Angel, Interrupted. (1/?)
Angel, Interrupted. - Ad Quod Damnum (1/?); Sungmin, Kyuhyun, Yixing, Eric, other mentioned members of Super Junior, EXO and Shinhwa coming up; violence, angst, psychological, character death, supernatural!AU; NC-17; the bands Super Junior and EXO belong to SM Entertainment as such Shinhwa belongs to the Shinhwa Company and to their selves respectively. I disown anything that you recognized in this fiction, except for the style of writing and plots. Any original characters’ names that resemble real life persons are purely coincidental.
Warning: if you are not open to the concept of defying deities, rebellious angels, or blurred lines between heaven, earth and hell, you may excuse yourself away from this fiction as you read this. This is just, after all, a work of fiction. No extremities against religions are intended. If it does, and reports are being made, this fiction will be taken down from my journal immediately.
A/N: First chapter. *whispered prayer*
---
[to whatever damage]
“You’ve been out of the world a long time, haven’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, the world’s missed you.”
- Theo and Eleanor, The Haunting.
-
The pictures came in flashes.
Sometimes he saw his hands were fisting knives, bloody knives; slicing through people’s veins and fleshes. He heard them cried, begged him to spare their lives, telling him about how they have loved ones waiting for them to come home.
And then it went black for a few long seconds, before another picture flashed in.
Those people were now dead. Hands were still fisting knives. Blotches of blood on his hands and shirt became a painted canvas. Glances of body parts on the floor, unattached to their deceased owners.
It went black once again. This time he could hear himself snickering. Sometimes the blood smelt real. And then his voice emerged in a whisper, pushing through and hard, fighting against the darkness.
“The end.”
Another picture flashed. He saw himself grinning this time, looking into a rectangular mirror filled with stickers of wings and halos and little cupids all over its edge. He knew where the place was instantly.
It was the mirror inside his bathroom.
“This is not the end, yet, Sungmin. We both know that we want more than this,” he was speaking to his reflection inside the mirror. Still grinning. Hands were palming his cheeks; the icky red liquid stuck on his face.
Funny, he could swear he liked the feeling on thick blood running slowly down to his chin (but he really didn’t).
It went black again, just for a few milliseconds, like how the television was when a drama was halted to give way for a commercial.
Eeeeehh…? What’s ending, I wonder? Your debt?
And then there were feathers, black feathers; surrounding, twirling, twirling, floating… stopped. A smile. A deep, clear voice was laughing - at him.
They are afraid now, Sungmin. Of us.
Brown hair bouncing on an animated head. Brown eyes.
Black leather trench coat, flipping around as the man who wore it turned to face him.
But it’s okay. I’m here now.
A gentle smile.
You’re not alone anymore.
“Sungmin.”
-
He opened his eyes as the voice penetrated through the darkness. Sungmin blinked thrice, momentarily incapable of registering where he was or what he was doing or why. He had a hint of the time, though. It was high noon, judging from the dim yellow light behind the grey clouds peeking inside through the cracked roof, though the cold wind rattled through the windows of what seemed like an abandoned, old building hadn’t actually help in explaining the weather. Well, after all, it was autumn.
Sungmin sat up and his movement twirled up the dusts around him, rising up in an instant and slowly sinking back down on the floor. Thick and everywhere, it covered up almost all square of the room, leaving only the part where Sungmin was sitting clean and empty. Some of the dust particles were caught in his throat, and Sungmin coughed a little and cleared his throat a few times, trying to make the itchiness that he couldn’t scratch go away.
“Try rubbing your ears.”
Surprised with the calm and steady voice that came and greeted him out of nowhere, Sungmin instinctively squatted from his current position, one knee on the floor and both hands were fisted up in front of his face, ready to pounce on whoever it was.
“Wow, still rather sharp, I see,” a man entered through the threshold, hands up in retreat but still made his way until he was standing right in front of Sungmin in the middle of the room. Sungmin relaxed both his hands back to his side, and pushed himself up from his squatting position almost jumpily. Although his expression was still of cautious and defensive.
The man smirked to see that he was no longer a threat, at least not a big one. His hands were now swiping off the dusts that fell on his shoulders and staining his plain white shirt. His fashion choice didn’t seem to be affected by the toe-curling weather outside. His nose scrunched, disgusted with a few strands of spider web that were weighed down with the rubbles of termite-infested, chewed-down floorboards stuck in his hair. Sungmin dusted his pants and rolled his eyes.
“You know, you could always pick a better place to spend the night. Any hotels, a friend’s house… or perhaps your own filthy apartment? As to why you would choose an office in abandoned warehouse like this puzzles me,” the man complained, this time rubbing the invisible dirt off from his dark blue denim. He couldn’t care less that Sungmin wasn’t really listening as much as how Sungmin couldn’t care to entertain him with a conversation. He had always known Sungmin as someone with little words.
“Is that yours?” he pointed out to a silver dagger with black leather folded beautifully as its handle; the blade was stabbed full length into the hard concrete at one end of the office room until only a few inches of the sharp end could be seen under the silver crossguard. The floor around where it stood cracked, as if someone had just used his whole energy and was furious, very furious, and pushed the dagger into the place where it was that noon. Sungmin silently nodded, and shuffled slowly from where they were talking to pick up his dagger back, when he felt a gust of wind went past his side and there the man was, at the end of the corner, pulling his dagger out from the floor effortlessly.
“Don’t-”
“Touch my thing, Eric. I know, I know, relax darling,” the guy mocked him, holding the dagger with his left hand and pushing the end of the blade into the pad of his right thumb. He smiled as he could see his own reflection on the carved silver.
“What happened last night? I heard you’ve got yourself some help.” Eric queried, his voice travelled along as he reappeared in an instant next to Sungmin, handing him the blade back with a hint of dissatisfaction in his voice. Sungmin’s eyes were following the trail of his shadows; Eric’s movement surely was enough a proof that he wasn’t human. Sungmin knew he wasn’t human. To be honest, he never really questioned what kind of being Eric was. He just kind of appeared one day, picked him up from the dump he was in, gave him an apartment to sleep in (which he hadn’t fully utilise, according to Eric), gave him names and pictures, with just five words spoken, every single time, ‘I want them in Hell.’
Oh, and money. Buck loads of money.
The rest was all on Sungmin. He couldn’t remember where he picked the dagger; he woke up one night and it was there in his pocket. Heck, before Eric, he only had his name and his fists to live for. He didn’t even know his age. So when Eric came with the preposition, he figured, what harm could it be? If Eric wants some people in his Hell, and Sungmin was someone who could make it happen, let it be. He hoped there really was a Hell though, or all those dead bastards he choked and sliced and ripped open from throats to navels would just… die.
