At age five, Yifan watches the sky nearly every night before bed.

He doesn't quite know how - nor exactly when - the fascination with the universe begins. Perhaps it's the space themed baby mobile - complete with stars, moons and rockets - that hung above his crib when he was a mere infant that is the spark that starts the fire within him, or the several stars taped to the wall above his first, real bed, glowing faintly whenever night fell and the lights were turned off for him to sleep, or perhaps the astronaut figurine gifted to him on his third birthday - the one he had refused to let out of his sight for not even a moment for weeks after. 

Either way, it's the moment he peeks out between the curtains one late summer night that really feeds the flames.

They're on holiday, the view of a pretty place Yifan can't recollect the name of and the quiet humming of a sleeping society hidden behind thick, cream coloured hotel curtains. The late summer night is all too warm and the rare, light breeze coming from the cracked window does nothing but leave him wanting more. 

The night sky of the unknown city is dark and littered with thousands of tiny specks of light. Some are small and faint, others bigger and brighter, reminiscent of the stars above his bed, yet so different, so much brighter, and so much more real. Yifan is nothing but smitten, and he doesn't remember falling asleep like that; elbows resting on the windowsill and knees buried into the cushions of the armchair by the window. All he remembers is waking the following morning, curled up in the chair, neck aching and eyes searching the now light, starless sky of the unknown city. 

Yifan spends every night like that one; gaze flitting from star to star until his eyes want nothing but to close and rest, elbows resting on the windowsill until his arms ache, and his young, little mind taking everything in until his body eventually gives in to the sleepiness slowly creeping up on him. 

At home, the sky is dark, empty and dull, but he can always imagine. 

At age eight, Yifan wants to go to space.

Yifan never really knew what he wanted to be when he grew up, like everyone else around him seemed to know. He could just never seem to decide, not when there was so much out there to choose between and experience, and he found himself changing his answer every time someone asked the question every adult he had ever met seemed to want the answer to; What do you want to be when you grow up, Yifan?

Did he want to be a doctor like his friend Yixing; patch people up, help them and make them feel better again? It wasn't like he didn't like to help people, quite the opposite in fact - he had helped Yixing with his homework after school the week prior - but he didn't really like the sight of blood. It was all metallic and red, and made him feel a bit nauseous. Being a doctor involved a lot of that, according to Yixing, so perhaps that wasn't the right line of work for Yifan. 

Did he want to be an athlete like the girl sitting behind him in maths; maybe play football on a well known team, or run really fast, or become really strong and lift heavy things? He liked to be outside, be active and play all kinds of sports - basketball especially. He had had a bit of a growth spurt recently, which had given him a slight advantage when playing with his friends. Then again, it was only for fun and he enjoyed doing plenty of other things just as much, like reading or stargazing. Did he really want to play basketball everyday, all the time? 

Or, did he want to be a writer like the people that have written all the books he had read at school? Books were fun to read, both the nonfictional ones they used to learn and the fictional ones they read for fun. They could say so much, and teach so many things, and tell so many stories. Yifan wouldn't be able to do the pages of paper justice. 

It's at eight years old that Yifan decides that he wants to be an astronaut when he grows up.

He discovers the word in a book he brings home with him to read, and he learns from his mother that it's someone who travels in space. It's an unfamiliar, newfound concept to him. All this time he has looked up at the sky; admired the sparkly specks of lights, watched the moon change its shape from round and full, to being just a tiny sliver and then back again, and once in a while imagined what else could be out there. Never once, however, has he imagined going out there himself, among the stars and the planets, to see it all up close with his own two eyes. 

Yifan looks up at the sky at night with a whole new mindset. The stars had seemed so far out of reach, nothing but pretty lights to look at, but now, now they're merely a far away destination. 

At age thirteen, Yifan dreams of the unimaginable. 

It's only on the day of his thirteenth birthday he discovers parallel universes. Well, he doesn't really discover them per se, more so just comes to know of the existence of the theory through a book Yixing gifts him. It's about a person ending up in a universe seemingly just like their own, only slightly different, and Yifan - fuelled by pure fascination and awe, as well as several glasses of sugary soda - finishes it the same night. 

The concept is only theories and conspiracies, yet to be proven to exist with the smallest of evidence, but Yifan believes it. He wants to believe it, wants it to be real and exist, and most importantly he wants to experience it himself. 

