The Day the Sun Died

for Adela

may the universe be a pool

in your palm from which you drink.

Love, Lia

Kyungsoo cringed as his mother’s tinny voice came through the phone in slight reprimand, his eyes avoidant of the bowl of milk-soaked cereal in front of him. He spoke into the phone with a sigh.

“Yes mother I’m eating. Please don’t worry.”

“You know me! You’re such a skinny little thing I can’t help but be concerned. And you applied for those jobs I showed you? How did the interviews go?”

Kyungsoo hesitated. “Um…they were…good.”

He could hear the relief in his mother’s vocals. “Oh, wonderful! Any takers?”

“N-No one has called back yet.”

“That’s okay! You know, success is the fruit of patience!”

Despite his mother’s positive outlook the young Korean man knew that no one would be calling him with confirmation of his supposed-to-be new job. He knew because he never did attend any interviews or apply to any openings. Of course, he recognized his parents’ good intentions but he really had no desire to be a waiter or business representative or marketing intern or anything like that. No. Do Kyungsoo, age twenty-two, was a writer. Brooding, sulky, thoughtful, intelligent. He wouldn’t drop his most beloved labor for anything less, even if it meant sizing down on meals or taking side jobs or biking around town rather than driving. He couldn’t afford a car anyway.

“And Kyungie if you can’t find anything, your father has been wanting to speak to you about your…other options. The military really isn’t so bad.” Her words seemed choked, feigned. Kyungsoo poked at the cereal with his spoon.

“Yeah.”

“You may as well get your conscript over with now, rather than wait until you’re thirty-something. You can start paying off that college debt of yours.”

“Yeah.”

Military conscript. Wonderful topic. Debt too.

“Are you sure you’re eating enough? That picture your Baekhyun friend posted of you online makes you look awfully small.”

“I was standing next to tall people. It’s okay. I’m not going to starve.”

“And you’ll call me when you’ve gotten a job?”

“Yes mother.”

“And please Kyungsoo, stop it with all that writer stuff. It’s not a very stable career. I’ll have your father call you later, okay, my beautiful, beautiful son?”

“Okay.”

It took another few minutes to shake his mother off of his back. The young man eagerly hung up his phone and sat back into his chair with a breath of relief, a sheet of dust billowing up around him. Kyungsoo was a micro-manager of stress and was always very careful to keep himself afloat and out of his extreme depths of emotions, but today he was just tired. That was all. Soggy cheerios didn’t seem so appetizing this morning anyway.

That particular Saturday was quiet and slow and spent alone per usual, at least until he would go to work. It wasn’t like Kyungsoo was lonely – he wasn’t, really (really!) – because he had his pages and his pen and that was always good enough. He’d stopped using computers months ago when he’d lost an entire manuscript to a glitchy laptop. No more computers for him.

The little man, standing at barely 5’8” (he argued that he wasn’t still 5’7” but maybe he was), strode into his bedroom; a somewhat-sanctuary of held-onto baby blankets and shelves of children’s books and a 90s boom box next to a stack of CDs. Nostalgia and virtuosity and comfort were the underlying sensations of being here, being safe. Situated in the distant corner was his writing desk beneath the shadow of his morning curtains: the pedestal of his creativity. Kyungsoo gently pushed back the fabric and exposed the stacks of notebooks and journals unto the carefree, singing sunlight. He gazed upon the pages endearingly, his eyes drawing to the half-filled page that had yet to be continued, the pen lying in the crease just begging to be used.

The matutinal sunlight reflected flatteringly off of the pages, dust sparkling in the golden-hued atmosphere like mini galaxies floating in front of his eyes and settling into his hair. The rays almost seemed to eat up the journal, up and soaking in the words, stealing them into its light. How nice.

