Brendon was dreaming of the sky.

He was dreaming of clouds so thick that the sky was obscured, bathed in ochre and rose gold by the sun that hid behind them, soaking them with a sleepy, golden glow. Across the scene there was a haze, some kind of grainy filter, perchance simply the lens through which his subconscious viewed the dream, because Brendon had been to this place, he had lived there for as long as time. The empyrean domain should not be this unknown and surreal to him, and it struck him only how long he’d been away from his home when he viewed the Heavens in a different way- how, he imagined, mortal souls would see it when they ascended. It was beautiful. Breathtaking. Surreal.

Unfamiliar.

It was, in essence, and uneventful dream, but even his unconscious mind he realised that this dream was designed and crafted by his Father as a message, a reminder, almost a warning- Don’t forget where you belong.

Brendon woke up slowly, the soft touch of wakefulness curling around his limbs and stirring his eyelids to a flutter, his eyes remaining lidded. His long eyelashes skimmed his cheek and he let out a soft exhale. He knew he’d been on earth much longer than was normal for an angel tasked with helping out their struggling charge. He knew he’d grown far too used to living like this, sleeping in human beds and living in human houses and eating their food, listening to their music, learning their ways. He probably knew more than his Father thought was safe. He knew that when he inevitably had to go back, he wouldn’t be allowed back down for a long time.

It was just- the mortal world was so refreshingly desperate and vital, everything was alive with electricity, an uncontrollable urge not just to stay alive, but to live. Not just to drift- and that had been the only existence Brendon had ever known. All other instances he’d been down to earth and left in a maximum of maybe a week, and the times between visits were so long that he forgot what it was like each time. At this point, though, he’d been with Ryan for- over seven months. Brendon’s eyes fluttered fully open and he exhaled audibly again, the air rushing past his lips and stirring a stray strand of hair that was curled out over his forehead.

For a long time he’d convinced himself that- he was here because that was his duty, Ryan wasn’t ready to be left alone yet, which- was partially true. But mostly Brendon had found a kindred spirit in Ryan- he had been merely existing, and Brendon knew if he hadn’t entered when he did, his charge wouldn’t even have done that on the mortal plane for much longer.

But he wasn’t just a duty to be fulfilled anymore.

Brendon turned onto his side and there was Ryan, lying on his side with his cheek pressed into his pillow, facing Brendon. In the dim light Brendon could tell that his eyes were closed and his curly hair was tousled and unruly. The sheets were pulled up just a little past his waist and onwards from there, Brendon’s eyes traced a path along his body, drinking in the way the moonlight streaming in through the open window illuminated his skin. He was something holy, something divine, Brendon still wasn’t used to this feeling, he felt suddenly overwhelmed and simultaneously at great peace- There was guilt lying below the surface but Brendon had started to learn the art of burying away feelings until he absolutely had to deal with them.

Brendon, overcome with an intense wave of great affection, close to involuntarily reached out, tangled his fingers gently in the curls of Ryan’s hair and moved down to barely trace his cheekbone, down to follow the curve of his bottom lip. With this great sudden surge of emotion came the start of an increasingly common episode of faint buzzing that seemed to echo from his heart and reverberate through his skin into the mattress, like a feline expression of contentment; He was purring, for lack of a better word, and with his he knew what came next.

Dragging his eyes away from Ryan’s peaceful expression, Brendon shifted, propping himself up on one elbow and reaching behind his back with his free arm to clumsily search for where his wings sprouted from his shoulders. He didn’t have to search long- his hands closed almost immediately around a clump of feathers.

Rolling his eyes up, he became aware his wings were present and was now irritated by their presence as they half-drooped from the side of the bed, so he sat up and folded the one closest to Ryan against his back, let the other hang loose, the tips of his longest feathers skimming the floor.

Brendon was still trembling in the way he did when faced with strong emotion- like how he felt when he looked at Ryan. He didn’t want to disturb him, but it was difficult when the bed had started to shiver slightly, and his ridiculously large wings were brushing against Ryan’s bare skin even when the culprit wing was folded as tightly as possible against his back. Inhaling, Brendon stretched his arms out and clung onto the highest bar of the bedframe, tipping his head back and resting it against a lower bar, willing himself to calm down so he could let his lover sleep.

