part one;

Baekhyun quietly listened to the humming the constantly enveloped the massive ship of EXO. That claustrophobic buzzing came from the churning, eon-old engine that powered the massive ship; that pushed it beyond the realm of familiarity as the passengers drifted through the stars. Stars that he had never laid his eyes on.

He then turned to his canvas, brush in hand. He had slathered the white sheet in black paint, covering the entire thing in darkness. He felt his hand unconsciously reach toward the yellow paint, squeezed on his palette. The thick fine hairs rolled around in the golden color, mixing with the gleaming white. He then dabbed it on the black, igniting suns.

Baekhyun growled in displeasure. How could he paint something he’s never seen in actual reality? How can he picture something that he never had the privilege to even see? He quickly covered the dabs of yellow in blackness again. The murky, golden yellow that was on his palette could probably never mimic the golden sheen of stars.

He put his palette down in defeat, sighing. He ran his thin fingers through his hazel-colored locks in frustration. Pacing in his bedroom, he looked out of his window at the metal walls that enclosed him, the false blue of the sky. He looked at the “endless” expanse of field, pasture for the livestock. He then turned his gaze towards the sheer, thin-glass of the towering skyscrapers in the distance. All of these things were so fake, so false. But then again, in his whole life, this lie was all he knew.

Baekhyun wanted to run out of his room, shove the doors out of the way. He wanted to just go on forever, past the familiar faces he saw every day, past the constant reminder of metal walls, encaged people, a never-changing life. There can be comfort in things that never altered, but there comes relief with new.

But he stayed put and shuffled through his art. Some works were strewn across his desk, some were stuffed in drawers and some were stacked neatly in a portfolio. He wasn’t as organized as the people of EXO were supposed to be. But in a world trapped in neatness, messiness was welcome.

Of all the things he had drawn, all the things he had painted, all the things he had created with his hands were all masterpieces. The pure green that he captured in his landscape of the grass whispering in the “wind” that blew throughout EXO at precisely 5:00PM everyday, looked identical. The shimmering waters of the “lake” he had traced with his brush shimmered like the one on EXO did. But none made his heart full unless he could paint the stars.

 

★

The current population of 2,000 aboard EXO had lived in a routine all their lives, since the moment of takeoff from the only planet and home they have known, EXOPlanet. Their destination: Earth. Since its initial takeoff in the year 2095, in the duration of approximately three hundred years, these “citizens” will land in a new world called Earth. It is now 2355 and EXO is due to land in four more decades. The original 2,000 have gone, and have been replaced by the next generation, their next 2,000 children placed in an endless never-ending cycle until EXO finally touches on Earth. These people have all inhaled the same air, all exhaled the same carbon-dioxide, all trapped inside a large man-made ship which they can only call their home. The current 2,000, amongst them Byun Baekhyun and Kim Jongin, will be the first to finally relish their new home: Earth.


Jongin tapped his freshly sharpened No. 2 pencil against the wooden table, trying to lower his amount of frustration as he scripted out the updated blueprints of EXO. He ran his thin fingers through his messy dark  hair that had a knack of flecking the light, burning dark red flames amongst his mussed locks. The scrawls he had drawn lay before him weren’t as accurate as he aspired them to be. He finally put his pencils and rulers down, stretching his long legs and strong arms.

The sun was about to “turn off,” to signal the end of the day, in about an hour. The false colors that tried to mask the ones of Earth’s perceived sunset splashed across the ship in harsh false lights of orange, yellow and purple that blended terribly.

Before he put all his paraphernalia back inside his drawers, although he disliked being organized. He cracked his white, pale knuckles, relaxing in his seat after a lengthy day of blueprinting and updating EXO’s designs. The life of an official of EXO was lonely, haunting, tired. Jongin listened to the beating heart, the energy humming through the old ship. He yawned with a finality and shut the lights, exiting the room.


Jongin trailed his fingers in the library, searching for the best of quiet times. No citizen ever visited the library aboard EXO, with books full of fictional themes that they didn't have enough time for. He pulled out a slim book, curiously flipping the cracked spine over. Cleopatra and Mark Anthony by Shakespeare. He smirked at the name, finding it odd, before slipping it back into the shelf.

