#stan bts

Observe the mortals. Study them. Learn their sins. Do not interfere. Do not feel. Do not fall.

He was sent to Earth like a shadow, a phantom moving through centuries unnoticed. He watched cities rise from the dirt and crumble back into dust. He recorded bloodlines and betrayals, listened to deathbed confessions, watched lovers die with each other’s names on their tongues. But he never flinched. Never spoke. Never mourned.

Until he met her.

She wasn’t extraordinary, not by heaven’s standards. But her smile cracked something ancient inside him.

She worked in a tailor’s shop on the edge of a forgotten street, with needle-pricked fingers and stardust in her laugh. She hummed when she sewed. She talked to herself when no one was listening. She looked at him, really looked at him, and saw something no one ever had before: not a demon, not a specter, but a man who was lonely.

Taehyung told himself it was curiosity. Nothing more. He let her speak to him. He allowed himself to linger, just a little. To answer, once or twice.

And then came the poetry. The songs. The secret meetings beneath flickering lamplight. The first time her fingers brushed his, and he didn’t pull away.

He didn’t notice when it started. Only that it became impossible to stop.

She taught him softness. He gave her everything he wasn’t supposed to have, his voice, his thoughts, the slow-burning ache of his devotion. And in return, she gave him a name for the feeling clawing through his chest: love.

She loved him. He would’ve burned the world for her.

He nearly did.

It was a winter night when it happened.

She had waited for him in the alley behind the shop. The same place they always met. But something was wrong, the shadows too sharp, the air too still. He should have sensed them. The men with blades. The cold glint of intent.

By the time he got to her, it was too late.

Blood soaked her dress, blooming like a flower over her ribs. Her lips were trembling. Her eyes still found him.

She smiled. “You’re here,” she breathed. He dropped to his knees, gathered her in his arms. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“No, no, don’t do this,” he begged. “Stay with me. Please.”

She coughed, blood flecking her lips. But her hand, God, her small, shaking hand, lifted to his face. “Don’t grieve,” she whispered. “Don’t stop. Just... live.” And then she was gone.

The scream he let out cracked the sky. When Lucifer came, it wasn’t with fire, but silence. He looked down at the broken demon, his favorite, the one who had once been cold and sharp and unshakeable. “You were warned,” the Morning Star said. “And now you are broken. You loved. You lost. And for that, you will suffer.”

Taehyung didn’t resist. He knelt beside her corpse, wings unfurled and trembling.

“Kill me,” he whispered. “Let me go with her.” Lucifer’s eyes darkened. “No. You don’t get to die. You get to remember.”

And with a snap of his fingers, Taehyung’s wings were torn from him. He didn’t scream. Not even when they branded exile into his skin.

“Thirty-five years,” Lucifer decreed. “You will walk among them. Mourn her. Watch the world spin without her. Let time strip you bare.”

And so he fell again. He watched her funeral from a distance. The world blurry, the wind cold. His coat wasn’t warm enough. His heart, if he had one, wasn’t beating.

They buried her with the ribbon he gave her. The one she used to tie her hair when she danced.

He didn’t cry. Couldn’t. But before he turned away, he whispered to the earth, to her, to the void that would now be his only companion:

“I’ll find you again.” And the world kept turning. He didn’t.

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