star-crossed.
> sehun/kai.
> rated PG.
> less than 1k words.
> summary: they're star-crossed by nature.

Legends say—if there are legends, that is (perhaps they’re just rumors whispered through ears through ears through ears)—that it started because one met the other at a bar, or the beachside, or maybe an amusement park. Or maybe it was somewhere so normal that it was abnormal, like on a line to buy coffee, or at the supermarket near the bread aisle. In the end, though, it wasn’t really the beginning that mattered. It was the end, or the middle, or somewhere, something in between those two.

They say that the two of them wanted so desperately to be mortal, for their lust for the ephemeral beauty, the flawed, punctured beauty of an incomplete human was so great that they wanted to live with their subjects, make love with their subjects, be their subjects.

They say that when the two of them—at different times, obviously—fell to the ground, the sky broke into a fractured piece of glass, shattered into a million little pieces so small you could live with one of them in your eye without you knowing, ever. They say the two of them were the only ones left unsplintered, unharmed from the shards because it was them who had created the break in the sky.

They had uncanny similarities. One was the god of the wind, the other the god of travel. But the wind was very much traveling, and traveling was close at hand with the wind. They were, in a sense, one and the same, if you squinted your eyes hard enough.

The god of wind, whose mortal name went by Oh Sehun, was flirtatious, lighthearted, charming. He spoke twenty tongues, and could tame his own to the nape of your neck so viciously, yet so serenely and so softly that all you could do was shudder and let out a pleasured moan as you let him take over you, blow his soul into yours until your body was nothing but holes. That was the god of wind, who came and went, never making up his mind, but making sure that nobody would miss his touch. It was the one thing nobody could avoid, you know. Wind. Air. The omnipresent element.

And then there was the god of travel, the brave one, the one with the ganas, the will, the power. His teeth were blindingly white, and his body was so toned and muscled from years, decades, eons of travel that by now, he was the master of it all. He could move from one place to another effortlessly. Just a jerk of his muscles and he was there, in your heart, and then there, out of your memories. He cruised into and out of lives, out of times, out of places. He traveled not space but time and every dimension because he could. That was his life, the god of travel. He called himself Kai.

They took the shape of a mortal, embodying a personification of their element—Sehun, wind; Kai, travel—in a way that mesmerized passerbys.

But there is one thing I must mention, one thing they have pleaded me never to mention, the one thing I feel is the most important to point out. Both, although in their majestic greatness, felt loneliness. Both felt isolated, alone, empty. They yearned to live with the mortals, and thus they had been estranged by their kin, their brothers, who would cluck their tongues down at the two foolish brothers frolicking among soon-to-die animals, beasts of selfish motives.

For thousands of years, each lived in isolation, without knowledge of the other. Alone, they would cruise in and out of human lives, making love with some, courting others, marrying some, killing others. It was a game—a lovely, wretched game of boredom and loneliness. It never crossed their minds that there may be another god doing the same thing.

It was in the twenty first century that the probability lined up and it was about time that they would encounter each other. And they did. And again, the beginnings didn’t matter, it never did, never will. They met, they cried, and they tasted each other’s tears out of joy, pure joy that they were no longer alone in this empty abyss of echoing chants. They had each other.

But the heartbreaking part of it is that they never met again. For one was the god of wind, the other the god of travel, and they could not stay, they could not stagnate, and they could not dwell. They cried, they embraced, they spoke, they made love, but then they inevitably moved on, out of obligation, for their natures were not in line with permanence. They loved each other when they met, they loved each other when they left. And when they left, they left the probability behind them, wondering how many more centuries it would take until the chances lined up so that they would, by coincidence, bump into each other again and tell each other the stories of their past.

That is the story of the god of wind and the god of travel, star-crossed lovers.