“Some say I'm a devil....... Some say I'm an angel...... I guess it depends on the circumstance..... For you I'm an angel.........”.

Sungmin said this to himself over and over as he lay alone in his cold bed. The more he repeated, the less he understood. What did he even mean by that?

An angel..... My angel......

This thought swayed him, caressing him as he fell into a deep, calming sleep.

*

The next few days mirrored the first few: Sungmin cooking and cleaning up after Kangin whilst he ignored him in favour of his new companion. Jealousy still brewed within him at Kangin favouring the man's company over his own, but now, there was added jealousy caused by Kangin spending time with the man – his angel. These feelings met in the middle, creating a vicious tornado that ripped at his insides. It was getting to the point where he couldn't even bare to be in the same room as the two.

To avoid them, he would generally busy himself with the housework, using up the energy that he really didn't have as he had barely touched a morsel for food, eating less now that the man was here. His clothes hung looser and his face was gaunter, exhaustion painting prominent circles around his eyes. Most of the time he would walk around in a trance. The only thoughts that were in his mind were those concerning the two men. His inability to focus on anything other than that, his hands were littered with new marks from when he had been cooking and not taking any notice. A burn from the cooker; a cut from a knife while chopping. But what are a few more marks on his already marred body?

His presence was not missed. It was only desired when Kangin wanted something. He would fulfil the wish promptly but even then, he would be looked upon with disgust by him. The man would present him with the same unreadable glance, sometimes not even giving him that. On those events, the man would physically turn his head away as if making the conscious effort not to look at him, to not even glance upon him out of the corner of his eye. Sungmin saw this as rejection and, although he would not like to admit it, it hurt him. Was his angel rejecting him? No matter how ridiculous the label of angel seemed, it had offered Sungmin some sort of temporary subconscious comfort.

That he was being rejected was not right. The truth was that the man couldn't bare to look at him. Not out of disgust; it hurt him to see him. He'd seen cases like this in the past, the majority of which not having the slightest effect on him, but there was something in Sungmin's eyes that made him feel so desperately in want of helping him. A hopelessness.

*

On the sixth night, Kangin hadn't come to bed. Waking up in the still empty bed, the first thing Sungmin did was panic about where he was. Propelling himself out of bed, he quickly made his way out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Where is he? Once downstairs he frantically checked every room. Kangin was no where to be found. On the verge of tears he ran into the kitchen. The man was there. Sungmin felt his heart hitch up into his throat. Looking up slowly from his coffee that was resting between his hands, the man opened his mouth to speak before being rudely interrupted by Sungmin who shouted out hurriedly:

“Where is Kangin?! I can't find him anywhere!” he was panting in shear panic, jumping to the conclusion that the worst had happened. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, slowly falling down the side of his face.

Observing him with a confused but curious expression, the man answered: “Kangin is in the bed that I have been..........”

“What?” Sungmin interrupted him again, a ferocious expression spreading across his usually innocent looking face.

Furrowing his eyebrows in frustration, and now looking slightly angry himself, the man spoke: “He is in the bed I have been sleeping in. I did not sleep in it with him. Calm down. Do not misunderstand.”

“Why is he there then?” Sungmin spat in response, not even waiting for an explanation before demanding one.

“I said calm down...... He was drunk I thought it best not to put him in the same bed as you, so I put him in that bed. I slept downstairs on the sofa. We did not share a bed,” the man responded firmly, staring strongly into Sungmin's, compelling him to understand.

Confused and refusing to understand, Sungmin protested angrily: “Why shouldn't he be in the same bed as me? That's the only place he should be to sleep. With me!” His fists were clenching slightly by his sides as he didn't quite believe the man's explanation.

“If you do not understand the connotations behind what I am saying. I will not explain it to you.” Was the clam reply, his eyes once again looking at him with disinterest.

“You're right, I don't understand,” Sungmin answered, attempting to stare the man down, unsuccessfully, before deciding to leave. Turning to leave, he was stopped still as the man spoke again.

“You are a fool. You should really stop panicking as much as you do about a man that does not even care if you are alive,” his tone was cold and dry, his words maliciously cutting into Sungmin.

Sungmin's back was to the man but he could feel his gaze burning into his skin. Feeling anger building he was about to turn and shout, defend himself, but the suffocating feeling that the walls were closing in on him prevented him. Quickly he exited the kitchen. The man continued to watch him as he went, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head in despondency.