Die, and vanished. Poof, just like that. If they were going to end up wasted like that, Sungmin thought having a Hell would really be an advantage, even slightly.
“I finished my job. But some bastard flew in and took them away,” he said, wiping his dagger with the hem of his shirt until it was squeaky clean. He tried to avoid the tall man’s gaze as much as he could, but not too much or he would be perceived as a liar. Eric raised one eyebrow. Sungmin bit his lower lip as his stomach began to growl.
He missed breakfast today.
“Flew… in?”
“Yeah. Literally. With wings - huge, black, wings. He appeared and all those dead bastards disappeared,” he explained, hands excited but his face was rather expressionless that he started to convince himself that Eric was not going to be persuaded.
“Sungmin…” Eric walked around him, the click-clacking of his boots against the concrete floor was rather disturbing than expected. Perhaps it was because of the empty hall of the warehouse just outside the door of the office that let the sound travelled and dispersed into a bigger space made the echoes vibrated throughout everything inside there, or it was simply Eric’s low tone laughter that made it even more threatening and darker. Sungmin tightened his jaw as Eric slid his index finger along his jawline down to neck.
“I thought you wanted the end. Last night was the end you were seeking, wasn’t it?”
“I told you,” Sungmin words were whispered out between gritted teeth, “I. Finished. The. Job.”
“What job? I don’t see any job done here.”
“I told you-”
“I know what you told me, Sungmin. Believe me, I do.” Eric closed the distance between their bodies, and Sungmin flinched. His grip on his dagger suddenly turned tighter as Eric hooked one of his arms around Sungmin’s neck, and chuckled.
“But let me tell you something, love. In today’s world, no end product means no job done, regardless the industry. Only sore losers give excuses, Sungmin. Now, I believe you are many things, but that. So tell me; are there any end products I’m expecting here?” he asked knowingly as Sungmin grunted.
“No.”
“Right. No end products. Which means…?”
“It’s not the end,” Sungmin rolled his eyes again for the nth time, annoyed with the nasally voice that was speaking softly next to his face. Eric’s breath was, surprisingly - even though he kept claiming that he owned a Hell - cold. Really cold, like the breeze you felt when you opened the refrigerator at three in the morning for a bottle of water and you forgot it was almost the winter. Icy and capable of making the small hairs at the back of your neck stood up.
“It’s not the end, good. So now, I want you to keep that thing back into its sheath,” he nipped the end of the blade of Sungmin’s dagger with his finger and pushed it away because apparently Sungmin was pointing it towards his direction, and dabbed the latter’s cheek with his thumb, enjoying the cold feet Sungmin was having just from listening his gentle warnings.
“And I want you to go back home, take a bath and have a good night sleep - I really hate seeing the dark circles around your eyes, darling, such a turn-off,” he gestured his finger in front of Sungmin’s eyes, and Sungmin blinked, alarmed.
“And in a few days, I’ll bring some new faces for you to send back to where they belong. Do I make myself clear?” he asked, pulling away from Sungmin so he could study his expression. Sungmin didn’t look like he was troubled. Rather, he looked… sad? Why would he be sad?
“Yes, sir. Crystal.”
Eric shook his head slowly when Sungmin wasn’t looking. Why would he care about this bastard’s emotion?
Sungmin didn’t say anything as he left, and they both preferred it that way. It would be really awkward if they tried to get chummy by talking with each other about things outside of work, so no thank you. They were alright the way they were.
At least Sungmin thought so.
“I was telling the truth,” Sungmin suddenly decided to clarify himself. Eric was checking his iPhone though at that time, some of the shares he had in a few major companies around Asia were plummeting and it was not good, so he really wasn’t listening.
“Sorry, about what darling?”
“The bastard who took away everything. He really did fly in.”
“Oh you mean that, darling? Yeah, yeah I believe you.”
Hands were still busy sliding across the iPhone screen. Sungmin grunted again, spit hatefully on the floor and then left. Eric waved his hand even though he was sure Sungmin wouldn’t see it. As Sungmin was prodding the gravels on the way out from the abandoned warehouse, Eric tucked away his iPhone into his pocket and eyes were following Sungmin until he disappeared behind the nearest junction to the road. He then hummed a little song and smiled.
“So, you’re back for your little angel, huh?”
“I’ve been back for a while now. If only you were looking more closely, Eric.” He jumped at the sudden intrusion. As he turned around, an enormous pair of shiny black wings was flashing in front of his eyes and disappeared in an instant. What left instead was a young looking guy in a black, leather trench coat; brown hair bouncing happily as he floated down from above and eyes were drilling holes into Eric’s face. There were dozens of black feathers floating around, surrounding him yet voluntarily dispersed aside as he walked through them - slowly falling to the ground and disappeared; as if absorbed in by the floor.
“Kyuhyun. You look… well, still looking good.”
“Oh, please, don’t look so surprised, Eric. What could eleven thousand years of exile possibly do to me? You know nothing can keep me in forever.”
“Not even Bermuda?”
“Bermuda was what you would call a honeymoon in this millennium.” Eric laughed, sarcastically though, and the guy in the trench coat smirked. His hands were coolly tucked inside his trench coat’s front pockets.
“You’ve ‘trained’ him enough, I believe?” he asked after a while, and Eric snorted. He hated that word; it felt as if he was doing something good for Sungmin.
“I’ve ‘twisted’ him enough to my heart’s content, yeah. One last patch to be sewn up and he’s all yours.” He said, proudly, and he was about to say something else, another hateful remark when he could feel long, steady fingers wrapped around his neck.
“He’s never broken, nor torn down. Mind your words, you filthy carcass, or I’ll finish where Sungmin didn’t.” Eric swallowed the lump in his throat; he wasn’t sure when did it appear in the first place. Maybe it was already there when Sungmin told him about the bastard who flew in last night. Maybe it was when that bastard suddenly appeared behind him.
“You’re still a cocky prick, I see,” he said as he put both his palms up, surrendering to someone whom he would rather not have the hand-to-hand combat with.
“And you’re still just a broken ‘Adam’, Eric. See? Nothing’s change.”
Eric’s face turned sour. Kyuhyun noticed that, but that was what he would like to see, though. Eric being unhappy. He had been enjoying Sungmin for a long time now, someone need to make him clear about his position and what his actual task was.
“Screw you, you bloody angel.”