Kyungsoo extended his arm and dipped his fingertips into the warmth of the sharp beams, watching as his abnormally pale and dull skin became golden, bright, and sparkling with specks of dust. He noticed the shadow his hand cast upon the pages below and the mysteriousness it offered: a vagueness of something that was disconnected and viable and vulnerable and yet strong enough to halt the sunray’s 93-million-mile journey to Earth just by being there. Who wouldn’t feel powerful in knowing that they were formidable enough to contend with the movement of light through space? The sun was no match for someone as nightly and evasive as Kyungsoo.

And it was true. Besides being reserved, quiet, introverted, and stubborn, Kyungsoo was characteristically enigmatic and secretive, unsocial and so wary of trust that keeping secrets was a habitual thing. He didn’t not like people, really, but he certainly didn’t want them in his head. People came and went. People were dishonest. People were unpredictable. People were convoluted and difficult. They were nothing like the sun or the moon – galactic bodies that could be predicted and trusted no matter the time or situation. People were nothing like the candor confines of Kyungsoo’s own head. People didn’t understand him like he did.

The moment was rudely disrupted by a bulging sound of an alarm going off. Startled, the small man jumped and hurriedly reached to silence his phone. The timer said that he was ready to go to work. His pen and pages told him otherwise.

v v v

 Kyungsoo always found it eerily strange how quickly day became night when he was at work. Being holed up in the back corner of a convenience store for eight hours didn’t provide him with enormous loads of creative inspiration or access to the outside world. Kyungsoo was sure that after college he hadn’t participated in any serious social situations…except for one. Baekhyun’s birthday dinner, in which a group picture was taken with Kyungsoo standing between two akin friendly human towers. Not that he had large desires to be social. Baekhyun’s company was always nice, but unless it was that particular friend, Kyungsoo would rather have been alone.

It was dark suddenly. One moment the sun was still on its way up into the sky and the next the streetlights flicked on and the sun was brashly gleaming as it set for the last time that day, dying. The streets hummed with the far-off ghosts of cars that didn’t quite reach Kyungsoo’s district and the abnormally mundane whispers of the homeless and the sullen. It was anti-silence.

Huh, thought Kyungsoo. Imagine such a thing.

At 5:00 – sharp – the small man swiftly exited the building after switching shifts with the next poor soul that would have to stay up until one in the morning. The flow of rush hour pulled him in the direction of the metro station under the fading light of the sun. The evening sky had become an unreal shade of purple, so vibrant and meditative. Kyungsoo wondered if he should stop by the bank and make a withdrawal of whatever savings he had left. Maybe he should go to the grocery store and consider picking up something healthier than stale cheerios and cheap ramen. Maybe he should go see Baekhyun…apparently his friend had started dating that stranger at the party; Chanyeol. Yikes.

But despite all of this, and the list of chores he had running through his mind (go to post office to pick up mail, call Aunt Seo and wish her newborn a blessed life, ask landlord about electricity bill, throw away that old fish in the freezer…), Kyungsoo found himself strolling towards the pavilion near the in-city park, drabbles of potential stories cooking all sorts of pots in Kyungsoo’s mental kitchen. The city had always breathed with a sort of life that couldn’t be found anywhere else and on that particular spring day it was calm and warm. The last reaches of the sun’s rays had begun to fade, drawing away from the palette of the sky and dipping into its grave somewhere beyond the horizon.

If Kyungsoo wasn’t such an avid writer, and hadn’t majored in all sorts of language arts studies, he would’ve liked to have been an astronaut. It sounded childish in his head – who hadn’t wanted to fly through the stars when they were little tots? The idea was so cool, so magical, unreal, and otherworldly. He would’ve liked to be an astrophysicist too…alas, the Korean didn’t have any skill with math and little experience with that field. He’d already dedicated his life to writing, however tedious.

