Delivered, a stamp reads on a piece of paper.

Just below it is a space intended for a printed name and a signature. But that space, clearly labelled Signature of Recipient over Printed Name, remained nothing but a blank. If it were someone else, they would have insisted that there had been a mistake, but this is Yoon Dowoon with it, and Yoon Dowoon doesn't think the slightest that there is anything wrong with the piece of paper in his hands.

He breaks into a smile as his fingers find their way over to the edge of the slip.

Signed--with a doctor's hand--Brian.

With a red pen, Dowoon scrawls #142 at the very top, proud despite his handwriting. He'd actually just come home from watching Brian and the other half, Jae, reconciling--crying, wrapped in each other’s embrace, whispering I missed yous and I love yous. The whole shebang. (He’d left before the other sort of banging could happen. He prefers to keep N away from SFW, thank you very much.)

So it's another package signed, sealed, delivered. Another job well done. He files the slip in a red folder.

It’s such a beautiful thing--love. 

It’s going to be his turn soon. 



Yoon Dowoon. Deliveryman. Not just your average deliveryman though. (Hold on to your seat, you won’t believe this next bit.) He’s a messenger exclusively for cupids. That’s right, those winged guys that shoot heart shaped arrows from their tiny bows. Except that's all just fictitious imagery, save their wings. (Disclaimer: Cupids do not, and have never, resorted to violence in order to make hearts flutter.) Dowoon would be the one to know, because he was in fact a cupid once. He gave up being one a few years back--his majestic white wings included--all so he could live among men; to become one. Call him crazy, but there was just something about humans that drew him in. And he wanted in. 

Dowoon’s now just one package away from completing his contract, unbinding him from his angel form and allowing him to become human--for good. Don’t ask him about the terms though, he had signed the contract without going through it, nodding like a bobblehead in agreement to whatever his superior had to say. He was, in fact, too preoccupied thinking about what to write in that thing humans called a bucket list. (Imagine his excitement when he found out what the list was for. There's actually a system to all this madness?!)

In the end, all he knows is that he has to deliver 143 packages.

How hard can it be?

His job is simple--he just needs to send packages at the right timing, or the wrong one, which is technically still going to be the right one. Like how he’d sent Jae’s package a day early (it was about time Brian realized what was slipping through his fingers). That's about it.

Piece of cake.

He boasts a perfect run; the best stats in his batch. Once he's holding the package he's been assigned with, Dowoon goes full on homing missile mode until he reaches his target. And 11 out of 10 times the recipient accepts his deliveries. That's all thanks to his reliable internal compass and powerful intuition. (Being an angel has got to have its perks.)

It's a no brainer really.

But here's the thing, remember Dowoon not paying attention to his superior? Well, he's going to regret that because he has no idea he's about to lose his "perks" on the day he delivers his last package.



So it's no surprise that on D-Day Dowoon experiences his first panic attack. A few seconds ago, he knew exactly where he was meant to go, he knew exactly who the recipient was and even down to the smallest detail of why the package had to be sent. Imagine his shock when the letters on the waybill suddenly begin scrambling.

When the letters settle down, there’s a new recipient: Kim Wonpil. He thinks it's just some sort of glitch, so he waits and waits and waits a little bit more for his intuition to reboot, to restart, to make him feel something--anything. But when all he feels are his palms breaking out in a cold sweat, he knows something's gone terribly wrong. He's left with a package without any clue who this Kim Wonpil person is and more importantly where this person lives. There's an address of course, but with his internal compass blocked, maps and directions are just lines and letters that don't make sense.

Dowoon stands at a fork in the road. 

Left?

He wiggles his toes hoping for the usual tingling sensation in his feet to return. Still nothing. Now it's his feet that's starting to sweat.

His chest continues to tighten as he stares at the package. 

Deep breaths, Dowoon. Deep breaths.

Then he hears music playing, it’s faint but it’s there. Beautiful yet lonely, like it were empathizing with him.

Dowoon feels the invisible grip on his chest start to loosen.

Or right?

