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In the low light of his apartment in London, Choi Yeonjun is faced with a sight that has plagued him for the last week, seared into the backs of his eyelids to haunt him when he turns away for even one second. God never fails to punish him at every twist and turn, though it seems for once in his new lifetime, He has been able to instil a guilt that Yeonjun had long since left behind himself. Sprawled across bloodied sheets lay his angel in all his former glory, twisted in agony, an echo of his former self.

There is no halo that floats gently above his golden hair; it lays smashed at the foot of his bed, sharp marble shards he has tiptoed around far too many times waiting for his angel to complete his turning. But it has been an entire week since the pin pricked scar had marred his neck and he is afraid that his angel is truly dying.

The first day of turning was a mirror image of his own  – writhing in pain as the venom had taken hold, eyes turning a deep burgundy red and his canines growing sharper. And that should have been the end, but the angel’s wings have proved an immovable obstacle.

Choi Yeonjun has witnessed many a miracle, usually ones naked to the mortal eye, but with death came an acute awareness of the kindness that floated behind his shoulder. Now, alone in his dimly lit apartment in London that he could barely call his home, he watches as that very kindness is stuck in a loop of agonising pain, bones breaking and healing under too taut skin. How truly grotesque an angel’s wings are when their feathers splinter and crackle onto the bed sheets, leaving them barren and raw. Can he even call him an angel anymore?

Vampire – that was what the coven had said people with their ailment were called. Yeonjun had always thought that “ailment” was too gentle of a way to describe their lifestyle. Despite the tragedies he had faced, he would never let that all-consuming guilt come back for something he could not control, something that had been forced upon him. 

When the angel stops writhing and raises his hands into the air, there’s a whisper of a voice in his ear, imperceptible in its nature, but he knows at the very least it is the pull of a sire to their fledgling. The angel’s slender fingers reach out into the strips of moonlight that find their way inside from the boarded windows. When he had first done so, he had thought the angel was reaching out to God, anyone above him, into the heavens for someone to save him, but when Yeonjun had reached out and the angel had taken his wrist in a vice grip, biting into his flesh with no warning, he had known the angel had truly fallen. The angel was truly his.

And once more, he takes the blood Yeonjun had hunted for the both of them, and Yeonjun waits with bated breath hoping that the angel finally comes to. But much like every night, when his angel finishes feeding, his burgundy eyes shoot open with pain and he falls into the same routine Yeonjun is helpless to. 

A familiar feeling he’s content in avoiding naming creeps back into his heart – if he were to name it, he would be back seventy years in the progress he had made, making his own miracles instead of relying on those beyond him. In fact, that feeling tempts him to run, just as he had away from Paris. But one look at the dried ichor that stains his sheets and his angel’s gentle face in the moonlight and he knows the message he leaves with abandonment. His fledgling is not a slight against God, but a simple selfish wish within the turmoil of his life. And just for that wish, he will continue to see it to the end, even if it destroys his heart.

˚₊‧꒰ა    ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

She appears beside him without a sound, and at first Yeonjun almost believes it is his angel in all his glory, but he quickly realises otherwise when he notices her downturned mouth. His angel never frowned, not at him at least. She does not look at Yeonjun, eyes fixed on the fledgling 

“Fascinating, from one immortal form to another, I did not think it could be possible.” Her voice is clear cut and concise, leaving no room for discussion. A small, mortal part of Yeonjun wants to stare in awe, bask in a familiar holy light he has not felt since his angel returned to him following the death of his first love. But the immortal part of him, the one raised by the coven, knows to stand unwavering and bold. 

“Though I am surprised you’ve kept my dear brother around for this long.” 

Brother. That familiar feeling sinks in his stomach.

“Why would I not? The vampiric venom has taken effect, I just…” He trails off, unsure on how to continue – how could he know? By now, the venom should have finished the transformation or plainly killed the fledgling. But his angel remains in a stasis. The angel turns to look at him, head tilted in an all-too-familiar motion, though where such a gesture would once fill him with warmth, tonight it fills him with rage and frustration. 

