Chapter Text
Kai wouldn’t say he’s alone, per se. Not exactly.
Nobody is ever actually alone, he thinks: There are billions of other people in the world, after all. Even without that technicality, Kai knows he’s not alone in the more metaphorical sense. He has friends― good friends, friends that are genuinely there for him through thick and thin, through fire and thunder and pretty much until the end of the world because Kai lucked out, somehow. He has his family; his mother, his father, his sisters, his grandparents and aunts and cousins that are all constantly calling him because you’ve grown so much! Come, let’s have lunch together!
So no, Kai’s not alone. Not even close.
And yet, during nights like these, nights where he’s got that round ball of emptiness in his chest and his apartment feels horribly, horribly large and empty…
Kai feels lonely.
Yeonjun doesn’t care, okay? He’s only going to do his job. He tells Taehyun as much, and pointedly ignores him when all he does is shoot him a flat look.
“Hyung,” Taehyun insists, in that one tone of voice that nags the hell out of Yeonjun. Hyung don’t do this, Hyung you’ll hurt yourself, Hyung you’re doing it wrong-
“Hyung, your job is caring.”
Yeonjun shudders, “No, my job is to make sure he doesn’t die before he’s supposed to, or hurts himself too badly. Feelings are completely unrelated.”
“You sound ridiculous,” Taehyun whines, “what’s so bad about letting yourself feel things? It’s not like there’s a rule against it or anything. Ninety-seven percent-”
“Spare me the statistics,” Yeonjun deadpans, fluttering two of his wings indignantly. “I won’t. You know why.”
Taehyun frowns, and rolls his eyes, “I can’t believe that out of all of us , the one who got selected for the Beholder project was the one angel that hates his charge .”
“You made me apply,” Yeonjun points out. Taehyun draws his pair of wings in, shrugging.
“We get extra credit for referring another Guardian to an extracurricular. I wanted the points, but I didn’t think you’d actually, you know. Get it.”
“And why not?!” Yeonjun bristles. Taehyun raises a hand and stops walking, pointing behind him. Yeonjun turns, mouth twisting as he realizes they’ve arrived at his room and pins Taehyun with a dirty look while opening the door.
“Because you’re the most clinical Guardian ever?” Taehyun peers at him curiously, “Perhaps...were you actually hoping you’d get in?”
Yeonjun physically gags. Taehyun laughs, despite himself.
“Just help me pack,” Yeonjun grumbles, and steps inside. The Program dorms are sorted by Heavenly circle, which Taehyun clamours is clear discrimination despite the fact he needs half of the space Yeonjun does, considering his distinct lack of triple pairs of wings.
Yeonjun personally would give him the room, if he could. He’ll never admit it, but sometimes he wishes he occupied a little less space, was just a little bit smaller, or even just called less attention by sheer will of size.
But he’s the only Seraphim who’s in the Guardian program instead of the Worshipper one, so he’d stick out like a sore thumb either way. And additionally, with the trouble he has fitting in the classrooms comes the expectation of success. Seraphims are few and far in between, the best at whatever they attempt, the ones destined to rise above all sin and be the epitome of what their Lord wants for the world.
Yeonjun just wants to live his life, for all the good it does him.
“Don’t be too mean when you’re down there,” Taehyun throws one of Yeonjun’s sweaters into his suitcase, folded to a tiny unrecognizable square. Yeonjun fears how he does that kind of stuff, without even using Divine incantations, “If I can’t meet Soobin next year because you purposefully messed up your charge, I’m burning all of your things.”
“I’m professional, not heartless ,” Yeonjun fires back, fiddling with a loose thread on one of his socks, “He’s not gonna be any worse than he is right now. And he’s doing pretty good! He has good friends, a stable career lined up, a nice relationship with his family…”
“Yeah, yeah. He’s doing great all thanks to you ,” Taehyun raises an eyebrow, “Not like you just dropped a vague little life plan and skedaddled away.”
“I’ve done plenty for him! I literally sent ice cream money under his pillow just yesterday ! Out of pocket!”
“You did that by accident . I was there.”
The air shimmers in front of Yeonjun just as he opens his mouth to protest, an exclamation point forming out of clouds and letting out a weak little whistle. A reminder. The administration must be impatient. Yeonjun bats it away, stuffing the last of his necessities into his suitcase and closing the zipper on it.
