This is less a proper multi-chapter fic than it is a collection of oneshots for my Angel AU. Updates will be extremely sporadic.


Title: Divine Grace
Summary: TezuRyo. Tezuka believes in angels.


His mother speaks to him of angels and supernatural beings, of guardian spirits that watch over each individual person of the human race. She believes, and dreams, and always has a sterling silver brooch of angelic wings pinned to her blouse, or her skirt, or someplace where she can easily brush a gentle finger over.

His mother isn't religious, not even spiritual, but she loves mythological philosophy. She's loved it even more ever since that day.

Tezuka has never questioned his mother's beliefs, and his father only shakes his head with fond exasperation every time her mind wanders off, daydreaming of large feathered wings and a paradise that is too unreal to exist on earth. That's because Tezuka believes too, in guardian angels.

Tezuka isn't one for imagination; one of the things he can freely admit is his lack of creativity. There is no way, never a chance that he'd be able to dream up something so beautiful, so captivating, so ethereal. The moment when pearly white wings fluttered into his life, when dusty black hair brushed across his cheek, when golden eyes pierced through his heart, Tezuka was helpless to deny in their existence.

Tezuka has a guardian angel, and it makes everyday worthwhile, just to see what the tiny imp is up to, what he'll choose to do, when he'll dare to cross the boundaries.

Tezuka can see him so clearly, can hear every gentle rustling of wings, can feel the wind brush by him every time he glides by.

His angel never speaks to him, never utters a single word or sound. Tezuka wonders if he's mute, but he never asks. He lives, and the angel watches. That is how it has always been, and that is how it always will be.

Tezuka cannot remember a day where the angel is not there. Since that fateful day when he opened his eyes to the blinding glare of the white pristine hospital ceiling, the first thing he saw had been gold. Glorious eyes a molten gold that melted his heart in not even a second.

He'd been in an accident, a fatal tragic accident that rendered him bedridden for months. His mother used to tell him, in a defiant and disbelieving tone, that the doctors believed he'd never wake up, that even if he did, he'd never be able to recover back to full health, that he'd never be able to play tennis again.

The mention of tennis always brings a pang to his heart, but he never understands why. His mother tells him how he used to be captain, how he brought his team to the Nationals and stole victory from the old time champions. Even though he's yet to pick up a racket since that day, he doesn't see why it should hurt to think of tennis and Nationals and victory, but it does. Every time he thinks of tennis, however, the angel will always glide by, wing tips knocking playfully against his glasses. It never fails to alleviate the heavy weight in his heart. It never fails to bring a smile to his lips.