Archive of Our Own

Time passes because of love and as a lover, you start fearing time’s influence on your relationships. Time will inevitably end any relationship, whether it be through death or boredom. And without any sort of love, time has little meaning; love is the ultimate (and quite possibly the only) true measure of time.

He’s seen it all, from the line of the sea seceding the coast to fine capillaries glowing with cars, but none of them compare to this - his 50th assignment, a teenager with a penchant for the arts. 

Changuk is assigned to Kim Dongyun, an 18-year-old student that the Council of Guardian Angels says is destined to contribute significantly to the world of art. Only the truly special are assigned a personal guardian angel, and he remembers how insanely difficult his 37th assignment was - protecting one of the first pregnant humans from death. He doesn’t have to stick to time as a linear concept, and he finds himself being placed in any period of time that the Council wants him in. It’s interesting seeing the fear of death being present in mortals at any given era, and Changuk scorns at it. It’s frivolous to celebrate birth as the beginning of life and fear the exact same void that comes after death. 

Mortal lives are a mere blip on the radar for Changuk and he does his job as a guardian angel with mechanical efficiency. Do they stay alive? Absolutely. Does he feel an attachment to them? Not really.

As a rule of thumb, he tries not to let the mortal know of his existence or his role in their lives - it complicates things too much for him and they begin to tempt fate, placing themselves in dangerous situations because they know he will have to save them. He takes on his physical form only when he has to, to scare off muggers or save his mortal from falling objects. 

Changuk watches from a distance, observing his new assignment. Dongyun is young, with his cheeks still filled out with baby fat and brown hair that falls neatly in place. Changuk feels oddly drawn to him, watching as he sketches an apple. He’s focused, forming deliberate, clean lines on the paper. 

His assignment’s room is messy with art supplies strewn around the room and an empty canvas perched by the window. Changuk watches and wonders when he will have to save this mortal from death. Assignments usually begin on the day where the biggest threat to the mortal’s life occurs. Changuk looks out of the window and sees a thin road, jam-packed with cars. 

The mortal sighs, putting his pencil down. He stares at the sketch for a while before ripping it into pieces and throwing it into the bin. Changuk sees several other drawings in the bin as well. They all seem perfectly decent to him. 

Changuk follows as the mortal leaves his apartment. He’s on high alert, looking around for any potential dangers. They stop at a street crossing and Changuk watches as Dongyun takes a phone out of his pocket. He’s never seen one of these phones in real life, only the massive ones from the 80s and the itty bitty holographic ones from 2139. Fascinated with the unfamiliar piece of technology, Changuk almost misses the truck hurtling towards the mortal at breakneck speed.

Taking on his physical form with his wings securely tucked in, Changuk pulls Dongyun out of the way as quickly as he can before vanishing. Dongyun is sprawled on the ground a few meters away, staring in shock at where the truck had rammed into the traffic light, exactly where he was standing a split second ago. He looks around but can’t see anyone else near him. Dongyun swears he’s been pulled out of the way by someone, and the snapped threads running along the seam of his collar only serve to confirm his theory.

A few days later, Dongyun leaves his apartment to get lunch at a diner nearby. He’s been alone ever since Changuk took him on as an assignment, save for the short interactions he’s had with the food deliveryman. 

When Dongyun looks both ways before crossing the street, Changuk heaves a sigh of relief, wordlessly watching the smaller boy as he eventually reaches the diner, pushing the heavy door open with a jingle from the bell overhead. Dongyun takes a seat in the corner of the diner in a booth by himself, staring at the menu. When the waiter arrives, he’s snappy, tutting at Dongyun as he hesitates on his order. As the waiter rudely pulls the menu out of Dongyun’s grasp, Changuk decides that it is his personal mission to give the waiter hell in the hour that Dongyun spends in the diner.

Guardian angels that have been at work for long enough eventually gain the ability to move inanimate objects without having to take on their physical form and Changuk is experienced enough to move small objects around. The angel is in the mood for mischief, and he topples 3 glasses of juice that the waiter is carrying on a tray. The waiter is soaked in sticky, sickly sweet juice and the ice cubes clatter to the ground, forming pools by his feet. It’s a sick kind of amusement that Changuk experiences, and he’s filled with pride with what he’s done when he sees the mortal pursing his lips in a stifled smile. 

Being alive for millennia did not kill Changuk’s ability to have fun with his powers, and it’s an added bonus to exact his revenge on the annoyances in Dongyun’s life.

He thinks it might mean that he’s starting to feel affection for the mortal against his own will. He feels as though he’s beginning to care for Dongyun. 

Later on in the afternoon, Dongyun is taking a nap, and Changuk is sitting around in his bedroom, in his physical form with his wings fully untucked. It’s comfortable, and he’s fascinated with the objects he finds from this era. Prodding at Dongyun’s phone, he jumps when the screen lights up to show a picture of the ocean and the current time and date. A honk sounds from the road below, and Changuk sits in the desk chair as he stares out of the window, basking in the warmth of the sunlight filtering through the clouds that shine on his face.  

A sketchbook is thrown open on the table, and Changuk gingerly begins to flip through it. He sees pages upon pages of sketches, all different and all stunning in the way they manage to capture the subject for what it is. He begins to understand why this mortal was deemed worthy of a guardian angel.

The sunlight beckons him back to the window, and he looks at the clouds for a while, observing the way they drift past in an infinite loop, one after another. The clouds are the one constant he’s had across all his assignments, stable in their unchanging nature. He’s always been fond of the clouds, and he likes when he takes on assignments that give him a chance to fly through them without being caught on camera. Changuk loses himself in thoughts of the sky, the pale blue vision that makes him itch with a desire to be a part of it. 

He’s about to continue on his little exploration of the mortal’s room when he turns around to face the bed and sees Dongyun staring right at him.

Dongyun looks confused, frowning as he blinks rapidly at Changuk. His mouth opens as if he’s about to say something, when Changuk snaps out of his own shock and vanishes.

Changuk watches Dongyun shakes his head rapidly, as if he’s clearing his mind like an Etch-A-Sketch. It fills Changuk with a warmth that is unfamiliar.

When Dongyun wakes up from his nap to a man sitting at his desk staring out of the window, he thinks he’s hallucinating. He blinks a few times to make sure it’s real and waits for terror to sink in. 

It’s then that he notices a subtle glow around the man, a gentle light that seems to ebb and flow with every passing moment. Somehow, he isn’t terrified out of his wits but calm, sleepy, and he feels safe watching the way the sunlight glints off the blue-tipped wings. The blue is unlike anything he’s seen before, taking on an ethereal quality in how vivid it is. The man is beautiful, an oasis in the middle of the mess of colours strewn across Dongyun’s room. 

Then, the man turns around to face Dongyun. Dongyun continues to blink, unable to speak as he tries to commit every part of the man to memory. This is it, this is his muse.

The man simply disappears just as Dongyun prepares to ask for his name.

Dongyun wonders if he’s going insane, and decides to save that thought for later, rushing towards his easel, frantically sketching in bold, unrestrained movements.

He fills the easel in by memory, closing his eyes once in a while to focus on the sight of the man, his gentle, sloping features and the wide spread of his wings. Dongyun knows he’s in the process of creating his masterpiece, the first strike of real inspiration in months.