“Come on, Eric, don’t be so petty. We all know I did that to myself long ago.” Kyuhyun pulled away, letting go of Eric’s neck and stood back properly. Eric drew in a sharp breath, feeling a bit relieved that his head was still intact with his body; his mind flashed back a few millennia ago when Kyuhyun was too furious to have a conversation with and he was still too fragile to be handled roughly by anyone (but Kyuhyun just didn’t care).
To the time when the pain was there but he couldn’t die and that was when everything started.
“Where’d you send my guests?” Fixing his collar and glancing at the young man in the black leather trench coat, Eric asked curiously, trying not to look so clueless at the same time. Kyuhyun smirked, eyeing every movement Eric made with his narrowed eyes.
“You mean your ‘sons’? We’ve sent them back to Hell.” Eric eyebrows knitted, confused.
“ ‘We’? What do you mean, ‘we’? I thought there’re only you and Sungmin in the deal. Kyuhyun, we’re not having a fucking party down here,” Eric’s voice turned a pitch higher, and each word was pronounced with a pressing tone smothered all over them. Clearly, Eric was not happy with Kyuhyun’s other said acquaintances.
Kyuhyun let out a snort, before it turned into a quiet small laugh. He turned around and put his index finger on his puckered lips, as he started to float a few inches above the dusty ground. Eric blinked rapidly; his eyelids were trying hard to filter out the foreign particles that hovered in the air as Kyuhyun rose even higher.
“Is this the right gesture?” Kyuhyun suddenly asked when his left wing spread open and swept the floor in a gallant manner, followed by his right wing in less than a second later. Eric grimaced at the sound of bones cracking from the angel’s back - this is why he hated this species, as if twisting your bones into a pair of fucking wings weren’t that painful - and looked up to meet Kyuhyun’s eyes.
“The right gesture for what?”
“For a promise of secrecy,” Kyuhyun explained, and rolled his shoulders as the cracking sounds continued. Eric raised both of his eyebrows and chuckled. He was a tad unsure earlier about Kyuhyun’s question but it seemed as if it was meant for the ‘hush’ gesture he was making.
“What, you’re a bloody human now?” he asked mockingly. Kyuhyun clucked his tongue and hovered even higher, almost reaching the roof of the warehouse. Eric watched him in annoyance.
“Don’t use your bloody wings when I’m around.”
Kyuhyun laughed heartily, wings still spread but weren’t flapping. Eric grimaced when Kyuhyun hovered closer to him, and he hated it when Kyuhyun looked down to him. He felt small when in fact he wasn’t.
“Oh come on, don’t be a grumpy old fart, Eric. Rejoice, the time we’ve been waiting for has arrived.” He laughed again, spinning around in slow motion, taking his time with his small flight.
“Not as planned, though. And I’ve been wondering this for quite some times - what happened to your wings? The last time we met, they were still fluffy and white and all princess-y. Now, they’re just… black and ugly.”
Kyuhyun stopped spinning and abruptly landed on his feet. Clearly he wasn’t delighted with Eric’s bluntness.
“Never upset your God, Eric. No matter whom He is and who you are. Never.”
-
There was a rancid odour distorting his sense of smell when he entered his apartment that late afternoon. Sungmin grimaced as he put down the fresh groceries he bought on the way home on the kitchen table. Scanning around, he finally saw the red pot he left on the stove three days ago - it was Thursday, wasn’t it? - the one which he used to cook the pasta sauce when Eric suddenly appeared at his doorstep with a light brown, medium-sized envelope in his hand. Names of the bastards that were condemned to Eric’s Hell had always been carried and delivered in bulk inside envelopes like that, as if they came in packages and unless Sungmin bought them together, their discounted price would be invalid to him.
Sungmin sighed, feeling sorry towards the untouched dish. Carefully, he lifted the pot with both hands, trying not to spill any onto the floor, and poured it away into the sink. The small chunks of meat floated above the grease as the pooled water was trying to squeeze down from the small hole on the sink’s bottom. The sour smell began to dissipate as he tried to push the chunks down using a dirty fork he found next to the sink, but Sungmin could still smell it enough to cover his nose with his other hand.
Washing the dirty dishes too while he was in the mood, he hummed a familiar tune that had always been inside his head since he could ever remember. It was a sad tune, yet calming and he usually sing it while he was washing his bloodied hands and clothes late at night after a job was done. Sungmin then wondered about how there were so many things that he knew but didn’t have the memory of learning them anywhere. Like his ass-kicking skills, or weapon-handling abilities. He thought he was born with it, but when he read about human’s motor skills, he figured that it wasn’t something easily gained through genetics. Sure, the sharpness or the fast-speed and reflexes were possible, but estimating the number of opponents roughly by the way the dampness in the air changes, or which part of the neck would bleed severely when you pricked it open with the dagger just with a touch of a finger; now that wasn’t genetic. He was sure he wasn’t born like this. He wasn’t born a killer.
He never read about the genetics were able to transfer killer traits into someone, anyways.
There were three knocks heard tapping against the closed window in front of his sink, and Sungmin’s hand automatically found a kitchen knife from underneath the foams where all his cooking utensils were being cleaned. He eyed the window cautiously when he saw a pair of long legs were hanging down from the emergency stairs that connected every level of the building exteriorly. Sungmin sighed tiredly.
Some people are just oblivious to the rules of the world and Sungmin knew he wasn’t one to complaint about that - for God’s sake if He exist Sungmin ripped off people’s throats - but this boy was another case.
“Zhang Yixing.”
The college kid’s face shone, more like sparkling- the way campfires did when you threw in new dry and crispy woods, though - and his lips were smiling excitedly despite his droopy eyes when he heard his own name being mentioned slowly by Sungmin.
“Hyung, you know my name!” he exclaimed, and Sungmin would like him to shut up or he would have to end someone’s life this afternoon.
(he really would like to not do it in his own place, please)
Sungmin ignored the overly excited Yixing who was going through his groceries, trying to find some ice-cream because “I wrote you a note to buy me one last night, hyung, didn’t you see it?” and Sungmin simply said;
“I burnt it,” while putting the last saucer into the drying basket next to the sink. He turned around and found that Yixing was eating the raw fishcakes he bought for the vegetable soup he was going to make tonight.
Sungmin growled in annoyance.
-
Yixing arrived a year ago, knocking the window just like he did earlier with a big smile on his face, introducing his name, his college name and “I’m your new neighbour upstairs,” so Sungmin slammed the window shut after saying his name and “I don’t like people”, leaving the kid gaping outside his window for a while before he went back to his own apartment, probably shocked with how he was treated in the new home. Sungmin would like to feel guilty or at least a bit of sympathy, but he had just finished burning thirteen bodies to ashes the night before and he smelt like rotten meat when he was finally home, so entertaining an unexpected guest would be the last thing he would appreciate right then.
