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Minute didn't think Hannah could get any prettier. Of course, he's dead wrong. Oh … 'dead' might be a little insensitive here. He grimaces at the mangled and blackened corpse of an entity Hannah drags behind her, the sight of which she protects him from by stepping in front of it when he stares too long.
So instead, he looks at her, having to crane his neck up for once. His breath is caught in his lungs. Her face is shining in golden light as if there's no roof on this house to shield her from the sun. Above her head float two halos of liquid gold. It's almost easy to ignore the smears of black blood. They almost paint her in an even better picture, showing off her strength, her power.
If he was allowed to stare longer at the way her hair floats around her and how her lips quirk up in a gorgeous smile, he wouldn't have looked away to see several blades piercing her body.
He swallows the lump in his throat. Of all places, she comes to him?
He doesn't even need to say a word to lead her into his living room. Not that he can speak at all, her mere presence clogs up his throat and the sight of her angelic might leaves him no chance to recover at all. He feels the wings she tucked in to keep them from hitting anything in his house like an enormous presence too.
She waits for him patiently as he rushes to get a few supplies; scissors, a med-kit, bandages he knew he had laying around somewhere, but what does one really need to patch up an angel of all things? He doesn't know what she needs. After some hesitation in the kitchen and a quick look towards Hannah, who's ducked down so she doesn't hit her head on his ceiling light when she walks underneath it, he steels himself with a breath in and fills a glass of water for her.
By the time he comes back, Hannah has sank down to her knees, working in silence to peel her gauntlets off her hands. He only gives them a glance when she sets them down on his coffee table, the metal of it that's only found in the kingdom of heaven making a harsh noise against the glass. But it reveals her hands, slim and yet bigger than his head, coated in black blood. He fights the urge to grab them and feel the warmth of her life flood his systems like an infection.
"What—" he chokes on his own spit. "What do you need?"
Hannah smiles, and Minute swears the lights in the room shine brighter for a moment. "The weapons. You need to remove them first." Her voice damn near makes him flinch, echoing and layering like there's more than just hers.
"Be careful not to touch the blades," she continues before he can so much as reach out to the spear he can grab the easiest. "Cut your skin on them and your mind will be lost to the depths of the void forever. Your body will rip itself apart and rebuild a million times over in the cells of the dark place, where you will lose the meaning of existence and become a slave to the Great Ones down there."
"Oh." He chews on his bottom lip, stomach curling in on itself at the information he really would've liked a little earlier. "Makes sense, I guess."
He quietly moves past her wings, which aren't feathered but translucent, almost like that of a bug. He's never been sure if it's considered offensive to compare an angel's wings to those of a dragonfly. It's the closest comparison he can make, even if she has six instead of four. In the end they're all creatures made by a god, he supposes.
Distractions aside—even if he keeps looking at her wings twitching whenever they do—he eyes the spear he saw first. The weapon is long enough to be impossible for a human to wield. And just like the creature laying dead on his living room floor, the material is made from something pure black. He damn near wants to tell Hannah he's not touching this thing because it's covered in some black liquid that looks like tar. Instead, he steels himself with a deep breath and wraps his hands around it, just underneath the spade tip.
Immediately, he lets go. With a face that's growing hot at the very stupid realisation, he walks over to his dinner table and comes back with a chair. Is this what it feels like to be short? Fuck.
He steps up onto the chair and grabs the spear a second time, this time with the proper leverage to start dragging it up and out. A grimace paints his face, his lungs refuse to provide him with any air and suddenly, he's not so sure why Hannah ever thought he could do this.
Still, he carefully pulls at the spear. Inch by inch, the weapon is pulled through. Gold blood seeps from the wound, staining his hands, the spear, his clothes and his floor too. He grits his teeth, jaw clenched almost painfully until there's only a small bit left. So far, Hannah hasn't so much as let out a groan. The smallest noise she makes is a little gasp torn from between her clenched teeth when he yanks the last part out in one clean pull.