As the days go by, the man doesn’t appear again, leaving Dongyun to wonder if he was just hallucinating. He tries everything to get the man to appear again, leaving his windows open in the day and speaking to the empty bedroom at night. 

“Are you listening? I’m sorry for scaring you if I did, sir,” Dongyun wonders aloud, looking around the room for any signs of his muse. The easel sits unfinished by the window, a part of the man’s wing that Dongyun can’t remember well enough being left blank.

“Are you a ghost? I promise I won’t hurt you,” Dongyun says.

Changuk is insulted, shocked at the audacity of the mortal, to call him a ghost of all things, when he clearly took a good look at his wings a mere few days ago.

He can’t take it any longer and decides to appear in his physical form.

“No, I’m not a ghost.”

Dongyun swivels around, staring at him as if he’s a deer in the headlights, unable to speak. He feels as though he’s stopped breathing, his breath caught in his throat from the shock of seeing the man again. He gapes at the odd man, eyes trained on the part of the wing he couldn’t get right.

Changuk responds by holding his hands out to block Dongyun’s view of his right wing, huffing with exasperation.

“W..what are you?” Dongyun asks, finally addressing Changuk face-to-face for the first time, stumbling over his words.

“That’s really none of your business,” Changuk says offhandedly, reaching out to run his hands along Dongyun’s closed laptop, curiosity for the trinkets around Dongyun’s room settling in.

“Are you going to leave again? Also, that’s a laptop if you don’t know what it is,” Dongyun supplies helpfully, earning him a pointed glare from Changuk, as he quickly pulls his hand back and diverts his gaze from the laptop, staring at a point just beyond Dongyun’s head.

“I know what it is, it just looks different from the other versions of it I’ve seen.”

“Now that… What is that?” Changuk walks across the room, taking confident steps towards Dongyun’s desk where he picks up a plastic vial of glitter, turning it over in his hands and holding it to the light, inspecting it carefully.

To Changuk, it looks like a million bottled stars, and he’s enthralled with the way they catch the light. It’s beautiful, and he had no idea mortals were capable of doing something like this.

“Glitter? I use it to decorate things, I guess,” Dongyun answered.

Changuk nods, acknowledging Dongyun’s words as he continues to examine the bottled stars before his attention is caught by the canvas propped up beside the window. 

He sees himself through someone else’s eyes for the first time. A mere mirror could never compare to being painstakingly drawn by someone. Changuk feels his breath quicken, his eyes going wide with recognition. He looks almost demure, delicate in the way his arms are crossed at the wrists, and with his wings spread wide, it perfectly depicts his longing for the skies.

Dongyun is nervous, fidgeting as the odd man stares intently at the sketch. Dongyun can almost hear the gears in his brain rotating, trying to make sense of the sketch. The man turns around, and he pauses, studying Dongyun as if evaluating him.

“I.. I have to go, but I’ll be back soon enough,” the man states. He seems almost distraught, deep in thought as he speaks. Then, he vanishes again as if he was never there in the first place. 

The only proof Dongyun has of the man ever visiting is in the way the vial of glitter rests on its side on his desk, reflecting small rays of light across the surface of the table.

Changuk begins to pop around more, wanting to find out more about Dongyun beyond the bare minimum he has to know as a guardian angel. He eventually tells Dongyun that he’s a guardian angel, and Dongyun can’t seem to believe it, plaguing him with questions at every turn. It should be annoying, but the way his eyes are opened wide, sparkling with interest, keeps Changuk answering every question.

“Does that mean you know what happens in the future since you’ve been there?”

“Not everything, just major events.  I can’t tell you anything, but the evil of mankind is the one constant across every time period,” Changuk states, scorning the way the mortals always seem to act in self-interest. 

Dongyun looks taken aback for a second, his eyebrows knitting in confusion. 

“Well, I don’t think everyone is evil! I try to be nice,” Dongyun muses, blinking slowly at Changuk.

Changuk thinks about just how much trouble he’d get into if he told Dongyun about the problems in the future, but he stays quiet, knowing that it would be a mess to clean up if he said anything. He also has a small moral crisis, knowing that he isn’t meant to be talking to the mortal, just in case he made too many changes to the mortal’s fate.

He knows guardian angels that have fallen into the trap of becoming too attached to their assignments, and how it becomes less about protecting the human in order to let them make their contributions and more about protecting their own interests. Changuk knows it is not truly a job well done if it is done in selfishness.

His thoughts are interrupted by Dongyun holding the vial of glitter up at him.

“You seemed really fascinated by this… Do you want to hold some?”

Changuk nods, holding his hands out, palms angled upwards in wait of the glitter. Dongyun pours a small amount into his palm and he instantly begins to poke at it, shifting the pile around in his palm. A few flakes of the glitter are kicked into the air from it, and they twinkle in the midday light as they fall to the ground.

Dongyun knows glitter is hell to clean up because it never really goes away, but a small mess in his room was worth the sight of his guardian angel finally looking his age, brimming with hope. There is a certain innocence in the way Changuk pinches the glitter between his fingers, captivated by such a simple human product.

It’s then where Dongyun realises the guardian angel isn’t infallible - that he’s jaded but still interested in what the human world has to show him.

The tiny stars in Changuk’s palm make him feel more connected to the mortal’s world, and he feels just the slightest pinch of the boundless enthusiasm Dongyun, his mortal, seems to possess.

“Do you feel it?” Changuk asks, sitting on the desk chair that has carved lines in the wooden floor, made deeper by the repetitive glide of the wheels against the ground. He’s a peculiar sight, lounging casually in the chair with his wings spread out.

“Feel what?” Dongyun replies, carefully erasing the part of Changuk’s right wing he can’t seem to get right, frustrated at how the feathers don’t seem to look right on his canvas. Changuk watches his mortal with a measured calmness, shifting slightly as he preens and straightens his feathers.

Changuk sighs, fiddling with a loose feather. “Time. Mortals claim to be so afraid of time, but what they really fear is the abyss that comes after their time is up.”

“I... I think so? I don’t want to die,” Dongyun says, even while fascinated by the way the loose feather glows with an otherworldly iridescence.

“They say existence is a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness. I don’t really understand that because I’m never really bound by time, or birth, or death.” Changuk looks particularly vulnerable as he says this, subconsciously withdrawing from Dongyun as his wings fold in just a little.

Dongyun looks up then, watching the way Changuk’s chest rises and falls with every breath. He wonders if Changuk has a heartbeat, and whether his outlook on mortality would be different if he could feel his own heart drumming, pushing him towards the end at 4500 beats an hour.

“Do you have a heartbeat?” 

Changuk frowns for a split second, perplexed, before he nods. He stands up from the creaky desk chair, strides up to Dongyun, grabs his mortal’s hand, and holds it to his neck.

Dongyun can feel the rush of blood through his veins, the rhythmic thudding of his angel’s heart, and he wonders if he’s hallucinating when the pace begins to quicken. Changuk drops his hand then, and sits back down on the chair, putting his body in the same position it was in before.

