Chapter Text
As Liam stares down at his math test, all he can really manage to feel is shame. His father is verbally shaming him, his teacher is shaming him via angry red ink across the top of the sheet and he's pretty sure he gets the point.
His cheeks are burning, his whole face flushed as his eyes rake over the crap work that he'd slapped across the paper in haste once he realized that he'd wasted their whole allotted hour on just trying to work out the first question and he hadn't gotten a single one correct.
He did try, honest, but nothing would come to him and he remembered the sinking feeling in his gut as his math teacher called out the final five minutes and he knew he was screwed.
His father is obviously waiting for him to speak, but Liam can't seem to find the right words. He settles for a simple, "Sorry, sir," and he knows deep down that there's nothing he could have said to escape the punishment he was going to receive.
He's expecting something more like no cellular, tv, or internet for a month, so he's rather surprised with what he receives.
"I'm really disappointed, Liam, so I think that a good night's worth of cleaning will help clear your mind," his father informs and Liam's brows furrow in question.
Liam is more than used to cleaning; as a matter of fact, he's been picking up the "more womanly chores" in the house for as long as he can remember, and even if he didn't like them, it's not like he's got much of a choice. It only took so long with letting his father make the meals before he got rather sick of macaroni and cheese or a different - more burnt - attempt at a more intricate dish. So it was with purpose that he picked up the chores like laundry, dishes, cooking, and all around cleaning and it's been his responsibility ever since.
His father must recognise the look on Liam's face as one of question, and he elaborates. "I want you to go to my office at the church and sort out everything; I've been putting off on it for long enough and I think that'll be good for you."
Liam inwardly cringes.
He loves the church on Sunday mornings when everybody starts piling in and filling up the seats to hear his father preach the Word, and he loves it on Wednesday nights for CCD when all of the neighborhood children come and partake in slightly fun, but mostly educational activities.
But any other time of the week - when the church is empty - it's really nothing more than a very old, empty building.
As he's pulling on his coat and toeing on his shoes, he's thinking about the time that they got a family of possums in the steeple and you could hear them rooting around during service. It was one of the most disturbing sounds and Father Payne wanted them exterminated but Liam wasn't having it. He spent a whole week trying to catch them after school and he finally got all of them into a dog crate and took them into the woods and released them.
They were always having odd problems like that though, and being in the church alone wasn't something he'd wish on anyone.
Even though it's only a block down, Liam is regretting not bringing gloves - the nip of winter is almost painful against bare skin, but he'd underestimated the short walk. By the time his hands reach the beautiful metal door handle, his fingers are already so cold that they've numbed significantly.
He fumbles with the key ring he always carries on him, trying with frozen digits to find the right one before turning it in the lock. It clicks open for him instantly without resistance and the heavy, wooden door creaks a complaint as he pushes it open.
He leans back against it as soon as it's shut and enjoys the warmth of building. It certainly isn't a comfortable temperature, but his father keeps it heated by furnace in the winter, so it's not nearly as cold as the outside weather.
Liam dusts the snow out of his hair as he unbuttons his coat and slips it off onto a bench next to the entrance. He slips his fingers into a dish of holy water and crosses his forehead with it before entering the sanctuary.
He doesn't bother flipping on the lights because there's still a dull sunlight filtering in through the huge stained glass windows to his right, setting the whole room in a blotches of colorful array.
And even with that cheerful notion, his skin is still covered in goosebumps.
He tries to push the feeling of unease out of his mind as he quickly heads toward the altar, bending to one knee in a bow before taking the step up onto it. He has to cross over the whole thing to reach the door to his father's office and once he gets it unlocked, he sighs.
It's a lot worse than he imagined - there's papers strewn about, spilling off of the wooden desk in piles onto the floor and there's a heap of unwashed robes in the far corner that Liam can only guess has been there for at least three Sundays.
He works on that first, gathering all of them up and sorting them in their respective piles - altar boys, choir, and a couple of his father's. Once he has them sorted, he folds them and neatly tucks them into a plastic bag to take home and wash later.
Even though he's dreading it, he works on all of the misplaced papers next. He works them all into a stack and then takes a seat in the swiveling chair to sort them accordingly. Most of the papers are bulletins that his father hands out every week during service and he finds some that date as far as two years back.