It doesn’t feel very final when he props it up. He doesn’t feel any sense of melancholy, looking around the room, no feeling that tells him that he won’t see this place again for a year , and even then it will only be to pack up and move out.
His soul does twinge a little bit when he looks at Taehyun, but with the hurried gestures the Dominion gives him, he waves it off as annoyance and nothing more.
“What was your charge’s name again?” Taehyun pipes up as they walk out of the dorm room, Yeonjun locking up and settling the key around his neck in the familiar way he’s done it for a while.
“Kai…” Yeonjun bites his lip, “Kai...something. All I know is his first name is Kai, honestly. I need to open my Charge Book again.”
Taehyun looks at him exasperatedly, “Lord help him. How do you call yourself his Guardian if you don’t even know his name? Do you even know what he looks like?!”
“Vaguely? Last I saw he was a weedy little squirt, coconut hair, the works. He has a bunch of moles? I remember using a marker to trace them and accidentally staining his face back when he was born.”
Taehyun looks like he’s actually starting to get concerned, “Hyung, you’re seriously a piece of work. You won’t be able to find him if you don’t know anything about the kid!”
“I know stuff about him!” Yeonjun defends, “I know all the stuff I need to know. I know his life inside and out, just with fewer minute details like names or looks. Or ages. Stuff like that.”
“Study your Charge Book on the way down or I’ll report you to the Cherubims,” Taehyun threatens.
Yeonjun’s wings frazzle, spraying feathers everywhere, “Got it! Sheesh! You’d think he was your charge!”
“If you think that’s okay, then I really do pray for that guy. But that reminds me, can you find my Soobin once you’re down there if you have time?” Taehyun’s eyes are large and worried, and Yeonjun thinks that this Soobin guy better appreciate having Taehyun as a Guardian.
“Sure, whatever. Last name?”
“Choi. Choi Soobin, since it’s in Korea.”
“Oooh, that’s a good one. I’m gonna use it,” Yeonjun does his usual blink-and-you’ll-miss-it wink. Taehyun sighs.
“Do whatever you want. If you find his brother, you can reach him through that way too. Choi Beomgyu!”
“You act as if you won’t talk to me when I’m down there,” Yeonjun laughs, then says seriously, “You will, right? I need to know what happens at the end of ‘Principality Kim’.”
Taehyun blows him a kiss, then waves and walks away. Yeonjun hates it when he does that, even though he can already hear Taehyun’s message in his ears.
Bye-bye, Hyung. Be good. Talk to you later .
Yeonjun sticks his tongue out and continues walking to the administration, suitcase rolling behind him.
He passes crowds and little bunches of angels of all ranks and circles, aware of the unsubtle stares as people continue to try to scrutiny him with their eyes after this long. The years up to now have been enough to dull any whispers or pointing that were so prominent when he’d first switched in, but curiosity is hard to give up entirely.
Yeonjun keeps his back straight.
The moment he approaches the administration it all goes by in a whirlwind. The Project manager grabs his arm and yaps away in his ear about the fantastic opportunity at testing the capacity of affecting a charge directly, and how he’s so glad to be able to bestow his faith in someone so capable and Yeonjun tunes out at that point, content he’s not missing much as someone tries to take his suitcase but lets it go when his grip on it tightens.
He zones back in once they arrive at the transporter facility, surrounded by people that he startingly realizes have no wings. He knows, logically, that the Celestial rank that actually has the name of ‘Angels’ that most use colloquially works mainly in the mortal relations area, but it’s still disconcerting to see so many people without wings in one place.
“-it won’t hurt at all, I can swear by it!” Manager says, offering him a seat on a high chair by some vials coloured silver and gold. Yeonjun nods along.
“Just drink ‘Martensite A’,” he lifts the silver solution, “and in a few hours, you’ll look and seem quite mortal indeed! You’ll even gain a few wrinkles, given some decades! And if you choose to return-”
“Don’t count on me staying down there, at least,” Yeonjun interrupts. The Manager nods, startled.
“Er, yes. Once back in Heaven, ‘Martensite B’ will have your wings back in a jiffy! We include some of each in the Beholder survival kit, just in case you encounter some...unpleasant company, so fret not. It even has a carry-friendly clasp if you’d prefer to have it with you. My idea, of course.”