Then he's standing behind her with a void-black spear in his hands and blood seeping all over him. Hannah looks at him over her shoulder, an encouraging smile on her face.
Okay. One down, five more to go.
They work in silent rhythm. He's instantly had to abandon the hope of not getting too dirty; his clothes are shining with gold. Instead, he puts as much effort into not hurting her as he can. She doesn't let him know if or when he does, just quietly thanks him for each removed weapon.
He makes it about three in before he needs to step off the chair so he doesn't fall from shaking legs. The sight of three weapons laying on his floor and then of the body slowly discolouring his floor aren't helping the nausea growing at the bottom of his stomach, steadily until he's sure he'll throw up in a second. Thankfully, as soon as Hannah takes his hand, the knots in his guts disappear, and even if he has to sit down on his couch for a little bit, he can see her clearly. Of course, the look she gives him is one of reassurance once again, eyes that feel like pools of infinite cosmic beauty easing the stress right out of his system.
"How much does it hurt?" he asks, surprised at how confident and clear he sounds to himself—he shouldn't be surprised at all, her powers have done much greater things. Even so, his hands shake in his lap until she takes them from him, shuffling over to sit in front of him.
"Don't worry about it. I'm still alive, that's what matters. Are you okay? You look like you might throw up." Despite the swords still sticking out from her body, she laughs. Either she doesn't feel them, or she's more skilled at hiding the pain than he can ever imagine.
"Yeah, I'm—" He lets his head hang. Her hands squeeze his own, and he stares at the intricate patterns of white and gold hidden underneath blood. "I'm fine. You scared me a little. People don't usually … survive this."
Hannah doesn't laugh at him this time. "Minute. It takes a lot more than this to kill me, I promise. But it's really, really sweet how worried you are. That's what makes you so unique and special to me. You treat me like I'm just like you, like I'm human, like I deserve … anything more than to be treated like your guardian angel, which I am."
Minute's head shoots up at that, mouth falling open. "Hannah, what? You are more than that!"
Of course he treats her like she's human. He treats her like a person. What does it matter that trying to understand what she is and what she does makes his head itch with the effort a little?
"What am I then, Minute?" Her smile is gone. She really does want to know what he means, as if it's a mystery of some kind.
The room is silent for a moment. He swallows the lump in his throat. What is she? There are a million things he could say, wants to say. To him, she's the most gorgeous being in the universe. She's prettier than sunlight filtering to late spring leaves and the ocean at the promise of a heavy storm. She makes any living creature he's ever seen pale in comparison to her. He wants to say she's everything he's ever looked for in someone but never dared to hope for.
"You're my friend," he mumbles instead, glancing away because he can no longer keep his composure. Would she be offended if she knew just how much he loved her?
"You're embarrassed? Or—"
Immediately, his eyes shoot to hers once again. His mouth drops open even if no sounds dare to come out so he resorts to quickly shaking his head. Embarrassed? No, he'd never be embarrassed to be her friend.
"There's something you're keeping from me, Minute. I'm your friend but what else? Your human tendencies seem to make you … scared."
He struggles to get any words out. Finally, he casts his eyes down and sighs. "I don't know, Hannah. I am scared, because you're the best thing that could've ever happened to me. You're my best friend and you're amazing and you're just—you're more than I ever dared to wish for. I just feel kind of, I don't know … Stupid."
She lets him talk this time. He's too scared to look up at her for longer than a quick glance, but curiosity is shining in her eyes.
"I feel stupid for loving you this much." Minute swallows the lump in his throat. "I feel like I shouldn't. You deserve better than a loser like me trailing behind you. I'm sorry, I—I probably shouldn't have even told you."
Hannah doesn't make a sound, considering his words. The silence is deafening, his heartbeat threatens to overwhelm him, and he's almost too scared to suck in a breath at all. A fear holds his heart hostage as he waits for the inevitable answer. He doesn't even know what to expect, a hard rejection or, in some insane and impossible twist of fate, acceptance. Guilt stabs him in the gut at the mere idea. How dare he?
