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Min Yoongi hated the spring.

The season of spring was a time for new birth and regrowth. Spring reversed all the wonderful, beautiful damage that winter had done. Spring ruined the beautiful chaos that winter had created. When winter’s wrath was over, when it was done wreaking havoc on the earth, spring came to the rescue like some kind of hero. It was revolting.

Yoongi admired the winter.

Everything that winter touched died. It was a season of loss and mourning. It was a season of destruction and bitterness. When winter brought its deadly kiss upon the earth, everything remained frozen in time. The trees ceased to sway in the breeze. The clouds hung heavy in the sky. The earth held its breath as the heavy snow sat upon its chest. Icicles trickled dangerously from every ledge and rooftop, sharp and threatening. Winter was a time for destruction. Everything that the frost touched was destined to die. It was beautiful.

In the winter, no one yelled at you for wanting to stay in bed. No one called you lazy or told you to find something else to do with your time. Everyone burrowed inside their houses with warm blankets and a fire crackling in the hearth. It was socially acceptable to stay inside in the winter.

So Yoongi hid away. In the day time, he put on his happy mask. He forced a smile and did all he was asked to do. He performed the meaningless office tasks and said nice things to his coworkers. He pretended to be happy.

But when he got home, his resolve shattered. He took off the mask. He indulged in warm blood running across his skin. He allowed himself to feel. And at night, he drowned himself in the covers of his warm bed as he struggled to rest.

The nights were the hardest.

He was plagued by nightmares left and right. Demons of his own creation chased him, mocked him, and laughed at him inside of his own mind. He was suffocated by the expectations of everyone around him. He was drowned in the promises he’d made that he knew he would never be able to keep. Everything he said was always a lie. He took his last breath again and again and watched the light fade from his own eyes. Every. Single. Night.

It was a horror show.

Yes, Yoongi had friends. He had a family. But his family never appreciated him as much as they did his elder brother. His friends were all happily married and starting families with jobs that they didn’t despise. Everyone was happy. Everyone but Yoongi.

He took pleasure in inflicting marks upon his skin. He enjoyed the power that it gave him. He enjoyed the rush that it made him feel. He’d slice the razor across his skin and watch in morbid fascination as his blood poured out of the veins and onto the bathroom floor. Sometimes he’d sink into the full bathtub and hold his breath until spots danced across his closed lids and his lungs screamed for air.

But it always had the same result. He’d lay in bed for hours, staring at the numbers on his clock. He’d watch them change hour by hour. Maybe he’d pass out from exhaustion at the very last second. He’d wake up for work, put on his happy mask, and continue the same routine.

He’d tried therapy. He went once a week, every Saturday afternoon, per request by one of his close friends. Kim Seokjin, one of his friends from his university days, had begged him to go. Yoongi was a twenty-six-year-old man who should have been capable of taking care of himself, but he clearly was not. So he signed up for therapy with a woman who promised an end to every problem that ever existed in the world. He took all his meds so he didn’t wither away.

“Depression, anxiety, insomnia, and body dysmorphia are all manageable illnesses,” he remembered his therapist saying with a plastic smile. Manageable. What did she know? She wasn’t inside his head. She wasn’t inside his body, struggling day by day.

And what did Seokjin know? He was happily married with a family, just like his other so-called friends. Yoongi was just another charity case to them. At least, that’s what he told himself.

Every day was a struggle. Every night was a horror show. He may have had all his limbs intact and all his organs functional, but his mind was decaying with each passing hour.

Min Yoongi was dying.

Perhaps it was an exaggeration, perhaps it was not. With every slice of the razor blade and fake smile, he was losing a part of himself. And if he one day went too far, so what? No one would miss him. Life would go on without him. The earth would still turn, the sun would still rise and set. The seasons would change. Spring would come to ruin everything that winter had done. He’d finally be free, he’d finally cease to be a burden.

And so he prayed.

