Dating History
Rating: PG
He wakes up, wakes up to the sand tickling him from beneath, the waves hitting the shore in a rhythmic manner. The sky is still in it's majestic dark blue, clear like a sheet of unwritten paper.
He looks up to where he was from. Bits and pieces of memories flash upon his mind, but he doesn't remember much aside vague instructions and words in riddles.
"Find your purpose."
His back feels light with a lack of white feathers and he glances at his wrist, a five-point star darkly etched on it.
-
He wanders around aimlessly, because that's what he is - aimless. Sometimes he sits on branches, flicking small pebbles at unsuspecting passerby. On chilly winter nights, he stands surrounded by thatched roofs and hay, unforgiving wind and dirty slums.
He reaches his hand to the ground, and in mere seconds, orange sparks flicker radiantly. Mother and children in tattered rags and muddy faces crowd around the fire, with mutters of "thank you, God".
Because a fire amidst wind and snow defied the laws of physics.
But I'm no god, Kibum thinks as he watches smiles of gratitudes and innocent giggles.
I don't know what I am, actually.
-
One hundred and eighty-seven years, he counted.
A century of drifting around the world, in fact, he has already done thirty two full cycles.
He languidly steps foot into a bustling capital - Seoul. A cyclist rides past him, and his form dissipates into fuzzy lines and a wisp of smoke, before fixing himself back.
14 August 2012, he would always remember this date.
A hand runs through the ebony black hair as he settles himself on a bench in a neighbourhood park. He gazes up, and he knows they're watching. The stars in the sky, twinkling gloriously and so up high.
"Why did you put me here?" He searched the skies and stars for answers, clues, anything, really. But the night was silent, too silent.
Then a voice came. "Hey, need a roof?"
Kibum turns to the voice, seeing a young, slim boy, hands in his pockets, looking at him - or probably staring right past him. He turns to the other direction, but it was 2am and the place was desolated.
"So do you?" The boy tilts to his right, flicking stray strands of brown away from his eyes.
Kibum furrows his brows, once again checking the place. Who is this kid talking to? Unknowingly, his thought was voiced out loud.
"The fallen leaf three steps away from you," He answers with an unamused tone. "No shit, Sherlock, I'm talking to you."
Wait.
What?
"You can... see me?" Kibum asked hesitantly. Was he too bored of no one noticing his presence that he had imagine a monologue with a stranger all by himself?
"Oh no, I'm actually blind and these pair of eyes are just for show," The boy rolls his eyes, "For the last time, need a place to stay? I'm renting a room out. Dirt cheap."
Kibum finds himself following the other boy, one with perfectly-shaped lips and honey-brown orbs. They walk in silence for a good five minutes before turning into an alleyway of graffiti and drunkards, climbing up a flight of stairs to a rundown apartment. The door is rusty and the walls are scratched and vandalized.
"Wait," Just as the boy puts his key into the lock, he pauses, "Money first."
Kibum digs in his pocket and hands a wad of cash to the outstretched hand. The boy smiles and continues unlocking the door, leading both of them in. "I'm Kevin, by the way."
Like how it looks on the exterior, the interior isn't any better. Empty beer cans and chips scattered around the cramped-up living room, sofa torn and bits of cotton spilling out, newspapers on the window for a poor excuse of a curtain.
Noticing the expression on Kibum's face, he quickly defends himself, "I swear it doesn't usually look like that."
Kevin turns on the lights and kicks a bottle of coke away, entering the kitchen to the left. "Well maybe just a little."
He returns and throws Kibum a can of beer, plopping down beside him on the sofa. "Sorry, it's the only drink I have left," He admits sheepishly and opens his can, chugging the contents down.
Kibum sits straight with his unopened drink, watching Kevin tilt his head back and his adam apple fluctuating up and down.
"So are you going to tell me your name or do I address you by 'the guy I picked up on the street'?"
The quirk and sass in the skinny boy had Kibum smile a little. "Kibum."
By the time he answers Kevin, the other had already finished his drink, throwing the aluminum metal to the bin across the room (in an unsuccessful attempt). "Well great knowing you, Kibum. The room to the left of the corridor is yours, bathroom is the one at the end. Use up all the hot water and I will bite. Goodnight."
He walks into his bedroom, leaving Kibum to indulge in the scent of smoke and rotten cheese. Kibum sighs.
So what was his purpose here?
-
It was his third day staying with Kevin and he finds the boy not being able to keep his mouth shut. He considers it as a good thing though, because maybe he is one step closer to finding his answer.
In the short span of 72 hours, he already knew substantial things about Kevin. He dropped out of college, works in a shady bar two streets down as a waiter four times a week, from 6pm to 2am. His parents are divorced and he made no effort in contacting any of them. The room Kibum now occupies was originally his cousin's, but Kevin's cousin wouldn't be back for quite some while.
Kibum maintains his silence throughout Kevin's rambles, until Kevin had asked him to talk about himself. He only stares at Kevin because he has nothing to say, truthfully.
He knows nothing about his past. He only remembers being banished down to Earth for the dire mistake he had committed - what it was, he doesn't remember. The last order he heard was to find his purpose and then everything went black and he found himself on Earth. Everything seemed unfamiliar at first when he was too used to white pedestals and ivory white gates.
But that was one hundred and eighty-seven years ago.
