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Seungmin genuinely loved his job. He knew he was a lucky one— that among millions upon millions of humans he and a special seven were chosen to be Heaven’s blacksmiths. To forge the wings of fiery harbingers of justices, what allows them to travel earthward to heal and comfort. It was a righteous duty, something he took so much pride in. This was his divine purpose, work that changed the lives of the very people he’d left in order to help. It’s what he dedicated himself to, a cause so noble it was worth willingly giving away any wings that he may be given. But without him, all that oh so blasé paperwork he dreaded the start of everyday wouldn’t ever have to happen. Which, now that he thinks about it, isn’t the best example. He’s very grateful that he has the privilege to complain about said paperwork in the first place.
But there were the parts that were less saintly. The days it hurt to contemplate over his greater purpose for too long. The fact that one mistake, a single crack of marble, a slight tarnish, a miniscule spot missing varnish— and the whole pair is labelled null. Usually either he or Minho would catch the mistakes in inspection, or they wouldn’t happen at all thanks to Changbin’s good eye and Jisung’s quick hands. But the few misses hurt more than just his ego. Workaholicism was great except when it proved all your fears right. The first time Seungmin fucked up a pair, he cried on the pristine marble stairs that led to their workshop. Where the few tears that slipped through reached the ground, laid nothing but slightly damp soil. One of the few reminders of his humanity, still in his soul under the veils of divine ichor that coursed through him.
He’s gotten better at pushing back the thoughts but he still gets nightmares occasionally. Falling. Nowhere in particular, just darkness and the feeling of air whooshing past him. There’s never an end to it yet he always feels like he’s making impact, bracing for the hit. He’s not even sure that’s physically possible, but the mere idea of losing the life he’s built, the family he has, the purpose he holds closer than reason should merit, petrifies him.
It is on one such night, cool wind through the curtains of his window brisk yet comforting in the way all things were up here, that he decides to do something about it.
They live in separate chambers but it’s not hard to find an open one in the dark. It would’ve been disappointing honestly if Seungmin hadn’t memorized the layout of their staying house at this point. He’s lost track of the years, for time flows differently, but it’s been enough that he knows seven respites from the tremors that plague him.
His fingers trace the wooden walls, counting how many times the grooves dip as panels. There are around twelve, enough that they have their own space but not too far that they can still pull shit like this. The anxiety calms from the motion alone, but he still shivers with the knowledge that failure breathes down hot on his neck daily. It’s an inexplicably large feeling. He feels suffocated every time he thinks of broken glass or broken marble. If he wasn’t focused on walking, his weak knees would’ve dragged him down to the floor by now.
Eventually he reached the twelfth, and the dip was large enough to hint at a door. Sure enough, guiding his hand downwards, he reaches the chill metal knob. He prays whoever is inside isn’t the same level of paranoid as him and locked it from the inside, or else he has to start counting again and it will most likely be back to his own room in defeat.
Click. Thankfully, not a miss. Seungmin opens the door slowly, not wanting to disturb the poor man inside.
All of the layouts were the same for efficiency’s sake, so he didn’t struggle walking up to the footboard and waiting for his eyes to finally finish adjusting to the darkness. The figure was tucked tightly in the sheets, legs pulled close to his chest in fetal position.
But before he could make a noise himself, the other man stirred from sleep, groaning as he propped himself up with his hand.
“Seungmin-hyung, it’s rude to interrupt people’s beauty sleep, you know.”
Oh, his Yang Jeongin.
He was one of the designers, fitting every pair of wings to each angel. Making sure they wouldn’t obstruct growth, had good wingspan, were able to attach properly without disrupting movement. But he was also one for embellishing his creations, on a level that nearly surpassed his mentor Hyunjin. His designs were often called risky, more ceremonial than practical, and sometimes outright a waste of time. Seungmin hated having to file those words in particular into the logs: irrelevant. Jeongin worked so hard on every assignment, an effort that did not go unnoticed by the team. He was their precious youngest, such a pride to all his hyungs.
