Work Text:
The first thing Eggchan learned about the mortal world was that it was cold.
Not the kind of cold that bit through skin or froze rivers solid.
It was quieter than that.
Softer.
A cold that lived in empty houses and long roads and unanswered questions.
The kind of cold that settled into spaces where people should have been.
The kind that came from absence.
Eggchan hadn't expected absence.
When Heaven had called for him, he had imagined importance. Trumpets. Destiny. Ancient enemies lurking in forgotten corners of creation.
He was a seraphim.
Young, perhaps. Small by angelic standards. Still prone to getting lost in Heaven's gardens and accidentally wandering into places he wasn't supposed to be.
But still a seraphim.
He had expected greatness.
Instead they had handed him a name.
A child.
A Wube.
Protect him.
That was all.
No prophecy.
No explanation.
Just a lonely little life somewhere beneath the sky.
At the time, Eggchan had almost been disappointed.
Much later, he would realize Heaven had entrusted him with the most important thing it ever could have.
A heart.
Another person's heart.
And the terrifying responsibility of becoming part of it.
—
The Wube's name was Wemmbu.
When Eggchan first saw him sitting beneath the tree, he looked so small that Eggchan almost wondered if he'd arrived at the wrong place.
The child wasn't doing anything.
Wasn't playing.
Wasn't reading.
Wasn't talking.
He was simply sitting there.
Waiting.
For what, Eggchan couldn't tell.
The realization wouldn't hit him until much later.
Wemmbu had become very good at waiting.
When nobody comes, waiting becomes a skill.
The two of them stared at each other.
Neither spoke.
Neither moved.
“Did you fall from the sky?” Wemmbu asked.
As though such things happened every day.
As though miracles were ordinary.
As though strangers appearing out of nowhere wasn't strange at all.
Looking back, Eggchan would realize that lonely children rarely ask questions.
Questions only matter when you expect answers.
Wemmbu had stopped expecting them a long time ago.
So when Eggchan nodded and said yes, Wemmbu simply scooted over and patted the grass beside him.
Making room.
The way someone might make room for sunlight.
Or a bird.
Or a dream.
And for reasons he couldn't explain, Eggchan sat.
Neither of them knew it then.
But that tiny movement would become the center of both their lives.
—
Wemmbu lived alone.
Not temporarily.
Not because his family was away.
Alone.
The kind of alone that had become normal.
The house was so small it almost hurt to look at.
One chair.
One bowl.
One blanket.
One pillow.
Every object seemed to quietly confirm the same thing.
Only one person lives here.
Only one person has ever been expected.
Eggchan wandered through the little house feeling increasingly unsettled.
There should have been signs of someone else.
Another pair of shoes.
Another voice.
Another cup drying beside the sink.
Something.
Anything.
Instead there was nothing.
Just Wemmbu.
As though the entire world had narrowed itself down to a single child and forgotten everyone else.
“Where's your family?” Eggchan asked.
Wemmbu shrugged.
“Dunno.”
The answer was too casual.
Too practiced.
Like he'd repeated it enough times that it no longer hurt.
“Friends?”
Another shrug.
“Dunno.”
“Anybody?”
This time Wemmbu thought for a moment.
Then pointed directly at him.
“You.”
Eggchan's chest tightened so suddenly it startled him.
They had known each other for hours.
Hours.
Yet Wemmbu answered without hesitation.
Not because they were close.
Not because they'd earned trust.
Because Eggchan was simply the only person there.
The only person who had stayed long enough to ask.
And somehow that hurt even more.
—
The first night, Eggchan sat beside Wemmbu's bed.
Angels didn't need sleep.
So he watched.
That was his job.
Outside, wind brushed softly against the trees.
The house creaked.
The moon spilled silver across the floorboards.
Wemmbu slept restlessly.
Like someone accustomed to waking up alone.
Every small sound seemed to tug at him.
A shift.
A twitch.
