Grey
Title: Grey
Pairing: Banghim
Rating: PG-17
Type: One Shot
Genre: Angst/Smut/Romance
[{Part of- Of Angels (3 stories about intermediaries)}]
❊❊❊
Himchan doesn't tug at the chains around his ankles. He allows himself to fall-
Are angels allowed to dream of love?
Angels don't fly in the dark. In the dark, sin is allowed to fester. So himchan doesn't tug at the chains around his ankles. He allows himself to drown-
In the linen sheets. The whites dim to grey in the dark. He hangs his halo by the bedpost, watching with indifference as its glow faded. In the dark he was human, vulnerable under Yongguk's touch. But he was an angel, amidst the lasers and lights, his skin giving off a soft light. And Yongguk spots him from the smoky crowd of grey and black outlines, from the sweaty clash of bodies. He was unreal, Yongguk thought, drink in hand, walking framed in perfect poses. With each step he had the clouds trailing behind him, his hands leaving lightning by friction. And Yongguk chose to believe that Himchan was a perfect imitation of human perfection- A mould of plastic and metal joints. But the eyes give Himchan away. Hopeful; fearful; awe; so very much alive. And Yongguk was the devil that reeled him in.
Himchan was a juxtaposition-
And Yongguk was drawn. The first time was ambiguous; careless. A vague clashing of tongues; hot, hot bodies; high euphoria. And it became a routine somehow. Incessant ringing of the phone; and himchan would knock at Yongguk's door, a bait waiting to be taken in whole. They had both wanted it. But Himchan was so scared. Scared that he wanted more.
And so the angel clips his wings and falls to mortal arms.
Himchan was an intermediary. Far away from home; stuck in ambiguity. But he had found strange comfort in the plain sheets of Yongguk's bed. Springs rising to greet him, wood of the headboard supporting his arching back. He waited. Waited with sheer impatience for that moment of blinding euphoria. But it doesn't come fast enough and he's left choking; screaming; begging for a release, an escape from his thoughts. From the ambiguity of grey.
But he was unreal and this was all part of the illusion.
They say if you stood close enough to someone you could hear their thoughts, feel the connection through their skin. But yongguk refused. He hadn’t expected more. Eyes clouded by lust, floodgates of his mind holding back the guilt. Himchan was an angel. He wasn't real. He was just god's clay mould of perfection. Eyes uncertain of the lights trailing along his cheeks; tongue unsure of the liquid that burned down his throat. Heart so accustomed to loneliness. And he. He was just flawed. Yongguk doesn’t really know what he was anymore. Lately Himchan has been craving more. Yongguk took him in. Taught him how to use that lightning touch. Himchan learnt humanity; voice strained as lips traced his earlobe. They sat on the bed, lips locked, knees ironing out the crumpled sheets. Bare chests at the mercy of wandering hands. Yongguk traced along the protrusion of himchan's spine, fingertips clawing carelessly at his shoulder blades. As if trying to push back the feathered wings that were trying to re-emerge. And himchan complied. Yongguk kept him rooted, he felt unstable on flat ground, but that's the only way he knew how to live. With his head kept perfectly balanced in vertigo.
Himchan forgets how to fly-
Almost. Pinned to the bed, hands wandering on his chest. Up to his neck. Hands cup his face; forcefully. Lips were on his. Himchan's lips were the best. There was something about him. Innocence; almost. Like there was some part of him that was unsure; hesitant. A part of him that belonged in the part of town that wasn't crumbling; the part of town not engulfed in grey. A part of him that needed yongguk to guide him past the illusory candlelight towards the sun; back home amongst the clouds. A part of him that reminded Yongguk the world wasn’t as ugly as everyone made it seem. It was that faint innocence that drove yongguk insane. Himchan tasted like heaven. But yongguk wasn't so sure because angels didn't come to this part of town. They part to breathe, chests rising and falling. Himchan's hands were gripped on yongguk's biceps, afraid that morning would come too fast. Everything was quiet. Everything was grey. Save for the loud drumming of blood rushing by their ears. Himchan tried to look at yongguk, see the face he held a little too close to his heart. But it was too dark. So Himchan doesn't see yongguk falter; eyes brimming with uncertainty. He had to remind himself a few times over that Himchan was just a one night stand. A vicious cycle and he was drowning. This was cruel, Yongguk knew. What he would give to be human again.
