"Are you tired?" he asked, slightly concerned by her blank stare at the wall.  She blinked too slowly as she shook her head.  Smiling in a sort of apathetic way, Minwoo stood up and kneeled directly in front of her, watching her blink slowly, too tired to be aware that he was before her.  He repeated his earlier question and she seemed to stir a bit.  This time, she nodded.  A small smile graced his lips at her changed answer.  Showing her his back as he turned around, he offered her a piggyback ride to her room.  She accepted, moving onto his back slowly.  Her arms hung over his shoulders on either side, her hands hanging limply.  Smiling again at her choice not to have any other-than-necessary contact with his body, he shook his head, snorting.

He walked slowly down the hardwood-paneled floors of the hall, his socked feet maneuvering quietly.  Carrying Mindeulle was like carrying a small child--not, by any means, difficult in the slightest.  Her lack of weight often bothered and worried Minwoo.  She had gained weight after moving in with him, but certainly not enough to be considered healthy.  There were starving people he had met in Africa that were heavier than she was.  That particular fact is what worried him sick.

He opened the door to her room, careful not to jostle her too much as he shifted her weight to free a hand.  She was probably already sleeping, so there was no reason to wake her just to open a door.  Stepping inside, he looked around.

The walls were painted a light, easy-going pale yellow, the floors a glossy bamboo hardwood.  Her room was bare, without much furniture.  There was a simple, one-paned window with plain white blinds and curtains on the opposite wall.  A large square blanket was unfolded on the floor, a tall pile of others resting on top and two cylindrical neck pillows near the edge--her bed.  There was a low table situated in one corner of the room.  On it were a collection of old photographs, ones taken over a decade ago.  They were pictures of her and her mother, smiling happily for various reasons.  In one, Mindeulle was blowing out the candles of a cake with five candles stuck into it, her mother, a beautiful woman, was wearing a wide smile and was clasping her hands together as she watched her daughter with happy eyes.  Another was of Mindeulle on a swing, smiling brightly with her mother pushing her, an equally bright smile pressed onto her lips.  There were a few photos just of her mother, sitting on the porch of a worn house, sipping out of a mug; happily eating a piece of chocolate cake; sitting in the grass, rubbing her pregnancy stomach.

Minwoo swallowed as he looked over the pictures, pitying the woman on his back.  Also, he pitied himself for his tell-her-what-is-best-for-her-now personality that prevented him from telling her what was best for her later. 

Sighing, he tore his eyes from the framed pictures and began the process of putting Mindeulle to bed.  Just as he thought, she was asleep.  Carefully setting her on the big blanket,  he put a pillow beneath her head.  Taking a blanket from the stack, he laid it over her, tucking her in.  Pulling another over her sleeping form, he carefully laid down next to her on his side, studying her angelic face.  He pushed a stray lock of hair away from her face, smiling as she stirred slightly.

"Mianhae," he apologized, his smile fading slowly. "I'm so sorry for not telling you."

He looked at her for a long time, her hair.  A tear rolled over his nose.

"Will you hate me when I tell you?" he wondered aloud, her cheek with his thumb.  He swallowed, the lump in his throat protesting painfully.  He pressed his lips in a tight line to keep them from quivering.  His eyes slipped shut as tears ran down his cheeks, one by one.  They fell with soft, half-already-absorbed taps on the blanket.  Wiping his eyes with his sleeve, Minwoo sat up.  Taking one last look at her, brushing her cheek once more, he stood and quickly thereafter exited her bedroom.  He dragged his feet slightly as he slowly meandered down the hall to his own bedroom.  Reaching the handle to his bedroom door, he glanced down the dark, moonlit, and seemingly desolate long corridor, looking at the cherry-stained door.  Behind its fibers, an angel slept, her downy white wings tucked under flesh, hidden from mortal eyes.  Behind its fibers, his very own angel slept, cherubic facial features untouched and perfect.

He was the one who would be the person to rip out her wings, tear feather from flesh and bone.  He would hurt her.  He would maim her so badly, so horribly.  He was a coward; he knew better than anyone.