He continued wandering, feeling the cool false air breeze through his thin clothing. On the wall hung a painting, oversized and breathtaking. It captured a glowing orb, full of swirling colors from the hues of the lightest green to the darkest blues, a faint trail of yellow light outlining it. Where land met sea was indistinct, where the boundaries collided was identifiable. He stared at it intently with fascination, reaching his fingers out to gently the land. He knew that the artist tried to push all of the qualities of a planet in one picture. It was glorious and he never wanted to peel his eyes off of the globe. He inched his fingers closer—

“I wouldn't touch that if I were you,” someone murmured behind him.

He quickly turned around, startled. The man was shielded under the shadows before finally making his appearance. Splatters of paint were smeared on his clothing, along with a gleaming streak of black on his cheek. He was handsome, Jongin noticed, with gentle, amused eyes. His hair was tousled, styled with an artistic messiness. Light streaks of brown nicely complimented his hazel eyes. He had a slim face, thin lips and a high nose along with a slight figure, but not too petite. He had seen this man here and there, always a noticeable smear of paint on his clothing or face which, Jongin figured, was from artistic reasons.

“Why not?” Jongin replied defiantly, glancing at the painting again. There was a small plaque beneath the canvas, reading Byun Baekhyun with a sheen of dust covering it, as if it was forgotten. The artist was Baekhyun. Jongin whispered it quietly, relishing the nice roll of it on his tongue.

“Because it’s mine. I painted it,” Baekhyun said in a matter-of-fact voice, gesturing to the work.

Jongin backed away, scanning the man once more. “You really painted this?” he asked, surprised. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, trying to fantasize this man dragging a brush on a canvas, creating the painting that dangled on the wall by a mere nail. He knew the man—Byun Baekhyun—was an artist, it was obvious in his graceful movements and the knack of having paint-streaked outfits, but it wasn’t possible for him to paint such an amazing masterpiece.

“Yes. What, are you surprised?” he asked, inching closer to Jongin. He had a mischievous twitch to his lips, curving nicely to reveal a set of straight, even teeth. Jongin didn’t think a man could be this attractive to him. He wondered how the taste of his pink, slim lips felt against his own plump ones.

“Slightly,” Jongin admitted, eying the canvas Baekhyun secured under his arm. It was obviously smaller than the one on the wall. “What’s that?” he asked with interest, pointing to it.

Baekhyun’s smirk widened. He slipped it from under his protective clutch and revealed a completely black square canvas as if Baekhyun had decided to splash the paper with a violent black, draping it in despair. Jongin observed it curiously, trying to grasp a minor understanding.

“What is it?” Jongin repeated, sensing that it had come from a deep hole in Baekhyun’s heart. A hole that he wanted to fill.

“The sky,” Baekhyun said simply, shrugging. There was a flash of ache in his eyes before it quickly disappeared, like a bolt of lightning, striking once in fury. But Jongin caught it, he caught the desire in his almond-shaped, light brown irises.

“Really?” Jongin asked again, unable to hold back. “Have you ever even seen it?”

Regret took over his features, dragging his frown even lower. Confusion swept his eyes, overcoming him in mere moments. There was a slim line between happiness and sadness for Baekhyun and he seemed to cross it easily. “No,” he said bluntly, almost a bare whisper. His voice seemed stripped of any previous emotion.

“I could take you there,” Jongin said, trying anything to wipe that sadness off the features that looked better happy. “I could.” Jongin had full access to all the compartments and stories that were compacted on EXO, from the lowest level, where all the technicalities were rectified, and the engine stayed. The middle story resided the citizens of EXO, where they blankly filled the land with natural foods, and the top story, where the highest ranked officials of EXO lived, constantly bathing in luxury and riches.

Baekhyun’s mouth opened partially, as if gaping in jealousy. Jongin was at the top of the EXO caste system, extravagant needs at his feet. But he realized that Baekhyun wasn’t jealous because of his wealth or fancy, large living quarters; he was jealous that he could see the sky. “Really?” he said, almost barely a whisper.

