They had been angels, both of them assigned as those who carried the prayers upward fro earth to heaven. Myunghan was always bright and smiling, happy as could be to be making a difference in people’s lives, and sometime in the last few millennia Barom had fallen in love with him. It had taken a few more centuries to convince the other that he could feel the same, but then all was bliss.

Or so it seemed. In the last century Myunghan had grown cold, quiet to the point of worry for Barom. He could remember clearly the day that he saw tears coming in a steady flow down his lover’s cheeks as he carried a prayer upward, and when questioned about it, Myunghan would say nothing. Only that he was tired. 

That answer made no sense, though: angels didn’t get tired. And so Barom set himself as a guardian over his lover, his longtime friend, the one he’d do anything for. As that guardian he watched as Myunghan grew more and more distanced until finally, one day, he had gotten up from bed to go straight to the throne room instead of their workstation. Barom considered following, but he knew that he had a job to do, and so with his lip worried through his teeth, he carried out his job throughout the day, keeping an eye out for Myunghan but never seeing him.

It wasn’t until he returned home that night that he heard the news. Myunghan had fallen, had requested to be made mortal, to give up his wings. It was a death sentence - mortals only lived for a hundred years at best – and worse than that he hadn’t even told Barom he was planning to do it. 

Hadn’t cared that he had left him behind.

Bitter anger festered in his heart for the first few weeks after Myunghan’s fall, and he tried his best to just forget the other as he carried out his heavenly duties. Eight days afterward, though, he found himself moving at light speed for the mortal city, doubt creeping into his heart as he drew closer to it and hopefully, closer to answers.

He found Myunghan quickly; just because he was no longer an angel didn’t mean that Barom couldn’t recognize his heart beat. He floated down to land carefully on the edge of a balcony, the shabby outer wall of the building making him wonder if the balcony would be able to hold his weight if he were corporeal. He’d made sure to stay invisible to mortals, though, knowing that seeing an angel flying around would panic any average human.

Wrapping his wings around him, he stepped through the closed door and into the small living room, his gaze automatically flitting around to judge the meager furnishings. An old couch stood against one wall, the aging cushions hardly looking comfortable; an outdated television sat on a stand across from the couch, leaving barely four feet in between them for people to walk through. Barom shook his head in wonder that Myunghan had given up their life in heaven for this squander, had given up having comfort and life so that he could have… what?

Speaking of the fallen angel… he now stood in the kitchen across from the balcony, one hand running through his hair as he considered a page in a recipe book. That action… that was so Myunghan that a pang struck Barom’s heart and he let out the softest of gasps, wishing that once again he could reach forward to pull the other’s hand from his hair and drop kisses to his fingers.

Myunghan looked up when the gasp left Barom, and looked straight at where the angel was standing. It was shocking and for a moment he wondered if the now-mortal fallen could still see him, but when Myunghan merely frowned and went back to reading, that hope was lost. Once an angel was fallen, they could never recover their wings. It was done.

Moving closer through the apartment, Barom made his way to Myunghan’s side, eyes tracing the soft lines of his face that belied his ancient age. He had lived since the dawn of time and yet he stood here, appearing to be in his twenties. He would only live for another eighty years, maybe, and at that thought a tear ran down Barom’s cheek and he reached out a finger to trace the othe