For a holy creature of God, to look at him with confusion of all things feels like another cruel joke – how could God and his subordinates, beings all-knowing, stand in silent contemplation where there should be answers? 

“Well, an angel touched by the Devil cannot remain any part angel, can they?” She turns away from him once more, floating over to his angel, hand outstretched above him. 

The Devil, huh? Was that what his angel has seen him as for all of these years? A Devil needing guidance away from evil? A devil that he must return to the light? Bile rises in his throat, a sickly question rising from the graveyard of his regrets; but he knew better than to curse the heavens because a greater question hangs above them.

“Why are you here? Are you here to return him to heaven? Punish me for my sins?” Once, he would’ve begged for his forgiveness at her feet, but now he knows to wear his sins like his heart on his sleeve.

The angel scoffs, “Are you afraid, Devil?”

“... Merely curious,” he answers after some deliberation. A small part of him is petrified – but it’s been that way for a long time hasn’t it? 

She hums, leaving the angel on the bed to turn and face him fully. “I am here to offer you a small mercy, Devil. I will help you transform your angel into a Devil just like you.” 

Yeonjun can’t help but gape, “Help? And why would you help me, a devil as you say? What does God ask for in return?” Yeonjun has never known a day in his life where God has not asked for something in return, whether it be his devotion, his life, or every wisp of his spirit, he knows Heaven for its cruel transactions. 

The angel before him falters. “Nothing. I am here as a favour to my brother. His devotion to you… God knows and turns a blind eye and so I will take the chance to provide one last act of love.” She speaks softly, as a mother would to not wake her child. There’s a gentleness seeping through and Yeonjun recognises it as true vulnerability.

He takes a deep breath, letting the cold frigid air calm himself. “And what would that act be?”

“A fallen angel's wings will decay overtime once they fall; they rot, unable to regenerate. Even if they were to receive holy energy, if God does not want their return it will not do anything,” she begins. It all clicks in his head, vampirism heals the corpse during the transformation sequence, which means…

“He is stuck in a paradox, so I will offer the mercy of freeing him from his heavenly duties.” When he turns to stare at the angel lying on his bed, he hears the sound of a sword unsheathing and it fills him with a panic he did not know would be possible, at least not at the hand of an angel.

Though before he can say anything in protest, she speaks firmly. “Do not think you have a say in this Devil, you may claim him now, but he will always be a servant of God, first and foremost.” From the corner of his eye, an impossible light fills the room, the heat of it irritating his skin and forcing him to cower away. “There was no mercy for you in this encounter, in fact, explaining anything to you was a crumb of pity. You may not understand, but what I perform now is an act of mercy for Beomgyu, and Beomgyu only.”

He can barely register what she is saying, irritation turning to sizzling, turning to an agony he has only felt once before many years ago in an attempt to let the sun kiss his skin just once more. Squinting through his eyes, all he can see is the iridescent surface of the sword raised to the ceiling, before it comes crashing down – light, the sickening crunch of bones, and a never ending scream fill the room. 

Yeonjun clasps his hands together and bows his head for the first time in seventy seven years. 

˚₊‧꒰ა    ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

His angel does not move from his sequestered spot against the wall. Since his wings had been retrieved, things have changed drastically in his small apartment. His angel – Beomgyu, he realises, though it feels strange to call him by a name he was never introduced to – completed his transformation through sparkling tears and has remained largely catatonic since. 

It has been difficult for Yeonjun. Selfish, he is aware, but his angel refuses to drink blood even straight from his wrist. And perhaps his frustrations have led them to where they are now. The angel had, for lack of a better term, blasted through the carefully boarded up windows, rendering the room difficult to navigate through the bright sunlight for his fledgling. 

Perhaps it is cruel of him to vent out his frustrations on his angel, leaving him to the dangers of burning, especially after breathing new life into him, but the lack of cooperation is not something Yeonjun has the patience for – the well had dried out years ago, and all he desires is stability. 