Jongin gulps, wondering why he bothered to ask a stranger, a man he barely knew. But he felt a strange attachment towards Byun Baekhyun, a feeling that he couldn’t ignore. He knew the other could feel their roaring connection, an undeniable relationship. It was similar to tame electricity bursting through the air that occasionally roared to violent waves. “Yeah,” he coughs, nodding.

Baekhyun blinked, seemingly trying registering his agreement. Jongin feared his reaction. He wanted so bad to see Baekhyun smile, twinge those thin pair of lips into a smile that had been so quick to disappear and reappear. Jongin nervously his lips, relishing the clean taste of it. The dim light was going to shut off soon. It was nearly the end of the day.

But instead of answering, he said softly, “I’m Byun Baekhyun.”

Jongin grins, in affection almost in hilarity. “I’ve figured that out.”

Baekhyun looks up, meeting his eyes. His expression flared with confusion until he flicked his gaze toward the plaque under his painting, in glittering formal letters reading his name. The cocky smile returns on his face. “Smartass,” he muttered, eyebrows raised high.

Jongin finally notices that there is a dark black color outlining his almond-shaped eyes that so easily revealed how he felt. It was nicely drawn, bringing a fierce boldness to him although Jongin knew that he was much softer. The eyeliner suits him well and Jongin admires it.


Jongin, or Kai as most of his colleagues referred to him, was twenty, a ripe age already aboard the ship. The expected life duration of most aboard EXO had deduced to fifty to sixty years of age. He was often shunned by the other workers for he had a much higher attraction towards his own rather than the opposite. They all considered him odd. A disgrace to the race of the EXO aliens. The men deliberately kept their conversations extremely short, even just snippets of words. Physical interaction was at its minimum. Jongin hadn’t touched another boy since Do Kyungsoo when he was merely seventeen.

He remembered the smooth, baby-like face and demeanor of his previous boyfriend. He always had a gleeful smile that overtook his obese lips. He was short but appealingly so. Kyungsoo had always been safe with Jongin, only sneaking chaste pecks between lips. There were days when they took their pure kissing further but not more so. But Kyungsoo had decided the cold stares of others were enough and cut off any interaction and ended their “fling,” or as Kyungsoo dubbed it. And that had hurt Jongin more than anything, even the snickers questioning his uality, even the shame of his parents.

He still couldn’t rid Kyungsoo of his mind.

Until Byun Baekhyun drew his way into his life. Jongin had unknowingly thought of Baekhyun a lot, even when he was fixing his usual spicy kimchi for dinner, when he brushed his teeth, when he slept, staring out the window and seeing nothing but blackness.

Blackness. There was nothing more black than the human mind.

It haunted him. Especially the harshness of Baekhyun’s painting, the vicious clashing of black that could have been more. Jongin knew there was more. There had to be more. Although he hasn’t seen the sky himself, he knew there were more stars than imaginable. Billions of suns. Vast worlds beyond their comprehension and reach.

He slept, picturing the hard curve of Baekhyun’s jawline, flashes of the wide eyes that Kyungsoo constantly had, to the arrogant smirk of the artist. It was an infinite swirl of both, sometimes mixing together until Jongin thrashed up, breathing heavily. He quickly prepared for work, although his surroundings were still pitch-black. Because he was high-ranked, he had the ability to turn on his lights and electricity, an advantage that the middle class couldn’t have.

He flipped open the lights, pressing his hands to his head, pushing Kyungsoo and Baekhyun out of his dazed, groggy head. Exhaustion ran through his lithe muscles, through his slim body. He looked at himself in the mirror, splashing warm water in his face. He gripped the edges of the sink, staring at his tan skin that hid his desires. Dark pupils, the color of deep wine, stared back at him, questioning. What’s wrong with me?

 

★

When Baekhyun was fifteen, his parents were killed. It was a quick death, an unexplainable death, and Baekhyun was left to fend for himself in the ship full of 2,000. Alone. It never struck Baekhyun as odd when both of his parents never came home but appeared on the newspaper’s obituary the next day.