Changuk watches him expectantly, waiting for him to continue sketching. Dongyun can still feel the warmth of Changuk’s skin on his fingertips and his hand shakes as he picks the pencil up again.

Dongyun finishes the sketch soon after and wants to begin painting his muse. He locates the vividly coloured paints in a corner of his room and opens the box for the first time. All his previous pieces used darker colours, and it’s his muse that prompted the sudden change in style. 

He’s missing a colour he needs. He looks back at Changuk who’s still relaxed in the chair. Dongyun isn’t willing to cut corners on this piece, he needs everything to be perfect.

“I don’t have the right shade of blue. Can we go to the art store?”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Changuk asks, stiffening as he crosses his arms across his body.

“If it’s okay with you, yeah.”

Changuk wants to say no, he really does. He ends up saying yes, against every single thought he previously had.

When they’re in the paint aisle of the art store, Dongyun stands in front of a wall full of tubes of blue paint, in slightly different shades and hues. He reaches out for a tube on one of the higher shelves, and Changuk swats his hand away. 

“You really think that’s the right colour for my wings? Really? It’s got too much green in it.”

“You know I’m the artist here, right? I need you to trust me,” Dongyun explains. 

Changuk finds that he does. He actually trusts his mortal, and it leaves a heavy feeling in his chest as he nods, allowing Dongyun to pull the tube of paint from the shelf. He doesn’t want to become attached, but when Dongyun shoots him a massive grin after paying for the paint, he dreads that he may have already let his mortal in.

Within two weeks, Dongyun finishes the painting. He’s positively buzzing with excitement as he tells Changuk that he’s snagged a chance to present it at an exhibition in the next month.

Changuk gets cold feet because he’s not meant to be allowing this. Guardian angels aren’t supposed to be depicted this way, and he’s unsure of whether he’s fine with being exposed to the world through a painting. He has doubts on whether his mortal will be able to keep his existence a secret, and he knows he will be in for a world of trouble if the word gets out that guardian angels exist.

“Are you sure you won’t tell anyone, Dongyun?”

“I promise! I’ll say I dreamt of it,” Dongyun beams, writing his artist’s statement to be displayed beside the painting.

When the painting finally gets put up at an exhibition in the largest museum in the country, Dongyun stands guard beside his painting, rocking on his feet and constantly glancing back at his work.

There’s a small crowd gathered around it, and Dongyun flushes with pride when they praise him. He’s happy and finally feeling as though he’s in his element when he recognises a rising art critic standing in the middle of the crowd, right in front of the painting. It’s Hwang Yunseong.

Dongyun feels as though his heart has stopped and he doesn’t know what to do with his face, settling on a slightly pained grimace as he tries to decipher the art critic’s feelings on his work. With every small note he scribbles down in his notepad, the harder it is for Dongyun to breathe and he feels as though he’s about to break out in a sweat. The critic is expressionless, with his gaze roaming across the artwork.

Changuk observes the whole scene in his non-physical form, wondering what it was about the man who seemed better dressed for a child’s birthday party than an art exhibition that made Dongyun look so nervous. He’s dressed weirdly, and he walks away from the painting a few times to look at it from afar, then back to it again. 

Before the art critic leaves for good, he makes eye contact with Dongyun and smiles. Dongyun feels as though a weight has been lifted, and he finally manages to breathe without feeling himself spiral into a panic.

That night, Changuk can’t hold his curiosity in any longer, and he asks Dongyun who the man was.

“It was Hwang Yunseong. He’s gaining a lot of fame as an art critic and he could make or break my career,” Dongyun confesses, throwing himself onto the bed and sighing into his pillows.

Later that week, an article gets released online about Dongyun’s work and it’s raving about the painting, talking about the beauty captured in it, the excellence of the technique, and the way it taps on the most basal, the most feral of all human emotions - fear, or the lack thereof. The critic, Yunseong, wonders who the mystery man in the painting is, and why his eyes seem to follow you around the room, and why his skin seems to glow in a way that jumps out of the painting. He speaks of how the painting exudes a sense of calm and protection that is ineffable.

The painting is valued at 2 million dollars within days and it’s beyond belief for Dongyun. He’s instantly catapulted into fame and people are clamouring for more of his work. The phone calls keep coming, with museum after museum fighting to represent him. It’s overwhelming, but the attention is welcomed.

Dongyun is interested in one of the offers he receives and he takes the long bus ride to the museum, holding on to the straps of his backpack as he walks through the massive doors. Changuk witnesses this in amusement which quickly morphs into distaste as he spots Yunseong across the main hall of the museum. Changuk can see how Dongyun hesitates, running through the possible scenarios in his mind, before he decides to throw caution to the wind and approach Yunseong.

“Hi, I’m Kim Dongyun, the artist you reviewed last week. I just wanted to thank you for your review because it meant a lot to me.”

“Oh, the pleasure’s mine! Also, you’re much cuter up close.”

Dongyun blushes. Changuk knows he would be rolling his eyes if he were physically present, and he bristles at the way Yunseong speaks to Dongyun. 

“I suppose you’re here today to speak to the museum director about them representing you? Did they promise you a lot of money over the phone?” Yunseong questions, tilting his head as he gives Dongyun a once-over, as if appraising him like a painting. Dongyun feels as though he’s under a microscope, subject to Yunseong’s whims.

Dongyun is at a loss of words, and it’s all he can do to nod in response to Yunseong’s questions.

“Well, it’s a lot easier to talk about money than art, isn’t it?” Yunseong scoffs, rolling his eyes languidly as he glances at his watch.

“Perhaps I could point you in the right direction? I know a lady from a museum across town. You’ll find that she’s much more pleasant to work with,” Yunseong asserts, holding his phone out to Dongyun with an empty contact page lighting the screen up.

Dongyun gives Yunseong his number, and thanks him meekly as Yunseong begins to leave. Changuk is uncomfortable at the sight of Dongyun trying to hold back a smile as he stares at his feet, long after Yunseong leaves.

Dongyun continues to paint and his works eventually begin to take on an eerie quality to them - melting clocks, voids folding back on themselves, and the ever-present mystery man. The themes of his paintings are in part influenced by Changuk, and the angel feels his ego inflating every time Dongyun asks to sketch him for a new piece. They’ve built a small routine, and it gets interrupted one day by a call from Yunseong.

The art critic asks to meet and Dongyun is nervous about meeting Yunseong again. Changuk doesn’t love the idea of it, but he encourages Dongyun to go for it because he obviously needs more human interaction. One of the downsides is that Yunseong asks a lot of questions, especially about the mystery man from the paintings and it sets Changuk’s teeth on edge. 

They’re grabbing lunch at a burger joint and Dongyun is eating his burger layer by layer, deconstructed. Yunseong isn’t any better, Changuk notes in disgust, as he’s licking mayonnaise off his wrapper. 

Yunseong has an uncanny ability to make Dongyun laugh, and they manage to prattle on about all the things that Changuk has no interest in. Whenever Yunseong attempts to ask about the man in Dongyun’s paintings, Dongyun insists that it was based on a dream. To Changuk’s relief, Dongyun continues to respect his wishes about not being revealed. 