One single universe is one thing. One endlessly big, ever expanding, exceptional universe filled to the brim with stars, planets, moons, life, death and everything between is one thing. One universe Yifan wants nothing but to explore and experience every part of is one thing. But two of them, or three, or several hundred of them is another. 

Curled up under his blankets with his book resting right beside him on his nightstand and his gaze fixated on the tiniest of a sliver of the night sky the small gap between his curtains reveal, he falls asleep to dream of stars shining just like these ones, moons just as bright and round like this one and worlds similar, yet not the very same as this one. 

Yifan wants to see the universes.

At age nineteen, Yifan meets Junmyeon.

Yifan leaves his home for South Korea merely a few months after he graduates from school. Gathering up all the money he has saved up over the years through after school shifts at the convenience store a five minute walk from his house, weekends spent babysitting younger cousins and neighbours, and tucked away birthday money, he's out the door and off to a new, unexplored part of this universe.

He doesn't really know why he chooses South Korea specifically, considering he neither knows anyone from there, nor speaks as much as a fragment of the language. Whether it's the dramas he has stumbled across over the past few years that have persuaded him into doing this, or purely his heart telling him to finally get out there into the world and see what more it has to offer, rather than merely imagine it, he doesn't really know. No matter what the reason might be, he applies for the bachelor in physics, picks up all the language learning books, apps, videos and websites he can find, says goodbye to his family and friends, and leaves. If it's for good, he doesn't know.

When he arrives at the small dorm he is to share with another student a few weeks prior to the start of the semester, Yifan meets Chanyeol. Chanyeol is a tall, cheerful guy who's planning on studying engineering, whose smile never seems to falter and whose mere presence lifts the mood in every room he steps foot into. Even with a bit of a language barrier, they become quick friends, because while Chanyeol is very talkative and very energetic, he's also kind, patient and helpful and the days spent with him fly by. 

Junmyeon sits a bit to the left on the row in front of him on the first day, but by then the man is merely an unexplored part of the universe and Yifan doesn't know his name just yet. 

He's got dark hair that Yifan suspects is dyed if the even darker roots are anything to go by, he speaks so quietly and so softly to the man seated beside him that Yifan could never even begin to attempt to pick up on anything he is saying in the silent auditorium, and when he turns to look behind him as a few more people arrive, Yifan discovers that he has the gentlest and kindest of features. 

They lock eyes for a fraction of a second and Yifan doesn't know his name just yet, but as the kind looking man he's yet to learn the name of smiles just ever so slightly, he wants to.

Junmyeon sits at one of the tables in the library the next time Yifan sees him, nose buried in the book that lies open in front of him, gaze moving back and forth as he reads and fingers resting on the keyboard of his laptop. They're a good three weeks into the semester now and work is slowly piling up; chapters and articles to read and look through, assignments to write and information to process and learn, and Yifan is certain he's never spent this much time in a library before in his life. 

It's all worth it, though; the hours spent in the library or at the desk in his room, the work and effort he puts in and the slightly lacking social life of his. It'll be worth it in the end, if all goes well. 

They lock eyes for several seconds - or maybe just a singular one - once Yifan has taken a seat at an empty table and pulled out his own books, ready to get some work done. Junmyeon, a name he's yet to become familiar with, must hear him struggling to pull out his laptop charger. Yifan would apologise, both for the fairly loud battle he just had with his bag as well as the expanding, presumably mutually awkward silence, if only he would remember the words. 

The light from Junmyeon's laptop screen creates this blue-green hue on the glass of the pair of glasses perched on his nose and the soft, brown eyes are glossy with sleep. Yifan thinks they look like two far-away planets enfolded in a beautiful nebula, and as cheesy as it may sound, the sight renders him speechless. 

"Sorry," he eventually says, perhaps a few moments too late, and the kind smile on Junmyeon's lips is like a crescent moon on the clear night sky of an unknown city. "It's alright," he says, and his voice is unbelievably smooth and sweet, like melted chocolate on chilled strawberries.

Yifan meets Junmyeon a week later at the library, properly this time, and finally does he come to learn the name he's been wondering about for several weeks.

The shorter - because Junmyeon is shorter than himself he comes to learn that day - is browsing a shelf of books when Yifan all but stumbles into him like an utter clutz. He's walking around the corner of the shelf, mind occupied and attention elsewhere, and when he sees him it's too late. Junmyeon lets out a surprised sound as he stumbles back, nearly falling if not for the large hand grabbing his arm. He doesn't get to put as much as a word in as Yifan starts speaking, apologising profusely over and over again in every way he knows how to in this language; because he nearly knocked the poor guy over and he should have been paying more attention to his surroundings.

