A miniature version of Youngjae zooms in and about in a tattered home, newspapers and dirty laundry littered everywhere.

“Mommy?” he calls, his voice ringing like wedding bells, clear and pure with a hint of childishness.

Daehyun sees what he assumes is Youngjae’s mother, sitting rather lifelessly at the corner of the room, clutching at a torn black and white photo in a cracked glass frame  in her lap.

A wedding photo.

Youngjae doesn’t give up, however, and Daehyun watches as the little boy continues to call, his voice gettiing shriller and sharper by the minute. “Mommy? Mommy, where is daddy? It’s my birthday today, and Daddy said that he would take me to the ferris wheel on my birthday--”

Youngjae’s mother slams the photograph down, the glass frame breaking into silver ice, a crystal shower shattering in the otherwise dead silence of the room. The little boy bursts into tears, blood staining his clothes where the slabs of glass pierced through his body.

“It is your fault that he left,” his mother hisses, eyes dark with malice and wild with fury, “You disgust me. Get out of my sight!”

Daehyun aches to hold the trembling boy, safe in his arms, but the angel shakes his head. “There’s nothing you could ever do to change the past, Daehyun.”

So Daehyun lets his arms fall back, slack, and he closes his eyes once more.

---

They’re in a school now-- and Daehyun watches as the little boy gets tripped over by another taller child.

“Loser--” he jeers, pointing at the tears seeping their way out of the wounded boy, “ Go on, cry! See if your precious ‘daddy’ would come rescue you.”

Another boy steps out from the back of the classroom timidly after the bully leaves, tugging at former Youngjae’s sleeve.

“Are you alright…?”

Past Youngjae slaps his hand away, and when he speaks, his voice is colder than ever, grated with ice-- a tone that should have never belonged to a child.

“It’s none of your business.”

---

The little boy is older now-- a lanky teenager, black clad with bandages his arms, his legs-- every part of visible skin peeking out from his dark hoodie.

Self harm, Daehyun reflects. A glint of silver from a needle tip, shoved carelessly in the youth’s pocket tells him otherwise. Drugs.

The teenager looks up, and Daehyun’s heart freezes. He has never seen an expression so dark in a person’s eyes-- so utterly devoid of hope, dull and lifeless. The violet is no longer visible, and black has taken over the entire iris. Hollow. It almost seems like there’s an essential part missing from the youth-- and he’s merely surviving, but not living.

And then suddenly-- Daehyun is inside Youngjae’s mind now, and he looks at his surroundings in a haze. Everything is blurry-- the streets, the roads, the signs… but he no longer cares.

What’s the point in living, anyways, in such an ugly world.

He steps out into the streets. The next moments pass by quickly.

Daehyun sees the blaring of horns, and then the truck is looming in front of him-- seemingly appearing out of nowhere. But surprisingly-- he feels nothing from Youngjae-- no fear, no sadness, no regret. Just a blur, his senses dulled by morphine and slowed by drugs, and some kind of calm acceptance-- almost as if he was welcoming death itself.

Because...what’s the point in living in a world, so filled with filth and without an ounce of humanity?

Then, suddenly-- a figure flies out in front of him, shouting desperately.

“Watch out!” Daehyun gasps at the look of utter horrification on his past self as Youngjae is swept all across the road, his clothes torn and blood spurting everywhere where the truck had collided with his pale skin-- welling out of deep gouges in his arms, his legs-- everywhere.

Somehow, in the midst of the chaos-- Youngjae’s vision clears miraculously. Daehyun winces as Youngjae struggles to lift his head, the tendons at the back of his muscle having been severed by the brute impact of the vehicle.

But even as he lifts his head-- Daehyun frowns in puzzlement as Youngjae stares, not at the broken figure, with his fingers crushed-- but at a faraway object, somewhere between the sun and the heavens beyond.

He follows his glance, and sees it.

A single white feather, slowly drifting down from the sky of unmarred blue like a delicate snowflake. Daehyun watches as it lands onto Youngjae’s limp form, and the male seems to relax, the violet of his eyes gleaming for an instant, before his head tilts back and he is moving no more.

Daehyun sees a single drop of light shining through the pitch black of Youngjae’s conscience. It’s slight-- but it’s a light nevertheless, shining glorious and warm-- piercing through the mass of clouds and shadows and replacing them with bright fire and life.

Daehyun is stirred back to his surroundings at Youngjae’s voice, rough with emotions and full of warmth.

“You see, Daehyun-- you might not have saved me physically-- but you managed to scavenge what was left of my soul. And because of that-- I’m still here. I’m not gone, nor am I lost-- you made me realise that there is still a shred of humanity in this world of unfairness and ruthless cruelty, and that kept me alive, returned the faith in me.” Youngjae chokes, tears welling up in those mesmerizing combination of black, violet and gold, “In a dead world filled with nothing but fear and nightmares, you gave me comfort and my very first beacon of hope-- and for that, Daehyun, I’m eternally grateful to you.”

He smiles in honest now, eyes never leaving Daehyun’s as he speaks, “Thank you, Daehyun-- for being the light that has been missing in my entire life. Thank you, Daehyun-- thank you for bringing me back to me.”