Archive of Our Own ^beta

Seokjin is seven when he loses love.

He comes through the front door, sees his mother, and thinks: She isn’t well today, either.

She moves as though she’d topple like a row of dominoes if anyone touched her.

Seokjin stares down at the crumpled drawing in his mother’s hands.

It’s his.

“Mom,” he starts, voice wobbling a little, but he’s cut off abruptly.

“Darling,” his mother says fiercely, her beautiful face as hard as diamond, “It’s not real. Don’t believe in it, because all it will bring you is hardship and ruin.”

Seokjin swallows. He’s never seen his mother like this before. She’s always so poised and perfect, a living greek statue- but now she looks almost unhinged, a wax crayon melting.

Something must have happened while he was at school, but the wild look in her eyes makes him nervous to ask exactly what.

“What will ruin me?” he asks instead, voice thin.

Her eyes narrow. Her fingers tear up the drawing of the family portrait he’d drawn for her earlier at school.

“Love,” she murmurs, her voice distant and far away.

He watches the jagged pieces of his drawing flutter to the floor.

“Love isn’t real.”

These are three words that Kim Seokjin will never forget.

Jimin comes to Taehyung for help. It’s partially because Taehyung is his best friend, but mostly because he knows that Taehyung is the best. Not the best Cupid ever, probably, but Taehyung's matching has landed him in the top percentile for this quarter.

So when Jimin knocks on his door, Taehyung pretends that he doesn’t know why the pink haired angel is there.

“Can I come in?” Jimin asks softly, and Taehyung looks up, grins. He’d been hoping for a reprieve from the mountain of paperwork he’d been doing ( matching hearts is no easy peasy, lemon squeezy ), and Jimin is a perfect distraction.

“Of course. What’s up?”

( Taehyung already knows-still, politeness is imperative in his field of work. One never really knows when God is listening in.)

Jimin sighs and collapses onto Taehyung’s queen-sized bed, peach coloured wings splayed out behind him. “I need your help, Taehyungie. I’m sure you’re busy with your cases and all, but I have an assignment that isn’t compatible with anyone.”

Taehyung perks up, purple-plum primary feathers rustling. He loves difficult cases. “What’s his compatibility rate?”

Mortal-to-mortal compatibility can be assigned to a place on a spectrum of three colours: White, which indicates high compatibility, Blue- average- and green. Green is never good. Green means trouble, signifies a low aptitude for true love.

Taehyung has only ever had two truly terrible Greens; both had a verdant glow so dark that it appeared almost black when they walked, a thundercloud amongst a sea of Whites and Blues. Greens that dark are difficult to deal with, even for someone with Taehyung’s experience.

Sometimes, they can’t be matched, can’t find love, no matter how hard Cupids try.

Taehyung doesn’t like thinking about it.

Jimin hesitates, fingers fiddling with the cords of his shirt. “That’s the problem.”

Taehyung leans in. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Jimin murmurs, eyes darting towards the Above like he’s afraid God will hear his words,

“This human has no aura. No colour. Just- nothing.”

Taehyung inhales sharply. That- that should be impossible, because without love- without a colour- there’s no soul. Even heavenly employees have auras- peach and purple and pink, like a summer sunset.

When he says so, all Jimin can do is shrug and stare at him, gaze pleading.

“I don’t know who else to come to. If I give up on this assignment entirely, I’ll get in trouble, and who knows what would happen to the poor mortal if somebody doesn’t try to help him?”

Jimin makes a good point. Back when he’d been human, Taehyung had loved mystery movies, had consumed the scratchy black and white noir films with a voracity that surprised his family.

Taehyung bites his lip and looks out his round, gold-gilded window.

Below his apartment is an open, endless field of gold-glossed wheat, undulating like seaweed. A couple heavenly servants push through the waist-high grass, wings spread and hands linked loosely.

It’s pretty, today. It always is up here, past the clouds and black vacuum of space.

Love is present, even in heaven. Love is- love is so necessary, so needed. Even as a human, he’d seen that, so when Taehyung had first stepped through the pearly gates after his death, he’d already known what his heavenly job was going to be.

See, Taehyung loves love, and he enjoys a good challenge.

So that’s why he shoots his best friend a crooked, easy smile and nods, determination settling his nerves. “I’ll do it. When do I start?”

Jimin’s returning smile freezes in place. “About that…”

Returning to Earth after spending so long in heaven is always a little bit of an adjustment at first.

There’s just so much to take in- the noises, the amount of people, the smells- and it overwhelms Taehyung as he steps through one of the gatedoors, emerging on the other side in one of Seoul’s libraries.