Being able to travel in sunlight, albeit only with short term exposure has given him a new lease on life. Amidst his troubles with his fledgling, Yeonjun finds himself struggling to get back into the rhythm of dancing. The steps all come to him with ease, muscle memory to his worn body but something is still inherently off and those frustrations ebb away at him every day. 

Which brings him to his current routine, dancing in the shadows of The Royal Ballet School and returning to see his fledgling, unmoving and unwilling. The corpse he had brought for him still sits propped against the wall in the corner of the bedroom which is still constantly shadowed, the smell of rot gags him upon entry every single time. But he refuses to feed from it, refuses to dispose of it either in hopes Beomgyu will come to, but today he watches as his angel curls his toes away from the advancing golden light.

When he throws the rat in Beomgyu’s direction, his hand darts out at a frightening speed, and the sickening crunch that follows at the very least brings him some calm that his angel will not die of starvation immediately. 

˚₊‧꒰ა    ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Yeonjun had been aware that the fragile peace he had built could come to an end at any second. The sanctuary he had found for himself could only last as long as he had hidden himself away within it. He finds a vampire of his old coven sitting in the window yet to be boarded up, staring at Beomgyu as Yeonjun enters after another day of fruitless dancing.

It happened in a blur, as many things had in the dealings of that coven. He should have known a stray fledgling would bring forth their definition of justice – senseless violence in an attempt to control. His love had been a victim of it once, he would not let it happen once more. But even then, heartbreak comes in many forms, and tonight it’s the constriction of his breath and his body freezing and hesitating for just a second too long.

It’s a familiar feeling, something that haunted him for nights before Beomgyu returned to him, however this time, he will not feel the regret of it. Not when his angel springs from his place against the wall, meeting the vampire halfway in the room and tears his throat out with his teeth.

How terrible, to see his beloved angel of light take on his new form, blood staining his front, and teeth sharp and violent. The frustration from Beomgyu not taking to his new calling dims immediately as the former angel stands above the struggling vampire below him. 

In his dreams, he would see over and over his angel kill his sire before it was too late. He would take out a bow made of golden light and shoot him before he could approach Yeonjun. He would unsheathe a sword of molten silver and stab him through the heart. Scenarios of heavenly justice would leave him yearning for love from his angel, for is protection not the strongest form of love?

In his reality, tears begin to stream his face as he watches Beomgyu take his first life. There is no shimmering light to accompany it, just the dull rays of the moon turning the blood in the scene into a deep shadowy, black. 

Dumbfounded, Yeonjun staggers closer to him, questions bursting on his tongue, but when he opens his mouth, a simple “Why?” is all that comes out in a hoarse whisper.

Beomgyu looks at him, burgundy eyes alight with something he does not recognise. “I have a duty to complete, do I not? I failed you as your Guardian Angel, but I will not fail you as the Devil’s Fledgling.” 

˚₊‧꒰ა    ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

They arrive in Paris without fanfare. Killing a member of his old coven was unprecedented, but Beomgyu had seemed content despite Yeonjun flitting about packing up the very few belongings he had. Strange for the angel who was nothing but worries and anxious questions at times despite his calming aura, but things were changing and Yeonjun realised he would be forced to accept it – and so he prepares to embrace it with open arms.

“Home sweet home,” Beomgyu says, smiling gently as they enter the abandoned farm cottage he had spent his formative years in. He takes a seat on the old mattress, dust flying up around him, “It’ll be just like old times, you can truly rebuild what you lost here, my love.”

My love.

Just like old times.

But things weren’t the same, they would never be the same. Leaving London gave Yeonjun the revelation that he would not get his perfect ballerino life back — and even if he did regain his prestige, in a couple of years there would be questions, about his youth, his age, his background, everything the coven would hunt him down for. He had dreamed of an impossible life, and their final encounter in London had reminded him of the intricate reality that he faced — Yeonjun was born for the limelight and vampires could not find themselves within  it, it was a death sentence.

