually care for his own a little more. For himself to be stronger.

 

Don't die.

 

 

...

 

 

It was a boy. A teenage boy, standing in the corner of the room - the darkest side - with a small white dog tugged under his right arm and a knife held tightly in his left. That's right, a knife. Sharp, reflective, edge shined with flickers of light coming through the room's curtains. Trembled, terrified. Pointed towards them.

 

Right.

 

Jackson expected the first person he met, aside from Mark, would be a little more polite.

 

Though Jackson himself was not in the mood to be polite either. He felt his blood racing in his veins, and a wave of anger which even Jackson could not identify washing through his head. Mark seemed to sense that silent rage of his, as the older raised a hand to quickly catch his elbow, alarmed. Jackson brushed his hand off, then standing up to face the boy.

 

Apparently the boy sensed it too - or he was just scared. Whatever. Jackson felt his patience dried out quickly as he walked pass the distance, towards the knife that was directed at him. The knife shook even more violently the closer Jackson got, and with every step Jackson made forward came a stumbled effort backward as the boy tried to get farther from him. The boy screamed out in a clearly panic voice.

 

"Don't come any closer! Get outta here, leave us alone then I won't hurt you!"

 

Like you could hurt me, Jackson thought. He was not raised to be a weak who couldn't even handle a scared kid with his unsteady knife. It was only nine centimeters long, most probably a fruit-cutting knife the kid took from his parents' kitchen. But it was still a weapon. With a weapon in hand, he still tried to back away from Jackson. How old was he? Fifteen? Fourteen? He stood even shorter now that he cowered at the very last corner of the room, bare heels hit the wall behind, and so his face turned paler. The boy looked utterly scared, like Jackson was a monster approaching him with not his bare human hands but something so tremendous. And that's what Jackson hated about the whole situation: this damn little kid was way too unprepared. He wasn't any cyclone, any tsunami or any crazy beasts that tore Mark's wings apart, yet that boy couldn't do a thing either. If the kid could lose himself to fear so easily, if he backed away and hid every freaking times, if he was that powerless against a situation as trivial as this, then... how could he survive in a world where no one can?

 

How could Jackson survive in a world where no one can.

 

Because of Mark's mutant power. Because that pair of wings had always protected him and not the other way round. He survived, because of Mark.

 

Jackson hated it.

 

"Drop the knife."

 

"No, please go... She didn't... We didn't do anything..."

 

"I said drop it!"

 

And so Jackson let out his anger. In a split second he shortened their remaining distance with his swift footwork, one hand caught the boy's wrist and the other slammed onto his vulnerable neck by its forearm. There was a loud thud when the boy's head hit the wall behind. He could only let out a weak cry before he started choking on his own breath. There was also a high-pitched barking from that puppy he held. Jackson did not care. For all the time passed by struggling the boy didn't let go either of his hold and Jackson also did not care. He squeezed both of his hands, one with his opponent's trembling wrist at the point of breaking, and the other with just his pure, desperate anger.

 

He didn't even know why he was angry with a little kid like that.

 

"Drop it." Jackson growled. The boy was still struggling to hold his little knife when Jackson applied more pressure onto his wrist, almost bending it to a weird angle. When tears of pain traced down his childish face, Jackson had thought the boy would give up. But then when said boy looked up, unyielding look hidden inside those teary eyes, Jackson knew he was wrong.

 

"If I did, you would... hurt her..."

 

Something broke. Jackson let go of his grip. He knew he was wrong.

 

"Stop."

 

Someone pulled him back by a firmer grip on the elbow; this time Jackson did not brush it away anymore. He heard a deep, soft voice, breathed into his earn by the kind of quietness he had heard before when they both fell down. "Jackson." The voice called. Tender fingers threaded into his palm to untangle the remaining force of his grip from the other boy, and to entwine themselves with his own fingers. "I'm alright, Jackson. He's alright. You're alright."

 

There was a long silence following after that, for Mark to quietly ask the boy whether they could stay at his place for one night, for the boy to nod awkwardly, and for Jackson to catch a falling Mark as he slowly slid down from Jackson's side. His strength was fading when Jackson tore down parts of their clothes to stop the bleeding, but even then Mark was still hanging there. Mark had been awake the whole time. Times when rains started to fall outside, when the red morning sky gradually shifted to gray, and when the sound of rainfall coated a comforting air onto the room's silence. Onto Jackson's silence. That was when Jackson looked up to meet Mark's gaze, to realize that the older was still there with him. And, waiting for him.

