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“What’s your biggest fear?” 

That was one of the questions Luhan had to answer as a teenager playing truth and dare. He’d answered truthfully then, saying “heights”. The other kids only called him a loser who didn’t dare to ride roller coasters or the other thriller rides at the theme park. Luhan had been embarrassed. He had ducked his head, face red. 

But now, Luhan knows better. To some extent, the fear of heights was true in a literal sense. He just doesn’t like high places. There’s an irrational fear that he’ll accidentally fall to his death. Other than that, his fear stems in another way. It made a lot more sense to him now. 

Luhan wasn’t afraid of heights.  He was afraid of falling. 







Luhan remembers the day of his mother’s funeral, as clear as day, and as jarring as the sharpest diamond cutter. 

It was grey. It was so grey. Clouds hung low in sky, drifting lazily, but never clearing. The air was moist, damp and sad. There was no light. There had never been light since then. 

People wore black. Amidst the grey there was only black, as if there were spots of death tainting the melancholy, ghosting about on the bleak canvas. 

They moved slowly. Each black spot was stained red, a little red flower held against the black clothes of everyone. Luhan, too, held a red flower. It was fresh, unlike the world.

His mother had been sleeping, hands folded peacefully below her belly. Her dark brown hair was neatly curled down her face, framing the pale skin. Her lips were white, but she held a smile. Luhan had always missed her smile. It was warm. 

Everywhere else was grey and bleak. But his mother’s coffin—it had been so bright. Over it hung the most brilliant golden, and Luhan had felt safe near it. His support, his walls, his screws; His towers, his skyscrapers, his dreams—they were there, ready for him. They were calling.

But Luhan did not reach out. Instead, he held his father’s hand. His other hand curled around the little red flower, and his fingers were hurt by a thorn. The blood ran down, and it broke the grey. 

Little Luhan held his father’s hand, and together, they bade goodbye. 







Luhan misses Sehun. 

Luhan spends the rest of his weekend wrapped up in sheets, legs tangled in white. He barely eats and mostly sleeps, choosing to cacoon himself in warmth that wasn’t real. Sehun doesn’t return.

Monday comes by faster than Luhan imagines and it is work day again. Luhan tries hard not to hope, but disappointment still crashes down on him when there is no Sehun at two. Luhan doesn’t eat lunch as a small part of him still vainly grabs onto a thin rope like his life depended on it, and he’s fighting tooth and nail to hang on. 

But Luhan eventually gives up at five when his shift ends. He shuffles out of the bookstore, backpack slung over one shoulder like a ragdoll, and his face is gaunt. Joonmyun shoots him a concerned glance, but Luhan is too busy trying to think of everything else but Sehun to notice it. 

Luhan successfully keeps himself busy by cleaning the apartment once he reaches home. It is something he rarely does, and he always left it to the last possible moment when he’s drowning in dust and he starts feeling itchy. That night, Luhan sweeps and mops and dusts, until every nook and cranny is spotless. He falls asleep on his couch at 2AM, with dirt between his fingers and dust on his cheeks. 







Thankfully and surprisingly, when Luhan reaches the bookstore the next morning, Sehun is already in the backroom, legs crossed and sat in a chair. 

“Where have you been hiding?” Luhan asks, choking up. He gulps down the emotions bubbling in his throat. “You just left suddenly on Saturday.” 

Sehun rises and walks up to Luhan, who is standing by the door of the backroom. The blonde man looks down, staring at Luhan’s fingers before weaving his own into them. Then his eyes move back up and he takes in the brown irises of Luhan’s eyes. Luhan thinks he sees something spark in them, something akin to when the rain washes down on someone who is having a bad day. “Luhan,” Sehun breathes in after a moment of gaping. “I’m sorry. I just… had a situation the past few days.” 

He doesn’t offer any other explanation. Luhan looks at him with his eyebrows scrunched up, his eyes glistening. “Okay.” Luhan accepts the simple explanation easily once he looks at Sehun. There is something brewing and swirling in Sehun’s eyes. It reminds Luhan of something he wants to erase from his memory, a storm that doesn’t lift. “Is there anything wrong?” he asks after a pause, uncertain. 

Sehun only smiles. “Nah.” Luhan feels arms around him, and Sehun draws him in, breathing in his scent. Luhan reciprocates, his smaller hands on the back of Sehun’s pressed shirt. He clings tightly. “Nothing’s wrong at all.” Sehun whispers with his nose pressed against the skin of Luhan’s neck. Luhan frowns. 