He coughs into his hand at the smell of metal and earth and different spices, all mixing and melting together in the small room. He leans against a bookshelf and takes a couple moments to center himself, wings flapping slightly as he crouches on the ground.

The humans can’t see him, can’t hear him- not unless Taehyung wants them to. It’s not forbidden for Cupids to show themselves to mortals- just not encouraged, because beautiful deities walking downtown with big wings can make things messy.

Once he’s caught his breath and acclimated to the sensory overload, Taehyung straightens up and strides out from behind the bookshelves. For a moment he takes in the way the humans are dressing, watches how they move and talk.

Time passes differently Above; the last time Taehyung had been here, the mortals were using MySpace on little flip phones with cute dangling charms.

Now, though, it seems like technology has advanced far more. He looks down to find himself in a puffy, pale pink jacket and black jeans.

Simple enough.

Whistling cheerfully, Taehyung passes the librarian; she looks up from her books as he moves by, something hopeful and bright in her gaze. He has that effect on people.

It takes a couple of tries, but Taehyung manages to unbutton one of his jacket pockets. He fishes out a scrap of pink, lightly scented paper.

He sniffs it. Jasmine.

Carefully, he smooths it out, squinting down at the spidery writing.

Kim Seokjin, it says, and Taehyung can’t help the bubbles that rise in his chest, can’t stop the excited flapping of his wings. A university student squawks as a sudden gust of wind sends their papers flying everywhere.

It’s been so long since Taehyung has last been on Earth; he’s happy to be back. He buys some kimchi mandu from a stout street vendor ( takes some and places money on the counter with an invisible hand ) and strolls down the street, watching the humans move and laugh and talk into sleek rectangular boxes-phones, probably.

Long, puffy jackets are in, Taehyung tells himself. And so are big, fat shoes. Layering jewelry is stylish again, not tacky- it’s like the 80s, but more sophisticated.

After people watching for a while, he stretches his purple wings and searches for a nice tall building to jump off of. There’s a neat little condominium with a flat roof that’s perfect.

Humming, Taehyung closes his eyes and leaps off, back muscles straining.

The first thing Taehyung notices when he takes to the skies is that the air is bad. It’s thick and heavy with dust and dirt; it makes his nose wrinkle and his toes curl.

The view below him makes up for it, though: Seoul, sprawling and shiny, stretching on for miles under his wings.

A draft of wind sends him careening sharply to the right, a steady hand at the small of his back Taehyung laughs into the wind and allows it to guide him to Kim Seokjin. The currents take him to where the skyscrapers stretch towards the Above, all glass and twisted metal.

His pocket burns- another message from Jimin. Taehyung pulls it out and scans it.

He works in the business district, Jimin has written, so watch him while he works. Learn about him.

Taehyung smiles, bemused. “I know how this works, Jiminie. I’ve got this.”

He watches as Jimin’s spidery writing is replaced by his own, more boxy cursive. The paper disappears with a little poof- back to Jimin, no doubt.

The winds deposit him at the foot of the tallest skyscraper. Taehyung ogles it, cranes his neck up and back to try and take in the whole thing.

What a leviathan of a building, Taehyung marvels. Humans can really create wonderful things.

Kim and Co, the massive letters across the doors read. Taehyung raises an eyebrow and walks inside.

Suits, suits, and more suits. The overwhelming monotony of it all makes Taehyung’s head throb. There’s a little tug in his gut, a compass directing him to Kim Seokjin

He follows it to the elevator, stepping in alongside a bunch of briefcase toting, cappuccino chugging men and women. Taehyung eyes the woman next to him- she looks awful, her eye bags prominent and her aura tinted a dark Blue.

Looking around the elevator, it’s pretty easy to see that people working in this profession do not have it easy when it comes to love.

It’s ‘cause they’re all married to their jobs.

Taehyung snickers silently and immediately feels guilty about it.

People enter and exit the elevator, but the tugging leads him up up up, all the way to the fiftieth floor- nearly the rooftop. There’s no one else in the elevator but him.

Taehyung steps out, mouth slightly open. It looks like the Above in here.

It’s a far cry from the bustling chaos from the first floor. The floors are slick and white- marble?- and the space is open and lined with wall to wall windows. A little fountain burbles in one corner, and the receptionist desk actually looks comfortable.

“Hello?” The receptionist calls, peering over her sleek computer at the open elevator doors. Taehyung opens his mouth before remembering that he’s invisible and shoves his hands into his pockets sheepishly.

The woman frowns slightly, her eyebrows pulling together. She picks up the phone. “Mr. Han? Yes, hello, it’s Mr. Kim’s floor. The elevator- yes, he’s in again today-seems to be malfunctioning…”

Looks like I’m in the right place, after all.