Changuk doesn’t understand why he still feels displeased, looking on and feeling an uncomfortable feeling coming in waves. It gets worse whenever Dongyun laughs extra loudly at something Yunseong says. He hates the new feeling he’s experiencing.

He isn’t sure if Yunseong is trying to court Dongyun. He’s never felt anything like this before when his previous assignments were being courted by their partners. Changuk has no idea what feeling it is that he’s going through, but he doesn’t dare to ask Dongyun, in fear of what the answer may be.

Changuk asks Dongyun to buy him a book on human emotion when they arrive home.

“Are you sure Yunseong is a good friend for you?”

“Yes, he’s my first real friend in a long time, Changuk,” Dongyun replies, frowning at the harsh tone Changuk took on when asking his question.

“I don’t know… I don’t really like him, to be honest,” the angel says, shrugging as he looks away from Dongyun, back to the book on human emotion.

“Aren’t you supposed to care about me as a guardian angel, not make my life difficult? I shouldn’t have to choose between you and Yunseong,” Dongyun retorts, starting to feel genuinely annoyed at the guardian angel.

“You’re my mortal, of course I care for you,” Changuk says irritably, looking up again. He doesn’t understand why Dongyun was so drawn to Yunseong, and he doesn’t want to put a label on it, but the book claims it may be jealousy. Changuk lets out a huff as he sinks further into the chair.

“So that’s it? I’m just your mortal?” 

The air in the room seems to have shifted, with Dongyun’s voice wavering as he asks the question. Changuk feels as though his next response could ruin everything, but he takes the dive. 

“Of course not, you’re… something more,” he mumbles, swallowing the lump in his throat as he resumes reading his book.

Dongyun is quiet, letting the weight of his angel’s words sink in.

“So what am I to you?” Dongyun asks, his voice softening as he slowly approaches his angel.

“I didn’t say anything,” Changuk insists, very obviously hiding his face behind his book. He feels as though he’s panicking and he’s lightheaded as Dongyun steps closer, stopping right in front of his chair.

“You said that I’m more than just your mortal, Changuk.”

Changuk is sure he’s going to pass out with the way his hands begin to tremble as Dongyun reaches out to push the book away from his face. His mortal begins to inch closer, and Changuk is frozen in place, unable to do anything, feeling like a spectator as Dongyun gets ever closer. Time almost stands still, and he can feel every thud of his heart, drumming maniacally against his ribcage, every wobble of his gaze as he tries to keep his attention on Dongyun’s eyes.

“For what it’s worth, you’re more than a guardian angel to me,” Dongyun whispers, and at this point he’s so close that the angel feels himself going cross-eyed trying to look at Dongyun’s face. In a moment of impaired self-control, Changuk glances down at Dongyun’s lips. 

It is all Dongyun needs, the burst of courage to close the gap.

Changuk’s breath hitches the moment their lips meet, and the puzzle pieces fall into place just then. He’s desperately in love with his mortal, and he wants to throw all apprehension out of the window, as he carefully winds his fingers into Dongyun’s soft hair. The aftermath can wait.

When Dongyun kisses him, the book on human emotion is flipped open to the chapter on love and devotion, its crumpled pages the only indication that they’ve been thumbed through time and again.

“What do you think of people who paint on plywood, Dongyun?” 

“I’d like to hear what you think first.”

“Pretentious and irritating attention seekers.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Dongyun concludes, smiling into his coffee.

“Though if the love of my life painted on plywood, I don’t think I would mind. I’d dedicate 4 weeks worth of my column to them and change my mind on plywood.”

“That’s the highest honour you could ever give them, Yunseong.”

Around this point, Changuk tunes out. He’s constantly bored nowadays, with Dongyun constantly meeting up with Yunseong to discuss the same old boring things. Time passes the slowest for Changuk when Dongyun and Yunseong meet up.

“I… I think I’ve found the someone that I’m willing to accept plywood paintings for,” Yunseong shyly confesses, nibbling on his lip.

“No way! Who is it? You have to tell me, I’m dying to know!” Dongyun prods, eagerly leaning forward in his seat, urging Yunseong to open up.

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours?”

The rest of the conversation passes by in a hazy blur for Changuk and he’s snapped back to attention when Yunseong storms out of the restaurant, leaving Dongyun behind in his seat looking absolutely crushed.

Dongyun eventually begins to make his way home, walking slowly and dragging his feet towards the apartment block. He’s a perfect picture of misery and the moment he shuts his apartment door behind him, Changuk appears.

“What’s wrong?”

Dongyun tries to fix his gaze on the angel, but his pupils are wavering.

“Yunseong got mad at me because he thinks I don’t share anything about my life, and that I only talk enigmatically,” Dongyun says, his voice sounding brittle and close to breaking. “You see, I know he’d take a bullet for me, even though I can’t tell him much about myself.”

“He says he feels like he’s talking at me, not with me,” Dongyun whines. Changuk reaches out to hold on to his arm, steadying him. His mortal looks up at him the moment they make contact and Changuk realises that he’s awfully close to Dongyun. His mortal captivates him and he can’t help but stare for a few seconds before looking away.

Changuk begins to comfort Dongyun as best as he can, and he knows and understands that Dongyun is a lonely person. Mortals tend to need more than just one guardian angel and Dongyun seems to truly need a friend. 

Changuk doesn’t know what hits him, but he says something unprecedented. 

“It’s okay. Tell him. Tell him about me, if you want.”

“Really? Would that be okay?” Dongyun perks up suddenly as the magnitude of Changuk’s words sink in.

“Yeah… I’m sure. If he attempts to tell anyone,” Changuk imitates a neck snapping motion, “off he goes.”

When Dongyun brings Yunseong over to his apartment, Changuk appears, fully aware that Yunseong knows about his existence, but not sure of exactly how much Yunseong knows. Changuk watches him analytically, calculative and detached as Yunseong steps into the apartment.

Changuk has his wings tucked away and when Yunseong sees him, he begins to speak.

“Dongyun, I knew you were kidding, he has no wings. He’s just a regular human being, isn’t he?”

Changuk almost throttles him in that moment for daring to compare him to a mere mortal. He retaliates by unfolding his wings, fluttering them with pride in Yunseong’s face.

“Oh. I see. I’m sorry, please don’t kill me,” Yunseong squeaks, stepping backwards.

For the fun of it, while all of them are sitting on the couch in front of the television later on, Changuk makes glasses of water topple over on Yunseong again and again.

After the 3rd time, Yunseong speaks up.

“Alright, are you doing that, Changuk?”

“Don’t blame me if you’re the clumsy one.”

“Glasses don’t spontaneously tip over without being pushed, and not always in the same direction,” Yunseong accuses, wringing his shirt out over the sink in the kitchen.

“Oh, I don’t know about that… it must be a problem with you.”

“Stop being a little bitch, I’m not trying to steal your boyfriend.”

At that, Dongyun chokes.

“I never said I thought you were,” Changuk replies, narrowing his eyes at Yunseong as he thinks about which inanimate object he wishes to hurl at Yunseong next.

“You aren’t denying the boyfriend part,” Yunseong says with a smirk.

“He’s my mortal.”

Dongyun stiffens from his position on the sofa, going tense. Changuk notices it and instantly feels the guilt settling in, coiling deep within his belly.