Also, the kid used the emergency stairs instead of knocking on his door.
“Sungmin-swi, you cook? I’m envious!” were Yixing first words when they met in the elevator two days later as he saw the raw chicken inside the plastic in Sungmin’s hand. That was when Sungmin felt that something was off with the way this kid’s pronunciation. He didn’t usually care about someone’s face, let alone their speech, but this time he did, and he was instantly reminded about Yixing’s own name.
“Oh, right. Chinese.”
“Yes? I am Chinese. Why?” Yixing asked him curiously with gaping mouth that made him look like a chirping bird. Sungmin wasn’t aware that one day he would like to sew the mouth up back then.
“Nothing,” he said, eyeing the kid for a little longer before looking back at the rising number on the top of the elevator’s door. Another seven levels and a stomach growled, loudly.
“Wasn’t me!” Yixing suddenly denied when Sungmin turned around. “This kid must be stupid” was what on Sungmin’s mind because they were the only people inside the elevator.
It wasn’t Sungmin.
“I don’t cook for strangers,” Sungmin said, and walked out when the elevator reached his floor. He was sure it was because of Yixing’s weird understanding of Hangul though that the boy came knocking on his window again later that night with an empty bowl and a pair of chopstick in his hands.
He still didn’t use the door.
And that wasn’t the last time it happened.
-
“Hyung, you should consider becoming a cook. This is super delicious!” Yixing said, raising the empty rice bowl above his head but it slipped out from his hand. Sungmin who was walking towards the fridge by then caught it in time and put it back onto the table without much word. Yixing looked at him in awe.
“Or a martial art trainer, you choose. You have talents in both!” now Sungmin knew that he was pretty glad that Yixing’s Hangul was getting a little bit better so that he didn’t have to talk to him a lot when he asked anything, but not the way that he wanted it to be.
Simply put, Sungmin just wanted Yixing to shut up.
“If you’re done eating, the door’s on that side.”
“It’s okay hyung, I’ll use the window.”
“THE. DOOR. IS. ON. THAT. SIDE.” Sungmin strained his voice, and Yixing was laughing.
“Hyung, you sound funny! Do it again, do it again!” he said, clapping his hands like a retarded seal. Sungmin rubbed his temples in circles, defeated. Yixing scrunched his nose when he saw how pissed Sungmin was, so he washed his bowl without many words and was ready to leave when Sungmin asked him a weird question.
“How do you call an angel?”
“Sorry?” he asked, unsure about both the question and what his answer should be. To be honest he was happy that Sungmin wanted to speak with him, but this was out of the ordinary so he was caught off guard.
“Call an angel. Do you summon him or just call his name? Aren’t you religious?” Sungmin asked again, and Yixing solemnly shook his head. It was the first time Sungmin saw him without the sparkle in his face, so he thought maybe it was a weird question after all.
“It’s fine. Get out now.”
“I don’t believe in a God. Not anymore.” Sungmin raised his eyebrows, a bit surprised by Yixing’s sudden confession. A bit burdened, too. He didn’t like talking a lot with anyone. Eric was an exception, though. He wasn’t anyone.
“Good. There’s nothing to believe in a God anyways. They already screwed up the world so bad by creating humans.”
Sungmin was shocked by his own words. Yixing too, actually. But he was pretty sure Sungmin was saying it to comfort him, which was not comforting at all. Sungmin never comfort him. Ever.
“Though, about your question earlier, I think we’re supposed to pray to them,” Yixing finally said with a laugh, trying to shake off the weird atmosphere in the room. Sungmin was lying down on the couch in the living room and he didn’t seem to care about his answer, so Yixing bid goodbye and walked out the window by the sink.
Still didn’t use the door.
“Pray, huh? Begging?” Sungmin whispered to himself with his eyes still closed when the clanging footsteps of Yixing’s shoes against the metal stairs subsided.
“Sorry, I don’t pray to anyone!” he yelled, and a few seconds later all the windows in his apartment banged opened. Along came the rustling sounds from the night wind that blew in through the windows and a man appeared by his side in a blink of eyes.
“Nope, you don’t. And you don’t have to, Sungmin-ah. Just think of me and I’ll be here at your disposal,” the man told him, bowing down a little bit like an obedient butler to his master. Sungmin gritted his teeth - it was an automatic reaction for someone like him, what’s with the entrance by this self-proclaimed angel like that.
“I want to know everything,” he said.
“Everything that Eric doesn’t know.”
The angel smiled, and his brown eyes turned blue.
-
Yixing was getting ready to bed when he heard the wind rustled loudly against his window panes, making them rattled against each other. It sounded as if something big was flying through the building and it gave him goosebumps. Curiously, he peeked outside his window and just a level below him; two guys were floating outside Sungmin’s apartment.
“These winged guys again,” he whispered to himself, annoyed. He saw the two guys with huge white wings were peeking through the closed windows, sometimes circling the whole building before hovering back to their initial positions.
He had seen enough of these guys today, even during classes. Some of them were his classmates, and they didn’t get along with him. Always trying to get him in troubles. Sometimes they called him ‘freak’ behind his back and he would like to say that it wasn’t him who was backpacking a pair of gigantic, fag-looking wings on his back all the time but it seemed like other than him or probably themselves, none of his other normal classmates were able to see the freaky wings.
Stupid winged freaks.
He peeked again; this time one of the winged guys was trying to enter Sungmin’s apartment, but it seemed as if he was bounced against the wall when he did so. Yixing laughed; happy to see the freaks acting stupid. Slowly, he opened his window up, breathed in -
“Fucking stalkers!” he yelled in Chinese, and quickly shut his window before going back to his bed. He giggled happily and mischievously until he fell asleep, unaware of what happened to the winged freaks who were stalking Sungmin just now.
Yixing woke up the next day feeling happy, and if only he was able to tell Sungmin about those winged freaks. He showered, put on his three-year-old Levi’s and his favourite red hoodie, slung his backpack on and went to the elevator.
When he reached the main entrance of the apartment building, he saw the old janitor whom he never failed to greet every morning to be complaining about something. Since he still got some time to waste before his first class really started, he decided to interview the janitor what he was upset about.
“Someone threw piles of ashes down from their fucking window and I have to fucking swept it up this early in the morning. What an asshole! And you know how many buckets I used for that? Six fucking buckets! How the hell someone could burn something to ashes inside the building and didn’t trigger the water sprinkler??” and Yixing could only hear so many curse words in the morning before his ears sweat oil, so he said how sorry he was for the janitor and “let’s have a coffee when I’m back from school today!” and dashed off to his class.
