Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

I SHOULD be glad of loneliness
And hours that go on broken wings,
A thirsty body, a tired heart
And the unchanging ache of things,
If I could make a single song
As lovely and as full of light,
As hushed and brief as a falling star
On a winter night.

Compensation - Sara Teasdale

He could still remember the freedom.

The endless blue above him dotted with small fluffy clouds.

The cool greens and browns below him and the patches of white he knew were called snow.

The landscape changing, the clay roofs and gray concrete and glass growing out from below him, steadily forming a skyline unlike anything he had ever seen.

It was cold, freezing, even. He could feel it prickling his skin, chilling his body but he couldn't possibly notice it less, his entire existence burning with excitement.

He saw the small figures far, far below him, tiny, busy ants walking in all directions – and their vehicles, the cars, coming in so many colors and shapes and sizes.

He inhaled the air, part fresh, part filled with fumes from the lives of humans and adored its novel scent.

He recalled only the sound of wind lifting and caressing him as he glided easily forward.

He remembered it all – so pure, so new, so beautiful.

And then, all went dark.

A new burn spread through his body and it was not excitement now, but pain.

As though he had lost all control, he felt he could not continue his flight, each swing of his wings sending a new wave of suffering through his body.

He was falling now.

Falling.

Falling.

God, how could anything fall so quickly?

He heard his heartbeat loud and clear, felt the panic surge through his body.

Then, all went dark.

Dark it would stay.

Bokuto walked home, slightly uncertain on his feet after another karaoke outing with Kuroo and company, which as usual hosted (read: prompted him to ingest) plentiful amounts of alcohol.

It had become somewhat of a tradition in recent times – Bokuto and Kuroo calling each other up whenever they needed some emergency cheering up, gathering as many friends as they could find on short notice and singing the night away over some beer.

On this particular occasion, it wasn't Bokuto who needed his spirits lifted, but Kuroo; him and Kenma had another lovers' fight. It was nothing big (it never was, Bokuto noted to himself, as they always apologized and spent the following day practically glued together after every single 'fight'), but the former Nekoma captain fell into a bad habit of worrying too much about his relationship (which, Bokuto wanted to note, was really perfectly fine and he had hardly anything to worry about) which only off-key singing and alcohol could mend. Bokuto sometimes wondered whether Kuroo and Kenma really had any actual issues or Kuroo simply wanted to party, but in the end he trusted his best friend not to be the boy who cried wolf.

Bokuto couldn't exactly say no to karaoke and a night of careless fun either.

He wasn't particularly unhappy with his current life as a 24-year-old – he rented a small, three room apartment which comfortably contained a kitchen, living and bed rooms as well as a spacey bathroom and somehow didn't cost him a fortune despite its convenient location next to a subway station. He had a stable job in retail which perhaps wasn't the height of success, but it paid him decent wages nonetheless. He also had enough time and money to enjoy his hobbies and meet up with friends. It was a low-profile life, but a good one, one which many would wish for.

If he had any complaints, he would have to say that it was all a little… boring. As simple as that was, the monotony of his daily routine was slowly getting to him, even if he didn't mind his job and enjoyed the free evenings. His romantic life was not much to speak of either – one failed relationship after another, everything falling apart once the initial lust or infatuation faded into nothing but memories. Men, women, he had experimented with both sexes and all sorts of shapes, sizes, looks and personalities, but he had yet to find anyone who he truly wanted to stay with for more than a few weeks. He was slowly thinking of giving up, coming to the conclusion that perhaps he wasn't built for long-term relationships, coming to terms with the fact that he wasn't as lucky as Kuroo who was blessed with mutual love from his childhood best friend.

He was living a good life and most of the time he could even say he was happy with it.

But he was nowhere near being satisfied. He wondered if he ever would.

He buried his fists deep in his pockets, the early January chill biting into his hands. He had once again forgotten his gloves at home. Or rather, he hadn't forgotten, he consciously decided against taking them, simply because the temperature earlier that evening was inching close to ten degrees Celsius. Now it dropped to what felt like below zero, the cold wind causing his features to wrinkle, slowly sobering him.

He wondered if that was the one issue which ruined all of his relationships – his overly optimistic attitude. He would go out into a warm evening only to return with painfully chapped hands. He never did learn.

He hastened his steps, hoping to return into the warm embrace of his home and bed subsequently as soon as it was feasible. He soon found himself stopped by a red light on the crossing and he swayed back and forth, waiting for it to change. He looked up and down the street. There were no cars in sight, and perhaps this would be a good opportunity to get away with jay-walking, as he was genuinely sick of the cold by now.

He considered it, and finally took a step forward. Before he could move further, however, he was frozen in place by a pained groan, reaching him from a small side alley. He stepped back onto the pavement and listened. The sound repeated itself once more. It was a male voice, sounding considerably hurt. It was quiet, but Bokuto could hear the sounds were a cry for help. He bit his lip as he watched the light turn green.

He could walk away. The man was probably just a drunk who lost the keys to his apartment and passed out on his neighbor's doormat. But what if it wasn't? What if someone was badly beat up or stabbed and left there to bleed out? The area was supposed to be a safe one, but Bokuto did hear of some small gang skirmishes in the district. If he left an injured man like that, he was certain he wouldn't be able to forgive himself. He drew his phone out of his pocket and decided to enter the narrow street, if only to peer down it and call an ambulance.

It was dark, as only a small amount of light from the street lamp behind him reached the small alley. Bokuto allowed his eyes to focus and scanned the area. Nothing seemed to be out of place at first glance; he saw some trashcans, cardboard boxes, back doors and bin bags blocking a large part of the way through. He stopped to listen once more. The voice came again, calling his attention to the black plastic bags.