Taehyung salutes her cheerily and leaves her to it, ambling towards the oak panelled doors that he’s being pulled towards.

He pauses, fingers on the smooth metal of the door handle.

“It’s going to be… problem,” someone warns, his voice smooth and deep.

Taehyung perks up as someone with a high, clear voice replies.

“I don’t care… need this deal.”

“Oho,” Taehyung murmurs, and throws open the door.

It’s a large, well furnished office. Everything looks very shiny and expensive, but Taehyung is more interested in the two people standing in the middle of the room.

One is tall and strikingly handsome, with hooded eyes and a dimpled face. The other is also tall, but- Taehyung does a double-take.

There’s no way he’s human.

He has no telltale aura about him- just empty air, unlike the static light blue the of the man standing beside him. There is, like Jimin said, nothing.

This man is, without a doubt, Kim Seokjin.

He’s the most beautiful creature Taehyung has ever seen, with broad shoulders and smooth, dewy skin. His eyes are wide and round, and his lips are hanging open in what looks like shock.

Wait.

Taehyung waves a hand in the air. Kim Seokjin’s eyes follow the trail his fingers make, expression dumbfounded and very aware of Taehyung’s presence.

Kim Seokjin blinks rapidly. “What the fuck?”

The other man speaks. “Did the door just open by itself?”

Kim Seokjin whirls around. He points an accusing finger at Taehyung. “You’re telling me that you can’t see him?”

“See who?”

“The guy, Namjoon! Right there! He’s in the pink jacket and are those wings-,”

The man- Namjoon, Taehyung corrects, places a hand on Seokjin, expression troubled. “Maybe you should take a sick day today. I know the merger has been stressful for you; go home. alright? I’ll handle the details for today.”

“I’m not…” Seokjin’s mouth snaps shut as Taehyung’s wings flutter slightly. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll go lie down.”

Namjoon pats Seokjin’s shoulder. “I’ll fax you the documents that need signing later.”

Oh, is this ever interesting. Taehyung’s never had an assignment that could see him before. He’s definitely not entirely human, then. Mortals can’t handle direct exposure to heavenly hosts; it has a detrimental affect on their brains.

Everything has become much more complicated- God isn’t going to be happy about this.

Seokjin grabs his jacket and briefcase and slowly exits the office, gaze locked with Taehyung’s. Taehyung stares back and silently follows the man back to the elevator.

“Leaving early, Mr. Kim?” the receptionist calls.

Seokjin swallows, eyes darting over to the woman and back.

“Yes, Olivia. Have a nice day.”

“You too, Mr. Kim!” the woman chirps back, a pleasant smile on her face. Seokjin watches the elevator doors close with a quiet ding, a fake smiled pasted on his face.

Once the elevator starts moving, Seokjin’s demeanour changes swiftly. “Who are you?” He hisses at Taehyung, leather briefcase held out in front of him like a weapon.

“Hi,” Taehyung says casually, shoulders relaxed. “How’s it going?”

There’s a familiar heat radiating from his jacket pocket, but Taehyung doesn’t want to read it quite yet.

Seokjin shakes his head. “I’m hallucinating!”

“You’re definitely not,” Taehyung confides. “I’m sure seeing me comes as a bit of a surprise to you- it surprised me- but you’re not crazy.”

The mortal snorts. “And I’m supposed to believe a man with a pair of wings?”

Ding!

Seokjin freezes as the elevator doors slide open.

Two people step inside, eyeing him warily. Taehyung grins as an embarrassed flush creeps up Seokjin’s cheeks and ears.

“Don’t worry, Kim Seokjin. I’m here to help.”

The man ignores him, but the tension radiating off of him gives him away. Taehyung sighs and reaches into his pocket.

You need to come back, now. There’s no protocol for this. -J

“It’ll be fine,” Taehyung replies, mouth twisting up into a half smile when Seokjin jumps at the sound of his voice. “I can handle it. He’s not like the others.”

New words replace his almost immediately.

Be careful. The heavenly court is watching.

Taehyung swallows. The heavenly court are a group of ancient leaders and philosophers that make sure everything Above and Below runs smoothly and as it should.

( He remembers seeing a Cupid being taken away in shackles, his wings two stumps on his back.

“What happened?” Taehyung breathes, noting the sickly yellow colour around the Cupid’s body.

Jimin flashes him a watery smile. “He broke a rule.” )

Broken rules, broken wings. Taehyung crumples up the paper and tries his best to forget about it.

He follows Seokjin all the way home, amused at how the mortal orders his taxicab to step on the gas.