Yoongi was never particularly religious. His parents had been, but that was all in the past. He’d always wondered what happened when you die. He liked to think that it was just pure bliss. You floated endlessly in time and space, a miniscule particle of what once was. You ceased to exist in the most wonderful way, becoming one with the decaying universe. But there was always that doubt in the back of his mind. If there was a God, he certainly hadn’t been kind to Yoongi. So why should he beg him for favours? Desperate times call for desperate measures. One thing led to another and soon enough Yoongi was on his hands and knees, praying for a saviour.

He wondered what it would feel like to be cured. He wondered what it would feel like to never have to worry about anything ever again. To be able to sleep through the night, to be able to walk in large crowds without panicking and throwing up, to be able to eat a full meal without feeling disgusting. To exist without feeling worthless. He wondered what it would be like to be saved.

He prayed for an angel.

He wasn’t expecting anything to happen. And for a while, nothing did. He prayed and prayed and prayed. He begged whoever was listening to send him the most beautiful angel to take all the pain away. He prayed as if his life depended on it, because, quite frankly, it did.

One particularly restless night, he gave up. He allowed himself to drift into a state of unconsciousness after endless hours of staying awake. He temporarily faded away, and he assumed that when he opened his eyes he would see the same glowing numbers of his alarm clock glaring back at him.

But the universe had another plan. Because when Yoongi opened his eyes that same night, it wasn’t a clock that greeted him. It wasn’t the agonising sound of his alarm or the irritating chirping of a bird outside his bedroom window. No, it was something entirely out of a movie or novel alike.

It was exactly what he’d wished for.


When Yoongi opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was that everything was white.

He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision. A blinding white light surrounded him. He remembered laying on something soft, much softer than his bed at home. Before he could panic, the sound of angelic laughter greeted his sensitive ears. He tried to sit up, and then he was falling.

He didn’t know how long he fell for. But when he opened his eyes a second time, the white light was gone. Instead of a cushion against his sore muscles, he felt the tickling sensation of sand. When he sat up, he noticed that he was wearing a thin white gown. The purest of sand surrounded him, cleaner than anything Yoongi had ever seen in a travel magazine. The sound of the ocean graced his ears, and he noticed that the beautiful blue waves stretched for miles. There wasn’t a shore in sight. The sky was blue but littered with grey clouds. Behind him, in the distance, there was a large white building. But it was much too far to reach.

Instead, he sat there in the sand and began to panic.

He was on the brink of a panic attack when he first heard it. The sound of footsteps pattering across the soft sand reached his ears. He had tucked his face in his knees, trying to practice his deep breathing methods. The ocean waves were calming, but he was terrified. Where was his house? Why was he at a beach? What was going on? The footsteps paused, and a gasp could be heard.

“No, no, don’t cry!” someone whispered in the gentlest voice Yoongi had ever heard.

Yoongi’s head shot up.

A hand suddenly touched his shoulder, and Yoongi staggered backwards in the sand with a small scream. His eyes, wide and terrified, fell upon a figure standing in front of him. He was wearing an entirely white gown like Yoongi, but his was thicker and much more elaborate. It was pinched at his waist by a rope belt and pooled in the sand at his feet. He had stunning blue eyes, like pieces of the summer sky. A sharp jawline and high cheekbones were carved along his face, along with two perfectly plump lips. They were twisted into a frown, and his eyebrows were furrowed in distress.

But the most shocking thing about the beautiful stranger was the large, white wings protruding from his back. They were extremely long and covered in soft, downy feathers. They beat slowly and gently against his back. A glowing white crown sat atop his head that was covered in wavy, blonde hair.

It took Yoongi a moment to realise that the stranger was speaking to him. He could see his lips moving but didn’t hear any sound coming out. Yoongi’s back hit the sand as the stranger stood over him, but there was no malicious intent in his eyes. Instead of trying to harm Yoongi, the stranger extended a hand to help him up.

“You’re probably very confused,” the stranger said softly. “I can feel how terrified you are. Why don’t you sit up a bit and I’ll explain?”

Yoongi’s panic-filled eyes searched the beautiful creature’s face. Instead of taking his hand, he opted to scoot further away and sit up by himself. There was sand covering his body but he didn’t care. He fixed his eyes on the figure in front of him and asked the question that was tormenting his mind.

