Work Text:
i. daydream
Sat on the bed in the Daydream provided dorms, the feathers felt dry beneath his hands, oil built up in varying spots from lack of care. Beside him, a jar of oil still had the plastic packaging on. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to open it yet, unprepared to deal with the new limbs attached to him.
The wings were unwieldy, and Kim Soleum felt his overwhelming clumsiness everytime he spread out his wings. Two new feathery appendages had appeared as soon as he got dropped into Daydream’s initiation; he’d only gotten by by having them bound to his back all the time.
Now, he sorely regretted it, hissing as he awkwardly poked at the stretched out wing behind him. They ached in ways he hadn’t known was possible.
His alarm rang. The shrill sound of it made him flinch, and his wings flapped in turn, clumsy movements that felt heavy and slow. He’d have to groom them properly later, to the best of his abilities. Learn to use them, somehow — it could save his life in a Darkness one day. For now, he kept his face level as the wings were tucked away again, bound beneath his clothes and kept out of the way.
The oil in plastic packaging was put back into the drawer. Clothing shifted, a series of movements still unused to navigating life with wings rustling the fabric as he adjusted it over his bound wings. They ached, an oversensitive, sharp pain that spoke of too much time spent wrenched in one position, cramped and decidedly uncomfortable.
Then he went to work.
ii. the bureau
Hyeonmu-1’s new rookie was as secretive as he was competent — which was to say, Kim Soleum was the most reserved punk Choi had ever met.
Or, he would be, if not for the painfully endearing lack of control of his wings. Choi observed as he slung an arm over Soleum’s shoulders, and watched the way the wings twitched in surprise.
Soleum’s face remained stoic.
Their resident Daydream spy, sold out by his own wings.
Unexpected, really: for someone usually so controlled in their daily life to have so little control over their wings. Every movement from Soleum was calculated — the adjustment of the glasses, the deliberately hunched shoulders, the persistent look of anxiety shed only in Disasters to make way for a piercing intensity. And yet.
“Grapes-ie,” he said cajolingly. “How about some galbitang today?” He watched as the wings drooping behind Soleum lifted slightly, feathers puffing. His heart panged. Ah, Grapes really was….
“No thank you,” Kim Soleum rejected politely. “I already ate.” The wings drooped behind him again. Kim Soleum held himself as if uncomfortable in his own body, as if there was a persistent undercurrent awareness of being distinctly out of place. Choi observed him critically.
“…”
“…”
Neither of them shifted or volunteered more. Choi would. Choi usually did. He let himself remain quiet on purpose this time, let the silence sit, bolstered by Jaekwan’s presence in the room, forcing Soleum to attempt to retain basic social niceties.
…Really, Agent Choi thought. Their new hubae was so obvious. The wave of affection came as soon as it was tampered with a pang of dread. It was easy to want Kim Soleum to stay in their team.
Last week, he had watched as their hubae dive into a Disaster headfirst, body tense from fear and determined to save people all the same. It was easy to want Kim Soleum to stay. Too easy.
He watched as Kim Soleum adjusted his glasses, wings fluttering behind him, perpetually messy and in need of a proper groomng session. He wanted to offer to groom his wings, if only to see how Grapes would react. Would he let Choi? To earn his trust? How much of Choi’s trust did he need, anyway? Choi didn’t think so, but he was tempted to try.
He stamped down on the urge, aware of Jaekwan’s presence on the other side of the room, making a valiant attempt to seem focused and yet obviously listening in.
“You sure?” He smiled, calm, easygoing. “You’ve been working so hard, surely we should celebrate.”
There it was again: the polite smile, slightly distant. The tension in his shoulders, speaking of discomfort. And incriminatingly, the wings on his back, fluffing up. “I’m sure.”
iii. 130666
And after everything: the dream incubator, the casino, here they were, in the Bureau, Choi smiling and Soleum deflecting.
Soleum’s — for he was still Soleum, no matter what wispy, smokey form he took — wings were usually kept folded away neatly, perfunctorily groomed in a way that one could tell it was done without much care, but with just enough attention to blend into society. Not that it helped. Soleum’s wings were an odd colour anywhere he went, golden with hints of red in them. Choi had never seen anything else like it.
130666’s wings were…not like that.
Choi kept an easy, unreadable smile on his face. “Comfy?” he asked cheerfully, wheeling Grapes along the hallway down to the waiting room. It was where his steps took him naturally: back to his safe haven, the waiting room. As he did so, he kept a careful eye on Kim Soleum’s back.
The wings — what could be seen from the gaseous form of his body — were mangled. Shredded, really. Pulverised and bitten down and in awful condition, fighting to maintain a grip on his ever falling apart form, teetering precariously on the edge of a rooftop. Kim Soleum didn’t seem to notice.
Affirmative, the smoke scrawled in the air, the edges bleeding into the other letters until dissipation. Strange, how 130666 was the most communicative Choi had ever seen Soleum.
Choi felt his smile strain. He kept his grip carefully loose, wheeling the wheelchair down with a casualness unfelt. He stepped over the doorway of the waiting room and felt, for an aching moment, relief.
“I’m glad,” he said. He never did get to offer to groom Soleum’s wings.