That was when he saw him.

A man, half-naked, covered in blood and absolutely still as he laid on his stomach among the garbage bags prepared for collection. Bokuto couldn't see much, but what he did see was a terrifying sight that made him feel sick. He took deep breaths, letting the winter air wash over him and stepped closer, hoping to assess the man's state. He heard his tired voice once more and was certain that the man was alive. He unlocked his phone and quickly tapped in the emergency number, not pressing the dial button yet. He wanted a last glance, even if it would make him throw up. He raised his smartphone and allowed the light to land on the man.

His mouth fell open immediately.

A large wing, once white, now stained in red was attached to his back. He could see it clearly meld into one of his shoulder blades, lightly swaying in the cold wind, shivering with the muscles on the man's back.

But he was no man. He was an angel.

Bokuto gaped at him in disbelief, certain his eyes were deceiving him.

He closed his eyes, pinched his wrist and opened them anew, but the man- the angel remained laying in the heap of trash, his lone wing filthy and bending in the wind.

His lone wing.

He took a close look and noticed that the blood ran from a large gash on his back where his other wing should have been.

An injured angel.

He erased the numbers he had typed into his phone and only used it as a flashlight. He couldn't call for an ambulance.

Perhaps encouraged by the alcohol, he stepped even closer and placed his hand on the creature's shoulder. He was cold, but he moaned under his touch. He was still alive. Potentially concussed and half-conscious, but alive.

Bokuto took a deep breath.

It was a terrible decision, really. He couldn't possibly justify it, not even in his partially drunk state.

But he chose to leave his gloves at home yet again.

He lifted the man as gently as he could.

And he carried him home.

When Akaashi woke, all he could see was darkness.

He found it difficult to breathe, and his body shivered.

But he sensed a change.

He was no longer out in the cold winter air that bit at his skin and chilled his body to the core.

He was inside.

But inside of what?

He breathed slowly, trying to understand his current condition.

He was lying face-down on what most certainly felt like a bed.

He could feel something warm and light covering his legs and part of his back; a blanket, he concluded. There seemed to be another one laid over his arms, but leaving the largest part of his back open.

He then focused on the warmth pressed to his chest. He swayed ever so gently and could feel the rubber against his skin. It was a hot water bottle, thawing his cold body, bringing about the most pleasant sensation he could imagine at the moment.

He shifted his attention to his head. It laid on a soft, well-stuffed pillow. As his face was buried in it, he realized that it was the source of the darkness and breathing difficulties.

He slowly raised his head and squinted as his eyes adjusted to the lighting of the room. It proved to be a bedroom, which didn't come off as a huge surprise to him. It was large enough to contain a closet, a large bookshelf, and even a desk pushed under the window. Akaashi didn't spend much time examining its details. Because from what he saw, he could already tell the most important part: it was not his bedroom.

Which begged the natural question: Whose was it?

And subsequently: how did Akaashi get there?

He heard a quiet, metallic noise and footsteps in a nearby room, soon followed by the sound of flowing water. He wasn't alone. This was most likely a good thing, as the person could help him fill the gap in his memory before he flew off and headed in the direction he came from.

Reluctantly, he kicked the blanket off and sat up on the bed. He immediately felt dizzy and closed his eyes, his hands gripping at the wooden frame by the mattress. He was suddenly nauseated and only deep breaths could keep him from heaving up whatever remained in his stomach. He became aware that he must have hit his head at some point. He realized he would have to find a way to overcome the sudden weakness.

It took him a moment, but he finally stood up. His steps were uncertain as he walked forward, but he pressed on, entering the corridor of the apartment through the open door. He had to hold on to a wall to move forward properly, but he slowly teetered his way into the kitchen, where a young man with an odd hairstyle was washing something in the sink, facing away from him.

"Excuse me." Akaashi spoke quietly, apparently hugely startling the man, as he virtually jumped before turning around and looking him over nervously.

"Oh, you're up. Hi." The man uttered tentatively with a careful nod.

Akaashi didn't register the motion and politely continued with what he intended to say. "Forgive me for intruding on your privacy. I can't seem to remember how I got here, but if you would be so kind to open a window for me, I would fly away and never cause you trouble again."

The man looked at him with eyes and mouth wide open, blinking only after a few seconds. "Fly…" he whispered quietly, his eyes turning to his feet. A frown appeared on his lips and Akaashi could hardly comprehend its meaning. He only nodded in affirmation.

"So, you…" the man shook his head and looked up at him, his eyes now sad, melancholic even. "You're… I see."

"What's wrong?" Akaashi asked, confused, beginning to see multiple iterations of the same man in the kitchen. His head was spinning again.

"Can you come with me for a moment?" The man asked quietly, his voice trembling as though he was about to cry. Akaashi agreed, feeling too heavy to refuse.

He was led into a bathroom containing a sink and a toilet. There was a mirror above the sink, and the man encouraged him to stand in front of it.

"I don't know how to say this." The man shook his head before biting his lip. "Just… See for yourself."

Akaashi did as he requested, and gazed into the mirror. There seemed to be nothing wrong with him at first glance; no visible injuries, perhaps a light flush on his cheeks, but everything else seemed in place: both eyes, both ears, both arms, both wings.

Both wings.

No. He could only see one wing in the mirror. He smiled, wanting to laugh at the odd joke. He couldn't see his other wing in the mirror. It must have been a weird prank. He turned to one side and stretched his wing, noticing that it was perfectly fine, a little dirty, perhaps. That left him only the other side to inspect.