Eventually his words die down, however, as he runs out of phrases and words to express his embarrassment and his guilt - though perhaps it's more so a result of finally meeting Junmyeon's gaze. His eyes are even prettier up close; dark, yet bright and kind, pupils like small black holes him in and he can't look away. They hold not the tiniest of a fragment of negative emotions, and Yifan relaxes.

"Sorry," he says once again - for the nth time - both for knocking into him as well as blatantly staring at him like this. If only he had a better grasp of the language speaking wise, he could have added a relevant joke, something to make the other laugh and ease what he assumes is a mutual tension, but he quite frankly doesn't, and therefore doesn't say anything else. 

"It's alright," Junmyeon says, tone calm and soothing, and looks at Yifan with his sweet, crescent moon smile and kind, captivating eyes. The tension is apparently not as mutual as he thought, then. If not, Junmyeon is a master at bottling up his true feelings.

"But," he goes on to say, and Yifan would be lying if he said he isn't a little bit worried about what he's going to say, "it would be more than alright if you could get that book for me." He points to a book on the top shelf, and Yifan doesn't hesitate for even a second as he reaches up to take it and places it in Junmyeon's outstretched hand. 

"Thank you." Junmyeon clutches the book to his chest. "Now we should be even..." His words trail off into nothing and several seconds pass before Yifan understands what he's waiting for. 

"Yifan."

"Junmyeon."

At age twenty-two, Yifan pursues the impossible.

Yifan goes on to finish his bachelor of physics three years later; by some miracle passing all of his exams, managing to master the Korean language to a certain extent at least, as well as learning more than he could ever have dreamed of about this fascinating universe he's been so lucky to be born into. On top of it all, he's earned some good friends he hopes to continue to stay in touch with once he's done with school for good. 

There's of course, Chanyeol, his roommate of now three years and counting, who has finished his bachelor of engineering and who plans on continuing with a master's in aerospace engineering. Yifan likes to think it's because of the influence he has had on him through his love for anything relating to the universe and space, though realistically speaking, it's probably just Chanyeol's lifelong interest in Star Wars. Similarly, Yifan's plan involves a master's in astrophysics, so the two continue living together after finishing their degrees, and the amount of space related conversations popping up over dinner is innumerable. Yifan doesn't mind one bit.

Then, there's Kyungsoo, a medical student he met a year or so ago through Chanyeol. He's nice, much more reserved and soft spoken than his much taller childhood friend, and he cooks some dangerously delicious meals. Jongdae, on the other hand, is not someone Yifan would ever classify as soft spoken, nor reserved. He's a psychology student he happened to walk right into only a couple of days into his first year, and it seemed to be a common occurrence to Yifan, walking into people around corners. Perhaps he should begin to take it a bit easier on the corners, before he actually hurts someone. 

And last, but certainly not least, Junmyeon. Though, Yifan wouldn't necessarily call him a good friend, or a friend of any kind for that matter. Since, quite literally, bumping into him and learning his name - his very pretty name - he's only ever spoken to him a handful of times, mostly in the library and occasionally in the hallways. 

Yifan doesn't see him again the next two years, but he thinks about him every once in a while. 

"What's this?" Chanyeol asks one late afternoon, gaze on some papers scattered about on the kitchen table and hands working the buttons of his coat. Yifan, knowing exactly what he's looking at, only spares him a glance from where he's stirring his cup of tea. "Is it for an assignment?" 

"It's just a project I'm working on." He pauses and takes a sip of his tea. "A personal one."

Slipping his coat off his shoulders and draping it over one of the chairs pushed against the table, Chanyeol spares him a quick glance before picking up one of the papers once he gets an approving nod from Yifan. He studies it for a few seconds, and picks up another one, before placing it down again and picking up yet another one. His eyebrows are furrowed, in confusion Yifan presumes. After three years under the same roof, Chanyeol has picked up plenty of Chinese - mostly due to Yifan's inability to comprehend the Korean language at half six in the morning - but not anywhere near enough to decipher the nearly incomprehensible mess, consisting of both Korean and Chinese presumably, that fills all of those papers. 

