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He’s on the living room couch, reading The Picture of Dorian Gray when you call his name.
“I have a question,” you say.
Intrigued, Jimin sets the book down and looks at you to continue. You take that as an invitation to sit beside him. On the couch where you gave him a blowjob, his mind helpfully supplies – until the thought’s forcibly shoved from his mind.
You don’t even seem to notice.
“I was just wondering … what were you like as a kid? Did you even have a childhood? Or are angels just … fully sprung?” He almost laughs at your widened eyes, the innocent curiosity shining through.
“It’s complicated,” he starts. “I came to be. Created, like you, but differently. Sculpted from the Father himself – well, as were you – but without random chance. In ways, I was made to protect you, even before you came into existence, or were ever planned to.”
“Are you calling me an accident baby right now?”
Now, he does burst out laughing. “No! You know that’s not what I meant.” You smile – you knew, and seeing him smile so freely was a reward from Heaven itself. Quite literally.
“Then, did a little Jimin in diapers run around terrorising his parents? Did he have chubby cheeks and throw baby tantrums?” You coo, thinking of a mini-Jimin.
He grimaces at your baby voice in saying chubby cheeks and shakes his head. “No, I – uh …” He fidgets, and you watch in interest. Dear God. He’s never told you his age, his real one and not the one you made up for him. He smiles briefly at the memory of being assigned his ‘human birthday’ coined by you, but quickly returns to worrying about giving an explanation. “Well, you see – we don’t go through the same physical stages as humans like you, per se. When I came to be, I already knew all that had to be. In this form you see me in.”
“Aha! So you can predict the future, you lying liar.” You glare. He glares back.
“I said everything that had to be, and the future isn’t in that domain. Anyways,” he continues, seeing you were about to argue. “I had to learn a lot. About how to handle that vast amount of knowledge, how to carry out my duties – my life purpose. And about you,” he says softly. “To be your guardian angel. I was young, but I was never a … baby. Angels simply don’t go through the same physical stages as a human,” he shrugs.
He watches the way your gaze becomes unfocused, almost like you’re retreating into your thoughts. You’re trying to wrap your head around what he’s told you. Very human, to be curious about things bigger than themselves. Usually humans had problem interpreting the information they had gained, but Jimin’s been pleasantly surprised. The discovery of working electricity, of manufacturing a plane, and the writing of words to capture the essence of living – resonating with people all over the world. They were all brilliant examples of what humans were capable of, as in need of protection as they were.
“I see.” He waits patiently for your thoughts to be coherent. He knows you need the time. “What does it mean to be angel? I mean, how do you and other angels feel about your duty? Your charge? You said you had to learn how to be my guardian angel …” You trail off, cheeks heating with frustration at being unable to voice your true question. But he understands you.
“It’s our job, but the word job carries different connotations than the human word does,” he says softly. “It’s something very special to us, that few humans seems to find regarding their job.” His upper lip curls. It’s a facet of human culture he does not enjoy. “We treasure our charges very much. We love them, as the Father loves us, and his children – the humans. So, you’re right – because we love our jobs, we study for a very long time on how to guide you to your best life, filled with potential. What we all have for you, our charges, is unconditional love.”
He’s honestly pretty satisfied with his explanation – as simplified as he could make it without losing the emotional significance that came with his job. However, he sees something akin to pain cross your features, and he’s confused. That can’t be it, right? He didn’t even say anything hurtful in his explanation.
But he’s also trained in reading you. That was pain, he just didn’t know why. And that bothered him.
When you smile, sadness sits at the edges of the downturn of your lips. You pick at the stray fuzz of the couch, as he watches the tic. “I’m glad to be loved by you, Jimin. I can’t imagine a different guardian angel.” You smile brightly, the one he loves on you. He knows you’re sincere, but for some reason, he senses a lie somewhere in your sentence.
You abruptly stand up before he can confront you about it about it. “Well, how’s soup for dinner?”