vvv

Kyungsoo didn’t remember what the last story was exactly. They’d all by that point drooled together into a steaming pot of broiling love. He could no longer distinguish dream from reality, or one minute from one year. Sun told Kyungsoo of millions of moments in time, but it all seemed so fresh that the human was sure they’d only been talking for a single minute.

They laid beside each other with their hands respectively folded over their own stomachs, gazing up at the cosmos. It was silent now, a pool of thought dwelling between them.

“I could never tire of this,” Kyungsoo mumbled, smiling. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so happy.

Sun chuckled. “It’s odd sharing stories with a human. Your soul feels different than the ones from out here—your perspective is much appreciated.”

Sun’s voice was oddly professional. Kyungsoo, slightly disappointed, nodded. “Ah…” After a slight pause he induced another conversation. “Sun, you claimed you once taunted your brother star with the idea of giving a piece of your soul to the humans…” Sun turned his head to look at him. “Did you ever do it?”

“I did.”

Silence.

“…Ah.”

“Moon won’t meet me here. My hope is that someday my human soul will collide with Moon’s human soul. If that happens then Moon’s raw soul will be forced to connect with mine.”

“But you said that those souls wouldn’t be able to remember anything.”

“I did.”

“How would they be able to recognize each other? How do you know they won’t just pass by on the street and never know?”

Sun didn’t reply. The empty silence seeded an instant gnawing worry within Kyungsoo…he could see pieces to a very intricate puzzle but not how they were fitting together. Sun wasn’t him telling everything, there was something he was leaving out.

Kyungsoo was confused and turned away to think about this predicament. The human felt like he was back to square one: didn’t understand why he was here, talking to a human version of a star, sitting in a dust cloud in the middle of the universe. He wasn’t so special—Sun could have randomly selected any writer and fed them this information. Kyungsoo just didn’t know why it was him.

“Kyungsoo…” Sun started, his voice sentimental and husky. The human faced him again intently. Their gazes latched onto each other and something sparked—something heavy. Intense. Crucial. Sun’s face suddenly looked different: sweeter and severely familiar. But Kyungsoo was sure he’d never seen Sun’s face before. If he had he would’ve remembered it, and he was sure he would remember that smile and that laugh and those incredible eyes forever more.

“Yes?”

Sun was trying to say something, emotions and words caught up in his mouth. He looked pained, desperate, but passionate about what he wanted to say. “Kyungsoo—”

Before he could speak, though, the nebula and clouds around them were whisked away: thrown through space and time Sun and Kyungsoo ended up somewhere entirely different.

The bus station.

Kyungsoo, flustered, glanced around the city stop. It looked like Incheon. Kyungsoo wasn’t sure how he knew that, but the recognition hit him instantaneously. Around him, the world was in a standstill.

“Oh my…”

There were people. They were right there seemingly in the midst of their usual daily lives. Men strolling down the sidewalk, a woman on her phone, a child waving down a taxi, a street musician, various streaming cars and taxis and crowds of people: across the street was an array of clubs and dinner pit stops, alight in neon glow. Beside them in midair a stray flyer floated, lifted by an invisible wind.

But it was as if time has slowed to a bare minimum, the people’s actions carrying out millimeter by millimeter. Some of it was blurred: the biker zooming by, the strum of the guitarist’s hand… No one turned their heads to recognize that Sun and Kyungsoo’s souls were sitting there, the sole two at the bus stop. It was deathly surreal and statuesque. Beautiful.

Sun’s expression flattened out and he blinked a few times. “I think you’re ready to go home to your body now.”

The mood seemed ruined. Kyungsoo’s attention zeroed back on Sun: he looked different here, so human in this material place. “Huh? Why do you say that?”

Luhan’s face popped up in front of him. “Because I’m here! Your human brain is waking back on Earth so your dutiful Conscience must be there to guide you when you wake.”

“My…human brain?”

Conscience nodded. “Look around you: this is the last place you were before your soul left your body. Do you recognize this street?”