His dad had been an artist, disrespected for his career choice. It wasn't a steady job to aspire to be. But Baekhyun's father aspired to be an artist anyways amongst the scowling neighbors and disapproval. Mr. Byun enjoyed the pleasures of release found in drawing, be it a portrait of his mother or a painting of farms. He admired his father, even amongst the shame of others.

His father was the one who had taught him to draw so skillfully, a mentor full of patience and care. Baekhyun had at first attempted to draw his father, but it wasn’t as accurate as he planned it to be. But his father pinned it on the wall nonetheless.

“Baekhyun, this is the most amazing drawing I’ve ever seen anyone draw!” his father had exclaimed, staring at the paper filled with rudimentary lines and shapes with pride. Baekhyun had thought, at the time, that it had uncannily resembled his father with his dark hair, sharp cheekbones, curled grinning lips.

“Really!?” Baekhyun had asked, excited. If his father thought it was amazing, it was undeniably amazing.

“Yeah!”

But as much as his father returned the love, his father had never painted a portrait of his son. And he never had the chance to given that God had decided to take him early. And Baekhyun felt constant remorse and wonder. Why had his father never drawn him? Did his father ever truly love him? Their home had been filled with paintings of his mother, self-portraits and things of the like, but not one was of Baekhyun’s face.

The fact that his father never drew him made him shed more tears than his father’s death.

At sixteen, Baekhyun found his first boyfriend. Park Chanyeol. A boy one year his junior who never seemed to stop smiling. Baekhyun fondly remembered the twitch of his right hazel eye whenever he laughed, and the amber-brown curly waves that bounced whenever he walked. There didn’t seem to be a single moment when Park Chanyeol wasn’t smiling, flashing the set of rich white teeth that seemed to glitter.

But Baekhyun didn’t like to think of Chanyeol anymore and how much it hurt when his inevitable death came too. And Baekhyun didn’t find it any more weird when Chanyeol died of a disease.

A disease that no one else had.


Baekhyun didn’t like to sleep and preferred the light of the day. Although he didn’t have the ability to turn on the lights whenever he needed, he lit a candle, allowing him to paint, to draw, to create a new world. He stared at the black canvas, remembering the pity that flashed in Jongin’s eyes earlier. He tried desperately to mix the correct hues and tints on his palette, smudging the beige, the whites, the yellows. Each time, he grabbed a new brush—a thin one this time with strictly combed hairs. It resisted in collecting the paint as he ruthfully grinded his brush into the light golden color. Then he proceeded to dab against the black again, creating beacons. That he quickly flushed away into darkness once more.

He set his materials down, not for the first time in the night. The world of EXO whispered secrets to him, drowning him in inescapable demons. He wanted to rip the door open, bang through the metal, crash through the ugly walls to fly. Baekhyun saw EXO as a prison, a reminder that he would never be free, always under the heavy surveillance of walls.

Jongin’s rebellious hair ran through his mind again. The arrogant, conceited crooked smirk, the dark skin-color—a smooth color that matched a beige, almost an even caramel—his deep voice. He felt a sense of calm and comfort, emotions he hadn’t felt in a long time.


Morning came in a few hours, a bright snap of light that awoke the residents of EXO. There was no stunning sunrise, an exuberant star to radiate warmth upon people. It was pitch-black, dark and haunting one moment, the next, it was a bright burst of sunshine. Baekhyun brushed his teeth, pulling out a strip and gluing it to his straight set of whites. He then threw it into the sink, watching it absorb the thin piece of paste before he rushed into the shower. The water pounded on his back, like vicious rain that was regularly scheduled to fall once a week. It roared in his ears, washing his nightmares away.

He heard Jongin’s promise echo through his mind. I could take you there … I could. His heart beat faster, pulsing with life. He swallowed the lump that mashed in his throat. He wanted to see the sky, he wanted to paint the sky, sketch the sky, touch the sky. He wanted to feel the droplets of rain, something that he knew existed on EXOPlanet, or the swirling frosty snow, or the haze of heat. Everyday on EXO was just like the previous, the weather set firmly on 75 degrees in the spring, 80 in the summer, 70 in the fall and 60 in the winter. Everything was expected. Usual. Ordinary.