Dowoon finds himself looking to the direction of the music. 

Without any idea where he’s supposed to go, he holds #143 securely in his hands, takes a deep breath and decides to follow his intuition (or whatever that's left of it).

The music is coming from a small music store. The pianist performing is drawing attention, but the onlookers only stop for a while. Dowoon is different--he stays. In fact, when the performance ends, and the small crowd begins to disperse, he pleads for them to stay. It can't end just yet. He wants one more performance and the pianist needs his audience. Until he remembers that only those he delivers to can see him. So he ends up standing outside the shop, alone, watching with disappointment as the pianist puts away his sheets and closes the fallboard.

"Encore!" Dowoon suddenly shouts out in frustration at the top of his voice, which is very deep, mind you, so he sounds like he's angry; like he's being rude, but of course he's not.

It doesn't matter, the pianist can't hear him anyway. Or does he? Because the pianist whips his head towards Dowoon, making eye contact.

His hearts leaps in his chest. It's impossible! Dowoon bumps into a trash can as he backs away, his package falling to the ground with him.

Something sounds like it shatters.

“Oh no!” He struggles to get back on his feet.

"Are you okay?"

Dowoon turns towards the voice, promptly falling flat on his bottom once again in surprise. There’s someone crouched beside him, and is too close for comfort. But that isn't his biggest concern at the moment.

"Y-You can see me?" Dowoon asks, a little confused that he can't seem to make out the person's face. 

"Of course I can, I'm not blind..." The guy replies, amused.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you..." 

Dowoon realizes there's something wrong with his vision. He s around for the package, a mere brown blur right in front of him.

"What's happening?! I-I can't see!"

He hears the guy beside him chuckle. "It's because your eyes are filled with tears..." 

Suddenly there are hands on his cheeks, followed by fingers gently brushing his eyes. This warmth. Dowoon finds himself trying to follow the warmth that leaves him, as the hands pull away.

He blinks his eyes open, his vision, cleared.

"Tears...?"

Dowoon can’t help but stare. The pianists features are sharp, perfect, like they had been chiseled by The Creator, Himself. But even then, there remained a gentleness. It must be his eyes--mesmerizing, like stars plucked from the sky, but warmer, stars closer to home.

"Yes, tears." The pianist smiles, giving off more warmth. 

He's just like the sun, it finally clicks.

Everything about him is so friendly and inviting. Dowoon already feels like he's known this man for so long.

He's gorgeous, Dowoon thinks to himself. Perhaps... is it possible?

"A-Are you like me?" he dares to ask.

"Like you? Umm... What are you exactly?"

Dowoon replies angel in such a small voice, the pianist doesn't hear him. He would've dared to repeat it, if only the guy hadn't given him an odd look.

"I'm human!" he quickly lies, kinda, well he is almost human.

"Of course you are! And so am I."

Dowoon can't help but hide his disappointment. He flinches as he shifts from his position. Then he remembers something of importance. He forces himself to break eye contact, turning to the box on the ground. 

"Oh no, my package!" He lifts it and it makes a clinking sound.

"What's wrong?"

"M-My package. I'm supposed to deliver this today. It's the last one... But I destroyed it! I-I worked so hard for this... I-I..."

"Dowoon?"

Dowoon looks up at the pianist in surprise.

"How..."

"Your ID."

"R-Right... Sorry. I-I have to go and figure this out. I'm in so much trouble!"

"Dowoon, hey. Hey! Listen to me. It's going to be okay-"

"You don't know that! You don't understand how important this is for me!"

"Don't cry!" The pianist laughs at him again, not in mockery, but rather in fondness. "Do you know why I think it's going to be okay? Because it's for me."

"What?! I-I don't understand... It can't be! I'm supposed to recognize who this is for. You can't be-"

The pianist holds the package where Dowoon's hands are. "I am Kim Wonpil."

Dowoon feels it again--the warmth--but this time it spreads through his bones. He shivers, in a good way, because everything about Kim Wonpil's touch just feels so right--warm, soft, reassuring. He finds his racing heartbeat slowing down, matching the pace of Wonpil's pulse against the back of his hand.