“W-Who are you?”

The stranger gave a reassuring smile as he sat down in the sand, facing Yoongi. Yoongi tried to stagger away some more, but the stranger grabbed his wrist gently with a pleading look in his eyes.

“Please don’t, I promise I’m not here to hurt you. My name is Park Jimin, and I was sent to be your angel.”

Yoongi blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. “My what?”

Jimin blinked at Yoongi as well. “Your guardian angel! I’ve been assigned to you,” he beamed proudly as if it was some type of accomplishment. “You do remember requesting me, right?” he asked in confusion, tilting his head in the most innocent way.

Yoongi’s eyes widened. “Holy shit,” he blurted out before clamping his hands over his mouth.

Jimin’s laughter filled the air, and it was one of the most beautiful sounds that Yoongi had ever heard. “So you do remember,” he concluded with a dazzling smile.

“I-I,” Yoongi stuttered. “I remember praying b-but I didn’t . . .”

Oh. Oh. Yoongi had asked for an angel, hadn’t he? He’d asked for a saviour, for someone to help him. He’d begged whatever God there was in the universe to send him a beautiful angel that could save him.

What he hadn’t expected was for it to actually work.

“Min Yoongi,” Jimin’s angelic voice broke his trainwreck of thoughts. “If I remember correctly, you are twenty-six years old. You live alone. You suffer from depression, anxiety, and body dysmorphia. And you frequently self-harm.” Jimin was reciting it like he had it burned in his memory.

“H-How did you . . .” Yoongi stuttered stupidly, at a loss for words.

“If I’m to be your guardian, I have to know about your struggles. Don’t I?” Jimin questioned gently.

“I don’t believe that’s any of your business,” Yoongi started to say, irritation flaring inside him. “You—”

“Yoongi,” Jimin interrupted him. “I’m your guardian. I’ve already been informed about every aspect of your life. Your past, present, and future.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened. “Y-You can see my future?” he asked incredulously.

Jimin’s expression was grim. “I can,” he admitted. “All I can say is that if you don’t start to change, your future isn’t going to be very bright.”

Yoongi scoffed at that. “What else is new,” he muttered. Then he realised that he was talking to an angel, a real angel. The kind that the Bible always referenced but no one had ever seen. “Oh my God. You’re an actual angel? Like in the clouds? Holy fucking shit,” Yoongi breathed. “A-Am I dreaming?”

Jimin laughed, his troubled expression fading momentarily. “Yes, I’m a real angel,” he said with a grin. “And to answer your other question, yes. You’re dreaming. This is the only way I’m able to show myself to you,” he informed him. “But this isn’t a dream of your creation. It’s a dream of my creation. I created this dream for you so we could meet.”

“You created it?” Yoongi whispered. “So this is a dream . . . but it’s real?”

Jimin nodded. “Are you a little less confused now?”

Yoongi swallowed thickly. “Not really . . . I-I don’t understand how this worked? I mean, where even are we?”

Jimin smiled. “I tried to create a calming atmosphere. Something that wouldn’t be triggering to you in any way,” he explained. “Did it work?” he asked kindly.

“I . . .” Yoongi trailed off, looking around.

It was hard to take his eyes off of Jimin, though. He couldn’t believe that he wasn’t imagining everything. Maybe it was his brain playing some fucked up joke on him, but he didn’t think he was capable of creating such a beautiful dream.

“I’m here to help you, Yoongi,” Jimin said sweetly, placing a warm hand on Yoongi’s poorly covered thigh. “I’m going to help you get through this.”

Yoongi cleared his throat in an attempt to ignore the tears forming in his eyes. Jimin’s hand was brushing across the white scars peeking out on his pale skin, gently tracing them with his finger.

“No one can help me,” Yoongi replied meekly. “I’ve tried everything.”

“I haven’t tried yet,” Jimin pointed out. “But you have to let me. You have to want this. Do you want me to try? If not, just say so and I’ll never bother you again.”