Kyungsoo sat himself down at a lonely-looking bench, his gaze turned to the watercolored firmament expanding wide above his head. Hands pushed deep into his too-short pockets, Kyungsoo held his breath and shifted uncomfortably. It was an anticlimactic day, though there was an eerie sense of…of…of darkness, of something hellish drafting through the city. The scent of death and shadow lingered in the urban aroma and it unsettled Kyungsoo’s core. Not that it meant anything; Kyungsoo was a naturally brooding person. He harbored many shadowed thoughts and feelings. It never really meant anything.

The final crest of the neon ocher orb sizzled out behind skyscrapers and finally the horizon, nightly twilight climbing further over the sky.

With a flushed, hurried gasp Kyungsoo jumped off of the park bench—he’d been out far too late. He had things to do. Pieces to write. Meals to make. Chores to do. What was he thinking?

Aish, so distracted, he thought solemnly. Flicking the tail of his scarf over his shoulder he sped back across the courtyard through diminishing throngs of people in the direction of the metro. Already the city nightlife had arisen, florescent human conditions drowning out the waning moonlight casting down upon them. It was such a busied place and Kyungsoo wasn’t used to the thickets of night crawlers. He checked his watch and cursed under his breath—the bus that would take him back to his home district would be departing soon. He picked up his pace.

Passing by clubs and dinner areas the shadows between hot spots seemed to loom, masquerades of monstrous karma coming back to haunt. Tugging his coat closer, Kyungsoo tried to make himself seem smaller by shrinking behind his clothes. He really didn’t like the hustle and bustle. He wanted to go home and write.

People bumped him. Music blared from a shop nearby. Across the street was the bus. There it is, he thought as it slowly began rolling from the station. He panicked and leaped into the street, determined to catch it. Just then his phone began to ring. Flustered, he yanked it out of his pocket and was greeted by the word Abuji. The bus was going. The street was boiling with people. He was in the road. He swiped the call button—there goes the bus!

“Yes, hello fath—”

Someone screamed, high-pitched and wrangled and a taxi horn blared.

Then it was silent.

Stranded on the pavement was the cell phone, Mr. Do still on call.

“Kyungsoo? Son? Kyungsoo! Hello? Kyungsoo! Kyungsoo!”

v v v

The world was unreasonably sunny.

At least Kyungsoo thought it was as his eyelids fluttered open, his dark lashes casting shadows over his face. His body felt…heavy, stone-like, as if gravity was a blanket over him, an ocean beneath him, and the blood within him. He was dazed and his stomach was furrowed in a somewhat sickened knot. The little man grunted and to his side, curling up and pushing his palms into his forehead. What on earth was this headache? It had him tumbling in mental somersaults through dust clouds.

And then something clicked. Kyungsoo frowned and carefully turned back over, sitting up with a sigh of bewilderment. He jerked backwards in alarm, his limbs buzzing and trembling.

Where was he? Well…nowhere, anywhere but somewhere. But he wasn’t just anywhere. There was no floor, no wall, no ceiling, no sky. It was an endless, yellowish-white barren room of…nothing. Or was that not the case? Maybe there was something there—were those trees? No, they couldn’t be. Maybe he was in a cabin—but he wasn’t—or on the ocean? Was that a breeze he felt? No, not really. But then why was it that he felt his bangs quiver over his forehead? He thought that maybe those were birds twittering in the near distance. Or not. It all still looked…like nothing.

But the sun was shining. There had to be a sun somewhere. There just wasn’t. There was no gleaming, glowing star of warmth. But it was still…sunny.

Kyungsoo fought for air. Panic shook within him and he heaved for breaths. He glanced down—where had these clothes come from? White long-sleeved pajamas one size too large? He looked at his hands—they didn’t look real. But they were. He was here wasn’t he? Where was here? How did he get here? What—

“Calm down Kyungsoo. Tch. Honestly, you’re okay.”

Kyungsoo whipped around, his large eyes even wider as they took in the stranger sitting behind him.