Fire and lightning mixes a beautiful concoction.
So Yongguk subconsciously smiles when Himchan shivered beneath his experienced touch. Everything was so familiar. Like a second skin- cuts like a knife, fits like a glove. With Himchan beneath him; writing, whimpering. Yongguk was fire. He licked a trail up Himchan's sides, watched as goosebumps raised from the sensitivity of his skin. Smooth; unblemished. People were never satisfied with purity; it scared them. They found a need to fill the void with anything they could find. To make human what was god-sent. Yongguk left a flurry of messy, uncoordinated marks on the pale Himchan's skin. By now his breathing was erratic. Yongguk no longer felt the guilt of ruining the flawless finish of such a masterpiece. He was sure the artist would have meant for this to happen. Himchan was a tease; a temptation Yongguk wouldn't try to resist. He let his hand graze past Himchan's throbbing flesh. He let out a moan; a whimper. Yongguk was in awe. Himchan was so painfully beautiful. The way his eyes were glazed over like glass, his chest rising and falling with each stuttered breath.
Himchan needs to learn to forget.
Himchan was thunder. His voice echoed through the room, gentler than, but equally potent. Himchan felt a tight heat enclosing him. He knew where things were going from now; downhill, fast. He shut his eyes and let the pleasure form a spray of black dots behind his eyelids. A haze lingered over him still. Himchan needs to learn to forget. To let go of the anchor that burdens his mind. Maybe one day he would learn to suppress his guilt of dreaming up impossibilities; sad that impossibilities would never come true. Mornings were dead to Himchan. All he had were the late nights and fleeting grey. He would never see Yongguk in the light. Never know what he really was. The closest he could get was the temporary bleach of the room when the lightning struck the earth from behind the glass of Yongguk’s window.
And then everything fades to grey-
Himchan's doesn't think anymore. Just obeyed the authority that was the husky voice by his ears. The one that would ring in his head throughout yongguk's absence in the day. Reminding Himchan that he was a whore. And nothing more. He'll never know love. Himchan was good at this; swirl of his tongue, alternating pressures. Yongguk told him. Time and time again. But Himchan was more than this. More than- a pretty face; a good mouth; tight. Himchan thinks of bliss; white isles, bright light. Because light doesn’t lie. He was torn into two, pain shooting up to where his wings should have been. His legs were hooked around yongguk's waist; heels digging in with mild reservation. His hands gripped the sheets, as yongguk's hands have gripped his pelvis. He wanted this. He wanted this. He wanted this. But now he needed a reminder. The textured sheets were real in his hands, nothing else was. Angels don't fly in the dark. In the dark, sin is allowed to fester. So Himchan lets shameless sounds and forbidden words slip past his pink lips. Himchan begged. Begged like a whore. And the heat was getting unbearable for the both of them. Yongguk reveled in the sounds that enveloped the room. He wasn't entirely sure if they were his or himchan's, but they sounded delicious together. There was a certain animalistic quality in which they were moving- rough, almost brutal. It was pain that brought the most pleasure, (pleasure that brought the most pain). Everything was base and lust was dripping from their voices, peeling down the walls. Himchan gave himself up. His body wasn't his anymore; the least of the list of things he surrendered to yongguk. He wouldn't want anyone else to have him anyway. He couldn't. Himchan fell in love with the thrill; he came far from the slight uncertainty when he first felt the grainy wood of the door beneath his knocks. Yongguk was the devil and Himchan was a fallen angel, now his to keep; to destroy. They were blinded by the alcohol; now they were tainted with want. Himchan was yongguk's bad habit. And recovery meant his life would never be complete again. Because grey areas were better than nothing at all. With each thrust Himchan felt his consciousness slip. They were shattering into intricate little pieces of splendid colors. But he could only see grey behind his closed lids. Cold sprays of it.