Yoongi paused. Here was this beautiful angel who was offering to save him. He had gorgeous wings and a fucking halo for Pete’s sake. Yoongi didn’t know if this was real, but he knew that he wanted it to be.

“I um,” Yoongi started, clearing his throat again and blinking the tears from his eyes. “I want you to try.”

Jimin brightened instantly. “I’m so glad! You’re kind of cute,” Jimin said with a giggle.

Yoongi’s cheeks burned. “Are you even allowed to say that?” he blurted out.

Jimin raised a perfect brow. “What do you mean?”

Yoongi felt like an idiot. “Isn’t the Bible like . . . anti-gay?” he mumbled.

Jimin wrinkled his nose. “That’s poor translating. Father loves all his children, no matter what.”

“Father?” Yoongi asked in confusion.

“Yes.” Jimin nodded.

Yoongi’s eyes were drawn to Jimin’s wings once more. “Can I . . .” he trailed off.

“Of course!” Jimin beamed, scooting closer.

His wings extended longer, and Yoongi marvelled a the sheer size of them. He reached out a shaking hand, hesitant to hurt Jimin.

“Go on,” Jimin said softly. “It won’t hurt me.”

Yoongi’s trembling fingers brushed over the soft feathers covering Jimin’s wings. He released a shaky breath when he felt the smooth surface. It was the softest thing he’d ever felt. Jimin had his eyes closed as Yoongi gently stroked his wings, a sigh of contentment leaving his lips. It appeared to be relaxing to the angel. It was almost therapeutic for Yoongi.

“I hate to say this, but our time is almost up,” Jimin said sadly, finally opening his eyes.

“I’ll see you again, right?” Yoongi asked quickly, retracting his hands.

Jimin nodded. “Tomorrow night, as long as you want to.”

“I do,” Yoongi breathed. “Um, how does this work?”

Jimin smiled and leaned over, pressing his hand to Yoongi’s forehead. Yoongi flinched only slightly, and Jimin noted this with a sympathetic look in his eyes.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, my precious subject,” Jimin whispered.

Yoongi closed his eyes involuntarily at the gentle gesture. When he opened them, he was lying in bed staring at the same white ceiling he had for years.


The next time Yoongi saw Jimin, he was much less afraid.

“You’re here,” Yoongi noted when he saw Jimin lying on the ground.

The angel’s wings were spread out in the sand as if he were stretching them. The halo on his head glowed brightly, even brighter than the white sand behind him. Jimin’s arm was lazily thrown across his eyes, blocking out the miniscule sunrays peeking through the grey clouds. A smile formed on his lips when he heard Yoongi’s voice.

“Did you expect me not to be?” Jimin inquired with a teasing tone of voice.

Yoongi blushed as he made his way over to the angel. He sat down beside him hesitantly. “I’m not sure,” he admitted.

Jimin’s smile remained on his face as he removed the arm that was covering his eyes. “You’re cute,” he commented lightly. His beautiful blue eyes met Yoongi’s. “How are you feeling today?” he asked softly.

Yoongi appeared startled by the question. “How am I feeling?” he repeated.

“Yes, silly.” Jimin giggled. “How have you been feeling since last night?”

Yoongi frowned, picking at loose fabric on his gown. “The same as always?” he said, but it came out as a question.

Jimin pressed his mouth into a thin line. “So horrible, then,” he said quietly. Yoongi looked away, and Jimin sighed. “Talk to me, Yoongi. Tell me what’s wrong. I’m here to listen.”

Yoongi looked away, posture rigid and uncomfortable. “I, um . . .”

“It’s okay,” Jimin coaxed gently. “Don’t be afraid, Yoongi.”

“I’m alone,” Yoongi blurted out suddenly. “A-And everything hurts and I feel like I’m dying.”

Then he was sobbing.

Yoongi had never opened up to anyone. Yet there he was, sobbing his heart out in front of an angel. A real angel. Jimin pulled Yoongi closer, so the younger boy was practically sitting in his lap. Yoongi cried as Jimin held him, wrapping his strong arms around him. Jimin’s wings enclosed them both, shielding them even though they were already isolated.

