Cael would have snorted if his speech wasn't constricted. The way that voice spoke, and how the man admitted much too quickly of his appearance (and an obvious fabled description), there was no possibility that he was cursed with malformations. Surely a gaping hole for a mouth could not form lyrical words close to singing, and even with his blurred appearance a swinging eye would be more than noticeable. His eyes widened a bit more, feeling elated; he learned something about his mysterious shadow, minor though it may be. A sense of humour to go with that tender hold. What else could he extract from his mysterious voice?<br/><br/>Then the words that followed were ones that made his heart want to stop beating for good. his breath caught in the tube, his dark eyes sparked, his fingertips twitched incessantly. How he wished he wasn't tied to his uncomfortable hospital cot with his own body's fatigue, held down by the betrayal of his ache requiring no need of restraints. If the universe had changed their minds now and tossed him to the curb of the afterlife, he could say with great happiness he was content.<br/><br/>He learned his name.<br/><br/>His<i>name.</i><br/><br/><b>Ciarán</b>.<br/><br/>Ciarán told him his name. Finally there was a label for this figure he has seen in varying degrees in his life, from crop tailored suits to broad shoulders to the little hairs at the name of his neck. To a voice that was gentle, beaconing, silky like the clearest honey that you couldn't resist. Everything about his companion was endlessly dripping with temptation, his mysteriousness part of the charm. Cael wanted to reach out, to touch, to explore every inch without falter. He would never tire of it, he knew. Now that he bit the apple from the tree of knowledge, he craved for more. What colour were his eyes? How smooth was the texture of his hair? Where did he go when he wasn't appearating to scenes of grief and disaster? Where did he have his clothes made, so perfect for his frame. Soon the namesake wasn't enough, the human curiosity no longer satisfied but the small gold nugget in a canyon stream.<br/><br/>Cael desperately wanted to know more, absorbing everything he was told.<br/><br/><i>Who's us? </i>he tried to ask, but didn't want to interrupt him. Not that it mattered, it was only Ciarán he cared for. If there were other dark winged angels floating about in the expanse of universal space, they could continue as such. In his not so humble opinion, they probably didn't hold a candle to the dark man.<br/>In all honestly, the confession about his presumed death came as no surprise. It should have, perhaps even frightened him and make him consider his mortality. But it did not. Strange, that death held no power over him, didn't make him quake or cry. He had been surrounded by the shroud for so long that he expected his end to come unpredictably and swiftly. It was a wonder he had even survived now, whatever it was that he had been forced to take. Did the doctors detox him? Pump this drug out of his system? Or pump him with more to counteract it? The method didn't matter, apparently it had stubbornly served it's purpose.<br/>Either way, his near brush with his end confirmed one thing: Ciarán was death incarnate.<br/><br/>Despite his lips burning with questions threatening to tumble out of his mouth, he was shocked into a moment of silence.<i>What do you mean, do with me? Why would you need to do anything? </i>Panic rose in his gut, the beeping of his heart rate accelerating to a loud canter.<i> No, you can't leave me now! Not when I finally got to talk to you. Stay just a little longer, please? </i><br/><br/>That hand left his face, and it felt like he had fallen into a frozen lake in the middle of winter. Despite the warmth in the room, all Cael could feel was a chill of Ciarán's absence.<i>Please stay! Wait!</i>He tried to moan around the tube, struggling against the attachments forced in his body. He visibly shook as his brain dealt with the adrenaline too fast, too much.<i>No! Stay! </i><br/><br/><i>Ciarán!</i><br/><br/>That blur of a shadow disappeared like a puff of smoke, making him wail around the plastic invasion. Nurses and medical staff filled the room, but he didn't pay them any mind. Never before had he felt his heart ache so, not even the few feeble attempts at dating or finding a new family to love.<br/><br/>This time as he slipped into darkness, he yearned.<br/><br/>Yearned for Death's hand to caress his face.<br/><br/>****<br/><br/>"Those assholes should be found and charged with attempted murder!" his coworker exclaimed with rage a week later.<br/><br/>Cael sat upright in the hospital bed, shifting through channels on the T.V. in boredom as he listened to Steve prattle on. Sometimes the man really didn't know how to shut up, especially when he was ranting angrily when he had been the first to ditch him at the bar in the first place. People were so predictable: hypocrites down to the very core. He had hoped putting the television on would at least help the brunette tune him out, give him a different visual to concentrate on then the stupid moustache Steve was growing on his face. Classiness was not in his repertoire, despite his rebuttal.