Grey. Grey. Grey-
And the occasional pitch when a pulse surges from that bundle of nerves. Up, up, up.
Himchan gives up the notion of ever flying again. He was sure his wings couldn’t hold the wind beneath them anymore. Sure he had already forgotten the feeling of being airborne, feet pushing off the ground. He had spiraled too far down to see the light. He forgets the feeling of a good morning. The shadows held his hand, almost gently. Gave him unfathomable dreams of being human. He felt so alive, so at home-
so alone.
With each thrust; each subsequent wave of mixed pain and blinding pleasure, Himchan was certain his wings would never grow back. He was human, ruined; feathers were strewn everywhere. His legs would have to be strong now, to hold him up when Yongguk wasn’t there. "Y-yongguk..." Himchan whispered. He wasn't expecting a reply. More guttural moans; grunts. His mind ventured the greys of their unholy connection. He was so lost, so alone. But he'd rather wander the unknown forever than lose himself completely. Lose the hand that pinned him harshly to the sheets. Yongguk slides his hands along himchan's waist and settles them against himchan's palms. Palms pressed; fingers lacing up slowly, gently. Amidst the erratic movement of hips, harsh pressing of heels against a strong back. Himchan feels this the most. He feels a certain affinity with this small gesture. It sent a wild hurricane of butterflies to destroy him. His hands were by either sides of his head; position of sweet, sweet surrender. Himchan feels the roughness of yongguk's hands against his smooth palms. Himchan catches a glimpse of clear days and white light. And he wanted to die from the conflict brewing in his chest. Nothing was right. He wasn't supposed to feel. Feel this much for a grey area in his life. He was just a one night stand, reveling in the dirty words yongguk was whispering by his ear. "Himchan... So good... You're so good..." Himchan already knew. He was a whore. And he defied the true meaning of goodness. But he needed this validation. Needed to know that yongguk would still call him after he left. Needed to know he could still feel this close to heaven again.
It ended-
On white sheets. Tomorrow there would be a stain to remember them by. Sleep. The word escaping as a murmur to clear the air. But Himchan couldn't risk sleeping. He dreams when he sleeps. Of everything but reality.
Are angels allowed to dream of love?
Probably not. Behind closed eyes they were only allowed faint glimpses of home. Of watching the world from above the passing showers and lightning storms. Because now, home was yongguk. One short fall from heaven. Yongguk's heated touch. Yongguk's lips. Yongguk's steady breathing. Between the silver-lined clouds strewn in light and the grey of the sheets, Himchan wasn't quite sure which he preferred. But he was slowly dying. Feathers turn to blades, cutting at his back. Halo dimming to a thick haze, clouding his mind. So Himchan gives up the possibility of ever flying again. Tears fell to form Roscharch patterns on the pillow. Yongguk pulled him closer, eyes wide, whites glistening in the dark. He wiped at the tears, gently; hesitantly. With fingers that weren’t meant for intricacies. This was the first time Yongguk saw Himchan cry for reasons beyond physical pain (pleasure). First times for anything always hurt the most. Yongguk looked at him. Directly into his glass eyes. Hopeful; fearful; awe. So very much lost. Himchan wished yongguk could hear his thoughts because he was screaming-
Love me. Love me. Love me.
He closed his eyes. And yongguk placed gentle, fleeting kisses on his eyelids. Yongguk wondered if angels cried. Right now he had a theory that was bordering the truth. He thought he was going insane. One night stands weren't supposed to feel like this. They weren't supposed to feel so complete. He felt it again.
Yongguk, what are we?
But yongguk didn't know. They were a grey area. One that they both ended up lost in. Wandering souls looking for the light. Hands reaching mutely for the skies; clawing, feeling thin air on fingertips. Hopelessly lost in the grey of stained sheets. Yongguk thought they were unlikely. The devil and an angel. He was sure Himchan deserved that much more. Yongguk opens his mouth to speak-
But he doesn't quite continue. The words don’t quite come. Instead, Himchan feels yongguk's lips softly against his. It was chaste, pure almost. An uncertain pressure- Lightning softened by the summer rain. Yongguk tasted different. Human-like. Yongguk felt it too- A faint something that he had lost. Maybe he wanted more.