He turned to see the other side and his smile disappeared. He couldn't see his other wing. It wasn't there. Only a large, red cut was left in its place. He reached to touch it and was suddenly hit with the excruciating pain of the wound, feeling the thick blood on his fingers. He let his hand drop to his side as he watched the gash bleed in the mirror.

He suddenly laughed. A short, hysterical laugh.

Then he screamed.

Then all went dark again.

When the angel collapsed to the floor of the bathroom, Bokuto knew he had fainted.

He carried his unconscious body back to his bed, and kneeled beside it.

God, what was he doing?

He couldn't help questioning himself and shaking his head, as though the motion could set his thoughts into place. He came to a number of conclusions:

Whatever it was that he was doing, it was insane. He must have been out of his mind.

There was nothing, he was positive about this, absolutely nothing that he could gain from sheltering an angel. Or was this kidnapping? Bokuto didn't know the angel's will – perhaps he had acted against it. In which case, he was actually committing a crime.

But he helped him, he argued with himself. The angel would have died if it weren't for his intervention. But was that really true or was he just trying to justify his actions? Was that how criminals thought? That they were doing the right thing?

But what else should he have done? Left him there to be eaten by the crows? Tokyo's crows were huge, they could easily devour the poor man with just a small flock. Would that be part cannibalism? Bokuto shook his head. That was most certainly the least of his troubles, not something he should be thinking about at the moment.

He kept thinking back to his phone. He should have just called the ambulance. It was simple, it was safe, and they would have helped the angel. What could he do to help him in his apartment? He categorically did not store anything that could alleviate the pain of someone with an amputated limb (that's what it was, really, Bokuto found that there was no other way of putting it) at home and he wasn't certain whether his first aid kit would even be enough to keep the wound from getting infected. He was painfully aware that he should have just called the ambulance.

But what guarantee did he have that they would actually help him and not transport him to some secret lab and experiment on him until he died? He was an angel, for Christ's sake, he couldn't simply be taken to the ER and treated like a human. Although, Bokuto thought he looked very human – very natural. There was nothing particularly divine about him. He looked young, perhaps a little younger than himself, somewhere in his early twenties and he was a few centimeters shorter. He was thin, a healthy sort of thin and he most likely had visible muscles but Bokuto couldn't concentrate on the parts of his body that weren't his injured back. Not to mention the he looked Japanese, and Bokuto was forced to wonder whether people even knew what Japan was when they wrote about angels in the bible (then again, his knowledge of the bible was limited – he was never religious and only knew the bare basics). The angel had dark hair and smooth features. Bokuto wouldn't know how to describe his face – he was panicking too much to focus on the details or to tell whether or not he was handsome. It didn't matter anyway.

The angel did look very human. The only difference was the wings. Well, the wing, singular. Bokuto hated correcting himself in his mind because the implications of this reached far more than just grammar. His remaining wing was snow white once Bokuto carefully washed the blood off, and it felt both soft and strong under his hands. He touched it for only a few moments, but he stared at it for far longer. It was large – larger than he would imagine – rising from his shoulder blade, making a u-turn just above his shoulder and then reaching all the way to his lower thighs where it tapered off neatly. It was a beautiful thing, incomparable to wings of any bird he knew.

So then, should he have taken him to a vet? No, he sighed, that made even less sense.

In truth, he felt like there was no good solution. Each of them carried risks. He didn't have time to think about every single possible aspect of each idea when he picked the angel up from the alley, but a part of him felt like he had done the right thing.

Because what were the alternatives?

A)Leaving him to die – either bleed out, or freeze, or be eaten by starving birds.

B)Calling the ambulance, which would certainly be able to help him properly, but could potentially cause his imprisonment in a research facility.

C)Calling somebody for help – assuming that anyone could be trustworthy enough to help him take care of an angel and not choose one of the options above.

The last option was to take him home and figure everything out on the fly. The issue was that Bokuto was not particularly good at neither quick decision-making nor deep consideration for his actions, and thus the result was such as it was.

There was an unconscious angel on his bed and he had not a single clue of what he would do next.

When he would wake, he would have to explain everything that happened. But what did he know? He could only say that he found him lying in the street and decided to bring him home – as if that wasn't enough to creep anyone out. He was about 90% certain that he had committed a crime. But he wasn't planning on keeping the angel all to himself; if the creature wanted to leave once he woke, then Bokuto wouldn't force him to stay. He would be worried as all Hell, but he wouldn't insist on keeping him and would let him fly free. No, he closed his eyes. He realized that was the one thing that he wouldn't be able to help him with. He wouldn't be able to fly away, only walk. His chest stung, just thinking about it. God, whatever could have happened to him? Bokuto had no idea how he ended up in such a state.

Bokuto sat by the bed, watching the angel, trying to piece what had just happened into some coherent whole. He had enough strength to stand up and even walk around the house, but just barely enough. He had to support himself on the wall. Did he not feel the pain? He must have been in shock, Bokuto concluded. He wouldn't have been walking otherwise. He possibly had a fever. Bokuto bit his lip. If he did then that would suggest infection and he couldn't see a single way in which he could handle that. If the wound was infected, then he wasn't sure whether there was any hope for the angel. He sincerely hoped that it wasn't, even though it would make perfect sense for it to be so, since he had laid in a pile of trash for God knows how long. How did he even get there? Did someone cut his wing off and leave him there to die? That would be too cruel and Bokuto didn't want to think about such an option. That would imply that there were people who knew about angels and people who would do something so barbaric to something that was, after all, so human.