"You don't talk much." Kevin remarks, picking up a bottle of juice from the dining table and heading to the front door. It was 5.42pm, Kibum noted.
Kevin stands up after tying his laces. "You might want to get your tattoo touched up, by the way."
It was only then that Kibum realizes - A stroke is missing from the star.
-
A pipe in his mouth as he inhales, letting the intoxication run through his veins before exhaling, puffs of smoke escaping his lips. Kevin opens his eyes and lets out a small yelp, dropping his pipe. "Dude, don't do that man, you scared me."
Kibum stands at the doorway, silently watching Kevin. "Is that crack?"
"No..."
And Kibum concludes that Kevin was a bad liar.
Kevin tries again, "Please tell me you won't call the cops. I'll let you take a puff, but only a puff because this shit is expensive."
"No thank you. If you die, do I get your house?"
"Ha ha, very funny." Kevin keeps the pipe in a zip-lock bag and dumps it in the drawer below the TV set. "Hey, this is the first time I'm hearing you speak more than ten words. Ever since you moved in two weeks ago."
It was two weeks since he met Kevin? What had he spent the two weeks doing?
Sensing that Kibum isn't going to reply him, Kevin continues, "So, what does your tattoo mean?"
It isn't a tattoo, he wanted to say, it is a mark, one that marks his existence and one stroke is missing from it and he doesn't know why. Hell, he doesn't know what is going on anymore.
Instead he replies, "An identification of an angel."
Kevin raises his brow, and for the first time, he doesn't speak.
And a second stroke fades off from the tan wrist.
The next day, he tries walking around, he tries conversing with any passerby, he tries waving in from of them, only to be walked through, not a sense of acknowledgment in those eyes that stare right past him. Of course, they wouldn't, no one sees his existence.
No one but Kevin.
-
2.13am, Kibum enters Kevin's bedroom, with no intention, really. He sees the unmade bed with floral designs on it, a pile of clean laundry on the floor waiting to be folded and an unexpectedly clean study table with a laptop on it. He probably doesn't study, that's why, he muses to himself.
He runs his hand along a wooden shelve of dusty books, a clear sign of years of neglect. He withdraws suddenly however, when he felt a sharp prick on his index finger. A splinter from the shelve had injected itself into the skin and Kibum looks at it weirdly.
Pain.
He isn't supposed to feel pain. He isn't supposed to feel any emotions of a mortal.
"What are you doing in my room?" Kevin is now standing at the door, a hand on his backpack strap. His hair is slightly messy, and his jeans are a tad too loose.
Kibum turns, "I... got lost."
A dry laugh escapes Kevin's mouth as he sits on his bed, digging into his backpack. "You need to learn how to give better excuses."
He retrieves a packet of white powder and a small pipe, putting the pipe's tip to his mouth. Before he could light it, Kibum walks over and snatches the pipe away, Kevin's mouth parting and his eyes wide. "Hey, what the hell, give it back! I offered you the last time."
"No, it's bad for you."
"Well, yeah. So are excessive internet usage, pornography and holding in your farts but no one give a shit. So give it back." Kevin rolls his eyes, springing up and in a futile attempt of getting his pipe.
A deadpan look imprints on Kibum's face as he grabs the pipe in his fist and squeezes. The pipe cracks into small metal and glass shards, sliding out of his hand and onto the tiled floor.
"Fuck?" Anger flashes through Kevin's eyes as he glares at the taller man, fists clenching tight.
There is silence, thick suffocating silence engulfing the two.
What can you do about it? Kibum seems to taunt and Kevin sighs, his eyes softening and he falls back to his bed. "Why do you care?"
Kibum shrugs, giving him a lopsided grin.
"So we're back to the whole 'I talk like I'm on crack while you just stand there like a statue' thing?"
"Maybe if you quit the crack, you wouldn't talk like that." Kibum smiles and Kevin notes how good-looking he actually is when he acts like a normal human being instead of an (handsome) unmoving sculpture.
"Maybe you should get some crack and start talking," Kevin sits up on his bed, brown hair even messier, shirt crumpled and slightly off his right shoulder, "Which reminds me. You're weird, you know that? Three weeks of knowing you and all I ever see you do is stand around, sit around, stare into space, stare at the sky. Hell, do you even have a job? And why are you always at home? Do you ever go outside? Do you have friends? Do you even know anyone around here?"
A smirk spreads on Kibum's face and he folds his arms, "See, this why you should lay off the crack."
Kevin responds with a pillow aimed at Kibum, a flick of his fringe and a kick off the bed, "Please bury my pipe while I shower so I can mourn for it when I'm back."
Kibum doesn't see the third stroke vaporizing into air.
-
"Hey, let's go out, it's my off-day."
After 15 minutes of refusal and reluctance, Kibum is behind a chirpy Kevin under the cooling breeze and growing flowers of spring.
"Let's go in there!" Kevin points at a brightly-lit and ornamented department store and before Kibum could speak (not like he would), Kevin is already picking out a neon green cap.
Kevin saunters around the store, randomly picking out clothes from different racks and occasionally turning back and asking Kibum, "This is nice right?" It's rhetorical, because Kevin hums to himself in satisfaction as he moves on to pick something else.
In the midst of all his excitement, Kevin fails to see the weird looks that besiege him.