Though it is Beomgyu who weighs on his thoughts the most heavily. His angel parades about as if his few months of solitude had not occurred. To Yeonjun, it is as if being duty-bound has brought the former angel back to him. It’s conflicting. To have Beomgyu finally protect him as he had wished for over the last century, it should ease his heart and bring him peace. But things feel off kilter.

Without realising it, Beomgyu has begun to rummage through the few belongings left in his mother’s home. “Do you want me to put everything where it used to be? I can remember it like it was yesterday,” he says so lovingly that Yeonjun almost does not have the heart to stop him. Despite Beomgyu weaving through the gentle beams of sunlight, avoiding their gentle touch, Yeonjun cannot help but believe that even as a vampire, Beomgyu belongs in golden light.

Yeonjun takes a deep breath, “We’re not staying in France.”

“Oh… then where are we going?” 

He didn’t exactly have a plan, but all he knew was that he needed time away from his past and to just spend his days with Beomgyu. Their love was one-sided despite being mutual, and it was something he felt needed to change before their immortal lives truly began – where in the world they ended up did not matter to him.

“We are to travel, I just… wanted to visit Paris one last time.” 

Beomgyu hums in agreement, a comfortable silence falling over them as they continue to reminisce, until Beomgyu makes a small sound of surprise. When he turns to look at him, he sees the angel holding up an all too familiar cotton blanket.

It’s yellowed now, hardly the pure white it had been once, Yeonjun watches Beomgyu as he runs his hand over the golden roses his mother had embroidered along the border. Amongst the roses were small golden doves that Yeonjun to this day still remembers running his tiny hands over time and time again. 

“The doves were my doing, just a small gift and reassurance to your Mother that God was watching over you,” Beomgyu whispers, a melancholic smile gracing his lips. 

Another day, Yeonjun may have scoffed and retorted the statement. Another day, Yeonjun may have chosen to be bitter. However today, watching Beomgyu as he thumbs over the small doves, a forlorn look commandeering his eyes, he decides he will stay silent and accept the love in the gesture.

When they leave Paris there is no urgency reminiscent of Yeonjun’s first departure from his home. They are not fleeing when Yeonjun once more, closes his eyes and lets chance guide them to their next location. There is a peace in their journey that is unfamiliar to Yeonjun and for once, it eases Yeonjun’s racing heart.

˚₊‧꒰ა    ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

It’s in Milan that Yeonjun decides he must do something about Beomgyu’s behaviour. They had been travelling for just over a year now, the quiet conversations whispered over shoulders and in the crooks of necks have become commonplace once more. Though, Beomgyu walks just a step behind him. At first, it had not bothered him, it was their routine before his angel fell but now…

Regardless of that, Beomgyu kills. 

He swears it is for Yeonjun, looks to him every time with a smile that does not quite reach his eyes, and whispers, “You should not bloody your hands anymore, Yeonjun. You have experienced far too much sin already.” And Yeonjun would not fight him. He let Beomgyu hunt and stalk, and find a mortal soul to snuff out so they could both feed. But Beomgyu would refuse to feed first, even on the days Yeonjun could spot how gaunt his cheeks had become. “Let me look after you, my love.” And he had let it happen.

But in his selfishness, he had neglected the signs. In his bitter entitlement, he had not seen the heaviness in Beomgyu’s movements. He had first noticed it in West Berlin, when after feeding Beomgyu had fallen to his knees, tears cascading down his face. Yeonjun had held him, had whispered empty reassurances because he himself had accepted Beomgyu’s duty.

In his contentment, he had refused to see Beomgyu struggling, but as love overcame resentment, he had become ready to face that sinking feeling in his heart head on: guilt.

When Beomgyu hunts tonight, Yeonjun is the one who takes the kill. It happens almost instantaneously, the mortal’s limp body cradled in his arms as he turns to Beomgyu, face bloody. “Come, my angel.”

