"What are they, Milo? What the fuck are they?!" I whisper-yelled, clutching tightly onto my pillow as I lay down on my bed. Milo had all but dragged me out of the shower, not even bothering to let me dry off before throwing me onto my bed face down. I had at least managed to cover my bare ass and junk with my blanket, hardly a priority when I had sticks protruding from my back.
"Shut up and let me look at them," Milo said sternly, voice slightly breathless as he tentatively touched one of the bony growths.
"Ah!"
The touch sent a jolt running down my spine, and Milo seemed to jump when the bony stick moved up and down frantically.
"Sorry, sorry, did it hurt?" Milo asked, his usually flat and monotonous voice frantic.
"N-No, I just... It felt weird," I said, biting my lip. "What are they? Am I dying? Oh my God, is that my spine?! How the hell did my spine leave my body? Ohhhh my God."
"It's not your spine, don't be stupid," Milo said quickly, shaking his head. "If it was your spine, you'd already be dead, or at the very least, paralysed."
"Fair point," I conceded, sighing in relief despite my heart still rabbiting in my chest. "Then what are they? Tumours? Can a tumour even grow that quickly?" I felt the colour drain from my face, and I grabbed onto Milo's hand, the boy jumping again in surprise. "Dude, do I have cancer?!"
"A tumour wouldn't move around like that, idiot!" Milo said, gesturing harshly to the bony sprouts on my back, which moved up and down as he spoke.
"Th-Then a parasite, or something?" I offered. "Or... Or a parasitic alien. Oh God, please don't tell me it's a parasitic alien."
"Aliens don't exist," Milo said, a true sceptic.
"Well, humans with wings don't exist, either!" I retorted, jerking my fingers at my back. "It was the magpie, wasn't it. It... It infected me with something. Like a bird flu, but a fucking flu that turns you into a fucking bird. Oh my God, what if I grow a beak as well?!"
"Okay, just shut up for a second. I'm going to... touch them again, okay?" Milo said tightly, and I nodded, clutching my pillow tighter in anticipation. "Ready?"
"Mhmm, I'm ready."
"Okay... Just my fingers, first," Milo said, making me swallow nervously. I braced myself for the feeling of his fingers on my back, and when they made contact, I fought back the urge to flinch like I had before. His touch was gentle, careful, and tickled slightly. I felt him stroke down the length of the protrusion on the left, and it was...
Kind of nice.
"Mmm," I moaned, unable to help myself. Milo's fingers suddenly snapped back from my wings, and I almost pouted at the loss of sensation.
"Did... Did that hurt?" Milo asked once again, voice a little rough.
"No, not at all," I said, shaking my head. "It was a little ticklish, but kind of felt like... someone running their fingers through your hair? That kind of feeling."
"So weird," Milo muttered to himself, tilting his head to the side as he stared at the odd growths. "If you have sensation in them, then they're clearly innervated and... part of your body."
"So they're totally part of my spine!" I yelled, panicking once again.
"They're definitely not!" Milo snapped back, shoving my back. "They're... They're almost like tiny wings. You know, like if you got KFC wicked wings and ate all the meat off them. That's what they look like."
"You're joking," I said, craning my neck to try and see, but the angle was impossible. "Take a picture for me so I can see."
Milo nodded, quickly taking a few pictures from different angles and magnification. Passing his phone to me, I looked at the pictures.
"They... They really do look like wicked wings," I said, Milo letting out a laugh despite the ridiculous situation.
"You know, they kind of look bigger than they did in the shower. Like they're growing," Milo said, the wicked wings on my back twitching.
"Growing," I repeated, swallowing thickly. "Do... Do you think..."
"I don't know what to think," Milo admitted, running his fingers through his hair. "If you had told me you were growing wings, I would have said that you were high. But... but this is real. Too real."
"What should I do?" I asked, sitting up, making sure to pull the blanket over my crotch as I turned around. "Should I go to a doctor? Get them... I don't know, surgically removed?" Thinking over my idea, I then shook my head, slapping my cheeks. "No, no, that would not be a good idea. They'd probably do weird experiments on me and stick me in some medical journal. Or... Or put me in a cage like a rare bird."
"You've been watching too many movies," Milo said, biting his lip. "But... But you might be right. This... This is too weird. We should wait a little, see what happens. You're not feeling sick any more, right?"
I blinked at Milo's words. He was right; since the shower - or since the wicked wings had broken through - my fever had disappeared and my muscle ache reduced, apart from around my shoulder area.
"Now that you mention it, yeah, I feel fine. Good, even," I said, rolling my shoulders, the wicked wings flapping.
"Okay, then we should wait around and see what happens. But... But if you start feeling sick, we should go to a doctor," Milo said, the concern drifting back into his features. I nodded in agreement, my stomach deciding to voice its opinion on the matter too.
"And I should eat," I said, Milo suddenly jumping up.
"Oh, fuck. Your food," Milo said, rushing downstairs to check on the food that had probably been sitting in the microwave for a good forty minutes, forgotten and forlorn. Pulling on some clean underwear and a fresh pair of tracksuit pants, I decided to forgo a shirt because of the terrifying situation on my back.