After Kevin's shopping frenzy, they settle on a small Italian restaurant two streets down with fancy lighting and cushioned-seats, Kevin claiming that he would treat them both.
"Table for one?" The waiter asks as Kevin and Kibum approach the counter, Kevin swinging his bags of purchase.
"Uh, no? Two."
The waiter blinks but nonetheless leads them in with a "this way please".
Kevin scoffs and looks at Kibum, "Seems like someone failed elementary maths."
For the first time that day, Kibum talks. After the waiter left them at a booth seat in a secluded corner of the restaurant.
"What should I order? The seafood linguine looks good. But I have a craving for baked-"
"Where did you get your money from?"
Kevin's face fell for the briefest moment but then he smiles and glances at his menu, "I'm going with the linguine."
Dinner was served and eaten in silence with Kibum's arms folded, staring across the table at Kevin.
-
21st September 2012, they sit in the living room. It is Kevin's off-day and Kevin slouches on the sofa, a hand holding the remote, the other holding a bowl of instant popcorn.
Kevin extends the bowl of popcorn to Kibum, to which he shakes his head, pushing it back. Kevin frowns, throwing a fistful into his mouth. "Why don't I ever see you eat?"
Kibum shrugs, a small smile tugging the ends of his lips, "Maybe you just eat too much."
"Are you insinuating that I'm fat?" Kevin asks through a mouthful of popcorn.
Kibum says nothing and so Kevin huffs, and changes the channel. He sits back and puts down the blue plastic bowl. "Why do you always stare at me?"
"What?" It is an amused tone, and Kevin can almost hear the laughter spilling out, which would be a miracle because for all these while, Kevin had never heard him laugh.
"You," Kevin continues, "You always stare at me."
Their eyes meet, and Kibum replies, "You do have a pretty nice face."
Kevin's cheek flushes red because it is weird hearing a compliment from Kibum. That must be it, it's just strange, that's all. His heart has nothing to do with it and- Damn it, can his heart stop beating so rapidly? It's actually starting to hurt.
The doorbell rings and it saves Kevin from having to respond to anything as he walks over to open it.
"Soohyun? You're back!"
Kevin jumps on a built man with hair dyed caramel-brown, a Lacoste polo tee donned on.
"Hey Kev." Soohyun grins, hugging the skinny boy back, "How have you been?"
He pulls away from the hug, stepping aside, "Oh, Kibum, this is Soohyun, the cousin that lived with me. Soohyun, this is Kibum, he's a tenant."
The smile on Soohyun's face falters.
"Kevin, there's no one here but us."
Rolling his eyes, Kevin shrugs off Soohyun's grip, walking to the sofa. "What are you talking about? Kibum is right here. I know he's as quiet as a rock but he's not invisible."
Soohyun's eyes soften, looking at Kevin worriedly. "Are you off your meds?"
"I'm not crazy, Soohyun."
"I know you aren't," He takes a step towards Kevin, "I'm just saying, you had a little case of schizophrenia when your parents divorced. It could be acting up again."
The air is thick and damp, the dull whirling of the ceiling fan continues in its mundane fashion. The evening sunlight seeps through the newly-bought yellow curtains in tones of orange and Kevin finds it irritatingly bright.
It must be the sun, its rays too violent and causing Kevin's eyes to sting. Tears well up in his eyes as he looks at Kibum pleadingly, trembling just slightly.
"Kibum, please say hi to Soohyun."
Kibum cringes a little on the inside, because he knows Soohyun will never hear him. He tries anyway, muttering a small "hey" for Kevin's sake.
"Don't be rude and say hi back, Soohyun."
Soohyun stares at Kevin slowly reiterating, "It's only you and me, Kevin. No one's here."
A dry laugh, and Kevin spits, "Tell him you're real, Kibum. Please tell me I'm not fucking crazy."
Within the mess of emotions, Kibum finds something flickering in those wet eyes.
Expectation.
Kibum's mouth opens but, nothing. What was he supposed to say?
How can he answer a question that he himself doesn't have a clear answer to?
Slowly, Kevin backs off, a hand covering his mouth, eyes red and tears spilling. With a quick turn, he rushes into his room, slamming the door shut. Not before screaming a "get the fuck out".
-
A defeated sigh and Soohyun retreats to the front door, gently closing the front door with a light click. Kibum walks down the corridor to Kevin's bedroom, knocking twice, "Can I come in?"
Kevin sinks to the floor, a dull thud as his legs meets the flooring, cries muffled with a hand covering his mouth.
Kevin is no idiot, of course he knew something was off tangent. Of course he saw the weird looks people gave him, of course he didn't miss the way people walk past Kibum like he wasn't there. How could he not notice the absence of a shadow trailing Kibum's feet?
He swallowed heaps of his medicine at one point of time, telling himself that he needed to stop this hallucination before he got too attached. But it didn't work, because the next day he still sees Kibum, as still as ever. He told himself he was crazy, told himself Kibum was a manifestation of his long-cured illness.
But it was too late.
Because he had already developed feelings he shouldn't be feeling, not especially when its for someone that isn't real. Someone not human.
Two soft knocks came on the door again, and Kevin bites his lips, willing himself to stop the wetness in his eyes, the sting in his nose, the pain jabbing his chest.
"No."
"Kevin, we need to talk."
Kevin chokes back a sob, "Who- What are you?"
