"Mmm," Marcus mumbled, a sudden pain in the back of his head slowly waking up from a sleep he did not remember entering.

Lifting his tired right arm, he wiped the bit of drool dripping down his stubbled cheek and turned his head forward from the right.

He was still very tired as he scratched the back of his head with his left hand and yawned before cracking his aching neck. The last thing Marcus remembered was putting bird-man to sleep and watching him in case he needed anything.

The thought of the creature, moaning and crying in pain, woke up Marcus quicker than the smell of Christmas morning back at his gran's, his eyes quickly opening and looking up at the bed from his position on the floor.

He was more than a little bit surprised to see that he had been silently stared at.

Well glared at would've been the correct term.

Bandaged up and his full, wavy, raven-black hair cascading down his thin shoulders and framing his tired, thin, pale but intimidating face, bird-man reminded Marcus of a wounded soldier of war. The glare added a nice touch really.

Get stared at by a man with wings while I sleep in front of my door. Can check that off the bucket list.

Marcus stared at the supposedly helpless bird-man, the guy staring back with his elbows on his knees, Marcus' large gray knitted sweater swallowing up his body with his right hand tracing the bandage around his neck.

Marcus could not see a single scratch left on his face, but he couldn't be sure considering he wore glasses, and couldn't see things too far properly.

What he was sure about, however, was that he couldn't keep eye-contact with the silver-eyed bird-man for too long as Marcus began to feel very self-conscious in his sweatpants and t-shirt.

"Uh-"

Bird-man's glare hardened at the sound of Marcus' voice.

"-hi? Wait, do you even speak? Can you understand me?"

Bird-man answered that with a raised eyebrow before scoffing and rolling his eyes, stunning Marcus with his unexpected haughty attitude.

And then he spoke, turning stun into shock.

"Don't be stupid, human."

________

That was Marcus' start to the weekend. A bird-man creature crashing into his home, bleeding, starved and obviously abused in some ways and surprise, surprise, the guy's got a mouth on him.

And he was Russian. Truth be told, Marcus didn't expect that. Then again, he didn't expect the guy to be able to talk at all.

With the screeching and kaaing and growling, what was I supposed to think?

He also didn't think bird-man knew that Marcus understood Russian, which meant he could hear the guy mutter about how slow he was or smelly or too hairy or weird looking.

Well sorry, but I'm not the one with...yeah. I can't do it. He's all beat up and shit. Curse you, Gran, for raising such a kind, upstanding young man.

But damn is he cruel.

"When will it be ready human?" his guest asked-demanded-with his thick Russian accent rolling with each word, sitting up on his seat in front of Marcus' small dining table.

Marcus sighed, not annoyed but still wondering where he had gotten the idea that the guy was going to be sweet and small.

He was more rude than anything. Even with remnants of his fever, a thick blanket over his shoulders, reddish face and nose and his body shaking slightly, bird-man still managed to sound like he were above everything that he blessed with his harsh gaze.

Marcus continued in the preparation of lunch, as it was past noon, lifting the spoon up to his lips to taste the rice soup and nodded to himself.

I am good, he thought. Like there was any doubt.

Grabbing a cereal bowl from the cupboard above the stove, he filled it up with the soup after turning off the fire and placed it in front of his broody guest.

"What is this?" bird-man asked, a sneer on his face and in his voice, as Marcus grabbed a spoon from the cream-colored cutlery drawer on the right of the stove.

"Rice soup. Not exactly like the original that I got at this really good restaurant but I worked with how it tasted instead of an actual recipe so I'm going with that excuse," Marcus told him calmly, sounding as tired as he looked as he handed his guest the spoon.

"Where is the meat?" bird-man asked, twirling the spoon between his long, thin fingers as he continued to glare at the soup.

Marcus rose an eyebrow slowly as he pressed his back against the kitchen counter, left of the stove, his arms folded in front of his chest as he looked at the angry guy in his kitchen.

