Daniel 's Angel

‎Chapter Six: I Heard Him Crying

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‎(Elian's Point of View)

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‎He didn't see me at first.

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‎I had come by without thinking — again.

‎No reason. No plan. Just this quiet pull that dragged me to the steps of his building like gravity had changed its mind about me.

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‎I was about to knock when I heard it.

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‎Not a voice.

‎Not footsteps.

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‎Crying.

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‎Soft. Strangled. Like someone trying not to make a sound but failing anyway.

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‎It came from the other side of his door.

‎Low. Shaky. Real.

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‎It broke something in me.

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‎I stood frozen for a second, my fist halfway raised, my breath caught in my throat.

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‎Daniel.

‎Crying.

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‎The boy who growled at shadows.

‎The boy who had wings that shimmered with pain and power.

‎The boy who told me not to stay.

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‎Now he was behind that door — crying like he'd been doing it forever and no one ever noticed.

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‎---

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‎I sat down on the stairs. I didn't leave.

‎I didn't knock either.

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‎Because something told me... if he wanted someone to hear, he'd open the door.

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‎So I waited.

‎Long after the crying stopped.

‎Long after the hallway light flickered off and left me in the dark.

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‎I waited.

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‎---

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‎It was almost midnight when the lock turned.

‎The door creaked open like it was afraid of being loud.

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‎He looked different — not just tired, but like he'd been unraveling in silence.

‎His eyes were red. His lips pressed tightly together. His jaw tense, like he was trying to hold himself together.

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‎He didn't say anything.

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‎I didn't either.

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‎I just stood up slowly and whispered, "Hi."

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‎He stared at me for a long time.

‎Not angry. Not scared. Just... unsure.

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‎Then he stepped aside.

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‎I walked in.

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‎---

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‎His apartment was colder than before, but it wasn't the air.

‎It was him.

‎Everything felt like it was holding its breath.

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‎He sat on the floor again.

‎Not the bed. Not the couch. The floor — like he couldn't let himself feel comfort.

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‎I followed and sat beside him.

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‎We didn't talk for a while.

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‎The silence between us wasn't heavy, though.

‎It was... fragile.

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‎Like one wrong word could shatter something we hadn't even built yet.

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‎---

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‎"I'm not going to ask," I said, softly.

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‎He glanced at me, confused. "Ask what?"

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‎"About what you are. About the wings. About the guy in the hoodie. Any of it."

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‎His fingers twitched slightly. He was still holding the edge of his shirt like he needed an anchor.

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‎"I'm just here," I added. "You don't have to tell me anything."

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‎He looked at me like that idea didn't make sense to him. Like people didn't stay unless they wanted something.

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‎---

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‎He didn't speak for a while. But then, in a whisper that was barely audible, he said:

‎"You should be scared of me."

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‎I shook my head. "I'm not."

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‎He laughed — a single breath, bitter and short. "You should be."

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‎"I'm not," I said again, firmer.

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‎We sat in that space between truths and lies, and he started to lean closer.

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‎Not like a decision.

‎Like a reflex.

‎Like something inside him was reaching out even if his mind was still running.

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‎Our shoulders touched.

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‎Then our knees.

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‎Then his eyes flicked to mine.

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‎The air shifted.

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‎He leaned in—slowly, like the world would break if we moved too fast.

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‎I didn't stop him.

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‎His breath brushed my mouth.

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‎So close.

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‎So close I felt my heart whisper "yes" before I could even think.

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‎But then he pulled back.

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‎Not fast. Not in panic.

‎Just far enough to leave that breathless ache between us.

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‎"I'm sorry," he murmured.

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‎I smiled — small, gentle, and a little heartbroken.

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‎"Don't be."

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‎---

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‎He didn't kiss me.

‎But he almost did.

‎And honestly?

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‎That was enough.

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‎Because even almost meant he was starting to see me.

‎Even almost meant he didn't want to be alone anymore.

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‎And maybe… maybe I didn't want to be either.

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