Rose Garden: Chapter 10

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That day, even after the sun had gone down, the demon did not return. Inside the warm greenhouse, where the fireplace never ceased burning, Kyle was nearly hysterical as he fled from the monsters clinging to his feet. At first, they had only come in small numbers, but as the night deepened, they steadily increased. Though the power of an angel was beginning to return to him, it was still faint and unreliable. For now, he could just barely fend them off, but if larger, stronger creatures appeared, he’d be powerless to resist.

Eventually, one of them grabbed his ankle and dragged him to the ground. Immediately, several others let out feral cries and leapt at him. He screamed and scrambled to his feet, lashing out wildly at the creatures. The ankle that had been seized was scratched and bleeding, stinging with pain. Tears welled up as Kyle cursed the demon who had put him in this miserable situation, who still hadn’t returned no matter how long he waited.

At last, the sound he had been desperate for reached his ears, the front door opening. Kyle rushed out of the greenhouse and ran down the hallway. The instant he saw the large, dark figure standing in the doorway, the presence of the monsters that had surrounded him vanished.

“You’re you're late! What were you doing out so ”

In the middle of his outburst, the figure at the door suddenly swayed and collapsed. Kyle’s mouth fell open as he looked down at the creature now crumpled at his feet. It was no longer in human form but had taken on a grotesque, evil shape born from the dark. Just looking at it filled Kyle with revulsion. Why did it have to appear before him like this, in such a revolting state? As he bristled with anger, a slow seep of dark, red-black fluid began to spread around his feet. He stepped back instinctively, not wanting to soil his shoes. Foul, unclean blood… It was only then that he realized the demon was injured.

“Hey,” he called out, but there was no response. The creature didn’t move, not even a twitch. Is he dead? The thought sent a chill racing through his chest. If the demon died, the monsters would come. They’d devour him. His wings had only just begun to grow… all of it would be for nothing.

He crouched beside the demon, but quickly realized the hem of his stole might touch the blood and hastily gathered it onto his knees. He reached toward the demon, but recoiled at the thought of touching that hideous, misshapen body. Slowly, his hand retreated. Lost for what to do, unable to walk away, he sat down beside him, trembling from the cold wind blowing in through the still-open door. He wanted to go back to the warmth of the greenhouse, but if the demon wasn’t nearby, the monsters would come again. No before that, why did he have to be sitting here like this in the first place? Because the demon was bleeding and collapsed right here. Because his filthy legs were half out the door, making it impossible to even close it. I haven’t done anything wrong, Kyle thought bitterly. So why do I have to feel this awful? The anger rose inside him without reason.

As he stood up and began stamping his feet in irritation, his eyes landed on a rosebush lying next to the demon. The flower, soaked in the demon’s foul blood and stained a deep, vivid red, seemed to be quietly weeping from the cold and confusion. The sight made Kyle’s chest ache with a kind of sorrow. He wanted to bring the flower, at least, somewhere warm. Carefully, he reached out, trying to avoid the blood but he slipped and stained his fingertip. The slimy, lukewarm sensation made him scream without thinking.

With a sharp rustle, the demon’s black wings stirred. Slowly, he lifted his face from the pool of blood. His brow was furrowed deeply with pain, and his sharp, feline eyes glinted faintly as they narrowed. “I can’t stand…” the demon said weakly, his voice trembling. “Can you help me into the room?”

Why do I have to help this filthy demon? The words rose to his throat but he forced them back down.

“I doubt this will kill me… but it’s so damn cold,” the demon murmured.

The demon’s death would mean his own. Frustrated by how the threat of death was being used to extract demands, Kyle grabbed hold of one of the black wings. It seemed like the least filthy place to touch. But the moment he yanked it with all his strength, the demon let out a roar “Guaaahhh!” a terrible sound that rumbled up from the depths of the earth. Kyle jerked his hand back in a panic. Before his eyes, the wing twisted grotesquely, riddled with holes, spreading out like a tattered cloak before collapsing limp to the floor.

The demon’s shivering worsened. With no other choice, Kyle grabbed his blood-slicked arm and dragged him down the hallway. The demon was incredibly heavy, and getting him to the nearest room, the greenhouse was all Kyle could manage. The trail of blood left behind was quickly lapped up by the monsters that slithered from the shadows, and the sight of them licking at it with wet slurps made Kyle’s stomach churn with disgust.