"Parallel universes," Chanyeol reads, and after several minutes now does he look up again. "Are you creating a theory or something?" he goes on to ask. Yifan merely shakes his head, almost afraid to correct him. The truth is a bit silly, really, and not to mention impossible and completely preposterous. He knows that quite well.

Yifan is twenty-two years old, and wants to make a machine that can take him to parallel universes. How utterly bizarre isn't that?

"Well, if you need anything," Chanyeol takes one last look at one of the papers in his hand before placing them both down, "you know where to find me."

Yifan spends nearly every little moment of spare time he gets over the next two years; writing and rewriting, noting down anything of use, reading every book and every article that might be relevant in any way, and perfecting his ideas and theories. Sure, he loses a few hours of sleep here and there, skips a couple of dinners, and requires reading glasses by the end of the two years, but none of that matters in the grand scheme of things.

The odd moment here and there when he let's himself take a break and breathe for once, he dreams of pearly white crescent moons and dark brown planets enfolded in nebula. 

At age twenty-seven, Yifan succeeds.

Another five years - or rather five years and four months to be specific - is all it takes. Five years and four months is all it takes for the papers scattered about on the kitchen table in the dorm, all messy writing, smudges of graphite and several coffee stains, to become carefully written, neatly stacked pages of comprehensible text tucked into the drawer of Yifan's desk, to then finally become what they are today. 

A machine.

It's all thanks to Chanyeol, really, that the pieces of paper have become just that; a finished, hopefully fully functional machine. While Yifan knows the theoretical aspect of his creation like the back of his hand, he is no engineer like his former roommate. Yifan doesn't know how to build things, how to actually apply what's on paper to real life, how to put things together and make something that works. Something as simple as putting up a shelf from Ikea is beyond his capabilities, and the amount of times he's called his friend for help with anything that requires skilled hands, is borderline criminal. 

It stands in the room in Yifan's apartment that he likes to call his office, though it's really just a half furnished room he had originally planned on turning into a guest room. If one just ignore the bare bed frame, it looks like the beginning of an office. The desk he moved into the room a while back stands in the corner, papers related to the machine filling its drawers and bright notes covering nearly half the wooden surface, and the several shelves he had put up only recently stand beside the bed frame, filled to the brim with books and an occasional little trinket. 

For several years after its construction, it stands untouched.

Perhaps it's because he's afraid it doesn't work; that he'll step into it, press the supposedly correct buttons, squeeze his eyes shut and wait, only for nothing to happen. He's worked on this for years now, devoted a large chunk of his - as well as Chanyeol's - life to this, and dreamed of this since he was thirteen years old. If nothing were to happen when he stepped into that machine, he doesn't quite know what he'd do. 

Perhaps it's because he's afraid it would malfunction. The universe is a fascinating, wonderful, yet terrifying and dangerous place. If he were to mess too much with it, bend and stretch its laws just a bit too far, and fail, he doesn't even want to imagine what could possibly happen. 

Or, perhaps he's just afraid in general; afraid of what he'll see on the other side, afraid of what mess he could possibly cause, afraid of being disappointed. Yifan has been dreaming of doing this for years, ever since he was a child. He has been staring out of his window at the night sky for decades, imagining everything of what could be out there among the stars. What if he'll only get disappointed? 

"You won't know until you try it," Chanyeol says, hand stirring a steaming cup of tea, "if it works, I mean." The steam fogs up his glasses when he goes to take a sip. Yifan is reminded of planets enfolded in nebula, and he diverts his gaze to his own cup.

"You could have a fully functional time machine in your apartment, Yifan." He only hums into his tea in acknowledgment. "Time machine" is not exactly the term he'd use, but then again, "parallel universe machine" doesn't really have much of a ring to it, does it? "Don't you want to find out whether or not you do?"

Yes, Yifan concludes, yes he does.

At age twenty-nine, Yifan goes to see the universes.

The watch securely strapped to his left wrist sits tight, the palms of his hands are clammy and the look on Chanyeol's face is anything but comforting; all furrowed brows and tense muscles. Yifan can tell he's trying to keep it together - keyword being try - and lower his shoulders a bit from where they almost reach his ears, smile when he knows Yifan is looking, as well attempt to look at least a little less mortified. 

"Do you know what to do?" Chanyeol asks - for the third time since stepping into the room - and Yifan firmly nods, because of course he does. He is to step into the machine, press the correct buttons to connect his watch to the system, set the time, before finally pressing one last button. He voices it all aloud for Chanyeol, as to assure both him and himself that he does in fact know exactly what he needs to know, at least in theory. 