Kyungsoo gulped and his eyes grazed along the sidewalks anxiously. He was uncomfortable here, he wanted to go back to lying in that nebula—

And then he saw it.

Himself.

His face appeared coming down the opposing side of the street, tensed and flushed and wrapped tightly in his coat. Kyungsoo’s lips parted in disbelief: that was him.

“Your soul is preparing to return to Earth,” Sun explained. “Conscience will be here to guide you back.”

Kyungsoo sat up with a terrible lurch of his heart. “No! I don’t want to go back!”

Sun followed suit and straightened too, his heated hand coming down on Kyungsoo’s shoulder. “Soo, do you remember your life on Earth?”

The human racked through his mind, but the only things he could find there were the stories Sun had just told him. Uncertainty braced his consciousness and he shrunk back into himself. He didn’t want to go back.

“No…”

But Sun’s soft fingers tilted his chin up, refusing to allow Kyungsoo to become so course. “Then you have nothing to not want to go back to. I have a request of you remember? I need you—need you Kyungsoo—to tell this story.”

“He’s afraid that his writing is incompetent,” Conscience interrupted from the side. The human whimpered. Curse my conscience.

Conscience stood up muttering, “I heard that.”

Sun scowled deeply. He grabbed the human’s arms and pulled him closer until their faces were mirrored, Sun breathing heavy as it blew hotly across Kyungsoo’s face. His breath smells like molten metals and lavender, the smaller thought.

“I don’t know anything about writing,” Sun started, his voice overflowing with certainty and feeling. “I’m just a star whose lover told him stories about fanciful human life. But I do know how much the stars mean to you and how greatly you love writing. Passion fuels motivation and by golly Kyungsoo I can see the inspiration dripping off of you. Your writing, as long as it comes from here,” He pressed his palm to the left of Kyungsoo’s chest.

His hand was trembling.

“As long as it comes from here you cannot fault. Your soul drives your writing, not your hands, and I’m here to tell you Kyungsoo that your soul is beautiful, so you have nothing to worry about. Just write with that candid honesty I so truly love about you and fill every word with that gracious tender care that is just so wonderful. And your playfulness—it’s perfect. Everything about you, everything I love makes you the most adept writer for this commission. It is vital that you write it. I believe in you. “

“…Sun?”

Kyungsoo’s heart flared, thumping wildly within him. Why did it sound like Sun was confessing his undying love to him? Kyungsoo wanted to believe in himself too—but the faraway look in Sun’s eyes told the human that Sun wasn’t really here, that he was somewhere else.

That he was imagining a certain moon in Kyungsoo’s place.

Unless…

Kyungsoo immediately waved away the thought, doused it in gasoline, and burned it. Nope. There was no way.

Here, head bowed in front of the human, Sun looked vulnerable. Sun looked like a human, a real person. Kyungsoo’s fingers slowly tightened around Sun’s, their energy flowing freely between them. Why would Kyungsoo ever want to leave this?

“He’s afraid that he’ll never see you again,” mused Conscience from behind.

Oh no, don’t cry, the human willed. I don’t want to cry.

But Sun’s padded fingers gently wiped away the silvery drops of saltwater anyway. He smiled that incredible heart-warming smile; eyes crinkled at the corners, teeth bared, face soft. “Oh I’ll never be away. I have committed four and a half billion years of my life to rising in the morning. I will always be there for you, Kyungsoo. I will be there in the mornings and all throughout your days and I will cling to your Earth’s surface for as long as possible. And even when I am not there…at night when the sun has gone away, I can promise you that Moon will take very good care of you. He would never leave one of his own.”

One of his own? “Sun what are you saying?” Kyungsoo threw a quick look at his face back among the mundane crowds, flickering back to the star in front of him.

The star glanced down at their intertwined hands. “Your soul is already going. Remember what I say, okay?”

It was true: Kyungsoo’s hand had become somewhat transparent and numb as if it were already leaping across space and time back to wherever it had started. Kyungsoo shook his head, smiling sadly. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I won’t be able to remember all of your stories. I want to! But…I’m only human.”

