Chanyeol wakes up at five o’clock out of habit. His alarm is set for 6:30, and his work day should technically begin at 7:30, but he can’t fall back asleep. Baekhyun would always get up early, and no matter how hard he’d try not to, he’d inevitably wake Chanyeol.

It was more Chanyeol’s fault; he naturally clings when he sleeps, and Baekhyun may be strong, but trying to escape a cuddly octopus with a few inches and pounds on him is no easy feat.

He just lies in bed for a while, sprawled out and with the covers kicked off. The cool air should motivate him to get up, he theorizes, but it’s not worked, yet. He’s more likely to get up, grab his covers, and return to bed.

Without Baekhyun, he eases into the day slowly. Wake up, get out of bed; wake up, you sleepyhead. Just another manic Monday. Eight days a week. Working nine to five.

Reaching for his phone, he knocks it to the floor and swears softly. It throws up a holo-screen, showing the time and a notification for a podcast ready to download. The tap tap of nails and jingle of metal tags tells him the dogs are awake and now know he’s awake. They whine to be let out, knowing full well their usual walk isn’t for another couple of hours.

That’s motivation enough to get out of bed. Chanyeol can’t stand their kids’ cries.

His phone doesn’t show any new messages, anyway, so he leaves it on the floor and rolls to his feet.

Toben, his Poodle, is dancing on his hind legs. Before he can tip forward, Mongryong catches him on his back. They spin in eager circles like an awkward ballet as Chanyeol makes his way to the bathroom and tries not to step on or kick them.

He’s long since lost the anxiety of not closing the door. The dogs wait in the doorway, watching him pee, wash his hands, brush his teeth, and shave—he once skipped shaving for weeks, hoping to grow a full beard and express just how much time has passed, but he’s like his dad and can only grow patchy stubble. Baekhyun, on the other hand, sometimes looks like a Canadian lumberjack. It’s impressive, but it’s also weird kissing him like that. Like making out with a broom.

Finishing with a few choice passes of a brush through his hair, Chanyeol makes kissy noises at the dogs, who just about go out of their minds at the attention. “You ready?”

It’s a rare day when they’re not ready. Chanyeol belts the waist leash around his torso and clips either dog. They dance while waiting for him to open the door, close it, lock it, and walk like polite, courteous neighbors down the hall to the stairs.

Once outside, they take off in a large loop around the neighborhood. It’s still relatively quiet; few people are outside or even awake, but there’s still the usual ambient noise of the city—birds calling, cars rumbling over uneven streets, trucks stopping and going with deliveries, a gutter belching with runoff from the recent rain.

The moon’s still a little visible over the buildings, but it’s pale and difficult to see with the rising sun splashing bold colors across the horizon.

As Mongryong dutifully poops behind his usual tree and Toben marks over the scents of dogs much larger than himself, Chanyeol tilts his head back to look at the sky. The weather report says it should stay clear for a couple of days. He actually likes clouds; it seems to keep the ground grounded. Without clouds, there’s nothing to catch whatever might fall into the atmosphere.

He wonders what that must feel like. It looks effortless in movies, just an easy floating upwards, but it probably depends on why things are leaving the ground. If gravity works the opposite way, Chanyeol supposes he would be flung into the sky like opposing magnets, and if everything else is acted upon in the same way, he’d very likely get crushed at some point.

Such happy thoughts, so early in the morning. Thank you, brain.

At the sound of vigorous scratching, he pulls a plastic bag over his hand to pick up after the dog. Mongryong looks curious, wondering where his poop is going, and pees on the trash can Chanyeol tosses it in.

They finish their run and head home for breakfast, which Chanyeol buys on the way, because cooking for one doesn’t seem worth the effort. Plus, he can treat the kids to some plain croissants. They’ve been good, handling his moping and sighing like true professionals with prescriptions of cuddles, walkies, and kisses.

He feeds the boys their treats torn up over their usual kibble but puts his own food in the fridge. He’s not hungry. He’s tired. He wants to sleep more.

But he’s got work to do. His coworker has been on his case about the middle of one of his compositions that “Isn’t quite there yet; it’s good! It’s very good, but it’s just not there.”

They don’t like it and want him to rewrite it. Fine. He’ll do it. Later. He’s more interested in working with the lyricist and getting some rough recording done. Their label recently signed a young, independent singer whose voice can move the most heartless scrooge, and Chanyeol has a feeling their song is an easy chart-topper.

The studio is way on the outskirts of the city. He could drive, but he wants to zone out without worrying about crashing into oncoming traffic. It’s harder to focus with only his own company. At least on a train, he can safely check out or be too busy navigating the streams of people to get lost in his head and overthink his problems and personal task list.

For as much as he enjoys his work, there is a fair bit of downtime which allows his thoughts to take over his consciousness. Music takes him on a journey, and it’s not always the journey to completion but a journey to detours and wear-worn paths that loop around so when he comes back to the present, he can’t remember what he just listened to and has to replay it.

