I stubble thought the streets, not seeing the faces I pass by. The one I love is gone on another tour, not to return home for a month or so. I hate these times. His endless ramblings are gone, leaving me to the silence, to my thoughts…

The pain, the frustration, the anger, but the worst being the guilt I feel. Some people tell me that I have no reason to feel guilty, killing my old teacher was an act of self preservation, but that's not all there is to it.

Unknowingly to most, if not all people, is that we all have wings. I guess this is something I learned, or rather came up with, by being a romance novelist for so many years, but it's true. People see auras; well the wings are kind of like that, but then again not. I look up and finally take them all in, the people who walk the same streets not giving a damn about a random man in sunglasses treading among them.

I can see every one of them, some folded, some open, most an off-white color, some lighter, some darker, the wings of the people of this city. They don't know and don't care what these things on their backs look like, and I guess there's no reason they should. The thoughts pull at the back of my mind. The warm love my teacher showed me, the cold hard pain of his betrayal, my frustration at his lies.

The life I've lived has never been easy; the most I could ever hope for is the merciful numbness of before… before he came. If angels truly fall to Earth, then he must be one of them. The moment I picked up that scrap of paper and looked at his face, when I went to his first concert and heard his voice, that blissful moment when my lips touched his in the elevator, every time the same thought kept coming to mind. He must be an angle. He jumps around the house with the largest smile on his face, and is carried by the brightest wings I have ever seen. This amazing being has been able to do the impossible for me, everything from putting my mind at ease to even starting to heal what was left of my hart. That though is where the guilt comes from.

Thank god Shuichi can't see the things I see. If he could he would have walked away from me the first time he saw me. I mean, how could I ever measure up to what he is, being what I am; the pathetic thing with dark broken wings. I have never dared look at them myself, but I can always feel it. The dark dead weight hanging off my back that could never glow or shine the way his does. I suppose they were brighter once, back when I met teacher in New York, before all the tragedy. The lies though, all the anger and pain, the rape, the death, have stripped me of them and in turn given me the cold dead things I now carry.

Unable to deal with the thoughts any longer I slip into my regular bar for when these times come. As soon as I enter the bartender recognizes me and pours me a glass. This is what I'm reduced to, drowning myself into the liquid fogs so I can escape the onslaught. Usually it's Shuichi who distracts me from it, but with him gone I'm always left defenseless. This is nothing more than a temporary balm.

After throwing back eight shots of rum and three glasses of whisky I call for Tohma to come fetch me. When he comes the bartender says a few useless words to him before we leave. On the way home Tohma tries to speak to me however I feel I have nothing to say. I've reached a point of comfortable numbness and that's where I want to stay. I'm not broken, I'm not whole, and the only thing running through my mind is my obnoxious white angle.

When we pull up to the house Tohma gets me inside and tries to put me in a shower, for the first time I speak up and tell him to go the hell home. I need to do my work. I haven't been able to sit myself down and write because of the thoughts, the reminders of the dead wings and how they could never compare to his, but with the buzz going I can finally get something done. After a long argument with my brother-in-law, I finally head to my office, hearing the sounds of an empty house, but not a home. How could these four simple walls be called a home when he isn't here to make them warm?

After so long of constant typing my head starts to spin, and I can't focus on the keys in front of me. With a grunt I manage to drag my heavy body to the near by couch I keep in here for the all nighters I pull, and I can feel it getting heavier as the wings die a little more at this sick state I've put myself in. I never even remember hitting the pillow before the dark waters dragged me under into sleep…

It wasn't the sun that woke me, or the sounds of the birds, it was that sweet song. The song of the angle that fell for me and with me could never really soar like he should. I opened my eyes to see his smiling face a few inches from mine, saying my name over and over again like a prayer. I could do nothing but chuckle at myself for going so far as to dream about him here, knowing full well he was gone for a long month. At the sound my dream Shuichi tilted his head and said my name one last time in question. All I did was stare at his beauty for a moment before deciding to indulge myself in kissing him, robbing him again of a little bit of his light. It was then that he melted into me and I realized it wasn't a dream, my angle, my Shuichi had somehow returned to me sooner than he should. I celebrated, taking him into my arms and giving him every thing he asked for.

After I had fulfilled all his wishes he went to get us some water, on his way back he stopped at the computer, reading what I had added to the collection of words the night before.

"Yuki, is this true?"

Not fully remembering what I had written I asked what he spoke of.

"You changed the character's name to your name. You wrote that he could see wings and that he went to a bar and got drunk because he wanted to forget about how his own were dark and dead…"

"Yea…" I replied, "Yea I guess it is…"

At this Shuichi came and sat at my side with a sad look in his eyes and a small smile on his face. "Yuki, your eye sight must not be as strong as you think it is."

I gave him a questioning look as he continued, "well I've always been able to see wings on you. They're a bit dim sure, but they've always been big, white, soft wings that protected you."

I couldn't stop the shock from showing on my face. He came and lay beside me, muttering those three magic words, "I love you."

Again I took him in my arms and stared. This perfect beautiful thing besides me who I treat so poorly, and tend to toss aside at times to try and keep my strong appearance always somehow came back and knew how to put my hart at ease. So for the first time I held him close and muttered in reply, the three words I should have told him long ago…