Feriluce

Images of a critically ill boy hooked up to a thousand machines; weeping faces; black tears and maternal love grown cold dissolved, and in front of him on a table, John saw a heavy book.

Dark blue cover, the lettering worn and illegible, something about 'medicology'. He opened it, flipped through the pages, tried to read and understood nothing. But that wasn't a problem, because he still had to bring in the laundry, so he got up and left the doctor's lounge.

For a brief, fleeting moment, John Carter felt a sharp pain somewhere in his back, but soft light and the invigorating aroma of roasted coffee drowned out any doubts in his sharp mind.

Even before he saw her, he heard her voice. "There you are," Lucy said, beaming as she came towards him. She wore a white dress with a black ribbon tied loosely around her neck; it suited her perfectly, but made her seem strangely out of place in his cheap student digs. It didn't seem to bother her. John was glad she was there. He had to tell her something before… it was too late.

"Are you all right, John?" Lucy asked gently.

"Since when do you call me John?"

"What else am I supposed to call you?"

John's eyes were fixed on Lucy's smiling mouth. She was so beautiful. His finger played with a strand of her blonde hair. "My family name. You've called me that ever since we first met."

"Carter." Her voice, devoid of any warmth, echoed in his head. Carter. Carter. "Just forget it, Carter!"

John Carter doubled over in pain, unable to tear his gaze away from Lucy, watching as the black ribbon dripped down her neck in blood-red streaks.

They weren't together.

They were colleagues at County General.

Lucy Knight, medical student.

John Carter, resident.

Valentine's Day. A knife.

He whispered her name. "Lucy..." His knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor. He still had enough strength to brace himself with his hands.

"Yes, John?" She sounded so distant.

"What's happening? Am I dreaming?" A searing, burning pain filled John to the very core of his being. He wanted to scream, but no sound came out. As if someone were turning the volume knob, distorted voices roared in John's ears. But in all the auditory chaos, he heard a single voice crystal clear.

He distinctly heard Lucy say, "Come on, Carter, get up."

An invisible force pulled him to his feet, the pain and the voices subsided, and he found himself in an empty hospital corridor. Lucy was waiting further ahead, beckoning him. "This way!" she called cheerfully.

John's heart pulled him forward, towards the blonde medical student he had come to appreciate so much – to love. She had grown on him and that was a fact. One day she would be a very good doctor; even though she had a rocky start, she learned quickly, dedicated herself to her patients with the right amount of empathy and medical curiosity. John had to tell her how pleased he was with her work.

But he couldn't seem to reach her. Lucy disappeared around the corner and John followed just a second later, but she was already at the end of the corridor. He called after her, asking where she was going, why she wasn't answering.

Exhausted, John stopped. His back ached. This wasn't a dream. But he wasn't fully awake either. Examination room 3 lay before him. A feeling of impending doom gripped him. He quickly turned away and suddenly Lucy was standing right in front of him.

"Lucy!" John cried out in alarm. "You startled me."

Lucy giggled. "Oopsie."

"Did you take care of the patient in ward one?"

"I've been done with that for ages. I wanted to talk to you. If you have a minute."

John pulled a swivel chair out from under the reception desk and sat down. Lucy remained standing. She stood very close to him. "What's up?"

There was a longing in her blue eyes and she took a step closer until they were so close their bodies were touching. John gasped as she cupped his face in warm, soft hands and kissed him.

They had first kissed in the X-ray room. After she had accidentally kicked him out of the treatment room, she was the one who tended to the wound on his forehead. Making out with her wasn't on his agenda, but he would do it again in a heartbeat. As soon as she wasn't a student anymore. Maybe that's why she'd bitten his neck, just so he wouldn't forget her.  Why would he forget her though?

Lucy was a damn good kisser. His head was spinning when their lips parted. "Thank you, Carter," she whispered. She was still holding his face in her hands.

"For what?"

"For not leaving again."

His gaze fell on a door behind her. Examination Room 3. That's where it had happened. Like a movie playing automatically, one he couldn't stop, the events of today's Valentine's Day flashed before his eyes. Lucy was on the right track, a patient with mental health issues, but John kept pushing her away and refusing to call a psychiatrist.

He'd left her alone.

It was his fault.

"Lucy, I..."

She put a finger to his lips and nodded, smiling as if to say she understood.