He stepped out of the shower, the water automatically stilling. There was a schedule for bathing too. The maximum time allotted for showering was ten minutes maximum.

Baekhyun dressed quickly, pulling on his usual clothing of soft material. All the middle class wore this loose plaid flannel shirt that felt like silk and a loose pair of mud green jeans with a pair of black laced boots. He liked the uniform well enough; it was comfortable and nice-fitting. Of course, he knew that Jongin had the privilege and status to sport whatever outfit he wanted to.

Each person aboard EXO was assigned a job, one that would be ensured to keep citizens out of illegal business and disastrous matters. Like those that had ravaged across the glorious EXOPlanet, almost leaving the bright ball of flame, water, frost, earth, light and wind in ruins. Baekhyun was a side-artist, preferring to work on art during his unoccupied time. Besides, artistry wasn’t a career to be pursued. Baekhyun worked as a librarian and when extra farmers were needed, he served that occupation also.

He exited his home, a dorm amongst the towering apartment buildings. There were about twenty clustered together, with a fifty floors each. This was where all the one thousand five-hundred regular citizens with their families resided. The other five hundred were highly ranked officials who led an easy life in the floor above theirs.

He walked on the dirt, scuffing his well-worn boots against the cement, walking along the hard earth. That was the only mean of transportation on EXO. He had heard of vehicles in the planet they were heading for, items like “cars,” “trucks,” and “boats.” He lived in the heart of the city, where all important deeds were cared for. Thirty minutes from the crowded area were farms and vast expanse of land used to raise crop. He could see those country settings from his dorm window.

Baekhyun entered the library, savoring the familiar aroma of old, dog-eared books and new, fresh pages. People rarely came to the library, so it was a sanctuary that Baekhyun treasured dearly.

He sat down on his desk, pulling out his sketchbook hidden in the drawers. Many of his outlines were sketched inside, along with basic shapes of roughly drawn scenes to charcoal shapes of the city. He flipped to a new page, trailing his fingers on the white. He took out a freshly sharpened 2B pencil before putting it to paper.

Baekhyun usually had to contemplate on a subject to draw. But not today. His eager fingers outlined a sharp oval head, lines forming the smooth, muscular planes of a human face. He shaped a long, slim nose, the nose of a wealthy man. He formed eyes that pierced his soul, curving the ends and with a gentle whisper of his tool, he drew eyelids. His fingers glided, softly stemming gentle eyelashes. He formed the irises, orbs that seemed to see the depths of hell.

The lips. He rushed to perfectly create the lips. They were exquisite, nice corpulent lips. He could picture the dull pink hue of them, forming a small concerted smile at the ends. He liked those lips.

“Well—are you drawing me?” a voice said, sounding pleased and entertained. Baekhyun looked up to see Jongin attentively watching him, engrossed in how much it resembled his own looks. “I am quite handsome.”

Baekhyun laughed, slightly embarrassed, the abashed look in his eyes. His cheeks turned a soft shade of pink. “So you’ve noticed?”

“I’m honored.” Jongin had a dry grin on his face. He always seemed to have an ever-present coy look to his face. Baekhyun was so attracted to his face, wondering how the gods have sculpted such a perfect profile.

“You should be. It’s not normal that I happen to sketch another person.”

“Then why are you sketching me?” The was curiosity laced in Jongin’s masculine voice.

Baekhyun bit his lower lip, trying to grasp for a witty response. He didn’t want to give Jongin the impression that he was a permanent fixture in his troubled mind. But he didn’t reply. Instead, he continued to focus his attention on perfecting the chin of Jongin.

“Am I bothering you?” Jongin asks, preparing to exit. “Should I go?”

Baekhyun abruptly looked up, shaking his head hard. The moments with him were his most peaceful. “Don’t go,” he murmured, returning to his sketch. Jongin dragged the seat across from him, sitting down with a strict posture. He was engrossed in watching Baekhyun, staring at a drawing that seemed to reflect his own features. “Why do you draw?” Jongin whispered, as if disrupting the silence.

“It’s my only comfort in life.”

The air stilled once more, whispers of the dark demons that followed Baekhyun roared in his ears, only taunts he could hear. But when he drew Jongin, forming even lines for the shadow on his forehead, a serene feeling overtook the ghosts.