He wasn’t late, but he didn’t want to be the last one to arrive before the professor came in.
He didn’t see the few white spots that the janitor missed at the side of the building.
They were parts of some huge, badly burnt feathers.
God knew what happened to their owners.
---
TBC
Warning: if you are not open to the concept of defying deities, rebellious angels, or blurred lines between heaven, earth and hell, you may excuse yourself away from this fiction as you read this. This is just, after all, a work of fiction. No extremities against religions are intended. If it does, and reports are being made, this fiction will be taken down from my journal immediately.
A/N: First chapter. *whispered prayer*
---
[to whatever damage]
“You’ve been out of the world a long time, haven’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, the world’s missed you.”
- Theo and Eleanor, The Haunting.
-
The pictures came in flashes.
Sometimes he saw his hands were fisting knives, bloody knives; slicing through people’s veins and fleshes. He heard them cried, begged him to spare their lives, telling him about how they have loved ones waiting for them to come home.
And then it went black for a few long seconds, before another picture flashed in.
Those people were now dead. Hands were still fisting knives. Blotches of blood on his hands and shirt became a painted canvas. Glances of body parts on the floor, unattached to their deceased owners.
It went black once again. This time he could hear himself snickering. Sometimes the blood smelt real. And then his voice emerged in a whisper, pushing through and hard, fighting against the darkness.
“The end.”
Another picture flashed. He saw himself grinning this time, looking into a rectangular mirror filled with stickers of wings and halos and little cupids all over its edge. He knew where the place was instantly.
It was the mirror inside his bathroom.
“This is not the end, yet, Sungmin. We both know that we want more than this,” he was speaking to his reflection inside the mirror. Still grinning. Hands were palming his cheeks; the icky red liquid stuck on his face.
Funny, he could swear he liked the feeling on thick blood running slowly down to his chin (but he really didn’t).
It went black again, just for a few milliseconds, like how the television was when a drama was halted to give way for a commercial.
Eeeeehh…? What’s ending, I wonder? Your debt?
And then there were feathers, black feathers; surrounding, twirling, twirling, floating… stopped. A smile. A deep, clear voice was laughing - at him.
They are afraid now, Sungmin. Of us.
Brown hair bouncing on an animated head. Brown eyes.
Black leather trench coat, flipping around as the man who wore it turned to face him.
But it’s okay. I’m here now.
A gentle smile.
You’re not alone anymore.
“Sungmin.”
-
He opened his eyes as the voice penetrated through the darkness. Sungmin blinked thrice, momentarily incapable of registering where he was or what he was doing or why. He had a hint of the time, though. It was high noon, judging from the dim yellow light behind the grey clouds peeking inside through the cracked roof, though the cold wind rattled through the windows of what seemed like an abandoned, old building hadn’t actually help in explaining the weather. Well, after all, it was autumn.
Sungmin sat up and his movement twirled up the dusts around him, rising up in an instant and slowly sinking back down on the floor. Thick and everywhere, it covered up almost all square of the room, leaving only the part where Sungmin was sitting clean and empty. Some of the dust particles were caught in his throat, and Sungmin coughed a little and cleared his throat a few times, trying to make the itchiness that he couldn’t scratch go away.
“Try rubbing your ears.”
Surprised with the calm and steady voice that came and greeted him out of nowhere, Sungmin instinctively squatted from his current position, one knee on the floor and both hands were fisted up in front of his face, ready to pounce on whoever it was.
“Wow, still rather sharp, I see,” a man entered through the threshold, hands up in retreat but still made his way until he was standing right in front of Sungmin in the middle of the room. Sungmin relaxed both his hands back to his side, and pushed himself up from his squatting position almost jumpily. Although his expression was still of cautious and defensive.
The man smirked to see that he was no longer a threat, at least not a big one. His hands were now swiping off the dusts that fell on his shoulders and staining his plain white shirt. His fashion choice didn’t seem to be affected by the toe-curling weather outside. His nose scrunched, disgusted with a few strands of spider web that were weighed down with the rubbles of termite-infested, chewed-down floorboards stuck in his hair. Sungmin dusted his pants and rolled his eyes.
“You know, you could always pick a better place to spend the night. Any hotels, a friend’s house… or perhaps your own filthy apartment? As to why you would choose an office in abandoned warehouse like this puzzles me,” the man complained, this time rubbing the invisible dirt off from his dark blue denim. He couldn’t care less that Sungmin wasn’t really listening as much as how Sungmin couldn’t care to entertain him with a conversation. He had always known Sungmin as someone with little words.
“Is that yours?” he pointed out to a silver dagger with black leather folded beautifully as its handle; the blade was stabbed full length into the hard concrete at one end of the office room until only a few inches of the sharp end could be seen under the silver crossguard. The floor around where it stood cracked, as if someone had just used his whole energy and was furious, very furious, and pushed the dagger into the place where it was that noon. Sungmin silently nodded, and shuffled slowly from where they were talking to pick up his dagger back, when he felt a gust of wind went past his side and there the man was, at the end of the corner, pulling his dagger out from the floor effortlessly.
“Don’t-”
“Touch my thing, Eric. I know, I know, relax darling,” the guy mocked him, holding the dagger with his left hand and pushing the end of the blade into the pad of his right thumb. He smiled as he could see his own reflection on the carved silver.
“What happened last night? I heard you’ve got yourself some help.” Eric queried, his voice travelled along as he reappeared in an instant next to Sungmin, handing him the blade back with a hint of dissatisfaction in his voice. Sungmin’s eyes were following the trail of his shadows; Eric’s movement surely was enough a proof that he wasn’t human. Sungmin knew he wasn’t human. To be honest, he never really questioned what kind of being Eric was. He just kind of appeared one day, picked him up from the dump he was in, gave him an apartment to sleep in (which he hadn’t fully utilise, according to Eric), gave him names and pictures, with just five words spoken, every single time, ‘I want them in Hell.’
Oh, and money. Buck loads of money.
The rest was all on Sungmin. He couldn’t remember where he picked the dagger; he woke up one night and it was there in his pocket. Heck, before Eric, he only had his name and his fists to live for. He didn’t even know his age. So when Eric came with the preposition, he figured, what harm could it be? If Eric wants some people in his Hell, and Sungmin was someone who could make it happen, let it be. He hoped there really was a Hell though, or all those dead bastards he choked and sliced and ripped open from throats to navels would just… die.
Die, and vanished. Poof, just like that. If they were going to end up wasted like that, Sungmin thought having a Hell would really be an advantage, even slightly.