 

Jackson faked a smile. Mark did not budge. Jackson then frowned - also to no avail. Finally he dropped his head down and scrubbed his face onto Mark's uninjured shoulder.

 

"I'm alright."

 

Only at that did Mark nod, and his eyes drifted into reverie.

 

...

 

 

 

Jackson was glad that he didn't break the boy's wrist back then. There would be some bruises, for sure, but nothing more serious. Or else he would feel really pathetic.

 

Their stay was longer than expected. Mark did not wake up in the next morning, nor could he spare any response during those gloomy, weary hours after that. Rains continued to cast down endless streams from the heavy sky outside, like waterfalls, pouring non-stop from a bottomless ocean. Sitting at the corner of their shared sofa, Jackson watched as a new wave of raindrops splashed onto the window nearby, his vision blurred with gray, eyes stared vacantly while one hand placed somewhere on Mark's ruffled head. It was both cold, and hot. Cold from all the rains and humid air, wetting surface of damp leather chair, from melancholic sounds of water outside, and from the room's own emptiness. The room was huge comparing to its furnishing, with most of the wooden floor left untouched aside from some scattered armchairs, few stools, a table, an old-fashioned night-light, and a lump of some bed-alike cloths. There were some electronic devices too, but nothing compare to those Jackson had seen at the city suburbs. And it was all cold, even colder and duller than all those lasting rains. Cold, wet air tickled Jackson's fingers; he wondered which one was actually colder, the darkened room or its dusty emptiness.

 

And then hot, too. Under his palm, on the tip of his finger. Mark was.

 

The older stirred a bit in his sleep, making Jackson shift his legs quietly to the left to avoid touching his wounds. His forehead leaned against Jackson's thigh, face hidden under a white shirt that Jackson had found a few days ago, pulled over Mark's shoulders and acted as his blanket. Even through some layers of jeans and damp hair Jackson could feel the heat radiated from the man laying beside him, as well as his shallow breathes. Mark was having a slight fever. Since last night his temperature has been rising and falling casually; as the weather outside went from bad to worse, so was his condition it seemed. But Mark had always been sleeping so soundly. There was little to none when you looked for the changes in his sleeping posture, but however sound he looked like, Jackson could still feel the older's struggle through his intense grip on Jackson's sleeves, now and then. That was partly the main reason why he had sat still at the same place for such a long time, cold hand placing on Mark's forehead in hope of transferring some comfort to the older. In hope, right... It had always been like this despite how much Jackson hated it. Always so few things there was, things that he could really do to alter Mark's lonesome fight. To stand by his stand, and to share his struggle.

 

 

To enter Mark's world.

To protect him.

 

He needed to be stronger. Much, much stronger.

To protect them both.
 

If I did, you would... hurt her...

A small squeak resounded from the room's left side, as the door in that direction screeched open with unpleasant hinge noises. Jackson looked up a bit. Although he tried to appear like not noticing at all, but in his mind Jackson still knew that was where the boy had vanished into not long ago. The boy, yeah. That damn little kid and his damn knife , lacking of everything but stubbornness. Since their little confrontation, the boy had been avoiding Jackson, though he still stayed in the same room with them - at the farthest corner possible - and his eyes sometimes glanced towards the two strangers staying at his place. Mostly with fear. Jackson had caught his glancing eyes quite a number of time, so he could say that this time when the boy reappeared in the room, hands full of necessities and stuffs, was not any different. One third of it was scattered on the floor as the boy flinched from their momentary eye contact. Jackson did not lift his gaze though. He did not make it to be so intense either, just watched indifferently when the boy tried to gather his stuffs really quick, clumsily though, picking up and dropping again, making lots more noises in the process. His puppy pet was running around like cotton balls before getting tugged into his arms protectively, but then again the little thing could probably turned into those living beasts before, which Jackson considered it even more dangerous and capable than his owner was. Jackson was not being paranoid here or anything alike. He was just watching. Observing, quite so. And thinking, getting absorbed at some point or another.

 

Why was he so mad at the boy before? Was it because of the boy's knife? Or was it because of his own reflection? Disappointment? Angry?

 

But... why?