"Human emotions are complicated, aren't they?" Her voice is soft, gentle. She lifts her hands to cradle his face The feeling of her warmth makes him forget about the blood on them for just a moment. Instead, he looks at her and forgets to breathe. He'll never mistake her care for weakness, each twitch and move of her hands and fingers remind him how she could snap his neck or crush his skull without breaking a sweat. But she doesn't. Not simply because she's here to protect him, but because she's his friend, they both know it.
He pushes into her touch. To be held like this, for a moment, it makes every little trouble in his life okay. She takes his worries and stashes them away with just the easiest smile. Light of his life, protector of his mind. How can he not love her?
But where she protects him, she goes through the dangers by herself. His gaze snaps from her lips back to the few weapons still holding her body hostage, so he pulls himself free from her hold and gets back onto his feet.
The silence remains. He makes his way back to that chair and pries another sword with the length of himself free from her back. In awe, he watches as gold seeps down her body, cleansing her skin of that black filth before the wound knits itself shut again.
"Your guilt is useless, Minute."
He needs to take a deep breath before he dares to grab the next spear. "What do you mean?" he asks, trying to sound casual where he really doesn't feel it.
"Guilt is an emotion that is doing you no good right now. It's not your fault that I'm hurt."
He hesitates again at her words. At the slight break in words, he does manage to pull the spear out. A grimace paints his face when some black tar spills on his shirt. Will that ever wash out?
"And it's not your fault that you're in love with me." Hannah turns her head to look over her shoulder, right at him—almost unnaturally far, per human standards. Thankfully, even if Minute couldn't see her pain earlier, she does seem more at ease now.
He purses his lips. "You have a job to do here. I assume being best friends with your assignment isn't exactly up to code. I'm sorry you have to deal with me and my stupid human feelings."
She giggles. Heat rises to his cheeks. To distract himself, he removes the final weapon. It feels like a huge weight off his shoulders to throw the damn thing by the others and finally step off the chair. He's done. Hannah's fine again. He watches with an odd, uncomfortable feeling in his stomach how the wounds knit shut until her skin looks perfect again, and how her wings stretch and flutter to get comfortable before she gets up.
And then she shrinks on the spot, becoming the size Minute had grown used to over time. Her wings and halos shimmer out of existence. Like this, she looks so … human. Disappointment weighs heavy in his heart as much as he hopes it doesn't show on his face.
Hannah laughs softly, takes his face in hands and lets her eyes flick all over his face. "What is it?"
For a short moment, he can stop himself. That moment last only a few seconds before he's reaching up and laying his hands over hers. They feel different now that they're small. Some of the warmth seems to have disappeared.
"You don't have to change yourself for me." At the way she shuts her mouth and considers him, he continues. "You're beautiful either way, but … you should be yourself. I love your wings, I love everything about you." It just slips out. He blushes against his will. He's already dug himself a hole deep enough it's become impossible to climb out of, now it's like he's actively trying to make a fool of himself.
"Oh, Minute … Even when I'm everything humans are afraid of?"
"I could never be afraid of you."
His eyes slip shut when she uses her thumb to caress his cheek. In the absence of his staring, her hands grow in size underneath his. Now that there's silence, he hears the creaking of her body as it changes and adapts. A glow reaches through his closed eyelids, golden and holy and everything beautiful.
"You're too sweet. I'm glad you're my human, Minute. You're extraordinary." Once again, her voice sounds strange to his human ears, like it's supposed to hurt. But again, she could never hurt him. Her voice is nothing but beautiful to him.
A kiss is pressed to the top of his head and he shivers at the serenity that forcibly washes over him. A soft sigh escapes him. He takes her hands in his own, pulling them from his cheeks with ease.
Here, he's safe. Here, he's loved. Here, there's nothing that could ever ruin him, Hannah would never let it.