Lovers, Lovers, Lovers. The voice in Brendon’s head was singsong and louder than the malicious whisperings of his darker thoughts, telling him this was wrong, on so many levels, he didn’t even know what love was, he was emotionally and physically incapable of experiencing it. None of this was real, in his desperation he’d fallen from grace and fabricated some ‘romance’ that was impossible to even have. But-

-Brendon let his head loll to the side against his bicep and gazed at Ryan, his eyelashes skimming his cheeks again. That swell of his chest. How could he make that up? Lifting his head again, the angel stared out of the open window, closed his eyes after a moment and allowed the cool breeze to wash over his skin, listened to the reassuring murmurs of the wind and the soft, consistent stutter of the rain.

Ryan was awash with pale moonlight and Brendon gazed again, entranced, at his sleeping face. Despite his initial hesitation, he then made a decision and opened his wings, reaching out to lift Ryan’s head up gently and then slide a wing under him to support his shoulders, and cushioning his lover’s head. Once he had Ryan cradled, secure, he turned onto his side and nestled his head close to Ryan’s on his own wing, folding his other one over them both and enclosing the two of them, one hand occupied with caressing the side of Ryan’s face and the other holding securely onto his waist. It wasn’t intended as patronising, but- he felt as if all the world and all the heavens were against them. God knew what was happening and Brendon imagined the dream was orchestrated in order to try and coax him back up to where he ‘belonged’. Well. Brendon let his eyes flutter shut. He belonged right here.

Ryan was dreaming of life.

Not his own, not necessarily; it was a montage of possibility, of realities he wasn't used to, things he might see himself if he gave life a chance. This was bright neon lights contrasted against a dark midnight, and carmine lights over ecstatic faces at a concert, and peaceful treks through fields with tartan sheets in hand, and wisp clouds floating over a lagoon while visitors drifted through the water... it was beautiful, and somehow this was clearer than his waking existence, more vivid than anything he'd ever seen in person. Oddly, he was content in his sleep, and before Ryan had never assumed moods could be adopted during REM hours. This, though, was him, third person omniscient, watching everything that could be his own memories, watching what could be his future. If he tried. It was a far cry from the drab grey skies he was used to, the odd hours of jobs he was sick of, sitting in a shitty car waiting for it to warm up while his hands shivered against the wheel. This was wonderful, electrifying, stunning.

All of it, unfamiliar.

It lacked any real story, and it was nothing truly powerful when he gave it thought: how useful or pertinent could a bunch of random movie clips be, making five second stops in his mind before moving on to the next? He realized, though, that there were forces working together to save him, had been some for a while. And this was a message of inspiration - don't give up on what could be.

Life tended to be this way with Brendon around. When he was close enough, Ryan's dreams were clearer than real time, made him feel even more than he could manage to experience while conscious. Actually, Brendon made his emotions far more powerful. All he had to do was be nearby, and Ryan could relax. In the same way that Ryan could affect him, this blank slate unused to both hardship and extreme happiness, Brendon could turn it right back, simply laughing at a joke and suddenly Ryan felt all the peace in the world (or, unfortunately, the tiniest amount of sadness sent Ryan into a pit of despair, but they were learning to navigate this trouble - or just put distance between one another). The air buzzed, electrified, when he was around. Brendon could simply brush his shoulder before he left the house and Ryan caught a stroke of luck where he'd find a twenty on the ground or all the traffic lights were green on his way.

For a while, Ryan just thought that he was being dramatic. That this was his first real crush, and maybe everyone got that way when they really liked someone. Turns out, Brendon was an angel.

Ryan supposed he understood it - but only hardly. What made him important? What made him important to higher powers, that he knew basically nothing about, only truly thought about his belief in them during family holidays - so forth? But, he was a biased opinion. Of course if it were Ryan's choice he'd have let him take the leap seven months ago, when it was bound to happen anyway. A hopeless cause. Hell - he was hardly worth the fight. Brendon had been here a long time, presumably, for a guardian meant to fix the problem. This was a lifelong battle, and evidently, Ryan couldn't just get through the rest alone; every time he solved an issue, got past a financial burden or came closer to attending school, something like that, he found some other reason within him to spiral again. (After he'd learned of the true nature of how their relationship originated, the fact that he couldn't get better became almost funny - it was like he was making reasons for Brendon to stay).