Seungmin had his own soft spot for Jeongin, since they were the last to be scouted. Initially, there was almost a competitive spirit between them, since they were so close in age and work ethic. But real insults soon dissolved into faux teasing, and Seungmin couldn’t have wished for a better dongsaeng and best friend than him.
“Sorry, Innie. If I knew it was you I would’ve skipped this door.” He was genuinely apologetic, for once forgoing the jabs at his sleep schedule and how the younger isn’t known for his stellar slumber for a reason. The last thing he would’ve wanted to do was to bother Jeongin at such an early hour, for no reason other than his own overthinking. If he was more conscious he would’ve called himself selfish for it, but even he recognized in this dazed state that he needed help from others sometimes.
Jeongin seemed to sit more upright at that, blinking the grogginess away. Seungmin wanted to squish him. “What’s wrong, hyung? Is everything okay?”
“You know, just the usual.” He’s discussed his existential fear before, not in detail but enough that all the guys were aware of it. They’d stopped saying a few jokes, like threatening to throw the other over; while Seungmin genuinely appreciated that so much he felt a bit bad for forcing them to change the way they act just for him.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he offered. “It’s not like I’m going back to bed anytime soon.”
Seungmin would love to, but his issue wouldn’t be so persistent if he could’ve dealt with it right then and there. He shook his head, chest already a bit light just from talking with the younger. He didn’t want to burden him anymore anyways.
“Well, hyung, you know you don’t have to leave yet,” Jeongin said, quite mumbled either from returning sleepiness or embarrassment. “You could always just stay here with me. For a while.”
The option did interest him more than not. It’d be harder for him to fall back to sleep as well, and there was always the risk of the anxiety taking hold of him again. Logically, it made sense to have someone at his side to make sure he’s safe, and no better than in the company of someone already so comforting to him.
“Hyung, what’re you still standing there for?”
“Jeongin-ah, why must you plague me with so many questions? Answer me that, aegi-ah.”
Jeongin looked up at him softly, an adjective Seungmin never understood being attributed to someone's eyes until he meant Jeongin. The way he looked with such care, like Seungmin was delicate marble being sculpted just as he was hoping, the perpetually sun kissed clouds dotting the sky parting for the celestial titan herself. There was a certain joy that spilled out of the cracks of Jeongin, and most often it came through his sparkling near black eyes.
It was only when Jeongin’s lips broke into a smile that he realized he’d been staring this whole time; for some reason, he didn’t quite mind it.
“D’you wanna sit?” Jeongin yawned as he sat up fully, moving over slightly and casually leaning against the headboard. Unlike Seungmin, Jeongin ran hot at night, so his shorts were ridden high and tank top sticking to his skin with sweat. It gave him a sheen, almost like a halo that moved with him. The sight itself screamed home, something technically unfamiliar to him yet so Jeongin that Seungmin didn’t feel it.
When Seungmin sat down, body still a bit tense, he felt his anxiety swell up again. It was so stupid, so irrational, everything Seungmin usually wasn’t. He kept his head down, trying to focus on his rising and falling chest to remind him he was here.
“Minnie-ah, can you look at me?”
Jeongin knew what he was doing, dropping the honorifics as he rarely did, but Seungmin couldn’t scold him when he was met with his maknae’s tense face. He knew he had to face his fears soon, it was the brave thing to do, but he never felt the safety he craved to be able to do it. With Jeongin, it started to feel okay to be raw. He still wasn’t excited by the prospect, but if there was anyone he’d want it’d be him.
“Ah, Yang Jeongin,” he sighed, smiling incredulously. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“I can say what I want, thank you,” he huffed, employing his signature pout that made everyone want to squish him like a hydraulic press. It didn’t make sense why Jeongin still did it, since that was the last reaction he could’ve possibly wanted, but Seungmin liked to think there was a part of him that wanted that, and they just had to force it out with their coos and babying.
“For the record, you really don’t have to talk about it.” Jeongin gazed at him apologetically, mistaking Seungmin’s deflection as distance. “I just think it’d be good to, I don’t know, finally get it off your chest.”
