Arthur twisted his head, following Alfred's line of sight. Behind him, a simple light-blue tile wall still gentle with grime descended behind an acrylic bathtub. It housed only the tiny bath doll Alfred played with; Tony was what the human called it. An ugly alien thing that held no interest in seeing.

Yet, the angel had no doubt - something had caught the American's attention. Not him though. It couldn't be him. Because it was impossible.

"Hey, you alright?"

The angel returned his face back to his charge. Alfred's eyes were unwavering – always had been since birth. Blue like the sky, clear as an ocean. And staring right at him. Specifically behind him.

At his wings.

The grotesque appendages that counted down the human's life span. His own clock that ticked away life until death.

Arthur gazed at the human with widened eyes. Both his mind and mouth were silenced by dumb shock.

Alfred could see the state of his wings. He would know.

The ugliness of him: an unspeakable reminder that Alfred was going to die not even a full year from this exact moment.

No. No no no no no.

Please God no.

"Don't look at me!" Arthur lashed out in a sudden fit, propelling himself backwards into the bath tub. Strangely, the angel's fall was silent. The world held not evidence outside the contingent noise that the spectre existed. That and the sight of the green eyed male tangled in his own limbs within a concave construction.

Just like the hero he was, Alfred immediately sprung forward. He offered a hand to the fallen angel out of courteous gesture. Yet Arthur could only flinch back – not in fear or disgust – but panicked confusion.

How could Alfred see him?

"Dude, I'm not going to hurt you or anything." Alfred let out a comforting chuckle, easing the seriousness of their exchange.

"Did you want to have breakfast? I'm sure I've got toast and eggs in the kitchen." He scratched his cheek. "'Course I gotta cook 'em up first but..."

Alfred laughed nervously again. "Y-you were probably wanted to use the bathroom, right?" Another scratch to his cheek. The man was going to bear a hole in his face. "I, uh, this kind of thing has never happened to me before."

No bloody kidding, was the angel's thought.

Arthur stared at the blue eyed mam with a confused scowl. There was something wrong with the way Alfred was acting. Sometimes, when the angel had been bored – no one to talk to, nothing to see – he had imagined situations like this: the what-ifs of life.

What if Alfred ever saw him?

What if Alfred's life span was longer?

What if Arthur was human?

The answer to the first was always a mix of reactions. Always along the lines of: what the fuck, it's an angel! But...

Alfred laughed again, his eyes glancing to the floor. "I could grab you some tylenol or aspirin if your hips hurt..."

Ah. That was the explanation. He still thought they had sex.

"Um, the things on your back...is it something we used last night..? Role play..?" The American's cheeks tinged red at the thought. "You can take them off if you want."

He paced closer towards the angel, reaching his hands to pluck the wings off the man. "I think you slept on them...they're all crumpled and broken."

Arthur felt his heart crack at the words. Crumpled and broken – that's how Alfred saw them. "Don't touch them!"

Alfred froze under the order, taking caution as to not agitate the man any further.

"We didn't have sex!" Arthur shouted, his face red despite the scowl. He took a step out of the concave facility, still wary of Alfred's eyes. He allowed himself to hide his wings – Alfred didn't need to see them more than he already had.

"How can you see me?"

The spectral being peered up at Alfred's face, noting the man's face fall into puzzlement. It was to be expected.

"Uh, of course I can see you. You're right in front of me."

Arthur's own visage twisted at the irony of Alfred's words.

'I've always been in front of you. Since you were born. And until you die,' was what the angel wanted to say. But, all that left his lips was: "You shouldn't be able to sodding see me."

Alfred's face lit up at the angel's statement - an unexpected reaction. "I get it!"

When Arthur's expression only reflected befuddlement, Alfred dove into a quick explanation: "You're still in character, right!?" He scratched his head, chuckling in embarassment. "Sorry, but I honestly don't remember anything last night. My doc gave me a bunch of meds, ya see, and uh..."

No matter how kind Alfred was – how courteous and genia, he could be - Arthur couldn't help but think: he's a bloody idiot.

"I'm not doing any sodding roleplay!" Arthur yelled right into the other man's face. Alfred's eyes widened at both the close proximity and volume, stepping backwards from the angel. His reaction pulled Arthur out his thoughts as the green eyed male allowed himself to calm. His job was to protect – not frighten. The spectre frowned, collecting himself before facing the man directly: eye to eye. For a single moment, Arthur felt empowered by the eye contact. Never, in Alfred's nineteen years of life, have they ever seen each other face to face.

