When Kyungsoo lugs up the stairs to his apartment floor at a couple of minutes past midnight, there are many things he doesn’t expect. He doesn’t expect to cook dinner at this late hour and he doesn’t expect to even be able to get through his door. But most of all, he doesn’t expect to see a unwanted figure of star-dusted jeans and red tied laces leaning heavily against his door frame, jingling the metal Pororo keychain he’s all too familiar with, around long fingers. Kyungsoo almost trips on the overhanging corner of carpet that he’s finally been getting used to stepping over in the last month as he stares at Jongin, running his mind over everything which has just happened. Jongin rests against the painted wooden frame, right fingers buried tightly in his jeans pocket, left foot tucked casually behind the other as he grins a small honey, you’re home late.  Kyungsoo’s step falters and he has half a mind to back down the stairs slowly and scream out for help because there is a maniacal psycho-killer lurking outside his door, and has absolutely no idea what he wants. Jongin seems amused still and it’s beginning to get on his nerves. It is so quiet at this insane hour that Kyungsoo’s believes he can hear the floorboards rock beneath his shoes, even though he is standing as stiff as a garden statue. He cannot, however, hear Jongin - even as the tall man proceeds to slide the rusty key into the lock and turns it loudly with a slight click. Kyungsoo throat closes as he watches the thief slink through the doorway, and he bites his lip as he treads backwards slightly in an attempt to run for his life. His figure stiffens as Jongin’s eyes turn to his suddenly and catches him off guard with a teasing aren’t you going to invite yourself in?

Kyungsoo warily removes his coat and places it neatly on the coat rack adjacent the mahogany dining table, polished beautifully with hardly a single scratch. A snow white vase sits in the middle as a centrepiece, housing a vibrant leafy evergreen and Kyungsoo wipes away a little speck of dust that has settled on one of the leaves. Jongin’s eyes wander around the small yet impeccably spotless apartment, whistling eerie tunes that Kyungsoo wonders if his parents raised him with while Kyungsoo’s eyes follow him everywhere. Stainless crisp white walls guard them from the outside world – brilliant white light floods the living room as Jongin flicks a switch and Kyungsoo reminds himself to wipe it later. He doesn’t know what the thief wants – money, possessions – he doesn’t even know how he had managed to get back to the apartment before him – he didn’t even know how he knew where he lived. Kyungsoo’s eyes widen as he contemplates if he has been stalked. That would explain a lot – how Jongin knew his route from work to the train station, how Jongin knew which train he caught. The tall brunette jumps onto Kyungsoo’s tan suede lounge and pulls his feet up. In an instant, almost as if it were a reflex, Kyungsoo runs over from where he was standing in the kitchen and swats the filthy boots off his clean furniture, even though he knows in his mind that there are bigger problems to worry about. The tanned boy snickers and Kyungsoo hits him with the remote, which happens to only be a light object, a little over half a foot and he suddenly wishes he wasn’t so skinny.

“What do you want here!” he demands, yet his voice doesn’t even remotely sound threatening and he’s positive that he’s basically just embarrassed himself once again. Jongin snickers and shakes his head as leaps up energetically from the couch, hands in pockets and feet mysteriously drifting to the floor without even the softest sound. Kyungsoo runs a small, worried hand through his hair, a habit he’d long gotten rid of as he’d always presented himself immaculately in any situation, and he had always scolded himself for undoing all the hard work in the bathroom that morning. The smaller followed the stranger trailing around the apartment with mild inquisitiveness and Kyungsoo feels a sense of invasion – naturally – as Jongin glances at the low ceiling, various glossy photo-frames housing his family portraits, and neat stacks of paper. Jongin turns on the balls of his feet, a light motion that makes him seem weightless and suddenly Kyungsoo feels as if he’s made out of lead weights. The mischievous smile that plays on his lips isn’t what frightens Kyungsoo. More or less so his eyes – they’re dark yet still seemingly energetic with something strangely unhuman about them, which is why Kyungsoo realises he’s been staring at the too long and he quickly turns away to hide the blush creeping into his pale skin. Strangely enough, even though Kyungsoo fidgets nervously with a loose thread on his shirt and keeps a wary eye on the stranger glancing around his home, he has no mind to run now. In truth, he should be locking himself in the room with the telephone and calling an emergency line. Yet nothing screams at him to do that – he is just oddly mesmerised.

Jongin is scanning his shiny well-kept collection of novels on a bookshelf over by the far end of the living room. Kyungsoo watches as he pulls out a novel and flips through it, paper rustling under his fingers loudly in the silence. He flips all the way to the end and frowns. It’s the first time Kyungsoo’s seen such a sour expression on Jongin’s face and he peeps a small what’s wrong? Jongin turns and traps him with his entrancing eyes. He mutters a bitter it’s a happy ending and Kyungsoo is positive the look on his own face in response is a mixture of confusion, slight horror and an uncomfortable feeling welling up in his stomach at the tough that maybe Jongin isn’t the type of person he wants in his space after all. Jongin carelessly chucks the paperback on the ground and it hits the wooden floorboards with a loud slap and Kyungsoo rushes frantically over to retrieve it. After bending out the creases, Kyungsoo looks up to find Jongin has vanished. He swiftly turns his head around and neither here nor there is Jongin. He pricks his ears up at the sound of glass jars clinking, rubber suction and the gentle humming of cool air. He pulls himself into the kitchenette to find Jongin peering into refrigerator, clearly amused by his lack of food. It is only then, Kyungsoo properly addresses him.

