Chapter Text
It was a silent thing, the fall. The wind nipping at his shoulder, meeting the muscles flexed on his back, ruffling the feathers of his wings.
It was peaceful.
When he hit the floor everything burst into a cacophony. The cold turned to searing pain as his wings shattered like stained glass. His ears rang, piercing and painful, and his head swirled as colors danced in front of his eyes. A disco inferno, center stage.
It felt like the end and it looked like the beginning. He wanted to reach his hand up and touch the colors, hold the ever-changing shapes. He wanted to feel the fizzle of the static that seemed to dance, to taunt him just beyond his reach. It made the fire that encompassed him feel distant. He could taste metal in his mouth, more potent than the searing presence of bone in his body. He could feel every inch. His nerves harmonized with the stretched muscles, the dislocated joints, the torn skin.
For a brief moment, he felt like he was floating. Like some thick, viscous air had caught him instead of the hard grassy dirt that he slammed into.
For a brief moment, he felt like he might still be up there, in the dark black above him, soaring and serene. The symphony of pain cancelling out to numb acceptance. The high of the fall.
Without warning, his bones started to mend, fitting themselves back together. The awful safety in a sentence of immortality, the other side of the coin. He finally was confronted with the harsh reality of the never dying.
A rough sound broke its way out of his throat, a painful middle ground between a sob and a laugh, terror and relief, and it settled deep in his gut. His eyes watered as he breathed in the air around him.
This part was agonizing. It was silent and loud all at the same time, filling his ears, forcing him to feel, to experience every second of it. His teeth grinded together as he bit back a groan, feeling his shoulder slip back to where it was supposed to be. He wanted to gnash out, to swing claws he didn’t have. But there was nothing hurting him, no other being inflicting this pain. It was inside him, forcing his safety like a punishment. Forcing the consequence of life to the center of his heart that beat in fast pumps, attempting to send blood out to his healing body faster than he was losing it.
It took a while before the pain subsided to a dull ache and he could lift himself up. He glanced around him. Trees covered his spot in a now-ruined patch of grass, and he would’ve thought he was alone if it weren’t for a sweet smell of something fresh-baked dancing through the air. With nothing better to do, the man stood up, carefully stretching out his black wings to drape behind him. It was a dishonorable and embarrassing thing to drape one’s wings in the presence of a stranger, but he was hungry and the flock wasn’t around to punish him for another corporeal sin.
He followed the scent to a small cabin also nestled among the trees, alone. The night air drifted around, yet a pie sat in the windowsill as if it was midday. The crickets had long abandoned their silence and had picked up a melancholy tune, background noise to the rumble that had started in the man’s stomach.
It wasn’t too much later that a dog broke the silence, threatening and loud, on the other side of the simple wood door. The man tilted his head, contemplating what to do. It was then he heard another man’s voice, soft like the twinkling stars above.
“Mito! What’s wrong?” The voice called, freezing the man’s bones in place. “You’ve been acting weird all day-”
The door swung open and the other man fell silent, his wavy black hair falling into his face, his hand still half-hooked around the dog’s red collar that stood out strikingly against his black fur. He seemed frozen, eyes fixed on the winged person that stood before him.
Time seemed to move slowly until Mito had enough and broke free of the loose grip to come barreling toward the man. Panic rose slowly before subsiding when Mito only seemed interested in jumping high enough to lick at his face.
“Mito!” The voice called again, and soon the dark-haired man was dragging Mito away. “We don’t jump on strangers, you know this!” The man looked back up from his over-excited dog with a mixture of nervousness and embarrassment flushing his cheeks.
“I’m Hongjoong.” With just a second’s breath of hesitation, he pushed his hand out toward the man.
The man stared at the hand, some strange greeting of the land-dwellers he pondered, and stuck out his hand as well. “I am called Mars.”
“Mars? Is everyone with wings named after heavenly bodies?” The man asked, his eyes locked in on the wings that still drooped behind him as he moved his outstretched hand to grasp Mars’s and shake it. Hongjoong caught himself, his blush deepening. “Or-sorry, if that was rude.” He let go of Mars’s hand and moved it to pat Mito’s head.
Mars smiled slightly, his response filling the air with a scratchy chirp like undertone. “My wings are similar to my flock. I am called Mars because that was the name of the one that passed away before I was born. The next to be born will be called Mars.”
Hongjoong’s eyebrows scrunched slightly, and his lips quirked for a brief moment. “But you are Mars.”
“Correct”
“You are not dead.”
“I cannot die.” Mars tilted his head, pondering the strange response.
“But- how will the next one be called Mars?” Hongjoong asked, his brown eyes looking directly into Mars’s own.
“Because I have passed away. Fallen. I’m no longer permitted to join my flock in the sky.”
Hongjoong blinked, seemingly unsure what to do. Mars’s stomach filled the silence, a gurgle that made the dark-haired aware of his hunger. Mars smiled slightly.
“Would you want to join me for some pie?” He offered. “It should be finished cooling.”
**********
The pie was sweet, filled with a vibrant reddish-purple that leaked from the berry filling. It reminded Mars of the fruits from home, and that thought sent a horrible sharp pain cutting through his chest. He missed his flock, despite how everything ended. Despite his choice, he wished he could see them again. Not to join, never to return, but to look upon their faces and be covered with their wings in an embrace and -
He heard the clatter of a fork against a plate and looked up to see Hongjoong had finished his slice, looking over at him. Mars blinked back.
“Is it not good? I’m still learning how to cook on my own-” Hongjoong asked, his gaze holding a small twinge of embarrassment. Mars wondered if all humans blushed this much.
