A/N: Here's an idea I've played with for a while. A bit of a casual story. Please Read and Review - it means a lot!
Darren ran, late once again, letting the wind carry him forward towards his work - the simple flower shop at the corner of Green and Hilbert Boulevard was memorable to him, if only because a guy like him wasn't the kind of person you expected to find in a flower shop.
Swinging over the gate that blocked the outside world from the genuine forest growing inside the shop, he raised a hand to wave to a few of the girls winding down for the day and hopped behind the counter.
"Hello," he breathed chirpily to his boss, a petite woman with a powerful disposition.
"About time, Darren," she sighed, but her eyes danced with familiarity and kindness. She knew that, even if he was late every day of the week, he was still one of the hardest-working folk there.
"How's the family?" She asked, a small but well toned hand reaching out to gently lay a finger on the plant that was always sitting near the cashier.
He shrugged and got to his station at the other checkout. "As good as always, if completely ignorant to their dropout son is anything to go by."
She clucked her disappointment with a clicking of the tongue and greeted an early-morning customer, who was soon at the mercy of the overeager shop attendants. "Should have known. You're always welcome here when things get tough, you remember that."
"I will," he agreed. "But I'll be okay, Hannah. Who knows? Maybe someday I'll start my own little flower shop, one just like this one."
"I'll look forward to it," She said honestly, a patient smile on her face. He smiled back with a jovial hum and went to work.
His bliss ended a few hours later. In walked his nightmare; he resisted a wince and instead gave his boss a knowing look and walked off to restock some empty shelves as the shop was assaulted by the well known hair-product scent of Ginger Horvath.
"Oh please, not this early in the morning," He grumbled, glancing at her with a sigh of exhaustion. "Not her."
With a set of steps that were very clearly picked out to make the most noise, her high heels clicking against the wooden floor, she glanced around disdainfully, barely paying any attention at all to the flowers strewn around the shop. With a haughty smirk she called, "Well? Is anyone going to get over here and help me pick some flowers?"
Hesitantly, one of the newer recruits walked up to her, and a few seniors sighed in resignation before returning to work. Ginger proceeded to positively terrorize the poor girl, audible from the back of the building.
"Why do we deal with her again?" he grumbled, sticking a bag of fertilizer on a lower shelf. "Oh right, high-paying customer, right." He sighed and went into the storage room to retrieve more bags of fertilizer.
He took a deep breath and collapsed onto the employee table at the end of the day, prompting several of the employees to giggle lightly.
"I know it was a hard day," Hannah commented from where she was counting the cash, "but at least you'll be getting a bonus today." There was a brief cheer from the collection of employees before they started passing by to get the week's haul.
Darren finally pulled himself together and dragged himself over, thanking her half-heartedly before throwing the pay into his wallet and hopping the fence, dashing off to his favourite place.
It wasn't that Darren didn't like the flower shop; in fact, he loved it. But he also wanted to humour his creative side. He pulled out his sketchbook from his bag and flipped a pencil into his hand. Twirling it idly, he looked around for some inspiration.
He really didn't have a preferred style. His book was filled with everything from photographs to short stories, and he really didn't have any idea what to do with them, but they made him feel better.
Today he decided he'd do some fashion design. He looked up from his paper and glanced about at a few people walking by for inspiration, until he focused on a petite girl across from him.
It was obvious she knew what the word 'style' meant in the modern world. With a quiet smile, he set to work on sketching her, giving particular focus to the details of her clothing. His idle thoughts allowed him to consider her a very pretty girl, although he discarded any hope of ever getting the courage to really know anyone as pretty who wasn't as cruel as Ginger could be occasionally.
When he looked up again, he sighed. The girl had left at some point, he'd probably made her nervous, and he decided to just go off of what he had already. It was unfortunate that he'd focused on her clothing instead of her herself; he had liked the way she looked. He knew it wasn't the best way to judge people, but he had mentally painted her as a nice person.
Just then, a voice above him commented, "You're good, but what's so facinating about my clothes?"
He started and leaped to his feet, turning around on the girl who smiled up at him.
"I... thought that it seemed really stylish." He admitted quietly. "I'm sorry if I was rude or made you nervous, I just liked the way it looked..." He was backing away slowly, but she was keeping pace.
"That's really nice of you to say," she smiled. Her eyes glowed, and in that moment he decided that her clothing was really important to her.
"I've never actually seen it before in stores or anything," he commented, hoping to distract her from the awkward situation. "Where did you get them?"
She glowed like the sun. "The jeans I ordered from France. The shirt and blouse I made myself."
