𝐴𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑡𝒉𝑖𝑛𝑒 // 𝐿𝑒𝑒 𝑀𝑖𝑛𝒉𝑜

fifteen.

Haneul collapsed onto her knees and unceremoniously vomited on the living room floor.

Retching, she tried desperately to banish whatever she had just experienced from her mind; the endless vertigo, feeling as though someone was pulling her consciousness in all different directions at once. It was like needles hooking and shredding into her mind. 

     A faint groan pulled Haneul from her bubble of nauseating disorientation. Dizzily, she leaned forward on splayed hands, craning her aching neck as she searched for the source of the sound. Her fingers slid into a warm puddle, frightfully crimson liquid staining her skin as she brought it to her face in shock.

     Oh, God.

     "Minho," she whimpered, suppressing her own exclamations of pain as she forced her vision to focus.

     His listless body lay next to her, wings completely limp as a river of blood crept ever closer to her. As Haneul reached for him, her breaths came in quick gasps, growing more and more shallow as she spotted a cruel talon embedded deep in his side, the gush of dark blood leaking onto her floor.

     "Oh my God, oh my God," she furiously whispered, grappling for his wrist to check for a pulse. His lifeblood barely fluttered against her desperate fingers when she pressed down.

     Haneul clumsily tore her jacket off, pressing it tightly against the wound to staunch the flow of blood. The metallic smell was making her woozy, and she blinked spots from her vision, trying to form a plan.

     There was no way she could help him alone; there had to be someone she could get, someone who knew what to do.

     But Hyunjin and Jisung would be of no use, and she couldn't just call an ambulance; he was obviously inhuman, and she was in no shape to cook up some false tale to excuse his appearance.

     Keeping the jacket flush against his side, Haneul fumbled for his pockets, feeling around for something, anything that could help. Her fingers brushed against a smooth, cool object, and she yanked it out of his pocket.

     A phone.

     Desperately, Haneul turned it on, using his paling face as ID to unlock it before tapping her way to his recent calls. Pressing on the top name, she held the device to her ear with shaking hands, praying that whoever it was could help her.

     A click sounded before an annoyed, raspy voice crackled through the speaker. "Minho, do you know what time it is? I don't get enough sleep as it is—"

     "Please, help," Haneul stammered, her voice cracking as she pleaded with the stranger. "He's hurt, please."

     The phone went silent in an instant, and Haneul almost started sobbing in hysterics. That is, until a wave of heat washed over her, blowing her hair back as she flinched instinctively.

     A large hand clapped down on her shoulder, shoving her harshly away from Minho and into the living room wall. Haneul stifled a gasp as she felt her barely healed wound tear, pressing a hand to her stomach as she scooted further away.

Two men were kneeling next to Minho, their similar charcoal wings almost obscuring her view of the guardian; their hands were glowing with that same strange light that Minho sometimes used to perform unnatural acts, surrounding the fallen man in hazy light.

     Minho abruptly twitched on the floor, a bit of color returning to his skin as the men concentrated, occasionally taking deep breaths to remain focused.

After a few minutes, his eyes fluttered open, squinting as the two men came into view. The shorter one's shoulders flexed as he halted Minho's attempt to sit up, the taller one lying on the floor in apparent exhaustion.