 

Everything in this world was Jackson's first time. For Mark, it was the first time Jackson had a companion. For this boy, the first living human of the outside world he had ever met since, it probably was the first time he got the feeling of being distrusted. Was it normal out there or would it be Jackson's fault? Because Mark had accepted him since the very beginning, Jackson really did not expect that kind of hostility pointed towards him. Jackson was once thrilled to meet other survivors out there, craved for them, but now he was not so sure anymore. To be able to keep his temper and frustration in check when being rejected.

 

He wondered if Mark had ever seen him the same way this boy saw him.

 

His chest tightened.

 

 

Jackson's thought was interrupted by a small clatter on the table. He then realized that his own eyes had been staring aimlessly into the air, meanwhile the boy had finished retrieving his things and was not anymore staying in the place where Jackson looked at. The boy moved, for sure, and to Jackson's surprise he caught a glimpse of the boy standing right beside their sofa, his hands holding stuffs which most probably had just been carrying out from somewhere like a storage. Jackson noticed a cup of water which was placed on the table. He then also notice a roll of bandages, pills, alongside with some canned food which had already been heated with pleasant hot steam floating around their covers.

 

The boy stepped back a bit with his head down, but this time he did not run away right after. Instead, he spoke.

 

"This... um, for him." The boy pointed awkwardly at Mark and those pills in his hand. Just like he was suddenly reminded, he place those pills on the table. "Painkillers and... anti-febrile, to cease his fever. I don't have antiseptic, though."

 

Jackson looked at him, then nodded. He knew he should say something like thanks, but his throat felt too dry to make sounds at the moment. The boy did not seem to expect any response from Jackson either, just standing there unintentionally with his puppy secured in his arms. Shadow casted itself into the boy's standing figure, a dim ray of light outlined his downcast cheek line, round and unedgy, forming his perplexed looking, nervous finger flicking, all of it was making him even more of a child in Jackson's eyes than he already was. Now that the boy was calmer, he looked kind of different without his knife. The boy looked... soft.

 

Now that Jackson himself was calmer, too.

 

"He won't be able to eat all of these." Jackson finally spoke up, gesturing the warm canned food that was just placed on the table. Mark had always ate so little, even less when he was tired. It would be a waste to let the food get cold. "Just eat it."

 

"No." The boy shook. He took a step back without any sign of being scared away, just a simple step back to emphasis his deny. "These was... for you."

 

... Oh.

 

Jackson almost forgot that he had not been eating since yesterday. When he could gather his hoarse voice to speak up for the second time, the boy had once again disappeared into his corner.

 

"Thanks."

 

He guessed.

 

...

 

 

 

It was due to a low purr from somewhere nearby, quietly and pleasantly slipping into the air, that Jackson found himself slowly rising awake. Things was clouded for him at first, like the sound of rain had dulled all his senses for Jackson realized he had been falling asleep with that sound floating in the back of his head. How long had he been sleeping? Jackson felt a bit light-headed, his body was heavy as hell. So it wasn't a short sleep. It wasn't a good sleep, either.

 

Of course it wasn't. A tired sleep was never a good sleep. Jackson was tired. Not physically tired but... yeah, he was tired.

 

Then there came the purring sound, again. Jackson was not used to that kind of soft and throaty sound, but neither did it raise his alert so much. He was truly glad for that. As hard as it was to resurface himself from the exhausting dreamland, Jackson would then want to be woken up slowly by himself and not by some outrageous, deadly things throwing in his face. This time it seemed like he was granted that. But he should not be sleeping or even drowsing, right? He should be staying up and looking after Mark, right, Mark... the Mark who had waited for him patiently before giving in to his drained self, who was so sharp sometimes but some other times just let his mind wander too far, and the Mark whose presence was already so familiar to Jackson for he could actually felt it in his sleep, that the older was still by his side. Mark really was.

Jackson had gathered enough of the strength he needed by then. A few seconds after that, he woke up to the most unexpected face before his eyes, and the most unexpected good morning he could ever dream of.

 

The puppy woofed.

Now Jackson truly felt like being slapped awake.

"What the ?!"

 

Jackson nearly screamed his heart out, his whole body jerked away instantaneously like there was some kind of disastrous events happened. It WAS disastrous, actually! Remember how those same "puppies" turned into flesh-eating monsters in less than a heartbeat? And here he was having one, being held extremely close to his face while he was ing sleeping, so close that he could actually feel its white fur caressing his cheek. , Jackson swore in his panicking mind. , , ! Who the hell did...