Hissing, as if in pain, as he tore his eyes from her door, he quickly swung his own open and stepped inside the threshold.  Feeling slightly better as it click!ed behind him and created a barrier between his sins and his holy angel, he walked toward his bed and sat on the edge.  His hands came to support his head as he rubbed his tired face, flustered by his own lack of courage.  He swallowed before he laid back on his firm mattress, remembering that day.  The day she almost found out.  A day much like earlier today.

The sun had been shining, the light nearly blinding him as it reflected off the Winter's snow.  All the small creatures had been tucked away for safekeeping in their dens, having had already consumed all the food they could get their paws on.  The sky had been a lavender-periwinkle combination; few clouds had littered its canvas.  The wind had blown cold and fierce, hissing as it bit at any exposed skin, whipping passed his ears, its breath stinging with cold words.

He had said he was out to buy a new set of guitar picks and had remembered something about mentioning picking up dinner, but all of this had just been a cover for him to get out of house.  He had pulled the scarf Mindeulle had bought him over his mouth as he stepped into the corner-side store.  A bell had twinkled and chimed as he pulled open the door as he had wiped his shoes on the small mat in the doorway.

"Hello, may I help you?" a middle-aged woman had asked from behind the lit glass counter.  He had looked around slowly as he stepped further inside, taking in the warm brown-painted walls and the soft carpet; the framed photos of merchandise hanging tastefully from the walls.  Large crystal chandeliers had been hanging from the ceiling.  Many lit cases had been set up throughout the room, displaying jewels of a wide variety.  The counter-case in front of the woman had held gems of all shapes, sizes, and colors, but all had sparkled, winking at him from behind the glass.

"I'm looking for an engagement ring," he had said, looking intensely at all the jeweled bands in the case.

"Looking to pop the big question, eh?" the woman had smiled a maternal smile, one of the genuine ones you couldn't help but smile back at.  The woman herself had been quite large for such a petite lady, especially around the middle.  She was dressed in a pair of black slacks and an expensive-looking pale rose turtleneck.  She had laughed, a high giggle. "What's the lucky lady's size?"

Minwoo hadn't really thought of that detail prior to being asked.  He had decided her size would definitely be very small, but he couldn't gage what a comparison point would be.

"They say that if the ring that fits a man's smallest finger fits a woman's ring finger, they are a match made by destiny," the woman had mentioned as she blinked, watching as his eyes traveled the rings in the case.  "We also offer custom engagement rings.  You can choose the cut, setting, and you have the choice between a gold or silver band."

"In that case, I'd like to do that." he had responded.  She had retorted with a series of question and displays, showing him the minute differences between each combination.  In the end, he had created a simple ring suitable for Mindeulle--a simple and elegant silver-banded, princess-cut solitaire, two-carat diamond engagement ring. 

Minwoo sat up, reaching into his bedside dresser.  Feeling around for the velvety box, he pulled it out and held it in his lap.  He the velour-covered onyx box, snapping it open to reveal the shining diamond ring he knew he couldn't present to her.  It would be far too much of a shock; she wouldn't be ready for it. 

Every time he looked at it, at the words "TIFFANY&CO." embroidered on the inside of the box, his heart broke a little more, knowing that he would probably never get the chance to express his feelings to her.  He couldn't, for fear that she would run away and never return to him.  He was cowardly and selfish--cowardly for being unable to let her go; selfish for wanting to keep her with him even if it meant never being able to confess his feelings.

His throat began to knot and bunch as he fought back the emotions that stirred inside of him.  He carefully closed the ring box and set it back into the drawer.  The sound of crinkling paper alerted him to the other secret sin held in that table.  Reaching in, he pulled out the single piece of paper lying inside, tears springing to his eyes as he read over it again.

The paper he was holding was headed with the words "Certification of Death".  Under "Full Name of Deceased", read the name "Song Haemin".

This was the straw that would break the camel's back.  This was the secret sin that would bring her whole world crashing down before her own eyes.  This was the secret sin that would tear his angel's wings out, ripping feather from bone and flesh.