"We'll figure that out somehow..."
Yongguk pressed Himchan's head against his bare chest and whispered into the fine tousle of his hair. Yongguk's arms were his sanctuary tonight. Himchan closed his eyes and for once he dreamt of a good morning. Yongguk would stay. Stay to explore the grey areas with him in the mornings. By night, they would let themselves be careless under the sheets; create heated fireworks.
Are angels allowed to dream of love? In between the grey rustle of linen sheets; head against the steady thumping of a heart he was increasing his hold on, it didn't matter. In the dark, grey is allowed to fade to clarity. So Himchan doesn't reach for his halo in the morning. He allows himself to drown-
In the scent of yongguk's skin against his cheek. He was vulnerable. So, so human under yongguk's touch. He might know love, under the close watch of sunlight streaming through the tall glass window. They let morning shots of caffeine replace the alcohol in theit blood. Palms pressed; fingers locking. Himchan sees yongguk in the light. And Himchan decides he likes how Yongguk’s voice is in the morning.They smile real smiles, yongguk likes how himchan's eyes curve so shyly. Yongguk calls Himchan beautiful. Wraps protective arms around his waist and whisper sweet nothings into his ears like lovers do. He reminded Yongguk the world wasn’t as ugly as everyone made it seem. That there were beautiful things worth seeing in the light. They were intricate pieces of color. Yongguk saw past the grey. And he chose to believe Himchan was perfection. He calls his name softly; surely-
Himchan?
I think I might love you.
Himchan felt his heart swell. He might be crying. But everything was clear now, light doesn’t lie. Everything burst beautifully into dyed light. Yongguk kissed his angel, watched intently as his features blur to grey in the close proximity. The line between rough sheets and good mornings fades to oblivion. Himchan was home. Himchan plays with the last of the fallen feathers between his fingers; let's them drift towards the parquet, skin across the surface like dust. Yongguk found home again, lips on the back of himchan's hand.
Yongguk was human-
Himchan was human.
Pairing: Banghim
Rating: PG-17
Type: One Shot
Genre: Angst/Smut/Romance
[{Part of- Of Angels (3 stories about intermediaries)}]
❊❊❊
Himchan doesn't tug at the chains around his ankles. He allows himself to fall-
Are angels allowed to dream of love?
Angels don't fly in the dark. In the dark, sin is allowed to fester. So himchan doesn't tug at the chains around his ankles. He allows himself to drown-
In the linen sheets. The whites dim to grey in the dark. He hangs his halo by the bedpost, watching with indifference as its glow faded. In the dark he was human, vulnerable under Yongguk's touch. But he was an angel, amidst the lasers and lights, his skin giving off a soft light. And Yongguk spots him from the smoky crowd of grey and black outlines, from the sweaty clash of bodies. He was unreal, Yongguk thought, drink in hand, walking framed in perfect poses. With each step he had the clouds trailing behind him, his hands leaving lightning by friction. And Yongguk chose to believe that Himchan was a perfect imitation of human perfection- A mould of plastic and metal joints. But the eyes give Himchan away. Hopeful; fearful; awe; so very much alive. And Yongguk was the devil that reeled him in.
Himchan was a juxtaposition-
And Yongguk was drawn. The first time was ambiguous; careless. A vague clashing of tongues; hot, hot bodies; high euphoria. And it became a routine somehow. Incessant ringing of the phone; and himchan would knock at Yongguk's door, a bait waiting to be taken in whole. They had both wanted it. But Himchan was so scared. Scared that he wanted more.
And so the angel clips his wings and falls to mortal arms.
Himchan was an intermediary. Far away from home; stuck in ambiguity. But he had found strange comfort in the plain sheets of Yongguk's bed. Springs rising to greet him, wood of the headboard supporting his arching back. He waited. Waited with sheer impatience for that moment of blinding euphoria. But it doesn't come fast enough and he's left choking; screaming; begging for a release, an escape from his thoughts. From the ambiguity of grey.
But he was unreal and this was all part of the illusion.
