A dream heavily coated the air. Haneul stood upon a glass floor, twinkling stars both above and below him. Before him, a pale planet rotated ever so slowly. The sunlight of a distant star flickered over the world’s curve. He had the sudden sensation that he was freezing—what he wouldn’t give for a glass of bourbon now. 

Light splintered across the sky, and Haneul fell back, shielding his face from the abrasive shine. 

A flurry of midnight wings, vermillion blood, and lavender hair blurred past the strained edges of his vision. When he double-took, the visage was gone. Instead the world and space around him crumpled into nothing as if sucked by a vacuum. 

He awoke with a painful smash of his nose against the tabletop of his desk. Ah. Must’ve fallen asleep while sorting through contracts

...again.

Hrafn was nowhere in sight but if Haneul had to take a wild guess, he’d supposed the alien drifted somewhere like the living room or the kitchen. The alien seemed to only have two goals, at least currently. Food and studying. Trying to learn Korean in such a short span of time was an admirable feat, and of all things, results were something Haneul knew well and acknowledged. Every day, Hrafn’s language comprehensions grew more and more complex. At this point he knew the alien—Haneul refused to call him things like bird-man, angel, or anything else along those lines (Ha-Rin suggested “crane” or  “crow” as more palatable options)—was incredibly intelligent, easily able to pick up languages. Something to do with his role as a diplomat if Haneul recollected correctly. That was something they were both similarly understood, he thought with a chuckle. For every phrase that Hrafn learned in Korean, Haneul was able to learn in Hrafn’s language. He’d discovered the language itself was called Bjarnsta. At this point in his life, Haneul was grateful that his father forced him to learn so many languages because of company deals. So now it was the same process, just with an extraterrestrial language now. The moment that thought passed, his brain short-circuited. 

Extraterrestrial. 

With their brief conversations of half-fragmented words and full on pantomiming, he understood that Hrafn came from another planet. An actual other planet, which by default made Hrafn in every sense alien. But beyond that tidbit, he was still fairly in the dark on any other details of Hrafn’s origin. The few times he tried to prompt the question of where Hrafn’s planet was in the solar system—he’d received an odd look. On the same token, Hrafn often asked where Bjarndyr was in relation to the current planet’s revolution. Small context gleams made Haneul think that Bjarndyr was a star of sorts—or perhaps Hrafn’s sun. But neither of them were that good at one another’s language or interpretive dance to gleam. Yet.

All of the space talk made Haneul wish he’d paid better attention in science classes. But he had neither the mind for complicated scientific theories nor the interest. Although the interest seemed forced upon him these days and less voluntary than they would have been in his uni days. 

Glancing at the clock on the wall, he noticed early morning already neared its end and he needed to leave for work.

He had bid as much as he could working from home.

In fact, he’d managed two weeks away from the office with Hrafn’s appearance. It’d been a difficult task to dodge both his father and Secretary Yun’s insistent inquiries, but with a little forgery help from a friend of Ha-Rin’s—Haneul had been able to fake illness. Granted not the first time he’d done so, and this time, it was actually for a good reason. But a major compliance meeting with a sister-company loomed on the horizon, which meant that his expertise as head project manager for seeing the working relationship between the two companies would be required. He had to return himself to the office or would more than likely be forced back. 

And he could not risk more people knowing about Hrafn’s existence.

Gathering the contract and supplemental documents that he’d been sorting through, Haneul shoved everything into his briefcase. He’d need to shower, freshen up so he didn’t feel like a zombie, and set aside food so Hrafn wouldn’t eat Charles. It was already almost eight in the morning.

To save on time, he strode into the living room to drop off his packed briefcase by the door so he could just grab and go as he left. On his way over, however, he nearly stumbled over the couch. 

Hrafn lounged across the sofa cushions, his stilted legs propped over the armrest. His brow furrowed with concentration while his eyes perused the contents of a book with slow fluttering lilac eyelashes. The morning sun filtered through the french doors from the otherside of the living room, bathing the room in pale white light that was nearly untarnished by the waking neon city. Hrafn’s wings shuffled absentmindedly, the smallest middle pair furled close to his side. One of the largest pairs was huddled over his shoulders like a blanket, the feathers ruffling every now and then. The narrow bottom pair was pinned awkwardly against the couch, the one closest to the seat cushions semi-supporting the still broken and splinted primary wing.

In this morning light, where ebony wings wavered and lilac hair slipped down curved proud shoulders—the alien truly seemed ethereal. An otherworldly creature for one to chance upon. Haneul wanted to reach out and brush his fingers against the pale skin that glistened like porcelain in the fragile early light. The morning and Hrafn in it glittered beautifully. 

Something stirred deeply in the human’s chest.

Hrafn noticed his onlooker and closed his book with a pensive look followed by the flicker of ears. 

“Good morning.” He rumbled out, voice a warm timbre.

There and then, Haneul swallowed his wildly thumping heart down his throat. “Good morning. Studying hard I see!” He shoved the erratic emotions somewhere far away from the forefront of his mind. 

“Study?” Hrafn echoed, his narrow tongue audibly rolling the word around in his mouth.

“Oh,” Haneul floundered before motioning with his hands like he opened a book. “To study—it’s an action. Like reading a book or—” he paused and flicked his wrist as if he were writing. “Or writing something down. To learn alone.”

Hrafn blinked.

Perhaps they hadn’t gotten as far with the language barrier as he had originally and optimistically thought. 