He laid the injured demon on the greenhouse floor and stood there, at a loss. When midnight came and the monsters grew stronger, he had to stay near the demon, even if not touching him, or he’d be attacked. But sleeping next to something this filthy, this foul, was unthinkable. Sulking, he sat beside the demon and stared at the roses in the greenhouse. But the fragrance of the flowers was quickly overtaken by the stench of blood. Before he realized it, the demon’s blood had spread across the floor, staining it completely red. The demon’s face, when he leaned closer, was pale as a corpse. Beings like demons and angels were supposed to be far more resilient than humans. They didn’t die easily unless they were drained of power or fought by other demons. But this one… this was something mixed part demon, part human. Weaker, maybe. The thought brought a terrible unease Kyle couldn’t shake.

He scanned the greenhouse, circling once, but didn’t find what he needed. Steeling himself, he stepped outside, kicking away the monsters that clung to his legs, and rushed upstairs to the bedroom. He tore the sheets and blankets off the bed and clutched them to his chest as he returned to the greenhouse. First, he ripped the sheet into long strips. Using the rocking chair as support, he forced the demon upright and tightly bound the bleeding areas with the makeshift bandages. Upon closer inspection, the demon’s arms and legs were covered in countless wounds. Kyle wrapped each one. The demon occasionally winced, but never opened his eyes or resisted.

Even once the bleeding stopped, the smell of blood hung heavy in the room. Kyle ran to the kitchen next, filled a small bucket from the water jar, and carried it back though half of it sloshed out when he was caught by a monster on the way. Still, he managed to bring back enough. He soaked what remained of the sheet in the water and wiped down the demon’s blood-smeared body. With the rest, he cleaned the stained floor. The whole time, he mourned the cruel fate that forced him into such a role, scrubbing angrily, resentfully.

Once both the demon and the floor were finally clean, and the scent of blood had thinned, Kyle let out a sigh and sat down beside him. That was when his eyes fell on the new rose the demon had brought him earlier that day. It was routine for the demon to replant roses in fresh pots, but clearly, he wouldn’t be able to do it now. With no other option, Kyle got up, transplanted the rose into a pot himself, and washed the soiled petals with clean water.

When the flower was taken care of, he tossed three new logs into the fireplace and then laid out a blanket beside the demon. Since he couldn’t go back to the bedroom, tonight’s bed would have to be the floor of the greenhouse. The blanket had been brought for himself he didn’t want to sleep on the hard floor but the demon beside him continued to shiver so ostentatiously that, with a groan, Kyle ended up throwing half of it over the demon’s cold body.

“…Kyle.”

The demon called his name softly. His eyes, unopened until now, fluttered faintly. His catlike irises shimmered wetly. One trembling claw, one finger so cold it made Kyle shudder pulled him into an embrace. The demon’s scent was stronger than usual, nearly overpowering. Kyle twisted his face in disgust, but the demon seemed not to notice.

"...I thought I was going to die."

At that feeble confession, Kyle muttered silently to himself that the demon was free to die as much as he wanted after Kyle had returned to the heavens.

"I fell into the snow over and over again..."

He wished the demon would just go to sleep without whining so much. Not wanting to respond, Kyle closed his eyes first.

"I don’t care what happens to me. But if I didn’t come back, you would’ve been eaten by the monsters... that’s why..."

You’re the one who did this to me, Kyle thought. Taking responsibility is the least you can do. Coming back was only natural.

"I know you hate seeing me in my demon form, but I didn’t even have the strength left to hold my human shape. Just flying took everything I had."

Kyle didn’t care where the demon had gotten those injuries, nor did he want to know. All that mattered was that he didn’t die, not yet.

"Oh, Kyle, Kyle. Because you're here, I have a reason to live. A reason to exist."

The arms that had barely been able to support their own weight earlier now held him with startling strength.

"I love you. I love you. You’re all I have. As long as I have you, I need nothing else."

The embrace tightened suddenly, making Kyle’s back flinch with a jolt.

Words like a storm. A fierce grip and a kiss like ice. Though it wasn’t cold, Kyle shivered. He didn’t understand the force that seemed intent on sweeping him away, and that uncertainty filled him with fear.