Yeonjun nods and nearly jumps out of his skin when he looks to the left to see a small square bag being thrust in his face. Gingerly he takes it, feeling a cold and textured glass tube underneath. He puts the bag inside his suitcase and inspects the tube with the Martensites with some measure of genuine interest.
It’s pretty, at least. The tube is coated with metal and divided into two sides with separate screw-on caps for individual use, with a thin clasp tied to the end with gold liquid inside. The metal is warped into branches, decorated to mask the true purpose of the pendant, pretty enough that Yeonjun thinks he might have bought it if he saw it in a store.
That’s probably the idea, anyway. Yeonjun clips it next to his dorm key, on his neck, and looks up for further instruction.
The Manager holds out the silver fluid, smiling just a little sharply. Excited. Eager.
Yeonjun belatedly realizes that he’s probably the only Seraphim in Heaven that would allow his wings to not be visible. Allow himself to be the guinea pig for something like this.
He can’t help but think it’s not all that important. He knows what he is.
So Yeonjun takes the vial, turns it over into his mouth, and swallows.
The flavor is heavily metallic, and although it’s not entirely unpleasant Yeonjun finds that he doesn’t like it. He’s not even sure if he can describe why; it feels lacking in something necessary, something that’s there but not quite. Like the flavor’s been replaced with a poor copy of the original, but Yeonjun has never tried what it was supposed to be, so he doesn’t know what it is that’s different except that something is.
The texture doesn’t make it hard to swallow, though, and the aftertaste is nonexistent. It’s gone before he can try to even think of anything similar, and a tingle runs down his back.
“Excellent!” the Manager claps, “By the time you make it down, your wings should be entirely gone! Please don’t hesitate to contact Heaven directly if you experience any other... symptoms .”
“Sure,” Yeonjun says distractedly, before doing a double take, “Wait, what kind of things should I look out for?”
“Nothing to worry about!” he says, and doesn’t answer the question . Yeonjun is nervous now, but it’s too late to think about it. The same person who handed him the kit takes his arm and drags him around, barely giving him enough time to grab his suitcase, walking briskly towards the other side of the facility until the large transporter tube is directly in front of them.
“Inside,” the man―a Cherubim―says, and Yeonjun nods, grabbing his suitcase against him and climbing in. The fit is not tight; the transporter is spacious and comfortable, designed to work as a temporary shelter wherever it lands until he can find another place to stay, so he has no trouble shimmying himself into a comfortable position in the seat on the other side of the tube.
By the time he’s settled in, the hatch has already shut without so much as a goodbye. Yeonjun tries not to be bitter (he thought they’d bonded, alright? they’d been together a whole three minutes! ).
“Please tie your seatbelt to avoid unfortunate accidents,” drolls the automated loudspeaker on the ceiling, making Yeonjun almost throw himself to the ground, but he maintains his composure and does as he’s told. He opens his suitcase as the countdown starts in the background, extricating his charge book with about as much delicateness as a tap-dancing hippo, leans back in his seat, and opens it to the first page
Huening Kamal Kai, he reads, sparking his memory of the round-faced boy he remembered. He blinks at the age listed (seventeen? going on eighteen? Yeonjun demands a refund, he swears the boy was like three last time he checked), but straight-up gasps at his renewing picture:
Kai’s face has grown into its features, cheekbones sharp and nose straight. His face is handsome, but still a little soft, like he still hasn’t completely dropped all of his baby fat and still has a little left to grow. Yeonjun is relieved by that much, at least, and the recognition of Kai’s tiny moles still visible all over his face and neck has a knot in his lung unraveling quickly, but-
Kai’s eyes look a little different as to how Yeonjun remembers. They’re beautiful eyes, yes, but they don’t look quite as starry and enthusiastic as they used to. Not exactly sad, either. Just...resigned?
Whatever, Yeonjun shrugs, any semblance of disturbance quickly falling flat as he can’t bring himself to care enough. No matter if Kai is his charge or not, Yeonjun is not obligated to give him anything except the bare minimum, nor is he particularly inclined to do so. Tough love, he thinks is the phrase.
He turns the page, and busies himself catching up.
He has a job to do.