"You look like you haven't eaten a full, proper meal in months, maybe years. Too much on the go could put your digestive system, which, I'm guessing, isn't used to massive amounts of food or hard food, in shock and you could die. I don't know how your...particular anatomy works but I'm not taking any chances. What? I spend all night trying to keep you alive then I just let you die soon after? Sorry, but no."

Marcus hadn't come that close to snapping in forever, having nothing to snap about, to begin with. It was strange.

He was usually a calm, well-mannered man that tended to say and ask things some might've seen as inappropriate. He only got snappy when he was tired or hadn't had anything to eat.

His guest didn't acknowledge anything he said. Merely dropped the spoon on the table and grabbed each side of the bowl with his hands and lifted it to his lips.

Without thinking, Marcus stepped up and took hold of the bowl, about to tell the guy to slow down or he'd choke.

Bird-man's reaction to Marcus touching the bowl, and his hand, was to quickly recoil and get off the seat, getting on his knees as he shook even harder than he did before.

"I'm sorry," the guy muttered in Russian, over and over again with his hands over his head.

Marcus did not know how to respond to that, wasn't even sure why his guest was apologizing in the first place.

He stood there, bowl in hand, as his uninvited guest went into whatever dark corner that was in his mind, and repeatedly begged to be forgiven.

Marcus didn't think his heart could break anymore after last night but alas, he felt it crack some more.

Not knowing what else to do, Marcus placed the bowl back on top of the table, moved around the chair and knelt down in front of bird-man who had stopped begging for forgiveness and began to gasp for breath. It was like the guy couldn't breathe.

A panic attack? Marcus wasn't sure, only ever having one when he got the news about his gran but he didn't know if it was the same for everyone.

Either way, it was all he got so he did for his guest what that nurse did for him. He talked to the guy.

"Hey. Hey, listen to me," Marcus urged, voice soft but loud so he could get through the panic.

"Look at your hands. Look at the chairs. Look at me and focus on the now. Focus on what's right in front of you and just breathe. You are here, you are alive and you will get better." Marcus repeated the words that kind nurse had told him, over and over again, until bird-man looked up at him with wide eyes shining with tears.

"Look at your hands," Marcus said, watching him as he removed them from his head and began to look at his palms and his knuckles and fingers.

"Now look at the chairs." He did so, his shoulders shaking as he eyed both the chairs facing the dining table.

"Now look at me," Marcus said, feeling slightly uncomfortable with having those piercing eyes focusing so heavily on him but was glad that the poor kid was calming down.

"Focus on what's right in front of you and breathe. In and out, in and out. Deep breaths," Marcus urged gently, doing the act with bird-man who seemed to have gotten calmer with each breath.

Thank you, Nurse O'Neil.

"Repeat after me. I am here--"

"I am here," he repeated, voice shaking slightly as he wiped his face with the blanket.

"--I am alive--"

"I am alive."

"--and I will get better."

"...And I will...I will get...better."

Marcus let out a sigh of relief, slumping down on the floor with his hands pressed down on the ground behind him.

"You feel better?" he asked his guest, feeling even more of an ass when the kid jumped at his voice.

"Da," bird-man mumbled, looking around the kitchen as if to be sure about where he was.

"That's good," Marcus grunted as he stood up, feeling winded from all the exercise he had been doing since he got home.

He looked down at bird-man who looked up at him and Marcus offered the guy a hand which he duly ignored and stood up on his own.

Pretending he didn't notice the obvious height difference, Marcus asked, "You still want the soup?"

Bird-man nodded, sitting down and pulling the chair forward. He sat up straight and his hard glare quickly returned. Although he was quieter, he still carried himself like royalty, like the incident did not happen.

Marcus sighed again, thinking that his near future was going to involve a lot of sighing, and moved to sit on the other chair.

With his right elbow on the table and cheek against his palm, Marcus quietly watched as his guest awkwardly used a spoon with his quivering left hand to eat the soup, stopping for a moment at each mouthful to pause, close his eyes then take another spoon in. It appeared as if he was savoring the taste.

"Is the soup any good?"

The mysterious man looked up at Marcus, his glare somewhat softened and he mumbled, "It's great."