A half-formed frown.
Then eventually his eyes fluttered open.
For a second there was confusion.
The awful confusion of someone waking up and trying to remember where they are.
Then his gaze found Eggchan.
And everything changed.
The fear vanished.
The tension disappeared from his shoulders.
“Oh.”
Just one word.
Tiny.
Sleepy.
But Eggchan would remember it forever.
Because it sounded relieved.
Not surprised.
Relieved.
As though some frightened part of him had expected the angel to disappear.
As though he'd spent his entire life learning that good things left.
Then Wemmbu smiled.
A small, exhausted smile.
“You're still here.”
Eggchan had never heard four words that mattered more.
“Of course I am.”
Wemmbu nodded.
Satisfied.
Trusting him completely.
Trusting him after only a single day.
Then he fell asleep again.
And Eggchan remained awake for the rest of the night.
Watching.
Because suddenly the thought of Wemmbu opening his eyes and finding nobody there felt unbearable.
—
The dependence didn't happen all at once.
If someone had asked, neither child could have pointed to the moment it started.
It grew quietly.
Like roots.
Like ivy.
Like something living that slowly wrapped itself around both their hearts until neither remembered where it began.
At first it was little things.
Wemmbu reaching for Eggchan whenever he laughed.
Turning automatically to share every thought.
Every interesting rock.
Every funny-shaped cloud.
Every stupid joke.
Every fear.
Every dream.
Then it became bigger things.
Bad days.
Nightmares.
Thunderstorms.
Loneliness.
The ache of growing up.
And Eggchan always listened.
Always answered.
Always stayed.
So Wemmbu learned something dangerous.
Whenever something hurt, Eggchan made it hurt less.
And Eggchan learned something equally dangerous.
Whenever Wemmbu smiled, the whole world felt brighter.
Whenever Wemmbu cried, the world felt wrong.
Neither realized they were building their entire emotional lives around each other.
Children rarely notice when they're constructing a home.
They only notice when it's gone.
—
Eventually, they stopped thinking of themselves as separate.
Not intentionally.
It just happened.
If Wemmbu wandered too far ahead on a trail, Eggchan felt restless.
If Eggchan disappeared into the clouds for too long, Wemmbu grew uneasy.
Meals were shared.
Silences were shared.
Thoughts were shared.
Days became impossible to imagine without the other somewhere nearby.
When Wemmbu woke up, the first thing he did was look for Eggchan.
Not because he thought the angel would leave.
But because seeing him made the day start correctly.
And when Eggchan returned from flying, his eyes searched automatically for a flash of familiar fur.
The moment he found it, something inside him relaxed.
Safe.
There you are.
Neither ever said those words aloud.
They didn't need to.
Their lives became built from a thousand tiny versions of them.
There you are.
There you are.
There you are.
Like a prayer neither knew they were repeating.
—
Years later, when they sat together on the hill watching the sunset, neither understood just how deeply tangled they'd become.
Wemmbu leaned against Eggchan.
Eggchan opened his wing.
Wemmbu immediately tucked himself beneath it.
Automatic.
Unthinking.
The same way breathing was automatic.
The same way hearts beat without permission.
There wasn't a world where he asked first.
There wasn't a world where Eggchan said no.
The space beneath that wing belonged to him.
Just as surely as the seat beside Wemmbu belonged to Eggchan.
Just as surely as every important memory either of them possessed contained the other.
Because somewhere along the way, without noticing, they had stopped being two lonely children.
They had become each other's proof that the world wasn't empty.
Each other's safety.
Each other's comfort.
Each other's home.
And neither knew what would happen if that home was ever taken away.
Neither wanted to imagine it.
So they didn't.
They simply sat together beneath the dying sunlight, shoulder pressed to shoulder, heart pressed unknowingly against heart.
Certain of only one thing.
If the world ever tried to separate them, it would feel less like losing a friend.
And more like losing half of themselves.