Chapter Text
i. SICHENG
NEO CITY – Got Your Back! Population: Infinite.
No matter how long he looked at it, Sicheng didn’t understand the words any better than before. The slogan was confusing, as in unrealistic – how does a city have your back? –, but what bothered him most was the population part of the giant billboard. He hadn’t been here the longest, but he knew how many people were in Neo, and it wasn’t what was advertised there.
Neo was confusing. For a foreigner like Sicheng, who had known many cities, this one felt like a bubble away from reality, a whole other dimension deep inside the Earth’s pocket. Sicheng didn’t remember those other cities, or as the locals would say, the Not-Neo. But he knew Neo wasn’t like any of them.
Sicheng didn’t remember much before Neo. He recalled having memories of a lost childhood, but he didn’t know where he left them, when they left him. When he crossed the city limits for the first time, entering Neo for good, they didn’t vanish; it was a process, his mind losing grasp onto the cherished past. Sicheng might not remember anymore, but sometimes, his jaw twitched, a jolt of knowledge digging its way back up. Very small and trivial things the city had judged irrelevant enough to let him keep. It made him miss a world he didn’t know.
All he knew was Neo, and frankly, he didn’t know much about it. He knew it touched every ocean, but wasn’t an island – he had arrived on foot, all those years ago, and he would never forget that horrible walk. It rained once a month, for a week. Words didn’t make sense, but sentences did. For some reason, the vegetables were blue, to be distinguished from the fruits, pink. The birds sang beautiful songs, but Sicheng had yet to see one. And even weirder, his best friend held the Moon in his backpack.
The wind was stronger today, making Sicheng turn on his heels to shield his face from the strong blows, and the smell of smoke it brought along. He could now see Yuta in his yellow raincoat climb the hill, breaking into a smile as he saw Sicheng. He tried to reciprocate the intensity of his best friend’s smile, but he could never face the challenge. His smile was small, always had been, weaker than the blinding light emitting from Yuta. Working alongside astral forces did wonders.
Sicheng sat down before Yuta could reach the top, taking out of his bag a couple snacks and a blanket. Every day, they met together on this hill, and together, they turned the day into night. Not so long after Sicheng had stepped foot in Neo, the Council had given Yuta a special status, one that would make him an important man in the city. As the Keeper of the Night, Yuta had to switch the Sun with the Moon, put back the stars and revert the sky’s fabric from blue to black. It wasn’t an easy job and took a lot of energy of out him, but he didn’t mind. However, Sicheng did mind, and when their friendship grew stronger, he took it upon himself to help Yuta any way he could. Thus the snacks and blankets.
“You’re here early,” Yuta commented, dropping his heavy bag next to Sicheng’s with a loud sigh. “That’s new.” The newcomer squeezed his shoulder before sitting down next to him, a smile on his face, his arm reaching for Sicheng’s snacks.
Yuta always tried to outsmart him by sneaking his food away, and Sicheng always smacked his nosy hand in reprimand. Snacks were for later, when Yuta would barely be able to stand, energy-deprived; this job was a tiring one, and Sicheng wasn’t feeling up to carrying the man home today. “You’re early too, dummy,” he retorted, pinching Yuta’s side, a wince leaving the older’s mouth. Sicheng was feeling playful, today. And with Yuta lying about his punctuality, the guy deserved what was coming to him.
“I’m never early. You’re the one who’s always late,” Yuta giggled, throwing an arm over his friend’s shoulders. Yuta always seemed to be in a good mood, no matter the occasion, giving to others part of his own happiness by existing next to them. Sicheng always found himself smiling when he was with him, outside worries evaporating when Yuta was close enough. It might not have been considered an ability like some of the others possessed, but Sicheng thought it was just as magical.
“A wizard is never late, nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to,” he retorted, a not-so-forgotten reference Sicheng loved to throw around when others accused him of taking his sweet time. They were less than twenty in this town; no matter was that urgent. Plus, it made him seem way more articulate than he was, and that was a win, especially with the circumstances against him.
“If anything, I’m the wizard between the both of us,” Yuta bragged, prompting Sicheng to roll his eyes. The very concept of ‘wizard’ wouldn’t exist in Neo without Sicheng remembering one line from a book he had read in his teens – granted, Renjun could have brought it up at some point too, but it hadn’t been the case – and yet Yuta claimed it to himself? Not on his watch.