You can’t get rid of me that easily, Taehyung thinks, watching the car squeal off into traffic, and flies after it.

Seokjin has an expensive, pretty apartment in Gangnam. Taehyung isn’t really surprised at this point.

He should really lock his windows, Taehyung muses, climbing over the balcony rail and pushing open the sliding glass door.

Seokjin’s apartment is nice- it looks like an IKEA ad, all spindly furniture and granite countertops. It doesn’t look lived in, either. Taehyung meanders around the spacious apartment before flopping down onto one of the black leather couches to wait for the mortal.

Seokjin is… not normal. There’d been no demonic aura about the mortal, so him being one of the devil’s servants is out of the question.

Still, there’s no explaining how he was able to see and hear me.

The sound of a key turning in a lock jolts Taehyung out of his thoughts. The Cupid watches amusedly as Seokjin slowly opens the front door, looking over his shoulder as though he’s expecting Taehyung to be standing there.

Seokjin slams the door shut behind him and locks it, chest heaving.

Eyes closed, he pulls off his jacket- wow, are those shoulders wide- leaving only a white collared dress shirt on. He looks tired; a bone-deep kind of fatigue that leaves a sticky, syrupy residue on everything.

“Hello, sweetie,” Taehyung says cheerfully, “Long time no see!”

This time, Seokjin screams.

Once Taehyung manages to convince Seokjin to drop the kitchen knife, things become considerably less tense. Seokjin ends up across from Taehyung, eyes wary and shoes still on his feet.

“So you’re telling me that you’re cupid?”

“Not cupid. A Cupid. We’re, like, a union. Get holiday pay and all that. ”

“And what exactly do you want from me?”

Taehyung raises an eyebrow. “It’s not what I want, silly. It’s what you want. I’m here to help you out.”

Seokjin takes a long swig of something alcoholic right from the bottle. “With what?”

“There’s no need to be so suspicious, Seokjinnie- can I call you that? Thanks- I’m simply following your heart’s deepest desire.”

“Don’t call me that.” Seokjin sets down the bottle and undoes his tie with one hand. “And what would my heart’s deepest desire be?”

Taehyung looks at Seokjin like he’s an idiot. “Why, to find true love, of course.”

He’s expecting a smile, or a thank you at the very least- so he doesn’t understand why Seokjin’s face shutters, closes off.

“Get out,” Seokjin says. His voice is ice cold.

Taehyung blinks. “I- I can’t,” he stammers. “I’m stationed here until my job is done.”

Seokjin stands up, bringing the bottle with him. “Well, I guess you’ll be here for a long, long time.”

He disappears down a hallway. A door slams violently.

“Oh my,” Taehyung whispers to the silent room around him, “I think this is going to be much harder than I expected.”

Nothing seems to work on Kim Seokjin.

Pleading is ineffective; the mortal merely puts big black headphones on to block Taehyung out. Taehyung can’t physically touch or move him; partially because it’s not allowed, but mostly because consent is important.

As embarrassed as he is to admit it, Taehyung ends up singing 80s pop hits ( about love, of course) at the top of his lungs for hours. Seokjin just walks around with a pair of heavy-duty earplugs in.

For two days, Taehyung trails Kim Seokjin, and realizes a few things- firstly, that Seokjin is a very closed off person. He goes to and from work, often pulling extra hours to get ahead at the office, speaking to as few people as possible. It’s not like people don’t try to engage with him or talk to him, either. Seokjin just shuts them down and carries on being boring.

The second thing Taehyung notices is that he has an adverse reaction to anything to do with love.

The mortal turns his face away from couples on the street; crumples up sticky notes with phone numbers from lovestruck coworkers. He switches the TV channel whenever there’s a kiss.

Taehyung tries to match Seokjin with people.

First is a young bartender, his face open and handsome. He has cute teeth and big muscles and eyes that sparkle like diamonds. When Taehyung gives the bartender a little nudge to make a move over a coke and rum, Seokjin tells him that he’s married.

Seokjin: 1.

Taehyung: 0.

Next comes a whip-smart heiress that runs an upscale restaurant in the heart of Seoul. When she personally comes out of the kitchen and asks Seokjin for his number, he tells her that his potatoes are cold.

Seokjin: 2.

Taehyung: 0.

When Namjoon drags Seokjin to a ritzy club, Taehyung pulls some strings and finds another rare match. He’s a sunny, graceful dancer who runs a ballet studio downtown. Taehyung watches with bated breath as the man glides over and asks Seokjin to dance. Expression blank, Seokjin informs the man that he’s recovering from open heart surgery.