The boy had appeared slumped against the back of a very standard chair, legs and arms crossed with an amused expression plastered over his face. He was radically…pretty, for lack of a better word. Although his aura was masculine, his physique was daringly feminine. Kyungsoo didn’t take his stare off of the other as he felt the fickle chill of unshed tears—where was he? He shook his head. “Wh-Who a-a-are you?”

The pretty man smiled smugly, excitedly. “Some call me Luhan. I’m your conscience.”

Maybe Kyungsoo heard incorrectly. He pulled his fists into the too-long sleeves of his sweater and cringed. “My…conscience.”

Luhan nodded. “Yep.”

Kyungsoo chuckled, nervous and strained. “You’re not. That can’t be.”

“Well I am. It is. Really, calm down. I’m your conscience—you should listen to me.”

Kyungsoo stuttered over the threat of tears, hugging his knees close. He had to remind himself suddenly of who he was.

I’m Do Kyungsoo. I live in…in… He gulped. My family…family…

“I don’t remember anything,” he whispered tightly. As soon as he said it, though, one thing came to mind.

I am a writer.

His conscience nodded. “That you are.”

Kyungsoo’s head snapped up—Luhan spoke as if he could read his mind.

“I can read your mind, Kyungsoo. I’m your conscience. I’m in your mind.”

“But I can see you—what does that mean? Am I in my own mind too?”

His conscience shrugged and offered no response.

“Where am I?” Kyungsoo inquired timidly, turning away from his conscience. The room suddenly felt rather…warm. Very warm.

“Who knows?” Luhan sighed. “Maybe you’re dead.”

Startled, Kyungsoo yelped in dismay as he looked back at the other male, panic in his eyes. Why would he be dead?

Dead?

But before he could retort, a milky, tenor voice rolled like a wave and poured shutters over Kyungsoo’s spine from behind. “Stop, Conscience. You’re not helping your master.”

Kyungsoo spun around with another gasp and found himself looking upwards at a tall, broad male. Immediately Kyungsoo felt his face flush with heat, as if the man in front of him was an instant-heater.

Conscience scoffed and pointed a finger at the smaller man dressed in white. “But he thought of it!”

“You said it!” Kyungsoo responded.

“I’m in your head—I think what you think.”

Kyungsoo winced and struggled to speak. Words wouldn’t come out. He didn’t know what to say—he couldn’t say anything! A single tear fell out from behind his waterline and streamed down his round cheek, but a twinge of resentment twisted around his heart and he felt too embarrassed to cry in front of this new stranger. Hastily wiping his eyes and hoping that his face wasn’t beet red, he then flicked his bangs out of his sight and glanced shyly up to the man before him.

The stranger was tall-ish and toned, dark hair swayed out of his eyes but also was unruly. The caramel tinge of his skin was a soothing shade of orangey pink, not completely unblemished but his imperfections seemed dangerously beautiful. Soft, hazel brows decorated above long, expertly-carved eyes that sported the enigmatic magic of the depths of a galactic abyss. His nose was well sculpted and his lips were round and full, dark-toned among his tanned skin. His overall expression was one of great concern, but each hair in his thick eyebrows indicated a welling, massive, otherworldly sense of wisdom. He was a dramatic-looking man, and beautiful in a wonderfully masculine way.

Although his features were hard, he radiated gentleness and grave power. Kyungsoo was taken aback.

The stranger didn’t speak or move; only stood there and watched Kyungsoo’s mental gears turning.

“Wh-Who are you?” the smaller asked meekly.

The man hesitated before a small smile upturned his lips. “Jongin.”

“J-Jongin?”

“You’re Do Kyungsoo.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. He looked fascinated and intrigued, observing Kyungsoo almost parent-like. The other nodded. Jongin continued, his voice gentle as he crouched beside the sitting man. His tone was knowing and informing and caring. “You’re not dead, Kyungsoo. You’re in an alternate form of reality that involves subconscious existence and the placement of your soul. You’re alive. This is very much real.”