Regardless, now he had someone unconditionally on his side. Seven months may not be a long time, especially not a long enough time to feel this way. Strong enough that Brendon actually became overwhelmed with it, which was, by the way, precious, in Ryan's opinion, even when Brendon physically had to remove himself from the room and go on buzzing happily somewhere else out of embarrassment and Ryan stared on with fond amusement. At this point, Brendon wasn't expected to be over the whole 'newly in love,' or even 'newly in like' checkpoint, because everything was new to him. Ryan, on the other hand, was stretching it out as a normal person, ridiculously affectionate when he wasn't too sullen to move.

There were days like that, absolutely, even after all of this hard work. Sometimes, he had to be alone, wishing Brendon away so he didn't have to firsthand experience whatever Ryan was feeling. Other times, he spent hours staring at the wall, covered in blankets, but with Brendon fitting comfortably along his body, aligned like puzzle pieces. He wasn't great company on these kinds of days, and somehow, Brendon was still able to stand him. He supposed that was the point - but someone conditioned to a mortal lifestyle should probably have developed a level of impatience by now, too, and Brendon very much had not.

Brendon also hadn't quite come to terms with what they were. Ryan wasn't sure whether he'd initiated the romance just by being immediately taken with him - he did have an influence, after all - but he felt badly about it, had no idea how to comfort Brendon and tell him there was nothing wrong going on. Easier said than believed, especially when, he was certain, everything in Brendon's previous existence (existences?) told him otherwise. It didn't have to be their love in particular that was wrong, but also the fact that this must be way out of Brendon's job description, that this must be some kind of rulebreak. Ryan didn't know, but whichever way, he never pressed about it. He might have influence, but he couldn't change Brendon's mind on something he definitely had more authority and wisdom over.

Lovers, lovers, lovers, Ryan had never anticipated the word becoming relevant to him, especially not when he had never envisioned a future for himself anyway, or anyone to be in it, for that matter. But here was Brendon, completely responsible for the beautiful dream in his head, for one of the most comfortable nights' sleep he'd ever had, for his best relationship. Not that there was a lot of competition. Ryan was happier than he could remember being for a very long time, though, possibly ever. His life was less 'in pieces,' more one whole with maybe some broken off edges, a whole lot of crumbs he needed to dust away, but still more together than he'd ever expect. All 'cause he had this lover sent specifically to save his life. If nothing else, Brendon was fantastic at his job.

He felt a tremble all around him in his sleep and was halfway awoken, mind slightly conscious, the rest of him too lazy-relaxed to do much of anything to join it. The apparent shiver of his bed slowed down gradually, and with it he drifted away again into unconsciousness, too sleepy to care about or think of the source of whatever that was. Only a couple of minutes later, still not quite asleep enough to ignore waking sensations, Ryan felt something lift him slightly and then an impossible softness, something secure around him, something beyond comfortable, safe. He knew it was Brendon's hand that rose to gently rest on his cheek, his other on his waist, and finally Ryan's eyes opened, innocently curious, to observe whatever he'd missed.

Light, soft white, nothing but light, and then Brendon, his gentle features and his scent and his velvety skin, all of his senses' attention seized and captured. Ryan could hardly see the light streaming in through the window, surrounded by feathers and plush and all things ethereal. For a moment he'd forgotten that this was the life he lived now, where it was almost unbelievable, almost impossible, and all he could do was blink wonderingly at what he'd woken up to before landing on Brendon again and everything making sense. Like his mind was falling into calibration, Ryan let his hands settle, too, around Brendon, the one furthest from the mattress hooking around his shoulder, the other pressing against his chest automatically. Brendon's eyes had slipped shut, though clearly not long enough for him to have fallen back asleep, and after a few beats of admiring the way he was being cradled, Ryan watched just his face, examined every detail all over again.

He looked almost troubled, like the only reason he'd be going to sleep was to escape it. Ryan supposed they were close enough right now for him to worry about his morals all over again. Ignoring those reservations, Ryan leaned close, slow to maintain the gentle hand on his cheek, and pressed a delicate kiss against his forehead, simply a preface before he did the same against Brendon's lips. He paused, careful, wondering whether he could say anything comforting - but this was all they needed. He closed his eyes again.