Lucy moved away from him; he couldn't move, but could only watch as white light enveloped her and carried her away.

~~~~~~

"Tell me when the vibration stops."

Dr. Peter Benton struck a tuning fork and placed it on John Carter's ankle. Benton said his pancreas was intact; it was only his colon that had been affected. He would be rid of the colostomy in a month. The vibration lasted for several seconds before it stopped. Sensations were also intact. Good.

"You were lucky, Carter."

"Yeah..." John exhaled heavily. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. All right, now I'm going to test your motor strength. Lift your leg."

John straightened up. "How's Lucy doing?"

"Come on, man. Lift, lift."

John did as he was told. The slightest movement sent a wave of sharp pain through his back. He knew the examination was necessary, yet he felt like he was on a torture rack. "That hurts," he groaned.

"I know. All right. Now, don’t let me push it down, okay? Hold it, hold it."

Too much pain. Seconds dragged on. He couldn't have endured it much longer and when Benton said "good, good," he lowered his leg onto the mattress with relief.

"My back is killing me."

"Yeah, I know. Hematoma around the lumbar plexus. I’ll give you some morphine. I want you up and walking in twelve hours, okay?"

John took a deep breath. It only took a few moments, but it was enough to remember. His earlier question remained unanswered. But he knew.

He and Lucy lay covered in blood on the cold tile floor of examination room 3. Shortly after, she kissed him in the reception area and disappeared into the light. It wasn't a dream. It was a goodbye.

“Lucy’s dead, isn’t she?”

Benton remained silent and John Carter’s heart shattered.

Calla's best friend, Lily, pulled her into a bear hug, ruffled her hair, and put a silly hat on her head.

"I hear someone's getting old," Seungmin, Lily's longtime boyfriend, joked as he filled champagne glasses and handed them out. "Cheers to Calla!"

"Thanks, Seung–"

"To Calla!" shouted Lily, raising her glass. Seungmin joined in, and it was loud again.

Only when they were all settled on the comfy sofa, munching cake, did Calla find a quiet moment to catch her breath. "When did you guys plan all this? I swear, I didn't notice a thing."

Lily grinned. "Well, it was actually quite easy. You're always so focused on your workout that you don't notice anything." She noisily licked her cake-smeared fingers clean.

Seungmin leaned forward. “She sat in front of the computer for hours looking for a bakery.”

Lily glared at him indignantly. “And what did you contribute? Hmm?”

“I made sure you didn’t bite the poor baker’s head off because one line on the lettering was too long.”

Calla laughed. After all these years, the two of them were still bickering like back then when they had first met. In a world of fleeting moments, consistency was a rare good and therefore invaluable. Calla watched the playful back-and-forth of her closest friends with a smile. Even when the all-too-familiar pang of loneliness pierced her heart, she remained strong; she lived in the here and now.

The past… is past.

Calla let the taste of the cake melt on her tongue; it wasn’t too sweet, but rich – that’s how cake should be, and only that way.

The three of them had gathered around the coffee table, and Seungmin, the inventor, was presenting a prototype of his new game: Exploding Kittens. A card game. The basic objective was to avoid drawing an Exploding Kitten; whoever drew one was out – unless they could play a defuse card. There were also action cards that allowed players to steal cards from another player or reshuffle the deck.

Gleeful laughter filled the room, which was bathed in golden light. Seungmin clutched his stomach, barely able to breathe, when Lily drew an Exploding Kitten and was eliminated from the game.

"Finish him, Calla, you hear? Make him bleed."

Calla saluted. "Yes, ma'am."

For two rounds, everything went well. And then Seungmin played his last card and won. He unabashedly pumped both fists in the air. “I’m invincible,” he roared. “See what happens when you challenge a winner?”

Calla stared, speechless, at the many unused cards in her hand. “You cheated.”

Seungmin just laughed even louder. “I won fair and square. You guys are no match for me.”

“Says the guy who invented the game,” Lily pouted. “Just you wait, this calls for a rematch.”

“Bring it on, loser.”

Calla stifled a yawn. Her gaze drifted to the wall clock above the door; it was just before ten at night. “As much as I want you to give him a good thrashing, Lily, I have to be up early tomorrow morning.”

Lily pushed up the sleeve of her sweater and looked at her watch. Her eyes widened slightly. “I could swear we’ve only just begun.” And then she started tidying up the living room.

“How’s the training going?” Seungmin asked as he gathered the cards. “Your show isn’t far off now.”

“Two months. We’re making great progress. Hyunjin is an excellent dancer, his ideas may be unconventional, but that’s exactly why I wanted him.”

Calla was a figure skater. After gaining experience as a child, she quickly climbed the rankings and made it to the Olympics. When there were no competitions, she put on shows, either as her own or as a guest star. The show with Hyunjin was a collaboration with the city’s dance academy, and the proceeds benefited the development of children and young people.

Hyunjin taught at this academy as a national and as an international winner of various competitions, he had built a solid reputation. Calla was glad to have him by her side.

Calla wrapped the rest of the cake and put it in the fridge. While Seungmin tied his shoes, Lily hugged her friend goodbye.

"Calla?"

"Hm?"

"I'm glad to hear you laughing again," Lily whispered.

Calla smiled slightly. "That's all thanks to you and Seungmin. You two are true comedians."

"I mean it." Lily pulled away. "Ever since the thing with Minho..."

Calla's heart squeezed and she took a step back. She knew Lily hadn't meant any harm. Back when that incident had happened, they had talked about it a lot. Calla had been devastated, and Lily had sat comfortingly by her side, helping her to her feet and finally to walk again. "You really didn't have to mention the name."

"Of course, I'm sorry. A broken heart takes time to heal."

They walked to the door, where Seungmin was already waiting. He didn't seem to be in a hurry, doom-scrolling through his phone like there was no tomorrow.

"Will I see you for brunch on Sunday?" Lily asked, zipping up her jacket.

"You bet."

The door clicked shut and Calla leaned back against it. She heard the fading footsteps of her friends as they trudged down the stairs. She placed a hand on her pounding heart and wondered if it would ever get easier.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Calla's shoes thudded onto the wet asphalt. Water splashed in all directions, making the light reflect off it angrily. Every hurried step she took was filled with frustration – but who could blame her? The alarm hadn't gone off and then she had to choose: breakfast or catch the bus.

Annoyed at her own distraction, she sped up even more. She resolved to take it easy at the gym, because this day – which had barely begun – couldn't get much worse.

Panting, she hurried up to the first floor. She scanned her card at the door; it beeped, and she slipped past the counter like a shadow. One of the trainers from the early shift looked surprised for a moment but immediately turned back to his phone. He knew Calla. Not only because she'd been going to this gym for years, but because she was always the first one there at this hour to start her workout.

In the dim light of the locker room, Calla sat alone, the ventilation system humming softly in the background, her heartbeat slowing. Her breakfast – oatmeal soaked overnight with almonds, fat-free Greek yogurt, soy milk, and a quarter of an apple – tasted delicious even here. As a professional athlete, Calla had perfected her meals over the years, but breakfast – especially before an intense workout – was essential. The eternal number one ingredient: protein.

A glance at the clock – 6:30. Good, she was on schedule. Although things were less busy at the end of April, she couldn't afford to let up. She had to focus on her training. She looked forward to the upcoming show in June with a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

In the workout area, she started with light stretches and then moved on to skipping rope. She felt her body warm up. On the treadmill, her mind fully awakened.

As she wrapped the first resistance band around her thighs, she immediately felt the resistance. It was a familiar sensation. She lowered herself into a squat, the pressure of the band a reminder of how far she had come. Purposeful and highly focused, she worked through her workout. The frustration from the early morning fiasco untied itself like a knot, leaving behind a tingling sense of determination.

With each set on the machines, Calla felt her muscles working. Strength and pure energy coursed through her body. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead and her heart beat faster – an unmistakable sign that Calla was alive, and she loved it.

At the end of her workout, she put the cleaned dumbbell back and pressed her warm, sweaty face into her towel.

A thump of applause. “Well done, Calla! Now, let’s do it again.”

Calla pushed the towel down a bit. Her trainer walked past the treadmills and over to Calla. Ren – a somewhat robust woman with platinum blonde hair, who invariably wore a pinstripe suit. They had known each other for years and were a well-oiled machine.

“Hey, Coach. Here so early?” She took a generous swig from her water bottle.

Ren narrowed her eyes. "Is that supposed to be a dig at something?"

Calla smirked. "I would never dare."

Ren playfully wiggled her finger and took out her tablet. "I have two pieces of news. First, the bad news: Hyunjin is in the hospital and needs surgery.”

A cold heaviness settled on Calla’s shoulders. “What happened?” she gasped in horror.

The trainer tapped a few times on her device. “Appendicitis.”

Calla’s grip on her water bottle tightened. Surgery meant Hyunjin would be out for several weeks. Does that mean I can forget about the show? She felt dizzy. “And what’s the good news?”

“Before you collapse here, you’d better sit down.” Calla followed her trainer’s instructions. Ren smiled encouragingly. “There’s already a replacement. Hyunjin recommended one of his colleagues, and I think he’s a great fit for us.”

“Does this replacement have a name?”

“Lee Minho.”

Calla blinked. “Come again?”

“Lee Minho. You’ve probably heard of him, he won the national championship in…”

Ren’s voice faded into background noise as Calla fought against her wildly pounding heart. Deeply buried emotions erupted with such force that the ground beneath her feet shook. How long had it been since she’d last heard his full name, let alone spoken it? Three years, two weeks, and four days.

Ren was still talking. Calla blinked back the bitter tears and returned to her body.

“He’s already agreed. All we need is your ‘okay’ and we can get started. Ain’tt that great?”

“Yeah, great,” Calla said through gritted teeth.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

The dance academy was an imposing building with sweeping curves and tall windows. A haze enveloped the campus in an eerie atmosphere; the first rays of sunlight barely managed to pierce the wall of mist. A few students had gathered on a bench, practicing the steps of some choreography.

Calla had been sitting in the car for an hour. Ever since Ren had told her the news a few days ago, she hadn't been able to sleep well and kept waking from restless sleeps. She bit her fingernails. Maybe it was a different Lee Minho. Maybe it was actually a woman, and Lee Minho was her stage name. Someone who was a completely different person. Someone who hadn't broken her heart.

In a few minutes, she would know the truth, and hiding in the car didn’t help. She took a deep breath, slung her backpack over her shoulder, and marched briskly across the campus. The air smelled damp and fresh, it helped to clear her mind a little.

The door to the dance academy swung open automatically. She knew the layout by heart from her time with Hyunjin. He had his own dance studio here, where they rehearsed the choreography for their show. And yet, today it felt as if she were walking through the tiled entrance hall towardss the information desk for the very first time.

“Good morning, I’d like to see Lee Minho, please.”

“Your ID, please.” The clerk checked her ID. “Ah, you’re already expected. Go outside and turn left into the annex, then take the elevator to the seventh floor.”

“No door number?”

The clerk smiled politely. “Oh, you can’t miss it.”

“Understood, thank you.” She took her ID back and, with a queasy feeling that grew stronger with every step, approached the annex with the elevator that took her higher and higher.

The seventh floor was one big dance floor; the doors to the restrooms and other areas were barely noticeable. Sofas and comfortable cushions lined the walls. Tables piled high with modern technology. Spotless mirrors. Calla felt like crying and throwing up at the same time. The scent of Minho was irrefutable.

Her body felt like a soggy biscuit as she continued walking across the open space. And then she saw him. Leaning on his forearm, Minho was typing away on a laptop.

Calla knocked on the wall.

"Just a minute," Minho said, holding up a finger.

His voice sent a shiver down Calla's spine.

And then their eyes met in the mirror.

Minho stood up. "Calla," he said softly, turning around. His dark eyes grew more emotional than Calla could read.

The tension between her and Minho was almost palpable. A crackling energy. Calla could feel her heart pounding in her ears. She regretted not having put enough pressure on Ren to find another replacement.

Memories, black and sticky, crushed her heart. Questions she never wanted to ask raced through her mind. How had Minho been these past three years, two weeks, and seven days? Had he suffered as much as Calla? Had he found someone new? If not, why had he never bothered to contact her? We could have talked about everything.

Minho still looked incredibly good. He'd become a bit more muscular and his hair was longer. Outwardly, he hadn't changed, yet everything felt so foreign.

"Good you're here," Minho said, turning the laptop towards Calla. "I've been practicing everything with Hyunjin's videos for the past few days, we can get started right away."

Calla stood there, not moving a muscle. The room seemed to shrink.

Minho looked her over. "We should start with some stretches, okay?" His voice sounded distant.

Calm down, girl, be professional. "I'm going to change," she said curtly, turning sharply.

The warm-up exercises helped Calla tame her chaotic emotions. What would Ren say? She didn't know her past; she didn't know they had once been a couple and that Minho had broken up with her. Ren would encourage her to keep going, to balance her feelings with exercise… or something like that.

Training with Minho was definitely different, nothing like Hyunjin. It could also be due to the palpable tension in the room. To rehearse the performance on dry land, they had arranged four mats to form a square in the center. Calla danced on the mats as if they were an ice rink; Minho danced in the middle. Connected by colorful, elastic fabric ribbons, these created a particularly beautiful visual display. All that was missing were the outfits… and the makeup…

First, they practiced without the ribbons, and after the first run-through, with them. Music played in the background; a rhythmic song that added depth to the movements. Minho's movements were fluid like water, powerful yet gentle. Calla noticed this… reluctantly.

She dropped her ribbons and performed a simple Axel, then stepped forward again and picked up the ribbons, which she – simultaneously with Minho – tossed into the air to catch. The straps wrapped around both athletes, Calla's hands finding purchase on Minho's shoulder and upper arm, while he stabilized her back and hips.

Their eyes met. A gentle emotion shimmered in his dark eyes, and for a long, agonizingly sweet moment, Calla lost herself in them.

Being so close to him again – it felt like old times. Every morning he had woken her with soft kisses on the neck; massaged her feet after a long day; cooked for her; laughed together about the silliest things. Minho's touch felt so warm, so… familiar. Everything about him was familiar.

Calla's heart was a barless prison, and Minho was the warden.

She pushed him away and turned her back on him. If the show, her reputation, meant nothing to her, she would have ended the collaboration with the dance academy right this instance.

"Are you okay, Calla?" Minho asked from behind her. The softness in his voice – another stab in the heart.

She sniffed, gasping for air. “No, nothing’s okay. If- if I have to look at you any longer, I might cry.” Her throat tightened, and her voice broke. “I’ve already shed enough tears because of you.”

The silence around her grew louder, thicker; she could practically feel Minho’s intense gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know this doesn’t make it any easier.”

Calla sniffed and shook her head. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself so she wouldn’t float away.

“If I could, I would–”

The feeling returned to her legs. “See you tomorrow at the ice rink,” she said breathlessly. With her head down, she gathered her things and fled the dance studio.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

A switch was flipped, and the dimly lit ice rink sprang to life. LED panels on the ceiling cast their cold light onto the mirror-like ice surface. The railing, a wooden barrier weathered by years of wear and tear, separated the skating area from the spectator area, which remained in darkness since the lighting was only directed towards the center of the rink.

Calla tiptoed out of the locker room and across the short path covered with a thin, green carpet. She placed her hands on the railing and closed her eyes for a moment. She breathed in the cool air deeply. The peace and quiet here was wonderful.

The hinges of the entrance door creaked as it swung open. Calla placed her right foot on the ice and glided forward with a burst of speed. She used the first few minutes to get a feel for herself and the ice beneath her skates. Her feet were securely and snugly encased in her skates – this feeling of tightness was so much better than bouncing around on sticky training mats.

In the center was a 2x2 meter platform, constructed of wood. It was about a hand's breadth high, but seemed sturdy. Calla was careful not to crash into it.

The sound of sharp steel blades cutting against ice filled the rink. Ice crunched under sharpened blades. The speed made Calla's heart race, each breath a testament to her determination.

The headwind pressed against her hair flat across her face as she finished her lap with a standing pirouette. She had noticed something – no, someone.

Minho was leaning against the railing, his cap pulled low over his face, casting it in shadow. But his focus was unmistakably on the figure skater. How long had he been watching?

Calla's heart shifted from idle to high gear (it beat quite fast from skating alone, but that was normal for her – Minho's presence, however, was not). She stepped forward with her right foot and let her skate glide across the ice.

Minho took off his cap and ran his left hand through his hair. Calla followed his hand movement with a fixed gaze. Shifting her weight on her foot, she curved past Minho.

"Good morning to you too," Minho said, a playful undertone in each syllable.

Calla came to a stop in front of him, the tip of her skate crashing against the bottom of the battered wooden barrier. "Could you please pass me my backpack?" Minho scanned the ground and found said item beside him. He bent down, picked it up, and held it out to her. "Thanks. And it only contains the fabric bands. No need to groan like an old man."

She hadn't thought it through; the words simply slipped out. She was good at dishing out, especially when she used it to goad Minho into­– Calla sighed inwardly. She and Minho weren't together anymore, and this had been an accident, nothing more.

The dancer held Calla's gaze with an intensity that nonetheless took her breath away and sent shivers down her spine. Why did her knees feel so weak? Minho grinned, as if he knew exactly what was going through Calla's mind.

As Minho balanced across the smooth ice towards the stage, Calla slid alongside him, ready to catch him if he slipped. If they were still a couple, she would have held onto him from the start. And teased him even more. Like back then…

Calla skated laps around the stage, Minho slipped into another pair of shoes, she selected the song they would dance to on her phone, he took off his jacket and did a few warm-up stretches.

Calla's eyes did not wander over his body, nor did she notice the muscles of his upper arms moving beneath his flawless skin. He interlocked his fingers and extended his arms, tensing them in a way that warmed the air in the ice rink and settled on Calla's face. The jagged tip of her skate caught sideways on the dance floor and Calla stumbled, fell. She protected her head with her arms. Her phone slipped across the ice.

Minho gasped. “Calla!” he called, rushing to her side. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine,” she murmured. Minho helped her up, doing so effortlessly, as if she weighed nothing. His gaze swept over Calla, then he began to laugh. “Stop laughing.” Her cheeks tingled with embarrassment.

“Never. The way you fell was like something out of a movie.” He brushed loose ice off her clothes. She should be angry with him. But the way he was looking at her made it increasingly difficult. “Do you need a moment?”

She shook her head. “Let’s begin.”

The beginning of the choreography involved Calla and Minho freeing themselves from the colorful fabric bands they were wrapped in. Each one was draped in such a way that it was easy to do so. As the routine progressed, Calla drifted further and further away from Minho, but a single band (deep red with gold accents) kept them connected. They mirrored each other's movements. Towards the end, more bands were added until, as at the beginning, they were both holding them all – only to end the choreography in a vibrant explosion of color. The accompanying song was lively and full of energy. The idea with the colorful fabric bands came from Hyunjin.

At the end of the rehearsal, Calla grabbed Minho by the upper arm to guide him safely across the ice. It was an automatic action, just as she always did with Hyunjin. Only when she put on her blade protectors did this realization sink in. Her face warmed again and she headed for the locker room when Minho stopped her by the sleeve.

"Calla, please wait a moment." She stopped and turned hesitantly. She looked past him, avoiding eye contact. “I want to apologize to you. The way I broke up with you back then wasn’t okay. You didn’t deserve the pain I caused you. Please forgive me,” he added softly. He sounded remorseful and sincere, as if he truly meant it.

The crazy thing was, Calla believed him. Not immediately, of course; doubt and pain were watching like fierce guard dogs, ensuring that hope didn’t extend its feelers too far. She should say something, 'thanks,' for example. Just to confirm that Calla understood what Minho had said. It was just a simple six-letter word. Come on, say it! As much as hope tried and struggled, the word was stuck to her tongue.

She opened her mouth and immediately closed it again. With nothing but silence between her and Minho, she left him in the ice rink.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Sunday lived up to its name. The sun shone on a cloudless, azure sky. Birds flitted about, chirping merrily. Butterflies and blooming buds chased away winter and barred the door so it wouldn't return.

Calla snapped a few photos of a beautifully arranged flowerbed in front of the hospital and sent them to Hyunjin. He liked flowers, he had told her that after their first week of training together. A little while later, her phone beeped with his reply.

Hyunjin lovely ദ്ദി(╥﹏╥)

The next time Calla went to visit him, she resolved to give him a magnificent bouquet of flowers. He had thankfully come through the surgery well. The pain was manageable with medication, but it really bothered him that he couldn't dance for an extended period.

As Calla strolled along the paved path, she allowed the sun to warm her face. She should go for walks more often. Get out into the fresh air.

"Oh, hey Calla."

She blinked and focused her gaze on the person in front of her. There stood Minho. In a leather jacket and with his hair combed back. God, he's so beautiful. Sunlight has always been good on his skin. Calla's heart leaped... with joy. "Minho, hey."

"Are you going to visit Hyunjin too?"

"I was just with him. He's holding up bravely, but I think he hates being locked up."

"That means I get to listen to his whining."

"My condolences."

Soft laughter warmed the air between them. It was always so easy to strike up a conversation with Minho. So natural. He looked good when he laughed. Sharp features instantly softened, revealing cute bunny teeth.

"My sweet little bunny, I love you so much."

"I love you even more, my precious bud." A pillow met Minho's face.

"Dork."

“Your dork.”

It was the sun that was blinding and made Calla’s eyes water, not because Minho’s laughter had reminded her of better times. She still had her phone in her hand, Hyunjin’s reply displayed. She locked it and put it in her jacket pocket, clutching it tightly – an anchor to keep reality from slipping away.

Minho noticed her change in mood; for him, Calla had been an open book. At least she used to be. Now she put up a wall. If he had the chance to erase a single mistake in his life, he wouldn’t break up with Calla. He would talk to her, tell her what he needed to balance his job and their relationship. He would have worked on his communication skills much sooner. A quiet sadness lingered in Calla’s veiled gaze. And it was all Minho’s fault.

“I’ll be going then,” Calla said, taking a step forward. “Oh, I think Hyunjin would appreciate some flowers.”

“Then I’ll get him some.”

Calla forced a polite smile and quickly increased the distance between herself and her ex.

If she listened closely to the melody of her heart, she would admit how much she still longed for Minho. And he for her. She had seen it in his eyes, a mixture of wistful sadness and regret.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

“And you really looked everywhere?”

“I turned the whole house upside down. It’s not here.” Calla pulled out the entire drawer and emptied its contents onto the desk. Her hands rummaged through pens, lighters, and dead batteries. But she didn’t find what she was looking for. “Damn it.”

Lily's voice from the speakerphone drowned out the noise Calla was making. "When did you last have it?"

"At the hospital. And before you ask– yes, I've already been there." Calla sighed in resignation and sat down on the floor. She'd lost her mother's prescription. First, she'd been to Lily's for a leisurely brunch, then she'd visited Hyunjin. She'd noticed it sometime halfway home. She was already dreading getting a new one. Too much bureaucracy to justify a human mistake.

"I don't mean to be a nuisance," Lily said, "but staring at the ceiling is getting tedious."

Calla got to her feet and picked up her phone; she'd almost forgotten about the video call with her best friend. "Sorry."

Lily smiled sympathetically. "I'll search everywhere again, okay? It's sure to turn up soon."

A text message with an attached image slid down from the top of the screen as a small preview banner. Calla's eyes widened.

"What's going on?" Lily asked, alarmed.

The message came from an unsaved number, but the combination of numbers seemed very familiar. "Someone found it, the prescription."

"Oh? That's great!" She paused, then added, "Wait, prescriptions have phone numbers on them?" Calla shook her head. Her mouth was suddenly dry. "Who found it? And who has your number, pray tell?!"

"...Minho."

A thousand thoughts flashed across Lily's face. Calla could easily imagine what was going through her mind.

"Calla, dear, you know I'm not going to tell you how to handle this. But if it were up to me–" She looked away and took a few deep breaths to calm herself. Her angry eyes softened. "Please be careful, okay? He hurt you badly, don't forget that."

Calla grinned teasingly. "You're such a mom, always worried about me."

Lily raised a warning finger. "Watch out, miss."

"You sound just like Seungmin. Watch out, miss," she mimicked his voice. "You two are clearly spending too much time together."

Lily's eyes widened in indignation and she was about to argue back, but Calla hung up with a laugh. She sent a message letting her know to get in touch soon.

A strange nervousness washed over her as she reread Minho's message.

UNKNOWN NUMBER Hi Calla, if this is still your number, Minho here. I found a prescription for your mother. I'll drop it off at the pharmacy first thing tomorrow morning. Just so you know…

The photo showed Minho's thumb, obscuring the social security number, leaving only her mother's name and the last two digits of her birthdate visible. It was clearly Minho's right thumb. A fine scar ran across the side. Calla's stomach fluttered as she remembered how often she had run her index finger over it.

With slightly shaky fingers, she typed her reply and hit send: Can you bring it to me? Please.

She hoped she wouldn't regret this decision later.

An hour later, the doorbell rang. Calla wiped her palms on her sweatpants – twice. The entryway seemed to shrink; the walls arched towards the ceiling and Calla's footsteps echoed far too loudly in her ears. She grasped the doorknob and pushed down. There was no turning back now. The second the door swung open and Calla's eyes landed on Minho (in a leather jacket), her head went silent. Her heart was still pounding, but it felt… different.

Minho tilted his head, a small grin playing on his gorgeous lips. “Hi.”

Calla forced a breath. “Hi…” Her gaze fell on the small paper bag in Minho's hand. He held it up.

“I, um, took the liberty of filling the prescription. Hope that's okay?”

Calla blinked. “You what?” She took a step back, her eyes darting between the paper bag and Minho. “These medications are fucking expensive, Minho!” she managed to say in disbelief.

Her ex scratched the back of his neck, his cheeks flushing slightly. “The price almost gave me a stroke.” He laughed sheepishly. “Here, please, take it before my arm falls off.”

Hesitantly, Calla took the dark paper bag from him. She glanced inside – everything was there. “Is a check okay? Or wait, I should have enough cash on me.”

“Oh, you don’t have to–”

“You know perfectly well I do.” She gave him a sharp look and Minho relented with a nod. He smirked, but Calla pretended not to notice.

She opened the door wider for Minho to enter. As he walked past, his familiar scent wafted around her. A spring meadow. Dizzying. As if she’d gotten up too quickly.

