Myungsoo laughs. It’s cold, and harsh, and slightly melancholic. Myungsoo doesn’t know how laughs can think. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t wonder if his laughs speak for him, since he refuses to do so himself.

There are girls around him. There always are.

They smile. They love his laugh. They call it beautiful.

He can’t stand it.

Myungsoo hates their smiles, the smiles that torture him so, because the only smile he wants to see isn’t there. Myungsoo hates his laugh, because it’s the only thing that’s left, and even that’s not the same if you’re gone. Myungsoo hates beauty, because the only true beauty has been taken from him.

Sungjong stretches slender fingers towards the sky. “I’m trying to block out the sun.” Myungsoo laughs. He steps in front of the offending ball of gas. “Much better, now that I have a shield of fat to save me from UV rays.” Myungsoo pretends to be upset. Sungjong sticks his tongue out.

Life is perfect.

But if you fly to close to the sun, the wax between the feathers will melt.

“Oppa,” the voice is feminine, but not seductive. Myungsoo turns away. Hyung. This voice is not feminine, but so seductive.

He wishes he were still here, still by his side.

She smiles at him. “Tell me more about yourself.” Doe eyes squint against the sun. Tell me a story, hyung. Any story. His smile outshines the sun, and Myungsoo is torn between squinting from the glare, and soaking in the twinkle in those eyes.

He wishes the sun wasn’t so warm.

But then again, he doubts he could have stayed away.

The smiles hurt. They have daggers in place of teeth, and thorns in place of words. And each one draws fresh blood. Sungjong isn’t ready for something like this.

His wings are heavy; feathers weren’t meant to get wet.

But blood is heavy. Heavy on his wings. Heavy on his mind. Heavy on his heart. I can’t let Myungsoo see this.

“You’re a monster.” Fresh blood. “You think you can tell Myungsoo something like this?” Sungjong didn’t know humans had so much blood. “You disgust me.” Sungjong didn’t know humans could feel so much pain. “And you disgust him.”

Maybe they can’t.

By definition, the inevitable must happen.

Myungsoo flew towards the sun. The inevitable must happen. There is no Daedalus to warn Myungsoo.

It doesn’t matter.

Myungsoo falls hard.

He relishes every moment of it.

The smiles soften his wax, the hard wax that keeps his wall of feathers together. But behind the wall, it isn’t quite so hard. And even while he falls, Myungsoo doesn’t wish it was any different.

The laughs liquidize his wax. The feathers slip from their proper places. Myungsoo is too busy tripping every time he hears that laugh to notice. A few more feathers rustle, one falls out, spiraling to the sea with increasing speed. And even while he falls, Myungsoo doesn’t wish it was any different.

Myungsoo isn’t sure if his wings fell apart before he plummeted toward the sea, or if he plummeted as they fell. He was too busy watching Sungjong’s smile, hearing Sungjong’s laugh, relishing Sungjong’s presence to notice that he wasn’t there anymore.

By the time Myungsoo hits the water, it’s too late. He’s fallen in love.

It was inevitable.

By definition, the inevitable must happen.

Sungjong flew with wet wings. The inevitable must happen. There is no Daedalus to warn Sungjong.

It doesn’t matter.

Sungjong falls hard.

And he relishes every moment of it.

The rain comes first. Secret meetings at late hours after trekking through drizzles, and droplets, and pouring rain. Sungjong’s feathers are strong enough for this. The rain slicks off the feathers, and he thrives off it. And even as he falls, he doesn’t wish it was any different.

The tears come next. Harsh words, harsh longing, harsh truths. Sungjong knows what it means to have salt rubbed in a wound. He will never love you. Harsh words. Harsher longing. The harshest truth. Salty truth drops towards the sea. But even as he falls, he doesn’t wish it was any different.

The blood comes last, and Sungjong will never know if it was as heavy as it felt or if it only felt heavy. Heavy words, heavy longing, heavy truths. Sungjong is okay with this. He’s faced worse.

By the time he hits the water, Sungjong’s been in love.

It was inevitable.

But the sea isn’t as kind as the sun.

Myungsoo squints against the glare of the sun, spreading his guitarist’s fingers towards the sky. Sometimes, if he stares long enough, he can make out the faint lines of a smile. Sometimes, if it’s hot enough, he can hear a note of laughter. Sometimes, if he cries enough, he can feel the cold where Sungjong’s warmth should be.

Hyung, tell me a story.

This time Myungsoo knows what to say.

“Any story?”

Any story. There’s a smile.

“There was once a sea who loved the sun.” The smile stops. “But the sea can’t reach the sun.” The laughter stops. “So the sea waited for the sun.” There’s an icy breeze.

“But the sea waited until the sun went down.” What next?

Myungsoo can’t hold back the tears. “I don’t know.”

But Sungjong does. Because after the rain comes tears. And after the tears come blood. And Sungjong doesn’t want that.

It was inevitable.

So the sun stays in the sky, and the sea waits below. And when they meet at the horizon, the sky paints itself red in mourning, but a beautiful red, because this is their love, their beauty, their only.