Kibum leans his back on the wooden barrier between them both and closes his eyes, breathing in.
"I was an Archangel. I got banished to Earth because I commited mistake I shouldn't have - I fell in love with a mortal. Initially I couldn't remember anything, but the memories slowly came back. 187 years on Earth spent wandering around, wondering what am I, what am I supposed to do."
Kibum hears silence from the inside, and takes this as an opportunity to enter. He sits down beside a fragile boy with eyes red and puffy. "Then, I met you," He gingerly puts his arm around the smaller boy, "The only one who saw my presence."
"So here I am trying to find answers, but yet still in a murky pool of doubts and questions."
Kevin's weight slowly shifts towards Kibum, breathing still erratic. Leaves rustle as a gust of wind swings by and the air smells like flower-scented air freshener and detergent.
"Remember the tattoo you saw on my wrist?" Kibum brings his wrist out to Kevin, "It was a five-point star, but now- Hey look, only a stroke's left."
A lone diagonal black stroke skids past Kibum's right wrist, devoid of any signs of the initial star it marked.
"I don't know what it means."
-
Then it was like nothing ever happened.
The following day, Kevin acts all fine and dandy once more, greeting Kibum a good morning cheerfully as he skips into a kitchen to get a glass of water.
"Are you okay?"
Kevin takes a sip of his water and sets his glass down, "Why wouldn't I be?" He flashes his row of pearly-whites and returns to him room, closing the door behind of him.
Kibum isn't sure of the situation now. What exactly is Kevin thinking now? After the whole confession they had yesterday, how is he taking it?
What exactly is going on with Kevin?
-
It was 3.48am on a Thursday morning and the apartment devoid the presence of Kevin.
Weird, Kibum thinks to himself, Kevin should have been home by now. As far as he knows, Kevin lacked a social life and the only person he knew was Soohyun. Kevin spends his time not being at work being at home, eating, sleeping and surfing the net. Which was weird because one would think that someone looking as pretty as the boy would be screaming popularity.
It was a depressingly nagging feeling - one that tugs on Kibum's sleeves and weighs it down, makes his organs contract into an intangible mess of innards.
Kibum walks out of the house, one with scratched wallpaper and leftover cookie crumbs and decides to look for Kevin. Because something must be up.
In a small alleyway of smoke and shattered glass bottles, he finds Kevin crouched in a corner, a hand clutching onto his abdomen, the other dripping red. Two guys in baseball caps and leather jackets hover over him, stick of cigarettes hanging from their mouth.
"You little shit, who are you trying to fool with this dupes?" The man on the left spits, throwing down a clear packet of crack and giving the pathetic figure on the floor a hard kick.
The other man joins in, throwing his stick at Kevin's blood smeared face. The semi-unconscious boy on the floor only lets out a weak grunt, but does nothing to retaliate except lie on his side helplessly.
"Stop!" Kibum cries, forgetting the fact that his voice in inaudible to everyone else but Kevin.
With an extension his right arm, an invisible force surges through the air, pounding onto one of the perpetuators. The man slams onto the adjacent brick wall and a crisp snap can be heard. No groan, no nothing before the man slides down the wall, a trail of blood follows behind his skull and he drops to the ground, eyes still wide.
Shocked by the sudden attack, the other man with shaved head swerves around, frantically looking about. Kibum approaches him and grabs him by the neck, the steel grip ceasing activity of the man's breathing as he chokes at the invisible force. He then flies across the darkness and falls to the ground, a choked gasp resonating.
"Kevin," Kibum calls, holding Kevin up and he sees cuts on Kevin's face, his hair caked in dirt and arms weakly hanging.
Kevin reacts to the voice, opening his eyes ever so slightly and forcing out a weak smile at the worried face, "Should have listened and lay off the crack, huh?"
"You fucking idiot." Kibum's face contorts, as he carefully brings Kevin up.
He jerks, however, when a sharp blade slices through his flesh and plunges itself down on his left shoulder. He crumbles to his knees, still holding onto the younger boy as he looks back and the cap and leather jacket scrambles out of sight.
He feels it - pain. A numbing sensation bringing white to his eyes. His vision blurs and he falls atop of the boy with weak breathing and skinny limbs.
So this is what pain feels like.
-
The world sees him again.
He runs his fingers on his wrist - the last stroke of an incomplete star vanishing and he realizes what his purpose is when Kevin hops out of the hospital bed with a bandaged head and jumps onto him.
Kibum grunts a little when Kevin accidentally presses down on his wounded shoulder. The caramel haired boy pulls back, muttering a sheepish apology.
Kibum thinks its fine, because pain is a relatively new concept to him and he embraces it. Along with every other thing he has yet to experience.
A nurse awkwardly coughs as she halts at the doorway and the two break apart. Kibum apologizing and Kevin sniggering as she checks on Kevin's injuries.
-
"How does it feel being human?" Kevin asks, biting into an apple with a loud crunch.
"How does it feel being off crack?"
"Pretty good." Kevin laughs, leaning on Kibum's uninjured shoulder.
The stars shine bright tonight and it doesn't look like mockery anymore. It glitters in blessing and Kibum thinks that maybe being banished down to Earth was more of a gift than a punishment.
A gift to repeat the incomplete history of one hundred and eighty-seven years ago.
-
No time for proofreading but Happy Lunar New Year for those in the Asian countries!