She set the paper bag of medication down in the kitchen and pulled out her wallet. Stupid Minho, why does he have to be so kind after ­– no, I’ve been angry with him long enough. Time for a little more indifference. I'll give him the money, then we're even.

Clutching her purse tightly, she returned to Minho in the anteroom. Countless framed pictures hung along the wall; fond memories of her friends and family, of a time when dreams always stayed outside the bounds of time.

Minho's gaze was glued on a photograph. The movements and twitches on his face were minimal, but even from the side, Calla could tell he was holding back his emotions. They had been together for seven years; of course she could. Cautiously, she stepped closer. The picture showed a selfie of the two of them, perched on hay bales, grinning innocently at the camera. They were so young…

“That was after our first official date,” Minho said, his voice strained. “Can’t believe you still have that.”

Calla opened her mouth to speak, but once again the words refused to come out. She caught Minho’s gaze. His eyes were glistening. The corners of his mouth lifted only briefly in a forced smile. He placed both hands on hers, where she was holding her purse, and gently pushed them down.

The bandages around Calla’s heart unraveled, revealing it – bleeding and wistful.

“Do you want to stay for a while?” Calla asked somewhat shyly. “I have carrot cake.”

Said carrot cake had been waiting to be devoured for over an hour. Well, actually, ever since she’d brought it home from brunch with Lily. After that, she visited Hyunjin. Then she realized the prescription was missing and turned her entire apartment upside down. The cake had been sitting wrapped in aluminium foil on the coffee table ever since. It was definitely too much of a fuss for a Sunday.

Minho looked like he was about to drop to his knees and sing her praises. The cake lasted exactly three minutes; not even crumbs remained. Minho, the sweet tooth.

"I swear, you're the best baker in the universe," he smacked his lips with his mouth full. He noisily licked his fingers clean and even used the napkin.

"You're flattering me."

"It's true."

At his sharp glare, Calla quickly looked away. Her cheeks grew warm. His (sometimes aggressive) way of showing affection had always had a special effect on her. An intense stare here, a gentle touch that turned into a grab there, and her heart would flutter in her chest.

She noticed how dark the living room had become. The sun was low, casting long shadows, and the sky glowed with warm colors. Calla switched on the wall lights, flooding the room with soft, indirect light and creating a romantic atmosphere.

Minho returned from the bathroom and sat back down on the sofa. He was wearing dark gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt. Minho was here. He was here. Here with Calla. On her sofa. One leg was bent and one arm rested on the armrest. He ran his hand through his black hair, twisting a strand around his finger.

Calla sat down next to him again, trying to appear relaxed. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

He looked at her intently and the unfamiliar closeness made her mind race. "When Hyunjin asked you to fill in for him, did you know he was working with me?"

“I did,” he replied after a moment of hesitation. “And I didn’t even want to accept it. But I was the only one who had time.”

“Hmm, I thought Hyunjin had been nagging you until you caved.”

Minho smirked. “You should have heard him. It was disgusting.”

Calla noticed how close they were sitting. So close she could count the stars in Minho’s eyes. So beautiful… She lifted her hand and brushed a few loose strands of hair from his forehead. Her fingertips gently touched his face, his cheek.

His dark eyes followed her movements and when his gaze fell downward, lingering briefly on her mouth, and then looked up again, her breath caught in her throat. Oh, how she had missed it when her heart was beating for him like that.

“Minho,” she whispered, barely able to speak.

“Calla,” he breathed just as softly.

It wasn't clear who crossed the line, but the moment Minho's warm lips pressed against hers, that no longer mattered. A firework, so familiar yet new, exploded inside her. Sparks flew through every fiber of her being.

Calla's eyes closed. She moved her lips in sync with Minho's. Her heart raced and her head spun like a carousel. Minho licked her lower lip and a gasp escaped Calla's lungs.

His body trembled and he gently cupped her face in one hand. He swayed back, breaking the kiss.

"Vanilla," he whispered. Vanilla was the flavor of Calla's lip balm, which she had been using since her youth. As if in a trance, Minho stared at her mouth.

"For- for years, I've avoided anything that tastes like vanilla. Because it reminds me of you and what an idiot I was." He blinked far too quickly, his voice was so soft and quiet, as if the slightest increase in volume could lead to disaster. His eyes filled with tears. “Whenever I doubted the world, it was you who gave me the answer. And now there’s nothing but regret and emptiness.”

A single tear escaped and trickled down his cheek. Calla wiped it away with her thumb. “Minho…”

Their eyes met. Minho’s hard shell cracked and crumbled. “What- what else can I do? I was happy with you, Calla. I should have stayed with you.”

She should compare him to a bitterly cold winter night. But Minho was a summer storm sweeping through her soul – invigorating and liberating. Soothing rain. Without this intensity, her life would be meaningless. She needed Minho.

Calla’s eyes roamed over Minho’s beautiful face. “Kiss me again,” she whispered, the distance between their lips growing smaller.

Minho’s hand moved over her shoulder to the back of her neck, where he held her and pulled her into a deep kiss. Her fingers gripped his soft hair. His tongue entered her mouth and electricity surged through her blood.

Minho spread red exciting kisses all the way down to her throat. A moan came out as a gasp.

“I’m sorry,” Minho murmured against Calla’s skin.

“If you stop, you will be sorry.”

The air shifted abruptly. Minho pulled Calla onto his lap. Hands explored, grabbed and pulled, traversing hot skin. A whirlwind carried them both away; resistance was futile. Kisses became more uncoordinated. Minho pushed Calla down and they both gasped softly as their bodies met in perfect friction.

A surprised sound escaped Calla as Minho stood up with her from the sofa and carried her into the bedroom. She nibbled at his neck, decorating it with wet kisses. The fact that Minho could carry her so effortlessly made her heart race.

She landed on her back in the bed. Minho’s burning gaze pierced the darkness of the room like lightning. He climbed on top of her, intertwined her fingers with his, and held her above her head. She wrapped her legs around his hips. His weight pressed Calla deeper into the mattress.

“Calla…” Minho whispered close to her ear. “I missed you so much.”

Her mind was a dizzying jumble. It took her a breath or two to focus. “I missed you more.”

Their eyes met. Desire colored the air a rich, pulsating red. Minho propped himself up on his forearms and pressed a soft kiss to Calla’s mouth. He took his time, his hips moving in agonizing, languid circles until Calla writhed beneath him.

“Minho,” she whimpered. “Minho, I need you.”

“I need you more,” Minho gasped, his hot breath fanning over her face.

Calla grabbed Minho’s shirt and pulled it over his head. A moment later, her shirt slipped off as well. With one hand, he unhooked her bra and tossed it into a corner. More and more pieces of clothing flew across the dark room until two naked, heated bodies rolled around on the bed, overjoyed to finally be together again.

Minho pinned Calla beneath him. His kisses left a tingling sensation on her skin. His mouth moved lower and lower. A playful bite on her thigh, left and right. Her eyes rolled back as he kissed her where she needed him most. Minho knew exactly how to touch her with his lips, tongue, and fingers to elicit the most delicious sounds from her.

With her fingers buried in his hair, she lifted her hips and pressed herself deeper into the bliss Minho was giving her.

White spots flashed before her closed eyelids. A tornado that tore down entire buildings and a monsoon rain that left nothing dry – that was Minho.

He gently stroked her cheek and with sweet pecks guided her back into her body.

Calla sat up and carefully pushed Minho back onto the bed. Her palms explored his magnificent body. Defined muscles beneath velvety soft skin. She lightly scratched over coarse hair with her fingernails. She cupped his erection and returned the favor.

Minho's hands gripped the sheet. He was clearly trying to savor the moment and delay the rapidly approaching climax – if his moans and twitches were anything to go by.

When she felt his hand in her hair, she pulled away. Minho whimpered and Calla giggled deep in her throat.

She fished a condom out of the bedside table drawer and expertly rolled it over Minho. His eyes sparkled, and he held gentle eye contact as Calla took him inside her. The stretch was exquisite. Her body remembered Minho – she could fully sit down on him. It was nothing like their first time; she remembered how uncomfortable it had been when Minho bumped against her cervix and they both had to slow down.

Now it was perfect, everything was perfect and just right.

Calla shuddered and stopped moving. Minho's warm hands slid over her hips, massaging her breasts. "Feeling good?" he asked softly.

She nodded. “Way too good. I almost came.”

Minho sat up and held her by the nape of her neck. “It’s okay, baby, make yourself feel good.” He kissed her forehead and sank back down.

Calla melted at the endearment, her brain turning to mush as Minho danced her to the moon. She was putty in his hands. As if she weighed nothing, Minho lifted her beneath him, grabbed her leg, and draped it over his shoulder, then began to chase his own release at a sharp pace.

Calla watched, fascinated, as Minho’s gaze glazed over, and then his eyelids fluttered.

A deep sense of contentment washed over Calla like the first rain after a long drought. Hearing Minho breathe beside her was like a wind stirring up the parched leaves of her heart, breathing new life into it. For years, longing held her captive until Minho came and freed her from her loneliness.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Calla lay awake in bed, her eyes closed. She felt the warmth of the sunbeams streaming through the window on her face. Her mind drifted aimlessly until the memories of last night became clearer and finally took shape. Minho had been here, and they had slept together – at least four rounds, with short breaks in between.

Minho!

Her eyelids fluttered open. The space beside her was disheveled, empty and cold. Her pulse immediately quickened. She peeled herself out of the sheets, pulled on a shirt she found on the floor, and hurried out to the bedroom.

Her bare feet tapped across the polished parquet floor. Was Calla nothing more than a stress relieve for Minho? Was he only able to worm his way back into her life because he'd seen how much she still liked him? A sour taste rose in her throat.

Calla's troubling thoughts came to an abrupt halt when she saw someone in the kitchen. Minho was standing by the stove, cracking eggs into a pan. The floral scent of jasmine rice hung in the air. She stepped closer. On the counter were small bowls of finely sliced nori sheets and vegetables.

He's still here. And he's making breakfast. Oh, Minho…

Minho smiled sweetly at Calla over his shoulder. His uncombed hair stuck out in all directions. "Good morning," he grumbled, but sounded quite cheerful. "Did you sleep well?"

Calla blinked. And then once more. "I thought you already left."

His smile faded slightly. He put the pan down and turned fully to face Calla. “Last night was incredibly amazing, but there’s still a lot to talk about between us. We should talk about what happens next. About what you want… and what I want.”

“And what is it that you want?” Calla’s words floated through the kitchen and the world held its breath.

Minho was silent for several moments. Strong emotions were reflected on his face. “That you’re giving me a second chance. But no matter what you decide, let’s eat something first, okay?” Before Calla could answer or react in any way, Minho turned back to breakfast. He cut butter into small cubes and mixed them into the cooked rice.

Minho wanted a second chance. Calla pinched her upper arm to make sure this wasn’t a dream. Far too often, she had imagined the most absurd scenarios. Fantasies without substance, born of pain.

Calla stepped closer and wrapped her arms around Minho's waist, pressing a tender kiss to the back of his neck. She loved this man – more than she could ever put into words. Why should she let past mistakes deprive her of happiness and joy? Why should she cling to resentment? Life was too short for that.

"You want a second chance?" she whispered in his ear. "Wish granted."

Gentle arms encircled Minho's waist, a warm body pressed against his back, and a soft voice whispered in his ear. "Are your thoughts wandering among the stars again?" Jisung asked. He chuckled softly.

Minho opened his eyes. He saw small plumes of steam rising from the water's surface. He immediately pulled his feet out of the water. "It doesn't mean anything," he said dismissively, avoiding eye contact with his fiancé as he stood up.

"You're lucky my mother values tradition. Otherwise, I would have grabbed your face right now and watched you blush with pleasure." Jisung sighed dreamily. "You always look so pretty when embarrassment paints your cheeks."

Minho had to close his eyes and take a deep breath to avoid instantly melting into a puddle. Jisung's way with words always threw him off balance. Especially now, since one of the many traditions dictated no displays of affection for two weeks until the wedding. Strangely, physical touch was permitted. Perhaps it was a good thing Minho adhered to it – the urge to kiss Jisung and not stop until dawn burned white-hot, like the fire of a furnace in his workshop, through every fiber of his being.

Jisung took Minho's hand and positioned them back to back. It was the closest thing they could get to an embrace. Minho's arms itched with desire; his fiancé was with him, yet he seemed as distant as the countless stars twinkling beyond the dome. The dome was a transparent barrier protecting the Moon Palace and its entire estate. Visitors from outside had to be verified first, it was a whole process.

“As for our honeymoon,” Jisung said, “I have an idea. How about we take a trip to the Andromeda Galaxy? There’s a planet there with hot springs that are said to be able to relieve the stress of up to three generations. Goddess Akka knows how desperately we need that.”

Minho felt the strain of the past few months with every movement. Before he and Jisung set out to find their own solar system, a short, relaxing vacation would do them good. Minho wondered about the term ‘honeymoon’; it was a word the ancestors of the moon had adopted from Earthlings eons ago, but life there had been lived very differently. What species would they encounter during their search? Minho smiled. He couldn’t wait to share eternity with the love of his life.

“That sounds wonderful,” Minho said. "I'll have Hyunjin book the entire resort."

Jisung chuckled. "Just the two of us and no one else?"

"No one else."

"But won't you get bored eventually?"

"You're all I need."

"So I'm just there for your amusement?" Jisung snorted. So convincingly, in fact, that Minho almost turned around. Jisung laughed and stroked the back of Minho's hand soothingly with his thumb.

Minho laughed along, and then silence fell over them again. Silver moths fluttered around the tall lamps that lined the jetty. Ilmatar sent a refreshing breeze, rippling the surface of the water.

Jisung pressed himself closer to Minho's back, and he knew his fiancé was on the verge of falling asleep standing up. It was already late; in just a few hours, the most wonderful and most stressful day of their young life would begin. Gazing at the starry sky, Minho waited patiently until Jisung arrived at the Moon Palace. And then – with the quiet hope that his best friend wouldn't give too long a speech tomorrow – he too made his way back to his chambers.

※

Bare feet touched the lunar surface, and Minho was pulled into a bone-crushing embrace.

“My buddy's finally getting married,” Changbin roared, his unbridled joy evident. He pulled the cork from a half-empty wine bottle with his teeth and downed it in one massive gulp. He belched like a dragon.

Minho freed himself from his muscle prison. He looked his best friend up and down; he was barefoot, as always, even during interstellar travel – the portal behind him flickered, and he was standing dangerously close. “Come in now, or you'll end up right back where you came from. The day has barely begun and you're already more alcohol than muscle."

Changbin staggered forward. His cheeks flushed bright red, and a goofy grin played on his lips. “Hey, it's already over-morrow on my planet. You can't hold me responsible today for what might happen in the future."

Minho snorted, amused. He took Changbin's luggage and left the small harbor outbuilding with him. Guards of the Royal Moon Guard and other personnel eyed the newcomer with secret curiosity. Changbin was, after all, the sole ruler of his own solar system. Since he had taken power, it had flourished; naturally, it was located near a trade route that connected several galaxies.

They stepped outside. Changbin inhaled the fresh air deeply and even seemed a little more sober; he walked more upright and his eyes brightened. "Ah, there's nothing better than moon air."

Minho hummed in agreement. He escorted his best friend to his chambers and suggested he get some rest before the wedding began. Changbin didn't need to be asked twice and plopped face down on the bed, where he promptly fell asleep. Minho told the staff to wake Changbin in time, and then he ran across the west wing to have at least an hour of peace before thousands of eyes turned on him.

A soft melody reached Minho's ears, and he stopped. It was the same melody Jisung had sung when they first met in the rose garden. Back then, so many years ago, when they were both inexperienced princes. Inexperienced and so excitedly in love.

Minho's legs found their way to the melody on their own, and he stopped before a closed door. Guards were posted on either side, and they stood more upright at Minho's arrival. These were Jisung's private chambers, a place Minho knew better than his own.

He shouldn't be here. As he turned, the door swung open. A tall woman with floor-length hair of liquid moonlight stepped into the corridor. Her silver robe sparkled with an authority that only a goddess could match.

“Oh, Ilmarinen, how wonderful to see you,” Kuutar said cheerfully.

Minho bowed deeply. “Your Highness.”

“What brings you here? You weren’t hoping to sneak a peek at Ahti, were you?”

“I would never presume to do that, Your Highness. A beautiful melody began to play, and I couldn’t resist following it.”

Kuutar glanced back briefly and smiled knowingly. She stepped closer. “At the beginning of the ceremony, you will stand back to back. Only then will you see each other. Don’t forget the exchange.” Minho nodded dutifully. Every single step of tomorrow’s wedding was indelibly etched in his memory. Kuutar placed her hands on Minho’s shoulders. “I want you to know how happy I am to welcome you into our family.” She winked at him and left.

Minho’s heart overflowed with gratitude. He could hardly believe his luck.

※

Nervousness flickered through Minho's gut. The joyful chatter of the guests and catchy tunes of the background music, meant to pass the time, echoed through the marble walls of the Moon Palace.

"Arms to your sides," Jeongin commanded, and the groom obeyed. The tailor had been under constant stress since the wedding announcement, and his taciturnity only underscored this fact.

A heavy robe found its new home on Minho's shoulders. Intricate lacing and elaborate embroidery adorned the flowing sleeves and the front of the robe. Gold on a black background. The colors of Minho's homeland and empire.

Jeongin's face came into Minho's view. His intensely focused eyes softened slightly. "It's too late to back out now."

Minho's eyes narrowed. "Are you crazy?"

Jeongin laughed. “I’m just teasing you, relax. You look fantastic. Jisung even more so. Believe me, you have no reason to be nervous. Everything will be fine. Now– close your eyes.”

The tailor placed a black velvet blindfold on Minho. He took a deep breath. He needed to calm down, or his nervousness would literally burn the blindfold off.

A door opened and closed. Quick footsteps approached. "Five minutes." It was Hyunjin, Minho's personal bodyguard and best friend since childhood.

"I'm ready," Minho said, letting Hyunjin lead him out. Today he was wearing a refreshing perfume. Interesting. Their footsteps echoed off the walls, and Minho remembered what he wanted to ask Hyunjin. "What was that noise earlier?"

Hyunjin snorted contemptuously. "That was Hiisi. Making a fuss because the bar was still closed."

"Hiisi's here?"

"Unfortunately. By the way, he calls himself Gaowan now. Don't ask."

"He's nothing but trouble." Minho shook his head slightly, because without his sight, he felt unsure of how his body moved in the room.

"Changbin dealt with him quickly. One twitch of muscles and he was quiet." Hyunjin chuckled to himself.

Minho knew he had arrived at the Silver Hall when all the voices instantly fell silent. His bodyguard guided him to the right spot, and before leaving, he placed a small, soft cushion in Minho's waiting hands. On it lay the object he would present to Jisung. What would he himself receive from Jisung?

Something warm pressed gently against his back. Jisung was there. Minho could breathe more easily again. Now everything would be alright. He suppressed the urge to whisper something to his soon-to-be husband.

A signal sounded, and the pastor began his sermon. At his cue, Minho turned, and the blindfold fell away.

Minho blinked several times, overwhelmed by the sheer beauty before him. Jisung wore silver and deep blue, and everything about him glittered and sparkled like the full moon that dwelt in his eyes. Minho forgot the world around him, and Jisung seemed to be experiencing the same sensation. The pastor had to repeat his words, as the two were so captivated by each other.

A golden amulet lay on a wine-red velvet cushion; engraved symbols of his home galaxy formed the shape of a star, and in the center sparkled a crystal – Minho's sun.

Minho picked up the amulet with one hand and tucked the cushion under his arm. He unfastened the clasp of the delicate chain and placed it around Jisung's neck. A broad smile played at the corners of Minho's mouth the entire time, but he had to keep his expression under control – tradition demanded it.

A pure white pearl necklace lay on Jisung's jet-black cushion. His fingers trembled as he picked it up and placed it around Minho's neck. His hands brushed softly against Minho's neck, sending a shiver down his spine. Jisung's eyes sparkled mischievously.

Minho could hardly wait for their wedding night.

Ilmarinen and Ahti took each other's hands and, accompanied by music, walked together to the altar. The pastor continued his text, and then it was time to exchange their vows.

Jisung's mouth moved, but no sound came out.

Minho, observing this memory, felt something inside him break. He realized that Ahti's soul had suffered severe trauma and blocked out everything that happened from then on. The memory threatened to dissolve. Minho released a piece of his energy. Ahti had finished his vows, and the memory continued.

"Ilmarinen, now your vows," said the pastor.

Minho straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat. His warm hands were clasped together, a comforting embrace. The smiles of both princes were warm and bright. “Ahti, Moon Prince of the Kuu tribe. Jisung. On my planet, there’s a saying called ‘being stung by the fever root.’ It’s mainly used for those newly in love. I always dismissed it as a quirk of the older generation, meant to tease us young people. But when I first laid eyes on you–”

Overwhelmed by profound emotion, Minho gasped. Before him stood the love of his life, and he was marrying him – right here and now. All the words in the world paled in comparison. He could never express with words what he truly felt for Jisung. If he knew nothing else, he knew one thing for sure: For Jisung, Minho would do anything. Anything.

Jisung’s hand rested warmly and softly on Minho’s cheek. “I long to hear the rest, my love.”

Minho composed himself and finished his vows. The pastor spoke the eagerly awaited words: "You may now kiss."

Minho's lips never touched Jisung's, for the sound of shattering glass cut through the romantic atmosphere. Hiisi – Gaowan – rushed towards the newlyweds. His face was contorted into an ugly grimace. He bumped into Jisung, and Jisung stumbled into Minho's arms. At the same time, Hyunjin, Changbin, and Chan (Jeongin's fiancé) rushed onto the dais and dragged Gaowan away.

Jisung lay heavy in Minho's arms. "Are you alright?" he asked, cupping Jisung's face in one hand. He tried to say something, but seemed to have no strength. When Minho pulled his other hand away from Jisung's back, it was blood red. "Felix!" he cried out in a panic.

Felix, the Moon Healer, rushed over immediately. He summoned light into his hand and held it to Jisung's wound, but the bleeding only intensified. Minho's knees trembled and he sank to the floor.

"I'm so cold," Jisung whispered. His body shivered, he could barely keep his eyes open.

"Don't speak, my beloved. I'm here, I'm here."

Felix used both hands. Kuutar supported him.

Hyunjin returned. He held up a bright green dagger. "I found this with Hiisi."

A horrified silence filled the Silver Hall.

"What is it?" Minho demanded.

Kuutar paled. "Simarit," she said, her voice filled with foreboding. Her gaze fell upon Jisung, her only son, and the shimmer that always surrounded her faded. "Lethal for us Moon People."

The ground beneath Minho swayed. He could no longer feel his body. As if a gigantic fist had punched him in the gut, he gasped for air. Jisung's faint voice reached his ear.

"I love you, Minho..."

"No, don't say that," Minho said, his voice choked, pulling his husband closer. "We'll find a solution, we–"

Minho jumped to his feet. Clutching Jisung tightly, he hurried out of the Silver Hall. Someone called after him, but he didn't respond.

In the Rose Garden stood a pavilion. It was open at the top, reflecting the moon's mirror image. Jisung had once told him that, under special circumstances, the full moon would grant someone a wish. Today was a three-quarter moon.

He gently laid Jisung on the raised platform, or perhaps it was an altar – Minho didn't know. Jisung was barely conscious. Sweat-drenched hair clung to his forehead, which Minho carefully brushed aside.

Footsteps approached. Hyunjin stopped, gasping. "What are you planning, Minho? You don't intend to–"

Minho glared at his bodyguard so sharply that he took a step back.

"Minho… It's not a full moon."

"I know."

"It's not certain it will even work."

"How come you know about moon rituals?" Minho asked skeptically.

"I'm responsible for your safety. I need to know everything." Hyunjin managed a small smile. But given the circumstances, it vanished immediately.

Jisung's lifeless body lay atop the altar. He was barely breathing. Deep red blood seeped from beneath him, soaking his robes and dripping silently and plaintively down the altar. Minho stood bent over him, holding his hand so tightly, as if that alone would be enough for a successful ritual.

The poison of Simarite, a type of rock, had paralyzing properties and acted swiftly.

Minho closed his eyes, tears finding their way to freedom. Whispered words, quick and pleading. The reflection of the three-quarter moon remained unchanged.

Jisung no longer moved.

Hyunjin stepped closer and placed a hand on the shoulder of his master and best friend. "Minho... We should go."

Minho slid to his knees. "No."

"Jisung is gone."

"I said no."

"Min–"

Minho's silhouette burst into flames. An explosion of anger, despair, and unwavering love. “LIFE WITHOUT HIM IS MEANINGLESS!” he yelled at Hyunjin.

The three-quarter moon glowed blood red. A deep rumble filled the air. A blindingly bright beam of light flashed and struck beside Jisung. An invisible force lifted his limp body.

Jisung opened his eyes. This force seemed to be pulling the Moon Prince towards the Blood Moon. Minho jumped to his feet and stretched out both arms towards Jisung. With all his strength, he grasped Jisung's arm and shoulders, his fingers digging into the fabric of his robe. But the Moon Prince continued to rise.

Jisung managed to seize Minho's pearl necklace. With a final tug, the necklace snapped– and Jisung vanished in the reflection of the blood-red three-quarter moon. Moments later, it collided with the real moon.

The collision shattered the moon, and simultaneously, the impact created a tear in the space-time continuum. The moon, along with many friends and family members, vanished into this rift. Beyond the rift lay the real world – reality.

Minho's wish had created an illusion.

※

"He's not dead!"

Deep in his heart, Minho knew that Jisung was still alive. If not in this world, then in the next.

Hyunjin, exhausted from the loss of his power since being cut off from reality, sat down on a rotting tree trunk. "How many more worlds?"

Minho paced restlessly. The damp forest floor beneath his feet was now trampled flat. At Hyunjin's question, he finally halted. Minho had only a few hundred years of divine power at his disposal; naturally, he used it to track Jisung down. When everything was used up, Hyunjin took over. For three hundred years, the two did nothing but search for clues about Jisung's whereabouts in alien galaxies.

It seemed that with Jisung's disappearance, most of Minho's power had vanished as well. Everyone was so much taller than him. He could barely fulfill his duties as a blacksmith, let alone as a sun god.

Without Jisung, the world drifted by in lost momentum.

※

Eight hundred and fifty years had passed since the moon collision. For eight hundred and fifty years, a floating rock had existed high above the Earth's surface. Humans called them aliens, but no one knew where they came from or when they had arrived in the first place.

Gaowan had seized power and killed anyone who wasn't on his side. Fear was an extremely effective means of enforcing respect by force. He founded Zephyr. Or rather: Z.E.P.H.Y.R.

Zentral unit for protection and upholding of asynchronous Realities.

Gaowan's sole aim was to humiliate Minho, for Zephyr was the name of his home planet. For a long time, he succeeded. Minho was a prisoner, and there was nothing he could do about it.

One evening, Minho wandered dangerously close to the edge of the rocky boulder that called itself Zephyr. Below him stretched the pitch-black earth with its scattered points of light, but it could just as easily have been a bottomless abyss. What was keeping him up here anyway?