“It’s okay,” Jimin whispered soothingly into Yoongi’s ear, rubbing circles on his back. “I’m here now. You never have to feel alone again.”

Jimin held Yoongi until his sobs quieted to sniffles. Yoongi hid his face in Jimin’s shoulder, already feeling the embarrassment and awareness of what he’d just done come creeping in. Jimin tutted softly.

“Don’t close yourself up again.” He frowned. “You have no reason to be embarrassed.”

Yoongi shook his head. “I’m a mess,” he murmured.

“Well you’re my mess now,” Jimin huffed. “You’re my subject, whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with me!” He beamed. He then turned serious, tipping Yoongi’s face up so they were looking into each other’s eyes. Yoongi looked away, his cheeks burning. “Look at me,” Jimin commanded in a soft tone. He finally caught Yoongi’s gaze. “We’re in this together now. You’re not alone anymore.”

His gentle reassurance only made Yoongi tear up again. Jimin sounded so sure that he could fix him, that he could help him. If only the angel knew that he was a lost cause.

But what Yoongi didn’t know was that Jimin would never give up. There were things that Yoongi didn’t know yet about Jimin.

There was a lot Yoongi didn’t know about Jimin.

It would all be revealed in due time. As long as Jimin did his duty to help Yoongi, everything would be okay.


Park Jimin was a deity.

He was part of an elite group of immortal beings that served one larger, more powerful God. He wasn’t a god himself, per se, but he was immortal as such. He and his fellow elitists together made up the Astrum class. He was a being similar to what humans thought to be angels.

Angelus, or angels as humans called them, served their Father. But it was much deeper and more important than that. There were different classes of angels and each had a different position. Jimin’s class, in particular, was responsible for dreams.

Only those in elite classes of angels could hear the prayers and offerings of the humans. When someone in the Astrum class heard a plea, they were responsible for assigning one of their own to help.

Jimin had been the first to hear Yoongi’s plea. When he saw the fragile soul, so beautiful but tainted, he knew he had to help him. Thus, Jimin created a dream world where he could manifest to help Yoongi along.

There were many issues with being a part of the Astrum class. One of them was the whole concept that they could only appear in dreams. But this was only partially true. Yes, they were supposed to appear in dreams, but they could also manifest in the human world. It had the potential to be dangerous, though, and was typically frowned upon. So Astrum limited their assistance to the dreams of those who saught it.

Jimin didn’t want to only appear in Yoongi’s dreams.

He wanted to be there for Yoongi whenever he needed him. He wanted to be the one to hug him tightly as he stared in disgust at his own reflection, to whisper how beautiful he truly was in his ear. He wanted to be the one to wipe the tears from his eyes when he broke down crying at random times in the day. He wanted to soothe him to sleep with the gentlest of lullabies while he stroked his soft hair. He wanted to make sure Yoongi was always comfortable and always felt safe and cared for.

He wanted so many things that he wasn’t allowed to have.

But Jimin was always good at bending the rules. He’d find a way. He had claimed Yoongi as his subject and he wasn’t planning on letting him go. The beautiful young man with such a tainted soul was his to mend and care for.

Min Yoongi belonged to him.


Months passed by. The seasons continued to change despite the inner protests of Yoongi. Life went on, oblivious to his usual struggles. But something had been different in the past few months. Yoongi was beginning to change. He no longer feared sleep. Because when he closed his eyes, he’d get to see his favourite person in the whole world. Park Jimin, his angel.

His angel.

Park Jimin was his. It was something that was originally very hard for Yoongi to comprehend. He remembered Jimin holding him close while explaining the concept softly to him, his breath tickling the shell of his ear. He remembered Jimin telling him that they were each other’s now. Jimin was Yoongi’s and Yoongi was Jimin’s. Yoongi didn’t understand why exactly, but he was too grateful to ask any questions about it. Jimin wanted to belong to him. It was incredible.

Yoongi came home one evening, feeling positively drained. His new job was a nightmare and the meds he’d been put on recently were making him sleepy at the oddest of times. Yoongi showered briefly and threw on nothing but an over-sized t-shirt. He crawled into bed and was out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

This time, when he saw Jimin, something felt different.