“Well, I have to go now. Er…soon.” This was by far the most awkward phase of his life—and that included primary school. He changed the subject quickly. “Do you need anything before I leave?”

“Food, please.” Hrafn managed. “Will you be gone long?”

“Food will be in the fridge,” Haneul pointed to the refrigerator. “And I’ll be gone for a few hours.”

“Hours?” Again that questioning look furrowed the creature’s brow. 

This one was a little easier to explain. He crouched in front of Hrafn and showed him the wrist which neatly bore a watch. 

“This is a clock or a watch. These two lines are called hands. The little hand indicates an hour, a measurement of time.”

Hrafn’s gaze lit up with understanding. “And the large hand?”

“The large hand indicates increments of one called minutes. There are sixty ticks of the large hand in one tick of the little hand.”

“Sixty minutes to one hour,” Hrafn murmured to himself before querying, “So how many of the little hands will you be gone?”

Haneul gave a bit of a stilted sigh and pointed from the eight all the way around the clock back to the nine.

“That’s…eleven? Eleven of your hours? Sounds like a lot.”

“It is,” Haneul groaned. “But I have to make up for some lost time.”

Quiet settled for a moment while Hrafn’s ear flickered. He sat up. “Was it me?”

“Doesn’t matter now.” Haneul said and waved him off nonchalantly. “Go back to studying, alright? I have to finish getting ready.”

Hrafn nodded slowly, as if digesting the words before he returned to reading. 

Haneul left once he was able to wash-up and throw on a suit. He felt mildly apologetic that his guest took the blame for his long workday. Maybe he should’ve tried to curb the guilt-trip. Afterall it wasn’t like Hrafn deliberately attempted to make him miss work. Haneul wanted to ensure that they both had some level of communication as the alien continued his road to recovery. And Ha-Rin would kill him if any harm came to the owner of the splint and slung wing. 

Pulling into corporate parking, Haneul stalled the feeling of impending doom by shooting Chief Seong a quick text to ensure that no one other than Ha-Rin approached the penthouse. Not a single soul. 

Secretary Yun’s messenger popped up suddenly. Sir, if you’re not in the building within the next five minutes, your father will call the authorities. 

Haneul sucked in his breath and exhaled harshly. Kicking the car door open, he grabbed his briefcase from the passenger seat and reluctantly left the parking lot. Knowing that Secretary Yun was not joking about the authorities, he sent a quick text of “Sounds like a personal problem.” He knew he’d receive an earful once he got to his actual office, however, teasing his secretary about anything was his one joy from work. Not really great—but it did make having to deal with his family and father easier.

The attendant at the front desk stared at him with disbelief before buzzing down the private elevator. 

He huffed. It hadn’t been that long since his last appearance in person. Haneul took a deep breath, one final inhale of his actual self, and turned on the neon “corporate heir is in” sign. He gave the attendant a vibrant grin with what he thought was a cute tilt of his head.

“Thank you as always, miss.”

The odd look on her face eased away and she wished him a pleasant day. Without much other ceremony, aside from greeting anyone he met on the way to the lift, he continued on his way. Once it was just him—stranded in the airbound glass elevator ascending to the eighty-fourth floor. He felt himself wither. It took three minutes of being a cordial human to weather him down into some mildly irritable goblin.

Now that he thought about it, spending the past couple of weeks with Hrafn’s quiet company had relaxed him. The alien’s low voice was warm, whether muttering in confusion or chirring inquisitively. Life together, once they’d established a routine, surprisingly made a safe small pocket for Haneul to just exist. There was nothing expected except for meals and in turn he didn’t expect anything from Hrafn. What could the alien demand, in all fairness? That the creature went into competitive human job markets to pay the bills? An idea like that was a good way to get whatever government or scientist to chase after them. Besides, Haneul’s father pulled directly from Haneul’s  salary for the rent—so he paid the rent in full, anyways. Bills weren’t a worry. He wasn’t sure if Hrafn would understand anyways, paying for boarding and all that. They’d never talked about the economic situations on Hrafn’s world. Their conversations were short, mostly filled with waving limbs as they tried to mime piecemeal phrases neither of them knew yet. 

When they talked, it often looked like it had that morning. A slow draw of curious crimson-grey gaze, and the luxurious shuffle of midnight feathers. Claws scrapped lightly over furniture upholstery while long hair pooled down the edge of the armrest. Haneul imagined what it would feel like if he ran his fingers through those silky strands down the slope of an alabaster neck…

Haneul covered his mouth suddenly. Wait. Where had that come from?

The elevator door dinged and Secretary Yun stood right at the entrance. 

“Boss.” She was extremely and undeniably unamused. 

He smiled brilliantly at her, throwing his arms open for an embrace. “Well if it isn’t my favorite person in this office!”

Secretary Yun eyed him with a caustic cerulean gaze as she pushed up her glasses. Giving him a toss of her hair, platinum blond glittering in the LED glare of the overheads, she sighed deeply. “Well, seeing as you’re still delirious, I’ll take it that your two week leave was genuine.”

He exhaled sharply, it was worth a shot trying to get back into her good graces, and slipped behind the glass doors that displayed his actual glass office for all to see. “Hold my morning meetings until I refamiliarize myself.” 

“Definitely delirious—not possible, Mr. Kim. You have a board meeting in an hour and a corporate financial advisory session at half past ten.”

Haneul resigned himself with a defeated slump of his shoulders and the fading memory of silken-hair slipping over leather upholstery.