𝗺𝘂𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗺.

⠀ an

when he found it, he didn't blink.

it was all an accident. wrong place, wrong time. a bored near-closing-time mishap that lead to books falling and a hasty clean up session in the dimming lights of the oil lamps in the book store that haven't been updated since it opened.

he'd been piling them all up after they hit the floor, dusting each one off with his sleeve and adding to the thick layer of dust in the air that made him sniffle. and that's when he saw it. it was the third book in the pile, familiar in a way he didn't come to appreciate. because he'd seen this book before, once. somewhere distant in his childhood he may have held it, touched the pages perhaps, but never had he read the words until this moment.

long gone had been his own copy, lost somewhere in the attic of his home and never uncovered, because his father always had the story written in his notebook. the same notebook his grandfather had it in back before it was printed locally. there must only have been three copies printed, but the whole town knew of the tale. taehyung's grandfather had told them all about it, but his memory was frayed and time was never on their side.

cross legged with his back pressed against a shelf of books, kim taehyung breathed a shaky breath through his mouth and smiled as he read the story that had brought him his angel. he read it, although he didn't need the aid of the words, and ran his thumb against the faded watercolour illustrations of a winged boy sat atop a hill. his jeongguk. his angel.

and when he reached the end he smiled in contempt to himself, ready to close it up and lock up the shop, but, this copy of the book had another page. another page that concluded the story that taehyung had grown up believing was open ended; up for his mind to make up and fantasise about. but that isn't the case, and he rereads the final stanzas until each word feels made up and the letters don't make sounds anymore.

he reads until he doesn't feel anything when he stares at it anymore. until the constant sag in his heart that carries through to his tired limbs finally claims his mind, too.

he hadn't known this story at all.

⠀
⠀
( 💫 )

wordlessly, taehyung places the browning, crumpled book atop jeongguk's knees alongside the daffodil, his eyes warm and fond as he looks upon the wings of the being who once again gets even more ravishing with every year. they curve elegantly behind him, the tips now reaching his lower back and climbing up to the lobes of his ears; radiant with marvellously white feathers that make even the moon fall envious.

"hello, taehyung," jeongguk says carefully, a happy oblivion hanging over his head, the daffodil's stem being handled as though it were a precious jewel when he places it to the side and turns his attention instead to the book.

"hello, jeongguk," taehyung whispers in reply, laying beside him, shutting his eyes as he manages to lift his head long enough to fold his arms behind it; the tingling subsiding through his muscles so that his limbs don't feel so limp and twitchy.

he's rather at peace with the dreamlike state he's confined to now, his energy fleeting like pretty butterflies; born and bred of peace and yet cursed to die so soon after being gifted with life.

or perhaps it isn't a gift at all.

perhaps they, too, are destined for something greater than themselves. perhaps life is only a predecessor to purpose. a stretch before the hurdle, a step before the jump.

"this is it. my favourite fairytale," taehyung says slowly without need to hear jeongguk voice his confusion. "a few months ago, i discovered that there's another part to it that i'd never read before... i thought i might show you, so that you don't wonder why."