Later that day, after Yunseong leaves, Dongyun still feels upset. Changuk is referring to him in detached terms all over again. 

“Dongyun, I’m sorry. I’m just not sure about the boyfriend title yet, but you know you mean a lot to me, right?” 

“I do?” Dongyun asks, feeling all the sadness draining from his body as Changuk reaches out to cup his face in his hands.

“More than you’ll ever know.”

On Dongyun’s 22nd birthday, Changuk gifts him a new set of palette knives he’s been eyeing, having saved up for it by collecting loose change Dongyun left around the house.

Dongyun almost cries when Changuk pushes the box towards him. It feels like a step in the right direction and Changuk watches him carefully, gauging his reaction. Changuk tries to hide it, but his ears are red with embarrassment and his hands are fidgety, awaiting his mortal’s response.

“I love it, I really love it.”

“You do?” Changuk looks hopeful, his lips curving into a smile and his eyes crinkling as Dongyun continues to unwrap the present further.

“I only have one other request,” Dongun begins, pulling the present out and inspecting every new palette knife in the box.

“And what is that, dearest birthday boy?”

“Is it possible for you to look older? Or do you stay this young forever? It’s… a bit awkward for me to be in a relationship with someone who still looks 18.”

Dongyun is blushing, trying to hide his hands behind his face after his request. It makes Changuk’s heart soar with affection, and he’s beyond honoured that Dongyun asked him. He feels as though this means Dongyun really means it - that he honestly wants something real with Changuk.

Changuk knows he would take on the years with Dongyun, just how he was meant to. He’s finally succumbing to the tentacles of time, allowing himself to be open to the idea of physically ageing for the first time in his existence.

“I’d be honoured to match you every step of the way, Dongyun.”

“I’m going to buy us a new place to live,” Dongyun tells Changuk one day, holding his laptop up to Changuk’s face. The tab open is a property listing, much further from where they currently live. It’s a house in the countryside and the size of the land itself is massive.

The price tag terrifies Changuk. He’s been around long enough to understand the value of the currency Dongyun uses, and the small number in the corner of the screen isn’t actually small at all. 

“You can’t be serious, do you even have this much money?”

“I’ve been saving for this… You know my paintings sell for a lot of money, right?” Dongyun responds with an air of self-assuredness. He decisively flips the laptop back to face himself, typing away at the keyboard with the clicks of the keys sounding across the room.

“Why do you want to move to the middle of nowhere?”

The typing stops and Dongyun looks up from the laptop, frowning slightly at his angel.

“I thought you would like it. There’s a lot of space and the only neighbours we’d have will be far away, so you can fly as much as you want,” Dongyun says, continuing to watch Changuk for his reaction.

“I like the idea of it but you really shouldn’t be letting me influence your choices. I’m just… just your guardian angel, Dongyun. It’s a bit morally ambiguous for me to be okay with you moving to the countryside just because of me when I’m not even supposed to exist and I’m just meant to be keeping you alive.”

Changuk has to pause to take a breath after his long reply, nibbling at his bottom lip. He feels awful having to crush Dongyun’s enthusiasm. He loves the idea of living in the countryside with the love of his life, with no noisy neighbours to irritate him, but he’s not sure if this pushes the boundaries of what he’s meant to do as a guardian angel.

Dongyun’s face falls, and he pulls the laptop closed, carelessly tossing it beside him on the bed. 

“Do you want me to stay in this small apartment forever, then?” Dongyun asks with a clipped tone, folding his arms in front of him. It’s uncharacteristically confrontational of him, and Changuk finds himself shrinking back, lowering his head. He can’t seem to find the words to pacify Dongyun, and he stays quiet, lost in his own thoughts.

“Forget it, I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for myself,” Dongyun snaps. He pushes himself off the bed, past Changuk and out of the room. The door shuts with a noise much louder than usual.

Changuk takes 10 seconds to compose himself, his mind spinning. He feels his chest constrict with panic as he thinks about the possibility of losing Dongyun over a stupid spat. When he finally gets his legs to cooperate with his brain, he leaves the bedroom in search of Dongyun.

Changuk finds Dongyun in his small kitchen where the coffee machine whirs to a stop. Changuk approaches him tentatively, and clears his throat to let Dongyun know he’s there.

Dongyun is still visibly angry, refusing to face Changuk as he puts a little more force into stirring his coffee, the spoon making repetitive clinking sounds as it collides with the walls of the mug. He doesn’t acknowledge Changuk but the way his shoulders tense is enough of a confirmation for the angel.

“Dongyun, I’m sorry. I don’t need that much space, but if it would make you feel better to provide me with it, I’ll accept it,” Changuk ventures, adopting a soft tone, reaching out to touch Dongyun’s shoulder.

To his relief, Dongyun doesn’t push his hand away. He stops stirring his coffee to take a sip before setting the mug down on the counter. He turns around to face Changuk then, his eyes watery and bloodshot.

"Is that it? That’s all you have to say? Have you ever thought for a second about how I feel?" Dongyun's words feel calm and uncomfortably cold. Changuk feels it - plunging deep into his heart with Dongyun at the hilt of the knife, twisting it deeper. 

"You always bring the guardian angel shit up whenever I think we’re getting better. Do you even know how much you mean to me? I want a normal life with you, Changuk, and that means buying a house with you and taking your wants into consideration. This is as much for me as it is for you."

The rawness in Dongyun’s voice creates a lump in Changuk’s throat. Just as Dongyun craves a normal life with him, he wants it as well, if not more than Dongyun. Changuk takes a moment to ground himself, looking around the kitchen. 

He sees the pots and pans that never seem to go back into the cupboard from which they came from because they are always cooking for two, or three when Yunseong comes over. He sees his own mug, obnoxiously neon orange, perched by the sink where it always is, often coupled with Dongyun’s mug. Where there was once just one, there are two. It’s as if he’s seeing the human in front of him with fresh eyes and he realises then, with startling clarity, that they’ve already built a life for themselves.

“You need to understand. Please tell me that you understand,” Dongyun begs. The first tear escapes then, and Changuk can’t help but reach out to wipe it away with his thumb, cradling Dongyun’s face in his hands as he does so.

Changuk leans in then, planting a featherlight kiss on Dongyun’s lips before pulling back to run his hand through Dongyun’s hair. Dongyun watches him quietly, sniffling as he continues to cry. 

Dongyun’s cheeks are wet with tears but Changuk kisses them anyway. They’re soft and pale pink from all the crying, and Changuk feels his heart swelling with what he thinks might truly be love, or as close to it as he’s ever been.

As if he’s done it a million times before, Changuk pulls Dongyun into a hug. His darling human sags with relief as the tension leaves his body. The sobs are too much for Changuk to bear and he aches with every shaky breath that Dongyun takes in. Dongyun’s tears are warm against his neck, and Changuk wants nothing more than to never hear Dongyun cry like this again.

To Changuk’s extreme displeasure, more than one mortal grows on him during his time as Dongyun’s guardian angel, and it’s who he least expected.

Yunseong is a mainstay in their lives, popping by to visit them in their new house whenever he feels like it. They’ve given him his own set of keys and he makes full use of it, coming over at the weirdest of times to discuss new developments in the art world with Dongyun.