<br/><br/>"Steve, I wouldn't even be able to pick them out of a line up if they even caught the guys. It's pointless, I don't remember their faces or any details about them." that was only partially true, but he was too tired to give the man more fodder. It would have his coworker on another tangent that could last hours.<br/>Besides, he wasn't about to chase after the apostles that had brought about his meeting with Ciarán. If he ever saw them again, he would lost likely hug them and give them whatever they wanted.<br/><br/>"Doesn't matter, the police are on the lookout for them. And the bar staff said if they ever saw them around again, they'd tip them off. Though if they were smart they'd find a different joint to deal out their shit."<br/><br/>Cael sighed and shook his head. Steve was the closest thing he could call a friend, since his current job was the closest to a stable streak he hasn't had in years. While he easily kept to himself at work, people were drawn to talking to him to his ever lasting annoyance. They clustered around him, sometimes flirting shamelessly with him (that he sometimes took advantage of, he admitted), seeming drawn to him despite being a cursed blot on this earth. It astonished him that no one had burst in and shot up the place, that being his luck. No, if they knew better, they should stay away from him.<br/><br/>At least, that's what he used to think.<br/><br/>His "brush with Death", as everyone was calling it, had transformed him. Before his hospital admittance, Cael had been a mindless walking zombie, with no goal set in life and no passion. Nothing stirred him, not even a good round of sex or blow job. Art galleries didn't move him, movies didn't make his heart race, sunsets didn't fill him with a sense of all. It was as if before now, he had been sleeping with his eyes open, his life ticking away one second at a time with meaningless.<br/>But not now. No, not now. His immortal companion had sparked life in him more than the chest panels had. It renewed his existence, and brought him a purpose he hadn't realized he desired. All that time, after every bad memory of demise, he had wished for death like an old lover long gone. Little had he understood that he had received that boon, the universe or God or whatever being that ruled the fates had brought them together. When he should have died in that ambulance, he had been spared without proper cause. That doesn't just happen; there were no coincidences. Not anymore.<br/><br/>"When are they letting ya out?"<br/><br/>Cael was brought back from his thoughts to the present, the corners of his lips upturning to a meagre smile. "Soon. Looks like my system is flushed out, and there's no noticeable lasting damage. I'll have to come for a check up in a few weeks to see if anything's changed longterm, but they don't have a reason to keep me here. They call it a miracle, since most of my organs were failing when I was wheeled in."<br/><br/>"Guess someone was watching over you, huh?"<br/><br/>"Yes."<br/><br/><i>Someone most certainly was.</i><br/><br/>****<br/><br/>With a struggled grunt, the brunette shut the door with his shoulder, his arms too preoccupied with grocery bags to manage both. He didn't really want to cut so much, but the pestering doctors had insisted he go on a strict meal regiment during his recovery time. Apparently blueberry pancakes were not their own food group. Cael thoroughly disagreed.<br/>He dropped them on the counter before running a hand through his hair, exhausted. The work day was long, and despite reassuring everyone that he was as sprig as a newborn mustang, he still felt tired when he pushed himself too much.  Today was one of those days.<br/><br/>He flopped down on the sofa, turning on the plasma screen. Medical shows and crime dramas played at this time of night, but he wasn't really interested in that at the moment. When he flipped to the local news, that was when he paused and stayed. For a few minutes it mostly covered stories about a scandal in a car company scamming it's customers, a new baby bear born at the city's zoo last night, and ways to include pesto in your cooking. All background noise that made Cael's eyes glaze over.<br/><br/>His attention was peaked when they switched to a bigger story that interrupted all the rest: there was a car crash on the 504 freeway, a car had skidded in fort of a semi truck and sent the driver panicking. In doing so, he swerved too hard and the truck rolled, taking out many cars with him. The effect dominoed, causing the cars behind him to crash until it was a large bunched up mess of glass, airbags and tire marks. Smoke rose from a few cars, panic settling in. The voice of the reporter from her spot in the helicopter was devoid of emotion, but she revealed all the details she currently knew.<br/><br/>The dark eyes of the young man gazed on at the screen, face resting against his palm. There was the evidence of calculation behind his eyes, the twitch of his frowning mouth displaying the argument he was having with himself. That highway wasn't too far from here. Distantly there was the sound of sirens echoing off the brick mortar and skyscrapers littering this area of the city.<br/><br/>Too curious not to test out his theory, he stood and grabbed his coat. The door opened and shut once more, leaving the groceries abandoned on the counter.