He's not sure if he should be saving them or not, so he organizes them by date and sets the neat pile on the edge of the desk. Next comes all of the more complicated tax forms that his dad has apparently been hoarding rather than dealing with and he figures that those can mostly just be shuffled around until they look organised.
It's then that he hears the ruffling in the sanctuary.
It's not a big noise at all, but it's enough to make Liam suspicious and his skin flushes cold as he remembers that he didn't lock the front doors behind him when he came in. He freezes with the stack of papers in his hand and instantly rises from his seat. He clutches them close to his chest like a comfort blanket as he peeks his head around the corner of doorway.
He can't seem to find anything out of place as he looks over the altar and he takes care to rake his eyes over every pew - just in case.
He huffs in annoyance with himself when he realizes that he's just being stupid and he's just about to turn back around when his eyes pick up a fleck of black against the floor. His brow furrows and as he walks up to it, his eyes refocus to get a better look.
At first he thinks that it's a strip of fabric and he's trying to figure out exactly what it could be from but as he gets closer he realizes that it's not cloth at all.
He bends to pick up a single black feather about the length of his middle finger, the pads of his fingers brushing against the cool marble and he brings it up close to his face to inspect it. As he looks it over, it dawns on him that a feather means a bird and, though it's not a new idea - having a bird in the bell tower - it certainly means more of a mess for Liam to clean.
He glances up to try and find it with his eyes but he intakes a sharp breath and drops the whole stack of papers and they flutter noisily to the floor.
Up at the very corner edge of the ceiling, a boy is sitting, one knee bent up to his bare chest and the other dangling from the ledge. He's only in a pair of ripped jeans and from the look of his boyish chest, he's only a young adult.
He's wearing a wicked grin on his stretched lips and, even though the whole situation is one of serious question, Liam can't find himself anything other than concerned for the boy. A quick flash of panic ripples through his chest at the thought of the boy being so high up - a fall from that height could cause a lot of damage.
Liam holds up the feather and the boy seems to take notice of the questioning tone of the action. Liam’s not so sure if the boy dropped it, or if he should still be looking for a bird - not that that’s any real concern right at the moment.
As an answer, a pair of large black wings unfold from behind the boys shoulders and it's then that Liam frightens, his eyes widening to an alarming size. It’s very clear that the wings - and the feather in Liam’s fingers - belong to the boy, obvious that they’re attached to his back as he flutters them a bit.
"Hello there," the boy greets through a crooked grin at Liam's hesitance.
Liam forces back a nervous buildup of spit and takes an instinctive step back. There's something predatory about the way the boy is looking at him that raises a new series of lumps all over Liam's skin. Something is desperately wrong - really, really wrong about the situation, and not just because the boy has wings, but Liam can practically see some kind of wicked intent swirling in coils around the boy’s beautiful olive skin tone.
Not wanting to be rude, Liam tries to speak but when he opens his mouth he can only manage a scared huff of air. This reaction seems to please the winged boy, because he only grins wider until the whites of his canines are showing and at this point, he looks like a wolf cornering its prey.
"What are you doing here?" Liam asks, only barely finding his voice and realizing that it’s horribly shaky. In any other setting, the weak sound would have been lost, but the church is so quiet that Liam swears he could hear a mouse squeak in the drywall. "How did you get up there?"
"Oh, now that is a good question, isn't it?" the boy asks and there's something infectious about his voice and Liam has to suppress himself from moving any closer.
He worries his bottom lip at the teasing tone, however.
"Do you expect me to stay out in the snow?"
Liam frowns and shakes his head. "I-"
The boys speaks again before Liam can manage. "Isn't the church accepting of everyone? I would think that this would be the place to go if I'm seeking shelter." The boy's voice has suddenly become slightly accusing and it makes Liam even more uncomfortable.
He’s never been one for confrontation and the boy is speaking like he has some kind of animosity for the Catholic church that Liam is so close to.
"Well, yes, but-" Liam tries. He’s about to tell the boy that the church’s hours are from eight-thirty to noon on Sunday mornings, Wednesday nights at five to eight, and Thursday from four to nine for confessions, but he’s cut off again by that ringing voice.