Inadvertently, Changuk spends a lot of time with Yunseong while waiting for Dongyun to finish up whatever new project he’s working on in his little artist alcove. They hardly talk about Dongyun, but when they do, Yunseong is reassuring in how he pats Changuk’s arm, or simply reaches out to ground him. The angel has come to trust Yunseong, for some inexplicable reason.

They often find themselves standing in front of Dongyun’s half-completed paintings with their heads tilted, trying to understand the pieces. Dongyun often paints Changuk’s wings, and this time is no exception.

“You know that tint in my wings? Dongyun uses cer-”

“Cerulean blue, yeah. I know. Hey, do you mind holding a wing out so I can look at the texture?”

Changuk obliges, lazily extending a wing out to Yunseong as Yunseong holds the tip of the wing in his hand. Yunseong is bent over at the waist, with his face close to the blue-tipped feathers, and he hums in thought as he reaches out to feel their texture.

“What’s going on here?” Dongyun walks into the room then, bemused as he watches his best friend and angel. He finds it endearing that they’ve managed to become friends, even though they have such different personalities. 

Yunseong straightens himself, awkwardly stepping away from Changuk as he coughs. 

When Dongyun paints, they cook or go grocery shopping. They only ever go on Tuesdays because that’s when there is the most parking space outside the grocery store. It is a 45-minute drive into town and Changuk never fails to grumble about having to tuck his wings away. Their car rides are often filled with Changuk blabbering about the interesting mortal things he’s seen that week, and Yunseong gives him free rein of the music choices. Changuk refuses to drive, in part because he doesn’t know how to, but also because he’s labelled cars as metal death-traps and had to be coaxed into Yunseong’s car the first time they went on their weekly grocery trip.

Over time, Yunseong begins to take over the conversation in the car and Changuk lets Yunseong talk his ear off about whatever art thing he’s obsessed with at the moment. For now, it’s his trip to MoMA and how he watched a lady get covered in paint. He babbles about the beauty of a human canvas getting slowly covered in paint, and how light seems to bounce off differently on a living being.

When they arrive at the grocery store, they move through the store with practised efficiency, with Changuk tossing the essentials into the trolley. By reflex, he pulls a tub of mint chocolate ice cream out of the freezer and places it in the cart. It’s second nature to make sure Yunseong has some snacks just for him at home, even though both he and Dongyun can’t comprehend how anyone would like the taste of mint and chocolate together.

“Why are you buying that? You hate it,” Yunseong says, reaching into the cart to grab the tub of ice cream.

“It’s for you, genius.”

“Oh. Thank you.” 

Changuk refuses to think about how he’s become adapted to mortal life and Yunseong when they perform the entire self-checkout ritual at the grocery store without a single moment of confusion. 

The stars are truly unlike anything else when in the countryside. The lack of light from the city means that they get to shine as brightly as they’re meant to, and Changuk feels at home in the sky, with his head tilted towards the constellations. The moon is full, divine in the way she illuminates the night and casts shadows on the contours of the clouds. Changuk adores the small moments he takes for himself to fly in circles, running his hands through the clouds until they are wet with condensation, and his eyes filled with mirth that he hardly experiences when on the ground. 

Dongyun loves to watch him in a single chair propped outside their house. Changuk often claims that there are little stars in Dongyun’s eyes when he’s admiring the way Changuk weaves his way between the clouds with an assured grace and confidence. The night sky is beautiful, undeniably so, but the way Dongyun looks at him with a sparkle in his eyes, comparable to the glitter Changuk adores, is infinitely more beautiful.

“You look like you belong up there with the clouds,” Dongyun observes one day as Changuk lands beside him, shaking water off the tips of his wings and running his hands through his wind-tousled hair.

“Technically, I belong wherever you are.”

Dongyun doesn’t seem to hear him, continuing to watch the clouds, surveying the lines that Changuk has carved in them. 

“Is it as beautiful as I think it would be?”

“So much more,” Changuk says, reaching for Dongyun’s hand and giving it a squeeze.

Changuk doesn’t miss the yearning in Dongyun’s eyes, much like his own, years ago in his small apartment in the city. The moonlight casts long shadows of Dongyun’s eyelashes across his cheeks, and every fluttering blink stirs something in Changuk. He wants to show Dongyun the sky, the most exquisite thing he can offer to his love.

When Dongyun is fast asleep, curled up in the duvet, Changuk leaves the house with a mission in mind. He searches for something he can tie to himself and settles on a funny looking rock he finds by a tree. Taking to the skies with a rock tied to his waist is something he’s never done before, but he wants to make sure he gets it right. He manages to stay in the air for 20 minutes, his wings growing weak with exhaustion as he lowers himself to the ground. 

He repeats the process night after night, carrying heavier things as he goes, ensuring that he can support Dongyun’s weight without complications. It’s a risk to bring Dongyun with him because humans aren’t made to be in the sky. It’s bizarre how they crave it, romanticising views from their aeroplanes and spending decades attempting to place themselves amidst the clouds. There are just some things about mortals that Changuk will never understand, but he is content with what he can comprehend.

Changuk uses Dongyun’s phone to buy a harness, and he makes sure he buys the kind that humans use when they throw themselves out of aeroplanes and trust that an inanimate object will unfold in time to allow them to land safely. It has an unusual name - parachuting. 

When he’s sure that he has assessed all the risks, he presents the harness to Dongyun one cool evening during an advertisement break on the television. 

“What is this?”

“A harness. I want to show you the skies,” Changuk feels his face heat up as he fiddles with the straps of the harness. He’s nervous for some reason, knowing that this is all he has to offer Dongyun, and he feels that it pales in comparison to everything that Dongyun has brought into his life.

“Can’t I just hold on to you or sit on your back?” 

“Kim Dongyun, first of all, I’m your guardian angel, and there’s no way I’d put your life in danger like that,” Changuk pauses, thinking of an appropriate comeback to the second option, “and I’m not a dragon so no, you can’t sit on my back.”

“I’m so lucky I have a bird as a boyfriend,” Dongyun quips, attempting to keep a straight face.

“I’ll undo the harness and let you fall to the ground if you call me a bird again.”

“As if you’d dare.”

The conversation ends there and they head out later that night, with Changuk holding a printed copy of the instructions of how to put the harness on properly. He’s careful, gentle as he tightens the straps around Dongyun’s body, feeling his heart fill with love with how Dongyun trusts him so implicitly, leaving his life in Changuk’s hands.

When Changuk finishes triple-checking that he’s fastened everything correctly, he leans in and plants a kiss on the top of Dongyun’s head.

He takes off to the skies then, feeling the wind in his hair and the roar of rushing air in his ears. Distantly, he picks up a small shriek of terror from Dongyun. Changuk laughs, continuing his ascent into the clouds, before slowing to a stop. Their home is nothing more than a dot on the ground beneath them, and the dead silence in the skies coupled with the sound of Dongyun’s shallow breaths paint a picture of an idyllic serenity.

Dongyun is quiet, gazing at the clouds and the stars, turning his head every so often. He lets out small huffs of amazement, and as Changuk begins to fly around slowly, Dongyun tilts his head back to rest it against the angel’s shoulder. 