But the confusion didn’t last long. Cradled in the arms of the demon who had since drifted into sleep, Kyle slowly began to regain a sense of quiet. The stifling scent of the demon’s body he knew he’d get used to it eventually. He always did. Kyle yawned once, rubbed his eyes gently, and listened to the crackling of the fire in the hearth.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The demon couldn’t move the next day, either. He remained curled up on the floor of the greenhouse, stirring only sluggishly like a dull-witted insect. Perhaps irritated by how unresponsive his body was, he kept clicking his tongue in frustration. But that anger was never directed at Kyle, instead, the demon apologized so many times it became almost bothersome.

“I couldn’t go out to look for flowers today. Poor thing… you must be hungry.”

At the end of the day, the demon cast his eyes down with a look of sorrow.

“I’m fine,” Kyle replied, smiling each time the demon apologized. Now that his strength was gradually returning, the vitality he drew from the flowers in the greenhouse was more than enough to sustain him. He had been thinking of stopping the demon from bringing him fresh cut flowers anyway, this injury offered the perfect excuse.

The day after that, and the day after that as well, the demon still couldn’t move. He remained on the greenhouse floor all day long. Daytime wasn’t so bad, but when the demon couldn’t move, Kyle was also forced to spend the nights in the greenhouse. Not for the demon’s sake he laid out layers of blankets across the floor purely for his own comfort. He passed most of his time admiring the flowers, while the immobile demon either watched him or slept through the day.

One morning, Kyle awoke as usual to the dazzling sunlight. He slipped past the sleeping demon and stepped out of the greenhouse. He washed his face in cold water and filled a ceramic pitcher to bring back. The roses were happiest when they received their water first thing in the morning. He greeted each one as he watered them this was his most beloved time of day. The little pitcher wasn’t enough to water the entire greenhouse in one trip, so he made several runs between the water basin and the greenhouse. After watering the last pot, he turned around and met the gaze of the demon, who was still lying down, blankly watching him.

“Good morning, Kyle.”

Until recently, the demon had always left early, so they’d never exchanged morning greetings. But now they spent the entire day together, from morning until night. Even if Kyle didn’t feel like responding, he’d finally come to understand just how much smoother the day would go with a simple word.

“Good morning,” he replied, adding a smile. The demon was too weakened now to do anything to him, but there was no reason to provoke him. As expected, the demon’s face lit up with satisfaction.

“Come here.”

The demon beckoned him. Kyle wished, since they already spent the nights together, that he could at least have the daytime to himself but of course, the demon didn’t understand his feelings. Kyle hid the reluctance in his heart, though it still showed faintly in the way he dragged his feet as he stepped in front of the demon.

“Sit.”

As he sat down beside him, the demon, with shameless ease, rested his head in Kyle’s lap.

“It feels like I heal faster when I’m like this.”

The demon smiled happily, and Kyle forced his mouth into something like a smile in return. Just being near an angel wouldn’t accelerate healing. Kyle had no such power, and even if he did, it would only work if there was love in his heart for the other person. Without that, nothing would happen.

The demon stopped moving and soon began to doze off again. Kyle tried to slip his legs away, but despite having just been asleep, the demon clung to his lap, unwilling to let go. With no other choice, Kyle stayed still and waited for him to fall into a deeper sleep. Lending his lap was unpleasant, but it wasn’t as if he had anything else to do either.

Sitting idly was boring, so he gazed down at the demon’s face resting in his lap. Ever since returning injured, the demon hadn’t been able to return to human form. His grotesque wings, hook-like claws, and pointed fangs were all exposed without shame. Kyle had hated the sight at first, but over the past several days, his eyes had gradually grown used to it.

The demon’s long black hair, the color of shadow, swayed gently against his knees. There were no angels with black hair, in heaven black was the color of darkness. Kyle reached out and pinched off a strand, wondering what it would feel like. It was far softer than he had imagined. They had touched many times before so why had he never noticed this until now?

“It’s snowing.”

The demon murmured, and Kyle turned his gaze toward the glass windows of the greenhouse. The snow hadn’t stopped, not yesterday, not the day before that, nor the day before that.

“Aren’t you cold?”

Kyle shook his head. In the greenhouse, where the fireplace burned without pause all day long, there wasn’t even a trace of chill in the air. The demon’s fingers wrapped around his wrist. Kyle let go of the strand of hair he had been playing with and, letting himself be guided, placed his hand against the demon’s cheek.