Beomgyu hesitates, a look of horror encompassing his face. “No, my love, you’re meant to leave that to me ,” he all but hisses. The sudden aggression takes Yeonjun off guard.

“It’s my duty to look after you, to free you from the stain of your Devilish desires.” There’s that word again, Devil. Yeonjun had tried to ease it out of Beomgyu’s vocabulary, a difficult task considering he has referred to himself as a Devil in his weakest moments. 

But he is tired, his existence fights the very reality of morals, it is something he had come to terms with decades ago, but Beomgyu still looks at him as if he is made of precious gold. 

“Vampiric desires,” he speaks plainly.

“Pardon?”

“Is it not tiring to see yourself as devilish?”

Beomgyu’s face scrunches up, “It is a punishment I carry proudly.”

“So then have I been punished?” It’s frustrating now, the devotion that Beomgyu gives him. It was something comforting when he had lost everything, but now they were rebuilding a life and he simply wants them to walk side by side.

Beomgyu looks taken aback, “No! You are the last person in this world that deserves such a thing.”

The blood on Yeonjun’s face begins to dry, leaving his mouth uncomfortable, but he speaks anyway. “I do not want to think of myself as the Devil, Beomgyu, it gave me power once, but now it feels like a burden. I simply want to be.”

“Then let me let you be,” Beomgyu urges, taking a step forward to try and carry the corpse between them, “Let me atone and provide you with new life, gilded or not.”

“But I want this life with you by my side, not at my service. I forgive you, my dear angel.” 

To forgive is difficult, it’s something that would be caught in the back of his throat as he would travel with Beomgyu right behind his shoulder. It was a sentiment he had thought of way back before his angel had fallen, something he wanted to give into, to let love scar over permanent wounds. Though he had taken a turn with it he finds he regrets now, to turn love and devotion into servitude felt devilish. 

Beomgyu doesn’t speak, but tears well in his eyes as he hangs his head low. He still does not let himself feed first, but when they walk back to their hotel, Beomgyu walks by his side. When Yeonjun slides a finger in his hands, Beomgyu grabs on without hesitation.

They hold each other that morning, curtains drawn and letting the exhaustion lull them to sleep, he hears a soft whisper in the crook of his neck, “I don’t think I can forgive myself, but if you can then I…”

He doesn’t let Beomgyu dwell on it, placing a gentle kiss on his temple, “I want us to be together, side by side. Let me devote myself to you as you do me, without guilt plaguing either of us, my angel.” 

For the first time in a while, they fall asleep with both of their hearts’ content.

˚₊‧꒰ა    ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

It’s in Amsterdam that Yeonjun takes Beomgyu out into the sun. It had taken some experimenting, but he had a particularly unremarkable idea that filled him with hope, and Beomgyu with scepticism. He’s fitting the white cape over Beomgyu’s shoulders, another layer to the all white outfit he had tailored for him. 

“Yeonjun… this is made of cotton, I fear I’ll burn up as quickly as a piece of flash paper,” Beomgyu pouts, trying to meet Yeonjun’s eye in the mirror before them.

“My angel, trust me. If white reflects the sun, should this not keep you safe?” The reality is that Yeonjun is not completely sure. Since they had begun their travels, the pair avoided other vampires; rogue and coven alike. It had given Yeonjun a peace he had never expected, simply exploring the world with Beomgyu. Though, their knowledge of their own abilities and intricacies suffered from their isolation. 

Perhaps it is a little self indulgent, but Yeonjun hopes dressing Beomgyu in pure white would have vampiric benefits beyond looking stunning. Even now, as Yeonjun observes how he had styled his lover, he firmly believes, even outside of Heaven, Beomgyu looks the most beautiful draped in white.

“Yeonjun,” Beomgyu begins with a whine, “I feel as if you have an ulterior motive here…”

Yeonjun giggles, “Indeed, you simply look most dashing in white.”

“And yet you’re the one who had insisted on black all this time,” Beomgyu scoffs, turning away from the mirror to face him. Beomgyu cups Yeonjun’s face with his hands, squishing his cheeks gently. “You’re silly, my love.”