They have a good recording session, at least. The singer buys lunch for them all, and they chat about anything other than work as they eat. Chanyeol’s producing partner lets his bird out of its cage for a while, and Chanyeol poses very still when it decides his hair is a good nest.

But no matter how much he likes his job and the people he works with, he’s ready to get home. He’s tired. Being awake for over twenty hours has that effect on him. Rather than wait for the train, he heads to a bus stop with a more frequent schedule.

It’s an odd hour, more morning than night. It’s peaceful and quiet—maybe a little too quiet for his liking.

A cat skulks in the shadows, just out of the circles of light from the lamp posts. Its eyes flash when it looks at Chanyeol, and it almost seems ready to say something when it scurries away before a sudden breeze.

He leaves the shelter of trees and looks up at the stars. In this part of the city, there’s less light pollution, and the sky seems much closer. Beyond the sky is vast, unexplored space. It always makes him feel small and terribly lonely.

His phone rings, a composition he’s been working on. He doesn’t recognize the number.

“Hello?”

A pause, then, “I can see you.”

It’s a creepy greeting, but Chanyeol smiles. “You hijack Hubble, again?” He smiles wider at the familiar, bubbly laughter. “Hey, Baek.”

“Hi…” He giggles as he catches his breath. “On your way home?”

“Yeah. I finished late.”

“Late? What time is it?”

“One-fifteen.” No wonder he’s so tired and hungry. Once he gets into a song, time passes without him noticing. It’s hard to leave the groove once he’s in it; it’s harder to reclaim it after leaving it.

“Oh, dang. Passed your bedtime.”

“Why are you still up? Switch shifts again?”

“I’m just covering for a couple days. Kyungsoo’s got moonsickness again.”

“Ew.” Moonsickness makes you pace, throw a fever, vomit, et cetera. It’s similar to the flu and about just as pleasant.

“You listen to my podcast, yet?”

“No. It’s still downloading.” Baekhyun groans. “It takes time to get anything from the moon! You know that.”

“But still. All this great technology, and I can’t simulcast to my adoring public. Gotta wait for uploads, then downloads, and everyone listens to old news.”

“I don’t think they listen to you for the news, babe.”

“I know. They like to listen to my sultry voice.” Chanyeol imagines the fingers Baekhyun probably frames his chin with.

ASMR—or autonomous sensory meridian response, as Baekhyun stressed when trying to justify needing a six hundred thousand won microphone alongside his custom-built gaming setup—isn’t all that old and has taken off considerably since its introduction. Starting from the scalp, it elicits a tingling sensation and sedation down the body as a result of listening to or watching certain videos or sounds.

It’s pretty neat, and it explains the weird static he’d feel when just lying around the apartment and listening to Baekhyun narrate whatever he was doing.

He’d first gotten interested in it during training, when they weren’t allowed much freedom to go out with friends, drink themselves stupid, or play unapproved video games. He started recording a journal of sorts, finding talking to be just as therapeutic as singing but less likely to get him in trouble from his room mates. Those sometimes devolved into narrating his stream of consciousness, which he does when with people, too. It’s hard for him to be completely silent, and there’s a whole lot of it on the moon.

Regardless, people enjoy his voice.

“Always said you had the face for radio.” He holds his phone away from his ear at the indignant squawk. “Hey, I like radio personalities!”

“You’d better,” Baekhyun mumbles, “or I’d be on the next rocket home to kick your …”

Chanyeol leans against a lamppost, facing the moon. It looks so big and full and close; his hand covers it when he reaches out with his arm.

"Well, I hope you like my podcast when you listen to it." Chanyeol always does. Even when Baekhyun's completely ridiculous and eating crunchy, dehydrated food as though the snap of chips is supposed to be relaxing rather than annoying. Sometimes, his coworkers make unscheduled appearances, and Baekhyun plays host of their impromptu talk show.

His favorite are the ones Baekhyun records in the early morning or late night—relative terms in outer space—when he's by himself between shifts and is trying to not disturb the stillness and finds strange comfort in the silence of space.

Those are the times he'll talk about his feelings and dreams, his hopes for his work and his personal future. He won't mention names, to protect his family and friends from scrutiny, but he'll talk about Chanyeol, too.

It's when he's most honest.

Thousands of miles away from any potential revenge but also so far away from the physical affection and intimacy he craves.

“What have you been working on?” Chanyeol sends clips of his songs when he can or sings a bit of what’s been stuck in his head. He always thought Baekhyun would’ve made a great musician.

So Chanyeol talks about his day and how he’s avoiding the one piece that supposedly needs revisions and recording with their new artist, which Baekhyun’s most interested in.

“Are they cute?”

Shrugging, Chanyeol nods. “I think so.”

“Cuter than me?”