“We’re starting to run out of firewood. If I don’t get better soon, you’ll be the one to suffer from the cold… and the roses, blooming so beautifully, might wither.”

Indeed, the pile of firewood stacked in the corner of the room had noticeably dwindled. Kyle hadn’t considered that the demon’s inability to move might bring any consequences beyond just being clung to like this.

“I’ve been shot in the wing before, but I healed quickly then. Maybe it’s slower this time because the bullet was silver.”

Kyle suddenly recalled what Snair had said about “devil hunters.”

“No one but a devil hunter would bother using expensive silver bullets. I flew around like this for days on end… someone must have seen me. I was probably being hunted.”

With a heavy sigh, the demon pressed Kyle’s fingers more firmly against his cheek.

“What about that white flower?”

He was referring to the rosebush in the far-right corner of the greenhouse the one he’d brought in the day he was injured.

“It had so many buds, and I picked the one blooming the most beautifully. Did you like it?”

“It’s a lonely flower,” Kyle said, “but a very sweet one.”

“I see,” the demon murmured, and closed his dark eyes.

While watching the flowers in silence, Kyle gradually began to feel hungry. He’d greeted them this morning, but hadn’t taken any of their energy. He’d planned to wait until they’d perked up after being watered. Come to think of it, the demon hadn’t eaten at all since returning injured. Before the injury, he’d taken modest meals every day. Demons, by nature, fed on human souls but Kyle had never actually seen this one consume one.

“Don’t demons get hungry?”

At the offhanded question, the demon opened his eyes wide but Kyle hadn’t meant anything shocking by it.

“You’re worried about me, aren’t you? Kind-hearted Kyle. I’m fine. I feel hunger, yes, but I won’t die if I don’t eat.”

Why was the demon smiling?

“It makes me happy, you know… that you worry about me.”

The tip of a claw gently brushed against Kyle’s cheek.

“When there’s someone who worries about you, it makes you feel like you’re not alone.”

Kyle flinched inwardly. He hadn’t been worrying about the demon, he’d simply been curious about his eating habits, that was all.

“Kyle, have you ever wondered why you were born an angel?”

Of course not. It was the will of God. He had been chosen, born precisely to be an angel.

“I’ve thought about it so many times why I couldn’t have been born human.”

The demon closed his eyes again.

“I didn’t want to be a demon. I wanted to be born as a human, and die as a human. If that had been the case… I wouldn’t have had to lose the ones I loved in such a terrible way.”

Kyle didn’t prompt him for more. He couldn’t understand the desire to be human, and he had no interest in the demon’s past.

“But now… I understand why I was born like this. I exist here to protect you. I’m sure of it.”

Protect, he said as if he weren’t the one who’d dragged Kyle into this miserable situation in the first place. The sheer nerve of it left Kyle speechless.

“Let’s stay together.”

The demon struggled upright and threw his arms tightly around Kyle’s shoulders.

"Even if hundreds of seasons pass, let’s stay together. If it’s your wish, I’ll grant anything. I’ll build as many greenhouses as you want. I’ll gather roses for you until you’re satisfied. Let’s fill this room with thousands, hundreds of thousands of blooms. If it makes you happy, that will be my happiness too."

Kyle didn’t care in the slightest about the demon’s happiness, but caught in a situation where he had no choice, faced with those black eyes staring into him, he could only nod, unwilling, though he was. The demon, satisfied, lay back down again. Then, in a quiet voice, he murmured, “I’m thirsty.” It was such a small, feeble voice that Kyle, too lazy to get up, pretended not to hear and ignored it.

The wound on his chest was deeper than expected, and his twisted, torn wings refused to return to their proper shape. It took about ten days before Warren was finally able to sit up again. The very first thing he did was drink water. If he’d asked, Kyle surely would have brought him some right away after all, he watered the flowers every morning. But the thought of Kyle enduring hunger made it impossible for Warren to allow himself the indulgence of drinking alone.

That day, while Kyle was watching, Warren stayed on his feet until he left the greenhouse. But the moment he closed the door behind him, he collapsed to his knees, unable to rise again. Parched beyond endurance, he crawled to the kitchen, plunged his face into the water jar, and drank. The hollow ache of hunger deep in his gut eased just a little as his dry throat was finally quenched.