They say if you stood close enough to someone you could hear their thoughts, feel the connection through their skin. But yongguk refused. He hadn’t expected more. Eyes clouded by lust, floodgates of his mind holding back the guilt. Himchan was an angel. He wasn't real. He was just god's clay mould of perfection. Eyes uncertain of the lights trailing along his cheeks; tongue unsure of the liquid that burned down his throat. Heart so accustomed to loneliness. And he. He was just flawed. Yongguk doesn’t really know what he was anymore. Lately Himchan has been craving more. Yongguk took him in. Taught him how to use that lightning touch. Himchan learnt humanity; voice strained as lips traced his earlobe. They sat on the bed, lips locked, knees ironing out the crumpled sheets. Bare chests at the mercy of wandering hands. Yongguk traced along the protrusion of himchan's spine, fingertips clawing carelessly at his shoulder blades. As if trying to push back the feathered wings that were trying to re-emerge. And himchan complied. Yongguk kept him rooted, he felt unstable on flat ground, but that's the only way he knew how to live. With his head kept perfectly balanced in vertigo.
Himchan forgets how to fly-
Almost. Pinned to the bed, hands wandering on his chest. Up to his neck. Hands cup his face; forcefully. Lips were on his. Himchan's lips were the best. There was something about him. Innocence; almost. Like there was some part of him that was unsure; hesitant. A part of him that belonged in the part of town that wasn't crumbling; the part of town not engulfed in grey. A part of him that needed yongguk to guide him past the illusory candlelight towards the sun; back home amongst the clouds. A part of him that reminded Yongguk the world wasn’t as ugly as everyone made it seem. It was that faint innocence that drove yongguk insane. Himchan tasted like heaven. But yongguk wasn't so sure because angels didn't come to this part of town. They part to breathe, chests rising and falling. Himchan's hands were gripped on yongguk's biceps, afraid that morning would come too fast. Everything was quiet. Everything was grey. Save for the loud drumming of blood rushing by their ears. Himchan tried to look at yongguk, see the face he held a little too close to his heart. But it was too dark. So Himchan doesn't see yongguk falter; eyes brimming with uncertainty. He had to remind himself a few times over that Himchan was just a one night stand. A vicious cycle and he was drowning. This was cruel, Yongguk knew. What he would give to be human again.
Fire and lightning mixes a beautiful concoction.
So Yongguk subconsciously smiles when Himchan shivered beneath his experienced touch. Everything was so familiar. Like a second skin- cuts like a knife, fits like a glove. With Himchan beneath him; writing, whimpering. Yongguk was fire. He licked a trail up Himchan's sides, watched as goosebumps raised from the sensitivity of his skin. Smooth; unblemished. People were never satisfied with purity; it scared them. They found a need to fill the void with anything they could find. To make human what was god-sent. Yongguk left a flurry of messy, uncoordinated marks on the pale Himchan's skin. By now his breathing was erratic. Yongguk no longer felt the guilt of ruining the flawless finish of such a masterpiece. He was sure the artist would have meant for this to happen. Himchan was a tease; a temptation Yongguk wouldn't try to resist. He let his hand graze past Himchan's throbbing flesh. He let out a moan; a whimper. Yongguk was in awe. Himchan was so painfully beautiful. The way his eyes were glazed over like glass, his chest rising and falling with each stuttered breath.
Himchan needs to learn to forget.
Himchan was thunder. His voice echoed through the room, gentler than, but equally potent. Himchan felt a tight heat enclosing him. He knew where things were going from now; downhill, fast. He shut his eyes and let the pleasure form a spray of black dots behind his eyelids. A haze lingered over him still. Himchan needs to learn to forget. To let go of the anchor that burdens his mind. Maybe one day he would learn to suppress his guilt of dreaming up impossibilities; sad that impossibilities would never come true. Mornings were dead to Himchan. All he had were the late nights and fleeting grey. He would never see Yongguk in the light. Never know what he really was. The closest he could get was the temporary bleach of the room when the lightning struck the earth from behind the glass of Yongguk’s window.