“Okay, then there’s nothing wrong. We’ll be fine, right?” Luhan says softly as he rubs soothing circles on Sehun’s back. Luhan feels him nodding, brushing against his nape. Luhan closes his eyes and takes in Sehun’s warmth, using it to mend the breaking rope as best as he can.

They stand connected in an embrace in the backroom, quiet settling into the atmosphere. But there’s something else unsaid in the air, like how the stars disappear once it’s day, except that it’s permanent.

The stars seem like they won’t ever appear again, as brightly lit against the dark night sky. 








Sehun doesn’t appear at the bookstore the next day. When Luhan gets home, he shovels down his dinner thoughtlessly and heads to the shower. He stands underneath the showerhead, appreciating how the hot water beats down on his sore muscles, and how the hot water takes the coldness out of him, lending him some life. He tries his hardest not to think, and concentrates instead on the water and how it wraps around him like a comforting embrace. 

But once Luhan slips under his duvets, the thoughts start to unravel. It’s sort of relieving actually, like how one feels much better after stretching out sore muscles and cracking joints. Luhan starts to reflect, thinking about his life. 

People say that the point of existence was to find one’s point of existence. But what if Luhan’s existence was meant to be a singer, and it was never achieved? What then? Why should he live then? Luhan could have all the bananas and clear water in the world, perhaps even enough on his island to feed a hundred other islands—but without a purpose, without a direction, without a lighthouse to guide you back through fog and haze, what was the point? Really, there isn’t one. 

Maybe he was just being overly insecure and dramatic, Luhan thinks, but it’s hard to think through so much loneliness. 

Perhaps, perhaps humans were meant to be social creatures after all.







There is no Sehun the next day, or the next day, or the day after.  Somehow, Luhan isn’t surprised. 

No lunch becomes routine for Luhan. Joonmyun starts to notice how flaccid Luhan becomes, face pale and mind blank. Missing a meal soon becomes normal, and Luhan’s body adjusts perfectly fine, just like every other time. It’s like Luhan is programmed to accept a sword into his soul.

Joonmyun decides to give Luhan an indefinite time off from work. “Go heal yourself up, and come back when you’re better. I can’t have a zombie walking around and scaring my customers.” Luhan hears Joonmyun say, but he doesn’t quite understand what it means. How does he become better?

Luhan ends up bumming around even more unproductively than the first three weeks of his break. Like before, he plays video games, surfs the net, eats, and sleeps. It’s the same thing. But at the same time, it’s entirely different.

It’s not until Luhan drops a cup in the kitchen that he realises what’s amiss. The cup slips from his fingers, and it falls to the ground in slow motion, shattering into a thousand pieces. Shards of porcelain decorate the marbled floor. When Luhan bends down to pick up the pieces, he accidentally cuts open the pads of his fingers, and blood starts to roll down his hand. Red stains white, and it reminds him of bleak, grey skies. Then he thinks back to the feeling of towers crashing, buildings falling and cloudy debris. 

The greatest fear Luhan has isn’t heights. It’s falling. 

Luhan thinks he’s hoped one too many times, but somehow, Luhan’s still tugging weakly at the end of the rope. 







A series of knocks sounds on Luhan’s main door, the disruption uninvited and loud. Luhan disentangles himself from his messy patterned duvets and shuffles over slowly to the door in nothing but his pajamas and bunny slippers. It’s Minseok.

“Luhan, why haven’t you been answering my—”

Minseok suddenly stops and his eyes widen. Luhan looks back at Minseok, seeing past him instead of looking at him. No one speaks for a moment. 

“What’s happened?” Minseok’s question comes out as a whisper, as if he’s afraid of disturbing the silence. Luhan does not answer, but instead he stares back blankly at Minseok. A shiver runs down Minseok’s spine.

The ginger-haired man quickly pushes the door close and grabs Luhan by the wrist, leading them to the bedroom. He sits Luhan down on the bed, before clambering on it and folding his legs. 

“Luhan.” Minseok says as calmly as possible. “Luhan, tell me. Tell me what’s wrong.” 

Luhan doesn’t want to answer because his head is a jumble of thoughts, but the silence eggs him on. “I—” Luhan starts, but his voice cracks from disuse. “I— I don’t know.” 