"Careful, you might slip," a voice rasped. Gaowan.

Minho was too weak to react; otherwise, he would have rolled his eyes in annoyance. He just stood there, staring straight ahead. He wasn't even listening to Gaowan anymore. Fatal mistake.

Gaowan kicked Minho in the back, sending him tumbling forward, but he managed to catch himself just in time. Fueled by newly ignited rage, he lunged at the troll god. He grabbed him by the collar and, with his flaming fist raised, growled, "You may be in charge now, but as soon as I regain my authority, I'll make you pay for everything."

For two seconds, Gaowan stared up at Minho, wide-eyed. Then he burst into peals of laughter. "Oh yeah? And how exactly do you intend to do that?"

Minho's fire snuffed out. Gaowan sent him sprawling off him with a powerful kick. "You're nothing!" he roared, while beating up Minho. "Trash! Worthless god-dog!" Gaowan's insults erupted into animalistic growls, and he only let go of Minho when he grew bored.

When Minho regained consciousness hours later, Felix patched him up as best he could. Physical wounds might heal, and Minho even grew accustomed to his newfound deafness. But that evening, he regretted having made that one wish so long ago.

To find closure with Jisung and somehow move on, Minho induced a lucid dream. He imagined a star-studded meadow with swirling galaxies high above him – just like back when he and Jisung had spent their nights together. A message for his husband from another life.

"Jisung, my love. I have searched for you for so long. Convinced that the moon hadn't stolen you from me and that you are still alive, waiting… I will never forget you." Minho turned around; he thought he heard something behind him. For a brief moment, he imagined Jisung was here. He smiled faintly. "If you're looking for me, let your memory lead you. Be careful, because reality is an illusion."

Jisung seemed unable to remember anything, otherwise he would have said something long ago. Minho wished, oh how he wished, to reach out and pull the real, genuine Jisung to the surface. He looked exactly the same as he had back then, everything about him was so unmistakably Jisung– and he just couldn't remember.

Was it all for nothing?

And yet, with a smile and the words, "Welcome to Earth," Jisung managed to catapult Minho back to the moment when he had first seen him.

A melody had led Minho to the rose garden behind the Moon Palace, and there stood Jisung. Wrapped in white robes of flowing fabric, he was surrounded by an aura of unapproachable elegance and a radiance that put gold to shame. Minho forgot the world around him; he had eyes only for Jisung, whose black hair contrasted sharply with his voice. A voice that could only have been blessed by Kuutar herself.

Melodies were only vague memories, a half-forgotten dream slipping through his fingers like sand.

Minho would give anything to hear Jisung sing again.

"Minho?"

With a ringing in his ears, Minho returned to his body. He blinked. "Hm?"

"Do you need a moment to acclimatize?"

He shook his head and looked away, barely able to hold Jisung's worried gaze.

Even out of the corner of his eye, he saw his eyebrows furrowed, and he breathed a sigh of relief when Jisung fixed his gaze on the snow-covered path ahead.

The light from the elevator behind them faded among the densely packed trees, casting long shadows. Jisung shuddered. He took something out of his jacket pocket, which he then placed around his head, pressed a button, and a concentrated beam of light illuminated the path.

"We should go." Jisung shuddered again and wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck. "Before we freeze solid."

He stepped forward, and Minho debated with himself whether to tell him who Jisung really was. Right here and now. No, he had to remember on his own– and hopefully soon.

Time was an unstoppable enemy, persistent and patient, always awake, always there. Minho's soul was like chipped paint on brittle wood left exposed to the elements for too long; rust eating through metal.

The snow melted beneath Minho's shoes, forming small puddles that quickly froze upon contact with the cold air. For a while, the crunching of the snow was the only sound. Every now and then, Jisung adjusted the headlamp on his head, and once he slipped and almost stumbled backward. But Minho was quick to catch him, preventing a fall. His heart beat a little faster afterward.

As they left the path and emerged from the forest, Minho's eyes widened. Even in total darkness, he had perfect vision, but since becoming Zephyr's prisoner, this ability had faded into the background.

A massive mountain range with snow-capped peaks stretched along the horizon. Low-hanging clouds buried the valley under a thick blanket of fresh snow. The more Minho focused his gaze, the more details he could make out. The path from the valley led to a densely built-up area, where the outlines of tall buildings stretched like fingers into the glowing orange sky. Flashing lights of all colors seemed to keep the night and winter at bay. This was a metropolis. Life was probably bustling there, but Minho couldn't know that. Neither did he care. He only wanted one thing: to have Jisung back and to put an end to all this madness.

His eyes followed the road that led out of the city and branched off onto a small side street. It wound its way down a slope in several turns and past a frozen lake. And there, at the end of the path, stood a small house. A good pile of snow had accumulated on the roof, icicles decorated the gutter, and if Minho had been paying a little more attention, he would have noticed that he had stopped moving and Jisung had long since reached the back door.

A house by a lake, near a forest. This combination of water and earth reminded Minho so strongly of happier times that he had to close his eyes for a moment.

Through the swirling chaos in his head, he heard Jisung say something, but the words sounded like a distant droning. Only when Minho felt a warm hand on his face did he regain his composure.

"You're pretty warm." Jisung furrowed his eyebrows. He took Minho by the hand and pulled him the rest of the way to the house.

The sudden warmth inside the house prickled Minho's cheeks like the tiny bites of his kissamehiläiset. The light came on, and after the two of them had taken off their shoes and jacket, Minho let Jisung lead him into the kitchen.

"Please sit down," Jisung requested, and Minho obeyed. He sat quietly and watched the violinist fill a kettle with tap water and press a small lever down. A moment later, it started to hiss. He opened a cupboard, took something out, and turned to Minho. "Willow bark or chamomile?" he asked, holding two tea bags.

Neither. That was what Minho wanted to say. He didn't have a fever. His body temperature was naturally higher; that was normal for him and his kind. He didn't need tea, he needed Jisung and to finally remember his past life.

But maybe he was a completely different person. He had the same name, but at his core, he was completely different. To him, Minho was just an alien from the floating rock.

And yet...

Jisung treated him with kindness and empathy. Hell, he'd even stood up to Gaowan. No matter how far back the past lay, it always found a way into the present.

"Chamomile, please," Minho finally decided.

His gaze fell almost automatically out the window and up to a massive, floating rock directly above the forest he'd just come from. His hand clenched into a fist.

Zephyr looked impressive, a bit intimidating, but somehow also so... distant, insignificant. A normal sight. They'd made sure of that.

Jisung placed two steaming mugs on the table. "I don't know if you like sugar, so..." He pushed a small ceramic container towards Minho. That was probably the sugar bowl. Yep, it even said SUGAR in big, bold letters.

Minho cupped his mug with both hands, the warmth burning pleasantly on his skin, vaguely reminiscent of his true home. He raised the mug and, as the steam caressed his nose, inhaled deeply the floral scent of chamomile. He took a sip, the taste settling heavy and comforting on his tongue. "Tea tastes best on its own."

"Oh, well, more for me then. I love sweet." Jisung took the small spoon that was in the container and unashamedly scooped ten spoonfuls of sugar into the pale yellow liquid. He stirred a few times, but it was probably far too little to completely dissolve the crystals. But when he took a sip and exhaled loudly, he seemed satisfied– as if the tea had just the right amount of sweetness.

Minho laughed to himself. Some habits never change. And then it hit him– harder than before. Guilt rose up his throat like acid, and the tea left a bitter aftertaste. His gaze wandered over Jisung's hand, which he used to stir the tea, up to his eyes, which seemed slightly dreamy but kept flickering over to Minho.

I swore I'd never forget you. And yet, I didn't recognize you when you were standing right in front of me. My Jisung... You've returned to me.

Jisung's voice reached Minho. "Is there something on my face?" he asked over the rim of his sugary tea.

When there was no answer and Jisung placed his hand on Minho's, Minho wasn't sure how to feel for a moment. His heart was beating in a new, yearning rhythm, and it took a lot of energy to force his voice to work.

Minho blinked. "The tea is really good," he evaded, taking a pointed sip that almost choked him. The smile on his lips was shaky and unsteady.

Jisung didn't seem to believe it, but he didn't pry. His hand was so warm, and before he pulled it away, he gave Minho's finger a quick squeeze.

※

"And this is my study." With his index finger, Jisung pushed the door open wider and entered the room behind it.

After the two had finished drinking tea, Jisung gave him a tour of the house. With every room Minho entered, he felt his heart rate slow. The atmosphere in the house enveloped him like a warm hug– as if he had finally arrived to the place where he always belonged.

Maybe it was a good thing that Minho was slowing down a bit. Maybe this Jisung wasn't his Jisung from back then. Whether he'd ever be able to remember their time together was beyond the stars, but Minho wanted to at least try.

Slowly, step by step.

Hesitantly, Minho entered the so-called study. There was a feeling of vibrant creativity and lightness. As if he were in another world. Jisung must have spent endless hours here.

There was a keyboard and other electronic devices, but Minho couldn't figure out how to use them. In the tangle of cables, screens, and sheet music, the study seemed surprisingly tidy. Organized chaos.

"How long have you been playing the violin?" Minho asked, looking around with awe and curiosity.

Jisung placed his violin case on a low, round table. "I think I was five when I started."

"How old are you now?"

"Twenty-three."

Minho hummed appreciatively, but not in response to Jisung's age. On the wall hung a framed diploma from a university Jisung had graduated with honors.

"That's why you're so good," Minho concluded, turning around. His breath caught in his throat when he saw how unexpectedly close Jisung was standing.

A touch of pale pink flushed Jisung's cheeks. "Oh, I just had this need to express myself, and playing the violin was right up my alley."

"You could have sung, too."

A soft laugh, and the pink on his cheeks turned a shade darker. For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to look at Minho. "That wouldn't have been a good idea, believe me."

Minho's eyebrows furrowed slightly. "What do you mean?"

Jisung looked up. There was something sad in his eyes. "My parents... They never supported me. I was never allowed to practice at home for the first few years. They said they couldn't handle the noise." He crossed his arms around his middle and for several moments his gaze lingered on his diploma. "If it weren't for my sister, I would have quit long ago."

Minho spoke so quietly, he almost whispered. "Sounds like your sister is a great person."

"She's the best." Jisung smiled broadly. "And I can't wait for you to meet her."

The clockmaker returned the smile; he couldn't help himself.

As they walked down the stairs, Jisung explained that his sister's name was Lisa and her son's name was Jeremy, who was celebrating his ninth birthday tomorrow.

In the living room, Jisung pulled blankets and fluffy cushions out of a closet and placed them on the sofa. Minho believed his words when he promised he'd wake up the next morning without a sore back.

※

Red, hazy light. Unintelligible voices pressed into Minho's drowsy mind. A bang. Minho jolted awake.

The ringing in his ears pulsed in time with his racing heart.

Darkness everywhere. He looked around in panic; everything seemed so foreign.

Where am I?

A breath. And then another.

He was lying on something soft, wrapped in warmth. A sofa.

He struggled to sit up and concentrated on his hands, opening them and clenching them tightly into fists.

It was just a dream.

A nightmare that plagued him for ages.

Slowly, the red-tinged images of hatred and destruction dissolved. Minho was with Jisung– on his sofa, in the middle of the night. The glowing numbers of a digital clock, squeezed between books and an empty flower vase, announced the time; it was just before sunrise.

Minho buried his face in his hands, tugging at his hair. Tiredness clung to his joints like lead, and tears were burning in his eyes.

"Are you awake?"

Minho flinched. Jisung stood in the doorway, his hair messy and the imprint of a pillow running across the left side of his face. "Jisung, did I wake you?"

"No, uh, why would you?"

Minho hesitated. "I had a nightmare. It was... pretty loud."

Emotions and thoughts flickered across Jisung's face like reflections of light. "Me too," he said, more to himself than anything. He met Minho's gaze. "Something collided with the moon and– and everything was red."

Minho rose from the sofa and, after two big steps, he stood next to Jisung. "You're shaking." With a hand on his back, he led him to the sofa, where he placed one of the many fluffy blankets around his shoulders.

It happened automatically. Minho pulled Jisung into his arms, and he snuggled up to him. As if they'd never done anything else.

The air seemed charged, and when their fingers touched for just a brief moment while Minho adjusted the blanket, electricity discharged in the form of flying sparks.

Electricity was a rare phenomenon. On Zephyr there was no electricity– the truth about where Zephyr drew its energy from was a sinister one, and the mere thought of it sent shivers down Minho's spine.

For a long while, a comfortable silence enveloped them. Jisung's steady breathing was like a soothing balm for Minho's stricken heart. And then Jisung stirred. He took a deep breath and straightened up.

There was something in his gaze. Something was about to happen, Minho felt it deep in his bones.

Jisung lowered his voice. "If I tell you what I saw, will you answer me honestly?"

"As I promised," Minho assured him.

A deep breath. "Before I picked you up, I saw a waterfall. And you. You were kneeling down in front of someone." A pause. "And a few days ago, when I was taking a shower– " He rubbed his eyes, seemingly searching for words to describe something he didn't really understand. "I was taking a shower and swimming at the same time. And you pulled me out. It felt like I suddenly remembered something.

"Remembering you."

Minho's eyes widened. Was the butterflies in his stomach anticipation or fear?

The dawn light pressed against the curtains, shimmering silver in Jisung's eyes. "I remember you. But I don't know why."

Minho's throat tightened, and he used all his strength to hold back the tears. His mouth opened, and the words caught in his throat when Jisung placed a hand over his.

The space between them vibrated, and Minho knew it was time to lay the cards of truth on the table. No more secrets. No more stalling.

"I'll show you what happened back then," Minho said.

Jisung's eyes widened in surprise. "Really? So it's not just figments of my imagination? You're letting me in on the truth?"

A small smirk tugged at the corner of Minho's lips. "Better yet, I can show you. Like you're watching a movie."

"You know what a movie is?"

"Don't get cheeky."

They both laughed. Oh, how much Minho missed fooling around with Jisung like this.

Minho stood up. "I need water, lots of water." He crossed the living room, pushed aside the curtain, and looked out the window. "The lake should suffice."

"The lake is frozen over," Jisung said. He threw a blanket over his shoulders and slid into a more comfortable position on the sofa. "And it will stay that way for the next few months." Minho moved away from the window and stood in front of Jisung. "What are you planning?"

"Trust me." He held out his hand, and Jisung didn't hesitate; he let himself be pulled up and led out of the house.

"Wait, what about a jacket? It's freezing outside."

Minho stopped, laughing softly. "Are you cold?"

"Um..." Jisung looked down at himself. He was wearing only sweatpants and a well-worn T-shirt. He was standing barefoot in the snow. "I'm not cold. How is that..." His gaze, half skeptical and half amazed, swept over Minho and gave way to awe-struck speechlessness.

Golden light surrounded Minho like an aura. His original name was Ilmarinen, god of blacksmithing. The sun was his equal. Countless creations bore his signature, and Zephyr served as a constant reminder of his failure.

"I'll keep you warm," Minho whispered, taking Jisung's hand again.

As they stood on the lakeshore, Minho's light spread like a spider web across the frozen water. Ice cracked and burst, melted, and spilled over.

Jisung gasped briefly as his feet touched the water. He followed Minho deeper into the lake, hardly able to believe that the cold didn't bother him.

Earthly water... I forgot how pure and refreshing it feels.

He now stood knee-deep in the lake opposite Jisung. His gaze fell upon the floating island, shining there in its rotten splendor.

"Jisung..." Minho whispered, looking deep into the eyes of the human before him. Eyes in which the moon still reflected. "Does 'You have embedded yourself in my mind just as much as you’ve embedded yourself in my body' mean anything to you?"

Jisung blinked. "That's the dedication in my book about the moon."

Minho smiled and reached for Jisung's hands. "It'll be very bright for a moment, you may close your eyes."

Jisung took a deep breath and nodded. "I'm ready."

Time slowed as golden light gained brightness and warmth. Waves rippled the mirror-like surface of the water as deeply buried memories were released from their solitude.

Minho was the first to open his eyes. Stretched before him was a landscape he had last seen over a thousand years ago.

When the moon still made its way across the sky.

When Minho was happy.

When Jisung was still alive.

And that day at the Red Lotus teahouse, my path took a decisive turn.

July slipped into the grip of summer, and cooling off was a priority for many people. But no matter how hot it was, warm drinks were always the first choice. And at the Red Lotus teahouse, you could do both: sip hot tea in an air-conditioned space.

That day, I was playing a new piece on the piano; nervousness settled in my shoulders, as it was far beyond my level of skills, and my overactive brain imagined the wildest scenarios of how I could embarrass myself.

I was also an hour short of sleep. Why did a raven have to sit outside my window, croaking? One loud "caw," and I was wide awake. Stupid bird. Anyway, back to the present.

My hands rested on the keys. A tingling sensation lingered in my fingers as the deep blue melody echoed in my ears like waves on a sandy beach. Someone more versed in music theory could name all the chords and harmonies precisely and connect them with something poetic. But I hadn't studied, nor did I possess the vocabulary to express myself in a way that sounded 'educated.'

In a world consisting only of faceless shapes in an endless cascade of sounds and smells, I lacked a connection to something that was perfectly normal for other people.

But my mother would be proud of me. She would say, in her endless wisdom and patience, that I still managed to play that one tricky song from beginning to end. In my memory, I could hear the smile in her voice. Just hear it. And miss it forever.

With a quiet sigh, I banished the gloomy thoughts and carefully placed my fingers on the correct piano keys for the next piece. The material felt smooth and cool, but I could still detect some residual warmth on the keys under my right ring and index fingers.

I tilted my head in wonder. My finger refused to play the first note. Strange.

The sonorous voice of the tea sommelier rolled through the noisy void behind me. "Attention! Tea is coming!"

Brisk footsteps, accompanied by a growing voice. I raised my head, and a shadowy figure moved into my blurry field of vision. The floral scent of freshly brewed oolong tea tickled my nose.

"One minute at exactly 80 degrees Celsius. Three pieces of rock candy." The cup clattered as he set it down. To the left of the piano, on a low, round table. As always. Or rather, every Wednesday afternoon for four and a half weeks.

I'd been visiting the teahouse for a while, regularly since the beginning of spring, when the magnolias invaded my bedroom with their fragrance. Now the scratchy smell of dry leaves hung heavy in the air, and mixed with the exhaust fumes from the street, I often came home with a headache.

But I endured it. I was happy to endure it. Because only here was I allowed to play the piano undisturbed. And for the past four and a half weeks, the listeners have bought me a cup of tea. Unprompted.

I love playing the piano.

And oolong tea.

A lot.

"Laoban, does it make me a greedy person if I look forward to tea?” I asked the sommelier, my eyes following his blurry movements.

The heels of his shoes clicked softly against the floor as he shifted his weight. The edges of his warm voice were always laced with wisdom and empathy, but in this moment, a little more so. “It's only natural to look forward to something that brings you joy. Your anticipation of a cup of tea shows that you appreciate the little things in life.

“Never feel guilty about feeling joy, Ainuo. Greed would mean demanding beyond measure and ignoring everything else.

“So your anticipation of tea is more a sign of appreciation, not greed.”

My fingers curled around the fabric of my sleeve and I swallowed to ease the tightness in my throat. I blinked. "What– how dare you make me cry at four o'clock in the afternoon?" I whispered, half indignant, half moved.

He gave a short, quiet laugh. "Alcaeus of Lesbos seems to have been mistaken. The truth lies not in wine, but in tea," he said with a conspiratorial undertone.

Tears burned in my eyes, which I immediately blinked away. Laoban's words made no sense (or perhaps I was just too emotional to properly process and categorize them). Accordingly, my eyebrows furrowed in confusion, whereupon the tea sommelier let himself be carried away by another, much gentler laugh.

"Your tea’s getting cold," he chuckled and left.

Smiling, I cupped the hot cup with both hands. I brought it closer to my mouth, warm waves of flavored steam curled over my nose and cheeks, and the first sip settled around my shoulders like a warm blanket. But from within. Or something like that. I wasn't a poet. Not a poet and thinker who could throw around fancy words.

I was me. Ainuo.

Someone trying to get back out into the world.

Blind in one eye, very little remaining vision in the other. My ophthalmologist said optic nerve surgery might give me some of it back.

I tried playing the next piece once more. But as soon as my fingertips touched the cool keys, suddenly nothing happened. Somewhere behind my sternum, I felt a resistance, a pulling sensation. I sighed softly. It was no good fighting it; playing anyway would only lead to mistakes, and I hated dissonance.

With the empty cup and saucer in my left hand, I walked over to the counter. My cane helped me orient myself; I passed two armchairs that were unoccupied today and passed a display table with a bonsai tree on it, and then I reached the counter.

"Done for today, Ainuo?" the tea sommelier asked. I just couldn't remember his name; it sounded odd and didn't fit his melodious voice, which always reminded me of mooncakes.

"Hmm. Must be the weather, I can hear my bed calling from here," I joked.

"When summer is on its last legs in two months," he mused, "it will cool down so much that some people will long for the heat back."

"That would be nice," I enthused. "Maybe I'll come here twice a week then."

The chuckle in his voice was unmistakable. "There's always a seat reserved for you..." His voice trailed off as if he wanted to add something, but something seemed to have distracted his attention.

I didn't notice anything unusual. The soundscape in the teahouse was the same: clattering spoons on saucers, too many conversations at once, bubbling water.

The aromas of fermented tea leaves and rock candy permeated everything here– so I would have noticed a burning smell.

"Laoban, is everything okay?" I asked uncertainly.

A pause.

A new voice. "Um, excuse me?"

Of course. A guest. I stepped aside, making more space at the counter.

"I think someone wants to talk to you, Ainuo," the tea sommelier said. "Oh, look at that, the ginseng needs watering." Even as he spoke, his voice grew quieter and quieter, and then he disappeared somewhere behind the bar.

A clearing of the throat. The voice from before spoke again. A male voice. I turned towards it, but kept my head lowered. 

"I heard you play," he said, "and I wanted to express my admiration. I found that last piece very emotional and– and I didn't know whale song could be rendered so well on the piano."

I took half a step back, confused by the familiarity of the voice. I rummaged through the drawers of my brain, hastily rummaging through concepts of melodies and all sorts of sensations, chasing the timbre of that voice.

The man spoke quickly, a sign of nervousness. But he sounded so boyish... as if raising the volume... might trigger a croak.

But that never happened.

Because that was the voice of the singer I admired so much. His name alone sounded like a poem: Hua Chenyu. A tenor with a wide range, powerful and steady.

He had heard me play. And now he was standing in front of me, talking to me. Me.

"I'm glad I came to the teahouse today," he continued, oblivious to my inner turmoil, "otherwise I would have missed something unique."

Goosebumps trickled down my arms. Suddenly, I was very aware of my face. Was I grinning stupidly? Were my cheeks bright red and the beads of sweat on my forehead making my skin shine like a sausage?

Or was my face so pale that to him, I looked like I was about to pass out?

Breathe and relax, girl. "Thanks for your kind words," I said breathlessly. "That's more praise than I deserve."

"Not at all. Talent must be appreciated. But tea seems a bit lacking to me." A pause. His speech slowed, and he sounded... shy. "May I invite you to hotpot?"

It took a few moments for my brain to process his words, and my hands tightened around the handle of my cane. "You... You want to go to dinner with me?"

"Of course, only if you have time and..." He gasped softly. "Oh, if I've put you in an awkward position, I'm sorry–"

"No!" I extended my hand, but quickly withdrew it. "No, you didn't do anything wrong. I promise. I'll gladly accept your invitation."

We exchanged phone numbers, and when I asked him what name I could save him under, he said, "Hua Chenyu."

Holy shit.

Hotpot

The moving traffic– an acoustic hell of revving engines and squealing tires on asphalt as someone panicked and slammed on the brakes; often followed by a few vile insults.

Passersby rushed past me like shadows. Quickly spoken words and the smell of greasy snacks. My mouth was dry, and I swallowed the rising nausea.

I'm just nervous. He'll come.

With a deep breath, I slid a little further back across the bench I was sitting on. The backrest pressed into my back, giving me much-needed support. I fished my phone out of the front pocket of my backpack, but then I halted. If I checked the time now and found it was two minutes past the agreed-upon time, it would stress me out even more.

He'll come. He has to.

I wasn't always like this. As my eyesight deteriorated, I withdrew more and more from everything. My world was limited to forty-eight square meters of living space and delivery services. I'll never forget the day I discovered Hua Chenyu's music. Something I thought had long since crumbled to dust was brought back to life by him.

And now I was sitting on a bench, the sun warming my face and his name bouncing in my head like a rubber ball.

I hope this is all real and not one of my meticulously planned daydreams. A daydream with a life of its own, that would be...

Amid countless footsteps hurrying past me, one pair slowed down. A slim, tall figure pushed itself into my cloudy field of vision.

"Ainuo?"

My heart immediately kicked into a pace and I sat bolt upright. "You're here," I breathed.

With a soft sigh, he took the seat next to me. "Sorry for the delay, the traffic was terrible. Construction sites everywhere. I really should have left earlier."

"You're here by car?"

"Bicycle. Took the usual shortcut, but even there was construction." He groaned as if something hurt, but he didn't sound annoyed. Amusement was in his voice. "I had to cycle all the way back. And I almost crashed into a barrier."

I suppressed a chuckle. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"All fingers and toes are still there."

The blurry movements next to me looked as if he were stretching his hands and feet out in front of him to illustrate his words. Was it okay to find that adorable? "Good," I said, relieved, "because I'm starving."

We stood up, and I unfolded my cane so I could safely reach the destination at the end of the street. Neither of us said anything. I was far too nervous and excited for that (Hua Chenyu himself was with me!! Aaah!!). What questions could have been going through his mind? So far, he hasn't said anything about my... condition. Usually, the first thing people ask is, "How did you become blind?" I understood their curiosity, but too often I felt reduced to my disability. Sucks.

The restaurant door swung open, and a warm wall of spiced air hit me.

"Where do you want to sit?" Hua Chenyu asked, very close to me.

"Um..." I let a few moments pass so I could get used to all the sensory input. "In a corner, right at the back?"

He hummed, and then came a soft "ah." Since I'd never been alone in this restaurant before, I followed his instructions to the table.

The lighting above us was very bright, which made me see Hua Chenyu's form even more clearly than usual. He sat opposite me. His hair was sticking out on the sides of his head. Where his eyes should have been, there were two large, black, round spots. I leaned forward, even narrowed my eyes, though it didn't help. What was that on his face?

He raised a hand, picked up this... thing, and pulled it away. It was– oh. "Sunglasses!"

"I must have looked pretty weird to you."

"Like a giant fly."