He pressed his palm to the angel's forehead. It wasn't particularly hot. Bokuto exhaled in relief and glanced at the red, slowly drying wound. No infection. For now. That was the only good news.

Bokuto stood up and walked over to the kitchen for the small bottle of antiseptic he kept in one of the cupboards. It was iodine, as far as he could tell, but it was all he had. He hoped it would suffice. He had already rinsed the wound with water when he came home and cleaned the angel of the blood, but he hadn't properly cleansed it yet. He didn't want to do it when the creature was unconscious, even if that seemed more logical.

When he returned to his bedroom, he carried the bottle of antiseptic, along with some sterile gauze and bandages. When he placed them on his bedside table, he noticed that the angel was stirring. He sat down on the floor and held his breath, uncertain of what would happen next.

The angel's eyelids fluttered and he winced in what certainly seemed like pain. Bokuto rested his hand on the bed and leaned closer. "Are you okay?" he asked softly. "How do you feel?"

The angel opened his eyes and focused them on Bokuto in what could only be described as utter resentment.

"You bastard." He hissed through his teeth, before opening his mouth and actually screaming. "You bastard! You did-"

Before he could yell anything else, Bokuto covered his mouth with one hand and pressed the other to the back of his head in panic. "Please don't scream." He pleaded, his own voice hushed and shaking. "Please. I beg you, don't scream. It's the middle of the night and if my neighbors hear you they will come here or call the police and I really don't know what that will mean for you. Nothing good can come of it." Bokuto was sniffling now, tears gathering in his eyes. "I swear that I won't hurt you and I know that it's difficult to trust me but I mean well. I will tell you all I know, I promise, I will answer all your questions and I will do what I can to help you, but please, please, please don't scream. I will do whatever you want, but please tell me you won't scream."

Bokuto was on the verge of crying, his face flushed and his eyes all but overflowing. He didn't want to be so rough with him, but he panicked and this was the first thing he thought of. He wished he wouldn't have used force – it only added to the creature's stress. The regret and fear of what may come escaped his body in the form of tears.

Tears had also gathered in the angel's wide open eyes. Bokuto hoped he wasn't afraid of him. The last thing he wanted to be now was intimidating.

The angel finally nodded slowly and Bokuto took both of his hands away. The creature then spoke, quietly now, but still full of rage. "Why did you do this to me?" he asked, rising to his elbows and pointing at his back, angry tears rolling down his cheeks. "Why?"

"What- No!" It took Bokuto a moment to understand what he meant and to find the words to explain the misunderstanding. "It wasn't me, I swear. If I had done something so horrible, why would I keep you at home? It makes no sense. I know it's not much proof, but trust me when I say that it wasn't me."

Bokuto wiped his wet eyes and kept shaking his head. It wasn't him, it obviously wasn't him, but he sounded so Goddamn defensive that he felt like he was almost admitting his fault. He could see no good way of convincing the angel otherwise. He would have to trust him, otherwise… Bokuto didn't even want to think what would happen if the creature didn't believe him.

"Then who?" he asked, helplessly gritting his teeth. He blinked the tears away and took deep breaths now, attempting to calm down enough to pose coherent questions, to think rationally of what was happening around him. "Who's responsible? And how did I end up here?"

Bokuto sighed, looking down at his hands which rested on his lap. "I'm sorry. I don't know who did this to you. I don't know who could possibly be so cruel to hurt you like this." He clenched his fists and looked up at the angel. "I wish I knew who it was. The fucker wouldn't get away with this so easily, I'd make sure of it."

"But you don't know… So it doesn't really matter. Whoever it was, they already got away with it." The angel shook his head and slumped back onto the bed. His expression was blank as though he had given up on the anger, but couldn't quite let go of all the emotions stirring inside of him. "So can you at least tell me why I'm here?"

"I found you lying on a pile of trash in an alley as I was walking home." Bokuto explained. "You were covered in blood. I couldn't leave you there like that. How did you even get there?"

"I fell." The angel closed his eyes, attempting to recall as much as he could. "I think I fell. I know I was falling, but I don't know if that was where I landed. Perhaps it had been somewhere else and someone used my unconsciousness to… do this, and then brought me where you found me."

"What else do you know?" Bokuto inquired.

"That's all. I can't remember anything else. Just flying, falling and laying there. That's all." The angel shrugged and immediately winced in pain.

"Are you okay?" Bokuto asked softly, having noticed the change in his expression.

"No, I am not okay." The angel did not hesitate in speaking his mind. "Neither of us know what exactly happened to me, I have no idea where to go from here, and, as if that isn't enough, my back hurts."

"I'm sorry." Bokuto quickly drew back, as though that could make any difference to their current predicament. "Would you like a painkiller? I know it's not much, but that's all I can do to make you feel better."

"Why should I trust you?" the angel threw him yet another hateful glance. "Why should I take anything from you?"

"Because I want to help you?" Bokuto suggested, the words sounding unconvincing even to himself.

"And what sort of proof do I have for that?" the angel scoffed dismissively.

"You don't have any." Bokuto shrugged and continued with a sigh. "And honestly, I can understand why you wouldn't trust me. But I don't think I could hurt you more than you've already been hurt."

"So you're saying I have nothing to lose?" the angel raised his eyebrows, almost shaking his head in disbelief at the nerve of the human.

"I'm saying that you're injured and I want to help you recover." Bokuto looked down at the hands in his lap, his expression solemn, yet all but apologetic. "It's your choice whether or not you accept my help."

The angel exhaled and shook his head properly now before burying his face in the pillow. A few heavy breaths later he raised his head once more and looked at Bokuto with tired eyes. "It really hurts. Will they really kill the pain?"