Kyungsoo swallowed and glanced away from Jongin, feeling the heat of being so close and also aware that the other man could probably see the tear streak on his face. But he couldn’t help but look back and meet gazes again, his heart pulsing with energy as their eyes connected.  “I don’t believe you. This isn’t real.”

“Kyungsoo…” Jongin’s brow furrowed, his expression softening. “I know it seems surreal. But please—for my sake at least—for a moment, just pretend. Pretend like this is real. When this is all over you will return to your body on Earth, but for now you must believe that this is all existing.”

Kyungsoo didn’t really want to. He just wanted to go home and curl up in bed.

Alas, he nodded slowly. “Why am I here? What is this place?”

“This is your subconscious meeting place, in basic terms. This is like the bus station that your soul must go to before it travels to another place.”

“And…why am I here? Why do I need to be in a meeting place for souls? J-Jongin…it…it kind of sounds like I’m d-dead…”

The taller male sighed—not out of impatience, but out of relief almost—and stood slowly, taking a single step back. “I promise you’re not deceased. The reason why you’re here is because I needed to meet with you, but I can only communicate with a human like you by using my soul.”

Kyungsoo frowned. “A human like me? What about you—you look human.”

Jongin’s golden face turned down in a look of forlorn. “I need to look human and be adept in a human body in order to speak with you. I am not a person, Kyungsoo.”

The smaller man froze. “—What?”

It was as if Jongin’s entire character enlarged, chin tilted up and eyes unwavering with such authority and intelligence. Back straight, head high, Jongin said, “I am Sun. Warden of the Monmatia Solar System.”

“…Sun?”

“Sun.”

Kyungsoo felt his breath expel completely out of his lungs, the true weight of Jongin’s words descending upon him. Come to think of it, Jongin really did glow, his skin radiating light and power.

But…it couldn’t be.

“You…You’re…the Sun?”

Sun smiled modestly, pleased. “Yes.” When Kyungsoo did not respond, still too overwhelmed by this, he continued, “That is why I need to communicate this way. I could not come to you in my true form. So this is the form my soul takes, my star soul, and I must speak with you Do Kyungsoo.”

Wondrous, amazed silence filled the space between them. Kyungsoo stared—rude, yes, but he didn’t care or even realize it, and apparently Sun didn’t either—and couldn’t look away. He wasn’t sure where Conscience had gone off to. Sun. This was…the Sun. The flaming ball of gas that was the only reason why the solar system even existed—the heart and soul of the planets, the life source of their orbits, the thing that they all danced around.

This was Sun.

Kyungsoo unwrapped himself from his own cocoon of arms and carefully stood without breaking eye contact. Sun, calm and virtuous in the greatest meanings of the words, met his gaze fully and with interest. As if drawn to the magnitude of Sun’s existence he moved closer and his eyes grew impossibly larger. They stood face to face: one small, pale, raven-haired human and one tall, golden, rich star.

They stared.

Sun was handsome. His face alone was intimidating, not to mention his grandiose mass of energy swirling beyond those shaded eyes. But something in Kyungsoo knew that Sun was not trying to be daunting; the sereneness of his eyes and curiosity in his indifferent smile meant something to Kyungsoo. They were saying something that Sun—Jongin—wasn’t, pleading for something, searching for something, and rejoicing all at once.

“What do you need to speak with me about?” Kyungsoo whispered.

Sun’s eyes were deep, in Kyungsoo’s entire being with billions of years worth of emotion pooled low in them. Why did they look that way?

“I’m in love with someone,” Sun murmured, a near-unnoticeable wince breaking his otherwise untroubled facade. “And I worry for them.”

Kyungsoo wanted to pretend that he didn’t feel the disappointed torque in his gut. Those words shouldn’t have upset him—in fact, they were monumental and devastatingly beautiful—but they did. Kyungsoo knew why.

He’d only just met Sun, quite literally, and already he wished those words were about him.