“What does that make me?” Sicheng remarked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips at the prospect of his impending victory. He had more than one trick up his sleeve, that was for sure. “Your apprentice? That’s still wizard related. Which means my point stands.”
Yuta groaned, his turn to pinch Sicheng’s side. “Fuck, you’re so annoying,” he laughed, shaking his head – the comeback of a man fresh out of comebacks. The fond smile on his lips cancelled the impact of his words, but Sicheng wouldn’t let it go so easily.
“I can take back my snacks, you know,” Sicheng threatened, putting them away. He had to show he was a man of his word, although they both knew he wouldn’t hesitate to give them back to Yuta if he asked. He could never be angry, especially not at his greatest friend, the one who had helped him navigate this strange world when no one else would. It just wasn’t possible.
But he wouldn’t just tell him; what good would it make to lose his advantage? “You’re the least annoying man I’ve ever met, Dong Sicheng,” Yuta professed, dropping a loud wet kiss on his friend’s cheek, Sicheng whining. One thing to describe Yuta would be ‘grossly affectionate’ or, in other words, the very opposite of Sicheng. It was a wonder he kept putting up with him, and this sentence could apply to both of them.
At least Sicheng had gotten the last word. “That’s more like it,” he said, wiping his cheek with both his sleeves, scrunching his nose in fake disgust. Yuta was enamoured by the idea of kissing, anywhere and anyone, and it pained Sicheng, his main victim, to no end. “Don’t do that again, Nakamoto.”
Their personalities were so different, Sicheng genuinely wondered at times how they even tolerated each other. Where Yuta was extroverted and talkative, a bundle of (almost) unlimited energy, Sicheng stood at the other end of the spectrum, introverted, keeping to himself, better off alone. A balance of some sort must have been holding them together, for when they were with each other, they’d always meet in a healthy middle, their differences paving the way towards an unlikely friendship. Complementary pieces of each other, in a bizarre turn of events.
“How else am I supposed to show you my love?” He pouted, big puppy eyes blinking at Sicheng like a cat begging for attention – here again, something Sicheng would have never even considered doing. Yuta was naturally cute anyway; he didn’t need to stoop down to this level to make Sicheng do anything he’d ask. Except Sicheng was never saying that out loud either, or he’d never hear the end of it.
So he answered in the only rational way to do so: “Keep it.”
Yuta groaned, his desperation making Sicheng laugh. It was almost too easy, with him. “You’re annoying,” he declared, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Help me, now.”
He got up, Sicheng following suit. Yuta brought his bag closer, struggling with the weight of its content, and carefully zipped open the biggest pocket. He dug his arm deep inside and his eyes moved from Sicheng’s to his arms, instructing him to put his hands together. Sicheng did as told; he was used to this little routine by now, and knew exactly what he had to do before Yuta had to tell him, but he also knew his friend liked being in charge of this moment. So he let Yuta say all the instructions needed, even if he had heard them a thousand times already.
“Careful, they might be hot,” Yuta warned as usual, his clasped hands getting out of the bag. Sicheng reached out, the light between Yuta’s fingers as captivating as always. He dropped the stars in his open palms, brighter than ever, their warmth dripping down Sicheng’s fingers. He could never get tired of this, holding the universe. Other cities couldn’t give him that, only Neo. Always Neo.
With the stars out of his way, Yuta’s hands were free to take out the Moon from his bag. She was small, about the size of a soccer ball, but incredibly heavy, making Yuta’s arms tremble. This was why Sicheng had to hold the stars: Yuta needed both hands to hold her. Sicheng wondered how the locals did it, before they assigned Yuta on the job. He couldn’t imagine poor Jaemin trying to hold all that weight in his fragile hands.
Yuta raised his arms, the Moon balancing on his fingers, and with a little jump, he released her, going up, up, higher, until she shrunk in place, immovable. Then, one eye closed, he placed his fingers around the Sun, squeezing him until he popped out of place, falling in his hand. The Sun was tiny, a yellow golf ball, but he was hot, burning. For Sicheng, at least; Yuta had become immune over time. While the stars in Sicheng’s palms were starting to make him wince, Yuta could juggle with the hottest object in the known universe with no problem. He put the Sun back in its assigned fireproof jar, closing the lid tightly.