 

... Oh, well. Of course. Who could it be beside that precious presence?

 

At the very first sight of Jackson being terrified to death, Mark broke into a big laughter. He rolled on his back, doubled up with his head thrown backward, laughing hysterically and clinging onto the puppy between his hands. The puppy looked very confused and so did Jackson. Good thing was that Mark had woken up, seeming well and healthy all again. Healthy enough to laugh Jackson's face off, at least. Unfortunately that also brought up the not-so-good thing about this situation.

 

It was lucky that Mark decided to spare him a puppy kiss. Seriously.

 

"Could you kindly stop your laugh for a second and tell me when have you befriended that little thing?" Jackson spoke up, sarcastically. His voice cracked for all the scratchy screaming right after getting up just now, and Jackson did not appreciate it one bit. Annoyed, Jackson grumpily got up to a sitting position beside Mark's still laughing mess, only to meet an even more dispiriting sight: the boy who had always sat at the corner ("always" until Jackson fell asleep), now was sitting on the floor right beside their sofa, looking at Jackson anxiously but also with a hint of being amused - though he tried to cover it. Great. So not only the puppy had Mark gotten closer to, but also its owner. Jackson never knew that Mark was a sociable person at first, because damned it, when they met he had not been to Jackson at all!

 

"Can't. Your face looks too funny now."

 

Right, you could spend a few seconds teasing me still, but could not answer my question. Jackson thought bitterly. But Jackson himself could not stay gloomy for long. He was Jackson Wang, at the very least. His instinct told him to jump up and be cheerful for a while, in front of the boy and in front of Mark's playfulness. He should not be gloomy.

 

"Agrr! I'm getting so angry, Mark! You ruined my sleep with that damn puppy and now what? Ignore me for the same puppy? Seriously Mark, I'm reconsidering our friendship already!"

 

He roared, making Mark laugh even harder. The boy flinched at first, looking alarmed, but then Mark reassured him while handing the puppy back to him, almost out of breath from all his laughter. "No worry, he was kidding only." Mark said confidently, as if he was already Jackson's mood-translating specialist.

 

"I'm not kidding!" Jackson protested.

 

"He likes puppies, he's one of them anyways."

 

"What?!"

 

"By the way, I think she is already hungry." Mark ignored him once again, one hand waving comfortably at the puppy inside the boy's hug. He looked clueless for a second (that boy was seriously slow in Jackson's opinion), then replied with a soft voice saying he would take the puppy to some meals and probably a bathing. Before Jackson could properly good morning him (it was almost night time, though), the boy had already exited through that same door. There was a small click followed, returning the room to its natural silence.

 

Only Mark's breathes resounded inside the room. Rapidly, then slowed down gradually between the times when he sat up beside Jackson, and when his head lightly leaned on Jackson's shoulder. He could feel Mark's wings scratched behind his back. Mark's contented sign, eyes closed.

 

"Are you still sulking?"

 

"I'm not sulking."

 

"Hey."

 

Jackson was about to protest again before Mark looked up at him, suddenly making an ugly face. It was so weird that Jackson couldn't even react to it, only stared stone-facedly at the older who was still pulling that face off. Doing that all of sudden was weird enough, but because the one doing so was Mark (and for a good while), it was even weirder. Something stirred inside Jackson's belly.

 

"Err... What was that?" Jackson asked when Mark had returned to his silent nature, once again placing his head on Jackson. Mark did not seem to be embarrassed by Jackson's lack of reaction, luckily, because Jackson also thought that it wasn't anything embarrassing. He was just... amazed.

 

Then Mark started talking. His voice was deep, calming, and gentle.

 

"I saw you once in the lab, Jackson."

 

"You told me that I looked like an idiot already."

 

"Yeah, I did." Mark nodded on Jackson shoulder as he continued. "It was after I had an experiment with them and returned to my room. I saw you through the glass window. You were wearing that same blue shirt as mine back then so I figured you must've just returned from an experiment too. But you were... different. Different from me. You were laughing."

 

"Did it make me an idiot?"

