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Mark is already fast asleep by the time Renjun finishes brushing his teeth and retreats to their bedroom. A lamp is still turned on- the one on Mark’s side, that’s perched atop a stack of music textbooks on the nightstand next to his wire-framed glasses. The light’s dim yellow glow scatters itself across the ripples in the sheets like the morning sun over a lake, and Renjun steps over to his side of the bed, sitting down and pulling the blanket over his lap. He stops himself in the middle of sinking deeper into the sheets, realising that the light is still on, then creeps off the mattress as lightly as possible, tiptoes over to Mark’s side and reaches out his hand to flip the switch- oh.
He stops again.
Round eyes gently fallen shut, rose lips parted ever-so-slightly, shoulders moving to the soft inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale that mirrors the most mellowest of sonatas- Renjun can even count Mark’s freckles.
It’s not that Renjun’s never seen Mark like this, just that he sometimes forgets how he gets prettier with every passing day. Tonight, when he’s crouched down on the floor next to him and watching him sleep oh-so-peacefully, he remembers.
His hair is barely dry, Renjun realises, letting out a minute sound of disapproval. They never listen, do they. His arm reaches over to the crown of Mark’s head and runs the fingers of his uncalloused hand through his dark hair, caressing the side of his face with his thumb. Mark’s eyes flutter open, stirring upon the touch, and his lips stretch to reveal a warm smile. “Angel,” Renjun whispers. Mark shuffles around in his covers, then takes his hand, bringing it to his mouth to kiss it lightly, and Renjun swears he’s going to shatter into a million pieces or float away so high he can touch the moon with his fingertips.
Heaven.
Their moment is interrupted by the song of a piano. A sweet, soft melody settling into the atmosphere from upstairs that both Mark and Renjun know all too well. Chuckling, Mark asks, “Is Jisungie going through a Debussy phase right now?” and Renjun can only smile in reply. His younger brother’s taste in music fluctuates from One Direction to Impressionist piano within days, and now is no exception. The sound of coat hangers being pushed aside is heard next, followed by the shuffling around of some cardboard boxes. “I think he’s going through something else too,” Renjun says. “One minute, I’m just going up to check on him. You go to sleep first.” Mark nods.
Teenage phases, Mark thinks. But Renjun knows better.
He can’t race up the staircase fast enough, leaping two steps at a time while trying not to make too much noise. When he finally gets to the second room from the end of the hallway and flings the door open, Jisung is already one foot into the wardrobe, wearing a warm coat over his pajamas.
He holds another one out to his older brother, one that’s his and a few sizes too big but cozy all the same. “I knew you would get the message, hyung,” he says, with a wink.
When Jisung and Renjun were six and eight years old, respectively, their parents made the shocking decision to renovate their home. There was asbestos in the roof, they said, pretending their young kids would know what that was, and this house was long overdue for a change. Scary chemicals aside, there wasn’t much the two brothers could do about it except for watch in dismay as the brown kitchen tiles were replaced with grey ones and the now-white window panes just weren’t the same as they used to be.
On one particularly memorable trip to Ikea, their parents left them at the Smaland playground while they searched for a new set of dining chairs. Looking back at it now, there really wasn’t much to the place. Just some fake trees, ladybug pillows, a ball pit and glorified swivel chairs. But back then, it was magical.
Jisung was the first to find It. He’d wandered a little too far into one of the corners, thinking the store room was part of the play area. Renjun, being older and having a little more sense, followed quickly behind to tell him that he didn’t ‘think this was the- oh my...”
This wasn’t the store room anymore.
Gone were the broken pieces of furniture and cardboard boxes, and in their place? A wonderland.
Birch trees and willows filled the expanse in front of and all around them, and pale gold sunlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves, dappling the mossy forest floor with patterns that sparkled like constellations. Scattered throughout were toadstools the size of tables and multicoloured wildflowers in every shape and form imaginable. A clear blue stream cut through the middle of the forest like silk stitching on linen, glittering and twisting in the way magic does.
The woods were completely silent and still, yet melodious and dynamic at the same time. They could feel it, the two of them could. They could hear its wordless call.
And so they followed. Up, up, upstream, until they discovered what they had been called to join.
A party, a fiesta. A jamboree of light, life and colour. Creatures from all walks of life congregating. To celebrate what, Jisung and Renjun had no idea. But at that moment they knew they were welcome. They were ushered into a circle of nine frog sisters, who made them daisy chains to wear as crowns and fed them rice buns until they could eat no more. They were called to gaze at the sunset and the celestial bodies that were starting to show themselves through the pinks and oranges that swirled around, viscous like finger paints in the evening sky. They danced with cats, fairies, and hippo-like trolls alike, and rode on the backs of long dragons that, at the end of the sunset, swam them downstream to send them home.