“Don’t be sorry about it, Innie. You’re right, it would do me some good.” Saying the words out loud changed things. No longer was it just a prayer, something he wished was achievable but could never reach. There was a want and there was a way, and most importantly someone to keep him accountable. He was still stiff, of course; the thought still nearly petrified him where he was sitting right then and there. But it was less scary knowing Jeongin was there. Everything was, now that he thought about it.
“Hyung,” Jeongin started, fiddling with his rosary ring. He’d kept it even after having his worldview shattered, not because he wished to return back but because it anchored him to reality. Seungmin recognized the nervous habit immediately, but he didn’t have the courage to hold his shaking hands yet. “I haven’t told the other about this yet, ‘cause I know it’d only worry them more and I hate that, you know I hate when the guys worry about me—”
“Innie-ah, breathe for a second.” He held his shoulder instead, squeezing it lightly, as a reminder that they were still here; he didn’t know who it was more for. “If you don’t want me to tell them, I won’t. I’d never do anything to make you uncomfortable, aegi-ah.”
Jeongin scoffed, like the idea itself was ridiculous; Seungmin felt a pang in his chest. “It’s okay, hyung. Thanks, though. Sorry for making this about me for a second, but I think it’ll help.”
“But I think that I’m… also scared, the way you are.” His chest rose with clear difficulty, but when he looked at Seungmin’s eyes it was as though all the tension in his shoulders had deflated. “I’m scared of falling, of failing. That I’m not enough for everyone. And normally it’s not that big of a deal but it feels like it with you? I just don’t want you to be alone in this.”
“This really is a gut spilling session, isn’t it?”
“M’sorry if you didn’t need that, it’s ju—”
“Yah, Iyen-ah. You’re so much cuter when you’re smart, where’s all this dumbness come from, huh?” Seungmin ruffled his hair, and for once instead of rejecting it the younger leaned into it, like a wild fox finally accepting the small gifts of civilization. “Yeah it does help, a lot. A big thing is being alone, and while I hate that you feel the same way I do, I’d rather it be with you.”
Jeongin looked up at him, eyes wide like chunks of obsidian. “So you’re not mad?”
“I could never be mad at my Innie, of course not.”
The younger flopped down on his bed again, eyes roaming the ceiling’s tiny dots and connecting them into shapes. He knew this because this was a common habit of theirs, so of course Seungmin followed suit. Jeongin’s face right next to his, their chests rising and falling in the same rhythm, and even the small exhales that signalled it was okay to breathe with him, to be with him, meant the world to Seungmin. It was in these quiet moments which just the two of them, previously so rare now a ritual in and of itself, that all of Seungmin’s thoughts revolved around their maknae, his precious dongsaeng. He really had grown so well, his cheekbones chiseled and defined like a sculptor’s finest work. His skin was as pure as marble, veins of oxidized iron coursing through his smile lines, the dimples that he’d grown so fond of. His hair fell on his face in inky blots, soft and begging to be carded through. The last was an impulse Seungmin couldn’t help, and he confirmed seconds later that Jeongin truly felt as soft as he looked and was on the inside.
Deep within him, he knew these weren’t things typical people thought about their best friends, but Jeongin and he weren’t normal people. They lived in the sky for fucks sake, yet he still couldn’t shake off the feeling that the warmth that rose in his chest was different than anything anyone has ever experienced.
“Why, hyung?” Jeongin’s voice was hushed, a bit dreamy in how airy and lost it was.
“Why what?”
“Why would you never be mad at me? What is it about me that you find so special?” He turned his head, eyebrows knitted thoughtfully even as his eyes betrayed concern. That was the uniqueness of their dynamic, something Seungmin had learnt not to take for granted. Jeongin would be vulnerable with him, sensitive in ways that would scare him, but only just as much as Seungmin gave him back. Originally, that was quite the hard arrangement, as Jeongin was focused on acting as grown as possible while Seungmin was still trying to learn what it was like to be a hyung. It was difficult, but there was a realization somewhere along the way that they didn’t have to act in a normal older-younger relationship; they could just be them.
“It’s just… us, Jeongin. That’s just how we are,” he shrugged, the motion awkward against the soft cushions and mattress. “We don’t stay mad at each other long, if ever. We share each other’s everything more than convenience at this point. We’re just us.”
