Fallen

I

When he awakens, he's in his room.

He's under the covers in his bed but something is off. He flips then back tensing up his sore muscles and wincing as he takes in what he soon realizes to be wrong.

There was a bright red welt on his waist. And it was in the shape of a hand.

He gawked at it, wondering how the hell he managed to get that, and blanched at the thought of it being permanent. He reached out and poked it, it was warm to the touch and he at the sharp pain his fingers caused it.

It was defiantly a burn.

He fell back into the bed with a groan. What the hell happened last night?

As he thinks it all starts to come back to him, hanging with his mates, , the growling that nobody else could hear, his friend leaving, being chased, and the strange man that fell out of the sky and appeared to have wings.

He shook his head. The guy didn't have wings. It was impossible. He was afraid and seeing things.

Rubbing his hands down over his face he crosses his feet under the covers. That's when he realized. He has socks on. He didn't last night. He sat up again and looked. He had fresh clothes on. A pair of pyjama pants, socks, a Loose fitting shirt that had ridden up during tight and even, for some reason, a scarf.

He frowns down at himself and pulls the scarf off, sighing as the cold air hits his warm neck.

His eyebrows furrow again. Last night he had been chased through the woods barefoot, shouldn't he at least have a few scratches? He stands and walks to the mirror, noting his ankle, which only ached slightly now, compared to the searing pain in it last night.

When he reaches the mirror, he pulls off his shirt and studies his torso. No cuts, no scrapes, no nothing. Only the hand shaped welt on his waist. It looked like someone was supporting him by his waist, by the position of it, but he frowned, trudging to bathroom.

He downed a couple of aspirin with tap water and rubbed some ointment onto his waist, hoping it wouldn't get infected, whatever had happened.

When he went downstairs, there were hot muffins on the counter, and a pitcher of what looked to be fresh squeezed orange juice.

He couldn't help but wondering if he brought someone home, but he hadn't gone anywhere.

He cautiously picks up a muffin to discover its blueberry, taking a small bite of the still warm baked good. He all but melts where he's standing, groaning loudly before taking another bite and pouring himself a glass of juice, all worries about the safety of the food gone because hey, how could something that tastes this good be bad?

That's when he notices the time. 3:37pm. He frowns and moves to look out the window and realizes that the clock is right, it was late in the evening. He usually wasn't one to sleep in but man he thinks, I must have been tired. Poking the last of his third muffin into his mouth, he heads to take a shower, having caught a whiff of himself a few moments before.

He's interrupted mid-shower by a thump on the roof. He looks up, perplexed for a moment then shrugs, going back to washing his body.

A few moments later, a thump in the front yard. He gets out, wrapping himself in a towel as a knock sounds at the door.

Hurrying to answer it, he makes sure the towel is secure before pulling the door open.

He's met with curly hair and eyes so scarily familiar his hard jolts painfully in his Chest. Eyes that travel to his bare abdomen, more specifically to the mark there. He blushes brightly and smiles at the man adjusting his towel to cover most of it.

"Hello" he chirps, his tone light and unusually high, even for him, overcompensating for the embarrassment he felt.

"Hello Louis" the man responds, a slow deep methodic voice with an beautiful accent.

"Hello?" Louis responds, wondering how this man knew his name

"Um sorry, here" the curly haired man says, handing him a pizza box.

"But I didn't order...."

Then the stranger hurried away, seeming to disappear into thin air halfway down the block, not even taking money for the food.

Shrugging, he closes the door and walks inside, hitching up his towel further.

There was something familiar about that man, something he couldn't quite place for a few moments. When took another muffin into his hand it struck him.

Wings

It had been the guy from last night, Louis was sure of it. Those eyes were unmistakable. Though, there were no signs of wings this time, it had to be him. Maybe he had been the one to get Louis home, to make the muffins.

Louis frowned at the thought of a stranger in his home while he was unconscious, dressing him and baking. He took another bite. He couldn't be mad though, the muffins were too good.

Why had the man shown up, acting so weird, with a pizza? Maybe he was coming to check on louis? Maybe he was a stalker. He did seem to be on the roof, then fall off before knocking on the door.

Then there was the matter of how he had looked at the handprint on Louis waist. A mixture of guilt, shame and embarrassment. A little bit of longing. What had that been about? Did he put that mark on Louis?

Louis dropped his head into his hands. This was all too much. He wasn't sure what to think. Maybe he was dreaming? Someone could have made the muffins before they left? Maybe he seen the guy before and had a dream about being saved by him, he was awfully good looking.

That didn't explain his aches and pains though, or the handprint, the most mysterious thing of all.

The phone rang and snapped him out of his thought. He ran to answer it, pressing talk quickly

"Hello?" He asks

"Thank god Lou, we've been trying to get you all day!" Someone shrieks "where have you been!"

Louis laughs, it was Liam, one of his more...maternal acting friends.

"I was sleeping lee, I spose I was just tired" he says

"Dude you do know it's nearly 4 right?" Liam asks

"Yeah I know"

"Okay, because some of what you were on about, wolves only you could hear and stuff, had me sorta freaked" Liam said with a little laugh

"Yeah I think I might have been a little overtired or drunk, maybe a mixture of both" Louis lied, only having had one beer.

"Okay, glad to know your feeling better, we still on for Saturday night?" He asks and Louis nods

"You bet" he responds with a smile "I'll see you then?" He asks

"Yeah mate, see you then" Liam responds before hanging up

So there had been wolves only he heard, he hadn't been dreaming.

Then, the next day, with a fluttering like wings, the curly haired man popped into his living room while he was folding laundry.

He drops the shirt he was holding with a loud squeak of fright, pushing himself against the back of his couch

"What the hell?" He shouts and the man only responds with

"I'm Harry"

And an extended hard.