"Alright. Good." Chanyeol nods, gaze flitting about as he fidgets with the sleeves of his jumper for a bit. He lets out a brief, forced exhale Yifan supposes is meant to be an attempt to calm himself down enough to utter something more than a word or two.

"Two hours should be enough, I think. It should give you enough time to have a look around and test the waters, but not too much time in case anything were to happen, the emergency exit button malfunctions somehow and you need to get out of there." By the end he's both visibly and audibly out of breath, and he takes a deep breath before continuing. "So don't get into any trouble that'll take less than two hours to resolve, alright?"

Yifan smiles reassuringly. "I'll try not to."

Aged twenty-nine, Yifan steps into the machine for the very first time, and his heart beats unbelievably loud and fast in his chest. His fingers tremble ever so slightly with nerves as he presses a button, and then another, and another, until his watch makes a noise as it connects. Without hesitation he turns the time on his watch to two hours - not a second less and not a second more - and presses the last button, throwing himself right into the deep end. 

For an odd moment only, he feels as if he's surrounded by nothing at all, his eyes squeezed shut. It's a strange, unfamiliar feeling that makes his heart drop - like he's in a descending elevator or in a bus running over a speed bump - his breath hitch and his mind go blank. 

The feeling disappears as soon as it appeared, and even as his watch beeps quietly around his wrist, he doesn't dare open his eyes just yet. 

"Yifan?"

It takes him several moments, precious seconds ticking by, before he recognises the voice uttering his name in a rather concerned tone, because just how long has it now been since the last time he heard that voice? Ten years? Fifteen? More? When he does recognise it, his mind piecing the faint, fragmented memories of it together and giving him a brief moment of epiphany, his eyes all but burst open. For a split second, he's afraid they might fall right out of his head.

"Yixing?"

His childhood friend looks a bit confused, slightly worried, but very much real and intact where he's sitting across from him, and Yifan reaches out a hand to touch his face before he can as much as think of stopping himself. His fingers grace soft, slightly textured skin and his eyes trace every dip, angle and curve of every feature with pure joy and fascination. 

He did it.

Yixing is speaking, if his moving lips are anything to go by, but whatever words he might be uttering fall on deaf ears. His hand is touching Yifan's own, skin soft and warm and grip gentle, yet tight enough for him to feel it, and Yifan is not listening to anything but the thoughts spinning around in his head and the heart beating vigorously against his ribs. He has to use all his willpower to take in Yixing's words. 

"Are you alright?" he says, both visibly and audibly concerned for Yifan's well being at this point. Yifan can't blame him. "You look a little out of it."

A little out of it, however, must be the understatement of the century - hell, millennium even - because unless this is just some insane lucid dream his mind has conjured up as a result of too much coffee and too little sleep, Yifan has just switched universes. The whole situation is like something out of the plethora of science fiction books he's accumulated over the years, and his head is spinning; with excitement, with disbelief, with fear. 

"Jesus, you look like you're about to faint." 

Yixing's words sound far away and muffled, and Yifan's ears pop when he swallows. He isn't quite sure whether he's experiencing some sort of extreme jet lag from entering a different universe, if he's got the time travel version of seasickness, or if he's just riled himself up a bit too much for his body to handle. What he does know, however, is that the napkin Yixing waves in front of his face is definitely not helping. 

He ends up throwing up in a nearby potted plant, which should not feel as familiar as it does after his very productive, successful years as a student. Yixing speaks inaudible words as he stands beside him and rubs his back, though they sound no less calming and reassuring. It's only then, with his head in a potted plant and with his ears plugged yet again, he realises where they are. 

They're in China. 

It's quite obvious, really, he thinks as Yixing leads him outside with a steady hand on his back; the Chinese menu propped up on their table, the familiar buildings huddled together on the equally familiar street, the fact that Yixing is here with him. He takes a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm his nerves a little at least, and takes in his surroundings; the coffee shop he used to stop by after school for hot chocolate with marshmallows right across the busy street, the same, slightly crooked speed limit sign further down the road and the same hustle and bustle of the city he only now realises how much he's missed.

The Yifan from this universe must never have left. 