Bokuto suddenly realized the creature was talking about the ibuprofen-based pills he had offered a moment earlier. "I hope so." He sighed. "Honestly, I don't know. I've only ever used it for headaches and muscle pain, never for something this large. I can't promise that it'll make all of the pain go away. It might just dull it."

The angel closed his eyes. "Okay." His face wrinkled in pain once more. "Okay. That will have to be good enough. Please, give me the painkillers."

Bokuto nodded and rushed to the kitchen, promptly returning with two white pills and a cup of water.

"You know how to take pills, right?" he said, kneeling by the bed and offering the drugs on his open palm.

"I'm not a child." The angel scoffed and threw the pills into his mouth, quickly reaching for the glass of water, almost choking as he swallowed. Once he was finished, he laid the glass on the bedside table and fell back onto the pillow.

"It hurts." The creature sighed, his head tilted on the pillow and watching Bokuto.

"It won't work immediately." Bokuto all but apologized.

"I know. I just don't know what else to say." The angel admitted sadly. "It's the only relevant thing right now."

"I'm sorry." Bokuto fumbled with his hands, wondering how he should proceed. "Then… why don't you tell me your name?"

The angel stared blankly into the space above Bokuto's shoulder for a moment, and the latter began worrying that the creature wasn't interested in conversation, for which he couldn't blame him considering the terrible pain he must have been experiencing. Finally, he whispered. "I don't remember."

"You mean-" Bokuto began but was shortly cut off.

"I mean I don't remember." The angel repeated firmly, then shook his head, as though disbelieving the apparent truth. "I… I don't know. I don't know my name."

Bokuto only watched him with sad eyes. He didn't know what to say. What did one say to a stranger who had forgotten his own name? It seemed like a tragic situation, and Bokuto only felt like apologizing again. He remained silent.

"This is not happening." The angel groaned, burying his face in the pillow once more. "It's absolutely ridiculous." He pronounced, lifting his head. "I couldn't have forgotten something as basic as my name."

"How old are you?" Bokuto offered, wanting to test the waters. "Maybe you can remember that?"

"…Twenty?" The angel replied with nothing but uncertainty. "Twenty-something? I think so, that would make sense."

"It would make sense?" Bokuto tilted his head. "So you don't remember and you're just guessing?"

"Yes." The angel sighed, exasperated. "I don't remember."

"Do you maybe remember where you were before tonight? Before you were flying over Tokyo?" Bokuto suggested, as though his questions could lead the creature closer to his answers.

"No." He sighed. "I don't remember anything from before my flight. I don't remember anything. Are you satisfied yet?"

"Why would I be satisfied?" Bokuto replied defensively. "Which normal person would be happy about someone's amnesia?"

"Which normal person would pick up a wounded angel and bring him home?" The creature retorted.

"Fine. Then I'm not a normal person." Bokuto agreed resolutely. "But just because I'm abnormal doesn't mean I have bad intentions."

"I believe you, for all that's worth." The angel shrugged and managed to stop himself from wincing at the pain. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he truly had nothing left to lose. He figured that, compared to all that had happened to him already, it wouldn't hurt to trust the strange man. "So, if I don't remember my name, what do you want to call me?"

"What do you want to be called?" Bokuto wondered, holding his own chin between his thumb and index finger. "I'd guess 'angel' would be too tongue-in-cheek?"

"Yeah, please refrain from calling me just 'angel'." The creature now winced at the uncomfortably impersonal noun. That's like calling a human 'human'. He thought in distaste.

"What do you suggest then?" Bokuto jerked his chin up, passing him the baton in the form of the question.

"Let's see…" The angel sighed, glancing around the room. His eyes came to a quick stop at the bedside table. Apart from a small lamp and an alarm clock, Bokuto had displayed a number of pictures on the small surface. The creature's eyes slid from the one where he had an arm around the back of a man with black hair and comparably odd hairstyle, across the one in which he held an owl on his forearm, a huge grin spread on his lips, to one which didn't feature any hint of the man, but was framed regardless. It was a picture of a bird. "What's this?" he said, pointing to the picture.

"Huh?" Bokuto needed a moment to realize what the angel was talking about. He leaned closer and took a look at the picture. "That's a partridge. Why do you ask?"

"Why do I ask?" The angel repeated in surprise. "Why do you have a picture of a partridge by your bed?"

"…I like partridges." Bokuto shrugged innocently.

"Alright." The angel sighed. "What's the scientific name for this sort of partridge?"

"It's a red-legged partridge – Alectoris rufa." Bokuto explained, however remained confused and subtly formed the last syllables into a question.

"Okay." The angel closed his eyes for a moment and hummed before asking: "Does it have a Japanese name?"

"Akaashi Iwashako." Bokuto shrugged, his brows knitted as he tried to figure out what the creature was getting at.

"That's it." The angel rose to his forearms. "Akaashi. I like it."

"You want me to call you 'Akaashi'?" Bokuto tilted his head, hesitant.

"Yes?" The angel insisted. "Unless you really mind my taking the name of your favorite bird."

"As long as you don't mind being called 'red legs', then I'm fine with it too." Bokuto chuckled lightly.

"Yes, that would be ideal, thank you." Akaashi nodded politely. "And what about you?"

"What about me?" Bokuto asked in confusion.

"What should I call you? You haven't given me your name yet." Akaashi explained, forcing himself not to roll his eyes.

"Oh, it's Bokuto Koutarou." The man introduced himself briefly.

"And which one of these should I use?" Akaashi pressed on.

"Oh, just call me Bokuto." He waved his hand dismissively.

