People once believed that when someone dies, a crow carries their soul to the land of the dead. But sometimes, something so bad happens that a terrible sadness is carried with it and the soul can't rest. Then sometimes, just sometimes, the crow can...
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Taehyung slowly, reluctantly emerged from sleep, as if the morning was still wrapping him in its soft, dreamy haze, unwilling to let him out of its embrace. However, he did not open his eyes immediately. For a moment, he just lay there, listening to the silence of the apartment and the steady, calm breathing of the person sleeping right next to him. The air in the room was crisp, but his body still remembered the echoes of the past night — the musician's hot hands, lazy kisses, agile fingers gripping on his skin to draw him even closer.
They didn't make love that night, but after everything that had happened in the past hours, Taehyung stayed with Jeongguk. He felt safe in his apartment, and the warmth of the musician's presence soothed the emotions that still seemed to pulsate within him. When they went to bed together, they whispered to each other in the twilight for a long time, cuddled into each other's bodies, as if each moment was too precious to let it slip away in silence.
Jeongguk told him about his childhood, about the first guitar chords he learned under his father's gentle guidance. About how, from a very young age, he dreamed of being on stage, of creating music that could move people's hearts. There was nostalgia in his voice, but also a quiet pride — as if he could still feel that very first chord beneath his fingers, the one he played as a child.
Taehyung was smiling the whole time, listening to his words. In his mind, he saw Jeongguk as a little boy with big, shining eyes full of curiosity and innocence. He imagined him with childlike energy, flushed cheeks and slightly tousled hair, as if he had just finished running around the yard. This vision melted his heart, making his smile even wider.
And then he started to talk.
About himself, about memories he usually avoided. He told him how, as a boy, he had snatched his father's police uniform and his cap, standing in front of the mirror with a straightened silhouette, flexing his chest and pretending to be just like him. At the time, he believed that strength was hidden in the uniform, as if it were the suit of one of the superheroes similar to those whose posters adorned the walls of his childhood bedroom. He'd never spoken so openly about his childhood before, avoiding such topics, but with Jeongguk, everything seemed simpler. He was sure the boy understood him better than anyone ever had.
Then for a long time they simply lay close to each other, in semi-darkness, illuminated only by the faint light creeping in through the large wooden window. They were silent, but the silence between them was not awkward. It was perfect.
His sleepy body still remembered that moment when Jeongguk gently moved his hand over his shoulder and then down his back, as if he wanted to memorize every line of his body. That night their lips found each other slowly, lazily, as if they had all eternity to do so, as if no rush was necessary. Their kisses were soft, full of tenderness, and their breaths entwined with each other in a quiet rhythm of unspoken promises.
Eventually, fatigue began to envelop them, and sleep came slowly, like a soothing wave. Taehyung snuggled into Jeongguk's body, feeling the musician's warm breath on his neck and the calm, strong beating of his heart right next to his ear. There was something incredibly intimate about this. There were no words, no promises. Just warmth, peace and the certainty that this night they belonged to each other in the simplest, yet deepest way.