“I finished my job. But some bastard flew in and took them away,” he said, wiping his dagger with the hem of his shirt until it was squeaky clean. He tried to avoid the tall man’s gaze as much as he could, but not too much or he would be perceived as a liar. Eric raised one eyebrow. Sungmin bit his lower lip as his stomach began to growl.
He missed breakfast today.
“Flew… in?”
“Yeah. Literally. With wings - huge, black, wings. He appeared and all those dead bastards disappeared,” he explained, hands excited but his face was rather expressionless that he started to convince himself that Eric was not going to be persuaded.
“Sungmin…” Eric walked around him, the click-clacking of his boots against the concrete floor was rather disturbing than expected. Perhaps it was because of the empty hall of the warehouse just outside the door of the office that let the sound travelled and dispersed into a bigger space made the echoes vibrated throughout everything inside there, or it was simply Eric’s low tone laughter that made it even more threatening and darker. Sungmin tightened his jaw as Eric slid his index finger along his jawline down to neck.
“I thought you wanted the end. Last night was the end you were seeking, wasn’t it?”
“I told you,” Sungmin words were whispered out between gritted teeth, “I. Finished. The. Job.”
“What job? I don’t see any job done here.”
“I told you-”
“I know what you told me, Sungmin. Believe me, I do.” Eric closed the distance between their bodies, and Sungmin flinched. His grip on his dagger suddenly turned tighter as Eric hooked one of his arms around Sungmin’s neck, and chuckled.
“But let me tell you something, love. In today’s world, no end product means no job done, regardless the industry. Only sore losers give excuses, Sungmin. Now, I believe you are many things, but that. So tell me; are there any end products I’m expecting here?” he asked knowingly as Sungmin grunted.
“No.”
“Right. No end products. Which means…?”
“It’s not the end,” Sungmin rolled his eyes again for the nth time, annoyed with the nasally voice that was speaking softly next to his face. Eric’s breath was, surprisingly - even though he kept claiming that he owned a Hell - cold. Really cold, like the breeze you felt when you opened the refrigerator at three in the morning for a bottle of water and you forgot it was almost the winter. Icy and capable of making the small hairs at the back of your neck stood up.
“It’s not the end, good. So now, I want you to keep that thing back into its sheath,” he nipped the end of the blade of Sungmin’s dagger with his finger and pushed it away because apparently Sungmin was pointing it towards his direction, and dabbed the latter’s cheek with his thumb, enjoying the cold feet Sungmin was having just from listening his gentle warnings.
“And I want you to go back home, take a bath and have a good night sleep - I really hate seeing the dark circles around your eyes, darling, such a turn-off,” he gestured his finger in front of Sungmin’s eyes, and Sungmin blinked, alarmed.
“And in a few days, I’ll bring some new faces for you to send back to where they belong. Do I make myself clear?” he asked, pulling away from Sungmin so he could study his expression. Sungmin didn’t look like he was troubled. Rather, he looked… sad? Why would he be sad?
“Yes, sir. Crystal.”
Eric shook his head slowly when Sungmin wasn’t looking. Why would he care about this bastard’s emotion?
Sungmin didn’t say anything as he left, and they both preferred it that way. It would be really awkward if they tried to get chummy by talking with each other about things outside of work, so no thank you. They were alright the way they were.
At least Sungmin thought so.
“I was telling the truth,” Sungmin suddenly decided to clarify himself. Eric was checking his iPhone though at that time, some of the shares he had in a few major companies around Asia were plummeting and it was not good, so he really wasn’t listening.
“Sorry, about what darling?”
“The bastard who took away everything. He really did fly in.”
“Oh you mean that, darling? Yeah, yeah I believe you.”
Hands were still busy sliding across the iPhone screen. Sungmin grunted again, spit hatefully on the floor and then left. Eric waved his hand even though he was sure Sungmin wouldn’t see it. As Sungmin was prodding the gravels on the way out from the abandoned warehouse, Eric tucked away his iPhone into his pocket and eyes were following Sungmin until he disappeared behind the nearest junction to the road. He then hummed a little song and smiled.
“So, you’re back for your little angel, huh?”
“I’ve been back for a while now. If only you were looking more closely, Eric.” He jumped at the sudden intrusion. As he turned around, an enormous pair of shiny black wings was flashing in front of his eyes and disappeared in an instant. What left instead was a young looking guy in a black, leather trench coat; brown hair bouncing happily as he floated down from above and eyes were drilling holes into Eric’s face. There were dozens of black feathers floating around, surrounding him yet voluntarily dispersed aside as he walked through them - slowly falling to the ground and disappeared; as if absorbed in by the floor.
“Kyuhyun. You look… well, still looking good.”
“Oh, please, don’t look so surprised, Eric. What could eleven thousand years of exile possibly do to me? You know nothing can keep me in forever.”
“Not even Bermuda?”
“Bermuda was what you would call a honeymoon in this millennium.” Eric laughed, sarcastically though, and the guy in the trench coat smirked. His hands were coolly tucked inside his trench coat’s front pockets.
“You’ve ‘trained’ him enough, I believe?” he asked after a while, and Eric snorted. He hated that word; it felt as if he was doing something good for Sungmin.
“I’ve ‘twisted’ him enough to my heart’s content, yeah. One last patch to be sewn up and he’s all yours.” He said, proudly, and he was about to say something else, another hateful remark when he could feel long, steady fingers wrapped around his neck.
“He’s never broken, nor torn down. Mind your words, you filthy carcass, or I’ll finish where Sungmin didn’t.” Eric swallowed the lump in his throat; he wasn’t sure when did it appear in the first place. Maybe it was already there when Sungmin told him about the bastard who flew in last night. Maybe it was when that bastard suddenly appeared behind him.
“You’re still a cocky prick, I see,” he said as he put both his palms up, surrendering to someone whom he would rather not have the hand-to-hand combat with.
“And you’re still just a broken ‘Adam’, Eric. See? Nothing’s change.”
Eric’s face turned sour. Kyuhyun noticed that, but that was what he would like to see, though. Eric being unhappy. He had been enjoying Sungmin for a long time now, someone need to make him clear about his position and what his actual task was.
“Screw you, you bloody angel.”
“Come on, Eric, don’t be so petty. We all know I did that to myself long ago.” Kyuhyun pulled away, letting go of Eric’s neck and stood back properly. Eric drew in a sharp breath, feeling a bit relieved that his head was still intact with his body; his mind flashed back a few millennia ago when Kyuhyun was too furious to have a conversation with and he was still too fragile to be handled roughly by anyone (but Kyuhyun just didn’t care).
To the time when the pain was there but he couldn’t die and that was when everything started.