Beomgyu treats him as if he is made of glass, even his insults fall onto him gently, more full of love than any real scolding. Beomgyu is an angel, whether God accepts it or not, he was never made for the dark and the shadows, and adorned in pure white Yeonjun feels Beomgyu is his truest self. 

It works somewhat. The light reflects off of the white hood on Beomgyu’s head, and it allows them to navigate the daylight, though only with the help of dappled shadows serving as rest stops along the way. But it is all worth it to Yeonjun. 

They replace Beomgyu’s wardrobe of shadows with that of light without another word.

Though it is with this replacement that comes a grant to hunt from Beomgyu he had never officially received before. When he spots a target in the distance, tugging lightly on Beomgyu’s pinkie finger with his own, his nose scrunches up in disgust.

“You may hunt tonight, I don’t want my whites to become stained with impossible reds.” 

Since their talk in Milan, Beomgyu had allowed Yeonjun to hunt with him, even allowed himself the first bite of prey, but unless Yeonjun insisted, he would still continue to hunt for them. “Let me, it gives me peace of mind,” he had said, time and time again. And so Yeonjun had let him, and they had made small compromises over time.

But now, Beomgyu turns his nose up and away from their prey, petulant and stubborn, though Yeonjun knows him better — he can feel the light tremor in his hand, and the way his eyes flicker with nervous energy, his lips twitching ever so slightly, as if to pull themselves away from the frown Beomgyu forces upon himself.

It’s still hard for him to allow Yeonjun to provide for them in equal part, but his heart squeezes at his angel’s effort. 

Without shattering the façade, Yeonjun whines in disagreement, huffing and puffing as Beomgyu stands his ground, and with a gentle squeeze of his angel’s hand, he lets the exhilaration fuel his hunt for the night.

˚₊‧꒰ა    ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Beomgyu insists they must enter St. Vitus Cathedral when they arrive in Prague. It was something that was wholly beyond Yeonjun. 

“Had God not abandoned you?” He whispers behind Beomgyu, as the former angel stands dazed, taking in the beauty of the cathedral. It was nothing special to Yeonjun, not anymore, the beauty of it all had died on him due to his bitter reality. If anything, he feels anxious inside, as if he did not belong – even if he had denounced the title of Devil from heavenly beings, and even if Beomgyu had abandoned it in dust, it feels as if it is branded across him.

“Perhaps, but I still hold fondness for Him.” Beomgyu runs a hand along the back of a pew, his words engulfed by the chatter from tourists that surround them. 

He cannot find the words to express his emotions, his face twisting into a mixture of confusion and anger as he stares at Beomgyu who seems to contemplate further. “I still pray, you know. Because despite our hardships, hasn’t eternity carved a path of peace for us?” 

Jealousy.

Plain and simple. How he wished he could see the peace Yeonjun had built for them as a blessing from God as well. 

Beomgyu turns away, eyes sparkling like rubies as he takes in the scene around him – he had told Yeonjun that a part of him still missed his angelic duties, missed Heaven and his siblings. But when Yeonjun had asked if he would go back, the former angel would don a tired smile and shake his head, before taking his hand and moving on.

Today, it is a similar affair, they do not discuss it further. Though, what’s different about today is that perhaps Yeonjun lets go of a little more of that resentment he feels. After all, it was God’s miracle that had brought them together.

˚₊‧꒰ა    ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Yeonjun visits the ballet for the first time in Barcelona, under Beomgyu’s insistence. A tour of The Nutcracker had graced Europe and Beomgyu had tugged Yeonjun by the sleeve all the way to a ticketing booth to purchase their tickets. “If you wanted to go so bad, you could’ve bought the tickets yourself, angel,” Yeonjun had remarked, only to be met with a harder tug that almost caused him to fall over. 

“Where’s the fun in that? You don’t let me go anywhere alone, anyway.” How could he? It seems as though he falls a little further for Beomgyu every day, and he could not dare to miss a single one. 