After the astral switch came the cloth’s turning. Facing the horizon, Yuta grabbed the blue skyline, and slowly, he raised his arms over his head and completed the rotation with his hands behind his back, revealing under it the night sky. He tucked the cloth behind the gray mountains, making sure no blue remained visible. Finally, the stars were ready to join the landscape. Sicheng handed them to Yuta, but the older didn’t take them back, like he did every day. He seemed deep in thought instead, his eyes travelling down Sicheng’s face.
“I want to show you something I learned,” Yuta said, taking back the stars. His gaze on Sicheng was intense, eyes piercing into his, as if searching for something inside his best friend. Yuta’s eyes reflected the light of the stars, their glow even prettier than usual. “Will you let me?”
Sicheng nodded, taking a deep breath. He didn’t know why or when the atmosphere had gotten so serious, almost intimate even, his stomach turning into knots as Yuta stepped forward, closer to him, close enough for his every thought to fly out the window.
“Close your eyes,” he inquired, and Sicheng did as instructed. He could feel Yuta going in circles around him, never quite touching him, his fingers brushing against Sicheng’s face once in a while – by accident, he supposed. The man stopped moving after a while, their synched breathing the only sound echoing in the valley of dunes. Not even the wind would break their melody. “Alright, you can open them.”
Sicheng opened his eyes, meeting Yuta’s tired ones. He wasn’t holding the stars anymore, yet they reflected in his irises brightly. Sicheng looked up, and there they were. Except they weren’t anchored to the sky; they moved along his own movements, gravitating around his head, a little cloud of lightning bugs following him around. He gasped at the sight of the universe dancing around his head, a fond smile growing on Yuta’s lips.
“Flower crowns are overrated,” Yuta chuckled, bringing his hand up to replace a fallen star on Sicheng’s cheek, a stardust freckle. “This is better.” Yuta let his hand linger for a while, his touch cold, smile warmer than a million Suns in the palm of his hands. “The stars are pretty, but you’re prettier.”
“I dream of you,” Sicheng blurted out, his mind racing with foreign thoughts invading every corner of his brain, every square inch of his being. Goosebumps on his skin, he couldn’t think properly, with Yuta’s fingertips on his skin, and so he started talking his head off, his mind leaving no intention of stopping him. “You’re here with me. You finished creating the night. We’re on this same hill, but it’s ten times higher, and you stumble on the edge. You’re falling. I try to catch you, but I can’t. I’m too far and I’m petrified at the same time. But then, there’s a man. I can’t see his face. He grabs your arm; it saves your life. He looks at me right in the eye as I’m unable to do anything.” I can’t save you. “I can’t save you.”
Yuta’s pretty eyes on him were taking in every word he spoke, concern growing on the older’s face. Sicheng didn’t want to make him worry; he just needed to say something. Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut, after all. “Sometimes, dreams don’t mean anything, Sicheng,” Yuta shrugged, his hand resting on the other’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly. An attempt at comfort which appeased none of Sicheng’s thoughts. “They’re just that. Dreams.”
“This feels like a dream,” Sicheng remarked, tilting his head, the stars following his every move. None of this felt real; a dream within a dream. “Does it mean nothing to you?”
Yuta’s eyes were full of the stars on Sicheng’s head. “You mean everything to me.”
There were signs. There had been signs Yuta was in love with him since the very beginning, since the first look, the first laugh brought out by a mediocre break-the-ice joke. Sicheng had chosen to ignore those signs as best he could, but in moments like these, there was no avoiding the truth. Not when it was staring at you so close and had given you the gift of a thousand stars on your shoulders. Yuta loved him, and Sicheng didn’t know how he felt about it, about him. Maybe he loved him back. Maybe he didn’t. He couldn’t tell, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to.
To ignore wasn’t the best predicament, but it would have to do. For Sicheng’s sake. “Let’s send those back home, Yuta,” he said, avoiding his gaze to look at the empty night sky.