Crouched on the kitchen floor, he tried to remember whether he’d left anything edible lying around. Then he recalled the jar of Isli berries he’d gathered to bake into muffins, stored on a shelf. The shelf would have been easy to reach if he were standing, but now it required an extraordinary amount of strength just to straighten his back. The moment he managed to touch the jar, it rolled off the shelf and shattered on the floor. Glass broke, and the berries scattered. Ignoring the shards, Warren scooped up the berries with bleeding fingers, heedless of the pain, and devoured them greedily. After he’d eaten every last one off the floor, he found himself crouched on all fours like a beast. Shocked by his own state, he realized he’d even forgotten to say grace. Flustered, he hastily made the sign of the cross on the spot.

The next day, he ventured outside. But the sheer effort of holding himself together only lasted a few steps past the gate. He immediately collapsed to the ground. Though he’d pretended to be well in front of Kyle, not wanting to worry him, the truth was he could hardly crawl. The only reason he pushed himself to go out in such a condition was that they’d be out of firewood by that night. If the greenhouse lost its warmth, Kyle’s cherished roses would wither. Kyle had finally begun smiling gently in his presence. Warren didn’t want to see that smile fade into sadness again. And so, whipping his wounded body into action, he rose to gather firewood.

The strain took its toll. That night, in exchange for a meager bundle of firewood, Warren’s body gave out completely he could no longer move. His body was heavy, creaking like rusted wheels. Yet he felt happy. No matter how exhausted he was, the warmth that returned to his arms at the end of the day made him forget all pain, all hardship, in an instant.

“Kyle… Kyle…”

He held the warm, milky-white body close to his chest, burying his face in golden hair. His body was in tatters, and yet his heart was full to bursting. Closing his eyes, Warren began to drift into hazy memories of the day he was wounded.

It had been the same day he heard Doris speak of the southern lands. He’d darted into an empty alleyway, immediately transformed into his demonic form, and soared into the sky at full speed. Southward, over sea after sea. Around noon, when the sun hung directly overhead, he arrived at a large town. Though it was winter, the warmth there felt like early spring. Relieved that Doris had told the truth, he chose a moment when no one was around to land in the forest and return to his human form.

When he finally made it into town, all the flower shops sold only cut flowers. Unable to speak the local language, he relied on gestures and desperation until someone finally pointed him toward a rose field on the outskirts. When Warren saw row upon row of blooming roses stretching across the vast field, he nearly leapt for joy. Elated, he tried to buy some immediately, but the man who seemed to own the rose field only scoffed at the coins Warren offered. The currency was different here. At a loss, Warren used every gesture he could think of to convey that he wanted rose saplings and that he was willing to work for them.

Perhaps moved by his earnestness, the man put Warren to work for half a day replanting roses. When the job was done, he allowed him to take one sapling of his choice. Without hesitation, Warren picked a delicate pink bloom, a Little Mum.

From that day on, he began a new routine: at dawn, as soon as the sun rose, he would fly to the southern town, spend the day working for a daily wage at a quarry or a coal mine, and use that money to buy rose saplings to bring home. The distant southern country took a long, long time to reach, even flying at full speed, and the manual labor left his body sore and aching but he didn’t care. So long as he returned home with a sapling, he would see the angel’s smile. That alone made everything worth it.

He stopped going to the workshop altogether. Day after day, he traveled south for Kyle. Then, on that twilight evening, just as he descended into the familiar Oliva forest like always, he was shot. If it had been an ordinary bullet, the wound would not have lingered so long. But the silver embedded in that bullet tormented Warren endlessly.

He had been flying openly, without hiding his form, morning and night and someone had seen him, taken aim, and fired. But he didn’t think of it as misfortune. Even when he couldn’t move, even when hunger and thirst became unbearable he could endure it all, because his beautiful angel was right there at his side. What pained him more than his own helplessness was the thought of inconveniencing Kyle by being unable to move.

Warren tightened his arms around the happiness he held, and quietly drifted off to sleep.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

As the months passed, Warren’s body recovered enough that he could maintain a human form again, no longer frail to the point of unraveling. His twisted wings had finally returned to normal as well. Yet he was still not at full strength, just flying from the house to the entrance of the southern path left him breathless, and the shortness of breath lingered far too long.

