TAEGI SMUTS [ᵃᵒ3]

You're Holy To Me

Ao3 by : melikeriomyg

Summary :

“Ah, aren’t you a handsome one?”

Yoongi jolts, turning around. His heel catches a snag in the carpet and he tumbles backwards, landing messily onto the ground. His palms catch him before he hits his head, but as he looks up he can see a figure laying across the top of the organ’s pipes, a whole person resting on top despite the pipes not being built to sustain that kind of weight.

A young man lays on his side, cheekbone in palm as he looks down at Yoongi. From this low, he looks even higher up.

“What—?” Yoongi tries to let the words come out, to let them flow, but his tongue feels caught.

Because this doesn’t look like any normal human. If Yoongi squints hard enough, he can almost see some kind of tail flickering behind him, a long and thin kind of thing that sways eerily like a cat’s would when agitated. But the smile this creature wears is almost delighted.

(Or the one where Yoongi accidentally summons a demon and Taehyung perfectly fits into the emptiness in Yoongi's life.)

-
-
-
-
-
-
-

[The following work contains particularly heavy religious themes like sexual activities in Church, demon crossovers, discussion of hell and heaven, etc. Please, click back if any of it makes you uncomfortable.]

In all honesty, Yoongi’s feelings about this god-awful place are bittersweet.

He’d long given up the church; nothing to do with politics or swayed beliefs, but more because of busy schedules and different priorities. Yoongi’s in his mid-twenties—work and friends and education had slowly taken over his life many years ago in its place.

There’s also something about this church that always made his skin itch, made his heart sink with a small sense of fear. The building is older than what feels like time itself, and even with all of the colored light that bleeds through stained glass windows, there has always been something dark about the building. He’d hated it ever since he was a child.

Yet, as Yoongi sits on the organ’s familiar bench, fingers reaching out like vines, eager to caress and latch onto each key, he realizes that there’s also some kind of twisted sense of home that settles in his chest as well. He used to sit here at this very same organ when he was younger, once small hands struggling to reach all of the keys at once—now as an adult, his fingertips stretch across each one easily, like second nature.

Muscle memory is a funny thing.

The last service of the day has long since ended, Yoongi left alone in the dim light, letting the quietness of the evening fall on him. With very little natural sunlight left, the room is a bit darker than it had been this morning when he’d been playing for everyone who’d come to pray and listen to the sermons. Now, the soft notes that fill the air from under his hands feel a bit different, feel a lot more somber.

But as a new organist for this very same church, he recognizes the nostalgia that swims in his heart too, the way a lighthouse guides a lost ship to shore. Music was hard to make a living off of as it turns out, much to his disappointment. It only feels natural that he’d return to the place that he once rejected, desperate to do what he loves in a familiar environment, even if he was doing it for free until he figured out his next step.

His parents had been ecstatic, honored that their son had returned to the church. Yoongi, choosing not to let them know he had only considered it a temporary stop in the meantime as he searched for other jobs, didn’t object otherwise.