"I'm an angel," Arthur stated, deciding on the blunt statement that he had always practised in his mind. Alfred only chuckled again. "Thought you weren't doing role-play."

Arthur bit the inside of his lip. Of course Alfred didn't believe him. But still, the angel continued to try. "I'm really an angel! You saw my wings!"

In response, Alfred stepped up onto his tip toes, trying to take another peek at the angel's wings. But, Arthur had already hidden them. And he wasn't about to show them again.

"Hey, they're gone. Where'd you hide them?" The American stepped past his guardian, peering into his bathtub. He glanced back at the angel. "You sure? Aren't angel wings supposed to be huge feathery things that reach up to sky?" Alfred made the motion of stretching his eyes up to the ceiling. "Like this? 'Cause the ones you had were really small n' tiny."

The green eyed male bit his lip harder with every motion from the American. Arthur was sure that if he was human, he'd be bleeding by now.

"They're small because..." Arthur's started. It's because you're going to die soon. "It reflects how strong I am."

For an angel to lie was against the laws of highest heaven. But, Arthur wasn't – he simply told a half-truth. An angels wings did reflect his powers; because, the closer a human was to death, the less they needed an angel to protect them. And by the last feather, he would have no power. Because the dead did not need to be protected.

Then he would fade away from the world, unknowing of where he would go.

"So, you're really weak, then?" Alfred continued on with his childish cruelty. It was always the truly innocent ones that were both loved and hated. "Wow, you've really worked out you're character. Weird though. I'm usually not into S&M play."

Arthur's hands clenched at his side as he made for another shout. "I'm no-"

"Um, hey, let's eat first, okay? I'm starving!" the blue eyed male declared, making a grab for the angel's wrist. Arthur began to pull his arm away, afraid for what was to come. His fears were solid; because, Alfred never touched him.

He couldn't. His hand went through.

Alfred could see him. He could hear him.

He could not touch him.

"What?" the American stared at what was supposed to be the contact point. Arthur's wrist were opaque, he could not see the white floor tiles behind it. But still, it felt like nothing but air.

Alfred stared at his own hand, using his opposite limb to grab at his own arm; it was as if he was trying to prove his own existence. Wrist still in his own grip, the American looked up at the other male. The colour of his skin was visibly paling. His cheeks were lost of the usual pink hue – all because of fear, fear, fear.

Of Arthur. As if he was a monster.

"G-ghost." Alfred uttered under his breath, his limbs beginning to lock. He let his feet guide him before they, like his arms, froze in place. Right through Arthur, he ran. The door slammed behind him, frantic steps receding from the bathroom exit. Another slam, Alfred had left his apartment.

Bloody hell.

Arthur forced his own body to move, running through the doors and walls towards his charge. A five meter distance – that was all he gave for separation with Alfred. Anything else and the American would probably get into an accident that Arthur couldn't heal him of. Like getting his fingers sawed off. It was always a possibility; the man worked at a construction site.

The angel raced as much as his legs allowed – with the exception of always knowing Alfred's location and passing through walls – there was no other way he could be distinguished from a human. "Bloody hell, Alfred! I'm not a ghost."

Arthur located his charge speeding through the hall towards the stairwell. Why, oh why, the American didn't want to take the elevator was a well known answer. All the sodding horror movies taught the boy that elevators were a no go.

The two of them passed Alfred's Japanese neighbour. But

neither blond's paid any mind as each were focused with the goal ahead of them. Alfred with the exit and Arthur with Alfred.

"Arthur! Keep an eye on your charge, aru! He almost knocked Kiku over!"

The green eyed male glanced at the black haired angel calling from behind him. He waved an affirmative before continuing on. "Alfred! Slow down! You'll fall!"

Upon hearing his name, Alfred turned, fulfilling the prediction of his guardian. Because just like that, his footing was lost. And just like that, he descended an entire flight of stairs in midair, his eyes right Arthur.

And then, his neck simply snapped. Broke on the soiled brown carpet of a cheap apartment complex.

Game over. Just like that.

"Alfred!"

No matter how many times Arthur saw Alfred injured. Broken bones, burns, punctures, slashes – the shock was always fresh. The fear forever stabbing at his heart whenever the blue eyed male refused to move. Refused to smile. To laugh.

Eyes – clouded and dull: unseeing.

Skin – pale and cold.

Heart – unbeating.

Lungs – unbreathing.

The angel rushed down the last set of stairs towards his charge. He knelt beside the male, touching his hands to Alfred's neck – feeling the injuries and surveying the damage. It seemed that it was only when he stole away the American's injuries that world allowed them to touch.