“Should the Devil’s Fledgling not stay by his side?” Yeonjun teases, barely finishing his sentence before he feels a rough shove at his arm and sees the dusty red coating his angel’s cheeks.

“I cannot dare to say anything romantic to you, love,” Beomgyu mumbles as he begins to search through their closet. 

“I do not need Heavenly devotion to feel your love.”

They dress each other the night of the show, Beomgyu in elegant white and Yeonjun is deep black, their typical attire but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Beomgyu had insisted Yeonjun should match with him, but despite the work of healing his heart, there are still small grievances he sees up ahead and choses to swerve away from. 

But Yeonjun does not regret allowing his angel to steer him headfirst into his biggest grievance. 

Beomgyu had asked him before, in the cobbled streets of Edinburgh, and Yeonjun had answered plainly. Society, ballet or vampire, was exhausted and he wished to live simply with Beomgyu. The former angel had seemed bothered by his statement — Yeonjun was merely counting the days until he had attempted something to remedy the deep seeded distrust in Yeonjun’s soul.

In life and in death, Yeonjun had not sat down to view many ballet performances. The first would’ve been where he had met her. He couldn’t help but reminisce as they stared down at the stage from the private balcony Beomgyu had insisted upon.

“What’s on your mind, my dear?” 

They hadn’t talked about her. Not in depth. 

“I first saw her on the stage in London. It was my first time in the audience of any performance.” He doesn’t turn to look at Beomgyu, he doesn’t know if he could confront whatever expression his angel holds.

“And how was it?”

“She was beautiful.”

There is still some sorrow in his heart for his real first love. 

He hears Beomgyu snort from beside him, whipping his head to stare at him, only to find pure affection in his eyes. “I remember when you first found her. Your jaw was stuck to the floor. Though, I had always wondered if it was truly her you were in love with, or the stories she could tell through ballet.” 

He’s astonished that there is no resentment in Beomgyu’s demeanour. He remembers vividly the hints of jealousy that had sprouted from the angel once, but perhaps it is true that time heals. After all, he does not feel that same resentment he had for his angel’s disappearance.

Yeonjun contemplates as the lights begin to dim, the first notes of the opening scene fill the room. “I think it was a mix of both, really. It would be foolish of me not to admit that ballet was my first love.” 

Beomgyu hums in affirmation, wrapping an arm around Yeonjun’s. “You, however, are my final love, my dearest angel.” 

Beomgyu sneaks him a kiss as the shadows envelop them, quick and chaste, but affirming in their message.

˚₊‧꒰ა    ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

When they return to their apartment, Yeonjun wastes no time rushing up the staircase, tugging Beomgyu along with him. They’re both bloody, they had hunted until dawn. Some sponsors after the ballet were speaking unkindly and Beomgyu had offered them as simple prey – how could he have said no? Though, it is a shame that Beomgyu’s beautiful white suit was stained in splotchy blood. They had tried to be careful but his angel by nature was messy with his food.

But it did not matter to Yeonjun, the dried blood could not restrain the smile that split across his face as he entered the floor above their small apartment. When he had found the two storey apartment, Beomgyu had insisted he bought out both floors, leaving one untouched. “It could be a studio for you, love,” he had said confidently, but Yeonjun had doubts they would stay in Barcelona for much longer than a couple years, much like the many cities they have visited together. 

He hadn’t felt truly inspired until now.

When they enter the room, the first vestiges of dawn begin to peak through the sheer white curtains. “Dance with me, Beomgyu.”

There are pointe shoes in a box in the corner of the room, all broken in from practice since he had bought them back in Rome. There is a pair with ribbons that Yeonjun takes without hesitation, slipping them onto Beomgyu’s feet with practiced ease, tying up the ribbons along the expanse of his calf. 

“I thought you had said ribbons were a stereotype? That they got in the way?” Beomgyu laughed, he did not stop Yeonjun however, looking down at him with fondness in his deep red eyes. From this angle, Yeonjun can see Beomgyu’s fangs pointing out.