Taehyung steals a shot from a waiter and weeps as he throws it back.

And it carries on, just like that.

Oh, is it frustrating, to see such a beautiful man throw his life away like this with such ease.

It makes Taehyung wonder, who hurt you?

It makes him think that maybe his lack of aura is not because he’s inhuman. Maybe, Taehyung realizes one foggy September day, he’s entirely human, and that’s the problem.

After that epiphany, Taehyung changes up his game plan a little bit. If the human isn’t going to go out and make friends, meet people, then Taehyung will have to befriend him.

Seokjin comes home late one night to find the Cupid standing over the stove, stirring something spicy and warm.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Taehyung looks over at him and smiles. “Making hot pot! Welcome home!”

Seokjin freezes in the doorway. “You’re cooking?” He asks, surprise colouring his voice.

“You forget that I’m like, a couple hundred years old,” Taehyung responds, dumping a package of noodles into the thick broth. “I could outcook Guy Fieri without trying.”

“Nobody can outcook Guy Fieri.” Seokjin mutters, but accepts a bowl of soup from Taehyung with a mumbled thanks all the same.

He vanishes back into his bedroom, but it’s progress, Taehyung tells himself around a mouthful of rice cake. They’re finally getting somewhere.

»»————-　♡　————-«« 

The court says that your methods so far are “acceptable, seeing as this is a new experience for everyone”. They want you to remember The Rule. - J

Days blur into weeks like this, with Taehyung slowly but surely getting Seokjin to open up. He learns that Seokjin has a taste for meat and bad jokes, and discovers that Seokjin is highly intelligent.

The mortal is passionate about his job and a game called MapleStory, and he likes getting up early on Sunday mornings to feed scraps of fish to the stray cats that wander around the complex.

Seokjin, Taehyung comes to realize, is a wholly good person. So why does he shy away from other people?

One night, Taehyung asks Seokjin about his favorite restaurant. To his shock, Seokjin offers to take Taehyung there. Obviously Taehyung can’t just reveal himself to the entire world, but he appreciates the sentiment.

Seokjin asks Taehyung question after question about the Above, says, have you met Freddie Mercury?

Taehyung giggles and tells him, I can’t tell you that.

So yes, Seokjin grins, and Taehyung beams.

Something blooms in Taehyung’s chest, makes him laugh in the rain and and dance around Seokjin’s apartment to scratchy 50s music while the human is at work.

He ignores the messages that grow increasingly warmer in his jacket pocket.

It’s a couple days later when Taehyung comes back from raiding a Gucci store that he finds Seokjin curled up on the floor in loose blue pajamas. He nearly drops his $2000 pair of loafers on the ground.

“Hey,” Taehyung says, alarmed, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Seokjin just sniffs and stares off into space. Judging by the bottles scattered around him, he’s clearly drunk- Taehyung has never understood the allure of day drinking, found it inane, really- but there’s something deep and lost in the mortals eyes that makes Taehyung choose his words carefully.

“Do you… need anything?”

“Lobster,” Seokjin whispers after a long moment of silence. “Want lots of lobster.”

Taehyung nods. “Okay. I can do that. We should probably get you off of the ground, though- can I move you onto the couch?”

Taehyung carefully picks up the man and places him onto the couch as soon as he makes an affirming noise. He’s heavier than Taehyung expected; he smells like clean cotton sheets and lilies.

Stop smelling a sad, drunk man, you weirdo.

Flustered, Taehyung smooths a hand over Seokjin’s sweaty forehead. The human mumbles something unintelligible and leans into Taehyung’s touch.

He snatches his hand back and looks over at the kitchen sink, face hot. “I’ll go get some lobster- do you want anything before I go?”

“Cold,” Seokjin says tiredly, lowering lip wobbling slightly. Something in Taehyung’s chest gives a mighty twist, and he finds himself scrambling into Seokjin’s room for the first time.

It looks more lived in compared to the rest of the apartment; papers scatter the floor, and there are several mario figurines on a shelf on the wall.

Taehyung pulls the thick, blue comforter off the bed, fingers twisting in the heavy material. He jumps as his foot slides against something hard and rectangular. The quilt is placed to the side in favour of grabbing the item off of the floor.

It’s a photo album, the cover dusty and worn. Immediately Taehyung knows that this is not meant for his eyes, but he can’t help but open it anyways. There’s only one photo inside. A beautiful woman with sleek black hair holds a toddler to her chest, grin wide and happy. There’s a man standing next to them, arms folded, but the corner of the photo with his face on it has been torn away roughly.

Taehyung ghosts his fingers over the image and tastes tears and old wounds. He wrenches himself away and kicks the photo album back under the bed, fingers trembling.