He wakes up, wakes up to the sand tickling him from beneath, the waves hitting the shore in a rhythmic manner. The sky is still in it's majestic dark blue, clear like a sheet of unwritten paper.
He looks up to where he was from. Bits and pieces of memories flash upon his mind, but he doesn't remember much aside vague instructions and words in riddles.
"Find your purpose."
His back feels light with a lack of white feathers and he glances at his wrist, a five-point star darkly etched on it.
-
He wanders around aimlessly, because that's what he is - aimless. Sometimes he sits on branches, flicking small pebbles at unsuspecting passerby. On chilly winter nights, he stands surrounded by thatched roofs and hay, unforgiving wind and dirty slums.
He reaches his hand to the ground, and in mere seconds, orange sparks flicker radiantly. Mother and children in tattered rags and muddy faces crowd around the fire, with mutters of "thank you, God".
Because a fire amidst wind and snow defied the laws of physics.
But I'm no god, Kibum thinks as he watches smiles of gratitudes and innocent giggles.
I don't know what I am, actually.
-
One hundred and eighty-seven years, he counted.
A century of drifting around the world, in fact, he has already done thirty two full cycles.
He languidly steps foot into a bustling capital - Seoul. A cyclist rides past him, and his form dissipates into fuzzy lines and a wisp of smoke, before fixing himself back.
14 August 2012, he would always remember this date.
A hand runs through the ebony black hair as he settles himself on a bench in a neighbourhood park. He gazes up, and he knows they're watching. The stars in the sky, twinkling gloriously and so up high.
"Why did you put me here?" He searched the skies and stars for answers, clues, anything, really. But the night was silent, too silent.
Then a voice came. "Hey, need a roof?"
Kibum turns to the voice, seeing a young, slim boy, hands in his pockets, looking at him - or probably staring right past him. He turns to the other direction, but it was 2am and the place was desolated.
"So do you?" The boy tilts to his right, flicking stray strands of brown away from his eyes.
Kibum furrows his brows, once again checking the place. Who is this kid talking to? Unknowingly, his thought was voiced out loud.
"The fallen leaf three steps away from you," He answers with an unamused tone. "No shit, Sherlock, I'm talking to you."
Wait.
What?
"You can... see me?" Kibum asked hesitantly. Was he too bored of no one noticing his presence that he had imagine a monologue with a stranger all by himself?
"Oh no, I'm actually blind and these pair of eyes are just for show," The boy rolls his eyes, "For the last time, need a place to stay? I'm renting a room out. Dirt cheap."
Kibum finds himself following the other boy, one with perfectly-shaped lips and honey-brown orbs. They walk in silence for a good five minutes before turning into an alleyway of graffiti and drunkards, climbing up a flight of stairs to a rundown apartment. The door is rusty and the walls are scratched and vandalized.
"Wait," Just as the boy puts his key into the lock, he pauses, "Money first."
Kibum digs in his pocket and hands a wad of cash to the outstretched hand. The boy smiles and continues unlocking the door, leading both of them in. "I'm Kevin, by the way."
Like how it looks on the exterior, the interior isn't any better. Empty beer cans and chips scattered around the cramped-up living room, sofa torn and bits of cotton spilling out, newspapers on the window for a poor excuse of a curtain.
Noticing the expression on Kibum's face, he quickly defends himself, "I swear it doesn't usually look like that."
Kevin turns on the lights and kicks a bottle of coke away, entering the kitchen to the left. "Well maybe just a little."
He returns and throws Kibum a can of beer, plopping down beside him on the sofa. "Sorry, it's the only drink I have left," He admits sheepishly and opens his can, chugging the contents down.
Kibum sits straight with his unopened drink, watching Kevin tilt his head back and his adam apple fluctuating up and down.
"So are you going to tell me your name or do I address you by 'the guy I picked up on the street'?"
The quirk and sass in the skinny boy had Kibum smile a little. "Kibum."
By the time he answers Kevin, the other had already finished his drink, throwing the aluminum metal to the bin across the room (in an unsuccessful attempt). "Well great knowing you, Kibum. The room to the left of the corridor is yours, bathroom is the one at the end. Use up all the hot water and I will bite. Goodnight."
He walks into his bedroom, leaving Kibum to indulge in the scent of smoke and rotten cheese. Kibum sighs.
So what was his purpose here?
-
It was his third day staying with Kevin and he finds the boy not being able to keep his mouth shut. He considers it as a good thing though, because maybe he is one step closer to finding his answer.
In the short span of 72 hours, he already knew substantial things about Kevin. He dropped out of college, works in a shady bar two streets down as a waiter four times a week, from 6pm to 2am. His parents are divorced and he made no effort in contacting any of them. The room Kibum now occupies was originally his cousin's, but Kevin's cousin wouldn't be back for quite some while.
Kibum maintains his silence throughout Kevin's rambles, until Kevin had asked him to talk about himself. He only stares at Kevin because he has nothing to say, truthfully.
He knows nothing about his past. He only remembers being banished down to Earth for the dire mistake he had committed - what it was, he doesn't remember. The last order he heard was to find his purpose and then everything went black and he found himself on Earth. Everything seemed unfamiliar at first when he was too used to white pedestals and ivory white gates.
But that was one hundred and eighty-seven years ago.