“Would you like me to model for you?” Jongin remarked, trying to release the dark atmosphere. “I’m right here, you know.”

“I think I can draw you fine enough without looking at you every few moments,” Baekhyun answered before shutting his mouth. It was true. In the mere hours of being acquainted with Jongin, he had already memorized every curve, every line, every wrinkle in his flawless face. He had just admitted his newfound obsession and fascination with Jongin, the official who was high in the caste system, who had perfect planes, endearing lips, a cocky smile.

“Hm.” Jongin took his reply into consideration, a warm look in his endless eyes framed with elegant dark lashes.

“Why are you here for?” Baekhyun asked. “Don’t you have work? You know, being the high ranking official you are?”

“Today, I’ve decided to relieve myself of my duties. And it’s also my day off.”

“What, is it too hard living in rich money daily? I pity you.”

“It’s harder than you can ever imagine.”

Interest flooded Baekhyun, hearing the regret and sorrow dripping in Jongin’s voice. It was a mere sentence, a reply filled with simply seven words. Yet, it was drenched and spoken with a heavy heart, revealing a deep meaning behind it. Jongin sounded lonesome, excluded and isolated. It wasn’t the cockiness that Baekhyun had been already accustomed to. It was a stripped whisper.

Baekhyun looked into Jongin’s eyes, the eyes that brimmed with powerful emotions, weakened with stabs that life had decided to give him, weathered with experience. He seemed to hold the knowledge of all the hurt, dragged by a lifetime but endless with eternity. Baekhyun had those eyes before.

“Do you want to see the sky?” Jongin asked, gently touching Baekhyun.

Baekhyun didn't respond. But he didn't need to.


Baekhyun followed Jongin’s taller figure, up through a transportation pipe that were only allowed for officials to board. The wind whipped around his face, and frightened, he clung onto Jongin for safety. The strong current shoved them upwards, shooting them into the third level, through a hole in the false sky. Jongin was grinning at him comically, laughing at Baekhyun’s shocked reaction.

The wind finally stopped its wild howling, their journey ending when they landed in the control room of EXO. Baekhyun immediately let go of his companion.

The engine, the powerful, vicious machine, was housed in this room. It was in the center, a massive body of wires and confusing lines, pulsing with ferocious power. Screens monitored the doings of citizens on one wall, flashing through the lives of many. The complications of the control room dizzied Baekhyun’s mind as he tried to capture the computers, the documents, the constant beeping in his mind.

The control room was empty of all people.

“Where are the officials?” Baekhyun asked.

“It’s too early to work.” Jongin shrugged. Baekhyun was thankful for the emptiness.

They weaved their way to a corridor, Baekhyun following closely and eagerly. It was a curious place to be in, and he was happy to have left the control room. Doors lined the hallway, marked with numbers and letters. Jongin finally opened the door to a gigantic room. It was empty of everything, the floor spotless, the walls whitewashed instead of the heavy metal Baekhyun grew up in. The ceiling was dome shaped and made of steel.

Baekhyun’s heart quickened, feeling his dreams come within reach.

Jongin stood by a red switch by the doorway, his hand hovering over it. Baekhyun noticed his hand was trembling. Baekhyun listened to the silence that was screaming in his ears, listening to his pounding heartbeat, listened to the roar of the suspense.

“Have you ever seen the stars?” Baekhyun asked. His curious, dark brown eyes were laced with fear.

“No.”

“Then we’ll see it together.”

With a quick breath and a throbbing heart, Jongin pushed it. He sat by Baekhyun, their shoulders touching, their exhales quickening. Their bodies were so close but neither moved.

The ceiling groaned, the steel parting halfway to recede into the sides, opening the doors into the heavens. The sky reached to him with greedy tendrils, black vicious arms. The ceiling vanished completely, melting to reveal what was behind the glass: millions of suns; balls of flames; fiery orbs of alive planets that breathed with life; swirling, milky galaxies; red, white, yellow, blue, orange, purple, pink, black; release and prison; death and life; explosions and silence—

Stars.