"You're not lying to make me feel better, are you?" Dowoon pulls away.

"I'm not lying. I promise you." He smiles yet again.

Do you ever, not smile?

"Okay, I believe- no, I trust you. You better not destroy that trust, or you'll regret it."

"You know what? You speak really oddly. The way you’ve been talk- Oh my god... Dowoon..."

"What?"

"Your hand, it’s bleeding..."

Dowoon panics. No one must see that his wounds heal. He tries to hide his hand but Wonpil grabs him by the wrist. A piece of glass was lodged deep in his palm, a fragment of a broken bottle where he fell.

Blood trails down Dowoon's arm. He waits in horror for the wound to close, but it doesn't. Instead, more blood.

It only means one thing.

Before it sinks in, Dowoon begins to feel lightheaded. The foreign smell of blood, like liquid metal, was becoming stronger, more nauseating, as he continued to bleed from the wound.

“Oh my god…” Dowoon looks excited more than anything. “I... I… did it… I-I’m…”

Dowoon can't hear himself say the last part, he isn't even sure if he's able to say it--the ringing in his ears too loud.

What's happening?

He tries to stay focused, tries to fight the dizziness, but it's impossible. For the first time, Dowoon feels afraid. He grabs onto Wonpil with his remaining strength. Please don't leave me, he tries to say--hopes he was able to. He sees Wonpil nod, a glint of worry in those gentle eyes. Dowoon now understands what it feels like to be safe.

And so he let's go.

++++++

The first thing Dowoon sees when he wakes up is Wonpil--Wonpil with another man. A flashback of the scrambling waybill and he recalls the person's name.

Wonpil breaks into laughter to something the guy whispers in his ear. 

Park Sungjin...

Dowoon raises his hand wrapped in a bandage, examining it. He tries closing it into a fist and regrets it immediately.

Humans are fragile beings, he thinks to himself.

His thoughts are interrupted, as Wonpil and Sungjin’s laughter fill the ward once again.

They sound so happy. They.

Dowoon keeps his hand high, blocking Sungjin from his view--now it’s just Wonpil standing infront of him. But not for long as he too disappears behind his bandaged hand, joining Sungjin. 

His hand begins to throb.

So this is what pain feels like. 

"Dowoon! You're awake!"

Dowoon drops his hand faster than he had intended, pain spreading through his arm.

Wonpil is smiling at him, wide eyed, full of relief. Sungjin, not so much as a worried look (a half hearted smile maybe?). Wonpil starts to approach, but Sungjin stops him, whispering something in his ear. Wonpil grabs a hold of the hand on his shoulder--Sungjin's hand. "Wait for me." Dowoon hears Wonpil say.

The pain in his hand doesn't seem to be leaving him, nor does the dull ache in his chest.

Don't come near me. Don't come near me!

Dowoon makes a quick survey of the room. He'd jump right out the window if it didn't mean jumping to his death (and what a pathetic life it would have been, he hadn't even started a bucket list yet). He regrets giving up his wings for the first time. The second option would mean having to go through Wonpil and Sungjin to get to the door and that's exactly what he's avoiding. So basically, he's trapped in the room, with no way out.

Stay away from me!

Dowoon shuts his eyes tight. He waits for what seems like eternity, until a hand touches his.

"Don't touch me!"

"Dowoon..." It's not Wonpil's voice. "You're going to re-open your wound at that rate." Someone opens his hand gently. He hadn't realize he had balled it into a fist. "It must have hurt..."

Dowoon wills his eyes open.

"B-Brian...?"

The man in a white doctor's coat scrunches his nose, uncomfortable with the name Dowoon called him with. “Dr. Kang Younghyun,” he corrects his patient. “It’s nice to see you again. Well it's a shame our second meeting had to be here, of all places..."

Dowoon looks around the room.

"Don't worry I asked them to leave, they were being too loud."

“Dr. Kang, is it okay for me to leave now?”

“Are you in a hurry? Off to deliver another package?”