Jimin still looked the same. He was still sitting in the sand on the beach, staring out into the open water. He looked as beautiful and peaceful as always. But when Yoongi sat down next to him, Jimin felt different. There was this restlessness, an electricity in the air that he’d never felt before being next to the angel.

“I missed you,” Yoongi whispered when Jimin didn’t acknowledge him.

The angel hummed. “You’ve been doing such a good job lately, Yoongi. I’m so proud of you.”

Yoongi felt his heart swell, but he was slightly disappointed. Jimin was normally very physical with his praise. Hugs, small peppered kisses here and there, and gentle caresses were normal for him. Had Yoongi done something wrong?

“You’re acting different,” Yoongi whispered, his throat feeling unusually tight.

Jimin frowned. “I’m not,” he denied, still not looking at Yoongi.

Yoongi bit his lip, staring down at the sand beneath them. His eyes prickled with tears. He’d always been overly-sensitive. Years of trauma made him terrified that with every little thing he did, the people closest to him would leave. Because that’s what always happened. Dejected, Yoongi began to move away.

“Maybe I’ll just stop bothering you,” he muttered before he could stop himself.

Jimin, alarmed, turned to Yoongi abruptly. His face softened. “Oh darling, don’t cry.” He reached out and drew Yoongi close to his chest. “Precious,” he whispered, kissing the top of Yoongi’s head. “You could never bother me. I’m so sorry I worried you.”

Yoongi hadn’t even been aware that he was crying until Jimin pointed it out. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s wrong?”

Jimin sighed. A few minutes of silence passed over them before he finally answered. “Every time I see you,” he began, “I want to be close to you. I want to hold you against my chest and kiss you breathless. I want to make you feel safe and protected. I want to have you, all of you. I can see how beautiful your soul is, damaged as it might be. It calls to me. I want you, Min Yoongi. But I’m afraid of frightening you and scaring you away.”

“You want me?” Yoongi asked incredulously, his face burning.

Jimin smiled. “Yes, you heard me correctly. I want you. I’ve wanted to kiss you for the longest time,” he muttered blissfully. “I’ve wanted to worship your beauty, to help you see how wonderful you truly are.”

Yoongi sniffled before he could stop himself, his eyes already feeling damp. “W-Why would you want me?” I’m nothing. I’m not special . . .”

“You’re wrong,” Jimin said firmly. “You’re my precious subject. From the day I saw how broken and alone you were, I knew I wanted to be the one to help mend the torn fragments of your soul. I wanted to shield you away from everything that could hurt you. Do you know how hard it was for me to restrain myself?” he breathed. “You’re so lovely, Yoongi. I’m entranced by every part of you. Every single mark upon your skin is a battle scar that’s only made you stronger. You’re beautiful.”

Yoongi let out a small sob, burying his face on Jimin’s neck. Jimin instinctively wrapped his arms and wings around him, making sure he felt comfortable and safe as he cried. Yoongi couldn’t understand how this beautiful creature could want him of all people. This beautiful angel wanted to protect him. Wanted to hold him. Wanted to kiss him. He just didn’t understand. No one had ever truly cared this much about him before. He was terrified that it wasn’t real.

Technically, it wasn’t.

A horrifying thought struck him. This wasn’t real. He was only dreaming, none of it was real.

“Breathe,” Jimin suddenly whispered in his ear. “You’re okay. Just breathe.”

Yoongi’s breathing had begun to accelerate, and Jimin was scared he was going to force himself into an attack. He focused on rubbing soothing circles on Yoongi’s back, rocking their bodies gently while cradling Yoongi to his chest. He could feel the human’s tears against his skin.

“T-This isn’t real,” Yoongi sobbed. “None of this is real.”

Jimin shushed him gently. “No, darling, you’re wrong. You’re very wrong. This is real. I’m real. I promise you.” He felt Yoongi shake his head. “What can I do to prove it to you?” he asked gently.