“Luhan-ah.” Minseok holds his hands, rubbing him thumbs over Luhan’s knuckles. Luhan looks down to his lap.”Just say something. Anything.” 

Luhan purses his lips and tries to pull his arm away, but the grip on his hand only tightens. “But I can’t. Everything is messy, Minseok-ah. There are so many thoughts. But when I try to think of something, it just disappears, vapourises.” Luhan’s voice drops to a whisper. “I don’t know anymore, Minseok-ah. I don’t know what I should do anymore.” 

Minseok takes in a deep breath to calm himself. “Okay, then. Just, just tell me something small.” Minseok shuffles closer to Luhan. “Okay. Let’s just start with something that happened recently.” 

Luhan feels tears welling up in his eyes, and the tips of his nose goes red. The silence in the room is punctuated by soft sniffles. Luhan blinks the wetness back, lifting his head up to catch the water. Minseok keeps quiet the entire time, patiently waiting. His fingers never stop running over Luhan’s knuckles.

“Sehun left.” Luhan rasps out after a moment, still refusing to meet Minseok’s gaze. “I can’t find him. Sehun’s gone.” 

Luhan looks up when Minseok doesn’t reply, and he sees Minseok scrunching his nose in thought, a confused gaze settled in his eyes. Something thumps at Luhan’s gut, and he’s suddenly scared. 

“Who’s Sehun?” Minseok asks after a while. The confusion in Minseok’s eyes doesn’t clear. 

Luhan wipes a tear away with the sleeve of his hoodie. “Sehun. The man we saw at our café the last time we agreed to meet. You met him for the first time there. I even elbowed you in the ribs because you teased me in front of him.”  

The ginger-haired man his head to one side. “Okay, now I’m genuinely puzzled. There was no one that day, Luhan-ah. It was only you and me.” 

Luhan feels something drop within him. “You don’t remember Sehun?” He grips Minseok’s forearm. “Sehun, he’s the man with blonde hair and brown sides, with a thin face and small lips. You don’t remember?” 

“Luhan,” Minseok’s eyebrows knit together at the panic Luhan is showing, voice slow and careful. “We don’t know a Sehun. There really was no one there with us that day.” 

The finality in Minseok’s tone is like a punch, knocking the breath out of him. Luhan inhales sharply and he blinks rapidly for a moment, eyes instantly wet again with tears that quickly form. It couldn’t possibly be. It’s not possible. The memories are too real. 

Luhan suddenly thinks back to golden dust that pooled around Sehun’s ankles when he walked the first time they met at the bookstore, and he scrambles off the bed. Luhan kneels before his bedside drawer, roughly tugging open the top compartment. The bottle is right there, and Luhan’s breaths start to quicken. He reaches out and touches it, carefully wrapping his fingers around it. It’s warm and real and bright. 

“Sehun gave this to me,” Luhan says, eyes blown open. He shows the item to Minseok. “He gave this to me! He’s real, Minseok-ah. There is a Sehun!” Luhan insists as he clutches tightly onto the fabric of Minseok’s shorts. 

The room goes quiet, and Luhan’s harsh breathing becomes exceptionally loud. Minseok reels back in shock at the panic Luhan is showing. “I don’t know who gave that to you,” Minseok says as quietly as he can, not wanting to set off Luhan, “but I really don’t remember a Sehun, Luhan-ah.”

Tears start to cascade down Luhan’s cheeks, and there’s something clawing painfully on his insides. Luhan takes in short, gasping breaths, and he grips onto Minseok’s shorts like a lifeline, trying his best to hang on. The rope is starting to break, and it’s precariously slippery. “Sehun,” Luhan sobs out roughly. His other hand goes up to clutch at his heaving chest. “Sehun-ah. Sehun.” 

Luhan registers the fact that arms are wrapping around him, but he doesn’t actually feel it. He’s starting to numb.

“Luhan, calm down. You need to focus on breathing properly. Just calm down and empty your head.” Minseok says soothingly, Luhan’s hair. But Luhan doesn’t hear or feel anything. 

Slowly, he slumps against Minseok, body slack. He’s too tired. 

Luhan closes his eyes, allowing the darkness to eat him up.







Luhan wakes up to body warmth. For a moment his heart beats faster in hope, but when he does not see golden glitter beneath his eyelids, Luhan knows that it is not Sehun. His heart drops. 