Only when Alfred was dying could Arthur be with him.

The man's spinal cord was intact – he was okay. Just a few cracks on the spinal column. Nothing Arthur couldn't fix.

The angel focused, attracting the injuries to his own body. Like veins they encroached him, forming a ring around his neck before sinking into flesh.

"Alfred-san!"

Arthur didn't move as the Japanese male rushed passed him, genuinely worried for the American's well-being. "Are you alright?!"

Alfred chuckled, turning his head to the other man. "You're speaking Japanese again, Kiku. I don't understand."

The American's speech was slightly slurred, the dizziness of the fall still getting to him. Kiku'a face scrunched as his raven hair fell over pale skin and delicate features. He pulled out his phone. "I was speaking English, Alfred-san. I'm calling the ambulance, don't move."

"There's no need. He's fine." Arthur looked down at the fallen male. "Alfred, get up. You're fine."

"Reallu, aru! If you keep healing him right after, he's not going to learn from his mistakes!"

The Chinese angel floated beside the Briton, showing off the lovely set of wings in his possession. The man ran a hand over his hair, tightening his ponytail behind his neckline.

"You spoil him, aru." The black haired angel spoke, bending over to survey Arthur's work. "It'd have been better to heal the injury gradually. That way, they'll learn from it."

Arthur glanced up at his colleague, his face impassive. He refused to answer. Repeatedly, the two always had the same conversation.

"Alfred tends to get injuries tend to be incapacitating. They'd last years, if not his entire life. I don't want that," Arthur would say. And, to that Yao would reply: "But, if you wait, aru. The chances of him getting into another accident would be slimmer. Because he'd be more careful, aru."

Silence would only be another answer, to which the Chinese spectre would speak again: "Oh, I forgot. He doesn't have much of a span left to l-"

"Shut up, Yao." Arthur broke their routine, paying mind to his charge as the man's head began to clear. Again, his blue eyes were staring right at him.

"Alfred-san?" Kiku broke Alfred's gaze as the American turned his head towards his name. "What are you looking at?"

"I see angels," the blond muttered, his voice barely above the sound of the air. "They're arguing 'bout me."

The Japanese man's eyebrows furrowed. "The ambulance is coming soon, Alfred. They'll take a good look at your head...I believe you might have a concussion."

Alfred made a failed attempt to stand up, only to be kept restrained by his neighbour. "It's not a good idea to move after receiving a head injury, Alfred-san."

The American whined, his head against the brown carpet. "But, Kiku, I got classes in an hour." He pointed at Arthur. "That angel told me when he was sitting on the toilet."

"So you only think I'm an angel when you have a concussion." the green eyed being scoffed, reaching his hand down to the American's head. He'd been too busy with the broken neck to notice the rest of the man's injuries. But, before he could, Yao stopped him.

"Why can he see you, aru?!" the angel stared at his younger colleague with a mix of shock and disapproval. "You know that it's against the rules! You could be punished for this!"

Arthur ignored the male, jerking his hand away. He continued on with his focus.

Slowly, Alfred's eyes cleared. His cheeks returned to its original hue.

"Fuck, my head hurts," the American groaned, forcing himself to sit up. He bypassed Kiku's attempts to keep him down. With a stretch of his hands, the American jumped to his feet. "Um, Kiku, thanks and all, but, I think I'm fine." He sent a quick glance at the green eyed angel. Arthur nodded. "You're fine...and...no. He can't see me."

The American nodded, quickly marching back up the stairs from whence he came. His neighbour was left shouting up at him in concern as Alfred turned up a flight of stairs. He backtracked to his apartment door, flinging it open and shutting it an instant. Arthur was left on the doormat, staring at the number 396 on the American's door plate. Easily though, the angel stepped through the entrance, peeking into the entrance hall. All he saw was a fistful of sand-like particles pass through his face and into the door.

"Fuck! Why isn't it working?!"

The spectre allowed himself to slide his entire body into the apartment, peering at the bag of particles that Alfred had just thrown at him.

Table salt.

Arthur just had to ask. "Why are throwing bloody salt at me?"

Alfred immediately dropped the bag, eyes widening in horror. "There's blood on my salt?" He kicked the package away from him. "I've been eating that!"

The green eyed male sighed, taking another step closer to his charge. With every advance he took, Alfred took another step back.