And then everything fades to grey-
Himchan's doesn't think anymore. Just obeyed the authority that was the husky voice by his ears. The one that would ring in his head throughout yongguk's absence in the day. Reminding Himchan that he was a whore. And nothing more. He'll never know love. Himchan was good at this; swirl of his tongue, alternating pressures. Yongguk told him. Time and time again. But Himchan was more than this. More than- a pretty face; a good mouth; tight. Himchan thinks of bliss; white isles, bright light. Because light doesn’t lie. He was torn into two, pain shooting up to where his wings should have been. His legs were hooked around yongguk's waist; heels digging in with mild reservation. His hands gripped the sheets, as yongguk's hands have gripped his pelvis. He wanted this. He wanted this. He wanted this. But now he needed a reminder. The textured sheets were real in his hands, nothing else was. Angels don't fly in the dark. In the dark, sin is allowed to fester. So Himchan lets shameless sounds and forbidden words slip past his pink lips. Himchan begged. Begged like a whore. And the heat was getting unbearable for the both of them. Yongguk reveled in the sounds that enveloped the room. He wasn't entirely sure if they were his or himchan's, but they sounded delicious together. There was a certain animalistic quality in which they were moving- rough, almost brutal. It was pain that brought the most pleasure, (pleasure that brought the most pain). Everything was base and lust was dripping from their voices, peeling down the walls. Himchan gave himself up. His body wasn't his anymore; the least of the list of things he surrendered to yongguk. He wouldn't want anyone else to have him anyway. He couldn't. Himchan fell in love with the thrill; he came far from the slight uncertainty when he first felt the grainy wood of the door beneath his knocks. Yongguk was the devil and Himchan was a fallen angel, now his to keep; to destroy. They were blinded by the alcohol; now they were tainted with want. Himchan was yongguk's bad habit. And recovery meant his life would never be complete again. Because grey areas were better than nothing at all. With each thrust Himchan felt his consciousness slip. They were shattering into intricate little pieces of splendid colors. But he could only see grey behind his closed lids. Cold sprays of it.
Grey. Grey. Grey-
And the occasional pitch when a pulse surges from that bundle of nerves. Up, up, up.
Himchan gives up the notion of ever flying again. He was sure his wings couldn’t hold the wind beneath them anymore. Sure he had already forgotten the feeling of being airborne, feet pushing off the ground. He had spiraled too far down to see the light. He forgets the feeling of a good morning. The shadows held his hand, almost gently. Gave him unfathomable dreams of being human. He felt so alive, so at home-
so alone.
With each thrust; each subsequent wave of mixed pain and blinding pleasure, Himchan was certain his wings would never grow back. He was human, ruined; feathers were strewn everywhere. His legs would have to be strong now, to hold him up when Yongguk wasn’t there. "Y-yongguk..." Himchan whispered. He wasn't expecting a reply. More guttural moans; grunts. His mind ventured the greys of their unholy connection. He was so lost, so alone. But he'd rather wander the unknown forever than lose himself completely. Lose the hand that pinned him harshly to the sheets. Yongguk slides his hands along himchan's waist and settles them against himchan's palms. Palms pressed; fingers lacing up slowly, gently. Amidst the erratic movement of hips, harsh pressing of heels against a strong back. Himchan feels this the most. He feels a certain affinity with this small gesture. It sent a wild hurricane of butterflies to destroy him. His hands were by either sides of his head; position of sweet, sweet surrender. Himchan feels the roughness of yongguk's hands against his smooth palms. Himchan catches a glimpse of clear days and white light. And he wanted to die from the conflict brewing in his chest. Nothing was right. He wasn't supposed to feel. Feel this much for a grey area in his life. He was just a one night stand, reveling in the dirty words yongguk was whispering by his ear. "Himchan... So good... You're so good..." Himchan already knew. He was a whore. And he defied the true meaning of goodness. But he needed this validation. Needed to know that yongguk would still call him after he left. Needed to know he could still feel this close to heaven again.
It ended-
On white sheets. Tomorrow there would be a stain to remember them by. Sleep. The word escaping as a murmur to clear the air. But Himchan couldn't risk sleeping. He dreams when he sleeps. Of everything but reality.