The arms that wrap around his torso tighten when Luhan moves. “Hey,” Luhan hears Minseok say, voice rough with sleep, “Awake?” 

Luhan doesn’t reply verbally, choosing instead to turn around and bury his head into Minseok’s chest. He nods against it.

“Are you feeling better?” Minseok asks next, and Luhan stills. He tenses in Minseok’s hold, and the ginger-haired man feels it. 

“It’s okay,” Minseok whispers against his hair, “It’s okay. Take it slow. We’ll just take it one step at a time.” 

Again, Luhan keeps silent and buries himself further into Minseok’s embrace. He closes his eyes and imagines himself on a cliff. The wind is whipping through his hair and the feeling of being at the peak makes Luhan soar. It’s liberating to be toeing at the edge of release, Luhan thinks. The worries and thoughts that have been swirling around his insides like black smoke suddenly become insignificant, and it is carried away by the wind, disappearing. All of a sudden, Luhan is not afraid anymore.

Luhan edges closer to the peak, and he sticks a foot out. All that’s left now is the next step: the fall. 







Somewhere out there, beneath the pale moonlight, someone’s thinking of me-

Stargazing was something Luhan enjoyed doing as a child. 

His mother would lay out a checkered blanket underneath the tree in the garden, and they’d spend the night pointing out shapes and giggle about it. When Luhan started to grow older though, this night-time escapade started to grow scarcer. It wasn’t because Luhan had begun to chase other stars in his pre-teenage years, but because his mother had become frail, frighteningly so. They wanted to prolong the life of a withering flower, giving it water when its roots were no longer functioning. 

Luhan drags a wooden chair and sets it by his bedroom window. He makes a trip back to his bed and wraps himself in his thick duvets, dragging the cloth along the marbled floor. Ghosting back to his seat, Luhan settles down and draws his legs up against his chest, chin resting on his knees. He watches the endless night sky, and how it seems less lonely with the blinking stars. The trees below look eerily beautiful with the moonlight highlighting its contours, and with the wind whipping its leaves into a dance. The sound of rustling and the howling wind becomes the lonesome lullaby of the night. 

His mother had told him once that when a person dies, his soul goes up to heaven and becomes a bright star. These stars serve as a guide to the people on Earth, leading the lost people in forests and mountains back home. These stars gave hope to lost souls. Perhaps that was why Luhan always felt less lonely whenever he looked at the night sky. Luhan reaches out his hand, spreading his fingers. He pretends to close his hands and as it curls into a fist. Luhan imagines touching these souls, borrowing their courage. He needs some hope too, but at the same time, he didn’t want it. (The higher you climb, the harder the fall.)

A golden streak suddenly streams across the dark, and it paints a trail of glitter across the black canvas. A shooting star? Luhan wonders, but he finds himself clasping his palms together and closing his eyes anyway. Perhaps, Luhan thinks, perhaps just one more time. 

Luhan makes a wish that night, with as much hope as he dared to muster. 







“Welcome!” 

It’s the same cheery voice again. Luhan sees Joonmyun look up, and a look of surprise crosses his face. Luhan feels Joonmyun scanning over his face as if to assess his state of mind, and so he throws him a tentative smile. 

“Hello, Joonmyun.” Luhan’s voice comes out a little scratchy. “How are you?” 

“Luhan,” the fair-skinned storekeeper smiles kindly at him, “I’m doing good. And you’re looking a little better as well.” His gaze turns slightly disapproving. “But if you’re here to ask for your job back, I’m not going to give it back to you any time soon. You still look a little out of it.” 

Luhan shakes his head slowly, a sad smile playing at his lips. “I’m not here to ask for it back yet.” He pauses for a little bit, unsure. “Joonmyun,” he starts unsurely, “has Sehun come by?” 

The man tilts his head. “Who?” 

“Sehun.” Luhan hesitantly replies. 

“Who’s Sehun?” The reply is almost instant, and Luhan’s stomach turns. 

“Sehun,” Luhan swallows the lump in his throat away, “he’s the man I eat lunch with at two every day I worked here.” 

Joonmyun shoots a confused look at Luhan. “But Luhan, you ate lunch alone all the time. You always refused me when I asked to join.” 

“Oh,” is all Luhan can say as he smiles. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh, okay. Forget that I asked.” Luhan bites back to tears that are threatening to fall. He quickly turns away and walks away from the smell of wood and books. “Bye, Joonmyun.” 

