"Hey, hey, you, are you alri — oh fuck, you’re an Angel."
Wu Fan moved his hand away as though he’d been burned — it was never a good idea to touch an Angel if you didn’t want one to imprint on you. And that was the last thing Wu Fan wanted to happen.
He was torn between leaving and helping the Angel; he didn’t want it to accidentally become attached to him but he didn’t want to leave it here when it was cold, shaking and covered in grime, cuts and bruises, looking like a cornered animal.
He crouched in front of the young Angel, the edge of his coat touching the ground, and tried to meet its eyes.
"Can you talk? Do you understand what I’m saying?" The young Angel didn’t answer but something flashed in its eyes and told Wu Fan it understood him to some extent.
"Who did this to you? Were you separated from your master?" Wu Fan continued, the last word making the Angel jolt from where he was curled against the wall, a whimper of fear and pain escaping its lips.
Wu Fan had heard of cases where owners abused their pets as “punishment”, though it was never reported on the news, but seeing it up close made Wu Fan’s stomach curl in disgust.
He regarded the Angel once more, taking in its pale, bruised face, grimy hands and dirty clothes. Wu Fan had never wanted to own an angel, even if he could afford one which he really couldn’t because even the most inexpensive ones would take Wu Fan at least 20 years to pay for. They didn’t need food or water but Angels were nonetheless needy, clingy, required constant love and attention and were other things Wu Fan wouldn’t really be able to provide.
And yet, he found himself reaching out his hand, slowly and deliberately so as not to startle it.
"Do you want to come home with me?" He asked softly, surprising both the Angel and himself.
The young Angel shifted a wary glance from his hand to his face, its expression that of deep thought and consideration, as though it were judging if Wu Fan’s words were sincere or not.
It uncurled its knees and arms, shifting a little closer to Wu Fan and pressed its nose against his hand, smelling him.
They say Angels recognized human feelings through smell, Wu Fan thought, and it was such a strange thing to witness up close.
The Angel breathed against his palm, its soft nose tickling his fingers before looking up at him with clear, brown eyes that were more curious and interested rather than suspicious and angry.
"Would you like to come home with me?" He asked it once more, his chest tight for some unfathomable reason.
"Yixing," was what the Angel replied, its voice soft, high-pitched but a little rough from disuse. Wu Fan’s brows furrowed in confusion before the Angel pointed to itself and repeated, "Yixing."
"Ah, your name is Yixing then?" Wu Fan smiled when the Angel bobbed its head up and down, its light brown hair bouncing. "Then, do you want to come home with me, Yixing?"
Yixing nodded his head, slowly and timidly this time, before slipping its small, pale hand into Wu Fan’s.
"You’re going to be okay, Yixing. I promise," he said, as he guided the Angel to his home and it was only a little later, when Yixing gripped his hand in return as if afraid someone would pry him away from Wu Fan, that he realized he meant the words with his entire being.