It was odd. He didn’t think that maybe he was attracted to men…but stars were genderless, weren’t they? Kyungsoo already startled himself in realizing that he didn’t even have to think about it, he just wished that those words were about him. It was selfish. Four billion years and he expected the Sun to love him? The more he thought about it, the stupider it sounded. He almost laughed at his pitiful self…maybe he felt special. Sun called his soul here to speak with him. Four billion years and Kyungsoo probably wasn’t the first to have this experience. It was just the spur of the moment, the human told himself. He didn’t really believe Sun would be capable of love.

He blinked, poker face on full blast. “Y-Yes?”

Sun extended his hand carefully, turning his wrist so that it would be so easy for Kyungsoo to take it. Everything about him was gentle and coaxing and familiar. But Kyungsoo was a master at introversion and self-protection—always be wary, he reminded himself. “Let me show you what I’ve seen,” Sun suggested warmly, nudging his hand closer to Kyungsoo’s.

They exchanged a look—Can I trust you? Kyungsoo’s eyes asked.

Always, Sun’s responded.

Kyungsoo’s clammy palms carefully slid into the cup of Sun’s furnace grip and with a sudden gasp the world around them disappeared, whirled away in an intense swirl of color and light.

He clenched his jaw and squeezed Sun’s hand even tighter, swearing up and down in his head.

Open your eyes, Sun’s soothing voice led. Just open your eyes. It’s alright. Go ahead.

The human expected it to be difficult, like trying to keep your eyes open in the face of freezing wind or when you’re crying or when you’ve just awoken in the morning. Instead it was only as if he’d just blinked.

In front of him were firey stacks of volcanic rock and exploding mountains of lava, sparks flying and molten fire rolling in all directions. His lungs suddenly burned and, oh my god, he couldn’t breathe. Just before he could scream out for Sun the scene molded fluently into something else—red ocean waves sheering over each other as far as the eye could see, the air burning crimson. Then it changed yet again and—Kyungsoo wasn’t even sure how he was standing at this point—extreme torrents of rain slashed down in intense sheets, oceans broiling furiously. Then vast lands of barren nothingness, then suddenly Kyungsoo’s skin burned. In front of him lay a wasteland of white, of ice, of snow. He shrieked and tensed, but was whisked away before he could say anything else.

He was taken under oceans and above mountains, through clouds of vapor and raging storms. He saw the most bizarre, alien-like creatures and unbelievable colors. There were meteorites, ice ages, intense heats, until at last he felt as if his feet finally landed.

Kyungsoo was shivering. Petrified into stiff silence, he couldn’t even open his mouth to speak. His teeth chattered and his stomach grated against his insides.

Beside him, Sun squeezed his hand and pulled him back into himself.

He didn’t recognize where they were. They were on some sort of mountain slope, surrounded by all sorts of fauna, but the dirt beneath them was caked with volcanic ash and the trees were all unfamiliar to Kyungsoo’s eyes. The world—it must’ve been Earth, he guessed—smelled incredibly odd. It smelled muddy and thick and fresh.

And then there was a wretched, throaty, animalistic cry. Kyungsoo jumped and his eyes flicked somewhere in their near distance, and what stood there looming in a large pack took his breath away.

Dinosaurs.

Immediately he wheezed out a breath and skittered behind Sun, tucking his face behind the star’s shoulder. Oh my god I’m going to die.

Sun’s low, musical chuckle vibrated through their linked hands. “They’re herbivores. It’s alright, little one.”

Kyungsoo peeked out from around the Sun’s bicep and gulped. Embarrassed, he stepped out again and felt as if he shouldn’t still be holding Sun’s hand—so he tried to let go, but Sun quickly gripped his hand tighter, glancing at him sideways. “Don’t let go yet. Your soul will only stay grounded if I’m connected to you.”

“Oh. Okay.” A pause. “What happens if I let go?”

Sun blinked. “Your soul might be released into the oblivion of time and be dispersed among star dust.”