Then Sun’s hands were on either side of Kyungsoo’s face, eyes wide and singing. The star breathed over the human’s lips. “Then let me make sure you remember.”

As soon as their lips touched Kyungsoo’s heart melted. Sun’s kiss was urgent and oh so homey. His kiss was made up of all the singing birds on Earth, all the orbits and every twinkling constellation in the night sky. Just then the human’s vision flashed and behind his eyelids he saw things: images. He recognized them instantly as the stories that Sun told him, stories of the Moon and of romance and love. Billions of years passed before his eyes—

Wait was that his face?

Was that Kyungsoo’s face?

He didn’t have time to think about it. As Sun held on tighter, clenching onto just one more second of the kiss, Conscience grabbed Kyungsoo’s near-invisible arm and a blaring taxi horn blasted as a flash of light exploded in his vision and the world blurred—

“Oh my, someone call the doctor!”

Kyungsoo’s chest heaved uncontrollably. Burning antiseptics invaded his nostrils and he gasped for air. His brain was fuzzy and his skull pounded. He scrambled up, dragging himself to the edge of the—

Hospital bed?

His panic blazed. The small boy cried out and shoved the sheets away. He saw the stories! He saw them! They were right there!

A collection of professional-looking people adorned in white gowns swooped into the small room and barraged his bed, but Kyungsoo was on a single mindset, his brain on a one-way street with no detours. He knew what he needed to say—the words were there and they were exploding in front of him, he needed to write!

“Kyungsoo, Kyungsoo, please, it’s alright.”

“I-I-I’m at…where did the…where is?...I can’t…” He looked up, wide-eyed, to the doctor standing beside him, the man’s hands extended cautiously. “Wh-Wh-Where a-am I?”

“You’ve been hospitalized. You were in an accident and have been comatose for three months—”

Three months!

“I-I-I…I just—”

“If you’ll just sit back—”

“I-I-I-I n-need. I need…”

One of the nurses stepped forward worriedly. “Yes Kyungsoo? Is there anything we can get you right away?”

“Paper!” Kyungsoo exclaimed, hands flailing at the nurses. “A pen! I have a story to write!”

v v v

Some days Kyungsoo just sat back and thought, “Wow, I had my first kiss with a star”.

Five months after that frightening day of waking up in the hospital Do Kyungsoo was a published writer. Never before had his mind been so creatively stimulated than it had been those first few months of insane speed-writing, locked up in his room with the curtains always thrown wide open. He’d consumed buckets of caffeinated tea and ate only once a week, usually scarfing down an entire loaf of bread before he unintentionally fasted for another few days. He loved it.

The book had already sold thousands. Kyungsoo, in some ways, wished that he could consider this book his crowning achievement and he usually told his admirers so. But deep down beneath layers of honesty, Kyungsoo figured that getting hit by that taxi that last spring was his greatest accomplishment. Day in and day out all Kyungsoo could think about were those bright eyes and warm hands and soft lips. He was pretty lame.

The air was smoky and laden, skies splattered with clouds and brisk winds. Autumn had descended upon the Korean people at last, bringing with it tides of crisp, brown leaves and thoughts of the holidays.

Kyungsoo sat at that bench—the one he knew so well—on that brittle fall day when he had to exert just a little more effort to breathe than usual. In his lap sat his journal, pages flittering in the breeze. He stared at the book: there was one page left. One blank space with no words on it. He was tempted to scribble The End smack dab in the middle, but that didn’t feel quite right. The story couldn’t have ended; he already had determined that whatever happened between Sun and Moon wasn’t finished yet. There was no room for an ending here. There was just one blank page.

He picked up his favorite pen and wiggled his fingers over the page thoughtfully. He’d been bothered by the apparent end of the story for weeks now; it couldn’t be over.

Very slowly he lowered his pen tip to the page and wrote those fatal words at the top, those words that opened up another several billion years’ worth of stories.