He considers asking just who this Yifan is - what he does, where he lives, who he's met and why he never left - but he has read enough about the likes of time travelling to know that that is not the brightest of ideas, so he leaves it be. The best approach would be to figure things out on his own, perhaps look through his phone - his contacts, his pictures, his social media - or his apartment if he manages to locate that in... A bit over an hour.

.

Nearly an hour wasted already, and all he knows is that he's still back in his hometown. Some insight into who this person is would be nice, because just how different can an alternative version of himself be exactly? Does this Yifan also prefer chocolate over vanilla ice cream? Does this Yifan dream of travelling to different universes as well? Does this Yifan live a completely different, totally unrecognisable life he never even could imagine? He needs to know.

"Do you want me to take you home?" Yixing asks, his concern for Yifan's well being evident in both his voice and expression. He isn't sure whether or not the lines between his brows have disappeared for even a moment since Yifan first arrived an hour ago now. To be fair, Yifan hasn't done much to ease his concerns. 

Yixing leads him to a black Sedan parked further down the street and with the click of a button, it comes to life in front of him. It's all sleek, shiny exteriors and smooth, classy interiors, and surely way out of Yifan's current price range. He eyes Yixing as he slips into the driver's seat and fastens his seatbelt, and wonders what he could possibly be doing to own a car like this. A doctor, probably, within some obscure field he's never heard of or even knew existed in the first place. He wonders whether or not he might be doing something similar. If so, this Yifan can't be as squeamish when it comes to blood, like he is. 

They stop on an unfamiliar street by an equally unfamiliar apartment complex, and as Yifan's gaze travels further and further up the tall building, he realises just how difficult it's going to be to find his apartment. He is relieved, however, to see Yixing stopping the engine and getting out in one smooth movement, clearly not finished escorting Yifan home, something which he is forever grateful for as he catches a glimpse of his watch. 

Fourty-six minutes left. 

Fifteenth floor, he comes to learn in the elevator as Yixing reaches over and presses the button without a second thought, and apartment 120, he figures from the number on the key in his pocket. He finds his phone in there as well - though an entirely different model from the one he owns in his own universe - and he doesn't get the chance to worry about unlocking it as it scans his fingerprint and unlocks right away. The wallpaper is all he gets to look at before the elevator comes to a stop; a plain black screen, which doesn't really reveal much about himself. 

"Will you be alright from here?" Yixing pauses in front of the door to his apartment and Yifan pulls out his key with a nod and a reassuring smile thrown his childhood friend's way. "Yeah, I'll be fine," he assures him, and for once his ears don't pop uncomfortably as if he's on a plane far up in the sky. "I'll call if not, alright?" he adds. Yixing nods and seems to relax, the lines on his forehead disappearing and his lips turning upwards into a smile. They part ways after a short hug, Yixing disappearing down the hall and Yifan slipping into his apartment with a relieved sigh.

He takes a look at his watch. Thirty-eight minutes. He needs to hurry. 

The apartment he steps into can't be much bigger than his own, though it's definitely much nicer, with its cream coloured walls and dark wooden flooring, its simplistic, yet aesthetic furniture and decorations, and its soft and welcoming atmosphere. He admires the paintings adorning the walls on his way to the door he presumes leads to his bedroom, appreciating how the brushstrokes and the colours work together to create the pieces of art. This Yifan, he concludes, has quite an eye for art as well as interiors, and who knows, perhaps he's an interior designer in this universe? 

What greets him behind door number one is no bedroom, but what he can only describe as a right mess. Old, splotchy newspapers cover the wooden floor like a makeshift carpet, bottles upon bottles of paint in all colours fill the table in the corner of the room and right by the window stands an easel. He steps further into the room and takes in the sight of the discarded canvases, the rows of paintings leaning against the wall and the half-finished work on the easel. 

He's a painter, which he has got to admit wouldn't have been his first guess, nor second or third. Though, what surprises him the most about all of this, is what many - if not all - of the paintings are of. He passes by paintings of tall buildings drenched in the light of the moon and many, many stars, paintings of colours blending together and creating galaxies, and paintings of night skies mirrored in still lakes. They're beautiful and detailed, and he would love nothing more than to take one back with him, but he knows he can't. Who knows what might happen, if he did.

He stops in front of the easel, gaze falling on the half-finished painting. Needing only a glance, he knows exactly what it is. He recognises it the moment he lays eyes on it; the bright colours blending together, the dark, speckled background and the half-empty space in the center of the canvas. A planet enfolded in nebula. 

"Yifan?" 

