𝗺𝘂𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗺.

⠀ me

jeongguk now knows what those last words meant.

the second taehyung had spoken them he had felt chills wrack his body with all the force of the greatest of tempests. but soon after, peace came to coat the places where silence meant pain and screaming meant nothing.

and so today he sits atop the hill, wings spread and his body swaying gently to the rhythm of his own humming. there are daisies woven into his locks and there is liquid gold running in his veins as he looks upon the moon as an old friend; one who once brought him the greatest gift he'd ever received.

he counts the stars littering the horizon and he starts at a million for all of those which taehyung had discovered in his eyes (although he's sure taehyung's the one who put them there). he isn't interrupted this time, and he counts up to forty five, because no excitement comes to compromise his concentration.

not even when there's the snap of a twig in the woods. not even when the breeze across his wings is reminiscent of the tap of a delicate hand, wondering if he's really a fallen angel or a demon from a nightmare.

not even when someone clears their throat behind him, and speaks the name 'jeongguk.'

wait.

the angel turns around with a deer-like stance, bewildered by the soft, mahogany eyes that find him there. they're warm, full of belief and wonder, just like the boy who's hair he'd braided countless times and lost himself in the galaxy of his mind. if he'd focused only on those, he could've kidded himself into believing the boy had returned to him, healthy and upright. no longer relying on jeongguk's strength to carry him up the hill.

but this isn't taehyung, although she resembles him. this is an older woman, with a gentle, saddened smile that makes jeongguk believe she might know a loss as great as his. the way her shoulders sag under only the weight of the clothing on her skin— it makes him think perhaps she might know all too well.

yes, this woman knows, of course. this must be his mother.

"so you do truly exist," she says first, focus never straying from jeongguk's guilty stare. he'd taken away the last person she'd had. "for years i've heard about you. from taehyung, my husband. he— my husband —he loved you, too. not like taehyung did. but your story, he'd loved it. so much talk of angels, i never understood it myself but... well, i suppose i was never as wonderous as they were. they're both at peace now, though, so perhaps i'm living proof that it's dangerous to chase your dreams."

jeongguk stands to match her height, his wings huge now. eye catching.

"i thought i was going to be a fairytale for him... i wanted to be that. i wanted to be that and so much more, but it turns out i'm a demon. i'm so sorry i took him from you. i never wanted to... to hurt him. he was... he was everything to me." he speaks, all apologies and the shame on his chest. but she's not fully listening to him, eyes drifting, much like taehyung's had, to his wings.

"he is everything to you, jeongguk. he lives on. don't you feel it? right now, you can't come to frown can you? because he's telling you to smile through every situation just as he would. he's still here, in these woods."

the warmest breeze courses gently through jeongguk's hair at that moment, wrapping him in its embrace, warming him up from the outside in, making a line straight for his heart to seal the cracks and make it a whole again.

"he never liked flying," she whispers, wistfully dragging her eyes over the form of the wings. "he wanted to be a pilot once, though." the memory seems fond, makes her smile, almost like it might be replaying behind her eyelids right this moment. "because the only way he'd get on a plane is if he knew for certain that the pilot was putting in as much effort to keep everybody afloat as the plane was. and my taehyung, he's kind. the most loving boy i've ever known. there'd never be a better pilot."