“Are you homeless?” he struggles, even though something tells him that he isn’t. Not when his clothes fit him perfectly, delicately tracing the outline of his lithe figure. He doesn’t appear tired, nor unhealthy or unclean, and Kyungsoo believes he looks like he’s enjoying something in life that he doesn’t quite grasp yet. Jongin snickers under his breath and Kyungsoo find his answer in his action. Jongin closes the fridge door and it back into place and returns to a gentle murmur. Kyungsoo glances habitually at the clock and realises that he really should be asleep by now if he wishes to arrive at work tomorrow awake. He definitely does not want Jongin- this stranger – in his house. “Um, do you mind…leaving?” he tries to put it politely, even though he has no idea why when the person in front of him stalked him on the train, stole his keys, let himself into his home and was now acting as if he lived here. Jongin cockily leans up against the fridge.

“Oh, I’m not leaving,” he laughs, as if Kyungsoo has said the funniest joke in the world, “I’m staying, and I’m going to make your life just a teeny bit more interesting.”

Kyungsoo is scared now. His feet act on their own accord, shuffling towards Jongin and his hands are tugging forcefully on the thin material of his hot tee-shirt as he drags him towards the entrance. Kai almost willingly steps outside and lets Kyungsoo slam the door in his face. He locks it with the key, and bolts it. He runs into the bathroom, legs underneath him quivering as he stares at himself in the mirror. His forehead is hot and various strands of his fringe are plastered to it. There is no denying that he looks frightened. Or more, he looks utterly terrified.

He jumps out of his skin, heart hitting the top of his lungs and feet giving way underneath him as he notices a figure in the mirror, dressed in black, perched lightly on top of the towel rack screwed into the wall behind him. When he swings around, the air seems strangely contorted, as if the objects didn’t match up with their edges. However, apart from that, there was no sign of Jongin. Kyungsoo wipes his forehead forcefully.

After brushing his teeth for exactly five minutes, minus the few seconds he swung around again because he saw a glimmer of glitter dust in the corner of his eye, Kyungsoo rushes towards the bed, frantic to dive under the covers. He’s not certain if he will actually be able to sleep, despite the clock saying that he definitely should. His pounding heart echoes loudly about the dark space as he waits. He doesn’t know why he’s waiting, for Jongin. But suddenly he feels it – another presence in the room, the same feeling that he’s being watched. He flips over and sees the same pair of dark eyes staring at him curiously.

He screams.

Kyungsoo lands hard on the floor and the bedroom light flickers. He’s struggling to get his words out, and they’re stuck like barbed wire in his throat. Jongin turns the light on casually, the light flooding the room eerily. He notices he’s still dressed in his oversized shirt and denims. Kyungsoo fumbles with a hand on the bedside table for something to hold out in front of him. He finds nothing and gulps as Jongin slowly paces towards him, like an animal hunting prey. He stops a couple of steps in front of him, merely gazing down at his shaking figure on the cream-carpeted floor. It’s only then he notices what’s happening, his eyes widening in absolute shock.

He knew it.

Jongin wasn’t human.

Slowly, slowly, he catches a glimpse of feathers, peeking out from behind his broad shoulders. They grow, and grow, and Jongin hisses in pain. The sound is like breaking bones and with every crack of the wings snapping into place, Kyungsoo cringes and covers his ears. The wings spread more and more until the back of Jongin’s shirt is bloody, with ripped holes in his tee-shirt from where the skin is punctured. Jongin pants and chokes down some pain. Kyungsoo wants to run, but his legs are glued to the floor. He can’t take his eyes of the figure in front of him either. He stares. Proud white wings fill up the length of his room, ruffling with the slight breeze from his open window, illuminating the room with a new light. Jongin is covered in sweat and his lip is bleeding a little from where he has obviously bit it to stop himself from screaming. From what Kyungsoo knows, which is very little, about the tales of Angels, they are dead – and thus they shouldn’t feel pain.

Kyungsoo gapes as Jongin eventually smiles, but it is a sinister expression. He grimaces in pain at a slight crack where his wing hasn’t opened up fully and Kyungsoo stutters a little, trying to find his voice.

“I-I thought angels couldn’t feel pain.”

It was only then when Jongin smiles again, revealing a row of small sharp teeth, that Kyungsoo notices his wings are melting – no.

Bleeding.

Bleeding white.

The white drips off slowly, revealing midnight black feathers, glistening like black liquid against his tanned skin. The white stains the floor as it melt, like wet paint, slowly and almost painfully.  Jongin’s pitch black wings are crisp against Kyungsoo’s white walls.

“Who said I was an angel.”

Kyungsoo cries out in horror.

“Let’s paint the white roses red – Alice did say,” Jongin creep closer and places a cold hand on Kyungsoo’s awfully white skin. 

∞