He opens his mouth to respond, feels it becoming uncomfortably dry and swallows. Before he can utter as much as single word, however, his surroundings begin to dissapear and the familiar feeling of nothingness returns. He shuts his eyes as tight as he can, until they hurt.

Only when he feels his feet touch solid ground again, and his ears stop ringing, does he open his eyes again. The sight of an all too worried Chanyeol greets him. He sits in a chair on the other side of the room, leg bouncing nervously and hands visibly shaking. He doesn't notice Yifan standing there right away, eyes on the floor and mind somewhere far away, but when he does, he all but leaps out of his seat to give Yifan the tightest, most bone-crushing hug he has ever been given.  

"I'm so glad you're okay," he hears him utter into his shoulder before pulling away. "How are you feeling?" he asks, but continues before Yifan can respond. "Are you hurt? Did you get there safely? Did you get into any trouble?" He blabbers on, brows furrowed and hands gripping Yifan's shoulder tightly, and Yifan has to put a hand over his mouth to make him stop talking. 

"I'm fine," he says with a smile, because he is. Perhaps he's a bit out of it, but he'll be just fine, he's sure. "I got there safely," he assures him, and Chanyeol lets out a long, relieved sigh he's surely been holding for two hours now. 

They're silent for a moment or so after that, Chanyeol's arms falling from his shoulders to hang by his sides and Yifan removing his hands from his mouth. Chanyeol's eyes meet his own and he smiles like he's never done before, all white teeth and sparkly eyes.

"What did you see?" he asks, and Yifan tells him everything. 

At age thirty, Yifan meets Junmyeon. Again.

It becomes easier over time, he comes to learn; dealing with the feeling of being surrounded by absolutely nothing at all, ending up in unexpected situations in unfamiliar surroundings with unknown people, and navigating the alternate universes he finds himself in. The ringing in his ears slowly, but surely disappears as time goes on, his breath no longer catch in his throat and stops him from speaking, and whenever he arrives in yet another universe, he knows just how to blend in and pretend he belongs. 

How many universes has he visited by now, he wonders. It must be a number he can't name, must be close to the number of stars he can spot among the dancing lights on the night sky in northern Norway, or the number of grains of sand on the warm beaches in Greece. So, so many universes, enough to fill an entire bookshelf with journals, and who knows just how many there are left. 

Yifan is a painter back in his hometown, with a cozy apartment and a love for night skies filled with stars. Yifan is a photographer with an undying want to travel the world and never ending fascination with anything beautiful. Yifan is a teacher in Japan with a line of stars tattooed on his wrist and a dog named Nebula. 

Yifan is a businessman in Seoul with an addiction to sweet, flowery coffee and a fondness for a man behind a coffee shop counter named Junmyeon, but he doesn't know that just yet. 

"Once you're back, do you wanna go get something to eat?" 

He looks up from his watch, fingers stopping as he reaches three hours, to see his former roommate leaning against his desk, mindlessly flipping through some papers. Chanyeol looks up for just a moment, and Yifan nods. "Sure," he says, sets his watch back an hour, and adds; "Chinese?", to which the younger eagerly nods. An hour and a half, then. He is getting a bit hungry himself already.

With the press of a button, Yifan is gone. 

His eyes flutter open mere seconds later at the sound of a bell ringing right above his head. It startles him, even if only ever so slightly, and he quickly takes in his new surroundings. 

He finds himself in the door of a bustling coffee shop. The smell of sweet pastries and warm coffee hangs in the air and makes him realise he might be a bit more hungry than he thought, the air is warm and comforting, and the sound of the busy traffic is muffled as the door shuts behind him. He glances down at himself to see that he is clad in a warm, thick coat, a soft scarf and some shiny, black shoes covered in snow. 

He taps the snow off his shoes by the door and walks over to the counter with purpose, as if he knows exactly what he is doing here. The key, he's come to know, is merely pretending that he knows what he is doing. Looking confused and puzzled, only raises questions. 

Pulling a wallet out of his pocket, black and fancy looking, he figures he'll order a coffee and maybe something to eat, but as he lifts his gaze, his words die on his tongue. 

"Yifan," the man on the other side of the counter says, a small smile adorning his lips and voice just like he remembers. He clutches the expensive wallet in his hand and merely stares at the man, bereft of the capability to do anything else but so. He looks just like he did last time they met, only missing his glasses. 

"Junmyeon." 