"Why didn't you burst into flames?! Aren't ghosts supposed to be weak against salt?" the American demanded, using his fingers to form a make-shift cross. Arthur sighed once more, the length of time that Alfred's ignorance prolonged the farce weighed his heart down.

"I told you! I'm an angel."

Alfred's expression remained unbelieving. "You don't look like one!"

Arthur sighed, floating past Alfred to the two-seater dining table centred in the man's kitchen. He made the motion to sit down. That was one thing that hadn't changed in his situation: his ability to use the furniture as long as he didn't move it.

"Have you ever seen an angel other than me, Alfred?" Arthur asked, simply staring at wooden surface in front of him. The staining of Alfred's dinner table was peeling, the dark, mahogany brown flaking into a shade of beige.

"That Asian dude floating above Kiku was one, right?" Alfred stood wary at the entrance of his kitchen. His apartment was a simple one bedroom – he didn't need any more than one – with the kitchen and living room connected with an open entrance. Behind him, was a simple black leather couch (a two-seater for when Mattie swung by!), and a twenty-two inch flat screen. The walls were a finnish blue colour, covered with numerous posters. All of them being of recent movies. A simple, typical set up for a nineteen year old American bachelor. Though, if any ghost decided to attack him, he'd have no where to hide. "But, he had the wings! The big fluffy ones that everyone knows about! Yours were all small and weird!"

Arthur stared at his charge with a silent frown, his eyebrows scrunched up to the centre. His hair was hiding his face: the expression of almost crying unseen by human eyes. Arthur wasn't used to hiding his tears; usually, there was no one around him that could see. And the green eyed male knew – knew that Alfred was only saying what he was saying out of ignorance. Not malice.

"Every angel has different wings!" the green eyed male insisted, hoping that Alfred wouldn't go any more further than that. But, of course, the American was never one to go with a person's expectations.

"Why?"

The angel bit his lip at the question. Hadn't he already answered it before? When Alfred had said that they were crumpled and broken? What else could he say?

"No angel is the same! So..." Arthur faltered, struggling with an answer. "So our wings are just like your finger prints. They're different."

Arthur glanced back down at Alfred's coffee table. Wooden lines swirled along the surface – that table was unique as well: no other like it.

"So, let's say you are an angel." Alfred took a step into the kitchen, still cautious of the seated spectre. He swerved around the table, pacing along the black tile kitchen counter at the other end of the space. For a moment, the blue eyed male contemplated if he should make a cup of coffee. He shook his head, deciding to deal with the situation at hand first. "If you are an angel..." he repeated, keeping his eyes on Arthur. "Why are you here?"

The angel froze, his body shuddering as he forced himself not to flinch or look away from his charge. He didn't know why he felt anxious to answer the simple question. All he had to say was: "I'm your guardian angel. I exist to protect you."

But, somewhere along the lines he felt that something was wrong. Yet, he didn't know what exactly. Maybe, it was because, in the end he'd have to tell the human his story book ending: You're going to die because you were unlucky enough to be born with an angel that wasn't strong enough to last more than two decades.

"I'm your guardian." Despite his worries, Arthur had nothing else to say. At least nothing worth saying that wouldn't be a lie.

Silence perused the room for the next few moments as Alfred decided to boil water. He grabbed two mugs from the kitchen cabinets, pouring them equally with water and instant coffee. Coffee whitener and sugar in hand, he brought them to the table, shoving them in front of the angel.

"I don't know how you take your coffee..." he pointed to one of the two cups, pushing it closer to the angel. He filled his own with four spoonfuls of sugar topped with an equal amount of whitener. Then the American waited for Arthur.

Arthur alternated his glances between both his cup and his charge before reaching his hand towards the ceramic mug. It passed right through.

"You can't touch it?" Alfred frowned. He ducked his head under the table. "But you're sitting on the chair. I can see your legs touching it."

Arthur changed posture, keeping his legs closed as his cheeks tinged red. He didn't bother mentioning it though. Alfred had finally calmed; there was no way that he was going to ruin that by bringing up the issue.

"I can come in contact with inanimate objects as long as I don't move them." Arthur glanced up at the human. Alfred was staring into his coffee, watching the whitener dissolve and lighten the black liquid. "I'm not allowed to interfere with the world unless my charge's life is threatened, I suppose."

"And that's me?" Alfred asked. The cream had already set in, unable to hold the American's attention any longer. Arthur answered with a nod.

"That's bull!" the American proclaimed, standing up and heading back towards the bathroom. Arthur watched him for a moment before heading to his side. Alfred turned to him, frowning. "You don't have to follow me!"