“Luhan, wait—”

He ignores Joonmyun and scurries out of the store. Luhan sprints down the walkway, past three streets and turns around the bend into his apartment complex. He doesn’t take the lift, and instead chooses to walk all the up to the thirteenth floor. Luhan only stops when he’s back safely in his apartment, crouching and panting behind his bedroom door. His lungs burn and he’s dizzy from the lack of glucose in his blood, but somehow it is relieving. It distracts. It stops his thoughts from going haywire. 

Luhan picks up the last novel of Notre Dame de Paris and continues where he left off, hoping that it will chase away his pain, his troubles and his fears. Luhan reads and reads and reads, even until the sky turns from day to night and he hasn’t eaten all day. 

Notre Dame de Paris ends with Esmeralda being sentenced to death, and Quasimodo dying of starvation with her as he embraces her corpse. Just like the Titanic and Romeo and Juliet, their love was again never meant to be. But the difference was that Quasimodo was ugly and naïve, and he gave his heart to Esmeralda when she never asked for it. And so he fell. Hard.

Shivering, Luhan closes the book, running his index finger down its spine. He tucks the book underneath his bed, hoping these tales will keep him company and remind him.

But Luhan still clings on helplessly, ignoring the breaking rope and the fog. It’s the only salvation he has. 

By the bedside, the little bottle of sand stands. It glitters at Luhan. 







When Luhan turns off the lights and heads to bed that night, the room isn’t dark. Luhan is puzzled for a moment until he turns around, and he gasps in wonder. 

The bottle of sand that Sehun has given him glows with an orange light, bright and warm. Luhan feels drawn in, and he wobbles closer to the bottle, clasping his hands around it slowly, as if he was afraid of dropping it. It was warm to touch, and it filled Luhan up a little when he thought of it as the remnants of Sehun’s warmth. 

It shines brilliantly, cutting through the darkness like a lighthouse would in a fog. 

Luhan hugs it to his chest. The lights will guide him home. 







Light streams in from the windows, casting a soft morning glow into Luhan’s room. Birds are chirping loudly outside, filling the air with a sort of brightness that only a new day can bring. 

A pale boy stretches in bed, twisting around in his sheets. He yawns, and lazily brings a hand up to rub the sleep out of his eyes. Rolling out of bed, Luhan pads up to his window, slipping it open and the curtains start to flutter in the cool morning breeze. 

It’s a nice day out today, with the sun shining more mercifully than the past few days. Luhan spontaneously decides to take a morning stroll out in a park nearby, and so he quickly brushes his teeth, washes his face and changes into a comfortable pair of sweats and a shirt. Luhan slips on his favourite pair of sneakers and heads out at 8.30AM.

The smell of fresh dew and grass hits Luhan once he nears the park, and it reminds Luhan of the nights he’d stargaze, with the green surrounding him and a warmth within him. He walks for a while, taking in the sun and the air, before settling into a park bench at a lone spot. 

Luhan leans back in his seat, and turns up his face to observe the sky. It’s a soft blue today, with white clouds framing the picture. He closes his eyes slowly, and opens them again. Something golden suddenly darts out from a cloud, and it zigzags haphazardly in the vast sky. Then it tumbles back into white ungracefully, disappearing. Luhan furrows his brows and blinks rapidly.

Luhan can only shrug and shove his hands into the pockets of his pants, heading home. 







Minseok takes a week off from work and comes over to check up on Luhan each day, bringing over lunch. 

Usually, it’s Luhan cooing and cuddling up to Minseok, taking every chance to squish his cheeks and to snap unflattering photos of his best friend. But this time, Minseok steps up, fussing over Luhan and making sure he is eating right. He stays over for one or two days when Luhan is at his worst. With Minseok’s help, the world starts to seem brighter, and hope isn’t as scary. 

Luhan starts to dream that week. When he closes his eyes and drifts into unconsciousness, he sees himself standing in acres and acres of green. Before him, a lone yellow flower stands, the head of it dipping occasionally when a wind flutters by. In that dream, Luhan will always crouch down and reach out to the flower, running his finger over its petals. And suddenly, the flower glows a bright orange colour, and it reminds Luhan of something. The warmth beneath his fingertips start to spread to his body, and soon Luhan is engulfed in golden as well. A steady beat drums through the flower and to his touch, and Luhan smiles at the familiarity. 

Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine-

When he wakes up, there is a tingle in his bones, and Luhan feels light. 







Three days later, Luhan heads to the bookstore wearing the ugly black polo shirt that was his uniform. 

“Welcome!” he hears Joonmyun say as soon as the bell chimes his entrance, and Luhan smiles brightly at the store owner. His eyes crinkle at the corners. 

“Hello, Joonmyun.” Luhan says when the store owner looks up, mild surprise written all over his features. It soon morphs into a bright smile though, and Luhan can see his relief. “Can I be hired again?” Luhan asks. 

Joonmyun keeps smiling. “You’re already in uniform, like a perfect employee.” He walks out from the counter and up to Luhan. “Of course you can be hired.” Joonmyun grins, and slowly, he draws Luhan in, hugging him. “I’m glad you’re better now.” 

Luhan pats him on his back. “Thanks, Joonmyun. Thank you.” They separate. “I promise I won’t slack off. I won’t hold public concerts in your bookstore anymore.” 

The scent of wood in the air mixes with the sound of laughter, and it oddly feels like home, even without Sehun around. “Go hang your stuff in the backroom and get to work, employee.” Joonmyun replies, and Luhan mock salutes him with a short cry of “sir yes sir!”.

Luhan bustles about the bookstore just like before, rearranging books and sorting out orders like any other day. There is a semblance of a dance tickling at his feet, and the atmosphere of the bookstore fills with unsung songs. The hours fly by as Luhan helps customers with bright eyes and a dazzling smile, flitting around merrily like a butterfly would in a garden full of sweet-smelling flowers. 

When the clock strikes six, Luhan unhooks his backpack off the rack in the backroom and bids goodbye to Joonmyun. He starts on his journey home, feet bouncing on the sidewalk, watching as the world moves with him and back to their families, to a warm dinner at home and laughter in the air. There’s a small pang at his heart when he thinks that, and his steps turn less lively. Luhan turns his head up to watch the dark night sky, and he follows the stars back home to his apartment complex. They twinkle at him, and Luhan smiles. Perhaps his mother became a star, too. 

Luhan brings his melancholy back home with him, and it hangs over him like a small drizzle. But Luhan feels comforted by the lull, unlike other times when the silence was jarring. Luhan heads up to his room, not feeling hungry. And then he feels it, as his feet make contact with the wood of his staircase. Something floats in the air, sparkling and blinking. The air isn’t cool like it should be at night, and instead it’s warm and fuzzy. Luhan hesitantly takes little steps upstairs, following the glittering lights. They appear in excess amounts when he gets closer and closer to his room, and when he rounds the corner, Luhan is hit with an orange glow. 

He gasps when he sees a blond man sat on his bed, legs crossed and thin lips curled into a smile. Luhan lets the shock roll off him before he promptly shucks his backpack to a corner and wobbles unsteadily to the man in front. 

As soon as his fingertips touch the man’s face, Luhan feels water running down his face, and he sweeps over the man’s face desperately. “Sehun,” he breathes in, and he inhales noisily, like a man resurfacing from deep waters. “Sehun.” Luhan repeats, more certain. 

“Hello, little one.” Luhan hears Sehun say, and the man smiles up at him. Little cuts and bruises mar his face, neck and arms, but his smile undoes his shabby state. “I’ve missed you.” 

Luhan scrambles into Sehun’s lap, clinging onto him as he buries his face to his neck. “Stop being mean,” he says, voice muffled. “Stop making me wonder where you go all the time. Stop disappearing and making me lose hope.” Luhan feels his tears wetting the cotton on Sehun’s shoulders. He takes in Sehun’s scent, warm and woody.

“I won’t anymore.” Sehun promises, arms weaving tighter around Luhan’s frame. “I can be with you now.” 

Luhan detaches his face from the crook of Sehun’s neck, moving back to look at the blonde-haired man through teary eyes. He watches as Sehun brings up a hand to wipe away the wetness. Luhan shivers at the light touch, and Sehun seems to glow brighter. “Who are you, Oh Sehun?” Luhan asks again. “Why do you have golden around you all the time? It’s not normal. Normal people don’t glow, Sehun-ah. And normal people appear in people’s memories once they see each other, but you,” Luhan Sehun’s cheek with his thumb, “You made Minseok and Joonmyun forget, didn’t you?” Luhan trails his eyes over Sehun’s face, searching. He finally locks gaze with Sehun. “Just who are you, Oh Sehun?” His voice comes out as a whisper. 