Making my way downstairs, I found Milo in my kitchen, leaning against the counter as he watched a bowl slowly rotate in the microwave for the second time this evening.
"Hey, since I'm feeling better, you can head home. I'm sure your mum and Felix are waiting for you to join them for dinner," I said, Milo shaking his head adamantly.
"No, I'm not leaving you like this," he said, sparing a glance at my back. "I texted them that I'm staying over. My mum's fine with it."
"And Felix?" I asked, giving Milo a knowing smile, which he returned.
"My brother is not as fine with it," Milo said, chuckling. "I don't know what you did to him, but he hates your guts."
"I didn't do anything!" I said, crossing my arms over my chest. My wicked wings seemed to flap angrily in response to Milo's words. "Even the first time I met him, he gave me the classic Schultz glare and stormed off after I introduced myself. He hasn't evolved since then. Seventeen-year-olds, I swear."
"You're only 18, C," Milo said, pulling out a steaming hot bowl of rice and Thai curry. Sliding it across the counter towards me with a spoon, Milo lowered himself into the seat next to me. "Felix is only a year younger than us."
"Almost 19, dear sir," I said through a mouthful of curry, my mouth ravenous and my stomach churning. "And he's only a year younger, but he looks up to his big bro so fucking much. You know, that's why he hates me."
"Why would that be?" Milo asked, curious.
"He thinks I'm a bad influence on you or something," I said, wiggling my brow. "Or at least, that's what he implied the one time he actually didn't ignore me. Something about his genius big brother being weighed down by dumb ol' me."
Milo snorted and rolled his eyes, but had an amused smile on his mouth.
"You are dumb, though," he said, smirking. "Felix isn't wrong."
"Fuck off," I huffed, chewing another large mouthful of curry and then swallowing. "Anyway, aren't you going to eat anything?"
Milo's eyes softened, and he pointed to my bowl.
"That was actually two servings," he said, just as I shovelled the last mouthful into my mouth.
"Oh, shit, sorry," I said, swallowing with a small kernel of guilt in my stomach.
"It's all good," Milo said, laughing softly. "I figured you'd be hungry. I'll just eat something you have lying around here later, I had a late lunch." Milo leaned back in his chair, tapping on my shoulder to get me to turn. "Let me see your back again."
Turning, I watched Milo's face carefully for any reaction he would give. He didn't look surprised or shocked, which made me relax - but only slightly.
"They do seem to be growing," Milo said slowly, and I bristled in response.
"Well, shit," I mumbled, running my fingers through my long hair, still damp from the shower. "How big do you think the... the wings will grow?"
"Your guess is as good as mine, C," Milo said uncertainly, before turning back to my face. "You're... taking this surprisingly well."
"Well," I said, letting out a shaky laugh, "part of me thinks this is still a weird fever dream, and the other part of me thinks Dean added something extra to the weed he sold me today. So yeah. You're... You're also weirdly calm about this, too."
"I'm not calm," Milo said, biting his lip. "It's just... I'm in disbelief? This whole thing is just... scientifically, medically and biologically impossible."
"Yet here I am, sprouting fucking wicked wings on my back," I lamented, the wings on my back flapping.
"They're much bigger than wicked wings now, C," Milo said, taking a quick picture to show me.
"Eagle-sized?" I offered, Milo nodding. "Kind of lame, you know, proportionally. And they're so fucking bald. If they're wings, shouldn't there be feathers?"
"It's not like you're an actual bird," Milo said, blinking as his mind seemed to whirl. "Would you have feathers...? Or... or would they be like... skin wings?"
"Oh God, that's some horror movie shit. I'd rather die," I gasped, the image of wings made of skin making me want to hurl my dinner. "Milo, seriously, if they turn into skin wings, just end me. Please."
"I couldn't kill you," Milo said, rolling his eyes. "I'd just take you to the hospital and get them surgically removed."
"Dude, I could totally go on a show like Botched or something," I said, grinning. "Instead of fucked up boob implants, I'd just, you know, have fucked up skin wings."
Milo looked mildly horrified by my idea, before catching my eye, the two of us dissolving into laughter. Or at least, I was laughing loudly, Milo's shoulders were just shaking as he bit back his hysterics.
When we eventually calmed down, we made a plan of action; to take a progression photo of my bald wings every 30 minutes to track growth, and to scour the internet for anything on... humans growing wings.
Obviously, even after hours of searching, we found nothing except for superhero fan pages and hypothetical and theoretical science mumbo jumbo that always ended with something along the lines of "cool idea, but as if this could actually happen".
By the time the two of us were too exhausted to stay up any longer, my wicked wings had turned into a fully-fledged avian skeleton that, when forced to stretch out as far they could go, had a wingspan of double my height of 178cm.
In other words, they were fucking massive.
But still bloody bald.
Lying on my stomach in bed, the wings a little tender to lie on, I softly called out Milo's name.
"Hm?" he asked from the air mattress on the floor beside my bed, a little groggy but awake nonetheless.
"Thank you, for staying," I whispered.
"You don't need to thank me for this, idiot," Milo said gruffly, making me smile.
"Thank you, anyway. And Milo?"
"Yeah?"
"If I wake up with skin wings, just smother me with a pillow, 'kay?"