“They do,” Yeonjun gets up, taking Beomgyu’s hand gently and guides him to the centre of the room, “But you should know by now how much I like to dress you up. Now, come, be my nutcracker.”

“Why must I be the nutcracker?” Beomgyu pouts, tightening his hold on Yeonjun’s hands. “I think I’m more like Clara, by a long shot.”

Perhaps in his delicate nature and abundant curiosity, the Beomgyu that stands before him is much like Clara. However, he could not help but watch the Nutcracker the night before with such fondness – nutcracker to prince, angel to someone who he could love with no bounds.

Beomgyu does not argue further as Yeonjun tries to instruct him through the movements, pushing his feet into the right positions even when his angel begins to whine at the discomfort. 

When Yeonjun had joined his first ballet class, he had gone home and dreamt of dancing with his guardian angel. Back then, he could not pinpoint the gentle features of Beomgyu’s face, but his graceful movements and light were seared into his brain. He could see it perfectly – the dip of his angel’s hip, the angle of his legs. It became the grace Yeonjun strived for, the grace he achieved.

So perhaps Yeonjun cannot control the endeared giggles that spill from his bloodied lips as Beomgyu struggles to achieve the grace he had imagined in his dreams. But he would not change it for anything in this world.

As the sun rises, Yeonjun pulls Beomgyu onto pointe despite his angel’s complaints. To his surprise, Beomgyu stands high and tall, sunlight a halo behind his head. 

“I’m going to pull away now, love.” Yeonjun tries to move his hands away, but Beomgyu simply holds tighter, letting his upper body lean and follow Yeonjun.

“Wait, no I’m not ready!” Beomgyu whines, “You can’t let me go yet, I’ll fall!”

Before Yeonjun can reassure him, he looks down to see Beomgyu just floating above the ground ever so slightly. It was a more recent development, that he could hover. Beomgyu had predicted it was residue holiness, but Yeonjun remarks it as a miracle – some things will never change and he will always be grateful for the small similarities in their new life.

He smiles fondly and leans in to kiss Beomgyu on the lips, before pulling him down and back into the safety of their apartment before the creeping sunlight can hurt his angel. They clean up together with lukewarm water and soft towels, preparing to hide away from the day once more.

As they fall into bed together, Beomgyu wraps his arms around Yeonjun’s middle. He does not have to imagine hard to feel the phantom wind of Beomgyu’s wings despite their absence – it comes as that same all-encompassing love he feels from his angel every single night, and he intends to return it tenfold for all eternity.

“Yeonjun.” A small whisper, right beside his pulse point behind his ear.

“Shall we leave Europe next?” 

Leaving Europe had been a fleeting thought in Yeonjun’s mind. Despite their freedom he still had his reservations. “The council would not let us.”

When Beomgyu scoffs, he feels his breath against his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. “Since when has any council stopped you before?” 

He turns in Beomgyu’s arms, letting their noses touch. “Since when were you so rebellious against higher bodies?” Yeonjun whispers, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“Ever since a little miracle stepped into my life in a golden wash.”

He cannot see Beomgyu’s eyes, and doesn't need to either. Yeonjun simply brings their foreheads together, letting their breath intermingle and their immortal hearts sync together. Without thinking, Yeonjun begins to run his fingers along Beomgyu’s back. Sometimes, he wonders if their lifestyles would’ve been different if Beomgyu had remained an angel, if he had trusted Beomgyu to return to him, and waited millennia for it. 

“I forgive you, my miracle,” Beomgyu whispers suddenly, as if he could read his thoughts. It causes Yeonjun’s eyes to snap open in confusion, though in reality, Beomgyu has known Yeonjun like the back of his hand for far longer than he realises. He wishes one day to know his angel just the same. With eternity, he is certain this is possible. “I do not think I say this enough, but I have and always will forgive you.”

“I forgive you too, my angel.”