The word slips out after an odd moment of silence, breathless, surprised and oh so happy. His heart squeezes in his chest and his cheeks feel ever so slightly warmer in the already warm coffee shop. He blinks, over and over, because this can't be real, can it? Still, Junmyeon stands there, hands on the counter, lips curled up into a beautiful smile and those deep brown eyes staring into his own with such fondness and, dare he say, love. 

"Did you want anything, or did you just come here to distract me?" 

His words neither harsh nor negative, but rather teasing and loving. Yifan isn't quite sure what to say, either way, or if he would be able to say anything. He has absolutely no words, not in his mind or on his tongue. Junmyeon, however, doesn't seem to notice the lack of response, only laughs the most pleasing, pretty laughter Yifan might ever have heard and walks around the counter to grab his hand and lead him over to a table. All of the sudden, as if his mind is flickering on and off, Yifan is sitting and he's got a cup of coffee in his hands. 

"Do you want some gingerbread men?" Junmyeon is sitting on the other side of the table now. "I just took them out of the oven." He doesn't stay to get an answer, almost as if he can tell Yifan very much would like that right now, just by looking at him. 

They sit at the table and eat gingerbread men with drawn on smiles and hearts and drink coffee the next hour and a half. Junmyeon, when he isn't behind the counter tending to customers or in the back of the shop taking biscuits out of the oven or making sandwiches, talks, and smiles, and laughs. Yifan speaks, even if only a little, and Junmyeon listens to every word and watches him as if he is the most important, interesting person in this universe. As time passes, Yifan's heart clenches uncomfortably in his chest at the thought of having to leave Junmyeon behind. 

He doesn't want to leave just yet. Doesn't want to leave that crescent moon smile, those captivating eyes or the kindness that radiates from him. But, in the end, he has no choice, but to do just that. 

His surroundings begin to disappear as the time on his watch hits zero; the pastries and sandwiches by the counter, the people by the other tables, and lastly, Junmyeon. Only a faint, fading image of him stays as Yifan shuts his eyes, lingering behind his eyelids until he opens them.

Chanyeol watches him remove his watch, adjust his sweater and run a shaky hand through his hair, but doesn't say anything. Whether he just doesn't notice his watery eyes or his jittery hands or if he merely writes it off as hunger, he doesn't know. His friend merely stands up from his seat, grabs his coat and follows Yifan out the door. 

"What did you learn this time?" the younger asks, halfway down the next staircase already. "You weren't gone that long today."

"Not much," Yifan replies, and Chanyeol casts a glance at him over his shoulder as he all but hops down the stairs, sometimes two steps at a time. "I had some expensive looking clothes, I guess, and I showed up in a coffee shop," he continued, trying his best to keep up with Chanyeol without falling head first down the stairs. 

"Well, it's better than nothing," Chanyeol pauses as he disappears behind the corner, "but let's do three hours next time. That should give you plenty of time." 

Yifan speeds up with an annoyed sigh, knowing full well the other would leave him behind just for a good meal when hungry enough. He has to look down in favour of not tripping over his own feet in an attempt to skip a few steps like Chanyeol just did. It's a miracle that guy hasn't injured himself yet, judging by his carelessness in stairs. 

He has only just reached the bottom of the stairs, ready to call out to Chanyeol and tell him to wait a couple of seconds at least, when his body hits something or another coming his way from around the corner. Whoever it is - because it is indeed a person - catches him completely off guard and he struggles to maintain his balance and not knock them both over, but he grabs the railing and the arm of the person before that happens. 

Though as he finally looks up from the floor, he might as well have taken a tumble down the stairs, because right in front of him, not even a meter, at the bottom of the stairs of his apartment complex, looking ever so disheveled, stands Junmyeon. A wave of what he can only describe as déjà vu washes over him and he starts blurting out apology after apology. However, they come in many, many more variations now, than they did back then, and stop for an entirely different reason.

"Yifan?"

Yifan's throat is dry - way too dry - and his chest feels as if it's about to collapse, yet he still manages to speak. 

"Junmyeon?"

The smile on Junmyeon's lips is like a crescent moon on a beautiful night sky peeking through cream coloured hotel curtains, his eyes are like two far-away planets yet to be discovered, his voice is sweet like chilled strawberries and gingerbread men straight from the oven, and Yifan realises he has missed him more than he ever knew. 

At age thirty, Yifan finally finds what he's been searching for.