The quilt is heavy and soft in his arms.

Seokjin is sleeping, long eyelashes brushing the slope of his cheek. He looks, for lack of better words, angelic. Taehyung swallows and stares down at him, throat tight, and gently places the quilt over him, tucking the ends around his shoulders.

“I’ll be back soon,” Taehyung whispers. He turns away, already thinking of all the lobster dishes he can whip up, when Seokjin’s phone buzzes from its place on the coffee table.

Taehyung turns back, leans over, and feels his heart drop down into his stomach.

namjoon: happy birthday, jin.

Taehyung walks the seven blocks to the seafood market at three in the afternoon. For reasons unknown to him, he cries the whole way.

Taehyung gets a simple cheesecake to eat after the lobster and tells Seokjin he bought it because it was half off.

When Seokjin smiles shyly at him, eyes warm, Taehyung shoves an entire piece of cake into his mouth to keep himself from saying something stupid.

Taehyung, be careful. -J

“Don’t you want to go home?” Seokjin asks one rainy October day. “Aren’t you lonely?”

Taehyung sighs, stares out the window and pretends like he doesn’t have a small pile of notes in his jacket pocket ordering him to return back to the Above.

“Sometimes,” Taehyung lies, leaning his forehead against the cool windowpane. “You’re not so terrible to be around, though.”

Seokjin smiles over his mug of tea.

Taehyung is fucked.

It’s the wind that wakes Taehyung up, the force of it pushing him off of the couch and onto the floor. Sputtering, he looks up to see Jimin standing over him, eyes sad.

Standing next to Jimin is sleepy eyed Min Yoongi, and that’s when Taehyung knows he’s really in trouble, because Yoongi is a member of the heavenly court.

“Taehyungie...” Jimin whispers, his voice thin.

“I don’t want to go back,” Taehyung blurts, wincing at the way his voice cracks. “Not if it means leaving him behind.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. The angel’s wings are massive and impossibly white. “That’s not a choice you get to make, kid. You’re at the bottom of the angelic food chain, so to speak.”

Seokjin stumbles out of his room, hair sticking up in all different directions. His eyes widen as he takes in the three heavenly beings in his living room.

“Taehyung? Who the hell are these people?”

“Interesting,” Yoongi murmurs. His gaze is sharp and calculating as he takes in Seokjin’s teddy bear pajamas. “He really can see us.”

“He can hear you, too.” Seokjin snaps, eyebrows furrowed. “What are you doing in our apartment?”

Taehyung’s heart skips a beat at the choice of words.

Jimin clears his throat. “We’re taking him home, Seokjin. He was supposed to leave a long time ago.”

Seokjin looks so confused. He moves towards Taehyung, a frown on his lips. “But you said that-,”

“It doesn’t matter what he said,” Yoongi interjects. “Taehyung broke The Rule, and now we’re taking him to the heavenly court to seek judgement.”

“What the fuck did he do wrong?” Seokjin cries. “He’s- he’s helped me! I talk to people now- I laugh more! I’m happy!”

Jimin twists his fingers together and looks down. Taehyung clears his throat and speaks past the knot there.

“Cupids have only one rule that we need to abide by, Seokjin. We’re forbidden from falling in love with our assigned mortal.”

Love. The word tastes like ash in Taehyung’s mouth, dry and bitter.

Seokjin looks between the three angels. “Love?” He says, incredulous. “With who?”

Oh, it hurts. Taehyung’s hand creeps up to press over the ache in his chest. It’s crept up on him so gradually that even he hadn’t realized it.

“With you,” Jimin murmurs. Taehyung doesn’t correct him, because he’s not wrong.

Seokjin stares at Taehyung, face pale and frightened. Taehyung thinks of the way Seokjin had cried watching Singing in The Rain, remembers how he had flinched away from affection and casual touch.

I’ve made you uncomfortable without realizing it, he thinks, guilt twisting his insides into knots.

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung whispers, gaze fixed on the floor. He won’t bother Seokjin anymore. “I’ll go.”

Yoongi nods tiredly and grabs one of Taehyung’s arms, and after a moment of hesitation Jimin does the same. Seokjin watches as a pink wind picks up, sending loose paper flying around the living room.

“Wait,” he calls, “Wait- just-,” Seokjin reaches out and grabs Taehyung’s hand; Taehyung shivers at the intimacy of it, at the touch of skin to skin.

“You can’t just leave me,” Seokjin yells. He looks angry.

“You deserve the whole world,” Taehyung says gently, squeezing Seokjin’s palm. “You deserve to be happy.”