 

"Kind of. Because I hated those experiments. I hated them." Mark let his voice flow by indifferently; however, Jackson was surprised. He did not get to hear Mark's opinion so often, left alone things like love or hate. He turned his head a bit to look at Mark, but the older wasn't looking back at him. His eyes were unfocused, like he was staring into another world. Again. "It was always dark underground, but when I looked into your room, it was almost as bright as the outer world. I wondered why. Not only you, but even them were laughing and playing along. It seemed brighter."

 

"Then, um... why was I the only idiot?"

 

"Aren't you one?" Mark chuckled. "Just kidding. I really wondered why, so I stood there for a long time just to observe. Then I realized it was you who made them laugh. You with your annoyingly happy face. I guessed you were making jokes even though I couldn't hear it, but... yeah, I did feel lighter. I started to admire you then."

 

"Wait, what?" Jackson stared at Mark, almost unbelievably. Did Mark just say that he admired him? Mark, the flying boy, one with excellent testing result and outstanding capability that Jackson had not only heard off, but witnessed throughout their time being outside? Yeah, he really did. Jackson confirmed that after checking his hearing as well as mind-functioning ability. "For real?"

 

"Don't make a fuss over it, I might be throwing stuffs on your face right now." Mark stated lazily. "I just want to be able to cheer somebody up, like you. Just that."

 

After that sentence, Mark let the silence fall once again for Jackson, as the older knew he needed some time to process what he had just heard. Jackson thought, and thought, and then re-thought. His heart felt unusually light.

 

"Then... are you saying that you was trying to cheer me up just now?"

 

Mark nodded, though hesitantly. One thing confirmed.

 

"Did I annoy you?"

 

Mark nodded again. "I like being annoyed."

 

Two things confirmed.

 

The third one... No, Jackson only needed to know those two.

 

"I like your idiot face just now." He smirked. It was the best joke ever, especially when he saw Mark's ears had gotten bright red because of it. The older was shy. "By the way, how did you get close to that gloomy boy? I can't recall you being that friendly, yet you could talk freely to him just during my single sleep? That was fast, Mark."

"He wasn't gloomy, you was. And I didn't, actually. The puppy came to me and I played with it, then the boy followed. I haven't even knew his name."

Somehow Mark's carefree answers just made his heart feel like flying. Jackson then felt bad for ever doubting Mark. He felt bad for ever doubting those things he had decided not to ask since the beginning, for doubting things they had shared together.

Mark was there for them, and he was there for Mark. Long long after that when Jackson thought back, it had always been as simple. The world did not leave so much for them, anyways.

 

If you wasn't there on the cliff, still alive and well,

I was not sure whether I could keep on smiling like I am.

 

...

 

 

That night went by in much comfortable silence. It was really better when Mark was awake then, because he had such a good relationship with the puppy which, in turn, lightened their atmosphere to that of a friendly stay-over. They did not talk much, as Jackson thought the boy was still hesitant about making direct contact with him, and Jackson did not want to scare him off either. Then there we had Mark who was busied talking to the puppy. The boy soon joined him, and by the time morning came Jackson seriously needed a freaking spaceship to fly back to his human's planet.

 

Unfortunately, there wasn't any spaceship here for Jackson to use, but only his alarmed senses telling him that the storm was getting closer. Right, the storm. They had been staying here for two days straight, and although Jackson was not an architect, he knew well by his experience that people should not stay at the highest floor of a skyscraper when storms came by. As Mark also said earlier, they should at least get to some lower floors, now that his wings were injured. It would be safer.

 

"You shouldn't... go down from here."

 

That was the first sentence spoken by the boy this morning. Jackson raised his eyebrows. The boy looked hesitant with sincere concern, like he knew well that something was wrong.

Jackson had never asked the boy if there was still anyone living here, even though he heard them sometimes. He heard movements.

 

"You can show us a safe way, right? Shouldn't you get down too?" Jackson spoke up. In the end he decided not to ask about it because it seemed to terrify the boy, and went for another question instead. More like invitation. Mark looked at him and then at the boy, silently waiting. But the boy just shook his head.

"Since the outbreak I've never left this apartment."

"How about leaving now?"

 

"No."

 

The boy looked away. Shadow fell on his childlike face as his gaze dropped to the floor, the puppy held closely to his chest like he was trying to provide some kind of protection. And by that the boy went distant all over again. He, alone, in his empty apartment.

 

Jackson soon learned that the 'outbreak', whatever it was, had already happened three months ago.

 

 

.