Are angels allowed to dream of love?
Probably not. Behind closed eyes they were only allowed faint glimpses of home. Of watching the world from above the passing showers and lightning storms. Because now, home was yongguk. One short fall from heaven. Yongguk's heated touch. Yongguk's lips. Yongguk's steady breathing. Between the silver-lined clouds strewn in light and the grey of the sheets, Himchan wasn't quite sure which he preferred. But he was slowly dying. Feathers turn to blades, cutting at his back. Halo dimming to a thick haze, clouding his mind. So Himchan gives up the possibility of ever flying again. Tears fell to form Roscharch patterns on the pillow. Yongguk pulled him closer, eyes wide, whites glistening in the dark. He wiped at the tears, gently; hesitantly. With fingers that weren’t meant for intricacies. This was the first time Yongguk saw Himchan cry for reasons beyond physical pain (pleasure). First times for anything always hurt the most. Yongguk looked at him. Directly into his glass eyes. Hopeful; fearful; awe. So very much lost. Himchan wished yongguk could hear his thoughts because he was screaming-
Love me. Love me. Love me.
He closed his eyes. And yongguk placed gentle, fleeting kisses on his eyelids. Yongguk wondered if angels cried. Right now he had a theory that was bordering the truth. He thought he was going insane. One night stands weren't supposed to feel like this. They weren't supposed to feel so complete. He felt it again.
Yongguk, what are we?
But yongguk didn't know. They were a grey area. One that they both ended up lost in. Wandering souls looking for the light. Hands reaching mutely for the skies; clawing, feeling thin air on fingertips. Hopelessly lost in the grey of stained sheets. Yongguk thought they were unlikely. The devil and an angel. He was sure Himchan deserved that much more. Yongguk opens his mouth to speak-
But he doesn't quite continue. The words don’t quite come. Instead, Himchan feels yongguk's lips softly against his. It was chaste, pure almost. An uncertain pressure- Lightning softened by the summer rain. Yongguk tasted different. Human-like. Yongguk felt it too- A faint something that he had lost. Maybe he wanted more.
"We'll figure that out somehow..."
Yongguk pressed Himchan's head against his bare chest and whispered into the fine tousle of his hair. Yongguk's arms were his sanctuary tonight. Himchan closed his eyes and for once he dreamt of a good morning. Yongguk would stay. Stay to explore the grey areas with him in the mornings. By night, they would let themselves be careless under the sheets; create heated fireworks.
Are angels allowed to dream of love? In between the grey rustle of linen sheets; head against the steady thumping of a heart he was increasing his hold on, it didn't matter. In the dark, grey is allowed to fade to clarity. So Himchan doesn't reach for his halo in the morning. He allows himself to drown-
In the scent of yongguk's skin against his cheek. He was vulnerable. So, so human under yongguk's touch. He might know love, under the close watch of sunlight streaming through the tall glass window. They let morning shots of caffeine replace the alcohol in theit blood. Palms pressed; fingers locking. Himchan sees yongguk in the light. And Himchan decides he likes how Yongguk’s voice is in the morning.They smile real smiles, yongguk likes how himchan's eyes curve so shyly. Yongguk calls Himchan beautiful. Wraps protective arms around his waist and whisper sweet nothings into his ears like lovers do. He reminded Yongguk the world wasn’t as ugly as everyone made it seem. That there were beautiful things worth seeing in the light. They were intricate pieces of color. Yongguk saw past the grey. And he chose to believe Himchan was perfection. He calls his name softly; surely-
Himchan?
I think I might love you.
Himchan felt his heart swell. He might be crying. But everything was clear now, light doesn’t lie. Everything burst beautifully into dyed light. Yongguk kissed his angel, watched intently as his features blur to grey in the close proximity. The line between rough sheets and good mornings fades to oblivion. Himchan was home. Himchan plays with the last of the fallen feathers between his fingers; let's them drift towards the parquet, skin across the surface like dust. Yongguk found home again, lips on the back of himchan's hand.
Yongguk was human-
Himchan was human.