Yuta’s smile faltered at his answer, guilt nesting in Sicheng’s stomach. “Okay,” he muttered, going around Sicheng again and taking back one by one the stars floating over him, gravitating around his being. Once he had gathered them all, he pushed them in the air, every atom going back to its rightful place in the vast eternity standing over them. Sicheng missed the stars’ proximity already, but he couldn’t go against the order of the universe. They had to leave; such was their purpose.
As Yuta sat down to lie on his blanket, Sicheng watched the night sky a bit longer. The stars were pretty, indeed, but he had always found the Moon to be prettier. None of the stars could compare to its pure glow, except maybe his friend. Yuta must have been made of stardust, to receive such a title. Sicheng sat down next to him, grabbing the most anticipated snacks and offering one to his friend who, to his surprise, declined.
“I’m not hungry,” He mumbled, his hands pushing away Sicheng’s. Yuta wasn’t looking at him anymore, his focus having shifted on the infinite dunes across the land, turning gray the further they looked. These dunes, boring and colourless, had somehow ended up as Yuta’s preferred spot to switch the days and nights. Yuta could be a peculiar person, just as he was acting out now.
Sicheng frowned. “You’re always hungry. And you love chocolate,” he waved around the candy bar, Yuta’s absolute favourite, but he failed to get a reaction out of him, the man only sighing at his gesture.
“Not today, Sicheng.”
Yuta was different. He had a special tone when he talked to Sicheng; it was gone now, the letters sharper, feelings he couldn’t understand leaking through his teeth, the sweetness of his voice turning sour. He was avoiding his gaze, when he would never take his eyes off him when they were together. Sicheng hated this Yuta, even more so knowing it was his fault. Part of him knew what was wrong, but that part wasn’t strong enough to let Sicheng as a whole know.
So, like a clueless idiot, he had to ask. “Yuta. Did I do something wrong?”
A half-smile tugged at the corner of Yuta’s lips, tilting his head ever so slightly. Sicheng had recognised this as his lying pattern long ago; whatever he was about to say next was bullshit. “No. You didn’t do anything. I’m just… in my head,” he covered up, Sicheng unimpressed. “Lay down with me?” Yuta then asked, patting the space next to him. Though Sicheng knew he wasn’t saying the truth, he laid down nonetheless, Yuta’s head finding its way to his shoulder. He didn’t usually like being touched without asking first, but with Yuta, it was different. A lot of things were different, with him. “I’m just overthinking, that’s all. I’m sorry,” he murmured into his ear, soft and genuine.
I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want, Sicheng wanted to reply, but that would mean admitting things he was not yet ready to face, admitting a truth Yuta had never even given him. Would he ever make up his mind, anyway? Did he want to know what he felt, deep down at his very core? What if the answer would settle him for heartbreak instead?
He let his mind wander away, the blurred traits of the man in his dreams appearing once in a while, anger bubbling up inside. Sicheng could see his smile, clear as day as he walked away, devilish of some sort, but also proud, too proud, I-did-what-you-couldn’t kind of smile. A man he couldn’t tear his eyes off of as he walked into the unknown, and gone with him was the way to save his best friend. Whoever he was, Sicheng despised him.
He shook his thoughts away, wanting the dream to be forgotten in the confines of his own mind. “Do you remember?” Sicheng asked, Yuta linking their arms together. He must not have been angry at him anymore. A relief. “Before?” Sicheng clarified.
Yuta moved his head from Sicheng’s shoulder, staring at his profile, the latter’s eyes latched onto the stars. It was always safer not to look at Yuta. “Which time?” he whispered. “Before you, or before everything?”
His words made Sicheng’s head turn as well, no matter how much he didn’t want to face him. Yuta always had a way to make his heart jump and cheeks flush at the sound of his voice; it was unfair, really. “Everything,” he replied, glad for the dimmed lights hiding his body’s betrayal. Yuta was enough light anyway; no need for more.
“Not really,” he confessed. Sicheng should have expected such an answer, yet he couldn’t help but feel let down. Yuta had always understood him better than anyone; he figured he would know what Sicheng was talking about now again. But no one here remembered, the foreigners’ memories wiped almost clean. It was stupid to expect Yuta to be the exception. “I know my life from before was nothing like this, but I can’t really say. Why?” Yuta asked, the same old frown of concern taking place over his forehead.