Hua laughed like a lemon, and I felt my body relax; the tension in my shoulders and hands eased, the seat beneath me was suddenly much more comfortable, and I was able to block out the background noise much more easily.

I only needed some guidance once (where the different meats and vegetables and other side dishes were), otherwise I managed very well. Secretly, I was grateful that he didn't make a big deal out of it.

"Have you been playing the piano for a long time?" Hua Chenyu asked over the meat simmering in the hot broth.

"My parents cared more about piano lessons than I did. I was a typical petulant kid," I joked. "But then I ended up enjoying it, mainly because I wanted to impress a senior in middle school. And then..."

The memory played out clearly in my mind; How glaucoma was discovered in my left eye at seventeen and caused me to lose it, and the depressive ten years that followed. Shaking my head, I returned to the present. "I started again last year after a long break. I've really forgotten a lot."

I pulled the meat out with my chopsticks and let it cool for a few seconds before dipping it in sesame sauce and then shoving it all into my mouth at once.

"You play with all your heart. If you released a compilation album, I'd be first in line."

My cheeks warmed, and it wasn't from the hotpot. Or the fact that I almost choked. "Now you're exaggerating." I took a sip of water. "What about you? A musician like you who moves the masses– that can only be a genius."

He laughed softly. "I may have studied at a university, but without my producer, the songs wouldn't be half as good."

"So, two geniuses. I mean, when I listen to your music, I get whiplash, and believe it or not, I want more. I never know what to expect in your songs because you combine disparate elements that, on the surface, don't fit together at all.

"Your voice conveys emotions I've only ever read about in novels.

"There's so much more to it. More than I can fully comprehend or put into words. But I feel it... Without your music, my life would have remained bleak."

My heart pounded, I could feel it hammering in my ears. Did his silence mean I was laying it on too thick? Was I too direct in my explanation of how much he helped me with his music?

Breathe, keep eating, be normal.

And then Hua Chenyu effortlessly continued the conversation. "Can I tell you a secret? I spent two days working on the demo for 'Love of Humanity,' and I wasn't satisfied until the twelfth version."

❀

After dinner, we strolled through the park across from the restaurant, striking up casual conversations and letting them fade away on their own.

Once again, it was quiet between us, but I didn't mind. Walking side by side, without expectations, without the pressure to say anything– it made the superstar Hua Chenyu seem like a normal person.

But there was also something unspoken between us, and I didn't like this state of affairs.

I slowed down, searching for my voice. "Hua Chenyu?"

"Call me HuaHua," he said in an incredibly gentle tone.

I smiled. "Okay, HuaHua. What I wanted to say. You've probably noticed by now that I can't see very well. If you're curious, I can answer a few questions."

There was silence for five steps.

"I admit I'm a little curious," he finally said. "But it's not right to ask you about something you're not willing to share."

I stopped and blinked. I looked up at HuaHua. His words echoed through my head.

I removed one hand from my white cane and placed my index finger on my left cheek below my eye. "I'm completely blind with this one. It's an artificial eye." The index finger moved to my right cheek. "With this one, I can perceive outlines, light, and shadows. Details are difficult." I placed my hand back on the handle of the cane and, with bated breath, waited for his reaction.

HuaHua lowered his voice. "I never would have guessed that’s an artificial eye. It looks convincingly real." He let out a low, appreciative whistle. "So you're some kind of cyborg. Pretty neat."

With his unexpectedly weird answer, the last vestige of nervousness evaporated, and a snort caught in my throat. "Mhm, and did you know I have a superpower?"

"Oh yeah?"

"Pay attention."

Briefly closing my eyes, I listened in the direction of the loudest noise, which wasn't difficult in a park designed for recreation. This park was one of the few places I knew very well, sensorially.

"About 30 steps away from us are two– no, three teenagers playing a game." I bit my lower lip, listening more closely. "It's the 'Game for Peace.'"

HuaHua's head moved back and forth between me and a little further ahead. He seemed to be having an internal debate about whether or not to believe me; at least, that's what the small stones crunching under his shoes told me.

"No way," he said incredulously.

"Bet?"

"It’s on."

And we marched off. The voices grew louder, words more audible, and after twenty-eight and a half steps, we stopped. The teenagers' excited conversation died down.

HuaHua spoke up. "Hey there, I hope we're not disturbing you," he said politely.

"Are we too loud?" one of the teenagers asked.

"No, no," HuaHua laughed, "everything's fine. We just wanted to ask you what game you're playing."

"Oh, uhm, we're playing the 'Game for Peace' and we just completed a mission."

With a triumphant grin, I looked up at HuaHua. "You owe me, Mr. Flowers."

Cinema+Sea

I could hardly believe it. HuaHua wanted to do something with me again.

His job kept him traveling a lot, and replies to messages were often delayed, but after a month of back and forth (and phone calls), we were able to agree on a time and place.

HuaHua seemed to have really put some thought into it. He suggested watching a movie in an accessible theater. I knew of such a cinema outside of town, but hadn't dared to go there until now.

The driver's door closed, and I heard HuaHua walking around the car. I started walking with my cane and met the musician near the trunk.

"Which way is the entrance?" I asked.

"Left and then across the crosswalk to the right."

"Okay." I took a deep breath. Unfamiliar places always made me a little nervous. "Please let me know when we get to the crosswalk."

"Of course. I'll follow behind you, the path there is quite narrow."

I nodded and started walking slowly. While dragging my cane along the ground to check for any bumps, I mentally counted my steps and listened to my surroundings. The brightness of the day helped me better perceive movements in front of me, but the further the distance, the more difficult this became– I really needed to work on my concentration.

The rustling of leaves in the wind and the air carried a hint of salt and seaweed; the sea must be very close. I miss the sea.

I was so focused on what I was doing that I was startled when HuaHua spoke behind me.

"Ainuo, we're at the zebra crossing now."

I stopped. "Now turn right?" He confirmed and reassured me that no cars were passing by, so I could continue walking safely.

Automatic sliding doors opened noisily, hot air ruffled my hair, and I found myself in an olfactory sea of ​​salt and melted butter.

The words of my childhood best friend rang out so unexpectedly loud and clear in my mind, I thought she was standing next to me. I'm going to eat so much cotton candy until I puke, hahaha. Popcorn and pink cotton candy. We had spent all our allowance on sweets. I couldn't remember the movie, but I did remember very clearly how sick we felt on the way back home.

HuaHua's voice close to my ear brought me back into my body. "Ainuo, I think we should move away from the entrance."

A few steps further away, we stopped at a kind of pillar; the surface was cool and rough, smooth in places, and I realized they were posters. I liked touching things; it helped me orient myself and assess things much better.

"Are you okay?" Hua Chenyu asked. He sounded worried.

I waved him off. "Some smells trigger strong memories, and I haven't been to a movie theater in a really long time. But I'm fine, I promise."

He audibly breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay, but if anything happens, feel free to let me know."

I nodded and even gave him a thumbs up.

"We still have some time," he continued, "let's get the tickets first, and what do you think about popcorn? Sweet or salty?"

"Sweet, always."

"I’m glad we’re on the same page."

I was starting to really like him.

With an XXL cup full of sweet popcorn, we made our way to the theater. The popcorn smelled heavenly. And it severely tested my self-control. My fingers twitched with the desire to stuff a handful of caramelly goodness into my mouth, but I wanted to wait until I was seated.

The transition to the comfortable seats was easy. HuaHua let me know where the popcorn was, and I prepared the headphones through which I listened to the audio description for the film.

My hand hovered aimlessly in the air, searching for popcorn. Until I felt warm fingers around my wrist, guiding my hand down and towards the popcorn. My heart did not beat faster and my face was not warm.

The theater quickly filled with voices and the smells of various snacks, the lights dimmed, and I put on my headphones.

❀

"I didn't know the demon was still alive until the very end." I shook my head in time with the cane scraping over the asphalt– as if that would help me better understand the movie's plot twist.

"It was obvious," HuaHua said from behind me.

"What was obvious about it? The blood contract with the medium was fulfilled, and that should have sent him back."

"How did the medium summon the demon?"

"She recited a Latin incantation."

HuaHua chuckled, as if he knew something. "First, she drew a seal and then recited the incantation. It's like making a phone call.

"The seal is the phone, and the incantation is the number. She called him because she needed his help, and he came. Yes, it worked, but the line was open the whole time."

My eyebrows furrowed thoughtfully. The line was open... She never hung up. Why did that make sense? "So she would have had to recite a different incantation to send him back?"

HuaHua clicked his tongue. "Bingo."

I felt two centimeters taller with pride, and a satisfied grin played across my lips.

We reached his car, and as I waited on the passenger side for him to unlock it, a gentle breeze brushed across my face. The scent of the sea.

Seatbelts clicked and keys jingled. I spoke without thinking. "HuaHua, I have a request. Can we take a trip to the seaside? Just for a minute? I know it's spontaneous and almost evening, and you're probably tired by now, and– and I rarely get this far out of town." I should stop babbling.

"I'm not tired," he said, the last syllable of the word 'tired' sounding a bit higher in pitch. "But if I remember correctly, I still owe you."

The bet in the park. "So we’re going?"

HuaHua laughed softly, and it sounded adorable. "Next stop, the sea."

I felt fidgety. Like a kid who got two scoops of ice cream instead of one. The ride was smooth and fast. After two more turns and a steep descent, he put the car in park. Seagulls screeched in the distance.

"How far is it to the beach?" I asked.

"Maybe... five steps?" HuaHua estimated.

My folded cane lay heavy in my lap; it wasn't completely useless on the beach, but I imagined navigating through the sand would be difficult. HuaHua suggested using his arm for support, and who was I to refuse such an offer?

I hooked my arm through his, clinging to his arm as we descended a few steps. He was right, the parking lot bordered the beach. The ground was soft and immediately gave way under my weight.

HuaHua was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, and the way his biceps flexed beneath my hands told me he was working out. But I should be focusing on the sound of the sea, not on how stable and warm he felt.

We stopped. The sun sparkled as a brilliant dot on the horizon, shining like a spotlight on me and HuaHua. My eyes automatically closed, water lapped over sand, filling my entire head with white noise.

My very first time at the beach had been ages ago. The salty air had dried out my lips and I wasn’t able to speak properly all day.

I opened my eyes, the sun had sunk a good bit lower. I carefully released my grip on HuaHua's arm and squatted down. My fingers brushed through the dry sand, warm and grainy, and the deeper I dug my fingers into the sand, the cooler, wetter, and lumpier it became.

There was a rustling sound, and HuaHua sat down next to me. I wasn't sure what he was doing, he was quite calm and quiet in all his movements. A confident performer on stage, a reserved, normal person in private. I chuckled.

"Do you know what I miss most since being practically blind?" I asked casually, as if I wanted to know his preferred amount of sugar in his coffee.

"What do you miss most?" There was no hesitation.

"Nature. Especially clouds. Do you see any?"

HuaHua hummed in affirmation.

I rested my arms on my knees and lowered my voice to a whisper. "Please describe it to me."

A few seconds passed.

"Imagine a sky glowing in hues of gold and pink. Above us, the clouds are gray and patchy, like overstretched cotton wool, but closer to the sun, they are puffy and brilliant white. They catch the last light of day."

I blinked and was speechless for several moments. In interviews, Hua Chenyu once said he couldn't express himself as well as he would like, but his description of the sunset was so vivid, it gave me a diopter of vision.

Puffy clouds. "Picturebook clouds. Or cumulus, as they're called in technical terminology. They often appear in good weather. They're formed by a perfect interplay of updrafts and thermals, and when the dew point is reached, the moisture they carry condenses."

A pause, then a quiet snort that sounded like a laugh. "You know about clouds. What kind of degree does that study?"

"That’s top secret. But keep your eyes open for cirrus clouds. These are pure ice clouds at very high altitudes. They indicate a warm front." I coughed. Talking and breathing sea air at the same time wasn't a good combination.

My knees were starting to hurt, and I let him help me up. I staggered briefly, but HuaHua quickly caught me, and my breath caught in my throat. His hands were so warm, and I realized how much I missed being touched.

When I was able to stand comfortably again, I automatically held onto his arm again and turned my face towards the setting sun.

Before HuaHua spoke, he chuckled softly. "Today is the first of August. If you're lucky, you might even catch a glimpse of the elusive Bird of the West." He raised his arm, and my hands followed his movement, still holding onto him.

With the backlight of the sun, I saw the gesture he made in front of me; he folded and moved his hands in a way reminiscent of a bird's flapping wings. What a weird guy.

I narrowed my eyes, which didn't help at all, but I did it anyway because it happened automatically. "Are those... your hands?"

"Either that or the wings of a rare bird."

"Ah, I see, wait a minute then." A laugh bubbled in my throat, but I held it back as my fingers felt their way up his arm to his hands. "The elusive Bird of the West?" I clapped, my hands clasping his. "I think I just caught it in my net."

Hua Chenyu's laughter rippled like waves across the beach, seagulls squawked somewhere in the distance, and the air suddenly warmed. He lowered his hands with mine still resting on them. I looked up at him and once again my breath caught in my throat. Golden light sparkled on HuaHua's face, and I stared at him, mesmerized. The sun itself stood before me. I couldn't move. He gently brushed away loose grains of sand that clung between my fingers. I couldn't move, and I could do nothing but feel him.

He held my hands in his, his thumb stroking the back of my hand, and everything inside me tingled like crazy as he squeezed ever so lightly.

Tingting

The smell of scouring cream pulled me from a deep slumber. My body felt heavy, as if weights were hanging from my ankles and wrists. I tried to wake myself up with small movements. I hated waking up like this, it always happened when I fell asleep unexpectedly during the day. Footsteps grew louder, I took a deep breath, and opened my eyes.

"Ah, finally awake?"

I yawned. "Is that you, Tingting?"

"So your ears still work. And today, of all days, I wanted to take your good china with me."

Tingting was my housekeeper. I didn't know what I would do without her.

Beneath her thorny facade of tough love was a silky-soft heart. She pulled out the vacuum cleaner cord with a flourish, and as she stomped through the living room, I stretched.

Why am I lying on the sofa? What was I doing before, and why did I fall asleep?

Ah, yes, exactly, I was watching a movie I couldn't remember anyway. I probably just needed some background music because the silence of my apartment was getting too oppressive.

I stretched again, my right elbow cracked and something thudded to the floor. I bent over to pick up my phone, and a wide grin broke out as I remembered the last message.

My heart immediately beat to a new rhythm. It was a voicemail from Hua Chenyu, singing a line from one of his songs. The message played on repeat until I fell asleep. Thoughts of Hua Chenyu were filled with physical sensations that made me giggle and kick my feet– Tingting must never see me like this.

"That must be very exciting."

I flinched hard and let out a scream. Tingting's voice was much too close to my ear. "Ayi! How many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up on me like that?" I scolded the housekeeper. I sat up and buried my face in my hands. I had to take several deep breaths to calm myself down.

I should have known she'd pull something like this, lying on the sofa grinning stupidly with the phone pressed to my ear.

"Oh, Ainuo, I'm sorry," she apologized sincerely and sat down next to me on the sofa. She touched my shoulder gently, motherly. "I thought you were listening to some newfangled trash, but you looked... happy. That's new to me."

I lifted my head from my hands. "What do you mean, 'new'?"

"Well, I've known you for quite a while now. The colors of your sadness, anger, and joy are as familiar to me as the varicose veins on my calves. But just now... your face has a color I only see in people in love. Who's the lucky one?"

The sofa rocked beneath me and my mouth went completely dry. Tingting burst out laughing. My face was an open book. I really couldn't hide anything from her. Typical. I sighed in resignation. "We met at the teahouse. It's still very fresh."

Tingting clapped her hands excitedly. "How lovely, how lovely. What does he do for a living?"

I played the voicemail for her. HuaHua's unique voice echoed a cappella through the living room, leaving goosebumps on my arms.

"Oh, a singer." She almost didn't sound disappointed. "Artists are a whole different breed. They think differently. Does he treat you decently?"

"He's... a little weird, but a total sweetheart." Saying those words suddenly made the situation very real. My cheeks glowed.

Tingting breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. One misstep and my shoe meets his head."

Naturally, Tingting used the moment to wag her finger at me about all her past lovers. The lessons she'd learned from them had to be passed on to the younger generation, and if it spared me worry, well, I was happy to listen.

Fruit Tasting

Isn't it funny? Falling in love with someone you've never seen? My daydreams took on a different quality. They were no longer characterized by despair, hopelessness, and fear, but there was light at the end of the tunnel– a light that smelled of rose petals and spoke my name like a whisper in the wind.

Hua Chenyu and I had done so much together in two weeks, I didn't even want to think about what my daily life would be like after his summer break. As a successful musician, he could naturally afford to take a month's vacation. And he spent most of it with me. Fate seemed to have finally cast its benevolent gaze upon me.

All this time together couldn't stop me from stammering with excitement. "I brought you a little something," I said, tightly clutching the beautifully wrapped box and holding it out to HuaHua.

After a brief, polite exchange, he accepted my gift (a select collection of fine chocolates, some with vanilla cream filling– his preferred flavor).

I was at Hua Chenyu's house. He invited me over. Just the two of us. Privately. Alone.

Breathe, be normal.

He took my hand and led me out of the foyer. As far as I could tell, his apartment was very bright. The windows must have been floor-to-ceiling. A faint, sweet scent hung in the air, and atmospheric acoustic music (with a good bass) echoed not too loudly through the room.

Five steps further, I stopped.

"This is the bathroom," HuaHua said. "Um, should I describe where things are?"

I grinned. "That would help me a lot, please and thank you."

He did so and then led me further. The floor sounded smooth beneath my feet, the soles of the slippers HuaHua had lent me caused a faint echo, and I hoped I wouldn't slip.

"The living room. It's quite small with a sofa, chairs, and there's even a rug. But I want to show you something. Come." He lifted my hands and placed them on a cool, smooth surface. "Do you know what this is?"

I frowned and slowly let my fingertips glide over it. I was about to ask what it was, until the object suddenly ended and my right hand dropped. My fingers struck something hard, causing a sound to erupt. A low note. I scanned my way further and gasped in amazement.

"You have a piano in the living room?"

"Let's play a round. Come on, come on, come on." He sounded very excited and no less enthusiastic as he carried me onto the piano bench. I heard him waddle away until he returned, dragging something across the floor. He had gotten himself something to sit on, but I was sure he would have had enough room beside me.

I tried not to think about it and let my fingers dance across the keyboard, in no particular order, no catchy melody, just spontaneously warming up. HuaHua next to me joined in, and somehow a beautiful melody emerged.

HuaHua's harmonies resonated in my soul. How did he manage to transform my clumsy tinkling into consonance? He was the musical genius, of course. I couldn't stop grinning.

Time ceased to exist, my thoughts were free of worries, but when our hands met, I messed up the chord. Little moments like this had happened again and again over the past few days– so often that they could no longer be coincidences. Did HuaHua want to say something but was too shy? Did he need my touch as much as I needed his?

My little finger searched for him, and I opened my mouth to say something, but a 'brr' stopped me. Confused, I pulled my hand back. Another tiny 'mrau'.

I wasn't sure what was moving in front of me. "Is that... a cat?" I asked.

He laughed, embarrassed. "Yeah, sorry, the little rascal jumped on the piano. Just a minute." A jingle like a bell and a protesting 'mah'. He picked up the cat and sat back down with it in his lap. "May I introduce Perper. Five years old and full of crazy ideas."

What a funny name. "Hi, Perper, I'm Ainuo," I greeted quietly, but my voice rose nonetheless. Cats are cute, after all. I held out my hand for Perper to sniff, and I felt his cold, wet nose against my finger, and to my even greater surprise, he climbed over to me and curled up in my lap. His small body was so warm and his short fur wonderfully fluffy. "Is he missing fur in places?"

A second or two passed before HuaHua answered. "Not really. His fur is short and wavy, typical of his breed, a German Rex. His ears are huge, he could pass for a bat."

"A very cuddly bat."

"Don't let his charm fool you, he's sneaky."

"Oh, how could such a sweet little fluffy ball be sneaky?" As if on cue, Perper rolled onto his back, stretched, and of course, I gave his soft belly a good rub. His fur was so smooth, it was like I was smoothing out silk sheets. Perper's purring grew louder by the second, and soon he sounded like a motorboat.

"Alright, that's enough before I get jealous." Something clattered across the floor, and Perper jumped off me with his powerful hind legs.

I turned to HuaHua. "That was rude," I said half-seriously.

The musician laughed softly. "I wash my hands of any guilt. Speaking of hands–" He stood up and swung me up to him by the hands. Now I was standing again, but I was also half-hanging in his arms.

My heart was pounding like crazy. "For a moment, I thought you were going to start dancing with me." I swallowed. "But I know you don't like dancing."

"Says who?"

"You? In an interview?"

"Doesn't sound very convincing."

I knew he was joking. His voice had that tone, like the whammy bar on an electric guitar. He was joking, and I liked his style, but why did it leave me speechless?

My hands were on his shoulders, and his rested on my hips. I had to admit to myself that my body wanted to be close to him, but I was too nervous to take the next step. Damn.

HuaHua's voice was so close to me, and I found myself back in the present. "But I've grown to like it. Do you know the dance to 'Bizarre Psychology'?"

"I'm not sure. I listened to a video with audio description, but I didn't really understand it."

"Then let me show you." His whisper sent a shiver down my spine. And I felt briefly dizzy as his hands slid over my hips and up to my arms. Any doubt that I was imagining his advances vanished like sand in the ocean.

Hua Chenyu was a riptide, inevitably pulling me out into open water. But I didn't fight it, as he had already drowned me on the shore.

He gently formed the fingers of both my hands into peace signs, held them in his warm grasp, and while he sang the chorus of the song, he swung our arms back and forth at head height in rhythm with the song. My heart rejoiced in a wild sway of unbridled joy for life, and a silvery clear laugh erupted from my lungs.

❀

The background music was barely audible; HuaHua had turned it down so far that I really had to focus to catch the words, which I didn't want to do, otherwise I'd miss his funny comments while he prepared something in the kitchen. He used a knife that frequently slipped from his fingers, and then he'd mutter curses under his breath. I hoped no one thought it was weird that I thought it was cute. But a silly grin tugged at the corners of my mouth, so it was already too late.

The wine glass in my hand had nubs on the lower side. Hua Chenyu explained that they were only decorations, but I found them tactilely extremely exciting. I raised the glass and took a sip of wine.

The aftertaste of late August: sweet and heavy on my tongue, dissolved, a vague memory.

The background noise grew louder, footsteps drew closer, and I saw HuaHua's shadowy figure emerge from the brightly lit kitchen. With a huff, he placed several items on the table. "I really should have sharpened that knife. Melon rinds are damn hard."

"And slippery," I added dryly.

"Yeah, right," he said with an embarrassed laugh, "but my fingers are unharmed. I swear."

He walked back and forth a few times, fetching things from the kitchen and placing them on the table. Finally, he sat down next to me. Anticipation tingled in my fingertips. "Are you going to tell me what you've got planned?"

"So, long story short, we're going to have a fruit tasting. With our hands. Peeling fruit and making a mess."

My heart suddenly felt soft. "A fruit tasting?" I turned my gaze to the table, imagining I could see everything.

"Here, try this."

HuaHua took my hand and placed something inside. It was long and narrow, like an apple slice. But the skin was rough, and the flesh smelled much sweeter. I took a bite, and immediately, juice dripped down my chin. The fruit tasted so sweet, grainy, and fresh, after just one bite, I felt like I was swimming in it.

"Is– Is that a Nashi pear?" I coughed, bracing my sticky hands on the table.

HuaHua wasn't faring any better. He was smacking and slurping and coughing just like me. "Mhm," was all he could say.

Red-fleshed dragon fruits tasted much more intense than white-fleshed ones. But both had a mild, sweet flavor, and the many seeds inside gave them a certain crunch.

Creamy bananas and juicy watermelons followed, and my taste buds were treated to the feast of a lifetime.

Small and round, with a rough skin– those were lychees. I pierced the skin with my thumbnail. HuaHua really went all out. I peeled off the skin. He's listening and thinking about what we can do together. The half-peeled lychee suddenly felt so heavy in my hand. He said he likes spending time with me. With me. Someone who can see almost nothing and is slower than others.

HuaHua's sunny voice broke through the dark veil in my head. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

I blinked and sniffed, annoyed with myself for crying. "I'm sorry, I– I just–" I couldn't finish the sentence. Damn, why was I so emotional now? I hastily wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.

"It's okay," HuaHua whispered, and he moved closer to wipe my sticky fingers with a damp cloth.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to spoil the mood."

"You didn't. Something seems to want to come out, and there's never a wrong time. If you want to talk about it, I'd be happy to listen."

I let a couple moments pass by to sort out my aimlessly swirling thoughts. An occasional sob interrupted my words. "I just realized that you're one of the few normal people who– who doesn't treat me like I'm made of glass. Or stupid. I mean, people call me a freak just because I don't wear sunglasses or something to hide my bad eye."

Chenyu's voice took on a serious tone. "People can say very hurtful things. Especially when confronted with something they don't understand." A pause. From somewhere came the soft tinkling of Perper's toy. He had long since finished wiping my fingers, but the cloth was still between our hands– a silent testament to his care. "But I... I'm not normal," he said, sounding less serious.

I paused. "Compared to me, yes, you are."

"There's nothing wrong with being weird."

I let the words sink in. Hua Chenyu's nickname 'Alien' had started as an insult. I remembered the many articles that tried to portray him in a negative light. I knew he'd been considering quitting– with music, with life.

"But–" I sobbed, my hands slipping free. "I'm limited in so many areas of life, how can I ever–"

"Ainuo," HuaHua interrupted, his voice soft and gentle, as if afraid of destroying something between us. "I admire how upright and confident you walk through life. Through you, I've learned to perceive my surroundings differently. Your lack of sight doesn't make you less valuable. To me, you're a role model, not a freak."

The silence was loud. A few tears fell, and I could only sit there, feeling the echo of his words. HuaHua raised his hand and used his thumb to wipe away the moisture on my cheek. My eyes fluttered.

He pulled his hand away and said, "Oh dear."

I blinked (I've been doing that way too often lately). "Huh?"

"You have lychee on your cheek. Oopsie."

My fingers found the spot he'd touched, and it was sticky. I grimaced. All that remained of the fruit were the lychees and half a watermelon. HuaHua cleared everything away, and then he led me into the bathroom.

We both stood by the sink. My hands were so sticky, I couldn't stop clenching them into fists and then unclenching them. It was a strange but exciting feeling.

