I edited the first chapter and then decided to just post it with the second chapter as one ..

sorryy this took so long.

 

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his soul was like a colourful dream

in a world of muted gray nightmares.

 

 

 

 

 

“Incoming ER!”

 

Save him.

 

Please.

 

“Good afternoon, Chanyeol. A pretty slow day, isn’t it?”

“Good afternoon, Yixing. Yeah, the ER’s unusually calm this morning. What do we have here?”

 

God, are you there?

 

“Unknown male. Got hit by a car. A broken leg, punctured lungs, a big gash on his head. Losing lots of blood, and fast.”

 

God?

If you’re there, please listen to me.

 

“Get out of the way! Patient coming through.”

“How’s he doing, Chanyeol?”

 

Don’t let him die.

 

“Alive but barely. His broken ribs punctured his lungs. We need to open him up, Junmyeon”

“Okay. Bring him to Room 5. Get ready for immediate surgery.”

 

Don’t let him die.

Please.

 

Please, don’t let my angel die.

 

* * *

 

“Can someone please take him away from here?! Chanyeol?!”

 

Jongdae was standing by the unclosed door of room 5 – his face white and lips trembling. In sight, his presence there seemed completely useless and out of place – unwanted, even. But Jongdae felt striped and bare, like the sole of his existence had been singled out to one purpose, none another and it was to be there, by the door of room 5. He knew the doctors were agitated by the distraction, found annoyance in his mere presence but he couldn’t help it.

He felt like he knew nothing else.

 

 “Sir?”

A pair of hands grabbed hold of him and finally led him away.

“You can’t be here.”

He sat Jongdae down on a chair near the reception area and examined him.

“You’re dripping blood all over the place. Don’t you feel pain at all?” He said with a smile.

Jongdae shook his head before the doctor got up and went away to get something.

He returned seconds later with a small basket.

“My name is Park Chanyeol. You scrapped your palms so I’m going to clean your wound and stitch it up. Okay?”

Jongdae nodded, and Chanyeol started working on the cuts on his right arm.

“Is he gonna be okay?”

Jongdae spoke in a quiet voice and turned his head in the direction of Room 5. A muffled sound of clamours could be heard through the closed door – shouts of instruction and frantic shuffles of hurried paces.

Chanyeol lifted his head up and gave him a reassuring smile. The doctor had a nice smile – blinding yet comforting. He worked with subtle gentleness - nimble fingers and soft, large palms. His presence felt larger than life, yet unwavering and real as the solid, hard ground. Jongdae felt at ease in his company.

“Don’t worry. Junmyeon is a gifted doctor. He knows what he’s doing.”

Jongdae gave a timid nod.

“Are you with him?”

Jongdae looked down at his bandaged arm. Chanyeol was still working on the cuts on his left arm. His clothes were dirtied and he smelt pungently of iron.

“No.”

Tears started trickling down his face - his chest tightened, breath hitched, and he felt heavy, unspoken words clogged up his throat along with the intense smell of blood and hospital.

“Actually, he saved my life. He - he jumped in front of the car and pushed me aside. It should have been me. It should have been me in there .. ”

Jongdae looked back to the closed door of Room 5, there was no sign that the doctors were coming out soon and the piece of wooden barricade loomed heavily in Jongdae’s mind and stared openly at him. He turned his eyes again and looked at Chanyeol. He was smiling at Jongdae before reaching down to gently wipe the tears on his cheeks.

“He’s a hero.”

Jongdae nodded and a fond smile appeared on his kittenish lips - appreciating the title Chanyeol had given him.

“He’s an angel. He saved my life and I don’t even know his name.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Jongdae was younger – ten to be exact, he found an angel in the attic of his home.

 

Home was an old, run-down church with rickety floors and dysfunctional pipes amid occasional plumbing problems. It was donated and renovated to house twenty parentless children and Jongdae was the last one in to complete the number. It was in a deplorable condition – in the midst of falling apart even, but the comforting sounds of teasing laughter and unabashed mirth reverberated through the walls - in every corner of it and tiny feet ran through corridors of wobbly, aging wooden floors that loyally supported their tiny bodies on their broken backs.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“! I’m going to be late.”

“Good morning. What a wonderful day to be alive, is it not?”

Jongdae stopped immediately in his haste and unabashedly scowled at a brightly smiling Baekhyun.

“Shut it, Byun Baek. It’s too damn early for anyone to be cheery. Why didn’t you wake me up?”