Seungmin didn’t know how else to describe it really. He and Jeongin just always were. When he really gave it thought, he couldn’t imagine a world where their maknae wasn’t always by his side, that they chose their ceremonial wings to be the same pearlescent white as each other’s and only each other’s. It felt like fate, then, how the first door over was his. That he was the one to soothe him of his anxieties, that he was the one to share his own in such a vulnerable space. Everything that Jeongin did was full of so much love and consideration; he wouldn’t even take the risk of hurting someone yet could take so much hurt within and without himself.
“Hyung?”
“Yeah, Innie?”
“Do you ever think about what would happen if we never met each other? Like… just us?”
Seungmin sat in contemplation for a minute. As normal mortal humans, he doubted there was a chance. He worked a normal office job, taking the occasional gig as a singer in his free time and spending most of his spare money on baseball and concerts. He was a relatively normal young person, no one drab and boring but not exactly one with the most excitable life.
Jeongin was a musician, a model, an artist, an actor— everything little boys like they once were dreamed of becoming. The public knew him for his soft, innocent yet mature image. His voice was constantly compared to that of an angel’s. He was a dreamer, and even when he claimed to “take a break from the spotlight” and slowly backed away from the public eye, he was still respected enough that even if he quit the scandal would be minimal. When he completely disappeared, he was mourned but never harassed.
Jeongin was everything Seungmin wouldn’t be. Seungmin was everything Jeongin couldn’t be. The fact that they knew each other, lived and breathed each other every day, was quite frankly a miracle.
Yet when he tried to imagine a life without the younger now, no image came into his mind. There was no Seungmin without Jeongin, no Jeongin without Seungmin. It was almost uncanny how two people who never would have met under typical circumstances had become so intertwined with each other.
“I don’t think I’d be alive. I mean, there’s just no life without you and guys, is there?”
“What about just us, hyung?” There were threads of desperation in his voice tying themselves around him; he could feel Jeongin’s gaze on him darken with some kind of desire and fear. “What do you think of just us?”
“Did something happen, Jeongin? You seem pressed on something between us.” Seungmin hoped he hadn’t done something to hurt the younger in any way, but he just continued to focus on them, about the things they were to each other. It wasn’t unwelcome, but it was certainly confusing out of nowhere. “If I did anythi—”
“Have I not been obvious enough, hyung?” He hid his face in his hands, and if Seungmin looked close enough he would find Jeongin shaking with the weight of tears not shed. “Gods, this is so embarrassing.”
“Jeongin-ah, we’ve seen each other through worse, I’m sure it’s fi—”
“That’s the problem! We’ve been through so much and seen so much and you still don’t get it.”
Now Seungmin was getting worried. Was there something he had missed? Surely there was, based on everything Jeongin was saying, but he couldn’t understand what in the world he was talking about. They were both chronic overthinkers; he doesn’t think he could have a single thought without it spiralling but especially about Jeongin. The younger was his rock as he was to him. Like twin koi, there wasn’t a time where he didn’t have Jeongin’s thoughts in consideration.
This was all normal, of course. Jeongin was their youngest, and while they were all adults his love for him never stopped. It just grew and grew like a baby bird outgrows its nest yet still clings for its comfort. Except he didn’t know who the little chick was anymore, him or the man that seems to have found a permanent perch in his heart. Perhaps they really were twin hearts, enclosed in a cage of care and bronze.
But this feeling, the bubbling beneath his skin, the fluttering in his stomach fluttering up to his skin and lips and eyes— this wasn’t right.
“I… I think I get it, Iyen-ah.”
“Do you hyung? Do you really?” He could practically hear his pout, the pleading in his voice that was always there but he never especially took note of.
“We’re a bit too close. Not as a bad thing, it’s just—”
“—Whatever you’re feeling is so new and unprecedented that you never know what to do with it so you push it down until you forget it exists?”
“Jeongin-ah, please.” There was no stopping where this was going, like the rushing torrents crashing in a waterfall cascading down a mountain as a bird flies and the sun shines.