Those words were dangerous.

Kyungsoo nearly jumped out of his seat as his phone blared out and echoed into the park space obnoxiously. He fumbled around his coat pockets in search of his device, his fingers pink from the cold seizing the thing just before he held it up to his ear and a bundled up figure slipped onto the bench beside him.

“Yes?”

“Kyungsoo! It’s me.”

The man felt his heart sink. “H-Hello father…”

“How is my son doing?”

Your only son. “I’m doing well father. How was your flight back to Busan?”

“Very good, very good.” His voice was dismissive; there was something else he wanted to discuss. Kyungsoo knew what it was and would’ve done anything to avoid this. But he’d been avoiding it for five months and he owed his father the phone call. The elder’s tone of his voice, weak and condescending, had Kyungsoo’s gaze falling. “…I uh heard you published a book.”

“Yeah.”

“About time.”

“Hm.”

“Now I wanted to talk to you—” Kyungsoo was about to close his journal but his numbing fingers clumsily knocked the book and pen off of his lap, scattering dozens of notepapers that had been hidden within the pages. He swore.  “—about something your mother was talking about. She wanted me to tell you—” Kyungsoo hustled off of the bench and onto his knees, reaching for the papers. “—about all my military stories—”

“Mmhm…” Kyungsoo absently acknowledged. He crawled under the bench as he grabbed a sticky, slamming his head on the underside while trying to move back out. He hissed in pain.

“—Because I really want to encourage you to partake in your conscript now. In fact I would highly recommend going onto reserve. The military is an unforgettable, valuable experience—”

“I’m going to get my conscript over with eventually, don’t worry.” He reached for his journal, but while crawling around his knee came down on his sleeve and Kyungsoo fell onto his elbows, phone dropping onto the pavement. “—”

He grabbed it again and listened.

“—I know I can trust my only son to do this for me—” Kyungsoo sat up with the bundles of notes held closely to his chest, snuffling and trying to keep his phone balanced on his shoulder. He glanced to the side where stray notes were still marooned amongst the pale pavement. “—and I know that you were just published, but Kyungsoo, the military is an honorable and smart option for—”

“I really don’t want to go into the military, dad,” Kyungsoo defended desperately. The stranger on the bench stood and stepped away. “I just don’t want to. Send my regards to mother, I’ll see you for Christmas. I…I’m sorry dad, I have to go.” Before Kyungsoo could screw up his relationship with his father any more he ended the call abruptly and stuffed the phone into his pocket. His stomach felt heavy and he suddenly didn’t feel like getting up.

While his attention was scattered he hadn’t noticed the stranger on the bench gather the remaining notes and pick up the journal: at least until the stranger spoke.

“Uh…hi. Are these yours?”

Kyungsoo snuffled and kept his gaze in his lap shyly. He wasn’t a real social bean. As the stranger knelt in front of Kyungsoo and passed over the notes followed by the journal, Kyungsoo timidly mumbled, “Thank you…”

But as he took hold of the journal the stranger wouldn’t let go. The pages had flipped open to that last page, Kyungsoo’s scribbles brazen and obvious at the top. They sat there, both holding the journal, when the stranger’s exasperated voice spoke once again.

“Are—Are you Do Kyungsoo?”

Kyungsoo glanced up. “Ye—”

He couldn’t finish his sentence.

The stranger—or not—smiled happily. “You wrote the novel The Day the Sun Died, didn’t you?” Kyungsoo was speechless. “I love the way you depicted the sun’s personality. It’s my favorite book. I really admire your work.”

He didn’t think he’d see that face ever again. Those warm eyes. That caramel skin. That messy hair. That radiating smile.

The stranger let go of the journal but Kyungsoo couldn’t look away.

It can’t be.

The other, taller man chuckled nervously. “Uh…I have to say I’m so happy that I’ve found you. I didn’t realize it was you at first. I…” he looked away, still beaming. Reaching up and rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks turning pink, he continued, “I came to Incheon to look for you, actually. I live in Seoul. I…I’m a big fan.”