Luhan sees Sehun searching into his eyes, and Sehun’s lips part slightly, as if to say something. But then they close again, and the air fills up with a sweetness that only the two knows. Sehun leans closer slowly, a warm palm splayed across the small of Luhan’s back. Instinctively, Luhan’s eyes slip shut and a warm mouth meets his. Through that contact, Luhan pours in his insecurities, his fears and his worries; and just the same, he feels all of Sehun’s. They move together, lips moulded in a slow kiss. 

When they pull back, Luhan in deep breaths, and Sehun’s chest heaves along with it. He moves in to press his forehead onto Sehun’s, eyes watching as Sehun catches his hand. “I protect the stars,” Luhan hears Sehun say, and he looks up. “I watch over those that leave the Earth and rise to join us in the sky.” Sehun pauses for a moment, before, “Well, I used to anyway. I gave that up.” 

“You gave it up?” Luhan asks curiously. Worry passes over him as he thinks about his mother. “Who will protect the stars then, if you’re not there anymore?” 

Luhan feels the hands around him tighten. “For you,” Sehun says softly. “For you I gave that up, and chose instead to be a mortal. I passed it down to the next in line, so the stars are safe.

“Initially, I wanted to give you up and return home. I erased the memories of every other human, but when I looked at you that day in the bookstore, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. You were too precious, too different. I couldn’t tear you away in a place with so many memories. That’s when I decided that instead of watching you from above the stars, I wanted to watch the stars with you. So I left you with all us to keep safe, until I could return.” 

Warmth spreads within Luhan, starting from the places where Sehun’s touch lingered, before moving to engulf his entire being. Shivering unconsciously, Luhan draws in a breath. “I was alone.” Luhan says as he leans his head on Sehun’s shoulder. “Mama left and Papa’s always working, so I was always alone. Other children and teenagers, they return home to families and dinners and merriness after a long day at school. But when I reach home, there’s always only silence. I always curl up on the couch and for a long time I wondered, ‘How is this normal?’ 

“When Mama left to join the stars, I didn’t have the courage to chase mine. My dreams fell, and suddenly there was nothing to look forward to anymore. I just felt really, really empty and there was just. There was nothing.

“So when you came, you helped me to breathe. Maybe Minseok did too, and Joonmyun to some extent, but I wasn’t their most important, so I was still alone. But you. You were so, so golden, and it was cutting. If you ever leave me again, I don’t—” Luhan chokes up then, and he tilts his head up to look at Sehun. “Just… You’d better not leave.” Luhan tries to sound threatening, looking at Sehun through squinted eyes, but knows he failed when he sees Sehun’s lips twitch upward.

And then laughter rings through the air, bouncing off walls and slowly seeping through the pores of Luhan’s skin. He feels light. Luhan scowls, punching Sehun’s arm lightly. “Stop laughing! I mean what I said.” 

Sehun obeys, but a smile remains on his lips. Rubbing his arm, he says, “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you?” 

“How will you appease me?” Luhan asks, crossing his arms playfully. 

“Hm,” Sehun pretends to think, “Lunch at two at the bookstore?” 

“Chicken fillet?” 

“Chicken fillet.” Sehun smiles with a nod. 

Luhan kisses the tip of Sehun’s nose, giggling. “Deal.” 

Sehun hugs him tight and leans back onto the bed, dragging Luhan down with him. They fall on the mattress with a little bounce, and Luhan giggles when Sehun starts to tickle his sides. Squirming away, Luhan scrunches up his face and hits Sehun again. Sehun merely laughs, before pulling Luhan straight back into his chest. Luhan relaxes against his hold, breathing in the scent of wood and something else that reminds him of the colour gold. He snuggles close, a hand going up to clutch tightly at the fabric of Sehun’s shirt. 

And at last I see the light, and it’s like the fog has lifted.

Luhan falls asleep to the steady breathing of Sehun, ear pressed against his chest. The fog around Luhan’s island is lifting. It’s lifting. It’s shifting—
                                                                                      
And at last I see the light, and it’s like the sky is new. 
And it’s warm and real and bright, and the world has somehow shifted—

❋

A/N: And that is the end! :) Probably the longest thing I've ever written so far... I hope you liked it and do comment ^-^ /squishes you