As the winds kick and twist and pull at Taehyung’s clothes, he leans in and presses a soft, light kiss to Seokjin’s forehead.

Sun-dried cotton and lilies, he thinks. He closes his eyes as the familiar gold light pulls them up to the Above, leaving Seokjin and his warm, warm hands far behind.

The heavenly court looks excited to see Taehyung for all the wrong reasons. He can understand why; there probably hasn’t been a scandal this big in centuries, and angels are nothing if not the biggest gossips.

I’m going to lose my wings, Taehyung thinks numbly. I’m going to become a fallen angel.

He’s seen them in the human world, faces gaunt and eyes empty, had them tug on the hem of his robes, pleading for their wings back. Even fallen angels are immortal; wingless, they face a life of misery and pain.

So? A little voice at the back of his head says defiantly. It’s not like it really matters.

How little he cares about his fate shocks him. All he wants to do is go home, and that’s where Seokjin is.

When did Seokjin and home become synonymous?

At what point did Taehyung want to watch old romance movies with Seokjin forever?

Love, Taehyung thinks, scanning the gold-dusted amphitheatre, isn’t always a rollercoaster. Sometimes it’s a slow, easy, gradual kind of fall.

Jimin tugs on his arm. “I’m sorry,” The pink haired angel rushes, on the verge of tears, “I tried to stall them as long as I could, but then they threatened to take my wings as well and I just…”

Taehyung pulls his friend into a hug. “It’s okay. Everything will turn out okay, Jiminie.”

( It probably won’t, but that’s beside the point. )

Yoongi takes his seat at the end of the throne and raises his left hand high in the air. The crowd of onlookers settle down almost immediately; anticipation fills the air, thick and bubbly.

“Kim Taehyung, Senior Cupid,” Yoongi begins, and Taehyung shrivels under the weight of all those gazes, “You have been brought here today on charges of ignoring executive orders and falling in love with a mortal man. Is any of this untrue?”

“No,” Taehyung says weakly, “But-,”

Yoongi speaks over him like he’s not even there.

“The first offence would normally get you demoted; however, breaking the second rule calls for the removal of your wings and angelic duties.”

A ripple runs through the crowd.

“I think the decision here is unanimous,” Yoongi says, turning to look at the eleven other members of the heavenly court. They all nod solemnly.

“I think the decision is bullshit,” Taehyung snaps, anger running electric under his skin. The onlookers gasp; swearing in the court of angels is taboo.

“You’re going to take my wings, and for what? Because I fell in love? Because I was doing my job? What kind of Cupid would I be if I weren’t able to experience love for myself?”

Yoongi’s mouth opens and closes- it’s clear that he’s at a loss for words.

“What kind of heavenly court is this to keep a Cupid- a messenger of love, mind you- from finding that themselves? Why does it matter so much if that’s found in a human?”

Another voice, soft and sweet, speaks from Above.

“You make a good point, Kim Taehyung.”

There’s absolute silence.

God floats down in her chair of roses and cirrus clouds, her iridescent hair floating around her face.

Little cherubs brush strands of her hair, sprinkle gold dust onto the floor below. Taehyung’s legs shake, and his gaze drops to the ground. God is here. She’d come down from the Above to see his trial.

“Min Yoongi,” God says mildly, “Is it true that the mortal this Cupid has fallen in love with has no aura? No Colour?”

“Yes,” Yoongi whispers, fingers gripping the edge of the table.

God flashes a beatific smile in his direction before continuing. “And it is true that humans are classified as such specifically because of their auras?”

“Correct.”

“Then, seeing as Kim Seokjin has no aura, he is in the eyes of the angelic court inhuman. There are no rules preventing Kim Taehyung from loving an non-human, yes?”

Yoongi is silent.

“Yes,” Jimin says instead, eyes shining, “Yes, that’s correct.”

God reaches out and brushes a tear from Taehyung’s cheek, her eyes a kaleidoscope of colour and sounds.

“Then you are free to love Kim Seokjin, Cupid. Keep your wings, and keep up the good work.”

With a wink and a light touch to one of his wings, God disappears, the gold dust on the floor the only indication that she’d ever been there in the first place.

Taehyung’s knees buckle, and he sinks down to the marble floor, tears streaming down his face.

“Taehyung,” Jimin says thickly, tears welling up in his eyes, “Your wings, Taehyung.”

Taehyung doesn’t get it, at first, too caught up in the thought of being able to see Seokjin again, too overwhelmed by lingering proximity of God. He becomes aware of the heaviness at his back and stands, twisting to look at his wings.

And- oh, they’re larger, and silver now, shimmering and streaked with all the colours of the rainbow.