"Good, then I have every right to be here." The boy adopts back a deceivingly sweet tone. He smirks and pushes off the ledge and the action has Liam taking a giant step back. Liam’s stomach drops as if he were the one jumping, and he can feel his chest tightening
The pair of jet black wings unfold about halfway down the fall to catch the air beneath them. Rather than fall to a fate of broken bones, the boy's bare feet land on the marble with a gentle thud - his body in a crouched position and his black wings spanned out and fluttering just slightly.
Liam’s breath hitches audibly in his throat and his face slips into a look of horror. His breathing picks up to a worrying pace.
The boy tucks his wings away so they're folded down his back, but even then the top joints of them show above his shoulders as he stands to full posture. He rises a few inches below Liam's own height but Liam's never been so intimidated in his life under the boy's dark gaze.
"What are you?" Liam breathes cautiously, backing up further towards the altar of the church. The boy follows slowly, a certain charming stagger to his steps.
"My name's Zayn," the boy informs, seemingly ignoring Liam's question. He tries again with a skeptical look, though he's already fairly sure of the answer.
"Are you...an angel?"
Zayn smirks in a quick, absolutely infectious action and his tone runs condescending. "Something like that."
Liam backs up until he hits the speaking podium and Zayn follows closer until he's only feet away. Liam feels like a deer in headlights and the hairs on the back of his neck stand again. Something about the small smirk that’s still playing on Zayn’s lips sends Liam into a deeper state of unease and his eyes are suddenly shifting around for an escape of any kind.
There’s a basin of holy water on the podium and Liam finds himself reaching for it. Even though he’s sure that there’s something desperately wrong about the situation, he doesn’t want to offend Zayn in anyway, so the action don’t hold any contempt. He’s only thinking about saving his own skin; he doesn’t want to hurt Zayn.
He’s only going by every horror movie he’s ever seen at Louis’ house during slumber parties, but - if he remembers right - holy water is supposed to protect you from anything that isn’t entirely human...
His fingers grip the lip of the bowl and he pulls it to his chest.
Zayn pulls a completely different reaction than what Liam had hoped - not that he thought his attempt would really work - and he snickers darkly under his breath, his nose crinkling up in a way that would be cute under different circumstances.
He reaches out and plucks the dish from Liam’s hands and flicks it aside in the most casual manner Liam can think of and the glass bowl hits somewhere behind Zayn. Liam listens as it shatters, sending shards skittering across the marble floor with the blessed water strewn about.
If Liam wasn’t panicking before, he certainly is now and he pulls on a look of true concern, his brows tipping up and the corners of his lips pulling into a sharp frown. He reaches to the side blindly, keeping his eyes tight on Zayn as he picks up a heavy metal cross from the table beside him and holds it out between them.
Zayn sneers at it a newly found disgust and stops short only a few inches from the object with his hazel eyes down on it.
“And what other cliches are you going to throw at me?” he hisses. “Where’s the wooden stake - the silver bullets? Can I get you a clove of garlic or salt to circle yourself with?”
Liam shrugs through his tight frown, because he’s honestly only making this up as he goes and he clutches the item closer for comfort.
“If it’ll keep you back.”
Zayn must figure out that he needs a new approach, because his eyes are squinting to only slits before he pulls back a step and slides into a much more gentle look. It’s obvious that he’s trying to keep his face neutral as he reaches forward for Liam, even though it’s also obvious that the cross brings him discomfort. His fingers make sure to keep away from the shiny metal relic.
He strokes his knuckles down Liam’s cheek and the touch is feather soft. “Put it down,” he coos in a velvety voice, and it’s not a demand, it’s almost a plea. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
It all collectively has Liam’s eyes fluttering, a soft breath escaping past his lips without his permission. The spot where Zayn’s skin is touching his own is tingling in the most attractive way, like a live wire just under the flesh.
It all only lasts a second before Liam’s remembering himself and he steps back away from the touch. The heel of his right foot catches on the step of the altar and he stumbles, landing with on his bum with a thud and the cross goes clattering from his hands, hitting loudly just on the other side of Zayn’s bare feet.
Liam winces, knowing that it would come to be a mistake with the way that Zayn’s eyes follow it amusedly. Liam does his best to scoot back onto the altar as far away from Zayn as he can manage before scrambling to a standing position.
Liam’s attention is flickering around for another cross anywhere in the room when, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Zayn take a step forward, placing a foot onto the first step of the altar.