Yoongi pulled away so he could stare into Jimin’s eyes. “I want to see you,” he whispered. “Outside of my dreams.”

Well, Jimin could work with that.

“Okay precious,” he whispered. “I’ll do that right now. I’m going to need you to close your eyes though, okay? Close your eyes and relax for me. Put your trust in me.”

Yoongi took a shaky breath but nodded. He forced himself to close his eyes, willing his body to relax. He could feel Jimin’s lips softly brush against his forehead as a white light appeared behind his eyes. He shuddered, feeling a cold breeze.

Then there was nothing. He opened his eyes.

He was lying in bed. It was still dark in his room, the only light being the slivers of moonlight streaming in through the window. Yoongi sat up, confused. Only, he wasn’t alone. A figure was standing at the end of his bed, radiating a warm white light.

Yoongi screamed.

He staggered backwards in shock, tumbling off the bed. Jimin rushed to catch him, wrapping him tightly in his arms.

“Sh, it’s me,” Jimin whispered. “It’s me.”

“Y-You’re real,” Yoongi sobbed, eyes filling with tears once more. “Oh my God. You’re real. I-I’m not dreaming? Holy shit. Oh my God.”

“I’m real,” Jimin reassured him, drawing him into his chest. “I’m really here with you. You’ll never be alone again, my precious subject. Never again.”

Yoongi sobbed in relief, fingers gripping Jimin’s long white robe. He leaned forward until their faces were inches apart. Jimin’s lips were so full and pink . . . “C-Can I kiss you?” Yoongi whispered, overwhelmed by gratitude.

Jimin’s lips turned up into a smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Yoongi pressed their lips together, abandoning all fear and reason. Jimin’s lips were so soft and gentle as they moved against his own. He sighed blissfully, relaxing into the kiss. He was slightly taller than the angel so he had to lean down a bit, but he didn’t mind. Jimin’s wings enclosed around them as if to keep them safe. He could hear the angel whimpering into his mouth as he tugged their bodies closer, reaching one hand up to cup Jimin’s soft cheek. His other hand curled around his waist in order to keep their bodies pressed together.

Jimin tasted sweet. It was almost like the richness of vanilla with a hint of something more fragrant and so, so lovely. Their mouths fit perfectly against each other, like two pieces of a puzzle finally aligning. It felt like their souls were connected as they passionately embraced. When the two finally pulled back to catch their breath, both of them appeared dazed and flushed. Jimin wrapped his arms around Yoongi’s neck, staring into his eyes adoringly.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” he murmured.

Yoongi swallowed thickly. He could still taste Jimin against his lips. Yoongi was afraid of what would change. Jimin wasn’t human, he was an angel. He didn’t even know it was possible for Jimin to appear to him outside his dreams. Would they continue to see each other in his dreams or would Jimin appear to him in the real world? What would happen in the future? Would Jimin leave him as he got older and move on to a different subject?

Jimin, sensing his distress, pulled him closer once more. “Don’t dizzy yourself with thoughts of the future, my love,” he said softly. “I promise everything will be okay. We have each other now. I’m never letting you go.”

Yoongi blinked back tears. He bit his lip, staring down into the beautiful blue eyes below him. If Jimin wasn’t worried about it . . . why should he? He had Jimin now and Jimin had him. He could focus on continuing to get better now that he had Jimin by his side. It would be okay.

“That’s right,” Jimin said with a dazzling smile. “We have each other now. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

And it would be. Because Min Yoongi was no longer alone. He no longer had to suffer internally while hiding his problems from everyone around him. He no longer had to be afraid to fall asleep, afraid to close his eyes. He no longer had to be afraid of his demons. He was no longer afraid of the dark, because he had his newfound shining light by his side.

Later, Jimin would kiss every inch of Yoongi’s skin lovingly and worship him like he was a deity himself. He would shower Yoongi with affection and tell him how beautiful and lovely he was. He would kiss him breathless and hold him close. He would make sure Yoongi could feel how much he cared. How much Yoongi meant to him.

Because it was what Yoongi deserved. Jimin would always protect him from then on, no matter what. They had each other.

Forever and always.