“No, it is good. It just reminds me of home.” Mars held the fork in his hands, piercing another part of the pie like Hongjoong did. It was difficult, but he was getting the hang of this particular tool. The flavor burst in his mouth, just as overwhelming as the first few bites. Fruit was not usually this sweet for him. It filled his stomach nicely though, easing the rumble and the ache that called for more.
Hongjoong nodded. “Home as in-” He started delicately, pausing as confusion found its way to the crease in his eyebrows. “As in the sky?”
Mars nodded. “Yes. That is-” the pain shot through his chest again, raking its sharp nails against his heart. “-was my home.” He corrected himself. His mood felt deeper than the ground. He felt hollow, cored out already. Maybe his heart sunk into the dirt as his body repaired itself. Maybe it ripped itself free and buried itself in a shallow grave, the rest of him damned to continue on the surface without it.
“Do you rest on the clouds, then? There doesn't seem to be much land up there.” Hongjoong’s voice took on a light tilt, his eyes sparkling as he glanced up at Mars.
“We rest on the ground or in the trees, as the birds do.” Mars responded, taking a bigger bite of the sweet pie in front of him.
Hongjoong huffed, sitting back in his chair, the wood creaking with his movement. “So your home isn’t the sky?”
Mars lips turned down. “It is. It is our true home.” The pain crept back, claiming a tight grip on his throat. “Their true home. Not mine, anymore.” He felt something wet travel down his cheek, as fast a descent as his was earlier in the night.
“Oh, hey. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-” Mars heard the dark-haired man ramble on with apologies, meant to convey comfort, but Mars couldn’t bring himself to answer. His throat seemed to have closed completely, the pain squeezing until there was no space for passage. Air was stuck in his chest, clogged in his throat, as pain and fear continued its relentless clawing. Waves ran down his cheeks, falling, splattering on the red that covered his plate below. His world zeroed in the blurry shapes and colors that took over his vision, like frozen time in the middle of a fall. Suspended in mid-air, an eternal prison, inescapable. His heart beat widely and his chest hurt as the air rioted for an escape. He felt stuck, buried, already in the ground. The dirt was closing in around him, suffocating him, cementing him too a long, dark end-
“-Mars, breathe-” He hears cut through the panic, like rays of sunlight poking through cracks in the surface above him. His vision became clear as calloused thumbs gently wiped across his cheeks. “-Like me, follow my breaths.” Hongjoong chest expands as air enters his nose and he holds still for a few moments before exhaling the air through his mouth. Mars attempts to copy his movements but the air still feels stuck in his throat. His vision starts to blur again, his brain spiraling back into the hazy colors, but the rough hands are quickly forcing the blur to subside again.
“That’s okay, just try again.” He says, and Mars leans into his calm surety. He grabs the dark-haired man's wrist, some desperate sense of support, trying to cling to the liferaft that the man is offering him. Hongjoong doesn’t make any reaction to the grip on his arm, continuing his breathing and focused stare at the other, occasionally pushing back the blur from overtaking Mars’s world again. Mars stares back, dedicating himself to matching the other man’s lead. His wings twitch and flitter behind him, and he suddenly feels the desire to find the comfort of the wings wrapped around him, hiding him from the harshness of the candle-lit surface world. He makes an attempt, but the chair and the table stop his wings from their mission, leaving him to flutter awkwardly behind him. They are too restless to leave still again, but there is nowhere for them to go. A whine escapes his lips, and the thumbs move gently across his cheekbones.
Hongjoong's shoulders lose tension when Mars finally manages to match his breathing. This success leads to other issues resolving, as the flood from his eyes slowly comes to a halt and the blur dissipates to a shocking clarity. Hongjoong is squatting in front of him, his hands still cupping the sides of the other’s face, now pushing silver hair from falling in front of his eyes. His shoulders are loose, but his back is straight and his brown eyes are tight with worry. The silence fills the space until it feels just as oppressive as the air that was stuck in his chest.
“I don’t-” Mars starts, but he is not sure what to say. He is not sure what had happened, what the fall has done to his being. He felt like any words he could push past his lips couldn’t define the expanse in his brain, couldn’t fill the hollow that ate away at his chest.
“It’s okay.” Hongjoong said again. “How about some rest? I don’t have- I have a soft bed that’s all yours.” Mars looked down at him as the man looked back up, smiling softly, gently, like the other might shatter if met with only a harsh look. Mars unwrapped his fingers from the others’ wrist, clasping his own hands on his lap. He was suddenly aware how his eyes felt as heavy as the rest of his body. An exhaustion pulled at his bones like weights were attached to his ankles, as some universe-dealt consequence for the outburst. He did not have the energy to play out the debate of trust that poked around in the back of his mind and the man was smiling so softly Mars did not think one capable of such a smile could be capable of anything contradictory anyway.
“Okay”
Hongjoong nodded, getting up from the ground and walking around the table to the back of the room, opening a closed door by the fridge. Mars got up slowly, stepping over to the room. It had a large bed in the center, covered in white sheets. A chair in the corner held a soft, worn-looking quilt. The dresser to the right was covered with scattered papers and a singular hairbrush. There was a painting on the wall of an ocean lashing at the sides of a ship. The room seemed loved. It whispered comforts sung like a soft lullaby as the winged man moved to the bed, laying his head on the soft pillow. His wings hung off the side, and his body contented itself with laying down the burden of carrying their weight. He sighed, snuggling deeper into the soft warmth below him.
As he was slipping into a dark, silent abyss, he felt the ghost of warmth envelope the entirety of his body. It reminded him of the thick, warm ocean air he flew in as a child, watching the waves build and crash throughout the water that went on for as many miles as the sky above, until they met in the far horizon beyond.