Oh my god.

The stranger glanced back at Kyungsoo, who hadn’t moved an inch. His mouth was still agape mid-word and his eyes were gleaming with hope, staring. The man’s lips looked the same—if they were the same.

But Kyungsoo knew. He knew he would always remember that face. He could never mistake any one like it.

“Mister Do?” The stranger watched him with intent, worried eyes. “I—I’m sorry if I’ve offended you…”

Kyungsoo rapidly shook his head. “N-N-No! N-Never. I-It’s just…I’ve never b-been directly approached b-by a… a fan. And…and call me Kyungsoo.”

The stranger’s face lit up like a pleased puppy. “Okay!”

Kyungsoo’s grip tightened around the journal. “Wh-What did you want to see me about?”

Was that déjà vu he was feeling?

The stranger motioned to the bench gratefully and, shivering with excited adrenaline, Kyungsoo nodded and followed him to go sit.

Please be him, please be him, please be him.

“Mr. Do—Kyungsoo, I mean, I couldn’t help but notice those words you’ve written in your book there.”

“Y-Yeah?”

The stranger recited the text: “The Day the Sun Died: Part Two.” His eyes glistened with thrill. “I don’t mean to pry, but do you have intentions of writing a sequel to your novel?”

Oh my god he talks like him.

Kyungsoo stuttered. “Ah…Uh…Eh…I…Um…N-Not really…It’s just a thought…”

The man nodded but—much to the writer’s relief—he didn’t look disappointed. “That’s not what I wanted to see you about, though. I was thoroughly intrigued by your personification of the planets and your unique perspective of the worldly epidemic of love. See, I’m a philosophy major at Seoul University—”

“Of course you are,” Kyungsoo breathed.

“What? Kyungsoo, are you sure you’re alright? Your eyes are awfully dilated.”

“Nothing. G-Go on.”

“I came because, well, I loved your book and wanted to meet the man behind the words, but for another reason too. It’s just that I’ve never connected so deeply to a book ever before, but as I read yours—geez, I probably sound stupid—but I felt like it was written for me, you know?”

Kyungsoo hiccupped. “Y-Yeah.” More than you ever will.

“It felt like some of those things you said came right out of my own mouth. I actually quoted your book in one of my essays—my professor was curious about it too. He suggested that I pursue my interest to find you, and that if I ever did, that he would like to personally invite you to speak in class.”

Kyungsoo gulped. “Huh.”

“But that’s not the reason why I came to find you,” the man continued. Kyungsoo was ready to explode in anticipation. The stranger’s cheeks visibly heated up again. “I was wondering if maybe you’d want to go out for tea sometime. I would like to exchange ideas and details about philosophical hypothesis and concepts with you. You seem like an intelligent and talented writer, I’m curious what else you have to say. I loved your book too much—it wasn’t enough.”

He glanced at Kyungsoo expectantly.

That face, thought the writer, I know you so well.

“I…I would love to,” he relied shakily, heart beating so fast he felt like he could swim a hundred miles, run for a thousand years, and look into those eyes forever.

The stranger beamed and moved closer, the two mens’ knees knocking against each other. He held his hand out proudly with a light laugh.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Kim Jongin.”

Kyungsoo couldn’t believe it. As a smile slowly made its way onto his face until he was laughing with glee, he thought about the odds.

Clever. You’re real smart, Sun, he thought as he stared into Sun’s human eyes. His soul sang within him, rejoicing in the closeness of this other extraterrestrial child. I’ll take good care of him, don’t you worry. Take good care of me, too.

Kyungsoo took Jongin’s hand—oh, how soft, how warm—and gripped it haughtily. He always figured that there was something more to the ending of Moon and Sun’s love story, and boy was he right, but he also thought that he would never know that ending.

Boy was he wrong.

This story wasn’t at its end just yet.

“Do Kyungsoo. Likewise.”

END