He sat at the edge of the road to rest a while before continuing on foot down the southern path. It had been some time since he last showed his face at the workshop. Though he’d never been formally employed there, the master had always treated him with great fondness. Even if he meant to leave the place for good, he still felt he owed at least a word of farewell.

He slipped a hand into his coat pocket and felt the familiar touch of his wallet. The weather was growing much warmer compared to before, but even so, the variety of food and nuts he could forage from the forest remained limited. Now that he could move again, he thought he ought to stock up on essentials like bread and butter.

He walked slowly along the narrow path that led to the village. The snow beneath his feet was thin and streaked with earth, and the stream that ran beside the road no longer bore any ice. A flash of red caught his eye at the roadside, a lone flower. A small red Suzuka, blooming at the end of winter. Spring was surely on its way.

He stopped and knelt before the flower. He wondered if Kyle might be pleased with something different for a change. Compared to the showy roses, Warren preferred these quieter flowers, blooming modestly by the side of the road. He reached out, intending to pluck it but at the last moment, he hesitated. It seemed a shame to take a flower that had bloomed so beautifully. And besides, it felt like this little blossom belonged not in the warmth of the greenhouse, but in the half-frozen soil still tinged with winter’s chill.

A sudden crack struck his right ear. Startled, he turned around, but saw only a thicket of brown trees. Brow furrowed, he stood only for something else to hit him on the knee. This time, he caught a glimpse of it: a small arm slipping between the trees.

“Hey!” he called out, and dove into the woods.

A small figure bolted like a startled hare. At first, Warren thought it might be Snair, but the hair poking out from beneath the woolen cap was black. Gasping for breath, he finally managed to catch the mischievous child it was Tonga, the son of the shoemaker who lived on the corner of the village. In his arms, the boy thrashed like a feral kitten.

“No! No! Help! Help!”

Warren had known Tonga since the boy was born. He was also acquainted with Tonga’s father, Aera. There was only one shoemaker in the village, after all everyone bought from him.

“You little rascal,” Warren scolded gently. “Should I tell your father what you’ve been up to?”

It was meant as a lighthearted warning, the kind adults give to misbehaving children. But Tonga began to tremble violently, reacting with a fear far beyond what Warren expected.

“Begone, demon!”

The words burst from the child’s lips, stunning Warren into silence.

“Go back to the forest, demon of Oliva!”

It was no childish mistake he could laugh off. The boy shouted it again and again, each time with more conviction. Why would he call him a demon? Had someone seen him flying through the southern skies? Even if so, this was just a young boy. Surely with the right words, Warren could smooth it over.

“If you keep calling people demons, a real demon might come and gobble you up,” he said, putting on a mock-scary face.

But Tonga shouted back with the fury of someone cornered.

“You are the demon!”

The words were a declaration, not a question. Trying to hide his growing unease, Warren forced a smile.

“How could I be a demon? Why would you suddenly say such a thing?”

Tonga flailed his limbs in protest.

“Everyone says so, everyone knows it! All the bad things that happened in the village are your fault! Grandma Miriam’s fall, Noah’s cat drowning in the pond, all your fault!”

A gunshot exploded near his ear. Startled, Warren released the boy.

Tonga tumbled away and fled at full speed.

Warren turned toward the direction of the shot and saw it. Beyond the watermill, the black muzzle of a rifle, aimed directly at him. The man holding it, eyes locked on his target, was Jabbas, Tonga’s grandfather, who lived on the outskirts of the village.

"You detestable demon, trying to steal away my grandson!"

Even now, past the age of sixty, Jabbas was still known as a master deer hunter.

“Stop it, Jabbas!”

Warren’s cry for peace was drowned out by the crack of a second gunshot. He ducked into the thicket, his legs trembling uncontrollably. The acrid scent of gunpowder bursting so close to his head dredged up old memories with painful clarity. This had happened before nearly a hundred years ago.

“You’ve deceived us all this time, spreading misfortune wherever you went. But now everyone knows the truth of what you are. Get out of this village now!”

Unable to endure it any longer, Warren sprang from the underbrush.

“You’re wrong, Jabbas! You’re misunderstanding, I never meant to deceive anyone. I didn’t…”

The black barrel of the rifle pointed straight at him.

“Die, demon!”