“It’s a gift,” Jimin says, expression awestruck. “She gave you her blessing.”

Taehyung looks over at the members of the heavenly court. Yoongi gives him a small, genuine smile.

“Go home, Taehyung. I think today is the first day I’ve been happy about not having to do my job.”

Home, Taehyung muses.

An image of Seokjin laughing over a cup of tea comes to mind, and he smiles.

A court attendant approaches him carefully.

“Actually, Mr. Kim, there’s a few pieces of paperwork that we’ll need you to fill out… you wouldn’t happen to have your Social Security on you, I assume?”

“No,” Taehyung sighs. “I’ll go get it.”

Seokjin is out with Namjoon when Taehyung comes back.
At first, he thinks that he’s seeing things- he’s had one too many shots, doing his best to obliterate the angel from his memory- but no, that’s Taehyung, wrapped in leather and glitter and walking through the crowd with something vulnerable in his eyes.

“Who’s that?” Namjoon asks slyly, jerking his head towards Taehyung. Seokjin whips his head around.

“You can see him?”

Namjoon shrugs. “Sure. He’s easily the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Someone yells something and Taehyung turns his head to the side like he’s searching for someone, the neon lights of the club turning his face into something superhuman, something ethereal.

“Taehyung,” Seokjin says quietly, and then, louder: “Taehyung!”

Normal people wouldn’t be able to hear Seokjin’s voice through the dripping bass falling from the mounted speakers, but Taehyung is neither normal nor a person, technically.

The Cupid spins around and locks eyes with Seokjin; suddenly, there’s too much distance between them. Seokjin stands up and begins to shove his way past rich drunk people.

Namjoon coughs on his five hundred dollar beer.
“How the hell do you know him?”

They meet halfway- on the dance floor, underneath the lilac lights.

“Seokjin- I’m sorry-,”

“You have rainbow wings,” Seokjin says stupidly. You’re so beautiful, he thinks.

“I’m sorry for being gone so long- they made me fill out so much paperwork-,”

“I’m mad at you,” Seokjin lies.

“I’m in love with you,” Taehyung confesses, fingers hovering just over the bare skin of Seokjin’s bicep. He can feel the warmth radiating outward, like a little fire.

Seokjin swallows and looks down. “I’m not very good at love,” he says quietly, reaching out and linking his fingers with Taehyung’s. “I grew up in an environment that didn’t have a lot of it, and my parent’s divorce… it scared me, what happened to my mother. I think killed her, eventually.”

He stares down at the spaces between their fingers as Taehyung speaks, the angel’s voice like slow, rich honey.

“Love is never easy, and sometimes it doesn’t work out the way anyone expects- but it is real, Seokjin. It’s so real that sometimes it hurts- can steal your breath right out of your lungs- but you can’t live without it.”

Taehyung tucks a thumb under Seokjin’s chin and gently raises the other man’s gaze.

“Love is part of the human experience- hell, it’s part of the angelic experience as well- and you need to let it in, Kim Seokjin.”

Seokjin chokes out a laugh. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It isn’t,” Taehyung admits. “But it’s worth it.”

Seokjin’s eyelids flicker; one corner of his mouth curves up into a wry smile. “I can’t- I can’t say it yet, you know.”

“You don’t need to,” Taehyung breathes, reaching out to cradle Seokjin’s face with careful, gentle hands, like Seokjin is made of paper and glass instead of flesh and bone. “I already know.”

When they kiss, something blooms in Seokjin’s chest, sharpens to a delightful ache; the result of twenty-six years worth of love pouring out for the angel against him. Taehyung tastes like chocolate and cinnamon, like every natural aphrodisiac known to man, and it’s addictive.

Taehyung’s hands move from his jaw to his neck, to his shoulders and under his shirt. He kisses like he’s starving, like Seokjin is a five star lobster buffet and he hasn’t eaten in weeks. Seokjin pushes back against it, clutches the lapels of Taehyung’s leather jacket for support when his knees threaten to give out from under him.

“You’ve ruined me.” Seokjin gasps, pulling away for air. “Angel kisses are so, so much better than human ones.”

Taehyung chuckles, close enough to Seokjin that their noses brush together. “You’ll just have to keep me around, then.”

“I think I will,” Seokjin whispers, a quiet admission, a silent prayer behind his words. “Let’s go home.”

I think I could love you, he thinks. I really think I can.

“I love you,” Taehyung says aloud, and pulls Seokjin in for another kiss, long and slow and sweet, as though they have forever.

And maybe, Seokjin thinks, heart shivering, we do.

Seokjin is twenty-six when he finds love again.