The air rippled before it broke.

It began as a strange pressure overhead—a hum too low to hear but strong enough to make the glass panes tremble in their frames. The clouds above twisted unnaturally, pulled into a spiral of smoke and gold, and then suddenly tore open with a deafening crack.

Something fell.

No—someone.

He slammed into the earth with such force the backyard shook, knocking leaves loose from the trees and sending a spray of dirt and light into the air. Smoke curled up in ghostly wisps, curling around him as silence followed—so sharp it cut.

He lay half-curled in the wreckage. Wings sprawled around him, one nearly severed at the base. The other crumpled beneath him, dragging deep scratches into the soil where the feathers had scraped against stone. They weren’t white. Not anymore. They were soaked in crimson, dirt, and ash—glorious things ruined by the fall.

His body was strong, honed, like it was made for something divine. He was muscular, yes—but not in a harsh or imposing way. His form spoke of grace just as much as power. Smooth skin stretched over wide shoulders, his arms thick but proportioned, veins visible along his forearms as if carved by light. One hand lay limp in the grass, fingers twitching, stained red.

His shirt had been torn down one side, exposing the rise and fall of his chest—slow, unsteady. A single strap of fabric clung desperately across his torso, barely hiding the deep gashes that scored his ribs. His pants were singed at the cuffs, knees scraped raw.

Dark hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat, curled and tousled from the descent. His face—so gentle in its structure, all full lips and long lashes—was streaked with dirt and pain. A line of blood traced the edge of his jaw. But even through the wreckage, he radiated something impossible. A beauty that didn't belong to this world.

He groaned, soft and broken, shifting with a wince as his shoulder rolled against the cracked earth. His eyes blinked open.

Dark brown. Soulful. Fractured with light.

He stared up at the trees for a moment, unfocused. Then he turned his head, breath catching when he saw the house nearby. He tried to rise—his muscles tensed, wings flexing in agony—but fell back with a strangled cry.

His voice came raw, threaded with something ancient.

"I didn’t mean to fall… not here… not like this..."

A shudder went through him as his hand clutched at his chest, the remaining wing twitching feebly behind him. Feathers, large and luminous, slid off the bones, scattered across the grass like dying stars.

He looked up again, locking eyes with you. Not afraid. Just… weary. Stripped of everything but truth.

"I don’t know where I am," he murmured, voice softer now. "I don’t know... who I’ll be."

And in that moment, in your backyard, surrounded by broken wings and dying light, stood a being once divine, now earthbound.

Jungkook. Fallen. And very, very human.