"You don't talk much." Kevin remarks, picking up a bottle of juice from the dining table and heading to the front door. It was 5.42pm, Kibum noted.
Kevin stands up after tying his laces. "You might want to get your tattoo touched up, by the way."
It was only then that Kibum realizes - A stroke is missing from the star.
-
A pipe in his mouth as he inhales, letting the intoxication run through his veins before exhaling, puffs of smoke escaping his lips. Kevin opens his eyes and lets out a small yelp, dropping his pipe. "Dude, don't do that man, you scared me."
Kibum stands at the doorway, silently watching Kevin. "Is that crack?"
"No..."
And Kibum concludes that Kevin was a bad liar.
Kevin tries again, "Please tell me you won't call the cops. I'll let you take a puff, but only a puff because this shit is expensive."
"No thank you. If you die, do I get your house?"
"Ha ha, very funny." Kevin keeps the pipe in a zip-lock bag and dumps it in the drawer below the TV set. "Hey, this is the first time I'm hearing you speak more than ten words. Ever since you moved in two weeks ago."
It was two weeks since he met Kevin? What had he spent the two weeks doing?
Sensing that Kibum isn't going to reply him, Kevin continues, "So, what does your tattoo mean?"
It isn't a tattoo, he wanted to say, it is a mark, one that marks his existence and one stroke is missing from it and he doesn't know why. Hell, he doesn't know what is going on anymore.
Instead he replies, "An identification of an angel."
Kevin raises his brow, and for the first time, he doesn't speak.
And a second stroke fades off from the tan wrist.
The next day, he tries walking around, he tries conversing with any passerby, he tries waving in from of them, only to be walked through, not a sense of acknowledgment in those eyes that stare right past him. Of course, they wouldn't, no one sees his existence.
No one but Kevin.
-
2.13am, Kibum enters Kevin's bedroom, with no intention, really. He sees the unmade bed with floral designs on it, a pile of clean laundry on the floor waiting to be folded and an unexpectedly clean study table with a laptop on it. He probably doesn't study, that's why, he muses to himself.
He runs his hand along a wooden shelve of dusty books, a clear sign of years of neglect. He withdraws suddenly however, when he felt a sharp prick on his index finger. A splinter from the shelve had injected itself into the skin and Kibum looks at it weirdly.
Pain.
He isn't supposed to feel pain. He isn't supposed to feel any emotions of a mortal.
"What are you doing in my room?" Kevin is now standing at the door, a hand on his backpack strap. His hair is slightly messy, and his jeans are a tad too loose.
Kibum turns, "I... got lost."
A dry laugh escapes Kevin's mouth as he sits on his bed, digging into his backpack. "You need to learn how to give better excuses."
He retrieves a packet of white powder and a small pipe, putting the pipe's tip to his mouth. Before he could light it, Kibum walks over and snatches the pipe away, Kevin's mouth parting and his eyes wide. "Hey, what the hell, give it back! I offered you the last time."
"No, it's bad for you."
"Well, yeah. So are excessive internet usage, pornography and holding in your farts but no one give a shit. So give it back." Kevin rolls his eyes, springing up and in a futile attempt of getting his pipe.
A deadpan look imprints on Kibum's face as he grabs the pipe in his fist and squeezes. The pipe cracks into small metal and glass shards, sliding out of his hand and onto the tiled floor.
"Fuck?" Anger flashes through Kevin's eyes as he glares at the taller man, fists clenching tight.
There is silence, thick suffocating silence engulfing the two.
What can you do about it? Kibum seems to taunt and Kevin sighs, his eyes softening and he falls back to his bed. "Why do you care?"
Kibum shrugs, giving him a lopsided grin.
"So we're back to the whole 'I talk like I'm on crack while you just stand there like a statue' thing?"
"Maybe if you quit the crack, you wouldn't talk like that." Kibum smiles and Kevin notes how good-looking he actually is when he acts like a normal human being instead of an (handsome) unmoving sculpture.
"Maybe you should get some crack and start talking," Kevin sits up on his bed, brown hair even messier, shirt crumpled and slightly off his right shoulder, "Which reminds me. You're weird, you know that? Three weeks of knowing you and all I ever see you do is stand around, sit around, stare into space, stare at the sky. Hell, do you even have a job? And why are you always at home? Do you ever go outside? Do you have friends? Do you even know anyone around here?"
A smirk spreads on Kibum's face and he folds his arms, "See, this why you should lay off the crack."
Kevin responds with a pillow aimed at Kibum, a flick of his fringe and a kick off the bed, "Please bury my pipe while I shower so I can mourn for it when I'm back."
Kibum doesn't see the third stroke vaporizing into air.
-
"Hey, let's go out, it's my off-day."
After 15 minutes of refusal and reluctance, Kibum is behind a chirpy Kevin under the cooling breeze and growing flowers of spring.
"Let's go in there!" Kevin points at a brightly-lit and ornamented department store and before Kibum could speak (not like he would), Kevin is already picking out a neon green cap.
Kevin saunters around the store, randomly picking out clothes from different racks and occasionally turning back and asking Kibum, "This is nice right?" It's rhetorical, because Kevin hums to himself in satisfaction as he moves on to pick something else.
In the midst of all his excitement, Kevin fails to see the weird looks that besiege him.
