Pale, white feathers lay flat against the wooden floor under an antique rug, dusty and faded red and yellow with age. Its ends are fraying but it is still in use. The feathers are long and sturdy, shining ivory, bright against the dull tones of the floor. The long feathers slide down unto smaller feathers, hundreds of the downy things forming around a strong base, a thick bone sprouting out from a pallid back. The back is strong and taut with hidden muscles, smooth and unblemished.

Except for the stark maroon quickly staining the skin, drenching the back in sticky liquid.

Red blood falls from the base of the bone and feathers in little tendrils running down the ribs, slipping over the small of the back, riding over the curves of the neck. The blood curled lower, soaking the rough denim jeans a dark magenta, angry marks on the stitchery. The liquid seeped from both protruding bones, marking the skin of the back and the old, dusty carpet around the back. Blood tracing the outlines of feathers, falling through the down. The head attached to the neck of the back was resting on the carpet, face down and panting shallowly. The full body, the boy, heaved a painful breath, not moving from his face down position on the floor. The movement would only add to the flames on his back.

Sunlight fills the room, splattering across the ivory and maroon wings, leaving them tinted a pale sienna with dust particles dancing in the rays. The noises in the room only the ones coming from the boy with wings, the hitched breaths and thick sighs, attempts at blocking the pain. Beside him is another boy, large brown eyes wide and hands itching to touch. Next to the brown-eyed boy is a large knife, splattered in the maroon liquid. He stares unashamedly, meeting the other boy's blue and green eyes as he turns his head.

"That didn't work," he pants, sighing lightly and taking note of how the brown-eyed boy nods. He can't figure this out in his head, the reason why the wings will not be removed. The boys have tried dozens of times, to slice off the wings, and they always end up like this. The blue-green-eyed boy covered in blood while the brown-eyed boy counts up his regrets. Nothing ever works.

The brown-eyed boy sighs along with the other, shrugging. "I don't know what else to do," he says. "Maybe they just won't come off..." The blue-green-eyed boy glares at him.

"They must come off! I can't bear to live with them!" he snaps.

"Well, they don't cause you pain, do they?" the brown-eyed boy asks nervously.

"Well... No."

"Then I think you should very well keep them. They're beautiful and-"

"That's the point! They're beautiful! They're a distraction! All anyone ever sees when they look at me anymore is just a gorgeous creature to fawn over instead of a talented artist or lovely singer! I'm just some creature to them!" the blue-green-eyed boy counters, tears stinging in his eyes.

"Kurt," the brown-eyed boy says, reaching a hand out to tilt the other's chin towards him. "They may see a beautiful creature, however as do I. But I don't see the wings; I see your gorgeous porcelain face, or your lovely body. I listen to your magnificent voice, I fawn over your amazing artwork. I love you, not the feathers."

The blue-green-eyed boy smiles softly, tears staining his face. He reaches up as the brown-eyed boy leans down, and their lips connect and they share a loving kiss, breaking only to catch their breath and whisper "I love you"'s.