“Of course not, but even if they were, I wouldn’t tell you and risk them getting taken out by a laser canon.”

Baekhyun hums. “Very smart.”

Chanyeol thinks of the calendar in their apartment—only used to count down the days until Baekhyun’s Earthbound again.

Yellow lights grow in the distance; Chanyeol hears the hum of an engine. “That’s my bus… I love you, Moonman.”

“I know. I love you, too.” He sighs. Chanyeol hears rustling; Baekhyun’s probably lying his head on his arms. “Counting the days, Earthling.”

The bus stops with a hydraulic hiss and settles over its tires. There’s no one else riding. Even if there was, he doubts anyone would be in the mood to talk, even the awkward small talk that comes from close quarters. Sitting at the back of the bus, Chanyeol puts his feet up on the seat across the aisle and tucks his earbuds into his ears. The podcast is nearly done downloading; he can listen to it as it finishes.

After a minute or two of waiting, the bus lifts and takes off with a grumbling whine

"Sometimes, being a scientist really . I see a lot of really incredible things; things a handful of our population ever gets to witness, but there are a lot of papers and numbers and waiting and lots,” he sighs, “and lots of time away from home.

"I love space. I love its vastness and possibilities. I love being able to be here, but when I'm not busy—and there really is a fair bit of free time—it's so lonely. My crew is nice and fun, but there are so few of us in this great vacuum of burning gas and nothingness. At home, I could sing at the top of my lungs and get yelled at or start a flash concert.

"Here, I can't make a sound. There's nothing to carry it. Our suit microphones are sensitive enough to crackle when we breathe; if I sang, I'd probably make ears bleed.

“Within the station, it’s actually quite noisy. Vents and fans and belts and computers… It makes us all a little nuts, when we first get here, but it becomes reassuring, hearing the system that’s keeping us all alive and our station functioning.”

Chanyeol doesn’t like thinking about the distance, how things could go wrong, and he would be nowhere near to help.

“I get asked a lot about how we sleep, and we have sleeping bags. We anchor ourselves to a wall near a ventilator fan. Warm air doesn’t rise here; it doesn’t move on its own, so the ventilator fans are necessary to promote airflow. One of the guys chose poorly—she was just too exhausted, this was near the beginning of her stint here—and she slept in a poorly ventilated area, in a bubble of her own exhaled carbon dioxide. She’s lucky she woke up with just a headache, gasping for air...oxygen deprivation can be deadly.”

He’s lucky. On his first tour in space, Baekhyun got loose and got stuck against an air filter his sleeping bag against its grill. That was just embarrassing, not potentially lethal. Chanyeol still freaked out a little bit when he heard about it.

“I probably sleep less here in space. I’m not a great sleeper in general. But I definitely miss sleeping in a bed even if my boyfriend was with me, sleeping without gravity is not satisfying.

“We have protocols and routines to follow for a reason, and although my inner rebel desires anarchy and mayhem, it appreciates being alive and in one piece to even experience the regulations."

The connecting bus is slightly more crowded; a young couple lean together, asleep in a front seat. Chanyeol passes them for the back seat and rubs his eyes. He forgot his glasses.

Baekhyun sighs and is silent for a moment. Chanyeol almost checks his phone to see if the download had stalled. “The sun is coming up. We only see a sunrise every twenty-nine days or so, so it’s kind of special. Without an atmosphere, there are no twilight colors, though. First chance I get, I want to drag my boyfriend out of his studio and watch an actual sunrise.

“That’s all for now— Signing off with love, from the man on the moon.”

Static shivers in his earbuds when the podcast ends, and he removes them to tuck into his pocket. Listening to his boyfriend’s voice doesn’t make the longing lessen, but his pride in his space-minded partner is always renewed, and the want to hug him tight and pepper kisses across his face until he laughs grows, making him teeter between happy and sad.

The dogs nearly trip him when he enters the apartment, and they go outside for a quick break. Empty bladders make for less urgency and quieter kids. Chanyeol checks the note from his friend who takes care of Toben and Mongryong during the day, but there’s only praise. Jongin could never say anything bad about a dog.

Chanyeol cues up the recent podcast to play over a wireless speaker in their room. There’s a literal list pinned to the wall of things he wants to do with or show Baekhyun when he’s back. Number one is watching the sun rise; number two is watching the sun set.

For now, he’ll sleep with the moonbeam crossing their bed and imagine it gives off warmth.

a.n.: Written for a dropped writer as part of Baecon and Eggs. (prompt no.2 A stands by the bus station, waiting for the last bus to take him home. It is late at night, and there is no soul to be found nearby him. But, a sudden call interrupts A's silent solitude, when he answers a call from B, "I can see you.")

This prompt could have been so creepy, but my recipient specifically mentioned not enjoying horror while preferring a general rating. My mom watches a lot of space movies, and I got inspired.