*

On the seventh night, Kangin called him into the living room demanding another beer; his eighth of the night. The man, as usual, drank nothing. Obeying his order as promptly as usual, Sungmin returned with the beer. Arm outstretched, he passed the beer to Kangin who took it with his left hand. Just as Sungmin was about to reel his arm back in, Kangin roughly grabbed hold of his wrist and used it to yank him towards him. The still tender burn marks stung from the contact; his weak wrist feeling as if it could snap like a brittle twig under the force of Kangin's large hands.

“Seen this,” he snarled, “this ing pathetic excuse for a man. Just look at the state of him! Have you ever seen anything as disgusting?” The question was offered to the man who sat opposite, his face as stoic and unfaltering as usual.

Standing up, Kangin moved his vice like grip to Sungmin's upper arm, mirroring the grasp with his other hand on Sungmin's other arm. Staring daggers at Sungmin, he started to shake him violently. If looks could kill. He was so strong there was nothing Sungmin could do, his body taking on a rag-doll quality as it was being shook backwards and forwards with ferocity.

“I absolutely can't stand him!” he spat, his beer stained breath reeking as it poisoned the air around Sungmin. He whimpered in fear as Kangin's attack never faltered, his hands squeezing him with a bruising force.

The man was now watching with wide eyes, but his body unmoving.

“Absolutely disgusting!” He spat again before releasing him without warning, his body crashing to the floor with a deafening thud. He was unmoving for a few minutes, his body finally giving up on moving from built up exhaustion. Kangin stood over him, his face red and a purple throbbing vain protruding in his neck, just staring down at him angrily before he started to unfasten his belt.

“I'll teach you a ing lesson!” he bellowed, pulling the belt entirely from around his jeans. Folding it in half he knelt down in front of the trembling man who was now curled up into the foetal position. Just as he was raising him arm the man, having seen enough, got up from his seat and left the room.

The vicious crack of leather on skin came as he walked though the doorway, continuing as he walked up the stairs matching his footsteps in some kind of devilish rhythm. Each crack was joined in synchronisation with a sharp cry.

The man entered the room he had been sleeping in and sat down on the bed, instantly dropping his head into his hands. His body was now shaking uncontrollably.

“Just a few more hours. Hold on for a few more hours,” he chanted to himself as if reciting some sort of poem. Downstairs he could still hear the piercing cries as the whipping continued. With every hit, he could feel his anger building. Then as quickly as it had come, it all stopped and the house was filled with a suffocating silence once again. Feeling uneasy, the man lifted his head again, listening carefully for any noise. There was none. He was glad that the whipping had stopped but the anger was now replaced with a building panic at why it had stopped. Standing up, he started to pace the room. His mind was a-mess with thoughts that bounced around. Making his mind up to go down, he strode over to the door, stopping in his tracks as he heard the sound of stomping travelling up the stairs. The banging was followed by angry mumbling of vicious names. It was Kangin. Waiting for Kangin to be out of sight before he left his room, the man waited for the sound of a door clicking shut.

When it came, he hurriedly opened his own and practically flew down the stairs. Stopping at the bottom step, he peered into the living room, standing on his tip toes to try and see over the sofa to where Sungmin had been laid. The television was still on but was only playing static; a crackling buzz as white dots flickered about on the redundant screen. Giving up on trying to peer over the sofa at Sungmin, the man walking into the room, but more timidly compared to how he had frantically ran down the stairs. He wanted to see him but was afraid of what he would find. Rounding the sofa, Sungmin's crumpled body came into view. The bright light from the television was like a spotlight on his form, illuminating him like an angel. He was laid in the same foetal position in front of the sofa as before but now his once white shirt was stained with fresh blood on his back and side. It was practically hanging off his back due to rips in several places. Next to him lay the weapon.

Fearing to worst and not being able to wait another second, the man threw himself down to his knees next to Sungmin. Not quite knowing what to do, his hands hovered over Sungmin's un-moving form, shaking uncontrollably.

“Sungmin?” he spoke, hoping for a reaction. His eyes traced over his body, the tell-tale white light highlighting every fresh wound visible through the torn shirt, almost exaggerating them. Some were deeper than other but all had broken the skin.

Not hearing anything, the man spoke again: “Sungmin?”

Not a sound was elicited.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*Pulls self up from floor* I don't know where that came from.......

Sorry for cliff hanger, but I couldn't help myself.

This is the penultimate chapter and there shouldn't be too long a wait until the next one.

Thanks for reading :D

XO