He was floored. "You made them?"
"Yes!" She grinned. "I'm a design student. I want to start making my own line of clothing someday. I'm so glad someone noticed them!" She giggled. "Especially someone like you. You strike me as the type to pay more attention to other things."
It was true, Darren considered with a bit of shock. He was muscular, from working hard every day and from his nightly runs, and he was tall, too. His hair was messy and his clothes thrown together so haphazardly that he probably didn't look anything like someone who cared about clothing.
"I surprise a lot of people," he offered.
"Well then, Mr Surprise," she smirked, "What's your name? I'm Daisy."
"Darren," he replied nervously. "I'd... well, I'd better get going now." He waved and walked off, hearing quiet calls of 'See you later' and other goodbyes until he started running.
He had to remind himself that he couldn't let anyone get closer than that.
His heart raced as he sat, breathing hard, in his apartment. He'd been so close to just blurting out whatever came to mind, and that scared him. He wasn't only scared he might ruin her day and say something rude, like comment on how pretty she was or how much he wanted to hug her; he was scared his secret would get out, and that would be it.
Anxiety was a thing he developed, and as much as it hurt, it helped him; it was anxiety that helped him escape the questions people asked, anxiety that protected him from doing stupid things or saying something impulsively. He couldn't let people know he was the way he was; he wasn't really good at knowing why, but he figured that no matter who he revealed himself to, it would end horribly.
Anxiety became his shield. It didn't matter that his anxiety caused him to drop out of school, or that his anxiety led him to being referred to a flower shop for work. He liked the flower shop, he liked his creations in his book, and that was all he needed.
There was a surge of pain in his back, and with a horrible groan, he got up and bashed himself against the punching bag in his apartment. It wavered and threw itself back, and he threw himself at it again. And again. And again.
Finally, the stress became too much. He was fuming, and he knew very well why. With a wild growl and a curled lip he threw his window open and jumped out.
No normal person would have been able to make the landing safely, but Darren was hardy and strong. He was just too strong to feel it. How did people think he got so muscular? He didn't want to know. He just wanted to get away from the bubbling volcano in his chest.
He grappled his way up a roof and began running. He didn't really care who saw him; it would just be a guy, running on a roof, after all. Not until it got worse.
His back throbbed painfully, and he hissed, putting a bit more jump into his step. He was leaping now, like a muscular, gauche deer that was just trying to get away. With a twinge of effort, he pushed himself off one roof and onto another.
Then it happened. There was the brief slowdown as his mind found a new calm, then snapped back to reality as he was violently pulled apart like fate's plate of shrimp at a diner, and his secret burst from his back with incredible power. They were rigid, held straight, and the wind helped lift him until finally his feet stopped hitting the ground, and he was up and away, into the night.
His wings let go of the tense feeling with a flap or two that shed the blackness it cased itself in. He wistfully remembered a time when flying wasn't necessary before he flipped around and decided to take a short trip over the houses south of his home.
He flapped his way over his small town for at least an hour before he took a break in his usual rest stop; the small alleyway was cut off from building projects of the past, so he had taken to it, considering the only way to get there was by flight or by climbing onto the rooftops of the buildings it surrrounded.
He dropped down and took a deep breath. He would need to fly again soon, stretch his wings, because that is what his body demanded, but he could quickly check himself over and cover some parts of his face. His eyes would have to remain, but considering they were grey in his transformation, people would have a hard time finding him, the real one, the brown-eyed fearful flower shop employee.
He gripped a mirror that lay on the ground in his hands, turning it over a bit before focusing on the reflection. It was obvious that the transformation changed his appearance; the first few times he had panicked so badly that he'd tried to fly high as possible to get away from it all.
His face was around the same shape, although his smile didn't have dimples any more. His skin was lighter in tone, even brighter than his base self, and with a single hand he lifted it and looked at both sides. Each looked to have longer fingers, although he knew it was the fingernails and not the fingers themselves. He sighed and put it down again. He didn't feel like masking himself tonight.
Taking wing again, he kicked off of the brick walls around him and soared up into the sky, a brief moment letting him embrace it without much movement at all, before he dipped down again and swooped down to fly through the streets at incredible speeds. All anyone saw was a blurry figure flash past and swing himself back up into the sky, like an airplane taking off at the speed of sound.
He slowed down as he ascended, and his eyes traced the alleyways of the city with curiosity. Maybe he should practice some swooping down in the unoccupied ones. He did a roll and stretched out his wings again, feeling the wind on the feathers.