After Kevin's shopping frenzy, they settle on a small Italian restaurant two streets down with fancy lighting and cushioned-seats, Kevin claiming that he would treat them both.
"Table for one?" The waiter asks as Kevin and Kibum approach the counter, Kevin swinging his bags of purchase.
"Uh, no? Two."
The waiter blinks but nonetheless leads them in with a "this way please".
Kevin scoffs and looks at Kibum, "Seems like someone failed elementary maths."
For the first time that day, Kibum talks. After the waiter left them at a booth seat in a secluded corner of the restaurant.
"What should I order? The seafood linguine looks good. But I have a craving for baked-"
"Where did you get your money from?"
Kevin's face fell for the briefest moment but then he smiles and glances at his menu, "I'm going with the linguine."
Dinner was served and eaten in silence with Kibum's arms folded, staring across the table at Kevin.
-
21st September 2012, they sit in the living room. It is Kevin's off-day and Kevin slouches on the sofa, a hand holding the remote, the other holding a bowl of instant popcorn.
Kevin extends the bowl of popcorn to Kibum, to which he shakes his head, pushing it back. Kevin frowns, throwing a fistful into his mouth. "Why don't I ever see you eat?"
Kibum shrugs, a small smile tugging the ends of his lips, "Maybe you just eat too much."
"Are you insinuating that I'm fat?" Kevin asks through a mouthful of popcorn.
Kibum says nothing and so Kevin huffs, and changes the channel. He sits back and puts down the blue plastic bowl. "Why do you always stare at me?"
"What?" It is an amused tone, and Kevin can almost hear the laughter spilling out, which would be a miracle because for all these while, Kevin had never heard him laugh.
"You," Kevin continues, "You always stare at me."
Their eyes meet, and Kibum replies, "You do have a pretty nice face."
Kevin's cheek flushes red because it is weird hearing a compliment from Kibum. That must be it, it's just strange, that's all. His heart has nothing to do with it and- Damn it, can his heart stop beating so rapidly? It's actually starting to hurt.
The doorbell rings and it saves Kevin from having to respond to anything as he walks over to open it.
"Soohyun? You're back!"
Kevin jumps on a built man with hair dyed caramel-brown, a Lacoste polo tee donned on.
"Hey Kev." Soohyun grins, hugging the skinny boy back, "How have you been?"
He pulls away from the hug, stepping aside, "Oh, Kibum, this is Soohyun, the cousin that lived with me. Soohyun, this is Kibum, he's a tenant."
The smile on Soohyun's face falters.
"Kevin, there's no one here but us."
Rolling his eyes, Kevin shrugs off Soohyun's grip, walking to the sofa. "What are you talking about? Kibum is right here. I know he's as quiet as a rock but he's not invisible."
Soohyun's eyes soften, looking at Kevin worriedly. "Are you off your meds?"
"I'm not crazy, Soohyun."
"I know you aren't," He takes a step towards Kevin, "I'm just saying, you had a little case of schizophrenia when your parents divorced. It could be acting up again."
The air is thick and damp, the dull whirling of the ceiling fan continues in its mundane fashion. The evening sunlight seeps through the newly-bought yellow curtains in tones of orange and Kevin finds it irritatingly bright.
It must be the sun, its rays too violent and causing Kevin's eyes to sting. Tears well up in his eyes as he looks at Kibum pleadingly, trembling just slightly.
"Kibum, please say hi to Soohyun."
Kibum cringes a little on the inside, because he knows Soohyun will never hear him. He tries anyway, muttering a small "hey" for Kevin's sake.
"Don't be rude and say hi back, Soohyun."
Soohyun stares at Kevin slowly reiterating, "It's only you and me, Kevin. No one's here."
A dry laugh, and Kevin spits, "Tell him you're real, Kibum. Please tell me I'm not fucking crazy."
Within the mess of emotions, Kibum finds something flickering in those wet eyes.
Expectation.
Kibum's mouth opens but, nothing. What was he supposed to say?
How can he answer a question that he himself doesn't have a clear answer to?
Slowly, Kevin backs off, a hand covering his mouth, eyes red and tears spilling. With a quick turn, he rushes into his room, slamming the door shut. Not before screaming a "get the fuck out".
-
A defeated sigh and Soohyun retreats to the front door, gently closing the front door with a light click. Kibum walks down the corridor to Kevin's bedroom, knocking twice, "Can I come in?"
Kevin sinks to the floor, a dull thud as his legs meets the flooring, cries muffled with a hand covering his mouth.
Kevin is no idiot, of course he knew something was off tangent. Of course he saw the weird looks people gave him, of course he didn't miss the way people walk past Kibum like he wasn't there. How could he not notice the absence of a shadow trailing Kibum's feet?
He swallowed heaps of his medicine at one point of time, telling himself that he needed to stop this hallucination before he got too attached. But it didn't work, because the next day he still sees Kibum, as still as ever. He told himself he was crazy, told himself Kibum was a manifestation of his long-cured illness.
But it was too late.
Because he had already developed feelings he shouldn't be feeling, not especially when its for someone that isn't real. Someone not human.
Two soft knocks came on the door again, and Kevin bites his lips, willing himself to stop the wetness in his eyes, the sting in his nose, the pain jabbing his chest.
"No."
"Kevin, we need to talk."
Kevin chokes back a sob, "Who- What are you?"