“Oh.” Another pause. “Is that such a bad thing?”

Sun lifted his eyebrows and looked at Kyungsoo knowingly. “Is that what a human would say?”

“I don’t think it’s a bad way to go. Becoming star dust.” He watched as the stegosaurus brood ripped up vegetation and nudged the younger ones along.

“Jongin—Sun, I mean…” His eyes grazed the landscape, fingers carefully wrapping back around Sun’s silky hands. “…why are you showing me this?”

“I’ve seen more than this. I’ve seen the creation of an entire solar system. Do you recognize all these places?”

“They’re…different planets?”

“No. Just Earth through the ages.”

Kyungsoo looked between the supersized reptiles and the super star, confused. “Why?”

Sun’s face became stony and serious as it has been previously. “I wanted to give you a glimpse of true history. I wanted to prove that history lasts a long time, that things change more than you realize over time.”

They moved again, souls tumbling through time until their feet planted down off to the side of a cross section street, flooded with people and bicycles. Modern day. Kyungsoo recognized the area: it was Seoul, the capital of South Korea.

The effects of the time instantly weighed down on the man—his lungs felt pinched and his vision fogged, ears clogged with all sorts of noise pollution. A bitter tint coated his tongue and the headache returned. Kyungsoo cringed.

Sun was emotionless. “This is reality. This is now. This is history being made by the moment. Each second is the first of its kind and it is all cutting edge. What happens today will effect every particle of the future, and the effects since the beginning of this time on Earth have rippled up to and through right now.”

After noticing Kyungsoo’s nervous twitching as the streetlight was about to switch from red to green he mumbled, “Only young children, elders, and animals can see us. They’re nearer to their beginnings and ends, closer to their true souls. Don’t worry. We won’t be hurt.”

Sun slipped them away from modern day once again, and the next place they appeared just about knocked Kyungsoo off of his feet.

They weren’t really somewhere. They were in the stars, is what Kyungsoo could tell.

Literally. Above, below, and all around was only a darkened expanse of obsidian oblivion, peppered with glittery sprinkles of florescent whites. They were the figure of subject within a snow globe, sleets of intergalactic dust twittling down in invisible columns around them.

Kyungsoo’s kid nostalgia slammed into him with full force. Imagines of him waddling about his childhood home with a box over his head and his snow suit fastened tightly around his body resurfaced, alongside hours of him watching endless American NOVA episodes borrowed on CDs from the school library about the universe and galaxies…even though they weren’t subbed and Kyungsoo didn’t know what all those scientists and astrophysicists were saying. He just liked looking at the fancy photos of the cosmos and pictured himself flying among them. After his seventh grade science teacher at school promptly destroyed his plans to become an astronaut by telling him he “just wasn’t fit for that sort of thing”, followed by a long list of other reasons why Kyungsoo shouldn’t go into that field, Kyungsoo started writing. He wrote stories about stars and aliens and rockets and he was pompously lame. But that was how he fell in love with the art of literature and in the end he found his passion. He had accepted that he wasn’t going to ever see the stars already.

Boy was he wrong.

They were standing—impossibly—on the tip of a dust cloud with an inconceivable scape before them.

Kyungsoo’s breath was robbed from him, mouth agape in utter amazement. Sun muttered, “It’s a—”

“Nebula,” Kyungsoo finished, wonder twinkling in his eyes. “It’s where stars…” He trailed off, then turning to look up at the sun. “…are born.”

“You can let go now,” Sun gently informed him, referencing to their hands. The human hadn’t noticed that he was still clenching onto Sun’s slack hand, and quickly drew away.

The nebula was massive, colorful, bright, and swirling with all sorts of magical shapes and clouds and outbursts of flame and energy. Pods of light were static as they danced slowly, unnoticeably, near the core of the incredible watercolor-like splash in the universal scape. This was something Kyungsoo had always wanted to see, and even to real astronauts, this was still a dream. He couldn’t help the beaming smile blooming on his face, but as soon as he looked back to Sun, the smile fell.