“N- Actually, yes. I have to deliver-“

“You sound nervous... You're not lying to me, are you?"

“NO! I-I mean, y-yes? I'm not lying!"

A small laugh. “Dowoon, I know. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

He knows?! “I-I don’t have a secret! I’m-“

“I know you’re not a deliveryman Dowoon. Not for the company written on your ID at least. I called them and they said there’s no one named Yoon Dowoon who works for them.”

“You must have called the wrong-“

“Calm down, I’m here as your doctor, not as an investigator. I don't plan on interfering with whatever it is that you’re hiding. Actually, I’ve been hoping I'd see you again. You probably don’t know, but you had done me and Jae a huge favor, and I’ve been meaning to thank you.”

“I was just doing my job,” Dowoon replies quietly, ears turning red.

“So, tell me..."

"Tell you what?"

"Do you like my friend Wonpil?”

Dowoon jerks back, as if the question were a bullet straight out of a gun.

“Excuse me?!” He rubs his head, which collided with the headboard, gingerly.

“You probably don't remember but you refused to let go of his hand, and you kept murmuring his name while I was stitching your wound. And don't tell me it's the anesthesia..."

“What?!”

Younghyun tries to hold back laughter seeing how flustered he had made Dowoon. “I want to be able to return the favor. If you want to know anything about Wonpil, I can give you answers.”

“I don’t need answers.” Dowoon replies, resolute.

A ringing of a cellphone and Younghyun starts for the door. 

“I would stay and badger you a bit more, but I need to go and check on my other patients. I hope you change your mind Dowoon. I don’t want to be forever indebted by you,” the doctor says in a good-natured manner. “I’ll talk to Wonpil and tell him to prepare your discharge papers.”

“Wait!” Dowoon can’t hold it in any longer, the curiosity had been gnawing at him. “Who's Sungjin?”

“Who’s Sungjin? Oh! Is it Sungjin who you like?”

“What?! No!”

“Aha, you mean, who Sungjin is to Wonpil?”

Dowoon doesn’t reply and instead fiddles with the bandage on his hand. But the moment Younghyun starts speaking, he sneaks a glance and listens intently.

“They’re brothers… Not by blood obviously. Sungjin sorta adopted him, took him under his wing if that makes more sense. Were you jealous?” 

The sound of Younghyun’s laughter bounces off the walls.

“Thanks…” Dowoon says with so much sincerity that Younghyun stops.

“Wonpil’s a nice guy, and I think you are too. I say, get to know each other and see where it goes from there.”

A knock on the door disrupts their conversation. “Can I come in?” It’s Wonpil. Just Wonpil.

“Sure…” It’s Dowoon who gives the permission. And Younghyun also takes it as his cue to leave.

A huge smile forms on Wonpil’s face as he enters. Dowoon finds it so infectious, he can't stop himself from smiling back.

They start off with the common courtesies: How are you feeling? I'm fine. I was worried. Thank you. Then they fall silent, unsure of what else there is to talk about.

It takes a while, but Dowoon finally decides he's going to have to start making the most out of his mortal life. It's now or never.

"Do you have a pen and paper?" Dowoon breaks the silence.

"Not right now... Why?" Wonpil replies, confused, but with a smile nonetheless. Dowoon's quirks were growing on him.

"Can you remember this for me? I'm making a bucket a list."

"Of course! You asked the right person! I have a great memory. And so does my cellphone!"

Dowoon doesn't understand why Wonpil's giggling. Is something funny? Should he laugh as well?

"Why are you smiling? Is something funny?" Wonpil blinks at him.

What?! You were the one who- Nevermind, I knew I shouldn't have copied him... Being a human is more complicated than I had predicted... 

"So, what's number one on your bucket list?"

"Right..." Dowoon clears his throat. "I want to learn how to play the piano..."

"Learn how to play the piano..." Wonpil types on his phone.

"...with you."

"...with you...?"

Wonpil meets Dowoon's eyes.

A smile.

Wonpil hits backspace a couple of times.

"...with me."