“Where’d you send my guests?” Fixing his collar and glancing at the young man in the black leather trench coat, Eric asked curiously, trying not to look so clueless at the same time. Kyuhyun smirked, eyeing every movement Eric made with his narrowed eyes.
“You mean your ‘sons’? We’ve sent them back to Hell.” Eric eyebrows knitted, confused.
“ ‘We’? What do you mean, ‘we’? I thought there’re only you and Sungmin in the deal. Kyuhyun, we’re not having a fucking party down here,” Eric’s voice turned a pitch higher, and each word was pronounced with a pressing tone smothered all over them. Clearly, Eric was not happy with Kyuhyun’s other said acquaintances.
Kyuhyun let out a snort, before it turned into a quiet small laugh. He turned around and put his index finger on his puckered lips, as he started to float a few inches above the dusty ground. Eric blinked rapidly; his eyelids were trying hard to filter out the foreign particles that hovered in the air as Kyuhyun rose even higher.
“Is this the right gesture?” Kyuhyun suddenly asked when his left wing spread open and swept the floor in a gallant manner, followed by his right wing in less than a second later. Eric grimaced at the sound of bones cracking from the angel’s back - this is why he hated this species, as if twisting your bones into a pair of fucking wings weren’t that painful - and looked up to meet Kyuhyun’s eyes.
“The right gesture for what?”
“For a promise of secrecy,” Kyuhyun explained, and rolled his shoulders as the cracking sounds continued. Eric raised both of his eyebrows and chuckled. He was a tad unsure earlier about Kyuhyun’s question but it seemed as if it was meant for the ‘hush’ gesture he was making.
“What, you’re a bloody human now?” he asked mockingly. Kyuhyun clucked his tongue and hovered even higher, almost reaching the roof of the warehouse. Eric watched him in annoyance.
“Don’t use your bloody wings when I’m around.”
Kyuhyun laughed heartily, wings still spread but weren’t flapping. Eric grimaced when Kyuhyun hovered closer to him, and he hated it when Kyuhyun looked down to him. He felt small when in fact he wasn’t.
“Oh come on, don’t be a grumpy old fart, Eric. Rejoice, the time we’ve been waiting for has arrived.” He laughed again, spinning around in slow motion, taking his time with his small flight.
“Not as planned, though. And I’ve been wondering this for quite some times - what happened to your wings? The last time we met, they were still fluffy and white and all princess-y. Now, they’re just… black and ugly.”
Kyuhyun stopped spinning and abruptly landed on his feet. Clearly he wasn’t delighted with Eric’s bluntness.
“Never upset your God, Eric. No matter whom He is and who you are. Never.”
-
There was a rancid odour distorting his sense of smell when he entered his apartment that late afternoon. Sungmin grimaced as he put down the fresh groceries he bought on the way home on the kitchen table. Scanning around, he finally saw the red pot he left on the stove three days ago - it was Thursday, wasn’t it? - the one which he used to cook the pasta sauce when Eric suddenly appeared at his doorstep with a light brown, medium-sized envelope in his hand. Names of the bastards that were condemned to Eric’s Hell had always been carried and delivered in bulk inside envelopes like that, as if they came in packages and unless Sungmin bought them together, their discounted price would be invalid to him.
Sungmin sighed, feeling sorry towards the untouched dish. Carefully, he lifted the pot with both hands, trying not to spill any onto the floor, and poured it away into the sink. The small chunks of meat floated above the grease as the pooled water was trying to squeeze down from the small hole on the sink’s bottom. The sour smell began to dissipate as he tried to push the chunks down using a dirty fork he found next to the sink, but Sungmin could still smell it enough to cover his nose with his other hand.
Washing the dirty dishes too while he was in the mood, he hummed a familiar tune that had always been inside his head since he could ever remember. It was a sad tune, yet calming and he usually sing it while he was washing his bloodied hands and clothes late at night after a job was done. Sungmin then wondered about how there were so many things that he knew but didn’t have the memory of learning them anywhere. Like his ass-kicking skills, or weapon-handling abilities. He thought he was born with it, but when he read about human’s motor skills, he figured that it wasn’t something easily gained through genetics. Sure, the sharpness or the fast-speed and reflexes were possible, but estimating the number of opponents roughly by the way the dampness in the air changes, or which part of the neck would bleed severely when you pricked it open with the dagger just with a touch of a finger; now that wasn’t genetic. He was sure he wasn’t born like this. He wasn’t born a killer.
He never read about the genetics were able to transfer killer traits into someone, anyways.
There were three knocks heard tapping against the closed window in front of his sink, and Sungmin’s hand automatically found a kitchen knife from underneath the foams where all his cooking utensils were being cleaned. He eyed the window cautiously when he saw a pair of long legs were hanging down from the emergency stairs that connected every level of the building exteriorly. Sungmin sighed tiredly.
Some people are just oblivious to the rules of the world and Sungmin knew he wasn’t one to complaint about that - for God’s sake if He exist Sungmin ripped off people’s throats - but this boy was another case.
“Zhang Yixing.”
The college kid’s face shone, more like sparkling- the way campfires did when you threw in new dry and crispy woods, though - and his lips were smiling excitedly despite his droopy eyes when he heard his own name being mentioned slowly by Sungmin.
“Hyung, you know my name!” he exclaimed, and Sungmin would like him to shut up or he would have to end someone’s life this afternoon.
(he really would like to not do it in his own place, please)
Sungmin ignored the overly excited Yixing who was going through his groceries, trying to find some ice-cream because “I wrote you a note to buy me one last night, hyung, didn’t you see it?” and Sungmin simply said;
“I burnt it,” while putting the last saucer into the drying basket next to the sink. He turned around and found that Yixing was eating the raw fishcakes he bought for the vegetable soup he was going to make tonight.
Sungmin growled in annoyance.
-
Yixing arrived a year ago, knocking the window just like he did earlier with a big smile on his face, introducing his name, his college name and “I’m your new neighbour upstairs,” so Sungmin slammed the window shut after saying his name and “I don’t like people”, leaving the kid gaping outside his window for a while before he went back to his own apartment, probably shocked with how he was treated in the new home. Sungmin would like to feel guilty or at least a bit of sympathy, but he had just finished burning thirteen bodies to ashes the night before and he smelt like rotten meat when he was finally home, so entertaining an unexpected guest would be the last thing he would appreciate right then.
Also, the kid used the emergency stairs instead of knocking on his door.