"Bokuto-san." The angel repeated.

"Bokuto-san is fine, too." Bokuto nodded with a light smile.

Akaashi nodded, and turned his head into the pillow again. Bokuto watched as his back rose and fell in time with his slow breaths. After a few moments of silence, the angel raised his head once more.

"…Do you think I'll ever get my memories back?" he asked, his tone hopeful but hesitant, his eyes filled with melancholy.

"I don't know." Bokuto replied honestly. "But I think you might. Memories don't disappear, they just, you know, hide. You just need to find a way to access them again."

"Thank you."Akaashi closed his eyes, laying his head back onto the pillow.

"How do you feel? Any better?" Bokuto asked, concern clear in his voice.

"Yes, it's not as bad now." Akaashi nodded. It still hurt quite a bit but he couldn't deny the improvement.

"Do you think you'll be able to go to sleep now? You must be really tired." Bokuto spoke softly, wondering whether or not it would be better to leave the angel to himself for the rest of the night. He had spoken to him long enough and he must have been exhausted after all of the day's events.

"Yes, I think I'd like to sleep." Akaashi hummed quietly, pressing his face deeper into the pillow.

Bokuto bit his lip for a moment before speaking. "I think we should dress your wound before you fall asleep. So that it doesn't get infected if you roll over at night."

"Will it hurt?" Akaashi opened his eyes, expectant of the worst scenario.

"I'll have to disinfect it so… yeah, probably." Bokuto cast his gaze down. He was not looking forward to performing the procedure.

"Okay." Akaashi exhaled slowly. "Please just do what you must."

Bokuto nodded slowly, then stood up and froze. He remained still for a moment, lost in thought. He then headed to the bathroom and returned a moment later, wearing a pair of latex gloves. He figured that he could keep the basic sanitary principles if he had the means for it. He also carried two towels – one wet and one dry.

"Let me apologize beforehand." Bokuto warned, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"It's fine, there's no need." The angel sighed. "Just do it."

"Okay." Bokuto nodded, leaned toward his back and lightly pressed the wet towel to the wound. Akaashi flinched, feeling the unpleasantly cold fabric cling to his back. He soon felt the water seep into his injury and the pain began flaring up once more. He released a quiet moan, and tried to focus on breathing in and out, on anything that wasn't the cloth weighing on the large gash on his back.

"Okay. You're okay." Bokuto reassured softly, pulling the towel from his back and letting the cool air soothe some of the pain. He dabbed at the leftover water with the dry towel, and despite his best efforts to be gentle, Akaashi couldn't keep his muscles from tensing as the man pulled at the skin around the injury. "The good news is that it's not bleeding anymore."

"Thank God…" Akaashi whispered in premature relief.

"But that also means that I can safely disinfect it now, which is probably what I should do." Bokuto bit his lip briefly. "But that will definitely hurt. So you have to tell me whether you're ready for that."

"I'm fine." The angel lied. He wasn't fine at all, and rather, genuinely afraid of the pain, but he knew that it would be better to have the wound properly cleansed. He was aware that the consequences of leaving the wound as it was would be far far more unpleasant than simple disinfection. "Just get over with it, please."

"Alright." Bokuto agreed and reached for the bottle of iodine. He unscrewed the cap and cringed as the pungent smell hit his nostrils. He hoped that it wouldn't hurt the angel as badly as it smelled.

He held the bottle out above the angel's back and hesitated for a moment. He wondered if just pouring it over the wound was a good idea. He would prefer to use a dropper, even if that would take more time, but he couldn't find one anywhere and decided to settle for what he had. He now pressed the dry towel close to Akaashi's side, so as to allow it to catch the excess fluid. He stretched his hand out a few centimeters above the wound and tilted the bottle.

At first, Akaashi only felt the thick wetness of the fluid on his back. Only after a moment could he feel the real burn the disinfectant left in his wound. It was intense and pierced deep into his body, knocking the breath out of his lungs. When he could breathe again, he only released pained groans, which escaped his throat in time with every breath as he clawed at the mattress and clung to the pillow. When Bokuto poured more of the liquid on the injury, Akaashi couldn't help the scream rising from his voice box, which he could only block with the pillow he pressed to his mouth. He felt like his back was being torn apart, stabbed by razor-sharp claws or cut messily with a dull saw. His entire body pulsed with the pain, his head spinning, his muscles contracting at random and refusing to be controlled. He practically howled from the pain, his body spastically writhing on the bed in hysteria.

By the time Bokuto was done, the angel acknowledged that at some point he began crying, the tears following suit of his screams – out of his body with no regard for his surroundings. When the man wiped his back with the dry towel and set the bottle of merciless liquid back onto the bedside table, Akaashi regained his senses enough to notice how wet his own cheeks were and how hot his face felt. The terrible pain was slowly fading, the angel finally noticed, feeling a stream of cool air on his back.

"I'm sorry." He heard the quite voice from behind his head. It was high-pitched and followed by a sniffle. "I'm so sorry."

With some effort, Akaashi managed to turn his head. He saw Bokuto standing above him and waving a paper fan at his wound in hopes of cooling it, wet streams coming down his flushed cheeks, his eyes closed and his features wrinkled in pain. A different sort of pain.

"It's fine." The angel assured, his voice rough from the screaming, still wet from his own tears. "It's not your fault."

Bokuto fell to his knees by the bed, his head facing the ground. "I know." He sobbed, wiping his cheeks. "But I honestly can't stand it."

"You can't stand it?" Akaashi all but felt the hurt inside of his body transform into rage. "What am I supposed to say? Why are you crying anyway?"