“It was Moon,” Sun said, hushed. His breath expelled past his drunken red lips and for the first time Kyungsoo saw something wistful and…well…sad in Sun’s, eyes. “It has been years since I’ve seen Moon, and I am still in love with him.”

Moon… thought Kyungsoo. Carefully, he asked, “I’m sorry Sun but…which moon? There are a lot of them in our solar system.”

The star smiled longingly. “Earth’s moon.”

Oh. That moon. The one that Kyungsoo worshipped as a child. The one that was so loved and so famous on Earth. The one that he liked to talk to in the late twilight hours in his apartment when there was no one else to share life’s sorrows with. The moon.

“It was a golden romance,” Sun mused quietly, moving to sit down (Kyungsoo hoped that that cloud would support them, but he figured their souls were weightless), and the other man followed, “of the wealthiest kind. I loved Moon with every bit and particle of light in my existence. I longed for him, suffered for his touch, and counted down the seconds to each solar eclipse on Earth. That was the only time we were close enough to collide our souls. We were…so in love. So thick in existing among one another even though it was a fatal tragedy. We were opposites, unlikely to love…”

Kyungsoo shook his head, hardly capable of grasping what was being handed to him.

Sun—the Sun—was reflecting on his love life with another galactic soul to him, little lame human Kyungsoo who liked marshmallows in his hot chocolate and the way his fingertips pruned and turned into raisins after a long shower. He, whose only social life consisted of one friend, half a job, and zero romance. Why was he here?

He cleared his throat rather nervously. “What do you need to speak with me about, Sun? I’m afraid I’ve never had any experience with love in my entire life.”

Sun turned to face him, his dark hair prickling on his forehead and his face (almost) expressionless. He didn’t fail to impose and impress; Kyungsoo still couldn’t take his eyes off of the magnetic aura and epic power radiating from the star’s sage brow. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what lay beyond those glistening orbs: billions of years’ worth of strain and growth. And there were those eyes, those eyes that spoke without the mouth doing the work. Kyungsoo couldn’t decipher still what they were trying to say but they were deeper, they were greater, they were more complex.

“I’ve seen you write,” Sun said slowly as if exploiting a present and not wanting to tear the gift paper. “I read your works. That sun shining in through the window that you like to see on your hand, the rays of light reflecting off of your book pages…” He paused here as if evaluating Kyungsoo’s unwavering, inquisitive expression before continuing. “I read, and I like what you write. You’re talented, a very sensitive writer...”

Kyungsoo wasn’t sure where this was going but he liked the sound of it. “Y-Yes?”

Sun’s eyes flickered along the passionate lines of the nebula in front of them, contemplative, and then he looked back to the human.

“Kyungsoo, I want to share my story, my experience with this love that humans are so fascinated with, and I want you to do that for me. I want you to write my story—Moon’s and my story—because it is important to me. I’m sure you’re the person to do it.”

The smaller man blinked, and then looked away as he folded his hands into his lap. Excitement crawled up his stomach, racing alongside a humid love and wounding anxiety.

I want you to write Moon’s and my story.

I’m sure you’re the person to do it.

Maybe there should have been doubt within him. Maybe he should have thought about it more and figured out what this commitment would mean.

But he didn’t have to.

Kyungsoo met eyes with Sun once again igniting heat between their locked gazes.

“Okay. I’ll do it.”

Sun smiled fully, a clean array of pearly teeth showcasing behind his stretched lips. He seemed…shy. How queer, Kyungsoo thought, for a being so great to appear so submissive, though Sun wasn’t really. He was a perfect balance of dominance and subordination of the will. His words resonated across the grandiose platter of space and time.

“Thank you.” He sat back, cleared his throat, eyed Kyungsoo for confirmation, and then began to tell his story.

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