Arthur opened his mouth to answer. "I..." The teenager interrupted. "I'm a hero! I don't need anyone protecting me!"

The angel paused in place, watching as Alfred stepped into the bathroom. He remained silent in all but his thoughts. Alfred's answer was typical. The typical human response – believing that all good things were of their own work; while, one the other hand, they blamed misfortune on anything but themselves.

Typical, typical humans. Arthur didn't know how to deal with them.

"I mean, I've done good so far, right? Few injuries here and there but I've been doing alright even before you showed up. So you can go home or somewhere." Alfred dabbed ointment on his face, rubbing it into the bruise around his eye. He didn't understand. The American didn't understand the hardships that Arthur went through, for nineteen years, for 365 day per year. It was cruel.

Arthur decided to step in, using his powers for once when Alfred wasn't confused nor unconscious. If words didn't make the American believe, then actions would fare better. The angel reached his hand over, focusing as his powers allowed his to caress Alfred's face. Again, vein-like marks encroached the contact point, moving along his body until they surrounded his own eye. They remained for a few moments before sinking in and disappearing.

Alfred was staring at him with shock, his mouth flapping. He turned to the mirror, poking at his upper cheek as Arthur spoke. "I didn't just sodding show up, Alfred. I've always been here."

"Like since I was a kid?" the American still had his face to the mirror, though he was watching Arthur's reflection as the angel answered. "Yes."

"So, all the times I got hurt, you healed it." Alfred walked to the door motioning Arthur to move aside. It was a wonder why the man didn't just walk through him. He could have. "Why can I see you now though? I've never seen you before."

The ultimate question – the inquisition that Arthur could not answer. In the past, Arthur had healed multiple eye injuries that the American had sustained. Infections. Pink eye. Bruises. All times, he hadn't been able to see angels afterwards. So, why now?

"Am I going to die soon or something?" Alfred asked, still watching the spectre even as he strutted over to the couch. He fell into it. "I saw a movie like that once. This guy started seeing weird things 'cause he was close to death and pretty much one of them."

Arthur flinched back. The barrage of questions he could not, nor want to answer stabbing into his being. How to answer? What to say?

Even angels were clueless sometime.

"Well?" Alfred glanced at the holy being with expectation as he draped himself over his sofa. If not for the situation, Arthur could almost laugh. The man was always the adaptable type. Even though green eyed male had imagined such scenarios as the current one, Alfred – in his dreams, had never adapted so quickly. Yet, here he was, sprawled on furniture – already used to the idea of an angel hovering over him.

Really, Arthur could have laughed. If the answer to the human's question wasn't choking him, he would have.

Arthur swallowed, his mind racing once more. He wished for once that he had more power, then maybe he could stop the clock – freeze the very moment. Buy himself more time to answer and more time for Alfred to live. The angel opened his mouth to tell the truth.

"Ye-" Arthur stopped before his answer could be understood. Yes, you're going to die. That was all he had say.

But more questions had invaded him mind. What would Alfred do if he found out? Would he not be devastated? He'd panic, beg Arthur for life that the angel could not give – wouldn't he? Life to spend with his love ones. Life to enjoy life. Life that neither Alfred nor Arthur had. If the green eyed male told the truth, wouldn't it ruin the time Alfred had left?

It would.

Arthur swallowed his previous answer. He glanced at Alfred's expectant face. The truth would make any chance of a smile gracing the man's face disappear. Arthur didn't want that. He wanted Alfred to smile – lots – in the twelve months he had. Be happy. Absent of worries.

And thus, the angel lied.

"You..." Arthur started again. He forced a smile towards his charge, attempting to ease the man's worries in every way he could. The green eyed male hoped that his first lie would be a solid one. "Heaven decided that you should be rewarded for your heroic deeds."

The angel racked his brain. What was he doing? What was he going to do? Arthur's voice shuddered as he continued on. Every word he spoke was a crime against heaven now.

"I'm here to grant you anything you wish."

USUK:

Hi. It's family day at my place right now so I'm gonna go ahead and wish you all a Happy Family Day. Sorry if I haven't answered any review questions but, I don't wanna spoil anything. Mwa ha ha ha ha *cough cough* . Gotta keep you on your toes. On another note, I'm getting a Guinea Pig for my 'legal in Canada' birthday. Haha, I mentioned to one of my friends that my parents were going to get me one and he was like: 'Let me buy it! I don't know what to give you 'cause I don't know where they sell anime stuff in this city!' Hahaha!

Reviews are nice.