He was dressed in a faded and worn white robe, the cuffs wear tattered and stains littered the chest. His striking blond hair a mess, tufts poked up at every angle and frizzed absurdly. He was the most beautiful man Yoongi had ever seen.
His breath caught in his chest as the Angel fell from the cross, it’s limp body sprawled across the red carpet beneath. His arms and legs flopped on the ground and his head hit the edges of the pulpit.
Yoongi couldn’t move, his hands trembled at his sides and he didn't think that he had even blinked since the Angel had appeared. Slowly, mostly out of fear death by fire or some other Heavenly wrath, Yoongi walked over to the unconscious Angel. The Angel's breath came out in threads of smoke over the carpet, ozone was heavy in the air the closer to he got the Angel.
The Angel's lips were stained a deep red, his eyes were surrounded by dark purple bruises that clashed with his pink cheeks.
Was touching a Angel sacrilege? Or was leaving a injured and unconscious Angel on the floor sacrilege? Was by standing in the presence of a Angel sacrilege? This was a area of religion that Yoongi was unfamiliar with, being a priest he knew all the in’s and out’s of sin, but being in the presence of a Angel was not something that the had been taught by the Priest before him.
With trembling hands Yoongi tapped the Angel's shoulder, the flesh beneath his hand was on fire. Not literally, or no at least that Yoongi could see. But it was definitely to warm for anyone, Angel or otherwise, to bear. The Angel moaned-a deep sound that did not make Yoongi’s heart race- and rolled over. His back was bare, the robe burned straight off of his skin. It was laced with burns and there was scars that were still bubbling that looked a lot like wings.
His breath caught in his throat and fuck was this a fallen Angel? Fuck, fuck fucking hell. Swearing was not something that priest did, or at least were suppose to be heard doing, but when a fallen Angel landed in his church Yoongi figured that it wasn’ the biggest sin he was committing today. So with that he unceremoniously picked up the Angel, being careful of his back and head, and carried the Angel to his quarters beyond the pulpit.
- - -
It was a week before the Angel woke up. Durn that time Yoongi watched over it and cleaned his wounds with all the first aid supplies he had ready and the ones he could steal from the market without being noticed, plus a healthy dash of holy water. He had consulted Namjoon about the hypothetic idea of a wounded Angel and how it would be cared for, the response was some confusion and a lot of speculation on how a Angel would get hurt. With finally a response of like a human but holier. So talking to Namjoon did nothing to quell his fear of hurting the Angel or doing something else to bring its heavenly wrath upon him. It would be undignified for a priest to be smited by a Angel.
Though Yoongi never usually prayed before bed, he decided this would be the time to start. He had joined priesthood for the steady job and regular food budget, half of the people in his district were starving or on the brink of starving. He had grown up with next to no food, his stomach had been always growling and his limbs were weak, so selling out his morals for food and a stable roof over his head hadn't been something that he thought twice about. In fact, he had only skimmed the bible once and then improvised for all of the churchgoers.
As the days went by Yoongi noticed a shift in the room where the Angel slept, actually Yoongi's room but he didn't feel comfortable sleeping in the same room as the Angel and had started sleeping in the church. He curled up each night in the rows of seats and clung to the threadbare blanket that he wrapped himself in. The shadows started to grow longer and the ozone smell thickened, Yoongi could barely breath when he was cleaning the Angel's wounds and easing holy water down his throat. On the fifth day the Angel started seizing. His body was covered in sweat and his eyes frantically moved beneath his eyelids.
It had all the signs of a demonic possession that Yoongi was routine, which lead to many questions about whether or not a Angel could be possessed. But for all of the seizing the demon didn't wake up for another two days.
The morning the Angel woke up Yoongi had given one of his newly energetic sermons and ignored the concern about his eye bags with the excuse that he had be inspired lately by the call of God to up the level of his sermons. With exhaustion in his bones Yoongi began his now twice daily task of cleaning the wounds on the Angels back. The burns and bruises hadn’t changed, no matter how thoroughly Yoongi cleaned them or how much he doused them in holy water.
The Angel jolted when Yoongi laid the rag doused in holy water to his burns, Yoongi jumped back and squealed in a way that was definitely not manly. For a second nothing moved, the Angel laid in the spot he had been and the slow rise and fall of his chest remained the same, Yoong is heart began to slow down to normal speed as he breathed through his nose. Then the Angel’s body stiffened and his eyes opened to face the stained ceiling of Yoongis room.
He let out a ragged breath before screaming, the scream hit octaves that Yoongi couldn't even hear. He wondered if the stain glass window in the church was going to survive. On the bed the Angel started to tear at his neck, his fingernails left red marks along his throat and his eyes were frantically searching the room for something.