Zayn lets out a yelp that quickly turns to a growl, loud and animalistic in his throat as the pad of his bare foot audibly sizzles against the polished wood. The pained noise bounces off the walls of the huge room and ring against the marble for a few seconds. He retracts it immediately.
Liam jumps at the sudden noise and takes a large step back in fear and also relief. A sudden pang of guilt is twisting in him as he suddenly feels awful for Zayn - from the looks of it all, it wasn’t pleasant for him and Liam finds himself taking the smallest step toward him in concern.
“Are you,” he starts and then pauses in hesitance. “Are you alright?”
Zayn looks up at him with grit teeth and suddenly smooths out his face when he notices that his actions are only scaring Liam off further.
“I’m fine,” he answers tightly, though his body relaxes visibly. “How about you come down here?”
Liam shakes his head, scowling slightly with all distress forgotten.
“No, you’re going to hurt me,” Liam argues, wondering himself where his newly-found confidence is coming from. He’s usually much easier to persuade, especially if one party is hurt or in danger.
Zayn puts on a look of mock surprise, his voice almost teasing. “No, never,” he assures through a glinting grin. And even though he’s clearly just being coy, for some reason, some part of Liam believes him. He may not be entirely normal, but if it weren’t for the pitch-colored feathers, Zayn could be a regular teenager, Liam reasons. A small part of Liam doesn't see any harm in those hazel eyes, despite the mischief they house. He rubs his arm with worry, taking his bottom lip between his teeth as he considers.
Liam is having an absolutely concerning bit of inner conflict. The biggest part of Liam knows that he should stay put and call his father or the police or anyone really, because that part of him is uncomfortable to no end.
However, there’s a smaller part of him that knows how dangerous this situation could be but wants it. He doesn’t even know what he wants. He just wants and it’s that part that suddenly makes his skin flush with heat. He takes a step toward Zayn and watches as his wings flex and shuffle, sending a few black feathers fluttering to the floor.
Zayn seems pleased by Liam’s willingness because he extends a hand - his fingers look relaxed as the left corner of his lips quirk up a bit.
“That’s it, babe,” he pushes, his voice taking on a silky tone. Liam flushes hard at the term of endearment. He’s not sure he could stay put if he wanted to between that and the way Zayn’s hazel eyes are half-lidded in the most attractive way possible. “C’mere.”
Liam reaches out to him as his stomach flutters and the action is painfully slow, his head and his body disagreeing completely on the action. He realizes the slight tremor in his fingers and flushes with embarrassment. He doesn’t want to seem so weak, but he knows - more than anything in that moment - that what he’s doing is a mistake.
Zayn waits until the tips of Liam’s digits are resting in his palm before taking Liam’s hand gently - yet forcefully - and tugging him forward. Liam lands against Zayn’s hard stance, both hands on Zayn’s bare chest to stop the fall, and it knocks the air right out of him. But he’s being released from the grip as soon as it happens and he’s left stumbling down from the altar step, blushing resentfully.
He works himself into a straight posture and doesn’t meet Zayn’s gaze as he realizes that he’s still holding the first black feather he found. He hands it over to Zayn who takes it and holds it up in front of Liam’s eyes. Zayn looks more amused than anything as he pinches the feather in his grasp and suddenly it’s going up in flame. The fire dies a half-second later and all that’s left of the feather is the bits of ash that dust to the floor.
Liam’s breath catches in his throat and his eyes widen as he’s left staring at Zayn’s empty fingers. Liam fights to find words that don’t sound as horrified as he feels but Zayn can see right through him.
“What are you exactly?” Liam asks, but his voice breaks through the middle of the sentence, leaving him sounding like a frightened child.
He’s not used to feeling this way. He hasn’t felt so weak since grade school - since before he found his voice and muscles and used to let kids push him around. Don’t get him wrong, he was never one to fight, but he certainly hasn’t had to for a long time. He’s got a best friend, a few acquaintances, his dad, and God and that’s more than enough for him.
Zayn snaps him out of his thoughts. “Do you really want to know?” he asks, quirking a brow. “Because I can tell you, but I have a feeling that you’re only asking as a formality.”
Liam frowns, unsure of Zayn’s meaning.