They took one last look over their shoulders at the world they had found, and they stepped back through the door, hand in hand. When they emerged from the Smaland store room, flowers still in their hair and the light never having left their eyes, they found that no time had passed at all, and their parents were waiting at the entrance, ready to pick them up and take them home.
Six year old Jisung was onto something when he insisted that day that they absolutely must change his wardrobe.
Their other world is peaceful after dusk.
Tonight the fireflies lead them to a meadow, not far away from the stream. Isn’t it strange, Renjun thinks, and isn’t it wonderful. That since early childhood they’ve been here so many times and every time there is something new to see. Still though, in these unfamiliar places, there is just something about being in this world that makes something so foreign seem like home. Renjun feels the warmth in his left hand, the hand that’s in Jisung’s. Maybe that’s what it is.
Under the light of the stardust and the big, bright moon, the wildflowers slow dance under a cool blue shade. The night air holds a stillness in the skies, but a gentle current underneath. A warm, dry breeze that embraces the brothers like a welcoming. Why does this evoke such a nostalgic feeling? When was the last time Renjun had no worries to weigh him down?
Here they lay their coats down like picnic blankets and sprawl on top of them, facing the heavens that look close enough to brush the tip of their noses. You can let your guard down, the meadow says. It’s going to be okay now. And they can. Because it is. There is something about lying directly under the stars, something so exposing and free. A feeling of weightlessness. An if you can see them, surely they are looking at you too. Renjun feels his brother grasp his hand a little tighter. He turns his gaze to him. Jisung looks back. “I feel like I’m going to fall into the sky,” he says.
Comfortably silent or comfortably not, they stay like this for what seems like hours on end, and never once letting go of each other’s hands. Time? They let her do what she wants, trusts that she will do well.
The sun rises rather quietly when she does. There are no brilliant pinks and purples today, just a faded, gradually brightening blue. Renjun thinks she is beautiful, all the same. Maybe the moon wanting to stay with her is a result of time’s mysterious plan, because they hang side by side, face to face in the still-dim morning sky. And what a wonder it is indeed.
Renjun and Jisung like to talk about space, about parallel universes. Loopholes in time. Time? She works skillfully, drawing needle upon needle through thread in any pattern she pleases. And what a relief it is, that they are together. That they are here. And that they are okay now. Jisung has said to Renjun a few times before, that he thinks Time likes to make exceptions. Slow down a little bit, when nobody is watching. Isn’t that kind of her, to do that? Now feels like one of those instances.
How pretty the sun and moon look together, peacefully co-existing in the twilight sky. The moon is hesitating, both of them know, waiting for just a little bit longer before saying goodbye. But here she looks so beautiful.
“Actually hyung,” Jisung says, tasting his words slowly before sounding them out as he sits up in his coat, “I wanted to come here because I was sad.”
Renjun doesn’t respond, just nods for him to go on.
“I’ve fallen out with Chenle, and I think this may be the last time.” Jisung smiles sadly, holding his other hand out to shade his eyes from the slow-rising sun. “I know I say this every time but… I’m just very scared.”
Whether Jisung is talking to Renjun or the heavens, is a mystery in itself, but if the sky is any indication then Renjun would think it is the latter. Within seconds later it’s like the sun has changed her mind, because she starts to rise again, higher still, and in the most spectacular fashion. Golden hour, in all its glory, likes to paint even the dimmest of dawns with new beginnings. And this morning smells like hope.
“Jisungie?” Renjun says, sitting up too to face the rising sun. “I don’t think this is the last time.”
Jisung turns his head from the sky to his elder brother, looking at him with the same eyes full of all the light in the world, as all those years ago. Then he nods. “I’m glad.”
Like on cue, the opening chords of clair de lune start to sound, and both Renjun and Jisung know that Moomintroll has woken and begun his daily piano practising. Likewise, the two watch as the moon follows suit, and embarks on her journey back home, fading smaller and smaller until out of sight completely. It's slightly bittersweet, but they know everything has its time.
“Come on now, hyung, it’s time we go home,” he says, getting to his feet and picking up his coat.
“Yes, sung. It is.”
Hand in hand, they follow the stream that runs through the forest. And they say goodbye to this world of theirs, but never for the last time.
And when Mark asks why they’ve taken so long? Why, he wouldn’t believe it if they told him.