His childhood friend rolled his eyes in reply before continuing to stuff his face with cereal. When he spoke again, bits of it flew and landed unceremoniously on the kitchen counter. Jongdae stared at it for a few seconds and wondered how the hell did fourteen years passed and Baekhyun’s table mannerism was no better than when he was eight.

“If you hadn’t been busy being dead to the world and drooling a Niagara fall on your pillow then you would have noticed that I certainly did and would actually have the decency in you to at least thank me, you ungrateful little brat.”

Jongdae scoffed by the doorway as he stood up after tying his shoes and promptly adjusted the bag over his shoulder. “I’ll thank you when I actually do wake up from you waking me up, Baekhyun and by the way, stop being so loud with Chanyeol for god’s sake. You guys are the real reason I’m so freaking tired all the time from lack of sleep.”

Baekhyun stopped eating momentarily and looked up at Jongdae with big innocent eyes.

Jongdae sighed. “Honestly, you’re the worst. Wow, I hate you, Baekhyun. See you later tonight.”

“I love you too!” was Baekhyun’s reply as their front door shut behind Jongdae and he began the fifteen minutes walk to his work in a cosy, little cafe called The Buns Haven.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The day Jongdae first met his angel, he put bubblegum in Baekhyun’s hair and Baekhyun had gone off running – face full of tears and dark auburn hair sticky of sweet, pink bubblegum - to one of their caretakers.

Mrs. Jung was Jongdae’s favourite. She was very gentle and she did everything with the utmost care and affection but she hadn’t been very pleased with the state of Baekhyun’s hair, thus resulting in Jongdae being locked away for the afternoon in the attic as he needed to ‘reflect on his wrongdoing’.

The sound of the lock clicking in place was deafening and Jongdae heaved out a heavy sigh. It was summer and the sun was intense – hot and bright against the blue sky. The attic was a small place, cramped with boxes and dusted with negligence.

The first thing Jongdae noticed was the million shades of different colours that seemed to be floating about leisurely in the dark room. In the eyes of a ten year old, it was a scene straight out a fairytale. Jongdae reached out a hand and tried to touch them, yet they teasingly skipped and turned - away from the grasp of his tiny fingers.

The colours seemed as if they were painted on the walls but nevertheless as free as the stale air of the dingy attic and the soft summer breeze outside. They tempted – made themselves seemed reachable, somehow attainable but once desired they ran off and shied away – so close, yet so far.

The colours were dancing to a rhythm unheard by Jongdae’s ears and it was while trying to catch a particular colour – blue, the colour of the bright skies outside and Jongdae’s favourite, that he stumbled upon his angel.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jongdae was passing the bookstore – approximately five minutes away from the cafe when a paper airplane the colour of a light baby blue flew past him, as if daunting him to follow it. Curious, Jongdae gave in and was led to the park. It was morning but the park was bare – people were rushing to work, oblivious of a lone figure sitting on a park bench. Jongdae didn’t know who he was nor recognised his silhouette but the airplane landed on his lap and Jongdae tilted his head over to the stranger in curiosity.

Suddenly had Jongdae only seemed to notice the other’s mess of a hair. The other had his hair dyed in different, eccentric colours – it seemed like a mess of colours trying to find space in each other to fit and meld perfectly together.

Jongdae’s heart leaped into a frantic pace, his blood rushing wildly through his veins – his whole being and even to the depth of his core seemed to be vibrating, gravitating towards the person.

 

Jongdae recognised that hair.

How could he forget such a presence, such a being?

 

His angel ..

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Jongdae turned eighteen, his home was demolished and along with it, his heart.

He stared amongst the ruins for hours, picking up pieces of the stained glass which he hold dear so much.

Broken and shattered – Jongdae’s angel didn’t look like an angel anymore and Jongdae lost something beloved to him.

 

 

* * *

 

The stranger turned around and Jongdae saw again those gentle eyes and pale, ethereally translucent skin.

“I’m sorry I disappeared from the hospital without you knowing. I made Chanyeol keep it a secret because I want to surprise you. Let’s start again, shall we? Hi, Jongdae. I’m Sehun and I want to protect you for the rest of my life.”

The other smiled and Jongdae fell ten again – standing alone in the attic of his home, a world of colours around him, his heart thrumming loud in his little body and Jongdae fell in love all over again.

 

He came back.

His angel came back.

 

 

 

 

 

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this is an example of a stained glass angel ..

 

 

 

it kinda charmingly reminds me of sehun's hair .. hmm ..  --