Long after when Yoongi thought that the Angel's voice should have died it focused his eyes on him. Once they made eye contact the Angel's voice started to die, his voice started to rasp and tear and slowly fell to nothing. Yoongi didn't dare move, his body was frozen in place, the Angels scream had put him in a rapture. All he could focus on was the rise and fall of the Angel's chest as it sat up and how chapped his lips were as he ran his tongue over them before speaking.
“Are you a human?” His voice was much deeper than Yoongi thought it would be and his swollen eyes searched his face waiting for a response. There was a slight hope that still somehow lingered in his eyes, as though he was waiting for Yoongi to deny his claim.
Yoongi licked his lips and shook his head. The Angel nodded, his body sagged and tears started to gather in its eyes. Yoongi stayed frozen against the wall and the Angel slid deeper in to the bed, tears now welling up and sliding down his cheeks. Eventually after minutes frozen at the wall Yoongi slid a step closer to the Angels, his minute footsteps drawing the Angels attention for a second before he resumed his silent sobbing.
Fuck, Yoongi had no idea what to do. Was it appropriate to pat a Angels back and tell him that it was alright and to let it out? And in fact was the Angel a guy? He looked like a typical extremely attractive male that made Yoongi question his choice to become a priest. Well maybe there was a place to start. Yoongi cleared his throat and stepped closer to the Angel, “Um, uh-“
The Angel's head jerked up and he looked like he was either about to scream at Yoongi or cry, but still he nodded and gestured vaguely to continue.
“Are you a, you know, guy?” Perfectly eloquent and well executed Yoongi thought to himself as he bit his lower lips and clenched his fists before quickly letting them fall loose at his thighs in fear that the Angel would recognize that as a sigh of aggression. Fortunately the Angel just nodded, his head looking around on his neck, his eyelids blinking heavily before he slid off of the bed and on to the floor.
- - -
The Angel remained passed out for another day before he woke Yoongi in the dead of the night by sobbing and screaming. Yoogi was both worried and annoyed, the neighbors had already asked him what had happened the day before to summon such a horrifying sound from within the church, he had lied and told them that he had exorcised a demon that was trying to control a young soul and that it had put up quite a fight. But the same excuse would not work again, so Yoongi rolled out of his blanket and huffed a few choice swears before he tried to run to the door of his room.
Unfortunately, he tripped and landed on the step that lead up to the pulpit and the large groan and swears that he let out must have alerted the Angel to his position. The noise that the Angel was making began to slowly die down, and by the time Yoongi limped his way over to the door the Angel was only faintly hiccuping in distress.
The Angel looked him not saying a word but definitely conveying how annoyed he was by Yoongi interrupting his grieving or something. Yoongi just stared back at him with no remorse, an angel of the lord or not no one could come in Yoongi church and boss him around. Eventually, the Angel looked moderately embarrassed and curled up even further in Yoongi’s bed.
“What’s your name?” Yoongi said, his voice much too loud in the room full of tears and the lingering scent of ozone. The Angel looked at his palms, fingers gently running along the scars on his palms. When he choked the words out they were stiff and clogged with tears, as though he was remembering all the other times that he had used his name. Probably with light shining down on him as humans screamed and pissed themselves.
Yoongi nodded, his hands ached to reach out and soothe the Jimin's bed head, the stray hairs seemed to catch the light of the moon. An unearthly glow was still around Jimin, and when Yoongi squinted he could almost pretend that the wreath of hair was a halo. Probably not something to mention though.
They stood there in silence as Yoongi watched Jimin, and Jimin watched his hands curl around the edges of Yoongi’s blanket. Eventually, Yoongis eyelids started to get heavy and the bed looked far too inviting with a tragic angel in it for Yoongi to stay anymore. He turned and made his way to the door. As soon as his hand closed around the door handle Jimin spoke from behind him.
“Yoongi thank you.” His voice was soft now, the rasp was still there in his voice but it flowed, it sounded like music. It reminded Yoongi of when he would go to festivals as a kid and how he would spend his only copper coin on the traveling musicians. The instruments would play in harmony, the unbalance of the violin and piano mixing together to create a perfect symphony. That was before it registered in Yoongi's brain that it was actually creepy as fuck and how did this angel know his name? When he turned to ask Yoongi realized that somehow he was in the main body of the chapel, standing right next to where his blanket was laying crumbled on the floor.
- - -
After that night Jimin refused to speak to him. When Yoongi brought him food and water the angel didn't even blink in his direction before devouring the food. When Yoongi tried to clean the wounds on his back Jimin stiffened and started to sob. He tore at his back with fingernails blood smeared along his face and on Yoongi's sheets as he sobbed.
Yoongi left his back alone after that, though it pained him to see the puss and ooze that came from them. Plus his sheets would never be the same, or his bed roll, or perhaps even his room. For as the days went by Jimin started to smell less and less of ozone and more and more of rot. The kind of rot that slowly permeated the senses and then once you noticed it the smell was everywhere.