“I like you hyung. Is that it? No, no it’s not.” It was only now Jeongin turned his gaze towards Seungmin, eyes wild and nearly manic, shaking. “I love you. I love you the way the Heavens cares for the Earth. You’re my muse in anything and everything I create. You’re my heart and my soul and it’s stupid because you’ll never truly know how much I love you no matter how much I say it.”
Seungmin’s brain didn’t process anything he’d just been told before Jeongin sighed, looking away from him with a sense of shame. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. We’re both already stressed and I’m jus—”
“Innie. Jeongin-ah, listen to me, please.” Seungmin was ready to practically beg for him to cut off his thought process, the toxic poison seeping through his skin into the sheets and sighs left silently between them. There was no big realization, no “aha” moment that shattered his world. There was just the knowledge of knowing. Knowing the name of what he was feeling, of what Jeongin was feeling, what the both were and feared the other to be. It wasn’t the most uncharacteristic of him to be calm in this kind of situation, but here especially was also for Jeongin. For soft, beautiful, ever patient Jeongin.
“I’m not gonna say I like you back because it’ll make you feel better. I’m gonna say I love you too because I finally understand what that means.”
Seungmin’s hand strayed, his mind no use in controlling his heart. Maybe, just maybe; living off maybes for so long— that was Jeongin’s life ever since their hearts began to bloom in sync like roses in May. He wasn’t prepared for how Jeongin’s would grab onto him so aggressively, holding on tight as an anchor does to the ocean floor through waves tumultuous as hurricanes. He could feel the need, the desperate cling to something real in his own chest. This— this possessive desperation he could never know with someone else— was his doom. A seed planted years ago when they first broke through the barrier of clouds and starlight to the workshop where they’d spend their eternities.
“We’re safe together,” he mumbled, forcing them to turn facing each other. Under the dim moonlit skies, pouring in through thin veils, Jeongin’s hollowness turned into chiseled marble. Every inch of him gleamed with a radiance beside itself, so dazzling, pure and, dare he say it, angelic. “If that’s what love means then, yeah, I love you Innie.”
Jeongin’s lips hover over his in nearly an instant, the movement jolting the older but not shocking him. His hand moved to the small of his back as a calm, comforting reassurance that everything would be okay. That everything was always okay, that they just had to learn how to say it.
“Can I, hyung?”
Seungmin chuckled, breaths intertwining in an Impressionist waltz of color and brilliance. “Don’t ask stupid questions, aegi. It’s ill-fitting.”
Kissing was never Seungmin’s thing. He never understood the appeal, the need for skin on skin in such an intimate way to show oftentimes only mild affection. He also was never one for skinship to begin with, though he did enjoy it in moments and with people he wanted it from. Jeongin was the same because of course he was. Everything between them fit like opposite magnet poles sticking together, a cosmic pull that he could never describe with anything constrained by language.
But this, this kiss. This feeling of Jeongin filling him as sunlight absolutely dominates a spring day, their senses of self blurring into an entity so larger than them. Warmth dancing around the flitting touches, starlight with each slight breath and push.
This was what love felt like. Anxieties a figment of imagination, not unreal but also never able to touch you. Safety beyond a measure of doubt, a complete comfort Seungmin could only describe as home. Each touch an ask, never a plea or a beg because they’d both readily give each other their world, never a prayer because there were no gods meddling in their purest form of emotion.
Love was Jeongin. It was present in every crack of marble as it was in each flash of his dimples, eyes the Sun’s corona during an eclipse. It was in the squabbling, the hurt in his stomach that wouldn’t leave even after weeks passed because his heart beat out of ribs at the mere thought. It was in every soft glance, worried touch, the rare embrace that set his skin aflame with an adoration he was meant to save only for the heavens. Love was his Jeongin, his safe space, his home, his Heaven.
As their lips slowly parted, Seungmin could feel a slight ticklish feeling dance across his back. When he felt a bony bump on Jeongin’s, the softest of skins no human could possess, he couldn’t help chuckling to himself.
“You truly are an angel, Jeongin. And I’d fly anywhere with you, as long as I get to be there by your side.”
─ ⊹ ⊱ ꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ⊰ ⊹ ─