Changuk wants to pause everything, to take Dongyun in until the image is burnt into the back of his eyelids for the rest of time. In the balance between finite mortal lives and unceasing time, Changuk has found love.

They stay in the sky for a while longer, their small flight among the stars being put to an end when Dongyun mentions being light-headed due to the high altitude.

When they land, Changuk undoes the harness with deft hands, and the moment it falls to the ground, Dongyun spins around and envelops him in a hug. Changuk’s hands act on their own accord, snaking around Dongyun’s body and holding him close. Dongyun tucks his face into Changuk’s neck, nuzzling up against his pulse point. 

“Thank you, I know it wasn’t easy for you to put me in danger just because I wanted to be a part of your world even for just a moment,” he mumbles into Changuk’s neck, and the angel has to take a moment to comprehend what Dongyun said.

“You’re already a part of my world, you’re all of it,” Changuk says. Dongyun smiles into his neck, reaching out to swat him lightly on the arm.

“You’re cheesy. Really though, that was the most romantic carpet ride I could ever hope to have.”

“Am… am I a carpet to you?”

“Oh, I forgot that you wouldn’t understand an Aladdin reference.”

When they eventually make it back to their home, with Dongyun still clinging to Changuk, they watch Aladdin, and fall asleep to dreams of an eternity together.

The phone rings with a certain shrill urgency that Changuk has grown to hate. Dongyun rushes towards it and picks it up, speaking in hushed tones. It’s been a common occurrence for a few months now, with Dongyun’s parents regularly calling to check on him.

“No - no I’m not getting married. I doubt I ever will,” Dongyun speaks in hushed tones, cradling the receiver against his face, glancing at Changuk as he responds to his mother.

“I’m fine, I’m happy in the countryside, the traffic is way better here,” he sighs into the phone. Changuk watches, bemused as Dongyun expertly skirts around his mother’s questions about his love life.

When Dongyun finally hangs up, he turns to Changuk and shakes his head in exasperation, before tossing himself onto their bed.

“Dongyun, do you ever want to get married and have kids?” 

Changuk is filled with apprehension as the words leave his mouth, terrified of the answer. He knows he cannot give Dongyun those things, and it scares him to think of a future without Dongyun.

“Of course I do,” Dongyun says, raising his head off the bed to look at Changuk, standing at the foot of their bed.

Changuk feels his heart sinking and he blinks rapidly, the air knocked right out of his lungs. 

“Oh.”

Dongyun sits up then, his eyes wide in panic as he scoots across the bed, reaching for Changuk’s hands, holding them between his own.

“I meant that I want it with you. Who else could I possibly be thinking of?”

“You know that I technically don’t exist, so I could never give you any of that,” Changuk says, his eyes trained on their clasped hands, wondering how Dongyun could be content without marriage or kids, the two biggest milestones of a mortal life.

“You’ve given me more than enough, my lover. You should know by now that I don’t want a life if it isn’t with you.”

The Changuk from a mere timeline ago would have scoffed at the mindless things that humans say, measuring all their success and happiness with something as intangible and fickle as love.

But now, with Dongyun staring straight into his eyes, with a sincerity that plunges him into a world of Dongyun, and only him, Changuk begins to believe him. For he too, believes that he wouldn’t want to live a single lifetime without his Dongyun in it.

When Dongyun turns 65, so does Changuk. Dongyun’s hair is reminiscent of salt and pepper, streaked with white.

It’s this year that Changuk almost loses his mind. He’s having a crisis, turning around in front of the mirror, lifting the layers of feathers on his wings, only to be greeted by a pale, fading blue on the tips of the wings. Dongyun is standing in the doorframe, examining Changuk’s feathers as well.

“It’s really not that bad. At least your hair is still mostly black.” 

It’s a noble effort to comfort Changuk but he’s still upset as he stares at himself in the mirror, miserable at the thought of losing the vibrance in the part of himself he loves the most.

“How are you still so handsome?” Changuk whines, turning around and narrowing his eyes at Dongyun. 

Dongyun shrugs, attempting to hide a smile.

“Doesn’t this mean you’ll have to start painting my wings white?” Changuk asks, with a petulant pout on his face.

“After all these years, you still don’t know how this works, do you?” Dongyun laughs, moving behind him and slinging an arm around Changuk’s waist, taking in the view of them in the mirror, years of love being reflected back at him. 

It strikes Changuk at that moment too, lifting his hand to place it over Dongyun’s on his waist. Dongyun’s hands are warm, much like the way he makes Changuk feel. 

Dongyun speaks again, affectionately kissing Changuk’s shoulder. 

“I’ll paint you no matter what, you’re the most beautiful angel in the world.”

“That’s because I’m the only angel you’ve ever met,” Changuk breathes, feeling his ears turn red, as if it was the first time Dongyun had said such a thing to him.

“The only one that matters,” Dongyun coos, smiling as he pulls Changuk even closer.

“Changuk, when I die, will you take on another assignment?” Dongyun asks one day, his voice frail and his eyes closed in bliss as he gently rocks himself back and forth in the rocking chair Changuk insisted on buying.

“Do you want me to?” Changuk asks in return, knowing that retirement is an option for guardian angels. It promises an eternity of nothingness much like death for mortals. 

Dongyun stays silent, unsure of what to say as he looks at Changuk. His breaths are much more laboured than they were in the past, and his eyes are brimming with unshed tears when he tells Changuk that he is unsure. They haven’t spoken much about what comes after Dongyun passes, but the reality of it grows more pressing with each passing day, with Dongyun growing older.

“At the very least, you’re letting me live on forever in you,” Dongyun says. He’s grateful for the chance to withstand the test of time within Changuk’s mind, and he knows he can go in peace, knowing that he has lived a good life. Changuk holds his hand, intertwining their fingers and looking at Dongyun with an intensity that is almost reverent. Dongyun feels blessed in the knowledge that an angel, a real angel, has been with him every step of the way.

The fear of death becomes comprehensible to Changuk over time, but it is not just any death that he fears - it is Dongyun’s. 

Changuk knows that the memory of Dongyun will be imprinted in his mind for centuries to come, but it doesn’t make it any less painful when he wakes up one morning in a panic, all his senses firing as he’s acutely aware of his mortal’s life leaving his body. It’s an awful feeling for a guardian angel to experience and he should have gotten used to it by now, considering it’s his 50th time. Dongyun’s eyes are open, searching frantically for Changuk as his breaths leave him in small gasps. Changuk has no idea what to do, holding Dongyun close, wrapping his wings around them and whispering sweet nothings into Dongyun’s hair. Changuk’s chest tightens with every laboured breath that Dongyun takes, and tears are freely streaming down his face as he feels it, feels every second of Dongyun’s pain. Dongyun fumbles around for Changuk’s hand, desperate for purchase, holding on for dear life, and they stay like that, until everything stops at once. The moment Changuk’s chest lightens, he breaks down in sobs that never seem to end. 

It’s this passing that hurts the most, unrivalled by any other due to the ache in his heart that refuses to fade. 