Bullets rang out again and again. There was no space left for dialogue, no chance he’d be heard. Warren fled, deeper into the forest. A shot grazed his shoulder, but the pain of it, the fear of death none of it matched the crushing weight of helplessness that consumed him. Not until he reached the part of the southern path where no one else ever came did he finally stop running.

His shoulder was torn, blood seeping through his clothes but such pain didn’t even register.

He fell to his knees in the middle of the road. And the tears spilling from the pit of his chest were impossible to hold back.

Tonga, who had hurled insults and stones. Jabbas, who shouted "demon" with such hatred. No matter how close you were, no matter how kindly you’d lived once they found out you were a demon, it was over. Years of familiarity, of trust, shattered in a heartbeat. Even after a hundred years, the stigma of being a demon still clung to him like chains around his feet.

He’d known this. He’d known what would happen if he was discovered. And still, he hadn’t been able to keep himself from going into the village.

Because he was lonely.

He had simply been... lonely.

Wiping away the tears, Warren rose to his feet.

But this time, things were different. He wasn’t alone anymore.

He started walking, straight toward the house behind the tall wall. There was someone waiting for him there. If he just passed through that gate, opened that front door, he’d find that room, warm as spring. And in it, a beautiful angel, waiting only for him.

Before he knew it, his walking had become running. Warren burst through the door and into the house. He flung open the door to the greenhouse.

The angel, standing among the flowers, turned in surprise. Bathed in sunlight, glowing, Warren could see white, magnificent wings unfurling from his back.

But the moment he blinked in wonder they vanished.

Had it just been a trick of the light? A fleeting illusion?

His angel had no wings. He had torn them off and devoured them himself, a hundred years ago.

The angel shrank away, crouching fearfully among the flowers. Huddled beside a pot of roses, he made himself small. Warren reached out gently toward the curled figure.

"What are you shaking for?"

The angel didn’t answer, only shrank further. Growing impatient with his refusal to move, Warren finally pulled him close by force, embracing him tightly.

The angel’s white garments were stained by the blood seeping from Warren’s wounded shoulder. That must have been what frightened him.

“It’s okay. It’s just a scratch,” Warren murmured. “Don’t be so scared. Just let me hold you.”

He buried his face in the angel’s soft chest and whispered.

“The whole village knows I’m a demon now. I can’t go back anymore.”

“Ah…”

A small, breathless sound. Those green eyes trembled with uncertainty but they were filled with sympathy. Surely it was pity for someone so wretched.

“No matter how close you are, once they find out you’re a demon, they persecute you. Over and over, it’s the same. But I won’t despair not anymore. Because now I have you.”

Even if the whole world turned its back on him, as long as someone waited for him at home, he would never be truly alone again. The fact that he wasn’t rejected he clung to that as proof that he had been accepted. He could see no other reason. And so, he could not possibly understand what was truly in the angel’s heart.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

When he’d gotten injured and could no longer move, Kyle brought in a pile of blankets and started living in the greenhouse. Ever since then, the corner of the greenhouse had become his makeshift bed.

The morning light pouring through the glass was almost blinding, but the warmth nestled in his arms showed no sign of waking. They’d talked late into the night, so it was no surprise he was still fast asleep. The sleeping angel, so delicate and beautiful like a flower, drew him in irresistibly he pressed a kiss to that pale cheek.

Since cutting himself off from the village, Warren had spent every day with Kyle in the greenhouse. In the warmth of that space, holding that soft body whenever the mood struck him brought a quiet contentment he’d never known before.

Kyle rarely spoke on his own. But Warren, desperate to learn everything he could about the one angel he could call his own, constantly urged him to talk. At first Kyle was reluctant, but after enough persistence, he began to share bits and pieces. More than anything, when he spoke of Agatha the archangel of heaven Kyle’s face lit up with a joy Warren had never seen in him before. Each time he heard that name, a beautiful angel with long golden hair would come to mind, and Warren couldn’t help but feel a stab of jealousy.

Warren wanted to know everything about Kyle, yet Kyle never asked anything about him. It wasn’t that he didn’t care it was likely his way of being kind, of not forcing Warren to dig up the painful past he surely carried.

From the greenhouse, the scenery beyond the glass grew hazier and bluer by the day. It wouldn’t snow again this season. Once it warmed a bit more, Warren decided he’d take Kyle outside. He’d bring him to the southern hills when the green shoots began to sprout Kyle would surely love the place where countless pale-colored flowers bloomed.