HuaHua turned on the faucet. "Careful, soap," he announced, and I held out my hand.

The liquid soap smelled of rose petals, and the scent briefly clouded my senses. Somehow, I managed to wash my hands and face. Chenyu handed me a towel, and I took my time drying myself.

"There’s something in your hair," HuaHua said. Why did he sound so nervous? I felt around my head but couldn't find anything. He laughed softly, said, "Sit down, I'll fix it," and made me sit on the edge of the bathtub.

He sat so close to me, I could barely breathe. His hand rested on my arm, and with the other, he slowly combed through my hair. "Is it gone?" I asked, breathless. "What was it?"

He stroked my cheek with dizzying gentleness. Seconds stretched into an eternity. "Moonlight in a quiet garden. That is your beauty."

"HuaHua..." I breathed, barely able to speak.

"Will you allow me to kiss you?"

I barely heard myself say "yes." His face moved closer and closer to mine, until he was so close I could feel his warm breath fanning over my skin. The space between us crackled, I could barely stand the tension. Why was he hesitating?

And then his lips found mine. Hua Chenyu kissed me. At first, tenderly and carefully, as if he feared I would pull away at any moment. But when I sighed, he cupped my face with both hands, deepening the kiss. And I kissed him back in the same fashion. His mouth moved with mine in gentle waves, each an unspoken confession of what he'd wanted to do for ten damn years.

One of his hands moved down to my waist and squeezed gently. My eyes opened, but only for a second, because as soon as I did, I felt completely disoriented and crazy. This must be what it felt like to melt away.

My hands – whose existence I was just becoming aware of – wandered up his chest, and through the fabric of his shirt, I felt his heart beating fast. He groaned against my lips as my fingers slid through his hair.

His tongue swiped across my lower lip, and I reeled back.

"Too much?" he asked quickly, alarmed.

I shook my head. "Not enough," I said, pulling him back to me, and this time my tongue asked for entry, which he immediately granted, and I tasted the lychees in his mouth, which sounded pretty disgusting from the outside, but in that moment, I wanted to experience everything about him with all my senses and imprint it so deeply into my memory, into my body on a subatomic level, and into my soul that it would last at least two lifetimes.

Our lips parted, and only then did I realize how completely out of breath I was. The area around my mouth was sore, and my hands were tightly gripping the collar of HuaHua's shirt.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly, brushing a few loose strands of hair from my face.

I nodded. I took a breath. I couldn't believe that had actually just happened. "You know how to kiss."

He leaned forward, pulling me closer into his arms. "All I know is that I want to be with you."

I can't help falling in love...

I put the knife down. "Is this okay?"

Hua stepped closer and placed a hand on my lower back. "Perfect." He picked up the cutting board with the (hopefully) finely chopped carrots and stirred them into the pot of bubbling curry.

Eating carrots with some of the peel still on didn't cause indigestion, did it? Which wasn't to say that losing my sight meant losing my ability to use cutlery and other utensils. No! Every two weeks, Tingting and I would do a bulk purchase, and then we'd spend the whole day cooking and preparing my meals, so all I had to do was grab them from the freezer. That was our system, and it worked perfectly, thank you very much.

But today, Hua Chenyu was at my house, and if I served him a frozen dish, I'd be embarrassed to death. And Tingting would smack me with her shoe.

Curry always worked. It was easy to cook, and it turned out HuaHua and I had almost the same tolerance for spiciness. Spicy chili notes danced in the humid air, the extractor fan over the stove was running on full power– and Hua Chenyu stood in my kitchen, wielding a wooden spoon.

"Now, this can simmer for a few minutes," he said contentedly, and I realized I'd been standing silently next to him for several minutes.

I only had ears for him. He moved purposefully, making hardly any noise, he was like a cat on soft paws. Somehow, he resembled a cat. Introverted, freedom-loving, picky. Everything was well-thought-out and calculated. And I was allowed to get closer to him in a very special way.

HuaHua stepped closer, and his warm hand on the back of my neck brought me out of my rosy-red infatuation. "Hmm, what– what did you say?" I stammered, my face feeling far too warm.

He laughed softly, and his thumb slowly traced a line along my jaw. He lifted my chin as if he were about to kiss me. "Dinner’s ready. Come, sit down."

❀

When Hua Chenyu rang my doorbell, Tingting opened the door for him. It was the sudden change in her tone, from protective to enchanted, that brought a wide grin to my face. HuaHua was a sweetheart, so polite and accommodating, my housekeeper completely forgot that just a second ago, she had been babbling about how lonely her shoe felt. Suddenly, she needed to go home very quickly.

And lying on my sofa with HuaHua, full and happy, watching a movie– well, if that wasn't the epitome of a perfect date, I didn't know what was. I felt so comfortable and safe with him. I never would have thought I would feel such things for another person.

But here I was. The future was no longer a frightening shadow, but a light shone, and at its center was the musician Hua Chenyu. Having him by my side was a privilege. He chose me.

I didn't realize I was drifting off to sleep. My head tilted to the side and rested on HuaHua's shoulder. The voices from the TV blurred, and a warm hand wrapped around mine. Fingers gently massaged my hair.

"I'm awake," I mumbled, and in my head it made sense, but Chenyu's reaction (a quiet, amused chuckle) said otherwise.

"Go back to sleep," he whispered, kissing my forehead.

I hereby declare my official surrender. Hua Chenyu has my heart. Suddenly wide awake, my eyes opened. "That would be rude. But give me five more minutes, yes?"

"Anything you need, baby."

I blushed and grimaced. "Stop that," I said, playfully smacking his arm.

HuaHua laughed softly. "You're so cute."

My heart beat faster and I placed my hands on my cheeks. The words caught in my throat for a moment, my mouth slightly open as I searched for them. Then I settled into a more comfortable position. Calling myself cute didn't go unchallenged.

HuaHua didn't move as I explored his face with my hands like a book in Braille. My fingertips slowly slid down his neck, and I heard his breath catch. A small earring was in his left ear.

His cheeks were warm and soft, with few blemishes. But stubble sprouted on his chin and above his upper lip. I rubbed his chin a few times with the back of my hand, I couldn't resist.

His nose was straight, with a slight curve towards the tip. I reached his hair over his eyebrows and forehead; the roots were soft, but the tips felt dry.

"What color is your hair?" I asked.

There was a brief silence. Was he trying to think of an answer? Or maybe I was speaking too quietly and he couldn't hear me.

"Black since the beginning of the year," he finally answered. He sounded somewhat distracted, but not out of disinterest, more like he was focused on something else, and my question came unexpectedly. "Before that, I was blond."

"Hmm, I thought red. Because when you sing, I hear fire."

"That sounds... fitting."

"It fits Mars," I concluded, referring to the concept of his live concerts.

HuaHua hummed in agreement. His hand slid down my thigh, pushing my skirt up a bit. Until his hand came to rest on my waist.

It wasn't long before I clasped my hands behind his neck and pulled him closer. Our lips met in a yearning kiss that took my breath away.

I took in the shape of his body, which was easy since he was wearing a sleeveless shirt. My head spun as I felt his muscles flex beneath my touch.

I gently squeezed his upper arm, then again, and giggled. "I find it funny how bony and thin you are, but your lips and arms are so soft." I placed a finger over his mouth and lowered my voice. "Especially your lips. Soft as velvet."

He grinned against my finger, then leaned forward, held me tight, and suddenly I was spinning around in the room and lying on my back against the sofa, Chenyu on top of me.

He wasn't laying on top of me with his full weight, just enough for me to notice. But his kissing game was top-notch, and he made me so dizzy, my hands took on a life of their own, slipping under HuaHua's shirt, and with a soft moan against my lips, he laid down on top of me completely.

I hooked my legs over his hips and pulled him even closer. Our bodies met in perfect friction.

Our make-out became more uncoordinated, messier, hands wandered, explored, feeling and pulling, and the air heated so intensely I was sure the windows were fogging up.

HuaHua circled his hips agonizingly slowly, causing a pitiful sound to escape my throat, causing HuaHua to stop moving. He was breathing rapidly. "Are you okay?" he asked, panting.

I searched for words, for the ability to speak. "Yes... It's just..."

"Too fast?"

I shook my head. "I want..." I said, my voice lost in the whirl of my pounding heart.

HuaHua placed small kisses along my jaw. "Hmm? Tell me what you want, my love."

His caresses left an electric tingling on my skin. I moaned as he sucked gently yet eagerly on my skin, and my fingers dug into his hair as my lower body pressed up against him.

Something was burning. Not even three months had passed since Hua Chenyu had approached me in the teahouse. Back then, I was still quite insecure, sometimes even doubting reality– and now I wanted nothing more than for him to bury his cock inside me.

"What do you want?" he repeated his question. Whispering. In a voice laced with desire. And meant only for my ears.

I want... "You," I managed to utter.

Chenyu took a shaky breath. "Would you like to... take it a step further?"

Gently, I grabbed his face. "Only if you want it too."

Two silent, tense breaths.

"I do," he whispered, and just a second later, he got off me and simultaneously pulled me up by my hands. "Hold on tight."

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. His hands slid slowly down my back, pinching my butt, and suddenly he lifted me up and I wrapped my legs around his hips.

"Holy shit, you're strong," I blurted out.

He chuckled, lower than usual. "That year at the gym paid off."

"So you've got stamina."

"I hope you can keep up."

... with you

A warm body pressed against mine. Even breaths in velvety silence. Minutes passed.

I drifted off to sleep and woke up again. It didn't bother me. In fact, I was happy about it. Hua Chenyu was next to me, my arm resting heavily over his middle, and the heat radiating from his back alone replaced the blanket I assumed was somewhere near my feet.

Spending the night with HuaHua and waking up next to him was something I could get used to.

We spent time together as often as possible. As a musician who sold out entire stadiums, Hua Chenyu was a busy man; he toured across the country and spent his free time in whatever city he was performing in. Autumn was just around the corner, and his schedule was getting busier and busier.

And yet he still made time for me. Sometimes he sent me pictures with the caption, 'This reminded me of you,' and I giggled like a schoolgirl when the screen reader described clouds at sunset.

Once, he wanted to video call me because he missed my face.

Last night, he introduced me to his closest friends. A very... eclectic group. I was nervous and felt a bit out of place, but his friends made me feel like we'd known each other for forever.

Slowly, my hand moved over his torso, down towards his stomach until my fingernails scratched the coarse hair of his happy trail.

With a deep breath, I rolled onto my other side, simultaneously pulling up the blanket, which elicited a surprised ‘meh’. "Sorry, Perper," I whispered, trying to sleep for a few more hours.

❀

Even before I was fully awake, I wondered why my body felt so heavy. As if something was pressing down on me. Slowly, feeling returned to my arms and legs, and the remnants of vague dream images dissolved.

Hua Chenyu lay behind me, and with each steady breath, his stomach pushed into my back. A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth when I noticed our clasped hands.

I considered myself lucky. As a musician, Chenyu valued freedom above all else, and a bird could only sing most beautifully when it could stretch its wings towards the endless sky. And yet, he chose to return to me every time.

If my mother were still alive, she would tell me a story about the healing power of love. And in the same breath, suggest silent gratitude.

I would tell her how right she was. Hua Chenyu's affection had healed something deep inside me. His love gave me life. Cliché, but that's the truth.

Chenyu's breathing caught briefly, then he took a deep breath and stirred slightly. His hair tickled the back of my neck. I wondered if he was awake, but when he pressed a kiss to my neck, an electric shiver ran through my body.

"I knew you were awake," he mumbled sleepily and unmistakably contentedly as he snuggled even closer to me.

"Good guess," I replied, tucking our joined hands under my cheek. I felt Chenyu's smile on my skin. I hoped to see it soon.

For several moments, it was quiet, even Perper remained still (I didn't feel him by my feet, where he usually curled up at night). He was probably lying in the living room under the spiral staircase on his circular cushion, all four legs stretched out. An image I also hoped to see soon.

"Are you nervous about the surgery tomorrow?" Chenyu asked into the silence.

I took my time with my answer. Saying something out loud always made everything so real. "I am," I finally admitted. "At best, I can see outlines much more clearly. At worst... it doesn't help, and my vision is even worse than before."

Chenyu moved even closer and tightened his grip. "No matter how it turns out, I'll be here by your side.

"Always."

❀

Blinking, my eyes opened. Blurry, bright light. White. A high-pitched sound that faded into white noise, moving further and further away from me.

I was lying in a bed, in a room I didn't recognize. Everything was white; the blanket, my clothes, the small table by the window, even the chair sparkled in pure white. But strangely, it didn't blind me. My eyes didn't hurt.

My eyes...

Oh! The surgery!

I sat bolt upright in bed, admiring my hands. There was still the fine scar on my thumb, the one I'd gotten from climbing as a child.

I raised my gaze and... saw. I could see. It was almost too much at once. My vision was still a bit blurry around the edges, like a fog, but that would surely clear up with time.

I got out of bed, feeling feathery light, and pulled aside the white curtains. I looked out of the window. Buildings stretched before me, and lights flashed in all colors. But the edge was white.

An advertising sign. I didn't understand the writing on it. It seemed familiar, but the longer I focused on it, the less I understood. I should ask the doctor.

Pillars of light shot from the ground into the sky and exploded like a star. The sparks crackled. Fireworks. The edge of the sky was white.

"Ainuo?" said a soft voice behind me.

But I was far too fascinated by what was happening in front of me to think about who that beautiful voice might belong to.

Soft footsteps. A presence appeared next to me.

"Do you like fireworks?"

I hummed. "And sunsets. Basically, anything in the sky." When it was quiet again, I turned to the person next to me– and in surprise, I covered my mouth.

A tall, incredibly handsome man stood before me. He smiled at me with sparkling eyes.

"I'm glad you're here," he said.

His warm eye contact and the color of his voice connected memories, and I knew who stood before me. My hands lowered and I stepped closer. "HuaHua?"

He nodded, and I reached for him, pressing my face against his chest. The faint scent of rose petals. It was really him.

His hand stroked my head soothingly.

I felt warm and pulled away from the embrace. My gaze fell out the window; fog hung between the buildings, thick and snowy white. The red digits of a digital clock shimmered through the fog, it was just before midnight. But... it was early in the morning when I had checked in for surgery.

As the 9 became a 0, a raven screamed. A single call, simultaneously very distant and much too close, but one that shook me to my core. My heart was beating fast and uncomfortably.

"Are ravens nocturnal?" I asked.

"I'm not sure. Why do you ask?"

I looked up at HuaHua. "Didn't you hear that? A raven called."

Chenyu's eyebrows furrowed slightly. "Sorry, I must have missed it."

A feverish heat pulsed through my body, and I swayed. Hua Chenyu, the love of my life, supported me and led me back to bed.

"Rest, darling," he said. There was a melody in his voice that soothed my heart.

I sat by the bed, holding his hand. "When I'm recovered, can we go to the fair?"

"We’re going to every single booth and eat so much cotton candy until we're sick."

Chenyu kissed my hand, and I laid down in his warm arms and let myself fall, knowing he would hold me forever.

Cirrus Clouds

The stars in the sky couldn't understand. The universe was too big, too vast to care about human grief.

Hua Chenyu sat on a bench overlooking the sea. The sun was still slumbering in the east, just beyond the horizon, but its first light was already tinting the sky a pale orange. The wind fanned the clouds out like long, narrow feathers, and Chenyu recognized them as feather clouds.

"Keep your eyes open for cirrus... pure ice clouds... warm fronts."

A mountain rushed towards Chenyu, his thoughts overflowing and rolling down as tears.

Someone sat down next to Chenyu on the bench. It was his closest friend, Zuo Li.

"You're drinking again," Zuo Li said.

Chenyu barely glanced at the empty beer bottle in his hand. "My girlfriend is dead. What else am I supposed to drink?"

Zuo Li had seen Hua Chenyu in many different situations, but this was new. And it frightened him.

"She meant a lot to you."

Chenyu swallowed a surging emotion. "She was the first and only one who understood me. Really understood me. Not because of my pretty face or whatever stupid clothes I was wearing."

Tears blurred his vision, and he couldn't shake the memory of the last time he'd seen Ainuo. Her mismatched eyes, one normal, the other resembling the disk of the moon reflected in the ocean. And her asymmetrical smile. A poem in human form.

The doctor's voice, when he told Chenyu a month ago that Ainuo hadn't survived the surgery, screeched through his skull like microphone feedback.

Hua Chenyu sniffed. "An allergic reaction to the anesthetic. They couldn't save her. Bullshit." Breathing became increasingly difficult. "She's not– She can't– What good is this life if– if she just won’t–"

A suffocating weight fell over Chenyu, and the beer bottle slipped from his trembling hand. He buried his face in his hands and let out heart-wrenching sobs as the emptiness in his heart and soul became too unbearable.

What no one sees and no one knows

how it bends and almost tears me apart

~The End~

Notes:

Pink flower divider by @sweetmelodygraphics

The dance described is part of the live performance of the song 'Bizarre Psychology': https:www.youtube.com/shorts/HYgs3yxkMrc 

Here is the music video: https:www.youtube.com/watch?v=D8iudgNtJ7E

Here’s a more thorough explanation for all the subtext and hidden details:

At the beginning of the story, it's mentioned in passing that a raven screeched outside Ainuo's window. I read somewhere that it's an omen of death if a raven screeches at a certain time. The first time was at 10 p.m., the second (and last) time was at midnight.

When Ainuo opened her eyes in this room where everything was white, she was already dying (white symbolizes death in China). The high-pitched sound was the alarms in the operating room, which she only subconsciously perceived. Her soul was essentially in an in-between world, so the writing on the advertising sign made no sense (similar to reading and writing in a dream).

And Hua Chenyu wasn't the real one, but an image of how she imagined him. He didn't hear the raven either. Ainuo's outer vision was white, an indication of her fading consciousness. The thick white fog was also an indication that she wasn't seeing the real world.

She died of a spontaneously developed allergy to the anesthetic, which is usually quickly remedied (by the anesthesiologist), but not in this case, because of the plot twist, lol. My information about how something like this develops, or what all happens, comes from a Discord server where I asked about it. Keyword: chills. When Ainuo first feels warm and then later the feverish heat sets in, well, that was the allergic reaction.

You may have noticed that what Hua Chenyu said: "We’re going to every single booth and eat so much cotton candy until we're sick," is a reference to his ‘fakeness’ in this in-between world. When Ainuo was with him at the movies, she remembered something; her friend had said the same thing back then. And (this is more subtext now) she never told him directly. This fake-Chenyu only told her that to appease her, precisely because she was dying.

My basic idea was that life is often unfair. Well, "unfair" is a matter of opinion; bad things happen, that's life, and there's nothing malicious about it, and many things can neither be foreseen nor really prepared for.

It's not a happy ending. It's a sad ending where everyone loses. Ainuo loses her life, Chenyu loses his girlfriend, Zuo Li (in the subtext) loses his best friend, Tingting loses her job and a good friend she considered her daughter. Even Perper loses because he liked Ainuo.

"Cut the crap." Jisung rubbed his tired eyes. "You called me in a panic, babbling about the moon returning to its place and ripping off the layers of reality."

Another few seconds of silence. "I said what ?" Seungmin asked quietly. "It's usually you who won’t shut up about the moon."

Jisung sat down on the edge of the bed. "Maybe it was one of your visions."

Seungmin sucked in a sharp breath. A sound like he was sliding across a wooden floor with his chair. "Call you right back." And he hung up.

Jisung pulled his phone away from his ear and flopped into bed. Seungmin had always been clairvoyant. He masked minor visions with his tarot cards (humans naturally preferred something they could touch). In everyday life, he chalked it up to 'intuition.' Major visions... those were a whole different ball game. And much rarer.

His phone rang. This time it was a video call from Seungmin. Jisung sat up and turned on the bedside lamp. Seungmin's complexion resembled a sun-bleached sponge, and his usually neat hair was sticking out in all directions. Normally, Jisung wouldn't let such a sight go uncommented, but he felt in his bones that humor would have to wait. At least until Seungmin made the first move.

Seungmin ran a hand through his hair. "I didn't have a single vision all day yesterday. I had to cancel all my appointments because of illness, like a mere mortal." He gave a short, humorless laugh. "Do you know what happens when you read tarot cards at three in the morning?" Jisung shook his head. "It releases blockages. If I hadn't recorded it on my video camera..." Seungmin trailed off. His unsteady gaze fell on a spot behind the screen.

"You filmed yourself reading the cards?"

"Of course."

After years of friendship, you'd think you knew someone. Jisung considered it briefly, but dismissed the thought as unimportant. "Do you have any idea what this could mean? Layers of reality. The moon and its rightful place?"

"And here I sit, hoping you could shed some light on the matter. You moon fanatic. Or should I say… lunatic." A mischievous grin.

Jisung's thoughts immediately wandered to the moon he'd seen in Minho's domain. Only a memory, but still so beautiful, so infinitely beautiful... Like Minho's gentle eyes as he was listening to Jisung's violin playing. In the fragrant garden with the many glowing cat bees.

"Wait a minute." Seungmin's voice burst Jisung's daydreaming bubble. "You know something. Spit it out, pronto."

"Or I'll just hang up."

"I dare you."

It was just a joke, but Seungmin's expression was as serious as a heart attack. Sighing, Jisung gave in. "I've made friends with someone up there on Zephyr. Seungmin, the moon really exists. Or rather, did exist."

"Did exist?"

Jisung leaned closer to his phone and lowered his voice. "The moon is gone."

"You mean someone stole it?"

"Possible. I'm trying to figure that out, but... those aliens aren't exactly in a chatty mood."

A deep frown of worry formed on Seungmin's forehead. "Be careful, okay?"

"Aw, are you worried about me?"

"Always." And then Seungmin looked at him with narrow, mischievous eyes. "What's that friend's name again?"

Jisung tried to play dumb, but he had no chance with his best friend. "His name is Minho. Happy?"

"Just Minho?"

"What's with the stupid questions? Do you think aliens walk around without last names?"

A conspiratorial, all-knowing grin blossomed on Seungmin's lips. "Ah, I already know."

Before Jisung could defend himself, Seungmin had ended the video call.

※

Snowflakes swirled around in the study. Jisung darted to the open window to close it. The first snow this winter! Jisung had been so busy these last few weeks that he hadn't even noticed the weather. Therefore, he couldn't exactly enjoy the white splendor – his garden wasn't yet winterized.

As he clattered down the stairs, he mentally went through a list of all the things he had to do. What was the most important thing? Put the chairs and lounger in, otherwise it'll get moldy. He plopped down on the carpet in the hall and slipped into his steel-toed boots. The charcoal grill, oh, and the boat's still in the lake.

Wearing only a thin vest, he tried to brave the rapidly intensifying snowfall and save his patio furniture in time.

The boat remained in the lake.

Sweaty and with an aching back, Jisung peeled himself out of his dirty clothes. He hated the feeling of wet clothes on his skin. Cursing, he stepped under the preheated shower and then allowed the hot water to wash away everything unpleasant. Warmth permeated Jisung's body to every fiber, leaving a tingling sensation in places that were particularly frozen.

Steam condensed on the mirror. Jisung's eyes closed on their own. The sound of water splashing on his head faded into the background. It was suddenly so quiet.

A pearl necklace broke, and Jisung dove under, propelling himself forward with powerful arms. Someone laughed, clear as a bell and joyful. Jisung's fingers touched the edge of the pool, and he surfaced, wiping the water from his eyes. Someone stood in front of him. Violet hair glittered in the glassy light that filtered through large arched windows.

"One day you'll turn into a fish. Come on out, breakfast is waiting." Minho smiled and held out a hand to Jisung.

One powerful drag, and Jisung found himself in his bathroom panting, heart pounding. With shaky hands, he fiddled with the faucets, and the water stopped. The silence that followed left a nervous flutter in his stomach.

Jisung jumped as a loud ringing sound rang through the house. He hurried to dry himself (but tried not to slip, an accident would be embarrassing). By the time he reached his bedroom, fully dressed, the call had already gone to voicemail. He waited a second or two and then called back.

A female voice answered. "Hey, Jisung. Hope I didn’t wake you up?"

"Why do you think I'm still asleep? It's... almost noon."

A small giggle. "Oh, I just thought, you know, because you have a new job now. What with the adjustment period and all."

Jisung put a hand on his hip. "I've been up since seven in the morning, did housework, and only after lunch will I lie down for a few hours so I'm fit for work. My rhythm is top-notch, thank you very much."

When the devil got bored, he created older sisters. And Lisa burst out laughing, cackling. Typical for when she managed to hit one of Jisung’s many nerves.

Jisung rolled his eyes. "You sound like a chicken."

"A chicken older than you." Schadenfreude tinged Lisa's voice, wrapping itself around every word. "Show some respect."

"Seven years. What does life feel like in your thirties? From here on, it's all downhill. One wrong sneeze, and your disc says 'sayonara.'"

"Hey, that was mean," Lisa said, suddenly dead serious.

Jisung put a hand over his mouth. "I mean– I'm sorry."

She laughed, but it sounded much gentler. "My dear Jisung, there's nothing you could insult me with. Some acute cases in the emergency room are much more brutal."

Jisung smiled. He sat down on the bed. "Does that mean I'm soft?"

"Soft doesn't automatically mean weak, Jisung. I'm amazed every time I see how wonderfully you've developed. Despite our parents." A brief pause. "I'm proud of you, little brother."

Jisung swallowed the rising emotions. Sometimes he hated being so sensitive. "Thanks, Lisa. I needed that."

"Are you okay?"

He took a deep breath. "Yeah, I mean, life itself is stressful, but I'm really fine. I promise."

"If you say so." Cutlery clinked in the background. "Will I see you tomorrow at Jeremy's birthday party?"

"You bet. I'll eat so much cake until I'm sick."

Lisa groaned in annoyance. "No more cake-eating contests. Last time, Jeremy puked all night and I had to work the early shift the next day."

Jisung stifled a fit of laughter. "Oops, sorry."

"You can shove your sorry– ugh, never mind. If you bring Seungmin, I'll forgive you. Maybe."

"Seungmin's still on a business trip. He won't be back until next week."

"I thought this weekend?"

"Originally, yes, but there was a change of plans." Jisung's gaze wandered out the window and settled on the floating rock. "Is it okay if I bring someone else? A... colleague, so to speak."

"A colleague?" Even through the phone, Jisung could see the curious twinkle in Lisa's eyes. It was even reflected in the tone of her voice. "If he's good with kids, then he is very welcome.”

At Lisa's house, it suddenly got very loud. Jisung heard his nephew stomping through the house, shouting how happy he was about the snow. Lisa yelled after him, apparently forgetting about the phone call. Jisung laughed and hung up.

※

Jisung trudged through knee-deep snow. Normally, he could reach the quarry in ten minutes, but because of the current weather, it took him twice as long. The headlamp on his head swayed with every step. Note to self: equip the quarry path with lights.

Out of breath, Jisung stumbled into the clearing. And he stopped dead. The elevator lights cast their pure white light onto the jagged stone wall behind and the snow-free area in front. Jisung blinked and did a double take. Behind him lay a landscape that could seriously rival Greenland; in front of him lay a green meadow that would surely have glistened with dewy sunlight.

The hairs on his arms stood on end as he walked across the grass, but it wasn't from the temperature. He didn't let it show when he reached the elevator.

"Good evening, Your High– Sir," greeted the security guard. He immediately stepped aside and let Jisung enter.

