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A steady drizzle spatters against the sidewalk, running in rivers down the hill to a storm drain half blocked by fallen autumn leaves. It’s a sudden shower, the quiet streets coming to life with the sound of drops pattering against the concrete, the wind whistling through the partially-barren trees, and no one outside but spirits roaming the midnight rain.
Carefully, Gyuvin locks the door to the convenience store behind him, the welcome bell jingling as he jimmies the lock shut. He reminds himself to send a message to his boss about it, but it's been weeks with no sign of a change. Although all the lights inside have been shut off, the outdoor sign stays on even when the shop is closed. The letters flicker once, twice, then hold their steady green glow—a beacon in the night.
The store wasn't doing too well these days; there just weren't enough customers in this part of Seoul to justify keeping the place open twenty-four hours. Everyone warned him not to take the graveyard shift—the six hours between ten pm to four am, after which he locked up for the next employee to reopen at six to sell businessmen coffee and cigarettes on their way to work. Still, he found that he liked the quiet of these late nights—there was no other time when the world was so quiet, yet alive at the same time.
Shoving his employee vest into his backpack, he grabs the umbrella he'd thrown in this morning even though rain hadn't been on the forecast. A stroke of good luck.
The one complaint Gyuvin had about this neighborhood was the size of the bus stop. The alleyways were so narrow and sloped that there wasn't room for a covered bench, so all that marked it was a sign on a metal pole.
It was especially a pain to wait for the bus in the rain without an umbrella, so Gyuvin was more fortunate than the stranger shivering beside the sign, drenched from the downpour. Without saying a word, Gyuvin lifts the umbrella over the stranger's head. It's not quite big enough for two, so some of the rain drips down onto Gyuvin's back, but he doesn't mind.
"This is the last stop," Gyuvin tells him. "Sometimes it can take a while for the bus to get here." Now that they're standing close enough, Gyuvin finds that the stranger's looks and mannerisms are similar to those of a cat—sharp eyes, slim features, and skin as translucent as a ghost. He seems to make himself as small as possible, trying to fit under the umbrella like he's unaccustomed to the water.
"You seem like you've been out here for a while. Why don't you come inside the store and warm up?"
Wordlessly, the man follows Gyuvin back to the convenience store, though Gyuvin thinks he might just be going in the same direction of the umbrella. As they step through the doors, the welcome bell chimes, and outside, the sign flickers again.
Gyuvin throws him a towel from the back, and the man looks surprised when he catches the soft cloth in his hands. Turning the coffee machine back on, Gyuvin makes two cups of hot chocolate.
Only when the cup is clasped firmly between his two hands does the stranger finally speak. "You can really see me?"
Gyuvin takes a sip from his own cup, nodding. The question doesn't phase him; the few customers they do get at this time of night tend to be a bit odd, lost souls who find their way to Gyuvin's shop as an escape from the harsh world outside. "What's your name?"
"I'm called Ricky. Yours?"
Names are a powerful thing. "Gyuvin," he replies simply.
"Do you like it?" He points to the cup, which Ricky still hasn't tasted, though he hasn't put it down since Gyuvin offered it to him.
"I've never–" Ricky tries to explain, but he can't seem to find the words. He shivers a bit, pulling the towel tighter around his shoulders. "I've always only ever gotten to look."
"It tastes good," Gyuvin promises, "and no one is watching you now."
Ricky takes a small sip. "Ah! It's hot!" His eyes widen endearingly, and he stares at the drink in wonder. "It's good!"
Gyuvin smiles widely, then, more seriously, he asks, "Why were you watching the shop tonight? Were you looking for someone?"
He wonders which of the customers needed a guardian angel to watch out for them.
"I'm not," Ricky pauses, as if finally coming to terms with the words he's about to say. "I'm not one anymore. I was banished."
Gyuvin had a feeling. Guardian angels weren't able to interact with the human world—to feel the rain or drink hot chocolate. If they lost their wings, they often had a hard time accepting it, following their humans until they faded into ghosts with no purpose or place in this realm.
"How did you…?" Ricky begins to ask, but stops as Gyuvin turns around. He tugs the collar of his t-shirt down just enough that Ricky can see the tops of the scars on his back.
"You too?"
"Someone must have been looking out for you tonight, Ricky," Gyuvin jokes.
Years ago, Gyuvin had to learn how to survive in the human world alone. Now, he would make sure the same thing didn't happen to Ricky. Picking up the umbrella from where he'd left it to dry on, he says, “Come on, I'll take you home."
On the way to the bus stop, Gyuvin blabbers from the excitement of meeting someone like him, grinning all the while. "The human world is better than you think. I bet you've never taken the bus before. I'll show you the trick. There's a button you press that tells it to stop, otherwise they think you're just loitering and drive right past you."
For the first time since he'd been banished to the human world, Ricky smiles back.