He barely had time to flinch as a resounding bang went off and his sight was blinded by red, interrupting his thoughts painfully.
He flapped hard, rising higher, glancing down at the ground with fury in his eyes. He finally focused on a pair of men, probably the same age as him, standing in an alley, one of which held a gun up to the sky still, pointed at him.
Darren didn't dare get closer to the gun, or the pair of men, but took in what he could. Thin, blond, with a lanky build; that was the one that had the gun. The other was equally stereotypical, but his hair was dyed blue at the edges, and he was pointing up at Darren with wide eyes.
Wincing, he swooped away from them, circling a large building in hopes of a balcony or similar to land on. He needed to get rid of the pain in his wings, dislodge the bullet if it was still there, although the blood was already drying and had began to simply drip over his left wing instead of pouring out into the city.
He braced himself as he swooped down towards a balcony that still had the lights on inside. He wasn't quite thinking fully why; he merely wanted some light to see by, so he could find something to tie off his injury with. He let them go painfully stiff at the last moment, and after a brief moment of stinging in his left wing and a floatiness from flying for so long, he crashed, falling backwards onto the ground.
He was half-paralyzed from shock as he tried desperately to turn himself over, but every time he reached forth with his arms his wings screamed in pain. Finally, he gave in, merely staring at the stars had hoping he'd have some way out.
He tensed when he heard a swishing of a door opening, and his eyes travelled to a familiar figure before he closed them and resigned himself to fate.
His dread increased when he heard a quiet gasp, and he merely accepted the pain in his back as she lifted him up, grabbing his arm and swinging it over her shoulder, dragging him inside. He walked with her, allowed her to sit him down, and then he was left alone for a bit.
He thought briefly about what was happening. Daisy, it was Daisy of all girls, was in a room with him. All secrets exposed. It was horrible. He knew his premonition about her had been right; he'd never get to know a nice girl like her. She'd probably send him away to the police the moment he was able to move, if she bothered to do anything at all about the winged beast in her apartment.
He took a moment to appreciate the adorable nature of the decoration. A bit surprisingly, he found that the main colours used were purples and blues, a few whites here and there as well, the wood on the floor being tiled and the walls being plain purple with sets of blue flowers having been painted on. He felt slightly guilty at having expected pink. He glanced at the sets of magazines on the floor, briefly recognizing some of the names and girls on the cover.
His body went stiff as something cold touched his back. He didn't dare move, but apparently his stiffness was noticed.
"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I.. don't know what happened to you but... I want to help."
He nodded slowly, allowing the process to continue. It wasn't as bad as he'd thought, not really. The pain was still there, and it was strong, but there was a lithe hand on his back holding him still. He figured he was squirming uncontrollably, and tried to calm himself down a little, gripping the sofa's material roughly.
It took a while, but the gun wound was cleaned, and the bullet pulled out. His wing was wrapped in white cloth that he felt like snuggling with, and his breathing became regular again. That disaster, at least, was over. He was ready as he could ever be, so there was no point in stressing over it.
"Who are you?" she asked, sitting down to dab some bandages with cleaning alcohols.
He thought carefully for a long time about his answer. He couldn't be honest with her; but at the same time, he didn't feel like lying to her, not after she'd gone to the effort to patch him up. With a drawn-out sigh, he murmured, "I can't tell you."
She seemed a bit downcast, but recomposing herself she replied, "That's okay. I'll be here when you're ready to tell me."
He watched her carefully. There was nothing reserved about it; it was blatantly obvious that he was staring. But with his wings, he didn't care. He would watch her if he felt like watching her, this strange girl who took winged men into her apartment and cured bullet wounds.
She didn't squirm; Instead, she stared right back, eyes flitting from one detail to another. He supposed she was just as curious as he, if not more. Well, he supposed anyone would be - he was some sort of winged beast, after all. It would be about as interesting as a three-headed dog deciding to show up on your doorstep.
"Will you be back?" She asked. He sensed an odd hopefulness in her tone, like a puppy wagging its tail.
He sighed. If she wasn't going to report him... maybe this would be good. Having somewhere to go at night.
"Alright. I'll be back." And with that, he got up and flung the doors open, stretching his white feathers as far as they'd go, until he could feel the wind touching even the tiniest thread of white on each. A deep breath, and he jumped, sailing down into a dive to gain speed, then tilting upwards in a graceful swoop that brought him into the sky once more.
He hoped that this would happen again.
A/N: This story will become its own story! It will be called Wings, like the chapter. Look forward to it!