The elevator sped towards an overcast sky. No twinkling stars. Jisung took off his winter jacket, he was far too warm.

The glass door opened with a gentle hiss, and as Jisung stepped out, he regretted putting on thermal leggings. Zephyr was a sauna.

"I wish you success today!" said the security guard.

"Thank you." Jisung didn't turn around. The sweat on his forehead bothered him immensely.

"I wish I could be there and listen. Your way of using the bow is truly exceptional. I envy your talent for making the violin sing."

Jisung paused in his movement to wipe his face and turned to the security guard. He was tall, lean, and impeccable. A mop of black hair, styled as if tousled by the wind. Narrow eyes on a defined face.

"Thank you, um..."

"Park Seonghwa." With a smile, he bowed. "But please call me Seonghwa."

The sound of the name echoed in Jisung's mind– which felt strange. He felt a little flutter in his stomach, as if he desperately needed to remember something. "Seonghwa," he repeated. "A beautiful name."

Seonghwa's smile widened. "Thank you."

"I hope you get the chance to be there. I would be very happy." Jisung adjusted his winter jacket, which was hanging over his arm. Before leaving, he wished Seonghwa a peaceful night.

The path from the elevator to the main square, and the main square itself, were teeming with people. Strange patterns and opulent jewelry caught Jisung's eye as he made his way through the crowds. It was still too early for box office sales, but Jisung didn't want to worry about that right now.

He entered Minho's workshop, and the world outside fell silent. He looked around, Minho wasn't there. "Minho?" he called as he marched through the shop. "Minho, are you there?" He stopped in front of the curtain that led into Minho's private quarters. He listened. Tic-tic-tic-tic-tic-tic-tic-tic.

Strange.

Jisung entered the small anteroom. He took off his shoes and placed them neatly on the shelf next to the dresser. He also put his jacket and violin case there.

To the left of the hallway was the kitchen. Minho wasn't in the kitchen. He went back again. At the foot of the stairs, Jisung placed a hand on the railing. "Minho, are you upstairs?" No one answered. "I’m coming up, okay?" The stairs were covered with a soft carpet and muffled his footsteps.

Refracted, watery light danced on the walls, immersing the upstairs in a cool atmosphere. Like a swimming pool. The source seemed to be coming from one of the rooms. Jisung stopped in front of the door; it was open, but obscuring something behind it.

Jisung pushed the door open with one finger and saw Minho sitting cross-legged on the floor. He was surrounded by a silvery-blue shimmer. In his hand, he held something that looked like... a pearl necklace, but several pearls were missing.

"Minho?"

Minho looked up, startled. He swung his hand, and the door slammed shut. Jisung staggered backward, hitting his back against the wall. The light reflections disappeared.

Then the door swung open, and Minho stepped out. His face reflected guilt and worry. "I'm so sorry, Jisung. I wasn't expecting you, and then I was startled. Are you hurt?" Jisung shook his head, and Minho stepped closer. After a brief hesitation, he gently placed his hands on the violinist's shoulders. "Are you sure?" he whispered.

Jisung's breath caught. He remembered the dream he'd spontaneously experienced while showering. But was that really a dream? The Minho standing before him and the one in his dream could be the same person. They both felt so real .

Minho's warm touch on his shoulders. His gentle eyes, which concealed a certain sorrow.

"Nothing's wrong with me, I promise. But what about you?" Jisung wiped a tear from Minho's cheek with his thumb. "You look sad."

Minho's eyes fluttered and he leaned briefly into Jisung's hand. For a moment, it seemed as if he wanted to get rid of something; a burden that had been weighing him down for far too long. But then a wall closed in behind his eyes, and he took a step back. "Ghosts from the past, nothing more."

Jisung didn't believe him, but he didn't want to press him either. Then he remembered he was here for a reason and took out his phone; he was supposed to be at Zephyr in a few minutes. "I wanted to ask you something."

Minho definitely seemed relieved by Jisung's change of subject. "Let's go downstairs, shall we?"

Jisung followed the clockmaker, and halfway down the stairs, he gathered his courage. Why did he suddenly feel so shy? "So, I was wondering if you’re free tomorrow?"

They reached the small anteroom on the ground floor. "What's tomorrow?"

"It's my nephew's birthday, and you're cordially invited."

Minho faltered slightly as he pushed aside the curtain to the shop. "I'm... invited?"

Jisung found Minho's surprise endearing. "I probably won't be able to leave until midnight, but afterward we can go to my place together. I have a few things to do. Birthdays are always so stressful, but with you here, I can plan much better. What do you say?"

Jisung's heart was pounding, but it didn't matter.

Minho blinked four times. He was still standing there with the curtain in his hand. A slow nod. "I could close the workshop for a day."

"So you're coming?"

"Yes, I'll gladly accept the invitation."

Jisung did a little jump of joy. He slipped on his shoes, grabbed his winter jacket and violin case, and followed Minho into the shop. They agreed that Jisung would stop by Minho's door after work. There wasn't time for more, as Jisung was already running late and didn't want to keep his colleagues waiting; sales had multiplied since yesterday, and Jisung's interview with the reporter had certainly contributed significantly.

※

Jisung was on fire. A fire burned through his veins, shaking the music hall. Men and women alike fell to their knees. Red roses and golden stars buried the violinist. It was stifling, but Jisung floated along on the high, only coming back down when the clock struck one.

As Gaowan proposed a toast, and everyone who heard him clapped out of pure politeness, Jisung disappeared into the bathroom.

He peeled off his sweaty outfit; a gold-sequined tunic and wide-legged, ochre-colored trousers, accentuated by an ornate black metal belt. (Jeongin certainly had a knack for that certain something.) He set the clothes down on a small cabinet and slipped into his own clothes.

It squeaked as Jisung turned on the faucet. Rust and limescale had left visible traces. The water was clear, and he let it flow into his vibrating hands (sensory stimulation helped him let go of the adrenaline rush and get into a relaxed state). He lathered up the unscented soap, and the refreshing coolness gave his reddened skin the relief it needed.

As he pulled his hands away, a mossy, damp scent filled his nostrils. Small glowing dots floated in the air, but the mirror didn't reflect them. The sound of gushing water, as if someone was taking a shower – but Jisung knew he was alone.

Jisung turned around, his eyes widening as he saw a waterfall in the middle of that small bathroom, right in front of him. Rushing water, jagged, moss-covered rocks. The dampness left a delicate film on Jisung's bare arms.

Why do I feel like I've been here before?

A figure walked past Jisung. He only saw it from behind. Elegant clothes in silver and dark blue, a silver crown on its head. Short hair.

A second figure appeared out of nowhere. Elegant clothing in warm tones. Violet hair. That was Minho. He said something, but his words sounded unintelligible to Jisung. Minho got down on one knee and said something to the other person. A watery smile, Minho seemed overjoyed with the response.

The bathroom door swung open, dispelling the strange activity. "There you are!" Hyunjin noticed Jisung's Swirling emotions. "Everything okay?" he asked, stepping next to the violinist.

"I... am not sure."

Hyunjin followed Jisung's gaze, but found only empty shower stalls. The receptionist shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He lowered his voice. "What did you see?"

I'm not sure. It was on the tip of his tongue, but it wasn't the truth. He knew what he'd seen, but was unsure of its meaning. He met Hyunjin's gaze.

"A waterfall. And Minho."

Jisung's words echoed off the tiled walls. A breathy laugh escaped Hyunjin's lungs. Relief etched his features in an unexpectedly beautiful softness.

"Am I going crazy?" Jisung wondered.

Hyunjin gave a short, amused laugh and placed a hand on the violinist's shoulder. "Oh, my dear earthling, you're fine."

"Then what's the deal with the waterfall and Minho?"

Hyunjin's laughter died down. He let an agonizingly long moment pass, simply staring at Jisung with fond eyes. "It's best if you take this to Minho himself. He's already waiting for you, by the way."

With a wink, Hyunjin left the bathroom.

※

Minho was squatting on the steps outside his workshop. A small backpack lay at his feet. When he saw Jisung approaching, he walked over to him with a smile.

"Ready?" Jisung asked, a slight thrill of excitement bouncing around in his stomach. Minho nodded and took a step forward when Jisung stopped him by the shoulder. "Where's your jacket?"

Minho gave him a questioning look. Then he opened his jacket, presumably to show that he was already wearing one. The material looked sturdy, but not particularly warm. Like a leather jacket without an inner lining. It suited him well. Minho looked good in it...

"I mean, where we're going, there's meters of snow and it's bloody cold."

"Bloody cold? You humans have strange expressions." Jisung gave him a flat stare. Minho raised his hands in a placating gesture, a chuckle catching in his throat. "Fine, I'll go and get something warmer."

Jisung watched the clockmaker disappear into his workshop.

Occasionally, a few people strolled across the main square, surreptitiously glancing in Jisung's direction. Did that bother him? Not really. There were worse things, like mosquitoes during tropical summer nights. Or Gaowan crossing the main square like he owned it.

Jisung groaned inwardly and rolled his eyes. "Great."

The conductor stopped just in front of Jisung. "What are you standing here for? The party's inside."

"I'm on my way home."

Gaowan looked Jisung up and down. Arrogant and uncomfortable. "Don't you have to move to do this?"

Jisung took a deep breath. "I'm waiting for someone."

"Oh, and for whom?"

As if on cue, the door to Minho's workshop opened. He locked it, and Jisung heard him stop when he noticed Gaowan. With a polite "Good night," he said goodbye to his boss and walked over to Minho.

Minho was a little pale around the nose and looked as if he wanted to go back. Jisung gave him an encouraging smile.

The two of them couldn't get more than two steps forward because Gaowan blocked their way. "Jisung, I assumed my words were clear and concise. What are you doing... with that here?"

Something much stronger than hatred came alive in Jisung. "His name is Minho. And what I do in my free time is none of your business." A threatening step forward. "If you don't let us pass right now , I'll leave Zephyr and never come back."

Gaowan shrank into himself. He gulped and stepped aside. Yeah, he better. Jisung wasn't in the mood for joking. He took Minho by the hand and walked straight to the elevator, where Seonghwa was already waiting for them.

Jisung wiped his instrument with a cloth and placed it in the violin case as Gaowan rose from his seat and walked up the stairs to the stage. The wine seemed to be working. He swayed slightly. "Jisung," he said, sounding surprisingly sober. "We need to talk about your plus one."

The clasps of the violin case clicked shut. "What about that?"

"Lee Minho?" Gaowan emphasized the last syllable of the name as if he were gagging. Subtle, but unmistakable to Jisung's trained ears.

Jisung turned around and looked at the conductor with crossed arms, his eyes skeptical. "Yeah, what about him?"

"You put him on the list."

"Exactly."

"Why?"

"I don't understand what the problem is."

Silence. At Gaowan's cold, contemptuous gaze, Jisung's body shuddered unpleasantly; a kind of inner chill that permeated every fiber of his being. The music hall seemed to have shrunk.

The conductor suddenly had a clipboard in his hand. He clicked his pen and vigorously crossed something out without taking his eyes off Jisung.

"That clockmaker won't be coming," he decided.

Jisung blinked, puzzled. "For what reason? I don't think you have the right-"

Gaowan stepped closer. It was only a small step – a half step, at most – but to Jisung, it seemed like a threat. Don't show any fear. This was a cheap intimidation tactic, and he wasn't falling for it – he didn't want to fall for it. Jisung shifted his weight onto his heels, pressing the soles of his shoes firmly into the polished stage floor.

"Things are different here, Jisung, and the sooner you learn to accept that, the better."

Gaowan turned and strode off. As the music hall’s door closed, Jisung pushed out a breath. What on earth was that? For a few seconds, he couldn't move.

His violin was already in its case, the music hall was empty, and there was no sound from the other musicians. They were probably already huddled together in the bar, enjoying an after-work beer. Were they waiting for Jisung? Were they saving a seat for him? Did they know their conductor's behavior? They had to; after all, they had been a well-rehearsed team long before Jisung joined them.

Suddenly, a wave of frustration overcame Jisung, and anger gripped his throat. Anger at Gaowan, who was treating him like an idiot. Anger at himself for allowing himself to feel like a child again – frozen with fear, small, and helpless.

With glowing eyes, he grabbed his violin case and marched out to the music hall. The heavy tablecloths fluttered angrily as he passed them like a storm.

In the darkened dining area, Jisung collided with something hard. A sharp criticism was on the tip of his tongue, but then he saw that hard something was Hyunjin.

"Hyunjin!" Startled, Jisung clutched the violin case and bowed apologetically. "Are you hurt? I wasn't watching where I was going."

The receptionist rubbed his shoulder. "Nothing's broken. I wasn't any better. But... whoa." Hyunjin's gaze lingered on Jisung's face. "You look like you're about to set something on fire."

Hyunjin looked at him worriedly. His light brown eyes shimmered gently, calming Jisung's prickly inner turmoil. He took a deep breath. "Oh, it's just because..." Jisung placed the violin case on a table. "I listed Minho as my plus one, and Gaowan removed him from the list. Just like that. It got really weird." A shake of the head. "Is Minho a felon, or why–"

Hyunjin leaped, grabbed Jisung by the upper arm, snatched the violin case, and pulled them both behind him. Jisung almost tripped over his own feet. Did I say something wrong?

Only when Jisung arrived at the front desk did Hyunjin let go of him. He carefully put the instrument down, and then turned to the clock; a multi-layered construction on a small shelf. Hyunjin was so tall, he didn't need any tools to reach it. Two small golden spheres sat on an elliptical track, and Hyunjin pulled one sphere along it.

Jisung swayed. Was that an earthquake? An earthquake in his head? It only took that long for the golden sphere to arrive behind the other sphere. It was quiet, too quiet. As if someone had stopped time. What a strange thought.

"Alright, we don't have much time," Hyunjin said in a subdued voice. Jisung quickly glanced at the clock; the sphere Hyunjin had moved was jumping across the track every second. "Minho informed me that you know about the missing moon. In short, this has something to do with him."

The ticking grew louder. Jisung's heart beat faster with each word. "He knows who did it?"

Hyunjin bit his lower lip. A quick glance at the clock – In a few seconds, the golden sphere would reach its destination. A shake of his head. And then Hyunjin stood very close to Jisung's ear. "We're stuck here, and Minho has been trying to correct the mistake for years. Our hope is fading. The eyes are awake, but the key is asleep–"

With a jolt, time began to move again. The background noises of the luxury restaurant continued as if nothing had happened. There was a deep, frost-laced sadness in Hyunjin's gaze. But a blink was enough, and he had put his professional mask back on.

The glass doors swung open, and an elderly couple cheerfully headed inside. They wore expensive-looking clothes, the man even wore a top hat, while a pearl necklace shimmered around the woman's neck.

"Thank you for the little introduction, Jisung," Hyunjin said, handing the musician his violin case. "If I understand correctly, 'piano' means soft, and 'pianissimo'... um..." His left eyelid twitched.

"'Even softer,' or 'very soft,'" Jisung explained.

"Ah, right. Well then, I wish you a restful night and much success at the opening tomorrow." Hyunjin bowed goodbye as the elderly couple reached the reception desk.

With a queasy feeling, Jisung stepped out into the main square. He fiddled with his collar, but it was only for show. The activity kept his tingling hands busy as he tossed and turned a thousand thoughts at once. Hyunjin had asked him to be quiet.

Jisung's neck prickled. He resisted the urge to turn around.

The main square stretched before him, empty and pristine. Soulless. Colorful lanterns dangled from the branches, but it was windless. The light from the surrounding buildings cast long shadows, making the night seem darker.

※

When Minho invited Jisung over so he could talk about the moon undisturbed, Jisung had to drink something. A few words in the alien language followed. Thinking back now, he could still feel the soft carpet beneath him.

Jisung lay in bed, ready to consciously and intentionally induce a lucid dream for the first time. He closed his eyes. Inhale. I want to visit Minho in my dreams. Let go, exhale. He repeated it. For a moment, he thought it hadn't worked, but then he felt the tickle of soft grass. He opened his eyes. He stood barefoot on the star-studded meadow. The wind blew. Jisung could feel the wind on his face.

This isn't a dream. It feels more real than reality. It feels like... coming home. How silly. Jisung laughed quietly as he walked across the meadow. But if this is a dream, then I never want to wake up again.

Minho was squatting on the lakeshore. He was skipping stones across the water. Smiling, Jisung picked up a flat stone and tried it himself. The stone sank instantly. Maybe it was his position? He squatted like Minho, but even the second time, success was slow.

"Well, can’t say I didn’t try," Jisung said, sitting down with his legs stretched out.

Minho laughed softly. And Jisung's heart leapt. "You found your way here all by yourself. I'm impressed."

Jisung sideeyed at the watchmaker. "It wasn't difficult. I've been here before."

"After I put you through a ritual to make it easier for you."

Jisung shook his head, that wasn't what he meant. "I mean, after I returned that screwdriver to you. In my dream, I was standing on that meadow. Galaxies above me. You were there and said something..."

Silence. "I said something? And what was that?"

"Something about 'reality,' I didn't understand the rest."

Minho breathed a shaky sigh, and Jisung looked at him. His eyes swam with emotions, vibrant orange and yellow. Was that relief? Or surprise?

He stood up. "Jisung, please stand up, I want to show you something." Minho beamed. His smiling mouth twitched as if he was trying with all his might to contain his joy.

"Oh? A surprise?"

"Something like that. Please, come with me." Minho, who evidently had no patience, pulled the violinist to his feet with a flourish.

Jisung held on to Minho's shoulders to avoid colliding with him. His breath caught in his throat. This close, he noticed for the first time the gentle glow surrounding Minho. He saw it, he felt it. The pleasant warmth spreading through his body.

Why do I want to lean on you? Why does it feel so... familiar?

They flew over the meadow, the wind rushing in Jisung's ears, and when he glanced back after a while, the lake was just a dot on the horizon.

They landed in a clearing. A massive tree with red leaves crowded into Jisung's peripheral vision. The sky was dotted with swirling galaxies, but that didn't explain why it was so bright behind Jisung. Was he being illuminated by a spotlight?

Minho's eyes glistened moistly. He was still holding Jisung's hands. "I've waited so long for this. Ready?"

Jisung felt a nervous flutter in his stomach. "Don't make it so tense."

"Turn around," Minho whispered, slowly letting go of Jisung's hands.

Step by step. First, he saw a colossal tree, its branches touching the ground under the weight of red leaves. But that certainly wasn't what Minho wanted him to see.

It was the gigantic, silvery disk hanging in the sky. Deep craters adorned its surface like a polka-dot pattern. Jisung gaped. This must have been how prophets felt when divine messengers appeared to them – stunned by awe.

"Is that... is that..." Jisung stuttered, unable to stop himself. "Is that the moon?"

"Mhm." Minho's voice came from somewhere.

Jisung's eyes unexpectedly brimmed with tears. The sudden pressure in his heart eased as the first tear fell. Why am I crying? The last time I cried like this was when I had to say goodbye to my cat. Or when my nephew was born.

Jisung fell to his knees. Sobbing, he let his feelings flow, even though he didn't understand why they were there in the first place.

For years, Jisung had been searching for something others dismissed as a figment of his imagination. Not even Seungmin, whose gaze reached far beyond earthly limitations, believed him.

"Is this real? Is this really happening?" Jisung's voice sounded husky, a little hoarse. "Is this the real moon?"

"This is my memory of the moon. Just before it... disappeared."

"Hyunjin thinks you know why."

Minho's expression took on a sadness. "There was an incident back then. And I was there when it happened."

A fire flared up inside Jisung. The emotional outburst from earlier was forgotten. "What incident? Who did this?"

A faint smile. "One truth at a time, Jisung."

In an instant, Jisung was on his feet. He dried his face with his shirt. "Okay, fine. But at least tell me why the others are treating you like a leper. Because I listed you as my plus one for the opening, and Gaowan coldly crossed you off the list." A deep breath. "When I complained to Hyunjin about it, he told me you aliens are trapped here. Shouldn't you stick together? Why are you the odd one out?"

Minho seemed incredibly sad. For several moments, he stared silently at the moon, his eyes gliding from crater to crater; sometimes his gaze lingered on one spot longer, as if replaying a memory. And then he turned to Jisung.

"Have you ever noticed how tall 'we aliens' are? With us, power and status are also reflected in our height." Minho stepped closer and caught Jisung's gaze. They were both the same height. "The moon is gone, and with it, half of my power."

※

The house was packed. Jisung's nerves were on edge. Anticipation and nervousness played ping-pong in his stomach. The excited murmur of the audience died down as the heavy curtain was drawn aside. Applause.

Gaowan bowed to the audience. He spoke a few words. Then he turned to the ensemble. The applause died down. All the musicians were ready. Gaowan raised his baton and got off to a brilliant start.

It was all so simple. And Jisung realized how much he had missed making music with other like-minded people. It was more than that. He was pursuing his passion and sharing it with others was indescribable.

Thunderous applause rippled through the rows of seats.

After the intermission, Jisung took center stage. A medley from The Phantom of the Opera prompted several audience members to stand up and throw roses onto the stage. Was there also a declaration of love?

The music hall was dead silent as Jisung performed his solo. But when the last note faded, red roses and golden stars were raining down. The audience loved him.

Jisung's head was spinning. Drunk with the positive feedback, he swayed backstage. A firm slap from Felix landed on his shoulder.

"That was phenomenal ," Felix praised, pressing a glass of champagne into the violinist's hand. "To us!"

Jisung raised his glass. "To us!" He drank it down in one gulp. After another round, the alcohol was going to his head, and his cheeks felt far too warm.

The musicians were gathered at the table with snacks and drinks, joking and chatting, some about everyday things, others about the performance. The percussionist combed his long hair and tied it loosely.

Gaowan burst through the door. His absence hadn't been noticed at all. "Jisung!" he shouted, and all conversation fell silent. “They want an interview with you.”

“Who is they ?”

“Some newspaper-earthling. At the main entrance in three minutes.” He was almost out the door when he turned around. “And take your violin with you!”

Jisung rolled his eyes and took a sip from his water bottle. “Maybe he's turning me into an alcoholic after all,” he muttered to himself. And then he froze, realizing he'd spoken his thoughts out loud. He looked at Felix with wide eyes, but Felix just laughed.

“Don't worry too much about it, he's like that. As long as you do your work well, he'll leave you alone.” A short pause. “But he won't try much with you anyway.”

Jisung narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

Felix smiled warmly and brightly. “You're our star.”

"Earth's great hope," the percussionist chimed in loudly. "Gaowan was about to give up on his music dream, then you showed up."

Felix rested his chin in his hand and stared at Jisung with gentle (and tipsy) eyes. "As if fate had intended for you to come to us."

Jisung then had to lean back. And as if stung, he jumped up from his chair – he had to be by the main entrance! He would think about Felix's words later.

The newspaper-lady was a lanky woman in her mid-forties with curly hair and hipster glasses. Jisung had forgotten her name, but he was never good with names. She asked interesting questions, and Jisung answered them all in detail. At the end, the musician posed with his violin for a couple photos.

"Thank you for the interview," said the reporter, putting away her things.

Jisung bowed his head. "It was a pleasure. My colleagues are backstage if you'd like to interview them as well."

"I'd love to. But Conductor Gaowan only gave me permission for you."

Jisung paused. "Oh. I'd be happy to ask again, it’s no problem."

The woman smiled. "Thank you, that's very kind. But it's not necessary. I just wanted to watch the concert, the interview was rather spontaneous. I don’t even have my good camera with me."

"But a pen and notepad," Jisung remarked casually.

"Force of habit." She laughed awkwardly and scratched the back of her neck. She said her goodbyes and marched towards the elevator that would bring her back down to earth.

Zephyr was teeming with visitors. Jisung stood a little way off in the shadows. He didn't want to be approached. Everything was shining, and everyone looked so dressed up. Like some cover of 'Beautiful Living.'

Jisung glanced through the high windows – his colleagues could continue partying without him. He didn't care if he was seen as he crossed the main square and stopped in front of Minho's workshop.

It was dark inside. Rust had eaten halfway through the advertising sign. He knocked, but no one opened the door.

Why do I even want to be with him? I don't even know him that well.

Across the main square, Zephyr towered with its sparkling, flashing, flawless facade. So beautiful. So perfect.

The wood of the window frames of Minho's workshop was brittle, and the blue paint was peeling. So imperfect. So... real. Jisung didn't want to be anywhere else.

He knocked again. The door remained closed. And he hung his head. Suddenly, a glowing dot danced before his eyes. Startled, he stepped away from the door. "What the–" It flew away a bit and then landed right in front of Jisung's face again. It bounced back and forth. "Do you want me to follow you?" The ball of light bounced up and down, like a nod.

Jisung followed the floating light around the workshop. A very narrow path led through closely spaced buildings. At the end of the path, the light shot steeply upwards, and Jisung had to climb.

Stairs and ladders led Jisung all the way to the top. Out of breath, he arrived at the roof, where the light was already waiting for him. "I hope this was worth it," Jisung grumbled, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

The light flew to the center of the flat roof and revealed an oasis of dense bushes, tall hedges, and colorful flowers in all possible and impossible shapes. Countless tiny dots of light whirred through the air. Jisung entered the garden. There was a fluffy blanket on the ground. A white blanket, like the one in Minho's living room.

"Jisung?" Jisung flinched. Minho stepped out of the shadow of a large plant. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh, a light led me here?" At Minho's questioning look, he pointed to a floating dot of light that was closest to him. "I would never have found my way here on my own."

Minho seemed to relax. He snatched a light from mid air. "Look closely." He slowly opened his fist.

Jisung stepped closer. The brightness of the light dimmed, revealing– a bee? Jisung took a closer look. The creature looked like a tiny cat, no bigger than half a thumb, with the pattern and wings of a bee. Weird, but somehow cute.

"Do they produce honey?" Jisung wondered with an amused laugh.

Minho's smile was absolutely adorable. "No honey, but they're beautiful to look at." He released the bee cat into the wild. "How was the opening? You radiate energy."

For some reason, Jisung's cheeks warmed. And it definitely wasn't from the alcohol. "We had a full house. My ears are still ringing a little."

"I'm happy for you. Genuinely. Maybe more culture will bring more life to this desolate place."

The mood shifted– no, it didn't shift. Minho spoke a truth that Jisung had only guessed at until now. How long had the clockmaker and the other aliens been here? Years? Decades? Maybe longer? He must be terribly homesick.

Minho lay down on the fluffy blanket, folded his arms under his head, and looked up at the starry sky.

"I've thought of something," said Jisung. "If you can't come to the concert, then the concert will come to you."

"There isn't enough room here for an entire orchestra."

"What a shame," joked Jisung. "Then you'll just have to make do with me." He unpacked his violin. "I'm going to play something for you now. And no arguments."

Since Jisung first stepped onto this floating rock, strange things had been happening. Some answers only raised more questions. But in that moment, one thing was clear to him: He wanted to bring Minho joy. And with his violin, he revealed a piece of his yearning heart.

※

A shrill ringing pierced Jisung's consciousness. Disoriented, he tossed and turned in bed, his legs tangled in the sheets, trying to catch his breath. And then it was quiet. But only for a few seconds. The ringing started again; it was his phone and Seungmin's ringtone.

Jisung peeled himself out of the sheets, grabbed his phone, and slumped back into the pillows. "If your next words aren't 'I'm at your door, open,' then mercy on you–"