"Because I wanted to help you and I only ended up hurting you more." Bokuto spoke loudly, no longer crying, anger at himself now filling him entirely. "Because I promised to help you and then fucked it all up."

"Why do you even care?" Akaashi scoffed in frustration. "I'm a complete stranger, it shouldn't matter to you what happens to me."

"Because the moment I found you, the moment I saw what happened to you, you stopped being a stranger and became someone who needed help." Bokuto spoke resolutely, his voice strong and earnest. "It's so easy to just close your eyes and move on because who gives a fuck what happens to a stranger, but I can't do that. You're a fellow human being, who I found wounded and bleeding out. Who cares if someone's a stranger if they need help? No one deserves to suffer just because others are too far up their asses to reach out their hand to someone in need."

"I've been picked up by an idealist, how lovely." The angel rolled his eyes, speaking in the most sarcastic tone he could muster.

"Maybe you were." Bokuto snapped back. "Or maybe that's one huge excuse. Because maybe I don't know why I picked you up and I don't know why I care. Maybe I just felt the need to help you and maybe I don't have a good reason for it."

"Maybe you just want to help me to reap the benefits of housing an angel?" Akaashi suggested, slowly losing his venom. He was tired of the argument and he was not in the mood for thinking what ulterior motives his seemingly kind host could hide. He wanted to believe that Bokuto really was kind and did not want to use him. But what sort of proof did he have anyway? It was nothing but wishful thinking.

"No." Bokuto denied firmly. "I couldn't care less that you're an angel. I would have helped you if you were a human just as well."

"But you wouldn't bring me to your house then." Akaashi shook his head, feeling as though both of them had already lost the discussion.

"No." The man agreed. "But does it matter? So long as you would have received help?"

"I don't know." The angel sighed, closing his eyes and pressing his cheek to the pillow. "Honestly, I don't know."

The room fell into tense silence for a few moments. It was Bokuto who broke it.

"…I'm sorry." He apologized once more. "I might be trying too hard. All I know is that I really want to help you. I'm sorry if I can't properly explain why. But you can be sure that hurting you is the last thing I want to do."

"I know." Akaashi shook his head and opened his eyes. "No one who would want to hurt me would be able to cry over disinfecting a wound."

Bokuto smiled at this and exhaled in relief. The angel allowed a small shadow of a smile on his lips as his eyes met the gaze of his host. He then closed his eyes once more and shifted into a more comfortable position on the bed. "All of this is just a lot to take in, I'm sure you understand." He explained.

"I do." Bokuto nodded. "I shouldn't get upset. It really won't get us anywhere."

"Well, I guess I could say the same thing." The angel agreed. "I shouldn't vent my frustrations on you, Bokuto-san. So far you've treated me better than I deserve."

"I guess this is difficult for both of us." Bokuto sighed. "Though you have it harder, obviously. I took you in out of my own free will, and it's not like you ever wanted to-"

"That's alright." Akaashi cut him off. "I'm aware of my circumstances. You don't need to say it out loud. Let's just agree that it's difficult for both of us."

"Right. Sorry." Bokuto hung his head low, realizing his own mistake.

Silence flooded the room and formed a wall between them for the following moments as Akaashi blocked everything out by closing his eyes. Meanwhile Bokuto stared at the floor, feeling his heart pound in his chest, worrying about what he should do next and everything else that was yet to come.

This time, it was the angel's voice which echoed through the room first. "Are we still planning to dress the wound for the night? I would really like to sleep soon."

"Yeah, I think we should." Bokuto replied, focusing on the issue at hand. "Could you sit up for a moment?"

Akaashi nodded, and with some effort managed to push himself off of the bed and into a kneeling position (proper seiza, Bokuto noted). The actual dressing ended up being the simplest part of the procedure, as it only required pressing clean gauze to the wound and securely bandaging it in place.

Once the man had finished, the angel nodded in silent gratitude and laid back down, immediately closing his eyes.

"Akaashi." Bokuto spoke softly, kneeling by the bed. "If you ever need me, just call my name. I'll be sleeping in the living room. I don't care if it's the middle of the night – wake me up if anything happens. Okay?"

"Okay." The angel replied, his words slow and slurred. He was just about falling asleep. "Good night."

"Sleep well, Akaashi." Bokuto wished and left the room shortly.

He would soon learn that sleeping would not be an issue for the angel.

It would be waking that would bring about the worst nightmares.

It was still dark out when Bokuto began stirring on the sofa.

He assumed it was the uncomfortable cushion that caused him to wake, and so tried to rearrange it to ease the strain on his neck and fall back asleep.

Sleep, however, seemed out of his reach.

He pulled the blanket up to his chin and curled up, hoping that the extra warmth would allow him to relax – to no avail.

He finally opened his eyes in resignation and stared at the once-white ceiling in the deep night gloom.

That was when he heard it.

A quiet whimper.

The soft, high-pitched voice came from his bedroom.

Bokuto rubbed his eyes, sat up, let his legs down onto the rug and slowly stood up. He knew his apartment well enough to traverse it without turning on the light, and so only held on to the wall as he took careful steps forward.

Reaching the corridor, he noticed warm light coming from his room – his night lamp, he concluded quickly. He also took note of the fact that with every step, the voice was louder and clearer. Loud enough for him to notice that it was, in fact, the sound of weeping. His chest suddenly felt tight and weak.

Placing his hand on the doorframe, he leaned into the room and spoke softly: "Akaashi? Did something happen?"

The angel's only response was burying his face in the pillow and trying to calm his shaken breath.

"What's wrong?" Bokuto asked, stepping closer to the bed, his voice growing slightly louder, more concerned. "Does it hurt again?"