Zayn looks at him through thick, black lashes. “I think you and I both know that I’m bad news,” Zayn suggests with a tone of voice that has a cold shiver running up through Liam’s spine, all the way to the base of his neck.
Zayn leans in a little farther, holding Liam’s eyes as he presses a kiss to Liam’s collarbone where the collar of his shirt has tugged down a bit. The exposed skin tingles.
Liam pulls in a shocked breath that stops short in his tightening lungs. He ducks out of the way in time to just miss another kiss to his neck. His whole face is burning hot as Zayn full out laughs at him with a dark undertone.
The hairs on the back of Liam’s neck stand up at the beautiful, almost chiming sound.
Zayn reaches out for Liam’s wrist and catches it in a strong grip as Liam tries to duck out of the way again. They’re standing in the middle of an empty church, but Liam can’t remember a time he’s felt so crowded and cornered.
“Stop running from me,” Zayn purrs through mischievously grinning lips. His hands are suddenly running down both of Liam’s sides, making him squirm under the touch.
Liam doesn’t want to react this way, he honestly doesn’t, but his lack of experience is winning out over the slight heat in his gut and all he can manage to feel is discomfort. Zayn’s hands find his hips and he tugs Liam forward, pressed flush against him.
Liam tries not to think about how their bodies fit together near perfectly.
He can’t find anywhere to put his hands because as much as he’s dying to, he doesn't know if he can handle touching Zayn’s wings.
Liam lets out a fluttery breath as Zayn presses in a deep kiss to the base of Liam’s throat and that spot starts to tingle too. He can feel Zayn’s tongue dart across the skin and Liam lets out the tiniest, involuntary moan before he’s stopping himself out of shame and his whole body goes rigid in Zayn’s arms.
“Relax,” Zayn breathes into Liam’s neck and even the skin where his breath hits tingles like a thousand, tiny venomous pin pricks that cloud over whatever decent thoughts he has left at this point.
“I-” Liam starts and his voice cracks embarrassingly. “I can’t, Zayn.”
Zayn hums - sounding pleased as peach - into Liam’s flesh before nipping gently and making Liam squeak. He squirms at the small pain but Zayn doesn’t free him - only holds him tighter as Liam’s traitorous hands grab onto Zayn’s shoulders.
He means to push Zayn away but he ends up further closing the space between them instead.
Liam then realizes that he’s panting as he speaks, “This is wrong. So, so wrong.”
Okay, so at least there is a little bit of rationality in him somewhere. He internally grasps for it but comes up completely lost as Zayn opens his mouth again.
“It’s only as wrong as you make it.”
On a normal day, words like those - dripping with sinister intent - would have had him scolding the owner of whoever’s lips they came from and clutching onto his faith for dear life, but at this point, there isn’t any fight left in him.
“That doesn’t help me at all,” Liam complains, but there’s no emotion in his voice as Zayn lifts his head to meet Liam’s eyes.
He takes Liam’s chin between his nimble fingers and brings their faces so close together that Liam can almost feel the phantom heat of Zayn’s skin on his own.
“Just let go,” Zayn whispers, acting as if it’s all so simple. There isn’t a hint of a smile on his kiss-swollen lips. “It’s hell of a lot easier than the facade you’re trying to keep up.”
Liam scowls suddenly as the words hit him the wrong way. As much as he wants to take Zayn’s advice, he’s pushing as hard as he can against Zayn’s shoulders, sending him back a few feet.
Zayn looks startled, his hazel eyes popping open wide as Liam sidesteps and rushes past him. Liam isn’t sure where the confidence is coming from - he has a feeling that it’s purely an instinctual thing - but he’s clinging to every ounce of it.
“You can’t stay here,” Liam snaps, his whole face flushed and red as he grabs his coat from the pew and shrugs it on.
“Why not?” Zayn asks, brow furrowing in an obvious frustration as his fists clench at his sides.
“Because someone is going to see you,” Liam grumbles, picking up his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder.
“But it’s cold out there,” Zayn complains through grit teeth.
“That’s too bad. I doubt you can freeze to death anyway.” Liam flings the door open so fast that it shakes the whole front of the building and he leaves in such a rush that he doesn’t even remember to cross himself on the way out.
He figures that it doesn’t matter - no amount of holy water is going to wash away what he’s feeling running through his veins.