“I don’t know. I guess I— I don’t know.” His worry felt stupid, now. He shouldn’t have brought it up in the first; he hated talking about his feelings. Somedays, he wished he could have been exempted of feeling. The very opposite of Yuta, whom he knew would try to make him spit out the truth anyway, by force if necessary. Sicheng was doomed by a beautiful curse. “Never mind.”
“No, tell me,” Yuta insisted, as predicted. He propped his head up with his elbow, looking down on Sicheng. “I want to know,” he added, voice softer. The special voice used only for Sicheng, airy and melodic and enticing and unreal, absolutely unreal.
And when Yuta spoke like that, just for him, he had to oblige. “I miss normal,” he let out, looking into Yuta’s eyes, hoping the man would read between the lines, further than his words.
Yuta nodded, giving him hope he had understood. “Normal is a bit boring, though,” he pointed out, a smile in his voice. Before Neo, Sicheng would have never thought a smile could be heard, but Yuta was proof miracles existed, in more ways than one. “You don’t get to hold the Moon, back in normal.”
Sicheng sighed, shifting his gaze to the stars. This wasn’t exactly how he had meant it. “Yeah, but back in normal, my mouth actually opens when I speak,” he said. No, he didn’t understand it one bit either. How the words he wanted to say escaped his body in waves hitting the walls of the city. How he had never said anything, only expressed thoughts with his brain very loudly, somehow. This was Neo, always full of surprises, some stranger than others; but it didn’t mean he had to be satisfied. “And don’t say stuff like ‘It gives you mystery!’ because that’s not how it feels. You want to see the best in everything, the good in every situation. There is no ‘best’ in this. It doesn’t feel good.”
Yuta frowned, fingers brushing off the hair falling over Sicheng’s eyes. “Then, how does it feel?” He asked, his eyes never leaving him.
It fucking sucks. “Weird. Not in a good way. Unpleasant. Like I’m a speaker in the walls of City Hall. Or a robot made of flesh,” he spoke up, thinking back to all the normal things others could do that had become faint memories to Sicheng. “How can anyone even hear me? How does it even work? You get the Moon, and I get glued lips? How is that fair?”
It wasn’t the first time Sicheng complained about his situation. Yuta must have been tired of hearing the same things over and over again, but Sicheng couldn’t not mention it. It lived with him; he was reminded of it every time he tried to speak, only to figure out his words were never really his, more of a traduction of his thoughts engendered by Neo. Was it too much to ask, for his own words to say? For his own voice to be heard?
Yuta didn’t speak for a while afterwards. Just when Sicheng started worrying again he had said something out of place, the man spoke up. “Are you jealous of me? I can’t do things for hours after putting it up. The time it takes eats away at my days. Rain week is a nightmare. We all have drawbacks,” Yuta reminded him. They weren’t angry, his words; they didn’t need to be for him to understand the pain they meant. Anger didn’t resolve things well, here in Neo. Yuta had understood earlier than most. “But the wind sings lullabies, Sicheng. Remember that,” he said, offering the younger a small smile.
Sicheng looked his way again. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just…” Sicheng took a deep breath, unsure of the way he should bring it up. “I don’t feel at home in this place,” he admitted, a small weight lifting off his chest as the words left his mouth. “I don’t know where home is anymore. I don’t know if this is it. Is this it?”
Somewhere along those lines, their fingers had intertwined. Had gone back to their rightful place. “It’s okay. I don’t either. We can try. We can make a home out of this, together. You and me, remember? The Sun holders,” Yuta recalled, tapping his fingers inside the other’s palm, rhythmic and relieving. Sicheng liked that in him, his hopefulness. One of the many beautiful things Yuta believed in. And one of them, lucky him, was Sicheng.
“How?” He asked. He had to ask. He needed an answer. Not from anyone, though; he needed Yuta’s. None other mattered, under this sky and these stars that belonged to no one but them both. Yuta’s Moon and Sicheng’s stars. You and me.
Yuta shrugged, and it was such a simple gesture, but worn by him, it held grace, meaning, more than Sicheng could hope for. “I don’t know. I don’t think anyone knows.” A laugh, melodic, enchanting, all those synonyms for ‘more than beautiful’. Ethereal. “But as long as we have each other, I believe we will be just fine.”
PART 1 } { CROSSWIND