Akaashi only shook his head, still not raising his face to meet Bokuto's.

"Then what's wrong?" Bokuto's voice trembled in worry as he kneeled by the bed. "Akaashi, talk to me. Please. I won't be able to help you otherwise."

"Look at me." The angel pulled his head up suddenly, the words sniffled and broken. His face was red, eyes swollen and cheeks wet. Bokuto felt tears well in his own eyes at the sight. "Just look at me. There's nothing you can do to help me. I… I…"

Akaashi motioned to the small mirror on Bokuto's bedside table, and shook his head, biting his lip before sobs tore through his mouth, tears escaping his closed eyes, his fists pressed into the mattress. His body heaved with every cry which flowed out of his mouth, and his arms shook helplessly. Bokuto only watched him in silence, his vision blurring with his own tears, the tightness in his throat too strong to allow him to offer any words of comfort.

Akaashi now watched him through his swollen eyes, opening and closing his mouth, stifling the sobs that attempted to escape his throat. "I can't fly." He finally spoke and his voice was utter pain – rough and wet and broken. "I'll never fly again."

"I know." Bokuto admitted. He too was crying now, despairing over the truth, which he refused to openly acknowledge earlier, sympathizing with the poor soul which suffered most with his face down on the bed and his body writhing in pain which could hardly compare to the simple physical one he had experienced earlier that night. Akaashi couldn't fly with just one wing. And that was all he had left. A single, useless wing. It was beyond devastating – Bokuto couldn't find a word strong enough to describe the angel's position. He could only weep alongside him. "I'm so sorry. Isn't there anything I could do?"

Akaashi shook his head, before laying it down on its side on the pillow, facing Bokuto. His red eyes seemed to light up for a moment, but this was immediately followed by a pained grimace. The angel nodded now and extended his hand in the man's direction.

Bokuto seemed to understand. He slowly placed his hand in Akaashi's, only to see him close his eyes and press his open palm to his own cheek. The angel winced, hit by a new wave of sobs as he slid Bokuto's hand from his face to the back of his head, leaning into his gentle touch.

Bokuto didn't need more encouragement. He pulled himself close and surrounded Akaashi head with his arm, pressing his cheek to the top of his head in the embrace, allowing the angel to grab his back and pull himself close. Only then did Akaashi open his mouth, releasing the shameful sounds of his weakness into the night. Bokuto followed suit in quiet sobs of the shared pain, which tore at him from the inside ever since he had entered the room.

Only with the angel in his arms could Bokuto feel how much Akaashi's body trembled as he cried, how much it shook as he struggled to catch his breath through the tears. Bokuto wished he could remain calm and simply console him, hold him close and tell him that it would be alright. Instead he only wept along with him, lightly rocking him back and forth in a futile attempt to bring peace to the both of them.

When Bokuto's strained throat finally allowed him to speak, all he could do was apologize. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He repeated, his voice hushed and weak, his lips pressing into Akaashi's hair.

A longer while had to pass for both of them to calm properly. Bokuto remained with his arm wrapped protectively around Akaashi's head, and the angel refused to let go of the man's back. Only after some time did their grips loosen enough to pull away far enough to see each other's faces. Both of them found themselves thinking that they witnessed particularly sad displays. Ashamed, they slowly averted their eyes.

The first thing Akaashi said when he collected himself was the man's name. "Bokuto-san," he all but whispered, having lost a large portion of his voice a moment earlier. "You needn't apologize. None of this is your fault."

"I know." Bokuto sighed. "But I'm sorry that I can't do anything to help you. I'm sorry that you have to suffer like this."

"I'm sorry, too." Akaashi agreed. "But I'm grateful for everything you did for me already. You've helped me more than you can imagine."

"It's the least I can do." Bokuto shrugged, dejected.

A short silence followed.

"Um, do you think…" Akaashi began, hesitant. "Do you think I could stay here? For a few days at least. Of course, I'll understand if it's too much trouble, I mean I'm coming from nowhere and asking for shelter – it would only be natural for you to refuse."

"You can stay however long you want." Bokuto assured. "I couldn't possibly just kick you out after all you've been through. And if there's anything I can do for you, I would like to help you."

"Thank you." Akaashi closed his eyes. "I really appreciate it."

He suddenly noticed that Bokuto's hand was resting right by his own on the pillow, and took it into his own hand. The next instant, he pressed his lips into the top of his palm modestly, and innocently.

Bokuto almost managed to smile at this and soon lifted their joined hands to his own lips and left a small kiss on the angel's knuckles.

"I believe in you, Akaashi." He spoke confidently for the first time in a long while that night. "You're strong. I'll do my best to help you get through this."

"Thank you." Akaashi spoke breathlessly, feeling his vision cloud again, then quickly blinking the tears away. "I think I needed that."

Bokuto smiled at him gently, holding onto his frail hand with equal care as they sat in the comforting silence for some time.

"Do you think you can go to sleep now?" Bokuto asked finally, feeling like the worst had already passed.

"Yes, I think I'll be fine." Akaashi nodded, wiping the remaining tears from his face with the back of his hand. "Good night, Bokuto-san."

"Good night, Akaashi." Bokuto pronounced softly, ruffling the angel's hair and allowing his fingers to linger for a moment. The angel only closed his eyes peacefully and accepted the tender touch.

They remained that way for a few moments, before Bokuto finally stood up and walked out of the room quietly.

Akaashi silently wished he would have stayed, if only until he fell asleep.

The man's presence seemed to shield him from the darkness gathering in his mind.

If only Bokuto had stayed…