The expression on Minho's face lost its tension; he seemed desperate to get something off his chest, but was too unsure (or too scared?) to let his thoughts flow.

Jisung let go of Minho. "I'm sorry." He increased the distance between them and jumped violently as someone pounded madly on the door, rattling the handle.

Minho hurried to unlock it, and when he managed to do so, he was roughly pushed back by a cursing guy.

"Ah, there you are!" the guy shouted, promptly marching towards Jisung. What was his name again? Jisung recognized him from the audition, but couldn't for the life of him remember his name. "I'm being bombarded with questions out here, and you're hiding in this hole." He cast a disgusted glance around the room. "Come on, Jisung. The longer you stay here, the harder the stench of the lower classes will come out."

The brute grabbed Jisung by the upper arm and dragged him out of the workshop. His gaze fell on Minho, who was leaning against the wall, holding his ear. His face was contorted in pain.

Halfway there, Jisung wriggled out of the vice-like grip. He stopped, snorted indignantly, and glared at the guy. "I would very much appreciate not being treated like an object," he hissed, still relatively calm.

He took off the left sleeve of his vest, revealing a sleeveless top underneath. Finger prints were visible all along his upper arm. The guy's grip was so strong that bruises had formed. If Jisung's gaze could kill, the man would have been reduced to a pile of ash.

The man paled. He meekly stammered an apology and rushed Jisung to the in-house infirmary, where his arm was treated with ointment, and his skin quickly looked brand new.

Jisung's anger simmered all day. Despite thebrute's countless apologies, Jisung reported the incident to Hyunjin anyway. When the receptionist heard about it (and when Minho's name was mentioned), Jisung was sure he noticed a flash of anger in his light brown eyes.

※

There were only two days left until the opening. Jisung and the ensemble were practicing tirelessly. That guy from the audition (the one with the bruising grip) turned out to be Zephyr's conductor and went by the strange name Gaowan. It was a relief that he took his role in the ensemble seriously.

Jisung sat backstage, scribbling a few final changes to the opening score, while Felix's bass-heavy voice vibrated through the room. It was well past the end of his shift; the two musicians were the last ones there.

Felix finished singing, and the sudden silence left a tingling sensation on Jisung's arms.

"Call it a night, Jisung, it's almost midnight." Felix yawned. "Your back will thank you."

"What about what?" Jisung asked without looking up. His pencil was tracing a tempo change, barely hearing what his colleague said.

Felix laughed softly. "The way your back looks, it could be mistaken for the crescent moon."

The tip of Jisung's pencil dug into the paper. His heart was pounding. His gaze darted to Felix. "What?"

Felix shook his head and waved his hand. "Ah, nothing." He put on his jacket. "Good night, Earthling. And don't forget to turn off the light."

The door slammed shut, and Jisung was filled with stressful confusion. Did Felix just mention the moon? And then act like nothing happened? What the—? Jisung stood up so suddenly that his chair tipped backwards. With shaky hands, he gathered the papers (which he neatly placed on the desk), grabbed his jacket, and dashed out the door.

Puffing, Jisung arrived in front of Minho's workshop. Since the incident after the mini-concert, he hadn't seen him again. It was pitch black inside. He took a step back, wiped his face nervously. Damn.

No one was here, and the rust on a billboard seemed to have grown larger. The silence of the night pressed down Jisung's neck. No one was here, but a thousand eyes saw him. Knew he was here. They knew he knew something.

Jisung gasped. He jumped forward and knocked and hammered on Minho's door.

He didn't notice the light come on. The door swung open, and Jisung followed it into the store. He stumbled. And blinked. Minho stood before him, his hair disheveled and his expression grim, making Jisung shiver inside.

"Minho, thanks for opening the door," Jisung said breathlessly. "Sorry to bother you, I—"

The watchmaker pushed the door shut. He glanced quickly out the shaded window, then crossed his arms and stared at Jisung. Minho's eyes demanded an explanation as to why the hell he was awake at this hour.

Jisung ignored the nervousness still prickling at the back of his neck. He needed to get something off his chest.

"I want to talk to you. Do you have a few minutes for me?" He waited anxiously for an answer, for any kind of reaction. Minho just stood there, glaring at him with fiery eyes. His gaze was impatient, but his body language... seemed indecisive. He had his arms crossed and was scratching his upper arm with his fingernails. "Are you okay?" Jisung asked cautiously.

A few moments passed. Minho's eyes flickered over Jisung, his shoulders noticeably less tense. Minho nodded, but remained silent.

Jisung repeated his question. And Minho answered again with a nod. Could it be that he still held a grudge against him for what had happened a few days ago? "What Gaowan said the other day, I just want you to know that I don't think that way."

Several silent moments passed again. Jisung was starting to feel like he was being made fun of. At least his heart rate had calmed down.

Minho took a deep breath and quickly glanced around the workshop. And then, with a gesture, he motioned for Jisung to follow him. They walked to the back and entered a sort of anteroom. There were no clocks ticking here, only the creaking of aged, worn wood. Minho went to a dresser and opened a drawer, taking out a small device and holding it in his hand. He stood next to Jisung again.

Minho looked at Jisung with gentle, yet fearful eyes. The device was shaped like a star and shimmered as Minho turned it on. He put it to his ear — it was a hearing aid.

"Excuse the long silence." A small, strained smile. He crossed his arms again.

A light bulb went on in Jisung's head. But how could Minho answer his questions? Did he have any residual hearing? Oh, that was beside the point. He remembered Minho's pained face.

"He hurt you," Jisung whispered. "Gaowan caused you pain, and I was there and did nothing. If anyone should apologize, it's me." He wasn't really the sentimental type, so it surprised him quite a bit when he felt his eyes moisten.

"It's okay, Jisung, I'm used to it."

Jisung's gaze shot up. "What?"

Minho shrugged. "I'm insulted, ridiculed, ignored at best. Getting up close to the door was a nice change."

"What?" Jisung repeated, more sharply this time. The tears in his eyes evaporated.

"If those snobs weren't so attached to their precious watches"—Minho gave a short, humorless laugh—"they would have cast me out long ago. Thrown me in a high arc down to your planet. Without a parachute— or whatever you Earthlings call it."

Jisung stared at Minho, eyes wide and mouth half-open. He wasn't sure what made his head spin more: that Minho was being treated like trash or that he was chatting about it so casually, as if they were discussing the weather over a cup of tea.

Minho caught Jisung's stupidly confused look. And laughed. "This is my life, I don't know anything else. Believe me, Jisung, it's okay."

Jisung couldn't seem to get any further. He believed the watchmaker— for now. "Fine, let's leave it at that." He took a brave step closer. "I believe you, but in return you tell me everything you know about the moon. Deal?"

※

Jisung stood on the glittering meadow again. Dull green blades of grass swayed gently in the breeze, seeming to beckon him. His body felt light, as if he only needed to jump from a standing position to fly through the universe. I know this is a dream. But why does it feel so... real? Blue-violet galaxies swirled above him, nebulae stretching like towers across the firmament. He liked it here.

A pulsating star caught Jisung's attention. Like a magnet, the star attracted hundreds, thousands of smaller stars to its center. As its mass increased, the star quickly grew brighter and then became so large that Jisung had to crane his neck.

And then the star opened its eye. A massive eyelid slid upwards, revealing a deep-black pupil. Startled, Jisung fell backward. The star's eye fixed its piercing gaze on the human below. Jisung tried to skid away, but invisible forces chained him to the ground.

Gasping for air, Jisung writhed beneath the eye. An impulse that hurt Jisung's ears was released, and suddenly there were countless smaller eyes arranged around the large eye, blinking in every direction.

A scream caught in Jisung's throat. Everything was too loud and spinning far too fast. The eye moved dangerously close, Jisung was able to make out the outline of his figure in its infinite darkness.

Someone took Jisung's hand and yanked. His body flew. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping it would stop soon, and then he rolled down somewhere.

His back slammed hard on the ground, and the impact knocked the air out of his lungs.

"Breathe easy." A gentle voice. A grounding pressure on his chest. Jisung let himself be guided. "Inhale, exhale. You're doing good."

Jisung's eyes fluttered open. Blurred outlines became clearer. "Minho? Why are you—?" Jisung looked around. "Where am I?"

"You're in my domain."

"What's a domain? Am I dead?"

Minho chuckled. "You're still very much alive. Your heart is beating quite fast."

"Yeah, because you're almost crushing me."

Minho pulled his hand away from Jisung's chest. "Sorry."

Jisung sat up. Below him was the glittering, star-studded meadow. He ran his hand through the grass; it was so soft and wrapped around his fingers. Water lapped over the sandy shore, and beyond it stretched a turquoise-green lake. The galaxies above were reflected on its surface, and gentle ripples made the lake seem more than alive.

"Where did you say I was?" Jisung asked, still fascinated by the scene before him.

"In my domain. My home, so to speak. Even if only a fraction of it..."

Minho was an alien. He had certainly seen many corners of the universe. Jisung tore his gaze from the lake and looked at Minho, who was crouching next to him; something was different about him, but Jisung couldn't put his finger on it. "Where are you from? Have you traveled far? Do you have a spaceship?"

Minho snorted in amusement and shook his head. "No spaceship, we travel differently. Explaining that to you, however, would be beyond your comprehension." Jisung glared at him. "But I can show you where I'm from. If you want."

Jisung nodded eagerly and stood up, managing it as easily as if he hadn't rolled down a hill. And hadn't been nearly eaten by a monster eye. When Jisung remembered, he gasped. "Minho!" he called, grabbing the alien's shoulder. "What was that thing?! That giant eye?"

"An anomaly." Minho, for some reason, avoided looking directly at Jisung. But the finality in his voice warned Jisung against asking any more questions. Was it too dangerous?

Jisung followed Minho's finger as he pointed to a constellation. "Do you see the three stars next to each other?"

"I only see two."

"The one on the left is white, the one next to it is red." A short pause. "The star on the right was gold. Before my people came to your planet, you called this constellation 'Orion.'"

"What does your people have to do with our constellations?"

"So you know 'Orion'?"

Jisung remembered the small illustration in his book; three large stars in the center formed the Belt, three smaller, vertical ones formed the Sword. It was one of his favorite constellations. No comparison to what he saw now. It was breathtakingly beautiful. "Just from my book."

"Exactly."

Minho moved into Jisung's field of vision. He looked serious. "Nothing is further from my mind than keeping you in the dark, Jisung. You're very close to the truth, but we have to be careful."

Jisung lowered his voice. "Because someone is watching us?"

Minho moved a little closer. "Exposing the truth can often have fatal consequences. Do you realize that?"

Why was Jisung's heart pounding in his throat? Why was he lost in the depths of Minho's dark eyes, shimmering with the light of distant galaxies? Why did he want to take his hand? Come on, Jisung, now is not the time for this.

Jisung forced himself to concentrate. Minho. Truth. "Every action has consequences. What I decide today, I might feel tomorrow, or even in a year. I don't want to go around in circles anymore. Give me the truth."

"No matter what it takes?"

"No matter what."

"So be it. But I also need something from you."

"If you need my trust, I'll earn it." Determination flashed from Jisung's eyes, and Minho smiled contentedly.

A comfortable silence spread. Jisung took one last, long look at this magnificent landscape.

"It's okay, Jisung. You can wake up again," Minho said.

Jisung felt awake. "How do I do that?"

"The way you got here."

Now Jisung was completely baffled. "And how did I get here?"

Minho blinked, then started laughing. He said something in his alien language, and in a swirl of galactic colors, his handsome face dissolved.

Jisung took a deep breath. He felt his body, the normal weight that was so familiar to him returning. He lay on a soft surface, quiet around him. Slowly, he stretched, his joints cracked, and then he opened his eyes.

"You're awake. Good."

Jisung flinched. Next to him was Minho— he was lying next to Jisung on a soft carpet. He remembered; the clockmaker had promised to tell Jisung everything about the moon.

"Your planet used to have a moon. Why is that? Better if I show you."

Something was bubbling inside Jisung, but before he could even open his mouth, Minho placed a finger on Jisung's lips. "I ask for discretion. Socially, you're far superior to me, and any contact with me could damage your reputation." A brief pause. Minho's finger slipped inadvertently, and his gaze changed every so subtly. "See me in your dreams. Only there are we free."

It was as if Minho had raised an invisible wall. He didn't say another word as he accompanied Jisung to the elevator and said goodbye before the security guard saw him.

Jisung mentally made a note to invite Minho to the opening ceremony at the next opportunity. Since Seungmin had extended his stay abroad, his seat became available.

I'm going to ​​invite Minho. Screw society.

Dazzling light shone from Zephyr's white facade. Jisung wondered how long it would be before this sight became normal for him. Magnificent. There was no better word to describe this massive building. Jisung closed his mouth, hoping no one had seen him staring, and entered his new workplace.

"Ah, there he is!" Hyunjin exclaimed, delighted, from his seat behind the reception desk. Smiling broadly, he skipped over to Jisung and greeted him with a firm slap on the shoulder. "How was your journey? I can only imagine how nervous and excited you must be. I can't wait for you to see the music room, but first, you have to see the tailor!"

Jisung's eyes widened and he wanted to ask for more details, but Hyunjin grabbed his hand and pulled the violinist briskly behind him (the tall guy looked lanky, but damn, what a firm grip). "Tailor?" Jisung asked, a little breathless, trying to keep up.

"Don't worry, his fashion sense is impeccable . You're going to look so good, better than you do now." Hyunjin gasped softly. "No offense."

"None taken."

A spiral staircase behind the reception desk led them upstairs and along a narrow corridor. The red carpet muffled their quick steps. Jisung considered getting a map. He tried to memorize individual objects along the way, but Hyunjin forced him to go at a pace that left him no time to recognize anything.

They stopped in front of a green door. A name was written on a glittering gold star, but Jisung couldn't make it out in time. Hyunjin turned the doorknob, and the door swung open. A heavy, sweet scent filled Jisung's nostrils. It smelled good.

As he entered the room, Jisung tried to take in everything at once. There was so much to see. Warm colors and unusual patterns. Stacks of comfortable cushions in every corner. The windows were framed with strings of pearl and delicate curtains. To the left was a bright pink sofa, next to it was a round, dark wooden coffee table and a bowl of fruit.

Next, Jisung immediately noticed a strange construction to his right. Golden globes, spheres, and gears that were rotating and moving. Similar to the clock at the reception desk. Jisung wondered if they served a purpose or were just decoration.

"Jeongin!" Hyunjin barked. "Get off your lazy ass!"

A voice and a rumble came from another room. Annoyed muttering. A door, which Jisung only now noticed, opened, and a tall man stepped out of the dim room behind it. Rays of sunlight streamed through the windows and landed on his bare, tanned torso. Jisung's eyes widened, and suddenly he found his shoes very intriguing.

"What are you yelling about?" Jeongin grumbled. "Oh, uh, hang on..."

When Jisung felt confident enough, he risked a look and was relieved to see that the tailor had changed into a lime green jacket.

"You still look disgusting, Jeongin." A dry statement from Hyunjin. "Well, I brought you someone." He pushed Jisung ahead of him.

Jisung smiled politely. "Hello," he greeted with a small bow.

The tailor's black hair glistened. He had eyes of a fox and a sharply defined but handsome face. He smiled.

"Have fun, you two," Hyunjin said, already walking out the door. "When you're done, Jisung, come see me later."

Jeongin reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of narrow glasses; the round lenses complemented his defined features beautifully. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, his arms loosely crossed, and his eyes wandered over Jisung's figure. "Tea?"

"Um, yes, please."

Two cups of tea were quickly prepared, and while Jisung sipped his tea, Jeongin took precise measurements. With a pen between his lips, the eccentric tailor bustled around him, adjusting his arms, legs, and back as he needed, carefully noting everything in a small book.

Jisung wondered why he had to share his clothing size a few days ago when he was being measured anyway. Must be some weird alien thing, I guess.

"You have interesting measurements, Jisung, I must say," Jeongin commented. He was chewing his pen, the tape measure hanging like a snake around his shoulders. Then he closed his notebook and looked up. "And I know exactly what I'm going to do with you."

Jisung choked on his tea. He coughed. "That sounds ominous."

Jeongin laughed amusedly. He disappeared briefly into an adjoining room and returned with a clothes cart on which several items of clothing were hanging. The wheels squeaked and creaked under the weight of the countless garment bags. Each one had small, inscribed labels, but Jisung couldn't decipher the writing. Must be their alien language.

Jisung downed the last sip of tea, the taste of vanilla gently settling on his tongue and lingering there for a while. He patiently watched the tailor sip his own tea and then open the first garment bag.

"These are a few test outfits," Jeongin explained, taking out the entire contents. "I put them together yesterday, but now that I have your exact measurements, I'm not so sure they'll fit. Try them on."

Behind a screen, Jisung tried on all the outfits handed to him. Some were too long, others emphasized the wrong places, and then there was one top that felt so good against his skin, he didn't want to take it off. It was a white silk V-neck shirt, cream-colored ties accentuating his waist.

As he stepped out from behind the screen, Jeongin's face lit up and there was a twinkle in his eyes. He dug a wide belt out of a drawer and placed it around Jisung's waist.

The tailor seemed inspired. He had Jisung try on a few more outfits; by this point, he was two-thirds through the cart.

Jeongin sat down on a padded stool and crossed one leg. "I don't mean to sound creepy, but you have a well-proportioned body."

Jisung's face suddenly felt very warm. He coughed awkwardly. "No one's ever said that to me before. But I'll take it as a compliment, thank you."

※

The white double doors stood wide open, revealing the room beyond. Jisung stopped dead. The walls were painted a deep, rich blue, bathing the room in a calm yet majestic atmosphere. Gold accents ran throughout the decor.

In the center of the room was a spacious stage, adorned with an opulent gold curtain. The heavy, lustrous fabric of the curtain fell in gentle waves to the floor. What would Jisung find behind it? He could hardly wait to step onto the stage.

Arranged around the stage were several round tables covered with elegant deep blue satin tablecloths. Golden candles on golden candlesticks seemed to be just waiting to fulfill their purpose.

Jisung was immediately captivated by the massive chandelier sparkling from the ceiling. The finest crystal refracted the light in dazzling reflections, giving the entire room a magnificent aura.

"Pretty, isn't it?" Hyunjin whispered close to Jisung's ear.

"Pretty doesn't even begin to describe it. You set all this up in a week?"

Hyunjin grinned proudly. "Come on, the ensemble is waiting for you."

The backstage area was filled with the hubbub of voices. Instruments were waiting lined up against the wall – some in special holders, others on stands – while its owners sat around a long table, discussing. Files were stacked in a corner, with several sheets of paper and pens in front of each person. For a moment, Jisung thought he'd accidentally stumbled into an HR meeting.

Hyunjin put two fingers to his mouth and let out a short, sharp whistle that immediately caught everyone's attention. He grinned contentedly. "If it's all right and sparkly, I'd like to say something."

A young-looking man with blue hair sat at the very front. He reached into a bowl and stuffed a handful of nuts into his mouth. "Stop talking so pompously and spit it out." His gaze fell on Jisung. "Wait, are you Han Jisung?"

Jisung nodded. "Happy to be here."

As if the seat of his chair had turned to liquid fire, the man shot upright. He chewed and hastily swallowed the nuts in his mouth. "By my nonexistent beard, Han Jisung himself." With long strides and a sunny smile, he marched toward Jisung.

He gave the violinist a firm handshake. Jisung had never been greeted so enthusiastically (except for his nephew, but that didn't count).

"I'm Felix, lead singer and pianist. I've heard so much about you."

Jisung's heart leaped. "Only good things, I hope."

He heard Hyunjin laugh softly before he said goodbye. Felix wrapped his arm around Jisung's shoulders and pulled him into the empty seat next to him. A warm welcome from the other musicians followed, their friendly words ensuring that the last traces of Jisung's nervousness finally dissipated.

He listened attentively to the group as they all discussed ways to get the crowd excited about the opening. Doubts arose when it got out that the new posters had been defaced.

Jisung remembered seeing such a poster. Someone had scribbled a mustache on one musician's face. He pretended to scratch his nose, but tried to hide a grin.

The percussionist, a burly man with shoulder-length hair, read from a list. Apparently, only two-thirds of the invitations sent out had been accepted.

An oppressive silence fell over the group. Jisung raised a hand. "May I make a suggestion?"

"Go ahead, Earthling," the percussionist grumbled. His bright eyes studied the violinist openly and attentively.

"Well, persuasion only works if people are addressed correctly. And music reaches most people on an emotional level." He craned his neck to get a quick look at the many instruments. With a small grin, he continued. "Give people unbridled joy, give them deep blue melancholy and exuberant cheerfulness. Let them dream and float away."

"You're making it way too exciting," Felix laughed. "If you don't tell me what you're planning right away, I'll burst into flames."

"What do you think about a mini-concert? A taster, so to speak. The main square seems ideal."

※

Jisung tugged at his hair, frustrated that Seungmin had postponed his return for another week. It was a brief phone call. When his best friend told him this, he sounded stressed. Stressed and clearly elated. As if he'd landed the deal of a lifetime.

The noodles on the stove boiled over with Jisung's frustration. Foamy water evaporated with a hiss on the hot stovetop, leaving white streaks on the pot. He quickly pulled the pot off the stove and turned it off. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't even notice his nightly meal almost burning. He scooped out some of the pasta water and mixed it into the homemade tomato sauce. Fortunately, the scent of fresh vegetables and spices did a great job of masking the unintended roast aroma.

Jisung greedily devoured his spaghetti. Eating at 3 a.m. had a forbidden quality to it. Jisung loved moments like these. No one could stop him in his secrecy – an indirect middle finger to his parents.

His thoughts kept wandering to the ensemble on Zephyr. Both the restaurant and the floating island itself were called Zephyr; a fact he'd learned from Felix. Jisung wanted to tell Seungmin all about his first day working there, but he apparently didn't have time. Why did that bother him so much? His gaze flickered to his phone, and for a moment he considered calling his older sister. No, as a nurse, she had enough on her plate.

With a sigh, he turned back to his noodle dish. It tasted really good, excellent even. Maybe he just missed the warmth of togetherness. At twenty-three, he was definitely too young to be alone forever.

Jisung quickly did the dishes. The kitchen window was open to get rid of the smell. From there, he had a good view of Zephyr, hovering dimly above the quarry deeper in the forest. From his house by the pond, Jisung only had to climb the slope, and after a few minutes' walk, he reached the elevator platform.

One reason why he had bought this house so cheaply back then. Nobody wanted alien neighbors.

※

The main square was a lively place, surrounded by shady trees and architecturally questionable buildings. Late in the afternoon, the sun shone brightly in the sky, bathing the square in a pale yellow light. The musicians had gathered in the middle of the square to prepare their mini-concert. The rehearsals went flawlessly. There was only one run-through; as professional musicians, nothing less was to be expected.

Guitars, a keyboard, a violin, and a drum kit. Instead of a stage, they had marked out a small area with a carpet. Is there electricity? A question Jisung immediately asked himself when he saw all the electronic instruments. He didn't see any cables, but there was a mixing console on a table where the technician was adjusting the volume and sound.

Felix fiddled with a microphone stand. The sunlight lent intensity to his blue hair, and only now did Jisung notice the many freckles on the singer's face. Jisung tapped him on the shoulder. "Felix?"

Felix looked up with a smile. "What's up?"

"How does the technology work here? On Earth, it's easy to trip over cables, but here..."

Felix laughed softly. "My dear Earthling, even I don't understand it. I just know that it works. Leave it to the technician."

"Okay, cool." Jisung gave him a thumbs-up.

The atmosphere was relaxed, as passersby curiously stopped and watched the proceedings. Some people sat on the benches or on the ground to get a better view. The musicians tuned their instruments and tried out some melodies while the technology ran in the background.

The sun cast shadows across the square, and the sounds of the main square – the clatter of dishes in a nearby café, the rustling of leaves – mingled with the first notes of the music.

Jisung picked up the bow and began the piece with a rhythmic ostinato. Melodic arpeggios and rapid staccatos formed a dynamic contrast to piano and forte . Tension ripped through the crowd like an electric shock, capturing the aliens' hearts.

Jisung exchanged fiery glances with the guitarist. The percussionist was in a state of flux that made his hair swirl. Felix's backing vocals encouraged the audience to sing along.

The crowd went wild. Cheers and applause. Jisung's heart was ablaze, his whole body vibrated, and adrenaline rushed in his ears. There was no better time to be alive.

The introduction of the next piece featured legato piano chords. All eyes were on Felix. The melodic harmony was accompanied by a dynamic that prepared the listeners for what was to come.

Jisung felt the music flooding through him. He wasn't thinking, his mind was in a pleasant flow, filling him with pure joy. The admiring glances of passersby were just the icing on the cake.

Two more instrumental pieces followed, and the finale was a song Felix had composed himself. The lyrics were also expertly written by him. Even though Jisung didn't understand the language, he felt melancholy tugging at his heart. He sat on a barstool so as not to tower over the singer while accompanying him.

Jisung felt the stares, the undiminished attention of the audience, but that wasn't what made his neck tingle. He felt like he was being purposefully observed. He pushed the thought aside and refocused on his playing.

At the end of the mini-concert, when the thunderous applause had died down, the percussionist announced the upcoming opening at Zephyr. A few people were trying to talk to the musicians when Jisung looked over their heads and his eyes landed on someone staring at him very intensely.

Minho stood in front of his workshop with his arms crossed. When he noticed the violinist, he quickly opened the door and disappeared behind it.

Jisung informed Felix that he was stepping aside for a while, stowed his instrument, and marched towards the workshop. It was bright inside, the door open. Minho was sitting at his workbench. He seemed to be tinkering with a clock.

"Hello," Jisung greeted cautiously. "Hope I'm not inconvenient." The constant ticking seemed much quieter this time, almost more pleasant.

The craftsman looked up and removed the loupe from his eye. He seemed... nervous. Jisung stepped forward bravely; there was something on his heart that hadn't left him since that day.

"Our last meeting ended abruptly, I wanted to make sure you're okay. I hope I didn't use the wrong tone and unknowingly offend you." He took another step forward. "If that's the case, then I apologize."

Several breathless moments passed. The clockmaker looked at him intently, but with an unreadable expression in his eyes. He hesitated. "No," he finally said, his voice quiet. "You didn't say anything wrong. I appreciate your apology, but it's unnecessary." He smiled briefly.

On the workbench lay a round gold amulet. Symbols were carved around the outer edge, which narrowed towards the center to form a star. At the center of the star sat a flawless white crystal; the light refracted off its many facets, casting a rainbow across the worn surface of the workbench.

"Wow," Jisung breathed. He now stood very close to Minho to get a better look at the piece of jewelry. He pointed at the magnificent gemstone with a finger. "Is that the moon?"

Suddenly, something changed; Jisung felt it deep in his gut.

"How do you know about the moon?"

He met Minho's gaze, both serious and surprised. "I, uh, I read about it in a book," Jisung stammered.