Fallen → yjh + hjs

02

"Walls are built to keep us safe, Until they're crashing down. Worlds apart, we were the same until you hit the ground."

-Angel, Theory of a Deadman

-Joshua's POV-

I carry the shivering man inside and quickly lay him down on the couch. After closing the front door, I grab a blanket from the linens closet and drape it over him. He clearly has a fever. Should I get him a warm or cold washcloth? He's obviously freezing but then again he's sick as well.

What the hell am I even doing?! I don't even know this person and yet I've already let him in my house. Why didn't I just call the police when he collapsed on my front door? For all I know he could be some bank robber or part of a gang!

I glance at the long haired man before grabbing a washcloth and soaking it in warm water. All I can do at the moment is pile blankets on top of him to try keep him warm. When he wakes up, he'll need to change into dry clothes. I doubt he'll want to keep the hospital clothes so with his permission, I'll toss those in the garbage when he wakes up. I kneel beside him and place the washcloth on his forehead. The small scrape on his forehead, above his left eyebrow, calls to my attention. It probably won't make much of a difference but nonetheless I fetch the medical kit and put medicine on it. Returning the kit to where it belongs, I pick up my phone on the table and look for Woozi's contact.

As I do so, the man on the couch shifts, rolling over so that his back is to me, the blankets somewhat falling on to the floor. Before, I'd been to distracted to notice that the back of his hospital shirt was completed ripped. An complicated pattern of midnight black and marshmallow white swirls captures my attention. It's an intricate ink design on his back, reaching up to his shoulder blades and stopping just above his waist.

They're wings. Half of the tattoo is black, the other half pure white, so white that it looks like a scar that never fully healed.

Phone still in hand, I manage to drape the blankets over him once again, re-situating the washcloth on his forehead.

I need to call Jihoon. I-I should contact the police but... I just don't see the need.

My stomach seems to twist in knots as I press the call button on Woozi's contact. It rings twice before he answers.

"Hey Woozi!!"

"H-Hi." he says quietly, his voice sounding timid and shaky.

"Jihoon, are you okay!!!? You sound.....hurt." I only ever use his real name in serious situations.

The voice returns, now with a sudden unexpected cheerfulness, "Yup! I'm fine."

"Okay... Is it possible for you to come over? I kind of have a situation and I'm not sure what to do."

"Sure! What's the situation?"

"Well..." I pause, glancing at the brown haired man. He shifts, tossing and turning in his sleep, "You'll see when you get here."

"Cool, I'll be there soon!" Woozi hangs up and I unlock the front door, so he can get inside without knocking, before returning to the couch. Not sure what else to do, I take the washcloth and wring it out in this sink, this time soaking it in cold water before laying it back on his forehead. I'm definitely not the medical expert here.

I brush the hair out of his face and rest a hand on the man's shoulder.

An emotion that I can't seem to place engulfs me. It's one of hope, wariness, adoration, fear, and confusion, all flooding through me at the same time. I've felt...different ever since he got here...At ease but also on edge. Why am I feeling this way?

Who is this man?

-Jeonghan's POV-

I stand in a four walled room. 4 doors stand tall around me. North, South, East and West.

Usually I never dream. But I've seen these doors before. I saw them when I died....before I chose to become an angel. But back then I didn't know what the doors meant.

Now I do.

I face the North door. It represents mortality, humanity, life on earth. This door is a dark green and pulses with mundane energy.

East stands for pure, seraphic, and celestial beings. Angels. The door is white, supposedly holy.

The West door is red. A maroon color....like spilled blood. Like the color of death. It symbolizes hell. Demons. Unlike the others, this door doesn't give off any aura, any energy. I can sense nothing from that door.

Then there's the South door. It's black. The color of squid's ink, dark and blinding. This is also different from all the others. It doesn't stand for a place like North means Earth, East means Heaven, and West means Hell. This is like a pure void of nothingness. And that's what it is. It means nonexistence. In other words, death, if I chose to do so. My soul wouldn't wander, my spirit may be at peace. I'd have no life, no worries, but all my memories would be twisted. And that's all that would be left of me....bad memories and a wisp of something that once was. It gives off a persuading vibe. It beckons constantly like a Matador waving a red flag in front of a bull. The bull can't help but charge.

South frightens me. It feels too.....soothing.

The 4 doors are choices. Nonexistence, Earth, Heaven and Hell.

As of the moment, I have chosen not to choose. I was cast out of heaven for a reason I don't regret saying. I'm in love with Joshua. I suppose it'd be best not to say it right away. He doesn't even know who I am. Much less, that I'm an angel.

I'm not quite fond of earth. It reminds me of my past, of which I do not prefer thinking about.

Joshua...

Maybe, in time, he'll come to know how much he means to me... And why he means so much.

The room blurs and I stumble backwards. I'm waking up. Red, White, Black, and Green all collide together, the world spinning.

I bolt up, awake and alert, immediately regretting moving. Pain shifts through me, my back stinging fiercely. It was obviously a mistake to use my wings to escape from where I was being held. But I had no other choice. The first person I see is near the door, but once he sees I'm awake he quickly looks at a second person who sits cross legged on the coffee table placed horizontally to the couch I lay on.

They're faces are still slightly blurred, my eyes trying to focus.

"So this is what you meant by a situation." The first man says.

"Yup."

I look to the side, my vision clearing. Sitting on the coffee table is Joshua, looking at me with concern written on his face.

I try to say sitting upright but my energy drains once again and I collapse back on the couch, desperately trying to stay conscious. I focus on his face, his eyes. A warm brown. Full of light and hope. He puts a hand on my shoulder, "Are you okay?"

His friend approaches as well, casting glances at him and I, probably not knowing what to do in this situation.

I merely speak his name. The only comforting word that will leave my lips today.

"Joshua."

Someone please confirm for me that Joshua's eyes are brown. Thanks! :-)