Kibum leans his back on the wooden barrier between them both and closes his eyes, breathing in.
"I was an Archangel. I got banished to Earth because I commited mistake I shouldn't have - I fell in love with a mortal. Initially I couldn't remember anything, but the memories slowly came back. 187 years on Earth spent wandering around, wondering what am I, what am I supposed to do."
Kibum hears silence from the inside, and takes this as an opportunity to enter. He sits down beside a fragile boy with eyes red and puffy. "Then, I met you," He gingerly puts his arm around the smaller boy, "The only one who saw my presence."
"So here I am trying to find answers, but yet still in a murky pool of doubts and questions."
Kevin's weight slowly shifts towards Kibum, breathing still erratic. Leaves rustle as a gust of wind swings by and the air smells like flower-scented air freshener and detergent.
"Remember the tattoo you saw on my wrist?" Kibum brings his wrist out to Kevin, "It was a five-point star, but now- Hey look, only a stroke's left."
A lone diagonal black stroke skids past Kibum's right wrist, devoid of any signs of the initial star it marked.
"I don't know what it means."
-
Then it was like nothing ever happened.
The following day, Kevin acts all fine and dandy once more, greeting Kibum a good morning cheerfully as he skips into a kitchen to get a glass of water.
"Are you okay?"
Kevin takes a sip of his water and sets his glass down, "Why wouldn't I be?" He flashes his row of pearly-whites and returns to him room, closing the door behind of him.
Kibum isn't sure of the situation now. What exactly is Kevin thinking now? After the whole confession they had yesterday, how is he taking it?
What exactly is going on with Kevin?
-
It was 3.48am on a Thursday morning and the apartment devoid the presence of Kevin.
Weird, Kibum thinks to himself, Kevin should have been home by now. As far as he knows, Kevin lacked a social life and the only person he knew was Soohyun. Kevin spends his time not being at work being at home, eating, sleeping and surfing the net. Which was weird because one would think that someone looking as pretty as the boy would be screaming popularity.
It was a depressingly nagging feeling - one that tugs on Kibum's sleeves and weighs it down, makes his organs contract into an intangible mess of innards.
Kibum walks out of the house, one with scratched wallpaper and leftover cookie crumbs and decides to look for Kevin. Because something must be up.
In a small alleyway of smoke and shattered glass bottles, he finds Kevin crouched in a corner, a hand clutching onto his abdomen, the other dripping red. Two guys in baseball caps and leather jackets hover over him, stick of cigarettes hanging from their mouth.
"You little shit, who are you trying to fool with this dupes?" The man on the left spits, throwing down a clear packet of crack and giving the pathetic figure on the floor a hard kick.
The other man joins in, throwing his stick at Kevin's blood smeared face. The semi-unconscious boy on the floor only lets out a weak grunt, but does nothing to retaliate except lie on his side helplessly.
"Stop!" Kibum cries, forgetting the fact that his voice in inaudible to everyone else but Kevin.
With an extension his right arm, an invisible force surges through the air, pounding onto one of the perpetuators. The man slams onto the adjacent brick wall and a crisp snap can be heard. No groan, no nothing before the man slides down the wall, a trail of blood follows behind his skull and he drops to the ground, eyes still wide.
Shocked by the sudden attack, the other man with shaved head swerves around, frantically looking about. Kibum approaches him and grabs him by the neck, the steel grip ceasing activity of the man's breathing as he chokes at the invisible force. He then flies across the darkness and falls to the ground, a choked gasp resonating.
"Kevin," Kibum calls, holding Kevin up and he sees cuts on Kevin's face, his hair caked in dirt and arms weakly hanging.
Kevin reacts to the voice, opening his eyes ever so slightly and forcing out a weak smile at the worried face, "Should have listened and lay off the crack, huh?"
"You fucking idiot." Kibum's face contorts, as he carefully brings Kevin up.
He jerks, however, when a sharp blade slices through his flesh and plunges itself down on his left shoulder. He crumbles to his knees, still holding onto the younger boy as he looks back and the cap and leather jacket scrambles out of sight.
He feels it - pain. A numbing sensation bringing white to his eyes. His vision blurs and he falls atop of the boy with weak breathing and skinny limbs.
So this is what pain feels like.
-
The world sees him again.
He runs his fingers on his wrist - the last stroke of an incomplete star vanishing and he realizes what his purpose is when Kevin hops out of the hospital bed with a bandaged head and jumps onto him.
Kibum grunts a little when Kevin accidentally presses down on his wounded shoulder. The caramel haired boy pulls back, muttering a sheepish apology.
Kibum thinks its fine, because pain is a relatively new concept to him and he embraces it. Along with every other thing he has yet to experience.
A nurse awkwardly coughs as she halts at the doorway and the two break apart. Kibum apologizing and Kevin sniggering as she checks on Kevin's injuries.
-
"How does it feel being human?" Kevin asks, biting into an apple with a loud crunch.
"How does it feel being off crack?"
"Pretty good." Kevin laughs, leaning on Kibum's uninjured shoulder.
The stars shine bright tonight and it doesn't look like mockery anymore. It glitters in blessing and Kibum thinks that maybe being banished down to Earth was more of a gift than a punishment.
A gift to repeat the incomplete history of one hundred and eighty-seven years ago.
-
No time for proofreading but Happy Lunar New Year for those in the Asian countries!