In a moment of unbearable vision, they take Dongyun away from him, reporting in the news that night that the famed artist died alone in his bed. Rage floods his veins, and the anguish he feels is unlike anything he’s experienced before. Changuk hates the idea of the world not knowing the depth of the love they had for each other, painting Dongyun as a tortured, lonely artist with an immense talent for deeply beautiful and exceptionally romantic art. For the first time in his existence, he hates the idea of immortality and wishes to be mortal, just like Dongyun.

Changuk is lost, wandering through the empty home him and Dongyun shared. He can’t bring himself to return to the Council, to take on his 51st assignment when he knows all he will be thinking of is this home and everything in it. Perhaps it is time for retirement. He’s considering it for a while, staring at a jar of his feathers that Dongyun kept on a shelf in their living room. The tips of his wings have gone white with age, and he notices a few feathers in the jar with tips in a vivid blue. Dongyun collected every single one he found, even from the very beginning. He takes a seat on the worn couch, willing the tears away as he looks at the one painting Dongyun insisted on mounting on the wall, right where everyone who came in would see it. The one of them among the stars, free-falling, lost in each other.

Time passes, and the sun begins to set as Changuk continues to stay lost in his thoughts, memories of the years they spent together replaying in an endless loop. The doorbell rings then, and the door swings open.

Yunseong steps through the threshold of the door, holding up the spare key they gave him when they first moved in. Changuk nods as a greeting, shifting slightly on the couch to make space for Yunseong.

They sit in silence, taking it all in, before Yunseong speaks. 

“You know I’ll miss you, right?”

Changuk nods curtly, avoiding eye contact with Yunseong and choosing to wring his hands out in his lap. He knows he cannot look at him without a thousand unspoken thoughts pouring out.

Yunseong’s soft sighs as his eyes rove around the room are comforting in an odd way, and when he reaches out, gently touching the angel’s clasped hands, Changuk knows he isn’t alone in missing Dongyun. 

“I’ve never gotten around to asking you this, but does heaven exist? I just thought it might, since guardian angels do.”

Changuk is taken aback by the sudden question and finds that he doesn’t have an answer, much like most other situations he’s experienced during this assignment. There are so many questions left unanswered, but they pale in comparison to the things he’s learnt - how there is joy in the nullifying, negating, repeating nature of life.

“I don’t know if it exists but I hope it does.”

“If it does, I’m sure he’s waiting for you. He loved you more than anything, you know?”

Changuk knows, of course he does. 

He wonders if Dongyun’s soul is out there, waiting for him atop a wide white staircase. The humans believe so strongly in the concept of an afterlife of eternal bliss, and Changuk hopes, against everything he’s been conditioned to believe, that it exists. 

As Yunseong continues to keep Changuk company, he realises that Yunseong has aged well, his trademark snark and vivacity enduring over the years. He hasn’t lost his touch, attending exhibitions as the Guest-of-Honour, speaking at events, and teaching the budding art critics how to pick out what truly matters in a work of art. Changuk has watched him grow, just as much as Yunseong has watched the angel find his place in the world.

“Yunseong, you’re going to take care of yourself and spend a lot of time with your grandchildren, right?”

Yunseong hesitates before he answers, allowing the meaning of Changuk’s words to sink in. He knows this is the closest to an ‘I love you’ that he will ever get from the angel, and the fact that Changuk cares enough to ask speaks volumes about the nature of their friendship. 

Changuk is expectant, waiting for a reply, expressionless save for the way his eyes are glossy with unspoken emotion.

“I love you too, you know. You were - no, you are a great friend,” Yunseong says.

A pregnant pause, and then Changuk sniffles before saying, “I know. You too.”

Yunseong reaches out to flatten a portion of Changuk’s feathers that have fallen into disarray. “For old times’ sake. When will I ever get to touch a real angel’s wings again?” Yunseong chuckles. Changuk remembers the day of Yunseong’s wedding, where Yunseong used one of Changuk’s feathers as ‘something blue’, keeping it nestled within his jacket pocket. That same feather is still framed on Yunseong’s living room wall, decades after the wedding. Changuk knows Yunseong won’t be forgetting him anytime soon.

With that, Yunseong stands up and prepares to leave.

Changuk can’t bear to watch as Yunseong makes his way to the door, because he knows that if he does, he will have to watch the last remaining human connection he’s made in this timeline breaking right in front of him. As the door shuts behind Yunseong, Changuk finds that the home is achingly empty, and the rolling fields beyond the windows never seem to end. 

In that moment, Changuk makes his decision, and leaves at night, clicking the lights of the house off one last time, bidding farewell to every memory he made within its four walls and the sky above it. He hopes the house goes into good hands after he leaves.

Back in front of the Council of Guardian Angels, he’s about to tell them what he’s decided on when he gets interrupted by the head of the Council.

The head tells him that they’ve never seen anything like this before, a genuine relationship between a mortal and their guardian angel. They’re curious, and they look at him with a fascinated kind of disdain. The Council pities him, he can tell. Changuk hates pity, but he’s willing to accept it if they offer him what he thinks they might.

They ask if he wants to redo his 50th assignment. It irks him to hear them refer to Dongyun as a mere number, a checkbox on his duties as a guardian angel, until it sinks in. 

They’re offering him another chance - another shot at loving and being loved in return.

Changuk says yes, without doubt, without question. He wonders if he will come to regret this, living the same life all over again, having to renavigate the waters of getting Dongyun to fall in love with him.

He finds himself back in the apartment, watching Dongyun as he sketches an apple, carefully measured strokes across the white paper that Changuk has grown to love. Dongyun is young again, brimming with youth and unrealised potential. He tries not to disrupt this timeline, staying hidden and not revealing himself to Dongyun just yet. 

Dongyun leaves the house after he finishes the sketch and throws it away, and stands by the crossing as he fiddles with his phone.

Like clockwork, the truck approaches Dongyun with a speed that terrifies Changuk. If he gets this wrong, it could all be over. Changuk materialises, grabs Dongyun, and tosses him out of the way of the truck as it rams into the traffic light where Dongyun was standing. Changuk disappears before Dongyun can take a look at him.

Days later, Dongyun is fast asleep at 4pm in the afternoon, pencils strewn across the table and the same creaky desk chair in its usual place. Dongyun looks peaceful, sprawled out on his bed, with his tousled hair sticking up in 10 different directions. Changuk sits on his usual seat, the familiar creak greeting him. He runs his hand along the frayed stitching, marvelling at how it is exactly how he remembers it. He remembers how it broke when they were 23, and how Dongyun felt such a strong attachment to it that he almost cried when they were throwing it away. 

Changuk wonders what he wants to do differently this time. He knows some things are constant, and he knows he will love Kim Dongyun just the same in this timeline. The look of confusion on Dongyun’s face when they made eye contact for the first time in the previous timeline is etched in Changuk’s mind and he’s looking forward to it, counting down the seconds.

Dongyun wakes up from his nap just then, opening his eyes and looking straight at Changuk. Time falls still around them, as if someone pressed pause. Changuk sees Dongyun, and only him in that moment. They maintain their eye contact for a few charged seconds, and Changuk knows right then it was worth it, and that he would do it all over it again, as many times as the universe would permit him to. 

As they continue to stare at each other, Dongyun smiles. 

Press play.