Even though he knew it would disturb that peaceful sleep, Warren couldn’t suppress the urge to hold him. He gathered the trembling body like a little bird into his arms, pressing it into the white sheets, and kissed those gentle cherry-colored lips. Kyle writhed in his embrace, but Warren silenced even that resistance, continuing to kiss him. He wanted more he wanted to be loved by this angel, to be cherished.

“I love you, Kyle,” he whispered, running his fingers through that soft golden hair.

“What do you think of me?”

He stared into those green eyes, searching for the truth. But the lips only trembled, and the teary eyes refused to answer.

“You don’t hate me like you used to, do you?”

The words they shared, the moments Kyle showed him kindness Warren was certain of the love there, even if unspoken.

“I want you to love me more. But I won’t rush you. We have all the time in the world. One day, when you feel you love me… tell me, with those cherry-colored lips.”

When that day came, he would speak. He would share it all the past he’d locked away, and this overwhelming love that spilled out from him.

Warren was happy. And yet, he couldn’t have imagined that this happiness would come to an end in just a few days.

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In the middle of the night, Kyle suddenly woke. He narrowed his eyes into the dim glow of the still-burning fireplace. At first, he thought there was nothing there but no, there was. In the corner of the room crouched a single monster, unmoving, watching him intently.

He glanced behind him. The demon lay asleep, his breathing deep and even. Comforted by that sight, Kyle closed his eyes again. Just a little longer. In just a little while, the monster would vanish from the room. When that happened, he could return to the heavens. He gently drew the demon’s arm, which was wrapped around his stomach, up to his chest. Until then, he had to be protected he couldn’t afford to let himself be attacked by the monster now, not when he’d come this far. If that happened, he would regret it beyond anything.

Because he’d forgotten to relay Snair’s warning, the demon unknowing had gone into the village and been shot by the villagers. Since that day, the demon had started whispering “I love you” to him, day after day. The suffocating affection was tiresome, but Kyle couldn’t blame him for being unable to resist loving someone as beautiful as himself. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. Sometimes, he did worry that making the demon fall in love with him might be a blasphemy against God but in his current situation, there was no other way to survive. He had no choice but to let the demon love him.

In the garden, the first flowers of spring had begun to bloom. He imagined himself spreading his great white wings and flying through the full blossoms. That image would soon become real. With only a little time left in this place, Kyle found himself feeling something he hadn’t before even pity for the demon who held him. The demon had spoken of wanting to be human. Perhaps being born a demon really was misfortune. But it was no different than a spider longing to become a butterfly it was a futile desire for what could never be.

And just the same, it was only natural for an angel to return to heaven. No matter how much the demon loathed it or how much he clung to him... The time was nearly upon them. As he lost himself in those happy illusions, a new thought struck him. Once his wings were complete, once he could fly again, he would return to heaven. But what then? What would the demon do? Would he search for Kyle once he disappeared? Would he try to follow him?

Kyle was an angel. If ordered, he would have to descend to earth to retrieve a soul. What if, during that time, the demon found him and tried to force him to stay? What if he tore off the wings that had only just grown back and devoured them again...?

A shiver ran down his spine. Would it all repeat itself? Would he once again be unable to leave the demon’s side, once again spend centuries trembling in fear of the monster in the corner...?

That, above all, was what he had to avoid. The best scenario was for the demon to believe he had died. If he thought Kyle was dead, he wouldn’t try to search for him. Then, Kyle could ask Lady Agatha to make sure he wouldn’t be sent to retrieve any souls near this village. One hundred years on earth a stretch of time so long it felt like eternity. He couldn’t waste any more of it on the demon.

But to simply disappear with “I’m dead” would be far too abrupt. The demon would never accept it. In that case, what if he pretended to die gradually? He could act weaker day by day, then finally slip away when the demon wasn’t watching and return to heaven. If he told the demon in advance that when angels die, they leave no body behind, then when Kyle vanished, the demon would naturally assume he had died.

Overjoyed at his own brilliant idea, Kyle felt almost giddy. Yes, that was it. That was the way. Lying, deceiving, those were sins, but he felt no guilt. After all, that thing was a demon. That fact alone was his universal absolution.

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