“Sungmin-swi, you cook? I’m envious!” were Yixing first words when they met in the elevator two days later as he saw the raw chicken inside the plastic in Sungmin’s hand. That was when Sungmin felt that something was off with the way this kid’s pronunciation. He didn’t usually care about someone’s face, let alone their speech, but this time he did, and he was instantly reminded about Yixing’s own name.
“Oh, right. Chinese.”
“Yes? I am Chinese. Why?” Yixing asked him curiously with gaping mouth that made him look like a chirping bird. Sungmin wasn’t aware that one day he would like to sew the mouth up back then.
“Nothing,” he said, eyeing the kid for a little longer before looking back at the rising number on the top of the elevator’s door. Another seven levels and a stomach growled, loudly.
“Wasn’t me!” Yixing suddenly denied when Sungmin turned around. “This kid must be stupid” was what on Sungmin’s mind because they were the only people inside the elevator.
It wasn’t Sungmin.
“I don’t cook for strangers,” Sungmin said, and walked out when the elevator reached his floor. He was sure it was because of Yixing’s weird understanding of Hangul though that the boy came knocking on his window again later that night with an empty bowl and a pair of chopstick in his hands.
He still didn’t use the door.
And that wasn’t the last time it happened.
-
“Hyung, you should consider becoming a cook. This is super delicious!” Yixing said, raising the empty rice bowl above his head but it slipped out from his hand. Sungmin who was walking towards the fridge by then caught it in time and put it back onto the table without much word. Yixing looked at him in awe.
“Or a martial art trainer, you choose. You have talents in both!” now Sungmin knew that he was pretty glad that Yixing’s Hangul was getting a little bit better so that he didn’t have to talk to him a lot when he asked anything, but not the way that he wanted it to be.
Simply put, Sungmin just wanted Yixing to shut up.
“If you’re done eating, the door’s on that side.”
“It’s okay hyung, I’ll use the window.”
“THE. DOOR. IS. ON. THAT. SIDE.” Sungmin strained his voice, and Yixing was laughing.
“Hyung, you sound funny! Do it again, do it again!” he said, clapping his hands like a retarded seal. Sungmin rubbed his temples in circles, defeated. Yixing scrunched his nose when he saw how pissed Sungmin was, so he washed his bowl without many words and was ready to leave when Sungmin asked him a weird question.
“How do you call an angel?”
“Sorry?” he asked, unsure about both the question and what his answer should be. To be honest he was happy that Sungmin wanted to speak with him, but this was out of the ordinary so he was caught off guard.
“Call an angel. Do you summon him or just call his name? Aren’t you religious?” Sungmin asked again, and Yixing solemnly shook his head. It was the first time Sungmin saw him without the sparkle in his face, so he thought maybe it was a weird question after all.
“It’s fine. Get out now.”
“I don’t believe in a God. Not anymore.” Sungmin raised his eyebrows, a bit surprised by Yixing’s sudden confession. A bit burdened, too. He didn’t like talking a lot with anyone. Eric was an exception, though. He wasn’t anyone.
“Good. There’s nothing to believe in a God anyways. They already screwed up the world so bad by creating humans.”
Sungmin was shocked by his own words. Yixing too, actually. But he was pretty sure Sungmin was saying it to comfort him, which was not comforting at all. Sungmin never comfort him. Ever.
“Though, about your question earlier, I think we’re supposed to pray to them,” Yixing finally said with a laugh, trying to shake off the weird atmosphere in the room. Sungmin was lying down on the couch in the living room and he didn’t seem to care about his answer, so Yixing bid goodbye and walked out the window by the sink.
Still didn’t use the door.
“Pray, huh? Begging?” Sungmin whispered to himself with his eyes still closed when the clanging footsteps of Yixing’s shoes against the metal stairs subsided.
“Sorry, I don’t pray to anyone!” he yelled, and a few seconds later all the windows in his apartment banged opened. Along came the rustling sounds from the night wind that blew in through the windows and a man appeared by his side in a blink of eyes.
“Nope, you don’t. And you don’t have to, Sungmin-ah. Just think of me and I’ll be here at your disposal,” the man told him, bowing down a little bit like an obedient butler to his master. Sungmin gritted his teeth - it was an automatic reaction for someone like him, what’s with the entrance by this self-proclaimed angel like that.
“I want to know everything,” he said.
“Everything that Eric doesn’t know.”
The angel smiled, and his brown eyes turned blue.
-
Yixing was getting ready to bed when he heard the wind rustled loudly against his window panes, making them rattled against each other. It sounded as if something big was flying through the building and it gave him goosebumps. Curiously, he peeked outside his window and just a level below him; two guys were floating outside Sungmin’s apartment.
“These winged guys again,” he whispered to himself, annoyed. He saw the two guys with huge white wings were peeking through the closed windows, sometimes circling the whole building before hovering back to their initial positions.
He had seen enough of these guys today, even during classes. Some of them were his classmates, and they didn’t get along with him. Always trying to get him in troubles. Sometimes they called him ‘freak’ behind his back and he would like to say that it wasn’t him who was backpacking a pair of gigantic, fag-looking wings on his back all the time but it seemed like other than him or probably themselves, none of his other normal classmates were able to see the freaky wings.
Stupid winged freaks.
He peeked again; this time one of the winged guys was trying to enter Sungmin’s apartment, but it seemed as if he was bounced against the wall when he did so. Yixing laughed; happy to see the freaks acting stupid. Slowly, he opened his window up, breathed in -
“Fucking stalkers!” he yelled in Chinese, and quickly shut his window before going back to his bed. He giggled happily and mischievously until he fell asleep, unaware of what happened to the winged freaks who were stalking Sungmin just now.
Yixing woke up the next day feeling happy, and if only he was able to tell Sungmin about those winged freaks. He showered, put on his three-year-old Levi’s and his favourite red hoodie, slung his backpack on and went to the elevator.
When he reached the main entrance of the apartment building, he saw the old janitor whom he never failed to greet every morning to be complaining about something. Since he still got some time to waste before his first class really started, he decided to interview the janitor what he was upset about.
“Someone threw piles of ashes down from their fucking window and I have to fucking swept it up this early in the morning. What an asshole! And you know how many buckets I used for that? Six fucking buckets! How the hell someone could burn something to ashes inside the building and didn’t trigger the water sprinkler??” and Yixing could only hear so many curse words in the morning before his ears sweat oil, so he said how sorry he was for the janitor and “let’s have a coffee when I’m back from school today!” and dashed off to his class.
He wasn’t late, but he didn’t want to be the last one to arrive before the professor came in.
He didn’t see the few white spots that the janitor missed at the side of the building.
They were parts of some huge, badly burnt feathers.
God knew what happened to their owners.
---
TBC