AngelophanY

Twenty-twO

Some people believe that you should be cautious around someone who rarely gets angry. Saint is typically stoic, thick-skinned, and unflappable, able to endure pain, hardship, insults, and criticism without showing much emotion. He remains calm in any crisis. However, everything changed when a certain angel entered his life.

With Fighter, Saint finds himself occasionally annoyed in ways he hadn't experienced before. When he does get angry, he struggles to control his words, regardless of whether they might hurt others. It's an unfamiliar and uncontrollable feeling for him, one that has caused conflict between him and Fighter since it surfaced. Fighter has unwittingly brought out a buried side of Saint that he never knew existed.

Saint sat inside his car in the parking area of the apartment building, gripping the steering wheel tightly until his knuckles turned white. He felt disappointed and remorseful about his actions towards Fighter. Guilt gnawed at him for the harsh words that had spilled out without thought. The anger had overtaken him, and it had gotten out of hand.

Fighter's fear and hurt from Saint's outburst stirred deep regret within him. Saint punched the steering wheel several times, frustrated with himself for causing such pain to Fighter. Fighter was crying and pleading for Saint to stay, to not leave him. Saint hadn't meant to say those hurtful things, but his anger had overwhelmed him.

Realizing he needed to go back, Saint felt a strong urge to reconcile and apologize to Fighter. Fighter relied on him; he had no one else in this world but Saint. Knowing he had hurt Fighter and made him cry for the second time weighed heavily on Saint's heart.

Saint opened the car door, took the elevator, and soon reached the door of their home. As he stepped inside, he halted at the doorstep, stunned to see dozens of gray feathers of varying sizes scattered across the floor.

"Fight..."

His worry grew as he took in the sight. He recognized the color of these feathers—it was the same shade that had fallen from Fighter that night. Back then, it had been just one feather, but now there were tens of them, scattered around their home.

Saint followed the trail of feathers uneasily, leading him to the living area. His eyes widened, and he covered his mouth with trembling hands at the sight that greeted him—an overwhelming amount of gray feathers scattered all over the floor.

"Fight?" he called out softly, his voice filled with concern.

Squinting against the blinding light from the patio filtering through the glass door, Saint cautiously made his way there to investigate the mysterious golden light. His heart felt like it stopped beating when he stepped outside and got a clear view of where the light was coming from.

A handsome angel with wings surrounded by a dazzling hue of yellow held an unconscious Fighter in his muscular arms. Fighter was dressed in angelic attire—a flowing, dirty white gown instead of his usual clothes.

The mysterious angel rose to his feet, cradling Fighter in a bridal style. He glanced up, preparing to take flight, but paused when he noticed someone in the distance.

"Who... who are— where are you taking Fighter?"

Saint's voice quivered with nervousness and concern. His knees felt weak as he confronted the angel, who stared at him intently from head to toe, leaving Saint feeling scrutinized. But he pushed aside the discomfort; his focus was on Fighter. He needed answers—why Fighter was unconscious, why his wings were fading to gray, and why feathers were falling out one by one.

The angel held Fighter securely in his arms, his expression unreadable yet solemn.

"He is dying."

The voice echoed around Saint, originating from the mysterious angel who stood before him, yet his lips remained unmoving. Saint's heart raced at the chilling statement.

"He... he's what?" Saint stammered, unable to comprehend the words. Did he hear correctly, or was the angel speaking in riddles?

The angel avoided Saint's gaze, looking upwards as a blinding yellow ray of light suddenly appeared. Enormous golden wings aggressively flapped once, and in an instant, the light vanished, taking both angels with it, leaving Saint standing alone, bewildered and filled with dread.

"Wait! No! Fighter?"

Saint's desperate cry echoed through the empty patio. Fighter was gone, vanished with the angels who had come for him.

"Fighter!!! No... please. Don't take him away from me. Please!"

Saint dropped to his knees, his legs giving way beneath him. He begged into the silence, the emptiness of the patio weighing heavily on him. The emotions he had suppressed surged forth uncontrollably.

"Fighter... please. Don't leave me. I need you... I—" His voice broke, overcome with grief and longing for the angel who had become his everything.

Saint remained on his knees, alone in the quiet emptiness of the patio, grappling with the profound loss of Fighter.

Saint burst into tears, overwhelmed with the need to apologize and embrace Fighter.

"Fight... please come back," he pleaded, clutching his shirt over his heart, consumed by pain and guilt. He blamed himself for the unexpected turn of events, knowing his uncontrollable anger had played a role.

"No... no, Fight, please. Stay with me... Please come back to me, Fight..."

The angel's words about Fighter dying made no sense to him. Why would Fighter be dying?

"Fight, please. I... I love you— I'm sorry," Saint whispered through his tears, his heartache palpable in the quiet of the empty patio.