Yoongi had to be careful at sermons that no one sat too close to the door of his room, and that he warned Jimin that today the church was going to have actual people in it so he couldn't scream or sob hysterically for the next few hours. Jimin would only blankly stare at him before nodding slowly, the dark circles under his eyes and the prominent cheek and collar bones made him look dead. No matter how much Jimin ate he still seemed to be losing weight at a terrifying speed. Once when Yoongi had him strip so Yoongo could at least clean him by dousing him with lukewarm water, Yoongi could see each of his ribs and how sunken his stomach was.
On day thirteen Yoongi decided that he had to get some help, because whatever he was doing was not working and Yoongi wasn't soulless enough to through the angel onto the streets to be beaten, raped or worse. So Yoongi started to send Namjoon and Hoseok letters, ones that asked about the vague and totally hypothetical possibility of a wingless broken angel and what said angel would need to survive.
It only took Namjoon two days to reply, and given the fact that he was three cities away helping a large church with their library collect, was remarkably fast. Unfortunately Namjoon suggestions were useless, neither holy water or excessive amounts praying worked and Yoongi didn't think that Jimin had the time to wait it out. But Namjoon also posed another suggestion, that Jimin was not, in fact, wingless but a fallen angel.
Yoongi shook his head when he read that, no matter how bad Jimin looked it didn't seem possible that he could be a fallen angel. Not with all the stories in the bible, no matter how twisted and biased the telling of might be, Jimin was good person. And Yoongi had been rereading the bible to find something to do, because it was the closest thing to a guide on dealing with a angel living in your room. Because Yoongi couldn't keep sleeping on the floor, it had been almost a month and his body ached and moaned everytime he moved. He sounded like an old arthritic person when he tried to get up off of the floor.
This morning Yoongi rolled over on the floor, his spin dag into the rough wood floors boards and the threadbare blanket fell off of his stiff body onto the floor.
“Fuck,” Yoongi breathed out against the floor, that he was pretty sure was giving him splinters. Today was market day, so everything would be cheaper in hopes that people would spend their last bit of money on caramel corn or sweet bread. It would be the perfect time to buy a new bedroll and better blankets for himself. Groaning Yoongi stood up, he had to check the church's coin box and steal a few gold coins if he was going to afford it. Yoongi had spent the last of his salary on food for Jimin.
Luckily one of the rich old woman, who had spent her youth probably doing the unspeakable up at the place to afford her luxury retirement and generous church givings, had put in a gold coin and two silver coins. She had whispered in Yoongi's ear that she hoped that it would help the church convert others to the cause, her lips were dyed purple and the wrinkles around her eyes reminded him of old wax paper.
Yoongi had only nodded and smiled as he did at all of the old believers. Faith and the church were dying, the young preferring to spend their time anywhere but somewhere where they had to hear about how their lives were worthless and full of sin. So Yoongi had to keep the old happy with his sermons to stay alive and fed.
After fishing a few more silver coins out of church box Yoongi brought the last of the food to Jimin and watched as the angel devoured it, then returned to his solemn blank stare at the wall. It probably wasn't worth the effort of telling him that Yoongi was going out, Jimin wouldn't even notice his absence.
- - -
The market was packed with tents that colors had long since worn out and stalls full of misshapen vegetables, the sunken eyes of the destitute following the flow of breads and fruits, waiting for someone to lose their footing and drop a morsel to eat. Yoongi tried to avoid eye contact with them, he knew their suffering to well and knew that if he looked into their eyes that he would be unable to refuse them money.
He slid past the bustling booths and searched for the shop sign just beyond the tents; Old Times was a strangely named shop, but it was always stocked full of wool blankets and clothes. The owner's parents had a heard of sheep that lived just outside of the cities borders, so their merchandise while expensive was much more affordable than many of the other shops that were in the town square.
Yoongi grabbed the first bedroll he saw, his aching body crying out at the possibility of a nice soft place to sleep. He would need to get new sheets as well, if Jimin would ever move from his bed, and perhaps Jimin would need some clothes. Yoongi tried to imagine Jimin smiling, how his cheeks would scrunch up and how his eyes would crinkle, the image was as clear as though he had already seen it. Shaking his head Yoongi bought the bedroll and the linen sheets.
Walking through the market on the way back to the church the smell of the sweet bread caught Yoongis attention. It had been months since Yoongi had been able to afford anything beyond his usual meals, meals that were so bland that they blended together in his mind into a giant mess of tasteless mush. And he still had a couple of silver coins left, he could afford a couple rolls of the sweet bread. Maybe he would even give one to Jimin and maybe he would do get off the bed for long enough for Yoongi to wash the rancid sheets. And the idea of Jimin smiling was stilling lingering in the back of his mind.
The sweet rolls warmed his pocket as Yoongi walked home trying to pretend that he hadn't bought them for him and the angel to share, and that Jimin was having no effect on his mind.